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from the closing door of another world and another h.)lit'r mood, idear'st thou the hermit ))our — so sweet ! so magical ! — his golden music, ghostly beautiful ? ' watlil'i^.l^"-:iti^ 18 harvard university. library of the museum of comparative zoology. gift of alexander agassiz. mi 3 8 19r.«j the reversal of the direction of differentiation in the chelipeds of the hermit crab von john diederich haseiuan with 1 plate and 1 figure in text sonderabdruck aus dem archiv für entwicklungsmechanik der organismen herausgegeben von prof. wilh. roux in halle a/s. xxiv. band. 4. heft ausgegeben am 17. dezember 19(t7 leipzig wilhelm engelmann s* 1907 das archiv für entwicklungsmechanik der organismen steht offen jeder art von exakten forschungen über die „ursachen" der entstehung, erhaltung und rückbildung der organischen gestaltungen*) bis auf weiteres werden auch kritische referate und zusammenfassende ubersichten uber andern orts erschienene arbeiten gleichen zieles, sowie titelübersichten der bezüglichen literatur aufgenommen. das archiv erscheint zur ermöglichung rascher veröffentlichung in zwanglosen heften sowohl in bezug auf den umfang, wie auch auf die zeit des erscheinens; mit etwa 40 druckbogen wird ein band abgeschlossen. die herren mitarbeiter erhalten unentgeltlich 40 sonderdrucke ihrer arbeiten; eine größere anzahl sonderdrucke wird bei vorausbestellung gegen erstattung der herstellungskosten geliefert, unter der voraussetzung, daß die exemplare nicht für den handel bestimmt sind. referate, besprechungen und autoreferate werden mit ji 40.— für den druckbogen nach abschluß des bandes honoriert. die zeichnungen der textfiguren sind im interesse der rascheren herstellung womöglich in der zur wiedergabe durch zinkätzung geeigneten weise auszuführen**). die textfiguren sind vom texte gesondert beizulegen; an den einfligungsstellen im texte sind die nummern der bezüglichen figuren anzubringen. sind die eigentlich für den text bestimmten, in linearer bzw. punktierter manier hergestellten figuren sehr zahlreich, so werden sie besser auf tafeln beigegeben. tafeln sind in der höhe dem format des archivs anzupassen; für jede tafel ist eine skizze uber die verteilung der einzelnen figuren beizufügen. die einsendung von manuskripten wird an den herausgeber erbeten. der herausgeber: der verleger: prof. dr. wilh. roux, wilhelm engelmann, halle a/d. s. (deutschland). leipzig. *; den in niohtdeutscher: in englischer, italienischer oder französischer sprache zu druckenden originalabhandlungen ist eine kurze zusammenfassung der ergebnisse, sei es in der sprache des originals oder in deutscher sprache beizufügen. **! dies geschieht in linearerbzw.punktierterzeichnung mit tief schwarzer tinte oder tusche, kann aber leicht auch durch nachträgliches überzeichnen der bleistiftzeichnung mit der tuschfeder hergcsteut werden. wer jedoch im zeichnen mit der feder nicht geübt ist, kann die einfache bleistiftzeichnung einsenden, wonach sie von technischer seite überzeichnet wird. die bezeichnungen (buchstaben oder ziffern) sind bloß schwach mit bleistift einzutragen, sofern sie der autor nicht kalligraphisch herzusteuen vermag. anweisungen für die herstellung wissenschaftlicher zeichnungen zu textfiguren mit ausführungen über die einzelnen herstellungsarten und proben derselben stellt die verlagsbuchhandlung den herren mitarbeitern gern unentgeltlich zur verfügung. the reversal of the direction of differentiation in the chelipeds of the hermit crab1). by john diederich baseman. with plate xxix and 1 figure in text. eingegangen am 22. oktober 1907. this work was done in the laboratory of the bureau of fisheries at woods hole, mass.2) and in the zoological laboratory of indiana university. the problem presented itself to the writer during 1906 and 1907 , while working on the direction of differentiation in regenerating crustacean appendages. at that time three cases of reversal of the direction of differentiation were observed, and they were due apparently to the character of the operation. consequently this work was taken up to see if it were possible to reverse the direction of differentiation by means of a series of operations. i. method and material. for the investigation of the direction of differentiation, several species of crustacea were used but none proved to be so good as eupagurus longicarpus, the common hermit crab at woods hole. a spider-, fiddler-, and mud-crab were used but no cases of a reversal of the direction of differentiation were obtained from them. also two species of amphipods were tried but they proved to be of no value for this work. ') contributions from the zoological laboratory of indiana university. no. 91. 2) i acknowledge my indebtedness to the bureau of fisheries and its director, dr. sumner, for the opportunity to carry out this work. i am also much i ndebted dr. zeleny for reading the proof. 664 john diederich ha-eman my method was based on the fact that regenerating chelipeds differentiate from the tip toward the base, while regenerating clawed legs differentiate from the base toward the tip. if by a series of operations one can change a cheliped into a clawed leg or vice versa, then the chances of reversal of the direction of differentiation are extremely great. i tried cutting the clawed legs and chelipeds at various levels and angles, as well as making slits in the remaining stumps, and i finally adopted the following plan, because it, as a rule, produced a greater number of monstrosities and a fewer number of deaths than any other: the chelipeds were removed at their breaking joints and allowed to regenerate to the stage in which the new pinchers are starting to differentiate from the mass of regenerating tissue; then the tips of the regenerating chelipeds were cut off and longitudinal slits were made in the sides of the remaining stumps by pushing the pointed end of a lance into them. this is shown by the text-figure. in some cases more than the part which was to have formed the pincher was removed; and in still others the tip was cut off before the pinchers had started to differentiate. the individuals were kept separately in finger bowls. they were fed twice a week on pieces of mussels, and the water was changed every two days. > a b c n the plane of removal of tho tip. b the puncture of the side. c the level of the first operation. ii. difficulties. there were many difficulties encountered in dealing with eupagurus longicarpus. in the first place it was a difficult matter to get them out of their shells without breaking the shells. however, when they were taken out of the water and turned upside down the crabs usually crawled out a greater distance than usual, and could easily be pulled out far enough for the operation, if they were drawn out slowly. the operations always killed a great per cent of the animals. in my first series of sixty individuals, twenty died after the first operation, and ten more died after the second operation. even more the reversal of the direction of differentiation in the chelipeds etc. 665 perplexing than this is the fact that individuals containing abnormal appendages never lived longer than two moults after the second operation. furthermore, it was by no means an easy task to cut and slit the delicate regenerating appendages at desired levels. the advantage of using eupagurus longicarpus is the abundance of material, the ease with which it can be kept alive, and the rapidity of the moult. individuals of average size moulted every two or three weeks, while the mud-, spiderand fiddler-crabs did not moult oftener than once a month. i was unable to keep a sufficient number of the sand fleas alive long enough to do any work on the reversal of the direction of differentiation with them. 111. data. a. the normal direction of differentiation. when the chelipeds of eupagurus longicarpus are removed at any level, they differentiate from the tip toward the base. the clawed legs differentiate from the base toward the tip. this same plan of direction of differentiation is true for the common mud-, and spider-crab, and i think that it is also true for the fiddler-crab as well as for the two species of sand-fleas, but so far i have not been able to get a sufficient number of stages to be absolutely certain. this plan of direction of differentiation for the crab is the same as has been recorded for several other crustacea. b. the reversal of the direction of differentiation. i was unable to produce any change in the direction of differentiation in the clawed legs of eupagurus. in the case of the chelipeds several abnormal young stages were produced, but many of the crabs died before they developed sufficiently well to show anything conclusive. however, a few lived long enough to moult once or twice after the second operation, and some of these are described in the following notes: no. 1. the left cheliped was cut off at the end of the first segment, july 19th. the crab moulted july 21st. the side of the leg was punctured july 27th. it moulted again august 4th and died august 5th. this cheliped is about normal excepting that the segment next to the pincher is wanting, and the pointed parts of the pincher are segmented into two pieces. after the pincher was formed, the dactylopodite and propodite began to segment from the base 666 john diedericli haseman toward the tip, and the tip kept elongating until the time of death of the crab. no. 2. the right cheliped of another crab was removed at the same level as no. 1. the crab moulted july 29th. the tip of the regenerating cheliped was cut off and the side of the remaining stump was punctured august 5th, at which time there was only a mere trace of regeneration. the crab moulted again august 22d, and was killed september 1st. three new segments differentiated from the base toward the tip. from august 5th to september 1st was plenty of time for a normal pincher to regenerate. no. 3. this is a left cheliped which was cut off at the end of the first segment july 19th and the basal segment was then slit. the crab moulted july 23d, and august 5th the pincher which had regenerated was cut off again and the side of the remaining stump of the cheliped was punctured. the crab moulted again on august 9th, and died august 22d. the tip or fifth segment was just differentiating and there was no sign of the pincher. the direction of differentiation was from the base toward the tip. no. 4. this is a left cheliped which was cut off at its base july 21st. the crab moulted july 25th. there was only a little regeneration august 5th when the base was reslit. the crab moulted again august 12th. the tip segment was very small august 16th. the crab died august 19th, at which time the tip segment was already of considerable size. there were no signs of a pincher on august 19th, and it was evident from the observations on the living specimen, that the direction of differentiation had been reversed. no. 5. this right cheliped was cut off at its breaking joint on august 4th. the regenerated pincher was cut off and the side of the remaining stump was punctured august 18th. the crab was killed september 1st, at which time the tip segment was just forming. apparently the 4th and then the 3d segment was completed after the pincher was removed. the 5th and then the 6th was formed some time afterwards. the 6th segment is just forming and there is no pincher. normally the pincher is formed first. no. 6. this right cheliped was removed at its breaking joint on august 4th. the regenerated pincher was cut off and the remaining stump was punctured august 18th. the crab was killed september 1st, at which time there were seven segments instead of six. the first four segments were normal, while the tip or 7th segment was quite long and showed signs of division near the tip. the reversal of the direction of differentiation in the chelipede etc. 667 apparently the 4th and then the 3d segment was completed after the pincher was cut off. a new proliferation took place and the 5th, 6th, and then the 7th segments were formed from it. no. 7. the right cheliped was removed august 4th at the breaking joint, and it then received the same treatment as no. 6. the 6th segment is just forming but there is no sign of a pincher. however, in this case the new basal segments were perhaps formed in the normal way, and the fourth new segment has arisen from the second proliferation and has not had enough time to differentiate. only these seven cases out of the fifteen which were obtained, will be recorded because they are the characteristic ones. iv. discussion. it appears that the reversal in the direction of differentiation is due to a disturbance in the physical conditions existing in the regenerating appendages, because a simple cut or slit at any level is not sufficient to produce the reversal. however, if when a regenerating cheliped has attained the proper size, the tip is cut off and the remaining stump punctured near the middle, then the direction of differentiation is reversed, apparently because the balance of the physical conditions is altered. in other words the tension which accompanies the formation of a pincher is destroyed by the operation, and a new tension is formed by the two cuts pulling in opposition. consequently the tension originating from the two wounds seems to neutralize the one which was to accompany the formation of the new pincher. as a result the new segments are formed from the base toward the tip instead of from the tip toward the base. of course if all the remaining basal segments are almost completely differentiated at the time when the pincher is cut off, they differentiate in the normal way; but the new segments which are formed from the second proliferation differentiate from the base toward the tip, as in figure six. if more than the pincher is cut off the same results are obtained. if the tip of the regenerating knob is cut off before the pincher has started to differentiate, then there is a complete reversal, and all of the segments are differentiated in their order from the base toward the tip, as is shown by figure two. the following notes not related to the main theme were made during the course of the experiments: archly f. entwicklungsmeckanik. xxiv 44 668 john diederich haseiuan 1) the regenerating chelipeds are enclosed in sacks. no differentiation is visible before three days after the operation. 2) no double legs were obtained when the bases of amputated legs were slit and allowed to regenerate. 3) it is a peculiar fact that as a rule there are only six segments in the new leg. only one has seven segments. many have less than six, but they show signs of further differentiation. v. summary. 1) when the chelipeds of eupagurus longicarpus are removed at their breaking joints, they differentiate from the tip toward the base. the clawed legs differentiate from the base toward the tip. 2) if the tip of a regenerating cheliped is cut off at about the time when the pincher is differentiating, and the remaining stump is punctured near its middle, the direction of differentiation is quite often reversed. the reversal is apparently due to the disturbance of the physical conditions existing in the regenerating cheliped. zusammenfassung, 1) wenn die scherenftige von eupagurus longicarpus an ihren brechgelenken abgetrennt werden, so differenzieren sie sich von der spitze nach der basis zu. die klauenfiige differenzieren sich von der basis nach der spitze zu. 2) wird die spitze eines in regeneration begriffenen scherenfages abgeschnitten ungeiahr zur zeit, wenn sich die zange differenziert, und wird der zuriickbleibende stumpf nahe seiner mitte angestochen, so wird ganz hiiufig die differenzierungsrichtung umgekehrt. die umkehrung beruht anscheinend auf einer sttfrung der physischen bedingungen, die in dem scherenfuge wahrend der regeneration bestehen. explanation of plate. plate xxix. the arrows mark the level of the first operation. the figures were made with a camera. no. 1. left cheliped cut at the end of first segment july 19th. moulted july 21st. the regenerating leg was punctured july 27th. the crab died august 6th. (x 16) no. 2. right cheliped cut off at end of the first segment july 19th. moulted july 29th. the tip was slit and the side was punctured august 5th. moulted again august 22d, and was killed september 1st. (x 1g) no. 3. left cheliped cut off at the end of the first segment july 19th. moulted july 23d. the pincher was cut off and the remaining stump was punctured the reversal of the direction of differentiation in the chelipeds etc. 669 august 5th. the animal moulted again august 9th and died august 22d. (x 16) no. 4. left cheliped cut off at its base july 21st. the animal moulted july 25th. the base was split august 5th. the crab moulted again august 12th. died august 19th. (x 16) no. 5. right cheliped cut off at the breaking joint august 24th. the pincher was cut off and the remaining stump punctured august 18th. the crab was killed september 1st. (x 16) no. 6. right cheliped cut off at the breaking joint august 4th. the pincher was cut off and the side of the remaining stump punctured august 18th. it was killed september 1st. no. 7. right cheliped cut off at the breaking joint august 4th. the pincher was cut off and the side of the remaining stump was punctured august 18th. the crab was killed september 1st. (x 16) 44« areltiv fur entwicklungsniechanil: bd. xxiv. taf. xxix. haseman. verlag von wilhelm engelmann in leipzig. g :; terlag von wilhelm exgelmann in leipzig;: soeben ist erschienen: mechanismus und vitalismus in der biologie des neunzehnten jahrhunderts ein geschichtlicher versuch von karl braeunig 7 bogen, gr. 8. geheftet jl 2.40 | die physiologie des lesens und sehreibens von emile jayal autorisierte übersetzung nach der 2. auflage des originals nebst anhang über deutsche schrift und stenographie von dr. med. f. haass augenarzt in viersen mit 101 figuren im text und einer tafel 351 s. 8. m 9.—. chemie der höheren pilze eine monographie von dr. julius zellner vi und 257 s. gr. 8. je 9.—. '• ■'■>-' inhalt des vierten heftes. s«ite a. kirchner, die architektur der metatarealien des menschen. (mit 18 fig. im text.) 639 john diederich haseman, the direction of differentiation in regenerating crustacean appendages. (with plates xix—xxvii.)........ 617 leo loeb, beitrage zur analyse des geivebewachstnms. i. uber transplantation regenerierenden epithels und uber serientransplantation, von '* ^fehd • "j":. .-"> £„ . 638 georg duncker, liber kegeneration des schwanzendcs bei syngnathiden. (zweite mitteilung.) (mit tafel xxviii und 2 fig. im text.) . . . c56 john diederich haseman. the reversal of the direction of differentiation in the chelipeds of thetiermit crab. (with plate xxix and 1 figure in text.) ' •. 663 autoreferate aus dem journal of experimental zoology vol. iv, no. 2 . 670 autoreferat: max mundex, der chtonoblast in seinen beziehungen zur entwicklungsmechanik 677 wilhelm rol'x, bemerktmg zu max mundens autoreferat uber seinen chtonoblast und uber die angeblich gelungene hervorbringung kiinstlicher lebewesen 684 w. roux, besprcchungen 686 neueste literatur 696 :: verlag von wilhelm engelmann in leipzig;; soeben erschieneu: archhelenis und archinotis gesammelte beitrage zur geschichte der neotropischen region von hermann von jhering mit einer figur im text und einer xarte 22 bogen. 8. geheftet jl 6.—. die entwicklung der kontinente und ihrer lebewelt ein beitrag zur vergleichenden erdgeschichte von dr. theodor arldt mit 17 figuren und 23 karten. 47 bogen gr. 8. geheftet j( 20.—, in leinvrand gebunden m 21.60. icin auafnlirliclier* prospckt st olit zu dienstcn. druck von breitkopf & hartel in leipzig 20 thompson m.j. a new isopod parasitic on the hermit crab. (1901) cr-t harvard university. christo ademiae ve ri lates tas ony non library june 26, 1926. of the museum of comparative zoology 67042 gift of edward a. boyden thompson. m. j. 1901 jun 26 1926 67.042 u. s. commission of fish and fisheries, george m. bowers, commissioner. ** contributions from the biological laboratory of the u. s. fish commission, woods hole, massachusetts. 478 a new isopod parasitic on the hermit crab. by millett t. thompson. washington: extracted from u. s. fish commission bulletin for 1901. pages 53 to 56. plates 9 and 10. with the auctions regarda i 1901. s 1 government printing office. ·vol. 21 (1902) ! u. s. commission of fish and fisheries, george m. bowers, commissioner. contributions from the biological laboratory of the u. s. fish commission, woods hole, massachusetts. a new isopod parasitic on the hermit crab by millett t. thompson. extracted from u. s. fish commission bulletin for 1901. pages 53 to 56. plates 9 and 10. washington: government printing office. 1901. contributions from the biological laboratory of the u. s. fish commission, woods hole, massachusetts. a new isopod parasitic on the hermit crab by millett t. thompson. while at woods hole, in the summer of 1897, studying the small hermit crab (pagurus longicarpus say), i found parasitic upon this crustacean a hitherto undescribed bopyrid, allied to phryxus resupinatus müller, and apparently representing a new genus. about 1.5 per cent of the crabs at great harbor were thus infested (1898), and from 3 to 4 per cent of those at hadley harbor. a single specimen was taken at edgartown in 1898, and another at warwick, rhode island, in 1900. in the channels where there is a swift current the percentage of infested crabs is low, due probably to the more effectual dispersal of the free-swimming larvæ. the female parasite occurs on the abdomen of the hermit, to which it is attached, back downward, by its mandibles and legs. the male is found on the posterior part of the marsupium of the female, usually lying to the right (apparent left) of the median line, the head directed anteriorly. the presence of the parasite does not effect any alteration in the case of the secondary sexual characters of its host. on the average the infested crabs seem quite as resistant to adverse conditions as the uninfested ones. stegophryxus hyptius, genus et species nov. adult female (plates 9 and 10). broad in proportion to length, marsupium very large, abdomen about half the length of thorax, distinct from it, 6-jointed, with five pair of triramous pleopoda and a pair of oval uropoda. length, about 9.1 mm. color, yellowish-white, opaque. ovaries, when full of ripe eggs, orange-yellow. head (pl. 9, figs. 5 and 6), from the dorsal side appears as an oblong elevation ending anteriorly in a blunt lobe, which represents the median portion of the much-reduced front (fr). as the lateral portions of the front are almost wholly obsolete, appearing only as two inconspicuous lobes, the greater part of the antennules, antennae, and tip of rostrum, is visible dorsally. the antennules are 3-jointed and consist of a large globose basal joint, surmounted by a small cylindrical second and a minute third joint; outer joints bristle-tipped. each antenna (4) arises along the side of rostrum as a columnar ridge, whose distal end is visible dorsally (fig. 7, a₂). from this ridge a 4-jointed flagellum arises, its proximal joint stout, the three distal joints slender; all the joints bristle-tipped. ventral surface of head broader than dorsal surface and sharply elevated at posterior border, giving a strong antero-dorsal slope so that the erect hypopharynx points almost anteriorly. at sides of posterior border three curved processes arise (fig. 7, pro), and in the midline are two thin foliaceous plates (fig. 7, fp). rostrum conical. mandibles (mnd) slender, with expanded tips, the edges of which are incurved so that, pressed together, they form a sucking-tube. near the bases of mandibles appear the oval maxillulæ (mr). hypopharynx (fig. 7) erect, highly keeled, and plays no part in formation of rostrum. maxillipeds (fig. 5) large; each consists of a foliaceous anterior and a somewhat thicker posterior blade; during life these organs keep up a rapid fanning motion. there is no trace of a palpus. the thorax (pl. 9) is concealed ventrally by an enormous marsupium, built up of five pairs of 53 ! 1 54 thin brood-plates, each strengthened by a median chitinous rod. the posterior or fifth pair (fig. 4, bp.) lie externally to the others and form the major part of marsupium; they are attached along the border of fifth and sixth thoracic segments. the posterior angle of each forms a shallow pouch (fig. 4, po). nearly concealed by these plates, and almost closing the marsupium anteriorly, are the third and fourth pairs of plates, similar to each other in shape (fig. 2, bps) and having an oval ventral and a rounded dorsal portion (fig. 3, dbp, and dbp,). this dorsal part conceals the legs of the parasite. the second pair of plates are oblong and are hidden under the others (fig. 2, bpą). the first pair consists of a rather oval anterior and a triangular posterior blade. the latter (fig. 2, pbp₁) is strengthened along its outer (longest) border and across its base by a chitinous rod. the anterior blades (fig. 2, abp₁), in company with the dorsal portions of the third pair of plates, form the funnel-like anterior end of the marsupium. the details of the thoracic segments are shown fig. 3. the first five are crowded together, their fleshy lateral portions strongly bent toward the head. the lateral parts of first four segments end in a small roughened boss or cushion, on which the roughened third joint of the pereiopod impinges. this cushion (cu) may represent a modified epimeron. internally to this cushion is a flat shield-shaped area which comes in contact with the abdomen of the host (fig. 6, sh). the lateral portions of fifth segment end in a sharp crest, and there is no "shield." the sixth segment is very long; it narrows posteriorly, has a fleshy median keel and only slightly developed lateral portions. the seventh segment is short, fleshy, about as wide as sixth and similar to it except that it is not keeled. ventral surface of thoracic segment fleshy, posterior borders of sixth and seventh modified into complex elevated keels (fig. 8). (in the plate it will be noted that the first serrated keel belongs to segment 6, the second to segment 7, the third (x) to the first abdominal segment.) pereiopoda of the sixth and seventh segments are alike and quite simple in construction (pl. 10, fig. 7); those of the other five segments are modified, the last three joints being twisted to one side (pl. 10, fig. 6). extensor muscles enormously developed. bulletin of the united states fish commission. the abdomen (pl. 9) consists of six fleshy segments, five of which bear a pair of pleopoda. each pleopod has three oval blades arising from a short common base. two of these are subequal and extend in a lateral direction; the third is smaller and points ventrally. this ventral ramus is broadly expanded in the pleopoda of the first abdominal segment, especially on the right side (fig. 4, iply). the first segment has ventral keels, similar to those on the last thoracic segments. between the oval uropoda of the sixth segment (ur) is a minute conical prominence. description of adult male. (plate 10.) three and two-thirds longer than broad. abdomen unsegmented, about a third of entire length. color dull yellowish. around the heart in the abdomen is an orange-colored area and a narrow streak of same color runs forward along the mid-dorsal line. sometimes splashes of black occur on the sides of the head and thorax. length about 3 mm. head (pl. 10, figs. 1 and 2) oval, elevated in center, the margin entire and not inflexed. eyes minute (fig. 1, e). on the under side is a shallow central depression, in front of which arise the short 3-jointed antennulæ (4₁). from the depression the 8-jointed antennæ (42) and the conical rostrum take their origin. first joint of antennae elbowed, the others cylindrical, the distal ones bristle-tipped. sixth, seventh, and eighth joints very small, together scarcely equaling the fifth in length. rostrum prominent, built up dorsally by the labrum (la) and ventrally by the hypopharynx. apex of latter conceals tips of mandibles and median part of labrum. mandibles (mnd) slender with thick bases and sharp chitinous tips. i have not found maxillulæ. between the maxillæ, and extending forward from a transverse ridge, are the 3-jointed (?) maxillipeds (mrp). the thorax consists of seven fleshy segments. it narrows slightly posteriorly and is moderately convex. sides subparallel, somewhat deflexed, epimera not distinct. first segment notched for reception of head. seven pairs of pereiopoda, whose structure and musculature can be understood by reference to the plate (pl. 10, fig. 8). abdomen ovoid or sometimes pear-shaped, shows no signs of segmentation, and has no traces of appendages. description of immature forms. i. the development of the youngest female specimen taken (pl. 10, figs. 9 and 10) was a little more advanced than the stage which giard has called the "phryxoid" stage. it may be termed the metaphryxoid stage. more slender than adult; nearly three times longer than broad. lateral portions of the thorax distinct from and scarcely wider than median part. marsupium present but . r (fig. 4, ong the ch (fig. e third ral and rasite. t pair engthblades nel-like gether, ments iopod a flat teral very ons. not fied ngs a of of 6). ch d a new isopod parasitic on the hermit crab. 55 rudimentary. abdomen as long as thorax. length, 5 mm. head short. front (fr) prominent, transverse, with a straight, entire, uninflexed margin, which conceals the mouth parts, antennules, and the basal joints of antennae. mouth parts much like those of adult, but the hypopharynx is flatter and less erect and the mandibles are stout and have sharp tips (mud). inflexed border of labrum narrow, maxillipeds small and not inflated at base. they consist of an oblong-oval posterior and a smaller rounded anterior blade. no palpus. the rostrum points anteriorly, rather than, as in the adult, dorso-anteriorly. thorax narrow and not quite as long as abdomen. segments subequal, fleshy, with the median and lateral parts of nearly same width (fig. 9). sixth and seventh segments narrower than the rest, distinct from them, and have only rudiments of ventral keels. epimera (?) of thorax distinct (ep), no “cushions" or "shields." pereiopoda like those of adult. brood-plates small and flat; those of third and fourth pairs are without dorsal portion, those of fifth pair lack pouches at posterior angles. the abdomen is like that of adult in form, except that the ventral rami of first pair of pleopoda are not expanded (1ˇply). ii. three cryptoniscid-stage larvæ, probably males, were taken from the female just described. one was in the marsupium; the others were clinging to the appendages (pl. 10, figs. 3, 4, and 5). abdomen proportionally longer than in adult and consisting of 6 segments. pleopoda and uropoda present. epimera distinct. color white with black blotches. length about 0.7 mm. margin of head narrow, inflexed at sides and in front. rostrum prominent. antennules complex in structure and provided with long bristles (fig. 4, .17₁). antennæ 8-jointed and very long and slender. thorax of 7 smooth segments, with distinct strongly deflexed epimera (ep); 7 pairs of pereiopoda similar in form to those of adult, but more delicate and slender. the abdomen consists of 6 segments, is highly convex, the first 5 segments having deflexed epimera. five pairs of flat biramous pleopoda (fig. 5), the blades standing with their faces at right angles to the long axis of body. uropoda (fig. 3, ur) biramous, consisting of a cylindrical protopodite, a cylindrical exopodite, and a shorter cylindrical endopodite. each endopodite and exopodite bears one long bristle and a tuft of short hairs. iii (not figured). several females, of a stage considerably more advanced than the one described above, were taken. in all cases they had a male of about 2 mm. in length, of adult form, clinging to them. length varying from 6 mm. to 7 mm. appearance much like fig. 9 of plate 10, but the whole thorax is wider. lateral parts slightly broader than median portion. the head is adult in length, but the front is still rather wide, very fleshy, and trilobed, the lateral lobes being larger than the median. tip of rostrum and distal portions of antennulæ and antennæ visible dorsally; otherwise the head and mouth parts are adult in structure. thorax narrow and as long as abdomen. dorsal segments fleshy, though less so than in preceding stage, and the first five segments have begun to crowd anteriorly. sixth segment fleshy, not keeled, scarcely longer than fifth or seventh. ventrally the transverse keels on sixth and seventh segments are rudimentary, but more developed than in metaphryxoid stage; marsupium larger, though the brood-plates are still quite rudimentary. broodplates of third and fourth pair have developed the dorsal portion; first pair nearly adult in shape, and the funnel under the head has begun to form. tips of first brood-plates and maxillipeds are visible from dorsal side, much as in adult. the perciopoda are adult in form, and "cushions” and “shields" are present. abdomen like that of the metaphryxoid stage. iv (not figured). one specimen of a female nearly mature was taken. in this the abdomen was nearly as long as the thorax, sixth thoracic segment not yet of adult proportions. length, 10 mm. as mentioned above, the nearest relative of this species is bopyrus (phryxus) resupinatus müller, described in 1870 from a small hermit-crab at desterro, south america. this parasite was attached, in its early larval stage at least, at the roots of sacculina purpurea, or less frequently peltogaster socialis, both of which cirripeds were extremely common on the hermit-crab mentioned, the name of which is not given. this is strikingly unlike the condition in regard to stegophryxus hyptius, for i have never taken the latter in association with any other parasite. i have examined several thousand specimens of pagurus longicarpus from the vicinity of woods hole, but have never found any external parasite other than the bopyrid. the proportions and structure of body of the desterro species are also different from those of hyptius, as far as can be judged from the very imperfect knowledge of the anatomy of resupinatus at our disposal. hence i consider the two forms to be distinct, though the likeness of the woods hole form to müller's species suggested the name hyptius (ÿæt105=resupinatus). as will be noted, the male is similar to the male of athelges (hesse), pleurocrypta (hesse), and phryxus (räthke), and on this basis apparently some authors have grouped the species of these three genera under phryxus. phryxus thus defined will of course admit hyptius and resupinatus, but when we 56 bulletin of the united states fish commission. consider how little is really known about these genera, and how dissimilar the females are, it seems better to retain them as distinct genera until detailed knowledge of the anatomy of the various species furnishes the basis for more accurate classification. sars in his "account of the crustacea of norway" has thus regarded them. hyptius is more closely allied to the members of athelges than to those of either of the other genera, but its female presents characters, especially in the uropoda and pleopoda, which seem to prohibit its reference to that genus as defined at present. as writers on this family prefer to institute tentative or even undefined genera for new species where there is doubt as to their exact position, i suggest that resupinatus and hyptius be placed in the following tentative genus, having the characters given below as its probable limits. stegophryxus, nov. gen. male, abdomen ovoid, without appendages or traces of segmentation. antennulæ 3-jointed, antennæ 8-jointed. female, abdomen distinct from thorax, 6-jointed, with five pairs of triramous pleopoda and a pair of oval uropoda. legs modified for clasping dorsalward. first five segments of thorax crowded anteriorly. nearly symmetrical. 6tɛyeìv=to roof or cover (in allusion to marsupium covering the parasite when on host). bibliography. 1. bate. spence & westwood. history of british sessile-eyed crustacea, vol. 1, pp. 232–250, 1868. 2. giard. sur la phylogénie des bopyriens." compt. rendus, tome 104, 1887. 3. hesse. annales science naturelles, sér. 4, xv, pp. î12–115, 1861; sér. 5, 1, pp. 226–242, 1865. 4. müller. jenaische zeitschrift, vi, pp. 57–60, 1870. 5. sars. account of crustacea of norway, ii, pts. 3-8. 1897. description of plates. plate 9. fig. 1. hermit crab with parasite attached. natural size. 2. anterior portion of adult female, ventral, somewhat diagrammatic. on the right side, all the brood-plates except the first, and on the left the fourth (bp,) and fifth have been cut away. the third (bp3) is reflexed to show the second (bp.).) abp₁, pbp₁: the anterior and posterior blades of first brood plates. pr₁, prę pereiopoda of first and second pairs, respectively, dbp = dorsal portion of the third brood plate. dorsal. x.8. bp funnel formed by first brood-plates. dbps, dbps. dorsal portions of third and fourth plates, respectively. bp the distended fifth brood-plate with the pouch (po) at its posterior angle. prs, pre, and pr; -pereiopoda of fifth, sixth, and seventh seginents, respectively rami of first pleopod. ur uropoda. 3. adult female with marsupium distended with eggs. 4. (the dotted outline shows the position occupied by the male.) adult female with empty marsupium. ventral, x7. bp. bp., bps brood plates of first, third, and fifth pairs, respectively. po = pouch at angle of fifth pair. vpl enlarged ventral ramus of the first pleopod. vpl ventral ramus of second pleopod. 5. left maxilliped of adult female. ventral (outer) surface. x 15. ab anterior blade. pb-posterior blade. x= point of attachment. (two of the processes at the side of the head are shown.) 6. head of the adult female. dorsal. ×17. fr= median part of front. mnet mandibles. la dorsal part of labrum. mrp maxillipeds. dbps dorsal part of third brood plate. ag-antenna. cu "cushion." sh="shield." e eye 7. head of adult female. antero-ventral. free-hand. (the posterior brood plates are removed, and the first pair with the maxillipeds are reflexed to show the ventral surface of the head, etc. the base of the right maxilliped is cut away to show the processes at border of head (pro).) a -antennula. a = ridge which forms the basal joint of the antenna. la inflexed margins of labrum. me maxillula, m maxilla. m.rpmaxilliped. fp leaf-like platen at median posterior border of head. 8. abdomen and posterior part of thorax of the same. ventral. × 8. angle (p6) of the fifth plate have been removed.) a ph₁, pl pleopoda of first and third segments, respectively. plate 10. fig. 1. adult male. dorsal. x 18. ag antenna. e eye. int intestine. ht heart. 2. the same. under surface of head. x33. the right pereiopod has been removed; z marks its position. aantennules. la the inflexed border of labrum." mnd basal portions of the mandibles, the median and apical parts being concealed by the labrum and hypopharynx. meg-maxilla. m.rp = maxillipeds. 3. cryptoniscid from young female. lateral. x 87 (?). 41 antennula. ag antenna. ep epimeron of first thoracic segment. ur uropod. ppleopoda. • (all the brood plates except the pouch-like posterior keel of the first abdominal segment (see page 54). 1. the same. under surface of head. x 165 (?). a₁ = antennula. rrostrum. 5. the same. pleopod of third abdominal segment. 105 (2). ex outer ramus. en inner ramus. c. adult female. musculature (diagrammatic) of one of the first four thoracic perciopoda. lateral. (from specix 30. mens cleared in cedar oil and from reconstructions.) cucushion." sh="* shield." bp base of brood plate (mostly cut away). ex extensors. 7. adult female. musculature (diagrammatic) of perciopod of sixth or seventh segment. to show approach to the simpler male perciopod. lateral. x 30. er extensors. -= fl flexors. er extensors. 8. adult male. musculature of perciopod. lateral. × 60. ep border of segment. 9. larval female (metaphry.roid stage). dorsal. 18. (only the thorax and part of the abdomen are shown; most of the pereiopoda are bent ventrally and are hidden by what may be the epimera (ep).) fr front. ag-anten ne. eeyes. pr perciopod of seventh pair. ppleopod of second pair. 10. the same. ventral. 10. (showing the positions in which the three males (?) were found). position of the one which was in the marsupium. mnd mandibles. 4. antennula. bp, bp4, bp brood plates of first, fourth, and fifth pairs. pr-pereiopod of fifth pair. vpl v ntral ramus of first pleopod. ur uropoda. eems ecies tay" nera, t its e or that low ed, us its bull u. s. f c. 1901. (to face page 56.) bp' dbp 3 dbp 4 pre pr7 pl fr a2 cu i sh e 3 mnd la m. t. thompson del. jak dbp3 mxp 6 la mx mx2 pro fp po ab abpi pb pi prs bps pb bp: bp3 bps. po vpl vplz x 5 a2a, mxp 7 x pl3 pr, prz dbpa bpz bp3 2 plate 9. bp4 8 -po vpl po pl bull u. s f. c. 1901. (to face page 56.) ex bp ep pri 1 plz 6 a 2 e m. t. thompson del. a 2 e int ht la mnd ꭲ mx2 mxp a1 a2 ep cu sh 7 fr 9 2 ur a, ex ai r ex 3 pu ur ep 4 8 a, mnd en bp plate 10. fl bp4 вps prs 5 io -ex vpl, 27 s the gift of t. f. crane, professor of the romance languages and literatures. ^.^..tr.fl k/jih.u^. j, ^.l/rawv5l _ [from the seventh volume of the third series of " memoibs op the manchester literary and philosophical society." session 1879-80.] the literary history parnell's hermit; -.^ '^ by william e. a. axon, m.r.s.l., &c. london: printed by taylor and francis, hed lion eouet, piebt street. i88i. ww \4 cornell university ,lltlj hj) library the original of tliis book is in tlie cornell university library. there are no known copyright restrictions in the united states on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013194877 the literary history os parnells 'hermit; by william e. a. axon, m.r.s.l., &c. ^.^id'^i aiithoitgh parnell's poem of the ' hermit ' can no longer be considered what mitford declared it to be, " one of the most popular in our language/' it still holds a certain and assured place in english literature. but, apart from its interest as a piece of english rerse that has been a favourite with several generations, the ' hermit ' demands attention as one link in a curious chain of the history of fiction. the readers of voltaire are never likely to forget his romance of ' zadig ■/ and one of the most striking passages in that remarkable w»k is the twentieth chapter, in which zadig travels iu company with an angel disguised as an hermit who steals a gold cup from a dispenser of ostenta tious hospitality to give it to a miserly curmudgeon, burns down the house of a man who has received them with true liberality, and drowns the nephew of a widow lady by whom they had been most honourably entertained. these seem ingly unjust and atrocious actions are all justified by the the literary history of paunell's ' hermit.' 145 ■wider view of the supernatural being who has read the book of fate and can foresee their real effect. the transfer of the cup is to reform the pride of the one and to excite the generosity of the other. beneath the ruins of his wrecked mansion the good man finds a greater treasure to recompense his loss. the widow mourns the innocent youth of one who, if he had lived another year, would have been her murderer. thus does the hermit vindicate the dark and mysterious ways of providence to man. some of the critics, vain in the possession of a little learning, remarked that voltaire's apologue was not ori ginal, but copied from parnell. it is quite possible that such was the case ; though freron might have remembered that antoinette bourignon, the mystic, had employed the same fable*. parnell, although he does not make any avowal of his indebtedness to any previous author, would hardly have cared or dared to claim credit for the invention of the story. he found the fable ready to his hand ; he saw that it formed good material for poetry ; and accordingly he made the best use of it that he could in the poem which, more than any thing else, has kept his memory from oblivion. pope says that parnell found the story in howell's ' letters,' a very curious book which was first printed in 1645. pope pronounced pamell's poem very good. " the story," he says, " was written originally in spanish, whence probably howell had translated it into prose and inserted it in one of his ' letters.' addison liked the scheme, and was not disinclined to come into iff. of this supposed spanish original we have no other testimony. * mitford has pointed this out in his ' life of parnell,' p. 61, where he quotes from w. harte these two lines : — " antonia, who the hermit's story fram'd, a tale to prosemen known, by versemen famed." she was born in 1616, and died in 16s0, t goldsmith's ' life of parnell.' 146 mr. william e. a. axon on the james howell found the story in sir percy herbert's ' certaine conceptions or considerations upon the strange change of people's dispositions and actions in these latter times/ a work "directed to his sonne " and printed in the year 1652*. yet howell's 'letters' were printed two years earlier, as beloe has pointed outf. but as this apologue is the sixth letter in the fourth volume, it may have been added in a later issue. it is also used by henry more, the platonist, in his * divine dialogues/ which were published in 1668. the " eremite and the angel " is in the second dialogue, chap, xxiv., and follows very closely that given in the ' gesta ro manorum,' to which we shall presently refer. this coin cidence was pointed out by mr. s. whyte at the close of the last century % more's version is as follows : — " a certain eremite having conceived great jealousies touching the due administration of divine providence in external occurrences in the world, in this anxiety of mind was resolved to leave his cell and travel abroad to see with his own eyes how things went abroad in the world. he had not gone half a day's journey, but a young man over took him and joyn'd company with him and insinuated himself so far into the eremite's affection, that he thought himself very happy in that he had got so agreeable a com panion. wherefore resolving to take their fortunes together, they always lodged in the same house. some few days' travels ha^ overpast before the eremite took notice of any thing remarkable. but at last he observed that his fellow-traveller, with whom he had contracted so intimate a friendship, in an house where they were extra * lowndes, bib. man. (bohn), p. 1049. dimlop's ' histoty of fiction,' 4th edit. (1876) p. ago. t beloe, • ajiecdotes of literature,' vol. vi. {1812) p. 324. he giyes the btory in full from herbert. \ ' miscellanea nova,' by s. and b. a. whyte, (dublin, igoo) p. 145. liteeary history of parnell's ' hermit.' 147 ordinary well treated, stole away a gilt cup from the gen tleman of the house and carried it away with him. the eremite was very much astonished with what he saw done by so fair and agreeable a person as he conceived him to be ; but thought not yet fit to speak to him or seem to take notice of it. and therefore they travel fairly on together as afo retimes, till night forced them to seek lodging. but they light upon such an house as had a very unhospitable owner, who shut them out unto the outward court and exposed them all night to the injury of the open weather, which chanced then to be very rainy ; but the eremite's feuow-traveller unexpectedly compensated his host's ill entertainment with no meaner reward than the gilt cup he had carried away from the former place, thrusting it in at the window when they departed. this the eremite thought was very pretty, and that it was not covetousness but humour that made him take it away from its first owner. the next night where they lodged they were treated again with a deal of kindness and civility : but the eremite observed with horrour that his fellow-traveller for an ill requital strangled privately a young child of their so cour teous host in the cradle. this perplext the mind of the poor eremite very much ; but in sadness and patience forbearing to speak, he travelled another day's journey with the young man, and at evening took up in a place where they were more made of than anywhere hitherto. and because the way they had to travel next morning was not so easie to find, the master of the house commanded one of the servants to go part of the way to direct them ; whom, while they were passing over a stone bridge, the eremite's fellow-traveller caught suddenly betwixt the legs and pitched him headlong from off the bridge into the river and drowned him. here the eremite could have no longer patience, but flew bitterly upon his fellow-traveller 148 mr. william e. a. axon on the for those barbarous actions^ and renounced all friendship with hinij and would travel with him no longer nor keep him company. whereupon the young man smiling at the honest zeal of the eremite, and putting off his mortal disguise, appeared as he was, in the form and lustre of an angel of god, and told him he was sent to ease his mind of the great anxiety it was encumbered with touching the divine providence. 'in which,^ said he, 'nothing can occur more perplexing and paradoxical than what you have been offended at since we two travelled together. but yet i will demonstrate to you,^ said he, ' that all that i have done is very just and right. for, as for that first man from whom i took the gilded cup, it was a real compen sation indeed of his hospitality ; that cup being so forcible an occasion of the good man's distempering himself and of hazarding his health and life, which would be a great loss to his poor neighbours, he being of so good and charitable a nature. but i put it into the window of that harsh and unhospitable man that used us so ill, not as a booty to him, but as a plague and a scourge to him, and for an ease to his oppressed neighbours, that he may fall into intemper ance, disease, and death itself. for i knew very well that there was that enchantment in this cup, that they that had it would be thus bewitched with it. as for that civil person whose child i strangled in the cradle, it was in great mercy to him and no real hurt to the child, who is now with god. but if that child had lived, whereas this gen tleman had been piously, charitably, and devotedly given, his mind, i saw, would have unavoidably sunk into the love of the world, out of love to his child, he having had none before, and doting so hugely on it ; and therefore i took away this momentary life from the body of the child, that the soul of the father might live for ever. and for this last act, which you so much abhor, it was the most literary history op parnbll's ' hermit.' 149 faithful piece of gratitude i could do to one that had used us so humanely and kindly as that gentleman did. for this man, who, by the appointment of his master, was so officious to us as to show us the way, intended this very night ensuing to let in a company of rogues into his master's house to rob him of all that he had, if not to murder him and his family.' and having said thus, he vanished. but the poor eremite, transported with joy and amazement, lift up his hands and eyes to heaven and gave glory to god who had thus unexpectedly delivered him from any farther anxiety touching the ways of providence, and thus returned with cheerfulness to his forsaken cell and spent the residue of his days there in piety and peace." indeed, in the seventeenth century it had become a commonplace with which theologians might " point a moral or adorn a tale." thus thomas white, a puritan divine, writing in 1658, says : — " there is a famous story of providence in bradwardine to this purpose : — a certain hermit that was much tempted and was much unsatisfied concerning the providence of god, resolved to journey from place to place till he met with some that could satisfie him. an angel in the shape of a man joyned himself with him as he was journey ing, telling him that he was sent from god to satisfie him in his doubts of providence. the first night they lodged at the house of a very holy man, and spent their time in discourses of heaven and praises of god, and were enter tained with a great deal of freedom and joy. in the morning when they departed the angel took with him a great cup of gold. the next night they came to the house of another holy man who made them very welcome and exceedingly rejoyced in their society and discourse j the angel notwithstanding, at his departure, kill'd an infant in the cradle, which was his only son, being many years 150 mr. william e. a. axon on the before childless, and therefore was a very fond father of this child. the third night they came to another house where they had like free entertainment as before. the master of the family had a steward whom he highly prized, and told them how happy he accounted himself in having such a faithful servant. next morning he sent this his steward with them part of their way to direct them therein : as they were going over a bridge the angel flung the steward into the river and drowned him. the last night they came to a very wicked man's house, where they had very untoward entertainment ; yet the angel next morniag gave him the cup of gold. all this being done, the angel asked the hermit whether he understood those things. he answered his doubts of providence were increased, not resolved ; for he could not understand why he should deal so hardly with those holy men who received them with so much love and joy, and yet give such a gift to that wicked man who used them so unworthily. the angel said, ' i will now expound these things unto you. the first house where we came the master of it was a holy man, yet drinking in that cup every morning, it beiag too large, it did somewhat unfit him for holy duties, though not so much that others or himself did perceive it ; so i took it away, since it is better for him to loose the cup of gold than his temperance. the master of the family where we lay the second night was a man given much to prayer and meditation, and spent much time in holy duties, and was very liberal to the poor, all the while he was childless ; but as soon as he had a son he grew so fond of it, spent so much time in playing with it that he exceedingly neglected his former holy exercise and gave but little to the poor, thinking he could never lay up enough for his childe ; therefore i have taken the infant to heaven and left him to serve god better upon earth. the steward whom i did drown had literary history of parnell^s ' hermit.' 151 plotted to kill his master the night following. and as for that wicked man to whom i gave the cup of gold, he was to have nothing in the other worldj i gave him something in this whichj notwithstanding, will prove a snare to him, for he will be more intemperate; and let him which is filthy be more filthy .•' the truth of this story i affirm not ; but the moral is very good ; for it shows that god is an indulgent father to the saints when he most afflicts them, and that when he sets the wicked on high ' he sets them also in slippery places, and their prosperity is their ruine.' — prov. i. 32"* the caution of the worthy divine is to be commended in declining to affirm the literal truth of this narrative. white, it will be noticed, gives bradwardine as the au thority for this apologue. this may be conjectured to be the author who was styled the doctor profundus and whose ' causa dei contra pelagium ' was a work of weight and fame in the fourteenth century f. he was an archbishop of canterbury, who was born in 1 290 or earlier, and died in 1349, of the plague. we can thus trace the legend in england to the early part of the fourteenth century. in g-ermany it was used by luther and by job. herolt j, whose ' sermones de tempore ' were printed at nuremberg in 1496. in the thirteenth century it is found in several forms. from m. gaston paris § we learn that it is in the sermons of jacques de vitri, who died in 1240, and in the ' scala * white's (th.) 'treatise of the power of godliness,' 1658, pp. 376-379. t hook's ' lives of the archbishops of canterbury,' vol. ir. (1865) p. 80. i mitford's ' life of parnell,' prefixed to the aldine edition of that poet. § "l'ange et termite, 6tude sur une l^gende religieuse, par gaston paris, lue dans la stance publique annuelle de i'acadsmie des inscriptions, iz not. i%%o," jov/rnal officiel, 16 nov. 1880. the present paper was in progress before the appearance of the " 6tude " of m. paris, all special in debtedness to his work has been carefully acknowledged. 152 mr. william e. a. axon on the coeli ' of jean le jeune, who wrote about th6 commence ment of tlie fourteenth century. "this beautiful apologue/' observes mr. thomas wright, " is of frequent occurrence in old mss., and differs considerably in different copies." he has printed a latin version from theharleianmss. of the thirteenth or fourteenth century*. the great collec tion of stories known as the ' gesta romanorum,' there is reason to suppose, was compiled in england about the close of the thirteenth century for the use of preachers. it has been a storehouse for the poets and dramatists also ; but its original intention was to provide the ecclesiastics with something wherewith to enliven their dry theological dis courses. the story of the hermit and the angel is the eightieth of this collection ; and an abstract of it is given by warton f the story is found in a french conte, published in 1823, by meon, who fbund it added to some of the manuscripts of the ' vie des p^res,' to which it did not originally belong. in this poem we have the incidents of a cup stolen from one host and given to another, of the servant drowned, of the infant strangled, and of an abbey burned down that the monks might once more be poor and pious. by a process of natural selection voltaire has omitted one of the murders, and parnell has left out the conflagration. from this it may be doubted whether the witty french man was indebted to the english poet or to one of the earlier texts. this has also been commented upon by dunlopj. the story is also in some of the recensions of the 'vitae patrum.' one of these, in the ' bibliotheque mazarine," ♦ ' latin stories,' edited by t. wright, 1842, pp. 10 and 247. t warton, hist, of english poetry, edited by hazlitt (i 87 1), tol i. p. 256. \ dunlop, ' history of fiction,' 4th edit. 1876, p. 289. wright's ' latin stories,' 1842, p. 10 1. literary history of parnell's ' hermit.' 153 which has been published by m. e. du meril, is regarded by m. gaston paris as the origin of the mediaeval variants. in this manuscript of the fourteenth century the actors in the story are all hermits or ecclesiastics^ but the incidents, with the exception of the fire, are the same. goldsmith, writing of parnell's ' hermitj' says that he had been told that the fable was an arabian invention. in effect it is in the koran, where moses is said to have met a nameless prophet whom the commentators style al khedr :— " and moses said unto him, ' shall i follow thee that thou mayest teach me part of that which thou hast been taught for a direction unto me?' he answered, 'verily thou canst not bear with me : for how canst thou patiently suffer those things the knowledge whereof thou dost not comprehend ?•" moses replied, ' thou shalt find me patient if god please, neither will i be disobedient unto thee in any thing.' he said, ' if thou follow me, therefore, ask me not concerning any thing until i shall declare the meaning thereof unto thee.' so they both went on by the sea-shore, until they went up into a ship ; and he made a hole therein. and moses said unto him, ' hast thou made a hole therein that thou mightest drown those who are on board ? now hast thou done a strange thing.' he answered, ' did i not tell thee thou couldest not bear with me ?' moses said, ' rebuke me not, because i did forget, and impose not on me a difficulty in what i commanded.' wherefore they left the ship and proceeded until they met with a youth ; and he slew him. moses said, ' hast thou slain an innocent person without his having killed another ? now hast thou committed an unjust action.' he answered, ' did i not tell thee that thou couldest not bear with me ? ' moses said, ' if i ask thee concerning any thing hereafter. 154 mr. william e. a. axon on the suffer me not to accompany thee. now hast thou received an excuse from me.' they went forwards^ therefore, until they came to the inhabitants of a certain city : and they asked food of the inhabitants thereof; but they refused to receive them. and tliey found therein a wall which was ready to fall down ; and he set it upright. whereupon moses said unto him, ' if thou wouldest, thou mightest have received a reward for it.' he answered, ' this shall be a separation between me and thee : but i will first declare unto thee the signification of that which thou couldest not bear with patience. the vessel belonged to certain poor men who did their business in the sea ; and i was minded to render it unserviceable because there was a king behind them who took every sound ship by force. as to the youth, his parents were true believers, and we feared lest he, being an unbeliever, should obhge them to suffer his perverseness and ingratitude : wherefore we desired that their lord might give them a more righteous child in exchange for him, and one more afiectionate towards them. and the wall belonged to two orphan youths in the city, and in it was a treasure hidden which belonged to them ; and their father was a righteous man : and thy lord was pleased that they should attain their full age, and take forth their treasure, through the mercy of thy lord. and i did not what thou hast seen of my own will, but by god's direction. this is the inter pretation of that which thou couldest not bear with patience ' " *. this is the oldest literary form of parnell's ' hermit.' it may well be supposed that the arabian prophet borrowed the beautiful legend, as he did many other things, from a jewish source. the talmud may, in its present form, be * koran, sale's translation, chap, xviii. dunlop's ' history of fiction,' p. 29z. literary history op parnell's ' hermit.' 155 later than the koran ; but it emhodies the traditions of a race who have always clung to the sacred memories of their literature and their religion. the form in which we find it in this vast encyclopedia of hebrew learning is very different from those already given : — " rabbi jochanan, the son of levi, fasted and prayed to the lord that he might be permitted to gaze on the angel elijahj he who had ascended alive to heaven. god granted his prayer ; and in the semblance of a man elijah appeared before him. " ' let me journey with thee in thy travels through the world/ prayed the rabbi to elijah ; ' let me observe thy doings, and gain in wisdom and understanding.^ " ' nay/ answered elijah ; ' my actions thou couldst not understand ; my doings would trouble thee, being beyond thy comprehension.'' " but still the rabbi entreated. ' i will neither trouble nor question thee/ he said ; ' only let me accompany thee on thy way.' " ' come then/ said elijah ; ' but let thy tongue be mute. with thy first question, thy first expression of astonishment, we must part company.' " so the two journeyed through the world together. they approached the house of a poor man whose only treasure and means of support was a cow. as they came near, the man and his wife hastened to meet them, begged them to enter their cot and eat and drink of the best they could afford, and to pass the night under their roof. this they did, receiving every attention from their poor but hospitable host and hostess. in the morning elijah rose up early and prayed to god, and when he had finished his prayer, behold the cow belonging to the poor people dropped dead. "then the travellers continued on their journey. 156 mr. william e. a. axon on the "much was rabbi jochanan perplexed. 'not only did we neglect to pay them for their hospitality and generous services^ but his cow we have killed ; ' and he said to elijah, ' why didst thou kill the cow of this good man who ' " ' peace !' interrupted elijah ; ' hear, see, and be silent ! if i answer thy questions we must part.' and they con tinued on their way together. " towards evening they arrived at a large and imposing mansion, the residence of a haughty and wealthy man. they were coldly received ; a piece of bread and a glass of water were placed before them, but the master of the house did not welcome or speak to them, and they remained there during the night unnoticed. in the morning elijah re marked that a wall of the house required repairing, and sending for a carpenter, he himself paid the money for the repair as a return, he said, for the hospitality they had received. " again was rabbi jochanan filled with wonder ; but he said naught, and they proceeded on their journey. " as the shades of night were falling, they entered a city which contained a large and imposing synagogue. as it was the time of the evening service, they entered and were much pleased with the rich adornments, the velvet cushions, and gilded curves of the interior. after the completion of the service, elijah arose and called out aloud, ' who is here willing to feed and lodge two poor men this night ? ' none answered, and no respect was shown to the travelling stranger. in the morning, however, elijah reentered the synagogue, and, shaking its members by the hands, he said, 'i hope that you may all become presidents.' "next evening the two entered another city, when the shamas (sexton) of the synagogue came to meet them, and notifying the members of his congregation of literary history op parnell's ' hermit.' 157 the coming of two strangers, the best hotel of the place was opened to them, and all vied in showing them attention and honour. " in the morning, on parting with them, elijah said, ' may the lord appoint over you but one president.' " jochanan could resist his curiosity no longer. ' tell me,' said he to elijah, ' tell me the meaning of all these actions which i have witnessed. to those who have treated us coldly thou hast uttered good wishes ; to those who have been gracious to us thou hast made no suitable return. even though we must part, i pray thee explain to me the meaning of thy acts.' " ' listen,' said elijah, ' and learn to trust in god, even though thou canst not understand his ways. we first entered the house of the poor man who treated us kindly. know that it had been decreed that on that very day his wife should die. i prayed unto the lord that the cow might prove a redemption for her ; god granted my prayers, and the woman was preserved unto her husband. the rich man whom next we called up, treated us coldly, and i repaired his wall. i repaired it without a new founda tion, without digging to the old one. had he repaired it himself, he would have dug and thus discovered a treasure which lies there buried, but which is now for ever lost to him. to the members of the synagogue who were inhos pitable, i said, ' may you all be presidents,' and where many rule there can be no peace j but to the others i said, ' may you have but one president ; ' with one leader no misunderstanding may arise. now, if thou seest the wicked prospering, be not envious ; if thou seest the righteous in poverty and trouble, be not provoked or doubtful of god's justice. the lord is righteous. his judgments all are true ; his eyes note all mankind, and none can say, ' what dost thou ?' " 158 mb. william e. a. axon on the " with these words elijah disappeared, and jochanan was left alone "*. there is another story illustrating the same moral. " moses sees a warrior come to a fountain, by whose side he leaves a sack of gold, which was taken away by a shepherd. an old man, bending beneath a heavy burden, then came to the fountain, when the horseman returned and accused him of having purloined the sack of gold. in spite of his protestations of innocence the warrior drew his sword and slew the old man. whilst moses is filled with horror at the sight, the voice of god explains to him that the old man had murdered the father of the warrior, that the money really belonged to the shepherd, although he was unaware of it, and that the warrior lost because he had acquired it without right and used it only for evil purposes " f this has also found its way into the ' gesta romanorum ' and similar collections. we have thus traced pamelas ' hermit ' as far back as is at present possible. whether it was the invention of a jewish poet or borrowed by a hebrew moralist from some still earlier source it is impossible to say. that the prophet of islam learned it from some of the arabian jews is very probable ; but the manner in which it entered europe and the mode in which it became in corporated with the ecclesiastical literature of the middle ages are not known ; though m. paris has conjectured that it may have come frosi egypt, where adherents of the three faiths of judaism, islam, and christianity existed side by side. in corroboration of this, the simplest form * 'the talmud,' by h. polano, (london, n. d.) p. 313. baring-glould's ' legends of old-testameut characters,' vol, ii. (1871) p. 113. t baring-gould's ' legends of old-testament characters,' vol. ii.(i87i) p. 113. literary history of parnell^s ' hermit.' 159 of the european story has for its characters the hermits of the thebaid. the apologue commended itself not only to a croiivd of churchmen and divines, but to a poet like parnell, a fanatic like antoinette bourignon, and a doubter like voltaire. sometimes it assumes the form of a very practical homily upon everyday life, and at others is bounded by the narrow limits of the artificial virtues of ecclesiasticism ; but in each case the motive is the same. all versions of the legend seek to vindicate the moral order of the universe by an explanation of the seeming contradiction of parti cular instances. the problems of life are essentially the same in all ages. " i have been young,'' says the psalmist, " and now am old ; yet have i not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread." there are many, however, both in ancient and modern days, who have not been so fortunate, and who have looked out upon a world where the righteous, to all earthly appearance, were forsaken. they have seen the tyrant triumphant whilst none dared to comfort the slave. they have seen vice seated on the throne and virtue dying in the dungeon. they have seen sorrow and evil in a thousand forms. the existence of evil is alike the moral and physical riddle of the universe. notwithstanding all man's efforts the sphinx has not relaxed the rigidity of her features, which still proclaim her the keeper of the unsolved mystery. this beautiful hebrew apologue is one of the many eflforts to reconcile the conception of an all good and all-wise ruler of the universe with the existence of wrong clothed in purple and fine bnen, and of right that eats the bread of sorrow and drinks the water of affliction. there is a subtler problem which the story leaves un 1 60 on the literary history of parnell's ' hermit.' touched. it deals only with the surface of things. beautiful as it is, it embodies the judgment of a primitive people who see only the concrete aspects of life. with them the blessings of god take visible shape in worldly possessions, in flocks and herds, in gold and silver, in men servants and maidservants. the real touchstone, how ever, is internal, and not external. " he that has light within his own clear breast may sit i' the centre and enjoy bright day ; bat he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts benighted walks under the mid-day sun ; himself is his own dungeon. into this sphere of thought the old fabulist enters not. he is content to give dramatic force to that which pope has expressed in didactic form : — " all nature is but art unknown to thee ; all chance, direction which thou canst not see ; all discord, harmony not understood ; all partial eril, universal good ; and spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, one truth is clear, whatever is is right. cornell university library pr 3616.h5a97 the literary history of paj"? '1'® 'klj,' 3 1924 013 194 877 46 celt 1380 & c coco cocc ccc cocc co te con c &e coco cooc coo cc coca ra harvard college library academiae christo vardianae fo ed lesie in wis onon from the fund of charles minot class of 1828 j 3. w live lot cover cult 1380 5 king and hermit a colloquy between king guaire of aidne and his brother marban being an irish poem of the tenth century edited and translated by kuno meyer london david nutt, 57-59 long acre 1901 king and hermit a colloquy between king guaire of aidne and his brother marban being an irish poem of the tenth century edited and translated by kuno meyer london david nutt, 57-59 long acre 1901 celt 1380.5 harvard college dec 6 1901 ibrary minot fund. το damer harrisson john macdonald walter raleigh john sampson liverpool march 10, 1901. kamlé pralále, when, a few years ago, we five, like marban the hermit, exchanging for awhile the flockbed of civilisation for the primitive couch of the earth, went agypsying into wales, and every evening pitched our tent now by a murmuring brook, now upon the shingle of the sea, then again among the heather on a mountain-side, or in some woodland glade, where the hundred-throated chorus of birds awoke us at dawn, and the hooting owl startled us out of our slumbers at night, some of you, town-born and bred like myself, felt for the first time that exquisite charm of an intimate intercourse with nature which has found such beautiful expression in these verses of a nameless irish poet. in memory of those happy times i dedicate this little book to you. tumaro pral shom k. m. 1* preface. the following poem is here edited and translated for the first time from the only manuscript copy known to me. this is to be found on fo. 42b of harleian 5280, a wellknown and often described vellum of the british museum, compiled by various scribes, but mainly by gilla riabhach o'clery, early in the 16th century. the original from which this copy is derived may, on linguistic grounds, be safely assigned to the 10th century.¹) the circumstance that this singularly beautiful poem should have reached us in a single and late copy only is ¹) that our poem was composed in the 10th century, and probably in the early part of that century, is proved by the vitality of the neuter in bend 'peak, gable' (gaul. bennum in canto-bennum), dat. dia bend (10), lenn 'cloak' (ib.), and mag 'plain' in úas maig móethlach (28); also by the use as disyllables of the following words which in the poetry of the 11th century count as monosyllables: cúäch 'cup' (6. 22; in 5 for mo chúach-sa read mo chúach). cf. saltair na rann, 11. 6388 and 6390. cuäid in docúäid (7), which according to zupitza's ingenious analysis (zeitschrift iii, p. 276) stands for do-cú-faith (perf. of do-fethim). cf. salt. 1. 3297, 4776; monosyllabic in 1. 3711, 4745. dúäid 'david' (7); cf. dúid, sr. 5680. 5718 &c. zcp. iii, 18, 14. 20, 31. 21, 2 &c. dochoid, 7754. 5713 &c. dauid 5712. róë ‘field' (11), monosyllabic in ll. 144 a 6. , scíäch, gen. of scé 'hawthorn' (21), as in ll. 156 b 32: clíath draigin is dergscíäch. sien 'strain' (10). see festschrift für stokes, p. 6. súairc 'pleasant' (23). cf. dúäirc, salt. 5752. monosyllabic in salt. 5779. 5975. 6 ― worthy of consideration. while irish manuscripts of all times abound with copies of the compositions of school and courtpoets, the anonymous poetry of ireland is but scantily represented in them. it is no doubt this fact among others which has prompted professor atkinson's remarks in the introduction to the yellow book of lecan on the paucity and monotony of irish literature when compared with the other vernacular literatures of the middle ages. but this charge, which has caused much heart burning among the lovers of irish literature, falls to the ground when two facts are taken into account the great age of the literature of ireland, and our imperfect acquaintance with it. it is not permissible to institute a comparison, as professor atkinson has done, between old -irish literature and that of france, england or germany in the twelfth and following centuries, while it may legitimately be compared with the national and vernacular literature of those countries before 1100 a. d. it will then be found that the literature of france and germany during that period has next to nothing to place by its side, while even the rich literature of anglo-saxon england is quite thrown into the shade when compared either in wealth or variety with that of early ireland. as is wellknown, it was the antinational spirit of continental christianity that led to the neglect of the vernacular literature, while it was probably irish influence and irish example that taught the anglian monk to value his national literature, to write it down and to preserve it. ―――――――― when speaking of our imperfect acquaintance with oldirish literature i refer not only to the great mass of material that has been irretrievably lost whole legendary cycles revealed by casual references only, tales of which nothing but the title, poems of which the initial lines only have been preserved ¹) but also to what is still extant but unexplored ¹) the metrical treatise of the ninth or tenth century edited by thurneysen in the third volume of irische texte contains in illustration 7 in the manuscripts deposited in the british museum and the dublin libraries, to mention only the chief storehouses of irish literature. it is true, of irish prose a good deal has been published and translated, so that any one can form an idea of its merits; but for irish poetry next to nothing has hitherto been done. the metrical festologies, the topographical, historical, chronological, geographical, grammatical, lexicographical compositions, which mainly for philological reasons have received the first attention of editors, do not represent irish poetry. they were written for purposes of instruction or as a memoria technica by learned professors at the monastic schools. indeed, the true appreciation of the merits of irish poetry has often been obscured by the fact that metrical productions of this class have been taken as the offspring of the irish muse. but oengus the culdee, flann of monasterboice, mac coisse and gorman are not the great poets of ireland. their works loom large indeed in our manuscripts, but they were copied so busily for the sake of the information which they conveyed in a convenient form. meanwhile the genuine poetry of ireland, which is to be found in such anonymous poems as the one here published, was relegated to the margins and blank spaces of vellum manuscripts, or, written on paper, has the more easily disappeared. what is left of such poetry is rarely to be met with in the great and celebrated tomes; it has to be searched for. it may be safely predicted that these anonymous and neglected poems, once properly collected, edited and translated will strongly appeal to all lovers of poetry. there is in them such delicate art, so subtle a charm, so true and deep a note, that, with the exception of the master-pieces of welsh poetry, i know nothing to place by their side. the poem here published affords a good example of that marvellous descriptive art of irish poets, which they share with the welsh of the various metres no less than 340 quotations from poems, very few of which have, so far as i know, been preserved in their entirety. 8 bards. as the old woman of beare¹) draws her imagery from the flood-tide and ebb-tide of the wide atlantic, so our poet, like dafydd ap gwilym, turns to the open beauty and hidden charms of woodland scenery. these he calls up before us like an impressionist by light and skilful touches in a quick succession of images and pictures. an element of subtle humour also enters, of ever varying fancy, or a pathetic turn. such poems are the despair of the translator. it is fortunate that the single manuscript copy of our poem is carefully and accurately written. the lacunae in my translation are due, not to a corrupt text, but to our imperfect knowledge of the older language. with regard to the personages mentioned in the poem, the following facts are known about them. king guaire mac colmain of aidne 2) is a wellknown historical character. he was a powerful king of connaught in the seventh century,³) and early became the centre of a cycle of stories several of which have came down to us. 4) the life of st. cellach 5) represents him as a treacherous and revengeful ruler; but his unbounded generosity was proverbial. in a hitherto inedited poem ascribed to colum cille, which i print in appendix i, his conversion to the practice of liberality is said to have been brought about by that saint, though this of course involves an anachronism. 1) the song of the old woman of beare, edited and translated in otia merseiana vol. i, pp. 119–128 (wohlleben, london, 1899). 2) the ancient name of a district coextensive, according to o'donovan, with the diocese of kilmacduagh in the county of galway. 3) the annals record his death under the year 662 a.d. the book of leinster in a list of the kings of connaught (p. 41a) gives the duration of his reign as twelve years. he seems to have succeeded his brother laidgnen mac colmain in 650 (see the four masters sub anno). 4) such as the battle of carn conaill (ed. stokes, zeitschrift für celt. phil. iii, pp. 203-219); the story of guaire and oennu (silva gad. ii, p. 437); the story of mac teline (yellow book of lecan p. 133b and harl. 5280, fo. 25 a). 5) see silva gad. ii, pp. 50-69. 9 guaire's half-brother marbán 'turned his back upon the world', as the irish phrase is, and led the life of a recluse, combining with it, according to the story called imthecht na tromdáime,') the herding of his brother's swine, whence perhaps the repeated mention of those animals in our poem, as well as the introduction of the crain or sow, evidently marbán's household pet, in the fifth and sixth stanzas. glenn in scáil is said to have been his favourite abode. 2) of the fosterbrothers mentioned in the fourth stanza ailirán is the celebrated saint with the cognomen 'of the wisdom' (ind ecnai), who died a. d. 664 of the yellow plague called buide conaill. laidgén or laidgnén³) the leper (lobor or clam), the son of báithbandach, was an ecclesiastic at clonfert-mulloe or kyle in the queen's county, where he died in 661. oengus the culdee calls him 'the explainer of christ's mysteries', and perhaps he was the 'ladkenus hibernensis' who, according to denis, made an abstract from the moralia of gregory the great. of ornait nothing is known; but a quatrain lamenting the death of laidgnén is ascribed to her in cormac's glossary. (see appendix ii.) which of the several lugna mentioned by gorman and in the notes to the félire of oengus is the one appearing in our poem i have no means to determine; nor do i know anything about cluithnechán. ¹) marbhán mucaidhe prímfáidh nimhe 7 talmhan, agus fa mac máthar do ghuairi hé 7 is é ba mucaidh do ghuairi. agus is airi 'na mhucaidh ar comadh usaide dó creidiumh 7 crábhadh do dhénamh bheith 'na mhucaidh a bhfeadhaibh 7 a bhfásaighibh, oss. soc. v, p. 46. 2) see oss. soc. v, pp. 48 and 88. 3) also spelt laidcenn. see stokes, irish glosses, p. 133. a k. m. [gúaire.] 1. a marudin, a dīthriubaig, cid na cotla for colcaid? pa menci doid fess amoig, cend¹) doroig for lár ochtgaigh. [marbán.] 2. nicon cotluim for colcaid ge bethear com imslanud: ataid sochaidi 2) amoig atraicc hocim imrädud. 3. ni marutt ar comolta, scarad friu nīnlūaidi: acht mad ōinsessior namā nī ma[i]r nech dīouh, a guaire! 4. ornait ocus lugna län, laidgen ocus ailiran, ată cechturde fri dan, marbān ocus cluit[h]nechan. 5. rochluinis mo tiomna-sa frie huair techta don³) domun: mo qhuach-sa din 4) dīt[h]rebach, mo chrain do laidgen lobhor. ¹) cedn ms. 2) added on upper margin. 3) leg. din. 4) leg. mo chúach don. guaire. 1. o marban, o hermit, why dost not thou sleep upon a quilt? more often thou sleepest abroad, thy head stretched upon a pitch-pine floor. marban. 2. i do not sleep upon a quilt though it were for my health's sake:¹) there are many abroad who come to share my meditations. 2) 3. our fosterbrothers live no more, parting from them does not move us: save a single six only not one of them remains, o guaire! 4. ornait and lugna the perfect, laidgen and ailiran, both of them are at their work,³) marban and cluithnechan. 5. thou hast already heard my bequest at the hour of leaving the world:4) this cup of mine to the hermit, my household pet to laidgen the leper. " 1) literally, though one were at making me healthy'. 2) literally, 'who rise at my meditating'. ³) cf. messe ocus pangur bán, cechtar náthar fria saindán, ir. texte p. 136. 4) cf. in úair techta don talmain, cath finntr. p. 89. 2* 12 6. mo scian is mo spedudhud, ¹) ma trebad i tuoim aidhc[h]i, mo lourc, mo chrain, mo cuach, mo tīag lethoir, mo cairchi. [gúaire.] 7. a maruāin, a dīthriubaig, 2) cid dia tiomna docuaid, di don for cerda a rath, acht a brath do mac duaid. [marbán.] 8. atā ūarboith dam hi coild nísfitir³) acht mo fiadai: uinnius disiu, coll anall, bili ratha nosnïoadai. 9. a da ersainn fraich fri fulong, ocus fordorus fethe: feruid in coill imma cress a mes for muca méthe.¹) 10. mett mo boithi becc nat beg, ba ili sett sognath: canuid sïen bind die bend ben al-lenn co lon-dath. 11. leangoid doim droma rolach assa 5) sruth rōe-glan: foderc essib) roigne rūadh, mucraimi muad, maonmag. 1) leg. spetugud? 2) ditr-uip ms. 3) níisfitir ms. 4) méche ms. 5) leg. issa. 6) leg. essi, viz. from the hut. 13 ――――― 6. my knife and my spetugud,') my dwelling in tuaim aidchi, my cudgel, my pet, my cup, my leathern satchel, my musical instrument. guaire. 7. o marban, o hermit, though the hour has come to make thy will, to the craftsman his reward, 2) but his betrayal to david's son. marban. 8. i have a shieling in the wood, none knows it save my god: an ashtree on the hither side, a hazelbush beyond, a huge old tree³) encompasses it. 9. two heath-clad doorposts for support, and a lintel of honeysuckle: the forest around its narrowness sheds its mast upon fat swine. 10. the size of my shieling tiny, not too tiny, many are its familiar paths: from its gable a sweet strain sings my lady in her cloak of the ousel's hue. 11. the stags of oakridge leap into the river of clear banks: thence red roigne¹) can be seen, glorious mucraime and maenmag. 5) 1) this is, to me, a dлağ λɛyóμevov. 2) i can make nothing of di. see the glossary. 3) literally 'an old tree of a rath', such a tree as grows on a rath. cf. in less mbilech, imr. brain, p. 56, 17. aisl. m. p. 69, 15. ) a plain in the present barony of kells, co. kilkenny. cf. gabsat rám ós raigni rúad, ll. 201 b 34. tulchad ráigne rúaid, ib. 47 a 24. 5) wellknown plains in connaught. ―――― 14 12. mennután dĩamuir desruid die mbi sealb setrōis: die dexin ni raga liom, rufinnfet a cetmōuis. 13. mong celiubair noasta cel: cain in magan, darsin sin. 14. aboll ubull, măr a rath, mbruignech¹) mbras: barr dess dornach crōebach nglas. 15. glere firtiprat uais do dig: bruindit [b]ioulair, fidhuid ³) fir. iubair éou-glais mäurglas darach muca allta, bruicnech bruic. ina erc[h]oill aluind sin! collan cnōbeac2) 16. foilgid impe mucai centa, cadlaid, oirc, ¹) leg. mbruidnech. 2) croibgech nó cnobeac ms. 3) caora nó fidhvid ms. *) leg. airgelti. es ouisci cōera iobair, oiss airccellti,') 17. buidnech sithech, sluag tromm tīrech, dal dom tigh: tecoid cremt[h]ainn, 15 12. hidden, lowly little abode, which has possession of ..., to behold it will not be granted me, yet i shall be able to find its . 1) 13. a hiding mane of a green-barked yew-tree which supports the sky: 14. a tree of apples beautiful spot! the large green of an oak fronting the storm. .. great its bounty! like a hostel, 2) vast: a pretty bush, thick as a fist, of tiny hazelnuts, branching, green. 15. a choice pure spring and princely water to drink: there spring watercresses, yew-berries, ivy-bushes of a man's thickness. 16. around it tame swine lie down, goats, pigs, wild swine, grazing deer, a badger's brood. 17. a peaceful troop, a heavy host of denizens of the soil, atrysting at my house: to meet them foxes come, how delightful! 1) i am unable to translate sétróis and cétmóis. 2) cf. uhland's poem einkehr, beginning: 'bei einem wirte wundermild, da war ich jüngst zu gaste, ein goldner apfel war sein schild an einem langen aste.' 16 18. caine flathu tecoid mo teg, tarccud tric: uisci iodun, barra[i]n bit[h]chai, brata[i]n, pric. 19. barran cōert[h]ainn, droigin duind, tuari, dercna, lecna loim. cōera loma, 20. līne huoga, mil, mes melle, dia dotrōidh: ubla mildsi, mōnuinn dercui, dercna frōich. 21. couirm co luouhair, somblas snōa, sioluch sciach, airni, cnóa. 22. cuach co medh condal ndaith, durchāin donna, mertain maith. curar, orcain, glaine glas. airne dubui, 23. mad fri samrad somblas mblas, logg di subuip, dercu iuech, collain, condla, dristin mongu, suairc snōbrat foltain glaise, 24. ceōla fer mbrundederg forglan, forom ndil, dordan smölcha, cōei gnäthc[h]ai uós mo tigh. 17 18. fairest princes come to my house, a ready gathering! pure water, perennial bushes, salmon, trout.¹) 19. a bush of rowan, black sloes, dusky blackthorns, plenty of food, acorns, pure berries, bare flags. 20. a clutch of eggs, honey, delicious mast, god has sent it: sweet apples, red whortle-berries, berries of the heath. 21. ale with herbs, a dish of strawberries, of good taste and colour, haws, berries of the yew, sloes, nuts. 22. a cup with mead of hazelnut, blue-bells, quick-growing rushes, dun oaklets, manes of briar, goodly sweet tangle. 23. when pleasant summertime spreads its coloured mantle, sweet-tasting fragrance! pignuts, wild marjoram, green leeks, verdant pureness! 24. the music of the bright redbreasted men, a lovely movement! the strain of the thrush, familiar cuckoos above my house. ¹) or, perhaps, 'speckled salmon'. cf. écne brecc, imr. br. 54. ich bricc, ib. 38. 18 25. tellinn, ciárainn, certan cruinde, crīnān se[i]mh: gigraind, cadhoin, gair re samuin, se[i]nm gairuh ceir. 26. caincinn gestlach, drui donn descclach don craib cuild, snaic-ar-daraigh, cochvill älainn, aidbli druing.') 27. tecait cainfinn, corra, failinn, foscain cuach, nī ceōul ndoccrai, a fraech ruad. 29. fogur gaithi forglas neol, essa abhai, alaind ceoul. 28. rascach samhaisci a samradh, svillsiv sion! nī serb söet[h]rach mellach min. 30. caine ailme cercai odrai frie fiod flescach essnad ealao, ní 'arna chrec: do crisd gecach2) olttas det. uas moig mōethlach ardommpetead, 31. cid maith let-sa mō cech main, buidech liom-sa om christ cain. ¹) draing ms. 2) gecawith mark of aspiration, ms. nī mesa dam a ndomel-siv, doberr dam-sa 19 ――――――― 25. swarms of bees and chafers, the little musicians of the world, a gentle chorus: wild geese and ducks, shortly before summer's end,¹) the music of the dark torrent. 26. an active songster, a lively wren from the hazelbough, beautiful hooded birds, woodpeckers, a vast multitude! 27. fair white birds come, herons, seagulls, the cuckoo sings in between, no mournful music! dun heathpoults out of the russet heath. 28. the lowing of heifers in summer, brightest of seasons! not bitter, toilsome over the fertile plain, beautiful, smooth! 29. the voice of the wind against the branchy wood upon the deep-blue sky: cascades of the river, the note of the swan, delightful music! 30. the bravest band makes music to me, who have not been hired: in the eyes of christ the ever-young i am no worse off than thou art. 31. though thou rejoicest in thy own pleasures, greater than any wealth, i am grateful for what is given me from my good christ. 1) cf. hi féil cíaráin maic in tsáir | tecait giugraind dar fairge úair ll. 356 marg. sup. st. ciaran's day is the 9th september. 20 32. cen huair n-augrai, cin delm debt[h]a immo¹) toich, dobeir cec[h] maith buidech don flaith dam im boith. [guaire.] 33. dobér-sa mo rīgi rān lam qhuid 2) comhoirb-siv colmáin, a dīlsiv co huair mo bais ar beth at gnais, a marbäin! a marbain .a. ¹) inmo ms. 2) i. e. chuid. 21 32. without an hour of fighting, without the din of strife in my house, grateful to the prince who giveth every good to me in my bower. guaire. 33. i would give my glorious kingship with my share of colman's heritage, to the hour of my death let me forfeit it so that i may be¹) in thy company, o marban! 1) literally, 'for being'. glossary. ab f. a river. gen. essa abhai, 29. see my contributions and add: ar brú aba móri, ll. 353 a. aball f. a tree. aboll ubull an apple-tree, 14. aidble f. vastness. aidble druing vastness of a crowd, 26. airne a sloe. n. pl. airni, 21. na háirni, ll. 297 a 38. áirne dubdroigin, sg. 102, 5. air-geilt grazing. gen. airccellti? 16. but see contributions s. v. aircheltach (1). ar-petim i make music. pettet, lu. 57 b 20. ar-dom-petet they make music to me, 30. arusarpetitis, zcp. iii, 39, 15. barrán m. a top-branch, twig, bush, 18. 19. fri dath barrán sobairchi, ybl. 127 b 25. barrán bude, ib. 27. ben f. woman, used of a female bird, 10. cf. fer, 24. bend n. peak, gable. dat. dia bend, 10. bilar watercress biror, wi. n. pl. bilair, 15. bithach? everlasting? barráin bithchai, 18? both f. a hut, cabin, shieling. gen. boithe, 10. dat. boith, 32. brecc m. a trout. n. pl. bricc, 18. bric cíordubha (leg. cíardubha?), fm. 866 (p. 510). bric fa brúachaib a habann, sg. 102, 11. brocc m. a badger. gen. bruicc, 16. bruicnech n. a badger's brood or nest, a badger-warren? 16. bruidnech like a hostel (bruiden), 16. bruindit, 15. bruinnim i spring forth, dart, shoot. brunne-derg red-breasted. fer br. a robin redbreast, 24. buidnech n. a troop, band, 17. cadan m. a barnacle duck. n. pl. cadain, 25. gen. elta chadan ná chorr ll. 265 a 48. caud .i. cadán, lu. 67 a 24. ll. 71 b 19. cadla a goat. .i. gabhar, o'cl. n. pl. cadlaid, 16. 23 caincinn 26, the name of some singing bird. cf. cáince melody, stokes, acallaim index. (ir. texte iv, p. 385.) cáine f. goodness, excellence. cáine flatho, 18. cáine ailme, 30. tucad cáine bíd dóib, ll. 54 b 35. see imram brain, index s. v. cáin-finn 27, fair-white, the name of some bird. cairche a musical instrument, 6. cairchi ciúil chóir, ll. 154 b 45. cél sky, 13. borrowed from lat. caelum. celiubair 13, seems o'reilly's ceilubhra (sic) concealment. cennaid tame. cendaid, ir. texte iii, 86. n. pl. f. centa, 16. there is also a nom. sing. cennta (cf. allta, contrib.). ár cenntai 7 altai, au. certán = cerddán, diminutive of cerdd (1) art, (2) artist, artificer musician, 25. mingur gringur certan cruinne, o'mulc. 830e. cét-móis 12? cíar dark, brown, swarthy. wi. fíach cíar, bor. 81. gen. m. céir, 25. f. circi céiri, mr. 110, 5. dat. din chaill chéir, ll. 356 m. sup. etir móin céir 7 cráib, ib. 265 a 46. cíarann m. a chafer. n. pl. cíarainn, 25. cf. ciaróc a chafer, o'br. a diminutive of cíar. cnó-bec having small nuts, 14. cochull m. the name of a bird, so called from cochull hood. n. pl. cochuill, 26. collán m. a hazelnut, 14. gen. med colláin mead made out of the hazelnut, 22. cf. nóisi co mid chollán chain noisi with delicious mead of hazelnuts, longes mac nusn. 17 (ir. texte i, p. 77, 15). com-orb m. heritage. gen. comoirb, 33. condal n. a stalk, rush, 22. a diminutive coinline occurs trip. 84, 8. condla (n. pl.), 22 coinnle corra bluebells, hogan, luibhleabhrán, p. 17? cráin f. the female of several animals, a sow, p. o'c. a goose, o'r. craineóg now means a hedgehog. in v. 5 and 6 it evidently means some pet animal such as hermits were wont to have about them. gen. orcc cránai, lb. 201 b 35. bb. 469 a 17. adba crána, acall. (ed. stokes) 1. 497 note. gen. pl. secht cét cráin, br. 64. cremthann m. a fox. crimthann, metr. gloss. n. pl. cremthainn, 17. cress (1) narrow. ní haicde chress, ll. 161 b 2. (2) a narrow place, cúach a cuckoo, 27. gen. pl. allgaire cúach, ll. 298 a 1. coiccetal na bindguth cúach it chomnaide, ib. 193 a 37. 'curar 23. this i take to be the word from which we have the diminu= tive cularán pignut, earthnut (rc. ix, p. 228), welsh cylor. for the interchange between r and cf. biror, later bilar watercress, corn. beler, and ilar eagle, w. eryr. daith ready, smart, swift, eager, 22. .i. ésgaidh nó tapaidh nó luath, o'cl. gilla daith ba garb re goil a smart lad that was rough in 24 derc dercu fight, eg. 90, 17a. mina fagar cabair ndaith unless i get speedy help, eg. 1782. leis rogæt co daith, ll. 18 a 3, 201 b 24. in drúi daith, 197 a 2. an acorn or mast, hence any berry, p. o'c. n. pl. dercu, 21. glandes .i. dercu, h. 3. 18, p. 65 c. a berry. n. pl. dercna, 19. dercna fróich, 20 = derce [f]ruich gl. vaccinia, bucolics 101; dærcae fróich gl. vaccinia, sg. 49 a 10. dercain a díthruib, ll. 297 a 33. derccain donn a drumnecha, dinds. 160. dat. nói cét míach a thorud de dircnaib, ib. desclach adj. 26, a derivative of descol, ll. 45 a 34, which o'curry renders by battle. desruid mean, despicable, 12. desruith .i. disruith .i. ní sruith, corm. p. 16. n. pl. cet lim cenptis desruithe, rc. xiii, p. 393. cf. ib. p. 397. di? 7. cf. do dí¹) at óenbé ocum? rc. xi, 129. do-fóidim i send. día do-t-r-óid 'tis god who has sent it, 20. bes is dia dodroid, ybl. 133 a 48. is mithig dúib anddoroided dúib do thomailt, ib. 51. is uad doroided a mbiad, ib. 133 b 2. donn dun. drúi donn, 26. cf. dreaghan donn a wren, highl. n. pl. droigin duind, 19. durcháin donna, 22. in sg. 102, 4 it is likewise an epithet of an oak: ar a dairghib donnaib ('russet'). dordán strain, tune. dordán smolcha, 24. oc ullán 7 oc dordan, lb. 136 a 36. dam dían ag dordán, sg. 172, 5. dornach like a fist, 14. draigen a blackthorn, a sloe-tree, n. pl. droigin, 19. airni draigin gl. pruna, bucol. 103. sméra is áirne dubdroigin, sg. 102. dristen briars, brambles. dristin, 22. hence dristenach gl. dumetum, sg. 53 a. drúi donn a wren, 26. cf. dreaghan (= dreén, lb. 108b) donn, highl. durchán m. an oaklet. n. pl. durcháin, 22. ela a swan. wi. 29. lu. 62 b 6. comnual na n-ela don tuind, eó (1) a tree; (2) a yew-tree. wi. mar hela irricht aingil gil, sr. 1671. ll. 298 a 31. (1) rop éo úasind fid, ropo rígda ind rail, ll. 147 a 32. (2) gen. dercu iuech, 21. cf. caera an ibhair craigi berries of the juniper, rc. ix, 234. dat. eu, rc. xiii, 460, § 62. eo-glas having a grey or green trunk, 13. eu .i. stipes, sg. 66 b 3. erchoill = airchill, airichill (ex airfochill) preparing oneself, expecting, 17. 1) this is also the reading of a second copy of uath beinne etair in betham 145, p. 13. 25 • a esnad music, strain, song. wi. esnad elo, 29. esnad daim duind, 31. n. pl. esnada tigi buchat, ll. 271 a. n. a waterfall. wi. gen. fuaim essa na sroth, ir. texte iii, p. 195. fogur essa úair ra hall, ll. 298 a 13. enguba essa ra hail, ib. 28. n. pl. essa abai, 29. acc. na hessa, ll. 264 a 7. ess fáilenn a sea-gull. foilenn, wi. gl. alcedo, karlsr. prisc. 34a. fichi ugh n. pl. fáilinn, 27. fairrge rúad a ngairit faoilind, fregrait fáilinn 'má finnall, sg. 102, 12. gen. fáilind, br. 244. reeves ad. 289, 6. slúag na failend, ib. iflescach branchy, 29. fodere visible, conspicuous, 11. foltán 23, a shortened diminutive form of folt-chiab leek (lit. hair-tuft), as dobrán is of doborchú. for-dorus m. lintel, fordorus bec úas a chind, ll. 278b1. sg. 111, 31. féith woodbine, honeysuckle. wi. mar nasces féith fidu, ll. 86 b 23. 103 a 19. amail timcillus féth fidh, eg. 1782, 24 a 1. gen. féthe, 9. fidu see idu. garb n. a torrent. w. garw. gen. seinm gairb chéir, 25. in the boroma the word is feminine: gáir na gairbe, ll. 297 b 50. sniges risin gairb a glór, 298 a 22. gécach 30, if i extend the contraction correctly, is a derivative of géc branch and seems to mean flourishing, vigorous, keen. di chumaid gaind gécaig glúair, ll. 194 b 60. also gécda in a similar sense: in gasraid gegda sin, bb. 461 b 21. gestlach active, 26. from gestal a deed, o'r. wi. co ngestul grinn, ll. 212 b 28. gigrand a wild goose, a barnacle goose. giugrann, wi. n. pl. gigraind, 25. giugraind gergga cocrait gáir, ll. 297 b 45. tecait giugraind, ll. 356 marg. sup. gen. elta giugrand [n]gúr, 265 a 49. glaise f. greenness. gen. glaise, 23. glére f. excellence, 15. gléri læch lonnguinech, bb. 476 b 38. rachuala glére a.gal, ll. 157 b 16. dáig idan pure. uisce idan, 18. idu ivy. w. eiddew. mar nasces idu feda as ivy binds trees, ll. 108 b 46. with prothetic f, n. pl. fiduid, 15. im-slánim i make healthy, sound. inf. imšlánud, 2. lenn n. a cloak, mantle. dat. il-lenn co londath, 10. cf. brat brain, lenn luin luim lúamnaig a raven's cloak, the mantle of a lean volatile ousel, h. 3. 18, p. 17 m. sup. s lethar m. leather. gen. tíag lethair, 6. 26 líne f. a line, row. líne do crandaib, rc. ix, p. 464. líne oga a clutch of eggs, 20. coméis lini óenchirce d'ugaib, cog. g. 48, 19. long f. a vessel. logg, 21. lubar n. a collective of lub herb. gen. lubair, 21. magan = mellach delightful. wi. 28. melle f. delight, 20. menic frequent. wi. compar. menci, 1. bá harget anas mencu bítis, ll. 201 b 58. magen f. place, spot, 13. = mennután a small dwelling, 12. dim. of mennat, wi. nirbo mennat nach détlai, fm. 566. dat. asin mendut, lb. 204 a 41. mertan smertan sweet tangle, sea belt? hogan, luibhleabhrán n. pl. mertain, 22. p. 71. méth adj. fat. wi. in bó méth, o'dav. 60, 5. acc. pl. méthe, 9. mná metha, ll. 215 a 27. móethlach fruitful, fertile, 28. from móethal fruit. see aisl. maic congl. index. mónann a whortleberry, cranberry. n. pl. mónuinn derca, 20. mónaind na móna, ll. 297 a 31. monainn mháetha ar a mongaib, sg. 102, 3. cf. mónadán mínchorcra a smooth-crimson whortleberry, tor. dhiarm. 60, 3. mong f. a mane. n. pl. monga, 22. mónainn mháetha ar a mongaib on her waving heather, sg. 102, 3. octhgach as ardu alailiu gl. habies, a derivative of ochtach .i. crand ailm .i. crann giuis .i. ochtach, ochtgach a pine. gen. ochtgaig, 1. bibl. nat. ms. lat. 7260, fo. 9b. giúis, laws iv, 148, 5. 150, 4. bb. 325 a 50. gen. do chrund ochtga, acc. orcán¹) wild marjoram, 23. cardinis benedictus (labrum veneris) .i. an t-orcán, rc. ix, 228. spelt oragán in hogan's luibhleabhrán p. 59. rail f. an oak. ropo rígda ind rail, ll. 147 a 32. gen. daim droma rolach, 11. gesca ralach rodírge, 108 a 22. gen. pl. frema na ralach romór, ll. 264 a 2. rascach n. lowing, 28. cf. rasc talk, o'r. róë-glan having pure fields, 11. scé a hawthorn. scí, wi. in scé im-mullach odba, fm. 607. gen. scíach (two syll.), 21. imar cráibred dergscíach, lu. 80 a 8. orcan (.i. uball) cruind 1) there is also a word orcan 'apple' glas, hib. min. p. 47. 1 ――――――― 27 sét-róïs 12? perhaps the gen. of sét-róus (for *ro-fiss) great knowledge of roads? síën voice, sound, 10. sían, wi. sín f. (1) weather, season. cia etergén sína? ll. 345 a. sína cach threimse, 293b. dech do sínaib ceó, 345a. nauna 7 gortai 7 sína sóeba, harl. 5280, 39 a. (2) bad weather, storm. wi. darsin sín, 13. glór na gáethi tresin sín, ll. 298 a 23. sín ná snigi ná snechtæ, goid. 19, 29. ima lúaidfe ilar sín, fm. 526. sithech peaceful, 17. smólach f. a thrush. gen. smólcha, 24. snac-ar-daraig m. snaicardaraigh, 26. sno colour. snoa, 21. snó-brat having a coloured mantle, 23. so-mblas sweet-tasting. wi. 21. 23. hence somblasta, alex. 1007. petugud with prothetic s, verb noun of petaigim, a derispedughud woodpecker. snacardarach (perperam), o'r. n. pl. = vative of petim i play? some musical instrument? sub f. a strawberry. sub talman erdbeere, rc. ix, p. 233. suib, o'br. n. pl. fraga .i. subi, bucolics 8. suba, ll. 297 a 40. subha cumhra cuain daire, o'gr. cat. 429. dat. subaib, 21. = tellenn a swarm of bees. mar teilleann a' labhairt i n-eibhioll like a swarm of bees buzzing in the summer-heat, o'curry lect. iii, p. 357. n. pl. tellinn, 25. ba lir bech-teilleoin¹) as numerous as a swarm of bees, dinds. 126 sg. ii, 476, 34. cf. seillean, highl. tiag a satchel. tíag lethair, 6. tírech terrestris, 17. tricc eager, quick, keen, ready. wi. dar trethan trice, ll. 154 a 14. bid toirthech dó in talam tric, br. 8. tánic co tricc trén traigéscaid ina agid, ttr. 2019. ciarbo tric leo, trip. 556, 11. nirbo tricc i clud chille, ll. 5 b. úais noble. uais do dig noble to drink, 15. uais .i. úasal, ll. 392 d. lism. l. index. úar-boith f. an outhouse, shieling, 8. ubull f. an apple. n. pl. ubla, 20. gen. aboll ubull, 14. uinnius an ashtree, 8. unnius, ll. 200 a 10, 16. 1) this form seems to have been influenced by én bird. appendix. i. colum cille and guaire. (laud 615, p. 23.) colum cille cecinit ag tegusg guaire, or nī derna einech reime sin 7 ba rofíal ösin amach tre bennachtain coluim cille 7 trēna theagasg. dēna, a ghuaire, maith um ní, na seōid dochī as dorn im ceō: at aonur tanaig tū a clī, dogebha ní an fad bĩa beō. sgail, a maic colmain, do cradh, is buaine blad ina seōid: ante da tabair dĩa ní, nī maith rí 's a beth gu neóid. a deghmhic colmain na gcliar, mochen is fial, mairg is gann, na cuir sedh 'san saoghal sunn 's gan acht seal gach aoinfir ann. rigrad domhain, cuma a n-ég, muna bhronnad séd is biadh, muna chosnat fein a mbladh, nī téid ar nem fer dur dĩan. de. 29 is me colum cille cáidh, beg do connmhus am laim fein: ōn lo fa tānag a clī nī dernus acht do deōin de. dena a guaire. translation. colum cille sang (this) when teaching guaire, who had never before practised generosity, but henceforward, through the blessing of colum cille and his teaching, became most generous. do good, o guaire, for something! the wealth thou seest is like a hand round mist: alone, thou camest into thy body, thou wilt get something while thou art alive. distribute, o colman's son, thy goods, more lasting is fame than wealth: he to whom god giveth something, a king that is niggardly is not good. o brave son of colman of the bands, welcome is a generous man, woe to a mean! fix not thy thoughts upon this life, wherein each man is but a while. the kings of the world, their death is sorrow, unless they spend wealth and food, unless themselves they contend for fame: no hard, no harsh man goes to heaven. i am colum cille the pure, little have i-kept in my own hand: from the day that i came into my body. i never did but according to god's will. 30 ii. ornait's lament for laidgnen. cormac's glossary (translation, p. 26). 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terminant par la dernidre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole — »> signifie "a suivre ", le symbole v signifie "fin". les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre film6s d des taux de reduction diff^rents. lorsque id document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clich6. 11 est film6 d partir de tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche 6 droite. et de haut en bas. en prenant le nombre d'images nicessaire. les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m6thode. rata lelure. j 32x 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 '!l i thorsau : the hermit of walden. a paper read before the society, march 7, 1832, ' ( -ry — george stew^art, jr. among (ho stroiig-ost artistic miiu.l:-;, — in a sense oi' course, — which a century of progtoss and activity has produced in american civili:^ation and morals, may })e named that brilliant one of henry david thoreau, who is knov.'u to some of you as the hermit of avalden, — known to the world at large, as the poet-naturalist of the western hemisphere. he was a philosopher of wide observation, a thinkei' of great force — second only to emerson in the range and scope of his powers— and a faithful student of natural history, in all its branches. ho loved nature passionately. he spent months and years under the trees and among ilowers and plants, watching the wondrous development of tree and flower and plant life. he passed the sweetest days of his existence in l'arning the habits and ways of the animals which built their homes about the nooks and corners of walden pond, and the avalden woods. he gave the most precious hours of his own life to the birds of the air, to the fish of the waters at his feet, and he communed with all the lovely things of nature, animate and inanimate, and made companions of every dead and liv ing thing which met his observing eye or felt the caressing f \ 122 stroke of his kindly hand. there was no pvctonce about henry thoreau, no lalse prido, no sham or glittering tinsel. he was a man of thought, a devout lover of the beautiful, the true and the good, and his mind always seemed the amplest and completest, when he stole away to the solitudes of the forest and the glade, and thought out those exquisite fancies and views and creations �hieh the reading and thinking world, may find at any time, in the hnlf do^-ien witching books, which attest his genius, and show his aims. he was a true artist, thoug!i he painled no pictures on canvas, a tender poet, though the few specimens of his muse which we have, reveal no divine alllatus, — tis we understand it, — and have not even the merit of kirke white's collection of a'crse, which need hardly be digniiied by the name of poetry. he wrote poetical pieces, after a fashion, but they are not good poetry. they lack all the grand elements of song, all the passion and lire, the lyric faculty, the stateliness, and that indescril)able touch which ever distinguish the better ellorts of the true poet. he was a more effective singer out of poetry than in it. much of his prose writing however is warmly poetic, and the chiefest charm about his literary work is that a good deal of it is epigrammatic, dainty in fancy and free flowing in diction. thoreau thought out whole poems often, but none of his finest things in that way ever reached the world through any other channel than that of prose composition, the avenue through wiiich he met his public w^hcn at his best. his style of writing was natural and easy, and he had a nice choice of phrase always at command. he had the art of graceful expression, without appearing to write artistically merely for art's sake. the style, clear and ornate, seemed to belong to him, to be a direct inspiration, just as many of his sublimer tlioughts were inspirations. he wrote fearlessly and independently, — 123 — a lul olc or kit lot ■as ys 1)0 lits unci coiisttuitly (loniumlecl (li(» utmost fivedoiu and room for the (mni)loym('iit ol the workings of his n'ind. "i would rather sit on a pumpkin and havo it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet cushion," ho said once, and the words tell truly the character and spirit of the man. he never ti'iramed his oi)ini()ns to suit a passing' wind. he formed his vicnvs. felt surt^ that they were right ones, — and they generally were riglit irom a high moral ])oint, — and then ho went on expou)iding them, expressing them boldly, and maintaininii' them ever afterwards, (>ventotho very hour of his death. m(mi admired his sterling honesty, praised his love ol' ]nincii)le, and felt that the hermit, whatever faults he might possess, could mn'er do a mean or dishonourable thing. they used to say that people int'ed thoreau but did not uk(; him. " why," said one of his best friends, a good many years ago, "i would as soon take tlie arm of an elm tree, as the hermil/s. i love him but cannot like him." this idea was held by nearly all ol thoreau's acquaintances, and its truthl'ulness cannot be disputed or set aside. his natun^ was certainly not a lovable one, though somehow the children o\um ran to him in the streets, and watched for his coming and going. for them he had a kindly nod and a smile, and he used, sometimes, to pay them little compliments in the soft way which children of almost any age like and ai^preciate. with thmn he would go for a romp in the woods, nutting and berrying, and usually he was the maddest of the rompers. emerson regretted that he had no ambition, and said that for the want of it, he was the captain of a huckleberry i)arty, when he might have been engineering for all america. the sage hoped better things of thoreau, and mourned to see so much tale)it buried in a napkin. but to-day none of us think that thoreau's talents are so very deeply buried in the earth, after all. i'or twenty years the possessor of those \ 'i i i i — 124 — talents has lain in th(? i^'ronnd. l)iit wo avo reading liis ])ooks still, and lindingnew beauties in 1 hem almosi every day. " roundingbimuis,'" continues emerson in his (juaint way, " is good to the end of pounding empires one ol' these days ; hut if, at the end oi' years, it is still only beaiis !" how many, think you, believe in this year of grace, that thoreau's bean-pounding, — we still employ the metaphor, — had nothing in it, and meant only a little vigorous pestle and mortar work? our author was a good deal like carlyle in many ways. he commanded the respect and admiration of his fellows. he was deep, i)hiiosoi)liio and calm, and only a few found the way to his heart, llo did not have many friends. he formed tew companionship.s. how could it be otherwise ? he held himself aloof from mankiiid and observed vigorous rul s of his own, with regard to what associations he thought he ought to make. towards emerson he always felt the sincerest resjiect, and ranked him first among the very moderate number of true friends that he possessed. ^ir bronson alcott was another neighbour for whom he had a good deal of admiration. the mystic's talk was always .so sweet and sympathetic that thoreau was quite captivated, and he and alcott remained on the best of terms, almost from their lirst meeting to the close of the younger man's career. he hid some others on his slender list, kindred souls we mav call them, but he cored little for attracting people tow�rds himself, or for keeping up a large circle of friends. he much preferred the silent compa^-ionship and love of the animals, the birds and the fishes. barns, ploughing in the fields of ayr, turned up a mouse with his plough. his first impulse was to kill it, but he checked himself in time, as his eye watched the little creature, and he said softly, " i'll make that mouse immortal." so thoreau, in his way, has made the animals which fed from his hand by avalden pond, immortal iii * i it n — 125 — the litornturo of now kiiu'laiul. tlio lish swiun to liim ju, a sigii, allovvinl him 1o tako thorn ivoiu tho watov, and oftou they lay in his palm as if asloop. snakos coilod about his loj^s and carossod his arms, all tho whili^ sho�in<^ ovidonco ol'thoir ailoction and ^'ood-will. the woodchueks ponnit tod him to pull thorn out ol' ihoir holes by the tail, and the frij^litoiiod ibx ivequontly sou<rht his help, wiumi closely pr(\ssod by the huutsmon. fullor used to say oi' uutler, who know nioro a])out l)oos than any livini>: mail before his day or sinc(\ that "either he had told tho boos thini^'s or the boos had told him." of thoroau, tlio same may 1)0 said. he was on oonridontial terms avith the whole animal kino-dom. dr. a. 11, .tapp, ix^ttor known by his literary i>soudonymo of " henry a. pauo,"' wrote a book a few years ag'o, to prove that thoroau was a sort of nineteenth century st. francis of assisi. >st. francis, you know, was regarded as the great enigma of the middle ages. he had a sympathetic side for all animals. he was a friend to evorythinu' which crept, flow and occupied a place in animal lifi,'. lie chavm^'d the dumb beasts and brutes, won the alloctions of the birds and fowls of the air, and the lish glided softly into his hand, with all the conhdence of innocence and the consciousness of perfect safety. in this especial art of attracting animals of various degrees, a restnn])lance between the glorious old father and thoroau, may, perhaps, b^ traced with sufficient exactness, bat the parallel ends there, one would think. and is it not too much to say, as dr. japp advances, that thoreau's " liie, spent for the inotit part amid the bustle and fervour of american city strife," may be found "to illuminate," in some degree, "one of the puzzles of the middle ages ?'' the book, which strives to impress this view is ingenious, but the argument is weak, and the reasoning is scarcely tenable. thoroau was a great authority on all marvels 11 « i^i] \ 126 — it'm connoohml ^vilh llio vi^golablo kingdom, ils �on«lro\is growth and devolopmoiit, ils ibnn and aycliitoctui-o. iio knew so much ;d)()ut phi)its that ho coahl tt'll at a <il!inoo how longsuch and such a speclintmi had boon in l)luoin, and the pivciso dalo on uhich the others near at hand would yiold tlioir ilowers. llo kopt a diarv, and in it ik^ carefully jotted down certain data regardinu;' the various plants round about, and ol'ten he used to read from its pages, the names ol' those that would blossom on such and such a day. lie had so much conlidence in liis knowledue of this department of culture, that he thought that if he should at any time, awake suddenly from a lrane(\ in the swamp he knew so well, he could tell l)y the plants what time of the year it was, within at least two days. he knew, perfectly, all the notes which the birds uttered, and his memory was so good, and served him so laithfuljy, that as rapidly as the twitterings were made, over his head in the trees, or near his feet on the grass, or on the rocks close at hand, he named the author of the sound witliout tlie slight est hesitation, and his verdict was never wrong. his ac quaintance with bird-life, in all its forms, w'as phenoinenal, and his patience and perseverance never failed him. none of his rare scholarship in the art he pursued so sympatheti cally and with such tireless devotion, was gained witliout constant exercise of those a'irtues. he would sit perfectly immovable for hours, on a rock, waiting for the reptile, the fish and the bird to come back and resume the habits, which had been interrupted by his dropping in among them. h3 never went for a stroll without his old music book under his arm to press plants in. he always carried his diary and pencil, his spy-glass for birds, his jack-knife, ball of twine, and microscope. his outlit comjirised, usually, a straw hat, a pair of stout shoes, a pair of strong grey trousers, a thick shirt, and a coarse coat. '• if you 1 its, tc 1, )u — 127 — have iiiiy oiitovpriso ix'lbro you," \ used to say, " try it in your old clothes. perhaps wo shoukl novor procure a ne� suit, however rag-trod or dirty the old, until we have so conductod, so eutorprised or sailed in some way, that we loci like now men in the old, and that to retain it would be like keopiiin* i^ow wine in old bottles. our moulthiqseason like that of i'owls, must be a crisis in our lives. the loon retires to solitary ponds to spend it. thus also the snake casts its slouj^h, and the cattm'pillar its wormy coat, by an in torn;d industry and expansion ; for clotlios are but our out most cuticle and mortal coil. it is desirable that a man be clad so si in 1)1 y that ho can lay his hands on himself in the dark, and that ho can live in all respects so compactly and preparedly, that, if an enemy take the town, he can, like the old philosopher, walk out the gate empty-handed, without anxiety." in many ways thoreau was a romtnkable man, some might call him eccentric, but he was more than that. he took no degree at college, and was bred to no profession. he lived mostly alone, never married, never went to church, never voted, ate no flesh, drank no wine, and scorned the use of tobacco. he was abstemious to a fault, eschewed the use of a gun and never used a trap in his life. he was an idealist, iik(> emerson, though he went further than that philosopher in most things. ho refused to pay a tax to the state, and because of that refusal, sullered the indignity of imprisonment. ho cared nothing for money, loved hard work, and a])!iorred idleness, — that is aimless idleness. his own mode of living appeared to many as a sort of dreamy idleness, — purposeless idleness. but thoreau's idleness has done the world much good. by means of it he was able to open many of the hidden storehouses of knowledge, and through it again, he has addu'd materially to our stock of inlbrmalion, in certain directions, which could be gained only as he learned it, by patient and stu — 128 — dious prrsonul iiivostigatiou. iio was ol'toii ag'cfi'ossivi', sclf-assoitive !ii)(l always had mihouudod faith in his own opinions and method ol' g'ottiiioon. ho depended solely npon himseir. he had lew wants to supply, and his hahits werethrirty and hardy. avhen he needed a little money he knew how to earn it, and he was not ashamo'' ' > work. he built boats, planted, i^rafted, made tenons, surveyed, — he was an excellent surveyor, — and did aiiythini^in tact that was required of him. everything ho did was done well. he always w^orked with energy and zeal, and the leisure for himself which ho secured, was well earned and deserved. when his immediate needs were satisfied, and he thoug'ht he had enoui,^h to meet his present and future wants for a while, he would go l)ack to his old lile, wateh iugt the unfoldinn^ works of nature, and makingstudies of what he saw and felt. he was not a self-indulg'ent mm, hut he had his whims, and these sometimes led him inlo difficulties and curious straits. perhaps, no better or moiv skilful land-surveyor ever lived in america than henry thoreau. he had more surveying than he could do, and there was omplt)yment for hiui whenever he chose to undertake it. he was in constant demand, but he suittxl his own convenience, and worked only when hewislied to. he possessed rare mathematical knowledge, and emerson tells us that " his habit of ascertainin.g the measures and distances of olijects which interested him, iho size of trees, the depth and extent of ponds and rivers, the height of mountains, and the air line distance of his iavourite sum mits, — this, and his intimate knowledge of the territory about concord, made him drift into the profession," at last. so much may be said of thoreau in a general way. there are details in his life wdiich are very interesiing and useful. he came of an ancient french fiimily, and his lather who was a manufacturer of lead-pencils, emigrated 120 — to hi lo. 5011 11(1 es, of m ,.st. 11(1 his led to ainoi'i(\i from th(» isle of cruornsey. onily in tlio prosf>nt c(mitury. tji. ubjoct of this paper �ii.s born in concord, mass., on the 1.2th july 1s17. lie went to harvard and jutadiialcd liero in 1837, but without takinp^ a d(^g'ro<« or earning any especial distinction. after this, in company with his brother, lo enga^-ed in teaching a small private school. he soon gave up this (miiployincnt, however, and entered his fatlier's estaldishment, and applied himself diligently lor a while, to the art of making lead-p(»neils. he believed ill his own mind that he could make a better pencil than was then in use, and in^ actually performed that feat. he took his work to lioston, showed it to th(» chemists there, obtained th(>ir cmiilieates to the valm; and excelknce and quality of his pencils, and then returned home, not to make more of them, as we might suppose, but to renounce the craft altogether. his friends rallied around him, and told him how fortunate he was, and what a line prospect in the way of money-getting, lay before him. but henry astonish(hl them all by saying that he should never make another pencil as long as he lived. ""why should i," said he, "i would not do again what i have done once." so it was, and he left the factory, and went on with his studies which were of a miscellaneous sort, and took his long walks in the silent woods. he loved solitude for its own sake, and wht>n he wantinl a companion, he preferred an indian. he was often invited out, and dinner-party invitations were fre(|uently sent to him, but ho declined such favours regularly and promptly. he would not go to dinners because there each was in every one's way, and he could not meet the individuals present to any purpose. "they make their pride," he said, "in making their dinner cost much ; 1 make my pride in making my dinner cost little." once or twice he did accept an invitation to dine, and when asked at table what dish he preferred, he 16 r i ( — 130 - answered "the nearest." of course such a man was better alone, or with his good indian, roaming the forest, and communing with nature in her varied and seductive haunts. he never used tobacco, as has been said, but in his youth he sometimes smoked dried lily-stems,— this in his oesthetic days, and long before he was a man. afterwards in speak ing of those same lily-stems, he said "i have never smoked anything more noxioas." the iirst number of the dial, — margaret fuller's paper, and the organ of the transcendentalists, — was published in july, 1840. it was a quarterly, and its aims were high, and its policy independent and courageous. the initial issue contained contributions by emerson, miss fuller, eipley, c. p. cranch, bronson alcott, john s. dwight, — afterwards the editor of the journal of music, — theodore parker, w. h. channing and thoreau. the latter wrote for it the poem of "sympathy." among his con tributions to this serial, were a number of papers about the natural history of massachusetts, and some translations of pindar and of ieschylus. in the first a^olume there appear ed three of his pieces, in the second he published two, in the third sixteen, and in the fourth five. thoreau may be said to have made his first puljlic appearance through the dial. he was only 23 years of age when his poem of "sympathy" came out, and as it gave token of promise, many read and praised it. his first prose production given to the public and reprinted as the first paper of " excursions,'' was in the third volume. the fourth volume contained his walk in winter. emerson encouraged thoreau to write, intro duced him to literature, and on going away once for a short time, permitted him, during liis absence, to edit no. 3 of the third volume of the dial. indeed, he acted as a friend and adviser to him always. the great event in thoreau's life occurred in 1845, when 1^ t s. of alk tro lort 3 of end —131 — he seceded from the world, and went to live by the shores of walden fond, and built himself a frame house, wnth his own hands. for two years he lived in solitude, devoting him self to study, the investigation of the habits of animals, natural history pursuits, and the performance of such labour as he deemed necessary. the story of that adventure is curious. he had nothing when he began it save a borrowed axe and a few dollars in his pocket. he was a squatter in every sense of the w^ord. he settled on somebody's land, cut down a few pines, hewed timber, and bought an old shanty, for the sake of the boards, from james collins, an irish labourer, on the adjacent fitchburg railroad. for the he w^as paid exactly $4.25. at the raising of his house boards he assisted by emerson, george w. curtis, the j^olite and refined " easy chair " of harper's mnt^azine, and some other distinguished members of concord society. he began building in the spring. by the opening of winter, as the result of his own labour, he had secured a tight shingled and plastered house, 10 feet wide by 15 long, and 8 feet posts, with a garret and a closet, a large window on each side, two trap-doors, one door at the end, and i' brick lire place opposite. the cost of this establishment is thus set down by the builder himself, and his remarks on the same appear in the margin. boards 8 8 0?>\ imostly sliajiiy boaicls. rof use .shingles fur roof ami siclos .... 4 00 laths 1 25 two second-hand windows with glass.. 2 4i{ one thousand old brick 4 00 two casks of lime 2 40 tliat was liiij;li. hair ol more than i needed. mantle-tree, iron 1.1 nails :5 ;>0 hinges and screws 14 latch 10 chalk 01 transportation 1 40 i carried a good part on my back. in all $28 12i' — 132 rather a moclevato price lor a house, and adds the builder, '•these are all the materials, exceptingthe timl)ev, stones and sand, which i claimed by squatter's right. i have also a small wood-shed adjoining, made chiefly of the stuu' which was loft after builduigthe house." now let us look a utile into our hermit's himily expenses, or house-keeping account, to speak more correctly. his wants were few, and he lived economically, but how many of us would be content to go and do likewise ? let us see what he did, and how he lived. he leaves this record : — " by surveying, carpentij'-, and day labour of various other kinds in the village in the meanwhile, for i have as many trades as fingers, i had earned $ 13.84. the expense of food for eight months, namely, from july 4 to march 1, the time hen these estimates were made, though i lived there more than two years, — not counting potatoes, a little green corn, and some peas, which 1 had raised, nor considering the value of what was on hand at the last date, was : — rice ,s1 7.*5^ mohisses 1 7'j" rye iiieiil 1 04^' indian luoal !)'.)-^ poik 22 flour 88 sugar 80 lard (i5 apples 25 dried apples 22 sweet potatoes 10 one pumpkin 0(i one watenuelon 02 salt 03 cheapest form of saueharine. clieaper tlian rye. cost more than indiini meal, ixjtli money and troulile. yes, i did eat $8.74, all told ; but i should not thus , >i blushingly publish my guilt, if i did not know that most of my readers were equally guilty with myself, and that in* . «■■ i !i^ i ' o ' "-j ist lat — 133 — their deeds would look no bettor in print. the next year i soinotimes caught a mess of lish for my dinner, and once i went so far as to slaughter a woodchuck uhich ravaged my bean held, — etlect his transmigration, as a tartar would say, — and devour him, partly for experiment's sake ; but though it alibrded me a momentary enjoyment, notwith standing a musky uavour, i saw that the longest use would not make that a good practice, however it might seem to have your woodchucks ready dressed by the village butcher. • cluthiiiii and soino incidental expenses witliin the same dates, tlioiiuli little 'jan he inferred from this item, aniuunted to. . . 88 ao'l oil and some liou.seli(jld utensils 2 ot> so that all the pecuniary outgoes, excepting for washing and mending, which for the most part were done out of the house, and their bills have not yet been received, — and these are all and more than all the ways by which money necessarily goes out in this part of the world, — were : — house slis 121 farm, one year 14 7-a fodd, eii,dit montlis 8 7-1 clothinlr, ttc. , ei^dlt months 8 40^ oil, &c., " " 2 00 in all ei'l !»l)i i address myself now to those of my readers wdio have a living to get, and to meet this i have for farm produce sold ^'2',] 44 earned by day-labour lu o4 in all §:3g 78 which, substracted from the sum of the outgoes, leaves a balance of $25.21'? on the one side, — this being very nearly the means with which i started, and the measure of ex penses to be incurred, — and on the other, beside the leisure and independence and health thus secured, a comfortable house for me as long as i chose to occupy it." .'1' ■i ml 1 1' i it 'ii — 134 — this lilb at waldou pond was vovy pleasant to hi in, and he made the most ofit. erery natural fact which he dis covered, and he ibund out very many of them, was a con stant source of delight. " he was no pedant of a depart ment," writes emor.son, " his eye was open lo beauty aad his ear to music. he ibund these, not in rare conditions, but wheresoever he went. he thoiight the best of music was in single strains ; and he found poetic suggestion in the humming of the telegraph wire." and alcott says of him, at about this time, — " he united the qualities of sylvan and human in a more remarkable manner than any whom it has been my happiness to know. lover of the wild, he lived a borderer on the conllnes of civilization, jealous of the least encroachment upon his possessions. he came nearer the antique spirit than any of our native poets, and touched tne fields and groves and streams of his native town with a classic interest that shall not fade." and again says this equally remarkable genius, " his jn-esence was tonic, like ice-water in dog-days to tlie parched citizen pent in chambers and under brazen ceilings. ayelcome as the gurgle of brooks and dipping of pitchei.^,-— then drink and be cool ! there was in him sod and sluide, wilds and waters manifold, — the mould and mist of earth and slcy. self-poised and sagacious as any denizen of the elements, he had the key to every animal's brain, every plant ; and were an indian to uower forth and reveal the scents hid den in his cranium, it would not be more surprising than the speech of our sylvanus." 'william ellery channing thus describes his personal appearance: — "in height he was about the average. in his build, spare with limbs that were rather longer than usual, or of which he made a longer use. his face once seen could not be forgotten ; the features quite marked, the nose aquihne, or very roman, hke one of the portraits of cajsar (more like a beak, as was lih f^. — 135 — said), larf^e overhanging brows above the deepest set blue eyes that could be seen, — blue in certain lights, and in others grey, — eyes expressive of all shades of feeling, but never aveak or near-sighted ; the jbrehead not unusuallv broad or high, full of concentrated energy and purpose ; the mouth, v»'ith prominent lips, pursod up �ith meaning and thought when shut, and giving out when open a stream of the most varied and unusual and instructive sayings. his hair was a dark brown, exceedingly abundant, line and soft, and for several years he wore a comply board. his whole figure had an active earnestness as if he hud not a moment to waste. the clenched hand betokened purpose. in walking he made a short cut if he could, and when sit ting* in the shade, or by the v/all-side, seemed merely the clearer to look forward into the next piece of activit}''. even in the boat he had a wary, transitory air, his eyes on the look out ; porhaps tliere might ])e ducks or the blondin turtle, or an otter, or sparrow. he was a plain man in his features and dress, — one who could not be mistaken, and this kind of plainness is not out of keeping with beauty. he sometimes went as far as homeliness, which again, even if there be a prejudice against it, shines out at times beyond a vulgar beauty." one quotation more, and this complet(\s the best descrip tion wiiich contemporaries have left of tlioreau. george william curtis savs in his graceful wav, "his knowledjje was original. he has a tine-ear and a sharp-eye in the woods and fields ; and he added to his knowledge the wisdom of the most ancient times and of the best literature." almost all the critics give our author credit for great ori ginality of mind. it was his misfortune as well as his advantage to have lived as the contemporary and intimate of emerson. for a while he saw the greater man almost every day, and soon he learned to think like him, to pursue m\ hi ■ — 186 — 1a the same way of thought, and to liold simihir tonots with him on many of the problems which occupied men's minds, especially between the years 1840 and 1800. i think, he imbibed many of the bettor thounhts of emerson, un consciously, though there have been writers who have had grave doubts on the subject, and have not hesitated to de nounce thoreau as a jilagiarist. his own writings were undoubtedly coloured by his contact with the completer mind, and he never could quite rid them of the deep tinge which so many declared to be the emerson influence and the result of the emerson cult. apropos of this, a story is related in a liimous literary circle in boston. it is told at the expense of thoreau's mother, who, it is said, remark ed once to a neighbour, that mr. emerson wrote marvel lously like her son. lowell, who is as fkilful a critic as whipple, as well as a most delightful poet, and whose opinions on books and authorship are wortliy of the highest praise, does not give thoreau the place his admirers would like to see assigned him. in his "fable for critics," mr. lowell speaks thus freely : — " there cmnes , for instance ; ti) sec hiui's rive h^tort, tread in emerson's tracks with let^s painfully short ; how ho junii»s, how he strains, and ;;et.s red in the face, to keep ktep with the niysta,i,mgiiu's natural pace! me follows as close as a stick to a rockt't, his humors cxpiorinlc tlie prophet's each ])ocket. fie, for shanie, brother bard ; with ijood fruit of your own, can't you let neiglibour emerson's orchards alone t' this is severe, but lowell either failed to appreciate thoreau or he felt a contempt for his talents. he once wrote an essay about him, — it may be read in his " my study "windows," — and acute critic as he is, he disappoint ed everybody in the estimate which he produced. it was inappreciative, unsympathetic and cold. emerson himself had great respect always for thoreau. he thought him a grand soul and a superior genius. in an unpublished letter o p — 137 — to a friend, he once wrote. " i read his books and manu scripts alwaj'^s with new surprise at the range of his topics and the novouy of his thought. a man of large reading, of quick perception, of great practical courage and ability, who grew greater every day, and, had his short life been prolonged, would have found but few equals to the jiower and wealth of his mind." thoreau quitted his hut in two years' time. he exhaust ed its special advantages, and having no further use for it, he abandoned it to its fate. by living there in the manner he did he proved certain things, made certaiii discoveries, and studied certain subjects. these aims accomplished, he turned his back on the hermitage and w^ent home to civi lization and taxes. he went there in the first place because he was ready to go. he left for the same reason. the little odd house can no longer be seen. it has disappeared entirely and the site is now occupied by the sumac and the pine. of course, the locality remains historic, and the concord people still love to escort visitors to thoreau's old haunt and tell the quaijit story of his wilderness life, at •' blue-eyed walden." he returned to town in 1847. one day he received a tax bill. he did not like it. he found fault with the way in ^vhich the public funds were being administered and expendihl, and 1"3 told the tax-gaiherer that he could not conscientiously pay a tax which was obnoxious to him. he wa':i promptly arrested and lodged in jail. a friend came forward, the next day, and paid the tax, and thoreau was released. tlic friendly act gave him annoyance however, and he did not scruple to say so, but there was no help for it. the tax was paid, and the delinquent walked out of prison, a free man. he had silent one night in jail, and his impressions are recorded and form some of the best reading to be found in his books. there is some . xt "^■hfebi if' ■:l li /i — 138 — thing quite delicious in his description of his prison experiences ; something so fantastic, and withal so thorough ly like thoreau in every respect. note this bit for example : — " as i stood considering the walls of solid stone, two or three feot thick, the door of wood and iron, a foot thick, and the iron grating which strained the light, i could not help being struck with the foolishness of that institution which treated me as if i were mere flesh and blood and bones, to be locked up. i wondered that it should have concluded at length that this was the best use to put me to, and had never thought to avail itself of my services in finy way. i saw that if there was a stone w^all between me and my townsmen, there was a still more difficult one to climb or break through before they could get to be as free as i was. i did not for a moment feel confined, and the walls seemed a great waste of stone and mortar. i felt as if i alone of all my townsmen had paid my tax. they plainly did not know how^ to treat me, but behaved like persons who are underbred. in every threat and in every compli ment there was a blunder, for they thought that my chief desire was to stand on the other side of that stone wall. i could not but smile to see how industriously they locked the door on my meditations, which followed them out again without let or hindrance, and they were really all that was dangerous. as they could not reach me, they had resolved to punish my body ; just as boys, if they can not come at any iierson at whom they have a grudge, will abuse his dog," avhen he entered the prison, he found the prisoners in their shirt-sleeves enjoying a social chat. salutations were exchanged between the new-comer and the "jail-birds," and soon after this the turnkey said pleasantly, " come, boys, it is time to lock up." the men and half-grown lads filed off 189 — 1(" to their colls, and thoreau was introduced, to his room mate, — "a llrst-rate fellow and a clever man," as the jailor called him. he appeared to be at homo in the place, and kindly pointed out to the hermit the peg upon which he might hang his hat. after a while the two became very friendly with each other, and the man told thoreau he had been put in the " lock-up" on a charge of burning a barn, but that he was innocent of the crime. " i pumped my fellow-prisoner as dry as i could," says our author, " for fear i should never see him again, but at length he showed me which was my bed, and left me to blow out the light." his further impressions are thus detailed : — "it was like travelling into a far country, such as i had never expected to behold, to lie there for one night. it seemed to me that i never had heard the town clock strike before, nor the evening sounds of the village ; for we slept with the windows open, which were inside the grating. it was to see my native village in the light of the middle ages ; and our concord was turned into a rhine stream, and visions of knights and castles passed before me. they were the voices of old burghers that i heard in the streets. i w^as an involuntary spectator and auditor of whatever was done and said in the kitchen of the adjacent village inn, — a wholly new and rare experience to me. it was a closer view of my native town. i was fairly inside of it. i never had seen its institutions before. * ' * in the morning our breakfasts were put through the hole in the door, in small, oblong, square tin pans, made to fit, and holding a pint of chocolate, with brown bread, and an iron spoon. when they called for the vessels again, i was green enough to return what bread i had left ; but my comrade seized it, and said that i should lay that up for a lunch or dinner." \ i ihi 'li' -140 — iii this light and airy fashion h(^ goes on and tolls tho whol(3 story of his inoarcoration, and oxplains, ]>y tho way, that thoro was no parlicular itom in his tax-hill which he had ro fused to pay. lie had never declined to pay the hig-hway tax, bv.^cause he was as desirous of excv'lling as a i^ood neig'hbour, as he was of appearing before the author ities as a bad subject. next year, the question came up again. thorean firmly declined to pay the tax, and the good offices oi a friend were called into requisition. the same performance was enacted for some years after this, whcr linally thorean, who probably saw that his spirit of independence did not quite harmonize with tho line of conduct he was pursuing in the matter, and fearing lest he was really becoming a burden to his friends, ceased to offer resistance to the law, and paid the tax. if he had lived in england in wilkes' time, he would probably have sided with that agitator in all his views. he was an extreme radical, a]id the uncompromising opponent of every form of government. if he had had the power he avould have abolished all administrations from the face of the earth, lie had as much light in him as wendell phillips had in his young and lusty days, and was never so happy as when he was arrayed against strong men and stronger isms. in our time, when radi calism has become a force, and is no longer regarded as a crime, when its leaders have developed into administrators of departments in the public service, and have helped to carr on the great affairs of state in the governments of countries, thoreau, even with unchanged oj^inions would not be looked upon as an attainted man. he might form no part of a government, but there are other i:)ortfolios than those belonging to cabinets, and the walden philosopher strengthened by the possession of one of these," and speak ing for and to the people, might lind his views very — 141 — w « son«il)ly taking sh^ipo niid volumo, and inllucncing the jn'ogrcsisivo march oc events. in his day he was an a))oh tionist, and sternly opposed to all tarills, and every variety of slavery, political as well as human. the trallic in the black man, which disgraced his country, was an al)omina tion which he could not denounce in terms of suiucient severity. he joined the anti-slavery party, when to do so was to incur the bitter hatred oi' many good men. thoreau did not care. he felt a burst oi' sympathy tugging at his heart, when old john brown succumbed to the tap of authority on his shoulder. the hero was arrested, and thoreau felt the mad, radical, rebellious, hot blood in his veins warming every pulse and iibre, and burning into his brain. he sent out notices to nearly every house in conc^'-d, and told the peopje he would speak on the great question in the public hall on sunday evening, and he invited all to come and hear him. even the abolitionist committee trembled at his daring, aiidthe republican committee felt a sinking at the heart. they put their heads together, and advised henry thoreau not to be too premature in the matter. it was not advisable to speak publicly of john brown, and his character and condition. the time was not ripe, they thought, just yet. they counselled delay ; wait, they all said. \yait, — and these men advised henry thoreau to wait. henry thoreau, think of it, henry thoreau who had his opinions, and cared not a rush for any man's counsel or advice, — advised henry thoreau who held to principle as if his life de pended on it ! his mind was made up. not si)eak next sunday niglit, and the people mad to know the story of john brown ? why, the thing was absurd ! what, think you, was the reply this sturdy radical of the radicals sent back to the trembling anti-slavery people ? why this, " i did not send to you for advice, but to announce that i am (i i 5 t ' — 142 — to speak." aiul ho did speak, and the hall had nevor held such an audionco as ho addressed on that memorable night. the crowds came ivom far and near, and thoreau's earnest eulogy of the grand old martyr of harper's ferry, was listened to avith a sympathy and a respect which sur prised the abolitionists themselves. some of them took courage from this exhibition, and thoreau's speech was a llrst gun iired in concord, in behalf of the black man's cause. among other things which he said on that occasion, were these : " i am here to plead his cause w^ith you. i plead not for his life, but his character, — his immortal life ; and so it becomes your cause wholly, and not his in the least. i see now that it was necessary that the bravest and human est man in the country should be hung. perhaps he saw it himself. 1 almost fear that i may yet hear of his deliver ance, doubting if a prolonged life, if any life, can do as much good as his death." and after the splendid old hero, — one of the grand mar tyrs of the world, if ever there was one, — had been hanged, thoreau said tenderly and feelingly : — " on the day of his translation i heard, to be sure, that he was hung, but i di ' not know what that meant ; i felt no sorrow on that account ; but not for a day or two did i even hear that he was dead, and not after any number of days shall i believe it. of all the men who were said to be my contemporaries, it seemed to me that john brown w' as the only one who had not died. i never hear of a man named brown now — and i hear of them pretty often, — i never hear of any particular brave and earnest man, but ray first thought is of john brown, and what relation he may be to him. i meet him at every turn. he is more alive than he ever w^as. he has earned immortality. he is not confined to north elba nor to kansas. he is no — 1 13 — loiigor working in socret. ho works in public in the clear est light that shines in the land." thoreau lacked geniality and sunniness of disposition, charms which never iail to win friends and lovers. he had too much acid in his nature, — and he did not al ways succeed in ivcepinnthe acid out of his books either, — ever to bee no one of the world's heroes. he was a book ish man, as well as a naturalist. he had more intellect than soul, and he was too sincere to dissemble. he had no finesse. the animals of the brush possessed more of his heart than the men he met in the streets, or the women at whose homes he dropped in, now and then, for a talk. yet cold as he was to people, he contrived to be happy, and was always on particularly good terms with himself. " i love my fate to the core and rind," he used to say. even when he lay dying of that dread disease, consumption, — which carried him off in 1802, he feebly said to some one at his bedside, " you ask particularly after my health. i suppose that i have not many months to live, but of course know nothing about it. i may say that i am enjoying existence as much as ever, and regret nothing." as a writer of books, thoreau must always occupy an acknowledged place in american letters. he wrote about eight medium-sized volumes, but all of them are not equal in point of merit. each in turn exhibits a wealth of observation, some satire, a certain dry humour, much force of character, and a clear insight into human affairs and nature. he wrote pretty much as he talked, thought often while on his feet, and some of the acutest things in his works were composed during the long walks which he took in the country. " the length of his walk uniformly made the length of his writing," as was once said. some of his writings are exaggerative, and he measured every thing by a rule of his own, which recognized concord as 144 the centre of the universe. even the north pole had few phenomena vrhich he could not find in his own little town and neighbourhood. the meridian of concord was the main base of operations for the whole civilized world, and i]i his eyes it was doubtless naples, london, paris and venice, all rolled into one sublime entity. a pleasant book of his is the week, which is really a re cord of a dolig'him journey along the banlvs of the concord and merrimack rivers, which was taken by the author and his brother in the moiith of august, 1839. they sailed about in a boat which was built by themselves after a model of their own design, and at night they camped out on the shore. the b^ok is full of their adventures, by land and water, and contains many excellent bits of de scrii)tive and essay writing, strengthened by philosophical dissertations, and some interesting studies in botany and in literature. a few alfectations in religious thought, peculiarly tiioreauesque, abound here and there, but one may forgive such weaknesses in a work which is so meri torious in all other directions. walden, which treats of life in the woods, in a most enjoyable and reflective way, ranks next. it tells the story of thoreau's own caieer in the forest, and on that account, as well as from its value as an authority on certain features oi new eniiland civilization, it is likely to be oftener read and quoted than any of his other writings. a yankee in canada is well worth dipping into, though it certainly does not show its author at his best. he confesses that he failed to get much of himself into it. still, it has some humour, and a good deal of ob servation, and the reader will not iind it either dull or stu pid. you will pardon me, perhaps, for reading to you, a page or two out of this sketchy \olume. thoreau made the trip to canada in 1850. he travelled with but slight incumbrance, in the wav of bauqafre. his boast was that 0c3"0^ siml±*^-' 145 — lis ih lu a he fit lat he could be independent of it. he set out early, and car ried only a small parcel in his hand, which contained the few articles which he absolutely needed for his journey. he says : — " my i)ack, in fact, was soon made, for i keep a short list of those articles which, from frequent experience, i have found indispensable to the foot traveller ; and, when about to start, i have only to consult to be sure that nothing is omitted, and, what is more important, nothing' superfluous inserted. most of my fellow-travellers carried carpet-bags, or valises. sometimts one had two or three tremendous yellow valises in his clutch, at each hitch of the cars, or if we were going to have a rush in earnest — and there were not a lew — i would see my man in the crowd, with two or three aflectionate lusty fellows pressing close, the strap along each side of his arm, between his shoulder and his valises, which held them tight to his back. i could not help asking in my mind, what so great cause for shewing canada to those valises, when perhaps your very niece.* had to stay nt home for want of an escort ? i should have liked to be present when the custom-house oflicer came aboard of him, and asked him to declare upon his honour if he had anything but wearing apparel in thein. even the elephant carries but a small trunk on his journeys. the perfection of travelling is to travel without baggage. after considerable reflection and experience, i have con cluded that the best bag for a foot-traveller is made with a handkerchief, or, if he study appearances, a piece of stiff brown paper, well tied up, wuth a fresh piece within to put outside when the lirst is torn. that is good for both town and country, — a bundle which you can carry literally under your arm, and which will shrink and swell with its contents. i never found the carpet-bag of equal capacity, which was not a bundle of itself. "we styled ourselves the 18 ^: 146 kniii^lits of the ij mi)rolla and the bundle ; for wherever we w^ent, whether to notre-dame or mount royal, or the champ-de-mars, to town mayor's or the bishop's palace, to the citadel, with a bare-legged highlander for our escort, or to the plains of abraham, to dinner or to bed, the um brella and the bundle went with us ; for we wished to l>e ready to digress at any moment. we made our haven no where in particular, but everywhere where our umbrella and bundle were. it would have been an amusing cir cumstance if the mayor of one of those cities had politely asked us where we were staying. "we could only have answered that we were staying with his honour for the time being. i was amused when, after our return, some green ones enc^ aired if we found it ' easy to get accommo dated,' as if we went abroad to get accommodated, when we can get that at home." and of canada and its people. in; writes thus : — " to a traveller from the old world, canada east may «il)pear like a new country, and its inhabitants like colon ists ; but to me, coming from new england, and being a very green traveller withal, it appeared as normandy it self, and realized much that i had heard of europe and tlie middle ages. even the names of the humble canadian villages altected me as if they had been those of the re nowned cities of antiquity. to be told by a habitant when i asked the name of a village in sight, that it is st. fereofe or ste. anne, the guardian angel or the iiolj/ st. josepli's ; or of a mountain that it was belange or ;s/. ilyacinthe ! as soon as we leave the states these saintly names begin. st. john is the first town you stop at (fortunately we did not see it), and henceforward the names of the mountains, and streams, and villages reel, if i may so speak, with the in toxication of poetry : chambly, longueuil, pointe-aux trembles, bartholomy, etc, etc., as if it needed only a little — 147 — foreign accent, a few more liquids and vowels perchance in the language to make or locate our ideals at onc<.\ i ])egan to dream of provence and the troubadours, and of places and things which have no existence on the earth. they veiled the indian and the primitive forest, and the woods towards hudson's ^jay were only as the forests of france and germany. i could not at once bring myself to believe that the inhabitants who pronounced daily those beautiful, and to me signiiicant, words led as prosaic lives as we of new england. in short, the canada which i saw was not merely a place for railroads to terminate in, and for criminals to run to. when i asked a man if there were any falls on the rivicre-an-chien — for i saw that it came over the same high bank with the montmorenci and sie. anne — he answered that th(^re were. " iiow far?" i en quired. ''trois~(ju(irts de lieue.'' " how higli ?'' ''je j/euse, (luatre-vingt-dix pieds" — that is ninety feet. we turned aside to look at the fills of the rivitre dii saut a la pitc.e, half-a-mile from the road, which before we had passed in our haste and ignorance, and v^'c pronounced them as beau tiful as any that we saw ; yet they seemed to make no ac count of them there, and wlien first we en([uired the way to the falls, directed us to mouunorenci, seven miles distant. it was evident that this was the country for waterfalls ; that every stream tliat em})ties into the 'si. lawrence, for some hundreds of miles must have a great fall or cascade on it, and in its passage through tlie mountains was for a short distance a small saguenay, with its upright walls. this fall of la puce, the least remarkable of the four which we visited in this vicinity, we had never heard of till we came to canada, and yet, so far as i know, there is nothing of the kind in new england to be compared to it. most travellers in canada would not hear of it, though tliev might go so near as hear it. since my return i find that ' >i /. — 148 — ir in the topographical description of the country, mention is made of " two or three romantic falls" on this stream, thoim'h we saw and heard of but this one. ask the inha bitants, respecting any stream, if there is a fall on it, and they will perchance tell you of something as interesting as bashpish or the catskill, which no traveller has ever seen, or, if they have not found it, you may possibly trace up the stream and discover it yourself. falls there are " a drug," and we became quite dissatisfied in respect to them. "vve had too much of them. besides those which i have referred to, there are a thousand other falls on the st. law rence and its tributaries which i have not seen or heard of, and above all there is one which i have heard of called niagara, so that i think this river must be the most re markable for its falls of any in the w^orld. "at a house near the western boundary of chateau riclier, whose master was said to speak a very little english, having recently lived at quebec, we got lodging for the night. as usual we had to go down alone to get round to the south side of the house, where the door was, away from the road ; for these canadians' houses have no front door ; properly speaking every part is for the use of the occupant exclu sively, and no part has reference to the traveller or to travel. every new england house, on the contrary, has a front and a x^rincipal door opening to the great world, though ii may be on the cold side, for it stands on the highway of nations, and the road which runs by it comes from the old world and goes to the far west ; but the canadian's door opens into his back yard and farm alone, and the road which runs behind his house leads only from the church of one saint to that of another." " excursions " is a very good book, and full of quotable extracts. my own copy is marked on every page. it is in excursions where we find such bits as these, " it is the 149 three-inch swing of a ponclulum in a cup-board, which the great pulse of nature vibrates by and through each instant." " tlie beauty there is in mosses must be consi dered from the holiest, quietest nook." "what is any man'-^! discourse to me, if i am not sensible of something in it as steady and cheery as the creak of crickets." '* i would keep some book of natural history always by me as a sort of elixir, the reading of which should restore tlie tone of the system." "their tongues had a more generous accent than ours, as if breath was cheaper where they wagged." one more, " cape cod, the right arm of the commonwealth." it would be easy to multiply the number of quotations, but enough have beeii given, i think, to show the manner and style of thorcau's thought, his power of expression, and peculiar turn for humour. his other books are letters — full of strong individuality and robust thought, — the maine woods, cape cod, and earl// s/jring' in ma'^sachuselts, the latter a collection of shrewd observations from the author's journal. this work, bequeathed in 187g to mr. h. g. o. blake by sophia thoreau, sister of the naturalist, was published in book-form in 1881. thoreau died at concord on the (jth of may, 1862. take him for all in all, he was a good and true man. he led a life which was full of beautiful lessons for the young as well as for the old. "we cannot all become hermits, per haps few of us would care for such a self-denying state ol existence, — but we may all lead useful lives, if we will. and may we not learn something no])le and enduring, from the simple career of this self-sacrilicing naturalist, who gave some oi the best years of his life to the birds of the air, the animals which ran to him for protection, the iish which swam into his hand, and the plants which whisper ed their secrets into his ear ? a man who lived as thoreau lived could do great good to his fellows were he so 'if 150 — minded, and thoreau, we all feel, accomplished much that was purposeful and excellent. we need not think of him as a transcendentalist merely, though of course the tenets of that doctrine coloured his views, and shaped the action of his mind ; we need not quarrel with his w^ay of religious thought, but we may believe in him as a man and a brother worker in an honest cause. aye may admire the thousand good qualities with which god enriched his mind and en dowed his heart. "we may accept the influencing tendency of his splendid manhood, and read spirited lessons for our guidance in most of the acts which he performed. his morality was high. he had almost an excess of it, his scholarship, his love of nature, his grandeur of soul, his pride of independence, his ripe and mature judgment on all the great concerns of life and activity, found ample deve lopment in the intellectual life which he followed. the career of such a man marks out a line of beauty which many of us would do no wrong to accept, if not in its en tirety, at least in part. thoreau has passed away, but his genius lives. in fiction he rests immortalized in haw thorne's study of " the marble faun ;" in real life he has a firm hold on our affections, an ever living place in our hearts. his rank in american letters is assured, and his memory will not soon fade away, or sink out of the minds of thinkino: and of readinc; men. 90 production note cornell university library produced this volume to replace the irreparably deteriorated original. it was scanned using xerox software and equipment at 600 dots per inch resolution and compressed prior to storage using ccitt group 4 compression. the digital data were used to create cornell's replacement volume on paper that meets the ansi standard z39.48-1984. the production of this volume was supported in part by the commission on preservation and access and the xerox corporation. 1990.  (cornell unirmitg jibaro bought with the income from the sage endowment fund the gift of 3hcttrg ïîl. sage 1891 k.&xojjl alalia  a presentation of the theory of hermite’s form of lamé’s equation with a determination of the explicit forms in terms of the function for the case n equal to three. candidates thesis for the degree of doctor of philosophy presented by j. brace chittenden, a.m., parker fellow op harvard univ., instructor in princeton college. to the philosophical faculty of the albertus universitat of königrsberg in pr. printed by b. g. teubner, leipzig. 1893. ψ  dedicated to the first of my many teachers, my mother who more than all others has rendered the realizations of my student life possible, for whom no sacrifice has been to great in furthering the interests of her sons.  introduction. the following thesis is practically a presentation of the general analytical theory of lame's deferential equation of the form known as hermite’s. the underlying principles and also the general solutions are therefore necessarily based upon the original work of m. hermite, published for the first time in paris in 1877 in the comptes rendus under the title “sur quelques applications des fonctions elliptiques” and on a later treatment of the subject by halphen in his work entitled “traité des fonctions elliptiques et leur applications”, vol. ii, paris 1888. m. hermite has employed the older jacobian functions while halphen has used in every case the weierstrass p function, and not only the notation but the ultimate forms as well as the complex functions in which they are expressed are in the two works intirely different. as far as i know, no attempt has before been made to establish the absolute relations of these different functions. in attempting to do this, i have developed the intire theory in a new presentation, working out the results of m. hermite in terms of the p function, having principly in view a determination of the explicit values of all the forms for the special case n equal to three. i may add that owing to the exceptional privilege granted by the minister of education and the philosophical faculty of the albertus-universitát allowing the publishing of this thesis in english, 6 introduction. i am not without hope that this general presentation of the theory of lame’s functions may prove a welcome addition to the literature of the subject where in english todhunter’s “lame’s and bessel’s functions” is the only representative. finally i must acknowledge my indebtedness to prof. lindemann not only for the direction of a most valuable course of reading but for a general although, owing to a lack of time, a by no means detailed review of the work. contents. page introduction............................................................ 5 part 1. history and definitions. the problem of lamé.....................................................il the problem of hermite..................................................13 definitions.............................................................15 part 2. hermite’s integral as a sum. the function of the second species......................................17 transformation of hermite’s equation·. ................................20 development of the integral.............................................21 development of the eliment of the function of the second species ... 23 determination of the integral...........................................25 part 3. the integral as a product. indirect solution...................................................... 28 solution for n: = 2.....................................................30 the product y of the two solutions......................................32 direct solution.........................................................37 determination of y for n = 3............................................40 part 4. the special functions of lamé. functions of the first sort.............................................42 functions of the second sort............................................43 functions of the third sort............................................ 44 part 5. reduction of the forms u n = 3 ”. identity of solutions...................................................45 determination of x and v. first method................................47 x as function of φ................................................ 48 factors of φ.......................................................49 case φ = 0.........................................................49 definition of ψ and p(v) as function of ψ........................50 definition of χ and p (v) as function of χ.......................51 reduction of lame’s functions φ = 0......................'.... 51 integral χ = 0.....................................................52 case ώ = 0.........................................................52 8 contents. page relation of y and c to the special functions of lamé....................52 analytic form of y and y...........................................53 condition (7 = 0. special functions of lamé..........................53 condition p = 0. functions of first sort............................54 condition q = 0. functions of second sort ..........................55 absolute relations of qx and φχ.......................................55 determination of g....................................................56 the integrals = 0, q2 — 0, = 0.............................56 the discriminant of y.................................................. 57 resultant of y and φ(α)...............................................57 discriminant in terms of this resultant...............................58 discriminant in terms of p and q......................................58 special results, n = 3.............................................59 determination of x and v. second method.................................60 reduction of the general function..................................60 development of φ(% = 3)........................................... 62 development of ψ(% = 3)............................................64 development of e (n — 3)............................................. 65 reduction of x and v from these forms.................................66 general forms for .r, p (v) and p ' (v)..........%.................66 determination of forms (n = 3).....................................68 reduction to the first forms..........................................69 determination of v. third method...........................................70 value of the constant tct ............................................70 general form as product of φ1? φ2, φ3..............................71 the functions fli p2, fs...........................................72 forms for p(v) and p iv) in terms of f? and φ;......................72 relation of fn=i3 to χ and the factors of χ.........................73 reduction to the forms of m. hermite...............................73 general discussion.........................................................73 review of the theory..................................................73 general integral p = 0...............................................74 integral q = 0, v = ωλ, x = 0.....................................74 integral fx = 0 or χ = 0, v = ωλ, x =4= 0.........................74 case v = 0...........................................................75 functions of m. mittag-leffler.............................................75 relation to the case χ — 0........................................75 definition of the functions..........................................75 determination as a special case of the doubly periodic function of the second species.......................................*. . . 76 determination of the eliment, v = 0...............................77 integral (* = 0).....................................................78 table of forms and relations (n = 3).......................................79 thesis.  part i. historical development and definition of the equation of lamé. the problem of lamé. in order to arrive at an understanding of the highly generalized forms that have taken the name of lamé it is adivisable to return for the moment to the original problem of the potential in which they claim a common origin. lagrange and laplace (1782) in their researches with respect to the earth regarded as a solid sphere developed the potential function*) which led to the development of the theory of the kugelfunction. from this date until 1839 the only name that need be mentioned is that of fourier (1822) who, in developing his theory of heat solved the problem with reference to a'right angled cylinder discovering the series named after him. in the following decade**) however lamé***) generalized the work of his predicessors by solving the problem for an ellipsoid with three unequal axes thus laying the foundation for the development of functions of which the former are but special cases. he used to this end the inductive method arriving at special solutions through a study of the problem already solved with reference to the sphere. the problem of lamé may be stated thus: let the surface of an ellipsoid he given by the equation u = u0¡ it is required to find a function t which will satisfy the equation of the potential and which for the value u = u0 will reduce to a given *) see note heine, handbuch der kugelfunctionen, p. 2, berlin 1878, and heine, 2d voi. zusátze zum ersten bande. **) see also reference to green heine p. 1. ***) mémoire sur les axes des surfaces isothermes du second degree considérés comme des fonctions de la temperature. journal des mathématiques pures et appliqués. lre série, t. iv, p. 103. 1839. 12 part i. d] function of v and w, where t is the temperature at a point whose elliptic coordinates are u, v and w. the working eliments are then, the potential function, generally written or transformed in terms of the p function [2]· · (pv — pu)^ + (pu—pv)^ + (pu-pv)ÿ^r = 0 the relation, [3] • t — f(u) f(v) f(w) and the equation [4] • g = [apu + b]y where y = f(u) and a and b are constants. if t is developed by maclaurin's theorem with respect to the rectangular coordinates, we may write:*) œ.............7=t0+ zí + t2 + ... + r„ + ··· where tn in general is an intire homogenious polynomial of the nih degree, it is observed that each of the functions tn will also satisfy [1], the equation of the potential, in which case [1] would be an intire homogeneous polynomial of the (w — 2)d degree. this polynomial must be identically zero which will impose -|·(n — 1 )n linear conditions. the quantities tn will have in all y (w + 1) (n + 2) constants, which leaves the difference 2n + 1 equal to the number of constants that may be considered arbitrary. now the general expression for x2 in terms of p is known to be r61 . . . t2x2 = (p*-««)(*»-‘«hp*-*«) (ea ep) (ea <v x being a constant, from which we see that by a change of variable tn may become an intire homogeneous function of the nth degree with respect to the variables [7].............ypu — ^, y pu — e2, y pu — e3 quantities proportional to the axes of the ellipsoid, and of the 1st degree, pu being of the second and p'u of the third. we have then that t, the function sought, is composed of similar functions tn, where tn is of the wth degree, is symmetrical ) see halphen. vol. ii p. 466. historical development and definition of the equation of lamé. 13 with respect to uy v and w and having 2n 1 arbitrary constants* is capable of satisfying the equation [2] of the potential. from the above relations we derive [8] · · ' · 0 = f'ufvfw = tfj£ = [apu + b]t with corresponding equations for v and w. if then one can find 2n + 1 systems of constants a and b of such sort that for each of these systems there exists a solution y = fu of equation [4] where y is an intire function of the nth degree each of the corresponding products fufvfw will furnish a term tn of t and the problem of lamé will be solved. the value of a for all of these systems is n{n -f1) where n may be considered as always positive, since the substitution n ^ — (n -|1) does not alter the value of a. the problem of hermite. continuing our review we find that one of the original forms of lamé;s equation expressed in terms of the jacobian function is [9]..............^ — [w(w + 1 )k?sn2x -\-h]y = 0 corresponding to the form [4]*) [10]...............τί~ [♦»(» + l)pu + b]y = 0 where h is an arbitrary constant and n a positive whole number. lamé succeeded in finding the requisite number of values of h to complete his solution for the ellipsoid and the solutions of [4] corresponding to these values are known as the original special functions of lamé. the problem then arose: required to determine a solution of lame's original equation which shall hold for any values of h and n. except for the special values η — 1 and n = 2 no advance was made towards a solution until m. hermite**), making use of the progress in the theory of functions inaugurated by cauchy, arrived at the solution and by so doing opened a new field for *) see transformation p. 20. **) sur quelques applications des fonctions elliptiques. comptes rendus de l’académie des sciences de paris. 1877. 14 part i. ethe application of the elliptic functions and leading later to the integration of a large class of differential equations.*) in this connection m. hermite introduces the functions called by him doubly periodic of the second species, which have the special property, that save for a constant factor they remain unaltered upon the addition to the argument of the fundimental periods. the solution of m. hermite developed in terms of snu and for n odd may be written in the form [11] y = f(u) = i>: γ(ϋν) vw + \»lr p(2v — i “f" · * * 4" hy _ 1 f(u) where n — 2v— 1, with a corresponding form for n even, where f(u) is a doubly periodic function of the second species, namely, where f(u) = ex(-a~~ir) %(u) x(u) = h' (0) h (u ω) θ{η) θ (ω) &'(ω) θ(ω) (u — ík') + i it ω υκ that this shall be a solution the quantities ω and λ must be determined to correspond with definite conditions and herein lies the chief difficulty when explicit values of the functions are sought. moreover the above development fails as we shall find when seeking to deduce the special functions of m. mittag-lefifler from the general form. m. hermite was thus led to a new presentation of the general solution in the form of a product, namely i±a e-uca * ii 6ü6u a. = a. · h · · a form of solution suited to every case. the general theory based upon the latter solution has been lately perfected by halphen**), who, confining himself in the main to the use of the p function, presents the subject in an excellent but highly condensed form. *) equations of m. éimile picard. comptes rendus, t. xc, p. 128 and 293. — prof. fuchs, ueber eine classe von differenzialgleichungen, welche durch abelsche oder elliptische functionen integrirbar sind. nachrichten von göttingen 1878, and hermite: annali di matematica, serie ii, bd. ix, 1878. **) traité des fonctions elliptiques et leur applications. b. ii. paris 1888. historical development and definition of the equation of lamé. 15 definitions. returning to form [9] of lame's equation we observe that it has the following properties: it has a coefficient n (n + 1) wsn2x + h that is doubly periodic and has only one infinite x = ik! and its congruents, and it is known to have an integral which is a rational function of the variable. conformiug with these peculiarities m. mittag-leffler*) defines the general hermite’s form of lamé’s equation of the nth order as a linear homogenious differential equation of the order n having coefficients that are doubly periodic functions, having the fundimental periods 2k and 2ik' and everywhere finite save in the point x = ík' and its congruents which alone are infinite and whose general integral is a rational function of the variable. the general theory of herrn fuchs**) then gives the form, namely [12]............γ* + φ2(%<”-2> + · · + 9n(x)y = o where φ2(χ) = cc0 + axsn2x φ3<» --= βο + βι*η2χ + fiìdixsnix <si(x) = γ0 + γ^η2χ -f y%dxsn2x + fsd2xsn2x but a better generalization based upon a full representation of the singular points is given by prof. klein***) and later stated as follows by dr. bôcherf). first the ordinary form of the equation of lamé may through transformation becomeff) rion +1/_j__ + -a-. + -1_\=___________________________axj^b__________ li0j dx2 1 2 \x — ex 1 x — e% 1 x — ez) dx 4 (x — et) (x — e2) (x — e3) y where the exponents of the zeros et, e2j e3 are 0 and y and that of the infinites ~ · from this generalizing by the introduction of n zeros we have the following definition: *) annali di matematica, tomo xi, 1882. **) comptes rendus etc. 1880. p. 64. ***) math. annal. bd. 38. f) ueber die reihentwickelungen der potentialtheorie. göttingen 1891. ff) see also transformation p. 20. 16 part i. historical development and definition of the equation of lamé. „mit dem namen lamésche gleichung bezeichnen wir eine überall regulare homogene differentialgleichimg zweiter ordnung mit rationalen coëfficiënten, deren im endlichen gelegene singulare punkte et, e2 · · en sammtlich die exponenten 0, ~ beset zen, und in unendlichen nur einen uneigentlich singularen punkt aufweist“ lame’s equation becomes in accordance with this definition and freed from the possibility of a logarithmic irrationality through a determination of the coefficient of xn—s: &y_ \ f (χ) dx2 ' 2fx dx ϊτφ-f+ + ~+m]y= 0 where f(x) = (x — ef) (x — e2) · · · (x — en). it .is further evident that this form, like the hermite form and as previously developed by prof. heine, is but a special case of a general equation of a higher order. in speaking of laméis equation we will understand an equation conforming with the above definition whose general form is given by [14j and, if the order is higher than the second, distinguish by mentioning the order. forms [9] and [10] will then be called hermite5s forms of lamé5s equation or simply hermite s equation, where again the order need be mentioned only if it be other than the second. any solution of any form of lame’s equation will be a function of lamé and if the doubly periodic functions first determined by lamé are mentioned they will be designated as the special functions of lamé. part il hermite’s integral as a sam. the function of the second species. we have the problem required the integral y of the equation [15]....................= m y where h is taken arbitrarily, n is any intire positive number and k is the modulus of the elliptic function. m. hermite introduces to this end a function which he names doubly periodic of the second species, which may be defined as a product of a quotient composed of ú functions, the number of zeros being equal to the number of the infinites, and an exponential, having the property of reproducing itself multiplied by an exponential factor when the variable is increased by the periods 2k and 2ik. it is defined then in general by the relations: [16] f(u + 2 k) = μέ(η) f(u + 2ik') = p'f(u) f (u) = c(u — aí) a(u — aí) . . . a(u — an_f) ^ o(u — c(u — a(u — 6n—1) the factors μ and μ are called multiplicators. m. hermite might have been led to the employment of this function by the following analysis which is essentially that given by halphen.*) consider for the moment that y be such a function of the second species but having instead of the n different poles but one pole u ξξ o of the nth order in which case the function will have n roots. upon developing the properties of this function one finds that its second derivative has the same multiplicator as the function *) bd. ii p. 495. 2 18 part il itself and that therefore the quotient y" : y will not only be doubly periodic but will have a single pole u εξ o of the second order. this function then satisfies the necessary conditions and the corresponding quotient may then be written equal to n{n + 1) sn2 x + h where h is a constant. but we have taken this function with the condition that it have but one pole of the order n subject to the above conditions which affords n arbitrary constants and employing also an arbitrary constant factor we obtain (n + 1) arbitrarles in all. that is sufficient to satisfy all the conditions and leave h to be chosen at will. hence we must conclude that there is no reason why y should not be a doubly periodic function of the second species and our problem reduces to the determination of a function whose general form and properties [16] are known. from this standpoint we have: required a function such that f(u= [if(îi)j £& = 2-5γ f(u + a') — ¿f(u), a' = 2ík'. define: [17]....................f(u) = ae-^±^^*) which function we will speak of as the eliment the general form [16] being a product of similar eliments. we have the fundimental relations: ö(u -|a) = — a(ii)e2tiu+ris2 a(u + β’) = — ί~τ(τ)-φ· whence f(u -f· a) = a 6λ(ϋ + ω) + 2ην = f(u)qxs*+2ilv. choosing then v and λ correctly we may write μ = βΐη + 2ην *) hermite, in the following analysis, employs the function given on p. 11, namely the function χ expressed in terms of the θ function. hermite’s integral as a sum. 19 with a corresponding value for μ and we may then write f(a) = φ(η) f(u) v[u> where φ is a doubly periodic function, that is <i>(ti -jm& + nao = φ(μ)· again f(u — β) == i ƒ(«) and f(u — sí') = f(u). whence f(u — z — a) = — f(u — z) where f(z &) = ^f{¿) and we derive [18]..................φ(ζ) = f(z)f(u — z) where φ is doubly periodic. from this point the development of f(u) depends upon the theory of cauchy, as it is obtained by calculating the residuals of φ for the values of the argument that render it infinite and equating the sum to zero as follows. first f(ii) becomes infinite for the value u = 0 whence its residual eurof{u) = [ufu]u=o = a------—----------= = aõ(v) mu=o and becomes equal to unity if we take a whence l a{v)' [19] f(u) = a(u elu ' ^ ' g(u)o(v) again = sl™u (b «) φ(β) = (0 u)f(/)f(u *) and developing f(u — z) we have εηφ{ζ) = — f(u) again let a be any pole of f(u) in which case, developing by the function theory, we may write f(cl 4" í)e=o === as 1 4" a1des 1 4a^jdçs 1 4" * * 4“ ααό*ε~1 4“ ao “f“ aiε “1” a2“h * * 2 20 part ii. and f(u — a — s) = f(u — d) — jbuf(u — a) + ~dlf(u — a)+ r=i^wm -«) + ·· where we have then kφ = ,ΐο£íke + £)/(m « *) = af(u — a) + a^ufiu — a) + a2d2uf(u — a) + · * * + aadlf(u — a) with similar expressions for ebj ec . . . but φ being a doubly periodic function we know that the sum of its residuals with respect to u, a, δ . . equals zero whence [20] f(u) = [.af(u — et) -ja1 duf(u — cl) -fa2duf (it — ci) -f· · α=α, 6, c.. -f” aajduf{u — d)\ where atis determined from the first development. this important formula still further narrows our problem to a consideration of f(u) in terms of which and its derivatives under conditions to be determined it is now evident that y = f1 (u) may be expressed. transformation of hermite’s equation. we have written hermite's equation in its original form [21]...............= [»(» + 1)¿2 sri* x + /*]. that this is however but a special case of a more general form is seen as follows. take the integral r dx x — i = 1 rax j 1/(1 — *2)(1 jc*x2) * 0 j 0 yi we have dy dy don dy dx dx dx dx 1 y'a or ^ i*** 1^ ii hermite’s integral as a sum. 21 whence a?y dl* or d*y dx2 d2y 1 i λ' dy dx2 λ 2 j^dx yidx* ^ dx substituting we derive the ordinary form of lame's equation [22] . . . · λ + y gf— vn (n + 1) k2sn2x + h] = 0 .*) the value of a gives as singular points + 1; +~ and oo. for our present purpose however we need the equation expressed in terms of u and pu which is derived from (21) by means of the relations ρ(ιή = e3 + ___ei____?8___ sn2u]/el — e3 ’ k2sn2(u + ik') = and making the substitutions: x — u'\/el — e3 u oo u -ji¥ we obtain: d2y__________ du2 (β! — e3) dx2 = du2 {ex — f3) 1 r../„ i *\pu — e3 [n(n + 1) ■ + *]■ define [23] .............b = h {el — e3) — n(n + 1)<?8. whence our equation may be written: [24] .............y"=[n(n+l)pu + b-}y. development of the integral. we observe, since snx reduces to zero only for the value x = 07 that we have but one pole of the second order in hermite's equation and that we may therefore develop y within a cercle whose radius is less than the form being y = «” [y0 + &« + —] whence y’ = vu*-xy0 + 0 + 1) yxuv + (v + 2)uv+1y2 + 0 + 3)uv+2y3 + · · y" = v 0 — 1) uv~2y0 + v 0 + 1) yiuv-x + 0 + 1) 0 + 2) ury2 + · · *) compair general form [14] p. 16. 22 part ii. we have also p(u) -7.2 “f" clu2 + czu\ + · · · these values in [24] give: v(v — 1) y0ur~2 + · · · = n (n + 1) y0uv~t + · whence: v(v — 1 ) = n (m + 1) or v — — w. this value gives since the uneven powers fall out [25].........y ~7 + ^ + + ' ' ' + 7^i + ' ' ' from which we again derive y=n(n + 1) + (« 2)(« 1) ^ + (» 4)(* 3)-j^ + (n — 6) (» 5) -1---h (» 2*)(» 2 i + 1) γ 1 7ï9 h. η = fc + ^ + ^ + '“ + ^ + [i (n + ij (^ϊ + c7 + c-i4(4 + ···) + -®j , s 1 h-t , h.n(n-\1) = n (n + 1) —^5 + (« + 1 ) n -\--μ λ-17γ j. -\---v 1 j un +2 ' vn k ' 1 ' ' «-2,4-2 ' 7^9 a 1 ι b hχ j5 h2 bh, 4-5-j-----l _|---l j--j----_.l·. -l 1 n ' nn — 2 ' ..n — 4 ' ' λ,η — 2i * u u * +»(»+i)c1-¿* + »(»+i)<iai-¿ih----+ w(n + 1) cjii -^n—+ · · · + w (n + 1) c2 + * * · equating the coefficients of like powers of u in this identity one finds 7 i {n — 2) (η — 1) = n (n + 1) \ + b u -77777 i (n — 4:) (n — 3) h2 = n (n + 1) uh + cil + k b 7771 i (n — 6) (n — 5) \ = n (n + 1) (h3 -fc-ji^ + c2) + h2b u hermite’s integral as a sum. 23 7=6 i (w — 8) (n — v]h = n (» + 1) 04 + ca + <a + a + hb n 2í-4-2 l(w — 2*)(n — 21 )/«,== w(« -f-1 )a + c1/i,_2 +1'2/*;—s -f* · · · u 1 + ci—i] -fhi—i jb. whence we obtain all the coefficients in the development for y by means of the recurring formula. [26] 2 i (2 i — 2îi — 1) hi = u (u -j1) \jhh¿—2 “ή c2h¿—3 -j· · · + ci—^hi -fc¿—1 ] -f· 1 jb. since then h¿ is determined we have when n is even and equal to 2v 1 h-t ji __ y = -y-1-----i7=i + · ' · h—i~ + u u u and if n be odd and equal to 2v — 1 1 h\ /l 1 y — ~ 27=1 η" · 2 r—2 ά ' a------7----η u u u where hi is given by (26). development of the kliment f(u). having now a development of y we can, if we develop f(u) and substitute in the development of f(u), find by comparison the conditions necessary that y = fx (u) be a solution. we have then to determine the development of /·(„)_ £öl+^ei, 1 v j g(u)g(v) = u + since [nf{uj\u^ 0 = 1 to this end we develop first the function [27].............9>w = /‘(«)e<2+e')“ = e—t' we have: d£u d qu 1 , „ . . . pu— du ~ du' ou u¿ + c1u + c2u + d u qu u¿ whence gu u 3 ctu° — jc2u° — -czu 7 24 part il by taylor’s theorem: / , d — (*v) i(w + v) = i.(v) + m « , u* 6 , > 1.2 * du 1 1.2 du2 w2 , / n w* = % « «1» m -rtp'^)-riti p" « · · · passing now to logarithms we derive: 1 / v μ2 , , v m3 /p"(v) ολ = -í-«pw-tíw-y(ir-i) w4 fff / v w3 γ ffff / v c21 ït^ (v)-5ib w-ij — = \ + au + ^ μ2 + jf u3 44 2! integrating we have: log φ = — log íí + λ 27 + λ *7 + λ jt + 3! 4! whence i γ**ιπ+^!π+··ί [28]φ = ^βί21 31 j = èt1 + ij+ 4 jr + · ·] + i [λ |¡ + 4 h + · ·] h— = ¿[1+p*£+p3~+pi£+···] where p2 = a2 = p(^) ; p3 = -43 == p (v); p4 = _ 3*» + a,+ 3λ2 p5 = — 3 pvp'v = + 10j42^3 etc. showing that the coefficients pi are intire functions of pi/ andp'i/.*) *) the functions p» correspond to the functions sí in hermite’s treatis, for example p2 = — p(v) — si = u2sn2u — * p3 = — p'w = = %2snu cnu dnu see p. 126 development of %. 25 herinite’s integral as a sum. from these forms we pass immediately to [29] f(u) = φ(ίί)^+^)“ = 9(u)[l + (λ + ξν) + (λ + ξν)^ + · ·] =¿{[i+α+%u)u+(ρ,+α+w) + [ps + 3p2(λ + ζη) + (a + tu)·] + · · -1 = i + jç, + fii« + + ρζ«8 + * · · take λ = x — ξν whence [30] · · ƒ(*<)= ^±4 e(*-í*>« l j j 6 (u) σ(ν) = i + * + (*s+p2)j + (*s + 3p2* + p3)^. + (s4 + 6 p2 z2 + 4 p3 * + p4) + ··· = i + p, + j3i («) + h2 (u)* + #,«». where in hermite’s notation ηϋ = χ. fii = l(*2 + p2) [31] ^2={(ít3 + 3p2íc+p3) p's = ¿ (*4 + 6 p,*8 + 4 ρ3ζ + p4) determination of the integral. we are now enabled to determine the exact expression for f(u) and the conditions necessary that it become equal to y by a process of comparison of the several developments obtained. 26 part il first we have: ƒ(») = ¿ + ho + ht» + hìu* + · + η#* + · · · f (m) = — μ* “f“ -®1 “f" 2 hìu -{3 h¡ μ2 + · · · + ihi%l~x -j· · · γ0) = + ¿ + 2h + 2 · 3h3u + . · · + i(i γ» = ÿ + 2 · 3ií, + · · · + *(» — 1)(» — 2)si«i-h----/■((i ¡¡à! = + ^ + 2.3 .. · (» 1) hn _ x + · · · + i (i — 1)· · · (i — n -f1) hiui~n+1 -fagain 1 \ hv___j yn = 2r-l == ~2r-l + 2v—3 + *··“)-----------h ku 1_ ύν yn~2v and in generai y = fiu = aafw λι k, * + -5^ + ··· + -^ + ^. + +··+ƒ = 4, fi—1) + h------h ƒ (» odd). now substituting tbe values ƒ<*> found above and ordering the coefficients so that the residual with respect to u will be unity we find by comparison that we may write [32j · ·»-*■.(■)çnhjï f"~" + çrbn ^("’> + · · *.-./■ (n odd and = 2 v — 1) provided x and v le so taken that the constant term equal zero and the coefficient of the next term equal hv and roo , u=f9(u) —_____1__f <n -1)_-a_ .. fin-3)__5*__ ƒ(n — 5) . loo] v (n-l)l' (n — zyj (n-6)1 t -^ f' (» even and = 2r) provided x and v he so taken that the constant term equal hv and the coefficient of the next term equal zero or in general [34] (+ + ^v<.-8 + .,. hermite’s integral as a sum. 27 where the last terms are obtained to accord with the above conditions. ’ substituting the values fw we find the conditions to be (n odd) [35] h2v — 2 “t~ ihl^2r — 4 “1“ /^2s-2v — 6 ”f* * * * “f“ hr—ihq = 0 (2v — 1) h^v—i (2v — ÿ)ji\s^v~z “h (2 v — -)-··· hv-ihi — hv = 0 (« even) [36] h^v — i "4“ ^1 $2v — 3 “f" 2v — b -{-···-{” hv-.ih1 -jjlv = 0 2vh2v~\~(%v 2)/&χs2y — 2 (2 v — 4)/?2-fi^2r — 4 “-j” * * * -f" 2/¿v— 1jt2 ==s 0. these conditions being satisfied y = jf(m) and we have two forms d* jpt(m) — [n (» + 1)+ e] f(u) = 0 since finite for u = ik' = y · a second solution being likewise obtained by making the substitution η ~ — n the general integral may be written: y = cf(u) -jc f (— u). [37] part iii. integral as a product. indirect solution. it will be shown in developing the forms for the ease n = 3 that the original solution of m. hermite as a sum will not be applicable in the forms given in the last chapter, when b is so taken as to give a value, v equal to zero, which leads to a second development in the form of a product, the eliments being as in the first case doubly periodic functions of the second species. assume that [38] y-fl a=a'b‘ g (u + «) ρ-ηζα a (u) 6 (a) 7 where the product is composed of n factors obtained by taking α, b} c in place of a. the derivative of the logarithm is y [ξ (u + a) — ζ (u) -£(«)] =21 p'u — pa pu — pa while a second differentiation gives y ar-2[pu -p(u+«)]· from the first equation yί2= s? _1_ /p'u —p’g\2 ■ i_ y j 4 \pu — pa) 2 p'u — pa pu — pa pu — p'b pu — pb but the addition theorem gives: whence y_ y i pu — pa 4 pu — pa = p {u + a) + pu + pa, — p'a pu — pa p'u — p'b pu — pb integral as a product. 29 in order to decompose the last term in this expression we write: l pu —pa p'u — p'b . . x\ £----r--v-----= 2 (pu + pa + po) * pu—pa pu—po κ 1 ^ i χ' / + -pa -lb kc* + β) — s (« + δ) ε« + δ&]· take the value μ = (α + δ), remembering the relations ρ(— u) = + !>«; jp'(—«)—/(«); δ(—«)=---------δ(«)· writing then ƒ (α + 6) for the right hand member of the above equation under these conditions we get f(a + b) = 2np (a + b) + σρα + 2p (a + b) -fpa + ph = 2 (»+ l)jpw + 227i»a. from which we see that in general we would have // ^= w (w + l)_pw + (2w — 1) σρα the quantity in brackets being equal to zero. if now we reunite the terms ζ(η -fa) — ξα, ξ(η + b) — ζό etc. in the general expression and make equal to zero the sum of their coefficients we obtain n equations of condition, namely, writing pa = a\ pa = a'; pl· = β; p'b = 0'; «'+ v' . <*' + y « a' + d' i__________ o ■ ^ — « * a — d ' [39] β ■ a — y f + <*' _j_ p' + y' i + i_λ f? — a ‘ β-γ'β — d' y'+ i r'+ ft' i y'+ d , y — a y — β "* γ — d = 0 [40] if then we can solve the equations considered as simultanious «'2 = 4a3 — g2a — g3 γ = ^ 92β gs together with the relation (2n — 1) (a + β + γ η-------) = β we will satisfy the necessary conditions to enable us to write: v— = n(n -fl)pu + jb. 30 part iii. that is 9-π a (u + a) 6 (u) σ (a) 0 — uta is a solution of hermite's equation whatever be the value of b, provided a, l·, c .. fulfil the above conditions. solutionrfor n = 2. it is clear that, save for small values of ny an attempt to solve the above equations by the ordinary methods would give rise to insurmountable difficulties. the case n = 2 however, which is famous as affording a solution to the problem of a pendulum, constrained to move upon a sphere, can be readily solved as follows: given n = 2: we have the conditions «'2 =p'2a = 4«3 — g2a — g3 [41] —40s — — & pa-\-pb = ~b or a'2 -jβ'2 = 0. observe that by designating pl· by — β the above relations remain unaltered and that we may therefore write 4«3 — g2a — g3 = — 403 + 9ΐβ — g3 or 4(«3 + βά) — g3(a + β) = 0 whence but β=«-\β whence the equation that determines the values of b. [42] · · ■ \b2-^ab + a2-\g3 = 0 and also b = 0.*) if then n = 2 and a and h, the arguments of a = ( — pa2), are so taken that b shall have the values of the roots of equation (42) hermite’s equation will have the solution *) if in this result we take b = £ we obtain the formula r-af + «8-jÿ2 = 0, see halphen ii p. 131. integral as a product. 31 [43] [44] c (u — a) 6 (u + b) \ v = c —-------\ v 1---e(qa — i,b)u υ ü2u = c’ — fg(m ~ α + fc) icf«-c6). 1 (itt l (»m j « aiaa+a dtt l (»w j where v — a + &.*) that our solution given above be complete we must obtain the corresponding values of x and v as follows: λ [*(“ + .*) e(« —f»)a1 l gu j we have also i p’a + p'b y-du pv + pa + pi since again we have or hence whence 4 pa — pb p'a = p'b = a'. £2 αξ + «* \gt = 0 £ — f ± t’kvs — 3«2. !>(«) = f + p(*0 = / jp % \ \ρα — p6/ pa—pl = ÿg2 3 «2 i>a + = a = — 4a3 + #2a — 03. these values in (44) give: w...........ιή-α-ιγ’·*) the last is the form given for the expression cos cx -f i cos cy in the solution of the pendulum problem in the direct investigation of which one arrives at the expressions d2x dt2 nx; d2y dt2 = ny; d2z dt2 = nz + g where n is found to be 3z2(2pu — ρα2) which causes the solution to depend upon lame’s functions. 32 part iii. if we take a — 2b we have [46] p (v) = 8i3 + & 12 62 — g2 [47] where φ = 4 δ3 — g.2b for x we have: x = ξ(α — v) -f %a __£ ρ'φ — α) —p'(a) p (h — a) -fff'fr — p'a 2 p (6 — a) — p (a) 2p(b — a) — pi) — pa 9z and <p'= 12b2 — g2 tb = 1 p (~h ~ +ì*'6 * 2 pq> — a) — p& p v 2pv — a since — y p'a —ρ'δ = 0 pa -f-ρδ = a. combining these relations we obtain: p'v i τ ^+pv = b and i)v = 2(6 -pv) = 2 (6 ]/3lÿ^ = 1/3 fe φ ' φ φ' r φ' ' finally we observe that if — u is substituted for u in hermite’s equation it remains unaltered which gives us the second solution, namely [48].................3 =jj\ (a 6 {a) 6 (u) gii l,a x and v remaining as before. product of the two solutions. it becomes evident from the illustration in the previous paragraph that while in general the theory involved in the solution just given holds it is practically inapplicable for other values of n than two or at most three whence one is led to a study of functions of the integral in the hope of discovering inherent properties *) compair results obtained by m. halphen and obtained in a different manner, ii p. 131 and 527. integral as a product. 33 that will lead to a more practical result. the first of such functions to command attention would be the product of the two integrals [49]................................y=ye which we will proceed to develop as follows: we would find from the integral s as in the case of y = σ^ (β — u) — %u + ζά\ and combining with ΐγ=2τ[ξ(α + ω)_ξ(μ)~ξα] we obtain y 7 + α) 50“ α) = ~σ^¥~α but β (a + u) g (a — u) whence or y =17 ' ' p a yz — zy = > —---------· j σ ¿mipu — pa =]γ[ (pu—ρα)-*) yz -σ^ίγα -tl·*" *β) = 2c 2 g pa ____ pu — pa π (pu—pa) * g being a constant or expanding and writing t = pu we have [50] + + + = 2 g t — a 1 t — β 1 t — y 1 (t — a) (t — β) (t — y) . .. an identity independant of the value of t. to determine a\ β'.. . multiply both members by (t — a), (t — β) ... and take t = a7 β ... for example 'i β’ (t — «) , νίβ — <*) , _______20 ■r (ί_β) -r t__y -r··· {t _ β) {t_y) _ whence making t = a we have [51] 2 c (α — (3) (a — y). .. and in a similar manner we find 2 c (β — «)(β — y) ■ ■ ■ *) see theory of p and g functions. 3 34 part iti. these values of a and β'... determine the constants a, b... provided we can find the value of the constant c. it is also clear that c muet be a constant involved in the relation y=f and we are thus led first to a development of y according to the powers of t and to the finding of the relation between the coefficients. thus y becomes available in a practical form and c being determined as a function of y and its derivatives we have our relation in a new form [52] ......................y = ±ϋτ. i expand these principles of m. hermite*) (annali di math.) and halphen**) as follows: lame's equation may be written [53] ................... y"= py where _ p = n (n + l)pu + b and y=ÿy. seeking the equation in terms of y we write whence y'= 2 yy y" = 2y'2 + 2yy"= 2y2 + 2pif2*/'2+.2ργ, also (y'f-2p y)' — 4y'y"= 4pyy'= 2py whence [54]................ r"4pr— 2ρ'γ = 0 [55] a linear differential equation in y of the third order. from the theory of the linear differential equation, if y and z are solutions of (53) yy + qz will also be a solution y and q being arbitrary constants, and we derive also as distinct solutions of the transformed (54) t/2, y$ and z2 obtained from the complex form (yy + qz)2 , p = n(n + l)l? u and the transformed may be written: • · f"4[n(n + 1 )pu + b] t— 2n(n+ 1 )p'uy= 0 where this value indicates that (55) has n solutions in terms of p («) *) bd. π. p. 498. **) bd. ii. p. 498. integral as a product. 35 from which it follows also that y may be written as an intire polynomial of the nth degree in t = pu. that is [56] · · · · f=¿” + + a2tn~2 h-------h 1< + an. equation [55] is written in terms of derivatives with respect to u whence to determine the coefficients in (56) we must express (55) also in terms of derivatives of t — pu and equate the coefficients of like powers in the two identities thus obtained. take whence φ = φ(β) = 4¿3 — g2t — gs = p'¡u di u = φ and dtu = —· -φ 2 φ'; d¡ u = 3 4<p 2φ'2 — φ ‘ φ duy = d( ydu t 9>*d« di y = dtutfy dtyd]u (dtuf rf v (τ)*ητ df y i)( u ΐή wijty sd(udluoty+ s(d*uy dty u ' φ,*γ~ = φ·σζ y + } φ'31 yjφ"dt y these substitutions give: [57] (4ί3λί-λ) ~ + 3 (w-}g2) ~ 4 l(w2-fn 3) t + b] ^ — 2«(w + l)t=0. from [56] we obtain the values of these derivatives, namely = ntn~1 -f«j (» — l)ib~2 + a2 (w — 2) tn~3 + ab (n — 3) t"-4 + aa (n — 4) tn~6 + · · · da y _ = η (η — 1) t”-2+ oj(» — 1)(« — 2) tn~3-\a2(n—^)(w — 3)t*-4 + α3 (ή — 3) (w — 4) ί*-5 -|-------------------d*y — = n(n — 1) (« — 2) <b-3 + ax (n — 1) (» — 2) (n — 3) i»-4 + a2 (w — 2) (w — 3) (n — 4) tn~’j 4and equating the coefficients to zero we have: 3 36 part iîl η — 3: 4α3 (« — 3) (« — 4) {η — 5) — (ra — 1) (ra — 2) (ra — 3) ÿ3w(ra — 1) (» — 2) + 18α3 (μ — 3) (η — 4) — 1 &«1 (w — 1) (ra — 2) — 4 (η+ » — 3) (η — 3) α3 — 4-β«2 (μ — 2) — 2« (ra -f1) α3 = ο η — 4: 4α (μ — 3) (η — 4) (η — 5) — g2a2{n — 2) (ra — 3) (« — 4) — 9ζαι (w — 1) (w — 2) (ra — 3) -f· 18α4 (ra — 4)(w — 5) ---12) (μ b) — 4 (w2 -(w — 3) (w 4) α4 — 42? (w — 3) α3 — 2η (η -f1) α4 = ο η·— k: 4α* (η — k) (η — k — 1) (η — k — 2) — gÿak-2 (η — k + 2) (η — k + 1) (w — — gsak-3(η — k + 3) (ra — k -f 2)(ra — + 1) + 18a* (w — k)(n — k—1) — i g^-t (n — k -f 2) (n — k + 1) — 4 (n2 -fn — 3) (n — /,·)«* — 41! (n — k -f-1) a*_i — 2n (n -f1) a* = 0. from the last value we pass to the ratil by writing k = n — μ % whence the recurring formula: [58] 2 (n — μ) (2 μ + 1) (f* h” w η** 1) αη—μ -f4 (μ -f1) βαη—μ—\ + 7 λ (" + ^ (** + 2) (2 μ + 3) + #3 (f* + 1) (f4 + 2) (μ + 3) αη_μ_3 = 0 from which equation we find the unknown coefficients by making μ *=> n — 1, w — 2,... or k= 1.2... these results are simplified by employing the notation introduced by brioschi, namely: 8=t—b: — <p(t) = 4t3—g,t—g?i = <p. t=pu, by means of which the above forms are expressed as follows: [59] [4£8 + i φ" s2 + φ’β + *>]g + (l8s2 + ± φ" 8 + i ψ') §£ ~[402 + « — 3) 8 + ψ"] g— 2ra(ra + 1) f = 0 [60] f — s* + + assn~* +-+a„ integral as a product. 37 [61] 2 (n — μ) (2 μ -f1) {μ + w -f1) αη—μ = 12 (ft + 1) (μ + 1 — n) (ft + 1 + η) ban-fli + y (f4 + 1) (ƒ* + 2) (2μ + 3) φ' (6) an—μ—2 + (f* + 1) 0* + 2) (f* + 3) φ (6) αη-μ-ί. taking μ = n — 1 we find al = 0 μ = n — 2: a0 = w (w 1) (δ) 8 (2 η — 3) μ = ηη (η — 2 /, x 12 (2« — 5) μ (η — 1) (« — 2) 2 (2 μ — 3) (2 η — 5) 0φ'(6). and the term containing the highest power of b is obtained as follows: μ = η — 2: 2-2 (2n — 3) (2w — 1) a2 = — 4 (η — 1) b __ (η — 1) i? 0r (2 η — 1) (2w — 3) 0 (w — 2) b2 (l—n 3: tt3— 3 (2* _ 1) (2w _ 5) u = n — 4· (w 2) (w — 3) jb3_______ . ... ft at ■*. it4 2 ·3·(2» — l)(2w — 3)(2w — 5)(2« — 7) ' (n — 3) (n — 4) b* . ^ = n 0: ®5 — 2 · 3 ■ 5(2n — 1) (2 « — 3) (2w —5)(2n7)(2w — 9) ■ rtíoi 1 · (l)’*·»* i [62j ft = 1 : α»-ι=[3.5·7···2«-ΐτ + ·'· direct solution. having y = yg, we are enabled to obtain a rigid and direct solution of hermite’s equation in the form of a product as follows: in addition to y we have: y' = y s' + sy' and yg — = 2(7. whence 2 ys’^= 20+ f, 0' 20 + y' 0r 2= 27 and — 2sy'=2c~t, y · y'—2c or 2f whence yy"—y'2_y'i / 2/'\2 υγy2 y‘ y ' .y) ~~ 2p or y" 2 yy"r,2+ 4c2 y 4 y2 38 part iii. this value in hermite’s equation gives: [63j .... 2 yy"~ f2 + 4c2 = [n(n + 1 )pu + b] 4 y2. whence we derive the value of g sought, namely [64] . 4(72= f2 2 γγ+ 4[n(n + 1 )pu + b] γ2. let a, β, γ · * · = pa, pb, py · · · be roots of y. then yu=a· 6·· = tn -(a1tri~~1 0 κ = β·6.. = -1)£λ”2ί'+ · · · = 0 or whence and dt du v, , ár 4c>-/>(«) [i£-l„r. *>··· but from algebra we have [s=* ~ r) ·· · whence [65]...............2c = cc' (a — β) (cc γ) . . . with like expressions for the other roots which we observe are the values obtain before (see [51]), namely 2 g a — β' = (« — p) (cc — y) . . . _____________2 g (β — α) (β -t y) . . . to obtain y we have: 2g = y'a= y'b — y'c = · ‘ . + a, +6, + c being the roots of y = f(u). we have also: 2c = yz — £?/' = y,ù(u + «)’ — so — «) 2£(a)]ys or 2a r = ^[sq + «) — so — a) — 2 g (a)]. 2 (pu pa) “ t [£(« + «) + é(« — «) 2 ga] but integral as a product. 39 whence t =2ΐξ(μ + ®) 2{pu^-pàj h = ƒ^[logg(w + a) — log |/pw — pa — log eu — wg«] =¿log]7 = æ 1ο%πα a(u + a) c_mí:a ]/pw — pa ■ cu + «) g-κζα_______íl σΐί d ft l°g]7 — pa. but 1 2 a y j^jypu — pa = y2z ; lü«j7 0 (m “4“ öt) £ 2 55 ke»** whence = — + ¿ logjf7 + «) ¿-«ça _ 1 ^' + ^' σ (w 4" λ) dft ƒ i au e % yz 2c 2 y 2 y 2/ dft a dft g— uça ' g(u) l0*ij—,e-·!" or log y = logjj^ “ los c 0 = /7σα. whence the value of «/ is obtained directly, namely [661 · · ·. · · · · · y <r“te· the third method of integration is then the following: calculate the polynomial y by the aid of the relation [58] or [61] from which derive the constant c2 by means of equation [64] extracting the square root to obtain c and finally obtain the constants 2 c ,7 2 g p a — p'b = (oc — β) (cc — y) · . · ’ ^ " _ (β — cc) β — y)' · wheat a = γα, b — yb . . . are ¿ae roofe of y. these relations determine the arguments a b · c ..., having which the solution is y = j jf ° —e~~m a if we take the second root of c2 we obtain the integral & obtained also from y by changing u into — ft. 40 part iii. determination of y for n = 3. the foregoing solution while complete and rigid from a theoretical standpoint needs to be greatly perfected before it becomes practically applicable. it is indeed but another example, the invariant theory being a second of the fact that it is often an easier task to obtain a general than an explicit form. having determined the explicit forms for n 2 let us attempt to apply the above rule to the next case n = 3. from (60) and (61) we obtain. given n = 3 fw = 3 = “f* -ags a3 where a2 a3 n(n — 1) 8(2 n — 3) <p'(v) — t 9>'0) — t (12&2 — t ft) n(n — 2) 12 (2 n — 5) ψφ)~ n{n — 1) (n — 2) 2(2n — 3) (2n —~5) btp'b = ~φ(ί>) — bq)'b -τ(44δ3-3^δ + ^. again 8 — t — b .·. φ(ί) = 4 (£ + δ)3 &(s + δ} ÿ, · = 4s3 + 12δ32 + 12δ2£ + 4δ3 — g2 s bg, — g3 = 4ss + 12bs2 + (12δ2 gt) s + 4δ3 hg2 g3 = 4 s3 + 12bs2 + φ’8 + φ. ··· s’ t *(<) 36s* ! φ'-s-i φ. hence [67j · ■ în=z==s* + a2s+as = s3 + jg/s + \φ-1φ' *= s3 + (3δ2 ¿</2) 8(44 δ3 3ft δ + λ) = 1φ(ί)_δ(φ' + 3«2) = χ?>(0 ~ + 3(ί — δ)2] = *3 3δί2 + (6δ2 t (ι5δ3 λδ + \g3). whence γ'=3£2 + λ, γ"=6£, 2 υυ"= 128(83+ α28+α3) and substituting in (64) we have [68] .... c2 = ì(3/s2 + ¿2)2 3/s(/s3 + λ £ + a,) + 3(4s-+ 3δ)(δ’3 + λ^+λ)2· integral as a product. 41 to attempt to extract the square roots of this equation in accordance with the theory, g2 being expressed as an equation of the 7th degree in s or t were clearly impossible without some further knowledge of the properties of c. to arrive at such knowledge we are led ultimately back to a study of the special functions of lamé. part iy. the special fan étions of lamé. functions of the first sort. lamé derived originally functions of three different sorts, values for y7 depending on the value of n and corresponding ‘in each case to a specific value of b7 the chief peculiarity being that for these values y is doubly periodic. the functions of the first class are characterized as developable in the form [69] .... y =p(n—2) -f—4) a2p(rl~g) + · ■ · and that such an integral may exist is seen from the following: writing the corresponding function of the same sort y-p(u) we have n(n + 1 )yp(u) = pin) + ^ip(*“2) + a2p^n-^ + · · * whence by subtraction y"— n(n + 1 )yp = (at — ajp^-® + (a2 — a^p^-^ + · · = by that is a function of the first sort will be a root of hermite’s equation provided at — at = b : a2 — a2 = bax : a3 — a3 = ba2 etc. where the quantities (a) are linear functions of the quantities (a). but since the number of these condition equations is greater by unity than the number of unknown (a) it follows that upon their ellimination we obtain an equation in b whose degree will equal the number of equations, that is γη + 1 if w is even and γ(η — 1) if n is uneven: for example take n = 2, whence y = p -fat and y"= p” and we derive p” — 6(p + <^i)p — bp — or bax -f \g2 = 0, also 6^ -fb = 0 the special functions of lamé. • 43 whence and we find y — p — j b where p2 — 3¿/2 = 0. again let n = 3 in which case the equation in b would be of degree y (n — 1) = 1, that is b = 0, for which value we have at once y==p'(u). substituting indeed this value in hermite’s equation for n — 3 we derive at once p"— 12 pp = 0 a well known identity. define (p = 0) equal to the equation in b of degree y (n — 1) that in any case determines the values of b giving rise to an integral of the first sort. we have then that when p= 0 the general solution of hermite as a sum has in place of f(u) the p(u) and may be written [70] · · · (— l)’y — fft , ƒ<■-»(») + fn :i)1 the coefficients being the same as in the corresponding general development.*) functions of the second sort. to attain a function of the second sort assume that n is odd and that the solution has the form [71]..........................y = #ÿpu — ea « = 1.2.3 where z may be developed in the form z =p(n—s) -f+ a2p^a~~7) an equation in p differing from (70) in the degree of the derivatives only. proceeding as in the former case by substituting in hermite’s equation one finds that the solution holds provided b be now taken equal to any one of the roots of a perfectly determined equation of degree y(w+ 1), the right hand member of which we will define as qa which is equal to zero. *) see (34) and (26). 44 · part iv. the special functions of lamé. writing for convenience hermite's equation in terms of the derivatives of z with respect to pu by aid of the identity i>* = 4p3 — 9sp — 9s we fiave*) [72] · · (4pb — <jtp — ga) ddy + (lop2 + 4 eap + 4e2 f &) ^ *=[(»— 1) (» + 2)p -f b — ea] λ take now for example w = 3. whence .'“■p + ® jÿ-1 ^ = ° and (72) becomes lop2 + 4e«|) + 4e2 — \g2 = (10ji + b — ea) (p + «j and differentiating we have 4βα = 10 öq “jb — ea or whence and 1 1 t) «i = te« ϊ0ΰ p + t«e— [73] .... qa==b2_ 6eab + 45e2 15& = 0 an equation whose degree is γ(η + 1) = 2? and as a may have the values 1, 2 or 3 we have in all six values of b giving a doubly periodic solution of the second sort and determined by an equation of the sixth degree defined as [^4].........................q— φ1φ2φ3· * functions of the third sort. we have finally solutions that are doubly periodic of a third sort the integral being written in the form: [75]................... y = ey(pu —efi)(pn — ett) where n is restricted to an even member and s has the form s == jp(»—4) ¿y)(»-6> 4+ · ‘ · and a similar analysis to the former cases shows that this solution holds when b is the root of a determinate equation whose degree is 4-w. *) compair transformation p. 35. part v. reduction of the forms when n equals three. identity of solutions. having developed in the foregoing the necessary underlying principles we return to the case where n equals three, that is to a determination of the integral of the equation [76] · ..................y''=[12p(u) + b}y where b is to be arbitrarily chosen. the first form obtain from (32) is y = jf" + and from the first of equations (26) we have ■β . ht — — tq ’ where b = 156 hence disregarding the constant the integral is [77]........................y^f'-sbf where ' 6{μ)α{ν) and x and v satisfy the conditions (35) jtf2+ k = where x = ξν — ξα — ξό — ξο v == ci -jb -fc. (p. 17 and p. 16.) ist solution. 46 part v. the second form .obtained from (66) is [79] » = γτσ (’* + α) e« t« = γ7°---ç« ^ jl 1 6a au χ x ~'-a e where and «(<*) e(«) gfr a) c)^8 + tt+c ®(a) e(6) <r(c) σ3α> a' = p’(a)— 2c *0' =ρ'(δ) = y — p (c) — (y _ tt) (γ^~β) c=±vt·, γ=53+λ« + λ (a — β) '(a — y) 2 c ^ (β a) (β — y) 2(7 (p. 40.) ^ = ί — δ; λ = t (126‘¿ t&); λ = 7 (44δ3 — 3&δ + the transformation of form (79) to form (77) may be accomplished as follows. taking the eliments we have g(m +<*)r-uta au aa u y pa 4whence y ■■ 6j^±3 e-utb_±._!lnh . e ~ u 2 pb + g(u + c) u 1 u 6u6c u ’ 2 pc take ^_±d)a(^±b) a(u + ^ e_(^+?6+fc)„ a(a) 6(b) 6(c) o3u = [ω5 τ(ρα h"pv) +] (v — yp(c) +) f = c-“^“+f6 + fe) = (_“+jo (x-iv)n e(« + ö + c)öm ° auav e ~y~y (pa + pb-\pc) h--------f y¡ — i (pa + ρδ + pe) ------------ƒ"___ 2 ? / — 55 + ··· whence we observe that we may write y ~ ~2 if"u — (pa + pi> + pc) fu\. but * pa + pb pc = \ b = 36 • 2d solution. reduction of the forms when n equals three. 47 and, disregarding the factor we obtain the first form: y = f"-m having then a method of reduction the determination of a : δ : c is involved in the determinate of v. determination of x and v. first method. to this end we have from (31) and (26) h0 = x] ht = y (x2 + po; s2 = y(æ3 + 3 p2x + p8) and also ht = b 10 2?2 120 whence relations (78) become l· 20 1(*3 + 3p2* + p3)-|z = 0 ±(x*+6p2x*+4p3x + p4) f (** + p2) = f f set í-t.b or and take from (p. 24) p2 = p3 = — pv; p4 = — 3p2v + |&¡ which values reduce our relations to the form (a) lx3 — 3p{v)x — p'(v) — 3lx = 0 γ 80] j c72 (b) he4 6p(v)x2 — 4p (v)x 3p2 (v) — 21 + 2 ip (v) = ~ — //2 i o which are reduced forms of the equations of condition that y = fx (x) be a solution in addition to which we have the identity p'o)2 = 4ps(v) — g2p(y) — g3 and the useful relation h1=\ (a;2 — p(v)). or p(v) = x? — 2hv the product of equations (80) is an equation of the seventh degree in x the roots of which are functions of v and b and hence the values of b that will reduce x to zero are in number not more than seven. but when x equals zero (and v = w%\ y is in general a doubly periodic function and the doubly periodic special functions of lamé 48 part v. are in all seven in number for n equals three one being of the first sort and six of the second. it follows then that by elliminating p(v) and p'(v), we should obtain æ as a function of φ where φ is a function of b the vanishing of which will be the condition for the special functions of lamé. this complicated ellimination, suggesting the practical uselesness of. this method for any higher value of n is performed as follows. multiplying the first equation by four and subtracting we obtain 3 a:4 6p(v)x2 — 10lx2 2lp(v) + 3/0) = — ~ + g2 whence the relation p(v) — x2 — 2 h1 gives (c) 36 hi — 3 ux2 + 12 lht + 5z2 — 3 g2 = 0. again from (b) and the identity p'(y)2 = (3hx -j3p(v)x — χ3)2 = 9ϋ2χ2-\-9ρ2(ν)χ2-\-χ(ί-\18bp(v)x2 — 6bx4 — 6jp(v)x4 = 9b2x2 -f 9íc204 4a;2it, + 4hf) + a;0 + \ux\xì — 2iq — qbx4 — 6x4(x2 — 2-ítj) — 4(íc« 6xihl + 12a2hi 8hî) g2 (x2 2hj — g% or multiplying by 9 (d) 81 l2x2 108x2h\ + 108lx* — 9 · 36zh, a:2 + 9 · 32h\ + 9 g2x? — 18 + 9g3 = 0. from (a), (b) and the value for p(v) a:4 — &x2 (x2 — 2 h, ) — 4a:(a;s — 3 p (v)x — 3 bx) — 3 ([x4 — 4:x2hí+4 hf) 2lx2 + 2l{x2 2hj = ^ & or (e) 12za:2 12hj 4bh, — ψg2 and multiplying (e) by 3 and 85^ it becomes (f) 36 · 8lx2b* 36 · 8h? 961hì = 40z2h, — 24g2h, whence from (c) elliminating bx (g) 81 z2*2 108x2h¡ + 108za;4 36lhtx2 96ibi = 40z2h, — 6g2h1 — 9 g2x2 — 9gs. reduction of the forms when n equals three. 49 whence a further combination with (c) gives (h) 72i2a;2" 721h\ 32ph1 + 6~ + 9gt 2lg2 0 and again (i) whence where 8 l2ht sg.h, ^ 9λ + 8 lg2 = 0. 10 z3 — 6z^2 + — #3 ~ 6(22 — 10 z3 — 8 ax l — b1 ■ 6(za — ax) and bi = 2z t?8· prom this value of we have by substituting in (c) 125z6 — 210a1z4 — 22&jz3 + 93af z2 + 18a, ^ z + b\ — 4af ® = 36 z (z2 — aj2 ~ __ 4(z2 — a,)3 + (11z3 — 9a, z — &x)2 — ~ " 36z(z2 aj)2 — sd2 where φ(0 = 125ï6 — 210a,£4 226^* + 93a2i2 + 18av + δ2 — 4a\ s = m, _d = (z2 —ax), l = y b = 3b «x=3f=p (! + fc4); = 2^s=¿ (1 + *!) (2 f)(l 2p).*) φ(ζ) = 0 is then the condition for the existence of the special functions of lamé the seventh value of b; as we have already seen (p. 43), being b = 0. φ(1) must then be q(l) times a constant and as we have seen that q is separable into three factors of the second degree it follows that φ(ΐ) is a reducable equation of the sixth degree.**) moreover if we make the transformation ï-6f* *) the expressions used here are essentially the same as those of m. hermite in his celebrated memoir. the following reduction of the function φ(ζ) is also indicated by hermite. **) it is interesting to note that it is not given under the head of reducable forms of the sixth degree by either clebsch or gordan. 50 part v. the coefficients of φ all reduce to functions of the absolute invariant of the fourth degree , 3 _ <4 i $ _ (1 — ¥ + le4)3 bi c b\ 108 g\ (1 + ¿\>2 (2 vf (1 2 icy and we have the form: [83] · φ&) = = 125ξβ — 210c|4 — 22|3 + 93c2|2 +· 18c| + 1 _ 4c3 = 0. if then this equation be written in its expanded form in terms of the modulus h it will not be difficult to see by inspection (for rigorous proof see p. 56) that if we write [84] .........................φ = φ,φ2φ3 these factors of φ corresponding to the special functions of the second sort are, as given by m. hermite: φ, = 5l2 2{h2 2)1 u4 [85] · · ·· ■ φ2 = bl2 2(1 — 27c2)? — 3 φ3 = 512 — 2(1 + lc2)l — 3(1 — jc2)2. ' when φ = 0 we have x = 0 whence, as before stated, φ = 0 is a necessary condition for the existence of a doubly periodic function. but in order to be a sufficient condition it must involve a definite value of v, that is v must be a half-period. that this is the case, although the reverse as we shall find later does not hold, is seen by a determination of v as follows: we have (p. 47) p(v) = — 2 h, _ φ(ζ) — 12z(z2 — αχ)(ί013 — saj — bt)~ 36 z (z2 — axy define ψ(0 — φ(0 — 12?(i2 — ax) (10z3 — 8axl — \) = 5 ?6 + 6 aj — lob^—sall2 + 6 ajtj + h\ — 4 a¡. whence we write t86].............^(v) = tc2 sn2 ω — · returning to (80, a) we have p(v) ==» x(x2 — 3pv — 3?) _ φ(ζ) — 3τρ(ΐ) — 108 z2 (z2 — axf — χ mnp-ayy ___·>' · χ__ 18 z (z4 — axy reduction of the forms when n equals three. 51 where we define x = y [φ(1> — 3ψ(0 í0sp(p— αχ)2] = p — gaj* + áòjz8 — 3α*ζ — h\ + 4 α» =* a · e ■ c.*) where a = p — (1 +#·)* — 3¿2 b = l2 — (1 — 2a2)? + 3(ft2 — fc4) [87] .............c — p — (ip — 2)i — 3(1 — ¿2). refering then to note (p. 24) we have: [88] · ■ · · p'(v) = — ipsvpv ■ cn2v -drpv = that is p'(v) vanishes where ¿r vanishes which gives v — wi a semi-period, and in consequence, when φ = 0, f reduces to = c(m + w*) e_ .c(ei) e!îw. · <y(w) ^w?)==tix the value of the function of lamé corresponding to any value of b giving rise to the condition φ = 0 is then deduced as follows. from φ3 = 0 we derive: e = 5? — 1 + ip + 2 j/ï9(l — vf + ¥ and the special equation of lamé becomes y"= [l 2_p (u) + 1 + ¥ + 21/19jï^¥f~+¥]y and from the general form of the integral [77] y = n — y {1 + w + 21/19(1 — f)2 +t2} /]. but differentiating ƒ* we have k = [2jp(«) +inlf, = [2p(«) + ea] fv hence y = [2p(«) + i (1 + tp) f l/ï9(l a2)2 + fc2] ^ = [2pm + ea |(1 + λ*) — 41/19(1 — ¿2)2 + ¿2] 1/pu — ea = 2 [k**) + 4e« — ¿ -b] w — e« or y = s|/f>m — ea where 0 has the value determined by the elimentary consideration (p· 44). *) compair [161] p. 73. 4* 52 part y. case χ = 0. if % = 0 we have a second case in which the p (y) vanishes, v taking the value of a semi-period, but as this may occur without reducing x to zero the eliment will not be doubly periodic since it will contain an exponential factor e?u. if then χ = 0 we will have from (87) six values of b for which the integral will take the form y = f" — ~ bnf, where f2 = ^ (* — v 1 2 5 2/2 i ¿ eu a ωλ c7u __ a qxu 6u moreover the second integral will be the form remaining unchanged which is not as we have seen in general the case. case ό = 0. the only remaining case to be considered is where d — 0, or p -, a1 = v — 1 + k* — = 0 or l = ±(l — ¥ + = since x2g2 — y (1 — k2 + ¥). also l = 3& whence or 12 l·2 — 9% = φ'(ρ) = 0. that is d = 0 and φ'(δ) = 0 are conditions for one and the same function of lamé. in this case p(v) and also the p'{y) become infinite which gives v = 0 or the congruent values 2mw -f* 2m w. the general form of our integral will not hold for this exceptional case and we are obliged to return to the treatment of the subject from the standpoint of a product. helation of y and c to the special functions of lamé. returning first to (part iv, p. 42), the elimentary determination of the special functions of lamé, we there found with reference to b that, first, if n be odd, it is determined by two sorts of equations, one of degree ~ (n — 1) giving rise to functions of the reduction of the forms when n equals three. 53 first sort, and the other, three in all, of degree γ (n + 1) giving rise to functions of the second sort; whence combining we have, n being odd, b determined by an equation of degree γ (n -f1) + y (n ~~ 1) = 2n + 1. if n is even we find but one equation, degree -\1, for functions of the first sort and three equations, degree γ n9 for those of the second sort making a single equation whose degree as in the first case is 2n -f1. if then these roots are all different we have in all 2 n -f1 special functions of lamé. returning now to the forms (65) 2 g = a (a — fi) (a — γ) · · · we have the half periods or values of the roots a, β that will reduce them to zero. moreover they will not be double roots, for consider t = e% as a double root of y in which case all the terms of equation (57) will reduce to zero save the second which will be identically zero, which is a condition that the root be tripple. differentiating we find an analogous equation and a similar course of reasoning shows that the root must be quadruple and so on which is absurde. hence the roots that are half-periods are not double. on the other hand any other root of y may be double but as a similar course of reasoning shows it could not be tripple. if then c = 0 all the roots will be double unless they are semi-periods and we may^ write [89] . . . y = (pu — ef)s (pu — e2y (pu — e3)*" π(pu cm 1 whence [90] • · · y = v(pu — ety {pu — e2y (jm — e3)°" π(pu -pa) where £, s , b" = 0 or 1. but this form we observe at once is that assumed in every case by the special functions of lamé where we found y always equal to a polynomial in p(u) times some one or more of the factors (pu — that is c = 0 is a condition that the integrals he the special double periodic functions of lamé. by a transformation similar to that on p. 35 we 'may write equation (64, p. 38) in the form: 54 part v. 4 c2 = (4 ís — g2t 93)[(^ dt) 2 ¥ d* r dt* ] — (12i2 λ)γϊ and we have (62, p. 37) γ = + 4 [n(n + 1 )t+ b] y2 (__ xyibn [3 · 5 · 7 · · 2 w — 1] 12 + from which relations we see that the highest power of b in c2 is 2 w + 1 and that the condition (7=0 gives rise to an equation of the 2n + 1st degree in b which is as the number of the special functions of lamé. refering to (68, p. 40) we see that c2 = 0 has been fornidas an equation of the seventh degree in b as required by the above theory. functions of the first sort following the notation of m. halphen designate by p the first member of the equation that determines b corresponding to functions of the first sort. refering again to (part iv) we observe that if n is odd each of these functions contains the factor pu. for example we have: n = 3 : y = p where b = 0, the degree in b being unity. n = 5 :y = p" — y bp = p ( 12p — jb) where b2 — 21 g2 = 0 the degree being two, etc. but p' (u) = 4 (pu — ef) (pu — e2) (pu — e3) whence for n odd or equal to three, f, ε, έ' are all equal to unity. moreover we have obtained y (67, p. 40) expressed as a polynomial in t and h in the form γη=ΐ={φ(*)-δ[φ' + 3(*-&)2] and since p�i) = t' (βχ) = 0 we derive [91]..............yn=z(ef) — — b [φ + 3 (βχ — δ)]. hence pw==3 — p = 15 δ is a factor of yn=$(ex) times a constant. if on the other hand n be even none of the functions of the first sort contain a factor ]/pu — βχ and pm==2* will not be a factor of yn== %x(ex). •reduction of the forms when n equals three. 55 functions of the second sort. we have found three equations each of degree ~ (n -f1) or y n as n is taken odd or even, that give values of b that, if n he odd, correspond to functions of the second sort, or, if n be even, to functions of the third sort. designate? the first members, by qu q2, and q3. refering again to lame's special functions we see that if qt = 0 the function of lamé corresponding contains the factor ypu — et if n is odd and the two corresponding factors y pu — e2, y pu — e3 if n is even. in the first case qt is a factor of y(e±) and in the second case of y(e2) and of y(e3), while in the second case we have also y(ef) contains the factor q2qs. returning to n = 3 we have (see (73) p. 44) [&]*=3 = 6 ^ b + 45 c,2 15 #2 [92] ........[&u3 = b* 6 e2b + 45e22 10g2 [q3 =3 = b2 — 6es b + 45 e32 — lbg2 or in general writing b = 15& and φ = <p(b) = 4&3 — g2b — g3 [93] ...........[qx]n=3 = 32.5 w + 3 (ex ft)2]. also from (91). [94] · . . . γ(0«-δ[φ+ 3 — &)2] — b [lbb2 + 3e,2 6etb g2] b γβ2 15 l 15 ' 6etb 15 + — ft] = cb [b2 — 6^b + 45e2 15ft] = c*&p [95] where in general __ l c 3 . 5 · · . 2n— ï' the quantities q are also necessarily the functions φ times a factor as is shown by taking the substitutions ƒ = à c1 ** + ^ [&].=» = b*-\{2tc2)b [&]„=s = b2 \ (1 2k2) b ~ [&].=. = b2 \ (1 + ¥) b 8-*(1jl-*y. whence: 56 part y. hence making λ — constant, equal — 1 and b = 61 = 15 δ we obtain mn=* = 5 φ, = 5 [bl2 2 (h2 2) l 3 [96] · . [ρ2],==3=5φ2 = 5[5ϊ2-2(1 -2a2)i^3] [^3]n=3 5.φ3 5 [51® 2 (1 + v) l 3 (1 v)*]. hence also: [97] q-qxq%q,-^φφ-δ3®^,®, = 53 [4 (ï2 aty + (11 i3 9 v δ,)2] = 53 [12516 — 210^|4 —22|3 + 93q2|2+ 18 01 + 1 — 4^®] = etc, where 3__v_____! _ 10q (1-f + fc4)3____ ci &t» “ 108 * ^ iuo (1 + ¿2)2 (2 — ¿2)2 (! __ 2 ¿2)2 we have moreover that the conditions that the integrals be special functions of lamé are that qlf q2j q3 and p vanish. but c2 — 0 was also found to be a condition and we note that the sum of the degrees of qi and p is equal to the degree of g2 which equals the number of the functions of lamé. we must have then the relation c2 = c'q1q2q3p. but we have shown that the highest power of b in the development of ac2 is (p. 38) 4/72 = aby2 4...__ __ 4#(— b)2n i . . . 40 λ-f— [3 . 5 . . . (2n _ i)]* + whence c' =_______________= é [3 · 5 · · . (2w — l)]4 6 which for n = 3 gives as before taken c — ~-=■ · 0*0 we have then in general [98] ··.··'......cp — àpqiqiq» and when n = 3 to............c'-m-qf-^fq· if then we take q, = 0 : b = 3c, + y$(—12^+5¿¡) = 7c2 — 2 ± v(h2 — 2)2 + 15** y~{ï,jr jei ¿ (3^ ± ÿ3 (5^2 — ï2e|})} = {p + ά (fc2 2) ± ¿ νζν-2γ+ΐδ&} vp j(k2 2) reduction of the forms when n equals three. 57 [10ò] q2 = 0 : b = 3e2 + ]/3 (5g2 12e,) = 1 27c2 + ]/(l — 2¿2)2 + 15 y = + i «* fo ± ν'» (5λí2^1)) } v*3 * = {*> + è (1-2j*) + ¿ y(ï=2^+ï5} l/p-fíl-2f) ç3 = 0:b==3e3 +]/3(5</2 — 12e|) = 1 + + 2 v(2 — f)2 3fc 2/ = íi> + t«b ¿ (3ea ± y3(5^-12e·))} “ h + ¿ (1 + m ± i v(2-k*f-m} yp-l(l + ¥) all of which are special functions of lamé of the second species, the general form being y = ζγρη — ea where z = p(*~3) 4“ «ip(?î — 5) +··.· + c, and as given (p. 43) the general form for n = 3 including the above is [101]· ·■···· y-(p + tee-¡5b)yp=^ where b = 3ea± γ3(δg2 12e*). the discriminant of y. from (65) p. 38 we have 2(7= a (a — β) (cc γ) ■ ■ ·=β'(β — a) (β — γ) ··· = ·■ · = ϋφ (α) (α — β)(α — γ) ■ ■ ·]/φ (b) (β — α)(β γ) ··· = ·· · where · ψ («) = 4 (l>« — e,) (#μ — e2) (pu — ¿3) γ" = (pw — ei)' (ρμ — e2y (pu — e3)f" π (pu — pa). the roots of ψ (a) = 0 are e¡, e2, es. the roots of y= 0 are el7 e2, es, α1βί · · · whence the resultant of φ(α) and y written as the product of the differences of the roots is h = n{a — ex), where α = α1/31·· · to n letters and λ = 1, 2 or 3 = [(« — ei) 0 — e2) (« — e2ji [(β — β,)(β — <h) (β ~ «3)] * ' ' =^τίφ^· 58 part v. but again t(et) = [(« e,) (β (y e,)] · · · r(c2) = [(« e2) (β e2) (y -e,)]··· *&)-[(«-0.(0-'»)(r-<%)]··· whence β=π(~α-^==^πφ(α) (~-1)'ítr(ei)· again we have shown (94; p. 55) that for w — 3; and the same method gives in general for n odd: w odd: r(0 = -c2p(?i; y(e2) =—c2 pq2¡ y(e3) = c2pç3 and likewise » even: y(et) = c2q2qs·, y(e2) = c*<?s&; γ(tv) = c2#^ whence we finally derive [102] r -π » «)=(')·ΐ7 ^>lí £ v * α. λ λ 7 now the discriminant of y equals the product of the squares of the differences of the roots and may be written: a == (« — β)2(« — γ)2· ■ ■ whence from (65) 22 (72 2 2c2 22w£2» δ2 φ(α) φ (b) πφ(α) πφ (a) = 4rip c2n δ2 = but we have first found whence again c2 = c4p$ and we derive from these n being odd λ 2 _ c2n _ (cy _ c4w pnqn _ ^ ~ β ~ b ~~ cqp*q~ (from 99) c2(2n — 3)pn—3qn — l or n — 1 n — 3 n — 1 δ = (— 1) 2 c2n~~bp s q 2 : n odd [103] and in like manner we derive (sign ambiguous) δ = (—i)2c2^p~2 ρ2 n even and we have also δ = 0 since y has at least one double root. reduction of the forms when n equals three. 59 case n = 3. [104] b = (a — et) (a—e2) (a — e3)(β—ο,)(β—ε2)(/3—e3)(y—ex)(y—e,)(y-e.¡) = ¿ («3 —·λ« 9s) (β3 92 β~ 9s) (73 —927 — 9s) = ~ vw+z fe ¿fe] [φ'+ 3 fe ¿fe] [φ'+ b fe ¿fe] [105] a = ¿p°<? = g)01<?2<?3 = 33[φ' + 3(6, h)2] [φ'-f 3(e2 — b)2] [φ' + 3 fe l·)2] (see (94)) which for the special case n = 3 furnishes the interesting relation, q differs only by a constant factor from the discriminant of y. remembering that λ has been determined equal to (— 1) we have from (97) q = 53[4 {l2 α,γ + (11 is ~ 9al b)2] and the relations: i = 3b:al — == f 9s ■ a = t (12 δ2 — £2) : a = — j (44ft3 — + </3) 4fe — a,)3 = 4 · 27a| : 11z3 — 9atl — ¿>fe = — 27as [106] · · ·...........ç = 3s-53[44 + 27^] [107] .............a = [4ja + 27^ì] which latter value we would have derived directly from the form y=s* + a2s + a3. writing a2 = y<p' and α3 = ~φ— b<p' we derive still another form for q namely [108]· · <? = -^[φ/3 + 27φ28·27δφφ' + 16·27δ2φ'2]. again we find [109]· · · .2 _ φ(0 36ϊ (ϊ2“— a¡) 4233δ 36 · 336φ'2 _{ 2 ΐ/4αϊ+27α|γ 13φ'κ δ~ j from which value we again see that the vanishing of ψ’ is equivalent to the vanishing of ώ. (compair p. 49 and 52.) 60 part v. determination of x and v. second method. we have the general theorem: every rational function of pu and pu can be written in the form: ac (u — vj a (u — v%) · · · a (u — vu) <pl w g(u — 1//) o(u — v%') · · * 6 (u — v'u) where the number of functions in the numerator equals the number in the denominator, making the number of zeros equal to the number of infinites. the reverse theorem is also known and we may write: [u0] (_ irii _ 0(pu) _ w (pu) where φ and ψ are intire polynomials in pu and p'u, \ a constant to be determined and the relation exists « + b + c = also, from the general theory, the degree of the right hand member is four, p (u) being considered as of the second degree and p'(u) of the third. the degree of φ and ψ are thus determined as follows: φ ψ n odd: | (w + 1) ~ (n — 3) ' n even ~n — 1 n = 3 2 0. the n roots of the first member in the general case being a, 6, c ... we have: [111] ................φ(α’) — ^1α'ψ(α) = 0 where u—p'(a)7 a=p(a). from (p. 38) dy 2c f ' t ' \ ~dt = «'=(“β) (“ r) ·■ ■ whence j_ , _ ( dt\ 2 c®. \dyji=a and [111] becomes [112] .............γφ^ι-ψί =0. but a, β, y,... are also roots of yf whence the. relation [113] ·...............ψ = ευ where e is also in general an intire polynomial in t whence t114j...................#4?=^+? ' reduction of the forms when n equals three. 61 we have also [«"-ίί·.-0 etc. for the other roots of y. the degrees of [114] are 7js y . φ n odd: ,-----------------i---------r ί----------|(h-8)-» = -i(» + 8) } (n + 3) -1 n even: γ (n) — 1 — n = — (γ n + l), (j« + l] — 1. we have . y = tn -faltn~1 -fa2tn~~2 -f· · · -fan-xt -fun y' = ntn~x + (m — 1) a±tn~2 + (n — 2) a2tn~3 + · · · + an—i and y_ = nt"-1 + ax (η — 1) tn~2 -\-_ h> i h jl h 4. . y f1 + α,γ"1 + a2tn~2 + ·. ^ * i2 ' ”* or ntn~1 + ax (n — 1) tn~2 -fa2 (n — 2) ¿w—3 + · · · =a + *·’·) + (*”~2 + mn~3 + · * 0 and equating the corresponding coefficients we obtain: \ = n at (n — 1) = nat + ^ or = — «1 [115]·.................δ2 = — 2ft + aî g = — 3 -{— öq $2 — etc. . — — — — — proceeding in like manner we write: φ = b0v + jbji—1 -1------h + -br where v =[}(w+ 1), 4w] whence (τ + ψ + f + · · ·) w + b^~l + ' ' '■ + μ + *) = 60 (ΰοί’-1 + η,#»-* + ■·· + b,_ ! + *’-) + δ, (-b0¿”-2 + b**»-» h---l· -b. -2 + br-i*"1 + -β,ί-2) + \ (-b0¿r—8 + bt £’~4 -f···) + ·· · 62 part v. [11.6] ^+vu1+iiw+w^+"'+f'7+'·1^ + \bvir* + b.bv-it-1 + \br-i + hb,-»t + · + ’ . , + hv-1bvt~v+ -----h ®*-i = + h0b,-ip + b0bv-^+l-\-l· kbj2 + b0b0t**-1+t>ibvt''-2+b1br-it*-1-\-hbv-i!t''+ ■· from whence the relations: \βν + \bv-i + b2br-2 + · · · + b>vb0 = 0 \βύ + \br-1 + h----l· ^r+l-^o = 0 v — 2 bv-xbv + bvbv-1 + br+tbv-2 h---------1&2,-i#c = 0 we will define: [117] dm = w &1 &2 * * ’ bm * ‘ * .^m + l ^m^ra + 1 ^m-f-2 * * * ^2m we will define b, = ^r—1 and we will then have from the above conditions, all the coefficients b1b2 , .. as intire functions of w ... which are in turn functions of a19 a2 ... which finally are expressed as functions of b,g2 and g3. that is we have obtained φ, of which the first coefficient shall be âv^x intire in terms of t,b,g2 and g3. case n = 3 we have: b 5 from (p. 36) μ = 2: 2 · 1 · 5 · 6at + 4 · sb = 0 or μ = 1: a2 = 2*’ λ 3 · δ2 4 μ = 0: as = b3 i 3* 52 1” 3 -5 93 4 and from (115) tn-1 n = b0 ¿«-2 al (n — .1) = kaû \ = ‘■ — οχ a2(n — ■2) = b0a2 -fl>1 al + ^2; htn ^ as (m — 3) — �3 + + + v> reduction of the forms when n equals three. 63 the conditions (116) become: b0b2 + \bi + b2b0 *= 0 \b2 + b2 b1 + bsb0 = 0 whence (6λ-^)^-(δλ-^)50 (po^2 hi) -®i — (bxb2 b0b3) b0. but b0 = &λ bí = \gi b* = 4 g218 δ2 = 6a2 = f φ'2 whence jb2= (— %) φαχα2— 3α3— α®) — (4α| — 4α^α2 + <ή) = α^α2+ 3%^— 4α| = i ft·5* , _ 1 2 3*. 53 3·4·5* ' 4 · 5 4 y2 = 32 · 5δ4 + τ ^ + t — τ ^2 β1 = (— %) (α2 — 2 α,) — 3 (3 α, «2— 3 — α®) = 2α® — ία^α^ + 9α3 7β° g,b 3 v 3· 53 "τ" 4 4 = 3276®+^2δ-|5ί3 = 9^3+ 126 α2 — -jφ — 6δφ\ we derive then, finally φ = 5*» + btt + b2 — — 6(362— ■!· <?2) (£2+2δ£ + δ2) + (636»+“&6--|&)(s + 6) + 32·52δ4+ -|#2δ2-|-|-δ#3— ^^2coef. s2 is 6' (3 δ2 -· | &) = 6 „ 5ϊ8-9(-116»+|λ6-|λ)=9λ » s°„ -4(3δ2-|λ)2 = -4^2 hence [118] φ = 6 (3δ2— jg2) s2+9 (11δ®+ ±gib-l.gt)s-4(sp-±gt)‘ = 6 j.2s2+ 9aa8 — 4 at having obtained φ, the calculation of ψ and e is simplified by the following considerations: 64 part y. let n be taken odd and take for b a root of the equation qi = 0. in this case (see p. 54) we have y as a· product of t — ei by a polynomial tp where u has the degree ~ (n — 1). moreover u enters as a double factor and is therefore also a factor of y\ whence, from the form · φ ~ — ψ = ey at we find that u must also be a factor of ψ. this, however, we know to be impossible since the degree of u is γ (n— 1) and that of ψ only y (n — 3) (p. 60). the only conclusion possible then is that ψ contains a zero factor. we know also that b being any value whatever, ψ considered as a function of b contains the factors ql7 q2 and q3 and it follows that we may write *pnote=q® where q = 0, if b be taken as a root of qt = 0, ()2=0, or q3 = 0, and θ = f® (t). by a similar course of reasoning we show that if b be taken as a root of p, n being even, y will be the square of a polynomial v of degree γ n where ψ is only of degree γ n — 1, and that in consequence one has uneven = p@ hence we write: wodd: 0~-q@ = ey n even: φ — ρθ = ey dt where all the functions are intire in t. as we have before determined the first coefficient of φ is the determinant and in like manner we find the first coefficient of ψ to be [120].............dv = bvbv -f~ i -{-···-[“ ^2vbq. hence if we divide δν by q, n being odd we will have γ7 the first coefficient of θ. [119] 65 reduction of the forms when n equals three. to find έ, n = 3. the degree of φ is — (n + 1), the degree of y is n — 1 and the degree of ψ is ~{n — 3) less than y. hence from the relation on p(64), the degree of ey must be j(«+l) + (w-l) = ί·(3«-1). but the degree of y is n and hence the degree of έ is -~(w — 1). we have then [121] æu3 = ηί+ηι and ψ reduces to a constant, namely: [122] ψη==3 = γρ we have: r3 =s* + a2s + a, γ3' = 3^ + λ φ = — 6a2s* + — â22 and substituting we derive (3^+λχ-6λ«2+9λ^4λ2)=(^ + ι?0(^+λ^ + λ)+^« . and from these we have r¡ = — 18 δ2·7 ηί = 27 a?, whence [123] es = 9[2a2s—3a3]. returning to our original form we find that when n is three we may write: [124] (+ *) _ φ(ρη) l j 1 eaobec{6uy * 2 c pu w(pu) = φ— yçs'yq=(6λ s2+ 9λ5 4 λ*) + ios’ (4 aj+21a*). having this development, the determination of x and v is made possible as follows: — taking the derivative of the log. of the first member, a, and developing according to the powers of u we write in general a = ci [£(w — a) + g(w — l·) + g(w — c) · ■ · ξ(η + ν)—(η + 1 )ζιι. but the developments are known: ξ(ιι + v) — %u = ζ(ν) — ì — up (v) 2 g (w — a) — g (m) =» — ga — ί — «pa — p a ■ ■ ■ g (« — δ) — g (w) = — g6 — ^ — ~pb··· 5 66 part v. and we may write α-*($ν — ξα — ζό — ξο··) — 1 _ (pv + « + β + γ + ..)« ΐτ (ί»'ν + pa + p'b + · ·) · ■· but ζν — ζα — ζό — ζο — — x and _ρ'α'+ p'b p'c -1· · = o (see pages 25 and 45); whence [125] a = — + a: — (a + /3 + y + · + pv) u — \pv -f · · the degree of φ is γ (w + 1), °f b’, 3, of ψ, \ (n — 3), and of p, γ which gives the degree of the second member as γ (w -f1), also 1 . . -<* + »> 1 i _ 1 , *«-*+··· whence p* = ‘ and developing the second member (b) we write, disregarding the constant factor b <h , i___?8----l . + 77 + ,,η-1 ^ ^ „"+1 whence [126] rf log b = w + 1 ,7”+2 _ ¡5+ϊ (η — 1] ___ (m — 2) qs ~ u „«+1 + -^ + i —2 » 1 (n + 1) + *jigi_±i!l±i^,+,(v: 2)-^^ · i---! 4w + 3ΐ« + 9c “■ + · · · = _ » + i i s^(2gt—g/)u + (3g3—3gtg,+&>?+..· again: , ... φ = i>y2 1 .}(»+» _f_ ^ 2 . íb — 3> θ = y t2 p’ = (4 f tfft + &) + _l (rt — 5) 3)+1ί*2 + ¿ 2 '2 == — ¡te + whence / ì(*+1)i 7}iï("_1,j. )_γγ(4^—í#gβ=(ΰ0ί2 + ^1* +··7 26 r,),/:(ytl (η -j-yí2<m 5) -.«/d + _ υ0 , or.+ -&-.+ττγ~, — y+ï ^ cuk “(η~ι) οϊι~ 4£7^ reduction of the forms when n equals three. 67 and [127] dlog. b=b0[î±i + %y + (2b, ^-)u+(^p^2?1+2?1s)]m2+ · prom developments [126] and [127] we find [128] · · · · 2, =^jr; &=§‘; qs==bwo’ nhein9om> and from developments [125] and [126] :r —n — 9.t x qi~ uba [129] « + β + γ η-----1pv) = q* — 2 q<¡ p'v = 2(3qiq2 3qs + q*) * these forms are transformed by the aid of the relations c = <?ypq (p. 56); (2η — 1)(cc + β + γ + · · ·) = b (p. 29) (2η 1) α, = — b (p. 86) whence (« + β + γ + ···) = — α, = 2 χ giving as result: _ qy_ y i/q cb0 c¿b0 v p qyt¿ 2βλ β «v ■ 2 bl ¿v 6qybi sqyi i 2<?v ob, ‘ 6'3p„3 ob,* [130] x η odd. pv c*pb, 2 2bj β~ 2 η — 1 1 ν c2 le* pp*3 β02 ^ ρ0 i k ρ and from these the combined forms arise 3yx p v 2x <?y*_ 4_ c*pb* ’ bñ p'v bx 3 yx + pv = w2x 1 γ b0 y 2 n — 1 these formules are perfectly general for n odd and the corresponding forms n even obtained in like manner are [131] x ii $|8 ii ψϋϊ pv c4 qb,2 _ 2γχ β py2 ' y 2 η — 1 p'v 50 (m 1 ii í c4w 3 boyl [ pyà y2 p' v 1 yl 2 bx b > 2x + pv = -j b0 2w — n even. + ψ\ν the superiority of these forms over those first derived, showing as they do at a glance the synthetic relations, is unquestionable 5* 68 part v. and the explicit forms for our case n equals three and also for n equals four and to some extent for yet higher values, are obtainable with greater easy than by the first method. even here however the forms increase in complexity so rapidly that n is practically restricted to the lowest values. for case n = 3. we have found all the eliments except γχ which is derived from development of θ, or more easily as follows. from (106, p. 59) « = (15)» [4 4+ 27 4] and from (p. 65) ψη=* = qy = (3s* + a) (— 6 a¿s2 + 9a^8 4 λ3) + 9(2α,8 3+3)(s3 + λ « + aÿ ) = -(4j32 + 27^) and a comparison gives immediately i132!.......................y=~(í5)s' the other values for the eliments have been found, namely c = k yi== 0 φ'=12δ2-<72 p= 156 λ-τφ' ï = 36 j5o=-l«p' λ= j9> ~ è9>' «i = χλ βί=^φ — 6bq)' φ == 463 — — h =—”ít3. we have then for w equals three ■ x = /q 2 (15)2 ί p f (15)a * 3φ/ 1 1 /(lñ)3(443+2742) r 156 -ì7ì /¿λ3 + 27 (compair 109, p. 1 ί ψ 3 27φ2 — .8(27) 1)φφ' 16(27)b2 φ' 2 \ 2 6φ' i b j squaring we have: [134]· reduction of the forms when n equals three. ;== 4(3b*|g,)8+ 27(1163, 36b(3b* -\9i)'¡ _ 4(p — a,)3 -f (116* 90,6,— 6,)2 69 36 l(p — a,)2 φ(1) 361 (p a,)2 φ, φ, φ3 (compair 82, p. 4.9.) [135] _______________ 36z(/2 — o,)2 5362z (í2 — a,)2 ~ ,s’jj2 —’ ' again we have: _ <2y2 2p, b 1>v ~ c4pjb„2 b„ 2w — 1 4[4λ3 + 2742] 4(| φ — 66φ') 9φ'2δ + 3φ' u whence „οβη 7 ^[¿φ'3+ 27(¿v2 }6φφ'+ 62φ'2) i + ^ψφ'6 -·7262ψ'2 [í3b]pv b = l---------------------—---------------------------__ φ'3 + ‘27φ2 — 108δφφ' 36 δ φ’2 writing φ and φ' in terms of g2g3 and l· we have: φ ·’= 17285*— 4325^ + 36b*g\ g\ 27 φ= 432 6® — 216 54</2+ 27 52¿/‘2—216 bsg.ò -[27 í/2 454 </2 y¿ b. 1085φφ'=-----518456+172854</2 —108 52^2 +1296 63^3 — 108bg<¿g3 whence 21606e +-2166‘(/s + 108063<73 — 962</2 bibg^g, g\ + 27gi* [137] pv = 36δ(ΐ44δ4 — 24δ2#2 + again from the first method if; (3b) where pv = — si = li*’ hhn*v = iow5i _ ai)2 ψ = 5(35)6 + 6α1(3δ)4-1051(35)3—3a2(35)2 + 6a161(35)-f52-4af or expanding we again obtain [138] pv = 21606e + 21664</2 + 10800, 63 — 96202 — 546<kg, —+ “7^a 36&(l4464 — 246202 + flr|)2 φ'3 27φ2 — 108δφφ' + 36δ2φ'2 36δφ'2 *) compair hermite wherep=#)1,y=s<2al ■^== $3» s=3&lid=^(l2 w ' αι· 70 part v. it is, finally, evident from the general forms that if it be required to determine p'v it will be easier first to find pv . bx 3γχ b -+ρν = ά— -¥-γ— = l? 66φ' _ u = μφ 3φ whence _φ φ' p'v = (b — — pv^2x = — \{pv — b) + 1626φφ' — 27φ* — φ'" 3 φ 2a; 108 φ’3όΐ ϋφ'3 + 27φ2 2ϊ6ϊφφ; +"4326*φ78. determination of ν. third method. the formulae may be obtained by a third method and in yet different forms as follows: starting anew with equation [110] we write use] (-1)-*,·<“—>»<«-»>· _ ¿„w (*,„). caco · · cv(pu) “ also rc(4t a)~j _ _ j l ca jm=o whence it follows that the left hand member of (139) depends for its value on the terms (o"*i . c{u)n + 1 but we have again γ—1 = i l w ju = o whence we may write, taking n odd [(_ 6(u + a)-'~c(u + v) ί = \ ,__ ]} 1 <>(ά) βψ) · · · 0(.v)(tftt)""h1jm=o ww+1 and from p. 66 k = 4c that is n being odd kt = b0. and a similar investigation gives n being even k py. i-----cqv i + reduction of the forms when n equals three. 71 since v == a b c we may write p—a-\-b-f-c-j--v) ^ ^ and multiplying by this factor we can separate the left hand member into factors of the form 1140!.................. + ou g a g a for u = wv but for this value p\w^) = 0 and our relation becomes and h o1aoxb • · · v 6aeb · • gv t in a similar <>2 a a2 b • · · 6t v aacb • · · gv αά ao3b ■·■ 6.0v 6aob • · · gv = φ(ρ™2) ■= φ<δ) = φ2 = φ(ρν)ά) = φ(%) = φ8. recalling the known relation t ^ 6,u 69u 6„u p u = — 2 -—i—— l 60u we have upon taking the product of the above equations [142]. . . · . tfp'apb · · · pv = (— 2)”+1 φχ φ2φ3. again from the relations (65) “-(*-(i) (« y) (« í) . . . etc· to n terms and we obtain the product a"e\!)»·*···—»_(_ 1)1 [143] α'/τ/------(α _ (})*■(* _ y)* (« _ d)* ■ ■ ■ (β — y)2 (β-d)* · · · (y d)2 · : ~ δ δ being the discriminant of y. substituting this value in [142] we derive [144] · · · · (— l)t”(”-,)2“cvv = (— 1)’,+12φ,φ2φ8δ. again squaring we get a cib · · <> or (see [89]) k* = φ*(βι) = x)*w(pa — ei) 0& — e 1) · · (pv — e,) o*a <r 0 · · · <> v [145]...............(— l)“/c2 ffa) (pv e,) = ®2(e,)· and we have also the two corresponding expressions. 72 part y. we have shown (see p. 58) that when t = et we have y(e 1) = — c2pq whence it follows from this and relation [145] that φ(βj) is divisable by qt and in general φ(βχ) by qx. we thus derive the relations [146]. . . . φ^&ρ] : φ2 = çÿf2 : φ3 = çsf3. we have also found n being odd: n — 1 k = b0 : c = : j = (1) 2 c*»-»p*<m ”q2 (* w rfa) = — c2pqt these values in [144] give (iÿ(n~1)n bynp^ q^pv = (lf+*+— q^n~l)qf^f^ or [147] p v ; 2 qftftfa __ 2 ftftft yq e'p^b/çfi c3pb0a v p and from [145] bypq, (pv et) = φ\ = q\f\ whence we have in general [148]. [149]. pv — ex = qxfî c2p02p' the corresponding expressions for n even are 2ο3φχφ2φ3 -yfq p v =----jpv “ y3p y2 p again from [130] 2 p1 ~c3j f £y3 3 γβ, 1 |/v lc4pp03 ¿7 ) γ p ϋΐ/§ p k p ■ l£ys 8ybie*bep| ,3p 1 c3 c3p03p 1 2y q^-sb^pcm j/| compairing the second and fourth forms we have [150].........f.f.f, = i (qy>3 p0p, pc*). c3p03p w odd. reduction of the forms when n equals three. 73 substituting the values n — 3 (p. 68) and refering to the value of χ (p. 51) we find the relation [160] · · · · f,=1 = [fjilfj,», = ¿456’. it follows then that χ, if expressed in terms of the modulus k and δ or as a function of δ, βχ, g2 and g3f will be separable into three factors which from the expressions for φ are seen to be of the same degree in 6, namely, the second. the factors of χ which we before obtained by. inspection (see p. 51 [87]) are a = l2 (i + k2)l-3k2 [161] ............b = l2 — {\ — 21c2) l + 3(4* — £4) c=l2 — (ik2 —2)1 — 3(1 — k2) and we find the relations: [162]. ft = ^a·, ^ = ¿2*; fa = lq. taking now s = 361 and d = l2 — a1 = l2 find the following relations of m. hermite 2 φ(ζ) pqb x 36z(z*—sb2 —pv = £li = k2 snu cnu dnu — 1 + k2 — ί& we [163] zd)x abcx sb2 361^*— at) 1 + 4* *ψ _12ϊ(ρ — α1υ(1 + &) — 'ψ{1) whence 3 36 ιψ — α,υ ·36ζ(ζ* —«λ* 121 (p— α{γ (2k'¿— 1) + (¿b2 361 {v¿ — axy (2 **) + j,® _ bc> . ® 36 î (?*—«,)* — fin* where x = λ and at = a and ω = v. sb2 sc2 ¿>’z)2 pa2 £z)2 (see also note p. 69) general discussion. reviewing the foregoing theory we have found that when n = 3 y=f'—uf and that in general y is a function of f where we write ƒ = c(u + v) e{x_k„)u the one exception occurring where v equals zero. 74 part v. we find further, that where q or φ vanish in which case x and p'v also vanish, our integrals, six in number (n = 3), become doubly periodic and are in fact the original special functions of lamé of the second and third sort. we have found for x the general value a;==_l_|/v e2b, v p from which form we see that x will be zero when γ and q vanish and will be infinite where b or p vanish. but from the form qy2 2 b1 b ï>v c*pb0* b 2w + l we observe that pv is also infinite where x becomes infinite through the vanishing of b0. we have further that in case p vanish the integral becomes a function of lamé of the first sort in which p takes the place of f in the general solution the form being [164] (— 1 )ny=j^è-^^n~ì)u + (¿3)! m>(b-4)m + (^ztg)! î41>(b-6)w + · · · the values of b conforming with the above cases being roots of the equations p = 0, qx = 0, q2 = 0, q3 = 0. moreover when q vanishes x and p'v will vanish simultaniously which makes v one of the semi-periods ωχ, and f may be written μ· · ...................../«-«±sr again, observing the last forms obtained, we see that v can also be a half period if fx9 n being odd, or φχ, n being even, vanish, but it does not follow that x will also reduce to zero. that is the integral will in general have the form [166]............./j = ΰ(η e(*—£(«>*))“ = aj^l ¿cu l j 11 6u 6u when fx == 0, or φχ = 0, or χ = 0, or a = 0, or b0 = 0, or c = 0. in this case as in general two distinct integrals exist which are doubly periodic of the second species the second integral being • /* = axu gu e-xu a form which does not differ from ƒ* a peculiarity which does not appear in the special functions of lamé. reduction of the forms when n equals three. 75 we have finally but one more case to consider, namely when v — 0, a condition arising when b0 or γ, common to the functions xf pv and p'v, vanish, in which case the integrals become functions named after their discoverer.*) functions of m. mittag-leif 1er. as m. hermite observes (p. 28) the vanishing of a, b, c and d are necessary conditions that the integrals shall be functions which he first called functions of m. mittag-leffler, but they are not sufficient conditions. the functions are in fact special cases of /i and f2 having the additional property that the logarithms of the so called multiplicators are proportional to the corresponding periods. in this case the integrals assume a special form where the elimentary function is a function of p and p' multiplied by a determinate exponential having the above property. we can show that these are but special cases of the general doubly periodic function of the second species of m. hermite as follows: we have as the general form γ1β7ί ίρf \ <?(w ax) a(u a,) [16 ] ■ · f(u) — a(u _ _ bj ■ g(« — a„-l) ----.------,-----(,·'·’ " (808 (16) p. 17.) • «(u &,_!) and as a function of the second species upon the addition to the arguments of the periods 2w and 2w' the function remains unchanged save in the exponential factor which takes the forms respectively μ =e2yi(b — a)-\-2qw μ == e2ìi' (b — a) + 2qw' when b = bi bn— i a = “iftg · · “|“ (in — 1 (see p· 17·^ and η and η are constants. the factors μ and μ' are general and we may if we choose take them at pleasure and then seek the corresponding function. doing this we have μ and μ' given and also ρ to determine b — a from the relations [170]. solving we have log μ = 2η(β — a) + 2qw log μ' = 2η (b — a) -|2qw' *) see mittag-leffler, comptes rendus t. xc, 1880, p. 178. 76 part v. [171] [172] [173] whence η log μ' — η' log μ = 2g(yw' — r¡'w) — ρπί] (r¡w' — y¡'w = w' log μ — w log μ = 2(b — a) (r¡w' — r¡'w) = (b — a) m. this solution however becomes indeterminate when f(x) becomes doubly periodic, for then ρ = 0 and b — a — 2mw + 2m w\ this gives in(2mw + 2m'w') = w' log μ — w log μ' whence w ___ log a — 2inm w’ log μ + 2iπm' which means that the logs of the multiplicators are proportional to their corresponding periods. returning to the form f _ g(u + v) u£9 ' a(u) we observe that when we have v = ai + a 2 + * * “ 0 y = 2mw + 2m w' and f vanishes showing that this eliment can not be utilized in this case. written as a product however and for u = 3 we have where = *(* + v) *(« + b) c(u + c) + j gbu a -1-6 + c — v = 0 and our eliment may be taken as a rational function of pu and p'u multiplied by a factor of the form e$u. it is moreover known that any function f(u) of p and p may be resolved in the form f(u) = l + p where l = 11ξ(η — vt) + (w — v2) + 13ξ(u — v.ò) -f· · p = c + σηιρμ (u — v) where h + h 4“ h + * ' = 0. this property being general, we have, f being doubly periodic, but to multiply by e$u to find a development for the eliment required in [172] namely • · · ...............φ(μ) = tfu£(u) deduction of the forms when n equals three. 77 we have then ξ(η) = 0(u)e~vu ξ' (u) φ'(η) e~^u — ρ φ (m) <r~'qu ζ" (u) = q>"(u)e—qu— 2ρφ\η)€γ^η -fρ2φ{ιι)ο~^η ξ(3) = φ"'(ιι) e~ — 3 ρ φ "(u) e~~ qu -f3 ρ2 φ\η) e~~vu — ρ3 φ (w,) e~~ c u. whence [174] βρ“6<·>(«) = φ<»)(μ) — j ρφί»-1)^) + 5í!lzjí. ρ*φ(»-2)(μ) _|we have then a decomposition in the form [175] ......../í(m) = c^“+22’a.v®w(m v.) • m v where vn stands for the several infinites of fx (u) and φ(*> for the derivatives where v must be of an order one degree less than the multiplicity of the infinites. the coefficients a will be determined in general by developing fx (u) according to the powers of (u — vn) while c will be a fixed value depending upon the given conditions. in our* case then we may write [176] .................fi(u)ce#u + ζη · eüu. this function when v is zero, in which case φ = 0 and d = 0, takes the place of f(u) and hence the general solution is vi = f" m — 3 bftu = (ce$u + · e8u)'f — 3 δ (ζη · (#u + ceeu) fi(u) = ççeeu + £'uevu + qi(u)e$u — ç2ce£m + ζ’u&u -f2ρξ’ (u)a#u -|ç2ç2(ii)equ whence (&u&u)" = g’u(#u + 2ρο<,ηξη + ρ v ηξη and we have [177] · · · · yx = (ζη · eeu —· 3b£uc#u -f c evu = rf* [é"w + 2 ρ£'^ + (ρ2 — 3 ft) git + c\. but from the foregoing theory in this case we have the coefficients of ξ(η) equal to zero, i. e. or ρ2 — 3 ft = 0 ρ2 = 3ft. [178] [179] 78 part v. reduction of the forms when n equals three to find c we proceed as follows: — s'« = — a *:« =i + p« + ^== ^e+ 1 92 u 20 t 1 u2 u2 20 las 2 & ua 10 it hence ,_[i + „ + ö: + !s + ..]([j-s._] “ 2ρ[έ + í)u2 η----] + c η---1 and taking c so that the constant term equal zero we have .................c = t03 = 2 ρδ. the general solution (v = 0) is then: yi = (£ueeu)" — 3 b(£u · equ) -f2çbequ where 1/36. finis. table of forms η = 3.  forms for n = 3. where and the complete integral is yt = cf(u) + c'f(u) y — f(u) = f" (w) — 3 bf(u) °(u + v) .fa-i f(u) e(x — çv)u the ordinary form of the equation of hermite for n = 3 being: g = [l 2p(u) + b]y. a second form of the integral is: — y-tl^ cl 0 g (u + a) _ ν,ζα =ua—a, by c _____al ρΐιζα •where _ g(u-a)e(u-b)g(u-c) β(ζα+ζ,+ζ(:)ΐί g a cb oc(gu)3 c = ζν — la — ζό — ξ0 v = er+ b + c and b = 15 b which is intirely arbitrary and is originally expressed in the form b — h(et — e3) — n (n + 1) e3 in which case the equation of hermite is g = [12 *»«»** + *]. we have also the general form: — y = + vy = 1/(pu — e±y (pu — e2y(pu — e3)s" j j (pu —pa) e, e, e 0 or 1. 6 82 table of forms n = 3. the functions developed in the general theory have values as follows: 9 = 463 6^2—9i c = 1 15 a2 1 λ = τ9 9 = 1262 g2 p = 15 6 a 1 = τ9 btp' z =-36 = }p j5o = 3 y φ ζ = ρ(«) a. = p,= 9 ï*66φ' t’ =ρ u = os 1 &i sh ii ri = 0 8 = ¿ δ 9 (í) = 4£3 + 12 bs2 + (12 62 λ) g + 4δ3 bg2 gs = 4 s8 + 12 6s2 + φ'^+φ 5=|φ(ί)-3δ^2-ίφ'5-|φ. γ=ηλ^+4=η|φ's+ |·φ δφ' = sì+(m*-\g2)s-\(ub*-3g2b+gs)=±9(t)-b(tp'+3s*) = τ ψ (0 — δ [ç>'+ 3 (ί — δ)2] = ¿3_ 36ί» + (6δ2{λ) ί (156s -g2b + ± &) f(e,) = b [φ'+ 3 (e, δ)2] = b [15δ2+ 3e,26e,δ λ] · 1? γβ2 15 l15 6et -b 15 + 3ei2~ λ] = — cl? [b2— 6e, p + 45e,2— 15<¡r2] = -c2^p 125z3— 210v4— 226, z3+ 93a,2z2-f 18a,6, j + δ,2— 4a,3 — ^ 361 (z2— a,)2 4 (z2a,)8+ (hz3— 9 a, z-δ,)2 — 36z (z2— a,)2 φ(ζ) ~' sd2 where φ(z) = 125z6 210a,z4 226,z8 + 93a,2z2 + 18a,6,z + 6,3 4a,3 or φ(ξ,) = 1251e— 210c|4— 22|3+ 93c2£2+ 18c| + 1 — 4c3 8 = 36z p = z2 — a, ξ=δ~τζ 3 a,3 1 v_ (1 — fc2+z;4)3 c δ;2 108 v (1 + fc2)2 (2 — a2)2 (1 2 fc2)2 forms for n — 3. 83 also: „ _ qv______ria? _ 2 ι αλ8+27a,8 j2_ /p x cb0 c2b0k p 3 φ r b 3 φ' �/ jl_ _ 1 ίφ'3 + 27φ2 — 8(27) &φφ' + 16(27) 6vfl"* 6 ςρ ι δ j where y<2 = -(4 +28 = 27 +32) = -^ c^àpq^q, . q-qi qtq» φ(0 = ®i φ2φ3 y = ¿3 = (15)3 = [4α28 + 27 λ*] & = 32 · 5 [<*>' + 3 (ft — δ)2] = 5φλ <?χ = b2-6eib + 45ex2—15&,= 5 [öl2—2(¥—2) 7 3^] = 5φχ q2 = β2 — 6e2£ + 45 e22—15^ = 5 [572— 2 (1 — 2¥)1 — 3] = 5φ2 ρ3 = 52_ 6esb + 45e32 — lòg2 = 5[5722 (1 + ¥) i — 3 (1 — f)2] = 5φ3. ei = 31 (2 *) % = à ^ !) % = (! + fc2) λ = ¿i (1 — + &4) ρθ) = öζ6 —(— 6α, 7 — 10&χ73— 3α,272 + 66χï + 6,2— 4α,3 367 (72 — α,)2 = k2sn2w — î-ia o y>(i) 367 (72 α,)2 çy2 2β, p _ qx^x2 c*pb2 -b» 2w — 1 c2p2p + e,î 21606°+ 816b«gl+ 1080¿r363 w‘g2-hibg.g., g,3 + 2ίg¿ 36 6(144 6*— 24 62í?2+ír22)2 φ'3 + 27 φ2 — 1086φφ'+ 3662φ'2 36 6 φ ' 2 βυν) = — λ2 sw2v cw2v dn2v — -0 7 *7γ-χ—ν ' 18ζ (ζ2 — αχ) = 1β26ίρφ' —27φ2—φ,:ί|/φμ + 27φ2 21()δφφ' + 432¿ v* 108φ'36τ = 2 /'■, η 7·; ι/ι c3pb® ' -ρ 6 84 table of forms n — 3. pv —l: φ '3 —27qp2— 108qpg/ 36 φ'*ϋ pv — e¿= qx*y c*bíp __ |φ'+ »('* ψ] [12(&-e,)(2& cx)~ ψ-γ 36 φ '2 b ρ'ν 7 3 φ ^--pv~b-tf where ψ(1) = φ(τ) — 12l(jp — flj) (io?3 — 8aj — &x) = 5z6 + 6«xz — loij* — 3αχ2ί2 + 6axfcx7 + ?>x2 — 4ax3 z(l) =|[φ(0 3ψ(0 — 108ζ2(τ — αχ)2 = ie — qa xz4 + mj» — 3atn — v + 4ax3 = a · j5 · c a = p-0. + v¡)1-sv-*fi * (1 2¥) l + 3(7c2 ¥) = f f, b c-=p— (λ*— 2)7 3(1 — &2) = fi; 8 8 = 3653 λ 3653 f=f1f2fs = ¿χ = ■ b ■ c case 1. p = 0. integrai a special function of lamé of the first sort. y = p', b = ö. owe & ç = 0; φ(ζ) = 0; & — 0; q2 = 0; ç3 = 0; x = 0; 29'î; = 0; 7; — integrals, six in number, of the second sort. ' f— i = *(“+”*) g-«£(«*) ' — σ μ σ vt g a = 1, 2, 3 ■■ z y pu — ea where £ = jum — -■ìj3 (a) q, = 0 ' · ___ = 3ex + /3(^ï27f t^/a) = w — 2 ± 2f + \h¥ y = u> + y ex ¿(3ex + v3 (5& ~ 12ei)) f vp ex = {ï5 + à (fc2 — 2) ± è^ 2)2 + 15^} vp2). forme for η — 3. 85 (b) & = 0 b = 3e2 +1/3(5λ 12ea) = 1 2 f + ycí^ft+iõ y = [ÿ + — ì (3e2 + ys (bg2 — 12 e*))} = {p + ¿ (1 2f) + f0 y(ï-2ff+î5} ]/7-171-2/?) (c) 'qì= o i? = 3e3 ± y3 (5</2 -12e2 = 1 + f ± 2 y(2^f)*'-_~3jfc y = ii» + -7,-fo(3e3 + y»^,. i2<§)} yy^7 = {* + ¿ (1 + 2f) ± i ÿi^w -ΰ} vp—îq+w). case 3. ή = 0; * = 0; ¿ = 0; £ = 0; c = 0; v a? =y= o 6; w ΰ (u — ωλ f =----exu = —-----— e(*—ί·(ω^>μ) 1 6u 6u six values of this form corresponding tó the roots of ^4 = οι? = 0; c — 0, namely b = 4 (1 + f) + ? y(t+ 7c*)*'+ 6f or b = 4(1 -2f) + f y(l 2f) — 6(f^= f) ór b = 1 (f — 2) + -|y(f 2) + 6 (1 — f) which determine corresponding values for x. case á. conditions as in case (3) with the additional condition of the functions of m. mittag-leffler. the integral is: vi = (g«e?“)"— 36(gme?“) -f2p6eij“ where __ q=yu φ == 6^s2 + 9ass —al e= — 9[2a2s—3a3] w‘ = yq. 131 the university of chicago library haran haran, the hermits or, the wonderful lamp. y by rev. j. hyatt smith. buffalo: breed, butler & co., new york: phinney, blakeman & mason. 1860. ps2869 qh3 leho entered according to act of congress, in the year 1860, by f. w. breed, in the clerk's office of the district court, for the northern district of new york. στη c. e. felton, stereotyper. j. m. johnson,....printer and binder. 2142 b anu .auth, 45427 contents. introduction, . chapter i. haran, the hermit — willy wildmanishmael; his conversion, and death, chapter ii. an angel visits the hermit — the gift of the wonderful lamp, 21 . . chapter iii. second visit of the angel haran warned against a thief, by the name of doubt, . 34 chapter iv. haran makes his farewell visit among the mountains, lakes, and streams—the untimely nap, and the loss of “faith," the wonderful lamp, 44 chapter v. the hermit leaves the woods the bird called “moses," 58 chapter vi. haran makes a great discovery – he tells the story of his life, 65 tv contents. chapter vii. the hermit visits the city — the scene in the death-chamber of a child visit to the prison, and the almshouse, 76 . chapter viii. haran returns to his new home his love for little stanley and seymour, two fatherless boys, 85 chapter ix. haran's dream · another visit from the angel he goes through the valley, 95 chapter x. the author's talk to his little readers, about the story of haran, or the wonderful lamp, 108 . introduction. to the children whom it has been my privilege to address, on various occasions, during my ministry: . i am trying to imagine that you are before me, as i pen this little introductory letter. the writer loves children. he loves to talk to them; and, during the few years of his public life, it has been his honor and pleasure to talk to many thousands of sabbath school children. at the suggestion of a highly esteemed friend, he concluded to write a little book, so that, when his own tongue should be silent, its pages might still be speaking to his young friends. then, the question rose, what to write about, and how to write. first, he thought he would take some scripture character, and try to work it into a familiar story; enforcing, in that way, some valuable truth. but he thought again: the bible does its own talking best. there is the vi introduction. story of samuel; the story of samson; the story of ruth; and, above all , the story of joseph. for your friend to attempt to tell those stories of the holy book, in any other way, would be like a little boy, trying to improve on some beautiful old painting. what shall the book be? suppose he were to make a little speech, or sermon, in the form of a book! he did not see exactly how he could do that. a speech on paper is “ without breath, or motion; idle as a painted ship, upon a painted ocean." so, after a great deal of thinking, he concluded to make up a story, which should enforce some noble principle, invaluable to the little reader. now, the writer knew that there was a very curious old book, called aladdin; or, the wonderful lamp; and he concluded he would write about faith: that that should be his lamp; and so he would call the book haran, the hermit; or, the wonderful lamp. there. fore, his mind was made up, that he would take the living truth of faith, and put on it a dress of fiction, which should be attractive to those for whom it was prepared. in this way, you know, the pilgrim's progress is full of instruction to every body. second, how will he write? this was easily answered. write so that the smallest child may catch the truth of the story, and that the one of riper years shall be interested in the introduction. vii > allegory. now, your friend had no hope that he could como any where near to glorious old john bunyan in this; but still, he resolved that he would be like that great writer, in one respect, and that is, in avoiding all words and sentences not easily understood. there was once a good preacher, who was in the habit of using very big words. it was a single fault of this noble man, surrounded by a thousand virtues. one time, in his sermon, he wanted to say that a friend of his had caught cold, and by it had grown very deaf; and this is the way he expressed it: “mr. a-through exposure, caught a cold, whereby he contracted a disease in his auditorial apparatus, which materially affected his hearing.” the writer has aimed to set forth the idea of holy faith, in language plain and simple, so that each reader will say, “i know what he i understand the figure of the oil, the wick, and the lamp; and why faith burned brightest, when close by the bible. i know what he means by the scene in the child's death-chamber; the prisoner's cell; and the dark valley ! it is just as bunyan talks about christian, and other char. acters, in the pilgrim's progress !” now, with this word of explanation, and with an earnest prayer that each reader, old or young, may have the wonderful lamp of faith to light his footsteps along the highway of life, and through the valley of the shadow of death, means. vili introduction the writer here dedicates, to all the children he has ever addressed, the story of haran, the hermit; or, the wonderful lamp. j. hyatt smith, pastor of the eleventh baptist church. philadelphia, june 1st, 1860. haran, the hermit. chapter i. far up among the high mountains, there onco lived a man, known as haran, the hermit. his little lonely home was a cell, or cave, formed by three large rocks, in the side of one of the mountains. the earth floor was carpeted with leaves, which the man had gathered; and his bed, in the corner of the cave, was on the ground, and it was made, also, of leaves and twigs; and the pillow was a piece of a log, covered with thick, soft moss. there was a smaller rock, inside of this cell of rocks, which served as a table, and on it, as on the log, was the beautiful moss only not so deep as that on the cnrious pillow10 haran, the hermit. and it served as a bright-green table-cloth. in his wanderings through the forest, one day, the hermit found root, or small stump, so formed by nature as to make a good chair; and he took that for his seat in the cave. his little house had no windows in it, and, even in the bright days, he was very much troubled for light. neither was there any door; but, in its place, there was, every summer, a singular curtain. wild vines were growing on the sides of the great rocks, and their branches and tendrils were so interwoven as to make a complete curtain. so the hermit arranged this vine in such a way that he could let it fall in front of the mouth of the cave; and, when he chose, he could fasten it at the side of the entrance. haran was much pleased with his natural door, for it was not only green, but, in the season, it was covered with little pink flowers, and filled all the room with the sweet smell of the blossoms. this cell was the home of haran, for nearly forty years-as long as the jews were in the wilderness and around this lonely dwelling, for miles, in every direction, was one unbroken forest. 1 1 haran, the hermit. 11 the woods were filled with all kinds of wild animals, and every sort of bird. but haran thought it was wrong to take away any creature's life; and so he lived on such roots, herbs, and nuts as are to be found in the woods — every fall, like a squirrel, laying up a store, to last bim until the next summer. three times a day, the hermit would sit down to his solitary meal, spread upon the mossy rock, and having whispered his words of grace, he would silently eat such food as he had gathered. when he was thirsty, he would step just to the entrance of the cave, and, getting down on his knees, would drink from å spring of water, which welled up there among the shining sands. i said that the hermit would say grace before he would eat; and this leads me to speak of his character. haran was a good man, who loved his saviour. the only book he had with him was a bible, once belonging to his mother. this precious volume he used to read daily, and it came to be, that he could recite nearly the whole of it. his greatest pleasure was to take the old 12 haran, tiie hermit. bible, and bend over its sacred pages for hours together. i have declared that haran, the hermit, lived alone most of the long time of forty years. but it was true that, during his abode in the cave, for two brief periods, he had company. it was through the influence of a strange old man, who used to be sometimes seen, when haran was a boy, frequenting his native village, that he himself became a hermit. this person was known by the villagers as “willy wildman," i though no one ever knew his real name. of him i will tell you something more, before i am through my story. some years after the disappearance of old willy, haran had another companion, who dwelt with him the better part of a year and a half. one summer day, as the hermit sat at his stone table, eating his dinner, looking toward the door, he saw something suddenly pass by. he, at first, thought it might have been a deer; for they, frequently, would make their way very near to his dwelling. soon, how ever, he heard the stirring of the vine curtain, and there appeared a man looking in through the haran, the hermit. 13 green leaves. so haran arose, instantly, from the table, and invited the stranger to come in. a curious looking being indeed was this visitor. he had on a dress, made of the skin of a bear, and his face was almost entirely covered with hair. yet hệ, to all appearances, could not be more than twenty, or, at the most, thirty, years of age. so, after he came in, haran invited him to eat with him, and began to question him as to who he was, and where he lived. it seemed, he had been an inhabitant of the woods nearly all his life, living as the hermit lived, in caves and dens, and gathering his food from the earth and the trees. he had little desire to talk, and it was with great difficulty that haran could get any thing from him, which he could understand. he could not tell where he was born, or who his parents were; but said something about the woman's crying, when she left him in the woods. “what woman?" said haran. “she did cry,” he replied; "and it was too bad!” 14 laran, the hermit. “who was the woman?” asked the hermit. “was it your mother?” the man looked up, with a wild, dreary look of the eyes, saying, "don't you know? hagar! every body knew hagar! it was too bad!” “then she was your mother, and left you in the woods," said haran, hoping to get at something which should reveal the history of the mysterious visitor. but the man seemed to be lost in some strange memory of the past, and sat for some minutes with his eyes fixed on the ground; then said he, “it was too bad! but it was good in the man to give me the great bearskin!” the old hermit had pity on the poor being, seeing that he was either foolish or crazy; so he resolved to take care of him, and try if, by gentle dealing and kind treatment, he could not make him of some use, as a companion in his bolitary home. then haran asked him his name; but could get no reply but “it was too bad ! ” and “every body knew. hagar! her name, haran, the hermit. 15 you know, was hagar!” then the hermit thought of the tender story in his bible, of hagar in the wilderness, and of her son ishmael; so he named the man ishmael. after the meal was over, haran got the stranger to lie down on his own bed, in the corner of the cave, and soon, being weary, he fell asleep. when the man was sleeping, the good old hermit prayed that god would give him wisdom to instruct the poor man, and especially that he might be able to make him know his heavenly father, and so secure, when he should die, an everlasting home in the bright world. a long time ishmael slept on the bed of leaves; and when he awoke, he seemed to be more clear in his mind, though he could give no story of his parents, his home, or his life. for a year and a half, the hermit and this man lived together; and haran's prayer was finally answered. soon, he learned to answer to the name of ishmael, and became attached to the hermit, with all the confidence and love of a little child. and haran, too, loved him, and daily tried to teach 16 haran, the hermit. him the knowledge of some blessed truth. above all, he labored to give him some idea of the great god, and how christ was the great saviour. he told him where the sun came from, in the morning, and where it went, in the evening; and what became of the moon and the bright stars, in the daytime. he showed him, also, that god made the sun to rise and set; and that god created the moon, the stars, and all things beside. ishmael would sit, for hours, with the wonder of a listening boy, and hear the hermit talk; and many were the curious questions and strange sayings of the old man's scholar. one day, he asked, why the hermit kneeled down, and talked with his eyes closed ? and who it was he so loved to talk to ? so haran explained to him what prayer was. then, seeing him kneel at the side of the spring, to drink, he asked him if he prayed to the spring, too? and if that was the reason why it gave him drink? then the hermit showed him how men were wicked, and the relation of jesus to man, as the saviour of sinners. this was the great lesson. “0,” thought haran, “if i can only make this child of the wilderness wise haran, the hermit. 17 in this wisdom!” again and again, he prayed for ishmael, that he might come to know, and trust, and love the glorious redeemer. haran himself felt that his own faith was weak, and, in his prayers, often prayed that the angel of the lord would give him clear light into the truths of the bible. this prayer you will find, before i finish my story, was strangely answered, long afterward, by an angel, with a wonderful lamp. the prayer-hearing god answered the petition of the hermit, in behalf of poor ishmael. he saw that he had an evil heart, and that, if he would ask for forgiveness in the saviour's name, god would give him a new heart, and fit him for heaven. that was a day of joy in the cave! mountains appeared to break out with singing, and all the trees seemed to clap their leafy hands. after that, ishmael's continual request was, “tell me about jesus! tell me how i shall see him, up above the stars!” but with all this knowledge of heavenly things, the past of this strange being was little else than a blank. no question that the hermit might ask would get more than the very 2 18 haran, the hermit. a man. the old saying, that “her name was hagar!” and “ it was too bad !” only one day he said that, “the man must have been good, and loved jesus, or he never would have given him the nice bearskin dress!" and "i know, now, who made the bright stars !" a year and a half haran and ishmael lived together, alone, and happy; and the hermit thought that he had obtained a companion for his life in the wilderness, in the place of old willy wildbut god had ordered otherwise. one evening, ishmael appeared strange and sleepy. he would rise up, and fall back again, on the bed of leaves; and his eyes looked sunken and glassy. haran saw that the one whom he had come to love so well was to be taken from him: indeed, the hour of death was then at hand. so the hermit prayed that ishmael might live. but the latter interrupted him, saying, “i am going to die! i am going to the saviour, who paid the big price, with blood; and shall live with him, away up above the stars.” then be kissed haran, and thanked him for all his haran, the hermit. 19 cg kindness to him, and told him to be sure and meet him the other side the star3. then he said he saw an angel, and, asking the hermit to put his ear close down to the bed, he whispered, “the bright angel says, you shall have the lamp, and the little bird knows the way! he tells me, the light will shine through the valley, and the two boys may take faith from the rock, when you have gone through the gate." “what lamp ?” asked haran. “what do you mean about the valley,' and 'the boys ?'” “lift the vine curtain !” said the dying one: “let me see the stars, that i am to pass by, in going up! her name was hagar!” he faintly whispered;—and his eyes closed. haran was all alone-ishmael had gone. what a dreary funeral it was, the next morning, when the hermit carried the body out, and buried it. he found a little cell, among the rocks, down in a deep ravine; and there he laid ishmael. putting a great flat stone close against the cave, he took a piece of flint, and scratched un its smooth surface these words: 20 haran, the hermit. ishmael; his mother's name was hagar. with the saviour above the stars. haran, the hermit, who loved him, put up this stone. 1760. back again to his lonely cave went the hermit; and, on his knees, in his cell, he prayed to god to bring good out of this great trial, and, above all, to increase his faith. all that day he spent in the cave, or down by the sepulcher of poor ishmael. often, during after years, he would recall the strange saying of the dying man, “the bright angel says you shall have the lamp!” and “the little bird knows the way! the light will shine through the valley !” these dying words sounded like a prophecy, in the ears of haran, the hermit. aaran, the hermit. 21 chapter ii. many, many years after the death of poor ishmael, it came to pass that haran had a wonderful vision of an angel. at evening, having ate his supper of roots and herbs, he built his bonfire in front of the cave, to keep away the wild beasts; and, as usual, having aropped the vine curtain of his stone house, he bowed on his knees, and prayed. in his prayer that night, the hermit especially asked for more faith, and earnestly besought god the father, for the dear saviour's sake, to give him a clearer light, in which to read his blessed bible. the supplication over, he laid himself down on his bed of leaves, in the corner of the cave, to go to sleep. a long time haran lay upon his couch awake. he was not sick neither was he troubled but still be could not sleep. his mind was busy, calling up the past. he thought of the visit of the strange 225 haran, the hermit. man, so many years before; his brief, but happy, life with him, in the woods; and his death, on that same bed! then he remembered the saying about the angel, the lamp, and the valley; and, while he was thinking of the mystery of those dying words, he fell asleep. in his dreams, the hermit again beheld the death of poor ishmael, and thought he saw a bright and glorious being, such as the dying man described, and that he made him a present of a curious and beautiful lamp. then haran awoke, and was surprised to find a brilliant light, shining all around him. at the first, before he was quite awake, his impression was, that the leaves of his room had caught fire; but, the next instant, he was filled with amazement, to see a glorious angel, standing beside the stone table. there was no lamp burning, no fire; but the light seemed to come from the face and from the broad white wings of the mysterious visitor. the good hermit was astonished, but he was not frightened; for the look of love, on the countenance of the angel, gave him confidence. he first thought he would speak; but then he feared, it haran, the hermit. 23 > he did so, the angel might go away; so he raised himself up on his elbow, as he lay on his bed, and watched silently to see what the strange being was doing. the angel did not seem to notice the hermit, but was very busy with something at the table. then haran remembered how a heavenly messenger once made a supper for old elijah, the prophet, in the wilderness; and he said to himself, “who knows but i, too, am to eat angels' food, to-night! but he soon saw that he was mistaken; for, the next moment, the angel took out from his long white robe a bright silver vessel, or dish, and set it on the stone table. then he took up the old bible, and, opening it, he seemed to press some of its leaves together, as he held the book over the bright dish; and there appeared to run something like oil right out of the book, into the silver vessel. then, again, he opened to another part of the holy volume, and drew out what appeared to be a long white wick, and laid the same in the narrow mouth of the dish. once more the angel took the book, and, opening to another page, held the 24 haran, the hermit. leaf just over the end of the wick, which was in the dish; and instantly there fell a spark upon the wick, kindling a bright white fiame, and giving forth a clear, beautiful light. then the angel again carefully opened the bible, and, making the sign of the cross, in three places, he kissed the sacred book, and laid it on the table, setting the burning lamp upon it. this done, he spread his white wings, and was gone. for a time, haran did not dare to get up and go to the table, lest the angel should return. soon, however, the hermit heard the sound of distant music. it was just for a moment, as though a church door, when a choir was singing, was opened and then closed again. so haran knew that the angel had gone into heaven; and he ventured to approach the table, and look at what the angel had done. there, sure enough, was a magnificent silver lamp! on one side of it was stamped the likeness of a crown; and, on the other side, the form of a cross. it was not like a common lamp, having on a cover, and with burners; but it was a deep, long, open dish, with a handle at one end a haran, the hermit. 25 and a narrow mouth at the other. it was also filled with oil, such as the hermit never saw before; and the white wick, the end of which was burning, was in the long, bright mouth of the vessel. then the hermit closely examined the wonderful lamp, to see if the angel had left any mark, or name, upon it; and he found, on the front of it, just beneath the mouth, this one word, faith, inscribed in beautiful letters. so haran knew that was its name, and he called the heavenly gift, faith; or, the wonderful lamp. you may well believe, the old hermit was delighted, and astonished, too, with his strange present, and that he kept it with great care. then came to his mind the saying of dying ishmael, “the bright angel says, you shall have the lamp!” “is this," said the hermit, to himself, “the fulfillment of that saying of my dear companion and scholar!” is this an answer to my prayer of last night, that god would send his angel, and give me light ?” and haran fell upon his knees, and thanked the lord for the visit from heaven, and the gift of the silver lamp. then 26 haran, the hermit. he arose, and sat down, in the old root chair, beside the table, and began to read the bible, by the light of faith. great was haran's surprise, to see the effect of the lamp, in its shining on the holy page. when he would open to some promise, the letters were filled with light; and the story of the cross seemed to sparkle like a casket of diamonds, open in the bright sunshine. . finally, the hermit thought he would try an experiment; so he turned over the leaves of his bible, until he found a passage of scripture which he never could explain. here again did the lamp discover its wonderful power; for, in the light thereof, the whole darkness of the scripture saying was removed, and the simple truth was clearly revealed. now, the next day, haran, when he was to leave his cave, set his precious lamp away, with bis bible. but he was troubled in his mind. first, he feared, if he did not blow out the light, that all the oil would burn away, and so his lamp would become only a beautiful toy, without use; and, on the other hand, he feared that, if he did extinguish the light, he would not be able haran, the hermit. 27 . to light it again; so, what to do he did not know. nor was this all his trouble; for he was apprehensive that a sudden gust of wind, blowing into his cave, might put out the light; and, worse than all that, some wanderer, passing that way, in his absence, would carry it off. so he did the best he could. he went out and got some stones, and, bringing them into his cell, he made, in one corner, a little close kind of box, and within it placed his book and lamp. yet this, he well knew, was but a poor security, at the best ; for, do what he could, the light would shine through, between the stones. finally, haran said to himself, "if a thief does come, he shall not steal both ту book and light;" and, at that, he took the bible, and hid it in another part of the cave. now, when he turned to go again toward the lamp, he was shocked to find that the light seemed to be . going out; so, remembering that the angel got the spark from the bible, he ran and took the holy book, to see if he could not find the place where the angel had procured the light. he soon found the three marks of the cross. the " . 28 haran, the hermit. . 2 first, where the oil came from, was among the promises; the second, from whence the wick was taken, was also in the promises; but these he did not need. soon, however, he found the third mark, at the place out of which the bright spark fell. this was it: i am the light of the world. so, with the book open to this page, haran hurried to the flickering lamp. but, as he drew near, with the bible, silver faith was burning as bright as ever; and so he started to go back again with the book. once more having laid the bible down in the corner, looking up, he saw that the lamp was again going out. “what mystery is this?” said haran. “i will try this thing again." so saying, he took up the book, and went toward the lamp, when, behold! the nearer he drew, the brighter shone the light; and so soon as he would go the other way, the wick would burn but feebly. then haran did remember that the angel left the lamp on the bible; and he learned the first lesson which this bright gift was sent to teach: and that was, that if he would have silver faith to shed a bright haran, the hermit. 29 light, he must keep it close to the holy book. so he put the bible and lamp together, in the little stone cell. haran was also taught another truth by his heavenly teacher, before he left his house, that day. in taking up the lamp, to lay the bible beneath it, a strong wind struck the lamp the very thing he had so much feared;but, contrary to his expectations, the wick only blazed the more, and the brighter burned the light. now, all his fears were gone but one: and that was, that his precious treasure might be stolen; though, for years and years, no human being had come near his dwelling. this fear, unlike the others, was, as you shall soon see, not without foundation. all that day, as haran wandered in the forest, he thought of the angel's visit, and the wonderful lamp. since the day when poor ishmael found his saviour, he had not been so happy as then. it seemed to him, that, with the gift of the angel, there had come down to him from heaven a new life. what more did he need ? his wardrobe was complete, for, in addition to 30 haran, the hermit. his deerskin dress, once bought with the price of a dinner and lodging from a passing hunter, who, benighted and lost, sought his cave, he had ishmael's bearskin coat. his food and water were sure; and his house of rocks no tempest could shake, and no fire could consume. he lamented the loss of old willy wildman, and, still more, the death of ishmael ; yet he had companions and friends. the deer, all around his rocky home, knew him well. to many of them he had given names; and he had, also, an extensive acquaintance among the birds. above all, with his bible as his library, and with the light of bright-burning faith, in which to search its holy page, haran, the hermit, felt rich and happy. again, he thought, “i may have future visits from the good angel; and a daily communion, possibly, with the inhabitants of heaven, shall complete the joys of a hermit's life.” on one thing he resolved: and that was, if he had another visit from the angel, he would make bold to speak to him. now, after a day's wandering among the trees and along the streams, just as the sun was setting, the hermit turned toward his little home, haran, the hermit. 31 happy as a father who expects to meet the smile of his loving child at the door. again and again did haran stop to admire the glorious scenery spread out everywhere around him. at one time, standing upon a high rock, he looked away over the woods. directly down before him was a little lake, surrounded by high trees, whose dark shadows stretched far over its surface. close to the water's edge, wild roses were growing; and the shallow water near the shore was dotted everywhere with water-lilies, looking like the wise man's description of good words, even as “apples of gold in baskets of silver.” these beautiful flowers seemed to be growing in a liquid of crimson and gold, for the yellow light of the setting sun shone full on the still waters. while the old hermit was gazing on the picture before him, a doe, with her little fawn, came slowly and cautiously out of the thicket, and stooped, to drink from the lake. and then a great buck, with his branching horns, made his appearance. a grand fellow he was! he would look, first one way, and then the other; then he would snuff the air, until seeming to be assured 32 haran, the hermit. that no danger was near his little family, he, too, bent down to drink, and to crop the tender stalks of water-lilies. that was a sight, to see a splendid buck, with a lily in his mouth, as though he had picked a boquet, for his wife and child, at his side! but the sun was setting, and the distant mountain was fast putting on its mantle of purple and sober gray, fringed with gold. so haran felt he must hurry to his cave. now, just as be turned to go, he thought he saw, on the opposite shore, the face of a man appear, for an instant, and then vanish again, among the bushes. “what can that mean?” thought the hermit. “for years, no hunter's foot has printed its track on that shore; and the sound of no hunter's gun has echoed along these wild valleys.” finally, haran concluded that it was more likely that some lurking beast had looked through the thicket, and that he had better hasten to the protection of his cave and his watchfire. first thing, as he entered his cave, he looked to see if the silver lamp was safe. there it was, on the bible, in its little stone cell, as though it, aaran, the hermit. 33 too, was a little, cheerful hermit, living in a happy home. so haran built his fire for the night; and then dropped the curtain of vines, before the mouth of the cave. then, having ate his supper of roots and herbs, he took his lamp and bible, and read these words: “ hear me when i call, o god of my righteousness! thou hast enlarged me, when i was in distress. have mercy upon me, and hear my prayer. "offer the sacrifice of righteousness; and put your trust in the lord. “i will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, lord, only, makest me to dwell in safety." then, having offered his prayer, and putting the bible back in the little cell, and setting the lamp upon it, haran, the hermit, laid himself down on his bed of leaves, and fell asleep. 3 34 haran, the hermit. chapter iii. haran converses with the angel. again the hermit awoke from his sleep, in the iniddle of the night; and there, beside the table, reappeared the angel. he had taken the lamp and bible from the stone cell, and had placed them on the moss-covered table before him. for a while, haran silently watched his glorious guest, and he saw him examine the oil, and trim the wick. then did the hermit pray in his heart that strength might be given him, to keep the vows his lips had uttered the day before; even that he would speak to the angel of the lord. “holy one from heaven!” exclaimed haran. the angel looked toward the hermtt's bed, and, smiling kindly, beckoned with his hand, bidding the hermit to come forward to the table. haran would have worshiped; but the bright being forbade him, saying, “ worship only god!” when haran, the hermit. 35 haran made bold to ask, from whence he came; why he sought out this lonely cave for his heavenly visit; and for what especial purpose he had made the costly present of the wonderful lamp. then the angel spoke to haran, saying, that the glorious saviour of men, his master, had sent him on the errand of love, and had commanded him to take the silver lamp to this cell. “it is a gift," he added, " which is only given to those who do repent of sins, and do prayerfully read the bible." then he explained to him all about the lamp, showing to him the significance of the cross, on the one side, and the crown, on the other; also, the name on the front part of the lamp. moreover, the angel discovered to the hermit in what way the oil of the promises was extracted, and how the wick was drawn forth; and, also, how the spark fell from the sacred sentence, producing the light. he told him, further, what also the hermit had ascertained: that faith would only burn bright when near the bible; and that it shone clearest on the story of the cross, and among those passages which were dark to the eye of the ungodly. 36 haran, the hermit. now said the angel, “i am come to tell thee that thou must go forth from the cave and this lonely forest, within a few days, to the dwellings of men; and be sure to keep ever with thee the book and the silver lamp: for my lord would not that thou shouldst avoid the world, but, being in the world, be careful to keep from the evil. your lamp," said he, “is for yourself, and for others; and you must let your light so shine that others, seeing your good works, may glorify your father which is in heaven.' beware," added the angel, “ of losing the sacred gift, for there is an evil being, by the name of doubt, who is living in this wilderness; and, if he can, he will surely steal it from thee." then the old hermit thought of the sight he saw on the opposite shore of the lake, and knew that it must have been the very one of whom the angel spoke. then the angel told him of all the wonders which the lamp should work. it would scatter the darkness of temptation, and all sorrow. if he was thirsty, with it he could find water; and if hungry, he could discover food. with the haran, the hermit. 37 lamp, he never could lose his way. no wicked being could come near him, to hurt him, while its bright light shone around him. he said, it was described in the bible as “a lamp to his feet, and a light to his path,” in all the journey of life. he told him, also, that it would not be long, before he would have to walk through a deep, dark valley, called the shadow of death; but that there was a great rock, in that weary land, right at the entrance of the path, and on it he must first lay his bible; and then, setting the lamp on the holy book, with the mouth in which burned the wick toward the path, he should go through this valley in a light brighter than the sun; and so he should “enter in through the gates, into the celestial city.” 56 and am i not to take the precious lamp with me, through the gate?” asked the hermit. “no," replied the angel; “leave it on the rock, and it will send its light all the way to the gate; and then there is no need of a candle neither of the light of the sun -for the lord god is the light thereof." he told more strange things about the lamp. 38 haran, the hermit. he said that there were a great many ways to dim the light, and a great many ways to increase it. “as i have told thee,” continued the angel; 'if thou dost take the lamp far from the bible, it will give little or no light. so,” said he, “if thou dost go to using the old pine knots and strips of bark for a light, the lamp will not shine upon thee. again, evil communication with wicked men, or the yielding to bad habits, or to worldly pleasures, will dim the light of the lamp. and yet again;'he said, “ beware of that miserable thief, called doubt, for he will steal it !” 6. would he use it himself?" asked the old hermit. “by no means," said the angel. "but, be‘, ing a servant of the prince of darkness, and hating the prince of light, he delights to get the lamp away from the children of light,' that he may enjoy seeing them stumble and fall. he has no use for the lamp-indeed, the bright light torments him, for he hath very weak eyes.” then, the good angel told the hermit how he might increase the light: “first,” said he, "all ” the oil is to be procured from the bible; and you 66 6 + haran, the hermit. 39 و will get the most only by clasping the book between your hands, while you are down on your knees. moreover,” added the angel, “ a great many things which you may do will make the light burn bright. the more thou dost love the lord, the brighter the lamp will burn; and the brighter shines the lamp, the stronger will be thy love! every act of kindness will increase the light. every time you carry the lamp through a dark place, it will burn brighter. every good word you say, and every good thought you think, will increase the light. you will find it burn beautifully, if you open the bible among , your fellow-men; and, above all, if you read to them the story of a dying saviour. finally," ” said he, “ if you get a company of dear little children around you, and attempt to instruct them from the holy page, you shall find the light very bright. i have seen,” said the angel, “a place, filled with circles of children, and, in the center of each company, the open bible and the silver lamp; and how brightly the light shone on their young faces, and into their little hearts ! while, at the head of the whole company, stoud 40 haran, the hermit. 2 a man with a book, and the same kind of a lamp, burning equally bright. this,” said the angel, " is an excellent place to take lamps, that do not burn, well, in order to increase their light; and many, who are now stumbling in darkness, know not how easily they might make their light shine, by such a course." then asked the hermit,“and what is the value of such a lamp : " ** value !” exclaimed the angel; “it is beyond all price." the holy one bought them all; and, by the rich provisions of his love, on certain conditions, he left them for all who would desire their light. the man, or child,” added the angel, “ who would lament his sins, and ask for forgiveness, in the name of jesus, can have one of these lamps, 'without money, and without price.' he only is rich who hath one; and he is poor, though possessing great earthly wealth, who hath it not." then the angel made ready to go, and bade the hermit remember the directions he had given about the lamp haran, the hermit. 41 "and how shall i know when and where to go ?” asked the old man. “this shall be thy sign to leave," said the angel: “on the morning of thy departure from the cave, a beautiful bird shall come, while yet the dew is on the leaves; and, lighting on the handle of the lamp, shall sing his morning song there, and then fly out, and perch upon the tree before the mouth of the cave. this bird shall be thy guide, during the day: when he stops, at night, thou shalt stop; and when he starts, in the morning, then thou shalt begin thy journey. do shalt thou be directed, until thou reach the habitations of men; when again he shall sit on the handle of the silver lamp, for a moment, and then fly back to the forest, and thou shalt see him no more, until the day of thy pilgrimage through the valley.”' then the angel kissed the bible, and kissed the hermit, and went forth from the cave. it was early in the morning when he went out, just as the sun was rising; and haran watched him, until, away up in the blue sky, he grew smaller and smaller, and then was gone. just as 42 haran, the hermit. the hermit turned to go into his cell, he heard that faint music again, for a moment, and then it ceased. so he knew the angel entered heaven. so soon as haran got to the table, he opened the bible, to see what his glorious visitor had marked, and he found the sign of the cross beside these words: “the angel of the lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them.” ps. 34; 7. so the hermit knew that he was safe. then he thought to himself, “ what has haran done, that he should have such signs of heavenly favor? why am i singled out, here, in the wilderness, to receive this beautiful lamp; and thus to commune with the angel of the lord ? surely,” said he to himself, " it is all for the saviour's sake." then a light flashed on him, and he saw the lamp did send out strange brilliancy. “thank god, for the lamp!” exclaimed the hermit. then a brighter light came forth. so he remembered the saying of the angel, for his feelings of humility, and his expressions of gratitude, made the lamp to burn brighter. “so,” said he to himself, “ i am to go back to haran, the hermit. 43 the homes of men, again, after an absence of near a half a century! no doubt,” he added, “it was good and wise, in the angel, to tell me so, and i must obey; but, i am sorry! o, i had rather stay in my cave, and enjoy the wonders of my beautiful lamp, and, from time to time, meet the — " here he stopped, for the lamp was burning very low; and he cried, as he knew it was a sign he had offended him who sent the angel. forgive!” exclaimed the old man; “forgive my repining! i will rejoice in the will of the lord!” so the lamp burned brightly again. now, having had his morning service and his morning repast, he again carefully put the bible and the lamp together, in the little stone cell, and went forth for another stroll in the woods, feeling that, as he was so soon to take his farewell, he must make the most of his stay now. " 44 naran, the hermit. chapter iv. the hermit loses his lamp. all the forenoon of the day, after the angel had announced to the hermit that he was to leave his forest home, he was busy making his farewell calls. the wild caves, and deep ravines; the high rocks, lakes, streams, and waterfalls,-haran had learned to look upon them all as old and intimate acquaintances. indeed, he had long felt toward them a feeling like friendship. they all talked to him a language he could understand. and the towering mountains, they, too, had been his companions; for, wherever he strolled, they were always in sight. they had told him of coming storms; and, better than any almanac or barometer, had foretold the bright weather. their lofty peaks were the first to publish the rising sun ; and, at evening, long after the deep shad. haran, the hermit. 45 ows lay in the valley, they were golden with the sunset. so the hermit wandered, silent and sad, bidding all his old friends, one after another, goodby; and it seemed to him that they answered back. the mountain seemed to say, “do n't forget me, haran! you have seen me with my royal winter mantle, whiter than solomon's; and you, too, have stood before my flinty throne, when, in summer, i have been clothed in green, and purple, and gold. oh, haran! you will find no such firm friends where you are going. remember what we have preached to you from our great rocky pulpits. like us, be immovable for truth. like us, be the first to tell of the rising of a glorious sun, and the last to lose his light.” so the silent, beautiful lake also seemed to say, "do n't forget me, haran! let truths open and bloom around you, as the lilies and the roses grow on my shores; and let the men in the great city, thirsting for knowledge, be refreshed by thy wisdom, even as thou hast seen the deer drink from me. remember, too, and boast no more of all the blessings that thou dost impart than i have 46 haran, the hermit. done of the waters i have given away.” the little waterfall, on the hillside, appeared to call to the hermit, as he passed, saying, with its sweet liquid voice, “good-by, haran!” and kept right on in its sport among the rocks, like a child at a play, who could n't stop to shake hands. “when you see the fountains — my cousins — playing in the parks of the great city, think of me, hermit!” “ah!” said haran, as he took his seat on a rock to rest himself, “ how can i leave this glorious old wood, for the haunts and homes of men ? how can i consent to live alone again?” for he knew that he would be more lonely among men than among the hills and streams, the lakes, the deer, and the birds he had known so long and so well. now, as haran sat listening to the babbling brook, which ran near the rock, and was trying to imagine what it might be saying, he caught a glimpse of a man going off very fast, as thongh he knew that he was discovered. “sure enough,” he whispered to himself, “that must be doubt, the thief; and i have no need to fear him, for his hasty retreat shows him to be a coward." yet haran, the hermit. 47 he thought of what the angel had said, and so he made his way back to his cell, with all possible speed, reaching home about noon. when haran sat down on the old root chair, he felt that he had overtasked his strength, in the morning stroll, and in the run from the rock to the cave; and, being very weary, he leaned. his head on the table, and, in a few moments, fell asleep, with his book and lamp at his side. when he awoke, he felt much refreshed, though he was sure he had slept only a few minutes. so he determined to take another farewell ramble, before night should shut in; but, on stepping to the door, he was astonished to find that the sun was already going down behind the mountains. so he gave up his walk; and, building his evening fire, at the mouth of the cave, and dropping the vine curtain, he thought he would busy himself with the wonderful lamp, until it was time to go to his bed. as he turned to the little stone cell, to get his light and his bible, he saw that the lamp had gone out; and, instantly, he thought the sorrow he had had, at the idea of obeying the 48 haran, the hermit. angel's command, had extinguished the light. so, with a trembling hand, he took away the stone cover, and, behold! the silver lamp was gone. then, he remembered that he had carelessly left faith on the table, when he fell asleep. yes, his precious treasure was actually stolen! he knew he had lost it, forever. what could he do? there was no question but that lurking fellow whom he saw moving down by the brook had carried off the beautiful gift of the angel. first, he thought he would take his great staff, and go out to search for the thief; but that was useless, even in the daytime, in the wide range of the woods, and now the night was coming on, and there were signs of an approaching storm. again and again he bemoaned his folly in sleeping in the daytime, and leaving the lamp exposed. “ yes,” said he, “i know that doubt has taken it, for it is just like the character described to me by the angel.” the poor hermit felt that the evil being might as well have made a clearer sweep, by taking the bible, too, for how could he read the book without the light of faith? but haran determined 66 a haran, the hermit. 49 : to make the best of the trouble, knowing well that crying would n’t mend the matter. so he sat down, and tried to read his bible, by the flickering light of the fire, which shone in through the vine at the mouth of the cave. but he soon gave up the task, for the bible looked like another book, without the bright light of the wonderful lamp. the poor hermit's trouble of mind was enough of itself to have kept him awake all night; bat, beside this, a terrible storm had already begun to sweep through the woods. the wind blew a gale, and, every once in a while, he could hear the crashing fall of some great tree. he knew his stone house under the mountain could not be overthrown, and that the falling trees could do no more than block up the mouth of the cave. yet a thunder storm, in the forest at night, is a fearful thing. the lightnings blazed, and the heavy thunder rattled and rolled continually. suddenly, his little room was filled with a blinding blue light, and, at the same instant, there was a report, as though a huge cannon had been fired right in the doorway of his cell ! .4 a 50 haran, the hermit. the old man fell to the earth, for the time completely overcome by the shock. as he recov ered, he saw a tree in front of the cave splintered from top to bottom, and all on fire. then there came another flame, and another crash! again the lightning had struck, just over his cabin. haran was used to storms, but never had it been his lot to witness a storm like this. it seemed to him, that all the artillery of the skies were firing at his poor little home. the wild beasts of the forest were crying out with terror. wolves were howling, and panthers screamed. then asked haran, in anguish, “o, will my good angel come down from heaven to me, on such a night as this !" but the angel staid inside the golden gates, and the hermit was all alone. it was not until near the break of day that the storm passed away and the hermit sunk asleep. when he awoke all was quiet, save the sweet singing of the birds; and the sun was shining from a cloudless sky, as though no tempest had so lately passed that way. so soon as the hermit had finished his morning meal -and he had little desire to eat he startharan, the hermit. 51 ed out, to see if he might find any thing of his lost lamp. if it had only been in a city, he could have put a notice in the papers, and sent out the police; but in the woods, and all alone, there was a poor chance of ever finding his lost treasure. first, he went to the lake shore, where he had seen the being looking out from among the bushes, hoping that possibly he might find the dwelling-place of the thief, somewhere near there. but he found no trace, save, on the beach, there were tracks of some one, who must have passed that way a day or two before. suddenly, he heard the stealthy tread of something walking among the little dry sticks in the brush, which were breaking under his step. instantly, haran hurried in pursuit, when a deer bounded out and ran up the hill. then he thought he would go along the stream, where, the day before, he saw something moving among the bushes. but there was no sign of doubt, the thief, to be seen. all day the poor old hermit searched, and at evening lay down in his cave, weary and disheartened. he knew his silver lamp was gone 52 haran, the hermit. forever, unless the good angel should make him another visit; and he feared he had grieved the holy messenger, by that miserable noonday nap; for angels are industrious beings, and do not like to see well men sleeping at midday.' the night passed, and no angel. so, also, another day of fruitless search came and went, and no sign of the thief. 'that night, however, in the evening prayer, the hermit felt some comfort in his devotions, and with a grieved, but humble and submissive, spirit, he fell asleep. about midnight he awoke, and, to his joy, found the cave was full of light; and he saw the angel again standing beside the table. so soon as haran beheld the heavenly visitor, he quickly arose from his bed, and went forward where he stood, falling at his feet, and confessing the whole story of his folly in losing the lamp. once more the good angel commanded him to rise, and make his confession to god; and, instantly, the hermit obeyed. then the angel told the hermit how doubt had stolen the lamp, and where it could be found; and, charging him to henceforth take better care of the holy gift, he departed. haran, the hermit. 53 it seems now, as soon as the first streak of daylight appeared in the east, the old man went out, following the direction of the angel; and to his delight he soon discovered his precious lamp, burning as bright as ever. doubt had hid it close by the cave, and the hermit had passed and repassed the spot many times, as he had gone out and returned, on his fruitless search. it was in a little dark hole, between two rocks, where no man could crawl, that the thief had set the lamp; and he had concealed the light, by piling in front stones and leaves. you may imagine the hermit was rejoiced, when he had the precious lamp again in his own hands. so he went directly back to his cave, and, falling down on his knees, he thanked the lord for the return of the great blessing; acknowledging that his own folly had caused the loss, and that the restoration of the lamp was all of grace. “surely,” he exclaimed, "faith is the “ gift of god!” he never could have found his lost treasure, without the guidance of the angel. then did haran promise never, during his stay in the wilderness, to sleep in his cave in the day54 haran, the hermit. time, and never to leave the lamp exposed, when he should be absent from his room. all that day he staid in his cave, reading his bible, and watching the work of the wonderful lamp. in the evening, he built his watchfire, with a joyful heart, and went to his bed of leaves filled with gladness at the thought that the candle of the lord again shone brightly in his mountain home. haran, the hermit. 55 3 1 chapter v. the hermit leaves his cave, in the forest, forever. the next morning, the hermit arose very early, and, getting out his bible and lamp, he sat down on the old root chair, at the side of the stone table, to read. the lamp burned very brightly, and the chapter which haran read was a part of the narrative of the going forth of the israelites through the wilderness. he also read one of the beautiful psalms of david. that morning, he seemed to have unusual freedom in prayer. he felt, in going to god, just as a good child feels in going to its parent, with all the sweet confidence of love. it was a glorious june morning, and the sun was shining from a clear sky, and the dew was sparkling, and the countless hirds were all singing in the green galleries of god's great forest temple. even so the lord was smiling on the old man in prayer. 56 haran, the hermit. so the dew of grace was on the hermit's heart, and all his grateful feelings, like the little birds, were vocal with praise to the redeemer. when haran had finished his prayer, he turned to put away the silver lamp, when, behold! on the beautiful handle sat one of the prettiest birds he ever saw. its head had on the top a little crown of crimson feathers, its breast was snowwhite, and its wings were a mingled red and purple, with the edges tipped with a bright gold. pretty soon, it began to sing; and such singing ! the old hermit sat entranced with the melody, until, all at once, he remembered the saying of the angel about the sign of the bird, and he knew that this was the little guide, who was to be his moses, in leading him forth from the wilderness. haran thought it very curious that a bird should be sent on such an errand; but he remembered that the quails were given as food to israel, and that the ravens, like black servants, waited on old elijah. so when he thought on the matter, it was not so strange, after all, that the little bird, like the pillar of cloud, should 1 haran, the hermit. 57 lead him forth from his home in the woods to the dwelling-places of men. the bird was yet singing, but had left the handle of the lamp, and had perched on a limb of a tree in front of the door. so the old hermit got ready for a start. he had nothing to pack. his leather dress, which was upon him, was all his clothing; and there was nothing to carry but the bible and the lamp. so he took a piece of bark, and with it bound the book to his side; and, taking his lamp in one hand, and his pilgrim staff in the other, he started, the little bird flying before, from tree to tree, in a straight line, in the way he should go. the beautiful guide never, for a moment, got. out of sight of the hermit. about noon, the bird alighted on the branch of an oak, and at the foot of the tree there was a large spring, all around the margin of which grew herbs, good for food; and here the hermit halted, unstrap.ping his bible and setting the lamp upon it. having gathered some roots and herbs, of them he made his dinner, while the bird was hopping around, getting bugs and worms for its meal 58 haran, the hermit. then haran got down on his knees, and drank from the spring, and as he did so he thought of poor ishmael's idea of praying to a spring. as he rose up, refreshed with the pure cold waters, he said to himself, “ i get all my best blessings, on my knces.” the walk had been a long one, and the guide had led on pretty fast; so the hermit, being weary, lay down on a knoll and fell asleep; and the bird, having finished its dinner, perched on the handle of the lamp, which sat on the bible close by the old man's side. by and by, harar. was awoke by the screaming of the bird, close to his ear, as it sat on tho lamp. the old man was frightened, thinking his little friend was sick. then he remembered that a bird would be alarmed, and cry out with a strange noise, at the sight of a serpent; so he took his staff, and maue search for what had been the cause of the fright. just baok of the tree under which he had slept was a high rock, and, knowing that snakes frequent such places, he climbed up there, and saw in the distance, a being running down into a valley, through which his morning path haran, the hermit. 59 > had led. sure, as the world, it was that thieving fellow, whose name was doubt! then he understood why the little bird made the strange noise, for that wicked being had been after the lamp. haran saw, also, why the wise angel had directed that the bird should perch on the handle of the lamp. so, after that, when the old man would take a nap at noon, while on his journey, he would set the lamp near his head, and the bird, like a soldier in beautiful uniform, would stand sentinel at the ear of the sleeping pilgrim; and as in the camp, the drum beats and the bugle sounds, to awake the men sleeping in the tents, so would the little guard sound the alarm, if there was danger, or sing sweetly, if all was right, to awaken the hermit for his journey. it was time to go, for haran saw the sign, by the bird's leaving his silver perch, and alighting on the limb of a tree, in the path which he was to travel. so journeyed the man and bird, until the shadows of evening began to fall; and then again the bird alighted. he could not have found a more beautiful place in all the woods. two great rocks leaned their tops against each 60 haran, the uermit. othor, making the entrance to look like the letter v, turned downwards: so, a. as the hermit went in, he feared there might be, perhaps, some wild beast in the stone house; but he searched it with faith, and found it a complete place to stay in. there, too, was a stone, covered with green moss, much like his old table in the cave; and in the corner of the cell was a spring, and as it bubbled up little bright sands all the while arose, looking like particles of silver. so again the bird gathered its meal, and the hermit he got his. then he built his evening watchfire, for he felt that the bird could not frighten away the wild beasts; and, taking his lamp and bible, he sat down and read. now, while he was reading, in flew the little bird, and sat in his old place, on the handle of faith. that night, the hermit found in the holy book the story of the blessed saviour's taking up children in his arms, and blessing them; and he sat ; and thought how, in early childhood, jesus gave him a blessing, and how, in later life, he had so often done evil, and had acted disobediently. and then again he thought of his hours of penitence haran, the hermit. 61 and conscious forgiveness; and, last of all, of the angel's giving him the silver lamp;and the meditation of the hermit sent him to his knees, with the waters of sorrow and joy mingled on his cheeks. then the lamp burned bright! the old man did not know it, but, while he was in prayer, doubt, who, all the while, hung around his path, came and looked in; but before the little bird could give a scream, the thief was off, for the light was so bright his weak eyes could not stand the glare; and, beyond that, the sound of thanksgiving and praise always gave him the headache, and made him faint. so the old hermit lay down to his rest, and the little bird, sitting on the lamp, grew drowsy, too, and finally put his head under his wing and went to sleep. at midnight, the good angel came noiselessly to the cell, and stood by the bed of leaves, where the pilgrim lay, and then looked at the little bird and the lamp; but he was not heard by the sleepers. now, while he stood over the hermit, the old man smiled in his sleep; and when he was near the stone table, the lamp burned brighter, and the little bird half 62 haran, the hermit. warbled a tune, as it slept. so the angel, seeing that all was right with his precious charge, flew away again to heaven. the bird woke up first, and began to sing on the silver handle close by the ear of the hermit, until the old man was aroused from his slumber. haran that morning remembered his dream. at first, some trouble came near, but he thought it soon passed away, and he dreamed of angels and heaven. but how little he knew of doubt's having been around the door, and that an angel had actually been in the cabin! perhaps, if the bird could have talked, he too could have told a dream. the morning meal over, again they started on the journey; halting at noon for an hour, and then going on their way till evening. this night, the hermit slept under a juniper tree, with his bible and lamp at his side, and his watchfire burning near by. as he arose in the morning, at the singing of the bird, who was in his usual place, he found, to his surprise, a leaf of a tree lying on the bible, and on it these words: “this day completeth thy pilgrimage out of the haran, the hermit. 63 wilderness. 7." by the sign of the cross, the hermit knew it must have been that the angel had visited him during the night. after the morning service and morning meal, the bird and man started on their last day's pilgrimage, for so haran knew it to be, because of the writing on the leaf. now, about noon, the bird perched upon a tree, and the hermit found he was at the edge of a forest, and that, in the distance, he could see a house. after the little guide had eaten its meal it came down and sat on the lamp, as before, singing one of its sweet melodies. then it flew far away toward the house, and returning, again alighted on its silver perch, and sang. pretty soon, it flew around the hermit, and sat on his shoulder, then on his hand, and again on the lamp. haran would have gladly kept the bird, but suddenly it took its flight to the forest, and he saw it no more, until the very close of his life. after the little bird was gone, and the pilgrim had partaken of his last dinner of nuts, roots, and herbs, he knceled down, and, first thanking god for the lamp, the angel, and the bird, he 64 aran haran, the hermit. then asked divine direction. this precious promise welled up in his heart, while he was praying: “commit thy way unto the lord ; trust also in him, and he shall bring it to pass.” so, with his bible strapped to his side and his silver lamp in his hand, he made his way to the farm-house which he saw in the distance. now, on the way, again and again he would stop and look, asking himself “what does this then he would go on again, wondering at what he saw, and feeling like a man walking in his sleep, or dreaming, when half awake. so, reaching the door of the house, he rapped with his pilgrim staff, and a voice answered, “come in!” so, in his leather dress, with his bible strapped to his side, and the wonderful silver lamp in his hand, entered haran, the hermit of the wilderness. mean?" 1 haran, the hermit. chapter vi. haran makes a great discovery— god is better to him than his fears. when the hermit reached the door of the farm-house, as i have said, he rapped with his staff on the door, and a voice on the inside answered, “come in.” it was the first time for nearly or quite forty years that his feet had stood in any human habitation, save his own cave in the wild woods. the people looked strange to him; and, surely, he must have appeared still more strange to them. it had been six long years since he had beheld a human face. then a hunter found shelter and food in his cell, and for a night shared the cheap hospitalities of his little forest home. the stranger, grateful for the kindness, made the hermit a present of a deerskin; and from it haran managed, with a thorn for a needle, and some fine, strong roots for a 5 66 haran, the hermit. or. thread, to make the strange dress in which he was then clothed. had it not been for his bible, and the habit he had of talking to himself, he would have nearly or quite forgotten his own language. you may well suppose that the good people of the house were both astonished and alarmed at the curious appearance of their unexpected visitthe head of the household, a very old man, invited him to take a seat, and asked him if ho was not hungry. haran told him that he would be thankful for food; and so they brought out some bread, potatoes, and meat, and told him to help himself. it seemed odd enough to the hermit to sit at such a table. his first thought was that he should crack the potatoes, as he used to do with the nuts; and he made awkward work with the knife and fork. some of the younger folks whispered to each other, as they watched him, saying, “he is crazy.” the old man in the house thought, at first, that the intruder might be a robber, until taking up the book, which, with the lamp, haran had put on the table, he found it was the bible. haran, the hermit. 67 so, then, he too concluded that it was some poor being who had lost his reason, and for a long time had been wandering in the woods ; and the fact that he carried a burning lamp in the daytime went far to confirm his suspicion. therefore, from pity, he invited him to stay all night, knowing he had a room up stairs, with a strong lock, in which the man could be put, safe from doing any harm. just then, a bird began to sing in front of the house, when instantly the hermit ran to the door, and, listening a moment, he hurried out into the yard, looking every way for the singer. soon he saw that it was a canary, which lived in a little cage, which was suspended from an upper window. as haran came in, he remarked that he thought it was the bird that had been his guide, but added that the angel had said his little messenger should return again through the forest by the way in which he came. “poor crazy man!” whispered the good old lady, “hear him talk of angels.” “your yellow-bird," continued the hermit, 68 haran, the hermit. “has something of the appearance and somewhat of the notes of my charming little moses." “ your what?” asked the old man. “i came from my cave to your dwelling,” said haran, "led by a mysterious bird; and, in the thought of the jews being conducted through the wilderness, i named my pretty guide moses.” “and how long," asked the old man, “have you been this way ?” “i was never this way before,” replied haran, not understanding the question, “and had it not been for the good angel and the bird, i should not be here now. thank the lord for the angel!” > now, after the hermit had finished his supper, the old man of the house was about to light the candles for night, when, observing that the curious light of the lamp illuminated the room, he asked his crazy visitor—for so he fully believed him to beif he intended to let his lamp burn all the evening “it never goes out," was the mysterious reply. so the whole of the large family circle was gathered together, and in addition some of the 1 haran, the hermit. 69 neighbors also happened in, making a goodly company. of course the hermit was the .center of attraction, with his long, gray hair, his strange dress, and, above all, his wonderful lamp. in answer to the questions of the head of the family, haran told the story of his life. they were soon convinced that he was not insane. said the hermit, “when i was a lad of some twelve years of age, my father and mother, who were both godly people, died, leaving myself and one only older brother, the only remnants of a once numerous family. we were without property, our father's farm having been sold for debt, during the days of his last sickness. all we two boys had was a bible and a painting—the likeness of our dear mother. this treasure we divided between us-my brother taking the portrait, and i that bible now lying on the table, on the blank leaf of which is a name the most precious to me of all names on earth. "a few years after," continued haran, "orrin, my brother, shipped on board a trading vessel, as a hand, before the mast, resolved to lead a sailor's life. for many years he made regular 70 haran, the hermit. voyages from boston to a distant foreign port, and i believe he became mate of the ship. one fall, when i was daily expecting his arrival tho dreadful news came that the ship was wrecked in a gale, on the coast, and all hands lost. then," said the hermit, “i was alone indeed. an orphan, and, without brother or sister, in the great, cold world! i became a wanderer, estranged from my fellow-men, and feeling that my chief happiness was in being alone. just at that time, a strange old man, who, at long intervals, made his appearance in the village near my home, returned again. his name no one knew; but he was familiarly called by every body willy wildman, and his home was said to be far distant in the depths of the forest. this man proposed, knowing my condition, that i should accompany him on his return to the wilderness. i readily complied with his request, and found my home with him in the cave. “i saw,” said haran," that willy's roughness was all on the outside; that he had nothing of the bear but his skin. he loved his god, and bad sweet communion with his saviour and the haran, the hermit. 71 holy spirit. by his counsels and his prayers, i trust i became more fully acquainted with true religion. then i loved the hermit, and could not bear to be separated an hour from his company. “our home was the cave; and our food was the roots, herbs, and nuts, of the woods. the hermit declared to me that all life was sacred, and that he would by no means kill the innocent inhabitants of the streams, the air, and the forest, inasmuch as they had been better friends to him than his fellow-men. “now, one morning good old willy went forth from the cave alone, saying that he would return before sunset; and that was the last i ever saw of him. for days i sought for him; but all in vain. he might have fallen into one of the lakes ; but it is more likely he was devoured by wild beasts." then said haran, “i was for a long time alone, until one day a poor fellow, who appeared to be either foolish or mad, made his way to my solitary home. he also became my companion, and remaining with me a short time, died. from that time to 72 haran, the hermit. the present,” said the hermit, “i have lived alone.” then did the curious guest relate the story of the angel's visit and the gift of the wonderful lamp; and also how, with a beautiful bird for his guide, he had again been led to the habitations of men.” “i knew that willy wildman,” said the old man of the house, “ and, by a strange coincidence, my name, too, is orrin.” as he said this, he opened the hermit’s bible, and his eye lighting upon the name written on the fly-leaf, he dropped the book, and, crying aloud “oh, haran ! — my brother haran!” he fell on the hermit's neck, and wept. yes, it was orrin, the sailor, and haran, the hermit! then the whole company bowed down upon their knees, and haran offered thanks unto him who had commanded the angel and directed the bird. while this sacrifice of praise was being offered, one of the little grandchildren called aloud, saying, “see, see! what ails the curious lamp ?” and as they rose from the floor, the light was haran, the aermit. 73 shining with new brilliancy; which mystery haran explained to the astonished circle. it seems, orrin, the brother, was wrecked, off the coast, in a terrible storm; but of all the ill-fated crew he alone was spared, and his salvation seemed little less than a miracle. after some months, he obtained a situation on another ship, and finally rose to be master of the vessel. a number of years of successful voyaging yielded him a handsome property, and with it be returned, and, buying the old farm, settled down in the place where he was born. haran was then in his father's house, and, at that moment, sitting in his mother's old chair;for orrin had succeeded in restoring all the furniture, so precious in the associations of the past. around him were the descendants of his brother, sons, and daughters; grandsons, and granddaughters. then asked his brother's wife, as she looked over at the hermit through her spectacles, “and do you remember among your early playmates, at the village school, one wild, frolicing, but, i. trust, good meaning girl, whom all the children used to call • crazy kate?'" 74 haran, the hermit. 6 > “who could forget her!” exclaimed haran; and asked he, “is she still living ?” at that, his brother, smiling, came forward with his wife, saying, “ let me introduce you to crazy kate,' of the village school." then said she, pointing to a little granddaughter, with black hair and bright-hazel eyes, “there is what we call the third edition of kate,' revised and corrected.” "i do n't know how that may be," replied haran; “but the little volume has at least a very fine binding." what a change had come over that circle ! hour after hour passed by, and the story of a lifetime was rehearsed, until the sober old clock, solemnly ticking in the corner, sounded out the hour of three in the morning. as haran started for his bed, he took his lamp and his bible with him. “ you may leave the book," said his brother, 6 for there is one in your room.” “ the old bible and faith are inseparable," said haran; and bidding all good-night-though haran, the hermit. 75 really it was morning – he was conducted to to his room. the next day, the house was crowded with neighbors, from the little village close by, all anxious to see the long lost man. then haran showed them the wonders of the lamp, calling to mind the angel's saying, to let his light shine before men. many were the mysteries displayed, and many the blessings imparted, by faith, the wonderful lamp. 76 haran, the hermit. chapter vii. haran visits the city. haran's brother had a grandson whose name was frederick, but whom the household always knew as “freddie.” he was ten years of and his wisdom was quite beyond a boy of his years. freddie's home was in the great city, some forty miles from his grandfather's house. when haran arrived, this lad was home on a visit, and the time had come when he must return. now, freddie had listened with great interest to the story of the power of faith, the wonderful lamp, and so he proposed that the hermit should go in with him that day to the city, and show the lamp to his employer. so haran, having exchanged his old leather dress for better apparel, went, with freddie for his guide now, instead of the bird, to the house of the merchant in the city, who was a good man and loved his saviour. age, haran, the hermit. 77 now, when they arrived, great was the astonishment of all the family. though the old hermit had put on the ordinary dress of a citizen, still his manner and appearance were such as to surprise any one who saw him. his hair was white and long, hanging over his shoulders, and his beard descended down to his breast. then, too, he had his old bible strapped to his side, and always carried the wonderful lamp in his hand. freddie's employer took him aside into another room, and there asked him all about the old man, thinking he had escaped from some lunatic asylum. so the boy told the whole story of the forty years' dwelling in the wilderness, and all about the mysteries of the curious silver lamp. then the merchant bade haran to stay all night, and so they spent the evening together in conversation, and haran tried some experiments with faith. he opened to the story of the cross, and showed the effect of the lamp, in making the page to shine like beautiful jewelry. then, by its light, he read and explained some difficult and dark passages, much to the delight of all the circle. before the hour of evening service, it was agreed 78 haran, the hermit. that on the morrow freddie's employer should conduct haran to the prisons and the almshouse, and try the power of the lamp in the cells and rooms of the inmates. but, during the night, a beautiful little child, of about a year old, was taken very sick. all the family were called up, and the doctor was sent for. all the next day it grew worse and worse, and the following evening it died. when the child was dying, and the family were all weeping around its little bed, haran came into the room with his bible and the lamp; and, at his request, all the lights were put out, except his. then he took the holy book, and read a chapter full of the love of god. having finished the reading, he put the open book on a stand, close by the bed, and set faith right on the page which contained the promises, with the light shining on the couch of the dying one. in a minute, they were astonished at the sight presented: two beautiful angels stood over the child; and when they smiled, the dying one would smile too, and the light of their faces shone like the light of the wonderful lamp. pretty soon a third, as it might aaran, the hermit. 79 be the angel of a babe, seemed to be just over the child; and the next instant, with one of the large angels on one side, and the other on the other side of the little angel, the three spread their wings and flew up to heaven, and the doctor said the child was dead. all in the room did not see the angels: only the father, and mother, and haran, the hermit; though everybody saw the baby smile, just as it was dying. the first vision greatly comforted the parents of the child, and the second was equally consoling, and much more glorious. opening the bible to another place, and setting the lamp thereon, a great smoke went up from the burning wick, and in this cloud there appeared, as far distant, broad pastures, through which lay a calm, clear river. in these beautiful fields, and along the margin of this quiet stream, a shepherd was seen leading a flock of sheep, and in his arms he was tenderly carrying a little lamb. then the father and mother knew that the vision was to instruct and comfort in the dark hour of bereavement that the green pastures were the fields of heaven, the still waters the river of life, the good shep80 haran, the hermit. herd the saviour, the flock of sheep the saints in glory, and the lamb in the shepherd's arms must be the little one just gone to glory. the day after the funeral, freddie's employer took haran, whom he had come to love, and whose lamp he now prized above all price, to the great prison and the almshouse. he went in a carriage, because when he walked in the street crowds of people followed, thinking that the good hermit was insane. greatly did the keepers of the prison stare, as this old white-haired man, with his bible and burning lamp, passed through the iron doors, and along the halls where the men were confined. but freddie's employer took the chaplain aside, and told him about the hermit, and why he always kept with him his bible and faith. so the chaplain proposed they should visit a certain cell, wherein was a man in great concern of mind about his soul. he felt that he had been very wicked, and sobbed aloud, to think he had been such a sinner. now when haran, the hermit, saw the condition of the miserable man, and that he despaired of being forgiven, he unstrapped his bible from his side, and a haran, the hermit. 81 opening to the story of the dear saviour's death, he set the wonderful lamp on the precious page. in a few m.nutes the prisoner began to look, as the cloud of smoke, with the white light, went up from the lamp. “ what is that?” said he. “i see,” he exclaimed, a hill, and on the top stands a cross. on the cross hangs a bleeding, dying man; and on the ground, at the foot of the cross, i behold, written in red letters, these words: “the blood of jesus christ cleanseth from all sin.'” pretty soon, the prisoner clapped his hands, and, smiling through his tears, he cried aloud, “i am forgiven! i am forgiven!” he was so happy he did not know how to act. he kissed haran, and kissed the lamp, and the holy book on which it stood. “ thou art saved through faith,” said the hermit; and, taking up his precious treasure, he left the cell. then he went to where others were confined ; but most of them would have nothing to do with faith. haran always first asked them whether they wanted him to use the lamp; and, if they 6 82 haran, the hermit. very refused, he could bring no vision from the smoky cloud. still, there was quite a number who were blessed by the visit of the hermit. one old man, who was in for life, said to haran, “oh, that i had found that book and lamp when i was young! i should not be spending the evening of my life in this awful place." “wouldst thou take a look at the cloud ?" asked the hermit. “oh, yes !” he replied, “ if it is not too late.” then the lamp burned brightly, and in the smoke again appeared the picture of the hill and the cross, and on the ground was the blood-red writing. so the old man raised his hands and exclaimed, “lord, now lettest thou thy servant , “ depart in peace, according to thy word, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.” the bright light made the old prisoner's snow-white hair to glisten like a silver crown. then they went into the almshouse which was full of poor people. many were the visions enjoyed there; and they all said that a man could not be poor with the treasures of haran, the hermit. but it was getting late, and they had 1 haran, the hermit. 83 good way to ride; so they left, in the carriage, for the house of freddie's employer. as they were riding home, the hermit said that he felt so happy, when he received the lamp, that he was desirous to stay in his cave among the mountains until he should go to his heavenly home; but the good angel said to him, that he must go among men, and “let his light so shine that others, seeing his good works, might glorify his father who is in heaven.” he added, also, that he expected to go down into a valley, before long, and, passing through the gate at the farther end of the same, he should dwell forever in a land where no such lamp was needed. on his arrival at the house, a large company had gathered to meet him, and he told them all how to study and how to pray, so that the angel would give them such a lamp as he carried. he also charged them, when they received the heavenly gift, to use it for the benefit of others. “see to it,” said haran, “ that you gather together a company of little children; and each in his circle of youth, every sabbath day, with bible » 84 haran, the hermit. and lamp, make the holy truth to shine into their minds and hearts." so, spending that night at the house of fredlie's employer, the next morning the good old man left for his brother's house, with the blessings of all the company upon him. before haran left, he held a long talk with the little boy who had been his guide to the merchant's house. he told him how he, too, could obtain such a lamp, and that in its light he would make a safe journey to the bright world. freddie promised that he would ask god's good angel for the lamp; and old haran then did kiss the boy and gave him his blessing. haran, the hermit. 85 chapter viii. haran arrives at his brother's house. many were the stories which haran had to tell, on his return to his brother's house. already, he joyfully confessed that it was both wisdom and love which did prompt the angel to send him from his wild cave in the woods to the homes of men, and saw the folly of his former sorrow at the decision of heaven. the smile of gratitude, in the face of the prisoner who had found his saviour by the light of faith, was enough to repay him an hundred fold for all his toils and trials. it is a great thing to carry joy to a heavy heart, and to impart the light of holy happiness to a face wet with the waters of grief. then, too, haran thought of others in the prison and in the almshouse who had received an inestimable blessing in the light of the lamp. he remembered, too, with pleasure, the tender service e6 haran, the hermit. of bright-burning faith, in the room where the child lay dying. so the hermit felt great gladness of heart, in the reflection that he had not lived in vain; and he saw, also, that we must not go out of the world because is bad, no more than a candle should avoid a room because it is dark; but that we should stay in the wicked world, and do good, just as a bright candle shines. then haran resolved that he would not go to bed any night without being able, as he laid his head on his pillow, to remember some act of mercy, or some word of timely wisdom that he had performed or spoken that day. if he had made the vow when he was a little boy, and had kept it, what a valuable life would his have been ! but he was already an old man. the most of his life was gone, and there was no recalling it back again. for a man advanced in years to become an active christian, is like a person loitering around a barvest field all through the day, and just at sunset going into the field to work; but for a little child to turn to christ, is like a man to begin his labor in the brightness of the haran, tue hermit. 87 morning, there is a hope that he may work through the long summer's day. it is a glorious thing for even an aged person to seek the lord; but it is a more glorious thing for a child to begin the long day of life in the presence of him who blessed little children-he may do so much much more for the saviour and the world. now when haran the hermit returned, he resolved to make his brother's house his home. the whole household became very much attached to him, and he loved them all, and daily tried to do them good. there were living at the old homestead two little boys, who were cousins, and their fathers were both dead. the name of the one was stanley, and the name of the other was seymour, and they were the great-grandsons of haran's brother, and the hermit loved them as much as if they had been his own children. at first, these boys were afraid of the hermit, his appearance was so strange; but very soon they came to cling to him, and love him as much as he loved them. hour after hour, he would sit with them, reading to them out of his old bible, and talking to them about the lamp, the angel, > 88 haran, the hermit. and heaven. very soon he taught them to realize that their dear parents were not out in the graveyard; but that they, too, were angels, away up in the bright world, from whence the angel brought the wonderful lamp. he helped them to set out beautiful bushes, and to plant flowers in the little yard wherein their parents were laid ; and showed them that as the seeds, hid away in the ground, did first decay, and then quicken and come up in the form of beautiful blossoms, so it was with the bodies of good men, jesus would raise them up at the last day. his words of instruction and love were like balm to the hearts of those two dear little fatherless boys. nor was this all. haran never rested until he had, by his prayers, brought both stanley and seymour, and freddie, too, whose home was in the city, to love the glorious saviour, so that they might one day join the happy ones in heaven. when they had received the “calvary wisdom,” as he loved to call it, then, day after day, he would have them read his good old book, in the light of the wonderful lamp, until their knowledge of divine things quite surpassed the haran, the hermit. 8€ wisdom of this world. one day, while he was gone over to a neighbor's, he left the boys in his room with the bible and the lamp; and so they had a kind of little church, all alone to themselves. now when haran returned, he thought he would go noiselessly up to the room and listen at the door, to learn how the little fellows would act, unconscious of his presence. so as he got to the door, he looked through the keyhole, and saw stanley was reading the scriptures by the light of the lamp, and little seymour was listening. these were the words which he read: the poor committeth himself unto thee; thou art the father of the fatherless. ps. 10; 14. then he saw them both kneel down and pray. now while they prayed, their eyes being closed, haran beheld that the silver lamp burned very brightly, and suddenly the very angel he once saw in the cave appeared, bending over the boys, and smiling upon them, and then flew away again, leaving upon the faces of the praying children the same glad holy look which his own face so haran saw that the good angel was near a child when bowed in prayer. wore. 90 haran, the hermit. when the supplication was over, as they rose from their knees they sang aloud the hymn, “we won't give up the bible, god's holy book of truth." while they were singing, he opened the door and went in. then they both ran to him, saying, “oh, uncle haran!”—for so they called “. himwe have had children's church,' and the lamp has acted wonderfully; and we have been so happy while we prayed.” stanley said it seemed to him that the angels might have been in the room, he felt so glad, when on his knees. the hermit smiled and kissed them both, but did not tell them what he saw. “now," said he, as he sat down, “let us have that singing over again, for i heard you at the door.” so the boys again sung the bible hymn, until they made the room ring with the music. “good !” exclaimed the old man, “good! no choir in the great city churches can surpass it, 1 will venture any thing." then, as the little boys leaned upon uncle haran, the hermit. 91 so haran's knees, said stanley, “ uncle haran, seymour and i have one request to make, and it is a great one." “if it is right,” said the hermit, “i will grant it. speak your mind." “we hope you will stay with us a great many years, for, our fathers being dead, you seem as a father to us; but when you do go into that bright land, of which you have told us much,– here the boy hesitated, for he had all his father's diffidence. “speak on," said uncle haran. so stanley ventured to complete the sentence. “will you let seymour and i have the silver lamp?" you will not need it in the land of light, “where the saints in glory stand, bright, bright as day.” the hermit kissed the dear little boy, and smiled, and cried. “i shall not be long with you, my dear children,” he replied, “and you are right in saying that i shall have no need of faith, in the better country, 'for therein there is no need of a candle, neither light of the sun; 92 haran, the hermit. 6 the lord giveth the inhabitants light. but,” he added, “the lamp is not mine to give; it is only loaned to me, for a season.” then, with great solemnity, he said, “ my journey is almost over; and the angel told me, while i was yet in the wilderness, that i should finally go through a valley called “the shadow of death,' and that the light of the lamp would shine on my path, close to the gate of the celestial city. if you are good children in christ, and are present when i go through, it may be that the good ani gel who visited me in the cave will give to you the wonderful lamp.” then he thought of the saying of poor ishmael. for a year and a half, haran the hermit dwelt under the roof of his brother's house. during that time, his brother died, and the lamp shone brightly on the pillow of the dying man. in its light, a throne, and harp, and crown appeared, and waiting angels hovered around the bed. when the spirit had taken its flight with the angelic company, in the cloud of smoke from the lamp these words appeared,“the separation shall not be long.” haran believed the message was to him, haran, the hermit. 93 and so he made diligent use of his bible and his lamp, knowing that the time was short. a great many good people learned from his lips how they might attain to the wealth of a silver lamp, and how they might let their ligau shine in the world. as i have said, the good hermit saw it to be his duty and privilege to be among his fellowmen, and impart unto the destitute all the blessings at his command. still, the memory of the sweet solitude of the solemn old woods had not left him, and he used to love to go into the depths of the forest, with his bible and his lamp, alone. at other times, he would take with him the boys he loved so well, and be gone a whole day, returning at evening to his dwelling. but all could see that he was not to stay a great while among men. he himself observed a sign of his early departure, which the angel had told him should be a sure indication of his final journey drawing nigh. that was, that, day by day, faith burned brighter and brighter. ons evening, the wonderful lamp fairly flamed, as the hermit, after evening service, started for his 94 haran, the hermit. room. then, again, his conversation ran much upon the theme of man's being a “pilgrim and a stranger;” and there came to be a peculiar ex. pression of his countenance, like one seeing something in the distance. that night he was overheard, in his room alone, for many hours in prayer; and the bright light of the lamp shone out into the yard. stanley's mother thought that might be the time that was set ; but the little boys did not so think, because of the strange sayings of uncle haran about the valley. but they could only whisper together about that, for they feared to tell it to any one, the hermit was 80 solemn, when he told the story to them. hakan, the hermit. 05 chapter ix. håran goes through the valley. during the night, haran dreamed a dream, in which all the past seemed to go before him. again he was a child, playing with other children, at home or at school. all those places to which he used to go in childhood looked to him as they did near sixty years before. there was the old mill, whose great wheel was moved by water, and, turning, set all the stones in the building whirling so swiftly. there was the milldam, along which he used to play in summer, and on the surface of which, in the cold winter, the boys used to slide and skate. in his dream, familiar faces appeared, and father and mother were there, looking as they used to look, before their eyes were concealed with spectacles, or their faces were marked with wrinkles. every thing seemed as in the scenes of life's glad, fresh 96 haran, the hermit morning. the old church on the hill, with the still, solemn graveyard at its side. he thought, in his sleep, that it was the sabbath-day, and that he rode in the large, two-horse wagon, which had in it the tall, splint-bottomed chairs for seats. again they drove up to the platform, and each stepped out upon it; and, going down the little steps, entered the old meeting-house. how clearly he saw every thing in that building, as through a child's eyes. the square, straightbacked pews; the faded green curtain, strung on a wire in the gallery, behind which the choir were “practicing.” then the singing! the same old tunes, the same voices, the untold mysteries of the big bass-viol, and the sweeter sound of the flute. there, too, was the curious old pulpit standing on a high post, with its winding stairway. and there stood the stout old man, mr. redfield, who used to work in the field all the week, and preach three times on sabbath; and never once had to go to europe for his health. then, the dark, dark day in which his mother died, passed before his mind. he sa :v the people around the bed, he heard her last falharan, the hermit. 37 tering words, and the final breath. again he felt that inexpressible desolation that comes with the thought-mother is dead! the funeral, the descent of the coffin so far down into the ground, the singing of the hymn in the graveyard, the prayer, and the going home to the lonely house, now empty, though filled with neighbors. his dream seemed to last for years, and yet it was all within the narrow boundary of a night. for days he was, in his sleep, wandering in the woods, among the high, wild hills, and along the lakes. the beautiful deer were cropping the water lilies, and the wild ducks and geese were swimming along the streams, or flying in the clear, blue sky. finally, the angel and the silver lamp appeared ; and this vision was so bright that haran awoke, and behold, at the table stood the angel, and he was again examining the lamp. as once in the cave, so now he pressed from the bible, where the promises were, much oil into the lamp, and carefully trimmed the wick. haran lay and silently looked at the glorious visitor, and thought he never appeared so beautiful as that night. he saw, also, that he had in his hand a 7 98 haran, the hermit. » scroll, and as he partly unrolled it, and the light of the lamp fell upon it, the hermit read many names thereon, in letters of gold, and among them he saw distinctly “freddie," “stanley," "sey*” “. mour," and they were in the midst of a long, long list of other names. some time the good angel seemed to be busy with the lamp, and then he opened the bible, and, on one of the pages, made the sign of the cross. then he spread his broad, white wings, and flew away; and, as he passed out, the hermit heard, in a low, musical whisper, the word “to-morrow.” now, after the angel was gone, haran asose and went to the table, to see what the angel had done. he found that the lamp was full of oil, and the wick carefully trimmed. then he opened to the place which the angel had marked, and found the sign of the cross, beside these words: “the silver cord is loosened, and the golden bowl is broken.” so the hermit knew that that was his last night on earth. from that time until morning, he spent the time in getting ready for the journey, and in writing farewell words to those whom he had learned to love so well. hav. haran, the hermit. 99 ing got every thing prepared, he sat down at the open window, and watched until he saw the first rays of golden light in the east, and knew that the daylight had come. never did a morning appear so bright and beautiful as that. the sky was without a cloud, the air was laden with the perfume of flowers, and the birds were singing everywhere. he thought, “what a world this is to leave! i shall no more see the golden sun in the day, and the silyer moon at night, with all the bright stars ! i shall never again breathe the fragrance of the blossoms, nor hear the sweet voices of the birds ! for a moment, haran was very sorrowful, and felt to lament the message of the angel; and then he noticed that faith was burning very dim, though the angel had filled it so full of the pure oil. soon, however, he came to think of what sorrow and what sin was in this world, and how glorious was the home in which he was to be, be. fore another morning sun should rise; and the meditations of his heart were so elevating and so holy that he longed to depart. he was to go above the stars, even as ishmael went. he was 100 haran, the hermit. to fly with such wings as the angel had; he was to see the friends who had gone before him to glory; and, above all, he was to see and be with that saviour who had sent the bright angel to his cave in the forest, and whose love hąd put in his hand the silver lamp of faith. then, again, the light burned brightly. so he exclaimed, “let me go; for the morning breaketh !" very early he went to the room where the little boys were sleeping, and awoke them. then, he told them what he had seen and heard, and, above all, that he had read their names on the angel's scroll. then seymour and stanley broke forth into the song, “how i long to be a little angel!” “now,” said haran, "you remember what i told you, when you asked me to give you the lamp? to-day i go away from you forever, and you need not cry, for it will not be long before you two will be with me in the same happy place. i have some things to say to you,” said he, “but not just now. i have come to tell you to get ready, so that after i have parted with the house. hold you can accompany me to a place which i haran, the hermit. 101 will tell you of.” so the hermit went back to his room, saying, “i'm a pilgrim and a stranger,' and the little boys hurried to get ready for their mysterious journey. now, as haran took his seat again at the window, he heard the singing of a bird, quite different from all the other sweet voices which filled the air ; and the next moment there perched on the limb of a tree, close before him, the little guide who conducted him out of the wilderness. the next moment, it flew in through the window, and again alighted on its little silver perch, even the handle of the lamp. so he called the boys into the room, that they might see the bird with the golden wings. they were astonished and delighted. “that,” said haran, smiling, “is the little ‘moses,' who led me from my cave to this house, and he is to be our guide to-day.” now, after the morning meal and morning service, haran proposed to the little boys to go with him into the forest; and, having left a paper on his table, up stairs, he took his book and lamp, and, bidding a good-by, went forth. as he started with the boys, the bird flew forward, 102 haran, the hermit. and alighted on a tree; and then, when the man and boys would reach the spot, it would fly again ; and so they journeyed on, until, finally, they reached a deep, dark ravine, at the entrance of which the bird sat on an overhanging vine and sang sweetly. “this must be the place,” said haran, “ where we are to separate, my dear children;" and so, sitting down on a rock with them, he gave them his farewell advice. he told them the outline of his strange life; how he would live better if he could live his days over again; what a blessing it was to have one's home among godly people ; and what a privilege it was to go to the sabbathschool. beyond all, he dwelt upon the love of jesus to little children, and bade them to remember what he had said about the advantage of beginning the day of life in the work of christ. he told them, also, to try and bring others to a knowledge of the same saviour; and to avoid bad company; and each night, praying for forgiveness for all sins, to think over, “now, what good have i done to-day ?” for more than an hour, ilaran talked with the little boys, and then knelt down haran, the hermit. 103 with them, and prayed for them, in the opening of the dark valley. when they arose from their knees, the boys were astonished to see how the silver lamp flamed the bright light penetrated far into the mysterious valley. “now," said haran, “a word about your going home. have no fear of being lost." just then the little bird flew around the little boys, two or three times, and then took his place on one of the trees toward the path over which they had come. there," said the hermit, pointing to the bird, is your unerring guide. he will conduct you safely to the door of your own home, before the sun goes down.” then, last of all, he told them about the wonderful lamp. he said he believed the angel would give it them when he was through with it; and then he gave them much instruction how to use it. moreover, he told them of the danger of losing it, saying that there was a thief, whose name was doubt, and if they were careless he would steal it. "if this should ever happen," said ho, 104 haran, the hermit. "you must pray for the angel to show you where it is, and search for it, with your bible in your band.” he also told them them that they must use the lamp for a threefold purpose: first, for the glory of god; second, for their own perfection; and, third, for the benefit of others. so, having given them all needful advice, he told them to leave the lamp undisturbed as he should place it, until they saw him go through the gate, at the farther end of the valley; and then he thought the good angel would come and give it unto them. then flaran laid the bible on the rock, at the entrance of the valley, and set the lamp on the bible, so that the light could shine right on his path. then he kissed the dear little boys, and, bidding them farewell, with his staff in his hand, he started down into the strange valley. just as he began his walk, a voice came up the path, saying, “when you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, fear no evil; for i am with you, and my rod and my staff they shall comfort you!” now, as the little boys stood wondering and haran, the hermit. 105 watching uncle haran, they saw that the light of the lamp seemed to bathe him in a flood of radience, and that his garments seemed to change, until they looked like a glorious robe, and his white hair seemed to be a crown of glory. they hoped he would look back, for they wanted to see his face, knowing he must be very beautiful now; but he did not once turn round, after he had started, but went slowly and steadily on toward the distant gate. now when he had got almost through, they saw that an angel came out and joined the hermit, and together they journeyed toward the gate. it appeared, also, that the angel helped the old man, at times, over some rough places in the way. when they came to the gate, which, by the light of faith, was clearly seen, the hermit knocked with his staff on the door, and instantly it opened. then, for a moment, the little boys saw a wonderful sight. the place was bright with the same kind of light which was shed by the silver lamp, and was also full of angels; and they heard, also, the sweetest music. 106 haran, the hermit. a great company of bright beings welcomed the pilgrim at the gate; and among them they saw their parents, and other friends well known on earth. it was only an instant, and the gate shut again; and through the golden gates of paradise had passed haran, the hermit. just then, as they still stood gazing into the valley, they saw coming toward them the angel who had conducted the hermit to the gate. though he was so great, and so bright, the little boys did not fear him; for his face was full of gentleness and love, and they also remembered the promise of the hermit. so as he came up he took the lamp, and gave it to the boys, telling them that it was he who first gave it to the man who had just passed through the gate. then the little bird came down and sat on the handle of the lamp, while still the angel held it, and there sang. “this," said he, " is your guide. go to your home, and be good boys, and 'my glorified master, in whose name i present you this lamp, and who so loves children, be with you and bless you ! and inay the day come, that i may pass you through aaran, the hermit. 107 yonder gate, into the world where even the light of the silver lamp of faith is not needed !” then the angel departed, and by the guidance of the bird, seymour and stanley again returned to their home. on their arrival, great was the inquiry about uncle haran, and the people wondered at the story of the boys and the wonderful lamp. 108 haran, the hermiti chapter x. a talk to children about the story of haran, the hermit; or, the wonderful lamp. in the little allegory which you have just read, i think you have caught the idea which i have desired to convey, and that the story hardly needs a note of explanation; but i do so love to talk and write to children, that i find myself tempted to another chapter, in chatting with my youthful audience. i will say a few things about the hermit, and his lamp. you saw that he had a good father and mother, but that, like many others, he lost them by death, when he was yet a child. only the one who has experienced this deprivation knows any thing of what the loss can be. still, though they died so early in his life, their instruction was not lost upon him, and their prayers were answered. you see, again, that haran becomes haran, the hermit. 109 disgusted with the ways and habits of his fellowmen, and withdraws to the seclusion of a hermit's cell, in the wilderness. i show you, by the language of the angel, that this was wrong. the world is bad ;—it is full of sin, and temptation besets us at every turn; still, god never designed we should go out of it, until death opens to us his earthy door. no, we must ourselves be good and do good. i trust you understand the idea of the bible and the lamp. the good angel, you remember, got the oil for the lamp of faith, and the wick, and the light, all from the holy volume. the bible is the only source for that christian confidence which we call faith. so, when the old man, you remember, separated the book and the lamp, then the light burned dimly; and when he brought them together again, then the light was bright. let me, in this connection, tell you something more about faith. you know, the bible speaks a great deal about faith, and the preacher says a great deal about faith, and all christians sing, and talk, and pray much about faith. you are told, you must have faith. you are told, with. 110 aaran, the hermit. > out faith it is impossible to please god. again, the bible says, “by grace are ye saved, through faith.” if we have faith, we are happy, just as the men in prison and in the almshouse were happy, when they saw the sights in the smoke of the silver lamp. what is this curious faith?” why does it save people? how does it make men and women happy? i will try and tell you, avoiding all the dark words usually used, in discoursing upon such a subject. suppose a boywe will call him john-had a good father, who loved him, and took the best of care of him. now, this father has told his son what he must do, and what he must not. ho has said very plainly, if you obey me, i will give you this, that, and the other present; but if you disobey me, i will punish you severely. in addition to all this, the father has been kind enough to add, in regard to the disobedient, that if the offender is sorry for his fault, and humbly and honestly asks for forgiveness, he will not whip him, buting in the place thereof, will pardon him and love him. now, john, one day, does wrong, and feels that he ought to be punished. while he aaran, the hermit. 111 sits thinking of his sin against his father, he remembers, also, how good his parent has been to him, how much he has done for him, and how much he loves him. john feels guilty, grieved, and sorry; and so he arises, and goes to his father, saying, “my dear father, i havo done wrong; i deserve to be punished. i am very sorry please to forgive me!” his father replies, “john, i freely and fully forgive you." do you not see that, just in proportion as john believed his father, he would be happy? if he believed a little, he would be happy a little ; and ;; if he believed a great deal, he would be happy a great deal. now call belief faith, and you have got one idea, how faith makes a man happy. god says, that if we sin, he will punish us. he says, if we repent, that is, if we have the kind of sorrow i have described, and ask for forgiveness, believing on the saviour, he will, for the saviour's sake, forgive us. now, see: a child feels that he is wicked, and that god is good. he sits, and thinks how god has tenderly cared for him, and how badly he has acted toward god until he cries, to think he has offended so. 112 haran, the hermit. merciful a being; and, as he weeps, he trembles, too, at the thought of the dreadful punishment which he is to receive. then he asks, “what shall i do to be saved from all this trouble?” god, in the bible, says, “jesus christ died for sinners just like you, and on account of his death i promise, if you will get down in prayer, and confess that you are wicked, and will ask that i will pardon you, for christ's sake, – that is, because christ died, -i will that moment, for christ's sake, forgive you all your sins.” so the child goes and prays. he feels he is wicked, he feels he ought to be punished. he feels he can not carry any thing to the great god to buy his pardon. but he remembers that god tells him to ask in the name of christ, and he will forgive him. so he asks that god will, on account of christ's dying for sinners, forgive him his sins. now he knows god keeps his word, and that he has said, if you só ask, i will forgive; so he knows he is forgiven: and that is faith in god's word; faith in christ; and do n't you see how faith makes him happy? now, his being forgiven makes him finally go to heaven; so he is “saved haran, the hermit. 113 by faith.” so i have pictured faith as a silver lamp, and the oil, and the wick, and the light as coming from the promises of god in christ. now, my little reader, try and see if you and i can not do another sum on our little gospel slate. as your school-teacher would say, “i will state the sum. we will call the bible an arithmetic, and do you turn to hebrews, 11th chapter and the 1st verse: “now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.' “oh," you say, “i can not do that sum !” yes you can i will show you how. first of all, there are three hard words-faith, substance, evidence. the first you already understand : it is to believe. now to the second. suppose, for instance, you had an orange in your hand;-that orange is a substance any thing a you can see, or feel, or handle, is substance; this paper, on which these letters are printed, substance. you understand that;now to the third word. suppose you hear a band of music in the streets, and know that the soldiers are marching; you do n't see the soldiers, but the sound of music is evidence that the soldiers are . 8 114 haran, the hermit. in the street. you hear the sound of an organ; you do n't see it; but the music is evidence that there is a man before the door, turning a handle around, and so making the music. you see a piece of crape tied to the door-handle of some house; that is, a sign-it is evidence--that some one is dead. you hear the church bells ringing, on sabbath; that is evidence that the hour of worship is come. there is a bud on the rosebush, in the back yard; that is evidence that there going to be a rose. now you fully understand the three hard words, in the sum which we are going to work out; therefore, supposing that you have turned back, and again have read the verse from the bible, we will proceed. imagine that i own a box of ripe oranges. so i give you a paper, and, on it, say to the man who has charge of my oranges, “give to the boy who brings this paper an orange. j. h. s.” when you get the paper, you say, "mr. s. has given me an orange." but a boy says, “that is not an orange, it is only paper.” you reply, “i know it is only paper; but i believe mr. s., that is, i have frith, and so my paper is the substance haran, the hermit. 115 of an orange hoped for, and the evidence of an orange not seen. that is, you are already happy in the thought that you will surely have the orange; and the paper is a sure sign that you will get it. god has promised to take the christian to heaven. the man is yet on the earth; but having god's paper, the bible, in his hand, he is already happy, knowing that he is going there; that is, having faith, and the promise is the evidence of his surely reaching his bright home. again, the boy did not need any faith, or paper, after he got the orange; and so when the hermit went in through the gate, he left his lamp, faith, behind him, for the little boys who were to come after him. now, do you not understand the apostle's sum? and do you not see how faith makes christians to sing and rejoice, while the earth, while as yet they do not see heaven? then, my dear little reader, remember the story of haran, the hermit; or, the wonderful lamp, called faith; and go to the saviour in prayer, and that lamp of faith shall be yours. then the angels shall take you, when on 116 haran, the hermit. you die, up to the bright world of glory, where you will live forever. god bless this little volume, to some child's soul! amen. 1 breed, butler & co., publishers another book, by the author of“haran, the hermit." in press, the vision of all soul's hospital, an allegory, by j. hyatt smith, author of haran, the hermit, or the wonderful lamp." this volume will be published in the fall of 1860. it has been pronounced one of the most novel and absorbing books of the day. while it is purely original, it reminds one, at ev. ery step, of that bewitching story of john bun. yan; and we feel that, as a speciinen of allegor. ical composition, it is worthy a place beside that of the " immortal dreamer.” we give, on the following page, a few of the notices, from gentlemen of the press who have looked over the manuscript copy of the work: breed, butler & co., publishers. « we are able to present to our readers, thus early, the following beautiful extract from a book, now nearly ready for the press, by rev. j. hyatt smith, of philadelphia, and late of this city. the work is entitled “the vision of all soul's hospital. an allegory.” from the glimpse into its plan and contents which has been granted us, we are confident in saying that the high position mr. smith has won as an orator, will be quickly acceded him as an author. the same rich, imaginative glow suffuses his written as well as his unwritten thought.-buffalo courier. we take the following beautiful extract, by permission, from the manuscript of a book now nearly ready for the press, by the pastor of one of our baptist churches, in this city. it is an allegory of rare power and completeness ; and, unless we greatly mistake the public taste, it can hardly fail of a large and well-deserved favor with the people.philadelphia christian chronicle. the following beautiful extract is from the manuscript of the work. we copy the entire extract, knowing that much interest will be felt in the promised work, by very many of our readers, and that such will be particularly pleas with an opportunity to read so much of it in advance. it was known to many of mr. smith's friends that he was engaged upon some contribution to literature before he left our city; and it is somewhat pleasant to think that the inspiration of such an allegory bas to be e. press 335 bestem be azredited to buffalo. -— buffalo 量 ​1 smith haran, the hermit ps 2869 .s 22h3 1860 45427 bindery apr 19 1988 ps2869.s22h3 1860 с.1 haran the hermit or the wonderful la 088 074 902 university of chicago 93 port 3559 7 the hermit of westminster wandering about madeira by 1883 r.p. spice c.e f.r.g.s. port 3559.7 harvard college library adekial vero tas ecclesi ein κολον from the subscription fund begun in 1858 the wanderings of the hermit of westminster in 1883. with the authors compliments the wanderings of the harvard university library hermit of westminster on the island of madeira in 1883. by r. p. spice, c.e., f.r.g.s. printed for private circulation. honderd. 1884. port 3559.7 tiete " harvand college jul 16 1910 library. subscription fund metchim & son, 20, parliament strect, s.w., & 32, clement's lane, e. c. the hermit of westminster. from a photograph by maull & fox. e & co london. rakvare university library the wanderings of the hermit of westminster in 1883. chapter i. o attempt a description of a visit to a small island in the north atlantic, which has, in modern times, been visited by thousands of the human race from less genial climes, in search of pleasure, or health, or both, and which has been described by such explorers of odd corners of the earth, may be thought to be a work of supererogation. but yielding to friendly importunity, and prompted by a desire to afford some degree of pleasure to those who stay at home at ease, and are curious to know where he has wandered and what he has seen in his holiday rambles, the hermit of westminster once more ventures to employ his pen in describing his travelling experiences. be it known then, to all who may care to know, and for whom a hermit's simple story may have any interest, 6 that on the 18th of october last the hermit started from waterloo station at 9 a.m. for southampton, and thence for a voyage to madeira; an island which is one of the brightest spots of the portuguese dominions. the ship chosen for the voyage was the "athenian,” belonging to the union line; known, as he afterwards learned, as the "rolling athenian,”—the prefix having been suggested by its strong tendency to roll. this proclivity is a nuisance too common in modern steam ships, and, in the opinion of the hermit, it is due to two causes;-one being the want of breadth of beam, and the other, the fashion of building cabins on the upper or hurricane deck-which induces a top-heavy condition; and to these defects combined, it may reasonably be conjectured, that the loss of many a modern steam ship may be attributed. it is indeed to be feared that stability is too often sacrificed to economy, the prime objects being, increased speed and diminished cost of propelling power. however, notwithstanding the rolling style of progression over the waste of waters, the hermit felt, at the end of the voyage, grateful to all concerned in the management of the ship, and thoroughly satisfied with all that pertained to the ministration of creature comforts in the dining saloon, which were provided with unstinted hand, and served by obliging stewards with the regularity of clockwork. on the fourth day out, a startling incident occurred, which painfully excited the feelings of all on board; the cry being suddenly raised," a man overboard." this cry must be heard, and the scene witnessed, to enable any one fully to realize in all its intensity the 7 shock which it occasions in every breast in which kindly feelings dwell. in this case we soon learnt that the man had a wife and several children depending upon him as their bread winner; and this knowledge led naturally to deep sympathy and sad reflections, while the utmost exertions were called forth to rescue the poor fellow from a watery grave. life buoys were thrown overboard, with the hope that he might get hold of one, and boats were lowered as quickly as they could be, but minutes seemed hours, while a heavy sea was running and the man had disappeared from the eyes of all on board, except those of an officer who had mounted aloft, and from the shrouds, by the aid of a glass, managed to keep on his track and by signs to indicate to the boats in what direction to steer; and in a few minutes under half-an-hour he was rescued. the ship having meanwhile been put “about” and kept in the wake of the boats, the poor fellow was soon on board. this accident was due to some tackle giving way, while some half-dozen sailors were shifting the position of the ship's boats, one by one, from the inside to the outside of the ship; the boat in which this man was employed, suddenly went down by the run at one end, while the other remained suspended, and he was consequently shot out into the sea. having witnessed these operations, the hermit feels bound to utter his protest against the continuance of the primitive and barbarous method of suspending ships' boats by the old-fashioned davits, now that mechanical contrivances of a high order of merit are available for 8 the purpose. and when it is considered that it must often happen, that the saving of many lives must depend upon the readiness with which a ship's boats may be lowered, it can only be regarded as inexcusable and culpable neglect for shipowners to ignore, and fail to apply, the methods which modern ingenuity has placed within reach of all, for effecting with precision, readily, and effectively, the operation which by the old method is done clumsily, with much waste of labour, and often with melancholy results. well, as the old saying has it, "all's well that ends well," and this incident having been wound up by a generous subscription among the passengers, to console the poor sailor for his involuntary immersion, and to reward the two boats' crews who had risked their own lives in a heavy sea to save his, all who witnessed the scene became joyous and buoyant; the ship's course was again directed towards the rocky shore of the portuguese island, whither we were bound. the next morning, after breakfast, the island of porto santo was sighted, this being about forty miles from the eastern end of madeira. this island cannot be called a pleasing object, but all such objects are pleasing to travellers on the sea, when they are looked for from a ship's deck as evidences of the position attained to, and in this instance our glasses were in constant requisition, -to scan the distant shore, and search the landscape o'er-as we neared it, for traces of the handiwork of man. we were rewarded in our search by observing several windmills, and these we learnt were used for raising water from wells. this element is so scarce at times as 9 to be a luxury, and the few inhabitants of the tiny spot depend on the working of the mills for the supply of it for their daily wants; poor things, what would they not give to have it laid on by one of the much abused london water companies under the constant supply system! except that we saw signs of farming operations, these little windmills were all we could discover of the application of the energy of mankind, on the hill-sides and plains, as we passed the island, which is some ten miles or so in length. some of us wondered whether life could be worth living on such conditions as exist at porto santo, and pitied the lilliputian colony of human beings whose lot was cast there; and yet, why should we pity them? they may be very happy in their isolation from the outside world, about which they, perhaps, know nothing, and the old saying has it, "where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." after feasting our eyes and seeing so little, we turned to an authority on madeira, and there we found that things were not so bad at porto santo as they appeared; -how often is this the case! we found it on record that the population is about 1,800, that vines and grain are successfully grown,—the grain being consumed on the island, and the wine made from the grapes sent over to madeira soon after the vintage. cattle are also raised, and find a ready market in madeira. but it is added, as a serious drawback, "water is scarce and droughts are frequent." those who want to know more are advised to consult the statistics concerning the facts. we were now enjoying a warm and genial atmosphere, ιο in sight of the main object for which we left old england; and as we neared it, rounded its eastern end, with its lighthouse on ponta de são lourenco, and voyaged along its southern shore, we were gratified by the pleasing panorama as it was unfolded to our gaze. viewed from the sea, the mixture of bright and dark vegetation in small spots in the valleys and up the hill sides was a novel feature, the bright green being the sugar cane, which is extensively cultivated, and the darker tints were due to other crops and to trees. the island seemed to be all hills and valleys, no level land appearing anywhere; in fact, a most varied and picturesque succession of mountain peaks, hills, gorges and valleys, very charming to behold from the deck of our good ship; and very refreshing, after our little voyage of five days. this beautiful panorama banished at once all recollections of our experiences in the bay of biscay, where the first difficulty at dinner was to restrain the soup within the bounds of one's plate, and to keep things generally from going astray and getting mixed up disagreeably in all directions. at about five o'clock in the afternoon of the 23rd october, everything being bright and clear, and all nature smiling, we dropped anchor in the bay of funchal; the next thing to be done after that, is— to do nothing, but wait the arrival of an important officer whose business it is to determine whether the ship has a clean bill of health; and after him the customs' officers come, with their symbol of authority hoisted on a little pole at the stern of their boat; and while these regulations are being duly observed, we passengers, whether for the island or the ii cape, which is the ultimate destination of the "athenian," are amused by the performances of a number of the amphibious natives, young men and boys, of all sizes and sorts down to about six years of age. the the chief occupation of this motley gathering is to show their skill in diving for sixpences thrown into the sea by passengers; these divers are each clad in a pair of close-fitting trousers, buttoned tight just above the hips; they are rowed from the shore to the ship, a distance of about half-a-mile or a mile, in small boats, each boat containing a diver and his rower. business of diving for small coins is carried on amidst great clamour from those in the boats-for silver sixpences to be thrown from the ship, and it is perfectly marvellous how these bits of silver are dived after and caught before they have fallen many yards beneath the surface of the lumpy, choppy, kind of sea on which the boats are tossing. when the diver returns, all his actions having been seen in the clear blue water, he shows the coin, and putting it between his teeth, he scrambles into the boat again, and is ready and anxious to repeat the performance any number of times. this amusement having been gone through, sorting the personal baggage was the next work to be done, and each passenger having got his pile, pointed it out to the obliging representative of the particular hotel which he might intend to patronise. these agents or managers of the several hotels come on board to find their patrons, and take charge of their belongings—a very sensible arrangement, and one which saves the voyager a world of trouble and anxiety. the hermit's destination was the santa clara hotel, 12 which is situated at about 150 feet above the level of the sea. this hotel is owned by mr. reid, as is also the royal edinburgh hotel, and a more worthy man it would not be easy to find. the santa clara hotel is managed for him by mr. cardwell, and the hermit feels that he cannot do less than place on record his opinion, that the arrangements are very satisfactory, the house is scrupulously clean, and its business is carried on with unremitting care and attention to the comfort of the guests. chapter ii. ow, after this slight digression, let us return to the point we had reached, when the baggage was handed over to the representatives of the several hotels. the passengers' disembarkation is effected by boats, which are held on to the foot of the companion-way of the ship, and a little agility under ordinary circumstances-sometimes more than a little is required in springing from the last step into the boat; but the hermit and those who were with him had no difficulty, and in due time reached the shore, which is composed of waterworn basaltic rock. this rock is just so steep as to render it impossible to run a boat on to it stem first, as on a flat sandy beach; so these boats are turned stern on when near the shore, and the rowers wait for a big wave to carry the boat with its living freight as high up as possible, and at the moment of its touching the shingle, a body of men, on the watch for it, lay hold of and 14 haul it up out of the way of the next wave. and thus we landed at funchal, quite thankful to find ourselves once more on dry land. the hermit then sat down on a low wall close by, and took stock of the busy scene around him, and when the party, of which he was one, were gathered together, all set out for a short walk to the custom house to wait the arrival there of our several lots of moveable pro'perty; these, in half-an-hour or so, arrived on bullock sledges at the door of the government inquisition, and were taken in, but we soon learnt that it was too late to take them out again that night! what a trap for the unwary traveller! didn't we growl and grumble! but what was the use of saying severe things to portuguese government officials who didn't understand homely english? fortunately for him, the hermit had all he wanted for the night in the hand-bag which he carried, and was allowed to keep; but it was otherwise with his friends and fellow-travellers, who wanted to shave their chins and otherwise to get themselves up in good form before breakfast the next morning, as if they had just stepped out of band-boxes. however, as grumbling and growling would not avail to produce, a clean shirt, we turned our backs on the funchal custom house, and started, some in a bullock car and some walking up the hilly street to the santa clara hotel, where we soon found comfortable quarters ; and after due attention to our toilet ceremonials, we sat down to a good dinner with the other guests of the house, and soon made ourselves at home. opposite this page is a view of the southern front of this hotel, with its open ink-photo, sprague & c! london. front of santa clara hotel, with balcony. from a photograph by senhor comacho. 15 balcony and flag-staff at the western corner, showing also the steep and narrow street leading to it. after dinner we found our way to the upper floor of the hotel, and thence to its extensive balcony on the same level; the plan of this was triangular, or nearly so, two of its sides being at right angles, and the third was slightly curved, two sides being open, and the whole covered with a light roof supported by iron posts. two views of this balcony are given at pages 16 and 18, done, as are all the illustrations of this little brochure, by sprague & co.'s ink-photo. process. at page 20 is a view of part of the garden of the hotel, taken from one of its windows. the first day after our arrival was devoted to an exploration of the town, its novelties and its specialities, and in this we found much to interest us; we soon found the way to lighten our purses, and to become well acquainted with the cost of acquiring a stock of the special manufactures of the place. want of knowledge of the portuguese dialect proved to be no impediment whatever to business transactions between us english and the natives, the flow of the circulating medium being all one way,-we doing all the buying, and they all the selling; this suited them admirably and amused us. however, we were contented with our shopping experience, for we found the tradesmen civil and obliging, and not by any means unreasonable in their charges, our experience being confined to shops of the best class. the special productions of madeira are its various manufactures, its wine and its sugar; and as regards manufactures they are all literally handiwork, for the 16 natives have not taken to machinery. the natives are very industrious and ingenious specimens of humanity, and have nothing of the restlessness of modern impetuous radicalism in their proclivities-that which suited their fathers suits them—they jog along on the old lines, earn what little they can, and live on less if possible, a very good rule certainly; and if riches take wing and fly away, these poor hard-working people can only hope, if they hope at all, that some may fly their way-for they need not fear the loss of riches as they have none to lose. their special manufactures are cabinet work-basket work-walking sticks, lace, embroidery-plaited straw hats and bonnets, and feather flowers. and in all these industries great excellence is attained; the cabinet manufacture is carried on in numerous small shops, in which the various processes may be seen as one walks along a street, the work being carried on by two or three men in each; no factories for wholesale production, no machinery, no combinations of workmen, trade unions, nor strikes. the business done in basket work is considerable; it seems indeed that no ships call at funchal without taking boatloads away,—nor is this astonishing when its excellence and cheapness are considered. the hermit had no idea of the almost unlimited application of basket work until he walked about the city of funchal-where nearly all the requisite furniture for a house of moderate pretensions, may be found manufactured in the neatest and strongest manner by the use solely of peeled twigs ;— chairs, tables, sofas and baskets, of great variety and beauty, are to be had for very little money. the manufacture of walking sticks is an industry successfully cultivated, the sticks being grown on the ink-photo, sprague & co london. the balcony of santa clara hotel, funchal. from a photograph by the hermit. 17 island and prepared for use in a style which piccadilly would not be ashamed of. as for lace, well, after an insight into the beautiful machine-made lace of nottingham, which is popularly supposed to "lick all creation," one need not be surprised at anything in the way of lace production, but when you are shown for the first time the hand-made silk shawls of madeira manufacture, you are simply amazed to find that such delicate, cobweb-like work can be done by human fingers. such shawls seem designed and fitted specially for the queen of the fairies to wear, when she "curls herself inside a buttercup❞—vide "iolanthe." embroidery is an industry of great importance to the island, large quantities being sent to the london market, and it also finds its way to nearly all parts of the world; its production gives employment to girls and young people in all parts of the island, so much so that its introduction has proved to be a great blessing to many a humble home. so much for the first day of residence in funchal; the next day afforded new experience, and gave us visitors an idea of what a tropical downpour of rain is like. after breakfast we saw, on looking up the mountain side, that something of a vapoury character was coming, and it very soon came in a very pronounced form-showers of rain are generally composed of drops, but on this island the mountain peaks tap the clouds and the showers become, in the twinkling of an eye, sheets of water, inspiring one with the idea of holding on so that you don't get washed away into the north atlantic, which is a sort of receiver-general of all solid matter; and till b 18 one o'clock that day solid matter came down so fast and furious that the clear blue sea, for half-a-mile or so from the southern shore of the island, became discoloured so as to resemble yellow pea soup. but in about half-anhour after this downpour, the streets of funchal did not show a trace of it, and we walked about without soiling the soles of our boots. that afternoon the hermit took a photographic view of the governor's house and the old battery by the seashore, of which a copy is given at page 22, and afterwards visited and walked about a sugar plantation. this visit caused some consideration to be given by him to the vexed question of free trade versus protection, the production of sugar being a protected industry; and as things are ordered by the portuguese imperial authorities at lisbon, it must be admitted by the most ardent free-trader that the cultivators of the soil of madeira are entitled to all the protection which an all-absorbing, grinding, and oppressive tax-exacting government can give them. the hermit was informed by a citizen that amongst other taxes is an income tax of two shillings in the pound, and, when it was found that no other taxes could be contrived by the government financiers, for raising money to meet the necessities of the imperial exchequer, the simple device was resorted to of imposing an increase of six per cent. upon all existing taxes. all existing taxes. let us hope we shall never have foisted upon us a chancellor of the exchequer capable of following such a brilliant example. and let us be thankful that, although our governmental machinery is not quite perfect, we have, as the song says— "resisted all temptation to belong to another nation." ink-photo. sprague & co london. the balcony of santa clara hotel, funchal. from a photograph by the hermit. 19 perhaps we are not entitled to much praise for resisting such temptation, considering that if we left our own old country we might go a long way before we found a better; and certainly from what the hermit has seen of portuguese government he cannot say much in its praise, and, as we read that "pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall," the wonder is that destruction has not yet come, and the whole system of government at lisbon fallen to pieces; for it seems that pride and corruption are as much products of the soil as grapes and onions and tropical fruits. judging by his observations of men and manners among official personages in the island, it appeared to the hermit that, as a rule, they are as poor as job and as proud as lucifer. as for the lower stratum of society, they command. one's kindly sympathythese sons of the soil seem born to toiland toil they do, most industriously and laboriously, in the cultivation of little patches of land, retained as these small portions of earth are everywhere on the hill sides, and in nooks, corners, and crannies, by dwarf walls composed of broken-up basaltic rock, of which the entire island was originally formed by upheaval from the bed of the atlantic ocean. these patches of cultivable soil have been gradually formed by the disintegrating action of the elements; air and water, cold and heat, having split the masses of rock, and ultimately reduced the fragments to a pulverized state, ready for the reception of vegetable life; and age succeeding age, the work b 2 20 has gone on, till now we see the whole island has been made subservient to the wants of man. the crops raised from the soil thus formed and cultivated are wheat, barley, sugar cane, maize, grapes, bananas and mangoes, sweet potatoes, onions, cabbages, pumpkins, yams, and other vegetables, coffee, and several varieties of semi-tropical fruits, very fine pine apples being grown under glass and sent to our covent garden market. preserves made in funchal from madeira fruit stand high in estimation. looking about while performing journeys into the interior, the idea is forced upon one that it is a land of peace and plenty, every cottage having its garden, and every peasant being a gardener; but although the inhabitants can almost subsist on sweet potatoes, which grow all the year round, they cannot do without imported food; they import chiefly maize, and upon this they are compelled to pay a heavy tax. this burden might be spared them by their rulers, if instead of keeping 6,000 soldiers the number were reduced to 600, which would be twice as many as the island requires for its protection. burdensome expenses are not however imposed solely by the imperial government; they are added to by the municipal authorities of funchal most shamefully, and apparently owing to administrative incapacity, or corruption, or both. on several occasions the hermit spent a quiet half-hour in watching the doings of some workmen and a surveyor engaged on the formation of an additional public garden, and he found that it is a common mode of procedure to build a wall that its appearance may be judged of, and, if it is not approved, to take it down and build it up in some other way—and in sere ink-photo, sprague & co london. the garden of santa clara hotel, funchal. from a photograph by the hermit. 21 this way public improvements are generally made to cost about three times as much as they need do. some trees for this garden were pointed out as having been bought in paris, and costing three times as much as they could have been bought for in madeira, the presumption being that some portuguese official had a finger in the pie and pulled out a plum. concerning this kind of patriotism, the hermit heard some strange stories while wandering about and increasing his stock of historic lore; but he abstains as much as possible from letting dangerous cats out of bags, because nobody knows whom they might scratch. chapter iii. "t is time, however, to get on with our story of country life in madeira. on the third day, at about ten o'clock, we started in hammocks to see something of it; this is the most comfortable way of getting about the island outside funchal; a view of one is given at page 24. but in the town, and for short journeys a little way out, bullock cars, one of which is represented at page 26, are most convenient, and for any greater distance those who prefer it may travel on horseback; but wheeled vehicles are out of the question. our first object was to call on a family (to whom the hermit had an introduction), who were then living in a quinta up the hills, and who gave us a kind reception. after this short and pleasant visit, our journey was resumed to the little. curall; we rested and lunched at a charming spot on our way and took a photograph of the view from the high level we had reached; this is given at page 28, and is named "among the hills." ink-photo, sprague & co london. the governor's house and battery, funchal. from a photograph by the hermit. 23 this having been done, we trudged on to the little curall, the scenery there and on the way to it being very beautiful. on our way back by another route we were not quite so fortunate, for the rain came down in earnest; this however failed to damp our spirits, although it drenched our waterproofs, the enjoyment of the novel experience and the ever-changing views was more than any quantity of rain could possibly mar. it is the practice on returning to funchal from some excursions to finish the last two miles or so of the journey in a basket carriage called a carro, as shown at page 30; the basket is wide enough to seat two passengers, and is fitted securely to two pieces of hard wood, one being on each side; these being smooth and kept in a greasy condition, and the road being a steep decline nearly all the way, a very small amount of propelling force is sufficient to cause the sledge, with its load of two people, to slide down the closely-paved road at a rapid rate. two men take their station at the back of the carriage, and assume the control of it by each one taking firm hold of a strong cord attached to the front, so as to be able to direct its course, retard its motion, or stop it entirely; then, all being ready, a start is made by both men pushing the vehicle forwards, and in a very short time a speed is attained of about twenty miles an hour. the men stand one on each side, with one foot on the frame of the sledge, while the other is used in striking the ground after the fashion of propulsion employed by skaters on ice. during these flying trips down to the town, the men call out lustily for all pedestrians to get out of the way and avoid being run over; the curves of the road are passed at reduced 24 speed, and a halt is made at the entrance of the first street. the next day was spent in quietly strolling about the town and the sea-side; we did a little more shopping, and the hermit got measured for a pair of madeira boots, which are better adapted than english boots for walking up or down the steep rock-paved streets, the soles being just so pliable as to enable the wearer to secure a better foothold of the rock pavement than with english made boots, and so to avoid the assumption of lateral positions of an undignified character. these boots, made after the fashion of "wellingtons," are only 135. 4d. english money per pair, and are very comfortable to wear; they are not blacked, and are made with the rough side of the skin outwards. the next day being sunday we attended morning service at the english church, which the portuguese government permitted to be built on two conditions— one being that the structure should be as little like an ecclesiastical building as possible, and the other that it should be erected where it could be seen as little as possible. these conditions were complied with; the first by the erection of a building resembling a greek temple, which might be supposed to be a museum or anything but what it is; and the second by the structure being placed in the rear of a line of houses forming one side of an obscure street. and there it is, designed and planted so as to avoid offending the susceptibilities of those who are not protestants; but nothing, according to the hermit's thinking, could be nicer than the simple and unaffected serenity of the surroundings of this little church within the inclosure ink-photo, sprague & c london. a hammock, with bearers. from a photograph by senhor comacho. 25 of its own grounds. the grounds are not extensive, but they are in very good taste; the garden in which this christian temple stands, is planted with choice trees and beautiful flowering shrubs, indicating a state of quiet repose, and calculated to raise one's thoughts to that better land of pure delight, and that "house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." the morning service that day was conducted by the resident clergyman, assisted by the bishop of sierra leone, who preached an excellent sermon, in harmony with the evidences we have of the changing character, not only of the surface of our own globe, but of all the worlds which science has revealed to us as existing in infinite space; systems of suns and families of worlds, which, in inconceivably long bygone ages, have been brought into existence by the almighty power of the grand geometrician of the universe. the bishop's text was, "heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away." appropriate and telling reference was eloquently made to the rocks under our feet and all around us, the suggestion being that change was legibly written on all; these rocks had existed for ages past, and might continue for countless ages yet to come, but whether by gradual decay or sudden changes caused by the action of subterranean forces, the conviction must be forced upon reflective minds, that all created bodies, whether on the face of the earth or in the heavens, are finite. that the vast energy constantly being expended by our sun, must inevitably lead to change of its structure and volume, which indeed the telescope and the spectroscope reveal to our senses; 26 and as with ours, so with those vastly greater suns and worlds existing in boundless space, millions on millions of miles beyond the range of our planetary system; all are subject to laws which involve progress and decay. reflections upon the conclusions propounded by astronomers, concerning the material infinities of the universe, must lead to the belief that suns, planets and comets, all have their periods of birth, maturity and death; our own moon, with its huge cavities and entire state of desolation, being an example. "yet doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs, and the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns." tennyson-locksley hall. such thoughts as these were suggested by the bishop's sermon, and were present to the mind of the hermit as he strolled back to santa clara; after which he and his friends paid a visit to a family at their quinta, a thousand feet or so up the hills, and a most agreeable visit it was. the situation on the hill side commanded a view of the cultivated slopes between it and funchal, with the atlantic beyond; the whole scene being a perfect panorama of natural beauty, combining mountain sides and peaks, separated by gorges and water-courses; the water in the latter being most cunningly conveyed by channels, and industriously applied to irrigation purposes on its way down to the ocean. having partaken of our friends' warm-hearted hospitality at lunch en famille, we returned home to dinner at our hotel. next day we started for a trip to the curral das freiras, or grand curral, which took us some six or 28 ink-photo, sprague & co london. a bullock car, with driver and attendant. from a photograph by senhor comacho. 27 seven hours to accomplish there and back; the scenery being for the most part very fine. the arrangements for these trips always include provision for sustaining one's vital energies, in the shape of solids and liquids,—such as cold roast fowl and ham, cold boiled eggs, bread and cheese, the wine of the country, or french wine, or both, and fruit; a good appetite being the best of all sauces, and the salubrious air of the mountain is pretty sure to secure that; besides which, there is added the pleasure of revelling in matchless scenery all the way out and home; and it seemed perfectly wonderful to the hermit, whose wants are not numerous, and whose appetite for food, as a rule, is not great, that on returning to his domicile. he still had a relish for the good dinner which he sat down to as a matter of course. our next excursion was to cabo girão, or cape giram, where there is a cliff which is nearly vertical, rising to about 2,000 feet above the sea shore; said to be the highest sea cliff in the world. and here, amidst grand scenery, we had our mid-day pic-nic, the only inconvenience we felt being from the too close attentions bestowed upon us by the beggars who infested the spot; not, indeed, the only spot on the island where beggars have a footing and ply their craft, for they are a nuisance in funchal, and many of them trade on their physical deformities, by which they seek to excite the compassion of visitors to their shores. the hermit moralised or speculated on the question, which was suggested by these poor wretched looking supplicants for crumbs from the rich man's table, whether a doubled-up foot, or a cranky kind of leg, was not an actual advantage to the owner of one or the other of such appendages, 28 when considered from a purely financial view of the subject. before leaving cape giram we obtained some specimens of the ferns with which the district abounded, and then returned to funchal. after the expedition to cape giram, we chose to spend a day in town,-looked a little into the wine business, visited a photographic studio, and also did some photographic work, for we felt that riding in hammocks every day was not the all-in-all of existence, charming as it was in its way. as to the wine of madeira,—in the hermit's opinion, nothing superior has ever been produced, always assuming that the best of it is taken as a standard of comparison; but instead of spinning a yarn, giving a long account of its history, characteristics and peculiarities, the author advises those who want to know all about it, to get into the way of obtaining a constant supply of it from the well-stocked cellars of funchal; to buy the best only, and never mix it with any other, either at dinner or after that all-important meal. "since father noah first tapped the vine, and warmed his jolly old nose, all men to drinking do much incline, but why, no drinker yet knows." john stuart blackie. the hermit drank very little other liquor than the wine of the country during his stay on the island, and after his return to westminster was constantly greeted by his friends with the congratulatory exclamation-"how well you look!" the natural outcrop of good food, drink and air. ink-photo. sprague & co london. among the hills with hammock bearers. from a photograph by the hermit. chapter iv. ith regard to photography, the hermit's stock of appliances in that line not being quite equal to the opportunities presented on all sides for taking charming views, he obtained from senhor comacho, a photographic artist of high repute, a liberal selection of his published views, and at page 32 is a copy of one of these, showing a characteristic bit of scenery, with two hammock men carrying a hammock on the roads traversed by the hermit; and at page 34 is another tit-bit, showing a waterfall with inexpressibly lovely surroundings; but to give anything like a just conception of the endless variety and richness of the scenery abounding on the island, would require a goodly volume of photographic views. one of thursday, the 1st november, we found was a saint's day, and these days are very strictly observed at funchal; the shops are closed and business suspended, the bells of all the churches and monasteries being tolled 30 at intervals all day and all night. we walked about the city and noted the manners and customs of the people-some of us attending the grand service at the cathedral; after which guns were fired in the square, martial music was played by a military band, and a procession being formed of high functionaries, our own consul being one, in front of the cathedral, all walked to the governor's house. the hermit could only imagine that when these mighty officials arrived there, such hospitality would be displayed as the governor's moderate official stipend would afford. unfortunately this stipend has dwindled down of late years from about £5,000 to the very moderate and nominal sum of £250. the hermit was informed that about the same sum is allowed in addition for entertainments,-which, as a matter of course, are not given. the present governor is a gentleman of property, and presumably fills the office patriotically for the honour of the thing; but what a farce for proud people to playthe wonder is that they can do it without blushing. how much better it would be for portugal to sell the little island, "stock, lock and barrel," to england, if our present non-enterprising government would only buy it, as we once upon a time bought the much less important island of cyprus, and a considerable interest in the insufficient suez canal, for which rothschild provided the government of that day with four millions sterling in about two or three days, so that the then ruler of egypt might have the immediate financial assistance which he required. the french have got algiers for a health resort, why should not we have madeira as a health-recruiting ground ink-photo, sprague & co london. sledge, or "carro." from a photograph by senhor comacho. 31 of our own, that we might there have another english home for the winter residences of our invalids and our over-worked middle class to retire to when the cold winds and cruel fogs of the old country drive so many away for a season to more sunny and genial climes ? probably, as a speculation, it would pay if a joint stock company bought it at twice what it is worth to portugal. of course the hermit knows very well that this is an idle dream; but why may not a hermit dream in idle moments, especially when his dreams are of a pleasant character, concerning the imaginary addition to old england of a lovely island abounding in fruits and flowers, plants and trees, scenery of rapturous beauty, and balmy, light, and pure air, soft enough for delicate lungs and tempered by the invigorating breezes of the north atlantic ocean? another quiet sunday afforded us a second opportunity of hearing the bishop, and enjoying a stroll after the service, but we had no sooner reached our hotel than a heavy downpour of rain began and lasted all the remainder of the day and until past noon of the next, confining us to the house, obliging us to seek repose in reading and writing till the afternoon of that day, when for a brief period it ceased raining and permitted us to indulge in an hour's walk. but on the following day the hermit availed himself of the bright sunshine for taking some quaint little bits of scenery about the bye streets of funchal by the aid of his camera. these streets strike the mind of a visitor as novelties, exhibiting unmistakably the very primitive character of the people; the little mills for grinding corn are especially interesting objects; they have an exterior 32 resembling an ordinary cottage, with only a ground floor, a door and a window, the roof being tiled; the motive power is water, conveyed from a natural source by a small trough to a vertical wooden tube formed of staves, like a barrel with iron hoops, this being connected with an opening below to a small chamber in which a kind of turbine wheel receives the falling water, and thus the simple machinery of the mill, consisting solely of a very small pair of stones, is impelled. the hermit looked into one of these mills on the north side of the island, and found the business of it conducted by a woman, while her daughter, seated on a stool, was employed in embroidery work. after making another small excursion, which embraced a visit to the little curral and the mount church, we made arrangements for a more formidable undertaking than we had yet attempted, namely, to cross the island from south to north; we contemplated starting next morning, after an early breakfast, for santa anna, expecting to arrive there at about five o'clock, spend the next day there, and return on the day following; our starting was to depend on the weather being fine. the eventful morning came, and our host, after looking round, and, so to speak, taking stock of the weather, came to the conclusion that it would do; so provisions for the journey were duly packed, and, the hermit's camera, with its legs, cases, and plates being all stowed away, forward we went-two of us only-with seven hammock bearers, besides one man and a lad to carry our traps-each of us bonâ fide travellers carried a walking stick, a waterproof coat and an aneroid. how absurd it seems; two men want to go a distance, ink-photo, sprague & co london. a mountain pass. from a photograph by senhor comacho. 33 as the crow flies, of about twelve miles, and they must employ eight men and a boy to enable them to do it! the explanation is, that the distance to be traversed is twenty-five miles; hills and valleys, mountain sides and gorges having to be traversed between the two places, and experience proved that we had not one man too many. thus equipped and provided, we started, but we had not been an hour on the road before rain began to fall, and obliged us to don our waterproofs; we found that the higher we went on our way the heavier the rain fell, and at the height of 4,400 feet we were just 2,000 feet in the clouds, for we observed that we entered cloud-land at 2,400 feet above sea level, but for our waterproofs we should have been drenched to the skin, and the cold at our halting-place was by no means agreeable after being accustomed to the genial atmosphere of funchal. our principal resting-place was on the poizo, 4,400 feet above the sea, at a kind of hovel, which might be imagined to be a suitable residence for a stockman, but is called an inn. however, we were grateful for its shelter, and pleased with the obliging manners of its rustic managers; our men carried us into this shelter so that we might get out of our hammocks under cover, and get into them again without exposing our travelling beds to the rain, the hammocks being stowed away inside until we were ready to resume our journey. here, seated, one on a plank and one on a cask, we had our mid-day meal in the best room in the house, and although it may be doubted, it is the plain truth, we enjoyed our simple meal of cold fowl and eggs, washed down as it was with the best part of a bottle of wholec 34 some madeira wine. our men at the same time had their refreshment in the grand hall, with the innkeeper and his family. we then went on our way towards santa anna, the rain continuing until we had descended to 1,000 feet below our highest point on the poizo, and here we emerged from the clouds and could see where we were going. the scenery was sublime beyond description; we went down one mountain side and up another, wondering sometimes what would become of us if one of our hammock bearers should happen to slip and fall, when on the edge of one of the winding rocky paths, and precipitate us down the steep declivity into the depths below. the sight of these precipices, as we went along, reminded us of our experience two years previously, when travelling across the sierra nevadas of california, on our way from san francisco to the yosemite valley. however, nothing of that sort happened, nor has any thing of the kind ever happened so far as we know, but it did happen that one of the hermit's men had two falls, and another fell once during the latter half of the journey, owing to the extremely slippery state of the paths, which was occasioned by the heavy rain. the hermit's fellow traveller was less fortunate, for his hammock came to grief on the summit of the pass owing to the fastenings giving way, and this obliged him to walk some two miles or so, wet and slippery as the road was, till a habitation was reached where a hammer or some implement could be found for driving a nail into the hammock pole. these being the only exciting events of the day we felt thankful for our good fortune, notwithstanding our soaking, when we arrived safe and well at our haven of rest, senhor acciaioli's hotel, where we were welcomed ink-photo, sprague & co london. a waterfall and pool among the hills. from a photograph by senhor comacho. 35 by the aged proprietor, who is an important personage in that district, and has the honour of being the oldest magistrate in the portuguese dominions. upon entering this hotel we were conducted into a large room, which by courtesy might be called a drawing room; it was not carpeted, because carpets are supposed to be superfluous, but it contained three tables, two sofas and some chairs, a supply of ancient illustrated newspapers and books, and a photographic album, to say nothing of some prints and photographs on the walls; this apartment was lighted by two candles. after looking over the books and papers, and so giving the domestics time to make the needful preparations for us, we retired to our rooms to dress for dinner. it need not be said that we did not assume evening dress, or put on war paint, in that latitude, nor did we require it. a tinkling little hand-bell, sounded in the dining room by the one servant who attended to us during our residence there, was the intimation that dinner was ready, and we, ready also, sat down to our quiet evening meal at 7.30, the hermit's memorandum of it being entered in his note book as follows: "boiled fowl, ham and eggs, sour bread, potatoes and madeira wine; sauce-a good appetite." after dinner, a cigar, a mild dose of spirits and water, reminiscences of travel, and to bed, our motto being "early to bed and early to rise;" not too early to rise, however, for fear the days should become wearisome-seeing that we had the whole of the house to ourselves, and were weather-bound. next morning we found the weather had not changed perceptibly for the better. we were about 1,000 feet above the sea, and full in our view, and yet not at all in c 2 36 view, was the highest mountain peak on the island, namely, pico ruivo, 6,056 feet above sea level; we could not see it because the clouds concealed it, and all knew that this portended rain-therefore excursions to places of interest round about santa anna were out of the question. 66 night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.”—romeo and juliet, act iii. sc. 5. under these circumstances we could only venture to a short distance from the hotel, the hermit however took opportunities of adding slightly to his stock of photographs, by taking three views, one of which he gives a copy of opposite this page, the object being a beautiful camelia tree seventy years old, with myriads of buds upon it, flourishing and full of vigour, in senhor acciaioli's garden in front of the hotel, the proprietor obligingly taking a seat on a garden chair under the shadow of its branches. unfortunately rain continued at intervals all day and all night, and although the weather improved in the morning travelling was not practicable, the roads being considered by our men to be in a dangerously slippery state, we did not however give up all hope till noon time, when it was too late to think of setting out on our return journey. in the afternoon, however, we ordered our hammocks for a three hours' trip to the headland of são jorge, that being on about the same level as our hotel, but to reach it, the são jorge river had to be crossed by a stone bridge very near where it enters the sea, the way from the one hill to the other being by the usual zig-zag path or road ink-photo, sprague & co london. a camelia tree in senhor acciaioli's garden, at santa anna; the trunk 4 feet 6 inches in girth. from a photograph by the hermit. 37 cut on the mountain sides, under the direction of primitive engineers. the roads here are very precipitous, the scenery grand, and the old rocks stupendous, in several places overhanging the narrow and steep paths; their surfaces being liberally and prettily besprinkled with plants of the same class as our house leeks, but much larger, and a traveller might guess they were fixed on by some kind of marine glue. how three men can carry one in a hammock, up and down such mountain sides, beat the hermit's comprehension; and it often occurred to him that if he could have got about the island in any other way he would gladly have done it, so as to avoid the revulsion of feeling occasioned by the idea of his thus innocently contributing to a species of slavery, but reflection brought him to the conclusion that after all, hammock bearers are considered a superior class of madeira men amongst those who earn their living by the sweat of their brow, and as such they earn much better wages than those who simply cultivate the soil. thus, then, we finished the week, and having, on reaching our hotel, restored ourselves to our personal comfort, we dined, spent a pleasant evening, and retired, the hermit indulging in meditations concerning the progress in material development which had taken place since the upheaval of the rocky island on which we were then resting under the care of him who cares for all. chapter v. he next day being sunday, we felt our isolation. our hammock men came for orders but we had none to give them, they had, however, our advice to make themselves comfortable for the day, to make it a day of rest, and to go to their church, and this they thanked us for. there was no one in the place who could speak english, we had no knowledge of portuguese, and the only person with whom we could exchange ideas was senhor acciaioli, who could speak french. however, we found some mental food in books, and what with these and one or two pleasant walks in the village and its vicinity, we managed to enjoy a decided day's rest. in our walks, we observed evidences on all sides of the surprising fertility of the soil, which seems to admit of constant cropping, and of the mildness of the climate, which is indicated by roadside hedges of hydrangeas and fuchsias, always in bloom. early next morning we were glad to see the 39 mountain tops clear of the clouds which had concealed them, and we sat down to breakfast at 7.30, in good spirits, corresponding very much with the rise of the mercury in the barometer. we asked for our hotel bill, and were amused when we got it-short and sweet, modest and moderate, on a card just about the size of a lady's visiting card, the account being stated in french, and this translated into english and portuguese was— "four days, 16,000 reis." a perfect model hotel bill, given in three words and five figures-not another word nor another figure; the charge for two men therefore was 4,000 reis per day for two bedrooms, with the use of a sitting room, three good meals each day, and good madeira at lunch and dinner. the cost therefore was only 2,000 reis for each individual, which in english currency is equal to 8s. 10d. per day. this, however, is not to be taken as indicative of the rate of our daily expenditure while on the island; for moderate as hotel charges are at funchal, they may be estimated at about double the expense of living at senhor acciaioli's simple hostelry at santa anna; to say nothing of the expense of hammock locomotion which costs much more than hotel expenses amount to if indulged in to any great extent. one lesson we learnt in portuguese cookery at santa anna, which appeared to the hermit to be worth recording as a model for imitation by english cooks, because it shows how a very savoury dish may be prepared for lunch out of inexpensive materials and with 40 very little trouble. here then is the recipe for this genuine portuguese dishtake a good-sized portugal onion, cut off its crown a little way down, scoop out its inside, don't hurt its outside, then fill it quite up, as you might a tea-cup, with finely cut meat deliciously sweet, and, if you like it, well, you may spice it, then replace its crown and bake it, till brown. served up hot, this will be found so savoury as to tempt an appetite and charm an epicure. after breakfast we paid our moderate bill, then with our lunch packed up and all duly arranged for our return journey we started for funchal at 8.15, well satisfied with what we had seen and the polite attentions of our host, senhor acciaioli. but don't let any gentle reader of this little brochure go to santa anna, or anywhere else on the island, outside funchal, expecting to find an advanced state of civilization in hotel accommodation; for elegancies, refinements, or luxuries, in the way of furniture or appointments, have not yet found a home in those latitudes. travellers who can, when occasion requires, dispense with such superfluities, may be very comfortable in such circumstances, as we then found ourselves. had it been practicable we should have returned by another route, which would have given us extended opportunities for observation, but the heavy rains of the ink-photo. sprague & co london. garden front of the "carmo" hotel, funchal. from a photograph by senhor comacho. 4i this, last three days had rendered the alternative road impracticable, some of it having indeed been washed away; therefore we had to return by the way we came. however, appeared new to us, as we saw each bit of beautiful scenery from a direction opposite to that in which we had first approached it, so that it was, to a great extent, fresh experience. indeed, such is the enchanting character of much of the scenery of madeira, that however often observed it must always be fresh in its beauty, as seen by the lover of nature; and thus we felt it at every turn of the way as we were carried along in our hammocks, up or down the steep hill sides and across all the gorges, till we arrived safely at the mount church again, where we exchanged our hammocks for a sledge or carro, on which we rode as usual, down the last 2,000 feet or so to funchal, at the rate of about 20 miles an hour, and then we strolled at our leisure up to our hotel. here we again felt at home,-enjoyed our dinner and spent a pleasant evening on the balcony recounting to some friendly acquaintances our recent experiences of the north side of the island, and then to bed. the next day we made further acquaintance with madeira productions, visiting the shop or store called the "burlington," kept by mr. payne. this establishment does not in any sense resemble our burlington arcade, nor does its surroundings correspond with our piccadilly; it is, however, an extensive concern well stocked with a variety of goods, chiefly the produce of madeira, though some are imported. one important native article is jam ; whether mr. gladstone had an eye to madeira-made jam when he recently addressed the tenants on his estate, and feared that fresh complications might arise from 42 competition in the supply of that article, to the detriment of english agriculture, the hermit does not know; and as hawarden castle has not yet been connected by telephone with the hermit's cave he cannot conveniently inquire of the g. o. m.; but for the comfort of the british farmer it may be confidently stated that the portuguese duty on sugar, imported into madeira, is so heavy, that competition in jam with english manufacturers of the article, is quite out of the question. the "burlington" at funchal is situated at a corner, where one street is intersected by another; and at the opposite corner is the city prison. this establishment struck the hermit as being worth a study, outside. the ground floor is occupied by prisoners engaged in the manufacture of baskets for the trade, and is opened to the gaze of all who may be passing by, and of any who may choose to stop to satisfy curiosity by looking in through the windows, which are merely large openings in the wall securely fitted with strong iron guards; the spaces between the bars, of which these guards are constructed, are about 5 or 6 inches square, and through these the prisoners are allowed to chat with their friends, apparently at their own sweet will; they are also permitted to receive supplies of food, tobacco, &c., from them through these openings. one of the prisoners is said to have been in confinement there about 20 years, and before he was thus comfortably provided for, he had murdered six men. this looks like taking care of the bad, and leaving the good subjects of the state to take care of themselves. we purchased at the burlington some specimens of native industry and a few pots of jam, the pots being of i-protu, oprague & c london, quinta, "the vigia," funchal. from a photograph by senhor comacho. 43 red earthenware made on the island; then we wandered to the fish market and looked at the odd fish which were on view there, and decided that they could not hold a candle to such as we are accustomed to obtain from the seas around our tight little island; in fact we thought they looked repulsive in comparison. the fruit market had our attention next day, and here we rather envied the madeiranese their liberal supply of semi-tropical fruits-the custard apple being of all others our favourite. these, when nearly ripe, are sometimes exported, and may be found in our covent garden market and in regent street; the price being about 4s. each-but in the fruit market at funchal they may be purchased at 8s. a dozen; of these and some other native fruits we bought a stock for home consumption, and then we strolled down to the pebbly sea shore, to watch the way in which the work of hauling cargo boats from the sea to land is effected. here we mused on the advantages derivable from the proper application of mechanical force, and the waste of power, when mere muscular exertion is allowed to exclude scientific labour-saving machinery. we stood and saw about twenty labourers working at a rudely constructed and lumbering windlass, the friction of the machine being so considerable as to absorb apparently about half the power expended in hauling up and landing a boat with its freight; the utmost exertion of every man employed on the operation being barely sufficient to effect that object. having witnessed this example of barbaric industry, which at funchal is a matter of daily routine, we wandered on to the landing-place for passengers from ships, which is a favourite place for visitors to congregate at 44 and spend an idle half-hour in observing passing events, there being always something to see, especially in rough weather, when the big waves of the atlantic come in with enormous force. and here we mused on the very interesting project of a sheltered pier, at which visitors to the island might land from boats, for it seems to be beyond the reach of speculation to entertain the idea of the construction of a pier alongside which ships might be secured for disembarking passengers or freight. it seems that something of the sort has been attempted, and the remains of the work, consisting of large masses of stone cemented together, are all that is left of it on the shore, the other portion, whatever it was, having been washed away. nevertheless, the project has not been abandoned, a merchant prince and banker of funchal having concocted a plan for overcoming the obstacles, and providing a means of making the operation of landing and reembarkation, much more easy and less disagreeable than it is at present. this plan will shortly be submitted to the imperial government at lisbon for approval, with a view to its being carried out as a national undertaking; failing which, an alternative proposition will be made, to carry it out by private enterprise, the capital to be found by the promoter on terms which may be sanctioned by the government. on the last day of the hermit's residence on the island, he had the pleasure of lunching with a gentleman and his family, at their quinta up the hill, at some distance from the city; then after enjoying the proffered ink-photo, sprague & co london. a summer house or mirante in the grounds of the vigia. from a photograph by senhor comacho. 45 hospitality and a walk about the lovely gardens and grounds, to describe which would require the talents of a tennyson and a hooper combined, he was taken by his host to a sugar-mill, to see what private enterprise could effect in working up the raw material produced on the island, not only the sugar cane, but wood, for besides manufacturing sugar with the aid of modern machinery, a saw-mill was employed for cutting up native timber into such scantlings as are in demand for packing cases, (for wines and other produce to be exported in,) at a small fraction of what the cost would be if cut by hand labour. and here, surrounded as we were by machinery operated by steam and water power, a discussion was started as to the relative merits of gas and electricity for lighting the city. till then, nobody at funchal knew that the hermit had any knowledge of the one or the other; however it leaked out, and an extempore lecture was there and then delivered before a select audience in favour of electric lighting. the reason for the preference being the superabundance of water power absolutely running to waste, which might readily be made available for the production of currents of electricity far beyond the possible requirements of the city; therefore motive power would cost nothing beyond interest on the capital required for establishing the means of conducting it; so that if electric lighting will prosper anywhere, it must be at funchal; but, as the hermit pointed out, it has not yet prospered anywhere commercially, not a penny piece having been realised anywhere as profit resulting from supplying the light. commercial results, however, need not be taken into 46 consideration by any municipal authorities who can afford to deal with public improvements as they do at funchal, where the members of the council, in their corporate capacity, are spending money so freely as to give occasional critics the idea that they are descended from a branch of the old irish family of the squanders of castle squander. fancy funchal bay illuminated at night by the electric light! and then consider the probable collateral advantages; of course all the fish in that part of the atlantic would be attracted by it and swim towards it, and the fault would be with the fishermen if considerable quantities were not caught and sent to market; besides which, the "giant angler” might sit on the loo rock, "bobbing for whales !"— watching for a jolly bite, aided by electric light. and now, before winding up the last day's record, we must mention an hotel which we had visited a few days previously, owing to the fact of our having made the acquaintance of the enterprising proprietor, mr. reid, jun., and also that of his obliging manager; this is called the "carmo," or miles' hotel, and a view of it is given at page 40. it is situated on a much lower level than santa clara, and for those who object to the rise of 150 feet from the sea, it will be found very convenient; the character of the garden of this house may be judged of by what is shown of it in the photograph,—rich in floral loveliness, and luxuriously agreeable. funchal indeed is well provided with comfortable homes for all who visit the island, whether for health or pleasure, the charges at the hotels being moderate; and 47 as for the quintas outside the city, sprinkling the hill sides as they do, and nestling in cozy corners, they give one the idea of abodes in what the garden of eden may be imagined to have been. one of these quintas is "the vigia," situated in a garden on a cliff overlooking the bay, its beauty is beyond description in loveliness; the most delicious exotic creepers cover its trellis work, and are truly profuse in their luxuriant splendour; a view of this quinta is given at page 42. in the garden there is a billiard room, and a picturesque temple or mirante stands on a commanding promontory of the cliff, and a view of this is given at page 44. this gem, so set, suggests the line by keats— "a thing of beauty is a joy for ever," and if this temple belonged to the hermit, he would cause to be inscribed over its portal, the motto"sacred to love and friendship." and now the time had arrived for packing up and preparing to go on board ship, when that ship might come into the bay on its homeward passage from the cape. aye, there's the rub! it is all very well disembarking at funchal on arriving there in the daytime, but embarking there for the return voyage is quite another thing; no one can tell when the expected vessel may arrive, whether in the daytime or in the night, in fair weather or in foul; and it was the misfortune of the hermit and the friend who was returning with him that they had to leave the island at midnight, with a cold north-east wind blowing and a rather heavy sea running. 48 well, at a little after eleven o'clock four passengers, of whom the hermit was one, assembled on the shore, and with their personal baggage were duly stowed away in a boat ready to be launched when a big wave rolled in, to carry the boat with its passengers and two rowers away to the ship; and then byron's words came to the memorymy boat is on the shore, and my bark is on the sea." yes, and we hoped that in a few minutes we should be on board our bark, but alas ! "there's many a slip, 'twixt the cup and the lip.” and so it was with us, in regard to the boat and the ship, for the latter had drifted from her anchorage, and could not be brought up again till two o'clock in the morning; thus two hours were lost, and we poor unfortunates were at sea all that time, pulling about in funchal bay in all directions, endeavouring to reach the ship, which, all that time, was moving first in one direction and then in another, we not knowing the cause of its eccentric movements, till at last we were taken on board, nearly exhausted by exposure and having to sit on wet cushions in close quarters. the name of our ship was the " tartar," and, although it is contrary to proverbial philosophy, we were glad to "catch a tartar" under those circumstances; having done this and seen our belongings duly taken on board and transferred to our cabins, we turned in" at three o'clock that morning. 49 we had the consolation of hearing that such uncomfortable experience as ours was very exceptional; in fact, that such an adventure had never been known there before; however it taught us a lesson, and if we should ever visit madeira again, it must be at a time when we may be able to wait for a ship arriving in daylight. as regards our voyage to southampton very little need be said; for the greater part of the way we had a heavy sea, which, in the third week of november, might be expected; but we found pleasant company on board and had nothing really to complain of, although, owing to head winds, we were six instead of the usual five days in reaching southampton; but once there, we had every possible attention from the officials connected with the dock company, who had been requested by the hermit's kind friend, mr. hedger, the omnipotent and able administrator of the business of the docks, to render us all needful assistance in passsing through the custom house ordeal, and transferring our personal property from the ship to the south western hotel and the railway station. we arrived at seven o'clock in the evening, and put up there for the night. our first comfort was a cheery english fire-side, and after a refreshing wash and change of habiliments we sat down to a genuine english dinner, consisting of some good soup, delicately fried soles, and a delicious beefsteak. after dinner we luxuriated before a coal fire, at perfect peace with all mankind, and in our innermost souls we agreed with the poet, that"such is the patriot's boast where'er we roam, his first, best country, ever is at home." goldsmiththe traveller. 50 next day, being the 24th november, at noon we started on the last stage of our journey; the hermit reached his cave in good form, and in time for his evening meal; was warmly welcomed by kind friends; and, above all things, thankful for the mercies vouchsafed him during his holiday rambles. 21, parliament street, s.w. february, 1884. 450410 may 27 3 book belved 60771496 jun 27.1978 due mar cangelbed may 1070 port 3559.7 the wanderings of the hermit of wes widener library 003710431 3 2044 080 818 370 97 ματη 4008.93 08.93 1 math 4008.93 risto academial ver ro was tas ecclesi e in nov ony science center library from the author. 8 sept. 18.93. complemente i own's 7 horvard 89. 07. 2 a math 4008.93 presentation com of the theory of hermite's form of lamé's equation with a determination of the explicit forms in terms of the p function for the case n equal to three. candidates thesis for the degree of doctor of philosophy presented by j. brace chittenden, a.m., parker fellow of harvard univ., instructor in princeton college. to the philosophical faculty of the albertusuniversität of königsberg in pr. printed by b. g. teubner, leipzig. 1893. a. $ presentation of the theory of hermite's form of lamé's equation with a determination of the explicit forms in terms of the pfunction for the case n equal to three. p candidates thesis for the degree of doctor of philosophy presented by گر jonathan j. brace chittenden, a.m., parker fellow of harvard univ., instructor in princeton college. to the philosophical faculty of the albertusuniversität of königsberg in pr. printed by b. g. teubner, leipzig. 1893. ji, 80 8007.2 math 400893, college harvard sep 8 1893 library the author. dedicated to the first of my many teachers, my mother who more than all others has rendered the realizations of my student life possible, for whom no sacrifice has been to great in furthering the interests of her sons. introduction. the following thesis is practically a presentation of the general analytical theory of lamé's differential equation of the form known as hermite's. the underlying principles and also the general solutions are therefore necessarily based upon the original work of m. hermite, published for the first time in paris in 1877 in the comptes rendus under the title “sur quelques applications des fonctions elliptiques” and on a later treatment of the subject by halphen in his work entitled "traité des fonctions elliptiques et leur applications", vol. ii, paris 1888. m. hermite has employed the older jacobian functions while halphen has used in every case the weierstrass p function, and not only the notation but the ultimate forms as well as the complex functions in which they are expressed are in the two works intirely different. as far as i know, no attempt has before been made to establish the absolute relations of these different functions. in attempting to do this, i have developed the intire theory in a new presentation, working out the results of m. hermite in terms of the p function, having principly in view a determination of the explicit values of all the forms for the special case n equal to three. i may add that owing to the exceptional privilege granted by the minister of education and the philosophical faculty of the albertus-universität allowing the publishing of this thesis in english, 6 introduction. i am not without hope that this general presentation of the theory of lamé's functions may prove a welcome addition to the literature of the subject where in english todhunter's “lamé's and bessel's functions” is the only representative. finally i must acknowledge my indebtedness to prof. lindemann not only for the direction of a most valuable course of reading but for a general although, owing to a lack of time, a by no means detailed review of the work. contents. introduction page 5 part 1. history and definitions. the problem of lamé . the problem of hermite . definitions 11 13 15 17 20 21 23 25 . part 2. hermite's integral as a sum. the function of the second species transformation of hermite's equation . development of the integral development of the eliment of the function of the second species determination of the integral part 3. the integral as a product. indirect solution solution for n = 2 the product y of the two solutions . direct solution determination of y for n = 3 28 30 32 37 40 . . part 4. the special functions of lamé. functions of the first sort functions of the second sort functions of the third sort 42 43 44 3”. 45 . part 5. reduction of the forms "n identity of solutions determination of x and v. first method x as function of $ factors of $ case 0 0 definition of y and p(v) as function of y definition of x and p' (v) as function of x reduction of lamé's functions 0 = 0 integral x 0 case d 0 47 48 49 49 50 51 51 52 52 . 8 contents. 2 0, q2 0, 23 • 3 page relation of y and c to the special functions of lamé : 52 analytic form of y and y 53 condition c = 0. special functions of lamé 53 condition p 0. functions of first sort 54 condition q 0. functions of second sort 55 absolute relations of q, and on 55 determination of c 56 the integrals q1 0. 56 the discriminant of y 57 resultant of y and o(a). 57 discriminant in terms of this resultant 58 discriminant in terms of p and q 58 special results, n 59 determination of x and v. second method 60 reduction of the general function 60 development of (n = 3) 62 development of ¥ (n 3) 64 development of en 3) 65 reduction of x and v from these forms 66 general forms for x, p (v) and p'(v) 66 determination of forms (n 3) 68 reduction to the first forms 69 determination of v. third method 70 value of the constant ky 70 general form as product of 0, 0,, 71 the functions fi, f2, f 72 forms for p(v) and p' (v) in terms of fa and 02 72 relation of f. to x and the factors of % 73 reduction to the forms of m. hermite 73 general discussion . 73 review of the theory 73 general integral p 0 74 integral q , 0, ν = 0 74 integral f. 0, v = x + 0 74 case v = 0 75 functions of m. mittag-leffler 75 relation to the case x 0 75 definition of the functions. 75 determination as a special case of the doubly periodic function of the second species 76 determination of the eliment, v 0 77 integral (v = 0). . .78 table of forms and relations (n 3) 79 3 3 n=3 ܕ002 c = 0 or x 21 = thesis. part i. historical development and definition of the equation of lamé. the problem of lamé. in order to arrive at an understanding of the highly generalized forms that have taken the name of lamé it is adivisable to return for the moment to the original problem of the potential in which they claim a common origin. lagrange and laplace (1782) in their researches with respect to the earth regarded as a solid sphere developed the potential function *) which led to the development of the theory of the kugelfunction. from this date until 1839 the only name that need be mentioned is that of fourier (1822) who, in developing his theory of heat solved the problem with reference to a right angled cylinder discovering the series named after him. in the following decade**) however lamé ***) generalized the work of his predicessors by solving the problem for an ellipsoid with three unequal axes thus laying the foundation for the development of functions of which the former are but special cases. he used to this end the inductive method arriving at special solutions through a study of the problem already solved with reference too the sphere. the problem of lamé may be stated thus: let the surface of an ellipsoid be given by the equation u uo; it is required to find a function t which will satisfy the equation of the potential and which for the value u=u, will reduce to a given uy *) see note heine, handbuch der kugelfunctionen, p. 2, berlin 1878, and heine, 2d vol. zusätze zum ersten bande. **) see also reference to green heine p. 1. ***) memoire sur les axes des surfaces isothermes du second degree considérés comme des fonctions de la temperature. journal des mathématiques pures et appliqués. 1re série. t. iv, p. 103. 1839. 12 part i. dº u . cz a d2t d2 t pv) dus . 2 where y 2 function of v and w, where t is the temperature at a point whose elliptic coordinates are u, v and w. the working eliments are then, the potential function, generally written [1] · 0 doc or transformed in terms of the p function t [2] (pv — pu) and + (pu — pulang dv: + (pů – pv) dan = 0 dw2 the relation, [3] · t=f(u) f(v) f(w) and the equation day [4] · du [apu + b]y f(u) and a and b are constants. if t is developed by maclaurin's theorem with respect to the rectangular coordinates, we may write: *) [5] . t= t. + t, + t, +...+in+... tn where tn in general is an intire homogenious polynomial of the nth degree, it is observed that each of the functions in will also satisfy [1], the equation of the potential, in which case [1] would be an intire homogeneous polynomial of the (n − 2)d degree. this polynomial must be identically zero which will impose (n 1)n linear conditions. the quantities tn will have in all (n + 1) (n + 2) constants, which leaves the difference 2n + 1 equal to the number of constants that may be considered arbitrary. now the general expression for x2 in terms of p is known to be (pu — ea) (pv — @c) (pw — en) [6] ( @p) (@a ey) being a constant, from which we see that by a change of variable tn may become an intire homogeneous function of the nth degree with respect to the variables [7] vpu — ez, vpu ez quantities proportional to the axes of the ellipsoid, and of the 1st degree, pu being of the second and p'u of the third. we have then that t, the function sought, is composed of similar functions in, where tn is of the nth degree, is symmetrical 1 ? 3. α · vpu – , @y 27 *) see halphen. vol. ii p. 466. historical development and definition of the equation of lamé. 13 u . with respect to u, v and w and having 2n + 1 arbitrary constants, is capable of satisfying the equation [2] of the potential. from the above relations we derive d2t [8] · =f"ufvfw " = 1"" [apu + b]t du? fu with corresponding equations for v and w. if then one can find 2n +1 systems of constants a and b of such sort that for each of these systems there exists a solution y=fu = of equation [4] where y is an intire function of the nth degree each of the corresponding products fu fv fw will furnish a term tn of t and the problem of lamé will be solved. the value of a for all of these systems is n(n + 1) where n may be considered as always positive, since the substitution n (n + 1) does not alter the value of a. the problem of hermite. continuing our review we find that one of the original forms of lamé's equation expressed in terms of the jacobian function is [9] · da — [n(n + 1)kºsn*x + h]y=0 ) corresponding to the form [4]*) dạy da y [10] : [n(n + 1) pu + b]y=0 d u² where h is an arbitrary constant and n a positive whole number. lamé succeeded in finding the requisite number of values of h to complete his solution for the ellipsoid and the solutions of [4] corresponding to these values are known as the original special functions of lamé. the problem then arose: required to determine a solution of lamé's original equation which shall hold for any values of h and n. except for the special values n = 1 and n= 2 no advance was made towards a solution until m. hermite **), making use of the progress in the theory of functions inaugurated by cauchy, arrived at the solution and by so doing opened a new field for *) see transformation p. 20. **) sur quelques applications des fonctions elliptiques. comptes rendus de l'académie des sciences de paris. 1877. 14 part i. the application of the elliptic functions and leading later to the integration of a large class of differential equations.*) in this connection m. hermite introduces the functions called by him doubly periodic of the second species, which have the special property, that save for a constant factor they remain unaltered upon the addition to the argument of the fundimental periods. the solution of m. hermite developed in terms of snu and for n odd may be written in the form d2"-1f(u) d21 2 -3 u [11] ] h, d%" – 3f(u) t...thx-1f(u) . y = f(u) + r(21) r(2v 2 2v into o'(0) ® (w) 2 k x(u) = e where n = 20 — 1, with a corresponding form for n even, where = f(u) is a doubly periodic function of the second species, namely, f(u) = eica—ik') x(u) where h (0) h (4 + 10) (ui k')+ (u) (6) that this shall be a solution the quantities w and a must be determined to correspond with definite conditions and herein lies the chief difficulty when explicit values of the functions are sought. moreover the above development fails as we shall find when seeking to deduce the special functions of m. mittag-leffler from the general form. m. hermite was thus led to a new presentation of the general solution in the form of a product, namely y=it *o (u + a) e-usa σα σω a=a.b.. a form of solution suited to every case. the general theory based upon the latter solution has been lately perfected by halphen**), who, confining himself in the main to the use of the p function, presents the subject in an excellent but highly condensed form. *) equations of m. éimile picard. comptes rendus, t. xc, p. 128 and 293. prof. fuchs, ueber eine classe von differenzialgleichungen, welche durch abelsche oder elliptische functionen integrirbar sind. nachrichten göttingen 1878, and hermite: annali di matematica, serie ii, bd. ix, 1878. **) traité des fonctions elliptiques et leur applications. b. ii. paris 1888. von historical development and definition of the equation of lamé. 15 definitions. returning to form [9] of lamé's equation we observe that it has the following properties: it has a coefficient m (1 + 1) kº snºx + 1 that is doubly periodic and has only one infinite x = ik' and its congruents, and it is known to have an integral which is a rational function of the variable. conforming with these peculiarities m. mittag-leffler *) defines the general hermite's form of lamé's equation of the nth order as a linear homogenious differential equation of the order n having coefficients that are doubly periodic functions, having the fundimental periods 2k and 2i k' and everywhere finite save in the point x = i k' and its congruents which alone are infinite and whose general integral is a rational function of the variable. the general theory of herrn fuchs **) then gives the form, namely [12] · yn + 0,(x) y(n —2) + + on (x)y =0 where φ, (α) do + qysna 03 (20) = be + basnax + b2 d2 snax φ.(α) yo + 715n-x + 72 drsna x + 73 d snạ 2 2 1 1 1 1 dy ) +6+6+ [13] do but a better generalization based upon a full representation of the singular points is given by prof. klein ***) and later stated as follows by dr. bôchert). ) first the ordinary form of the equation of lamé may through transformation becomett) day ax + b + dx y 4 (v — ez) (oc (2) (ac ez) where the exponents of the zeros ez, ez, ez are 0 and and that of the infinites 1+11 + 4a from this generalizing by the introduction of n zeros we have the following definition: 2 ) ei x eg 2-e. 2 4 *) annali di matematica, tomo xi, 1882. **) comptes rendus etc. 1880. p. 64. ***) math. annal. bd. 38. †) ueber die reihentwickelungen der potentialtheorie. göttingen 1891. †t) see also transformation p. 20. 16 part i. historical development and definition of the equation of lamé. „mit dem namen lamésche gleichung bezeichnen wir eine überall reguläre homogene differentialgleichung zweiter ordnung mit rationalen coefficienten, deren im endlichen gelegene singuläre punkte en, l, .. en sämmtlich die exponenten 0, 1 besetzen, und in unendlichen nur einen , uneigentlich singularen punkt aufweist.“ lamé's equation becomes in accordance with this definition and freed from the possibility of a logarithmic irrationality through a determination of the coefficient of xn-3. -3 dạy f' (2) dy [14] · + daca 2fx dx n 1 n(n — 4) 21—2 + -2 [" (n − 2)(n — 4) e; 24–8+ ar-4+.+m]y -3 :0 4f (2) where xo f(x) = (x – e) (x – ez)... (x – en). ac it is further evident that this form, like the hermite form and as previously developed by prof. heine, is but a special case of a general equation of a higher order. in speaking of lamé's equation we will understand an equation conforming with the above definition whose general form is given by [14] and, if the order is higher than the second, distinguish by mentioning the order. forms [9] and [10] will then be called hermite's forms of lamé's equation or simply hermite's equation, where again the order need be mentioned only if it be other than the second. any solution of any form of lamé's equation will be a function of lamé and if the doubly periodic functions first determined by lamé are mentioned they will be designated as the special functions of lamé. part ii. hermite's integral as a sum. the function of the second species. da y we have the problem required the integral y of the equation [15] [n(n + 1) snu + h]y d u² where h is taken arbitrarily, n is any intire positive number and k is the modulus of the elliptic function. m. hermite introduces to this end a function which he names doubly periodic of the second species, which may be defined as a product of a quotient composed of o functions, the number of zeros being equal to the number of the infinites, and an exponential, having the property of reproducing itself multiplied by an exponential factor when the variable is increased by the periods 2k and 2ik. it is defined then in general by the relations: f(u + 2k) = u f(u) f [16] f(u + 2ik') = u'f(u) o(u — @) (u — a.)....(u — q n-1) ao , — f(0) o (u hy) o(u — h,)...0(u (u on-1) the factors u and u are called multiplicators. m. hermite might have been led to the employment of this function by the following analysis which is essentially that given by halphen.*) consider for the moment that y be such a function of the second species but having instead of the n different poles but one pole u 30 of the nth order in which case the function will have n roots. upon developing the properties of this function one finds that its second derivative has the same multiplicator as the function n1 elu. b *) bd. ii p. 495. 2 18 part ii. [17] itself and that therefore the quotient y": y will not only be doubly periodic but will have a single pole uo of the second order. this function then satisfies the necessary conditions and the y" corresponding quotient may then be written equal to y n(n + 1) sn² x + h where h is a constant. but we have taken this function with the condition that it have but one pole of the order n subject to the above conditions which affords n arbitrary constants and employing also an arbitrary constant factor we obtain (n + 1) arbitraries in all. that is sufficient to satisfy all the conditions and leave h to be chosen at will. hence we must conclude that there is no reason why y should not be a doubly periodic function of the second species and our problem reduces to the determination of a function whose general form and properties [16] are known. from this standpoint we have: required a function such that define: whence ω 2 k f(u+2)=µf(u), f(u+2)=u'f(u), 2' = 2ik'. f(u) = a o (u + 2) 6(u + 2') η which function we will speak of as the eliment the general form [16] being a product of similar eliments. we have the fundimental relations: u σ (u + v) σ (u) == 6' ―― (2) = ehu *) = ― σ (u) e² nu+n σ (u) e² n'u + n' ' ω f(u + 2) = 1 º (u + v) σ (u) = f(u) p¹ 2+2 ¹¹. choosing then v and λ correctly we may write eλ2+217 v e² (u +2)+2nv *) hermite, in the following analysis, employs the function given on p. 11, namely the function x expressed in terms of the function. hermite's integral as a sum. 19 [18] with a corresponding value for u' and we may then write f(u) f(u) φ(u) where is a doubly periodic function, that is þ(u+m2+n2') = þ(u). · again and we derive [19] · f(u — 2) = — f(u) and ƒ (u — 2′) — —, f(u). whence f(u — z — 2) — — f (u — 2) where f(≈ + 2) = µf (2) — = * where is doubly periodic. from this point the development of f(u) depends upon the theory of cauchy, as it is obtained by calculating the residuals of for the values of the argument that render it infinite and equating the sum to zero as follows. first f(u) becomes infinite for the value u0 whence its residual eu = of (u) of(u) = [ufu]u : whence = þ(2) = f(2) f(u —— 2) — =0 = = a and becomes equal to unity if we take 1 a 6(v) f(u) [o (u + v) e¹u], again lim eu (2) + = u (≈ − u) đ (z) 2 u and developing f(uz) we have [w] eu (2) o (u + v) o (u) o (v) u = 0 u = 0 ――――― elu = a 6(v) '(0) lim z = u(≈ — u) f(z)f(u — z) = f(u) again let a be any pole of f(u) in which case, developing by the function theory, we may write a6(v) + aa da ε¬¹ + а + α₁ ε + а₂ ε² + ·· -1 1 1 1 f(a + ε)=0 = aɛ¬¹ + a, d,ε~¹ + a½ d² ɛ¬¹ + · · 2* 20 part ii. and 2 f(u — a – – €) =f(u — a) – duf(u — a) + 1.d.f(u – a) -.. (-1)" + 1 2 difu – a) +.. • a where . 2 n d%8-1 = (-1)"? anti we have then lim eε. φ '0 & f(a + 8)f(u — a — 8) દ af(u -a) + a, duf(u – a) + a,dif(u — a) +... + aqd4f(u a) with similar expressions for e., ec ... but ở being a doubly periodic function we know that the sum of its residuals with respect to u, a, b .. equals zero whence [20] f (u) = { [af (u — a) + a, duf (u ] σ[) + a) + a,dif (u -a) + .. + a dif(u – a)] a where ai is determined from the first development. this important formula still further narrows our problem to a consideration of f(u) in terms of which and its derivatives under conditions to be determined it is now evident that y = f (u) may be expressed. a=a, b, c.. a transformation of hermite's equation. we have written hermite's equation in its original form d'y [21] · =[n [n(n + 1)ka sna x + h). d x2 that this is however but a special case of a more general form is seen as follows. take the integral 2 • da v(1 – 12)(1 – k 22) ул 2 x = ---we have dy 1 dy da dy dx dx da dx va or dy=17 dy da hermite's integral as a sum. 21 whence [23] or [22]. [24] · p(u) = es + we obtain: dy-ay-1-114x dx² define d22 day du² (e₁ e1 sn²u ve and making the substitutions: ― d2y dx2 x = substituting we derive the ordinary form of lamé's equation dy dλ d2y 1 λ + δ' — [n (n + 1) k² sn² x + h] = 0.*) dλ2 2 = the value of 4 gives as singular points + 1; and ∞. ± k for our present purpose however we need the equation expressed in terms of u and pu which is derived from (21) by means of the relations 1 d2y λ + 1/1/13 d22 2 uve₁ ve dx² eg) eg 2 = δ' es = dy " dλ k² sn² (u + ik') u ~u+ik' l3 du² (e₁ — e3) [n (n + 1) pu — es + h]. e1 = · b = h (e₁ — е3) − n (n + 1) ez · ― 1 whence our equation may be written: y' = [n (n + 1) pu + b]y. 1 sn² u development of the integral. we observe, since snx reduces to zero only for the value x =0, that we have but one pole of the second order in hermite's equation and that we may therefore develop y within a cercle whose radius is less than 2', the form being = y = u² [y。 + y₁u + y₂u² + ·· •] whence 2 y = vu¹¹y + (v + 1) y₁ u² + (v + 2) u² +¹ y₂ + (v + 3) u¹ + ² y z + ·· -2 y' — v (v — 1) u' —²y。 + v (v + 1) y₁ u¹−1 + (v + 1) (v + 2) u² y₂ + ·· = *) compair general form [14] p. 16. 22 part ii. we have also whence: [25]. p(u) these values in [24] give: v (v — 1) yuv−2+ -[~ = u' u' • w n v (v − 1) = n (n + 1) n. this value gives since the uneven powers fall out h2 + + n-4 un· + = n(n + 1). n 2 y + 1 = +b + n w +(n−6) (n − 5) h₁ n2 u 1 un + 1 un+ 2 from which we again derive y' = n(n + 1) + (n − 2) (n − 1) ¹¹ + (n − 4) (n − 3) 1 un+ 2 h₁ un + tn(n+1) ghi h₂ + un-4 bhi n-2 un h₁ n u' + h1 u2 n 2 u un+ c₁u² + c₂u¹ + hg + (n-4) + + unbha n-4 (n + 1) n + 1 2i+2 2 › (n + 1) you²² +.. u 1 + n (n + 1) c1 un—3 +n(n + 1) e̟h, 2 + +· + or ... 2 i • w [n (n (n + 1) (~ + qu² + cu¹ + · · ·) + b + 2 = + (n-2i)(n2i+1) h; • +] bh n-2 i + h; un-2 i 1/72 | (n − 2) (n − 1) h¸ − n (n + 1) h¸ + b · h₁ = un + 1 nw h; n (n + 1) n-2 2i+2 w + 4 + .. ... 1 | (n − 4) (n − 3) h₂ = n (n + 1) [h₂ + ç] + h₁ b + n (n + 1) c½ 2 − s + c₂ n-4 u' equating the coefficients of like powers of u in this identity one finds +... w ha n u h; n―2i+2 | (n − 6) (n − 5)kg=n(n+1)(kstant)+h b 4 2 hermite's integral as a sum. 23 1 w ło | (n -8) (n — 7)h = n(n + 1) (hx+cho+cha+c3) + hy b in 7 0 c )b 6 un 1 -3 u n-2i+2(n-2i)(n-2i+1)h;=n(n+1)[hitchi-2+cahi-3 +... + c-1] + hi-1 b. whence we obtain all the coefficients in the development for y by means of the recurring formula. [26] 2 i(2 i — 2n — 1) hi = n(n + 1) [cı hi-2 + cahi-3 +... + ci-2h; + ci-1] + hi-1b. since then hi is determined we have when n is even and equal to 2v h, y + + + th, u2v u? -2 -3 --1 1 hy-1 2 v -2 w and if n be odd and equal to 2 v 1 1 1 hi v-1 y utrit h, + + + + hou 2 v-1 2v-2 u urgt where hi is given by (26). elu 6 1 u development of the eliment f(w). having now a development of y we can, if we develop f(u) and substitute in the development of f(u), find by comparison the conditions necessary that y=f, (u) be a solution. we have then to determine the development of o(u + v) f(u) o() (v) + . since [uf (u)]u=0 =1 to this end we develop first the function ou + v) [27] · 9 (u) = f(u)e(1+5v)u ou) o (v) we have: deu d pu + cu + cqu4 t. whence 23 — ž czu• — c5 2?... e-uζν 0 . o'u pu du au ou 1 1 6u u 3 7cs u?. 24 part ii. by taylor's theorem: d2 (v) 6 d (v) + du 6 u2 1.2 du? u2 1.2.30" (»)... ó o' 0 6 1 u3 (u + v) = (v) + + = $ (v) — up (v) – 1. r' (v) ) v passing now to logarithms we derive: (w) (# + v) (n) ) u u (v up (») ***w -(op) p'(v) *"(w),*"*») – ]-... pv + agu + 1 + 23 +.. integrating we have: log u + ,*+ a + +... + a2 az a4 + p” (v) 3! c, v 20 2 3 us c2 ! 67 [ a, 2! u² a, 3! t u u2 u3 log 9 u" 4! 2! 3! whence 1 u u 3 a2 +a, + 2! 31 [28] 9 е u [49+4+...] [1+4+4+..]+:[4+425*+..14+... 1 , **."* + = [1 + p + p + p +...] u? 72 us 3! us 23 . -2 2! + a . u 2 2! 3 3! u? , + us 3! 24 4 4! 2 3 2 2 3 pa where p, = a, = p(v); p = 4, = -p'(v); , = 3p(v) + 92 = a4+3 a, 4 p. 3 pvp'v = a; + 10 a, a; etc. showing that the coefficients pi are intire functions of pv and p'v.*) 2 5 5 *) the functions pi correspond to the functions 2 in hermite's treatis, for example 1 + x2 p,= p(v) zasnau 3 p. p'u 2 son hasnu onu dnu see p. 126 development of %. hermite's integral as a sum. 25 9 u 1.2 from these forms we pass immediately to [29] f(u) = q (u) e(2+$)u = (n)[1 + (8 + $v) + (8 +bv)**+...] 9 $? = {[1 +(+ $u)u + (p. + (1 + $u)") ...] +[p, + 3 p, (1 + $w) + (1 + $w"]...+. [(() ...} + h. + h, u + h2u2 + hyu+... h , , u? 2 1 23 3 2 2 3 1 u take λ = α ζν whence [30] · f(u) o(u + v) e(x_{vu o(u) (v) 0 u u +*+ (x2 + p,) + (x3 + 3 p x + p.) ** 3) 2.3 + (x** + 6 p.x2 + 4 p5x + p.), at us 3 + 4 2 = + h. + h, (u) + h, (u)2 + h2u». 1 2 u where in hermite's notation h. x. 1 2 h = (x2 + p.). h, = (23 + 3 p x + p3) p, 1 [31] 6 1 h, (24 + 6 pzx2 + 4 pz3 + pa) 3 24 determination of the integral. we are now enabled to determine the exact expression for f(u) and the conditions necessary that it become equal to y by a process of comparison of the several developments obtained. 26 part ii. first we have: 1 f(u) + h + h4 + h21° ++ h4 +.. u f'(u) 1 u? + h+ 2 h2u + 3 h2u2 + + ih;u-1+... f”(u) + + 2 h2 +2. 3 h3u +... . ..tili — 1) h;ui2 2 u2 2.3 f'' (u) u4 + 2 · 3 h3 +... 2 + tili 1) (2 — 2) hu—3 + ... (n odd) 1 2 .3 .•(n-1) + + 2 .3 ... (n − 1) hn-1 t... un tili — 1)...(i — n+1) hui-ntit... again 1 hy in1 yn=2v-1 + to.it + hou ן 2 1 2 3 u u u 1 hr_1 + 2v u 2v — 2 u 2 y = fiu h, yn=lv + + + hy. u2 and in general aaf(a) + aa-1f (a-1) +...tf aaf (n-1) + aa-2f (n-3) + + f (n odd). now substituting the values f(x) found above and ordering the coefficients so that the residual with respect to u will be unity we find by comparison that we may write 1 1); f(n-1) + 3); hif (n—3) + 1 [32] . • y = f1(11) hif (n-3) + ...hr-if (n (n (n odd and =2v — 1) provided x and v be so taken that the constant term equal zero and the coefficient of the next term equal hy and ha 1)!f (n − 1) f(n—5) (n − 3)!/(1-3). 1 h [33] y=f:(u) (n − 1)! (n — 5)! hr-1f' (n even and = 2 v) provided x and v be so taken that the constant term equal h, and the coefficient of the next term equal zero or in general 1 [34] (-1)n-17= (n − 3)! h, f (n—3 + hef (n—5) +... (n — 5)! 1 (n − 1)! f(n-1) + hermite's integral as a sum. 27 where the last terms are obtained to accord with the above conditions. substituting the values f(x) we find the conditions to be (n odd) h2v-2+ h₁ h21-4+ h₂ h2v-6 + + hv−1 ho = 0 [35] (2v 1) h₂v-1+ (2v 3) h₁ h₂v-3 + (2v — 5) hq h2 v−5 + : · · +hy-1 h₁h, 0 0 — forms (n even) h2v−1 + h₁ h2v−3 + h₂ h2v−5+ + hv−1 h1 + hv [36] (2v h₂v+(2 v −2) h₁ h2 v−2+(2 v — 4) h2 h2 v−4+ ··· +2h,−1h2=0. these conditions being satisfied y f(u) and we have two ... = då f (u) — [n (n + 1) pu + b] f' (u) = 0 ω since finite for u = ik' = 2 = = a second solution being likewise obtained by making the substitution n~n the general integral may be written: [37] · y=cf(u)+c'f' (— u). part iii. integral as a product. indirect solution. it will be shown in developing the forms for the case n = 3 = 3 that the original solution of m. hermite as a sum will not be applicable in the forms given in the last chapter, when b is so taken as to give a value, v equal to zero, which leads to a second development in the form of a product, the eliments being as in the first case doubly periodic functions of the second species. assume that o(u + a) [38]: y e-uka, o(u) o (a) n . . ii w0 a=a.b.. 1 2 u where the product is composed of n factors obtained by taking a, b, c in place of a. the derivative of the logarithm is y' p'a 15(u + a) — $ (u) – $(a)] = 2 [) ри ра while a second differentiation gives y" 2 y 2 (*) (pu – p (u + a)]. y from the first equation 2 1 1 [=> 1 (uma) + -σ:( + :σ= pu pu p'u – p'a pu – p'b pu pa pu 4 2 y ра, pb but the addition theorem gives: 1 p'r p'a ри ра p(u + a + pu + pa, 4 whence 2npu + pa+; } pu – p'a p’u -po ++ p'b pb y ри ра ри integral as a product. 29 2 pu ра + pb in order to decomposé the last term in this expression we write: 1 p'u – p'a p'r p'b 2 (pu + pa + pb) ри pb p'a + p'b pa po 15(u + a) – $ (u + b) – $u +86]. [ & ) take the value u= (a + b), remembering the relations p() + pu; p'(-u) – p'(u); $(-u) = $(u). — writing then f(a + b) for the right hand member of the above equation under these conditions we get f(a + b) = 2np(a + b) + epa + 2p(a + b) + pa + pb ) + p'a + p'b [$(-6) $(-a) – $a + $b] pa pb 2 (n + 1) pu + 2 epa. from which we see that in general we would have y" =n(n + 1)pu + (2n — 1) epa у a; p'a = oc the quantity in brackets being equal to zero. if now we reunite the terms $(u + a) — &a, $(u +b) – $b etc. ( in the general expression and make equal to zero the sum of their coefficients we obtain n equations of condition, namely, writing ра a'; pb = b; p'b = b'; a' + b' d'+y' a' + d' + 0 в b' t. a b' + g' ß' td + + + 0 b b b g' to' y' + b' y' + d + + 0 b . + + α q n oc d [39] a d . + g a 7 g d 12 oc [40] 93 if then we can solve the equations considered as simultanious 403 920 93 b'2 483 — 92b together with the relation (2n — 1)(a + b + y + :) в we will satisfy the necessary conditions to enable us to write: y" = n(n + 1)pu + b. y 30 part iii. y= e-uta that is 6(u + a) y it 6 (u) o (a) is a solution of hermite's equation whatever be the value of b, provided a, b, c.. fulfil the above conditions. solution for n = 2. it is clear that, save for small values of n, an attempt to solve the above equations by the ordinary methods would give rise to insurmountable difficulties. the case n=2 however, which is famous = as affording a solution to the problem of a pendulum, constrained to move upon a sphere, can be readily solved as follows: given n = 2: we have the conditions 12 a 12 [41] [ p'?a= 4ą% 92a 93 b'2 483 – 92b – 9: pa + pb=b b a'? + b’? = 0. p'26 1 2 or 3 observe that by designating pb by — b the above relations remain unaltered and that we may therefore write 403 92a 93 48% + 92b — 93 or 4 (a+ ) 92(a + b) = 0 ). whence ? – αβ + β2 a? — «ß + b2 – 192 = 0. = but b=a -b whence the equation that determines the values of b. [42] : · bº – ja b +a? — 192 = 0 and also b2 şa o and also b=0.*) if then n= 2 and a and b, the arguments of a=(pag), (, are so taken that b shall have the values of the roots of equation (42) hermite's equation will have the solution 1 . 9 4 1 *) if in this result we take b ś we obtain the formula 3 & 2 — as ta ? 1 92 4 0, see halphen ii p. 131. integral as a product. 31 o(u — a) o (u + b) [43] · y = elta6u cou a + b) c elša–5)u] du би c' los a so (u + ») ere–50)] d [ šv) du 6u 6 u where v = a + b.*) that our solution given above be complete we must obtain the corresponding values of x and v as follows: d co (u + v) y du [ ele-50u ()] we have also [44] : 1 p'a + p'b pv + pa + pb= p'a, 6 pa pb pb) since p'a =p'b=a'. again we have ξ2 – αζ + α? 4 92 = 0 4 pa 1 or α 1 2 α 2 α 1 2 2 + v92 – 30%. hence p(a) = + v 9. 302 p (b) v9,3a2 whence pa pb =v9. – 30 pa + pb p'a, = – 40% + 9,0 – 93. these values in (44) give: 403 + 9,0 – 93 ·p(v) 92 3 2 92 = [45] . a q3 + 93 3a 92 *) the last is the form given for the expression cos cx + i cos cy in the solution of the pendulum problem in the direct investigation of which one arrives at the expressions d? x d2 y nx; ny; dta dt2 dt? where n is found to be 3 r2 (2 pu — pa,) which causes the solution to depend upon lamé's functions. d2% nz + g 32 part iii. o' · 92 if we take a = 2b we have 8b3 + 9 bo' 0 [46] · p (v) 12b2 92 9 where ф 433 92b -93 and 1262 for x we have: 1 p' (b -a) + p'b [47] x = $(a b) + $a – $b = s = 2 p (b − a) – pb 1 p' (b − a) -p'(a) a p' (b − a) + p'b p'a p (b a) 2 p b -a) pb pa ( — — = p'v 2pv 2 p (a) cz 3 bo' 9 -1 since p'a — p'b=0 pa + pb combining these relations we obtain: = a. p'v + pv=b 2 x 9 9 . 1 9 29 9 i and /369' bo' 3 bo' p'v=2(b – pv) v 201 9) v 9 90 3 bo' v *) 9 finally we observe that if -u is substituted for u in hermite's equation it remains unaltered which gives us the second solution, namely 6 (a u) [48] · -it. o(a) o (u) x and v remaining as before. . 2 euta 2 product of the two solutions. it becomes evident from the illustration in the previous paragraph that while in general the theory involved in the solution just given holds it is practically inapplicable for other values of n than two or at most three whence one is led to a study of functions of the integral in the hope of discovering inherent properties *) compair results obtained by m. halphen and obtained in a different manner, ii p. 131 and 527. integral as a product. 33 that will lead to a more practical result. the first of such functions to command attention would be the product of the two integrals [49] : y y% which we will proceed to develop as follows: we would find from the integral % as in the case of y z' = t; (a — u) — 6u + $a] -σεξ (α — ga and combining with y' a 1 [5 (a +u) — $(u) – ça] we obtain y' is (v + a) — $(u — a) — 25a] p'a but co (a + u) o (a u) y y? -it =17(pu-pa).*) whence p'a · y z ра p'a -σ, при ) 2c ра y pu-pa y 2 62a 62 u y e' – by=pu?" pa pur-“ra 17(pu – pa) = 20 or > + a t t y 2 = p'a 20 σ ри pa ii (pu pa)? c being a constant or expanding and writing t=pu we have a' b' g 2 c [50] + + b (t a) (t b) (t – y)... an identity independant of the value of t. to determine a', b'... multiply both members by (t a), (t – b) ... and take t = a, b... for example a) n'at a) 20 a'+ + + (t b) (t b) (t y)... — whence making t= a we have = 2c [51] . a'r (a b) (a — y)... and in a similar manner we find b' (t t . a 20 b' (b a) (b y)... *) see theory of p and o functions. 34 part iii. these values of a' and b'... determine the constants a, b... provided we can find the value of the constant c. it is also clear that c must be a constant involved in the relation y=ya . 2 2 2 and we are thus led first to a development of y according to the powers of t and to the finding of the relation between the coefficients. thus y becomes available in a practical form and c being determined as a function of y and its derivatives we have our relation in a new form [52] y = +vy. i expand these principles of m. hermite*) (annali di math.) and halphen**) as follows: lamé's equation may be written [53] g”= pu where p=n(n.+ 1) pu + b and y=vy. = seeking the equation in terms of y we write y' = 2yy' whence y'' = 2y'? + 2yy” = 2y'? + 2 py = 2y'? + 2py, also (y” – 2py) = 4y'y" = 4 pyy' 2py y" ' " = whence [54] y"" – 4py' – 2p'y=0 a linear differential equation in y of the third order. from the theory of the linear differential equation, if y and 2 are solutions of (53) vy+will also be a solution y and q being arbitrary constants, and we derive also as distinct solutions of the transformed (54) y, yx and m2 obtained from the complex form (ry + 92) p' =n(n + 1) p'u and the transformed may be written: [55] · y''' — 4 [n(n + 1) pu + b] y' — 2n(n + 1) p’u y = 0 where to(a + u) (a u) y=it o ua). =ii (pu gº a gau this value indicates that (55) has n solutions in terms of p (u) : *) bd. ii. p. 498. **) bd. ii. p. 498. integral as a product. 35 from which it follows also that y may be written as an intire polynomial of the nth degree in t = pu. that is [56] · ... yt + α₁tn−1 + αtn-² + -1 -2 ·+an-it + an. equation [55] is written in terms of derivatives with respect to u whence to determine the coefficients in (56) we must express (55) also in terms of derivatives of t = pu and equate the coefficients of like powers in the two identities thus obtained. take whence d₁u = q ꭰ and du y dydut 1 „³; diu 2 då da y= = d³ y — = d2 y dt2 d³ y dt3 2 9 = 9 (t) = 4t³ — j₂t — 93 = p² ² u [57] (4t³ — g₂t — 93) --3 u = 19 29; du ф ዎ = 1 92 d, y du dy d, y du 3 (du) these substitutions give: ... 3 1 3 1 2 " — 9 ¹³ d; y + 9 ³ q´ d; y — — 9 ³ 9″ d, y 2 = 2 2 2 u = ዎ 3 4 5 2 φ ― /2 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ (d¸u)² d³ y — d¸u d¾ u d¸ y — 3 d¸u d¾ u d¸ y + 3 (d² u)² d¸y t t (d,u) d2 y d³ y dt3 + 3 (61² — 1 92 ) 2 − 4 [(n²+ n − 3) t + b] dr dy dt 2 dt2 2n (n + 1) y = 0. from [56] we obtain the values of these derivatives, namely dy dt 1 2 9 = ntn−1 + a₁ (n − 1)tn—² + α, (n − 2) tn−³ + az (n − 3) t”—4 a₂ 2 -3 -4 3 4) t−5 + .. +α (n − 4) tn−5 n(n−1)!"-+a(n −1)(n −2)!"-sta (n−2)(n−3)-4 -3 + as (n − 3) (n − 4) tr−5 + ··· " = a n (n − 1) (n − 2) t−3 + a (n − 1) (n − 2) (n − 3 ) -3 — · -5 ta (n-2) (n − 3) (n − 4) tt and equating the coefficients to zero we have: 3* 36 part iii. n 3 n – 3: 4a3 (n − 3) (n — 4) (n – 5) – 9,0(n 1)(n − 2)(n − 3) 3 n 5— 92a — ) izn (n − 1) (n − 2) + 18ag (n − 3) (n — 4) + * , a ( – 1)(x – 2) 4 (x +m– 3) (x 3)a, g(°+ n n 4 bag (n — 2) – 2n(n + 1) ag = 0 + n --4: 4a (n − 3)(n — 4)(n — 5) — 920,(n -2)(n -3)(n — 4) — 3 93a, (n − 1)(n − 2)(n − 3) + 18a, (n — 4)(n — 5) 920,(n − 2)(n-3) — 4 (n + n-3) (n — 4), nº 0 – 0 – a, – 4b(n — 3) az — 2n(n + 1) aq = 0 = ) 3 2 . -3 3 2 k = = n 1 n — k: 4ax (n – k) (– k – 1) (n — k — 2) – 920x-2 (n – k + 2) (n k + 1) (n — k) 9304–3 (n -k + 3) (n – k + 2)(n k + 1) k 2 1 + 18ax(n = k) (n -k – 1) k 920x-2 (n — k + 2) (n — k + 1) 4(n2 + 1 3)(n – k)ax — 4b (n-k+1) ax--1 n — 2n(n + 1) ax = 0. from the last value we pass to the nth by writing m whence the recurring formula: [58] 2 (3 -4)(2n + 1)(x + m + 1) a = + 4 (4+1) ban-4-1 ] (n u1u n an. inx u 4—1 +92 (n + 1) (u + 2) (2 u + 3) an—u—2 + 93 (u + 1) (u + 2) (u + 3) an—^—3 from which equation we find the unknown coefficients ai by making u 2,... k 1.2... these results are simplified by employing the notation introduced by brioschi, namely: : set-b: b. 9(t)=4t— 92-93 = 9. t=pu, n (2n 1) by means of which the above forms are expressed as follows: 703 y d? y [59] [48% + $9"s? +0's + glas + (1882 +30"s + 9 oʻs +9 9') d82 [4(n2 + n — 3)s+ ds 2n(n + 1) y=0 [60] y sn + a, sn—2 + ag sn—3+ + an =0 n -1, n or 1 sc 1 3 2 d 2 2 n? 1 2 9") ay integral as a product. 37 1 2 [61] 2 (n – u) (2 u + 1) (u +n + 1) an-m u = 12 (u + 1) (n + 1 – n) (v +1 + r) an—-—1 1 nu nb u + (u + 1) (u + 2) (2u + 3) 9' (b) an—u—-2 + (u + 1) (u + 2) (u + 3) 4 (6) an—-—3. taking u 1 we find a = 0 n in 1) u 2: a2= 8 (2n 3) nan nan 1) (n 2) 3: az = m bo'(b). 12 (2n 5) 2 (2n 3) (2n — 5) = n i en φ' (0) 2 n 3 9 (6) = 1) b (2n and the term containing the highest power of b is obtained as follows: и u = n — 2: 2.2 (2n — 3) (2n — 1) ag 4 (n − 1) b (n or az 1) (2 n 3) 4 = 0 – 3: (n и – 1) (2n 5) (n 2) (n un 4: 2 · 3 · (2n 1) (2 n 3) (2n 5) (2n 3) (n u +... 2.3.5(2n-1)(2n3)(2n5)(2n -7)(2n-9) 3: az 2) b2 3 (2n 4: 24 3) b3 . 7) x (n 5: a5 4) b4 [62] u = 1: an-1= [3 (-1)" b” 5 7 2n +. . . 1] ya c direct solution. having y=ys, we are enabled to obtain a rigid and direct solution of hermite's equation in the form of a product as follows: in addition to y we have: y' = ys' + xy' = yz and yz' – zy'=2c. = whence 2c+y 2 yz'= 20 + y', = 2 y and y y' – 20 — 2 zy'=2c –y', whence yy" y'? yy" y'2 y? y 2 y 2 or 2 or y 2 y 2 2 y" (o)= 2 or 2 yy" y" y y'? + 4c 4 y2 38 part iii. [63] [64] . . this value in hermite's equation gives: · 2 yy" — y'? + 4c = [n(n + 1)pu + b]4y?. whence we derive the value of c sought, namely 4c2=y'? – 2yy" + 4[n(n + 1)pu + b] y. y'2 ( let a, b, p ...=pa, pb, py ... be roots of y. = then yu = a... = " + a, th-1 + = tn 0 yu=a.... = nt" – 1t' + a, (n ntn—1t' + ay(n − 1)tr — 2% +. (...= 0 0 -1 = =a.b or ' u y: -p'2** 4c° =p"?(a) ["y i_ = ye = p“()(h) x = y;... 12 dy np(un-1p'u. du whence d y dt and dy72 d y/2 : dt dt = but from algebra we have dy = (a — b) (a – v)... — dt whence [65] · 2c=a' (a b) (a – v)... a'la with like expressions for the other roots which we observe are the values obtain before (see [51]), namely 20 (a – b) (a y)... 2 c b' = (b a) (b — v... ( = a a' y. to obtain y we have: 2c= ya y; +a, +1, +c being the roots of y=f(u). we have also: 2c = yz' --zy' =>15(u + a) – $(u — a) 28(a)]yz 15(v + a) – $(u — a) — 28(a)]. n + ) & . but p'r [$(u + a) + $(u — a) — 28a] pa) or 20 2 (ри integral as a product. 39 whence с 2 (pú – pa) — śu — $a ] p'u d du pa log ou į => [s(v + a) σ(+ ) [logo (v + a) – log vpu u uça] it log ii au log|tvpu -pa. d du log e-uζα o(u + a) vpu pa • си co(u + a) d d du e-uga σι but 1 1 пури ttvpu – pa = yon 2 2 1 с y d d du () 1 2 log[/ºu + a) ewζα log ya 2 би du o (u + a) d du log[] ti é uša 1 yz' + zy' y? 6u 2 y' 6 d + du logit (u + a) 0(u) «ζα. 2 y whence d y' – 20 2 y co ) = e-uζα log[t•(-+ a) у du σι or 6 logy log/t"(u + a) e-uša log c σω . . бо а c = 16 a. whence the value of y is obtained directly, namely co(u + a) [66] y-it e-uζα the third method of integration is then the following: calculate the polynomial y by the aid of the relation [58] or [61] from which derive the constant c2 by means of equation [64] extracting the square root to obtain c and finally obtain the constants 20 20 p'a = (a b) (a y). (b a) b v... — y) when a = pa, b yb ... are the roots of y. these relations determine the arguments a·b.c..., having which the solution is co(u + a) y=it: if we take the second root of c2 we obtain the integral obtained also from y by changing u into – u. p'o > e-usa. σω u. 40 part iii. determination of y for n = 3. the foregoing solution while complete and rigid from a theoretical standpoint needs to be greatly perfected before it becomes practically applicable. it is indeed but another example, the invariant theory being a second of the fact that it is often an easier task to obtain a general than an explicit form. having determined the explicit forms for n 2 let us attempt to apply the above rule to the next case n = 3. = given n = 3 where a₂ as from (60) and (61) we obtain. [67] · n(n 8(2n [68] · hence • n(n 12 (2n :: s3 -again st b = ― = = yn=3 :. (t) = 4(s+ b)³ — g₂ (s + b) — 93 1) -· 1 (44b³ — 3g₂b + 93). 3) 2) 5) 1 1 g'(b) — — 9′(b) = ¦ (126² — — 92) 4 9 (b) = yn=3 = s³ + a‚s + 㸠= = 2) n(n 1) (n 2(2n-3) (2n — 5) 483126s2+1262s+4b3gsbg293 19 (t) — 3b82 --12bs² 48 +12682 + (126292) s+4b³ — bg — 9s 4s³ + 12bs² + ❤´s + 9. 3 = = s³ + a₂s + ag 19's 19. 4 s³ + 1 9's + 1 9 — bq' ዎ 4 1 = s³ + (3b² — — 92) s — ¦ (446³ — 392 b + 93) ❤(t) − b(ø′+ 3s²) bq' b = = q(b) — bq'b 1 ø (t) = b[' + 3 (t − b)³] 4 whence y' = 3s² + a2, y"= 6s, 2 yy": and substituting in (64) we have 1 1 = t³ — 3bt² + (6b² —9%)t (156³ — gab + 1 93). = 12s (s³ + a₂ s+ ag) c2 (382 + a,)² 3s (s³ + a, s + a3) + 3(4s+ qb) (s³ + a, s + ag)². integral as a product. 41 to attempt to extract the square roots of this equation in accordance with the theory, c² being expressed as an equation of the 7th degree in s or t were clearly impossible without some further knowledge of the properties of c. to arrive at such knowledge we are led ultimately back to a study of the special functions of lamé. part iv. the special functions of lamé. functions of the first sort. > [69] . . lamé derived originally functions of three different sorts, values for y, depending on the value of n and corresponding in each case to a specific value of b, the chief peculiarity being that for these values y is doubly periodic. the functions of the first class are characterized as developable in the form y = pln—2) + ay pine — 4) + azpín—6) +.. and that such an integral may exist is seen from the following: writing the corresponding function of the same sort y.p(u) we have n(n + 1)yp(u) =pin) + a4p(2-2) + a2p(n—4) + whence by subtraction y” – n(n + 1)yp = (a, – a,)pn—2) + (az — a,)pn—4) + ву b : 02 that is a function of the first sort will be a root of hermite's equation provided 01 a a2 baz: 0g – ag = ba, etc. az where the quantities (a) are linear functions of the quantities (a). but since the number of these condition equations is greater by unity than the number of unknown (a) it follows that upon their ellimination we obtain an equation in b whose degree will equal the number of equations, that is n +1 if n is even and ;(n 1) if n is uneven: for example take n = 2, whence y=p + a, and y"=p" and we derive p" -6(2 + a)p bp – bay or 1 ba, + 9 = 0, ź 92 also 611 + b=0 2 the special functions of lamé. 43 b 6 1 6 whence a1 6 and we find y =p b where b4 – 392 = 0. b2 = again let n = 3 in which case the equation in b would be of degree i(n − 1) 1) = 1, that is b 0, for which value we have at once y=p'(u). substituting indeed this value in hermite's equation for n = 3 we derive at once p" — 12p'p=0 a well known identity. define (p=0) equal to the equation in b of degree } (n − 1) that in any case determines the values of b giving rise to an integral of the first sort. we have then that when p=0 the general solution of hermite as a sum has in place of f(u) the p(u) and may be written [70] · (-1)"y pin — 2) (u) + h, pin — 4)(u) 1)! (n 3)! 1 2 a 1 1 in 1 + họpl2-6)(u) +. (n 5)! the coefficients being the same as in the corresponding general development.*) functions of the second sort. . q=1. 2.3 to attain a function of the second sort assume that n is odd and that the solution has the form [71] · y y=%vpu – este la where may be developed in the form %=pin 3) + apin-5) + a,261 — 7) equation in p differing from (70) in the degree of the derivatives only. proceeding as in the former case by substituting in hermite's equation one finds that the solution holds provided b be now taken equal to any one of the roots of a perfectly determined equation of degree (n + 1), the right hand member of which we will define as qu which is equal to zero. 1 *) see (34) and (26). 44 [73] part iv. the special functions of lamé. writing for convenience hermite's equation in terms of the derivatives of z with respect to pu by aid of the identity p² 4p³ 92p 93 we have*) [72] · 0 or and (72) becomes (4p³ — i¿p — i3) and whence = • [75] · • = [(n − and differentiating we have 4 la = d² z dp* take now for example n = 3. whence = z = p + a ― dp + (10p² + 4e¸p + 4c² − 292) dz 1) (n + 2) p + b − €a] ≈. • = qa an equation whose degree is 3 10p²+4eap+4c292 (10p+ bea) (p + a₁) dz dp =1 a₁ = 1/2 ea 11 b αι 10 10a₁+ bla z = p + 1/1 ea 1/1 b 2 10 = d2z dp² b2-6ea b+45e-1592 — (n + 1) = 2, 2 compair transformation p. 35. = and as a may have the values 1, 2 or 3 we have in all six values of b giving a doubly periodic solution of the second sort and determined by an equation of the sixth degree defined as [74] · q q1 q2 q3 0 functions of the third sort. we have finally solutions that are doubly periodic of a third sort the integral being written in the form: y = z√(pu — es) (pu cα) -where n is restricted to an even member and z has the form 2 = ... p(n−4) + α¸p(n−6) + α¿p(n−8) + · and a similar analysis to the former cases shows that this solution holds when b is the root of a determinate equation whose degree is n. 15g₂ = 0 identity of solutions. having developed in the foregoing the necessary underlying principles we return to the case where n equals three, that is to a determination of the integral of the equation [76] · y"= [12p(u) + b]y [77] where b is to be arbitrarily chosen. the first form obtain from (32) is y = 1/2 f" + h₁ f and from the first of equations (26) we have b 10 • part v. reduction of the forms when n equals three. where h₁ hence disregarding the constant the integral is y = f" — 3bf σ (u + v) o (u) o (v) and x and satisfy the conditions (35) where b f: ←← e(x-5v) u = [h₂+ h₁ h₁ = 0 ho 2 156 [78] where \ 3 h₂ + h₁ h₁ = h₂ ζα x = ev — ea — eb — ec v = a+b+c. (p. 17 and p. 16.) 1st solution. 46 part v. [79] euša y=17°(u + a) 11. (a) 0 (0) eu ša σα σε the second form obtained from (66) is u (4 a) ) u o(u a) o(u b) o(u c) elsa +56+$cu o(a) (b) o(c) 03 0 where 20 a'rp'(a) (a b) (a y) 20 b' =p'(b) (b a) ( y) 20 y'rp'(c) (y a) (y – b) and (= +vy; y=s% + a,s + az s=t—6; 4, = + (1262 – į 92); ag = – 4 (446* — 39,6 +93).) ba= the transformation of form (79) to form (77) may be accomplished as follows. taking the eliments we have 2d solution. c= (p. 40.) 4 0 (u + a) e1 u e-usa σω σα pa + 2 u o(u + b) 1 u e uto pb +.. (u) ob u 2 u o(u + c) σασο e-usc pet.. u 2 whence 0 6 ou + a) ou + b) (u + c) o(a) (b) (c) o'r e-(sa+$6+50) u y 1 u [mt(pa + pb)+]6 pcc) +) ( 2 u 2 take (11 + a + b + c) f= o(a + b + c) ou 0 (u + v) p(x->») u e-u(sa+56+50) e— šv σι σν 1 u u 2 (pa + pb + pc)+. į (pa + pb + pe) +... . 1 f'= 1 u 2 2 f" = + u3 whence we observe that we may write y y=[f"u — (pa + pb + pe) fu]. but pa + pb + pe=b=31 pc в 1 5 reduction of the forms when n equals three. 47 and, disregarding the factor, we obtain the first form: y = f" — 3bf. having then a method of reduction the determination of abc is involved in the determinate of v. determination of x and v. first method. to this end we have from (31) and (26) 1 h₁ = ½-½ (x² + p₂); 2 and also set h₁ = x; ho h₂ whence relations (78) become 1 b — (x³ + 3 p₂ x + p₂) — 3 2 ι = 1 5 and the useful relation b2 120 1 b ¦ (x² + 6p¸x² + 4p¸x + p₁) − ²² (x² + p₂) 2 = h₂ = (x² + 3 p₂x + p3) b or b 10 1/2 x = 0 92 20 h₁ = ι 3 and take from (p. 24) p 3 pa p₁ = 3p² v + $98 +92 p₂ = pv; pv; which values reduce our relations to the form = (a) | x³ — 3p(v)x — p′(v) — 3lx — 0 [80] (b) | x¹ — 6p(v)x² — 4p′ (v)x — 3p³ (v) — 21 + 2lp (v) = = b2 30 h₁ = = (x² — p(v)), or p(v) = x² · 2 92 5 572 3 92 which are reduced forms of the equations of condition that y = f(x) be a solution in addition to which we have the identity p′(v)² = 4p³(v) — j₂p (v) — i3 2 h₁. the product of equations (80) is an equation of the seventh degree in x the roots of which are functions of v and b and hence the values of b that will reduce x to zero are in number not more than seven. but when x equals zero (and v=wa), y is in general a doubly periodic function and the doubly periodic special functions of lamé 48 part v. are in all seven in number for n equals three one being of the first sort and six of the second. it follows then that by elliminating p(v) and p´(v), we should obtain x as a function of where is a function of b the vanishing of which will be the condition for the special functions of lamé. this complicated ellimination, suggesting the practical uselesness of this method for any higher value of n is performed as follows. multiplying the first equation by four and subtracting we obtain 3x4-6p(v) x²-101x2 2lp(v) + 3p³ (v) = +92 whence the relation gives (c) p(v) == x² or 2 h₁ 2 36 hi-36bx² + 121 h, + 512 — again from (b) and the identity p' (v)² = (3bx+3p(v) x − x³)²=9b²x²+9p² (v) x²+x6+18bp(v)x² -6bx¹ 6p(v)x4 3g₂ = 0. =96²x²+9x²(x² 4x² h, +4h₁) + x + 18bx² (x² 2 h₁) -6bx46x4 (x² 2 h₁) = — 4(x6 — 6x¹h, + 12x² h — 8h³) — 9₂ (x² 2 h) — 93 -or multiplying by 9 1 (d) 817²x² 108x² hi+ 1087x¹ — 9. 361 h₁x²+9 · 32 hi +992x²-1892 h₁ +993 0. from (a), (b) and the value for p(v) x¹ —— 6 x² (x² — 2 h₁ ) — 4 x (x³ — 3 p(v) x − 3 b x) — 3 (x² 4x² h₁+4h;) 21x² + 21(x² − 2 h‚) — 377312 3 92 572 3 ― (e) 12lx² 12h, 4b h₁ 572 3 and multiplying (e) by 3 and 8h₁ it becomes (f) 36.81x2h, 368h961h4012 h₁-24g, h₁ = 92 whence from (c) eliminating hi ―――――――― 993. (g) 817²x² 108a2h+ 1081-361h, x²-961 h} = 401² h₁ -69, h₁ 992x² reduction of the forms when n equals three. 49 whence a further combination with (c) gives (h) 721²x² 721h 321 h₂+ 6g₂h₁ + 1073 3 and again (i) whence [81] · where [82] · where φ(0) = • 812 h₁ 392 = a₁ = 3 9 2 — 4 ―― φ(0) sd2 12576 69½ h₁ a₁ h₁ = = 392 4 210 a₁ 74 -210a, 14 ― d 4073 27 107³ — 67g½ + 93 1 4 1073 and b₁ from this value of h₁ we have by substituting in (c) 1 12576 x² 22b¸ 1³ † 93 a} 1² + 18 a, b₁l + b² — 4a³ 361(1a) 2 s=361, 1 1 ( 1 — k² + k´¹); b₁ = (1 22 = 3 — 6 (12 — 11 92) 4 6 (12 4(a)(11739a, l b₁)² 361 (12 a₁)2 ι 993 +8lg₂ = 0. 8 al a₁) 1 by 226,1 +93 a 12+18ab₁l + b² 4a³ (1² — a₁), l = b₁ 27 493. 1 23 +9g3-21g2 − = b 5 27 4 93 (1+k²) (2 — k²) (1—2k²).*) = = = þ(1) o is then the condition for the existence of the special functions of lamé the seventh value of b, as we have already seen (p. 43), being b = 0. (1) must then be q(7) times a constant and as we have seen that is separable into three factors of the second degree it follows that (1) is a reducable equation of the sixth degree.**) moreover if we make the transformation 3b = 0 *) the expressions used here are essentially the same as those of m. hermite in his celebrated memoir. the following reduction of the function () is also indicated by hermite. **) it is interesting to note that it is not given under the head of reducable forms of the sixth degree by either clebsch or gordan. 4 50 part v. the coefficients of variant of the fourth degree = α1 [83] · þ(§₁) • [84] · bi 1 and we have the form: [85] · [86] · = and c³ define 4 (1) 210c§¹ +1-4c³ 0. = if then this equation be written in its expanded form in terms of the modulus k it will not be difficult to see by inspection (for rigorous proof see p. 56) that if we write φ d (b3 §) b2 • d3 = = = all reduce to functions of the absolute in= 1 2 these factors of ø¸ ð½ ð³ corresponding to the special functions of the second sort are, as given by m. hermite: φι 572 2 (k² 2)1 374 φ — 572 — 2(1 — 2k²)l — 3 = 3 α b2 12586 p = 512 — 2(1 = = when o we have x o whence, as before stated, ø 0 is a necessary condition for the existence of a doubly periodic function. but in order to be a sufficient condition it must involve a definite value of v, that is v must be a half-period. that this is the case, although the reverse as we shall find later does not hold, is seen by a determination of v as follows: we have (p. 47) p(v): x² = 1 92 108 2 93 = whence we write p(v): returning to (80, a) we have k2 sn² w (1) 127 (12a) (1073516+6α₁l (1k2k4)3 (1) (2 k³)* (1 — 2k³)* · ――― 2 h₁ þ(1) — 127 (12 — a₁) (10788a₁l-b₁) 367 (12a) 2 xx -+ k²)l — 3(1 − k²)². 8 a₁l — b₁) 10b,1-3a² + 6a₁b₁l + b² — 4a³. 22393c²² + 18c§ 1+k² 3 187(1 a₁) 2° ― p' (v) = x(x² — 3pv — 31) 367 (12 4(1) ¸p(7) — 3 4 (7) — 10872 (72 — a₁)² þ(1) xc 367(1a) a₁)2 reduction of the forms when n equals three. 51 [87] · [88]. where we define where or y . x = // [þ(1) — 34(1) 10812 (12 — a₁)2] = 16 — 6a, 1² + 4b₁13 — 3 alb² + 4a³ =a.b.c.*) • refering then to note (p. 24) we have: k¹su²v · cn²v · dn² v = p' (v) = = a = 12 — (1 + k²) — 3k² 72 l ་ = 2 b — l² — (1 — 2k²)1 + 3 (k² 12 c = 12 — 2) — 3 (1 — (k² that is p(v) vanishes where x vanishes a semi-period, and in consequence, when e-us (w₂) ―――― ――――――― ―――――― = hence 1 y = [2p(u) + ca − ¦ (1 + k²) — ea f₁ o (u + w₂) ou o (wx) the value of the function of lamé corresponding to any value of b giving rise to the condition = 0 is then deduced as follows. from p o we derive: b = 5l = 1 + k² + 21/19(1 — k²)² + k² and the special equation of lamé becomes y' = [12p (u) + 1 + k² + 2 √19(1 — k²)² + k²] y = · [2 pu + e − / (1 + k²) − — 5 and from the general form of the integral [77] 1 y = f'{' — } { 1 + k² + 2 √/19 (1 − k²)² + 1;² } f₁• but differentiating f₁ we have f₁ = [2p(u)+p(w₂)] fi [2p(u) + ea] f1. ― · — k²) k²). . x(1) · x 187 (la) = = 2 [p(u) + 1 la − ¦ ¦ b]vpu — ea 10 ° which gives v w₂ = 0, f reduces to α (u) 6(u) • 2 (u) ¦ √/ 19 ( 1 − k²)² + k²] a) 5 v pu la where (p. 44). *) compair [161] p. 73. has the value determined by the elimentary consideration α=1, 2, 3 (w)=n₂ 3 √19(1 − k²)² + k²]vpu — ca 4* 52 part v. if x case x = 0. ( we have a second case in which the p'(v) vanishes, v taking the value of a semi-period, but as this may occur without reducing x to zero the eliment will not be doubly periodic since it will contain an exponential factor eit u. if then x = 0) we will have from (87) six values of b for which the integral will take the form o(u + wn) y=fbf where fa e+ (x − ¢wn) 2 σε σωλ ба и u exu. σα moreover the second integral will be са и f -mu 6u a or 4 3 the form remaining unchanged which is not as we have seen in general the case. case d=0. the only remaining case to be considered is where d = 0, or 72 — ay = 12 – 1+ ka k4 = 0 : — l=+(1 — "* +:$4)% = + v39, — ka + since aga = (1 — k+ k4). also l = 36 whence b=v% 12 62 92 = 9'(6)=0. that is d = () and g'(b) : 0 are conditions for one and the same function of lamé. in this case p(v) and also the p'(v) become infinite which gives v= 0 or the congruent values 2 mw + 2 m'w'. the general form of our integral will not hold for this exceptional case and we are obliged to return to the treatment of the subject from the standpoint of a product. 92 3 2 or relation of y and c to the special functions of lamé. returning first to (part iv, p. 42), the elimentary determination of the special functions of lamé, we there found with reference to b that, first, if n be odd, it is determined by two sorts of equations, one of degree (n --1) giving rise to functions of the > 1 2 reduction of the forms when n equals three. 53 2 3 1 > 1 2 v... first sort, and the other, three in all, of degree (n + 1) giving rise to functions of the second sort; whence combining we have, n being odd, b determined by an equation of degree (n+1)+(n-1) = 2n + 1. if n is even we find but one equation, degree n +1, + for functions of the first sort and three equations, degreen, for those of the second sort making a single equation whose degree as in the first case is 2n + 1. if then these roots are all different we have in all 2n +1 special functions of lamé. returning now to the forms (65) 2c = a(a – b) (a — »). a'la ( we have the half periods or values of the roots a, b that will reduce them to zero. moreover they will not be double roots, for consider t en as a double root of y in which case all the terms of equation (57) will reduce to zero save the second which will be identically zero, which is a condition that the root be tripple. differentiating we find an analogous equation and a similar course of reasoning shows that the root must be quadruple and so on which is absurde. hence the roots that are half-periods are not double. on the other hand any other root of y may be double but as a similar course of reasoning shows it could not be tripple. if then c=0 all the roots will be double unless they are semi-periods and we may write [89] · y= — * (pu e) (pu ex)'(pu — ez)?" ii (pu pa)? e . whence . . င် [90] : · y=v(pu – e)'(puey)" (pu — ez)"" ii (pu pa) where e, ', 0 or 1. but this form we observe at once is that assumed in every case by the special functions of lamé where we found y always equal to a ( polynomial in p(u) times some one or more of the factors (pu – ea)%. ex% that is c =0 is a condition that the integrals be the special double periodic functions of lamé. by a transformation similar to that on p. 35 we may write equation (64, p. 38) in the form: 54 part v. 4 c* = (4 ** – 9:t – 9:)[(a) – 2 ro] – (12ť – 9.) y y ; ) 2 n . as d dy dy 2 y dt dt dt + 4[ ( + 1)t + b]y? and we have (62, p. 37) (1)"b" y t... [3 · 5 7 1]” from which relations we see that the highest power of b in c is 2n + 1 and that the condition c= 0) gives rise to an equation of o the 2n + 1st degree in b which is as the number of the special functions of lamé. refering to (68, p. 40) we see that c² = 0 has been found an equation of the seventh degree in b as required by the above theory. functions of the first sort. following the notation of m. halphen designate by p the first member of the equation that determines b corresponding to functions of the first sort. refering again to (part iv) we observe that if n is odd each of these functions contains the factor pu. for example we have: n = 3: y= p where : = p where b=0, the degree in b being unity. n=5:y=p" – bp' =p (12 p — b) where b’ — 2792 = 0 yp ' the degree being two, etc. but p' (u)=4(pu e)(pu — ez) (pu – es) whence for n odd -or equal to three, &, é, " are all equal to unity. moreover we have obtained y (67, p. 40) expressed as a polynomial in t and b in the form yn=3 = * $(t) b[g' + 3 (t — b)?] – 0 )] and since p' (en) =ť (e) = 0 we derive [91] · yn=3(en) b [0' + 3 (en — b)]. hence pn=3 =b=15b is a factor of yn=3(en) times a 3 constant. if on the other hand n be even none of the functions of the first sort contain a factor vpu en and pn=2x will not be a factor of y=%(ea). 3 3 e 2 1 en . = n2x reduction of the forms when n equals three. 55 1 2 1 2 > • 08 • 2 2 1592 =3 2 =3 9(b) n functions of the second sort. we have found three equations each of degree (n + 1) or n as n is taken odd or even, that give values of b that, if n be odd, correspond to functions of the second sort, or, if n be even, to functions of the third sort. designate the first members, by q1, q2, and q3. refering again to lamé's special functions we see that if q1 o the function of lamé corresponding contains the factor vpu & if n is odd and the two corresponding factors vpu €, vpu – ez if n is even. in the first case q. is a factor ез of y(21) and in the second case of y (ez) and of y (cz), while in the second case we have also y(e) contains the factor q2 23. returning to n=3 we have (see (73) p. 44) p [q1]n= b2 64 b + 45e,? — 1592 [92] · [q2]n= b2 6 ez b + 45 e, [23]n= b2 6 6 ez b + 45 ez? — 159, or in general writing b 15 b and o 468 — 92b — 93 -[93] · [qı]n=3 = 32.5 [9' + 3(e2 – )?]. also from (91). [94] · y(ez) b [g' + 3(e – )] )] b [15 b2 + 30, 6e4b — 92] ве, в + 3e;" – 9 cb [b? 6e, b + 45e," – 15 92] g cʻq1p where in general [95] · the quantities q are also necessarily the functions 0 times a factor as is shown by taking the substitutions ei (2 — k“), k“), o2 (2k” – 1), ez ез (1 + ka), gº (1 – k2 + k) ka whence: [qi]n=3 b2 (2 – k2)b[q2]n=3 b2 à (1 — 2 ) b ka 3 : 5 (1 – 12) [q3]n=3 b2 à (1 + k?) b 2 в гв? 15 l 15 15 с 1 с 3 . 5 2n 1 1 31 32 32 4 32 2 2 ܘܬ ܐܚܝܢ < 5 · 3 k4 22 5. 3 22 2 =3 2 2 22 56 part v. , n3 5 03 q1 q2q 1 3 s 3 1 108 2 hence making a = constant, equal 1 and b-57 156 we obtain [q1]n=3 50 = 5 [512 — 2 (k— 2)1 – 3] ki [96] [q2]n=3 50, = 5[512 – 2 (1 – 2 k)1 – 3] 2 [q3]n-s 5 [512 -2(1 + k4)1,– 3(1 — kº)?]. – hence also: [97] q = k1122: = 50 (1) = 5° 0, 0,03 ) 5 : 53 [4 (72 — a) + (11 73 – 9al 6.)'] b? 53 [125 g 210 0,84 2258 + 93 c252 + 18 c +1 40,*] c etc. where ai (1 — kº + k4)3 q=-=108 b, 2 93 (1 + ka) (2 k) (1 2 k): kº)2 – k22 we have moreover that the conditions that the integrals be special functions of lamé are that q1, q2, qg and p vanish. but c2=0 was also found to be a condition and we note that the sum of the degrees of q, and p is equal to the degree of cwhich qa equals the number of the functions of lamé. we must have then the relation c' q1 q2 q3 p. but we have shown that the highest power of b in the development of 4c2 is (p. 38) 4b-b2n 402 = 4by? + + [3 · 5 (2n whence 1 c [3 · 5 (2n which for n= 3 gives as before taken c we have then in general [98] c2 c4 pq1q2q3 and when n= .3 [99] · c2 qp=3175 pq. (15) 34.5 if then we take q, =0:b=3e, +134–12c; +592)=h? — 2+1(162 — 2)2 + 15k4 =(-12e y={p + 1 1 (3e, +63(592 – 12cz))} vp – en p en ei ={p+ is (— 2) + "v (k2 — 2)*+ 1544} vp}(k? — 2) ka 152 c2 1)]* a . 1)]4 1 . 3 5 . 1 2 10 1 15 10 3 reduction of the forms when n equals three. 57 1 2 10 ez 1 15 3 1 2 10 1 15 5 3 [100] (2=0:b=3e, +v3(592 — 12e,) = 1 2k+v(1— 2k?? + 15 q2 ) y={p + e, 1 (3e, +13 (59. — 12cz))} vp — €, ={p+1 (1–22) +-v(1—2k+)? +15}vp}(1–21:-) q3ez v3 ; =0:b=363 +13 (59. – 12c) = 1+**+2v(2 k*) — 3k km y={p + 5e3 – (3e3 + v3 (592 — 12e;)} vp e; y ) ={p+ (1+2k“) +5v2 — :2) 2 — 3k} vp -1 (1+%*) + all of which are special functions of lamé of the second species, the general form being 9 vpu – where p(n-3) + a,pin—5)+...+c, and as given (p. 43) the general form for n= 3 including the above is [101] y (+ b) về ) where b=3ea + v3(592 – 12c). la ca ea 10 the discriminant of y. a from (65) p. 38. we have 2c = a' (« — b) (a — »)... = b'(b – a) (b — y). v 7. =v9 (a) (a – b) (a — v)...v9 (6) (8 — «) (b – v). (b a where 9 (a) = 4(pu – e) (pu – ez) (pu – es) y = (pu e)(pu — €)*'(pu – ez)*" ii (pu pa). . eg ” the roots of 9 (a)=0 en, ez, ez. the roots of y=0 c1, c2, c3, quß... whence the resultant of q (a) and y written as the product of the differences of the roots is r=1l (a — ea), where a=a,b,.. to n letters and 1=1, 2 or 3 ii n a [(a — e) (a – e) (a — e)] [(b -e) (b – en) (b – ez)]... πφ (α). ( are are 58 part v. 1 4" a. 2 2 -c : 1 [](« — c) = 119(a) = (– 1)"]] y(en)={**, n even. but again y(e) = [(a --e) (6 -e) (y --)]... e e. y(e) = [(a — ey) (b — ey) (y = e)]... . y(e) = [(a – ez) (b – ) (– ex)]. . e3 whence r-i[(« —e) = [() – (-1)"]]y(c). πφ α) [ty again we have shown (94, p. 55) that for n = 3; and the same method gives in general for n odd: n odd: y(0)=– cº pq; y(en) = -6% pqz; y(e) = -6 pq: e. -c) and likewise n even: ye) = c*q2qz; y(e) = cºq3 qı y(0) = cq.q2 (+ whence we finally derive [102]r-ii 1cm pq, nodd now the discriminant of y equals the product of the squares of the differences of the roots and may be written: a=(a – b)'(a – v)... whence from (65) 22 c22202 22n cºn a? 9(a) (b) ii 9 (a) but we have first found ii 9 (a) 4" r whence can a2 r again c2 =pq (from 99) and we derive from these n being odd c2n (c)" c4n p"q" a? c2(2n—3) pn—3 qn-1 r r c psq q. 2 n 2 -1 or nn-3 n-1 a=(-1)"7*cºn-5 p 3 3 2 :n odd 2 q [103] and in like manner we derive (sign ambiguous) =(1) ? can—3 p 2 "q : n even and we have also a ( since y has at least one double root. 1 1 1. n n-1 a reduction of the forms when n equals three. 59 1 43 as 1 3 153 (see (94)) case n = : 3. [104] r=(a —e) (a—ex)(a — ez)(e)(b-ex)(-es)(y-e)(y-2)(y--es) ( -,q – ) (– (0 920 93) (23. 92 b93) (73 – 927 – 93) 63 13 [9' + 3(e1 — b)] [9' + 3 (0, -. b) ] [9' + 3(ez — b)?] ?e ? ] (3) 3 [105] 4. pºq (15) q 21 22 23 38[' + 3(ez – b)] [' +.3(e—b)?] [9' + 3(en -b) ] 9 which for the special case n = 3 furnishes the interesting relation, q differs only by a constant factor from the discriminant of y. remembering that a has been determined equal to (1) we have from (97) q 53 [4 (72 — a,) + (1113 — 9al — b)”] and the relations: 1 = 3b:a, = * 92 b = *93 : a,= 1 (1262 — 92): az = (4463 — 392b +93) a)} = 4.27 a%: 1113 — 9a, 1 — b) = -27a, 3 · ? [106] : q = 38.53 [4 a3 + 27 a}] [107] a = [4 a3 + 27 a3] which latter value we would have derived directly from the form y = $$ + a,s + az. s + writing a, = ' and ag = 1 g — bo'we a 9 – derive still another form for q namely *1108]: q [9'3 + 2792 – 8.27b90' + 16.27620'2]. 3 4 ܝ 27 1 4(1 . 1 4 4 (15) 3 16 again we find φ (0) x2 367(72 — a) 2 4233 36 · 38b9' [109] · (va 2 39' . 2 2 { v 44% + 274 " 39 b from which value we again see that the vanishing of g' is equivalent to the vanishing of d. (compair p. 49 and 52.) 60 part v. v pi(u) ao 6 (u 2 determination of x and v. second method. we have the general theorem: every rational function of pu and p'u can be written in the form: a. (u v.) (u -vy)... (u – ») o 6 'm vi') o (u ve') o(u ) where the number of o functions in the numerator equals the number in the denominator, making the number of zeros equal to the number of infinites. the reverse theorem is also known and we may write: ) o bc [110](-1)”k, (t – a) 0 (u — 6) (u — c)o(u + v) 0 oa ob oc (ou) (pu) — ac p'up (pu) 20 where q and i are intire polynomials in pu and p'u, k, a constant to be determined and the relation exists a +b+c=v. also, from the general theory, the degree of the right hand member is four, p (u) being considered as of the second degree and p' (u) of the third. the degree of $ and sare thus determined as follows: φ y (n + 1) an 3) 1 1 n odd: 2 1 n even n n 1 2 2 n 1 . a 3 0. the n roots of the first member in the general case being a, b, c... we have: [111] 0(a) — 20 a' f () = 0 φ (α) a where a'rp' (a), a =p(a): from (p. 38) dy 20 (a — b) (a y)... dt. whence a'=(ai), dy and [111] becomes dy [112] [ = 0. dt jt = α, β, γ, but a, b, y,... are also roots of y, whence the relation dy [113] =ey y where e is also in general an intire polynomial in t whence φ dυ y [114] y dt y 1 dt 20 t = q v]_ dt -e+ reduction of the forms when n equals three. 61 we have also dy dt. y = 0 tb etc. for the other roots of y. the degrees of [114] are y y φ 1 1 n = 2 2 2 n odd: (n − 3) (3) (n + 3)' 1 ) (n + 3) — 1 n even: § (n) 1 -=-(; n+1), n , (; n + 1) — 1. 1 we have 1 n : 2 2 c y = t" + a, ta-1 + a, tu-+...+ an-1t+ an y y' = ntn-1 + (n -1) a, tn -2 + (n − 2) a, tu-s + 0 2) a, tn^3 +...+ an-1 . and y' nth-1 + a, (n 1) t»—2 +.. b. bi b + + en + + y to ta, tht. -1 1 t + a, th—2 or -1 1 -2 2 -3 n' ay (n ai b2 nta-1 + a, (n − 1) {r^2 + az (n --2) {n—3 + (– +=b, (in-1 + antr-+ ...) + b (tn–2 + axtn—+ ...) and equating the corresponding coefficients we obtain: bo 1) na + bi or [115] · 2a2 + ai bz 3az + az az ai etc. proceeding in like manner we write: q = b, t + b, t"-1+... " . + bn-1t+ b, where v = [] (n + 1), į n] = whence be or + + + .. + ...)(b.t" + b,8-1 + + bt + b) bo (b,t=1+3,8-2+...+by-1+ ) +b, (bot”-3+ bt-3+ + b-2+ by-17-1+ b,t2) + b2 (botr=3 + b, tr–4 + ... + 2 > 2 b 1 be t3 t ta bn 0 1 t -2 1 v -3 62 part. v. 0 v-3 0 v v-2 -3 -1 -1 and 6, b,+1+b,b,-1+b, b,-2t+b, b,—32 + ... +b, b, tv-2 +1, b, tr-1 +6, beta + b, b,-1+1+bb,-+ 6, b,-st +... + + br-1b,tv + br-1b,-1t(n-1) + ...+ br-1 b. b,t—1 + b, b,-1t" + b, b,-2t+1+ + bb, t2v-2 + b b.t2v-1 + b, b, t"=2 + 6, b,-14"-1 + b by-24 + .. from whence the relations: b, b, + b, b,-1 + 1, b,-:+...+b, b = 0 [116] b, b, + b, b,-1+ b3 b,-2+. + bx+1b, 0 --2 0 -1 22 v-2 v 0 v+ ber-1b = 0 v 1 br -1b, + b, b,-1+ bx+1b,-2+ we will define: bob b, b, b, by be bg [117] ...bm ... bm+1 om т dr-1 2 • -1 > bmbm+1bm+2 bam we will define b = and we will then have from the above conditions, all the coefficients b, b, ... as intire functions of b,bı ... which are in turn functions of an, a, ... which finally are expressed as functions of b, 92 and 93. that is we have obtained ø, of which the first coefficient shall be dr-, intire in terms of t, b, 9, and 93: 92 case n 3 we have: from (p. 36) b' m 2: 2.1.5. 6a, + 4.3b=0 or ay 2 b2 93 u = 1: a2 3. 52 4 b3 93 m 0: 03 + 3252 3.5 4 and from (115) tn-1: tn-2: a, (n − 1) = b,aj; by : ay -th-3: a, (m 2) 2) = b, a, + by an + ba; b2 b, 2a, ba — tn–4: az (n 3)=+ ba, b, az + 6,4, + b,a, + b3; b3 = 3a,4,3az a 5 b92 n = bo n reduction of the forms when n equals three. 63 s 0 2 2 = 2 62 , 0. 3 3 3 12 6 a, 2 2 2 the conditions (116) become: b, b, + b b. + b, b. = b, b, + b b. + b3 b=0 = whence (bob, — bî) b. — (— b) b. , – 64bz (1,5, -bi) b = (1,62 — 6,63) by. but b. = b,by --= 9:b’ =9:— 181= = b2 92 — -0 whence b,= (-a) (3a, 0,— 3az — a;) – (4a; — 4a;az + af) a a2 + 3a; qg — 4a 19 g = 32.564+* 9962 +93bg b=(-a) (a} – 2a) — 3 (3a, 0, – 3az a;) — ) 2a; – 7a+ 9az 3?g 2 b4 32.53 92b2 + 1 + 393 b 3.4.52 4 · 5 4 3 9 1 4 4 4 7b3 3. 53 + 9, b 4 4 9 15 4 926 9 15 4 4 3 9 1 2 bg 32763+ * 995 93 -943 + 12b a,=;9 — 6bq'. az we derive then finally φ q=bť+ b,t + b, 6 (36? – à 92) (s. +268 + b2) +(6363+ * 996 – 193) (s +b) + 32.5264 + *99b2+ i b93-3 gå. ꮽ+ coef. s is – 6 (362 – 1 92) 9(1169 + $ 936 93) – 943 so – 4 (362 – 192) = – 4 a hence [118] φ 362 6(31 – 1 92) s? +9(--116+ * 936–193) s-4(362–192) å 92b — 6a,s?+ 9 a,s -— 4 a 9a3s 44 having obtained ø, the calculation of y and e is simplified by the following considerations: 642 4 3 s is 4 1 2 442 3 2 4 4 64 part v. [119] ― 1 let n be taken odd and take for b a root of the equation q₁ = 0. in this case (see p. 54) we have y as a product of t by a polynomial u² where u has the degree (n 1). moreover u enters as a double factor and is therefore also a factor of y', whence, from the form 2 = φ ψ ey = 1 we find that u must also be a factor of t. this, however, we know to be impossible since the degree of u is (n − 1) and that of only (n − 3) (p. 60). 1 2 dy dt v of degree n where 2 consequence one has the only conclusion possible then is that contains a zero factor. we know also that b being any value whatever, ¥ considered as a function of b contains the factors q1, q2 and q, and it follows that we may write hence we write: n odd: t where q0, if b be taken as a root of q₁ = 0, q₂ = 0, or 0, and fo (t). = n odd qo by a similar course of reasoning we show that if b be taken as a root of p, n being even, y will be the square of a polynomial 1, and that in n even: 1 is only of degree n yn even φ dy dt dy dt = ρθ q0= po = ܡܘ e1 ey ey ... where all the functions are intire in t. as we have before determined the first coefficient of is the determinant d,. and in like manner we find the first coefficient of t to be v-1 [120] 8,b,b,+by+1by-1+ hence if we divide d, by q, n being odd we will have y, the first coefficient of . +bạ, ba ν reduction of the forms when n equals three. 65 2 1 2 1 2 to find e, n = 3. the degree of 0 is (n + 1), the degree of y is n — 1 and 1 the degree of t is ;(n − 3) less than y'. hence from the relays tion on p(64), the degree of ey must be 1 (n + 1) + (n − 1) = { (3n – 1). 1 but the degree of y is 'n and hence the degree of e is į (n − 1). we have then [121] en=3 = = nt + ni and reduces to a constant, namely: [122] we have: yz s + a,s + ag y; 3 s2 + a2 6 a,s? + 9 a,s – a, and substituting we derive (382+ a,)(-64,s?+ 9 az s-4 a,*)=(n8+ n)(s3+ a,s+ a2)+pq and from these we have 7 n3 p q φ 3 η : 18 ag; mi 27 az er 2 1 2 c 1 ф. a c 20 whence [123] 9 [2 a, s — 3 a3]. returning to our original form we find that when n is three we may write: [124] (— 1)"", "(« — a) o co chocolate)o (16+») = (pu) u (u — b) (u — u v) φ() ga ob () p'u f (pu) 0-2 s'yq=(-6a, sp+9a,s—44,9+, cs'(44,9+274,2). +9 )+ . having this development, the determination of x and v is made possible as follows: – taking the derivative of the log. of the first member, a, and developing according to the powers of u we write in general a = [$(u — a) + $(u -b) + $(u —c)...$(1 + v)-(n + 1)&u. c, [૬ ( au but the developments are known: $(u + v) — gu = $(v) up (v). v ६0 v) $ (u – a) – $(u) ६ ( ça upa 1 u? 0) p'v.. u 2 uz pa... w 2 1 & (u — b) — § (u) ६० upb u? pb... 2 u 5 66 part v. and we may write a ($у — a — 0 — с. :) n+ 1 (pv + a + b +p+..) u u 22 (p'v + p'a + p'b+..)... + + + 2 but =x 2 u 2 су — $a — fb — fc and p'a + p'b + p'ct..=0 (see pages 25 and 45), whence n+1 u ? [125] a + x (a + b +pt. + pv) u p'v t... the degree of q is (n + 1), of s', 3, of , (n — 3), and ' of p', , which gives the degree of the second member as (n + 1), also + whence pero pā + +. 1 1 2 2 3 1 2 1 1 (n+1) 1 1 ри 2 u 2 u nt unti and developing the second member (b) we write, disregarding the constant factor 1 b = + 21 + 92 u” + 93 2 t.. n n 1 nunti u u whence n + 1 nai 1) 92 (n (n [126]d log b 2) 93 unt2 unti u" un-1 1 + 91 u" + 92 n-1 + 93 n 2 u + unti un1 2) 93 u3 +. (n + 1) + nuqi + (n + 1)92 u+ (n 1 +au+ 9. u^ + 93 23 + u n + 1 +4+(2qp-q°)+(3q– 3q, q+g°)(*+... u . again: 1 1 botza 1 (n+1) (n-1) + bit? t. =yt (n-3) (n −5) ? + p = ( (4 të — tg2 + 93) t.. + y1 t2 2 u3 whence 1 1 1 (n+1) b.t2 b=(5,60+p+by tě (n="+...), 2 (46–194–95)"btico__ :( n-1) (n 3 be -5) + lytzen +.... 20 bo b qx1 + qy cu" + + an unti un 1) + cun 2 reduction of the forms when n equals three. 67 and 2 qv 127]d log. b=bo[ – **1 + $8+ (2b, – qx*)u+($%! _ 3qyb,+b;')]uº+.. +1 b qy ? c2 ?y 1 c qy сво cb' 0 x = cb. 2 2 b, 2 2 6 q. + 2 3 ( 21 1 γ x c"b, from developments [126] and [127] we find b qy1 128] 91 ; 92 ; 93 n being odd, b. and from developments [125] and [126] qy 91 q?y ? 129] {a + b +y +..+ pv) = 9,’ – 292 cb, b. 6qyb 2 qy p'v = 2 (34192 – 393 +91%) сво? cb c'b' these fornis are transformed by the aid of the relations c = (vpq (p. 56); (2n — 1)(a + b + y +.. ) =b (p. 29) b (2n – 1)a, =-b (p. 36) whence (a +b+r+...)=-a, pgiving as result: oy vio q n odd. св. p qy 2 b, b pv c pb. b 2 3 y b p'v 130] le pb. }v? b. b. and from these the combined forms arise pv qy? 3b + cpb b. y b b. 1 these formules are perfectly general for n odd and the corresponding forms n even obtained in like manner are q py p c4 qb. 27. b pv py? b q p'v 2 c2 } py8 p p' v 2 b b 2 2n 1 i 3 yi + 3 2 p 371 23 2 p'o by 3 y1 + pv 2x 2 n сво c2b. х v n even. n 2 n 131] 1 c4 qb. 3 0 3 3b, 71 + 3v 2 71 + pv 2 x во y 2n 1 the superiority of these forms over those first derived, showing as they do at a glance the synthetic relations, is unquestionable 5* 68 part v. and the explicit forms for our case n equals three and also for n equals four and to some extent for yet higher values, are obtainable with greater easy than by the first method. even here however the forms increase in complexity so rapidly that n is practically restricted to the lowest values. > 3 2 for case n = 3. we have found all the eliments except 7ı which is derived from development of ®, or more easily as follows. from (106, p. 59) q=(15)* [4 4 + 27 4] and from (p. 65) qy (38? + a) 6 a, s2 + 9 a,s – 4 12) 4 + 9(2a, s 3 ag) (s8 + 4,8 + 43) 3 3 a2s (4 + 27 a) and a comparison gives immediately 1 (132] (15) the other values for the eliments have been found, namely: yn=3 2 3 2 r 3 2 1 с p=0 o'= 1262 15 92 1 p 156 1 4 7 30 3 a,= = a = 19 – bo' 463 3 -92 a 4 2 b = ,= b=9 o' 6bg' 9 27 99 b92 — 93 ba 4 4 93 we have then for n equals three va [133] q (15) 1/(15)9 (4 a3 + 274) ) + p (15)3 39' v -2 c2b. 156 0 3 2 v 44% + 2743 (compair 109, p. 59.) 3 ф 1 3 1 19"+ 2792 ( 2 8(27)b90' + 16(27)629 b myny 60' squaring we have: reduction of the forms when n equals three. 69 for tere t tea miss e [134]. [135]. whence [[136] pv — b [138] whence [137] pv again we have: qy2 cpb x² where pv ― pv = writing ዎ 272 108b❤❤ = = '3 1 3 3 2 4(36² — — 92)³ + 27 (116³ — — bg. + 193)² -4 4. 4 / 4 (1² — a₁)³ + (1163 9a,b,—b)2 361(13-a)2 $(1) 361 (1a)" φ, φ. φ. 1 3 367 (la) pv = = = ― '3279² 108bqo' 36bq 2 1 2 36b (30 — — 92) * 1 9 4[4 43 + 2743], 4(† 9 — 6 b 4 + 99'2b 39 = ω 2b, bo ――― '3 2 4 [1, 9'³ + 27 ( 17, 9² 1 bq q' + b² q' ³)] + 10° q q′b — 72b² q¹² -16 16 2 4 99'2b q1 q2 q3 53627 (12 a₁)² again from the first method 1 + k² 3 ――― = b 2n and ' in terms of 99 and b we have: €172866. 432b¹g₂+ 36b2g2 — gå 36bo 43266-216b¹g₂+27bg-216b³g +27g3+549293b. ·5184b6+1728b¹g₂-108 b² g²+1296b³g — 108bg29 3 21606 +2166*g₂ + 1080b³g — 9b² gå — 54b9, 93 93 + 27 g 36b (144b24b²g + 93)². 12 = ―――― pqr sd2 3b k2sn² v (compair 82, p. 49.) etc.*) 2 ¥=5(3b)6+6a, (3b)¹ — 10b, (3b)³ — 3a² (3b)²+6a,b₁(3b)+b²−4a³ or expanding we again obtain 2 2 2160b6+216b¹g + 1080 g, b³ — 9b²g — 5 4 b j₂ 9 3 — 93 + 27g3 g 2 g 92 36b (144b24b2g½ + g²)² 2 9'32792 108b36b2q' y (3b) 1086 (9ba₁)² *) compair hermite where p= þ₁, q=q₂, r= q3, s=361, d = (1² — a), a = a,. 19 21 70 part v. it is, finally, evident from the general forms that if it be required to determine p'v it will be easier first to find p'v b bu 371 + pv 2 x b. v 2n 1 9 . 6 bo' 36 2bg' – 39 29' 3 . 2 90 = b 3 ф 2 818 whence 3 p p'v= (6 pv) 2x =-{(pv b) + * 2 = -p – } 3 p 2 q x p 162 οφφ΄ 2702 9'3 '2 v8'3 + 27 g? 216 690' + 432o'? 108 9'37 determination of v. third method. the formulae may be obtained by a third method and in yet different forms as follows: starting anew with equation [110] we write a) o(u b) ... (u + v) [139] (-1)"k 0(pu) – ap'u' (pu). σασ . also (u n 2c ov(ou)+1 force cas l_o ) 1 u=0 whence it follows that the left hand member of (139) depends for its value on the terms (-1)"k n (u)* +1 but we have again ve buro 1 u ki whence we may write, taking n odd (u + a)...(u + v) ”k (a) (b) ... 6(v) (ou)"+1 o) 0 n and from p. 66 [(1)^2; del + 6 unti u=0 bo 1 qy +boy+ unti n c that is n being odd k = b.. and a similar investigation gives n being even pγ. k с reduction of the forms when n equals three. 71 since v= a + b + c we may write e-a+u+c+...--")ni 1 and multiplying by this factor we can separate the left hand member into factors of the form o(a + u) o, a (140] ani = . e-a би ба 6 a for u = w1 but for this value p'(w) = 0 and our relation becomes p φ(φω,) φ(e,) = φ. k 9 b 9, ao, b o aob " σν li σν 63 v 03 ••• σν [141] and we obtain in a similar manner k 0, a 6, b og v () φ(pw,) = φ(c.) () φ, σασή and 63 63 0 (pw3) φ(e.) σασο recalling the known relation о, иб, иб, и 2 p'r = 63 u we have upon taking the product of the above equations [142] kp'ap'b ...p'v=(2)"+1 0,0,0 again from the relations (65) 20 á etc. (a b) (a v) (a d) to n terms and we obtain the product ) [143] a'b'y'...= 2"c" – 1,1.2.-*— 1) = (– 1)£u (n − 1)(2)"c" [] '. " () (a b)2 (a y)2 (a d)? ... (b ) 2 (b – d) ... (y -d)? ... (-1){n(n— 1) (2)"c" 3. n n nn n д 1 1 n n . a being the discriminant of y. substituting this value in [142] we derive [144] (1)ğmen–12" cºp'v = (– 1)*+120,0,0,0. again squaring we get of a ob... 0 22 0”(@)=(-1)"kº(pa – e)(pb – en)... (pv —e) σα σου. or (see [89]) [145] · (-1)"k? y(en) (pv – e) kề 04(e) and we have also the two corresponding expressions. 62 v . . 72 part v. . 02 . : 2 we have shown (see p. 58) that when t= e, we have ei y(e) = = -cpq whence it follows from this and relation (145) that 0(e) is divisable by and in general °(en) by qu. φ(,) qi 0) we thus derive the relations [146] 0,= q.f q.f : 0, q.f, : : ф. 23 f3. we have also found n being odd: n-3) k b.:(= vpq:a=(-1)7c2n–3 pz (a– ? . (-1) qzony(g) cpqi these values in [144] give n-1 1 1 ( 1) 3 n n (n-1) n ) b3c2n p2 qp'v (-15> --(-1,6+0+*3*2*3–1 pro-*-"qf,e,f, -3 1 (n) n-1 2 (n in) = -1)(19 1 3) 02 2 c2np2 f 2 3 or 2f, f, fed 1 2 1 3 v p n odd. 1 2 qf ff. f q [147] p'v c* p b.'q q? cºpb, and from [145] b%cº pq1 (pv — 4) (1) = 0 = of whence we have in general 2. f? [148] pv la cb:p the corresponding expressions for n even are 2c0, 0,3 q yp [149] c* q,03 ca 2 0 2 va 1 3 ? ש 10 | y?p 3 p'v=-(-v 3 2 . 2 va 2 again from [130] 21 qys 3 y b q = c2 a lc pbs b. p 2 f f f q c'b'p iqy 3 y b, c'b, pu c” b.p 1 03 c'b.'p p 2 y (qx8 = qy-3b, b, pet q c: b.'p cº p compairing the second and fourth forms we have [150] · f,f,f, (qy? 4 0 3 3 3 v v. 1 3 3 (2 – 3 b,b, p4). 3 reduction of the forms when n equals three. 73 substituting the values n = 3 (p. 68) and refering to the value of x. (p. 51) we find the relation [160]. fn=3 [161] · [163] • abc. it follows then that x, if expressed in terms of the modulus k and b or as a function of b, ez, 92 and gз, will be separable into three factors which from the expressions for are seen to be of the same degree in b, namely, the second. the factors of x which we before obtained by inspection (see p. 51 [87]) are [162]. a = 1² − (1 + k²) l — 3k² b 12 12 and we find the relations: k² sn² ∞ = whence = k² cn² ∞ dn² a с ―――― [f₁ f₂ f3]n=3 2 = ➖➖ fc. 72 · taking now s 361 and d = 1² — a₁ = l² − 1 + k² — k¹ we find the following relations of m. hermite x² f₁ = φ(0) 367 (12 a₁) — p'v=q₁ = k² snu cnu dnu 45 = a; ― where x and a₁ ― (1 — 2k²)1 + 3(k² — k¹) (k² — 2) 7 — 3(1 — k²) = 8 33153 x = f₁ = b; f2 p q r sd2 = ψ 1+k² 3 361 (1² — a₁)² --2 45 8 3653 x\1) x 367(-a) ―――― 127(a) a₁)³ (2 k² — 1) + 4 (l) 367 (1— a₁) 127 (1² — a,) (2 − k²) + 4 (1) 367 (12 α₁)² 2 =a and ∞ = v. 127 (l² — a, )² (1 + k²) — 4 (7) 367 (1² — a₁)² qb2 sd2 abcx sd2 rc2 sd2 pa2 sd2 (see also note p. 69) general discussion. = 3 reviewing the foregoing theory we have found that when n = y=f" — 3bf and that in general y is a function of f where we write o (u + v) f= e(x-5v) u συ the one exception occurring where v equals zero. 74 part v. ve x = cb c?b. b 1 2 b we find further, that where q or vanish in which case x and p'v also vanish, our integrals, six in number (n = 3), become doubly periodic and are in fact the original special functions of lamé of the second and third sort. we have found for x the general value @ p from which form we see that x will be zero when y and q vanish and will be infinite where b or p vanish. but from the form qy? 2 b pv = c'pb. 2n + 1 we observe that pv is also infinite where x becomes infinite through the vanishing of bo. we have further that in case p vanish the integral becomes a function of lamé of the first sort in which p takes the place of f in the general solution the form being 1 [164] (1)"y= 2) u + 92p(x-4u+ (n(n − 3)! (n – 5): 94p(n—6) u t... the values of b conforming with the above cases being roots of the equations p = 0, y = 0, 1, = 0, 03 = 0. = r2 moreover when q vanishes w and p'v will vanish simultaniously which makes v one of the semi-periods wa, and f may be written 1 1 )0( ou ou a [165] fq=0 + again, observing the last forms obtained, we see that v can also be a half period if fr, n being odd, or on, n being even, vanish, but it does not follow that will also reduce to zero. that is the integral will in general have the form 0(u + wa) [166] · fi ele-$(wa))u exu when f2=0, or 02 0, or x = 0, or a = 0, or b. = 0, or c = 0. in this case as in general two distinct integrals exist which are doubly periodic of the second species the second integral being 6 onu σω 6u oqu u f2 σι a form which does not differ from f, a peculiarity which does not appear in the special functions of lamé. reduction of the forms when n equals three. 75 ν -0 we have finally but one more case to consider, namely when 0, a condition arising when b, or y, common to the functions x, pv and p'v, vanish, in which case the integrals become functions named after their discoverer. * 2 6 a,) 6 elu (800 (16) p. 17.) functions of m. mittag-leffler. as m. hermite observes (p. 28) the vanishing of a, b, c and d are necessary conditions that the integrals shall be functions which he first called functions of m. mittag-leffler, but they are not sufficient conditions. the functions are in fact special cases of fi and f2 having the additional property that the logarithms of the so called multiplicators are proportional to the corresponding periods. in this case the integrals assume a special form where the elimentary function is a function of p and p' multiplied by a determinate exponential having the above property. we can show that these are but special cases of the general doubly periodic function of the second species of m. hermite as follows: we have as the general form (u a) o (u q(u an-1) [167] · f(u) o(u b) (u b) (u – 0,-1) o b a function of the second species upon the addition to the arguments of the periods 2w and 2w' the function remains unchanged save in the exponential factor which takes the forms respectively u [170] 200 c*n (b − a) + 2 ou u' = 62''(b a) + 2ow' m when b=b, + b + : + br-1 b bn a a + da +..+ (–1 and n and n' are constants. the factors and u' are general and we may if we choose take them at pleasure and then seek the corresponding function. doing this we have u and u' given and also o to determine b a from the relations [170]. solving we have 2n(b – a) + 2ow log u' = 2n(b -a) + 2ow' '( + and as e2 1 (see p. 17.) log u *) see mittag-leffler, comptes rendus t. xc, 1880, p. 178. 76 part v. [171] whence n log u' n' log μ w' log μ w log μ 2(b — a) (ŋw' — n' w) — (b — a)ñi. = this solution however becomes indeterminate when f(x) becomes doubly periodic, for then 0 and b― a 2mw + 2m'w'. whence this gives we have [172] · we observe that when where where where = [173]. 2º (nw' — n'w) —— o̟xi; · (nw' — n'w = xi) = y in (2mw + 2m'w') w w which means that the logs of the multiplicators are proportional to their corresponding periods. returning to the form = f = w' log μ log u 2inm log u'+2inm' o (u + v) 6 6 σ (u) 2 = а ₁ + a₂+ v = 2mw+2m'w' this case. = and f vanishes showing that this eliment can not be utilized in written as a product however and for u 3 we have o (u + a) o (u + b) o íu + c) 63 u = e=u&a+b+c) • ― = · 0 a+b+c=v = 0 and our eliment may be taken as a rational function of pu and p'u multiplied by a factor of the form e". it is moreover known that any function f(u) of p and p' may be resolved in the form f(u) = l + p w log u l = 1, ¿ (u — v₁) + 1½§ (u — v₂) + 13 § (u — v3) + · · (u p= c + σm p‹¹) (u — v) 4 + 12 + l3 + this property being general, we have, f being doubly periodic, but to multiply by eeu to find a development for the eliment required in [172] namely d(u) = eeu {(u) = 0. reduction of the forms when n equals three. 77 s. من من مد we have then $(u) ф(и) ери &' (u) o'(u)equ equ — 00(11) e-on š" (u) o”(u)equ 200'(11)cou + p'd(u)cou ç(3) (u) 0"(u)e–94—300"(u)e-qu +3p2 ó'(u)c-gu— 08 0 (u)e-eu. и whence n φ(() non — 1) 12 o° p”2)(x)+.. 1 [174] eru çin) (u) = o(n) (u) (( i pon 1)(u) ọ -) + we have then a decomposition in the form [175] · fi (u) = ce** + 2x4 gom ( = c +σσα, q(v) u . vn) m v where vn stands for the several infinites of fi(u) and q() for the derivatives where v must be of an order one degree less than the multiplicity of the infinites. the coefficients a will be determined in general by developing fi(u) according to the powers of (u — vn) while c will be a fixed value depending upon the given conditions. in our case then we may write [176] · f1 (u) celu + fu elu. this function when v is zero, in which case o=0 and d=0, takes the place of f(u) and hence the general solution is y = fi" (u) — 3 bf, u yı — = (celu + çu.epu)" – 3b ($1.epu + ceer) + fi' (u) pcelu + sueou tos () elu fi” (u) pcepu + sueou + 2 08' (u)epu + 9%84(u) eeu whence (suceu)” = 6" uctu + 2 congu + p*ccugu uçu and we have [177] yı (&u elu 3 bucou + c'eru = 4 *[s" u + 2 08'u + (o? — 36) 81 + c). but from the foregoing theory in this case we have the coefficients of $(u) equal to zero, i. e. u or 02 36 0 [178]: e? 3b. 78 part v. reduction of the forms when n equals three. to find c we proceed as follows: 1 eu 92 u 3 u 20 3 t'u 11 u2.. 2 u? 20 &" u u 92 u 10 . us p?u? 0°43 clu 6 3 2 92 10 u 3 ga 20 u² . 1 + ou + t.. hence ou" y = (1 + ou + pu? + + -]{[ %+ -] 6 20 [+ + 0*20* +...]+c+...} and taking c so that the constant term equal zero we have [179] 03 = 2 pb. 2ob the general solution (v = 0) is then: ) yi (su eo u)" – 36(su •efu) + 2 obegu where v3b. 2 c = . 3 finis. table of forms n 3. where and the complete integral is where y y = = y₁cf(u)+c'f' (— u) f(u) = f'' (u) — 3bf (u) e(x-(v)u the ordinary form of the equation of hermite for n ii a=a, b, c o (u forms for n = 3. = a second form of the integral is: o (u + a) ба би f(u) x = ev — = d2y du2 σ (u + v) συσν = [12p(u) + b]y. ― a) o (u ca ob oc (ou)3 e—u$a = ]] º (u — a) ii баб 0 a=a, b, c b) o (u ea — eb — ec ફ્ = v=a+b+c and b 156 which is intirely arbitrary and is originally expressed in the form b = h (e₁ — e3) — n (n + 1) ez = in which case the equation of hermite is d2y dx2 c) we have also the general form: y = ±vy=√(pu — e¸)* (pu e, é, é" [12 k² sn² x + h]. e($a+56+5c) u ―― = ρυζα 3 being: €3)º' (pu — €3)º″ ii (pu —pa) : 0 or 1. 82 table of forms n = 3. the functions developed in the general theory have values as follows: ዎ ø' ዎ ι a1 b₁ = = = x² = = 1262 3b==/ b 4bs-bg2-93 y(e₁) 3 4 where φ (1) 92 27 4 93 or ø (1) = p(u) 6bq' t'p'u[4 t³ — tg₂-g3]2 21=0 s t—b ❤ (t) = 4s³ + 12bs² + (1262 — g2) g +46³ — bg2 = 483+12682 + ¢´s + ❤ 92 = = p ―――― c = bo φ (0) sd2 = — 9 (t) − b [ø' + 3 (t — b)²] 4 = = b₁ -y = s³+ a‚s + a¸= s³ + ¦ 9' s + ¦ ❤ — bø′ ዎ · bo' 4 = 1 15 = · s³ + (3 b² — — 9 ½ ) § — 1 (44b³—3g₂b+93) = 19(t) − b (œ'+3,8²) ―――― 4 c3 15 b = t³ — 3bt² + (6b² — — 92) t — (156³ — g₂b + 1—1 93) • 9 1 s= s = 1 9 (t) — 3 b s² — — ¢´s — — 9 . · 2 3 / 2 ዎ b [ø'+ 3 (e̟₁ — b)²] в гв 6e, b 15 15 l 15 s=361 a₁s b₁ ዎ 4 (1² — a₁)³ + (117³ — 9 α, l — b₁)² 361 (12 — a₁)² +36₁2-92] 2 cb [b² — 6e̟₁b + 45e̟₁² — 15g] c² q₁p = 1257º — 210a, l¹ — 22b, 1ª + 93 a, l² + 18 a, b, l + b₁²— 4a,³ 361 (12-a₁) a₁ = a2 d 3 1 925 108 93 2 a₁ = 19 bø a3 4 t 1 = 3 12576210a, 226,193a, +18a,b,l + b₁³ 4a,3 9' = 121256210c¹22 §³ + 93 c²²+18c§ + 1 — 4c³ 1 a1 b [15b²+ 3e̟²— 6e̟b — 9½] 93 § — b₁ = 31 (1 — k² + k¹)³ k4)3 (1 + k²)² (2 — k²)² (1 — 2 k²)² forms for n = 83 = 3. also: where γρ q2= q₁ q₂ q3 = e₁ = = = q = q1 q2 q3 = (15) 4 = = x= p (v) = 1 32 = = (2 qr cb。 ф =k²sn² w qy2 epb / = = — 1:2) ――― ύ * bo 3 (4a,³= 27 ag²) — — 4 = δ √ 121 p 1 '³+ 27 p² 8 (27) bøy′+ 16 (27) b²ø′ 6 9 b þ (1) 2 b₁ bo δ 1 + k² 3 2 f, f, fs v 1 2 c³ pb3 = = 2 c2 92 p = = 32.5 ['+ 3 (c₂ — b)²] — 5 þa b² — 6e̟₁b + 45e2—15g,=.5 [5 1² — 2 (k² — 2) 1 — 3k¹] = 5 þ₁ b² — 6e, b+45e,2-15g-5[57² — 2 (1 — 2 k²)l — 3] = 5º, b² — 6e3 b+45e32-15g=5[57² — 2 (1 + k²) l − 3 (1 — 7²)²] 2n 1 (15)3 3 q b 2 þ₁ ð½ ð³ 1 4 32 2 3 516a, 110b, 1³ — 3a, 1º + 6a,b,l+ b, ² 4a, ³ v q '3 162 bpp' — 27 ❤² — ❤' 108´³½ 3 [4a₂³+ 27 ag²] 2 3 p'(v): k2 sn²v cn2v dn² v = 1 1 32 (212 = = 361 (12 — a₁)². ข (1) 361 (12 = 3 4 a¸³+ 21 a¸² 2 3 b 1 (5)3 50g. ――――― (1 — k² + k¹) --1) a₁)2 qi f₂2 ん ​c2 b2 p = c = c¹ pq1 q2 q3 у (15)3 qi qy q3 2 + ex --39 c3 g 21606216b¹g + 1080 g, b9b2g54b92 93 923+27 932 36b (144b24b9₂+923)* '32792-108bq q'+36bq' 2 b² 36b 2 7 1 2 710 1/11 32 2 x() x 187 (72 a₁) v9'³ +279² 216bøø′+ 432b²ø (1 + k²) 12 6* 84 table of forms n= = 3. 3 pν q'+ 27q? – 108 99 90' 36 9'26 q. f? 2 2 pv — 22cºb p [0'+ 3(€– 6)?] [12 (6 — ex) (2b – en) — '?]? 36 9'2] pv = b p'o 3 99 2 9 . 2 x () 2 1 ) 3 where ♡ (1) 0(l) — 121(1» – az) (1073 — 8a71 — b) ) l — = 576 + 6a,1 – 106,7 – 3a,+ 6a,6,7 + – 4a, . 212 12 bi x(1) = [0(1) 34(1) — 108 14 (72 — a,)? [φ( () = 18 – 6a74 + 46,78 -3a,41 – 6,2 + 4a' = a·b.c = a à = 12 – (1 + k?) 1 — 37.* = f 72 b = 12 — (1 – 2k) 7 + 3(kº -14) = f, 72 ) c 72 — (k? — 2)2 – 3(1 — k?) (— = fs f f=f, f, f3 = 30 ga x a.b.c. 45 2 1 45 2 45 2 8 8 3653 1 2 3653 case 1. p = 0. integral a special function of lamé of the first sort. y =p'. b = 0. case 2. q ; φ(0) 0; 0(1) = 0; q. q1 0; q2 = 0; 23 0; x = 0; p'v = 0; v = wa. integrals, six in number, of the second sort. ба и (u + w) a=1, 2, 3 f=+ u & (w?) $(w2)=12 10(w) vpu ea би = 2 where 1 1 2 la b 10 b ри — (a) qı= 0 3e, + v3(12e + 592) = kº — 2 + v (12 — 2)? + 15k4 y = {p + ja (34; + v3(592 — 12c)) } vp – en + {p+ 1 (1:4 — 2) + v (1:2 — 2)2 + 1574} vp (k2 -2). 2 2 to ? — k2 1 1 10 -e1 ey 2 1 pt 15 3 forms for n = 85 = 3. (c) (b) q₂ = 0 q2 = b=3e₂ ±√3 (59₂ — 12е) — 1 — 2k² +√(1 − 2k²) + 15 y = {p + 1 e, — 1 — (3e, ±√3 (5g, — 12c;)) } vp — ez 2 10 f₂ or q3 or = { p + 1/3 ( 1 − 15 = = 0 y = {p + case 3. where b=3eg±√3 (5g 12c 1 + k² + 2 √ (2 — k²)2 3k = {p + 0; 1 e 2 1/ x = 0; (1 + 2 k² ) + 2k²)± 62u би y1 ―― φ e 2 k²) ± 1%√(1 − 2k²)² + 15} vp — 1 (1 — 2k²) 10 3 f= e(x-(0%)u). six values of this form corresponding to the roots of a = 0; b= 0; c = 0, namely ψ 1/1 (3e, ± √3 (5g, — 12€;))} vp — es 10 5 b = ½/ (1 + k²) ± √ (1 + k²)² + 6k² 2 = 5 5 b = 1 / (1 − 2k²) + ½ √(1 − 2k²) — 6 (k² — k¹) 2 2 which determine corresponding values for x. = a = 0; b = ex u 5 b = 1 / (k²2 − 2) + ½ √(k² − 2) + 6 (1 — k²) · 2 == case 4. conditions as in case (3) with the additional condition of the functions of m. mittag-leffler. the integral is: — } √(2 − k²)² − 3k } v p − } (1 + k²) · x = 0 o (u — w₂) би 0; (sue)" — 3b (gueou) + 2gbeou vq. c = 0; v == 02; ୧ v36 6 a s² + 9 as a² 9 [2 as3 a] 2 due jan 1 1911 math 4008.93 (a 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secluded and lonely life, in a log hutf in a remote part of the village of dundee, (lower canada,) where he died on the '24th of april last, (1840,) at the age of between 80 and 00. shafford early emigrated to canada, and was induced first to prefer a lonely life in consequence of being deprived of an only child, a beloved dauirhter, who, when but 15 years of hgc, was taken prisoner and car ried off a captive be the indians and who, although she was three months after redeemed by her afflicted father, yet m consequence of the most shameful and beastly treatment she had received from the merciless sava ges, she expired a wretched victim of their barbarity, three weeks after her hberatioh. the particulars of the captivity and dreadful sufferings of this unfortunate young female, may bo fiiund herein detailed, and are sufficient to satisfy the reader, that the north american savases are not in every instance ■o humane and forbearing to their white female captives as they have been represented to be. k,/ nbw-york: c. l. carpenter, publisher. id €md \ t imi^"iilhj..ti1iwibb ^<... ■>"!'<,. jvv"^ entered according to act of congress, in the year i&io, by c. l> c wi in the clerk's office of the district court, for the southern dinifigl^. york, -•^ * ii.;.:j^ •^ fc^ ■yl i'hitiy ■^.^raatt-rg ^r^ f -' ^. **. k^' f^. '.v life of t john conrad shafford, > thb , dutch hermit. '1 ■' ■ '',* . ^ -. i -i* " par in a wild, unknown to public view, prom youih to age, a reverend heimit grew ; the moss hia bed, a hut his humble cell, his food the /mi^s, his drink the cry^^az we^i , remote from man, with god he past his days, prayer nil his business, alt his pleasure praise f it^s^wntfe-^n a hunting excursion near the village of dundee * (lower canada,) ifn. the month of november last, (1839,) that the writer of the narrativ^vjiere oresented, was attracted by the ap. p^rance of smoke proceeding from the chimney of a log hut of very humble construction, situated in a forest far from any other dwelling, and apparently so inaccessable, as to be but seldom visit. '^ ed by any human being ! impelled by a curiosity to ascertain who the inmates could be, and their motives for selecting a spot 80 secluded and dreary for their place of abode, the writer ap proached and knocked at the door of the hut, (constructed of two or three unwrought slabs, which appeared intended as a temporary barricade to the only place of entrance that could be discovered,) and at which soon appeared a human being clad in a garment of fur, and whom, by his wrinkled brow, and long white beard flow ing therefrom, it was to be presumed that in age, he could tibt num ber much less than fourscore and ten years ! — on presenting him self to view (however ludricous he might have supposed his ap pearance must have been to a stranger) he appeared in no way alarmed or disconcerted ; and the writer having first apologized for the intrusion, as well as his motive for thus unceremoniously v, ■ ■ ■4 »•• *^ ■■■*, # mmmtmt ki' ^ yt 9 \':' tr^ > lira or jorn ot shaffobdi i disturbing the old gentleman in his solitary retreat, he appeared not the least displeased witli the visit, but disposed to gratify the curiosity of his new and unexpected visitor, by readily replying to interrogatories, as to his motive in thus prefering a secluded life, (for he had intimated that he there dwelt entirely alone,) to that of mingling with human society, which he assured the writer, was in consequence of the heavy afflictions that he had been doomed to experience in early life, which alone first led him to select this retired and then unfrequented spot, as the place of his permanent residence ; and having erected with his own hands, the humble hut in which he then dwelt, he had remained the only living occupant thereof for upwards of fifty years! — and, on the enquiry how and in what manner he subsisted, and obtained the necessaries of life, at so advanced an age, he replied, that ** at a short distance there* from, he had under cultivation a small patch of land, which pro duced him his vegetables, and that he too possessed a good cow, with some few other domestic animals ; and in addition to which* the fruits of his labour in his most vigorous days had not yet l>e* ; come quite exhausted, and he could not but flatter himself^ajj^p'^j^flsp^?? prudence, they might prove even sufficient to senj^'hini (br ihe re roainder of his life, which, it was but reaso;n^fe to suppo^, was tlien drawing to a close !" — and to he >vriter*s pjrther inquiry that '< alone and defenceless, (as he appeared to be,) if he was not un^r some apprehension that at an unexpected moment he might be visited by robbers, with the view of dispossessing him of his little wealth 1" the old man unhesitatingly replied, •» well, indeed, i might» was i really as defenceless as you represent me, but not so, i have the means oi defence at hand that i was early taught to believe was sufficient to protect me against an r.ftack of a host of the mtest foes ! and if you will tarry but a moment, friend, (continued he) i will show you what it is, and then you may judge for yourself!" — as he had previously hinted that hunting had once been hi$ favourite amusement, the writer here supposed that his boasted means of (fe/*ence, could be no other (probably) than the possessioq of some ancient, highly prized, and doubtless well charged /nczu^ fiece! and great therefore was his surprise to behold the old pa triarch on his return, presenting the hdy bu>le, with the remark that •'that was hlm9^«guard,by which he bad been (aught th»t . 'vt m v r-ar'^ •^f. % ■v trk dutch bvvmit. if he lived faiihfujy however lonely his situation, there would be •iways ti friend near, both willing and able to protect him !'* the writer having from n motive of curiosity expressed a desire to become better acquninted with tiie old gentleman's history, as well as the privilege of being permitted to have an internal view of his humble hut, his request was not only granted, but was very politely invited to walk in for the purpose that he had mentioned, and by whom, as regarded the latter, was found much more wretch ed than what he had anticipated. the only furniture which it cor« tained, was n block of wood, which served the aged inmate for « chair, and his only bed a hollow log, filled with dry grass and leaves, and ol a size so small as to be hardly sufficient to hold his body — and his only cooking utensils, dec. an iron pot, a small broken spider, a pewter poringer and a wooden spoon ! — on the writer's remarking, that, « in the choice of his furniture he must have been governed more by the principles of economy, than that of convenience,'' "indeed i was, (was his reply,) and well i might * _r"^**'®° ^"* * ^°y* ' ^^^ ''l^e too many others of my age, bi'oughit'v*^ sm the folly of prwc and cx«rat7<»^ancc / — when but sixteen years of ag&,.(ny parents emigrated from holland to the united states, and witli tlie small means that they then possessed, they rente^ a few acres of liitid in the western part of the state of new york, in the neighbourhood of a well cultivated farm of my uncle (my father's brother) who had emigrated to america eleven years before by industry and frugality, in four years, the produce of the few acres of land rented by niy father, was sullicicnt to ena ble him to purchase a small farm, clear of incumbsance, situated in the neighborhood of the mohawk river, and about vj^ph time i became of age, and agreed to work for my father for the term of one year, for the consideration of receiving seven dollars per month, the highest wages then paid — i fulfilled my contract faith* fully, as he did his, by paying me at the end of the year the very considerable sum (so then considered by me) of 81 doiliird in silver money ; indeed scarcely had i seen, much less possessed so great a sum before ! a sum which i then foolishly believed sufficie^nt to enable me to live idh a few months at least — a sum which if pru« dently laid out would at that period, (as the western parts of the state was than rapidly settling,) have been sufficient to have pur> % w ■t^ .p. -^ >' mm 8 life or john c. bhaffono, * vhom ■•# chased a very valuable lot of land, which ten years after, would no doubt have yielded me ten times that num — but, as the snying is '* the fnol and his money is soon parted," and so with mo, for with the pretence of travelling to find a cheaper and more desirable sit uation, and at such expense (hut when found, my monoy was mostly gone, and i had become too poor to purchase, but determining to improve by past folly, and being still in my prime, i again returned to my falher, and with whom i once more contracted to work ano. ther year for the same wages ns before, which i did, and i believe much to his satisfaction, and with rqnal punctuality on his part re ceived the fruits of my labour at the years* end, with which i very soon after made a purchase of forty acres of good but uncleared land, in that section called genessee country, then but very thinly settled by white inliabitants. the brst year i cleared a few acres and erected me a log house thereon, and the spring following visit ed my father to inform him of my location dec, but more particu larly for the purpose of obtaining as an helpmate, a smart and in dustriou)? young woman of about my own age, and of dutch.pa rents, who lived in the neighborhood of my father, and -' i had previously become acquainted, and with ji/fiorii artd her old est brother, i two weeks after returned to y^am. i was then pleased 4o consider my permanent home, anjj/riiy wife (as regarded her self) was as pleased on her arrival so to consider it. in less than one year, by the persevering industry of my wife's brother, and myself, we cleared and sowed with wheat between fifteen and sixteen acres of my small farm, and to which, from rear to year (as my land proved productive and the market good for the sale of the produce,) i was enabled to purchase and to add thereto additional lots of land, until i found myself in the year 178i^ in possession of a faim sufficiently large to divide into two and thus to provide for my brother-in-law, who, until that period had industriously wrought for me, and to whom i considered my self much indebted for the success and good fortune that had at tended me. — to the time mentioned 1 had been blessed with but one child, (a daughter,) and had it not been but for an unfortu nate circumstance, we might, as we then did (although remotely situated from any conpideriible settlement,) have long enjoyed un molested the fruits of our honest industry — but, unfortunately, ;-■■-.* .=„, > ^' ■<* ifs the dutch iieumit. would ying is ir with ble sit> mostly ling to turned k ano* believe art re 1 very cleared thinly w acres ig visit )articu* and in itchvpa* ^ik vnom her old pleased cd her y wife's let ween )ni j'ear ood for to a^d le year ito two^ period ed my had at* ith but infortu* binotely yed un. inately» ''*-).. although the long protracted and expensive war, which had beep "aging between america and great britain, had been brought to 9 close, yet the savages who had been engaged to take a part in the contest with the latter, appeared unwilling to bury the hatchet, and continued for some time to molest, and either to butcher out right, or to make captives and carry off such of the defenceless white inhabitants on the frontiers as were so unfortunate as to fall into their hands-<-they even became so bold and blood thirsty, and so eager to obtain the scalps of the unfortunate whites, as to ex tend their excursions in larger or smaller parties to within a few miles of my neighborhood ; yet, from me and my family, when ' visited by them, they had ever met with such a kind and friendly reception, that they had repeatedly given us to understand that we never need be under any fear or apprehension of their troubling us, that as they had been informed that i had taken no part in the late war against them, they would sooner afford me their protection than do me an injury ; and in token whereof, they frequently prof fered me the pipe of peace ! — ^vith these assurances of friendship, we were, like many others, lulled into immaginary security, until the close t^c^^e year 1790, when a party of the canadian indians having crossed itl^ lake, to invade a settlement of indians with whom they had been, ^nd were still at war, the latter, through fear of being overpowered by the former, fled in much confusion to ob tain the assistance of a friendly tribe further south, and to within a few miles of which tribe they were pursued by their invading foes ! but, not being so successful in their pursuit as they antici pated, they teturned, filled with rage and disappointment, and with the avowed determination to revenge themselves on the whites, with whom their indian foes had been on friendly terms during their contest with great britain ; and, agreeably to their threats (as it was afterward ascertained,) on their return surprized, mur dered and scalped several of the defenceless inhabitants, and took some prisoners, previous to their arrival in my neighborhood, which was a little past nine o'clock in the evening ; and i had but just time hastily to secure the doors of my house, without the recollec tion at the moment that my daughter (my only child) had stepped out on some necessary occasion a few minutes previous, and whose almost immediate cries for help, too well assured me that she had 2 ■■' -^ , t.' % '' . % 5 r i w i 10 life of joun c. chafforp) fallen into tho lianda of the merciless wretches ! who after making two or three unsuccessful attempts to force my doors, deported, having, as 1 then supposed, either murdered, or, what was almost as much to he dreaded, carried ofl' my poor child a captive! early tho morning ensuing confirmed my fears, as to tho melan choly tuct of her having been carried otf by them, as her lifeless body, or any appearance of her having been murdered, could not be discovered ; and as soon as i could convey information of my loss to my neighbour, (who lived to the distance of about one mile,) he with myself, and accompanied by my brother-in-law, started on horseback in pursuit, with tho distant hope of being able to overtake the savages previous to their crossing the lake ; but in this we were disappointed, for on reaching the lake the next day we were informed by a friendly indian that he had noticed them crossing over to tho canadt side two or three hours previous to our arrival ; and, in confirmation that they were the same party which we were in pursuit of, he had particularly noticed that among other prisoners, there was a young female, answering the desci iption given of my daughter ! — as we at that time posseshed not the means to cross the lake to pursue them furthfis^ on receivr ing the information of their having actually ^ftisaed, we gave up the pursuit, and i returned home to my disconsolate wife, and who could not be made to believe otherwise than that the life of her poor child had not only been spared, to experience the most cruel tortures that savage barbarity eould invent, or inflict ! and who could only be consoled with tho promise, that, as soon as possible, i would pursue the savage ruffians into canada, and -if so fortu. nate as to find our child alive, i would spare no pains to effect her redemption at any price ; and for this purpose, the week follow, ing i left home, and succeeded in reaching canada, to learn that the indians who composed the expedition were chiefly those of the st. francis tribe, as they were then denominated, and who dwelt at some distance from where i then was, to the north ; and thither with some difficulty, i repaired, where although i met with some who confessed that they were attached to the expedition, yet from them could obtain no other information of the fate of my daughter, than that they had (by the intercession of their chief,) concluded to spare her life, and as he had been instrumental in saving her .^p ^■^ *. i" ^ •** the dutch iierhit. 11 from the smlping knife, ho claimed hor ns his own, on thrir arri. val at their hetllt'tncnt ; nml hh tinno appciircd (hsponed to dihpute rights with hitii, he hud .oiiiprlled her to nccoiiipiiny hirii to hiu setthtinont, (ho hring of iinothcr tril)o, htilt further north,) und where, if htill uvin^, they had nu doubt that ht) too highly valued his '• young squaw" to ho very willing to piirt with lier ! ' > . by this information (the truth of vvliich i hnd no great reason to douhl,) i began to despair of being soon ablo to find and to ef fect the rehmsc of my poor child, as the tribo with which she was now represented a prisoner, hud ever been eonsidered a wunrlering tribe, and without any permanent place of residence — as my only alternative now, and what appeared to mo to bo the best and only means to recover her, i, previous to my return, publicly made known to every indian th it i met with, (particularly those of the , st. francis tribe) that to any one of them who would thereafter restore to rnc my daughter, alive, i would present the sum of 2u0 dollars in silver money ; and having received the assurances of many, that, for the value of the reward, they would do all in their )ower to find out to what part of the interior she was conveyed, ' and if a pi)^?^'® t'''"o» ^° assist her in eftecting her escape, if her liberty could not "t'le otherwise obtained, i once more returned to my afflicted wife, anij where in a state of melancholy suspense, we passed nearly three months, without receiving any tidings whatever respecting the fate of our unfortunate daughter ; which, from the well known character of the savages into whose hands she had fallen, we had no reason to believe oould be the best, as after my return, i received information from some of my neigh bours of many other depredations committed by the same party _ of indians, on their return from their unsuccessful expedition. — she most melancholy instance was that of the destruction of the lives of almost every member of the unfortunate family of a mr. john corbly, a preacher of the gospel ; the particulars of which i re ceived from his own lips, and were these— that " having an ap pointment to preach at a short distance from his dwelling house, he left home for that purpose, with his wife and five children, and while they proceeded forward he walked behind them leisurely, without apprehending any danger ; and while thus proceeding he ' was suddenly alarmed by the screeching of his family, to the relief hi-r ■■t x '> # * *..« 'h.'s, ■■>•»■ k; ."■»!»«? tk .m. id * .^ 12 life of john c. 8haff0kd, . * ^■ of whom he immediately hastened, vainly seeking a club or some other weapon to defend himself as he ran — when within a few rods of his family, his unfortunate wife perceiving him approach ing, cried out and begged him to make his escape — at which in. stant, an indian, (who it was supposed with several others had lain in ambush,) ran up and attempted to shoot him^ but his gun missing fire, mr. corbly succeeded in making his escape — the indians im mediately thereupon commenced a murderous attack on his de. fenceless family ! his wife was first shot and scalped by the indian who had attempted to shoot him (mr. c.) and a small infant which she carried in her arms shared no better fate ! — his little son six years of age, they next dispatched, mangling his body in a shocking manner with their tomahawks, as they did his little daugh ter still younger. — during the dreadful slaughter his oldest child (a daughter) attempted to escape by concealing herself in a hollow tree a few rods from the scene of action, and observing the indians retiring (as she supposed) she deliberately crept from the place of her concealment, when one of the indians who still remained on the ground espying her, knocked her down with his tomahawk an^^r scalped her !" this was but one of the many instajpickty of savace barbarity exercised toward the defenceless whiitg inhabitants and it was supposed, by one and the same part^ of indians on their return to canada. '~" f^"' as we coufd obtain no tidings of our daughter (as i observer^) and three months had passed since the fatal night iliat the cruel savages conveyed her away, we began almost to despair of being ever again permitted to meet her on earth — but, while our appre hensions were at the greatest height, that such would be our mis. fortune, we were, in the dead of night,, suddenly awakened by the well known yell of savages, who immediately thereupon com menced knocking at my door with their clubs and tomahawks, and in broken english requesting admittance, as they '< had brought home my captive child !"— but believing this to be too good news to be true, and that it was nothing more or less than a stratagem of the treacherous savages to gain admittance, and perhaps for no other purpose than to take our scalps, i at first paid no other at tention thereto than to put myself in the best possible state of de. fence, and to call out to them, and assure them that « i would •? \% .« ■u .v ki. ■ ^^f^ the dutch hkrmit. 13 i4 shoot the first indian that should enter my house against my will !'^ this, however, so far from intimidating (hem in the least, seemed to have a contrary effect, inasmuch us that they continued to knock at my door with increased violence, and at the same time to repeat their assurances that they meant me no harm, and had come for no other purpose than to restore to me my child, who&e liberation they had, agreeable to my views, providentially effected ! — as this was spoken in a tone peculiar only to those of the savage tribe who are ■pacijieally disposed, i began to think more fhvoura. bly of them, and that what they had represented to me to be the fact, might even so prove — and, to guard myself well against the possibility of deception, i told them that nothing but hearing the voice of my ■ daughter would satisfy me that they were friends, and my daughter was once more at liberty, and then, one of their number. — immediately upon which my poor child, (with a voice as loud as her enfeebled health would admit of) declared to me that " it was all positively true, and begged that i would open the door as soon as possible, that she might enjoy the privilege of behold, ing the faces of her dear parents once more!" — it was my daugh voice'f-jiss, i could not be deceived ! — it was enough ! and required no savage^ssistance now to force back the bolts, or to remove the bars of my tiqors, with which i had taken the precau tion to secure them — no, it^ was done by myself alone, and in an instant, as if by magic — and at the next, my long lost child was in my arms, -.vhen the mingled emotions of joy and grief produced thereby, prevented any other utterance, on the part of either, than the exclamation « my father!" "my child !"— while the savages who accompanied her, stood during the affecting moment, appa rently motionless, and grinning, as it were, a ghastly smile ! — i had indeed, to my inexpressible joy, recovered my beloved daugh ter, but, alas, she appeared but the shadow of what she once was ; and too evident was it by her weak and emaciated appearance, that th« three months that she had been in the power of the merci less savages, that she had suffered eve^y thing but death itself as her tale of woe afterward confirmed ! early the morning ensuing the savages (through whose instrumentality i had been enabled to recover my child,) becoming impatient to return, i paid them their promised reward, in hard money, and they departed, apparently fi ■i>^ 'fr. m m -.a ■'„"*' 1 ' u '\ life of john c. 8hafford, highly pleased with their good fortune in receiving so considerable a sum, for services so easily performed ; they having engaged to pay the young chief but the sum of twenty dollars on their return in exchange for the fair captive, who he represented to them had become his wife by adoption ! as soon as my poor ill-fated child had become in some degree composed, and had gained susicient strength so to do, she narrated to me and her afflicted mother, the heart rending trials and afflictions that she had been made the subject of, from the time that misfortune placed her in the power of the savages 'mtil the moment that she was providentially re stored to liberty, which as far as my recollection serves me, was in substance as follows : — " that on the fatal evening that she was made a prisoner of, the savages seized her at the moment that she was about to enter the back door of the house, dragged her a few rods therefrom, and bound her with a cord to a tree, when were ihree other white captives (males) in a similar condition ; which, when done, they returned to commence an attack on the house, and in which they were but a short time employed, for they not only found thg^-jj well secured, but at the very moment hearing the-%atffi^ of a horn and the report of a musket, they became rpjfkarently much fright ened, (probably svipposing themselves pureed) unbound her and the other captives, in great haste, and s«i'tting out upon a trot, drove her and the other prisoners before them, whom, if they attempted to slacken their pace in any degree, were unmercifully beat and scourged with rods which the savages had each prepared himself for that purpose — their bitter lamentations and entreaties for mercy had no other effect than to induce them to attempt to in crease their pace by a still more severe application of their rods ! — it was in this way that my daughter was compelled to travel through an almost impenetrable forest, until the break of day, when her strength began to fail her, and she to manifest an inability to travel, in the manner mentioned, any further — the savages perceiv ing this, they came to a halt, when a warm dispute arose among them, some (as she was afterward informed) being in favour of dispatching her on the spot, and to be no longer troubled with her, while others (among whom was their young chief) were in favour of sparing her life, which opinion appeared at length to prevail, i '# 4 •4 ^■■■f' imiyi . the dutch hebhit. 16 "$ through the influence of their leader, who at this moment dis mounting from the horse on which he rode, and having with the assistance of another indian placed my daughter on the back thereof, she was thereto secured ; when a part of the savages who appeared to have disagreed in opinion with their chief, and were probably in favour of her being otherwise disposed of, (which in deed would have proved a great mercy to her, if permitted to judge by the dreadful treatment that she afterward experienced) now separated from those by whom she was still held a prisoner, and accompanied by the three other captives, took their departure in another direction. * she thought she probably would have been treated with less in humanity by the savages, had they not by some means or other been plentifully supplied with spirituous liquor, with which they became more or less intoxicated, and frequently beat her for no other reason, as she could conjecture, than that their natural bar barous dispositions lead them so to do ! — as they compelled the beast on which she rode to travel mostly on a trot, and nothing beingjillowed her but a tattered blanket to ride upon, she would not have been <iije fo have kept her position had she not been supported by two of ling savages, who walked one on her right and the other on her left for ttiut purpose — and to keep her erect and to prevent her from pitching forward, another who walked in the rear, ^nd as occasion required held her tightly by the hair of her head, and who appeared quite indifferent as to the pain that it caused her ; while the horse was led by the young chief who walk ed forward for that purpose, and it was in this way that they travelled until they reached tue ldke, where having found a boat at hand suitable for their purpose, they all crossed therein, but which being of only suil^cient size to hold themselves, the chief was obliged to abandon his horse, but in some way or other sup plied his place with another as soon as tney reached the opposite shore, and in the same manner as before crossing the lake, con tinued to travel the two proceeding days, without making any lon ger stop than time sufficient to partake sparingly of their provis ion, which consisted mostly of smoked venison, which each car ried in his pack for that purpose. at the close of the fifth day from that on which my daughter became theip prisoner, they vv^ -'* s i*^\ *«■■ .,^;^ ll# 18 lilff: of john c. shafford, ^ % #■ reached an indian settlement, which proved to be the abiding place of two or three of the savages in whose power she had last been — here another warm dispute arose respecting (as she con jectured) whose captive she should be ; many angry words were exchanged, accompanied with frightful grimaces, and a display of their long knives and tomahawks, when at length, in the greatest heat of the contest, (and probably with ^he intention of putting an end thereto) a lusty and most powerful looking savage rushed upon her, with an uplifted tomahawk, and when to appearance, on the eve of dashing out her brains, received a severe blow from the toma hawk of the young chief, which laid him prostrate and senseless on the ground, and which appeared to have the desired effect to decide the dispute, as she was immediately thereupon dismounted and led off in triumph by one whom she then vainly believed would prove the protector of her person, as well as her life, but in this she found herself too soon unhappily deceived ! the chief (as he was denominated) was accompanied but by one other indian, andwho through fear of being pursued by some of those who were left behind, or for some other reasoo«.th9^;^|> savages travelled with much greater speed 'tha*! on the day pre. ceding, and greatly to her suffering composed her to keep paco with them until sunset, when having sought ah encampment sot the night, in the midst of a thicket, where the young chief having signified to her by signs and in very broken £nglish that he had preserved her life that she might become his adopted " squaw !" attempted to take liberties with her, which was the first insult of the kind that she had received from either him or any one of his party, since the evening of heir unfortunate capture, and who on that occasion met with such a repulse as to deter him from a re petition, at that time, of his wicked and beastly design — in every other respect she was treated with more humanity than by some of those who last left them ; but the treatment that she then re ceived was of a nature to satisfy h'^r what she might expect from this savage ruffian, if it should be her misfortune to remnin long in his power ! nor in these awful apprehensions was she disappoint ed, for on their arrival two days after at his settlement (situated near the boarder of the lake) she was proclaimed by himself and others his '< young captive squato !" in great triumph, and by a « r\. ■m .^^1^0 '¥ .■#• 4^ the dutch ueimit. 17 ■■^' \ iding last but by ►y bo""^ «1 lay pre. >p paco ient fos having he had iquaw !" insult of � of his who on a re in every by some then re set from long in lappoint situated iself and td by a general pow-wow, and after being fancifully painted, and decorated after their indian manner she was forcibly conveyed to his wig. warn, where she was given in charge of two or three squaws (one of whom was very aged) by whom she was given to understand that that was to be the place of her future abode ! it was at that moment (my poor child observed) she would have given worlds, had she possessed them, to have been once more at liberty, and under the protection of her dear parents, from the out rages of a sava^^e monster, who appeared not in the least afiected with a view of the state of wretcliedncss in wiilch ho hod placed her, but to the contrary, with miicii seeming unconcern left her the morning ensuing (in a state of mental distraction) to reengage in his usu.il hunting excursions, and with her most earnest prayer that ho migiit never be permitted to return again ! — she was left in ch:u'ge of his jnolher and sister, by whom during his absence she' was most cruelly treated ; they kept her almost constantly em ployed in pounding parched or baked corn, in a large wooden mortar, which when sufficiently refined, they manufactured into |dj^,l^llinh with a few slices of half putrid venspn, served them for their daily lo9^anu of wliich they allowed hoi" barely sufiicient to sustain natur«i|-*—in1cur days from tiio time of his departure the younochief returned, at whp-e appearance she could not but shud der at the recollection of the treatment that she had and might again expect to receive from him! — on learning from her (by sio^ns) the cruel treatment tiiat eho harl received in hi? absence, the unfeelii)''brute seemed more gratified than displeased there with, and in no way disposed (as it proved) to spare the poor child from stiil greater torments, and that too, apparently to the great satisfacitoa ami amuso-icnl of both his mother nvd sifter ! the morning following, sho tbund that although her time was to be devoted io some other cmpioyment than that in which she had been engaged, yet, to such as proved still more unpleasant and equally laborious, and which was no other than tliat of dissecting and preparing the carcases, (by salting and smoking) such ani mals as the young chief had returned with from his hunting ex cursion ; and in the performance of which, being not much ac quainted, she made but very slow progress, and for which she was 80 severely chastised by both the old squaw and her sop as to bring 3 '%h #' > »^ ^ y' mtt mr^ttf-' 1^ '<», i ♦ 18 iipb of johm 0. bhapfok0i upon her a eeltled fever, with which she was twelve days confined to her bed (if a few dry corn husks could be so called) without being able but with great difficulty to help herself; and shonld (she thought) certainly have died, had she not during her illness been treated with a little more lenity, which was probably from motives of gain, more than that of pity ! but, no sooner was it perceived that she had in a small degree recovered her health and strength, than she was again compelled to become the victim of shameful insult, and to the performance of the daily labour allot ted her, and which in some way or other she was compelled to perform with little intermission until the happy day of her deliver ance arrived, and until which time the young chief was more than half his time absent on a hunting, fishing, or some other excur sion, when she was always left, as in the first instance, in charge of the old squaw and her daughter, and whose greatest desire it seemed to be to see who should outrival each other in acts of cruel ty towards her ! * ' * .* the fortunate day (which was to prove the last of her captivi ty) the hut, or wigwam, to which she had been almost^iffwstar'^iy confined, the three months that she had been h^ in tiittcr captivi. ty, was unexpectedly visited by four straffge iii^ages, bearing a white flag, which with them, as well qs with those morfj.civilizedr is ever viewed as an emblem of peace — their first inqimry was for i» the young chief, with whom they represented to his mother (the old squaw) that their business was not only of a pacific nature, but of very great importance — the chief soon after entered, be tween whom and the four visiting savages a conversation ensued, and although my child too imperfectly understood their language to be able to determine the tenor thereof, yet as the four indians in the course of the conversation frequently pointed to her, she vas not without her suspicions that it was something relating to herself, and which was afterward confirmed, (as three of said sav ages were about retiring) by the chief's directing her by signs to follow them, in the mean time repeating the words " go away !" « go away !" ** white face !" and one of the three at the same moment taking her by the arm led her from the hut, while two of the others (the fourth remaining) closely followed behind — to what paace they weita about to conduct her* or for what purpoge, she 4 v the dutch hexailt. 10 knew not, nor did she much care, for if to dispatch her at once, with their clubs or tomahawks for the sake of her scalp, it was her opinion that such a death would in all probability be instanta* neous, which would be far more desireable than the cruel linger ing death which she must have experieuced had it been her lot to have remained longer in captivity, subject to the savage will and brutal treatment of one in whose power she had been the three last preceding months. but, as it proved, it was the will of pro. vidence that a better fate should attend her — that the savages in whose power she was now placed intended her no serious injury, she was perfectly satisfied when they appeared in no way disposed to treat her but with the greatest degree of humanity — while with thetlnhe suflfered nothing for the want of food, and that of a good and wholesome kind, and as her deprivations and sufferings had rendered her too feeble to walk but with a very slow pace, they, without her desiring it, constructed with poles a litter, by the aid of which they took turns to carry her, and she was thus convey* ed nearly the whole distance on her return, which was performed -!f in six i" as the poor oi{^i*tn concluded the melancholy tale of the cruel and unprecedei||<!d surfferings of his unfortunate child, the tears streamed profusedly dowiv4jis furrowed cheeks, and his grief ap< parently at that moment so great as almost to forbid him utterance! it was some time before he became sufficiently composed to con^np'^ tinue his narration, and to the inquiry " if his unfortunate daugh ter long survived the brutal treatment she received from the sava. ges while in their power?" his reply was (still sobing) " no ! no • my dear friend, she did not — the poor child lived but just three weeks after her return ! — her constitution was too much impaired by what she had endured from the hands of a savage monster, to admit of her recovery ! in three weeks from the time of her de liverance from savage outrage, she bid an eternal adieu to this troublesome world, and left me childless at the age of 37 ! — and as if my cup of woe was not yet full, but three months after the death of my daughter, i was bereaved of my wife! whose sick ness i had no doubt was produced, and her death hastened, by the melancholy and untimely death of her unfortunate daughter! thus, friend, waa it the will of providence to deprive me of both „. .,w v'i m^ i^p' ■t' .-& niw'fcit—iiinj ii** ♦• 20 lifb of johif c. shaffobd, r wife and child, and i being left the only remaining member of my once happy family, i thus early felt a disposition and perfect willingness to retire from the world, and the society of my fellow creatures, sure as i was, that from that moment i should find little or no comfort in either — i sought a purchaser for my farm then under a good state of cultivation, and disposed of it for the considerable sum of $1200, paid me in silver and gold, which not then having an immediate use for, i deposited it for safe keeping with a friend — and then shouldering my gun and knapsack (the latter well filled with ammunition) and with no other living com' panion than my faithful dog, i bent my course to this part of the country, then but very thii.ly settled, but the woods i found abounding with wild game of almost every kind — and 'iffere (thought i) is the place to which providence has directed and marked out for me, as i can here, in the rnidst of this lonely forest, dwell in peace and quietness, undisturbed by the* society of my follow beings ; yes, here in solitude i could indulge in melancholy, and opjoy too that quiet repose which the busy world are so much strniirreis to — .ind on t'.ua spot ] nearly fifty years ago^)g^^^ b^ ^ four.jatica cf thu lo;; cabin v/liich has ever sincji-ijijeii my abidioir place. x*^ '*^, at the time of my first sf.ulemo.menj^rr, the land was as you may €upposo in quite r; wild and i-,4«^arcd state, there not being •^^it that period another white inhahitnnt settled noaror to me (as i couul leu-n) tlian at the dislanco of tworty or thirty miles and it is iiviprobalde that at tliat time tli'j land hrt";i!)on':5 'vas claimed as tlie rightful prnporty of any one individiin! ; and i have tiiou"ht as ' have frequently been told by my nearest neighbuiirs, that it ju'-iiy bclonjjfs to me by possession — but in a fow jears the wliites began to make encroachments, and have so continued to do ever since, so that at this time i havo neighbours in almost every direc tion within iialf a mile of nie, and tliis i find quite too near for my comfort, for i can truly say that since the rnelanclioly moment in which i was hernaved of my family, i have never so well enjoy, ed lilc as nh^n i lived at so great a distance from them that it was rare that i beheld the face of a white man oftener tlian once in three or four months — there were at one time about fifty indians situated within a few miles of me, who as they informed me were m i "w. thb dvtra hermit. 21 the descendants of the once numerous and powerful tribe of the cohnawfthgans— i always found them peaceable pnd well disposed to-sixty years ago they represented their tribe as very numerous, and could then number seven or eight hundred warriors, but since then have suffered greatly from the attacks of other tribes at war with them — that in the contest between great britain and ameri. ca, they were with some few other tribes employed by and took part with the former, while they were opposed by the onondagoes, onidas, senecas, and other tribes, who took part with the ameri. cans ; that in several expeditions against these tribes they were unsuccessful, and lost a great number of their best warriors, but whenever successful they never failed to retaliate and to put their prisoners to death in a manner that was attended with the greatest degree of 'cruelty ! as the iorest abounded with a variety of game, and furnished me plentifully with food while my ammunition lasted, i had no occasion to cultivate the land until some time after i had comple ted my habitation, when i cleared up and planted with vegetables thefewjjods which i at present improve for that purpose ; and "wilr'this fanfr-perftctly satisfied, and crave no larger inheritance that this world can i^sqrd — for ten years i depended altogether on the game with which *;yiy neighboring, woods abounded, and the vegetables which my garden produced me, for food, when tiav. ing made a journey to the states to obtain the proceed of my farm on my return i purchased me a cow, which i drove home from the distance of fifty miles, and when she became too aged to afford n.o iiiucli inilk, i butchered her, and supplied her place with ano. tiler, and at the present time possess the third, which still yields mo a pluntiful supply of good milk, and probably will continue so to do as long as i am permitted to live !" " it is how, as i observed, near fifty years since i first selected this spot as the place of my flituro abode, and have here dwealt alone and at peace with the world, for i do not know that 1 have an enemy on cartli, and in all this time my health has bv.o.. re maruably good, having never, as i recollect, experienced a day's sickness, which, perhaps, may be imputed to the temperate manner in vvliich i have lived, having never tasted or craved in the time any other drink than the milk of my cow, or the pure water that / mu^ ts liffi of joii^ o. ihapford, u. a neighboring spring affords me— nor since my residence here has my life been but onco in jeopardy, which was in the instance of a sudden attack frem a bear, which was occasioned by my having unwisely robbed her of one of her young cubs, that 1 was at. tempting to convey iwmo alive, and to recover which i was pur. sued and overtaken by the dam, and after being most severely handled, to save my life, i was obliged at length to yield to her what she indeed had the best claim to. among my other proper ties, i possess that which 1 esteem the njost valuable, and which is no other than that which i exhibited to you a few moments ago, as my best defence nguinst man's greatest enemy, the creature man as well as the evil devices of one who is very justly considered the chief in»«/^ator of the wickedness of man/— it is this precious vol ume, my friend, that has afforded me unspeakable comfort and conholation in my most solitary and gloomy moments— it teaches me that this world of trouble and affliction is not always to be my home or abiding place, but that there is another and far better state of existence, for those who accept of the terms of offered mercy— it teaches me to contemplate and admire the ?,'/sj%pnr^ r^sv^s^i the almghty, and that christianity supplies^ tfery deficiency of human nature ; satisfies every real want, and gratifies every rea. sonable desire — by sad experience i k, ow that we live in a world of sorrow, subjected to many afflictions, and have need of conso* lation under them, and it is the precious contents of this holy book that can alone afford it — and i believe that i can say in truth, that it is the first book, the best book, and the oldest book in the world — it brings the best tidings, and affords the best comfort, to the in quiring and disconsolate 1" the good, and apparently, happy old man here concluded his narrative, which had closely engaged the attention of the writer for nearly an hour, and which he viewed of so much interest, as to induce him to beg of the old gentleman to repeat, in such man* ner as would enable him to take noteiif thereof, which he was ena. bled to do, being fottunately provided with pen, ink and paper — and the interesting narrative as then twice related to him, is, he can assure the public, the same in substance, as is here presented to them — and for the information of his readers, the writer would here add, that the aged father who is the principal subject of it' %. v .'1 i'm, 5bis5 tbi dutcn hkbmit. has (since the visit of the writer) been called to his heavenly home, to receive that rich reward to which we think that most of his readero will believe that his pious and exemplary lipe very justly entitles him — the following obituary notice of his death is copied from a late new york paper : — '* died in the township of dundee, (l. c.) on the 24th march last (1840) john c. smafford, aged 84. he was a native of germany, and was best known by the neme of the dutch hermu — when he first took up his abode where he ended his days, the place was wild and lonely as any misanthrope could wish — foxes, bears and squirreu, dec, were his only companions for many a long year ; he stated while living, that great ufhictions was what first led him to seek his secluded and solitary abode — he lived in a log hut of the rudest architecture, having neither door nor win dow, if we except a hole through which he made his exit and en trance — the furniture of his abode was as rude as could be well conceived, consisting of n few cooking utensilsi, a block of wood for his chair, a hollow log his only bed, his clothes such, probably, asro^jflgon crusoe wore in the days of yore, his employment the cul'ivation of in<my rods of ground, on which he raised corn, po> tatoes, and other vcgef^^es, enough to support himself and domes* tics, consisting of pigs, poultry, and latterly a cow and her pro. geny. for a few years past^e felt much annoyed at the inroads mankind made in the woods, which until then secluded him from the rest of the world, having for such a length of time considered himself lord of all he surveyed ; he felt quite uncomfortable at hav' ing neighbors within view of his hut, when for many a long year the nearest human habitation was many miles oflf. he lived a harmless and inoflfensive life. he retained his faculties to the last and died in the hope of a blessed immortality. he was removed in his last illness to one of his neighbor's houses." i 1 * k-. *^ v gl %' i n i i->m » i ^1 l»»'i miibit** .j&l iu. .1. 34 lipi or ^orn 0. inarvord, die. concluding remarks. i r^*. ■% % although the deceased for many years profered the life of a re. clusc, to that of mingling with human society, and dwelt alone in a solitary cabin, yet even there, how much more contented and happy may he have been than ho who would prefer the gaudy palace, ns well as the society of the gay and opulent ! in his retirement, with no other companion than that precious volume he no doubt not only spent the last years of his life, profitably, but with a hopeful chpor« fulness — his death bed (however small may have been his earthly possessions) may yet have been full of triiiin[)li ! — to him ileatli could not have come in a tnuinent of surprise, and terrify him with the immediate prospcr-t of eternity i ho no dou!)t was perfect ly sensible at that important moinent, that he was only cycliang ing his frail tenement of clay, for a permanent and jjlorin.n nbodo in his father's kingdom! — in tliis worlil of woe, ha|)[)ine.'s ap. pears to bo nought after l)y almost every one, by the cild and the young, by the rich and the poor; and yet, comparatively spcauina. but few <»btnin it — this being tho case, does no^hjt"<pr.-.-itrr>u n.iv urally arise, which is tho proper com ' 'pursue? and may we not answer, " love tho lord ihy god >;ah all your heart, and lead a virtuous life !" v happiness does not consist, (as many have supposed) in tho possession of riches — to enjoy pure happiness it is not by any meons necessary for one to enjoy the '• good things of life" to over abundance — many a poor subject is happier than his king ; and like the pious shajford, many a hermit may live in a retired vale, and his secluded and humble dwelling almost unknown to man, yet happiness may ever reign within. whether rich or poor, or whether we live a secluded life or not, if we wish to be happy, our thoughts must be pure, our desires rational, and our sentiments virtuous — it cannot bs purchased by the puerile toys of this world; to possess it in its purity we must lead a life in accordance with the bible ; if we will do this, our felicity will be great ; yes, then, and not till then, shall we obtain the long searched for treasure ! # v-f -;^* *^ l ji 'j^^ fe. >:^ , / ,^^^'^''«-' ■ *ui^'^^ ^/rf^^t ^ narrative of the captivity and sufferings of mr, ii w' i'-. juiss ellei^ 8iiafford, the only daughter of john c. shaffoud— the dutch hermit, who when but 15 years of age, was taken prisoner and carried off far into the wilderness by ihe savages, and from whom she in three months received such cruel and beastly treatment, as to cause her death in five days after she was redeemed by her father. .^j il ir tit kr ir la k 169 soliloquies op a hermit thbodorb francis powys cornell university library bought with the income of the sage endowment fund given in 1891 by henry williams sage cornell university library br125 .p88 1918 olin 3 1924 029 238 676 the original of tliis book is in tine cornell university library. there are no known copyright restrictions in the united states on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924029238676 soliloquies of a hermit peace. of mind essays and reflections, aug. zgz4-dec. 1917 anon. price 4s. 6d. ne,t gravsoivs popular sssavs^ adventures in contentment by david grayson. cr. 8vo, zs. 6d. net. fourth edition the friendly road cr. 8vo, 2s. 6d. net. third edition uniform with above the lowly estate by cranstoun metcalfe ' price 2s. fid. net. second edition cheapside to arcady by arthur scammell. price 2s. 6d. net andrew melrose ltd., london soliloquies of a hermit by theodore francis powys london: andrew melrose ltd. 3 york street, covent garden, w.c. 2 1918 soliloquies of a hermit "he that acknowledgetb the s6n, bath the father also." am i a fool ? is not a fool the best title for a good priest ? and i am a good priest. though not of the church, i am of the church. though not of the faith, i am of the faith. though not of the fold, i am of the fold ; a priest in the cloud of god, beside the altar of stone. near beside me is a flock of real sheep ; above me a dloud of misty white embraces the noonday light of the altar. i am without a belief ; — a belief is too easy a road to god. a priest has his roots in the deep , soliloquies darkness of human desires ; his place is beside the altar, held to the earth by twisted roots ; the priest gives to man whom he cannot love, and loves god whom he cannot know. the priest points ever to christ, and tells the people to love him ; but to love one another he does not tell them. how can he ? the master alone can com mand the impossible ; christ, who knows only himself, he can say, " love one another." the priest can only say, " love christ." he knows that the people can never love one another, and that if they could love one another, there would be no need for them to love christ. and i, the priest, will tell the story. i know how men move under the shadow of the moods of god, and i know how i move. some try to hide in the gar den, and some try to hide in the beast's belly. i have tried to hide amongst grassy hills ; but the moods of god have 2 of a hermit hunted me out. the proper place for a priest is in a cave, a narrow cave where he lies with his back against a sharp rock. as i could not hide from god, i tried to hide from myself, and . watch the moods as they passed by. to believe in god and not to believe in yourself, is the first duty of a priest. there is no need to fulfil a mood ; you get far more of the truth of a mood if you do not fulfil it, and a mood is often good and kindly to you if you let it enter without your doing anything that it moves you to do. a priest is always a priest, on a throne ; or if upon the gallows, he is still a priest. a priest is a man who knows the workings of the moods of god. the common man, the happy man, the working man, the immortal man, is dominated by one mood, so that he never feels god but in one way, and whatever condition he may be in, this 3 soliloquies one mood holds him up. this kind of man is everywhere ; he is the people ; he talks about " having a drink," " get ting on in the world," " writing books," "buying stocks and shares," " driving pigs to market," " sowing red wheat." he may be in a palace, or at the bottom of a coal mine, or in a clover field, or in a villa at chiswick ; he is the people, and his dominating mood is the getting mood. on the other side of the road is the priest. he is vulnerable, he is mortal ; this life is his only life, he is not im mortal like the other man ; the only immortality that he gets is by believing that he is immortal ; his children are not his children, and his life is not his life, it is god's. he is the soil in which god practises his divine moods ; his hating moods, his loving moods. his cruel moods. the other man is domi nated by one mood all his life ; the manner of his life never changes, he 4 of a hermit moves in one small circle. the priest is never under one mood for long ; he is always breaking, or rather being broken, by god. god takes him up and casts him down, and pitches him from one mood into another, taking care that no mood lasts that the priest can live and feed upon. the priest prays ; he tames the moods by prayer, and he tries to shut up the bad moods, the good moods, all the moods, in the bible ; and then he tries to hide the bible in the church. and he prays all through the bad moods, even when they bite him (and moods can bite), and he waits and prays till a gentle mood comes like a dove from heaven ; then he rejoices and quietly eats his bread like any other man. i am writing about myself. i am the priest that i talk about. when i speak about the priest or anything about the priest, i mean myself i was never put , into the fold, and i never climbed over 5 soliloquies the wall ; i never knew latin ; i have never spoken to a bishop, or helped a dean to put on his gaiters ; i have never tried to convert any young lady in the street. i am, speaking of religion in a book ; — that is not allowed, but what else can i write about ? it is the only subject i know anything about. at the same time there are things that interest me, and things that i love. i love a broken chair that is worn through to the wood ; it is a chair that can tell its own tale ; i have a terror of anything that is sound and whole. i love a broken roller left in a field ; my little boys come with me up a little hill and play by it ; it is left in a field that belongs to a crippled farmer, a weakly tottering old man, crooked and bent ; all his farm tools are broken and tied up with string, and the roller is the most broken, and that is why we love it the best. it is much better, i have found, to love a chair than to love a 6 of a hermit person ; there is often more of god in a chair, and god often rests «by the side of the old roller and watches my little boys play and the old farmer at plough. the moods pass over me and i must act after their ruling. i hate when they hate, i love when they love. the wonderful moods carry me on, and do with me what they will. when an evil day comes, it is the mood from above that is evil ; when the earth and sky and my heart are bathed in sunbeams, god is in a shining mood above. the moods carry me away in the night and they leap upon me in the day, and they hold me down in the evening, or perhaps let me wander a little way under the stars. , i have voted twice at the elections, once for a conservative and once for a liberal ; at each election i voted ac cording to the mood that i was in, as 7 soliloquies everyone ought to. just now i wear a badge of an order of socialism, and when one day i broke my spade in trying to lift up a dead cherry-tree in the garden, i looked at my badge and wondered what it meant by having an arrow, the sun and the world upon it. and then i thought of the people ; i know a little about the people, the people that slave and toil and tear at each other with the claws of the beast, and the beast has sharp claws. i know their ways and how they steal the moods of god ; they will not allow the moods of god to pass freely through them and go. once i said, '' i love poor men." and i believed that they were true, noble, simple, and kind, and of all men, i loved most the men in the fields ; i thought that the gentle life they led in the country gave their minds the colour of deep grey waters. i thought that poor people dwelt so near the mud that 8 of a hermit they were always clean ; i thought that only spoilt children were cruel and ugly, and that all the poetry of the world came from the cottage. it is the priest's duty to dig in the clay through which the moods of god pass ; he must foretell how the clay pieces will behave when the mystic winds that they cannot see blow them. it is well that he preaches of one that will take away the sins of the world ; but if that one would take the good ness of the world, too, he would find the load almost as hard to bear ; for the good man often hides beneath his goodness an ugly little devil that spits out fire. man is a collection of atoms through which pass the moods of god — a ter rible clay picture, tragic, frail, drunken, but always deep rooted in the earth, always with claws holding on to his life while the n^oods pass over him 9 soliloquies and change his face and his life every moment. the people of the earth are clay pieces that the moods of god kindle into life. to the priest every man is a rough s6il that the moods of god pass through, and the priest knows that every man will clutch what he can hold like a babe, and he knows that where the moods of god are, strange things will happen. he knows that the world is a wild mad world, a world that cannot settle into peace, that cannot quietly tend its garden and plant the herbs of i the field. in the moods, in my moods, there are great and terrible happenings. in the most quiet places the moods of god rend and tear the heart. every mood that passes through me is terrible, the most peaceful happy mood carries the heartache beneath it. in looking at my life, as indeed in looking at anyone's life, i see the desire to do something so that the moods may id of a hermit pass and the man still live. and i think that i can also understand the idea of the monk in a cell, or the her mit in a wood, for these allow the moods freely to pass through them, in order that they may catch god in his own thought. in the common longing to do something — i will not say to work, i see the desire to escape from god. when i want to go out and work or even to help my neighbour, my reason is that i want to hide myself from the moods. i have never been idle — no priest ever is ; my sin has been that i have sought to do some thing ; not that i have worked — of course there comes to the hand of every one something of the common burden — but when i have sought work, it has been as a means of escape, of escape from the moods of god.„ there is only, one way of escape and that is in prayer. i will call it the monk's way ; only the monk's way is no use to him from ii soliloquies \ , whom god hides deep down at the bottom of his moods. all human laws are made to trap and snare god's movements ; men are always trying to get at ease with them selves and away from his terrible ways. the priest learns the hard law of men, and he feels the terrible presence of god ; from men he is given poverty and scorn, and from god, death. he forgives men, and he takes god's gift, that is to him god's best gift ; he trains himself to become as clay in the hand of the potter ; to take the mood and the day and the chance as it opens out to him ; to walk the road that is nearest before him and to keep always to the left-hand side of the way ; to accept as they choose to come, the anger, the fretfulness, the joy, the hunger ; for each is a sign, if it be not the reality, of the moods of god. i have learned to know that though i cannot touch 12 of a hermit the power, the power can touch me ; that is as far as i dare probe into the mystery. i am not evil nor good ; i am just my own clay through which the moods of god pass, and this is exactly the case with my brothers, and with everyone else ; no one is good or evil, we are all just our own clay. when i look at myself before a glass i am not pleased ; i fear i cannot look into the glass and say to myself, " what a fine fellow ! " i wish i could. all the same i am willing to put; up with . my self ; i am not yet tired of the sun ; i like still to feel the movement of being, and to know that another spring has come ; i love myself enough to love the world. i have discovered that all movement is a begetting and creating, and that i when i only move my feet i bring to birth new wonders. we cannot over 's soliloquies rate too much mere existence. simply to be set dancing by the sun is some thing. i love to preach, but the only person i ever preach to is myself, be cause i am the only person that i have ever met who knows how to attend to a sermon. i preach to myself, and i am interested to get to the bottom of my sins. i find my sins are deep enough to be interesting. i love to hate, to desire, to envy, to bear malice in my heart. i am glad that i have these feelings ; i do not want to love my neighbour. , i prefer mildly to hate him. when the mood of gentle toler ance comes to me i take it and love even god. i have not fallen into my worst sin. my greatest temptation has always been to work, to go with other men into the great labour market of the world, and be given my place. the priest is lower than the lowest labourer, and if 14 of a hermit he can only find men and no god in the earth, woe be to him, he will certainly find himself betrayed. once i thought i was wise, wiser than the wise men of old. " it was not for me," i said, "to come out from the same door wherein i went." it is well to break your head against all the walls that you can, while you are young, so that when you grow old you can slay yourself quietly in your own garden. i wonder what to most men is the pleasantest thing they do. i know that i am happiest when i am mending my garden railings ; they are very old and very much out of repair ; every labourer that has come past for the last ten years has had something rude to say about them ; and if they see me in the garden they stop and advise me to have iron railings ; and once a young sheep dealer told me i ought to build a wall. but, soliloquies alas, i am no lover of walls that keep out the sunshine, and i have a vast hatred for iron railings, and why should i not continue my happiness by mend ing my wooden ones with string ? but people do not like my way. and if the parish council had the power, it would no doubt compel me either to sell my cottage or to buy iron railings. if no one drank any beer, if all were self-respecting, if all wore badges with a "world and an arrow," if everyone went to chapel, then would they force me to mend my railings with iron nails and barbed wire. if george v. were not king, if the people ruled, if these lovers of iron railings and brick walls had the power, there would be no life for me or any lover of string upon .the earth. i wonder whether if in america a disciple of the god pan is allowed to mend his garden railings with string, or is he badgered to use nails ? one day it will i6 of a hermit happen that everyone will be forced to live exactly as his dullest neighbour wishes him to, and we shall be com pelled to eat meat every day and to earn the money to pay for it. an ir6n hearted world it is indeed, and in some places even the daisies are made of nail heads, so new that they shine quite like real daisies. i pray that i may always be allowed to keep my blood cool by watching the cows and by moving brown earth under the sun. must everyone here on earth be either ordering or obeying, stealing or giving, blessing or cursing .? the kind of people that i find most unpleasant to my taste, are the people that look and smile and walk on. these are they that find fault, — the fault finders, the people that point at your thistles and count your nettles, that wonder why you do not keep fowls, or why you keep a row of five broken b 17 soliloquies buckets by your back door. these are the people who think that to work is to worship^ and who talk about nothing else than what they can do, and what you cannot do. ilack their ardour ; they say they kfeep the world growing, but it is more likely that they keep the world sinning. it is now spring, with a dull mist and rain coming over the hills, and a wind that howls like deceniber in the chim ney, and in the spring what memories come to us who look backward ; to us who prefer not to look forward. the memories of spring, — that every spring revives, and every autumn kills, and every winter^ buries ! i know the /joy of j looking backward, — and the tears,— in order to find again the sun that once shone ; and when found i can take and eat the true joy now that i was not able to take then. i can now pick up the wind flowers that i missed by being too i8 » ' of a hermit eager for them. only the same kind of day must come in order that i may be able to remember the past, and i must have the same kind of feelings that i had on that same day ; the same old crippled man must hobble past ; the same wind must howl in the chimney ; the same white cow must chew the cud by my gate.^ and then ■ i remember. and often it is something ugly that brings me to this happiness. i have never had the least objection to ugly things. if my fire warms me, what do i care if the grate is a square black hole in the wall, with three varnished iron sunflowers in a row above it ? i like things beautiful to keep at a distance, and even art can very well keep shut up in a book. it is a worry to me to have too precious works near by. i can look at good things too much ; it is better to have a certain cheapness of ordinary and common 19 soliloquies things about, that one need never look at. no labour has made the delicate visions that come to me from the past, and require only the same kind of day to awaken ; no hard chisel formed the look of affection that i, saw once in the eyes of a sick man ; no brush can show me the first celandine lying in the dust of the road, thrown down by a tiny child, though a brush may be able to show me one, smiling gaily, almost too gaily, from a bank of canvas. ah, but to him that painted the picture these are memories ; all the money in the world cannot buy them., i have found a use for every one of the moods that pass through nie. there is one of depression that is common to all men, and i compel this mood to carry me down to the earth and even below the earth, so that it may give me peace. when i speak of god, i mean 20 of a hermit the mystic fear that i share in common with all men, who do not give their lives utterly up into the claws of mammon. when i began to write this — shall i say tract ? — i spoke of myself as a priest without a god ; but it is quite impos sible to be a priest at all without the mystic fear showing itself somewhere, showing itself ^perhaps in the way i walk down the road, or put on my overcoat, shall i say ? the fear of god, calm, persistent, triumphant, must show itself to the priest at last. it is impos sible to ignore it ; it is in life, it has to open a way for itself although we may try to bar it out. " i went down into hell and behold he was there." it is futile to try to go gaily along for ever and. chat and smoke cigarettes, and talk about the pleasure of the spring, or about a young lady who lives on the other side of the valley and is no better 21 soliloquies than she should be. the fear of god is sure to break in upon you ; the very winds bring it ; it comes out of the stones ; i dig it up in the garden ; i hear it in the sound of a train far off; there is fear in the sound of a train. i see it moving in the flight of a bird ; i cannot escape it. no one can save himself from the fear by work ; you must stop somewhere, and the fear can wait for you outside the door,— he has plenty of time. i have always lived near great empty spaces, great empty fields and huge solitary downs ; often i walk miles without meeting anyone, and the moods that come to me are often as empty and void as the hills around ; and the very emptiness is dreadful. no wonder that honest labourers crowd to the taverns ; no wonder the priest likes to have his church full of human flesh and blood rather than to be alone with the fear of god. 22 of a hermit i love light. i love to light the lamp on a winter's evening when the sun sets red in a mist behind our low hills, for in the summer the sun climbs up our highest hill. i like to light a fire, and to smell the smoke of burning wood and to feel the first warmth that comes when the sticks burn. i love the sun ; and if i were to worship an idol, i would certainly worship a star ; and when i dig in the garden i like to turn my face to the sun. for the moon i have no love, except for the child with torn long hair that runs over his face when he is full, and was discovered by one of my brothers ; no doubt she is always | fleeing from the horrible old man with the sticks. there lived just such an old man in our village. i take my life as i find it, and live it to myself as everyone does. as i am a priest, i never give anything away ; it is a natural law of my nature not to give, but always to receive. i once 23 soliloquies asked a tramp why he did not beg me for anything, and i inquired of hi whether i looked a mean fellow, or i looked as if i had not anything give away. he said he did not knc why he had not asked, but that soil how he knew that i was not the ki of gentleman to beg from ; he also add as he went on, " the woman behind i will ask you," and so she did, b^ut g nothing. looking backward, looking forwai looking around me in search of e greatest pleasure next to mending e railings, i can say without lying th i find it in reading a good book. i not know any good thing that is good as this. but i must have a bo( to my mind. i do not object to ai kind of story, — to travel, to pig-stickii even ; but it must be something with soul. if it be a story, let it have a toui of human blood about it ; what i wa 24 of a hermit is a real mind's battleground, with sweat and agony. i like an author who has seen— who |has lived, what he is writing about ; i hate a book that tells only half the m^n does and in vents the other half : i like the whole man in his work, — his body, his hands and his eyes, and even his ijelly. and i like best to read of actual .moving, working life ; of ships as conrad writes of them, or anything else that has a real touch of moving, itching, speaking life about it. let me have the whole •body of the man as well as his brain in his book. a book that i love, and of all books the most intensely human, is wesley's journal. he is a worshipful priest of his hands, as malory would have said ; he speaks with the fervour of god and rides with the fervour of the devil. there are no cobwebs about his> ser mons even ; he let the winds of heaven into his life, the sly old heathen ! he 25 soliloquies was called, i suppose, as many bad names as any person upon earth or in heaven. but how human he was ; how his human hatred and malice show up the man as a man, and not a pitiful humbug as most of us are ; and he could bring down his fist when he wished to. he was a bad husband, 1 know it ; but let any young lady with a white fur muff and neat ankles, who wants to marry a john — more john than wesley — find out a little what manner of man he is, before she trips up to the altar beside him ; and if she is wise, she will turn back and find "some sober bank-manager instead, whose name 'may very well be something else than john. john bunyan would have called wesley a cock of the right kind, but a wild cock, a cock that stra:yed, a cock that would ride without a wink sixty miles before breakfast, "with a driving rain in our faces," rather than listen to the gentle upbraidings of a 2.6 of a hermit sober partner at home. and this other john who is the true saint — whereas wesley is the sinner— this other john had ever that strange quaint love of all weak things ; he might well have been a russian peasant ; a marvellously loving man he must have been and very tender too to all ^bout him ; it would have been a hellish thing to have cast stones at this man's belief. the thing was life and death to him ; he could not defend it like john wesley, who knew the little hidden ways of his lord. everyone treated bunyan with kind ness, with tolerance; there must be some good in man. it is true that they put informers like black rooks into the trees, but they did not run mad bulls at his meetings, or drag his preachers through ponds. i suspect one had to be a brave man to take john wesley into a corner and tell him quietly in his ear that one did not believe in a god. some of the young 27 soliloquies gentlemen who broke in drunk to his meetings wei^e sometimes pretty roughly handled. wesley's humour is always bubbling over, try as he might to keep it down. and how he loved to make the people fall and rave at his meetings ; and he went about afterwards counting them as though they were so many dead sheep. i would have walked miles to have heard him, arid, by heaven, i would have tumbled over, too, if i could have done it. it is no small thing to be taken out of this careworn, weary, everyday life, and behold instead a vision of yourself as a damned sinner with the fire of hell at your feet, and to roar out, feeling that the very devils had hold of you. and after all this, as they almost always did, to receive the pardon ; to hear the voice from above ; and to sleep in peace with the grace of god upon your pillows. it was no small thing that wesley could fill 28 of a hermit thousands of death-beds with immortal longings and a certainty of salvation ; if they were all lies and cheating, they were certainly romantic lies and joyful madness ; and if death can be cheated of its sting, why, then, let us cheat it, if we can ! wesley could give hope at the last, even if it were a mad hope ; and who of us has not said many times, " what must i do to be saved ? " it is one of the most curious feelings that i know, this one of being on the ^ide of god, on the safe side. sometimes in my life i have been able to go a little towards this feeling, and to know what it is like ; to go just near enough to the door to want to get in, and to be made quite ill-tempered when my old doubts drove me away. another book that sometimes pleases me, and i like the sober colour of its binding, is the bible ; and what a book of blood and tears ! think of all the human eyes that have read all this very 29 soliloquies strange matter ; think of all the humai hearts that have read terror and hop< and death into these pages. thi human element must make the boot at least of interest to everyone. hov it has eaten into the heart of man, hov it has torn at his vitals and lashed hin with his blood. how it utters th( moods of god with a great and dee| voice, crying, weeping, hating, and end ing up in utter madness. the divine fear flows in great waves through its pages, drowning many that meet ii there, and even a child sees something terrible about this book. it tells ol men walking in dreams in the garder of god, singing and praying and telling eastern tales under the moods of god and how well it keeps ( to the eartl and the things of the earth, the poetrj of the belly of life. we can see the dark men wandering under the sun oj the desert, walking in the cool of the evening, throwing a spear and shooting 30 of a hermit with an arrow. it shows you a man breaking a hole in his own wall, as a sign from god ; — what a mood to be in ! another eating honey out of the bones of a lion ; and at the end man comes to christ, the human child, the child of the moods of god ; and then the agony in the garden, we all read our own life in this book, our beginning and our end. the world is a garden to us all at first,, and thorns and nettles come only too quickly ; but we may find a good poet among the nettles, and perhaps a ruth. or it may be our destiny under some mood or other to marry a harlot, and when, as no doubt the prophet did, we make her an honest woman, she will have plenty of time to preach to us of our own failings. it was not easy for man to bear the heavy weight of the moods without christ, and he is welcomed by all the 31 soliloquies weak ones in the earth, and not withoi cause, for the end must be the agon in the garden that only very old sinnei seem to escape. and how can th play be acted without the last scene it cannot be complete without the em if man had been able to sneak int another life the bible would never hav been needed. the moods of hii above are too great and terrible to carr the soul of man with them, when the pass the dark waters. it is well thi our end should be perfect and utter, an we know it is well. we poor mortal ^ — at least the weak ones amongst u the others don't care, — we poor morta play with the romance of another li: as a babe would with a celluloid to' and when the fire touches it, in moment it is gone. everything that we do and thin under the moods is put into the bible the bible tells us all we can ev( know about ourselves. in our liv 32 of a hermit the prophets sing wild songs ; ruth lies down by boaz ; david steals the cakes ; mary washes christ's feet with her hair ; and samuel hews agag to pieces before the lord. all the cruelty, all the terror, all the poetry of the bible is acted in our lives ; that is why it is the religious book that will live ; it is true, because it is true to lif(^ and true to man. we may well sorrow over the sorrows of our lord, for one day the nails will be driven into our own hands. a little pain that we feel in our bodies may be the beginning of a fatal disease ; a thought that anchors in our minds may be the prelude to a fierce madness. we pass our days ^ as gaily as we can, but the bible is always near, and try how we may to escape, god will win. the book of our tragedy is in our doors, open it and know what we are and how we shall end. and our best books follow the same c 33 soliloquies plan, and try to show the same sai story with a gay laugh. shakespear( plays in the field of our follies with ; light hand, and like the bible he wouh show us pur heart's blood held up b] a gay fool in cap and bells ; only h shakespeare, there is a great deal mori of the love of the devil than of th< fear of god. shakespeare took awaj the clouds of god and put the sunshin< of his own head and pointed beard ir their place. as a matter of fact al books tell the same tale, and advisf men to look into all kinds of holes anc corners for honey to make their lives sweet. if ever i wrote a book i would like to show that the continued touch ol life gives us a joy that we may well try to understand, and in books this touch of life is what pleases me most. there is something in the spirit of these modern days that makes me feel that i am wasting time when i am reading, 34 of a hermit and that "something" must be the iron-eyed, restless, nail-making devil that tries to put petrol into every man's belly, and would turn the world into a scurvy heap of scurrying ants, all running every way inside large white eggs that move themselves, a great many times bigger than the little ants. and even i that live in the wilderness, sitting in my own hut between the hills that are now covered with yellow gorse flowers, — even i, with brown t)read and tea upon the table, and my feet to the fire, — even i, sitting thus in the desert, feel the devil tugging at my coat and shouting in my ear that i ought to be doing something in order to help the nail-makers to iron over the whole world. it is terrible to think th^t the evil smell of modern oil has got to me, and that the vile working devils would even try to pump petrol into my soul. in heaven's name let those that make work into a god with 35 soliloquies brummagem name, take him out of ly way ; i do not like that kind of od. do not think, o reader, that i mean ) revile the kind of work that i see ass my garden. i see an old cart ■undling along filled with turnips, oing about a mile an hour ; i see a ibbit-catcher half hidden in a rabbit ole, quietly wondering where to set is next snare, and turning at last his !ow steps to the inn to exchange a ibbit for beer. no, it is the work liat bites you that i hate — work with foreman biting behind ; not the work f a ploughboy who has plenty of time d think of his dinner and to sing a ang ; but the work that has no song ti it at all, the work tliat is sheer, bare, ile toil. and let us all bless religion, for it an, like a pleasant timely illness, take fien away from their cursed everlasting 36 of a hermit toil. where work is the most, religion is the least thing in the land. and religion, so the task-masters say, might very well do more harm than the drink, if it takes the line of least resist ance. in their heart of hearts the task masters 'fear the priest ; that is why they try so hard and succeed so well in making a false priest ; they do not mind the lord god, but they do not like the son of man. i wonder if we shall ever understand that the world is not made for work but for joy, and i who am trying to understand, why should not i be left in peace to eat and walk amongst the clean rain-swept hills and to try to get under the moods of god ? come and take and eat this morning with me, a bowl of porridge with salt, bread crisped by the fire, tea, the virgin herb of the sun, and brown sugar, the sweetness of our mother's breast. shall we go out and slay a lamb of the 37 soliloquies flock if we have a mind to a feast ? why should we not cut a throat or stick a pig, and cook it over a great fire ? but i prefer parched corn ; i prefer to grow some genial honest sea cabbage in my garden, or to transform some ugly worn bits of copper into shining white eggs. it is well to leave too many dinners alone, and too big feasts ; for if we eat a great many very large dinners, the dinners will most likely end by eating us. all praise be to wine, but should not wine be kept for those selected moments when we meet the ones that we love, the children of our hearts ? i do not like always to see wine on the table ; it is often stale, and the decanter not overfull ; and there are often dregs that the unwary guest has to finish ; and worst of all the host wonders if there will be just enough. throw such dregs to the pigs. when 38 of a hermit i take wine i like bottles, or better still a goodly hooped barrel in the cellar and the wine drawn in fantastic jugs. i like there to be around the table three or four companions, but no more than the number of the bottles, and no women. and there ought to be a ritual, a crowning of the cups ; cups of silver and gold ; a feast of wine is quite worth the trouble of reading the writing upon the wall. sometimes, but alas only too seldom, comes to me out of the heavenly pres ence the mood of loving tolerance, that most gentle of the moods of god. it is then that i regard the world as a garden and the people as good children ; it is the mood in which everyone is forgiven ; it is the mood that makes me say to myself, " it is good for me to be here," and to say to other people, "it is good for you to be near me." it is a mood that would pick out of 39 soliloquies every man's life pearls, and see joy in every hardship. it is a mood that whispers joy to the sick man and tells him of the wonderful stillness of death. this mood is full of summer blessed ness, of cool places amidst great and fair trees ; of rich banks of summer flowers ; of the noontide when the labourer lays him down to rest. under this blessed mood the winds of heaven are still, and the mind of man is filled with peace, that is truly and really the peace of god. alas, this mood stays with me but a short time. i want to manage myself as well as i can, but it is not easy to manage myself when i am tired ; when i am tired i can do nothing else but walk up and down. at those times i am a great trouble, a great worry to myself; i do not obey the rules that i have set up' to guide me ; i do not even obey myself. if i say, " go out for a walk 40 of a hermit in the rain," i do not go. if i order myself to write letters, i do not write them. it is no good. this kind of "being tired" is a mood of despair, and when despair gets hold of you there is no escape till the ugly thing lets go. perhaps it is possible for some to get good even out of this mood, for god hides his gold in queer places ; despair may be a kind of winter in the summer of your day. the sap has sunk like lead into your heels and you feel as though you could howl like a winter's wolf. this hopeless despair, by bring ing you to the earth, raises you again ; it changes your blood, and drives you with vicious kicks forward into a new pasture. it makes a way for you out of your . own misery, and creates a new mind out of your unrest : that — with a new beginning. but i can never escape, i can only wait until the mood lets go, and meanwhile the teeth of the mood bite me to the bone, and the 41 soliloquies black cruelty cuts at the very roots my being ; and when it has hold of i i can do nothing ; i cannot even « the city oj dreadful night. when am like that i know there is noth to be done — nothing. when i like that i feel as if mind and body hemmed in by black darkness, and tl if i move i shall touch the jag^ edges of a rusty knife, held in the cla of an ugly round-headed demon ; a so i wait and hope that this mood god will not last long. when we were all of us quite natu beasts of, the earth, we were able take and enjoy the life near to us ; 1 being grown into men, we have got ii the bad habit of looking forward, a by ^looking forward we quite lose i present. i want to take every momi as a fact in itself of special inten and as a moment that belongs to r every moment that i have to spe 42 of a hermit does belong to me, and the moments may be gold or dross as i choose to make them. why should i let a moment pass me without taking it and finding a fairy food for my thought ? i like to have a plan [to fit the kind of day that i expect to come ; i like to know a little how i want to treat the day, be fore i find out how the day will treat me. so that if i am bitten by one hour, i have got a muzzle ready for the next. and i like to remind myself very often that the day ends in sleep, and that sleep is a passing good thing for a man. to me by no means seldom comes the thought (that is, in truth, only the push of the old animal behind), that the day is wasted — i have done nothing ; and a good thing too if i have done nothing — the most pleasant and the most useful way that anyone can spend a day is to do nothing. may my pride help me, poor foolish 43 soliloquies mortal that i am, with my insane de sire to do things ! has not all this same sad day the breath of life passed into my lungs — is it then nothing to breathe ? and i have eaten and touched the fruits of the earth. how do i know that some god may not have rested beside me during my idleness, and his breath may have mingled with my breath, and his thought with my thought ? how can i tell that even in this sad day of nothing done, a wave of thought, beginning in a tiny ripple,'may not have been conceived in me ? and, besides, what man, what king, what priest can do anything more than live ? it has taken long enough to make a man, and now a man sits in disgrace and hates himself because in one day he has done nothing. what after all are thq very wonderful doings of man worth ? very likely by doing nothing we may be going a little way on the right road, and by doing a great deal we may only 44 of a hermit 36 going round the same old way igain, the same old way that leads to ;ommon ugly rows of houses, munici pal buildings, and petrol-filled machines. i, too, for a long while, have looked round this corner and that corner for god's secret, and at last i have dis covered that i can do very well if i loiter through my life without knowing any secret at all ; and who can say that there is ahy secret to know ? it is quite clear, and quite proven, that men breathe when they are born and not when they die ; and there are other matters quite as clear to me. it is my wish to be an intelligent creature that, has no desire to get more than just the plain grass and sun that are quite easy to get, and to wrap myself up in winter in a woollen blanket. the excitement of going out to pick up a few sticks is all the hunting that i want ; and all the gallantry that i want is sometimes to see in summer a little piece of pink 45 soliloquies or white on the side of a hill a mile or two away. i am easy to please and i never want to do anything that hurts anyone ; — why should i ? i should not like to see the blood of my neighbour if i dug at him with a knife. and why should i want to hurt anyone when i can enjoy reading tristram shandy ? the uttermost i can do is to try my best to hate. but i do not like to hate anyone that is too near ; there ought to be a good wide space between a man and his neighbour. it is my business to find out what i value in the world, and by no means to pay any regard to what other people value. christian — bunyan's pilgrim — all of a sudden, while he was walking in the fields, became aware that he was of value ; and it was then that he became for the first time in his life a really proud man, and a man who could walk his own way whatever church and 46 of a .hermit state and family chose to say to him. i only require to believe in myself, and then everything that i do will be well done. no two people look even at the same daisies in the same way, and my way is the best way for me. i have the moments of my life to spend, i have myself, what more can i want ? in the old days i used to tie myself up in a mystic knot, that i never could undo ; neither could i ever explain what it meant. now i leave all mystery to come and go with the moods. if a mood comes and therein is hidden a vision, i welcome it and believe ; for there is a mood in which god even believes in himself, and in that mood he begets the belief of the world. and i am will ing to believe, too, when it comes to me. i take and eat of the mystic fruit ; only when the fruit is taken away i do not pretend that i have it still. how often has my body been the home of carking care, and vile, dire forebodings, or silly 47 soliloquies ignorance, or turbid folly ! and i have had to live a long time before i was able to open my eyes and see myself. to have the soul and teeth of a lion and the body of a tramp, is the way to tread on this world as it ought to be trodden on. i know that i am an enemy to the people of the world as they are. i do not like the way they look at me. why is it that when i am doing my work, the people of the world look at me as though i were doing something wrong ? " there he is again, digging in his garden." i suppose that i am the kind of per son that whatever i do is a criminal offence. i must not even water my flowers, or walk down the road, or throw a stone at a rat, or read the paper in a corner under a little bush of may. no one ever likes to be understood ; perhaps that is why there is a jeering twinkle in the eyes of those that look 48 of a hermit at me as i cut my grass. perhaps the people think that i understand them. if they do think so, they are certainly to be excused for the way they look at me, but they are wrong. i do not pretend to understand them, for to understand the people would be to understand god, at least to understand what god ought never to be. to give too good heed to god's njioods often gets a man shut up inside prison walls. that is why it is well to understand one's own mind, so that when we find a mood pulls us along a road to destruction, we can hold back a little before it is too late. i have never found that god plays at his moods. if he does jest at all, it is a very monstrous jest, and the sort of jest that does not appeal to me person ally, though i like to read about it in the papers. i very much dislike people who are p 49 soliloquies always the same ; for no man can be always the same unless he is so much of an animal that the moods pass over him like the clouds. i notice in this tract that i am now writing, that sometimes i appear to be an infidel and sometimes a believer, sometimes a christian and sometimes a heathen, and every brave man is just the same as i am ; for no one but a coward hides his head in the sand when the mood that he is afraid to see -goes by. if a man is sincere he will change his opinion with every mood, at least about the things that belong to the spirit. i do not change my ideas in some things, because god is a spirit, and though in the earth we have the son of god to live with, god him self keeps always in the spirit of his moods. i change my mind most in what i believe ; but as a rule i do the same thing. i am always polite 50 of a hermit to the world, and i try not to tell anyone when god's moods break in upon me ; or when a tongue of fire sud denly devours all the thought that i love best ; this is what i expect to happen. but it is a little hard when god's moods shatter my belief in him, though no mood of god can take away the love of christ ; for that kind of love that christ first planted is the only flower that can live under all the moods ; and so it is possible, nay de sirable, for the greatest infidel upon earth to love christ ; for in some curious way the son of man is in earth and in heaven, though this double life is rather obscure. however, his love has been felt by men even under the garment of god, and in the darkest terrors of his moods ; and also i have felt it while i have been quite quietly picking buttercups #with my two little boys in the fields. 51 soliloquies all priests ought to be trained as unbelievers, for unbelief is the only good soil for the believing mood to grow in ; so long as unbelief is not fixed to that foolish "idea that we are all so proud of, the idea, i mean, that we know the truth. how, i should like to know, can i know thg truth when god himself is always contradicting it ? if i say anything is true, then a mood comes and casts the thing called truth to the winds, and my idea of god goes with it. if i say i believe only in matter, i have to be alwa)rs proving it to myself in order to keep out the belief in god. that is why so many people are arguing whether one belief or another is true ; because each knows that if he does not keep it up, his side of the question will slip through his fingers. and a man is most unhappy when he has always to be fighting the mood of belief or unbelief, in order to keep the 52 of a hermit one or the other simply because he happens to think that one or other of the ideas belongs to him ; it doesn't. like all other ideas, it belongs to god. it is just man's conceit. he stands like a cock upon a dunghill and crows out his belief; or else he holds his watch in his hand and says, "let god strike me dead, if he is a god, in ten minutes." and perhaps the next day this very man believes in god, for the liiood of belief is upon him before he takes out his watch again to prove ih6 contrary, and then he has to do all he can to pretend to himself tha,t he does not believe. it is not for me to say how long the different moods are wont to stay ; every one in this matter must judge for him self. and it is no use crying out against the mood that hurts you ; it is better to go and dig in the garden. i can see, and so can any other who s3 soliloquies can think for himself, how good a thing it is that god lives in us in no fixed mood. if he did, it would render the advent of christ an impossibility. and how cruelly christ was treated by the men who had fixed the moods by their law shows that if man could keep god out of his life, he would gladly do it ; just as he would like to keep out death, war, plague, earthquake, love, wisdom, pity, or any other state that hurts his appetite, and prevents him from gather ing together the things of this world, and from leaving them to his children. and it is easy to see how man, with his instinctive cunning, caught at the fixed belief in a distant god as some thing tangible that would get this near god and his upsetting moods quite out of his life. man thought — foolish fellow — that if he always held on to the tail of the bull it would not gore him, but this bull has not got a tail. s4 of a hermit i am ashamed at the way we eat and drink and sleep as if none of these things concern us in the least. we take our dinner just as if it were no great matter, when every sitting down to meat should be a feast to the lord. we cast our bread into the dust to the dogs, when we ought to hand it to them in silver dishes. everything that we eat should be sacred to our palates. i like to make a wonder out of every little act, because every little act is a wonder. the 'simple life — so called — is not the simple life at all ; it is the deeper life. th§ simple life is the life of motor cars, of divorces, of monkey dances, of hunting cats and hares and foxes, of shooting people and playing games like ferrets. all these things are the natural, the simple life of a man. anyone can get pleasure in these ways ; put a man on a horse, and 55 soliloquies a fox or a cat before him running away, and the man will be simple and happy. and the other pleasures are just as simple. the best joy is not got quite so easily. i want to cultivate the kind of mind that can turn stones into bread, a dull hour into heavenly glory, and a dull life into the life of a king. for what we call dullness is really the best soil we can dig in, because the gold that it yields is very precious and very lasting. i like to know that i am getting rich, not by stealing from the poor, but by getting something more out of myself ; i want to get all i can out of myself, and what i want to get is the thing that shall please me. the fact that it is hard to get any thing out of oneself drives people to go and get what they can out of others. i do not blame them. i never blame anybody ; i never even blame myself. the light of my lamp gives light to the 56 of a hermit moods of god that overshadow me as i write ; the air surrounds the moods when it surrounds me ; and the moods rest in me when i sleep. i try to dpepen, to broaden, to open my life in every way ; to stand no more wondering how to be happy, but to see and feel and touch. i like to touch the waves of the sea and the mould in my garden ; i like to touch the heart of man ; i like to touch the grass and moss of the fields. it is only when i meet men that i am ashamed, and it is when i am ashamed that my love bites me, and i feel pain as though i had been bitten by an adder. sometimes when i walk along the street of our little town and men pass me, and i see them talking to each other, i feel ashamed. there is something very ugly about the im mortal part of a man, — his greed, his getting on, his self-sacrifice, his giving to the poor. i suppose there can be s7 soliloquies nothing beautiful in anything that has gone on a long while without changing ; it is only the ugly part of us that can live through so many generations of flesh and blood. i long for man to repent and to be saved from his im iportality, so that i may not feel ashamed when i get into the road to let him pass on the pavement. at last, thank goodness, i have not the slightest value for my own opinion or for anything that i may say, or think, or write. i now take it for granted that i am nearly always as far from the truth as mr. gladstone was, and i do not care if i am. i am not here to do right or wrong, or to teach anyone ; i am here to live. and at last i have found out where the pleasure of living hides ; i know now the moments that i have most enjoyeil, and these moments may come again ; there is not one that may not come again, even in old age. 58 of a hermit youth is silly and selfish ; it is often miserable and foolish ; its good looks are stuffed with foolish feelings that are often as old as the world ; and its mind is narrow, — it is always thinking a thousand things too many about itself, when one thing would do. youth has too many irons in the fire to be able really to live. it is best to have before you only two roads. this or that, this life as it is, or nothingness. i will try to remember a few of the fairy hours that i have enjoyed most. i remember one evening in late autumn, when i walked with two very dear companions into the shining lights of a town, out of the dark country lanes. the first lamp that we passed might have been an immortal star. the first street, the first moving creature, an old woman carrying a bundle of gloves in a black cloth bag, — no sinner entering heaven could have had so much joy. s9 soliloquies the streets grew broader and the lamps brighter and the passers-by more gay, and the whole town was a fairy palace made for our delight, and we had only to walk about and enjoy it. and i remember under a white cliff, where the sand was too hot to touch and the sun's kiss kissed deep into my soul. with a dear friend i partook of a little bread and a tiny hard piece of cheese and a little bottle of lime-juice, and we parted it between us, and broke the bread with a priest's hands, and ate and drank as though we shared only one child's heart between us ; and after wards we each smoked a cigarette that tasted of cool woods. and one other walk, that i liope in my last hour to remember ; it was in a cold february, and we walked far over the downs, over the white dead grass, dry and crisp in the wind ; and we rested a little and ate in a place where a little mound rose above the hill. 60 of a hermit and we watched, in the valley beneath us, tiny children running to school beside a little blue trickle of water, and large gulls were washing and flap ping their wings in the water. the children called to them and waved their arms, and the gulls rose and spread like snowflakes over the valley, and the children ran on, holding each othfer's hands and singing. the cup i wish to drink is the, cup of the earth's blood. i wish to drink deep of the silence, the deep mists, the growing corn, ^nd the movements of birds. the very life that i feel around me should drug me, and each motion and movement and tongue of fire that i feel ought to pass like rich wine into my being. the very stones of the road should yield up to me their thoughts. and no doubt that was what christ meant, when he spoke about the stones becoming men. to force upon our <5i soliloquies wonderful bodies the drunkenness of prepared wine is to sour the imagina tion and to prevent us from ever getting . the ddicious joy of real drunkenness. i try to be at peace with all my thoughts and to welcome even my anger when it breaks out upon me. i watch myself as if i were far away, as if i were a cloud passing in the sky, or a distant sheep feeding upon the hillside. i have yet to change a great deal before i can reach the goal of happiness. i still feel that i am in part immortal. i still find a curious pleasure in possess ing a handful of bright gold coins. i still desire cunningly to defraud. and often, however much i disbelieve in my opinion, i think i am right. and feeling as i do the very movements of god, i do not like to be treated as a poor man who cannot afford a day labourer to dig his garden. 62 of a hermit i suppose my class, the priest class, craves for love more than any other kind of human, as it feels itself sink ing into extinction. i do not possess enough of the attributes of immortality, — greed, hardness of heart, cunning — all the biting instincts of the animal. i have them enough to pain, but not enough to save. i cannot help think ing that the immortal man out of his abundance might give me a kindly look as he passes me in the road, a kindly look out of the body of hatred. this is my last priestly affliction ; i desire to be loved, and loved for nothing. this is my last foolish hope ; i want to be ipve^d by men. love is the last sadness of the priest, and men turn away from him because he tries to love them ; for have not the people that immortal hatred that is better than love ? my wish is that i may understand 63 soliloquies myself. i know quite enough about other people ; they show me their ways only too clearly. i want to appear interesting in my own eyes ; i want to be something of value to myself. i do not want to love. i want to study myself, because i am the nearest and most interesting creature that i know. i would like to be believed in, so that i might have some ' guide to the belief in myself. left quite alone, my interest in myself is apt to dwindle. i like to be contented with myself in every way, and to mistrust everything that is not mine. i am sure that my sour grapes are not so very sour, nor are the sweet grapes of my neighbours so very sweet ; and it is indeed possible that all kinds of grapes have very much the same taste ; the best fruit can only give out so much sweetness and no mbre. with the terrible moods of god 64 of a hermit moving about me, as dark clouds, and then the lightning, and sometimes the ominous silence and calm, i turn to the stranger upon earth that once learned to bear the burden of god, calling him father, and holding him, as atlas held the world, upon his shoulders. i turn to the stranger upon earth, he who was not afraid to call the terrible moods " father," to take them into his life, to bear with them, to love them. and still more than that. he dared also to become the shepherd of men ; to live himself as a man and to fall before his father's terrible mood of blind rage working in men. he alone dared to become one with the spoiler and the spoiled. i bow my head before this stranger of the earth ; and why should not i too sing a song of belief in him ? it is the spring, and the apple blossom is beautiful because he is thero e 65 soliloquies in it. to love him is the only good thing in this world. it does not matter if he is true ; he is beyond all truth. all things have breath in him ; i feel him in the earth. when i hammer at the rocks and break away fossils that have been there for millions of yejrs, i am only going a little way into his love. when i look up in the night and see the light that has left a star thousands of years ago, i can only see a little way into his love. his love is a terrible love — terrible and deep, hard for a man to bear ; i have lived in it, i know it. i hear people say, " why did he come here to this little planet ; why did he not leave it out ? " i answer, " he leaves nothing out ; he cannot give anything better than his love ; it is of more worth than im mortality." a future life is nothing to me ; his love is everything. i study the rocks and the stars ; i love old, very old his 66 of a hermit tory ; it gives me a breatli of him. i love to know that matter is infinite, for his love is in all matter. a stone that has never been touched by man is touched by him. the world says it is not possible to believe like this, but i know it is possible. i would never dispute as to whether christ lived or not ; that does not matter. it does not matter whether we live. life is wonderful, but we only feel alive when we get near him, for near him even death liveth. he is the life stream of the worlds ; we are all in that stream, only we do not know that we are fed every day by him. i know quite well he is the inost unreal, the most unthilikable of ideas ; but to feel him is all ; to believe in him is nothing. we send his love to the fartliermost star, and he will be formed in that star. when he is near, very near to us, then we feel his ter rible love and we kill him. 67 soliloquies even now the mood of belief is gone and i turn upon myself and cry out against what i am writing ; i shake all the thoughts of love about my ears, and turn christ into a worm again. i look out again into the mist ; i sit and watch the dim evening light that sad dens the hills ; i see the days pass, the winter days ; and i taste the creatures, the bread and the wine ; and i do not feel his body in them, the bread and the wine ! i feel the emptiness,^ the unutterable emptiness of all the thoughts in the world ; and i hearken to the re mote sounds of the sea. i wonder why we can ever leave the simple clearness of our lives, in order to crawl into the underworld of mystery. i see all things , common again and myself the com monest of all. i see the eternal moods casting men over and over again into the same pit, and i see the christ, a poor dark arab, lying beaten by the rods of the roman soldiers, because the 6s of a hermit wicked sisters of poetry chose him out of all men to teach truth — truth that is hateful to men. christ, like the first swallow, is a promise of summer, but only too well we know that the summer ends, and then comes "the winter of our discontent." who can blame the men who choose to live the simple life of swagger and bluster and shame ? for all those who step into other ways know what they see, but they do not often dare to tell it to others. i ought to be glad when i see in every eye the cunning of deceit ; "the getting eye," i might call it, for in the lowest cunning there is the only abiding happiness for man. that kind of life can alone give him joy, under the rule of the moods of god. the lowest creatures alone have happiness, and the children that do not know ; and why should we teach them ? when i look back at the past, i do not 6g soliloquies regard the moods of god at all ; i do not care whether i have done good or evil ; i do not care whether i cursed or whether i blessed ; i do not care whether i have been good or wise ; or whether i have ever learned latin ; i do not care whether as a priest i have kicked over my own altar. this is what i care to remember. i can feel now the warmth of a perfect day in june ; i can see the bugloss on the cliff, growing in little patches of blue below the white chalk. and i remember a night in winter when i saw a white lamb lying quite dead under a clear moon. i see now the rough old black dog, blind of one eye, that used to be asleep on the green in the dog-days that are past ; and its master, a wild old man with a great stride and long beard who was always hammering up pigsties. i look back and see the common 70 of a hermit things, the human things ; not god's moods, or christ, or the wonder that is called man's soul. i believe that i have shed more tears over my little boy's broken engine that i dug up one day in the garden, than over all the killing of the son of man. i re member how i used to carry a little jug and fetch the milk across the green ; and i see now the daisies that came out altogether one spring day ; and the mild look of the red and white cow that was always milked first and fed upon the green before the others came out. i look back again to the long winters, to the caressing white mists and silvery hoar-frosts ; and afterwards the white may that always came but first on our hedge. no doubt, i, like everyone else who knows, would gladly rid myself of the deep, fierce, hidden feelings ; of the wild moods of god that tear and baffle us. how i wish that i could bring all n soliloquies the dark moods up into the clear air of a high mountain, and prevent them from ever entering into man again ! i long to bring all the hidden thoughts, the gnashing of secret teeth into the sun. god must come out of his heaven, the devil out of his hell, and christ out of the soul, into the light of the sun. let the terrible gods come down from on high. if they have prepared a future life for us, let us prepare a present life for them. and indeed that is just what christ the son of god would have us do. he is willing to live with us in the sun ; let us open our door to him. i will take him, and all the rest of the heavenly hosts can go, and he will not refuse to come. all the deep thought and the dread marvels of god can go ; all the hidden fears and these secret terrors can go. with the son of man beside me ;2 of a hermit i can defy the moods ; and even the old devil will cast his darts at me in vain. it is impossible for me, who am only mortal, to keep away from the son of man ; he is always ready to come in, and i am not able to shut him out ; only those who have the immortal cravings for life can do that. he will not allow me to put him away ; he comes in because it is his right ; he comes in because the heart of man is his home. it is well that i have reached this silence, this quiet haven that i longed for as a child, and could not find. as a young man walking home in the dusk of' the evening, i longed for it then. and as a man, when i struck about me breaking up old thoughts, burning, thrusting, tearing, and at last leaving myself naked, i longed for the silence then. i have feared it ; i thought that to reach it meant death, 73 soliloquies the first step towards death, and i struggled. i have tried to piece the old thoughts together that as a man i had broken. i was like a child, who, thinking that she was too old to play with her doll, had long ago left it at the bottom of the cupboard ; but was forced on a rainy day to find it again, and to tie on its broken arna and find it a new head. i sought for my broken god again ; and put it together as it used to be, before as a man i broke it to pieces. at last i begin to know myself; i can now love the wonder that is be coming myself i live now as i wish to live ; i take every day as it is, i do not try to break the day to pieces as i used to do. the days pass me like hurrying girls on light feet. years ago i longed to hold them and find out whajt secrets they had under their cloud ^nd sunshine ; and now i know that it 74 of a hermit is the days that long to find out my secret. they cannot find it out ; they are bound to the wheel, they must dance on and on and make the young men follow them. and they are caught sometimes, these girl days ; they are torn and broken and their evenings are muddy. in my life there is human life, that is all — ^human life. if anyone wants more than that, he must go beyond me to find it. the moods hide god as with a garment, but he can find me. and he has found me ; and he speaks his terrible words in the moods of my life. it is no good to try to get out of his way. everywhere the hand of the devastator is upon man, to press him down to the earth. only at times under his yoke i have been allowed to take a little nectar from the flowers ; i have hidden my hand in a waterfall of brown hair ; 1 75 soliloquies have caught a hurried' kiss from a breathing sunbeam. this is all we can have — all. it is impossible to get more out of the world than it can give. it is ibest to ruminate like a cow. the world is always, rain-swept and sun-cracked, soaked with salt mists and splashed with mud ; and our lives at the best are broken and threadbare, while death ever clings to life, slowly devouring it. that is how we are made ; and always the moods of god fill us with madness, for that is how he is made. i have always longed to show to myself and to make myself see where true joy is to be found ; and i want to really believe that life can be made a beautiful thing. in the old days when i held my head in the sand of mystery, i thought that something wonderful would happen to me ; and now i be lieve that the most wonderful thing is 76 of a hermit that nothing wonderful happens. we are, just as we are, and nothing else ; are we not wonderful ' enough ? by just holding up my hand i am often times filled by a divine vision ; by only hearing the wind howl in the chimney, i am filled with all the harmony of m!usic. by eating bread i am fed with the whole goodness and fullness of the earth. and when the silent mood comes, the calmness of immense seas and eter nal spaces fills me. for a long time i hid my head under the sand, and no wonder i could not understand my own words. i know now that the things of greatest value can be had for the asking. i go into the palace of the day, that christ opened, the palace of true joy. how delicately and with what gladness should everyone take part in the great festival ! thfe centre of life is always near ; it h 77 soliloquies only the outer parts that are afar o and hard to understand. for a long while i have run aft( the chariot, and now i have climbed ii i know now that the smallest hand] will do to hold to any part of life, and million bodies like mine can be forme of one thought. all my little exper: ences can be easily acted in any pai of the earth. we have built up fc ourselves such grotesque buildings c thought, so high that when we reac the top we have to fall off to th ground. we are always forming sue high destinies for ourselves, that w have quite lost count of the creature c the moods of god, that is ourself. whenever a vision has come to m( it has always taken me and shown m the delight of just living, — the joy c things as they are, — of the earth as it ii i have seen only too clearly that m happiness is taken from me because c 78 of a hermit my desire to become something unut terable. how often has my wish been to pretend to be something that i am not, and to leave myself in the shade while i follow my shadow in the sun. i can see in every page of my life that my happiness has been taken away be cause of my desire to get into another life, rather than to live my own. no doubf one day we shall find all the mystic writers leaving their pens and their burrowings into the unutterable mystery of god's being, and instead busy themselves all day long peacefully planting cabbages. god himself has been raised up on high, like a stone cdlumn that has only its mass to be proud of, and man is always content to knock his foolish head against the base. i know that we have his moods to create us, and the love of the son of man to save us from ourselves, and' that i^ all i know. everyone is bound 19 soliloquies to set his net in the sea of his life, and to bring home in his net the fish that he deserves or desires, as the case may be ; and he devours them, or what is more likely, they devour him. i have described myself, and have told of my hopes and aspirations, of my fears and of the way i dig in my garden. but i am afraid i have given quite a wrong idea, because in writing, it is impossible to forget that you are writing. when you are writing there is always the wish to stab the heart of the matter ; you want to get to the exciting part of your thought, the part of your thought that excites you. that is why i have thrown all my stones at one dog and left my hands empty. i would like to think how a friend would write about me, and it must be a friend with a little wit, arid not a soul that loves. the first part of my confessions, tell so of a hermit ing haw i touch the earth and sky, and the thoughts of tnan, are finished ; and i would like to know what i look like from their point of view. the earth loves me, i think i may say that ; the great divine mother presence tells quite clearly of her love. the hills do not turn away ; they have no other pur suits, other wars, other things to make, so that they must leave me alone. there is something in being able to laugh at a million years, and being able to laugh at the proud overgrown giants in switzerland — that is what our chalk downs can do. and they can bear me up in their arms for my little while, and not so much as feel that a shadow of life has passed over them. in them the moods of god burn hidden like spent lightning, a dread forsaken fire burning underground. a few million years gives our hills time to reflect upon the moods, and we soliloquies t men need a little of the spirit of their long-suffering, so that god himself may sink deep for a while, nay, may even be buried in us. and were men ever to act together as one man, which was once dreamed of, then we should pre sent to the gods that calm upper sur face, that unperturbed grassy height, and low meadow land, and upland fal low, so that the moods themselves could sink deep into our matter. but alas, our surface is weak and each little man must needs be a bearer of good tidings ; each little man must needs set himself under the hammer, so that he on a very dark night emits a spark, and cries out in the night that he is saved, and in the morning that he is damned. the hills i love have a noble out ward presence like a faithful comrade ; they stay with me even when it rains, and they stay for more than two nights ; i thank them for their silence and their gifts. the flowers have an 82 of a hermit other way with them ; they are not so friendly. and i fear, it is sad to think of it, that they have learned from their creator how to hate. ah ! the pleasure to a rose when it can get a thorn into a human finger ; and think of the joy of a red berry when it poisoned little betsey ; or the merry jests of a bunch of mary buds that once attracted a little boy into the middle of a swamp, where he was drowned. flowers can speak almost like women ; i have seen a very angry look in the eyes of a white nettle, be cause it could not sting me ; and the rage of a musk thistle when i steal its fragrance without being pricked is quite ladylike. above the flowers are the beasts, or below them — there is always a little doubt which to say. the beast loves the man that has. tamed him ; yes, sometimes. and the gentle creatures, are they gentle ? will not a dove fight 83 soliloquies in its own way, as fiercely as a lion, for all its pink eyes ? take up a wild live hare and hold it, and see ifj your hands are not torn by its claws. the moods are beginning to have claws in the beasts ; but wait till we get to man. i wonder what these beings, that are made of the same fetuff as myself, make of me. i do not think it would be much good to take the opinion of a country man in this matter. a ploughman critic would indeed speak his mind after his own manner, and that not unworldly, for the earthy wit of the peasant brines the art of the critic to a very lean level indeed, by judging simply by what a man has. i own a cottage, therefore my value to the clown is exa,ctly the value of my cottage, plus the value of my overcoat and the value of my boots. i notice that the passers-by of the fields always look at my boots. do they expect to see the cloven hoof, i wonder ? of a hermit a gentleman came here qnce for the shooting ; he came from town.i may as well say here that he belonged to the immortal type of man ; and when he was not shooting he attached him self to me, and he found me very ready to listen to his bans mots, although they were not quite in the same style as our saviour's. i will now, for a little while, try to become this im mortal young man, who has now gone somewhere else for the shooting. and i will write a little story about myself from the watch-tower of this young man. in so doing i hope to get at the other side of myself, that i could not very well touch in the first part of my confessions. and now, soul of my soul, child of the moon, i will begin ; i am trans formed. " mr. thomas is the only name that will suit the occupier of the red house 85 soliloquies in the village of , mr. thomas is so utterly different from his own name, it would be a cap with a wrong colour for him. his name should have come from a simple man who once upon a time, in a fit of sadness, begat a son. i can never think of mr. thomas by his real name. if i were to call out ' powys, powys,' as i might to my dog, i very much doubt whether i should get any answer. if i were to call him by his real name, this story about him would appear to the public to be quite untrue, for people would say that such a name could not have such a story. that is why i call him mr. thomas. " i would like to say, at the begin ning, that this type, the type of mr. thomas, is not a type that i approve of. i cannot say that i think that god has expressed his divine purpose very well in this kind of man — a man that does not even know how to treat a s6 of a hermit tradesman, and who will thank a porter for doing what he is paid to do. mr. thomas has what i will call a very careworn conscience, a conscience that is quite unable to look after its own interests. " i am writing about him only ' as a person that i have met ' — for heaven's sake understand that, good people. i do not regard him as my friend, be cause no one could be that, unless he were born under the same star. i used to see him sometimes, that was all, and walk with him a little, and allow him to listen to a few little stories of my own, and perhaps to gently instruct him in the art of living a good life. i may say here that i have no wish to be damned with him ; neither do i wish to be caught up in a cloud with him and carried to heaven. " mr. thomas is married, and he digs in his garden. he looks rather like a landscape artist who has spent ten 87 soliloquies summers in trying to draw an old foot bridge, two willow trees, and a cow,, and could never finish his picture be cause the cow would never lie down. he looks as if he has spent all these years in wondering why the cow would never lie down ; and last of all, his patience being quite exhausted, he packed up his canvas and, after walk ing slowly home in deep thought, began to dig in his garden. " the garden that mr. thomas culti vated was round about his :house ; and his house was in the middle of a grass field ; and. anyone going past could see the lines of potatoes when mr. thomas planted them. and round the garden were very old railings. i was talking to mr. thomas one day, and leaning over the railings, and they fell in pieces. i said i was very sorry ; mr. thomas only smiled. and i said, being annoyed, ' why can't you get some good iron railings round your 88 of a hermit garden ? ' mr, thomas looked at me in extreme sorrow. " i remember first seeing mr. thomas under the great white nose of the giant cliff, for his village is near the sea. i had been shooting rabbits with a rifle, and i was beginning to climb the narrow path that leads to the top of the cliff, when i noticed a man rfioving along by the rocks towards the path. while i was on the shore he must have been amongst the rocks, and now he began to climb the cliff behind me, taking care to keep a good distance away. when i rested, he rested, and he seemed most unwilling to catch me up. he no doubt said to himself, ' there is no hurry ; i will wait here until that person is gone.' well, i waited just over the brow of the cliff, where he could not see me, and when he did appear i inquired of him the way to his , village. and like all nervous people he could not give me 89 soliloquies a direct answer ; he spoke as if he did not know. and then he told me the different attributes of the ways that i might take ; and last of all he offered to show me the way himself. " as we walked i knew mr. thomas was what we call in the polite world' a ' crank ' ; he walked as if at any moment the earth might give way ; and as we looked across, the bay to wards the isle of slingers, he kept a very proper distance from the cliff edge. " my first impression of mr. thomas was a curious feeling that he was hid ing sorriething ; or that he was the guardian of a treasure of which he was not allowed to speak. and he seemed to fear me, and when i pointed out to him the beauty of the green seaweed far below lis he turned hurriedly to wards the setting sun. i belong myself to one of the liberal professions, and i 90 of a hermit have cultivated a proper manner to use with my inferiors. mr. thomas spoke rather quickly, in a low tone, and i did not often reply ; he wanted to say fool ish things about the weather, and i let him. i could tell how nervous he was by his hurried way of speaking, and by the way he fell over the white stones that coastguards put along the path and whitewash, so that they may see the way on a dark night ; and i walked in the path, there being only room for one. " mr. thomas talked of his favourite snug corners by the sea, as a bird would of his resting places, with the fear all the time in his heart that i might rob him of them. and then he talked about the working people that are called labourers, because he happened to see one. we passed a tumulus covered with brambles, the chief growth in that part of the country. between the brambles there was a way, 91 » soliloquies as though someone was in the habit of climbing up, — no doubt mr. thomas himself, — and mr. thomas found his way to the top and looked towards the distant hills, and then at me. and he told me about a clump of trees (i never looked, though he pointed at it) that marked a deep pit like the upper part of a funnel, so he said, that an old botanist called culpepper used to boil his potions in, and he told me that in a certain direction there was a line of hills that marked the middle of the county ; and a tower that was some body's ' folly,' — goodness knows where that was. we talked of poetry ; mr. thomas told me about one of his favourite poems, a poem that could be loved, he said, by a saint and by a sinner. he had the book in his pocket and read me one verse as we walked. he said it was virginal, a verse for a child to learn. here is the verse ; he read only one. 92 of a hermit. "the dew no more will weep the primrose's pale cheek to deck ; the dew no more will sleep nuzzled in the lily's neck ; much rather would it tremble here and leave them both to be thy tear. "and thus we walked over great fields, filled, every one of them, with stones, everlasting stones ; not smooth shining pebbles — sharp zigzag flints. and the chalk of the hills in places broke through the thin covering of grass, like the skin of a beggar showing through her ragged clothing. we went through a gate that a man whom we had seen slouching along in front of us had left half open. mr. thomas persisted in spending quite ten minutes to fasten some barbed wire round the top of this gate ; and in answer to my question as to why he did it, he said, ' these people never shut the gates ; the sheep will get in, and when i come this way again, i shall have to drive 93 soliloquies them out.' 'the farmer ought to put up a notice about the gate,' i said. ' it was the farmer who left the gate open,' mr. thomas gently replied. " i left mr. thomas by his own door, or rather by his railings, and i walked through the village street to the inn. the innkeeper was feeding his pigs, and after he had finished feeding them, he showed me a badger that he kept in a barrel. mr. thomas' house was visible from the inn-yard, and i could see that he was hoeing in his garden. 1 looked around me. the land was not a fat land ; the grass, like the thin clothes of the labourers, only just covered up the poverty beneath. i asked the landlord about mr. thomas, but he had not much to tell me, beyond the fact that 'he lived over there,' pointing to the house. " mr. thomas did not give me a very cordial welcome when i called in the morning, and he did not want to come 94 of a hermit out ; but i dragged him from whatever he was doing, i don't know what it was, and compelled him to co'me out with me. we walked along the cold hills, cold as if the ice that made and modelled them still froze the ground. we went along a path going continu ally uphill, like the narrow path that leads to heaven. and in a hollow place near a pond we came upon an empty cottage, near a tumble-down barn ; we looked through the broken window at the stone floor and open grate of the living-room — an english man's home in arcadia. 'no one lives here now,' he said ; ' that is why i like to come this way.' " the next thing that we did was to tramp across a heavy ploughed field, and then along by a hedge filled with nettles and sharp thorns, and' in one place i saw the half-eaten carcass of a sheep ; and in a pit there were the bones of a horse among the cowslips. 95 soliloquies mr. thomas regarded these phenomena with the same gentle look, as being part of the accepted order of things. after a while mr. thomas grew less shy of me, and he began to confide to me some of his ideas — ideas about god and the weather. we will take his ideas abovtt the weather first. he thought the raindrops beat with per sistent spite upon him ; and that the wind buffeted him as if it loved doing it. he thought the storms always waited until he wanted to go out, and then fell merrily upon his head. and yet i think he was in a better mood on a dull day than when the sun shone. he did not like to turn away from the sun, and was never easy with his back to it. this may have been the in stinctive willing of some plant in him, for his nature belonged to the plant tribe that grows in wild places. he used to lie oh the long withered cliff grass in the winter and take in to his 96 of a hermit body the little warmth that came from the sun, like a beaten elder tree that waited for the spring. " i liked to torment him and drive him out of his last stronghold, and then see what he would say ; and how he would try to escape me. mr. thomas belonged to the type of man that can be cut down in a moment with words. he could be put out of action with one or two simple remarks that touched his pride ; and then he would simply go into his shell like a hermit crab ; he would detach himself from all that he had and keep only his skin. and then if the attack were pushed, which was always worth doing, that last hope in his own life would be taken away, and he would feel himself completely gone into nothingness. this condition of his completed the jest, and he would walk home across the stony fields, a little tired. " but after a day or two he would pos 97 soliloquies sess himself again, fully clothed and in his right mind, believing in himself, and even going , so far as to think that he had in his soul a few little things of which he might be proud, and also that he had a few more cigarettes to smoke. and the next time i saw hini i would give him a hint about the good that he might find in himself if he ate a little of the apple that grows in the middle of the garden. and i ex plained, as well as i could, that every thing is made by god for the amusement of man ; and that the good and evil in life should be kept very separate, other wise we should never enjoy being evil, or ever be bored by being good. "i tried in this way to teach mr. thomas a little about the ethics of the christian churches, especially the anglir can church of great britain. i told him that popular opinion, the opinion of the butchers and their customers, would be for ever unto the end against p8 ,of a hermit • that horrid german,' and ' that wicked jew,' who both tried to untie the priestly knot that hangs up the world, and not only hangs it up, but holds it up. " i tried to explain to mr. thomas that the mass of humanity loves to be good and to sin, by turns — to sin and repent and to sin again, just as the sun repents and covers the earth with its glory after the dark rains of the night. it is necessary, i said, for the priest to invent every morning new sins for the people ; golden calves and pretty dancers. and the priest must show the people how to enjoy them. and sometimes for a change he can throw into the cup of -their gladness one or two little pills of virtue, for the sake of their bowels. " ' and now, my good mr. thomas,' i said, ' for heaven's sake do not throw me into that ice water of beyond thought that your mad german loved 99 soliloquies so well.' mr. thomas used to wait for a shining light to come ; he used to wait like a hen brooding over her eggs ; he used to brood in odd corners and try to hatch a little god out of his eggs — a little god that would save his type, the outcast monk type, from the well deserved stones and jeers of the people. i need not say that all his eggs were addled, for he never got anything out of them, sit as long as he might. " he would not believe, although i told him over and over again, that it is the weight of the mass of humanity that bears the world along ; and that nothing can change its course, not even the lightning of the gods, nor the thoughts of little monk priests. mr. thomas never even hatched a little devil out of the eggs that he brooded over, and he knew it. he knew that he had found nothing ; he knew that he had searched the orchard and had not even found the crab ; he knew that all his 100 of a hermit life he had lived in a mystic alley that leads no whi,ther. " i tried to show him what life is, as we know it, as we the happy ones have niade it ; and i told him that the one thing to avoid, the one thing that really gives pain, is what is called ' the serious state of mind ' — -the brooding, the dark brooding of the dead stars. 'the good god looks down from on high.' ' the priests say so, and that is all we want to know about him.' and when i said this mr. thomas gently stroked his beard, and smiled, and inquired whether i had a cigarette in my case, as he had left his at home. " standing on the cliff top one day and •looking towards the town over the sea, i asked mr. thomas why he did not live down there, instead of the dreary spot that he had chosen. he waited for a little while and then said, ' i like the langiiage of these hills better ; they loi soliloquies are higher up ' (which indeed was true), ' and amongst those church spires i fear that the people do not always speak the truth,' 'but,' i said, 'their lies are public lies ; they live by public opinion ; they all have one object in life, and what that is, the smallest servant girl knows best.' " human life is only innocent when it lives in the fairyland of fancy ; if it goes running after the gods, it becomes mad ; if it goes running back to the beasts, it becomes like a nation at war ; the best thing it can do is to stay where it is. humanity reached its goal when it became man ; and it is in the same world now, because this is the only world it can have ; it must go on just as it has gone on, and that for ever. ' that german ' thought of something more wonderful than man, and he ran to the* gods — mad. ' that jew ' thought of something wonderful ; he thought of adopting a father ; and he 1 02 of a hermit thought of mankind loving one another ; and he went to the cross. "man develops" on certain lines, and then explodes and goes on again on the same lines. if he tries to climb up to the gods, he goes mad, and a vulture devours him. he is only right if he remains just what he is, simply a man. he has scholarships, science, and a million industries. he has municipal gardens, and school playgrounds. his priests are now grown quite hig enough to drive away the little gods that come in the night ; and he can always enjoy excitement in the body politic by pinching the ears of the women. he can believe in a future life ; he can believe in a future death ; he can be lieve that christ is god, and that god is christ, and that christ is man, but he can never fill the cup fuller than his manhood will hold. " see how genius at a certain point always breaks down. ' that german ' 103 soliloquies went a little too far, and when he came to the two kings and the last pope, he went mad. and the other one, ' the jew ' — he went on preaching very we|l to the people, until by a sad mis chance, the people began to understand what he said, and when the people understood, instead of going mad them selves, they killed him. " that is the way of the world, and it happens like that because man's mind can only go to a certain point, and then it breaks. every mind breaks when it does more than a man can do, and it breaks in unexpected ways. the duty of a philosopher (and the modern philosopher knows his duty) is to keep the sheep ; that is to say, to drive the wolves of thought away from the ■people, and hang the wolves up — in hard and long words, in the philo sophers' complex minds that are fitted out with little hooks to hang each wolf up by. 104 of a hermit "the priests who also know their duty have to keep the gods away from the flock, for fear the flock might give away some of its wool, or perhaps even a ewe lamb, here and there, without a priest's blessing. " if either of these guardians neglects his duty, the people quite rightly de vour him. ' it looks like that — that is how the world looks,' answered mr. thomas. and yet why should we not believe a little and love a little, even if we do go mad ? " i think sometimes when i come home tired to my gate, that i must not come in. i think that i must go on walking past my gate, through the one or two villages where i am known, and then on and on and on. "when jesus adopted god as his father, he made god begin again as a babe. when he took everything away , from himself, he look every thing away from his father ; we that 105 soliloquies are fathers know that a son can do that. no one need try to take god and put him upon a great white throne, when his son has taken him down. when the son gave up all power, the father had to give up all power too ; when the son gave up life, it was the father's life that he gave up, as well as his own. " there is no need for us to become aaything more than what we are, in order to believe in the son of man. we can enter all that he has entered ; we can give up all that he has given up, without being a superman or a brute beast. it is not in extremes that the road to heaven lies ; the way to life is the same now as it has ever been ; it is in the meaning of things. surely the son of god has shown him self in a form that we, even we, can understand. "the people markpd him as an enemy, and his presence in us will one 1 06 of a hermit day make the impossible come to pass ; that day will come. we feel that we are at an end ; we feel that we are come to our goal ; but at the same time we know that there is 'that other' belonging to us, ' that other one ' who is with us and knows no end. " every day i look at the fields as though i am soon to bid them an eternal farewell. perhaps my life has passed through many bodies and i am the last. a star of life with its own colour, its own raiment, and its own joys has entered into me to die. but the star has still its desires and its long ings ; i do not want its light to go out like a snuffed candle. i would like it to live again in some other body ; i would like it to feel the earth through many, many other ^lives. i do not wish to be the grave for the death of a star. i want it to carry my life on, and on, and on. and yet it is only when a star is dying in you that you can feel its 107 soliloqures life ; and it is only when a star is dying in you that you can feel the sorrows of the son of man. " and this is the way that mr. thomas used to talk. i waved my stick as i passed his gate on my way back to town. he held a spade in his hand, and was digging a hole in the ground for a new post to hold up his railings. i waved my stick, and he, taking very little notice, went on with his work." when anyone reads a confession like this they should express no philistine reflection such as, " this good man might have done better with his life " ; or," " if we all start writing confessions, what a world it would be ! " i sup-r pose i have the priest's instinctive de light — or love, shall we say — of hearing a tale that comes from a man's fear rather than from his wits ; and in speaking or writing a confession, one is always coniing near to something ugly io8 of a hermit in the dark of oneself. i touch the hoof, or the fur, or the horns, or the tuskd, as i write. it is this ugly thing that has a way of peeping out at us when we talk about ourselves ; and the sight of half its head, not a very pretty half, makes most people begin to talk about some thing else. if you, my dear child or brother, begin to tell a few secrets of your own being, you will know what i mean. you will find, dear friend, when you take your pen to begin, and poke about with your finger and thumb into your own heart, that you touch something not at all nice, not exactly what you thought. it is the custom, i know, not to con fess ; to let that inside of you remain hidden under a well-ordered life ; and besides it does not do to risk being laughed at by the people. i know that in every confession there is always worse left behind than what is said ; 109 soliloquies for we none of us dare to utter the whole of our wickedness, i cannot help thinking that many of the pangs of human life were quieted and stilled by the use of the confessional. any how, to look at oneself with rather more than a critical eye is a good thing ; if only to show the gods that they could do a little better with our substance another day. one can see, while writing odd things about oneself, that inside the mob still rules, just as it does outside in the world. and the mob may be riot ing quite merrily under a policeman's jacket, or corrupting innocence under lawn sleeves in a cathedral. i think that the mob, — i know them, even hidden in a snug english village, — i think that the mob' will always rule ; for it is by the law of hate and not by the law of love that the world lives and has its being. no of a hermit in the world there will never be security, but there will always be ex citement ; and there is no reason why we should not sometimes get excited about ourselves, and by so doing reveal ourselves as something more than crea tures to be fed. i think every father would do very well to write a book of his own short comings for his children to read. and perhaps so many fathers, who nowa days appear so very foolish to their families, might by writing their confes sions, show their children that they did not sign cheques and say family prayers by clockwork, being wound up every evening by the cook in the best par lour. the fear of looking a fool has cost the world more good lives than it wots of. we go about the world being friendly, but the mob always tells us m where to go, and how to confine our friendliness to the railway carriage, and our morals to our homes. the mob soon breaks our windows, if we do not behave after its manner. all our little, moral sensations are upon the surface of our lives ; it is the great immoralist that lies beneath. and you have not got to go very far into the lives of the people before you come upon him. in writing my confessions i began to take notice of my pride. i found niy self so proud that i preferred to leave the camel drivers and suffer cold, rather than endure their loud laughter. and i see quite well that there is no getting to the bottom of the pride of a nian. we cannot take cover from our pride. i think it quite likely that the least pride is found in the busiest man, and the most, in an idle slave. we cannot get away from our pride, do what we will. and my pride is quite a plain 112 of a hermit thing to see even in these pages. i show it on purpose ; i am proud ; i like to be proud ; i intend to be proud. , i know the pride of a saint when he shuts himself up away from the world ; i know the pride of >a sinner when he boasts to the mob of what he can do. the very fact that i love those jines of bunyan, " he that is down need fear no fall, he that is low no pride." shows how proud i am. ah ! shep herd boy in the valley, i know thy ways, and it is quite possible that the lord mayor of london has a heatt less proud than thine. we that love to be at the bottom, we saints in the wilderness, we humble people in the fields, we peaceful people in leafy lanes — it is with reason that the city man, the wicked sinner, should treat us somewhat roughly, for he fears us. he fears that if he did not speak very loud, we might make him take h "3 soliloquies off his shoes when he comes into our garden, and stand in the mud with bare feet. perhaps if we of the saintly tribe, we exempt ones, — if we were compelled to be iron kings, or wheat kings, or petrol kings, — it is possible that we saints might relinquish some of our abominable pride. the very size of our palaces would then diminish some of our bigness. i can make myself out to be a saint, i can pull myself to pieces as a sinner, i can show myself as a fool in a world of folly, we are all little men that eat off the earth's crust ; i am one of the mob, that is all that can be said. i am told by one wiser than i that i must throw more light upon this sub ject of immortality that i have alluded to here and there. i am quite willing to make my meaning more clear ; i do not want to be misunderstood, and this ' is what i think. i believe that the more dead anything is the more it 114 of a hermit lasts ; and the more ignoble a thing is the longer it lasts. the most base thing in me longs the most to liye for ever. i may as well say that it is from ' my own feelings that i get my thoughts upon immortality. and i know my self a little. i also know that i get the thought from him. the most wonderful idea that has ever come to man came to jesus. it came to him silent, subtile, and like the lightning. the idea that came to hiiii was this : he wished to create for a moment a state of vision with no earthly everlasting deadness about it ; to create a new heaven and a new earth. the longer anything lasts, the worse it always becomes, but the divine idea came to jesus without beginning and without end ; and in a moment it be came himself we cannot conceive the lightning rapidity in which the vision of true , "5 soliloquies life enters in and passes out of our minds. our minds do not like this kind of thing ; they are not used to it ; only by a strange chance jesus held the new idea for a moment, and that moment gave him time to understand, because he was the one that was ready to understand. just such a wonderful moment may have come by a happy or an unhappy chance to a beast, and that was the moment that made the beast into a man. • what jesus saw and lived, we may see and live ; only we prefer the immortality of our earth that we have always had, to the new heaven of jesus. we would rather live in part dead for a great many lives, than share with jesus his kingdom for a moment. his vision. his idea, was the frailest begin ning, the most delicate and the most quickly killed, of any idea that has ever come to man. ii6 of a hermit our immortal baseness is trained and schooled ; is organized to cast out at once this kind of vision. we know only too well that our old happiness, our old godhead, our old immortality, is imperilled by it. we know the danger of a vision that filled one man so suddenly with burning light, burning him up in a moment, and leaving him only a wild mad thing, crying out desperate and loving words. we know the danger of a vision that burnt the immortal man in him right out in a moment, and left a new man with a strange, a wild, and unearthly courage, a man from whom the mob took toll and laughter, and then after a little while, fearing for themselvfes, hanged him upon the cross. the whole atmosphere of our lives bursts out in rage against this other sense, this new vision, that ends in a moment our immortality. we cannot graft our everlasting life into the vision 117 soliloquies that he beheld ; our immortality goes on and on, and if we want to enter the vision of jesus, we must stop our chariot. this vision, this new heaven, is life in a moment ; but our way of life is everlasting years. the result of the vision is quite clear in the kind of man that jesus was. though the vision died down in him at times, all the signs of our immortal greed for life, in his life, are dead. he begins to eat of the earth as a sacrament, and, wonder of wonders, he can love and bless men instead of turn ing fiercely upon the will to devour, — he must have seen that in the mob, — instead of cursing .the base lives of men, and their hungry laughter, instead of casting all the thoughts of man away. he blesses them. he opened the way to a new life, and he longed that the vision that will free man from his im ii8 of a hermit mortality may come to all, and be received by all. no wonder man fled from this kind of freedom ; for we prefer to retain the immortality that is our right. i can hear many people declaim, being quite amazed at my utter disregard for estab lished beliefs. i can hear them shout, " we do not want to end, thou thrice foolish mr. thomas, we do not want to end ; we will all most willingly, without any asking of questions, take the im mortality that you in your folly so roundly cry out upon. give us that immortality ; it is just what we all, pray for. remove from us, take out of our sight for ever, this vision that takes away our precious lives ; do not leave us alone with jesus ; perhaps some good kind pastor will come between. do not take anything more away from us ; we want more than our lives, we want to go on living," i can hear people of the world shout out at me like this ; 119 soliloquies and i say to them, " goodly people, kindly livers, who sometimes offer life belts to women when the ship is sink ing, i hear all your loud shouting, i answer quite calmly, 'you will go on living, dear children ; did not your fathers hate, just as you hate ; did not they get things, just as you get things ; did not they eat their dinners and leave the beggars outside, just as you and i eat our dinners ? ' " i can promise that our pretending at little games of virtue never in the least hampers' our real lives ; our real lives go on through many years just in the same way. your thoughts, exactly your thoughts and not an other's, will be always here ; the im mortal part of you, your man-self, must go on, because it does not desire to be anything else than itself it is never worn out ; it has the best of systems — 1 20 of a hermit separate bodies to live in ; when you are old, or perhaps before that time, you will die ; but that will mean nothing to you, and your immortality will just dance away as merrily as ever. all this is very easy to explain ; but the way of jesus is not so easy. he made a way that opposed everything that we have seen or heard of, and most of all, it undermined our immortality. his way ends our old lives in a moment ; because if you take away our anger, our greed, our hatred, our getting on, our eating the black man, our biting the white woman, our sermon-preaching, our amusements with young ladies, our walking to church, our throat-cutting, our afternoon tea-parties, and all the tools we have made for killing other people, and the medicine for killing ourselves, — if you take away all our good deeds, — we know what they are, — if you take all these arts and fancies 121 soliloquies away from a man, if you take them away you will leave no man at all, you will leave nothing. "ah ! but my soul, mr. thomas, you have quite forgotten my soul ; surely when the labours and little amusements of my life are taken away, my soul will live. when, as a good man tired with all my self-sacrifice, tired with all my good deeds, tired with all my kind treatment of little children, i leave my poor worn-out body, is not that the proper moment for my soul to save me ? " our souls, my good people, are the least certain of all our posses sions ; our souls are not possessions at all. i will tell you what my soul is. my soul is a waiting, hesitating, long ing silence ; it is the most delicate, the most ethereal, the most ready to die away of all the silent noiseless feet that we feel moving in our lives. and it waits, and often its flame goes out while it waits. it is not chained to 122 of a hermit the moods ; it is' the waiting silence in us that is free. the life of the world is as it is made to be ; it can never be anything else ; it can never really change. the little children of the world are happy some times, when they get what they want. but there is not so very much happi ness to be given away between the stars, and there is a very vast deal of misery. this is our immortality, because all the feelings are really exactly the same to everyone, though some of course feel more and some less. when a prime minister succeeds in negotiating a secret treaty of alliance somewhere or other, for the good of the war-outfit trade of his country, and the other names, and seals are duly set to it, the exalted feelings of this good prime minister are exactly the same 123 soliloquies as those of our chimney-sweep — dead now, honest man — when he has brought down from our parlour chimney with one good jerk a large quantity of soot. and when an old lean woman, the leanest in the village, slinks home with a few stolen sticks from the squire's wood, her feeling of exultation is just the same as mr. 's feeling when he has made a corner in wheat, in wall street, a place i seem to have heard of. a gentleman farmer riding home from market in his motor, after having sold a cow at a good war price, that has gored one of his milk hands the day before, feels just like a naughty girl who has successfully robbed a foolish young man of his gold watch, in a flat in houndsditch. we share all our good actions with other people, just as we share the air that we breathe. all our actions are made of exactly the same stuff, like 124 of a hermit the stars — the eternal stuff out of which everything is made, everything except the lightning that destroys them. to that lightning jesus opened his bosom ; it struck dead all his im mor'tality ; in one flash it sent a new wonder through the old immortal stuff of which he was made. ah ! there was irony in that shaft of light from that other place, for it left only one feeling the same in jesus ; one feeling it could not kill,; one feeling that he had in common with all men even unto the end — i mean the feeling of sorrow. so great is the charm of really dying that the ordinary death of a man is a little thing in comparison. the feelings are gay or sad, wicked or good in every man : they are over all the earth. of course, the bodies that hold them change because the bodies wear out ; but the feelings are always hungry, always the same, always yourself. when 125 soliloquies the squire's new motor makes you skip into a muddy ditch, the squire feels just like you feel when you make mr. thomas walk by your side in the gutter ; and the feelings of men do not die. the feelings or the moods of god, as i used to call them — it is natural to me to change my words a litile — must have some kind of bottle to hold them ; they have you, with your beating heart, your brain, your nerves, and your bones, that are, i fear, getting a little too stiff to enjoy dancing. they have you, and they make you dance, as they do everyone else. they even made him dance a little round a barren fig-tree, but not in a way that pleased the people. at first the people thought him a quack doctor that did not want to be paid for his work, that went about healing for fun ; and then they thought 126 of a hermit , him a crank ; and then a mischief maker ; and last of all an alien in the world. is it not strange that only a man who has felt the lightning and who has felt the immortal moods fall from him, — all save the mood of sorrow, — is it not strange that this is the sort of man that loves the world, that really understands the world, and accepts the world ? and he can even love the people who think they are good ; and what must be more easy. he can also love the bold sinner ; and he alone can kiss without fear the shamed form of tired outraged bitterness. he can love all of it — he the one that bled so soon. the most terrible pang of all, pity — the flower of sorrow — that we who have the ever lasting feelings dare not endure. he endured it. and pity for the jackal. it is easier, far easier, to pity a white sick child than a red monster of greed. 127 soliloquies he could pity us because we all feel so safe in the world. how we" all enjoy the sense of secur ity that it gives to know that everyone has the same feelings as oneself. we know all the kindly, loving feelings of our friends ; they are the same feelings as ours, because they are ours ; and we are all quite safe with one another. sometimes, perhaps, in an ill hour, a mass of men who have had bad dreams in the night about bears and lions want to march to the seaside ; and another mass of men, feeling their interests lie in another direction, oppose them ; and they all feel just alike. the others may have dreamt of great eagles. all these proceed quite calmly to casting each his millions through the fire of hell itself. these moving coloured pictures of human madness make a ghastly show when they happen to come to pass; 128 of a hermit only we all learn from watching them what our feelings are and what they can do. they can tear our bodies to pieces en masse ; and instead of going out with swords and spears to judge the moods of god, we only talk to each other about the wickedness of other countries. yes, there is something in the desire of jesus to escape and to die. and to this desire, and to this longing, do the priest natures of the world come ; here and there out of all manner of holes in the rocks, out of all manner of minds, they move towards the annihilation of themselves. from whence comes the lightning that stings to death the feelings that live for ever ? so asks the young man void of understanding with the leer of an angler over the dark waters. ah ! that is easier asked than answered. but it may be, — i am not s^ire, — but it i ' 129 soliloquies may be that even the mdods of god end somewhere ! shall not the im mortal feelings have an end somewhere iii some men ? or is it the beginning of a new heaven and a new earth that passeth man's understanding ? i do not know ; in this place even the priest must do what other little foolish children do ; he must go out into the garden by the big door. • what i do know is, that there is something more godlike about the lightning that kills in a moment, than about all the feelings that live for ever. sometimes i think that it is the glorious presence of utter absolute ex tinction, of death — that is, real death — that gives the magic to the lightning. i wonder, do the moods of god tire of their manifold disguises in man ? do they begin to find the eternal mo tion in clay bodies hard to bear ? does he desire to die ? and did he choose 130 of a hermit the man who called him father for his last home ? did the everlasting moods that are god will a grave as well as a birthplace in man ? did he at last desire his own end, and did he begin to die in jesus ? perhaps, who can say ? the moods may themselves want to turn aside and to sleep — never to rise again, never again to torment them selves and the clay that they live in. 1 do not know ; the exultation that the lightning vision brings into being can not be explained in words ; it may be an end or it may be a beginning. to jesus it certainly gave sometimes one and sometimes another of these thoughts. i think he longed for it to be a token, a promise of something more wonderful even, than the end of god. he longed for it to be a pro mise of new life. it may have been such a promise, or it may have been a promise of death. one thing seems to 131 soliloquies be quite sure, and that is that the vision has more in it than the simple death or life of one creature. everyone feels that the body and the life of jesus were a battleground more terrible than that ; and that the happenings in him sur passed anything that has ever before happened in man. if the everlasting moods did indeed find in him a willing sacrifice, an altar where they could be quite burnt out, no wonder that his ways were very little understood by the people. why jesus is a figure of such in tensely human interest to mankind is because he stands always at the parting of the ways. in him end, it may be, the everlasting moods ; in him, it may be, god himself ends ; or the sudden lightning of a supreme joy begins. and his kind of life was ever the opposite of man's doings and sayings. he lived in order to destroy man's immortal 132 of a hermit ways, and he stabbed everywhere, wherever he saw human greed ever lasting. if anyone deserved a blessing upon earth, it was in his eyes the sinner. .he saw that sin ends quicker and changes quicker than righteousness ; and the righteousness of the leaders of the people was to him the most lasting and the most intolerable ugliness that he saw anywhere. everyone knows how his words have been twisted and turned exactly and completely inside out. of course they have ; men do not give up their greed for nothing ; and they soon began to think that his heaven was a shadow in the water, a large shadow of that hunk of meat that they with their dog like teeth held in their half-opened mouths. and some amongst men, the good saints and hermits, the good bishops of the flock, let their hunk of meat drop for the shadow, like the dog 133 soliloquies in the fable ; and then there was no help for it. they had to believe in heaven, and so they waved the fairy wand of immortality over the place where their hunk of meat sank ; and they present to us — these very good ones — rather an odd, and not, i fear, very noble picture ; for while they pre tend to believe in the shadow of another life, all the time they are digging their snouts in the mud (they have now changed to swine), and searching for their lost meat as the money-lenders in that old french book searched for rusty nails. they are not altogether beautiful objects for our contemplation here upon earth. we prefer the more honest sinners. avoid the good ones, little girls and boys of the earth, and go and •dance with those that take and eat honestly the lion's share. we know that lion ; there is something honest and open about him ; the immortal laughters surround him as he gambols 134 of a hermit and frolics in new-mown hay. high up to his godlike mouth he lifts the holy bottle of human life. he drinks. his life is not here nor there ; he lives truly and entirely himself in every moment.. there is no cry in his heart, " what can i do to be saved ? " he is content ; the earth is good enough for him. he spends his treasure ; he does not hide it, as a certain country did their treasure in a fortress, until the next war ; he spends it all, ancf when the next war comes, he dies ; that is the end of the lion. between the lion of life and jesus, that sad stranger, there are innumer able moving pictures of little men and women. children of the earth, i would have you go to the sad stranger when the moods of the father get their claws full of your blood. in one way this stranger is like the lion ; he is not afraid of the father. go to him ; i3s soliloquies he will give to you what no other man has ever dared to give; he will give, you himself. remember before you take him what he has done. remember his crime ; remember his sin ; remember that he has in a moment put an end to the world. no wonder that when the animal instinct of the herd becanie awake, when they began to understand what he was doing, that , they killed him and freed barabbas. " to the cross with him ! " they cried out, " he threatens our very jehovah," which was only too true. and he did more than threaten ; he slew. he broke in upon god with a fierce fire, a fire more fierce than god's when he breaks in upon men. he knows, this son of man, that a moment of destruction is better than many years of creating ; for the soul of a great work of art feels more of its life when the shells are bursting upon it than when the sober eyes of 136 of a hermit good sightseers peer and blink about it and the beads of the prayers rattle in its long nave. then the destroyer meets the creator in the great awakening ; these two heroic ones hold hands at last ; their souls meet and end. nothing, not even the moods of god, can find its true soul until it is destroyed ; and even the lion of laughter that drinks for ever the cup of earth's richest wine becomes a little fat clown with pink cheeks, like a dancer in a show, when the two terrible ones meet, the creator and the destroyer. when we see the work that jesus has done, when we see the great white throne rent and torn and lying like any other broken chair at our feet, when we see the temple whereon the creative mind a little overstepped its mark in decoration nothing but scarred walls, when we see all this as we do see it, 137 soliloquies we know that a soul has felt its life burn, and its death cool it for ever. this is what we come to in his life. he seemingly had no fear of the great, the powerful, the almighty ; the im mense terrible coils of the immortal snake had no terrors for him. the moods fierce and utterly blind stayed their fatalistic dancing in him ; he died to break the power of god. and now the moods creep silently in the earth ; they cannot sting as they used to ; they can live immortal as they used to live in man ; but here lies the difference — they have been conquered. many an artist no doubt looks with sorrow at the fall of the great wild monster moods, the old testament of man's history, the blind fierce hidden history of his beginning ; the old crea. tor creating out of the bottom of the sea and upwards, through all times, through all minds. how wildly he 138 of a hermit created, and with what wasteful profu sion, we all know. we all know the blindness of him that used to sit on high, and now it may be that he of his own free will has entered into the son of man in order to end his long reign ; perhaps he has become tired of himself, and his tiredness at some time or another we all feel. and what do any of us know about ending and beginning ? i see that it may have happened like that ; i see a difference in the world since he lived ; i even think i see the moods themselves begin to take a new turn, consoling, liberating, and even becoming free men. i see in the new order, the babe of joy, that takes the place of the terrible majesty of the past ; i see the awful majesty of the creator come into our own grange mead, and lie down amidst a joyous crowd of buttercups and red clover, dimly conscious of a new be ginning, and of the laughter of the 139 soliloyulks maidens in the village near by. there is, i may tell you, a higher art in the babe of joy than in all the deep wild cruelty of the old order ; and after all is said, there was too much of a bully's rod and not enough of a child's laughter in those old days. and surely no one is better pleased than god himself to come up and find that his terrible moods have not destroyed all the babe like laughter upon earth. we can bless life when we see that the moods have lost their grip upon the mind ; we can bless life when we see man's immortality end and true joy begin ; we can bless life when we see daisies and buttercups grow between the walls of our best works of art, that the shells have let a little light into. do you remember he talked about destroying the temple and building it in three days — the golden temple of solomon, filled with the labour of a 140 of a hermit million artists ? he came like a shell into that old great habitation of fierce godhead — that old temple built up in the mind of man, filled with the work of countless builders ; and everywhere, where his heart's blood fell, the temple was destroyed. what cared he for the decorations round the base of the columns ? what cared he for here a pomegranate and there a pomegranate at the hem of the garment ? what cared he for the golden rods and brackets ? a sigh of great content comes up from our grange mead, where god lies amongst buttercups and listens to the naughty laughter of little village boys ; i cannot see" the least willingness on his part to leave the scent of the may clover, in order to go and look at old churches ; but i do notice that he turns a little on one side to watch a young man and maid take the path that leads 141 soliloquies to the taverii ; and he looks at them as though they really were his children. they loiter a little by the gate, and he lies back again with his white hands gently resting j upon the warm red clover. in the old testament, the old order, the moods were hemmed in and not allowed to live a natural life in the free air ; they were hemmed in until they gathered strength to burst ; they were like a terrible lake of black waters that filled and filled from beneath, until it at last burst all doors ; the old story of the flood may have had a meaning of this kind. the hatred and malice, the ungovern able rage of man, — the rage of getting more than his neighbour, — that v no painted lying civilization can assuage ; the rage of a stippressed country, being denied a proper proportion of the earth's surface ; the rage of another country that the first should want any more ; 142 of a hermit the immortal greed shut up under the supposed tameness of man ; all the black terrible moods have a way of bursting their chains at times ; of getting loose with, a sound and a horrible cry of bloody rage. the old prophets de lighted in it ; they wallowed up to their necks in the black waters and enjoyed it. the people did not listen ; do the people ever listen until it is too late ? and then their mangled bodies strew the earth, in the day when the black waters rush out with a horrible sound, and over all theearth there is black smoke and death and an evil stench. jesus saw the danger of all ill con tent being saved up and prepared in man's mind, and he advised men to act naturally like the flowers ; and to hate and to love like children, forget ting everyone his quarrel when the night comes. he turned the sword with wise justice into the heart of him that created it. 143 soliloquies but, alas, the moods are a many headed monster, and to-day the black waters have burst out again amongst men. he could only give to men the charm that can slay them. i want to be able to bless all life truly and whole heartedly as he blessed it ; i want to be able to bless the sinner as well as the victim of sin ; i want, as every good priest should want, to be glad when i see any sign of joy anywhere in the earth. i want to bless all the moods of god, for these too, immortal as they are, will one day desire to end. i do not say wicked things when i speak of god coming down from his great white throne of majesty and power, and resting in our mead beside the dairy cows, who look at him with their quiet soft eyes ; i mean no harm. to those who prefer to keep him as he once was in order to preserve a 144 of a hermit more artistic effect, i have nothing to say ; no doubt they know best ; but i prefer to think of him as watching with a true father's love the babe of joy that will one day grow up out of his old creation — the babe of joy that has taught him already that a child's laughter is of more value than everlasting life. this is a day of new values ; the old days of greed, of getting and keeping, will end ; the old days of holding one's self, of hugging one's self, of living one's self, will end. what a time it was when man's whole hope of happi ness was to live for ever ; to always go on helping the same body out of the same dish for ever and ever ; and to that happiness the immortal moods have trained the clay-pots. they have put •into us their immortal feelings so strong, that even now as. i write, i want to go on living for another day, till k 145 soliloquies to-morrow. and this is what we all say — " till to-morrow." i cannot welcome extinction, because for millions of years the immortal feelings have been desiring more and more hours, more and more to-morrows. when i think of jesus, the burden falls. i do not think of extinction. i think of the moment ; i think of how he, in one life, ended the stagnation of immortality. i long to live a moment in him unfettered and free. have i explained myself enough now ? or have i left only a mist about the eyes and a madness 'in the heart ? i can as sure you now, if you have not guessed it before, little and great brethren, that instead of meaning no harm, i mean a great deal of harm. have we not had nearly enough of the everlasting feuds, of the everlasting jealousy of the moods of god ; would it not be better to use our own minds and to reason away 146 of a hermit from these things ? which is better, i wonder, to lie for a moment where all our finest buttercups grow, or to go on with our greed and getting and hating for ever ? if we took his road, and gave up our eternal occupations, our everlasting work, our immortal getting ; and in a moment spent that which we did not gather, in a moment of joy— ^a moment that cannot be lost because it is true joy — would it not be better to spend ourselves for it, for such a moment ? but, dear brothers, the pleasure of our lives is in hating. we know a little about the merry goblins in the bottom of our hearts ; we don't want to cast them out in a hurry. the moods are with us^ we play on their side when we amuse ourselves with our little frolics. it is most easy to call everything degeneration that is not found in the heart of a cruel man. it is most easy 147 soliloquies to call everything madness that is out side the pompous throned power of man's immortal belief. it is really quite easy to call everything mystic stupidity, because it just happens to be not exactly our way of treating dancing girls in the night. i do not dispute with this ; i do not want to slay any child's joy ; neither did he. he came to free the world and to give joy ; not afterwards, — he knew no afterwards, — but now. i know my hatred of others ; i know my greed for myself; and i know, my masters, that we all have the same feelings ; i want to break up these feelings and take hold of the new joy^ when we feel the gladness of our greed, when we feel we have managed well a good business matter after the manner of the world, when we feel we have done something very well indeed, perhaps robbed a few million homes of their halfpence, how the greed goblins, old as god himself, cringe and lick and 148 of a hermit -fawn upon us ; for have we not been carrying on their game a little further ? " and a very good game too," you will say. well, is it ? i seem to hear at this moment the clamour of something not altogether good ; i see torn bodies, broken, buried in blood, that were a year ago very thoughtless young men ; and i see the evil eye of our greed blinking and cruel ; you have not got to go far from where i write to see its work. your little happy ways, your little business ways, your little rather long immortal ways, are a cause of all this, my brothers. without the feelings that you guard so jealously from madness (why are you all so afraid of madness ?) this could not have happened. without the feel ings you enjoy, the shocking face of a woman i once saw in an alley of a great town could never have had written upon it agony unquenchable, agony eternal. 149 soliloquies the moods of god have caused all this ; they are causing it still. and our feelings that go on for ever — that we enjoy so much, — are they worth all this terror and horror and blood ; do they not after all lick up with their evil tongues all the waters of real joy out of our lives ; do they not take in the cruel grip of their eternal desires all our best children ? look at the boldness of jesus ; he too was terrible, like a burning of the firmament amongst the worlds ; think of his courage, this lion in the desert ; the disputes he had with the lawyers were nothing ; what he really did was to st^nd in the way of the eternal moods. he bade them get out of his way ; he would have a new heaven and a new earth ; he would have the feelings of a flower ; childlike laughter, like one of these little ones, to whom l 150 of a hermit every moment is an eternity and whose every hour is a life everlasting. he stood alone to stem the torrent of greed, the greed of living for ever. " he that saveth his soul shall lose it." and instead of the greed of living, he built up out of the fire of his heart the joy of life. consider the day of joy that he created for us ; how freely and light heartedly we can now cull the flowers after he has shown us the way. the deep hidden waters of the inner dark ness that lived underground like a great earth monster, he brought out into the sun. and how like snails the eternal feelings creep and creep in our lives ; how they force us to hide, and to plan and to corrupt ; how they force us to pass the day in gloom, because we are thinking of the morrow, because of the year that is to come. " take no thought for the morrow." i cannot help seeing almost a vision, as i write 151 soliloquies of the wonder that he did. and when i think of the fears ; the heavy long ings for good things ; our eternal look ing forward ; our cringing to time ; our continual longing for future gain ; when i think how oppressed we all are, how filled to the brim with the feelings that want to go on for ever ; i do not know how i can thank him enough, that opened a way for our freedom. i cannot think how anyone can re gard immortality as anything else but an endless and sad ordeal of the sanie feelings ; they go on and on, and always serve us the same. they bring simple peasants and quiet homely gentlemen in line as fodder for the cannon ; they let off the poisonous gas; they drop the bombs in the night ; our little best feelings, yours and mine, are doing it. our feelings do all this now ; and in the past they 152 of a hermit pinned him to the cross. but not before he had sown his life's blood in the earth ; not before his death-cry for freedom had gone out and been heard. no doubt the great artists, the happy portrayers of man's deeds and ways, will scream out with a great rage at the thought of their old occupation being gone. what will happen to bloody rage and blind lust that gave them all such good copy for their long nails ? for was it not ever the moods and the feelings of man's deep black nature that gave the good workers in their creative art the chance to get human-kind on the point of their pen ? well, they will have to change, that is all. jesus did not consider their love of god and his ways when he stood alone in all the: earth to face and destroy the moods. the artists that »53 soliloquies of a hermit have for so long lived like vultures upon the broken flesh and rotten carcass of human despair must now learn a new trade ; they must try to rest awhile in our grange mead beside the dairy cows, and write poems, until a little of the new heaven and the new earth enter into them. and meanwhile let them bless the maiden and the young man that again loiter through the mead, for it is now evening, on their way home from the tavern ; and let them bless the naughty child that lingered for one more solitary dance alone on the green after all the others had gone. the end printed by morrison and gibb ltd., edinburqli 28 indl 4514.41 goldsmith. the hermit. 1886 ind l 4514.41 vel bo tas harvard college library ०४४९ষ৬৮४ ---905003036-4 6250000887 एकान्तवासो योगी एक प्रेम कहानों जिसे हिन्दी और अंगरेज़ी रसिकों के आनन्द के लिये पण्डित श्रीधर पाठक ने अंगरेजो से खड़ी हिन्दी के पढ्य में उल्था किया "जिहि कर जिहि पर सत्य सन ह सो तिहि मिलहि न कछु सन्देह" the hermit. by goldsmith. श्रीतुलसीदास translated into hindi verse by pandit sridhara pathaka. allahabad -(all rights reserved.) देशोपकारक यंत्रालय, प्रयाग में मुन्शीबच राम मेनेजर के प्रबन्ध से छापा गया १९५० v-op-900-00-00ই৩ই এই এই25 erase :-01-09 0000) 2008-0 parferanf trans प्रथम संस्करण ५०० } { मूल्य ॥ hd l 45-14:41 ✓ harvard university sanstrit dept. library; gist of fitzelward hall, july 17, 189t.. harvard university library dedicated το raja rampal singh kalakankar (partabgarh, ouhd.) for his zealous interest in the cultivation of hindi literature. a jo j.. preface. the story presented to the public in these pages is a translation of goldsmith's well-known poem.-" the hermit.” two lovers, long separated and lost to each other, quite providentially come to meet at last never to part again. the simplicity of style and tone of the original is bewitchinly striking, and that is, perhaps, what has made the love-tale so much admired in the country where it was first produced. but a translation, and that too, like the present, into a language which can but inadequately express english ideas and customs (just the difficulty almost equally experienced by any two alien tongues similarly circumstanced) cannot fairly claim equality with the original either in beanty of style or elegance of expression. however, all that lay in my small power has been exerted to make the hindi rendering as satisfactory as possible; the numerous additions to, and the few slight deviations from, the poet's original ideas, which will be found in the body of the translation, being introduced only to render more interesting and indeed more intelligible to the purely hindi-knowing reader a foreign tale which, without them, would have but little or no charm for him. allahbad: λ january, 1886. s. d. pathaka. भेट हिन्दी के प्रेमी पाठक, यह एक प्रेम कहानी आज आप को भेट की जाती है— निस्मन्देह इस्में ऐसा तो कुछ भी नहीँ जिस्से यह आपको एक ही बार में अपना सके, अथवा आपके इस नित्यनवीन रसान्वेषी मना मधुप को सहज ही में लुभा सके । केवल दो प्रेमियों के प्रेम का निर्वाह मात्र है पर हम का और का चाहिये ? हम, तुम भी तो एक हिन्दी के प्रेमी हैं बस यहीं सम्बन्ध इस भेट के लिये बहुत है हमारे इस प्रेम का भी तो निर्वाह किसी प्रकार उचित था आज योंही सही । प्रयाग पौष सम्बत १६४२ आप का सदा का दास अनुवादक श्रीः जंम श्रीः 、 एकान्तवासी योगी “सुनिये झाड़खंड बनबासी, दया शील हे वैरागी करके कृपा बता दे मुझ को कहां जले है वह आगी* मैं भटका फिरता हूं' बन में, भल गया हूं राह त जो मुझे वहां पहुंचा दे यह गुण होय अथाह ܬ निपट अकेला, भ्रान्तचित्त? अतिथकित, मंदगति फिरता हू विकट असौम, महाजङ्गल में परिभ्रमण २ मैं करता हू ज्यों ज्योँ आग़ धरता हूं पग, अन्तरहित यह देश बढ ताही जाता है प्रतिपद ३ दीर्घ विशेष विशेष" " वहां न जाना पुत्र कहीँ" यों बोला सुनकर वैरागी "करनान हिंविश्वासकभौ, वह केवल भ्रम की है आगो* वहां जो दोखे है तुझ को, यह उज्ज्वल अधिक प्रकाश झठ मूठ बहकाय करेगा निश्चय तेरा नाश *जिनको रात के समय जङ्गल में होकर यात्रा करने का काम पड़ा है उन्हों ने दलदली भमि में अपने मार्ग से १ भटका हुआ२ चक्कर ३ पद पद पर ( २ ) “यहाँ इमो जङ्गल में मेरा बना हुआ है दोन कुटीर जहांसदाग्गृहरहितपथिकका रहैनिवेदित दल, फल, नौर यद्यपि थोड़ी ही सामग्री, नहीँ प्रचुर भण्डार अर्पित होय भक्ति श्रद्धायुत, यह मेरा परिचार १ “ आज रात इस से परदेशी, चल की बिश्राम यहीँ जो कुछ वस्तु कुटी में मेरी, करो ग्रहण संकोच नहीँ तण शय्या और अल्प रसोई, पाओ खल्प प्रसाद पैर पसार करो निद्रा, लो मेरा आशीर्बाद ● " इस पर्वत की रम्य तटी में, मैं खच्छन्द विचरताहूं परमेश्वर की दया देख के, पशुहिंसा से डरता हूं गिरिवर ऊपर को हरियाली, झरना जल निर्दोष कन्द मूल,फल, फूल, इन्हीँ से करू' क्षुधा सन्तोष कुछ दूर पर आग सी जलती हुई प्रायः अवश्य देखी होगी भ्रान्त पथिकों को इंस आगसे बहुत धोखा होजाता है वे लोग यह समझ कर कि यह उजाला अवश्य किसी गांव या ऐसे स्थान में होरहा है जहां कि मनुषय रहते होंगे उसी की ओर को चल जाते हैं परन्तु ज्यों २ वे आगे बढ़ते हैं यह बिश्वास घातक प्रकाश उन्से दूर ही दूर हटता जाता हैयों वे बेचारे बटोही उस्का पीछा कर, सवन अगम्य दलदलों में फंस अपने प्राणों से हाथ धो बैठते हैं-गामीण लोग इस आग से भूतों का अनुभव करते हैं, परन्तु बास्तव में यह हाइड्रोजन अर्थात् जलकर बायु का, जिस्की कि जलप्राय प्रदेशमें स्वाभाविक १ सत्कार (=) “सा हे चतुर सुजान बटोही, चिन्ता तज त हाय मगन व्यर्थ जगतकामोह समझके, तनमन कर भगवत अपन यह असार संसार, अपेक्षा नर को इस में अल्प तिस्पर भौ वे अल्प अपेक्षा, रहैँ समय अतिस्वल्प ओस बूंद ज्योंगिरे व्योम१से, कोमलनिर्मलसुखकारी ये मृदुल बचन योगी के, लगे पथिक का दुखहारी नम्र भाव से कोनो उस्ने विनय समेत प्रणाम चला साथ योगी के हर्षित, जहं उस्का विश्राम बहुत दूर एक झाड़खंड में गुप्तठौर अज्ञात नितान्त बनी पर्णशाला योगी की, साधारण अत्यन्त दूकान्त जहां शरण पावें सङ्कट में दुखिया, दीन, अनाथ मान होय भूले भटके का, अति श्रद्धा के साथ नहीँ बड़ा भंडार मढ़ी में, कौज जिस्की रखवाली द्वार एक छोटा सा त गमय, अभय कुटी शोभाशाली २ इस टट्टी में लगी चटखनी, दी योगी ने खोल दोनों जीव पधारे भीतर, जिन्के चरित अमेाल अधिकता होती है, एक रूप बिशेष है-इसी प्रकार की आग से भटक कर इस कहानी का सुग्ध पथिक बनबासी बैरागी से उस्का मार्ग पूछ रहा है ॥ १ आकाश २ शोभा से भरी हुई (8) दिन के श्रम से था जिस समय जगत चैन से सोता है यहाँ उटज १ के बीच उससमय, अतिथिसमादर होता है निशा काल, अतिशय अंधियारा, छाय रहा सुनसान झिल्ली शब्द, शृगालरूदन २ बन भूमि, पड़ोस मसान परम निपुण पंडित वैरागी, भट पट आग जलाता है सोच भरे पाहुने पथिक के मन को मुदित कराता है तृणमय एक चटाई, उस्पर दिया पथिक बैठाल अपने लिये मंज का आसन लिया पास ही डाल सागपातमय मृदुल रसोई, उस्को शीघ्र परसता है. " कुछ सङ्कोच न करना" कहके, मुस्काता और हंसता है पूर्व काल की कथा कहानी अद्भुत उसे सुनाय मन बहलाने लगा पथिक का, करके विविध उपाय धनी तपे, आग की ज्वाला, चञ्चल शिखा झलकती है ܬ उडता फुं अं, शुक ई' धन की लकड़ी तथा चटकती है करें मंगन हो मार्जारौसुत ३ क्रीड़ा खेल कलोल अही परम आनन्द सदन, यह सुन्दर दृश्य अमोल ! १ कुटीर २ गीदड़ का रोना ३ बिल्ली का बच्चा ( ५ ) इससमस्त परिचर्या ? ने, नहिं दियापथिकका कुछ आनन्द प्रवलदुःखसेथाउस्कामनव्यथित मलिन. पीडित औरमन्द उदासीनमुख, शोकयुक्त अति पतित पलक भाल भूदृगदृष्टि शिथिल तन दुर्बल, ज्योँनव शुष्कमृणाल ܬ गढ़गढ़ कंठ, हृदय भर आया, लौ उसास उसने भारौ नेत्रों से फिर अश्रुपात को एकसाथ बंधगई धारी बहै अनर्गल अश्रुधार यह, ज्यों पावस का मेह आर्द्र २ कपाल, चिब क, वक्षस्थल, सजल हुई सबदेह चतुर, बहुत, विज्ञ वैरागी उस्की दशा निरखता है. कोमल, मृदुल, मिष्ठ बाणौ से दुख का हेतु परखता है उसौ ब्यथा हे परिपौड़ित, यह बनखंडौ आप देख चुका है दुःख जगत के, तथा विविध सन्ताप в "कों यह दुःख तुर्झ परदेशी ? ” लगा पूछने बरागी “किस कारण से भरा हृदय, का व्यथा तेरेमनकोलागौ ? असौभाग्य बश छटं गया घर मन्दिर सुख आवास३ निस्के मिलने की तुझ को अब, रही न कुछ भी आस ? १ शिष्टाचार-२गीले भीगे हुए ३ निवासस्थान, घर ( ६ ) "निज लोगों से बिकुर अकेला, उन्की सुध में रोता है? करकर सोच उन्हीँ का, फिर फिर तन आंसू से धोता? या मैत्री का लिया बुरा फल, छल से वञ्चिताय दिया पराये अर्थ ब्यर्थ को सर्वस अपना खोय ? "नव यौवन के सुवासलिल में का विषविन्दुमिलाया अपनी सौख्य बाटिका में, कया कंटक वृक्ष लगाया है? अथवा तेरे अमित दुःख का केवल कारण प्रेम होना कठिन निवाह जगत में जिस्का दुर्घट नेम 2 1) ''महा तुच्छ सांसारिक सुख जो धन के बल से मिलता है काच समान समझिये इस्को पल भर में सब गलता है , जो इस नश्यमान धन सुख को खोज है मतिमूढ. उस्क्रौ तुल्य धरातल ऊपर, है नहिं कोई कूट. “उसी भांति सांसारिक मंत्री, केवल एक कहानी है नाम मात्र से अधिक आज तक, नहीँ किसी ने जानी है जब तक धन, सम्पदा, प्रतिष्ठा, अथवा यश विख्याति तब तक सभी मित्र, शुभचिन्तक, निज कुल बान्धवज्ञाति ( ७ ) " अपना स्वार्थ सिद्ध करने का, जगत मित्र बन जाता है किन्तु काम पड़ने पर, कोई कभी काम नहिं आता है भरे बहुत से इस पृथ्वी पर पापी, कुटिल, कृत इसौ एक कारण से उस्पर, उठें अनेकों विघ ! १ " जो त प्रेम पन्थ में पड़कर, मनको दुख पहुंचाता है तो है निपट अजान, अज्ञ, निज जीवन व्यर्थ गंवाता है कुत्सित २, कुटिल, क्रूर पृथ्वी पर कहां प्रेम का बास ? अरे मख', आकाश पुष्पवत, झ ठौ उस्को आस ܬ “जोक छ प्रेम अ'श पृथ्वी पर जब तब पाया जाता है सो सब शुद्ध कपोतों ही के कुल में आदर पाता है धन वैभव आदिक से भी, यह थोथा ३ प्रमबिचार वृथा मोह अज्ञान जनित, सब तत्व शून्य निस्सार ! “ बड़ी लाज है युवा पुरुष, नहिं इस्में तेरी शोभा है तज तरुणी का ध्यान, मान,मन जिस्पर तेरा लोभा है' इतना कहतेही योगी के, हुआ पथिक कुछ और लाज सहित संकोच भाव सा, आया मुख पर दौर १ उपकार न मानने वाले २ खोटी, बरी ३ साररहित · ८ ( ) अतिआश्चर्य दृश्य योगी को वहां दृष्टि अब आता है परम ललित लावण्य रूपनिधि, पथिक प्रगट बनजाता है ज्यां प्रभात अरुणोदयवेला १ विमलवर्ण आकाश त्योंही गुप्तबटोहौ की छवि, क्रम,क्रम हुई प्रकाश नीचे नेत्र, उच्च वक्षस्थल, रूप कटा फैलाता है नशन : दर्शक के मनपर, निज अधिकार जमाता है इस चरित्र से वैरागी को हुआ ज्ञान तत्काल “नहीँ पुरुष यह पथिक विलक्षण, किन्तु सुन्दरीबाल ! “क्षमा हे।य अपराधसाधु वर, हे दयालु सद् गुणराशी भाग्य होन, एक दोन विरहिनी है यथार्थ में यहदासी किया अशुचि आकर मैंने, यह आश्रम परम पुनीत " सिर नवाय, करजोड़, दुःखिनौ बोली बचन विनीत “शोचनीय ममदशा, कथा मैं कहूं आप सो सुन लौज प्रेम व्यथिन अबला पर अपनी दया दृष्टि योगी कौज केवल प्रेम प्रेरणा के बश, कोड़ा अपना गेह धारण किया प्राणपति के हित, पुरुष वेश निज देह १ सरज निकलने के पहले का समय जिसे 'पौली फटी' कहते हैं ( 1 ) "टाइन नदी के रम्यतौर पर, भूमि मनोहर हरियाली लटकरहीँ, करहीँ, जहां द्र मलता, कुऐ जलसे डाली चिपटा हुआ उसी के तट से, उज्ज्वल उच्च विशाल शोभित है एक महल बाग में, आगे है एक ताल , ૧ “उस समग्र ' बन भवन, बाग का मेरा बापही खामी था धर्मशील, सत्कर्मनिष्ठ २, वह ज मौंदार एक नामी था बड़ा धनाढा, उदार, महाशय, दौन दरिद्र सहाय कृषि कारों का प्रेमपात्र, संबविधि सद् गुणसमुदाय ३ d “मेरो बाल्य अवस्था ही में, मानेकिया स्वर्ग प्रस्थान ४ रही अकेली साथ पिताके, थी मैं उस्की जीवन प्रान बड़े स्नेह से उस्ने मुझ को पाला पोसा आप सब कन्याओं को परमेश्वर देवे ऐसा बाप 66 “दो घंटे तक मुझे नित्य वह अमसे आप पढ़ता था विद्या विषयक विविध चातुरी, नित्यनई सिखलाता था करू कहां तक वर्णन उस्की अतुल दया का भाव हुआ न होगा किसी पिता का ऐसा मृदुल स्वभाव १ सब २ अच्छे कामेा में जो लगारहे अच्छे गुणों से भरा त्रा ४ परलोकगमन ( १० ) "मैं ही एक वालिका, उस्के सत्कु ल में जीवित थौशेष इस्से स्वत्व' बाप के धनका, प्राण्य २ मुझौ कोथानिश्शेष३ था यथार्थ में गोह हमारा, सब प्रकार सम्पन्न ईश्वर तुल्य पिता के सन्मुख, थी मैं पूर्ण प्रसन्न “हमजोली की सखियोंकेस'ग पढ नेलिखने का आनन्द परम प्रौति युत प्यार परस्पर, सबविधिसदा सुखीखच्छन्द सुखही सुखमें बीता मेरा बचपन का सब काल और उसी निश्चिन्त दशा में लगी सोलवौँ साल " पिता की गोदी में से अलगाने के अभिलाषी आने लगे अनेक युवक अब, दूर दूर तक के वासी भांति भांति से करें प्रगट, वह अपने मन का भाव बार बार दरसाय बुद्धि, विद्या, कुल, शील, खभाव " पूर्ण रूप से मोहित मुझ पर अपना चित्त जनाते थ उपमा सहित रूप मेरे की, विविध बड़ाई गाते थे नित्य नित्य बहुमूल्य बस्तुओं के नवीन उपहार ४ लाकर धरै करे सुष ५, युवक अनेकप्रकार १ अधिकार २ मिलन योग्य ३ सम्पूर्ण ४ भेट-नज र ५ख़ शामद( ११ ) "उन्मे एक कुमार एडविन, प्रमी, प्रति दिन आताथा वय किशोर, सुन्दर सरूप, मन जिस्का देख लुभाताथा वार था वह मेरे ऊपर तन मन सर्वम प्रान किन्तु मनोरथ अपना उस्ने, कभी प्रकाश कियान "साधारण अति रहन सहन, मृदु बाल हृदय हरने वाला मधुर मधुर मुस्कान मनोहर, मनुज वंशका उजियाला सभ्य, सुजन, सत्कर्मपरायण, सौम्य, सुशील, सुजान शुद्ध चरित्र, उदारप्रकृति शुभ, विद्यात्र वि निधान "नहीं विभव कुछधनधरतौका, न अधिकारको ईउस्कोथा गुणही थे केवल उस्काधन, सेा धन सारा मुझको या उस अलभ्य धनके पाने को थे नहिं मेरे भाग ड्रा धिक् व्यर्थ प्राणधारण, धिक् जीवन का अनुराग ! " प्राणपियारे की गुण गाथा, माधु कहांतक मैं गाऊ जाते गाते चुके नहीं वह चाहो मैंही चुकजाऊ' विश्वनिकाई विधि ने उसमें की एकत्र बटोर बलिहारी त्रिभुवन धन, उस्पर वारौं काम करोर 7 १ सत्कर्म निष्ठ । ( १२ ) “ मूरत उस्की बसी हृदय में अबतक मुझे जिलाती है फिर भी मिलने की दृढ़. आशा, धीरजअभीब' धाती है करती हूं' दिन रात उसी का आराधन और ध्यान वाही मेरा इष्टदेव' है, वोही जीवन प्रान "जब वह मेरे साथ टहलने शैलतटौर में जाता था अपनी अमृतमयी वाणी से प्रेम सुधा बरसाता था उस्के खरसे होजाता था बनस्थली ३ का ठाम सौरभ मिलित ४, सुरस रवपूरित५, सुरकानन ६, सुखधाम “उस्के मनकी मुघराई की उपमा उचित कहां पाऊ मुकुलितनवलकुसुमकलिकासम कहते फिर फिर सकुचाऊ यद्यपि सविन्दु अति उज्ज्वल, मुक्ता विमल अनूप किन्तु एक परमाणुमात्र भी नहिं उस्के अनुरूप “तरुपरफूल,कमलपर जलकण१०, सुन्दर परम सुहाते हैं अल्प काल के बीच किन्तु वे कुम्हलाकर मिटजाते हैं उन्कौ उस्मे' रहौ माहनो११, पर मुझको धिक्कार ! केवल एक क्षणिकता १२ मुझ में, थी उनके अनुसार १सबसे अधिक पूज्य देवता; पर्बत तटी, घाटी; ३वन भूमि ४सुगंध मिला हुआ; ५मधुर शब्द से भरा हुआ; ६ देवताओं का बाग, नन्दन बन; ७ खिलती हुई नई कली के तुल्य ८ तिल भर भी; तुल्य; १० जलबिन्दु; ११ कवि, सुन्दरता; १२ एक अवस्था में थोड़ी ही देर तक रहने की प्रकृति । ( १३ ) “कयोंकि, रूप के अहंकार में हुई चपल, चञ्चलऔरटीठ प्रेम परीक्षा करने को मैं उस्को लगी दिखाने पौठ atter में यद्यपि उस्पर तन मन से आसक्त किन्तु बनाय लिया ऊपर से रूखा रूप विरक्त “पहु'चा उसे खेद इस्से अति, हुआ दुखित अत्यन्त उदास तजदी अपने मनमें उस्ने मेरे मिलने की सब आस मैं यह दशा देखने परभौ, ऐसी हुई कठोर करने लगी अधिक रूखापन दिन दिन उस्की ओर "होकर निपट निरास अन्तको चलागया वह बेचारा अपने उस अनुचित घमंड का फल मैंने पाया सारा एकाकी १ में जाकर उस्ने, ताड़ जगत से नेह धोकर हाथ प्रीति मेरीसे, त्याग दिया निज देह " किन्तु प्रमनिधि, प्राणनाथ का भल नहीँ मैं जाऊ' गी प्राणदान के द्वारा उस्का ऋण मैं आप चुकाऊंगी उस एकान्त ठौर का मैं अब ठढहू दिन रैन दुख की आग बुझाय जहां पर द´ इस मन को चैन १ अकेले में । ( १४ ) " जाकर वहां जगत को मैं भी उसी भांति बिसराज गौ देह गेह को देय तिलाञ्जलि, प्रिय से प्रीति निभाऊ गौ मेरे लिये एडविन ने ज्यों किया प्रीति का नेम में भी शीघ्र करूंगी परिचित, अपना प्रेम" "करे नहीँ परमेश्वर ऐसा " बोला झट पट बेरागी लिया गले लिपटाय उसे, पर वह क्रोधित होने लागी था परन्तु यह बनका योगी वही एडविन आप | आयुर बिताये था जङ्गल में, भल जगत सन्ताप 6 "सेरौ जीवन मूर३, प्रानधन, अहो अंजलेना प्यारी"। बोला उत्कंठिन४ होकर वह “अह प्रीतिजग से न्या इतने दिन का बिकुरा तेरा वही एडविन आज मिला प्रिये तुझ को मैं, मेरे हुए सिद्द सब काज “धन्यवाद ईश्वर को देकर वार वार बलिबलि जाऊं तुझ को गले लगाकर प्यासे निज जीवन का फलपाऊं कर दोज अब सब चिन्ता का इसी घड़ी से त्याग तू यह अपना पथिक वेश तज, मैं छोड़ वैराग . १ साबित अवस्था, उम्र, ३जीवन की जड़-सजीवनी ४ उक्काह 'में' आकर | ( १५ ) “यारी तुझे छोड़कर मैं अब कभी कहा नहिं जाऊंगा तेरीहौ सेवा में अपना जीवन शेष बिताऊंगा गाऊंगा तब नाम अहर्निश १, पाऊंगा सुखदान तुही एक मेरा सर्वस धन, तन मन जीवन प्रान "इस मुहूर्त २ से प्रिये, नहीँ अब पलभरभी होंगे न्यारे जिन वित्र से था विक्रोड यह, सो अबदर हुए सारे यद्यपि भिन्न शरीर हमारे, हृदय प्रान मन एक परमेश्वर की अतुल कृपा से निभी हमारी टक" योगी को अब उस रमणौ ने भुजभर किया प्रेम आलिंग गद गढ़बोल, वारिपूरितद ग. उमगितमन, पुलकित सब अङ्ग बार बार आलिंगित दोनों, करें प्रेम रस पान एक एक की ओर निहारे वारेतन मन प्रान ! परम प्रशस्य अही प्रमौ ये, कठिन प्रम इनने साधा इप्त अनन्यतासहित धन्य, अपने प्यारे को आराधा प्रियवियोग परितापित ६ होकर, दिया सभी कुछ त्याग बनवन फिरना लिया एकने, द जे ने बौराग ! १ रातदिन; २घड़ी से; ३ प्रशंसा योग्य; ४ दूसरे का ध्यान छोड़कर,; ५ आराधन किया; ६प्यारे के विछोह से दुखित होकर । ( १६ ) धन्य अंजलेना तेरा व्रत, धन्य एडविन का यह नेम | धन्यधन्ययह मनादमन१,औरधन्य अटलउन्कायहप्र में ! रहो निरन्तर साथ परस्पर, भोगा सुख आनन्द जगज ग जियो जुगल जोड़ी,मिल पियो प्रम मकरन्द२ इति १ मन का मारना; २ प्रेम रूपी पुष्प का रस । श्रीधर पाठक कृत और पुस्तकें मूल्य डाक में १. मनोविनोदप्राकृतिक शोभा पूर्ण ललित काव्य २. बालभगोल ( नक्शा सहित ) प्रथम भाग दष्टान्त हारावली घनदिग्विजय भारत प्रशंसा अभी कपी नहीं मिलने का पता =" अथवा न नौताल श्रीधर पाठक अहियापुर, प्रयाग う ​सूचना – जो ग्राहक “ मनोविनोद, “बालभ गोल' और "एकान्तवासी योगी" तीनों एक साथ लेंगे उन्हें एक पुस्तक बिना मूल्य दी जायगी — और भी कई एक रोचक और उपकारक विषय मुद्रित कराने की हमारी इच्छा है परन्तु खेद यह है कि हिन्दी पुस्तकों के ग्राहक और पाठक प० उ० में (अर्थात उसी देश a में जहां को कि हिन्दो ठेठ भाषा है) इतने कम हैं और जो हैं वे ऐसे उत्साह शून्य हैं कि हिन्दी लेखकों का अनेक प्रकार के लेख समय २ पर प्रकाश करने का एका एक माहम नहीं पड़ता, क्योंकि उन बेचारों को अपने परिश्रम के प्रति फल में द्रव्य लाभ को दूर रख, छपाई तक आजाने की भी पक्की आशा सर्वदा नहीँ हो सक्ती – १० मे से ६ को गांठ से ही सब भार सहना पड़ता है— बङ्गाली, मरहठी आदि को देखिये जिन्के कि तुच्छ और सड़ लेखों के भो ग्राहकों का अन्त नहीँ मिलता परन्तु यह सब उन प्रान्तों के सर्ब सम्पन्न शिक्षित समाज के प्रशंसनीय प्रयत्नों का फल है और हम मनाते हैं कि इस देश की सुशिक्षित मंडली भी अपनी निज भाषा को वैसीही उन्नत दशा पर शीघ्रही पहुंचा देने का कारण होवे । गुन्थकार की स्वाक्षरित आता बिना इस पुस्तक के छापने का अधिकार किसी को नहीं ॥ indl 4514.41 widener library 003239388 3 2044 092 196 302 103 harvard university. library museum op comparative zoology. gift of proceedings of the boston society of natural history. vol. 31, no. t, p. u1-x)'.), p|. 4-10. the metamobphoses op the hermit crab. by millktt t. thompson. iioston: printed for toe socibtt. september, 1903. k 4 no. 4.—the metamorphoses of the hermit crab.1 by millett t. thompson. introduction. tim group of the pagurids or hermit crabs has always attracted the attention of carcinologists, not only because of its extent both in species and in individuals, but also because of the asymmetry which involves nearly every genus and the habit of protecting the soft abdomen within hollow objects, typically the shells of gastropod mollusca. whether the asymmetry — which is of dextral type except in the genus paguropsis — owes its origin to this use of shells for residences, since nearly all marine gastropod shells are dextral in coil, cannot be determined with certainty until the phytogeny and relationships of the various genera are better understood. but, nevertheless, it is unquestionable that the modifications found are in a very great degree correlated with residence in dextrally spiral shells. this alone makes the ontogeny of the group an .extremely interesting and important subject for study. knowledge of pagurid ontogeny was in its beginnings practically contemporaneous with the discovery of the metamorphosis among the higher crustacea. during the discussion which followed thompson's assertion ('28) that the supposed genus "zoea" was a larva, vigors ('30) in a review of rathke's study of the development of aatucus fluviatilis, which has no metamorphosis, appeared skeptical with regard to thompson's conclusions. this drew a reply from the latter author (thompson, '30-'31), communicating a list of fifteen decapods in which he had observed the young to be unlike the parent and "pagurus" was included in this list. the further statement by thompson five years later, in 1835, that both "zoe" and "megalope" were larvae and his reiteration that, among "macrura," attacua marinus, pagurus, and other forms underwent a metamorphosis, greatly stimulated research on erusta1 from the anatomical laboratory, brown university, and the laboratory of the u. s. fish commission, woods hole, mass. 148 proceedings: boston society natural history. cean development, and in the year 1840, two papers on pagurid development appeared. one of these (rathke, '40) deserves to stand as the first real contribution to our knowledge of the metamorphosis in this group. for thompson did not describe his larva and philippi's paper of the same year merely figured in a rough way the first zoea. rathke's paper, however, briefly described three zoeal and a macruran-like older stage of the european "pagurus bernhardus." two years later (rathke, '42) it was republished in more complete form with excellent figures of the zoeae and of the maxillipeds, tail fan, and pleopods of the "older larva." then twenty years passed without any important addition along this line of carcinological research until the publication of muller's "fur darwin," in 1864. this article described a "pagurus" zoea, called attention to the absence of any gradation in the successive zoeal stages towards the macruran-like stage, and, although it is uncertain whether muller actually saw this later stage, it is described and compared to a small shrimp which had received from milneedwards the name glaucothoe. "glaucothoe peronii may be such a young, still symmetrical pagurus." the recapitulatory nature of the stage is also asserted. "the abdomen is truly in the adult a clumsy [ungeschlachter] sac, filled with liver and sexual organs, but it is yet fairly powerful [kriiftig] in the glaucothoe-stage and it was also still stronger when this stage was the permanent form of the animal." a few years after muller's article appeared, spence bate (?68) published an account of two zoeae and a glaucothoe which he collected at the surface and correctly assigned to "pagurus." of the latter stage he says: "in this they probably continue until they find a suitable molluscous shell. ... i imagine that they may cast their exuvium and grow during the whole time that they are deficient of such a shell because i have taken specimens, occupants of shells, that were still smaller than the ones described and yet further advanced toward maturity. it would be curious to see if, were they deprived entirely of a shell as a habitat they would continue to grow and retain the normal [i. e., symmetrical] form of the pleon generally." this query as to the effect of depriving the young of a shell was in part answered by agassiz ('75) nearly ten years later. he showed that the larva might attain asymmetry and a soft abdomen thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 149 before a shell was entered and considered that the desire tor a shell arose from the anatomical changes. the extreme brevity of his record, however, has been a cause of much confusion. it was not clearly shown whether this metamorphosis without a shell was the typical developmental sequence or only a frequent happening. moreover, the amount of the asymmetry attained at this time was not certainly defined. hence the record has been interpreted to mean that the change from the glaucothoe to the adult form was gradual and covered several ecdyses (bouvier, '91). hut i am convinced that agassiz intended to indicate the change as occurring with a single ecdysis and the figures published by faxon ('82) support this contention. these show four zoeae, and in less detail a fifth stage which is identified with the genera glaucothoe and prophylax. immediately following the fifth stage comes a stage entitled "age when it takes up its abode in a molluscan shell," and this figure depicts a crab with almost adult asymmetry, but bearing minute rudiments of pleopods on the right side of the abdomen. the main outlines of pagurid ontogeny had now become clear. the young passed through several zoea stages and then moulted to a glaucothoe phase analogous to the megalops of the true crabs, and as with them the mysis phase was suppressed (claus, '76) into the last of the zoea stages, the metazoea (claus, '85). the anatomy of the glaucothoe, however, remained almost unknown and the details of the metamorphosis to the adult form obscure. for as already noted, considerable uncertainty existed as to whether the larva passed to the adolescent phase directly or gradually. since agassiz's note, no work has given us much additional data regarding this most important point in the whole development. for the recent articles by sana ('89) and czerniavsky ('84) do not deal with the postzoeal stage except to depict the external form, although they are valuable records for several genera and species of hermit crabs. the present research, then, was undertaken in the hope that through a study of the anatomy from the time of hatching until the adult form was attained, and through examination of the rdie of the shell in the development, some knowledge of this almost untouched field might be obtained. the study was carried on during the three years prior to 1902 at brown university and at the laboratory of the united states fish commission at woods hole. i wish to 150 proceedings: boston society natural history. express ray especial gratitude to dr. h. c. bumpus, now director of the american museum of natural history, for the assistance and guidance furnished me throughout the work at both institutions. i am also indebted to dr. a. d. mead, of brown university, and to dr. h. m. smith, of the united states fish commission, for ample provision extended to me during my study. the adult crab. throughout the region about woods hole, the genus eupagurus is practically supreme and is represented there in the shallower waters by four species, viz.: longicarpus, annulipes, acadianns, which is apparently only a variety of the european bern/tardus, and pollicaris. of these, e. longicarpus is the only one generally distributed along the shore. it is extremely abundant and extends from tide-water to a depth of about twenty-five fathoms and is associated over the lower limits of its range with acadianns which is a deeper-water species, and in the shallow waters with pollicaris and annulipes, but of these only pollicaris occurs along shore and then only in a few localities. because of its distribution and abundance, e. longicarpus was selected for the present research. but after much of the work had been completed, it was discovered that the larvae of annulipes could not be distinguished from those of the selected species, as their slightly smaller size furnished no adequate criterion for their separation. whenever the annulipes larvae were unusually abundant, as was shown by the occurrence of their adolescent stages in the experiments,-1 could note no difference in the ontogeny from the periods when undoubted longicarpus predominated. in sections also, the smaller specimens of any stage, presumptive annulipes, were wholly like their larger companions. this is perfectly in accord with what we know of the adults themselves. eupagurus longicarpus and e. annulipes differ only in specific details. e. longicarpus is. the larger, has slender chelipeds and its coloration is diffuse. e. annulipes, on the other hand, has stout chelipeds and prominent belts of brown pigment on the anterior thoracic limbs. my research is therefore not invalidated, but rather enriched by the confusion. it becomes a life history of two, instead of one species. thompson: metamokphoses of hermit crab. 1")1 the majority of the larvae handled belonged to e. longicarpua and it is fitting therefore that this species should be described rather than e. unnidipes. but the following account is applicable to the latter and to the other species of the genus also. like many other decapods, eupagurus longicarpua is crepuscular and during the day a majority of individuals remain buried in the sand or congregated in the shade. they are omnivorous and must glean very closely, as they pick up bits of gravel or detritus from the bottom and brush them over between the maxillipeds. they also toss sand — usually with the smaller cheliped only — to the mouth parts, brush it between them and let the grains fall again in a continuous stream. probably it is in this manner that they obtain the diatoms and foraminifera, whichare found in the stomach and intestine. but although the food is thus very largely diatomaceous, no sort of vegetable or animal matter is refused. the asymmetry is dextral. the chelipeds and the two following pairs of limbs are larger on the right than on the left side. the abdomen is spirally twisted to the right and only the sixth segment, telson, and first segment are heavily calcified. the remainder and major portion is soft and bloated. the boundaries of the segments are lost, except dorsally where the posterior borders of the terga can be traced, and show that the fourth and fifth segments are elongate, while the second and third are shortened. the sternum of the first segment or peduncle is indistinguishably fused with the sternum of the last thoracic segment. the peduncle bears no appendages and the four succeeding segments have no pleopod on the right side. on the left side, the female has a large biramous pleopod on the second, third, and fourth segments and a smaller pleopod with a minute internal ramus on the fifth (pl. 6, fig. 24); while the male has a pleopod similar in shape to the most posterior of the female's series on the third, fourth, and fifth segments, but no pleopod on the second segment (pl. 6, fig. 25). the uropods are alike in the two sexes and the left is the larger (pl. 7, fig. 31„). the greater development of the female's pleopods is probably correlated with their use during the breeding season when the eggs are borne on the hairs of their borders. it must not be hastily assumed, however, that the pleopods of the male have no function. while watching adolescent crabs that were inhabiting straight glass shells i have noticed that their pleopods were at times waved in the 152 proceedings: boston society natural history. water. this suggests a possible function for these appendages in both sexes to reinforce the current in the shell which is primarily induced by the branchial outflow and movements of the body. bate ('50) records a similar movement of the appendages in female hermit crabs which were bearing eggs. the rdle played by the sensory hairs on these appendages must be nearly equivalent in both sexes. a large columella prominence is present. although it has been suggested that this organ aids the crab in maintaining a firm hold on its shell, i feel that this cannot be a complete explanation for the existence of the structure. if it serves this function at all, it must be mainly passively, in conforming the body more perfectly to the columella angle of the shell chamber. moreover, it is not a very muscular organ even in the genera in which it is well developed and it is only imperfectly developed in a large number of hermit crabs. our species of eupagurus maintain their hold on the shell chiefly by the grip of the calcified telson and uropods on the columella, while the tuberculated areas on the posterior thoracic limbs and uropods may lend assistance. the chitin over the venter of the abdomen also is roughened with fine transverse lines. when an attempt is made to dislodge a crab by traction on its limbs, an additional resistance is often obtained by the elevation of the rostral region of the carapace against the roof of the chamber. the breeding period of e. longicarpus is very long. females with eggs attached to the pleopods can be obtained from may until mid-september. the zoeae begin to appear in the auflrieb in the latter part of june and are very abundant during july and august. the glaucothoe can be obtained as late as october. our knowledge of the breeding period of the remaining species of eupagurus is imperfect. e. annuhpes breeds over practically the same period as lonf/icarpus, ceasing a little earlier in the fall. zoeae that agree closely with sara' ('89) description of the zoeae of e. bernhardus occur seatteringly throughout the summer. quite likely these are the larvae of acadianus. the glaucothoe, however, has eight instead of the ten telson bristles shown in sars' plate. the young of pollicaris have not been identified and most of them are probably liberated in june, though females with eggs are taken during july. thompson: metamoiu'hoses of hehmit crab. 153 general accocxt of the metamorphosis. the eggs and young of eupagurus are very sensitive. zoeae were hatched in confinement with great difficulty and as they invariably died in a few hours it was necessary to collect all material directly from the auftrieb. even zoeae collected in this way could not endure more than one moult and although the later phases were much more resistant, they were nevertheless delicate as compared with the young of many other decapods. the most vital factors in rearing crab larvae seem to be cleanliness and an even, moderate, water temperature. the following method for rearing the young, although not original, is recorded here because it was by far the most satisfactory of those tried. in the end it was exclusively used. the young were kept in covered dishes of clean sea-water which was in sufficient volume to render unnecessary the use of algae for aeration. the water was changed daily, or in hot weather oftener, and to ensure a constant temperature the dishes were partly immersed in running water or suspended in large aquaria. diatoms, collected with a fine net or scraped from submerged objects, were the most satisfactory food, but animal food was also given. woods hole offers especial advantages for the study of crustacean development. strong currents prevail in the neighboring waters, and one of these rushes past the wharves of the fish commission station during part of each tide and a large "tow net" may simply be suspended in this current and emptied at convenient intervals. also, at those times when there is a paucity of animal life in the water, the numerous "slicks" caused by conflicting currents and back-sets, may prove an excellent resource, as the plankton is concentrated in these areas. zoea phaae.— the zoeae of lonijicarpu s and annulipes (pl. 4. fig. 1-4) have the characteristic pagurid form: without carinae or spines; with long, straight rostrum; hind angles of carapace produced; swollen compound eyes, and third maxilliped rudimentary at time of hatching. the transparent body is pigmented with contractile scarlet and yellow chromatophores, and the eyes are black with yellow pigment diffused over the surface. no trace of a median eye can be found. the stomach and intestine are usually clean, as but little foixl is taken during the phase. the livers con154: proceedings: boston society natural history. tain strongly refractive, yellowish globules. these larvae are phototactie, though to a less degree than brachyuran zoeae, and in a glass vessel range themselves head downwards against the lighted side. they swim tail foremost, and rather slowly and steadily. the surfaces of the body, however, are not definitely oriented, though either the dorsal or ventral are uppermost more frequently than the lateral. this lack of orientation seems to be correlated with the complete absence of otocysts in the three earlier stages and with the undeveloped condition of these organs in the fourth stage or metazoea. while swimming, the eyes, antennae, and uropods are invariably held in the positions shown in figure 4 (plate 4). in captivity, the moults between the successive stages usually take place at night or in the early morning, and the larvae sink to the bottom of the aquarium and remain quiescent for a considerable period previons to the actualecdysis. the manner of moulting under natural conditions could not be determined. the length of the zoea phase and of its several stages is not known. the occurrence of the successive stages in the auftrieb indicates that the phase possibly extends through only two or three weeks. but little reliance, however, can be placed upon data of this class, and it is very probable that the period varies with the external conditions, as is the case with other crustacean larvae. in our eupagurids, the zoea phase comprises four stages, which may be separated as follows: — first zoea. third maxilliped rudimentary (pl. 4, fig. ]); sixth abdominal segment not distinct from telson; exopods of maxillipeds with four feathered setae; thoracic limbs as a simple mass of undifferentiated tissue. length, 1.9-2.7 mm.1 second zoea. exopod of third maxilliped functional as swimming-foot; endopod barely indicated (pl. g, fig. 142); exopods of maxillipeds with six setae; anlagen of uropods as a baud of tissue along each side of the telson (pl. 7, fig. 312); thoracic limbs distinct, rudimentary, fourth pair excessively long, fifth pair short and concealed beneath others (these proportions are found also in the two following stages). length, 2.7-3 mm.1 1 including as they do the larvae of two species, all the measurements have an unduly extended range. thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 155 third zoea. uropods present, and sixth abdominal segment distinct; exopods with seven setae; rudiments of the gills on second, third, and fourth limbs. length, 3.5-4 mm.1 fourth zoea, metazoea. limb rudiments very large, dactylus of cheliped distinct; rudimentary pleopods present: gill rudiments for chelipeds present; right cheliped obviously larger than left—this condition of the chelipeds may possibly date from the third zoea; maxillipedal exopods with eight setae; uropods symmetrical ; mandibles without palpus rudiment. length, circa 4 mm.1 faxon ('82) described four zoea stages identical with these four, and it is likely that he studied larvae belonging either to eupagurus longicarpus or to annulipes. other investigators have not recorded so many stages. xone of them describes the second zoea, unless one of the figures, no. 52, in claus's "zur kenntniss der kreislaufsorgane" ('84), corresponds to it. but it should not be assumed that this stage is typically absent from the zoea phase of the various fagurids, for it closely resembles the first stage and might readily be overlooked. my third zoea corresponds to kathke's ('40, '42) "young of one and three-fourths lines" and to clauses ("61) "spiiteres stadium." the other writers make no mention of a similar stage. the metazoea has been repeatedly noted, l'athke ('40, '42) termed it, "young over two lines long"; bate ('68), " what we take to be the second stage"; clans, "mysisstadinm" ('76), "metazoea" ('85); and sars ('89), "last larval stage," "last stage before moult to adolescent stage." postzoeal phase.— the postzoeal phase includes only one stage, the fifth or glaucothoe (pl. 4, fig. 5). the larva is now 2.8-3.3 mm. long and is macruran in form with symmetrical abdomen and with pleopods on the second to the fifth segment. the uropods are asymmetrical as in the adult, and the thoracic appendages are on the whole adult in type and proportions. a few tubercles on the posterior thoracic limbs and on the uropods (pl. 6, figs. 19, '20; pl. 7, fig. 31t) represent the future tuberculated areas. the sternum of 1 including as they do the larvae of two species, all the measurements have an unduly extended range. 156 proceedings: boston society natural history. the first abdominal segment, which is not very wide at any time, can no longer be detected in sections. the otoeysts are functional and orientation is definite. internally the livers, lateral caeca, green glands, and sexual glands are thoracic. the unpaired intestinal caecum is lacking and the muscles and blood vessels are similar to those of macrurous decapoda. in color, the glaucothoe resemble zoeae except that the branches of the yellow chroinatophores form a fine network over the limbs and carapace and produce a grayish effect. as before, the stomach and intestine are usually empty and transparent and the livers contain refractive globules. glaucothoe are found at the surface, either swimming or clinging to floating seaweed and seem to be more abundant at night. when swimming, the dorsal surface is uppermost, the abdomen is extended while the limbs are either extended or hang stiffly down. though phototaxis is still present, at times individuals cease swimming and crawl about on the bottom of the aquarium. these examine the objects in their path, and if they find a shell or other hollow object, may enter it and abandon the free-swimming life. quite frequently, however, after a brief exploration the larva will recommence swimming. more rarely, a glaucothoe that has already entered a house will abandon it. as the sixth stage approaches, the desire for a covering for the body becomes stronger with the alterations in structure until it is almost impossible to keep the larvae "naked." they use all available objects or ensconse themselves in crevices. a house may be taken at any time during the phase, but a short period of free-swimming life is typical. not infrequently a glaucothoe will remove bits of rubbish from a shell, but i was not able to confirm agassiz's observations ('75) where his young tore out and ate dead snails and then used the shells. glaucothoe, according to my observations, take but little food. if, however, his reference is to adolescent crabs, they are quite voracious and might readily eat a dead snail, though i have observed nothing of the sort. it is, however, scarcely necessary to assume or suggest a causal sequence between this act and the use of the shell for a dwelling. the glaucothoe stage as a rule lasts only four or five days, but during this time a profound modification of structure takes place. the livers, sexual glands, and green glands pass into the abdomen, thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 157 the circulatory system is modified, and the muscles and pleopods degenerate, so that before the moult to the sixth stage closes the period, the anatomy has become adult in plan. this metamorphosis is not dependent on the presence of a body covering, but completes itself perfectly in larvae which are prevented from obtaining a shell. the whole animal also becomes less transparent, the chelipeds become white, and brown bands appear on the posterior pereiopods, a coloration recalling that found in the adult eupagurus annidipes. the moult to the sixth stage is preceded by a brief period of quiescence, and in the few cases observed, the actual eedysis was rapid. either the integument of the thorax is sloughed first and that of the abdomen later, or the entire integument is sloughed in one piece. the latter method seems to be the rule for the zoeal ecdyses, while the former is more frequently the rule in the adult, and the abdominal exuvium is usually badly torn in the process. the glaucothoe stage is the "noch altera .tungern" of rathke ('40, '42); the "glaucothoestufe" of mailer ('64); the "third stage" of bate ('68); "stage when it seeks a shell" of agassiz ('75), and the "first postlarval," "first adolescent" of sars ('89). it is not mentioned by other workers with the exception of czerniavsky ('84). adolescent phase.— "adolescent phase" is more a convenient term under which to discuss the development during the earlier postlarval life, before the adult anatomy is fully attained, than a definitely limited period. there is also little to be gained by an attempt to separate the numerous stages which may be included within it. the crab has the adult structural plan before the close of the glaucothoe period, but all the organs must still undergo development to realize fully the adult structure. the length of this process varies widely in different parts. sixth-stage larvae are of the same size as glaucothoe, and the specific adult form may be attained before much growth occurs. after about forty days have passed, the young reach a length of from five to eight millimeters. the sixth stage lasts from six to twelve days, but the later moults are irregular and crabs of the same age may be very unlike in size and development. the manner of life in all the adolescent stages is that of the adult, and food is taken abundantly almost immediately after the moult from the glaucothoe. the sixth stage retains the annidipes color, handed to it by the 158 proceedings: boston society natural history. glaucothoe (pl. 4, fig. g). with the seventh stage, however, the longicarpua young become separable from annidipes larvae, as in them the brown bands are lost. the full adult colors and the complete specific form are not attained until about the twentieth day from the glaucothoe. the sixth stage also has a nine-jointed antennal flagellum and certain retrogressive alterations in the mouth parts, which are legacies from the glaucothoe (pl. 5, figs. 10, 12, 13). the elongation of the flagellum is very gradual, the nine-jointed condition often persisting till the eighth stage, while crabs forty days from the glaucothoe have only 17 or 27 joints. the metamorphosis of the pleopods during this period is of special interest. at no time are there any traces of appendages on the peduncle, which is interesting when we remember that some pagurids, as for example, sympagurus and paguristes, have pleopods on this segment in the adult. typically, the sixth stage has no appendages on the right side of the abdomen, except the uropod, but on the left the pleopods are well developed on segment three to five and are of the type found in the glaucothoe, i. e., they resemble those of the adult male. on the second segment the pleopod is reduced to a mere rudiment (pl. 4, fig. 6). about nineteen percent of reared sixth-stage larvae, however, retain rudiments of one or more of the right hand pleopods. the typical reduction may be expressed in a formula, by use of r for an appendage which is retained intact, ku for a rudimentary appendage, and o to denote the loss of an appendage. the non-typical reductions are dealt with in another part of this paper. glaucothoe. left : right . 1 o: 0 tt 2 r: r .. 3 r: i: h 1 r: i: tt 5 r: r ii 6+r: r sixth stage. left : right o : i) ru : o r: 0 ]{ : 0 r : () +r : r — adult male. left : right () : 0 o: 0 r: 0 r: o r : 0 +r: r— adult female. left : right o : o r : o r: <) r : 0 r : 0 + r: r— at the moult to the seventh stage or, more rarely, at the next following moult, the retained rudiments are lost, except the one on the second segment in those crabs which will become females. but although sex can be recognized thus early, not less than a year and thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 159 probably a still longer time must elapse before sexual maturity is attained. in the young females the rudiment on the second segment begins to develop into a perfect pleopod at about thirty days from the glaucothoe. the remaining pleopods, and in many instances, this one also, do not begin to alter to the female type until ten days later, and the development of this type requires several moults for its full completion. the sixth stage was figured by faxon ('82), and described by agassiz ('75) as "stage when they need a shell." the later adolescent stages have not been recorded by anyone. special account op the metamokpiiosis. the account of the development that has already been given has briefly described the plan of the anatomy in the larval stages and shown how this gives place to the adult type of structure in the glaucothoe phase. in the present chapter it is proposed to discuss in more detail the larval anatomy and the modifications by which the adult type is produced. techni'/ue.— in this work, microscopical examination of living larvae or of specimens cleared in cedar oil gave only dubious results and therefore it was necessary throughout to employ serial sections. no killing fluid was uniformly satisfactory because of the difficulties of penetration and because the same tissues in different stages do not react in the same way to a reagent. the best and most reliable solutions used were a saturated aqueous solution of picric acid, five percent picro-acetic, and the stronger solution of flemming. the brown stain produced in the contents of the liver cells was a serious objection to the use of the otherwise excellent reagents of the vom rath series, and the lime salts in the integument in all stages barred picrosulphuric. perenyi's fluid and corrosive sublimate'in its various forms, the latter admitted by incision, though they frequently gave excellent fixations, were uncertain in action. to prevent injury to the delicate tissues after fixation, all the material was imbedded in paraffin from xylol as soon as possible. the integument in this connection offered no obstacle to penetration or dehydration. in sectioning, however, it was troublesome, forcing me to cut with a thickness of ten micra. selective staining was 160 proceedings: boston society natural history. found essential to good work, and iron-alum haematoxylin, counterstained with orange g or bordeaux red proved especially valuable. it was necessary to cut sections in both sagitto-longitudinal and transverse planes, for, although transverse sections are the more generally valuable, the others are essential for purposes of comparison and absolutely indispensable in studying the muscles of the abdomen. it was found advantageous, though not absolutely necessary, to have in addition to these last, a few corono-longitudinal sections of each stage. external anatomy.— the development of the form of the body has already been in the main adequately treated in the preceding chapter, while the details of the development of the appendages will be better understood from the figures on plates 5, 6, and 7, than from any description. it remains, therefore, in this section, to speak of the telson and gills only. the telson (pl. 7, fig. 31) in the first zoea bears on each side of the median marginal notch five feathered spines (1-5), a minute bristle (ti), and the short, smooth spur of the angle (7). the formula is: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. in the second stage, a pair of new spines (1') are added within the older series. the tips of the uropods as they develop, are sheathed within the angle spur (7) and this is consequently lost when these appendages become free. the angle spur of the third zoea is a new structure (x). the third and fourth stages have the same telson formula: 1', 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, g, x, and in both, spine 4 is short and smooth. the eight setae on the border of the telson of the glaucothoe represent spines 1', 1, 2, and 3 of the zoeal series. the median cleft appears with the sixth stage, and the adult form is attained with the seventh stage. the moderate length of spine 4 in the earlier, and its short spur-like form in the later zoea stages serve to differentiate the zoeae of longicarpus and annulipes from the zoea that i have assigned to acadianus and from the larva of the european bemhardu s (kathke, '42; sars, '89), in both of which these spines are smooth and elongate throughout the zoea phase. as already noted, the gills become functional with the glaucothoe stage. at this time they are present in the same number and arrangement as in the adult crab, viz.: — thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 161 mxp, mxp8 i ii iii iv v 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 pleurobranch. 0222220 10 arthrobranchs. 000 0 0000 podobranchs. the larger posterior gills are provided with two short rows of ova lamellae, but the smaller anterior ones show at most only two or three plates each. the gills on the maxilliped and cheliped segments are simple and the maxillipedal pair are so minute as to be invisible in surface views. they cannot be detected, either, in some excellent sections. but since they are very plainly shown in all sections of mature glaucothoe and most of the sections in which they cannot be seen are of younger specimens, it may be presumed that they arise during the period. in this case it scarcely seems possible to refer their occasional absence to error in interpretation, although such outpnshings of the body wall usually appear at and not between the ecdyses. whenever present they are very distinctly shown in sections cut in any plane. the sixth-stage larva has cheliped gills that are divided into two or three lamellae, but its maxillipedal gills are still simple. these latter reach a trilamellate condition at about the fortieth day from the glaucothoe phase. one crab eighty days from the glaucothoe phase showed an anterior maxillipedal gill with four, a posterior with twelve pairs of lamellae. internal anatomy.— a brief description of the stomach of the adult crab is a necessary preliminary to the description of the construction of this organ in the larvae, but it may be limited in scope to an account of the topography. no details of the ossicles are necessary, since these cannot be worked out in the serial sections of the developmental stages. the stomach of the adult (pl. 9, fig. 57) has a cardiac portion of more than twice the length of the pyloric. the cardio-pyloric valve is crowned with blunt setae. each lateral tooth consists of two rounded tubercles, a comb of transverse rugae, and a hairy terminal process. the oesophageal opening is guarded by a pair of upper and lower oesophageal plates. the pylorus is broadened laterally into a pair of shallow upper, and prominent lower pyloric pouches (pl. 9, fig. 57, 52, upp, ipp). the latter have their inner surfaces densely clothed with long setae, and above, the wall of the pylorus 162 proceedings: boston society natural history. projects into the lumen in a prominent crest, the lateral-valve ridge (ivr), which terminates posteriorly as the lateral pyloro-intestinal valve. these valves are united with the dorso-lateral and the minute, median, dorsal valve for a space (pl. 9, fig. 58, do, dlv, lo) so that these valves enter the intestine as a continuous curtain. throughout the zoea phase, the stomach (pl. 9, fig. 55) has a deep and narrow cardiac portion, which is not longer than the pylorus, and chitin is poorly developed except on the smooth cardiopyloric valve. there is no dorsal tooth; the lateral teeth are simple and project upward instead of horizontally (pl. 9, fig. 48, it); the pyloro-intestinal valves are not united and are three in number, viz. '• the paired laterals and dorsal. in the first zoea the pylorus is without pouches, but with the second stage an area on either side of the median pyloric valve becomes setose and in the fourth stage these areas are depressed to form the lateral pouches. the eardiopyloric and median pyloric valves are at first confluent, but become distinct with the second stage. a single oesophageal plate appears with the fourth stage. the stomach of the glaucothoe (pl. 9, fig. 56) may be regarded as transitional in type, its more elongate form, horizontal lateral teeth (pl. 9, fig. 51), and well developed lateral-valve ridges recalling the stomach of the adult. there are indications of a dorsal tooth; the pyloro-intestinal valves are united; and a small dorso lateral valve (dlr) is added on each side. in other respects the larval characters persist. no metamorphosis occurs during the period except a change in the mutual relations of the openings from the livers and lateral caeca. the sixth stage has a stomach of adult type, but with the parts less specialized. the upper pyloric pouches are still wanting, and they are probably of late adolescent development. in the intestine of the decapoda, it is generally accepted that the limits of the ehitinous lining are coincident with the limits of the postand mid-guts. but until this is supported by a larger body of evidence, it is perhaps better to use the purely descriptive terms "ehitinous" and "achitinous" for the postand mid-guts respectively. in the adult eupagurus the achitinous gut is relatively shorter than usual, as the ehitinous gut only extends into the anterior part of the abdomen. an unpaired caecum — first described by swammerdam in 1787 — starts from the right side of the achitinous thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 163 gut in the rear of the thorax, turns back into the abdomen and lies there in a coil superficial to the livers (pl. 8, fig. 46, tc). the chitinous gut near the point of union with the anterior gut has the usual series of prominent folds, the methoria, and at its posterior end a rectum is differentiated. this occupies the sixth segment and the telson. in the zoea and glaucothoe phases the achitinous gut is longer than in the adult and extends back to a point within the fifth segment of the abdomen, where its short, columnar cells give place to the larger, more vacuolated cells of the chitinous gut (pl. 9, fig. 54, ch hit). methoria are present at this point with the glaucothoe and during the latter part of this period the unpaired caecum arises as an outpushing of the dorsal wall of the achitinous gut just eephalad of these folds. as soon as this diverticulum appears, or occasionally a little earlier, the chitinous gut begins to encroach on the territory of the achitinous gut. unfortunately, however, sections throw no light on the mechanism of the change, but a series of specimens merely shows the caecum, methoria, and chitinous lining lying farther and farther forward in the abdomen, until with the earlier adolescent stages the methoria reach their definitive position in the region of the second segment. no mitotic figures can be found and altbough histolysis occurs at this time throughout the length of the gut, it is not especially prominent. the elongation of the achitinous gut which brings the proximal end of the caecum from the abdominal into jts definitive thoracic position, must take place late in adolescent life. the diverticulum was still wholly abdominal in a reared specimen two months past the glaucothoe. but some small crabs that were collected at wareham, mass., in august, 1900, showed the caecum in its definitive relations. the age of these crabs was not known, but they were very small and their development was greatly advanced over that of larger, reared crabs known to be sixty days past the glaucothoe phase. so they were probably about a year old; perhaps two years old. an elongate achitinous gut which is gradually replaced by the chitinous gut, is found in the young of other decapods besides eupagurus. for these, however, i have only fragmentary records. an examination of an immature virbius, 4 mm. long, and of a crangon with a length of 0 mm., shows no methoria, but the h54 proceedings: boston society natural history. achitinou8 gut extends back as far as the fifth abdominal segment. a similar condition is found in homarus even in the first adolescent — fourth — stage, at which time the animal is adult in form and has a caecum developed from the anterior gut. among thalassinids, the older zoeae of gebia affinis and cauianassa etimpsonihwre the union of the two regions of the gut in the fifth abdominal segment, and in all the preadolescent stages of naushonia (m. t. thompson, :03) this relation is maintained with the addition of metboria. the metazoea of itippa talpoidea has the methoria in the anterior part of segment five of the abdomen, but in the first adolescent these have moved to the second segment. among the brachyura, the late zoea of pinnotheres displays the anterior limit of chitin at the fifth abdominal segment and the megalops has methoria at this point. there is no caecum at this stage. on the other hand, a very young zoea referable either to cancer or to carcinus showed methoria and a well developed caecum in the second abdominal segment. the megalops of callinectes hastatus likewise has these parts in this anterior segment and in this crab they have moved to the first segment in the first adolescent stage. cancer irromlus has the caecum and methoria in the rear of the thorax in both metazoea and megalops. the livers or enteric glands, which open from the lateral pyloric pouches are very voluminous in the adult crab. each consists of an axial tube from which arise slender lateral diverticula. the latter are long and numerous along the abdominal portion of the axis, but short and scanty along the thoracic. both axis and tubules have a wall of one layer of cells with abundant cytoplasm (pl. 9, fig. 53) vacuolated and laden with secretions. at intervals, single cells or groups of cells, either granular, or more usually vacuolated, project into the lumen and partly occlude it. proper fixation of these tissues is difficult and they do not stain readily. immediately caudad from the openings of the livers into the pylorus, a pair of lateral caeca arise. these lie one on either side of the stomach in an irregular coil. the cells of their walls are distinguishable from those of the livers by the absence of secretions and vacuoles, and by the ease with which they may be fixed and stained. during the zoea phase, the livers are cephalic in position (pl. 8, fig. 34—37). each communicates with the pylorus by an extensive thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 1(55 opening and presents four diverticula: anterior, lateral, dorsal, and posterior lobes. the cells of these glands are vacuolated and distended by deposits of a highly refractive yellow substance that stains black with osmic acid. as in the adult, cells or groups of cells may partly occlude the lumen, and during the fourth zoea and glaucothoe stages this phenomenon reaches its climax (pi. 9,-fig. 08). the lateral caeca at this time are rounded glands which resemble the livers in histology and in reactions to reagents. posteriorly they become approximated and enter the main canal dorso-laterally at the origin of the intestine, ten or even twenty micra cephalad from the openings of the livers (pl. 9, figs. 48, 49, 50). the livers and lateral caeca of the glaucothoe have at first the same relations as in the zoeae except that they extend within the newly developed thorax (pl. 8, fig. 38). the lateral caeca are insignificant in size throughout the phase, and undergo no metamorphosis beyond a separation of their proximal ends, so that they enter the intestine at the sides of the stomach, as in the adult crab. the livers, on the other hand, pass through a complicated metamorphosis. a description of a selected series of glaucothoe of different ages will better indicate the order of these modifications as well as the relations that they bear to the changes in position or structure in the other organs of the body, than a detailed account. the alterations are of course, subject to slight individual variations. 1. a young glaucothoe just moulted from the zoea (pi. 8, fig. 38). only the posterior lobes of the livers have increased proportionally to the increased size of the stomach. 2. an older specimen, never in a shell (pl. 8, fig. 39). the anterior and dorsal lobes of the livers are further reduced; the lateral lobes have almost disappeared, though the one on the right still retains a minute lumen; the posterior lobes extend to the last segment of the thorax and the apex of the right gland lies beneath the intestine toward the left side of the body. the openings of the lateral caeca into the intestine are now caudad instead of cephalad from the openings of the livers. the green glands have begun to grow back to form the median nephrosac and a new artery is developing in the abdomen. 3. a still older specimen. the lateral liver lobes have disappeared; the dorsal become mere prominences, and the posterior barely enter the abdomen. !()() proceedings: boston society natural history. 4. next specimen. the posterior lobes are now abdominal, lying to the left of the intestine, which is displaced to the right and dorsally. the canals from the green glands reach the region of the pericardium but are not yet united. the sexual cells are abdominal. a rudimentary intestinal caecum is present. 5. with livers completely shifted (pl. 8, fig. 40). the dorsal lobes have disappeared, and the anterior are greatly reduced. the chitinous gut is rapidly elongating, advancing the caecum towards the anterior part of the abdomen. the green glands have formed the nephrosac. the muscles are beginning to degenerate. g. fourth day in the shell. the anterior lobes of the liver are gone. the cells of the lateral caeca have taken on the adult histology and reactions; the nephrosac is abdominal; the muscles and pleopods and all the other organs are of adult type, in readiness for the moult to the adolescent phase. sixth-stage crabs retain the simple cylindrical livers (pl. 8, fig. 42) for only a few days; then diverticula begin to appear along the borders, first of the right, then of the left gland (pl. 8, fig. 43). the development of these diverticula seems to follow a fairly definite plan (pl. 8, fig. 44). owing to the way in which those from the right gland pass under the intestine, the adult condition is ultimately produced and the earlier displacement is obscured to casual inspection. the livers seem to lie each on its own side of the intestine. a shift of the latter back again toward the mid-line of the body, which becomes possible from the eighth stage on because of the gradual proportional'increase of the diameter of the abdomen, also aids in confusing the earlier relations. but by careful dissection, the displacement can be traced in the adult. the main axis of the right gland will be found to lie beneath or slightly to the left of the gut for a considerable part of its course in the abdomen. as young crabs show this better than older ones, two views of the abdominal contents of the crabs collected at wareham are appended (pl. 8, figs. 45, 46). the green glands of enpnt/urus longicarpus have the same general arrangement as the glands of j'j. bernhardus described by marchal ('92), except that the nephrosac is short and broad and the canals which unite this structure to the cephalic portion of the gland are without accessory diverticula. the cells of the canals and nephrosac have a characteristic histological appearance (pl. 9, thompson: metamorphoses ok hermit crab. 167 figs. 52, 53). tlie cytoplasm is scanty and stains faintly; the nuclei are small, spherical, and prominent. the green glands cannot be found in sections of the first or second /.oea stages. some third zoeae show them, but they are without a lumen and almost wholly confined within the base of the antennae. these glands are, however, constantly present in fourth zoeae and each has the form of a bent tube, 0.2 mm. long, either simple or with two short, ventrally projecting diverticula at the proximal end. the glands of the glaucothoe are relatively longer than those of the zoeae and extend out of the antenna vertically into the cephalothoracic cavity (pl. 9, fig. bl,gg). their shape may he compared to a letter "l "; the orifice being situated at the angle, and the proximal diverticula forming the shorter arm. about the time when the livers swing to the left as they pass toward the abdomen, the tip of the vertical limb of each green gland begins to grow back as a canal which lies closely appressed against the lateral wall of the cephalothorax until it reaches the region of the pericardium. here the canals swing toward the midline of the body, meet one another beneath the pericardial septum, and fuse to form a nephrosac, 0.10.2 mm. long (pl. 8, fig. 40), which for a considerable period may retain an imperfect median partition as a remnant of its double origin. toward the end of the glaucothoe phase the nephrosac passes to its definitive position in the abdomen (pl. 8, fig. 42) and during the adolescent period attains to the larger proportions relative to the surrounding structures which it has in the adult crab. the cells of the basal portion of these glands in all stages, and of the whole gland in the zoeae and glaucothoe, have granular, homogeneous cytoplasm, small, reticulate nuclei, and indistinct cell boundaries. but the canals and nephrosac from their first appearance show the adult histology. though the bulk of the gland is not sufficient for the production of canals and nephrosac without a multiplication of cells, no mitotic figures could be found, which recalls the condition of the liver cells during the changes in those organs, where the nuclei remained reticulate. but there the original bulk is ample to form the livers of the sixth stage through a remodeling. in both series of specimens the tissues seemed perfectly well preserved. a shell gland is present throughout the zoea phase. it is lost 168 proceedings: boston society natural history. with the moult to the glaucothoe. it opens on the ventral face of the second maxilla and in form is a bent tube whose distal end extends toward the cephalothoracic cavity. these glands must be very important for the zoea before the development of the green glands with the fourth stage, and, despite the fact that the green glands have a lumen and are therefore presumably functional, in the latter period the shell glands are relatively longer than in the three earlier stages. our knowledge of the development of the sexual system is very meager. a sixth-stage larva or a mature glaucothoe shows in the abdomen near the tip of the nephrosac two fusiform clusters of five or six cells (pl. 8, fig. 42, g\ pl. 10, fig. g3). these are readily identifiable as the sexual glands. younger zoeae and glaucothoe have similar cells lying beneath the pericardial septum in the thorax (pl. 10, fig. 62). this position recalls the grouping of the sexual cells in the zoeae of mysis, (nusbaum, '87), palaemonetes (allen, '93) and gebia (butschinsky, '94) the only decapod larvae for which they have been described. i was not able to find sexual cells in any earlier stage than the fourth zoea, perhaps because of the thickness of my sections. these cells pass to the abdomen at the time when the livers shift, but unfortunately no sections showed them in transition. there must, however, be an increase in their number at this time. the pericardial group contains less than half a dozen cells, while the abdominal clusters have five or more cells apiece. the time for the appearance of sexual ducts and orifices is unknown. when adolescent larvae reach an age of about forty days from the glaucothoe, they show what are apparently sexual orifices. hut if these specimens are sectioned, no openings can be found nor anything that can be interpreted as even the an/age of a duct. these "pseudo-orifices" must be merely shallow depressions in the integument over the regions where the true openings will ultimately be developed. the crabs collected at wareham, in 1900, which were certainly not less than one year old, had the sexual ducts well developed (pl. 9, fig. 53, sd), and the sexual glands were large and complexly coiled, but not quite mature. this would mean that the production of sexual products would not have occurred in them before the following year, e., the hermit crab is probably not mature before the second or third year of its life (see page 168). thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. kill sex is recognizable at the seventh stage, from six to twelve days after the close of the glaucothoe phase, when the males lose the rudimentary pleopod on the second segment (pl. 4, fig. 6, ru). but the secondary sexual characters in the female pleopods (pl. 6, fig. 24) do not begin to appear until thirty or forty days of adolescent life have passed and then their development is quite gradual. this early differentiation of sex in eupagurus loiigicarpus and .annul ipes has an interesting bearing on the subject of parasitic castration as it exists in the allied eupagurus bernhardux. there, giard ('86) has found that the male crabs if infested with a bopyrid, athelgespaguri, have pleopods of female number and form; while the females when parasitized with the cirriped, peltogaster, bear the typical female number of appendages, but in type these approximate those of the normal male. xo data is at hand with respect to the adolescent development of e. bernhardus, but if it resembles that of our species at all closely, the modifications shown by the parasitized males require either the attachment of the parasite very early in adolescent life, or a sufficiently potent effect from its presence to cause a reappearance of the pleopod on the second segment. the alterations of the parasitized females on the other hand, would be explainable as arrest of development. the parasite presumably might attach itself at any time within the first fifty days of adolescent life and yet be able to check the complete development of the female type of appendage. xo ecto-parasite has been found on our eupagurus annidipes. the only ecto-parasite on e. longicarpus, a bopyrid, stegophryxus hyptius, produces no alteration in the secondary sexual characters of the host. the circulatory systems of our various species of eupagurus are .similar in all, and that of e. bem/utrdus (bouvier, '91) will serve as the type. the hepatic arteries are wholly thoracic, so that only a small part of the liver receives blood from this source. the ventral thoracic artery terminates posteriorly with the branches to the fifth pair of limbs and the abdomen is supplied by the superior abdominal alone. as this artery enters the second segment of the abdomen, it divides into two trunks: b and b'. the former is a small vessel which courses superficially to the left, supplying livers, sexual glands, and appendages. the latter is a larger trunk which plunges downward to the right of the intestine, runs caudad along the dorsal surface of the flexor muscles, and then in the fourth seg170 proceedings: boston society natural history. ment divides into a supramuscular branch that continues the course above the muscles, and an intramuscular branch that pierces them and runs caudad beneath them in the position of a ventral abdominal artery. the blood vessels in the larvae can only be studied satisfactorily from serial sections and hence there are annoying gaps in my record. for the arteries are scarcely traceable unless distended with blood, and only a few specimens of any stage will chance to show the desired condition. as a rule, however, all the dorsal vessels were equally well preserved and much could be learned from a single specimen, but ventrally the shrinkage of the integument against the ganglia obliterated the arteries to a greater or less degree. these and other causes also, prevented a study of the venous sinuses. the only artery passing cephalad from the heart in the earlier zoea stages is the anterior aorta, and it extends to the base of the rostrum, lying close beneath the dorsal wall of the cephalothorax. in the fourth stage its anterior end becomes deflected over the surface of the supra-oesophageal ganglion. no structure which suggested a cephalothoracic sac similar to that described for the zoea of palaemonetes (allen, '93) was found at any stage. a sternal artery is present at all stages and passes down in its adult relations to the thoracic ganglia, between the fiber masses for the third and fourth pairs of limbs (pl. 7, fig. 29, at a). the antennary arteries are first found in the fourth zoea and as they are not invariably present, they probably arise during the period. they diverge strongly and give off a branch to the stomach. their ultimate distribution, however, could not be determined for the different stages. the hepatic arteries first appear during the glaucothoe stage after the livers have shifted to the abdomen. there is no trace of them in younger specimens even when the preservation of the heart and adjacent parts is perfect. the deferred development of the hepatic arteries can scarcely be regarded as correlated with the reduced function of these vessels in the adult crab, although at first this might seem probable. for, although among decapods it is usual (claus, '84) for these arteries to be present throughout the larval period, this is not an invariable rule. the thalassinid, naushonia (m. t. thompson, :03), has only antennary arteries and aorta forward from the heart during the zoea and mysis phases. claus's figures in his monograph on the circulation in thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 171 decapods show that in the thalassinid, calliaxis, and the shrimp, crangon', the hepatic arteries, although appearing in the zoea phase, are yet later in development than the antennary arteries. thus the latter in their development seem to precede the hepatics when both pairs are not present throughout larval life. and in eupagurus the antennary arteries appear^unusually late, not until the fourth zoea. unquestionably, the ventral thoracic artery does not enter the abdomen at any stage, but as already noted, this vessel was difficult to trace and the distribution of its branches could not be completely determined. it is certain, however, that in the first zoea, vessels pass off to the first maxilliped; that in the second zoea this artery supplies the third maxilliped and, in some cases at least, one or more of the rudimentary limbs; and in the fourth stage the artery extends to the mouth and gives off branches to the maxillipeds and to the five pairs of rudimentary limbs. it is only necessary to suppose that the artery gives off in addition to the branches already enumerated, vessels to the second maxilliped iu the first, and to the two pairs of anterior maxillipeds in the second zoea, to make the arrangement for each stage agree exactly with the distribution of the vessels in the "pagurus" zoeae studied by glaus ('84). the ascending arterioles which pass up through the nerve chain between the ganglia for the first and second limbs and in the next posterior interspace (bouvier, '89, '91) are discernible as early as the second zoea. two other ascending arterioles are found even in mature glaucothoe: one between the maxillipedal and the cheliped ganglia and one between the maxillipedal and the maxilla ganglia. they may yet be detected in the adult. some sections of zoeae suggest the possibility of the existence during the earlier stages, of additional ascending arterioles between the individual maxillipedal and maxilla ganglia, but they are not conclusive. the superior abdominal artery is present throughout the developmental period. with the earlier zoea it is a simple vessel extending almost the length of the abdomen in the first, and to the telson in the later stages. in the fourth zoea and glaucothoe, however, this artery gives off five pairs of segmental branches, a pair for each segment from the second to the sixth. at the time when the livers commence their shift, the adult plan is evolved from this simpler arrangement (pl. 10, tig. g4). a new artery arises from the right segmental artery in the second segment, 172 proceedings: boston society natural history. plunges downward toward the flexor muscles and during the last part of the glaucothoe period, pierces these. its further development could not be followed, as it was impossible to interpret the blood vessels through sections of the adolescent stages, owing to the twist of the abdomen and consequent confusion of landmarks. but it is obvious that this new vessel is to be identified with b' of the adult crab's arteries and that b of the adult system is the superior abdominal. this latter artery swings to the left with the completion of the shift of the livers and as the displacement is usually accompanied by the suppression of the right segmental artery of the second segment distal to the origin of b', the latter quickly assumes the adult relations and appears to arise directly from the superior abdominal, b. occasionally, however, this segmental vessel will persist in mature glaucothoe and even into the sixth stage. the fate of the other segmental vessels is uncertain. the four posterior pairs can be identified in very mature glaucothoe and occasionally in sixth stage larvae. their presence in the latter stage suggests that they may persist in the adult crab, bnt whether this is actually the case or not could not be determined. the anterior pleopods of the adult certainly receive blood from branches of the superior abdominal (bouvier, '91). but on the other hand at this time this vessel does not extend to the rear of the abdomen and the uropods are supplied by the inframuscular branch of b'. we have no data with regard to the abdominal arteries of any pagurid outside of the genus eupagurus and whether the peculiar abdominal blood system of this genus is generally distributed among the members of the group is not known. in case it is not generally present, it might furnish a valuable criterion of relationship. among other decapods the artery most nearly analogous to b' occurs in gebia deuura (bouvier, '90). this vessel, however, arises directly from the superior abdominal in the fifth segment and such a posterior position appears to me effectually to militate against regarding it.as homologous with the eupagurid artery, //. the development of the latter suggests rather that it originated either as a new structure, or, more likely, as an enlargement of some minor branch of the segmental artery of the second segment, when the gradual suppression of the ventral abdominal artery necessitated a more perfect connection between the dorsal arterial trunk and the ventral region of the body. once introduced, the branch has usurped many thompson: metamorphoses ok hermit crab. 173 of the functions which ordinarily belong to a superior abdominal artery. the abdominal musculature of the young eupagurus was studied chiefly from serial sections. although only longitudinal sections proved of value, this does not at all effect the accuracy of the results, since in examining the muscles of adult cambarus or homarus by means of sections, only those cut in the longitudinal plane are interpretable. such sections, however, throw a great deal of light on the arrangement of the muscles in these crustacea. and i feel the more confidence in my conclusions with regard to musculature in these forms from the fact that they are based on both dissections and sections, although they differ somewhat from those usually accepted. in any event, the abdominal muscles of the young eupagurus are essentially like the muscles of cambarus, homarus, and other maerura; and sections of each are mutually comparable (pl. 10, figs. 59,60, 61). the muscles of eupagurus reach their highest efficiency with the glaucothoe stage. at this time the extensors are well developed with a generally longitudinal course (pl. 10, fig. 59, ext); the pleopodal muscles converge from a region of attachment above the hinge or metacleis where the segments interlock and are independent of the flexors (pl. 10, fig. 59a, pim). the flexors comprise several muscles, the descending, transverse, longitudinalis, and loop-enveloping. the arrangement of these various muscles can best be understood from the study of a single segment, selecting segment two as typical. the abdomen of the glaucothoe is highly convex and hence the attachment above the hinge, the metacleis insertion, is more dorsal than in the flatter segment of homarus. the descending and transverse muscles arise from this point. the former is a broad band whose ventral end is inserted at the articulation with segment one; the latter is cylindrical and runs first ventrally and then transversely to come into intimate union with its mate from the other side of the body. in cambarus and homarus the transversalis is flat and in the latter genus it arises as part of the loop-enveloping muscles. the lateralis or lateral longitudinal passes from the anterior to the posterior borders of the segment at the sides; and ventrally above the nerve cord the ventralis or ventral longitudinal occupies 174 proceedings: boston society natural history. a similar position. possibly the latter is a series of muscles rather than a single bundle, but the sections are not clear on this point. the loop-enveloping muscles, which form the bulk of the flexors, arise in common with the ventralis muscles from the anterior boundary of the segment, but ascend as a broad sheet of fibers (pl. 10, fig. 59b). they soon become transverse in course and gradually separate into two parts, the loop or circularis and the enveloping or oblique. the fibers composing the loop muscles, probably augmented by fibers from the metacleis insertion, turn longitudinally so that the anterior end of the muscle lies dorsad of the transversalis, meeting the posterior end of the loop muscle of segment one, while its posterior end passes into segment three and there meets the loop muscle of that segment above the transversalis. _ the middle portion of the muscle is depressed and the successive arcs are very characteristic in longitudinal sections. toward the mid-plane of the body a slip (pl. 10, fig. 59e, .'.) passes down from the anterior end of the muscle to become attached at the union of segments three and four, but whether on the sternum of segment three or into the articular membrane cannot be determined. still nearer the midplane, the whole muscle, the anterior fibers changing first, becomes a longitudinal descending muscle. the fibers which go to form the enveloping muscle retain a more generally transverse course as they are separated from the fibers of the loop muscle; and therefore this muscle lies across the belly of the loop muscle (pl. 10, fig. 59d). toward the mid-plane of the body it becomes in its turn descending, and goes down closely associated with the descending part of the loop muscles (pl. 10, tig. 59f, x3). the attachments of the descending portions of these muscles are not clearly shown in the sections. at times they are apparently at the articulation between the segments three and four; again the muscles seem to pass on to the next posterior articulation, a discrepancy which is possibly due to an attachment in part at both points. the loop muscle is small in cambarus and is largely or perhaps wholly derived from the metacleis insertion. in homarus it is a large muscle and derived from the metacleis insertion and attached at its descending end to the sternum of the third segment. in homarus the slip x is attached to the sternal plate of segment three. the enveloping muscle in both of these macrura and in allied forms is very large. thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 17") the foregoing description for the second segment will apply equally well to segments one and three except that in the former the anterior attachments are on the eephalothoracic walls. the fourth segment has a weak loop muscle which barely reaches the end of the loop muscle from segment three. posteriorly its descending portion seems to be attached at the articulation between segments five and six. the fifth segment has only pleopodal, transversalis, and ventralis muscles. the sixth segment has pleopodal, transversalis, and ventralis, and the last mentioned muscle lies beneath the nerve cord. the muscles of the zoeae are on the whole similar to those of the glaucothoe, but less well developed and with weak attachments. the pleopodal muscles are wanting, except those for the uropods which come in with the fourth zoea. the three earlier zoeae have also the fourth segment like the fifth from the absence of loopenveloping muscles. mature glaucothoe, adolescent crabs, and adults have a musculature of a totally different type. the extensors are extremely weak; a thin iayer of fibers — the integumentary muscles — lines the integument beneath the nerve cord; the flexors are bulky and those of the right side are considerably larger than those on the left. hut the flexors on both sides are merely a series of strongly diagonal bands with the more dorsal fibers runninsr almost transverselv. minor peculiarities present themselves in the different segments, but there is nothing which suggests either transversalis or loop-enveloping muscles, although descending, lateralis, and ventralis muscles are doubtfully identifiable. these muscles have been compared to the chevron-like muscles of gebia and callianassa and described as a crowded series of such "chevrons" (bordage, '93). if these muscles are to be identified witli their forerunners in the larvae, a study of their metamorphosis becomes imperative. but unfortunately this could not be attained in as complete a form as might be desired. the changes are crowded into a comparatively short period near the end of the glaucothoe phase, the degenerative processes make it difficult to secure good preservation and there seems to be a slight reconstruction or remodeling near the very end of the alterations. the following data are at hand, however, from several individuals, and from them a general notion of the homologies of the adult muscles can be obtained. 176 proceedings: boston society natural history. 1. the transversalis muscles begin to lose their fibers at the time when the livers shift to the abdomen. 2. after the shift is completed and the nephrosac has passed to the abdomen, the loop muscle's fibers have become straight, and the descending portions of this and of the enveloping muscles are weak. the descending, lateralis, and ventralis muscles remain distinct, but the transversalis, the pleopodal muscles, and the intrinsic muscles of the pleopods themselves have disappeared. 3. then the integumentary muscles appear; the descending and the ventralis still show fibers, but only a few fibers can be found in the loop-enveloping muscles. the columella prominence is developing. 4. still later, traces of the enveloping and descending muscles can still be identified, but only with difficult}'. the ventralis and integumentary muscles are somewhat more distinct. the flexor muscles of the adult hermit crab then, evidently lack the transversalis elements, and retain only remnants either of descending or of lateralis muscles. the relative proportions of the remaining flexors, the ventralis and the loop-enveloping muscles, are not readily or surely determinable. probably the ventralis plays the larger rdle. the thin layer of integumentary muscles seems to be derived from scattered fibers that lie in the same position during the glaucothoe stage. these may also give rise to the apical fibers of the muscles in the columella prominence but the basal fibers of this organ are certainly derived from the ventralis of the third segment and it is possible that the others are also. the theory that the flexor muscles of the hermit crab are a crowded series of "chevron" muscles is scarcely tenable in face of this evidence from the study of their structure and metamorphosis. the support that it has received from the chevron-like muscles of gebia and callianassa also fails when a closer examination is made. in gebia certainly, the "chevrons" resolve themselves into loopenveloping systems with a weak loop and insignificant transversalis, so that the preponderance of the enveloping element gives a notably oblique course to the muscles. the larval hermit crab has, therefore, abdominal muscles more like those of generalized macrurous crustacea, than those of such thalassinids as gebia, and it would be interesting in this connection thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 177 to know the type of musculature among the less specialized thalassinoids. this might throw some light on the extent to which the perfection of the maeruran type in the eupagurus larvae is palingenetic. for it is not possible to regard it as simply correlated with the active life of the zoea or glaucothoe. the very active megalops of the brachyuran, callinectes, although provided with enormous pleopodal and well developed descending muscles, has of the remaining possible flexors only the ventralis bundles; the metazoea of pinnotheres and both the young zoea and the metazoea of cancer show similar relations, with the addition of a few fibers which may be doubtfully identified as loop-enveloping elements. moreover, gebia, like other macrura, has in the larval stages a very perfect loop-enveloping system of flexors, and these are carried on into the first adolescent almost intact, although the animal is at this period quite inactive. the muscles of the stomach of the zoea and glaucothoe are very simple. at first only dorsal and ventral supporting muscles are present (pl. 9, tig. 47). but with the second stage two additional bundles arise with attachments near the point where the oesophageal plates will later appear and the third zoea adds two more which extend from the anterior face of the stomach forward to the cephalothoracic wall. this simple arrangement is retained by the metazoea and by the glaucothoe until the very close of the latter period. then it rapidly gives place to the complex musculature of the adult. the new muscles are developed from myoblasts which lie around and above the stomach from the third zoea onward. of the zoeal muscles, the pair that extend from the region of the oesophageal plate are alone retained. it seems probable that the adductors of the mandibles in the adult are also new structures with the glaucothoe, and not derivatives of the fan of muscles that moves the jaws in the zoeae (pl. 9, fig. 49). but the moult from the fourth zoea produces so great a change in the plane of the mouth parts relative to the body axis that a satisfactory comparison between sections through this region in zoea and glaucothoe is impossible. the remaining muscles of the body call for no especial mention. the developing limbs remain filled with undifferentiated tissue until the fourth zoea and then fibers begin to make their appearance. the thoracic portion of the nervous system of the adult hermit 178 proceedings: boston society natural history. crab is symmetrical. the supra-oesophageal ganglion resembles in its finer structure the same ganglion in carcinus (bethe, '95, '97) or astacus (krieger, '80). the ventral ganglia are somewhat concentrated (pl. 7, tig. 29). those that supply the mouth parts form a quadrate mass which is closely associated with the more posterior thoracic ganglia. the three interior of these are large with strong ventral projections of the fiber masses; the two posterior are insignificant. the abdominal portion of the nervous system is but little modified by the asymmetry. the ganglion of the first segment is not apparent and is presumably fused with the thoracic mass (bouvier, '89). the five remaining ganglia are distinct (pl. 7, fig. 30) and those for segments two, three, and four are displaced to the left. the displacement of the ganglion for the fourth segment is very slight and scarcely establishable in the adult crab, but is well shown in sections of adolescent crabs. each abdominal ganglion gives off a pair of ganglionic nerves (gri) beneath the integumentary muscles, either to a pleopod or to the point where a pleopod morphologically ought to be situated. the areas supplied by these nerves also receive a more delicate commissural (coinm n) above the muscles from the commissure cephalad from the ganglion. a similar arrangement of suband supramuscular nerves is found in (iebia uffiiiis. there is no obvious difference in the size of the nerves supplying the right and left sides of the body, and they all show fibers and bipolar cells. this lack of asymmetry appears less striking when we recollect that these nerves are probably very largely sensory and this function would be nearly equal on both sides of the body through the hairs on the pleopods on the right and the tufts of hair on the left at the points where pleopods ought to stand. the function of the muscles also is very simple and so the larger size of the right flexors cannot greatly disturb the equality of the two sides of the body with respect to other structures. the nervous system develops almost without metamorphosis. the earlier larval stages have a supra-oesophageal ganglion of essentially the same structure as that of the adult, but differing in the smaller relative bulk of the fiber masses and fiber tracts as compared with the ganglion cells. in the zoea phase these cells completely surround the fiber masses and tracts, and although less thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 17!) numerous in the glaucothoe, the cell groups still are indistinguishable and confluent. but by the time the adolescent stages are reached the groups though still united, become identifiable. the median ventral group, the cellulae mediales, is the first to become completely distinct and separate, in crabs forty days past the glaucothoe. the adult separation of all groups was found in the wareham crabs. the globuli of the brain decrease in size in the earlier stages more rapidly than do the fiber masses. the diameter of each bears the following ratio to the width of the latter, measured in coronal or transverse sections at different periods : — diameter of width of stage globulus. intervening fiber mass. adult sixth stage fifth stage second stage first stage 1.42 + 2 2 2.6 3 the infra-oesophageal ganglion has a history similar to that of "the supra-oesophageal. the zoeae have small fiber masses which are deeply imbedded in ganglion cells and these latter are especially prominent on the ventral side of the ganglion. in surface view, therefore, the ganglia would exhibit as great a degree of concentration as in the adult, but in reality the individual fiber masses are much more distinct, especially those for the maxillipedal and maxilla segments. the fiber masses for the limb segments are very small in the zoea phase. with the glaucothoe, the cheliped ganglion alone shows a ventralward projection, this detail appearing for the other limbs in the adolescent phase. nerves pass to the rudimentary limbs in the fourth zoea. the three earlier zoea stages have possible traces of the first abdominal ganglion in two minute fiber masses that lie outside of the thoraco-abdominal commissures at their origin. nothing of this can be detected later. the length of the segments of the abdomen is more nearly equal during the zoea and glaucothoe phases than during later life, and hence the five abdominal ganglia are nearly equidistant from one another at these periods. both ganglionic and commissural nerves are present from the first zoea ,(pl. 7, fig. 29). at the close of the glaucothoe period, after the 180 proceedings: boston society natural history. muscles are already much degenerated, the commissure between the ganglia of the second and third segments shortens by one third, the next posterior commissure shortens to a less extent, and commissures 4 and 5 lengthen. these changes bring the ganglia into their definitive distances from each other, accompanying the changes in the lengths of the respective abdominal segments preparatory to the moult to the sixth stage. the displacement of the anterior ganglia to the left is one of the last changes before the glaucothoe stage closes, and occurs as the columella prominence arises. the shell in the ojitocexy. rathke noted in 1840 that the developing hermit crab became slightly asymmetrical before the close of the zoea phase and all observers have recorded asymmetry for the chelipeds and usually also, dissimilarity for the uropods in the glaucothoe phase. agassiz ('75) went a step farther and found that a very considerable advance toward the adult asymmetry might be attained before the larva ever entered a shell. it seemed clear from his account that this could not be regarded as the invariable sequence; but how far it might be looked upon as typical remained uncertain. he says of the change: "when the moult has taken place which brings them to the stage when they need a shell [my sixth stage] we find an important change in the two pair of feet now changed to shorter feet capable of propelling the crab in and out of the shell; we find that all the abdominal appendages except those of the last joint are lost; but the great distinction .... is the curling of the abdomen; its rings .... are quite indistinct and the test covering it is reduced to a mere film. it is therefore natural that the young crab should seek shelter for this exposed portion of his body." his figures, published in 1882 (faxon, '82), corrected and furnished a partial interpretation of this text. but they seemed to indicate that these changes might be only a beginning of a gradual metamorphosis to the complete adult form. it has therefore remained for the present research to show that the adult structure, so far as its plan is concerned, is completely attained during the glaucothoe stage, and that typically the metamorphosis is inaugurated before a shell is taken. nevertheless the young crab always enters the shell before the changes are far advanced, thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 181 usually within the first forty-eight hours of its life as a glaucothoe. \v hat then is the significance of the shell in the ontogeny? it is clear that it cannot be regarded as an essential factor, but may it not perhaps influence the development to a lesser extent? if such an influence were present it obviously might act in two directions: to affect the rate of the metamorphosis, or to modify the order of the metamorphosis and possibly, but less probably, the resulting structures themselves. in addition to this, despite the fact that the dextral asymmetry is fixed in the ontogeny, appearing before a shell is taken and completing itself even when the latter is absent, it is conceivable that the entrance into a dextral shell which normally occurs at a definite point in the development may have some controlling influence, so that exposure to other than dextral shells might not be without effect on the course or integrity of the metamorphosis. effect on the rate of development.— in connection with our first possible effect of the shell, that on the rate of the development, the influence, if any, will involve the glaucothoe more than a later stage as this is the period of most extensive change and the time when the shell is normally assumed. therefore a number of experiments were performed on glaucothoe by which they were exposed to different environments relative to the time when the shell was taken and also to the shape of the shell, whether dextral, sinistral, or uncoiled. for these experiments the age of the larvae used, had to be known within as narrow limits as possible. so fourth-stage zoeae were collected and placed in a large jar, where during the night many would moult to the glaucothoe. new zoeae were used each day, and in the morning the glaucothoe were removed and reared in one or more experiments as the case might be. for i made it a rule never to mix glaucothoe of different ages, but kept each batch separate from all preceding ones. the experiments were examined daily at the same morning hour. at first, aii additional mid-period record was taken, but it was found that the larvae moulted chiefly in the "small hours" of the morning and this habit rendered a mid-period record less necessary and as the pressure of other work became severe it was abandoned. the fairly definite time of moulting also served to reduce the unavoidable time error which might otherwise have had a range of twelve hours. the large number of specimens 182 proceedings: boston society natural history. used further counteracted this error and also tended to equalize it in the different series. so on the whole, the number of days that the larvae remained in the glaucothoe phase was determinable with a fair degree of accuracy, and although some error must remain, it does not affect the comparability of the series. series a. normal. the glaucothoe were provided with dextrally spiral shells and given opportunity to take these whenever they pleased. the shells of the marine snail, soyootypus, were used, being abundantly obtained from the egg cases. eleven experiments were made, using 183 larvae, 99 of which attained the moult to the sixth stage. 6 glaucothoe 6 percent remained in stage 4 days. 8 • 3 ti tt i. u 44 57 57 t. tt u i. .-) 2 i 2 ii tt tt 54 19 19 u tt tt u o 14 14 it tt 64 4' 4 ii tt 7 2' 2 " .h 2' 2 it 8 the percentages for the duration of the stage may be arranged in a curve in which the ordinates represent days, the abcissae the percentages (pl. 7, fig. 3'2, continuous line). this gives a very steep curve with the mode at the fifth day. series b. delayed normal. in these experiments, a batch of larvae was separated into two parts'. one half was provided at once with dextral shells to serve as a control experiment; the other did not receive shells immediately. the figures for the control records have already been thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 183 given as part of the figures for series a. they are separately listed here for comparison with the figures for the "delay" record. b 1. the larvae were kept three days without shells and were then provided with them, and they entered these within a few hours. one experiment, using 10 glaucothoe in the control section, all of which lived to the sixth stage; and 10 in the delay section, 7 of which attained the moult. control. belay. 1 glau. 10 % r'm'n'd 4 days. 1 glau. 14 % r'm'n'd 5 days. 8 " 80 % " 5" 4" 57 % " 5^" 1 " 10 % " 5j" 2" 28 % " 6 b 2 the larvae were kept four days without shells and were then provided with them. three experiments, using 55 crabs in the control, 25 of which attained the moult to the sixth stage; and about the same number in the delay, 22 of which reached that moult. control. delay. 3 glau. 12 % r'm'n'd 4 days. 6 glau. 27 % r'm'n'd 5 days. 2" 8 %" 4j" 2" 9 %" b\" 11)" 76%" 5" 12" 55%" 6" 1" 4 %" o\" 2" 9 %" 7" the curves that may be constructed from the percentages of these experiments, resemble in shape the curves for the experiments of series a (pl. 7, fig. 32), but have a more restricted range. the curve for the three days' delay (broken line) has the mode between the fifth and sixth day; while that for the four days' delay (dotted line) has the mode at the sixth day. the curves for the control experiments exactly resemble the curve plotted for series a. 184 proceedings: boston society natural history. series c. naked. in these experiments, glaucothoe were reared without any covering for the body. five experiments, using 123 larvae; 50 of which attained the moult to the sixth stage. no mid-period examination. 7 glaucothoe 14 percent remained in stage 4 days. 6 " 12" """5" 21 " 42" """6" 15 " 30" """7" \ *t 2 u u tt "8 u the curve that may be constructed (pl. 7, fig. 33, continuous line) has the same range as the curve for the experiments of series a, but its mode is on the sixth day and the seventh day percentage is high, giving it a very different shape from the curves for either a or b. it may be objected that the absence of a mid-period examination is responsible in large measure for this difference in shape. but the mid-period moults, if not separately recorded, will merely increase the record for the following morning and if the curve for a be plotted with the mid-period moults thus added to the day records (dotted line), it does not at all resemble the curve for the present series. so although the sixth and seventh day percentages may readily be somewhat higher than they would have been with a mid-period count, the difference would be insufficient to modify the curve essentially. series d. indifferent. the glaucothoe were provided with straight tubes of such diameter that they could not twist the bod}-. glass tubes proved the best of the various objects tried. three experiments, using (54 larvae, 39 of which reached the moult to the sixth stage. no midperiod examination. 35 glaucothoe 89.7 percent remained in stage 5 days. 4 « jo « " « » (i » thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 185 the curve for these experiments would have a very limited range and show the mode on the fifth day. series e. sinistral. the larvae were provided with small sinistral shells and given opportunity to take them at will. the shells of the fresh-water snail, physa heterostropha, were used. eight experiments, using 146 glaucothoe, 58 of which attained the moult to the sixth stage. no mid-period examination. 3 glaucothoe 5 percent remained in stage 4 days. 35 it 60" " "" 5" 12 " 20.7" " "" 6" 8 " 13.8" " "" 7" the curve which may be plotted for this series is similar to the curves for a, b, or d except that the percentage for the sixth day is slightly higher (pl. 7, fig. 33, broken line). but this may be attributed to the fact that a large number of larvae, 36 percent, delayed their entrance into the shell and so retarded their development. the absence of a mid-period examination probably also contributes to increase the percentages for the sixth day. these six series of experiments clearly show that the minimum duration of the glaucothoe stage and phase under any condition is four days, and the maximum duration is eight days. in all classes of experiments,except those of the "indifferent" and "delayed" series, some larvae remained in the stage the minimum period. the maximum period was reached not only in the "naked" but also in the "normal" series. the experiments also show that the shell exercises an influence on the rate of development proportional to the time which elapses between the moult from the last zoea stage and the time when the glaucothoe enters the shell. the experiments with shells of other than dextral coil, however, so closely resembled the latter " normal" experiments that no attempt was made to repeat them under "delay" conditions. they indicate that the influence of the shell is independent of its form as far as any 186 proceedings: boston society natural history. direct effect is involved. but when shells depart strongly from the dextral type, an indirect influence is exerted, dependent on the fact that many larvae are reluctant to enter such shells. effect on health.—another influence of the shell on the growing larva was brought out by the experiments. attention has already been called to the high mortality among eupagurus larvae. now this mortality was especially noticeable in those experiments where the glaucothoe were either wholly prevented from entering a shell (c) or only permitted to enter one after a considerable delay (b 2). here it reached about sixty percent. in the "normal" experiments and in the less abnormal experiments of the "delay" series (b 1), only forty-six and thirty percent respectively of the glaucothoe perished before the moult to the sixth stage could be reached. the entrance into a shell early in the glaucothoe phase has then an important bearing with regard to the health of the crab. at first sight also this seems to be to some extent correlated with the form of the shell used. the glaucothoe that lived in straight glass tubes (d) lost thirty-nine percent of their number, a death rate less than that for the normally reared crabs. the crabs in sinistral shells, on the other hand, had a death rate as high as that prevailing among crabs which never obtained a shell. but of course, as before, this may be the result of the reluctance of glaucothoe to enter sinistral shells with the consequent prejudice to their health, rather than a direct effect of the peculiar twist of the shell. with my adolescent crabs the death rate among those reared with sinistral shells was not noticeably higher than among those reared in other kinds of houses. although this is based on a smaller number of crabs, it would lend support to the idea that the higher death rate among "sinistrally reared" glaucothoe was indirect. a particularly disastrous experiment with adolescents showed a mortality among larvae living in dextral, indifferent, and sinistral shells, of fifty-seven, fifty-two, and sixty percent, respectively. the absence of a habitation is invariably injurious. the mortality for "naked" adolescents in the above experiment was eighty-one percent. even with wild adults death usually follows after a short continuance of the "naked" condition. injury to the soft and defenseless abdomen is generally the immediate cause of death, but there are occasional indications which may point to some general physiological disturbance caused by the lack of a body covering. thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 187 effect of the shell on structure.— since the shell determines to some extent the duration of the glaucothoe phase and also affects the health of the crab, a further influence might be perhaps expected. but in vain. the order in which the different organs develop from the larval to the adult type is the same whether the glaucothoe obtains its shell early or late in the period. it is independent of the presence or absence of the shell, and is not affected by its shape. moreover, no difference in the structure or arrangement of the parts of the body of sixth-stage crabs reared under the various conditions can be detected, except in the reduction of the pleopods. a crab of this age, typically, has no pleopods on the right side of the body, but this is not invariably the case even among "normally reared " larvae, and some crabs retain rudiments of one or more of these appendages. the metamorphosis of the pleopods has been expressed by the following formulae (see page 158): — glaucothoe. sixth stage. adult g. adult 0. segment 1 o : 0 o : o o : 0 o : o "2 r : r ru : 0 0 : o r : 0 "3 r : r r : 0 r : 0 r : 0 4 r : r r : 0 ii : 0 r : 0 "6 r : r r : 0 r : o r : 0 "6 +r : r— +r : it+r : r— +r : r— however, since segments one and six do not vary, the formulae may be written in briefer form: glaucothoe = k, r, r, r : r, r, r, r; sixth stage = ru, r, r, r : o, o, o, o; adult i? = o, r, r, r: o, (), o, o; and adult ? = r, r, r, r : (), (), (), (). the nature of the variations from the normal sixth-stage formula under all conditions was studied in about five hundred crabs which had been reared from the glaucothoe as follows: 107 in dextral shells, 62 in straight shells, 108 in sinistral shells, and 221 without shells. of these 493 crabs, 159 or thirty-two percent varied from the usual pleopod formula. the different variations were numerous, but they fall naturally into three groups: (a) those where one or more of the right appendages were retained as large (ru +), medium (ru), or small (ru —) rudiments, in order from before backward; (b) those where there was loss in number or size of the pleopods on the left side; and (c) those where there was 188 proceedings: boston society natural history. irregularity in the retention. the time that each crab was under the microscope had to be very limited and the dimensions given do not represent measurements, but are based on comparisons with the unaltered pleopods of the left side. class a. rudiments without joints or rami.. twenty-five combinations, but only a few common to several specimens, viz.: — ru, r, r, r : ru, o, o, o, 9 examples. all series. ru, r, r, r : ru, ru, o, o, 8" all series excepting indifferent. ru, r, r, r : ru, ru, ru, ru—, 12" naked series only. ru, r, r, r : ru, ru, ru, ru, 14" all series. ru+, r, r, r : ru-f, ru+, ru-f, ru-f, 13" naked and indifferent only. class b. rudiments without joints or rami. the variations of this class are probably only the result of defective ecdysis or injury during the glaucothoe stage. three examples. ru-k ru-f-, ru-f-, ru-f-: ru, ru, ru, ru, 1 example. normal series. o, r, r, r :o, o, 0, ru, 1 " sinistral series. ru+, ru+, ru+, ru-f:ru+, ru-f-, ru, ru, 1 " indifferent series. class c. rudiments without joints or rami except once, where the appendage was small, but perfectly formed and of male type (r*). eleven examples in all., ru, 11, r, r : ru, o, ru, ru, 1 example. normal series. ru, r, r, r : ru, ru, r, o, 1" "" ru, r, r, r : o, ru-f, (), o. 1" "" ru, r, r, r : ru, o, ru—, o, 1" sinistral series. ru, r, r, r : o, o, ru, o, 1" "" ru. r, r, r : o, ru—, ru—, o, 3" naked and sinistral series. ru, r, r, r : ru, ru+, ru, o, 1" naked series. ru, r, r. r : 0, o, r», o, 1" sinistral series. ru, r, r, r: o, ru-f-, ru, r, 1" naked series. thompson: metamorphoses op hermit crab. 189 the distribution of the variations.— the crabs that showed the variations, the variants, were distributed among the different conditions as follows: — 1. normal 107 crabs 21 variants 19.6 percent. indifferent 62" 10" 16.0" sinistral 103" 23 " '22.2" naked 221" 105" 47.0" the percentages of the actual combinations under each environment to the whole number of variations recorded for all environments were: — 2. normal 28 percent of all the combinations. indifferent 26 " """" sinistral 36 " """" naked 221 " """" the actual combinations of each kind presented, as compared with all the recorded combinations for each class of variations were: — 3. a b c normal 24% 33% 30% indifferent 32" 33" — sinistral 36" 33" 50" naked 94" — 25" the distribution of the variant crabs among the classes of variations was as follows: — 4. a 1! c normal 21 variants 86% 4.7% 14.0 % indifferent 10" 80" 4.7" — sinistral 23" 74" 4.7" 17.0" naked 105" !)(!" — 3 8" 190 proceedings: boston society natural history. the first two tables closely parallel the results of the experiments on the rate of development. here again the emphasis is placed on the actual presence or absence of the body covering rather than on its form. the crabs reared in sinistral shells had only a slightly larger percentage of varying individuals or variants, and only a little higher degree of variability than normally reared larvae. but those which had never entered a shell showed more than twice the normal percentage both of variants and of variability. the crabs reared in straight shells were less variable both in respect to the number of variants and to the combinations of characters than the normal, just as in the earlier experiments nearly ninety percent of the "indifferent" glaucothoe remained five days in the stage as against fifty-seven percent of the normally reared glaucothoe. i cannot suggest any explanation for this phenomenon. tables 3 and 4 are somewhat disappointing. the greater variability of the "sinistral " and "naked " crabs over normally reared, is not, except with the variations of class a, either united with a tendency toward a larger percentage of combinations compared to all the combinations for am' class, or with leanings toward the peculiar variations of class c, although, a priori, both contingencies might have been expected. the numerous variant crabs of the "naked " series were almost all members of class a. three of the most striking variations found, viz.: ru, r, r, r : ru, r*, ru, o, ru, k, r, r : ru, ru, r, o and ru, r, r, r : o, ru + , ru, r, were presented by crabs from the normal, sinistral and naked series. although the presence of a sinistral shell or the lack of any covering for the body affects the larva only with respect to one series of organs, the pleopods, it might seem that a continuance of such a condition might be more potent; at least to conserve the variations already present. the rudimentary pleopod on the second segment becomes in the female the largest of the abdominal appendages. may it not be possible for a similar reconstructive power occasionally to reside in those other rudiments which are retained by so many sixth-stage larvae, despite the fact that typically with the males this appendage lacks reconstructive power and is lost very early in adolescent life. on experiment, however, it was found that outside of the pleopods no organ was affected at all by a continuance of abnormal conditions and only in a single case were the latter altered. thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 11)1 in the summer of 1900, a number of crabs from "sinistral" experiments were kept with sinistral shells. no especial attention was paid them. one of these grew much more rapidly than its mates and when it was about eighty days past the glaucothoe phase it was examined. it then had a carapace 3.7 mm. in length, an antennal flagellum of 35 joints, an ophthalmic scale which was adult in form, and sexual "pseudo-orifices " on the third pair of limbs, i. e., in the female position. the pleopods, however, were of male number and type with the addition on the right side of the fourth segment of a pleopod exactly like the corresponding appendage on the left. the formula was: o, r, r, r,: o, o, r, o. i am not inclined to attach much importance to this peculiar specimen and least of all to regard its peculiarities as connected with its life in a sinistral shell. with the exception of the pleopod it was internally and externally, a dextrally asymmetrical crab. although it had lived for eighty days from the glaucothoe, it had not lost the male type of pleopod, when normally the female type should be almost or completely established. moreover, the pleopods were of male number, while the "pseudo-orifices " were in the female position. it seems to me that this crab was merely a sport, resulting very probably from the unnatural conditions of captivity, and just as likely to have appeared in one series of experiments as in another. however, it certainly shows that the retained rudiments of the sixth stage may occasionally be conserved or reconstructed. an attempt, during the following year, to repeat this experiment with larvae that were known to be variants, was unfortunately rendered inconclusive by an unusually high mortalityone hundred and eighteen variant sixth-stage crabs were collected, chiefly from "naked " and "sinistral" experiments, and reared to the adult form under the following conditions: 30 in dcxtral shells, 7 in straight tubes, 30 in sinistral shells, and 58 without shells. out of these only 37 survived to be examined—a dead crab is almost immediately so mangled by the survivors as to be worthless for study — and in no case did any crab preserve the variations beyond the seventh stage and only 16 percent retained them into that stage. that is, whenever the moult from the sixth stage failed to give the normal adult pleopod formula, the succeeding ecdysis produced it. further investigations ought to be made in this direction. they require but little care outside of a supply of food, as metazoea may 192 proceedings: boston society natural history. daily be placed in a jar, the glaucothoe removed as they appear and reared in balanced aquaria, new larvae being continually added and the young crabs studied as fast as they attain the adult form. reliance should be mainly placed on sinistral shells. it is a waste of material to keep adolescent crabs naked. the results from the foregoing study of larvae under various conditions with respect to the shells, effectually dispose of any probability that the adult crab can be modified by altering the form of the shell in which it lives. if in the presumably most plastic period of the animal's life, when there is in addition a slight variability to work upon, we are unable to alter the structure except in a most trivial detail and then but rarely —supposing that the retention of the pleopod by the crab in 1900 was due to the form of the shell .—we cannot expect for an instant that even a long continuance in an abnormal shell will modify the adult. the occasional discovery of a hermit crab (milne-edwards & bouvier, '91; marchal, '91) in a left-handed shell has no significance in this connection. the supply of shells runs, along shore at least, very close to the demand. residence in a sinistral shell simply means that the crab has been dispossessed and is protecting his body with the best hollow object available. an endless list of such habitations might be compiled. i have collected adult crabs in the shells of crepidula and vermetus; and my glaucothoe used every hollow object they came across, from bits of algae that were twisted or rolled and broken float-bladders of fucus or sargassum, to fragments of exuviated crustacean integument and fragments of the fine dirt-tubes of small annelids. there is no case where any departure from the normal form has been found in a crab which was using an unusual residence. choice of shells. — a consideration of the dextral asymmetry of our hermit crabs with the rdle played by the shell in the ontogeny, naturally leads to the question whether these crabs evince any preference for one type of shell over another. the only investigator who has attempted to study this experimentally (bouvier, '92) has come to the conclusion that they do not show a preference for dextral over sinistral shells. he experimented by supplying the crabs with a mixture of shells of different sorts and then keeping a record of their movements. approached from this side, the problem is difficult of solution. when a crab seizes on a thompson: metamorphoses ov hermit crab. 193 new shell, it turns it over and over, thrusts the chelipeds within the chamber and then probably enters it. as far as i can judge, the preliminary exploration merely tells the crab that the "shell " is hollow, empty, and clean, and i cannot agree with those who would see in it a measuring or comparing of the shell. apparently the crab does not perceive either the type or the size of the shell until it has inserted its abdomen into the chamber and tested the shell by moving about in it, etc., deciding by actual trial whether the new will prove better than the old house. it almost invariably keeps a firm hold on its former habitation, so as to be able to return to it if the new house proves ineligible. this method of selection by trial leads to numerous changes that are inconclusive and only serve to confuse an observer. on the other hand, there seems to me to be evidence which points to a preference for shells of dextral type. if a single right-handed shell is dropped into an aquarium where the crabs are in straight tubes or sinistral shells, it will in the long run be found and used — unless its size be utterly inadequate — even though the bottom is encumbered with empty shells of other sorts. similarly there is a tendency to abandon sinistral shells for straight tubes. this does not indicate any deliberate choice. the crabs are constantly changing shells and if one obtains the dextral shell he does not as readily exchange it as he would a shell of other type. hence that shell will be found in use when the aquarium is examined. in general, for both larvae and adults, the need seems to be, first for a covering and then for one of suitable size and shape. the animal is twisted dextrally. therefore, other things being equal, the desire for a well fitting house will tend to bring the crab into a right-handed shell. hut there are evidently a number of unknown factors which enter into a choice, especially a choice between shells of the same type. and there are many instances where crabs leave shells that, as far as appearances go, are vastly more suitable than the ones they substitute for them. the larvae show the tendency to take dextral shells more strongly than do the adult crabs. the experiments show that young provided with shells of unusual form are more restless than those provided with dextral shells. the number that were found swimming after the first twenty-four hours, which means that they were either deferring their entrance into a shell or had come out again 194 proceedings: boston society natural history. after entrance, aggregated 36 percent of all individuals in the sinistral series, '20 percent for the "indifferent" and 16 percent in the normal series. the observed cases where glaucothoe abandoned their shells when disturbed, were 7 percent in the sinistral experiments, but only 1 percent in the normal. in the "indifferent" experiments no specimen was observed to act in this manner. moreover, a single dextral shell dropped into an'aquarium will certainly be found and used. when several glaucothoe are placed in a dish on the bottom of which there are scattered various shells, wre find that as each larva stops swimming, settles down and crawls on the bottom, it examines the objects in its path and is apt to enter the first that has a cavity in it. then, if not satisfied, it either recommences swimming or, more usually, makes a further search dragging about its newly acquired house. it is well known (agassiz, '75) that in the investigation and use of a shell the glaucothoe handle the shell exactly in the same manner as do adults. my observations would make them subject also to the same limitations. like other investigators, i have not been able to repeat the observation (brooks, '99) that hermit crabs "even make vacant [a shell] that seems eligible by pulling out its occupant piece by piece and eating him," although a dead snail is quickly devoured by the crabs and the emptied shell not infrequently used. if the snail, while the crabs are pulling and picking at it, gets pulled out bodily, the vacant shell may indeed be taken by one of the diners, but more usually the «rabs devote their attention to the meat and leave the shell unnoticed. i have never seen anything which would imply an intentional or necessary connection between the eating of the snail and the use of the vacant shell. when, however, a crab is searching for a shell he acts in a very different manner, attempting to pull out the dead meat bodily, just as other rubbish is removed from a shell that is being examined. the snail may be eaten after removal, and i have seen a shell-hunting crab eat fragments which wtere torn off while he was trying to extract the snail. but this is unusual; for, as a rule, if the snail does not come out readily the crab either abandons the attempt, or if desperately in need of a residence crowds in between the meat and the shell. thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 195 the asymmetry. although it is evident that the structural modifications possessed by the majority of the hermit crabs are on the whole in closest correlation with the use of dextrally spiral shells as residences, there are two genera in the group which suggest that the asymmetry in its beginnings was perhaps not connected with this mode of life. mixtopagurus certainly might be regarded as pointing to an origin for the asymmetry prior to, or outside of the use of a coiled shell, as it combines a slight dextral twist with residence in holes in bits of wood. the sinistral asymmetry of henderson's genus paguropsis also seems difficult of explanation on any theory which would derive the asymmetry primarily from the use of shells. for the righthanded spiral has always been the predominant type of coil among the marine gastropod mollusca. the point of view with regard to these geflera remains unchanged whether the pagurids be considered as a natural or a convergent group. this question of the origin of the asymmetry seems to me to be insoluble at the present day. detail of the adult anatomy is as yet very scanty and for those genera about which most is known it does not bear closely on the problem. probably a large number of the anatomical peculiarities of such a typically asymmetrical genus as eupagurus, for example, may be looked upon as inherited; similar structures being found among the thalassinidea, the modern representatives of the stock from which the hermit crabs were in all likelihood derived (ortmann, :01). for example, the weak integument of the abdomen finds its counterpart among the members of the latter group. these live in burrows or crevices and probably their ancestors had similar habits. so the pagurids might have attained a much weakened integument before they began to exchange stationary for movable "burrows." there is a curious resemblance between the degenerative details of the abdominal muscles of the eupagurids and those of gebia. unfortunately, knowledge of the abdominal musculature of more generalized thalassinids than gebia is wanting. and even if the details shall be found to agree in the two groups, such a reduction of parts may be merely the usual outcome where the abdomen is little used by a burrowing species and not necessarily peculiar to the pagurids, nor inherited from their thalassinoid ancestors. l!)t) proceedings: boston society natural history. other anatomical details also fail to throw light on the problem. the alterations by which the posterior end of the body has been transformed into a hook-like organ point to life in a movable residence, but might have been developed in either a straight or a spiral house. the tuberculated areas on the uropods in the more symmetrical hermit crabs and on both uropods and posterior thoracic feet in the asymmetrical forms, do not even indicate life in a movable residence. they are found in pylocheles, which lives in the cavities of sponges. the reduction of the ventral abdominal artery also may have come in either early or late in the development of the hermit crab group. this vessel is very weak in some thalassinids, e. g., gebia deltura (bouvier, '90), and is still present in the anterior abdomen of so asymmetrical a pagurid as paguristes (bouvier, '90a). the record might be thus continued with respect to other characters and with the same result. our knowledge of the adult anatomy is insufficient to throw light upon the origin of the asymmetry, although, as already noted, the anatomy has been profoundly modified for the life in spiral shells. the metamorphosis is also inconclusive on this point except in one particular; and this merely points to an early use of a dextrally spiral shell and does not bear upon the beginnings of the asymmetry. i refer to the displacement of the right liver to the left of the intestine and mid-line of the abdomen as the livers pass back from the thoracic position. that this must be interpreted as palingenetic seems to me to be fairly certain. not only is it natural to extend this significance from the liver shift itself to the displacement, but the change also is an essentially transitory phenomenon and it is very hard to imagine any cause on other grounds for its introduction into the metamorphosis. if the displacement be palingenetic, it will go far to support the idea of an early use of shells. the shift of the livers in the phylogeny of the group probably occurred very early, for these organs have had time to attain a complicated structure since reaching the abdominal region. further, they lie far back in the thorax in modern thalassinids. now, if these organs were already abdominal at the time when the shell was first assumed, it is difficult to understand how the compression of the right side of the body against the columella of the shell could have caused a displacement rather than an atrophy of the right liver. but if they were still thoracic or barely abdominal when life in shells first began, displacethompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 197 ment during the development of the abdominal position would be the most likely outcome. these considerations make it seem probable that the shell was taken early in the history of the group, and so indirectly support that theory which derives the asymmetry primarily from use of shells. another important consideration adds further support to this view. at the time when the ancestor or ancestors of the hermit crabs began to seek other residences than burrows or crevices, the chances would have been favorable for the immediate use of dextrally spiral shells. the pagurid group cannot have originated before the late cretaceous or early eocene (ortmann, rol) while the gastropoda are geologically a very old group. so we may suppose that a supply of mainly dextral shells would have been at hand when the hermit crabs began to use "movable burrows" and the asymmetry might have been affected by the shell at the very outset. this of course leaves the sinistral asymmetry of paguropsis unexplained. thus the whole question falls back on general considerations, and on such a basis there is no reason to abandon our "shell " theory despite the lack of positive evidence. the relationships of such forms as mixtopagurus and paguropsis to the other genera of the group are wholly unknown. in fact, the relationships existing between the various genera as a whole, are very obscure. the group is in all likelihood convergent and not natural, although there is reason to believe that most of the genera are genetically related. if convergent, the parts of the group may be of different ages, the characteristic mode of life being assumed at different times by various forms. all this confusion must be cleared away before the asymmetry can be thoroughly understood. and this will require a vastly more extensive anatomical knowledge than we at present possess. the extent of the group and the poor preservation of the internal anatomy, particularly in the abdominal region, have hitherto turned investigation toward description of species and genera. while this is necessary, it usually does not lay enough emphasis upon the anatomy as a whole, but is content with a record of the more obvious and superficial detail of carapace and limbs. now research must go farther afield. we need information with respect to the finer details of the structure in each species. i believe the clue to the origin of the asymmetry and to the phylogeny of this group of crustacea lies in a study of the internal rather than the external anatomy. 198 proceedings: boston society naturae history. the glaucothoes. in the year 1830, milne-edwards described a small, supposedly adult shrimp under the name " glaucothoe peronii." no one seems to have questioned the validity of this form as a true species, until the year 1864, when miiller pointed out its similarity to the postzoeal stage of "pagurus" and suggested that it might be a larva. but since that time the problems arising out of muller's suggestion have attracted the attention of several carcinologists. on the one hand, bate ('66, '68) asserted that glaucothoe was "only a larval pagurus" and faxon ('82) simply identified his postzoeal pagurids with milne-edwards's genus and with the older genus prophylax (latreille, '30); while on the other hand, glaus ('76) asserted that the structure of the mouth parts in glaucothoe was adult rather than larval; miers ('81) described a second species, g. rostrata; and henderson ('88) described a third species, g. carinuta. more recently the whole problem has been re-attacked by bouvier through a study of the glaucothoes themselves and, in the year 1891, he published the results of his work. he concluded that these forms were undoubtedly larval, since they lacked sexual orifices and opthalmic scales; that they were pagurid rather than thalassinid and belonged to the asymmetrical pagurids; that they were not a natural group, for on structural grounds g. peronii was assigned to sympagurus, while g. carinata lay nearer "pagurus or a related form "; and that they presented "exactly all the essential characters of the larvae described by certain embryologists under the name of glaucothoes." now my research, as has been the case with the work of other students of pagurid development, does not bear directly on the main problem presented by these peculiar crustacean forms. but it does involve some subordinate phases of the problem and affects some of the suggestions which have been put forward during the discussion. two main objections have been brought against the "larval theory": the great size — 10 to 20 mm.— of the glaucothoe as compared with all known glaucothoe-stage larvae, and the feeling that if these forms were really developmental stages they would be more abundant. henderson ('88) has especially laid stress on this latter point. it seems to me that the cogency of both of these objections has been overestimated. thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 199 although historical parallels are unsafe, it is interesting to note the essential likeness of the argument from relative size to one of the objections brought by westwood ('35) against j. v. thompson's assertion that the higher decapoda developed through a metamorphosis. he said that he had collected "specimens of zoea that were ten lines long between the spines, .... far too large to suppose that they would subsequently put off their zoe form and appear as crabs, bearing at the same time in mind .... the minute size of the latter animals in the very young state, although possessing their ordinary form." similarly, the supposed rarity of the glaucothoe is more apparent than real. when we remember that these forms were almost all collected at some depth below the surface, the number already taken — about twenty — does not seem especially small. and further, even among littoral crustacea the larvae are often less abundant than would be inferred from the prevalence of the adults. the young of the lobster, homarus, for example, swim freely for ten to twenty days after they hatch, but they are not commonly taken in tow nets. the glaucothoe larvae of the pagurids themselves have seldom been recorded. 'the plankton expedition of 1889 does not record a pagurid zoea, and the glaucothoe phase is relatively much rarer than the zoeae. at woods hole, where hermit crabs are very abundant and the zoeae are obtained in unusually large numbers, fifteen or twenty glaucothoe would be an excellent haul for one day, and the average would be much lower than this without considering the days when the animal plankton is extremely scanty, although occasionally i have collected, on particularly favorable night tides, when there was a full moon, nearly or over a hundred glaucothoe. my research bears directly upon bate's suggestion ('68) that glaucothoe-phase larvae probably continue in the form until they obtain a shell and perhaps moult and grow. recently this theory has been elaborated by bouvier ('91a) as directly applied to the glaucothoes themselves, in explanation of their size and rarity. "they are, so to speak, less fortunate larvae than the rest, which continue to grow until the time that they find a suitable habitation." now, i find in the genus eupagurus a glaucothoe phase that comprises only one stage, during which there is almost no increase in size. the duration of this period is short and it is but little affected by delay in obtaining a habitation. these results are found to be fully 200 proceedings: hoston society natural history. in accord with agassiz's earlier observations ('75) on the same genus, when his rather obscure note is critically examined. and they ought to make us cautious in assuming as at all characteristic of pagurid ontogeny either the existence of more than one stage in the glaucothoe phase or growth during that period. however, the multiform and possibly polyphyletic nature of the pagurid group must not be overlooked. so that no general conclusion can safely be based on the ontogeny of a single genus. especially will this be true of the glaucothoes. despite bouvier's conclusions, there seems reason to question whether they can be the young of forms closely related to those genera for which glaucothoe-stage larvae have been described, viz. . eupagurus (rathke, '42; bate, '68; faxon, '82; sars, '89), spiropaguros (sars, '89), and diogenes (czerniavsky, '84). the mouth parts of glaucothoe as figured by milne-edwards appear more mature in character than the corresponding appendages in the glaucothoe phases of eupayurus anuuipes, lonr/icarpus, or our variety of bernhardus. for the equivalent stage of the european e. bernhardus we have figures of the maxillipeds alone (rathke, '42), but they agree in all respects with the same appendages in the new england species. the mouth parts of the other described glaucothoe larvae have not been studied. the differences in the mandibular palp, in the first maxilla, and anterior maxilliped are especially noticeable in this connection, for in eupagurus these parts have retrogressed from their condition in the zoeae and are without setae or at most only provided with rudimentary setae, while in glaucothoe they are at least setose. the absence of ophthalmic scales also is in contrast to the conditions existing in the larvae studied by sars ('89) and czerniavsky ('84) and probably those examined by rathke. with respect to his larvae rathke ('40, '42) only makes the indefinite statement that the eyes had the same form as those of the adult, but he seems to have worked upon the same species as did sars. of bate's larva ('68) nothing is known with respect to these structures, and the young figured by faxon ('82) do not have the ophthalmic scales. this last is almost unquestionably attributable to oversight. the figure was drawn from a rough sketch in which there was no intent to show more than the general form. moreover, if the figure is correct with respect to the scales, it must represent the glaucothoe phase of some other genus than eupagurus. four species of thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 201 this genus have these scales in the glaucothoe stage. as the figure was drawn from a specimen collected near woods hole, a region characterized by the practically exclusive predominance of the genus eupagurus this would be a most unlikely contingency. at the present time three '' species" of glaucothoe are recognized, but bouvier ("91) has noted that the specimens of g. peronii collected by the "talisman" are not wholly like milne-edwards' type specimen. if as i believe, the glaucothoe phase in the crabs from which these larvae are derived, is short and without any appreciable growth, these discrepancies can no longer be explained as differences in age and development. they indicate rather that the j-oung of more than one species of hermit crab have been grouped under the single name. summary. the adult eupagurus has a dextral asymmetry which not only affects every organ in the abdomen but extends into the thoracic region, so that scarcely any system of organs in the body escapes some modification or displacement. however, with the exception of the flexor muscles and arteries of the abdomen, the homologies with corresponding parts in other decapoda are clear. but the diagonal muscle bands and the peculiar division of the superior -abdominal artery into the two trunks, b and b', are interpretahle only from a study of the larva. the muscles are then shown to be a greatly degenerated loop-enveloping system from which the transversalis muscle has been lost. the arteries resolve themselves into -supra-abdominal and a new vessel, primarily derived from the second segmental artery of the right side. this latter artery is probably peculiar to the pagurids and without homologue among the higher macrura. the development is concentrated. there are four stages in the zoea phase, the last of which is a metazoea. the postzoeal or glaucothoe phase consists of one stage which is macruran in general form and from the first presents a mingling of adult and larval characters. the external anatomy, especially of the cephalothoracic region, recalls the adult. the appendages — except the pleopods —the gill formula, the asymmetry of the chelipeds and uropods, the structure of the stomach, the concentration of the nerve ganglia 202 proceedings: boston society natural history. and the absence of a distinguishable nerve center for the first abdominal segment are more adult than larval. on the other hand, the anatomy and positions of the livers, and lateral caeca, the musculature of the stomach, the lack of an intestinal caecum, and. the great elongation of the achitinous portion of the gut, the position of the sexual cells beneath the pericardial septum, and the preponderance of ganglion cells over fiber masses in the nervous system, are essentially as in the zoeae. also many organs may be interpreted as presenting palingenetic as well as developmental characters. the cephalic position of the green glands, the thoracic position of the livers, the structure of the abdominal muscles and arteries, the complete set of pleopods, and the segmented abdomen may possibly serve as examples of this. the metamorphosis by which the structures attain the adult type of arrangement, commences before a shell is taken, although the larva usually enters a shell within the first forty-eight hours after the moult from the zoea phase. through it, the livers, sexual cells and green glands become wholly or in part abdominal, the arterial system in this region is reorganized, and its muscles and pleopods degenerate. the anatomy becomes completely adult in type before the glaucothoe period ends. the stimulus of a shell is not necessary for the completion of this metamorphosis, any more than for its inauguration. the glaucothoe that has never entered a shell attains the adult structural type exactly like the glaucothoe which may have taken a shell immediately after the moult from the zoea phase. the shell is, nevertheless, very important. the length of the glaucothoe period bears a direct relation to the time that elapses between the moult from the zoea phase and the entrance into a shell. under normal conditions the period ranges from four to eight days, lasting five days for a majority of individuals; but deferring or preventing the taking of a covering for the body prolongs it, so that it may reach six or seven days for a majority of individuals. the range, however, is not altered. this effect is derived from the presence or absence of the shell, and is not dependent, except indirectly, on any peculiarities of its form. the shell also deeply affects the health of both glaucothoe and adult. among glaucothoe which do not obtain a covering for the body or only obtain one after a delay of some days, the death rate is higher than among more normally reared individuals. the form thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 203 of the shell here plays only a very subordinate part. adolescent crabs which are kept without shells show an increase of mortality similar to that among glaucothoe. the anatomical modifications that appear during the glaucothoe stage are, with but one exception, uninfluenced by either the presence, absence, or form of the shell. the exception is found in the retention of rudimentary pleopods on the right side of the body in the sixth stage, though typically at this period appendages should be absent from this side. the percentages of crabs that vary from the typical arrangement and the number of the variations displayed, are larger among larvae which have been reared without shells. the form of the shell is important to a small degree, and sixth-stage larvae reared from the glaucothoe in sinistral shells are slightly more variable than individuals reared with dextral shells. in a single instance a crab reared in a sinistral shell reconstructed or retained one perfect pleopod on the right side of the abdomen. but this crab was otherwise so abnormal that there is reason to doubt whether the variation was connected with the special environment. outside of this case, there is no evidence that the anatomy can be modified by a longer or shorter residence in shells of peculiar shape. typically the retained pleopod rudiments are lost in the moult that closes the sixth stage. there seems to be no reason to infer that hermit crabs learn the shape or size of a shell, except by trial and use. but on the other hand there is evidence for the assertion that they show a preference for dextral shells over those of other forms, based on the fact that if a dextral shell is dropped into an aquarium it will, in the long run, be found and used, even when the bottom is encumbered with shells of other kinds. it is not possible at present to determine whether the asymmetry of the pagurids is primarily attributable to life in spiral shells. the relationships of the genera are too imperfectly understood. nevertheless, the asymmetry in its structural details is very closely adapted to the conditions imposed by this mode of life, which raises a strong presumption in favor of the view that the asymmetry was, from the first, a result of life in dextrally spiral shells. if the displacement in ontogeny, of the right liver to the left of the intestine points to a similar displacement in phylogeny the latter might well be the outcome of a compression of the right side of the body 204 proceedings: boston society natural history. at the time when the livers were passing from the thoracic to the abdominal position such as a shell would cause. there is reason also to believe that this shift took place early in the history of the pagurid group. finally, the chances that the ancestral hermit crabs would use dextral shells rather than other objects at the time when they began to seek movable residences, are rendered very great by the age of the gastropod mollusca as a group, while the pagurids are of comparatively recent origin. thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 205 literature. agassiz, a. '75. instinct ? in hermit crabs. amer. journ. sci., series 3, vol. 10. p. 290291. allen, e. j. '93. nephridia and body-cavity of some decapod crustacea. quart. journ.. microscop. sci., new series, vol. 34, p. 403-42(1, pi. 36-38. bate, c. s. '50. notes on crustacea. ann. and mag. nat. hist., series 2, vol. 6, p. 109-111, pi. 7. '66. carcinological gleanings.— no. 2. ann. and mag. nat. hist., series 3, vol. 17, p. 24-31, pi. 2. (preliminary note for next article.) '68. carcinological gleanings.—no. 4. ann. and mag. nat. hist., series 4, vol. 2, p. 112-121, pl. 9-11. (two zoeae and the glaucothoe of "pagurus.") '76. on the development of the crustacean embryo, and the variations of form exhibited in the larvae of 38 genera of podephthalmia. proc royal soc. london, vol. 24, p. 375-379. (a list of species whose zoeae were seen by w. h. powers. he asserts that the young of birgus latro " certainly spend their larval life in the sea.") bethe, a. '95. studicn ttber das centralnervensystem von carcinus maenas nebst angaben ilber ein neues verfahren der methylenblaufixation. archiv f. mikroscop. anat., vol. 44, p. 579-622, pi. 34-36. '97. das nervensystem von carcinus maenas. ein anatomisch-physiologischer versuch. archiv f. mikroscop. anat., vol. 50, p. 460-546, pi. 25-30. bordage, e. '93. note surtetude comparee du systeme musculaire des thalassinides et des paguriens. compte rendu sommaire des séances de la soc. philomathique, paris, no. 10, p. 3-5, text fig. 1-2. bouvier, e. l. '89. le systeme nerveux des crustaces decapodes. ann. des sci. nat., zool., series 7, vol. 7, p. 73-106, pi. 7. '90. sur l'organization de la gebia deltura. bull. soc. philomathique, paris, series 8, vol. 2, p. 46. '90a. variations progressives de l'appareil circulatoire arteriel chez les crustaces anomoures. bull. soc. philomathique, paris, series 8, vol. 2, p. 179-182. 20(5 proceedings: boston* society natural history. '91. recherches anatouiiques but le systeme artériel des crustaces d4capodes. ann. des sci. nat., zool., series 7, vol. 11, p. 197-282, pi. 8-11. '91a. les glaucothoes sont-elles des larves de pagures? ann. des sci. nat., zool., series 7, vol. 12, p. 65-82. (anatomy of glaucothoe and discussion.) '92. observations sur les raoeurs des pagures, faites au laboratoire maritime du saint-vaast-la-hogue pendant le mois d'aout 1891. bull. soc. philomathique, paris, series 8, vol. 4, p. 5-9. brooks, w. k. '99. the foundations of zoology, viii + 339 pp.; new york. butschinsky, p. '94. zur entwicklungsgeschichte von gebia littoralis. zool. anzeiger, vol. 17, p. 253-256. claus, c. '61. zur kenntniss der malacostracenlarven. wurzburger naturwissensch. zeitschr., vol. 2, p. 23-46, pi. 2-3. (first and later zoea of "pagurus." regarded by the author as possibly a dromia larva.) '76. untersuchungen zur erforschung der genealogischen grundlage cles crustaceen-systems. viii-|-123 pp., 25 text figs., 14 pls.; wien: 4to. (the previously described larvae were "pagurus" and now the mysis stage is described. discussion of the metamorphosis). '84. zur kenntniss der kreislaufsorgane der schizopoden und decapoden. arbeiten a. d. zool. inst. d. univ. wien, vol. 5, p. 271-318, pl. 1-9. (figures ventral arteries of two zoea stages, pi. 9, fig. 53-55.) '85. neue beitrflge zur morphologic der crustacean. arbeiten a. d. zool. inst. (i. univ. wien, vol. 6, p. 1-108, 1 text fig., pi. 1-7. (contains a figure entitled "metazoea of pagurus" but regarded by many as representing a galathea larva.) czerniavsky, v. "84. crustacea decapoda pontica littoralia; materialia ad zoographiam l'onticam comparatam. 2. schr. nat. gesellsch. charkoff, vol. 13, auppl., 268 pp., 7 pls. (russian.) (two zoeae and postzoeal larva of "diogenes mrians," teste bouvier, '91a.) faxon, w. '82. selections from embryological monographs. 1.— crustacea. mem. mus. couip. zool., vol. 9, no. 1, 11 pis. and explanation. (four zoeae, the glaucothoe, and the sixth stage of "pagurus." probably eupagurun longkarpus; pi. 12, tig. 18-30, pi. 13, fig. 5-6.) giard, a. '86. sur la castration parasitaire chez veupagurus bernhardus (linne) et chez la gebia stellata (mont.). comptes rend, de l'acad. des sci., vol. 104, p. 1113-1115. thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 207 goodsir, h. i). s. '42. on a new genus and six new species of crustacea, with observations on the development of the egg and on the metamorphoses of caligus, carcinus, and pagurus. edinburgh new philosoph. journ., vol. 33, p. 174-192. (note on the first zoea of "pagurus." ) henderson, j. r. '88. report on the anomura collected by h. m. s. challenger during the years 1873-76. report on the scientific résulte of the voyage of ii. m. s. challenger during the years 1873-76, zoology, vol. 27, xii + 221 pp., 21 pis. (description of glaucothoe carinata, p. 83-84, pi. 9, fig. 1-la.) hesse, e. '76. description des crustacés rares on nouveaux des côtes de france. ann. des sci. nat., zool, series 6, vol. 3, art. 5, 42 pp., pl. 5-6. (curious description of the first zoea of 'tagurus m'manthropos.") krieger, k. r. '80. l'eber das centralnervensystem des flusskrebses. zeitschr. f. wissensch. zool., vol. 33, p. 527-594, pl. 31-33. latreille, p. a. "30. cuvier's le règne animal, distribué d'après son organisation, pour servir de base à l'histoire naturelle des animaux et d'introduction à l'anatomie comparée. 2d éd., 5 vols. ; paris. (description of prophylax, vol. 4, p. 78.) marchai, p. '91. sur un pagure habitant une coquille sénestre {xeptunea contraria chenu). bull. soc. zool. de france, vol. 16, p. 267-269. '92 recherches anatomiques et physiologiques sur l'appareil excréteur des crustacés décapodes. archiv. de zool. expérim. et gén., series 2, vol. 10, p. 57-275, text fig. 1-20, pl. 1-9. mayer, p. '77. zur entwicklungsgeschichte der dekapoden. jenaische zeitschr. f. naturwissensch., vol. 11, p. 188-269. pl. 13-15. (embryology of " pagurus striatus."] miers, e. j. '81. account of the zoological collections made during the survey of h. m. s. "alert" in the straite of magellan and on the coast of patagonia. crustacea. proc. zool. soc. london, 1881, p. 61-79, pi. 7. (description of glaucothoe rostrata.) milne-edwards, a., & bouvier, e. l. '91. sur les modifications que subissent les pagures suivant l'enroulement de la coquille qu'ils habitent. bull. soc. philomathique, paris, series 8, vol. 3, p. 151-153. milne-edwards, ii. '30. description des genres glaucothoe, sicyouie, stïgeste et acete, de 208 proceedings: boston society natural history. l'ordre des crustaces dccapodes. ann. des sci. nat., zool., series 1, vol. 19, p. 333-352, pi. 8-11. (description of glaucothoe peronii.) mttller, f. '64. fiir darwin. 8vo; illus. leipzig. (zoea of "pagurus," p. 35-3", fig. 26.) nusbaum, j. '87. l'euibryologie de mysis chameleo (thompson). archiv. de zool. experim. et gen., series 2, vol. 5, p. 123-202, 13 text figs., pl. 5-12. ortmann, a. e. : 01. bronn's klassen und ordnungen des thier-reichs. arthropoda. vol. 5, part 2, no. 60-62. (see p. 1317, pi. 128.) philippi, a. '40. zoologische beuierkungen. 2. das genus zoe ist der erste zustand von pagurus. archiv f. naturgesch., vol. 6, pt. 1, p. 184-186, pi. 3, fig. 7-8. (first zoea of " pagurus hungarus.") ratlike, h. '40. zur entwickelungsgeschichte der dekapoden. archiv f. naturgesch., vol. 6, pt. 1, p. 241-249. (description of three zoeae and the glaucothoe of "ragurus bern/tardus.") '42. beitrsge zur vergleichenden anatoinie und physiologie. 2. zur entwickelungsgeschichte der dekapoden. neuste schr. d. naturforseli. gesellsch. in danzig, vol. 3, pt. 4, p. 23-55, pi. 2-4. (an expansion of the foregoing account.) sars, g. 0. '89. bidrag til kundskaben om decapodernes forvandlinger. 2. lithodes, eupagurus, spiropagurus, galathodes, galathea, munida, porcellana (nephrops). archiv f. math, og naturvid., christiania, vol. 13, p. 133-201, pi. 1-7. (zoea, metazoea, and glaucothoe of "eupagurus hernhardus," "e. pubescens," and "spiropagurus chirocanthus." note on the larvae of "s. forbesii.") smith, s. i. '73. the metamorphoses of the lobster, and other crustacea. in verriu's report upon the invertebrate animals of vineyard sound and adjacent waters, with an account of the physical characters of the region. report u. s. comm. fish and fisheries, 1871-1872, p. 522-537, text fig. 4. (record of the young of eupagurus in vineyard sound, p. 530.) swammerdam, .t. 1737-38. bybel der natuur. 2 vols. ; leyden. thompson: metamorphoses of hermit crab. 20't thompson, j. v. '28. zoological researches and illustrations. no. 1, 36 pp., 4 pis. cork. '30-'31. on the metamorphoses of decapodous crustacea. zool. journ., vol. 5, no. 19, p. 383-384. (asserts a metamorphosis for "pagurus " among other genera.) '35. on the double metamorphosis in the decapodous crustacea, exemplified in cancer maenas, linn. philosoph. trans, royal soc. london, 1835, pt. 2, p. 359-362, pi. 6. (with respect to "pagurus," merely a repetition of his former assertion.) thompson, m. t. :03. a rare thalassinid and its larva. proc. boston soc. nat.hist., vol. 31, no. 1, p. 1-21, pi. 1-3. vigors, n. a. '30. untersuchungen ueber die bildung und entwickelung des flusskrebses von heinrich rathke. zool. journ., vol. 5, no. 18, p. 241-255. west-wood, j. o. '35. on the supposed existence of metamorphoses in the crustacea. philosoph. trans, royal soc. london, 1835, pt. 2, p. 311-328, pi. 4. willey, a. :00. zoological results based on material from new britain, new guinea, loyalty islands and elsewhere, collected during the years 1895, 1896, and 1897. pt. 5. 4to : cambridge, eng. (the young of birgus latro hatch as zoeae.) printed, september, 1903. thompson.—metamorphoses of hermit crab. plate 4. all the figures are reduced about two thirds in reproduction. fig. 1. first zoea, ventral. x 52. mxp„ third maxilliped. fig. 2. second zoea, lateral. x 40. mnd, mandible; ul. upper lip. fig. 3. third zoea, lateral. x 34. ych, yellow, rch, red chromatophores. fig. 4. fourth zoea, dorsal, swimming position. x 25. ht, heart; ch int, chitinous gut. fig. 5. glaucothoe or fifth stage, dorsal. x 25. fig. 6. sixth stage, dorsal. x 25. at, stomach; ic, caecum; int, intestine; ru, rudimentary pleopod on segment two; eij, right liver. thompson. — mftamokhiiuses ok hkhmi r ("kah. i'l.ai k +. pm,i\ liosros simnat. misi vin.. ,\. thomi'son.— metamorphoses of hermit crab. plate 5. development of the appendages, showing the structure in the first (1), second (2), third (3), and fourth (4) zoeae, the glaucothoe (5), and the adult (a). for purposes of comparison, the appendages in each series are drawn to a common size. abbreviations common to all figures. fig. 7. first antenna, dorsal. fig. 8. second antenna, dorsal. fig. 9. mandible, ventral. fig. 10. first maxilla, ventral. fig. 11. second maxilla, ventral. fig. 12. first maxilliped, ventral. fig. 13. second maxilliped, ventral. en— endopod. ex— exopod. ie — lacinia externa. (t —lacinia interna. sc. — scaphognath i te. prot — protopod. thompson.— metamorphoses of hermit crab. plate 5. m, t. tliumpson dei. i'hoc. boston sue. nat. hist. vol. 81. thompson. metamorphoses of hermit crab. plate 6. development of the appendages (continued,!. abbreviations as before; subscript numbers mark the stages and roman numerals indicate the thoracic limbs and the abdominal segments. fig. 14. third maxilliped, ventral. fig. 15. thoracic limbs, first zoea, lateral. fig. 16. thoracic limbs, second zoea, lateral. fig. 17. thoracic limbs, third zoea, lateral. fig. 18. thoracic limbs, fourth zoea, lateral. fig. 19. fourth limb, glaucothoe, dorsal. fig. 20. fifth limb, same, dorsal. fig. 20a. tip of same, adult. fig. 21. abdomen of fourth zoea, showing pleopods, ventral. fig. 22. pair of pleopods of fourth zoea more'enlarged, lateral. fig. 23. pleopods of glaucothoe, drawn in their respective proportions. fig. 24. pleopods of adult female, drawn in their respective proportions. fig. 25. same of adult male. thompson.—metamorphoses op hermit char. plate (i. thomrsos. — metamorphoses of hermit crab plate 7. as before roman numerals indicate thoracic limbs and abdominal segments and subscripts mark the stages. fig. 26. curves showing amount of variability and range of variations in sixth-stage larvae. the ordinates indicate the conditions of rearing: the abcissae the percentages. continuous line = amount of varia bility; broken line = range of variations. conditions are: n»\ normal: na, naked; bin, sinistral; ind, indifferent. see page 18i). fig. 27. part of abdomen, first zoea; living material, showing ganglia and nerves. fig. 28. development of ophthalmic scale, a. first antenna; e, eye. fig. 29. ventral surface of infra-oesophageal ganglion, adult, ar, ascending arterioles; comm., thoracic commissures; oes, oesophageal comiuis sures; st a, sternal artery. fig. 30. eupagurus polticuris; abdominal ganglia to show arrangement of these parts in the genus eupagurus. gn, ganglionic nerve from fifth ganglion; comm n, commissural nerve from fourth commissure; cp, columella prominence; no, nerve to fifth thoracic limb. fig. 81. development of telson and uropods; 31,, 31„, and 314 show the ventral, the others the dorsal surface. drawn to common size. ur. anlagen of uropods. fig. :!2. curves showing duration of the glaucothoe stage, normal and delayed. ordinates represent days, abcissae percentages. continuous line = a, normal; broken line = hi, delay of three days; dotted line = i3-. delay of four days. fig. 33. same, naked and sinistral. continuous line = c, crabs kept without shells; broken line= e, sinistral shells; dotted line = a, plotted with the day and half day percentages added together. thompson'.— metamorphoses of hermit crab plate 8. development of the livers. all the figures are schematic, but each represents the condition in a single individual, depicted either from a "plotting " on profile paper, or from a wax reconstruction. allowance must be made for shrinkage and shiftings in the loosely attached organs, especially in figure 34-37, and 44. figure 34-37 are drawn in relative proportions; figure 38-42 with a common length of thorax. the slender liver caeca are crowded together in the living animal, but separated here for clearness. abbreviation's commos to all flgl'res. an — anus. lat i — lateral lobe. ant i — anterior lobe. k — lateral caecum. tlor i — dorsal lobe. oes — oesophagus. eg — liver. post i — posterior lobe. g— gonad. sd— sexual duct. gg — nephrosac. .it — stomach, ic — intestinal caecum. sta—sternal artery. int — intestine. fig. 34. thorax of first zoea, reconstructed; right, lateral. x 120. fig. 35. thorax of second zoea; right, lateral. x 200. fig. 36. thorax of third zoea, reconstructed; right, lateral. x 200. fig. 37. thorax of fourth zoea; right lateral. x 200. fig. ;!8. thorax of glaucothoe, example 1, page 165, reconstructed. x 120. kig. 39. thoiax of glaucothoe, example 2, page 165, reconstructed. x 160 (?). fig. 40. thorax of glaucothoe, example 5, page 16c, reconstructed. x 271 (?). kig. 41. thorax of glaucothoe, example 6, page 166, reconstructed. x 129 (?). fig. 42. sixth stage, reconstructed; right lateral. x 280 (?). kig. 43. abdomen of mature sixth stage, showing earliest growth of liver caeca; reconstructed. kig. 44. abdomen of adolescent crab, twenty to thirty days past the glaucothoe; reconstructed. kig. 45. abdomen of wareham adult, see page 166. dorsal; from photograph of reconstruction. fig. 46. same; lateral, with intestine partly cut away. thompson.— imetamnrphoees of hermit crab. plate 9. ahbkeviations common to all figures. a— anterior aorta. int— achitinous gut. aa — antennary arteries. lat t — lateral tooth. ant i — anterior lobe of liver. ic — lateral caecum. car — carapace. ipp — lower pyloric pouch. rh int — chitinous gut. ic—lateral pyloro intestinal valve rpv — cardio-pyloric valve. ivr— lateral-valve ridge. dlv — dorso-lateral pyloro-intestinal mpv — median pyloric valve. valve. mua — muscles passing to limbs. dor i — dorsal lobe of liver. oes — oesophagus. tit — dorsal tooth. oes comm — oesophageal commissures. dv — dorsal pyloro-intestinal valve. op — oesophageal plate. gg — green gland. post i — posterior lobe of liver. ht—heart. upp — upper pyloric pouch. fig. 47-50. transverse sections, first zoea. fig. 47. at beginning of mandibles. x 85. gang, posterior cells of supraoesophageal ganglion; at, stomach. fig. 48. thirty micra farther bark, showing approximation of lateral caeca. x 130. ipp, site for lower pyloric pouch; //, lateral tooth. fig. 49. ten micra beyond last. x 85. fig. 50. thirty micra farther back, showing entrance of livers into pylorus, tips of pyloro-intestinal valves and beginnings of floor of intestine, x. x 85. fig. 51. transverse section, glaucothoe.showing vertical limb of green gland. x 85. gl'ili, globulus: «/, upper lip. fig. 52. transverse section, sixth stage, through the pylorus, x 115. gang, ventral thoracic ganglia; gg, canal from green gland to nephrosac; upp, site of future upper pyloric pouch. fig. 53. wareham adult, transverse section of abdomen, showing three liver tubules, the ventral wall of the nephrosac {gg), sexual duct {sd), chitinous gut, caecum {ic), and upper part of flexor muscles {flet). x 180. fig. 54. intestine of glaucothoe, longitudinal section through methoria; showing chitinous gut. achitinous gut, and mesodermal sheath of gut, ma. x 525. fig. 55-57. development of stomach, somewhat diagrammatic, from plottiiigs on profile paper. fig. 55. stomach of fourth zoea, (cardiac part too short). x 184. ic, entrance of lateral caecum into pylorus; eg, entrance of liver into pylorus. fig. 56. stomach of glaucothoe, (cardiac part too short). x 138. fig. 57. stomach of adult, x 43. lop, lower oesophageal plate; uop, upper oesophageal plate. fig. 58. transverse section, glaucothoe, to show union of the pyloro-intestinal valves in the intestine and the partial occlusion of the lumen of the liver. x 180. thompson. metamorphoses or hkhmit ckak. plate 9. thompson.— metamorphoses of hermit crab. plate 10. koman numerals indicate thoracic limbs and abdominal segments. abbreviations common to all figures. car— sinus of carapace. i seg a — left segmental artery. dese m — descending muscle. nc — nerve cord. en m — enveloping muscles. pi m— pleopodal muscles. ext — extensor muscles. post i — posterior lobe of liver. flex — flexor muscles. r set/ it — right segmental artery. g — gonad. st a — sternal artery. gang — ganglia. vent —ventralis muscles. int — achitinous gut. x— descending portion of loop muscles. lat m — lateralis muscles. x* — descending portion of enveloping ten m — loop-enveloping muscles. muscles. i m — loop muscles. fig. ooa-f. muscles of abdomen, glaucothoe, slantingly sagittal; the 1st, 2d, 3d, 4th, 7th, and 10th, of a series of sections each ten micra thick. the transversalis muscles are blackened. fig. 60. diagram of the flexor muscles of glaucothoe; lateralis and ventralis omitted except where they come in contact with the other muscles. viewed from within. fig. 61. flexors of cambarus; series of four sections for comparison with sections in figure 59 ; descending, ventralis,and lateralis omitted for clearness. fig. 62. sexual cells, glaucothoe, reversed by compound microscope, sa, posterior aorta, x 370. fig. 63. sexual cells, sixth stage. see plate 8, figure 42. rns, nuclei of mesodermal sheath. x 370. fig. 64a-d. development of artery b', as shown in one individual. f.xample 2, page 16"). . .sa, superior abdominal or artery b. fig. 64a. dorsal aspect, plotted from sections. x 220. fig. 64b-d. the three successive sections indicated in fig. 64a. x 60. fig. 64b. showing the outer end of the left segmental artery cut longitudinally, and the right artery in cross section. fig. 64c. showing the tips of the segmental arteries passing into the pleopodal muscles on each side. fig. 64d. showing the tips of the segmental arteries in the muscles and artery 6' running beneath the extensors before it dips toward the flexors. desc m car phoi\ boston so. . nat hist. vol. at. i price list of recent memoirs. 4to. vol. v, no. !). the skeletal system of nccturus maculatus rafinesque. by h. h. wilder, ph.d. 53 pp., 6 plates. $1.00. no. 8. observations on living brachiopoda. by edward s. morse. 73 pp., 23 pis. $2.00. no. 7. description of the human spines showing numerical variation, in the warren museum of the harvard medical school. by thomas dwight 76 pp. si.50. no. 6. the anatomy and development of cassiopea xamachana. by robert payne bigelow. 46 pp., 8 plates. $1.40. no. 5. the development, structure, and affinities of the genus equisetum. by edward c. jeffrey. 36 pp., 5 plates. $1.00. no. 4. localized stages in development in plants and animals. by robert t. jackson. 65 pp., 10 plates. $2.00. no. 3. synapta vivipara: a contribution to the morphology of echinoderms. by hubert lyman clark. 35 pp., 5 plates. $2.00. no. 2. notes on the dissection and brain of the chimpanzee "gumbo." by thomas dwight. 21 pp., 4 plates. $1.00. no. 1. on the reserve cellulose of the seeds of liliaceae and of some related orders. by grace e. cooley. 29 pp., 6 plates. $1.00. vol. iv, no. 14. a bibliography of vertebrate embryology. by charles sedgwick minot. 128 pp. $2.50. no. 13. fusion of hands. by thomas dwight. 14 pp., 2 plates. 75 cts. no. 12. the insects of the triassic beds at fairplay, colorado. by samuel h. scudder. 16 pp., 2 plates. no. 11. illustrations of the carboniferous arachnida of north america, of the orders anthracomarti and pedipalpi. by samuel h. scudder. 14 pp., 2 plates. no. 10. new carboniferous myriapoda from illinois. by samuel h. scudder. 26 pp., 6 plates. no. 9. new types of cockroaches from the carboniferous deposits of the united states. by samuel h. scudder. 16 pp., 2 plates. nos. 9-12, $3.25. no. 8. phylogeny of the pelecypoda; the aviculidae and their allies. by robert tracy jackson. 124 pp., 8 plates. $3.00. no. 7. the flora of the kurile islands. by k. miyabe. 74 pp., 1 plate. $1.75. no. 6. the entomophthoreae of the united states. by roland thaxter. 70 pp., 8 plates. $3.50. no. 5. the taconic of georgia and the report on the geology of vermont. by jules marcou. 28 pp., 1 plate. $1.00. no. 4. a study of norui american geraniaceae. by william trelease. 34 pp., 4 plates. $1.25. no. 3. the introduction and spread of pieris rapae in north america, 18601885. by samuel h. scudder. 18 pp., 1 plate. 50 cts. no. 2. the development of the ostrich fern, onoclea struthiopteris. by douglas h. campbell. 36 pp., 4 plates. $1.50. no. 1. the significance of bone structure. by thomas dwight. 17 pp., 3 plates. $1.25. boston society of natural history. recent publications. proceedings. 8vo. (for price list of memoirs, see third page of cover.) vol. 31, no. 2. proceedings of the annual meeting, may 6, 1003. 37 pp. 10 cte. no. 1. a rare thalassinid and its larva. by m.t. thompson. 21 pp., 3 pis. 25 cts. vol. 30, no. 7. the life history, the normal fission and the reproductive organs of planaria maculata. by w. c. curtis. 45 pp., 11 plates. 50 ets. no. 6. monograph of the acrasieae. by k. vv. olive. 68 pp., 4 plates. 25 cts. no. 5. proceedings of the annual meeting, may 7, 1902. 15pp. 6ets. no. 4. memorial of professor alpheus hyatt. 20 pp. 10 cts. no. 3. the origin of eskers. by w. o. crosby. 36 pp., 15 cts. no. 2. the medford dike area. by a. w. g. wilson. 21 pp., 4 plates 25 cts. no. t. systematic results of the study of north american land mammals to the close of the year 1900. by g. s. miller, jr., and j. a. g. rehn. 352 pp. 95 ets. vol. 29, no. 18. the polychaeta of the puget sound region. by h. p. johnson. 56 pp., 19 plates. 55 cts. no. 17. proceedings of the annual meeting, may 1, 1901. 33 pp. 10 cts. no. 16. bermudan echinoderms. a report on observations and collections made in 1899. by u. l. clark. 7 pp. 5 ets. no. 15. echinoderms from puget sound: observations made on the echinoderms collected by the parties from columbia university, in puget sound in 1896 and 1897. by h. l. clark. 15 pp., 4 plates. 30 cts. no. 14. glacial erosion in france, switzerland and norway. by william morris davis. 50 pp., 3 plates. 50 ets. no. 13. the embryonic history of imaginal discs in melophagus oviuus ljj together with an account of the earlier stages in the development of the insect. by h. s. pratt. 32 pp., 7 plates. 75 cts. no. 12. proceedings of the annual meeting, may 2, 1900. 18 pp. 10 cts. no. 11. a revision of the systematic names employed by writers on the morphology of the acmaeidae. by m. a. willcox. 6 pp. 10 ets. no. 10. on a hitherto unrecognized form of blood circulation without capillaries in the organs of vertebrata. by charles sedgwick minot. 31 pp. 36 cts. no. 9. the occurrence of fossils in the roxbury conglomerate. by henry t. burr and robert e. burke. 6 pp., 1 plate. 20 cts. no. 8. the blood vessels of the heart in carcharias, raja, and amia. by g. h. parker and f. k. davis. 16 pp., 3 plates. 25 cts. no. 7. list of marine mollusca of coldspring harbor, long island, with descriptions of one new genus and two new species of nudibranchs. by francis noyes balch. 30 pp., 1 plate. 35 cts. no. 6. the development of penilia schmackeri richard. by mervin t. sudler. 23 pp., 3 plates. 30 cts. no. 5. contributions from the gray herbarium of harvard university. new series, no. 17. 1. revision of the genus gymnolomia. 2. supplementary notes upon calea, tridax, and mikauia. by b. l. robinson and j. m. greenman. 22 pp. 25 cts. no 4. studies in diptera cyclorhapha. 1. the pipunculidae of the united states. by garry de n. hough. 10 pp. 10 cts. no. 3. notes on the reptiles and amphibians of intervale, n. h. by glover m. allen. 13 pp. 15 cts. no. 2. variation and sexual selection in man. by edwin tenney brewster. 17 pp. 25 cts. no. 1. proceedings of the annual meeting, may 8, 1899. 43 pp. 15 cts. vol. 28, no. 16. moniloporidae, a new family of palaeozoic corals. by amadeus w. grabau. 16 pp., 4 plates. 25 cts. no. 15. studies in the gold-bearing slates of nova scotia. by j. edmund woodman. 33 pp., 3 plates. 50 cts. no. 14. north american wood frogs. by r. h. howe, junior. 6 pp. 10 cts. no. 13. some hydroids from puget sound. by gary n. calkins. 35 pp., 6 plates. 50 cts. no. 12. the odonate genus macrothemis and its allies. by philip p. calvert. 32 pp., 2 plates. 50 cts. no. 11. proceedings of the annual meeting, may 4, 1898. 26 pp. 15 ets. no. 10. on the veins of the wolffian bodies in the pig. by charles sedgwick minot. 10 pp., 1 plate. 25 cts. no. 9. notes on a carboniferous boulder train in eastern massachusetts. by myron l. fuller. 14 pp. 15 ets. 3 2044 107 170 48 41 al 4317 40 widener library hx 51ry v l4317.400 nov: angl christo 650 sigill un λον 26 coll the gift of of ecclesiae vvo samuel abbott green, m.d., boston (class of 1851), harvard 2 july, 1886. gu 05 crven tv 2245 the hermit of the lake or sland 2 princess inding co. miberty resented by the passumpsic railroad. 26-7-86 0 the hermit of the lake; w.&j. or, the island princess. a story of lake memphremagog and the southwest. presented by the connecticut valley & passumpsic railroads. season of 1886. al 4317.xo کوئی ڈرتے ہو 1886 july 26 sipa プ ​1 st bhe 10. written, illustrated and printed by the liberty printing co., no. 107 liberty street, new york. 1 the hermit of the lake; 66 or, the island princess. wha he task would be difficult, indeed, to find two scenes within the borders of our country more widely diverse in appearance and surrounding than that in which this record of a summer's journey begins and where it has its ending. the one brings us into the midst of the boundless texan prairie, where vast herds of cattle graze along the far-away horizon, and a group of half wild athletic men loiter in the shade of the wide porch in front of the ranch san benito watching a bright-eyed young mexican mastering an unruly broncho. the other reveals a region of crags and vales, of running trout streams and still, deep waters, which reflect back the rich verdure and moss-draped rocks that border the beautiful lake of memphremagog. it is a country full of hospitality and homely ways: a delight to the eye and a refuge for the weary. 'well, harry, my boy, what are you up to now, hey?" the speaker was a bearded and dusty horseman of splendid physique, who had vaulted lightly from his horse and entered the big common room of the ranch house at the moment. 4 always up to something nobody else would think of, ain't you? well, now, what do you call that?" 66 major ben lifted the sixteen-year-old lad into his lap just as he had always done since he had come into possession of the child at the age of a year, and harry submitted with the frank grace of one who fully understood his protector and foster-father. the major looked down curiously at a crumpled mass of heavy wrapping paper which the boy had tacked to a board, a rude topographic model. "well, ben, you see i was reading to-day about a great traveler who came to america upon a voyage of discovery, and when his sovereign asked him what the country was like he took a sheet of paper, crumpled it up, and threw it upon the table before the king. it must have been something like that," and the boy pointed at his own effort. "i guess he didn't come down to texas, or he would have left some of it flat," said the major; "or he didn't go up into vermont, where i used to live, or he would have poured in a little water, like this," and the 5 laughing ranchman lifted a tumbler and spilled a part of its contents into the midst of harry's chart. this speedily formed itself into little lakes or ran away merrily down to the coast at the edge of the board, dripping to the floor. in the centre of the most wrinkled and broken portion of the sheet a little pool formed in a long narrow valley of paper walls, with short lateral arms leading up lesser valleys. "well, now," exclaimed the major, "if that ain't just as much like old memphremagog as i'm like myself! here's province island and a lot of other islands; and here's owl's head, and there's elephantus, over the line, in canady; and right here is where i used to live when i's a boy, and got licked sometimes for tumbling off of the rocks into the water. it's curious how much i have thought about that old lake lately. i wonder if this ain't another warnin' for me to attend to. i've been hearin' 'em for months past, just as plain as you can hear an indian when he wants to stampede a round-up. that ain't very plain, unless your'e used to indians; but it's plain enough for me.” "dear old ben, i want to see the mountains. why! here i've been all my life on the plains, and never saw anything much bigger than a prairie dog's mound. you've told me so much about memphremagog, why can't we go? you know aunt marion wrote us to come last year, and again last month." ben's soft heart never could withstand that boy's pleading, but there were other influences which seemed to him to be drawing him back to the old home despite his reluctance to leave his affairs even for a few weeks. they came to him in dreams, when he was in the cross timber, or alone upon the prairie. the time had come to obey the summons or declare resistance to the call. "we will go, my boy!" exclaimed the major, with unwonted energy. "there's no use fighting against the idee. there's some good reason why i ought to be there, an' it may be too late, one of these days." "and will you take manuel? say 'yes,' you dear old fellow." "yes," replied major ben. "but how do you think aunt marion will like such a boy as manuel. why, he's more'n half savage. worse'n i am, for that matter. look at him, this minute!" through the open window there was a glimpse of the mexican boy and a flying broncho as they disappeared around the corner of the house with an irate and baffled cowboy in close pursuit, lasso in hand. 6 "manuel's been up to some of his indian tricks agin, i reckon. them apaches had him so long he takes to their ways like ducks to water. but, lordy, there ain't nothing mean or cussed about him. he's clear grit, and as kind and loving as a lambkin," soliloquized the major. "i guess it'll be a good thing to take him along. may be you and aunt marion will reform him a bit. now you and that young savage just go and take a little exercise down toward the stage road-anywhere, so i don't hear the racket i want to think, and i never can think when you youngsters are around." when the big hearted texan had watched the two boys until they were but little dots in the distance and still flying upon their ponies across the prairie, he sighed, and fumbling in his various pockets finally pulled out a soiled envelope from which he drew a letter almost equally soiled from frequent perusal. it read as follows: newport, vermont, may 1, 188-. major benj burritt, san benito ranch, texas. my dear brother ben: your welcome and long-hoped for letter has been with me some days. i am glad that you recognize the subtle influence which has drawn your heart toward the old home. after so many years of absence when a man feels a yearning unaccustomed to him for the scenes of his childhood and youth, though he may try to forget and resist the impulse to return, he can no more do so than the birds can cease from their northward flight when spring returns. i believe that there is a subtle power which enables us to commune with each other at a distance. your elder brother possessed this power to a remarkable degree while he lived. you must yield and come to us. i need hardly urge the pleasure it would give both your niece, miss bertha (now a bright girl of about harry's age), and myself to see you here with harry and that young heathen manuel, of whom you write-if you think the latter wouldn't scalp us when we are asleep. perhaps i may be able to induce you to let me have them for a time. they ought to get the benefit of some schooling. your loving sister, 66 marion french. 'well, now, what does she think i'm going to do without them two boys, and then to have 'em coming round in a year or two reminding me 7 tilly of my want of book education. i couldn't stand that. yes, i could, too. ben burritt, you're a selfish old bear. they must go to school. but it goes hard to think of it." away across the prairie he noted the returning forms of the two boys and his eyes were suffused with unaccustomed tears. with softened heart major ben sat as the shadows of the peaceful evening deepened about him, and gave himself over to the pensive pleasure of retrospect. he sat as one sits in a picture gallery, and the scenes of years gone by appeared upon the canvas of memory, beginning 10 with the quiet home upon memphremagog. then the shadow of death which left him and his eldest brother, with their sister marion; orphans and poor. then the long pilgrimage of the emigrants to the west fourteen years before, in which his brother, with a young wife and babe, had joined. marion only remaining behind. then the fierce and frightful night attack by indians in the mountains of colorado; the death of his brother and wife, and his own long captivity and adoption by the savages; the discovery of the babe alive in the lodge of a chief in a nearby village; his escape with the child, and rescue by a band of cowboy rangers; his varied and adventurous life upon the plains, when he had wrought deep vengeance upon the red miscreants who had killed his brother and brother's wife; his encounter while in command of a company of rangers, with the apaches of arizona and rescue of the little mexican captive, manuel, whom he had adopted out of pure sympathy and the memory of his own captivity, and lastly the pleasant vision of his present success and hopes for the future. thus the major ruminated until the frugal supper was announced which brought him back promptly to the affairs of the present, for there is certainly nothing more reliable than a texan appetite. 8. where ladies are not involved, the labor of preparation for a journey of twenty-five hundred miles is not a serious undertaking in these days of rapid transit and universal travel. within a week major burritt had placed the management of his ranch in competent and faithful hands. the boys had been rigged out in "togs" at the nearest town, thirty miles away, and they were upon their way east in an express train over the "sunset route." we must pass over with brief notice the rapid and pleasant journey of our trio across the broad empire of the lone star; along the great mississippi, and through the populous states east of the great river to the metropolis of new york. every mile was fraught with wondrous interest for the two untraveled lads, and of pleasant reminiscence to the major, who could well draw the infinite comparison between the tedious journey he had made westward fourteen years ago, and the rapidity and luxury of their return. at the beginning of a bright june day we find them standing upon the platform of the morning train for new england, which will shortly pull out from the grand central depot. coursing at first along the picturesque villages and populous cities that border the sound, giving beautiful flying pictures of sea-shore life, and then turning aside at new haven passes up the broad valley of the connecticut through hartford, springfield, and on to the north. the broad and placid river first comes into view at hartford, where the gilded dome of the state capitol and its broad grounds command the admiration of the traveler. coursing along its shores northward, we pass a constant succession of great factories located beside the splendid water power. just beyond windsor locks the train crosses to the east side, and soon after passing the state line into massachusetts arrives at springfield, from which point the route to white river junction is over the tracks of the connecticut river railroad. our three travelers never tired of watching the constantly varying beauty of the river side scenery. now a group of great factories, full of busy workers, greeted their gaze, and then some quiet shady village or distant range of hills. now they crossed, after passing chicopee, to the western side of the river, and sped along the beautifully cultivated region, so worshipped by poets and painters, between mount holyoke and mount tom. on, past northampton, hatfield, the deerfields, greenfield (fields without number), south vernon, and now we are in vermont with new hampshire just over the river. at bellows falls is another transit of the 9 passumpsic river. river, and so many factories that the boys wondered who could possibly buy all the goods they must make here. now we are in new hampshire for a few miles, and then back again into vermont much to the major's satisfaction, for it made him feel that the long journey was nearly at an end, and who that claims the grand old green mountain state as his native soil, does not love her? the major had done well to take the morning train from new york. and give his youthful charges an opportunity to see the great and diversified industries, the thrift, refinement and energy manifest in the region they had traversed. it was an object lesson not lost upon the wide-awake youths, whose constant and eager questions taxed the major's fund of information, and shrewd conjecture to the. utmost. at white river junction the connecticut river railroad ends, and the passumpsic railm cud rearac burke mountain, vt. villde ah taylor 11 road begins, but the same cars with a fresh engine at the head keep on with their throng of passengers; some to branch away at wells river into the white mountains; some to lake memphremagog, and others through to montreal, over the south-eastern railway, or to picturesque quebec over the quebec central or grand trunk railways. 66 during the season of northern pleasure travel, this is the great highway of new england, with splendid through cars from new york to the white mountains, and elegant monarch parlor-sleeping cars from springfield to quebec." this item of practical interest the major read from the railway folder. the season was evidently fairly under way as the coach in which they sat was well filled with pleasure seekers northward bound. the american people are learning to begin their holidays earlier, and keep them up later in the summer than they used to. the summer outing is no longer a mere luxury, but is considered with all intelligent people as a matter of course. still along the diminished current of the connecticut we go. the hills are higher here, and valleys whose little streamlets pour into the river are contracted. the pine crops out amid the rocks, the air is cooler, and waiting stages so plentiful all along the road at the smaller stations show the wear and tear of rough and mountainous usage. the bright little river which the indians named the passumpsic loses itself in the connecticut a few miles south of st. johnsbury. the passumpsic flows down from the great ridge that divides the valley of the connecticut from that of the st. lawrence. it is a changeable little stream, deep and still beneath the willows here, or "down on the sharp-horned ledges, plunging in steep cascade, tossing its white-maned waters against the hemlock's shade." st. johnsbury, one of the most attractive of the smaller new england towns, is celebrated as the seat of the great fairbank's scale industry. lyndonville, nine miles beyond, is the headquarters of the passumpsic railroad company, the general offices being located in the depot building. in the vicinity of west burke the railroad crosses the summit of the divide and meets a little stream flowing northward into lake memphremagog. scenery along this section of the road is very beautiful. burke mountain is the nearest elevation, while a few miles to the east, crystal lake. 13 willoughby lake. e. h. taylor willoughby lake, a resort reached by stage from west burke, rests between two stupendous cliffs. away to the westward mt. mansfield, chief of the green mountains, lifts its noble head. pink, these new englanders fully enjoy their release from the thraldom of a long winter. many and popular are the jolly days when the long excursion trains destined for lake memphremagog come speeding along. our texans happened upon such a day when they approached the end of their journey. hundreds of happy vermonters, young and old, with brilliantly uniformed bands were en route to a grand regatta at newport. 14 as the train slowed up in its approach to the station at newport, major ben's feelings almost conquered him; and when five minutes later, he with the two wondering boys was pushing his way through the throng, he felt quite as much inclined to the spirit of the day as his two charges. newport, a pleasant and shady little village, is located immediately at the head of the lake. the large and elegant memphremagog house is located close to the shore, its porches commanding a superb panorama of lake and mountain scenery. this house is the property of the railroad company, and was built especially to accommodate the summer travelers, who usually stop here at least a day or so en route north or south to enjoy the tour of the lake or the fine fishing that abounds here. the memphremagog house is managed by mr. william h. witt, a gentleman of experience. in the days when major ben had played upon the shores of lake memphremagog such great gatherings as these were unknown. in the midst of his surprise at the concourse and pleasure at the animated scene upon the water, he almost forgot his anxiety to reach the quiet cottage of his only sister, and wisely decided to allow the boys full opportunity to enjoy the day. at one point along the lake front a large crowd was gathered watching the preparations of a group of indian canoeists, who were entered for lady lake ei mempraremagog house. 16 لد a race. these swarthy descendants of the aborigines, natives of the french canadian region to the north of the lake, were famous athletes and racers in their light and speedy birch bark canoes. they were hardy, muscular fellows, clad in bright, barbaric colors, their bare arms glistening like bronze in the sunlight. altogether they made a pretty and picturesque group upon the water. among them was one who, from his splendid bearing and quiet air of confidence, as well as his superior stature, was the most observed of the group. the other contestants eyed him curiously, as it was evident he belonged to some tribe of the west and was unknown to them. the mystery which surrounded his unlooked for appearance was intensified by the fact that he had been seen now and then about the lake for some months, and as it was supposed that he lived somewhere along the wild shores near owl's head mountain, he had already been styled the "hermit of the lake." no one knew his name, and few had spoken with him. major ben watched him closely, and as he did so an indefinable influence seemed to hold him spellbound. he felt that he must speak to the giant stranger. the racers were already in line; now the thronging boats (always where they should not be at a race on the water) were forced backed and the racers were off all together. the sunlight glanced from the flying blades of their paddles. now it was this one and now that who led for a brief moment, while the crowds on the steamboats and the crowds on the shore yelled themselves into a fever. out from the struggling bunch slowly but surely drew the powerful stranger. his light craft seemed to fairly leap from the water in response to hi measured but telling strokes. no a length ahead, now two, and at last a clear half score as he crosses the line upon the homestretch, and quietly watches his adversaries struggling in. that's right, give him three times three! all mankind loves a deed of splendid physical power such as this. who is he? no one can tell. and when an hour later the judges seek to award him the prize he has earned, he is gone. far up the lake the tiny flash of his homeward-bound paddle breaks the still surface. he has scorned the money, and eluded those who might have learned too much if he answered their questions. major ben and the boys finding some difficulty in getting a vehicle to carry them the half-dozen miles that should bring them to the house of 17 mrs. marion french, determined with sturdy texan indifference to fatigue to walk to the place. the indian victor had wrought a strange fascination in the breast of the texan, and he felt a strong sense of disappointment in his failure to meet him and satisfy his curiosity. was it not possible that this demisavage, though so far from the terrible scene of his brother's death might be in some way connected with the event, and knew just in what manner his noble brother had fallen? for major ben had no knowledge of the details beyond the mere story of the indians who had captured and spared him to become an avenger. in no other way could he account for the weird longing he had felt to meet the indian. thus soliloquizing, the major with his companions walked rapidly along the road down the lake. the highway was full of carriages, whose occupants, returning from newport, glanced curiously at the strangers. 22. suddenly there was a scene of confusion behind them, and in a moment a runaway horse emerged from the cloud of dust, its mane tossing as it madly plunged onward. behind it was a light carriage containing a pale but beautiful girl and an elderly lady, who were swayed from side to side, and in imminent danger of being thrown headlong by the roadside. 二 ​in a brief moment the flying animal had reached, and all but passed the texans. as quick as the lightning's flash, while the major was hurled back by the errant steed's fearful impetus, as he vainly essayed to arrest him, the young mexican had leaped upon his back and held the animal by the bit. to have missed would have been fatal, to succeed was glorious. the frightened animal felt the pressure of a master hand, and his destructive career was stayed. dismounting, while a dozen arms were outstretched to hold the trembling beast, he was astonished to witness the elderly lady fall into the major's arms with single exclamation as she swooned, "benjamin, at last." 18 a month later the major, two boys, with the still invalid aunt marion, and bertha, the bright-eyed daughter, were seated toward evening in the pretty rustic pavilion that graced the foot of the garden close to the lake. there was an expression of deep content upon the major's face, and yet his eye restlessly sought the horizon as though in quest of something long yearned for. then his attention was fixed upon a small object that moved from the distant opposite shore, and gradually approached an island which arose abruptly from the surface of the lake. it was the mysterious indian, and he alone had observed his transit. "to-morrow, dear uncle, we will show you and mamma our camp,' said bertha, looking with fond admiration at the handsome ranchman, and casting a furtive glance at the young mexican who had rescued her mother and self so bravely from the runaway. the shock of that fearful ride had seriously affected aunt marion, who had been confined to the house since the incident, her brother remaining loyally by her side. both had frequently discussed the mysterious but constant sense of an unseen influence which had been felt by each while thousands of miles apart, and invariably their thoughts were turned to the luckless elder brother, slain by the indians, whose strong will and strange mesmeric power had so often been displayed when they were children together. they felt equally assured that the mystery would be solved ere many days, and rested content in that assurance. the three young people thus left much to themselves had, under the pilotage of miss bertha, a real water-nymph, made long excursions upon the lake to the many beautiful islets that dot its bosom, or among the rocky secrets of owl's head mountain. upon one of these voyages they had conceived the idea of building a bark camping shelter upon one of these wild islands, and selecting a quiet nook where they might safely moor their boat. they had worked diligently for several days, and now the camp was ready to receive its honored guests. "and where is your camp?" asked the major. upon yonder island, just where the tall pine reaches so far above the rest," replied harry, pointing down the lake. the major started. it was the same upon which he had seen the mysterious indian disembark but a moment before, but he said nothing of that. 66 "we will be most happy to accept your hospitality, will we not, sister?" said major ben lightly, though inwardly disturbed by many con19 eh taylor sette alegr a villa on the lake. flicting emotions. he saw in the play-day labor of the children a deep purpose, of which they were simply the unwitting instruments leading up to a solution of the life riddle which vexed his soul. to morrow would bring the answer or he should despair. to give a touch of the picturesque to the projected visit to the camp which, at the suggestion of the major, they had named "kismet," the boys were allowed to don hunting costumes which had been brought from texas in their trunks harry appeared in the neat buckskin suit of a ranger, while manuel, who had disappeared for a half hour, suddenly emerged with a terrifying whoop clad in all the glory of feathers, blankets and leggings of a young apache brave. a further surprise awaited not only aunt marion, but the two boys, when, after a sly consultation with major ben, the pretty maiden hid 20 herself, and presently came 'forth costumed as a lovely little indian princess. the major had thoughtfully brought this beautifully embroidered and elaborate suit as a present for his noice, and had awaited just such an opportunity for revealing it. the major had noted the departure of the indian canoeist from the island that morning through a field glass, and felt no hesitancy in allowing the happy little trio of masqueraders to go at once and take possession, preparing a bright camp fire for their guests. an hour later the three sat upon the greensward in front of their camp" awaiting eagerly the coming of the major and aunt marion. it was a still midsummer day, and the blue smoke curled up among the tree tops from their little fire hardly swayed by the faint zephyr that fanned their cheeks. the stroke of oars, not altogether regular in cadence, told of the struggle the major was having in his efforts to bring the boat safely to the island. 66 the music of a band miles away at mountain house park playing for a merry party of dancers came across the still water, mingling with their ringing laughter at the major's unskilled oarsmanship. slowly there came upon the little group the shadow of an unseen presence. each felt it alike, and looked furtively at the others. now they sat powerless to rise, and presently, as though an expected guest, there stood before them the noble form of the "hermit of the lake," clad in the full costume of a navajo chief. holding out his hands reassuringly, he spoke in good english : "be not alarmed. i am your friend and will prove it, and yet you are in my power. see," and he extended his arm rigidly toward the girl, who arose silently and came toward him. he waved her back to her place, and pointed his outstretched hand toward the approaching boat. the major's nerveless hands dropped the oars and he sat like one in a dream. then, the charm removed by a rapid pass, he resumed his strokes and presently reached the slight landing at the " camp." bidding the youths to say nothing but go to the help of the matron, the strange hermit stood with folded arms and gazed intently toward the group at the landing. before their eyes met those of the indian both of the newcomers had recognized the volatile presence of the influence with which they were now familiar, and the major, looking at the tall savage, knew that the hour of revelation had come. 21 c 1 p 1 기 ​ot e) it hardly more than surprise was manifested by the aunt, she, too, having a firm presentment that the intruder meant no harm, though she marveled at his strange and picturesque costume. standing before them he began : listen, and have no fear. many years ago a band of travelers to the far southwest camped in a cañon near a spring for the night. that night the indians fell upon them and few escaped. among them were two brothers, one with a wife and babe. the mother was killed and the father sadly hurt. the babe and the younger brother were carried away. the elder brother, nursed by a squaw back to life, remained with his captors for years. he studied their language, learned their ways and became like them that he might better find revenge. through a power inherent from childhood and constantly exercised he could bring to a halt the strongest chief, or cause the most powerful hand to relax its grasp. this power made him a great medicine man. by its aid he sought to learn the fate of his brother and babe. he wandered from tribe to tribe. he went into mexico and there in time became rich in the silver mines, but the riches were of no avail, for he was impelled always to seek those lost ones whom he believed to be alive. all these years he had not beard 66 n 22 from the one sister left behind. marriage and removal had placed her beyond his reach ; but in her widowhood she returned to the old home by the lake, and at last the wandering brother came there, too. he wished to try through her the power of compelling the ones he sought tɔ return there also. that he might better fix his mind upon this one wish of his life with unswerving will, he chose to assume the long-discarded costume of the medicine man and dwell secretly in the forest. for months this island has been his home. see, he is gone, and morris, the elder brother, has come to life. oh, heavens! speak to me. ha ha! no longer a wretched indian, but a live american. speak to me, ben! why don't you speak, marion ?” it would be futile to describe the scene. none had suspected that under the deep disguise of the indian they should discover the brother so long mourned as dead, and the subtle mesmerist himself had little thought that the manly boy who stood by the major's side was the babe whom he had lost in the midnight attack. "" "and this," said the major, 'is manuel estafan, taken from his father's hacienda in chihuahua by apaches, rescued and adopted by ben burritt, commandant of rangers." "estafan!" cried the new-found brother; "and why was he not returned to his father? "it was for the reason that all of his relatives were killed in the raid. i sent a mexican messenger to verify the fact,” replied the major. "a man named sancho mendoza?" 99 "that was his name," responded ben, with great surprise. "one of the worst rascals that ever went unhung," exclaimed his questioner, with flashing eyes. "why, the family of estafan are not only alive, but paid this mendoza a large sum to ransom the boy, since which time he has never been seen. alfardo estafan, this boy's father, is my partner in the esperanza silver mine, the best vein in the state of chihuahua. this is great news." the list of surprises was capped at last when the "hermit" led the way to his sheltered "den," as he termed it, in a romantic nook of the island, and there revealed a well-filled table awaiting them, set beneath the trees in anticipation of their coming. “i claim no magic power in this," he exclaimed; “i simply overheard these youngsters planning their little reception of to-day, and determined to take a hand." 23 "tell us, morris," said major ben, "why did you appear at the regatta, and then after winning the prize, run away ?" 'well," answered the elder brother, "you see i wanted to discover how far i could trust myself in my character of an indian; and when i saw you in the crowd i knew you at once, and i feared that you would discover me before the time came." the summer weeks rolled by. a letter sent by the wanderer to his 66 señor estafan. partner in mexico carried the glad news of his son's discovery, and a reply received within a short time informed them that señor estafan, with his señora and daughter, were about starting upon a journey to the east to regain their lost child as soon as possible. "this means," said the major, "that they will be along here within three days, and as they are to come from chicago by the way of montreal 24 why should we not all go to that city and await them? i have business there to look after." this proposition met with great favor, and it was decided to start the following day. the south-eastern railway (there are no railroads in canada), leaves newport toward the westward, losing sight of the lake at a distance of a few miles, and then enters the domain of her british majesty, continuing northwest to montreal. en route it passes through the french canadian region. the quaint little settlements and provincial ways contrasting strangely with the wideawake yankee towns we have seen through new england. the st. lawrence river is crossed upon the famous victoria tubular bridge. montreal is always interesting, and our excursionists, while anxiously awaiting at the great windsor hotel, the arrival of the mexican family, found the time pleasantly occupied in studying the provincial french life which surges around the picturesque bonsecours market, or in the great cathedral, and among the handsome stores of st. james street. they rode through the beautiful park, visited the grey nuns at the convent, and did the thousand and one things that all travelers do who go to canada's chief city. at length came the supreme moment when, at the bonaventure station, the little mexican lad and his fond parents were again united. no need to tell the scene. the volatile child was torn with conflicting emotions, joy at meeting his scarce remembered parents, and sorrow at losing his kind guardian, major ben, and ben himself was but little less affected, for he had long ago learned to love the brave lad he had rescued from the murderous apaches. the incident of the meeting with its main features somewhat mixed, became public property through the newspapers, and to escape the consequent annoyance of notoriety, and allow señor estafan and his family to rest a few days, aunt marion french proposed that the major should pilot the party to quebec while she returned to her lakeside cottage and be prepared to entertain them. but it was finally arranged that all should go to quebec and thence to newport over the quebec central railway, the mexicans locating at the owl's head mountain house, a picturesque place quite near the cottage, upon memphremagog. quebec, where one may rest tranquilly, or seek diversion in sight-seeing with 25 equal facility is beyond a doubt the most interesting of the cities upon this continent. to one who has traveled in other lands it will seem like some citadel of the mediterranean sea coast rather than a city of the north. the gray walls of the fortress look down from their lofty height upon the upper town and its splendid dufferin terrace, from which, in turn, we may gaze almost down the chimneys of the tall structures thronging the lower town beside the broad st. lawrence. to the north and west the historic plain of abraham stretches away along the highland, and toward the northeast, or down the river, the well-traveled beauport road stretches seven miles to the grand falls of montmorenci. quebec is at once a surprise and a delight, and so our party of excursionists found it. at the end of a week they turned their faces southward, and the kindly heart of aunt marion was rejoiced at the admiration lavishly expressed by the mexicans at the beauty of the region where so many happy and eventful days had been spent. the señorita carmella, sister of manuel, rapidly mastered the english language under the active tutelage of her young friends, harry and bertha, whose constant delight seemed to be the pleasure of the fair young foreigner, to whom such things as boating, mountain-climbing and picnicking were new. frequent excursions were made to please her upon the fine steamer "lady of the lake," capt. cleveland. at last came october, and with it the question of home for the mexicans, texas for the major, and school for the boys. aunt marion insisted that her original plan ought to be carried out, and señor estafan and his señora were finally induced to leave manuel with harry in her charge. 26 aking the privilege of the story-teller the writer will now ask the reader to come back with him, four years later, to those sylvan scenes. at wells river a gentleman and lady wait the coming of the montreal day express from boston with some impatience. the gentleman, attired in a new black broadcloth suit, is a splendidly proportioned man, who seems ill at ease in his conventional costume. we recognize in that firm step and kindly but swarthy face our old friend, the "hermit of the lake," the "medicine man of the navajos," and in his companion the beaming face of aunt marion. the coming train, leaving boston via the boston & lowell r.r., concord, lake winnepesaukee and plymouth (with dinner at the famous pemigewassett house), arrived at wells river promptly to the minute. as the train comes to a stop the pair enter a special car which has piqued the curiosity of the train all the way from boston. it is rumored that there has been a wedding-a rich young mexican, who has been at school under a private tutor in boston, has married a yankee girl. so far rumor is correct, and that there might be another wedding one of these days between the young texan and the lovely señorita, who acted as "best man " and bridesmaid, was also thought probable. the reader will have no difficulty, we opine, in recognizing in the happy couple "that young savage, manuel," and the little yankee girl whose life he rescued and heart he captured at the time of the runaway. nor in their almost equally happy attendants, harry and señorita carmella. with them were señor and señora estafan and the handsome major, whose resplendent silk hat outshone, if possible, that of his elder brother. a brief excursion of a week was made through the white mountains. first to fabyans, then to the maplewood near bethlehem, then to the profile notch, and thence past fabyans again and to the crawford house, through white mountain notch to north conway and to portland, old orchard beach and kennebunkport. 27 the beginning of another week found the party at the cottage. a pretty steam yacht bearing the name "hermit of the lake" in golden letters upon its shapely bow waited at the foot of the garden for its passengers, and presently a merry party set out for "camp kismet," upon an island set like a gem upon the bosom of the lake. the islet where four years ago the weird power of the hermit" was manifested, is now owned by the rich silver miner. where the little bark shelter once stood at "camp kismet," a bright summer cottage nestles amid the trees. and at the opposite end of the island where once the "hermit" kept his lonely vigil, another villa is being built. the former is, with much pleasant ceremony, deeded over to the new couple, and the latter will, perchance, in another season, be the happy home of harry and his bride. in the latter there is a spare room for uncle morris, as the "hermit" is now generally called, and the estafans are thinking seriously of building a summer villa near the cottage of good aunt marion, where major ben, in the intervals of his life upon his great ranch in texas, spen much of his time. inmatr "" you dave & alder's pub dept.ny 77 29 passumpsic 742 list of hotels and summer boarding houses on the line and reached by the town. sherbrooke, p. q. 063 sout lenoxville, p. q. no. hatley, p. q. 66 66 derby.. 66 66 66 massawippi, p. q. stanstead, 66 66 newport.. 66 66 owls head..... georgeville..... 66 6. 66 66 name of house. magog, sherbrooke, continental, bellevue, college hotel. ramsey's hotel, private, 66 66 66 66 e. hatley hotel, derby line hotel, tomphobia. stanstead hotel, vt. memphremagog, 66 newport, arlington, private, vt. derby lake, magog...... p. q. park, 66 mountain, camperdown, lakeside, packard, williamson, the cottage, barton l'd'g.....vt. valley. "crystal lake, american, barton...... hillside lake farm, railroad. prop. or landlord. f. geriker. cote & meagher. f. camiraud. renaud bros. a. colby & son. g. f. ramsey. h. n. lebaron. a. p. lebaron. a. m. beau. w. e. lebaron. i. b. curtis. captain h. e. foster. g. f. cooper. wm. h. evans. wm. h. wit. j. drew. b. w. lee. e. l. tracy. wm. n. dariels. j. g. elder. l. collier. wm. jameson. e. s. mowry. c. m. hoadley. wm. m'gowan, jr. mrs. c. b. packard. j. p. williamson. d. a. bullock. j. h. brown. george e. leith. w. l. darling. no. of rooms. 3518344 65 $2.00 65 60 30 30 3 4 10 5 ន គគ ន . ន 10 31 20 27 253 50 25 10 6 40 price per day. 10 75 38 100 25 15 10 10 30 28 18 2.00 1.50 1.50 1.00 1.00 1.00 .75 .75 .75 1.00 1.50 1.50 1.50 3.00 1.50 2.50 1.50 2.50 1.00 2.00 .75 1.50 2.00 1.00 2.00 1.50 2.00 2.00 1.50 1.50 1.50 1.50 1.50 2.00 1.50 price per week. $ 10.00 10.00 7.00 5.00 4.50 4.00 4.00 5.00 3.00 4.00 3.00 4.00 3.00 4.00 4.00 5.00 7.00 7.00 7.00 10.00 21.00 6.00 10.00 6.00 10.00 4.00 6.50 4.00 6.00 6.00 9.00 4.00 6.00 5.00 6.00 5.00 6.00 9.00 7.00 7.00 7.00 7.00 7.00 7.00 10.00 5.00 8.00 30 list of hotels and summer boarding houses-continued. town. barton... .vt. lake view, westmore.......vt. willoughby lake, west burke... .. boarding house, lyndonville.. vt. webb's hotel, union 66 vt. lyndon, barnet lyndon st. johnsbury.... st. johnsbury, ........ 66 26 66 66 66 66 ...... peacham so. peacham munroe mclndoes 66 danville.........vt. elm, west concord. passumpsic... 66 66 66 66 "trull's hotel, 46 66 name of house. 66 66 66 avenue, cottage hotel, boarding house, 46 66 66 wells river......vt. wells river, cottage hotel, private, private, 66 66 vt. lake view, nillson, brocks, 66 vt. fairview, boarding, "monroe. perry's. bishops', private, 66 66 66 33: :: prop. or landlord. henry danforth. f. richardson & co. m. l. colby. c. m. smith. c. n. webb. l. f. shonyo. c. stevens. a. g. tolman. b. g. howe. r. b. flint. o. chase. c. t. brigham. c. w. thurber. e. h. woodbury. a. j. dexter. j. a. dexter. w. f. hastie. c. t. greenbanks. w. s. brock. robert haskell. wm. h. lynds. mrs. m. g. huntley. a. b. perry. o. bishops. p. van dyke. danforth & coburn. w. p. johnson. mrs. f. deming. 66 e. baldwin, jr. 66 j. b. colby. u. durant. mrs. w. g. foss. a. s. farwell. c. h. hutchins. mrs. k. l. whitcomb. 6. e. c. graves. 66 c. b. leslie. 66 h. h. lee. r. j. hall. miss c. a. gale. mrs. h. a. holton. l 66 e. d. carpenter. t. s. bartlett. no. of rooms. 10 50 15 8 36 24 15 62 60 288200 2 2 2 202660 30 25 25 25 20 18 12 18 12 13 4 4433 00322222 price per day. $1.50 2.00 1.50 7.75 2.00 2.00 1.50 2.50 2.00 1.00 1.00 2.00 1.50 2.00 1.00 1.50 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.50 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.50 1.50 1.00 1.50 2.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 price per week. $5.00 8.00 14.00 5.00 8.00 5.00 5.00 8.00 10.00 5.00 8.00 10.00 15.00 10.00 15.00 5.00 7.00 4.00 6.00 12.00 6.00 10.00 5.00 8.00 5.00 4.00 5.00 7.00 7.00 5.00 5.00 5.00 7.00 7.00 5.00 7.00 7.00 7.00 7.00 7.00 37.00 7.00 5.00 5.00 5.00 5.00 5.00 5.00 5.00 5.00 5.00 5.00 5.00 31 list of hotels and summer boarding houses-continued. town. wells river......vt. private, newbury.. 66 haverhill... bradford 66 hanover 66 west fairlee 66 66 lyme...... norwich 66 ...... 66 66 66 name of house. 66 fairlee. oxford....... .n. h elm, 66 vt. montebello, pulaski summer, sawyer, private, 66 66 .n. h. exchange, vt. trotter, private, post mills........ vt. lake, no. thetford.. 66 closon, 66 66 66 vt. pond cottage, waverly hall, ....vt. eagle, private, .n. h. hillside farm, vt. private, norwich hotel, prospect hill, slack's farm, n. h. private, dartmouth hotel, private, 66 66 66 w. r. junc.......vt. junction, prop. or landlord. mrs. chas. pope. j. e. wisener. s. l. eastman. g. a. sawyer. h. w. bailey, 2d. e. h. farnham. e. b. chamberlain. scott fellows. a. l. fabyans. j. m. warden. f. r. chamberlain. s. a. morse. j. h. sawyer. geo. spear. o. d. johnson. b. m. weld. f. w. farnham.. h. m. miller. ethan dimond. nathan davis. a. w. jaquith. lucy b. nichols. w. s. bowles. john dutton. chas. a. slack. mrs. s. b. balch. john s. williams. mrs. h. a. sinclair. 66 e. j. chase. 66 c. j. poole. f. a. whitmore. v. n. spaulding. no. of rooms. 2 40 30 20 10 10 10 40 30 4 4 4 5 10 15 18 16 4 25 23 3 7 10 70 14 2 84 price per day. $1.00 1.00 1.00 2.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 2.00 2.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.25 2.00 1.50 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.50 1.00 1.00 2.00 1.00 1.00 3.00 2.00 1.00 3.00 3.50 1.00 2.50 price per week. $5.00 5.00 12.00 4.00 7.00 6.00 8.00 5.00 8.00 5.00 8.00 5.00 8.00 7.00 10.00 5.00 10.00 4.00 8.00 4.00 6.00 4.00 6.00 4.00 8.00 6.00 7.00 10.00 4.00 8.00 5.00 4.00 4.00 5.00 5.00 8.00 4.00 5.00 7.00 7.00 10.00 5.00 6.00 8.00 14.00 6.00 12.00 5.00 8.00 12.00 8.00 13.00 5.00 10.00 15.00 32 a vacation that will combine health, rest and recreation, and that shall include city, seashore and suburb, with a new attraction for every day. boston with its wealth of historical reminiscences, its thousand interesting attractions, the delightful surrounding country, its hundreds of health resorts down the harbor, all combine to afford the most interesting, attractive and healthful resort on the continent. diodewewe chalety 266 11 eee ima 00000 thbert prosteler richards the united states hotel co. the largest house in boston, will this season open their entire establishment for tourists and pleasure parties, and for ladies and families who desire first-class headquarters, by the day or week, from which they may make their daily excursions to the various points of interest and attraction with which boston abounds. the rates will be reduced for this purpose and special inducements offered for making this a permanent abode for the summer season. the united states hotel has long been famous as a great family hotel for residents living in the vicinity of boston to spend their winter season, and so offers during the summer the most complete and extensive accommodations, on the most liberal terms. full particulars will be given, with maps, circulars, etc., on application, by post or otherwise, to tilly haynes, resident proprietor, united states hotel. boston, mass. montreal the great scenic route, via lake memphremagog, -) between (montreal and the west ask for tickets via newport, vt. c white mountains, portland, old orchard beach, boston, connecticut valley and new york. and and sargent landing bargent's landing elephantiss perkins landing lighton derpest revere house man owe head ntain house light hou hotel light h jewett boston air line moechos matfield mechanicl whipple arcis from 8 to 16.0 rocky ledge hart fight house alexander molso cape gulley inseris er's pay mer saldens sir konywhogy feorgeville newport fitch-bay etstone casbumpric brida atable i atere land & p ber's pt magoo u.s. & cammer l eassumesto g lake memphremagog. white mountains, chicago office, ottawa agency, quebec office, montreal office, crawford house, 205 la salle street, opposite russell house. opposite st. louis hotel, 202 st. james street, j. anderson, agent. j. f. lee. 257 broadway, new york. e. m. jenkins, tourist agent, boston office, world travel company, 207 broadway, new york. new york agencies: 240 washington street, agenc thomas cook & son, tourist agents, a. b. chaffee, jr., ticket agent. r. m. stocking. 261 broadway, new york. w. raymond, agent. boston & lowell r.r., c. s. mellen, supt.; luoius tuttle, g. p. a. passumpsic railroad, h. e. polsom, supt.; n, p. lovering, jr., g. t. a. connecticut river r.r., j. mulligan, supt. ; e. c. watson, g. t. a. south-eastern railway, t.a. mackinnon, gen. manager. 304 ه شه 1 rotoxi [ 189 2 ays 10 ches ush 3.04/01 harvard college library cademiae vardianae ve ri לפורד" on from the gift of william endicott, jr. (class of 1887) of boston bound by alwey&co 1 kirkwood & son. sculp dublin. marriage. its enjoyments are qualified by sorrows! like every other sublunary blessing essays, and sketches of irish life and character; containing the various articles which appeared in the wreath from the emerald isle;" with 66 the hermit of the lakes, &c. &c. "from grave to gay; from lively to severe.".. pope. dublin: wm. curry, jun. & co. sackville-street. george b. whittaker, london. oliver & boyd, edinburgh. 1827 204.12.9.8 n harvard college library oct 211919 gift of william endicott, jr. moni, philips pixon to the reader. most of the following articles appeared in "a wreath from the emerald isle ;" which i published last year, as "a new year's gift," but as i was unable to get it out at the time when the other "christmas presents" made their appearance, it of course had not that fair opportunity of circulation or sale, which it might otherwise have had. in offering the present edition to the public, i have only to observe, that the title it now bears will be found exactly descriptive of the contents-that i have added "the hermit of the lakes,"-and that" the sketches of irish cabins," &c. are from life, and are given from a desire of exciting more general attention to the comforts of the irish cottier; for, in general, while irish gentlemen go to great expense in erecting stables and pig-styes for their horses and swine, their tenantry are condemned to hovels that would disgrace the inhabitants of caffraria, and compared with which, the wigwams of the north american indians are comfortable dwellings. philip dixon hardy. 24, eustace-street, dublin. z 1 contents. on the choice of a wife, poetry-give me the maid whose gentle mien, a party of pleasure, or a trip to the dargle, poetry-dickey daw, a true story, on matrimony, poetry-the bachelor and the husband, amelia and amandis, or a cure for love, poetry-to laura, on parting, ... a water party, or a voyage to howth, memoranda of timothy timmons, incorporated with his .... .... .... pedestrian, poetry-echoes of killarney, .... .... .... .... .... log-book, poetry-lucy hill, a sailor's letter, jane fitz-charles, or the effects of indiscretion, (written by a friend,) poetry-a mother to her infant daughter, wedding of benjamin brimmigem, gentleman, containing some particulars of a matrimonial excursion to the county of wicklow, poetry-the faithful dog, suggested by an incident 59 related in pratt's gleanings, scenes in ireland-journal of an excursion aquatic and .... .... .... .... .... .... .... page. .... 60112822 15 17 23 27 29 37 41 43. 58 71 p 74 102 ii. contents. .... hints for promoting genuine conversation, poetry-the retrospect, a fragment, on poetic composition-containing remarks on the plagiarisms of lord byron, poetry-the feeling heart on novel writing, poetry-to the reader, synonyme, music-irish melodies, .... a medical prescription, requisites for a governess, french epigram, infidelity, .... .... .... poetry-character of an irish melody, .... .... .... poetry-to the new year, the hermit of the lakes, .... .... .... .... .... .... .... .... poetry-lines presented to his majesty, on his visit to this country, the nervous and sentimental, on dreams, poetry-the stranger's pillow, anecdote of napoleon bonaparte, autumn, .... .... .... .. .... .. .... ·· .... .... .... .... ... page. 104 110 111 ... ... 112 122 123 127 129 133 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 146 147 149 150 151 * *in page 74, in title, for equatic,' read' aquatic.' * the wood engraving, in p. 74, should have been prefixed to the wedding of benjamin brimmigem, p. 59. essays, and sketches of irish life, &c. on the choice of a wife. that marriage is a state in which felicity may ost certainly be found, is a truth which affection and experience combine to confirm; but, like every other sublunary blessing, its enjoyments are qualified by sorrows, anxieties, and disappointments, which they who enter that state under the happiest auspices should be prepared to encounter. those considerations, therefore, should certainly operate to a judicious choice of the individual with whom we associate ourselves in the arduous task of care and duty-and who for the remainder of life is to be the partner of our joys and our sorrows. it has been said, that 'the purest flames burn the longest and the brightest,' and by an analogy which experience seldom contradicts, it is found that the love of woman is not only more lasting than that of b 2 a wreath man, but more devoted: poverty increases its intensity, and exile only makes it strike its roots the deeper; nor time nor place can alter or diminish it. it dwells by the bed of sickness with a tender perseverance, and crowns the humble board with a luxury that wealth could never purchase. of the various attractive elements of natural excellence, the greater number and the more frequent occurrences are found in woman;-the mild eye-the smooth and gentle brow-the lip that tells of inward. quiet, are all indications of that serene spirit which is so well calculated to soothe to peace the mind of man, continually agitated by the cares and anxieties of life. where domestic happiness is the object in view, the inducements to marriage should not be found in the splendor of fortune or the bloom of freshness, riches make unto themselves wings, and flee away,' and although beauty holds out temptations which many are unable to resist, still it must be remembered that its tenure is proverbially frail, and they who sacrifice to its fascinations should be thoroughly prepared for its decay. nor should the inducement proceed from the pride of rank or the scintillations of genius. powers of talent or brilliancy of imagination can never effect the stated purposes of domestic vigilance; they generally outstrip the slow march of circumspection, and soar from the emerald isle. 3 into regions where parental superintendance has never yet penetrated. true feeling and strong affection, cheerfulness and activity of disposition, soundness of sense and sweetness of temper, seem to be those qualities which afford the surest promise of domestic felicity, and the best protection against the incursions of misfortune, especially where the mind of the individual is thoroughly imbued with genuine religious feeling. such qualities as these impart the keenest zest to happiness, and most effectually disarm the poignancy of affliction. while the sky is serene, they clothe pleasure with a warmer glow, and deck felicity with brighter colours; and should the storms of adversity gather in gloom, or the clouds of sickness overshadow our path, an individual possessing such qualifications will be most likely to speak the language of fortitude and encouragement, evinced in acts of self-sacrifice and genuine attachment:did i but purpose to embark with thee on the smooth surface of a summer's sea, while gentle zephyrs play with prosperous gales, 'and fortune's favours fill the swelling sailsbut would forsake the ship, and make the shore, when the winds whistle and the tempests roar ! it would be unnecessary to adduce authorities to prove that hearts rightly touched enter into a moral compact, which is binding on their affections and 4 a wreath dispositions: nor let it be supposed that this integrity, this fervour of feeling, is alone the privilege of the higher and more cultivated classes;—it burns as faithfully in the breast of the peasant as of the prince; nay, perhaps operates more strongly in bosoms which are uncontaminated by luxurious indulgence. to such the comforts of a home, and of that genuine attachment which is never found out of it, more than compensate the dreams of aggrandizement and the vanities of display, by which the minds of others are kept in a state of feverish excitement. those more refined delights which spring from a conviction of the excellence of the object—the sensation experienced on beholding the grateful blush mantling in the cheek of an affectionate wife, on witnessing the deference paid to her husband in society, or on hearing him spoken of in terms of approbation, by the worthy and intellectual-the mere sensualist or money-hunter can never hope to experience. in the intimacy of matrimonial life hypocrisy is quickly detected; and selfishness and dissimulation soon stand confessed in all their deformity, and invariably engender a complete alienation of the affections, if not a perfect hatred and contempt of the individual. indeed wherever a matrimonial connection takes place in which affection for the object is not the dominant feeling, a from the emerald isle. 5 forced obedience is all that can be expected, and care and anxiety will consequently usurp the place of that bland and pure enjoyment which might otherwise have smoothed the current of domestic life. the true criterion of real conjugal affection is calamity—and it is delightful to think, that altho' the trial is frequently severe, many have endured it with unshaken loyalty. it is no doubt consolatory to the mind of man to feel persuaded that there are individuals to be met with in life who would brave the extreme of danger for the objects of their attachment-would cling to them in poverty, and follow them into exile; whose only solicitude is their happiness, and whose only terror is the fear of surviving them; but the man who aspires to be loved by such an object, must bring a better title than any which can be found in mere rank and fortunesuch advantages may and do influence the generality of females, while superior endowments can alone attract and fix the heart and ensure the blessings which flow from the attachment of a woman of exalted mind and genuine feeling. in choosing a partner for life, therefore, unless such considerations as those alluded to are permitted to have their proper influence, real happiness cannot possibly be expected. if the exertion be merely to figure in life-to weave perpetual schemes b 2 6 a wreath of grandeur, and to bustle forward in the tortuous path of worldly splendor; disappointment and vexation will assuredly be the consequence, and that which was intended as the solace, will become the torment of existence. the choice. . give me the maid whose gentle mien, and winning smile, and look serene, bespeak the calmness of her soul, where no fierce varying passions roll; whose lively taste and glowing mind. the charms of science have refin'd; who, free from every female art, with generous, candid, feeling heart, in all life's cares would bear her part; who, if she saw my mind distress'd, or with an anxious thought oppress'd, would by some soft endearing spell the gathering storm of feeling quell; or, if elate with mirth, would join, and seek her happiness in mine; from the emerald isle. who, with polite and graceful ease, would study every guest to please— and still content with sweets of home, would feel nor slightest wish to roam. if but her bright though timid eye be touch'd with sensibility,and if but in her form there be, an air of native dignityi care not if the roseate streak which mantles on her virgin cheek, be light as that soft beam which glows at evening-tide on alpine snows!with such an one, come wo or weal, methinks i still should happy feel; for sure the summit of life's bliss is to possess a friend like this! 00 a wreath whi ant a party of pleasure,77 or a trip to the dargle. "men," said mrs. borem to her husband, as they were sitting at breakfast," men," said she, pouring out a dish of very weak tea, "have all the enjoyments and amusements of this world exclusively to themselves. while you, mr. borem, are at your office from nine till four o'clock, diverting yourself over your accounts, i have to dress, bathe, and whip the children-go to market, regulate the dinner, scold mary the cookmaid, draw the beer and butter, and have every thing ready for you exactly at five, when you return to your comfortable meal. after that is dispatched, you know how i study to amuse you with all the little occurfrom the emerald isle. rences of the day, and every other interesting circumstance that i can, till you go to sleep, or to the club, or to that bane of all domestic comfort, the dublin library, where men fly from their agreeable homes and loving wives, to talk politics and such nonsense, or to read reviews and other kinds of stuff, instead of staying within of an evening, and playing a game of spoiled-fives or beggar-my-neighbour.in short, mr. borem, i think slavery is the lot of woman! some, to be sure, are happier than others; -there's hardly a week passes over mrs. daw's head, whose husband is only a salesmaster, that she doesn't go some where or other-to howth or to bullock, or to some pretty rural spot in the country, by way of recreation and breathing the fresh air ; while i, poor grizzle, never taste a breeze that has not passed over half a dozen breweries, anatomyhouses and tan-yards; or see any more of fields than the little consumptive grass-plot behind the house, that i try to bleach my small clothes upon." during this harangue, which touched upon every feeling of mr. borem's mind, he came to a resolution of indulgence, and accordingly gave full permission to his wife to arrange a party of pleasure for the succeeding tuesday, and the dargle was appointed for the scene of action. in the interim, as may be supposed, dreadful was the note of preparation';-ham, cold beef, chickens, and five 10 a wreath or six agreeable friends were provided; the drivers of the landau and sociable received sixteen distinct messages to be at the door exactly at seven o'clock in the morning; and the cider and great coats, the hampers and the umbrellas, were all ranged in the hall the preceding evening. at length the longexpected, the awful tuesday morning arrived. "my love," said mrs. borem, long prior to the rising of the sun-" my love," said she, assailing his ribs with her pretty little sharp elbow, which she insinuated between them" what do you think of the day? i think it looks dark!". "no wonder it should, mrs. borem, when the night is but just off the sky! but i see it is vain to think of sleep, so i'll get up presently and shave myself." from this moment the bustle was incessant: every cloud that passed over the heavens was questioned, and every gust of wind analysed. at length the carriages drove up to the door; and upon mustering the party, only two were found wanting-but such a two! mr. and miss tomkins, a vocal brother and sister, arcades ambo!-but, alas! not cantare parati a sudden fit of the mumps had disabled the lady, while the gentleman's enchanting accompaniment on the flute was impeded by a disaster which had happened to his forefinger, but, whether by a burn or a cut was not clearly ascertained. still, however, ned noodle, the pleasantest fellow in the from the emerald isle. 11 world, was forthcoming: he was quite the fiddle of a company-he could crow like a cock, and cackle like a goose; then he was such an admirable mimic, and told such delightful stories! so it was resolved that ned noodle was to work double tides, and thus the sad disappointment of the tomkinses would be in some measure compensated. the children and the rest of the luggage being now stored, the cavalcade moved forward though baggot-street, and along the black rock road, (for they had determined to go by the shore, and return by the scalp,) and the usual routine of remarks which occur daily and hourly on that frequented thoroughfare, was duly observed. "howth is a fine mountain: but then the harbour will never answer! and what can be the possible use of the martello towers, ned?" asked mr. borem. why to overawe the cockle-women, to be sure, in case they attempted an insurrection," was the reply of the wit. this first shot from ned's battery was followed by many more' upon bathing. boxes, and the bang-up ladies in green shifts, and jingles, and the inconvenience of the dusty road, and at the same time the inexpediency of going to expense to water any thing in ireland. 66 upon arriving at cabinteely, two unforeseen circumstances occurred, which were but the harbingers of more serious misfortunes; one of the horses lost 12 a wreath a shoe, and a dozen bottles of porter exploded in regular succession. the first of these disasters was soon remedied the second being irreparable; without any other event worth recording, the party stopped at last at the dargle gate. the inhabitants of the lodge were immediately put in requisition for boiling potatoes;-and points of view and the tour were commenced under a slight, though continued mizzle. in a hasty progress to the mosshouse where they were not merely destined to obtain refection, but shelter-on turning an abrupt angle of the road, miss bridget bodkin's bonnet was blown into the water by a sudden gust of wind; and as she was not only pretty, but had a real five hundred pounds to her fortune, ned noodle determined to pursue the fugitive covering of her lovely, though red ringlets. by stepping from one rock upon another, he had just placed his hand on the prize, when unluckily his foot glanced on a mossy stone, and he was precipitated over head and ears into the water. all dripping and drowned,' he slowly scrambled up the bank, and presented himself in a truly wo-begone condition. upon few occasions more conspicuously than upon this, was it ever demonstrated how radically benevolence is the characteristic of the irish heart. after the enjoyment of a hearty laugh, the company immediately proceeded to a liberal 6 from the emerald isle. 13 subscription of covering and condolence-and ned, under the shelter of an umbrella, quickly availed himself of their liberality;-mr. borem contributed a great coat-mrs. borem a silk handkerchief-miss bodkin (the lovely but innocent cause of the distress,) divested herself of a sans-paroitre, which was soon converted into a flannel waistcoat;-the great difficulty was inexpressibles. here the ladies, however humanely inclined, could not assist,and the gentlemen were singularly accommodated. in this dilemma, miss bodkin's ingenuity, sharpened naturally by her feeling of gratitude towards the deliverer of her bonnet, supplied the defect: she made a formal requisition for newspapers, which had been brought for the amusement of the party, and out of two evening posts, an evening mail, a morning post, and a morning register, she composed extempore a very decorous pair of pantaloons, which, considering they were fabricated pro re nata, fitted well, and answered the purpose of the exigency to admiration. harmony being thus restored, and the temporary damp which was thrown over ned's facetiousness effectually removed, one would have thought that pleasure was to have been the order of the day ;— but, alas! the day was gone-the shades of a september evening were advancing, and gave a melancholy summons to departure. a detachment с 14 a wreath of gentlemen were sent in quest of drivers and servants, some of whom were drunk, and others missing; while the remainder staid behind, to pack the ladies into the carriages, and the dinner equipage into the hampers; and after a hasty meal, and a brief enjoyment of punch, puns, and porter, the party set off on their return to the city. but the horses became tired before they reached enniskerry; and from thence, through the scalp to dundrum, they were urged forward at an immense expense of execration and whip-cord; but here they made a full stop, and neither threats, promises, nor pommelling, could compel them to move a step farther. the party were obliged to dismount, and amidst mud and mizzle, lamentation, argument, stumbling, regret, vows and determinations against country excursions, arrived in dublin, and repaired to their several habitations, in a very different humour from that in which they had quitted them in the morning. from the emerald isle. 15 dicky daw. a true story. one dicky daw, (as stories go,) a grocer, lived in merrion-row; his wife, in true domestic style, poor dicky daw would oft revile; for ever wanting something new, she'd cry, "now, dick, i wish that would do as other people do." 66 you "there's mistress brown-they keeps a car, and drives about both near and farto donnybrook, the rock, and stay just now and then a night at bray; then, since we all want something new, dear dicky daw, i wish that you would do as other people do." "what now," says dick, "what want you next?” nay, dick, my love, now don't be vex'dyou know we live in dirt and filth; a country house would save my health, and here's a spot with charming view; dear darling dick, i know that you will do as other people do." 16 a wreath the house was bought-a gardener hired, and friends of coming never tired; dinners and suppers, port and punchand droppers-in must have a lunch! and when poor daw impatient grew, 66 dicky, my love," she cried, "sure you must do as other people do !" but now dick's cash ran very brief, and so he turned another leaf; the gardener went, the car was sold; when this to mistress daw they told, "oh, dick," she scream'd, "what shall we do ?” indeed," says dick, "you know that must do as other people do." you 66 poor dicky daw, from change of life, soon lost his angel of a wife! and now, retrieving his affairs, most christian-like his loss he bears; and when you ask him, "how d'ye do?” dick cries, "indeed, to tell you true, i do as other people do." from the emerald isle. 17 on matrimony. pour et contre. that many a man would for ever roam like an outlaw on the skirts of the social world, did not the impulses of affection prompt him to increased exertion, and interest him in the service of beings dear to his heart, is a fact which cannot be controverted. indeed it has been proved by experience that the strongest incentive to virtuous industry is frequently founded in the desire of providing for the wants or comforts of a wife and family. while, therefore, many of the arguments advanced in favor of prudence, as a governing regulation in forming matrimonial connexions, are wise and judicious, it would appear that even such considerations are c 2 18 a wreath arged too far, when they enjoin the actual possession of competence previous to marriage. this would indeed prescribe the comforts and privileges of a home to a very limited circle. it is the common cant to exaggerate the expenses which are inevitably connected with matrimony; but it should be recollected that celibacy has also its expenditure; that frequently what is lavished on self, by proper management might suffice for more than one; that the very self-denials of the husband and wife are favourable to virtue, while the waste of the unmarried degenerates either into 'selfishness or vice. the prime characteristic of rational love is selfdenial. in the very passion there is a provision made for its restraint; for its aliment is constancy, and deviation would be esteemed a treason against that loyalty of attachment, which is but another name for unparticipated tenderness. shakspeare finely describes this in the address of coriolanus to his wife :"that kiss i carried from thee, dear; and my true lip hath virgined it e'er since." how many are the human beings, at this moment far removed from those they hold dear, whose affection for the cherished object charms away fatigue, and reconciles privation; who, but for such from the emerald isle. 19 a resting place for their affections, would, in all probability be running into every excess of riot and dissipation." • if, therefore, the parties are satisfied to sacrifice pride and figure-making, and prefer the home-bred happiness of connubial and parental love, to the tinsel and frippery of what is termed the world of fashion, there can be little doubt that they will always find enough to spread the plain and hospitable board, to educate their children, and to make provision for their suitable establishment in life. however, in entering into a matrimonial state, it should always be recollected that he who identi、 fies his fate with another's, must, while he participates in her joys, become also the partner in her sorrows;-but that such a consideration should deter from marriage, would be to consider too deeply the vicissitudes of existence; for if some have been obliged to drink the bitter waters of affliction, others have in such a state experienced the most delightful enjoyments which earth is capable of affording; they have been prosperous in their circumstances, and instead of following their children to the grave, have lived to see them respectably and happily settled in life, and have been cheered by their affectionate attentions at that period when affection and attention are most required. 20 a wreath it would appear, therefore, that whenever there is a fair probability of competence, arising out of the possession of talents combined with industry, the young should unite in matrimony. the reasons should indeed be strong and clear, that would influence an opposition to what so directly contributes to individual and social happiness-in fact nothing short of absolute inability to support a family. the reciprocity of tenderness appears to be the ordinance of providence, and late marriages effectually interrupt this most beneficial regulation. from the emerald isle. 21 the bachelor and the husband. i hate old bachelors on system, i always have and will resist them. ladies attend!—your cause i plead; and if, while these brief lines you read, a blush of approbation rise, or a bright tear bedew your eyes, that blush-that tear, i proudly claim, for they to me are more than fame. what-wed! and be a slave for life! fetter'd by fondness-vexed by strife? yes-better 'tis, in marriage bound, pace e'en in chains its narrow round, or peep through iron bars of home, than celibacy's desart roam,where barren boundless heaths extend, without a comfort or a friend! comforts!-we're free-we do not need 'em! but your's is the mere outlaw's freedom; snatching the fierce unsocial joys of cherokees or chickesaws. behold the faithful wedded pair, struggling along the stream of care; 22 a wreath while you, upon its banks forlorn, and rooted like the withering thorn, by flood of autumn undermin'd, and blighted by the wintry wind, object of cold neglect remainvictim of solitary pain. such are the men-well earned their fatewho justify their right to hate; spleen rules them with unchecked control, and shuts the wicket of their soul; like toad immured for many a year, breathing self's sullen atmosphere. but he, whom social feelings warm, whose bosom home-bred raptures charmwho knows one dear companion shares his happiness, and soothes his cares— and reads, while tears delicious rise, his history in his children's eyes— feels what poor wealth can ne'er impart the peaceful calmness of a heart mellowed by pity, touched by love; and should he e'en be called to prove the loss of friends, the chill of wo, still unrestrained his feelings flow; in home's pure pleasures he can find joys which give solid peace of mind. from the emerald isle. 23 amelia and amandis, or a cure for love. amelia was a lovely girl of eighteen, when amandis, the only son of a wealthy nobleman, saw and loved her. having early studied the sciences of physiognomy and craniology, the youthful lover endeavoured, by a minute inspection of the countenance, and a close observation of the form and prominences of the cranium, to make himself acquainted with the natural disposition and temper of the lovely fair one; and so fully did the lines of feature and expression, and the contour and fashion of the face and head, accord with those characteristics which are said to indicate cheerfulness of disposition, serenity of mind, and a supe24 a wreath riority in every moral excellence-that amandis, after a very short acquaintance, came to the resolution of making her his own for ever, convinced in his mind that she of all others he had ever beheld was the most calculated to make him happy in domestic life. with this impression, he lost not a moment in stating his wishes to an indulgent parent, imploring his permission to ask her in marriage. notwithstanding a disparity in rank and fortune, that would, to the generality of the world, have fully justified his refusal, the old earl, after a little hesitation, promised his consent, provided his son would defer his proposal until one year of absence and six months of acquaintance had proved the sincerity and stability of his attachment. after a painful effort on the part of the young nobleman, this arrangement was acceded to; and having torn himself from the object of his affections, with a heavy heart he proceeded on a journey to a far-distant land. in the course of his travels, he was introduced at the courts of several european princes; but the splendor of youth and beauty, which under other circumstances might have engaged much of his attention, was altogether unheeded by him. he thought but of the dear individual whom he had left behind; her lovely image remained firmly fixed in the sanctuary of his heart, from the emerald isle. 25 adorned in every grace which imagination could conceive: the fairest faces only recalled the recollection of one, the brightness of whose beauty, like the rays of the sun reflected from the surface of an unruffled lake, appeared still more lovely, as the reflection of a soul at peace with itself and with the world. there was such a cheerfulness in her smile, such sweetness in her accent, that in her society he promised to himself a perennial spring of domestic felicity:-but the visions of fancy are delusive! twelve lingering moons having performed their monthly circuit, he returned to his native country, flushed with hope; his mind buoyed up with the most pleasing anticipations,in fact, deeming the fair prize already in his possession. as lovers, whilst in love, are scarcely ever in possession of their reasoning faculties, especially on the eve of meeting or separation, amandis determined to make his return first known to his beloved amelia, altho' he had never yet appeared to her in any other character than that of a friend, under the injudicious idea that her pleasure would be increased by seeing him unexpectedly. in pursuance of this project, he resolved on scaling the garden wall, and concealing himself in an arbour to which he knew his beloved one daily resorted, and which fond fancy had often visited during his d 26 a wreath absence. no sooner had the resolution been formed than it was carried into effect. having gained the enchanted spot, he placed himself on the seat which was usually occupied by his beloved, and in breathless suspense awaited her arrival. after a short interval-every moment of which appears an age-the door opens.-'tis amelia! no 'tis a decrepid old weeding-woman, who begins her daily task. but she is followed by the radiant form of amelia, with a countenance, not indeed beaming in smiles, but dreadfully contorted and beclouded by the influence of the foul fiend, passion. that moment she had discovered that the unfortunate old woman had pulled by mistake, and sent to another young lady as a present, a curious exotic, designed to deck amelia's luxuriant tresses for an approaching race-ball. the lover, mute and motionless from astonishment, hears a storm of coarse reproach and energetic scolding, in tones now sharp, now rough, varied through all the notes of the gammut-from those lovely lips which seemed to have opened hitherto only to breathe music and perfume; and the scene concludes with the final dismission of the poor woman. amelia retired. the lover put a banknote into the hand of the astonished weeder, whom he regarded as the instrument of his deliverance from the greatest evil to which earth is heirfrom the emerald isle. 27 releaped the wall, and returned for another year to italy-came home restored to himself, and grateful to his father for having persuaded him to conceal his attachment, till confirmed by time and intimate acquaintance. ; to laura. on parting. laura-farewell-this faithful heart bleeds at the thought we now must part unbless'd-yet though it thus must be, oh! think on him who thinks of thee. laura when 'neath more southern skies, when distant hills between us rise, should wealthier suitors try to move by suasive arts thy constant love, say wilt thou then still faithful be to him who ever thinks of thee? 28 a wreath say, laura, when gay scenes invite, when youthful hearts are warm and light, wilt thou amid the merry throng join the brisk dance, and raise the song, or wilt thou midst their revelry, still think on him who thinks of thee? say wilt thou with the noontide ray by some soft murmuring streamlet stray, or, as the lengthening sunbeams fade, oft lonely seek some neighbouring glade, that thus thine every thought may be with him who ever thinks of thee? yes, laura, if this heart can guess one mark of woman's faithfulness, if the suppressed, though bursting sigh hath not deceived this searching eye, this bosom feels thou still wilt be thinking on him who thinks of thee. then fare thee well-though this firm heart bleeds at the thought we thus must part, to know that thou dost think of me, shall soothe my soul when far from thee. from the emerald isle. 29 1 tkells delt a water party, or a voyage to howth. the works at howth had long been an object of curiosity to mr. figsby's family-and to combine a short voyage with the inspection was the order of the day. miss caroline figsby's lover, mr. brimmigem, a partner in an eminent hardware concern, and who was shortly to be blessed with the possession of her fair hand, was of course the prominent person of the party. mr. timmins, a young gentleman, whose views in life were distracted between an attorney's office, chemical lectures, diplomacy, poetry, and the violoncello, acted the second part; and mr. foley, a gentleman who had made two or three trips to liverpool, was deemed d 2 30 a wreath an essential addition to the party, especially by mrs. figsby, whose attempts at navigation had been limited to crossing the ferry. at an early hour in the morning the packing up of the sea-store commenced. mrs. figsby, who anticipated sickness, had provided six bottles of chicken broth, some saline mixture, and a phial of brandy, which she observed she always found a specific in calming the stomach. mr. timmins produced an ingenious apparatus for converting salt water into fresh, in case the supply should fail; and as mr. figsby's great coat stuck out in a singular manner, one of the company could not help asking him the reason; when it appeared that he had slipped on a life-preserver, which had been made on poor sadler, the æronaut's model, and which rendered his mind easy on the subject of any ac'cident from "the perilous flood." two hams, a side of mutton, a fillet of veal, and six loaves, with wine, cider, whiskey, and porter-tea, sugar, chocolate, and cocoa, were stowed in a hamper; and by way of supplement, a small firkin of pickled pork, a quartern loaf, and a bag of biscuits, were added, which were to be resorted to should the stock of dressed food fall short. before stepping into the boat, mr. foley was 'invested with the command; and the entire party solemnly pledged themselves that, in case of disfrom the emerald isle. 31 tress, they would cheerfully accede to any allowance he should recommend. as mr. brimmigem was too much occupied with that passion which absorbs all others, to attend to any thing else, the log-book was committed to the care of mr. timmins, who was requested to add any remarks which his excursive reading and ingenious observation might suggest. after a hearty breakfast at kingstown, the party got under weigh, with a fair, though rather brisk wind, but had scarcely cleared the pier, when poor mrs. figsby became ill. mr. brimmigem, whom interest and affection both prompted to pay her attention, in endeavouring to assist her, dropped his telescope into the sea, and to our great disappointment, it sunk to the bottom. the chicken broth and saline mixture both proved ineffectual; but the brandy produced its never-failing effect-mrs. f. became immediately tranquil; but for fear of accidents a bed of great coats was made for her in the bottom of the boat, where she was settled as comfortably as the nature of the circumstances would permit. having now got a league from land, mr. timmins determined to take an observation, and ascertained the latitude and longitude with a precision which did him infinite credit. but here an unfortunate accident occurred;-mr. figsby, with his usual precaution, having requested mr. foley to sound, that gentleman, in heaving out the lead, by some 32 a wreath means entangled the cord in mr. figsby's wig, which, notwithstanding every exertion to save it, was, with his hat, carried over board, and having proceeded n. by e. towards ireland's eye, in a few minutes, within view of the astonished party, "sunk to rise no more," the old gentleman bore his misfortune with the greatest good humour, and to the no small amusement and satisfaction of the young people, pulled his red night-cap out of his pocket, and gave it the place so lately occupied by his lost wig. the vessel keeping its course due east, the lovers were employed in making little paper boats, which they alternately committed to the smooth surface of the water: they looked happy, and they were so-little aware of the change which was about to take place. but such are the alternations of terrestrial joys!-misery treads upon the heels of happiness; and as surely as every thing treads upon the heels of something else,' adversity invariably succeeds to prosperity. " as the vessel was running along pretty rapidly at the rate of about four knots an hour, mr. figsby became apprehensive of their getting into the atlantic, and requested mr. foley to tack and bear away for the martello tower at williamstown.that gentleman assented; but in making the attempt miss caroline was thrown from her station, and precipitated on the top of her dear mamma, who, awaking suddenly, screamed out in the most ter-from the emerald isle. 33 rified manner, supposing of course that "chaos was come again ;" and poor mr. brimmigem, in springing instinctively forward to the assistance of his interesting intended, unfortunately touched the trigger of a fowling piece which had been lying beside him, and which went off with a tremendous explosion. words cannot describe the sensations of the party on beholding the bottom of the boat where lay mrs. figsby and her daughter, flowing with a crimson stream. "i'm shot, i'm shot," were the only expressions which escaped the lovely lips of caroline, as she sunk beside the apparently lifeless body of her mother. on raising the ladies up, however, it was discovered, to the great joy of the whole party, that the red stream was occasioned by the demolition of some bottles of port wine which had been packed in a hamper, in which providentially the contents of the piece had lodged. as soon as mrs. figsby and miss caroline could be convinced that they were neither killed nor wounded, every thing was speedily set to rights, and the voy. agers in a measure resumed their wonted gaiety. mr. foley was now preparing to tack again, and to bear away for howth; but fright had discomposed poor mrs. figsby's stomach; and upon examining the stores, it was found that there was an absolute deficit in the brandy department. she, therefore, peremptorily insisted on landing, and her fair daughters joining in the demand, he made 34 a wreath for kingstown, and reached the port in safety, after a very eventful voyage of five hours, twenty-three minutes, and forty-six seconds. the custom-house officers behaved with their usual urbanity; and the governor of the castle, when undeceived respecting the bulk of mr. figsby, whom he took for a smuggler, shewed the party the most marked attention. while the jingle was preparing, he insisted on their partaking of a cold collation of mutton-pie, and gin and water, after which they departed under the salute of a pistol, a blunderbuss, and two fowling pieces. the ladies bowed, and mr. figsby waved his red night-cap, and all proceeded forward with mixed emotions of joy at their deliverance, and gratitude for their distinguished treatment. they soon reached booterstown, and crossing slowly the ascent of ball's-bridge, mr. brimmigem could not help remarking how picturesque the scenery was ;-the combined vapours of the distillery and printing works reminded him of his native forges; while to the imagination of miss caroline they brought the recollections of etna and vesuvius. mr. timmins had just entered on an elaborate dissertation on the waste of smoke, when out flew the linch-pin, one of the wheels rolled off, and the jingle discharged its contents into the middle of the road. mrs. figsby first reached the ground, and her husband, by the combined force of sympathy and from the emerald isle. 35 gravity, fell into her arms. mr. brimmigem and mr. foley did their utmost to break the descent of the young ladies; and mr. timmins landed safely in the mud astride upon the hamper. irish good-nature is proverbial—and they were quickly extricated by the surrounding spectators, several of whom seemed highly to enjoy the misfortune. mr. figsby was the only person seriously hurt; he was conveyed to a neighbouring public-house, where every humane means were taken to recover him; his night-cap and life-preserver were taken off, his temples chafed with vinegar, and feathers burned under his nose. by these means he was quickly resuscitated, (as miss caroline afterwards elegantly expressed it,) and staring wildly around him, talked about the boat, asked whether they had not gone to the bottom, and began to throw out his arms, as in the act of swimming; when perceiving his wife, he burst into a flood of tears. a hackney-coach at that moment passing by, the interesting group, with the exception of mr. foley, were crammed into it-that gentleman mounting the box, drove them safely into town, having previously put the coachman, who had got drunk at a funeral, into the boot; and at half past eight safely deposited the entire party in the noble mansion of mr. figsby, at the corner of pill-lane. 36 a wreath memoranda of timothy timmins, esq. incorporated with his log-book. set sail at twenty minutes past ten a. m. wind south and by north,-fine amphitheatrical bay,sugar-loaf a very high hill, and if blessed with a volcano, would, i suppose, greatly resemble mount etna. pleasing tone of mind from remembrance of many pleasant walks in the neighbourhoodcold bones at the dargle,-snacks at bray,-the sun musing sweetly on the martello towers,-fine air and prospect,-cockles and cold bath. at twenty five minutes past ten our telescope (a very ingenious instrument calculated to discover invisible objects to the naked eye,) dropped into the sea; a serious loss, as i had intended to correct some of herschel's errors with regard to jupiter's satellites. at two minutes and a half past eleven, a lame curlew lighted on the mast-land, of course, at no great distance. at twelve precisely a hat and wig fell over board, threw out the hen-coop to save them, but in vain, as it is to be feared both went to the bottom, no other sail being at the moment in sight. -a most within a quarter of one, neared howthinteresting mountain,-mind raised and softened from the emerald isle. 37 by the recollection of columbus's feelings upon a similar occasion. first sight of land excites very interesting emotions. an epic poem on howth! why not?—and an essay on light houses! at half-past one approached so near to howth as accurately to distinguish the natives and their dwellings, men and women very like the inhabitants of bullock, from whence, probably, at a remote period howth was colonized,-little boys without breeches in both places strongly confirm this opinion,-nothing so decisive on this point as a similarity of customs,-saw pigs, geese, lamp-lighters, dogs, asses, tourists, goats, and other marine animals,an old woman darning a black worsted stocking is a highly picturesque object,-wonder it has never been depicted by wordsworth or any of the 'poets of the lake,' who are blessed with so happy a knack of describing trivialities,-for instance a small pool at the top of a hill: "i measured it from side to side, 'twas three feet long and two feet wide." vide wordsworth's poems in quarto, gilt-passim. at twenty minutes to two a heavy shower of rain, -wind rising,-sea swelling hillock-high,-opened my umbrella for the first time. tempests are grand and awful, particularly when there is but little danger. vessel rather crazy,-made some water, but nothing to signify,-baled it out with mr. brime 38 a wreath migem's water-proof beaver,-after the rain, felt the sun intensely hot,-examined the thermometer, and found i was right-our butter, which was stowed at the bottom of the boat, under mrs. figsby, melted at this moment,-captain thought it necessary to tack,-commanders of vessels under great responsibility, and so they should, for altho they may be able to swim, the passengers may not. dreadful accident-miss figsby thrown aft upon her mamma, and shot by mr. brimmigem, out of kindness no doubt-rather an irish way of evincing one's love. much joy-on examination found mrs. figsby and her daughter had only conceited them. selves kilt,-difficult to convince them that they were still alive and well. mem.-great precaution necessary for gentlemen deeply in love, upon meddling with fire-arms. half-past two. examined our stock of provisions; no more brandy; mrs. figsby clamorous to land. just now perceived a strange sail; every thing prepared for action, supposing her to be a pirate, and had an engagement taken place, there is no doubt we should have given a good account of her; unfortunately the vessel proved a collier. how the heart palpitates in the expectation of an engagement! nobody who has once experienced such feelings will ever forget them. from the emerald isle. 39 four o'clock. landed on the pier at kingstown; placed my foot on the very same stone on which his majesty last stepped when he visited this country,-exchanged our barrel of herrings with the captain of a smack, for two bottles of cogniac; mrs. figsby's spirits greatly revived.-two roads from kingstown to the rock; we only took one of them; chose that which his majesty travelled.-ladies' bathing-places at williamstown remarkably convenient,-public and promiscuous; well suited for married couples, who can dip within three yards of each other. bathing-women interesting, though old, as much in the water as the gentoos, but from different motives. twenty minutes to five.-tumbled out of a jingle; good preparation for being secretary to an embassy, which is liable to many accidents. very odd that mr. figsby should be the only person hurt, as he was the only individual of the party who had on a life-preserver perhaps only calculated for being drowned in,-a feather bed would have been of greater use. the elder pliny is said to have put a pillow under his wig when he went out to observe an eruption of vesuvius,-a wise precaution, and one that should be adopted by all philosophers who are in danger of stones falling on their heads. at three quarters past six, got into a hackneycoach; sat by julia, an interesting girl,-lovely hi 40 a wreath eyes, with a most scientific and bewitching cast in one of them. the windows being up on account of mr. figsby, the discourse naturally fell upon caloric and mephitic air,-i found she was quite up to the subject; has a radical knowledge of botany, evinced by her frequent allusions to the pistil and carolla; also a proficient in french, but not quite so well versed in english. observed that the occurrences of that day would form a poker in her life-meaning epocha, i presume; and on passing a gentleman's domain, remarked that the reproach to the house was rather too straight, too perpendicular; that if a fistula of about thirty or forty feet wide were cut through the trees, the parlour window would command a prospect of unapparalled extent and munificence, at half past eight o'clock landed safely in pilllane. after helping poor mr. figsby to bed, and taking a dish of weak tea with mrs. figsby, (to which, for my stomach's sake, a little brandy was added,) returned to my lodgings to meditate on the occurrences of the day. from the emerald isle. 41 lucy hill. a sailor's letter to his sister. this comes, dear ann, far o'er the sea, to know if it fares well with thee, and what kind friends our cottage seek, to cheer thee, and of comfort speak. those foolish tears, be sure to say, didst thou soon dry them all away; but ann, forget not, tell me true, has lucy hill been oft with you. i thought to join our gallant crew shouting to shore our last adieu; but some pale form the deep beside i saw, and the vain accents died. thro' balmy climes and blooming isles, where ruin lurks in beauty's smiles, we've pass'd, and dauntless hearts complain of cruel love, and cureless pain. what mean those cruel pains of love, those glances which so fatal prove? or why in dreams behold i still some form resembling lucy hill? 42 a wreath yes one there is, smile has she none, pale is her brow as marble stone, as wintry ice-dewed blossoms chill, yet still she looks like lucy hill. tell all our village neighbours kind, i call them and past hours to mind,— but mark you, ann, does lucy wear the twisted ring with braided hair? ann, fare thee welli think of thee, though angry tempests raging be; and when they slumber calm and still, remember me to lucy hill. from the emerald isle. 43 1333 jane fitz-charles, 9/11 101 91290 or the effects of indiscretion. james fitz-charles was the descendant of a distinguished and once affluent family; but various circumstances had led to the annihilation of their wealth, and all that his parents could bequeath to him was the name of gentleman, and a moderate education. for many years he struggled hard to attain the station which he imagined his birth entitled him to fill; and it was not until after a severe contest with his adverse fortunes, that religion: taught him the wisdom of submitting to dispensations which he could not control. he obtained a situation in the custom-house of dublin, and altho' his emoluments were small, yet he was thankful and content. 44 a wreath he had married in early life, and became a widower a few years after. of several children, one daughter only survived; but he frequently observed that she more than compensated him for the loss of all. he loved her, indeed, with more than a father's fondness, and having been disappointed in all his other expectations of enjoyment, he appeared to cling to this last source of earthly happiness with a fervour of affection which no pen can properly describe. it was not a selfish feeling; it was a sincere desire for the welfare of his child; "and all his wish on earth was now, to see her blest, and die." jane was in many respects a good girl; but having been so soon deprived of her mother, and her father's attention to the duties of his office prevent ing that oversight which is necessary for the welfare of young people, and ought to be highly accounted. of by those who are favoured to possess it-her education had not been a sufficiently guarded one; she was volatile and thoughtless, and too fond of using to its full extent the liberty with which her father indulged her, and which is so congenial to the vivacity of the youthful imagination. she was about eighteen years of age, when one of her acquaintances, a young and giddy widow, invited her to accompany her to the fair of rathfarnham. the invitation was cheerfully accepted, from the emerald isle. 45 and they enjoyed in anticipation the scenes of rustic revelry which they expected to witness, but in which they had no intention of participating. the evening was fine, and after a short time spent in observing the various sports that were going forward, and the beauty of the surrounding scenery, they were joined by two young men, who endeavoured to attract their attention by lively and witty observations on the scene before them. in such a place, and under such circumstances, an acquaintance is easily formed, and the time passed so agreeably in the company of their new friends, that they were easily persuaded to meet them again on the following evening. it is not our intention to moralize on the various errors which this young woman was induced to commit, but simply to relate the events which occurred, and to let those events speak for themselves. we would only observe, that there is no lesson which it is of more importance to impress upon the minds of young people—and we have no hesitation in saying, of young females in particular -than the impropriety of forming any acquaintance which they are afraid or ashamed of making known to their parents. had poor jane been properly instructed in this respect, from what misery and degradation might she not have been preserved! 46 a wreath. the elder of the young men paid her particular attention, and on their second interview professed the attachment with which she had inspired him. his name, he said, was horace wentworth : he was then pursuing his studies in the college, but was altogether dependant for his future establishment in life on the will of his uncle, a man of great fortune, but of such pride that he thought no woman could be a suitable match for his nephew who was not in possession of both wealth and title. these reasons, he said, made him desirous that for the present his affection should be known only to herself by and by he would have completed his studies; he would then enter into orders, and as several rich livings were in the gift of his family, he made no doubt of obtaining one of them; and then how delightful it would be to avow his attachment, retire into the country with his jane and her father, and in peaceful seclusion smile at the folly of those who barter happiness for grandeur, and prefer the ostentation of high life to the enjoyment which mutual affection only can bestow. it has been often and truly said, that what we wish for we are always willing to believe; and jane, at least, was no sceptic. she had conceived a warm attachment for her admirer; she believed his professions to be sincere; and she loved to gaze upon the picture of future enjoyment which he ex. from the emerald isle. 47 hibited to her imagination. she thought, too, that by an union with horace her affectionate father would be released from the drudgery to which he was now compelled to submit, and be advanced to his proper station in society-there was ecstacy in the idea; and she was only awakened from her dream of prospective felicity, to find herself a guilty and forsaken creature, and likely soon to become a mother. we cannot paint the anguish she now experienced -the deep, deep misery into which she was plunged. often were her hands raised to heaven in frantic supplication, that god in his mercy would be pleased to deprive her of existence, and preserve her father from the shame and sorrow that awaited him. she was conscious that her situation could not much longer be concealed; and although she endeavoured to hide the affliction which preyed upon her, by an affected gaiety, yet the busy whisper had already circulated amongst her acquaintance, who began to regard her with coldness and suspicion. her father was grieved and perplexed at the change in her behaviour: her favorite geraniums were neglected, her usual avocations were forsaken; and oftentimes, when she appeared to be reading, he would notice the tears falling from her eyes upon the unturned page. at length, however, the direful secret burst upon him. the 48 a wreath increased indisposition of his daughter induced him to apply for medical assistance; and a physician being called in, her situation was at once revealed to him. for a moment the unfortunate father appeared petrified with horror, and the only expression which the bitterness of his grief permitted him to use, was one of thankfulness that his wife, at least, was not a partaker in it. with an affected calmness which ill concealed the agitation under which he laboured, he left his once peaceful habitation, as if in the noise and bustle of the streets he could effect an escape from his own feelings. the evening was fast closing in, and he wandered he knew not whither. on the following morning he was discovered by a sentinel at the pigeon-house, lying beneath the wall in a state of insensibility, happily he was well known there, as the duties of his office frequently led him to visit it, and he was immediately conveyed in a coach to his own house. the illness of her father seemed to recal jane from the contemplation of her own misery; day and night she attended upon him with the most unwearied assiduity, and for three weeks was rarely absent from her station at his bed side. during all this time he remained insensible, and the fever had so far weakened him that the physicians who had been called in could hold out no hope of his recofrom the emerald isle 49 very. at length, however, they announced the approach of returning reason, and the unhappy daughter had again the gratification of hearing her father call upon her. he held her hand, and gázed on her face with more than his usual fondness: "i think," said he, "i must have been a long time ill, and i have had a sad, sad dream ;-but surely it was only a dream.”“ "alas! my father," exclaimed jane, "would that it were indeed a dream. can you, can you forgive me ?" "can i forgive thee, my child? i can, i do forgive thee. yea, as sincerely as i desire that my father which is in heaven may forgive me my trespasses do i forgive thee thine. may he bless thee, my daughter, and be a father to thee, for i feel that thou wilt soon need one." these were the last words which he uttered, and in a few hours he was numbered with the dead. the exertions which jane had made proved too much for her enfeebled constitution, and before the interment of her father she was attacked with the fever to which he had fallen a victim. they had only occupied part of a house, and the owner of it, alarmed for his own safety, deemed it the most prudent to have her removed to an hospital. here she remained some time, and was then removed to another, where she became the mother of a son. four months had elapsed from the period of her father's death to the time of her discharge from the f 50 a wreath hospital, when she again entered upon the busy world, a destitute and friendless creature. she directed her steps towards her former abode, and with a weak and trembling hand ventured to rap at the door; a stranger opened it, and in reply to her enquiry for mr. and mrs., informed her that they had quitted the house and removed to england; but they had left a letter to be given to miss fitz charles, if that was her name. she received the letter, but had not courage to open it, and with a heavy heart turned away from the door. all day long she wandered about, or sought to rest herself in alleys and obscure corners, for her afflictions bore heavily upon her, and she was worn down both in body and mind. doubtless many of her former friends would have received and sheltered her had she made known her situation to them, but she trembled least any of these should meet and recognize her, for whilst she accused herself of having been the cause of her father's death, she shrank from the idea of that accusation being made by another. the shades of evening had closed in, as she was slowly walking along the bank of the liffey. a dreadful thought crossed her mind-she stopped and looked around; she thought that she was unobserved, and she fixed a steady gaze upon the water her forehead seemed burning with heat, but here was that which would cool ithere, at least, the houseless wanderer might repose, 1 from the emerald isle. 51 and find a certain shelter from want, and sorrow, and disgrace. in a moment her purpose was fixed, and she leaned forward with the intention of executing it. providence, however, interposed, and prevented the intended suicide, in the very act of its accomplishment. her infant was sleeping upon her bosom and when about to take the desperate plunge, she pressed him violently against the wall over which she was going to throw herself his cry uttered volumes in a moment the feelings of a mother were raised within her, and she burst into tears— the first which she had shed since the death of her father. at this instant a hand was laid upon her shoulder, and a coarse female voice exclaimed "you poor silly cratur what is it you're thinking about?" jane made no reply, but turned her face, now bathed in tears, upon the speaker, a poor basket-woman, who had for some time been observing her actions, and had become suspicious of her design. "come, come," she continued, "don't fret so there's no sore but there's a cure for itjust tell me where you live now and i'll go home with you."" indeed, i cannot-i have no home," was the reply." no home," said the inquirer, "musha, honey, but you're in a bad way then ; however, don't cry for that at all at all; sure i have a home of my own, and if i cannot go with you to your home you can come with me to mine, and 52 a wreath that's all the same you know, barring the difference of it." the affectionate language of the poor woman revived jane's drooping spirits, and inspired her with confidence. she quietly took her offered arm, and accompanied her to the place she called her home-a poor room in a mean house in the outskirts of the city. a better night's rest than she had enjoyed for a long time so far recruited her strength and spirits, that the next morning she was enabled to reflect with more calmness upon her situation. her first employment was to examine the letter she had received; it contained an account of the money that had been disbursed for her father's funeral expenses, and which had been procured by the sale of the furniture left in their landlord's possession; a small balance was due to her, and this, together with a chest containing her clothes, books, and papers, remained in the house, and would be delivered to any person whom she might commission to receive them. we need scarcely inform our readers that the necessary application was immediately made, and the chest removed to the poor woman's apartment. the money amounted only to a few pounds, but it was sufficient to render their habitation more comfortable, and to afford such an accession to the trading capital of her hostess, and such a consequent increase in her profit, as, she said, more than compensated for from the emerald isle. 53 the accommodation afforded to her guest; for whom, and for her baby, she felt an increasing attachment. in arranging her plans for the future, jane hoped, when her health should be re-established, to be able to maintain herself and her infant by her skill at her needle; but sorrow and suffering had undermined her constitution, and she was rapidly approaching to the termination of her earthly pilgrimage. she was soon conscious that her dissolution was at hand, and she awaited it in peaceful quietude. she had a broken and a contrite spirit, she possessed, also, a firm and undoubting assurance in the all-sufficiency of him who came "to seek and to save that which was lost :"-she called upon him and he heard her, and delivered her out of all her troubles; and with her last breath she acknowledged his mercy, and praised him for his loving kindness. the poor woman was deeply affected at the decease of her guest, and promised to be a mother to her son. she mentioned his destitute situation to some of her customers, and procured amongst them a small subscription to send him to a country nurse, with whom he remained until he was six years old; he then returned to his kind friend in the city, who sold his mother's clothes, which she had hitherto preserved with the most scrupulous 54 a wreath care, and was thus enabled to pay for his schooling. unhappily, however, for him, she died when he was about twelve years of age, and he was left to shift for himself in the best way that he could.— we will not follow him in the career of vice into which he was betrayed; it is sufficient to say, that before he had attained his twentieth year he was committed to prison on a charge of robbery and murder a gentleman and his servant had been attacked by a desperate gang, they made a powerful resistance, and in the conflict the gentleman received wounds of which he soon after died; they succeeded, however, in securing the person of our hero, if so we may venture to call him, and who was shortly after brought to trial for the offence. the proceedings against him were conducted by a barrister of distinguished talent, who had lost, in the deceased gentleman, the friend and companion of his earliest youth, and who was thus induced to bring to bear upon the unhappy culprit the whole weight of his eloquence, and to labour for his conviction with all the powers of his mind. the proofs of his guilt were irrefragable, and when called upon for his defence, the judge warned him against attempting by any weak assertions to rebut the incontrovertible evidence that had been given against him. he replied, "my lord, it would be idle for me to persist in the plea which i have from the emerald isle. £55 made, and to continue to say that i am not guilty of the crime of which i am accused: yet permit me, before the awful fiat be pronounced which shall tell me that my days are numbered, to plead in extenuation of my crimes the circumstances of my situation. my lord, i never knew a mother's affectionate care, i never partook of a father's counsel: abandoned by one parent, and deprived by death of the other, i was early thrown upon the stream of life without a friend and without a guide. i know that i have inflicted a deep injury upon society, yet, oh! be merciful, i beseech you, to my youth and ignorance, and allow me an opportunity, by the rectitude of my future conduct, to make reparation for the crimes which i have committed. i know that my mother was descended from an honorable family, and it is possible, that even in this court the son of a fitz-charles may not be without relations, who would, for the sake of their common ancestry, unite in the prayer for mercy which he is now offering. and o, my lord, the publicity which this day's proceedings will give to my unhappy name may even bear it to the author of my mother's death, the man whom i have to curse for my existence, and horace wentworth himself be made acquainted with the state to which his son has been reduced. death is at all times awful to contemplate, butx 56 a wreath here the prisoner was interrupted, and the court thrown into confusion, by the interference of the counsellor who had pleaded against him. when the young man stood forward to make his defence, his countenance, and the tone of his voice, impressed his learned antagonist in a manner that he could not account for; but when he pronounced his mother's name, and afterwards that of his father, with the accompanying malediction, his horror and astonishment were indescribable. had a mine been sprung beneath his feet-had the whole creation gone to wreck around him, and he alone survived, his terror and amazement could not have been greater. he stood up-he extended his arms towards the bench,-he struggled for utterance. the court and all within it appeared to him to distend to an amazing size; yet, at the same time, all, all was pressing upon his brain with the most torturing violence. he gasped with the agony of internal emotion, and it was only by a convulsive effort that he was able to exclaim, "my lord, my lord judge, acquit the prisoner-he is not guilty of the crime for which he is arraigned. i will prove his innocence, my lord; for i thus publicly avow that i only am the murderer. aye, my lord, the blood of his mother is upon me-the blood of my friend is upon me—and if he suffers the penalty of the law, his blood also will be upon my head.” from the emerald isle. 57 here his emotion overcame him; he fainted, and was borne out of the court; the spectators attributing his conduct to sudden illness occasioned by the exertions that he had made. the judge proceeded to pass the awful sentence of the law, and in due time it was carried into effect. some weeks elapsed before the counsellor recovered from the frenzy which had seized him— his first inquiry was after the unfortunate prisoner; he heard his fate with apparent indifference, but his insanity returned the same evening, and in despite of all the efforts of medicine, he sank into a state of melancholy madness, and ended his days in an asylum for lunatics. 58 a wreath a mother to her infant daughter. sweet baby, in thy beauteous face mysterious are the charms i trace : language may blush when looks so well, can every shade of feeling tell. in the clear mirror of thine eye to read thy fate i sometimes try, and musing on thy future years, dim the fantastic scene with tears; thou wilt be woman, that alone echoes to compassion's throne: man may his destiny create, woman is the slave of fate. thou may'st be lovely-in that word ten thousand sorrows are inferred; adored when young-neglected old, by passion bought-by parents sold; seduction masked in friendship's guise, envy with sharp malignant eyes, satire with poison'd poignant dart, may all conspire to pierce thine heart; and in thy short and brilliant reign, these fiends may give thee bitter pain. yet when the sober evening grey of life steals on, and charms decay, when time detaches one by one the blossoms of thy floral crown, oft shalt thou sigh for youth again, with all its peril, all its pain. from the emerald isle. 59 1 tk the wedding of benjamin brimmigem, gentleman. containing some particulars of a matrimonial excursion to the county of wicklow. "hail wedded love," was the exclamation which broke from me, as i passed along the blind quay, on my way to pill-lane, where i was invited to an early breakfast on the auspicious 13th of june, a day long to be remembered, on which venus and the graces shed their choicest influences. i found assembled at the breakfast-table, mr. and mrs. figsby, a large sally lun, mr. timmins, and miss julia figsby, three cousins, two maiden aunts, a quantity of fresh eggs, and mr. brimmigem, the most interesting object, except one, of this 60 a wreath eventful ceremony. his hair was neatly curled, and his whiskers were accurately adjusted-his coat was blue, with brass buttons of his own manufacture; yellow marseilles waistcoat, and nankin trowsers. i had just commenced buttering my second muffin, when the lovely caroline, the bride elect, entered the room-and never did a finer figure light on the floor of a back parlour; she was attired in white muslin-a deep trimming of point lace shaded her lovely bosom, while mamma's garnets sparkled on her snowy neck; and her hair of a bright auburn hue, was beautifully burnished with russia oil, and tastefully disposed with four tortoise-shell combs, neatly set with irish diamonds. but the exquisiteness of her appearance, merged in the sweet expression of her face; love chastened by awe and apprehension, possessed her brow, and every dimple appeared to be occupied by a terrified cupid-she was, indeed, an object on which even a don cossack might have gazed with admiration; it may easily be conceived, therefore, what were the feelings of the individual who was that morning to be allowed to call her his own, as he rose to welcome her with a tender embrace. having received the hearty congratulations of all present, with a grace peculiar to herself, miss caroline took her seat; but she ate nothing, of course, nor ever once raised her eyes from the slop 1 from the emerald isle. 61 bason, until the servant announced that the carriages were in attendance. at half-past ten, the procession, which consisted of three hackney coaches, and a numerous retinue on foot, proceeded to st. michan's church; where the ceremony was to be performed. here, however, the proceedings were stayed, by a council which it was found necessary to hold, with respect to the name of the bride. her father and mr. brimmigem, were both equally tenacious on this point, as they had each money to give, and a family consequence to support-and the question was, whether she should preserve in some measure, her own name, or the bridegroom adopt hers -the former was eventually determined on, and in a few minutes she emerged, caroline figsby brimmigem, to the very indecent merriment of the sexton and grave-digger, who should certainly, on such an occasion, have kept their countenances. the strong emotions which had been restrained during the service now broke out in full violencethe sisters rushed into each other's arms-the father and the son-in-law were for a long time locked in a strict embrace the aunts groaned, and the cousins whimpered—and not knowing well what to do, i shook mr. timmins' hand for an indefinite period, and then went out to read the epitaphs, till the feelings of the family had in some measure g 62 a wreath subsided. at length they became calm, and we proceeded from the church gate into the carriages, which were to convey us to quin's at bray, where i had determined to spend the day with the happy pair; but to leave them the ensuing morning to that felicitous insulation which minds of refined sensibility so well know how to enjoy. as there is a reason for every thing that occurs, though some are not quite so clear and obvious as others, it may be worth enquiring why the inn at bray is so generally selected as hymen's caravansera, upon connubial occasions. as it is certainly by far the most public place of the kind, of any in the neighbourhood of the metropolis, it can only be accounted for by supposing that cupid himself is a sleeping-partner in the concern, and therefore prompts his votaries to take up their residence there. our dinner was excellent, and a long drive had enabled us to do ample justice to it. after partaking of a few excellent tumblers of punch mixed for us by mrs. figsby, the youngsters of the party resolved on taking a stroll through the dargle -and no time being lost we were quickly immersed in a sylvan wilderness, where every breeze was health, and every sound was harmony. such a scene, combined with the invincible force of example, of course had their natural effect on the congenial minds of julia and mr. timmins. the from the emerald isle. 63 lovely caroline and her beloved benjamin were soon lost sight of in the thick mazes of the glen; and in a short time i found myself left to the undisturbed exercise of my own cogitations. recollecting an old vulgar adage, that every two make a pair, i began to fear i might be considered an intruder, and, therefore, made no exertion to keep up with either party. and here i experienced the full force of the sentiment moore has so beautifully versified in one of his melodies. yet it is not that nature has shed o'er the scene her purest of chrystal and brightest of green, 'tis not the soft magic of streamlet or rill, oh, no! it is something more exquisite still. i had thus wandered along for a considerable time, singing to myself, when on turning the point of a rock, i discovered mr. timmins and miss julia very snugly seated beneath a horse-chesnut tree; and from the animated expression of his countenance, and the happiness depicted on that of his fair partner, i entertained little doubt that he was breathing in her ear "soft strains of love." the interesting caroline at this moment appearing in sight, leaning on the arm of her beloved, it was mutually resolved that the party should retire to the inn; but, as i felt convinced that my absence could be dispensed with for a short time; and as i had at the moment worked up my mind to something 64 a wreath of that feeling which animated the illustrious carr, of tourifying memory, i resolved on exploring some of those rural abodes of wretchedness and misery, which even in this beautiful county, are allowed to disgrace the otherwise delightful scenery. having wandered a considerable way, musing on the ruinous infatuation which keeps irish proprietors in another country,, while their presence, is so indispensably necessary at home, i at length approached a very tolerable looking dwelling, and with the instinctive curiosity of a pedestrian tourist, poked my nose into an apartment which, from its being boarded, was i conceived originally intended for a parlour-i heard an odd rustling at the farther end of the room, and in a few minutes perceived the snout of a sow, maternally employed in arrang、 ing the litter for her numerous and interesting family. though an irishman, i confess i felt a little hurt at this subversion of all order in lodgement, and exclaimed to the man of the house, who just then came out of the kitchen, " why, my good friend, in the name of common decency, do you put your pig in the parlour ?" 'why then, in troth, i'll tell you that honey," replied o'shea, "i put the pig in the parlour because there's every conveniency in it for a pig." as this was the literal truth, i had nothing further to say on the subject, but followed my host into the kitchen, 66 from the emerald isle. 65 where his wife and family were just about to sit down to their supper; but as i was advancing to take a seat in the chimney corner, my stomach came in very unpleasant contact with a hard, substance, which, upon investigation, i found to be the horn of a cow-“why, what brings the cow here?" i demanded, "why, our little sally, please your honor! she brings it in every evening, now that the evenings are growing long and could-for my woman says how nothing makes a cow fall off sooner than her being out under the could-and i never gainsay peggy, as there's no better milker in the country." as i had no reason to question peggy's talents in the 'milky way,' i sat down quietly on a three legged stool, and while she was busied in preparing some rashers of bacon and eggs, which i afterwards found were intended for the use of her illustrious guest, i began to ruminate on the strange fatality which converts every cabin into a noah's ark-i had just turned up my face to the roof in the act of ejaculating my wonder, when, to my infinite surprise, i felt a warm substance descending on my nose, which, upon further and more accurate investigation, i found reason to attribute to a cock and six hens, who were poising themselves upon a tie of the rafters for the enjoyment of a comfortable nap during the night. i own i was a little provoked at the accident, and g 2 63 a wreath expostulated sharply with mrs. o'shea upon the subject; but the same argument of heat that was submitted in favour of the cow, was urged in favor of the hens, to whose regular laying, i was informed, warmth was essentially necessary. this argument being also unanswerable, i proceeded to search for my pocket-handkerchief, in order to wipe off the unpleasant topic of our conversation; when to my still further dismay, my hand in its progress to my pocket, popped into the mouth of the calf, who, mistaking it for the accustomed fist of miss molly o'shea, began to suck it with the most indefatigable perseverance. from this last and most alarming dilemma i at length extricated myself, and having partaken of the provision so kindly prepared for me, and in vain offered some pecuniary remune ration for my entertainment, i departed with a high sense of the hospitality of my host and hostess, and with a genuine concern that they were not better accommodated. having made the best of my way to the inn,. i found the young people regaling themselves on a delicious collation of strawberries and cream, while the elder part of the company were comfortably feasting on a fine savoury dish of ducks and green peas, served up in quin's best style. a welch harper was in attendance, and the greatest hilarity prevailed; but it was perfectly innocent-none of from the emerald isle. 67 those coarse and offensive jokes were hazarded, which distress the modest ear and crimson the female cheek with the painful blush of confusion or shame. the bride was led away at the appointed hour, and after a short interval the other ladies vanished. timmins, figsby, and myself remained behind, over a bottle of calcavella; and among a variety of topics which we discussed, the importance of encouraging our woollen manufactures was particularly insisted on; and timmins, who is persuaded that there is an immense cluster of islands at the south pole, inhabited by men who must, from their situation, be in the greatest want of warm clothing, proposed forming a joint stock company, for the purpose of supplying the natives with irish cloths, and suggested that he and a friend of his, a mr. flinchy, should be appointed secretaries, at a salary of five hundred pounds per annum. mr. figsby having fallen asleep during the disquisition, and it having also been discovered that the decanters were empty, the further consideration of the subject was postponed until that day three months. having retired to my chamber, i was just preparing for bed, when my ears were assailed by several violent screams evidently from a female voice, accompanied with a considerable degree of confusion in some of the adjoining apartments. having slipped on my dressing gown, i hurried forth to 69 a wreath discover the cause of the tumult. after tumbling over the sweeping brush, which the chamber maid had left ready for the morning's duty, in the middle of the passage, i at length arrived at the door of the room occupied by miss julia, which i was grieved and shocked to find had been the theatre of all this commotion. ; by the stupidity of the house-maid, or some other mistake, the gentlemen had been shewn to the wrong apartments :mr. timmins to that of miss julia, and mr. brimmigem to that of the lovely bride! the noise of opening her room door having awakened the younger lady, who had just been dreaming of a plan being laid by a gentleman to run away with her against her will, on beholding a man entering her room, she uttered several dreadful shrieks, at the same time ringing the bell with the greatest violence. in a moment, the various lodgers and servants in the house were assembled. in the lobby; and it was not until after a considerable time that the matter was sufficiently explained to induce the parties again to retire to rest. every thing having been now arranged to the mutual satisfaction of all parties, i again sought my couch, and slept soundly till six o'clock next morning. but, as i had determined to return to town, i ordered an outside seat on the mail coach which passes through bray, and at seven, seated myself very comfortably from the emerald isle. 69 between a something, which appeared to be "half monkey half a man," carefully rolled up in a travelling cloak, buttoned a la militaire over his nose -and a well dressed middle aged female, who, from the complete rotundity of her figure, and her face having much the resemblance of a good kitchen fire, i suspected to belong to the lower regions of some of the once noble mansions of our city, but which are now in common parlance yeelped hotels. as we had good horses, and a steady driver, nothing particular occurred till our arrival at the black rock, where we stopped to take up some additional live lumber, with the exception of our progress being impeded, for a short time, by a long line of cars fully laden with women and children. on inquiry from my female companion, it appeared they were pooreens and their nurses going to the foundling hospital to be paid their wages. on further inquiry, i discovered that the term pooreen signifies a small potato, and in this instance meant that the children were fed on that article. the reply was very satisfactory, as it served to explain the reason why the term potato-face is so frequently applied to the irish, who are exclusively fed on that vegetable, which, by the way, from a learned note on the passage in shakspear's merry wives of windsor, "let the sky rain potatoes," appears to possess many excellent qualities. while we 70 a wreath. sat waiting for a passenger who we saw making all speed towards us, my female companion observing that the morning was extremely cold, drew from her pocket a pint bottle of something which appeared uncommonly transparent, and placing the neck of it in her mouth, much in the way that a farrier would were he administering medicine to a horse, in a moment about half of the contents disappeared; then, carefully replacing the cork, she was about to return the precious relic to its former station, when, unfortunately, it came in contact with one of the rails of the coach, and in a moment strewed the road with a thousand fragments! moore, in alluding somewhere to a vase in which roses had been distilled, observes, "you may break, you may ruin the vase if you will, but the scent of the roses will hang round it still." although it is more than probable that genuine poteen would not produce so great an effect on glass bottles, in the instance just mentioned the perfume was very powerful; indeed so sensible was its effects on the nervous temperament of our military a-lamode, that he had nearly fallen off the coach in a swoon; but, fortunately, on applying his highly scented kerchief to his olfactory aperture, he seemed to revive, and turning to the poor woman, very piously wished that old nick had her and her bottle. from the emerald isle. 71 the sound of the bugle having, at this moment, sounded a kind of response to the hearty ejaculation of the man of war, we again proceeded on our way, and arrived in time for an early breakfast at the hotel in dawson-street. the faithful dog. suggested by an incident related in pratt's gleanings. a merchant once his homeward way, with weighty bags of gold, pursued; his faithful dog the livelong day alone companion of his road. the sun-beam from meridian sky fierce on the fainting traveller glows; beneath a greenwood shelter nigh, he seeks refreshing short repose. what might have been the slumberer's dream, the simple legend mentions not; behind him-whatsoe'er the themethe glittering treasure was forgot. 72 "a wreath but mark the dumb spectator's part: he sees the unheeded treasure lie, and acts with mute persuasive art each sign that zealous love can try. the steed's impatient feet before he barks, he crosses, leaps, and wheels, and, whining, looks where lies the ore; and wounds with bitter bites his heels. the merchant deems the burning beam has parched the brain with fev'rish heat; that he is mad-but yonder stream shall try the truth, and seal his fate. the dog declines the limpid rill and trampled, chidden, perseveres, each importuning effort still but more confirms his master's fears. duty and safety now demand the faithful favourite to die; the merchant with reluctant hand aims trembling with averted eye. fatal that trembling aim, and true, tho' lingering life awhile remains, nor brooks the merchant's heart to view the long lov'd favourite's dying pains. from the emerald isle. 73 onward with many a sigh he fared, and sadly musing, thus he cried, "rather had i this treasure spared than thou dumb duteous friend had died." the treasure-where-'tis gone, forgot! then all the truth flashed o'er his mind; and back he journeys to the spot, where lay the golden heap behind. what new awakening anguish wrung that self-accusing master's breast, when all the devious way along he by his favourite's life-blood traced. it still awaits him to behold returned and watchful in the shade, as guardian true, beside the gold, his faithful dog expiring laid. the look of joy awaits him still, of love that death could not o'ercome, the dying effort he must feel, to lick the hand that sealed his doom. when cares assail, when ill befals, when negligence her trusts betrays, that image mem'ry oft recals, and o'er that dying look delays. 74 a wreath 田 ​scenes in freland. ht meer journal of an excursion equatic and pedestrian. having acceded to the request of some english friends, to accompany them in a tour of pleasure and information, to the southern parts of our island, it was suggested that we should go by sea to cork or kinsale, and return by land, incedere pedibus; visiting in our homeward journey, the lakes of killarney and any other places which might be deemed worthy of notice. my kind friends having at once concurred in this arrangement, a sufficient number of births were engaged for our accommodation in a steam-packet about to proceed southward on a coasting voyage; and with streamers floating in a fair wind, on a lovely evening in from the emerald isle. 75 the month of may, we set sail from the pigeonhouse, tide and steam combining their powerful exertions in our favor. from the point of embarkation, and at the moment we quitted the land, the city scenery looked really beautiful, nor did its interest or splendor decrease as we receded from the shore, and approached the opening of the bay. it was the evening hour, and the gilded sunbeams resting on the spires of the churches and on the roofs of the houses, glittered in ten thousand refracted reflections from the windows of the more distant buildings on the southern side, throwing a soft and mellowed radiance around the scene, and giving to the public edifices the appearance of towers and battlements, and castles, "with domes fantastically set, like cupola or minaret." as we moved along the liquid element, our attention was alternately arrested by objects of a very different character. here a merchantman, deeply laden, lay quietly at anchor, waiting for a flood tide; while before us, on either hand, the harbours of kingstown and howth, extended their sheltering arms, offering to the tempest-tost mariner a safe asylum from the fury of the stormyonder a pleasure boat, crowded with the thoughtless and the gay, was seen lightly skimming the surface of the billow; while at a little distance, the 76 a wreath care-worn fisherman, all lonely and alone," sat pondering on the probable success which the returning tide would afford to his exertions. the scene was beautiful, yet it was not the magnificent appearance which the city presentedthe broad and extended expanse of waters-nor yet the variety of the vessels which surrounded us, gaily decked in their many-coloured streamers— that called forth our unbounded admiration. with all this varied combination of gaiety and grandeur, the prospect would have only afforded an idea of sterile greatness. the softer shading would still have been wanting, had the jutting rock, the breeze-extended sail, or the dark blue sea, been the only objects on which the eye could rest; but when all along on either side the bay, the whitened cottage and the noble mansion alternately presented themselves to the gazer's view, encircled with a carpet of emerald green, or peeping from the bosom of a waving forest-while the eye could range untired along an amphitheatre of hills, clothed in nature's richest foliage; or trace the mazy windings of a deeply indented shore, by the richness and the beauty of its verdure, the mind appeared anxious to linger over the prospect; and the unbidden wish escaped us, that our vessel might bear us less rapidly away from a scene so pleasing. . from the emerald isle. 77 so completely absorbed were we in the pleasures of contemplation, and so varied were the objects we passed, that before we were at all aware of it, we had reached that point when, from the course which it was necessary the vessel should take, we were about to lose sight of the scenery on which we had gazed so intensely with so much delight. -the sun was just about to set-a last ray still lingered on the summit of the hills; and gave to howth and bray a most interesting and majestic appearance, as we turned the point, and were introduced to a scene of a very different character: the widely extended ocean, bounded on the one side by the distant horizon, and on the other by rocks of granite towering to the skies, and covered with sea fowl, screaming the dirge of the departed day. the shades of evening were fast descending, and as the rising breeze had considerably agitated the ocean wave, and we began to feel somewhat disposed to be squeamish, it was resolved that we should retire to our births; but just as we had turned to descend into the cabin, our attention was attracted by the simultaneous appearance of several of those ruddy gems of changeful light bound on the dusky brow of night, which scott has so well described in some lines written in an album. several of the lights to be g 2 78 a wreath seen from this point in the bay served to give a finish to the picture, without which, altho' grand in the extreme, it would not have been sufficiently picturesque. having retired to rest, we were in a short time rocked to sleep by the motion of the vessel; and to our infinite surprise, on awaking we found ourselves within a few miles of our place of destination. something having gone wrong with a part of the machinery, and the vessel having in consequence been unable to proceed for a short time, we availed ourselves of the circumstance, and having requested the captain to put us on shore at a little cove or creek opposite to which we then lay at anchor, we were soon again placed on terra firma, about mid-way between dungarvan and youghal: and without a moment's delay set forward on our pedestrian tour, each of us having a small travelling bag across his shoulder, a flask of the native* in his pocket, and a tolerable sized shilelah for a walking stick. being determined on seeing whatever was to be seen, and to make ourselves acquainted as much as possible with the manners and habits of the people residing in this corner of the island, we proceeded straight forward towards the best looking of a number of small huts or cabins which we observed at a little distance • irish whiskey. from the emerald isle. 79 from us, and which certainly bore a much greater resemblance to the descriptions of the habitations of the esquimaux or the greenlander sketched in the journals of travellers, than to the dwelling-places of a civilized people, a part and parcel of the greatest nation in the world. having reached the entrance of this miserable looking place, we found it partially closed by some pieces of board rudely fastened together, in the shape of a door. nor was there any thing like a window, save a small hole in the side of the building, into which the crown of an old hat had been stuffed by way of a shutter; and which we naturally conjectured to have been designed for admitting light. having pulled a string which we observed hanging at the door, and which, as it afterwards appeared, we had correctly supposed to be the 'open cessame' of the habitation, a scene presented itself which bespoke a far greater degree of wretchedness and misery than we could even have anticipated from the cold and comfortless appearance of the outside. the entire of the hut contained but one apartment; the walls were of mud, and so low, that on entering the door -which by the way we observed had to serve the double purpose of an entrance to the inhabitants, and a ventilator for the smoke, there being no chimney—we were obliged to stoop considerably -the roof was formed of branches of trees laid 80 a wreath transversely, and covered with sods, through which the rain appeared to have made its way in several places, as the floor, which was of clay, was completely saturated, evidently with the falling drop -ceiling it had none, with the exception of a plentiful supply of chickweed which was growing spon, taneously from the sods with which the branches were covered, and which were so much bulged in, that we could scarcely stand erect. at the one end of this miserable abode, half naked, and bent nearly double, over a few expiring turf embers, sat an aged female, on whose emaciated frame, and smoke japanned countenance, wretchedness and poverty had indelibly engraved their names in the most legible characters-she looked like the anatomy of death; and labouring under the combined effects of cold, of want, and of disease induced by the dampness of her dwelling, was unable to move out of the position in which she had been placed, without inflicting upon herself the most excruciating agony. at the moment we made our appearance she was busily engaged with a string of podreens or beads, over which, as we afterwards learned, she had been saying her prayers. our abrupt entrance seemed to occasion considerable surprise, but having devoutly crossed herself, and muttered one or two sentences in a language which we did not understand, she most cordially invited our honours to from the emerald isle. 81 sit down; at the same time hoping we would excuse her rising, as she had not been able to support herself without help for the last ten years. much pleased with the courtesy of the poor invalid, and wishing to know something more of the manners and habits of the inhabitants of the hut, we were about to accept of her invitation, when on looking around us, we could discover nothing on which to seat ourselves, with the exception of a couple of pieces of flag or stone and an old box or chest without a lid or covering-these, with an old iron pot, and a large wicker basket containing a few small potatoes, appeared in fact to constitute the entire furniture and contents of the cot-in one corner of which, lying on a bundle of moss or heath thinly strewed over the damp clay floor, and which appeared to have been used as a bed, we descried a well featured and rather good looking infant boy, perfectly naked, and sleeping as tranquilly as if he were reposing on a bed of down-beside him sat a small lurcher dog, watching apparently with the greatest solicitude his sleeping charge. we had just seated ourselves by the side of the old woman, who was explaining to us that the infant and the cabin were the property of her daughter and her son-in-law, that the former had gone to the bog for some turf, and would be back in a short time, and that the latter was helping to set praties 82 a wreath for the squire, for which he got six pence per day, and which was to be allowed in the quarter's rent of the cabin and potato ground-when a tall, emaciated, toil-worn female of about five and twenty years of age, whose only covering was an old chemise, a few rags of an old petticoat, and the remains of an old red cloth cloak thrown about her shoulders, entered the hut, heavily laden with a bundle of peat or turf, which she carried on her head; and followed by five or six half-naked, half-starved children, the oldest of whom could not have been more than ten years of age, each bearing a load proportioned to its strength. having deposited their burdens in the middle of the floor, and stared upon us for some time as apparently unaccustomed to the visits of decent looking strangers, the mother of the flock, who from seeing us in possession of her cabin, appeared anxious to know with what intent we had entered it, dropping a curtesy to the ground, broke the silence by observing, "i suppose gentlemen, yese are guagers, and that yese are on the hunt for patteen; but, in troth, and i think as how it is that yere honours need not have given yerselves the trouble of coming all this length of way about such a business, for as sure as the blessed virgin's in heaven you would'nt find the full of your tooth of any kind o' liquor that ever was made or malted, from the one end of the townfrom the emerald isle. 83 land to the other, save and except in his honour the squire's house on the hill; and sure, agra, if there were a barrel full of it to be got for the axin, denis o'donoho 's the last man in the parish who would be after letting a drap of it see the inside of his cabin, since poor paddy o'shaughnessy was transported to botomy bay, just for helpin widow o'dogherty to make a thimble full for their own private drinkin'-och, gentlemen, and sure if yese had but another tear to cry in the whole world yese would have cried it to see him dragged away from his poor wife and helpless wee things, all for having helped to make a bare pint of the cratur from the widow's own corn-and may bad luck attend y' lary o'brien, you cowld hearted informer, every day that the sun shines upon you; may y' yet want a penny to buy nails for your brogues, and may there not be a pipe full of tobacco to smoke at your wake-but i ax your honour's pardons for interrupting you so, for sure my heart bleeds sore for the poor woman thrown on the wide world with her half dozen helpless childer." having assured mrs. o'donoho that we were neither guagers nor excisemen of any kind, she looked rather more pleasantly upon us, and turning with a significant grin or smile towards one of our party, observed, " arrah, then, honey, if yese be neither guagers nor excisemen, and ma-be ye're some of those folk who rents 84 a wreath the tithes from the clargy, and who grows fat and fair on the hardships of us poor hard-working, half-fed miserable craters; and who, as father pat tould us, last sunday was a week, are striving to get his majesty (the lord be merciful to his sowl, and grant that he may yet die a member of the true church) to make the poor pay tithes for their bit pratie ground; but why should i suppose that such handsome nice looking gentlefolk as yese are should belong to such a set of varmint, and yet what else could have brought yese to the cabin of denis o'donoho; but indeed i thinks as how yere mistaken; for the blessed virgin be good to me if ther's a thing in the parish worth tithing, save and except what belongs to his honour on the hill, for god help us, the praties have run short, and ther's hardly as much left as will keep us alive till the next crap are ready for diggin-but ther's the gorsoons,* yere honour, and ma-be ye'd like to take a tithe of them— ther's plenty of them, agra, more than we can get praties to fill their mouths wi'." as we found it impossible to edge in a word of explanation, in our defence, until the good woman had concluded her suppositions, we were obliged, in our turn, to make a formal reply, setting forth briefly who and what we were, and by what train of circumstances • children. t from the emerald isle. 85 we had been led to visit her cottage. our explanation having fully satisfied mrs. o'donoho that we were neither excisémen nor tithe proctors, she took the greatest pains imaginable to give us all the information we desired; and by way of making us more comfortable, proceeded to place some turf on the hearth; but having, for want of better bellows, applied her mouth to the embers, unfortunately the poor woman's kindness was lost upon us, as quite a contrary effect was produced to that which she intended, the quantity of ashes blown about by her puffing having made us white as millers, while the smoke which was ascending in volumes, and which could only find an exit by the door, had so powerfully affected o ur eyes, that the tears were' beginning to flow, and we were obliged to prepare for decamping. on our rising to go away, mrs. o'donoho, (who had just commenced washing some potatoes,) with an expression of real hospitality on her countenance, observed, "and sure if yere honours would but just stay a bit longer, and ate a pratie with denis o'donoho, who will be in from the squire's in less than no time, he would be the proud man to see such fine gentlefolk seated in his poor cabin-but sure, acushla, i takes great liberties in speaking so to your honours, only as i know how it is that denis o'donoho, (the lord be good to him,) never likes to be after letting any traveller h 86 a wreath leave his bit of a cabin without breaking his fast; not to spake of such gentlefolk as yese are." having excused ourselves on the ground of being obliged to pursue our journey, and having distributed a few shillings among the children, we took our leave of this genuine specimen of the hut of an irish peasant, followed with the blessings of mrs. o'donoho and her family, and their most ardent prayers that all the saints and angels in heaven would be merciful to us; at the same time having our feelings deeply touched with the wretchedness and misery by which the poor people were surrounded, and with no little surprise that persons suffering so many hardships and privations, should appear to think so lightly of them, and should feel so grateful for any trifling act of kindness. having learned from mrs. o'donoho that the festival of st. eglon was to take place that day at ardmore, a few miles distant, at which various acts of penance would be performed by pilgrims and voteens, we resolved on making the best of our way to it without farther delay. we had not proceeded far until we overtook a number of persons-some halt, some lame, and some blind-all moving forward as fast as the circumstances of their various cases would permit them, to celebrate the festival of the saint. joining company with an old man and his wife, who were trotting along at the from the emerald isle. 87 rate of about two miles an hour, on a high-backed shelty, apparently nearly as old as themselves-we commenced our inquiries as to the inhabitants, &c. the old man was not only very communicative, but very intelligent, and being occasionally helped out in a sentence by his better half, was to us a source of great entertainment. he was well acquainted with every individual resident within the compass of twenty miles; knew to whom the land of the neighbourhood belonged of right if the real owner had it; and withal, old as he was, hoped he would never die till he should see the right owner in possession. his own great-grandfather, he informed us, had been a prince of the country, and his wife was descended from a line of kings. he dwelt with seeming pleasure and delight on the days which were; and contrasted them with the wretchedness that now every where prevailed; and summed up the whole by laying the entire blame on the introduction of the protestant religion into the country. as it was not our object to dispute either the old man's claims to ancient greatness, or his opinions on religious matters, we were very good friends; and with all his notions, we could discover that he was of a humane and benevolent disposition. in the course of our discourse we learned from him that the generality of the cabins in the country were exactly the same as the one in which we had been, 88 a wreath with the exception that some of them had a kind of chimney, formed of wattles and ozier slips, plastered with clay, which sloped up gradually till they met in a hole in the roof, and thus suffered the smoke to escape; that in general in each of those wretched hovels, furnished as before described, from five to ten persons kennelled together, whose only food was potatoes and salt, one scanty meal of which in a day had often to suffice, when the head of the family could not obtain employment, which was very frequently the case; two meals in the day, he said, were the most the poor people ever got—of flesh meat many of them knew not the taste, and even the luxury of a little buttermilk they were seldom indulged with, the price of it being far beyond their means. "och, sir," said the old man, wiping the big tear from his aged eyes," if ye had been in this part of the country at the time the typhus raged in it, yere hearts must have been hard indeed if ye could ha' borne the sights which were seen every day amangst us. whenever disorder entered a cabin its effects were dreadfu’— as, from being obliged to sleep thegether, and to breathe the same unwholesome air, scarcely one of a family escaped; and when the disorder left the house, than those it left behind ye could not find greater objects of compassion in any corner of his majesty's empire." from the emerald isle. 89 having now reached ardmore, which we found thronged with devotees, our fellow-travellers immediately began to prepare themselves for the ceremonies of the day, by throwing off their shoes and stockings, and tucking up their clothes considerably above their knees. they commenced their devotions by walking three times round a tower, which they told us was built by st. eglon in a night; saying their prayers on their beads, and kneeling four times each circuit. from this they resorted to a vault or cave, where a woman sold to each pilgrim or voteen a handful of earth, assuring the purchaser that it was the real ashes of the saint, and that no evil could befal the individual who was possessed of it. after approaching on their knees an image set up in the vault, and embracing it with great reverence, they next proceeded to the ruins of an old chapel, and after encompassing it three times, all the while repeating a certain number of prayers, they entered and went from one end to the other on their bare knees, praying as they proceeded, and embracing the chancel of the chapel when they had done. they next washed their feet in a pond of holy water in the vicinity of the chapel, and after purchasing a draught of water from a holy well close by the entrance, they proceeded to the last act of their devotion, which consisted in passing three times under a great stone by the sea-shore. h 2 90 a wreath this stone, we were informed, came from rome, on the surface of the water, and landed on the spot where it now rests. in passing round and under this stone, one followed another in the way that children play hide and go seek ;' the devotees were on their bare knees, and as the ground is filled with sharp stones, many of them were cut. they pleased themselves, however, with the idea, that the merit of their devotion was enhanced by the severity of the pains they endured. after having gone through their various evolutions, they then sat down together in parties, and 'laughed a little, and sang a little, and joked a little, and sported a little, and courted a little-and (those who had it) swigged the flowing can.' wonderful are the cures which the virtues of the holy well are said to perform-the blind are enabled to see, the deaf to hear, and the lame to dance and caper;-while those who are not cured eagerly enquire "who has got the blessing?" having remained at ardmore until it was too far advanced in the evening to think of proceeding any distance, we determined on putting the hospitality of some squire in the neighbourhood to the test, and accordingly trudged on our weary way until we came to a house, the owner of which we concluded, from its appearance, must at least be above the middle rank in life—and putting as much brass from the emerald isle. 91 into our faces as we were able, rapped at the door just as the gloom of night had thrown its shadows across the horizon. it was opened by an elderly gentleman, who, on our mentioning to him that we were strangers in the country, and requesting to know if he could direct us to the nearest place where we could obtain lodging for the night, most courteously invited us in, assuring us that he should feel truly happy in being favoured with the pleasure of our company. nothing loth, we cheerfully availed ourselves of the kind offer; and never did we enjoy a pleasanter evening than we spent in the hospitable mansion of he was a perfect specimen of what is called a real irish gentleman--and the best of every thing his house could afford was produced for our use. my english friends were not able for some time to throw off their natural reserve; but our kind host having after supper plied them pretty well with his mountain-dew, which he assured them had not a headache in a gallon of it, they soon became social as any of the party, and enjoyed in a high degree the pleasantry of the squire, who continued to amuse us with anecdotes connected with his hunting and shooting excursions. we retired to rest much pleased with our hospitable reception; and arose with the morning's sun, determined to start forward • a name for illicit whiskey. · 92 a wreath on our journey. here, however, we found that our good fortune the evening before was only a foretaste of what was to follow-the gallant squire peremptorily insisting on our remaining with him for at least two or three days. as no excuse would avail us, we at length agreed to accept his friendly invitation, and he promised we should not repent having complied with his request, for he had two or three as good dogs and guns as were to be met with in the country, and plenty of powder and shot, which were completely at our service. happening, however, accidentally to cast my eye on a newspaper that arrived while we were at breakfast, i discovered an advertisement relative to a circumstance of such consequence to me, that i had at once to make up my mind to proceed homewards without a moment's delay-leaving my young friends to pursue their course as they thought proper. having previously obtained from one of them a promise to keep a correct journal of their proceedings, and having sincerely thanked our hospitable entertainer for his polite attention, i was about to proceed on foot to the nearest town in which i could procure a chaise; but here again irish good-nature shone conspicuous; a pair of saddle-horses and a servant were instantly got in readiness, and i was sent forward on my journey in as great style as if i had been the son of an irish king. from the emerald isle. 93 extracts from the journal of continuation. 2 in castle rack-rent, may 20th, 1825, these irish are an extraordinary set-very hospitable no doubt, but would as soon shoot a man as give him his dinner-all alike to them. just discovered that our kind host, who has entertained us so sumptuously, on account of a number of small debts, dares not shew his nose off his own estate, upon the confines of which it seems no bailiff would think himself safe to venture, as the squire would certainly be rescued by his tenantry, probably at the expense of the bailiff's life. quere-on what principle, or from what motive do the peasantry protect individuals under whom they drag out an existence by no means so comfortable as the slaves in the colonies ?-presumptive proof that if well treated the irish peasant would make a kind and affectionate tenant. would it not be something more rational in the irish gentry to pay their debts, and improve the condition of the cottiers, than to spend all they are worth, and more, in entertaining those who scarcely thank them for it? for the benefit of speculators wishing to see ireland, have ascertained that it is only necessary to get an irish gentleman into your debt, in order to procure prime 94 a wreath. good quarters and the best of good cheer, free of all expense, as long as you wish to stay, provided always you do not ask for payment of your account -no debt paid by an irish gentleman until a few pounds of law costs be added. ireland fine soil for multiplying population, as, amid all their misery, no cabin is without ten or a dozen brats. mem.mention this to my wife, when i get one. may 21. just parted our new friend, with a promise to spend a month with him the next summer!—well mounted-determined to proceed by the blackwater river, along the banks of which, during our excursions, we perceived an infinite variety of the most delightful scenery-old castles, old churches, and old monasteries, finely diversified with wood and water, and gentlemen's seats in modern architecture. reminded of a scene in the lady of the lake by a girl rowing a cot or skiff across, and keeping time to her paddles with an irish ditty. fermoy, may 26. detained so long at castle rack-rent, and by the beauties of the blackwater, that we were obliged to post it here in a return chaise. roads near this place remarkably good-travelling in ireland much improved since miss edgeworth painted her caricatures-no red hot pokers now used for starting from the emerald isle. 95 the horses. note-when horses are well fed they generally work well-propose to the secretary of state for the home department to recommend some plan which would enable the refractory irish to procure themselves food and clothing-have no doubt, if well fed, they would work well also-and as this would save the government the expense of keeping up a standing army in the country to oppose captain rock, as well as that of transporting so many of the bold peasantry* to north america and botany bay, it might be worth consideration. mem.-to publish a concise history of ireland for the benefit of the government and the people of england generally, who seem to know less of the real character and condition of the irish peasantry than they do of the customs and manners of the chinese. wonderful improvement in the state of the lower order in this part of the country, said to be effected by the public spirit of a single individual, a mr. anderson. quere if his example were generally followed by the landlords of ireland, besides benefitting the poor, would not the amount of their own rent-rolls be greatly increased? • "princes and lords may flourish or may fade, a breath can make them as a breath hath made; but a bold peasantry, their country's pride, when once destroyed, can never be supplied." deserted village. 96 a wreath killarney, june 1. delightful scenery-nothing like it to be seen in england or scotland-to attempt describing it were an idle effort, unless indeed to me " "were given to dip my brush in dyes of heaven." -must be visited and inspected, in order to form the most distant idea of its beauty and grandeur.what stronger proof of the miserable recreancy of the irish gentry than their desertion of this enchanting place at the present propitious season-some spending their summer at an english watering-place, where they are fleeced without mercy, and laughed at without measure; others in paris, where the exchange is in every sense of the word against them. thus the vain and frivolous portion of the gentry and nobility flit about from place to place, leaving to poverty and neglect the country which gave them birth, and whence they derive their whole support; for destitute, indeed, would they be without the labour and sweat of the irish peasant, who in return obtains a hovel not fit for a pig, and rags that would disgrace a beggar. abbey of mucruss a very picturesque object; perhaps that which most interests you' in the course of your peregrinations, from its contrasting the recollections of the past and the present.within its precincts numerous devotees saying from the emerald isle. 97 their prayers, and weeping and howling over the graves of departed friends. the cloister is small, and the branches of an immense ycw tree which grows in the centre of it would effectually prevent a monk of the present day from reading his breviary, if he were so inclined.-in the cemetery, skulls, bones, and coffins, strewed about in careless profusion-fine place for nervous people to do penance. n. b.—about five-and-forty years ago a man of the name of drake took up his residence in the abbey, where he remained for seven years; sleeping every night in a bed formed of coffin boards in one of the recesses of the windows, the walls being immensely thick. his beard was of an enormous length, and his dress, something half pilgrim half hermit, corresponded. his food he procured by calling from time to time at the houses of gentlemen in the neighbourhood, with all of whom he soon became well acquainted, yet to none of them would he divulge the particulars of the former part of his life, nor the secret cause which induced him to impose upon himself such an extraordinary penance. having, however, in the course of my perigrinations, accidentally met with an old man, who had been particularly intimate with the hermit, and who had in his possession a bundle of papers which belonged to that eccentric non-descript, shall probably on some future occasion give the i 98 a wreath eventful story of his life to the world. on his first taking up his residence in the abbey, the young people made several attempts to frighten him from his purpose, but the hermit being found proof against all their devices, he was ever afterwards permitted to enjoy his self-chosen retirement unmolested. on our return to the inn where we had stopped during the night, had a fine opportunity of hearing a specimen of that mother wit for which the irish are so renowned-one of my young friends seeing a fine looking young girl washing a basket of potatoes at a cabin door, addressed her with, "how d' ye do, my dear; how is mamma and papa, and how are the little pigs ?" to which the good-natured girl, with a look full of arch-expres-. sion, instantly replied, "thanks to yer honour, i'm very well, and mamma and papa are very well, and the little pigs sent their compliments to you." by. the way, the bon mot ascribed to an irish peasant, who, on being asked why he kept his pig in his cabin,' replied, "arrah, honey, who has a better, right to it, isn't it he who pays the rent?" while it is literally true, may be taken as a fair specimen of that gaieté de cœur, that peculiar trait in the irish character, which enables the individual possessing it to jest even with his own misfortunes. we had. also a practical exemplification of that sagacity proverbial in the irish character: a crowd had gathered 6 from the emerald isle. 99 — round a post-chaise at the extremity of the townhaving enquired the cause, we were informed that a constable had arrived in it with a prisoner; but it being the nature of a post-chaise to have two doors, in getting out each had taken a different one, and the culprit had consequently escaped, to the great joy of the spectators.-this inherent love of justice is also, it seems, a prominen' feature in the irish character, and must greatly tend to the due execution of the law, which is the perfection of reason. this principle was finely exemplified in these two instances,-the constable being of a superior order, took natural precedency of his companion, and walked into the parlour this was the perfection of reason in point of etiquette. the prisoner, on the other hand, instead of following the bailiff, ran away as fast as his legs could carry him—and this nobody can deny was also the perfection of reason on his part, which leads, or rather perhaps drives us into those measures which contribute most to our well-being. clogheen, june 1st, in the course of our peregrinations arrived at the caves of clogheen, which i strongly recommend to the attention of all curious gentlemen, particularly to such of our modern poets as are skilled in the bathos, or noble art of sinking. 100 a wreath caves are generally found under ground-at least those we visited are in this predicament.the entrance is a fissure between two masses of stone about two feet and a half wide-very awful— particularly to corpulent people. through this you descend by means of a ladder about thirty feet, and are landed on a quantity of wet mud at the bottom of the precipice. note-ladders in ireland are of two descriptions, those that have rungs, and those without them-that furnished to me and my companions by the cicerone of the caves, was of a mixed description, every second rung wanting -a circumstance calculated to excite a very great degree of nervousness in irritable constitutions— notwithstanding, effected our descent, and by the aid of guides and tallow candles, explored those interesting regions to a considerable extent-understand, however, that a complete examination has never yet been effected-the long passages, in the words of gray, being found to lead to nothing, certainly nothing that can be called a termination; not that i would have it inferred from this that they are interminable-whoever puts such a construction on the words, certainly imposes a forced one. the droppings of the water from the roofs of these caverns being impregnated with lime, have formed pillars, which are, however, said to be by no means as brilliant as the stalactites of antipafrom the emerald isle. 101 ros, which as i never saw i cannot decide. after traversing several of the subterranean apartments for about three quarters of an hour, emerged into day-light, much pleased with my excursion, though not a little chagrined at the situation of my pantaloons, which had suffered considerably in the course of the perambulation. apropos-the term pantaloon has hitherto exceedingly puzzled etymologists, who are men generally of great labour, but of little ingenuity. the word is evidently a compound of greek and french-pan in the former language signifying every thing, applies most appositely to this article of dress, which answers the combined purposes of breeches and stockings-the french, who had it no doubt from the athenians, have added talon, anglice heel, alluding to its reaching that part in the animal economy. should this derivation meet the eye of any individual about to give a new edition of johnson's dictionary, hope he will acknowledge from whence he derived such valuable information. strongly advised to return to dublin by cunnemara and the bog of allan-fine idea for a bookmaker!-if it be true, as a late author has said, that a man might write a book on what a single street in london would suggest, what might be expected from the hints to be derived from the bog of allan or the wilds of cunnemara-districts which i 2 102 a wreath exceed in extent many thousand times the surface occupied by all the capital cities in europe. imagination sinks under the idea, and the press groans at the bare mention of such an exhaustless fund of materials. [cætera desunt.] echoes of killarney. upon killarney's silver waves no more the nightly star-beams rest; as yet the shamrock's folded leaves were not expanded to the east. so still the early morning was, so hushed the scene-so slumbering all, that from the early summer rose the silent leaf was heard to fall. i saw a bark glide o'er the lake, her sails to morning breath were given; and now killarney's echoes wake, prolonging sounds that swell to heaven. from the emerald isle. 103 'twas not the bugle's blast return'd, no mimic thunder mock'd the sky; but all the lovely echoes learn'd a gentler voice to lift on high. 'twas the poor peasant's hymn of morn, responding over lakes and lands; sweeter than tutor'd pipe or horn, or symphonies of hidden bands. 'twas solemn, in that twilight dim, to hear the fearful cliff and cave reverberate the holy hymn in thousand voices o'er the wave. it seem'd as, waked from long repose, now wondering nature first adored, and glorying as the day-star rose, herself the loud hosannas poured. ye echoes from recesses lone, did not your lingering voice repeat some harmonies, than earthly tone more true, more lasting, and more sweet? 104 a wreath hints for promoting genuine conversation. as an incalculable quantity of good or evil is derivable from conversation, it is to be regretted that what is at present generally substituted for this prime ingredient of social felicity, possesses scarcely a single characteristic of the genuine article.what now passes current under the name, is chiefly composed of petty and contemptible scandal-details which reflect discredit on the retailers, and which cannot possibly serve any purpose but to pander to the evil propensities of impertinent curiosity. in this way evening after evening is now spent, and what are termed social parties, break up without any individual carrying away a single idea that could contribute either to pleasure or profit— that could enrich the fancy, or improve the understanding. at a period when so much time and money are lavished on the education of females, it is rather surprising that so little stress has been laid on the necessity of gathering materials for an accomplishment which certainly yields to none other in constant and delightful pleasure. and it may here be observed, en nassant, in regard to females, that by from the emerald isle. 105 of the right employment of their time, not only in reading, but in reflecting on what they read, they might render themselves much more companionable to men of sense and information, than many them are at present; besides rendering it unnecessary, when in their society, for want of a subject more suited to their capacities and understandings, to introduce such subjects as the weather, the fashions, or the theatre. combined with a general knowledge of the human mind, good nature, good temper, and good sense are indispensable ingredients in the character of the individual who purposes taking a full share in general conversation. it is also essential that the memory be stored with pleasant topics-that there be in fact an adequate reservoir of agreeable and useful information. amusement is requisite; but it should be sustained by an interchange of mind, and not by an unmeaning tissue of common-place observations. in general conversation, every subject which might in the most remote degree be calculated to wound the feelings of any individual present, should carefully be abstained from; or where the matter in discussion may appear at all irksome or unpleasant, it should not be pressed, and even a favorite topic should not be urged beyond the bounds of entertainment. it should also be remembered that 106 a wreath real wit never wounds: the scintillations of genius and spirit resemble in their brilliancy alone the sparks emitted in the collision of flint and steeland the materials on which they fall must indeedbe inflammable, wherever they kindle the fire of contention or ill-will. egotism, it is presumed, need scarcely be noticed -it is too notorious an evil to need observation. the destructive effects of mendacity are, however, worthy of notice: no man is justified on any account in saying what is false, or in supporting for the sake of triumph in argument what he feels to be untrue. a great many plume themselves upon their skill in paradoxes, and urge them with an earnestness but too apt to impose on those who are timid or ignorant. it has been sometimes proposed to resist this abuse by opposing paradox to paradox, and by drawing the long bow as liberally as your opponent. but this is a bad remedy, for the exertion frequently habituates to the offence it is intended to punish; and he who begins the redresser of the marvellous in this way, may end in becoming a finished gasconader. to support what is false or wrong, merely as an engine to display a flippant smartness or superficial ingenuity, is to suborn the faculties to the execution of very dangerous and disgusting work, which may injure, and must tire, and which no person of clear judgment, and profrom the emerald isle. 107 per principle will attempt. silence, or a sudden change of the conversation, is the most effectual mode of repressing this enormity. obscenity and swearing are gradually giving way, especially in the company of the fair sex; and double entendre is on its last legs, if it be not resuscitated in respect to french taste and fashion. no man with the smallest pretensions to good breeding would now venture to insult a modest female, by allusions even of ingenious grossness; and all attempts of this kind should, therefore, be considered as personal affronts by females of respectability. if women would in this way only assert their own dignity, the animals who could thus attempt to insult them would speedily be extirpated. tellers of long stories, especially if they take snuff, should now and then get such a gentle hint from those who can make free with them, as may induce them to correct the error. where it is persevered in, a nap or a fit of sneezing will be found an effectual remedy-this, however, is recommended as a dernier resort. it may often be observed that good sense without fluency has but little chance with leathern lungs and brazen faces; and that many a modest man, whose head is exceedingly well appointed with useful information, is every day put down by voluble garulity. loud and long talking acts as an absolute embargo on the stock of know108 a wreath ledge, which persons under the influence of modesty are generally well able to supply; it is therefore absolutely necessary to affix some peculiar mark of disapprobation upon such engrossers, who seize upon every topic, and endeavour to forestal all that much wiser heads could bring forward upon the occasion; and whose only qualifications are assurance and verbosity. at all events, it should be made imperative upon those who talk much, to acquire a tolerable knowledge of the english language, and not to disgust their hearers with such intolerable solecisms as many of our men of taste and fashion, so called, are commonly guilty of. variety is necessary; and he who understands the theory of conversation, can sustain interest and amusement in a way which, to those who are ignorant of the art, appears quite incomprehensible. a variety of topics, independent of the positive pleasure it produces, has the additional advantage of calling into activity the minds of others, and of inducing them to subscribe whatever portion of information they possess. the prevalence of one subject, or one talker, therefore, infallibly prevents this, and closes up the avenues of instruction, which it is the province of genuine conversation to open. another mischief should also be studiously avoided; and that is debate. this can be best prefrom the emerald isle. 109 vented by never introducing subjects which tend materially to arouse or irritate the feelings or prejudices of society;-the social hour is not the time suited to any thing like altercation. if this should ever occur, the conversation should immediately be turned into another channel, and this the person of sense and information will always endeavour to do. by attending to the foregoing simple rules, conversation might, in small circles especially, be rendered the instrument of very superior gratification. it is to be lamented, however, that but few persons possess that spring of mind which flows always abundantly, and sometimes to waste, with knowledge, temper, and discretion, in the perfection essential to conversation ;-few possess the happy art of repressing themselves and of exciting others -of preserving harmony, and at the same time of promoting discussion of keeping back disagreeable subjects, and of making the best selection of those that are agreeable-and of sustaining pleasantry, without stumbling into rudeness or personality.— when it is recollected that there is a time of life in which the interchange of well-regulated and cultivated minds becomes the greatest gratification which earth can afford, it would surely appear worth an exertion to render fashionable such a rational mode of spending time in the younger years of existence. h k 110 a wreath the retrospect. does the wave of the ocean soft flowing, a trace of the vessel retain ? does ought of the night zephyr blowing, on the hill-flower at morning remain ? the red ray of eve on the billow, will its mutable loveliness stay? or the beam on the sick mourner's pillow, it cheers him-but will it delay? does the wing of the dove as she passes, leave a record behind on the air? does the sweet dream that melody raises, abide in the soul of despair? ye moments of youth that have fleeted, what traces have ye left behind? oh! where are your wild dreams repeated, on the sun-beam, the wave, or the wind? recollections, around ye may hover, and sigh your cold sepulchre o'er; with pain the dear relic recover, but the life charm, alas, is no more! from the emerald isle. 111 in his chains the poor maniac sleeping, holds the sceptre of liberty's throne; redresses the pale captive weeping; tears wake him—his kingdom is gone. so i, when remembrance has crown'd me with the rose of the past that she feigns, am waked from the eden around me, by the wound of the briar which remains. a fragment. cold, cold, and joyless is the heart which frowning fate has doom'd to part from home endeared, from friends beloved, yet leaves them careless and unmoved. oh! let me share the anguish'd sigh, and feel the sad and scalding tear, which rend the heart, and dim the eye, when losing those we hold so dear, rather than be the wretch to own that cold and senseless heart of stone. 112 a wreath on poetic composition. it is the remark of a judicious critic, that poetry has latterly been obliged to submit itself to fashion; -mannerism has become the substitute for character, oddity for meaning, the infinite and indefinite of description for thought, and a grotesque jingle for harmony of numbers. this latter excellence, which is the very soul of poetry, and without which the term has no meaning, has, in many instances, been voluntarily abandoned by such men as crabbe and scott, and still more wantonly by southey and wordsworth, and the other flaccid lake poets, whose nerves seem completely relaxed by the influence of a damp climate; and they have again courted a barbarism from which the roughness of a northern language had rendered it so very difficult to emerge. such attempts at reviving ancient uncouthness, like the cements which are at present invented in imitation of stone, may answer their purpose for a period, but a few rains succeeded by a few frosts, eventually lay open the imposition in the edifice; and such will no doubt be the fate of the new fangled tales of chivalry which have of late years appeared at the root and stem of the poetical tree. the author who aspires to after from the emerald isle. 113 ages should not be the mere pliant slave of whatever bad literary taste may be prevalent in the age in which he lives, nor furbish up old spears and helmets, or rake in hospitals, or hash up the cold leavings of a comfortless philosophy, or condescend to any of the tricks that are practised by thoroughgoing literary jugglers, who vend their nostrums through the aid of extensive advertising, and the puffing of some merry-andrew critic, who helps to tow his friends forward down the stream of oblivion. formerly it was only the mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease-but now authors by profession, and some who possess what dryden says is the lawful title to authorship," the vocation of poverty," are as lax as their betters, and only go nine months with an epic poem. some are no doubt excited to this monstrous fecundity by the hope of gain; but in acting thus they must relinquish all claim to immortality. in poetical compositions, whether long or short, it should ever be remembered that no exuberance of imagination, or copiousness of diction, will atone for toil, pains, and scrupulous-nay, almost fastidious attention to the nice adaptation of each word to the impression intended to be made to the exclusion of synonymes-to the application of the rare and happy epithet-to the fine and delicate turn which embellishes a thought trivial and familiar-and above k 2 114 a wreath all to the cultivation of that virtue which modern english writers utterly explode, conciseness. no doubt the vulgar and illiterate love a length and train of circumstances in narration; and this is not confined to the little and to the low, but to the great and rich vulgar and illiterate tribe. it fixes their attention-keeps their expectation in suspense, supplies the defect of their minute and lifeless imaginations, and keeps pace with the slow motion of their own thoughts. tell them a story as you would tell it to a man of wit, it will appear to them as an object seen in the night by a flash of lightning; but when you have placed it in its various lights and various positions, they will come at last to see and feel it as well as others. it is not for such, however, that the author who aspires to immortality should write. " gray, in one of his letters, observes "there is a tout ensemble of sound as well as of sense in poetical composition always necessary to its perfection. what is gone before still dwells upon the ear, and insensibly harmonizes with the present line, as in that succession of fleeting notes which is called melody." and surely this is not to be disregarded by any who are capable of understanding the effect which such an arrangement produces. the greatest perfection in poetry is that ease which proceeds from or is the consequence of labour and attention; and from the emerald isle. 115 which resembles that strength and activity in the natural body which is attained by proper exercise, where the elastic and well defined muscles prove that they have been wrought to the true tone of vigour. this is the prime characteristic of the french madrigal and of the greek epigram-and it is this that so highly distinguishes the lighter poems of gray, goldsmith, collins, and moore, which are so remarkable for their grace and symmetry. it is this vigorous principle which is also the peculiar characteristic of the writings of a late noble bard. it is to be hoped, however, that in striving to imitate the beauties of his style, future writers may not be infected with that spirit of doubt and despondency and libertinism which so frequently disfigure his lordship's productions. it is worthy of remark, that although the lives of the greek lyric and amatory poets of whose productions lord byron was passionately fond, were devoted to pleasure, in general their writings are of a melancholy cast-filled with complaints of the ills of age, poverty, and distress, and uncomfortable reflections on the shortness and misery of life; and it is urged as an excuse for the gloominess of some of his lordship's poems, and the profligacy of othersthat they were written under the impression made upon his mind by the perusal of these authors.indeed it is certain that the writings of many indi116 a wreath · 6 viduals have been deeply tinged with the spirit of the authors to whose works they were most partial. this circumstance should operate strongly, therefore, on the minds of young aspirants to poetic fame, in inducing them to form a just estimate of the authors on whom they would feed their imagination. milton enriched his fancy from the pages of holy writ; and it is said of gray, that he never sat down to write without having previously devoted a short portion of time to the perusal of spenser's fairie queen.' certain it is, that all our truly sublime poets incline to hope, and to cheerful contemplations of futurity; and there is little doubt that when time has given the writings of the noble bard a fair and impartial trial, the general voice will prefer the splendors of milton to the dark lantern and stiletto of lord byron. and here, by the way, as we have alluded to the writings of lord byron, it may not be deemed an uninteresting conclusion to these cursory observations on points not sufficiently attended to by the generality of writers, to advert for a moment to a few of the various imitations of other authors which are to be met with in his lordship's writings. it has been asserted by some that many of his lordship's poems are mere english translations of oriental originals, or at best a versification of stories common in the east. supposing this to be the case, we would not from the emerald isle. 117 feel disposed to think the less of lord byron's poetical talent. we would just think as highly of macpherson, were he the mere translator of ossian, as though the beautiful poems bearing that title had been written by himself. there is a wide difference between being an imitator and a copyist. some of the best writers have been successful imitators of the style of others: thus, as it is well known, virgil, in imitating his master, thocritus, surpassed him in an eminent degree. but lord byron, whether from carelessness or inadvertency, or some other cause, has certainly been guilty of several manifest plagiarisms, not only of the ideas, but of the very words of several living authors. in proof we shall only adduce the examples furnished in two of his his lordship's most highly-finished shorter poems, 'the bride of abydos' and the corsair.' 6 c in the bride of abydos,' the very first line is evidently a literal translation from m. de staël's • de l'allemagne,' where she mentions a german romance, wilhelm meister,' by goethe, in which she says there are some charming verses, 'que tout le monde sait par cœur en allemagne,' commencing with "connois-tu le terre où les citronniers fleurissent." every reader will immediately recognise in this the original of "knowest thou the land where the cypress and myrtle." 118 a wreath how much further his lordship's plagiarisms may extend in this case is not ascertained, as m. de staël has not translated the entire of goethe's poem. the description of zuleika, beginning "who hath not proved how feebly words essay to fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray," &c. will also at once bring to the mind of the english reader the opening of the second canto of the pleasures of hope,' "who hath not paused while beauty's pensive eye," &c. in the same part of this beautiful poem, the line "the power of grace-the magic of a name," will remind him of the description of conrad, in the corsair,' line 184, "the power of thought-the magic of the mind." for the expression in the bride of abydos,' line 179, "the music breathing from her face," his lordship has expressed his obligation to m. de staël; and in the description of leander crossing the hellespont in the fourth line of the second canto of the same excellent poem, "the beautiful, the brave," is only altered from lady randolph's lamentation over the dead body of her son, in 'douglas,' by substituting the article for the pronoun, "my beautiful, my brave." from the emerald isle. 119 in the corsair,' line 359, "then give me all i ever asked, a tear," bears a striking resemblance to the expression in gray's elegy, "he gave to misery all he had, a tear." · in the last canto of the corsair,' conrad's feelings when he thinks of gulnere, strongly remind the reader of marmion's remorse, when the remembrance of constance crosses his mind, "and he was free-and she for him had given her all on earth, and more than all in heaven." corsair, line 696. "and i the cause for whom were given her all on earth, and more than all in heaven." marmion. 6 many of the most beautiful similes in the corsair, the bride of abydos, and the giaour, are taken from the history of the caliph vatheck,' and the notes to that extraordinary tale. the idea of the three-winged butterfly of kashmere; and the allusions to the eye of the gazelle and the blossoms of the pomegranate are also mentioned by sir william jones to be almost universal in all the poetry of the east. the idea in childe harold,' "deep in yon cave honorius long did dwell, in hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell." also owes its origin to the eastern world. the caliph omer ben abdalaziz declared that "to merit heaven it was necessary to make earth a hell.” 120 a wreath we remember the advice of the "de morsage, tuis nil nisi bonum;" but we also recollect that although lord byron is dead, he still lives in his works, and although we feel every disposition to preserve the spirit of the motto in our observations, we have considered it only just thus to notice the carelessness (we will not use a harsher term) evinced by a genius whose greatness should have distained any borrowed assistance: and would to heaven that such trivial faults as those we have noticed, and which, with the microscopic eye of a critic, can be observed throughout every production of his lordship, were all that we had to charge upon the memory of the noble bard. but we much fear, that when the grave shall have closed upon the writer of this article, and upon all who are now able to peruse or to admire the productions of lord byron's pen, the poison which they contain will not have ceased to produce the most pernicious effects;-would to heaven that before his lordship had given them to the world, he had paused under the solemn conviction of his responsibility, and had remembered that such writings as those he has left behind him may yet influence the peace and happiness of thousands now unborn. we make the observation, not so much from a wish to throw any unpleasant reflections over his lordship's memory, as to warn others, who may take the c from the emerald isle. 121 writings of his lordship as a model; and we are bold to say that it was a weak and foolish pride which induced the noble bard to become the champion of opinions completely at variance with the established sentiments of others, merely because they were singular. indeed we conceive that no language can be too strong to express the indigna-. tion which every good man must feel against any individual, who, from the mere love of singularity, can promulgate sentiments calculated either to sever those social and endearing engagements which are the alone so urce of happiness that many enjoy -or to bereave man of that hope of an hereafter, the contemplation of which is the only pleasure left to thousands who have proved fortune fickle and friends insincere. the following quotation from an early edition of one of his lordship's works,* will at once prove the correctness of our observations, and serve as an apology for an humble individual venturing to throw a shade over the remains of this goliah of literary fame :― • "the unquestionable possession of considerable genius by several of the writers here censured," says his lordship, "renders their mental prostitution more to be regretted. imbecility may be pitied-or at most laughed at and forgotten; perenglish bards and scotch reviewers. l 122 a wreath verted powers demand the most decided reprehension. no one can wish more than the author that some known and able writer had undertaken this exposure; but in the absence of the regular physician a country practitioner may, in cases of absolute necessity, be allowed to prescribe his nostrum -to prevent the extension of so deplorable a malady"!! the feeling heart. how happy they whose envied lot hath placed them far from sorrow's voice, in some sequestered rural spot, with those attached by taste and choice; yet happier he whose fate has been to roam through many an adverse scene, long for each absent joy to mourn, but bless'd at length with sweet return; to feel unmix'd the magic spell, which bids his bosom wildly swell, as each long-cherish'd spot is traced, which first in infant sport he paced, and ecstacy supreme!-to meet the heart with pleasure fondly glowing, the bosom heaving sighs so sweet, the eye with tears of joy o'erflowingfrom the emerald isle. 123 to know this radiant cloudless beam of perfect bliss is felt for him!— this is the moment that o'erpays the feeling heart for countless days of sorrow past, of danger o'er, remembered now-but felt no more. on novel writing. ir is much to be wished that some adept in light reading would make out for young people such a catalogue of entertaining books as would have the effect of amusing, without either stimulating or relaxing the mind beyond its wholesome tone; for it cannot be questioned that much of the folly and fastidiousness of the present day is imbibed from the sentimental whining or ardent impulses of the lady louisas and lord henry adolphuses of this scribbling age and as so much of happiness depends upon correct and rational views of human life, every thing should be put away from the perusal of the young which would mislead them in 124 1 a wreath essential points, or prematurely awaken feelings which should be suffered as long as possible to lie dormant in the breast, that reason and judgment may have time to mature their strength, and prove sufficiently vigorous to cope with their antagonists, the imagination and the passions. with regard to novels, it may be remarked, that very few novel writers draw from life, from high life especially-though the characters are generally represented as of exalted rank, by way of heightening the interest, and striking awe into the mob of readers. indeed, wherever real descriptions of fashionable persons have been given, they are such as do not considerably increase a rational desire to be more intimately acquainted with them. the distress of at least one of the parties is always exaggerated, and the difficulties multiplied beyond the usual quantity which falls to the lot of human creatures; and what renders such descriptions still more dangerous, they are so drawn as to enfeeble the minds of readers, and to deceive them as to the real exigencies of sorrow and disease. another bad effect of novel reading is that it produces an evident neglect of the homely and the old ; young and beautiful heroes and heroines are alone deemed worthy of attention or regard by those whose time is much occupied in the study of novels. plain women, and people of both sexes from the emerald isle. 125 advanced in years, are left very quietly to shift for themselves, altho' near relatives-while the most common-place acquaintances are allowed to monopolize the whole stock of admiration and attention. " novels generally end in a wedding. the parties are conducted through hair-breadth difficulties to this welcome haven; and rétire very lovingly to the possession of every comfort peculiar to the state of matrimony. but this is a very false view of the course of events, and may lead the young and inexperienced to expect more from marriage than it is capable of affording. connubial happiness, like every thing terrestrial, is eminently liable to change; and to detail these vicissitudes, and teach their readers how to support them might prove a task full as useful and worthy of an author's pains; as representing, in colours however glowing, the hopes and fears, the quarrels and reconciliations, the repinings against parental authority, and plans of suicide meditated by two despairing lovers, who are dying to rush into one another's arms, frequently in despite of prudence, honour, and common sense. let novelists, therefore, enlarge the field of their descriptions; let them pourtray the estimable self-denial of individuals, who love one another so much better than themselves, as to labour for independence before they broaden their mark to calamity; and earn something to subsist l 2 126 a wreath on prior to engaging in a connexion which must increase their expenses, and create new calls on their support. this is indeed effected in romances very summarily, by some convenient uncle, who comes from the east indies with several lacs of rupees, which he showers down upon the disconsolate pair, three or four pages before the termination of the novel, raising them at least to a situation of elegant competency; though it often happens that the heroic nephew is put into parliament; nay, perhaps obtains a coronetcy, if he be not already the heir of an earl in disguise, who concealed his rank from his son, in order chiefly to forward the scheme of the author. it is not to be wondered at, therefore, that with such erroneous views of domestic life, indeed of life in general, fixed upon their imagination, that more than one half of those who enter into the married state should be dissatisfied and unhappy-nor can it be expected that any great change for the better will take place until the minds of youth be supplied with more wholesome nourishment than the trash with which young people now so generally surfeit their imaginations. from the emerald isle. 127 to the reader. as from some gay and glowing scene, with pang of anguish twofold keen, the outcast turns and sighs, and feels his gloomy lot more drear, for having viewed the vision fair that mocks his hopeless eyesso comfortless, and so forlorn, the reader from the page must turn, where fiction pens her dreams; where poor humanity is given perfections which belong to heaven, and bliss that earth disclaims. better the page of real life, error, adversity, or strife, such as the heart may own; and still its changeless language hear, and hope, lament, and doubt and fear, and truth forbear to frown. thou perfect maid that fiction draws, did never secret self-applause, or joy elate thy breast, when slander's record was unroll'd, and error's deep disgrace was told, or beauty's fate o'ercast? 128 a wreath thy heart did never envy pain, thy lip no idle flattery feign; was vanity so dead, as ne'er the triumphs of the ball,“ with exultation to recal, o'er some bright rival maid ? then, if thou art so good-so blest, earth is no more thy place of rest; the changeful climate leave to us who may rejoice an hourto-morrow feel misfortune's power, fear-err-decay and grieve. o simple reader, cease to sigh, and fling the o'er-charged fable by, ere rising murmurs crowd; experience, with his tresses grey, angry from the page away,” unwitness'd-disallow'd. turns and let the wanderer too believe those dazzling scenes he saw deceive; there borrowed bliss alone to many a languid heart is lent, that has no gladness or content, or refuge of its own. from the emerald isle. 129 synonyme. as it is essential to the thorough knowledge of any language, to be able to distinguish accurately between words generally considered synonymous ; and as upon this, strength, perspicuity, and elegance of style, materially depend, it would be a great acquisition, if some individual, possessing the various mental qualifications requisite for such a task, would lay his mind to the subject, and give to the english reader a work similar to the abbé girard's celebrated "synonymes français."-the following may perhaps serve as an example:to imitate-to copy. the first is generally a mark of quickness of mind-the second of barrenness. imitation is employed upon useful subjects-copying on comparatively trifling ones. we may imitate a man's virtues, or his style, or his politeness-but we copy his foibles or his eccentricities, or the peculiarities of his dress. imitation often terminates in improvement-copying in still inferior mediocrity; and places the individual in the abject class of mimics, nine in ten of whom go out of themselves without going into the real character of other people. on the stage, no mimic except garrick ever 130 a wreath was a good actor. it is said that he sought in bedlam for many of his traits in lear, while foote abused the hospitality of a welch gentleman's family, to glean the absurdities of cad-walader-a tolerably fair indication of the minds of the two men-the latter of whom never could free himself from the trammels of buffoonery, though he had received a liberal education, while garrick reached the summit of his profession. the chinese are servile copyists; and are behind" every other nation in proficiency in the arts and sciences. the savages of botany bay, are most expert mimics, yet the greatest savages on the face of the earth; without religion, or even the vestige of a social înstitution. resemblance-conformity. these are terms which designate the existence of the same qualities in different subjects; but the first refers chiefly to corporeal coincidences, the latter to intellectual-there is a resemblance between features, and a conformity between minds. joy gaiety. these terms signify an agreeable state of mind, arising from the possession of good, or the enjoyment of pleasure. the first springs from the heart, and is enrolled among the passions, and like them can rise to an excess;—whilst the latter, gaiety, belongs rather to the temperament of the body, and from the emerald isle. 131 is often the consequence of a healthy well-balanced constitution, in which the blood circulates cheerily, and the animal spirits feel no obstruction from the invasion of pain, or the minings of chronic disease. joy must be acted upon and excited; gaiety, on the contrary, is spontaneous, and diffuses a sunshine over society-which is much more indebted to the cheerful than to the joyous. vanity is generally the companion of gaiety. joy is opposed to sorrow-gaiety to melancholy. recreation-amusement-diversion. recreation implies an interval of cessation from the anxieties of business, to which we must again return. amusement is the pursuit and enjoyment of light pleasure.-diversion is accompanied by livelier feelings of delight, and a keener relish of entertainment. frail-fragile. both these terms denote weakness-the first in subjects which can be bent, the second in those that can be broken. we speak of the frailty of the support of the reed, and compare it, not unaptly, to the general run of friendship-and of the fragility of glass and of promises. self-sufficient-important-arrogant. the self-sufficient man goes a step beyond the self-possessed, and is consequently more apt to fall 132 a wreath into error; his judgment may be strong, but is seldom well regulated, and is generally dashed with vanity. the important man superadds somewhat of pride to an overweening estimate of his own powers, and is something like gold lace upon an old-fashioned scarlet waistcoat. the arrogant man has almost always some spice of badness of heart in his disposition, which betrays itself in the despotism of his opinions. we avoid the self-sufficient-laugh at the self-important-and detest the arrogant. the first are found in considerable abundance in the professions called liberal-the second in public offices-and the third amongst the race of minute philosophers, particularly of the scotch school, who moot inconceivable points-of which i shall give a specimen, more for the sake of recording doctor johnson's opinion, than of stating the subject matter of discussion-which was no less an important inquiry, than whether so many human creatures would now be on the face of the earth, if existence, instead of being imposed upon them, had been at their option: on which johnson, with his usual acuteness, observed, that much of this would depend upon the place of birth -and that he believed if that spot were scotland, the option would be easily decided, and the ranks of the human race thinned beyond all possible conception. from the emerald isle. 133 music-irish melodies. music is a very delightful thing-but at large parties it is seldom enjoyed. it is, however, the order of the day; though it cannot be doubted that of the number of persons who collect together to listen to it, there is not one in twenty calculated to judge even of vocal, much less of instrumental music. indeed it would often appear as if lesson of a first-rate composer, played with exquisite taste and execution, were regarded as the signal for a general dechainement of tongues; even those who were silent before, commence talking then, as tho' impelled to it by the same sort of secret sympathy which swells the notes of the canary-bird in his cage, to overpower conversation. were a foreigner to judge by the conduct he may frequently see practised during an evening's entertainment, he would be led to form no very exalted idea of the musical taste of this country or england; nor could he, when he would witness the sublimest compositions of handel, haydn, and mozart, interrupted and drowned by the buzzing of a thousand tongues, and listened to or received with all the ungrateful symptoms of stretching, yawning, &c. by the way, i must confess that i myself do m 134 a wreath not experience much pleasure in listening to some of those italian singers of italian airs, the excellence of whose performance is to warble out a note to the length of a league-although they are so highly applauded by many pretenders to musical science, and in deference to public opinion are so much extolled by that prodigious multitude of all ranks, who resign their sensations to the keeping of others, and dare neither see nor hear for themselves. for my part, i must candidly own it affords me much greater satisfaction to hear one of our national melodies sung with feeling and pathos, than to listen to such experiments upon the human voice. they may certainly excite wonder; but can never affect the feelings. indeed i have always considered our national melodies as very charming things. whether melancholy or gay-martial or pastoral, they possess the raciness of originality, and are most feelingly expressive of all the passions, from the sweetest to the most terrible-they speak the genuine language of emotion, and bring us back to the times when they were breathed-the old times, which the heart, disgusted with what it sees of hypocrisy, selfishness, and vanity, loves to recur to, with probably an exaggerated opinion of the simplicity and truth which belonged to them; and which, perhaps, although an error of the mind, is one of the most from the emerald isle. 135 grateful in which it can indulge. although i think melodies and the simpler the better-are very pleasing things, they have perhaps little to boast of as to mechanical harmony; but they more than compensate for this, at least to untutored ears, by being the appropriate organ of the affections. they are, besides, very easy to execute, provided there be sensibility in the singer; they require neither great compass, strength, or inflection of voice-all that is essential is expression. now, as young ladies have hearts, they have only to keep them in unison with those sentiments which it is to be hoped are most congenial to nature, to be enabled to convey "that sober certainty of waking bliss," which the virtuous and accomplished lady, described by milton, extorted even from comus, à very sensual fellow, and who was then, perhaps for the first time in his life, recalled from his indulgences to any thing like a pure and virtuous emotion. it may hence be fairly inferred, that if to reform rakes be the greatest triumph of female dominion, such means as melody affords may be employed with some probability of success. at least i can say from experience, that "hope told a flattering tale," and other long, elaborate, and to irish throats, nearly impracticable airs, have never yet produced any effect, but to make these incorrigible fellows laugh in their sleeves all 136 a wreath the time they were paying the most extravagant compliments, both to the fair warblers and their delighted mammas, who were simpering and rejoicing at the value received for the many guineas given to professors, who no doubt smile internally now and then themselves, at the ideas so prevalent at present on the subject of teaching misses to sing, whether their talents lie in that way, or whether they do not. the fact is, that those who sing most to the feelings have always had the least teaching. no teacher can impart expression;-he may tell where the emphasis is to be laid, and where the turn is to be introduced; but without natural tenderness and spirit, the directions become an absolute dead letter. many instructors have candour enough to state this to parents; but it is almost unnecessary to add that they are generally discredited-most fathers and mothers arrogating to their children the possession of musical powers, as well as what they term genius, "as if these grew in common hedges.' در while the truth is, that a sprig of the genuine species of either is of all things the hardest to meet with; and where it is found, it will always thrive. best in proportion as it is least tampered with. from the emerald isle. 137 1 z 2 character of an irish melody. loud is the note of erin's song, in mournful modulation long ;like grief half quell'd, half pass'd away, or welcome, if it will, to stay. as if, on lonely cliff reclin'd, her pale cheek offered to the wind, the pensive genius of the land awaked her harp with aimless hand; and while to her reverted eyes past times and images arisethe plains of peace-the fields of fight, the widow's woe-the warrior's might, the achievements of the buried brave, the form wild gazing on his grave, in tones despairing, tender, bold, the unbidden strings the vision told— now like a thought escaped from pain, in doubtful joy steals forth the strain; or as by desolated pile, thro' mouldering arch and echoing aisle, it poured wild revel numbers there, in praise of ruin and despair; again, like that dark spirit's cry, that bodes of death and anguish nigh, it seems with howling night-blasts join'd, that dies away, in sighs resign'd138 a wreath if all thy darkening prospects fadeif faithless friendship have betrayedgo and beguile the wretched day where yon pale matron pours the lay ;— it may not make thy sorrows less, it may not change thy heart's distress; but yet with wild untutor'd speech, thy hidden grief's recess 't will reach; "twill seem to say, thy grief is mine"i mourn a misery like thine! "than beauty's grace-than happier hour“than friendship's faith-than wealth or power, 66 longer than these it may delay; "but fled a sweeter trace shall stay." 66 a medical prescription. translated from the french of la martiniere. would you wish to get well without failing of i know not what ill, which, i know not for why, for this fortnight has made you look feeble and ailing! i prescribe you to buy, how much i can't say, of a root i know not, to mix of i know not what simples a potion, pound i know not what herbs, and of them make a lotion; which applied piping hot, will for aught that i know make you eat, drink, and sleep, as a fortnight ago but this i can venture for certain to say, half the doctors in london prescribe the same way. from the emerald isle. 139 c requisites for a governess. it would be a curious and useful point to ascertain-for the benefit of many meritorious women, who seek for the situation of governess-what is really expected from them for forty, and sometimes thirty pounds per annum, with diet not unfrequently embittered by mortification, and lodging in the attic story. independent of all the moral virtues, (religion is seldom insisted on,) they must be able to teach french grammatically; history, geography, and the use of the globes; writing and arithmetic ;-they must also be proficients in music and needle-work. these are some few of the requisites, and many more are silently understood to be given into the bargain: such as an extraordinary power of enduring the noise of spoiled children, and the caprice and ill-humour of spoiled parents-insurmountable good humour, always ready to laugh with and be laughed at― a digestion equal to the drumsticks of turkeys and outside slices of sirloins of roast beef, &c. &c. the americans, who are but a half civilized people, are much more candid upon such occasions than the english or irish are; they openly confess what they expect for their money, and leave no sting of disappointment in their bargain for education, as would appear by the follow140 a wreath ing advertisement which appeared some time since in one of the transatlantic newspapers:-" wanted, a genteel, well-informed woman, whose patience is inexhaustible—whose vigilance is unwinkingwhose tongue is tireless-whose expedients to please are boundless-whose foresight is unequalledwhose industry is matchless-and whose neatness is unparalleled!!" and such, we verily believe, are the qualifications frequently expected from individuals in those countries, although the requirements may not be expressed in so many words. french epigram. the provincial courts of justice in france, it would appear by the following epigram, are like some of our own quarter sessions, very noisyalthough certainly none of our judges have ever yet been betrayed into such a candid confession as the following: crier, call solemn silence in the court! these goths of justice think to make a sport ; but she shall not be thus derided :'. silence, i say-such talking is absurd; i do declare i have not heard one word the last ten causes i decided, so loud and various are the brawls and fury of lawyers, agents, witnesses, and jury! from the emerald isle. 141 infidelity. the last century is remarkable for having furnished an unprecedented number of attacks on revealed religion, through the medium of science ;nor is it less remarkable for having derived much support to divine revelation, and much valuable illustration of the sacred writings, from the enquiries of the philosopher, and the observations of the traveller. in the indian desert the church of god meets the eye, and the vestiges of the saviour appear, after the lapse of centuries, fresh and convincing-in nazareth, where he was cradled in a manger-and in jerusalem, where he expired on the cross. every sober and well-directed enquiry into the natural history of man, and the globe we inhabit, has been found to authenticate the mosaic account of the creation, the fall, the deluge, the dispersion, and other important events recorded in sacred history. never was there a period of the same extent in which so much light and evidence in favour of revelation were drawn from the enquiries of philosophy; nor was it ever rendered so apparent that the information and the doctrines contained in the sacred volume, perfectly harmonize with the most authentic discoveries, and the soundest principles of science: 142 a wreath were this wide waste alone the lot of man, were his hopes bounded by life's narrow span, well might he envy the unthinking brute, and calmly cease from every fair pursuit to make the mind more noble-all were vain, the finest feelings yield the keenest pain; the warmest heart bleeds most—the steadiest friend feels the severest sorrow in the end: to meet no more the tenderest ties must part, death unrelenting severs heart from heart. the following lines were presented to his majesty on his visit to this country. hail, monarch of britain! the emerald isle invites thy approach to her shores with a smile as pure, bright, and warm as the sunbeam that gilds the crags of her cliffs and the flow'rs of her fields. hail, prince of these islands! reflected in thee, the virtues, the worth of thy father we see; the pleasure which springs from thy visit shall give a tone to our hearts that shall last while we live. then welcome to erin-her sons you will find, tho' frank in their manner, are courteous and kind; like the star of the west, lo! the light of their smile invites thee to visit the emerald isle. from the emerald isle. 143 the nervous and sentimental. when the mind becomes restless, and threatens to be too much for the body, the latter has a way of mustering up its strength by starts or snatches, or of wrestling with its inhabitant by means of some violent action. hence the various tricks that are called nervous, such as convulsive movements of the face and hands, extraordinary gestures, biting the nails to the quick, playing the knife-grinder with your foot and leg, beating a regular tattoo with your fingers on the table, thumping the knee, and whistling-with a number of other extravagant vagaries, which those individuals commonly called nervous, are in the daily habit of performing. in many instances, however, such capers are merely the effect of bad habit or irregular living. many a fine lady or sentimental miss would be shocked to find the quantity of vulgar materials which go to the composition of what she so much values. herself upon, under the name of sensibility: to the indolence of a lazy day, or a ham supper, may often be traced the wakeful melancholy of a whole night; a long expostulation with fortune, to being heaped with indulgences; or a prepossessing flood of tears at a tragedy, to the previous mastication of a score of living oysters. in144 a wreath deed we are afraid that among the few nervous or sentimental persons who have been wise, we shall not be able to find any of the very wisest. the cheerfulness of socrates is proverbial; newton was calmness itself; locke delighted in quizzing affected gravity; and we would lay any wager that alfred the great was a pleasant fellow; and even galileo, in spite of his imprisonment by the inquisition, for differing with the generally received notions relative to astronomy, was particulary facetious, and remarkable for his fondness of ariosto. by far the greater number of nervous and sentimental great names are to be found among bigots, bad livers, and dealers in blood shed-such as nero and caligula, philip the second, or frederick of prussia, whose spirits were in general dreadfully tormented thro'the night, yet could not leave off his hot suppers, or conform to a regular mode of living. on dreams. of dreams the theories have been as various as they are inconclusive: the credulous, the sanguine, and the melancholy, have each their different systems. many suppose that the future is shadowed out through the agency of dreams, and not a few apparently well attested instances are adduced to from the emerald isle. 145 prove such an interposition. those who are inclined to repose confidence in dreams should consider, however, that while the vision lasts the memory lies completely torpid, and the understanding is employed only about such objects as are then presented to the imagination, without any comparison of the present with the past. when we dream, we frequently hold converse with a friend who is either dead or absent, without remembering that the ocean or the grave are between us. nor are we shocked at the violations of the laws of nature which occur, nor experience surprise at the scene being so suddenly shifted before us. the moral sense appears to be totally perverted, since we not only reason, but act upon principles highly absurd and extravagant. it may also be observed, that dreams, at least such as leave any impression on the memory, belong rather to a diseased, than to a healthy state of mind and body, and that they are generally the accompaniment of grief or remorse ;-in the first case probably to soothe affliction by a change of images, and in the other to compel guilt into confession, by the constant recurrence of the same object. dreams may also sometimes operate to admonish us of incipient derangement of the faculties, particularly when they are vivid and distressing; for what is madness but a dream, full of disjointed fancies, and unconsequential reasoning. n p 146 a wreath u the stranger's pillow. smooth be the stranger's pillow spread, and soft the down beneath his head, and strew the scarlet blossom there, that steals from memory half her care; let no intruding step or sound disturb the midnight stillness round, nor banish from his slumbering eyes fancy's fair visions as they rise. haply by her sweet error swayed, his steps from home have never strayed; or once should troubled thoughts intrude, by slumber only half subdued, of forms and scenes left far behind, and farewell parting accents kind; perchance the tear thro' slumber's spell then on the stranger's pillow fell. "twas but a momentary pain,"tis past and all is well again; again the phantom scenes appear more sunny bright-more doubly dear; with shadowy forms, thro' endless ways, he converse holds, and careless strays, thro' vistas and o'er arching bowers,→ marks his paternal ancient towers.— from the emerald isle. 147 an hour, and all is faded-gone! and memory's mournful tear alone, while she the vision sweet recals, upon the stranger's pillow fallsremoter regions must divide, and separating waters wide, ere to the wandering stranger's eyes shall home's regretted mansions rise! smooth be the stranger's pillow spread, low be the voice and soft the tread; nor violate with gentlest sound the midnight stillness reigning round; thou hast no treasure to atone for those delusive moments gone. anecdote of napoleon bonaparte. an eminent artist who visited paris during the period in which napoleon bonaparte filled the office of first consul, among other places went to the room where the senate assembled. there was a chair of state at one end of it; and the person who shewed the room pointed to one of the arms of it, which was new. "do you see, monsieur," 148 a wreath said he, "that new arm ?"—" yes; but what is there remarkable in a new arm? i suppose it was broken by accident." "no, monsieur; the remarkable thing about that arm is, that it is renewed once in so many weeks."— for what, pray, sir ?"—" why, monsieur, when the first consul sits in that chair, he has a trick, while the senators are speaking or deliberating, of taking a penknife from off the table, and hacking the right arm of the chair with it until the surface is reduced to splinters. every now and then we renew it without saying any thing; and when the first consul has repeated his operation sufficiently, we make him another!" autumn. autumn, "the eventide of the year," brings with it the most salutary reflections—the winds arise, the leaves fall, and all nature sinks into decay. it is not the solitary tree-but the whole forest which must yield to the inevitable law prescribed by nature; and thus it is with the human race. every being we have ever known; the friend we loved, and the from the emerald isle. 149 1 enemy who persecuted and maligned us, must alike lose the foliage of their strength, and pass into the grave. before such a reflection, hatred, revenge, and malice, and all the tribe of scorpions which so frequently sting the human bosom, must cease to exist. the very atmosphere of such an idea is fatal to their being; and in their place, charity springs up to prompt forgiveness of injuries and an obliteration of every unkindness. the leaf of autumn gradually declines-nor does the winter's wind at once sweep it into oblivion— beautiful even in decay, it still clings to the branches, and seems to enjoy the last gleams of the sun, and the parting visit of the western breeze—at length it is disengaged, and even then it lingers, buoyant on its native element, and gracefully descends at last to its destined repose-a striking emblem of the decay of the good man, who quietly sinks into the grave, with a well-founded hope of a glorious resurrection. the winter is not to continue for ever-tho' the leaf of autumn perishes, the grave is the portal to a region where the happy spirit shall for ever flourish in renovated youth and perennial freshness. a wreath 150 to the new year. the mists of morning disappear, loud ring the merry bells and clear, the new-born year to hail; and with its sweet and solemn tone peals to the peaceful one that's gone, a long, a last farewell. with lingering gaze we view the scene, till rock and mountain intervene, where some loved friend may stray; and number all his virtues o'er, and sigh to think that never more may he retrace that way. so may we for a moment's space the year's past lovely seasons trace, and mourn departed hours with trophies crowned, and laurel leaves, and ruddy fruits, and golden sheaves, and evanescent flowers. thou infant year, ere thou art past, may all those clouds which overcast our lives, dissolve in peace; and ere the merry bell to you, peals forth a long, a last adieu, may all our joys increase. from the emerald isle. 151 the hermit of the lakes. it is to be presumed that few persons have visited and viewed the delightful scenery of killarney, -have climbed its mountains, or skirted its lakes, without having heard something of the extraordinary ascetic, who some years since took up his abode in the deserted and mouldering ruins of the abbey of mucruss, and who, for reasons known but to himself, became the companion of the lonely dead, relinquishing for ever the society of the living, save when compelled by the cravings of pinching hunger to ask an alms from some neighbouring peasant. having in early life visited those delightful scenes, whose varied beauties mock alike the boldest efforts of the pencil and the pen, while ranging along its 152 a wreath lakes, or climbing the mountain's ridge, i was accompanied by a youth, whom, although in the costume of the country, sans hat or shoes, i found to be extremely intelligent, and well informed in legendary lore, and who, as we sauntered along, by way of amusing me, recounted many a wonderful story of the doings of the good people, or fairies, who, he averred, were at one period the only inhabitants of which glena and mangerton* could boast. even now, he assured me, on many a clear moonlight night, troops of them were frequently seen cantering down from the mountains on horses not bigger than hares, or sailing on the lakes in vessels made of cockle-shells; while at other times they would join together in the sportive dance on the beautiful green sward with which mucruss and the surrounding islands were covered. the evening was fine; the last sunbeam still lingered on the eagle's nest; and in order to obtain a more extensive view of the delightful scenery around us, we had left the beaten path, and were endeavouring to gain the summit of glena mountain, by scrambling up its precipitous sides with the help of the tough roots and impending boughs which sprung from the crevices of the rocks; when on a sudden i observed my guide to start, as if affrighted; * very high mountains in the neighbourhood of killarney. from the emerald isle. 153 and hastily crossing himself, and pointing to a little shallop or boat, which had just issued from at cove that lay beneath us, and contained a being of most extraordinary appearance, he exclaimed, "the blessed vargin preserve us from harm, but i fear me there is some bad luck before us; for there's the hermit of the lakes, and whoever first sees him after his being at yonder mountain, which, yer honour, they calls the devil's punch bowl,* is sure to meet with some accident. he has been about no good, i'll warrant him; he goes yonder to converse with a little black man, who they say is the ould boy, though i would not like to wrong him, any how." scarcely had he uttered these words, when the root by which he was hanging gave way, and not being able to recover his hold, he was precipitated a considerable way down the mountainside, his progress being at length arrested by the branches of an aged oak, which hung midway in the descent to the bottom. however, not having received any serious injury, he soon regained his former position, exclaiming as he approached me, "and sure, isn't it i that ought to be thankful to the blessed virgin, that didn't let him do his worst on me; for, sure as she's in heaven, but for her merciful interposition, the best bone in my body the name of a mountain in the neighbourhood of killarney, in which there is an extinct volcano. 0 2 154 a wreath would have been broken. i knew well i should meet with some accident-st. mary grant the worst may be over." having by this time gained a position where i could with safety turn round and view the individual who had been the cause of such alarm and danger to my guide and companion; i could perceive that there was apparently some ground for the terror expressed. a cap of a conical form covered his head, while a long, black, bushy beard gave to a sharp, haggard, dark countenance an expression of savage gloominess, which even the distance could not obliterate. he was wrapped in a long loose garment, drawn tight at the middle by a belt, from which were suspended several articles, that my guide informed me were dead men's bones with which he was used to work his incantations, and practise his black art. "do you see that boat, sir ?" said the boy, "that boat was made without the help of human hands, yer honour; it is formed of the coffins of those whose souls are now doing penance; sorra a nail would ye find in it from beginnin' to end, nor was there ever a hammer raised over it-i seed it often with my own eyes, yer honour, and i can go bail for the truth of what i say; in fact, he is not sauncy, for he can both raise the dead, and make the ould boy appear in the likeness of a man." from the emerald isle. 155 "and where did he come from, or where does he now live?" i enquired." and sure, yer honour, nobody knows where he came from, or who he is, and it's i that knows very little about him that 's good, only that the neighbours says there is no fear of his being hanged for being a christhin; and if there was no harm in saying it [here he very devoutly crossed himself,] i believe myself that he's no very distant relation to the ould boy himself-though, yer honour, i would not for the best horse in yer stable, that he should hear me saying so." having, on further enquiry, learned that the much-dreaded individual had taken up his residence in the abbey of mucruss, which my guide informed me was 66 an illegant ould ruin that every body visited," and which had for many years been a favourite burying place, in the true spirit of juvenile knight-errantry, i resolved on exploring it the next morning, and if possible finding out some further particulars relative to the more than mortal who had taken up his abode within its walls. we had by this time wandered a considerable distance, and lost no time in regaining the pathway, in hopes to arrive at the inn (if it might be so called) which i had made my head-quarters, before the shades of night had completely surrounded us. as the evening advanced, fear appeared to lend additional 0 3 156 a wreath swiftness to the legs of my companion, with whom i was scarcely able to keep pace, and who every now and then looked behind him, as though he feared some one was pursuing us. it was late when we arrived, and the evening being somewhat cold, we found that several travellers, who were stopping at the same place, had assembled round a blazing fire of turf and bog-wood, and were, with some neighbouring cottiers beguiling an idle hour in listening to various spirit-stirring tales of terror with which the courteous landlord was endeavouring to entertain them. having taken my seat on a three-legged stool, and paddy m'kew, my guide, having also posted himself in the hob or chimney-corner, appeared on thorns until he got an opportunity to communicate the particulars of our adventure. it was quite à propos, and drew forth many a story 'learned and long' of the wonderful doings of the hermit of the lakes; nor did the miraculous escape of paddy pass unnoticed. "and sure, avourneen, it was you that was in good luck, that you belonged to the true church," observed an old grey-headed man, "the blessed lady is always good to her own; had you been a heretic, as sure as the hermit's a conjuror there would not have been a whole bone in your skin at this blessed moment." "arrah, hould yer long tongue, denis o'donfrom the emerald isle. 157 nel, with your politics about religion and the true church," said the landlord angrily; "if you don't like to be civil to the gentlefolks who have the kindness to stop at my house, and who have the goodnathur to come and sit down beside the likes of you and me, and to listen to our ould stories, why then you may take yourself and your small-talk off to your own cabin, denis o'donnel, and not be after doing me an injury." "and sure it's i that wouldn't be after offending any gintleman, no matter what profession he might be of; but if you think so much of a blaze of your peat, good night, and bad luck to you, paddy o'rourke; for its myself that thinks ye'd sell yer sowl and yer religion any time for a good customer. its you and the likes of you that brings disgrace on the holy catholic church, and may the curse of the church rest upon you and your's, paddy o'rourke." denis o'donnel having thus unceremoniously taken his leave; and our worthy host having made every apology to those who he conceived might have been offended by the plain speaking of the old man, the conversation relative to the hermit was again resumed. "and sure it's i that could tell yes a story relating to the auld carle that wad mak the hair o' yer head stand upright," said a bluff looking country fellow, whom, from his north158 a wreath ern accent, i deemed, i believe justly, a native of the sister kingdom" maister o'rourke himsel was the very ane on whom the auld lad played his pranks. one mr. o'mulligan was after getting in his harvest, and he proposed to give some of the boys wha helped him a bit o' a treat; and so he gathered some o' the neighbours together in the gude auld way, and he gied them plenty o' the native to wash it down wi'. so, d'ye see, when they were a' a wee thing hearty, so that they cared nae mair for seeing the auld boy than they wad for seeing ane o' their ain sels, weel,' says billy m'comisky, it is i that wish we had his reverence the auld hermit here, we would gar him play some o' his strange tricks, just to enliven us a bit; and as he's fond o' a drap o' the cratur,* why it's how i think he would have little objection.' and so it was, as it is aye said, 'spaek o' the deil, and he'll mak his appearance ;' wha should just come round the hill but his reverence-we spied him out o' the window where we sat. so out boults bill, and accosts him wi', 'i hope yer reverence is weel; may be yer reverence wad like to be after wetting yer reverence's whistle?' 'i thank ye, bill; but i'll take none the night.' however, after a good deal o' pressing, his reverence at length • the hermit of the lakes was latterly greatly addicted to drink. from the emerald isle. 159 consented; and so when he came, there he stood, like a statute, or a spectre, with his eyes fixed on the ground, neither saying aye nor no to ane or other o' the company; and having drank off a glass o' the native, was about to retire, when bill again accosted him, wi', 'may it please yer reverence's grace, as we are all a wee thing hearty, and up for a bit o' fun, we have been after thinking that maybe yer reverence would condescind to shew us some specimen of your great larning and your supernatheral powers-as we understand yer reverence is well acquainted wi' the black art.'so his reverence, wi' a great frown, replied, 'young man, ye know na what ye seek for-could ye stand to see the dead raised?' ay, deed, could i-or the deil himsel,' quoth bill. but i am nae gude at telling a story, genteels; and maybe you yoursel, maister o'rourke, wad hae the kindness just to tell the gentlefolks the story as it occurred, as sure you hae the best right to mind it, you wha were so near losing your life by the doings o' the auld carle." 6 "and sure, master magregor, it is you that could tell a story with a grace; but as you are so condescindin, why i will do my best to tell it to the company. so, d'ye see, genteels, as master magregor has just informed you, bill m'comisky was after asking his reverince to shew them some 160 a wreath • if · < of his tricks. so says his reverince to bill, you have a great desire, i will let you see some of your ould acquaintances.'-to be sure he spoke in far more larned and nater language than i can remimber. but,' says he, mind ye, my lads, if the ould boy runs away with one of you, while trying the experiment, you must not blame me for it, but your own curosity. deil a fear,' says bill. so to work they went; and the boys all commenced, and swept one end of the barn quite clean. and then, d'ye see, his reverince axed me could i get him a bible and a pair of candles; and so says i, it's i that could get you as many candles as there are days in the week, if ye wanted them; but i think it is as how there is not a bible or a testament in the parish, save and except what is to be found in the protestant church-since the time father pat laid his conjunctions upon the people not to let them inside their cabins; for, d'ye see he tould us they were not saunsy, that neither luck nor grace would attend people while they did so.' but after bethinking myself a bit, thinks i, and maybe master fitzhenry, the minister's nephee, would slip us the lend of one for a bit. so off i cuts, yer honours; and faith maybe it was i that wasn't long bringing it to the boys, who by the time i came back had two mowld candles nately sated upon a table, which they had placed right in • from the emerald isle. 161 6 · 6 the middle of the barn, d'ye see, and all round about which the ould boy (that's the ould hermit i mane) had drawn a ring or circle with a piece of chalk. but i should hae tould you they had also a chair placed beside the table, inside the ring, mind ye; and so taking the bible from me, he opened it at a sartain varse, and layin' it on the table, he asked bill if he could read? by the powers, i never spelt a letter in my life,' said bill. och, then you won't do,' said his reverince; is there any one here that can read ?' so says i, here am i, your reverince; and i could read i may say since the day i was born:' for yer honours must know, although i am only a poor man now, i'm come of a good sort, d'ye see-there's some of the thick blood of the country in my veins after all; and although 1 say it myself, that oughtn't to say it, i got the best larning of any boy within ten miles of my father's house, d'ye see. but as i was after telling ye, when i told him i could both read and write, his reverince axes me, young man,' says he-for i was young then, yer honours'young man,' says he-at the same time looking at me with both his eyes, as though he would have pierced them through my very heart-" d'ye think you could stan' to hould a conversation with an ould friend of your's, who has been dead awhile, if i were to bring him to life again?' and i'm the 6 162 a wreath c boy that could,' says i; for at that time i was neither afeard of ghost or hobgoblin, and besides that, i had taken a hearty sup of the cratur, d'ye see: so down he sets me on the chair, and he gives me a couple of verses to read; and he says to me, 'now paddy o'rourke, i know you are not a bad sort of a boy, and i would not wish that any accident should happen to ye; but as you value your life and sowl, do not on any account come outside of that ring that i have chalked on the floor. never fear me,' says i-although i am bowld to confess i did feel a little twitter of terror come across my mind, just at the moment they all began to leave me alone, with the bible and the two mowld candles; but out they went, and sure enough, as soon as they got out, what does his reverence do but very carefully locks the door on the outsidepart of the ceremony i did not much like, d'ye see; but may be it was as how he did not wish to let his black majesty run away with me body and bones; but there i was left; and sure enough i continued reading mighty attentively, when all of a sudden i hears three great knocks upon the barn door, and just liftin' up my eyes a bit, what d'ye think does i see, but the figure upon the wall of a man that i knew right well, who was one of the greatest ould devils about the whole country, and who would have been just three months dead, had he lived -a from the emerald isle. 163 till the friday following. the sight of the ould boy himself, with his club foot, could not have frightened me more; and had i been the owner of the squire's great grand estate, which to be sure i may say was mine by right, for it formerly belonged to my great grand-uncle; but never mind that now, times may change again, when things will all go to their right owners-as i was saying, if i had been the owner of it at the time, i would willingly have given it to have been at the right side of the door; for i was sure and sartain that he would never let me out a livin' man, for having disturbed him from his quiet grave;-but what was i to do? his reverince had laid his biddin' upon me not to stir outside the ring-and besides i had heard him lockin' me in; so i continued with my eyes fixed upon the bible, though sorra a word could i see of what was before me, and strange it was, i never once thought of axing help of our blessed lady; but just as i was thinking about what i had best be after doin', what should i hear but three other great loud knocks, and again lookin' up-och, genteels, the blood runs could in my ould veins as i think of it-i sees the ould lad as large as life, standing with his back against the wall, dressed in his winding sheet, and his brogues on his feet,* and * formerly it was, and is still, the custom among the roman p 164 a wreath his teeth grinning, and shaking his fist as though he would tear me to pieces. so it was i that didn't know what to do any how-my very knees knocked together with downright terror-when behould you, all of a sudden i hears other three great knocks! and over bounces ould trevor to the very edge of the ring! exclaiming, 'i'm trevor, come to tear you!" what followed i know not; all i recollect is, that in a kind of phrenzy i whipped up one of the candlesticks, and after throwin' it at him, i suppose i fainted and fell, as they tould me afterwards they heard a great clatter, and on commin' in, found me lying on the floor, as dead as a door nail; and many a time since have i thanked the blessed vargin that i had the good luck to fall inside the ring, for had but the black of my nail been on the outside, i would not have been now here to tell the tale. so my story is finished, genteels; and all that i say is, that i would not undergo the same again for twice as much goold as the whole wide world is worth." as a kind of finale to the story, magregor had just mentioned that he could vouch for the truth of all mr. o'rourke had said—and was telling us how after they had left him inside the barn, the old hermit commenced his incantations by walking round catholics in many parts of the country to bury deceased relations, with a pair of strong shoes or brogues fastened on their feet. from the emerald isle. 165 the barn three times, at the end of which he gaveth e three knocks, at the same time muttering some gibberish to himself, that they could not understand— when, in a moment, without any apparent cause, we were all thrown into the most dreadful confusion and dismay, by a tremendous explosion, which seemed to shake the house about us to its very foundation. the large fire around which we were seated was hurled about the floor in a thousand directions, the lights were extinguished, the women and children in the other end of the house uttered a dreadful scream, and several of the company, among whom were the landlord and the scotchman, were stretched sprawling on the floor. an instant invocation for the blessing of the virgin was simultaneously poured forth; and by the light of some pieces of wood which still remained blazing, i perceived two or three on their knees, busily engaged in their devotions, and crossing themselves with great fervor. the consternation having a little subsided, and the fire having been again gathered into its place, one and another once more ventured to look about them and to speak; some imagined they had been making too free with the character of the old hermit, and that he or his familiar had thus hoped to be revenged; while others whis* • there are no grates in many of the houses in the country; large piles of turf and wood are heaped on the ground. 166 a wreath pered it was the curse of denis o'donnel that had taken effect, and that mr. o'rourke had got a decent warning not to be so inhospitable to a true member of the catholic church at another time. leaving the matter to be adjusted among themselves, i was quietly slipping off to my bed, not well knowing what to think of the matter, when one of the company, a young gentleman who was stopping at the place, beckoned me to follow him to his room, where, in the greatest glee, he informed me the explosion was altogether a contrivance of histhat it had been caused by a small quantity of gunpowder, which he had put into a turf that had been previously bored for the occasion; that he and his companion had purposely introduced the stories relative to ghosts and hobgoblins, in order to give greater effect to the contrivance which he had formed to frighten the simple ones. while i could not but condemn in my own mind the impropriety of a measure which might have been productive of serious consequences, i confess i heartily enjoyed the joke, and could not but give the young traveller considerable credit for having so successfully attained his object; for never did i see a company on any other occasion so completely panic-struck as they appeared to be-and i certainly was enabled by the ecclaircissement to retire to rest in a much more pleasant mood than i otherwise should have from the emerald isle. 167 done; for the whole affair had previously been a mystery to me, and no doubt appeared rather unaccountable. having recommended myself to the protection of him who neither slumbers nor sleeps,' i lay down, fully resolved not to believe in ghosts or hobgoblins, or to credit any of the marvellous stories which had been related, until i had at least further confirmation of their reality; but at the same time equally determined to visit mucruss abbey with the rising sun, and if possible to find out who or what the individual was who had taken up his abode within the confines of its dreary ruins. i was as good as my purpose; for just as the grey dawn of twilight had streaked the eastern skies, i was on my road towards mucruss, and ere the sun had topped the opposing mountain, i had gained a view of the spire of the abbey, as it peeped from amidst a grove of tall and stately trees, by which it was surrounded on every side. even now i well remember i could not but frequently pause to contemplate the grandeur and loveliness of the scenery around me. chased by the rising sunbeams, the mists of the morning appeared fast flitting away, as if anxious again to mingle in the waters of their great parent, the atlantic. before me lay the lovely lake, richly embroidered with innumerable islands, and reflecting from its azure surp 3 168 a wreath face the beautifully-diversified scenery around-the waving forest, and the more sombre-shaded mountain from whose stupendous sides the stunted oak or the aged holly, festooned with ivy, sprung spontaneous. my path lay alongside and partly through a wood, and the scenery which frequently burst upon my view was really enchanting;-at one moment the cerulean heaven, which had been for a time obscured, appeared through some opening vista, as reflected in the broad expanse of water which lay beneath me; while at the next step my eye rested on richly planted lawns, or was borne along the hanging woods which boldly swept along the mountain's side. wrought by the stillness and solemnity of the scene into a kind of sublime contemplation, and almost forgetting the object of my excursion, i had strolled along to within a very short distance of the abbey. it was at that time a fine old ruin--a picturesque emblem of greatness in decay-situated on an eminence rising over the lake, and completely surrounded by trees of various growth and species. a pointed door-way, ornamented with various mouldings, shewed the entrance to the interior; while innumerable relics of mortality, piled in fantastic groupes on either side the aisle, assured me of the truth of what i had been told by my guide on the preceding day, that it was the from the emerald isle. 169 aomum ultimum (until the resurrection) of many who had at one time given life and animation to the scenery around. as i advanced into the interior of the choir, a feeling of peculiar solemnity appeared to steal over my soul: i experienced a kind of involuntary shudder. the place was gloomy and awful; and the idea that the only being it contained was one whose mysterious character rendered him rather an object of dread than otherwise, created an apprehension in my mind that all my efforts to the contrary could not suppress. i could almost have wished myself exhumed, and once more among those who lived and breathed. nor were my apprehensions allayed on proceeding towards the cloister, a dismal area of considerable extent, in the midst of which spread an immense yew, whose stem appeared to be thirty or forty feet in height, and the branches of which formed a canopy so complete, as to render the place gloomy to a degree; the light being scarcely sufficient to point out the mouldering tombstones which lay beneath its shade. scarcely knowing whither i went, i still proceeded forward; when, on turning the angle of a corridor, which, from the information i had received from my guide, i conjectured might lead to the chamber in which the hermit had taken up his abode, i observed at the farther end a dim sepulchral light, which seemed as though it proceeded from an ex170 a wreath piring lamp or taper. with a palpitating heart i advanced towards it, when in an instant a sudden flash seemed to pass me by, and i was left in almost total darkness. i hastily turned, and was endeavouring to retrace my steps with that expedition which is prompted by fear, when i heard the sound of footsteps quickly following me; but unfortunately in my hurry to regain the cloister, having kept too much to the one side of the aisle, my foot was tripped by some relic of mortality, and ere i could recover myself, i fell violently forward, and tumbling over a coffin, which, from having been partially decayed, burst beneath my weight, in an instant i found myself as if in the strict embrace of a lifeless body. whether from the effect of the fright or the fall i cannot say, but one thing is certain, i was so stunned that i lay for a moment motionless as the corpse beside me, and was only roused from my stupor by feeling myself rudely raised from my position by a gaunt and grisly hand, which i could at the moment scarcely think human, so fierce was the grasp with which i was seized, but which, on approaching the cloister, i perceived to be that of the very person i had seen the evening before in the boat-who, fixing his eyes upon me with a fiend-like scowl, enquired, in a voice which thrilled through every nerve in my body, what had brought me thither?-and ere i could reply, seizing me by the shoulder, and from the emerald isle. 171 shaking me violently, he exclaimed in terrific accents, "presumptuous wretch, begone! and know that thou hast done to me an irreparable injury. the spell is broken-i am undone." then striking his hand violently on his forehead, as if in agony, "oh, eternity, eternity! am i now to realize thy horrors?-fearful foreboding! sad reality! lost-lost-lost!" here clenching his hands in evident distraction, he remained a moment silent, as if lost in thought; and so petrified was 1, that i really felt unable to move from the spot on which 1 stood. apparently subdued in feeling, he again addressed me in a much milder mood: " young man, i forgive your rashness. by your coming here this morning you have fulfilled an augury— you have sealed my doom: but beware! behold in me the effects of unbounded curiosity, of scepticism and impiety! god is just-and i deserve my doom; i myself made the bargain-i bartered my soul but i will not recal past thoughts-my days are numbered-the future only remains. for me." then again, as if in the most dreadful despair, he exclaimed, "lost-lost-lost!" as he pronounced these words, whether it was reality or the conjuration of fancy, from the state in which my mind was at the moment, i cannot tell-but i thought i perceived something again flit by me, as if in a flash of fire, and i imagined i heard the word "away, away!" distinctly repeated. at 172 a wreath that moment the hermit hurried towards the entrance of the abbey: i followed as fast as my trembling limbs would carry me, and having gained the door, i saw him gliding rapidly along towards the lake, where he leaped into a boat-in which sat a little black man. in a momont they had gained the middle of the lake-the next they were lost to my view for ever. deeply musing on the extraordinary occurrences i had witnessed, and scarcely believing their reality, though evidenced by so many of my senses, i returned to the inn; and but for an injury which i had sustained from the fall i got, could almost have persuaded myself, that the entire was a vision of my brain. this much, however, i certainly ascertained, that the hermit had at one time been a priest; that he had lived many years in italy; had been a man of very depraved and dissolute character, and it was supposed had retired to the deserted abbey, in hopes, by a severe penance, to make amends for former transgressions. i have since learned it was never known by those in the neighbourhood what had become of him; nor was his boat ever afterwards seen on the lake. finis. en my ain ards sat ined st to nces eali. es, i ch i have of sceren a had rac sert make since eigh s his this book should be returned to the library on or before the last date stamped below. a fine of five cents a day is incurred by retaining it beyond the specified time. please return promptly. 20412.9.8 essays, and sketches of irish life widener library 003074501 3 2044 086 803 988 35 al oacの ​widener library hx dmqd the story of jack. al 2469.1.178 sveri tas barvard college library from perry harold e. pe the house that jack built. o the story of jack the the hermit of the white mountains by james e. mitchell 1891 al2469. 1.178 harvard college library copyright, 1891, by james e. mitchell. blair printing co., 73 federal st., boston. the story of jack. ood morning, captain, you are here, i see; well, take a seat till i just think a bit. i was foolish yesterday to agree to tell my yarn,—i seldom speak of it,— for forty year i've tried hard to forget, but some things burn into a fellow's brain, and even now, in moments of regret, i seem to live my whole life o'er again. but seeing you are no newspaper man, and won't go printing what i have to say, i'll spin my yarn as truly as i can, i said i would when you called yesterday. you see me here, a hermit old and gray and bearing hard on three-score years and ten, like others you have wondered, i daresay, what brought me here, away from haunts of men. aye, sir! these summer days when travelers come and laugh and joke here in my humble ship, and ask me why i made this place my home, 'tis but the dregs, another bitter sip,beg pardon, though, i'm steering wild, i guess, so now i'll start upon the other tack; i may sheer off a few points more or less, but save your patience and i'll steer right back. ――― my parents died when i was twelve years old, in london i was left without a friend, my whole possessions were one pound in gold and hopes that fate would something better send. i scorned the institutions that were free, and feared that i might yet be sent to school; my whole ambition was to go to sea, i went, — and there is where i played the fool. barefooted, with my bundle i would trot for days and days around the london docks; do you want a boy, sir?" and all i got for answer was hard words and harder knocks. at last one day when hope was almost dead, and tired and homesick i sat down to cry, a little girl came toddling up, and said: "don't cry, poor boy, you 's lost and so is i." 66 and so she was, the bonny little dear; her eyes were blue, her hair like shining gold. she'd "come to look for daddy's ship down here,' her name was mary, and just five years old, that's all she knew, — i thought her heart would break, she cried for mamma, and was hungry, too ; i changed my last sixpence and bought a cake, and soothed and petted the best i could do. so hand in hand we wandered up the street, she ate her cake and i forgot my care; i the day was hot, the pavement scorched my feet, guess we looked a sad and homesick pair. at every corner we would make a stop; at last an omnibus came rattling by, two jolly sailors perched upon the top, my little mate jumped up and gave a cry: "" "oh, there's my daddy; daddy, here is me! she started off and like a deer she ran ; the men were talking and they did not see, but i thought quick and soon i formed my plan; i caught the baby, pushed her through a door and cautioned her to stay and not to stir, then ran as i had never ran before, to catch and bring her daddy back to her. "" i caught the 'bus and climbed up, nothing loath, and blurted out, "your little girl is gone." i said this, looking squarely at them both, you see i did not know which was the one, i soon found out, for one turned deathly pale; "avast, my lad," he cried, "what's that you said? i knew my man and quickly told my tale, then off we ran to find the little maid. but, captain, you are getting tired, i know, 'taint interesting to you, i can see; but though it happened fifty years ago, it seems but like the other day to me. but let us have a drop of home-made beer, 't wont hurt you, sir, perhaps 't will do you good, it's made of hops and roots that grow round here, and mighty good to help digest your food. there, now i've wet my whistle, i'll go on, just help yourself, i'll get more by and by ; you see when all the talking's done by one, he's very apt to get a little dry. let's see, where was i? yes, we found our prize, and how they kissed and hugged and kissed again, i could n't help the tears that filled my eyes; you see i felt a sort o' lonesome then. then little mary told how i had cried, because," said she, "he lost his daddy, too." 66 and then i told my yarn and how i tried to go to sea, or get some work to do; 'keep up your courage, little chap," said he, "bill simmonds aint the man to shirk a mate, "just hoist your dullage, lad, and come with me, 44 my wife and i can maybe put you straight." 66 i need not tell you, sir, how well i fared, how i was petted by his pretty wife, the very best they had with me they shared ; these were the sweetest days of all my life, but joys and sorrows, too, must have an end, for bill must soon be pushing off to sea, and then to prove how much he was my friend, on board his ship he got a birth for me. i was to go on board as cabin boy, i felt so proud i could not stay ashore, and bill's folks rigged me out, and in their joy they called me "admiral" and "commodore." and then the parting came, with tear and sigh, for sailor folks, you see, have many cares; to hear bill say, "god bless you, lass, good-by," had more effect than forty parsons' prayers. and so we sailed away to foreign lands, a jolly crew, though some were rather rude, but i soon made good friends with all the hands, and made myself as useful as i could. to tell our ups and downs there is no need, i sailed with bill in different ships eight years, his home was mine and we were friends indeed, came home with joy and left again with tears. by this time i had grown to man's estate, with a. b. ·able seaman to my name, and little mary, too, had grown of late,the sweetest flower that e'er from heaven came. we had been home a month, or maybe more, it's strange how quick a pleasant time will slip, but then it did not pay to stay on shore, so we began to look out for a ship. it was not many days before we found as good a ship as ever went to sea, the "nelson," for the indian ocean bound, the dues were good and suited bill and me, but something seemed to say, "this ain't right, jack," and little mary and her mother, too, seemed anxious like, and tried to keep us back, but then we laughed it off and joined the crew. i've often wondered how it would have been if bill and i had listened to his wife, but maybe he who rules has long foreseen the changes wrought in every creature's life. well, sir, we parted, and it seemed to me our parting was more sad than usual then, for sailor folks are used to this, you see, and try to think of coming home again. but all went well, and we got round the cape well up past madagascar t'ward ceylon, we bowled along in jolly good ship shape, all glad to think how well the voyage had gone. but all at once, one sunday afternoon, all hands were called to reef and take in sail, 'twas quickly done, but not a wink too soon, then off we ran before the sudden gale. and so we ran for hours, the gale increased, the heavens seemed to drop down in the sea ; the lightning flashed, the thunder never ceased, the very imps of hades seemed all set free. "hard, hard a-port!" a voice rang through the air, for god's sake hard a-port! land straight ahead!" too late she won't come round, and in despair 66 we struck before a single prayer was said. ――――――― what followed after that, i never knew, for something sent me sprawling in the sea; when i came round, the sky was clear and blue, and bill stood high and dry on shore by me. thirteen were saved of all our gallant crew, and fifteen bodies that were washed ashore was all we ever saw of forty-two as gallant chaps as ever pulled an oar. ah! sir, i've very often wondered why we few should have been spared to reach the land, to starve for many weary months, then die. but who dare criticise what god has planned? those who were able started to explore, but soon returned, they had not far to go, an island scarce a mile from shore to shore was their report. but they found water, though. and so we made the best of what we had. a cask of bread was washed up on the beach, 'twas water-soaked, but still it was not bad. we passed it round, an equal share to each, some mussels, crabs and limpets too we found; on these we lived for many weary weeks, our eyes bloodshot and bleared by gazing round, and direful hunger blanched our hollow cheeks.. ! 1 i disease and death came in amongst us then; we knew we could not save, what need to try, what could we do, poor naked, starving men, but wet their lips, or pray and let them die. and so our number dwindled down to four and then the rainy season came along, our sickness left us pale and weak and sore, but still our courage and our hope was strong. and when the tide was low, twice every day, we travelled round that god-forsaken shore, and all we found to eat was stowed away and carried in to share among the four. for nineteen weary months we lived like this, but what we found to eat is hard to say; a snail or snake, for nothing came amiss, we ate whatever came across our way. 66 66 then bill began to pine, and pale and fret, we all could see that he was doomed to die. at last, one night, i never shall forget, he called me to his side to say "good-bye." "i'm going lad," he said; " my time is short, "i've tried to stick it out as well's i could, don't worry, jack, i 'm steering for that port where sailors rest and honest dues are good. your hand, my lad, just one more honest shake, "for something tells me you will yet be free; you'll see to wife and mary for my sake, and tell them lad, just how it was with me. "i wish i might have seen them both once more, but 't aint no use. if all is true i 've read we'll meet again upon that golden shore. good-bye, my lad." and honest bill was dead. (6 64 66 66 66 66 the best and truest friend i ever had. we buried him next day down by the sea, no wonder that the mourners looked so sad, for now our number was reduced to three. upon his grave i put a pile of stones and made a little cross to mark the spot, but few could tell to-day among those bones which was the bravest man among the lot. then shortly after this, a week or so, a storm came up, a reg'lar hurricane; it seemed to shake our island to and fro, but in the morning all was calm again. but what is that we see? a sail, a sail! here comes a boat, our signal has been seen. we screamed and laughed, our faces deathly pale, our joy was worse to bear than grief had been. we left our barren island with a will; god knows, indeed, we were not loath to go. i ran and kissed the stones that covered bill, perhaps 't was foolish, but i loved him so. and so we sailed away to better fare ; the crew were just as kind as kind could be, god bless them all — americans they were, a finer crew, sir, never went to sea. the captain ordered how we should be fed, and cautioned us to use the greatest care; but men are foolish, and soon one was dead, he could not stand the over-bounteous fare. so only two were landed at the cape; we found a home-bound ship about to sail, but my poor chum from death could not escape, and i alone was left to tell the tale. arrived in london, i without delay must make report of what befell the ship. the owners used me well and gave me pay for all my time instead of for the trip. and now with beating heart i must repair to find bill's folks, the folks i loved so well; i found the house, but they had gone from there and where they were the neighbors could not tell. i'm getting dry again excuse me though your health, sir. there, i feel a better man. yes, thinking of it sometimes gives me pain; but now i'll wind up just as soon's i can. no need to tell you, sir, how days and days i tramped through london streets and searched in vain. how sometimes hope would lend her shining rays and disappointment blot them out again. ―――――――― once at a corner, somewhere near the strand, i bought an apple while i stopped to rest ; a kindly-faced old woman kept the stand, and while we talked i told her of my quest. 66 why bless you, sir, i knew them well," she said. their man was lost at sea two years ago; "miss simmonds, la! excuse me, though, she's dead, "the workhouse took the little girl, you know." 66 how could i know? but that was just her way miss simmonds too i knew she meant bill's wife, i made her name the workhouse, said "good day," then ran as if it were to save my life. i found the place, my little darling too, but cannot tell you sir, just how me met; i'll skip that part, if all the same to you, don't smile, 'taint often that my eyes are wet. ――――――― a half a dozen papers, maybe more, we had to sign before we got away ; i scarcely breathed 'till we got through the door, and should have died if i had had to stay. i boarded with a kindly-hearted dame who knew my story, and to her we went. she made us kindly welcome when we came, and then we talked till half the night was spent. i told her all as simply as i could, how bill had died and all that he had said, how we had starved with neither cloths nor food, 'till one by one my comrades all were dead. and then she told, while tears ran down her cheeks, how she and mother had been sore distressed, how they had fought with povery for weeks, 'till sickness came, and mother went to rest. we changed the subject then, and plans were made how she would go to school, and i to sea, just for a year or two," she blushing said, i understood and did not urge my plea. so that was settled and we kissed good-night, 66 i felt well paid for all i had gone through; hope for the future now looked clear and bright, the storm was passed, the sky was clear and blue. next day we went to work, no time to lose, we found a school and paid a twelve-months' board, that settled mary, then i took a cruise among the shipping, and a berth secured. again we parted, but our hopes were high, my little mary cried "god bless you jack; i gently whispered, as we kissed good-bye, "i'll bring your wedding dress when i come back." 99 to tell you of our voyage would take too long; we reached calcutta, then we left the bay, passed through the straits, then up towards hong kong, and thus a twelve month quickly passed away. i sent a letter home from every port, and sent a draft for school and other things, and bought nick-nacks of every kind and sort — necklaces, laces, feathers, fans and rings. i stowed them all away from prying eyes, and when alone i'd laugh and toss my cap, and picture to myself her glad surprise when i would toss them all into her lap. our homeward trip was quick, the wind was fair, and soon our ship arrived in liverpool; i thought, if mary knew she would be there, but then, how could she know there at the school. and now the train for london i must take, no stopping off for me for sailors fun, but every little stop the train would make it seemed as if i must get out and run. they say "the longest story has an end," so i arrived and jumped into a fly, gave the address with half a crown to spend, i knew the "tip" would make the driver spry. we landed, stopped, and up the steps i flew; my manners may be were not very good, i never stopped to knock, but rushed right through 'till in amongst a lot of girls i stood. they must have thought me drunk, and well they might : i scanned their pretty faces one by one, but in that moment, sir, their came a blight that crushed my heart and ruined every plan. she was not there, but still somehow i stood, no need to tell my name, they seemed to know ; at last one said, as gently as she could: "miss simmonds died, sir, just a month ago." i could not speak, my lips and throat were dry, but dazed like, tried in vain to reach the door, my heart stood still, i gave one mournful cry, then reeled and fell unconscious on the floor. 'twas many days and weeks before i knew, nor did i care, how near to death i came, in spite of this the doctor pulled me through ; ah, well! i did not thank them just the same. and now i ought to end my story here, it's disconnected like, from then till now, i sort o' lost my reck'ning for a year, i lived, of course, but could not tell you how. and then i joined the navy, for i thought, perhaps, kind death will overtake me there, but though in many skirmishes i fought, it pleased the lord my humble life to spare. in africa i've fought to free the slave, and fearful sights among them i have seen; with inglefield, among the frozen waves in search of franklin's frozen crew, i've been. and after this, the crimean war came on, i fought through that on land and on the sea; though thousands fell and died where i had gone, death did not seem to hanker after me. and then there came a call for volunteers, and i among the first, was glad to go to india to fight the mutineers, and all i got was but a scratch or so. so i might say, "i've been in many wars, in many bloody fights i've taken part; and though at times "i show my cuts and scars," the deepest scar of all is in my heart. for many years i travelled land and sea, i did not seem to care much where i went ; the north or south was all the same to me, always on hand to go where i was sent. the chest that held the presents that i bought i locked and took it to a bonded store; it's there to-day, i could not bear the thought of opening it to look on them once more. i left old england then for good and all, and do not think i ever shall go back; i've waited long for death to sound my call, but still i'm here. your humble servant, jack. 157 ch hist guthlae christo academiae harvardian wattidis tas ony eccle of the $149 nov library divinity school. from the library of rev. henry wilder foote of boston. received 26 march, 1891. i ms. q m duright 万 ​nov. 5. 12. the anglo-saxon version of the life of st. guthlac, hermit of crowland. ^ originally written in latin, by felix (commonly called) of crowland. cir.749? now first printed from a ms. in the cottonian library. by with a translation and notes, charles wycliffe goodwin, m.a. fellow of catharine hall, cambridge. london: john russell smith, 4, old compton street, soho square. mdcccxlviii. 26 march, 139.. from the library of rev. h, w. foote, c. and j. adlard, printers, bartholomew close. preface. the life of st. guthlac, hermit of crowland, was originally written in latin by one felix, of whom nothing is with certainty known, further than what appears upon the face of his work.* from its being dedicated to alfwold, king of the eastangles, it may be conjectured that the author was an inmate of some monastery within the realm of east-anglia; and he cannot have written later than a. d. 749,-the year of alfwold's death. though not personally acquainted with guthlac, felix drew his materials from persons who had known and conversed with the saint, and notwithstanding the * the latin life is printed both in the bollandine and benedictine acta sanctorum, under the 11th of april. felix is usually called a monk of crowland. in one ms. he is termed in the prologue, catholicæ congregationis sancti bedan vernaculus, from which the benedictine editor infers that he was a monk of jarrow. but this reading is unsupported by other mss., and no dependence can be placed upon it. iv preface. marvellous colouring given to the incidents related, the memoir may be regarded as, upon the whole, authentic, and as a curious picture of the belief and habits of the age. upon the work of felix is founded the poetical legend of st. guthlac, contained in that singular collection of anglo-saxon poetry the codex exoniensis. less important, but not without its value to the student of our ancient literature, is the prose version in the same language, now for the first time given to the public. when and by whom this translation was made is unknown; the style is not that of elfric, to whom it has been groundlessly ascribed. the florid rhetoric of felix is much pruned and cropped, but without the omission of any material incidents; the writer often paraphrases rather than translates, and in truth sometimes quite mistakes the sense of the original. only one ms. of this version is known to exist, preserved in the cottonian collection, in the volume marked vespasian d. xxi. but amongst the contents of the ms. known as the codex vercellensis is an extract comprising two chapters of the life of guthlac. for a transcript of this most interesting preface. v fragment i am indebted to the kindness of mr. benjamin thorpe. it is curious, as presenting a text very different from the cottonian copy; indeed it has almost the appearance of being part of an independent translation, though i believe this is not really the case. i have given all the variations of importance in the notes at the end of the volume. the cottonian ms. is written in a very fair, neat hand, and, according to wanley, is the work of the scribe who wrote the bodleian heptateuch, which latter he assigns to a date shortly after the conquest. i have followed carefully the variable spelling and capricious use of the accent, which are as characteristic of writings of the anglo-saxon period as punctilious uniformity in orthography is of our own. i have made here and there such alterations as the received rules of accidence or syntax seemed to require, and the reading of the ms. will always be found in the margin, so that the reader may judge for himself. the original latin has suggested an emendation occasionally where the text was evidently corrupt, and the vercelli fragment supplies a few valuable readings. in accordance with the prevailing fashion of b vi preface. editing anglo-saxon books, a translation is supplied, in which literality is chiefly aimed at. it may serve, however, to make the contents of the book accessible to others besides students of anglo-saxon; and at the present day, when there seems a growing disposition to read history at first hand, some persons may be curious to study the portraiture of a saxon hermit drawn by a cotemporary. london: nov. 1st, 1847. corrigenda. c. w. g. p. 13, 1. 8. for reward read crown. p. 48, title to chap. ix. for began read begiten. p. 96, 1. 13. the ms. has mægða, but correct mægðe. the life of st. guthlac. 1 incipit prologus de vita sci. guthlaci. urum rum wealdende riht-gelyfendum a worulda woruld, minum þam leofestan hlaforde ofer ealle oðre men eordlice kyningas:-alfwold eastengla kyning, mid rihte and mid gerisenum rice healdend:-felix pone rihtan geleafan gesette eallum geleafullum godes folcum and ecere gesundfulnysse hælo and gretincge gesende.¹ pinum wordum and bebodum ic hyrsumode; da boc ic gesette pe pu ahtest, be life pære² arwurðan gemynde guðhlaces hluttrum wordum and tacnum. ic forpan halsige and bidde pone gelæredan and pþone geleaffullan, gif he her hwyle hleahterlic word onfinde, pæt he þæt us ne wíte; ac gemune and gepence ælc para tælendra and hleahterfulra, þæt³ on [wordum] godes rice ne wunað ac on ánwylnysse pas halgan geleafan; and pa hælo middaneardes gemune¹ and gepence na fram idelum pancum gepoht, ac fram fiscerum gebodod and gesæd. ac gif hwylc ¹ ms. gesend. ms. pa on godes rice ne wuniað. 2 ms. þæs. 4 ms. ac gemune. prologue. to the truly-believing in our lord, for ever and ever, to my dearest lord above all other men, earthly kings:-alfwold, king of the east-angles, rightly and worthily holding the kingdom:-i, felix, have set forth the true belief, and the blessing of eternal salvation for all god's faithful people, and send greeting. thy words and commands i have obeyed; the book which thou bespakest i have composed, concerning the life of guthlac, of venerable memory, with clear words and testimonies. i therefore beg and beseech the learned and the faithful, if he here find any ridiculous phrase, that he blame us not therefore. but let each of these censorious and derisive persons reflect and consider that god's kingdom standeth not in [eloquence] but in steadfastness of the holy faith; and reflect and consider that the salvation of earth was not devised with light thoughts, but was preached and declared by fishermen. and if any man censure our attempt 4 prologue. 6 man ure angin and weorc tale (swa ic menige wat on angel-cynne mid þam fægerum stafum gegylde, fægere¹ and glæwlice gesette, þæt hig þas boc sylfe² settan mihton), ne wíte he ponne us swa [we]³ neode and hæse gehyrsumodon* and word gefyldon. forpan lá þu leornere gif þu mid pan peawe tælendra me hleahtrige, warna þe sylfne þær þu þe hleahtres wene, þæt þu þær semninga ne wurde mid dymnysse bystro ablend. þæt bið blindra þeaw ponne hi5 on leohte beoð, þæt hig sylfe nyton buton hi on peostrum dwelion. on halgum gewrihtum bið oft unwisdom [blindnes] geciged, forpon se fruma ealles yfeles ærest ponan cymð. for þisum þingum þonne pu leornere ic pe manige þæt þu þa fremdan ne tæle, þelæs þu fram oprum eft swá fremde getæled sig. ac pylæs ic lenge pone panc hefige para leornendra mid gesegenum þara fremdra tælnysse, swa swa ic7 strange sæé and mycele oferlide, and nu becume to pære smyltestan hyde, guðlaces lifes. forþon þu abade æt me þæt ic pe write and sæde be pære drohtnunge guðlaces and his lifes bysene, ic pe forpon hyrsumode and ic forþon write swa me þa dihteras sædon pe his lif geornost cuðon; ærost hwylc were se fruma oppe on hwylcum ende he hit eft gelædde. for pisum þingum ic pas boc sette; þæt pa pe his lif þæs eadigan weres cuðon, þæt him ponne þig 8 ¹ ms. fæger. 5 ms. he. 2 ms. sylf. 3 [we] not in ms. [blindnes] not in ms. 4 ms. gehyrsum. 7 ms. seo. 8 ms. bec. prologue. 5 and work (as i know many in england who might have written this book themselves, gilded with fair letters, fairly and cleverly composed), let him not blame us who have but obeyed compulsion and command, and fulfilled an order. therefore, o! learner, if thou deridest me after the manner of censurers, take heed to thyself, lest whilst thou thinkest of laughter, thou become suddenly blinded by the obscurity of darkness. it is the manner of blind men when they are in the light, that they know not but that they wander in the dark. in the holy scriptures folly is often called [blindness], because from thence comes the beginning of all evil. for this cause i admonish thee, o! learner, that thou censure not strangers, lest thou be afterwards as a stranger censured by others. but lest i longer weary the mind of learners by talking of the censure of strangers, i sail as it were over a strong and mighty sea, and now come to that most quiet haven, the life of guthlac. as thou didst require of me that i should write and relate concerning the conversation of guthlac and the example of his life, i have accordingly obeyed thee, and i write as those informants told me who knew his life most accurately; in the first place what was its beginning, and then to what end he brought it. for this cause i have composed this book, that as for those who knew the life of the blessed man they may be 6 prologue. geneahhor his lifes to gemyndum come; and pam oðrum þe hit ær ne cupon swá swá ic him rúmne weg and geradne tæhte. pas pingc pe ic her onwríte, ic geleornode fram gesegenum þæs arwyrðan abbodes wilfrides. swilc eac manige oðre me pæt sædon, pe mid pam eadigan were waron and his lif hira eagum ofersawon. ne tweoge ic aht pa mine dihteras pæt hi mihton gemunan and eall asecgan pa wundru pises eadigan weres; waron hi swiðe wide cube and mære geond angel-cynnes land. ic forpon pinum bebodum hyrsumede and pin word and willan hæbbe gefylled and þæt gewrit pisse andweardan hyrde swá ic mihte mid wisdome minra¹ foregengena and para yldrena gesette; pone fruman on þam fruman ic gesette, and pone ende in þam ende. 2 ¹ ms. minre. 2 ms. þære. prologue. the more abundantly reminded of his life; and that to others who knew it not before, i might as it were point out a wide and straight way. the things which i here write, i learned from the relation of the venerable abbot wilfrid. also many others have related it to me who were with the blessed man, and saw his life with their own eyes. nor doubt i aught that my informants were able to remember and relate all the wonders of this blessed man; they were very widely known and famous through england. i accordingly have obeyed thy commands, and have fulfilled thy word and will, and i have composed the text of this present book as i best might, with the wisdom of my predecessors and their elders; the beginning i have put in the beginning, and the end at the end. 8 the life of i. ον 2 n pam dagum æpelredes þæs mæran kyninges myrcna, was sum æþel¹ man on pære heh-peode myrcna-rice; se was haten penwald. he was þæs yldestan and þæs æpelstan cynnes þe iclingas wæron genemnede. he was for worulde welig and myccle gestreon hæfde, and papa he welegost was and mæst gestreon hæfde, da gyrnde he him his gemæccan to nymanne. he him pa ana geceas on þæra² mædena heape pe þær fægorost wæs and æpelestan kynnes; seo was gehaten tette: and hi pa samod waron oð þone fyrst þæt god foresceawode þæt pæet wif mid bearne geeacnod was. da se tíma com þæt heo þæt bearn cennan scolde, pa sæmninga com tacn of heofenum, and þæt bearn³ swytelice mid inseglum beclysde: efne, men gesawon ane hand on pam fægerestan readan hiwe of heofonum cumende; and seo hæfde ane gyldene róde, and was ateowod manegum mannum, and helde toweard toforan þæs huses duru þær þæt cild inne acenned was. đa men þa calle pe pat gesawon piderweard efeston pæt hig þæt tacen swutelicor geseon woldon and ongitan. seo hánd þa gewende mid þære róde up to heofonum. đa men pa ealle pe pat tacen gesawon, hi hi pa calle on eordan astrehton, and god bædon pæt he heom geswutelian scolde hwæt þæt tacn and þæt forebeacn beon scolde þe him þær 1 ms. æþela. 2 ms. þære. 3 ms. tacn. st. guthlac. 9 i. in the days of ethelred, the famous king of the mercians, there was a noble man of the province of mercia, who was called penwald. he was of the oldest and noblest family, who were named iclings. he was in worldly things wealthy and had great riches, and when he was wealthiest and had the most riches, he desired to take to himself a wife. he chose from the multitude of maidens the one who was fairest, and of the noblest kin; she was called tette. and they were together until the time that god ordained that the woman became with child. when the time came that she should give birth to the child, suddenly there came a sign from heaven, and clearly as with a seal marked out the child. lo! men saw a hand of the fairest red hue coming from heaven; and it held a golden rood, and was manifested to many men, and it leaned forward before the door of the house wherein the child was born. thereupon all the men who saw it hastened thitherward, that they might more clearly see and understand the sign. the hand then returned with the rood up to heaven. then all the men who saw the sign, stretched themselves on the earth, and prayed god that he would show them what that sign and portent should be, which was there so un18 10 the life of swá færlice æteowod wæs. da hi pa þæt gebed gefylled heafdon, þa com þær sum wif mid miccle rædlicnysse yrnan of þam huse pe pat cild inne acenned wæs, and cleopode, and cwæð þus to pam mannum: beoð ge staþolfæste and gehyrte, forpan pæs toweardan wuldres man on pisum middanearde her ys acenned. ɖa hi þa men þæt word gehyrdon, pa spræcon hig heom betwynan þæt þæt wære godcundlic tacn þe þær ætywed was, forpon pe pæt bearn þær acenned wæs. sume hig þonne cwædon þæt þurh godcunde stihtunge pære¹ ecan eadignysse him wäre seo gifu forestihtod, þæs haliges tacnes pe him æt his acennednysse ætywad wæs. waron men swipe wundriende be pære wisan and be pam tacne pe pær ætywed wæs: and efne ær þon pe sunne on setl eode hit was ofer eall middel engla-land cud and mare. 1 ii. da þæs ymbe eahta niht þæs pe mon pæt cild brohte to pam halgan þwéale fulwihte-bæpes, da wæs him nama sceapen of pæs cynnes gereorde and of pære peode guplac, swa hit ware of godcundlicre stihtunge gedón, þæt he swa genemned were: forpon swá þa wisan leorneras secgað on angel-cynne þæt se nama standed on twam³ gewritum: guðlac se nama ys on romanisc, belli múnus: forpon peah he mid worldlice* geswince menige earfoðnysse adreah, and peah mid gecyrrednysse pa gife pære ecan eadignysse mid 1ms. in þære ece. 3 ms. feawum. 2 ms. sunna. 4 ms. woruldlicre. st. guthlac. 11 expectedly displayed to them. when they had ended this prayer, a woman came in great haste running out of the house wherein the child was born, and said thus to the men: be firm and of good heart, for a man of future glory is born here on this earth. when the men heard this word, they said among themselves, that it was a divine sign that was there showed to them, inasmuch as the child was born there. some of them then said, that by divine providence the gift of eternal bliss was fore-ordained to him, in virtue of the holy sign that was shown to them at his birth. men were much amazed at the matter and at the sign which was there displayed; and behold, ere the sun set it was known and famous over all the middle of england. ii. about eight nights afterwards, when they brought the child to the holy laver of baptism, a name was given him from the appellation of the family and from the clan, guthlac, as though it were done by divine providence, that he should be thus named. for thus the wise teachers in england say, that the name consists of two terms; the name guthlac is in latin, belli munus; for that he not only endured many troubles with worldly labour, but also by conversion received the gift of eternal bliss with the 12 the life of sige eces lifes onfengc, and swá mid þam apostolum cwepende: beatus vir qui suffert temptationem; quia cum probatus fuerit accipiet coronam vite quam repromisit dominus diligentibus sé. pæt ys on englisc: eadig man bið, cwæð he, se þe her on worulde manigfealdlice geswincnysse and earfoðnysse dreogeð, forpon mid pam pe he gecostod bið and geswenced, ponne onfeh he ecum beage; and þæt god gehet eallum þam pe hine lufiað. after pon pe he wæs abwegen mid pam pweale pas halgan fulluhtes, da was he eft to pære fæderlican healle gelædd and þær gefedd. mid pam pe seo yld com þæt hit sprecan mihte æfter cniht-wisan, ponne was he nawiht hefig, ne unhyrsum his yldrum on wordum, ne pam pe hine feddon, nænigum oppe yldran oppe gingran. ne he cnihtlice galnysse næs begangende, ne idele spellunge folcricra manna, ne úngeliclice olæcunge, ne leaslicetunge: ne he mistlice fugela¹-sangas ne wurpode, swá oft swa cnihtlicu yldo begæð. ac on his scearpnysse þæt he weox, and wearð glæd on his ansyne, and hluttor and clæne on his mode, and bilwíte on his þeawum. ac on him wæs se scima gastlicre beorhtnysse swá swyde scinende, þæt ealle þa men pe hine gesawon on him geseon mihton þa þing þe him towearde waron. da wæs æfter siðfate þæt mægen on him weox and gestipode on his geogode, pa gemunde he þa strangan dæda þara unmanna and þæra woruld-frumena; he þa, swa he of ¹ ms. fugelas. st. guthlac. 13 victory of eternal life, saying thus with the apostle : beatus vir qui suffert temptationem, quia cum probatus fuerit accipiet coronam vite, quam repromisit dominus diligentibus se. that is in english: blessed is the man, saith he, who here in the world endureth manifold labours and troubles, for whereas he is tempted and tried, then receiveth he the everlasting reward; and this hath god promised to all who love him. after he was washed in the laver of holy baptism, he was led to his father's hall and there nourished. when the age came that the child should speak in child-fashion, he was no whit dull, nor disobedient to his parents in their commands, nor to those who nurtured him, either elder or younger. nor was he addicted to boyish levities, nor the vain talk of vulgar men, nor unseemly fawning, nor lying flattery. nor did he study the various cries of birds, as childish age is often wont. but he grew up in sharpness, and was blithe in countenance, and pure and clean in his disposition, and innocent in his ways. and in him was the lustre of divine brightness so shining, that all men who saw him could perceive in him the promise of what should hereafter happen to him. after a time, when his strength waxed and he grew up to manhood, then thought he on the strong deeds of the heroes, and of the men of yore. then, as though he 14 the life of slæpe onwoce, weard his mod oncyrred, and he gesomnode miccle scóle and wered his gepoftena and hys efen-hæfdlingas, and him sylf to wæpnum feng. pa wræc he his æfpancas on his feondum, and heora burh bærnde and heora túnas oferhergode; and he wide geond eorpan menigfeald wæl felde and sloh and of mannum heora æhta nam. pa was he semninga innan manod godcundlice and læred þæt he pa word hete, ealle pa he swa [genam]¹ he het priddan dæl agifan þam mannum þe he hit ær ongenæmde. da was ymbe nigon winter pæs pe he pa ehtnysse begangende was se eadiga guthlac, and he hine sylfne betweox pises andweardan middaneardes wealcan dwelode. pa gelamp sume nihte³ mid pam pe he com of farendum wege, and he hys pa werigan lima reste, and he menig þing mid his mode pohte; da was he færinga mid godes ege onbryrd, and mid gastlicre lufan his heorte innan gefylled and mid þy he awoc he gepohte pa ealdan kyningas pe iú wæron, purh earmlicne deað and purh sarlicne utgang þæs mánfullan lifes, pe pas world forleton; and pa micclan welan pe hig ær-hwilon ahton he geseh on hrædlicnysse ealle gewítan; and he geseah his agen lif dæghwamlice to pam ende efstan and scyndan. da was he sæmninga mid pam godcundan egesan innan swá swype onbryrded, pæt he andette gode gif he him þæs mergen-dæges geunnan wolde, pæt he his peow : 4 2 [genam] not in ms. 2 ms. weolc 7 welode. 3 ms. niht. 4 ms. and mid by he geþohte pa caldan kyningas þa iú wæron he awoc purh, etc. st. guthlac. 15 had woke from sleep, his disposition was changed, and he collected a great troop and host of his companions and equals, and himself took weapons. then wreaked he his grudges on his enemies, and burned their city, and ravaged their towns, and widely through the land he made much slaughter, and slew and took from men their goods. then was he on a sudden inwardly admonished of god, and taught that he should thus give command; of all things which he had so taken he bade give back the third part to those from whom he had taken it. it was about nine years that he was thus engaged in hostile raids, the blessed guthlac, and he thus wandered amidst the tumult of this present world. it happened on one night when he had come from an expedition, and he rested his weary limbs, and thought over many things in his mind, that he was suddenly inspired with divine awe, and his heart within was filled with spiritual love; and when he awoke, he thought on the old kings who were of yore, who thinking on miserable death, and the wretched end of sinful life, forsook this world; and the great wealth which they once possessed, he saw all on a sudden vanish; and he saw his own life daily hasten and hurry to an end. then was he suddenly so excited inwardly with godly fear, that he vowed to god, if he would spare him till the morrow, that he would be his servant. when the darkness of 16 the life of beon wolde. mid þy pære nihte þystro gewíton and hit dæg was, pa arás he and hine sylfne getacnode insegle cristes rode. đa bead he his geferum pet hi fundon him oderne ealdorman and latteow hira geferscipe; and he him andette and sæde pæt he wolde beon cristes peow. mid þam pe his geferan pas word gehyrdon, þa wáron hi swipe wundriende, and swype forhte for pam wordum þe hi þær gehyrdon pa hi ealle to him aluton and hine bæédon þæt he næfre pa þing swa gelæste swa he mid wordum gecwæð. he pa hwæpere heora worda ne gimde, ac pæt ilce þæt he ær geþohte þæt he þæt forðlæstan wolde; barn him swá swype innan þære godes lufan þæt na læs þæt an þæt he þas woruld forseah, ac swilce hys yldrena gestreon and his eard, and pa sylfan his heafod-gemacan þæt he þæt eall forlet, ɖa he was feower and twentig wintra eald, pa forlet he ealle pas woruld-glenga, and eallne his hiht on crist gesette: and pa æfter pon pæt he ferde to mynstre pe ys gecweden hrypadún, and þær þa gerynelican sceare onfeng, sce petres þæs apostoles under ælföryde abbodyssan: and syppan he to sceare and to pam munuc-life feng, hwat he nænigre wætan onbítan nolde pe druncennys¹ purh cóme. and pa for pan þingum hine þa broðra hatedon, þy he swá forhæbbende wæs: and þa rade syþþan hi þa hluttorlicnysse his modes, and pa clænnysse his lifes ongéaton, þæt hig ealle ¹ ms. druncennysse. st. guthlac. 17 night was gone, and it was day, he arose and signed himself with the mark of christ's rood. then bade he his companions that they should find them another captain and leader of their company; and he confessed to them, and said that he would be christ's servant. when his companions heard these words, they were greatly astonished, and very alarmed for the words which they had heard. then they all bowed to him, and begged him that he never would perform the things which he had in words expressed. he however cared not for their words, but the same thing that he had first intended, that would he perform. god's love burnt so within him, that not only did he despise this world, but also his parents' wealth and his home, and even his companions he all forsook. when he was four and twenty years old, he forsook all the pomps of the world, and set all his hope on christ. and after that he went to a monastery, which is called hrypadun, and there received the mystical tonsure of st. peter the apostle, under abbess ælfthrytha. and after he had taken the tonsure and the monastic life, lo! he would taste no liquid through which drunkenness comes. and for these things the brethren hated him, because he was so abstinent; but soon after, when they perceived the purity of his mind, and the cleanness of his life, they all loved him. he was in 18 the life of hine lufedon. was he on ansine mycel and on lichaman clane, wynsum on his mode, and wlitig on ansyne; he was lide and gemetfæst on his worde, and he was geþyldig and eadmod; and á seo godcunde lufu on hys heortan hat and byrnende. mid by he pa was in stafas and on leornunge getogen, pa girnde he his sealmas to leornianne: þa weron pa wæstm-berendan breost pæs eadigan weres mid godes gife gefyllede and mid þam lareowdóme þæs hean magistres godes, þæt he was on godcundlican peodscipe getyd and gelæred. mid þam pe he was twa gear on pære leornunge, da hæfde he his sealmas geleornod and canticas, and ymnas, and gebeda æfter cyriclicre endebyrdnysse. pa ongan he wurdigan þa gódan þeawas þara godra on þam life, eadnysse,¹ and hyrsumnysse, gepyld, and polemodnysse, and forhæfednysse his lichaman; and ealra para godra mægen he was begangende. ɖa ymbe twá winter pas pe he his lif swa leofode under munuchade pæt he pa ongan wilnian westenes and sundersetle. mid by he gehyrde secgan and he leornode be þam ancerum, þe geara on westene and on sundorsettlum for godes naman wilnodon and heora lif leofodon, da was his heorte innan þurh godes gifu onbryrdod, þæt he westenes gewilnode. da wæs sona ymbe unmanige dagas pæt he him leafe bad æt pam beowum pe par yldest wæron þæt he féran moste. 'perhaps a mistake for eadmodnysse. st. guthlac. 19 figure tall, and pure in body, cheerful in mood, and in countenance handsome; he was mild and modest in his discourse, and he was patient and humble; and ever in his heart was divine love hot and burning. when he devoted himself to letters and learning, he was desirous of learning his psalms. then was the fruitful breast of the blessed man filled with god's grace, and with the teaching of god the great master he became instructed and learned in divine discipline. when he had been two years on this study, he had learned his psalms, and canticles, and hymns, and prayers, after ecclesiastical order. then began he to study the good observances of the virtuous in that life, gentleness and obedience, patience and long suffering, and abstinence of body; and he cultivated the virtues of all good men. after he had passed about two years of his life thus in the monastic state, he began to long for the wilderness and a hermitage. when he heard tell and learned concerning anchorites who of yore longed for the wilderness and hermitages for god's name, and passed their lives there, his heart was inwardly inspired with the love of god to long for the wilderness. so then not many days after, he begged leave from the servants [of god] who were the eldest there, that he might depart. 20 the life of iii. ys on bretone-lande sum fenn unmætre mycelnysse þæt onginneð fram grante eá naht feor fram þære cestre, dy ylcan nama ys nemned granteceaster. þær synd unmæte¹ moras, hwilon sweart water-steal, and hwilon fúle éa-ripas yrnende, and swylce eac manige ealand and hreod and beorhgas and treow-gewrido, and hit mid menigfealdan bignyssum widgille and lang purhwunad on nord-sa. mid pan se foresprecena wer and pære eadigan gemynde guðlac³ pas wídgillan westenes pa ungearawan stowe þær gemette, pa was he mid godcunde* fultume gefylst, and pa sona pan rihtestan wege þyder togeferde. pa was mid þam pe he þyder com pæt he frægn þa bigengcan pas landes, hwær he on pam westene him eardung-stowe findan mihte. mid þy hi him menigfeald þing sædon be pære wídgilnysse þæs westenes. pa was tátwine gehaten sum man, sæde pa þæt he wiste sum ealand synderlice digle, þæt oft menige men eardian ongunnon, ac for menigfealdum brogum and egsum, and for annysse þæs widgillan westenes þæt hit nænig man adreogan ne mihte, ac hit ælc forpan befluge. mid þam pe se halga wer guðlac þa word gehyrde, he bæd sona þæt he him pa stowe getæhte, and he þa sona swa dyde; eode pa on scip, and þa ferdon begen þurh þa rugan fennas op þæt hi comon to pære stowe pe man hateð ¹ ms. unmætre. 3 ms. guðlaces. 2 ms þene wunað. * ms. godcundre. st. guthlac. 21 iii. there is in britain a fen of immense size, which begins from the river granta not far from the city, which is named grantchester. there are immense marshes, now a black pool of water, now foul running streams, and also many islands, and reeds, and hillocks, and thickets, and with manifold windings wide and long it continues up to the north sea. when the aforesaid man, guthlac of blessed memory, found out this uncultivated spot of the wide wilderness, he was comforted with divine support, and journeyed forthwith by the straightest way thither. and when he came there he inquired of the inhabitants of the land where he might find himself a dwelling-place in the wilderness. whereupon they told him many things about the vastness of the wilderness. there was a man named tatwine, who said that he knew an island especially obscure, which ofttimes many men had attempted to inhabit, but no man could do it on account of manifold horrors and fears, and the loneliness of the wide wilderness; so that no man could endure it, but every one on this account had fled from it. when the holy man guthlac heard these words, he bid him straightway show him the place, and he did so; he embarked in a vessel, and they went both through the wild fens till they came to the spot which is called crowland; 22 the life of cruwland : wæs þæt land on middan þam westene swá gerád geseted pæs foresædan fennes,¹ swyde digle, and hit swype feawa men wiston buton pam anum þe hyt him tæhte; swylc þær næfre nænig man ær eardian ne mihte ær se eadiga wer guðlac tocom for pære eardunga para awerigedra gasta. and he pa se eadiga wer guðlac forhogode sona þa costunge þæra awerigdra gasta, and mid heofonlicum fultume gestrangod weard, betwyx pa fenlican gewrido pas widgillan westenes, þæt he ana ongan eardian. ða gelamp mid þære godcundan stihtunge, þæt he on pa tíd sce bartholomei pas apostoles þæt he com to pam ealande, forpan he on eallum þingum his fultum sohte. and he pa gelufode pære stowe digelnysse, and he pa gehet þæt he wolde ealle dagas his lifes þær on pam ealande gode peowian. mid þy he þa unmanige dagas þær wæs, þa geondsceawode he þa þing þe to pære stowe belumpon. ɖa pohte he þæt he eft wolde to pam mynstre feran and his gebroðra gretan, forpan he ær fram heom ungegret gewat. đa pæs on mergen mid ban hit dag was pa ferde he eft to pam mynstre; pa was he pær hundnigantig nihta mid þam broðrum: and þa syþþan he hig grette, he þa eft hwærf to pære stowe þæs leofan westenes mid twam cnihtum. da wæs se eahtoða dæg pæs kalendes septembres, pe man on þa tíd wurðað sce bartholomei þæs apostoles, pa se eadiga wer guðlac com to pære foresprecenan stowe, 3 ms. pa. 1 ms. fennas, 2 ms. feawe. st. guthlac. 23 this land was in such wise (as he said) situated in the midst of the waste of the aforesaid fen, very obscure, and very few men knew of it except the one who showed it to him; as no man ever could inhabit it before the holy man guthlac came thither, on account of the dwelling of the accursed spirits there. and the blessed man guthlac disregarded the temptation of the accursed spirits, and was strengthened with heavenly support, so that he began to dwell alone among the fenny thickets of the wide wilderness. it fell out, by divine providence, that he came to the island on the day of st. bartholomew the apostle; for he sought in all things his support. and he was enamoured of the obscurity of the place, and vowed that he would serve god on that island all the days of his life. when he had been there not many days, he looked about at the things which appertained to the place. then he thought that he would return again to the monastery, and salute his brethren, for he had before gone away from them without taking leave. so in the morning, when it was day, he went back to the monastery; there he remained with the brethren ninety nights. and after he had taken leave of them, he returned back again to the place of his beloved wilderness with two servants. it was the eighth day before the kalends of september, which is observed as the day of st. bartholomew the apostle, when the holy man guthlac 24 the life of to cruwlande, forpon he his fultum on eallum þingum ærest to pam sundor-setle sohte. hæfde he pa on ylde six and twentig wintra pa he ærest se godes cempa on pam westene mid heofenlicre gife geweorðod gesæt.¹ pa sona wið þam scotungum þara werigra gasta þæt he hine mid gastlicum wæpnum gescylde, he nam pone scyld þæs halgan gastes geleafan; and hyne on þære byrnan gegearowode pæs heofonlican hihtes; and he him dyde heolm on heafod clænera² gepanca; and mid þam strælum þæs halgan sealmsanges³ á singallice wið þam awerigedum gastum sceotode and campode. and nu hwæt ys swa swipe to wundrianne pa diglan mihte ures drihtnes, and his mildheortnysse domas; hwa mag pa ealle asecgan! swá se æpela lareow ealra þeoda scs paulus se apostol, pone ure drihten ælmihtig god forestihtode to godspellianne his folce; he was ær-pon ehtere his pære halgan cyrcan, and mid pan þe he to damascum ferde pære byrig, þæt he was of pam þystrum gedwolum abroden iudea ungeleafulnysse mid þam swege heofonlicre stefne; swá þonne pære arwurdan gemynde gudlac of pære gedrefednysse pissere worulde was gelæded to campháde þæs ecan lifes. ¹ ms. geweorðod. gesæt þa. 3 ms. sealm-sangas. 2 ms. clænere. • st. guthlac. 25 came to the aforesaid place crowland, for that he sought his support first in all things in regard to his solitary life. he was six and twenty years of age when, endowed with heavenly grace, god's soldier first settled in the wilderness. then straightway, that he might arm himself against the attacks of the wicked spirits with spiritual weapons, he took the shield of the holy spirit, faith; and clothed himself in the armour of heavenly hope; and put on his head the helmet of chaste thoughts; and with the arrows of holy psalmody he ever continually shot and fought against the accursed spirits. and now how greatly must we admire the secret might of our lord, and the judgments of his mercy; who can tell them all? as the noble teacher of all nations, st. paul the apostle, whom our lord almighty god fore-appointed to preach the gospel to his people; he was before a persecutor of his holy church, and whilst he journeyed to the city damascus he was delivered from the dark errors of the jews' unbelief by the sound of a heavenly voice; so guthlac of venerated memory was led from the tribulation of this world to the victory of eternal life. 2 26 the life of iv. be þam halgan were hu he eardode on þære stówe. onginne ic nu be dam life dæs eadigan weres guðlaces, swa swa ic gehyrde secgan pa pe his lif cudon, wilfrid and cissa; ponne secge ic swá æfter þære endebyrdnysse. wæs þær on pam ealande sum hlaw mycel ofer eorðan geworht, pone ylcan men iú geara for feos wilnunga gedulfon and bræcon. pa was þær on opre sidan pæs hlawes¹ gedolfen swylce mycel water-sead ware. on þam seade ufan se eadiga wer guthlac him hus getimbrode, sona fram fruman pas pe he pæet ancer-setl² gesæt. pa gepohte he pæt he nador ne wyllenes hrægles ne línenes brucan nolde, ac on fellenum gegyrelan þæt he wolde ealle his dagas his lifes alifian; and he hit swá ford-gelæstende wæs. elce dæge was his bigleofan swyle gemetegung³ of þære tíde þe he þæt westen eardigan ongan, þæt he nawiht ne onbyrigde buton berenne hlaf and water; and ponne sunne was on setle, ponne pigede he það andlyfene pe he bigleofode. sona þæs pe he westen eardigan ongan, þa gelamp hit sume dæge mid [þy he] pan gewunelican peawe his sealm sang and his gebedum befeal, pa se ealda feond man-cynnes (efne swa grymetigende leo, pæt he his costunga attor wíde todæled,) mid by he pa his yfelnysse mægen and grymnysse attor ¹ ms. hlawas. 4 ms. berene. 2 ms. ancer-setle. 5 ms. þæs. 3 ms. to gereorde. 6 [by he] not in ms. st. guthlac. 27 iv. concerning the holy man, how he dwelt in the place. i begin now to speak of the life of the blessed man guthlac, as i have heard those relate who knew his life, wilfrid and cissa; and according thereto i tell it in order. there was on the island a great mound raised upon the earth, which same of yore men had dug and broken up in hopes of treasure. on the other side of the mound a place was dug, as it were a great water-cistern. over this cistern the blessed man guthlac built himself a house at the beginning, as soon as he settled in the hermit-station. then he resolved that he would use neither woollen nor linen garment, but that he would live all the days of his life in clothing of skins; and so he continued to do. each day, from the time that he began to dwell in the wilderness, the abstemiousness of his diet was such, that he never tasted aught but barley-bread and water; and when the sun was set, then took he his food on which he lived. soon after he began to dwell in the wilderness, it happened one day, when he had, after his wonted custom, sung a psalm and fell to his prayers, that the old enemy of mankind (who, even as a roaring lion, scatters wide the venom of his temptations), whilst he [was scattering abroad] the might of his 28 the life of [todælde]¹ þæt he mid pan þa menniscan heortan wundode, pa semninga swá he of gebendum bogan his costunge streale on þam mode gefæstnode þæs cristes cempan. da he pa se eadiga wer mid pære geættredan streale gewundod was pas awerigedan gastes, da was his mod pæs eadigan weres swiðe gedrefed on him, be þam onginne pe he ongan þæt westen swá ana cardigan. mid þam he pa hine hider and þyder gelomlice on his mode cyrde, and gemunde pa ærran synna and leahtras pe he gefremede and geworht hæfde, and pa máran and unmættran² him sylfa dyde ponne he wende þæt he hi æfre gebetan mihte. da hæfde hine seo deofollice stræl mid ormodnysse gewundodne: wæs se eadiga wer guðlac mid pære ormodnysse þri dagas gewundod, þæt he sylfa nyste hwider he wolde mid his móde gecyrran. da wæs þy pryddan dæge pære æfter-fylgendan nihte pæt he pam tweogendum gepohtum fæstlice wiðstód; and efne swá witedomlice mupe pat he sang and clypode to gode, and cwæð: in tribulatione mea invocavi dominum, et reliqua. pæt ys on englisc: min drihten on minre geswincnysse ic pe to clypige, ac gehyr þu me and gefultuma me on minum earfeðum. da wæs sona æfter pon pæt his se getreowa fultum him to com, scs bartholomeus; and na læs þæt he him on slæpe atywde, ac he wæccende pone apostol on engellicre fægernysse geseah and sceawode. and he pa sona ' [todælde] not in ms. 2 ms. unmættra. st. guthlac. 29 wickedness and the venom of his cruelty, that he might wound the hearts of men therewith, suddenly, as from a bended bow, he fixed the dart of his temptation in the soul of christ's soldier. when, therefore, the blessed man was wounded with the poisoned arrow of the accursed spirit, his soul (the blessed man's) was greatly troubled within him, about the undertaking he had begun, namely, to dwell thus alone in the wilderness. then he turned himself hither and thither continually in his mind, and thought of his former sins and wickednesses which he had committed and wrought, and how that he himself had done greater and more enormous sins than he thought he could ever compensate for. thus had the devilish arrow wounded him with desperation: the blessed man guthlac was three days wounded with this despair, so that he himself knew not whither he would turn with his thoughts. it was upon the night following the third day that he firmly withstood these doubting thoughts; and thereupon with prophetic mouth he sang and cried to god, and said: in tribulatione meâ invocavi dominum, et reliqua. that is, in english: my lord, in my trouble i cry unto thee, and hear thou me, and support me in my tribulations. it was soon after this that his faithful support, st. bartholomew, came to him, and did not appear to him in sleep, but waking he saw and beheld the apostle in angelic beauty. 30 the life of se eadiga wer guðlac swype blipe was pas heofonlican cuman; and him sona his heorte and his gepanc call was onlihtod; and he pa hrædlice pa yfelan and pa twyfealdan gepohtas forlet, and hine se heofonlica cuma frefrode, scs bartholomeus, and hine mid wordum trymede and strangode, and hine het þæt he ne tweode, ac pæt he wære ánrad; and þæt he him on fultume beon wolde on eallum his earfeðum. da se halga guðlac pas word gehyrde his pas getreowan freondes, pa was he mid gastlicre blisse gefylled, and his geleafan fæste on god sylfne getrymede and fæstnode. v. swylce eac gelamp on sumne sæl, mid þy he be pære drohtnunge smeade his lifes, hu he gode gecwemlicost mihte lybban, da comon semninga twegen deoflu to him of pære lyfte slidan and pa to him cuðlice spræcon and cwadon: we syndon gewisse pines lifes, and pines geleafan trumnesse we witon, and eac pin gepyld we cunnon únoferswyped; and þær we pin fandedon, and costodon, þat we mid manigfealde cræfte úre¹ wæpna wið þé sendon. we nu heonon-ford nellað þe leng swencan ne pe bysmrian; na læs þæt an þat we pe þæs nu nellað lettan þæs þu ær gepoht hæfdest, ac we þe eac wyllað secgan be pam eallum pe iu geara westen 2 1 ms. úra. 2 ms. westene. st. guthlac. 31 and forthwith the blessed man guthlac was right glad of the heavenly visitor; and his heart and mind was soon all enlightened, and he quickly let go the bad and desperate thoughts; and the heavenly visitor, st. bartholomew, comforted him, and confirmed and strengthened him with his words, and bid him not despair, but be constant; and said that he would be his support in all his tribulations. when the holy guthlac heard these words of his faithful friend, he was filled with spiritual joy, and strengthened and fixed his faith firmly upon god himself. v. it happened, also, on one occasion, when he was reflecting upon the conduct of his life, how he might live most acceptably to god, there came suddenly two devils to him, sliding down from the air, and they spoke plainly to him, and said: we are acquainted with thy life, and the firmness of thy faith we know, and also we know thy patience to be unconquered; and therein we tried and proved thee, whilst with manifold craft we directed our weapons at thee. we now henceforth will no longer trouble nor injure thee; not only will we now cease to hinder thee from that which thou didst first intend, but we will even tell thee respecting all those who of yore inhabited the wilderness, how they lived 32 the life of eardedon, hu hi heora lif leofodon. moyses ærest and helias hi fæston, and swylce eac se hælend ealles middaneardes on westene he fæste, and eac swylce pa mæran munecas pa mid egiptum wæron and þér on westenum wunedon: pa purh heora forhæfdnysse on heom ealle uncyste ofaslógon and ácwealdon. ponne gif þu þæt wilnast þæt þu of þe þa ær gefremedan synna aþwéan wylt, ponne scealt þu þinne lichaman þurh forhæfdnysse wæccan; forpon swá myccle swa þu þe her on worulde swypor swincst, swá þu eft byst on ecnysse fæstlicor getrymed; and swá myccle swá þu on pisum andweardan life má earfoða drigast, swá myccle þu eft on toweardnysse gefehst; and ponne þu on fæsten her on worulde gestihst, ponne bist þu ahafen for godes eagum. forbon pin fæsten ne sceal beon þæt an twegra daga fyrst oppe preora oppe álce dæge, pæt þu þe swá on¹ tela myccle forhæfdnysse ahebbe, ac on seofon nihta fyrstes fæstene bip to clænsienne pone man. swá on six dagum ærest god ealles middaneardes fægernysse gehiwode and gefrætwode, and on pam seofopan he hine reste, swa ponne gedafenað pam pe gelice purh six daga fæsten pone gast gefrætwian, and ponne by seofoðan dæge2 mete picgan and pone³ lichaman restan. da se eadiga wer guðlac pas word gehyrde, pa aras he sona and to gode clypode, and hyne gebæd and pus cwæð: syn mine fynd, min drihten god, á on-hinder ge¹ ms. on swá. 2 ms. dæg. 3 ms. his. st. guthlac. 33 their lives. moses first, and elijah, they fasted, and also the saviour of all the earth, he fasted in the wilderness; and also the famous monks who were in egypt and dwelt there in deserts; they, through their abstinence, slew and quelled in themselves all corruption. therefore, if thou desirest to wash from thee the sins thou didst once commit, thou shouldst afflict thy body with abstinence; because by how much the more severely thou afflictest thyself in this world, by so much the more firmly shalt thou be strengthened to eternity; and by how much thou sufferest more troubles in this present life,, so much the more shalt thou receive in future; and when thou advancest here in the world in fasting, thou shalt then be exalted in god's eyes. therefore thy fasting must not be a space of two or three days, nor on each day, that thou shouldst exalt thyself thereupon as a very great abstinence, but it is necessary by a fast of seven nights' duration to cleanse the man. as on six days god first formed and adorned the beauty of the whole earth, and on the seventh rested himself; so, also, beseems it thee in like manner by six days' fast to adorn the spirit, and then on the seventh day to take meat and to rest the body. when the blessed man guthlac heard these words, he arose and cried to god, and prayed, and thus said: let my foes, my lord god, • 28 34 the life of cyrde, forpon ic pe ongite and oncnawe, forþon þe þu eart min scyppend. pa sona æfter þam wordum se awyrigeda gast efne swá smic beforan his ansyne áidlode. he pa forseah pa deofollican láre, for þam pe he calle pa ydele ongeat; ac pa feng [to]¹ médmycclan bigleofan, þat was to pam berenan hláfe, and pone pigede and his lif bileofode. da pa awyrigedan gastas pæet ongeaton pæt he hig ealle forhógode and heora lara, hig þa þæt mid wependre stefne sorhgodon, þæt hi oferswidde waron; and se eadiga wer swá gesigefæstod wearð þæt he pa bysmornysse forhogode heora lára and heora costunga. swylce eac gelámp on sumue sæl ymb únmanige dagas pæt he waccende pa niht on halgum gebedum awunode. pa on pære nihte stilnysse gelamp semninga, þæt þær comon mycele meniu para awyrigedra gasta, and hi eall þæt hus mid heora cyme fyldon; and hi on ealce healfe inguton ufan and neoðan and eghwonen. hi wæron on ansyne egslice and hig hæfdon mycele heafda, and langne sweoran, and mægere ansyne: hi wæron fúlice and orfyrme on heora beardum; and hi hæfdon³ ruge earan, and woh nebb and redelice eagan, and fúle muðas; and heora topas waron gelíce horses twuxan; and him waron pa protan mid lege gefylde, and hi wæron ongristlice on stefne: hi hæfdon woge sceancan, and mycele cneowu and hindan greate, 2 ms. manigre. ¹ [to] not in ms. 3 ms. and ruge earan and hi hæfdon woh nebb. st. guthlac. 35 be for ever turned backwards, for i know and understand thee, that thou art my maker. immediately after these words the accursed spirit vanished from before his face like smoke. then despised he the devilish doctrine, for he understood that it was all vain; and he took a moderate meal, that is, the barley loaf, and ate it, and supported his life. when the cursed spirits understood that he despised them all, and their doctrines, they bewailed with lamentable voice that they were overcome; and the blessed man was so victorious that he despised the blasphemies of their doctrines and of their temptations. also it happened, on a time not many days after, that he was passing the night waking in holy prayers. then in the stillness of the night it happened suddenly that there came great hosts of the accursed spirits, and they filled all the house with their coming; and they poured in on every side, from above and from beneath, and everywhere. they were in countenance horrible, and they had great heads, and a long neck, and lean visage; they were filthy and squalid in their beards; and they had rough ears, and distorted face, and fierce eyes, and foul mouths; and their teeth were like horses' tusks; and their throats were filled with flame, and they were grating in their voice; they had crooked shanks, and knees big and great behind, and dis36 the life of and misscrence tán,¹ and hás hrymedon on³ stefnum ; and hi pa swá ungemetlicum³ gestundum foron and swá unmetlice ege, pæt him puhte pæt hit eall betweox heofone and eorðan hleoprode pam egeslicum stefnum. næs pa nænig yldend to pam þæt syppan hi on þæt hus comon hi pa sona pone halgan wer eallum limum gebundon, and hi hine tugon and læddon ut of pære cytan, and hine pa læddon on pone sweartan fenn and hine pa on pa horwihtan water bewurpon and besencton. æfter pon hi hine læddon on pam redum stowum þæs westenes, betwux pa piccan gewrido para bremela þæt him wæs eall se lichama gewundod. mid þy hi pa lange on pære þystrunge hine swa swencton, pa léton hi hine ane hwíle abídan and gestandan; heton hine pa þæt he of pam westene gewite, oppe gif he þæt nolde, ponne woldon hi hine mid máran bysmerum swencan and costian. he pa se eadiga wer guðlac heora worda ne gimde, ac he mid witegiende muðe pus cwæð: drihten me ys on þa swypran healfe, forpon ic ne beo oncyrred fram þe. da æfter pan þa awerigedan gastas hine genamon and hine swungon mid isenum swipum, and pa æfter pon hi hine læddon on þam ongryrlican fiðerum betwux þa cealdan faca pære lyfte. pa he pa was on pære heannysse pære lyfte, pa geseah he ealne norð-dæl heofones, swylce he were pam sweartestan wolcnum ymbseald swiðlicra þeostra. da geseah he færinga ms. mís crocetton. 3 ms. ungemetlicre. 2 hás runigendum stefnum. 4 ms. unmetlicre. 5 ms. orwehtan. st. guthlac. 37 torted toes, and shrieked hoarsely with their voices; and they came with such immoderate noises and immense horror, that it seemed to him that all between heaven and earth resounded with their dreadful cries. without delay, when they were come into the house, they soon bound the holy man in all his limbs, and they pulled and led him out of the cottage, and brought him to the black fen, and threw and sunk him in the muddy waters. after that they brought him to the wild places of the wilderness, among the dense thickets of brambles, that all his body was torn. after they had a long time thus tormented him in darkness, they let him abide and stand a while; then commanded him to depart from the wilderness, or if he would not do so, then they would torment and try him with greater plagues. he, the blessed man guthlac, cared not for their words, but with prophetic mouth he thus spake: the lord is on my right hand, that i be not turned back from thee. after that the cursed spirits took him and beat him with iron whips, and after that they brought him on their creaking wings amidst the cold regions of the air. when he was at this height in the air he saw all the north part of heaven as it were surrounded by the blackest clouds of intense darkness. then he saw suddenly * 38 the life of 2 5 unmæte¹ werod para awerigedra gasta him ongean cuman; and hi pa sona þær tosomne gegaderodon, and hi pa sona ealle pone halgan wer gelæddon to pam sweartum tintreh-stowum, helle dura hi hine gebrohton. da he pa þær geseah pa fulnysse pæs smyces and þa byrnendan³ lega and pone ege þære sweartan deopnysse, he pa sona was forgitende ealra para tintrega and þæra wíta þe he fram þam awyrgedum gastum ær dreah and ápolode. hi pa sona pa awyrgedan gastas betwux pa grimlican lega* inhruron and feollon, and þær þara árleasra manna sawla mid manigfealdum wítum getintregodon. da se eadiga guthlac pa micelnysse geseah para wíta, þa was he for þæra egsan swyde afyrht. đa cleopodon sona pa awyrgedan gastas mid mycelre cleopunge and pus cwædon: us ys miht geseald þe to sceofanne on pas wítu pisse deopnysse, and her [is] þæt fyr þæt þu sylfa on þe onberndest; and for pinum synnum and gyltum helle duru þe ongean openað. mid by þa awyrgedan gastas þisum wordum béotodon, da andswerode he heom þus, and cwæð: wá eow peostra bearn and forwyrde tudder, ge syndon dust and acsan and ysela: hwa sealde eow earman þæt ge mín ahton geweald on pas wítu to sendanne? hwæt ic her eom andweard and gearu, and bidige nimes drihtnes willan; for hwon sceolon ge mid cowrum leasum beotingum me egsian? hig 1 ms. unmæta. 5 ms. wítu. 2 ms. duru. 3 ms. byrnenda. 4 ms. lege. 6 [is] not in ms. 7 ms. tuddre. 1 st. guthlac. 39 an immense host of cursed spirits come towards him; and they soon gathered together, and forthwith all led the holy man to the black places of torment, and brought him to hell's door. when he saw the foulness of the smoke and the burning flames, and the horror of the black abyss, he quickly forgot all the torments and the punishments which he had before suffered and endured from the accursed spirits. then the cursed spirits rushed in and tumbled among the horrible flames, and there they tormented with manifold punishments the souls of unrighteous men. when the blessed guthlac saw the greatness of the punishments, he was much terrified for dread of them. then cried the cursed spirits with a great voice and thus spake: power is given us to thrust thee into the torments of this abyss; and here is the fire which thou thyself didst kindle within thee, and for thy sins and crimes hell's door openeth before thee. when the accursed spirits had threatened him with these words, then answered he them thus, and said: woe to you! children of darkness, and seed of destruction; ye are dust and cinders and ashes; who granted you, wretches, that ye should have power over me, to send me to these punishments! lo! i am here present and ready, and await my lord's will; wherefore should ye frighten me with your false threats? they then, the accursed 40 the life of pa sona pa awyrgedan gastas¹ to pam eadigan woldon swylce hi hine per insceofan woldon. da semninga com se heofones bigengca se halga apostol scs bartholomeus, mid heofonlicre byrhtnysse and wuldre scinende, betwuhx pa dimnysse peostru pære sweartan helle. hi pa awyrgedan gastas ne mihton for pære fægernysse þæs halgan cuman þær awunian, ac hi sylfe on peostre gehyddon. da se eadiga wer guthlac his pone getreowan freond geseah, pa wæs he mid gastlicre blisse and mid heofonlice² gefean swiðe blipe. ɖa æfter þam het se halga apostol scs bartholomeus and heom bebead þæt hi him weron underpeodde, þæt hi hine eft gebrohton mid smyltnysse on pære ylcan stowe pe hi hine ær ætgenamon and hig pa swá dydon, and hine mid ealre smyltnysse swá gelæddon, and on heora fiðerum bæéron and feredon, pæt he ne mihte ne on scipe fægeror gefered beon. mid by hi pa comon on middan pære lyfte heannysse, da comon him togeanes haligra gasta heap, and hi ealle sungon and pus cwædon: ibunt de virtute in virtutem, et reliqua. ðæt ys on englisc: halige men ganged of mægene on mægen. da hit pa on mergen dagian wolde pa đa asetton hi hine eft þær hi hine ær genamon. da he pa his morgen-gebed-tída wolde gode gefyllan, þa geseah he þær standan twegen para awerigdra gasta wepan swype and geomerian. mid þy he hi ahsode for hwan hi weopon, þa andswarodon hi him 'ms. gastes. 2 ms. heofonlicre. 3 ms. genaman. 4 ms. weopon. st. guthlac. 41 spirits, motioned towards the blessed man as though they would push him in. there suddenly came the inhabitant of heaven, the holy apostle st. bartholomew, shining with heavenly brightness and glory, amidst the dim darkness of the black hell. the accursed spirits were not able to abide there for the splendour of the holy visitor, but they hid themselves in the darkness. when the blessed man guthlac saw his faithful friend he was greatly rejoiced with spiritual gladness and heavenly joy. after this the holy apostle st. bartholomew bade and commanded them that they should be subject to him, and that they should bring him again with gentleness to the same place which they had before taken him from. and they did so, and brought him with all gentleness and care, and carried him on their wings, that he could not have been carried more pleasantly in a boat. when they came in the midst of the height of the air, there came towards him a troop of holy spirits, and they all sung and spake thus: ibunt de virtute in virtutem, et reliqua. that is in english: holy men shall go from virtue to virtue. when it began to dawn in the morning they set him again in the place whence they had taken him. when he then was about to perform his morning prayers to god, he saw two of the cursed spirits standing there weeping and wailing greatly. when he asked them why they wept, they answered 42 the life of and pus cwædon: wit wepad forpon pe uncer mægn eall þurh pe ys gebrocen, and we þe nu ne moton to cuman, ne to pe nane spræce habban; ac on eallum þingum þu unc hæfst gebysmrod, and ure miht eall oferswyped. ɖa æfter þam wordum hi gewiton ða awyrgedan gastas¹ efne swá smic fram his ansyne. vi. hu þa deofla on brytisc spræcon. ɖæt gelamp on pam dagum cenredes mercna kyninges, þæt bryttaþeod angol-cynnes feond þæt hi mid manigum gewinnum and mid missenlicum gefeohtum þæt hi angol-cynne geswencton. da gelamp hit sumre nihte pa hit wæs hancred, and se eadiga wer guðlac his uht-gebedum befeal, pa was he sæmninga mid leohte slæpe swefed. pa onbræd he guðlac of pam slæpe, and code pa sona út and hawode and hercnode; pa gehyrde he mycel werod þara awyrgedra gasta on bryttisc sprecende; and he oncneow and ongeat heora gereorda for þam he ær hwilon mid him was on wráce. da sona æfter pon he geseah eall his hus mid fyre afylled, and hi hine æfter þon ealne mid spera ordum afyldon, and hi hine on pam sperum up on þa lyft áhengon. þa ongeat sona se stranga cristes cempa þæt þæt waron pa egsan and pa wítu þæs awyrgedan gastes; he pa sona unforhtlice pa stræle para awerigdra gasta him 'ms. gastes. st. guthlac. 43 him, and spake thus: we two weep because our power is all broken through thee, and we now may not come at thee, nor have any speech with thee; but in all things thou hast injured us, and altogether overcome our might. after those words the accursed spirits departed, even as smoke, from his face. vi. how the devils spake in british. it happened in the days of cenred, king of the mercians, that the british nation, the enemy of the angle race, with many battles and various contests annoyed the english. it happened one night, when it was the time of cock-crowing, and the blessed man guthlac fell to his morning prayers, he was suddenly entranced in light slumber. then guthlac woke from his sleep, and went immediately out and looked and hearkened; there he heard a great host of the accursed spirits speaking in british; and he knew and understood their words, because he had been erewhile in exile among them. soon after that he saw all his house filled with fire, and they next struck him quite down with the points of spears, and hung him up in the air on the spears. then understood the strong warrior of christ that these were the terrors and the torments of the cursed spirits; he then soon fearlessly thrust from 44 the life of fram asceaf, and pone sealm sang: exurgat deus et dissipentur, et reliqua. sona swá he þæt fyrmeste fers sang þæs sealmes, þa gewiton hi swa swa smíc fram his ansyne. mid þy se eadiga wer guðlac swa gelomlice wið þam awerigedum gastum wann and campode, pa ongeaton hi þæt heora mægn and weorc oferswyped wæs. vii. be beccelle þam preoste. he was sum preost pas nama wæs beccel; þa com he to pam halgan were, and hine bæd þæt he hine to him genáme, and þæt gehet pæt he eadmodlice wolde on godes peowdome be his lárum lyfian. pa se awyrgeda gast þæs ylcan preostes heortan and gepanc mid his searwes attre geond sprengde¹ and mengde; lærde hine se awyrgeda gast þæt he guðlac ofsloge and acwealde, and pus on his heortan gesende: gif ic hine ofslea and acwelle, ponne mæg ic eft ágan þa ylcan stowe æfter him; and me ponne woruld-men arwurdiad swa swa hi hine nu doð. đa gelamp hit sume dæge þæt se ylca preost com to pam eadigan were þat he hine wolde scyran, swá his gewuna was ymbe twentig nihta, þæt he hine wolde pwean, pa was he swyde oflysted pæt he pas eadigan weres blod agute. he pa sona guðlac geseah pa láre pas awyrgedan gastes, (swa him ealle pa toweardan þing purh godes gifu waron gecydde, ms. spregde. st. guthlac. 45 him the weapon of the accursed spirits, and sang the psalm exurgat deus et dissipentur, et reliqua. as soon as he had sung the first verse of the psalm, they departed like smoke from his presence. when the blessed man guthlac thus frequently fought and contended against the cursed spirits, they perceived that their power and work was overcome. vii. concerning beccel the priest. there was a priest whose name was beccel; he came to the holy man and begged him that he would take him to him, and he promised that he would humbly live in god's service by his instructions. then the accursed spirit sprinkled and watered over with the poison of his deceit the heart and mind of this same priest; the cursed spirit advised him that he should smite and kill guthlac; and thus suggested to his heart: if i slay and kill him, then may i afterwards possess this same place after him; and men of the world will then honour me as they now do him. it happened one day that the same priest came to the holy man to shave him (as his custom was every twenty days to wash himself); then was he vehemently tempted to shed the blood of the blessed man. guthlac soon perceived the persuasion of the cursed spirit (as all future things were through 46 the life of and eac swylce pa andweardan, and he mihte pone man innan geseon and geondsceawian swá útan,) and he cwæð þus to him: eala þu min beccel to hwan hafast þu bedigled under þam dysigan breoste pone awyrgedan feond? for hwon nelt pu pas biteran attres pa deap-berendan wæter of pe aspiwan? ic pæt geseo þæt pu eart fram þam awyrgedan gaste beswicen, and þa mánfullan smeaunge pinre heortan; mannakynnes costere and middaneardes feond hafað acenned on pe pa unablinnu þæs yfelan gepohtes; ac ahwyrf þe fram þære yfelan láre þæs awyrgedan gastes. da ongeat he sona þæt he was fram þan awyrgedan gaste beswícen ; feol sona to þæs halgan weres fotum, and þa sona mid tearum him his synne andette. he pa sona se halga wer guðlac, na læs þæt án þæt he him þa synne forgeaf, ac eac swylce he him gehet pæt he him wolde beon on fultume on eallum his earfeþum. viii. hu þa deofla ferdon. dæt gelamp sumere nihte pa se halga wer guðlac his gebedum befeal, pa gehyrde he grymetunga hrypera and mislicra wildeora. næs þa nan hwil to pam þæt he geseah ealra wihta and wildeora and wurma hiw in cuman to him. ærest he geseah leon ansyne, and he mid his ¹ ms. grymetigenda. st. guthlac. 47 god's grace known to him, and also present things, and he could see and look through the man within as well as without); and he said thus to him: oh ! my beccel, wherefore hast thou concealed under thy foolish breast the accursed fiend? why wilt thou not spit out from thee the death-bearing waters of that bitter poison? i perceive that thou art deceived by the accursed spirit, and i see the wicked device of thy heart. the tempter of mankind and the enemy of earth hath begotten in thee the unrest of this evil intent; but turn thyself away from the evil teaching of the accursed spirit. then perceived he that he had been deceived by the accursed spirit, fell at the holy man's feet, and with tears confessed to him his sin. thereupon the holy man guthlac not only forgave him the sin, but also promised him that he would be his helper in all his trials. viii. how the devils departed. it happened one night, when the holy man guthlac fell to his prayers, he heard the howlings of cattle and various wild beasts. not long after he saw the appearances of animals and wild beasts and creeping things coming in to him. first he saw the visage of a lion, that threatened him with his bloody tusks; 48 the life of blódigum tuxum to him beotode; swylce eac fearres gelicnysse, and beran ansyne, ponne hi gebolgene beod. swylce eac naddrena híw, and swynes grymetunge, and wulfa gepeot, and hræfena cræcetunge, and mislice fugela hwistlunge; þæt hi woldon mid heora hiwunge pas halgan weres mod awendan. he pa se halga wer guplac hine gewapnode mid pan wæpne pære cristes róde, and mid þam scylde þæs halgan geleafan, and forseah pa costunge para awyrgedra gasta, and pus cwæð: eala þu earma widerwearda gast, þin mægn ys gesyne, and þin miht ys gecyped: þu nu earma, wildeora and fugela and wyrma hiw ætywest, pu iu pe ahofe pat pu woldest beon gelic pam ecan gode. nu ponne ic bebeode þe on þam naman þæs ecan godes, se pe worhte and þe of heofones heannysse awearp, þæt pu fram pisse ungepwærnysse gestille. pa sona æfter pon ealle pa ætywnysse para awerigdra gasta onweg gewáton.¹ 2 ix. hu þæt gewrit began wæs. dat gelamp on sumere nihte, pþæt þær com sum man to þæs halgan weres spræce. mid by he pær dagas wunode, pa gelamp hit þæt he sum gewrit awrat on cartan. pa he pa hæfde pat gewrit 3 ms. þisum. 4 ms. gewát. ¹ ms. cræcetung. 2 ms. ætywes. st. guthlac. 49 also the likeness of a bull, and the visage of a bear, as when they are enraged. also he perceived the appearance of vipers, and a hog's grunting, and the howling of wolves, and croaking of ravens, and the various whistling of birds; that they might, with their fantastic appearance, divert the mind of the holy man. then the holy man guthlac armed himself with the weapon of christ's cross, and with the shield of holy faith, and despised the temptation of the accursed spirits, and spake thus: o! thou wretched rebellious spirit, thy power is seen and thy might is made known: thou, wretched one, now displayest the forms of wild beasts and birds and creeping things, thou who once exaltedst thyself that thou mightest be equal to the eternal god. now then i command thee, in the name of the eternal god, who made thee, and cast thee down from the height of heaven, that thou cease from this troubling. immediately thereafter all the appearances of the accursed spirits went away. ix. how the writing was recovered. speak with the holy man. some days there, it fell writing on a sheet of paper. it happened one night that there came one to when he had remained out that he wrote some when he had written 3 50 the life of awriten, pa eode he ut. da com þær sum hrefen inn; sona swá he pa cartan geseah pa genam he hig sona and gewat mid on pæne fenn. sona swa se foresæda cuma ongean com, pa geseah he pone hrefen pa cartan beran: pa was he sona swyde unblipe. da was on þam ylcan timan þæt se halga wer gutolac ut of his cyrcan eode; pa geseah he pone bropor sarig. pa frefrode he hine and him to cwæð: ne beo þu bropor sarig; ac swa se hrefen purh pa fennas upp afliged, swá þu him æfter row; ponne metest pu þæt gewrit. næs pa nænig hwil to pan pæt he to scipe eode se ylca pe pat gewrit wrat. mid by he purh pa fenland reow, pa com he to sumum mere pe wel neah þæt egland wæs: þa wæs þær on middan þam mere sum hreod-bed; pa hangode seo carte on pam hreode efne swa hig mannes hand þær ahengce: and he sona pa blipe feng to pære cártan, and he wundriende to pam godes were brohte: and he pa se eadiga wer guthlac sæde pæt þæt nære his geearnung ac godes mildheortnys.¹ wæron on þam ylcan yglande twegen hrefnas gewunode, to þæs gifre, þæt swa hwæt swa hi mihton gegripan pæt hi pat woldon onweg alædan; and he peah hwæpere heora gifernysse ealle æbær and gepolode, þæt he eft sealde mannum bysene his gepyldes; and na læs þæt an þæt him þa fugelas underpeodde waron, ac eac swa pa fixas, and wilde deor pas westenes ealle hi him hyrdon, and 1 ms. mildheortnysse. st. guthlac. 51 the writing he went out. there came a raven in; as soon as he saw the paper he took it and went with it to the fen. as soon as the aforesaid guest came back again, he saw the raven carrying the paper; thereat was he very vexed. it happened at that time that the holy man guthlac came out of his church; there saw he the brother grieving. he consoled him, and said: be not grieved, brother; but when the raven flies up through the fens row thou after him; so shalt thou recover the writing. not long after he went into a boat, the same man namely who had written the writing. having rowed through the fenlands, he came to a mere, which was very near the island; there was in the midst of the mere a bed of reeds; there hung the paper on the reeds, even as though man's hand had hanged it there; and he forthwith joyfully seized the paper, and brought it wondering to the man of god. and the blessed man guthlac said that it was not the effect of his merit, but of god's mercy. there were settled on the same island two ravens, so greedy that whatsoever they could seize they would carry away; and notwithstanding he bore and endured all their greediness, that he might give men the example of his patience. and not only were the birds subject to him, but also the fishes and wild beasts of the wilderness all obeyed him, and he daily 52 the life of he hym dæghwamlice andlyfene sealde of his agenre¹ handa, swa heora gecynde was. x. hu þa swalawan on him sæton and sungon. pat gelamp sume sipe þæt þær com sum arwurþe broðor to him, þæs nama was wilfrið, se him was geara on gastlicum poftscipe gepeoded. mid pan þe hig þa on manegum gespræcum heora gastlic lif smeadon, þa comon þær sæmninga in twa swalewan fleogan, and hi efne blissiende heora sang úpahofon, and pa æfter pon hi setton unforhtlice on pa sculdra þæs halgan weres guðlaces, and hi þær heora sang upahofon; and hi eft setton on his breost and on his earmas and on his cneowu. da hi pa wilfrið lange pa fugelas wundriende beheold, þa frægn hine wilfrip forhwon pa wildan fugelas pæs widgillan westenes swa eadmodlice him on sæton. he pa se halga wer guðlac him andswarode and him to cwæð: ne leornodest pu broðor wilfrið on halgum gewritum, þæt se pe on godes willan his lif leofode, pæt hine wilde deor and wilde fugelas þe near waron; and se man þe hine wolde fram world-mannum his lif libban, þæt hine englas pe néar comon: forpon se þe woruldlicra manna spræce gelomlice wilnað, ponne ne mæg he þa engellican spræce befeolan. 1 ms. agenra. 2 ms. gastlicre. st. guthlac. 53 gave them food from his own hand, as suited their kind. x. how the swallows sat upon him and sung. it happened on a time that there came a venerable brother to him whose name was wilfrith, who had of old been united with him in spiritual fellowship. whilst they discussed in many discourses their spiritual life, there came suddenly two swallows flying in, and behold they raised up their song rejoicing; and after that they sat fearlessly on the shoulders of the holy man guthlac, and then lifted up their song; and afterwards they sat on his bosom and on his arms and his knees. when wilfrith had long wondering beheld the birds, he asked him wherefore the wild birds of the wide waste so submissively sat upon him. the holy man guthlac answered him and said: hast thou never learnt, brother wilfrith, in holy writ, that he who hath led his life after god's will, the wild beasts and wild birds have become the more intimate with him. and the man who would pass his life apart from worldly men, to him the angels approach nearer. but he who frequently longeth for the converse of worldly men cannot meet with angelic discourse. 54 the life of xi. ymb þa glofan þe þa hrefnas bæron. swylce eac gelamp sume sipe witedomlic¹ wundor be þisum halgan were. was sum fore-mæra man æpelan kyne-kynnes on myrcna-ríce, pas nama was epelbald. pa wolde he to pæs halgan weres spræce cuman beget þa æt wilfride þæt he hine to pam godes were gelædde; and hi pa sona on scipe eodon, and ferdon to pam yglande þær se halga wer guthlac on was. da hi pa to pam halgan were comon, þa hæfde wilfrid forlæten his glofan on þam scipe: and hi pa wið pone halgan wer spræcon, he pa se eadiga wer guthlac acsode hi hwæder hi ænig þingc æfter heom on pam scipe forleton, (swa him god ealle pa diglan þingc cuð gedyde): pa andswarode him wilfrid and cwæð þæt he forlete his twa glofan on þam scipe. næs pa nænig hwil to pan sona swa hi ut of pam inne eodon, pa gesegon hi pone hræfn mid pan sweartan nebbe pa glofe teran uppe on anes huses pæce. he pa sona se halga wer guðlac pone, hrefn mid his worde preade for his repnysse, and he pa his worde¹ hyrsumode, swa fleah se fugel west ofer þæt westen; he pa wilfrid mid gyrde of pæs huses hrofe pa glofe gerahte. swylce næs eac nænig hwil to pam sona comon þær þry men to þære hyde, and þær tacn slogon. pa sona 3 ms. in. 'ms. witedomlice. 4 ms. worda. 2 ms. þinc. 5 ms. þam. st. guthlac. 55 xi. concerning the gloves which the ravens carried off. to this holy man. also there happened on a time a prophetic miracle there was a distinguished man of noble king's-kindred in mercia, whose name was athelbald. he wished to come to converse with the holy man. he prevailed upon wilfrith that he should bring him to the man of god; and they went into a boat, and journeyed to the island whereon the holy man guthlac was. when they had come to the holy man, behold wilfrith had left his glove in the boat. and while they conversed with the holy man, he, the blessed man guthlac, asked them whether they had left anything behind them in the boat (for god made known to him all secret things); then answered wilfrith, and said that he had left his two gloves in the boat. not long after, as soon as they had gone out of the house, there they saw the raven with his black beak tearing the glove upon the roof of a house. then the holy man guthlac rebuked with his word the raven for his mischief, and it obeyed his word, and the bird flew westward over the wilderness; whereupon wilfrith reached the glove from the roof of the house with a stick. also not long after there came three men to the landing-place, and there sounded the signal. 56 the life of eode se halga wer guðlac út to pam mannum mid bliðum andwlite and góde mode; he pa spæc wið þam mannum. mid pan pe hi faran woldon, þa brohton hi forð ane glofe, sædon þæt heo of anes hrefnes mupe feolle. he se halga wer guplac sona to-smerciende feng, and heom his bletsunge sealde, and hi eft ferdon; and he eft ageaf þa glofe pam pe hi ær ahte. xii. hu hwætred his hælo' onfeng. was on east-engla-lande sum man æþeles cynnes þæs nama was hwætred. mid þy he þa dæghwamlice mid arfæstnysse his ealderum underpeoded was, hit gelamp sume side þa he æt his fæder hame was, þæt hine se awyrgeda gast him oneode pæt he of his gewitte weard, and hine se awyrgeda feond swa swype swencte mid pære wodnysse þæt he hys agenne lichaman² mid irene ge eac mid his tópum blodgode and wundode; and na læs þæt an þæt he hine sylfne swa mid pam wælhreowum tópum wundode ac eac swa hwylcne swá he mihte þæt he swá gelíce tær. da gelamp sume sipe pæt þær was mycel menigo manna gegaderod his maga and eac opra his neh-freonda, þæt hi hine woldon gebindan and don hine gewyldne: he pa genam sum twibil, and mid pan þry men to deade ofsloh, and opre 2 ms. agene lichama. 1 ms. hæla. • st. guthlac. 57 then went the holy man guthlac out to the men with cheerful countenance and good humour, and there spoke with them. when they wished to depart they brought forth a glove, and said that it had fallen from a raven's mouth. the holy man guthlac received it smiling, and gave them his blessing, and they then departed; and afterwards he gave the glove to him who before owned it. xii. how hwætred received his health. there was in the land of the east-angles a man of noble kin, whose name was hwætred. whereas he was daily reverently subject to his elders, it happened on a time, while he was at his father's house, that the accursed spirit entered into him, so that he went out of his wits, and the accursed spirit afflicted him so severely with this madness, that he bloodied and wounded his own body as well with iron as with his teeth; and not himself only did he wound with his ferocious teeth, but also whomsoever he could he in like manner tore. it happened on a time that there was a great multitude of men gathered together of his kinsmen, and also of other his near friends, that they might bind him and bring him into subjection. thereupon he took an axe, and with it smote three men to death, and wounded 3 § 58 the life of manige mid gesarode. pas pa feowor gear þæt he swá was mid pære wodnysse swide geswenced. pa was he at nextan genumen fram his magum, and to halgum mynstre gelæd, to pon þæt hine mæssepreostas and bisceopas wid pa wodnysse pwean and clænsian sceoldon. and hi hwæpere on menigum þingum ne mihton þa yfelan mægn þæs awyrgdan gastes ofadrifan. da æt nextan hi eft ham únrote mid þam mæge ferdon, and hi him deapes swydor upon ponne he lengc pa men drehte, da wæs æt nextan gemærsod se hlisa on pone¹ peodscipe pæt on þam fenne-middum on anum eglande pe cruwland hatte wære sum ancra pe? missenlicum magnum for gode weohse. hi pa sona, þa hi þær pone halgan wer acsodon, pohton þæt hi woldon þær þone man gebringan, gif þæt godes stihtung ware þæt hi þær áre findan mihton. and hi hit swa gefremedon, ferdon þyder þæt hi comon to sumum yglande pe wel neah wæs þam eglande pe se godes man on wæs; and þær waron on niht mid þan seocan men. pa hit pa on mergen dæg wæs, þa comon hi to pam³ foresprecenan eglande, and pa mid pan gewunelican peawe tacen slogon. he pa ра sona se halga wer guðlac to heom eode mid healice mægne godes lufan: þa hi pa heora intingan him wepende sædon, pa was he sona mid mildheortnysse gefylled. genam þa sona þone untruman man and hine lædde into his cyrican, and þær þry dagas 1 ¹ ms. p. 2 ms. p. 3 ms. þære. st. guthlac. 59 many others with them. it was four years that he was sorely afflicted with this madness. then was he at last taken by his relations and brought to the holy monastery, to the end that mass-priests and bishops might wash and cleanse him from his madness. and they, however, with many expedients, could not drive out the evil powers of the accursed spirit. when at last they went home sorrowful with their relative, and they rather wished him dead than that he should longer annoy men, then at length the report was spread in the province that in the midst of the fen, on an island which was called crowland, was an anchorite, who flourished before god with various virtues. then they forthwith, when they heard of the holy man, thought that they would take the man thither, if it were god's providence that they might there find help. and they performed this, journeyed thither till they came to an island, which was very near that on which the man of god was, and they were there during the night with the sick when it was day on the morrow, they came to the aforesaid island; then in the usual manner sounded a signal. then forthwith the holy man guthlac went to them in the fervent power of god's love. when they weeping had told him their affair, he was filled with pity. he took the sick man and led him into his church, and there remained three man. 60 the life of singallice on his gebedum áwunode. pa on þam þriddan dæge þa sunne upeode, pa bapode he hine on gehalgedum wætre, and bleow on his ansyne and mid pan call þæt mægn þæs awyrgedan gastes on him gebræc: and he pa se ylca man swa he of hefegum slæpe raxende awoce, and he eft to his hælo feng, and ham ferde; and him næfre syþþan pa hwile pe he leofode seo adl¹ ne eglode. xiii. be apelbaldes gefere. swilce eac gelamp on sumne sæl þæt þæs foresprecenan wræccan apelbaldes gefere pas nama was ecga þæt he was fram þam awyrgedan gaste unstille; and swá swype he hine drehte þæt he his sylfes nænig gemynd ne hæfde. hi þa his magas hine to pam godes men gelæddon. da sona þæs pe he to him com, pa begyrde he hine mid his gyrðele. næs þa nænig hwil to pan sona swa he wæs mid þam gyrdele begyrd, eal seo unclænnys² fram him gewát, and him syppan næfre seo adl³ ne eglode. eac se eadiga wer gudlac witedomlice gaste weox and fremede, and he pa toweardan mannum cydde swa cuðlice swa pa andweardan. ¹ ms. adle. 2 ms. unclænnysse. 3 ms. adle. 4 ms. þone. st. guthlac. 61 days incessantly at his prayers. when the sun rose on the third day, he bathed him in holy water and blew in his face, and with that all the power of the accursed spirit upon him was shattered: and this same man was as though he had awoke from a deep slumber, and he received his health again, and went home; and the illness never ailed him afterwards so long as he lived. xiii. concerning athelbald's follower. also it happened on a time that a follower of the aforesaid exile athelbald, whose name was ecga, was disquieted by the accursed spirit. and he plagued him so severely that he had no recollection of himself. then his relations brought him to the man of god. as soon as he came to him he girded him with his girdle. no sooner was he girded with the girdle than all the uncleanness departed from him, and the illness never after ailed him. also the blessed man guthlac flourished and prospered in the prophetic spirit, and he made known future things to men, as clearly as the present things. 62 the life of xiv. be þam abbode. pæt gelamp sume sipe þæt þær com sum abbod to him þe him wæsgeara on gastlicum¹ poftscipe gepeoded. pa he pa þyder ferde pa wæron his hand-þegnas twegen, bædon hyne purh leofe-bene pæt hi moston on oðerne weg faran, and sædon þæt him þæs neod ware and eac pearf. pa geupe him þæs se abbod þæs pe hi hine bædon. đa he pa se abbod þær com to pære spræce pas eadigan weres guðlaces, mid pan hi pa sylfe betweonum drencton of pam willan haligra gewrita, þa betwyx þa halgan gewritu þe hi spræcon da cwæð guðlac to him: ac hwyder gewiton pa twegen þe ær fram þe cyrdon? pa andswarode he him and cwæð: hi bædon læfe³ æt me: was heom oper intinga þæt hi hider cuman ne mihton. he pa guðlac him andswarode (swa him god ealle pa toweardan ping onwreah, þæt him weron swa cude swa pa andweardan), ongan him þa secgan pone sið para bropra and him cwad to: hi ferdon þær to sumre wydewan ham and þær wæron ondrencte mid oferdrynce. and na læs þæt an þæt he him pone heora sip sæde, ac eac swilce be heora andleofone, ge eac swilce pa sylfan word pe hi þær spræcon, eall he be endebyrdnysse him gerehte. mid pan pe se abbod his bletsunge hæfde onfangen, he pa eft ferde. mid by pe pa foresprecenan bropra ¹ ms. gastlicre. 2 ms. dremdon. 3 ms. læfa. 4 ms. intingan. st. guthlac. 63 xiv. concerning the abbot. it happened on a time that there came an abbot to him, who was formerly united with him in spiritual communion. while he journeyed thither his two attendants were with him; they supplicated him with a request for leave that they might go another way, and said that there was need and necessity for them to do this. then the abbot granted them that which they begged of him. when the abbot came there to conversation with the blessed man guthlac, whilst they mutually gave each other to drink from the well of the sacred scriptures, then amidst their talk of the sacred scriptures guthlac said to him: but whither went the two that erewhile turned back from thee? then answered he him, and said: they begged leave of me; they had another affair, so that they could not come hither. then guthlac answered him, (as god revealed to him all future things, which were as well known to him as the present,) and began to tell him the way of these brothers, and said to him: they went to the house of a widow, and were there intoxicated with too much drinking. and not only did he tell him of their road, but also concerning their fare, as also the very words which they there spake; he related it all to him in order. when the abbot had received his blessing he departed. when the afore64 the life of wæron. eft to pam abbode comon, pa fregn he hi hwær hi pa andswarodon hi him and cwædon þæt hi weron on heora nyd-pearfum swyde geswencte. pa axode he hi hwæper hit swá wære; þa swóron hi swide þæt hit swa were. pa cwæð he to him: ac to hwon sweriad git mán; ac wæron æt pisse wydewan hame and þær þus yncer lif leofodon and pisum wordum pus þær spræcon? pa ongeaton hi heora misdæda, feollon pa to his fotum and him forgifenysse bædon, and him andetton þæt hit wære swa he ær sæde. xv. be þam broprum þe him to comon. comon eac swylce twegen broðra to him on sumne sæl of sumum mynstre. pa hi pa þyderweard ferdon, pa hæfdon hi mid heom twa flaxan mid ælað gefylde; þa geweard him betweonan þæt hi pa gehyddon under anre tyrf, þæt hi, ponne hi ham ferdon, hæfdon eft mid him. đa hi pa to him comon, pa trymede he hi mid his láre manunge heora heortan intim brede. hi manig þing heom betweonum spræcon, da se eadiga wer guðlac mid blipum andwlitan and hlihhendre¹ gespræce he cwap to heom: for hwon behydde git pa flaxan under ane tyrf, and for hwon ne læddon ge hi mid inc? hi pa swyde wundrodon and mid his mid pan þe 1 ms. hlihhende. st. guthlac. 65 said brothers again came to the abbot, he asked them where they had been. they answered him, and said that they had toiled much in their needful affairs. then he asked them whether it were so. then they swore stoutly that it was so. then said he to them: nay, but wherefore swear ye to a wicked lie; for ye were at the house of such a widow, and there passed your time in such wise, and spake there such words! then they were conscious of their misdeeds, fell at his feet, and begged forgiveness of him, and confessed that it was as he said. xv. concerning the brothers who came to him. then came also to him two brothers on a time from a certain monastery. whilst they journeyed thitherward they had with them two bottles filled with ale; then it was agreed between them that they should hide them under a turf, that, when they went home, they might have them with them. when they were come to him, he strengthened them with his counsel, and edified their hearts with his admonition. when they had spoken on many subjects amongst them, the blessed man guthlac, with merry countenance and laughing words, said to them: wherefore hid ye the bottles under a turf, and why brought ye them not with you? 66 the life of para worda þæs halgan weres, and to him luton and hine bletsunge bædon. and he hi gebletsode, and hi pa eft ham ferdon. was on pa sylfan tid þæt pone foresprecenan wer missenlices hades men sohton, ægðer para ge ealdormen ge bisceopas, and abbodas, and ælces hades heane and rice. and na læs þæt an þæt hine men sohton of pære heh-peode mercna-rice, ac eac swylce ealle pa þe on bretone weron pe pisne eadigan wer hyrdon, þæt hi æghwonon to him efston and scyndon; and pa þe wæron aper oppe on lichaman untrumnysse, oððe fram þam awyrgdan gaste geswencte and numene, oppe oprum yfelum, þe manna-cynn¹ mid missenlicum sorgum and sarum útan ymbseald ys; and on heora nænigum² se hiht awácode pe hi to him genamon ; forpan næs nænig untrum þæt he ungelacnod fram him ferde; nænig deofol-seoc pæt he eft wel gewitfæst ne wære; ne on nænigre untrumnysse þæt he eft gehæled him fram ne ferde. xvi. be apelbaldes gefere. dat gelamp mid pan þæt manige men for missenlicum þingum him to comon, þa betweox opre com þær þæs foresprecenan wræccan æpelbaldes gefera þæs nama was ova, þæt he wolde pone halgan geneosian and wipgesprecan. da gelamp hit pan 2 ms. menigum. 1 ms. manna-cynnes. st. guthlac. 67 they were greatly amazed at these words of the holy man, and bowed to him, and begged his blessing. and he blessed them, and they returned home. it came to pass at that same time, that men of divers conditions sought the holy man, as well nobles as bishops and abbots, and men of every condition, poor and rich. and not only men sought him from the province of mercia, but also all who in britain heard of this holy man, hied and hastened to him from all quarters: and those who were either in sickness of body, or plagued and possessed by the cursed spirit, or other evils, as mankind is compassed about with various griefs and pains and of none of those whom they brought to him were the hopes thwarted; for there was no sick person that went from him unhealed; no possessed person that did not come to his right wits again; none afflicted with any disease that did not leave him cured. : xvi. concerning athelbald's companion. it came to pass when many men came to him for divers matters, among others came thither a companion of the before-mentioned exile athelbald, whose name was ova, that he might visit and converse with the saint. it happened on the second 68 the life of æfteran dæge þæs þe he pyder on þære fóre wæs, þa eode he ofer sumne þórn on niht; þa besloh se porn on pone fot, and swa strang wæs se sting þæs pornes þæt he code purh pone fot, and he þa uneade pone sið geferde, and purh mycel gewinn he to þam foresprecenan eglande becom, þær se eadiga wer guðlac on eardode. and mid pan þe he þær on niht was, pa aswell him se lichama ofer healf fram þam lendenum oppa fet, and swa sarlice he was mid pam sare geswenced, þæt he naðer þara ne gesittan ne standan mihte. mid by man¹ þæt pam godes were sæde guðlace, pa bebead he þæt hine man to him gelædde. pa he pa was broht to him, pa sæde he to him pone intingan þurh hwæt he ærest swa gepræst wære, and hu him ærest þæt earfo on becóme. he pa sona guðlac hine sylfne úngyrede, and þæt reaf þe he genehlice on him hæfde he hine slefde on pone foresprecenan man. næs þa nænig hwil to pon sona swa he mid þan hrægle swa miccles weres gegyred was, þa ne mihte þæt þæt sar aberan. he pa sona se ylca þórn, efne swá swá stræél of bogan astellep, swa he of þam man afleah, and on þa fyrle gewát; and þa sona on pa sylfan tíd eall se swyle and eall þæt sár gewat fram him; and he sona to pa sylfan tíd mid blipum mode to pam halgan were spræc and he eft panon ferde butan sceonysse æniges sáres. swylce eac gelamp þæt ealle þa men wundrodon pe pas þing gehyrdon, and hi on pan wuldredon and heredon heofones god. ¹ ms. he. st. guthlac. 69 day that he was on the journey thither, that he walked over a thorn in the night: the thorn stuck into his foot, and so strong was the prickle of the thorn that it went through the foot, and he with difficulty proceeded on his way, and with much effort he arrived at the fore-mentioned island, whereon the blessed man guthlac dwelt. and when he was there at night, his body swelled, above half of it from the loins to the feet, and he was so grievously afflicted with the pain, that he could neither sit nor stand. as soon as they told this to guthlac, the man of god, he ordered that he should be brought to him: when he was brought to him, he told him the cause through which he was first so tormented, and how that pain first came upon him. thereupon guthlac immediately stripped himself, and the garment which he wore next his skin he put upon the foresaid man. no sooner was he attired in the garment of so great a man, but the wound could not abide it: and lo! this same thorn, as an arrow speeds from the bow, so did it fly from the man, and go to a distance; and immediately at the same time all the swelling and all the wound departed from him, and he presently conversed with the holy man with blithe mood, and he afterwards went from thence without harm of any wound. and it came to pass that all men who heard these things wondered, and glorified and praised the god of heaven for them. 70 the life of xvii. be þam halgan biscope sce hædde. 2 swylce nys eac mid idele to forlætenne pæt wundor þæt þurh witedomes craft [he]¹ wiste and cydde: forpon him was purh godes gife seald, þæt he pa word para æfwcarda swa geara wiste swa para andwearda pe him foran gesæde waron. gelamp sume sipe þæt sum bisceop to him ferde þæs nama wæs hædda, efne swa swa he wære mid heofonlicre peahte gelæred pæt he to pære spræce ferde pæs godes mannes. pa hæfde se bisceop mid hine on his geferscipe sumne man gelæredne, þæs nama wæs wigfrið. mid pan he pa betweox pa oðre pæs bisceopes pegnas pyder ferde, pa ongunnon hi fela þinga be þam halgan were sprecan and fela þinga be his wundrum sædon. sume hi ponne sædon þa heardlicnysse his lifes, pa wundor þe he worhte; sume hi ponne twiendlice be his life spræcon, and þæt cwadon þæt hi nyston hwæder he on godes mihte pa þing worhte, pe purh deofles craft. þa pa hi pas þing þus heom betweonon spræcon, pa cwap se witega to heom: ic mæg, cwæð he, cunnian and gewitan hwæper he bip bigengca þære godcundan æfæstnysse; forpon ic was lange betwux sceottafolc eardiende; and ic geseah þær manige gode, and on godes peodscipe wel heora lif læddon; and hi manigum wundrum and tacnum þurh godes mihte ms. cræft wiste and him cydde. 2 ms. ferdon. st. guthlac. 71 + xvii. concerning the holy bishop st. hædde. also we must not pass over with neglect that wondrous thing, how that with prophetic power he knew and made things known. for through god's grace it was given him, that he should know the words of the absent as easily as those of the present which were uttered before him. it happened on a time that a bishop came to him, whose name was hædda, as though he were counselled by a heavenly thought, that he should go to speak with the man of god. the bishop had with him in his company a learned man, whose name was wigfrith. whilst he journeyed thither among the other attendants of the bishop, they began to say many things about the holy man, and spoke much of his miracles. some of them then spake of the severity of his life, the miracles which he wrought; some then spake doubtingly of his life, and said that they knew not whether he wrought these things in the strength of god, or through craft of the devil. while they spake these things among themselves, the philosopher said to them: i am able, said he, to try and find out whether he be a cultivator of divine piety; for i was long dwelling among the scotch people, and i saw there many good men, who led their life well in god's service; and they shone through god's power before the eyes of men, with many miracles 72 the life of beforan manna eagum scinon. of para manna life pe ic þær geseah ic mæg ongitan hu gerád pises mannes lif ys, hwæper he purh godes miht pa wundor wyrceð, þe he purh deofles miht deð. mid by pa se foresprecena bisceop to pære spræce becom pæs godes² mannes guðlaces, hi pa sylfe betweonum indrencton mid pam cerenum þære godspellican swetnysse. was on pam eadigan were guðlace seo beorhtnys pære drihtnes gife swa swype scinende, þæt swa hwæt swa he bodode and lærde, swa he of engcellicre spráce pa word bodode and ræde. was eac swide mycel wisdóm on him, heofonlice snyttro, þæt swa hwæt swa he gelærde pæt he þæt trymede mid þa godcundan [bysena]³ haligra gewrita. and he pa semninga se bisceop, on midre pære spræce pe hi heom betwux smeadon, eadmodlice to pam godes were geleat and hine geornlice bad and halsode pæt he purh hine sacerdlice penunge onfengce, þæt he hine moste gehádigan to mæsse-preoste and to penunge drihtnes weofodes. he pa sona guðlac his benum* gepafode, and he hine sylfne to eorðan astrehte, and þæt cwæð þæt he wolde pas pe godes willa were and pas biscopes. pa hi pa hæfdon þa þenunge gefylled and he was gehalgod, swá ic ær sæde, he pa se biscop bad pone halgan wer þæt he scolde to gereorde fón mid him and he pa swa dyde peah hit his life ungepeawe were. pa hi pa to gereorde sæton, swa ic er sæde, pa locode guthlac : 1 ms. þe. 2 ms. gódes. 3 [bysena] not in ms. 4 ms. benun. st. guthlac. 73 and signs from the life of the men which i then saw, i am able to judge of what kind this man's life is, whether he works these wonders through god's power, or doeth them through the devil's might. when, therefore, the aforesaid bishop came to converse with guthlac the man of god, they mutually refreshed each other with the nectar of evangelic sweetness. the brightness of the lord's grace was so lustrous in the blessed man guthlac, that whatsoever he preached and taught, it was as though he preached and spoke the words of angelic language. there was also so much wisdom in him, so much heavenly prudence, that whatsoever he taught he confirmed it with the divine [examples] of holy scriptures. and suddenly the bishop, in the middle of the discourse which they held between them, bowed humbly to the man of god, and earnestly begged and besought him that he should through him receive the priestly office, that he might ordain him a mass-priest, and to the service of the lord's altar. and guthlac presently yielded to his prayers, and stretched himself on the earth, and said that he would do that which was god's will and the bishop's. when they had performed the service, and he was consecrated, as i said before, then the bishop besought the holy man that he would take meat with him; and he did so, variance with his way of life. down to meat, as i before said, guthlac looked at though it was at when they sat 4 74 the life of to pam biscopes þegnum; þa geseah he pone foresprecenan broðor wigfrið, cwad pa pus to him: and nu bropor wigfrið, ac hwyle þincð¹ þe nu þæt se preost sig, be pam þu gyrstan-dage cwæde pæt þu woldest gecunnian hwæper he wære gód oppe gál? he pa sona wigfrið arás, and pa to eorpan leat and his synne him andette. he pa sona se halga wer him togeanes fenge, and him his miltse geaf and sealde. was halgung þæs eglandes cruwlande and eac pas eadigan weres guthlaces on hárfæstlice² tíde, fif dagum ær sce bartholomeus mæssan. 1 ms. þince. 4 ms. þa. xviii. be ecgburhe abbodyssan.3 swylce eac gelamp sume sipe þæt seo arwyrðe fæmne ecgburh abbodysse, aldwulfes dohtor þæs cyninges, sende pþam arwurðan were guðlace leadene pruh and þær scytan to, and hine halsode purh pone¹ halgan naman þæs upplican kyninges þæt æfter his forðfore man his lichaman moste ingesettan. heo gesende pa gretinge be sumum arwyrdes lifes breper, and hine het þæt he him geaxian sceolde, hwa þære stówe hyrde æfter him beon sceolde. mid þan he þære arwyrðan fæmnan grétinge lúflice onfeng, da be pon pe he geaxod wæs, hwa þære 3 ms. abbodysse. 2 ms. árfæstlice. 5 ms. arwyrde lifes bropor. st. guthlac. 75 the bishop's attendants; then he saw the aforesaid brother wigfrith, and spake thus to him: and now, brother wigfrith, what sort of man seemeth thee now the priest is of whom thou saidst yesterday that thou wouldst try whether he were good or bad? then wigfrith arose, and bowed to the earth, and confessed his fault to him. then the holy man was forthwith reconciled to him, and gave and granted him his pardon. the hallowing of the island of crowland, and also of the blessed man guthlac, took place at harvest-time, five days before st. bartholomew's mass. xviii. concerning abbess ecgburh. it happened also on a time that the venerable maid ecgburh, abbess, the daughter of aldwulf the king, sent to the venerable man guthlac a leaden coffin, and winding-sheet thereto, and besought him by the holy name of the celestial king, that after his departure they should place his body therein. she sent the message by a brother of worthy life, and bid him ask him, who should be the keeper of the place after him. when he had kindly received the message of the venerable maid, then concerning that which he was asked-who should be the 76 the life of stówe hyrde æfter him beon scolde, pa andswarode he and cwæð, þæt se man wære on hæpenum folce, and þa git nære gefullod; ac peah hwæpere pæt he pa sona come¹ and þa gerynu sceolde onfon fulluhtbæpes. and hit eac swá gelamp: forpon se ylca cissa, se pe eft pa stowe heold, he com pæs ymb litel fæc on bretone and hine man þær gefullode, swá se godes wer foresæde. 1 xix. be adelbalde þam kyninge. swylce nys eac mid idelnysse to forelætenne pæt wundor pe pes halga wer guthlac foresæde and mannum cydde. was on sumre tide pæt com se foresprecena wræcca to him apelbald; and hine ceolred se kyning hider and pider wíde aflymde, and he his ehtnysse and his hatunge fleah and scúnode. da com he to pære spæce pæs halgan weres guðlaces; papa se mennisca fultum him beswác, hine peah hwæpere se godcunda fultum gefrefrode. mid by he pa to pam godes were com, and he him his earfoda rehte, pa cwæð guðlac pus to him: eala min cniht þinra gewinna and earfoða ic eom únforgitende; ic forpon pe gemaltsode, and for pinum earfoðum ic bad god pæt he pe gemiltsode and be gefultomode; and he pa mine béne gehyrde, and he pe sylep ríce and anweald þinre 1 ms.com. 2 ms. mennisce. st. guthlac. 77 keeper of the place after him,—he answered and said, that the man was of heathen race, and was not yet baptised; but notwithstanding, that he should soon come, and should receive the rites of baptism. and so it came to pass; for the same cissa, who afterwards held the place, came to britain a little time afterwards, and they baptised him there, as the man of god foretold. xix. concerning athelbald the king. also we must not pass over with neglect the wonder which this holy man guthlac foretold and made known to men. it happened on a time that the before-mentioned exile athelbald came to him; and ceolred the king hunted him hither and thither, far and wide, and he fled from and shunned his persecutions and his malice. he had recourse then to the conversation of the holy man guthlac; for when human help had failed him, notwithstanding divine support comforted him. when he came to the man of god, and related to him his troubles, guthlac spake thus to him: o! my son, i am not forgetful of thy conflicts and thy troubles; for this cause i took pity on thee, and for thy troubles i prayed god that he would have pity on thee, and support thee; and he has heard my prayer, and he will give thee kingdom and rule over thy people, 78 the life of peode, and pa ealle fleod beforan pe pa pe hatiað, and pin sweord fornymeð ealle pine pa wiperweardan, forpon drihten pe bid on fultume. ac be pu gebyldig, forþon ne begitest pu na þæt ríce on gerisne wouldlicra þinga, ac mid drihtnes fultume pu þin ríce begytest; forpon drihten þa genyperað þe pe nu hatiað, and drihten afyrreð þæt rice fram him and hæfð þe gemynt and geteohhod. pa he pas word gehyrde, he pa sona apelbald his hiht and his geleafan on god sylfne trymede, and he getrywode and gelyfde ealle þa þing þe se halga wer foresæde, pat rícu¹ beod onwende and ofánumene and hit á to pam ende efested; and se ríca and se heana, se gelæreda and se ungelærda, and geong and eald, ealle hi gelice se stranga deað forgripeð and nymð. xx. be þæs halgan weres lifes lenge and be his for fore. đa gelamp hit on fyrste æfter pissum þæt se leofa godes peow guthlac æfter pon fiftyne gear þe he gode willigende lædde his lif, þa wolde god his pone leofan peow of pam gewinne pisse worulde yrmþa gelædan to pære ecan reste pas heofoncundan ríces. ða gelamp on sumne sæl mid þy he on his cyrcan æt his gebedum was, pa was he semninga mid adle gestanden. and he sona ongeat þæt him ¹ ms. rice. st. guthlac. 79 and they shall flee before thee who hate thee; and thy sword shall destroy all thy adversaries, for the lord is thy support. but be thou patient, for thou shalt not get the kingdom by means of worldly things, but with the lord's help thou shalt get thy kingdom. for the lord shall bring down those who now hate thee, and the lord shall remove the kingdom from them, and hath remembered and appointed thee. when he heard these words, athelbald soon fixed his hope and faith on god himself, and he trusted and believed all the things which the holy man foretold,-how that kingdoms are overturned and taken away, and are evermore hastening to an end; and the rich and the poor, the learned and the unlearned, and young and old,—all these alike, strong death clutcheth and taketh. xx. concerning the length of the holy man's life, and his departure. it happened, some while after this, that god's beloved servant guthlac, after that he had led a life serving god for fifteen years, then god pleased to lead his dear servant from the conflict of this world's miseries to the eternal rest of the heavenly kingdom. it happened on a time, when he was in his church at his prayers, he was suddenly attacked with illness. and he soon perceived that god's hand was sent — 80 the life of was godes hand to sended, and he swype geblipe hine het gyrwan to pam ingange pæs heofonlican ríces. was he seofon dagas mid pære adle geswenced, and þæs eahtopan dæges¹ he was to pam ytemestan gelæded. pa gestod hine seo² adl pon wodnesdage nehst eastron and pa eft pan ylcan dæge on pære eastor-wucan he þæt lif of pam lichaman sende. was sum broðor mid him þæs nama was beccel, purh pone ic pa forðfore ongeat þæs eadigan weres. mid by he pa com þy dæge þe hine seo adl gestod, pa acsode he hine be gehwilcum þingum. pa andswarode he him lætlice, and mid langre sworetunge þæt ord of þam breostum teah. pa he pa geseah pone halgan wer swá únrotes modes, pa cwæd he to him: hwat gelamp þe nywes nu da; ac pe on þysse nihte sum untrumnys gelamp? pa andswarode he him and him cwa to: adl me gelamp on pisse nihte. pa frægn he eft hine: wast þu mín fæder pone intingan pinre adle oppe to hwylcum ende wenest pu þæt seo mettrumnys' wylle gelimpan? pa andswarode he him eft se halga wer and him cwæð to: peos ongitenys minre untrumnysse ys, þæt of pisum lichaman sceal beon se gast alæded; forpon pan cahtopan dæge" bið ende pære minre mettrumnysse; forpon þæt gedafenað þæt se gast beo gegearwod, þæt ic ¹ ms. dæge. 5 ms. untrumnysse. 8 ms. þes ongitenysse. 2 ms. se. 3 ms. wodnes dæg. 6 ms. adle. 9 ms. dæg. 4 ms. adle. 7 ms. mettrumnysse. i st. guthlac. 81 upon him, and he right gladly began to prepare himself for his entry into the heavenly kingdom. he was seven days afflicted with the malady, and on the eighth day he was brought to the utmost extremity. the malady attacked him on the wednesday next before easter, and on the same day of the easter-week after he gave forth his life from his body. there was a brother with him whose name was beccel, through whom i have been informed concerning the departure of the blessed man. when he came to him on the day when the sickness seized him, he asked him concerning certain things. and he answered him slowly, and drew the breath from his chest with long sighing. when he saw the holy man in so distressful mood, he said to him: what new thing has now happened to thee; has some sickness befallen thee on this night? then he answered him and said to him: sickness has befallen me this night. then again he asked him: knowest thou, my father, the cause of thy sickness, or to what end thinkest thou that this illness will come? then again the holy man answered and said to him: the meaning of my illness is this, that the spirit must be taken away from this body; for on the eighth day there will be an end of my illness; therefore it behoves that the spirit be prepared, that 4 § 82 the life of mæg gode filian. pa he pa pas word gehyrde se foresprecena brodor beccel, he pa swype weop and geomrian ongan and mid mycelre uneðnysse his eago-spind mid tearum gelomlice leohte. pa frefrode hine se godes wer guthlac and him cwæd to: min bearn, ne beo þu na geúnrotsod forpon ne bið me næénig únepnys¹ pat ic to drihtne minum gode fare. was swa mycel rumnes on him þæs halgan geleafan and swa mycele he to pære godes lufan hæfde, pæt se cupa and se uncupa ealle him was gelíce gesegen on gódum dædum. ɖa þæs ymbe feower niht com se forma easter-dag, he pa se eadiga wer guðlac on pære his mettrumnysse gode lac onsægde and massan sáng, and syþþan he þa déorwyrban lác offrode cristes blodes, pa ongan he pam foresprecenan breper godspellian; and he hine swa swype deoplice mid his láre ineode, þæt he næfre ær ne syppan swyle ne gehyrde. mid pan pe [se]² seofoða dæg com pære his mettrumnysse, pa com se foresprecena broðor on pære sixtan tíde pæs dæges, þæt he hine geneosian wolde : þa gemette he hine hleonian on pam hale his cyrcan wið þam weofode. pa hwæþere he ne mihte wið hine sprecan, forpon he geseah þæt his untrumnys³ hine swype swencte: pa þeah hwæþere he hine æfter pon bæd þæt he his word to him forlete ær þon pe he swulte. he pa se eadiga wer guplac hwæt-hwego fram þam wage þa werigan limu ahóf, cwæð þa pus to him: mín 3 ms. untrumnysse. ms. uneþnysse. 2 [se] not in ms. 1 st. guthlac. 83 i may go to god. when the aforesaid brother beccel heard these words, he wept much and began to lament, and in great grief incessantly moistened his cheeks with tears. then the man of god guthlac comforted him, and said to him: my son, be not thou grieved, for to me it is no sorrow that i am going to the lord my god. there was in him such a depth of holy faith, and so great love of god had he thereto, that the known and the unknown was entirely alike in his sight in respect of good deeds. when after four nights the first easter-day arrived, the blessed man guthlac in his sickness performed service to god, and sang mass, and after that he offered up the precious sacrifice of christ's blood, he began to preach the gospel to the aforesaid brother; and he penetrated him so deeply with his counsel, that he never before nor after heard the like. when the seventh day of his illness came, then came the aforesaid brother at the sixth hour of the day to visit him. he found him leaning in the corner of his oratory, against the altar. notwithstanding he might not speak to him, for he saw that his malady violently afflicted him; however, afterwards he begged of him that he would leave his last words with him before he died. then the blessed man guthlac raised a little his weary limbs from the wall, and thus spake to him: my 84 the life of bearn, nu ys þære tide swipe neah, ac behealt pu min þa ytemestan bebodu. efter pon pe min sawl of þam lichaman fére, ponne far þu to minre swustor and hyre secge þæt ic forpon her on middanearde hire ansyne fleah and hi geséon nolde, pæt wyt eft on héofonum befóran godes ánsyne unc eft gesáwon; and hi bidde þæt heo minne lichaman on þa þrúh gesette, and mid pære scytan bewinde pe me ecgburh onsende. nólde ic pa hwíle pe ic leofode mid línenum hrægle gegyred beon, ac nu for lufan pære cristes fæmnan, pa gife pe heo me sende ic wylle to pon dón pe ic heold; ponne se lichama and seo sawul hi todæleð, þæt man pone lichaman mid þam hrægle bewínde, and on pa pruh gelecge. da se foresprecena broðor pas ping gehyrde, he pa wæs pus sprecende: ic pe halsige, mín se leofa fæder, nu ic pine untrumnysse geseo and ongite, and ic gehyre þæt þu pas world scealt forlætan, þæt þu me secge be pære wisan pe ic næfre ær næs gedyrstig þe to axianne. of pære tíde pe ic ærest mid be on pisum westene eardode, ic pe gehyrde sprecan on æfenne and on æren-mergen ic nat mid hwæne. forpon ic pe bidde and halsige þæt þu me næfre behydigne and sorhfulne be pisse wísan ne læte æfter þinre forðfóre. he pa se godes wer mid langre sworetunge pat ord of pam breostum teah, andswarode him pa and cwæð: min bearn, nelt þu beon gemyndig, þas þing þe ic ar nolde st. guthlac. 85 son, now is it very near the time, and do thou attend to my last commands. after my soul departs from the body, then go thou to my sister, and say to her, that i for this end here on earth avoided her presence and would not see her, that we two hereafter might see each other in heaven, before the face of god; and bid her that she place my body in the coffin, and wind it in the sheet which ecgburh sent to me. i would not, whilst i lived, be clothed with a linen garment; but now, for love of the maid of christ, the gift which she sent me i will put to the purpose for which i have kept it, namely, when my body and my soul part, let them wrap my body in the vestment, and lay it in the coffin. when the aforesaid brother heard these things, he thus spake: i beseech thee, my dear father, now while i behold and understand thy infirmity, and i hear that thou must leave this world, that thou explain to me concerning a matter which i never before durst ask thee about. from the time that i first dwelt with thee in this wilderness i have heard thee at even and at daybreak speaking i know not with whom. wherefore i beg and beseech thee that thou never leave me anxious and troubled about this matter after thy departure. the man of god with a long sigh drew the breath from his breast, answered him and said: my son, be thou not troubled,—the things which before i would tell to 86 the life of nanigum woruld-men secgan, þa hwile pe ic lifigende wære, ic hit pe wylle nu onwreon and gecypan. ðan æfteran geare pe ic pis westen eardode, þæt on æfen and on ærne-mergen god sylfa pone engcel mínre frofre to me sende, se me pa heofonlican gerýno openode, pa nanegum men ne alyfað to secganne, and pa heardnysse mínes gewinnes mid heofonlican engellicum spræcum ealle gehihte; þe me afweardan gecydde and geopenode swa pa andweardan.¹ and nu mín bearn, þæt leofe, geheald þu mín word, and þu hi nænigum oprum men ne secge buton pege minre swustor and ecgberhte pam ancran, gif þæt gelimpe pat pu wið hine gesprece. pa he pas word spræc he pa his heafod to pam wage onhylde, and míd langre sworetunge pæet ord of pam breostum teah. mid by he eft gewyrpte, and pam orðe² onfeng, þa com seo swetnys of þam mude swa þæra wynsumestra³ blostmena stenc. and pa pære æfter-fylgendan nihte mid þan þe se foresprecena broðor nihtlicum gebedum befeall, pa geseah he call þæt hus útan mid mycelre beorhtnesse ymbseald; and seo beorhtnys þær áwunode of dæg. pa hit on mergen dæg wæs, he pa se godes wer eft styrede hwæt-hwego and pa weregan leomu upahof. pa cwæð he to him pus: min béarn, gearwa pe þæt¹ þu on pone sið fére pe ic þe gehét; forpon nu ys seo tíd þæt se gást sceal forms. andweardum. 3 ms. wynsumesta blostman. 2 ms. orð. 4 ms. 7 st. guthlac. 87 9 no man of the world while i lived, i will now reveal and make known to thee. the second year after i dwelt in this wilderness, at even and at daybreak god himself sent the angel of my comfort to me, who opened to me the heavenly mysteries, which it is lawful to no man to tell, and the hardness of my conflict he quite softened with heavenly angelic discourses; who also made known and revealed to me absent as well as present things. and now, my son, beloved one, keep thou my word, and tell these things to no other person except to pege my sister and to ecgberht the hermit, if it chance that thou speak with him. when he had spoken these words, he leaned his head to the wall, and with a long sigh drew the breath from his breast. when he turned himself again and recovered his breath, there came fragrance from his mouth like the odour of the sweetest flowers. and on the following night, when the aforesaid brother fell to his nightly prayers, he beheld all the house encompassed about with a great brightness; and this brightness remained there till day. when it dawned on the morrow, the man of god stirred again a little, and raised up his weary limbs. then spake he thus to him: my son, prepare thyself to go on the journey which i bid thee; for now is the time that the spirit must 88 the life of lætan þa weregan limo and to pam úngeendodan gefean wyle geferan, to heofona ríce. da he pa pas pingc spræc he pa his handa apenede to pam weofode, and hine getrymede mid þam heofonlican mete, cristes lichaman and his blode¹; and pa æfter pon his eagan to heofonum ahóf, and his earmas apenede, and pa pone gast mid gefean and blisse to pam ecum gefean sende pæs heofonlican rices. betwux þa þingc se foresprecena broðor geseah call þæt hus mid heofonlicre bryhto geond goten, and he þær geseah fyrenne torr³ up of pære eorpan to heofones heannysse, þæs beorhtnys was eallum oprum úngelic, and for his fægernysse pat seo sunne sylf æt middum dæge, eall hire scima was on blæco gecyrred. and engcellice sangas geond pære lyfte faco he gehyrde; and eall þæt igland mid mycelre swétnysse wunderlices stences ormædum was gefylled. he pa se foresprecena bropor sona mid mycelre fyrhte was geslégen, éode pa on scip and þa ferde to pære stowe þe se godes wer ær bebead; and pa com to pege and hire pa eall pa ping sæde æfter endebyrdnesse swa se broðor hine het. pa heo pa gehyrde pone pa bropor forðferedne, heo pa sona on eordan feoll and mid mycelre hefignysse gefylled wearð þæt heo word gecweþan ne mihte. mid pan heo þa eft hig gehyrte, heo pa of pam breostum inneweardum lange sworetunge teah, and þa þam wealdende panc sæde pæs be he swá wolde. hi pa pan æfteran dæge æfter i ms. blod. 2 ms. ferde. 3 ms. fyrene topp. + ms. hira. st. guthlac. 89 leave the weary limbs, and will go to the endless joy, the kingdom of heaven. when he had said these things, he stretched out his hands to the altar, and strengthened himself with the heavenly food, christ's body and blood. and after that he raised his eyes to heaven, and stretched out his arms, and then sent forth his spirit with joy and bliss to the eternal happiness of the heavenly kingdom. amidst these things the aforesaid brother saw all the house perfused with heavenly brightness, and he beheld there a fiery tower, from the earth up to the height of heaven, whose brightness was unlike all other, and by its brilliance the sun itself at midday, -all its lustre was turned to paleness. and he heard angelic songs through the regions of the air; and all the island was profusely filled with the exceeding sweetness of a wondrous odour. thereupon the aforesaid brother was smitten with great fear, went on board a boat, and travelled to the place which the man of god had before bidden him. seek; and there he came to pege, and told her all these things in order as her brother had bidden him. when she heard that her brother was departed, she forthwith fell on the earth, and was filled with great sorrow, so that she could not speak a word. when she presently recovered herself, she drew from her breast within a long sigh, and gave thanks to the lord for that he would have it so to be. then 90 the life of pam bebode pæs eadigan weres hi becomon to pam eglande, and hi ealle pa stowe and pa hus þær gemetton mid ambrósie pære wyrte swetnysse gefylde. heo¹ pa pone halgan wer on preora daga fæce mid halgum lof-sangum gode behead, and on þam þriddan dæge swa se godes wer bebead hig pone lichaman on cyrcan mid arwurdnysse bebyrgdon. awolde seo godcunde arfæstnys mannum openlice atywan on hu mycclum wuldre he was se eadiga wer syppan he bebyrged was; forpon þe he ær beforan manna eagum swá manigum wundrum scean and berhte. mid by he pa was twelf monað bebyrged æfter his forðfóre, da onsende god on þæt mod pære drihtnes peowan, þæt heo wolde eft pone broðorlican lichaman on oðre byrgene gesettan. heo pa þyder togesomnode godes peowa and masse-preosta and circlicre³ endebyrdnysse, þæt þy ylcan dæge þæs ymbe twelf monað þe seo for fóre pas eadigan weres was, hi pa pa byrgene untyndon; þa gemetton hi pone lichaman ealne ansúndne swa he ær wæs and þa gyt lifigende wære, and on lipa¹ bignyssum and on eallum þingum þæt he was slææpendum men gelicra myccle ponne forðferedum. swylce eac pa hrægl þære ylcan niwnysse pe hig on fruman ymbe pone lichaman gedón waron. pa hi pas ping gesawon þe þær samod at waron, pa waron hi swide forhte for pig þe hi þær gesawon; and hi swa swyde mid pære ¹ ms. hi. 3 ms. cynlice. 2 ms. godcundnysse arfæstlice manna. 4 ms. lipo. st. guthlac. 91 they on the next day, according to the command of the blessed man, came to the island, and they there found all the place and the buildings filled with the sweetness of the herb ambrosia. she then for three days' space, with holy hymns of praise commended the holy man to god, and on the third day, as the man of god had bidden, they buried the corpse in the church with solemnity. the divine goodness would openly display to men in how great glory the blessed man was after he was buried; as he erewhile, before the eyes of men, shone and was resplendent with so many miracles. after his death, when he had been buried twelve months, god put it into the heart of the servant of the lord that she should remove her brother's body to another tomb. she assembled thither many of the servants of god, and mass-priests, and others of ecclesiastical order; and on the same day, on which, twelve months before, the departure of the blessed man took place, they opened the tomb, and there they found the corpse quite sound as it was at first, and as though he were yet living; and in the flexibility of the sinews and in all things, it was much more like a sleeping man than a dead one. also the garments were of the same newness as when they were first put round the body. when they who were there assembled together saw these things, they were much amazed at what they saw; and they were so smitten with 92 the life of fyrhte weron geslégene pæt hi naht sprecan ne mihton. da heo pa seo cristes peowe pege þæt geseah, pa was heo sona mid gastlicere blisse gefylled and pa pone halgan lichaman mid pære arwurðnysse cristes lof-sangum on opre scytan bewand, pa ecgbriht se ancra ár him lifigende to pære¹ ylcan þenunge sende. swylce eac pa pruh na læs þæt hi eft pa on eordan dydon, ac on gemyndelicre stowe and on árwyrpre hi pa gesetton. seo stow nu eft fram aðelbalde pam kyninge mid manigfealdum getimbrum ys arwurdlice gewurpod, þær se sigefæsta lichama þæs halgan weres gastlice restep; and se man se pe pa stowe mid ealle his magne gesecð, þonne purh pa þingunge þæs halgan weres he gefremeð and purhtyhp pat he wilnað. se eadiga wer guðlac he was gecóren man on godcundum dæédum and ealra gesnyttra gold-hord; and he was gestæppig on his þeawum, swylce he was on cristes peowdóme swa geornfullice abysgod þæt him næfre elles on his mude næs buton cristes lof, ne on his heortan butan árfæstnys, ne on his móde butan syb and lufu and mildheortnes; ne hyne nan man yrre geseah ne úngeornfulne to cristes peowdome, ac á man mihte on his andwlitan lufe and sibbe ongytan, and á was swetnys on his móde and snyttro on his breostum and swá mycel glædnys² on him wæs, þæt he á þam cuðum and þam uncupum was gelice gesegen. 1 ms. þam. 2 ms. glædnysse. st. guthlac. 93 but the fear thereof that they could say nothing. when pege, the servant of christ, beheld it, she was forthwith filled with spiritual joy; and she wound the holy corpse, with praises of christ's honour, in the other sheet which ecgbriht the anchorite formerly sent him, when alive, for that same service. also the coffin they did not put into the earth again, but they set it in a memorable place and an honourable. the place has now since then been honourably distinguished by king athelbald with manifold buildings, where the victorious body of the holy man spiritually rests: and the man who with all his heart seeks that place, through the intercession of the holy man he shall accomplish and bring about what he desires. the blessed man guthlac was a chosen man in divine deeds, and a treasure of all wisdom; and he was steadfast in his duties, as also he was earnestly intent on christ's service, so that never was aught else in his mouth but christ's praise, nor in his heart but virtue, nor in his mind but peace and love and pity; nor did any man ever see him angry nor slothful to christ's service; but one might ever perceive in his countenance love and peace; and evermore sweetness was in his temper, and wisdom in his breast, and there was so much cheerfulness in him, that he always appeared alike to acquaintances and to strangers.. 94 the life of xxi. be apelbalde kyningce. efter byssum geacsode apelbald se foresprecena wræcca on feor-landum þæs halgan weres fórðfóre, sce guplaces; forpon he ana ar pon was hys gebeorh and frofor. pa was he semninga mid unrotnysse gestýred, ferde pa þider to pære stowe þær þæs godes weres lichama on wæs, forpon he gehyhte purh pone halgan wer pæt him god sealde his gewinnes frofre. pa he pa to þære byrgene com þæs halgan weres, he pa wepende mid tearum pus cwæð: mín fæder hwæt pu canst míne yrmpa, þu me wære symble on fultume on mínum unyðnyssum hwider wylle ic me nu cyrran, hwa frefreð me gif þu me forlætst? mid by he pa þas þing and manig oper æt þære byrgene wepende sprác, þa seo nihtlice tid com, pa was he þær on sumum huse inne pe he ær be guthlace lifigendum hwilum on gæstlipnesse wunode. da he pa on þam huse inne wæs, þa was he on þam únrotan móde hider and þyder pencende, him pa æt nyxtan waron þa eagan mid þam slæpe betyned. he pa færinga forhtlice abræd, þa geseah he ealle þa cytan innan mid heofonlice leohte gefylde. mid pan he pa was forhtlice geworden for þære úngewunelican gesihpe, da geseah he pone eadigan wer guthlac on engellicre ansyne him beforan standan and him cwæð to: st. guthlac. 95 xxi. concerning king athelbald. after these things athelbald, the afore-mentioned exile, heard in far lands of the death of the holy man st. guthlac; for he alone was formerly his refuge and comfort. then was he suddenly agitated with sorrow, and went thither to the place where the body of god's servant was, for he hoped that through the holy man god would grant him comfort in his conflict. when he came to the tomb of the holy man, weeping with tears, he thus spake: my father, lo! thou knowest my miseries, thou wast ever my support in my afflictions; whither shall i now turn myself; who shall comfort me if thou forsakest me? after he had with weeping said these things and much else at the tomb, when the hour of night came, he was in a house where he had often abode as a guest whilom when guthlac was living. whilst he was in this house, whilst he was turning his thoughts hither and thither in his sorrowful mind, his eyes were at length closed in sleep. suddenly he woke up in a fright, and there he saw all the cottage filled within with heavenly light. whilst he was in fear at the unusual sight, he saw the blessed man guthlac in angelic aspect stand before him, and he spake thus to him: thou shalt 96 the life of ne wylt þu þe ondradan, ac beo þu ánræde, forpon god pe ys on fultume: and ic forþon to pe cóm, purh mine pingunge god pine bene gehyrde. ac ne beo þu geunrotsod forpon dagas synt gewitene pinra yrmða, forpon ár sunne twelf monda hringe útan ymbgán hæbbe þu wealdest pises ríces¹ pe pu hwile æfter wunne. and na læs þæt an þæt he him þæt rice towerd sæde, ac eac pa lengce his lifes he him eall gerehte. das tacna god geworhte purh þæs halgan weres geearnunge æfter pon pe he fordfered was and bebyrged. xxii. was sum his scipes-man pæs foresprecenan2 wræccan apelbaldes on pære mægða wissa, pas eagan wron mid fleo and mid dimnesse twelf mond ofergán. mid by his lacas³ hine mid sealfum lange teolodon, and hit him nawiht to halo ne fremede; da wæs he innan godcundlice manod pæt gif hine man to pære stówe gelædde guthlaces, pæt he ponne his hælo and gesihpe onfengce. næs pa nanig hwil to pon þæt him his frynd on pære stowe brohton to cruwlande, and hi pa gespræcon to pære cristes peowan pegan; and heo þæs mannes geleafan trumne and fæstne gehyrde. pa lædde heo hine on pa cyrcan þær se arwyrða lichama inne was i ms. rice. 2 ms. foresprecena. 3 ms. læces. st. guthlac. 97 not be afraid, but be thou steadfast, for god is thy support; and i am therefore come to thee, for that through my intercession god hath heard thy prayer. but be thou not sorrowful, for the days are past of thy afflictions; for ere the sun shall have gone a twelve months' circuit round about, thou shalt wield this kingdom, which thou erewhile didst contend for. and not only did he prophesy to him his future kingdom, but he also related to him completely the length of his life. these signs god wrought through the holy man's merit after he was dead and buried. xxii. there was a boatman of the aforesaid exile athelbald whose eyes had been for twelve months overspread with the white speck and dimness. when his physicians had long treated him with salves, and this no whit effected his healing, he was divinely admonished within, that if they brought him to guthlac's resting-place he should recover his health and sight. not long after his friends brought him to the place crowland, and they spoke to christ's servant pege; and she was informed of the firm and fast faith of the man. then she led him to the church wherein the venerable body of 5 98 the life of guthlaces; genam pa þæs gehalgodan sealtes pe guthlac ær sylf gehalgode, and wætte and drypte in þa eagan; and þa ár heo operne drópan on þæt oper eage dyde, pa mihte he mid pan oðron geseon, and on þam ylcan inne he géarlice oncneow hwæt þær inne wæs, and he hal and gesund ham ferde. sy urum drihtne lof and wuldor and wurðmynt, and þam eadigan were sce guthlace on ealra worulda¹ woruld áá buton ende on ecnysse. amen. ms. woruld áworuld. st. guthlac. 99 guthlac was; she took some of the hallowed salt which guthlac himself had formerly hallowed, and wetted it, and dropped it on his eyes; and ere she put a second drop on the second eye he was able to see with that eye, and he readily perceived what there was in the room, and he went home whole and sound. be praise and glory and honour to our lord, and to the blessed man st. guthlac, world of all worlds, for ever and ever, without end to eternity. amen. ↓ notes and illustrations. page 2. prologue. as a specimen of the style of felix, and to enable the reader to form some judgment of the liberties taken by the saxon translator, i transcribe the latin prologue entire.* +incipit prologus de vitâ sci guthlaci. in domino dominorum domino meo. mihi præ ceteris regalium primatum gradibus dilectissimo, elfwaldo regi orientalium anglorum rite regimina regenti, felix catholicæ congregationis vernaculus perpetuæ prosperitatis in christo salutem. jussionibus tuis obtemperans libellum, quem de vitâ patris beatæ memoriæ guthlaci componi præcepisti, simplici verborum vimine textum, non absque procacitatis imprudentiâ, institui: eâ tamen fiduciâ coram obtuli, obsecrans ut si ullatenus, ut fore arbitror, illic vitiosus sermo aures eruditi lectoris perculserit, litteram in fronte paginæ veniam poscentem intendat. reminiscatur quoque, efflagito, quia regnum dei non in verborum facundiâ, sed in fidei constantiâ persistit. salutem quidem sæculo non ab oratoribus sed a piscatoribus prædicatam fuisse sciat. sancti quoque hieronimi dicta meminerit, qui rem ridiculam esse arbitratus est, ut sub regulis donati grammatici verba cœlestis oraculi redigeret. sed si forsitan alius animositatis nostræ fastibus hoc opus nos arripere imputat, dum alii plurimi anglorum librarii, quorum ingeniositatis fluenta inter flores rethorica per virecta litteraturæ pure liquide lucideque rivant, qui melius luculentiusque componere valuerint,-sciat nos hoc opusculum non tam * from the cotton ms. nero e. 1, with some corrections from the benedictine and bollandine texts. 102 notes and volentiæ quam obedientiæ gratiâ incepisse. propterea laboris mei votis, o lector, quisquis es faveas; sin etiam ut adsolet more obtrectatoris succensueris, cave ut ubi lucem putaveris ne a tenebris obcæceris; id est, ne cum recta reprehenderis ignorantiæ tenebris fusceris. mos enim cæcorum est, cum in luce perambulant tunc in tenebris errare putant. lucem enim nesciunt sed in tenebris semper oberrant. cæcitas autem in scripturis ignorantia est, ut apostolus dixit: cæcitas ex parte contigit in israel donec plenitudo gentium subintraret. origo quidem totius mali ab ignorantiâ venit. quapropter te admoneo, lector, ut aliena non reprehendas, ne ab aliis quasi alienus reprehendaris. sed ne sensus legentium prolixæ sententiæ molesta defensio obnubilet, pestiferis obtrectantium incantationibus aures obturantes, velut transvadato vasti gurgitis æquore, ad vitam sancti guthlaci stilum flectendo quasi ad portum vitæ pergemus. quoniam igitur exegisti a me ut de vitâ sancti guthlaci vel conversatione tibi scriberem, quemadmodum cœperit quidve ante propositum fuerit vel qualem vitæ terminum habuerit, prout a dictantibus idoneis testibus quos scitis audivi, addendi minuendique modum vitans, eadem orthothemio depinxi; ad hujus utilitatis commodum hunc codicellum fieri ratus, ut illis qui sciunt ad memoriam tanti viri nota revocandi fiat, his vero qui ignorant velut late pansæ viæ indicium notescat. non enim sine certissimâ inquisitione rerum gestarum aliquid de tanto viro scribebam, nec tandem ea quæ scripsi sine subtilissimâ indubiorum testium sanctione libratim scribenda quibusdam dare præsumpsi; quin potius diligentissime inquirens quantacunque scripsi investigavi a reverendissimo quodam abbate wilfrido et a presbitero puræ conscientiæ, ut arbitror, cissan, vel etiam ab aliis qui diutius cum viro dei conversati vitam ipsius ex parte noverant. ergo quantacunque de vitæ ipsius orthonomiâ stilo perstrinxero, minima de magnis pauca de plurimis audisse æstimate. non enim ambigo illos dictatores non omnia facta illius potuisse cognoscere, nec ab illis tota dictata me descripsisse glorifico. sed ut tanti viri tanti nominis relatio compleatur, prout ubique miracula illius fulserunt, percunctamini, ut singulis quæ novere referentibus sequentis libelli materia adgregetur. igitur eximiæ dilectionis tuæ imperiis obtemperans, textum præsentis cartulæ prout potui di. gessi, majoris scientiæ auctoribus majorem partem linquens; principium in principium, finem in fine compono.. illustrations. 103 page 2, line 3. alfwold. grammatical correctness requires the dative, alfwolde. the saxon scribe is often guilty of cutting off an e, and as frequently of adding one when not required. to avoid swelling the number of alterations, i suffer alfwold to stand here, and the reader, if he pleases, may take the word for a vocative. bid. line 9. ahtest. literally, thou didst own. this can hardly be the true reading: qu.? tæhtest, præcepisti. ibid. pære arwurðan gemynde. the ms. has, þæs arwurðan gemynde, which i have altered as above, because in the two other places in which the phrase occurs in the life of guthlac, as well as in numerous instances in alfred's beda, such is the form of the expression. in p. 20, 1. 9, we have, mid þan se fores precena wer and þære eadigan gemynde guthlac, etc.; and p. 24, 1. 22, swa þonne þære arwurðan gemynde guðlac . . . wæs gelæd, etc. in beda, lib. iv, cap. xxiii (p. 593, 1. 4, smith), to lare þære eadigan gemynde paulinus, þæs ærestan biscopes norpanhymbra, etc.; and ib. p. 594, 1. 18, cwom pa to cent to ære eadigan gemynde theodore ærcebiscope. see also lib. iv, cap. xxviii, (p. 606, 1. 46); and lib. iv, cap. xix, (p. 587, l. 27). the idiom is remarkable in two points: 1, for the use of gemynd in the feminine gender; and 2, for the agreement of the definite article with a word to which it does not properly belong, by the process expressively named, attraction. 1. in elfric's homilies, gemynd is used constantly as a neuter (or possibly masculine; as the oblique cases, which occur the most frequently, do not determine whether the word be masculine or neuter). bosworth considers it masculine. but in hom. vol. i, p. 288, þæt gemynd occurs several times. in alfred's beda the usage is commonly the same. one instance i have remarked of seo gemynd (lib. v, cap. vii, near the end); a stricter search may perhaps yield more. 2. the phrase, þære eadigan gemynde wer, is a substitute for se 104 notes and wer eadiges gemyndes (or, eadigre gemynde). a transposition taking place of the qualitative genitive and the noun qualified, we should obtain, se eadigre gemynde wer. but the article being attracted by the substantive with which it is now in juxtaposition, the ear triumphing over logic, the phrase becomes, þære eadigan gemynde wer. this process is very different from that which takes place when a possessive genitive is placed before the noun it defines. for instance, þæt heafod þæs horses, properly becomes, þæs horses heafod. here it will be observed, that the genitive, having an article of its own, naturally retains it on changing its position, the other noun dropping its article, which becomes superfluous. if, however, the genitive be a word which does not admit of, or at any rate has not, the definite article, then the principal noun retains its article unchanged; e. g. for þæt word godes, we find, þæt godes word (matt. xii, 20); for þære lufan godes, þære godes lufan (guthl. p. 16, 1. 14); and, se godes man, seo cristes fæmne, are expressions of constant occurrence. so beda, lib. iii, cap. ii, (p. 536, 1. 18,) þære wæpned-manna stowe, the men's apartment. perhaps, however, in some of these cases, the genitive may be more properly considered as one of qualification than of possession; and words thus connected may be looked upon as compounds, the latter word merging that which precedes, so that the intervening genitive leaves the concord of the article with its noun undisturbed. the following are instances of the change of the article by attraction: luke xvi, 8; þære unrihtwisnesse tun-gerefan, instead of, þone tungerefan unrihtwisnesse, the steward of unrighteousness, i. e. the unrighteous steward. john xvi, 13; þære soðfæstnysse gast, instead of, þone gast so fæstnysse, the spirit of truth. page 2, line 14. [wordum]. the whole of this passage is very corrupt. without emendation it yields no sense at all. the insertion and alterations which i have made, make it agree in some measure with the original. the words, ac gemune and geþence, are repeated apparently by mistake; fram idelum þaucum, must be wrong; but whether the mistake be that of the translator or the scribe, i cannot determine, and leave the words as i find them. illustrations. 105 page 4, line 1. swa ic menige, etc. the translator has departed entirely from the original, and it is not easy to tell exactly what he means. the order of the sentence appears to be inverted; gegylde and gesette agreeing, as i believe, with boc ;— fægere and glæwlice gesette, could hardly be said of the writers of books. as a similar instance of inversion, compare p. 14, 1. 20, þa ealdan kyningas, .. þurh earmlicne deað and purh sarlicne utgang þæs mánfullan lifes, be þas world forleton. ibid. line 27. þæt him ponne, etc. see vernon's guide to the anglo-saxon tongue, p. 86, for similar constructions. an instance occurs, p. 16, 1. 13, barn him swa swyþe innan þære godes lufan. page 6, line 3. geradne. gerad, means apt, suited, well-calculated; from rædan. the sense of the modern german, gerade, i. e. straight, seems appropriate in this place. ibid. line 7. ne tweoge ic aht, etc. it will be perceived that the saxon version expresses exactly the opposite of the meaning of the original. the insertion of a negative, ne, before mihton, would remedy this; but the latter part of the paragraph does not seem to favour the alteration. ibid. line 13. hyrde. this word, which answers to cartulæ in the latin, is not found in the dictionaries. can it be an error of the copyist for hyde? is that word ever used in the sense of a parchment or skin for writing? the passage is probably corrupt; and moreover the translator seems to have quite mistaken the sense of the original, as the reader will see by comparison. 5 $ 106 notes and page 8, line 1. epelredes. æthelred began to reign a.d. 675, resigned his throne a.d. 704, and died a.d. 716. see mr. thorpe's translation of lappenberg's history of the anglo-saxon kings, vol. i, p. 222; and the table of the kings of mercia, at the end of the volume. according to the saxon chronicle, guthlac died a.d. 714. says, anno 715 ab incarnatione domini; a reckoning commencing nine months before the birth of our lord. this date may therefore be considered to correspond with that of the chronicle. according to' felix, st. guthlac was twenty-six years old when he settled at crowland, and resided there fifteen years; he must therefore have been forty-one or forty-two, at the time of his death. this brings his birth back to 673 or 672, and therefore before the commencement of ethelred's reign. felix ibid. line 2. heh-peode. latin de egregia merciorum stirpe. does heh-þeod mean rather the principal or royal family of mercia? but compare p. 66, 1. 7, where it must needs be rendered, province. ibid. line 4. iclingas. the sixth in descent from woden, in the genealogy of the kings of mercia, was icel, from whom this family took its name. ibid. line 8. pa ana. qu.? should we read þa anan, or ane. in the sense of alone, ana is used as an accusative; e. g. hom. i, p. 184, me ána forlæt, leave me alone; and p. 350, min latteow me þær ána forlet, my guide left me there alone. ibid. line 15. mid inseglum. did the termination um originally characterize the dative or ablative singular of substantives as well as of adjectives? there is no sense of plurality in such expressions as: on swefnum (see matt. ii, 22), in a dream; to gemyndum, to remembrance; on hys gewealdum, in his power; be lyfum, alive; and many like phrases. it is usual to term um, in these instances, an adverbial termination; but i see nothing to distinguish it in the examples adduced from a regular case-ending. illustrations. 107 page 10, line 3. þa com sum wif. . . yrnan. in anglo-saxon, after verbs expressing motion, or the absence of it, the infinitive is required, where in modern english a present, in german a past, participle is used. thus, a.-s. he com yrnan; germ. er kam gerannt; eng. he came running. for instances, see p. 30, 1. 16, þa comon twegen deoflu of þære lyfte slidan; p. 40, 1. 26, þa geseah he þær standan twegen þara awerigdra gasta wepan (ms. weopon) swype and geomerian. in the poetical legend of st. guthlac, cod. ex. 179, 4 ff. da cwom leohta mæst. halig of heofonum. hædre scinan. in the poem of the phoenix, cod. ex. p. 204, 5 ff. hwonne up cyme. æþelast tungla. ofer yð-mere. estan lixan. ibid. line 9. forþon þe þæt bearn þær acenned wæs. there is some defect in the anglo-saxon version here. the latin is as follows: alii vero hæc audientes, ex divino præsagio ad manifestandam nascentis gloriam illud fuisse perhibebant. alii autem sagacioris sententiæ conjecturis promere cœperunt hunc ex divinâ dispensatione in perpetuæ beatitudinis præmia destinatum esse. ibid. line 20. of pære peode guplac. latin: ex appellatione illius tribus quam dicunt guthlacingas, proprietatis vocabulum ex cœlesti consilio, guthlacus, percepit, quod ex qualitatis compositione consequentibus meritis conveniebat. nam ut illius gentis gnari perhibent anglorum linguâ hoc nomen ex duobus integris constare videtur, hoc est guth et lac. this passage seems to indicate that the author, felix, was not an englishman. the ms. has, feawum gewritum; a mistake, it is to be hoped, of the copyist. i have merely substituted twam for feawum, but suspect that error still lurks in gewritum. gewrit signifies rather a sentence, or inscription, than a single term. 108 notes and page 10, line 24. forþon þeah. perhaps þeah is merely an error of the scribe for þe. i have translated the passage as if þeah.... þeah, were equivalent to cum. . . . cum, for which, be.... þe is commonly used in anglo-saxon. the latin runs thus: quia ille cum vitiis bellando æternæ beatitudinis præmia cum triumphali infula perennis vitæ percepisset. the saxon translator has apparently taken cum for a conjunction. there is a passage in cadmon where peah appears to be used like þe; p. 34, 1. 2 (thorpe's edition): nát þeah þu mid ligenum fáre. þe þu drihtnes eart. boda of heofonum. "i know not whether thou comest with lies, or whether," etc. page 12, line 20. ac on his scearpnysse þæt he weox. an ellipsis of the words da was or ða gelamp, must be supposed to take place here, to account for the use of the particle of dependence, þæt. instances of this are frequent in the life of guthlac, e. g. p. 24, 1. 17, ff., he was ær-pon ehtere his þære halgan cyrcan, and mid þan þe he to damascum ferde pære byrig, þæt he was of þam þystrum gedwolum abroden, etc.; p. 18, 1. 18, da ymbe twá winter þæs be he his lif swa leofode under munuchade, þæt he þa ongan, etc. ibid. ult. he pa, swa he of slæpe onwoce, weard his mot oncyrred. an instance of anacoluthon, or change of construction; mod is the nominative to wear, and he, the principal nominative in the sentence, is left without a verb. so p. 88, 1. 13, and for his fægernysse þæt seo sunne sylf æt middum dæge, eall hire scima was on blæco gecyrred. page 14, line 14. wealcan dwelode. the passage corresponding to this in the original is as follows inter dubios volventis temporis eventus et atras caliginosæ vitæ nebulas, fluctuantisque sæculi gurgites jactaretur. the words in italics are those of which only a translation is attempted in the anglo-saxon the ms. reads weole welode. weolc. perf. from wealcan is explained ។ illustrations. 109 by bosworth (who refers to this passage), revolvit, effervescebat; and welode (which he identifies with wellode fr. wellian), æstuavit. that the passage is corrupt appears, i think, from this, that betweox requires an accusative or a dative (vernon, p. 89), and such word must immediately follow middan-eardes. by the alteration of one letter, and a distribution of those contained in 7 (and), a reading is obtained which at least presents less difficulty than that of the ms., and is nearer to the latin. wealcan may be either the dative pl. from weale, for wealcum, or possibly the infinitive of the verb, wealcan, used as a substantive, according to the german usage. i am not, however, prepared to adduce instances of this use of the infinitive. ibid. line 19. ff. the original runs thus: nam cum antiquorum regum stirpis suæ per transacta sæcula miserabiles exitus et flagitiosum vitæ terminum contemplaretur, necnon et caducas mundi divitias contemptibilemque temporalis vitæ gloriam pervigili mente consideraret, tunc sibi proprii obitus sui imaginatam formam ostendit, etc. i have translated the passage, under the impression that allusion was made to the numerous nstances of saxon kings who forsook their thrones to become monks or anchorites; a practice which came into fashion in guthlac's time. the sense of the latin is however different; and it may be perhaps better to translate: "who departed this world, by a miserable death and a wretched ending of their sinful life." page 16, line 20. hrypadún. repton, in derbyshire, once famous for its monastery, and as the capital city and burial-place of the kings of mercia. page 18, line 20. wilnian westenes and sundor-setle. qu.? whether we should read sundor-setles. perhaps, however, the habitual dislike of uniformity which displays itself in the anglo-saxon spelling, may be traced in this junction of two different cases with the same verb. (wilnian generally requires a genitive, or a dative preceded by the preposition, on or to.) as instances of a similar usage, compare ælf. hom. vol. ii. p. 604, gelyfan on þa halgan drynnysse and soore annysse; luke viii. 34, on þa ceastre and on tunum. 110 notes and page 20, line 9. se foresprecena wer and þære eadigan gemynde guðlac. the use of two articles coupled by a conjunction, to indicate one and the same object, is worthy of notice. for a similar instance, see beda, lib. iv, cap. xxvii (p. 603, 1. 26), mon þone halgan wer and pone arwurban cupbyrht to biscope gehalgode. ibid. line 14, pære stowe digelnysse. the ms. reads pa stowe digelnysse. but as this expression must be considered as equivalent to þa digelnysse þære stowe, i have no hesitation in altering þa to þære, in conformity with the principle alluded to in the note on p. 2, 1. 9. ibid. line 26. eahtoða dæg. in the original, die nono kalendarum septembrium; i. e. the 24th of august. page 24, line 12. sceotode. sceotian, to shoot, a transitive verb, from sceotan, sceat, scuton, scoten, intransitive; a distinction which has been lost in modern english. so hangian, to hang, transitive, from hon (hangan), heng, hangen, intransitive. see p. 50, 1. 16, 17. page 26, line 4. wæs þær on þam ealande, etc. the vercelli fragment begins here abruptly. wæs þær in þam sprecenan iglande sum mycel hlæw of eorpan geworht, pone ylcan hlaw iu geara men bræcon and dulfon for feoc [r. feos] þingum, etc. ibid. line 11. verc. fr. pa pohte he þæt he nawɣer þara, etc. ibid. line 13. verc. fr. ealle dagas his lifes. page 26, line 14. verc. fr. he hit swa ford-gelæste. illustrations. 111 ibid. line 15. verc. fr. was his ondleofones swyle gemetegung. this last word i have adopted in the text, instead of the cottonian reading, to gereorde, which does not agree with the original, and is tautologous. ibid. line 20. verc. fr. mid þy he by gewunelican peowdome his sealmas sang and his gebedum ætfealh, þa se ealda feond mancynnes gengde geond þæt græs-wang, swa grymetende leo, þæt he his costunga attor wide geond stregde. page 28, line 1. the remainder of this sentence is very carelessly written in the vercelli fragment; the reader may find some exercise for his ingenuity in correcting it. mid by he pa yfelnes mægen and his grimnesse attor telda [r. todæle], þæt he mid by atre pa menniscan heortan wundað, þa semninga swa he of bendum and of brogan was his costunga ða he ða þam earh winnendan stræle on þam mode gefæstnode þæs cristes cempan. the words earh winnendan are apparently a gloss carelessly inserted in the wrong place; perhaps we should read þam earh-winnendan mode, the faintly striving soul. earh, substantive, means an arrow; but i do not see how that sense can be given to it here. the latin runs thus: dum enim omnis nequitiæ suæ vires versuta mente tentaret, tum veluti ab extenso arcu venenifluam desperationis sagittam totis viribus jaculavit, quousque in christi militis mente umbone defixa pependit. ibid. line 5. verc. fr. werigan for awerigedan. the same substitution takes place wherever the word occurs. ibid. line 10. verc. fr. fyrena for synna. 112 notes and page 28, line 18. verc. fr. wol-berendan for tweogendum. verc. fr. feonde for blipe. page 30, line 1. ibid. line 7. verc. fr. hine het þæt him ne tweode no, etc. verc. fr. tu for twegen. ibid. line 9. verc. fr. ja he se haliga guðlac pas word gehyrde his þæs getrywan freondes, þa wæs on gæstlicre blisse and heofoncundre gife swide gfeode [r. gefeonde] and his geleafan fæste in god sylfne getrymede and fæstnode. sydðan seo tid wæs þæt næfre þæt deoful eft wið hine þære ormodnesse wæpnum on hine sceotode. verc. fr. ussa for ure. ibid. line 16. ibid. line 20. verc. fr. cunedon for fandedon. ibid. line 21. ibid. line 22. verc. fr. wene ic [r. is] þæt we þe furðor ne wyllan leng swencan ne de mid brogan bysmrian, &c. page 32, line 3. verc. fr. middangeardes for middaneardes. ibid. line 8, ff. verc. fr. ponne gif þu þæs wilnast þæt þu of de ða ærran fremednesse yfelra leahtra of-adwea, þonne scealt þu þinne lichaman illustrations. 113 purh forhæfednesse weccean, forpan swið or swa ðu þe her on worulde wecst [qu.? swencst] and weccest to forgifenesse þinra gylta swa ðu þonne eft bist in ecnessum getrymed fæstlicor, and swa micle swiðor swa ðu on þyssan andweardan life ma earfeða dreogest swa micle pu eft in towyrdnesse forgifest, and þanne þu bist on fæsten her on worulde astreaht, þonne bist þu ahafen for godes eagan. page 32, line 18. verc. fr. swa on teala micelre, etc. ibid. line 19. verc. fr. bid to clansigeanne se man. verc. fr. rec for smic. page 34, line 1. verc. fr. geþence for oncnawe. ibid. line 3. ibid. line 5, ff. verc. fr. hie pa ealle idle and unnytte ongeat; ac þa feng to þære teala myclan andleofone, þæt was to þam berenan hlafe, and pone gebygde and his feorh bigferede. verc. fr. cyrme for cyme. ibid. line 10. verc. fr. mid wependre stefne bemurnon and wide geond þæt land wa don; and he se geadiga wer swa gesigefæsted þa bysmornesse ealle forhogode þæra werigra gasta and him for-naht dyde. the verb waðan, to wander, flee, is not in bosworth. ibid. line 18. ibid. line 19. hi wæron, etc. this description has been somewhat abridged by the anglo-saxon translator: i give it in full, marking in italics the parts omitted in the translation. 114 notes and erant enim aspectu truces, formâ terribiles, capitibus magnis, collis longis, macilentâ facie, lurido vultu, squallidâ barbâ, auribus hispidis, fronte torvâ, trucibus oculis, ore fœtido, dentibus equinis, gutture flammivomo, faucibus tortis, labro lato, vocibus horrisonis, comis combustis, bucculá crassá, pectore arduo, femoribus scabris, genibus nodosis, cruribus uncis, talo tumido, plantis aversis, ore patulo, clamoribus raucisonis. ita enim immensis vagitibus horrescere audiebantur, ut totam pæne a cœlo in terram intercapedinem clangisonis boatibus implerent. the vercelli fragment agrees in these omissions, which is sufficient to show that it is based upon the same text as the cotton ms., notwithstanding the material alterations introduced throughout. page 34, line 20. verc. fr. lange for langne. ibid. line 21. the word manigre (verc. fr. mænigre) i have replaced by mægere, in accordance with the original, macilentâ. ibid. line 22. orfyrme. from or, privative, and feormian, to cleanse. verc. fr. bearde for beardum. ibid. line 23. verc. fr. egeslice eagan and ondrysenlice mudas, and heora teð wæron horses tuxum gelice, and him wæron þa hracan lige afylled. topas (in the text) for teð is worthy of note. the same form occurs in the poetical dialogue of saturn and solomon, line 230. in cod. ex. 219, 1. 22, fotas is used for fét. page 36, line 1. cott. ms. mís crocetton. verc. fr. misscrence tán. the latter reading i adopt in the text. bosworth explains mis-crocetton, croaked badly. this does not come very near the original, ore patulo; and the reading misscrence tán answers much better to the words plantis aversis. gescrencean, for-screncan, mean to trip up, supplantare. illustrations. 115 elfric uses the word for-screncend to explain the name jacob, i. e. supplanter. hom. vol. i, p. 586. gescrincan, forscrincan, from which these words are derivatives, mean to shrink, wither, intransitively. mis-screnc (qu.? mis-screnct) may therefore well mean distorted, shrivelled. page 36, line 2. verc. fr. and hi swa ungemetlice hrymdon and foran mid forhtlicum egesum and ungepwærnessum þæt hit þuhte þæt hit eall betweoh, etc. ibid. line 5. verc. fr. ylding for yldend. the termination end denotes an actor, ing or ung, an action. the words, næs þa nænig yldend must therefore be explained to mean, none of them delayed; not, there was no delay. ibid. line 7. verc. fr. gebundenum hine tugon. ibid. line 9. verc. fr. þæt swearte fenn. ibid. line 9. the cotton ms. reads orwehtan, which bosworth explains, without water (from or, and, wæt). the original is, cœnosis. the reading of the verc. fr. horwihtan, from horu, horuwe, filth, mud (like stæniht, hæriht), seems clearly the true one, and i have adopted it in the text. ibid. line 12. verc. fr. betuh for betwux. ibid. line 14. verc. fr. on þære þystran nihte. ibid. line 15. verc. fr. læton hie hine bidan ana and gestandan. 116 notes and page 36, line 17. verc. fr. mid maran brogan bysmrigan and wacan. ibid. line 21. verc. fr. omits the words fram þe, which come in awkwardly enough in the text. ibid. line 24. verc. fr. in þam ondrysenlicum fiderum betuh þa caldan facu. ibid. line 27. verc. fr. þam sweartestum afylled swiðra genipa. pa geseah he semninga þær da ondrysenlican fiðeru ongen cuman þara werigra gasta, and unmæte weorod hyra þær coman togenes. page 38, line 2. verc. fr. gebyddon for gegaderodon. ibid. line 4. verc. fr. tintreges gomum helle dures. the cottonian ms. reads duru, which, if retained, must be considered, i suppose, as an accusative. the passage seems to require the dative, and i have accordingly placed dura in the text. if dures be not a mere blunder of the scribes, it adds another anomaly to the declension of duru, which is properly decl. 111. 3 of rask, but takes dura and duran in the oblique cases. ibid. line 4. verc. fr. da he bær geseah þa smicendan pismas (qu.? prosmas) þara byrnenda liga, and þone ege þære sweartan nywylnesse, he da sona was ofergeotol ealra þæra tintrega þe he fram þam werigum gastum ær dreah and drefde; and na læs þán (r. þæt an) þæt he þær þa leglican hyde dæs fyres upþyddan geseah and eac þa (r. þæs) fullan swefles þær geseah upgeotan. illustrations, 117 to these latter words there is no equivalent in the cottonian ms. they correspond, however, to a paragraph in the original. page 38, line 9. verc. fr. ligeas for lega. ibid. line 13. verc. fr. para wita, and hine for by ege swiðlice onþræc, da cleopodon, etc. ibid. line 16. verc. fr. on ðæs witu þisse neowolnesse. ibid. line 20. verc. fr. þystra bearnum and forwyrde tuddor, ge syndon dustes acsan: hwa geaf eow yrmingum, etc. verc. fr. earo for gearu. ibid. line 24. ibid. line 26. verc. fr. bregian for egsian. page 40, line 5. verc. fr. betuh pa dimman þystro. the cottonian text has þa dimnysse peostru. dimnysse, a genitive of quality, intervenes between the substantive and its article, in place of an adjective, without disturbing the concord. see note on p. 2, l. 9. ibid. line 7. verc. fr. gewunigean for awunian. ibid. line 8. verc. fr. hie sylfe in heolstre hyddon. 118 notes and page 40, line 10. verc. fr. gefeannesse for gefean. the fragment winds up here with the words: and þa æfter þam fleah se haliga guðlac mid þam apostole sce bartbolomei to heofona rices wuldre, and bine se hælend þær onfeng, and he þær leofað and rixad in heofona rices wuldre a butan ende on ecnesse. amen, fiat. ibid. line 21. ibunt de virtute, etc. these were the words which furseus heard chanted by the angelic host. i refer the reader to mr. wright's interesting work entitled, st. patrick's purgatory, for an account of the visions of that saint, and others of a similar character, which belong to the age of guthlac. page 42, line 7. cenred began to reign a. d. 704, and in a.d. 709 went to rome, where he ended his days. ibid. line 20. afyldon. the original runs: illum vero intercipientes, acutis hastarum spiculis in auras levare cœperunt. i am doubtful whether afyldon should be translated "they filled" or "they felled," but have adopted the latter meaning. page 44, line 22. þwean. it may be proper to observe that the original has nothing equivalent to the words, þæt he hine wolde þwean, which would seem to imply that guthlac's ablutions took place only every twenty days. the latin is: ut assolebat, post bis denos dierum cursus tonderare devenisset. page 46, line 6. þa deap-berendan water. several neuters of the third declension in el, en, er, or, which should regularly form their nominative and accusative plural in u, are found occasionally (as if belonging to the second declension), making no alteration in these cases. see p. 36, 1. 9, þa horwihtan water. beda, p. 690, 1. 10 (smith), þa wundor. orosius, lib. iv, cap. 2, þa yfelan wundor. illustrations. 119 life of guthlac, p. 72, 1. 3, þa wundor. cod. ex., p. 111, 1. 15, purh gastlicu wundor. beda, p. 608, 1. 39, eall þa hrægel . . . ungewemmed wæron; and p. 609, 1. 10, þa sylfan hrægel. life of guthlac, p. 90, 1. 23, þa hrægl. cod. ex., p. 204, 1. 12, tungol beoð ahyded. cod. ex., p. 20, l. 11, beoð wolcen towegen. page 46, line 10. unablinnu. bosworth explains this word to mean incessatio, non intermissa series, from blin or ablinnan. the latin text has no word corresponding to it. it seems to belong to the class of neuter plurals used in an abstract sense, like eaðmetto and ofermetto. (rask, gram. 92.) ibid. line 20. befeal. this is the perfect of a verb, befeolan, which is not given in bosworth's lexicon, but which occurs infra, p. 52, ult. etfeolan, perf. ætfealh is given in the lexicons, and the vercelli fragment uses this word for befeal, p. 26, 1. 21. there appears to be two distinct verbs, namely, feallan, p. feoll. part. gefeallan (conj. ii, 2, of rask); and feolan, p. feal or fealh (qu.? iii, 1, making, perhaps, folgen in the participle). as the anglo-saxon does not form one verb of the complex order from another of the same, i question whether there be any radical connexion between these verbs; and would suggest, as matter for inquiry, whether the verb fyligean or fylgan (conj. ii, 2, the g being a radical letter) be not derived from feolan, fealh. (see rask, gram. 347.) the h in the perfect points to a g in the root. befeolan, ætfeolan, answer to the words incumbere, insistere, and involve the idea of pursuing rather than falling. page 50, line 8. sarig. grammar requires sarigne. it is difficult to say whether a reading of this kind is the result of mere carelessness in transcription, or of lax and corrupt usage. in p. 92, 1. 22, we find: ne hyne nan man yrre geseah ne úngeornfulne, etc., where yrrne would be grammatically correct. ibid. line 14. þæt egland. qu.? þæm eglande. neah governs the dative. in p. 58, l. 19, we find, wel neah þam eglande. 120 notes and page 50, line 20. qu.? whether we should not read gearnunge, and mildheortnysse, according to the latin construction; non sui meriti, sed divinæ miserationis. however, in p. 58, 1. 16, we find: gif þæt godes stihtung wære, which may support the use of the nominative in this passage. ibid. line 10. gefere. properly gefera; and in the title we should read geferan. the word is of decl. i, 2, of rask. i abstain from correcting in the text, thinking that this spelling may be not so much an error of the scribe as a corrupt usage, occasioned by the existence of a numerous class of words in ere (decl. ii, 2), to which gefere may have been thought to belong. in the title of chap. xviii, hædde is written for hæddan, and in that of chap. xvii, abbodysse for abbodyssan. the latter i have corrected in the text. page 52, line 4. leofe-bene. leof, læf or leaf, leave. hence leafe-ben, leave-asking. ibid. line 9. drencton. ms. dremdon. if this reading be retained, translate, "they delighted each other." th original is, divinarum scriptuarum haustibus inebriarent; from which, and from the similar use of indrencton, p. 72, 1. 7, i have little doubt drencton is the true reading. page 54, line 22. þæs huses hrofe. the ms. has pam. as a particular house is meant, it is to the word huses that the article must belong, and i correct accordingly. see note on p. 2, 1. 9. page 56, line 2. mid bliðum andwlite and góde mode. i have before noticed the use of two different cases with one preposition. here we have the dative and ablative joined with mid. page 58, line 5. acsodon. the verb acsian, like the greek tvvlávoμai, means to receive information as well as to demand it. see p. 94, 1. 1. illustrations. 121 page 60, line 6. raxende. this word is not to be found in bosworth, nor in any of the anglosaxon glossaries which i have consulted. the latin runs thus: ipse autem, velut qui de æstuantis gurgitis fluctibus ad portum deducitur, longa suspicia imo de pectore trahens, etc. to these latter words raxende appears to correspond. the word raxed occurs in piers ploughman, explained by mr. wright in the glossary, to hawk, spit. raux, or rax, is also a north-country word, signifying to stretch (see jameson's scottish dictionary, and halliwell's dictionary of archaic and provincial words), probably akin to the anglo-saxon ræcan, reach, retch. page 64, line 23. behydde. for behyddon. it is not noticed in the grammars that the perfect (as well as the present, see rask, gram. 197) frequently takes the termination e for on in the plural, when the pronoun follows the verb. as instances, take the following: matt. vii, 22, húne witegode we on þinum naman? matt. xii, 3, ne rædde ge? gyf we wæron on ure fædera dagum, nære we geferan. matt. xxvi, 37, hwænne gesawe we? john xv, 16, ne gecure ge me. elf. hom. vol. ii, p. 350, 1. 5, đa become wit to anre dene. matt. xxiii. 31, page 66, line 11. aper oððe. a similar redundancy of the disjunctive aper occurs in alfred's orosius (thorpe's analecta, p. 84): eall þæt his man aber oððe ettan orde erian mæg. page 68, line 17. hine. reaf being neuter, if this reading be correct, we must suppose hine to refer to some masculine noun signifying a garment; gegyrla, perhaps. ibid. line 23. on þa fyrle. german in die ferne, into the distance. page 72, line 14. [bysena.] latin: divinarum scripturarum exemplis. 6 122 notes and page 74, line 1. þam biscopes þegnum. i have abstained from correcting, but have little doubt that the true reading is þæs biscopes þegnum, the officers of a particular bishop being meant, not bishop's-officers, as we say sheriff's-officers, indicating a distinct class of persons. in p. 70, l. 12, we find, correctly, þæs bisceopes þegnas. ibid. line 3. hwyle pincð. ms. pince, in the subjunctive. but it does not seem correct to use the subjunctive after a direct interrogative. if the words saga me precede, so as to make the interrogative dependent, the anglo-saxon permits either the indicative or subjunctive to follow. the dialogues of salomon and saturn, and of adrian and ritheus, afford numerous examples of this varying usage. in the latter dialogue, question 24, saga me, hwylce wihta beoð, etc.; and question 28, saga me, hwyle man wære deád, etc. page 74, line 10. hárfæstlice. ms. árfæstlice. latin: in autumnali tempore. ibid. line 14. aldwulfes. aldwulf, king of the east-angles, began to reign a.d. 663, died a.d. 713. his daughter ecgburh was abbess of repandun. see genealogy of the kings of east-anglia, thorpe's lappenberg, vol. i. page 76, line 13. ceolred. began to reign a.d. 709, died a.d. 716. æthelbald, the exile here mentioned, succeeded him in a.d.716. see genealogy of the kings of mercia, thorpe's lappenberg, vcl. i. page 78, line 5. on gerisne. dr. bosworth translates this phrase rapinâ, from risan or gerisan, to seize. the original certainly is: non in prædâ, nec in rapinâ regnum tibi dabitur. but qu.? whether it be not from gerisen, fit, right; meaning jure or ratione, by right, or, in consequence of. compare the phrases mid rihte and mid gerisenum, coupled in p. 2, 1. 4. illustrations. 123 page 78, line 12. þæt ricu, etc. in the original these words commence the next chapter, and are preparatory to the account of guthlac's death. verum quoniam humanum genus ab initio mortalis miseriæ quotidie ad finem decurrit, mutatis temporibus generationes et regna mutantur, etc. a line has apparently been lost in the translation, wherein mention was made of the human race, to which hit is meant to refer. but compare p. 86, 1. 2. ibid. line 13. se rica, etc. these nominatives want a verb, the construction being changed, as in p. 88, ll. 13, 14. page 80, line 2. hine het gyrwan. latin præparare cœpit. literally, he bid himself prepare. page 80, line 21. mettrumnys. ms. mettrumnysse. the termination nysse for nys in the nominative occurs so frequently in the ms. hereabouts, that it may be thought to be less the blunder of the copyist than an evidence of declining attention to correctness of grammatical inflexion at the time when he wrote. smith's beda affords numerous instances of the same corruption. page 82, line 4. eago-spind. literally, eye-fat. the glossaries spell this word in a great variety of ways. hagu-spind, hagu-swind, eagan-spind, eagan-swind, heagospind, hecga-spind. ibid. line 10. the original has: tantæ ergo fidei fuit, ut mortem quæ cunctis mortalibus timenda formidandaque videtur, ille velut requiem aut præmium laboris judicaret. the words se cupa, etc., seem introduced by mistake, and afford no sense. a phrase somewhat similar occurs p. 92, ult., where the original is: ita ut extra humanam naturam notis ignotisque esse videretur. 124 notes and page 84, line 1. behealt. so the ms. beheald is the correct reading. synt occurs for synd, p. 96, 1. 4, perhaps indicating that the final d (as in modern german) often assumed the sound of t. ibid. line 7. bidde. more correctly, bide. rask, gram. 230. ibid. ult. nelt. wyllan has no imperative mood; because, as ælfric the grammarian observes, the will should ever be free. it is in accordance with this rule that we find nelt and ne wylt (p. 96, 1. 1), the 2d person present indicative, used instead of an imperative. yet as the will may be controlled, a real imperative (nelle) of the negative verb nyllan is also admitted. so in latin, noli; there being no corresponding imperative to volo. page 86, line 8. gehihte. hiht means hope, joy; hence gehihtan must mean here to alleviate by inspiring hope. page 88, line 11. torr. ms. topp, i. e. vertex, fastigium. the latin has turrim; and in the metrical version, cod. ex. p. 180, 1. 26, the word used is tor. heofonlic leoma. qu.? ormætum. from foldan up. swylce fyren tor. ryht aræred. ibid. line 17. ormædum. page 90, line 7. awolde, etc. a very similar passage occurs in alfred's beda, lib. iv, cap. 30, by the help of which we may correct the errors of the text in this place. wolde da openlicor ætywan seo godcunde arfæstnysse (read arfæstnys) illustrations. 125 on hu myclum wuldre se drihtnes wer cupbyrht æfter his deaþe lifede, ðæs his lif ær þam deape mid healicum tacnum heofonlicra wundra openode and ætywde. ibid. line 16. circlicre. ms, cynlice. latin: aliis ecclesiasticis gradibus. page 96, line 12. his scipes-man. latin quidam vir paterfamilias in provinciâ wissa, without any mention of athelbald. probably the true reading is hiwscipes-man, and the words, þæs fores precenan wræccan apelbaldes, should be omitted. ibid. line 13. wissa. the province of the gewissas or west saxons, i presume. see thorpe's lappenberg, vol. i, p. 109. ibid. line 14. fleo. latin: albugo. a white spot in the eye. somner gives the word eag-flea, in the same sense. finis. written also fleah. c. and j. adlard, printers, bartholomew close. valuable and interesting books, published or sold by john russell smith, 4, old compton street, soho square, london. philology and early english literature. a dictionary of archaic and provincial words, obsolete phrases, proverbs, and ancient customs, from the reign of edward i. by james orchard halliwell, f.r.s., f.s.a., &c. 2 vols. 8vo. containing upwards of 1000 pages, closely printed in double columns, cloth, £2. 28 this work, which has occupied the editor some years, is now completed; it contains above 50,000 words (embodying all the known scattered glossaries of the english language) forming a complete key for the reader of the works of our old poets, dramatists, theologians, and other authors whose works abound with allusions, of which explanations are not to be found in ordinary dictionaries and books of reference. most of the principal archaisms are illustrated by examples selected from early inedited mss. and rare books, and by far the greater portion will be found to be original authorities. guide to the anglo-saxon tongue: on the basis of professor rask's grammar, to which are added reading lessons in verse and prose, with notes for the use of learners, by e. j. vernon, b.a., oxon. 12mo. cloth, 5s 6d "the author of this guide seems to have made one step in the right direction, by compiling what may be pronounced the best work on the subject hitherto published in england."-athenæum. 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comprising elfric's homily on the birthday of st. gregory, with a copious glossary, &c. by l. langley, f.l.s. 12mo. cloth, 28 6d compendious anglo-saxon and english dictionary, by the rev. joseph bosworth, d.d., f.r.s., f.s.a., &c.-will be ready very shortly. it will contain all the words of the large octavo edition, with numerous additions, and will be published at a price which will place it within the reach of all who take an interest in the language of their forefathers. 2 john russell smith, 4, old compton street, soho. reliquiæ antiquæ.-scraps from ancient manuscripts, illustrating chiefly early english literature, and the english lan. guage, edited by wright and halliwell, 2 vols. 8vo. cloth, £2. 28– reduced to £1. 48 containing communications by ellis, madden, hunter, bruce, turnbull, laing, nichols, &c. but very few copies remain. odd numbers may be had to complete sets at 28. each. it contains a large number of pieces in anglo-saxon, anglo-norman, and early english; it will be found of use to future philologists, and to all who take an interest in the history of our language and literature. popular treatises on science, written during the middle ages, in anglo-saxon, anglo-norman, and english, 8vo. edited by thos. wright, cloth, 4s 6d contents: an anglo-saxon treatise on astronomy of the tenth century, now first published from a ms. in the british museum, with a translation; 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"a literary curiosity, and one both welcome and serviceable to the lover of blackletter lore. though the obsoleteness of the style may occasion sad stumbling to a modern reader, yet the class to which it rightly belongs will value it accordingly; both because it is curious in its details, and possesses philological importance. to the general reader it presents one feature, viz. the reference to wayland smith, whom sir w. scott has invested with so much interest.""-metropolitan magazine. the harrowing of hell, a miracle play, written in the reign of edward ii., now first published from the original in the british museum, with a modern reading, introduction, and notes, by james orchard halliwell, esq. f.r.s., f.s.a., &c. 8vo. sewed, 28 this curious piece is supposed to be the earliest specimen of dramatic composition in the english language; vide hallam's literature of europe, vol. i.; strutt's manners and customs, vol. ii.; warton's english poetry; sharon turner's england; collier's history of english dramatic poetry, vol. ii. p. 213. all these writers refer to the manuscript. nuga poeticæ; select select pieces of old english popular poetry, illustrating the manners and arts of the xvth century, edited by j. o. halliwell, post 8vo. only 100 copies printed, cloth, 5s contents:-colyn blowbol's testament; the debate of the carpenter's tools; the merchant and his son; the maid and the magpie; elegy on lobe, henry viiith's fool; romance of robert of sicily, and five other curious pieces of the same kind. reliques of irish jacobite poetry, with interlinear translations, and biographical sketches of the authors, and notes by j. daly, also english metrical versions by e. walsh, 8vo. parts 1 and 2, (all yet published,) 28 4 john russell smith, 4, old compton street, soho. rara mathematica; or a collection of treatises on the mathematics and subjects connected with them, from ancient inedited mss. by j. o. halliwell, 8vo. second edition, cloth, 38 6d contents: johannis de sacro-bosco tractatus de arte numerandi; method used in england in the fifteenth century for taking the altitude of a steeple; treatise on the numeration of algorism; treatise on glasses for optical purposes, by w. bourne; johannis robyns de cometis commentaria; two tables showing the time of high water at london bridge, and the duration of moonlight, from a ms. of the thirteenth century; on the mensuration of heights and distances; alexandri de villa dei carmen de algorismo; preface to a calendar or almanack for 1430; johannis norfolk in artem progressionis summula; notes on early almanacs, by the editor, &c. &c. popular errors in english grammar, particularly in pronunciation, familiarly pointed out, by george jackson, 12mo. third edition, with a coloured frontispiece of the "sedes busbeiana,” 6d provincial dialects of england. bibliographical list of all the works which have been published towards illustrating the provincial dialects of england, by john russell smith, post 8vo. 1s "very serviceable to such as prosecute the study of our provincial dialects, or are collecting works on that curious subject. we very cordially recomment it to notice." metropolitan. an historical sketch of the provincial dialects of england, illustrated by numerous examples, extracted from the "dictionary of archaic and provincial words," by james orchard halliwell, 8vo. sewed, 28 poems of rural life, in the dorset dialect, with a dissertation and glossary, by william barnes, second edition, enlarged and corrected, royal 12mo. cloth, 10s a fine poetic feeling is displayed through the various pieces in this volume; according to some critics nothing has appeared equal to it since the time of burns; the gentleman's magazine' for dec, 1844, gave a review of the first edition some pages in length. a glossary of provincial words and phrases in use in wiltshire, showing their derivation in numerous instances from the language of the anglo-saxons, by john yonge akerman, esq. f.s.a., 12mo. cloth, 38 the vocabulary of east anglia, an attempt to record the vulgar tongue of the twin sister counties, norfolk and suffolk, as it existed in the last twenty years of the eighteenth century, and still exists; with proof of its antiquity from etymology and authority, by the rev. r. forby, 2 vols. post 8vo. cloth, 12s (original price £1. 1s) westmoreland and cumberland dialects, dialogues, poems, songs, and ballads, by various writers, in the westmoreland and cumberland dialects, now first collected, to which is added, a copious glossary of words peculiar to those counties, post 8vo. pp. 408, cloth, 9s this collection comprises, in the westmoreland dialect, mrs. ann wheeler's four familiar dialogues, with poems, &c.; and in the cumberlands dialect, i. poems and pastorals by the rev. josiah relph; ii. pastorals, &c., by ewan clark; iii. letters from dublin by a young_borrowdale shepherd, by isaac ritson; iv. poems by john stagg ; v. poems by mark lonsdale; vi. ballads and songs by robert anderson, the cumbrian bard (including some now first printed); vii. songs by miss blamire and miss gilpin; viii. songs by john rayson; ix. an extensive glossary of westmoreland and cumber land words. john russell smith, 4, old compton street, soho. 5 specimens of cornish provincial dialects, collected and arranged by uncle jan treenoodle, with some introductory remarks and a glossary by an antiquarian friend, also a selection of songs and other pieces connected with cornwall, post 8vo. with curious portrait of dolly pentreath, cloth, 4s exmoor scolding and courtship in the propriety and decency of exmoor (devonshire) language, with notes and a glossary, post 8vo. 12th edition, 1s 6d 66 a very rich bit of west of englandism."metropolitan. the yorkshire dialect, exemplified in various dialogues, tales, and songs, applicable to the county, with a glossary, post 8vo. 1s "a shilling book worth its money; most of the pieces of composition are not only harmless, but good and pretty. the eclogue on the death of awd daisy," an outworn horse, is an outpouring of some of the best feelings of the rustic mind; and the addresses to riches and poverty have much of the freedom and spirit of burns." gent.'s magazine, may, 1841. a collection of fugitive pieces in the dialect of zummerzet, edited by j. o. halliwell, post 8vo. only 50 printed, 28 dick and sal, or jack and joan's fair, a doggrel poem, in the kentish dialect, 3rd edition, 12mo. 6d jan cladpole's trip to 'merricur in search for dollar trees, and how he got rich enough to beg his way home! written in sussex doggerel, 12mo. 6d john noakes and mary styles, a poem, exhibiting some of the most striking lingual localisms peculiar to essex, with a glossary, by charles clark, esq. of great totham hall, essex, post 8vo. cloth, 28 "the poem possesses considerable humour."-tait's mag." a very pleasant trifle." lit. gaz. "a very clever production."-essex lit. journal. full of rich humour."essex mercury. "very droll."-metropolitan. "exhibits the dialect of essex perfectly."-eclectic review. "full of quaint wit and humour."-gent.'s mag. may 1841. "a very clever and amusing piece of local description."-archeologist. grose's (francis, f.s.a.) glossary of provincial and local words used in england, with which is now first incorporated the supplement by samuel pegge, f.s.a., post 8vo. elegantly printed, cloth, 4s 6d the utility of a provincial glossary to all persons desirous of understanding our ancient poets is so universally acknowledged, that to enter into a proof of it would be entirely a work of supererogation. grose and pegge are constantly referred to in todd's "johnson's dictionary." archaeology and numismatics. the druidical temples of the county of wilts, by the rev. e. duke, m.a., f.s.a., member of the archæological institute, &c., author of the "hall of john halle," and other works, 12mo. plates, cloth, 58 "mr. duke has been long honourably known as a zealous cultivator of our local antiquities. his collections on this subject, and on the literature of wiltshire, are nowhere surpassed; while his residence on the borders of the plain, and within reach of our most interesting remains, has afforded scope to his meritorious exertions. the work before us is the fruit of long study and laborious investigation.”—salisbury journal. 6 john russell smith, 4, old compton street, soho. an archæological index to remains of antiquity of the celtic, romano-british and anglo-saxon periods, by john yonge akerman, f.s.a., in 1 vol. 8vo. illustrated with numerous engravings, comprising upward of five hundred objects, cloth, 158 this work, though intended as an introduction and a guide to the study of our early antiquities, will it is hoped also prove of service, as a book of reference to the practised archæologist. the contents are as follows: part i. celtic period.-tumuli, or barrows and cairns.-cromlechs.-sepulchral caves.-rocking stones.-stone circles, etc. etc.-objects discovered in celtic sepulchres. -urns.-beads.-weapons.-implements, etc. romano-british part ii. period.-tumuli of the roman-british period.burial places of the romans.-pavements.-camps.-villas.-sepulchral monuments. -sepulchral inscriptions.dedicatory inscriptions. commemorative inscriptions.altars.-urns.glass vessels.-fibulæ.-armillæ.-coins.-coin-moulds, etc. etc. part iii. anglo-saxon period.-tumuli.-detailed list of objects discovered in anglo-saxon barrows.-urns.-swords.-spears.-knives. umbones of shields.buckles. fibulæ.-bullæ. hair pins-beads, etc. etc. etc. etc. the itinerary of antoninus (as far as relates to britain). the geographical tables of ptolemy, the notitia, and the itinerary of richard of cirencester, together with a classified index of the contents of the archeologia (vols. i. to xxxi.) are given in an appendix. estiges of the antiquities of derbyshire, and the sepulchral usages of its inhabitants, from the most remote ages to the reformation, by thomas bateman, esq. of yolgrave, 8vo. profusely illustrated with woodcuts, cloth, £1. 1s notitia britanniæ, or an inquiry concerning the localities, habits, condition, and progressive civilization of the aborigines of britain; to which is appended a brief retrospect of the results of their intercourse with the romans, by w. d. saull, f.s.a., f.g.s., &c. 8vo. engravings, 38 6d a verbatim report of the proceedings at a special general meeting of the british archæological association, held at the theatre of the western library institution, 5th march, 1845, t. j. pettigrew in the chair. with an introduction by thomas wright, 8vo. sewed, 1s 6d a succinct history of the division between the archæological association and institute. british archæological association.-a report of the proceedings and excursions of the members of the british archæological association, at the canterbury session, sept. 1844, by a. j. dunkin, thick 8vo. with many engravings, cloth, £1. is "the volume contains most of the papers entire that were read at the meeting, and revised by the authors. it will become a scarce book as only 120 were printed; and it forms the first yearly volume of the archæological association, or the archæological institute." coins of the romans relating to britain, described and illustrated, by j. y. akerman, f.s.a., secretary to the numismatic society, &c. second edition, greatly enlarged, 8vo. with plates and woodts, 10s 6d the "prix de numismatique" has just been awarded by the french institute to the author for this work. "mr. akerman's volume contains a notice of every known variety, with copious illustrations, and is published at very moderate price; it should be consulted, not merely for these particular coins, but also for facts most valuable to all who are interested in the romano-british history."-archæological journal. ancient coins of cities and princes, geographically arranged and described, hispania, gallia, britannia, by j. y. akerman, f.s.a., 8vo. with engravings of many hundred coins from actual examples, cloth, 188 john russell smith, 4, old compton street, soho. 7 numismatic illustrations of the narrative portions of the new testament, fine paper, numerous woodcuts from the original coins in various public and private collections, 1 vol. 8vo. cloth, 5s 6d lectures on the coinage of the greeks and romans, delivered in the university of oxford, by edward cardwell, d.d., principal of st. alban's hall, and professor of ancient history, 8vo. cloth, reduced from 88 6d to 48 a very interesting historical volume, and written in a pleasing and popular manner. essay on the numismatic history of the ancient kingdom of the east angles, by d. h. haigh, royal 8vo. 5 plates, containing numerous figures of coins, sewed, 68 a hand-book of english coins, from the conquest to victoria, by l. jewitt, 12mo. 11 plates, cloth, 18 heraldry and topography. the curiosities of heraldry, with illustrations from old english writers, by mark antony lower, author of "essays on english surnames;" with illuminated title-page, and numerous engravings from designs by the author, 8vo. cloth, gules, appropriately ornamented, or, 148 "the present volume is truly a worthy sequel (to the 'surnames') in the same curious and antiquarian line, blending with remarkable facts and intelligence, such a fund of amusing anecdote and illustration, that the reader is almost surprised to find that he has learnt so much, whilst he appeared to be pursuing mere entertainment. the text is so pleasing that we scarcely dream of its sterling value; and it seems as if, in unison with the woodcuts, which so cleverly explain its points and adorn its various topics, the whole design were intended for a relaxation from study, rather than an ample exposition of an extraordinary and universal custom, which produced the most important effect upon the minds and habits of mankind."-literary gazette. "mr. lower's work is both curious and instructive, while the manner of its treatment is so inviting and popular, that the subject to which it refers, which many have hitherto had too good reason to consider meagre and unprofitable, assumes, under the hands of the writer, the novelty of fiction with the importance of historical truth."-athenæum. english surnames. a series of essays on family nomenclature, historical, etymological, and humorous; with chapters on canting arms, rebuses, and the roll of battel abbey, a list of latinized surnames, &c. by mark antony lower. the second edition, enlarged, post 8vo. pp. 292, with 20 woodcuts, cloth, 6s to those who are curious about their patronymic, it will be found a very instructive and amusing volumemingling wit and pleasantry, with antiquarian research and historical interest. an index to the pedigrees and arms, contained in the heralds' visitations, in the british museum, alphabetically arranged in counties, 8vo. cloth, 10s 6d an indispensable work to those engaged in genealogical and topographical pursuits, affording a ready clue to the pedigrees and arms of nearly 20,000 of the gentry of england, their residences, &c. (distinguishing the different families of the same name in any county), as recorded by the heralds in their visitations between the years 1528 to 1686. history and antiquities of the ancient port and town of rye in sussex, compiled from original documents, by william holloway, esq., thick 8vo. only 200 printed, cloth, £1. 1s 8 john russell smith, 4, old compton street, soho. pedigrees of the nobility and gentry of hertfordshire, by william berry, late and for fifteen years registering clerk in the college of arms, author of the "encyclopædia heraldica," &c. &c. folio, (only 125 printed), bds. £3. 10s, reduced to £1. 58 a genealogical and heraldic history of the extinct and dormant baronetcies of england, ireland and scotland, by j. burke, esq. medium 8vo. second edition, 638 closely printed pages, double columns with about 1000 arms engraved on wood, fine portrait of james 1., and illuminated title-page, extra cloth, £1. 8s reduced to 108 this work, which has engaged the attention of the authors for several years, comprises nearly a thousand families, many of them amongst the most ancient and eminent in the kingdom, each carried down to its representative or representatives still existing, with elaborate and minute details of the alliances, achievements, and fortunes, generation after generation, from the earliest to the latest period. the work is printed to correspond precisely with the last edition of mr. burke's dictionary of the existing peerage and baronetage: the armorial bearings are engraved in the best style, and are incorporated with the text as in that work. history and antiquities of dartford in kent, with incidental notices of places in its neighbourhood, by j. dunkin, author of the "history of the hundreds of bullington and ploughley in oxfordshire; 66 "history of bicester;" history of bromley," &c. 8vo. 17 plates, cloth. only 150 printed, 21s historic sites and other remarkable and interesting places in the county of suffolk, by john wodderspoon, with prefatory verses by bernard barton, esq., and a poetical epilogue by a "suffolk villager." improved edition, fine woodcuts, post 8vo. pp. 232, closely printed, and containing as much matter as many 12s volumes, cloth, only 4s 6d history of banbury, in oxfordshire, including copious historical and antiquarian notices of the neighbourhood, by alfred beesley, thick 8vo. 684 closely printed pages, with 60 woodcuts, engraved in the first style of art, by o. jewitt, of oxford, (pub. at £1. 5s) now reduced to 14s "the neighbourhood of banbury is equally rich in british, roman, saxon, norman, and english antiquities, of all which mr. beesley has given regularly cleared accounts. banbury holds an important place in the history of the parliamentary war of the seventeenth century, and was the scene of the great battle of edgehill, and of the important fight of cropredy bridge. relating to the events of that period, the author has collected a great body of local information of the most interesting kind. by no means the least valuable part of mr. beesley's work, is his account of the numerous interesting early churches, which characterize the banbury district."-the archæologist. odd parts to complete copies, 1s. 6d. instead of 2s. 6d. history and antiquities of the isle of axholme, in lincolnshire, by the venerable archdeacon stonehouse, thick 4to. fine plates, reduced from £3. 3s to 18s the local historian's table-book of remarkable occurrences, historical facts, traditions, legendary and descriptive ballads, &c. &c. connnected with the counties of newcastle-on-tyne, northumberland, and durham, by m. a. richardson, royal 8vo. profusely illustrated with woodcuts, now complete in 8 vols. royal 8vo. cloth, 9s each, or the divisions sold separately as follows:historical division, 5 vols. legendary division, 3 vols. the legendary portion will be found very interesting volumes by those who take no interest in the historical one. john russell smith, 4, old compton street, soho. a critical dissertation on professor willis's "architectural history of canterbury cathedral," by c. sandys, of canterbury, 8vo. 2s 6d "written in no quarrelsome or captious spirit: the highest compliment is paid to professor willis, where it is due. but the author has certainly made out a clear case, in some very important instances, of inaccuracies that have led the learned professor into the construction of serious errors throughout. it may be considered as an indispensable companion to his volume, containing a great deal of extra information of a very curious kind."-art-union. bibliotheca cantiana, a bibliographical account of what has been published on the history, topography, antiquities, customs, and family genealogy of the county of kent, with biographical notes, by john russell smith, in a handsome 8vo. volume, pp. 370, with two plates of facsimiles of autographs of 33 eminent kentish, writers, 14s reduced to 5s-large paper, 10s 6d the history of the town of gravesend in kent, and of the port of london, by r. p. cruden, late mayor of gravesend, royal 8vo. 37 fine plates and woodcuts, a very handsome volume, cloth, 1843, reduced from £1. 8s to 10s the visitor's guide to knole house, near seven oaks in kent, with catalogue of the pictures contained in the mansion, a genealogical history of the sackville family, &c. &c. by j. h. brady, f.r.a.s., 12mo. 27 woodcuts by bonner, sly, &c. cloth, 4s 6d. large paper, 10s illustrations of knole house, from drawings by bonner, sly, &c. 8vo. 16 plates, with descriptions, 5s greenwich; its history, antiquities, and public buildings, by h. s. richardson, 12mo. fine woodcuts by baxter, 1s 6d the folkestone fiery serpent, together with the humours of the dovor mayor; being an ancient ballad full of mystery and pleasant conceit, now first collected and printed from the various ms. copies in possession of the inhabitants of the south-east coast of kent, with notes, 12mo. 1s a brief account of the parish of stowting, in kent, and of the antiquities lately discovered there, by the rev. f. wrench, rector, 8vo. three folding plates, etched by the author, sewed, 2s 6d history of portsmouth, portsea, landport, southsea, and gosport, by henry slight, esq. 8vo. third edition, bds. 48 a hand-book to lewes in sussex, historical and descriptive, with notices of the recent discoveries at the priory, by mark antony lower, 12mo. many engravings, cloth, 28 chronicles of pevensey in sussex, by m. a. lower, 12mo. woodcuts, 1s the archæologist and journal of antiquarian science. edited by j. o. halliwell, 8vo. nos. i. to x. complete, with index, pp. 490. with 19 engravings, cloth, reduced from 10s 6d to 5s 6d containing original articles on architecture, historical literature, round towers of ireland, philology, bibliography, topography, proceedings of the various antiquarian societies, retrospective reviews, and reviews of recent antiquarian works, &c. 10 john russell smith, 4, old compton street, soho. historia collegii jesu cantabrigiensis à j. sherpræs. ejusdem collegii. edita j. o. halliwell, 8vo.cloth,2 manno, olim history and antiquities of the hundred of compton, berks, with dissertations on the roman station of calleva attrebatum, and the battle of ashdown, by w. hewitt, jun. 8vo. 18 plates, cloth. only 250 printed, 15s-reduced to 98 newcastle tracts; reprints of rare and curious tracts, chiefly illustrative of the history of the northern counties; beautifully printed in crown 8vo. on a fine thick paper, with facsimile titles, and other features characteristic of the originals. only 100 copies printed, nos. i. to xlix. £5. 58 purchasers are expected to take the succeeding tracts as published; the series is nearly completed. a journey to beresford hall, in derbyshire, the seat of charles cotton, esq. the celebrated author and angler, by w. alexander, f.s.a., f.l.s., late keeper of the prints in the british museum, crown 4to. printed on tinted paper, with a spirited frontispiece, representing walton and his adopted son cotton in the fishing-house, and vignette title-page, cloth, 58 dedicated to the anglers of great britain and the various walton and cotton clubs; only 100 printed. biography, literary history, and criticism. a new life of shakespeare, founded upon recently discovered documents, by james orchard halliwell, f.r.s., f.s.a., with numerous illustrations of objects never before engraved, from drawings by f. w. fairholt, f.s.a., in 1 vol. 8vo. cloth, 12s an introduction to shakespeare's midsummer night's dream, by j. o. halliwell, 8vo. cloth (250 printed), 3s an account of the only known manuscript of shakspeare's plays, comprising some important variations and corrections in the merry wives of windsor, obtained from a playhouse copy of that play recently discovered, by j. o. halliwell, 8vo. sewed, ls on the character of falstaff, as originally exhibited by shakespeare in the two parts of king henry iv., by j. o. halliwell, 12mo. cloth, (only 100 printed,) 2s shakesperiana, a catalogue of the early editions of shakespeare's plays, and of the commentaries and other publications illustrative of his works, by j. o. halliwell, 8vo. cloth, 38 "indispensable to everybody who wishes to carry on any inquiries connected with shakespeare, or who may have a fancy for shakespearian bibliography."-spectator. england's worthies, under whom all the civil and bloody warres, since anno 1642 to anno 1647, are related, by john vicars, author of "england's parliamentary chronicle," &c. &c. royal 12mo. reprinted in the old style, (similar to lady willoughby's diary,) with copies of the 18 rare portraits after hollar, &c. half morocco, 58 copies of the original edition have been sold from £16. to £20. the portraits comprise, robert, earl of essex; robert, earl of warwick; lord montagu, earl of denbigh, earl of stamford, david lesley, general fairfax, sir thomas fairfax, o. cromwell, skippon, colonel massey, sir w. brereton, sir w. waller, colonel langhorne, general poyntz, sir thos. middleton, general brown, and general mitton. john russell smith, 4, old compton street, soho. 11 autobiography of joseph lister, of bradford, in yorkshire, to which is added a contemporary account of the defence of bradford, and capture of leeds by the parliamentarians in 1642, edited by thomas wright, 8vo. only 250 copies printed, cloth, 4s love letters of mrs. piozzi, written when she was eighty, to the handsome actor, william augustus conway, aged twentyseven, 8vo. sewed, 28 66 written at three, four, and five o'clock (in the morning) by an octogenary pen, a heart (as mrs. lee says) twenty-six years old, and as h. l. p. feels it to be, all your own."-letter v. 3rd feb. 1820. collection of letters on scientific subjects, illustrative of the progress of science in england temp. elizabeth to charles ii. edited by j. o. halliwell, 8vo. cloth, 38 comprising letters of digges, dee, tycho brahe, lower, harriott, lydyat, sir w. petty, sir c. cavendish, brancker, pell, &c.; also the autobiography of sir samuel morland, from a ms. in lambeth palace, nat. tarpoley's corrector analyticus, &c. cost the subscribers £1. a rot among the bishops; or a terrible tempest in the sea of canterbury, set forth in lively emblems to please the judicious reader, by thomas stirry, 1641, 18mo. (a satire on abp. laud,) four very curious woodcut emblems, cloth, 38 a facsimile of the very rare original edition, which sold at bindley's sale for £13. bibliotheca madrigaliana.-a bibliographical account of the musical and poetical works published in england during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, under the titles of madrigals, ballets, ayres, canzonets, &c. &c. by edward f. rimbault, ll.d., f.s.a., 8vo. cloth, 58 it records a class of books left undescribed by ames, herbert, and dibdin, and furnishes a most valuable catalogue of the lyrical poetry of the age to which it refers. who was "jack wilson" the singer of shakespeare's stage? an attempt to prove the identity of this person with john wilson, dr. of musick in the university of oxford, a.d. 1644, by e. f. rimbault, ll.d. 8vo. 18 popular poetry, stories, and superstitions. the nursery rhymes of england, collected chiefly from oral tradition, edited by j. o. halliwell. the fourth edition, enlarged, with 38 designs by w. b. scott, director of the school of design, newcastle-on-tyne, 12mo. in very richly illuminated cloth, gilt leaves, 4s 6d "illustrations! and here they are; clever pictures, which the three-year olds understand before their a, b, c, and which the fifty-three-year olds like almost as well as the threes."-literary gazette. nd rhymes, possess we are persuaded that the very rudest of these jingles, tales, a strong imagination-nourishing power; and that in infancy and early childhood a sprinkling of ancient nursery lore is worth whole cartloads of the wise saws and modern instances which are now as duly and carefully concocted by experienced litterateurs, into instructive tales for the spelling public, as are works of entertainment for the reading publie. the work is worthy of the attention of the popular antiquary."-tait's mag. wonderful discovery of the witchcrafts of margaret and philip flower, daughters of joan flower, near bever (belvoir), executed at lincoln for confessing themselves actors in the destruction of lord rosse, son of the earl of rutland, 1618, 8vo. 1s one of the most extraordinary cases of witchcraft on record. 12 john russell smith, 4, old compton street, soho. saint patrick's purgatory; an essay on the legends of hell, purgatory, and paradise, current during the middle ages, by thomas wright, m.a., f.s.a., &c. post 8vo. cloth, 68 "it must be observed that this is not a mere account of st. patrick's purgatory, but a complete history of the legends and superstitions relating to the subject, from the earliest times, rescued from old mss. as well as from old printed books. moreover, it embraces a singular chapter of literary history, omitted by warton and all former writers with whom ve re acquainted; and we think we may add, that it forms the best introduction to dante that has yet been published."-literary gazette. "this appears to be a curious and even amusing book on the singular subject of purgatory, in which the idle and fearful dreams of superstition are shown to be first narrated as tales, and then applied as means of deducing the moral character of the age in which they prevailed."-spectator. trial of the witches at bury st. edmunds, before sir m. hale, 1664, with an appendix by charles clark, of totham, essex, 8vo. 1s "the most perfect narrative of anything of this nature hitherto extant."-preface. account of the trial, confession, and condemnation of six witches at maidstone, 1652; also the trial and execution of three others at faversham, 1645, 8vo. 1s these transactions are unnoticed by all kentish historians. an essay on the archæology of our popular phrases and nursery rhymes, by h. b. ker, 2 vols. 12mo. new cloth, 48 (pub. at 12s) "a work which has met with great abuse among the reviewers, but those who are fond of philological pursuits will read it now it is to be had at so very moderate a price, and it really contains a good deal of gossiping matter. the author's attempt is to explain every thing from the dutch, which he believes was the same language as the anglo-saxon. the merry tales of the wise men of gotham, edited by james orchard halliiwell, esq. f.s.a., post 8vo. 18 miscellanies. illustrations of eating, displaying the omnivorous character of man, and exhibiting the natives of various countries at feeding-time, by a beef-eater, fcap. 8vo. with woodcuts, 28 elements of naval architecture, being a translation of the third part of clairbois' "traité elémentairé de la construction des vaisseaux," by j. n. strange, commander, r.n., 8vo. with 5 large folding plates, cloth, 58 poems, partly of rural life (in national english), by william barnes, author of "poems in the dorset dialect," 12mo. cloth, 58 waifs and strays (a collection of poetry), 12mo. only 250 printed, chiefly for presents, sewed, 1s 6d book in the press. facts and speculations on the history of playing cards in europe, by w. a. chatto, author of the history of wood engraving, with illustrations by j. jackson,' 8vo. profusely illustrated with engravings, both plain and coloured. " g. norman, printer, maiden lane, covent garden. ci 21 jot 10 oth five at 10 ༢་ 30 3 2044 029 893 153 3 2044 029 893 153 3 2044 029 893 153 225 mit rey ow hdi he hermit of turkey hollow arthur train hl 55h3 p 10mea tas harvard law school library gift of paul s. clarkson 1.2. the hermit of turkey hollow by arthur train the hermit of turkey hollow by advice of counsel as it was in the beginning tutt and mr. tutt the earthquake the world and thomas kelly the goldfish the prisoner at the bar courts, criminals and the camorra true stories of crime mcallister and his double the confessions of artemas quibble c. q., or in the wireless house the butler's story the man who rocked the earth mortmain the hermit of turkey hollow ca the story of an alibi o being an exploit of ephraim tutt attorney & counselor at law by heney arthur train new york charles scribner's sons 1921 rost میم tra 1 copyright, 1921, by charles scribner's sons ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ copyright, 1921, by the curtis publishing co. printed at the scribner press new york, u. s. a. jalax t 12. ? to dean kirkham worcester. "o my grandfather's clock was too high for the shelf, so it stood ninety years on the floor. it was taller by half than the old man himself, though it weighed not a pennyweight more. it was bought on the morn of the day he was born, and was always his treasure and pride, but it-stopped-short-never to go again when the old-man-died." the hermit of turkey hollow alibi. "alibi (al'-i-bi) n. i. in law, a plea of having been elsewhere at the time an offense is alleged to have been committed. hence.-a. the fact or state of having been elsewhere at the time specified; as, "he attempted to prove an alibi."-cent. dict. "if it (alibi) appeared to be founded in truth, it is the best negative evidence that can be offered. it is really positive evidence which in the nature of things necessarily implieth a negative." foster, j. crown law, 3rd ed. p. 368 (1762). "if any one fact necessary to the conclusion is wholly inconsistent with the hypothesis of the guilt of the accused, it breaks the chain of circumstantial evidence, upon which the inference depends; and, however plausible or apparently conclusive the other circumstances may be, the charge must fail. of this character is the defense usually called an alibi; that is, that the accused was elsewhere at the time of the offense is alleged to have been committed. if this is true, it being impossible that the accused could be in two places at the same time, it is a fact inconsistent with that sought to be proved, and excludes its possibility," shaw, c. j., in commonwealth vs. webster, 5 cush. 299, 318 (1850). the hermit of turkey hollow i ll the same," affirmed "skinny the tramp," "some one o' these days them bugs 'll wiggle themselves off'n their pins-an' do for ye!" al the "hermit of turkey hollow" laughed derisively as he paused in pinning a large gray moth against the wall of the shanty. "that's all bunk!" he asserted with a show of bravado which, however, concealed a certain uneasiness. "when a thing's dead-it's dead! and that's the end of it!" he added, pushing in the pin firmly until the moth, giving a final flutter, remained motionless. skinny shook his head. "no, it ain't!" said he with conviction. "nuthin' ever really dies-or, if it does, that ain't the end of it by any manner o' means! your body kin die-like a cocoon-but somethin' goes on after-like the butterfly." 2 the hermit of turkey hollow the hermit threw a nervous glance in the direction of the moth, and then, evidently reassured, nonchalantly removed a piece of cut plug from his trousers pocket, bit off an end and held it out to the tramp, who bisected the remainder. "but the butterfly dies-" concluded the hermit decisively, "and then that's the end of itfor good an' all!" skinny wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked round the smelly little shanty, the sides of which were decorated with a heterogeneous collection of defunct beetles, moths and butterflies. "the butterfly don't die-no more'n the cocoon!" declared he. "nuthin' dies. the moth flies away out o' the cocoon, and then-when the moth dies-somethin' flies away out o' the moth." "but you can't see nuthin'," remarked the hermit with significance. "i don't know whether ye can or not!" replied the tramp noncommittally. "some says ye can an' some says ye can't. some claim they've photographed the human soul!" "what do them as claim ye can see it say it's the hermit of turkey hollow 3 like?" inquired the hermit in a tone of incredulity, in which nevertheless were mingled awe and curiosity. "mostly like a butterfly-somethin' with wings -so's it kin fly, i s'pose." "huh!" retorted the hermit. "just pure bull! that moth, now-how can you say it ain't dead?" skinny's jaws relinquished their extreme vigor of motion, as he leaned forward earnestly towards the hermit. "listen, bo!" he adjured him. "you think you know all about bugs, an' worms, an' snakes, an' yerbs, an' trees, an' weather. an' i reckon you do, too! but you don't ponder none compared to me. i don't do nuthin' but think, 'cause i ain't got nuthin' else to do. i lie an' meditate most all the time. and i hear things-and sense 'em. sometimes i sit harkenin' all night long. i know a lot more'n most folks about things you can't see." "i don't say you don't, skinny!" admitted the hermit politely. "i don't deny it!" "there's two worlds," affirmed the tramp. 4 the hermit of turkey hollow one you kin see an' smell an' touch and one that you ordinarily can't-right alongside t'other. but sometimes-dependin' on circumstances-you can catch a glimpse of what's goin' on theresee 'em an' hear 'em. you've seen ghosts!" "sure, i've seen ghosts. everybody's seen 'em!" readily assented his companion. "well," continued the tramp, "everythin' has a ghost-walkin' right along beside it all the time-only it's in that other world-the one you don't see." "but things don't have ghosts!" declared the hermit. "a thing must have been alive sometime to have a ghost." "everything's alive!" asserted the tramp. "rocks an' trees an' flowers an' water an' fire an' bugs an' beasts as well as folks,—an' they all have ghosts an' none of 'em ever die. an' they all have a right to live in the world they're in until they naturally pass on into the other. now, when they go-maybe they go one way, maybe another; but they all do go; and some folks claim to have seen 'em. an' mostly they go with the hermit of turkey hollow 5 wings-flyin'-shaped like a moth or somethin' like that." the hermit spat disdainfully through the open doorway. "huh!" he remarked with sarcasm. "an' i s'pose, you'd say,-when i die i'll go flyin' away like a big gray moth?" "like as not!" returned skinny cheerfully. "like as not! you got to go somehow, ain't ye?" "all bull!" repeated the hermit. "you're just a nut!" "just the same !" returned skinny the tramp, "leavin' out entirely me bein' a nut, i wouldn't kill anythin' that's alive an' can feel-for money! i hate even to put an axe to a tree an' see the sap ooze out. how do we know it ain't sufferin'? an' when it comes to live things-i'd be skeert!" he let his eyes wander over the shanty walls thickly populated with tiny corpses and shuddered slightly. "yus! i'd be skeert to live in this house! sometime they'll have their vengeance !—an'— 6 the hermit of turkey hollow just as i said,-one o' these days, they'll come wigglin' off'n them pins an'-do fer ye!" "an' then," mocked the hermit of turkey hollow, "i'll flutter off out the winder like i was a moth! bull, skinny! all bull!" ii as may be inferred from the foregoing conversation the hermit of turkey hollow lived in the world of fact, while skinny the tramp dwelt in that of faith,-which is to say, of truth. yet, as odd sticks, there was little to choose between them. as being a house dweller-and not a mere vagrant open to all the insidious imputations of vagabondage-the hermit may of the two have been entitled to greater social recognition, but being a recluse, although something of a curiosity and hence in the nature of a local asset, he was practically negligible as a factor in the life of the neighborhood. skinny the tramp, on the other hand, was a sociable sort of being who lived in the open, not because he loved the hermit of turkey hollow 7 his fellows less but because he loved nature more. turkey hollow lies three miles to the north and east of the thriving town of pottsville in the mohawk valley of the empire state, surrounded by low hills still thickly covered with second growth timber; in spots, especially where chasm brook flows down into the westerly end of turtle pond, wet and marshy; and elsewhere filled with a tangled growth of getchel birch, swamp maple, and alder, save for the acre or so of cleared upland above the lake where stands the hermit's now deserted shanty. on the whole, the original turkeys having for several decades been entirely extinct, the hollow offered no attractions to anybody, save possibly to naturalists impervious to mosquito bites. it was in truth a dank sort of place, full of underbrush, and inaccessible except by the wood road leading to the hermit's abode, which some years he cleared out and some he didn't, and where you had to go afoot anyway. nevertheless, once you got there, you found that the hermit was a genuine up-to-date her8 the hermit of turkey hollow mit, with most of the modern improvements. for he was neither a hundred years old with a bald pate and long white and long white whiskers like william cullen bryant or father time; nor did he mutter incantations over a seething caldron like the witches in macbeth, or meander aimlessly about prattling to himself as conventional hermits are supposed to do. and his shanty was no cave, but on the contrary a comfortable enough onestory shack, with windows of glass which, while they were nailed down tight and hence could not be opened, allowed plenty of light to stream in. by the door usually stood a butterfly net, a fish rod, and a hoe and spade,-for he had a small garden where he raised such vegetables as he needed, and on one side of the shanty was a table, on the other his cot, over which by day was thrown a discolored "comfortable," while directly "on ax" with the door and between the two rear windows was a tall, old-fashioned clock-the only article of any value in the place. this was, indeed, rather a strange object to be in the middle of the woods and as it was of shining mahogany, its face decorated with the sun, moon the hermit of turkey hollow 9 ¦ 1 and stars, ships, savages and zodiacal signs, it was an object of comment and surmise to the few who visited the place. no one ventured to ask where it had come from or how the hermit had acquired it, but he had been once heard to say that it made less noise than a woman, talked no nonsense, and was all the company anyone had need of. even those who had never seen the hermit himself knew that he had a clock. that is the way of things. people will refer for years to a man as "the old chap who always wears that pair of gray trousers" and then accidentally discover that he is a world famous civil engineer or retired statesman who has swayed the fate of nations. so the hermit was known by his clock; although regularly once a week he walked to pottsville to get his mail and buy groceries. for being an upto-date hermit he was not without an occupation, -he drank; and he did it very well. he was a large, lumbering man of about sixty years, full-bearded, bent, frankly ungiven to washing and generally a shade woozy in the upper story; and nobody could remember turkey hollow when he had not been there. io the hermit of turkey hollow he was reputed to be possessed of mysterious, ill-gotten wealth hidden in and about the clearing, and, in spite of his squalor, the rumor acquired a certain cachet owing to the fact that his correspondence, regularly inspected by constable higgins out of abundant caution, consisted almost entirely of get-rich-quick-circulars and similar catch-penny advertisements. his name, which otherwise might never have been known, was wilbur drake, although he was never referred to as anything but the "hermit of turkey hollow." that was his sum total-to the world at large. — yet sometime and somewhere, he had perhaps been somebody; and nailed over his cot in a tarnished oaken frame was a dingy photograph of a dumpy little girl in pigtails. why this sick soul had sought seclusion nobody knew and nobody cared, yet afterwards, although he was morose, taciturn and brutal in his manners, the pottsville folk were sorry for him and regretted that they had not been kinder to him. skinny the tramp was a totally different type of bird, a "character" as they all said, beloved the hermit of turkey hollow ii of the village children and regarded with goodnatured tolerance by their elders. he was tall, lean, hawkish, with the traditional stubble about his chin and neck, which a byronic negligée exposed to wind and weather. he belonged to pottsville in his own way quite as much as did the hermit, for in spite of his peripatetic sojournings, he was a native of the town and, as james hawkins, had passed those earlier days-before manual labor had been abhorrent to him-in its vicinity, having been even at one time admitted to the lowlier degrees of the brotherhood of abyssinian mysteries. this famous order, however, he had ultimately abandoned in favor of the hibernating hoboes of hesperides, of which he was now a member in good standing. the reader will, of course, appreciate that for various reasons,-including that we may sometime run for public office-the foregoing names and titles are fictitious; but the organizations themselves are not, and each in its own way exerts an influence not lightly to be disregarded, whether one be a yokel on the one hand, or a yegg on the other. twice yearly, once on his annual autumn 12 the hermit of turkey hollow trip to the golden west and again on his return therefrom in the spring, hawkins, emaciated, hairy, black from coal dust, dropped lightly off the truck of some fast freight and revisited the scenes of his youth. sitting upon a cracker barrel in colson's grocery-so that nutriment might be the more easily accessible-skinny the tramp, like some wandering scop, bard, or friar of medieval days-would fill the wagging ears of the countryside with the narrative of his later wanderings in search of the treasure that somehow always just managed to elude his grasp. for skinny believed absolutely that at the foot of every rainbow there was a crock of gold, and he would have gladly died for his belief-as any gentleman and sportsman would have done, and as he came very near to doing in this case. however, while skinny chased rainbows he declined to do so afoot-preferring the artificial and speedier means of transportation afforded by the transcontinental railroad systems, from the trains of which he was habitually—and at divers times and places, ignominiously,-hurled, to his great the hermit of turkey hollow 13 physical and temperamental detriment. yet, albeit that he was a high officer of the hibernating hoboes of hesperides and had once been an abyssinian brother of that elevation known as the "order of the sacred camel of king menelik," from which noble association he had been swiftly dropped for non-payment of dues, he was, like a multitude of his fellow wanderers, merely a harmless child of good-nature, nearly a halfwit, essentially a devotee of zoroaster, who spent his life following the sun. on these biennial visits skinny hung about the town, spending a goodly portion of his time-both by night and by day-sleeping in a lean-to on the hillside above turkey hollow, and part of it wandering through the woods, but always looking for the rainbow that should empty a hoard of gold into his tattered lap. twice yearly also passed through pottsville the "sons and daughters of the southland"-the zingara gipsies,-in auto trucks and flivverscamping for a time on the end of the old, deserted racetrack,-a sinister crew, surreptitious panderers to credulity and lust, the men surly and 14 the hermit of turkey hollow brutal, the women insolent and dirty, but attracting the imaginative and susceptible bumpkins as a trickle of molasses will draw a swarm of flies. when in the night they folded their tents and stole silently away the citizens of pottsville invariably discovered that many of their most cherished personal possessions were unaccountably missing. but no one cared to pursue and prosecute them. they were too dangerous. besides, they could have told things. in the case of skinny the tramp there was, however, a practical as well as a sentimental reason for these half-yearly stop-overs, the legal necessity of his putting in a personal appearance to claim and receipt for the one hundred dollars of income which accrued to his account every six months from the trust fund created by his mother in her last will and testament, of which the honorable-or "squire"-hezekiah mason was executor. and as squire mason is one of the central figures in this legal tragi-comedy it may perhaps be worth while to stop for a moment at this point and give him what might be called the "literary once-over." the hermit of turkey hollow 15 let us state frankly, without circumlocution or evasion, that while hezekiah was known as "honorable" and "squire," this grim visaged, tight-lipped country attorney was neither. he was "honorable" only in a pickwickian sense; and a "squire" only by courtesy; but why or how any courtesy should have been extended to him remained a mystery, since he was the most unpopular man in the county,-evidenced by the fact that he alone of pottsville's masculine élite― which included the barber, druggist, sheriff and dentist-was not one of the sacred camels of king menelik, and needless to say it rankled in his dried peapod of a soul. nevertheless, the hon. hezekiah was a power for he had mortgages on a majority of the farms of somerset county already and his tentacles were reaching out along the county highways and byways after the others. moreover, he was the only lawyer practising in either pottsville or somerset corners so that, in one way or another, he managed to be mixed up in almost everything that went on. however, he couldn't break into the mystic circle of the abyssinian brotherhood, 16 the hermit of turkey hollow which has a distinct bearing on our narrative. as sheriff moses higgins,—who was the grand supreme exalted patriarch and ruler of the sacred camels of king menelik-had said at the lodge meeting held three months before in the p. of h. (no. 769) hall when hezekiah had made his final attempt to become one of the genus dromedary and had been flatly and contumaciously turned down, refused, rejected, rebuffed and repudiated-i repeat, as sheriff higgins had said on that well known occasion, it made no difference how big a feller's bank account was if he was a stinker, and everybody who had an atom of brains fer fifty miles 'round knew all-fired well what kind of a cuss mason was. get a feller like that into the camels and you never could get rid of him-"once a camel always a camel"—the whole herd would be contaminated. he'd sooner take in "nigger" jo, the colored ostler over to the phoenix house stable. he spoke fifteen minutes and there wasn't a white ball in the box when it was passed. so squire mason nursed his antique grudge and took his revenge in coin of the realm. then the hermit of turkey hollow 17 came the turn of the wheel and hezekiah found himself in a position where by the adroit application of five thousand dollars where it would do most good he could get a strangle hold on one of the leading politicians of the county. the fact that the only funds available were those he held as trustee for james hawkins was the merest incident and did not disturb him even momentarily. they were at hand and he used them. skinny was only a tramp. he might get run over any day, just as, fortunately for hezekiah, was lawyer tompkins, of felchville, the public prosecutor of somerset, for whose vacant job the honorable squire mason instantly applied. as he had a cinch on the local political boss, and as the attorney general needed the influence of the boss in his own business, and as the attorney general had a cinch on the governor-he won in a walk and duly became, by official appointment and designation, for tompkins' unexpired term, district attorney of somerset county, and having, after forty years of plodding obscurity, suddenly found himself elevated to office he instantly became consumed by the fire of ambition. while cicero says 18 the hermit of turkey hollow that "the noblest spirit is most strongly attracted by the love of glory," we do not intend by this mere statement of fact to entwine with any wreath of bay or laurel the perspiring brow of hezekiah. objectively mason was a bombastic, old-fashioned country lawyer, acrid, dry as dust, entirely unscrupulous, and, while superficially shrewd, on the whole rather dull. noise was his strong point, and there was not a tougher pair of leather lungs in the mohawk valley, down which he now looked with longing eyes towards the capital at albany, hoping perhaps to roar loud enough so that he could be heard there, which at times seemed by no means impossible. once ambition stirs a man's soul no height appears too high for him to scale. "on the summit see, the scales of office glitter in his eyes: he climbs, he pants, he grasps them! at his heels, close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, and with a dexterous jerk soon twists him down, and wins them, but to lose them in his turn.” and now, having had one piece of luck, the lightning of fortune, as sometimes happens, struck him again. pottsville is the kind of "hick" town where the hermit of turkey hollow 19 the girls bob their hair and the boys wear the very latest "pineapple" cut, where you can buy "college ices" and "sundaes" at the drug store, but where the movies run only twice a week and the barber shop is open only after four o'clock on saturdays. there is a smutty little wooden railroad station, a memorial library of funereal granite, a brick business block bearing date 1879, an octagonal horse-trough right in the middle of main street, and the rickety old phoenix hotel, run by "ma" best, née louisa barrows, whose dad, "old doc barrows," was sent up to sing sing for high-financing the countryside. there are, in addition, two churches, baptist and methodist, each white with green shutters and a steeple,-a court house, the mohawk palace theater (celluloid), the p. of h. hall, the "pottsville dry goods emporium" belonging to "toggery bill" gookin, meachem's notion store and colson's grocery. the street is unpaved and from february to april is ankle high with mud. such towns still survive even in the empire state. but while pottsville will refer to somerset corners five miles away as a "hick" 20 the hermit of turkey hollow town, it remains serenely oblivious of its own hickitude. it was here that on a soft saturday afternoon towards the end of april, squire mason's great moment came-that opportunity knocked upon his office door and beckoned to him. and heze. kiah did not hesitate. he had been more than usually sour all day, for he had quarreled with his wife at breakfast and when he reached the office he had found that a farmer over felchville way whose mortgage he held-and on whose prompt payment he had relied to cover james hawkins' semiannual interest of like amount, had unexpectedly defaulted. and-curse it!-at eleven o'clock skinny had come for his money, peering apologetically through the door like the half-wit that he was, twisting his faded bicycle cap between his fingers, almost afraid to ask the squire for what was his. "mornin', squire," he said, leaning awkwardly against the door jamb. "been well, i trust?" the honorable hezekiah mason regarded the tramp malevolently. the hermit of turkey hollow 21 "tol'rable!" he replied curtly. you've come after your money.' 59 "yes," assented skinny. "still," he added politely, "if it ain't convenient" his blue eyes. roved vaguely around the barren room seeing nothing. "i s'pose "look here, skinny!" remarked the lawyer gruffly, "what's the use of my turning over a hundred dollars to you to throw away? why don't you let me keep it an' invest it for you? the way you live ain't provident. a penny saved is a penny earned, an' a hundred dollars is a lot of money." "it's very kind of you," faltered skinny, "but i don't throw it away. honest injun, i don't. it keeps me wanderin'-i'd like it if you kin let me have it." he paused and took a timid step towards the squire. "may i ask you a question?" now the one thing in the world that squire mason did not want was any question from hawkins about the whereabouts of his money. he had intended to put the tramp off, but now he swiftly changed his mind. "your money's all right," he retorted, getting 22 the hermit of turkey hollow to his feet. "you don't need to worry any 'bout it! i'll go get it fer you!" "thank you," replied skinny. "i was only goin' to ask—____39 but mason had bolted through the door. ten minutes later he returned and handed the tramp five twenty dollar bills, for which he took skinny's receipt. "now," he remarked brusquely, "you've got your money. you better get along. i'm busy this mornin'!" but skinny had a matter of vital moment upon what by a euphemism might have been termed his mind. it had been troubling him ever since his conversation with the hermit with which this chronicle opens. and he wanted the opinion of squire mason, as a learned man who presumably knew all about such things. "i'd like to ask you a question, squire!" he persisted. mason, cornered in his office, turned on him like a rat. "well,-ask it!" he snapped defiantly. "i want to ask you if folks that know about the hermit of turkey hollow 23 such things think that when a thing's dead it's dead?" the squire stared at him contemptuously. "p'tah!" he ejaculated. "what are you ravin' about?" "about whether when folks die that's the end of 'em," explained skinny. "and if it's the same with the animals." mason took courage. skinny was not bothered about the safety of his principal. "what's the use conjecturin' about things like that?" he asked more genially. "it's kinder important, ain't it?" returned the tramp. the lawyer pursed his lips and gazed for an instant through the window upon the sill of which a blue-bottle lay upon its back with its legs stiffly in air. then he turned sententiously to the tramp. "if you really want to know what i think," he answered. "when a man's dead, he's dead." skinny, his money in his pocket but troubled in his mind, made his way slowly back to turkey hollow. the sun, which had been shining when he had gone into the squire's office, had become 24 the hermit of turkey hollow obscured by a bank of cloud and it looked like rain, but all about him as he strode through the woods the dogwoods were bursting into blossom amid a background of diaphanous budding green. the spring was stirring in him, too. a hundred dollars! visions of purple valleys, of cool, trickling ravines dank with spreading ferns, of fragrant fields of hay in which to lie-without the necessity of chopping a single piece of kindling to pay for his supper-rose in his mind. wouldn't it be great to be rich! to lie in a hammock with a feather pillow under his head in the shade of an orange tree and a nigger to hand him cool drinks and sandwiches and gold-tipped cigarettes! to ride luxuriantly inside a pullman car or stand on the clinking back platform of the sunset limited watching the misty mountains turn from azure to rose and from rose to lilac-and pitying the bums walking the sleepers. to sleep-sleep-sleepin a big, soft bed! to have a man delicately remove the hair from your neck and chin and scent your cheeks with cologne water! to go into a grand hotel, bully the waiter, and eat everything on the bill of fare without asking the price! the hermit of turkey hollow 25 money! that would do it. but a hundred dollars was only a flea bite! what he needed was the real kale-a whole pot of gold! it had begun to rain by the time he had cooked his dinner, and afterwards, as he sat in the opening of his shack smoking cigarettes, it grew very dark and for half an hour poured down in torrents. then as will happen in fickle april the sun burst forth and turned the leaden world into a dripping golden grotto, where every bough and twig and leaf's edge gleamed with a jeweled setting of pearls and diamonds, and the hot mist rose shimmering from the steaming ground. gold-gold everywhere! gold-the mystic element sought of the alchemists and of the philosophies of ancient, medieval and modern times alike. gold! suddenly skinny stiffened and sat erect. thrown against the torn black wind clouds of the departing storm was a great arch whose glowing colors pained the eye, a perfect piece of heavenly architecture. high it rose into the zenith a concentrated prismatic glory-emblem of the eternal hope that sprang in the tramp's breast. one end # 26 the hermit of turkey hollow • of the arc came to earth far to the west-the golden west-and the other plunged down at his feet into turkey hollow. there was no doubt about it at all. right into turkey hollow-right upon the hermit's shanty, which he could see through the interlacing boughs of the hillside sharply defined as in a spotlight of saffron. skinny started to his feet. if he could only reach the hermit's shanty before the rainbow faded the crock of gold would be there. sure! his mind never doubted it. it was there now. if he hurried this time he might find it! without a moment's hesitation skinny plunged down the hillside through the reeking undergrowth, drenched to the skin, slipping, falling now on beds of soaking moss, now over roots and stones-blood smearing his face and hands-until he crashed down through the clump of birches next the clearing. a man was sitting there under a boulder smoking a pipe, his ax across his knees-waiting evidently for things to dry up a bit. he waved at skinny, but the tramp was too intent to answer him. then came the yellow gleam of the clearing the hermit of turkey hollow 27 through the brush and the shanty rose hard against the sky just beyond. surely he must be in time! he had emerged from the woods in the rear of the shanty on the edge of the potato patch and he did not trouble to go around it but plowed straight through the muddy rows, leaving a deep wake behind him across the loam. panting and dripping with sweat, skinny hurried to the nearest window of the shanty, the one above the hermit's cot, and peeked in. what he saw made his heart stand still. the sun was pouring through the opposite window upon the back of the hermit, who sat bowed over the table; and in front of him-its overflowing contents sending yellow flashes darting into the dim recesses of the hut-stood a small red bean-pot or "crock"still sticky with earth-filled with shining gold pieces. an expression of transcendental satisfaction illuminated skinny's face. his faith was justified as he had known and predicted all along that eventually it would be. his confidence in his own mental processes and spiritual beliefs rebounded from where it had been crushed to earth 28 the hermit of turkey hollow by squire mason's crass materialism. stealthily -so as not to frighten the hermit-he crept towards the open door of the shanty. it was charlie emerson-the man sitting under the boulder with his ax across his knees-who heard the shot that killed the hermit. he was not a native of pottsville, although he usually could be found there every spring, working over at sampson's steam lumber mill at the lower end of turtle pond. this particular saturday he had got the afternoon off to fill an order for pea sticks which he purposed cutting from the birches which grew thick in the less swampy part of turkey hollow, and he was right in the middle of it when the thunderstorm came up and he had to stop for awhile until the sun should dry the bushes off. he saw skinny cruising through the underbrush and was puzzled by the fact that the tramp ignored his salutation. but he had gone on smoking and, after taking a short nap, had resumed his work on the pea sticks. then, as the sun had begun to slant through the tree trunks and the shadow of the hill the hermit of turkey hollow 29 to come creeping across the marsh, the hot silence of the afternoon had been shattered first by a cry for help and then by a shot-both from the hermit's shanty less than two hundred yards away. ax in hand he made the distance through the thickets in less than three minutes, and as he broke cover into the clearing behind the house he saw the undergrowth moving on the other side and heard the snapping of twigs. it was so still that he could hear the drone of a bee in the fringe of meadow-sweet down by the well, and—coupled with the cry-it gave him a weird creepy feeling such as he never knew before. but he took a good grip on himself, walked round the shanty, and looked in through the open door. everything was as usual-the clock, the cot, the rickety table, the chair, the fish rod and butterfly net, all were undisturbed-except that the hermit lay upon his back on the floor, his arms outstretched, the blood jetting from his mouth, a film gathering in his wide open eyes. emerson knelt by the side of the dying man and gently lifted the great hairy head. the blood that came from his & 30 the hermit of turkey hollow mouth made a queer guttering sound-grotesquely resembling to his agitated mind the faint clucking of a hen. then the noise stopped; the hermit no longer breathed; and the lumberman as he lowered the hermit's head to the floor heard the loud beat of an insect's wings and observed a large gray moth flapping frantically against the window. he had seen a million moths-! yet, with relief emerson saw it vanish through the open doorway. with averted face he threw the "comfortable" across the hermit's body and, as he did so, noticed the broken fragments of a small, red clay pot lying beneath the table. one of the hermit's hands protruded from beneath the coverletgrasping tightly a single gold-piece. emerson, standing in the stifling atmosphere of the hut, could hear no sound but the beating in his ears of his own heart. 1 the mill hand dashed from the shanty, marking the footprints in the garden patch, and hunted courageously for the murderer in the surrounding woods; but the criminal had too good a start. then, with no doubt whatever in his mind as to the hermit of turkey hollow 31 who it had been, he ran down the wood road that joined the main highway half a mile from the shanty. there had been a big gang assembled in colson's grocery waiting for the barber shop to open next door when skinny entered at almost precisely four o'clock by the western union automatically regulated clock over the candy counter; and, while nobody had paid much attention to him at the time, it was remembered distinctly afterwards that he had been breathing hard and excited, and had ordered a bottle of root beer and drank it with a sort of ostentatious, devil-may-care indifference. he had also remarked to someone that he had cut his finger in the woods, and his handkerchief was bloody. most of the crowd were still there when, fifteen minutes later, charlie emerson, the lumber man with the ax, reached the village with the news that the hermit had been murdered. he came running down the road all splashed with mud and the fellows in colson's could hear him shouting nearly a furlong away. there was 32 the hermit of turkey hollow a general stampede for the street,-in which the occupants of the brick block, the barber shop, and the drug store all joined. emerson came staggering along-stopping every few yards to yell "murder!"—and brought up exhausted in front of the stairs leading to squire mason's office, which was opposite the sheriff's on the first landing. "th' hermit's been murdered!" he panted hysterically. "shot right through the lungs !— where's the sheriff?—gosh, it's fierce !-where's squire mason?" the crowd surged round him, squire mason's head appeared at his window, and then, with a whoop, they all rushed up the stairs to the sheriff's office. but mason held the crowd back sternly on the landing. "i'm prosecutor o' this county!—i'll take care o' this witness!" he announced in a tone of authority. "now some o' you hustle over and fetch the sheriff-he's gone down to the station fer the mail. an' don't none of you dare so much as move 'till he comes and tells you what to do.the hermit of turkey hollow 33 now, you!" to the ax-man-"come into my office an' let me take your deposition." there was a murmur of disappointment from the crowd as mason firmly conducted emerson inside and shut the door; but they all obediently poured down the stairs again after the sheriff. then some one began to ring the fire alarm and, by the time sheriff higgins reached the horse trough, the mob was so dense in front of the doorway that he could hardly force his way through. he was inside less than a minute before he reappeared at mason's window. "anybody seen skinny hawkins?" he cried excitedly. "he was here a minute ago!" answered someone. "i seen him walkin' off down the road towards the race track-just afore the bell began ringin'!" yelled up a small boy. "well!" shouted higgins, "get after him an' stop him.-don't let him get away!" the next instant the pack were in full cry. · perhaps if skinny hadn't been a half-wit he 34 the hermit of turkey hollow wouldn't have run. perhaps he should have pulled himself together-and with his pockets full of the hermit's gold and his boots covered with mud from the hermit's potato patch-he should have boldly answered: "here i am! what do you want of me?" and marched up to the sheriff's office. but, on the other hand, perhaps many a more sensibly-minded man than he under the same unfortunate circumstances would have taken to his legs. admit, it was a foolish and useless thing to do! we have all on occasion lost our nerve-even if we all be wise men. and certainly skinny was not wise! he could not deny having been in the hermit's company within half an hour, the gold was on his person, the mud upon his feet. he had been caught almost, had his addled memory retained the phrase, in flagrante delicto. being a tramp, used to rough treatment even from ordinarily kind people, accustomed to be called a vagabond and a thief and to have the dogs set upon him, familiar from long experience with his brother hoboes with tales of tortures and lynchings in which the knotted rope and kerosene figured the hermit of turkey hollow 35 vividly, skinny fled in a hysteria of fear down the road towards the race track and thence across the fields into the woods. he was less than three minutes ahead of the crowd at the start and unfortunately for him the sheriff's flivver was standing in front of the drug store, so that by the time he took cover they were actually at his heels. moreover, a dozen of the older boys sensing that he might try to beat back towards the hollow ran up the crossroad to cut him off. the fact that most of them liked him was nothing. a chase was a chase. hare and hounds, while it lasted. besides, this was a hunt for a murderer-and flight was equivalent to confession. g badly winded, skinny crashed through the woods, the shouts of his pursuers close in his ears. ahead he could see the blue sky through the trees where the fields began again. he reached the edge and came dead upon a man plowing. faintly borne on the wind he heard the distant clang of the fire bell and a couple of revolver shots from nearer at hand. "putt!" they said. "putt-putt!" skinny did not like the sound of them. he ducked 36 the hermit of turkey hollow back and ran like a fagged fox along the hedge by the field, then paused to listen again. there was a crackling in the brush to the left while just beyond, on the other side of the open, the barber and the drug clerk, who had followed a wood road suddenly appeared staring directly at him. "hi!" yelled the barber, waving his razor which he had carried in his hand. "hi! here he is! this way!" the crackling behind him grew louder. he could see shadows stealthily creeping from tree to tree. of course they thought him armed! they might shoot! he did not know what to do. he did not want either to be carved up by the barber or to be blown to bits by a shotgun. his tongue was like a baked potato and his lungs ached as if with rheumatism. he could hardly see. there they were-hundreds of them-! "'s all right, bill!" he called hoarsely. "i ain't tryin' to git away.' and he staggered out a few feet between the furrows and fell in a faint. it was characteristic of him that he had made no attempt to throw away the hermit's gold. 99 the hermit of turkey hollow 37 twenty minutes later "ma" best, who had been quietly cooking in the phoenix house kitchen throughout the whole disturbance, heard a great shouting down the road and went to the door to see what it was all about. over by the "deppo" she could see a crowd of men and boys pushing or dragging somebody in their midst. the smaller of the boys danced and capered ahead of the throng, one of them turning fancy "cartwheels." then came sheriff higgins, stalking along importantly, two men with shotguns on either side of him, followed by the barber, mr. perkins the proprietor of the mohawk palace, and old colson the grocer. directly behind this cluster of notables-who in a grotesque way suggested a group of roman senators escorted by their lictors-at an interval of perhaps ten feet, walked skinny the tramp, his face pale as that of the murdered hermit, hatless, a rope around his neck, and his hands bound behind his back. the end of the rope was held by no less a personage than "toggery bill" gookin, who providentially had happened to be returning from a visit to zayda the zingara gipsy fortune teller 38 the hermit of turkey hollow at the moment of skinny's capture. from time to time the haberdasher would jerk the rope as if the tramp were a horse and the more lightminded in the crowd would cluck and call out "geddap!" for the rest, they swarmed along in a mob, yelling, joking, uttering cat-calls and other vague and meaningless noises. "what's the trouble, sheriff?" called out "ma" best. "what yer doin' with skinny?" the dignity of sheriff higgins did not permit him to make reply. instead the crowd yelled at her generally. "'s killed the hermit!" shouted an urchin. "murdered him!-whoop-ee! hurray!" "murder nuthin'!" snorted "ma" best. "you're jest a pack of idiots.-skinny wouldn't kill a spider!" "whee-uup! whoop! hurray!" shrieked the crowd in the delight of having conducted a successful man-hunt, jumping around "toggery bill" and his victim, as a pack of hounds will jump, snapping and barking about the body of the fox they have run to earth. "whee-uup! hurray!— lynch him! string him up!" the hermit of turkey hollow 39 they had reached the horse-trough and the two men with the shotguns held back the crowd while sheriff higgins relieved "toggery bill" of the rope and led skinny upstairs to his office. in a moment the sheriff appeared at the window. "feller citizens of pottsville!" he shouted. "in the name o' the people of the state of new york i call on ye to disperse peaceable and go to your homes. there ain't goin' to be no lynchin' nor nuthin' like that. skinny's goin' to the jail and he's goin' to stay there until the grand jury has acted on his case which will be day after to-morrer. now, there's no use kickin' up any fuss or ruction and i warn ye not to go near turkey hollow. kindly disperse !" skinny the tramp having been treated to a brief and exceedingly crude variety of the "third degree" in the sheriff's office, and having "stood mute," was transferred to the calaboose, where sam bellows, who, owing to his obesity, could not take any more active part, was set to watch him. it is doubtful whether skinny would have made any further attempt to get away, even if "paroled in his own custody"; for his flight had 40 the hermit of turkey hollow been the instant, automatic reaction from a paroxysm of terror in which he visioned himself as a human torch-not the result of any genuine hope that he could escape the processes of the law, for whose far-reaching effectiveness he had in fact a vast respect. now that he had been brought back without having been lynched, his instinct told him to hold his tongue. he was no match for themnot even for sheriff higgins-and he knew it. if he said anything they would twist it somehow against him. his only hope lay in the quantum of evidence. nobody had seen him at the hermit's shanty, so why admit that he had been there? that was only common caution. anybody could have gold pieces; and if he had left any tracks there was no way of proving when they had been made. so skinny obstinately refused to open his mouth, and sat on a decayed chair in the unsanitary box resembling a flagman's shanty which passed for a jail while the youth—the extreme youth-of pottsville sat in rows around sam bellows, dividing their attention between comments upon his beauty of person and audible the hermit of turkey hollow 4i conjectures as to the probable fate of the murderer within. contemporaneously squire mason, having in his office reduced to written form the testimony of emerson the lumberman, unexpectedly realized that he was confronted by a disturbing problem in legal ethics. here he was, hardly appointed district attorney a week before the most sensational murder ever committed in the county had occurred at his very door! it was his chance!the chance of a lifetime!-a sure conviction! but -and here was the rub!-were his relations to the accused such that he could properly conduct the case against him? at best could he take any more active part in the trial than as a mere witness, considering the fact that he was trustee of the tramp's money and bore to him the confidential relationship of lawyer to client? could he' even appear against him as a witness? might not the half-wit, indeed, have had murder in his mind that very morning when he had asked him if "anything ever really died?" the squire's hopes wilted at the thought and his heart fell. why, it was the biggest opportunity for legitimate no42 the hermit of turkey hollow toriety since the rosenthal murder! it was ridiculous to let a little thing like the fact that he was skinny's trustee make any difference! no one would in fact need to know? if skinny remained mute, as he apparently intended to do, it probably would never come to light,—at any rate not until hawkins had been convicted, and then it would sink into insignificance in the blaze of his glory. there was nothing to connect him with skinny in any way, for the five twenty-dollar bills which he had delivered to the tramp that morning had not been found upon him when he was arrested. no, -the chance was worth taking. a brave man would take it; and fortune always favored the brave! squire mason, however, was not the only brave man in pottsville, for sheriff moses higgins meanwhile had started for turkey hollow to make an examination of the scene of the crime. with him in the flivver officially designated as "lizzie" were emerson, the lumberman, the two armed deputies and mr. pennypacker, the photographer from somerset corners, for the sheriff was up on all the latest modern methods of dethe hermit of turkey hollow 43 tecting crime and knew just how it should be done. and some day they would all have to be witnesses and testify to exactly what they had seen. they left the flivver where the wood road from the hollow joined the highway and walked in the rest of the way on foot. it was a circumstance commented on by all of them that the sheriff's order, that nobody should visit the scene of the murder until he had done so, had been strictly obeyed. but the ghastly corpse of a murdered man is its own best guardian-particularly if it be that of a hermit lying in his blood-alone in a bosky, lonely spot-with evening coming on. the peaceful inhabitants of pottsville had no great hankering to see how the dead hermit looked, much preferring the less grim sport of tramp-baiting. so the five men met no one on their way; neither did any sound break the silence of the woods about them. an unexpected pall descended upon their spirits. it had been great sport to jump into a motor with guns and cameras, and whirr off consequentially in a cloud of dust, leaving the staring crowd gazing enviously after them. they had 44 the hermit of turkey hollow even cracked jokes while they were on the road. but now, with the sun already behind the ridge that framed the hollow upon which the shadows were closing steadily as if night were about to clutch it in its fingers, with no sound save the creak of their own boots or the gibber of a chipmunk in the alders to break the deathly silence of the woods, they found conversation difficult. the men with the shotguns felt fairly comfortable—although of course it would be a cinch for anybody lurking in the bushes to shoot the lot of them. but sheriff higgins, who although a sheriff and the supreme exalted ruler of the sacred camels of king menelik had never seen a dead body and was more of a "family man" than a bloodhound, and "cy" pennypacker, whose most daring adventure had been to invite zayda the zingara vamp to his studio to be photographedfor which he paid heavily afterwards at home, and who now, owing to the weight of his camera and plate holders, found difficulty in keeping up with the others,-both these worthies secretly began to wish that they could escape the duty which lay before them. the hermit of turkey hollow 45 "ssh!" suddenly whispered emerson, and they all jumped; then stood tensely in their tracks. far up on the dark hillside could be heard at intervals of a few seconds the snapping of twigs. "that's a long ways off!" said the sheriff inconsequently. they resumed their pilgrimage at a somewhat lessened pace; but at last they could see the opening-up of the trees against the sky that marked the hermit's clearing. "hold up a second!" remarked the sheriff nervously. "le's decide about this thing! suppose you fellers with the guns go first-so's to be all ready-an' then i'll come right along"" "look here, moses," retorted one of the gunmen. "i ain't got no partic'lar objection to goin' first, but you're sheriff an' i reckon it's up to you." mr. higgins hesitated. as patriarch of the sacred camels it would not do to permit any intimation of pusillanimity upon his part to get abroad. "guess you're right!" he remarked carelessly. "gimme the gun.' "" 46 the hermit of turkey hollow "what for?" demanded its owner. "you don't need no gun to shoot a dead man!" "i know that 's well as you do!" retorted the sheriff. "but wha'd you bring a gun fer if there wasn't no use fer it?-le's go up together!" thus reinforced the sheriff and his companion cautiously approached the open door of the hermit's shanty, on which the shadow of the ridge had already fallen and was now slipping across the potato patch towards the edge of the woods. on the threshold they paused. then the sheriff, swallowing, thrust in his head. it was so dark that at first he could see only the face of the hermit's old clock leering at him out of the dusk. then gradually he made out the crumpled bundle that had been the hermit, lying in front of it. a grimy fist protruded from beneath the covering. the sheriff bent over gingerly and took hold of one corner of the comfortable. then he withdrew his hand quickly. the bedding had been lying upon the floor and was soaked in blood. "god!" shrieked the sheriff and tottered out of the shanty. the hermit of turkey hollow 47 "what's th' matter?" demanded emerson rudely. "there's blood on everything-all over the place!" gasped higgins. "well,-didn't you look at him?" continued the lumberman brutally. "i'm goin' to, soon's i kin git the blood off'n my hands!" returned the sheriff valiantly. he rubbed his fingers ostentatiously in the grass. then he crept back to the door of the shanty and looked in. the man with the gun poked the comfortable off the hermit's body. "p'thah!" coughed the the sheriff recoiling. "p'thah!-somebody else search that body—i can't!" he leaned heavily against the outside of the shanty and lowered his head. nobody in pottsville went to bed that night, and next day both local clergymen preached rival sermons upon the text, "thou shalt not kill." also, although few of the inhabitants had taken the slightest interest in the hermit during his life, except to deride him as a crank and a drunkard, 48 the hermit of turkey hollow there was universal mourning for him now that he was dead; for it was felt that in a way his presence in the hollow had given a certain distinction to the township which otherwise it would not have had. it was a great moment for pottsville. and so were the days following during which the grand jury indicted skinny for murder and the case of "the people vs. james hawkins" gradually built itself up, block by block, "line upon line," "here a little and there a little," circumstance upon circumstance, until his guilt seemed established beyond the utmost requirement of the law. then the gipsies, having weathered the rather superficial investigation of the prosecutor, moved on to the "sunny southland" or wherever it was that they were going, and six weeks later local lodge no. 948 of the brotherhood of abyssinian mysteries convened at somerset corners to debate whether the fact that james hawkins was an ex-member entitled him to pecuniary assistance for the purpose of retaining counsel, upon the broad theory that once a sacred camel of king menelik "always a camel." for he had given the hermit of turkey hollow 49 the high-sign for help and the treasury of the hibernating hoboes of hesperides was empty, since the twenty shiny new five-dollar gold pieces which had been found in skinny's pocket upon his arrest had been removed therefrom and now reposed in the safe of the district attorney as evidence against him. thus came opportunity to the door of hezekiah mason for the second time; for in his widely heralded prosecution of skinny the tramp, he perceived "a stepping stone to higher things,"-not on his own "dead self" but on the "dead selves" of skinny and the hermit. had not one wellknown public prosecutor, he told himself, leaped into the gubernatorial saddle, and for a space held the reins of office, merely because he had convicted a policeman of participating in the murder of a gambler? why should not he do the same for convicting a distinguished tramp of the murder of a famous hermit? indeed, who shall quarrel with his logic? "tutt," said mr. ephraim tutt, of the wellknown, if not celebrated, law firm of tutt & tutt, 50 the hermit of turkey hollow on entering his office the morning after the meeting of the abyssinian brothers, "kindly take a look at this!" and he held out a night-letter telegram. "somerset corners, n. y. "tutt & tutt, attorneys-at-law, "61 broadway, n. y. city. "local lodge nine hundred and forty-eight, abyssinian brotherhood, desires retain you to defend james hawkins, otherwise known as skinny the tramp, indicted for murder of hermit of turkey hollow twenty-seventh last may. our resources limited to two hundred and fifty dollars cash. trial takes place next week. kindly advise whether you will accept retainer. "silas higley, "grand supreme scribe, sacred camels of king menelik, brotherhood of abyssinian mysteries. "collect." "well," commented his sprightly partner, the lesser tutt of the two, "i observe that they prudently sent their invitation at our expense.-you the hermit of turkey hollow 51 don't seriously consider bothering with any legal junk like that?" mr. tutt paused in applying a match to the rat-tailed stogy which drooped from his wrinkled lips. "i wouldn't miss it for a farm!" declared he. "a country murder trial?-why, it'll be a regular vacation for me!" "there be no money in it!" growled his junior partner. "and it'll take you a week.” "who asks money," demanded mr. tutt, striking an heroic attitude, "when innocence calls for succor? could any true-hearted member of the bar-if he had a trace of romance in his soulrefuse to defend a prisoner known by 'form and style' as 'skinny the tramp,' especially if he be charged with murdering a hermit, and still more particularly if requested to do so by the order of the sacred camels of king menelik, whose invitation is a command? what, may i ask, are hermits for-but to be murdered?" "you're incorrigible!" sighed tutt. "i suppose the whole office will be depleted." "no-i'll try the case alone!" replied his 52 the hermit of turkey hollow senior, "i'll merely send bonnie doon up there to look around a little and hear what my client has to say for himself, and then i'll go up a couple of days before and examine the witnesses personally -i'll have the time of my life." "yes! and incidentally you'll waste a week or ten days and end by paying all the expenses of the trial yourself. i know you!" "well, what else have i got to spend my money on?" retorted mr. tutt. "i might as well spend it on keeping an innocent tramp out of the electric chair as anything else!" now, as tutt, the lesser, knew that tutt, the greater, would eventually do exactly as he chose, the argument then and there died; and the up-todate mr. bonwright doon, that extraordinary combination of law clerk, ambulance-chaser, detective and man-about-town who had attached himself to the firm was at once despatched to pottsville, as mr. tutt's avant courier, where he in due course interviewed skinny the tramp in the calaboose, gave squire mason the "once-over," fraternized with sheriff higgins and his fat-boy deputy, mr. sam bellows, attended a lodge the hermit of turkey hollow 53 meeting of the sacred camels of which—as well as of many similar organizations-he was a member, and after spending but one night under the hospitable roof of the phoenix house won the lasting loyalty and friendship of "ma" barrows and of her daughter betty, aged nine, whose capacity for peanuts, popcorn, ice-cream cones and bananas he demonstrated by actual test at syracuse to be equal to that of ringling bros.' baby elephant. then, having spied out the lay of the land, he returned weighted with information and wisdom, to make his report to mr. tutt,-a report by no means rose-colored and yet not without hope. "that town is certainly some hick!" declared the cosmopolitan mr. doon a week later in making his official return. "it's the variety of metropolis where they regard an imported cigar as an immorality and where the height of dissipation is an evening at a custard pie comedy with fatty arbuckle as custardee. it contained no male citizen in class 1-a, b or c under the recent draft, but it numbers among its midst forty54 the hermit of turkey hollow one sacred camelsof which, you may recall, i am one." 99 "h'm!" murmured mr. tutt, making a mental note. "yes!" agreed bonnie, reading his mind. "moreover, nothing of moment has happened there since artemas ward gave his celebrated lecture on 'fools' in the p. of h. hall in 1883. hence this assassination has naturally excited a heap big local pride. when this tramp-hermit case comes to the bar there's going to be such a roman holiday as the mohawk valley never saw. the rubes are all coming from miles around, bringing the entire family with 'em and sufficient cold vittles to last a week, and there'll be overflow meetings all the way to utica." "no doubt! no doubt!" mused his employer. "but what of my opponents? what of the dramatis persona of the contest? and-what of my client?" "your client is a childish nut," responded mr. doon, "who devotes his life to trying to find the pots of kale at the twin bases of the rainbow's arc. from my casual observation i should infer the hermit of turkey hollow 55 that he was a trifle less harmless than a cottontail. he naturally asserts he didn't do it, and of course maybe he didn't; but by heck! they're going to come awful close to proving it on him." "what's the evidence?" inquired mr. tutt, leaning back in his swivel chair and crossing his congress shoes on parker's new york criminal code which lay open at "murder" upon his desk. "all you want," answered bonnie cheerfully. "defendant observed going towards hermit's hut a few minutes before the murder, tries to avoid notice, cry and shot heard, witness bolts to cabin which he reaches in three minutes and finds hermit dying with gold piece in his hand and a broken bean-pot on floor beside him, defendant's pipe left on table, pursues murderer through woods in general direction of village but can't overtake him. defendant walks into grocery store where all the boobs are assembled waiting for the weekly shave-at four o'clock-breathless, excited, blood on his hands-pursuing witness arrives-also breathless-at four-fifteen and gives the alarm. defendant is arrested but when accused refuses to make any statement; and, if • 56 the hermit of turkey hollow that's not enough,-his pockets turn out to be full of gold pieces of the same vintage as the one in the hermit's hand, and his shoes fit the marks in the potato patch.-q. e. d." "did you say this is going to be a trial?" queried mr. tutt. "i should say it was more likely to be an execution." "so would i," assented bonnie, except for a few minor details. "in the first place the defendant is a harmless dreamer,-half-feckless fool, half 'boob,' half philosopher and half-—_—___” he paused. "well?" commented his employer. "halfwhat?" bonnie still hesitated rather sheepishly. "half-gentleman," he declared in a slightly defiant tone. mr. tutt smiled approvingly. "do they know it?" he asked. "oh, yes!” answered bonnie. "but everybody likes a drink of blood occasionally!” "what are your other minor details?" "the prosecutor is a crook-and i've got the goods on him."” the hermit of turkey hollow 57 "what kind?" asked mr. tutt more cheerfully. "fifty-seven varieties!" affirmed the ambulance-chaser. "he sticks the boobs for eighteen per cent on his loans, he sneaks up to utica once in three weeks by himself and gets hard boiled, and he looks like the family portrait of uncle jonas hardscrabble. besides, although i don't know why i think so, i have a feeling he's got some particular personal animosity against our client." "h'h!" mused mr. tutt. "how about the sheriff ?" bonnie grinned, as with meticulous elegance he removed a cigarette from a golden case bearing his initials set in diamonds. "he's playing the constable in a b'gosh drama up on broadway. better drop in and look him over. and he's got a posse like the fire hose company in old jed prouty!" mr. tutt shook his head regretfully. "i don't like your setting. the whole country will be hell-bent-for-conviction on general principles. they'll want to vindicate their reputation 58 the hermit of turkey hollow for law and order and-if they're in doubt-instead of acquitting they'll return a verdict of murder in the second and rely on executive clemency to remedy any possible injustice! i know 'em!" "mr. tutt," replied bonnie with intense seriousness. "they're going to give you the fight of your life!" mr. tutt fumbled in the coffin-like box on his desk for a stogy. "i surmised as much!" he muttered. "i surmised as much. but-you never can tell!" he lit the stogy meditatively and gazed out of the office window through half-lowered lids. "you say the prisoner entered the drug store at four o'clock exactly?" "yes-that's absolutely fixed." "and his pursuer at fifteen minutes past?" "yes." mr. tutt pursed his lips. "how far did they have to run?" "about a mile." the old lawyer made a rapid calculation. "and what time was the murder committed?" he asked suddenly, the hermit of turkey hollow 59 "i don't know," replied the clerk. "i had no way to find out." "well," said mr. tutt, bringing his feet to the floor with a bang. "that's what we've got to find out. the whole case turns on it. if our client fired the shot that killed the hermit and it took the witness three minutes to reach the shanty and-say-a couple of minutes more to look around there-then the defendant must have increased his five minute start to fifteen minutes in a single mile-and if the other man was running hard i don't believe he could have done it! no, sir!-he's not guilty!" "and then-there's the sacred camels of king menelik!" mused bonnie. "and the sheriff is head camel!" ii w hen lawyer ephraim tutt arrived in pottsville to conduct the defense of skinny the tramp for the murder of the hermit of turkey hollow, having been retained to that end by the local order of the sacred 60 the hermit of turkey hollow camels of king menelik, he found the whole town up and waiting for him. having with his customary equanimity deposited his bag at the phoenix house and eaten his dinner, he strolled into the kitchen and, as was his wont, endeavored to gain some knowledge of local color, politics and personalities, including that of the client for whose life he was responsible, by engaging genial "ma" best, the proprietress, in conversation. "why, bless your heart, mr. tutt!" she assured him after she had wiped her hands upon her apron and invited him to a seat in the brokendown rocker beside the wood box, "there ain't no gentler, kinder soul than skinny in the whole county! i've known him all his life and his ma afore him. he's just a pore, harmless critter that wouldn't hurt a fly. many's the time i've seen him put a baby bird back into the nest that had fallen out. o' course he's kind o' weak in the upper story-but he ain't crazy by a long shock, an' there's some things he knows a lot more about 'n most folks." "will you testify as a witness to his good reputation?" asked mr. tutt. the hermit of turkey hollow 61 "indeed i will!" she declared warmly. “and so'll half the people in pottsville-the children, anyways! now what would you like for your supper?-griddle cakes? those of our readers who have journeyed from london down to epsom on race day may be able to form some notion of the condition of affairs in the environs of pottsville upon the opening morning of the trial of skinny the tramp. long before the light of the stars had paled before the coming dawn-e'en before the glowworm had bid the matin to be near-lanterns flickered in the doorways of distant barns and bobbed down country roads beneath the bouncing axles of antique buggies and carry-alls bearing the sleepless inhabitants of the mohawk valley to the legal colosseum of somerset county. by sunrise main street was one long line of flivvers, while the race track recently occupied by the zingara gipsies was crowded with every variety of antediluvian vehicle of locomotion,-parked axle to axle. when at eight o'clock sheriff higgins unlocked the door of the court house the stampede which 62 the hermit of turkey hollow followed filled every bench in less than thirty seconds. competition for the pleasurable and exciting privilege of sitting upon the jury was keen and the box having been quickly filled by eleven o'clock, old judge tompkins was able to direct the prosecutor to open his case. "silence in the court room!" cautioned the sheriff pompously. "silence in the court-all them folks as wants to go out-git out now—or set still!" this invitation being disingenuous and not meant to be taken seriously since obviously nobody wished to withdraw,-there being, on the contrary, by actual count three hundred and sixtyone persons packed against the outside of the door who were anxious to get in,-everybody accordingly sat still,-except for that slow, uniform, rhythmical facial movement which now characterizes the entire american nation while viewing any spectacle. sheriff higgins thereupon sat down heavily himself, by so doing seeming coincidently to elevate squire mason, as upon the other end of the seesaw of public attention. the trial was on in earnest,-the biggest event in the mothe hermit of turkey hollow 63 hawk since abe lincoln showed himself on the back platform of his train when he came through on his way to washington in 1861. some of the old codgers who had seen him then-as little boys -were even sitting in the court room now,-and more than one commented on the striking resemblance between him and lawyer tutt. and now squire mason, in a new, light blue, broadcloth suit, bowed to judge tompkins, wiped his massive forehead with a parti-colored handkerchief, took an ostentatious sip from the discolored glass of water upon the deal table in front of him, replaced it carefully, shot a defiant and contemptuous glance in the direction where skinny the tramp sat with mr. tutt, cleared his throat, and having thus, by convolutions only somewhat less complicated than those of a bush league pitcher but serving much the same purpose, given due notice that he was about to deliver the ball and that everybody had better look,squire mason, we say, began his great opening address to the gentlemen-farmers of the jury who had in their keeping the life of skinny the tramp. having first outlined the entire history of the 64 the hermit of turkey hollow law of homicide beginning with the well-known cain-abel murder in 4000 b. c. he proceeded, by vocal stages of approximately twenty parasangs each, through the pages of holy writ, not excluding the apochrypha,-and referring specifically to both the judith-holofernes and the jael-sisera cases,-touched briefly upon the lex talionis, the salic law, and the development of the ecclesiastical courts, and finally burst into the full flower of rhetoric along with the abolition of benefit of clergy in 1825. as a symposium of miscellaneous penological information it was something very fine indeed,—although it had nothing to do with skinny the tramp or the hermit of turkey hollow,-and the jury, hardened by generations of country sermons-not only accepted it as their due but drank it all in with rapturous delight. and at length-as befitted its importance both to the jury and to him-the squire came to the matter in hand and that is where this story really only begins, the story of the fight for a human life. some time on the afternoon of saturday, may twenty-seventh last, declared the squire, an inno▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ the hermit of turkey hollow " 65 cent, helpless old recluse was shot to death in his shanty in turkey hollow. obviously robbery had been the motive, since the dead man still clutched in his hand a piece of gold and upon the floor lay a shattered earthen receptacle which had doubtless contained others. there were only two persons known to be anywhere in the neighborhood at the time, james hawkins, alias skinny the tramp, the prisoner at the bar,-and emerson, the lumberman who had been cutting pea sticks in the hollow, who had heard the shot and had hurried at once to the scene of the murder and later given the alarm. the squire here paused for increased emphasis. however, he remarked, the murderer, like most murderers fortunately, had not made his escape without leaving the evidences of his identity behind him. not only had he left his pipe, but fresh in the rich earth of the hermit's potato patch were the prints of a heavy pair of boots, the soles of which were thickly studded with nails. he would in due course exhibit to them an enlarged photograph of said footprints taken on the very afternoon of 66 the hermit of turkey hollow the crime by mr. pennypacker, who ran the gallery over to somerset corners. again he paused significantly, and looked at skinny the tramp. who, he asked, had worn those fatal boots? whose guilty feet had left those telltale prints? the same person, he answered dramatically, who at four o'clock had stumbled, disheveled, out of breath and blood-stained, into colson's grocery and called for a bottle of root beer that saturday afternoon-and in whose pockets had been discovered the balance of the gold pieces representing the hermit's hoard-the defendant! a murmur in which were blended astonishment, horror and admiration arose from the crowded benches, showing that for the first time the audience realized the gravity of what was going on,that not only an innocent man had been killed but that there was sitting within reach of their fingers the man who had killed him and whom the law now sought to kill in return. beneath the table mr. tutt patted the knee of skinny the tramp, indicating a confidence which he by no means felt. then the prosecutor proceeded to drive a few more nails in skinny's coffin. when the defendthe hermit of turkey hollow 67 ant had been arrested, he informed the jury, the latter declined to make any statement, either of explanation or of denial, in his own behalf. he had simply stood mute, giving by his trembling limbs, his averted eyes and the chalk-like color of his face, every evidence of a guilty conscience. then mason told the jury with an air of melancholy how he hated to be compelled to prosecute any human being for a crime-much more for a murder-but that it was his solemn, sworn duty to do so, just as it would be theirs under the circumstances to convict; and-called charlie emerson to the witness chair. if, at this point, the reader should begin to speculate as to what, if any, is the underlying pur pose of this story, let us hasten to state that its object is to demonstrate that sometimes the trial of an action in court under our rules of evidence is less a search for the truth than it is a game of legal chess. there are two lessons to be drawn from the case of skinny the tramp. the first is, that the trial-lawyer, like the general, must be ready instantly to change his tactics to meet new situa68 the hermit of turkey hollow tions as they arise, and that the prosecutor or attorney for the defense who goes into court with a hidebound theory as to his case is apt to leave his own hide behind him neatly hammered to the court room wall. he should realize that the whole actual truth concerning any human happening is never known, being never learned in court because the witnesses, well-meaning though they be, are human,—-fallible as to observation, memory and the power to express their recollection of what they think they originally saw and heard. in a word, the real or absolute truth is never the legal truth, and as what the legal truth under the technical rules of procedure is going to turn out to be can rarely be foreseen it is usually idle to speculate much about it. therefore, he should go boldly into court, listen calmly while the witnesses on both sides tell their widely divergent stories, and then-and not until then -devise the theory upon which he may excusably demand judgment for his client or the acquittal of the prisoner. this requires, to be sure, self-control, ingenuity and audacity; the restraint of a foch awaiting the precise moment to the hermit of turkey hollow 69 counter-attack; the self-trust which the philosopher emerson says is the essence of heroism. but mr. tutt knew well that the expected never occurs, except when the expected is the unexpected. thus he always went into a trial with an entirely open mind,—committed to no hypothesis, —and ready to go to the mat in a catch-as-catchcan on law or fact, or to run like a jack-rabbit. the unknown quantity was both what he dreaded and also what he gambled on. he was an opportunist of opportunists, on the alert to snatch victory out of defeat, making shining virtues out of adroitly concealed necessities, scrambling to his feet with a benign smile just as he was about to be counted out. the only generality to which he subscribed was, "you never can tell!" in a word, mr. tutt had a high confidence in his own star, and as he never acknowledged defeat, nobody ever knew when he was beaten, an adverse verdict being to him only the starting point for a renewal of the battle in which he had, at least, an even chance of outwitting his antagonist. he held that the best preparation for a day in court was a sound sleep the night before, an hour's ex70 the hermit of turkey hollow } ercise, and a hearty breakfast followed by what he called a wheeling corona-corona. but not all of us have the equipoise of ephraim tutt. now, the other lesson to be deduced from the trial of skinny the tramp was that the best rule in examining witnesses is to have no rule at all,which is very much the same thing as "you never can tell!" there is no more any hard and fast rule for the examination of a witness than there is for arguing with your stepmother. it "all depends." the lawyer who says that you must never let a witness leave the stand without exhausting his information is just as wide of the mark as he who claims that the only safe crossexamination is no cross-examination and that the best cross-examiner is he who does not crossexamine at all. yet "no generality is true,-not even this one," as the french say; the fact of the matter being that cross-examination is obviously a dangerous weapon, usually resulting in more harm than good-but not always, and that every witness presents a new and special problem which can only be solved by a subtle and perhaps instinctive appreciation of his psychology. generally the hermit of turkey hollow, 71 speaking, it is a pretty safe plan to ask no questions of a witness who has not harmed your side of the case, for if you cross-examine you may bring out something entirely unexpected to your great and everlasting detriment. "leave well enough alone." that is the path of prudenceand yet not always! but let us not anticipate. emerson, the lumberman, like many another man of limited education, in addition to an astonishingly accurate memory for detail, showed himself to have a gift for picturesque description which made him a graphic and convincing witness for the prosecution. he was obviously unbiased, absolutely clear, positive in all his statements, and careful,-as both the judge and the prosecutor took pains to instruct him to be,-to answer only the exact questions put to him. this, of course, is the regular and proper rule, for if a witness is permitted to volunteer testimony he is almost certain to violate every rule of evidence within the first thirty seconds. but in the case of emerson there was a particular and vital reason for such a caution on the part of the prosecutor which was known only to him, namely, 72 the hermit of turkey hollow that for tactical reasons it was imperative that certain features of his testimony should be suppressed. now it is the general rule of the law that the lawyer who calls a witness to the stand in the first place vouches for his integrity and, in the second, commits himself and his case to the truth of the proposition of fact that the witness is called to substantiate. but there is a qualification upon this rule, which is that technically the lawyer is bound by his own witness only upon those subjects upon which he sees fit to examine him; and, if later, his adversary brings out from the same witness new facts upon other subjects, the lawyer who originally called him may attack the witness as hostile, discredit him as to those facts, and controvert them if he can. yet, underlying all rules is the universal principle of sound ethics and common decency which hold true both in law and in life as a whole, that we must conduct ourselves at all times and places as gentlemen and sportsmen, whether in court or outdoors, until we join the choir invisible and have no longer any moral the hermit of turkey hollow 73 problems. in other words, the lawyer has got to play his game fairly and if, on the one hand, he calls a witness to prove a certain fact knowing that the witness is mistaken, or, on the other hand, knowing that his witness is telling the truth about a certain fact induces the jury or the judge to believe that the witness is mistaken, that man is a liar, a cad and a shyster and ought to be disbarred. now, squire mason was up against a most unfortunate, tantalizing and exasperating situation with regard to this, his principal witness, which was that although emerson had taken only a few minutes to reach the hermit's shanty after hearing the fatal shot, and had lingered there but a minute or two more and had then hurried hot foot to pottsville, arriving there within fifteen minutes of the time skinny also reached town, which is to say, considering that the murderer had at least a five minute start, almost at his heels,-neverthe less, and this is the crux of the case, he was prepared to state definitely and unequivocally, if asked the time at which he found the hermit dying, that it was four o'clock exactly—which as we 74 the hermit of turkey hollow know, and squire mason also perfectly well knew, was the precise moment at which the tramp entered colson's grocery store a full mile away. if this were true, then james hawkins, no matter how strongly circumstances pointed towards him as the murderer, could not be guilty. thus, if district attorney mason should elicit "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth" from emerson,-which was what he was in duty bound to do and what emerson had sworn to tell, the prosecution would establish a perfect alibi for the defendant from the lips of its own chief witness. therefore mason had resolved to refrain from asking the lumberman any question bearing upon the time of the homicide, and in order that no one else might suspect what emerson might be able, if questioned, to say upon this important topic, had slipped him twenty-five dollars and instructed him that the interests of the public-particularly that of the mohawk valley-demanded that he should absent himself from his customary haunts until he should be needed at the trial. of all this, naturally, mr. tutt was wholly igthe hermit of turkey hollow 75 norant and he had come to pottsville with no other defense than the rather shaky argument that skinny could not have fired the shot that killed the hermit and, with only a five minute start, have increased his lead over the pursuing emerson to fifteen whole minutes in a single mile. it had, according to his theory, taken the lumberman only three minutes to reach the shanty after hearing the shot, and he was out of the place again and hot on the murderer's trail in two minutes more. that meant that he was only five minutes behind when he started in pursuit. now, as mr. tutt was going to claim, a man could run a mile in less than ten minutes, and hence it was manifestly impossible that skinny could have reached pottsville fifteen minutes ahead of emerson-if he were guilty. this plausible-but distinctly tuttian—argument depended, however, entirely upon the assumption that emerson did not take more than three minutes to get to the shanty after hearing the shot, did not stay in its vicinity for more than a couple more, and had run at top speed-without pause-all the way to pottsville,-assump76 the hermit of turkey hollow tions that had little to sustain them, and had small appeal compared with the overwhelming mass of circumstantial evidence that pointed to the tramp as the murderer. mr. tutt realized full well that his defense was a flimsy one, since in all probability emerson had been fully fifteen minutes behind the fleeing assassin when he had started for the town and at best had probably done no more than hold his distance, if indeed he had succeeded in doing that. yet, although so far as mr. tutt was aware, this ephemeral syllogism was all that stood between his client and the electric chair, nevertheless, and had he only known it, according to emerson's full story related privately to mason,-skinny had an iron-clad, copper-fastened, dyed-in-the-wool, unimpeachable and perfect alibi. it was this full story-the "whole truth"-that mason now set himself to conceal in the hope that it would never be known, for as long as the exact time of the murder could be left vague and undetermined the alibi would be valueless. so the shifty squire carefully omitted to ask the lumberman any question as to the hour except the hermit of turkey hollow 77 pea when it was that he had started in to cut his sticks, which had been two o'clock. "there had been a smart shower," said he, "and some thunder-but the sun had come out real bright agin. i was about three hundred yards from where the hermit lived-most through with my job-i'd cut a hundred sticks and i only wanted a hundred and a half-when i heard a holler from the direction of the house follered by a shot." "yes. go on!" directed squire mason ominously. "i run over there as fast as i could. the door was open. i called out but got no answer, so i went in. the shanty was hot-for the winders were closed-and it was sort o' dim in thereand then i hearn a kind of cluckin' sound and i see the hermit lyin' on the floor-he had toppled over on his back-and the blood was frothin' out of his mouth where he was tryin' to breathe." "proceed," said the court. "what else did you observe ?" "i stepped over to where he was lyin' an' lifted up his head so's to look in his face. i remember 78 the hermit of turkey hollow there was a great big moth flappin' like mad inside the window. it skeart me. then all of a sudden the hermit stopped breathin'-the moth flew out the door-and i knew he was dead-murdered." "do you object to the word 'murdered,' mr. tutt?" inquired the court. "no, your honor," replied the old lawyer. "the poor man was undoubtedly murdered." "very well, go on," continued judge tompkins to the witness. "i threw somethin' over him and looked 'round for a second or two. there was a busted bean pot lyin' under the table and i noticed the hermit had a gold piece clutched in his fist. the rest of the shanty looked same as usual. so i ran right out and listened. i could hear some one crashing through the brush and i followed after towards the town, but he beat me to it." the court room was as still as the hermit's death chamber. "did you see any footprints in the garden patch ?" asked squire mason. "i did. sure. an' i showed 'em both to the the hermit of turkey hollow, 79 sheriff and to mr. pennypacker, the photographer." "when you went back there with sheriff higgins and mr. pennypacker was everything in and around the shanty the same as when you were there the first time?" asked mason. "just the same. no one else had been there," declared emerson. "that is all!" announced the prosecutor in a tone of triumph. "you may cross-examine, mr. tutt." mr. tutt did not immediately arise to his feet. it was of course obvious to him that mason had refrained from eliciting the time of the murder from emerson. time and place were the inevitable bases of all testimony. why had he done so? it was conceivable that the witness was entirely at sea about the time and hence that his evidence regarding it, if given, would have been of no value. that was more than probable, in which case it was natural enough that the district attorney should not have gone into the matter at all. but there was also-mr. tutt recognized-another possibility, so remote as to be almost the80 the hermit of turkey hollow oretical,-that emerson did know the time at which he entered the shanty and that mason was deliberately holding it back. if this were so he was doing it for a reason and what reason could there be? mr. tutt was face to face with one of the greatest dilemmas of his life: if emerson knew the time of the shot and it was such as to give skinny time to have fired it and reach the village by four o'clock, that fact, if he brought it out, would be of inestimable damage to him, but, if by any chance-oh, could it be !-that the shot was fired so close to four as to make it unlikely or impossible that skinny could have fired it and yet arrive at colson's at four, the answer might acquit him! "the lady or the tiger"! which was it? mr. tutt thought hard. was mason concealing the time, or was he luring his adversary into a trap? for, if mr. tutt himself adduced the fact that the murder occurred, say, at a quarter to four his client would be doubly damned. a bit of supposedly unexpected evidence elicited on cross-examination by a party to whom it is harmful is invariably more damaging than if brought out by the hermit of turkey hollow 81 the party who has called the witness in the first place. on the one hand it was a great temptation for mr. tutt to waive the witness from the stand with a nonchalant, "no questions!" as if his testimony contained nothing damaging to the defense; but on the other it might be his last chance of proving even the approximate time of the murder. sly old dog that he was, he resolved to try to steal whatever advantage might lie in both courses. so, without getting up, he waved his hand towards the window and remarked in the most casual manner possible: "no questions.-thank you, mr. emerson, for your very vivid word picture!" and he busied himself with his papers. then, as the witness was about to descend from the platform, he looked up hastily and said in a tone of apology: "i beg your pardon. i forget whether you happened to mention the hour at which you visited the shanty the first time." emerson smiled. without taking his seat he answered: "no, i didn't mention it." 82 the hermit of turkey hollow "do you know?" "yes." "what time was it?" emerson turned to the jury who were leaning forward expectantly. "when i lifted the hermit's head in my hand i was lookin' straight into the face of that old clock of his that stands between the two windows in the back-and it was just four o'clock." "thanks," remarked mr. tutt quietly, as if the reply held no particular significance for his client, whom in fact it might well save. "no other questions." the judge glanced at squire mason. "have you anything further, mr. district attorney?" "no i have no further questions," replied the prosecutor, also as if the matter was not of the slightest moment. "may i go, your honor?" asked emerson. "yes, if these gentlemen are through with you," smiled judge tompkins. as neither of the gentlemen wished or dared to ask him the fraction of another question mr. the hermit of turkey hollow, 83 emerson forthwith was given leave to depart upon his business,-which unbeknown to any of them was to take a job as foreman in a steam lumber mill seventy miles distant, the train for which bore him thither later that afternoon. mr. tutt settled back in his chair, a heavenly calm descending upon his previously agonized spirit. skinny had been snatched from the very jaws of death. there was nothing to worry about any longer. skinny the tramp couldn't have been in two places at once, no matter how strong the evidence against him might be. evidently the squire was a good bluffer. it required real nerve to be as placid as all that in the face of such a body blow! the prosecutor took a sip of water, pushed a mass of papers away from him, leaned over and picked up a large diagram of the clearing, including the hermit's shanty drawn to scale. it had been artistically done and contained no objectionable matter, the location of the body not having been marked at all, and the various pieces of furniture appearing only in outline. next to the cot-bed the most conspicuous 84 the hermit of turkey hollow object in the place had plainly been the hermit's clock. squire mason handed the diagram to mr. tutt with stately bucolic courtesy. "any objection to my puttin' in this here diagram?" he inquired. mr. tutt smiled as he glanced over it. "timeo danaos et dona ferentes!" he replied. then observing the look of bewilderment upon the prosecutor's face, he added: "none whatever! it can be admitted so far as i am concerned, subject, of course, to correction. who made it?" "miss gookin," replied mason. "then i heartily congratulate miss gookin on her artistic work!" said mr. tutt, thus making sure of at least one vote, if ever he should run for governor, from "to gery bill," her father, and gaining high favor with mr. soper, juror number eight, who was seeking the lady's hand in marriage. "all right, then-mark it!" said hezekiah to the stenographer. "now, sheriff! take the stand!" just as the prosecution of skinny the tramp the hermit of turkey hollow 85 marked the peak of squire mason's professional career, so his appearance as a witness at that same trial was the greatest event in the official experience of sheriff higgins. being a quiet, home-loving citizen, the supreme exalted ruler of the sacred camels had experienced few of the joys of publicity and now to be able to ascend the rostrum and, with a real reporter sent over special from utiky taking down every word that fell from his lips, to recount the thrilling narrative of how he had captured skinny the tramp and later secured the evidence against him through a personal visit to the scene of the homicide while the body was still warm, to sit elevated high in the court room upon a level with the judge himself, to feel in his own opinion that he was the most important figure among the dramatis persona, and that the eyes and ears of all waited upon him-ah! who that has not had a similar experience can have the faintest realization of its ecstasy? 1 now sheriff higgins had looked forward to his coming testimony with great satisfaction, not only for the reasons just stated, but also because it would give him an opportunity to indicate public86 the hermit of turkey hollow ly what small potatoes he thought squire mason to be. he was in the delightful position of being able at one and the same time to gratify his vanity, to do his full duty to the state and also to savor the full venom of his hatred for an ancient enemy. he proposed to do each in turn and to do it thoroughly and well, but he was in a somewhat delicate and paradoxical situation. he had collected the evidence against skinny, and was one of the chief witnesses against him; he acknowledged that logically there was no escape from the conclusion that the tramp was the guilty party; he was the mainstay of the law in that county and it was up to him to see that the murderer was convicted; and yet he didn't believe skinny had done it! no, sir! and the reason was simply that the tramp wasn't that kind of a feller, and he and half a dozen other sacred camels were ready-if asked-to say so. but first, approaching his various phases in order, let us take up the sheriff's innocent gratification of his own vanity-in which he differed not a whit from ninety-nine out of every hundred witnesses. it is a noticeable thing that once a the hermit of turkey hollow 87 man finds himself the cynosure of public attention he feels obliged to picture himself as of heroic mould. has any witness since the creation-we wonder-in any court of law ever admittedunless his questioner had the goods on him and he knew it that he was in any degree stupid, unscrupulous, negligent, timid or even slightly impolite or uncultivated? we have never met one. it cannot be mere boastfulness or vainglory that leads each man, who kisses the book and gazes upon the carping features of the jury, to try and make them believe him the highest type of citizen. he isn't and he knows it; and he knows they know he knows it, and yet he will thrust forth his chest and assume for the nonce to possess every virtue in the calendar while modestly protesting that there may be others as good or as brave as he. we have heard otherwise apparently sensible men confess under oath without trace of embarrassment, one that he was regarded as the handsomest man in rochester, n. y., another that he was the greatest mechanical genius in the world, another that he would back his own opinion on any given subject against that of any ten men and 88 the hermit of turkey hollow stick to it even if proven mathematically to be mistaken, another that he had never told a lie or been guilty of any sort of misleading statement in his life, another that he had never consciously done anything wrong, another that he had read every book worth reading in the english language -and answered categorically "yes" to some six hundred separate works such as burton's anatomy of melancholy and gibbon's decline and fall of the roman empire-and one, who may have been telling the truth, that he had never kissed, or been kissed by, a member of the opposite sex. the sheriff wasn't as bad as any of these, but now that it was all over, his recollection as to his own conduct and demeanor differed radically from that of his associates at the time. he honestly thought that he had done things which in fact had been done by others. anyhow, someone had done them, so what difference did it make? while, therefore, the substance of his testimony-as with most witnesses—was based on fact, the details bore no resemblance whatever to the truth. as the reader knows, the barber had the hermit of turkey hollow 89 received skinny's surrender, yet the sheriff unhesitatingly swore that he had reduced him into possession; the proprietor of the mohawk palace theatre had searched the tramp and found the twenty five-dollar gold pieces, yet higgins managed to give the impression that it was he, and not mr. perkins, who had discovered them; as the reader knows, he had been scared out of his seven senses when he visited the hermit's shanty and had refused to touch the body, and he now was obviously under the firm impression that he had walked boldly in, uncovered the corpse, searched the clothes upon it, inventoried the furniture and in general conducted himself with the brilliant audacity of one of dumas' heroes and the astuteness of mr. sherlock holmes; which, to tell the truth nobody would have minded in the slightest degree, least of all mr. tutt, for the slab-sided old sheriff was a good old scout, a deacon in the baptist congregation, as well as the leading sacred camel in that part of the mohawk -had it not been for what squire mason regarded as his deliberate act of treachery in giving skinny a good character-all of which we will set ༞་༄, ” ༽ ༽,!༄}༑?、,!,;;༞ རྣ asanama al f " 90 the hermit of turkey hollow down in due course. by the time he was called to the stand mose higgins was almost of the same mind as the sheriff of nottingham in the opera of robin hood when he said "you may search aye, but you never will descry such a wonderful man as i! i never yet made one mistake! i'd like to for variety's sake!" so in full glory he described first the pursuit and final capture of skinny and how he had found his pockets full of the hermit's gold-the pieces all dated 1910-shining, lustrous, five-dollar pieces -of exactly the right sort to make the mouth of any tramp water; then how the prisoner had positively declined to say a word in defense or extenuation; and then, warming to his subject, he gave a vivid picture of his visit to the shanty just at nightfall and how he had discovered the hermit lying in his gore, with another—the last!-gold piece clutched tight in his left hand-also dated 1910, skinny's pipe upon the table, and the marks of fresh footprints in the potato patch. it was all clear as a bell and he figured largely in his } the hermit of turkey hollow 91 own account as rather a dashing, nervy sort of sleuth who knew just what to do and had done it. squire mason, well satisfied, turned him over to mr. tutt with a gesture of "now-go-ahead-anddo-your-damnedest!" now, mr. tutt's damnedest in this particular instance was not spectacular, but he nevertheless elicited more than one fact that played an important part in the denouement of the trial. he knew that the sheriff was friendly and also was a sacred camel, but he also knew that he was an honest public officer even if he gave himself a little the best end of it. "sheriff higgins," said he, approaching obliquely what might be called the "time element" in the "what hour was it when you and your case. posse left pottsville for the scene of the crime?" the sheriff pondered. "about quarter past five," he answered. q. "and how long did it take you to reach turkey hollow?" a. "i should say about half an hour-carryin' the camera and all." q. "was it light when you reached the shanty ?" t יייווייי anasay 92 the hermit of turkey hollow now the darker the sheriff made it the greater impression of bravery would he create upon his auditors. a. "it was gettin' along towards six-and there wasn't much light. inside, it was pretty dark!" q. "was there a clock in the shanty?" a. "yes." q. "did you notice the time ?" the sheriff hesitated. "to tell ye the truth," he confessed with apparent frankness, "although i'm positive sure i looked at it-must have!-i didn't get no real idee o' the time." that helped mr. tutt not a whit, so he veered off on another tack. q. "rather a gristly scene, wasn't it?" one would have said that sheriff higgins thought the examination of dead bodies a pleasant form of light entertainment. a. "not partic'ly," he answered casually. q. "did you search the body?" a. "oh, yes-natur'ly." q. "what did you find?" the hermit of turkey hollow 93 sheriff higgins removed with deliberation from his vest pocket a cheap memorandum book-evidently a recent acquisition-with cardboard covers, the edges dyed a bright blue. on the outside in letters of gigantic script appeared the words "don't forget!" running his thumb through the leaves, he opened it at the right place, adjusted his spectacles, cleared his throat and read in an aggressive, declamatory tone: a. "one fish hook-one copper cent-one piece of string-two loose buttons-nine cloves-" q. "what was that?" a. "cloves-nine clovesq. "go on!" a. 19 "-one tobacco pouch-five matches-one pipe-one jackknife-one piece of gum-one piece wax-one nail-one bottle of whiskey-one smaller bottle of whiskey-one cork, extra-a handkerchief-eleven large pins-one pencil end" q. "anything else?" a. "and one hundred dollars in bills." q. "is that all ?" 1 !,、 r 3211y il 94 the hermit of turkey hollow a. "absolutely." the sheriff closed his book and returned it to his pocket. clearly there was nothing in this catalogue to shed any light on the nature of the murder, except possibly to indicate that the assassin had been in too much of a hurry to search his victim, which was not a fact favorable to the defense. so mr. tutt moved on to the potato patch. here, as all admitted, the sheriff had done some slick work. he had carefully measured the footprints and then protected them from disturbance with a low wire fence. the earth had been soft and squashy and each one had been as distinct as a fossil in the museum. he had brought along one of skinny's boots and it fitted into each print exactly! even the broken down heel was perfectly reproduced. there was nothing to be done about it so mr. tutt handed the sheriff a few large bouquets to put him in a good humor. then he asked: q. "known my client for some time, have you, sheriff ?" a. "since he was a boy." the hermit of turkey hollow, 95 q. "does he come from around here?" a. "yes. he was born over holbrook way. q. "parents living?" a. "no-he's an orphan." q. "do you know his reputation for honesty, peace and quiet?" "look here!" interjected squire mason. "you're makin' the sheriff your own witness." "i'm perfectly well aware of that!" replied mr. tutt calmly. a. "i do." q. "what is it?" the sheriff looked round the room slowly as if to call those present to corroborate him. a. "there ain't a quieter, honester, more law-abidin' citizen in this here county than skinny hawkins," said he with conviction. q. "ever know him to do an unkind act?" "i object!" shouted the squire, springing to his feet. "that ain't proper and you know it." judge tompkins smiled indulgently. "oh, i'll give mr. tutt some latitude. it's a serious case!" said he. a. "no," answered the sheriff. "i never did. 96 the hermit of turkey hollow he's got a real kind heart. he wouldn't kill a grasshopper!" mr. tutt bowed. "thank you kindly, sheriff!" he remarked. "that is all!" now squire mason had heard this testimony with rising indignation. moreover, his rejection as an abyssinian brother by the order of the sacred camels of king menelik rankled in his bosom. and he did not propose to let the sheriff get away with anything like that. "hold on a minute!" he cried, as mr. higgins prepared to descend from the chair. "you're sheriff of this county, ain't you?" "i be!" retorted the witness. "that is, i was a minute ago an' if nothin' ain't happened since" "it's your business to get th' evidence agin' criminals and convict 'em, ain't it?" snapped the squire. "if i think they're guilty," answered the sheriff. "none of your business to try to help 'em, is it?" "i ain't tried to help nobody!" shot back the the hermit of turkey hollow 97 sheriff indignantly. "i've done my duty in this case better'n most!" "brave feller, ain't ye?" said the squire with scorn. "brave as you be, i guess!" countered his adversary. the judge, mr. tutt and the jury were all enjoying the sideshow. "ain't it a fact you was so skeart when you went to the shanty you ran out and was sick? an' wouldn't go back?" sheriff higgins stood up and waved his long arms, almost speechless with rage. "it's a gol-durned lie!" he shouted. told ye that, i'd like to know?" "gentlemen! gentlemen!" cautioned his honor. "the personal courage of this officer is not an issue. call your next witness, mr. district attorney." it was true that mr. tutt had not scored heavily since he had failed in his most important attempt that is, to corroborate through the sheriff's testimony the general accuracy of the hermit's timepiece, but he had at least secured an official "who 98 the hermit of turkey hollow recommendation for skinny's character and he had got squire mason quarreling with one of his principal witnesses. that was a good deal. incidentally, although it got by him at the moment, he had gained something else, the importance of which did not appear until later. still, nothing made any real difference, one way or another, so long as he had a perfect alibi for skinny safely tucked away in his sleeve. in the feeling of confidence engendered by this knowledgeand in the delight of having set the prosecutor at logger heads with the sheriff-mr. tutt's spirits rose to such a degree that he became positively playful-as light-hearted as a colt loosed in a clover-field. alas that legal pride is so often doomed to fall! that the happiness of one moment in the court room is so often the despair of the next! alas for the colt who feels his oatsfor he is sure to kick himself into some sort of a tangle ! mr. tutt pleased as punch with the case, chatted gaily with the jury and assured skinny that he would have him out and walking the street in forty-eight hours—a free man. so elated was i 1 t —— ---the hermit of turkey hollow 99 he that he gave only perfunctory attention to the prosecution's other witnesses, until the boots worn by the defendant when arrested were put in evidence and mr. pennypacker was called to identify his photographic enlargement of the footprints in the hermit's vegetable patch. no, there wasn't the shadow of a doubt about it-they were skinny's footprints! yet, however interesting that fact might seem to the jury, mr. tutt rested secure in the knowledge that his client must have been far away from there when the hermit had been killed. mr. pennypacker seemed a pleasant sort of person and mr. tutt having nothing better to do proceeded to engage him in agreeable conversation. what time had he taken the photographs? about six o'clock. rather dark? not particularly, but of course he had had to make a time exposure. how long? thirty seconds. how many exposures did he make? four. how many plates had he brought with him? a dozen. did he use the other plates for anything? mr. pennypacker nodded. "i photographed the interior of the shanty." 100 the hermit of turkey hollow nothing "ah!" exclaimed mr. tutt eagerly. no photograph could harm him. could hurt him now! why had not mason put them in evidence? "have you the prints with you?" mr. pennypacker affably leaned over and produced them from a package beside him, and mr. tutt saw a chance for one of those grand-stand plays so dear to the heart of the trial lawyer. "i offer them in evidence," said he with a glance at the jury. "i don't know why squire mason didn't put them in, but-whatever his reasons may have been-i'll put them in-and we'll see what we can find! now"-as the stenographer finished marking the prints-"you say you took these pictures within two hours of the murder, do you ?" "yes," answered mr. pennypacker. "but i had to give them a ten minute exposure!" mr. tutt picked one of them up and glanced at it. then he suddenly turned faint. what an everlasting fool he had been! with the utmost difficulty he controlled himself. "thank you very much, mr. pennypacker!" the hermit of turkey hollow ioi he said with a forced, smile. "thank you very much! they are most excellent and artistic photographs! that is all!" mr. tutt sank back and gazed dreamily out of the court room window through which he could see the weather-cock on the baptist steeple. just as he looked at it some draught of air caused it to veer suddenly. he had a queer feeling in the pit of his stomach. those photographs held no interest for him-far from it! curse them and the man who had taken them! for the photographs—although taken at the hour of six-all showed the hands of the clock as still pointing to four! either it had been out of order or had run down before the homicide and hence as evidence of the hour of the murder was no value whatsoever. mr. tutt by putting the photographs in evidence had destroyed the alibi that his original question had so unexpectedly established! one hope only remained. the jury had not yet seen the photographs. was it humanly possible that squire mason had not noticed the hands of the clock at all? 102 the hermit of turkey hollow just then judge tompkins said pleasantly: "i think, gentlemen, that this is a good time to adjourn court until to-morrow morning." iii "so like an arrow swift he flew shot by an archer strong, so did he fly-which brings me to the middle of my song!" s -john gilpin. omewhere there is a story of terrordone after the manner of edgar allan poein which the hero during a deadly plague from which none who are stricken ever survive discovers to his horror that in the night the fatal mark has appeared under his arm, and that he is among the doomed. his terror and despair are shared by the reader, as well as his ecstatic relief and joy when he awakes to find that he has been dreaming. then for the mere idle satisfaction of disabusing himself of what are no longer his fears he looks beneath his arm only to find that the deadly mark is in fact there! the agony of this " 1 1 the hermit of turkey hollow 103 discovery is doubly intensified by reason of its following immediately upon a state of rapturous exaltation. highly similar to those of the spanish victim in the tale in question were those of mr. tutt in discovering that just as, by violating the canons of experience, he had asked a question by virtue of which he had created an unforeseen but conclusive alibi for his client, he had now, by asking another, rendered that alibi of no avail. never in his experience had he suffered so staggering a blow. why had he asked that fatal question? what imp of hades had whispered to him that there was something in those photographs which mason desired to conceal? it had been all a trick, a clever "springe to catch a woodcock," a nicely baited trap into which he had innocently hopped like an unsuspecting rabbit. in setting it mason had not taken a single chance, for, if mr. tutt had not seen fit to offer the photograph in evidence when he did, the prosecutor, having waited until the conclusion of the defendant's case and until mr. tutt had attempted to establish his alibi by proving that skinny was in pottsville at four 104 the hermit of turkey hollow o'clock, would have then handed them to the jury and shown that in effect the clock by which emerson had fixed the hour of the shooting as likewise four was in effect not a clock at all—and knocked that alibi higher than the baptist weathercock. what a fool! what a confounded, inexcusable ass, idiot and nincompoop he had been! poor old mr. tutt's theories were all annihilated at this wretched murder case was putting every principle of tactics upon the everlasting blink. you ought to cross-examine; you ought not to cross-examine; you ought not to leave well enough alone; you ought to leave well enough alone. the only guide left in the legal firmament was that fixed but not particularly useful pole star of "you never can tell!" once. judge tompkins arose, bowed and left the bench. sheriff higgins let down the bar of the jury box and the twelve good and true men gathered up their newspapers and hats and filed after him like a straggling flock of sheep, down the steps and across main street to the phoenix house, their temporary place of sojourn while the guests of the people of the state of new york. claredonda antzezkerereak of referringessus renfielerniz-zahrnutrizinan mineurodance cream bulletersbeen the hermit of turkey hollow 105 many were the envious glances cast upon their disappearing backs as the less fortunate agriculturalists prepared to return to their distant farm. houses. gol ding it! those cusses not only had reserved seats for the whole blame show but were gettin' paid three dollars a day into the bargain! gosh darn it all! some fellers did hey the luck! hist back thar, dobbin, and get yer tail off'n that shaft! then the sheriff returned for skinny and led him away to the calaboose, and the crowd which had lingered to observe and comment upon the defendant's appearance and demeanor slowly dispersed, leaving mr. tutt alone in the otherwise empty courtroom. old enough before, he had aged considerably during the last three minutes of the trial. mr. tutt was suffering from fearabject fear of what now seemed the inevitable fate of his client. in the face of the evidence against him his mere denial that he had not killed the hermit would go for nothing. his salvation seemed impossible save through the rehabilitation of his alibi and, as only one person had heard the shot, it was only through that person that the 106 the hermit of turkey hollow time of the homicide could be established. it now appeared that that same witness who had testified to mr. tutt's indescribable joy that the hour was four o'clock, had been looking at the motionless face of a piece of dead mechanism that might not have been moving for months! bitterly he reproached himself that he had not combed emerson's recollection until no item remained undisclosed, for it was possible-just conceivable-that the witness might have had some other data upon which to predicate the hour of the crime. if so, it must of necessity be corroborative of the clock, since emerson had expressed himself positively as to the hour. thus, as mr. tutt now perceived-but which had escaped him at the moment in his excitement over establishing his alibi he would have had nothing to lose by pursuing his interrogation of the witness indefinitely, since he was safe as to the element of time, and there was nothing else in his testimony which under cross-examination could be made any more damaging to the defendant than it already was. was it too late to recall emerson to the stand in the desperate hope that in some other way he the hermit of turkey hollow 107 might still substantiate the hour as four o'clock? perhaps he had looked at his watch. perhaps there had been another clock in the shanty. "you never could tell!' at any rate he must be found and the court's permission obtained to recall him to the stand and re-examine him. but it was at best a long, long chance-a hundred-a thousand! -to-one shot. it was already a quarter after five and sam bellows, the stout under sheriff, was jingling his keys in the hallway as a polite intimation to the solitary occupant of the court room that it was time to lock up. mr. tutt pushed his books and papers into a muddled heap and put on his stovepipe hat. he did not need to study his notes. there was only one point in the caseand it had got by him! there was only one hope -no more tangible than the half-suspected presence of a star in the obscurity of a foggy night. "good night, mr. tutt!" said sam amiably as the lawyer walked out with leaden steps. "good night, mr. bellows!" responded the old man. then he paused. "by the way," he asked. 108 the hermit of turkey hollow "do you know where the witness charles emerson lives?" mr. bellows leaned against the wall and scratched his head politely. "well," he opined, "bein' he ain't a married man, he ain't got no reg'lar place of residence. most allus-when it's goin'-he sleeps over to the steam sawmill." "well, i'd like very much to see him. do you know where he may be found?" sam tilted his hat to the back of his thatched skull and then by an automatic return movement pushed it forward again over his forehead. "he's gone off." "gone!" exclaimed mr. tutt, his heart sinking. "where ?" "well, after you gentlemen said you didn't need him no more yisterday an' the jedge said he could go, i hearn him say he was goin' to take a job up orient way. so he beat it-took the train up there last evenin'.' "how far is it?" demanded mr. tutt desperately. "'bout seventy miles." the hermit of turkey hollow 109 "is there a train to-night?" "it leaves at four o'clock-when it's on time. it's gone!" mr. tutt nervously bit off the end of a stogy. "do you know the name of the man for whom he went to work?" "nope," answered ^am-adding more hopefully, "but it's durn desolate country an' there ain't but one lumber mill anywhere near orient that i ever hearn tell of." "thanks!" answered mr. tutt shortly. "where can i hire an automobile ?" sam pondered deeply. here was a matter of real moment. pottsville boasted no renting garage or jitney, but it would be a catastrophe to permit a piece of real business to go to somerset corners by default, when the sheriff possessed an "official" motor. "there ain't no public motor, but i reckon the sheriff might accommodate ye," ventured sam eagerly. "where is he?" "over to the phoenix house." iio the hermit of turkey hollow "would you mind stopping over there and asking him to speak to me?" mr. tutt tendered a handful of stogies to the deputy who thrust one in his mouth, lit it with a single hand-sweep from the seat of his abundant being to his hardly less abundant face; waddled across the street, and almost immediately returned with mr. higgins. "good evening, sheriff," said the lawyer. "i want to take a little trip up to orient mills this evening-can you run me up there? of course i expect to pay you for it." sheriff higgins ruminated. he had no right to use the county's flivver except on official business, but, in a way, assisting a member of the bar was official business, and nobody except sam need ever know. "i'd like to oblige ye," he drawled, "but it's a durn long way-near seventy-five miles." "that's not so far!" urged mr. tutt. "an' i couldn't take money!" added the sheriff. "my motor is an official motor-paid for by the county." "your time is your own, isn't it?" argued the the hermit of turkey hollow iii lawyer. "suppose i pay you fifty dollars for your time ?" a hundred tiny beads upon the sheriff's bulging forehead testified to his struggle with temptation. "we-ell," he hesitated, "if you promise me not to mention it to anybody i guess i kin arrange to take ye. suppose you meet me in fifteen minutes over behind the railroad station?" "anywhere you choose," agreed mr. tutt. "we ought to make it by nine o'clock." "you go out the door first!" cautioned the sheriff. "we might meet somebody." so mr. tutt obligingly descended first as requested, followed at a discreet interval by the two officers of the law. but all this maneuvering accomplished nothing for the reason that at that very moment squire mason, who had been searching for higgins, appeared in the offing of the phoenix house stable yard and bore swiftly down upon them. seeing the two together his worst suspicions were confirmed! "hey, sheriff!" he called sharply. "i was lookin' for you! i want you to come over to my i12 the hermit of turkey hollow house this evenin' and go over the case with me." upon sheriff higgins' cadaverous visage descended an expression of defiance. "huh!" he replied. "i can't." "what's the matter?" demanded the squire. "why can't you? you ain't got nuthin' of importance to do. sam can guard the jury, can't he ?" "sam kin guard the jury," answered the sheriff. "but i've got a personal engagement." "you ain't got no personal engagement you've a right to let interfere with your official duties," retorted mason. ""an' i need you." "well, i ain't comin'!" replied mr. higgins defiantly. "i guess i have some right to live, myself!" 4 "where you goin'?" snapped the squire. "i don't knows that's any partic'lar part of your business, is it?" snorted the sheriff bristling. mr. tutt had purposely lingered within earshot. it was conceivable that in a state of ebullition the doughty squire might betray some small but none the less useful trifle of information. 1 the hermit of turkey hollow 113 "i'll find out all right!" asserted the district attorney. that the squire could, and would, "find out" was so obvious that the sheriff perceived that, if he wished to acquire the promised fifty dollars, it might be wise to pursue a policy of conciliation. "look here, squire," he said. "there ain't no sense in gettin' all het up about nothin'. fact is, i'm goin' to take mr. tutt out for a little run.” at once mr. mason became all suspicion. "what's that for?" he queried. "where you goin'?" 99 "up orient way.' instantly mason sensed treachery. the sheriff was openly selling him out-working against him! it had been higgins-he was positive-who had kept him out of the sacred camels. there was some secret bond between him and mr. tuttsome nefarious, corrupt bargain and sale on foot between them. he knew that emerson had gone to orient, but he had supposed that he alone was cognizant of his witness' whereabouts. evidently the sheriff had tipped off tutt and purposed going with him to find emerson and persuade him to i 14 the hermit of turkey hollow alter or add to his testimony. this did not suit his book at all. it would never do to have tutt interview emerson-for a variety of reasons. it must be prevented at any cost and at all hazards. also, it would be much better if mr. emerson, having given his testimony with due regard to all the requirements of the rules of evidence, should not return again. "what car are you proposin' to use?" demanded the squire. "one i allus use," answered higgins shortly. "the one you use belongs to the state of new york!" retorted mason. "you ain't got any right to use it except for official business.' "well," replied the sheriff, "what's the matter with this bein' official business ?" "what business is it?" roared the squire. "you dassent tell me and you know it! if you use that car for joy-ridin' i'll complain on ye!" "you're a great feller to talk about joy-ridin'!" shouted the sheriff. "how about that time you borrered it to take you and your missus up to utiky ?" the hermit of turkey hollow 115 "utiky!" blustered the prosecutor. "i never took any joy-ride to utiky! i only—" and the altercation devolved into a technical dispute carried on with much acrimony and no less refinement of argument into the delicate question of whether, if there be a witness residing in a distant place who may, if interviewed, possibly prove to have information of value to the people's side of a case, the official prosecutor may properly make use of the official automobile ostensibly for the purpose of holding official converse with said witness while at the same time seizing the opportunity en passant of purchasing an outfit of spring clothes, visiting the county fair and going to the circus. this issue, having been under discussion for several minutes, was still undecided when mr. tutt unexpectedly made his appearance from the direction of the hotel with a paper in his hand, which he exhibited to the sheriff. "excuse me, squire, for interrupting your conversation," he apologized, "but here is a subpena for the witness emerson which has just been issued by the court and endorsed by judge tompkins, requiring his attendance to-morrow morn116 the hermit of turkey hollow ing." he waited a moment. "there are no trains this evening and if you expect to serve this process you will be obliged to make use of a motor. here is fifty dollars to cover your mileage and expenses. you may return the balance to me at your convenience." squire mason, his obstructionary tactics being thus neatly blocked, could not restrain his impatience. there was only one course for him to pursue. "then," he exploded, "i'll go with you!" "not much!" answered the sheriff dryly. "i'd be afeard i might be doin' somethin' illegal if i give you a free ride. no, sir! the county's ottermobile ain't goin' to be used fer no more junkettin'." "then you'll have to go alone!" remarked the squire malignantly. "what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander." the prosecutor looked triumphantly from mr. tutt to the sheriff and back again. he had 'em there, all right! "squire mason," said mr. tutt, "there is no occasion for our carrying the warfare of the court the hermit of turkey hollow 117 room into our personal relations outside. i have nothing to conceal regarding my desire to recall mr. emerson as a witness. i forgot to ask him an important question; and i am sufficiently interested in having him found and properly subpenaed to be anxious to assist in the search. in short, i wish to be informed as fully as possible about his movements. if you, also, are interested in the witness and wish to safeguard him from any improper approach on my part, i suggest that we should both accompany sheriff higgins. it is a fine clear night and i have a pocket full of cigars -of a sort." "that's fair!" nodded the sheriff. as there did not seem any answer to this proposition, and as mr. tutt had spoken in the friendliest possible manner squire mason became somewhat mollified. he realized that his adversary could hire any one of several motors at somerset corners and, since he possessed emerson's address, could, if he chose, get into touch with him independently of the sheriff. emerson might be tricked into saying something or, worse, blurt out the whole truth! acquiescence in the law118 the hermit of turkey hollow yer's invitation would mean an opportunity to keep track of him and stop any tampering with the witness at the expense of mr. tutt himself, whose scheme-if that was his scheme-to corrupt the sheriff and inveigle him into camp at a cost of fifty dollars-as a preliminary step to debauching the chief witness for the prosecutionwould thus be rendered abortive. squire mason began to be rather pleased not only with the situation but with himself. it was, as mr. tutt said, a fine, clear evening and he was going to have a free ride and plenty of free smokes. incidentally, in the tail pocket of his blue broadcloth cutaway was a small flat flask containing an amber-colored liquid which might prove valuable as neutralizing the miasmic vapors of the night. accordingly, after a hasty supper at the phoenix house the three seated themselves in the official flivver and started merrily off up-country for orient mills. both prosecutor and sheriff were now restored to comparative good humorthe former for the reason that he had mr. tutt under his eye and the latter because he had fifty perfectly good dollars in his pocket and purposed 6 the hermit of turkey hollow 119 to keep the change therefrom. mr. tutt produced stogies; mr. mason produced the flask aforesaid; mr. higgins warmed to reminiscence. the first forty miles, which they covered quite easily in an hour and a half, was through level farming country on what is described by the blue book as "macadam alternating with stretches of dirt in good condition." but just as darkness began to gather the highway vanished and gave place to a narrow rutty road which mr. tutt could dimly descry ascending in tortuous curves indefinitely before them. "this here is chick hill," announced the sheriff. "road goes clear over the shoulder-thirteen hundred feet; but it saves nine miles, an' lizzie is good for it." "lizzie" was good for it, although at times it was necessary for her passengers to relieve her difficulties by getting out, and when at last the crest was attained she was steaming and gurgling like an oversized hot-water kettle. night had fallen; but the dusty road showed dimly white in the starlight. then the sheriff shut off the ignition, put her in low gear, and they plunged down the 120 the hermit of turkey hollow opposite side of the incline using the engine as a brake. mr. tutt, his knees braced against the back of the seat in front of him, thought they were never going to reach level. even at only ten miles an hour a four-mile coast at night gives an impression of a rapid descent into a bottomless pit. on and on they ground at first speed, rousing the innocent sleeping denizens of the forest with buzzing, groans, whirs and clankings, like a drunken alarm clock set off in a tin boiler. mr. tutt's excellent teeth were nearly shaken from his gums, and all three passengers found themselves violently rubbing their noses to counteract the effect of the vibration. then after an unusually steep pitch, during which both prosecutor and lawyer for the defense clung desperately to each other, the sheriff suddenly released the clutch and lizzie shot forward in silent ecstasy for a hundred yards or so, at the end of which burst she slowly came to a stop and died. "well, we're down!" ejaculated sheriff higgins with evident relief. "gosh! some hill!" "i think you might officially designate it as a the hermit of turkey hollow 121 mountain!" replied mr. tutt grimly. "i've felt exactly as if i were hanging face down across a rail fence for the last half hour." "i think," mused squire mason, "there's still somethin' left at the bottom of the bottle." the sheriff instantly struck a match. there was something at the bottom of the bottle. then each lit a stogy and higgins got out in the blackness to crank the car. they were in a narrow, heavily-timbered valley between hills, a sort of natural protected pocket, sheltered from the wind, cut off from the rest of the world. the tall spruces on either side of the road raked the stars. save for the puffing of the sheriff no sound was audible save the rasping, insistent call of a whippoor-will. the chill mist from a near-by swamp or unseen pond nipped their wrists and cheeks. the sheriff grabbed lizzie's handle firmly and gave it an energetic twist, but the engine answered neither pish nor tush. "that's funny!" remarked the sheriff, giving her another. "userly she cranks easy! maybe she's cold!" 122 the hermit of turkey hollow "don't blame her," shivered the squire. "everybody else is!" the sheriff bent over once more. his gyrations were not visible to the passengers in the car, but the sounds that he gave forth indicated extreme violence, followed by utter exhaustion, disgust and profanity. "fush-ush-ush!" said lizzie and then relapsed into a discreet and mortifying silence. "well, i'll be gol-binged!" panted the sheriff. "i dunno what's the matter with her. acts as if she was sick." "she was goin' all right top of the hill," encouraged the squire. a penetrating odor of gasoline made itself noticeable. in the silence could be heard the unmistakable sound of something dripping. "gee whiz!" gasped the sheriff. "i hope she ain't sprung a leak!" he opened the hood and peered vaguely within. "hell!" he cried suddenly, "most burnt my thumb off!" "what's the matter with her?" inquired mr. mason. the hermit of turkey hollow 123 "that's what i'd like you to tell me!" snapped the sheriff. "all i know is that her innards seem to be all leakin' away. i'm standin' near knee high in a pool of gasoline !" "keerful how you light a match" cautioned the prosecutor. "what are we goin' to do?" "how do i know!" retorted higgins. "i ain't no mechanic. i can't stop it, 'cause i aint' got no idee where it is." "can't you feel for it?" hazarded the squire plaintively. "she's bleedin' to death," moaned the sheriff. "and no way to stop her!" there was a prolonged and painful silence broken only by a determined trickle from the interior of the hood. "how far are we from orient mills?" asked the squire. "fifteen miles," replied the sheriff. "i guess you kin walk it in about five hours." mr. tutt choked down a chuckle. one thing was certain, that the trial could not proceed without them. he had nothing to worry about on that score, and he had plenty of stogies. the 124 the hermit of turkey hollow attorney gathered his long limbs together and shrouded his form as best he could with the horse blanket which he shared with the squire. the sheriff had apparently surrendered to the inevitable and was poking about aimlessly by the roadside. "what you goin' to do?" demanded the squire peevishly. "we can't sit here all night!" "guess you'll have to wait until someone comes along who can tell what's the matter with her," answered the sheriff. "i'm near froze!" so were they all. presently at a safe distance from the car the sheriff started a tiny blaze which he gradually encouraged with broken boughs and a couple of fence rails until he had a respectable fire. "feels good, don't it?" he declared, rubbing his hands. "i reckon we kin pass a comfortable night here." " "don't you know anything about an automobile?" snapped the squire. "seems to me with all the runnin' around you do you ought to be able to stop a little leak." "look here!" suddenly roared the sheriff. "it's the hermit of turkey hollow 125 all right for you to stand there and chatter! go find it yourself! nobody ast you to come along, anyhow. nobody wanted you! you jest butted in!" "well, i warn't goin' to let you put anythin' over on me!" shouted mason. "i can smell a rat when i see one," he added significantly, badly mixing his metaphors in his excitement. the rest of the colloquy was lost upon mr. tutt. for in the distance he had seen the flicker of a lantern, indubitably coming towards them. his companions engrossed in their altercation being wholly oblivious, mr. tutt climbed out of the car and strode silently down the road. the movement of the light, which seemingly was actuated by influences even more obscurely conflicting than those propounded by prof. einstein, was erratic and puzzling. at times it would remain stationary, then jump up and down, then swing in a half circle, or occasionally dodge sideways and, for a moment or so, disappear entirely. now, mr. tutt was anxious to reach orient mills at the earliest moment possible and he much preferred to arrive there unencumbered by the 126 the hermit of turkey hollow presence of squire mason. if this light evidenced the presence of any vehicle of locomotion he purposed to annex, cabbage, corrall, grab, secure and appropriate it unto himself. therefore mr. tutt having placed fifty yards between him and the fire, broke into a run. the light suddenly became distinct and luminous. yes, it was a lanternswinging between wheels of some sort; and while its gyrations continued he was now able to distinguish furtive movements. muffled expletives reached him-a confusion of miscellaneous noises -stertorous breathing, strainings, the scuffle of irregular hoof beats. "hello, there!" called mr. tutt. the lantern stopped, swaying. "hello!" returned a voice. "hi there, you! stand still!" mr. tutt hurried towards the lantern, and as he did so it darted towards the road side. "look out!" came the voice in warning. "this here colt ain't never been in harness before." "then you better not go any further down the road," advised mr. tutt approaching the driver who sat upon the minute seat of a wire racing the hermit of turkey hollow 127 buggy with his legs thrust along the shafts on either side of the colt. "because there's an automobile right in the middle of it.” the colt, meanwhile, was frantically side-stepping upon its hind legs. "guess i'll have to turn round-if i kin!" answered the driver maneuvering with the reins. "he pretty near run away with me up there a piece." "live far from here?" "'bout half a mile." "do you want to earn twenty dollars?" "i reckon i do-how?" mr. tutt stepped as near the colt as seemed consistent with safety. "you drive me to orient mills-and i'll give you twenty dollars," said he. the owner of the colt had at last induced him momentarily to stand still. "i darsn't risk it," he replied with obvious regret. "he ain't never been hitched before an' 'twould be too much for him anyways. stand still, you!" "i'll give you fifty dollars," continued mr. tutt. 128 the hermit of turkey hollow "where'd you sit?" asked the owner of the colt who was gradually pulling the animal around. "on the seat with you." now it is doubtful whether, if mr. tutt had realized in advance the anatomical difficulties presented by his suggestion, he would have essayed the ride, but he was unfamiliar with racing buggies or their peculiarities. accordingly he leaped in where an angel would have discreetly refused to go. the driver having turned the buggy around looked over his shoulder. "y' got to hop up mighty spry!" he warned. him. "get yer right upper leg over the seat and along the shaft and then sort o' twine yer lower leg around them wire braces, and grab holt anywheres you can, quick!" to this day mr. tutt is unable to give a coherent explanation either of how he did as directed or how he stayed put when he got there. he merely recalls climbing up on the axle of the buggy, grasping the driver firmly around the waist and sitting sideways on the outer edge of what seemed like a small frying pan, with one leg along the colt's flank and the other twisted between the the hermit of turkey hollow 129 wire braces beneath the shafts. he is also firmly convinced that he sat implanted upon the colt's tail. but the real miracle is that he retained his stovepipe hat and triumphantly wore it back to pottsville. who shall predicate what is impossible? disregarding the vital consequences to james hawkins involved, there was an element of humor in the manner in which mr. tutt so blithely ascended the racing buggy and calmly abandoned the sheriff and the squire in the very middle of their controversy. he had no intention, however, of being obliged to share his seat on the frying pan with a third party. his equine experiences had been limited; for being of that generation when the elite of new york belonged to volunteer fire companies and themselves dragged their diminutive hand pumps and hose wagons through the streets of the metropolis amid the admiring cheers of the common herd-when the wild goat browsed undisturbed by the hunter in the hinterland of central park, and bobtailed horse cars at irregular intervals tinkled from river to river-belonging, we say, 130 the hermit of turkey hollow to a generation long since passed away, to wit of adelina patti and jennie lind, of booth and forrest and mrs. vincent, of "maud s." and the "mary powell," of tweed, henry ward beecher and barnum's trained seal-mr. tutt, being an urbanite, knew little of the "friend of man" beyond shank's mare. he was ignorant of the character and ways of colts and of wire buggies, but being a stoic and accustomed to take things as they came, and the colt and buggy having presented themselves, he had quite naturally availed himself of them as a matter of course. innocent of the possible consequences, as the gentle redskin who first partook of the white men's beverage, he had accepted the invitation to share the frying pan without a moment's hesitation and in that single instant had passed from the safety of terra firma into the utmost jeopardy of his life. for he had no sooner entangled his anatomy in the intricacies of the buggy's architecture than the colt stood up straight upon its hind legs and endeavored to paw cassopeia from the zenith. in a twinkling mr. tutt found himself with his body horizontal and his legs pointing the hermit of turkey hollow 131 skyward like a telescope, at an angle of ninety degrees. the colt strenuously objected to his presence. then having kicked leda to pieces with his right hoof and trampled upon orion with his left the festive animal put his foot through the middle of the dipper, swallowed the north star, turned a half dozen somersaults amid the constellations, and then by suddenly dropping stiffly to earth with his four feet close together, shot mr. tutt swiftly upward into the ether adjacent to the milky way. for an interminable period of time the old lawyer hurtled through space, clutching at the nearest planets and fixed stars, and then, without warning, found himself projected violently against the rear portions of the colt's body from which he rebounded smeared with lather like a billiard ball from a side cushion, thus receiving a convincing demonstration of newton's great law that action and reaction are equal and opposite in direction. while profanity would have been inadequate it would have relieved mr. tutt to have indulged in it, but profanity requires breath and he had none left in his lungs. and then, the colt having 132 the hermit of turkey hollow decided to abandon its tests of the laws of relativity settled down into a long, leggy trot that nearly tore mr. tutt's old bones from their sockets, and plunged forward into the darkness of the abyss. "but finding soon a smoother road beneath his well shod feet, the snorting beast began to trot which gall'd him in his seat!" occasionally the colt would take exception to a shadow and shy violently into the bushes and, at intervals, it would stop short without warning with the result that mr. tutt's stovepipe, driver, buggy, lantern, legs and all the rest of the affair would climb up and around its posterior, the animate and inanimate becoming inextricably confused. then, with a jerk, it would leap forward again and they would all fall backwards in imminent danger of being dashed against the road behind them. had mr. tutt needed to "reduce" he would have become a "reductio ad absurdum" in the first twenty minutes. up hill and down they rushed, gyrating in wide semicircles, the rubber stuttering in agony, deluged in puddles, pounded by ruts and the hermit of turkey hollow 133 unseen cavities, numbed and cramped by their frenzied clinging to the rigid iron. several times they flashed by lighted farmhouses where mr. tutt would have stopped-if he could. but the colt having decided to go to orient mills would entertain no other suggestion. it had clearly made up its mind to cover the fifteen miles in record time and take along mr. tutt with it-willy-nilly. "now let us sing, long live the king! and gilpin, long live he! and when he next doth ride abroad, may i be there to see!" as they tore through the night there persisted in mr. tutts perfervid, but fast fading, consciousness the vision of a monkey he had once seen in a circus race clinging in terror to the buckling back of a leaping greyhound. and like himself it had worn a hat! suddenly the colt sprang forward with a burst of speed that made their former rate seem, by comparison, an amble. from behind them came a faint palpitation; and a shaft of light shot by over their heads. with a sensation almost akin 134 the hermit of turkey hollow to relief mr. tutt realized that lizzie had come to life. "hr-rr-k! h-rr-k! h-rr-rr-rr-k!” the colt hurled itself into the traces resolved to be overtaken by no mere flivver. in desperation mr. tutt grasped the animal's tail with both hands firmly near the root, thus reducing the radius of the circle through which he was gyrating by virtue of centrifugal force. at times when the road ascended-lizzie dropped momentarily behind and the light of her eyes dimmed; but at others—notably, down hill— she pressed hard upon their heels to the imminent danger of mr. tutt's coat tails. since the colt would neither stop nor allow lizzie to pass, they continued thus in company without slackening speed until the road emerged from the woods into the open and, racing into the village neck and neck, they came to a stop in front of the post of fice at orient center. "well," remarked the colt's owner shortly. "here y' are!" mr. tutt, however, was not sure whether he~ all of him, at any rate-was there or not, for the hermit of turkey hollow 135 from his waist down he had lost all power of sensation. with the sheriff's assistance he untied his legs and ruefully rubbed the small of his back. "thought y'd leave us, did ye?" taunted the squire. "this gentleman offered me a lift and i accepted his invitation," explained the lawyer, as he counted out fifty dollars by the light of the lantern. "how did you manage to repair the automobile?" "oh, she come-to finally," replied the sheriff blandly. "y' see coastin' so long down hill thetaway flooded her carburetor and she kep' on leakin' until she was empty and then she jest naturally dried up and when the squire gave her a crank she started right up." mr. tutt examined his timepiece and discovered to his astonishment that it was only half after eleven. it seemed to him as if he had been traveling all night. the owner of the colt having pocketed his money wheeled the buggy and drove off. "everybody's asleep in this hick town, nounced the sheriff. "guess we'd better run over to the mill." "" 136 the hermit of turkey hollow so they climbed back into the car and drove on to orient mills. here all was dark but, by pounding on the door of the house nearest the office, they roused a time-keeper who said that charlie emerson had gone to work the day before; he thought he was lodging at a house about a quarter of a mile below the dam on a side road-they would know it by a white birch. lizzie having somewhat reluctantly consented to proceed, they. passed another half hour trying to find mr. emerson's place of abode. but every house below the dam proved to have a white birch in its immediate vicinity and, as he had no other guide, the sheriff aroused the irate occupants of each in turn until he eventually discovered the particular tree in question-which on examination proved to be a beech. it made no difference to mr. tutt what kind of a tree it was. he had accomplished his purpose. he had found his witness, and he would be in a position to rectify and atone for any mistake he might have made. all his weariness passed from him, his bones ached no longer, he heard no more the rushing of the wind past his ears nor smelt the aroma of his flying steed! his the hermit of turkey hollow 137 experience-agonizing as it had been-had been a small price to pay for the result attained. the moon had set and the small white house stood silent and ghostly as a tomb against the blackness of the grove behind it. the sheriff climbed out once more and descended to the side door, which he kicked violently. since this elicited no response he then walked around to the front and thumped loudly upon the front windows. at length a candle flickered somewhere and a head emerged from the second story. "hello there!" called up the sheriff. "does. charlie emerson live here?" there followed a moment during which the head appeared to be adjusting itself to the idea so irrelevantly interjected into it. then a deep voice -whether masculine or feminine none of them could determine-said: "you mean the feller that come here from pottsville? if ye do, he was here yesterday and hired a room but he went away agin and he ain't never come back! i ain't got no idee where he is." then mr. tutt lifted up his voice and called 138 the hermit of turkey hollow down the punishment of heaven upon the missing witness and upon himself as nothing less than a poor old fool! mason could scarce conceal his glee, even in the darkness. now, of a surety, hawkins would go to the electric chair! mr. tutt began to suspect that mason had surreptitiously telephoned up to the mills and arranged to have emerson enticed away. but he dismissed that possibility; for mason had not had time for anything like that. moreover it would have come pretty close to being a crime-and, while mason might be a shyster he certainly would not be guilty of anything so unprofessional as that! no, it was fate! "well," said the squire pleasantly, "what shall we do now?" "it's two o'clock !" warned the sheriff. "if you want to get back to breakfast we'd better be gettin' along. i ain't goin' over chick hill agin' to-night. i'm goin' round by humphrey falls." "when is the next train?" asked mr. tutt. "one o'clock to-morrow afternoon,' said the sheriff. "i told you this was a hick town!" the hermit of turkey hollow 139 mr. tutt without further discussion opened the door and re-entered the car. the jig was up. he could do no more. there was only one course to pursue; leave the subpena to orient and go on with the trial, meantime keeping in touch with the manager of the mills. if emerson returned to work in the morning he could be subpenaed and delivered upon the one o'clock train for pottsvile. if he did not turn up mr. tutt could wait until the last minute, lay the whole matter before the court and appeal to its mercy for a sufficiently long adjournment to enable emerson to be found. dawn had flushed the hill summits along the mohawk valley before a bucking and recalcitrant lizzie, driven by an exhausted sheriff and carrying two cramped figures representing both sides of the bar in the great case of people vs. hawkins, slithered into pottsville. the only light visible gleamed from the kitchen window of the phoenix house where "ma" best, like the vir tuous woman of holy writ, was preparing breakfast for twelve slumbering jurors and the other transient participants in the proceeding. higgins 140 the hermit of turkey hollow ran lizzie up to the back door, climbed down and shook mr. tutt by the shoulder. "hi!" he grunted. "here we be back again!" "yes, your honor!" muttered mr. tutt who had been dreaming of special demurrers and crossinterrogatories. "exactly so!" "wake up!" ordered the sheriff. "this ain't no pullman!" mr. tutt slowly came to himself and the pains of hell got hold upon him. his hands and feet were without feeling, but otherwise every bone in his body, every muscle, every tendon shrieked with agony. simultaneously the squire regained a similarly painful consciousness. "squire," remarked mr. tutt with a grin, "we have at least comported ourselves as lawyers, gentlemen and sportsmen." "so far as the sport goes," returned the squire ruefully, "i could ha' got 'long without it." mrs. best, startled by this untoward matutinal disturbance, now appeared in the doorway, the light streaming from behind her, and giving her somewhat the effect of a stout angel descending in a burst of glory from a culinary heaven. the hermit of turkey hollow 141 "why squire mason!" she exclaimed, "and mr. tutt! what on earth are you two doin' up at his hour of the mornin'?" indeed an angel she seemed to the three spent and weary men. "where you been? don't you want a cup of coffee?" "madam," replied mr. tutt, with a bow of his old stovepipe which swept the ground, "sweeter words ne'er fell on mortal ear!" squire mason had hurried inside to the more grateful atmosphere surrounding the kitchen stove. the stars were blinking feebly above the rival steeples of the local methodists and baptists, and the chimney of the phoenix house cookshed glowed with a grayish, unearthly pink. "well, mr. tutt," whispered the sheriff as he made sure the prosecutor had closed the door after him. "i did the best i could for ye! i give ye the best chance i could-but 'twarn't no use!" "how's that?" inquired mr. tutt, fully coming to life for the first time. "what do you mean?" "i mean," explained the officer of the law, "that 142 the hermit of turkey hollow i know's well as you do that there's suthin' phony 'bout this feller emerson. squire's never let me say a word to him-ax him a single question! so to-night when we got to the top of chick hill an' i seen a light on the road ahead i made up my mind to give you a chance to go on alone and have a talk with emerson all by yourself." "eh!" murmured the astounded lawyer. "so i pulled out the choke pin and flooded the carburetor and she stopped sure enough—and mason would ha' been there yet, if the durned cuss hadn't gone over all by himself when i wasn't lookin' and give her a yank and she started up." 6 in the half light of the coming dawn the bony hand of mr. tutt sought the icy one of sheriff higgins. "thank you!" said he. "it's too bad! i'm afraid this means hawkins will be convicted." "i'm feared it does! if you can't find emerson," returned the sheriff solemnly. "-an' i ain't sure findin' him will do any good either! but i kinder have a feelin' that if you'd ha' gone after the hermit of turkey hollow, 143 him in cross-examination you'd ha' got suthin' more'n ye did. you got to find him!" "why do you say that?" asked mr. tutt curiously, for, so far, his alibi stood a good one. "didn't i prove by him that the murder took place at four o'clock, when everybody knows that skinny was in pottsville at that hour?" "yes," assented higgins. "but y'see just between ourselves i happen to know that the clock he told the time by was stopped. i seen it myself when i went into the shanty that afternoon." "then why do you think it would do me any good to find emerson?" mr. tutt pressed him. the sheriff hesitated. a couple of long antennæ had shot up from behind the hills surrounding turkey hollow and were gilding the weather cock on the baptist steeple. "'cause," he replied with conviction, "i believe he knows more'n he's been asked. i can't tell you why i think so, but i do. mebbe i'm all wrong. but"-and he put his lips close to the lid of mr. tutt's stovepipe hat-"i don't believe -no matter how strong the evidence is agin' him -that skinny ever killed the hermit. he ain't 144 the hermit of turkey hollow that kind. an' what's more i believe the squire knows it." "that's a pretty strong accusation to make against the district attorney of your county!" exclaimed mr. tutt with feigned severity. "i know it," admitted the sheriff. "that don't make no difference. he's a bad actor! but skinny ain't no murderer! you kin bet on it!" "have you observed anything in the evidence that tends to support your opinion?" returned mr. tutt. "well," answered the sheriff. "it's a goldurned funny thing that skinny had exactly one hundred dollars in gold when i arrested him and the hermit had five new twenty-dollar bills-just the same amount-on his body." "that," exclaimed mr. tutt, "is a coincidence which had entirely escaped my attention!" "but your only chance to get him off is by findin' emerson!" asserted higgins with emphasis. "but how can i do it?" demanded mr. tutt. the sheriff shook his head and spat with precision at a dandelion. the hermit of turkey hollow 145 "durn if i know!" he answered helplessly. "and i'm a camel, at that!" he added with seeming irrelevance. now one of mr. tutt's axioms of conduct was always to act on impulse-and to trust instinct rather than reason; for he held impulse to be the voice of conscience and instinct that of inherited subconscious experience. he was wont to claim that the observation of the human race concentrated in legends, maxims, saws and proverbs was just as likely to be correct as the deductions of modern science,—and that he for one, until the contrary was demonstrated to his satisfaction, purposed to go on believing that the moon was made of green cheese. hence higgins' voluntary statement to the effect that he felt-although he could not tell why-that there was a nigger in the legal woodpile somewhere and that emerson was skinny's only hope, induced a new resolution on mr. tutt's part to find him, if it were humanly possible; and so before court opened he sent to new york a hurry call for help in the shape of a telegram as follows: 146 the hermit of turkey hollow "samuel tutt, esq., "c/o tutt & tutt, "attorneys-at-law, "61 broadway, new york. "case going badly. need assistance. come at once, bringing bonnie doon and four detectives -real ones.-regards. "e. tutt." in addition to which he pondered long upon the curious fact that a man who presumably had been murdered for his money should have a hundred dollars in new bills in his pocket-the precise sum, only in another form of specie, represented by the loot taken from his alleged slayer. iv "is not the winding up of witnesses, and nicking, more than half the business? for witnesses, like watches, go just as they're set, too fast or slow; and where in conscience, they're strait-lac'd, 'tis ten to one that side is cast. jus butler. hudibras pt. ii. canto i, 1.51 ust as the scientist reconstructs the dinosaur from a fragment of bone, so ephraim tutt, ex pede herculem, as it were,—by virthe hermit of turkey hollow 147 tue of the coincidence of the hundred dollars found upon the hermit's body and the equivalent amount of gold discovered upon skinny the tramp, built up something which, while not exactly a defense, was at least a bomb to hurl into his enemy's camp. defense, alas! there apparently was none worth making. the case hung upon the question of whether emerson, if found, could shed any additional light upon the hour of the murder. if he could not be found, then skinny would go to the chair. if he did appear-well, there was merely a possibility of escape-that was all. ten o'clock came, once more the gong rang, and the gladiators stumbled from their respective corners into the legal ring for the final round. mr. tutt, fully cognizant of his desperate plight, nerved himself for the encounter, and wary, resourceful and suave, although he had lost all hope of acquitting skinny on his alibi, exhibited all his customary confidence. neither did squire mason show any loss of vitality or aplomb as a result of his trip to orient mills the night before. in148 the hermit of turkey hollow deed, both came into court none the worse for wear and wholly ready for the fray. at the very opening of the day's proceedings, a question of tactics presented itself. the photographs of the interior of the shanty, while in evidence, had not as yet been shown to the jury. there wasn't the slightest doubt but that, of course, squire mason was aware of the simple mechanical fact that the hermit's clock had run down. he might even have it hidden somewhere in an ante-room ready to produce at the proper psychological moment, to prove that the clock was broken or-horrible thought!-that it had no works at all! it might be merely a face! the foxy old hayseed was probably going to wait until the defense had called all its witnesses to establish hawkins' presence at colson's grocery at four o'clock, and then blandly trot out the clock itself for the inspection of the jury, who would thus be enabled to see with their own eyes that it was entirely useless as evidence. adopting a military simile, he was evidently intending to permit his enemy to capture a redoubt and then press an electric button and blow the redoubt and the hermit of turkey hollow 149 the enemy both to atoms. that was obviously what he ought to do as a matter of tactics, what any skilful prosecutor would do, what mr. tutt would have done in his place. it could therefore be pretty safely assumed that he would do it. now then, would it be better for mr. tutt boldly to hand the photograph to the jury and bring out the fact that the clock was a stopped clock himself, as if it were so obvious as to be really of no importance and-trust to luck? or would it be better-assuming that he had correctly diagnosed squire mason's intentions-to keep the thing out of the jury's hands as long as possible and delay the discovery until there was no longer any hope of a change in the strategical situation. the photograph was bound to be a bombshell some time or other, and the longer it was held back the worse would be the explosion. still-! mr. tutt had been taught several painful lessons during the last few days. why bring out an unfavorable fact before it was necessary, -simply to reduce its ultimate dramatic effect if eventually proved? why explode a mine under one's own works, so long as there was the re150 the hermit of turkey hollow motest chance-even one in a million—that the works might be held? after all, you never could tell! these somewhat confused ratiocinations flashed through mr. tutt's brain while the roll of the jury was being called, and by the time the twelfth had answered to his name, the lawyer had made up his mind to leave what was-for the time being-well enough alone, and to hold back the photograph as long as possible, to trust in his star and in his genius for the unexpected and improbable. the clerk sat down and the sheriff rapped for order. "proceed, gentlemen!" directed judge tompkins. "your honor," announced squire mason with the air of a stephen a. douglas, "i have studied carefully the facts evidenced by the people's witnesses and i have decided to close my case. we have proven the corpus delicti, the presence of the defendant at the scene of the crime, and the proceeds of it upon his person, thus showing his motive, and by many other conclusive items of the hermit of turkey hollow 151 circumstantial evidence, have established beyond peradventure that he is the murderer. there is no need to pile ossa upon helion. as the saying is, 'enough is enough.'-the people rest!-let us hear what the defense has to say!" squire mason looked pointedly at the foreman, who nodded slightly as if in approval of the prosecutor's sentiments. quite right. enough was enough, and there was more than enough here. anybody who had any doubt as to who had killed the hermit must be a blamed fool! all eyes turned irresistibly to mr. tutt, as the old lawyer, accepting the gage of battle, elevated himself by easy stages ceilingward like a retarded jack in the box. "i move," said he, "that your honor direct a verdict of acquittal upon the ground that there is no evidence sufficient to connect the defendant with the crime charged. surely no court would permit a jury to take away a man's life on circumstantial evidence of such an inconclusive character as has been introduced here!" judge tompkins shook his head. "i shall deny your motion, mr. tutt. there 152 the hermit of turkey hollow is, to my mind, abundant evidence, which if uncontradicted or unexplained, would warrant the jury in finding a verdict of guilty. circumstantial evidence is often the most convincing evidence." the old lawyer bowed. "i most respectfully and with the greatest deference to your honor's judgment, except to your honor's ruling.-will your honor kindly instruct the jury that in denying my motion you do not indicate any personal opinion on your own part as to the defendant's guilt or innocence and that your ruling is merely to the effect that there is enough evidence to put us on our defense?" "that is so, gentlemen.-proceed, mr. tutt." judge tompkins settled back in his chair expectantly. it was, so far as he could now see, a conclusive case of circumstantial evidence and he was anxious to learn how mr. tutt proposed to rebut it. he liked the old lawyer and watched him almost affectionately as the latter smilingly glanced over the rows of uplifted faces before him. now, mr. tutt always proceeded upon the theory that though a man might be down he was the hermit of turkey hollow 153 never out—at any rate until the verdict was rendered and the highest court in the state had sustained it; and following his usual tactics, instead of supinely awaiting his enemy's attack, he boldly assumed the offensive and crashed through the hostile earthworks and entanglements without regard to the fact that he was leaving himself open to the danger of being cut off in the rear. in other words, although he knew that the most superficial examination of the photographs of the shanty's interior would show that the hermit's clock had stopped and that consequently his claim that the murder had occurred at four o'clock when skinny was a full mile distant was baseless, he nevertheless plunged right ahead as if the fact of the clock having stopped was never going to be discovered at all. furthermore, he had the audacity to attack the squire's good faith and general honesty and so pave a way for the possible future suggestion that maybe the old fox had fixed the clock himself when he had gone to the hermit's shanty on the afternoon of the homicide, for the very purpose of destroying skinny's perfectly good alibi! and he did this all 154 the hermit of turkey hollow on the basis of the hundred dollars in bills found in the hermit's vest pocket! first, said he, his client was known to be one of the most gentle and peaceable of human beings. second, he had an absolutely good alibi-as he was far away from turkey hollow at four o'clock when, as the jury already knew, the murder had taken place. third, the prosecution was not brought in good faith since this had been perfectly well known to squire mason from the beginning. this was the first time the defendant had ever heard the evidence against him. he had never been given any opportunity whatever to show-as he could have done with the utmost ease-that he could not possibly be the person who committed the homicide. had squire mason called before the grand jury the witnesses whom he, mr. tutt, was about to call before them this indictment would never have been found, for they would have demonstrated with mathematical certainty that at the precise hour this unfortunate man met his death james hawkins was a mile away. at this several members of the jury looked inthe hermit of turkey hollow, 155 quiringly towards squire mason, who sniffed contemptuously and glowered at mr. tutt with hardly concealed malevolence. an alibi, pointed out the lawyer, was the best possible defense, because it was the only defense that proved conclusively that the defendant must be absolutely innocent-for nobody could be in two places at the same time. now, while it might be true that hawkins at some time or another had had on a pair of boots with soles like the prints in the potato patch, (1) it had not been shown when in fact the prints had been made, whereas (2) he -mr. tutt-would clearly, absolutely, irrefutably, legally, morally and in every other way, prove, demonstrate, and substantiate that, even if hawkins had been near the shanty that afternoon, he must have left there long enough before the murder to walk from turkey hollow to pottsville and arrive there at four o clock. all this mr. tutt got off exultantly, triumphantly, grandiloquently, in his best "whoop-la" manner, keeping one eye meanwhile upon his antagonist to see how he would take it. "why?" he demanded in tones like those of • ༣、f、 156 the hermit of turkey hollow amfortas in the chapel scene of parsifal, "why had squire mason concealed from the grand jury-and, he might add, from his listeners themselves this all important and controlling fact? was it not the duty of the public prosecutor to conserve the rights of every accused? was not, in fact, a district attorney who deliberately withheld vital information-which in truth would conclusively establish a prisoner's innocence-from the public tribunal of which he was the adviser, and sought to secure the prisoner's conviction of crime-knowing him to be blameless-was not such a man guilty of malfeasance in office-if not of worse things? was he not a thief, liar, poltroon, rascal, knave, rogue, scoundrel, scamp, scalawag, miscreant, villain, crook, cad, shyster, trickster, renegade, caitiff, rapscallion,-no better than a murderer himself? eh, what? wasn't he? let them answer to their own souls! and as squire mason took all this dose with only a feeble "i protest-i object!" turning white meanwhile, it dawned upon mr. tutt that possibly what he said was true, and that not only mason was a scamp, etc., etc., but that mayhap, after all, the hermit of turkey hollow 157 the alibi was a good one,-if only it could be proved to be so! look at him! pale, shrinking, guilt pictured in every feature! "bang!" went judge tompkins' gavel. "mr. tutt!" interrupted his honor with severity. "your language is highly unbecoming. your attack upon the prosecutor of this county-made in your opening without the slightest evidence to support your accusations-is most improper. at the right time i shall instruct the jury how to deal with it. you will kindly confine yourself to what you intend to prove"but i do intend to prove it!" replied mr. tutt in a voice trembling with carefully simulated resentment and indignation, now fully satisfied not only that he had got mason's number but that the alibi was really good. "i intend to prove it! and that this man mason is what i have stigmatized him as being." "we are not trying squire mason!" retorted his honor hotly. "any more than we are trying you. proceed and confine yourself to the facts which you expect to establish." now, mr. tutt had "felt his way along," as "" 158 the hermit of turkey hollow he would have said, and, having felt it a certain distance, he had gradually become convinced that he had inadvertently stumbled upon a great truth. there was nothing to account for this except whatever significance might be attached to the squire's demeanor. as the diplomats say, the situation had not changed. nevertheless, into the old lawyer's veins there oozed a celestial ichor which put him all aglow,-made him the same old "battling tutt" of his police court days fifty years before. it may have been only a subtle sensitiveness telling him that, if the squire were agitated, to that extent at least should he himself be confident, if the squire were depressed by so much should he be elated, but it was probably something deeper than that and akin to the instinct of the sailor who in the midst of the tempest knows that the storm is nearly over,—a lightening of the spiritual barometer, a consciousness of the stealthy approach of dawn when the night seems darkest. so mr. tutt, having charged the squire with being every kind of a crook set forth as a synonym for the word rascal in the century dictionthe hermit of turkey hollow 159 ary, roget's thesaurus, and all the other handbooks used by sterile authors, boldly alleged that at the proper time he would show him fully up, have him disbarred and mayhap cast into prison, and, having described exactly what he purposed proving and what he knew he could prove, decided to take a chance and guess a little as to what he was not by any means so sure of. he had, he declared, proven by his crossexamination of the witness emerson that the murder was committed at exactly four o'clock,a fact which squire mason had deliberately attempted to conceal from them. now why had the wily and unscrupulous prosecutor sought to leave the hour of the crime in doubt? obviously because he knew that only by so doing could he hope to convict the defendant. and then mr. tutt-borne along on the wings of a divine afflatus coming whence he knew not -and for no reason save that he felt "full of beans"-decided to try to throw a scare into the district attorney on the chance of his really having something on his conscience. if, he threatened, after he. tutt, should 160 the hermit of turkey hollow have established to their satisfaction that hawkins was in pottsville at four o'clock the prosecutor should then in desperation turn about and for the purpose of invalidating the alibi seek to attack his own witness' testimony to the effect that four o'clock was the hour of the murder, then, oh then! he would a tale unfold that would harrow up their souls, freeze their adolescent blood, and make their hair stand on end, etc.;—for mr. tutt, emboldened by the angel who at times whispered in his right ear or the little devil that at others murmured in his left had in the twinkling of an eye formed the sudden and definite resolution to accuse squire higgins, -if necessary,—of having deliberately stopped and turned back the hands of the hermit's clock himself. of course, if one stopped to think it over, it was a ridiculous supposition, but mr. tutt knew that no argument is too absurd to advance before a jury with some hope of success; and this wasn't even an argument, it was merely an excuse for an accusation. he might get away with it,-"you never could tell!" so mr. tutt, having concluded his address with the hermit of turkey hollow 161 an encomium upon the virtues of skinny the tramp in which he ranked him well up among the heroes of plutarch and the fathers of the republic, proceeded to summon to the stand eight worthy inhabitants of pottsville, each and every one of whom swore positively and convincingly that on the afternoon of the murder skinny had entered the door of colson's grocery store almost exactly at four o'clock, and that their reason for knowing this to be so was that just as skinny came in, the barber, someone having called attention to the fact that it was time for him to open up,-had got up and gone out. all were accordingly able to swear positively to the time and to give a natural and convincing reason for their ability to do so. but the calling of these witnesses to the stand gave squire mason the opportunity to drive in on cross-examination all the most damning facts about skinny's appearance and admissions at the time. hadn't the tramp's hands when he came in, he shouted, been smeared with blood? wasn't he panting, exhausted, excited? didn't he try to 1 162 the hermit of turkey hollow run away as soon as the news of the murder reached the town? didn't they find his pockets full of gold pieces of the same date as the one in the dead hermit's hand? didn't they recognize his pipe that he had left on the shanty table? with one accord they all admitted it. then squire mason went a step further and to everybody's astonishment demonstrated that he possessed a very ingenious fancy. for he developed a romantic theory about a rainbow and a crock of gold which came nearer to being true than he had any idea of. they'd all known skinny the tramp quite some time, hadn't they? ever since he was a young feller? sure-you bet! ever notice anythin' he said partic❜ly—what he meant was, did skinny seem to have any partic'lar idee he was always harpin' on. well, if they didn't understand what he was drivin' at-did skinny ever say anythin' in their hearin' about rainbows? oh, sure! he was always-ever sence he was a boy -talkin' about tryin' to find a pot of gold at the foot of a rainbow.-sure! he was always talkin' about that! they hadn't grasped the purport the hermit of turkey hollow 163 of the squire's question. why, there was one time skinny had harangued a big crowd on that subject for over half an hour down to somerset corners-night of a lodge meetin'. then squire mason, lowering his voice to an intense tremulo, would ask each witness whether he had not noticed on the afternoon of the murder, just after the shower, a rainbow, one of whose arches rested in turkey hollow! and when any one of them confessed that he had done so as did in fact several-the prosecutor looked hard at skinny-and the audience sucked in its breath and felt a delicious creepy sensation around the small of its back. gosh! the squire was a shrewd feller! it took brains to think of an argyment like that. and eye met eye significantly, and chin whisker wagged at chin whisker with deep appreciation of the squire's subtlety. there was no doubt but that the prosecutor, in spite of his personal unpopularity, had in the opinion of those in the court room scored a very neat point. it was all very well for mr. tutt by his redirect to call attention to the absurdity 164 the hermit of turkey hollow and unlikelihood of a murderer immediately after the homicide strolling unconcernedly into a grocery store where he was well known, bearing upon his person all the evidences of his crime. it might be kind o' foolish, but then-skinny the tramp was kind o' foolish. the rainbow theory of motive more than counterbalanced the obvious recklessness of such a performance. if skinny, guided to the scene of his crime by the rainbow, had murdered the hermit in order to get his gold, it was quite in character that he should have done afterwards what obviously he had done. you might as well ask-as mr. tutt did ask-why he hadn't changed his boots? to which squire mason had replied that he hadn't changed them for the simple reason that they were all he had,and if murderers never did anythin' but what was wise and prudent you'd never ketch any of 'em. and at this retort the chin whiskers on the front of the jury wagged again. no, on the face of it -except for the alibi-things looked very bad for skinny the tramp; and mr. tutt knew that his alibi, as it stood, wasn't worth a tinker's damn! squire mason had only to hand the photograph the hermit of turkey hollow 165 to the jury and call its attention to the fact that the clock had stopped and all would be over. yet mr. tutt, buoyed up by a mysterious confidence, which had its basis in the prosecutor's uneasiness, bore himself bravely in the face of all his difficulties. the last witness to the alibi gave his stammering testimony, was cross-examined, redirected, recrossed and excused. the court room clock pointed to half after twelve. the crucial moment of the trial had been reached. skinny's alibi stood-swaying to be sure-but still in the perpendicular. if the case should be closed then and there it would remain erect and skinny would doubtless go free, but if the squire so much as pulled out a single brick, gave it the tiniest push, by calling the jury's attention to the fact that the hermit's clock was not going at the time of the murder the alibi would fall with a crash and skinny would pay with his life. what was the squire going to do? "well, gentlemen," remarked judge tompkins. "what are your desires? does the defense rest?" 166 the hermit of turkey hollow mr. tutt hesitated. his only possible remaining witness was the defendant himself. he would, of course, gladly rest his case if the prosecutor would do the same thing. but squire mason gave no indication of what his intentions in that regard might be. "if your honor please," he said, "the usual hour of adjournment is nearly at hand. may i suggest that we take a recess until one-thirty in order that i may have time to review the evidence? it is my present intention to rest my case upon the alibi which has been so clearly established and to call no further witnesses, but i should like an hour's time to consider the matter." "that seems reasonable," agreed judge tompkins. "is that satisfactory to you, mr. district attorney?" the squire half arose from his chair. but before he could make reply the legal earthquake— of which mr. tutt had remained in deadly fear ever since mr. pennypacker had given his testimony-occurred. the alibi shivered at its top like a tree under the woodsman's ax, hung for a the hermit of turkey hollow 167 1 moment in trembling equilibrium and crashed to the ground. "before we adjourn fer dinner," remarked the foreman, "i'd like to take a look at that picter o' the inside o' the shanty. i want to see suthin'." mr. tutt turned sick. forcing his features into a distorted smile he said with an assumption of impulsive eagerness: "by all means!-squire mason, will you kindly hand exhibit f to mr. sawyer?" and then the wily squire, having patiently awaited this exact moment for three whole days, bent over and lifted a package from beneath his desk-precisely as mr. tutt had anticipatedannouncing dramatically: "i suttinly will. an' as i regard exhibit f as the most important piece of evidence in the case i've had fifteen copies made of it,-one for the judge, one for each juryman, one for the defense and one for myself. here they be!" there was a ruffle of excitement as the jury scrambled for their photographs-destined in the succeeding years to decorate twelve parlor walls in as many mohawk farmhouses-along with the 168 the hermit of turkey hollow stand of wax flowers purchased by aunt hetty at the centennial exhibition in 1876, the picture of niagara falls done in real cork, and the sampler worked by grandma harrington when she was a little girl. each juror grabbed his photograph and hunched back in his seat to see what he could see. then the foreman remarked with the air of a sherlock holmes addressing his dear watson: "accordin' to the evidence this here picter was took at six o'clock in the afternoon and the plate was exposed ten minutes. now if the clock in the shanty had been goin' you'd natcherly expec' the picter to show the hour hand pointin' at six and the minute hand blurred. but both hands is perfectly distinct and pints to four o'clock. now it 'pears to me as if this clock must ha' stoppedno one knows when,-an', if it wasn't goin', of course emerson couldn't say when it was that he went into the shanty, and nobody knows when the hermit was kilt. ain't thet so, jedge?" in the silence which followed this entirely logical and demolishing argument the only sound to be heard was the ticking of the official timepiece on the court room wall, until judge tompkins the hermit of turkey hollow, 169 said in a constrained tone and with a glance full of meaning at mr. tutt. "the foreman has pointed out a fact of considerable significance. but of course the matter will be one for discussion in the jury room, if the case goes to the jury. at all events we will now take the customary adjournment until half past one o'clock." the ax had fallen. the jig was up. the defense was doomed. the knell had sounded for skinny the tramp. the poor old alibi was dead, ready to be carried out and buried. and so, almost was mr. tutt, who sat head in hands alone in the stifling court room, gloomily pondering upon the manifold changes and chances of this mortal life. he was up against it. without emerson there was no possibility of eliciting any new fact, -if any there were. even with emerson there was only a conjectural conceivability of so doing. further examination might or might not benefit the defense,—the probabilities being decidedly against it. and emerson had utterly disappeared; mr. tutt's hourly telephone messages 170 the hermit of turkey hollow to orient mills only elicited the invariable reply that he had not returned to work, that nobody had the remotest idea where he was and that the subpena was there waiting for him all ready to be served when he turned up, if ever he should. mr. tutt's brain was working as it had rarely worked before. it fairly seethed as he considered every possibility of escape, no matter how remote. should he put hawkins upon the stand? with the alibi destroyed a conviction seemed inevitable unless the defendant made some sort of an explanation of the evidence against him. but skinny's was so lame as to be almost worse than no defense at all, and on cross-examination the squire would certainly make mince meat of him. not that what skinny had told him might not be true, but nobody would believe it. it was so extremely simple as to be childish-merely that he had not done it! no one better than mr. tutt himself knew the immense disadvantage under which even an innocent defendant labors under cross-examination. it is merely a bull baiting. ignorant, stupid, uneducated, the ordinary accused in a criminal case is no match even for a the hermit of turkey hollow 171 tyro of a prosecutor. often he does not even understand the meanings of the questions put to him. and he must answer categorically-yes or no. with an unscrupulous district attorney the prisoner on the witness chair can only deny the accusations, often unfounded, that are hurled against him one after the other and which the jury accept as unqualifiedly true. better for him the ancient law that as an interested party he could not testify in his own behalf. yet to-day a defendant must testify or the jury will assume him guilty as a matter of course. no, if skinny took the stand they would eat him alive. he would be a gone coon. and if he didn't take the stand he would be a gone coon. he was a gone coon either way,-damned if he did and damned if he didn't. as to emerson, no judge in his senses, least of all a wise old bird like tompkins, j., was going to adjourn a murder trial—right in the middle of it-in order to let one side chase up a witness who had been fully examined and told he could go away-simply because one of the lawyers thought he'd like to ask him another question. it wasn't done. if it were done, trials would never 172 the hermit of turkey hollow come to an end,—and half the murderers would get off. beside him skinny hawkins, his client, was quietly eating his lunch, consisting of a couple of sandwiches and a big doughnut, sent over from the phoenix house by "ma" best. it was a safe bet that at that time to-morrow he would be awaiting the sentence of death. did he appreciate the situation? was he cognizant of his peril? certainly he gave no indication of it. unexpectedly skinny raised his faded blue eyes to those of the old lawyer and asked: "mr. tutt, do you believe anythin' ever dies?" mr. tutt pulled himself together sharply. "of course not!" he replied confidently. "of course not!" "then it's all right-anyway!" said skinny the tramp. we have sometimes felt constrained to write an essay, to be entitled "the menace of the probable," the thesis of which will be that it is the improbable which usually happens, and explain why. the axiom that "fact is stranger than fiction" is the hermit of turkey hollow 173 seve based upon this truism. all of life is centered around a struggle to make ourselves and everything about us exceptions to the general rule. we are all striving for the unusual, the extraordinary. the probable is the very last thing that we want; its menace is our nemesis. so we don't look for it; our minds jump to the unlikely. this is the more natural since the "element of uncertainty" in human affairs makes the improbable quite probable, if you see what we mean. as aristotle says: "better a probable impossibility than an impossible probability." thus the improbableand hence the probable-thing with regard to the vanished emerson was that he had unexpectedly received word that he had been made the legatee of a million taels by a chinese nobleman or something like that. this was the reason that mr. tutt had sent his telegram to new york-so that his detectives could search all the unlikely places in northern new york, canada, and eventually, alaska, at twelve dollars fifty per day and expenses. he knew nothing would come of iteven if he secured a six months' adjournment. he had never yet got anything from a detective 174 the hermit of turkey hollow agency except a bill. the probabilities were that some improbability had happened-just as it always did and does that emerson had joined a traveling circus,-run away with a minister's wife, gone into the movies, or been murdered himself. under these circumstances the detectives would detect-perhaps. that was their line-the probable improbability; not the improbable probability. to foresee or deduce that requires genius. none of which paradoxical and specious reasoning of mr. tutt's at all helped the situation, the gist of which was that skinny was going to be hung. mr. tutt, having reassured the tramp with regard to the future of his immortal soul, took up his hat and started for the phoenix house. if he was going to die he purposed to die game; to die game a man must live; to live one must eat; hence, the better one ate the better one died. for this reason he purposed to do execution in the best possible manner upon one of "ma" best's dollar dinners. that is, he had intended to do so until turning the corner of the court house he walked into mr. charles emerson, who was nochalantly the hermit of turkey hollow 175 sitting on an empty lemon crate smoking a cigar. mr. tutt punched himself violently in the ribs. was it possible? emerson, seeing the distinguished attorney regarding him with eyes starting from their sockets, slowly arose. "don't move!" shouted mr. tutt. "as you were!'be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned, bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, be thy intents wicked or charitable————' don't you dare to stir until i get the sheriff and clap a subpena on you! we've been hunting all over somerset county for you!" "well, i've been here ever since yesterday afternoon," answered emerson blandly. "sit still!" warned the lawyer. "don't budge! if you do i won't answer for the consequences!" then, seeing sheriff higgins about to enter the drug store, mr. tutt hurried down the street, summoned him forth, and conducting him around the corner, said: "sheriff, mr. emerson is with us again." "ye don't say now!" ejaculated higgins. "yes," asserted mr. tutt. "but being a wit176 the hermit of turkey hollow ness for the prosecution it would not be quite proper for me to talk to him. do you think it would be possible for you to casually ascertain from him a little more fully what he knows about the hour of the murder?" "well" hesitated the sheriff. "but you're a sacred camel," urged mr. tutt. the fact that emerson also was a camel and that all camels are proverbially thirsty animals may have accounted for squire mason's failure to learn of the lost witness' reappearance before court opened. while the worthy hezekiah during the progress of the trial had at times felt momentary twinges of apprehension-not, of conscience-but lest his motives and conduct of the prosecution should be impugned, he now felt secure. the only person in the world-as he thought-whose testimony could possibly subject him to censure had providentially absented himself. it made no difference whether skinny took the stand or stayed off it. his denial wouldn't affect the strength of the case in any way,—would amount to nothing in view of the blood on his the hermit of turkey hollow 177 hands, the marks of his shoes, the pipe, the twenty five-dollar gold pieces and the fact that emerson had trailed him straight to pottsville within fifteen minutes. so the squire felt pretty fine and the dome on the capitol at albany shone brightly and near at hand. he had old tutt down and out! even the new york papers would probably carry a big story about the conviction. in the background of his crafty mind lurked, as well, the realization that in case of a conviction there would be no one to demand the payment of skinny's semiannual interest. so the hon. hezekiah strolled back into the court room, picking his teeth with a good deal of satisfaction. it was jammed as usual,—the audience breathlessly awaiting the last act of the great free show. there sat the jury looking like mutes at a funeral, there sat skinny, his eyes wandering vaguely around the room, there sat mr. tutt, calm, alert, stern, tense. hezekiah didn't like the way he looked. anyhow, he'd beaten him to a standstill, -a frazzle! then the clerk having called the roll of the jury, the judge directed that the trial 178 the hermit of turkey hollow proceed and mr. tutt arose-with just the least shade of melodrama. through the high windows skinny the tramp looked past mr. tutt's tall, lank figure out into the world of freedom, where the great elms gently swayed in the sunlight, and the white spire of the baptist meeting house tapered towards the blue zenith. he, the helpless victim, had less knowledge of what was going on than any of them. after all, he perhaps had less to lose than any of them. then a gust stronger than the others bowed the rustling top of the elm nearest the court house and-slowly the cock upon the steeple veered round and pointed in the opposite direction! "mr. william gookin-please take the witness chair!" said mr. tutt. "toggery bill," pottsville's merchant prince, arose from one of the nearer benches and ascended the rostrum with an air of importance. mr. tutt handed him the five twenty-dollar bills found in the hermit's waistcoat pocket. "mr. gookin," he remarked. "i show you the hermit of turkey hollow 179 people's exhibits numbered seventeen to twentyone, inclusive, and ask if you can identify them?” toggery bill carefully examined the bills and replied that he could. "how?" "i've got my mark on each one." "show the jury." mr. gookin pointed out with pride the words "pottsville dry goods & tailoring emporium, may 16, 1920," printed in small red letters by means of a rubber stamp, on each one. "now," continued mr. tutt quietly. "please tell us when you last saw them?" "the mornin' of the murder," answered "toggery bill." "may seventeenth, nineteen hundred and twenty!" "where did you see them?" "in my store. i gave 'em to squire mason about eleven o'clock and i hold his note for a hundred dollars for the loan." the effect of this simple announcement was extraordinary, for while it created complete bewilderment it suggested the weirdest possibilities. here was a murdered hermit with a hundred 180 the hermit of turkey hollow dollars in his pocket which, within five hours, had been in the possession of the very man who was now prosecuting the person charged with the homicide. it was all very confusing to the bucolic mind! some of them even thought for a moment that mr. tutt had proved that squire mason had committed the murder. indeed, the squire was almost as pale as if he had. what was old man tutt goin' to try to get on him?-he did not have to wait long to find out. "mr. mason-please take the witness chair!" with a lump in his gullet of the size and dryness of a golf ball hezekiah, amid the poorly controlled comments of the spectators which the sheriff for some reason made no effort to suppress, his diaphragm quivering with anxiety as to what all this might mean, climbed up into the public eye and was sworn. "mr. mason-you have heard the testimony of the last witness-mr. gookin-is it correct?" "yes," conceded hezekiah thickly. "what use did you make of these bills?" the hon. mason snapped his jaws defiantly together. then he turned to judge tompkins. the hermit of turkey hollow 181 "i don't see what that's got to do with anything, judge," he complained. "do i have to answer?" "it's perfectly relevant," returned his honor. "do you mean to say that you think how that money got into the possession, and upon the person, of the deceased isn't of importance! of course it is!answer." mason bowed to the inevitable. "i give it to skinny-the defendant-in my office at half past eleven," said he. a murmur rose from the benches. this was some evidence! the squire was makin' himself the chief witness for the prosecution. what was coming next? but nothing came-from mr. tutt, who merely bowed. "thank you," said he quietly. “that is all.” the prosecutor was about to return to his desk before the jury box, when judge tompkins took the hand in the matter which mr. tutt had anticipated that he would. "hold on a minute!" directed his honor with a perplexed air. "i don't understand. why did 182 the hermit of turkey hollow you give the defendant a hundred dollars on the morning of the murder?" "'cause he asked for it?" returned the squire shortly. "did you owe it to him?" "why-no," answered the squire. "that is, not exactly. it weren't a debt. it was interest due." "due on what?" demanded the judge irritably. "on his trust fund-" reluctantly admitted mason. the judge peered at him sharply over his spectacles. "who is the trustee of the fund?" there was a long pause. "i am," yielded mason finally. "do you mean that you are the trustee of a fund of which this prisoner, whom you are trying to convict of murder, is the beneficiary?" cried tompkins, leaning forward. "i am," assented mason faintly. there was a chorus of mingled hisses and jeers from the benches, but judge tompkins took no notice of it. "this is a most extraordinary situation!" he the 1 wil is est ed er a b d 5 the hermit of turkey hollow 183 declared. "however-we will not deal with it proceed with the trial." but that needn't mason crept back to his seat. it was clear that the judge had it in for him, affect the outcome of the trial. other jar-this time an even heavier one. then he got an"charles emerson," murmured mr. tutt sweetly, "please take the stand-i have an additional question i wish to put to you in crossexamination." there was nothing in emerson's recall to excite any special interest among the spectators, since few, if any, of them knew that he had gone away. but there was much in squire mason's demeanor as the witness made his way forward to give pause to those who watched him. something had happened to him. he had shrivelednought else. with his eyes shifting uneasily the district attorney sat fumbling with his papers, refusing to meet those of the mill hand. then he arose and said in a husky voice which held no conviction: now. "i object to the recallin' of this witness. he's been examined once." 』ཝཾ m 184 the hermit of turkey hollow "i overrule your objection.—mr. tutt may interrogate him as fully as he wishes," retorted judge tompkins sharply. he turned to emerson. "where have you been? i understood you had disappeared." emerson smiled sheepishly. 66 "i've been here right along," he answered, ''cept just after i give my testimony. you see, i took a job up to orient mills and signed on the next mornin', but i got thinkin' about the case an' i decided to come back." "why?" demanded his honor. "well, jedge," explained emerson, "y'see i figured out that mebbe my evidence might turn out to be pretty important, for i heard over to the phoenix house how skinny was goin' to try to prove he was in pottsville at four o'clock. now i knew the murder was done jest about that time. an' i testified to it here, but—” and he spoke very slowly and distinctly—"nobody,— neither squire mason nor mr. tutt,—asked me much about it—and i got thinkin'—————” "i object t' all this!" again interposed mason. the hermit of turkey hollow 185 in ad d e₁ e se i o : "this ain't any proper way for him to testifytellin' about what he thought, an' all." "that is quite true," agreed his honor. "mr. tutt, you had better question the witness in the regular way." mr. tutt bowed. the weather cock had veered. "anyhow i come back on the next train," finished mr. emerson, "an' i've been here right along." he too had observed that "mr. emerson," mr. tutt began, his voice trembling slightly from the excitement under which he labored, "you have testified that when you entered the hermit's shanty the clock pointed to four o'clock." "yes," answered the witness, "it did." "you have also testified that you returned later on with mr. pennypacker, when he took his photograph. did you notice the clock at that time?" "i did." "at what hour was it pointing?" "four o'clock." "was it going at that time?" 186 the hermit of turkey hollow emerson shook his head. "no," he replied. "it warn't." mr. tutt's heart gave a flutter, but he kept bravely on without batting a lid. "but you testified positively that you knew it was four o'clock when you went there the first time." "yep-yes, i mean," replied the witness firmly. "i know it was four o'clock." mr. tutt was now on terra firma, for he knew that whatever the answer might be-it was bound to be favorable. he was safely within the conservative rule that you must never ask a question unless you are sure that the answer cannot hurt you. but he did not know what the answer was going to be, had no idea of what fact he might be about to elicit. so that there was a delicious uncertainty about the next inquiry, upon which he fully realized that he staked his whole case. "how do you know it was four o'clock?" he demanded, with a note of triumph and the air of being now about to disclose something which he had known perfectly well all along but which he had withheld until this, the exact psychological the hermit of turkey hollow 187 moment. "tell the jury how you know, mr. emerson !" the jury fully apprised of the fact that upon the answer hung the validity of skinny's alibi focused their eyes on the lumberman's honest face. even judge tompkins could not refrain from turning half way round and pulling his chair towards the witness box so as not to lose a word. by common consent, by instinct, and in fact, this was the apex, the climax, the denouement of the trial of skinny the tramp. would emerson make good-or wouldn't he? "fer one thing because i kin almost swear i heard the clock tick and saw the hand move," answered emerson positively. the jury looked at one another inquiringly. that was pretty strong testimony! to recall that you heard a clock tick! "are you quite sure?" cautioned judge tompkins. "remember that this is a very important bit of evidence." "pretty near!" answered emerson. "i'm satisfied fer myself that i did, but this bein' a court o' law, mebbe i'd oughter be more certain to ཉྙཝཱ188 the hermit of turkey hollow swear to it. anyhow that is how i remember it. i testified before how i went into the shanty and saw the hermit lyin' with his mouth covered with blood and how he died while i held his head in my hand. if you'd been there, you'd ha' remembered it all right, i reckon. but nobody axed me if i knew the clock was goin'. wal, it was this way. when i lifted the hermit's head an' looked in his face the shanty was all still,-'ceptin' fer three things." he paused, almost as if for effect. "what were they?" softly demanded mr. tutt. emerson lowered his voice. "the first was the kind of cluckin' sound the hermit's breath made goin' in and out through his mouth on account of the blood. his eyes was half open but they didn't see none. he was just passin' out. it was so quiet i felt real creepyall alone with him dyin'. but what skeered me most was an enormous great moth-the biggest i ever see-that went flap-flap-flap agin' the winder tryin' to git out. it flapped and flapped and i thought it would stun itself agin' the glass. an' ez i knelt thar holdin' the hermit's head, listenin, the hermit of turkey hollow 189 to his breathing and to that big gray moth flappin' over at the window, i kin most swear i heard the clock tick-an' saw the minute hand slip to four o'clock-and then all of a suddint the whole shanty went still. the hermit didn't breathe no more, the moth flew out the door,-an'——" "well?" whispered mr. tutt "an' the clock stopped!" in the silence that followed there was no one in the court room that did not mark the ticking of the clock upon the rear wall. each listener told himself that if necessary he could swear to it until his dying day. then mr. tutt said, almost with unconcern: "and did you tell squire mason all this?" "sure!" replied emerson, looking the prosecutor full in the face. "i told him all about it that very afternoon!" judge tompkins fixed the wretched prosecutor with a beetling eye. "how do you reconcile the withholding of this very vital evidence from the jury?" he inquired in icy tones. 190 the hermit of turkey hollow mason, ivory white, attempted to rise, but collapsed weakly into his chair. "i didn't believe it!" he answered faintly. "it ain't any part o' my duty to have a witness tell fairy stories to the jury." "but in calling the witness you vouched for his credibility!" retorted judge tompkins with contempt. "only in so far as i brought out his testimony myself," replied the squire feebly. "i believed he was tellin' the truth about findin' the hermit still alive-and mebbe about the moth-but i didn't believe-an' i don't believe now-an' what's more i don't believe anybody else believes —that that partic'lar clock up an' stopped the very moment the hermit died." he pressed his lips together resolutely. judge tompkins turned a scornful shoulder to the now groveling hezekiah. "mr. emerson," said he. "you have contributed materially by your testimony, given this afternoon, to our knowledge of the case. have you any other means of knowing whether at the time you think you saw the hand of the hermit's the hermit of turkey hollow 191 clock move to four o'clock it was then pointing to the correct time?" "yes, jedge, i have," answered the witness without hesitation. "for just as the silence come in the shanty—when the hermit had died, and the big moth had flown out, and the clock had stopped, the whistle over to sawyer's steam lumber mill blew four o'clock." "i guess that settles that!" remarked the foreman, leaning back and wagging a confirmatory chin whisker. "did you tell that to squire mason?" inquired his honor scathingly. "no," answered emerson. "i tole him it was four o'clock and how the clock stopped, an' as he didn't seem partic❜larly interested 'bout the hour, i let it go at that." those of our readers who perchance should happen to find themselves for a night in pottsville or in any of the adjacent towns should not fail to elicit from the oldest accessible inhabitant the great story of the ripping up of squire mason by lawyer tutt in the latter's closing address to the 192 the hermit of turkey hollow jury, and how the governor, upon the recommendation of judge tompkins, promptly removed him from office, thus blasting a promising political career. for mr. tutt, by one of those freaks of fortune which do occasionally occur, found himself in a position to make good on every one of the charges-both direct and indirect-which he had made against the prosecutor and to prove him in fact to be every one of all the varieties of crook, rascal and rapscallion that he had called him. and he somehow managed in addition to convince everybody-except possibly shrewd judge tompkins-that he had known all about everything from the beginning of the trial and that the whole emerson business had been just a grandstand play carefully staged to give a proper theatrical effect to the final coup. anyhow, according to general account, there wasn't a thing left of squire mason when mr. tutt got through with him. he was flayed, disemboweled, torn limb from limb, drawn and quartered, and his various physical members, with their connective tissues, scattered broadside over somerset county-to the great joy of the inhabitants thereof. and, the hermit of turkey hollow 193 what was of vastly more importance, skinny the tramp's alibi was definitely, finally and impregnably established; so that when judge tompkins concluded his charge to the jury at a quarter past three o'clock on friday afternoon everybody said it was all over but the shouting and most of them didn't wait to hear the verdict. indeed, so confident was public opinion of an immediate acquittal that the sheriff didn't even take skinny back to the calaboose, but allowed him to smoke one of mr. tutt's stogies right in the court room, while judge tompkins and the old lawyer strolled across main street to sit on the phoenix house piazza until the jury should come in. "well, mr. tutt," said his honor, as he politely declined one of the famous wheeling coronacoronas, "i must congratulate you on a most adroit and effective piece of court room strategy. the way you held back and finally brought out the story of the clock was really masterly!" mr. tutt smiled enigmatically. "i took several chances in that case!" he ad194 1 the hermit of turkey hollow mitted with a great deal more truth than his listener was aware of. "however," replied judge tompkins, "you didn't take anywhere near as many as our friend the district attorney. unofficially-not for publication, and in the language of the metropolis from which you come,-in my opinion, he's some crook." "unofficially and confidentially," returned mr. tutt, "i entirely agree with you. speaking mildly, he's got by long odds the most perverted sense of fair play that i have ever come across." "that's all the good it will do him," said his honor. "if i'm not mistaken that jury will acquit inside of fifteen minutes.' "" "you never can tell," murmured mr. tutt. "it's fourteen minutes since they went out already." "anyhow it's only a question of a very short time-your alibi was conclusively established." "yes," assented mr. tutt, "but very likely there's some rube on that jury that doesn't know yet what the word means." as if in curious confirmation of mr. tutt's the hermit of turkey hollow 195 cynical opinion of the cerebral equipment of his fellow human beings the sheriff at this moment appeared from the direction of the court house. "jedge," said he, "the jury allow ez how they'd like to have some supper. shall i bring 'em over or hold 'em awhile?" "what do you think, mr. tutt?" inquired his honor. "when a jury wants its supper," answered the old lawyer, "always give it to 'em-and send 'em in a box of cigars besides." judge tompkins laughed. "all right, sheriff," said he, "give them their supper, by all means. strange," he added. "i thought surely they'd agree almost immediately!" "they were doin' a powerful lot of talkin' the last time i went into the jury room," remarked the sheriff. "you could hear 'em holler way acrost the road." he vanished into the court house and presently returned leading the jury like an ancient bell weather down the steps and towards the hotel. the judge and mr. tutt eyed them intently for the purpose of deciphering if possible the 196 the hermit of turkey hollow thoughts concealed behind their inscrutability. but no more expressionless set of men ever ascended the piazza steps of the phoenix house than the jury to whose keeping had been entrusted the life of skinny the tramp. "hanged if i can tell a thing from looking at 'em," admitted judge tompkins. "i can," countered mr. tutt. "they're hungry." it appeared in due course that this particular jury was more than ordinarily hungry, for its members not only consumed the entire official menu but insisted on eating three plates apiece of "ma" best's griddle cakes; after which they sat on the piazza for an entire hour in replete silence while digestion took its course; and it was eight o'clock and after repeated urgings on the part of the sheriff before they reluctantly consented to return to the court house. "it's only a matter of form," opined judge tompkins to mr. tutt. "they'll agree now in no time." "h'm! you never can tell!" answered mr. the hermit of turkey hollow 197 tutt, as he excused himself and went upstairs to refill his pockets with stogies. indeed, judge tompkins guessed wholly wrong. the jury—so far as could be ascertained by any proper legal means-had no immediate intention of agreeing at all. nine o'clock came,—and nine-thirty, with still no word from them. at ten or thereabouts a vigorous rapping on the door of the jury room caused the hearts of those spectators who still lingered in the court house to thump loudly, but it was only a call for ice water. at ten-thirty the sheriff reported absolute silence-evidently a deadlock. at eleven all was still quiet along the potomac. the judge, surprised and impatient at what seemed to indicate the possibility of a miscarriage of justice, directed sheriff higgins to inquire if there was a likelihood of an agreement, to which the foreman merely returned the laconic answer that as yet they had not reached a verdict. five hours had now elapsed since the twelve good and true men had received their instructions and retired to deliberate. "mr. tutt," said judge tompkins, "i will wait 198 the hermit of turkey hollow here until eleven-thirty and, if there is no word from the jury by that time, i shall return to the phoenix house and go to bed." but at eleven-thirty no word had come and the sheriff reported that there was no sound whatever inside the jury room. all argument had ceased. he couldn't hear a durn thing. he reckoned they'd gone to sleep for the night. "it's incredible!" declared his honor. "a perfectly plain case! what do you suppose is making the trouble ?” "you kin search me, jedge!" said the sheriff. "now you just go acrost to bed and if anything happens i'll hustle right over." a couple of dozen hangers-on still remained after the judge had left the court room, whose electric brilliants were only slightly dimmed by the incense from as many virulent cigars. betting was now even on the result, with the odds three to two on an ultimate disagreement. evidently for some unknown reason the alibi had gone bad. mr. tutt, sitting on the topmost step of the court house entrance felt a surreptitious poke in the back and perceived that the sheriff the hermit of turkey hollow 199 was beckoning mysteriously to him. arising with ostentatious indifference the lawyer followed the official to the rear of the building, where after making sure that they were unobserved higgins unlocked a small door opening upon a flight of back stairs. "got suthin' i want to show ye!" he muttered with an elaborate facial contortion designed to register mischievous humor. mr. tutt responded with a similar grimace and the two cautiously tiptoed up the stairs to the topmost landing where the sheriff unlocked another door, and after lighting a candle tip produced from his trousers pocket conducted the lawyer into the blackness of what was evidently the court house attic. "duck yer head!" he warned, "if ye don't want to crack yer skull!" "where are you going?" asked mr. tutt, although he did not in the least care. "never you mind!" retorted his guide. then after he had felt his way sixty feet or so across the timbers the sheriff stopped and blew out the candle. 200 the hermit of turkey hollow "we're right over the jury room," he whispered. the attic was hot, dusty, close, and full of cobwebs, suggestive of man-eating spiders, but enthused with the spirit of adventure mr. tutt stood motionless over the crack of light which showed them to be in the right place. below, all was silence, penetrated by an occasional hiss and punctuated now and then with a snore. what had occurred? was there in fact a deadlock? would skinny the tramp have to face another trial for his life? after what seemed an incredible period of time a chair scraped and a voice was heard: "what time is it now, bill?" there was a momentary hiatus during which a watch was evidently consulted and then the foreman made reply: "ten minutes to twelve." again the cloak of silence descended upon the so-called deliberations of the jury. then mr. tutt was startled by the voice of sawyer, the foreman, who evidently sat just beneath them. "well, boys," he exclaimed in a voice full of the hermit of turkey hollow 201 relief, "it's five minutes after midnight-saturday mornin'-an' i guess we're safe to claim another day's pay. after all, three dollars is real money-wuth gettin'!—all up! seventh inning!" there was a tremendous scuffling of feet below,-intermingled with loud yawns. "well," said the foreman again, "we're all agreed, ain't we? it's an acquittal, ain't it?” "yep! you betcher!-sure!" came from eleven husky throats. the foreman pounded sharply upon the door of the jury room and the sheriff scrambled hastily towards the attic door. "an' the next thing-after we git outer here," continued the foreman drily, "is to decide what we're goin' to do with squire mason!" the crowd surged about skinny, caught him up on its shoulders and bore him struggling and feebly protesting out of the court room, down the steps, and over to the phoenix house. "ma" barrows was waiting for them, and when they dumped skinny down on the piazza she threw her 202 the hermit of turkey hollow arms about him and with the tears streaming down her cheeks cried: "you poor, poor boy! come right in and let me give you some nice hot supper and after that a soft clean bed!" but skinny shook his head. "the supper's all right," he said. "but i guess i'd rather sleep outdoors!" in the court room sheriff higgins approached mr. tutt, who was gathering up his papers. "well," he said, taking a fat envelope out of his breast pocket and glancing into it, "here's your fee. two hundred and fifty dollars!— wisht i could earn money that easy!" mr. tutt waved the envelope away with a careless gesture. "give it to skinny," he said. "he needs it!" then with a rush the crowd came piling into the court room again. "where's mason?" they demanded angrily. "where's the old son of a—!" but the squire, being wise in his generation, had taken his departure. the hermit of turkey hollow 203 on a hillside overlooking the fertile valley of the sacramento, skinny the tramp lay amid a clump of giant redwoods and watched the sun drawing water through the rain clouds gathered a thousand feet below him. resting upon a thick bed of pine needles, he leaned luxuriously against a rock, while at his feet, propped over a small fire, a tomato can bubbled cheerily and gave forth a sweet-smelling savor. it was six months after the trial and two months since one-eyed pedro, heir-apparent of the zingara gipsies, had confessed in the deathhouse at sing sing, where he was awaiting execution for the murder of his father, that he had killed drake, the hermit of turkey hollow. this was the first real opportunity that skinny had had a chance to sit as he loved with the world at his feet-and think-! with his eyes half closed and the gray smoke from his cigarette coiling and uncoiling in the shaft of sunlight that shot through the branches above his head, skinny recalled the events leading up to his trial. it had been very much the same sort of an afternoon that the hermit was killed; there had been the 204 the hermit of turkey hollow same softness in the air, the same flooding sunlight shining gold-red on the trees and fields against the blue-gray of the rainclouds. he had been lying just that same way on the hillside above turkey hollow,-dreaming as usual of pots of gold. then the storm had burst and for half an hour it had poured, as it was raining now at the other end of the valley, and the rainbow had come out against the leaden sky with one end of it on the hermit's hut. he recalled vividly how he had rushed down through the drenched woods, passing the lumberman emerson, whose greeting in his hurry he had neglected to return, and peeked in through the hermit's window to find him counting his gold. what a thrill the sight had given him! his faith had at last been justified! just as he'd always known it sometime would be; rainbow-pot of gold! the fact that the gold belonged to someone else didn't really affect the soundness of the theory one way or the other, and when the hermit had good-naturedly agreed to exchange twenty of the smaller pieces for a hundred dollars in bills he had been almost as well pleased as if the hermit of turkey hollow 205 he had found the gold hidden in the earth. then he had strode on through the woods to the village. that was all there had been to it. it had taken him twenty minutes to walk the mile-he knew it, because the hermit's clock had pointed to twenty minutes to four when he left the shanty. suddenly the blood in the tramp's jugular leaped violently. yes, the clock had certainly pointed to twenty minutes to four-and if so-it must have -must have stopped-run down or somethingat the very moment the old man died!—and he, skinny, was the only person alive who knew it,— for he was the only person who knew positively that it had been going just before the murder. funny!—a prickly feeling spread over his back— like a needle bath, only he had never had one. it was funny! and then there was that enormous gray moth that emerson said had been trying to get out the window. hadn't he warned the hermit that some day those bugs would wriggle off their pins and go for him! sure! and the clock had stopped!-the tune of the old song floated through his mind and unconsciously he hummed the words over to himself: 206 the hermit of turkey hollow "o my grandfather's clock was too high for the shelf, so it stood ninety years on the floor. it was taller by half than the old man himself, though it weighed not a pennyweight more. it was bought on the morn of the day that he was born, and was always his treasure and pride, but it-stopped-short-never to go againwhen the old-man-died." it had, too! he was the only one who knew it-or the whole story about the moth! how the hermit had jokingly said that some day maybe he'd go flappin' off like a big gray moth.now he was in that other world-that world that was right along beside us! skinny looked around apprehensively but there was no moth in sight. had it grown chilly? he shivered and noticed that his cigarette had gone out. he lighted it again on his knees at the fire and as he did so the sweet savor of the soup rose to his nostrils. it was nearly done! he forgot all about the murder in the anticipation of soup. back through the whole being of skinny the tramp surged a warm delirious joy-merely at being alive. kneeling there he looked like the votary of some forest god, as he rubbed his lean hands over the blaze and stretched his arms outthe hermit of turkey hollow 207 ward and upward towards the sky. he yawned deliciously. then he observed with interest that a rainbow had appeared on the opposite side of the valley-a wonderful, gleaming arch, whose blending colors seemed to singe the clouds. one end of it descended directly upon a field hard by a yellow farmhouse. pots of gold again! skinny watched, as it momentarily grew brighter, beckoning him to wealth and possible adventure; then forgetful of the soup he scrambled to his feet. the next instant he had plunged down the hillside towards the valley-after the rainbow! date due may 28 1987 gaylord printed in u s.a 65 barker • eng. (am.) the university of chicago libraries ares vita catsci esco entia latur the william vaughn moody collection presented by mrs. edward morris' emily elwood. 1. am.) or the hermit of the crags. a romance of the last war. by benjamin barker, esq. author of 'mary morland,'' francisco, or the pirate of the pacific.' boston: published by f. gleason, 1 1-2 tremont row. 1845. pair. entered according to act of congress, by f. gleason, in the year 1845, in the clerk's office, of the district court of massachusetts. pe 1165 ktes 1845 ol 537628 introduction. kind reader: although our humble efforts, as put forth in the shape of these fictitious tales, cannot boast of superior elegance of diction, or a very nice refinement of language, still, if the perusal of them should serve to amuse their leisure hours, our only end and aim will then be accomplished, and we shall retire from the field, with the proud consciousness of having contributed our mite, towards thine intellectual convenience and comfort. salem, 3d. july, 1845. 138711 emily elwood. chapter i. ar the close of a warm sultry day in the month of august, 1812, a fair and beautiful girl might have been seen pacing, with slow but firm steps, the white sandy beach which formed the principal summer promenade of the beaux and belles of the little seaport village of m., situated somewhere in the eastern section of the old bay state. the glorious sun had just set in all the gorgeousness of summer splendor, having left his golden tints on the light fleecy clouds, thereby rendering the short twilight, unusually soft and bright and beautiful. at least so thought emily elwood, for sitting down upon a large flat stone which had been placed there by the village swains for the accommodation of their 'ladye loves,' she threw back the long curling ringlets of her bright auburn hair and thus soliloquized—, 'o is this not a beautiful world. here we have the warm and bright and glorious sun, and the snowy light of the silver moon, the light and joyous warbling of the happy birds, and the clear, bright sparkling waters, of yonder blue sea, but the restless spirit of man cannot be contented with all this, for every day brings to my ears from almost every person i meet, long and painful stories, of the cares and sorrows and troubles of this life.' and you will find that in all such stories there is a terrible reality, 8 emily elwood. * said a voice close beside her and looking up, she saw the calm stern countenance of the hermit of the crags, looking down upon her with an expression of sad and melancholy admiration. 6 'how is this, mr. harlowe,' said emily, after having recovered from the astonishment, she had been thrown into at the sight of her strange -visitor, how is it that you have strayed so far away from your usual haunts? ah i see how it is,' continued she playfully, 'humanity was not born for solitude, and even the lone hermit of the crags, feels sometimes constrained to seek sympathy and good feelings from associating with his kind.' 'you are widely very widely mistaken miss elwood in your conjectures concerning my present appearance before you, but so far will i inform you, that this morning a report reached me (it matters not how,) that an english man of war was cruising about here, and cu riosity prompted me to journey to the beach, for the purpose of beholding her, but having arrived within three or four paces of your seat, i found that i was doomed to be disappointed, and i was about turning again to retrace my steps to my lonely abode, when i heard your sweet voice descanting upon the beauties of nature, and wondering with the inexperienced and simple philosophy of a troubled youth why it was that the spirit of man, could never be contented, and why he should continually complain of trouble and sorrow. and then i interrupted you.' 'i know it,' replied emily, 'and you told me that there was a terrible reality in such complainings, and although it is a sad thought, yet i feel that i cannot doubt the truth of your assertions. but come mr. harlowe,' continued she coaxingly, 'do walk with me as far as mother's cottage, and relate to me by the way, something of your past history. you know that all the rest of the girls of the village are, or seem to be, afraid of the lone and secluded hermit, and so they have commissioned me, as they say i am often in your company, to endeavour to find out, what first caused you, thus to seclude yourself from the common haunts of your fellow men?' 'and do they not some of them answer the question themselves, for want of other information?' inquired the hermit. 'yes, indeed they do,' replied the communicative girl, 'there is sarah shaw, she declares, there must be some love affair at the bottom of it, and aunt betty simmerby, the old maid, says,that she guesses you are one of them old catholic friars, that we read of in the story books, who emily elwood. 9 have murdered their wives and children, and then gone off into the woods, and lived among the rocks for a kind of penance life, as she calls it.' 'miserable and unthinking fools are they all,' replied the hermit, 'yet she whom you first mentioned, came nearer the truth than she really imagined in her coarse illusions, for there lies a sad and melancholy love affair at the bottom of my history. but the time has not come miss elwood, when the dread secret may with safety be divulged, but it will come, and, when my weary head lies upon its last sick pillow, when death points his unerring dart to my aching heart, with slow but sure aim, then shall you know the reason, why i despise, and loathe and almost hate my brethren of the family of man. but here comes albert, and by the way in which he skips and dances about, i imagine that he has some extraordinary good news for us.' at this instant a young man of graceful mein and noble features, emerged from the dark shadow of a grove of pine woods, who, politely bowing to emily, and respectfully touching his hat to the hermit said, ( good, aye exceeding good news, and glad tidings of great joy, (as our minister would say,) have i to tell.' 'oh! this war, is a capital thing,-a glorious chance now for albert arlington to make his fortune.' 'according to your actions, and apperance, at this time,' interrupted emily, 'i should think your fortune was already made. but you are not going to leave us i hope,' added she, in a tone more than commonly earnest. "why yes, miss elwood, i must. captain t has just fitted out a beautiful little brig called the spit-fire and he is enlisting or shipping all the brave young fellows he can find to man her, and i am going and almost all the young men of the village are going, and zounds how we will flog the english, and bring home the prize money, and the captain says, we may share a thousand dollars a piece, emily, only think of that, and then i could build a snug little cottage, and could take my poor deranged sister jane from the work-house, and,' continued he speaking lower, 'perhaps your mother might then consent to our union, and then how happy, how supremely happy we should be.' there is no knowing how many more air castles the sanguine young 10 emily elwood. man would have built, had he not been interrupted by the hermit who said, albert arlington, stop now, and look upon the other side of the fair picture, your young imagination has so sanguinely drawn. i know by bitter experience, that it is hard, very hard, when in the bright clear sunlight of youth, we think and dream of nothing but future joy, and happiness, and love; to reverse the picture, and look calmly and coldly, and with sad and bitter contemplation, upon the care and sorrow and pain, which is almost sure to attend us through this dreary life, yet better is it to do so, than to have sudden disappointment come upon you in the midst of your wild, sweet dreams, to crush you with its withering hand by one fell blow to the earth.' 'i will think upon your words,' replied albert apparently struck by the earnest manner in which the hermit spoke, 'and will endeavor to profit by them.' 'yes' answered the hermit, think, and think well before you act, of the many poor widows and fatherless children, your single arms (upheld by the so called justice of war,) may cause to mourn over and curse, in bitter sorrow the hour in which they were born.' 'oh! albert,' now interrupted emily' do heed the earnest and kind admonitions of mr. harlowe. do stay here and protect us, for you know that we may soon very soon need it.' this last remark of emily's appeared to stagger for a moment, albert's resolution, but soon recovering himself he answered, emily it is useless bandying words about it, i have shipped, my honour is committed, and go i must, and will. but there are other considerations than these you have brought forward, which have served materially to strengthen my resolution. am i not poor, and has not my poverty been from time to time spoken of by your friends as affording a valid and decided objection to our union?' as albert finished speaking, and before emily had opportunity to reply to him, a single horseman approached them, and reining up his steed, asked if they could give him any information in regard to the residence of a mrs. elwood, which he had understood was somewhere in that vicinity.' the querist was a young slender built, and apparently handsome man, and his fine dress, and the jewelled rings, that profusely bedecked his fingers, betokened him to be, as he was, a favorite of wealth and fortune. emily elwood. 11. emily timidly answered his question, by saying, 'that she presumed the lady whom he wished to see was her mother, and as it was but a short distance, and his business was of course particular, she would show him the way.' 'are you mrs. elwood's only daughter,' asked the stranger. 'i am sir.' 'i willingly accept your guidance then,' answered the stranger. 'come mr. arlington, will not you and mr. harlowe accompany us?' asked emily. albert excused himself, by saying, 'that the preparations neccessary for his departure to sea, called at that time for his undivided attention,' but the hermit answered not, although stepping up to emily, he thrust into her hand a small billet, and immediately turning he took albert's arm, and started out of the main road into a bye path which led to his abode amongst the rocks, whilst emily and the stranger hastened along the street to her mother's cottage. 1 12 emily elwood. chapter ii. • 'now tell us who mrs. elwood was?' says one. 'and who albert arlington was?' says a another. and who the hermit of the crags was,' says a third. patience kind readers all, and we will tell you as expeditiously and briefly as we may be able. mrs. elwood was born in england of very respectable and wealthy parents, who made her an idol, and who caused her to be educated in all the most ornamental and costly accomplishments of her sex. but unfortunately she was not their only idol, although she was their only child. they had another to which they bowed in almost holy adoration. that other idol was-money. their darling wish, their only aim, concerning the future welfare of their daughter was that she should be wedded to wealth, and if they could so manage it to title also. every thing at the outset, bid fair to crown their ambitious wishes with success. ere the beautiful and accomplished harriot, had reached her eighteenth year, a young and wealthy though somewhat dissipated baronet, became a suitor for her hand and heart. he made proposals to her parents, they were joyfully and gratefully accepted, he then made the same proposals to harriot, but strange to say, they were scornfully and indignantly rejected. 'take more time for it,' said her anxious father when he heard from his daughters own lips the decided rejection of the baronet's splendid offer 'take more time to think of it, and you will finally make up your mind to have him.' 'never father,' answered the dutiful girl. and why not pray,' demanded her father turning pale at the bare idea of losing 5,000 pounds sterling a year, and an honorable title. emily elwood. 13 c because,' replied harriot very candidly 'i do not love him.' cannot love him, 'exlaimed the old gentleman in great astonishment, 'love a fiddle-stick. why i could almost love the devil, i was going to say, for five thousand pounds a year.' 'i beg leave, respectfully to insinuate,' replied harriot somewhat shocked at her father's profanity, 'that probably our tastes in that respect, somewhat materially differ. so far from loving the gentleman of the infernal regions, to whom you have just alluded, i cannot bring myself even to look with complacency upon one of his children, therefore have i rejected the addresses of sir john wagstaff.' 'oh you have hey,' answered the old gentleman. this is too bad, five thousaud pounds a year offered to you, and you wont take it, hey. but you shall take it or leave my house and protection forever.' so saying the old gentleman left the apartment in high dudgeon. now this interview terminated, almost exactly in accordance with the wishes of harriot, for the summer before, she met with leiutenant elwood, a handsome officer subsisting then on upon half pay, at a fashionable watering place, and committed the unpardonable sin of falling desparately in love with him. he (as in duty bound,) also fell in love with her, and ere they parted, they exchanged solemn vows of eternal constancy. they therefore had regularly kept up an epistolary correspondence, until within three or four days of the interveiw related above, when he had visited the town, where she resided, where they met, and she having made a confidant of him and told him all her troubles, they agreed to elope, or in plain words, 'run away,' to america. the same night that she held the conversation with her father related above, the elopement was to take place. and it did take place. a post chaise and four, took our lovers to london where they were united. the lieutenant threw up his commission, and they immediately sailed for america. having arrived there, they found that their .' whole stock of property, consisting of the remnants of the lieutenants half pay and harriot's somewhat extensive collection of jewelry amounting only to the meagre sum of five hundred dollars. this discovery having been made, the neccessity for some kind of exertion, whereby they might be able to live, soon began to stare them in the face, and nothing better offering, the lieutenant and his lovely bride were obliged to remove to the village of m. for the pur14 emily elwood. pose of teaching the public school at a salary of three hundred dollars a year. but mr. elwood and his wife, soon found that although love might be a very sweet and palatable food for the passions, and feelings of the mind, the body, needed and required something far more substantial. 3 about eighteen months after they had become settled, our heroine emily was born, and then their troubles began in earnest. mrs. elwood had never been brought up to work, therefore as far as the domestic management was concerned, everything went at 'sixes and sevens.' these things together with a decline of health, brought on by his unremitted exertions, discouraged mr. elwood, he became unable to attend to his business, and with his family was reduced to abject poverty. in the midst of their distress, mrs. elwood wrote a very penitent letter to her father stating to him her destitute situation and requesting his assistance, but all the satisfaction she got in answer was, "that as she had made her bed, so she must lie upon it,' as he, (her father) was determined to cut her off without a shilling. but the old man probably relented somewhat afterwards, for at his death, which happened about a year succeeding the receipt of his daughter's letter, it was discovered that he had left her a small legacy of three hundred pounds sterling. the rest of his large property he left to his brother's son, with a certain promise, with which the reader will afterwards become acquainted. a few months after the receipt of his father in law's unfeeling and comfortless letter mr. elwood died, and was laid quietly to rest in the village church yard. the grief of his wife at this sad event was almost inconsolable. after it had become somewhat assuaged by time, the neighbors kindly assisted her, and by their help she obtained a few scholars, and by keeping a little school she managed to secure a very decent subsist ance for herself and only daughter emily, who grew up to be entirely different from her mother in habits and manner aud disposition, at the commencement of our story, emily was a fair and beautiful girl, domestic in her habits, polite in her manners and gentle yet decided in her disposition possessing an uncommon sensitiveness of feeling, she could not emily elwood. 15 bear to have the least doubt rest upon her truth or veracity, and in fact she was such a being as no one could look upon and not love. "gentle and beautiful and kind, she was beloved by all, and such a being strong in mind, from virtue ne'er could fall.' and now gentle reader, having explained mrs. elwood's situation at the time of opening our story, and that of her daughter's, we will with your permission speak a few words concerning the hermit of the crags. on a fine morning about thirty seven years prior to the opening of our story, a stranger suddenly appeared in the village of m. and took lodgings at the inn. who he was or from whence he came, nobody knew, although as is natural in cases of mystery, every body wished to know. it soon became evident that he was not disposed to gratify even the the slightest curiosity, for, upon his landlord's asking the very common yankee question whether he belonged to these parts, or came from a foreign country,' he very unceremoniously called for his bill, settled it and left the house. a few days afterwards, he was accidentally discovered building a rude hut, in the wildest part of the country surrounding the village, amongst some huge rocks, of which, after he had finished it, he became the sole occupant. with the exception of a faithful dog no living thing was known to enter his abode for the space of a year although he sometimes, though seldom, visited the village, for the purpose of buying such simple things as he might happen to stand in need of. his solitary habits, and the wild and desolate place where he had chosen to take up his abode, had caused the villagers to distinguish him by the appellation of the hermit of the crags, although upon one or two neccessary occasions he had given his name as james harlower. but fate determined that his abode should not be always without visiters. one day during a fierce and terrific thunder storm he was surprised by the sudden appearance of two young and handsome faces, the possessors of which were emily elwood and albert arlington. the hermit, at first appeared somewhat indignant at their intrusion, but 16 emily elwood. the cloud soon passed away from his dark brow, and after gazing for a time, upon the fair and beautiful form of emily, he said, 'my children although it is a long, long time since i have sought the society or sympathy of my kind, still i would not refuse shelter to such as you in such a tempest as this.' he said no more at that time, and they all remained silent till the storm was over, when albert said—, 'mr. harlowe, emily and myself often take these little rural excurions, and i would humbly request the privilege of stopping here occasionally to rest our weary limbs.' j 'you and your companion will always be welcome,' replied the hermit, but be sure that you never bring any one else.' they then left the hut, and it was a mysterious matter of remark amongst the villagers, that they were frequently together, and were as intimate as aunt betty expressed it, as though they were father and son. emily elwood. t 17 chapter iii. it will undoubtedly be recollected by the reader, that at the end of our first chapter, we left albert and the hermit on their way to the abode of the latter, and as they walked swiftly along, the following conversation took place between them. 'i do not much like the appearance of that strange gentleman,' said albert, in whose company emily so unceremoniously left us.' and why not?' was the heroic reply of the hermit. 'really i cannot tell exactly,' replied albert, but you knew that we are sometimes apt, (unaccountably enough to be sure) to be unfavorably impressed about certain persons at first sight. but emily need not have been in such a hurry to have gone with him who was a perfect stranger to her.' 'ah, i see how it is now,' replied the hermit. "the poisonous seeds of jealousy have been almost imperceptibly sown in your bosom, but take the advice of one, who has learnt much in the true school of bitter experience, and strive at once by the most energetic means to eradicate them.' 'well,' answered albert, it may be as you say, but i cannot see why i should be jealous.' 'you love emily elwood,' replied the hermit. 'as i do the very life-blood of my heart,' answered albert. 'and love in such a disposition as yours,' continued the hermit, 'open and sanguine, yet cautious, and distrustful, is apt to make mountains out of mole hills. but hark! what sound is that?' 18 emily elwood. they both stopped and listened, when they heard the low and plaintive, yet sweetly melodious voice of a female, singing the following song: song. hear the distant roar of the wild dark sea, o, its sound is sad music, unto me, for no lover has found beneath its wave, a wide, a lonely and peaceful grave. oh, i saw him in my dreams last night, and he looked like an angel clothed with light. he beckoned for me unto him to come, yes, yes, i replied, i will soon be home. and i soon shall go, and my aching head, with the cold damp turf of the earth will wed, and why then in heaven, how happy i'll be, united my dear long lost henry with thee. as she finished, the astonished listeners, could see by the fluttering of the white drapery, that the singer was fast approaching them, and albert exclaiming, my god, my poor crazed sister,' darted forward and caught her in his arms. a 'crazed, yes!' replied the poor unfortunate creature, i believe i am crazed; but albert, i heard that you was going to sea, and so after dark, i stole away cunningly from my keepers, and thinking that i should find you, at emily's house, i went there, and looked in the windows, and what did i see?' oh a handsome young man a courting, the one who was your true love. but as i was looking, miss emily came to the door, and i asked her where you was, and she told me you was gone to the hermit's hut, and i even took it in my crazy brain, to gambol through the dark pine wood after you.' 'stop your wild talk, jane,' said albert, and we will return to the village, and then i will see you safe back to your abode.' 'i will not go back, albert, to that wicked place, for when my poor broken heart feels wild and light and free, and i leave off my hard task to sing with the merry birds, they beat me and call me hard names, and bid me earn my bread.' albert felt that his sister's wild words were true and he exclaimed, རུ་ albert and emily receiving the blessing of the hermit of the crags.-see page 28. emily elwood. 21 'oh, what shall i do, where shall i find a home for my poor demented sister! poverty must be a crime, else we should not suffer so by its effects.' you must not think of returning to the village to-night albert,' replied the hermit, ' for you cannot reach there, until after the inhabitants have retired to rest, therefore if you will accept the poor shelter of my rude abode, for yourself and sister, you shall be entirely welcome. a thousand thanks my kind friend,' replied albert, for your kind offer. come jane,' added he coaxingly, come with me.' 'so i will,' replied jane, ' for you speak friendly to me, and that is a blessing to which i have for a long time been unaccustomed.' " ah, we have arrived at last, to my rude habitation,' said the hermit, 'so come let us enter.' having thus spoken, the hermit opened the door, and entered, followed by jane and albert, and the latter, after he had become seated again commenced conversation by saying, 'mr. harlowe, on the day after to-morrow, i shall sail on a perilous cruise, from which it may be my fortune never to return, and in that case poor jane will be left without friend or protector.' 'but where is emily?' interrupted the hermit. 'as to emily,' answered albert, i have no doubt, but that she would gladly give my sister a home, and be very good and kind to her, but she cannot do as she pleases, and think you that i would so bemean myself, as to ask such a favor from her mean spirited mother, who will scarcely allow me to enter her house.' ( 'you are right,' answered the hermit, and my poor boy i pity and commiserate your situation. i will be a guardian and protector to your sister, and rest assured, that during your absence, she shall not want for any comfort which i may be able to procure. and now that matter being settled, we will try to make shift to pass the night, as comfortably as we can. you see i have two apartments, you and i can sleep together in this one, whilst your sister can occupy the other.' 'just as you please my kind benefactor,' replied albert, and then he added, speaking to jane, 'my sister will you not sleep?' me,-sleep,' exclaimed she, wildly starting up and clasping her brother's hand, 'talk to me of sleep, and you, all the friend there is left to me in the wide world, about to go abroad on the trackless 22 emily elwood. ocean, there to sicken and die, and like my poor henry become food for the fishes.' 'both albert and the hermit, tried every means to soothe and calm the poor maniac, and at last they apparently succeeded, and after kissing her brother, she retired to the apartment resigned to her use. her companions, soon followed her example, and soon all three of these troubled beings were wrapped in the sweet forgetfulness of refreshing slumber. and now reader, we will with your permission, speak a few words concerning our hero, albert arlington. at the time when we first introduced him to our readers, he was a handsome and noble looking youth, apparently about twenty years of age. . of his birth and parentage he knew nothing excepting that himself and jane, his twin sister, had been left in tender infancy, upon the door step of a gentleman who kindly transferred his delicate charges to the tender mercies of the keeper of the parish work-house. } and there, in that unrefined school of adversity, our here was brought, or rather forced up, until he reached the age of fourteen, when he was daily apprenticed to the carpenter of the village, who, whilst he lived, treated albert with kindness and parental attention. but about three years succeeding the time in question, the good man died, and to our hero was left, the alternative, either of taking care of himself, or going back again to the work-house. he chose the former mode of living; but not liking his trade, he resolved to go to sea, and therefore shipped and sailed on board of a ship bound for the west indies. but he, like many others, was unlucky, got cast away, lost every thing, returned home dispirited, and then took to hist trade for subsistence. it was about this time, that he first saw and loved emily elwood, and the noble and generous qualities of his mind, together with the manly and superior beauty of his person, so wrought upon the sensitive heart of our heroine, as to cause her also soon to love him in return. they often met, and in one of their interviews albert passionately declared his sentiments and asked for a betrothal. emily after assuring him in warm but maidenly terms of her true love and devotion, refered him to her mother, for a ratification of their vows, and here the real troubles of our lovers soon began. upon asking the consent of mrs elwood, to his becoming the acemily elwood. 23 knowledged lover of emily, that lady flew into a violent passion, and said, 'mr. arlington, my answer shall be short and decisive. you have no friends, and you are poor. the man who marries my daughter, not only in fortune, but by birth and parentage. forbidding you to look or think upon emily in any other light, but that of a mere acquaintance, i now bid you a very good evening.' so saying, she indignantly flounced out of the apartment, leaving our hero somewhat surprised at her refusal, and greatly hurt at her covered allusion to his birth and parentage. he then left the house with a strong determination to get rich, and the second war having at that time just commenced between england and the united states, he was soon puevailed upon to join a privateer in the manner before related. the story of his sister jane, is the sad, though not uncommon one of a broken heart. • at the age of fourteen, she had been placed, (as was the custom,) in a gentleman's family, as a servant, and at the end of two years, the beauty of her person, which was imposing and remarkable, combined with the gentleness of her disposition, had won the affections of a generous noble hearted sailor, named henry milton. how she loved him may be inferred from the fact, that, upon hearing of his death, (which she learned had occurred on the very next voyage after their mutual sentiments became known to each other,) she became at intervals, raving mad, so that she had to be returned back to the alms-house, where she was confined as a lunatic. and now kind reader, having at last got upon clear track, we will in the next chapter, go a-head with our story. 24 emily elwood. chapter iv. the handsome stranger, whose sudden appearance had excited feelings somewhat akin to jealousy in the breast of albert arlington, soon reached mrs. elwood's cottage, under the escort of the fair emily. having alighted from his horse at the door, he gave him in charge to a boy who was standing near, with instructions to take him to a hotel. 'a what sir?' asked the boy, to whom the term hotel, was wholly unintelligble. why to a tavern you young rascal.' "o yes sir,' answered the delighted urchin 'i understands now,' and mounting to the saddle he was off in an instant, with the horse, to the village inn. the stranger was then met at the door by mrs. elwood, who, surmised by his decidedly aristocratic look that he belonged to what she considered good and fashionable socieiy kindly invited him to enter the parlor. having accepted the invitation he introduced himself to his hostess as the honorable mr. augustus worthington, her uncle's son, and emily's cousin. upon hearing this imposing announcement, the excuses and apologies made by mrs. elwood were almost innumerable. 'why mr. wothington, said she' this visit is so entirely unexpect ed, so that you see you have taken me quite by surprise, but then emily and i will do the best we can for your genteel accommodation. depend upon it mr. worthington that although somewhat reemily elwood. 25 duced in curcumstances yet i have not lost one iota of the natural pride of my father's family.' it is very neccessary madam,' replied mr. worthington for you to keep up the pride of your birth in this republican country. but you need not make any more apologies, as i have no doubt, but that the time that i may pass here, with you and your amiable and beautiful daughter, (looking complacently at emily who sank abashed into a chair,) will be very agreeably taken up at least so far as i am concerned " • emily now rose from her seat, and was apparently about leaving the room, when mrs. elwood exclaimed-, 'why emily dear, you are not going to retire already it is not yet ten o clock.' " 'i am aware of that dear mother, replied emily but i must beg you and mr. worthington to excuse me as i have a severe head ache.' so saying she left the room, and retiring to her chamber, she took from her bosom the note which the hermit had given her, and opening it read as follows-, 'dear miss elwood-, if you wish for a parting interveiw with albert arlington, ere he sails upon his dangerous voyage, you will if possible repair to my habitation tomorrow about the hour of sunset, where you will be gladly welcomed by him who is called—, the hermit of the crags.' after reading this very laconic though important epistle, emily after carefully placing it in a little trunk, which had always been the repository of albert's letters, and immediately retired to rest, where she was soon brobably dreaming of him whom she dearly loved. meantime, the honorable mr augustus worthington, taking advantage of the absence of emily, stated the object of his sudden and unexpected visit to mrs elwood as follows-, 'you are undoubtedly well acquainted madam with the principal circumstances attending your father's death, and you are also probably aware that he left the bulk of his vast property to me in case of the fulfilment to me of a certain condition.' 'i heard, replied mrs elwood, 'something of the kind from the agent, who paid my small legacy to me, but has the condition you speak of to do with your visit here at this time?' 26 emily elwood. 'a great deal more perhaps, than you may imagine, my dear madam,' answered mr. worthington, 'in as much as it very nearly relates to your daughter'my daughter,' exclaimed mrs. elwood, trembling with an emotion, which she could hardly describe. " 'yes madam, your daughter,' replied he. although in consequence of your imprudent marriage, your father saw fit to cut you off with a shilling,' his antipathy did not extend to your child. he therefore annexed a certain proviso to his will, to this effect:-that the whole of his extensive property should fall to me on condition that i married your daughter emily, as soon as possible after she became of age. for the purpose of complying with this condition, i have now visited you, to ask you to use all means in your power, to [carry my purposes to a successful termination. but perhaps her affections are pre-engaged?' · oh no indeed they are not,' replied mrs. elwood, delighted at the prospect now placed before her daughter. to be sure she did have a sort of childish partiality for a young man of the village, but he was poor and low born, and so i soon put a stop to it. therefore, my dear mr. worthington, you may have no farther fears upon that score, and you can rest assured, sir, that i shall use my utmost efforts to induce emily, speedily to comply with your wishes.' 'i feel extremely obliged to you, for your ready acquiesence in my views,' answered mr. worthington, but as it is late, and i have ridden hard, with your permission, madam, i will now retire.' having shown him into her best chamber, she left him, and going into emily's apartment and finding her apparently in a deep sleep, the ambitious woman laying herself down beside her unsuspeeting daughter, thus soliloquized: 'now this is a glorious chance for emily. let me see, my father's property must amount to nearly ten thousand a year. what a fortune. how glad i am that albert arlington is going to sea. emily will soon forget him, and if she don't, why war is a dangerous affair, and so is privateering, and he may have the fortune to be killed. i will break this important matter to my daughter, at the earliest opportunity. ten thousand a year,-emily must and shall have it.' mrs. elwood now went to sleep, and was soon dreaming of a splendid establishment, with a coach and six, and the honorable mr augustus worthington. emily elwood. 27 late in the afternoon of the day succeeding the occurences related above. emily elwood might have been seen wending her way quickly through the dark pine woods, towards the wild abode of the hermit. as she approached near to it, she was met by albert, who upon seeing her exclaimed, 'bless you, dear emily, for this visit. it is what, under present circumstances, i hardly dared expect.' 'do you not suppose, albert arlington', replied emily, somewhat reproachfully, that i would have conquered every obstacle, ere, i would have foregone the melancholy satisfaction of meeting you for the last time ere you depart upon your perilous voyage,-the last time perhaps forever.' 'oh no, not forever, my dear girl,' answered albert, 'trouble will come full fast enough upon us, without anticipating it. so cheer up, else your tears will soon make me forget my manhood " 'dear albert,' mournfully replied the `beautiful girl, my tears do not fall so freely at the thought of our parting, but there is other, and if possible more bitter reasons for them. i know that we must part, and i place confidence enough in you to think, that in whatever situation you may be placed, you will do that which you know to be right, and then god will take care of you, and in his holy keeping, i have faith to believe that you will be safe and happy.' 'then i need not feel at all jealous of the handsome stranger,' playfully remarked albert.' "the handsome stranger,' as you term him,' replied emily, 'is nought to me, nor will he ever be, although my mother told me this morning, that i must make my mind up soon to marry him, and she at the same time hinted that he was of noble birth, and possessed of large fortune." 'and what answer did you make to this proposition?' asked albert, turning pale at her strange words. 'i told her in answer,' replied emily, 'that i did not love him, nor never should, and that i would sooner wed death than him. 'and what said your mother to that?' again asked albert. 'o we had a long and bitter conversation,' answered emily, by the relation of which i shall not soon seek to embitter our last parting. suffice it for you to know, that while you live, no other man shall ever receive my hand. and now,' continued she, dear albert 28 emily elwood. our interview must terminate. farewell, and may god be with you.' at this instant the hermit, with jane upon his arm, approached and said, 6 my children, i know you love each other, and deeply, most deeply do i sympathize with you in this bitter hour of your separation. join your hands, my children, receive the blessing of him who has at present nought else to give.' they then kneeled and received his blessing, after which, with their hands joined, there upon that wild spot, they swore to each other eternal constancy. (see engraving.) jane, who during this interesting ceremony had remained silent, now exclaimed, 'what does all this mean? oh i know now, a wedding, and i'll 'dance, dance, dance, to the tone of the marriage bell.' 'but albert is going off to sea to die as henry did, and when the dreadful news comes, then i shall die and be at rest, and the fair girl that now stands here, she will die with a broken heart, and father, here, but oh no,' exclaimed the poor girl, wildly, 'that cannot be, for i never knew my father, but this good old man, he will die too, and then all will be peace, peace, peace.' the whole group were greatly effected by these wild ravings of the poor maniac, so that not one of them could refrain from weeping. but at last albert mustered courage sufficient to utter to his emily the last bitter farewell, and she turned her weary steps homeward, whilst he in company with jane and the hermit sought the friendly shelter of the hut. the next morning albert made preparations to join his ship, which having all been completed, he went on board about noon, accompanied by the hermit. when they were about parting, albert, handing the hermit a small sealed note said, mr. harlowe, this contains only the name by which i am now called. emily elwood. 29 i have always kept it near my person, as it was all that was left with me when i was abandoned to the mereies of the world, and it may furnish some clue whereby i may be able, at some future time, to learn something concerning my parents. farewell.' 6 'farewell,' replied the hermit, and god willing, i hope soon to see you return.' he had not time to say more, for the order was given to get underweigh, and soon our new and the good brig spit-fire was soon out of sight of the good people, who had congregated aboat the pier, upon the occasion of their departure. 330 emily elwood. chapter v. the hermit, after he had taken a last view of the receding vessel, which contained the object of his almost parental solicitude, turned from the pier, and was about to retrace his steps towards his rude abode, when the first person who met his gaze, was the honorable mr. augustus worthington, who flourished in his hand a beautifully enamelled, and highly finished cane, thus accosted him: 'i say mr. what's your name, hermit i believe they call you, i understand that you always live in the woods, therefore i presume you can inform me pretty accurately where the best game is to be found, and i suppose you will feel highly honored, when i announce my purpose of accompanying you to your residence, that is if you happen to have any?' the hermit gave no answer to this impudent tirude, except a look of supreme and utter contempt cast towards the speaker, who finding that his auditor had turned from him and gone upon his way, stepped up behind him, and tapping him fashionably across the shoulders with his cane, again said, if you don't give me a gentleman's satisfaction you demnd insulting old scoundrel, for not answering my question, i'll break every bone in your body with this cane, if i don't demme.' upon this, the old man turned and with a quick blow with his heavy fist, immediately laid the honorable mr. augustus worthington, sprawling at full length upon the grass, at the same time, saying, 'there's satisfaction for you, villain, caitiff, and if you are not emily elwood. 31. completely satisfied with that, rise if you dare, and i will soon replace you, by the same means, in your present low position. so saying, after waiting a few moments, the hermit turned and when he had got at a convenient distance, the honorable mr. worthington, probably considering that discretion was the better part of valor, jumped nimbly to his feet, took to his heels, and made the best of his way, (muttering horrid imprecations and dire oaths of vengeance as he ran,) to mrs. elwood's cottage. meanwhile the hermit having somewhat quickened his pace, and entered the pathway leading through the woods to his abode, as he walked, thus soliloquized.— 'that fellow by his appearance, must be some upstart english aristocrat, with more money than brains, who thinks that people have nothing else to do but to pander to his random wishes. but i guess i have given him one lesson, and if he gets a few more such, they may teach him that he has found one country in the world, where man is man, whether he be rich or poor. but i have already spent more time and words upon him than he is worth, and now i will look into this bit of paper.' so saying he broke the seal of the note and read as follows: 'if these two children live, they are to be called jane and albert arlington.' ' 'good god!' exclaimed the old man, letting the soiled billet fall to the ground and pressing both hands to his temples. this is certainly the hand writing of my isabel.' having pronounced these words, he again picked up the paper, and after gazing intently upon it for a few moments, he resealed it, and carefully replacing it in his pocket, and was about to resume his journey, when he heard the sound of footsteps, and emily elwood stood by his side. 'what is the matter my dear girl,' said the hermit, after a moment's pause, it seems to me that you look paler than usual, and your eyes give unerring evidence of recent weeping?' 'and i have bitter cause to weep, mr. harlowe,' replied emily. 'have i not lost for a long time, perhaps forever, my best and dearest friend? to whose sympathizing care can i now entrust my manifold troubles and sorrows?' 'trust in god!' answered the hermit, earnestly. 'oh i do, i do,' said emily, and i try to pray to him for guid 32 emily elwood. • ance and direction, still my heart remains cast down, and i am young and unused to disappointments, therefore this last blow has fallen heavily upon me. emily,' replied the hermit mournfully, you will probably recollect that i promised at some future time, to relate to you my evil and eventful history, i did not then intend to do so, until i felt the cold finger of death upon my brow, but i have since altered my resolution, and the time has now come. therefore, if you will attend me to my habitation, that shall be fulfilled, so saying, the old man and his fair companion, hastened to the hut the one to tell a sad and melancholy story, and the other to listen to it, in eager but respectful silence. having arrived there, the hermit exclaimed, 'my poor jane, i must first look after her,' and accordingly he knocked at the door of her apartment and called to her, but receiving no answer, he ventured to open it, when he found somewhat to his surprise that it was untenanted. jane was not there. 'where can she oe gone,' asked emily after she had been made acquainted with the above fact. 'o she has probably gone out to roam about the woods,' replied the hermit,' and it would be a pity to confine her for the mere purpose of restraining her will, though harmless fancies. but i think that she will soon return. 'and now you are comfortably seated,' continued the old man, 'i will proceed to relate the principal events of the sad history of my life.' the hermit's story. 'i was born in paris, proud capitol of france. my parents were publicly distinguished and wealthy people; as i was their only child, bestowed upon me every indulgence consistent with their duty, and as i grew up i received every educational virtue, which my proud birthplace could confer, and at the age of eighteen, i entered its far famed university. having passed through that, with honor and applause, i found myself, upon the death of my father, which took place after i had reached the age of twenty-one, in possession of a splendid fortune. being at the same time possessed of a tall and handsome form, with a pleasing countenance, and winning address. these accomplishments coupled with my great wealth, did not fail to attract the atemily elwood. 33 tention of a host of ambitious mothers, who strove by various plans, to entrap me into a matrimonial engagement, with some one of their daughters. 6 • but my heart proved to them, to be an impregnable fortress, and i remained single, until i had reached my twenty-fourth year. it was then, that in one of my frequent pleasure excursions into the country, i first met and woed, and loved isabel de eoligny. 'she was the daughter of a poor peasant, and far below me in rank any riches, but she was eminently beautiful and fair, and as good as she was fair, and beautiful. 'finding that i was apparently serious in my attentions to her, she soon loved me in return, and i then resolved to take her to paris, and there marry her, notwithstanding the jeers and taunts, which i knew i should meet with from my former honorable and wealthy companions. 'the consent of her parents having been joyfully granted, we immediately set out for the capitol, where we were soon united, and the humble peasant girl found herself suddenly installed over one of the most elegant and splendid establishments of paris, where we lived together for one short month in the enjoyment of happiness almost supreme. 'shortly after that time, an english gentleman, a sort of distant relation to me, who was about making the tour of europe, stopped for a few days by my invitation, to my house. he was a tall and very handsome man, of about the same age as my own, and i soon imagined that he began to pay particular attention to my wife. this aroused within me the jealous spirit by which i was cursed, and which had only lain dormant for the want of something to feed upon. 'finding that the stranger seemed desirous of prolonging his stay, from a few days to a few months, i resolved to discover by the means of a common stratagem, whether or not my jealousy was well founded. "giving the stranger, therefore, an invitation to make my house his home as long as he pleased, i informed him in the presence of isabel, that pressing business required my immediate attention at lyons, and i should therefore be under the necessity of leaving them for the space of two months. i then retired into my private room, and ordered the butler to be immediately summoned into my presence. he was a person who my father had always placed unlimited confidence in, and upon his death, i treated him the same, although for some reason 34 emily elwood. unknown to me, isabel had always shown a great dislike to him. he having answered the snmmons, i informed him of my suspicions concerning the stranger, directing him at the same time, to keep a strict watch upon his movements, and also those of my wife, and to report to me the result of his observations weekly during my absence. i then after taking an affectionate farewell of isabel, departed. 'i did not go to lyons, nor did i ever intend to, but instead, i went to my country-seat, situated about fifty miles from paris, and no one knew where i had gone to except my butler. 'i had been there but about ten days, when i received from home the following note : 'much honored master: having explicitly obeyed the commands that you laid upon me concerning my mistress, i have only to state, that if you wish to have decisive proof, that the suspicions you hinted to me are well founded, you will immediately repair to this place. be careful and arrange your journey so as to arrive here upon to-morrow night. i hear my mistress coming. and i have not time to write more.' this from your humble servant. f pierre le blanc. stung almost to madness, by this dreadful news, i ordered my carriage, which about eleven o'clock the next night halted suddenly in front of my mansion. i jumped out and entering the house, proceeded directly towards my wife's apartment, and there i saw just emerging from the door, the accursed form of my english relation. his face was masked, and ere i had time to recover from the horror with which i stood transfixed, he darted into the street with the rapidity of lightning. 'the rest of my story is soon tuld.—my resolution was soon taken. i did not enter the chamber, nor have i seen isabel from that day to this. in a state of mind almost frantic, i flew to a hotel, and the next day, having given orders to my agent to sell my estates immediately, and place the proceeds in the public funds for my benefit, i drew upon my banker for a large sum of money, and then immediately left paris for england, where for two years i gave myself up to wine and dissipation, and gambling. at the end of that time i returned to france, where i soon found my agent had proved perfidious, and found the the arrival of the stranger. arrival of arlington from england, to claim his bride emily elwood. 37 he had absconded with a large amount of my property, leaving me but a bare sufficiency to support myself for a few years, in a gentlemanly manner. 'but i could learn nothing from isabel, excepting, that when the property was sold, she had suddenly disappeared from paris, but where she had gone or in whose company, no one could tell. 'and then, hating mankind, aye almost hating myself, i resolved to retire to this country, to spend my days apart from the whole human race, and die as i had lived the victim of jealousy. 'but a change has come over me since i have been here. solitude begets thought, and i have thought, my dear emily, long and bitter of the errors of my past life, and at last i have repented, and humbled myself before god, here in the midst of these wild woods and crags, and i feel that i am forgiven. and now miss elwood, i have given you my past history, brief and condensed and disjointed, to be sure, but still, so far as i am concerned, it bears the broad and open impress of truth.' the old man and his fair auditress, now sat for some time in silence, which emily at last broke by saying, 'thank you my dear mr. harlowe, for relating to me the sad story of your life; but as it is growing late, i cannot stop farther to remark upon it. good evening.' 'farewell miss elwood,' replied the hermit, you will keep what i have told you a secret from every one?' 'i will,' said emily, rising to depart. so ended emily's visit to the hermit's hut, and so ends our chapter. 38 emily elwood. chapter vi. about a month, succeeding the events before related, the following conversation took place on the deck of the spitfire, (who was then cruising off madeira,) between the captain and his first lieutenant. " "our cruising is getting rather dull mr. chase,' said the captain. here we have been out a whole month and have only taken one small prize. i don't see where the devil all the englishmen have gone to.' 'nor i either sir,' replied the lieutenant. the crew are getting impatient. i even heard one chap saying this morning, that he should like to have a brush with something, he didn't care if it was a frigate.' 'that shows a good spirit,' answered captain townley. which fellow was that.' 'that handsome, looking clever-limbed chap who is parcelling the fore-stay there sir, his name is arlington, i think.' 'i have remarked him before,' replied the captain,' and if he continues to do as well, as he has done, i will do all i can when we return, to ensure his speedy promotion.' 'sail ho!' sung out the man at the mast-head. 'where away,' cried the captain, springing quickly into the rigging and ascending to the main top. 6 right abeam sir.' 'lee or weather,' asked the captain. 'lee beam sir,' answered the man.' 'square the yards a little mr. chase,' said the captain, and keep her off a couple of points.' emily elwood. 39 these orders being promptly obeyed, the brig which was then sailing close hauled upon a wind, soon fell off to her course, and quickly approached near enough to the strange craft for the captain to make out what she was which he no sooner did, than he again sung out-, 'mr. chase!' 'sir.' 'lay the yards square, set all the studding sails abow and aloft, and then beat to quarters.' 'ay ay sir.' the captain descended the rigging, while these orders were in progress of execution, and informed mr. chase, that he had made the stranger out to be a large english ship and that she was probably a homeward bound indiaman. the word soon got forward, that they were soon to have a brush with an indiaman, and in an instant all was bustle and hurry, but such was the excellent discipline of the crew a few moments sufficed for preperation, and then every man was at his quarters. captain townley's surmises, in regard to the quality of the stranger, proved correct for she turned out the honorable east india company's ship resistance, carrying twelve guns, and commanded by one richard short. upon the approach of the privateer brig, her captain finding it impossible to run away, concluded to fight and accordingly hove his ship to, and prepared for action. coming down close upon the ship's weather quarter, captain townley hailed her, and received for an answer her whole broadside, of seven guns, which however did but little damage to the brig. 'i think we are like to meet with a short resistance,' coolly remarked captain townley, upon the reception of the above warm salutation from his antagonist but we will now see what we can do in return.' he then walked forward spoke a few words of encouragement to his men, so that every gun of the broadside was levelled so as to do execution, then returning aft he gave the long wished for order to fire. at the same time. lieutenant chase, was ordered to board, and ere the smoke of the guns had cleared away, he with our hero, and some others, had jumped into the boat, and ere the indiaman's officers were aware of their purpose, they had gained a footing on the ship's deck. to their great surprise and gratification, they found the ship's crew in a state of great consternation at the murderous fire of the ameri40 emily elwood. can brig, which had killed their captain, and laid low some half dozen of the bravest men among the crew. lieutenant chase, immediately demanded the surrender of the ship which the first officer complied with, after stipulateing for the safety of the passengers, of whom there were some twenty or thirty. thus in the short space of half an hour, this noble ship with a large and very valuable cargo of teas and silks, had become the prize of the american privateer brig spitfire. the officer in command having surrendered his sword, the english ensign was immediately hauled down, and the american hoisted in its stead, and the brig having by, this time ranged alongside, her crew gave three hearty cheers, which were quickly answered by their comrades on board the ship. captain townley then gave orders to his lieutenant to transfer the most valuable part of the ship's cargo on board the brig, which having been speedily done, the captain called his officers into the cabin to consult as to the measures to be taken in reference to the disposal of the prize. 6 'we can hardly spare a crew to take her home,' said he to mr. chase and yet she is so valuable a prize, that i believe i must venture.' 'i should think we might manage it sir,' replied the lieutenant, who did not at all relish the idea of relinquishing his part of the prize. 'well i belive i must let you try it then,' replied the captain, but you know that i cannot spare another officer, you will therefore have to pick out a mate from among the crew. who shall it be.' 6 arlington, sir, if you please,' replied the mate. 'steward,' said the captain, 'send arlington into the cabin.' the steward, who was a good natured black fellow left the cabin grinning from ear to ear, and going forward to where the crew were clustered together talking over the events of the day, he addressed the object of his visit as follows-, 'mr. arlington, capin wants to see de light ob your countenance in de cabin sar.' " as albert started to obey the captain's order, one of the chaps,' who had been standing with him thus addressed the steward—, 'i say old darkey what made you put a handle to arlington's name.' "twas because it belongs to him,' replied darkey. 'how's that,' aaked the other. ་། emily elwood. 41 'o you'll soon know, juss wait till he comes up again, will yer,' so saying, the 'old darkey,' returned to the cabin, where he found our hero, to whom upon his entrance, the captain had thus addressed'mr. arlington, at the request of mr. chase, i have been induced to promote you to the responsible station of first officer of the prize. we have last taken, which i am about to send home under his command. do you think yourself capable of filling it properly.' 'in answer to your generous offer i can only say sir,' replied albert that if you see fit to promote me to the situation spoken of i will do the best i can.' 'that's enough,' replied the captain, and you will now go on board of her, and immediately enter upon your new duties. in obedience to the further orders he received, albert went directly on board the prize, and sent her officers and crew on board the brig where they were treated with all the lenity consistent with their situation as prisoners of war. the passengers all of which were females, were left aboard the ship according to agreement, in the afternoon captain chase took command of her, and at night the two vessels, after cheering each other heartily, parted company, the brig, hauling close upon a wind to cruise after more prize-money, and the ship steering with a fair breeze, for home sweet home. 42 emily elwood. chapter vii. with your permission, kind reader, we will now return to the village of m, for the purpose of looking after our heroine, and the honorable mr. worthington. by a singular coincidence, it happened that on the very same night wherein albert set sail for home, that mrs. elwood, having entered her daughter's chamber, (where she was seated, apparently in deep thought,) thus addressed her: 'emily, my dear, our honorable guest is becoming very impatient for your answer to his very advantageous proposals. have you made up your mind?' 'yes, mother,' replied emily, looking fixedly at her, 'i have.' 'and what is the result?' 'i have concluded, that as long as albert arlington lives, or till i am well assured of his death, that i will never wed with mortal man, not if he should possess all the wealth of the indies.' 'emily,' replied mrs. elwood, seating herself at the same time by her daughter's side, 'let us reason together upon this matter. you know that the small legacy left me by my father, is now nearly all spent, you know also that i am not now able to keep school, as i did formerly, or hardly to work in any way, therefore if you refuse the splendid offer now before you, why we shall have to go to the almshouse and become paupers, that's all.' 'no, dear mother, never,' replied emily. 'i will work my fingers to the very boue, before we shall come to be so low as that. you know that i am as capable of keeping school, or nearly so, as you used to be, and i will immediately set to work and see how many scholars i can get.' emily elwood. 43 'o that is all nonsense, emily, for you to talk in that way,' answered mrs. elwood. 'you know that if you could get all the pay scholars in the village, you could not keep school whilst mr. worthington chooses to remain here. he loves you, emily, he adores you, and i am sure, that in everything belonging to a gentleman, he is far superior to albert arlington.' 'that is your opinion, mother,' answered emily, (somewhat nettled at what she considered to be an invidious comparison,) but luckily it is not mine. if fine clothes, and splendid jewelry, and an extremely fashionable exterior, are all a man requires to make him a gentleman, why then i grant mr. worthington to be one. but i am foolish enough to think that a man to be a real gentleman, should possess those noble and generous qualities of mind that would lead him, in all situations, and under all circumstances, to do right.' and does not mr. worthington possess these high qualities?' interrupted mrs. elwood. 'in my estimation, he does not,' replied emily. 'well, i see it is of no use talking,' answered mrs. elwood, who was fast getting into a passion, you are determined to be contrary and stubborn, but mark my words, miss, you shall never with my consent wed albert arlington.' 'i shall never without your consent, then,' responded emily, significantly. but i have deliberately and firmly rosolved, that to none other but he, shall my hand be given.' 'but in case of his death,' gently insinuated mrs. elwood. 'in that case,' replied emily, as a sickly smile overspread her pale features, ' my hand would not be worth much to any one.' 'oi have heard girls talk in that sentimental strain before,' answered mrs. elwood, but there is more romance than reality in such feelings, you would soon forget him.' 'forget, mother,' exclaimed emily, have you forgotten your husband and your father?' 'i spoke, not of husbands or fathers,' responded her mother, somewhat staggered at this home question, i spoke of lovers.' c to this emily replied not, and both mother and daughter remained for some moments in a state of silent embarrassment, each feeling conscious that they had perhaps trespassed a little too far upon the feelings of the other. at last mrs. elwood after taking emily's hand, and caressing her in a very affectionate manner, again spoke thus: 44 emily elwood. 'dear emily, i am your mother, and your interest snd future happiness in life being dearer to me than my own, i would now for the last time, earnestly request, and affectionately entreat of you to reconsider the decision you have expressed to me, in regard to our honorable guest. will you not promise my dear, so to do?' 'i cannot, dear mother,' replied emily, bursting into tears. i will promise this,• but if albert arlington should not return, and if for one year i should receive no tidings from him, then will i accede to your wishes.' 'thank you my dear,' said her mother, 'for even this condescension.' she then kissed her daughter, bade her good night, and descended to the parlor, where she found mr. worthington, impatiently waiting to hear the result of her conversation with emily. after she had gone, she thus soliloquised: 'now i hope that i may be allowed to enjoy in solitude, my own sad thoughts, at least, until albert returns. o albert, in the promise i have just given, i have not proved untrue to you, for i feel in my poor heart, the sure but sweet certainty, that ere the year of probation has expired, i shall be with you, in that blessed place, 'where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.' but i feel faint and sick at heart, perhaps a walk in the fresh air will relieve me.' so saying, she dressed herself in her walking habiliments, and leaving the house, repaired immediately to the sandy beach, there to enjoy the sad luxury of her melancholy meditations. meantime, the following interesting conversation took place in the parlor, between mrs. elwood, and the honorable mr. worthington: 'well,' said the latter, after a moments pause, 'have you succeeded in obtaining a definite answer to my proposals?' 6 'partially, sir,' answered mrs. elwood, that is, emily has promised to be yours, either in case of arlington's death, or if she should not hear from him for the space of a year. but, as i suppose, you will not wish to wait so long as that, i have hit upon a plan whereby i think emily can be brought to believe in artington's death.' 'ha,' exclaimed mr. worthington, what is it?' " 'it is this, all we have to do, is to get one of the sailors, who arrived here the other day in the prize vessel, sent home by captain townley, with whom albert sailed, to relate a circumstantial account of arlington's death, in the presence of emily.' good,' exclaimed mr. worthington, starting up, 'give me woemily elwood. 45 man's art before anything. i know a fit object for our plot, and i will go immediately to the tavern in quest of him. but supposing emily does not believe him?' ( "tis very easy,' replied the scheming and ambitious mother, to write a notice, and carry it to some one of the newspapers of the neighboring city, and then all you have to do is to place the paper containing it, accidentally in emily's way, and the business is done.' 'excellent,' again replied the honorable mr. worthington, who taking up his hat, immediately departed to the village inn. our heroine had proceeded but a short distance on her way to the beach, when, upon hearing her name pronounced, she turned and discovered the hermit walking swiftly towards her. 'i am glad, my dear emily, that i have been so fortunate as to meet you, although i have sad news to tell you concerning our poor jane.' 'what can it be,' asked emily, with great eagerness. 'you probably recollect,' replied the hermit, that the last time you visited me at my habitation, jane was not there. i thought, as i then said, that she would soon return, but she did not, and as the dark shades of night crept gradually over the earth, i began to feel very anxious about her. morning succeeded night, still the wanderer had not returned, and i resolved to seek her. i searched the woods for days together in every direction, but all to no avail; and i finally gave up the pursuit in despair. 'a few days ago she again appeared at my hut, exhausted and weary; but since that time she has been very sick. she is now under the care of mrs. martin, and is at her house, whether i am now going to see her.' 'and i will go with you,' replied emily, 'if you are willing?' 'certainly,' answered the old man, 'and you cannot very well help going, for here we are at the door.' the hermit and his companion then entered, without the ceremony of knocking the street door of mrs. martin's house, and proceeded with noiseless steps to the chamber of the sufferer, where they found mrs. martin sitting by her bedside. 'how is she?' asked the hermit, speaking in a low whisper. 'o she has been very poorly, sir, this afternoon,' replied her kind nurse. at this instant the poor sick girl awoke from her troubled sleep, and exclaimed, 46 emily elwood. 'where is henry? where is my brother? are they not here? o my poor head: i have been dreaming and i have talked with angels, and they told me i should soon see henry. o my poor weak heart.' she then remained silent for a few moments, and the nurse said, 'my dear how do you feel now?' 'o very weak,' replied the sufferer, and then rivetting the wild gaze of her eye upon mrs. martin, she exclaimed, 'do you think i shall see henry before i die?' 'i hope so,' answered the nurse, and then jane sank away again. into her former state of restless slumber. 'it is getting late, and i must now depart,' whispered emily to the hermit, but i will come again in the morning, and bring some little things with me, that i think poor jane may need. good night.' 'good night,' said the hermit, and emily departed. at the door she was met by the attending physician, and she inquired of him his opinion as to jane's condition, and concluded by asking if there was any hope of her recovery. 'a very faint one,' replied the physician, who then bidding emily good evening hastened to the sufferer's apartment. emily elwood. 47 chapter viii. the next morning, emily repaired early to the chamber of the invalid who, when she entered was singing, in a low and plaintive, yet sweetly melodious voice, the following words, 'hark! i hear the sea-bird screaming, and i see the lightning's gleamings, hark, i hear the cannon's roar, and now-my brother is no more. 'o yes,' continued the poor maniac sufferer, 'albert is dead and henry is dead, and i alone am left to mourn their loss. and how glad i shall be when i am called to follow them. it is good for the poor, and the weary, and the distressed, to die, and oh, how can they wish to live. but if they ever saw in their dreams what i have seen, they would pray that they soon might be mouldering in the cold church-yard, where they would feel neither huuger, nor thirst, nor cold, nor pain.' she now fell back upon her pillow greatly exhausted, and emily, whispering to mrs. martin how has she been during the night?' with the exception of one or two fits of raving, such as you just now witnessed,' replied the nurse she has been more quiet, and rested better, than for several nights past. the doctor was in just before you came and said that he considered her to be somewhat better, and directed that she should be kept quiet. upon hearing this, emily after leaving with the kind nurse some few luxuries which she had brought for the sufferers benefit, after saying that she would soon call again, took her leave left the house, and wended her way towards the hut of the hermit. 48 emily elwood. she had not got but a short distance, from mrs. martin's house, when she was accosted by a young man of handsome and genteel appearance dressed in a scaman's garb, in the following manner-, 'could you be so good as to tell me miss, where mr albert arlington resides at this present time.' emily stood for a moment confounded, at hearing such a question, in such a place, but quickly recovering herself she answercd-, 'the person to whom you have referonee, sailed from this place some three months ago, in the privateer brig spitfire, captain townley, and as yet nothing since has been heard of him.' "may i be so bold as to ask if you are acquainted with him,' said the stranger. 'i am, intimately,' answered emily blushing deeply. 'and his sister?" asked the stranger, in a tone of striking earnestness. "yes sir.' 'where does she reside,' again demanded the stranger. " 'i will show in one moment sir,' answered emily, but she does she is very sick.' not see any one. 'sick,' repeated the stranger, looking at emily incredulously. 'jane arlington sick?' at this critical juncture, and before emily had time to answer, the hermit approached and speaking to miss elwood, said, 'good morning miss emily, i am very glad that i have met you. i am going to call immediately to see poor jane, and i suppose you would like to accompany me?' " 'i have just left there,' answered emily, with an intention of visiting your habitation. but this gentleman,' continued she looking significantly at the hermit, wishes to see her, and i will now refer him to you for farther information.' 'for heaven's sake, sir,' exclaimed the stranger, 'if you have any regard for a brother's feelings, show me immediately into jane arlington's presence.' 'you are not her brother,' said the hermit. 'no but i am'who!' 'henry milton, jane arlington's affianced lives.' both emily and the hermit were for a moment struck dumb at this strange announcement, but at length the silence was broken by the latter who said" emily elwood. 49 'alas young man, i am fearful that you have come too late. the spirit of that pure maniac girl is, even now about to leave its frail tenement of clay, for the holier, and happier, regions of immortal bliss. but come with me, i suppose you may be allowed to see her, but you must prepare yourself for a sad and melancholy sight.' 'i am prepared,' replied henry, struggling to conceal the emotions which almost overpowered him. 'lead on.' 'do you go with us miss elwood,' inquired the hermit. no i believe not,' replied emily, but i may see you again in the course of the day.' so saying emily turned her steps towards her mother's cottage whilst the hermit and his new companion, took the opposite direction towards the house of mrs. martin. after they had walked for some time in silence the hermit said—, 'you are like one risen from the dead, young man and your appearauce here at this time is very mysterious to say the least of it.' the hermit then related to him what the reader already knows concerning the report of his death, and the consequent grief and insanity of his betrothed, to which henry replied, as follows-, 'my dear sir, truth in many cases is much stranger than fiction. i shall relate to you my story in a few words—, 'the vessel in which i sailed from this place, when off the coast of brazil, was visited by a terrible epidemic, which carried off many of her crew. i was one of the first seized with it, and was placed by my captain (in order i suppose to keep the infection from spreading,) on board of a small schooner, which was bound into a small port upon the coast. i was so far gone, that all hopes were given up of my recovery, and my captain even paid the master of the brazilian ship, to have me buried upon land. (if i lived to arrive there,) in a christian and decent manner. this therefore accounts for the story of my death.' 'but contrary to all human expectation, i lived, and the third day after leaving my vessel, i was landed in a small and obscure brazillian port, situated upon the banks of a large river. here i soon recovered my hhalth, but unfortunately the place was such a distance from any large port, wherein i could be able to find any chance for a passage home, that i was under the necessity of making it my home for more than a year. but at last to my great joy, an american schooner, which happened to be upon a trading voyage up and 50 emily elwood. down the river, stopped at the place of my residence for fresh provisions, and in her i obtained a passage to rio de janeiro, from whence, after a few weeks delay, i found an opportunity to sail for home, and day before yesterday i safely arrived at boston, and from thence, as you see i have made the best of my way to this place where i have spent many happy and joyous hours.' they had by this time, arrived at the abode of jane, and having entered the house the hermit said, "you had better remain in the parlor, mr. milton, until i see how jane is, and in the meantime prepare yourself for the worst." so saying, the hermit, proceeded immediately to the chamber of the sufferer, and speaking to mrs. martin, he said-, 'how is she.' 'better, she sleeps.' 'how think you that she will bear the news,' continued the hermit in a low whisper, her lover henry milton is below alive and well.' 'henry milton, exclaimed the maniac girl starting wildly up, henry milton, alive where is he? let me see him i am not sick, 1 am strong and well, i know he is here, and i must and i will see him. in the wild strength of her delirium, she was about to spring from the bed, and it required the combined force, of the hermit and mrs. martin, to keep her down, but at last they succeeded, and at that instant, the door of the chamber opened, and the dying girl was clasped in the arms of her long lost lover. 1 1 emily elwood. 51 chapter ix. three days after the events related in the preceding chapter, emily, as she reterned from her customary morning's walk, picked up as usual, the newspaper, which had been left lying upon the door-step, and carried it to her chamber to peruse it. as she turned as usual to the ship news, her horror and surprise at reading the following words, may be better imagined than described. 'spoken-on 19th may, lat. —, lon. —, the american privateer brig spitfire, captain john townley, who had the day before captured and sent home as a prize, british brig hannah, with a cargo of sugar, bound from the west indies, to bristol, eng. we regret to state that a gallant young fellow, one of the crew named albert arlington, a day or two previous to the capture, fell from the mast-head and was drowned.' the paper containing this sad intelligence dropped from the poor girl's hand, as she finished reading, and she stood for some time, the very picture of despair, erect and stiff, though pale motionless and tearless. after she had stood for some moments as if she had suddenly been petrified into a statue of marble, her pent up feelings found utterance in the following words: 'albert dead, gone. do i dream? oh no, it is a sad and terrible reality. but it will be only for a few short months, dear albert, and i shall join you in heaven.' 'what makes you look so deadly pale, my daughter,' exclaimed mrs elwood, who at that moment entered emily's apartment, ‘any news of albert ?' 52 emily elwood. 'look at this,' answered the horror-struck girl, handing the paper wildly to her mother. albert is dead!' " 'dead!' exclaimed mrs. elwood, apparently in great astonishment, 'how so? perhaps there is some mistake, and it may not be true. but come, my dear, breakfast is now ready in the parlor, and we are only waiting your appearance.' lead the way mother,' annswered emily calmly, 'i am now prepared to obey you in every particular.' they then descended to the parlor where they found the honorable mr. worthington busily engaged in sipping his chocolate, who, upon looking up as they entered spoke as follows-, 'good morning mise elwood, your fair countanance looks unusually pale this morning. what dreadful accident has occured thus to alter your general appearance.' 6 'the unexpected news of the death of a near friend,' answered mrs. elwood is the sad cause of my daughter's disordered appearance.' 'look at this.' so saying she pointed out to mr. worthington the paragraph in the paper wherein was chronicled the death of albert arlington. after perusing and reperusing it, mr. worthington again looked up and addressing emily, said— 'although the delicacy of my situation in regard to you miss elwood, still i can, and hope i may be allowed deeply to sympathize with you in your present bereavement. but then there may be some mistake, andand, at this instant some one knocked loudly at the street door, and mrs. elwood proceeded to open it, when a large coarse looking man in the garb of a seaman presented himself and asked—, 'if the honorable mr. worthingon resided there.' 'he does,' replied mrs. elwood, 'do you wish to see nim ?" 'i do.' 'walk in,' and immediately the stranger entered the parlor, and was greeted by a warm shake of the hand from mr. worthington who said-, 'why john, my old footman, how came you here.' 'just the fortune of war, your honor,' replied john, 'i happened to have the bad luck, to be on board the hannah, when she was captured, and so you see i was sent home in her, as a prisoner of war.' 'but how comes it you are not aboard of the prison ship.' emily elwood. 53 'why i happened to have considerable money about me, and so i got released upon parole, and having accidentally caught sight of you in the street yesterday i found out the place of your abode, and thought that by calling upon you i might perhaps, as i always served you faithfully, i might find a friend.' เ glad you have come,' answered mr. worthington, but was you taked on board the privateer.' 'i was may it please your honor.' 'how did you like her crew' 'why i was not there long, please your honor, and i heard but very little except that they had lost one of their number from the masthead a day or two before.' 'ha,' exclaimed mr. worthington 'did you learn his name?" 'yes sir.' 'who?' 'albert arlington,' replied the man with great apparent unconcern. upon hearing this strong corroborration of the report of albert's death, emily swooned, and when she recovered her consciousness she found herself reclining upon the bed in her own apartment, and her mother standing over her with a countenance on which was portrayed, the most deep and anxious solicitude. 'my dear,' said mrs. elwood, upon finding that her daughter had in a measure recovered, you have received a heavy blow, but it is your duty to submit to the chastening hand which dealt it with holy and pious resignation.' 'now i suppose,' continued she, after a moment's pause, dur ing which emily began to sob convulsively, ' that after a decent delay, you will be willing to accede to my wishes in regard to mr. worthington.' mother,'replied the grief stricken girl,mournfully,al i ask is a delay of two short months and then you may bestow my hand upon whom you please.' 'thank you my dear,' exclaimed mrs. elwood hardly able to repress the gratification which she felt at the successful issue of her plot, but we will not talk, so lie down and compose yourself.' emily did as her mother desired, and she left the apartment, and descending to the parlor congratulated mr, worthington, upon the probable success of his wishes in regard to her daughter. 54 emily elwood chapter x. conclusion. we will now return to the sick chamber of jane arlington. at the sight of henry, and upon feeling the magic touch of his dear hand, her delirium was over, her consciousness and reason had again returned. 6 o blessed be god !' exclaimed she, as henry stepped forward, and embraced her, the prayer that i have uttered time after time, in the dark woods, when my poor shattered brains were swimming ronnd in wild delirium, is now answered, and i depart in peace.' as she said these words, her eager and strong hold upon henry's hand became suddenly loosed, and she fell heavily back upon her pillow.' good god!' exclaimed henry,' she is dead!' at this instant the physician entered and stepping up to the bed, and taking his patient's hand, he took out his watch, and holding it in his hand, he tried to catch some faint beating of jane's pulse with the other. a few moments of terrible suspense, and relinquishing his hold upon his patient's hand, he said, she lives, but her life hangs upon a thread, and depends entirely upon her being kept quiet. mr. milton,' added he, turning to henry, 'you had better not see jane until she is better. after having given the necessary directions to the nurse, and say ing that he would call again in the course of the day, the physician left the house in company with henry and the hermit. emily elwood. 55 after they had got into the street, henry addressing the doctor, asked, if he thought jane would recover? to this the physician answered after a moment's silence, that he thought since she had lived through the shock of henry's sudden and unexpected appearance, if his directions were obeyed, and her case was judicially managed, she might possibly get well, although he could not speak with certainty until he saw her again. so saying he left them, and henry having received, and gladly accepted the invitation of the hermit to share with him his rude abode, they both proceeded to the hermit's hut. in the evening, mr. harlowe again visited jane, and returned to henry with the gratifying intelligence, that after having enjoyed a sweet and refreshing slumber, she had awoke much better, and after this so rapid was her recovery, henry was made happy by being allowed to be as much as possible in her company. and now we will return to emily. six weeks, long and dreary weeks to her, had passed away, and no tidings had been heard of the privateer brig and her crew, and the last faint ray of hope became gradually extinguished in emily's bosom. she had visited the hermit and told him her troubles, but he found it utterly impossible to console her. but what grieved him more than anything else was, to see the dreadful alteration wrought in her appearance during those six short weeks. during that time, the hue of the rose had left her fair cheek, and it bore the hue of the whitest marble. her form also had become emaciated, and to speak in one word, she was changed, utterly and sadly changed. but the time was now drawing near, when she had agreed to fulfil her promise to her mother, towards mr. worthington, and she appeared not to shrink from the dread task, but to her mother's many importunities for her to receive her destined husband before the day of the appointed ceremony. she answered, 'no, mother, that sacrifice will be enough.' and now it was the evening before her bridal, and emily elwood might have been seen sitting on the same stone, upon the same beach where we found her at the opening of our story, looking fixed56 emily elwood ly upon the distant horizon of the sea, and as she gazed, a small white object seemed to flit before her eyes, and she said, 'ha, that is a sail. o! would to god it were albert, but no, oh no, that cannot be, and then the poor broken hearted girl started up from the cold damp rock, and wended her way slowly and sadly to her mother's cottage. the same night, or rather the next morning the hermit was greatly surprised at a loud knocking at the door of his hut, and upon rising from his couch, and demanding who was there, the answer he received was, 'albert arlington.' . do my ears deceive me,' exclaimed the hermit or have i been dreaming? but to be certain,' continued he, 'i will rise and open the door.' he did so, but upon seeing the intruder, he started back, and surveyed albert from head to foot, apparently struck dumb with astonishment and surprise. 'you need not be afraid of me, my kind friend,' said albert, as he entered, 'i am no ghost.' ( 'no i see you are not, now,' replied the hermit, but how came you here?' 'i have come', answered albert, 'in capacity of first officer of the honorable east india company's ship resistance, captain chase, and prize to the american privateer brig spitfire, captain townley about an hour ago, we anchored in the harbor, and immediately obtained liberty to come on shore, and the inhabitants of the town being all retired, as i suppose, to their beds, i thought that the best way i could do was to visit you but how is emily?' 'sit down and i will tell you,' replied the old man. the old man then recapitulated to his eager listener all the circumstances connected with the story of his death, and how that emily, after the last hope of ever seeing him on earth had fled away, had consented to yield to her mother's ceaseless importunities, and to marry mr. worthington. 'and when is the wedding to take place?' tremblingly asked albert. 'to-morrow.' 'how lucky it is that i have come,' replied albert, 'the villain, for the sake of a few thousand dollars, to coolly destroy the peace and happiness of one of the best creatures upon earth. but come my emily elwood. 57 dear friend,' he continued, speaking to the hermit, 'let us proceed immediately to mrs. elwood's house.' " 'o don't be in a hurry,' answered the old man, there's plenty of time yet, but i suppose you are somewhat impatient, so we will even go along.' having thus spoken they both left the hut, and as they walked swiftly along through the green woods, the hermit related to his companion the particulars concerning jane's illness, and her lover's happy return. 'she is better now, then? exclaimed albert. 'o yes, she is now quite recovered,' answered the hermit,' and nothing is wanted to complete her happiness except your presence, and emily's freedom from that haughty englishman.' just as our two friends emerged from the woods into the main street of the village the bright and glorious sun had just risen and everything around began to feel its warm and gentle influence. " "this is about the time that emily generally takes her morning walk,' said the hermit, and as i live there she is now, and her intended husband along with her.' and there she was sure enough, and sure enough there was the honorable mr. augustus worthington too, who had insisted upon accompanying her in her morning walk. to run with all speed towards them, to knock the honorable mr. worthington down, and clasp emily in his arms was but the work of a moment, and as he did so he exclaimed, 'o my emily, the happiness of this moment would atone for a life of misery, and now you must in truth consent to be the privateersman's bride.' 'albert, dear albert,' replied emily, 'i am yours now and forever,' and immediately swooned in her lover's arms. the remainder of our story must be condensed in a few words. about one month after the events related above, albert arlington and emily elwood, and henry milton and jane arlington, accompanied by a goodly array of bridesmaids and groomsmen, amongst the latter of whom was our friend the hermit, entered the village church, and soon jane arlington became mrs. milton, and at the same time emily elwood became in reality the privateersman's bride. the honorable mr. worthington apparently not relishing the man58 emily elwood. ner of albert's treatment to him, suddenly decamped for england, thereby driving away from the eyes of mrs. elwood, all the ambitious schemes of a splendid fortune, and coach and six for her daughter, and she had after some time been brought by the powerful arguments of the hermit to yield a reluctant consent to her daughter's marriage with emily, who notwithstanding lived a long and happy life with her noble husband, who afterwards became a captain in the american navy, with henry milton as his first lieutenant. and now gentle reader, wishing them and their children and the hermit who resided with them, all happiness here and hereafter, we will affectionately bid you good bye. the end. 7 je3'18 2-31700 university of chicago 098 322 608 247 andover-harvard library ah 5gbv 4 justus falckner harvard depository brittle book retain book copy devout pietist in germany hermit on the wissamickon missionary on the hudson la sachse hieronymus. andover harvard theological library compliments of julius f. sachse, 4428 pine street. philadelphia. hieronymus erharvard eological library thos. v. f. 01 lutique 93844 } 1 • 1 falckner. 4 ! justus falckner dystic and scholar devout pietist in germany hermit on the wissahickon missionary on the hudson a bi-centennial memorial of the first regular ordination of an orthodox pastor in america, done november 24, 1703, at gloria dei, the swedish lutheran church at wicaco, philadelphia compiled from original documents, letters and records at home and abroad by julius friedrich sachse, litt. d. member american philosophical society-historical society of pennsylvania-pennsylvania-german society-american historical association-xiii international congress of orientalists, etc., etc. philadelphia: printed for the author mdcccciii of this letter press edition five hundred copies have been printed no. february, 1903. 2-2. copyright 1903 by julius f. sachse. all rights reserved. press of the new era printing company lancaster, pa. 943 luth,85 f179 s252 ju το muhlenberg college, the institution bearing the name and perpetuating the faith of benry melchior mublenberg the patriarch of the evangelical lutheran church in america, who cherished, revived and propogated the seed cast into the virgin soil of pennsylvania and new york by dominie justus falckner who was the first lutheran minister ordained in north america this memorial is respectfully dedicated iii soll dea gloria t 1 பி song de prologue. d f all the interesting characters, prominent in the early history of the settlement of pennsylvania, none are more so than the company of german pietists, mystics and theosophists, who, in the year 1694 settled on the shores of the romantic wissahickon, a tributary to the schuylkill, and now within the corporate bounds of the city of philadelphia. the stories of magister kelpius, johan selig, daniel falckner, the heroic köster, and their associates have served as a theme for many writers. the subject has been exhaustively treated by rev. t. e. schmauk, d.d., in his new "history of the lutheran church in pennsylvania" as well as by the present writer in his "german pietists." no incident, however, in the life or history of this mystic community surpasses the story of justus falckner, the younger brother of daniel falckner. how he came here with his brother upon his return to america, and at first withdrew from the world and lived as a recluse or hermit in a sheltered dell on the wissahickon, passing his time in (1) p prologue. prayer, study and silent contemplation. thence urged by the appeals of the hollandish lutherans in the valley of the hudson who were in dire straits, and the persuasion of the swedish pastors on the delaware, finally consented to be ordained by them to the ministry, according to the swedish lutheran ritual, in the venerable landmark on the delaware, "gloria dei," after which he at once assumed charge of the scattered lutherans in the adjoining colonies, and remained a faithful shepherd amongst them until called to join the church triumphant. 2 the present year marks the two hundredth anniversary of this ordination, and it is but meet and right that some special notice be taken of this episode, and that the story of this noble missionary should be more widely known how he labored for twenty years in his extended field, reaching from manhattan to.albany, and east new jersey to long island, until at last he succumbed a martyr to his zeal and duty. upon this account the writer presents this sketch as a bi-centennial memorial to that devout pioneer. the foundation of this story is my chapter on justus falckner in the "german pietists." much new and additional material of greatest importance, however, is presented in the present publication material gathered at home and abroad at a great cost of time and labor. the finding of the letters from the swedish pastors and the diploma of ordination signed at the old swedish church, november 24, 1703, now published for the first time, however, amply repaid the writer for his outlay. this memorial is issued in the hope that the history of this devout pioneer may be further investigated and studied, and that the name of domine justus falckner, the german pietist of the halle school, hermit and theosprologue. 3 ophist on the wissahickon, and devout pastor and missionary in new york, may be enrolled in its propèr place in the historic annals of our state and country. " acknowledgments are due to the college van ouderlingen der evang. luthersche gemeente te amsterdam, specially to pastor van wijk, jr., captain a. f. p. cartens and herr g. d. martens of that corporation, also to rev. j. h. sieker, pastor of st. matthew's ev. lutheran church in new york, who is direct successor in office to the subject of our sketch, to rev. henry eyster jacobs, d.d., for assistance in the latin translations, to the right reverend archbishop of sweden, at upsala, for the verification of the diploma of ordination, to the officials of the historical society of pennsylvania for courtesies extended to the writer, and to william c. lane, esq., librarian of harvard university, for title page of zenger pamphlet and swedish pastoral. prologue chapter i. justus falckner. genealogy armsearliest record-halle university thomasius and francke-student at halle -composes hymns, "rise ye children of salvation," "if our all on him we venture." candidat theologia leaves halle, journeys to dutchy of schleswig-dominie mühlen contents. ---chapter ii. daniel falckner. returns to europe aug. her. francke, leader of german pietists on wissahickon. falckner's report -german pietists in pennsylvania and virginia. philadelphian society. reception at halle-citizen and pilgrim in pennsylvania-answers questions abstracts publishedpolitical nature of visit-reports to benj. furley. frankfort company appoint him to supersede pastorius — at rotterdam-lubeck return to america ――― • · chapter iii. on the wissahickon. arrival of daniel and justus falckner bailiff and burgess justus retires to hermit's cabin sends missive to dom: muhlen. in scheswig. returns to active life, attorney for penn and furley — before land commissioners spleen of pastorius purity of character —> ――― chapter iv. falckner's missive from germantown. — condition of the church in america as a hermit-indians innumerable sectsquakers-evani-3 13-23 24-31 32-37 (5) 6 contents. ――――― gelic, lutheran and reformed churches swedes and their church germans attend swedish churchpastor rudman delivers german address "saturnine stingy quaker spirit"— appeal for an organ for gloria dei-quotes luther asks for intercession with sweden's king. colophon ――― ― ―――― chapter v. causes leading to the ordination at wicacoa. justus falckner's interest in swedish church dom. rudman called to new york, assumes lutheran charges. taken sick with yellow fever returns to philadelphia-sends call to justus falckner rudman and biörck remove falckner's scruplesinteresting correspondence call extended from new york, biörck's missive-acceptance of the call chapter vi. ―――― • • the ordination at gloria dei. a venerable landmark solemn occasion historic importance, november 24, 1703 procession — candidate invocationrudman as vice bishopquestions and answers, apostolic succession signing of the ordination diploma ―― • chapter vii. dominie falckner in new york. arrives in new york-accepts the chargereports to amsterdam sends copy of ordination diploma, finding of this document, fascimile an important historic document-latin invocation in church book, troublesome times his extended charges calls church meeting appeals for financial help description of church first report to amsterdam needs of the congregation. chapter viii. copy of the report to the amsterdam consistory. 38-48 ――――― 49-59 60-71 72-80 81-84 1 h chapter ix. a rare bradford imprint. lutheran vs. calvinist, a rare book justus falckner's fundamental instructions compendium doctrinæ anti-calvinianum facsimile of first original lutheran hymn printed in america falckner's extended charges, new york to albany, new jersey to long island kocherthal biorck's account of justus falckner's ministrations. chapter x. ― dominie falcker's church records. records of old trinity church how rescued commenced by dom. rudman, table of contents facsimile baptismal register invocations -communicants indian baptism exorcism of satanbaptism of negro slave rev. john sharpe dom. falckner's marriage, facsimile of entry-letter of thanks to amsterdam, last entry and death of dominie justus falckner widow and children his character documentary evidence contents. ―― ―――――――― dom. falckner's experience with van dieren, hesselius' advice to falckner-berkenmeyer's pamphlet title falckner admonishes his people against van dieren sybrand's offer johann michael schütz contradictory missivevan dieren's attempts to preach, ejected from pulpit-description of church account of services trials of the pastor tailor and preacher-van dieren and his actions, alleged ordination by pastor gerard henckel-opposition of swedish pastors. · chapter xi. the van dieren controversy. · 7 85-94 95-115 116-131 chapter xii. pastoral to the hackensack congregation. 132-138 1 1 i falckner arms tutors of justus falckner magister kelpius. typical hermit's cabin. falckner swamp lutheran church gloria dei (old swedes) wicacoa, exterior 66 66 66 66 interior, organ loft tomb of dom. rudman interior, chancel ancient swedish carvings 66 66 66 66 66 64 66 66 66 ་་ 66 dominie eric tobias biörck new york, street scene in 1704 66 66 66 66 66 old dutch stadt huys . trinity lutheran church, 1729 certificate of ordination old lutheran church at amsterdam swedish churches on the delaware, cranehook church of 1638 christina penn's neck. racoon. 66 66 66 list of plates. 66 66 66 66 the valley of schoharie... 66 66 • • frontispiece facing page 16 66 66 24 66 66 66 66 66 66 66 66 66 ::: 66 66 66 66 66 66 "l 66 66 66 66 66 66 66 39 66 66 66 66 66 66 66 32 36 44 48 52 60 64 56 72 96 79 74-75 82 106 112 120 136 128 (9) falckner. halle lubeck william penn rostock. pastorius schleswig amsterdam printer's guild new york (1686). new york colony holland. sweden • • arms. • sprogel, john h.. falckner, justus falckner, daniel autographs. • • • biörck, rev. e. t. gerhartt, henkell • furly, benjamin . kelpius, johannes falckner, justus and daniel. rudman, and.. • illustrations. . title pages and facsimiles. hymn, "auf ihr christen " weyrauch's hugel. curieuse nachricht, 1702 · page. . · . continuatio, 1704 missive to muhlen. colophon to missive. rudman's entry in churchbook. • rudman's letter to falckner. 13 rudman's reply to falckner. 14 biörck to falckner. 23 notice to amsterdam. 24 certificate of ordination 33 falckner's first entry. 36 falckner's official signature. 38 grondlycke onderricht, title original hymn . . 81 84 quassaik church 92 dissertatio gradualis, title falckner's entry. 115 131 baptismal record 132 section of map, 1704 . section of map, 1740 communicant record 14 new york paper money 14 marriage entry 25 getrouwe wachter stem 30 30 35 headpiece, history 50 57 134 · 19 20 28 halle student halle university. halle lecture room rostock, view of. headpiece, literature halle, view of . . falckner colophon headpiece, mysticism minuet's monument 29 headpiece, dawn. . 40 gloria dei, a. d. 1800 47 headpiece, x. p.. 51 seal of solomon. • · • · • embellishments. • • page. 53 · 56 58 73 74-75 76 77 88 sq 91 93 97 99 · · • 100 ioi 103 105 107 117 13 16 15 17 22 24 26 31 32 37 £ 1 to 5 38 48 49 49 (10) • tailpiece, light and time. headpiece, faith halle symbol portrait, rev. collin headpiece, pilgrims labor and hope seal of new york seal of new york congregation 78 headpiece. · · • gloria dei, a. d. 1700 headpiece, dutch headpiece, labor ⋅ illustrations. . page. • • 59 falckner seal 60 headpiece, manuscript 60 ephrata pilgrim 71 albany seal. 72 portrait wm. vesey 72 headpiece, controversy 77 vignette • so book plate london society 81 tailpiece, finis. 85 excrestor · ii page. 94 95 95 102 108 116 116 • 132 135 138 1 f ܫܐ the falckner arms from seal of justus falckner. f ustus falckner, born november 22, 1672, was the fourth son of rev. daniel falckner, the lutheran pastor at langen-reinsdorf (formerly known as langen-rhensdorf and langeramsdorf), near crimmitschau, parish of zwickau, situated in that part of saxony formerly known as the markgravate of meissen, and was a scion his ancestors on both sides of an old lutheran family. had been ordained lutheran ministers. بع his grandfather, christian falckner (d. november 5, 1658), as well as his son daniel falckner (d. april 7, 1764) father of the subject of our sketch, were both pastors of langen-reinsdorf. the latter left four children, viz: paul christian, born february 2, 1662; daniel, born november 25, 1666; a third child of whom the writer has found no record, and justus, the subject of our sketch.¹ 1 for the history of daniel falckner-vide dr. schmauk's "lutheran church in pennsylvania, 1638-1800," and sachse's "german pietists, 1694-1708." (13) 14 dominie justus falckner. all the sons were educated with the same object in view, and were eventually ordained to the holy ministry. he was the younger brother of daniel falckner, a leader among the german pietists, who came to america in john henry sprogell. 1694 with kelpius and köster, and accompanied him upon his return to pennsylvania in the year 1700, and together with johann jauert, arnold storch, johann heinrich and ludovic christian sprögel, and others, reinforced the community of german pietists who had established themselves on the romantic banks of the wissahickon a short distance from germantown. the earliest official record of justus falckner known to the present writer, excepting the entry of his birth, is that recorded in the oldest register of the venerable university at halle a. s. germany, which bears the following title and date, viz: 66 arms of halle. talogus derer studiosorum, so auf hiesiger friedrichs, universität, immatriculiret worden. nach ordnung des alphabet's eingerichtet. de anno mdcxciii." the first entry upon the sixth page reads: "falckner, justy, langeramsdorf, miss." "p. r. thomasius, 1693, 20 jan." ་་ justus falckner student at halle. 15 2 the above entry shows that justus falckner was one of the students at leipzig who followed thomasius to halle after the latter's expulsion from that city. die alte waage am markt the university at halle, a.d. 1698. just how long the student remained at the university at halle is not known to the writer. there is ample evi2 thomasius was one of the most distinguished german philosophers of his time; born at leipsic'in 1665, he studied at frankfort on the oder, and returning to leipsic in 1679 delivered philosophical lectures there. his freedom of thinking, however, raised him many enemies, and he was finally obliged to leave the country. he went to halle in 1690, where he took an active interest in establishing the university, and three years later became a professor and afterwards, head of the university. thomasius was the first in germany to exert his influence to procure the abolition of torture, of trials for witchcraft, and of restraints upon freedom of thought. it was under the tutelage of this great man that justus falckner studied and graduated. 16 dominie justus falckner. dence, however, during his sojourn there that he was in close touch with the celebrated german pietist, august herman francke, under whom he studied the oriental academicus hallensis. a student at the halle university, 1698-1700. languages at the university, and who was then one of the recognized religious leaders in europe. august herman francke, german pietist, theologian and philanthropist, was born at lübeck, march 23, 1663. embracing the pietistical teachings of spener, he began to lecture on the practical interpretation of 4 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. christian thomasius. august herman francke. tutors of justus falckner while a student of halle. 17 within the aula. 242 bristian 9dimen 12 turinn. a h home herrera the aula of the old university, 1698, from an old copperplate. 18 dominie justus falckner. the devout and spiritual trend of mind of the young theological student is best shown by several of his hymns, incorporated at the time by francke in his revised hymnbook: "geistreiches gesang buch" halle 1697. the most noted of these hymns is the one commencing with the line: auf ihr christen, christi glieder." this is found on page 430 of the original edition. this hymn is a stirring, vigorous composition of eleven stanzas of six lines each. it was set to the melody "meine hoffnung stehet veste," and was well calculated to raise the religious fervor of the worshippers. upon a manuscript copy of this hymn, falckner notes two references to the scriptures as his theme, or the foundation of its composition, viz. : 66 66 finally my brethren, be strong in the lord, and in the power of his might" (eph. vi. 10). "for whatsoever is born of god, overcometh the world, and is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith" (1 john v. · 4). originally the hymn was designated, "an encouragement to conflict in the christian warfare," it was retained by freylinghausen in the make-up of his gesang buch of 1704, but in subsequent editions it was relegated to the the bible, and met with so much success that he was attacked on all sides, and the celebrated thomasius, then residing at leipsic, undertook his defence. successively driven from leipsic and erfurth, he went to halle as professor of the new university, at first, of the oriental languages, and afterwards of theology. francke was personally interested in the band of german pietists who settled on the wissahickon under kelpius, 1694-1708. the old trappe church in pennsylvania was named in his honor, “die augustus kirche,” by rev. henry melchior mühlenberg, who was sent to these shores in 1742 by the son, rev. gotthilf august francke. as an hymnist. bet, fleisches ruth und sicher beit, und den sünden sich ergie bet, der hat wenig luft zum streit; den die nacht, catans macht, bat ihn in den schiaf gebracht. 395. mel. meine hoff nung stehet ic. ut, the christen, christi glieder! die ihr noch hangt an dem haupt; auf! 7. aber wen die weisheitleh wacht auf!ermannt euch wie ret, was die freyheit fur ein theil, deſſen herk zu gdnfid fehret, seinem allerhöchſie heil, sucht allein ohne schein chrift freyer knecht zu seyn. 8. denn bergnügt auch moht das leben, so der freyheitman: geln muß? wer sich gott nicht gang ergeben, hat nur müh angst und verdruß; der, der friegt recht vergnügt, wer fan leben selbst besiegt. 9. drum auf! laßt uns über: winden in dem blute jesu christ, und an unsre stirne binden sein wort,so ein zeugni ist, das uns deckt und erweckt, und nach gottes liebe schmeckt. 10. unser leben sey verborgen mit christo in gott allein, auf daß wir an jenen morgen mit ihm offenbar auch seyn, da das leid dieser zeit werden wird zu lauter freud. der, eh ihr werdet hingeraubt. satan beut an den streit christo und der christenheit. 2. auf! folgt chrifto, eurem helbe, trauet feinem starcken arm, liegt der satan gleich zu felde mit dem gangen höllen schwarm: find doch der noch vielmehr, die da stets sind uni uns her. 3. nur aufchristi blut geva get mit geber und wachsam: keit, dieses machet unverjaget, und recht tapfre krieges-leut; christi blut gibt uns muth wieber alle teufels-brut. 4. chrifti heerescreuses-fahne, so da weiß und roth ge prengt,ist schon auf dem sieges plane uns zum trosie ausge: bangt; wer hier kriegt, nie er liegt, sondern unterm creuge fiegt. 5. diefen sieg hat auch em. pfunden vieler heilgen starcker muth, da sie haben überwunde frölich durch des lames blut. bolten wir dann alhier auch nicht streiten mit begier. 6. wer die selaverey hur lie facsimile of hymn in the zionitischer weyrauchs hügel. 11. da gott seinen treuen knechten geben wird den einas den-lohn, und die hütten der gerechten stimmen an den sie ges-thon; da fürwahr gob tes schaar ihn wird leben immerdar. 19 20 dominie justus falckner. anhang or appendix. thus in the edition of 1731 it became hymn no. 634, p. 769. from the very outset the hymn came into extended use in both europe and america. it became a favorite hymn with the so-called separatists, or dissenters from the orthodox church, and was incorporated into their hymnbooks; a prominent instance being the davidsche psalter spiel der kinder zions, berlenburg, 1718. this was the zionitischer heyrauchs bügel myrrhen berg, worinnen allerley liebliches und wohl riechens des nach apotheker kunst zu berelictes nauch werd zu finden. bestehend oder: in allerley liebes-würckungen der in gotl geheiligten seelen, welche sich in vieler und mancherley geißlichen und lieblichen liedern aus gebildet. als darinnen der legte ruff zu dem abendmahl des groß fen gottes auf unterschiedliche weise trefflich aus gedrucketuk; zum dienst der in dem abend ländiſchen welt, theil als bey dem untergang der sonnen erweckten kirche gottes, und zu ihrer ermunterung auf die mitternachtige zukunfft des bräutigams ans licht gegeben. ec 0350 03e043eo obeo beques, germaniors. gedruckt bey chriſtoph sauer. title page of first book printed with german type in america. first distinct hymnal published for the use of the separatists. in america it was incorporated in the celebrated zionitischer weyrauchs hügel, of the ephrata community (sauer, 1738, hymn 395, page 444); also in der kleine davidische psalterspiel der kinder zions (sauer, hymn 38, page 41), and a number of other early american hymnbooks. it is also to be found in the manuscript hymnal of the zionitic brotherhood, which is known as the paraas an hymnist. diesische nachts tropffen, 1734 (hymn 11, p. 6).* this hymn, after a lapse of two centuries, is still used by nearly all the protestant denominations in germany, and is retained in their hymnology in america as well, the latest instance being its retention by the lutheran church of the united states in their new german kirchen buch, wherein it is hymn 331. especial attention is called to it in stip's unverfälschter liedersegen (berlin, 1851). julian, in his dictionary of hymnology, mentions the following translations into the english language: "rise, ye children of salvation" (omitting stanza four) in mrs. bevans' "songs of eternal life," 1858, page 10. three centos have come into use, the translations of stanzas, one, three and nine, in dr. pagenstecher's collection, 1864; of stanzas one, five, nine and eleven in the english presbyterian psalms and hymns, 1867; and the temple hymn-book, 1867; and stanzas one, five and eleven in laudes domini, new york, 1884. another one of his hymns is 66 if our all on him we venture," a translation of stanzas three, as stanza two of hymn no. 1064 in the supplement of 1808 to the moravian hymnbook of 1801. another celebrated hymn attributed to justus falckner is: o herr der herrlichkeit o glantz der seligkeit, du licht vom lichte, 21 der müden süsser saft, des grossen vater's kraft, sein angesichte. •collection of historical society of pennsylvania. 'cento, a composition formed by verses or passages from different authors disposed in a new order. 22 dominie justus falckner. and varnvs rostochivm fluvivs. contemporary view of the old university town of rostock. at lübeck and rostock. 23 this hymn was also printed in the weyrauchs hügel (no. 475, p. 540) and sauer's psalterspiel (no. 361). it is not known to a certainty how long the academic term of young falckner lasted at halle. when he left that institution he was what was known as a candidat theologia or a candidate for holy orders. it appears that, after he left halle, he went to lübeck and rostock. the former city was the birthplace of his friend and tutor, aug. h. francke, the latter a university town, whose great seat of learning up to a few years before was presided over by the renown dr. heinrich müller (muhlen). both of these cities had for some years been centers of pietistic activity. whether justus falckner studied or spent any time at the university at rostock has not been determined. from a document found in the library there, it is shown that he spent some time in the duchy of schleswig, and was aided and befriended by a son and namesake of the noted pietistic theologian dominie heinrich müller (muhlen) mentioned by gotfried arnold in his kirchen and ketzer geschichte, and who was also a church dignitary and had succeeded his father in the office as superintendent. thence young falckner went to the adjoining duchy of holstein, where he evidently for a time taught school or acted as a private tutor. § wappen von lübec. -the mero heat chapter ii. dance daniel falckner. t¹ t was about this time, either late in 1698 or early in 1699, that his elder brother daniel returned to his native land as an emissary from america. from documents lately discovered in the archives of the halle orphanage we find that the elder francke was virtually one of the chief factors in the settling of the colony of german pietists on the wissahickon, and the introduction of german pietism in america, which eventually proved so powerful a factor in upholding the orthodox lutheran faith in the province of pennsylvania, and we might say shaping the destiny of a large part of our community. arms of penn. corsa (24) r ! i # 1 1 " 1 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. j. f. sachse, photo. johannes kelpius. magister of the german pietists on the wissahickon. from the original canvass by dr. christopher witt, now in the historical society of pennsylvania. 25 in view of this greatly improved condition of the religious situation in pennsylvania, which, early in 1698, was strengthened still more by the arrival of rev. thomas clayton, the first minister of the church of england who came to the province, it was concluded by the leaders of the german pietists on the wissahickon, partly at the suggestion of the swedish pastors, to send an emissary from among their number to europe to make public the true state and spiritual condition of the germans who had emigrated to pennsylvania; set forth the labors of the pietistical brethren among their countrymen in america, and solicit aid and additional recruits, so that the perfect number of forty could be kept intact, and at the same time 6 daniel falckner. janiel falexner could extend their usefulness in educating and ministering to their neglected countrymen in pennsylvania and virginia. another important scheme then under consideration was the migration of the members of "the philadelphian society" in a body from england and the continent to settle in pennsylvania, and there found a colony where their peculiar teachings should be their only law. considerable correspondence had taken place upon the subject, and it was thought by kelpius and others that the time had arrived for a consummation of the scheme. it was therefore desirable that a thoroughly competent person "for a full explanation of this theory, vide "german pietists," pp. 37-42. 'philadelphischen societät, vide "german pietists," p. 16. 26 dominie justus falckner. all in machsen gegen mittag a contemporary view of the old university town of halle on the saale. orphanage at halle. 27 should be sent on the mission at that time. for this important service daniel falckner was selected. he was a man of strong character and practical piety, as well as the executive head of the community, and, in addition to his religious duties, took considerable interest in secular affairs. daniel falckner, pursuant to the above arrangement, returned to europe, as before stated, toward the close of the year 1698 or early in the spring of 1699. after a sho sojourn in holland, he went to germany to visit his old associates. upon his arrival in saxony, he found that time had wrought many changes in the condition of his former companionssome had been banished, others lived in obscurity, while the former leader of the local pietistical movement, august herman francke, now posed as professor of oriental languages at the newly established university of halle, pastor of the suburb glaucha, and superintendent of an orphanage of his own projection. upon his arrival at halle, daniel falckner was cordially received by the elder francke, and installed at the orphanage, and requested to render an account of his stewardship, and give authentic information of the affairs, both civil and religious, in far-off pennsylvania. for this purpose francke presented a number of questions in writing, which daniel falckner answered in extenso, his replies covering about 197 folio pages, to which he signs himself as "citizen and pilgrim in pennsylvania in northern america." 8 8 the bicentennial of the halle (frederick-wittenberg) university was celebrated with great éclat, august 2, 3, 5, 1894, the emperor of germany being represented upon the occasion by prince albrecht of prussia. the present writer attended as a delegate from the old augustus (trappe) church. for a full description of this jubilee, see] the lutheran, philadelphia, september 6, 1894. 28 dominie justus falckner. both of these interesting documents are still preserved in the archives of the glaucha institution, and are now being copied verbatum for the writer's use. an abstract of this report was published in germany in 1702 under the following title: curious account of pennsylvania, in northern-america which at solicitation of good friends regarding 103 questions submitted, and at his departure from germany to above curieufe nachricht don pensylvania in morden-america welche/ auf begehren guter freunde/ uber vorgelegte 103. fras gen/ bet seiner abreiß aus teuschs land nach obigem lande anno 1700. ertheilet/und nun anno 1702 in den druck gegeben worden. don daniel falknern/profeffore, burgern und pilgrim allda. franckfurt und leipzig/ zu finden bey andreas otto/buchhändlern. im jabr. chrifli 1702. facsimile title of falckner's description of pennsylvania, 1702. 29 a curious account. country anno 1700 are answered, and now anno 1702, are given in print by daniel falckner, professor, citizen and pilgrim there. continuatio der beschreibung der landſchafft pensylvaniæ an denen end:gränzen americæ. uber vorige des herrn pastorii relationes. in sich haltend: die situation, und fruchtbarkeit des erdbodens. die schiffreiche und andere flüffe. die anzahl derer bißhero gebauten städte. die jeltjame creaturen an thieren/ bögeln und fischen. die mineralien und ebelgesteine deren eingebohrnen wil den völcker sprachen/ religion und gebrauche. und die ersten chriftlichen pflanger und undaner dieses landes. beschrieben von gabriel thomas 15. jährigen inwohner dieses landes. welchem tra@dtlein noch bengefüget find: des hu. daniel falckners burgers und pilgrims in penfylvania 193. beautwortungen uff vorgelegte fragen von guten freunden. franckfurt und leipzig/ zu finden bey andreas otto/ buchhändlern. 30 dominie justus falckner. a somewhat extended abstract was issued two years later (1704) by the same publishers, under following title: daniel falckner's visit to europe also partook somewhat of a political nature, which was destined to work radical changes in the civil affairs of the german township of pennsylvania. his reports to benjamin furly at rotterdam, and to the leaders of the frankfort company, at amsterdam, lübeck, frankfort, but confirmed the unsatisfactory rumors, and dissatisfaction as to pastorius' management of their property in pennsylvania. this resulted in daniel falckner and johann jauert, a commercial traveller, son of balthasar jauert,' a leading bergamen huch pietist of lübeck and member of the frankfort company, being summoned to frankfort-on-the-main early in the year 1700, and a power of attorney given them, together with magister johannes kelpius, to take charge of their property and affairs in pennsylvania. this document was dated january 24, 1700, and was signed by all of the surviving members or their assigns. from frankfort, daniel went to rotterdam and in april johannes kelpius franfihanus the correct spelling of this name is jauert, not jawert as usually spelled. departs for america. 31 of the same year a power of attorney of like import was given to him and his brother justus, who had decided to accompany his brother to pennsylvania, on a mission having for its chief object the spreading of the gospel in the "land of darkness" (abend-land). a few weeks later we find the two brothers at the old hansastadt of lübeck in conference with the elder jauert, and balthasar jaspar könneken, a learned scholar, pietist and astronomer, who had taken an active personal interest in the german settlement of pennsylvania, from the time of the arrival of the first pioneers in 1683, and among whose effects we find the earliest reports from the german township. he also wanted to join the colony of german pietists on the wissahickon, but was dissuaded on account of his advanced age. finally, toward the middle of may, quite a little party of pietists had assembled at lübeck and set sail by way of england. the white cliffs of albion's shores were lost to view on the 25th of may and the capes of the delaware were sighted early in august, after a passage of about ten weeks. der mitkampffende/witleydens de/ und micboffende an dem leibe jefu/ eingepflangte mitknecht erwartend meis nes ergirtens und hims mels. rönigs in sehnlichem verlangen daniel faldner/burger und pilgrim in penfylvanien in norden america. daniel falckner's colophon. sighly a lmost immediately after the return of daniel falckner to the german township of pennsylvania, bringing his brother justus and a number of theosophists and pietists, a change took place in the civic government of the german borough. in the fall of the same year (1700), daniel falckner was elected bailiff, his brother justus a burgess, johann jauert, recorder, and daniel geissler, crier of the germa chapter iii. on the wissahickon. mopoin 1691 seal mof german town pa .1691. court. at a court held at germantown, 7th day of 9 mo., 1700, justus falckner appears to have sat as one of the judges. the cares and worriments of judicial office, together with the strife and bickerings of the infant community, were not congenial to our young pietist, and all was so (32) 1 photo by j. f. sachse 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. on typical hermit's cabin. formerly on the banks of the cocalico, lancaster co., penna. f as a hermit. 33 different from the ideal life he expected to find here in the virgin forests of pennsylvania, that before many weeks passed we find him retiring from the world, its allurements and ambitions, and installed in an humble log cabin, beside a spring of clear water, on the banks of the wissahickon, passing his time as a hermit, communing with his god in silent contemplation of nature, and continuing his theosophical studies under the tutelage of magisters kelpius and selig, the former secretary of the great spener. in addition to his esoteric and theosophical studies, during his year of retirement as a recluse, justus falckner made good his promise to senior heinrich muhlen, of schleswig, to advise him as to the condition of the church in america. just how many missives he sent is not known. the first one, however, dated germantown in the american province of pennsylvania, otherwise new sweden, the 1st of august, 1701, was printed in germany. a single copy of this heretofore unknown contribution to the history of our province was found some years ago in the library of the university at rostock, where it was bound up with a number of other tracts. this missive is not alone valuable as it sets forth the religious condition of the germans within the province at the beginning of the eighteenth century, but it also contains a plea for an organ for the swedish church in philadelphia. that this appeal was not in vain is shown from records still extant, and which make mention, as early as 1703, of 66 jonas the organist." at the end of his year of self-imwappen von rostod. 34 dominie justus falckner. posed seclusion, we again find some record of justus falckner in public affairs. that there was evidently some understanding and intercourse between william penn and the falckner brothers during the former's second visit to the province, is shown by several entries in minute-book g of the board of property of the province of pennsylvania, where, in a dispute about some land, the proprietary steps in and issues an order in favor of daniel falckner.10 the next entry in the same book, made 12th of 11th month, 1701, shows that penn's interest in falckner continued during the former's stay in the province. one of penn's last official acts prior to his departure was the letter quoted in these proceedings before the land commission : "james "prepare a wart' for 4,000 acres for benjamin furly, out of which 3 wart's for 500 acres each for falkner and brother and dorthy and brother and sister, which recommend to the commiss'rs of propriety if not done before i goe. 25th 8ber., 1701. "will m penn." according to the old minute-book "g," before quoted, he appears as joint-attorney with his brother for benjamin furly of rotterdam, and was so acknowledged by william penn during his second visit to the province (1699–1701). in a subsequent entry, on the 19th of 11th month, 1701, daniel and justus falckner appear as attorneys for the frankfort land company, and produce a patent for some city property. upon the 18th of the 12th month, 1701, both brothers again figure before the land commissioners in the interests of benjamin furly. at different times 10 pennsylvania archives, second series, vol. xix., p. 219. 1 } as an attorney. 35 after the above entry they continue to press the claims of their principals. on 5th of 2d month, 1703, daniel and justus went before the land commissioners, and produced a return of a warrant for fifty acres of liberty lands surveyed to benjamin furly. they also pressed a claim for a high street lot of 132-foot front. on the 30th of the 6th month, 1703, justus falckner appears alone before the commissioners, and as attorney of furly produces a "return of 1000 acres in chest'r county, said to be in pursuance of our warr't dat. 16, 12 mo., 1701, and the same land appearing to be an encroachm❜t upon the welch tract within their settlements, and already granted to david lloyd and is. norris, the same mass & justus & daniel falckner s." and worthy f j heading of letter from furly to falckner brothers. is rejected and disapproved of, and thereupon "tis ordered that the same be certifyed by indorsement on the said return under ye comm'rs hands, which is accordingly done." it is evident from the above official minute that the loss to furly of this parcel of land was not through any fault of the falckner brothers, as has been frequently stated by pastorius. the charge by the latter that they sold the above land for their own use and benefit is also hereby shown to be without any foundation. the above entry is the last notice of justus falckner 36 dominie justus falckner. upon the official records of pennsylvania. this attempt to recover the land for its rightful owner was evidently the beginning of the differences with daniel lloyd and isaac norris, which ended five years later in the sprögel conspiracy and the dispossession of daniel falckner. that justus falckner, during his sojourn in pennsylvania, was a man without reproach and one with exemplary piety, may be judged from his subsequent career and the fact that his name is not even mentioned by the splenetic pastorius, who so persistently villified the elder brother." just what part justus bore in the organization of the lutheran congregation at falckner's swamp (new hannover, montgomery county, penna.), the first high german lutheran arms of pastorius. "the following memorandum was found among the frankfort papers at the pennsylvania historical society. it is in the handwriting of pastorius and it shows how vindictive the deposed steward of the company was toward his successor. it is needless to say here that these charges have been shown to be far from the truth, vide dr. schmauk's "history of the lutheran church, 1638-1800," and sachse's "german pietists." "in the aforesd year 1700 at the end of the 6th month (august) daniel falckner and johannes jawart being arrived here, began along with johannes kelpius to administer the company's affairs, to whom the sª pastorius delivered up the land, house, barn, stable, corn in and above ground, cattle, household goods utensils &c and besides in arrears of rents & other debts due to the company, about 230£ hoping they would do business with better success, than he signified to the partners in germany, that he was able or capable to do himself. but soon after johannes kelpius notified me he would not act as attorney for the sd company, calling himself civilites mortus. whereupon daniel falkner plaid the sot, making bone圖 ​1 1 0 i i 1 1 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. al the falckener swamp (new hanover) church. congregation organized by daniel falckner about 1702. . 1 · 1 1 his activity. 37 congregation organized in america, or how often he was wont to visit the congregation or minister to his fellow countrymen, cannot be told to a certainty; although we have no direct record of the facts, he without doubt actively seconded his brother in organizing and ministering to the german settlers on the manatawney tract; nor can his sojourn among the mystics on the wissahickon be traced in detail. his intercourse, however, with kelpius, selig, and the swedish pastors, rudman, biörck, sandel and auren, is known to have been frequent and intimate. fires of the company's flax in open street, giving a piece of eight to one boy to show him in his drunken fit a house in philad", and to another a bit to light him his pipe &c. in so much that his fellow attorney johannes jawert affixed an advertisement on the meeting house at germantown, that no one should pay any rent or other debt due to the company unto the s falckner.-yea and the then bailiff and burgesses of the germantown corporation acquainted the sd company of the sd administration of this their attorney, in a letter, which (as they afterwards did hear) miscarried." ww crs monument erected by peter minuet on the shores of the delaware a. d. 1638. re chapter iv. falckner's missive from germantown. חופים טושים bilor mad eu am mutta otto other can antagoni and and troutd mportan una fommo foter totor cartond contains the domina torrid aug wika tot a "imprint of a missive | to tit: lord d. henr. muhlen, from germanton in the american province of pennsylvania,otherwise | new sweden, the first of august, in the year of our salvation one thousand, seven hundred and one | concerning the 1 condition of the churches | in america. mdccii." brown pis juchinnal ceritan wa e will now present a translation of justus falckner's unique missive to germany, concerning the religious condition of pennsylvania in the year 1701.12 wappen von schleswig. "shalom. "right reverend, most learned, especially honored, lord general superintendent. "in sending to your magnificence the present missive 12 a photo-mechanical facsimile of this unique book can be seen at the rooms of the pennsylvania historical society; there is also a copy in the library of the writer. a copy of the original german version is printed in rev. george j. fritschel's "geschichte der lutherischen kirche in amerika."-gütersloh, 1896. r 8 (38) eremite in the desert. from such a distant part of the world, i am moved thereunto partly by the recollection of the high favor and civility which you extended toward me while i was in schleswig with you, prior to my departure from holstein to america, as you also were kindly disposed, by virtue of your episcopal and priestly office, to extend your great ecclesiastical benediction, and thereby to further my proposed journey to a blessed purpose; upon the other part, i am obliged thereto by the express commands which you enjoined upon me at sundry times, that i should correspond with you as much as possible concerning the condition of the church in america; (de statu ecclesiæ in america). this honored command emanating from the love of god, i will comply with for the good of his church, and give satisfaction so far as i may : therefore i will make a beginning herewith. indeed i must declare that since the time when i was there [in schleswig] i have now, god be thanked, arrived safely here. this was during the past year at the beginning of august, after we had sailed from england on may 25. since my arrival here, i have for many material reasons, lived entirely alone in a small block-house, which i had built for me, as an eremite in the desert (in deserto). having had but slight intercourse with the people, much less travelled hither and thither, and having [merely] gathered information from one and the other, so i do not know the particulars of the status here in every respect. "but now, after having schooled myself a little in the solitude, i begin as if from a mirror (tanquam ex speculo) to take cognizance of one fact and the other. i have gone more among the people, and subsequently have resolved to give up the solitude i have thus far maintained, and, according to my humble powers, to strive at least with good intention publicly to assist in doing and effecting good in this 39 40 dominie justus falckner. abdruck lines schreibens an tit. herrn d.henr.muhlen/ aus germanton / in der americanischen province penfylvania, fonst no. va suecia, den erſten augufti, in: jahr unsers heyls eintausend siebenhundert und eins, den zustand der kirchen in america betreffen m dcc il title-page of falckner's missive to germany, 1701. from only known copy in the rostock university library. opinion of the quakers. spiritual and corporeal wilderness. so far as i am able to draw conclusions concerning the condition of the churches in these parts, and indeed particularly in this province, it is still pretty bad. the aborigines or indians, from lack of sufficient good instruction, remain in their blindness and barbarity, and moreover are angered at the bad living of the christians, especially at the system of trading which is driven with them, and they only learn vices which they did not have formerly, such as drunkenness, stealing &c. the local christian minority, however, is divided into almost innumerable sects, which pre-eminently may be called sects and hordes, as quakers, anabaptists, naturalists, rationalists, independents, sabbatarians and many others, espe cially secret insinuating sects, whom one does not know what to make of, but who, nevertheless, are all united in these beautiful principles, if it please the gods (si dis placet): do away with all good order, and live for yourself as it pleases you! the quakers are the most numerous, because the governor favors this sect, and one might be inclined to call this country a dissecting-room of the quakers; for no matter how our theologians labored to dissect this carcase and discover its interiors, they could not do it so well as the quakers here in this country are now doing themselves. it would easily make a whole tractate were i only to set forth how they, by transgressing their own principles, shew in plain daylight the kind of spirit that moves them, when they virtually scoff at the foundation of such principles, and become ishmaels of all well regulated church-institutions. hic rhodus, hic salwhen i learn that my letters come safely into the hands of your magnificence, i will at another time report specialora. the protestant church, however, is here divided into three confessions and nations. according to tant. 4i 42 dominie justus falckner. the confession, the local protestants, as they are comprehended under this name in the european roman empire, are either of the evangelical lutheran, or of the presbyterian and calvinistic church. and as the protestant church is here also divided into three nations, so there are here an english protestant church and a swedish protestant lutheran church; and also persons of the german nation of the evangelical lutheran and reformed churches. about these more at another time. "now i will only speak somewhat of the evangelical church of the swedish nation, and touch upon the german evangelical lutherans. "the swedes have two church congregations: one at philadelphia, the capital of this country, and another several miles therefrom on a river called christina. they have also two devout, learned and conscientious preachers, among whom i know in specie the reverend magister rudman. he, with his colleagues, endeavours to instil the true fear and knowledge of god into his hearers, who previously, from a lack of good instruction and church discipline, had become rather unruly. the outward worship of god is held in the swedish language, and partly according to the swedish liturgy, so far as church ceremonies are concerned. "the germans, however, i have spoken of not without cause as merely several evangelical lutheran germans, and not the german evangelical lutheran church: those who are destitute of altar and priest forsooth roam about in this desert (scilicet qui ard sacerdoteque destituti, vagantur hoc in deserto:) a deplorable condition indeed. moreover there is here a large number of germans who, however, have partly crawled in among the different sects who use the english tongue, which is first learned by all who come recomendations. 43 here. a number are quakers and anabaptists; a portion are free-thinkers and assimilate with no one. they also allow their children to grow up in the same manner. in short there are germans here, and perhaps the majority, who despise god's word and all outward good order; who blaspheme the sacraments, and frightfully and publicly give scandal, (for the spirit of errors and sects has here erected for itself an asylum: spiritus enim errorum et sectarum asylum sibi hic constituit); and herein is the great blame and cause of the lack of establishment of an outward and visible church assembly. then while in the theologia naturali omnibus hominibus connata there is as it were, the first thesis: religiosum quendam cultum observato, so it happens that when these people come here and find no better outward divine service, they rather select one than none at all although they are already libertini; for even libertinism is not without its outward forms, whereby it is constituted a special religion without being one. "now i recommend to your magnificence, as an intelligent (cordaten) german evangelical theologian, for your mature consideration and reflection for god and his church's sake, on account of the wretched condition of the german evangelical communities, whether with assistance perhaps from some exalted hand, some establishment of an evangelical church assembly could be made in america, since the germans are now increasing rapidly. for as most of the germans are adducendi et reducendi, so must the means be expected to come from others; or i will say the decoy (lock-pfeiffe) wherewith which the birds are to be allured cannot and must not be expected to come from the birds, but must be made by or for such as want to entice them here. "both myself and my brother, who is sojourning here, 44 dominie justus falckner. keep ourselves to the swedish church, although we understand little or nothing of their language. we have also been the means of influencing divers germans by our example, so that they now and then come to the assemblies, even though they do not know the language. still they are gradually being redeemed from barbarism, and becoming accustomed to an orderly outward service. "above all one of the swedish pastors, magister rudman, has offered, regardless of the difficulty to assume the german dialect (dialectum). for nothing less than the love of god's honor he has offered to go to this trouble and now and then to deliver a german address in the swedish church, until the germans can have a church of their own, together with the necessary establishment. accordingly the germans who still love the evangelical truth, and a proper outward church order, much prefer to attend (interesse) the swedish churches here until they can also have their divine worship in their own language as a people. the means are hereby offered in a measure to spread the gospel truth in these wilds, whereby many of their brethren and fellow-countrymen may be brought from wrong to right, from darkness to light, and from the whirlpool of sectaries to the peace and quiet of the true church. wherefore such swedish evangelical churches, for my humble part, have best and heartfelt wishes, and i seek also and pray your magnificence to kindly recommend, as occasion offers, such churches with their ministers, to his illustrious serene highness and her highness his spouse, who is a royal swedish princess, and also to contrive that your interest may be earnestly brought to the notice of his serene majesty of sweden. "i will here take occasion to mention that many others besides myself, who know the ways of this land, maintain h 1 i 1 1 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. gloria dei (old swedes), wicacoa, a. d. 1903. after etching by ludwig e. faber. pleads for an organ. that music would contribute much towards a good christian service. it would not only attract and civilize the wild indian, but it would do much good in spreading the gospel truths among the sects and others by attracting them. instrumental music is especially serviceable here. thus a well-sounding organ would perhaps prove of great profit, to say nothing of the fact that the indians would come running from far and near to listen to such unknown melody, and upon that account might become willing to accept our language and teaching, and remain with people who had such agreeable things; for they are said to come ever so far to listen to one who plays even upon a reed-pipe (rohrpfeiffe): such an extraordinary love have they for any melodious and ringing sound. now as the melancholy, saturnine stingy quaker spirit has abolished (relegiret) all such music, it would indeed be a novelty here, and tend to attract many of the young people away from the quakers and sects to attend services where such music was found, even against the wishes of their parents. this would afford a good opportunity to show them the truth and their error. "if such an organ-instrument (orgel-werck) were placed in the swedish church, (for the germans as yet have no church, and the swedish church is of a high build and resonant structure) it would prove of great service to this church. as the majority of the swedes are young people, and mostly live scattered in the forest, far from the churches, and as we by nature are all inclined to good, and above all to what may serve our souls, such as the word of god which is dead and gone, so are especially the youth; and it is so with the swedish youth now under consideration. when they have performed heavy labor for the whole week, as is customary here, they would sooner rest on a 45 46 dominie justus falckner. sunday, and seek some pleasure, rather than perhaps go several miles to listen to a sermon. but if there were such music there, they would consider church-going as a recreation for their senses. "thus does luther of blessed memory in one place highly recommend the use of the organ and sacred music for this very reason, that it is serviceable, and induces young and simple and, says he foolish folk, to listen unto and receive god's word. it would also prove an agreeable thing for god, angels and men; if in this solitude and wilderness, which as it were struggles under so many secula, the lord of hosts, with whom there is fulness of joy and at whose right hand there are pleasures for evermore, would be praised and honored with cymbal and organ, as he hath commanded. and it may be assumed that even a small organ-instrument and music in this place would be acceptable to god, and prove far more useful than many hundreds in europe, where there is already a superfluity of such things; and the more common they are, the more they are misused. "if now your magnificence were kindly to intercede with his serene highness and her highness his consort, and also with such other exalted personages with whom you are held in high esteem, and present to them the benefit to be hoped for; i doubt not, but that something could be effected. there are in europe masters enough who build such instruments, and a fine one can be secured for 300 or 400 thalers. then if an experienced organist and musician could be found, and a curious one who would undertake so far a journey, he would be very welcome here. in case this could not be, if we only had an organ, some one or other might be found here who had knowledge thereof. colophon to missive. 17. drey oder vierhundert thaler haben;könte man auch einen erfahrnen organiffen und muficum finden der curieux, und so eine weite reise thun wolte/der wür de hier sehr angenehm seyn/wärees aber nicht/ und man hätte nur eine orgel/so möchte sich etwa noch ein oder der andere hier finden/ der wissenschafft da von hätte. schließlichen wenn eu. magnificent vielgeneigt antworten wolten/ so glaube wird die beste addreffe der brieffe an den schwedischen refident in londen fen/ wohin auch dieser gegenwärti ge brieff addreffiret worden /oder vielleicht wissen sie selber schon bessere gelegenheit. nun ich schliesse und empfehle eu. magnificent deft schuß und der gnade gottes zu allen wohler gehen / und verharre euer magnificence germanton in ber americanischen province penlylvania, ſonſt novasuecia,deni. augufti im jahr unsers heylseintausend siebenhuädert und eins. 50 gebet und diensten verbundenfier 47 juſtus falckner, (0) colophon of justus falckner's missive to germany. 48 dominie justus falckner. "finally if your magnificence would be highly disposed to answer, i believe the best address for the letter would be in care of the swedish resident in london, through whom also the present letter is addressed. or perhaps you are aware of some better opportunity. "in conclusion i now commend your magnificence to the protection and grace of god to all prosperity, and remain "to your magnificence "germanton in the american province of pennsylvania, otherwise new sweden, the 1st. of august in the year of our salvation one thousand seven hundred and one. "for prayer and service "most devoted, "justus falckner." nakumul partly pubbons gloria dei a century later. 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. j. f. sachse, photo. gloria dei, a. d. 1903. interior looking west-showing organ gallery. 1 } : chapter v. causes which led to the ordination at wicacoa. jr rom the missive sent to dom. muhlen it is shown how close the intimacy was between the swedish pastors and justus falckner, our candidate for holy orders, and of the interest he took in the swedish lutheran services held at gloria dei. the circumstances which brought about the ordination of justus falckner at wicacoa are as follows: cn אי andreas rudman, the swedish pastor at wicacoa, had received repeated calls for help from the distressed and oppressed lutherans, who had been without any clergyman to minister to their wants for some length of time. conse. quently, after the arrival of rev. andreas sandel, march 10, 170 magister rudman gave their forlorn condition his earnest consideration, and finding their case as bad as had been represented concluded personally to take (49) 50 dominie justus falckner. charge of the extended mission on the hudson and the adjoining territory. in pursuance to this resolve he, on july 5, 1702, installed sandel as pastor of wicacoa, and on the 19th of the same month he preached his valedictory sermon. at the conclusion of the sermon he embraced the opportunity of making public auren's sabbatarian doctrine and implored his parishioners to be upon their guard and remain true to the lutheran faith according to the unaltered augsburg confession. a confessional service and the eucharist closed the impressive occasion. early on the next day, july 20th, rudman started for new york, accompanied by mr. thomas, a schoolmaster овид киджак at christ church, who was in deacon's orders and intended to sail for england to receive ordination. a number of swedes, led by pastor sandel, matz keen, peter rambo and eric keen, also accompanied them part of the way. rudman, upon his arrival in new york, at once commenced to gather up and organize the lutherans (german, dutch and swedish), who were scattered over so large a territory, which, in addition to the embryo city and the valley of the hudson, included parts of long island and east jersey. after rudman was well established in his new field of labor, he sent to pennsylvania for his wife and young family, and all went well until the summer of the following year, when the yellow fever broke out in the citadel and town. in the latter part of august dominie rudman and his family were prostrated by the terrible scourge, $ is rudman's entry. joom е to in der leads gepasseert, getüggen wy verordineers to met onfe eggene meatwe jork ut 12 узга ba being friger dominie rudman's autograph and entry in the new york church register. es 52 dominie justus falckner. and upon the death of his second son, anders, he wrote to philadelphia for aid, stating that both he and his daughter were stricken with the disorder.13 in response to this urgent appeal, revs. biörck and sandel at once made arrangements to go to his assistance ; but so slow were the imperfect means of communication at that time, it was not until september 13th when a start was made from philadelphia to relieve the stricken pastor. the party arrived in new york on the afternoon of the 16th, where they found dominie rudman recovering, but his daughter still severely ill.¹ dominie rudman never entirely recovered from this attack, and being of a frail constitution he realized, after another year's trial, that on account of the rigor of the climate he could not continue in charge during another winter. in this extremity, not wishing to leave the field uncovered, he bethought himself of the falckner brothers, and finding that daniel had married and was occupied with the civic affairs of the german township, he wrote the younger brother a latin letter of which the following extract is translated. "new york, september 21, 1703. "but only listen, i beg of you: for i am going to give you some unexpected news, for you to seriously and prayerfully ponder. "i have decided to leave this province, to dispose of my affairs in pennsylvania for some time, and to revisit 13 sandel's diary. 14 sandel in his diary, notes: "sept. 17, 1702, we went looking about the town that day and saw the english church and also the dutch [reformed?] both of them edifices of beauty. sept. 20. "to-day we went calling on all who profess the lutheran creed; there are very few here." p 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. this marble covers the remains of the revrend andrew rudman being sent hither from sweden. he first founded & built this church. was a constant faithful preacher in th english, swede's dutch churches eleven years in this countrey where he advancd true piety, by sound doctrine & good example r he died sep jjjj08. aged 40 years. gloria dei a. d., 1903. tomb of rev. andreas rudman in front of chancel. 53 receives letter. c hec-eboraci cd. 24 sght. 1703. brich von oson mr. andreas rudman mich geſchziell sed extract auß seinen u audin tu, nova maudita moppectata tibi dicam, ut ea ferib et. in pietate perperdas oro grafog. animus eft provinciam hanc relinquendi, & tempus afligbad res meds ledufylvanicas disponendi et. sveciam reviden= overlandi cui felte circum circa oculos overfanti cui officullas comitterent nullus mihi te aptior obvenit. per à deo coastavit vocem ex eli, unde hoce stude nisi quod deus imitate fuoribus. te vocare. audivi omnes consentient, & leedo animo. (z. gevantum exifles majores pufillum vocem gate of abullicofum & reliqbom, hic alia res eft, innocuae ordes dispersal, paucce morizerce, obedientes, fitientes & famelice (& ex utero videtis volaty ze enim bona cum confcientia condo tuum conscientia bondo tuum defodies (5. the signatus ef zatris ergo paternce adhortationi. si evadere potero. jacro ordini facro ordini ponos svecos ministros initiabert ets dom. rudman s letter to falckner. 54 dominie justus falckner. sweden. what! you ask; are you going to desert your little flock? "wherefore, as i look around, no one has occurred to me as a more suitable person to whom i can safely commit my sheep than yourself. only weigh the following reasons: "(1) the call will be plainly divine. samuel, when called of god, thought "shall i ask eli" whence is this? whence can it be, unless god has imitated the voice of eli! so, be assured, god is calling you through me. so far as i have heard from the people, all agree, and that to, with great delight. "(2) in europe, you could have obtained greater and more lucrative churches; but i know that you have been averse to this on account of the abandoned life of courtiers and others. here matters are very different; guile less scattered sheep, few, docile, obedient-thirsty and famished. "" '(3) you seem to have been called from the womb. will you bury your talent with a good conscience? "(4) you have dignified me with the name of ‘father,' receive, therefore, the exhortation of a father. if i can persuade the ministerium, you will be initiated (sacro ordini) into the ministry by our swedish ministers. "if you decline, i will be compelled to leave my sheep without a successor and this will be hard and difficult." justus falckner for a time hesitated about accepting the call, as he entertained some doubts as to the regularity of such ordination. unfortunately we have not the reply to the above letter. however, in a subsequent latin letter rudman seems to have set his doubts at rest and removed all scruples from the mind of the german pietist on the wissahickon. 1 dominie abelius. 55 in his letter, dated october 4, 1703, dominie rudman writes: "episcopal authority for consecrating churches, ordaining, etc., has been granted me unreservedly by the bishop, especially with reference to a contingency such as this. this was done previously in pennsylvania among the swedes by rev. laurentius lock, who ordaind avelius "4 there, etc. besides you know that in holland, lutherans have no bishop, and are, therefore, inducted into the ministry by the vote of the presbyters. you should have no doubt whatever, therefore, concerning the fact of which i assure you, that, if you prefer to be subject to his protection and promotion, the bishop of sweden, as i certainly know will transmit his confirmation." 13 falckner's answer to this letter was evidently his consent to receive the swedish ordination and take charge of rudman's flock in new york under certain conditions. 18 dom. lars, carlson lock (lockenius) came to america in time of gov. printz, about 1648, d. 1688. he served the congregation at christina and tinicum for about forty years. 14 from the above note it would appear that there was a lutheran ordination in pennsylvania before that of justus falckner. there is, however, no record of any such ceremony having ever taken place. the only mention of an ordination on the delaware by another presbyter is this allusion in dom. rudman's letter, which the latter evidently learned from hearsay. dom. lock died twelve years before rudman's arrival in america. the person to whom the allusion refers, avelius, was a dutch student by the name of abelius zetskoorn, also written selskoorn, who came to this country and for a time performed divine service at sandhook. he went to manhattan with a recommendation to the lutheran congregation at that place. governor general stuyvesant, to get rid of him, sent him to dominie lars lochenius on the delaware, where it appears that he taught school, took upon himself to baptize children, and on whitsuntide 1663 was permitted to preach a sermon at tinicum. shortly afterwards he returned to new york, where he appears to have ministered to the dutch lutherans and appears in the records as dominie abelius. dom. berkenmeyer in his list of lutheran pastors of manhattan mentions him as goetwater's successor. 56 dominie justus falckner. extract and emummandern brieft von gesagten h. mm. rardman an mich geſchrieben von rin jotcol d. 14th octob). 1403. ductoritas episcopalis, templa confecrandi, ordinandi etc. pleng ore ab episcopo mihi eft conceffa in jusmodi præfertim casu: id factum locke qui love: lium ordinavit by etc. propterea nosti lutheranos in hollandia episcopo carere, of in. confenfu presbyteronml mitiari sacris nullus proinde schu-. confirmatio game fista cioroit ea co faciam de re svecia fidère, hud certo certus fcio, transfignus eft promotion: de hid dom. rudman's reply to falckner. 0 1 k 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. er tob bjorck aptagon 1728 60 ähret hel. nr. 9.10.11 photographed from the original canvas in sweden. wid christina ferensel 17 h fil fahlan ihr 1714. then 5 i ordningen kyrchon och frost vid fuhlus. rev. eric tobias biörck. one of the officiating ministers at ordination of justus falckner. 1 i admonition from dominie biörck. 57 the church council at new york, under date of october 27, 1703, wrote him to come to new york and preach a trial sermon. this was followed three days later by a formal call from the congregation to serve them as pastor. justus falckner acknowledged both letters under date of november 3, 1703, accepting the call, but refused to come on and preach a trial sermon. as the congregation did not insist upon the trial sermon, dominie rudman forthwith made arrangements to sever his connection with his new york charge and returned to philadelphia to complete his arrangements for the proposed ordination at gloria dei at wicacoa. in the meantime, while justus falckner was preparing himself for his new position, he received the following letter from magister biörck, the swedish pastor at holy trinity church (wilmington). it was dated christiana, nov. 19, 1703: "since the omniscient has known best how to direct ericus tob. biörk your resistance and departure to a good end, and to the welfare of many, as is now apparent, by permitting you, indeed, to come hither to this american desert, not to carry away the talent entrusted to you, but, rather, to multiply it, that the father of the household may receive his own with profit, for which a desert place very frequently offers the richest [reward], and, thus, you have unawares, as it were fallen into that, which you had previously escaped; your departure to this province was your mission, and calling from god. you sought a hiding-place; but he from whom no one can hide is now seeking to call thee thence. come forth then to the light and profit of the public. for 1 58 dominie justus falckner. in au emen brieft von n. frericus bijörck einem mich geschrieben. von christina d. 19 nov. 14oz. extract auß schwediſchen in bokum die ille, nooit optimé tuam resistentiam et abitum, ut fendo quidem tibi (defertum hoxe americand adive now to ad deferen= bum fibi talentu tibi concreditum, fed potius ad multiplicandum illud no pater familias summo cum lucro fuum recipiat, cui rei locus defertus ditiffimam saepius præbet maam, et fic in istud quod anter effugeras im prudens quasi jam mcidifti; tuus, abitus tua in hang provintiam à deo fuit misfic el vocatio; avgefivisti latebras, fed exinde te nunc evocare "gyærit ille"; quem nemo latere potest; procede ergo nunc in publicam fucem et utilitatem, nulla i res deo/ gratior est quam vitam suam ad commune commodum animarum conferred, chmille & tantummodo sibi prodeffe cupit non folum non quificat multo minus multipplicat, falentum stultitia graves. non nascimur, nobis djaliis, maxime. in des led potius fhib berta cum mutils fervo defoort, pœnas fandem, ut ille, daturus in cujus calfuram, magis f te hic neceffariam, quam alias in latria tua? pialt mentem dom. biörck's letter to falckner. admonition from dominie biörck. 59 nothing will be more pleasing to god, than for you to devote your life to the common good, particularly of souls; since one who desires to profit only himself, not only does not double, much less multiply his talent, but who rather, with the useless servant, digs under the earth, will, at last, like him, pay a heavy penalty for his folly. we have been born not for ourselves, but for others, especially for god and his church, and for which your services are needed here, more than they could have been elsewhere in your native land, you have been brought hither without thought or intention on your part." digger de 10 db h & ôc víny maskinelê flig chapter vi. the ordination at gloria dei. 4031 va ednesday, november 24, 1703, marks the date of the most noteworthy religious service ever held within the consecrated walls of the old swedish lutheran church, gloria dei, at wicacoa in philadelphia.15 of the many solemn and festive occasions which have taken place within these venerable walls, both under its original evangelical lutheran tutelage or the modern protestant episcopal régime, not a single one has attained 15 the question is frequently asked, when and what brought about the transfer of the swedish churches on the delaware, from the lutheran to the protestant episcopal fold? the change was gradual, and one of -(60) i 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. photo by j. f. sachse tombs of the lutheran pastors rudman, 905 gloria dei, a. d. 1903. showing interior with chancel. dylander and parlin are in the aisle. 39 1 transfer of gloria dei. successive steps in which the language question, swedish and english, was the chief factor. 61 the swedish lutheran church, according to the unaltered augsburg confession, was established on the shores of the south or delaware river as early as 1638. the colonists as an old document informs us "influenced by a desire to preserve among themselves and their posterity, those principles of religion in which they had been instructed in their native land, erected churches at various points for the public ministration of god's word." for one hundred and twenty-nine years these churches maintained themselves without any local charters or civil interference. during provost wrangel's pastorate it was, however, found that under the laws of the province, they could not receive or hold any legacies or pious bequests. to overcome this defect, wrangel applied to thomas and richard penn, then the proprietaries for a charter, which was granted september 25, 1765, under the name of the rector, church wardens and vestrymen of the swedish lutheran churches of wicaco, kingsessing and upper merion, then the standard formulæ for a church charter. twenty years later rev. dr. collin had the charter amended, that whereas, the swedish language is almost extinct, the vestry shall in future have the right to elect ministers to supply said churches provided always, that the said rector and other ministers shall be in the ministry of the lutheran or protestant episcopal churches and hold their faith in the doctrine of the same. this change was made necessary as there was at that time no english lutheran clergymen within the state, and the services for some time had been held partly or wholly in english. in 1818 the charter was again amended, giving the vestry power to sell some of its landed posessions. in all of these amendments thus far it is emphatically stated that any and all ministers shall be in the ministry of the lutheran or protestant episcopal churches. dr. collin lived until 1831, having been pastor of gloria dei for some 45 years. dr. collin during his long ministry of almost half a century, was always a consistent lutheran, although at the english services he was forced to permit the use of the book of common prayer in his churches, as there were then no lutheran liturgical books in the english language, still he never considered his congregations other than orthodox lutheran. all of his assistants subsequent to the revolution owed fealty to the episcopal church, and although the question was frequently agitated among these assistants how to carry the churches over bodily into the episcopal fold, their plans were always frustrated by the venerable swedish shepherd. after the decease of the old lutheran patriarch in october, 1831, however, upon the very next sunday there was an entire 62 dominie justus falckner. the historical, romantic or religious importance of the one we are now about to describe. it is true that it was only the ordination of an humble saxon student, a german pietist of the halle school, as a missionary pastor to labor in another province, among people of a still different nationality and tongue, according to the swedish ritual, by clergymen owing fealty to the archbishop at upsala. we have here upon this solemn occasion a union of three races, viz., german, swede and hollander, all combined in a single object, to furnish a regularly ordained pastor as missionary among the scattered lutherans in the provinces of new york and east jersey, a territory in which the calvinist almost reigned supreme. the historic importance of this occasion will become even more apparent when we recall the fact that this was the first regular ordination of an orthodox clergyman in pennsylvania, if not in the western world of which we have any authentic record. while the names and services are long forgotten of the many godly men, lutheran and protestant episcopal, who during the past two centuries have so faithfully served within the bounds of this venerable religious landmark on conformity to the doctrine and worship of the protestant episcopal church, and old gloria dei became lost to the lutherans for time to come. in 1846 the charter was again amended, when the word lutheran was finally stricken out of the charter. dr. colin's assistants were rev. joseph clarkson, 1787-92, who was the first minister to be ordained by bishop white in the protestant episcopal church in america, and was ordained for the express purpose of serving the swedish lutheran churches on the delaware; rev. slaytor clay, 1792-1821; rev. joseph turner; rev. john c. clay; rev. james wiltbank, 1816-20; rev. m. b. roche; rev. chas. m. dupuy, 1822–28; rev. pierce connelly, 1828-31. 63 ordination. the banks of the delaware, the name, history and story of this humble german pietist, justus falckner, the first of the many saintly men to come to this province from the halle institutions, is still kept in bright remembrance, and the story of his life and labors furnishes one of the brightest pages in the religious history of new york and pennsylvania, which are now the two greatest commonwealths in the american union. it was a solemn ceremony which was enacted upon that bleak november day within the bare walls of the swedish church on the banks of the delaware. the sacred structure, as yet bare and unfinished, lacked both tower and side projections. the interior, with its rough walls and exposed roof, earthen floors and hard benches, well matched the unadorned altar within the recess in the east, separated by a rude railing from the body of the church and its primitive surroundings. upon this occasion no pealing organ, with a multitude of stops and pedals, vestured choir, or elaborate music made melody for the service. no long procession of robed clergy, with mitred bishop surrounded by acolytes and led by the cross-bearer, were present to add dignity to the scene and impress the beholder with awe. the ceremony of ordination, although simple and devoid of all pomp and glitter, was none the less solemn and impressive. this was greatly due to a number of the theosophical brethren from the ridge, under the leadership of magister johannes kelpius, who had come down from the wissahickon to give éclat to the elevation of one of their number as presbyter in the lutheran church. the theosophical brotherhood, partly clad in the habit of the german university student, others in the rough pilgrim garb of unbleached homespun, occupied the front 64 dominie justus falckner. benches, while the rear of the church was filled with a number of swedes and a sprinkling of english churchmen and dissenters. it is said that even a few quakers and indians were attracted to the church, and enhanced the picturesqueness of the scene. the service was opened with a voluntary on the little organ 16 in the gallery by jonas the organist," supplemented with instrumental music by the mystics on the viol, hautboy,18 trumpets (posaunen) and kettle-drums (pauken).¹9 after this they intoned the anthem : veni creator spiritus. while this was being sung, a little procession of six persons entered the church by the west portal. first came 16 this is the earliest reference to a church organ in any protestant church in america. it is not known to a certainty just where or when they obtained it. if it had been sent over from sweden in response to the appeal of justus falckner in his missive to dom. muhlen that fact would undoubtedly have appeared upon the records. there is a strong probability that this instrument was brought over by kelpius and his party in 1694, and that it was originally set up in the tabernacle on the wissahickon. the present writer has seen a letter by kelpius in which reference is made to an organ, but all trace of this paper now seems to be lost. there is also an account that dr. witt and others of the community built an organ at germantown or wissahickon at an early day. among the musical instruments brought over by the brotherhood was a virginal (a keyed instrument, something like a pianoforte). this afterwards reverted to the widow of magister zimmerman, and appears in the inventory of her effects. the first church organ introduced into christ church, philadelphia, was obtained in 1728 from ludovic christian sprögell, who was one of the survivors of the brotherhood on the wissahickon. "the earliest mention of jonas the organist is in sandel's diary, under date july 20, 1702, as one of the number that accompanied pastor rudman part of the way on his journey to new york. 18 hautboy, a wind instrument, somewhat like a flute or clarionette. 19 vide kelpius diary, selig, sendschreiben and pennsylvania magazine, vol. xi, page 434. 1 t 1 1 j. f. sachse, photo. 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. ma det fol han la som mond mortet wani hogden. drar feer ett hort lins/och offort them som boo imorto tou de fin del llactio r gloria dei. ancient swedish carvings in front of organ loft. inscription on tablet. the people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: upon them that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, hath the light shined. glory be to god in the highest. camer ? + 65 two churchwardens, then the candidate for ordination, with rev. andreas sandel as sponsor 15 by his side; lastly, revs. erick biörck and andreas rudman, the latter as suffragan or vice-bishop.20 as the little procession reached the chancel rail, the two wardens (eldeste) stood on either side of the railing, while the suffragan and the two pastors entered within the chancel and ranged themselves in front and at either side of the altar, upon which were placed a crucifix and lighted tapers. the suffragan was robed in a girdled surplice, with chasuble and stole, while the two assistants wore the black clerical robe 23 (schwarze taler). the candidate, wearing the collegiate gown of the german university, knelt before the rail, upon which a chasuble 23 (chor hemd) had been previously placed. the anthem being ended, the suffragan, standing in front of the altar facing the congregation, opened the services proper with an invitation to prayer. then turning to the east, while all kneeled, he repeated the following invocation. ["almighty and everlasting god; the father of our lord jesus christ, who himself has commanded us that we shall pray for laborers in thy harvest, we pray thy unsearchable mercy that thou wouldst send us right-minded teachers, and give thy holy and wholesome word into their hearts and mouths, so that they without error may both correctly teach and perfectly execute all thy coma solemn procession. 16 sandel also acted as secretary of the consistorium on this occasion. 20 vide "hallesche nachrichten," new ed., pp. 441, 478; also w. c. berkenmeyer vs. van dieren, j. peter zenger, new york, 1728. 21 this garment was not strictly a chasuble, but a white lace garment similar to the roman surplice. 22 similar to the one still worn by the lutheran clergy. 23 also known as a "mess-hemd," a short white garment worn over the black robe when officiating at the altar. 66 dominie justus falckner. mandments, in order that we being taught, exhorted, comforted and strengthened by thy holy word, may do that which is pleasing unto thee and useful to us. "grant us, o lord, thy holy spirit, that thy word may always remain among us; that it may increase and bear fruit, and that thy servant may with befitting courage preach thy word, so that thy holy christian church may be edified thereby, and may serve thee in steadfast faith, and forever continue in the knowledge of thee. through jesus christ our lord. amen."] the suffragan then arose and turned to the congregation, after which rev. sandel, acting as consistorial secretary, advanced to the chancel rail and read out the name of the candidate and the charge to which he was called. the suffragan, then addressing the kneeling candidate, said: "inasmuch as you, justus falckner, are called to the holy office of the ministry, and in order that you with us, and we with you, may rightly understand the sacredness of this calling, then let us hear the promise and the exhortation of the word of god." at this point, rev. biörck stepped forward and read out the following parts of scripture: matt. xxviii, 18-20; st. john ii, 15-17, xx, 21-23; matt. x, 32-33; 2 cor. v, 17-20; jeremiah xv, 19; matt. v, 13-16; 1 tim. iv, 7-8, 12-14, 16; 2 tim. ii, 15-16, 22-25; 1 peter v, 2-4. 24 when this reading was concluded, vice-bishop rudman advanced and said: "may god give you grace that you may faithfully guard these sayings in your heart. may they be a guide for your conversation, and remind you of your responsibility. may it increase your watchfulness, uphold your zeal, and now and forever consecrate you to the service of heaven. 24 literally, congregation. i 67 induction into the holy office. "the church of jesus christ expects of you that, being sensible of the weight of the ministerial office, you yourself shall consider the important duties which this office lays upon your shoulders. the church of jesus christ expects of you that, in believing prayers in the name of jesus christ, you implore god for grace and power worthily to exercise it. the church of jesus christ expects of you that you fight a good and faithful fight, lay hold of eternal life and make a good confession. confess therefore your faith before god and this congregation." sandel, as secretary, now advanced and slowly read the apostolic creed, each word being carefully repeated by the candidate before the next following one was uttered by the secretary. when this important feature of the ritual was concluded the suffragan said: "may the lord god grant unto you grace to stand fast in this faith to the end, and to strengthen those who are your brethren in the faith." 25 advancing to the kneeling candidate, the suffragan asked the following questions: "do you, justus falckner, declare yourself willing to undertake this holy ministerial office in the name of the holy trinity ?" to which the candidate answered a clear "yes." "will you solemnly promise that this office shall be worthily and rightly administered in all its parts, to the glory of god and the salvation of souls?" again the same clear response, "yes." "will you always continue in the pure word of god, flee all false and heretical teaching, preach jesus christ according to the word of god, and administer the holy sacraments according to his institution?" 25 the original states that the confession was spelled out letter for letter, word for word. 68 dominie justus falckner. response, "i will." "will you so regulate your life that it may be an example to the faithful, and shall scandalize no one?" the kneeling man again answered in the affirmative. the suffragan continuing, said: "you acknowledge therefore your obligations. you have declared it to be your purpose to fulfill them. confirm it now with your oath of office." the obligation was then administered upon the holy evangels by the acting secretary. 26 after which the suffragan continued: may the almighty god strengthen you and help you to keep all this, and according to the power given to me in god's stead by the church, i hereby confer upon you the ministerial dignity in the name of god the father and the son and the holy ghost. amen.” 66 the candidate here again kneeled, while the brotherhood intoned, to the soft strains of instrumental music, the hymn: "veni sancto spirit, reple tuorum corda fidelium." during the singing of this hymn, the suffragan, assisted by the two clergymen, invested the candidate with the chasuble and stole. when this ceremony was completed and the hymn sung, the suffragan repeated the lord's prayer, while he imparted the apostolic succession" by the laying on of hands. he then returned to the altar, and said, "let us pray." then, turning once more to the east he read the following invocation : "o everlasting merciful god; dear heavenly father, who through thy beloved son, our lord jesus christ, hast 26 text of obligation is missing. 27 this was according to the swedish ritual. 69 said unto us, the harvest is plenteous but the laborers are few; pray ye therefore the lord of the harvest that he send forth laborers into his harvest, and who by these words hast made us understand that we cannot procure right-minded and faithful teachers except only of thy merciful hand: we pray thee therefore of our whole heart that thou wouldst mercifully look upon this thy servant who is now ordained to thy service and to the holy office of thy ministry, and give him thy holy spirit, so that he may go forth under watching and be strengthened by thy word, and be able to stand fast in the fight for thy kingdom, and to execute thy work, teach and reprove men with all humility and learning; in order that thy holy gospel may continue among us pure and unadulterated, and bear for us the fruit of salvation and of eternal life. through thy son, jesus christ our lord. amen." here the suffragan, turning to the kneeling postulant, said: "bow down your heart to god and receive the benediction." after this was given the impressive liturgy was at an end. the theosophists then intoned the 115th psalm: "non nobis dominie," during which the little procession reformed and as the last verse was sung slowly left the church, and the solemn and impressive ceremonial which marked the first regular ordination of a protestant clergyman in america was at an end. invocation. the reader may ask: did the newly ordained pastor keep his sacred ordination vows? this the sequel of our sketch will show. it may, however, be permitted here to say without anticipation that no more active, disinterested or pious clergyman ever labored among the germans and dutch during the trying colonial period than this same justus falckner. 70 dominie justus falckner. 66 after the ordination services were over, a diploma, such as was used in the swedish lutheran church at that day, was filled out in due form, and laid upon the altar before which the ordination had taken place, and there was signed and sealed by the three officiating clergymen, after which it was handed to the newly ordained presbyter. it ended thus: 'they, indeed, who have been legitimately called to this holy office, can enjoy a tranquil conscience, and remember their call not without peculiar consolation, and by it, as a shield, protect themselves against all the darts of adversities. in their number the most eminent and most excellent master justus falckner, is to be reckoned, who being in due form,and order inducted into holy orders by prayer and the laying on of hands, this 24th day of november was set apart for the ministry of the church, we pray god to deign to add success to the office and daily to increase to the new minister the gifts that have been bestowed, to the glory of his name, the welfare of the church and his servants profit. "given on the day of his inauguration in the year 1703 at wicaco in pennsylvania" andrew rudman, formerly pastor at wicaco, afterwards of the lutheran church in new york, and now about returning to his native land; erick biörck, pastor of the church at christiana; andrew sandel, pastor of the lutheran church at wicacoa in pennsylvania. p as dominie. 71 thus the new dominie was sent out to minister in the adjoining provinces; and to the orthodox lutheran church in pennsylvania is due to the honor of having ordained and sent out the first man, a native of saxony, for domestic missions in the western world; who was to labor, not alone among those of his own kith and kin, but among people who used a european tongue foreign to his own. k s. collin portrait of rev. nicholas collin, d.d., the last of the long line of swedish ministers who served on the delaware. chapter vii. dominie falckner in new york. ominie falckd ner at once made preparations to enter upon his new field of labor. he arrived in new york city on thursday, the second of december, or just eight days after his ordination. after preaching on the third and fourth sundays in advent, he was accepted as their regular pastor by the oldest lutheran congregation in america. immediately upon his acceptance of the charge dominie falckner deposited his diploma of ordination among the archives of the church. unfortunately, this, together with other documents of the colonial period deposited within the church, are now missing, and have evidently long since been lost or destroyed. arbeite unb hoffe (72) 4 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. street scene in new york at the beginning of the xviii century. (corner of present broad street and exchange place.) in new york. 73 possibly no document has been so diligently and persistently sought for by historians and investigators than this diploma, as its historical value to the lutheran and protestant episcopal church can hardly be overestimated. the search, however, seemed hopeless, although reports were repeatedly made, notably by a western writer, that the coveted document had been seen and in one instance secured. upon investigation, however, these stories proved delusive. during the past summer, however, it was the good fortune of the writer to examine a number of papers, sent to holland by the new york congregation, among which was a copy of this very document in justus falckner's own handwriting together with the correspondence which led to his acceptance of the charge, also a minute account of the affairs as they were during his pastorate. do6. ordinations diploma ist nach einer gedrückten formaich upfal sacri ministern stator at confervator, deus ipfe, primus paradifo munere lungebatur etc. ms dom. falckner's notice to amsterdam consistory. one of the first official acts performed by dominie falckner after his arrival in new york, was to send a report and copy of his ordination to the lutheran consistory at amsterdam, under whose patronage the church in new york was established and to whom they looked for assistance and encouragement. while in holland during the past summer, the writer, in conversation with rev. j. nicum, d.d., learned that in the archive room of the old lutheran church in amsterdam there were bundles of old papers and reports, unclassified, nor even their contents known. acting upon this 74 dominie justus falckner. hint another visit was paid to that northern venice, and by good fortune access was obtained to the archives of the church. in wading through a mass of papers, a bundle of old, yellow, time-stained folio sheets were found-they were in the handwriting of justus falckner the first was a copy of his ordination, the second copies of the letters of rudman and biörck before quoted. there were also reports from the congregation and other letters. by courtesy of the clergy of the church, notably rev. dr. p. van wijk, jr., and captain a. f. p. carstens, of the corporation, photographic copies were obtained of the most important papers and certified written copies of the others. a facsimile of justus falckner's copy of the original ordination is now for the first time presented to the american reader. the writer will also state that this has since been certified to as correct and authentic by the highest lutheran episcopal authorities of sweden. the first record made by him in the kercken-boeck, or church register, shortly after his arrival sets forth the facts of his call in dutch, with a short prayer in classical latin. anno christi-1703. ten 2' december, ben ick justus falckner, gebooren in sassen in germania tot langenreinsdorff onder het ampt zwickau, van philadelphia hier in newyorck nae voorgaende beroepinge, aenge komen, en hebbe den derden advents sondagh twee praedicatien in de lutherische kercke allhier gehouden; diesglycken oock den vierten advents sondagh: daerop ben ick van het consistorium der christelycken protestantischen lutherischen gemeene, tot haer ordentlycke pastor en leraer aengenomen wordten! [in the name of jesus. in the year of christ, 1703, on the second of december, i justus falckner, born in saxony, 13 i, 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. sacri ministerii stator & conservator, deus, primus ipse, in paradiso concionandi munere functus est, primosque parentes a personato deceptos diabolo, ad spem salutis, promisso mulieris semine, erexit, quod serpentis caput contriturum esset. nec dubium est, quin adamus liberos suos instituerit, quomodo fiduciam in promisso semine reponere deberent. ante & post diluvium instauratae ecclesiae lumina justitiaeque praecones exstitere, noa abraham, aliique sancti dei viri; & post latam legem, jam inde a mose, ad correctionis tempus, fuere sacerdotes & levitae, qui populo dei doctrina & vita praelucerent. quoniam vero negligentius hoc suum officium saepenumero executi sunt sacerdotes levitici, placuit deo, non tantum illorum mores vitamque degenerem per prophetas arguere, sed etiam, quo propius ecclesiae tempora a partu virginis & nativitate promissi seminis abessent, eo clarius, vaticiniorum copia ac varietate, proponere reparandi generis humani mysterium. in novo foedere, ordinatione etiam sua distinxit deus doctores ab auditoribus, insigniterque hunc ordinem adversus diaboli & mundi malitiam tutatus est. johannes baptista, jussu dei, concionatoris munus auspicatus est; cui, suo praecursori, christus ipse successit, qui aqua baptismatis tinctus, ad id munus publice inauguratus est. christum autem cum oporteret passione & morte generis humani redimere salutem, atque in coelos ascendere, simul ac docendi munus suum in terris susceperat, duodecim apostolos vocavit, eosque sua sacra edocuit, addito mandato, ut exirent docturi omnes gentes. his suppares septuaginta discipulos misit, ut verbum dei civitatibus judaicis annuntiarent. christi in coelum assumti partes explevit promissus paracletus, spiritus sanctus. hinc paulus in oratione ad presbyteros ephesinos ait, eos gregis dominici inspectores a spiritu sancto constitutos esse. ex quo docemur, neminem sibi ipsi, sine divina vocatione, honorem (sacerdotii) sumere debere. nam ministri ecclesiae sunt dei legati; ast, nemo sibi sumit partes legati, absque legantis auctoritate. sunt oeconomi mys. teriorum dei; ab hero itaque domus constituendi sunt dispensatores bonorum domini. culpandi proinde sunt, qui nec missionem, nec ecclesiae, & quorum interest, adprobationem expectantes, suo ausu & privato arbitrio ecclesiasticum munus capessunt, aut id per vim occupant, aut pretio emunt aut cognationis vel affinitatis, sive conciliatae, sive adhuc conciliandae, beneficio, vel fraudibus, vel emendicatis suffragiis, vel quibuscunque aliis pravis artibus, sese ingerunt ipsi, aut ingeri patiuntur per alios. de succes soce talium ordini affinitatis, sive conciliatae, sive adhuc conciliandae. beneficio. vel fraudibus, vel emendicatis suffragiis, vel quibuscunque aliis pravis artibus, sese ingerunt ipsi, aut ingeri patiuntur per alios. de successu talium, ordini huic sacro, hoc modo, sese ingerentium, notum est, quod passim sermonibus celebratur; qualis vocatio, talis successus. avi verò legitime ad jomon hoc munus vocati funt, franguilla frui confcientia et vocasionis fuce, non fine fingulari confolatione, clypeo = recordart eag tanguam contendus est lexeximi hum tela. rite facris ord, justus falckner, qui preces et manuum impositionem mitiatus fiqh novemb: hujus anni & ecclefice ministerium defignatus eft. deum f. opt: chap: hogamus heelit file a ceffum officio andere, & bona a se novo ministro data indies magis falutem nec non prostrilium magis emolumentum fur gloriam ecclefia. je die anno /17/03 in wicaco in pennsylvanial dab. yeso mang. and. man olim laff: ad wicaco, poffed eectie luth. de in america) nunc accinctus itineri ad patriam ericus tob. biork past. eectic ad chrisrea andreas sandel laft: &die luthi ad wicaco in penfÿlvania in he d 7034 xenial/o "the official certificate of ordination of dom. justus falckner, the first minister regularly ordained in america, duly executed at gloria dei, wicaco, philadelphia, on november 24th, 1703, in accordance with the regular form of the lutheran church of sweden, and signed by the three lutheran pastors on the delaware, of whom and. rudman had been authorized by the archbishop of sweden to act as vice-bishop and perform the ceremony of ordination." } i * " 1 his invocation. germany, at langen-reinsdorff, in the district of zwickau, came to philadelphia, thence to new york, after previous invitation. on the third sunday after advent i delivered two sermons in the lutheran church here. i did the same on the fourth sunday after advent. thereupon i was received by the consistorium of the christian protestant lutheran congregation as their regular pastor and teacher.] then follows the invocation: 75 "deus ter optimus maximo qui intrusit me hanc in messem, adsit speciali sua gratia mihi operario abjecto et admodum infirmo, sine qua pereundum mihi est sub mole tentationum, quae me saepius obrunt. in te, domine, speravi, non sinas me confundi! redde me ad vocationem meam aptum; non cucurri, sed misisti, intrusisti; interim quicquid in me inscio corrupta admiscuerit natura remitte; da veniam humiliter deprecanti, per dominum nostrum, imo meum jesum christum. amen." [god, the father of all mercy, and lord of great majesty, who has sent me into this harvest, be with me, thy lowly and ever-feeble laborer, with thy special grace, without which i should perish under the burden of temptation which often overcomes me with its might. in thee, o lord, have i trusted; let me not be confounded. strengthen me in my calling. i did not seek it, but thou hast sent me, yea, placed me in the office. meanwhile wouldst thou grant remission for whatsoever, without my knowledge, a corrupt nature has introduced within me, and forgive and pardon me upon my humble supplication, through our lord, yea, my jesus christ. amen.] a facsimile of this interesting entry is also reproduced; it was photographed from the original by the present writer. the time when pastor falckner arrived in new york was 76 dominie justus falckner. in nomine jesu! nae anno christi 1703. den 24 decemy. ben jik justug falckner, gebooren in saffen in germania tot langen-reins jorff onder het ampt zwickau, van phila= delphia hier in newyork voorgaende. beroepinge, aenge romen, en hebbe den derden hevents sondagh twee pradication in de lutherische berike allhier gehouden; diesgelycken oock den vierdten advents sondagh: jaerop ben ick van het confiftorium der christelyken protestantischen lutherischen gemeene, tot haer offentlycke paftor en ceraer aengenomen wordten. deus ter optimus maxing goi intrufit me have in meffem eufit speciali sua gratia, mihi operario abjecto et admodum infirmo, sine två perennoush mihi eft, fub mole tentationum, qua me jeepin's obruunt. in te domine fperavi, non finas confundi! redde me. ad vocationem meam aftum ; non cucurri; fed mififti, intrusisti: interim quicquid to me & mifers, corripita admifenerit natura, remit de, da veniam humiliter deprecauti per dominum nostrum imo menm jesun me fac-simile of justus falckner's first entry in the church register at new york. far from being a propitious one, as the settlers were in constant fear of attack by both sea and land.28 the hudson valley from one end to the other was menaced by the enemy. all residents were forced to be constantly prepared to defend their life and property by water as well as land. two members of the church council, church warden (eldeste) jan hendrick and vestryman (vorsteher) pieter "this was during the war of the spanish succession, in which england was engaged against france. official signature. van woglom, with whom the new pastor made his home, were military officers. the former was a major of infantry, a highly respected man, who well appreciated the serious aspect of the general situation. in addition to the above, church warden andreas van justus falckner falckner saxo-german pit. ecela orthodox. lutheran. belgic. noveboraci in america paftor. official signature of dominie falckner. boskerk; vorsteher and overseer (kirch-meister) laur van boskerk; the sacristans hanns la grangie and joh. viet, with samuel beekman, reader and sexton, all were liable to military duty when the occasion required their services. at the other end of his extended territory, church affairs were, if anything, at a still lower ebb. pastor falckner, upon his first visit to albany, found the congregation there virtually disbanded. a small and dilapidated house was called by courtesy a church, and the membership scattered without officers or seal of new york, a.d. 1703. organization. it was not until june, 1705, that he succeeded in effecting a permanent organization. as for any regular stipend in either place, none was in prospect. church finances were at so low an ebb that bare promises were not even made looking towards the pastor's sustenance. a reliable account that has come down to our 11-but 1007 bor merica etchina diev λον sig 8 sh edonon droit 77 78 dominie justus falckner. time informs us that the situation for a time was even worse in new york than elsewhere. dominie falckner must indeed have been a courageous man as well as a pious one to enter upon this extended field, which he eventually enlarged by serving all the germans along the hudson and in east jersey, from the hackensack in bergen county to the valley of the raritan, without any prospect of remuneration. another fact to be taken into consideration, and one that proves more than anything else how earnest, faithful and diligent he was, is that he came here an entire stranger, among people whose tongue was somewhat different from his own, and in the face of the direct opposition of the resident reformed clergy and laity, who were then numerically in the majority, and received their sustenance from the amsterdam classis. mạnh tan one of the first things done by our pious evangelist was to issue a call for a meeting at the house of his landlord, of the "protestant christian congregation" adhering to the unaltered augsburg confesyork congregation sion," to take into consideration official of the new used by rudman sigil falckner. wenda seal tccl the dire necessities of the church. at this meeting, after some desultory discussion, it was resolved to send out circular letters asking for assistance. these letters were signed by falckner and the church officers. four were sent to the swedish lutheran brethren in the south.30 a fifth cirand 29 christliche protestantischen gemeinde, der ungeänderten augsburgischen confession zugethan. 30 on the delaware river, viz., at wicaco, christiana and penn's neck and racoon in new jersey. a · 1 13 • 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. lady trinity ev. lutheran church, 1729-1784. (after rude sketch made 1740.) formerly s. w. corner broadway and rector streets. dedicated june 29, 1729, by revs. daniel falckner and berkenmeyer. 1 1 1 appeals for aid. 79 cular was addressed personally to magister rudman, asking his intercession in their behalf with the germans and english in pennsylvania. still later a similar circular, with special reference to the ruinous condition of the church, was sent to the dutch lutherans on the island of st. thomas in the west indies. subsequently a sum of money was received in response to this last appeal, but unfortunately with the proviso that it was to be used only towards building a new church.31 here a new complication arose: the money was badly needed for congregational purposes, and so was a new church building, but during the prevailing financial stringency there was no way of supplementing the amount received so as to make it available. in this dilemma another congregational meeting was convened by dominie falckner at the house of reader beekman, where it was resolved that the old building should be made tenantable with moneys to be collected by 31 the first lutheran church in new york was built outside of the citadel about where bowling green now is. when new york came once more into the possession of the dutch, this building was razed for military reasons, in lieu of which a lot was given the congregation at what is now the s. w. cor. broadway and rector street extending back to the north river. the first church upon this site served the congregation until 1729, when a new building was erected, mainly by the efforts of daniel falckner. a rude drawing of this church has been found by the writer from which the picture on the opposite page was drawn. july 6, 1784, the congregation having substituted the german for the dutch tongue, united with the german lutheran church, known as the swamp congregation, and assumed the name "the corporation of the united german lutheran churches of new york," the services were transferred to the church at frankfort and william streets. about 1826 the united congregation moved to walker street near broadway. by a special act of the legislature, passed march 29, 1866, the name was changed to "the german evangelical lutheran church of st. matthew." a spacious church was secured at the n. e. cor. of broome and elizabeth streets, where the congregation now worship so. 80 dominie justus falckner. the church-wardens, while the st. thomas funds were to remain intact and be kept as the nucleus of a building fund for a future church.32 in an old report to the amsterdam consistory we find the following graphic description of the lutheran church as dominie justus falckner found it. "the church we fear will be demolished by the first heavy storm, it is more like unto a cattle shed than a house of god, only two windows are in the building, one is back of the pulpit, and the other directly opposite. as the church is not paved, but merely floored with loose boards, some long, others short, one cannot pass through it without stumbling." such was the humble sanctuary as the young dominie found it; however, he was far from being discouraged, and in 1705 the following report was sent to the consistory at amsterdam: 33 32 the second church was not built until some years after justus falckner's death, and then only by the personal efforts of his brother daniel vide page 79, supra. 33 vide chapter xi. 201702 gloria dei, a. d. 1700. chapter viii. report to amsterdam. τα new york, gb 10, 1705. e, the pastor, elders and deacons of the evangelical protestant congregation still attached to the unaltered augsburg confession at new york and surrounding places, wish mercy and blessing in and through christ to the very reverend, god devoted, very respectable, highly learned and very provident lords, the lords pastors, elders and deacons, and all worthy members of the highly commendable consistory of the evangelical protestant church attached to the unaltered augsburg confession, at amsterdam. x xxx ew! x very reverend, much favored lords, and, in christ our common saviour, dear brethren: we should deserve the name of uncivil and ungrateful people if we did not often refresh ourselves with the memory of your zeal and care for the true evangelical protestant church in this country and did not arduously apply ourselves to inculcate the same in our children and descend(81) 82 dominie justus falckner. ants, that you and your sainted lords predecessors' memory may remain in blessing with us in this new world. it is you, conjointly with your respective forefathers, who, by the grace of god, have largely contributed in times past. by sending us godfearing learned and faithful shepherds to gather a flock into that sheepfold over which you also were appointed shepherds by the arch-shepherd christ jesus. you are those faithful stewards in the kingdom of christ who, by supplying laborers, have promoted god's husbandry in this wilderness. all sheep who by this means have been saved from error and perdition in this wilderness will call you blessed. the wheat which through your succor and care has been gathered into the barns of our heavenly father, shall in the day of the everlasting and infinite life not leave you hungry. isaiah 95 13. blessed and consecrated hands which are helpful in sowing good seed, whilst otherwise weeds and thorns grow up, injuring the good soil and making neglectful servants suffer for their indolence, with soreness and wounding of hands which were unwilling to be instrumental in nurturing those plants of the heavenly father. and because we firmly believe that you still bear a hearty affection towards our little christian congregation, we, in all due respect, will on this good occasion give you briefly to understand the situation and condition of our said congregation. it is well known to you respectively that, since the death of the sainted mr. bernhardus arentius, we have been many years without pastor. hence it is that our congregation has become dispersed, the young people and many of the older ones have gone over to the so-called reformed sect, until, three years ago, at our request, a swedish minister, mr. andreas rudmann from pennsylvania, came over but remained with us only a little over a year on 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. hun from an old print furnished by the college van ouderlingen. t may aumid the old ev. lutheran church in spui street, amsterdam. as it was 1700-1720. 1 i 83 reports to amsterdam. account of the opportunity calling him elsewhere. he did, however, not leave us until by his zeal he had persuaded another person, who had already been living for some years in this country, to have himself at our formal request and call appointed as our present regular pastor. he is by birth a german, from saxony, where he studied theology, and was, according to christian custom and habit of our evangelical church, ordained to the holy office by the swedish lutheran ministerium of pennsylvania, on the 24th of november 1703. he has been with us now for nearly two years, and fills his office in such a manner that neither we nor anyone else has anything to remark on his life and work. our congregation here is very small, because its members are dispersed far and near throughout the country; the majority of them are poor and many, especially the young people, ignorant on account of the lack of bibles, catechisms, psalm and hymn books, and it would be of great service here to have a pamphlet in which, by means of short questions and answers, the difference between the lutheran and the so-called reformed opinions were exposed, every point thus concluding, “therefore the lutheran opinion is the better one." notwithstanding the smallness of the salary (our present pastor is satisfied with it) it is hard and difficult to bring it together. our church-building also is very much out of repair and will not long be suitable for the holy service, so that we may decide to build a small new church if god will move more such good hearts as our lutheran fellowbelievers at st. thomas in the west-indies have proved to be who sent us, as a beginning, three hundred pieces of eight some months ago. we are the only dutch lutheran congregation in america that is yet all right, and it would be a thousand 84 dominie justus falckner. pities and unwarrantable, if it can be helped, to let this single little spark be extinguished by those owls who hate the light, especially since we enjoy, through the high laudable english government, every kind of protection and good-will, and because there is hope that this our congregation, if supported only a little at first, will in this country rejuvinate itself as an eagle and be an asylum to many wandering and erring souls. we do not doubt but you will take to heart our sad condition the sad condition of a congregation which christ has bought with his own blood — and as a loving fostermother not deny us the breasts of your love, care and comfort. we do not pray that your abundance may serve our wants, but the wants of a portion of the body of christ who in the day of judgment will to you also say, "as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me." we do not speak for ourselves and our private interests, but for the church of christ; we cannot but obtain a hearing from such eminent sustainers of the same as we know you respectively to be, and in firm confidence hold all of you as such. thus we commend the same to the grace, love and mercy of the great god and our saviour j. c.; assuring you that with all due respect and true sincerity of heart we sign and remain very reverend and much favored lords, your very devoted servants, friends and brethren, (signed) justus falckner, past. loci, 66 p. bruyns, -66 66 66 johannis lagransie, johann vielt, johan michael schütz, pieter woglom. this joh. mich. schütz was the father-in-law of van dieren. 66 34 raisi chapter ix. a rare bradford imprint. t he reformed church in new york was in far better financial condition and at first it seems strange that no assistance was proffered or vouchsafed by them to the lutherans. at this time there was considerable friction in the colony between the dutch lutheran and reformed congregations. the estrangement was partly caused by the orthodoxy of the lutheran pastor and his close adherence to the unaltered augsburg confession.35 discussions were indulged in, not only by the rival pastors, but by the individual members as well, and heated arguments often resulted. to place his people in a position the better to uphold their faith and controvert the arguments of the reformed, dominie falckner prepared a little book in the colloquial style of the period, in which he attempted to fortify his 35 vide footnote, page 78. (85) 86 dominie justus falckner. readers by quotations from the scriptures against what he designated "calvinistic errors." this book, printed by william bradford, was in the low dutch language, and was the first orthodox lutheran text-book published in america. falckner was the second lutheran clergyman to avail himself of the bradford press; his predecessor having been heinrich bernhard köster, in 1695.36 the title of this work reads as follows: "fundamental instruction | upon | certain chief | prominent articles of the | veritable, undefiled, beatifical | christian doctrine, | founded upon the basis of the apostles and prophets of which | jesus christus | is the corner-stone, | expounded in plain, but edifying | questions and answers. by | justus falckner, saxo | germanus, minister of the christian | protestant so-called lutheran | congregation at n. york and albany. | printed in new york by w. bradfordt, 1708. a fac-simile of this title page is reproduced upon a following page. the original is in the collection of the pennsylvania historical society. in the preface, which is also in dutch, the compiler commits himself absolutely to the symbolism of the lutheran church, the confession of the fathers; "which confession," he continues, "and faith by the grace of god, and the conviction of his word and spirit, lives also in me, and shall remain there until my blissful end." he further states that it is to be distinctly understood that the contents of this book are to be taken in strict conformity with the teachings, confession and faith of the lutheran church, to which his parents and grandparents 36 vide dr. schmauk's "lutheran church in pennsylvania," 16381800, and sachse's "german pietists." 87 publishes text-book. belonged. he continues: "both my grandfathers, paternal and maternal, as well as my father, were found worthy by the grace of god to serve in the holy priesthood of his aggressive church." the body of the book consists, as before stated, of a series of questions and answers. the last two pages are taken up with hymns. the first, of three stanzas of ten lines each, is a dutch translation of luther's hymn, "wir glauben all an einem gott." this is followed by a hymn to be sung before the sermon, which has four stanzas of four lines each. the last one is a hymn of two stanzas of twelve lines each. these are evidently of his own composition and without doubt are the first original hymns published in the western hemisphere.37 the whole book is remarkable for its orthodoxy, and it attracted the attention of leading divines in germany. the celebrated löscher, in his "continuations" for 1726, designates this text-book as a compendium doctrinæ anticalvinianum. it certainly is greatly to the credit of dominie falckner, with his widespread field of labor, that he should have found time to compile the above book. how earnestly he felt for the charges under his care is shown by the fact that he invited his elder brother daniel to leave pennsylvania and take charge of the scattered german and dutch congregations in east jersey. although the chief centers of his activity were albany and new york, we find this untiring missionary establishing preaching stations at various widely distant points in the hudson valley. geographically speaking, his charge was divided into two parts: one south, the other north of 37 no traces of these hymns are to be found in the older lutheran hymnals accessible to the writer. 88 dominie justus falckner. grondlycke onderricht sekere voorname hoofd-ftucken, der waren, loutern, saligmakendon, chriſtelycken leere, van gegronder op den grondt van de apofelen en propheten, daer jefus chriftus de hoeck-steen. 1 s. angewefen in eenvoudige, dog ftigtlycke vragen en antwoorden, door justus falckner, saxegermanus, minifter der chriftclycken proteftantfen genaemten lutherſchen gemeente te n tork en alban.en &c. pfal. 119. v. 104. (god) » woort maecks my klocek daeror hate sck alle valſche wegen. gedruckt ve nieuw-york by w. bradfordt; 1708 title of first lutheran text-book printed in america. original in historical society of pennsylvania. 1 as an american hymnist. 9. weer jelu chalk, che codes lam gy zyn berfaemt in üben rarm: beed dan in 't midden van ons, herr, en geeft ear andacht tot un leer. 3. beyl'ge beelt, ong in waerheyd leydt s ms dienaers mondt en tong berepot: laet 't wosobt door d'oojen 't herr ingarmy en help ons doen na umi bermaen, 4. beer; on godt boben al bermarch an die erfoenen g'openbart; ty bidden hert lyck t'famen, merhoort doch ders onfe beed'! amen her cer coot dgn trouts met g'nard verleen en fchick dyn hegl'gen geet met eens die ons de waerheydt leere; ca geeft bertandt. hert, da, heer got dat ons u woordt niet ze een spot, maer gantfch tot bekere. god, uw g'hard' daer aen drwys, dat hem wel fchick tot awen pigs, at onfe born en faren; at hind'ren mach, dat felbe penbt; at boord'ren mach, ar gerff behend's le tandlen ume raten. 2. ca fuur ons wel weer by den tysis y weten niet hoe feet fubgt baffeeren onfe dagen. curbt, geloof, brees, brede fietsen en frouig leer ons uto geeft, die dag nieuwbou dat wil y niet af dagen. de hoed altydt voos ballthe left, de boofe mer l. cock troumfert wir dat fp ons met berblinde: de deel upt fyn farmhertigheyds, loan ons part boor de aligheyns ba help met gan fac-simile of the first original hymn printed in america. 89 90 dominie justus falckner. the highlands of the hudson. falckner was wont to serve the former in the summer season, and the latter during the winter months. during the summer, in addition to his city charge, he served the congregations at hackensack, raritan, remmerspack, piscataway, and elizabethtown in east new jersey. his activity extended along the whole valley of the hudson from new york to albany and included loonenburg (athens), klickenberg, four mile point, coxsackie, kinderhook, calverack and phillipsborough. wherever dutch or german lutherans settled there dominie falckner was found plying his sacred calling. to the above must be added the german congregations founded after the large immigration had set in during the early years of queen anne's reign, which were served in their native tongue by the zealous evangelist. this latter duty became especially onerous during the absence of the german pastor, rev. josua kocherthal, and his subsequent death in 1719, when the german lutheran congregations at quassaik, rosenthal, schawanggunk, langen rack, newtown, tarbush, queensbury, rhinebeck and schoharie were all visited by falckner at more or less regular intervals. among the papers relating to the palatines, published in vol. iii. of the “documentary history of new york," is found the following notice: "litra b. in the books by our church, fol. 28, is to be found that our then minister justus falkenier has baptized ao 1710 ye 19th april in the house of one of the trustees, of which time he has continued to serve the people there every year without any profit of the glebe." that these stations were not merely small hamlets or 38 on quassaik creek in ulster county. 38 16 the old quassaick church. t 2gu entry magn میا ہے иде hellous!.. the old quassaick church.-from rev. h. e. jacob's "german emigration, 1709-1740." 92 dominie justus falckner. isolated farm-houses, is shown by the entries in his register, as he frequently upon the same occasion baptized five, six, eight, nine or ten children. a personal account of his ministrations has fortunately been preserved to us in biörck's dissertatio gradualis, before mentioned, published in sweden, 1731. biörck there states: "the care of these churches [the dutch lutheran churches in new york] was therefore [after the illness of dominie rudman] committed to sigill: civitat ancient arms of new york. magister justus falckner, a german, and the planting of them brought forth, after some time, so plentiful a harvest that seven churches successively ordained in the same way might be enumerated, as falckner intimates in a letter to magister sandel, dated new york, september 28, 1715. "in the jerseys, there i visit three small lutheran congregations" living a great distance one from the other, all 35 these congregations were in bergen county along the hudson, and evidently do not include those on the raritan, which were ministered to by his brother daniel. serves seven churches. these three consist of about one hundred communicants, the most poor people and poor settlers. "in the province of new york i serve four small lutheran congregations, & all these four consist in all of about one hundred constant communicants, besides strangers going & coming in the city of n. york, so that in all i have seven congregations, whom to serve i must yearly travel about twelve hundred english miles." בשם יהורה dissertatio gradualis, du plantatione ecclesiæ svecane in america, quam, suffragante ampl. senatu philofoph. regio upfal. albengo, preside, viro amplisfimo atque celeberrimo mag. andrea rónvall/ eth. & polit. prof. reg. & ord. in audit. guft. maj. d. 14 jun. an. mdccxxxi. examinandam modefle fiflit tobias e biörck. americano-dalekarlus. upsalia literis wernerianis. 93 biörck then adds, "thus these men were punctual enough in meeting, although scattered far and wide. moreover: "mr. kocherthal resideth as yet for the most time in one place on hudson's river, but visiteth two places on the other side of the river, where particular lutheran congregations meet. he has been as yet but once with those lutheran palatines that live in the mohacks' country. "we have brought forward these things so much out 94 dominie justus falckner. of our way, in order to make it clear that the splendor of the gospel had already shone in such various places of america." to reach these widely separated stations was a serious question. no regular conveyances existed; the only means of intercourse was either by canoe on the water courses or on horseback through the almost trackless forest, unprotected from the elements and exposed to the dangers from wild beasts and a treacherous savage. still, even these dangers failed to deter this pioneer missionary from his path of duty. great as was this widespread field of his ministrations, we have records that he, in addition, found time to extend his labors and spread the gospel among the negro slaves in the colony, as well as the indians who still remained in the vicinity. dit is het zegel cope van do falckner seal of dominie justus falckner (enlarged). w chapter x. falckner's church records. t 'he old church records and registers of the venerable trinity lutheran church (now st. matthew's at the corner of broome and elizabeth streets) give us the best insight into the untiring energy and piety of justus falckner. it is indeed fortunate that these records have been preserved to the present generation. they were saved from destruction during the great conflagration in 1776 by the heroism of the pastor, who rescued them from the burning parsonage at the peril of his life; after which they were securely placed in the cellar of the new church, and were forgotten until found by chance a few years ago; and now by the courtesy of the reverend john henry sieker, the pastor of the church, they have been placed at the disposal of the present writer. dominie falckner evidently considered the church book of the new york congregation as his official register, and (95) 96 dominie justus falckner. copied his ministerial acts upon its pages, irrespective of where they were administered. this interesting relic had been procured some time previous to the arrival of dominie falckner, as is shown by a memorandum or two in pastor rudman's handwriting. no effort seems to have been made by the latter to keep a separate record of his ministerial acts in new york, and they were without doubt entered upon the records of the wicacoa church, which was his official station. it was consequently left to justus falckner to open the church register of the trinity lutheran congregation in new york. this book is the oldest systematic lutheran record in america, and is in the unmistakable handwriting of the pastor. on the first page it states that "this is the church register (kercken-boeck) of the christian apostolic protestant lutheran congregation, according to the unaltered confession of augsburg, in new york, and the other thereto belonging places in america." then follows a brief list of contents: "an inventory of books and papers belonging to the church, folio 3. "baptismal record (doop register), folio 79a. "register of such persons as partook for the first time with our christian apostolic protestant lutheran congregation of the holy sacrament, folio 876. "register of such as have been dismissed by the congregation, folio 109. "register of such as were married by the pastors of said congregation, folio 145. "burial register, folio 185. "register of church officers, folio 316. "justus falckner, saxo-germano nf. eccla. orthodox lutheran belvic nov-eboraci in america, pastor." to the historian the most interesting item on the above page is the reference to an inventory of church papers, then (1704) in possession of the corporation. they consisted 98 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. 0.11 street scene in new york at the beginning of the xviii century. stadt house of new amsterdam, built 1642. 97 church book. kercken-boeck. 2. de chriſtelnike apostoliche protestantische lutherische primeente te deduen is onveranderte confesie sun augsburg en behoorende whoof van dit boeck faventarium van de boeken こ ​behoorendes. in in papieren, photographed from the original. aan de 98 dominie justus falckner. of several bundles or packages of documents, and were labelled "church papers," packet i., ii., etc., respectively. these documents have long since disappeared; the only record of them which has came down to us being falckner's inventory in the kercken-boeck. among the itemized list, packet no. ii. would be of exceeding interest if it were still in existence, as it contained among other documents, the following: item no. 5.-the congregational call of justus falckner. 6.rudmann's letter to falckner, and falckner's reply and acceptance. 8.a personal report from falckner to rudmann. 66 66 66 9. the engrossed diploma of ordination granted to justus falckner, and signed by the three swedish pastors on the delaware. these documents were deposited by justus falckner with the congregation upon his acceptance of the charge. a fac-simile of this diploma was given in a previous chapter. the body of the book is divided, as the table of contents indicates, into six divisions. reference has already been made to dominie falckner's first entry and votum. the first ministerial act recorded was a baptism administered in the barn of cornelius van boskerk at hackensack in east jersey, on monday, february 27, 1704. upon this occasion were baptized three children after a full morning service. on april 17, following, which was easter monday, falckner baptized a daughter of pieter a. van boskerk in the church at new york. these four baptisms were entered upon the register at the same time in the low dutch language, with the following votum: baptismal record. 99 "o lord! lord, let this child, together with the three above written hackensack children, be and remain engrossed upon the book of life, through jesus christ. amen." almost every one of falckner's entries closes with a short prayer or votum for the future welfare of the person 18 door register. voor de christelyke proteftantifche lutherische gerecove mo. newyork, nova cafarta, albania in andere dierto, be m anno chrifti 1704. anno de 10 1704 m. 27. februanin hebb ich gedoopt tot hackinfack m nova cafarea nae gehondene voormittags pradicatie in be schner van cornelis van boschkerik, nae volgende drie kinderen (1 durch soon van mattheus corneliussen en fyner #uys vrom trintie geboorn i geboorn op track infack. (z laurens jonge geliggen waren albert saborifki en fyn auys vrouw magdalena soon van laurens van boschkerck en fyner h. vrow henrichie getuygen 3 alida jonge dogter waren martin meyer, en van rudolph berg 4 en catharina fyner h. vrons getmygen waren de cholder felve en een chichael anno 1704 m. 17 aprilis op de tweede paefchen dagh gedoopt monse kerike tot newyork antje jonge gogter van pieter vas boschkerck en fyner hnys uronn trintje geboorn stapels. howk m. 26. decemb. 1703. gehrygen waren heere "major de bruyn en gertje de huys vrouw van bernt chriftiaen= ~ heere, heere laet dit kint met de goven op con en margareta jarfer. facsimile of earliest baptismal record. mentioned; showing the deep interest this devout shepherd took in the spiritual welfare of his flock, irrespective of their nationality or social position. dutch, english, german, negro and indian all lost their individuality with this 100 dominie justus falckner. pious evangelist, whose only aim and object it was to extend the church of christ in the wilds of america, according to the precepts of the augsburg confession. the following short prayers follow the respective baptisms during the first year of his ministration: 20 28 jin 20 the 32 uaw 18 c 19 19 hoodw 2 broad kebanya 28 way section of old map showing location of trinity lutheran church during dom. justus falckner's time: no. 19, church and parsonage; no. 28, lot where trinity p. e. church was built. "o god, let this child be and remain a child of salvation through christ. amen." "lord, let this child also remain forever within thy everlasting grace and favor, through christ. amen." "o god, let this child be included and remain in thy eternal favor, through christ." "o lord, we commend this child unto thee, for both baptizes english children. temporal and eternal welfare, through christ. o my god, may this child be and remain a member of thy kingdom of grace and glory, through christ. amen." the baptism of children of english parents was usually recorded in the english language. 13 t's 32 4847786 66 اذ w mumblei oprema pode 108 broad benga street funda 0-0 + 14 $2 r. hi. 2 * d * nassau beats san way ba bu * ioi bb barn & lowry te section of map of 1740 showing location of trinity lutheran church dedicated by dom. daniel falckner, june 29, 1729. 13, lutheran church. 12, trinity p. e. church. baptized d. 10 octobr, 1704 in ye house of mr. william chambers, richard, son of mr. william chambers en his wife sarah, born d. 10 ditto. "bless, o lord, this child also with everlasting happiness, through christ jesus. amen. "anno 1707, the 1, juni [literal transcript], being whitsunday, baptized, in our lutheran church at al102 dominie justus falckner. bany," elizabeth, young daughter of lieutenant richard brewer & catherine his wife, born the ii of march of this year. godfather was lieut: henry holland, god mother madam elisabeth weems and mrs. margareta kollnis. "grant, o lord, that this childt never cast away the risc luth emeinde seal of albany church. alban grace which thou has schworn, yea given by the covenant of baptism trough jesus christ our lord. amen." among the many interesting items in the baptismal register is the following: in the year 1705 were baptized a daughter of are of guinea, a negro, and his wife jora, both christian members of the congregation. falckner concludes with this votum: "lord, merciful god, who lookest not upon the person, but from whom different creatures that fear thee and do right find favor, let this child be clothed in the white robe 40 the first lutheran church in albany, fronted on pearl street, between howard and beaver, long since known as centre market. first communicants. 103 of innocence and righteousness, and so remain through the grace of christ, the saviour of all mankind. amen." one of the most impressive incidents during dominie falckner's pastorate in new york occurred on easter sunday, 1708. it was a clear, bright april day with the harbingers of spring singing in the air, and the warm sun calling all vegetation once more to put on its garb of veranno christi 1704 syn ter exxtermael tot het hooghheylige sacrament des lichuens en bloedts jefe chrifti in onfe christelycke protestantse gemeente toegelaten. wordter nacvolgende perfonen. in new york catharina vielts mr. johan vielts huys drow . charles beeckman 13 elsje la grancie 73 in albanien 4. maria johan evertfer anys vrow. laet & heere jefu chrifte sefe personen. ware levendige liotmaten hen i fbeylig lichaem fyn en blyven amen! record of first communicants. dure; indeed a typical paschal day, when all nature seemed to rejoice. the church was decorated with budding boughs and spring flowers. the paschal candles burned brightly on either side of the crucifix upon the altar, all indicative of he glorious resurrection to be celebrated. it was, however, a gala day in the church independent 104 dominie justus falckner. of its being one of the most joyous festivals. the full order of morning service (haupt-gottesdeinst) was completed, to the reading of the last collect, when a baptism somewhat out of the ordinary course was administered. the candidate was a carolina indian, who was a slave held by peter woglam. when the former first expressed a wish to become a christian, it became a question whether if he were admitted to the church he could still be held in bondage and treated as a slave. the master naturally objected, in the fear that he might lose his servant. the indian, however, settled the question by stating that he was willing to remain in servitude in this world, provided he was assured that he would be free and equal in the skies beyond. dominie falckner, when he heard of the circumstances, examined the indian, found him sincere, and concluded to accept him, and instructed him in the catechism and the tenets of the faith. upon the sunday in question, after the holy eucharist had been celebrated, the indian slave, after having been duly prepared, was called up before the altar and publicly catechised in presence of the congregation by the pastor and wardens. he was then asked by dominie falckner whether he solemnly promised before the omnipotent lord and this christian congregation that he would, after he was received into the church, continue to serve his worldly master and mistress as faithfully and truly as if he were yet in his benighted state. upon the indian giving his solemn promise that he would, dominie falckner proceeded to baptize him, after he had driven out the spirit of evil with the ancient exorcism according to the lutheran ritual: "darum, du vermaledeyter teufel, erkenne dein urtheil, etc." stipend. 6° (no.1062 τ his indented bill of fifty shillings, due from the colony of new-york, to the pofsefsor thereof ſhall be in value equal to money, & fhall be accordingly accepted by the treaſurer of this colony, for the time being, in all publick payments, and for any fund at any time in the treafury. dated, new-york, the ift of november, 1709. by order of the lieut. governor, council & general afsembly of the faid colony, fifty shillings, at half a farthing per diem int. r. zurting rwalter oh: jansen jezeythin specimen of money in which dominie falckner's stipend was paid. 105 106 dominie justus falckner. the name given to the new convert was "thomas christian." the ceremony closed with the invocation by the dominie: "that the lord would henceforth cause this unbelieving thomas to become a believing christian." the morning service closed with the benediction. history is silent as to the fate of this poor indian slave who thus voluntarily embraced the christian faith. presumably he continued to serve his master and mistress, according to his solemn promise, with the same fidelity as before. whether his bonds were ever relaxed, or whether his subsequent treatment was worse we do not know. a somewhat similar ceremony was performed at albany four years after the above. the convert in this instance was a negro slave. the entry in the old register reads: "anno 1712, january 27, baptized at loonenburg in albany, pieter christian, a negro and slave of jan van loons of loonenburg, about thirty years of age. he has promised among other things that he will hereafter, as well as he has done before, faithfully serve his master and mistress as servant. "grant, o god, that this black and hard negro-heart be and remain a christian heart, and he may be numbered among those who are clothed with white raiment before the throne of the lamb, through the merits of the lamb of god who bore the sins of the world. amen." under date of february 28, 1710, dominie falckner records the baptism of louisa abigail, daughter of pastor josua kocherthal and his wife sibylla charlotta. among the many curious entries in the baptismal record, the following is interesting as it illustrates the orthodoxy of the dominie. it appears that during his absence two members of his church called upon the english episcopal minister, rev. john sharpe, to baptize their children. i i i 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. c h. kain, esq., photo. t swedish churches on the delaware. rocks show site of fort built by minuet 1638. the church stood within the enclosure (wilmington). monument on site of cranehook church, 1667-1699, on banks of delaware, new eden park. marriage. 107 this fact evidently pained him deeply, as will be seen from the appended votum: 41 42 "nov. 30, 1712. during my absence mr. john sharpe baptized the young daughter of christian streit, "2 named, maria magdalena, born in new york, etc. "december 28, 1712. also baptized by mr. sharpe, the young daughter of johann phillip tays, named christine elizabeth, born in new york, etc. anno christi, 17 17. to anno onno 1717, den 26. nei theeft nr. william veley, com: streagh rius en englische van sr. excellence robert hunter, toen gouverneur van deele provintie rogate my justus falchney predicant van de protestantse lutherische gemeen myn hry in little aweens street in n. jorch copuleert en inde lichtffaat pigezegend met do terbare jonge sointer gerritar hardick, geboren in de provintie van jorth in de county. fih tauke uniel, heere jefu, ghy zeegend my dan! amen. by camilla: fac-simile of dominie falkner's entry of his marriage. "lord, lord god! merciful, gracious and forbearing, of great mercy and consideration, which thou showest unto us in a thousand ways by forgiving us our offences, tres"the rev. john sharpe, a clergyman of character and ability, was one of the early clergy upon the rolls of the society for the propagation of the gospel in foreign parts. his chief station under the society was in east jersey. prior to this he appears to have been stationed in maryland, probably under orders of the bishop of london. (nichols to stubs perry's historical collections, vol. iv., pp. 54, 349). but little is known of this clergyman. upon the rolls of the venerable society he is entered as having been sent out in 1704, after which his career, so far as the society goes, seems to be a blank, for immediately after his name and date is entered "resigned." according to the above entry by dominie falckner, he was still performing religious rites as late as 1712. another account names him as a chaplain at new york. the diary of rev. sharpe is now in the collection of the historical society of pennsylvania. 42 christian streit, a grandson of this man was ordained to the lutheran ministry together with muhlenberg's two younger sons, at reading, october 25, 1770. see hallische nach., new ed., 633. 108 dominie justus falckner. passes and sin, let not one of the above standing names be blotted out from thy book [on account of having been baptized by a minister of a different faith], but let them be therein written and remain there through jesus christ, thy beloved son. amen." 43 in the marriage record the following personal announcement is perhaps the most interesting: under date may 26, 1717. "on rogate sunday did will. vesry. reverend william vesey, commissary and preacher of the english church in new york, on a license of his excellency robert hunter, at the time governor of this province, 43 heere, heere gott, barmhertig ende genadig ende lanckmaedig ende van groote genade ende trouwe, di ghy bewyst in duysent leeden ende vergeeft misdaad, oventreedinge ende soude, laat doch niet een van de boven staande naamen uyt u boek uytgedelgt woordten, maar laat se daarin geschreewen syn en blyven door jesum christum, uwen lieven soon. amen. 1 children. 109 me, justus falkner, pastor of the protestant lutheran congregation, in my house in little queen street in new york, marry and consecrate in the bonds of holy matrimony with the honorable virgin, gerritge hardick, born in the province of new york, county albany. "i leave you not, you bless me then. amen." three children blessed this union: anna catherina, born in new york, july 17, 1718; baptized in the church on july 20; and sara justa, born at loonenburg, may 5, 1720; baptized may 8; married niclas van hoesan, december 22, 1738; benedictus, a son, born april, 1723; baptized at calverack, april 11th. in june, 1717, a letter of thanks was sent to the amsterdam consistory for aid and assistance rendered the struggling congregations in the valley of the hudson. the original document, signed by dominie justus falckner, and sealed with his coat of arms, is still preserved in the archives of the old lutheran church at amsterdam. following is a verbatim translation: new york, june 12, aº 1717. respective very reverend, reverend, god devoted, highly and very learned, highly and very respectable, highly and very honored lords and brethren in christ. when one of our brethren, by the name of johan michael schütze, was in holland on his own business last year, he, from the zeal and christian affection towards our true religion of which he is possessed, prayed your assistance for a new church here in new york. and you, being filled with and rich in that true charity the nature and character of which is tireless, have, in compliance with his said prayer, presented him with one hundred dutch guilders. we herewith render you, in duty i10 dominie justus falckner. bound, our heartfelt thanks for this beneficence and others received from you, with the assurance that we shall take all possible care to deport and show ourselves good stewarts of your charity. and that we shall not cease heartily to wish and pray that our emanuel may be a shield and great reward unto you and his congregation under you; craving that we ever may have the honor to call ourselves, to sign and to be respective, very reverend, reverend, etc., your grateful, sincere and faithful brethren, (signed) 66 address to 66 66 66 66 justus falckner, past. eccle. etc. pieter woglom, baeren van hooren, pieter van lopperse, johannis logransie, charel beckman. the reverend highly laudable consistorium and church council of the unaltered confession of augsburg in amsterdam, at amsterdam. in the performance of the arduous duties called for by his widely extended field of labor, the dominie had but little time for rest or the enjoyment of home life. forced as he was to be away from wife and babes for weeks and months at a time, his lot was by no means a sinecure, and to make matters worse, so beloved was he that the people, wherever he happened to be, were loth to see him depart for his next station, and would exact promises for a speedy return. in their attempt to secure his services, the various congregations even went further, and provided glebe houses i } visited by dominie sandel. that should be ready at all times for the pastor and his family. this was the case at loonenburg (athens) or at a place called klinkenbergh. he also lived for a time at calverack, and other outlying points, such as prewenhaeck. iii that notwithstanding his arduous duties, dominie falckner still remained in touch with his clerical brethren on the delaware is shown by correspondence with them, and by entries in the diary of pastor andreas sandel. the last one reads: "july 9, 1718. i sent same day by mail a packet to new york, enclosed to pastor falkner, to be forwarded by the first vessel bound for england." this letter has reference to pastor sandel's journey to sweden. in addition to dominie falckner's arduous and exacting duties incident to his widely separated charges and scattered congregations, a factor arose towards the close of his administration, which caused him much concern. this was nothing less than the attempt of one johann bernhard van dieren, a tailor by trade in new york, to usurp the place as pastor in some of the congregations under dominie falckner's charge. van dieren claimed to have been sent to new york as a pastor by rev. boehme, court preacher at st. james, london, but had no proof of his claim. it was not known heretofore that dom. falckner was in any manner involved in this controversy. the finding of his correspondence by the present writer throws considerable light upon this episode in our early religious history. it appears that dominie falckner wrote to the swedish pastors on the delaware for advice in this matter, a translation of dominie andreas hesselius', the swedish provost in america, latin opinion is here presented: 44 "translation by rev. h. e. jacobs, d.d. 112 dominie justus falckner. "as to bernhard von dieren i have been able to discover nothing except his singular zeal (would that it had been more wisely directed) for serving the church which he canvassed with such earnestness and such cares and troubles. i only dread that much injury may result; for if he be unfortunately transferred to administer affairs for which he has not been fitted, he must neglect both his order (?) and their duties, and corrupt those of others. if, as he professes, he be actually a lutheran, i wish, that, being mindful of luther's doctrine, he would acquiesce in his words await the one who calls thee; meanwhile, be secure. if he (?) need thee, he will call thee. no one is enriched by the word, unless one who, without his wish, is called to teach.' how in every way this declaration of luther is harmonious with the practice of the ancient and purer church, the words of the emperor leo will stand. the minister of the word of god ought to be so free from ambition that he is to be sought for as one who has to be constrained; being asked for he retires, and being invited he shrinks back. let the necessity of making an excuse be his own recommendation. only he, is worthy of the ministry who is ordained unwillingly. "such is the opinion of "andrew hesselius, pastor at "christiana and provost of the • • "swedish churches in pennsylvania." in a letter to dominie justus falckner, dated 1721, on the day of st. james the apostle. a partial account of dom. falckner's part in this controversy will be found in the final chapter of this memorial. dominie justus falckner's married life proved of short duration. we know but little of his movements, except from a drawing made in 1840. 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. swedish churches on the delaware. holy trinity (old swedes), wilmington, delaware, erected 1698. 首 ​ his death. 113 what can be gleaned from his official entries, which show that he continued to cover the whole territory of eastern new york, long island and staten island. the last entry found in his private diary, and copied into the old church register by pastor knoll, shows that he was at phillipsburg early in september, 1723: "sept. 4, 1723. baptized at phillipsburg" at the upper mill, in the house of david sturm, johann peter, born in the middle of june; ibidem, father pieter hentz, mother maria, witness johann birger." after this his history becomes a blank, the only documentary notice being a memorandum made by pastor knoll in the records of the lutheran church at newburgh: "pastor justus falcknenier, deceased. anno, 1723." according to the above record, which is no doubt correct, justus falckner died at the early age of 51 years, after having faithfully served the various congregations under his charge for twenty years. what were the circumstances of his sudden end cannot be told. whether he died alone among strangers, or amidst his young family, is an unanswerable question. not even his burial place is known, nor whether he was buried with the rites of the church in consecrated ground, or in some unknown corner. however, should any record be found to shed some light 45 philipsburgh or philipsborough was a manor granted to frederick philipse by royal charter in 1693. the lands continued in possession of the family until 1779, when they were confiscated by the state of new york. the manor included the present city of yonkers and extended some distance above. its boundaries, as defined in the charter, were as follows: "all that tract of land upon the main, bounded to the north by a rivulet called by the indians, meccackassin, so running southward to nepperhan, from thence to the kill shorackkapock and to paparinnomo, which is the southernmost bounds, then to go across the country, eastward by that which is commonly known by the name of bronx's river." 114 dominie justus falckner. upon the last hours of this devout shepherd in the fold of christ, it will no doubt show that he died in the full performance of his duty, true to his ordination vows. as to his family, it is known that after the father's death the widow with her three young children took up her abode at loonenburg, where the latter grew up in the lutheran church, and were confirmed and married according to its ritual. one of the last official acts recorded by dominie berkenmeyer, prior to his death in 1744, was a baptism of a second son of one of his church officers benedictus falckner, a grandson of his immediate predecessor. justus falckner is represented by all accounts as a lovely, winning character, a man of excellent gifts, good education, fine mind, devout, of decided lutheran opinions, active and of great endurance. in fact, he was an ideal pastor, who entered into his office with the full knowledge that without god's grace nothing could be accomplished. as has been shown, his field of labor extended along the hudson as far north as albany and landward to long island and raritan in new jersey. his services, nominally confined to the dutch and germans of the lutheran faith, were extended to all, irrespective of creed or color, as is proved by the mention of baptisms of both negroes and indians from the earliest days of his ministry. nothing could show the devout and sincere mind of justus falckner in bolder relief than the entries of his official acts in the church register, a votum being added in every case. from the documentary evidence come to light of late, and which forms the basis of the majority of these pages, it is shown how the influence of the pietists of provincial 1 greatest monument. 115 pennsylvania spread beyond the bounds of that province and extended over new york and the jerseys. no matter what the immediate causes may have been that induced the falckner brothers to leave their original home in america, how the factor time is apt to set all matters right is evidenced in the history of the elder falckner and the controversion of the pastorius slanders. to the devout and pious justus falckner, who first came to the western world as a pietist and mystical theosophist, with the avowed intention there to prepare himself for the coming of the redeemer, history will ever point as one of the most devout and sincere missionaries and brightest characters in early german-american history. although for years almost forgotten by the present generations that now compose the congregations formerly served by him, their very existence at the present day, after the lapse of two centuries, and the fact of their still adhering to the lutheran faith as based upon the unaltered augsburg confession, are his best monuments. they are living memorials, far greater than either shafts of granite or tablets of bronze made by the hands of man. as a fitting close to this sketch may be quoted the conclusion of the ritual formerly used by the theosophical brotherhood of which at one time he was a member"may god grant him a blessed resurrection." chapter xi. the van dieren controversy. t 'hat dominie justus falckner had more or less trouble in his extended field of labor, is an indisputable fact. it has, however, not been known heretofore that falckner was in any manner concerned in what is known as the van dieren controversy. from an extended fragmentary report, found among the loose papers in the archives of the old lutheran church in amsterdam, we obtain a clear insight into how this controversy arose, together with dominie falckner's action in the premises. we learn how a journeyman tailor married the daughter of one of the officers of the new york church, and then set himself up as a preacher. we also learn much of the history of the new york congregation. unfortunately the last page of this report, bearing date and signature, is miss(116) a rare pamphlet. willem chriftoffel berkenmeyers bedienaars des heyligen euangeliums van de nederduytfche geineente te nieuw-york, albame en daar ontrent, infgelyks der parochye der palatynen by quaffayk, de onveranderde a. c. toegedaan, getrouwe herderen wachter stem aan de hoogen neder-duitſche lutheriaanen in defe geweften, eenstemmig te zyn vertoont met twee brieven en andere redenen lutherſcher theologanten & aangaande 't van dierenfche beroep, en de henkelsche beveftiging. 117 $50 $555555555&65554664665564 $$$$$$$$ te nieuw-york, by j.peter zenger, a. c. mdccxxviii. fac-simile of berkenmeyer's pamphlet. only known copy in harvard university library. 118 dominie justus falckner. ing. it is, however, undoubtedly in the handwriting of pastor berkenmeyer, who was falckner's immediate successor, and it was his first report to the amsterdam consistory upon his arrival in new york, september 22, 1725. there appears a date, 1721, in pencil upon the first page. this is correct, so far as it refers to the latin letter of dominie andreas hesselius to dominie justus falckner which is appended to the report. this report with the local matter left out formed the basis for berkenmeyer's controversial pamphlet printed by zenger in 1728, the title page of which we reproduce on the opposite page. william christopher berkenmeyers | minister of the holy evangels to the | low dutch congregation | at | new york, albany and parts adjacent | as well as the parish of palatines at quassayk | addicted to the unaltered a[ugsburg] c[onfession] | faithful pastoral and guardian call to the high and low dutch lutherans | in these wilds to be of one accord, demonstrated | by two letters and other fundemantals of lutheran theologians | concerning the van dieren vocation | and | the henkel ordination | at new york by j. peter zenger, a. c. 1728.| the writer is indebted to pastor van wijk, jr., of the amsterdam clergy for a verbatim copy of this interesting document, which gives us so many new and interesting historical facts concerning our early religious history. translation. ir ight reverend, most learned, as also most noble and illustrious sirs, particularly our most kind and esteemed patrons! i regard it as my duty, not only to express my thanks in particular to you, right reverend, most noble and most story of van dieren. 119 learned sirs, for the favors which you extended to me during my sojourn in amsterdam and after my departure, in the positive assurance that god will extend his blessing to each and all of you, but also to advise you of what passes here, and give you an accurate account how i found the condition of this congregation upon my arrival. the contentions within the congregation and the letter resulting therefrom were caused by the following conditions: there is a member of our congregation in the city one johann michael schütz, a tailor, who gave his daughter unto a man who left the needle and assumed the pastoral office, over which there had been many a dispute even during the lifetime of dominie justus falckner, who as he felt his end approaching admonished the wardens and vestrymen to seek their refuge with the right worshipful consistory at amsterdam. the only obstacle in their way, however, was the heavy expense, which it was impossible for them to assume. in this dilemma johannes sybrand, who was a seafaring man, volunteered, as he then stood prepared to go to england, to assume the personal expenses of the dominie, and to go over to holland to procure [a pastor] from thence, provided that they would supply him with a collection-book. now as they imagined that they were not risking or were responsible for more than the charges on the dominie's baggage, the majority, together with the most respectable members, accepted the offer with great pleasure. however, the before-mentioned schütz would not consent to anything, as he would gladly have seen a different course taken in regard to his son-in-law, who was then at schohari. albeit he did not permit himself to say or do anything until an answer was received from your right 120 dominie justus falckner. worshipful consistory, stating that, without any previous consent or authority of the congregations concerned, one would hardly consent to come over; furthermore that nearly all here had lost all courage. these facts schütz made use of, and not only induced one of the kerkenmeister, andreas van buskerke (who was one of the signers of the call procuratum to amsterdam) together with the latter's brother and son, who live in the country, to sign the contradictory missive, but also induced johann jacob bos and michael peper to do the same. now if we except johann michael schütz as the author and his son j. h. schütz, all the remaining signers to the missive are either persons who have already severed themselves from our holy religion, as godfried heyns and johann david köning, or such as only join in our communion as strangers, like fridiricus boolt and uldrig zimmerdünger; or such as are scattered about the country far and near, like joh. jacob huttrot, joh. c. müller, and a. beem, who has since returned to newburg. others are not even known here by name. further, of all the rest or at least not a single one of them (excepting the three van boskerkes and joh. michael schütz, who formerly served as a deacon, and once upon a time, about the year 1713, took upon himself to collect money in amsterdam, whereof he delivered fifteen pounds to the church after a lapse of three years), ever gave a single penny toward the church during their whole lifetime. yea, it even came to pass, after a brother of the van boskerkes, who hailed from hackensack, had extended a call thence to this van dieren and permitted him occasionally to preach in their dwelling houses, that he preached once in our church, but only with the consent, forcibly obtained, from both the p. t. deacons lagrannie and 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. courtesy of wm, z. flitcraft, esq. king's road swedish churches on the delaware. st. george's penn's neck, n. j., organized 1714. appeal to amsterdam. beekmann. upon the next occasion, however, these officers took possession of the pulpit (priester stuhl) and barred the way to the chancel. they even threatened to commit murder and force our houses and church, if this were not opened unto them. their aim however was merely to obtain possession of the strong box of the church. consequently the statement, as made in their missive, that johann van dieren was called unanimously and by general consent, is fictitious. the rest of the congregation as a dernier ressort have resolved, in case the right reverend consistory at amsterdam would not favor them, to extend a call to the brother of the sainted falckner, although his own brother would not counsel them to do this before they took up with van dieren. 121 and now about the ungodly missive, they knew nothing at all of it, until they were informed by a good friend, who knew about the correspondence of the consistory, that schütz lied to them when stating that the missive had not been sent, and that he regretted that the letter had fallen into such loyal hands. otherwise the missive would have been his, even if it had cost him fifty pounds. the whole congregation accordingly consists of from ten to twelve households, which upon the male or female side are of the reformed faith. of the remaining number who reside in the town, many for several years have failed to adhere to our church, as they either objected to the preacher or had some other absurd reason. others again were angered at the bad condition of our church, and became of a different mind. and of all these, thus far but a single household hath returned. now as i arrived here, both friends and enemies if i 122 dominie justus falckner. may so call them became disheartened; the former, as they were greatly weakened, by the defection of the van buskerkes, who were the wealthiest among the congregation; the latter, because they realized that their scheme had virtually turned out archilochian. in the meantime it was resolved to say nothing about that missive, if the opposite party made no demand for it. in fact no one here demanded either to see or read the letter. the church council thereupon convened a meeting, together with all the above-named members of our congregation, whereat i had no sooner presented my letters than andreas van buskerken arose and extended his hand to me. in this he was followed by all present, joh. michael schütze being the last one. the answering of the letters from the right rev. consistory was consigned to me, and it was afterwards resolved to send the answers in their present form. if your right reverend and most noble society will permit, i will now describe the several conditions of my congregation. as before stated in numbers our congregation is but few, and several among them live over two german miles from the town. the church hath no income except that of the purse with the bell (klingel beutel). the monies sent from st. thomas over fifteen years ago were, as i learn, put out at interest, which goes toward the pastor's salary, and if this is not sufficient, the deficiency is collected and supplied ostiantim [collected from door to door]. further there are no accidentia, such as marriages or funeral sermons, as these hardly occur once in many years. the church, which we fear will be demolished by the first heavy storm, is more like unto a cattle shed than a house of god: only two windows are in the building, one a dilapidated church. 123 behind the pulpit and the other directly opposite. as the church is not paved, but merely floored with loose boardssome long, others short — one cannot pass through it without stumbling. the preparations for divine worship are so bad, that i doubt whether greater confusion exists in any heathen temple. the people are not capable of singing a hymn properly, and upon several occasions they have stuck in the middle of a hymn, and i have had to go thus to the altar or ascend the pulpit, although i permit the precentor to sing whatever he likes, and what they have been accustomed to sing. and now if the seventy-three-year-old one dies, they will have no one in the congregation who is capable of acting as reader. the £17.10s promised me in the contract, i have just received, as i am preparing to start for albany. for the time that i have served here they give me nothing. the same sum was promised me on the part of the albanians, but to facilitate their communion they have also gotten rid of their promise, although they said they would give it to me, as i offered to repay the 41 holland florins and 57 english shillings advanced to me by joh. sybrand. this, however, they would not permit, as i had used the money to purchase a cloak and necessary household furniture. accordingly i did not want to take this sum from them, nor press for any salary for the short time, though i think that i shall receive my bodily food and sustenance from them, and with this i suppose i shall have to content myself. god grant that his blessing may rest upon my efforts to build up this congregation, and may it be a joy unto me, even if not fully in time, yet in eternity. i further pray that your right worshipful consistory 124 dominie justus falckner. will aid and assist me with good advice and material help, as they perceive that it is for god's glory and the maintenance of evangelical truth in these lands. i have found here a folio bible, also a church liturgy, which i take with me to albany, for i surmise that, as there is no public church there, neither shall i find any of these books there. i trust that i shall not commit any wrong if i take my books along, or rather the local church books, and distribute them, just as i have done with those given me by the rt. worshipful consistory of amsterdam, together with those bought at hamburg with the collection money. otherwise there is a universal complaint about the scarcity of hymn-books, catechisms and bibles. nearly all the last-named that we have here are those sent by the rt. worshipful consistory of amsterdam and contain the name of the rt. rev. j. wesling. they know little of catechisms; bibles are found with the older families; but the new families have to borrow one from another. about joh. j. van dieren i cannot report much that is creditable. that he not only wrought as a tailor in england, but also here in new york, and that the spirit of fanaticism had already manifested itself in him in england, is attested by mr. schleydorn who knew him there. here he was no less under this influence, and not only acted as being in the church, but at divers times cried out aloud in his workshop in the basement, and claimed to be holding a conversation with god. he made the woman, in whose house he lived, believe that he wanted to marry her daughter, but that god would not give his consent. the name of jesus the crucified served him for many purposes. in his complimentary greeting to me he made use of the name no less than ten times, as also the word "christ." ignorance of van dieren. 125 thereby every man, like unto david, will recognize how good and pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity. thus do i find in a letter written by him march 7, 1721, to one in schohari whom he thanks for his kind greeting, but complains that he was so cold during the past winter. in this letter he makes use of the name of jesus seven times, twice of jesus christ, and once where he calls him our heavenly prince. as to the cold he experienced, this he says was a suffering for the sake of jesus' name. he, however, consoles himself with the example set by jesus, the warm love of jesus and the great glory of heaven. the beginning is thus: "as it is only expressed in holy writ: 'jesus to greet you, the holy spirit as a kiss."" he closes with these words: "i greet you with the kiss of the love of jesus, and greet me therewith, that we may all be brethren and sisters in christ jesus, who do not live according to the flesh, but according to the holy spirit. this greeting from me, with the kiss of jesus christ. the love of god be with them all. amen." that at this time he was still tailoring is shown by a footnote, wherein he writes: "this winter i have still earned pretty well." the sainted falckner characterizes him thus (in litteris ad eundem exaratis): "in him we find great craftiness in place of christian prudence; great obstinacy in place of humble joyfulness. to prove this i will not give myself any trouble." so much i learn from the correspondence of that sainted man, that this praedicam applied to him is true: that he is an arch-ignoramus, who neither knows how to write ger126 dominie justus falckner. man nor to spell correctly, even though he defends himself with the statement that the apostles of the lord were fishermen and uneducated persons. as he was asked if he understood latin, he took the proffered book and said: "god be thanked, this i understand, the beautiful latin." when he attempted a syncretical signature, taking that of dominie falckner as an example, he wrote thus: "johann bernhard van dieren paster ecclie jesu christi et luthera." the above letter is from his correspondence with the congregation in schohari which had waited so long for a pastor from england, who, although ordained in london by the rev. consistorial privy counsellor mentzer, immediately afterwards, ab crimine dicto soldo, had to run away, and later committed suicide by hanging in holstein. thereby he appears to have paved his way to the ministry. thus i find two letters from schohari in the year 1721, dated may 21 and 26herein they report to dom. falckner that they are informed that a high german pastor for them has arrived in new york. further that he has already delivered a sermon there, which pleased them well. from the above it is surmised that he [van dieren] was the conscripient, and notwithstanding that three signatures appear to each letter, they do not appear to conform or to be by the same hands. they further state that when he was asked who had sent him to them, the reply was that it was dom. boehme in england. they also had heard that he was a tailor, but they did not mind this, provided dominie falckner would examine and ordain him. the most remarkable thing about this matter is that dominie falckner should have taken any personal interest in furthering this matter. i also find two latin letters dated july 3, 1721-one from opposition of swedish pastors. jonas lidman praepositus wicacoa, in philadelphia; the other from andr. hesselius pastor at christiana, also in pennsylvania, by which it is shown that the said falckner interested himself for van dieren, so that he might be ordained by the three swedish pastors. the latter sent a prolix and solid letter in contrarium, from which i enclose an extract which treats particularly of van dieren's application. 46 upon the failure of this scheme, he went to a palatine preacher in pennsylvania“ (if this be true) from whom it is claimed that he obtained an attestatum ordinationis; but no one has thus far been able to get a sight of it.48 further, after his return he continued to importune dominie falckner to ordain him. in the meantime he settled in schohari, while boasting of his ordination. in presence of dominie falckner, when asked why he had concealed this from him, he replied: "the devil had blinded him, and he had shed bloody tears, regretting that he had lied to him." as soon as he had established himself there, he began to break the bread in the holy communion, and in his sermon even ordered such as objected to this to leave the church. accordingly, some fifty-two members of the congregagation wrote to dominie falckner, and as the latter called him to account, he answered with a deal of absurd talk, in which he said: 127 "i adhere to the words of christ, and all those who do otherwise than christ commanded shall stand in judgment either here or hereafter." 46 vide, pp. 111-112, supra. 47 for a full and authentic account of rev. gerhard henkell and van dieren's actions in pennsylvania, see rev. t. e. schmauk's "history of the lutheran church in pennsylvania, 1638–1880." 48 vide, p. 134. 128 dominie justus falckner. dominie hesselius was not alone in giving this person a bad pronosticon. another one of his friends, after defending him for his bread-breaking and speaking of him with great praise, let this sentence slip into a letter dated feby. 20, 1723: "if his heart is as his mouth speaketh, so it stands well with him. if it is falsehood then i hope that it will not last long, and he must come to shame and ruin." alas! the congregation at schohari is now totally scattered and he had to leave there some years ago; the church as well as the parsonage there has become a spoil for the reformed of that locality. the few who still remain keep to the reformed. in the year 1723 the lutherans on the hudson river had in mind to call this j. b. van dieren. the plan was, however, abandoned after a consultation with dominie falckner. now as he found that he could meet with no success here in new york, he went to the reformed at tappan and offered to preach the gospel of christ unto them, as christ had commanded. whereupon they took him to dominie anthonides on long island, to discover whether he was of the evangelical lutheran or reformed faith. as thus far i have not received any account of this act from the mouth of dominie anthonides, i will not repeat the current rumors, though i learn them from trustworthy men."9 in the meantime, as he was not able in a single instance ad interim to intrude himself here, he moved to hackensack, as he travels around wherever there may happen to 49 it is strange that in all of this controversy about an ordination for van dieren no mention is made upon the reformed side officers of peter tesschenmaeker, a young licensed bachelor of divinity-ordained in new york, 1679-thirty years later anthonides and du bois refused to be a party to a similar ordination. vide "a manual of the reformed church in america," by rev. e. t. corwin, d.d., new york, 1902, p. 52. . 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. the valley of schoharie. ፡ appeal to consistory. be a church without a pastor, whether evangelical, lutheran or reformed. i may mention that his father-in-law looked at me trustingly and asked, as i delivered my first sermon, that i would permit him to fill my pulpit and preach in the afternoons and when i happened to be in albany. it is reported that since my arrival he still preaches in one of the van buskerkes' houses. although the van buskerkes themselves come to hear my preaching, they excuse themselves by saying that he was invited there prior to my coming. but neither he [van buskerke] nor his household came to me to join in our communion, when the whole congregation partook of the communion eight days ago. 129 accordingly i beseech your right worshipful and most honorable reverences, with all proper respect, that you will kindly consider and take to heart the pitiful condition of my congregation; and even if i am to suffer poverty, for which i shall have the sympathy of all friends both exalted and lowly, i trust they will come to my aid, so that the ev. lutheran church here shall not succumb, which without assistance is unavoidable, unless god should perform a miracle. further, i beg of you for advice as to how i shall conduct myself toward van dieren, particularly if he attempts as a wolf to break in among my sheep. lastly, i think to repeat my own and the church council's objection against johann sybrand's demands and pretentions. i trust that your right worshipful consistory will give its decision accordingly. this man shows a thoroughly wicked heart. he professes to be a consistent lutheran. now it has come to light that he has no religion, as during his whole lifetime he has never once partaken of 130 dominie justus falckner. our communion, and now he even proclaims publickly that god's word is preached by others just as well. notwithstanding his enormous bill for provisions in amsterdam and england, as true as god lives i have had to suffer and have almost died, as this captain serley will himself testify. during the voyage there was no surplus of anything except brandy and whiskey, wherewith during the whole voyage he treated the ship's crew, as he now sets forth upon my account. the bills, of which i send you the originals, will plainly show you his character, and even these were only gotten from him after much trouble. at first he refused to let any one see either of the invoices or present his bill until a resolution was passed that he should again be sent out, and what he was to receive for his trouble. thereupon he demanded £4 monthly as pay, and seven holland florins weekly as spending money. eventually he presented this bill after he had changed the values to the holland standard, although in our findings he accounted for the collection funds in german money. the counter charges were made up from my journal according to the time and of what we approved, and i truly believe that even here he was too greatly favored. although i depend entirely upon your right worshipful consistory that all wrong will be redressed, we shall account ourselves very beholden to your reverences if you will trouble yourselves with this matter. lastly, i must remind your right worshipful and most reverend sirs, as our people appear so tardy about commencing the building, whether it would not be policy for the right worshipful consistory to inform us if we have any funds on deposit in holland, or if we should look elsewhere for aid. we will then send a plan of the proabrupt close of missive. posed building, and will promise to bring it to completion according thereto. i trust that your right worshipful and most reverend sirs will hereby see the honesty of my intentions, which are not intended for my own, but for the glory of the church, and that i be not mistaken in my appeal whereby the richest blessings of god. 131 [here the missive comes to an abrupt close, as the last page is missing.] the following pastoral explains itself. it was sent to the hackensack congregation, upon berkenmeyer's complaint that they had accepted van dieren as a pastor. this letter is of great importance, as it affords a positive proof of dominie rudman's appointment as vice bishop for pennsylvania, under the signature of all the resident swedish clergy on the delaware. oncordia resparva crescun escutcheon of holland. lg chapter xii. the swedish pastoral to hackensack, n. j. 51 honoured vestry-men of the congregation at hakinsack, dearly beloved friends.50 we the swedes ministers in this colony, have got your letter, in the which you are pleased, dearly beloved friends, to propose to us your complaints against john bernhard van dieren, whom ye have taken to be your teacher, asking for our counsel in this matter. for the 1st ye are pleased to inform us, that he omits all the christian ceremonies of our evangelical church, arms of sweden. 50 pages 70 to 91 of the berkenmeyer pamphlet reprint verbatim et literatim. this copy was obtained through the courtesy of william c. lane, esq., librarian of harvard college library. 51 wicaco (gloria dei, philadelphia), christiana (trinity, wilmington, delaware), pennsneck (st. george's, salem county, n. j.), racoon (swedesboro). (132) statement of swedish pastors. 133 introducing new ones, as breaking the bread at the administration of the holy sacrament, confessing that never himself has taken it otherways, neither will alter his mind, about this matter, for the time to come. and by such his doings, several persons are departed from this world. without taking the sacrament, for this oneley reason. for the 2d. that john bernhard van dieren has made very absurd church constitutions, in the wich he proposes what he will have his hearers do, forgeting his own duty towards the congregation; and being blasphemious in those oppose against his absurdities. nevertheless himself transgresses his own laws. for the 3d. he has saught for to make some differences in mr. berckenmeyers congregation at albany, and he for all is a minister of christ lawfully called, ordained and sent. and for such his doings he is of the vestry excluded from serving your church any longer, except he will come before us swedes ministers and answer to these complaints. but he replys, that we are his enemies, and so not willing to come, using other means to get into the church by help of a widow, and constituting a new vestry, which upon these occasions may sute him. for the 4th. we understand, that he gos about to other congregations, not uniting but destroying them. for the 5th. ye have sent us an extract of the lutheran consistorium at amsterdam, and their judgment about this the swedish lutheran church in lower penn's neck, salem co., n. j., was built on ground given by jean jaquett, january 8, 1715. the building of the church was immediately commenced, but not completed until march 31, 1717. it was of logs twenty-four feet square and weatherboarded. this was replaced in 1808 by the present substantial brick church, as the original one had fallen into decay. the church was transferred into the protestant episcopal fold by rev. john wade in 1789 when the first vestry was chosen. 134 dominie justus falckner. john bernard van dieren, how unfit a person he is for serving the church of god. these, as we perceive, are the contents of your letter. and verily we cannot but pity your condition. for the 1st. ye did do very ill, dearly beloved friends, in taking up with such a pretended minister; because if ordained, it is not done lawfully. he was with us about his ordination, but we denied it him, for two reasons. first, that we had not such authority, that we could ordain ministers. mr. rudman indeed did ordain mr. falckner, the late minister of the lutheran congregation at newyork; but he was made a suffragane, or a vice-bishop by the arch-bishop of sweedland. for the second. that we thought him not qualified for that sacred function. seeing now that he could not get ordination by us, he gos up to mr. hinckler,52 living about manatanien,53 and by him, some how was ordained gerhartt henkoll is likely enough. but yet when mr. lidman once was with mr. hinckler, and among other things did ask him about van dieren his ordination, he protested then, that van dieren was never ordained by him. however mr. lidman has no witness, but will take his oath before any magistrate, that he heard mr. hinckler say such a thing. in the mean time do ye think, dearly beloved friends, that mr. hinckler (god knows what he hath to shew for his ordination of ministers) could ordain him alone, and we four swedes ministers, sent hither by royal and epis52 rev. gerhard henkell, vide schmauk, "lutheran church in pennsylvania, 1638-1800," pp. 144 et seq. 53 maxatawny. reasons for refusal. 135 copal power, by the consent of two kingdoms, and farthermore recommended by the venerable society for propagating the gospel in foreign parts, could not? and if he will say, that this was done in case of necessity, we deny that too; because we have vessels yearly and ransmarinis sighivms partibvs nv elio in societatis the gift of the society for propagating the gospell in foreigh parts 1704 de donor book plate of the society for the propagation of the gospel. monthly going for europe, whether he could come, get necessary learning, be lawfully called, examined, ordained and sent; and not get his ordination by a single minister, contrary to the scripture, and likewise the canons and 1 136 dominie justus falckner. 54 ecclesiastical constitutions of the church. mr. hesselius, our late præpositus did write a letter to mr. falckner aforenamed, in the which he proposes the reasons, why this van dieren could not be ordained by us, and we believe, is yet in being, and therefore desire it may be translated into your dutch tongue, and read in your congregations, that ye may see whatsoever his proceedings have been. he says farther, that we are his enemies. and we truely declare, that we hate not his person, but his deeds, being no more enemies to him than the apostle st. peter was to simon, when he gave him a good counsel, perswading him to better behaviours. being a taylor, we perswaded him to keep to his trade, and leave the sacred office to more fit persons, or get himself through lawful means. but he would take his own way. and ye now, dearly beloved friends, see the issue of it. we also disown him to be a minister of christ, and likewise to be our brother in the sacred function in order to our evangelical church. for the 2d. as leaving out the ceremonies and holy prayers used so long time, and with so great edification in the church of god, and making new ones, we highly dislike. belonging his breaking the bread at the holy sacrament, it is in it self an indifferent thing, if the church had so constituted it we might as well break the bread, as use wafers; but a single minister and a single congregation ought not to take upon themselves to alter the ceremonies and make new ones. for the 3d. that he is so busie to go about to other people and make differences in mr. berkenmeyers congregation, is a great sin. but he that is unjust in one thing, is also in others. we hope for all they will for the future beware of such ministers. 53 vide pp. 111, 112 supra. } i 1703-memorial of dom. justus falckner-1903. photo. furnished by rev. j y. burk. swedish churches on the delaware. racoon church, swedesboro, gloucester county, n. j. organized 1698. reasons for refusal. 137 for the 4th. ye have done very well, dearly beloved friends in excluding him from the service of your church, and better ye will do, if ye hear him no more, since he is like to destroy your congregation. neither take up with such men, till they can shew necessary testimonies from some consistory in europe, of their lawful ordination and likewise a good conversation. for the 5th. we are of the same mind with the venerable consistory at amsterdam. and so, dearly beloved friends, we hope ye will take our answer in good part, and send a copy of it, or the original to mr. berkenmeyers congregation at new-york and albany, to be read there. not that we have got any authority more than other ministers. but we have a precedent in ecclesiastical history. that if any church did forsake the truth, or commit disorders in any kind, other churches did sometime take upon them (as the case did move) to warn, advise, reprove it, and so declare against its proceedings, as prejudicial not onely to the wellfare of that church, but to the common interest of truth and peace; but this was not in way of commanding authority, but of fraternal sollicitude. so did the roman church interpose in reclaiming the church of corinth from its disorders and seditions. so did st. cyprian and st. denys of alexandria meddle in the affairs of the roman church, exhorting novation and his adherents to return to the peace of their church. if any dissention or fraction did arise, other churches, upon notice thereof, should yeld their aid to quensh and suppress it, countenancing the peacable, checking and disavowing the fractious. so did st. cyprian help to discountenance the novation schism. thus we all christians should assist one another in the common defence of truth, piety and peace, when 138 dominie justus falckner. they are assaulted in the propagation of the faith and enlargement of the church, which is to contend together for the faith of the gospel, to be good soldiers of christ, warring the good warfare, striving for the faith once delivered to the saints. so we commit you and the whole congregation to gods fatherly care, remaining, dearly beloved friends your constant true well-wishers and brethren philadelphia the 31st day of october, 1727. jonas lidman, pastour & provost at wicacoe. samuel hesselius, minister of the gospel at christiana. j petrus tranberg, minister at racoon, andreas windrufwa, minister at pennsneck. 20 va abelius, dom., 55. amsterdam, report to, 81. anthonides, rev., 128. arentius bernhardus, 82. avelius, dom., see abelius. beekman, samuel, 77, 79. beem, a., 120. berkenmeyer, pamphlet printed by zenger, 1728, 116–118. biörck, rev. eric, 52, 70; account of falckner's ministrations, 92, 93. birger, johan, 113. boehme, rev. anton, 11i. boolt, fridiricus, 120. bos, joh. jacob, 120. boskerk (buskerke), andreas van, 77, 120. cornelius van, 98. laur van, 77. pieter, a., 98. index. bradford, william, prints book, 86. brewer, catherine, 102. elizabeth, 102. lieut. richard, 102. bruyns, p., 84. chambers, richard, 101. sarah, 101. william, 101. christian, thomas, 106. pieter, 106. christina swedish church, 132–133. churches in philadelphia, 42. clarkson, rev. joseph, 62. clay, rev. j. c., 62. rev. slaytor, 62. clayton, rev. thomas, 25, 33. collin, rev. nicholas, 62; portrait, 71. falckner, anna catharina, 109. benedictus, 109. christian, 13. rev. daniel, sr., 13. daniel, birth, 13; pietist, 14; visits europe, 24; autograph, 25; selected for mission, 27; citizen and pilgrim, ib.; curious account, 28; continuation 1704, 29; returns to america, 31; colophon, ib.; on the wissahickon, 31; as bailiff of germantown, 32; attorney for furly, 34, 35; slandered by pastorius, 36-37; attends swedish church, 43; call to new york, 121. justus, genealogy, 13; official record, 14; matriculates, 15; as a hymnist, 18; auf ihr christen, 19; celebrated hymns by, 22; at lubeck, 23; appointed attorney, 30; arrives in america, 31; on the wissahickon, 32; burgess at germantown, 32; becomes hermit, 33; writes to dom. muhlen, 33; return to the world, 34; attorney for furly, 34-35; missive to europe, 38; hermit, 39; attends gloria dei, 43; pleads for organ, 45; 139 index. answers it-rudman's reply, | hesselius, dom., 127. 55-56; called to new york, 57; biörck's letter, 58-59; ordination of gloria dei, 6071; in new york, 72; notifies amsterdam consistory, 73; ordination certificate, 74; first entry, 76; official signature, 77; serves country churches, 78; appeal for funds, 78; signs report, 84; publishes text-book, 86; title, 88; hymn from, 89; activity of, 90; seal, 94; church records, 95; baptizes at hackensack, 98-99; record, ib.; list of communicants, 103; baptizes indian slave, 104; negro slave, 106; marries gerritge hardick, 108; reports to amsterdam, 109; trouble with van dieren, iii; death of, 113; character and attributes, 114; opinion of van dieren, 125. paul christian, 13. sarah justa, 109. 140 francke, rev. aug. herman, 16, 24; receives daniel falckner, 27. frankfort company appoints kelpius and falckner, 30. friedrich's university, 14; view, 15; interior, 17; bi-centennial, 27. furly, benjamin, autograph, 30. letter from rudman, 52-54; andrew, letter by, 111-12. rev. samuel, 138. heyns, godfried, 120. hoesan, niclas van, 109. holland, lieut. henry, 102. huttrot, joh. jacob, 120. hackensack extends call, 120. henkell, rev. gerhart, 134. hentz, pieter, 113. jauert, balthasar, 30. (jawert) johann, 14, 30. recorder of germantown, 22. jawert, vide jauert. jonas the organist, 33. julian quoted, 21. kallnis, mrs. margareta, 102. keen, eric, 50. matz (matthew), 50. kelpius, johannes, 14, 25, 30, 33, 63. knoll, pastor, notes death, 113. kocherthal, rev. josua, 90, 93, 106. louisa abigail, 106. sibella charlotta, 106. könig, joh. david, 120. könneken, balthasar jasper, 31. köster, h. b., 14. la grangie (lagransie), johannes hans, 77-84. lidman, rev. jonas, 127, 138. lloyd, david, 35. lock, rev. lars, 55. loons, jan van, 106. löscher, quoted, 87. geissler, daniel, 32. gloria dei, mention of, 42; ordinalutheran church, location of, 100-1. tion at, 60. guinea, are of, 102. falckner's albany, 102. condition of in new york, 120i. muhlen, dom. heinrich, 23. missive, 10, 38, 48. müller, dom. heinrich, vide muhserley, capt., 129. len. joh. c., 120. nicum, rev. j., 73. norris, isaac, 35. index. paper money, 1709, 105. pastorius, francis daniel, charges fraud, 35; arms, 36; slanders falckner, 36-37. penn, william, appoints falckner brothers attorney, 34, 35. pennsneck, swedish ch., 132-3. peper, michael, 120. philadelphian society, 25. pietists on wissahickon, 24, 25, 31. sybrand, joh., 119, 123, 129. racoon swedish ch., 132-133. rev. a., 42; offers to preach in german, 44; goes to new york, 49; autograph, 50; entry in register, 51; yellow fever, 52; letter to falckner, 53; as vice-bishop, 60-71, 79, 82; entry in church book, 97, 98. sharpe, rev. john, 106–107. sprögel, john henry, autograph, 14. ludovic, 14. streit, christian, 107. schütz, j. h., 120. joh. michael, 84, 109, 120. sects in pennsylvania, 42, 43. selig, johann, 33. selskoorn, see abelius. maria magdalena, 107. st. thomas, funds from, 79. storch, arnold, 14. sturm, david, 113. j. pieter, 113. on delaware swedish churches transferred to episcopal fold, 6062; trinity, wilmington, st. george's, pennsneck, racoon, swedesboro, 132-133. rambo, peter, 50. reformed church in new york, 85. thomas, rev. mr., 50. rudman, anders, 52. tays, christine elizabeth, 107. johann philip, 107. thomasius, christian, 14, 15. tranberg, rev. petrus, 138. 141 weems, elizabeth, 102. sandel, rev. andrew, 49, 52, 70, 92. wesling, rev. j., 124. rev. andreas, 111. saturnine quaker spirit, 45. schleydorn, 124. van dieren, j. bernhard, 111; controversy, 116-131; swedish pastoral against, 132-138. veit, 77; (veilt), joh., 84. vesey, rev. wm., 108. weyrauch's hügel, quoted, 20, 23. windrufwa, rev. andreas, 138. woglom, pieter van, 77, 84. woglam, peter, 104. zetskoorn, see abelius. zimmerdünger,uldrig, 120. 1 1 x=502x 194 ance aug 1 7 1964 sachse, julius friedrich justus falckner 3 2044 052 725 744 943 luth.85 f179 s252 ju 227 ng nedl transfer hn 27vys ruth fielding down east alice b. emerson kd 33630 09 ה . remmell owen tom cast aside his sweater and plunged into the tide. ruth fielding down east page 113 ruth fielding down east or the hermit of beach plum point by alice b. emerson author of "ruth fielding of the red mill," "ruth fielding at sunrise farm," "ruth fielding homeward bound," etc. illustrated o new york cupples & leon company publishers kd 33630 books for girls by alice b. emerson ruth fielding series 12mo. cloth. illustrated. ruth fielding of the red mill ruth fielding at briarwood hall ruth fielding at snow camp ruth fielding at lighthouse point ruth fielding at silver ranch ruth fielding on cliff island ruth fielding at sunrise farm ruth fielding and the gypsies ruth fielding in moving pictures ruth fielding down in dixie ruth fielding at college ruth fielding in the saddle ruth fielding in the red cross ruth fielding at the war front ruth fielding homeward bound ruth fielding down east cupples & leon co., publishers, new york. marvard university library 47x04 copyright, 1920, by cupples & leon company ruth fielding down east printed in u. s. a. chapter contents i. the wind storm ii. the mystery of it iii. the derelict iv. the crying need v. off at last vi. "the nevergetovers" vii. movie stunts.. viii. the auction block. ix. a dismaying discovery x. a wild afternoon xi. "whosis" alongshore · tion xviii. uncertainties xix. counterclaims · mr. peterby paul-and · · xii. xiii. the hermit. xiv. a quotation xv. an amazing situation xvi. ruth solves one problem xvii. john, the hermit's, contribu• · • • page i 7 14 22 29. 35 43 52 67 77 86 95 104 113 i22 129 136 144 152 contents chapter xx. the grill xxi. xxii. an arrival. xxiii. xxiv. about "plain mary" xxv. lifting the curtain a hermit for revenue only · trouble-plenty page 159 171 180 186 193 199 ruth fielding down east chapter i the wind storm across the now placidly flowing lumano where it widened into almost the proportions of a lake just below the picturesque red mill, a bank of tempestuous clouds was shouldering into view above the sky line of the rugged and wooded hills. these slate-colored clouds, edged with pallid light, foredoomed the continuance of the peaceful summer afternoon. not a breath of air stirred on the near side of the river. the huge old elms shading the red mill and the farmhouse connected with it belonging to mr. jabez potter, the miller, were like painted trees, so still were they. the brooding heat of midday, however, had presaged the coming storm, and it had been prepared for at mill and farmhouse. the tempest was due soon. the backyard of the farmhouse-a beautiful lawn of short grass-sloped down to the river. on the bank and over the stream itself was set a i 2 ruth fielding down east summer-house of fair proportions, covered with vines a cool and shady retreat on the very hottest day of midsummer. a big robin redbreast had been calling his raucous weather warning from the top of one of the trees near the house; but, with her back to the river and the coming storm, the girl in the pavilion gave little heed to this good-intentioned weather prophet. she did raise her eyes, however, at the querulous whistle of a striped creeper that was wriggling through the intertwined branches of the trumpet-vine in search of insects. ruth fielding was always interested in those busy, helpful little songsters. "you cute little thing!" she murmured, at last catching sight of the flashing bird between the stems of the old vine. "i wish i could put you into my scenario." on the table at which she was sitting was a packet of typewritten sheets which she had been annotating, and two fat note books. she laid down her gold-mounted fountain pen as she uttered these words, and then sighed and pushed her chair back from the table. then she stood up suddenly. a sound had startled her. she looked all about the summerhouse-a sharp, suspicious glance. then she tiptoed to the door and peered out. the wind storm 3 the creeper fluttered away. the robin continued to shout his warning. had it really been a rustling in the vines she had heard? was there somebody lurking about the summer-house? she stepped out and looked on both sides. it was then she saw how threatening the aspect of the clouds on the other side of the river were. the sight drove from her thoughts for the moment the strange sound she had heard. she did not take pains to look beneath the summer-house on the water side. instead, another sound assailed her ears. this time one that she could not mistake for anything but just what it was the musical horn of tom cameron's automobile. ruth turned swiftly to look up the road. a dark maroon car, long and low-hung like a racer, was coming along the road, leaving a funnel of dust behind it. there were two people in the car. the girl beside the driver-black-haired and petite-fluttered her handkerchief in greeting when she saw ruth standing by the summer-house. at once the latter ran across the yard, over the gentle rise, and down to the front gate of the potter farmhouse. she ran splendidly with a free stride of untrammeled limbs, but she held one shoulder rather stifly. "oh, ruth!" "oh, helen!" ruth fielding down east the car was at the gate, and tom brought it to a prompt stop. helen, his twin sister, was out of it instantly and almost leaped into the bigger girl's arms. "oh! oh! oh!" sobbed helen. "you are, alive after all that horrible experience coming home from europe." "and you are alive and safe, dear helen," responded ruth fielding, quite as deeply moved. it was the first time they had met since separating in paris a month before. and in these times of war, with peace still an uncertainty, there were many perils to fear between the port of brest and that of new york. tom, in uniform and with a ribbon and medal on his breast, grinned teasingly at the two girls. "come, come! break away! only twenty seconds allowed in a clinch. don't helen look fine, ruth? how's the shoulder?" "just a bit stiff yet," replied the girl of the red mill, kissing her chum again. at this moment the first sudden swoop of the tempest arrived. the tall elms writhed as though taken with st. vitus's dance. the hens began to screech and run to cover. thunder muttered in the distance. "oh, dear me!" gasped ruth, paling unwontedly, for she was not by nature a nervous girl. "come right into the house, helen. you could the wind storm 5 not get to cheslow or back home before this storm breaks. put your car under the shed, tom." she dragged her friend into the yard and up the warped flag stones to the side door of the cottage. a little old woman who had been sitting on the porch in a low rocking chair arose with difficulty, leaning on a cane. "oh, my back, and oh, my bones!" murmured aunt alvirah boggs, who was not long out of a sick bed herself and would never again be as "spry" as she once had been. "do come in, dearies. it is a wind storm." ruth stopped to help the little old woman. she continued pale, but her thought for aunt alvirah's comfort caused her to put aside her own fear. the trio entered the house and closed the door. in a moment there was a sharp patter against the house. the rain had begun in big drops. the rear door was opened, and tom, laughing and shaking the water from his cap, dashed into the living room. he wore the insignia of a captain under his dust-coat and the distinguishing marks of a very famous division of the a. e. f. "it's a buster!" he declared. "there's a paper sailing like a kite over the roof of the old mill-" ruth sprang up with a shriek. she ran to the back door by which tom had just entered and tore it open. ruth fielding down east "oh, do shut the door, deary!" begged aunt 'alvirah. "that wind is 'nough to lift the roof." "what is the matter, ruth?" demanded helen. but tom ran out after her. he saw the girl leap from the porch and run madly down the path toward the summer-house. back on the wind came a broken word or two of explanation: "my papers! my scenario! the best thing i ever did, tom!" he had almost caught up to her when she reached the little pavilion. the wind from across the river was tearing through the summer-house at a sixty-mile-an-hour speed. "oh! it's gone!" ruth cried, and had tom not caught her she would have dropped to the ground. there was not a scrap of paper left upon the table, nor anywhere in the place. even the two fat notebooks had disappeared, and, too, the goldmounted pen the girl of the red mill had been using. all, all seemed to have been swept out of the summer-house, chapter ii the mystery of it for half a minute tom cameron did not know just what to do for ruth. then the water spilled out of the angry clouds overhead and bade fair to drench them. he half carried ruth into the summer-house and let her rest upon a bench, sitting beside her with his arm tenderly supporting her shoulders. ruth had begun to sob tempestuously. ruth fielding weeping! she might have cried many times in the past, but almost always in secret. tom, who knew her so well, had seen her in dangerous and fear-compelling situations, and she had not wept. "what is it?" he demanded. "what have you lost?" "my scenario! all my work gone!" "the new story? my goodness, ruth, it couldn't have blown away!" "but it has!" she wailed. "not a scrap of it left. my notebooks-my pen! why!" and she 7 8 ruth fielding down east suddenly controlled her sobs, for she was, after all, an eminently practical girl. "could that fountain pen have been carried away by the windstorm, too?" "there goes a barrel through the air," shouted tom. "that's heavier than a fountain pen. say, this is some wind!" the sound of the dashing rain now almost drowned their voices. it sprayed them through the porous shelter of the vines and latticework so that they could not sit on the bench. ruth huddled upon the table with tom cameron standing between her and the drifting mist of the storm. she looked across the rain-drenched yard to the low-roofed house. she had first seen it with a home-hungry heart when a little girl and an orphan. how many, many strange experiences she had had since that time, which seemed so long ago! nor had she then dreamed, as "ruth fielding of the red mill," as the first volume of this series is called, that she would lead the eventful life she had since that hour. under the niggard care of miserly old jabez potter, the miller, her great uncle, tempered by the loving kindness of aunt alvirah boggs, the miller's housekeeper, ruth's prospects had been poor indeed. but providence moves in mysterious ways. seemingly unexpected chances had broadthe mystery of it 9 d o 1st d en nd ad o! of ies she bez by the been ious dad 1 ened ruth's outlook on life and given her advantages that few girls in her sphere secure. first she was enabled to go to a famous boarding school, briarwood hall, with her dearest chum, helen cameron. there she began to make friends and widen her experience by travel. with helen, tom, and other young friends, ruth had adventures, as the titles of the series of books run, at snow camp, at lighthouse point, at silver ranch, on cliff island, at sunrise farm, with the gypsies, in moving pictures, and down in dixie. with the eleventh volume of the series ruth and her chums, helen cameron and jennie stone, begin their life at ardmore college. as freshmen their experiences are related in "ruth fielding at college; or, the missing examination papers." this volume is followed by "ruth fielding in the saddle; or, college girls in the land of gold," wherein ruth's first big scenario is produced by the alectrion film corporation. as was the fact with so many of our college boys and girls, the world war interfered most abruptly and terribly with ruth's peaceful current of life. america went into the war and ruth into red cross work almost simultaneously. in "ruth fielding in the red cross; or, doing her bit for uncle sam," the girl of the red mill gained a very practical experience in the work of the great peace organization which does so much io ruth fielding down east to smooth the ravages of war. then, in "ruth fielding at the war front; or, the hunt for the lost soldier," the red cross worker was thrown into the very heart of the tremendous struggle, and in northern france achieved a name for courage that her college mates greatly envied. wounded and nerve-racked because of her experiences, ruth was sent home, only to meet, as related in the fifteenth volume of the series, "ruth fielding homeward bound; or, a red cross worker's ocean perils," an experience which seemed at first to be disastrous. in the end, however, the girl reached the red mill in a physical and mental state which made any undue excitement almost a tragedy for her. the mysterious disappearance of the moving picture scenario, which had been on her heart and mind for months and which she had finally brought, she believed, to a successful termination, actually shocked ruth fielding. she could not control herself for the moment. 1 against tom cameron's uniformed shoulder she sobbed frankly. his arm stole around her. "don't take on so, ruthie," he urged. "of course we'll find it all. wait till this rain stops"it never blew away, tom," she said. "why, of course it did!" "no. the sheets of typewritten manuscript the mystery of it ii were fastened together with a big brass clip. had they been lose and the wind taken them, we should have seen at least some of them flying about. and the notebooks !" "and the pen?" murmured tom, seeing the catastrophe now as she did. "why, ruthie !! could somebody have taken them all?" "somebody must!" "but who?" demanded the young fellow. "you have no enemies." "not here, i hope," she sighed. “i left them all behind." he chuckled, although he was by no means unappreciative of the seriousness of her loss. "surely that german aviator who dropped the bomb on you hasn't followed you here." "don't talk foolishly, tom!" exclaimed the girl, getting back some of her usual good sense. "of course, i have no enemy. but a thief is every honest person's enemy." "granted. but where is the thief around the red mill?" "i do not know." "can it be possible that your uncle or ben saw the things here and rescued them just before the storm burst?" "we will ask," she said, with a sigh. "but i can imagine no reason for either uncle jabez or 12 ruth fielding down east ben to come down here to the shore of the river. "" oh, tom! it is letting up.' "good! i'll look around first of all. if there has been a skulker near99 "now, don't be rash," she cried. "we're not behind the german lines now, fraulein mina von brenner," and he laughed as he went out of the summer-house. he did not smile when he was searching under the house and beating the brush clumps near by. he realized that this loss was a very serious matter for ruth. she was now independent of uncle jabez, but her income was partly derived from her moving picture royalties. during her war activities she had been unable to do much work, and tom knew that ruth had spent of her own means a great deal in the red cross work. ruth had refused to tell her friends the first thing about this new story for the screen. she believed it to be the very best thing she had ever originated, and she said she wished to surprise them all. he even knew that all her notes and "beforethe-finish" writing was in the notebooks that had now gone with the completed manuscript. it looked more than mysterious. it was suspicious. tom looked all around the summer-house. of course, after this hard downpour it was impossible the mystery of it 13 to mark any footsteps. nor, indeed, did the raider need to leave such a trail in getting to and departing from the little vine-covered pavilion. the sward was heavy all about it save on the river side. the young man found not a trace. nor did he see a piece of paper anywhere. he was confident that ruth's papers and notebooks and pen had been removed by some human agency. and it could not have been a friend who had done this thing. } chapter iii the derelict "didn't you find anything, tom?" ruth fielding asked, as helen's twin re-entered the summerhouse. his long automobile coat glistened with wet and his face was wind-blown. tom cameron's face, too, looked much older than it had—well, say a year before. he, like ruth herself, had been through much in the war zone calculated to make him more sedate and serious than a college undergraduate is supposed to be. "i did not see even a piece of paper blowing about," he told her. "but before we came down from the house you said you saw a paper blow over the roof like a kite." "that was an outspread newspaper. it was not a sheet of your manuscript." "then it all must have been stolen!" she cried. "at least, human agency must have removed the things you left on this table," he said. "oh, tom!" 14 the derelict 15 "now, now, ruth! it's tough, i knowbut she recovered a measure of her composure almost immediately. unnerved as she had first been by the disaster, she realized that to give way to her trouble would not do the least bit of good. "an ordinary thief," tom suggested after a moment, "would not consider your notes and the play of much value." 99 "i suppose not," she replied. "if they are stolen it must be by somebody who understands-or thinks he does-the value of the work. somebody who thinks he can sell a moving picture scenario." "oh, tom!" 1 "a gold mounted fountain pen would attract any petty thief," he went on to say. "but surely the itching fingers of such a person would not be tempted by that scenario." "then, which breed of thief stole my scenario, tom?" she demanded. "you are no detective. your deductions suggest two thieves." "humph! so they do. maybe they run in pairs. but i can't really imagine two lightfingered people around the red mill at once. seen any tramps lately?" "we seldom see the usual tramp around here," said ruth, shaking her head. "we are too far off the railroad line. and the cheslow constables keep them moving if they land there." 16 ruth fielding down east "could anybody have done it for a joke?" asked tom suddenly. "if they have," ruth said, wiping her eyes, “it is the least like a joke of anything that ever happened to me. why, tom! i couldn't lay out that scenario again, and think of all the details, and get it just so, in a year!" "oh, ruth !" "i mean it! and even my notes are gone. oh, dear! i'd never have the heart to write that scenario again. i don't know that i shall ever write another, anyway. i'm discouraged," sobbed the girl suddenly. "oh, ruth! don't give way like this," he urged, with rather a boyish fear of a girl's tears. "i've given way already," she choked. "i just feel that i'll never be able to put that scenario into shape again. and i'd written mr. hammond so enthusiastically about it." "oh! then he knows all about it!" said tom. "that is more than any of us do. you wouldn't tell us a thing." "and i didn't tell him. he doesn't know the subject, or the title, or anything about it. i tell you, tom, i had such a good idea99 "and you've got the idea yet, haven't you? cheer up! of course you can do it over." "suppose," demanded ruth quickly, "this thief that has got my manuscript should offer it to some the derelict: 17 producer? why! if i tried to rewrite it and bring it out, i might be accused of plagiarizing my own work." "jimminy !" "i wouldn't dare," said ruth, shaking her head. "as long as i do not know what has become of the scenario and my notes, i will not dare use the idea at all. it is dreadful!” the rain was now falling less torrentially. the tempest was passing. soon there was even a rift in the clouds in the northwest where a patch of blue sky shone through "big enough to make a scotchman a pair of breeches," as aunt alvirah would say. "we'd better go up to the house," sighed ruth. "i'll go right around to the neighbors and see if anybody has noticed a stranger in the vicinity," tom suggested. "there's ben! do you suppose he has seen anybody?" a lanky young man, his clothing gray with flour 'dust, came from the back door of the mill and hastened under the dripping trees to reach the porch of the farmhouse. he stood there, smiling broadly at them, as ruth and tom hurriedly crossed the yard. "good day, mr. tom," said ben, the miller's helper. then he saw ruth's troubled countenance. "wha-what's the matter, ruthie ?" 18 ruth fielding down east "ben, i've lost something." "bless us an' save us, no!" "yes, i have. something very valuable. it's been stolen." "you don't mean it!" "but i do! some manuscript out of the summer-house yonder." "and her gold-mounted fountain pen," added tom. "that would tempt somebody." "my goodness!" ben could express his simple wonderment in a variety of phrases. but he seemed unable to go beyond these explosive expressions. "ben, wake up!" exclaimed ruth. "have you any idea who would have taken it ?" "that gold pen, ruthie? why-why-a thief!" "old man," said tom with suppressed disgust, "you're a wonder. how did you guess it?" "hush, tom," ruth said. then: "now, ben, just think. who has been around here to-day? any stranger, i mean." "why-i dunno," said the mill hand, puckering his brows. "think!" she commanded again. "why-why-old jep parloe drove up for a grinding." "he's not a stranger.” "oh, yes he is, ruthie. me nor mr. potter ain't the derelict 19 seen him before for nigh three months. your uncle up and said to him, 'why, you're a stranger, mr. parloe."" "i mean," said ruth, with patience, "anybody whom you have never seen before-or anybody whom you might suspect would steal." "well," drawled ben stubbornly, "your uncle, ruthie, says old jep ain't any too honest." "i know all about that," ruth said. "but parloe did not leave his team and go down to the summer-house, did he?" "oh, no!" "did you see anybody go down that way?" "don't believe i did-savin' you yourself, ruthie." “i left a manuscript and my pen on the table there. i ran out to meet tom and helen when they came." "i seen you," said ben. "then it was just about that time that somebody sneaked into that summer-house and stole those things." "i didn't see anybody snuck in there," declared ben, with more confidence than good english. "say!' ejaculated tom, impatiently, "haven't you seen any tramp, or straggler, or gypsy-or anybody like that?" "hi gorry!" suddenly said ben, "i do remember. there was a man along here this morning20 ruth fielding down east a preacher, or something like that. had a black frock coat on and wore his hair long and sort o' wavy. he was shabby enough to be a tramp, that's a fact. but he was a real knowledgeable feller he was that. stood at the mill door and recited po'try for us." "poetry!" exclaimed tom. "to you and uncle jabez ?" asked ruth. "uh-huh. all about 'to be or not to be a bean -that is the question.' and something about his having suffered from the slung shots and bow arrers of outrageous fortune-whatever that might be. i i guess he got it all out of it all out of the scriptures. your uncle said he was bugs; but i reckoned he was a preacher." "jimminy!" muttered tom. "a derelict actor, i bet. sounds like a shakespearean ham." 99 "goodness!" said ruth. "between the two of you boys i get a very strange idea of this person.' "where did he go, ben?" tom asked. "i didn't watch him. he only hung around a little while. i think he axed your uncle for some money, or mebbe something to eat. you see, he didn't know mr. potter." "not if he struck him for a hand-out," muttered the slangy tom. "oh, ben! don't you know whether he went toward cheslow-or where ?" cried ruth. "does it look probable to you," tom asked, the derelict. 21 of "that a derelict actor-oh, jimminy! course! he would be just the person to see the value of that play script at a glance !" "oh, tom!" "have you no idea where he went, ben?" tom again demanded of the puzzled mill hand. "no, mister tom. i didn't watch him." "i'll get out the car at once and hunt all about for him," tom said quickly. "you go in to helen and aunt alvirah, ruth. you'll be sick if you let this get the best of you. i'll find that miserable thief of a ham actor-if he's to be found." he added this last under his breath as he ran for the shed where he had sheltered his automobile. : chapter iv the crying need tom cameron chased about the neighborhood for more than two hours in his fast car hunting the trail of the man who he had decided must be a wandering theatrical performer. of course, this was a "long shot," tom said; but the trampish individual of whom ben had told was much more likely to be an actor than a preacher. tom, however, was able to find no trace of the fellow until he got to the outskirts of cheslow, the nearest town. here he found a man who had seen a long-haired fellow in a shabby frock coat and black hat riding toward the railroad station beside one of the farmers who lived beyond the red mill. this was following the tempest which had burst over the neighborhood at mid-afternoon. trailing this information farther, tom learned that the shabby man had been seen about the railroad yards. mr. curtis, the railroad station master, had observed him. but suddenly the tramp had disappeared. whether he had hopped 22 the crying need 23 number 10, bound north, or number 43, bound south, both of which trains had pulled out of ches low within the hour, nobody could be sure. tom returned to the red mill at dusk, forced to report utter failure. "if that bum actor stole your play, ruth, he's got clear way with it," tom said bluntly. "i'm awfully sorry99 "does that help?" demanded his sister snappishly, as though it were somewhat tom's fault. "you go home, tom. i'm going to stay with ruthie to-night," and she followed her chum into the bedroom to which she had fled at tom's announcement of failure. "jimminy!" murmured tom to the old miller who was still at the supper table. "and we aren't even sure that that fellow did steal the scenario." "humph!" rejoined uncle jabez. "you'll find, if you live to be old enough, young feller, that women folks is kittle cattle. no knowing how they'll take anything. that pen cost five dollars, i allow; but them papers only had writing on 'em, and it does seem to me that what you have writ once you ought to be able to write again. that's the woman of it. she don't say a thing about that pen, ruthie don't." however, tom cameron saw farther into the mystery than uncle jabez appeared to. and after a day or two, with ruth still "moping about like 24 ruth fielding down east a moulting hen," as the miller expressed it, the young officer felt that he must do something to change the atmosphere of the red mill farmhouse. "our morale has gone stale, girls," he declared to his sister and ruth. "worrying never did any good yet." "that's a true word, sonny," said aunt alvirah, from her chair. "care killed the cat.' my old mother always said, and she had ten children to bring up and a drunken husband who was a trial. he warn't my father. he was her second, an' she took him, i guess, 'cause he was ornamental. he was a sign painter when he worked. but he mostly advertised king alcohol by painting his nose red. "we children sartain sure despised that man. but mother was faithful to her vows, and she made quite a decent member of the community of that man before she left off. and, le's see! we ´e was talkin' about cats, warn't we?" "you were, aunty dear," said ruth, laughing for the first time in several days. "hurrah!" said tom, plunging head-first into his idea. "that's just what i wanted to hear." "what?" demanded helen. "i have wanted to hear ruth laugh. and we all need to laugh. why, we are becoming a trio of old fogies!" the crying need 25 "speak for yourself, master tom," pouted his sister. "i do. and for you. and certainly ruth is about as cheerful as a funeral mute. what we all need is some fun." 999 "oh, tom, i don't feel at all like 'funning,' sighed ruth. "you be right, sonny," interjected aunt alvirah, who sometimes forgot that tom, as well as the girls, was grown up. she rose from her chair with her usual, "oh, my back! and oh, my bones! you young folks should be dancing and frolicking99 "but the war, auntie !" murmured ruth. "you'll neither make peace nor mar it by worriting. no, no, my pretty! and 'tis a bad thing when young folks grow old before their time." "you're always saying that, aunt alvirah," ruth complained. "but how can one be jolly if one does not feel jolly?" "my goodness!" cried tom, "you were notoriously the jolliest girl in that french hospital. didn't the poilus call you the jolly american? 'and listen to grandmother grunt now!" "i suppose it is so," sighed ruth. "but i must have used up all my fund of cheerfulness for those poor blessés. it does seem as though the font of my jollity had quite dried up." 26 ruth fielding down east "i wish heavy stone were here," said helen suddenly. "she'd make us laugh." "she and her french colonel are spooning down there at lighthouse point," scoffed ruth-and not at all as ruth fielding was wont to speak. "say!" tom interjected, "i bet heavy is funny even when she is in love." "that's a reputation!" murmured ruth. "they are not at lighthouse point. the stones did not go there this summer, i understand," helen observed. "i am sorry for jennie and colonel marchand if they are at the stones' city house at this time of the year," the girl of the red mill said. "bully!" cried tom, with sudden animation. "that's just what we will do!" "what will we do, crazy?" demanded his twin. "we'll get jennie stone and henri marchand -he's a good sport, too, as i very well knowand we'll all go for a motor trip. jimminy christmas! that will be just the thing, sis. we'll go all over new england, if you like. we'll go down east and introduce colonel marchand to some of our hard-headed and tight-fisted yankees that have done their share towards injecting america into the war. we will" "oh!” cried ruth, breaking in with some small enthusiasm, "let's go to beach plum point." "where is that?" asked helen. the crying need 27 "it is down in maine. beyond portland. and mr. hammond and his company are there making my 'seaside idyl.'” “oh, bully!” cried helen, repeating one of her brother's favorite phrases, and now quite as excited over the idea as he. "i do so love to act in movies. is there a part in that 'idyl' story for me ?" "i cannot promise that," ruth said. "it would be up to the director. i wasn't taking much interest in this particular picture. i wrote the scenario, you know, before i went to france. i have been giving all my thought to "oh, dear! if we could only find my lost story!" "come on!" interrupted tom. "let's not talk about that. will you write to jennie stone ?" "i will. at once," his sister declared. "do. i'll take it to the post office and send it special delivery. tell her to wire her answer, and let it be 'yes.' we'll take both cars. father won't mind." "oh, but!" cried helen. "how about a chaperon ?" "oh, shucks! i wish you'd marry some nice fellow, sis, so that we'd always have a chaperon on tap and handy.' she made a little face at him. "i am going to be old-maid aunt to your many children, tommy28 ruth fielding down east boy. i am sure you will have a full quiver. we will have to look for a chaperon." "aunt kate!" exclaimed ruth. "heavy's aunt kate. she is just what helen declares she wants to be an old-maid aunt." "and a lovely lady," cried helen. "sure. ask her. beg her," agreed tom. "tell here it is the crying need. we have positively got to have some fun." "well, i suppose we may as well," ruth sighed, in agreement. "yes. we have always pampered the boy," declared helen, her eyes twinkling. "i know just what i'll wear, ruthie." "oh, we've clothes enough," admitted the girl of the red mill rather listlessly. "shucks!" said tom again. "never mind the fashions. get that letter written, sis." so it was agreed. helen wrote, the letter was sent. with jennie stone's usual impulsiveness she accepted for herself and "mon henri" and aunt kate, promising to be at cheslow within three days, and all within the limits of a ten-word telegram! chapter v off at last "the ancients," stated jennie stone solemnly, "burned incense upon any and all occasions-red letter days, labor days, celebrating columbus day and the morning after, i presume. but we moderns burn gasoline. and, phew! i believe i should prefer the stale smoke of incense in the unventilated pyramids of egypt to this odor of gas. o-0-0-0, tommy, do let us get started!" 99 "you've started already-in your usual way,' he laughed. this was at cheslow station on the arrival of the afternoon up train that had brought miss stone, her aunt kate, and the smiling colonel henri marchand to join the automobile touring party which jennie soon dubbed "the later pilgrims." "and that big machine looks much as the mayflower must have looked steering across cape cod bay on that special occasion we read of in sacred and profane history, hung about with four-poster beds and whatnots. in our neighborhood," the 29 30 ruth fielding down east plump girl added, "there is enough decrepit furniture declared to have been brought over on the mayflower to have made a cargo for the leviathan." "oh, ma chere! you do but stretch the point, eh?" demanded the handsome henri marchand, amazed. "i assure you"don't, heavy," advised helen. "you will only go farther and do worse. in my mind there has always been a suspicion that the mayflower was sent over here by some shipped knocked-down furniture factory. miles standish and priscilla mullins and john alden must have hung on by their eyebrows." 99 "their eyebrows-ma foi!" gasped marchand. "say, old man," said tom, laughing, "if you listen to these crazy college girls you will have a fine idea of our historical monuments, and so forth. take everything with a grain of salt-do." "oui, monsieur! but i must have a little pepper, too. i am 'strong,' as you americans say, for plentiful seasoning." "isn't he cute?" demanded jenny stone. "he takes to american slang like a bird to the air." "poetry barred!" declared helen. "say," tom remarked aside to the colonel, "you've got all the pep necessary, sure enough, in jennie." off at last 31 "she is one dear!" sighed the frenchman. "and she just said you were a bird. you'll have a regular zoo about you yet. come on. let's see if we can get this baggage aboard the good ship. it does look a good deal of an ark, doesn't it?" although ruth and aunt kate had not joined in this repartee, the girl of the red mill, as well as their lovely chaperon, enjoyed the fun immensely. ruth had revived in spirits on meeting her friends. jennie had flown to her arms at the first greeting, and hugged the girl of the red mill with due regard to the mending shoulder. "my dear! my dear!" she had cried. "i dream of you lying all so pale and bloody under that window-sill stone. and what i hear of your and tom's experiences coming over-" "but worse has happened to me since i arrived home," ruth said woefully. "no? impossible !" "yes. i have had an irreparable loss," sighed ruth. "i'll tell you about it later." but for the most part the greetings of the two parties was made up as tom said of "ohs and ahs." "take it from me," the naughty tom declared to marchand, "two girls separated for over-night can find more to tell each other about the next 32 ruth fielding down east morning than we could think of if we should meet at the resurrection !" the two cameron cars stood in the station yard, and as the other waiting cars, taxicabs and "flivvers" departed, "the sacred odor of gasoline," which jennie had remarked upon, was soon dissipated. the big touring car was expertly packed with baggage, and had a big hamper on either runningboard as well. there was room remaining, however, for the ladies if they would sit there. but as tom was to drive the big car he insisted that ruth sit with him in the front seat for company. as for his racing car, he had turned that over to marchand. it, too, was well laden; but at the start jennie squeezed in beside her colonel, and the maroon speeder was at once whisperingly dubbed by the others "the honeymoon car." "poor children !" said aunt kate in private to the two other girls. "they cannot marry until the war is over. that my brother is firm upon, although he thinks well of colonel henri. and who could help liking him? he is a most lovable boy." "boy!" repeated ruth. "and he is one of the most famous spies france has produced in this war! and a great actor!" "but we believe he is not acting when he tells us he loves jennie," aunt kate said. off at last 33 "surely not!" cried helen. "he is the soul of honor," ruth declared. "i trust him as i do-well, tom. i never had a brother." "i've always shared tom with you," pouted helen. "so you have, dear," admitted ruth. "but a girl who has had no really-truly brother really has missed something. perhaps good, perhaps bad. but, at least, if you have brothers you understand men better." "listen to the wisdom of the owl!" scoffed helen. "why, tommy is only a girl turned inside out. a girl keeps all her best and softest attributes to the fore, while a boy thinks it is more manly to show a prickly surface-like the burr of a chestnut." "listen to them!" exclaimed aunt kate, with laughter. "all the wise sayings of the ancient world must be crammed under those pretty caps you wear, along with your hair." "that is what we get at college," said helen seriously. "dear old ardmore! ruth! won't you be glad to get back to the grind again?" "i-don't-know," said her chum slowly. "we have seen so much greater things than college. it's going to be rather tame, isn't it?" but this conversation was all before they were distributed into their seats and had started. 34 ruth fielding down east colonel marchand was an excellent driver, and he soon understood clearly the mechanism of the smaller car. tom gave him the directions for the first few miles and they pulled out of the yard with mr. curtis, the station master, and his lame daughter, who now acted as telegraph operator, waving the party good-bye. they would not go by the way of the red mill, for that would take them out of the way they had chosen. the inn they had in mind to stop at on this first night was a long four hours' ride. "eastward, ho!" shouted tom. "this is to be a voyage of discovery, but don't discover any punctures or blow-outs this evening." then he glanced at ruth's rather serious face beside him and muttered to himself: "and we want to discover principally the smile that ruth fielding seems to have permanently lost !" chapter vi "the nevergetovers" after crossing the cheslow hills and the lumano by the long bridge about twenty miles below the red mill, the touring party debouched upon one of the very best state roads. they left much of the dust from which they had first suffered behind them, and tom could now lead the way with the big car without smothering the occupants of the honeymoon car in the rear. the highway wound along a pretty ridge for some miles, with farms dotting the landscape and lush meadows or fruit-growing farms dipping to the edge of the distant river. “ah,” sighed henri marchand. "like la belle france before the war. such peace and quietude we knew, too. fortunate you are, my friends, that le boche has not trampled these fields into bloody mire." this comment he made when they halted the cars at a certain overlook to view the landscape. 35 36 ruth fielding down east but they could not stop often. their first objec tive inn was still a long way ahead. they did not, however, reach the inn, which was a resort well known to motorists. five miles away tom noticed that the car was acting strangely. "what is it, tom?" demanded ruth quickly. "steering gear, i am afraid. something is loose." it did not take him long to make an examination, and in the meantime the second car came alongside. "it might hold out until we get to the hotel ahead; but i think we had better stop before that time if we can," was tom's comment. "i do not want the thing to break and send us flying over a stone wall or up a tree." "but you can fix it, tom ?" questioned ruth. "sure! but it will take half an hour or more." after that they ran along slowly and presently came in sight of a place called the drovers' tavern. "not a very inviting place, but i guess it will 'do," was ruth's announcement after they had looked the inn over. the girls and aunt kate alighted at the steps while the young men wheeled the cars around to the sheds. the housekeeper, who immediately announced "the nevergetovers" 37 herself as susan timmins, was fussily determined to see that all was as it should be in the ladies' chambers. "i can't trust this gal i got to do the upstairs work," she declared, saying it through her nose and with emphasis. "just as sure as kin be, if ye go for to help a poor relation you air always sorry for it." she led the way up the main flight of stairs as she talked. "this here gal will give me the nevergitovers, i know! she's my own sister's child that married a good-for-nothing and is jest like her father." "bella! you bella! turn on the light in these rooms. is the pitchers filled? and the beds turned down? if i find a speck of dust on this furniture i'll nigh 'bout have the nevergitovers! that gal will drive me to my grave, she will. bella!" bella appeared a rather good looking child of fourteen or so, slim as a lath and with hungry eyes. she was dark-almost gypsy-like. she stared at ruth, helen and jennie with all the amazement of the usual yokel. but it was their dress, not themselves, ruth saw, engaged bella's interest. "when you ladies want any help, you call for bella," announced miss susan timmins. "and if 38 ruth fielding down east she don't come running, you let me know, and i'll give her her nevergitovers, now i tell ye!" "no wonder this hotel is called 'drovers' tavern,'" said jennie stone. "that woman certainly is a driver-a slave driver." ruth, meanwhile, was trying to make a friend of bella. "what is your name, my dear?" she asked the lathlike girl. "you heard it," was the ungracious reply. "oh! yes. 'bella.' but your other name?" "arabella montague fitzmaurice pike. my father is montague fitzmaurice." she said it proudly, with a lift of her tousled head and a straightening of her thin shoulders. "oh!" fairly gasped ruth fielding. "it-it sounds quite impressive, i must say. i guess you think a good deal of your father?" "aunt suse don't," said the girl ungraciously. "my mother's dead. and pa is resting this season. so i hafter stay here with aunt suse. i hate it!" "your father is-er-what is his business ?" ruth asked. "he's one of the profession." "a doctor?" "lands, no! he's a heavy." "a what?" "a heavy lead-and a good one. but these "the nevergetovers" 39 moving pictures knock out all the really good people. there are no chances now for him to play shakespearean roles—" "your father is an actor!" cried ruth. "of course. montague fitzmaurice. surely you have heard the name?" said the lathlike girl, tossing her head. "why-why-of course!" declared ruth warmly. it was true. she had heard the name. bella had just pronounced it! "then you know what kind of an actor my pa is," said the proud child. "he did not have a very good season last winter. he rehearsed with four companies and was only out three weeks altogether. and one of the managers did not pay at all." "that is too bad." "yes. it's tough," admitted bella. "but i liked it." "you liked it when he was so unsuccessful?" repeated ruth. "pa wasn't unsuccessful. he never is. he can play any part," declared the girl proudly. "but the plays were punk. he says there are no good plays written nowadays. that is why so many companies fail.” "but said you you liked it?" "in new york," explained bella. "while he was rehearsing pa could get credit at mother 40 ruth fielding down east grubson's boarding house on west forty-fourth street. i helped her around the house. she said i was worth my keep. but aunt suse says i don't earn my salt here." "i am sure you do your best, bella," ruth observed. "no, i don't. nor you wouldn't if you worked for aunt suse. she says i'll give her her nevergitovers-an' i hope i do!" with which final observation she ran to unlace aunt kate's shoes. "poor little thing," said ruth to helen. "she is worse off than an orphan. her aunt susan is worse than uncle jabez ever was to me. and she has no aunt alvirah to help her to bear it. we ought to do something for her." "there! you've begun. every waif and stray on our journey must be aided, i suppose," pouted helen, half exasperated. but tom was glad to see that ruth had found a new interest. bella waited on the supper table, was snapped at by miss timmins, and driven from pillar to post by that crotchety individual. "jimminy christmas!" remarked tom, "that timmins woman must be a reincarnation of one of the ancient egyptians who was overseer in the brickyard where moses learned his trade. if they were all like her, no wonder the israelites went on a strike and marched out of egypt." they were all very careful, however, not to “the nevergetovers” 41 let miss susan timmins hear their comments. she had the true dictatorial spirit of the oldfashioned new england school teacher. the guests of drovers' tavern were treated by her much as she might have treated a class in the little red schoolhouse up the road had she presided there. she drove the guests to their chambers by the method of turning off the electric light in the general sitting room at a quarter past ten. each room was furnished with a bayberry candle, and she announced that the electricity all over the house would be switched off at eleven o'clock. "that is late enough for any decent body to be up, she announced in her decisive manner. "that's when i go to bed myself. i couldn't do so in peace if i knew folks was burning them electric lights to all hours. 'tain't safe in a thunder storm. "why, when we first got 'em, jed parraday from wachuset come to town to do his buyin' and stayed all night with us. he'd never seed a 'lectric bulb before, and he didn't know how to blow it out. and he couldn't sleep in a room with a light. "so, what does the tarnal old fool do but unhook the cord so't the bulb could be carried as far as the winder. and he hung it outside, shut the winder down on it, drawed the shade and went to bed in the dark. 42 ruth fielding down east "elnathan spear, the constable, seen the light a-shining outside the winder in the middle of the night and he thought 'twas burglars. he dreams of burglars, elnathan does. but he ain't never caught none yet. "on that occasion, howsomever, he was sure he'd got a whole gang of 'em, and he waked up the whole hotel trying to find out what was going i charged parraday ha'f a dollar for burning extry 'lectricity, and he got so mad he ain't stopped at the hotel since. "he'd give one the nevergitovers, that man would!" she concluded. chapter vii movie stunts jennie stone slept in ruth's bed that night because, having been parted since they were both in france, they had a great deal to say to each other-thus proving true one of tom cameron's statements regarding women. jennie was just as sympathetic-and as sleepy -as she could be and she "oh, dear, me'd" and yawned alternately all through the tale of the lost scenario and notebooks, appreciating fully how ruth felt about it, but unable to smother the expression of her desire for sleep. "maybe we ought not to have come on this automobile trip," said jennie. "if the thief just did it to be mean and is somebody who lives around the red mill, perhaps you might have discovered something by mingling with the neighbors." "oh! tom did all that," sighed ruth. "and without avail. he searched the neighborhood 43 44 ruth fielding down east thoroughly, although he is confident that a tramp carried it off. and that seems reasonable. i am almost sure, heavy, that my scenario will appear under the trademark of some other producing manager than mr. hammond.” "oh! how mean!" "well, a thief is almost the meanest person there is in the world, don't you think so? except a backbiter. and anybody mean enough to steal my scenario must be mean enough to try to make use of it." "oh, dear! ow-00-000! yes, i guess you are right. production of the picture?" "how can i do that?" "i don't-ow-oo!dear." scuse me, ruth. but can't you stop the -ow-oo!-know. "most pictures are made in secret, anyway. the public knows nothing about them until the producer is ready to make their release." "i-ow-oo!-i see," yawned jennie. scuse me, "even the picture play magazines do not announce them until the first runs. then, sometimes, there is a synopsis of the story published. but it will be too late, then. especially when i have no notes of my work, nor any witnesses. i told no living soul about the scenario-what it was about, or" "sh-sh-sh-_____99. movie stunts 45 "why, heavy!" murmured the scandalized ruth. "sh-sh-sh-whoo!" breathed the plump girl, with complete abandon. "my goodness!" exclaimed ruth, tempted to shake her, "if you snore like that when you are married, henri will have to sleep at the other end of the house." but this was completely lost on the tired jennie stone, who continued to breathe heavily until ruth herself fell asleep. it seemed as though the latter had only closed her eyes when the sun shining into her face awoke the girl of the red mill. the shades of the east window had been left up, and it was sunrise. plenty of farm noises outside the drovers' tavern, as well as a stir in the kitchen, assured ruth that there were early risers here. jennie, rolled in more than her share of the bedclothes, continued to breathe as heavily as she had the night before. but suddenly ruth was aware that there was somebody besides herself awake in the room. she sat up abruptly in bed and reached to seize jennie's plump shoulder. ruth had to confess she was much excited, if not frightened. then, before she touched the still sleeping jennie stone, ruth saw the intruder. the door from the anteroom was ajar. a steaming agateware 46 ruth fielding down east can of water stood on the floor just inside this door. before the bureau which boasted a rather large mirror for a country hotel bedroom, pivoted the thin figure of arabella montague fitzmaurice pike! } from the neatly arranged outer clothing of the two girls supposedly asleep in the big four-poster, bella had selected a skirt of ruth's and a shirtwaist of jennie's, arraying herself in both of these borrowed garments. she was now putting the finishing touch to her costume by setting ruth's cap on top of her black, fly-away mop of hair. turning about and about before the glass, bella was so much engaged in admiring herself that she forgot the hot water she was supposed to carry to the various rooms. nor did she see ruth sitting up in bed looking at her in dawning amusement. nor did she, as she pirouetted there, hear her nemesis outside in the hall. the door suddenly creaked farther open. the grim face of miss susan timmins appeared at the aperture. "oh!" gasped ruth fielding aloud. bella turned to glance in startled surprise at the girl in bed. and at that moment miss timmins bore down upon the child like a shrike on a chippy-bird. "ow-ouch!" shrieked bella. "oh, don't!" begged ruth. movie stunts 47 "what is it? goodness! fire!" cried jennie stone, who, when awakened suddenly, always remembered the dormitory fire at briarwood hall. "you little pest! i'll larrup ye good! i'll give ye your nevergitovers!" sputtered the hotel housekeeper. but the affrighted bella wriggled away from her aunt's bony grasp. she dodged miss timmins about the marble-topped table, retreated behind the hair-cloth sofa, and finally made a headlong dash for the door, while jennie continued to shriek for the fire department. ruth leaped out of bed. in her silk pajamas and slippers, and without any wrap, she hurried to reach, and try to separate, the struggling couple near the door. miss timmins delivered several hearty slaps upon bella's face and ears. the child shrieked. she got away again and plunged into the can of hot water. over this went, flooding the rag-carpet for yards around. "fire! fire!" jennie continued to shriek. helen dashed in from the next room, dressed quite as lightly as ruth, and just in time to see the can spilled. "oh! water! water!" "drat that young one!" barked miss timmins, 48 ruth fielding down east ignoring the flood and everything else save her niece-even the conventions. she dashed after bella. the latter had disappeared into the hall through the anteroom. "oh, the poor child!" cried sympathetic ruth, and followed in the wake of the angry housekeeper. "fire! fire!" moaned jennie stone. "cat's foot!" snapped helen cameron. "it's water and it is flooding the whole room." she ran to set the can upright-after the water was all out of it. without thinking of her costume, ruth fielding ran to avert bella's punishment if she could. she knew the aunt was beside herself with rage, and ruth feared that the woman would, indeed, give bella her "nevergetovers." the corridor of the hotel was long, running from front to rear of the main building. the window at the rear end of it overlooked the roof of the back kitchen. this window was open, and when ruth reached the corridor bella was going headfirst through the open window, like a circus clown diving through a hoop. she had discarded jennie's shirt-waist between the bedroom and the window. but ruth's skirt still flapped about the child's thin shanks. miss timmins, breathing threatenings and slaughter, raced down the hall in pursuit. ruth movie stunts 49 followed, begging for quarter for the terrified child. but the housekeeper went through the open window after bella, although in a more conventional manner, paying no heed to ruth's plea. the frightened girl, however, escaped her aunt's clutch by slipping off the borrowed skirt and descending the trumpet-vine trellis by the kitchen door. "do let her go, miss timmins!" begged ruth, as the panting woman, carrying ruth's skirt, returned to the window where the girl of the red mill stood. "she is scared to death. she was doing no harm." "i'll thank you to mind your own business, miss," snapped miss timmins hotly. "i declare! a girl growed like you running 'round in men's overalls—or, what be them things you got on?" at this criticism ruth fielding fled, taking the skirt and jennie's shirt-waist with her. but aunt kate was aroused now and the four women of the automobile party swiftly slipped into their neg ligees and appeared in the hall again, to meet tom and colonel marchand who came from their room only partly dressed. the critical miss timmins had darted downstairs, evidently in pursuit of her unfortunate niece. the guests crowded to the back window. "where did she go?" demanded tom, who had 50 ruth fielding down east heard some explanation of the early morning ex citement. "is she running away?" "what a child!" gasped aunt kate. "my waist!" moaned jennie. "look at ruth's skirt!" exclaimed helen. "i do not care for the skirt," the girl of the red mill declared. "it is bella." "her aunt will about give her those 'nevergetovers' she spoke of," chuckled tom. "ma foi! look you there," exclaimed colonel marchand, pointing through the window that overlooked the rear premises of the hotel. at top speed miss timmins was crossing the yard toward the big hay barn. bella had taken refuge in that structure, and the housekeeper's evident intention was to harry her out. the woman grasped a clothes-stick with which she proposed to castigate her niece. "the cruel thing!" exclaimed helen, the waters of her sympathy rising for bella pike now. "there's the poor kid!" said tom. bella appeared at an open door far up in the peak of the haymow. the hay was packed solidly under the roof; but there was an air space left at either end. "she has put herself into the so-tight cornerno?" suggested the young frenchman. "you've said it!" agreed tom. "why! it's reg ular movie stunts. she's come up the ladders to movie stunts 51 the top of the mow. if auntie follows her, i don't see that the kid can do anything but jump!" "tom! never!" cried ruth. "he is fooling," said jennie. "tell me how she can dodge that woman, then," demanded tom. "ah!" murmured henri marchand. "she have arrive"," miss timmins appeared at the door behind bella. the spectators heard the girl's shriek. the housekeeper struck at her with the clothes stick. and then"talk about movie stunts!" shouted tom cameron, for the frightened bella leaped like a cat upon the haymow door and swung outward with nothing more stable than air between her and the ground, more than thirty feet below! chapter viii the auction block helen cameron and jennie stone shrieked in unison when miss susan timmins' niece cast herself out of the haymow upon the plank door and swung as far as the door would go upon its creaking hinges. ruth seized tom's wrist in a nervous grip, but did not utter a word. aunt kate turned away and covered her eyes with her hands that she might not see the reckless child fall-if she 'did fall. "name of a name!" murmured henri marchand. "au secours! come, tom, mon ami-to the rescue!" he turned and ran lightly along the hall and 'down the stairs. but tom went through the window, almost as precipitately as had bella pike herself, and so over the roof of the kitchen ell and down the trumpet-vine trellis. tom was in the yard and running to the barn before marchand got out of the kitchen. several other people, early as the hour was, appeared running toward the rear premises of drovers' tavern. 52 the auction block 53 "see that crazy young one!" some woman shrieked. "i know she'll kill herself yet." "stop that!" commanded tom, looking up and shaking a threatening hand at miss timmins. for in her rage the woman was trying to strike her niece with the stick, as bella clung to the door. "mind your own business, young man!" snapped the virago. "and go back and put the rest of your clothes on. you ain't decent." tom was scarcely embarrassed by this verbal attack. the case was too serious for that. miss timmins struck at the girl again, and only missed the screaming bella by an inch or so. helen and jennie screamed in unison, and ruth herself had difficulty in keeping her lips closed. the cruel rage of the hotel housekeeper made her quite unfit to manage such a child as bella, and ruth determined to interfere in bella's behalf at the proper time. "i wish she would pitch out of that door herself!" cried helen recklessly. tom had run into the barn and was climbing the ladders as rapidly as possible to the highest loft. scolding and striking at her victim, miss susan timmins continued to act like the mad woman she was. and bella, made desperate at last by fear, reached for the curling edges of the shingles on the eaves above her head. "don't do that, child!" shrieked jennie stone. 54 ruth fielding down east but bella scrambled up off the swinging door and pulled herself by her thin arms on to the roof of the barn. there she was completely out of her aunt's reach. "oh, the plucky little sprite !" cried helen, in delight. "but-but she can't get down again," mur-' mured aunt kate. "there is no scuttle in that roof." "tom will find a way," declared ruth fielding with confidence. "and my henri," put in jennie. "that horrid old creature!" "she should be punished for this," agreed ruth. "i wonder where the child's father is." "didn't you find out last night?" helen asked. "only that he is 'resting'." "some poor, miserable loafer, is he?" demanded aunt kate, with acrimony. "no. it seems that he is an actor," ruth explained. "he is out of work." "but he can't think anything of his daughter to see her treated like this," concluded aunt kate. "she is very proud of him. his professional name is montague fitzmaurice." "some name!" murmured jennie. "their family name is pike," said ruth, still seriously. "i do not think the man can know how this aunt treats little bella. there's tom !" the auction block 55 the young captain appeared behind the enraged housekeeper at the open door of the loft. one glance told him what bella had done. he placed a firm hand on miss timmins' shoulder. "if you had made that girl fall you would go to jail," tom said sternly. "you may go, yet. i will try to put you there. and in any case you shall not have the management of the child any longer. go back to the house!" for once the housekeeper was awed. especially when henri marchand, too, appeared in the loft. "madame will return to the house. we shall see what can be done for the child. gare!" perhaps the woman was a little frightened at last by what she had done-or what she might have done. at least, she descended the ladders to the ground floor without argument. the two young men planned swiftly how to rescue the sobbing child. but when tom first spoke to bella, proposing to help her down, she looked over the edge of the roof at him and shook her head. "no! i ain't coming down," she announced emphatically. "aunt suse will near about skin me alive." "she shall not touch you," tom promised. "she'll give me my nevergitovers, just as she says. you can't stay here and watch her." "but we'll find a way to keep her from beating 56 ruth fielding down east you when we are gone," tom promised. "don't you fear her at all." "i don't care where you put me, aunt suse will find me out. she'll send elnathan spear after me." "i don't know who spear is-————” "he's the constable," sobbed bella. "well, he sha'n't spear you," declared tom. "come on, kid. don't be scared, and we'll get you down all right." he found the clothes-stick miss timmins had abandoned and used it for a brace. with a rope tied to the handle of the plank door and drawn taut, it was held half open. tom then climbed out upon and straddled the door and raised his arms to receive the girl when she lowered herself over the eaves. she was light enough-little more than skin and bone, tom declared-and the latter lowered her without much effort into henri's arms. when the three girls and aunt kate at the tavern window saw this safely accomplished they hurried back to their rooms to dress. "something must be done for that poor child," ruth fielding said with decision. "are you going to adopt her?" helen asked. "and send her to briarwood?" put in jennie. "that might be the very best thing that could happen to her," ruth rejoined soberly. "she has the auction block 57 lived at times in a theatrical boarding house and has likewise traveled with her father when he was with a more or less prosperous company. "these experiences have made her, after a fashion, grown-up in her ways and words. but in most things she is just as ignorant as she can be. her future is not the most important thing just now. it is her present." helen heard the last word from the other room where she was dressing, and she cried: "that's it, ruthie. give her a present and tell her to run away from her aunt. she's a spiteful old thing!" "you do not mean that!" exclaimed her chum. "you are only lazy and hate responsibility of any kind. we must do something practical for bella pike." "how easily she says 'we'," helen scoffed. "i mean it. i could not sleep to-night if i knew this child was in her aunt's control." a knock on the door interrupted the discussion. ruth, who was quite dressed now, responded. a lout of a boy, who evidently worked about the stables, stood grinning at the door. "miz timmins says you folks kin all get out. she won't have you served no breakfast. she don't want none of you here." "my goodness!" wailed jennie. "dispossessed -and without breakfast!" 58 ruth fielding down east "where is the proprietor of this hotel, boy?" ruth asked. "you mean mr. drovers? he ain't here. gone to boston. but that wouldn't make no dif'rence. suse timmins is boss." "oh, me! oh, my!" groaned jennie, to whom the prospect was tragic. jennie's appetite was never-failing. the boy slouched away just as tom and henri marchand appeared with bella between them. "you poor, dear child!" cried ruth, running along the hall to meet them. bella struggled to escape from the boys. but tom and colonel marchand held her by either hand. "easy, young one!" advised captain cameron. "i never meant to do no harm, miss!" cried bella. "i-i just wanted to see how i'd look in them clothes. i never do have anything decent to wear." "why, my dear, don't mind about that," said ruth, taking the lathlike girl in her arms. "if you had asked us we would have let you try on the things, i am sure." "aunt suse would near 'bout give me my nevergitovers and she will yet!" "no she won't," ruth reassured her. "don't be afraid of your aunt any longer." "that is what i tell her," tom said warmly. the auction block 59 "say! you won't put me in no home, will you?" asked bella, with sudden anxiety. "a 'home' ?" repeated ruth, puzzled. "she means a charitable institution, poor dear," said aunt kate. "that's it, missus," bella said. "i knew a girl that was out of one of them homes. she worked for mrs. grubson. she said all the girls wore brown denim uniforms and had their hair slicked back and wasn't allowed even to whisper at table or after they got to bed at night." "nothing like that shall happen to you," ruth declared. "where is your father, bella?" tom asked. "i don't know. last i saw of him he came through here with a medicine show. i didn't tell aunt suse, but i ran away at night and went to broxton to see him. but he said business was poor. he got paid so much a bottle commission on the sales of chief henry red-dog's bitters. he didn't think the show would keep going much longer." "oh!" "you know, they didn't know he was montague, fitzmaurice, the great shakespearean actor. pa often takes such jobs. he ain't lazy like aunt suse says. why, once he took a job as a ballyhoo at a show on the bowery in coney island. but his voice ain't never been what it was since." 60 ruth fielding down east "do you expect him to return here for you?" ruth asked, while the other listeners exchanged glances and with difficulty kept their faces straight. "oh, yes, miss. just as soon as he is in funds. or he'll send for me. he always does. he knows i hate it here." "does he know how your aunt treats you?" aunt kate interrupted. "n-not exactly," stammered bella. "i haven't told him all. i don't want to bother him. it-it ain't always so bad." "i tell you it's got to stop!" tom said, with warmth. "of course she shall not remain in this woman's care any longer," aunt kate agreed. "but we must not take bella away from this locality," ruth observed. "when her father comes back for her she must be here-somewhere." "oh, lady!" exclaimed bella. "send me to new york to mrs. grubson's. i bet she'd keep me till pa opens somewhere in a good show." but ruth shook her head. she had her doubts about the wisdom of the child's being in such a place as mrs. grubson's boarding house, no matter how kindly disposed that woman might be. "bella should stay near here," ruth said firmly, "as long as we cannot communicate with mr. pike at once." "let's write a notice for one of the theatrical the auction block 61 papers," suggested helen eagerly. "you know— 'montague fitzmaurice please answer.' all the actors do it." "but pa don't always have the money to buy the papers," said bella, taking the suggestion quite seriously. "at least, if bella is in this neighborhood he will know where to find her," went on ruth. "is there nobody you know here, child, whom you would like to stay with till your father returns?" bella's face instantly brightened. her black eyes flashed. "oh, i'd like to stay at the minister's," she said. "at the minister's ?" repeated ruth. "why, if he would take you that would be fine. who is he?" "the reverend driggs," said bella. "do you suppose the clergyman would take the child?" murmured aunt kate. "why do you want to go to live with the minister?" asked tom with curiosity. "cause he reads the bible so beautifully," declared bella. "why! it sounds just like pa reading a play. the reverend driggs is an educated man like pa. but he's got an awful raft of young ones." "a poor minister," said aunt kate briskly. "i am afraid that would not suit." "if the driggs family is already a large one," began ruth doubtfully, when bella declared: 62 ruth fielding down east "miz driggs had two pairs of twins, and one ever so many times. there's a raft of 'em." helen and jennie burst out laughing at this statement and the others were amused. but to ruth fielding this was a serious matter. the placing of bella pike in a pleasant home until her father could be communicated with, or until he appeared on the scene ready and able to care for the child, was even more serious than the matter of going without breakfast, although jennie stone said "no!" to this. "we'd better set up an auction block before the door of the hotel and auction her off to the highest bidder, hadn't we?" suggested helen, who had been rummaging in her bag. "here, bella! if you want a shirt-waist to take the place of that calico blouse you have on, here is one. one of mine. and i guarantee it will fit you better than heavy's did. she wears an extra size." "i don't either," flashed the plump girl, as the boys retreated from the room. "i may not be a perfect thirty-six"" "is there any doubt of it?" cried helen, the tease. "well!" "never mind," ruth said. "jennie is going to be thinner." "and it seems she will begin to diet this very morning," aunt kate put in. the auction block 63 "ow-wow!" moaned jennie at this reminder that they had been refused breakfast. captain tom, however, had handled too many serious situations in france to be browbeaaten by a termagant like miss susan timmins. he went down to the kitchen, ordered a good breakfast for all of his party, and threatened to have recourse to the law if the meal was not well and properly served. "for you keep a public tavern," he told the sputtering miss timmins, "and you cannot refuse to serve travelers who are willing and able to pay. we are on a pleasure trip, and i assure you, madam, it will be a pleasure to get you into court for any cause." on coming back to the front of the house he 'found two of the neighbors just entering. one proved to be the local doctor's wife and the other was a kindly looking farmer. "i knowed that girl warn't being treated right, right along," said the man. "and i told mirandy that i was going to put a stop to it." "it is a disgrace," said the doctor's wife, "that we should have allowed it to go on so long. i will take the child myself"" "and so'll mirandy," declared the farmer. "it is an auction," whispered helen, overhearing this from the top of the stairs. the party of guests came down with their bags 64 ruth fielding down east now, bringing bella in their midst-and in the new shirt-waist. "let her choose which of these kind people she will stay with," tom advised. "and," he added, in a low voice to ruth, "we will pay for her support until we can find her father." "like fun you will, young feller!" snorted the farmer, overhearing tom. "i could not hear of such a thing," said the doctor's wife. "i'd like to know what you people think you're doing?" demanded miss timmins, popping out at them suddenly. "now, suse timmins, we're a-goin' to do what we neighbors ought to have done long ago. we're goin' to take this gal—" "you start anything like that—taking that young one away from her lawful guardeen-an’ i'll get elnathan spear after you in a hurry, now i tell ye. i'll give you your nevergitovers!" "if nate spear comes to my house, i'll ask him to pay me for that corn he bought off'n me as long ago as last fall," chuckled the farmer. "just because you're own cousin to nate don't put all the law an' the gospel on your side, suse timmins. i'll take good care of this girl." "and so will i, if bella wants to live with me," said the doctor's wife. "mirandy will be glad to have her." the auction block 65 "and she'd be company for me,” rejoined the other neighbor. "i haven't any children." "bella must choose for herself," said ruth kindly. "i guess i'll go with mr. perkins," said the actor's daughter. "miz holmes is real nice; but doctor holmes gives awful tastin' medicine.. i might be sick there and have to take some of it. so i'll go to miz perkins. she has a doctor from maybridge and he gives candy-covered pellets. i ate some once. besides, miz perkins is lame and can't get around so spry, and i can do more for her." "now listen to that!" exclaimed the farmer. "ain't she a noticing child?" "well, mrs. perkins will be good to her, no doubt," agreed the doctor's wife. "i'd like to know what you fresh city folks butted into this thing for !" demanded miss timmins. "if there's any law in the land"you'll get it!" promised tom cameron. "go get anything you own that you want to take with you, bella," ruth advised the shrinking child. with another fearful glance at her aunt, bella ran upstairs. "" miss timmins might have started after her, but tom planted himself before that door. the lout of a boy began bringing in the breakfast for the automobile party. ruth talked privately with 66 ruth fielding down east the doctor's wife and mr. perkins, and forced some money on the woman to be expended for a very necessary outfit of clothing for bella. miss timmins finally flounced back into the kitchen where they heard her venting her anger and chagrin on the kitchen help. bella returned bearing an ancient extension bag crammed full of odds and ends. she kissed ruth and shook hands with the rest of the company before departing with mr. perkins. the doctor's wife promised to write to ruth as soon as anything was heard of mr. pike, and the automobile party turned their attention to ham and eggs, stewed potatoes, and griddle cakes. "only," said jennie, sepulchrally, "i hope the viands are not poisoned. that miss timmins would certainly like to give us all our 'nevergetovers'." chapter ix 'a dismaying discovery "the later pilgrims' are well out of that trouble," announced helen, when the cars were under way, the honeymoon car ahead and the other members of the party packed into the bigger automobile. "and i hope," she added, "that ruth will find no more waifs and strays." "don't be knocking ruthie all the time," said tom, glancing back over his shoulder. "she's all right." "and you keep your eyes straight ahead, young man," advised aunt kate, "or you will have this heavy car in the ditch." į "watch out for henri and heavy, too," advised helen. "they do not quite know what they are about and you may run them down. there! see his horizon-blue sleeve steal about her? he's got only one hand left to steer with. talk about a perfect thirty-six! it's lucky henri's arm is phenomenally long, or he could never surround that baby!" 67 68 ruth fielding down east "i declare, helen," laughed ruth. "i believe you are covetous." “well, henri is an awfully nice fellow-for a frenchman." "and you are the damsel who declared you proposed to remain an old maid forever and ever, and the year after." "i can be an old maid and still like the boys, can't i? all the more, in fact. i sha'n't have to be true to just one man, which, i believe, would be tedious." "you should live in that part of new york called greenwich village and wear a russian blouse and your hair bobbed. those are the kind of bon mots those people throw off in conversation. light and airy persiflage, it is called," said tom from the front seat. "what do you know about such people, tommy?" demanded his sister. "there were some co-eds of that breed i met at cambridge. they were exponents of the 'new freedom,' whatever that is. bolshevism, i guess. freedom from both law and morals." "those are not the kind of girls who are helping in france," said ruth soberly. "you said it!" agreed tom. "that sort are so busy riding hobbies over here that they have no interest in what is going on in europe unless it may be in russia. well, thank heaven, there are a dismaying discovery 69 comparatively few nuts compared with us sane folks." such thoughts as these, however, did not occupy their minds for long. just as tom had declared, they were out for fun, and the fun could be found almost anywhere by these blithe young folk. ruth's face actually changed as they journeyed on. she was both "pink and pretty," helen declared, before they camped at the wayside for luncheon. the hampers on the big car were crammed with all the necessities of food and service for several meals. there were, too, twin alcohol lamps, a coffee boiler and a teapot. altogether they were making a very satisfactory meal and were having a jolly time at the edge of a piece of wood when a big, black wood-ant dropped down jennie stone's back. at first they did not know what the matter was with her. her mouth was full, the food in that state of mastication that she could not immediately swallow it. "ow! ow! ow!" choked the plump girl, trying to get both hands at once down the neck of her shirt-waist. "what is the matter, heavy?" gasped helen. "jennie, dear!" murmured ruth. "don't!" "ma chere!" gasped henri marchand. "is she ill?" 70 ruth fielding down east "jennie, behave yourself!" cried her aunt. "i saw a toad swallow a hornet once," tom declared. "she acts just the same way." 99 "as the hornet ?" demanded his sister, beginning to giggle. "as the toad," answered tom, gravely. but henri had got to his feet and now reached the wriggling girl. "let me try to help!" he cried. "if you even begin wiggling that way, colonel marchand," declared helen, "you will be in danger of arrest. there is a law against that dance." "ow! ow! ow!" burst out jennie once more, actually in danger of choking. "what is it?" ruth demanded, likewise reaching the writhing girl. "oh, he bit me!" finally exploded jennie. ruth guessed what must be the trouble then, and she forced jennie's hands out of the neck of her waist and ran her hand down the plump girl's back. between them they killed the ant, for ruth finally recovered a part of the unfortunate creature. "but just think," consoled helen, "how much more awful it would have been if you had swallowed him, heavy, instead of his wriggling down your spinal column." "oh, don't! i can feel him wriggling now," sighed jennie. a dismaying discovery 71 "that can be nothing more than his ghost," said tom soberly, "for ruth retrieved at least half of the ant's bodily presence." "you'll give us all the fidgets if you keep on wriggling, jennie," declared aunt kate. "well, i don't want to sit on the grass in a woodsy place again while we are on this journey," sighed jennie. "ugh! i always did hate creepy things." "including spiders, snakes, beetles and babies, i suppose?" laughed helen. "come on now. let us clear up the wreck. where do we camp tonight, tommy?" "no more camping, i pray!" squealed jennie. "i am no gypsy." "the hotel at hampton is recommended as the real thing. they have a horse show every year at hampton, you know. it is in the midst of a summer colony of wealthy people. it is the real thing," tom repeated. they made a pleasant and long run that afternoon and arrived at the hampton hotel in good season to dress for dinner. jennie and her aunt met some people they knew, and naturally jennie's fiancé and her friends were warmly welcomed by the gay little colony. men at the pleasure resorts were very scarce that year, and here were two perfectly good 72 ruth fielding down east dancers. so it was very late when the automobile party got away from the dance at the casino. they were late the next morning in starting on the road to boston. besides, there was thunder early, and helen, having heard it rumbling, quoted: "thunder in the morning, sailors take warning!'" and rolled over for another nap. ruth, however, at last had to get up. she was no "lie-abed" in any case, and in her present nervous state she had to be up and doing. "but it's going to ra-a-ain!" whined jennie stone when ruth went into her room. "you're neither sugar nor salt," said ruth. "henri says i'm as sweet as sugar," yawned jennie. "he is not responsible for what he says about you," said her aunt briskly. "when i think of what that really nice young man is taking on his shoulders when he marries you99 "but, auntie !" cried jennie, "he's not going to try to carry me pickaback, you know." "just the same, it is wrong for us to encourage him to become responsible for you, jennie," said her aunt. "he really should be warned." "oh!" gasped the plump girl. "let anybody dare try to get between me and my henri-" a dismaying discovery 73 "nobody can-no fear-when you are sitting with him in the front seat of that roadster of tom's," said ruth. "you fill every atom of space, heavy." she went to the window and looked out again. heavy rolled out of bed-a good deal like a barrel, her aunt said tartly. "what is it doing outside?" yawned the plump girl. "well, it's not raining. and it is a long run to boston. we should be on our way now. the road through the hills is winding. there will be no time to stop for a gypsy picnic." "thank goodness for that!" grumbled jennie, sitting on the floor, school-girl fashion, to draw on her stockings. "i'll eat enough at breakfast hereafter to keep me alive until we reach a hotel, if you folks insist on inviting wood ants and other savage creatures of the forest to our luncheon. table." when the party finally gathered for breakfast in the hotel dining room on this morning, it was disgracefully late. tom had been over both cars and pronounced them fit. he had ordered the tanks filled with gasoline and had tipped one of the garage men liberally to see that this was properly done. afterward captain tom declared he would never trust a garage workman again. 74 ruth fielding down east "the only way to get a thing done well is to do it yourself—and a tip never bought any special service yet." declared the angry tom. "it is merely a form of highway robbery." but this was afterward. the party started off from hampton in high fettle and with a childlike trust in the honesty of a garage attendant. there were banks of clouds shrouding the horizon both to the west and north-the two directions from which thunder showers usually rise in this part of new england in which they were traveling. and yet the shower held off. it was some time past noon before the thunder began to mutter again. the automobile party was then in the hilly country. heretofore farms had been plentiful, although hamlets were few and far between. "if it rains," said ruth cheerfully, "of course we can take refuge in some farmhouse." "ho, for adventure among the savage natives!" cried helen. "i hope we shall meet nobody quite as savage as miss susan timmins," was aunt kate's comment. they ran into a deep cut between two wooded hills and there was not a house in sight. indeed, they had not passed a farmstead on the road for the last five miles. over the top of the wooded crest to the north curled a slate colored storm a dismaying discovery 75 cloud, its upper edge trembling with livid lightnings. the veriest tyro of a weather prophet could see that a storm was about to break. but nobody had foretold the sudden stopping of the honeymoon car in the lead! "what is the matter with you?" cried helen, standing up in the tonneau of the big car, when tom pulled up suddenly to keep from running the maroon roadster down. "don't you see it is going to rain? we want to get somewhere." "i guess we have got somewhere," responded jennie stone. "as far as we are concerned, this seems to be our stopping place. the old car won't go." tom jumped out and hurried forward to join henri in an examination of the car's mechanism. "what happened, colonel?" he asked the frenchman, worriedly. "i have no idea, mon ami," responded marchand. "this is a puzzle, eh?" "first of all, let's put up the tops. that rain is already beating the woods on the summit of the hill." the two young men hurried to do this, first sheltering jennie and then together dragging the heavy top over the big car, covering the baggage and passengers. helen and ruth could fasten the curtains, and soon the women of the party were snug enough. the drivers, however, had to get 76 ruth fielding down east into rain garments and begin the work of hunting the trouble with the roadster. the thunder grew louder and louder. flashes of lightning streaked across the sky overhead. the electric explosions were soon so frequent and furious that the girls cowered together in real terror. jennie had slipped out of the small car and crowded in with her chums and aunt kate. "i don't care!" she wailed, "henri and tom are bound to take that car all to pieces to find what has happened." but they did not have to go as far as that. in fact, before the rain really began to fall in earnest, tom made the tragic discovery. there was scarcely a drop of gasoline in the tank of the small machine. tom hurried back to the big car. he glanced at the dial of the gasoline tank. there was not enough of the fluid to take them a mile! and the emergency tank was turned on! it was at this point that he stated his opinion of the trustworthiness of garage workmen. i ? chapter x a wild afternoon this was a serious situation. five miles behind the automobile party was the nearest dwelling on this road, and tom was sure that the nearest gasoline sign was all of five miles further back! ahead lay more or less mystery. as the rain began to drum upon the roofs of the two cars, harder and harder and faster and faster, tom got out the road map and tried to figure out their location. ridgeton was ahead somewhere-not nearer than six miles, he was sure. and the map showed no gas sign this side of ridgeton. of course there might be some wayside dwelling only a short distance ahead at which enough gasoline could be secured to drive the smaller car to ridgeton for a proper supply for both machines. but if all the gasoline was drained from the tank of the big car into that of the roadster, the latter would be scarcely able to travel another mile. and without being sure that such a supply of gas 77 78 ruth fielding down east could be found within that distance, why separate the two cars? this was the sensible way tom put it to henri; and it was finally decided that tom should start out on foot with an empty can and hunt for gasoline, while colonel marchand remained with the girls and aunt kate. when the two young men ran back through the pouring rain to the big car and announced this decision, they had to shout to make the girls hear. the turmoil of the rain and thunder was terrific. "i really wish you'd wait, tom, till the tempest is over," ruth anxiously said. "suppose something happened to you on the road?" suppose something happened to us here in the auto?" shrieked helen. "but henri marchand will be with you," said her brother, preparing to depart. "and if i delay we may not reach boston to-night." "oh!" gasped jennie. "do please find some gas, tom. i'd be scared to death to stay out here in these woods." "one of the autos may bite her," scoffed helen, ready to scorn her own fears when her friend was even more fearful. "these cars are the wildest thing in these woods, i warrant." "of course you must do what you think is best, tom," said ruth, gravely. "i hope you will not have to go far." a wild afternoon 79 "no matter how long i am gone, ruth, don't be alarmed," he told her. "you know, nothing serious ever happens to me." "oh, no!" cried his sister. "of course not! only you get carried away on a zeppelin, or are captured by the germans and ruth has to go to your rescue. we know all about how immune you are from trouble, young man." "thanks be! there are no boches here in peaceful new england," exclaimed jennie, after tom had started off with the gasoline can. "oh!" a sharp clap of thunder seemingly just overhead followed the flash that had made the plump girl shriek. the explosion reverberated between the hills in slowly passing cadence. jennie finally removed her fingers from her ears with a groan. aunt kate had covered her eyes. with helen they cowered together in the tonneau. ruth had been sitting beside tom in the front seat when the cars were stalled, and now henri marchand was her companion. "i heard something then, colonel," ruth said in a low tone, when the salvo of thunder was passed. "you are fortunate, mademoiselle," he returned. "me, i am deafened complete'." "i heard a cry." "not from captain cameron ?" 80 ruth fielding down east "it was not his voice. listen!" said the girl of the red mill, in some excitement. despite the driving rain she put her head out beyond the curtain and listened. her face was sheltered from the beating rain. it would have taken her breath had she faced it. again the lightning flashed and the thunder crashed on its trail. ruth did not draw in her head. she wore her raincoat and a rubber cap, and on her feet heavy shoes. the storm did not frighten her. she might be anxious for tom's safety, but the ordinary chances of such a disturbance of the elements as this never bothered ruth fielding at all. as the rolling of thunder died away in the distance again, the splashing sound of the rain seemed to grow lighter, too; or ruth's hearing became attuned to the sounds about her. there it was again! a human cry! or was it? it came from up the hillside to the north of the road on which the automobiles were stalled. was there somebody up there in the wet woods -some human creature lost in the storm? for a third time ruth heard the wailing, longdrawn cry. henri had his hands full soothing jennie. helen and aunt kate were clinging together in the depths of the tonneau. possibly their eyes were covered against the glare of the lightning. ruth slipped out under the curtain on the leea wild afternoon 81 ward side. the rain swept down the hillside in solid platoons that marched one after another from northwest to southeast. dashing against the southern hillside, these marching columns dissolved in torrents that ruth could hear roaring down from the tree-tops and rushing in miniature floods through the forest. the road was all awash. the cars stood almost hub-deep in a yellow, foaming flood. the roadside ditches were not deep here, and the sudden freshet was badly guttering the highway. sheltered at first by the top of the big car, ruth strained her ears again to catch that cry which had come down the wind from the thickly wooded hillside. there it was! a high, piercing scream, as though the one who uttered it was in great fear or agony. nor did the cry seem to be far away. ruth went around to the other side of the automobile. the rain was letting up or seemed to be. she crossed to the higher ground and pushed through the fringe of bushes that bordered the road. already her feet and ankles were saturated, for she had waded through water more than a foot in depth. here on the steep hillside the flowing water followed the beds of small rivulets which carried it away on either side of her. the thick branches of the trees made an almost 82 ruth fielding down east impervious umbrella above her head. she could see up the hill through the drifting mist for a long distance. the aisles between the rows of trees seemed filled with a sort of pallid light. across the line of her vision and through one of these aisles passed a figure-whether that of an animal or the stooping body of a human being ruth fielding could not at first be sure. she had no fear of there being any savage creature in this wood. at least there could be nothing here that would attack her in broad daylight. in a lull in the echoeing thunder she cried aloud: "hoo-hoo! hoo-hoo! where are you?" she was sure her voice drove some distance up the hillside against the wind. she saw the flitting figure again, and with a desire to make sure of its identity, ruth started in pursuit. had tom been present the girl of the red mill would have called his attention to the mystery and left it to him to decide whether to investigate or not. but ruth was quite an independent person when she was alone; and under the circumstances, with henri marchand so busy comforting jennie, ruth did not consider for a moment calling the frenchman to advise with her. as for helen and aunt kate, they were quite overcome by their fears. ruth was not really afraid of thunder and lightning, as many people are. she had long since learned that "thunder a wild afternoon 83 'does not bite, and the bolt of lightning that hits you, you will never see!" heavy as the going was, and interfering with her progress through her wet garments did, ruth ran up the hill underneath the dripping trees. she saw the flitting, shadowy figure once more. again she called as loudly as she could shout: "wait! wait! i won't hurt you." whoever or whatever it was, the figure did not stay. it flitted on about two hundred yards ahead of the pursuing girl. at times it disappeared altogether; but ruth kept on up the hill and her quarry always reappeared. she was quite positive this was the creature that had shrieked, for the mournful cry was not repeated after she caught sight of the figure. "it is somebody who has been frightened by the storm," she thought. "or it is a lost child. this is a wild hillside, and one might easily be lost up here." then she called again. she thought the strange figure turned and hesitated. then, of a sudden, it darted into a clump of brush. when ruth came panting to the spot she could see no trace of the creature, or the path which it had followed. but directly before ruth was an opening in the hillside-the mouth of a deep ravine which had not been visible from the road below. 84 ruth fielding down east down this ravine ran a noisy torrent which had cut itself a wider and deeper bed since the cloudburst on the heights. small trees, brush, and rocks had been uprooted by the force of the stream, but its current was now receding. one might walk along the edge of the brook into this hillside fastness. determined to solve the mystery of the strange creature's disappearance, and quite convinced that it was a lost child or woman, ruth fielding ventured through the brush clump and passed along the ragged bank of the tumbling brook. suddenly, in the muddy ground at her feet, the girl spied a shoe. it was a black oxford of good quality, and it had been, of course, wrenched from the foot of the person she pursued. this girl, or woman, must be running from ruth in fear. ruth picked up the shoe. it was for a small foot, but might belong to either a girl of fourteen or so or to a small woman. she could see the print of the other shoe-yes! and there was the impress `of the stockinged foot in the mud. "whoever she may be," thought ruth fielding, "she is so frightened that she abandoned this shoe. poor thing! what can be the matter with her?" ruth shouted again, and yet again. she went the side of the turbulent brook, staring all about for the hiding place of her quarry. on up the rain ceased entirely and abruptly. but the a wild afternoon 85 whole forest was a-drip. far up through the trees she saw a sudden lightening of the sky. the clouds were breaking. but the smoke of the torrential downpour still rose from the saturated earth. when ruth jarred a bush in passing a perfect deluge fell from the trembling leaves. the girl began to feel that she had come far enough in what appeared to be a wild-goose chase. then suddenly, quite amazingly, she was halted. she plunged around a sharp turn in the ravine, trying to step on the dryer places, and found herself confronted by a man standing under the shelter of a wide-armed spruce. "oh!" gasped ruth, starting back. he was a heavy-set, bewhiskered man with gleaming eyes and rather a grim look. worst of all, he carried a gun with the lock sheltered under his arm-pit from the rain. at ruth's appearance he seemed startled, too, and he advanced the muzzle of the gun and took a stride forward at the same moment. "hello!" he growled. "be you crazy, too? what in all git out be you traipsing through these woods for in the rain?" 1. 1 chapter xi mr. peterby paul and "whosis" ruth fielding was more than a little startled, for the appearance of this bearded and gruffspoken man was much against him. she had become familiar, however, during the past months with all sorts and conditions of men -many of them much more dangerous looking than this stranger. her experiences at the battlefront in france had taught her many things. among them, that very often the roughest men are the most tender with and considerate of women. ruth knew that the girls and women working in the red cross and the "y" and the salvation army might venture among the roughest poilus, tommies and our own yanks without fearing insult or injury. after that first startled "oh!" ruth fielding gave no sign of fearing the bearded man with the gun under his arm. she stood her ground as he approached her. 86 mr. peterby paul and "whosis" 87 "how many air there of ye, sissy?" he wanted to know. "and air ye all loose from some bat factory? that other one's crazy as all git out." “oh, did you see her?" "if ye mean that whosis that's wanderin' around yellin' like a cat-o'-mountain—" 99 "9 "oh, dear! it was she that was screaming so!" "i should say it was. i tried to cotch her"and that scared her more, i suppose.' "huh! be i so scareful to look at?" the stranger demanded. "or, mebbe you ain't loony, lady?" "i should hope not," rejoined ruth, beginning to laugh. "then how in tarnation," demanded the bearded man, "do you explain your wanderin' about these woods in this storm?" "why," said ruth, "i was trying to catch that poor creature, too." "that whosis ?" he exclaimed. "whatever and whoever she is. see! here's one of her shoes." "do tell! she's lost it, ain't she? don't you reckon she's loony?" "it may be that she is out of her mind. but she couldn't hurt you-a big, strong man like you." "that's as may be. i misdoubted me she was some kind of a whosis," said the woodsman. "i 88 ruth fielding down east seen her a couple of times and heard her holler ev'ry time the lightning was real sharp." "the poor creature has been frightened half to death by the tempest," said ruth. "mebbe. but where did she come from? and where did you come from, if i may ask? this yere ain't a neighborhood that many city folks finds their way into, let me tell ye.' 99 ruth told him her name and related the mishap that had happened to the two cars at the bottom of the hill. "wal, i want to know!" he responded. "out o' gasoline, heh? wal, that can be mended." "tom cameron has gone on foot for some." "which way did he go, ma'am?" "east," she said, pointing. "towards ridgeton? wal, he'll have a fine walk." "but we have not seen any gasoline sign for ever so far back on the road." "that's right. ain't no reg'lar place. but i guess i might be able to scare up enough gas to help you folks out. ye see, we got a saw mill right up this gully and we got a gasoline engine to run her. i'm a-watchin' the place till the gang come in to work next month. that there whosis got me out in the rain"oh! where do you suppose the poor thing 99 mr. peterby paul and "whosis" 89 has gone?" interrupted ruth. "we should do something for her." "wal, if she don't belong to you folks" "she doesn't. but she should not be allowed to wander about in this awful way. is she a woman grown, or a child?" "i couldn't tell ye. i ain't been close enough to her. by the way, my name is peterby paul, and i'm well and fav'rably knowed about this mounting. i did have my thoughts about you, same as that whosis, i must say. but you 'pear to be all right. wait, and i'll bring ye down a couple of cans of gasoline, and you can go on and pick up the feller that's started to walk to ridgeton." "but that poor creature i followed up here, mr. paul? we must find her." "you say she ain't nothin' to you folks?" "but she is alone, and frightened." "wal, i expect so. she did give me a start for fair. i don't know where she could have come from 'nless she belongs over toward ridgeton at old miz abby drake's. she's got some city folks stopping with her-” "there she is!" cried ruth, under her breath. a hobbling figure appeared for a moment on the side of the ravine. the rain had ceased now, but it still dripped plentifully from the trees. "i'm going after her!" exclaimed ruth. 90 ruth fielding down east "all right, ma'am," said mr. peterby paul. "i guess she ain't no whosis, after all." ruth could run much faster than the strange person who had so startled both the woodsman and herself. and running lightly, the girl of the red mill was almost at her quarry's elbow before her presence was suspected by the latter. the woman turned her face toward ruth and screeched in evident alarm. she looked wild enough to be called a "whosis," whatever kind of supernatural apparition that might be. her silk dress was in rags; her hair floated down her back in a tangled mane; altogether she was a sorry sight, indeed. she was a woman of middle age, dark, slight of build, and of a most pitiful appearance. "don't be frightened! don't be afraid of me," begged ruth. "where are your friends? i will take you to them." "it is the voice of god," said the woman solemnly. "i am wicked. he will punish me. do you know how wicked i am?" she added in a tense whisper. "i have no idea," ruth replied calmly. "but i think that when we are nervous and distraught as you are, we magnify our sins as well as our troubles." really, ruth fielding felt that she might take mr. peterby paul and "whosis" 91 this pholosophy to herself. she had been of late magnifying her troubles, without doubt. "i have been a great sinner," said the woman. "do you know, i used to steal my little sister's bread and jam. and now she is dead. i can never make it up to her." plainly this was a serious matter to the excited mind of the poor woman. "come on down the hill with me. i have got an automobile there and we can ride to mrs. drake's in it. isn't that where you are stopping?" "yes, yes. abby drake," said the lost woman weakly. "we-we all started out for huckleberries. and i never thought before how wicked i was to my little sister. but the storm burstsuch a terrible storm!" and the poor creature cowered close to ruth as the thunder muttered again in the distance. "it is the voice of god99 "come along!" urged ruth. "lots of people have made the same mistake. so aunt alvirah says. they mistake some other noise for the voice of god!" the woman was now so weak that the strong girl could easily lead her. mr. peterby paul looked at the forlorn figure askance, however. "you can't blame me for thinkin' she was a whosis," he said to ruth. "poor critter! it's 92 ruth fielding down east lucky you came after her. she give me such a start i might o' run sort o' wild myself." "perhaps if you had tried to catch her it would only have made her worse," ruth replied, gently patting the excited woman's hand. "the voice of god!" muttered the victim of her own nervousness. "and she traipsing through these woods in a silk dress!" exclaimed mr. paul. "i tell 'em all, city folks ain't got right good sense." "maybe you are right, mr. paul," sighed ruth. "we are all a little queer, i guess. i will take her down to the car." "and i'll be right along with a couple of cans of gasoline, ma'am," rejoined peterby paul. "ain't no use you and your friends bein' stranded no longer." "if you will be so kind," ruth said. he turned back up the ravine and ruth urged the lost woman down the hill. the poor creature was scarcely able to walk, even after she had put on her lost shoe. her fears which had driven her into this quite irresponsible state, were the result of ungoverned nervousness. ruth thought seriously of this fact as she aided her charge down the hillside. she must steady her own nerves, or the result might be quite as serious. she had allowed the loss of her scenario to shake her usual calm. she mr. peterby paul and “whosis” 93 knew she had not been acting like herself during this automobile journey and that she had given her friends cause for alarm. then and there ruth determined to talk no more about her loss or her fears regarding the missing scenario. if it was gone, it was gone. that was all there was to it. she would no longer worry her friends and disturb her own mental poise by ruminating upon her misfortune. when she and the lost woman got out of the ravine, ruth could hear the girls calling her. and there was colonel marchand's horizon-blue uniform in sight as he toiled up the ascent, looking for her. "don't be frightened, dear," ruth said to the startled woman. "these are my friends." then she called to helen that she was coming. colonel marchand hurried forward with an amazed question. "never mind! don't bother her," ruth said. "the poor creature has been through enough— out in all this storm, alone. we must get her to where she is stopping as soon as possible. see the condition her clothes are in!" "but, mademoiselle ruth!" gasped the frenchman. "we are stalled until captain tom comes back with the gasoline-is it not?" "we are going to have gas in a very few min94 ruth fielding down east utes," returned ruth gaily. "i did more than find this poor woman up on the hill. wait!" helen and jennie sprang at ruth like a pair of terriers after a cat, demanding information and explanation all in a breath. but when they realized the state of mind of the strange woman, they calmed down. they wrapped her in a dry raincoat and put her in the back of the big car. she remained quietly there with jennie's aunt kate while ruth related her adventure with mr. peterby paul and the "whosis." "goodness!" gasped helen, "i guess he named her rightly. there must be something altogether wrong with the poor creature to make her wander about these wet woods, screeching like a loon." "i'd screech, too," said jennie stone, "if i'd torn a perfectly good silk dress to tatters as she has." "think of going huckleberrying in a frock like that," murmured ruth. "i guess you are both right. and mr. peterby paul did have good reason for calling her a 'whosis'." chapter xii alongshore mr. peterby paul appeared after a short time striding down the wooded hillside balancing a five-gallon gasoline can in either hand. "i reckon you can get to ridgeton on this here," he said jovially. "guess i'd better set up a sign down here so's other of you autermobile folks kin take heart if ye git stuck." "you are just as welcome as the flowers in spring, tra-la!" cried helen, fairly dancing with delight. "you are an angel visitor, mr. paul," said the plump girl. "i been called a lot o' things besides an angel," the bearded woodsman said, his eyes twinkling. "my wife, 'fore she died, had an almighty tart tongue." "and now?" queried helen wickedly. i "wal, wherever the poor critter's gone, reckon she's l'arned to bridle her tongue," said mr. peterby paul cheerfully. "howsomever, as the feller said, that's another day's job. mr. 95 96 ruth fielding down east frenchy, let's pour this gasoline into them tanks." ruth insisted upon paying for the gasoline, and paying well. then peterby paul gave them careful directions as to the situation of abby drake's house, at which it seemed the lost woman must belong. "abby always has her house full of city folks in the summer," the woodsman said. "she is pretty near a whosis herself, abby drake is." with which rather unfavorable intimation regarding the despised "city folks," mr. peterby paul saw them start on over the now badly rutted road. helen drove the smaller car with ruth sitting beside her. henri marchand took the wheel of the touring car, and the run to boston was resumed. "but we must not over-run tom," said ruth to her chum. "no knowing what by-path he might have tried in search of the elusive gasoline." "i'll keep the horn blowing," helen said, suiting action to her speech and sounding a musical blast through the wooded country that lay all about. "he ought to know his own auto-horn." the tone of the horn was peculiar. ruth could always distinguish it from any other as tom speeded along the cheslow road toward the red mill. but then, she was perhaps subconsciously listening for its mellow note. alongshore 97 she tacitly agreed with helen, however, that it might be a good thing to toot the horn frequently. and the signal brought to the roadside an anxious group of women at a sprawling farmhouse not a mile beyond the spot where the two cars had been stalled. "that is the drake place. it must be!" ruth exclaimed, putting out a hand to warn colonel marchand that they were about to halt. a fleshy woman with a very ruddy face under her sunbonnet came eagerly out into the road, leading the group of evidently much worried women. "have you folks seen anything of—" "abby!" shrieked the woman ruth had found, and she struggled to get out of the car. "well, i declare, mary marsden!" gasped the sunbonneted woman, who was plainly abby drake. "if you ain't a sight!" "i-i'm so scared!" quavered the unforunate victim of her own nerves, as ruth ran back to help her out of the touring car. "god is going to punish me, abby." "i certainly hope he will," declared her friend, in rather a hard-hearted way. "i told you, you ought to be punished for wearing that dress up there into the berry pasture, and-land's sakes alive! look at her dress!" afterward, when ruth had been thanked by " 8 98 ruth fielding down east mrs. drake and the other women, and the cars were rolling along the highway again, the girl of the red mill said to helen cameron: "i guess tom is more than half right. altogether, the most serious topic of conversation for all kinds and conditions of female humans is the matter of dress-in one way or another." "how dare you slur your own sex so?" demanded helen. "well, look at this case," her chum observed. "this mary marsden had been lost in the storm and killed for all they knew, yet abby drake's first thought was for the woman's dress.' 99 "well, it was a pity about the dress," helen remarked, proving that she agreed with abby drake and the bulk of womankind-as her twin brother oft and again acclaimed. ruth laughed. "and now if we could see poor, dear tommythe car rounded a sharp turn in the highway. the drake house was perhaps a mile behind. ahead was a long stretch of rain-drenched road, and helen instantly cried: "there he is!" 99 the figure of tom cameron with the empty gasoline can in his hand could scarcely be mistaken, although he was at least a mile in advance. helen began to punch the horn madly. 1 alongshore 99 "he'll know that," ruth cried. "yes, he looks back! won't he be astonished?" tom certainly was amazed. he proceeded to sit down on the can and wait for the cars to overtake him. "what are you traveling on?" he shouted, when helen stopped with the engine running just in front of him. "fairy gasoline?" "why, tommy, you're not so smart!" laughed his sister. "it takes ruth to find gas stations. we were stalled right in front of one, and you did not know it. hop in here and take my place and i'll run back to the other car. ruth will tell you all about it." "perhaps we had better let colonel marchand and jennie have this honeymoon car," ruth said doubtfully. "humph!" her chum observed, "i begin to believe it will be just as much a honeymoon car with you and tom in it as with that other couple. 'bless you, my children !'" she ran back to the big car with this saucy statement. tom grinned, slipped behind the wheel, and started the roadster slowly. "it must be," he observed in his inimitable drawl, "that sis has noticed that i'm fond of you, ruthie." "quite remarkable," she rejoined cheerfully. "but the war isn't over yet, tommy-boy. and if 100 ruth fielding down east our lives are spared we've got to finish our educations and all that. why, tommy, you are scarcely out of short pants, and i've only begun to put my hair up." "jimminy!" he grumbled, "you do take all the starch out of a fellow. now tell me how you got gas. what happened?" everybody has been to boston, or expects to go there some time, so it is quite immaterial what happened to the party while at the hub. they only remained two days, anyway, then they started off alongshore through the pleasant old towns that dot the coast as far as cape ann. they saw the ancient fishing ports of marblehead, salem, gloucester and rockport, and then came back into the interior and did not see salt water again until they reached newburyport at the mouth of the merrimac. the weather remained delightfully cool and sunshiny after that heavy tempest they had suffered in the hills, and they reached portsmouth and remained at a hotel for three days when it rained again. the young folks chafed at this 'delay, but aunt kate declared that a hotel room was restful after jouncing over all sorts of roads for so long. "they never will build a car easy enough for auntie," jennie stone declared. "i tell pa he must buy some sort of airship for us99 alongshore ιοι "never!" cried aunt kate in quick denial. "whenever i go up in the air it will be because wings have sprouted on my shoulder blades. and i should not call an aeroplane easy riding, in any case." "at least," grumbled tom, "you can spin along without any trouble with country constables, and that's a blessing." for on several occasions they had had arguments with members of the police force, in one case helping to support a justice and a constable by paying a fine. they did not travel on sunday, however, when the constables reap most of their harvest, so they really had little to complain of in that direction. nor did they travel fast in any case. after the rainy days at portsmouth, the automobile party ran on with only minor incidents and no adventures until they reached portland. there ruth telegraphed to mr. hammond that they were coming, as in her letter, written before they left cheslow, she had promised him she would. herringport, the nearest town to the moving picture camp at beach plum point, was at the head of a beautiful harbor, dotted with islands, and with water as blue as that of the bay of naples. when the two cars rolled into this old seaport the party was welcomed in person by mr. 102 ruth fielding down east hammond, the president and producing manager of the alectrion film corporation. "i have engaged rooms for you at the hotel here, if you want them," he told ruth, after being introduced to aunt kate and colonel marchand, the only members of the party whom he had not previously met. "but i can give you all comfortable bunks with some degree of luxury at the camp. at least, we think it luxurious after our gold mining experience in the west. you will get better cooking at the point, too." "but a camp!" sighed aunt kate. "we have roughed it so much coming down here, mr. hammond." "there won't be any black ants at this camp,' said her niece cheerfully. 99 "only sand fleas," suggested the wicked tom. "you can't scare me with fleas," said jennie. "they only hop; they don't wriggle and creep." "my star in the 'seaside idyl,' miss loder, 'demanded hotel accommodations at first. but she soon changed her mind," mr. hammond said. "she is now glad to be on the lot with the rest of the company." "it sounds like a circus," aunt kate murmured doubtfully "it is more than that, my dear madam," realongshore 103 plied the manager, laughing. "but these young people—" "if aunt kate won't mind," said ruth, "let us try it, while she remains at the herringport inn." "i'll run her back and forth every day for the 'eats'," tom promptly proposed. "my duty as a chaperon-" began the good woman, when her niece broke in with: "in numbers there is perfect safety, auntie. there are a whole lot of girls down there at the point." "and we have chaperons of our own, i assure you," interposed mr. hammond, treating aunt kate's objection seriously. "miss loder has a cousin who always travels with her. our own mother paisley, who plays character parts, has daughters of her own and is a lovely lady. you need not fear, madam, that the conventions will be broken." "we won't even crack 'em, aunt kate," declared helen rouguishly. "i will watch jen like a cat would a mouse." "humph!" observed the plump girl, scornfully. "this mouse, in that case, is likely to swallow the cat!" chapter xiii the hermit "now, tell me, miss ruth," said mr. hammond, having taken the girl of the red mill into his own car for the short run to beach plum point, "what is this trouble about your new scenario? you have excited my curiosity during all these months about the wonderful script, and now you say it is not ready for me." "oh, mr. hammond!" exclaimed ruth, "i fear it will never be ready for you.' 99 "nonsense! don't lose heart. you have merely come to one of those thank-you-ma'ams in story writing that all authors suffer. wait. it will come to you." "no, no!" sighed ruth. "it is nothing like that. i had finished the scenario. i had it all just about as i wanted it, and then-" "then what?" he asked in wonder at her emotion. "it-it was stolen !" "stolen ?" 104 the hermit 105 "yes. and all my notes-everything! i-i can't talk about it. and i never could write it again," sobbed ruth. "it is the best thing i ever did, mr. hammond." "if it is better than 'the heart of a schoolgirl', or 'the forty-niners', or 'the boys of the draft', then it must be some scenario, miss ruth. the last two are still going strong, you know. and i have hopes of the 'seaside idyl' catching the public fancy just when we are all getting rather weary of war dramas. "if you can only rewrite this new story"but mr. hammond! i am sure it has been stolen by somebody who will make use of it. some other producer may put it on the screen, and then my version would fall flat-if no worse." and you have been so secret about "humph! 99 it!" "i took your advice, mr. hammond. i have told nobody about it—not a thing!" "and somebody unknown stole it?" "we think it was a vagrant actor. a tramp. just the sort of person, though, who would know how to make use of the script." "humph! all actors were considered 'vagrants' under the old english law-in shakespeare's younger days, for instance," remarked mr. hammond. "you see how unwise it would be for me to try 106 ruth fielding down east to rewrite the story-even if i could-and try to screen it." "i presume you are right. yes. but i hoped you would bring a story with you that we could be working on at odd times. i have a good allaround company here on the lot." "i had most of your principals in mind when i wrote my scenario," sighed ruth. "but i could not put my mind to that same subject now. i am discouraged, mr. hammond." "i would not feel that way if i were you, miss ruth," he advised, trying, as everybody else did, to cheer her. "you will get another good idea, and like all other born writers, you will just have to give expression to it. meantime, of course, if i get hold of a promising scenario, i shall try to produce it." "i hope you will find a good one, mr. hammond." he smiled rather ruefully. "of course, there is scarcely anybody on the lot who hasn't a picture play in his or her pocket. i was possibly unwise last week to offer five hundred dollars spot cash for a play i could make use of, for now i suppose there will be fifty to read. everybody, from jacks, the property man, to the old hermit, believes he can write a scenario." "who is the hermit?" asked ruth, with some curiosity. the hermit 107 "i don't know. nobody seems to know who he is about herringport. he was living in an old fish-house down on the point when we came here last week with the full strength of the company. and i have made use of the old fellow in your 'seaside idyl'. "he seems to be a queer duck. but he has some idea of the art of acting, it seems. director jim hooley is delighted with him. but they tell me the old fellow is scribbling all night in his hut. the scenario bug has certainly bit that old codger. he's out for my five hundred dollars," and the producing manager laughed again. "i hope you get a good script," said ruth earnestly. "but don't ask me to read any of them, mr. hammond. it does seem as though i never wanted to look at a scenario again!" "then you are going to miss some amusement in this case," he chuckled. "why so?" "i tell you frankly i do not expect much from even those professional actors. it was my experience even before i went into the motion picture business that plays submitted by actors were always full of all the old stuff-all the old theatrical tricks and the like. actors are the most insular people in existence, i believe. they know how plays should be written to fulfill the tenets of the 108 ruth fielding down east profession; but invention is 'something else again'." the young people who had motored so far were welcomed by many of mr. hammond's company who had acted in "the forty-niners" and ha met ruth and her friends in the west, as related in "ruth fielding in the saddle." the shacks that had been built especially for the company's use were comfortable, even if they did smell of new pine boards. the men of the company lived in khaki tents. there were several old fish-houses that were likewise being utilized by the members of the company. beach plum point was the easterly barrier of sand and rock that defended the beautiful harbor from the atlantic breakers. it was a wind-blown place, and the moan of the surf on the outer reef was continually in the ears of the campers on the point. the tang of salt in the air could always be tasted on the lips when one was out of doors. and the younger folks were out on the sands most of the time when they were not working, sleeping, or eating. "we are going to have some fun here," promised tom cameron to ruth, after their party had got established with its baggage. "see that hard strip of beach? that's no clamflat. i am going to race my car on that sand. palm beach the hermit 109 has nothing on this. jackman, the property man (you remember jacks, don't you, ruth?), says the blackfish and bass are biting off the point. you girls can act in movies if you like, but i am going fishing." "don't talk movies to me," sighed the girl. "i almost wish we had not come, tom." "nonsense! you shall go fishing with me. put on your oldest duds and-well, maybe you will have to strip off your shoes and stockings. it is both wet and slippery on the rocks." "pooh! i'll put on my bathing suit and a sweater. i never was afraid of water yet," ruth declared. this was the morning after their arrival. tom had been up to the port and brought down aunt kate for the day. aunt kate sat under an umbrella near where the company was working on location, and she scribbled all day in a notebook. jennie whispered that she, too, was bitten by the scenario bug! "i feel it coming over me," announced helen. "i've got what i think is a dandy idea." "oh, there's too much to do," jennie stone said. "i couldn't find time to dabble in literature." "my, oh, my!" gasped helen, with scorn. "how busy we are! you and henri spend all your time making eyes at each other." 810 ruth fielding down east 99 but just think, nell!" cried the plump girl. "he's got to go back to france and fight"and so has my tom." "but tom is only your brother." "and henri is nothing at all to you," rejoined helen cruelly. "a fiancé is only an expectation. you may change your mind about henri." "never!" cried jennie, with horror. "well, he keeps you busy, i grant. and there go tom and ruth mooning off together with fish lines. lots of fishing they will do! they are almost as bad as you and henri. why!" ejaculated helen in some heat, "i am just driven to writing scenarios to keep from dying of loneliness." "i notice that 'juvenile lead,' mr. simmons, is keeping you quite busy," remarked jennie slyly, as she turned away. it was a fact that ruth and tom enjoyed each others' company. but helen need not have been even a wee bit jealous. to tell the truth, she did not like to "get all mussed up," as she expressed it, by going fishing. to ruth the adventure was a glad relief from worriment. much as she tried, she could not throw off all thought of her lost scenario. she welcomed every incident that promised amusement and mental relaxation. some of the the hermit iii troupe of actors-the men, mostly-were bathing off the point. "and see that man in the old skiff !" cried ruth. ""the lone fisherman'." the individual in question sat upon a common kitchen chair in the skiff with a big, patched umbrella to keep the sun off, and was fishing with a pole that he had evidently cut in the woods along the shore. "that is that hermit fellow," said tom. "he's a queer duck. and the boys bother him a good deal." he was angrily driving some of the swimmers away from his fishing location at that moment. it was plain the members of the moving picture company used the hermit as a butt for their jokes. while one fellow was taking up the hermit's attention in front, another bather rose silently behind him and reached into the bottom of the skiff. what this second fellow did tom and ruth could not see. "the old chap can't swim a stroke," explained one of the laughing bathers to the visitors. "he's as afraid of water as a cat. now you watch." but tom and ruth saw nothing to watch. they went on to the tip of the point and tom prepared the fishing tackle and baited the hooks. just as ruth made her first cast there sounded a scream from the direction of the lone fisherman. 112 ruth fielding down east "what is it?" she gasped, dropping her pole. the bathers had deserted the old man in the skiff, and were now at some distance. he was anchored in probably twenty feet of water. to the amazement of ruth and her companion, the skiff had sunk until its gunwales were scarcely visible. the hermit had wrenched away his umbrella and was now balanced upon the chair on his feet, in danger of sinking. his fear of this catastrophe was being expressed in unstinted terms. chapter xiv a quotation "do help him, tom!" cried ruth fielding, and she started for the spot where the man and the skiff were sinking. tom cast aside his sweater, kicked his sneakers off, and plunged into the tide. ruth was quite as lightly dressed as tom; but she saw that he could do all that was necessary. that was, to bring the frightened man ashore. this "hermit" as they called him, was certainly very much afraid of the water. he splashed a good deal, and tom had to speak sharply to keep him from getting a strangle-hold about his own neck. "jimminy! but that was a mean trick," panted tom, when he got ashore with the fisherman. "somebody pulled the plug out of the bottom of the skiff and first he knew, he was going down." "it is a shame," agreed ruth, looking at the victim of the joke curiously. he was a thin-featured, austere looking man, scrupulously shaven, but with rather long hair 113 114 ruth fielding down east that had quite evidently been dyed. now that it was plastered to his crown by the salt water (for he had been completely immersed more than once in his struggle with tom cameron) his hair was shown to be quite thin and of a greenish tinge at the roots. the shock of being dipped in the sea so unexpectedly was plainly no small one for the hermit. he stood quite unsteadily on the strand, panting and sputtering. "young dogs! no respect for age and ability in this generation. i might have been drowned." "well, it's all over now," said tom comfortingly. "where do you live?" "over yonder, young man," replied the hermit, pointing to the ocean side of the point. "we will take you home. you lie down for a while and you will feel better," ruth said soothingly. "we will come back here afterward and get your skiff ashore." "thank you, miss," said the man courteously. "i'll make those fellows who played the trick on you get the boat ashore," promised tom, running for his shoes and sweater. the hermit proved to be a very uncommunicative person. ruth tried to get him to talk about himself as they crossed the rocky spit, but all that he said of a personal nature was that his name was "john." a quotation 115 his shack was certainly a lonely looking hovel. it faced the tumbling atlantic and it seemed rather an odd thing to ruth that a man who was so afraid of the sea should have selected such a spot for his home. the hermit did not invite them to enter his abode. he promised ruth that he would make a hot drink for himself and remove his wet garments and lie down. but he only seemed moderately grateful for their assistance, and shut the door of the shack promptly in their faces when he got inside. "just as friendly as a sore-headed dog," remarked tom, as they went back to the bay side of the point. "perhaps the others have played so many tricks on him that he is suspicious of even our assistance," ruth said. thus speaking, she stooped to pick up a bit of paper in the path. it had been half covered by the sand and might have lain there a long time, or only a day. just why this bit of brown wrapping paper had caught her attention, it would be hard to say. ruth might have passed it a dozen times without noticing it. but now she must needs turn the paper over and over in her hands as she watched tom, with 116 ruth fielding down east the help of the rather abashed practical jokers, haul the water-logged skiff ashore. she had forgotten the fishing poles they had abandoned on the rocks, and sat down upon a boulder. suddenly she discovered that there was writing on the bit of paper she had picked up. it was then that her attention really became fixed upon her find. the characters had been written with an indelible pencil. the dampness had only blurred the writing instead of erasing it. her attention thus engaged, she idly scrutinized more than the blurred lines. her attitude as she sat there on the boulder slowly stiffened; her gaze focused upon the paper. "why! what is it?" she murmured at last. the blurred lines became clearer to her vision. it was the wording of the phrase rather than the handwriting that enthralled her. this that follows was all that was written on the paper: "flash:"as in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be—" — to the ordinary observer, with no knowledge of what went before or followed this quotation, the phrase must seem idle. but the word "flash" is used by scenario writers and motion picture a quotation 117 makers, indicating an explanatory phrase thrown on the screen. and this quoted phrase struck poignantly to ruth fielding's mind. for it was one she had used in that last scenario-the one that had so strangely disappeared from the summer-house back at the red mill! amazed-almost stunned-by this discovery, she sat on the boulder scarcely seeing what tom and the others were doing toward salvaging the old hermit's skiff and other property. thoughts regarding the quotation shuttled back and forth in the girl's mind in a most bewildering way. the practical side of her character pointed out that there really could be no significance in this discovery. it could not possibly have anything to do with her stolen script. yet the odd phrase, used in just this way, had been one of the few "flashes" indicated in her scenario. was it likely that anybody else, writing a picture, would use just that phrase? she balanced the improbability of this find meaning anything at all to her against the coincidence of another author using the quotation in writing a scenario. she did not know what to think. which supposition was the more improbable? the thought was preposterous that the paper should mean anything to her. ruth was about to 118 ruth fielding down east throw it away; and then, failing to convince herself that the quotation was but idly written, she tucked the piece of paper into the belt of her bathing suit. when tom was ready to go back to their fishing station, ruth went with him and said nothing about the find she had made. they had fair luck, all told, and the chef at the camp produced their catch in a dish of boiled tautog with egg sauce at dinner that evening. the company ate together at a long table, like a logging camp crew, only with many more of the refinements of life than the usual logging crew enjoys. it was, however, on a picnic plane of existence, and there was much hilarity. these actor folk were very pleasant people. even the star, miss loder, was quite unspoiled by her success. "you know," she confessed to ruth (everybody confided in ruth), "i never would have been anything more than a stock actress in some jerkwater town, as we say in the west, if the movies hadn't become so popular. i have what they call the 'appealing face' and i can squeeze out real tears at the proper juncture. those are two very necessary attributes for a girl who wishes to gain film success." "but you can really act," ruth said honestly. "i watched you to-day." a quotation 119 "i should be able to act. i come of a family who have been actors for generations. acting is like breathing to me. but, of course, it is another art to 'register' emotion in the face, and very different from displaying one's feelings by action and audible expression. you know, one of our most popular present-day stage actresses got her start by an ability to scream off-stage. nothing like that in the movies." "you should hear jennie stone with a black ant down her back," put in helen, with serious face. "i am sure heavy could go the actress you speak of one better, and become even more popular." "i am not to be blamed if i squeal at crawly things," sniffed the plump girl, hearing this. “see how brave i am in most other respects." but that night jennie exhibited what tom called her "scarefulness" in most unmistakable fashion, and never again could she claim to be brave. she gave her chums in addition such a fright that they were not soon over talking about it. the three college girls had cots in a small shack that mr. hammond had given up to their use. it was one of the shacks nearest the shore of the harbor. several boat-docks near by ran out into the deep water. it was past midnight when jennie was for some reason aroused. usually she slept straight 120 ruth fielding down east through the night, and had to be awakened by violent means in time for breakfast. she was not startled, but awoke naturally, and found herself broad awake. she sat up in her cot, almost convinced that it must be daylight. but it was the moon shining through a haze of clouds that lighted the interior of the shack. the other two girls were breathing deeply. the noises she heard did not at first alarm jennie. there was the whisper of the tide as it rolled the tiny pebbles and shells up the strand and, receding, swept them down again. it chuckled, too, among the small piers of the near-by docks. then the listening girl heard footsteps-or what she took to be that sound. they approached the shack, then receded. she began to be curious, then felt a tremor of alarm. who could be wandering about the camp at this grim hour of the night? she was unwise enough to allow her imagination to wake up, too. she stole from her bed and peered out of the screened window that faced the water. almost at once a moving object met her frightened gaze. it was a figure all in white which seemed to float down the lane between the tents and out upon the nearest boat-dock. afterward jennie declared she could have suffered one of these spirit-looking manifestations in a quotation 121 silence. she crammed the strings of her frilled nightcap between her teeth as a stopper! this spectral figure was going away from the shack, anyway. it appeared to be bearing something in its arms. but then came a second ghost, likewise burdened. gasping, jennie waited, clinging to the window-sill for support. a third spectre appeared, rising like banquo's spirit at macbeth's feast. this was too much for the plump girl's self-control. she opened her mouth, and her half-strangled shriek, the partially masticated cap-strings all but choking her, aroused ruth and helen to palpitating fright. "oh! what is it?" demanded helen, bounding out of bed. "ghosts! oh! waw !" gurgled jennie, and sank back into her friend's arms. helen was literally as well as mentally overcome. jennie's weight carried her to the straw matting with a bump that shook the shack and brought ruth, too, out of bed. chapter xv an amazing situation "ghost'?" cried ruth fielding. "let me see it! remember the campus ghost back at old briarwood, helen? i haven't seen a ghost since that time." "ugh! get this big elephant off of me!" grunted her chum, impolitely as well as angrily. "she's no ghost, i do assure you. she's of the earth, earthy, and no mistake! ouch! get off, heavy!" "oh! oh! oh!" groaned the plump girl. “i— i saw them. three of them !" "sounds like a three-ring circus," snapped helen. but ruth was peering through the window. she saw nothing, and complained thereof: "jen has had a nightmare. i don't see a thing." "nightmare, your granny!" sputtered the plump girl, finally rolling off her half crushed friend. "i saw it-them-those!" "your grammar is so mixed i wouldn't believe you on oath," declared helen, getting to her own 122 an amazing situation 123 bare feet and paddling back to her cot for slippers and a negligee. "o-o-oh, it is chilly," agreed ruth, grabbing a wrap, too. "do tell us about it, jennie," she begged. "did you see your ghost through the window here?” "it isn't my ghost!" denied the plump girl. "i'm alive, ain't i?" "but you're not conscious," grumbled helen. "i can see !" wailed jennie. "i haven't lost my eyesight." "stop!" ruth urged. "let us get at the foundation of this trouble. you say you saw"i saw what i saw !" "oh, see-saw!" cried helen. "we're all loony, now." 99 ruth was about to ask another question, but she was again looking through the window. she suddenly bit off a cry of her own. she had to confess that the sight she saw was startling. "is-is that the ghost, jennie?" she breathed, seizing the plump girl by her arm and dragging her forward. jennie gave one frightened look through the window and immediately clapped her palms over her eyes. "ow!" she wailed in muffled tones. "they're coming back." they were, indeed! three white figures in in124 ruth fielding down east dian file came stalking up the long dock. they approached the camp in a spectral procession and had she been awakened to see them first of all, ruth might have been startled herself. helen peered over her chum's shoulder and in teeth-chattering monotone breathed in ruth's ear the query: "what is it?" "it-it's heavy's ghost." "not mine! not mine!" denied the plump girl. "oh!" gasped helen, spying the stalking white figures. it was the moonlight made them appear so ghostly. ruth knew that, of course, at once. and then"who ever saw ghosts carrying garbage cans before?" ejaculated the girl of the red mill. "mercy me, heavy! do stop your wailing. it is the chef and his two assistants who have got up to dump the garbage on the out-going tide. what a perfect scare-cat you are!" "you don't mean it, ruth?" whimpered the plump girl. "is that all they were?" helen began to giggle. and it covered her own fright. ruth was rather annoyed. "if you had remained in bed and minded your own business," she said to jennie, "you would not have seen ghosts, or got us up to see them. now go back to sleep and behave yourself." an amazing situation 125 "yes, ma'am," murmured the abashed jennie stone. "how silly of me! i was never afriad of a cook before-no, indeed." helen continued to giggle spasmodically; but she fell asleep soon. as for jennie, she began to breathe heavily almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. but ruth must needs lie awake for hours, and naturally the teeth of her mind began to knaw at the problem of that bit of paper she had found in the sand. the more she thought of it the less easy it was to discard the idea that the writing on the paper was a quotation from her own scenario script. it seemed utterly improbable that two people should use that same expression as a "flash" in a scenario. yet, if this paper was a connecting link between her stolen manuscript and the thief, who was the thief? it would seem, of course, if this supposition were granted, that some member of the company of film actors mr. hammond had there at beach plum point had stolen the scenario. at least, the stolen scenario must be in the possession of some member of the company. # who could it be? naturally ruth considered this unknown must be one of the company who wished mr. hammond to accept and produce a scenario. 126 ruth fielding down east ruth finally fell into a troubled sleep with the determination in her mind to take more interest in the proposed scenario-writing contest than she had at first intended. she could not imagine how anybody could take her work and change it so that she would not recognize it! the plot of the story was too well wrought and the working out of it too direct. she did not think that she had it perfect. only that she had perfected the idea as well as she was able. but changing it would not hide from her the recognition of her own brain-child. so after breakfast she went to mr. hammond to make inquiry about the scenario contest. "ha, ha! so you are coming to yourself, miss ruth!" he chuckled. "i told you you would feel different. i only wish you would get a real smart idea for a picture." "nothing like that!" she told him, shaking her head. "i could not think of writing a new scenario. you don't know what it means to methe loss of that picture i had struggled so long with and thought so much about. i— "but let us not talk of it," she hastened to add. "i am curious regarding the stories that have been offered to you." "you need not fear competition," he replied. "just as i told you, all these perfectly good acting people base their scenarios on dramas they have an amazing situation 127 played or seen played. they haven't got the idea of writing for the screen at all, although they work before the camera." "and that is no wonder!" exclaimed ruth. "the way the directors take scenes, the actors never get much of an idea of the continuity of the story they are making. but these stories ?" "so far, i haven't found a possible scenario. and i have looked at more than a score." "you don't mean it!" "i most certainly do," he assured her. "want to look at them?" "why-yes," confessed ruth. "i am curious, as i tell you.' 99 "go to it!" exclaimed mr. hammond, opening a drawer of his desk and pointing to the pile of manuscripts within. "consider yourself at home here. i am going over to the port with director hooley and most of the members of the company. we have found just the location for the shooting of that scene in your 'seaside idyl' where the ladies' aid society holds its 'gossip session' in the grove-remember?" "oh, yes," ruth replied, not much interested, as she took the first scenario out of the drawer. "and hooley's found some splendid types, too, around the village. they really have a sewing circle connected with the herringport union church, and i have agreed to help the ladies pay 128 ruth fielding down east for having the church edifice painted if they will let us film a session of the society with our principal character actors mixed in with the local group. the sun is good to-day. he went away, and a little later ruth heard the automobiles start for herringport. she had the forenoon to herself, for the rest of her party had gone out in a motor boat fishing—a party from which she had excused herself. eagerly she began to examine the scenarios submitted to mr. hammond. the possibility that she might find one of them near enough like her own lost story to suggest that it had been plagiarized, made ruth's heart beat faster. she could not forget the quotation on the scrap of brown paper. somebody on this point-and it seemed that the "somebody" must be one of the moving picture company-had written that quotation from her scenario. she felt that this could not be denied. chapter xvi ruth solves one problem had ruth fielding been confronted with the question: "did she expect to find a clue to the identity of the person who had stolen her scenario before she left the red mill?" she could have made no confident answer. she did not know what she would find when she sat down at mr. hammond's desk for the purpose of looking over the submitted stories. doubt and suspicion, however, enthralled her mind. she was both curious and anxious. ruth had no particular desire to read the manuscripts. in any case she did not presume mr. hammond desired her advice about selecting a script for filming. she skimmed through the first story. it had not a thing in it that would suggest in the faintest way any familiarity of the author with her own lost scenario. for two hours she fastened her attention upon one after another of the scenarios, often by main 129 130 ruth fielding down east will-power, because of the utter lack of interest in the stories the writers had tried to put over. without being at all egotistical, ruth fielding felt confident that had any one of these scenario writers come into possession of her lost script, and been dishonest enough to use it, he would have turned out a much better story. but not a trace of her original idea and its development was to be found in these manuscripts. her suspicion had been needlessly roused. ruth could not deny that the scrap of paper found in the sand was quite as mysterious as ever. the quotation on it seemed to be taken directly from her own scenario. but there was absolutely nothing in this pile of manuscripts to 'ustify her suspicions. she was just as dissatisfied after scanning all the submitted scenarios as mr. hammond seemed to be with the day's work when the company came back from herringport in the late afternoon. "i suppose it is a sanguine disposition that keeps me at this game, miss ruth," he sighed. "i always expect much more than i can possibly get out of a situation; and when i fail i go on hoping just the same." "i am sure that is a commendable disposition to possess," she laughed. "what has gone so wrong?" "it is the old story of leading the horse to ruth solves one problem 131 water, and the inability of making him drink. this is a balky horse, and no mistake!" "do tell me what you mean, mr. hammond?" "why, i told you we had got what the ladies call 'perfectly lovely' types for that scene to-day. you ought to see them, miss ruth! you would be charmed. just what the dear public expects a back-country sewing circle should look like." "oh!" "and they all promised to be on hand at the location-and they were. i have had my experiences with amateurs before. i had begged the ladies to dress just as they would were they going to an actual meeting of their sewing society— 99 "and they all dressed up?" laughed ruth, clasping her hands. "well, that i expected to contend with. and most of them even in their best bib and tucker were not out of the picture. not at all! that was not the main difficulty and the one that has spoiled our day's work." "indeed?" "i am afraid jim hooley will have to fake the whole scene after all," continued the manager. "those women came all dressed up 'to have their pictures took,' it is true. but the worst of it is, they could not be natural. it was impossible. they showed in every move and every glance that they were sitting with a bunch of actors and were 132 ruth fielding down east not at all sure that what they were doing was altogether the right thing. "we worked over them as though it were a 'mob scene' and there were five hundred in it instead of twenty. but twenty wooden dummies would have filmed no more unnaturally. you know, in your story, they are supposed to be discussing the bit of gossip about your heroine's elopement with the school-teacher. i could not work up a mite of enthusiasm in their minds about such a topic." ruth laughed. but she saw that the matter was really serious for mr. hammond and the director. she became sympathetic. "i fancy that if they had had a real scandal to discuss," she observed, "their faces would have registered more poignant interest." "poignant interest' !" scoffed the manager in disgust. "if these herringport tabbies had the toothache they would register only polite anguish -in public. they are the most insular and selfcontained and self-suppressed women i ever saw. these down-easters! they could walk over fiery ploughshares and only wanly smile" ruth went off into a gale of laughter at this. mr. hammond was a westerner by birth, and he found the yankee character as hard to understand as did henri marchand. "have you quite given up hope, mr. ham mond?" ruth asked. ruth solves one problem 133 "well, we'll try again to-morrow. oh, they promised to come again! they are cutting out rompers, or flannel undervests, i suppose, for the south sea island children; or something like that. they are interested in that job, no doubt. "i wanted them to 'let go all holts,' as these fishermen say, and be eager and excited. they are about as eager as they would be doing their washing, or cleaning house-if as much!" and mr. hammond's disappointment became too deep for further audible expression. ruth suddenly awoke to the fact that one of her best scenes in the "seaside idyl" was likely to be spoiled. she talked with mr. hooley about it, and when the day's run was developed and run off in one of the shacks which was used for a tryout room, ruth saw that the manager had not put the matter too strongly. the sewing circle scene lacked all that snap and go needed to make it a realistic piece of action. of course, there were enough character actors. in the company to use in the scene; but naturally an actor caricatures such parts as were called for in this scene. the professional would be likely to make the characters seem grotesque. that was not the aim of the story. "i thought you were not going to take any interest in this 'seaside idyl,' at all," suggested 134 ruth fielding down east helen, when ruth was talking about the failure of the scene after supper that night. "i can't help it. my reputation as a scenario writer is at stake, just as much as is mr. hooley's reputation as director," ruth said, smiling. "i really didn't mean to have a thing to do with the old picture. but i can see that somebody has got to put a breath of naturalness into those ladies' aid society women, or this part of the picture will be a fizzle." "and our ruth," drawled jennie, “is going to prescribe one of her famous cure-alls, is she?" "i believe i can make them look less like a lot of dummies while they are cutting out rompers for cannibal island pickaninnies," laughed ruth. "tom, i am going to the port with you the first thing in the morning." "by all means," said captain cameron. "i am yours to command." her newly aroused interest in the scenario at present being filmed, was a good thing for ruth fielding. having found nothing at all in the submitted stories that suggested her own lost story, the girl of the red mill tried to put aside again the thing that so troubled her mind. and this new interest helped. in the morning before breakfast she and tom ran over to the port in the maroon roadster. while they were having breakfast at the inn, ruth ruth solves one problem 135 asked the waitress, who was a native of this part of the country, about the union church and some of the more intimate life-details of the members of its congregation. 1 it is not hard to uncover neighborhood gossip of a kind not altogether unkindly in any similar 'community. the union church had a new minister, and he was young. he was now away on his vacation, and more than one local beauty and her match-making mamma would have palpitation of the heart before he returned for fear that the young clergyman would have his heart interests entangled by some designing "foreigner." tom had no idea as to what ruth fielding was getting at through this questioning of the beaming hebe who waited on them at breakfast. and he was quite as much in the dark as to his friend's motive when ruth announced their first visit to be to the office of the herringport harpoon, the local news sheet. chapter xvii john, the hermit's, contribution a man with bushy hair, a pencil stuck over his ear, and wearing an ink-stained apron, met them in the office of the harpoon. this was ezra payne, editor and publisher of the weekly newssheet, and this was his busiest day. the harpoon, ruth had learned, usually went into the mails on this day. "tut, tut! i see. is this a joke?" mr. payne pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow in uncertainty. "a whole edition, miss? wall, i dunno. i do have hard work selling all the edition some weeks. but i have reg'lar subscribers" "this will not interfere with your usual edition of the harpoon," she hastened to assure him. "how's that, miss?" "i want to buy an edition of one copy." "one copy!" "yes, sir. i want something special printed in one paper. then you can take it out and print your regular edition." 136 john, the hermit's, contribution 137 is this a joke?" mr. payne "tut, tut! i see. asked, his eyes beginning to twinkle. "it is the biggest joke you ever heard of," declared ruth. "and who's the joke on?" "wait and see what i write," ruth said, sitting down at the battered old desk where he labored over his editorials and proofsheets. opening a copy of the last week's harpoon that lay there, she was able to see the whole face of the paper. "i've got the inside run off," said mr. payne, still doubtfully. "so you can't run anything on the second and third pages." "oh, i want the most prominent place for my item," laughed ruth. "front page, top column -here it is!" he bent over her. tom stared in wonder, too, as ruth pointed to an item under a certain heading at the top of the middle column of the front page of the sheet. "that is just where i want my item to appear," she said briskly to the editor. "you run thatthat department there every week?" "oh, yes, miss. the people expect it. you know how folks are. they look for those items first of all in a country paper." "yes. it is so. one of the new york dailies is still printed with that human foible in mind. it 138 ruth fielding down east caters to this very curiosity that your harpoon caters to." "yes, miss. you're right. most folks have the same curiosity, city or country. shakespeare spoke of the 'seven ages of man'; but there are only three of particular interest-to womankind, anyway; and they are all here." "there you go! slurring the women," she laughed. "or do you speak compliments ?" "i guess the women have it right," chuckled mr. payne. "now, what is it you want me to print in one paper for you?" ruth drew a scratch pad to her and scribbled rapidly for a couple of minutes. then she passed the page to the newspaper proprietor. mr. payne read it, stared at her, pursed his lips, and then read it again. suddenly he burst into a cackle of laughter, slapping his thigh in high delight. "by gravy!" he chortled, "that's a good one on the dominie. by gravy! wait till i tell99 "don't you tell anybody, mr. payne," interrupted ruth, smiling, but firmly. "i am buying your secrecy as well as your edition of one copy." "i get you! i get you!" declared the old fellow. "this is to be on the q.t.?" "positively." "you sit right here. the front page is all made up on the stone, marriages, births, death notices, john, the hermit's, contribution 139 and all. i'll set the paragraph and slip it in at the top o' the column. my boy is out, but this young man can help me lift the page into the press. she's all warmed up, and i was going to start printing when edgar comes back from breakfast." he grabbed the piece of copy and went off into the printing room, chuckling. half an hour later the first paper came from the press, and ruth and tom bent over it. the item the girl had written was plainly printed in the position she had chosen on the front page of the harpoon. "now, you are to keep still about this," ruth said, threatening mr. payne with a raised finger. "i don't know a thing about it," he promised, pocketing the bill she took from her purse, and in high good humor over the joke. tom helped him take the front page from the press again. the printer unlocked the chase, and removed and distributed the three lines he had set up at ruth's direction. the crowd from beach plum point came over in the cars about noontime. aunt kate had remained at the inn on this morning, and she and ruth walked to the "location," which was a beauti ful old shaded front yard at the far end of the village. helen and jennie had come with the real actors, and were to appear in the picture. the story re140 ruth fielding down east lated incidents at a sunday-school picnic, and most of the comedy had already been filmed on the lot. the scene around the long sewing table under the trees, when the ladies' aid was at work with needle and tongue, should be the principal incident of this reel devoted to the picnic. the heroine, to the amazement of the village gossips, has run away with the schoolmaster and married him in the next county. a certain character in the picture runs in with this bombshell of news and explodes it in the midst of the group about the sewing table. the day before this point had failed to make much impression upon the amateur members of the company engaged in this typical scene. the herringport ladies were not at all interested in such a thing happening to the town's schoolmaster, for to tell the truth the local schoolmaster was an old married man with a house full of children and nothing at all romantic about him. ruth took mr. hooley aside and showed him the copy of the harpoon she had had printed, and whispered to him her idea of the change in the action of the scenario. he seized upon the scheme-and the paper-with gusto. "you are a jewel, miss fielding!" he declared. "if this doesn't make those old tabbies come to life and act naturally, nothing ever will!" ruth left the matter in the director's hands and john, the hermit's, contribution 141 retired from the location. she had no intention herself of appearing in the picture. she found mr. hammond sitting in his automobile in a state of good-humor. "you seem quite sure that the work will go better to-day, mr. hammond," ruth observed, with curiosity as to the reason for his apparent enjoyment. "whether it does or not, miss ruth," he responded. "there is something that i fancy is going to be more than a little amusing." he tapped a package wrapped in a soiled newspaper which lay which lay on the seat beside him. “thank goodness, i can still enjoy a joke." "what is the joke? let me enjoy it, too," she said. "with the greatest of pleasure. i'll let you read it, if you like-as you did those other scenarios." "what! is it a movie story?" she asked. "so i am assured. it is the contribution of john, the hermit. he brought it to me just before we started over here this morning. poor old codger! just look here, miss ruth." mr. hammond turned back the loose covering of the package on the automobile seat. ruth saw a packet of papers, seemingly of roughly trimmed sheets of wrapping paper and of several sizes. at the top of the upper sheet was the title of the 142 ruth fielding down east hermit's scenario. it was called "plain mary.” she glanced down the page, noting that it was written in a large, upright, hand and with an indelible pencil. ruth fielding had not the least idea that she was to take any particular interest in this picture-story. she smiled more because mr. hammond seemed so amused than for any other reason. secretly she thought that most of these moving picture people were rather unkind to the strange old man who lived alone on the seaward side of the beach plum point. "want to read it over?" mr. hammond asked her. "i would consider it a favor, for i've got to go back and try to catch up with my correspondence. i expect this is worse than those you skimmed through yesterday." ruth did not hear him. suddenly she had seen something that had not at first interested her. she read the first few lines of the opening, and saw nothing in them of importance. it was the writing itself that struck her. "why!" she suddenly gasped. she was reminded of something that she had seen before. this writing"let me go back to the camp with you, mr. hammond," she said, slipping into the seat and taking the packet of written sheets into her lap. "i-i will look through this scenario, if you like. john, the hermit's, contribution 143 there is something down there on the point that i want." "sure. be glad to have your company," he said, letting in his clutch after pushing the starter. "we're off." ruth did not speak again just then. with widening eyes she began to devour the first pages of the hermit's manuscript. chapter xviii uncertainties the automobile purred along the shell road, past the white-sided, green-blinded houses of the retired ship captains and the other well-to-do people of herringport. the car ran so smoothly that ruth might have read all the way. but after the first page or two-those containing the opening scenes of "plain mary"— she dared not read farther. not yet. it was not that there was a familiar phrase in the upright chirography of the old hermit. the story merely suggested a familiar situation to ruth's mind. thus far it was only a suggestion. there was something else she felt she must prove or disprove first of all. she sat beside mr. hammond quite speechless until they came to the camp on the harbor shore of beach plum point. he went off cheerfully to his letter writing, and ruth entered the shack she occupied with helen 144 uncertainties 145 and jennie. she opened her locked writing-case. under the first flap she inserted her fingers and drew forth the wrinkled scrap of paper she had picked up on the sands. a glance at the blurred writing assured her that it was the same as that of the hermit's scenario. "flash: "as in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be" shakingly ruth sat down before the cheap little maple table. she spread open the newspaper wrapper and stared again at the title page of "plain mary." that title was nothing at all like the one she had given her lost scenario. but a title, after all, meant very little. the several scenes suggested in the beginning of the hermit's story did not conflict with the plot she had evolved, although they were not her own. she had read nothing so far that would make this story different from her own. the names of the characters were changed and the locations for the first scene were different from those in her script. nevertheless the action and development of the story might prove to be exactly like hers. she shrank from going deeper into the hermit's 146 ruth fielding down east script. she feared to find her suspicions true; yet she must know. finally she began to read. page after page of the large and sprawling writing she turned over, face down upon the table. ruth grew so absorbed in the story that she did not note the passing of time. she was truly aware of but one thing. and that seized upon her mind to wring from it both bitterness and anger. "want to go back to the port, miss ruth?" asked mr. hammond, "i want to mail my letters." his question startled her. she sprang up, a spot of crimson in either cheek. had he looked at her, the manager would certainly have noted her strange look. "i'll come in a minute," she called to him in a half-stifled voice. she laved her eyes and cheeks in cool water, removing such marks of her emotion as she could. then she bundled up the hermit's scenario and joined mr. hammond in the car. "did you look at this?" she asked the pro'ducer as he started the motor. "bless you, no! what is it? as crazy as the old codger himself?" "do you really think that man is crazy?" she asked sharply. "why, i don't really know. just queer peruncertainties 147 haps. it doesn't seem as though a sane man would live all stark alone over on that sea-beaten point." "he is an actor," declared ruth. "your director says so." "at least, he does not claim to be, and they usually do, you know," chuckled mr. hammond. "but about this thing" "you read it! then i will tell you something," said the girl soberly, and she refused to explain further. "you amaze me," said the puzzled manager. "if that old codger has succeeded in turning out anything worth while, i certainly shall believe that 'wonders never cease. 999 "he has got you all fooled. he is a good actor," declared ruth bitterly. then, as mr. hammond turned a puzzled frown upon her, she added, "tell me what you think of the script, mr. hammond, before you speak to-er-john, or whatever his name may be." "i certainly am curious now," he declared. they got back to the place where the director, had arranged to "shoot" the sewing circle scene just as everything was all set for it. mother paisley dominated the half circle of women about the long table under the trees. ruth marveled at the types mr. hooley had found in the village. 148 ruth fielding down east and she marveled further that any group of human beings could appear so wooden. "oh, ruth"" murmured helen, who was not in this scene, but was an interested spectator, "they will surely spoil the picture again. poor mr. hooley! he takes such pains." it was like playing a child's game for most of the members of the herringport union congregation. they were selfconscious, and felt that they were in a silly situation. those who were not too serious of demeanor were giggling like schoolgirls. yet everything was ready for the cameras. mr. hooley's keen eye ran over all the group. he waved a hand to the camera men. "ready camera-action-go!" the women remained speechless. they merely looked at each other in a helpless way. it was evident they had forgotten all the instructions the director had given them. but suddenly into the focus of the cameras ran a barefooted urchin waving a newspaper. this was the alectrion company's smartest "kid" actor and a favorite wherever his tousled head, freckled face, and wide grin appeared on the screen. he plunged right at mother paisley and thrust the paper into her hand, while he pointed at a certain place on the front page. uncertainties 149 "read that, ma bassett!" cried the news vender. mrs. paisley gave expression first to wonder, then utter amazement, as she read the item ruth had had inserted in this particular "edition" of the harpoon. she was a fine old actress and her facial registering of emotion was a marvel. mr. hooley had seldom to advise her. now his voice was heard above the clack of the cameras: "pass it to the lady at your left. that's it! get your heads together— cling to the paper. three of you now !" the amateur players looked at each other and began to grin. the scene promised to be as big a "fizzle" as the one shot the previous day. but the woman next to mrs. paisley, after looking carelessly at the paper, of a sudden came to life. she seized the harpoon with both hands, fairly snatching it out of the actress' hands. she was too startled to be polite. "what under the canopy is this here?” she sputtered. she was a small, wiry, vigorous woman, and she had an expressive, if a vinegary, face. she rose from her seat and forgot all about her "playacting." "what d'you think it says here?" she demanded of her sister-members of the ladies' aid. 150 ruth fielding down east "sh !" "ella painter, you're a-bustin' up the show!" admonished a motherly old person at the end of the table. but mrs. painter did not notice these hushed remarks. she read the item in the paper aloudand so extravagantly did she mouth the astonishing' words that ruth feared they might be read on her lips when shown on the screen. "listen!" mrs. painter cried. "right at the top of the marriage notices! 'garside-smythe. at perleyvale, maine, on august twenty-second, the reverend elton garside, of herringport, and miss amy smythe, of perleyvale.' what do you know about that?" the gasp of amazement that went up from the women of the herringport union church was almost a chorus of anguish. the paper was snatched from hand to hand. nobody could accuse the amateurs now of being "wooden." not until mrs. paisley in the character of ma bassett, at the signal from mr. hooley, fell back in her chair, exclaiming: "my mercy me! luella sprague and the teacher! who'd have thought it?" did the company in general suspect that something had been "put over on them." "all right! all right!" shouted jim hooley in high delight, stopping his camera men. "that's uncertainties 151 fine! it's great! miss fielding, your scheme worked like a charm." the members of the sewing circle began to ask questions. "do you mean to say this is in the play?" demanded mrs. ella painter, waving the newspaper and inclined to be indignant. "yes, mrs. painter. that marriage notice is just a joke," the director told her. "it certainly gave you ladies a start and well, wait till you see this scene on the screen!" "but ain't it so?" cried another. "why, mr. garside-why! it's in the harpoon." "but you won't find it in another harpoon," laughed the director, recovering possession of the newspaper. "it's only a joke. but i positively had to give you ladies a real shock or we'd never have got this scene right." "well, of all the impudence!" began mrs. painter. however, she joined in the laughter a minute later. at best, the women had won from mr. hammond enough money to pay for the painting of their church edifice, and they were willing to sacrifice their dignity for that. chapter xix counterclaims "i declare, ruth! that was a ridiculous thing to do," exclaimed helen, when they were on their way back to the point. "but it certainly brought the sewing circle women all up standing." "i've been wondering all day what ruth was up to," said tom, who was steering the big car. “i was in on it without understanding her game.' 99 "well, it was just what the directer needed," chuckled jennie. "oh, it takes our ruth to do things." "i wonder?" sighed the girl of the red mill, in no responsive mood. she had something very unpleasant before her that she felt she must do, and nothing could raise her spirits. she did not speak to anybody about the hermit's scenario. she waited for mr. hammond to express his opinion of it. at the camp she found a letter for her from the 'doctor's wife who had promised to keep her informed regarding arabella montague fitzmaurice 152 counterclaims 153 pike. that young person was doing well and getting fat at the perkins' farm. but mrs. holmes was quite sure that she had not heard from her father. "you've got another half-orphan on your hands, ruth," said helen. she made it a point always to object to ruth's charities. "i don't believe that man will ever show up again. if he went away with a medicine show"" "no, no," said ruth firmly. "no child would ever respect and love her father as bella does if he was not good to her. he will turn up.' 99 just then tom called from outside the door of the girls' shack. "what say to a moonlight dip off the point?" he asked. "the tide is not very low. and i missed my splash this morning." "we're with you, tommy," responded his sister. "wait till we get into bathing suits.' 99 even ruth was enthusiastic-to a degree-over this. in twenty minutes they were running up the beach with tom and henri toward the end of the point. "let's go over and get the surf," suggested jennie. "i do love surf bathing. all you have to do is to bob up and down in one place." "heavy is lazy even in her sport," scoffed helen. "but i'm game for the rough stuff." they crossed the neck of land near the hermit's 154 ruth fielding down east hut. there was a hard beach almost in front of the hut, and up this the breakers rolled and foamed delightfully. the so-called hermit, hearing their voices, came out and sat on a rock to watch them. but he did not offer to speak until ruth went over to him. "mr. hammond let me read your script, john," she said coldly. "indeed?" he rejoined without emotion. "where did you get the idea for that scenario?" he tapped his head with a long forefinger. "right inside of that skull. i do my own thinking," he said. "you did not have any help about it? you originated the idea of 'plain mary?" he nodded. "you ain't the only person who can write a picture," he observed. "and i think that this one they are filming for you is silly." ruth stared down at him, but said nothing more. she was ready to go back to camp as soon as the others would, and she remained very silent. mr. hammond had been asking for her, miss loder said. when ruth had got into something more presentable than a wet bathing suit, she went to his office. "what do you know about this?" he demanded in plain amazement. "this story the old man gave me to read is a wonder! it is one of the best ideas i ever saw for the screen. of course, it counterclaims 155 needs fixing up a bit, but its great! what did you think of it, miss ruth ?" "i am glad you like it, mr. hammond," she said, steadying her voice with difficulty. 99 "i do like it, i assure you." "it is my story, mr. hammond!" she exclaimed. "it is the very scenario that was stolen from me at home. he's just changed the names of the characters and given it a different title, and spoiled some of the scenes. but a large part of it is copied word for word from my manuscript!" "miss fielding!" gasped the president of the 'alectrion film corporation. "i am telling you the truth," ruth cried, rather wildly, it must be confessed, and then she broke down and wept. "my goodness! it can't be possible! youyou've let your mind dwell upon your loss so much 99 "do you think i am crazy?" she demanded, flaring up at him, her anger drying her tears. "certainly not," he returned gently; yet he looked at her oddly. "but mistakes have been made" "mistakes, indeed! it is no mistake when i recognize my own work." "but-but how could this old man have stolen your work-and away back there at the red mill? 156 ruth fielding down east i believe he has lived here on the point for years. at least, every summer." "then somebody else stole it and he got the script from them. i tell you it is mine!" cried ruth. "miss fielding! let us be calm"you would not be calm if discovered someyou body trying to make use of something you had originated, and calling it theirs-no you wouldn't, mr. hammond!" 99 "but it seems impossible," he said weakly. "that old man is an actor-an old-school actor. you can see that easily enough," she declared. “there was such a person about the red mill the day my script was lost. oh, it's plain enough." "not so plain, miss ruth," said mr. hammond firmly. "and you must not make wild accusations. that will do no good-and may do harm in the end. it does not seem probable to me that this old hermit could have actually stolen your story. a longshore character like him" "he's not!" cried ruth. "don't you see that he is playing a part? he is no fisherman. no longshore character, as you call him, would be as afraid of the sea as he is. he is playing a partand he plays it just as well as the parts mr. hooley gives him to play." "jove! there may be something in that," murmured the manager. counterclaims 157 "he got my script some way, i tell you!" declared ruth. "i am not going to let anybody mau! my story and put it over as his own. no, sir!" "but-but, miss ruth!" exclaimed mr. hammond. "how are you going to prove what you say is true?" "prove it?" "yes. you see, the burden of proof must be on you." "but-but don't you believe me?" she murmured. "does it matter what i believe?" he asked her gently. "remember, this man has entrusted me with a manuscript that he says is original. at least it is written in his own hand. i cannot go back of that unless you have some means of proof that his story is your story. who did you tell about your plot, and how you worked it out? did you read the finished manuscript-or any part of it -to any person who can corroborate your statements?" "oh, mr. hammond!" she cried, with sudden anguish in her voice. "not a soul! never to a single, solitary person. the girls, nor aunt alvirah, nor tom-" she broke down again and he could not soothe her. she wept with abandon, and mr. hammond was really anxious for her. he went to the door, 158 ruth fielding down east whistled for one of the boys, and sent for mrs. paisley. but ruth recovered her composure-to a degree, at least-before the motherly old actress came. "don't tell anybody! don't tell anybody!" she sobbed to mr. hammond. "they will think i am crazy! i haven't a word of proof. only my word99 "against his," said the manager gravely. "i would accept your word, miss ruth, against the world! but we must have some proof before we deliberately accuse this old man of robbing you." "yes, yes. i see. i will be patient-if i can." "the thing to do is to find out who this hermit really is," said mr. hammond. "through discovering his private history we may put our finger on the thing that will aid you with proof. goodnight, my dear. try to get calm again." 1 chapter xx the grill ruth did not go back to her chums until, under mother paisley's comforting influence, she had recovered a measure of her self-possession. the old actress asked no questions as to the cause of ruth's state of mind. she had seen too many hysterical girls to feel that the cause of her patient's breakdown was at all important. "you just cry all you want to, deary. right here on mother paisley's shoulder. crying will do you good. it is the good lord's way of giving us women an outlet for all our troubles. when the last tear is squeezed out much of the pain goes with it." ruth was not ordinarily a crying girl. she had wept more of late, beginning with that day at the red mill when her scenario manuscript had been stolen, than in all her life before. her tears were now in part an expression of anger and indignation. she was as mad as she could be at this man who called himself "john, the 159 160 ruth fielding down east hermit." for, whether he was the person who had actually stolen her manuscript, he very well knew that his scenario offered to mr. hammond was not original with him. the worst of it was, he had mangled her scenario. ruth could look upon it in no other way. his changes had merely muddied the plot and cheapened her main idea. she could not forgive that! the other girls were drowsy when ruth kissed mother paisley good-night and entered the small shack. she was glad to escape any interrogation. by morning she had gained control of herself, but her eyes betrayed the fact that she had not slept. "you certainly do not look as though you were enjoying yourself down here," tom cameron said to her at breakfast time, and with suspicion. "maybe we did come to the wrong place for our vacation after all. how about it, ruth? shall we start off in the cars again and seek pastures new?" "not now, tom," she told him, hastily. "i must stay right here." "why?" "because99 "that is no sensible reason." "let me finish," she said rather crossly. "because i must see what sort of scenario mr. hammond finds-if he finds any-in this contest." "humph! and you said you and scenarios the grill 161 were done forever! i fancy mr. hammond is taking advantage of your good nature." "he is not." 99 "you are positively snappish, ruth," complained tom. "you've changed your mind"isn't that a girl's privilege?" "very well, miladi!" he said, with a deep bow as they rose from the table. "however, you need not give all your attention to these prize stories, need you? let's do something besides follow these sun-worshippers around to-day." "all right, tommy-boy," acclaimed his sister. "what do you suggest?" "a run along the coast to reef harbor where there are a lot of folks we know," tom promptly replied. "not in that old tocsin," cried jennie. "she's so small i can't take off my sweater without tipping her over." "oh, what a whopper!" gasped helen. "never mind," grinned her twin. "let jennie run to the superlatives if she likes. anyway, i would not dream of going so far as the harbor in that dinky little tocsin. i've got my eye on just the craft, and i can get her over here in an hour by telephoning to the port. it's the stazy." "goody!" exclaimed jennie stone. "that big blue yacht! and she's got a regular crew-and 162 ruth fielding down east everything. aunty won't be afraid to go with us in her." "that's fine, tom," said his sister with appreciation. even ruth seemed to take some interest. but she suggested: "be sure there is gasoline enough, tom. that stazy doesn't spread a foot of canvas, and we are not likely to find a gas station out there in the ocean, the way we did in the hills of massachusetts." "don't fear, miss fidget," he rejoined. “are you all game?" they were. the girls went to "doll up," to quote the slangy tom, for reef harbor was one of the most fashionable of maine coast resorts and the knockabout clothing they had been wearing at beach plum point would never do at the harbor hotels. the stazy was a comfortable and fast motoryacht. as to her sea-worthiness even tom could not say, but she looked all right. and to the eyes of the members of ruth fielding's party there was no threat of bad weather. so why worry about the pleasure-craft's balance and her ability to sail the high seas? "it is only a short run, anyway," tom said. as for colonel marchand, he had not the first idea about ships or sailing. he admitted that only the grill 163 continued fair weather and a smooth sea had kept him on deck coming over from france with jennie and helen. at the present time he and jennie stone were much too deeply engrossed in each other to think of anything but their own two selves. in a fortnight now, both the frenchman and tom would have to return to the battle lines. and they were, deep in their hearts, eager to go back; for they did not dream at this time that the german navy would revolt, that the high command and the army had lost their morale, and that the end of the great war was near. within tom's specified hour the party got under way, boarding the stazy from a small boat that came to the camp dock for them. it was not until the yacht was gone with ruth fielding and her party that mr. hammond set on foot the investigation he had determined upon the night before. the president of the alectrion film corporation thought a great deal of the girl of the red mill. their friendship was based on something more than a business association. but he knew, too, that after her recent experiences in france and elsewhere, her health was in rather a precarious state. at least, he was quite sure that ruth's nerves were "all out of tune," as he expressed it, and he 164 ruth fielding down east believed she was not entirely responsible for what she had said. the girl had allowed her mind to dwell so much upon that scenario she had lost that it might be she was not altogether clear upon the subject. mr. hamond had talked with tom about the robbery at the red mill, and it looked to the moving picture producer as though there might be some considerable doubt of ruth's having been robbed at all. in that terrific wind and rain storm almost anything might have blown away. tom admitted he had seen a barrel sailing through the air at the height of the storm. "why couldn't the papers and note books have been caught up by a gust of wind and carried into the river?" mr. hammond asked himself. "the river was right there, and it possesses a strong current." the president of the alectrion film corporation knew the lumano, and the vicinity of the red mill as well. it seemed to him very probable that the scenario had been lost. and the gold-mounted fountain pen? why, that might have easily rolled down a crack in the summer-house floor. ¡ the whole thing was a matter so fortuitous that mr. hammond could not accept ruth's version of the loss without some doubt, in any case. and then, her suddenly finding in the only good scenario the grill 165 submitted to him by any of his company, one that she believed was plagiarized from her lost story, seemed to put a cap on the whole matter. ruth might be just a little "off soundings," as the fishermen about herringport would say. mr. hammond was afraid that she had been carried into a situation of mind where suspicion took the place of certainty. she had absolutely nothing with which to corroborate her statement. nobody had seen ruth's scenario nor had she discussed the plot with any person. secrecy necessary to the successful production of anything new in the line of picture plays was all right. mr. hammond advised it. but in this case it seemed that the scenario writer had been altogether too secret. had ruth not chanced to read the hermit's script before making her accusation, mr. hammond would have felt differently. better, had she been willing to relate to him in the first place the story of the plot of her scenario and how she had treated it, her present accusation might have seemed more reasonable. but, having read the really good story scrawled on the scraps of brown paper that john, the hermit, had put in the manager's hands, the girl had suddenly claimed the authorship of the story. there was nothing to prove her claim. it looked dubious at the best. 166 ruth fielding down east john, the hermit, was a grim old man. no matter whether he was some old actor hiding away here on beach plum point or not, he was not man to give up easily anything that he had once said was his. the manager was far too wise to accuse the hermit openly, as ruth had accused him. they would not get far with the old fellow that way, he was sure. first of all he called the company together and asked if there were any more scenarios to be submitted. "no," being the answer, he told them briefly that out of the twenty-odd stories he had accepted one that might be whipped into shape for filming and one only. each story submitted had been numbered and the number given to its author. the scripts could now be obtained by the presentation of the numbers. he did not tell them which number had proved successful. nor did he let it be known that he proposed to try to film the hermit's pro'duction. mr. hooley was using old john on this day in a character part. for these "types" the director usually paid ten or fifteen dollars a day; but john was so successful in every part he was given that mr. hooley always paid him an extra five dollars for his work. money seemed to make no difference in the hermit's appearance, however. he the grill 167 wore just as shabby clothing and lived just as plainly as he had when the picture company had come on to the lot. when work was over for the day, hooley sent the old man to mr. hammond's office. the president of the company invited the hermit into his shack and gave him a seat. he scrutinized the man sharply as he thus greeted him. it was quite true that the hermit did not wholly fit the character he assumed as a longshore waif. in the first place, his skin was not tanned to the proper leathery look. his eyes were not those of a man used to looking off over the sea. his hands were too soft and unscarred for a sailor's. he had never pulled on ropes and handled an oar! now that ruth fielding had suggested that his character was a disguise, mr. hammond saw plainly that she must be right. as he was a good actor of other parts before the camera, so he was a good actor in his part of "hermit." "how long have you lived over there on the point, john?" asked mr. hammond carelessly. "a good many years, sir, in summer." "how did you come to live there first?" "i wandered down this way, found the hut empty, turned to and fixed it up, and stayed on." he said it quite simply and without the first show of confusion. but this tale of his occupancy 168 ruth fielding down east of the seaside hut he had repeated frequently, as mr. hammond very well knew. "where do you go in the winter, john?" the latter asked. "to where it's a sight warmer. i don't have to ask anybody where i shall go," and now the man's tone was a trifle defiant. "i would like to know something more about you," mr. hammond said, quite frankly. "i may be able to do something with your story. we like to know about the person who submits a scenario_"" "that don't go!" snapped the hermit grimly. "you offered five hundred for a story you could use. if you can use mine, i want the five hundred. and i don't aim to give you the history of my past along with the story. it's nobody's business what or who i am, or where i came from, or where i am going." "hoity-toity!" exclaimed mr. hammond. "you are quite sudden, aren't you? now, just calm yourself. i haven't got to take your scenario and pay you five hundred dollars for it" "then somebody else will," said the hermit, getting up. "ah! you are quite sure you have a good story here, are you?" "i know i have." the grill 169 "and how do you know so much?" sharply demanded the moving picture magnate. "i've seen enough of this thing you are doing, now-this 'seaside idyl' stuff-to know that mine is a hundred per cent. better," sneered the hermit. "whew! you've a good opinion of your story, haven't you?" asked mr. hammond. "did you ever write a scenario before?" "what is that to you?" returned the other. "i don't get you at all, mr. hammond. all this cross-examination" "that will do now !" snapped the manager. "i am not obliged to take your story. you can try it elsewhere if you like," and he shoved the newspaper-wrapped package toward the end of his desk and nearer the hermit's hand. "i tell you frankly that i won't take any story without knowing all about the author. there are too many comebacks in this game." "what do you mean?" demanded the other stiffly. "i don't know that your story is original. frankly, i have some doubt about that very point.' the old man did not change color at all. his gray eyes blazed and he was not at all pleasant looking. but the accusation did not seem to surprise him. 99 "are you trying to get it away from me for less: than you offered?" he demanded. 170 ruth fielding down east "you are an old man," said mr. hammond hotly, "and that lets you get away with such a suggestion as that without punishment. i begin to believe that there is something dead wrong with you, john-or whatever your name is." he drew back the packet of manuscript, opened a drawer, put it within, and locked the drawer. "i'll think this over a little longer," he said grimly. "at least, until you are willing to be a little more communicative about yourself. i would be glad to use your story with some fixing up, if i was convinced you really wrote it all. but you have got to show me-or give me proper refer"" ences.' "give me back the scenario, then!" exclaimed the old man, his eyes blazing hotly. "no. not yet. i can take my time in deciding upon the manuscripts submitted in this contest. you will have to wait until i decide," said mr. hammond, waving the man out of his office. chapter xxi a hermit for revenue only the bays and inlets of the coast of maine have the bluest water dotted by the greenest islands that one can imagine. and such wild and romantic looking spots as some of these islands are! just at this time, too, a particular tang of romance was in the air. the germans had threatened to devastate our atlantic coast from eastport to key west with a flock of submersibles. there actually were a few submarines lurking about the pathways of our coastwise shipping; but, as usual, the hun's boast came to naught. the young people on the stazy scarcely expected to see a german periscope during the run to reef harbor. yet they did not neglect watching out for something of the kind. skipper phil gordon, a young man with one arm but a full and complete knowledge of this coast and how to coax speed out of a gasoline engine, ordered his "crew" of one boy to remain sharply on the lookout, as well. 171 } 172 ruth fielding down east the stazy did not, however, run far outside. the high and rocky headland that marked the entrance to reef harbor came into view before they had more than dropped the hazy outline of beach plum point astern. but until they rounded the promontory and entered the narrow inlet to reef harbor the town and the summer colony was entirely invisible. "if a german sub should stick its nose in here," sighed helen, "it would make everybody ashore get up and dust. don't you think so?" "is it the custom to do so when the enemy, he arrive?" asked colonel marchand, to whom the idiomatic speech of the yankee was still a puzzle. "sure!" replied tom, grinning. "sure, henri! these new england women would clean house, no matter what catastrophe arrived." "oh, don't suggest such horrid possibilities," cried jennie. "and they are only fooling you, henri." "look yonder!" exclaimed captain tom, waving an instructive hand. "behold! let the kaiser's underseas boat come. that little tin lizzie of the sea is ready for it. depth bombs and all!" the grim looking drab submarine chaser lay at the nearest dock, the faint spiral of smoke rising from her stack proclaiming that she was ready for immediate work. there was a tower, too, on a hermit for revenue only 173 the highest point on the headland from which a continual watch was kept above the town. "o-o-oh!" gurgled jennie, snuggling up to henri. "suppose one of those german subs shelled the movie camp back there on beach plum point!" "they would likely spoil a perfectly good picture, then," said helen practically. "think of ruthie's 'seaside idyl!' " "oh. say!" helen went on. "they tell me that old hermit has submitted a story in the contest. what do you suppose it is like, ruth ?" the girl of the red mill was sitting beside 'aunt kate. she flushed when she said: "why shouldn't he submit one?" "but that hermit isn't quite right in his head, is he?" demanded ruth's chum. "i don't know that it is his head that is wrong," murmured ruth, shaking her own head doubtfully. here jennie broke in. "is auntie letting you read her story, ruth?" she asked slyly. "now, jennie stone !" exclaimed their chaperon, blushing. "well, you are writing one. you know you are," laughed her niece. “i—i am just trying to see if i can write such a story," stammered aunt kate. "well, i am sure you could make up a better 174 ruth fielding down east scenario than that old grouch of a hermit," helen declared, warmly. ruth did not add anything to this discussion. what she had discovered regarding the hermit's scenario was of too serious a nature to be publicly discussed. her interview the evening before with mr. hammond regarding the matter had left ruth in a most uncertain frame of mind. she did not know what to do about the stolen scenario. she shrank from telling even helen or tom of her discovery. to tell the truth, mr. hammond's seeming doubt-not of her truthfulness but of her wisdom -had shaken the girl's belief in herself. it was a strange situation, indeed. she thought of the woman she had found wandering about the mountain in the storm who had lost control of both her nerves and her mind, and ruth wondered if it could be possible that she, too, was on the verge of becoming a nervous wreck. had she deceived herself about this hermit's story? had she allowed her mind to dwell on her loss until she was quite unaccountable for her 'mental decisions? to tell the truth, this thought frightened the girl of the red mill a little. practical as ruth fielding ordinarily was, she must confess that the shock she had received when the hospital in france was partly wrecked, an a hermit for revenue only 175 account of which is given in "ruth fielding homeward bound," had shaken the very foundations of her being. she shuddered even now when she thought of what she had been through in france and on the voyage coming back to america. she realized that even tom and helen looked' at her sometimes when she spoke of her lost scenario in a most peculiar way. was it a fact that she had allowed her loss to unbalance-well, her judgment? suppose she was quite wrong about that scenario the hermit had submitted to mr. hammond? the thought frightened her! at least, she had nothing to say upon the puzzling subject, not even to her best and closest friends. she was sorry indeed two hours later when they were at lunch on the porch of the reef harbor house with some of the camerons' friends that helen brought the conversation around again to the beach plum point "hermit." "a real hermit?" cried cora grimsby, a gay, blonde, irresponsible little thing, but with a heart of gold. "and is he a hermit for revenue only, too?" "what do you mean by that?" helen demanded. "why, we have a hermit here, you see. over on reef island itself. if you give us a sail in your motor yacht after lunch i'll introduce our hermit to you. but you must buy something of 176 ruth fielding down east him, or otherwise 'cross his palm with silver.' he told me one day that he was not playing a nut for summer folks to laugh at just for the good of his health." "frank, i must say," laughed tom cameron. "i guess he's been in the hermit business before," said cora, sparkling at tom in his uniform. "but this is his first season at the harbor." "i wonder if he belongs to the hermit's union and carries a union card," suggested jennie stone soberly. "i don't think we should patronize nonunion hermits." "goody!" cried cora, clapping her hands. "let's ask him." ruth said nothing. she rather wished she might get out of the trip to reef island without offending anybody. but that seemed impossible. she really had seen all the hermits she cared to see! she could not, however, be morose and absentminded in a party of which cora grimsby and jennie stone were the moving spirits. it was a gay crowd that crossed the harbor in the stazy to land at a roughly built dock under the high bluff of the wooded island. "there's the hermit!" cora cried, as they landed. "see him sitting on the rock before the door of his cabin ?" "right on the job," suggested tom. a hermit for revenue only 177 "no unlucky city fly shall escape that spider's web," cried jennie. he was a patriarchal looking man. his beard swept his breast. he wore shabby garments, was barefooted, and carried a staff as though he were lame or rheumatic. "dresses the part much better than our hermit does," helen said, in comment. the man met the party from the stazy with a broad smile that displayed a toothless cavity of a mouth. his red-rimmed eyes were moist looking, not to say bleary. ruth smelled a distinct alcoholic odor on his breath. a complete drouth had evidently not struck this part of the state of maine. "good day to ye!" said the hermit. "some o' you young folks i ain't never seed before." "they are my friends," cora hastened to explain, "and they come from beach plum point." "do tell! if you air goin' back to-night, better make a good v'y'ge of it. we're due for a blow, i allow. you folks ain't stoppin' right on the p'int, be ye?" ruth, to whom he addressed this last question, answered that they were, and explained that there was a large camp there this season, and why. "wal, wal! i want to know! somebody did say something to me about a gang of movin' pic178 ruth fielding down east ture folks comin' there; but i reckoned they was a-foolin' me." "there is a good sized party of us,” acknowledged ruth. "wal, wal! mebbe that fella i let my shack to will make out well, then, after all. warn't no sign of ye on the beach when i left three weeks ago." "did you live there on the point?" asked ruth. "allus do winters. but the pickin's is better over here at the harbor at this time of year." "and the man you left in your place? where your house on the point?" is the hermit "for revenue only" described the hut on the eastern shore in which the other "hermit" lived. ruth became much interested. "tell me," she said, while the others examined the curios the hermit had for sale, "what kind of man is this you left in your house? and who is he?" "law bless ye!" said the old man. "i don't know him from adam's off ox. never seed him afore. but he was trampin' of it; and he didn't have much money. an' to tell you the truth, miss, that hutch of mine ain't wuth much money." she described the man who had been playing the hermit since the alectrion film corporation crowd had come to beach plum point. "that's the fella," said the old man, nodding. a hermit for revenue only 179 ruth stood aside while he waited on his customers and digested these statements regarding the man who claimed the authorship of the scenario of "plain mary." not that ruth would have desired to acknowledge the scenario in its present form. she felt angry every time she thought of how her plot had been mangled. but she was glad to learn all that was known about the beach plum point hermit. and she had learned one most important fact. he was not a regular hermit. as jennie stone suggested, he was not a "union hermit" at all. and he was a stranger to the neighborhood of herringport. if he had been at the point only three weeks, as this old man said, "john, the hermit," might easily have come since ruth's scenario was stolen back there at the red mill! her thoughts began to mill again about this possibility. she wished she was back at the camp so as to put the strange old man through a crossexamination regarding himself and where he had come from. she had no suspicion as to how mr. hammond had so signally failed in this very matter. chapter xxii an arrival mr. hammond was in no placid state of mind himself after the peculiarly acting individual who called himself "john, the hermit," left his office. the very fact that the man refused to tell anything about his personal affairs—who he really was, or where he came from-induced the moving picture producer to believe there must be something wrong about him. mr. hammond went to the door of the shack and watched the man tramping up the beach toward the end of the point. what a dignified stride he had! rather, it was the stride of a poseur-like nothing so much as that of the oldtime tragedian, made famous by the henry irving school of actors. "an ancient 'ham' sure enough, just as the boys say," muttered the manager. the so-called hermit disappeared. the moving picture people were gathering for dinner. the sun, although still above the horizon, was dimmed 180 an arrival 181 by cloud-banks which were rising steadily to meet clouds over the sea. a wan light played upon the heaving “graybacks" outside the mouth of the harbor. the wind whined among the pines which grew along the ridge of beach plum point. a storm was imminent. just as mr. hammond took note of this and wished that ruth fielding and her party had returned, a snorting automobile rattled along the shell road and halted near the camp. "is this the alectrion film company?" asked a shrill voice. "this is the place, miss," said the driver of the small car. the chauffeur ran his jitney from the railroad station and was known to mr. hammond. the latter went nearer. out of the car stepped a girl-a very young girl to be traveling alone. she was dressed in extreme fashion, but very cheaply. her hair was bobbed and she wore a russian blouse of cheap silk. her skirt was very narrow, her cloth boots very high, and the heels of them were like those of jananese clogs. what with the skimpy skirt and the high heels she could scarcely walk. she was laden with two bags-one an ancient carpet-bag that must have been seventy-five years old, and the other a bright 182 ruth fielding down east tan one of imitation leather with brass clasps. she wore a coal-scuttle hat pulled down over her eyes so that her face was quite extinguished. altogether her get-up was rather startling. mr. hammond saw jim hooley come out of his tent to stare at the new arrival. she certainly was a "type." there was a certain kind of prettiness about the girl, and aside from her incongruous garments she was not unattractive-when her face was revealed. mr. hammond's interest increased. he approached the spot where the girl had been left by the jitney driver. "you came to see somebody?" he asked kindly. "who is it you wish to see?" "is this the moving picture camp, mister?" she returned. "yes," said the manager, smiling. "are you acquainted with somebody who works here?" "yes. i am arabella montague fitzmaurice," said the girl, with an air that seemed to show that she expected to be recognized when she had recited her name. mr. hammond refrained from open laughter. he only said: "why that is nice. i am glad to meet you, my dear. who are you looking for?" "i want to see my pa, of course. i guess you know who he is?" an arrival 183 "i am not sure that i do, my dear." "you don't-say! who are you?" demanded bella, with some sharpness. "i am only the manager of the company. who is your father, child?" "well, of all thewouldn't that give you your nevergitovers!" exclaimed bella, in broad amazement. "say! i guess my pa is your leading man." "mr. hasbrouck? impossible!" "never heard of him," said bella, promptly. "montague fitzmaurice, i mean." "and i never heard of him," declared mr. hammond, both puzzled and amused. "what?" gasped the girl, almost stunned by this statement. "maybe you know him as mr. pike. that is our honest-to-goodness namepike." "i am sorry that you are disappointed, my dear," said the manager kindly. "but don't be worried. if you expected to meet your father here, perhaps he will come later. but really, i have no such person as that on my staff at the present time." "i don't knowwhy!" cried bella, "he sent me money and said he was working here. i-i didn't tell him i was coming. i just got sick of those perkinses, and i took the money and went to boston and got dressed up, and then came on 184 ruth fielding down east here. i-i just about spent all the money he sent me to get here." “well, that was perhaps unwise," said mr. hammond. "but don't worry. come along now to mother paisley. she will look out for youand you can stay with us until your father appears. there is some mistake somewhere." by this speech he warded off tears. bella hastily winked them back and squared her thin shoulders. "all right, sir," she said, picking up the bags again. "pa will make it all right with you. he wrote in his letter as if he had a good engagement." mr. hammond might have learned something further about this surprising girl at the time, but just as he introduced her to mother paisley one of the men came running from the point and hailed him: "mr. hammond! there's a boat in trouble off the point. i think she was making for this harbor. have you got a pair of glasses?" mr. hammond had a fine pair of opera glasses, and he produced them from his desk while he asked: "what kind of boat is it, maxwell?" "looks like that blue motor that miss fielding and her friends went off in this morning. we saw an arrival 185 it coming along at top speed. and suddenly it stopped. they can't seem to manage itthe manager hurried with maxwell along the sands. the sky was completely overcast now, and the wind whipped the spray from the wave tops into their faces. the weather looked dubious indeed, and the manager of the film corporation was worried before even he focused his glasses upon the distant motor-boat. 99 chapter xxiii trouble-plenty even ruth fielding had paid no attention to the warning of the reef island hermit regarding a change in the weather, in spite of the fact that she was anxious to return to the camp near herringport. it was not until the stazy was outside the inlet late in the afternoon that skipper phil gordon noted the threatening signs in sea and sky. "that's how it goes," the one-armed mariner said. "when we aren't dependent on the wind to fill our canvas, we neglect watching every little weather change. she's going to blow by and by." "do you think it will be a real storm?" asked ruth, who sat beside him at the steering wheel and engine, watching how he managed the mechanism. "maybe. but with good luck we will make beach plum point long before it amounts to anything." the long graybacks were rather pleasant to ride over at first. even aunt kate was not troubled 186 trouble-plenty 187 by the prospect. it was so short a run to the anchorage behind the point that nobody expressed fear. when the spray began to fly over the bows the girls merely squealed a bit, although they hastily found extra wraps. if the stazy plunged and shipped half a sea now and then, nobody was made anxious. and soon the point was in plain view. to make the run easier, however, skipper gordon had sailed the motor-yacht well out to sea. when he shifted the helm to run for the entrance to the bay, the waves began to slap against the stazy's side. she rolled terrifically and the aspect of affairs was instantly changed. "oh, dear me!" moaned jennie stone. "how do you feel, henri? i did not bargain for this rough stuff, did you? oh!" "mister captain, stop the ship, i want to get off and walk!'" sang helen gaily. "don't lose all hope, heavy. you'll never sink if do go you overboard." "isn't she mean?" sniffed the plump girl. "and i am only afraid for henri's sake." "i don't like this for my own sake," murmured aunt kate. "are you cold, dear?" her niece asked, with quick sympathy. "here! i don't really need this cape with my heavy sweater." 188 ruth fielding down east she removed the heavy cloth garment from her own shoulders and with a flirt sought to place it around aunt kate. the wind swooped down just then with sudden force. the stazy rolled to leeward. "oh! stop it!" bulging under pressure of the wind, the cape flew over the rail. jennie tried to clutch it again; henri plunged after it, too. colliding, the two managed between them to miss the garment altogether. it dropped into the water just under the rail. "of all the clumsy fingers!" ejaculated helen. but she could not seize the wrap, although she darted for it. nor could ruth help, she being still farther forward. "now, you've done it!" complained aunt kate. the boat began to rise on another roller. the cape was sucked out of sight under the rail. the next moment the whirling propeller was stoppedso abruptly that the stazy shook all over. "oh! what has happened?" shrieked helen. ruth started up, and tom seized her arm to steady her. but the girl of the red mill did not express any fear. the shock did not seem to affect her so much as it did the other girls. here was a real danger, and ruth did not lose her selfpossession. phil gordon had shut off the power, and the trouble-plenty 189 motor-boat began to swing broadside to the rising seas. "the propeller is broken!" cried tom. "she's jammed. that cape!" gasped the onearmed skipper. "here! tend to this till i see what can be done. jack!" he shouted to his crew. "this way-lively, now !" but ruth slipped into his place before tom could do so. "i know how to steer, tommy," she declared. "and i understand the engine. give him a hand if he needs you.' 99 "oh, we'll turn turtle!" shrieked jennie, as the boat rolled again. "you'll never become a turtle, jen," declared tom, plunging aft. "turtles are dumb!" the stazy was slapped by a big wave, "just abaft the starboard bow," to be real nautical, and half a ton of sea-water washed over the forward deck and spilled into the standing-room of the craft. henri had wisely closed the door of the cabin. the water foamed about their feet. ruth found herself knee deep for a moment in this flood. she whirled the wheel over, trying to bring up the head of the craft to meet the next wave. "oh, my dear!" groaned jennie stone. "we are going to be drowned." 190 ruth fielding down east "drowned, your granny!" snapped helen angrily. "don't be such a silly, jennie." ruth stood at the wheel with more apparent calmness than any of them. her hair had whipped out of its fastenings and streamed over her shoulders. her eyes were bright and her cheeks aglow. helen, staring at her, suddenly realized that this was the old ruth fielding. her chum had not looked so much alive, so thoroughly competent and ready for anything, before for weeks. "why-why, ruthie !" helen murmured, "i believe you like this." her chum did not hear the words, but she suddenly flashed helen a brilliant smile. "keep up your pluck, child!" she shouted. "we'll come out all right.” again the stazy staggered under the side swipe of a big wave. "ye-ow!" yelped tom in the stern, almost diving overboard. "steady!" shouted skipper gordon, excitedly: "steady she is, captain!" rejoined ruth fielding, and actually laughed. "how can you, ruth?" complained jennie, clinging to henri marchand. "and when we are about to drown." "weeping will not save us," flung back ruth. her strong hands held the wheel-spokes with trouble-plenty 191 a grip unbreakable. she could force the stazy's head to the seas. "can you start the engine on the reverse, miss?" bawled gordon. "i can try!" flashed ruth. "say when." in a moment the cry came: "ready!" "aye, aye!" responded ruth, spinning the flywheel. the spark caught almost instantly. the exhaust sputtered. "now!" yelled the skipper. ruth threw the lever. the boat trembled like an automobile under the propulsion of the engine. the propeller shaft groaned. "ye-ow!" shouted the excited tom again. this time he sprawled back into the bottom of the boat, tearing away a good half of jennie's cape in his grip. the rest of the garment floated to the surface. it was loose from the propeller. "full speed ahead!" shouted the one-armed captain of the motor-boat. ruth obeyed the command. the stazy staggered into the next wave. the water that came in over her bow almost drowned them, but ruth, hanging to the steering wheel, brought the craft through the roller without swamping her. "good for our ruth!" shouted helen, as soon as she could get her breath. ( 192 ruth fielding down east "oh, ruth! you always come to our rescue, declared jennie gratefully. 19 "hi! i thought you were a nervous wreck, young lady," tom sputtered, scrambling forward to relieve her. "get you into a tight corner, and you show what you are made of, all right." the girl of the red mill smiled at them. she had done something! nor did she feel at all overcome by the effort. the danger through which they had passed had inspired rather than frightened her. "why, i'm all right," she told tom when he reached her. "this is great! we'll be behind the shelter of the point in a few minutes. there's nothing to worry about." "you're all right, ruth," tom repeated, admiringly. "i thought you'd lost your grip, but i see you haven't. you are the same old ruthie fielding, after all." chapter xxiv about "plain mary" mr. hammond and the actors with him had no idea of the nature of the accident that had happened to the stazy. from the extreme end of beach plum point they could merely watch proceedings aboard the craft, and wonder what it was all about. the manager could, however, see through his glasses that ruth fielding was at the wheel. her face came out clear as a cameo when he focused the opera glasses upon her. and at the change in the girl's expression he marveled. those ashore could do nothing to aid the party on the motor-yacht; and until it got under way again mr. hammond was acutely anxious. it rolled so that he expected it to turn keel up at almost any moment. before the blasts of rain began to sweep across the sea, however, the stazy was once more under control. at that most of the spectators made for the camp and shelter. but the manager of the 193 194 ruth fielding down east film corporation waited to see the motor-yacht inside the shelter of beach plum point. the rain was falling heavily, and not merely in gusts, when ruth and her friends came ashore in the small boat. the lamps were lit and dinner was over at the main camp. therefore the automobile touring party failed to see bella pike or hear about her arrival. by this time the girl had gone off to the main dormitory with mother paisley, and even mr. hammond did not think of her. nor did the manager speak that evening to ruth about the hermit's scenario or his interview with the old man regarding it. the three girls and aunt kate changed their clothing in the little shack and then joined the young men in the dining room for a late supper. aunt kate was to stay this night at the camp. there was a feeling of much thankfulness in all their hearts over their escape from what might have been a serious accident. "providence was good to us," said aunt kate. "i hope we are all properly grateful." "and properly proud of ruthie !" exclaimed helen, squeezing her chum's hand. "don't throw too many bouquets," laughed ruth. "it was not i that tore jennie's cape out of the propeller. i merely obeyed the skipper's orders." about "plain mary" 195 "she is a regular cheerful grig again, isn't she?" demanded jennie, beaming on ruth. "i have been a wet blanket on this party long enough. i just begin to realize how very unpleasant i have been___" "not that, mademoiselle!" objected henri. "but yes! hereafter i will be cheerful. life is worth living after all!" tom, who sat next to her at table (he usually managed to do that) smiled at ruth approvingly. "bravo!" he whispered. "there are other scenarios to write." "tom!" she whispered sharply, "i want to tell you something about that." "about what?" "my scenario." "you don't mean"i mean i know what has become of it." "never!" gasped tom. "are you-are99 99 you"i am not 'non compos,' and-so-forth," laughed ruth. "oh, there is nothing foolish about this, tom. let me tell you." she spoke in so low a tone that the others could not have heard had they desired to. she and tom put their heads together and within the next few minutes ruth had told him all about the hermit's scenario and her conviction that he had stolen his 196 ruth fielding down east idea and a large part of his story from ruth's lost manuscript. "it seems almost impossible, ruth," gasped her friend. "no. not impossible or improbable. listen to what that man on reef island told me about this hermit, so-called." and she repeated it all to the excited tom. "i am convinced," pursued ruth, "that this hermit could easily have been in the vicinity of the red mill on the day my manuscript disappeared. "but to prove it!" cried tom. "we'll see about that," said ruth confidently. "you know, ben told us he had seen and spoken to a tramp-actor that day. uncle jabez saw him, and you, tom, followed his trail to the cheslow railroad yards." too. "so i did," admitted her friend. "i believe," went on ruth earnestly, "that this man who came here to live on beach plum point only three weeks ago, is that very vagrant. it is plain that this fellow is playing the part of a hermit, just as he plays the parts mr. hooley casts him for." "whew!" whistled tom. "almost do you convince me, ruth fielding. but to prove it is another thing." "we will prove it. if this man was at the red about "plain mary" 197 mill on that particular day, we can make sure of the fact." "how will you do it, ruth?" "by getting one of the camera men to take a 'still' of the hermit, develop it for us, and send the negative to ben. he and uncle jabez must remember how that traveling actor looked"" "hurrah!" exclaimed tom, jumping up to the amazement of the rest of the party. "that's a bully idea." "what is it?" demanded helen. "let us in on it, too." but ruth shook her head and tom calmed 'down. "can't tell the secret yet," helen's twin declared. "that would spoil it." "oh! a surprise! i love surprises," said jennie stone. "i don't. not when my chum and my brother have a secret from me and won't let me in on it," and helen turned her back upon them in apparent indignation. after that ruth and tom discussed the matter with more secrecy. ruth said in conclusion: "if he was there at the mill the day my story was stolen, and now submits this scenario to mr. hammond-and it is merely a re-hash of mine, tom, i assure you" 198 ruth fielding down east "of course i believe you, ruth," rejoined the young fellow. "mr. hammond should be convinced, too," said the girl. but there was a point that tom saw very clearly and which ruth fielding did not seem to appreciate. she still had no evidence to corroborate her claim that the hermit's story of "plain mary" was plagiarized from her manuscript. for, after all, nobody but ruth herself knew what her scenario had been like! chapter xxv lifting the curtain ruth slept peacefully and awoke the next morning in a perfectly serene frame of mind. she was quite as convinced as ever that she had been robbed of her scenario; and she was, as well, sure that "john, the hermit," had produced his picture play from her manuscript. but ruth no longer felt anxious and excited about it. she clearly saw her way to a conclusion of the matter. if the old actor was identified by ben and uncle jabez as the tramp they had seen and conversed with, the girl of the red mill was pretty sure she would get the best of the thief. in the first place she considered her idea and her scenario worth much more than five hundred dollars. if by no other means, she would buy the hermit's story at the price mr. hammond was willing to pay for it—and a little more if necessary. and if possible she would force the old actor to hand over to her the script that she had lost. 199 200 ruth fielding down east thus was her mind made up, and she approached the matter in all cheerfulness. she had said nothing to anybody but tom, and she did not see him early in the morning. one of the stewards brought the girls' breakfast to the shack; so they knew little of what went on about the camp at that time. the rain had ceased. the storm had passed on completely. soon after breakfast ruth saw the man who called himself "john, the hermit," making straight for mr. hammond's office. that was where ruth wished to be. she wanted to confront the man before the president of the film corporation. she started over that way and ran into the most surprising incident! coming out of the cook tent with a huge apron enveloping her queer, tight dress and tilting forward upon her high heels, appeared bella pike! ruth fielding might have met somebody whose presence here would have surprised her more, but at the moment she could not imagine who it could be. "ara-bella!" gasped ruth. the child turned to stare her own amazement. she changed color, too, for she knew she had done wrong to run away; but she smiled with both eyes and lips, for she was glad to see ruth. "my mercy!" she ejaculated. "if it ain't miss fielding! how-do, miss fielding? ain't it lifting the curtain 201 enough to give one their nevergitovers to see you here?" "and how do you suppose i feel to find you here at beach plum point," demanded ruth, "when we all thought you were so nicely fixed with mr. and mrs. perkins? and mrs. holmes wrote to me only the other day that you seemed contented." "nor send for you?" "not exactly," confessed bella. "well !" "that's right, miss fielding," sighed the actor's child. "i was. and miz perkins was always nice to me. nothing at all like aunt suse timmins. but, you see, they ain't like pa." "did your father bring you here?" "no'm." 1 "you see, he sent me money. only on tuesday. forty dollars." "forty dollars! and to a child like you?” "well, miss fielding, if he had sent it to aunt suse i'd never have seen a penny of it. and pa didn't know what you'd done for me and how you'd put me with miz perkins." "i suppose that is so," admitted the surprised ruth. "but why did you come here?" "'cause pa wrote he had an engagement here. i came through boston, an' got me a dress, 202 ruth fielding down east and some shoes, and a hat-all up to date-and i thought i'd surprise pa"but, bella! i haven't seen your father here, have i?" "9 "no. there's a mistake somehow. but this nice miz paisley says for me not to worry. that like enough pa will come here yet." "i never!" ejaculated ruth. "come right along with me, bella, and see mr. hammond. something must be done. of course, mrs. perkins and the doctor's wife have no idea where you have gone?" "oh, yes'm. i left a note telling 'em i'd gone to meet pa.' 99 "but we must send them a message that you are all right. come on, bella!" and with her arm about the child's thin shoulders, ruth urged her to mr. hammond's office-and directly into her father's arms! this was how arabella montague fitzmaurice pike came to meet her father-in a most amazing fashion! "pa! i never did!" half shrieked the queer child. "arabella! here? how strange!" observed the man who had been acting the part of the beach plum point hermit. "my child!" mr. pike could do nothing save in a dramatic way. he seized bella and hugged her to his lifting the curtain 203 bosom in a most stagy manner. but ruth saw that the man's gray eyes were moist, that his hands when he seized the girl really trembled, and he kissed bella with warmth. "i declare!" exclaimed mr. hammond. "so your name is something-or-other-fitzmaurice pike?" "john pike, if it please you. the other is for professional purposes only," said bella's father. "if you do not mind, sir," he added, "we will postpone our discussion until a later time. i-i would take my daughter to my poor abode and learn of her experience in getting here to beach plum point." "go as far as you like, mr. pike. but remember there has got to be a settlement later of this matter we were discussing," said the manager sternly. the actor and his daughter departed, the former giving ruth a very curious look indeed. mr. hammond turned a broad smile upon the girl of the red mill. "what do you know about that?" mr. hammond demanded. "why, miss ruth, yours seeems to have been a very good guess. that fellow is an old-timer and no mistake." "my guess was good in more ways than one," said ruth. "i believe i can prove that this pike 204 ruth fielding down east was at the red mill on the day my scenario was stolen." she told the manager briefly of the discovery she had made through the patriarchal old fellow on reef island the day before, and of her intention of sending a photograph of pike back home for identification. "good idea!" declared mr. hammond. "i will speak to mr. hooley. there are 'stills' on file of all the people he is using here on the lot at the present time. if you are really sure this man's story is a plagiarism on your own—” she smiled at him. "i can prove that, too, i think, to your satisfaction. i feel now that i can sit down and roughly sketch my whole scenario again. i must confess that in two places in this 'plain mary' this man pike has really improved on my idea. but as a whole his manuscript does not flatter my story. you'll see!" "truly, you are a different young woman this morning, miss ruth!" exclaimed her friend. "i hope this matter will be settled in a way satisfactory to you. i really think there is the germ of a splendid picture in this 'plain mary.'" "and believe me!" laughed ruth, "the germ is mine. you'll see," she repeated. she proved her point, and mr. hammond did see; but the outcome was through quite unexpected channels. ruth did not have to threaten the man lifting the curtain 205 who had made her all the trouble. john m. f. pike made his confession of his own volition when they discussed the matter that very day. "i feel, miss fielding, after all that you did for my child, that i cannot go on with this subterfuge that, for bella's sake, i was tempted to engage in. i did seize upon your manuscript in that summer-house near the mill where they say you live, and i was prepared to make the best use of it possible for bella's sake. "we have had such bad luck! poverty for one's self is bad enough. i have withstood the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune for years. but my child is growing up"would you want her to grow up to know that her father is a thief?" ruth demanded hotly. "hunger under the belt gnaws more potently than conscience," said pike, with a grandiloquent gesture. "i had sought alms and been refused at that mill. lurking about i saw you leave the summer-house and spied the gold pen. i can give you a pawn ticket for that," said mr. pike sadly. "but i saw, too, the value of your scenario and notes. desperately i had determined to try to enter this field of moving pictures. it is a terrible come down, miss fielding, for an artistthis mugging before the camera.' he went on in his roundabout way to tell her that he had no idea of the ownership of the "" 99 206 ruth fielding down east scenario. her name was not on it, and he had not observed her face that day at the red mill. and in his mind all the time had been his own and his child's misery. "it was a bold attempt to forge success through dishonesty," he concluded with humility. whether ruth was altogether sure that pike was quite honest in his confession or not, for bella's sake she could not be harsh with the old nor could he, ruth believed, be wholly bad when he loved his child so much. as he turned over to ruth every scrap of manuscript, as well as the notebooks she had lost, she need not worry about establishing her ownership of the script. when mr. hammond had examined her material he agreed with ruth that in two quite important places bella's father had considerably improved the original idea of the story. this gave ruth the lead she had been looking for. mr. hammond admitted that the story was much too fine and too important to be filmed here at this summer camp. he decided to make a great spectacular production of it at the company's main studio later in the fall. so ruth proceeded to force bella's father to accept two hundred dollars in payment for what he had done on the story. as her contract with mr. hammond called for a generous royalty, she lifting the curtain 207 would make much more out of the scenario than the sum john pike had hoped to get by selling the stolen idea to mr. hammond. the prospects of bella and her father were vastly improved, too. his work as a "type" for picture makers would gain him a much better livelihood than he had been able to earn in the legitimate field. and when ruth and her party left beach plum point camp for home in their automobiles, bella herself was working in a two-reel comedy that mr. hooley was directing. "well, thank goodness!" sighed helen, "ruth has settled affairs for two more of her 'waifs and strays.' now don't, i beg, find anybody else to become interested in during our trip back to the red mill, ruthie." ruth was sitting beside tom on the front seat of the big touring car. he looked at her sideways with a whimsical little smile. "i wish you would turn over a new leaf, ruthie," he whispered. "and what is to be on that new leaf?" she asked brightly. "just me. pay a little attention to yours truly. remember that in a week i shall go aboard the transport again, and then-————” "oh, tom!" she murmured, clasping her hands, "i don't want to think of it. if this awful war would only end!" 208 ruth fielding down east "it's the only war so far that hasn't ended," he said. "and i have a feeling, anyway, that it may not last long. henri and i have got to hurry back to finish it up. leave it to us, ruth," and he smiled. but ruth sighed. "i suppose i shall have to, tommy-boy," she said. "and do finish it quickly! i do not feel as though i could return to college, or write another scenario, or do a single, solitary thing until peace is declared." "and then?" asked tom, significantly. ruth gave him an understanding smile. the end the ruth fielding series by alice b. emerson 12mo. illustrated. price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid ruth fielding of the red mill or jasper parole's secret ruth fielding at briarwoodhall or solving the campus mystery ruth fielding at snow camp or lost in the backwoods ruth afde elmill herson ruth fielding red mill the alxe b-emerson ruth fielding at lighthouse point or nita, the girl castaway ruth fielding at silver ranch or schoolgirls among the cowboys ruth fielding on cliff island or the old hunter's treasure box ruth fielding at sunrise farm or what became of the raby orphans ruth fielding and the gypsies or the missing pearl necklace ruth fielding in moving pictures or helping the dormitory fund ruth fielding down in dixie or great days in the land of cotton ruth fielding at college or the missing examination papers ruth fielding in the saddle or college girls in the land of gold ruth fielding in the red cross or doing her bit for uncle sam ruth fielding at the war front or the hunt for a lost soldier ruth fielding homeward bound or a red cross worker's ocean perils ruth fielding down east or the hermit of beach plum point ruth fielding in the great northwest or the indian girl star of the movies ruth fielding on the st. lawrence or the queer old man of the thousand islands ruth fielding treasure hunting or a moving picture that became real ruth fielding in the far north or the lost motion picture company ruth fielding at golden pass or the perils of an artificial avalanche cupples & leon company, publishers new york the betty gordon series by alice b. emerson author of the famous "ruth fielding" series 12mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full colors price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid betty gordon bramble farm by the auber ruth fielding a series of stories by alice b. emerson which are bound to make this writer more popular than ever with her host of girl readers. 1 betty gordon at bramble farm or the mystery of a nobody at the age of twelve betty is left an orphan. 2. betty gordon in washington or strange adventures in a great city in this volume betty goes to the national capitol to find her uncle and has several unusual adventures. 3. betty gordon in the land of oil from washington the scene is shifted to the great oil fields of our country. a splendid picture of the oil field operations of today. 4. betty gordon at boarding school or the treasure of indian chasm seeking the treasure of indian chasm makes an exceedingly interesting incident. 5. betty gordon at mountain camp or the mystery of ida bellethorne at mountain camp betty found herself in the midst of a mystery involving a girl whom she had previously met in washington. 6. betty gordon at ocean park or school chums on the boardwalk a glorious outing that betty and her chums never forgot. 7. betty gordon and her school chums or bringing the rebels to terms rebellious students, disliked teachers and mysterious robberies make a fascinating story. 8. betty gordon at rainbow ranch or cowboy joe's secret betty and her chums have a grand time in the saddle. send for our free illustrated catalogue cupples & leon company, publishers new york billie bradley series by janet d. wheeler 12mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full colors price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid billie bradley at twin lakes 1. billie bradley and her inheritance or the queer homestead at cherry corners billie bradley fell heir to an old homestead that was unoccupied and located far away in a lonely section of the country. how billie went there, accompanied by some of her chums, and what queer things happened, go to make up a story no girl will want to miss. janet d wheeler 2. billie bradley at three-towers hall or leading a needed rebellion three-towers hall was a boarding school for girls. for a short time after billie arrived there all went well. but then the head of the school had to go on a long journey and she left the girls in charge of two teachers, sisters, who believed in severe discipline and in very, very plain food and little of it-and then there was a row! the girls wired for the head to come back—and all ended happily. 3. billie bradley on lighthouse island or the mystery of the wreck one of billie's friends owned a summer bungalow on lighthouse island, near the coast. the school girls made up a party and visited the island. there was a storm and a wreck, and three little children were washed ashore. they could tell nothing of themselves, and billie and her chums set to work to solve the mystery of their identity. 4. billie bradley and her classmates or the secret of the locked tower billie and her chums come to the rescue of several little children who have broken through the ice. there is the mystery of a lost invention, and also the dreaded mystery of the locked school tower. 5. billie bradley at twin lakes or jolly schoolgirls afloat and ashore a tale of outdoor adventure in which billie and her chums have a great variety of adventures. they visit an artists' colony and there fall in with a strange girl living with an old boatman who abuses her constantly. billie befriended hulda and the mystery surrounding the girl was finally cleared up. send for our free illustrated catalogue cupples & leon company, publishers new york the girl scout series by lilian garis 12mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full colors price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid the girl scout pioneers the highest ideals of girlhood as advocated by the foremost organizations of america form the background for ese stories and while unobtrusive there is a message in every volume. 1. the girl scout pioneers or winning the first b. c. a story of the true tred troop in a pennsylvania town. two runaway girls, who want to see the city, are reclaimed through troop influence. the story is correct in scout detail. 2. the girl scouts at bellaire or maid mary's awakening the story of a timid little maid who is afraid to take part in other girls' activities, while working nobly alone for high ideals. how she was discovered by the bellaire troop and came into her own as "maid mary" makes a fascinating story. 3. the girl scouts at sea crest or the wig wag rescue luna land, a little island by the sea, is wrapt in a mysterious seclusion, and kitty scuttle, a grotesque figure, succeeds in keeping all others at bay until the girl scouts come. 4. the girl scouts at camp comalong or peg of tamarack hills the girls of bobolink troop spend their summer on the shores of lake hocomo. their discovery of peg, the mysterious rider, and the clearing up of her remarkable adventures afford a vigorous plot. 5. the girl scouts at rocky ledge or nora's real vacation nora blair is the pampered daughter of a frivolous mother. her dislike for the rugged life of girl scouts is eventually changed to appreciation, when the rescue of little lucia, a woodland waif, becomes a problem for the girls to solve. send for our free illustrated catalogue cupples & leon company, publishers new york 7 10 hulug бом ltson 39 i' 1 1 ml 111 i\ mmmmmmmmmmmtmmmmmmm0^mmmmmmmmbmmmmm\ n \ i } the i hermit's christmas i david he forest burrell )8hs5 «. ^r-' ^:c:mm tihvavy of che trheolo^icd ^tminavy princeton • new jersey presented by the estate of harold mcafee robinson, d,d» digitized by the internet arciiive in 2010 with funding from princeton theological seminary library http://www.archive.org/details/hermitschristmasooburr the hermit's christmas ."a '-" ■ ""»!t* . -r' 16 i'j tx^ the ^^nrmi ^'& ^ hermit's christmas y david de forest burrell ,^ - •^tt' \ t y l^ copyright, 1912. by american tract society -^^^j the hermit's christmas ox christmas day the solitude of the hermit theodore was broken in upon. the hermit, a gaunt, austere figure of a man in a long robe of goat's hair, stood before the door of his cave upon the heights, look ing out over the wooded slopes and the shining waters at their feet, when the first intruder made his appearance. the sunlight glanced from his armor where he came out from the forest shadows on a bare shoulder of the moun tain far below. the gleam caught the hermit's eye, and, without moving, he watched while the man drew nearer. he climbed but slowly under the weight of his ar mor. about his head a white the hermit's christmas -^r t' la cloth was wrapped as security against the hot sun, while his hel met was slung at his back. his . great sword he used for a staff. at length, stumbling over the last stone in utter weariness, he reached the hermit's side and threw himself upon the ground, calling hoarsely for water, in the name of all the saints. the her mit brought it, a gourd full, which the crusader drank dry in great gulps. he wiped his face, red and shining from the exertion of his climb. "god bless thee for that kindly draft, good father." "nay, my son, 'tis but a small christmas gift, since it cost me naught save a journey to the spring below." the knight started. "i had forgot! christmas day, in sooth! and what a place to keep it in!" "the place matters not, my son, so that thy heart be right for the feast." the hermit's christmas > the other's eyes twinkled for a moment. "and dost thou feast on christ mas day, father? methought dried peas and, perchance, a cut of goat's flesh would be dainties fitted to thy scruples." the hermit smiled. "why, so they are; but truly the food matters little more than the place." then the knight sighed loudly. "ah, but i bethink me," he said, "of a great hall in merry england, and the boar's head and the foaming ale and the songs and laughter! i would i were there, across yon blue sea!" the hermit smiled again. "truly, sir knight, dried goat's flesh is not a boar's head, and this gourd i take from thee is not a horn of ale; but this is christmas day, and thou art wel come." "and i will stay, good father, and dine wdth thee! but in truth i had meant so to do, an the her the hermit's christinas t c ; q^ mit's face were not too long." he glanced up, sidelong, at the her mit's solemn visage above him. "yonder, on the road by the sea, lies my horse with a broken leg. god's mercy that he did not break my skull when he fell! i saw a path leading away through the forest toward the mountain, and as all paths on athos do now but lead to hermits' caves, 'twas but a short moment before i turned my steps hitherward." there was a sound of feet clambering up the rocky way. a voice reached them, harsh and na sal, uttering loud curses upon lands where christian hospitality dwelt in caves on mountain-tops. then an unkempt head came into view, followed by a body clothed in rags and patches. the hermit greeted the new comer after the fashion of the east: "peace to thee." the man paused to get his breath, and answered, "thou art set on high indeed, holy father. the hermit's christmas ^ c j ljy 'twere more friendly to set thy cave by the roadside below." "make thy complaint to god who made the cave, thou unman nerly rascal!" the knight inter rupted, jumping to his feet. "by thy costume thou art a beggar. go thou and beg of richer men." "peace, peace!" said the her mit. "all men are beggars at my door — and all are guests — and all are welcome." "then thou shalt have a full table for thy christmas dried peas, father, for yonder come more of thy guests." the hermit and the beggar looked down where he pointed. up the steep path toiled four men, one after the other. the three above stood waiting their arrival. at length they came. the knight checked them off in an undertone as the hermit gave to each his kindly "peace to thee!" "thou art a merchant, and wealthy, by thy girth" — so ran "v' the hermit's christmas t 1 f the commentary — "and thou — a thief, by thine eyes and thy near ness to sir merchant. and thou — thou art i know not what, but thou hast broken heart written on thy face. and thou art a thinker, by thy broad brow and thy slen der figure." one after another they returned the hermit's greeting, each after his kind. he whom the knight called merchant offered bluntly to pay for a good meal; the thief spoke with oily heartiness; the broken-hearted said never a word; and he of the broad brow and the uncalloused fingers responded with the courtesy of one at home in any place. "a fair christmas day, good sirs," quoth the hermit then; "and all i have for your christmas feast! come hither into the shade of the rock and sit ye down." and without further parley down they sat upon the brown earth, a strange company, while the hermit brought from his cave 10 the hermit's christmas a great dish of dried meat, and a bowl of parched peas, and lastly an earthen jar of water, cool and sparkling. the beggar made as if to put his hand to the dish of meat, when the hermit stayed him. "an it please you," he said gravely, "we will thank the christ who was born this day." the beggar withdrew his hand. the fat merchant, who had thought to put forth his own, withheld it. with bowed head they waited until the brief prayer was done, then set to as hungry men, one and all. "tough, but grateful to an em^dt}^ stomach, is thy goat's meat," said the man of the broad brow. "but tell me. father her mit, thou didst return thanks for dried meat and peas: dost in very truth regard this mean repast as a christmas feast?" "that do i!" returned the her mit vigorously. "that do i not!" said the other in a sneer half hidden in his 3. 11 the hermit's christmas c l^ ■^r beard, "no more do these my fel low-guests, i warrant you. tell me, friend knight, hast any thought of christmas in thy mind?" "nay," said the knight frank ly; "only of a snow-white, crisp christmas at home." "sir beggar? is this a christ mas joy to thee?" "nay," said the beggar with a whine; "but were i in my own town — ah, there beggar-folk feast at christmas-tide at the cost of the open-handed rich!" "sir merchant, what of thee? is this christmas to thy mind?" "nay," said the merchant be tween bites, "never a christmas without good roast capon." "sir melancholy? hast thou christmas cheer? nay, we need not thine answer. and thou. sir shifty eyes — is this christmas to thee?" "nay," said the last of all, "i see no christmas joy in this shrivelled fare." 12 the hermit's christmas 3. "hearest thou, o father her mit?" cried the questioner in tri umph. "and thou sayest this brings christmas joy to theel" "and truly so it does!" an swered the hermit quietly. then, his eyes sweeping quickly around the circle, he spoke more strongly: "and more, sir philosopher — for such i take thee to be — i can tell each of you why he has no christ mas joy from this feast of mine." "come, then," said the philos opher invitingly. "thou first," said the hermit, not heeding the sneer no longer concealed — "thou art a philoso pher, is it not so? — so i thought. — and thou hast exchanged faith for reason, and by thy bargain thou hast lost thy christ and thy christmas. thou wast afraid to believe! god manifest in the flesh thou couldst not understand, and therefore god manifest in the flesh thou didst cast away." the other would have inter rupted, but the hermit raised his 13 the hermit's christmas i t' hand to silence him. "nay, i said not i would argue with thee, but that i would show thee why thou hast no christmas joy. and i have shown thee. thou hast no faith: that is why. thou, who dost come over yonder blue sea by faith; who dost follow a moun tain path on faith; — thou, who s^ dost not know thyself nor thy neighbor nor thy world, but dost take all on faith — thou dost not believe in the might of the finger of god! not a day passes but thou dost believe the unexplain able; yet thou must explain the christ-child before thou wilt be lieve on him! thou dost not know me; thou canst not explain one of these dried peas, nor the way it grew, nor the sunlight that dried it; and yet thou dost eat my dried peas gladly! have i hit thee? 'whosoever shall not re ceive the kingdom of heaven as he paused for a moment. the philosopher's eyes had fallen; his i 14 !^ the hermit's christmas sneer was gone ; he had not a word to say. the hermit turned to the thief, who sat next in the circle, and shot his next words at him. "and thou, i know thine ail \^,^ ment, and why thou hast no christmas joy in thy feast! thou hast stolen money in thy scrip and a bad conscience in thy breast." the man with the shifty eyes gripped his wallet tight and turned pale under his tan. "nay, friend thief," said the hermit more gently, "this is no court of law. there is no judge here but thy god. thou art afraid to meet the christ-child when thou comest to judgment; that is why thou hast no joy in this christmas-tide. clear con science doth make glad heart. get thee back and restore what thou hast stolen!" his eyes sought those of him of the melancholy countenance, but the man would not look up. nevertheless the hermit addressed him, knowing that he heard. 15 the hermit's christmas t' ) "and thou, sir melancholy, methinks i know thy sorrow. thou dost think thyself disillu sioned. sorrow has come thy way, and loneliness. thy friends have proven no friends at all. and because thou hast lost faith in man, thou hast lost faith in god, and thou hast forgotten the ^ faith of thy childhood. thou hast drunk wormwood and therefore thou dost curse god." the man had hfted his head and was gazing at him, his embit tered hungry soul in his eyes. the hermit's tone softened. "oh, thou poor soul!" he said, "thou hast done the very oppof]) site to what thou shouldst have done. for instead of false friends thou hast a friend divine. thy house is empty; yet thy friend but keeps thy dear ones for thee till thou comest. thou hast looked only at the things which are seen; but lift thine eyes! look thou at the things which are not seen, the eternal things of god i 16 l\* the hermit's christmas j then hast thou, even thou, be reaved and lonely, joy in the birthday of thy lord!" he ceased speaking. suddenly the other bowed his head upon his arms and was shaken by great tearing sobs. they sat in silence until he raised his head and said, brokenly, and trying to smile, "thou hast wrought a miracle, father! these be the first tears mine eyes have known in many a year." "i guessed as much," the her mit said, "and tears be often the forerunners of a new joy." the crusader sat next in the circle. with the help of the beg gar he had undone the thongs on his armor and stripped himself of his shining coat of mail. in his woolen shirt, worn and marked w^ith rust, he was a picture of stalwart strength, with knotted muscles and heavy shoulders. "thou," began the hermit, "thou. sir knight, hast been to jerusalem, across yonder waters, 17 ii tj the hermit's christmas to protect the sepulcher of thy lord christ, whose birthday this is. and thou dost not know thy lord; wherefore thou hast no joy in him." "not know my lord!" cried the knight. "nay, thou knowest not thy lord! by two things i know it ^ and will prove it thee. imprimis, ^ thou hast slain thy fellow-men, and hast waded in their blood, for the sake of thy god. wherefore thou knowest not him; for the christ is not served by blood-let ting, by the slaying of thy brother men. thou dost hate the sara cen who dishonors thy lord's tomb; but thy lord has bidden thee love the saracen, and thou hast not heard his voice. again, thy lord christ would have thee kindly and tender toward all, both man and beast; but thou hast left thy good steed, who has borne thee to thy lord's city and thus far homeward — thou hast left him lying down yonder with a broken 18 :p: '4 the hermit's christmas t limb and hast not put him out of his misery. wherefore, again, thou dost not know thy lord; not knowing him, thou canst have none of his joy at his birth-feast! wert thou christ's man, as thou dost wear christ's cross, thou wouldst ere this have cared for thy beast!" at that the knight leaped to his feet. "by this cross," he cried, "but thou art a bold man, sir her mit!" his sword was in his hand. the hermit made no move. the others sat watching the shining blade. the knight caught the hermit's eye, hesitated, dropped his sword with a clatter, and turned and strode down the path out of sight. the hermit turned to the mer chant. ) the hermit's christmas so encased thy soul in the fat of getting and of self-indulgence that thou hast forgotten it. thou hast lived for thyself. thy treas ure-chest thou hast filled, and thou hast wrung thy gold from the sweat and tears of many a brother-man. god gave thee thy talents, but thou hast not re quited god. thou art swollen with what thou hast sucked from god's world. thy pride is in what thou callest thine own, and thy joy in spending it for what thou callest thyself. thou know est not the christ-child; for the christ bids thee give, not get; and thou hast not found joy in this feast, for thou hast through it all thought only of thyself! the joy of christ's birthday will come when thou forgettest thy self!" and the merchant, when the hermit ceased speaking, grew very red in the face and fingered his wallet uncomfortably. but he had not a word to say. \ the hermit's christmas 3. "and thou, sir beggar," went on the voice of the hermit, "thou hast, like thy neighbor, lived by sucking the world dry. thou hast taken from the world and given nothing. god made thee to work, but thou hast disdained to work. thy mind is rich with ex cuses and reasons, but none is good: thou art a lazy varlet and a selfish one. therefore thou knowest not the christ. for he was a carpenter, and his hands were hard with toil. he saved men, not lived on them, yonder in nazareth. and none has right to joy on christmas-tide who has no respect for himself and no joy in honest toil. stretch out thy hand to the plow, not to ask an alms! let thy brow shine with the sweat of thy work for the christ; then shalt thou taste his joy! he has given himself to thee, and thou — thou art a beg gar!" he was done. he turned to the philosopher with a quiet smile. the hermit's christmas 3. "have i not kept my word?" he asked. the other nodded slowly, then lifted his chin with a challenge: "in truth thou hast, good host. but i, too, am a student of men; and i have a flaw to pick in thine own case." the hermit's smile faded from his lips. he seemed for the mo ment to draw into himself; and he spoke in a low voice. "nay," he said; "i said not i was perfect; nor even that i gath ered from this poor feast all that i might have gained of joy. it has been the better for your pres ence; and yet — i too confess i have known happier feasts." it was the philosopher's turn to smile, but he had lost his sneer, and he did not smile. "thou hast withdrawn thyself. sir hermit," he said not ungently, "from the world and its snares. thou wast weak, and the evil in the world drew thee, and thy conscience troubled thee ; and thou i r^: the hermit's christinas t 3. ih\i\ didst flee, like many others, to the v /-> wilderness. is it not so?" he did not wait for a reply, but leaned forward and pointed his words with a long, slender fin ger. "and thou too hast lost — not all, but much, of the joy of this feast because thou hast been a coward ! a coward ! thou wast ^^ afraid! though thy lord fought through forty days and forty nights of temptation; though he did agonize for thee in the gar den; though he did show thee how to fight thy soul's battles — thou didst run away to the desert! thou hadst a place to fill, a work to do, men to serve, a gospel to preach — and thou wast afraid! and thou hast but a part of thy joy to-day because thou hast for gotten that the christ-child whose feast this is was born to succor thee in thy temptations! thou hast no right to this feast! thou shouldst be at thy work in the world! thy christ hath a work for thee!' i/^ 23 the hermit's christmas j t' j l4 a silence fell upon them. the hermit seemed to have shrunk into himself. absently he rolled a parched pea between fingers none too steady. his voice trem bled when at length he spoke. "i stand like you all, convicted. we be but poor christians all. i had thought to keep my soul pure by fleeing evil; but" — and his voice grew clear and strong — "i was wrong. i shall go back! i shall go back to serve my lord christ! and you, brothers? what of you all? will ye go back with me to serve our lord and our brothers?" he looked around the little cir cle. none answered for a mo ment; then the sorrowful man said, ''i will go." "and i," said the thief; and the others nodded without speaking, all save the philosopher, who sat with head bent, deep in some soul struggle. "come," said the merchant briskly; "an i can break my chain, so canst thou." f% 24 the hermit's christmas 7^ "xay, friend," said the philos opher sadly; "it is not chains, but the absence of chains, that i feel. could i but bind my soul to thy christ — but how can i? can a man force his soul to accept a mystery his mind rejects?" then spoke the sorrowful man, with a new and more cheerful tone in his voice. "ay, that he can! that have i done but now! truly my mind cannot see heaven and mine own in heaven; but i am weary of guesswork. i will believe and hope. and thou — with all thy knowledge thou art no wiser as to god: thy mind saveth thee not: trust thou thy faith." "that were wisdom," said the hermit slowly. "we speak to thee, and thou dost not bid us ex plain ourselves before thou wilt hear: and the christ speaketh to thee on this his day. wilt thou argue? nay, but believe!" and the philosopher looked up at them again, and his brow cleared. 25 the hermit's christmas 1, c j lj "why, good father, the world was not built in a day. i will be honest with thee: i cannot be lieve; but i will pray christ to help me believe. is it enough?" "i am but a jdoor fool," spoke the beggar, "and thou a philoso pher, and yet — if thou dost pray to christ thou dost believe al ready." "and that, again, is wisdom," quoth the hermit. so they sat and talked while the shadows moved 'round the mountain and the sun began to sink over the sea to the west. "when the sun goeth down we journey into the world," the her mit said. toward twilight the}^ heard the footsteps of the soldier, and his bronzed face appeared at the head of the path. he halted for a mo ment, surveying the scene. they were on their feet, girding them selves for the descent. "what now?" he cried, when he could get his breath. the hermit's christmas ^^^ the philosopher spoke for all. "we have been to school, sir knight, as thou hast, and we have learned that on this christmas day which takes us back to the world. wilt come?" "so," said the knight, the old twinkle in his eye; "and what hast thou learned, o wise one?" "that the joy of the christmas feast may be found in dried peas if faith be there at table." "and thou. sir beggar?" "that the joy of the christmas feast is his w^ho hath honest sweat upon his brow." "and thou, sir merchant?" "that the joy of the christmas feast lieth not in the viands, but in finding joy for others." "and thou, sir inielancholy ?" "that there may be joy in the christmas feast, even for the bit ter in soul, if they look not back ward, but forward." "and thou. sir— craving thy pardon — sir thief?" "it was a good guess," said the 27 1 n the hermit's christmas t ) \ ky thief. his eyes met the soldier's squarely. "but i have learned. there is no christmas joy with out an honest conscience." "and thou, good host?" "they have taught me, sir knight! there is no fulness of joy for him who shirks the fight. we go together back to life. wilt go?" the knight stooped for his coat of mail. "an some friend here will harness me, i will go, and gladly. thou hast taught me, too, good father. the christ whose birthday we keep joyeth not in hatred, but in love and kindliness to all. verily, what a school thou keepest! thou hast shown us the soul of christmas! master and scholars, all for the world this christmas day! god give us joy of our journey! " so, in the cool of the evening, e^^s^''t they filed down from the hermit's v>li) t cave to the road that led to the world ! , t«a'' date due : :. ./v < m. ^aoillt'^ '^■'isi^^f^ «5*^ ptr 1 .' •'jgff.^as t i^-^ jmmmhn 1 1 1 1 1 i 1 i 1 l f 1 1 ps3503.u8h55 the hermit's christmas. princeton theological seminary-speer library 1 1012 00003 1981 50 a 1.50 187 adams rob, the hermit widener library hx dgp3 l dal 641.1.50 harvard college library impacademy demarr a harv var eccleov veri ts sona the bequest of evert jansen wendell (class of 1882) of new york 1918 price, fifteen clnts. the acting drama no. 101. rob, the hermit new york harold roorbach publisher roorbach's full descriptive catalogue of dramas, comedies, comediettas, farces, tableaux-vivants, guide-books, novel entertainments for church, school and parlor exhibitions, etc., containing full and explicit information, will be sent to any address on receipt of a stamp for return postage. address as above. roorbach's american edition. price, 15 cents each. this series embraces the best of plays, suited to the present time. the reprints have been rigidly compared with the original acting copies, so that absolute purity of text and stage business is warranted. each play is furnished with an introduction of the greatest value to the stage manager, containing the argument or synopsis of incidents, complete lists of properties and costumes, diagrams of the stage settings and practicable scene-plots, with the fullest stage directions. they are handsomely printed from new electrotype plates, in readable type, on fine paper. their complete introductions, textual accuracy, and mechanical excellence render these books far superior in every respect to all editions of acting plays hitherto published. 1. all that glitters is not gold. a comic drama in two acts. six male, three female characters. time, two hours. 2. a scrap of paper. a comic drama in three acts. six male, six female characters. time, two hours.3. my lord in livery. a farce in one act. five male, three female charactime, fifty minutes. ters. cabman no. 93. a farce in one act. two male, two female characters. time, torty minutes. four male, two female charseven male, four female four male, four 8. how to tame your mother-in-law. a farce in one act. male, two female characters. time, thirty-five minutes. 9. lady audley's secret. a drama in two acts. four male, three female characters. time, one hour and a quarter. 5. milky white. a domestic drama in two acts. acters. time, one hour and three quarters. 6. partners for life. a comedy in three acts. characters. time, two hours. 7. woodcock's little game. a comedy-farce in two acts. four female characters. time, one hour. 10. not so bad after all. a comedy in three acts. six male, five female characters, time, one hour and forty minutes. + three male, three female a farce in one act. three male, four female 13. daisy farm. a drama in four acts. ten male, four female characters. time, two hours and twenty minutes. 14. married life. a comedy in three acts. five male, five female characters. time, two hours. two male, 15. a pretty piece of business. a comedietta in one act. three female characters. time, fifty minutes. 16. lend me five shillings. a farce in one act. five male, two female characters. time, one hour. 11. which is which? a comedietta in one act. characters. time, fifty minutes. 12. ici on parle français. characters. time, forty-five minutes.. 17. uncle tom's cabin.-original version. a drama in six acts. fifteen male, seven female characters. time, three hours. 18. uncle tom's cabin.-new version. a drama in five acts. seven male, five female characters. time, two hours and a quarter. ten male, three female 19. london assurance. a comedy in ive acts. characters. time, two hours and three quarters. 20. atchi! a comedietta in one act. three male, two female characters. time, forty minutes. 21. who is who? a farce in one act. three male, two female characters. time, forty minutes. 22. the woven web. a drama in four acts. seven male, three female characters. time, two hours and twenty minutes. 23. miss madcap. a comedietta in one act. two male, one female characters. time, twenty minutes. 24. the darkey wood dealer. a farce in one act. two male, one female characters. time, twenty minutes, (over.) c rob, the hermit; or, the black chapel of maryland. a romantic drama, in four acts, dramatized from j. p. kennedy's novel of " 'ror of the bowl," by charles frederick adams. correctly printed from the prompter's copy, with the cast of characters, costumes, property plots, relative positions of the dramatis personæ, sides of entrance and exit, dispositions of characters, etc., etc. new york. ii arold roorbach, publisher. dal 641.1.50 harvard college library from 7 the bequest of evert jansen wendell 1918 entered according to act of congress in the year 1879, by happy hours company, in the office of the librarian of congress at washington. rob, the the hermit; or, the black chapel of maryland. :0: cast of characters. rob, the hermit, (tragedy).. richard cocklescraft, (high villain).. captain dauntrees, (comedy). lord baltimore, (walking gent) albert verheyden, (juvenile). anthony warden, (old man)... garret weasel, (low comedy)..... arnold de la grange, ( utility). roche del carmine, (low villain). francis, (utility).. pedro, (utility). blanche warden, ( tragic). dorothy weasel, (comedy). kate of warrington, (tragic old woman)... soldiers, pirates, &c original, white's opera house, concord, n. h. mr. n. c. nelson. " c. n. towle. frank cressy. r. a. ray. 66 "" 66 66 66 66 66 66 66 e. robertson. f. s. warren. w. p. underhill, j. r. saye. f. w. alden. s. n. prescott. j. f. scott, mrs. belle locke. m. f. upton. miss dora r. carvill. costumes, rob, the hermit.-doublet of coarse serge, trunks and hose, coarse cloak, long gray wig and beard, belt with long knife. richard cocklescraft -scarlet jacket, ash-colored breeches, made like kilt to knees; tight gray hose, light shoes, embroidered belt with pair of richly mounted pistols, long black hair, moustache and goatee, wide sombrero in scene ii, act ii, gay cap for other scenes. roche del carmine.-gay pirate's dress. lord baltimore-rich military or nobleman's costume of the period. albert verheyden.-dark doublet and hose, short brown cloak, black cap and feather, lace collar. anthony warden.-gentleman's costume of the period, white hair. garret weasel.-tight gray suit. iv rob, the hermit. captain dauntrees.-stoutly padded, bald crown, light green cloak and doublet, trimmed with yellow lace; trunk hose, parti-colored stockings, low boots, broad felt hat with plume. arnold de la grange.—buff jerkin, broad belt and buckle, brown leather leggings, deerskin cap. francis, pedro and other pirates.-seaman's jackets, striped and colored shirts, white breeches, rich girdles with pistols and daggers, gay woolen caps, etc. soldiers.-similar to arnold's or captain's. blanche warden.-bodice of scarlet velvet, laced in front with cords and tassels; short white sleeves looped to shoulder by bands of scarlet, white lawn skirt, white slippers, hair down, with ribbon fillet above brow; boquet on bosom, white rose on head, for scene iii, act ii. simpler costume in other scenes. dorothy weasel.-green silk jacket with tight sleeves, trimmed with pink ribbon; stays, scarlet petticoat, brown hose with clocks, high-heeled green shoes, high conical hat with very narrow rim, of green silk with bands of pink ribbon set on teethwise, same as on jacket, loose kerchief around neck. kate of warrington.-witch's costume, long hair. properties. act 1. table, flagons of wine, glasses, pipes, tobacco, &c. four chairs. candles. key for dorothy. lantern and basket, with luncheon and bottles in it, for garret. red lights. loaded pistols for captain and arnold. shots for outside. act ii. kettle for fireplace. rude wooden cross. act iii. rough table, bottles of liquor, tobacco, pipes, casks, boxes, &c. papers and lan. tern for rob. lighted candles. wine cups. cords for francis and pedro. large round stone tied with cords. locket for albert. locket for albert. act iv. loaded gun for anthony. shots outside. pikes for pirates. there is no charge for the performance of this drama. rob, the hermit; or, the black chapel of maryland. act i. time, scene i.-parlor of the inn of st. mary's in third grooves. evening. table with flagon of wine, glasses and pipes, r.c. captain dauntrees and arnold de la grange discovered seated at table. garret weasel seated near by. captain dauntrees. you were not a true man, garret weasel, to keep us so long without your presence, no doubt dame dorothy has this tardy coming to answer for. garret weasel. (drawing his chair awkwardly towards the table. ) no, no, captain danntrees, my wife rules not me, indeed she does not. customers, you know, must be waited on, though we poor servants go athirst. we are crowded to-night, are we not, arnold? arnold de la grange. yes, with traders from the country back, who had heard by some means that cocklescraft should be here. capt. i see. that fellow cocklescraft has a trick of warning his friends. he never comes into port but there are strange rumors of him ahead. st. mary's is not the first harbor where he drops his anchor, nor anthony warden the first man to docket his cargo, gar. you speak your mind freely, captain, capt. well, but for cocklescraft we should lack these means to be the customs are at a discount on a dark night. well, make your honest penny, garret, all thirsty fellows will stand by you. merry. 6 rob, the hermit; or, gar. nay, nay, i beseech you————— capt. never mind your beseeching, my modest friend. did i not see how pale you grew when his lordship's secretary, master verheyden, suddenly came upon you as you were rolling a cask into the cellar in broad daylight. the secretary was in a bookish mood and did not heed, or perchance was kind and would not. gur. the secretary is a modest youth and grows in favor with the townspeople. capt. aye, and is much beloved by his lordship. there is a cloud upon his birth, and a sorrowful tale concerning his nurture. but we should not go dry because the secretary has had mishaps. drink, and i will tell you his story briefly. (they drink.) there was in yorkshire a certain major william wetherby, who married a lady named verheyden. he was a man of fierce temper, choloric, and unreasonable, and for jealousy no devil ever equalled him. becoming jealous his wife, he one day stabbed his best friend to the heart. by the aid of a fleet horse he escaped from the kingdom, and was never again heard of. arnold. died like a dog, i s'pose. cipt. likely enough. his wife, poor lady, soon after died, leaving her infant son in charge of her brother. years after, lord baltimore saw the youth, took him into his service, and brought him here with him. that's the whole story. it's as dry as a raisin, so moisten, masters, moisten. gar. (drinking.) it's a sad story. capt. that's a good reason for a cup to the secretary. the world has many arguments for a thirsty man. but let's change the subject. drink, langh and be merry. (they drink. gar. by my soul, captain, but this wine does tingle. here's a fig for my wife dorothy. come and go as you like, none of your fetch and carry for me. (tipsily. capt. thou art a valorous tapster. gar. i am a man to stand by a friend, captain. ha, ha! let's have a song. cupt. with all my heart. i will wag it with you merrily. (they sing an old drinking song, garret weasel rising and dancing unsteadily. enter lord baltimore, s.e.l. (c lord baltimore. you give care a holiday, captain dauntrees. ain dauntrees starts, ses, bows low, and smiles. arnold de la grange rises, firm and silent. garret weasel remains fixed in his attitude, with one foot raised, arm extended, and face turned inquiringly over his shoulder. his position changes to one of profound deference. capt. hail, my lord! gar. yes, hail, hail, good lord! the black chapel of maryland. 7 lord b. i would not disturb your merriment, but have matter for your vigilence, captain dauntrees. you, arnold de la grange, will remain with us. you, master weasel, may retire. (exit garret weasel, u. e.l., stepping carefully and looking back. lord b. there are strange tales concerning certain mysterious doings in a house at st. jerome's, that it is inhabited by goblins and mischievous spirits. know'st thou anght of the black chapel, captain? capt. i know it to be a devil's den and a busy one. lord b. what hast thou seen, captain. capt. i have seen-from a distance the windows lighted with unearthly lights, and antic figures passing them that seemed deep in some hellish carouse. lord b. why was i not told of this? capt. we feared the ill-will of these spirits, my lord. what dost thou know of this house, arnold? lord b. arnold. i have heard noises like clanking chains, and seen strange flashes thro' the windows. lord b. there is some trickery in this. enter garret weasel, u. e. l., gar. it's a very weighty matter, my lord, a v-e-r-y weighty matterlord b. (turning suddenly.) what brought you here again, garret weasel? what hast thou to tell to excuse thy lurking at our heels? behind lord baltimore. gar. much and manifold, most worthy lord! "rob, the hermit" lives very near the black chapel. lord b. fie on thee, garret weasel. thou art in thy cups. i grieve to see thee making such a beast of thyself. leave us. (exit garret weasel, u.e.l. lord b. think you, captain dauntrees, the hermit gives credit to these tales? capt. he must be a witness to these marvels, but he is a man of harsh words and lives to himself. lord b. this matter must be sifted ; and this duty shall be yours. i would have you and arnold, with such discreet men as you may select, visit this chapel to-night and observe the doings there. good evening, friends, may the kind saints be with you. (exit s. e.l. capt. the blessed martyrs shield us! we are pledged to fight his lordship's bodily foes, but methinks the good priests were better fitted for this warfare. but, arnold, go to the fort and see that our horses are ready. (exit arnold de la grange, s.e.r, enter dorothy weasel, u.e. l. dorothy weasel. heaven help those thirsty roystering men! they 8 rob, the hermit; or, are still at it as greedily as if they had just come out of a dry lent! from morn till noou and noon till night it is all the same, drink! drink! drink! there's nothing but riot and reeling from the time cocklescraft is expected in the port till he leaves it. capt. true enough, jolly queen. but what has become of cocklescraft? dor. and what has become of that man weasel. he is never at his place if the whole house should go dry. he would see me work myself as thin as a broom handle before he would offer to help me. enter garret weasel, s. e. r. gar. did you have need of me, wife dorothy? dor. get you gone, you are ever in the way! your head is always thrust in places where it is not wanted! gur. i can but return whence i came. (going. dor. stay! have occasion for you. go to the celler and bring up another stoop of hollands. yonder salt fish have no relish for ale. (exit garret weasel, u. el. capt. bless me, dame, how you are tricked out this evening. a more tidy bit of flesh and blood i never saw! you wear most bravely, mistress dorothy! staud aside and let me survey. turn your shoulders round. (turning her round upon her heel.) there is a woman of ten thousand. i envy garret such a store of womanly wealth! dor. if garret were the man i took him for your would have borne a broken head ere this! capt. i would speak now with garret in this room, pretty hostess. for my sake you will send him to me, will you not, old garret's jolly young wife! dor. you wheedling cheat! garret is no older than you are. but, truly, he is little needed in the tap-room, so he may come to you. capt. thank you, dame. i knew you would not refuse me. hark you, dame. bring your ear to my lips. a word in secret. (dorothy stoops.) that's for thy pains. (he kisses her. dor. and that's for thy impudence, sancy captain! (boxes his ears and exits u.e, l. enter garret weasel, u.e.l. capt. you must know, garret, that we go to-night to visit the wizard's chapel, by his lordshi order. and as i would have brave fellows with me, i have sent for you. gur, heaven bless me! it might mar the matter to have so many on so secret an expedition. and there's my wife dorothy. she will never consent. capt. leave that to me. you shall be our commissary and take along a few bottles of good canary and a luncheon in a basket. the black chapel of maryland, 9 gar. i should have my nag, and my wife keeps the key of the stable. she would suspect something were i to ask for it. capt. i will make her give it you of her own accord. say that you will go with us, garret. it will be the finishing stroke of your fortunes; you will be a man of mark forever after. gar. i am a man to be looked to in a strait, captain! i saw by his lordship's eye this evening that he was much moved by what i told him. but what will dorothy say in the morning? capt. only that you were rash and hot-headed. why, only tonight she sighed and said you were growing old. gar. old! old! did she say? i'll show her that i am not old. a fig for her scruples! i will go with you, comrade, to any goblin's chapel. old, indeed! (dorothy weasel shows herself at door, s.e.l. cupt. come in, come in, my princess of pleasant thoughts. (garret weasel retires up, enter dorothy weasel, s.e.l. dor. there's nothing but soft words or swaggering speeches where you are, captain dauntrees. an honest woman had best be seen little in your company. (seats herself, r.c. cupt. have you heard the news, mistress dorothy, about the mercer's wife? you owe the jade a sly grudge, do you not? dor. in faith i do, and would gladly pay it. but what is the story, captain? pray tell it me, give me all of it. capt. why, have you not heard it? it's a rare joke, and garret must have told you. capt dor. no, no. the story would only be spoiled by his telling it. it's a long story. i pray you, dame, what o'clock is it? dor. not after nine it matters not for the hour-go on. capt. nine? nine? did you say? truly, dame, i have overstaid my time. i have papers to deliver to his lordship before he retires. garret must tell the story for me. dor. nay, captain. the papers may be delivered by some other hand. here, garret, now, there's no reason why he should not do it. "tis but a step to the fort and back. gar. (coming down l.) i can take my nag and ride there in twenty minutes. dor. then get you gone, without parley. gar. but the key of the stable, wife? dor. (handing him key.) take it and begone. capt. if you will go, garret-and it's very kind in you—take these papers and see that they are delivered safely. (giving him papers.) you comprehend? (exit s.e.l. gar. i comprehend, captain. dor. now, captain? 10 rob, the hermit; or. capt. well, mistress, old cadger, the mercer, you know, who is in the main a discreet mandor. yes. capt. i mean, biding some little follies, which you know of. a man in his vocation is apt to be somewhat cautious. now in our calling of soldiership cantion is a sneaking virtue, which we soou send to thedor. but of the mercer's wife, captain. capt. yes, i am coming to her presently. well, cadger is a shade or two jealous of that fussock, his wife, who looks, with her new russet cloak, more like a brown hay-cock than a woman. dor. (laughing,) yes, and with a sun-burned top. her red hair is no better. capt. well, halfpenny, the chapman, who is a mad wag for mischief, came last night to cadger's house, bringing with him lawrence hay, the viewer. now the viewer is a handsome man, and a merry one upon occasion, too. i have heard it said that the mercer's wife has rather a warm side for the viewer. be that as it may, there was the most laughable joke played on the mercer by halfpenny aud the viewer together last night that was ever thought of. it was this: they were playing blindmaus-buff, and when it came the turu of the mercer's wife to be blinded-there was an agreement that no one should speak a word———— dor. yes, i understand, i see it. (draws her chair nearer to the captain. capt. no, no, you would never guess it. i can show you better by the acting of the scene. here, get down on your knees and let me put your handkerchief over your eyes. (takes handkerchief from off her neck as she kneels. dor. what good will that do? capt. do it, mistress. you will laugh at the explosion. it is an excellent jest, and well worth learning. (bandages her eyes-holds up fingers.) how many fingers, dame? dor. never a finger do i see, captain. capt. it is well. now staud up. (she rises.) forth and away. that was the signal given by the viewer. turn, and grope through the room, mistress dorothy. oh, you shall laugh at this roundly. grope, dame, grope! (dorothy weasel gropes up stage blindly. exit captain dauntrees, softly, s.e.r. closed in. the black chapel of maryland. 11 scene ii.-wood scene in second grooves. stage darkened. waves heard breaking upon beach in distance. enter captain dauntrees and arnold de la grange, armed, and garret weasel, with lantern and basket with bottles, etc., b. gar. is the dame likely to be angry, captain? does she suspect ns for a frisk to-night? oh, it will be a perilous adventure for me to-morrow! capt. i left her groping for a secret at blindman's buff. she has found it before now, and i'll warrant is in a perfect hurricane, it wouldn't be safe for you to return now, garret. gar. alack! alack! for these pranks! i am in for a week's repentence, sure. capt. we must be near st. jerome's, are we not, arnold? i surely hear the stroke of the tide upon the beach. arnold. it is the waves striking upon the sand at the head of the inlet. capt. the wizard's chapel, then, is near this spot. we must forward at once. but your teeth will betray us, master garret, they chatter so. if you are cold, man, button up your coat. gar. yes, verily, it is a cold night, captain. what is that? i hear something like the howl of a dog, and yet more devilish, i should say. i am c-c-cold, still c-c-cold, master captain. (shivering. capt. tush, man, it's the ringing in your own ears that you hear. make yourself comfortable here, garret, while we take a took at the chapel. you shall guard the forage till we return. gar. that is well thought of. while you advance toward the shore, i will keep a sharp lookout here, i will have a sharp eye and a ready hand, captain. (exeunt captain dauntrees and arnold de la grange, r. gar. in the dark, a man cannot see, that stands to reason. it makes a difference when you see your enemies. a brave man, by nature, requires light. and, besides, what kind of an enemy do we fight? hobgoblins, not men, i am not afraid of any man in christendom-or any woman either-except, except my wife dorothy. but these whirring aud whizzing ghosts, that mew like bats and fly about one's ears like cats-no, no, i mean that fly like bats and mew like cats-i don't like. i should have followed the captain, only he was so auxious i should remain here and watch well, here are solid comforts at hand. (takes luncheon and bottles from the basket, eats and drinks.) i will now perform a turn of duty. (replaces bottles, etc.-crosses stage-suddenly stops, looking off l —frightened.) heaven have mercy on me! what do i see! i am alone, and the enemy has come upon me. 121 rob, the hermit; or, enter kate of warrington, l. kate of warrington. watcher of the night, draw nigh. what seekest thou? gar. (trembling.) in the name of all that's good, spare me, spare me, worthy dame! i seek no harm to thee. i am old, mother -too old, and with too many sins of my own to account for, to seek harm to any one-much less to you, good dame. oh, lord! why was i seduced upon this fool's errand? kate. come nigh, old man, while i speak to thee. loiter there? what dost thou mutter? why do you (she steps forward. gar. i but waited here till some friends of mine should return. how goes the night with you, good dame? kate. merrily, merrily! (shrill laugh.) i can but laugh to find the heupecked vintner of st. mary's at this time of night so near the black chapel. i know your errand, old seller of cheap wines, and why you have brought your cronies. gar. you know all things, worthy dame. i were a fool to try to keep a secret from you. kate. fool, it is as much as your life is worth to bring your brawlers to st. jerome's at midnight. who showed the way to this place, and the path to my cabin, that i must be driven out at this hour? gar. indeed i know not, good woman. kute. they will call themselves friends to the chapel; but there are no friends to the chapel among living men. the chapel belongs to the dead and the tormentors of the dead. so follow your cronies and command them back; i warn you to follow, if you would save them from harm. (red lights flashed, 1.) ha, ha! look there. (points off, l.) it has come already! they have aroused our seutries, and there shall be hot work. friends, forsooth, (shouting) friends! are ye? (red lights.) and that's the token ye are known to be false liars! woe to the fool that plants his foot before the chapel. stand there, garret weasel; i must away. follow me but a stepraise thy head to look after my path-and i will strike thee blind and turn thee into a drivelling idiot for the rest of thy days. remember! (excil l. garret weasel creeps off r., with basket and lantern. scene iii.-the beach of st. jerome's and chapel in fourth grooves. stage darkened. cable windows, l.c. waves heard upon beach. exterior of the black set house, with practienter captain dauntrees and arnold de la grange, s. e. r. cpt. by my sword, arnold, although we laugh at yonder white livered vintner, this matter might excuse fear in a stouter man. the the black chapel of maryland. 13 love i bear lord baltimore is all that brings me here to-night. they say these spirits are quick to punish rashness. arnold. as lord charles commands us we must do his bidding. i have been scared more than once by these night devils, but never lost my wits so far as not to run at the proper season. capt. i am an old soldier, and will not be scared from duty by this brood of goblins. his lordship shall not say we failed in our outlook. there is the chapel. arnold a silent and wicked house. capt. and a pretty spot for the devil to lurk in. arnold. hold, captain, no foul words so near the haunted house. the good saints protect us! capt. ha, i will break in the door of this ungodly den and ransack its very corners. holy st. michael! the fiend is in the chapel and warns us away! (red lights flashed from windows of chapel. de la grange recedes with hand over his eyes. dauntrees about to advance; is suddenly arrested in his steps with sword held above his head, and cloak drawn beneath his chin with left hand. capt. i see satan's imps within the chamber. i see the very servitors of the fiend! what ho! bastards of belzebub! in the name of our patron saint, ignatius, i defy them! rushes towards house with drawn sword. red flashes again-figures of men in muffled cloaks seen through the windows an instant. captain dauntrees retreats-draws pistol—another flash-he discharges it at window. yells and hourse laughter heard from chapel. capt. once more i defy thee! and in the name of our holy church and by the order of the lord proprietary i demand what do you here with these hellish rites? (a loud laugh is heard and a pistol fired from window) protect yourself, arnold, these devils use weapons like our own. ay, laugli again, fiends, though ye be devils we will fight you! end of act i. picture. arnold captain (captain dauntrees fires pistol-arnold de la grange fires -yells, laughter, etc., heard-shots exchanged-rolling thunder heard-red lights-masked figures seen dancing through windows-hurried music-picture-curtain drops. 14 rob, the hermit; ob, act ii. scene i.-roadside scene in first grooves. enter captain dauntrees, arnold de la grange and garret weasel, l. capt. yes, last night made a man of you, garret weasel. you should bless your stars you have such elements of valor in you. gar. ay, and look you, captain, you must remember i had the brunt of it alone, while you two were banded together for mutual defence and support. there i was in the very midst of them-hags ou broomsticks, flying bats as big as a man, great sword-fishes walking on legs; with their screeching, moping and mewing-i had need of all my bravery. capt. yes, garret, but you were ever the man to encounter witches -and women. now there is your wife. oh, but there is peril in store for you! but here comes his lordship. (looks off r. enter lord baltimore, r. lord b. good morning, friends; how went the night with thee? capt. we have seen the inmates of the chapel, and were on our way to report to your lordship. gar. ay, your lordship. i maintained a post of honor and great danger, and saw what neither the captain nor arnold saw. it was a fearful sight! oh, but lord b. well, arnold, what sayest thou? arnold. these ghosts and goblins keep a hot house, and the less we have to do with them the better. lord b. they fired upon you, then; with what weapons? cupt. you may judge of them by this. (holds up his cloak with a rent in its folds.) whether this be a bullet mark or an elf-shot, i know not. lord b. there is knavery in league with this sorcery. i will hear a full report of this hereafter. i thank you, friends, for your exploit. farewell. (exit l. capt. (looks off r.) in the devil's name, what have we here? as i live, it's our queen of the hostel! oh, garret, garret! here's a volcano! stand firmly on your legs, garret, and brace up for the onslaught. gar. oh, oh, it's my wife dorothy! capt. ay, get behind me, garret, i will answer her. (garret weasel gets behind captain dauntrees. the black chapel of maryland. 15 enter dorothy weasel, r. dor. hold, runagates! varlets! out upon you for a filthy captain! give me that idiot from your beastly company. garret weasel, garret weasel, you have been the death of me! gar. oh, good mistress dorothy, wife, don't be so angry. dor. 1 will bare you to the buff, driveller, to pay for this. you are steeped in wickedness and abomination by consorting with that drunken captain and this most horrid wood ranger. have you no eye for your family, no regard for your good name, that you must be strolling o'nights with every pot-guzzler and foul-mouthed cast-off of the wars? i am ashamed of you, garret weasel! you've been drunk again, i'll warrant! capt. dame, i must speak now. dor. thon! thou! did you not begnile me last night, with a base lie? did you not practice upon me, you false-hearted, faithless coward? did you not steal my husband from me, you thief? capt. appearances, certainly, are against me. but i had a most excellent reason, which a virtuous and tender-hearted woman like yourself will surely approve when she hears it. there was no revelling, no rioting, good dame, but faithful and brave service enjoined by his lordship. it was an action of pith and bravery, and his lordship wishing the good services of your husband, and knowing you to be a woman of a loving heart, and fearing you would not consent to having your husband so exposed to danger, did wish me to gain him from you on some slight pretext. and now garret has worthily achieved his perilous duty, and there will be promotion and great advantages for this, dame, which will set you high above your neighbors-ay, and far above that prond jade, the mercer's wife. dor. do you speak the truth? where did you spend the night? gar. at the black chapel, wife, at the black chapel! and oh, the time we had of it! it would make your blood freeze to hear of it. capt. on the honor of a soldier, mistress, by the faith of this right hand, i swear this is true. dor. can this be true? arnold. you may trust every word of it, as i am a christian arnold, i will believe what you say. man. dor. well, i believe you, but you are a wheedling, cogging cheat, captain; you will have a melancholy end yet. we will go to the inn. (they exeunt r. 16 rob, the hermit; or, scene ii.-interior of the hermit's hut in third grooves ble door. l.f. fireplace and kettle, r f. practicarob, the hermit discoverea seated c. kate of warrington at work, r.c. rob. ha! ha! dame, the skipper made a gay fight of it last night. it was the devil's own luck that cocklescraft should have stored away his plunder and garrisoned the chapel in season to give those spies a warm reception. ha! ha! yes, he came full freighted, as is his wont, with the world's plunder. a keener knave than richard was never born. he will soon be here to visit me, and shall be welcome, as he ever has been. we are comrades-the skipper and the hermit -and merry in our divisions. kate, double the contents of your pot -the skipper may be hungry. kale. let him bring his own provender, then. rob. he brings the gold, the bright red gold, old jade; and so shall have a princely reception. that is the way of the world now-adays, and we shall be in the fashion, ha! i hear his footsteps. enter richard cocklescraft, door l.f. cocklescraft. good morn, friend rob, the hermit. the chapel did us good service last night. rob. ay, that was a happy thought of mine-the red fire-excellent devil's fire it makes. and then the masks-the very noses of them would frighten his lordship's whole army. but whence come you now, and with what plunder have you stored the chapel? coc. you shall be answered variously, friend rob. to the good people of st. mary's i am from antwerp, and master of the merchantship, the olive branch. to you, my comrade, i am from tortugas -captain, del escalfador, with the very pick of a spanish bark that was fool enough to fall in my way. rob. ha! ha! i guessed thy deviltry, richard cocklescraft, when i saw thee cross the threshold with that suspicious sombrero on your head. that never came from holland, though you would fain persuade the people of the province that you trade nowhere else. coc. it is a tell tale, and should have been thrown overboard ere this. kate of warrington, you shall have the sombrero for a bonnet, and i have stores of ribbons to set it off. (gives her the hat. kate. my share of the world's favors has never been more than the cast-off bravery of such as hold a high head over a wicked heart. but i must be thankful for these blessings, and master cocklescraft, i thank you. so, (she puts the hat on and struts across the stage. coc. how, kate, you have lost none of that railing tongue i left the black chapel of maryland. 17 with you at my last venture. i marvel that the devil has not shorn it out of pure envy. kate. you need not fear it longer. you have made your last present and your last voyage, boy! coc. peace, woman! you are no prophet, though you would have folks think so. but, rob, i have news for you. the time has now come when, peradventure, we must part. i will be married, robert swale! rob. you married! what crochet's this? i spit upon you for a fool! coc. i will be married, as i say, friend rob, neither more nor less. to what wench, say you? why, to the very fairest flower of this province the rose of st. mary's-the collector's own daughter. rob. the collector's daughter! would you sack the town and take the damsel? you know no other trick of wooing. coc. by my honor, rob, i am especially besought by the collector himself to make one of a choice company at his house to-morrow. and i shall woo and win his fair daughter. oh, she will be the very bird of the sea; the girl of the billow, rob! rob. you will never find grace with the girl, fool. coc. thou liest! i love the maiden and mean to have her, fairly if i can, but after the fashion of the brothers of the coast, if i must. she may not consent at once, because she has a toy of delight in that silken secretary of my lord-one master verheyden, i think they call him. rob. ha, what is he? whence comes he? coc. i know not, neither do i care. i will whip him like a dog out of my way. what, are you angry, rob, that you scowl so? rob. i needs must be to see you making a fool of yourself. (aside.) verheyden! his lordship's secretary! no, no, it cannot be! coc. mutter as you will, rob, i will try conclusions with the secretary, folly or no folly. if he come between me and the maiden he shall smart for it. rob. ha, ha! thy spirit is ever for undoing. mischief is your proper element, your food, your repose, your luxury. i have scanned you in all your humors. coc. i will not be scorned, old man. the maiden shall be mine though i pluck her from beneath her father's blazing roof-tree, and then farewell to the province and to you. i came not here to be taunted with your ill-favored speech. my men shall be withdrawn from the chapel. i will put them on better service than to minister to your greed of gain. rob. hot-brained idiot! do you not know that i can put you in the dust and trample on you as a caitiff? that i can drive you from the province as a vile outlaw? dare yon tempt my anger? if you would thrive even in your villainous wooing, have a care not to provoke my displeasure, one word from me and not a man paces your 18 rob, the hermit; or, deck; you go abroad unattended, a fugitive, with hue and cry at your heels; or remain here to suffer the penalty of the law for your crimes. how darest thou provoke me boy? coc. (advancing.) your hand, rob. you say no more than my folly warrants. your pardon, let there be peace between us. rob. art reasonable again? bravely confessed, richard? i forgive you for your rash speech. now go your way, and may the foul fiend speed you. i have naught to counsel either for strife or peace. it will not be long before this wretched body of mine shall sink into its natural resting-place; and it matters not how the remnant of life be spent—whether in hoarding or keeping. the world will find me au heir for what little wealth i may have accumulated. go thy way. coc. i will see you again, friend rob. i go now to the chapel, and then to the port to drive my suit to a speedy issue. i came here to give you notice of my design, and perchance to get your aid. you have no counsel for me? it is well. my own head and arm shall befriend me; they have served me in straits more doubtful than this. now to complete my work. farewell. (exit door l.f. rob. (looking after him.) go thy way, suake of the sea; spawn of a water devil! you married! ha! ha! ha! your lady gay shall have a sweetened cup in you; and your wooing shall be as tender and gentle as the appetite of the sword-fish! it shall be festival wooing -all in the light-in the light-of the bride's own blazing roof-tree. oh, i cannot choose but laugh! ha! ha! ha! ha! closed in. scene iii.-apartment in the rose croft in second grooves. time, evening. enter blanche warden and albert verheyden, r. blanche. i am glad the skipper has not come to the party. hiz shrewdness has taught him that notwithstanding my father's good will there is little welcome for him at the rose croft. albert. (looking off l.) you reckon without your host, mistress blanche. he is even now coming to greet you. enter richard cocklescraft, l. coc. heaven save the rose of st. mary's, the beautiful flower of our new world. you have a gallant company in the hall to-night. i am glad to meet the ladies of the province once again. the sait waters whet a sailor's eye for friendly faces. mistress blanche, you have grown even more beautiful than when i last saw you. the black chapel of maryland. 19 blanche. master cocklescraft, i know not if you ever saw albert verheyden, his lordship's secretary. coc. i was not so lucky as to fall into his company. we shall not lack acquaintance, sir, if you be a friend of the daughter of anthony warden, the good collector of the port of st. mary's. mistress blanche, i have remembered the rose of st. mary's in my voyaging. she is never so far out of my mind that i might come back to the port without some token for her. i would crave your acceptance of a pretty mantle of crimson silk, which will well become the gay figure of our pretty mistress of the rose croft, blanche. you may find a worthier hand for such a gift. i cannot accept it, master cocklescraft. coc. you will, perhaps, think better of it when you see the mantle. women are so changeable, master secretary. i will bring it for your inspection, mistress blanche. blanche. you may spare yourself the trouble. coc. nay, mistress, i count nothing a trouble which shall allow me to please your fancy. (approaching blanche warden.) i pray you, maiden, think not so lightly of my wish to serve you. albert. (advancing and taking him aside.) master skipper, you should be satisfied with her auswer as she gives it you. it vexes the daughter of anthony warden to be thus besought. coc. perhaps you are right, sir, but when i would be tutored for my behavior he shall be a man who does it, and shall wear a beard and sword, both. we shall know each other better soon, sir. (returns to blanche warden.) well, mistress blanche, so be it. damsels have the privilege of denial all the world over. but i would dance with you at your first leisure. shall it be the next dance? blanche. i know not whether i may dance again to-night, master cocklescraft. coc. there spoke the same voice that refused my mantle, your cruelty, mistress, is only equalled by your beauty. but i will not trouble you with my unwelcome suit. blanche. i will dance with you, master cocklescraft. call on me for the next set, and i will dance it with you. (exeunt blanche and albert, r. coc. ha! ha! i thought she would relent. "tis not in her nature to be so unkind. but who and what is this master secretary that would set the maiden of the rose croft against me? by st. iago! but he shall feel the weight of my hand, and that soon. he lied; the maiden did not dislike my questioning; only to have it openly spoken. old authony warden has shown me grace; his daughter in the end will follow his liking. am i less worthy in old authony warden's eyes than that pen and ink slave of his lordship's occasions? ha! here comes old authony. my opportunity has arrived! 20 rob, the hermit; or, enter anthony warden, l coc. well met, master warden, well met! i have a word for your private ear. if you please. it is somewhat late, and i will speak to my purpose quickly, in seamen's fashion. warden. speak quickly, then, master cocklescraft, i shall like it the better. coc. master warden, then, without mincing the matter, i would have your leave to woo our beautiful maiden, your daughter. war. who-what-how ! coc. your daughter, mistress blanche; ay, and have your good word to the suit. i love her like a true son of the sea-heartily; and in that sort would woo her. war. what is this you ask? coc. i have gold enough, master warden; no man may turn his heel upon me for lack of gold. war. how now, sirrah! you would woo my daughter! woo her? my blanche? richard cocklescraft, have you lost your witsturned fool, idiot; or is your brain fevered with drink? you make suit to my daughter! you win and wear a damsel of her nurture! hear me; your craft is a good one-i do not deny it-an honest calling when lawfully followed-but you sail on a false reckoning when you hope to find favor with my girl blanche. your rough sea jacket and your sharking license on the salt sea mates not with daughter of mine-the rose-leaf and the sea-nettle! you venture too largely on your welcome, sirrah! master skipper, there is insolence in this. hark you, sir! if you would not have me disown your acquaintance and forbid you my house, you will never speak again of my daughter. (exit r. coc. so it has come to this. it was but a holiday welcome after all. a sea-nettle! he shall find me one! by st. anthony! he shall find me one! and that sharking license he speaks of-he shall taste its flavor! i was brought here by his persuasion—yea—command. who so free in his admission here as i? oh, wind and the broad sea sky; it was not in your nursing i learned the patience to bear this wrong. you are not too old yet, anthony warden, to be taught the hazard of rousing a bloody brother! and for you, gay maiden, dream on of your bookish ballad-singer, master albert. i have a reckoning to settle with him. it will be a dainty exploit to send him, feet first, into the chapel for a blessing. ha! the secretary himself -we meet at a fortunate hour! enter albert verheyden, s.e.r. coc. i have a word for you, sir; if you be a man you will listen. albert. you are somewhat peremptory, sir. i have once before rebuked your rudeness. coc. you have the maiden to thank that i did not bring you to the black chapel of maryland. 21 instant account for that insolent reproof you speak of. i would deal with you for it now. dare you meet me to-morrow, at noon, at cornwaley's cross? albert. i dare meet you, or any man who has the right to claim it of me, in the way of honorable quarrel, if such be the meaning of your challenge. though i question your right, you shall find me, sir, punctual to your summons. coc. it is well. so good-night, master secretary. (aside.) tomorrow, ha! ha! to-morrow! (exeunt b. and l. scene iv.-cornwaley's cross, distance, in fourth grooves. ground. field and wood scene, with water in dark, rude wooden cross in backalbert verheyden and captain dauntrees discovered r. cocklescraft and roche del carmine discovered l holding swords. richard the seconds capt. (aside to albert.) the skipper is surly. i am glad to see it, it denotes passion. receive the assault from him; staud on your defence, giving ground slightly to his advance, then, suddenly, when you have whipped him to a rage, give back the attack hotly. then thrust home; and the shorter you make this quarrel the better. albert. i am more at ease in this play than you think me. let us go to our business. (captain dauntrees, with two swords in hand, advances towards cocklescraft. capt.__i would be acquainted with your second. master cocklescraft. here are our swords; shall we measure? master roche del carmine. coc. capt. i would you had matched me with an antagonist of better degree, master skipper, than this mate of yours. you could match us with gentlemen at least. roche. gentlemen! st. salvador! am not i gentleman enough for you? i belong to the coastcoc. peace, sirrah! prate not here-leave me to speak! master roche del carmine is not my second, but my follower, master dauntrees. i came here to make my own battle. capt. i came here prepared with my sword to make good the quarrel of my friend against any you might match me with. so second or follower, bully or bravo at your heels, master cocklescraft, i will fight with this master roche. 22 rob, the hermit; or, coc. that is but boy's play, and i will none of it, captain danntrees. this custom of making parties brings the quarrel to an end at the first drawing of blood. i wish no such respite. my demand stops not short of a mortal strife. albert. my sword, sir! (walics up to captain, and seizes sword. ) this is my quarrel alone, captain dauntrees, you strike no blow in it. (to cocklescraft.) upon your guard, sir! i will have no further parley. cupt. (interposing with his sword between the parties.) are you mad! back, master verheyden, this quarrel must proceed orderly. (lle conducts albert back to r. and recovers sword-places albert in position-approaches roche and goes through the ceremony of measuring swords-places one in albert's hand -and stands b. with his own drawn. roche hands sword to cocklescraft, and stands carefully back, u.e.l. captain dauntrees gives the word, "now." onset made by cocklescraft with energy. blows parried by albert. hot fight. capt. bravo! to it, master albert! hotly, master! (albert strikes sword from cocklescraft's hand; stops, and brings the point of his own sword to the ground. capt. the fight is done; we hold yon, sir, at mercy. (places his foot upon cocklescraft's sword.) master verheyden came here upon your challenge. your life is in his hands. you have had your satisfaction, sir. (captain dauntrees steps aside, and cocklescraft picks up his sword and advances upon albert. coc. renew! renew! to it again, villain! i'll have your life. capt. you deserve to be cloven to the chin for this dastardly bravado! out upon thee for a disgrace to thy calling! (strikes cocklescraft's sword from his hand with his own, and sends it into the air. roche. (advancing at a safe distance.) by the virgin! i will not see my captain put upon. whoop! for the brothers of the coast! let them have it, master! coc. catiff! back to the boat, you knave, is it thus you serve me? begone! (exit roche del carmine, u.e.l.-richard cocklescraft following.) i go, but shall find another day to right myself! (exit u.e.i. capt. the knave has not met his deserts. but let us return; his lordship will suspect our absence. (exeunt s e. r. enter richard cocklescraft, u.e. l.-picks up his sword, coc. i renounce them all, their tribe and generation! from this day forth i abjure all fellowship with them, but such fellowship as my sword may maintain! the maiden, bonny damsel, shall dance yet at my bidding, but it shall be on board my merry escalfador, and beneath a warmer sun than her pride has been nurtured iu. the black chapel of maryland. 23 and thou, master albert, shall be cared for; and master collector! ha ha! there shall be blows struck; there shall be rich feasting for the brothers of the coast! why should we hover o'er the nestlings of peru, when we have such dainty deviltries in the temperate zone? i will straight about this plot of mischief whilst my brain is yet warm enough to hatch it, exit l end of act ii. act iii. scene i.-roadside scene in first grooves. enter anthony warden and blanche, l., and albert verheyden, r. war. welcome, master verheyden, heartily welcome! give us a hand, good albert. i thank thee for the service thou hast done in lowering the plume of that saucy sea-urchin. why didst thou not run him through the body? albert. i sought no quarrel with the skipper, and am thankful that we parted with so little hurt. mistress blanche, your birthday feast will be well remembered in the province for the pleasure it has given, and you have wou many wishes for a long and happy life. blanche. alas! whatever others may think, i have wept sorely for that unlucky feast. i have reason to grieve that i was persuaded to make it. war. master verheyden, you shall take my place for a stroll with mistress blanche. i have a more profitable calling to visit my fields. ha! master albert, you wear a love token on your breast. (takes hold of locket hung from albert's neck, under his cloak.) some lady of the other side of the water, eh? albert. "tis my poor mother's likeness. she put it around my neck with her own hands as she lay upon her death-bed, and i have worn it ever since. it is the only remembrance i have of her. i was a child when she died, but not too young to feel the loss of one who loved me so well. war. pardon, good lad! a thousand times i beg your pardon for my rash speech. farewell, i will see you again at dinner. (exit l. blanche and albert walk. albert. it is a lovely morning, mistress blanche. heaven has 24 rob, the hermit; or, garnished no fairer laud than this, nor is there a nook upon this wide globe that i would sooner make my home. blanche. i trust it will ever be your home, master albert. they who come hither from the old world seldom think of going back. albert. my fortunes are guided by my good lord, and even now he sometimes speaks of going hence again to england. with my own free will i should never leave this sunny land. blanche. surely his lordship would not take you hence against your will. indeed we could not-his lordship will not leave the province again-or if he does albert i needs must follow at his command. blanche. he will not command it, master albert, his lordship may command you stay. albert. i need not his command: your wish, mistress blanche, nay, your permission, would keep me here, even if my inclination tended back to the old world. blanche. my wish, albert! how could i have any other wish but that you stay? do we not sing and play together? ride, sail and hunt together? oh, how could i wish other than that you stay with us, albert? albert come, then, what hazards may; i swear by this good day, and by this beauteous world, that i will never leave thee! (presses her hand to his lips, and exeunt b scene ii.-interior of the black chapel in third grooves. practicable door, l.f. rough table with liquor and tobacco on it, c. cusks, boxes, etc., about stage. lights burning upon table. stage half dark. distant thunder heard at intervals. the pirate crew discovered seated on casks, boxes, &c.--richard cocklescraft in centre, elevated above the others-rob, the hermit seated r., looking over papers by light of lantern. kate of warrington waiting upon the revelers. coc. (brandishing a wine-cup.) drink hearty, lads! drain dry to the escalfador! our merry ship shall dance to-morrow on the green wave; so do honor to the last night we spend ashore. remem ber, we have a reckoning to settle with the good folks of st. mary's before we depart. are you all ready to follow me in an exploit of rare deviltry? speak, boys! omnse. ay, ready, master captain! rob. (aside.) ay, as ready as wolves to suck the blood of lambs! (aloud.) how can they be otherwise under thy teaching, richard? the black chapel of maryland. 25 coc. ha! old dry bones, art thou awake? by st. iago! i thought thy leaden eyelids had been closed ere this. ho, lads, lead master robert forward-we will treat him as becomes a mau of worship. rob. (drawing dagger.) by st. romuald! the mau that lays hand upon me to move me where it is not my pleasure to go, shall leave his blood upon this floor. who are you, richard cocklescraft, that you venture to bait me with your bullies? coc. how now, master rob? (rising and approaching rob.) would'st quarrel with friends? "twas but in honest reverence that i would have had thee led to the table. come, old comrade, we will not be ruffled when we are to part so soon. rob. a hangdog-a scapegrace-a devil's babe in swaddling bands of iniquity art thou, child bichard! (laughing bitterly.) i will pledge thee in a cup, fill me a cup of that wine of portugal, kate. (kate hands him glass-he rises.) here's success to your next venture, and a merry meeting to count your gains. coc. amen to that! our next venture shall be a swoop upon the doves of st. mary's. kate. a merry meeting it will be when you count your gains! robert swale will keep the reckoning of it. coc. peace, old woman, your accursed croaking is always loudest when least welcome! roche. fill for me, brothers! i will pledge the captain and our company-with "his lordship's secretary." we owe him a reckoning which shall be paid in the coin of the costa rica. coc. bravo! huzza, boys-shout to that! drink deep to it, in token of a deep vengeance. i thank you, roche, for that remembrauce. now, comrades, we must depart to bring the brigantine down to the mouth of the creek. and then-to the city, to the city! (exeunt all, door l.f. rain, thunder and lightning. a knock is heard at door. albert verheyden speaking outside. albert. good people, arouse, for the sake of a benighted traveler who has lost his way in the wood, i pray you give me shelter. (door opens. enter albert verheyden, lf., enveloped in a cloak. albert. here have been dwellers, and that recently; but whither have they fled? i met no one as i came from the wood. oh, i am wet and weary. but what kind of storehouse is this? i would i might see its keepers. surely they cannot be far off, for their flagons are left behind; and not drained, either, for here i find good wine, which to my wearied frame, is no boon to be despised. i greet you, honest necter, (drinking) you come at a good time. heigho! was ever man so weary. i will lie down on these coarse wrappings and repose. (lies down c. and sleeps. 26 rob, the hermit; ob, enter rob, the hermit, with lantern, door l.f. heavy storm. rob. i left my wallet in this cursed chapel and must find it. should these night birds make prize of my written memorials-ah! what is this i see! a stranger! (advances—stoops, with dagger uplifted, above albert —suddenly starts-drops dagger to his side-starts back.) blessed st. romuald, shield me from this sight! it is a spectre conjured hither from the grave-the juggling cheat of a fiend that reads to me, in that face, the warning of a life of sin! oh, heavens! i cannot strike thee, whatsoe'er thou art! so, in very truth she looked while slumbering on her pillow. that same fair forehead-that silken eyelash-that curling lip. who art thou, and what witchcraft hath thrown thee into this foul abode? sure, i am awake. i have not closed mine eyes this night. there stand the tokens of this night's debauch-these cups, these flasks, and this familiar den of villainy-all bear witness that i do not wander in my sleep. these limbs are flesh and blood, (ruises albert's hand from his breast) and that brow is warm with the heat of healthful action. holy saints of heaven! can it be? what is here? (draws forth locket and chain from albert's bosom.) "to louise." merciful heaven! by what miracle am i haunted by this sight! louise, poor girl!-that little portrait of thyself. i gave thee with my own hand'tis now two-and-twenty years ago. and can this be thy child and mine, louise? oh, hapless was thy fate, but doubly wretched mine. william wetherby-thou hast been the fool and dupe of that devilish disease of thy blood that has brought curses upon thee and thine! there, sleep on the bosom of thy child, mother of an unhappy destiny. (replaces locket.) this is no place for thee, unwary boy. i must rouse thee ere these bloodhounds fall upon thy track! thunder (albert awakes, springs up, und draws his sword. and lightning. albert. where am i-and who are ye? your pardon, friend. (dropping his sword's point.) i had an evil dream that awoke me. will your goodness tell me-for i am a benighted traveler-what place this is, and to whom i am indebted for this shelter? enter richard cocklescraft, roche del carmine, pedro, and francis, door lf. coe. ha, by st. iago! thou art most welcome, master verheyden! "tis my house, make free with it. i did not hope for the honor of this visit thrice welcome! albert. a misadventure has thrown me into the power of banditti. i have naught to say. i know your wicked will, and can hope for no mercy. coc. you guess me right. i have sworn against your life. you and yours especially i hate-aud by the law of our brotherhood you die this night. roche del carmine, take him forth and discharge a the black chapel of maryland. 27 brace of pistols into his heart. his heart-be sure of it-i would strike his heart-it shall kill more than one. rob. richard cocklescraft, have i lost my authority under this roof, that thou venturest to usurp my right to decree the fate of the rash fool who invades our secret. at the peril of your life, roche del carmine, dare to do the bidding of your captain. i will pronounce the doom of this intruding spy. drown him! let the wide waters wash away all traces of the deed; let the ravening shark devour him. coc. ha, ha, ha! you have a conceit in your humanity, rob! do it do it in your way; but in the devil's name be quick about it. i have good sport for these lads to-night, and little time to lose. rob. give me francis and pedro, and i will order the matter myself. coc. see thou, then, to it. come, roche, we will away to our duties. (exeunt richard cocklescraft and roche del carmine door l. f. francis and pedro disarm albert, and bind him with cords. albert. why didst thou not take my life at once? why mock my spirit with this horrible delay? i appeal to stones; to brutes more senseless than stones, holy martyrs; aid me in my extremity! heaven will avenge this wrong. rob. why dost falter, kuaves? ha! you must be wrought by your accustomed devil to this work. there, go to it; there are strong waters to aid your lacking courage. (gives them a bottle-they drink.) fear it not, pedro! stint not, francis! "tis an ugly job at best, and needs this aid. drink again! (drinks. pedro. ay, that i will, like a bloody brother! francis. ha, diavolo! give me the bottle! (takes it and drinks. rob. brave lads, both! but we shall be late with our work, haste thee! pedro. the necklace-i had forgot the necklace! (exits, and returns_with_large round stone tied with cords—puts it around albert's neck. rob. now to the skiff, boys; get it ready upon the beach. see that you have the oars. (exeunt pedro and francis, door l. f.) in heaven's name, boy, cans't swim? albert. i can. rob. thanks for that word! thou wilt sit beside me in the boat -i will cut these cords. when i extinguish my light, spring into the waves-make for this shore. i will detain these drunken kuaves from pursuit. make your way northward along the beach and you will be saved. pedro. (looking in at door. all ready, master rob. rob. take more drink, pedro-it is a wet night. (pedro enters and drinks-exeunt all, door l. f. 28 rob, the hermit; or, enter richard cocklescraft, roche del carmine, and crew, door, l.f. coc. we have just time for a glass and a parting song while waiting for rob's return. ha! boys, but there will be one ballad-singer less in the world! now i may sing without a rival, so strike in, boys! (pirate or drinking song and chorus. enter rob, the hermit, pedro and francis, door l.f. rob. (aside.) holy saints, i thank thee! and here on this threshold, i dedicate the remnant of a sinful life to penitence and prayer! (aloud.) ha! master cocklescraft, a stormy night we have had for this foul play. coc. have you done it, and well? by my fellowship, rob, i envy you the deed. did he pray for his life? oh, it was a rare chance that gave him to us this night! tell us how he bore himself. rob. ab, master cocklescraft, hear me. the salt sea is an unruly monster. it quenched my light-we shipped a hogshead of brine. a darker night was never known. a moment and he was gone. the waves that overwhelmed us did wash him over without our aid. coc. a weight was fastened to him? rob. it was. coc. and did he shuffle it off? pedro, was the weight left in the boat? pedro. it was, master. i know not how it happened. coc. ten thousand devils! thou drunken fool, he has escaped! could'st thou not keep thy head clear for such a service? and thou. old rob, the hermit, couldst thou not keep thy lautern burning for it? fool that i was, to trust this matter to such as yon! how came he to be so weakly bound that in this brief time he could release himself? rob. thou must needs have a revel in the chapel to-night, and these tarred monsters of thine have grown muddy-brained and thicksighted. have i command of the waves that they should not have power to extinguish my lantern'? coc. the curse of the brothers of the coast be upon him! twice he has escaped me-i will have my vengeance yet. rob, as the fox has escaped from your hand i may claim a service from you. i start immediately for st. mary's, with a dozen of my best men. i have doings on foot, old rob, that shall pay me for this mishap. i will put the brigantine-with what few men i leave behind-under your command. you will go aboard, and direct it to an anchorage on the other side of the first of the heron islands. there i will join you soon after daylight. oh, but his lordship's city shall ring with the black chapel of maryland. 29 wailing at my leave-taking! what sayest thou, rob, wilt go aboard? rob. when do you set forth? coc. now-on the instant-so soon as i may get my cutthroats started. rob. at what hour does the brigantine sail? coc. by two o'clock, at latest-as much sooner as you choose. rob. ha, ha, ha! thou wilt make me a limb to help thy deviltry? well, so be it. i will take on the office of skipper for awhile, even as thou takest on thy more accustomed garb of an incarnate devil. coc. "tis agreed. behind the first island, remember, rob. be cautions you do not cast anchor where you may be observed. rob. ha, ha! ay, truly, i will be very careful that no one sees the brigantine! end of act iii. act iv. scene i.-the garden and exterior of the rose croft in fourth grooves. stage darkened. set house, l.c., with practicable door und upper window. enter richard cocklescraft, roche del carmine, and crew, armed, b. coc. quiet, brothers, quiet. listen to me. creep in silence to yonder dwelling, and pluck from her bed the fairest damsel of this western world. mark me, comrades-you have sacked towns and spoiled many an humble roof; you have torn children from the arms of their mothers, and wives from the arms of their husbands; you have dragged maidens from the immost chambers of their dwellings, and laughed at their prayers for safety; and you have riotod over all with the free license of the bloody brothers-but take it to your souls this night that no unnecessary blow be struck, no outcry raised, no deed of violence done. i go to seek a bride-not plunder; and i command you all, on the duty you owe your leader, that you do her all honor as mistress of the escalfador. do you heed me, messmates? roche del carmine, to you i look to see this order enforced. 30 rob, the hermit; or. roche. if it be but the taking of a single damsel, it was hardly worth while leaving the bottle of the chapel, coc. dost thou prate, sirrah? by my sword, i am in earnest in what i sayy—i will shoot down any man who disobeys my order. roche. i will auswer for the crew. the lady shall be handled as gently as a child in the arms of its nurse. omnes. ay, ay, the captain shall not complain of us. coc. (advancing.) i could wake thee, lady gay, with as blithe a serenade as ever tuned thy dreams to pleasant measures-but that i lack the instrument. and though i be not the cavalier of thy fancy, pretty rose of st. mary's-yet, by my soul, i love thee well enough to put myself to some pains to teach thee how thou shalt love me. we dance together on the green wave to-morrow, lass; little as you dream now of such merriment. and as i would not have thy blushes seen, i must lead thee forth before the day. now, boys! (advances and shouts.) what ho! fire, thieves, robbers! (strikes door of house.) rouse thee, rouse thee, master warden! (a scream is heard within-upper window opens-anthony warden appears at it. warden. what does this mean? who comes at this hour to disturb the family? who are ye, i say, that seek to disturb the rest of my household with your villainous shouting? coc. (aside.) auswer him, roche, i dare not. roche. open your door, collector, we have business with you. war. get you hence, drunken knaves, or i will call my servants and drive you off the grounds. coc. by my hand, if you do not open your doors, master warden, we will break them open, and quickly! war. who are you that speaks so saucily? coc. richard cocklescraft, an old friend, who, being about to put to sea, would pay his last visit to the officer of the port. throw open your doors, old man, or it may be the worse for thy gray head! war. (shouting inside and leaving window.) ho, michael, nicholas, thomas, up-we are beset! (richard cocklescraft and crew attack door, beating it down -anthony warden discovered in door with gun-servants appear behind anthony warden fires, and roche del carmine falls dead. war. (turning to servant behind.) give me thy gun, michael! i will teach these villains better manners. back, kuaves! (he is seized by two pirates.) unhand me, ruffians! help, help! (servants disappear-a pirate is about to strikce anthony. coc. stay that blow, coward! strike him and you fall by my own sword! (turning aside the pike with his cutlass-picture. blanche. (appearing at door, and springing forward.) save my father. oh, heaven, spare his life. men of blood, have mercy on his age! he is old-too old to do you harm. oh, save him? the black chapel of maryland, 31 coc. for thy sake, gentle mistress, if for no other, he shall not suffer harm! follow me, comrades, we have all we wish! (seizes blanche and raises her aloft in his arms—anthony entreating-pirates form group-tableau-closed in. scene ii.-the island of st. george. wood scene, with water in distance, in third grooves. enter richard cocklescraft with blanche warden and four sail01's, r. coc. (looking off) the brigantine should be in sight from here, and yet i see it not. have i again been foiled by that old dotard of st. jerome's? has he overslept himself, or given way to some freak of his devilish temper? why did i trust a laggard with this enterprise? yet he is trusty, and has a devil's spice in him that fits him for such a duty. he will be here anon; the wind has left him, and what he had was in his teeth; the escalfador does not keep pace with my longings. patience, patience, we will wait here for him. john of brazil, use your time to scoop a grave for our comrade roche, and see him buried as suits a brother of the coast. (one man exits r.) joseph, you and a messmate kindle a fire under yonder oak; our fair mistress is frozen into a dead silence. (exeunt two men.) harry skelton, get to the lower end of the island, and watch for the coming of the brigantine. (exit one man, l.) now, lady blanche, you shall have sway over the whole island. you have your liberty, pretty maid of st. mary's, so cheer up and make a fair use of it. blanche. save me! spare a wretched girl who has never imagined, thought or spoken word of harm against you. save me from a broken heart and bewildered brain; from misery, ruin and disgrace! if i, or any friend of mine, have ever given you offence, on my knees, (kneeling) and in the dust i entreat forgiveness. oh, sir, if one touch of pity dwells in your bosom, think of the miserable being at your feet, and send her back to her home. land me but on youder shore, and morning and evening i will remember you in prayers, and invoke blessings on your head! coc. arise, sweet girl, this posture does not become our queen. (stoops to raise her she shrinks back.) this is but a foolish sorrow. do i not love you, blanche? ay, by the virgin! and mean to do well by you. i have chains of gold and jewels rare to make you as gay as the gaudiest flowers of the field. i will bear you to an enchanted isle, where slaves shall bend before you to do your bidding. we will abide in a sea-girt tower upon a sunny cliff; and through 32 rob, the hermit; or, ..the your window shall the breezes from the blue atlantic fan you to evening slumbers. my gay bark shall be your servant, and ride at your command upon the wave; whilst our merry men shall take tribute from all the world, that you may go braver and more daintily. cheer up, my weeping mistress, your misfortune is not so absolute as at first you feared. blanche. (springs up-retreats a step.) base wretch! i dare to spurn your suit. defenceless i stand here--a weak and captive girl if it be the last word i have to utter-i abhor you and your loathsome offer. did you think-did you think, sir, when you stole me from my father's house-that fair speech from you or promise of gold, could win me to be your wife? with holy and saddest reveri call my guardian saint to hear my vow--though i die i never will be yours! ence, voices. (without.) a boat! we are followed, we are followed! enter pirates, hurriedly, r. coc. what! we are followed? stand, my lads, or-if needs be― scatter. oh, where can be that cursed brigantine! blanche. they come! they come! heaven be rescue me, praised, they will (a shot is heard. coc. (seizes blanche.) fire at your peril! you endanger the life of the rose of st. mary's! fly, men, fly, to the boat, to the woods! (exeunt pirates.) you cannot longer call me cruel, pretty maiden, for i give you back in pure courtesy to your friends. we have had a gay morning of it, girl-i would it had been longer. without asking the favor, i kiss thy cheek. farewell, farewell! (kisses her rapidly and exils, l. enter rob, the hermit, captain dauntrees, lord baltimore, albert verheyden, anthony warden, arnold de la grange and soldiers, r. arnold de la grange and soldiers cross to l., and exeunt. capt. (seizing blanche.) heaven bless thee, dear mistress blanche, your father is a happy man again! take her, friends, you best know how to comfort her. (hands her to anthony and albert, who welcome her.) by my troth, that trojan war and rape of helen they tell of was nothing to this! (exit l rob. (advancing toward albert.) oh, heaven, i have been reserved for this deed! i have saved his bride, as in mercy i was spared to save his life. come closer to me, boy, that i may look thee in the face once more-my eyes are old and dim. i have placed myself below my fellowmen, and grovelled in the basest companionship, but i have saved his life. ah, albert, i had made up my mind to save it even with loss of my own. lord b. robert swale, you were thought to be an honest, though the black chapel of maryland. 3333 solitary and misanthropic man-while you were, in reality, in partnership with ruthless men. long has the province rung with stories of wicked rites celebrated at the black chapel. no sorcery nor witchcraft hath wrought these terrors; but the trickery of lawless ruffians with whom you were bauded. the great services you have done in the saving of the secretary's life, and your removal of the brigantine and prompt repairing here to show us the hiding-place of the pirates, show an honest though late purpose of amendment rob. my lord, if a life clouded by disgrace and stung with misery may atone for one deed of passion, i pray that my fate may raise one voice of pity. sixteen years ago i sailed from the other side of the atlantic, my name hidden from the world, as i hoped to hide myself. our ship was wrecked upon this coast, and my wretched life was saved. i was found, famished and almost lifeless, upon the beach of st. jerome's, by kate of warrington, who lived a strange and solitary life in the woods near by. i recovered, and dwelt in a hut near the spot where the waves had left me, for many long and weary years. four years ago a band of buccaneers came to these waters. they tempted me. my old passions and thirst for gold returned, and i became an aid, comrade, ay, chief among them. enter captain dauntrees, arnold de la grange and soldiers, with richard cocklescraft, closely guarded, l. coc. hands off, hands off, i say! hemmed in and overwhelmed, i surrender, and ask no favor at your hands. (flings down his sword.) we came not here prepared for this. take your victory and make the most of it. lord b. viper! does no sense of shame abash thy brow, here, in the very presence of those thou hast so foully wronged? have the laws of the province no terrors for thee, outlaw? coc. i never acknowledged your lordship's laws. i have lived above them-coming and going as i would. i have but one master here, lord baltimore, and that is old rob, the hermit, my fellowprisoner with you. we will die together. rob. peace, knave! i know thee and thy villainies of old. never again call me comrade of thine. know you now, that i saved the secretary's life-that i gave back the daughter to her father's arms. coc. thou! thou! didst thou, then, betray me? rob. i foiled thee in thy horrid plot-i saved the boy's life, ha, ha! i saved his life; and left thee on the island without a refuge thy villainy deserved it. coc. foiled! foiled! of thy devilish betrayal. betrayed, and by thee! take the reward accursed, thrice accursed, die! (springs 34 rob, the hermit. upon rob, the hermit, draws long knife from rob's girdle, and stabs rob in the breast.) we meet at another tribunal ! (stabs himself the eart and falls dead-rob, the hermit totters-is raised by albert verheyden-blanche warden near albert--tableau formed by other characters in the background. rob. my web is wove. albert verheyden-thou lookest upon thy father-william wetherby-a man of crime and misery. thy hand, boy, thy lips upon my brow-there, there. pity me, my son. be happy with thy bride-and forgive me for thy mother's sake poor louise-louise(he sinks and dies-tableau curtain h. theyre smith's plays. price, 15 cents each. a case for eviction. one male and two female characters-light comedian, lady comedian and servant. interior scene; modern costumes; time of playing, thirty minutes. this breezy little play is so true to life that everybody enjoys it and, as a matter of course, it is always highly successful. a young husband and wife have a visitor who makes them twice glad-glad when he comes and doubly glad when he goes. the difficulties that the young couple experience in getting rid of their guest, without hurting his feelings, are laughable in the extreme. the guest, by the way, is heard but not seen-which fact gives rise to much comical business. no scenery whatever is required; and as every-day costumes are worn, the piece can be produced successfully without the slightest trouble. cut off with a shilling. two male and one female charactersjuvenile man, old man and lady comedian. scene, a sitting-room; modern costumes; time of playing, forty-five minutes. an exceedingly popular play, offering unusual opportunities for good acting. a young man who has married without his uncle's consent is cut off with a shilling. but the uncle meets his nephew's wife-not knowing who she is-and is so captivated by her wit, grace and beauty that, on learning who she is, he changes his mind, reinstates his nephew and allows the latter to return the shilling. the dialogue is witty, the action rapid, and the situations effective. "" a happy pair. one male, one female character-both light comedy. scene, a nicely furnished room; modern costumes; time of playing, forty-five minutes. a brisk little play, full of action and giving numerous opportunities for clever work. while entirely free from all "low-comedy business, it contains enough humor to be highly diverting. the quarrels of the "happy pair," and their final reconciliation can not fail to please, and the play is sure to give entire satisfaction either in the parlor or as a "curtain raiser" or afterpiece. my lord in livery. four male and three female characters-light comedian, low comedian, old man, utility, lady comedian and two walking ladies. parlor scene; modern costumes; time of playing, fifty minutes. an unusually bright piece brimming over with wit and humor. the three young ladies who permit a comic servant to meet them on terms of equality under the belief that he is a nobleman masquerading like themselves the happy-go-lucky young nobleman who is mistaken for a burglar-the comical old butler-all have a vast deal of laughable by-play and business. this play was a pronounced success in new york, and has been presented to crowde houses in all the principal cities of this country. the ease with which it may be staged, and the invariable success which attends it, make my lord in livery peculiarly adapted to the use of amateurs. uncle's will. two male and one female characters-juvenile lead, cld man and lady comedian. scene, a sitting-room; costumes, modern; time of playing, thirty minutes. this brilliant little play is a prime favorite in both europe and america, and is admirably adapted to the use of amateurs. the wit flashes like a diamond, and the dainty bits of humor scattered here and there keep up a constant ripple of pleased excitement. each character is a star part. the dashing young naval officer, the comical old man-in which mr. davidge made 1 pronounced hit at the fifth avenue theatre, new york-and the bright and spirited young lady, all are first class and worthy of the best talent in any dramatic club. which is which. three male, three female characters-juvenile man, old man, utility, two juvenile ladies and old woman. scene, a studio; costumes, modern; time of playing, fifty minutes. excellent and much patronized by amateurs. the amusing perplexities of the poor artist, who can not tell which of his visitors is the heiress and which her penniless friend-who mistakes one for the other-who makes love to the rich girl, supposing that she is poor, and determines to marry her in spite of her supposed poverty-and who finally discovers that he has proposed to the heiress after all-combine to make this a delightful play. any of the above will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address, on receipt of the annexed prices. as there are several editions of these plays offered for sale, good, bad and indifferent, purchasers will consult their own interests, when ordering, by specifying roorbach's edition. harold roorbach, publisher, 9 murray st., new york. new plays: price, 15 cents each. murder will out. a farce in one act, for six female characters, by l. m. elwyn. time of playing, 30 minutes. a breezy and effective farce, in which half a dozen bright girls can delight an audience with half an hour of innocent fun. grandmother stiles, and her demure but frolicsome grand-daughter, are excellent characters; dinah, the colored cook, is amusing, and bridget o'flaherty is a funny irish girl-her quarrels with dinah being exceedingly laughable. the attempts of lena and her merry friends, may and minnie, to hoodwink the old lady, and their final exposure, will keep the audience in a roar of laughter. old cronies. a comedietta in one act, for two male characters, by s. theyre smith. time of playing, 30 minutes. this is an unusually bright and clever little play, in which a couple of comedians can furnish a half-hour of pure, unrestricted fun. dr. jacks, the mild-mannered old gentleman, is in happy contrast with capt. pigeon, a bluff, gruff and noisy old sea officer. both are excruciatingly funny, and their sorrowful attempt to write a joint-stock love letter is one of the richest bits of humor ever presented. old cronies will prove a most acceptable afterpiece, and, if at all well done, can not fail to send the audience home in good humor. april fools. a farce in one act, for three male characters, by w. f. chapman. time of playing, 30 minutes. for a half-hour of roaring fun this farce has few equals. it is brisk, bright, and full of highly humorous situations. the characters are exceedingly well drawn-the nervous mr. dunnbrowne forming a marked contrast to the loud james smith, and both differing widely from the sad and sorrowful joseph smith. each imagin that the others are foolish, crazy or drunk. there are laughable blunders and side-splitting complications. misunderstandings follow one another in rapid succession, and the mystery grows deeper and still deeper. finally, when everybody gets into a hopeless tangle, it is discovered that all three are victims of a practical joker, who has made them "april fools." 66 "" miss madcap. a comedietta in one act, by charles townsend, for two male and one female characters. time of playing, 20 minutes. this bright and breezy little play sparkles like champagne, and is just the thing for a curtainraiser or an afterpiece. the story is well told, and the characters are well drawn. the youth who pretends to be a "tough," the young man who pretends to be a "dude," and the young lady who pretends to be a tomboy, all give scope for excellent acting. the piece has been played with pronounced success under the author's management. the darkey wood dealer. a farce in one act, by charles townsend, for two male and one female characters. time of playing, 20 minutes. ro ring farce in this author's happiest vein, totally unlike the ordinary "ethiopian" plays. each character is first-class. the "wood-dealer," beyond doubt, is one of the best negro parts on the stage. the deacon is a highly-amusing old man, and mrs. deacon (this p. may be played by a young man), a tremendous hit as a strong-minded" fema.e. this farce is certain to keep an audience in a roar, and has proved a sure hit as played under the author's management. a an old plantation night. price, 25 cents. a musical and dramatic entertainment for four male and four female characters, forming a double quartet. this is not a negro minstrel show, contains no boisterous " jokes nor conundrums, and is without a vestige of "tambo" or bones," or the conventional stage darkey. it is a simple but vivid representation of life "in de quarters,' ," embellished with song and story illustrating some of the quaint superstitions and frolicsome merry-makings of the mellow-voiced race. thoroughly bright throughout, the text is uncommonly well written, and the succession of incidents skilfully contrived, while its transitions from grave to gay can be made wonderfully effective by intelligent actors. the scene, a simple interior, can be arranged on any platform without set scenery; some old garments and a little discarded finery will suffice for the costumes; the " properties" are few and simple, and the music is within the capacity of fairly good voices, such as any ordinary church choir contains. wholly novel in conception, and singularly clever in arrangement, an old plantation night will prove highly acceptable to audiences of all kinds in church, school, lyceum, or parler. synopsis: uncle 'rastus and thomas jefferson.-" befo' de wah."-"swing low, sweet chariot."-an influx of visitors.-aunt marthy's story of the little possum. the rabbit cross.-limber jim.-the sunflower song.-the stylishness of some folks. the little white goat on the mountain "the gospel train."-polly and the screech-owl.-a husking bee.-the corn song.-little aaron's battlements. -old dan tucker. copies of the above will be mailed, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of the specified prices. harold roorbach, publisher, 9 murray st., new york. roorbach's american edition.—continued. : 25. murder will out. a farce in one act. six female characters. time, thirty minutes. 26. april fools. a farce in one act. three male characters. time, thirty minutes. 27. old cronies. a comedietta in one act. two male characters. time, thirty minutes. 28. cut off with a shilling. a comedietta in one act. two male, one female characters. time, forty-five minutes. 29. a case for eviction. a comedietta in one act. one male, two female characters. time, thirty minutes. 30, a happy pair. a comedietta in one act. one male, one female characters. time, forty-five minutes. 31. uncle's will. a comedietta in one act. two male, one female characters. time, thirty minutes. 32. popping the question. a farce in one act. two male, four female characters. time, forty minutes. three male, two female characseven male, two female charac3. not such a fool as he looks. a comedy in three acts. five male, four female characters. time, two hours and a half. 36. our boys. a comedy in three acts. six male, four female characters. time, two hours. 37. caste. a comedy in three acts, two hours and half. five male, three female characters. time, 38. home. a comedy in three acts. four male, three female characters. time, two hours. five male, three female charac five male, three female charac41. by force of impulse. a drama in three acts. nine male, three female characters. time, two hours and a half. acts. eight male, eight male, three four female charac45. wanted, a confidential clerk. a farce in one act. six male characters. time, thirty minutes. 33. that rascal pat. a farce in one act. ters. time, thirty minutes.. 34. solon shingle. a comedy in two acts. ters. time, one hour and a half. 39. meg's diversion. a drama in two acts. ters. time, one hour and three quarters. 40. miriam's crime. a drama in three acts. ters. time, two hours. 42. between two fires. a comedy-drama in three three female characters. time, two hours and a half. 43. saved from the wreck. a drama in three acts. female characters. time, two hours and a half. a comedietta in one act. 44. a lesson in elegance. ters. time, thirty minutes. 46. the triple wedding. a drama in three acts. four male, four female characters. time, one hour and a quarter. 47. second sight; or, your fortune for a dollar. a farce in one act. four male, one female characters. time, one hour. 48. under a cloud. a comedy-drama in two acts. five male, two female characters. time, one hour and a half. 49. strife. a comedy-drama in four acts. nine male, four female characters. time, two hours and a quarter. 50. tried and true. a drama in three acts. eight male, three female charters. time, two hours and a quarter. 51. crawford's claim. a drama in prologue and three acts. nine male, three female characters. time, two hours and a quarter. 52. ten nights in a bar room. new copyright version. a drama in five acts. seven male, four female characters. time, two hours. any of the above will be sent by mail, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of the price. harold roorbach, publisher, 9 murray st., new york. 66 townsend's amateur theatricals." a practical guide for amateur actors. price, 25 cents. this work, without a rival in the field of dramatic literature, covers the entire subject of amateur acting, and answers the thousand and one questions that arise constantly to worry and perplex both actor and manager. it tells how to select plays and what plays to select; how to get up a dramatic clubwhom to choose and whom to avoid; how to select characters, showing who should assume particular rôles; how to rehearse a play properly-including stage business, by-play, voice, gestures, action, etc.; how to represent all the passions and emotions, from love to hate (this chapter is worth many times the price of the book, as the same information cannot be found in any similar work); how to costume modern plays. all is told in such a plain, simple style that the veriest tyro can understand. the details are so complete and the descriptions so clear that the most inexperienced can follow them readily. the book is full of breezy anecdotes that illustrate different points. but its crowning merit is that it is thoroughly practical-it is the result of the author's long experience as an actor and manager. every dramatic club in the land should possess a copy of this book, and no actor can afford to be without it. it contains so much valuable information that even old stagers will consult it with advantage. helmer's actor's make-up book. a practical and systematic guide to the art of making up for the stage. price, 25 cents. facial make-up has much to do with an actor's success. this manual is a perfect encyclopedia of a branch of knowledge most essential to all players. it is well written, systematic, exhaustive, practical, unique. professional and amateur actors and act-. resses alike pronounce it the best make-up book ever published. it is simply indis pensable to those who cannot command the services of a perruquier. contents. chapter i. theatrical wigs.-the style and form of theatrical wigs and beards. the color and shading of theatrical wigs and beards. directions for measuring the head. to put on a wig properly. chapter ii. theatrical beards.-how to fashion a beard out of crêpe hair. how to make beards of wool. the growth of beard simulated. chapter iii. the make-up.-a successful character mask, and how to make it. perspiration during performance, how removed. chapter iv. the make-up box.-grease paints grease paints in sticks; flesh cream; face powder; how to use face powder as a liquid cream; the various shades of face powder. water cosmétique. nose putty, court plaster, cocoa butter. crêpe hair and prepared wool." grenadine. dorin's rouge. "old man's" rouge. juvenile" rouge. spirit gum. email noir. bear's grease. eyebrow pencils. artist's stomps. powder puffs. hare's feet. camel's-hair brushes. chapter v. the features and their treatment.-the eyes: blindness. the eyelids. the eyebrows: how to paint out an eyebrow or mustache: how to paste on eyebrows; how to regulate bushy eyebrows. the eyelashes: to alter the appearance of the eyes. the ears. the nose: a roman nose; how to use the nose putty; a pug nose; an african nose; a large nose apparently reduced in size. the mouth and lips: a juvenile mouth; an old mouth; a sensuous mouth; a satirical mouth; a one-sided mouth; a merry mouth; a sullen mouth. the teeth. the neck, arms, hands and finger-nails: finger-nails lengthened. wrinkles: friendliness and sullenness indicated by wrinkles. shading. a starving character. a cut in the face. a thin face made fleshy. chapter vi. typical character masks.-the make-up for youth: dimpled cheeks. manhood. middle age. making up as a drunkard: one method; another method. old age. negroes. moors. chinese. king lear. shylock. macbeth. richelieu. statuary. clowns. chapter vii. special hints to ladies.-the make-up. theatrical wigs and hair goods. copies of the above will be mailed, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of the annexed prices. harold roorbach, publisher, 9 murray st., new york. 5 st リスト ​5 23. 572 j: 1 285 widener hn 7lqp x ital. 2015.8.5 harvard college library the hermit in italy. the hermit in italy, or author of observations on the manners and customs of italy; being a continuation of the sketches of french manners, by m. de jouy, "l'hermite en prison," "l'hermite de la chaussée d'antin," &c. in three vols. vol. i. london: printed for geo. b. whittaker, ave maria lane. 1825. ital, 2015, 8.5 maryard college library the gift of friends of the library #xef 20 1939 (3 london printed by cox and baylis, great queen street. advertisement. in offering these volumes to english readers, the translator feels it his duty to state, that he has taken very considerable liberties with the original text. in any other work, except a book of travels, such a liberty would be inexcusable; in the present case there are reasons which not only excuse it, but even render it necessary. since the period when the hermit was in italy, a 3 vi many important changes have taken place in the political relations of that country; and it has been thought proper to omit some passages and insert others relating to such changes. the translator has likewise been very free with several other portions of the french work, abridging whatever appeared too diffuse, and adding to such notices as were obscure from their brevity; but in no case, he trusts, so as to injure or impair its value. having resided a long time in italy, and being familiar with all the scenes and objects spoken of by the hermit, he has en1 vii deavoured, whenever it appeared requisite, to supply any deficiency, and to correct any mistakes. the doble to hermit in italy. n° i. departure from paris. amans, heureux amans, voulez-vous voyager? que ce soit aux rives prochaines. la fontaine. italy!-what a strange journey! what a delightful anticipation for him whose heart swells with the recollections of latium,— whose imagination once more revives the enamelled meads, the laughing hills, and the refreshing groves of that old ausonia, which has never lived for him but in the description of her poets, the charm, and sometimes the despair of his youthful days. vol. i. b 2 departure from paris. i quit paris in the month of october, in a vélocifère; the driver dashes briskly along the muddy streets of the capital; the horn of the conducteur calls the good people of paris to gaze at the flying vehicle, which retains its speed until we arrive at the barrière of charenton, when the horses relapse into their habitual pace: their quiet movement suits the repose which the lungs of the conducteur require after his exertions on the horn, and every thing subsides into the tranquillity of those lumbering vehicles which are usually called diligences. there are five companions in the carriage; young, good-natured, most of them soldiers, and, like myself, bound for the alps. not a woman amongst us. we notice this with a chagrin which soon dissipates our mirth; but after the first salutations are over, we talk, sing, or sleep. the renewed trot, and the shrill note of the horn, tell us that we are entering into a village or town. such are the instructions of it is scarcely necessary to inform the reader, that this is one of the names given to the improved french diligence. departure from paris. 3 our terrestrial phaeton. throw dust-the proverb runs-into the eyes of the world; but here it is-din the ears with noise, and let those be deaf who can. at essonne, a placard, fixed on the gate of the burial-ground, announces the sale of the turf which covers the field of repose. how many souls, seen in the microscope of pythagoras, does the scythe of the auctioneer gather in anew! not one of us thought of raising the bidding, for it appeared perfectly just that the inhabitant of this place should rest in the peaceable enjoyment of a sod of which his ancestors have nourished the roots. a little further on, and we arrive at a larger town. the horses are spurred on by the sound of the horn and the cracking of the whip to a more rapid pace; and our diligence, rivalling the post itself, outstrips all other vehicles, or comes up with them at fontainebleau. i observe and admire the wide, regular, and neat streets of this town, situated upon a rising ground. we pass, on our left, the palace founded by louis vii., under whom the french poets arose, at the time the trouvères, or troubadours, appeared in provence. b 2 4 departure from paris. finished by francis i., who made it a residence worthy of kings, it was in this palace that henry iii. saw the light; here also, thirty years ago, might be seen the bloody stains of the murderer of christina of sweden. this palace, which had fallen into ruins during the revolution, was repaired under the intermediate government. nemours we passed through at night. this town is built on the ruins of grex, men tioned by cæsar. it is the native place of hédalin the lawyer, who afterwards turned ecclesiastic, and became abbé d'aubignac. he was the author of zénobia, which has long since fallen into the river lethe, whose presiding deity possesses a library more extensive than all the libraries of the civilized world united. we arrive at montargis too late in the evening to make any observations. one of my travelling companions recalled to my recollection the celebrity which a madame guyon, who was born at montargis in 1648, obtained throughout europe. left a widow in early youth, and devoted to spiritual things, she gave up her wealth to her children, and departure from paris. 5 set about disseminating her tenets. she put bossuet in opposition to fénélon, and took pleasure in denominating him her son. confined, afterwards set at liberty through the interest of madame de maintenon, who abandoned her, as soon as she saw her doctrines making their way at saint cyr: conducted to vincennes and to the bastille, she left it but to terminate her eventful career at blois, where she died in 1717. as we drew near cone, we were awakened by the noise of a quarrel betwixt the conducteur and the postilion, who, after nearly overturning us, placed his whole defence in three or four oaths, that far exceeded in expressiveness those of vert-vert. we discerned the loire running from the vivarais in extensive circuits, enriching and fertilizing the most beautiful provinces of france, which it too often desolates by its inundations. cone, which suffered so much in the civil wars of the sixteenth century, is a small town of which the cutlery begins to acquire fame, though far inferior to the more finished manufactures of moulins. we continue to have the loire within b 3 6 departure from paris. view, and already behold, in the tracts which it waters, the countrymen carrying long sharpened poles, with which they goad their oxen, as the roman labourers did in the time of virgil, completing slowly the laborious furrows. this sight carried me back to the happy era of the bucolics, and i already beheld in imagination those italian plains embellished by the richest cultivation; and the end of my journey was thereby brought nearer to me. we pass through la charité, which the protestants mastered, in the sixteenth century; surmounting the walls by means of wellropes, with which some of the inhabitants drew them out of the fosse. already i think i can hear the joiner of nevers-not the sound of his plane, but the ingenious notes of his lyre. all hail, master adam! art never made thee a poet.* thy light mallet kept pace with the movement of thy verses, and yet never beat out their good sense. thy works,† *poeta nascitur, non fit. + le rabot, les chevilles, le vilebrequin. departure from paris. 7 "the plane," "the pegs," "the gimlet," will for ever associate thy glorious surname of virgil with the plane. in thy hands, and under thy pen, even pegs have become the materials of poetry. nevers, although rather dull and ill-paved, contains in its narrow and crooked streets some pretty females. the hotel de l'image was graced with one of them, whose smiling face, combined with the hour of supper, promised to make our stay pleasant, and yet both of them could not prevent us from visiting the theatre. adieu, master adam! adieu, jacques de marigny whilst your works entertain the tenants of the chimney-corner, we roll on, each in a corner of the coach; we advance towards other climes, and already the dusky town of moulins offers to our view its steeples and its edifices. clouds of smoke rise above the forges lighted by the cutlers. some of the streets are wide, and some of the buildings regular; but before they can be reached, one must pass several narrow, winding, miserable lanes, entirely paved with pebbles. moulins, so called on account of a number of 8 ! b 4 8 departure from paris. mills that stood near it in former times, and heretofore famous for its seven elections, gave birth within its walls to jean de lingendes, a sentimental poet; gilbert gaulium, who composed an iphigenia before racine, and published a translation from the greek of the loves of ismenia and ismenias. this town even gave birth to a sophist, named claude bérigard; and to nicholas delarue, first physician of the queen de medicis. these gentlemen, without belonging to any of the seven electoral chambers of the town, nevertheless flourished in their time. as to the modern great men of moulins, we refer to palissot for the catalogue. the women who sell knives are sure to present themselves punctually, on the arrival of the coaches, box in hand, which they open with great show, and whose wonderful contents they most eloquently describe. whether you buy or not, they at least teach you the perfection, excellence, and fine quality of their wares. i pleased myself, however, in observing the straw bonnets, with deep brims in front and behind, of the elegant cutlers, or else their black mantles, descending below the waist. departure from paris. 9 whilst they were putting to the horses, the young man, who had reminded me at montargis of the history of madame guyon, proposed that we should visit the tomb of philip ii., duke of montmorency, beheaded at toulouse during the ministry of cardinal richelieu. "it appears to me," said he, in walking along the rue de paris, "that this is your first journey to lyons."-"yes, sir."—"then you are not acquainted with the very recent history of the lucretia of moulins?"-" no, sir."-" in that case, you will do well to enrich your memorandum-book with it. we have here an inn-keeper, madame painpart, whose virtue is highly respected throughout the bourbonnais. remark, that you are now exactly opposite her inn, and you can see her giving her orders to her household." i saw before me a stout and well-made young brunette, whose exterior reminded me of the heroine of domremy. "image to yourself," continued he, "that one of the customers at her table, drunk with love and wine, having one night introduced himself to her chamber, began to aci, in the most audacious manner, the part of tarquin; madame painpart seizes a flamb 5 10 departure from paris. beau, sets fire to her curtains, and, in the midst of a cloud of smoke and flame, gives the insolent traveller a vigorous blow with her hand, who escapes in the midst of the uproar. was it not perfectly right to denominate madame painpart the lucretia of moulins?" in the mean time we came in front of the lyceum, and obtained permission to enter the chapel in which is placed the monument that girardon * raised to the duke of montmorency. the tomb is of black and the figures of white marble. the fate, hercules reclined on a lion's skin, and fame, are highly esteemed, and appeared to me to possess great beauty. i remarked on one of the figures, the traces of a sharp instrument. when i testified my surprise at this, my complaisant companion informed me how the monument had been preserved at the commencement of the revolution, from the fury of the marseillese army. "but," said he to me, "time presses; we can chat as well while we are walking. a townsman of moulins," he continued, "preserved this object * born at troyes in 1627, died 1698. departure from paris. 11 of art by a happy presence of mind. its destruction was resolved upon already the marble was flying into shivers beneath the hatchet, when he advances, and exclaims, do you 'what are you about, citizens? not know that montmorency was a good patriot; that he was condemned to death only for having conspired against the tyrant louis xiii.?' as soon as he pronounced these words, the monument, but for its weight, would have been borne in triumph." not desiring to remain behind-hand in information with my conversing friend, "it was thus," i said to him, "that, at paris, the magnificent pavement of the invalides was preserved; the destroyers were given to understand that there the lilies were in their proper place, since the worthy republicans could trample them under foot." we reached the coach in the midst of a hedge-row of the women offering cutlery, and set off in the direction of la palisse. the sight of the mountains of la marche and of l'auvergne prepares the eye for that of the alps. the vallies begin to appear; and the mountains, crowned with forests of b 6 12 departure from paris. brown pine, flanked by rocks of granite, already rise to the clouds. the ploughed lands are of a reddish hue; the numerous hogs are covered with black hair. the women, as pretty as those of nevers, with their white teeth, spin flax with the spindle. we pass over a bridge built of the granite of the country. the numerous crosses set up in the different districts that we visit, are multiplied on the road to rouanne, an ancient town of the lower forez. it is built on the loire, which here begins to be navigable for boats. rouanne is the ancient rodanna of ptolemy, who mentions it as one of the chief places of the regusi, a people of celtic or lyonnese gaul. this place contains nothing remarkable; the paved road continues to be as bad as it was in the bourbonnais. during three hours, in the morning, we were ascending and descending the road cut through rocks and woods. we had felt, at rouanne, a gentle breathing of autumn; but at the tarare the frost, which whitened the tops of the pines, the oaks, and the birch-trees, as well as the departure from paris. 13 banks of the torrent, chilled us in the carriage, and obliged us to seek for warmth by threading on foot the winding paths which shorten the road and gratify curiosity. the lover of savage scenery here begins to taste the pleasures which he anticipates from the alps. he perceives, by turns, the mountain-tops bare or wooded, variegated with cascades and precipices. he hears the roaring of the waters which roll beneath his feet; and the cry of the crow, or the buzzard, as they wing along the "midway air." whether he descend or ascend, he experiences the difficulty of an uncertain step over pebbles, in the mud, or rolling sands, and is often obliged to catch hold of the branches to prevent himself from falling. we followed different paths in descending the tarare. one of our comrades left us for two hours; we thought he had lost his way, and made the mountains echo with our cries, till at last we found him again on the road in which all the by-paths terminate. he gave us an amusing account of a peasant who had taken fright and fled precipitately from his fur cap, moustaches, and long military cloak. 1 14 departure from paris. after quitting the mountain, we saw before us and upon each side, others-which looked like children of the alps-bound to the parent chain by a few scattered links. the greater part of these smaller mountains are under some degree of cultivation, for as yet the level spots are extremely rare. on a sudden we arrived at the breuneg, and discovered from its top other heights covered with dark pines, and vallies spotted with grey hamlets. the general aspect of the country was diversified by the numerous peculiarities of wild and romantic scenery. i stood, spite of myself, for some time in contemplation, and was only roused by the approach of the diligence, which fortunately had taken a longer circuit. after having made five leagues on foot, we found the three hours repose in the carriage before we arrived at lyons, very acceptable. no ii. lyons. ludus animo debet aliquando dari, ad cogitandum melior, ut redeat tibi. phædrus. it would be a difficult attempt to describe the feelings of a man who beholds for the first time a chain of lofty mountains. their hoary tops, as if to testify the old age of the world, glitter in the horizon like a circle of light. placed by nature to mark out the boundaries of empires, they defy the power of time, though they cannot triumph over the ambition of man. the sight of them opens a vast field for meditation: and yet, i know not how it is, that something sad and gloomy weighs down the wings of imagination. resuming my seat in the carriage, still i did not withdraw my eyes from the summits of the alps. it was almost painful to turn for a h 16 lyons. moment to some ruins of roman antiquity which bordered the road-the dumb relics which an idle curiosity still venerates upon the soil of the gauls, as if they proved any thing else than the melancholy truth, that our ancestors were once the slaves of the imperial republic. night had cast her shadows over the plain when we passed, as we entered the town, under the threatening precipices of pierrescise, which was crumbling before the labours of the miner, and had already obstructed part of the road with its fragments. my only business for that night was to take care of my luggage, and secure apartments at the hotel du parc. if we were to form an idea of a town from the excellence of its inus, i confess that i should have remained a fortnight at lyons, on account of the comfortable character of the hôtel du parc. besides, the evening i passed there was no way useless to me as an observer, and an unexpected visit i received induced me to remain for two days longer. m. de thiard, one of those respectable deputies who sit on the left side of the french chamber, had been sent into a disgraceful exile by lyons. 17 napoleon, and was then residing at a beautiful estate in the vicinity. happy are they whose imprisonment and exile are of such a sort. it was his nephew, m. de truchy, who came to pay me a visit. i had known him at paris, and seeing my name in the list of passengers, he followed me to the hotel. as my letters were for italy only, his visit was an agreeable and unlooked-for incident, and yet i could not be persuaded to sup with some of his relations, and compelled him to remain with me, and enjoy the curious and amusing conversation of a table d'hôte. whilst we were talking, i heard a knock at the door, and on opening it, a female of a certain age, with a mysterious air, solicited a moment's private conversation. i told her to speak-when she delivered to me a note with my address, and after requesting payment for her mission, she departed. what that note contained the reader may hereafter learn, but at present he had better not indulge in conjecture, for fear of being deceived. considerably fatigued, i was very glad to defer for one day my visit to the curiosities of lyons. the servant came to me at ten to say 18 lyons. that supper was ready. at first the company was rather silent, but it afterwards became more conversible. there was at table the wife of an actor of the theatre of the célestins. she began by demanding greater haste in the supper, as her husband, who was to play george dandin in the farce, was in the habit of finding her at home before him. this conjugal exactness pleased me the more, when at a quarter before eleven i saw her quit the table before the dessert, and leave the room. a minute or two afterwards a young tradesman did the same, and excused himself on the ground that a later return home would alarm his family. this twofold instance of punctuality gave me, i confess, a very high opinion of the morals of lyons, notwithstanding the letter i had received. the next day i set out with m. de truchy to perambulate the town. lyons is about half way between a capital and a provincial town. its situation at the junction of the saone, which here espouses its quiet current with the angry waters of the rhone, is delightful; yet, after all, it is but a poor place. the streets are narrow, crooked, and paved with lyons. 19 small sharp stones. in 1811, the disasters of its too memorable siege were not yet effaced, nor are they entirely so at the present day. here the genius of trade reigns supreme; the greater part of a population of 120,000 persons, subsists from the various manufactures which are carried on here. in walking along the quays, which no one should omit visiting, we have the imposing view of a large and rapid river, splendid hotels, and ranks of lofty houses. these quays, part of which are planted with trees, form the most interesting promenade of the city. there is another promenade open to the public on the place des terreaux, in front of the hotel de ville. the pavements of the quays are broad, though those of the streets are generally narrow, and hardly admit of two persons abreast. we visited the museum, where révoil, one of the most eminent painters of the lyonese school, was then engaged on his picture-the interview of francis i. and charles v. one of the librarians of the town gave me some curious information on the antiquity of the city of lyons. it was founded by lucius 20 lyons. numatius plaucus (in the year 712 of rome, forty-one years before the christian era,) on the hill lugdun, at present called fourvières. though founded by a roman colony, it took its name from the gaulish word lugdun, which signifies-hill of the raven. its earliest inhabitants were romans, and the remains of roman buildings and monuments are still to be met with. sixty tribes of the gauls erected a temple here to the glory of augustus. the emperor claudius, son of drusus, and nephew of tiberius, was born at lyons, and his birth confers no honour on the capital of celtic gaul. charlatans and mountebanks are numerous in the streets and barracks of lyons. i saw a woman, who for three halfpence exhibited herself with a long beard on her chin, which she offered to the examination of the curious. there was no appearance of trick about it, and she screamed with pain when any part of the beard was smartly pulled. it was on the 29th of october that i left lyons, in a diligence, for turin. there are no vélocifères on this part of the route. it requires four days and a half to make this jourlyons. 21 ney. thus we do not sleep at night in the inn; so much the worse for us, say the innkeepers, as the beds are prepared; so much the better for them, for we are obliged to pay for both supper and beds. yet even this might pass, if the supper were good and the sheets clean; but when i saw the napkins at table, i felt no desire to try the sheets on the beds which had been got ready for us. at bourgoin the women wear a small round straw hat, trimmed in the lyonese way. they have corsets of red, and short petticoats of blue, or else the colours are reversed. this spruce dress, however, does not give a better shape to the leg of those who ought to conceal it. our way was constantly up-hill, for the road to turin runs along a succession of ascents disposed in the form of amphitheatres. already we began to catch a glimpse of the mountain tops-the vallies enlarged into more distinct forms-the torrents tumbled with a dashing noise. we were approaching the frontiers of old france. here and there, on the edges of the precipices, we saw the cottages hanging as it were in the air. the 22 lyons. river dhire hollows out the vallies in the bosom of the mountains which separate france from savoy. arriving at the base of the bugey the road narrows itself, and winds amongst the nu. merous and iron-bound rocks. we are startled by the waters dashing from those vast reservoirs which time has collected and replenished in the alps. grey rocks, sprinkled with chestnut trees and alpine plants, are thrown into the shape of immense walls. the road becomes still more narrow and difficult, and is crossed by the foaming streams of the cascades, which leap along to bury themselves in the dark gulphs on our right. and yet these horrible places are inhabited. we meet with human beings-but pale,,livid, and apparently half-famished. children-mendicants in tatters-drag themselves slowly along the road, and solicit our compassion. one young girl was guarding two white she-goats, which she quitted at the approach of our carriage. the poor thing, only half covered with patches, and yellow in the face, screamed out in the most dolorous whine for almıs. marmontel was certainly much luckier than lyons. 23 we were, in his passage over the alps: we could not find any trace of his innocent and beautiful shepherdess. our course was very slow amongst this immense assemblage of matter, which seemed the brute remnants of the original elements of the globe. the road is cut along the slopes of the mountains, and though high above the abysses which murmured from below, yet even far higher up we saw the rocks, covered with brushwood and pines, and watered by the torrents, rear their peaks into the skies. the alarm of the traveller, as he looks down into the chasms beneath, is somewhat quieted by the palisades, which are built on the edge of the road. sometimes this protection is omitted, and then the skittishness of the horses, the relaxing of the reins, the meeting with other carriages, withdraw the eyes of the traveller from the romantic views around him, to the contemplation of immediate danger. in one place, the rocks form a half-vault over the road; the upper parts, humid with the dropping of mists and dews, seem ready to separate, and threaten to overwhelm the 24 lyons. passenger in their ruins. at another place the cries of large grey birds re-echo through the crevices; the eagle wheels round, and soars above the loftiest heights into the regions of the sun. the birds of prey, suspended in the air, fix upon their victims, and drop suddenly upon them with the rapidity and straightness of an arrow. it is like toiling through the ruins of a perished world. this vast solitude, whose heights alone are illuminated by the sun's beams, is broken by no other sounds than the tumbling of waterfalls and the screams of animals as savage as their haunts. the contemplation of such a spectacle excites a mixed feeling of dread and wonder, which chills and at the same time expands the soul. scarcely do we escape from one mountain, when we are obliged to toil up another still more steep and difficult. and thus, during the four days travelling from lyons to turin, do they succeed each other. from the tarare to mont-cenis is one continual march from steep to steep. the alps begin on the mediterranean side, near monaco, between genoa and nice; they end at the gulf of carnero, which forms part of that of venice. lyons. 25 on reaching mont châles, the frightful, and yet not unpleasing appearance of the mountains, assumes a more decided character. the rocks, threatening and enormous, look like portions of the world, listening to the roar of the torrents, which seem by their thunders to proclaim the grandeur and antiquity of these proud rivals of the clouds. through this terrific and imposing chaos, we catch glimpses of cottages, surrounded by patches of cultivated ground. low hedges enclose a sort of miserable orchard, and every thing wears the look of wretchedness and poverty. the mountain streams work their way through the black and charred rocks, and leave a gaping chasm, the edges of which are bordered with a few scattered and stunted trees. at one glance, we behold snow, sterility, and verdure. this dramatic prospect awakens reflection, melancholy, and even sadness. i do not blush to say, that my feelings led me into a train of romantic sentimentality, and descending from the carriage, separated from my companions, i repeated "the one loved name" to the rugged solitudes, and could scarcely refrain from tears. vol i. с 26 lyons. but, after all, what is there in these mountains, but the same chaos of ruin which the moral and physical world every where presents? a few years, perhaps a few days, and i myself shall be no more. we arrive next at the foot of the echelles, in the department of montblanc. this mountain was so named, because, in former times, the path-cut through a hollow which it was necessary to pass-presented nothing but a series of steps, like the ladder of a mill. this rude, but laboriously constructed passage, was probably the work of the romans. in 1670, charles emmanuel ii. duke of savoy, made, at the side of this roman work, a road which was passable, though with much difficulty, to beasts of burthen and carriages. the industry and genius of the people, have so improved and facilitated this route, that the heaviest laden vehicles pass over the echelles with comparative ease. the general width is about that of one carriage and a half, but in some places, two may pass without fear: near the middle of this road, and over the old passage of the cavern, which is no longer travelled, is the following inscription : lyons. 27 carolus emmanuel ii. sabaudæ dux, pedem. princ. cypri rex, publicâ felicitate partâ, singulorum commodis intentus, breviorem securioremque viam regiam, a naturâ occultam, romanis intentatam, cæteris desperatam, dejectis scopulorum repagulis, æquatâ montium iniquitate, quæ corvicibus imminebant, pedibus præcipitia substernens, æternis populorum commerciis patefecit. anno m.d.c.lxx. 2 during the times of the revolution this inscription was partially defaced: but in the printed papers which women on the spot distribute to travellers for a trifle, it is preserved as given above. these papers contain the inscription, a translation, and various extracts from the volumes of coyer, richard, lalande, and other writers on this pass of the echelles, to which they give the name of thermopylæ. the inscription itself is the production of the abbé st. réal. the reader will not withhold his praise from emmanuel ii. with less power, and fewer resources than the romans, he has outstripped them in the extent and usefulness of his work. but he, in his turn, has been excelled by my countrymen. it is our engineers who have c 2 28 lyons. thrown open to the world the free passage of the alps. in order to mount this long and steep ascent, it was necessary that several pair of oxen should be yoked to the diligence. the rocks on each side are more than a hundred feet high, and form a kind of gloomy echoing street. the slightest noise reverberates with a hollow sound through the passage. there the sun never comes to cheer the traveller, and the chill air comes upon him at every turn with a rushing force, which sometimes nearly overwhelms him. now and then, whilst we were toiling through this gulph, the sound of blasting rocks burst upon us from a distance, with a thousand echos, and then rolled away like the dying murmurs of thunder. the silence is often broken by the hammering of the labourers who are at work upon the road. it is the labour of a year to make eight or nine hundred feet. after passing over the most difficult of these mountain routes, we approached a small house, with a scanty enclosure, and a wood to the right. the savoyards were beating lyons. 29 down the fruit from the scattered trees which surround their solitary cabins. small cars on low wheels, and drawn by famished oxen, covered the road; and a half-ruined mill, in a cleft of the mountain, and turned by the waters of a cascade, added a little to the humanity of the place. no iii. ⠀⠀ chambéri. quanto più siamo uomini dabbene; tanto più ci costa il sospettar gli altri di non essere tali. guicciardini. amidst the murmurs of streams, torrents, and cascades, and with the distant view of a region whose animation foretels the proximity of a town, we enter into the ancient capital of savoy. chambéri is the chief town of the department of montblanc, and contains a population of from ten to twelve thousand inhabitants. what is there to be seen in chambéri? nothing: unless we consider it the ancient capital of the allobrogi. had not rousseau dated some of his letters from this place-had not the name of chambéri been written so often in his confessions-it could not now have excited the least portion of that interest which every traveller feels in enter11 chambéri. 31 ing within its walls. perhaps, however, the poverty-the laborious, simple, and religious habits of the people are not without their effect. in all other respects chambéri presents a view sufficiently unpleasant: streets narrow, winding, rugged, and in moist seasous filled with a black mud; houses covered with slate, ill built, old windows glazed in leaden frames; contracted squares; a few old galleries of stone, whose low vaults protect the quidnuncs, and passengers from the rain-these are the leading features of chambéri. the theatre has nothing remarkable about it except its size, which exactly suits the very small number of persons who form its audience. the public fountains are sufficiently numerous, though, considering the abundance of water running down from the mountains, and the dirtiness of the streets, a more copious supply of that cleansing fluid might be expected. the promenades are not without beauty; one may walk round the town through rows of pleasant trees. there are in this walk the ancient palace of the dukes of savoy, which in the course of a few years will cease to exist, except in ruins. 32 chambéri. in this town we passed the night, and as the comedians had departed a few days before our arrival, i occupied myself at home by. examining the turnspit of the inn where we stopped. the mechanism of this instrument, though not complicated, deserves the attention of every traveller. i do not recollect ever having seen any of the same kind in france. it is a kind of chinese parasol, or rather a widened cone, fixed in the chimney at the height of six feet and inverted, which is turned by the force of the ascending smoke. it communicates its motion to the other parts of the machine, so that without any other aid or spring the different meats are roasted alike. at chambéri, the females have for a long time adopted the french fashions, which they imitate with as much taste and elegance as the poverty of the country will permit. except amongst the lower classes, the french language is generally spoken. the middle and lower orders are as virtuous as any in europe. it is at chambéri that we first meet with the cultivation of silk, which forms so large a source of the riches of piedmont. as chambéri. 33 to the manners of the place, why should i attempt to make any observations, when i appear under no other character than that of a traveller in the diligence? i might have wished to reside for a few days amongst the amiable savoyards, but the conducteur summoned me at daybreak. at lyons my earlier companions in the diligence had left me, and at chambéri a new passenger, who had come from geneva, took his seat. i observed considerable inquietude in his looks, when the gendarmes asked for our passports. the rest of the passengers having fallen asleep, i was led, by a movement of curiosity, to ascertain who this new traveller was, and why he had been alarmed at the approach of the gendarmes. his face was that of a man of forty, with an expression of sadness, but not disagreeable: his shifting eyes and frequent sighs excited an indescribable interest in my bosom. i ventured to put some questions to him about two or three persons whom i had known at geneva, which appeared to embarrass him. every few minutes he gave way to deep sighs, and could scarcely repress his nervous and almost conc 5 34 chambéri. : vulsive emotions. this redoubled my curiosity but as i dared not attempt again to gratify it, i resigned myself to a thousand conjectures. on arriving at aiguebelle, the key to the maurienne, the mysterious stranger said to me, "here it was that the french, together with the spaniards, under the command of don phillip, duke of parma, beat the sardinian troops in 1742.". he then relapsed into his former inflexible silence. on the adjacent heights may still be seen old castles flanked with ruined towers, and the remains of battlements, which have not been inhabited for a century, and about the tops of which the crows and rooks wing their flight-now the only possessors of these deserted edifices. at short distances we meet with dilapidated chapels, originally built for the accommodation of travellers. on sundays and festivals the priests still frequent them, and celebrate the sacred rites of the catholic religion. just before we arrived at saint-michel three of us descended from the carriage, with the idea of taking a better survey of the country. we had scarcely put foot to earth before a chambéri. 35 tempest assaulted us of the most alarming kind. the wind bursting through the cran. nies of the mountain, flung clouds of dust and sand into our faces the whole atmosphere was so agitated, that we could not keep our footing, and even the horses themselves with difficulty preserved themselves from falling. over head, the light snow from the mountains was whirled off into clouds that almost hid the skies from our sight. it was only by firmly holding each other, and by keeping under the sides of the rocks, that we could make the slightest way against the whirlwind. in the pine forest, a thousand feet above us, we heard the loud cracking and uprooting of the trees, branches of which falling from the precipices, kept us in a state of constant apprehension. this storm lasted for nearly half an hour, when the wind grew calmer'; the diligence was once more put in order, we remounted, and arrived at saint-michel. after a short stay at this place, and a slight examination of its peculiarities, we resumed our route, and passed on to chambre, a rudely built village, no otherwise remarkable than for the contrast it presents to the meadows, 36 chambéri. covered with willows, mulberry trees, and pleasant gardens, in the midst of which it is situated. it is between saint-michel and the adjacent mountains that the picturesqueness of savoy is most strikingly exhibited. we passed through st. jean de maurienne, the ancient capital of the country. it is as poorly built as any of the contiguous villages, and is only remarkable for the deformities and goitres of the inhabitants. the next day, before the sun rose, we saw in the distance, in the bosom of this mountainous and irregular solitude, something which resembled a column of fiery sparks, and sought in vain to conjecture the cause. it is one of the tricks of the imagination to exaggerate and mystify whatever it meets with in strange and out-of-the-way places. what disturbed us so much, was nothing more than the flames of a furnace in the heart of a defile not far from us. still further on we passed a cascade, which poured down its frozen waters from a height of nearly fifteen hundred feet. the silence of these mountains is rarely disturbed by any sounds except those of the chambéri. 37 mules and horses, whose tinklings announce the approach of meeting carriages. whenever these warnings are heard, the ascending vehicle is obliged to move aside into the first convenient station, in order that the other may have room to pass. we pursued the new road, cut along the side of the mountains, with their summits high above us on one side, and a deep gulf below us on the other. the road itself was as easy as a plain. to have constructed this prodigious work, it was necessary to divide immense rocks-to divert the course of large and rapid waterfalls, or build strong bridges over them to cut away and smooth down the ruggedness of the mountain,-in short, to work marvels; all of which was done by the french engineers. in some places the path is so narrow and so frightful, that without palisades and stakes, a single blast of wind might precipitate the traveller into the abyss below. the aspect of these steep mountains-of their strange, gigantic and monstrous varieties-induced me and two of my companions to quit the diligence in one of the difficult passages. 38 chambéri. we enjoyed the imposing spectacle in all its details. without thinking of it, we wandered away from the diligence into one of the paths which diverge from the main route. the trampling of the horses and the clacking of the whips could no longer be heard, and we had reached the end of the path. any further progress was forbidden by rocks covered with snow. nothing else remained for us but to clamber over the rocks, by laying hold of the thorny bushes which grew out from them, and in this way we reached their tops. around us all was solitude and silence: not one living animal was to be seen. we then set out again, and descended from the middle of the mountain where the road ran—from rock to rock-from hill to hill-through trees and brushwood-over dashing streamsthrough drifts of snow and of sand-down to the torrent at the bottom of the precipice. we were obliged to traverse for more than half its perpendicular height the wood of bramant, formerly the dangerous route of travellers. whither to go? what direction to follow? shall we cross the torrent? cross it we must, chambéri. 39 or re-ascend the mountain, nearly two thousand feet, before we can regain the road. there was no fear of not ultimately finding the road again, but the diligence would have been gone on for more than three hours. nothing was left for us but to attempt the torrent, which fortunately had not more than three feet depth. on the other side we found a path, and soon we reached the main road. the diligence had passed through modane, a small village which we had left upon the right, and had descended by a circuit into the plain to termigone. it cost us nearly as much difficulty to reach this place, as it already had to seek our direction. after all, this sort of adventure is not one of the least amusing parts of travelling. it gives a fillip and a turn to the conversation, after getting back to the carriage. once more in our seats, we descended swiftly to lanslebourg, situated at the foot of mont cenis, where we arrived at seven in the evening. the inn of the golden sun is kept by an old lady, who during the campaigns in italy is said to have been in the good graces of nearly all the french generals, and even of its illustrious leader. she was ** 40 chambéri. not so old as she appeared to be, and i scarcely ever saw an uglier woman. of her amours she made no mystery, and related all their episodes with a frankness which would not have much pleased their heroes. the mysterious stranger listened to her shameless avowals with a compassionate smile, and we all gladly turned our attention to a wretched dinner, which nothing but a ravenous appetite could have found endurable. no iv. mont-cenis. garganum mugire nemus, aut mare tuscum. hor. long before daybreak we were roused from our beds, and found the morning, though it was only in the month of october, excessively cold. it is always so on the north side of the higher alps. the winter sun rarely penetrates there with its lukewarm rays, and the wind, in all seasons, comes there with a chilliness which it gathers from the glaciers before it descends into the vallies. i could scarcely imagine in what way we were to escape through the mountains which enclosed us on every side. how were we to pass over those lofty ridges, whose peaks were more than two thousand feet in height? their snowy tops glittered like immense suns, whilst 42 mont-cenis. their bases were wrapped in a dark gloom, here and there illumined by a straggling ray of light. if i enter here in greater detail upon a pass, which our countrymen in the days of their glory have so often marched through, it is because no traveller has hitherto given an exact notion of mont-cenis. perhaps this arises from the different impressions which grand objects make at the first view upon different minds, or perhaps, travellers are so anxious to reach tuscany, rome, or naples, that they entirely neglect upper italy. it is too much the nature of man to send, as one may say, his imagination in advance, and to lose the enjoyment of the present, in the anxiety to grasp at the future. my travelling companions were an uninteresting set of persons, who looked upon their journey as a fatiguing business, and were eager to arrive at their destinations. one was bound for florence, where he expected a situation in the tax office; another, for genoa, where he meant to apply for employment in the excise ;-two military men, who had been on a furlough in consequence of their 2 mont-cenis. 34 wounds, were in terror lest they should arrive at their regiments too late for proceeding with them to join the grand army. the mysterious person of whom i have already spoken, and whose laconic answers filled me with despair, made up, with me, the complement of our vehicle. after passing over several smaller mountains, we arrived at a defile, through which we beheld montcenis, whose summit rose through the clouds which hung around its sides. this was the last that remained to be passed before our arrival at turin. the beautiful road which has since been made for heavy carriages did not at that time exist. ours had been taken to pieces at lanslebourg, where we were furnished with about twenty mules, to transport us, our baggage, and the pieces of the diligence. each mule was hung round by five or six tinkling bells: the noise of our caravan may be easily fancied. it was necessary for us to pass the mountain by a rugged path, often running between two abysses of such depth, that the slightest false step of the mule was sure to dash both animal and rider into pieces. such accidents, however, rarely * 44 mont-cenis. happen. they place their cautious feet in almost the very same tracks which their predecessors have trodden for ages. the traveller need not hold the bridle, except to steady himself in the saddle. it might be fatal if he attempted to direct the mule, who is much better acquainted than he is with the path. equally dangerous would it be, if he suffered his terrors to agitate him, when in turning a sharp angle, he sees the head of the beast over one precipice, and his hinder feet just on the edge of another. we endeavoured by gaiety to dissipate alarm; marching along in files, we made the mountains echo with our songs. the waterfalls, the woods, defiles and vallies, repeated the cadences. it is surprising that no instances should have occurred of robbers having taken advantage of these passes, rendered so favourable to their purposes by the obscurity of the defiles, and the embarrassments of the traveller. our march extended into the night, when we were in the middle of the perilous career. in returning from italy, it is the custom to ramasser, that is, to descend the mountain on mont-cenis. 45 a sledge. two persons place themselves on one of these vehicles, drawn by a single mule, with a guide who steers it with a staff. the sledge glides over the frozen snow with great rapidity. some prefer to be carried over in a sort of litter. this last mode of conveyance costs each person about twenty-four francs; with a sledge the traveller pays twelve francs; with the mules, the expense is paid by the conducteur, and is charged in the fare. it is said that about six francs each is allowed for this expense. in proportion as we ascended, the severity of the cold increased, to a degree almost intolerable. these wild regions, surrounded by eternal snows, are subject to cold blasts, sudden storms, and frequent avalanches. the latter happen generally in the months of may and june, when the snow begins to melt they are dangerous, not only to individuals, but likewise to whole villages. the whirlwinds are less rare, and take place in the winter months. they sweep away the snows from the summits, and sometimes blind the traveller. they fill up the gulphs and make them level with the contiguous heights, so & 46 mont-cenis. that the unwary traveller often loses his life by mistaking the route. on the top of the mountain a cannon has been placed, for the purpose of indicating to travellers the approach of these fearful storms, and to enable them to gain the shelter of the stations which have been constructed in different parts of the road. when the blasts are over, the persons who occupy the canteens wander about in search of any unfortunate travellers who may have lost their way. on mount st. bernard, this benevolent duty is performed by sagacious dogs, who are trained up to this duty. formerly, it was necessary in travelling this road to pass through a long grotto: but that gloomy and difficult passage was abandoned for another route, at the distance of a few hundred paces. the old road has since. been resumed, and the subterraneous passage greatly enlarged, in order to avoid the sudden wind-storms to which the new one was subject. we continued to ascend for an hour and a half to the summit of mont-cenis, and the whole party stopped at the great cross. by using the word summit, i do not mont-cenis. 47 wish to lead the reader into any mistake: it is a summit only in relation to the point of our departure, that is to say, it is the highest part of the whole road. still it is not more than half way up the mountain, whose sides, peak, and needles, ascend to a height nearly equal to that which we had already mounted. some travellers and scholars have asserted that it was by mont-cenis that hannibal entered italy. this is one of the obscurities of history which can never be cleared up. if however it were true, that from the height of the alps the carthaginian soldiers beheld the beautiful plains of italy, all the probabilities would be in favour of mount-viso, the only one of all the alps, from col-de-tende to the venetian alps, which affords a practicable place whence italy, that is to say piedmont, could be discerned. at every other place it is impossible to march along the rugged steep outside. within the mountains it is less difficult to follow the course of the vallies, which, though considerably above the level of the sea, are nevertheless shut out from any extensive prospect by the lofty ledges which surround them. # 48 mont-cenis. after a short stay we passed on. i do not envy the people of the grand-cross their habitation. they consist of a family, and are condemned for nine or ten months of the year to live in the midst of frost, snow, and ice. although much higher than any parts of france or italy, yet they lose sight of the sun two or three hours earlier each day. still, though surrounded by ice, they may, in certain parts of mont-cenis behold flowers and butterflies in all seasons. spots of verdure hedged round with snow are not unfrequent, and the lake on one of the platforms of the mountain remains unfrozen for half the year. those who wish to learn any thing of the natural history of mont-cenis should read the erudite works of messrs. saussure, lalande, and bourrit. it is my office, in this voyage of pleasure, to describe only the gay or sentimental impressions to which reflection sometimes imparts a moral value. the plain which covers the summit of mont-cenis, is nearly three quarters of a league in length. here it was that, in the conception of his gigantic plans, napoleon resolved to construct a town, and the triummont-cenis. 49 phal arch, which he afterwards decreed to the "grand army," when victory began to be treacherous. in 1809, prince borghese, governor general of the departments beyond the alps, came with great pomp and ceremony, accompanied by all his court, to lay the first stone of those vast barracks, which were only recently terminated. it is on the plain of mont-cenis, that we find the hospice of those excellent monks, who have so generously devoted their lives to humanity, and the exercise of all the offices of hospitality. they live there happy in the consciousness of bestowing happiness upon others; they accept no remuneration from the travellers, whom they have treated like brothers; under the inspection of their worthy chief, dubois, they divide their time between study, the exercise of the kindest duties, and the practice of a religion, which, as they practise it, is without a spark of fanaticism. at the extremity of the plain, we commence our descent of the southern side of the mountain. the north winds begin to lose their privilege of chilling the powers of the earth vol. i. d 50 mont-cenis. 1 and animal life. we contrive to sit upon our saddles with less constraint; our tongues move with greater freedom, and we pour forth our songs with greater glee. but we are still compelled to make our downward path through the mountain mists-above which, the snowy crested mont-cenis glitters in the bright sun. at night, we beheld in the distance a shifting glimmer of lights, which seemed every moment to approach us more nearly. this is one of the practices of the people of this district, which combines a beneficial result with an interested motive, every night, the inhabitants of the novalèse, carrying lighted torches, wait for the arrival not only of caravans, but likewise of solitary travellers as they descend mont-cenis, and, for the sake of two or three francs, illuminate their route into the town. novalèse is a sombre piedmontese town, situated in a narrow defile. having nothing more agreeable to do, we ate, drank, and slept there. the bread here is singular. it is shaped like a ring, slender, crisp, and pleasant to the taste. it is called gressini, mont-cenis. 51 and buonaparte was so fond of it, that he ordered it to be sent to him regularly from turin. in the course of our next day's travel, before we arrived at suze, we were struck by the view of the fortification of brunette, which occupies the height of an isolated mountain. this fortress, which appears quite impregnable, was taken in an assault by the french. the capture of this place appears miraculous, and almost exceeds the power of the imagination. suze is the first town in piedmont, and lies nearly at the base of mont-cenis. it is said to have been originally founded by a roman colony, which established itself there when augustus caused a passage into dauphiné to be opened. this colony probably intended to carry on an intercourse of trade with the gauls, for, as to any incentive to settling there, it is difficult to conceive it. the town is ill-built, irregular, and badly paved. the remains are still to be seen there of a triumphal arch, raised by the founders in honour of the emperor augustus. • d 2 52 mont-cenis. from suze to turin, is just forty miles. about half-way, we bid adieu to the mountains, and enter upon the country of plains, where a softer air announces the mildness of the climate. we meet with young piedmontese girls, in short petticoats, and round felt hats, ornamented with black plumes. the vines are here "married to the elms;" mulberry trees border the roads; the meadows are still green and smiling, although the mowers are cutting the last sproutings of the season. rivoli, built on a small hill, is a pleasurehouse of the king of sardinia. this country seat does not possess the same cast of beauty with those royal residences which are to be met with in the vicinity of paris. a long, wide, and beautiful road, planted with trees, leads from rivoli to turin, a distance of eight miles, with a gentle descent all the way. the plains upon the left are diversified, fertile, and watered by a great number of canals, into which the waters of the river doire disperse themselves. this plain stretches into lombardy, and terminates at the gulf of mont-cenis. 53 venice. it was under the influence of all those delightful feelings which the prospect of a beautiful and civilized country excites, that we entered turin by the gate of suze, and the rue de la doire, which is incontestably the finest street in europe. no v. turin. bei marmori, pomposi epitafi, ma se tu le schiudi, vi trovi vermi e fetore. foscolo, lettere di jacopo ortis. what the novelist has said of sepulchral monuments, may be justly said of society at large, and perhaps with more severe justice of italy, than of the rest of europe. that art of pleasing by the aid of hypocrisy, which under the name of politeness regards the external conduct only, is the principal cause of our being so easily and largely seduced, in this fruitful age of illusions. we enter into the world with the most benevolent dispositions; we feel a willingness to love all whom we meet; but as soon as we begin to know our species, we must either hate or despise them. the truly wise man contents himself with pitying them; and certainly, he has no slight task to achieve, if he weeps turin. 55 over all their imperfections. the author, whose name is affixed to the motto of this chapter, enjoyed in his country a great reputation at the time of which i am writing. he lived at milan when i visited italy for the first time. with a single phrase has he vividly described the fortunes of that ancient country, when he calls it "the eternal domain of victory." in vain have poetry and the arts lavished their enchantments under a sky, after that of greece, the purest and most beautiful of europe ;-political slavery has never ceased to bind down the generous-minded people who inhabit it; and that land, from which marched forth the legions which subdued the world, has no longer the poor freedom of a choice of masters. italy! o italy! at the bureau of diligences, my fellow travellers separated with as much indifference as they had met. after having drank, laughed, sung and slept together, we quitted each other without saying-farewell. thus is it with travelling friendships; if the same persons never meet again, they fall in with others, and in this fugitive world, perhaps, 56 turin this ought to satisfy its inhabitants. as i was leaving the office, the traveller of whom i spoke approached to my side, and said to me in a low tone of voice, "until now i have been unwilling to address you, but in a few days you shall know me; i shall alight at the hotel de londres, in the square of st. charles; make no attempt to visit me until i send to you," i gave him my promise, and the stranger went his way. my first business was to find a lodging, and turning to a cabassino, the name which, in piedmont, is given to the commissionaires,* i requested his assistance. it would not have been discreet to suffer him to lead me to the hotel de londres, though i knew it to be the best in turin. my guide, after taking possession of the luggage, took me through narrow streets to the hotel of "the good woman," so called from its having the sign of a woman without a head. unwilling to set about delivering my letters of recommendation, on the first day of my arrival, i took the opportunity of employing the afternoon in visiting the * these terms can scarcely be rendered into english, except by a paraphrase. 1 turin. 57 1 different quarters of the city, and of promenading under the beautiful arcades of the place du chateau, and the rue de pô. perhaps there is no town in the world to be compared to turin for the perfect regularity of its streets. it is built on the plain which stretches out at the foot of a delicious hill, near the base of which runs the river po. turin, in the time of cæsar, was called colonia julia; but its inhabitants had already borne the name of taurini, whence augustus gave the city the name of augusta taurinorem. it is believed, although no author has furnished any authentic documents on the subject, that the name taurini was derived from the beauty of the bulls (tauri) which this part of italy furnished the romans for their bull-fights. about twenty years since, there was still to be seen a brazen bull (which the inhabitants regarded with the greatest veneration) on the top of a tower in the rue de la doire. the french destroyed the tower, in consequence of its encroaching too far into the street, and the bull was stowed away in one of the lower rooms of the academy. this famous bull sometimes indulged in loud d 5 58 turin. bellowings, which arose from the wind blowing through it. subjected at first to the romans, turin was ravaged in succession by the goths, huns, and herculi. it was afterwards in the power of the bourguignons ;-the lombards seized it in their turn;-in the sixteenth century it fell into the hands of the french, again in the seventeenth, and was likewise besieged by them in the eighteenth, under the command of the famous catinat, after he had gained the great battle of staffarde. on the 3d of july 1798, the french, by permission of the king of sardinia, occupied the citadel:— suwarrow made himself master of it the following year, after an obstinate combat between the city and the citadel, which are close to each other. i saw, in the lascaris palace, cannon balls sticking in the walls in the midst of mirrors, pictures, and hangings. at length in 1802, piedmont having been annexed to france, it was divided into departments, and by a decree of 1807 erected into the general government of the departments beyond the alps. turin was the capital city. this government comprehended, besides piedmont, turin. 59 the state of genoa, and, a short time afterwards, the two grand duchies of parma and placentia were added to it. but to quit the tone of history; after lounging about for two or three hours, i entered into the café du rondeau, near the gate of the pô, where i encountered a little hunchback whom i had known at paris at the beginning of the revolution. i shall not mention his name, but all who have been at paris will immediately recollect him. never was there a man more droll, gay, witty and lively than this little fellow. he was almost without education, but it was impossible to have received from nature a better heart or a more correct judgment. his deformity did not prevent his being received with welcome by the other sex, and no one was more gallant than he. when i met him he was in company with a large fine woman of volpian, (a piedmontese town,) who went by the name of la volpiana. after having conversed with him a short time, i was afraid of disarranging his tête-à-tête, and went out. thanks, however, to his counsels, i was under no sort of embarrassment as to the disposition of the 60 turin. rest of the day. i learnt from him that there was an excellent french restaurateur named dufour, in the place du chateau; that not far distant there was a good reading room; and that in the evening la donna soldato, an opera of pavesi, was to be performed in the carignano theatre, in which the famous prima donna gafforini was to sing. first i went to dufour, and from the manner in which every thing was served, and the number of french at the table, i might have fancied myself at paris. a piedmontese nobleman, the count de s-, was pointed out to me as being a regular frequenter of the house. two officers of the 7th regiment of hussars, then stationed at turin, aware of my recent arrival from paris, entered into conversation, and told me who he was, in answer to my questions relating to this strange and severelooking man. for nearly ten years the count de s has spoken to no one. with the point of his knife he indicates what he wishes to be served with. he frequently rides on horseback, and frequents theatres and public walks; but nothing has ever been able to force him into a breach of the oath of eternal turin. 61 + silence which he swore at the age of twenty. at that age he had the misfortune to commit some indiscretion that occasioned a duel, in which his most intimate friend fell, and he resolved from that moment never to utter another word, and no effort, no persuasion has been able to break his resolution. finding myself opposite the entrance of the carignano theatre, i went in by a paltry door, and from an adjoining desk bought a ticket for the first circle, for which i paid only twenty sous. i mounted the staircase-marched along the lobby—and sought in vain for some one to open a door. i ascended another pair of stairs, but still no one was to be met with. at last i returned to the entrance-door, and tried to make the ticket-seller comprehend that i wished to go into a box. he answered in a jargon as barbarous as it was unintelligible, and ended by putting into my hands a key, for which i was obliged to pay four francs. this was equally incomprehensible to me, until a gentleman in very good french explained the nature of my embarrassment. the ticket which i had first bought admitted to the pit only, or for such boxes as might 62 turin. contain any one of my acquaintance. with respect to the key, it belonged to a box which became my own for the four francs. the number of the box, and the side of the theatre, whether left or right, was engraved on it. this was very vexatious, as one of my principal objects was to enter into conversation with some one, and now i found myself alone in the first circle, separated from the rest of the audience, who, as the boxes gradually filled, cast their eyes towards my solitary sojourn. happily the extreme darkness of the house relieved me from any severe scrutiny. this darkness enables those who wish it, to come without any parade of dress, and thus, with the low price of the tickets, it is in the power of families not wealthy to enjoy the amusement of the theatre at a moderate expense. this mode of passing one's time is agreeable as well as economical, for during the whole evening, visits were made and received in the boxes. some persons even turn their boxes into a source of profit, by sending the key to some café, and if in the course of the season they can dispose of it twenty or thirty times, they are enabled to enjoy the turin. 63 performances gratis for the rest of that period. the silk curtains before the boxes, and the draperies of red, blue, green and yellow above them in each tier, produce an agreeable effect, and give a more pleasant appearance to the house than the french theatres have. i was already acquainted with la donna soldato by reputation, and also with gafforini, for whom the opera had been composed. both greatly exceeded my expectations. the contr'alto voices have a prodigious charm with them, and besides, no italian actress that i had seen (with the exception of madame pasta) played or sang with so much expression as gafforini. it was said that her expression was so remarkable, that the viceroy of italy, immediately after his marriage with the princess of bavaria, prohibited gafforini from singing at milan, che vuoi la bella rosa, which she introduced into almost all her parts. this actress had also another sort of reputation, but i cannot say whether it was deserved or not, notwithstanding the information of my witty hunchback, who was a kind of scandalous chronicle for the north of italy. after the first act of la donna soldato, i 64 turin was surprised to see the curtain rise for a grand serious ballet, in which for the first time i witnessed what are called i signori groteschi; among whom was the famous calabrese, who, though a little on the wane, was still a prodigy of agility and strength. these grotesque dancers, male and female, flung themselves into all sorts of positions, and elicited the most frantic expressions of joy from the spectators. imagine a group of males and females in constant and violent motion; one feat of strength succeeding another; pirouettes, leaps, bounds, and turnings, without the slightest grace, but so rapid that the eye cannot follow them, and some notion may be gathered of italian grotesque dancing. it has been well described by saying, that it is going up like a feather and falling like lead. to my mind it is nothing else than the principles of the romantic applied to dancing: one may discover between these fearful contortions and the graceful movements of vestris and albert, the same difference which there is between the romances of lesage and the wild creations of the viscomte d'arlincourt. after the ballet the opera was renewed, and turin. 65 then followed another comic ballet, in which the grotesque dancers exhibited a new set of performances quite as surprising as the former. after the whole was over, i returned to my hotel, and set down on paper my first impressions of turin, little supposing that i should ever commit those impressions to the confidence of the public. no vi. ―― the piedmontese. carpamus dulcia, nostrum est quod vivis, cinis, et manes et fabula fies. persius, sat. v. i had already been eight days in turin, when i received a letter from my unknown travelling companion, whom i had nearly forgotten, in the midst of the dissipations of the town. "to-morrow, the 2d of december, be on the boulevard borghese, opposite the cannon foundry, at two o'clock, and you will not have to wait for me long." this letter was without signature, but i easily divined whence it proceeded, and took care not to fail being at the place and time it appointed. for nearly half an hour i walked up and down the boulevard, remarking that j the piedmontese. 67 nearly every one who passed was dressed in black, and that many wore crape. perhaps there is no city where the fête des morts is more religiously observed than in turin. at length i perceived the stranger approach, enveloped in a large cloak. "sir," said he, as he met me, "long misery has taught me but too well how to judge, from the human physiognomy, the most secret feelings of the human heart. i saw to what a pitch i was an object of curiosity to you, and i will not conceal from you my pleasure at having excited it. i am now come to satisfy it. i am the count de vivalda, my family, rich and highly respected, is one of the most ancient in milan. in early youth i dissipated nearly all my fortune, since which i have visited all the courts of europe. in another hour i shall quit turin. the slightest indiscretion on your part with respect to what i am about to tell you will cost perhaps your life. i am going to rejoin my friends, and impart to them the means i have employed in order to ensure to us an honourable asylum in america. our wealth is at present immense. i have shared with the brave meino the honour 68 the piedmontese, of commanding the heroes of narzoli, whom your crowned brigand, napoleon, has pursued with his soldiery, as if they were nothing better than robbers. take this ring, and should you ever be arrested by them during your stay in italy, the sight of this will procure you good treatment and respect from our bands.” i could not dissemble my surprise and horror. -"calm yourself: i am not here to exercise any of my professional functions, and unless you entertain the same prejudices with the greater part of mankind against our noble pursuit, you will see that few others admit of so many fine opportunities for the display of virtue. there is no enterprize so hazardous as to prevent us from undertaking it. two years since, for instance, general menou, governor of turin, set on foot an incredibly active pursuit against us. meino and i disguised ourselves as staff officers of the french army; by the information we received from within the city, we made ourselves masters of the pass-word; at midnight, under pretence of an urgent order, we entered into the general's chamber, and, when alone with him, we made ourselves known, and addressed him thus: the piedmontese. 69 'whilst you are endeavouring to capture us, you yourself are our prisoner: put an end, therefore, to these useless pursuits, for if we return here again, it will not be merely for the purpose of giving you 'good counsel.' we then withdrew, and before day-break had regained the mountains, where our quarter-general was established. when the beautiful madame meino was captured and taken to alexandria, her husband, alone, and in the dress of a gendarme, presented himself before the general, wearing in his button-hole the cross of an officer of the legion of honourwhich very cross he had torn from the breast of salicetti, that infamous italian who sold naples to the french. meino signified to the general, that he allowed him three days, within which he demanded that his wife should be restored to him. the second afterwards, madame meino was free. had it not been so, on the third day, general dwould have ceased to live, and i myself would have remained at alexandria, to redeem the pledge of my friend. do not believe that we feel any pleasure in shedding human blood; we rarely kill any one, and only when com展 ​ 70 the piedmontese. pelled to do it. our band is subjected to the severest discipline; we never carry off women, or suffer any assault to be made on their modesty. if you wish to hear it, these are our ordinary occupations. there are in italy a considerable number of rich proprietors, of whose persons we get possession, and take them to some safe place, where every possible care is taken of them. they are kept there as hostages. the duration of their captivity depends entirely upon themselves. we fix upon a ransom for them, always in proportion to their fortunes. they appoint a period within which this ransom ought to be paid, and write to their families, indicating the spot where the money ought to be deposited. we take upon ourselves the trouble and responsibility of delivering the letters, and keep the writers as hostages. the punishment of death is immediate, if any declaration of the capture be made to the public authorities; but when the money is paid, our guests are reconducted, with their eyes bandaged, to a short distance from their own habitation. thenceforward they are safe, for we never attack the same person twice. but," continued vivalda, the piedmontese. 71 "there is no company so good, that we are not sometimes obliged to quit it: farewell, sir-i require no oath from you, for i need none: you were curious-know how to be discreet, and do not part with the ring i have given you; it is a better safeguard than all the passports in the world." with these words he disappeared. "humph!" i exclaimed to myself, "this count vivalda is indeed a strange fellow, and this is a lesson to me not to be too attentive hereafter to mysterious travellers." nevertheless, i was not sorry to have learnt these details. i could scarcely reconcile the persuasive manners of the count with his profession. i have since been informed, that he, meino, and the rest of the troop, after having fought several times successfully against the gendarmerie, were finally made prisoners in a farm-house, whither they had fled, and which it was necessary to set on fire in order to capture them. meino was a young man of twenty-four, remarkably handsome. they were conducted to turin, covered with wounds. the court of assizes condemned them to death, and they were executed at the 72 the piedmontese. ordinary place of execution-in the quarter of the jews, near the post-office. the cross of salicetti passed from the button-hole of meino to that of the lieutenant-colonel of the gendarmerie of alexandria, who had led the force which captured them. after this last event i considered myself absolved from all obligation to secrecy. when my interview with vivalda was over, i returned to my lodgings to change my dress for a suit of black, as i hold it extremely ridiculous not to conform to the usages of the country where we are. i then walked under the arcades of the rue de pô, and as i saw the crowd of pedestrians directing their steps beyond the city, i followed them mechanically. the prince of borghese passed in an elegant curricle with two beautiful grey horses. on every face i noticed an appearance of unusual abstraction: at length, after a quarter of an hour's walk in the midst of a crowd which increased every moment, i arrived at the cemetery, where around a square court were the monuments beneath which lie the vaults of the principal families of piedmont. we stopped near a mound where the earth was the piedmontese. 73 yet quite fresh, and on which had been thrown handfuls of flowers. i was told that in this spot a young and lovely girl of eighteen had been interred the preceding day. reduced to the last stage of misery, with no alternative but death or pollution, she had found her refuge in the arms of death. evening was coming on when i returned to the city, after having followed for some time the outer boulevards, which, since the french have demolished the ramparts, form round turin a beautiful promenade. the churches were crowded-and the ranks of kneeling devotees reached even to the steps before the doors. i was more than ever alive to melancholy impressions, when happily i fell in with the witty hunchback, on the staircase of the restaurateur. "stop," said be. "if you wish to have a little quiet chat, let us dine together in a private cabinet; for as every body knows me, we shall be interrupted every moment.' i assented; and no sooner had the waiters beheld my little friend than his name flew from mouth to mouth, and the master instantly came up to ask what he 29 vol. i. e 74 the piedmontese. should serve us with. the whole house appeared to be at his disposal. 66 well, now," said he, as soon as we were alone, "tell me, how do you like turin ?"— "why, indeed, very well; i have been introduced into several families, and kindly received in all. the society pleases me ex. tremely. i have been to court-and this very morning, although i am no dancer, i received an invitation to a ball there for monday next." -"you will meet some delightful people, and a great many fine women:-for my part i shall not go; and you may guess the cause. they have often taken me for m. de bthe husband of one of the prettiest ladies about the court. his figure is just about as elegant as mine!"-"it strikes me," i replied, "from what i have observed, that society in turin is chiefly made up of the ancient noblesse and the french."-"it is just so; the citizens live amongst themselves : visit the rich banker nigra, you will find old dark desks, such as a broker's clerk in paris would despise. in turin there is neither luxury nor bankruptcy amongst the traders. ? 1 1 the piedmontese. 75 you will see a crowd of men called advocates. this is a title which all those who are neither nobles nor artizans assume to themselves. to me all classes are alike, whether nobles or artizans, because, as i only came into the country with the french on their first invasion, i have since done all the good in my power to every order of society. one thing, however, in this country, is most distressingthe idleness of the young. the sons of the better families pass their lives on the benches in front of some café, or in playing a game called barziga. the girls are brought up with great severity; they never go into the world until they are married, when they may either continue prudent or choose a gallant, although the husbands are as jealous as sicilians. however, take it all in all, you will not find in any other city in italy so much morality as in turin. the piedmontese under the ancient kings of sardinia were most happily governed; it was in truth a paternal government: the meanest peasant who came to turin, might enter the palace freely and speak to the monarch, who did whatever act of justice was required of him. there was e 2 76 the piedmontese. no such thing as an administration; and so completely unknown was the custom of paying the public officers, that they had no fixed remuneration, and lived upon what was called épices (fees)."—" but how happened it," i asked, "that so large a part of the noblesse was attached to the french government, and filled so many situations of chamberlains, equerries, &c., to the emperor or the prince?" "what would you have? this country is the residence of a court-it must have a court. here they commonly love the very person of the prince, who being an italian, is more fit for governing the country, although he affects never to speak a word of italian. amongst the nobility there are many i might cite who did not accept the places which they held, only until after they had written to cagliari for the permission of the king of sardinia. i doubt whether their attachment to france was very sincere; and it must be admitted that it is awkward enough for them to see a frenchman, who came as it were without shoes, in the suite of general menou, now rolling about in his carriage, and looking down upon them from the loftiness of his the piedmontese. 77 insolence. you will meet all the world on monday evening; for, as i hear, there is to be a grand ball and supper."-"when napoleon arrived here, how was he received?"— "like a man who knows what he is about. he flattered the vanity of the country: said that the piedmontese soldiers and those of brittany were the best in the army. when he entered into the opera, which you have not been able to see, because they do not play there except during the carnival-he said, 'i find only one fault here, and that is, this theatre is not at paris.' at night the interior of the house was converted into a ball-room, as it has since been on the occasion of the arrival of the prince and princess borghèse; and lighted up by thousands of wax-lights, it offered the most magnificent coup d'œil which can be imagined. napoleon had the policy to open the ball with a montferrine, one of the dances of the country. i will relate to you an anecdote of this ball. a miss alessi, who was dancing before napoleon, by accident trod upon his foot: he retired back a few steps, and said to her, ah! miss, you compel me to retreat.'-'it is for the first e 3 78 the piedmontese. time then,' she replied. the whole evening every one was praising her presence of mind, but i never knew why it was thought necessary to remark the next day, that she appeared to be greatly fatigued with the ball." at length we had finished our dinner, and for the first time since my residence at turin, i found a cup of good coffee, because it had been made expressly for my hunchback friend. when i was about to ask for the bill, he observed, "we will divide the expense, but allow me to ask for the bill myself, as it will be much more reasonable if they think it is for me." i was indeed astonished at the trifle we were called on to pay for an excellent dinner; and it would be highly ungrateful in me, if i did not here give just praise to the excellent white truffles of piedmont, incomparably superior to those of which perigord so highly vaunts. before we separated, a rendezvous was fixed upon for that day week, at six o'clock in the morning, to make two little excursions extra muros-one to the church of the superga, and the other to visit the country palace of stupinis. no vii. turin. marmore templum tum phoebo et trivia solido de instituam alma, viros. -lectosque sacrabo virg. en. vi. i should scarcely be excused if i did not say something of turin itself. the city, which is delightful as a whole, is not always so very agreeable in detail. the streets are generally dirty, and paved with small, round, and often sharp pebbles, which are very disagreeable to parisian feet; and the women have rarely a handsome foot. previous to the arrival of the french, there was not a single establishment of public baths. at night the city is gloomy, because the shops are closed at an early hour; and as there is no patrol to interfere with the personal freedom of thieves, e 4 80 turin. they have a fair field for gathering a rich harvest from the purses of solitary pedestrians. the stiletto, however, has fallen into disuse since the severe laws of the french. a frenchman, after several others, was assassinated, but for a reason which deserves to be mentioned, since it shews how very irritable even an assassin may be on questions of etiquette. every one knows that in italy, persons of any distinction must be addressed in the third person. a frenchman was one day asked by a passer-by some insignificant question; and wishing to shew what progress he had made in italian, he answered in that language, but in the second person; he in a moment received a blow with a poniard, accompanied by these words: "i will teach you hereafter to address me with lei."* under such a master one could hardly fail to make the most rapid progress, in the summer it is the custom to give serenades, and people remain somewhat late in the streets. the guitar-player anelli was at this time all the fashion. on sundays the palace gardens were the public promenades, and the * the third person of the personal pronoun. turin, 81 toilettes of the ladies scarcely yielded in elegance to those which are to be seen in the allée du printems, in the gardens of the tuileries. in the evening it is the practice to appear in carriages, either in the beautiful rides of the valentin, an abandoned palace, or on the road of mont callier, one of the pleasure-houses of the king of sardinia, about half a league from turin, then used as a military hospital. the once beautiful palace of la venerie was almost wholly demolished; nothing remained except the magnificent stables, which were incomparably superior to those of rambouillet. i had visited most of these places near the city, and through the kindness of the secretary of prince borghèse, to whom i had been introduced by my witty hunchback, i was allowed to visit the grand palace. the prince resided in the chablais palace, contiguous to the grand palace of the king. this was used only on the great levee days. the furniture, though strikingly rich, was outshone by the unrivalled beauty of the inlaid floors. they were divided into compartments, most skilfully wrought in precious wood, and in some parts encrusted with ivory. i admired for at e 5 82 turin. long time the pictures which adorned the vast galleries, particularly the interior gallery of the king, ornamented with some of the most valuable productions of rembrandt, and a small saloon, which contained an unique collection of miniatures. but i ought not to pass over the dressing-room and private chapel of the queen. on the ledge where she rested when engaged in asking blessings from the king of kings, the artist had wrought with ivory and mother of pearl a view of the gate of the pô, with a great number of halt, blind, and young children begging alms of a great lady, in shewing her that heaven where she was to find her reward. thus even in her prayers the queen could not forget, that the way to make them effectual was to be ever ready to succour the afflicted. the hall of the guards is also remarkable for its extent, and surpasses that of the saloon of hercules at versailles. there is also at turin, besides many other private palaces, that of aoste, situated in the middle of the great square. the staircase is worthy the admiration of all travellers, and the imitation of all architects. this palace was occupied by the tribunals, turin 83 by which justice was about as well administered as in most other christian countries. when a man is rich and powerful, when his dinners are good, his advocate eloquent, and the right on his side, it is seldom that he loses his cause. i expected the day of the ball with the greatest impatience, knowing that i should see all the élite of society assembled together. i hired a carriage for the evening, and having prepared my toilette with the necessary care, arrived before nine at the palace, where all was splendour and magnificenee. the ladies were all seated in arm chairs, and the gentlemen standing behind them. the gentlemen never sit except in the card saloons, and they never lay aside their swords and hats, except to dance. before midnight i recognized all the wisdom of the advice which marshal richelieu gave to courtiers-" speak ill of no one; ask for all the vacant places; and above all, sit down whenever you find an opportunity." the ladies were remarkably elegant in their dress, and some of them beautiful in their persons. at nine o'clock an usher announced the entrée of the prince, who made e 6 84 turin. the complete circuit of the room, saying a few words to each lady, and then opened the ball with the partner he had previously indicated. country dances, waltzes, montferrines, anglaises, and the ancient perigourdine, diversified the evening's amusements, and nothing could be gayer or more animated than they were. supper was in the same style of elegance and taste; but more than once did i vent my spleen upon the absurd etiquette which obliged the gentlemen to stand all the time, with the chapeau under the arm, and the sword by the side. the ball was over at five, and i rushed to my hotel, in order to put on my usual dress—and then proceeded to the residence of my little friend, having pretty successfully, but not very easily, resisted the arguments in favour of a short sleep. i found him completely dressed. "well," said he, "how did you get through the night?" "favourably-though not without a little fatigue."-" rest yourself an hour or two on that sofa, and i will waken you at day-break." i consented very willingly, and laid in a sort of doze, haunted by the recolturin. 85 :: lection of the airs i had heard at the ball, and which still sounded in my ears, in spite of all my efforts. at length we set out for the superga. arriving at the old bridge, near which the french government have since erected a most superb new one, he said, "do you observe that small church which they are now demolishing?"-"yes."-"three months ago, all the women in turin maintained that it was wholly impossible to tear it down."-"and why?"----"because the statue of the virgin, which it contained, would interpose to prevent its ruin." getting into a boat, we floated down the river as far as the madonna di pilon, a small neat church, built on the river. having landed, we left on our right the road which leads to chieri, a little republic, which remained for a long time independent. five of the most ancient families of turin date their origin from this town; and as their names begin with the letter b, they are called the five b of chieri. after having passed along the banks of the pô for some time, we began to ascend, and for no slight distance, as the superga is elevated 2100 feet above the bed } ---86 of the river. for many centuries an image of the virgin, placed on this height, was highly venerated throughout the country. when, at the beginning of the 18th century, turin was besieged by the french, and the reigning monarch, charles iii., made a vow to erect a magnificent church, dedicated to the mother of our saviour, if the french would raise the siege : they did raise it, thanks to the prayers of charles iii., and perhaps, also, thanks to the wise operations of prince eugene. formerly the superga was celebrated for its seminary, whence so many bishops issued to the world, and whence, amongst others, issued the archbishop of milan. it occupied us two hours in ascending to the summit of the mountain. we had a letter of recommendation for the excellent abbé avogadro, keeper of the church, the monastery, and the tombs,-the only one of the ancient canons who still remained. he received us with a singular degree of attention, shewed us every thing worth notice, and offered us liqueurs-alas! in his own way. after having read our letter, which was from one of the most considerable persons of turin, turin. turin. 87 he invited us to breakfast, and in accepting, i fear that we obliged him to commit a sin, although it will surely be regarded as a very venial one. i think that in the largeness of his hospitality, the abbé avogadro went a little too far. he had left us about half an hour, to attend to the preparations for breakfast, when we heard the cries of a dog: we did not at first pay much attention, until the abbé came running in, in the greatest consternation, and told us that his dog had eaten up the omelette, made of all the eggs they had, and for which he had just beaten him most severely. our breakfast consisted of macaroni, water, nuts; although there is no place where the air creates a keener appetite than on the summit of the superga. the church forms a cross, on the middle of which is raised a dome, the ascent to which consists of three hundred and forty-three steps. the dome is constructed, on a narrower scale, of the same proportions of st. peter's at rome. in one of the side chapels is a virgin in wax, which existed before the church itself. twenty years were employed in the erection of this edifice, which cost fourteen millions of francs. 88 turin from the top of the superga, we enjoyed one of the most beautiful views that can be imagined. on one side, the whole chain of the alps, which rise up like gigantic ramparts at a distance of twenty leagues, and join, along the horizon, with the swiss mountains and the tyrolese alps. on the other side, the apennines stretch away to the south; and between the two chains are seen the vast and rich plains of piedmont and lombardy. in clear weather, with the aid of a telescope, the dome of milan is visible, though at the distance of twenty leagues. the church of the superga encloses in its crypt the tombs of the sardinian kings, who have died since the foundation of the church. during the piedmontese revolution these tombs were profaned by the fury of a savage multitude, as the tombs of the french monarchs were at st. denis; and it is only to the french army that piedmont is indebted for their preservation. the general grouchy was then commanding at turin, and he made a shew of employing a salutary force, imposed on the most violent, and saved from devastation these religious monuments. ten years turin 89 have not been able to efface the recollection of this kindness from the memory of the piedmontese. the subterraneous church is divided into three spacious vaults, where, by a singular mixture of the ensigns of power and the remains of the dead, we observe as ornaments death's heads sculptured in marble, and covered with a crown. the middle vault is destined for the remains of the last king. on the left are the tombs of the reigning branch of the house of carignano. as yet they amount to no more than two. the last depo sited is the body of the grandmother of the present prince carignano. "there," said the abbé, "there lies the corpse of the most virtuous and most beautiful female that piedmont ever could boast of. two months before she was attacked by her last and fatal malady, the princess of carignano came to visit these tombs. perceiving a ray of the sun piercing through the vent-holes into this asylum of death, "here," said she, "i wish my coffin to be placed." whilst the abbé was relating this anecdote, a new ray burst through upon the polished marble pavement, 90 turin. and produced an effect upon our feelings hardly to be described. we thanked the abbé for his attentions; we could not avoid smiling at the sight of the dog which had such an unconquerable fondness for omelettes, and descended the mountain to the madonna di pilon. our route lay along the banks of the pô to turin. on the left, the hills were covered with beautiful country seats, which the piedmontese call vigne. the two most delightful are the vigna della regina and the vigna di chablais. we arrived at turin rather too late for our projected expedition to stupinis, and we agreed to sleep away our fatigues, and to meet again the next morning for that purpose. n° viii. my farewell of turin. lo scriver semplice e naturale m'è sempre piacuto, parendomi ch'egli esprima il concetto più breve, e vivo, e chiaro, che il compilato con molt' arte. davanzati. i am delighted at being able to support my opinions by the authority of the translator of tacitus, one of the greatest writers that florence ever produced, although he never was member of the della crusca academy. strong in such authority, i shall continue to indulge, without art and without method, the caprices of memory, drawing from books only when necessary to fill up those gaps which no one is more quick to perceive than myself. i ought, for instance, to say something of the state of arts in piedmont; of the academy of turin, so ably directed by the learned, re92 my farewell of turin. spectable, and modest count di balbi;-of mlle. di saluces, surnamed the muse of piedmont ;-nor should i omit to say, that the celebrated mathematician lagrange was a native of turin. but i hasten on without delay, like those cultivators who dig up the surface of the soil without going to its bottom. the morning after our pilgrimage to the superga, i was still asleep when my companion entered the chamber; it was already nine o'clock, and a carriage was waiting for us at the gate of the city. "before we set out," said he, "i mean that you shall take your chocolate in the rue st. thérèse, with imoda dalmazzo." we entered into a large wainscotted room, the walls of which were quite blackened by time, and sat down on joint-stools over a cup of most savoury chocolate, in which we dipped our pieces of the bread called gressini. we were almost alone, for the italians take a cup of plain coffee only in the morning, which they call black coffee, and in which there is about as much to eat as to drink. we found there an inhabitant of alexandria, whom i had already my farewell of turin. 93 met several times. he soon began to turn the conversation to the subject of women-a subject disagreeable to no one, and particularly to my little friend. whilst the scandal was flying about between my two companions, three or four females entered the place, each of them attended by two or three cavaliers, and the noise of their conversation made the roof echo again, for nothing is more sonorous than the voice of the piedmontese women of the middle class, unless it be the voice of women of the highest class. i remarked once more how much the gaiety of the women was contrasted with the serious and even gloomy appearance of the men; and i am of opinion that national differences are more strongly marked amongst men than amongst women. after an hour of sufficiently amusing conversation, it appeared to us time for raising the siege, and we set out for stupinis. the road which leads to it is charming; on both sides the meadows are watered by large ditches, covered with trees and filled with running water; for the art of irrigation is no where carried to a greater extent than in piedmont. coming to a place where the 94 my farewell of turin. road branched off, my companion pointed out to me an abandoned cottage. "observe," said he, "that modern ruin, with which a very singular fact is connected, and which proves all the barbarism of our laws. about six years since, a robbery of some magnitude was committed at turin. two daring robbers, and who had not until that time passed for robbers, introduced themselves into the house of a wealthy individual, through the means of a false key. they were arrested, tried, and condemned to ten years of hard labour. they are now employed in digging the earth about the fortifications of alexandria, nor can any thing be more just; but at the time of their trial, the false key being seized, it was ascertained to be the fabrication of a poor devil of a locksmith, who in making it after a model, thought he was engaged in honest labour for honest persons. implicated in their guilt, he was condemned to five years of hard labour. when he had finished his time, he applied for work, and was repulsed on all sides. most of the mayors objected to his establishing himself in their districts. not knowing what to do with himself, he built my farewell of turin. 95 the cottage you observe on the borders of two townships, in the hope that each of the two mayors would consider him as a resident in the district of his neighbour. there he lived as well as he could, upon the little he gained by shoeing horses and mending carriages; but he was constantly in fear about his wretched residence. at last the poor devil was so miserable that he regretted the gallies, and without resources, without any place of repose, he forged another false key, broke into a house, pretended that his object was robbery, and did in fact get possession of some unimportant articles, and made no effort to conceal himself from the researches of justice. he was arrested, brought before the court of assizes, where he was regarded as a convict for the second time. he confessed very frankly the crime and its motives, and was condemned for two months' imprisonment; his punishment will expire in about two months, and i have been told that on his liberation the government will oblige some one of the mayors to receive him in his district. can you imagine a situation more deserving of pity and of interest ?"—"no," 96 my farewell of turin. said i to him; "but since the administration of justice is left to man, he must have his faults; his nature is not the less divine." in the mean time, we were travelling the beautiful road which passes through the forest of stupinis. we crossed the sangone, a quiet stream in summer; but when the snows accumulate in winter, it swells into a mountain torrent. through a long avenue we caught the first view of one of the most elegant palaces that ever was seen. the kings of sardinia never inhabited it, except when it was used as a hunting seat at the festival of st. hubert. a golden stag on the summit of the dome proclaims its uses. it is a magnificent pile of building, and presents all kinds of architectural beauty. the courts, stables, servants' lodges, wings, are very elegant; and stupinis is in reality an enchanting residence. beneath the dome is a vast rotunda, ornamented with some fine frescoes; in the middle of its elevation is a tier of galleries, which communicate with the first story. the ground floor, which is warmed by means of twelve fire-places, opens on one side to the my farewell of turin. 97 park, on the other into the court, and leads to the principal apartments. in the absence of the governor, the marquis de luzerne, we were conducted by the keeper over the rooms, gardens, and galleries. "i will tell you an anecdote," said my companion, "of which this palace was the scene, during the stay of buonaparte here, whilst on his way to milan to be crowned king of italy: but you shall not hear it until we come to the very room where it took place." "" he knew the turns and windings of stupinis as well as if he had been its architect; and making me ascend a small staircase at the end of a gallery in the left angle of the palace, he led me first into a long corridor, on both sides of which was a range of small apartments. we entered one of them, where i saw portraits of several of the popes, and sitting down, he began: "this room was occupied by the pretty madame, attached to the household of the empress josephine. napoleon, who had a pass-key, entered her chamber one morning about two o'clock: the lady, however, was not alone, but in company with an aide-de-camp of the emperor. he vol. i. f 98 my farewell of turin. had just time to escape under the bed, as napoleon came in. after setting down his dark lantern, he lighted the candles, and perceiving some embarrassment on the part of the lady, he began to search, and found certain articles of dress which could not belong to a lady's toilette. 'aha!' says the emperor, 'there is a man here! whoever you are, sir, i command you to come forth.' it would not do to disobey, and the poor aide-de-camp crawled forth. he dressed and departed, in great terror of his master's wrath the next day. no notice was ever taken of the misadventure."-" but how do you know these details? i am sure you must exaggerate, for neither of the persons concerned in it were likely to tell."-"not so, neither; but step into the adjoining apartment, and you will hear all i say as plainly as if you were sitting by my side." i tried the experiment, and saw that it was the fact. since my return to paris i have often met the fair lady in society, and i confess that i should be very glad to encounter her at a masked ball-so great is my anxiety to settle all disputed points of history, public or private. my farewell of turin. 99 the day was delightful, and we dined at stupinis. little hunchback related to me a great number of scandalous anecdotes of the borghese court, during the short stay of the princess there. i do not regret having forgotten most of what he told me, as i have no wish to say any thing indiscreet upon the subject of princely morals. it was night before we got into the carriage, and were escorted on the way, though the season was far advanced, by myriads of fire-flies, glittering and sparkling along the meadows, which had just been mowed for the fourth or fifth time. at half-past eight we entered the city, and were struck with the sight of a conflagration in the quarter of the consola, a title given to that part of the city by the church of the vergina consolata. "it will come to nothing," said my friend: "a fire here has nothing disturbing about it; the level of the town is so perfect, that on the first sound of a bell, the water of the river can be brought to all parts, and in a few minutes be made to flow past the very door of the burning house." directing our course to the place where the fire was, we found it extin> f 2 100 my farewell of turin. guished on our arrival. these waters of the doire are so skilfully managed, that it requires only a small quantity to turn twenty-two powder mills, which are built on a sort of staircase, so that the water which turns the upper one successively turns those below it. this is the most perfect thing of the kind i have ever seen. we were now at home; and after wishing each other good night, we parted. the next day, being desirous of visiting the church of the consolata, which i had hitherto overlooked in my perambulations of the town, i went there at an early hour, and was surprized with the gilding, marbles, and beautiful grand altar. what struck me the most was, a mode of devotion hitherto unwitnessed by me. it is impossible to imagine the great number of ex-votos which fill the walls of the church, both above and below. let any extraordinary event take place, whether fortunate or unfortunate, and it is made the subject of a little picture, which is then presented to the virgin, and all who take any interest in these events go to prostrate themselves before the pictures. sometimes a man my farewell of turin. 101 is represented as tumbling from a window, a horse is running away, deformed children are in the act of birth, carriages overturning, legs and arms broken, boats sinking, and every other sort of accident is painted in these wretched daubs-in comparison of which, the most miserable sign-painting is a raphael's work. whilst i was walking in the church, a female devotee was looking for the sexton, to give him a portrait to be hung upon the walls. was it the portrait of a friend? no. of a sister or brother? no. of a lover? you are still in the dark. it was the portrait of a little dog, which had just recovered from a severe fit of illness ! i had remained some time at turin, leading a very agreeable life; but it was now the 20th of november, and i determined to continue my journey, without taking leave of any one except my "disfeatured" friend, who had procured for me some letters for the other italian cities. i sold to a jew my court dress and sword, in order that i might not be tempted to visit other courts, and then set about hiring a place in a vetturino. on the way i entered a distiller's shop, to get a glass f 3 102 my farewell of turin. of liqueur called rosa-bianca, or alkermes. at first i objected to drinking it at the counter, until i saw that it was done by the most fashionable persons at turin. the liqueurs here are in great reputation. the vetturini were more numerous than i wished to find them. at a certain hour these people fill a street where they reside. at least a dozen of them came upon me at once, with the most intolerable eagerness and noise: "sir, sir," said one, "i have a famous calash and two good horses: i am ready for all parts of the world-fifty leagues-a hundred-two hundred." but i wish to go no further than alexandria."-"to alexandria! that will cost you twenty-five francs, including your supper and bed at asti."-"how my bed? will it take two days to go twenty leagues?"-" we shall get there early on the day after tomorrow."-"the day after to-morrow? and why not to-morrow?"-" because we can't set off to-day." "but i wish to set off to-day."—" oh! then you must find a vetturino who is content with a single fare." another then came up, and offered to set off immediately if i would give him 66 # -my farewell of turin. 103 fifty francs he was a partner of the one who had just left me. a third would take forty-five francs-another, forty; till at last, in order to get out of the hubbub with safety to my clothes and person, i closed with the first who had offered, and fixed my departure for the next day; and as i was about to give him some earnest-money, he put into my hands a piedmontese crown: "there," said he, "is your caparro (security) for a place in my carriage; to-morrow, early in the morning, i shall be ready for you at your hotel." the rest of the day i passed with little hunchback, who wished me to stay all the winter at turin; and indeed i was more than once tempted to do so, but the curiosity of seeing, and a restless disposition, prevented me. n° ix. alexandria. o fera notte! andiam doman, col sole. alfieri. the vetturino who was unwilling the day before to set out at noon, came to rouse me at two in the morning, and we set out for alexandria. the slow pace of our mules allowed me time to examine the plains of piedmont. on the hillier parts i observed great numbers of small oxen, of a dunnish cream colour, drawing small cars without wheels. they were fastened to a pole, the upper end of which, bent towards the carriage, was raised about a cubit above the horses. at villanova we dined. the bread here is made without leaven, and the peasant girls wear long white veils, which fall back upon their shoulders. the country looked ? alexandria. 105 as fresh as it would in france in the beginning of autumn; the climate here keeps its pleasant warmth at least a month later than in the environs of paris. in this part of the country, pears, peaches, and grapes are sold by the pound of twelve ounces. a pound of beautiful pears cost three french sous. each of them would have cost three or four sous at paris. we slept at asti, a town of montferrat. this town is the birth-place of alfieri, the regenerator, or rather the creator of italian tragedy. the italians say that his pieces combine the tenderness of racine with the grandeur of corneille. he died at florence, full of regret at being unable to found a permanent academy and an italian theatre. the next morning we breakfasted at quatordic, and arrived about mid-day at alexandria, a warlike town, bristling with fortifications and ´cannon, and filled with french soldiers; none but military music heard, and every man we saw had a fur cap and large mustachios. the town itself is very dirty; the streets narrow, dark, and crooked; the pavement small and sharp. the place d'armes is square, if 106 alexandria. and about the size of the place royale at paris. the town-hall is an old brick building, of a severe style, at the upper end of the place. amongst the crowd of persons walking here, i observed a great number of abbés mixed up with the soldiers, and very few civilians, except public functionaries, sent from france into piedmont and the genoese country. the public walks appeared to me very gloomy.,. there are no others than the ramparts, which are covered with mortars, cannons, balls, and the frowning brows of the sentinels. 7 it is said that this city contains 30,000 inhabitants but they keep a great deal in their houses, particularly since the introduction of a numerous french garrison. the native belles appear rarely in the streets, but the wives of the french officers or employés are sometimes to be seen. the citadel, built on the north, is one of the strongest in italy. a great number of soldiers were at work upon the fortifications, under the superintendance of french engineers. three thousand convicts were employed upon these works. alexandria. 107 from turin to alexandria, as well as in this latter town, the atmosphere appeared to me to be thick, heavy, and sultry. in alexandria we hear scarcely any thing except the firing of cannon and the ringing of bells. a covered bridge about four hundred fathoms in length extends across the tanaro: it is for carriages, as well as for horse and foot passengers. it is a curious erection, and the view from the sides is remarkable. there are great numbers of poor at alexandria, and, as in the rest of italy, they are covered with sores, and almost naked. at the opening of the theatre, i went to the pit. the body of the house is somewhat smaller than that at turin: but the whimsical arrangement and colour of the curtains and draperies which ornament the five tiers of boxes, present a coup-d'œil at once irregular and original. at turin, each tier has a particular colour-at alexandria, each box has its own; and the colours are so diversified, that they strike the traveller with surprise. the italian females occupy the boxes; they are dressed with sufficient taste, but their fashions are not quite so new as those of the 108 alexandria. french ladies, who sit in the pit with the strangers and townspeople. the orchestra and the singing, without being as perfect as in the higher order of italian cities, still bear evidence to the extent of italian taste. the grotesque dancers appeared to me to be even more nimble, fantastic, and dislocated than those of turin. in general, the aspect of the theatre here was more rude and foreign than any i had yet seen in italy. in other respects, the city, in its general appearance, had a military cast, very unlike the ease and comfort of towns where civil industry more prevails. returned to my hotel, i went to sleep on a mattress filled with large leaves of turkish corn. every motion on it made a rustling noise, which for a long time most effectually prevented any thing like sleep. the next day our vetturino did not please to set off until ten o'clock. the crackling of my bed had awakened me long before the break of day, and thus i gained an opportunity of seeing a little more of the town. it was a marketday, and the provisions appeared to be very abundant. the french ladies, with baskets on their arms, mixed up with the italian alexandria. 109 h the bestra ect as bear the even than than ects, rt of on a ish ng xt of n cooks and maid-servants, were making their way through triple lanes of farmers and their wives. the prices of provisions seemed to be very moderate: a pound of grapes cost a french sou, and other fruits were sold in the same proportion. i had already traversed the city and visited the churches, which are very uninteresting, and began to be tired of a garrison town, when i heard the clock strike the hour fixed for our departure for tortona, which is only four post leagues from alexandria. my companion in the carriage was a frenchman, who had resided in italy since the year 1805. named imperial procurator in the courts of bobbio, he had been to alexandria for a few days, and was now returning to his own place. i was delighted to find myself with a countryman; and in the following chapters some evidence will be given of the great mass of information he had collected concerning those tribes of people who were enclosed in the deep vallies of the appenines, as if they were entombed-tribes whose manners were almost primitive, and who were as ignorant of the rest of italy as the people of lower bretagne 110 alexandria. are of the rest of france. we had now passed the bormida, which runs on the southern side of alexandria, and unites beyond the town with the tanaro, and arrived on the celebrated plain of marengo. the astronomer lalande once seriously requested that the name of this battle, which made france once more mistress of italy, broke the power of austria, and prepared the peace of amiens, should be changed-on the pretence that marengo sounded so much like madame angot.* buonaparte had already made up his mind to barter the consular for the imperial dignity, and therefore excused the mauvaise plaisanterie of his brother member of the institute. the abbé delille, in his poem l'imagination, has very beautifully touched upon the associations connected with a field of battle. my companion and i fixed our eyes upon the column near the road, in front of the village of marengo. we did not utter a word, but our thoughts were the same :-we fancied * there is probably some covert allusion here, or else the joke is a dull one indeed. 1 ( 1 alexandria. 111 dessaix, as he received his mortal wound, after having ensured the success of the battletulit alter honores. my original intention was to proceed directly to florence by the way of placentia and parma; but the society of my fellow-traveller induced me to change the route, and accompany him to bobbio. we were still upon the plains of marengo, when i recollected an anecdote which happened here during the battle; and though it resembles many others in history, yet it is not the less striking, as indicating a kind of inconceivable fatality. two twin brothers, inhabitants of a village in the environs of colmar, were enrolled, at the commencement of the revolution, in the first conscription. placed in different regiments, they had not seen each other from the time they quitted their paternal mansion. the one who was the best educated arrived to the rank of captain; the other remained a simple grenadier. these two brothers met at the battle of marengo. the struggle was nearly over, when the captain obtained permission to see his brother for a short time; he was in a regiment stationed at some distance from 112 alexandria. his own. scarcely had they met and clasped each other in their arms, than they fell lifeless, pierced by the same cannon ball. alas! who shall pretend to explain the cruel sports of fate? we arrived at a bridge, constructed not many years before by the french engineers. it is more than a quarter of a league in length. we passed it on foot. one end of this beautiful bridge reaches to a point not more than a mile from tortona. the torrent which dashes beneath it expands or narrows itself by turns; sometimes it is a mere thread, then it swells to a size that fills up the whole breadth of the bridge, and bears away in its course the men and beasts who may be crossing its bed, in the confidence that the waters cannot rush down from the mountains with sufficient rapidity to arrest their progress. not even the bridge itself could withstand the current, but for the wise precautions which have been taken to counteract the violence of its assaults. it was sunday, and the middle and lower classes of the populace had flocked in crowds to this beautiful bridge, and nearly choked alexandria. 113 our way with their numbers, as we entered tortona at three in the afternoon. the inn to which we drove was one of those old and irregular buildings which mark the small and sombre towns of the appenines. the vetturino left us here-as i had arranged to pursue the road over the mountains to bobbio. there is no passage over these mountains for four-wheeled, or even two-wheeled carriages, and mules form the only mode of conveyance. in searching for two of these animals and a guide, we entered the chief café of the town; it consisted of two shabby chambers, containing half a dozen wooden benches about a long table, where the lovers of coffee indulged in that beverage, very copiously diluted with water, and kept for three or four days in the same state of tepid warmth. n° x. narrative. ce qu'on ne doit point voir, qu'un récit nous l'expose. boileau. whilst we were drinking our coffee and rosoglio, we observed in the inner chamber three or four priests, and some of the jolly citizens of tortona, whose fluctuating opinions kept just at the thermometrical grade of the day; and we could scarcely credit the devotedness of these abbés to napoleon, particularly at the very moment when he was guilty of the most inexcusable conduct towards the pope. "it is in this café," said my official friend, "that i stopped several years ago, on my first visit to bobbio: and since you are rather curious for details of the circumstances which attended my first arrival in this country, i narrative. 115 i will satisfy you, as far as my memory will allow. it was towards the end of october 1805. then, as now, i heard a crowd of abbés discoursing most enthusiastically on the power and grandeur of the french government, although they execrated it from the very bottom of their hearts. through dark and narrow streets i made my way towards the residence of the person who i understood had a great number of carriages to let, with whom i shall make you acquainted to-morrow, and in the course of our route you shall be informed of the particulars of my journey. in the mean time, i am ready to act as your valet de place, and point out some of the peculiarities of tortona. the ruins you saw just now are the remains of the citadel and fortifications, which the french made themselves masters of in 1642; they were afterwards rebuilt, but for many years past tortona has been entirely dismantled. you must have remarked amongst the citizens on the bridge, that the women of this district are neat and pretty; but heaven protect you from the inns: both masters and valets are dirty enoughand there are not here, as in france, any such • | 116 narrative. things as maid-servants to be met with in the inns. "my notions of physiognomy, as derived from a knowledge of the french face, may have contributed to lessen the piedmontese countenances in my opinion; but i ought nevertheless to make an exception in favour of the innkeeper at the hôtel de verona, in this town, whose appearance, together with that of his whole family, iuspired me with the greatest confidence. my first attempts at bargaining in tortona were for a conveyance to bobbio, and i soon found out that i had been cheated in more than half the amount i paid. it is not worth my while to describe to you the appearance which my equipage made, as you will have an opportunity of witnessing something similar to it to-morrow, in your own case. after ascending and descending a sufficient number of steep, narrow, and rocky paths, sometimes through forests, and oftener over barren precipices, we at last arrived at the summit; it was then our business to descend, but my guide contrived to lose his way in the bed of a torrent, which it required some hours' most anxious ! 1 1 1 { narrative. 117 and uncertain labour to discover again. we fell in with two ecclesiastics, with whom i soon made an acquaintance, and through whose courtesies i was enabled to take up my lodging for the night, in the house of the curate of varzi, a small village about halfway to bobbio. my official character having been made known, all the functionaries of the town and the vicinity came to pay their re spects; and what with our ignorance of our respective languages, the interviews were uncommonly amusing. in the morning the same ceremony of compliment was repeated, and i passed with a numerous train through the crowded tents of the fair, which was then being held at varzi. on reaching another small eminence, the guide cried out, master, master, look there! look there!'what is it?' i inquired. 'bobbio, bobbio!' pointing with his finger to a small huddle of houses; and added, 'there is your home.'-' there,' i said to myself, there is my prison.' 6 "what a prospect! a few scattered houses, covered with yellow tiles, and built of darkgrey stone, buried in the bottom of a narrow valley at the foot of mount penice, whose 6 118 narrative. sides we were obliged to descend for more than two hours, by a winding and perilous path. this country is just the same in appearance as it was when described by tacitus, except that the vine has been since introduced. we entered bobbio with some éclat, and i took up my temporary residence with the two ecclesiastics. this town is a sort of capital of the villages and hamlets scattered about in this part of the appenines, and was built by saint colomban. it is cut up by a few narrow streets, badly paved, dirty, gloomy, and is called by the people of the neighbouring plains, l'urinale dell' italia, a most characteristic title. it is built on the banks of the trebia, a torrent celebrated for the victory which hannibal gained on its banks, near bobbio, over the consul sempronius. the view of the interior did not change or weaken any of the impressions which the external aspect had created. i beheld several priests in old faded black gowns; civilians in long dirty great coats, with clumsy capes and hanging sleeves; and whole processions of geese and swine, cackling and grunting through the streets. the houses were ill narrative. 119 built, and surrounded by walls almost in ruins, excited very slight desire to effect an entrance. the windows had rarely any other sort of glazing than oiled paper. in this town of some twelve hundred inhabitants, there were not more than fifteen decently built houses, the little place was thrown into confusion by our arrival. the arrival of a stranger amongst them was an uncommon event; and from the time of the carthaginian invasion to the visit of the french under marshal macdonald, in 1799, it would have been no very difficult thing to have numbered up all the strangers who had been intrepid enough to encounter the perils of this savage district. the inhabitants, covered with their smock-frocks, stood out in front of their houses, and stared at us with open eyes. as my companions were known, their principal attention was directed to me. it was soon made known to the village politicians that a frenchman had arrived, to take upon him the chief office of their civil tribunals. "the inhabitants of mountain districts are commonly shrewd, and they soon gave me 120 narrative. credit for no ordinary courage, in having thus ventured to take up my residence in bobbio. for a century previous, such a thing had never been done, except by a piedmontese bishop, and a german captain of the garrison." i no xi. bobbio. quod fuit durum pati, meminisse dulce est. seneca. my companion warmed himself quite into a state of enthusiasm whilst describing the savage beauties of his residence; though it should be stated, that he occasionally rejoiced that he was about to quit it for ever. such is the disposition of man; he delights in exaggerating to others the sources of his own misery, and those who dwell most eloquently on the happiness of a humble station, are generally those who are most ambitious of distinction. for myself, it is not without great pleasure that i recall to mind the vallies of the appenines, in which so many villages are buried, whose inhabitants resemble the portrait which la fontaine has left us of the peasants on the danube. vol. i. g 122 bobbio. the next day we recommenced our journey, and my companion resumed his narrative."immediately after my arrival i received the visits of all my colleagues, the new justices of the peace, and the other members of the tribunal. far from resembling the romans, who adopted the laws of the people they conquered, and whose gods they placed in the capitol, napoleon was anxious that all the provinces united to the grand empire should speak french, and should renounce those laws which their topographical and moral relations as well as the habits of ages-had established and confirmed. this desire on his part very often placed the judges and administrators of such countries in situations the most perplexing, and forced them to adopt interpretations the most ridiculous. -"we were soon engaged in the pleasant service of eating; but my attention was caught by he manner in which the table was arranged. first a sort of carpet of coloured wool was laid over it; then came a table-cloth, and above that a parcel of napkins. the glasses were placed in a kind of stand made of painted iron plates; the bottles and the water-pitchers bobbio. 123 were placed on pieces of thin iron, in the same way: under each of these stands were placed leaves of the mulberry or vine, so that the whole had a curious appearance. our napkins were large enough for pocket-handkerchiefs, and it was no easy business for me to dispose of mine. two long thin pieces of board, covered with coloured paper, hung down from the beams above the table, and one of the servants was constantly swinging these backwards and forwards by means of a string, so that during the dinner they served us as fans, refreshing the air, and driving away the flies, which would otherwise have made very serious encroachments on our fare. the meal began with a glass of vermont, which is the name they give to a yellow bitter sort of liquor. the potages consisted of lassagua, (a thin broad paste, not unlike macaroni in taste,) and of vermicelli. then came the fritura, without which no italian can make a dinner; and after this the other usual dishes, which were by no means deficient in quantity nor quality. the arrangement of the table was not very symmetrical; dish followed dish, in slow succession, until the dessert. the plates g 2 124 bobbio. and dishes were made of pewter, as they are throughout the mountains of italy, and amongst the monks of france. the kitchen of my ecclesiastical friends did not strike me as being very delicate. the dessert was sufficiently respectable; and the wine—though the production of the country-was not bad. neither coffee nor liqueurs followed the repast. coffee is drank only at breakfast, and liquors are rarely given, except during visits in the middle of the day. at bobbío it is a custom to hand to every visitor a large glass of white wine, or a small one of some choice liquor, to every visitor. the domestic does this as a matter of course, and never waits for his master's orders. the moment a stranger enters he follows him with a pewter server, on which is a bottle wine, and a flask of rosoglio. the bon-ton is to accept the offer, but the number of glasses is measured by the degree of the visitor's thirst, or the strength of his head. "in all the better houses of the town the greater number of the rooms are bare and cold. the walls are of a yellowish white colour, and covered with mirrors-about six bobbio. 125 inches in width, and two feet in length; and they are hung about the room, eight or ten feet from the floor, so as to be utterly useless, except to such as are willing to mount a chair. glass manufactories are not very frequent in this part of italy, and these ornaments are therefore somewhat expensive. the less opulent inhabitants of bobbio substitute for them little frames of coloured paper. "the italians are great mimics. they have certain exclamations which, though monosyllabic, tell more than whole phrases in other languages. their gestures are singularly expressive, and their grimaces-which they understand perfectly-form a language. "the day after my arrival i learnt that bobbio possessed a single palace, inhabited by one of the nobles of the country—a marchioness malaspina. the marquis, her husband, resided at pavia, about eight leagues distance; whilst his lady preferred living in a village, because she could be the first personage in it. "i was told it would be expected, as a matter of duty, that i should pay my respects to her the very evening of my arrival. not having g 3 126 bobbio. opened my trunks, i deferred it until the next day, and found that i had been guilty of a great offence. in italy, as every where else, the small towns are the seats of rivalry and backbiting. it was reported to the marchioness, that the president of the tribunal had told me there was no necessity of my being in any great haste to pay my visit: this gallant person came running to me the next morning, quite out of breath, with the sad tidings, that he had just been most severely reprimanded by the marchioness for his negligence, and he besought me to accompany him in the course of the evening to the great lady, and to plead the impossibility of any earlier visit, in consequence of the state of my wardrobe. this,' said he, is the only way in which both of us may escape from the dilemma.' to this proposition i willingly acceded, and we reached the palace a little before the usual hour of the assembly. after passing through a long dark gallery, studded with family portraits, and having deposited our outward garments in an anti-room, we entered the room where, in the midst of some twelve or fifteen antiquated serious old ladies, 6 6 1 1 i 1 1 1 bobbio. 127 sat the marchioness herself. to my compliments, which i had commited to memory out of a book, she answered in french. the other ladies, however, bowed very gravely, and the men, who were standing up, returned my salute in a frigid way: they were the greater part of them ecclesiastics. soon afterwards we were regaled with some music. a young abbé accompanied himself on the piano to a comic song, with much taste, delicacy, and spirit. i found that the marchioness had in most respects adopted french manners; and, from the engravings in the journal des modes, she contrived to accommodate her dress to the french fashions. the company at her parties was extremely formal and dull, but it was all that bobbío could produce, and i made the best of it. the cavalieri serventi always arranged themselves at the sides of their respective ladies, and when any lady happened to have two, one was stationed on the right, and the other on the left hand: if their number exceeded two, they were stationed according to their privilege. the chief diversion of these parties was a game at g 4 128 bobbio. cards called chuchu. it is the dullest of all conceivable sports, and depends entirely on the manner in which it is played; the trickery of the ladies, the sacrifices of the gentlemen, and all the little compliments and finesses which italians know so well how to employ. all the rules of the game are regularly abandoned to the reciprocal success della signora e del caro cavaliere. in france, in proportion as a woman is attached to a man, does she delight in quizzing and contradicting him; but in italy, where all is sentiment and tenderness, the slightest raillery would destroy the most intimate connexion. "the malaspina family is one of the most ancient and honourable in the north of italy. nearly the whole of this district was once a fief of theirs; it has, however, fallen from its ancient grandeur, and has become so extended and ramified, that some of its branches are to be found in every part of italy, and even in austria. many of them are extremely poor; and one of them, having married a peasant girl, established himself at bobbío, bobbio. 129 not far from the hotel of the marchioness, as a tailor. my regard for the lady induced me to encourage her kinsman, and he has received my custom ever since my residence in the town. "in this district the cold commences at the end of november. the snow falls as abundantly as in the north of france. it is sometimes thrown up into immense drifts in the valley of the trebia, and the streets of bobbio are not infrequently covered to the depth of two or three feet." however, we continued the route which my travelling companion had described, and with such an exactitude that i recognized it at every step. we arrived at bobbio in the evening, where i was treated by him with the greatest hospitality. i passed three days there, and was introduced to the marchioness he had described. it was, and is a great matter of regret, that sufficient time was not allowed me to study the manners of the people-which are less known in france than those of the north american tribes; but i was extremely desirous of arriving at genoa before the sailing g 5 130 bob bio. of the breslau, a ship of war, on board of which was one of my most intimate friends. she did sail-but her destiny was similar to that of many other french vessels-i never knew into which english port she was carried. no xii. from bobbio to genoa. adieu, gênes détestable, adieu, séjours de plutus; adieu, l'ennui qui m'accable; mes yeux ne te verront plus. montesquieu. it was just as i was descending the last declivity of the appenines, and about to escape from the defiles in which i had so long been wandering, that the preceding lines of montesquieu flashed upon my memory. i confess that i cannot imagine a cause for the injustice of that great writer towards a city which so well merits the title bestowed upon it by the italians, of genoa la superba, and which all liberal strangers so willingly confirm. i had never yet beheld that magnificent city, and all that i had heard of it only augg 6 132 from bobbio to genoa. mented my curiosity. it was near the end of november, and the snow which had fallen during the night obliged me to hasten my expedition. it would not be easy to picture the savage beauty of the road i was obliged to travel. my host at bobbio bade me farewell with an appearance of interest, which to a stranger was not a little soothing. the path was narrow and impassable, except for mules and foot passengers. to ascend, and descend, re-ascend, and re-descend-and almost always between lofty precipices :-such for two whole days was the character of my route; and i had occasion to remark, that the appenines were still more rugged and impracticable than even the alps. if the journey was not dangerous, it was at least excessively unpleasant; and i was constantly disputing with my guide about some danger which afterwards proved to have been visionary. but it required stronger nerves than mine, to pass unmoved and tranquil along the edges of precipices, where a single false step of the mule would have flung me down into abysses two or three thousand feet below me. the guide pointed out the exactness with which my from bobbio to genoa. 133 mule placed his feet in the very tracks where his predecessors for centuries had put theirs. this was some security to me, and i followed his advice, to let the beast take his own way; the slightest check of the bridle might cause a false step, and inevitable destruction would be the consequence. we saw at intervals several villages studding the mountains, and scarcely distinguishable from the dark grey rocks, on which and out of which they were built. we passed a great many small and wretched cottages, which seemed to be wedged in rocky defiles, or suspended from the hanging ridges of frightful precipices. some of these were only to be approached by rude staircases, cut out of the rocks. how strangely constituted must the mind of man be, that it can endure existence in spots so dreadful as these, when within a few leagues' distance the most fertile and beautiful regions are open to his choice! my guide informed me that in the course of a few days it would be utterly impossible to return by the same road; the vallies-defiles-precipices-would all be covered with snow, and nothing would be discernible but 134 from bobbio to genoa. one vast sheet of snow, through which a solitary fir tree would now and then shoot up its lofty and whitened branches. no track is then to be discovered; and not unfrequently man and mule are tumbled into the gulfs below, whilst engaged in the perilous search. at the time i passed the road, there were not more than six or eight inches of snow on the mountains; the waters still rushed down the narrow vallies, and the little patches of soil were covered with the effects of cultivation. sometimes my mule would stop at the base of a steep rock-to draw breath-or to retreat from the toil-as if the difficulty of the ascent filled him with terror. sometimes he retreated in absolute despair; and nothing but the most strenuous exertions of the guide could urge him on. it should be remembered, that every traveller in the alps ought to have a guide on foot, to carry his portmanteau, for the mule will be sufficiently loaded with the master. at short intervals, when the road is, as the people of the country say, on the plain-that is, a little less. rough and dangerous-are small niches cut in the rocks, which contain images of the from bobbio to genoa. 135 virgin, of marble or common stone, before which lamps are continually burning. these are attended to by the priests who live in the adjacent cottages; and the expense is more than defrayed by the liberality of travellers, like my guide. he rarely failed to say a short prayer before each image, and to drop a small piece of money into the boxes of all such as were nearest to any dangerous passage. he regularly told me how much he paid at each, and took very good care that i should be answerable for the amount of the whole. this is a common habit with the guides and muleteers who travel these mountains; and i have since noticed that it prevails in other parts of italy. towards night we arrived at a small village on the side of a mountain covered with snow. we alighted at a little dirty ale-house, with a broken door, and a single window, without glass or frame-work. it was very cold, and i stretched myself out upon a wooden bench which was before a fire, where a pot, suspended from one of the joists of the cieling, was constantly boiling. the only chimney in the room was that which the door afforded. i saw that the pot 136 from bobbio to genoa. contained a sort of soup, into which a tall half-starved man was chopping some bits of black bread. occasionally, as he stirred it up with a long two-pronged iron fork, i saw some pieces of meat. the fire was made of chesnut branches, which filled the room so thickly with smoke that i was obliged to go out, with my eyes filled with tears, into the open air, and was instantly forced to return, with face, hands and feet almost frozen. i was waiting for my supper, when i saw the landlord distribute to all the rest of the persons present, a small porringer of the soup, a piece of black bread, and a large flask of wine. he then emptied the pot, and began to throw in some chesnuts-when i thought it was time for me to put in a claim. it was answered by giving me the same portion. the strength of my appetite may be easily imagined. after smoking a pipe, the muleteers stretched themselves out on the benches, and began to sleep. to my inquiries for a bedchamber i received no other answer than this: ah! i have no other apartment besides this, the hay-loft where my family sleep, and the stable where my sheep are.' from bobbio to genoa. 137 it was useless to attempt to find any better accommodation elsewhere, and i submitted to the necessity of my situation, and stretched myself along the benches. the cost of this night's supper and lodging to each muleteer was four parpaioles, about threepence. i gave him a five-franc piece for myself, guide, and mule; and when he was about to return me a handful of parpaïoles in change, i told him to keep them for himself;-he burst out into a transport of joy, promising me the most splendid accommodations if ever i returned that way. he then ran to the stable to assist the muleteer, and, leading the beast to the door, he held the stirrup whilst i mounted, and, after a profound salute, generously bestowed a glass of eau-de-vie on the guide. as we approached genoa the mountains. gradually lessened; we even met with something like level ground. the houses began to have glass windows, and the traces of incivilization were perceptibly diminished. at cassolo i saw an aqueduct of considerable height; it is a roman erection, and extends along a narrow valley for four leagues, to genoa. when the austrians, in 1800, held stopp 138 from bobbio to genoa. genoa, in that famous siege which massena sustained with so much energy, they broke down one of the arches, in order to deprive the besieged of a supply of water. two miles further on is another aqueduct; and then comes a third, close to one of the suburbs of genoa. all these works are remarkable for their extent, elevation, and solidity. they supply the city with excellent water, which is distributed in every house by pipes. the declivities towards the sea are covered with olive trees: they give a singularly dreary aspect to the country, and it is perhaps from their repulsiveness, that the ancients consecrated it to the goddess of wisdom. we approached genoa by the suburb of bisagno, which furnishes no better indication of the splendour of the city, than the barrier d'enfer does of the gaiety and beauty of paris. after half an hour spent in traversing this gloomy suburb, we arrived at the city gate. with the aid of a genoese commissioner, i set about the very necessary business of finding a hotel to my taste. as i entered the city the streets grew narrower, until from bobbio to genoa. 139 t it sometimes became difficult for two persons to walk abreast. in vain did i endeavour to admire the proud and boasted palaces of genoa; they were on every side of me, but i could not manage to get a view of them. i had already began to give into the opinion of montesquieu, when the piazza delle fontane amorose opened upon me. without being either regular or spacious, this piazza is very grand and imposing. it is formed entirely of lofty marble palaces, whose varied colours do not destroy the regularity of the view. the two finest streets of genoa-and well worthy of its superb reputation-branch out from this piazza. they are flagged with large stones, and on each side of them are lines of magnificent marble palaces, variegated and veined with all colours, and in the most beautiful way. no carriages or horses disturb the passenger, and i had leisure to survey and admire these beautiful edifices. the hotel della villa, where i engaged apartments, had been the residence of a genoese nobleman, who sold it to its present proprietor. a spacious court, surrounded by marble colonnades, and ornamented by a fountain in the centre, some140 from bobbio to genoa. what startled me on my entrance; but the master of the house assured me that his apartments were suited to every sort of expenditure-even the most economical. he gave me a chamber in the fourth story, looking out upon the sea. i should observe, that in genoa, as in the other italian cities, the ground story of a palace is appropriated to servants and tradesmen; the first floor contains the saloons and state apartments; whilst the family of the proprietor occupy the third and fourth stories. in genoa it would be almost intolerable to live on the ground floors, which are rendered extremely close and stifling by the narrowness of the streets; more particularly in those which are much frequented. the apartments opening to the streets are generally converted into shops, and are broken only now and then by some palace or hotel, standing back from the street. 4 no xiii. genoa. nil adeò magnum, nec tam mirabile quicquam principiis, quod non minuant mirarier omnes paulatim. 6 the exclamation of corinna, on her arrival in the ancient capital of the world, has been much criticized:the next morning i awoke in rome.' nothing, however, can be more natural than this exclamation, for it is in the morning that our perceptions and feelings are in all their freshness, and to the traveller it is by a sort of mechanical movement that he gazes round and exclaims, where am i?'—i rose early, to enjoy the view of the ocean. it is not easy to imagine the effect which that mighty element produces upon those who gaze upon it for the first time. 1 6 142 genoa. never is the majestic smoothness of a calm sea more imposing than when contrasted, as at genoa, with the rugged mountains. i could scarcely tear myself away from the sight to begin my travels of inquiry about the town. my first care was to find the naval friend of whom i have already spoken. he was an amiable and accomplished person, and unlike the generality of his profession. at this time he resided in the same house with two others of my countrymen, and after accepting their invitation to dinner, i recommenced my exploratory visits. the difficulty was, to settle where i should commence, in a place so abundant in things worthy of being admired. i wished, in my impatience, to see all at once: but at length decided on devoting the first day to an objectless walk about the town, and took with me as a guide one of those very obliging persons, who are to be found in all italian cities, and who are the most attentive and devoted friends of foreigners,-for a crown. the immoveable wealth of genoa is enormous. the city may be likened to a rich magazine, where a mass of precious objects are genoa. 143 thrown together, and only wait to be properly arranged. genoa is a magazine of palaces, heaped one upon the other, in the most admired disorder.' one is struck at first by the number of narrow streets, crowded with foot passengers, where no carriages ever appear. occasionally we meet with a chair (portantino), containing some venerable old lady. every family has one or more of these conveniences, as in those which are hired, the chances are that you succeed to a dead body: for it is in these that the dead are transported to their last home. the vehicle which carried a lifeless corpse in the morning, is often employed to carry a warm and buoyant spirited dame to a ball at night. genoa has sometimes been called the paradise of foreigners, because the females are very handsome, and the men uncommonly ugly. the genoese ladies have a gracefulness of figure, regular and expressive features, and superb eyes. their dress is very uniform-generally white, with a long veil of white muslin, called a mezzaro, falling over their shoulders. the toilette of the foot is attended to with great taste, as the streets 144 genoa. 66 are paved with large smooth flags, and there is no such thing as muddy weather at genoa. my valet de place had been formerly a domestic to m. durazzo, the last doge of the republic, who was named by napoleon member of the senate. i visited his palace—one of the largest and finest in the city. the entrance is through a magnificent portico lined with a double row of marble columns. i was struck with the richness of the furniture, the number of saloons, halls, and galleries, decorated in the most profuse way. it was in this palace that the prince borghese, with his whole court, resided, during their visit, a few months before, to the capital of the ancient liguria, the wealthiest city in his province. napoleon preferred the doria palace, in order that he might sleep in the chamber which charles v. had occupied, although the palace was almost abandoned, and scarcely habitable. i was quite dazzled with gazing on the accumulated magnificence of ages, the profusion of white marble from carrera, and yellow marble from the sierra morena. in the days of genoa's glory her wealth was so great, that not only was she free from debt, genoa. 145 but she drew a revenue of more than thirty millions from her swiss and italian territories. i questioned my guide as to what i ought to believe relative to certain proverbs not very favourable to the genoese, such as: "it takes three jews to make a genoese ;" and this: "a mountain without wood, a sea without fish, women without modesty, and men without honour."—"ah! sir," said he, shrugging his shoulders, there is a good deal of truth in all that. so long as i was in the service of m. durazzo, i used to see all the most distinguished persons of the city, which is better known to me by its inhabitants than by its monuments. i agree that the genoese are very sharp in business; that the mountains are not covered with trees; that no other city is so dear; that the sea is not very well stocked with fish; and that the ladies do not particularly dislike gallantry. but if it requires three jews to make one genoese, it requires three genoese to make one of your generals or contractors." the retort was well deserved by me, and i had nothing to reply. vol. i h 1 146 genoa. after having visited this magnificent palace, and gazed on the glorious view which spreads itself out before the terrace, i turned aside to the church of san lorenzo, which is in the same street. it is the principal church of genoa, and is built in the gothic style. the front is incrusted in black and white marble. the steps which lead to the principal entrance are about twelve in number, and rather steep; but such is the strength of the cross-bearer in the processions, that he sustains his burthen up the steps without the slightest tottering. he is obliged, some fifty paces before he arrives at the first step, to assume a firm and equal pace, which he preserves to the last. the choir of the church is surrounded with a superbly gilt rail-work, through which may be seen, from all parts, the interior, the bishop's seat, those of the priests, canons, arch-priests, and the splendid marble altar. although st. lorenzo be the metropolitan church, yet it is not the largest nor the most beautiful. it is here, as my guide informed me, that the gallant dames of genoa fix ༣ genoa. 147 if any of my readers their rendezvous. should chance to visit genoa, i will give him one or two instructions, in order that he may know how to act in case of any adventure. if a lady speaks to you with a sort of negligent earnestness about this or that church, and tells you that she will be there at such a day and hour-to perform her religious duties-your part must be taken. keep aloof until the time indicated, and then follow her at a distance. it is possible that you may be led a round-about path, and for a considerable distance, but you are sure to stop somewhere at last. no matter what the nature of your conversation may be, you must be careful and not speak to her afterwards; neither at a ball, in a saloon, nor at the promenade; she will neither recognize nor answer you. if genoa be the country of gallantry, strangers should not forget that to them it ought to be the country of discretion. the females here are so constantly surrounded by their titled lovers, that no stranger can visit them without its being a matter of public notoriety, and the cause of h 2 148 genoa. jealousy to more than one gallant. this information was given me by my cicerone, and i was so pleased with his frankness, and so instructed by his counsel, that i slipped a piece of money into his hand, with as much cheerfulness as if he had been the bearer of some assignation under the pillars of sansyro. he laughed very knowingly, thinking, no doubt, something about french vanity; nor will i say that he was entirely wrong. however, i did not repent of my liberality, for the fellow-melted, as it were, by the sight of the money-went on with the chapter of genoese morals, and told me more than i could elsewhere have so easily learnt. "sir,' he continued, i see very well that you are not yet up to the customs of italy; allow me to give you the result of a pretty long experience, and you know that the people of the anti-chambers are best acquainted with what passes in the saloons. my father was once in the service of the fa mous argentine spinola, who is still living, though very old, and whose connexion with the marshal richelieu rendered her so cele genoa. 149 brated. i remember having seen with her, in my boyhood, your brilliant duke de lauzun, on his return from corsica. the house of madame spinola was at that time the re sort of all that was splendid, gay, witty, and licentious in genoa. if the french have ruined our republic in annexing it to their empire, they have at the same time done us great services; and you will find in the grand hall of the ducal palace, the statues of the marshals richelieu and de boufflers, mixed with those of the great men who illustrate the glory of the old republic. at genoa husbands are not jealous, and the use of cicisbeos, now called patiti, is universal and immemorial. this usage, which nothing will ever be able to change, has become respectable from its antiquity. i remember to have heard one day a long conversation on this topic, many points of which still remain fixed in my memory. there was formerly a species of cicisbeo, called intendii, whose disinterested gallantry was not unlike that of the chivalry of the ancient paladins.. "an intendio was a lover in honour, and f ar ༩༧༢ *་ནམ h 3 150 genoa. in virtue; and his mistress was really nothing more than the lady of his thoughts. a lady of the spinola family, and one of the kings of france, offer a remarkable instance of this platonic affection. when louis xii. was at genoa, with his chevaliers, thomassina spinola was not insensible to the manly and unaffected beauty, and the natural graces of the monarch. his conversation effected what his outward qualities began. she was young and pretty; she very ingenuously besought the king to become her intendio; he con-sented, and when he quitted genoa, the intendimento was kept up by means of a correspondence, from which the republic derived great advantage. thomassina took so much interest in this correspondence; she was so proud of having a king of france for her intendio, that she in reality began to love him with the purest and strongest passion. a report having reached genoa of the death of louis xii., she was much affected, and fell ill. the cares of her friends were useless, and she died. the report had been fabricated by some of her unsuccessful rivals, and was genoa. 151 soon disproved by the arrival of letters from louis but thomassina was no more. the republic caused a superb mausoleum to be erected, and the monarch ordered his historiographer, jean danton, to write the epitaph, which he would have written much better himself. at present the name of intendio is obsolete, and that of patito has been very appropriately substituted for that of cicisbeo. it is derived from the verb patire, to suffer, and surely no state of suffering can be more complete than the slavery of these amorous followers. every genoese lady has two or more of them, in order, i suppose, that the young aspirants may not be left without some hope." such are some of the details which my knowing valet gave me. he promised to devote another morning to my service, and to conduct me to the baths. these establishments are very elegant at genoa; where, in general, there is as much cleanliness as in the rest of piedmont there is filth. the rooms are spacious, and furnished with large marble bathing ponds. nothing can exh 4 152 genoa. ceed the dexterity of the attendants. i returned to the part of the town where my countrymen resided. it was near the exchange, and i could not help admiring this scene of so many vast commercial speculations. i stopped for a moment before a barber's shop, where a crowd of persons was standing, and there was quite enough, as i learned from a bystander, to excite their curiosity and their laughter. a single barber undertook to shave a dozen jews at once; he rubbed their beards over with a green drug called mardocheo; as the drug burnt away the hair the barber scraped off the rest with a bit of lath. but the paste being of a very burning nature, attacked the skin before the barber could change from one to the other. the scene was excessively ludicrous: here a jew screaming with pain, and there the barber sweating with the labour ;—the one cursing the other, the other cursing himself, the spectators laughing at all. no xiv. genoa-continued. suave mari magno, turbantibus æquora ventis, e terrâ magnum alterius spectare laborem. lucretius. i had the good fortune, during my residence at genoa, to be the witness of a magnificent sea storm. i will not attempt any description of it here, but as the only vessels which suffered much were then belonging to the english fleet,* i will confess that my feelings were not much unlike those which lucretius speaks of in the preceding lines. the population crowded along the shores, and the quays and the batteries, to gaze at this sublime spectacle. it was about four o'clock in the afternoon. i hope i shall be pardoned *under "admiral bentinck," says the hermit, with the usual accuracy of his countrymen. h 5 154 genoa. if i say that i had no very sharp commiseration on lord bentinck and his fleet. socrates alone was sufficiently free from passion and prejudice to be a citizen of the world. these english ships came habitually so near to the city and the forts, that they seemed to bully the batteries, and to provoke ineffective discharges in order that they might reply by their bombs. the breslau was then building-and it might have been said that they superintended the erection and fitting out of the ship, as if she had been built in the dock-yards of portsmouth, for alas! she was captured by them on her very first cruise. no one even thought of accusing the justice of napoleon with a want either of eyes or ears: but in spite of its activity it never could discover how the english kept up their communication with the continent, from which it had news almost every day. the fleet used to come so near to us, that we could with a telescope distinguish the officers as they walked along the deck. but i am forgetting the storm-which i enjoyed in solitude and after my own way, that genoa. 155 is, by suffering reflections to run away with feelings, and for a moment to close up my eyes to the scene before me. a few minutes had been sufficient to agitate the waves of the mediterranean, but when the clouds had disappeared, and the winds subsided, it was a long while before the dashing waves were calmed. here said i-is a faithful image of popular revolutions; a moment may plant the seeds, which ripen and burst out into an appalling violence, nor is it until after much agitation, and a long series of shocks, that time is able to reestablish tranquillity. such was the violence of this tempest, that the waves broke nearly as high as the lantern of the light-house. i will here quote two lines, written by a tuscan poet, as an inscription for this light-house, who wished to shew the resemblance between the latin and italian languages. "in mare irato, in turbida procella, invoquo te, ô sacra benigna stella." i had been at genoa for a week without having half satisfied my curiosity. yet had i every day reason to praise the intelligence h 6 156 genoa. of my cicerone, who came to me in the mornings to inquire if i needed his services, and i do not recollect having given him a single negative. i had been introduced to the principal french functionaries, and amongst others to m. de la tourette, prefect of genoa, and the general montchoisy, commander of the 27th military division. but in a city, where shew and ostentation were so much in demand, where every thing was so excessively dear, and where there were so many wealthy individuals, the functionaries ruined themselves in order to live in a very moderate style. their salaries are inadequate to their necessary expenses, and more especially for the military, who are obliged to keep horses; for at genoa it costs at least four francs a day to keep a horse. during my stay at genoa, i received a letter from my official friend at bobbio, who sent me a notice on the manners of the inhabitants of the appenines, and another on the revolt of placentia. this last event happened soon after his arrival in the country, and during the time that m. le brun genoa. 157 (duke of placentia) was governor of genoa. i shall transfer these two notices to my own pages. it required some time before i could make my way through the throngs of monks, capuchins, dominicans, and franciscans, who crowd the streets of genoa, without wonder -as it was a sight new to my eyes. these orders had not yet been suppressed in genoa, though they were so during the following year. these unhappy persons, once so wealthy, now dragged out a miserable existence, and many of them were reduced to the necessity of asking alms in the streets. it was necessary, however, to take good care how the outward garment of religion awakened a compassion which might be ill placed. as these monks were subjected to no particular order, and to no discipline, many improper persons had put on the garb of st. francis, in order to procure admission to houses and commit robberies; no very difficult task in a city where there are few porters. i frequently stopped in the streets to admire the dexterity and promptitude with 158 genoa. which the lower class of the people and the labourers played at a game called morra, a game of great antiquity, since it has been the delight of the italian people ever since the times of the emperors. this is played by two persons, who stand opposite to each other, and open and stretch out, either alternately or both together, the fingers of their right hand -crying, one, two, three, four, eight, ten; he who guesses right, at the very moment the action is performed, the number of fingers extended by both, wins. : the genoese, as might well be imagined, were not very fond of the french yoke, although that yoke did not press very heavily upon them but they saw in their annexation to the grand empire, the source of their decay. accustomed to furnish sailors only to the necessities of the state, the conscription for the land service was more insupportable there than elsewhere. what, however, most afflicted them was, the being placed under the same government with the piedmontese. the hatred between these people is more inveterate than that between the english and genoa. 159 the catholics of ireland. still genoa was not without illustrious citizens and real philantrophists, who wept over her ruin. i will mention a single example. the harvest in 1809 completely failed throughout italy; bread was excessively dear, and the continental blockades prevented any arrivals by sea. count balbi, a genoese, called a meeting of some of the richest citizens, and proposed a scheme for bringing by land-carriage from france the necessary quantity of grain. for himself, he subscribed the sum of two hundred thousand francs. the collection rose to a considerable amount, and during the winter, when so much distress had been anticipated, the poor were able to obtain food at a moderate price. in the time of the doges, the poor were supported from the ducal palace, when once a week they were supplied with a dinner. the benevolent institutions of genoa are numerous, and the hospital albergo dei poveri is unequalled for its beauty, magnificence, and extent. it was formed in the time of doria, and contains the statues of all its principal benefactors. this is one of the 160 genoa. instances where the self-love of man is turned to the advantage of humanity itself. thus in russia, whoever gives 100,000 rubles to a hospital, receives the decoration of the first class of the order of st. anne. if it be rational to feel proud of these gewgaws, which kings have invented to reward cheaply great services, it seems to me that one might justly be more proud of those which are bestowed for preserving a fellow citizen's life, than for destroying an enemy. what a contrast, when, returning from the albergo dei poveri, we ask the meaning of the iron cages which stand near the harbour! they were the dens in which the wretched algerine captives were shut up, when age or sickness rendered them incapable of labour. the horror of their punishment consisted in being so confined, that they could neither lie down nor stand upright. a notion of religious duty kept them alive!—but it rarely happened that the republic was put to the expense of maintaining them many months. what a strange and ridiculous mixture of kindness and barbarity! and yet, why should genoa. 161 i be surprised?—is it not the same throughout the history of man?-evil always marches hand in hand with good. the presence of the english fleet did not prevent me from making several excursions on the water. the view from the centre of the harbour was one of the most splendid i could imagine. it is since that time that i have seen naples from the bay. the city is built on the side of a mountain, which is shaped like an amphitheatre. on the left, the pleasure-houses and gardens stretch along the suburb of st. pierre, towards voltriabout a league and a-half from genoa. the country on this side is covered with a multitude of villages, where white walls rise up between the grey quivering leaves of the olive, and the glossy green of the fig-tree. the wood of these trees is wrought by the genoese with remarkable ingenuity, into snuff-boxes and cabinets, as light and elegant, and at the same time, as fragile as porcelain. the gardens are filled with flowers in almost every season of the year; and the orange and citron trees shed a delicious perp 162 genoa. fume on the air. the land in the city is so valuable, that there is but a single garden— that belonging to the doria palace. this is remarkable for a double terrace, constructed entirely of white marble, communicating with the ground and first floors-so that the under terrace is protected from the rains, as well as from the burning sun. my cicerone who was profoundly versed in the history of his native town, told me that its origin went back to the second century before the christian era. its name was originally genuaderived from janus, to whom it was dedicated. but genoa paid dearly for the government under which it flourished, from the year 1528 downwards; for, during the thirtyfour years, immediately previously to the establishment of the republican aristocracy, it was afflicted with twelve different kinds of government. it was frequently at war with the french, whom it massacred under charles iv.-expelled under charles vii., louis xii., and francis i. the genoese destroyed the republic of pisa, which had been founded by a greek colony. the suburb genoa. 163 y of pera at constantinople once belonged to genoa, and so did corsica before its union with france. andrew doria was the real founder of its power-a power of which, like many other once illustrious states, it has now nothing but splendid palaces and sad recollections. one day, as i was passing with my guide along the suburb of st. pierre d'arena,—“ i wish," said he, "to shew you a garden which, though it contains nothing curious in itself, may interest you, perhaps, from the part of which it was the scene.' he knocked at a small door: an old woman opened it for us, and we entered into a square garden, surrounded by walls, and which had no other outlet than the gate by which we came in. "at the beginning of the siege of genoa, a young french lieutenant of infantry, named henrion, who i am told is now aid-de-camp to prince borghese, followed by four brother officers, made prisoners, in this very garden, of four hundred austrian soldiers of the regiment of lastenie, and obliged them to lay down their arms." "impossible!" "" + 164 genoa. -"impossible perhaps, but it is true. presenting himself at the gate, which was partly open, he made them believe that he was at the head of a strong column which had made a sortie. he summoned the commanding officer to surrender, which he instantly did. the four hundred prisoners entered the city to our very great delight, for in verita, signore, since we cannot be independent, we prefer the french to the austrians any day, and you will hear the same thing throughout italy.". i raised my hand to my pocket with the intention of rewarding this compliment, but the scene of gil blas, and the parasite at pennaflor struck upon my fancy, and chilled my generous feelings in a moment. the same day i visited in company with my guide the sera palace, which may justly be styled the wonder of genoa. i had already visited the carignano church, built pretty nearly on the same model with the superga at turin, but much more richly ornamented with pictures and statues, amongst which i remarked, and not without pride, that the most beautiful of all were from the genoa. 165 chisel of a french sculptor-it was the saint sebastian of puget. i had often before passed both over and under the bridge of carignano, for it is built over what is neither a river nor a torrent. it joins, directly opposite the church, the two hills which rise on each side of the deep valley, in which lies the suburb of bisagno. i had observed the building with four stories, at the angle of the bridge, on the right as you come from the city, and in my way to the sera palace i spoke of the church and bridge of carignano. -"signor," said he " these two monuments may give you some idea of the prodigious wealth which some of our great families once possessed, and at the same time of the excessive gallantry of the genoese. a m. saoli, whose family, always honourable, still exists, was a noble merchant, (i say noble merchant, because in genoa the nobility have never been so foolish as to look with disdain upon commercial pursuits) and built at his own expense the church of carignano, which cost him four millions of francs. about eighty years afterwards, a member of the h 166 genoa. same family, who had married a young lady of whom he was highly enamoured, expended three millions in the erection of the bridge you have remarked, in order to spare his young bride the fatigue of descending and ascending the hills, as she went to mass in the church which her husband's grandfather had built." in the mean time, we had arrived at the gate of the sera palace, in the strada novissima. the exterior of this palace has nothing remarkable about it; my guide, as we entered, told me that he had not, like the rest of his profession, made me begin my travels with the palace, as he did not wish to dazzle me with the most splendid sight first. we ascended by a staircase, somewhat narrow, of white marble to the first story, which consists of an anti-chamber, a beautiful dining room of an oval form, and two saloons adjoining. in this narrow space, two millions of francs have been expended in furniture and ornaments. from each side of the two saloons, or rather from the single saloon divided into two parts, each of them about forty feet square, there is genoa. 167 presented to the eye a prodigious luxury of gilding, sculpture, marbles, immense mirrors, precious stones, porphyry columns, incrustations of mother of pearl, paintings, and carved work, which almost realizes the wonders of arabian fable. the walls are covered with a stucco of lapis-lazuli. four clocks on the chimney-pieces, with their brackets, cost no less than six hundred thousand francs; the second-hands are made of brilliants. this saloon ought to be the despair of the rich and the consolation of the poor;—the one can scarcely ever hope to equal its magnificence; whilst the others need not envy a luxury so inconvenient, that the owner, instead of being able to enjoy it, is obliged to reside in a small chamber in the fourth story. this palace belongs in reality to the persons who visit it, and to the domestics, who derive from it an excellent revenue, as no one ever quits it without giving them some considerable present. no xv. manners of the inhabitants of the appenines. o fortunatos nimiùm, sua si bona nôrint, agricolas! quibus ipsa procul discordibus armis, fundit humo facilem victum justissima tellus. virgil. "you ask me for some details on the manners and usages of the people in the appenines; a necessary and rather long residence among them enables me to comply with your wish. i will first tell you something about myself and my official difficulties. you can scarcely imagine the number and nature of the obstacles which interfered to prevent the organization of our tribunal.a large room in the episcopal palace of bobbio served as our hall of audience. ricketty tables, tapestried old chairs, elevated on a few planks for the magistrates, benches stufthe appenines. 169 fed with straw, for the advocates and solicitors, and a long beam stretching from one end of the hall to the other, made up the material part of a court-room, which was presided over by four judges, and was to administer justice for a whole arrondissement. with respect to its intellectual elements, they were upon a level with their accommodations, being formed of persons obliged to interpret and enforce a system of laws of which they knew nothing, and to speak and write in a foreign language. add to this, a collection of some fifty pictures or more, hanging over our heads, painted in all conceivable colours, and which, instead of being the portraits of cujas, daguessau, and other eminent jurists, were the harsh representations of the bishops of bobbio. the effect of this new tribunal in a conquered country was at once afflicting and ludicrous. i was quite touched to witness the obstinate efforts of the president, clerks, advocates, and solicitors, tearing and breaking up the french language in such a way, that i could neither understand nor conjecture their meaning. how could i revol. i. 170 the appenines. frain from condemning the injustice of the french government, in forcing another people to renounce its laws, customs, and language, for a set of laws, customs, and language, which suited neither its climate nor its manners. the ludicrous part of the business was our attempting to express ourselves sometimes in both languages-delivering discourses which were utterly unintelligible, and pronouncing judgments wholly inconsistent with all that had gone before, and rising from our seats with a reciprocal stare, as if to ask each other's opinion on the judgments we had pronounced. "but napoleon had ordered it at the point of the bayonet, and the people murmured. the italians, who were appointed to judicial situations, struggled hard at the oar, for indeed their situations were not unlike those of galley-slaves. "the great amusement at bobbio is dancing. the figure and the step most in vogue have been handed down from generation to generation, without change or improvement. the musical instruments alone have underthe appenines. 171 gone any modification, the dances are as they were a century ago, the montferines, ferlanes, and bisses. formerly the fashionable instrument was a tambourine; then came a german trumpet; a sort of bagpipe succeeded, and with its nasal sounds afforded the same delight then to the haut-ton of bobbio, which it does still to the mountaineers of italy, whether in the alps or the appenines. it is a curious sight to witness the people of all ranks dance; the only difference between the high and the low is that the former have a slight superiority in ease in vivacity and speed they are both alike. the gentleman and lady seize each other firmly about the waist, and whirl themselves around in as large a circle as the room will allow; then they separate and dance opposite to each other-clap their hands,-pirouette-seize each other, and so repeat the affair over again, until one or both of them are too fatigued to persevere. the other kinds of dance are just as novel to a frenchman, and just as laborious. the abbés and priests do i 2 172 the appenines. not hesitate to join in these amusements, and are amongst their most renowned professors. it is only very lately that violins have been introduced at bobbio. the marchioness malaspina was tired of the bagpipe, and unwilling longer to be mixed up with peasants and innkeepers, who were, with the fashionables, the joint patrons of the only piper in the district. they were brought from the neighbouring town of voghera, and the ladies of bobbio "footed it away" to the sounds of a new instrument. the priests were decidedly in its favour, because it bore some resemblance to the harp of david, but the opinions of the rest have been much divided; and this is the history of dancing at bobbio. "you will perhaps be surprised on hearing that the clergy do not refuse joining in these profane pleasures: but i have seen them myself in their professional dresses, and even with masquerade habits during the carnival. in italy it is only the higher clergy who are very scrupulous in their conduct, and who set the example of ecclesiastical sethe appenines. 173 verity to the world; the others indulge freely, and with very little scandal, in the amusements of the city. "although the earth is covered with ice. and snow for six months, yet the soil produces several harvests in the course of the year. i have known a meadow to be mown in the beginning of may, in july, september, and in november, when the north wind had stripped the trees and vines of their foliage. the soil here has not, as in france, one year of fallow in every three. the first crop is wheat, which is reaped in the beginning of july; then turkey corn, of which the harvest is in september; and some of the land at bobbio is so fertile, that it produces even another harvest in the course of the year. the large proprietors let their land to men who, though rich, do not cultivate it: these under-let it to others, who divide it into small portions, and farm it out to the peasantry. sometimes a rich and enterprizing peasant will venture to take the whole of a farm himself. the last tenants, however, are obliged to pay so much 1 3 174 the appenines. of the produce to their landlords, that very little of it remains for their own families. thus it is that the peasantry of italy are poor in the midst of plenty. but they have another sort of oppression to contend with -that of being disposed of almost like serfs of the soil. they are subject to the will of the proprietors, and the contractors, who live on the lands, or in the neighbourhood, and who oblige them to cut their woods, gather in their vintages, and perform all their messages, both for themselves and their friends, without making the slightest recompense. the master would be in arms against a friend if he should offer a reward to the poor peasants, and would grossly abuse them if they were to accept it. in speaking of the soil and its cultivation, i ought not to forget the salt and mineral springs which are at the foot of the mountain on the right bank of the trebia. after passing this torrent by a bridge upwards of twenty arches in length, some of which have been destroyed by the floods, and afterwards rebuilt in a style rude • 1 the appenines. 175 ; enough for the time of its original construction, several centuries ago, we come to the mineral springs. they flow from two parallel sources, and about a hundred feet above the level of the torrent. they diffuse a sulphureous odour to a considerable distance. though the streams are small yet they run with great rapidity, and do not lose any of their warmth, which is considerable. the water is nearly as salt as that of the, sea. it is believed by some, that these springs result from some of the extinct volcanoes in the mountains, which stretch nearly to genoa.. they are deemed very efficient in purifying the blood, and are used both for drinking and bathing. a speculating chemist built a house over one of the springs, with the intention of manufacturing salts but the extreme scarcity of wood in the mountains occasioned a complete failure and abandonment of the project. a single quart of water furnishes about two ounces of salts and another of sulphur. were the carriage less expensive, they might be transported in barrels on mules into a more wooded district, and be converted into a : " 1 1 i 4 176 the appenines. profitable speculation. the surrounding region abounds in rocks, which contain a sparkling stone not unlike brilliants, for which they form not a bad substitute. the banks of the trebia produce a pebble, which have a yellow shining inside resembling gold. "but i must now say something of the manners of the people as they struck me in society, the promenade, and at church. the females, whether in the streets or in the saloons, never give any other salute than a nod of the head, whilst the body remains immoveable; with this, and a slight smile, and a few unintelligible words, begins and ends their politeness. the better educated italians are generally very loud in praise of all such persons as they stand in awe of, and they often carry their hypocrisy so far as to kiss them on the mouth when they meet in public. some of the young priests at bobbio say mass in boots, with heavy gold rings hanging down from their ears, and not unfrequently with large military cloaks on. "the inhabitants of mountainous countries are generally industrious, because they are e the appenines. 177 obliged by their own labour to make up for the parsimony of nature. many of the natives of these sterile regions descend into the fertile plains of placentia and parma, to earn subsistence as those of dauphiny emigrate to the country of lyons, to teach them the rudiments of education, or as the young savoyards visit paris to pursue the occupation of chimney-sweepers. "very few of the ladies of the appenine towns possess the vivacity and gay thoughtlessness of the french. i recollect one day seeing a fashionable lady of bobbio in the public promenade, surrounded by a levy of suitors. the two most ambitious of them were very assiduous in supporting her by the arms; lifting her over the ruts, and wiping, with their handkerchiefs, the dust from her shoes. the chief cicisbeo is dispensed from this sort of service, and he alone has the privilege of offering his arm to the lady. he, like the lady herself, seemed to leave to the inferior members of the establishment the duty of acting according as circumstances might require. 1 5 178 the appenines. "the italians of the mountains, as well as of the vallies, are infinitely more musical in their propensities than the french, whatever be the local character of their residence. it is rarely that a frenchman can sing in the tuscan dialect, whilst the italian, if he speaks french at all, renders it far less displeasing than are the harsh monotonous efforts of the other. " "the change of manners, sports, pleasures, sounds, language, society, situation, men, and country, at first threw me into a fit of melancholy. i seemed to be cast into a region out of which no efforts could extricate me. i submitted with becoming resignation, and my surprise and alarm have both subsided. on reflection, i find that the music is excellent, the games of chuchu and tarocco amusing, the eating good, and the ladies, when one acts upon the french notions of gallantry, very amiable. with the same sort of philosophy one might manage to make siberia itself endurable. as a specimen of the manners of the people, i will give you 1% $ the appenines. 179 an account of their mode of keeping newyear's day. on the 31st of december, visits are paid; the men kiss each other on the face, and the ladies on the hand, with such greetings as, "happy new year-long lifehealth, &c., buon fin d'anno! buon capo d'anno! buon principio! molte prosperità! e lunghi anni con salute buona!" the next day there is nothing left for them to say, but families come together, and eat sundry dishes which are appropriated to the season; such as polpetti (made of minced veal), and polenta (of indian meal), powdered over with cinمی ― namon. t "the marriages of bobbio are celebrated pretty much in the same manner as in france, though it must be admitted that some of them present a strange union of wealth and poverty, deformity and beauty, old age and youth. until the invasion of the french, females in italy could not succeed to the property of their relatives, and had a right to a small portion of it only. two or three thousand francs was the extent of the portion which a citizen gave his daughter, and the " * i 6 180 the appenines. noblest dames rarely brought more than five thousand. i remember a marriage which took place soon after my arrival, between an old widower of sixty-nine, and a widow of sixty-three, who married for the third time. the bridegroom had lost his second wife but a few weeks before. both were in rags, and their figures were in keeping with their dress. the husband might be able to earn about five sous per day, a basin of bad soup, and a loaf of brown bread, which was all that this ancient couple and their children had to subsist upon. "when a rich man dies he is carried to the church in an open bier on a litter. the corpse is drest out in gay attire, the face and feet uncovered, the hair powdered, and a crucifix in the hand. it is attended by a great many priests, who are numerous in proportion to the vanity of the defunct, or the liberality of the heirs. the body is placed in a chapel, with a basin of holy water at the head, and surrounded by torches. the priests pray over it all day, and watch with it in succession during the night. the next day it is coffined 1 3 the appenines. 181 1 "2 up and deposited in a vault. a poor person who has money to pay the priests and the undertakers, is carried with "maimed rites to the nave of the church, and left there wholly unattended for the night, and thrown carelessly into a deep vault. i was told of a man who was once entangled with a corpse, and fell with it into the vault. torches were brought, and it was found that the fall had killed him, and the stone was closed again upon both. still-born and unbaptized children are not allowed to be interred in consecrated ground; they are obliged to be deposited in any other place which may be found for them. but to pass from these melancholy subjects to those of a gayer cast. "the people of this district welcome the return of spring, by making bonfires on the heights which surround the town. they are called le fogliate, or fires of the shepherds. the peasantry crowd round them, and roast chestnuts, of which they make a sort of paste, called polenta, and with this and agnolotte, and other choice dishes, they regale themselves amidst dances, and cries of joy, 182 the appenines. which are heard down to the valley of bobbio. the higher classes, also, keep the first day of spring as a great holiday. they play at various sorts of amusements, and particularly that called si rompe la pugnata. a vase containing a piece of gold, a pair of silk stockings, or any other article of dress, is placed in the corner of the room, and one of the party, his eyes covered, and a cane in his hand, aims a blow at it: if he hits the vase, and breaks it, he gains the contents of the vase. it is customary, however, to resign them to the domestics of the house. on holy-thursday all the ladies of bobbio are very strict in their devotions, and they perambulate the town alone, quite unattended by their cavaliers. it is not until the evening that they appear in public again with these faithful servants. on this day of fast they drink great quantities of rosoglio; liquidum non frangit jejunium is a maxim of the catholic church. the master of a house offers it to his visitors, in order to keep up the spirits of his guests until evening, when the tables are covered with all kinds of fish, and the appenines. 183 the feast lasts till midnight. i have sometimes been to three or four of these suppers in the course of a single night. medals which have been consecrated always bear a good price here. i remember a travelling vender of these things who made a little fortune out of the superstition of the bobbians. he had a little bit of painted glass representing the virgin and child, which had been sanctified, and were gifted with the power of saving the wearer from even sudden death. the vender launched out into the most eloquent praise of its virtues, and whenever he named the madonna he took off his cap and crossed himself. at this all the hats of the audience were slightly raised. in two hours the pious trader in relics had sold more than four hundred of these medals, to the people of the town and the neighbouring districts. "as an instance of this superstition, i will mention a fact which occurred with respect to an assassin who lived at bobbio. this man and his brother had killed their uncle, who murdered their father whilst they were 184 the appenines. yet children. the murderer of whom i am speaking had been tried and banished from genoa. the lenity of this sentence arose no doubt from a sympathy with the irresistible desire for vengeance which such a crime must excite in the heart of a son against the father. "after receiving sentence of banishment he took refuge in bobbio, where for twentyseven years he lived in tranquillity. every one knew the history of his early life, and, in addition to what was true, some persons asserted what was false;-that, after having given the fatal blow, the two nephews had absolutely devoured their uncle's heart!— frightful as the crime was, it seemed to frighten no one at bobbio. the murderer resided there unmolested, and grew by means of usury into a yearly revenue of five or six thousand francs. at last he became dropsical, and his life was considered in danger. the miser, usurer, and murderer was menaced with speedy death, and he wished to make a will: but he was afraid to trust the notaries of bobbio, whom he believed to be 1 the appenines. 185 prejudiced or corrupted by his uncle's children-his nearest relatives and natural heirs. he sent for two priests and two physicians, and the fear of death for once loosened the strings of his purse. he bargained for masses and prayers, at the rate of two francs and a quarter each mass, and five francs for a benediction. but, distrusting even the priests, he refused to pay them until witnesses were brought to prove that they had earned their wages. doubting the integrity of the medical men of bobbio, he sent for others to placentia, but, notwithstanding their prescription, he would not suffer them to tap him, for fear of being murdered. finally this wretch, who had lived by crime, died through fear, unable to find a companion, adviser, or physician, except among men nearly as depraved as himself. "as affording some insight into the customs of this part of italy, i will give you an account of a religious ceremony which i witnessed at bobbio, and which is performed annually upon good-friday. the church was converted into a theatre, with a stage, wings, 186 the appenines. scenes, &c.; and on the morning of goodfriday the tribunals, functionaries, &c. took their seats in the parts which had been assigned to them, as spectators of this theatrical: representation by a religious fraternity. at: the further end of the theatre three crosses were erected; to the middle one was affixed an image of our saviour. the passion and all its symbols were painted on the scenes. to the right of the stage was a large armchair, with a table before it covered with a green cloth. over the top of the stage: whole troops of angels, cut out of pasteboard, and painted, were dangling about. in the front, and made of the same materials, were the figures of saints joseph and nicodemus, of the size of life. all these figures were moved by some concealed machinery. immediately at the feet of the two saints was a capacious tomb. the musicians had taken their seats in the orchestra,-the spectators had crowded into the church,—already had. the cherubim and seraphim fluttered their wings, and waved their hands to the notes: of the musicians, tuning their instruments, the appenines. 187 when a venerable saint, in a square cap, short surplice, bordered with broad lace, took his station in the arm-chair, and delivered a discourse on the passion, which lasted nearly an hour. some lay-brethren then shouted prayers at the feet of the crucified christ, whilst two priests, ascending the steps of the crucifix, gradually drew out the nails from the feet and arms of the image, and, as the psalms were continued, and the angels were agitating their wings and hands, took it down from the cross, and placed it on a hearse near the orchestra. after this the other priests, wearing only their cassocks, the friars and ecclesiastics covered with their surplices, followed by the officers of the tribunals in long robes, all bearing torches in their hands, joined in a procession in the following order. "first came a flute-player; then a large black flag, borne by a young man clad in a suit of mourning, with a sword by his side, and black gloves on his hands; and then a drummer, his drum muffled. afterwards, in double file, marched the lay-brothers to the number of one hundred and sixty-dressed 188 the appenines. in flowing robes of a grey colour, and not unlike dominos. the hoods covered their heads entirely, with the exception of two small holes for the eyes. the hearse was borne, under a black canopy, by some of the lay-brethren: the priests and the tribunal followed. a virgin came next, as large as life, supported on a frame, and carried by the young girls of bobbio, of all ranks, who were all clad in white. two gendarmes closed the procession, and were quite sufficient to keep order among a crowd which was already most devoutly attentive. the muffled drum with its hollow sound filled up the intervals, when the plaintive tones of the flute had ceased for a moment. the procession marched by torch-light through nearly all the streets of the town, the windows and balconies of which were thronged with devotees. from the terrace of the marchioness a line of ladies, all kneeling on their seats, and attended by their cavaliers, gazed upon the holy multitude as it passed. the sub-prefect stood at the side of the marchioness, who had kept him away from the procession for this purthe appenines. 189 pose. in the course of our march i saw some half a dozen ragged boys eagerly busy in catching the wax which dropped from our burning torches, into little paper basins which they held beneath. the slight quantity which they gathered was sufficient to pay them for their trouble, as they sold it at a good price to the wax-chandlers. the procession made a halt before the different churches, and all the members of it sang a latin prayer. returning to the place whence we set out, the hearse was presented to the images of st. joseph and st. nicodemus, which very courteously bowed their heads-stretched out their arms and seemed to receive on their knees the corpse, and to place it in the bier. this was all very well managed by persons concealed behind the two saints. during all this time the archangels and seraphim expressed their grief at the sight of the lifeless corpse, by the convulsive agitation of their wings, and their whole bodies. we all returned our torches to a verger, and we sank into the meditation which naturally ensued after this religious performance of the brethren of the immaculata. 190 the appenines. "at bobbio there have been fifty bishops. the last was marius fabius, a milanese, belonging to the augustine order, and a person of considerable merit, who died in 1804, aged upwards of eighty years. amongst these fifty bishops were three saints. the king of sardinia, who appointed to this bishopric, always chose, not the most highly born, but the most able and the most learned. and what minor temptation than a mitre could attract any ecclesiastic to come and bury himself in the deep valley of bobbio? the abbés sprung from titled and wealthy families could never endure the dark and frowning aspect of the mountains which fling their shadows from every side over this little town. "it is still the custom at bobbio to recite the benedicite at table, with the prayer and the sign of the cross: each person turns alternately to the right and the left, and salutes his neighbours, wishing them a good appetite. "the young are educated in the greatest respect for their parents, and whether they love them or not, they at least shew them every proper obedience. parents allow their chilthe appenines. 191 dren not the slightest familiarity, and use the most formal modes of address. at the age of eight the boys are sent to school, where they learn latin; and the girls are shut up in a convent, where they learn nothing. the nature of their education, and the perpetual constraint under which they labour, renders the youth of both sexes weak-minded and insincere. those who are kept at home and educated beneath the eyes of their parents are less hypocritical, perhaps, but still more formal. their manners are cold, stiff, and repulsive. they live in an apartment set apart for them: strangers, and even intimates in the family, rarely or never see them. they quit the table immediately after the desert. is it wonderful that they should seize the earliest occasion to remunerate themselves most amply for all this restraint?" n° xvi. revolt of placentia. da quanto più la donna sara giovane, tanto meglio per voi. quattordici anni fino a' diecisette avrete amor per amore; da diecisette sino a' ventuno un miscuglio d'interesse e d'affetto. più là si passa con pericolo di trovare non una donatrice ma una venditrice d'amore. salvini. it was now the middle of december, and i found the climate of genoa far milder than it was in paris at the end of october. my time passed agreeably away, and i had begun to fashion myself to italian habits. the theatre was but a poor resource, for the troop of comedians, which on every evening but friday (in italy they never perform on that day) acted la capricciosa pentita at the theatre del falcone, was of the most wretched order. it is rather singular that in a city so rich in monuments of every sort, there should not be even a tolerable theatre. the genoese revolt of placentia. 193 j r. ad ts be 1. e d 0 d e prefer living in a more domestic manner, and are given to indulge in very high play. fearing that the difficult passages of the mountains might be rendered impracticable by the snows, i made my arrangements for departing, and resolved to proceed along the coast to chiavara, and then to the gulf of spezzia. a genoese noble having called on me one morning, i turned the conversation to the subject of the people of the appenines, and read to him the observations which have been submitted to the reader in a preceding chapter. he was pleased to speak highly of the correctness of those remarks, and i then proposed to read to him the notice i had received from my friend at bobbio, on the insurrection of the placentians. "the french," observed the genoese, "can bear every thing but prosperity; that is their fatal rock, and you must not be surprised, therefore, that they should please men as much too little as they please women too much. in addition to this inaptitude, if they exercise authority, they are but too prone to abuse it. their gallantry has almost always vol. i. k 194 revolt of placentia. been the cause of the dissentions which their presence has given rise to in different parts of italy. i do not accuse them of having carried away by violence our wives and daughters, who have, unhappily, in more than one instance, been but too ready to follow them. amongst the young italian females there is an openness of manner, a susceptibility of disposition, to which they resign themselves, and, i confess, that in most cases, their education has not been such as to strengthen them against the seduction. at the time when the french first entered italy, i was in lombardy, and have often remarked, that when a regiment quitted a town after any considerable residence, fathers, mothers, governesses, sought in vain for their daughters and pupils. sometimes they were found again, but irreparably injured. many, afraid of the severity of their parents, never dared to re-appear, and submitted to their unhappy lot without an effort to escape. italian justice rarely punishes a conqueror; and i have myself heard a magistrate reply to the complaint of a father who had espoused the revolt of placentia. 195 french cause, and whose daughter had been seduced: "you should have defended your city, and then you would not have had to weep over your child's ruin." the evil at one time reached such a height, that those were regarded as the wisest fathers who endeavoured to palliate the misconduct of their children, by ascribing it to inexperience. i will tell you an instance, however, in which a french general repaired the fault of one of his officers, though ignorant himself of the misconduct. the daughter of a rich milanese citizen was at a school in cremona: she was about fifteen, very beautiful, and had exchanged some tender glances with a young captain of hussars. after a few days, the mistress of the establishment found that the girl was missing. she did not dare inform the parents of the afflicting news. very prudently, she remained silent, and, at the end of a week, the young lady returned. she told just enough of her secret to her mistress to shew the impropriety of revealing any more. about this time a message arrived from milan, requiring the young lady's return to her family, k 2 196 revolt of placentia. where every thing had been arranged for marrying her to a french general, afterwards high in rank at the court of the viceroy of italy. the young captain soon afterwards was made aide-de-camp to the general, and had a rapid advance in his profession. these were not the kind of facts which occasioned the insurrection of placentia-but proceed, i entreat you to read your friend's manuscript." i read as follows:-"i had been for some months in my gloomy solitude at bobbio, when the district of placentia produced against the french and their authority, an army of insurgents, one column of which directed its course towards our mountains. the people of parma were well aware of all these movements, which were not made known to us until a day or two before the appearance of the peasantry, who told us, that the public functionaries, and more especially the french, were in the most imminent danger. the mayor of bobbio declared to the sub-prefect, that he could not answer for our safety. we said: "sound the tocrevolt of placentia. 197 sin! call in the peasants of bobbio to our defence, and close the gates of the town.” we might have added, "barricado the immense gaps in the walls;" but he coldly answered: "the tocsin is more likely to be sounded against you, for our peasants are sure to join the insurgents." "on the 3d of january, two placentian emissaries presented themselves at the municipality, and required that rations should be provided for fifteen hundred men who would enter the town within four hours. the mayor learned from their discourse that there was just time enough for the french authorities to escape. at noon, the sub-prefect, the officers of the recruiting service, the receivers and treasurers, left the town. this was told me by a messenger from the subprefect, for i wished them all to remain, and that the gates should be closed, the breaches in the walls guarded, and the town defended against a badly armed and undisciplined peasantry. i advised also to send expresses to the governor of genoa, to the military governor of parma and placentia, general k 3 198 revolt of placentia. junot, requesting assistance, and stating that in the mean time the town would be able to hold out. my advice was not attended to, and i found myself left alone a hostage in the hands of ignorant peasants, who had already sent the french to prison in the castle of montalto, situated on the frontiers of placentia. as this was not a pleasant prospect, i set out as rapidly as possible after my fugitive fellowcountrymen, and soon came up with about thirty of them, who, with the exception of the sub-prefect, were all on foot. the inhabitants would neither hire nor lend us their mules, in the belief that they never should see us again." "we had proceeded about half a league to the south of bobbio, when we beheld on the mountains to the north of the town a body of armed men, whose long dark mantles strongly contrasted with the whiteness of the snow. we observed that they directed their course towards bobbio. continuing our route, we were buoyed up with the hope that the government had taken some measures to suppress this insurrection, which was reported revolt of placentia. 199 to be general in the district of placentia, and to be managed by certain persons of consideration who remained in the back-ground. we arrived at dezza, having been led by trusty guides through the deep snows, in which we sank up to the knees, and from which it was sometimes almost impossible to extricate our feet. the cold was excessive, but the rapidity of our march enabled us to endure it. we trod as carefully as possible in the tracks of our guides. like true frenchmen, we beguiled the tedious perils of the way with songs, witticisms, and conversation. finally, we arrived at prégola, at the house of a marquis malaspina, a relation of the lady of that name at bobbio. not having been expected, the marquis told us that he had not provisions enough for so numerous a company. nevertheless, he emptied his hen-roosts, and we managed to get through about a hundred eggs of all ages. our beds were quite extemporaneous, and consisted of boards covered with mattrasses. "in the mean time the insurgents had entered bobbio, to the number of fifteen hunk 4 200 revolt of placentia. dred, amidst the most terrific outcries and huzzas. i was told that one of the more respectable inhabitants of the town, who had been sent with three others, by the mayor, to treat with the insurgents, marched in at their head, with branches of laurel in his hat, as if he had retaken bobbio by force of arms. the insurgents cried, as they entered the town, "god and the holy mother for ever! long life to the emperor! not the new one, but the old one of austria!-spain and the dukes of parma for ever!"-they had already levied contributions of money and provisions on the mayor and all such as they supposed favourable to the french. they hastened to the treasurer's, whose chests they found empty, plundered the lodgings of the gens d'armes, who had been very imprudently ordered to genoa at the beginning of the insurrection of the placentians. they then sent off a detachment of forty men in pursuit of us, but the depth of the snow retarded their progress; and, on arriving at dezza, they had not the strength to follow us to pregola, where they would have arrived about two hours after us. they then returned to bobbio, fearful of finding the revolt of placentia. 201 roads entirely blocked up by the snows. the next day we resumed our journey, part of our number making a circuitous route to voghera, and the rest proceeding to genoa by way of novi. “the insurgents were near to novi; but the sub-prefect was ignorant of this until informed by us. he immediately reconnoitred, armed the national guard, and closed up the gates, so that not a single rebel penetrated the capital. their design was to get possession of montalto on the 6th of january, and of voghera on the 8th. our fortunate arrival on the 5th was, perhaps, the means of saving the town. "a detachment of light french cavalry soon came to our relief, and, aided by them, we returned to bobbio. the gates were closed, and the breaches in the walls barricadoed. the sentry demanded: who goes there?— frenchmen! was the answer. the inhabitants having learnt our return, adopted the same course for their own safety, which we had previously suggested for ours. we recaptured the town without firing a musket, as k 5 202 revolt of placentia. the insurgents had captured it without a blow. the last had evacuated their conquest after having sung a te deum, and had left a garrison of about fifty men, who were a vexation to the inhabitants, and by whom they were driven out of the town. the governor of genoa then sent us an official bulletin, containing an account of these events. "it suffices to say that this insurrection, which had begun during the french campaign in germany, and which had been greatly fomented by the report that napoleon had been taken, with forty thousand men, and imprisoned in an iron case, was entirely stifled by the victory of austerlitz. after a few skirmishes between the troops and the peasantry, something like quiet was restored. one might have thought that these political disturbances had had an effect on the lofty rocks which overhang bobbio, for, on the 7th of february, at ten o'clock a slight earthquake was felt there, to the great consternation of the inhabitants. napoleon ordered mezzano, a small village about two leagues distant, to be burnt, as having been a rallying # ne 1 } 1 i i i 203 point for the insurgents. this order was put in execution with all possible lenity. the inhabitants received timely notice; the soldiery were interdicted from pillage; the mansion of the principal person in the village was preserved, in order to afford an asylum to the peasant families, who, instead of losing by the conflagration, received full receipts for the rents and dues which they had not paid to their landlord. many of the peasants were seen warming themselves by the fire of their own habitations. the people of bobbio expressed a becoming gratitude to the general under whose superintendance these orders were executed, and who knew how to preserve tranquillity in an invaded country, exposed to the dangers of a badly-disciplined and licentious soldiery. revolt of placentia. "a decree of amnesty was soon published pardoning all the insurgents, except a few who were condemned to death by a military commission instituted at parma. general junot himself, with his staff, soon afterwards visited bobbio, where he was received with all sorts of honours. the mayor recited a k 6 204 copy of verses, which invoked mount penice to bow its lofty head, and the trebia to bridle in its current, for he who had filled with the blood and carnage of victory the fields, valleys, hills, lakes, and highways, was now about to pass them with a giant's step. general juno, afterwards duke of abrantes, whose death was so tragic in its manner, and who before 1789 had been an attorney's clerk at chaumont, was scarcely settled in his residence, before he received all the authorities and tribunals in grand levee. he spoke to those around him in the tuscan dialect. although stretched almost at his length on a sofa, yet i observed that no one of his suite ventured to sit down in his presence. this was a kind of apprenticeship to the state which he afterwards assumed in paris and illyria. he had probably caught the infection in egypt, where the persons in power are so great and the rest of the world so small. young females alone were allowed to sit before him. to them he paid the greatest attention. there was a young figurante, named rotonda, at parma, who happened to sprain her ancle, revolt of placentia. revolt of placentia. 205 whilst the general was present. he sent first one aide-de-camp and then another, and finally visited the young lady himself. this military governor was necessarily followed by a great number of courtiers-the majority of them functionaries of parma-so that the childish assemblage of public men about the couch of a common dancer proved the nothingness of man when woman is concerned. 1 the general was treated at bobbio with the greatest attention. the marchioness gave him a grand ball and supper, but after condescending to walk through part of a dance he disappeared. after the tempest, all was calm in the district, and general junot at the head of his suite, and escorted by the inhabitants of the town, departed for parma. on his route he diverted himself with killing the poultry of the peasantry, by shooting at them with a pistol whilst trotting past, in order to shew his dexterity in using that weapon. for every pullet so shot, which the peasantry brought him, he paid six francs. and thus terminated the visit of general junot. 206 revolt of placentia. "in the rebellion of bobbio there was but a single head turned, that of a lame apothecary, who, finding himself in the streets during the entry of the placentian peasantry, and more intent upon his bills than with their arrival, which he had not anticipated, could not escape so easily as he wished. on reaching his own house at last, he was haunted with the notion that the insurgents were still in pursuit, and determined to poison or dissect him. the return of peace, however, effaced all these political and mental blotches. "so soon as the danger was over, the inhabitants began to tell their marvellous stories, and accompany them with their more or less sagacious comments. the politicians pretended that there were still revolutionary movements in the south of france, similar to those in parma and placentia: that in piedmont, near bielle, the insurgents had made the most hostile demonstrations, and after being defeated and made prisoners they had been condemned by a military commission at verceil. "the dealers in romance dwelt upon the revolt of placentia. 207 carelessness of the people of mezzano, who, though warned early in the evening of the intended conflagration of their village, remained in their beds, without any attempt to escape or provide for a future residence. these people stood by in the morning and beheld unmoved the destruction of their dwellings; and some of them went so far as to tell the adjutant the best places for throwing his combustibles. a dealer in salt and tobacco, after having transported some of his effects, returned to inform the commanding officer, that the cellar of his house was filled with wood, and would burn like wildfire. at the sight of the conflagration of mezzano, which is separated by the river trebia from canimata, the inhabitants of this last village, and of the neighbouring hamlets, who had joined the insurgents, quitted their cottages and drove away their flocks, in the fear that the french would devote them to a similar ruin. the curate of mezzano fled the country in his fright, leaving the key in the tabernacle, and the chalice and the consecrated wafers in the sacristy. the commanding offi208 revolt of placentia. cer collected them altogether, and sent the holy vases, and the host, with the ornaments of the church to the count caraccioli. the curate of scabiesa, a village of placentia, kept in his sacristy a pistol and dagger, to protect himself from such of his insurgentparishioners as might have dared to attack him at the feet of the altar. the people of mezzano, startled from their lethargy by the sight of the swiss soldiers who came to set fire to their dwellings, set about removing in the greatest haste, and in order to carry away the casks, poured out the wine upon the ground, the weight of which would have rendered their removal more difficult. a great quantity of grain, provender, and furniture was lost. the swiss soldiers rioted considerably among the provisions, and got very intoxicated. some of the villagers warmed themselves at the bivouacs, and, whilst the flames were consuming their habitations, drank with the soldiers. others, on the ground, or standing, gazed at the burning ruins with the most stupid indifference. but these were not amongst the guiltiest of the insurgents. the revolt of placentia. 209 people of the villages of canimata, cardorela, prino, and macerati, were the genuine rebels; but they had selected mezzano as a rallying point, to turn away the ruin from themselves in case of failure; there they sounded the tocsin and combined their forces, so that mezzano passed for the centre of the insurrection, and was unjustly destroyed. the inhabitants were prohibited from rebuilding their habitations before twelve years had elapsed. in the midst of what had been the village a column was erected, having inscribed on it the reasons for its destruction. "a report was circulated that napoleon had bestowed on general junot, for his zeal in suppressing this insurrection, a rich abbey in the placentine, whose revenue exceeded three hundred thousand francs per annum. twenty rebels, two of them ecclesiastics, were condemned by the military commission to be shot. "as a specimen of italian character i would remark that, during the whole of the insurrection, the revels of the carnival went on. 210 revolt of placentia. the youths of bobbio came to the balls in the dresses of the placentian brigands. let it not be said that the french are the only nation in europe which exhibits symptoms of unbecoming levity." . 7 nº. xvii. placentia. et que doit-il penser, lorsque, dans une rue, il trouve de pédans un escadron fourré ou qu'il voit la justice, en grosse compagnie, mener tuer un homme avec cérémonie. boileau. what then is justice? the most beautiful of all fictions. it resembles friendship in one respect, nothing is more common than the name, nothing more rare than the thing. there is often a great difference between giving judgment and doing justice. i have sometimes heard judgments pronounced, so ridiculous and so unexpected, that the sarcastic hyperbole of montesquieu might have passed for truth, when he wished that every cause should be decided in favour of the party who had the fewest voices in his favour: so true is it that the number of clear and just212 placentia. minded persons in the world, is exceeded by that of the dull and unjust-minded. i recollect to have heard tell, in my infancy, of one of the judges of toulouse, who was in the habit of making very curious bargains with the goddess of justice. equally afraid of letting loose a malefactor on society, or of sending an innocent person to the scaffold, he had chosen for his guide, what he called, a kind of middle term, and, without embarrassing himself with the more or less complicated details of the cases, he always decided that the accused should be condemned to the gallies for ten years. according to his view, what some lost, others gained by this compromise, and so the great principles of justice were kept in equilibrium. i would not undertake to say that this mode of passing judgment was worse than others which are now in use. before the last occupation of italy by the french-an occupation which was either too long or too short for the prosperity of the italians nothing was more simple than the administration of justice in most of the towns. a sbirro (for two-pence) served a verbal sumplacentia. 213 mons; the parties appeared before the podesta, who received, as his fee, two pence, when the damages amounted to twenty-five francs; five-pence when they amounted to fifty; and two per cent. on all higher sums. the fees of the judges in the courts of appeal were in the same proportion. a notary certified for some trifling fee that the summons was legally served. the advocates were ordinarily limited by a very frugal tarif; but they turned to a better account all that kind of business into which any feelings of hatred entered. this sort of litigation, which the italians term cause di pontiglio, was very common in italy, for the podesta rarely exercised his authority until after recourse had been made to the influence of the stiletto. the italians are not remarkable for their fondness of litigious processes; and if legal discussions are more rare amongst them than amongst other nations, it partly arises from the cheapness of advocacy, for it is unquestionable that suits are more numerous in proportion to their expensiveness. 214 placentia. the influence of the french revolution was felt through all the states of italy. the introduction of the french system of jurispru dence was fatal to the old ultramontane jurists, and raised up at once a large tribe of young advocates. the first too far advanced in their professional career, to familiarize themselves with a new language and a new code, seceded from the courts of law; the others, on the contrary, as soon as they were able to talk even a jargon of french, usurped their seats on the bench, and derived from ignorant suitors considerable sums for a few rash and imperfect opinions, or inefficient speeches. at genoa, i heard a beardless barrister plead for a man who was accused of having stabbed another. the defence amounted, in fact, to a justification of the deed. "no law," cried the advocate, "forbids us from destroying our enemies, when that destruction is necessary to our own preservation;" he went on to quote the civil law, and to shew that a stiletto was nothing more than a weapon of defence. as we say in france, that a blow demands placentia. 215 a reference to the sword-so in italy, they say that a blow must be wiped away by the stiletto. "both principles are barbarous enough," said a genoese to me one day, "but are we not as excusable as you are?" there is one thing which greatly obstructs the proper administration of criminal justice in italy, and that is the vast influence which the confessors exercise over judges, advocates, and solicitors. i have known an instance where a judge was heavily censured by a confessor for some sentence which had been pronounced in his court. often has it occurred that solicitors have been afraid to put their briefs into the hands of certain advocates, who were in bad odour with the religious orders. at genoa, neither the power of the doges nor that of the senate, ever pressed so severely upon the people as did formerly the government of venice, which had adopted only half of machiavel's advice" kill speedily, but rarely." the council of ten, which duclos has so justly called an immortal despot, killed speedily and frequently. 216 placentia. although the punishment of death was occasionally resorted to in genoa, yet it was more rarely employed than in piedmont. the doge was the supreme head of the state, and consequently of justice; but as his power lasted but for two years, he looked forward, amidst the exercise of all his high functions, to the time when he should return again to the rank of a simple citizen. i beheld, with a deep respect, the portraits of all these personages in the vast magnificent hall, where the doges used to preside over the genoese senate. on the day of their election, a member of the senate, after having thanked the last doge, announced to him the expiration of his authority in these words: "my lord, it is now two years since you were elected doge.-sir, you are no longer doge." he immediately descended from the official chair, and laid aside the insignia of his power. i had been at placentia two days, when i made these reflections on the state of italian jurisprudence; and if any of the kingdoms of that country were still ruled according to 1 placentia. 217 the maxims of machiavel, the duchies of parma, placentia, and guastalla, as well as tuscany, were governed previous to the arrival of the french, by laws as mild and temperate as their own climate. a man of whom all italy is justly proud, and whose name is respected by the civilized world, had seen his principles prevail in these fortunate provinces; and the grand dukes who adopted them, were in some measure associated with the glory of beccaria. they believed that no man had the right to doom his fellow-creature to death; they thought that the right to destroy belonged to him alone who had the power to create. one may easily imagine how odious all our barbarous legal customs must have appeared to people unused to witness the shedding of blood. i lodged at placentia, in the house of a merchant, who had retired from business ten years before. after having travelled in france and england, he returned to his native city, and devoted his time to the education of his children. i had known him very intimately at paris, in the house of the l 218 placentia. chevalier angiolini, then envoy from tuscany, and who, by way of parenthesis, rendered prince borghese the unwelcome service of marrying him to the handsome widow of general leclerc.* my host was sufficiently intimate to be quite at his ease with me, and he never hesitated to say how easy it would have been for the french to have conciliated the affections of the italians, if in breaking up all their old usages they had not imposed the yoke of french laws. in short, he was one of the most decided opponents of napoleon, although he paid him the tribute due to his great military talents, and recognized the good qualities of the french people. "we were then so happy!" has he often exclaimed to me; 66 now, we pay three times as many taxes as before; not only does the conscription take away from us our children at the age of twenty, but under the pretext of giving them a french education in the lyceums; the sons of the wealthy are taken as early as their twelfth year, and your authorities have the audacity * the princess pauline buonaparte. placentia. 219 to say that these are benefits conferred on us. i will admire as much as you please, but nothing in the world shall force me to love a government which extends its power into the bosom of private families, and prescribes to a parent how his children shall be educated. but the worst of all your deeds is the having re-established the punishment of death, which prevents no crime, for crime always increases in the direct ratio of the severity of laws. the public eye becomes familiarized with a horrid spectacle, and the purity of morals is thereby greatly corrupted. i admit that civilization is not so considerably advanced with us as with you, for excepting a few persons who might easily be pointed out, the twenty-eight thousand inhabitants of placentia are imbued with many prejudices, and led away by many superstitions; but it is not the sight of a scaffold which will improve their moral and intellectual condition. it is impossible to describe the effect produced on the first introduction of the guillotine, by the french, into placentia. it was towards the end of may l 2 220 placentia. in 1807, that the hearts of the placentians were chilled by the occurrence of a horrid tragedy. the man condemned to death was an assassin, i admit; and whilst we censure the law we must absolve the judges. during the interval between the sentence and the execution, and for several days afterwards, you might have observed every face pale and astonished; the theatre was deserted; in the streets, and the public walks, the common question was have you seen it? when the day of execution arrived, the inhabitants, of every age, men, women, children, those whom infirmities generally kept at home, all thronged to the public square, and the adjacent street; the windows, balconies, and roofs were covered with spectators, and all the houses and shops were shut up. orders had been given in the morning to close the gates of the city; before daybreak all the different religious societies, which are very numerous here, had dispersed themselves into the various quarters to solicit money for the requiem of the deceased. the nobility of all orders assumed the dress of one placentia. 221 or other of these societies, and engaged in their religious toils. after some hours of strange expectation the fatal axe fell, and struck terror into every heart. the executioner, unmoved by the general horror, rolled the corpse into a box, and, taking the head by the hair, held it up as a spectacle to the people. the head of medusa itself could scarcely have produced greater affright. in a moment a thousand absurd reports were circulated amongst the crowd, and swallowed by their credulity. one asserted that the features moved, another saw the mouth open and shut, others began to count their rosaries, when a cry was heard that the dead body had raised one of its legs out of the coffin. the disorder was then at its height; the crowd immediately fled in every direction, believing that the evil spirit had taken possession of the corpse of the unhappy sufferer. many persons were seriously hurt in the confusion; and the members of the religious societies, embarrassed by their long robes and hoods, were thrown down, and the money they had collected was scattered upon क l3 222 placentia. the ground. some of the fugitives in their fright escaped over the walls, others took refuge in their own houses. in the general terror, the mayor had recourse to the clergy, who formed themselves into a procession, and marched through the streets. the measured chaunt of the priests, their regular and solemn march gradually restored the terrified people to their senses. without such an intervention, nothing would have calmed their agitated spirits." i admitted that this event might have produced very disagreeable results, and concurred in the danger of changing the laws and customs of a nation. without wishing to defend the conduct of napoleon in all things, still i could not avoid citing an instance where he had paid great deference to the superstitions of the people of parma. a mr. n had been appointed prefect of the city at the recommendation of joseph bonaparte. he arrived a little before the end of lent, and on good friday gave a fête and ball, at which the principal persons of parma were obliged to be present. as soon as napoleon was informed of this, he placentia. 223 transmitted to mr. n-, by means of the telegraph, the information of his official removal. this act produced the best effect upon the people of parma, but "we were once so happy!" i had already remarked during my earlier promenades about the town, that placentia had little or no accord with the meaning of its name. the environs, however, are fine; and, so far as the imagination can conceive the effect of summer verdure upon the situations and woods, which are even picturesque in winter, the country around placentia, must, in the warmer seasons, be delicious. the town itself is gloomy and dull, and harmonizes with the peevish and sour aspect of the people. after conversing for a few hours with any number of placentians, it is difficult to believe that one is not living in the fourteenth century; thus, when they quit their country, which is extremely rare, they believe themselves transported into a new world. their incurious taciturnity almost equals that of the inhabitants of the greek isles. disl 4 224 placentia. daining labour and study, they find no satisfaction except in ignorance and superstition. when general junot arrived there for the first time, all the nobility thought it their duty to present themselves before him in uniform, and they all put on the epaulettes of colonels. the general had great difficulty in making them understand that this kind of dress was not allowed except to those who had received the proper commissions. placentia is a very ancient city, founded by a roman colony. it was captured and burnt by hamilcar. in many places, where excavations of a certain depth have been made, the water bubbles up very salt, but without the disagreeable taste of sea-water. the number of monks and ecclesiastics forms nearly one-tenth of the whole population. although not very productive in distinguished men, yet placentia boasts of pallavicino, one of the clever authors of the seventeenth century. like many other persons of far greater celebrity than himself, pallavicino owed his misfortunes and his deplorable end to his own talents. il divorzio celeste was • placentia. 225 ascribed to him, a work full of wit and severity, in which he traces a picture, perhaps too extravagant, of the court of rome and its profligacy under the pontificate of urban viii. having written against this pope and the barberini family, then all-powerful, he was invited to avignon by every sort of flattery and seduction. he went there full of a confidence which was fatal to him, for no sooner had he arrived, than urban caused him to be beheaded. there are still extant some other curious works by pallavicino, which have not been translated into other languages, and which the bibliomanists consider precious and rare. i remained only a few days at placentia. spite of its fine fountains, the magnificent frescoes of the carracci and guercino, and the beautiful pictures which decorate its churches, it is, of all the italian cities, the one which has left me the fewest pleasant recollections, and i quitted it for parma without regret. ! 1 1 $ 1 $ l 5 nº. xviii. parm a. mihi sic usus est; tibi, ut opus est facto, face. terence. how greatly is it to be desired in the world, that each man would occupy himself with his own conduct, and not busy himself so impertinently about that of others. this very common fault is more intolerable than much greater vices, and often tends to create and confirm national antipathies. in foreign countries, the french are accused of levity; i think unjustly so. but there is another charge against us which is much better founded, i mean an exclusive affection for our own manners, habits, and customs. a little more, and, like the ancient romans,we should treat as barbarians all those who do not live parma. 227 in the same way with ourselves. men, the most remarkable for gravity of character, are not exempt from this prejudice, which influenced even so great a person as the president, montesquieu. being at venice with the celebrated lord chesterfield, a discussion arose between them on the respective eminence of the two nations, which were so favourably represented by themselves. lord chesterfield allowed france the superiority in wit, but refused the palm of good sense. montesquieu returned home very much dissatisfied with this praise. he was still in a petulant mood, when a venetian whom he did not know, presented himself mysteriously and demanded a private audience. this man said, that the state inquisitors had taken some offence at the president's visit to the republic, and that his residence would be visited that night for the purpose of ex-amining his papers; and, if anything was found to compromise him, he would be most certainly arrested. the stranger withdrew after having given this advice to montesquieu. the latter instantly set about del 6 228 parma. stroying all the observations he had written down on the government of venice, and waited with some anxiety for the menaced nocturnal visit, but no one came. the next day, at an early hour, he called on lord chesterfield and related to him the adventure, together with the mode adopted to rescue himself from all danger from the inquisition. scarcely had montesquieu finished his story, when lord chesterfield began to smile, and said: "well, my dear president, was i wrong in refusing france the possession of good sense, when one of her most distinguished citizens has shewn himself so strangely deficient in it?"-" how?" clearly-with very little good sense you would have reflected, that a man who did not know you could not have felt so deep an interest in your concerns as to do a service of this sort; and, besides, if the government had intended such a step, it is too fond of secresy to have imparted its design to any one.” montesquieu confessed his precipitancy; and, when such a man confesses such a fault, it would be idle in us to deny it. it is certain parma. 229 that we judge strangers more or less favourably, in proportion as they differ or agree with ourselves. i have remarked this on almost every occasion that i met any of my countrymen in italy. but, to continue my route. at two or three leagues from parma, on each side of the road, are meadows of great extent, covered with numerous herds of cattle, some of them of extraordinary size. these pastures are inclosed by hedges of a man's height, planted and cut with a symmetry equal to that of the most elegant gardens. the environs of the city are more simple than those of placentia, and without the same variety and beauty of scenery. about half a league from parma, we met a procession of females, having at their head a grand cross-bearer and two or three priests. the nature and direction of their procession i could not learn. every thing about me indicated the appearance of a city which had once been subject to spanish government; and, i was told, that many spanish customs still prevailed in parma. on entering the city, i thought that the 230 parma. streets and buildings were far less gloomy than those of placentia. a more modern air pervaded every thing, although there was no pretence to magnificence. almost all the windows were set in lead, even those belonging to the palazzi. in italy, the better sort of houses in town or city lay claim to the title of palazzo. parma is very ancient, and bore the same name even before the time of augustus. it is situated on the flaminian way. during the time of the triumvirate, parma suffered greatly from the cruelties exercised towards the inhabitants by the party of antony. cicero alludes to the proscriptions which that faction levelled at the people, whom he describes as amongst the most estimable in italy. augustus sent a new colony to parma, which in gratitude took the name of julia augusta colonia. at the time of the destruction of the western empire, it experienced many disasters; and, in the wars of italy, passed successively under the yoke of several dominions. it was a part of tuscany when cassius, the friend of brutus, was born there. hence horace, parma. 231 when speaking of that republican, calls him etrusci cassi. the parmesans have a distinguished university, founded in 1599 by ranuccio farnese. their other literary claims are not great. it is said that aurelius macrobius was born here in the fourth century; paer, the celebrated musician, is a native of parma, and composed his opera agnèse as a homage to his birth-place, where it was first performed by a company of amateurs, he sustaining the part of uberto himself. the town is watered by the little river called the parma, which divides it into three parts, connected by as many bridges. the palace offers nothing remarkable on the outside. the grand square is large, but the buildings which surround it, are neither splendid nor imposing. the centre of the square is converted into a market, and crowded with sellers and buyers. the square of the ducal palace would be very beautiful if it were finished. one is struck at parma by the great number of churches, which are more remarkable for their internal deco232 parma. rations than their architecture. the cathedral is famous for its cupola, which represents the assumption. it is the work of corregio, and though somewhat injured by time, is marked by great warmth of imagination, and extraordinary boldness of foreshortening. it has been objected to by severe critics for great imperfection in the drawing and the over-colouring of the flesh. parma is rich in pictures of corregio, parmegiano, paul veronese, guercino, and other famous masters. the academy of parma possesses a bronze table, which contains the charter granted by trajan to the velleians. for many centuries, this town has been under the government of the farnese, a family rendered illustrious by alexander farnese, better known as pope paul iii. parma is surrounded by walls, and flanked by bastions. it is more than four miles in circumference. the citadel is inconsiderable. it has about forty thousand inhabitants. the principal commerce of the place is in silk and cheese. this latter is famous throughout europe. parma. 233 the library is worth the attention of the curious, and contains all the works printed by bodoni. i paid a visit to this extraordinary man, who has contributed so much to the advancement of typography. he was made a member of the corps législatif during buonaparte's time, but he did not appear to be greatly affected by that honour. when i visited him, he was engaged in printing an edition of homer, on vellum, only two copies of which had been struck off-one for napoleon, and the other for the king of bavaria. i was accompanied by an officer of the french army, who happened to be attached to the mission in parma, and who, being little versed in any thing except the art of war, had the bad taste to admire nothing in the homer except the beauty of the parchment. i never saw a more expressive glance of the eye than the printer threw upon me when he heard this opinion. unhappily, bodoni was a devotee, and extremely timid; his editions are all expurgati. the only french work which his presses have produced, is the 234 parma. poem on religion, by the gallant cardinal de bernis. the inhabitants of parma are polished in their manners, and well informed. the great farnese theatre is in ruins, but even its ruins display much of its former magnificence. it is three hundred feet in length, and the largest in italy, and was once the most beautiful. at present, the carved work, gilding, and sculpture, are fallen into ruins. every part of the building is exposed to the open air; the roof, platforms, and stage, have given way in several places. once this magnificent edifice testified the prodigious power of man; now it gives a sad proof of the destructive influence of time. it was built after the designs of the celebrated architect vignola, and was capable of holding twelve thousand spectators, so placed as to hear from all parts and corners of this immense building. the moderate tones of the actor might be heard by the auditor in the remotest recess of the interior. what made the structure of this house the more remarkparma. 235 able, was the complete absence of echoes and reverberations. with my friend, the un-typographical colonel, i examined the house in all its parts, and there was no situation on the stage in which a person might not be easily seen from every part of the boxes, pit, and gallery. this theatre was constructed something more than three centuries ago, for the purpose of celebrating the marriage of hercules farnese; it is of a demi-oval form; all the lower part is built in ascending rows of seats à l'antique, up to the usual height of the second tier of boxes. there is only one circle of boxes, which is ornamented with simple columns, at equal distances, which support the arches, and is surrounded with a rich cornice. above is a gallery with several rows of seats. the theatre farnese, and the theatre palladio, are the only two modern theatres in italy, which really shew any marks of architectural science and beauty. the audience on the sides see and hear as well as those who are opposite the stage. abandoned for more than a century, this ex, quisite monument has fallen into ruins; but 236 parma. even the ruins are curious, and enable the observer to judge of the character of the original edifice. architects have often talked of rebuilding this edifice in all its pristine beauty, in order that at least one city of italy might boast of a theatre constructed according to the models of antiquity. the expense of such vast reparations have always occasioned their indefinite postponement. the river parma flows behind the theatre, and in pieces requiring shew, they were in the habit of opening some of the side walls, and introducing the water on the stage, with barks in full sail. this was a great aid in the representation of sea-fights. the only theatre at which the parmesans enjoy themselves at present, is a still smaller one than that of placentia; its consists of three tiers of boxes, but has nothing remarkable in its architecture. the grotesque dances here are famous throughout italy. it only remains to say something of the public garden, or park, which adjoins the city. it is planted with a great number of trees, many of which are exotics. there are a parma. 237 great many bosquets, alleys, and fountains in different parts of it; and the citizens find it a pleasant promenade. the terrace command the view of an extensive and fertile country, remarkable by the victory which the french gained over the austrians in 1734. this battle, called the battle of parma, was fought immediately below the terrace. the district of parma is fertile in gardenstuff, and particularly so in all sorts of melons. the grand square, and all the adjacent street, are crowded with melon-stalls; and the pavements are covered with rows of immense water melons, called by the italians cocomeri, and by the provençals pastèques. this fruit is much sought after in italy, and, being moderate in price, the poor make it their habitual food in summer. the juice is slightly acid, and they say that it preserves and repairs the powers of the stomach. when the richer classes eat them, they pour one or two bottles of white wine into them, which greatly improves the flavour. no. xix. an original. omnem crede diem tibi diluxisse supremum grata superveniet, quæ non sperabitur hora. horace. it is in travelling that we find the advantage of leaving each day to take care of itself, and not to form an attachment to any particular country, which, instead of creating sources of enjoyment, is sure to prepare occasion for regret. i had begun to find parma a pleasant place, and formed two or three delightful connexions, when i quitted it suddenly, to bury myself once more in the heart of the mountains. the spring was just opening upon us, and having contracted a friendship with a parmesan naturalist, he persuaded me to take advantage of the season, and to accompany him to chiavari and an original. 239 spezzia, to observe a singular natural phenomenon. as there was nothing which specially retained me in parma i consented. italy is the only country which incessantly offers those great contrasts of the most perfect productions of art in towns, with a certain primitive and savage air in the country -which tends to shew off the advances of civilization. during my residence at parma, i had sedulously courted my travelling companion; he joined to the usual vivacity of an italian, a disdain of the human species, which was not with him an affectation, but a genuine originality. on the other hand, all irrational animals were the objects of his constant admiration. "how very unjust men are!" said he to me, one day. "if, before they condemn those species in which human pride affects to recognize mere instinct, they would only examine the use to which they put their own boasted reason, i think it would perplex them to decide on which side lies the superiority. i admit that nothing else than instinct is necessary to stimulate two bulls to a combat 240 an original. for the same cow, or two dogs to fight for their prey; whilst it requires a progression of improvements and discoveries to bring together, in hostile array, two armies of three hundred thousand men, who are to destroy each other they know not wherefore. give all due honour, then, to your vaunted reason. we are proud of the very thing which ought to make us blush; and the meanness of our actions puts to shame the pomposity of our pretensions. recollect what an old greek philosopher (whose name i have forgotten-such is the nature of human memory) once said: men go about boasting that they are the most beautiful of all created things, and yet they conceal their beauty under the spoils, and borrow the dress of those very beings whose ugliness they censure.' still further it is a proverb 'ugly as a monkey;' and yet of all animals the monkey is that which most resembles a man. philosophers admit that man, in his natural state, is scarcely more intelligent than the animals:-they should have said, much less so. it is thought, that the instinct an original. 241 of domestic animals is greatly improved by intercourse with men :-fine improvement! that of exchanging the instinct of liberty for that of slavery. but their liberty is still dearer to them than it is to us. i remarked this the other day when looking at a troop of learned dogs in the neat square of parma. they were clothed in tawdry rags, in imitation of our dresses, and it was quite delightful to see the contempt and scorn with which the other dogs passed them by. a little shaggy bitch repulsed, with vast indignation, the courtesies of the abbé and marquis of the dancing troop. there was in this something more than instinct. the dog, that good and excellent creature, does he follow the movement of instinct merely when he remains faithful to an attachment of which we are not worthy? when he follows alone the property of a master, who would have killed him if he had broken a paw in his service, in order to be relieved from the expense of keeping him in his infirmity?-when he dies to defend him? -when he dies even because he will not survive him, as did hircanus, the dog of vol. i. m 242 an original. lysimachus, who expired on his master's hearse? it will perhaps be said, that these qualities of the heart are compatible with those of instinct, but are not the results of intellect and the calculations of reason. how then are we to estimate the mental combinations of that dog, who had argued, that by throwing stones into a vase which contained a little oil, he should make the liquor rise to the borders of the vessel? what shall we say of that other dog, who, having lost his master, and coming to three cross roads, ascertaining that he had not passed by two of them, immediately chose the third, calculating that if he did not pass by this nor by that, he must have gone by the other? what shall we say of the malice of thales' mule, who waded into the water in order to dissolve the sack of salt which he was transporting? i know that thales, in punishment, loaded him afterwards with sponges ; but the whole merit of the philosopher was that of playing tricks with his mule, without having the merit of invention. the ancients, whose ideas we have been so ready to imian original. 243 tate, recognized in many things the superiority of animals; we never knew of animals deifying men, but have often heard of men deifying beasts. the turks have built hospitals to them; the romans maintained the geese of the capitol at the public expense; the agrigentines granted the honour of sepulture to such animals as had been dear to them-to horses, dogs, and useful birds; the egyptians buried wolves, bears, crocodiles, dogs, and cats, in sacred places, and sometimes embalmed their corpses; cimon, the athenian, gave a brilliant sepulture to the horses with which he had three times gained the prize in the olympic races. "animals are far more temperate in their appetites than men; they gratify their desires according to the laws of nature, without exciting themselves by factitious means to a disgraceful intemperance. in what republic, ancient or modern, did there ever reign a more beautiful regularity than amongst the ants? what kingdom is better organized than a hive, from which those high and powerful lords, the drones, are chased m 2 244 an original. away, when they wish more than their share of the honey distilled by the laborious bees? is it purely instinct which instructs swallows, and other birds of passage, when they ought to change their climates? what architect taught them to build their nests, so as to protect them from the wind and the rain? the beavers, our first masters in architecture, have they no other guides than instinct? had the famous lion of androcles, and the elephants who waked in the night to repeat their lessons in dancing, no other stimulus than instinct? what web of cashmeer, what muslin of india is comparable to the fineness and smoothness of the spider's web? what shipwright ever launched upon the wave a more beautiful and secure vessel than the halcyon's nest? animals have nothing but instinct! what power then acts upon them in their sleep, and when they dream, as well as we do? it is not material objects alone which strike their senses, but their imagination must be so disposed as to be able to represent imaginary beings; for, as the most philosophical and ingenious of your writers an original. 245 has observed the hare which a greyhound fancies in his dreams, is a hare without coat and without bones. animals have a force of mind not merely equal but very superior to our own: we do not see them so often attacked by madness, and in their sufferings what patient resignation! they never descend to the foolish cowardice of suicide. the lever is the most beautiful discovery of archimedes, and yet it is known to the ant, who uses a blade of grass to move a heavy burden over any little eminence. perhaps the whole of archimedes' merit consists in having taken a lesson from the ant." my new fellow traveller spoke at much greater length in favour of animals; and when we were toiling through the mountains, i coincided in his eulogy on the mules of the appenines, who, fortunately, were without the malignity of thales' beast, as i observed to my friend at the moment we crossed a fordable torrent upon their backs. we arrived at chiavari without any adventure, and found nothing very remarkable on m 3 246 an original. entering the town. the aspect of the streets and buildings appeared to me sufficiently lively, and i saw few dark and gothic edifices. chiavari has about 7,000 inhabitants : it is built on the coast of genoa, near the mouth of the little river vagua. it was founded by the genoese, ruined in 1167, and afterwards rebuilt. the latins called it clavarum, claverum, and claverinum. its trade renders it very lively, and gives a look of comfort to the different classes of population. the principal streets have ranges of porticoes, which are convenient if not elegant. we arrived on the night before the festival of the county was to be celebrated. the religious ceremonies were majestic and imposing, from the numerous concourse of the regular and secular clergy, as well as of the different brotherhoods. the plenary indulgences, and public rejoicings, had drawn such a crowd of strangers to the town that we were scarcely able to find lodgings. the moment we were finally located, i went out to gaze upon the ocean, which is always the first object of my contemplations. in passan original. 247 ing before the cathedral, i heard the music of the organ, but the dashing of the waves had a more attractive sound to my ear. crossing a large square, one side of which stretched to the shore, i came upon the sea, and immediately prepared for a bathe. nothing is to me more delightful than to feel the dashing of the surge, and to be drawn backward and forward by its gentle power. after revelling in the waves for half an hour i redressed myself. then it was that the harmonious sounds from the cathedral assumed their empire, and i hastened back to the church. the chaunts still continued, and the sacred vault re-echoed to the united tones of a great variety of instruments, which chimed in with an immense volume of human voice. the church was so crowded that i could hardly make my way into the nave. these were only the preparatory ceremonies to the next day's fête. i beheld the clergy officiating with dignity, the people filled with religious joy, the church pompously decorated, and the females, who solicited contributions, dressed in a worldly style of elegance. at ༠༣༠ m 4 248 an original. the end of the service, i found as much difficulty in escaping as i had experienced in getting into the church. during the afternoon until evening, the inhabitants and the strangers wandered about the town, visiting the streets where the altars had been erected, and the squares, where the chapels were ornamented, and the fireworks prepared for the next day. the richness of the tapestries, and the beauty of the paintings, were all equally admired. they visited the sea-shore, where small mortars had been placed to awaken the echoes of the waves by the thunders of the land. the fashionable dames promenaded along the shore until midnight; and the less distinguished crowd enjoyed themselves in the open air with song, dance and music. the moment the sun went down, the bells and cannon began to announce the festival of to-morrow. day had scarcely dawned, when i was roused from my sleep by a continuation of the same sounds. i ran to the different quarters of the town, and was gratified with the gaiety and delight of the populace, which an original. 249 . thronged the streets and squares. the very atmosphere breathed of enjoyments, and was loaded with the sounds of music. the different religious orders had already begun to flock to the cathedral in crowds or alone; the brotherhoods arrived in files, and one might almost say incognito, for under the hoods and dominos were concealed the counts, marquises, and knights, who form the largest portion of these societies. the louder tones of the bells soon announced the departure of the procession. three long narrow embroidered silk banners led the van. they bore on them the representations of the most sacred objects. large wooden crosses, with gigantic figures of the saviour affixed to them, followed at intervals. these were covered with garlands of ivy or flowers. the capuchins, monks, nuns, and brotherhoods, marched in separate divisions, with slow steps and downcast eyes, carrying in their hands lighted wax tapers. the halberdiers were scarcely able to restrain the crowd from disturbing. the procession by their eagerness to discover the different perm 5 250 an original. 圈 ​sons who marched along under the disguise of dominos and cowls. whilst the devotees in procession prayed for the souls of the byestanders; these last were repeating in tones of irony :-" god bless you for your kindness, and always keep you so devout and penitent, for you have great need of his compassion." indeed, to a stranger, not much given to admire these processions, the naïve and sarcastic remarks of the wags among the populace, furnish a good deal of amusement. they indulge in the most liberal censures on the vices of their superiors, and point out the most appropriate kind of penance. "there goes the chevalier he ought to march six times a year, at least, barefooted and bareheaded, to cool his amorous disposition."-"that is the banker m-, who is doing penance in public for his usuries and robberies in secret." each byestander pretends to discover, under the hood of a capuchin, some one who has either seduced a female, or gained an unjust cause, or denied his debts, or who holds possession of another's property, or exacts usurious an original 251 interest. i was greatly diverted with the criticisms of the women, who spoke very freely about the penitents, though their own husbands were amongst them, and their cavalieri serventi at their sides. it must be remembered, that the husbands and the cavalieri never belong to the same confraternity. the children had likewise got up a little procession of their own, and were habited as st. john, st. francis, st. theresa, or in the dresses of nuns and monks, bearing their tiny standards, crosses, relics, virgins, &c. the most conspicuous part of the procession was the image of the virgin; wherever this sacred figure passed, all the faithful prostrated themselves before it in deep humiliation. the most delicate ladies knelt upon the handkerchiefs which had been spread out for them by their cavaliers, and leaned upon their arms with a very willing confidence. from time to time, the air resounded with the discharges of cannon and fire-arms; the military bands executed pieces of sacred and profane music; on every side were signs of the cross, and eyes turned up to heaven; m 6 252 an original. the sounds of the mea culpa, from the rustics and the sailors, were heard at intervals, as the holy image passed, and for a time all other feelings were merged in those of devotion. the crowd was constantly in motion, pressing to those places where benedictions and indulgences were granted. amidst the general excitement, i could not remain entirely tranquil, and wandered wherever the the pleasure pleasure seemed to be most intense. the music in the cathedral, during high mass, was extremely touching, and i could hardly suppress my emotion at the elevation of the host. the ladies seemed to be less deeply affected, and conversed with their cavaliers in the most negligent manner. it must be stated, however, in their excuse, that the density of the crowd was most unfavourable to any thing like comfortable kneeling, and calculated to distract their attention. the contributions must have been considerable, for the plate was held by a young and handsome countess, very lightly clad, and very fascinating in her manners. 1 an original. 253 * when the mass was over, and the orchestra had played their finale, each one withdrew after sanctifying with holy water all the thoughts and actions which the ceremonies of the day had caused. after dinner, the squares and promenades were filled again in the same way; but the sounds of music and revelry gave way to the voice of the preacher. in italy, the pulpits are three or four times as large as those in france. the preacher, as soon as he is animated with his subject, breaks out with exceeding violence into a frantic gesticulation-rushes from one end of the pulpit to the other throws himself into all shapes of contortion-apostrophizes the audience-addresses a large image of christ, which is always at one corner of the pulpit-bursts into tears, and by his excessive agitation contrives to agitate and affect the audience. they sometimes shudder with affright; and i have heard the murmurs of the mea culpa and frequent sobbings, very generally amongst the spectators. in proportion as he sees his hearers excited, the preacher works himself up to a superadded 254 profane must the city subsides into solitude and quiet. sophical friend doing all this time?" he spent the whole day playing with a kitten. when i began to relate all that i had seen, he interrupted me: i can excuse you, as a stranger for losing your time in running it may be asked, what was your philodid not quit his chamber for a moment, and and 1. the be the incense which these vicious men rather than religious. pure, indeed, these shameless mothers--and these coquetmusic the an original. fury, until they all arrive at the grand point, and then he sinks down gradually to a calm sober description of eternal bliss, which he prays may be the lot of his auditors, concludes by giving them his holy blessing. after the preaching, dances succeed. tables are put in order, and every one takes his part in the enjoyments of the world. the cannon, musquetry, bells, and of the morning are renewed in the evening, and the shore re-echoes with the noise. whole terminates with magnificent fireworks. the populace then retire to their beds, and after these ceremonies which are an original. 255 tish daughters, offer at the altar of our saviour! how much more have i been delighted by the artless sportiveness and the graceful tricks of this little animal. cats," he cried," are modest at least; they do not, like women, advertise their amours to the public; they defer until the hour of night and solitude the secrets of their tenderness." as it was already past midnight, i begged permission to go to bed, and that he would put off until another time his eulogy on the morals and manners of cats. nº. xx. la spezzia. nell' odorato, e lucido oriente là sotto il vago, e temperato cielo vive uno lieta e riposata gente, che non l'offende mai caldo, nè gelo. bembo. the appearance of spring in italy, when we are for the first time present at this annual resurrection of nature, creates in the breast a deep feeling of joy-a disposition towards happiness and benevolence which it is difficult to define, but of which the spleen of the english is directly the reverse. the senses become more highly animated, the intellect seems to expand, and the faculties of the mind, like those of the body, acquire a greater completeness. i have met with italians whom habit had rendered inla spezzia. 257 capable of feeling that involuntary benevolence which i felt for the first time; there are others, on the contrary, whose dispositions are more obedient to the influence of the seasons than any barometer. at chiavari i met with an officer of the brigadiers, aid-de-camp of prince borghese, and one of the most distinguished officers of a corps which contains so many who are distinguished. the richness and variety of his information were by no means confined even to the comprehensive circle of knowledge required in the military profession. i had met him before at turin, and we now encountered each other on the sea-shore at spezzia. we admired the magnificence of the ocean, and the purity of the heavens; we breathed together the gentle air, perfumed by the exhalations of a thousand flowers; and we were struck with the same ideas about the inexplicable delight which a beautiful sky and refreshing air inspire. he mentioned to me the singular susceptibility of the prince borghese to the influence of the external air. all who were admitted to his 258 la spezzia. intimacy knew him so well, that they never ventured to make any request of him when the sky was overcast; and when he heavens were clear, and the sun shone out, nothing was so rare as his refusal. "in that case,' i observed to mr. delmas, "whatever be the result of your mission, if the weather do not change, you are sure of being kindly received." we breakfasted together, and he continued his route to genoa, whither i had a great desire to accompany him, but i could not venture to desert my eccentric companion. i learnt from mr. delmas, that napoleon had frequently meditated the erection of a large town and naval arsenal at spezzia, and that the object of his mission was to survey and examine the locality, which he told me was the most beautiful in europe after constantinople. he presented me to the prefect of chiavari, an amiable and excellent man, who was subject to a singular complaint; if he remained a few minutes in the same place he instantly fell asleep. in his department he was greatly beloved, for he was one of the very "" la spezzia. 259 few prefects who never increased the severities of the conscription laws. i proposed to my companion, the naturalist, to travel along the shore, on foot, as far as spezzia. we had also some notion of making the passage by sea, but the fleet of lord bentinck, which i had seen so often and so near during my stay at genoa, seemed to stretch itself along the coast, and we judged it prudent to decline a visit to spezzia by the way of london. after all, it was decided to go on foot, as we were told that nearly all travellers who attempted this route on horseback, were generally obliged to dismount for more than half the distance. on our right was the sea, which we rarely lost sight of, and on the very margin of the waves for considerable distances, but the path was so difficult and rough, that when we arrived at a small village, some leagues from chiavari, we were obliged to return once more to the mules which we ought to have taken from the commencement of the journey. but even this change was not without its inconveniences; for such 260 la spezzia. was the hardness of the saddles, that if we saved our feet, it was at the expense of another part of the body. at every post, too, we were obliged to change animals, and after having used ourselves to one pace, we were vexed by being obliged to accommodate our motions to another. we had also chosen the longest route, and as i grew impatient and peevish, my companion indulged himself with laughing at me; and every new distress furnished him with a fresh topic for merriment. before we came to spezzia, at the entrance of the bay, we beheld porto-venere, a small grey gloomy village, inhabited by a few poor fishermen. the italians, who exaggerate every thing which they cannot raise to the superlative degree, have installed portovenere in all the honours of a city, they gave the title of palaces to the most ordinary dwellings. in answer to my question, whether venus was the protecting saint of this miserable place; my companion said that the name was derived from saint venerius, whose body reposed in the small island la spezzia. 261 * "but "this of fino, at a short distance in the sea. be its origin as it may," i replied, wretched place, and its still more wretched denizens, have far greater need of the protection of a saint than the favour of a goddess of beauty." above the city, since a city they will have it, is a fortress built upon the brow of a hill, whose aspect, though savage and gloomy, is still extremely picturesque. the adjacent mountains are marked with numerous wide crevices, which serve as entrances to the quarries, from which a very beautiful yellow marble, veined with black, is dug out. at porto-venere we attempted once more to perform our journey on foot, and to enter spezzia in the same humble manner as we did at chiavari; an arrangement particularly disagreeable to the post-master. on the road we were witnesses of a scene singularly touching, which proves how large an influence accident has over the destiny of man. an old soldier had just returned to his native roof and what a roof a paltry shed, which scarcely served as a shelter from 262 la spezzia. the rain, and which the first gust of wind seemed able to destroy. yet in spite of the miserable appearance of the place it was filled with joy. there were tears enough, but they were the tears of pleasure; a son had returned to the bosom of his family, to his old father, and his young sisters. the last time they had ever heard of him was the sad intelligence that, after having quitted the army, but whilst he still wore the uniform, he had been tried for some offence, and sentenced to death, at genoa, by a military commission. it was now six months since his life had been saved by the merest accident. i saw the unhappy man, and recognized in him the hero, and almost the victim, of an error, which my hunchback friend at genoa had related me, and which i hope my readers have not yet forgotten. he was one day arguing with me about the influence of chance over human fortunes, and illustrated his argument by the following anecdote: the secretary of prince borghese was in the habit of never entering his cabinet after three o'clock. one day, la spezzia. 263 by mere accident, and without the slightest motive, he happened to go there about five o'clock, and cast his eyes mechanically on a dispatch, which otherwise he would not have seen until the next morning. this dispatch announced, that a soldier, who had been guilty of a theft, was to be shot at genoa the next day at noon. it struck the secretary that the council of war had interfered in a matter which of right belonged to the civil tribunals. there remained only eighteen hours to the execution, and it was fifty-six leagues from turin to genoa! he went instantly to the prince, who thanked him cordially for thus affording the chance of saving a fellow-creature's life. a courier was hastily dispatched, with the promise of a large reward if he arrived in time. the reprieve was dispatched with the utmost speed: the courier set off and arrived at genoa before the clock had struck, but not before the unhappy convict had left the prison, on the road to the place of punishment. it was not too late; the sentence was revised and reversed, and the prisoner condemned after 264 la spezzia. all to six months imprisonment only." this period had just expired, and this was the man whom we saw in the arms of his family, which had not heard of him since his condemnation. it was to them a resurrection from the dead. i submit this story, the facts of which are substantially true, to such statesmen as are not in a hurry to read the documents in their offices, or who are given to pass them by with neglect. on what a slender thread does human life often hang! we gave some pieces of silver to the younger branches of the family. the idea of having escaped a great calamity rendered them for a moment insensible to their ordinary privations. when i told them that i was acquainted with the secretary of the prince (who, after all, had only fulfilled the common duties of humanity, and, as it happened, the duties of his office), i was covered with benedictions; and so was my misanthropic companion, who was for a moment reconciled to his kind. for my part, i had never been on bad terms with my fellow-creatures, and no change of sentiment was necessary. la spezzia. 265 we continued our route through pleasant pathways, and arrived, a little before nightfall, at spezzia. we were too fatigued to have any other cares than those of supper and sleep. what was our surprise in the morning, to find at our bedside the family which we had visited the night before! with what a different feeling did the sovereigns of europe present themselves at the levee of that man, whom conquest and their own supineness had raised to the eminence of being master of the world. spezzia is a pretty little town, pleasantly situated, and filled with a busy population. the public square, which extends to the sea, is very beautiful; the houses, as in genoa, are painted on the outside. after having seen the most celebrated situations of italy, i do not remember any which affords a more magnificent prospect. the sides of the bay, which fade away into the horizon, are covered with country seats and olive plantations, and the whole country is fertile and finely wooded. on the left the gulf extends nearly to leghorn. the town, though poor, contains vol. i. n 266 la spezzia. about 4,000 inhabitants, and struck me as being an agreeable residence. the approaches by land are difficult, and one wonders how it is approached. in coming to spezzia, my friend, the naturalist, had a particular object in view, which was to examine a phenomenon almost unique in the world, and which i shall not perplex myself by attempting to explain. at some distance from the shore a spring of fresh water rises in the midst of the sea. this spring, which bursts forth with prodigious force, boils incessantly above the waves, rising over them, when the sea is calm, about six inches. its circular extent is at least a fathom. the common notion respecting it is, that it comes from the immense quantity of. waters which, finding no outlet in the mountains, fall into the vast tunnels of the appenines, and penetrate by means of submarine channels as far as this spring, where they, for the first time, find an issue. it is curious that there is a great deficiency of fresh-water springs at spezzia. if napoleon's idea of erecting spezzia into a naval port had been 1 la spezzia. 267 carried into execution, his engineers designed a project, the completion of which would have equalled the most splendid labours of the romans. it was intended to build round the spring a well, by means of which the water might be raised to the level of the new town, and thence, by means of an aqueduct, be distributed into the public fountains and reservoirs. but who is there now to execute these and similar magnificent projects? the fresh waters of this curious spring will probably continue to mingle with the salt waves of the mediterranean, just so long as we shall have reason to accuse man of inconstancy and folly. end of vol. i. london: printed by cox and baylis, creat queen street. 1 1 1 1 '' cademia arvardians ve ri tas in novang barvard college library the gift of friends of the library 792 w>^ ^f: x.s.s. /-f ^ princeton, n. j. ^ presented by dr. f.lt^l^o-n br 145 .c92 1883"^ vta cyclopedia of religious literature . . of m \> oyclopedlk feb 25 iai4 .4 r<?/ fmn st' '>^v< eeligiods literature. ■voltjl5.d:e thir^ee, containing: the early days of christianity, by f. w ^ , by f. w. farrak. new york : john b. alden, publisher, 1883. robert browning, esq.. • author of "a death in the desert," and of many other poems of the deepest interest to all students of scripture, this volume with sincere admiration and esteem. preface. i complete in this volume the work which has absorbed such leisure as could be spared from many and onerous duties during the last twelve years. my object has been to furnish english readers with a companion, partly historic and partly expository, to the whole of the new testament. by attention to the minutest details of the original, by availing myself to the best of my power of the results of modern criticism, by trying to concentrate upon the writ ings of the apostles and evangelists such light as may be derived from jewish, pagan, or christian sources, i have endeavoured to fulfil my ordination vow and to show diligence in such studies as help to the knowledge of the holy scriptures. the " life of christ " was intended mainly as a commentary upon the gospels. it was written in such a form as should reproduce whatever i had been able to learn from the close examination of every word which they contain, and should at the same time set forth the living real ity of the scenes recorded. in the " life of st. paul" i wished to incorporate the details of the acts of the apostles with such biogra phical incidents as can be derived from the epistles of st. paul, and to take the reader through the epistles themselves in a way which might enable him, with keener interest, to judge of their separate purpose and peculiarities, by grasping the circumstances under which each of them was written. the present volume is an at tempt to set forth, in their distinctive characteristics, the work and the writings of st. peter, st. james, st. jude, st. john, and the author of the epistle to the hebrews. if my effort has been in any degree successful, the reader should carry away from these pages vi preface. some conception of the varieties of religious thought which prevailed in the schools of jerusalem and of alexandria, and also of those phases of theology which are represented by the writings of the two greatest of the twelve apostles. in carrying out this design i have gone, almost verse by verse, through the seven catholic epistles, the epistle to the hebrews, and the revelation of st. john — explaining their special difficulties, and developing their general characteristics. among many christians there is a singular ignorance of the books of scripture as a whole. with a wide knowledge of particular texts, there is a strange lack of familiarity with the bearings of each separate gospeland epistle. i have hoped that by considering each book in connection with all that we can learn of its author, and of the circumstances under which it was written, i might perhaps contribute to the intelligent study of holy writ. there may be some truth in the old motto, bonus textuariiis bonus thcologus ; but he whose knowledge is con fined \o '^ texts," and who has never studied them, first with their context, then as forming fragments of entire books, and lastly in their relation to the whole of scripture, incurs the risk of turning theology into an erroneous and artificial system. it is thus that the bible has been misinterpreted by substituting words for things ; by making the dead letter an instrument wherewith to murder the liv ing spirit ; and by reading into scripture a multitude of meanings which it was never intended to express. words, like the chameleon, change their color with their surroundings. the very same word may in different ages involve almost opposite connotations. the vague and differing notions attached to the same term have been the most fruitful sources of theological bitterness, and of the internecine opposition of contending sects. the abuse of sacred phrases has been the cause, in age after age, of incredible misery and mischief. texts have been perverted to sharpen the sword of the tyrant and to strengthen the rod of the oppressor— to kindle the fagot of the inquisitor and to rivet the fetters of the slave. the terrible wrongs which have been inflicted unnn mankind in their name have been preface. vll due exclusively to their isolation and perversion. the remedy foi these deadly evils would have been found in the due study and com prehension of scripture as a whole. the bible does not all lie at a dead level of homogeneity and uniformity. it is a progressive reve lation. its many-coloured wisdom was made known '' fragmentarily and multifariously " — in many parts and in many manners. in the endeavour to give a clearer conception of the books here considered i have followed such different methods as each particular passage seemed to require. i have sometimes furnished a very close and literal translation ; sometimes a free paraphrase ; sometimes a rapid abstract ; sometimes a running commentary. avoiding all parade of learned references, i have thought that the reader would generally prefer the brief expression of a definite opinion to the reit eration of many bewildering theories. neither in this, nor in the previous volumes, have i wilfully or consciously avoided a single difficulty. a passing sentence often expresses a conclusion which has only been formed after the study of long and tedious mono graphs. in the foot-notes especially i have compressed into the smallest possible space what seemed to be most immediately valua ble for the ilkistration of particular words or allusions. in the choice of readings i have exercised an independent judgment. if my choice coincides in most instances with that of the revisers of the new testament, this has only arisen from the fact that i have been guided by the same principles as they were. these volumes, like the '' life of christ" and the " life of st. paul," were written before the read ings adopted by the revisers were known, and without the assist ance which i should otherwise have derived from their invaluable labours.' the purpose which i have had in view has been, i trust, in itself a worthy one, however much i may have failed in its execution. a living writer of eminence has spoken of his works in terms which, in very humble measure, i would fain apply to my own. " i have * i take this opportunity of thanking the rev. john de soyres and mr. w. r. brown for the assistance which tliey have rendererl in preparing this book for the press. viii preface. made," said cardinal newman — in a speech delivered in 1879 — *' many mistakes. i have nothing of that high perfection which be longs to the writings of the saints, namely, that error cannot be found in them. but what, i trust, i may claim throughout all i have written is this — an honest intention ; an absence of personal ends ; a temper of obedience ; a willingness to be corrected ; a dread of error; a desire to serve the holy church; and" (though this is perhaps more than i have any right to say) " through the divine mercy a fair measure of success." f. w. farrar. s/. margaret's rectory, westminster, june 7, 1882. table of contents. book i. _ the world. chapter i. moral condition of the world. degradations which accompanied the decadence of paganism — the slaves — the rich and noble — the emperor — fatal degeneracy — greeklings — literature, art, the drama — the senate — scepticism and superstition — stoic virtue — the holy joy of christians . chapter n. the rise of the antichrist. the nemesis of absolutism — reign of nero — christians and the roman government — st. paul and the empire — horrors of (^assarism— the palace of the anti christ— agrippina the younger — infancy of nero — evil auguries — intrigues af agrippina— her marriage with claudius— her career as empress— her plots to advance her son— her crimes— her peril— murder of claudius— accession of nero 1 1-23 chapter iii. the features of thk antichrist. successful guilt— fresh crimes— the "golden quinquen>ttrttn^'—yoy�s of nero —threats of agrippina— jealousy of britannicus— murder of i'.ritannicus— nero estranged from agrippina— influence of poppaaplot to murder agrip pina—burrus and seneca— murder of agrippina— a tormented conscience — the depths of satan 23-33 chapter iv. the burning of rome and the first persecution. the era of martyrdom— the fire of rome— was nero guilty ?— devastation of the city — confusion and agony — the golden house — nero suspected — ^the christians accused — strangeness of this circumstance — tacitus — popular feeling against the christians — secret jewish suggestions — poppasa a prose lyte— incendiarism attributed to christians — ^^sthetic cruelty— a huge mul titude— dreadful forms of martj'rdom — martyrs on the stage — the antichrist — retribution — awful omens — the revolt of vindex — suicide of nero — ex pectation of his return 34~52 x contents. book ii. st. peter and the church catholic. chapter v. wkitings ok the apostles and early christians. pagb annals of the church— end of the acts— obscurity of details— little known about tlie apostles— st. andrew— st. bartholomew— st. matthew— st. thomas— st. yamcs the less — st. simon zelotes — judas — late and scanty records — writ ings of the great apostles— invaluable as illustrating different phases of cliris tian thought — they e.xplain the opposite tendencies of heretical develop ment— the revelation — the epistle to the hebrews — the seven catholic epistles — the epistle of st. jude — the episde of st. james — the epistles of st. peter — catholicity of st. peter — the 'i'hree epistles of st. john — genuine ness of these writings — contrasts between different apostles — difference be tween st. paul and st. john — superiority of the new testament to the writ ings of the apostolic fathers — the episde of st. clemens — its theological and intellectual weakness — the epistle of barnabas — its exaggerated pauhnism — its e.xtravagant e.xegesis — the christian church was not ideally pure— yet its chief glory was in the holiness of its standard 53-72 chapter vi. st. peter. outline of his early life — events recorded in the acts — complete uncertainty as to his subsequent career — legends — domine quo vadisl — ^the legends embel lished and doubtful — legend about simon magus — was peter bishop of rome? — improbability of the legend about his crucifixion head downwards — his martyrdom — his visit to rome 72-79 chapter vii. special features of the first epistle of st. peter. date of the epistle — its certain genuineness— style of the episde — a christian treatise — natural allusions to events in the gospels — vivid expressions — re semblance to the speeches in the acts — allusions to the law — resemblances to st. paul and st. james— plasticit\' of st. peter's nature— struggle after unity — originality— his view of redemption — his view of faith^his views upon regeneration and baptism — not transcendentc^l but practical — christ's descent into hades— great importance of the doctrine — attempts to explain it away — reference to the epistle to the galatlans — addressed to both jews and gentiles— crisis at which it was composed — a time of perse cution—keynote of the letter— analysis 79-98 chapter viii. the first epistle of st. peter. title which he adopts — address — provinces of asia — thanksgiving — exhortation to hope — special appeals — duty of blameless living — duty of civil obedience humble submission — address to servants — to christian wives — exhortation to love and unity— christ preaching to the spirits in prison— obvious import of the passage — ruthlessncss of commentators — the approaching end — ad dress to elders— conclusion 99-113 chapter ix. peculiarities of the second epistle. overpositlveness in the attack and defence of its genuinenessits canonlclty — ex aggeration of the ar.;uments urped in its favour — extreme weakness of external evidence — tardy acceptance of the epistle — views of st. jerome, &c. —cessation of criticism— the unity of its structureoudine of the letter contents. xi page — internal evidence — resemblances to first epistle — difference of stj'ie — peculiarity of its expressions — difference in general form of thought— irrele vant arguments about the style — marked variations — dr. abbott's proof of the resemblance to josephus — could josephus have read it? — reference to the second advent — what may be urged against these difficulties— priority of st. jude — extraordinary' relation to st. jude — method of dealing with the stranger phenomena of st. jude's epistle— possible counter-considerations — allusion to the transfiguration— ancientness of the epistle — superiority of the epistle to the post-apostolic writings — the thoughts may have been sanc tioned and adopted by st. peter 114-136 chapter x. the second epistle of st. peter. reasons for oftering a literal translation of the epistle— translation and notes abrupt conclusion 137-142 chapter xi. the epistle of st. jgde. its authenticity' — who was the author? — jude, the brotherof james— not an apos tle— one of the brethren of the lord— why he does not use this title— why be calls himself "brother of james" — story of his (grandchildren — circum stances which may have called forth the epistle — corruption of morals— who were the offenders thus denounced ? — resemblances to second epistle of st, peter — ^ivanslation and notes — st^ie of greek — simplicity of structure — fond ness for apocryphal allusions— methods of dealing with these peculiarities — "■ verbal dictation " — rabbinic legends — corrupt, gnosticising sects 143-157 book iii. apollos, alexandrian christianity, and the epistle to the hebrews. chapter xii. judaism, the septuagint, etc. unity of christian faith — diversity in ltnity — necessity and blessing of the diver sity— individuality of the sacred writers — phases of christian truth — alex a^tdrian christianity — the jews and greek philosophy — hebraism and hellenism — glories of alexandria — prosperity of the jews in alexandria — the diapleuston — favour shown the jews by the ptolemies— the septuagint — de light of the hellenists — anger of the hebraists — effects on judaism— bias of the translators — harmless variations from the hebrew — hagadoth— avoid ance of anthropomorphism and anthropopathy — deliberate manipulation of the original — aristobulus — the wisdom of solomon — semi-ethnic jewish literature — philo not wholly original 158-170 chapter xiii. phii.o and the doctrine of the logos. family of alexander the alabarch— life of philo — classification of his works— those that bear on the creation — on abraham — allegorising fancies — the life of moses — arbitrary exegesis— meanings of the word logos — personification of the logos — the high priest — a cup-bearer — other comparisons — vague oudines of the conception — contrast with st. john 170-178 xii contents. chapter xiv. l'hi1.0nism— allegory— the catechetical school. page influence of philo on the sacred writers— sapiential literature of alexandria— de fects of philonism — ^the school of st. mark — motto of the alexandrian school — ailcsory applied to the old testament — ^the pardes of the kabbalists — history of allegory in the alexandrian school — allegory in the western church 178-183 chapter xv. authorship and style of the epistle to the hkbrews. continuity of scripture — manifoldness of wisdom — ethnic inspiration — the epistle alexandrian — external evidence — summary — superficial custom — misuse of authorities — later doubts and hesitations — indolent custom — phrases com mon to the author with st. paul — difilerences of style not explicable — the episde not a translation — fondness of the writer for sonorous amplifica tions 183-193 chapter xvi. theology of the epistle to the hebrews. difference from the theological conceptions of st. paul — ^three cardinal topics — "the people" — christianity and judaism — alexandrianism of the writer — prominence of the jews — method of treating scripture — indebtedness to philo — particular expressions — "the cutter-word" — stern passages — melchizedek priesthood of christ— superiority to philo — fundamental alexandrianism — judaism not regarded as a law but as a system of worship — "the pattern shewn thee in the mount" — effectiveness of the argument — a prse-existent ideal — the world of ideas — view of hope — faith, in this episde and in st. paul — righteousnhss — chiustology — redemption — prominence given to priesthood and sacrifice — peculiar sentences — the author could not have been st. paul 193-212 chapter xvii. who wrote the epistle to the hebrews. absence of greeting — certainties about the writer — by some known friend of st. paul — yet not by aquila — nor bytitus — nor by silas — nor by st. barna bas—nor by st. clemens of rome — nor by st. mark — nor by .st. luke — strong probability that the writer was apollos — this would not necessarily be known to the church of alexandria — suggested by luther — generally and increasingly accepted — date of the flpistle— allusion to timothy — addressed to jewish christians — not addressed to the church of jerusalem — nor to cormth— nor to alexandria — may have been addressed to rome — or to ephesus— " they of italy "—apollos 212-222 chapter xviii. the epistle to the hebrews. section \.— tjie superiority ^/c/z^/j/*.— comparison between judaism and chris tianity—outline of the epistle— its keynotes— striking opening— christ supe rior to angels— peculiar method of scriptural argument— use of quotations —\ admitted method— partial change of view— the style af argument less important to us 222-230 sf-ction ii.— ^ solemn /i.racr^rt/wm.— translation and notes— christ superior to moses— parallelism of structure — appeal 230-236 section \.~the high priesthood of christ..— txzlw^mxowax exhortation— quali fications of hii;h priesthood— sketch of the great argument of tlie episde— translation and notes — explanation of difficulties respecting the nature of christ — digression— postbaptismal sin — indefectibility of grace — calvinistic view of the passage— arminian view— neither view tenable— obvious limi tations of die meaning of the passage—" near a curse"—" for burning"— a belter hope 236-251 contents. xm i'age section iv. — tjie prderof .if ^/c/iizrtfci.— translation and notes — all thitis known of melchi/.edck — salem — el fjion — allusion in psahn ex. — hagadoth — plulo — mystery attached to melchizedek — fantastic hypotheses — wh.o meichize dek was — only important as a type — semitic phraseology and modes of arguing from the silence of scripture — translation and notes — argument of the passage — superiority of the melchizedek to the levitic priesthood in seven particulars — summary and notes 2 51-262 section v. — the dayo/atofiement. — grandeur of the day — tran.slation and notes — a new covenant — its superior ordinances of ministration— translation and notes — symbolism of service — the tabernacle, not the temple — " vacua omnia" — contents of the ark — the tkumiateriori — censer f?) — altar of in cense— ^translation and notes — meanings of the word diatheke — an obvious play on its second meaning of " testament "— ivanslation and notes — fam iliarity with the hagadoth and the halacha — cirandest phase of levitic priest hood— feelings inspired by the day— careful preparation of the high priest — legendary additions to the ritual — peril of the function — chosen as the highest point of comparison — superiority of christian privileges in every re spect 262-281 section vi. — a frcapitulation. — translation and notes — triumphant close of the argument — summary 281-285 section vit. — a third solemn ivaming: — exhortation — its solemnity — trans lation and notes 285-288 skctio-hviw. — the glories o/fnitk.—ym-m—v^hat is faith ?— exhibited in its issues — beginning of the illustration — instances from each period of sacred history — translation and notes 288-294 section ix. — final exhortations. — exhortation to endurance — god's father hood— ^translation and notes — faith and patience — superior grandeur of christianity — moral appeal of the last chapter — translation and notes — modern controversies — " we have an altar " — explanation of the passage — exhortation — obedience — final clauses — their bearing on the authorship ot the epistle 294-305 sooli iv. judaic christianity. chapter xix. '"the lord"'s brother." a new phase of christianity — the name " james " — the author was not james the son of zebedee — untenable arguments — nor james the son of alphaeus — untenal)le arguments— alphaeus — he is james, bishop of jerusalem, and the lord's ikother — is he identical with the son of alphseus ? — " neither did his brethren believe on him " — paucity of jewish names — helvidian theoiy — the simplest and fairest explanation of the language of the evangelists — the language not absolutely decisive — dogma of the aeiparthenia — the evangelists give no hint of it — what the gospels say — utter baselessness of the theory of st. jerome — entirely untrue that the terms "cousins" and " i'rothers " are identical — ^i'he theory an invention due to a priori concep tions— not a single argument can be adduced in its favour — tendencies which led to the dogma of the aeiparthe?iia — unscriptural and manichaean dis paragement of the sanctity of marriage — the theory arises from apollinarian tendencies — theorj' of epiphanius — derived from the apoci^yphal gospels — their absurdities and discrepancies — conclusion 306-323 chapter xx. life and character of st. james. inimitable truthfulness of scripture narrative — childhood and training of st. james — a boy's education — "a just man" — levitic precision — the home at nazareth — familiarity with scripture—" wisdom " — knowledge of apocryphal xiv contents. page kooks— curious phenomenon— a nazarite— scrupulous holiness— a lifelong vow— shadows over the home at nazareth— alienation of christ's " brethren " —their interferences— his calm and gentle rebukes— their i.ast interference —their complete conversion— due to the resurrection—" he was seen of tames"— legend in the gospel of the hebrews — st. james and st. paul death of the son of zebedee— james, j'.ishop of jerusalem— deep reverence for his character— (v'//.tw— st. james and st. peter— bearmg of st. james m the synod of jerusalemwisdom which he showed— importance of the <jues tion'at stake— his decision— its results—" certain from james "—a favourite of the kbionilcs— ludaic type of his character and of his viev/s— the results of his trainin.lc— '"' the just"— title which he adopts— unfortunate advice to st paul— martyrdom of st. james— josephus—hegesippus— narrative of hegesippus— talmudic legends of st james— rapid retribution 323-354 chapter xxi. characteristics of the epistle of st. james. canonicity of st. james— judaic tone of thought— absence of distinctively chris tian dogmas— luther's rash assertion— ideal of st. james— readers whom he had "in view— date of the epistle— where written— phenoniena of the epistle explained by its palestinian origin— state of the jewish church at jerusalem— tyrannous sadducean priests— maledictions against them in the talmud — their greed and luxury — st. james in writing to christians was thinking partly of jews — and his words would be respected by jews as •well as christians — asserted essenism and ebionism of st. james — orphic colouring— style of st. james — outline of the epist'.e — its one predominant thought— controversial aspect— parties in the christian church— a last appeal to jews— uniqueness of the epistk— its usefulness and grandeur 354-373 chapter xxii. the epistle of st. james. the title which he adopts— the dispersion— the greeting— translation and notes — temptation and trial — need of wisdom — need of prayer— address to rich and poor — meaning of the words addressed to them — tr'nsitoriness of riches — blessing of endurance — god always in the meridian — a pregnant clause — ^the true ritual — respect of persons — justification by works translation and notes — oracular egotism — sins of the tongue — heavenly wisdom — ^translation and notes — state of the christian communities — st. i james is thinking of jerusalem — false religionism — "the spirit that dwel eth in us lusteth to envy "— v^arious exhortations — overconfidence — de nunciation of greed — of whom is he thinking ? — sadducean hierarchs — the impending doom — the murder of the "just one" — despised warn ings—last exhortations — efficacy of prayer — perversion of the passage— a last e.xhortation ... > 373-401 chapter xxiii. st. james and st. paul on faith and works. st paul and st. james contrasted — is there a real contradiction ? — views of the tiibingen .school — is st james thinking of st. paul at all ? — ^the questions often i )i.scussed — jewish reliance on the benefit of theoretic monotlieism — on circumcision — on national privileges — ou externalism generally — st lames probably intended to correct perversions of pauline teaching — st paul's views misrepresented even in his lifetime, and still often perverted — no intention to refute st. paul — is the language of the apostles reconcil able?—they arc using the .same words in different senses — "faith" in .st. paul and in st. james— " works " in st. paul and in st james— " justifica tion" in .st. paul and in st james — illustrations drawn from dijiferent peri ods in the life of abraham— st. paul was dealing with the vanity of legal ism, st james with the vanity of orthodoxy — fundamental agreement between the two apostles shown by what they say of faith and of works in other passages — no bitter controversy between them— 'i'hey used different j^xprcssions. and looked on christianity from different points of view— what ijoth would have acceptedblessing of truth revealed under many lights. 402-415 contents. xv book v. the earlier life and works of st. john. chapter xxiv. st. john. page the pillar-apostles — individuality of each — st. paul meets them at jerusalem — the special work of st. john — his growth in spiritual enlightenment — continuity of his "godliness — his boyhood — a disciple of the baptist — his natural gifts — independence of galileans — messianic hopes — becomes a disciple of jesus — why st. john lived at jerusalem — teaching of the ijaptist — was st. john married? — " follow me" — belonged to the innermost group of apostles — not ideally faultless — he had much to unlearn — his exclu siveness — his intolerance at en gannim— mixture of humane motives with his zeal — "aseliasdid" — "ye know not what spirit ye are of' — christ's last journey to jerusalem — ambition of the sons of zebedee — the cup and the baptism — leaning on the lord's bosom — flight at gethsemane — the earliest to rejoin his lord — in the high priest's palace — a witness of the trials — a v witness of the crucifixion — " behold thy mother ! " — " to his own home" — blood and water — at the tomb — a witness of the resurrection — on the lake of galilee—" if i will that he tarry till i come "—mistaken interpretation of the words ■ 416-438 chapter xxv. life of st. john after the ascension. in the upper room — healing of the cripple — threatened and scourged — with peter in samaria — years of contemplation — once mentioned by .st. paul — at the synod of jerusalem — a judaist — recognised the mission of st. paul — took no part in the debate — no further record.s of him in scripture — at pat mos — date of this banishment — causes which led to his departure from jerusalem — legends of his banishment to patmos — the boiling oil and the poison — was he ever at rome? — certainty that he resided in asia minor — "the nebulous presbyter" — john the presbyter was john the apostle — the quartodeciman controversy — greek of the apocalypse — revealing effect of the fall of jerusalem — the apocalypse judaic in tone — st. john at ephesus — patmos 438-453 chapter xxvi. legends of st. john. legend of his meeting cerinthus at the thermae — reasons for believing the ^tory to be a mere invention — spirit of religious intolerance in which the story originated — .strange legend aljout the messianic grapes — credulity of papias — possible explanation of the stoi-y — error of irenseus — vehemence of poly carp — legend of .st. john and the robber — legend of st. john and the tame partridge — tenderness to animals — st. john and the petaloii — other le gends— st. john's last sermons — legends of the death of st. john — legends of his immortality 453-464 chapter xxvii. general features of the apocalypse. the earliest of st. john's books — what we lose by our unchronological arrange ment of the book — the apocalypse written before the fall of jerusalem — im possibility that it should have been written after the gospel 464-467 xvi contents. page section \.— date of the apocalypse. — the apocalypse could not have been writ ten in the time of domitian — possible causes of the error of irensus— key to the apocalypse found in the neronian persecution — why the book has been so grievously misunderstood — theological romances of commentary — the neronian persecution and tlie jewish war — lesson of the apocalypse — nero the antichrist — nero amid the ashes of rome — all apocalypses deal with events on the contemporary horizon — outbreak of the jewish war — the temple still standing — the flight of the christians to pella — ^the date of the apocalypse implied in rev. xiii. 3, and xvii. 10, 11 — written in the reign of galba — or possibly a little later — ^i'he woes of the messiah — the doom of rome 467-476 section ii. — the revolt of judcea. — delinquencies of pilate — threatening symp toms— hatred of the jews for the romans — the air full of prodigies — wick edness of gessius florus — insolence of the greeks at csesarea — disgraceful tyranny of klorus. — the jews appeal to cestius gallus — rise of the zealots — seizure of the tower of antonia — epidemic of massacre — march of cestius gallus — his pusillanimity — his defeat at bethhoron — vespasian despatched to judsea — leading citizens involved in the revolt — josephus in cialilee — siege of jotapata — massacres — siege of gamala — mount tabor — giscala — atrocities of the zealots in jerusalem — the idumeans admitted — horrible orgies — advance of vespasian marked by fresh massacres — a river of blood — increasing horrors — factions in jerusalem — dreadful condition of the city — aspect of the world — physically — morally' — socially — politically — incessant civil wars — general terror — the era of mart^'rdoms — st\'le, metaphors, and meaning of the apocalypse — dislike felt for the book — accounted for by the perversions to which it has been subjected — strange systems of interpretation — the preeterists — i'he futurists -the historical interpreters — gleams of tradition as to the true view of the book — increasing conviction that it dealt with events mainly contemporary' — multitudes of fantastic guesses — their extreme diversity — essential .sacrednessof the book— apocalyptic literature — necessity for its cryptographic form t. 476 502 chapter xxviii. the apocalypse. st. john " the theologian " 502 section \.— the letters to the se^'eii chia-ches.—owxy -i. rapid oudine of the apocalypse offered — sections of the book — the seven churches — i'he letters normally sevenfold — ^the letter to ephesus, 8:c. — the heresies alluded to — theory that they are aimed at the followers of st. paul — absurdity of the theory— the nicolaitans — "'i'he depths of satan" — "the false apostles" — volkmar — the tubingen school — extravagant opinions 503-509 section \.—the seals.— 'x\q. vision— the first seal— the white horse : the messiah— the second seal — the red horse : slaughter — the third seal — 'j'he black horse : famine — "the oil and the wine" — the fourth seal — the livid horse : pestilence — the fifth .seal — the cry for vengeance — the sixth seal — universal catastrophe — .apocalyptic style — ^the pause — the seal ing of the 144,000 — symbols iterative and progressive 509-516 section \.—the trumpets.— the censer hurled to earth— the first trumpet— .storms, earthquakes. portents-*-the second trumpet — the burning moun tain and the sea turned into lilood — the third trumpet — the star absinth — the f«purth trumpet — the smiting of .sun. moon, and .stars — the eagle screaming "woe i " — the fifth trumpet — the fallen star — the scorpion locusts — the .sixth trumpet — two hundred million horsemen 516-523 section iv.— ^j« /t/)/j<?f^<-.— the sunlike angel— the seven thunders—the book — the measuring — character of the symbols — the two witnesses — the earth quake— difficulties of interpretation — remarks on these visions 523-528 section v.— tv/*" wild beast from the .sv^.— the star-crowned woman; the child ; the dragon— meaning of the symbols — flight of the church to pella — certainty that by the wild i'east from the .sea is mainly meant the emperor nero — the .sixteen distinctive indications — every one of them points directly contents. xvu page to nero and the roman empire — especially in those particulars which seem most luiigmatical — widespread belief among christians that nero would re turn— the number of the f.east — sole element of difficulty in it — ancient (niesses — lis kabbalistic character — its certain solution — commonness of these isopsephic enigmas — the solution confirmed by the ancient various reading — the helief about nero redivivus — a priori dogmas — domitian was a nero redivivus . 528-544 secpiom vi. — the second beast and the false prophet. — absence of definite traditions— ten indications as to the person intended — idle guesses — vari ous conjectures — the roman augurial system — simon magus — probability that vespasian was intended — remarkable adaptation to him of every one of the ten indications, even in the most unexpected particulars — possibility that it is a composite symbol — nero and domitian — the name "nero" often given to domitian .... 544-554 section vii. — the vials — the remainder of the apocalypse — the vials— the seventh vial— judgment of the harlot city— paean over the fall of babylon — general conception of the apocalypse 554-557 chapter xxix. the fall of jerusalem. sources of the h'istory— advance of titus — rage and despair of the jews — destruc tion of the temple— massacre and devastation — a second advent — close of the /eon — tremendous significance of the event — rightly apprehended by ancient christian historians effects of the event on the mind of st. john — how he came to write the apocalypse — resemblances and differences of the apocalypse and the fourth gospel 557-566 chapter xxx. the growth of heresy. the growth of heresy gradual— original meaning of the word— real and imagin ary heretics — .sources of heresy — sects — jewish sects— strange vitality of judaism — rabbinism — a nomocracy — jewish sects — nazarenes — ebionites — gentile sects — simon magus —legends of him — an antichrist — cerinthus — his errors — gradual rise of docetism — gnostic systems — gnostics before gnosticism — opposite tendencies — how st. john met heresy 566-577 chapter xxxi. later writings of st. john. the first episde of st. john — christianity had entered on a new phase — specu lations and errors— st. john's method of argument — the incarnation of the divine — tradition about the gospel — the last of the apostles — a new era — supreme utterances — righteousness, sonship, sanctification 577-584 chapter xxxii. the stamp of finality on the writings of st. john. st. john sets the seal to former revelations— stamp of finality upon his writings —the idea of eternity — the logos—" god is righteous'' — " god is light" "god is love" — importance of these utterances — simplification of essential elements— st. paul and st. john— the gospel— the episde -where written — tradition — i'one of the epistle — dangers which st. john contemplates — calm of the style 584-595 chapter xxxiii. characteristics of the mind and style of st. john. his contemplativeness— his repose— his stvle— his sternness— how accounted for— the personal question— ideas of righteousness and love 595-6oi contents. chapter xxxiv. object and outline of the first epistle. page object of the epistle— not aphoristic— first attempts at analysis— full analysis of the kpistlc. showing its remarkable symmetry— illustrates the characteristics of his methods— prevalent triplicity of arrangement— certain genuineness of the epistle— an epistle not a treatise 602-608 chapter xxxv. the first epistle of st. john. section i. — eternal z//>.— translation and notes — introductory theme — an apparent contradiction— " god is light" — meaning of the phrase— " walk ing in light" — translation, notes, comments — propitiation — prevalent misun derstandings as to the style and manner of st. john — symmetries of state ment— parallels — "knowing god"— love — "abiding in god" — the new and old commandment — in what sense "new" and "old" — the ideal and the actual — a test of professions— " litde children, fathers, young men " — meaning of the passage — warning against love of the world — what is meant by ''antichrist" — prevalence of antichrists — the unction from the holy spirit is the christian's security— abiding in the truth — eternal life. .. 608-626 section w. — the confidence of sonship. — (zoxa.ac 140 from the library of rev. louis fitzgerald benson, d. d. bequeathed by him to the library of princeton theological seminary rem / ws^i digitized by the internet archive in 2012 with funding from princeton theological seminary library http://archive.org/details/chapelhermitsoowhit t ii 1 chapel ok the bermits, otb i: i: po i. m s " / john «;. w b i rr i br bos to x: tioknob , re i d pi elds. m docc i in. entered according to act of congress, in the year 1332, by jons g. whit tier, in the clerk's office of the district court for the district of massachusetts. conten i b. the chapel of tiik hermits, yi i -i ion of i-in' in puaoam oi nvri.i tiik 1*i \. i: of el ix>m— 1862 19 ii, to , 17 is iv v. | bi n m in ' plotumi dnun aftftju 1 1 1 n tiik cbom i 1 71 to fredrika bremer, ariur., vi contents. pagb stanzas for the times — 1850, 77 a sabbath scene, 80 the californian at the grave of his wife, 86 remembrance, 90 the poor voter on election day, 08 trust 05 kathleen, 06 first-dat thoughts, 102 kossuth, : 104 to my old school-master 106 p o e m 8 tin; chapel oj phi bbrmits. u i do beliere, and yet, in g\ i pray for belp to unbelief; poi needful btrength aside to lay the daily cuml eringa of my vs •■ i 'in biclf at heart of ciafl and .-int. sick of the craze 1 enthusiast's rant, professi >n'a bmooth hypocrisies, and creeds of iron, and liv. " i pond' r o'er the bacred word. 1 lead the record of our lord ; and, weak and troubled, envy r who touched his beamless garment's hem ; 10 the chapel of the hermits. 11 who saw the tears of love he wept above the grave where lazarus slept ; and heard, amidst the shadows dim of olivet, his evening hymn. " how blessed the swine-herd's low estate, the beggar crouching at the gate, the leper loathly and abhorred, whose eyes of flesh beheld the lord ! " 0, sacred soil his sandals pressed ! sweet fountains of his noonday rest ! o, light and air of palestine, impregnate with his life divine ! " o, bear me thither ! let me look on siloa's pool, and kedron's brook, — kneel at gethsemane, and by gennesaret walk, before i die ! " methinks this cold and northern night would melt before that orient light; and, wet by hermon's dew and rain, my childhood's faith revive again ! " t b b c b a !' i l of the ii e i m i . 11 my friend, one autumn day, where the .-till rivei ^ 1 i« 1 a* b • 'tli 08, and above tinbrown b i curtains of tip at down. then -aid i, — fur i oould it"t brook the mote ap] i inlook, — 44 i, too. am weak, and faith [fl miiall, and blindness happeneth unto all. ■ \ ■ bometimet glimpse on through present wn>nl r . t | 1( . ,. t , ni;i i ricrlu ; and, step by b p, since tim< i idv gain of man ! 41 that ;t!l of good the past hath had k mains to make <»nr own time glad, — ( )ur common daily lit'an be, and every land a l';i|. m thou weariest of thy present state; \ hat gain to thee time's holiest date? the doubter now perchance had lx?cn as hil r h priest <t as pqate then ! 12 the chapel of the hermits. • " what thought chorazin's scribes ? what faith in him had nain and nazareth ? of the few followers whom he led, one sold him, — all forsook and fled. " o, friend ! we need nor rock nor sand, nor storied stream of morning-land ; the heavens are glassed in merrimack, — what more could jordan render back ? " we lack but open eye and ear to find the orient's marvels here ; — the still small voice in autumn's hush, yon maple wood the burning bush. " for still the new transcends the old, in signs and tokens manifold ; — slaves rise up men ; the olive waves with roots deep set in battle graves ! " through the harsh noises of our day a low, sweet prelude finds its way ; through clouds of doubt, and creeds of fear, a light is breaking, calm and clear. t h i c ii a p b i. f t ii b ii be hits. 1 1 "thai song of love, now low and far, ere long shall bwell from -tar to -tar! that light, tin* breaking day, which dpi the golden-spired apocalyp then, when my good friend shook his head, and, sighing, sadly smiled, i said : " thou rnind'st me of ■ story told in rare bernardin'a leaves of gold." 1 and, while the slanted sunbeams wots the shadows of the frost-stained gro and. picturing all, the ri\« r ran < i eloud and wood, i thus began i in mount valerien'a chestnut wood t)i»' chapel of the hermits mood; and thither, at the close of day, 1 two old pilgrims, worn and gray. 14 the chapel of the hermits. one, whose impetuous youth defied the storms of baikal's wintry side, and mused and dreamed where tropic day flamed o'er his lost virginia's bay. his simple tale of love and woe all hearts had melted, high or low ; — a blissful pain, a sweet distress, immortal in its tenderness. yet, while above his charmed page beat quick the young heart of his age, he walked amidst the crowd unknown, a sorrowing old man, strange and lone. a homeless, troubled age, — the gray pale setting of a weary day ; too dull his ear for voice of praise, too sadly worn his brow for bays. pride, lust of power and glory, slept ; yet still his heart its young dream kept ; and, wandering like the deluge-dove, still sought the resting-place of love. the chal'i.l 01 thk bbbmi1 16 and, mateless, chil ed more the peasant's welcome from bis d • •v«'llli'l«*, than kingly gifts «»r lettered pri until, in place of info and child, all-pitying nature on him smiled, and gave t<» him tingolden k to all h«t inmost sanctitiea mild druid ofhei wood-paths *\m ! she laid bei l. r r<-at heart ban to him, its loves and sa dtj — ho saw tlie beauty of h»-r perfect law. the language of hei ligni he in what qotei bei cloudy clarion hi' the rhythm of autumn's forest dj the hymn of painted ski and thus i which sv n along; and to hi th once more its fresh and primal beauty wore 16 the chapel of the hermits. who sought with him, from summer air, and field and wood, a balm for care ; and bathed in light of sunset skies his tortured nerves and weary eyes ? his fame on all the winds had flown ; his words had shaken crypt and throne ; like fire, on camp and court and cell they dropped, and kindled as they fell. beneath the pomps of state, below the mitred juggler's masque and show, a prophecy — a vague hope — ran a his burning thought from man to man. for peace or rest too well he saw the fraud of priests, the wrong of law ; and felt how hard, between the two, their breath of pain the millions drew. a prophet-utterance, strong and wild, the weakness of an un weaned child, a sun-bright hope for human kind, and self-despair, in him combined. the chapel of the hermits. 17 he loathed the false, yet lived not true to half the glorious truths he knew; the doubt, the discoid, and the -in, he mourned without, he felt within, untrod by him the path he show tares on his < of siinj)]'' faith, and loves of hoi and \ irtue'i gulden days t<> come. but weakness, shame and folly, n the fou to all hipen portra . still, where his dreamy splendor! the shadow of himself was thrown. lord, what is man, who it, at tin up to i -fold brightness dim] while still his grosser instinct clii to earth, like other creeping things ! so rich in words, in so high, so low ; change-swung betwern the foulness of the penal pit and truth's clear sky, millenniumdit ! 18 the chapel of the her 31 its. vain pride of star-lent genius ! — vain quick fancy and creative brain, unblest by prayerful sacrifice, absurdly great, or weakly wise ! midst yearnings for a truer life, without were fears, within was strife ; and still his wayward act denied the perfect good for which he sighed. the love he sent forth void returned ; the fame that crowned him scorched and burned ; burning, yet cold and drear and lone, — a fire-mount in a frozen zone ! like that the gray-haired sea-king passed, 2 seen southward from his sleety mast, about whose brows of changeless frost a wreath of flame the wild winds tossed. far round the mournful beauty played of lambent light and purple shade, lost on the fixed and dumb despair of frozen earth and sea and air ! t h i: c h a p el 01 t i! b h i". 19 d apart, unknown, unli by those whose wrongs hisou] had moi re the ban of chan h a s 1 [ ood man's fear, the bigot's h forth from the city's noise and throng, itpomp and shame, it->in and r the twain that summer t<» mount volerien's ch< to them the green fields and the lent something of their quietude, and golden-tinted s prophetical of all th< ed. riif hermits from ! : the bell was calling home to and, listening t<» itsound, the twain s '1 lapped in childhood's tru-t again. 1 the chapel d ild music, swelling i low prayerful murmurs, . — the litanies of proridi 2 20 the chapel of the hermits. then rousseau spake : — " where two or three in his name meet, he there will be ! " and then, in silence, on their knees they sank beneath the chestnut-trees. as to the blind returning light, as daybreak to the arctic night, old faith revived : the doubts of years dissolved in reverential tears. that gush of feeling overpast, " ah me ! " bernardin sighed at last, " i would thy bitterest foes could see thy heart as it is seen of me ! " no church of god hast thou denied; thou hast but spurned in scorn aside a base and hollow counterfeit, profaning the pure name of it ! 11 with dry dead moss and marish weeds his fire the western herdsman feeds, and greener from the ashen plain the sweet spring grasses rise again. t ii b c b a p b l of t ii b h b b m 1 21 11 nor thunder-pea] nor mighty wind disturb the bolid sky behind ; and through the cloud the red bolt r the calm, mill smile of 1 1 tnds ! " thus through tin* world, like bolt and hi and scourging tiro, thy word* clouds break, — the steadfr lain; w eds burn, — thi in ! " but whoso strives with wrong may find [l ouch poll ind ; an i learn, as latent fraud is shown in others 1 faith, to doubt his own. 11 with dream and falsehood, simple b and pious hop • we tread in d lost the calm faith in the baptism of the penteo '• alas ! — the blows foi erroi meant too oft on truth itself axe spent, as through the false and vile and be looks forth her sad, rebuking f 22 the chapel of the hermits. " not ours the theban's charmed life ; we came not scathless from the strife ! the python's coil about us clings, the trampled hydra bites and stings ! " meanwhile, the sport of seeming chance, the plastic shapes of circumstance, "what might have been we fondly guess, if earlier born, or tempted less. " and thou, in these wild, troubled days, misjudged alike in blame and praise, unsought and undeserved the same the sceptic's praise, the bigot's blame ; — " i cannot doubt, if thou had'st been among the highly-favored men who walked on earth with fenelon, he would have owned thee as his son ; " and, bright with wings of cherubim visibly waving over him, seen through his life, the church had seemed all that its old confessors dreamed." the chapel of the hermits. '• i would have been : iques replied, rvant at his side, 0! how beautiful man's life may ' ' than thr; lie, more . oil lore, the holy liti rho trod 'j i ■ a iidst a blinded world he tip the d ial law ; tli;: !' in, \ i : " he lived the truth which i t ■ . faith the child : in him belief and art * homilies of duty d so speaking, through the twilight gray the two old pilgri what beeds i :' life that day were sown, the heavenly watchers knew a! 24 the chapel of the hermits. time passed, and autumn came to fold green summer in her brown and gold : time passed, and winter's tears of snow dropped on the grave-mound of rousseau ! " the tree remaineth where it fell, the pained on earth is pained in hell ! " so priestcraft from its altars cursed the mournful doubts its falsehood nursed. ah ! well 'of old the psalmist prayed, " thy hand, not man's, on me be laid ! " earth frowns below, heaven weeps above, and man is hate, but god is love ! no hermits now the wanderer sees, nor chapel with its chestnut-trees ; a morning dream, a tale that 's told, the wave of change o'er all has rolled. yet lives the lesson of that day ; and from its twilight cool and gray comes up a low, sad whisper : — " make the truth thine own, for truth's own sake. the chap! l f t h b h i r m i t8. zo why wail thy briel its perfecl tl >wer and fruit in man ? no balm of healing hath the martyr's palm. mid ■ i'l false pi of spiritual pride and pamper a lith, ' what is that to ti. b«true i i follow lie ! ' in days uh<ai throne and altar heard the wanton's wish, the bigot's word, and pomp of state and ritual sh s •• hid the load ith below, — midst fawning priests and courtiers foul, the lose! -warm of crown and cowl, white-robed walked i fenelon, stainless as uriel in the sun ! yet in his time the stake biased i the poor were eaten up like bread ; men knew him not : hi^ garment's hem no healing virtue had for them. 26 the chapel of the hermits. " alas ! no present saint we find ; the white cymar gleams far behind, revealed in outline vague, sublime, through telescopic mists of time ! 11 trust not in man with passing breath, but in the lord, old scripture saith; the truth which saves thou may'st not blend with false professor, faithless friend. " search thine own heart. what paineth thee in others in thyself may be ; all dust is frail, all flesh is weak; be thou the true man thou dost seek ! 11 where now with pain thou treadest, trod the whitest of the saints of god ! to show thee where their feet were set, the light which led them shineth yet. " the foot-prints of the life divine, which marked their path, remain in thine ; and that great life, transfused in theirs, awaits thy faith, thy love, thy prayers ! " the c h a pb l i 1 il b ii e b hits a lesson which i well m a word of fitnet s from tint twilight c ray still saith ;i voi ■ ad slowlj r 1 turned, while down the v. \ . in \< light, lull, w 1 and tide, and human foi lorified. tin' villi j transfigui and purple bluffs, whose belting v, \ ! to hold the yellow ike lamps <>f gold. tikmi bpake my friend: — "thy words are true v er old, forever new, these borne whi.-h over e i 23 the chapel of the hermits. " to these bowed heavens let wood and hi] lift voiceless praise and anthems still ; fall, warm with blessing, over them, light of the new jerusalem ! " flow on, sweet river, like the stream of john's apocalyptic dream ! this mapled ridge shall horeb be, yon green-banked lake our galilee ! " henceforth my heart shall sigh no more for olden time and holier shore ; god's love and blessing, then and there, are now and here and everywhere." esti0n8 i l : '. dnfto pm, wfcom name v.a> i'riri, ine an answer, tad " tliy h< art liatli god« too far i !hiiiki.-t t. oomprehend the wi then .-ai'l em unto i ( the " — 2 bldlm, <-!.aj>. if. a itaff 1 wotil.l not i ■ ile faith i would oof shake, . pluck away the error which some truth may stay, whose loss ii. the soul without a shield against th< of doubt and yet, at tiia» s, when otbi all a darker mystery i i fall (may god forgive the child of dust, who seeks to know, where faith should trust .'), 30 questions of life. i raise the questions, old and dark, of uzdom's tempted patriarch, and, speech-confounded, build again the baffled tower of shinar's plain. i am : how little more i know ! whence came i ? whither do i go ? a centred self, which feels and is; a cry between the silences ; a shadow-birth of clouds at strife with sunshine on the hills of life ; a shaft from nature's quiver cast into the future from the past; between the cradle and the shroud, a meteor's flight from cloud to cloud. thorough the vastness, arching all, i see the great stars rise and fall, the rounding seasons come and go, the tided oceans ebb and flow ; the tokens of a central force, whose circles, in their widening course, o'erlap and move the universe ; qui • of life. 31 1 irth the darki of al! i . — bird, — what part have i \ this . — is it th . thrills i ; whei \ v. when spring m how :"■ la the si »ne the rth, which bi tling prism forth ? 1 the throb whi the life-blood to its new do bird ami bit life's many-folded mystery, — the wonder which it is to i and distinct, from nature's chain of life unlink allied to all, yet not the prisoned in separate conscious 32 questions of life. alone o'erburdened with a sense of life, and cause, and consequence ? in vain to me the sphinx propounds the riddle of her sights and sounds ; back still the vaulted mystery gives the echoed question it receives. what sings the brook ? what oracle is in the pine-tree's organ-swell ? what may the wind's low burden be ? the meaning of the moaning sea ? the hieroglyphics of the stars ? or clouded sunset's crimson bars ? i vainly ask, for mocks my skill the trick of nature's cipher still. i turn from nature unto men, i ask the stylus and the pen ; what sang the bards of old ? what meant the prophets of the orient ? the rolls of buried egypt, hid in painted tomb and pyramid ? life. .'33 what mean i arrowy li.i or dusk flora 1 1 primal thought of i from the l r rim where tests tfa of the old death-bolt alas ! the dead retain their trust ; dust bath no ;iu-v. i real enigma still ui unanswered the i •■ i gather up the 0( wisdom in the • arly i faint gleams and br the light of meteors in n night, betraying to the darkling earth in which q mrtli ; i li<t«'n to the sibyl the voice of priest and bierophantj i know what indian k ;:h, and what of life and what of death the demon taught i s and what, \ raeath his garden-tr 34 questions of life. slow pacing, with a dream-like tread, the solemn-thoughted plato said ; nor lack i tokens, great or small, of god's clear light in each and all, "while holding with more dear regard the scroll of hebrew seer and bard, the starry pages promise-lit with christ's evangel over-writ, thy miracle of life and death, 0, holy one of nazareth ! on aztec ruins, gray and lone, the circling serpent coils in stone, — type of the endless and unknown; whereof we seek the clue to find, with groping fingers of the blind ! forever sought, and never found, we trace that serpent-symbol round our resting-place, our starting bound ! 0, thriftlessness of dream and guess ! o, wisdom which is foolishness ! why idly seek from outward things the answer inward silence brings ; qui f l i i i . '35 why stretch beyond oui proper sphere and age, foi thai which lies so near! why climb the (ar-off hills with pain, a i irei i iew of he i lin i in lowliest depths of bosky deui the hermit contemplation dwells. a fountain'! pine-h and lotus-twined his silent :• whence, pier :ing hi i\ ■ d, with ight, } i • • noon the stars, whose light shall glorify the coming night ii' n !• • me p iuse, my quest enough lor me to feel and know that he in whom the cause and end, the past and futui . — who, girt with his immensil our vast ami btar-hung small as the clustered pleiades, — mores not alone the heavenly qui ]sut waves the spring-tin guards not archangel feet alone, but deigns my own ; ~ 3 36 questions of life. speaks not alone the words of fate which worlds destroy, and worlds create, but whispers in my spirit's ear, in tones of love, or warning fear, a language none beside may hear. to him, from wanderings long and wild, i come, an over-wearied child, in cool and shade his peace to find, like dew-fall settling on my mind. assured that all i know is best, and humbly trusting for the rest, i turn from fancy's cloud-built scheme, dark creed, and mournful eastern dream of power, impersonal and cold, controlling all, itself controlled, maker and slave of iron laws, alike the subject and the cause ; from vain philosophies, that try the seven-fold gates of mystery, and, baffled ever, babble still, word-prodigal of fate and will ; questions of life. 37 from nature, rind hr>r mockery, art, and book and : men apart, to the still witness in my h'-art; with reverence waiting to behold his avatar of love unfold, the eternal beauty new and old! the prisoners of naples. i have been thinking of the victims bound in naples, dying for the lack of air and sunshine, in their close, damp cells of pain, where hope is not, and innocence in vain appeals against the torture and the chain ! unfortunates ! whose crime it was to share our common love of freedom, and to dare, in its behalf, rome's harlot triple-crowned, and her base pander, the most hateful thing who upon christian or on pagan ground makes vile the old heroic name of king. o, god most merciful ! father just and kind ! whom man hath bound let thy right hand unbind. or, if thy purposes of good behind their ills lie hidden, let the sufferers find strong consolations ; leave them not to doubt thy providential care, nor yet without the hope which all thy attributes inspire, t ii l pri80neb8 ok naples, .s9 that not in vain the martyr'robe of fire iworn, nor the sad pri i ftting chain; since all who suffer for thy truth bend forth, j. . with every throb of pain. unquenchable sparks, thy own baptismal rain of fire ami spirit over all the earth, making the dead in slavery live again. let this great hope l»with then lie shut from the light, the sky, — from the cool wati n ami the pi the smell of flowers, ai bound with the felon lepers, whom « 1 i and -iiiabhorred maiv<loathsome; let them >harc pellico'fi faith, foi ngth to bear voars of unutterable torment, stern ami -till. as the chained titan victor through his will! comfort them with thy future; let them i the day-dawn i^( italian liberty ; for that, with all good things, ihid \.i and, perfect in thy thought, awaitit< time to i, who have spoken foi freedom at the coal of -mm.weak friendships, or some paltry priie 40 the prisoners of naples. of name or place, and more than i have lost have gained in wider reach of sympathies, and free communion with the good and wise, — may god forbid that i should ever boast such easy self-denial, or repine that the strong pulse of health no more is mine ; that, overworn at noonday, i must yield to other hands the gleaning of the field, — a tired on-looker through the day's decline. for blest beyond deserving still, and knowing that kindly providence its care is showing in the withdrawal as in the bestowing, scarcely i dare for more or less to pray. beautiful yet for me this autumn day melts on its sunset hills ; and, far away, for me the ocean lifts its solemn psalm, to me the pine-woods whisper : and for me yon river, winding through its vales of calm, by greenest banks, with asters purple-starred, and gentian bloom and golden-rod made gay, flows down in silent gladness to the sea, like a pure spirit to its great reward ! tin; ps iso n 1: b s o r n a r ; 41 nor lack i friends, long-tried and neai and whose lore u round me like this atmosph warm, soft and golden. i i me, what shall i render, my god, to ti. let me not dwell upon my lighter share of pain and ill that human life musl bear; s;i\-' me from selfish i » i m i 1 1 <_r ; l«'t my h drawn from itself m sympathy, forget the bitter longingi of a rain r< l r r*-t, the anguish of ilown peculiar -mart. remembering others, :ii have to-day, in their peat sorrows, let me live alway not for myself alone, but have a part. such afl a frail and erring >pirit may, in lore which is of 1 . and which indeed tikmj art ! the peace of europe — 1852. " great peace in europe ! order reigns from tiber's hills to danube's plains ! " so say her kings and priests ; so say the lying prophets of our day. go lay to earth a listening ear ; the tramp of measured marches hear, — the rolling of the cannon's wheel, the shotted musket's murderous peal. the night alarm, the sentry's call, the quick-eared spy in hut and hall ! from polar sea and tropic fen the dying-groans of exiled men ! the bolted cell, the galley's chains, the scaffold smoking with its stains ! order — the hush of brooding slaves ! peace — in the dungeon -vaults and craves ! thc peace of europe. 43 0, fisher! of the world-wide with meshes in all waft who-r fabled l aren and hell bolt hard the patriot' -cell, and open wide the banquet-hall, where kings and priests hold camiral! w« ik vassal tricked in royal gn b kaiser with thy lip of ! i'. • gambler tor n crown, barnacle on hi< dead renown ! thou, bourbon neapol i crowned scandal, loath* and thou, fell spider of the north ! stretching thy giant feelers forth, within who--web the freedom d of nations eaten np like flies ! speak, prince and kaiser, priest and car! if this i"* peace, pray what is warl white angel of the lord! onmeel that soil accursed foi thy p v • r in slavery's desert flows the fountain of thy charmed 44 the peace of europe. no tyrant's hand thy chaplet weaves of lilies and of olive-leaves ; not with the wicked shalt thou dwell, thus saith the eternal oracle ; thy home is with the pure and free ! stern herald of thy better day, before thee, to prepare thy way, the baptist shade of liberty, gray, scarred and hairy-robed, must press with bleeding feet the wilderness ! o ! that its voice might pierce the ear of princes, trembling while they hear a cry as of the hebrew seer : repent ! god's kingdom draweth near ! vfordsworth. wtltttks on a blank imam vf uu mli: deai friends, who read the trorld and in ita common fori: a beauty and ■ harmony the many oerei lean ! kindred in eon] of him who found in ample flower and leaf and v : the impulse of the i lyi our si iwn, — a • <>rd of :i ]i(c \ t and pnre, as calm and good, a■ long day of blandest jane in l r r»'''ii held and in wood how welcome to our ears, long pained by strife of ted and party n the brook-like murmur of his song of nature's simple joj 46 wordsworth. the violet by its mossy stone, the primrose by the river's brim, and chance-sown daffodil, have found immortal life through him. the sunrise on his breezy lake, the rosy tints his sunset brought, world-seen, are gladdening all the vales and mountain-peaks of thought. art builds on sand ; the works of pride and human passion change and fall ; but that which shares the life of god with him surviveth all. 1 o . fair nature's priestess* ! to whom, in hieroglyph of bud and bloom, 1 1 • >ld ; who, wise in od and n 'l'h ■ seasons' pictured bcrolls can i in lessons manifold ! thanks foz the courtesy, and good humor, which on v> day < i .-■ d \ isil bore ; thanks for your graceful oars, which broke the morning dreams of art* along his wooded she \ ! as varying natui sprites of the river, woodland fai or mountain-nymp] emj 48 to free-limbed dianas on the green, loch katrine's ellen, or undine, upon your favorite stream. the forms of which the poets told, the fair benignities of old, were doubtless such as you; what more than artichoke the rill of helicon ? than pipe-stave hill arcadia's mountain-view ? no sweeter bowers the bee delayed, in wild hymettus' scented shade, than those you dwell among ; snow-flowered azalias, intertwined with roses, over banks inclined with trembling hare-bells hung ! a charmed life unknown to death, immortal freshness nature hath ; her fabled fount and glen are now and here : dodona's shrine still murmurs in the wind-swept pine, all is that e'er hath been. t o . 49 the beauty which old greece or rome song, paint i, wrought, lies close at home ; we need bill eye and in all our daily wall the outline* of incarnat the hymn to bear ! in peace. a track of moonlight on a quiet lake, whose small waves on a silver-sanded shore whisper of peace, and with the low winds make such harmonies as keep the woods awake, and listening all night long for their sweet sake ; a green-waved slope of meadow, hovered o'er by angel-troops of lilies, swaying light on viewless stems, with folded wings of white ; a slumberous stretch of mountain-land, far seen where the low westering day, with gold and green, purple and amber, softly blended, fills the wooded vales, and melts among the hills ; a vine-fringed river, winding to its rest on the calm bosom of a storm] ess sea, bearing alike upon its placid breast, with earthly flowers and heavenly stars impressed, the hues of time and of eternity : such are the pictures which the thought of thee, ih peace. 51 friend, awakeneth, — charming the keen pain of thy departure, and <>ur sense of lo requiting with the fulness of thy gain. lo ! on the quiet grave thy life-born dropped only a1 its side, methinks doth shi of thy beatitude the radiant sign ! \ sob of grief, no wild lament, be th to break the sabbath of the holy air ; but, in their stead, the silent-breathing pray r of hearts still waiting for a real like thine. nt redeemed! forgive us, if henceforth, with sweet and pure similitudes of earth, \ e keep thy pleasant memory fresh of love's inheritance ;i priceless part. which fancy's self, in reverent awe, to paint, forgetful of the tricks of art, with pencil dipped alone in colorof the heart 4 benedicite. god's love and peace be with thee, where soe'er this soft autumnal air lifts the dark tresses of thy hair ! whether through city casements comes its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms, or, out among the woodland blooms, it freshens o'er thy thoughtful face, imparting, in its glad embrace, beauty to beauty, grace to grace ! fair nature's book together read, the old wood-paths that knew our tread, the maple shadows overhead, — the hills w r e climbed, the river seen by gleams along its deep ravine, — all keep thy memory fresh and green. b bnbd1 c i . 53 where'er i look, whi i thy thought goea frith me on my way, and hence the prayer 1 breathe to-day ! o'er lapse of time and ch the weary waste which liefl i i thyself ami in"-, my heart i lean. thou lack'sl doi friendahip'i ipell-word, nor the half-unconscious pom r to draw all hearte to thine by l iw. with th< 1 1 thy lot, and many a < harm thou bast to hold the blessed angels fast if, then, a fervent wish f<»r i: the gracious beavens will heed from me, what should, dear heart, its burden i the sighing of a shaken reed — what can i more than meekly pli the greatness of our common \> ■ 54 benedicite. god's love — unchanging, pure and true the paraclete white-shining through his peace — the fall of hermon's dew ! with such a prayer, on this sweet day. as thou may'st hear and i may say, i greet thee, dearest, far away ! pi i i. linm, warmth, and sprouting . rail blup, stainless, steel-bright ether, raini i tquillity upon the deep-hush the freshening meadows, and the hill-sid< v wind &om the hills and thp brimmed rirei from ii fall, 1. »w lmni of 1 s, and joyous interlu of bird— ■ heralds and prop] bt, blessed forerunners of the warmth and light, idant ang with p ren at t • with mi onrp more through ( you ] a morn of resurrection sweet and fair athat which -aw. of old, p immortal love upri^imr in fresh bloom from the dark night and winter of tfa fifth month, 2d, ls52. 56 pictures. ii. white with its sun-bleached dust, the pathway winds before me ; dust is on the shrunken grass, and on the trees beneath whose boughs i pass ; frail screen against the hunter of the sky, who, glaring on me with his lidless eye, while mounting with his dog-star high and higher, ambushed in light intolerable, unbinds the burnished quiver of his shafts of fire. between me and the hot fields of his south a tremulous glow, as from a furnace-mouth, glimmers and swims before my dazzled sight, as if the burning arrows of his ire broke as they fell, and shattered into light ! yet on my cheek i feel the western wind, and hear it telling to the orchard trees, and to the faint and flower-forsaken bees, tales of fair meadows, green with constant streams, and mountains rising blue and cool behind, where in moist dells the purple orchis gleams, and starred with white the virgin's bower is twined. so the o'erwearied pilgrim, as he fares along life's summer waste, at times is fanned, pictures. 57 even at noontide, by the cool, tfweel airs of a serener and a holier land, fresh as the morn, and a< the dewfall bland. breath of the hii i! . . for which we pray, blow from the eternal hills! — make glad our earthly way ! eighth month derne. 3 night on the city of the moor ! on mosque and tomb, and white-walled shore, on sea-waves, to whose ceaseless knock the narrow harbor-gates unlock, on corsair's galley, carack tall, and plundered christian caraval ! the sounds of moslem life are still ; no mule-bell tinkles down the hill ; stretched in the broad court of the khan, the dusty bornou caravan lies heaped in slumber, beast and man ; the sheik is dreaming in his tent, his noisy arab tongue o'er-spent ; the kiosk's glimmering lights are gone, the merchant with his wares withdrawn ; rough pillowed on some pirate breast, the dancing-girl has sunk to rest ; db1 59 and, save where m tens fall along the bashaw*! guarded wall, or where, lik< 1 dream, the x i ilthily his quarter through, or counts with fear his golden heaps, the city of the corsair sleej hut where yon prison long and ! 1black against tl r-giow, chafed by the -. ash <>f a thenwatch and pine the christian slaves; — rough-bearded men, whose far-off win wear out with irri<f th«-ir lonely 1 and youth, still flashing from his i the dear blue i n england bv a treasured lock ofwhosc bofl hair now wakes some borrowing mother's pray fj or, worn upon borne maiden breast, stirs with the loving heart's unrest! a hitter cup each life must drain, the groaning earth is cursed with pain, 60 derne. and, like the scroll the angel bore the shuddering hebrew seer before, o'erwrit alike, without, within, with all the woes which follow sin; but, bitterest of the ills beneath whose load man totters down to death, is that which plucks the regal crown of freedom from his forehead down, and snatches from his powerless hand the sceptred sign of self-command, effacing with the chain and rod the image and the seal of god ; till from his nature, day by day, the manly virtues fall away, and leave him naked, blind and mute, the god-like merging in the brute ! why mourn the quiet ones who die beneath affection's tender eye, unto their household and their kin like ripened corn-sheaves gathered in ? weeper, from that tranquil sod, that holy harvest-home of god, i» b 61 tarn to the quick and — shed thy tears upon the living <]• thank god above thy deaf ones' gravi they sleep with him, — they are do! slavi what dark mass, down the mount swnvpouring, like a stream divides ? — a long, loose, straggling ca/avan, game! and bone and armld man. the moon's low cres sent, glimmering i' of waters to the shore, i, bts up thai mountain cavalca and glints from gun and spear and bis near and more near ! — now o'ei them falls the shadow of the city walls. hark to the sentry's challenge, drowned in the fierce trumpet's charging sound ! — the rush of men, the musket's peal, the sh<»rt, sharp clang of meetin vain, moslem, vain thy life-mood pound so freely on thy foeman's sword ! 62 d e r n e . not to the swift nor to the strong the battles of the right belong ; for he who strikes for freedom wears the armor of the captive's prayers, and nature proffers to his cause the strength of her eternal laws ; while he whose arm essays to bind and herd with common brutes his kind strives evermore at fearful odds with nature and the jealous gods, and dares the dread recoil which late or soon their right shall vindicate. 't is done, — the horned crescent falls ! the star-flag flouts the broken walls ! joy to the captive husband ! joy ♦ to thy sick heart, brown-locked boy ! in sullen wrath the conquered moor wide open flings your dungeon-door, and leaves ye free from cell and chain, the owners of yourselves again. dark as his allies desert-born, soiled with the battle's stain, and worn de k with the long marches of his band through h 1, — .11 and fu tth of t!.< . with welcome words and grasping ban the victor and deliverer stan the tale listant ski the dual of half ■ century i upon it : ;.• r its b< i still linger* on til-lips i i men speak the praise of him who deliverance to the moorman 1 5 • laoto brand with tinheroes of our land and time, — i 1 1 . name and lii i god mend lii^ heart who cannot i the impulse of a holy seal, and sees not, with hifl the beauty o[' selfa though in the sacred place b uplifting ted hands, 64 derne. unworthy are his lips to tel of jesus' martyr-miracle, or name aright that dread embrace of suffering for a fallen race ! a8tb a "j ve means to settle and let down fn _ a chain an -.1." i, 1616. o, pokt nir• and old ! thy words ;ir«' pn forward the ag tli s ituraian 1; the anitena] pray r a not in rain ; b . brothers ! ami j»r« ] the way for saturn's r perish shall all which •,..' from labor"board an 1 ran; perish shall all which m a spaniel of the man ' 66 astr£a. free from its bonds the mind, the body from the rod ; broken all chains that bind the image of our god. just men no longer pine behind their prison-bars ; through the rent dungeon shine the free sun and the stars. earth own, at last, untrod by sect, or caste, or clan, the fatherhood of god, the brotherhood of man ! fraud fail, craft perish, forth the money-changers driven, and god's will done on earth, as now in heaven ! ini ( i t 1 n . through thy clear s] ,l ird, of old, forml'-.-and roid the j i ! to thy bi music, blind to the great lights which o'er it shim ,\ i .mi i, do i breath, — a dumb despair, a wan l< ring d< ath. to thai dark, w itrinl r h"rpir came i ;iirit, like :i subtle flame, — a breath of life electrical, awakening and transforming all, till beat and thrilled in every part the ; i living heart. then knew their bounds the land and then smiled tfa i bloom of mead ami ti from flower to moth, from beast to man, the qui ', 5 63 invocation. and earth, with life from thee renewed, was in thy holy eyesight good. as lost and void, as dark and cold and formless as that earth of old, — a wandering waste of storm and night, midst spheres of song and realms of light, a blot upon thy holy sky, untouched, unwarned of thee, am i. o thou who movest on the deep of spirits, wake my own from sleep ! its darkness melt, its coldness warm, the lost restore, the ill transform, that flower and fruit henceforth may be its grateful offering, worthy thee. the cross mat! of n bibb dili >'• " tic rightly borne, shall be no burd< ii, bul support to thee ;"* b . moved of old time for o the holy monk of kempen thou brave and true one ! upon wl om whs laid the crow of m irt) r lorn, how didst thou, in tli •. ith, bv ar witness to this bl< s» 1 truth ! thy cross of buffi ring an 1 of so a staff within thy hands becan in paths where faitb alone i ouj i the m i pporting thee. thine was tlm seed-time ; god alone beholds the end of what is bown ; • thomas a kcinjis. imit. chrift. the cross. beyond our vision, weak and dim, the harvest-time is hid with him. yet, unforgotten where it lies, that seed of generous sacrifice, though seeming on the desert cast, shall rise with bloom and fruit at last. e v a . 1 1 foi holy i. with the !'!■ — \ an of the fo] 1 1 1 < i lair give to earth the u ndei for tip golden locli let the sunny south-land give hi r flowery pillow of repose, — orange-bloom and budding i in tlp^ better i i ie bhinin with the welcome -voiced psalm, harp of gold and waving palm ! all is light and pea i there the darkn< bs cotneth never ; tears are wiped, and fetters fall, an 1 th< i. 1 is all in all. 72 eva. weep no more for happy eva, wrong and sin no more shall grieve her ; care and pain and weariness lost in love so measureless. gentle eva, loving eva, child confessor, true believer, listener at the master's knee, " suffer such to come to me." o, for faith like thine, sweet eva, lighting all the solemn river, and the blessings of the poor wafting to the heavenly shore! to pb i: d b l k \ bb em bb.« sberess of the misty norland, i i the vikings bold, welcome to the bunny vineland, which thy fat] hi of old ! soft as flow of silja's wa when the moon of summer shii strong aa winti c from bia mountains roaring through the sleeted pin 1 1 n and i ar, we long bare listened i me and song, til] b household joy and we have known and lo long. by the mansion's marble mantel, round the log-walled cabin's hearth, thy sweet thoughts and northern fancies mi ami mingle with our mirth. to fredrika bremee. and, o'er weary spirits keeping sorrow's night-watch, long and chill, shine they like thy sun of summer over midnight vale and hill. t we alone are strangers to thee, thou our friend and teacher art ; come, and know us as we know thee ; let us meet thee heart to heart ! to our homes and household altars we, in turn, thy steps would lead, as thy loving hand has led us o'er the threshold of the swede. lpb i r. . u til i the dood of the sa . a bird i iken elm <>r the maple is heard ; i and blowing of drifts u !.• where \ ind-flo iolet, amber and white, « i outh-sloptng brook-sides should smile in tinlight, i i the cold winter the frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal she and, longing for light, under wind-driven h round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of show with bu y swelled, which should hur>t into flow 76 april we wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south ! for the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth ; for the yearly evangel thou bearest from god, resurrection and life to the graves of the sod ! up our long river-valley, for days, have not ceased the wail and the shriek of the bitter north-east, — raw and chill, as if winnowed through ices and snow, all the way from the land of the wild esquimaux, — until all our dreams of the land of the blest, like that red hunter's, turn to the sunny south-west. 0, soul of the spring-time, its light and its breath, bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to this death ; renew the great miracle ; let us behold the stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled, and nature, like lazarus, rise, as of old ! let our faith, which in darkness and coldness has lain, revive with the warmth and the brightness again, and in blooming of flower and budding of tree the symbols and types of our destiny see ; the life of the spring-time, the life of the whole, and as sun to the sleeping earth love to the soul ! sta nzas l ob l ii i: tim bs— 1850. thb evil daya bare come, — the poor are made a p liar up the hospitable d i'ut out tliifire-lights, point tli foi !' 'in i telted at h< r hearth in twain, 1 oft niin : i our union, lil r stirred b; roice below, or bell of kine, or wing of bird, a b "i>t, a kindly v \! i , rerthrow ! 78 stanzas foe, the times. poor, whispering tremblers ! — yet we boast our blood and name ; bursting its century -bolted frost, each gray cairn on the northman's coast cries out for shame ! for the open firmament, the prairie free, the desert hillside, cavern-rent, the pawnee's lodge, the arab's tent, the bushman's tree ! than web of persian loom most rare, or soft divan, better the rough rock, bleak and bare, or hollow tree, which man may share with suffering man. 1 hear a voice : — " thus saith the law, let love be dumb ; clasping her liberal hands in awe, let sweet-lipped charity withdraw from hearth and home." t ii b t i i i hear another roice : — m t3 a thine to i turn not the outcast from i s .\<to bonds and wrong one* whom god hath i dear l i \ not untrue to man't though spurning itreward "who bean itpa u\<. not iiiiii-' se lition's trun ami thn atening word ; i read the thai firm endui .more than th< • > f lith and i thou s 'aim and bttong, la ia' (jed ! be on ar to show higlorious future shining through this night of wrong ! a sabbath scene. scarce had the solemn sabbath-bell ceased quivering in the steeple, scarce had the parson to his desk walked stately through his people, when down the summer shaded street a wasted female figure, with dusky brow and naked feet, came rushing wild and eager. she saw the white spire through the trees, she heard the sweet hymn swelling ; 0, pitying christ! a refuge give that poor one in thy dwelling ! like a scared fawn before the hounds, right up the aisle she glided, while close behind her, whip in hand, a lank-haired hunter sirided. a sabbath sci n b . she raised a keen and bitter cry, to heaven and earth appealing; — \ era manhood's . :• id ? 1 1 ■! woman"bearl no feeli a sore of -tout hands rose beta the banter and th<flying ; ago clenched his staff, and maid flashed tearful, yet defying. u who dan profane this houae and d i . c * ri< »1 out the angry pastor. 11 why, bl< n your soul, the wrench 'a ■ alare, and i 'in her lord and master ! '• i law ami gospel on my aide, and who shall dare refuse n down came the parson, bowing low, •• my good bit, pray excuse me ! "of course i know your right dil to own and work and whip h<r; quick-, deacon, throw thai polyglot! before the wench, and trip her ! " 81 82 a sabbath scene. plump dropped the holy tome, and o'er its sacred pages stumbling, bound hand and foot, a slave once more, the hapless wretch lay trembling. i saw the parson tie the knots, the while his flock addressing, the scriptural claims of slavery with text on text impressing. " although," said he, " on sabbath day, all secular occupations are deadly sins, we must fulfil our moral obligations : and this commends itself as one to every conscience tender ; as paul sent back onesimus, ]my christian friends, we send her i »! shriek rose on shriek, — the sabbath air her wild cries tore asunder ; i listened, with hushed breath, to hear god answering with his thunder ! asa b i; a i h bc b m b. 98 all still ! — the very altar's cloth 1 1 | ithen d down her shrieking, and, cluiiih, she turned from faoe to face, for human pity seeking ! i saw hei dragg d al i ig the ber shackles harshly clanking; i heard the parson, on r all. the lord devoutly thanking ! my brain took fire : m ithis,* 1 i cried, •• th • id of prayer and preaching i then down with pulpit, down with ]>r a nature'! teaching ! foul shame and sorn be on ye all who turn the good to evil, and steal ill" bible from the lord, t ive it to the devil ! than garbled text <»r parchment law tatute higher; and god ia true, though every hook and i \ ery man 'a a liar ! *' 84 a sabbath scene. just then i felt the deacon's hand in wrath my coat-tail seize on ; i heard the priest cry " infidel ! " the lawyer mutter " treason ! " i started up, — where now were church, slave, master, priest and people ? i only heard the supper-bell, instead of clanging steeple. but, on the open window's sill, o'er which the white blooms drifted, the pages of a good old book the wind of summer lifted. and flower and vine, like angel wings around the holy mother, waved softly there, as if god's truth and mercy kissed each other. and freely from the cherry -bough above the casement swinging, with golden bosom to the sun, the oriole was singing. a sabbath scene. 55 as bird and flowei mad'plain of old the lesson of the teacher, so now i heard the written word interpreted by nature ! for to my ear methought th< bore 1 • dora'a blessed word on ; t loed: b undo the he vv\ i the californian at the grave of his wife. i see thee still before me, even as when we parted ; i, gold-mad, from thy presence driven, — thou, broken-hearted. i hear the train's shrill signal blown, thy hurried prayer, the trembling tone which held me, while it bade me go ; and read, tear-written, on thy cheek, the meaning which thou couldst not speak, love's prophecy of woe ! yet thou art with the dreamless dead quietly sleeping; around the marble at thy head the wild grass creeping ! how many thoughts, which but belong unto the living and the young, the cale t the okave of his w1fi ^7 have whispered from my heart of to when thou wast resting calmly there, shut from the blessed ban sod sir, from life, and lore, and i why did i leave theel well i knew a flow* r bo frail m ; it sink l» neath the summer < >r xil't e jiriiilt gale ; i knew how delicately wrought with feeling and intensest thought was • i h sweet lineament of thine : and that thy bean n-ward soul would gain an early freedom from its chain \ as there not many ■ sign i there was d brightness in thine \ • t not of mirth ; a light whn-c clear intensity was not ol earth ! through thy thin cheek a deepening red told where the feverish hectic fed; 88 the californian at the grave of his wife. and yet each fearful token gave a newer and a dearer grace to the mild beauty of thy face, which spoke not of the grave ! why did i leave thee ? far away they told of lands glittering with gold, with none to stay the gleaner's hands. for this i bartered thee, and sold the riches of my heart for gold ! its healthful love for sinful lust ; the calm content of honest toil for feverish dream and fierce turmoil ; the wine of life for trodden dust. i vain, worthless, all ! the lowliest spot, enjoyed with thee, a richer and a dearer lot had been to me ; for well i knew that thou couldst find contentment in a quiet mind, the cald of km wife. 99 and riches in a true man"lore. why did i lea i fully mine the blessing of a heart like thine, what could 1 ask abovi ( ). turn from me the bad rebuke of thai mild • unt of heaven, why shouldst thou look on such a [1 \i' thinki would not have thee kn< w wreak complaints and selfish ■.. not mar thy | iot, mean shadow <»t mi v^ • hid (»". r itpaltry pelf igainst love, hope and th< remembrance. with copies of the author's -writings. friend of mine ! whose lot was cast with me in the distant past, — where, like shadows flitting fast, fact and fancy, thought and theme, word and work, begin to seem like a half-remembered dream ! touched by change have all things been, yet i think of thee as when we had speech of lip and pen. for the calm thy kindness lent to a path of discontent, rough with trial and dissent ; gentle words where such were few, softening blame where blame was true, praising where small praise was due ; remembrance. m for a waking dream made good, for an ideal undent for thy christian womanhood ; foi thy marvellous l r ift to cull from our common life and dull whatsoe'er is beautiful ; thoughts and fancies, hybla' dropping sweetness; true heart*! of congenial sympathies ; — still for these 1 own my debt ; m mory, with her eyelids a fain would thank r yet ! and n< on.. who scatters floa where thi q f m swi el boors sirs, o'ertwined with blossomed boa in superfluous seal bestowing gifts where gifts are overflowing, so i pay the debl i 'm owing. 92 kemembrance. to thy full thoughts, gay or sad, sunny-hued or sober clad, something of my own i add ; well assured that thou wilt take even the offering which i make kindly for the giver's sake. ] ]| b poor vol bb on elei hon da v the proudest dow is but my j the highest not more high ; to-day, of all the wear] \ ear, a king of men am i. t<>-<l;i\ . alik< it and small, the nameless and 1 1 1 ♦ known ; my palace is tinpeople's hall, the ballot-boi my throne! who ■ nday npon the list !')• iide the ben ed shall stand ; alike the brown and wrinkled i the gloved and dainty hand ! the rich ilevel with the poor, the w< ;ik istrong to-day ; and sleekest broadcloth counts no more than homespun frock of jjray. d4 the poor voter on election day, to-day let pomp and vain pretence my stubborn right abide ; i set a plain man's common sense against the pedant's pride. to-day shall simple manhood try the strength of gold and land ; the wide world has not wealth to buy the power in my right hand ! while there 's a grief to seek redress, or balance to adjust where weighs our living manhood less than mammon's vilest dust, — while there 's a right to need my vote, a wrong to sweep away, up ! clouted knee and ragged coat ! a man 's a man to-day ! tbi the ?aiii'> old baffling -0, m\ i sannofl am in fain i send my rci bum t of b 'i cannot 1 an their i" th« "irn i re "ii m thro with >ilont chall proffering tin* riddl< 9 • like tho calm sphinxes, with tfa ^l >ning the 1 1 h:r swer for mya if or i' s ride my 1. ;ec : " all a of ( > • i that 1-. and and god !. i -ill. k bti in child-li] 1 1 will. who moves to ii unthwai ill. kathleen. 6 norah, lay your basket down, and rest your weary hand, and come and hear me sing a song of our old ireland. there was a lord of galaway, a mighty lord was he ; and he did wed a second wife, a maid of low degree. but he was old, and she was young, and so, in evil spite, she baked the black bread for his kin, and fed her own with white. she whipped the maids and starved the kern, and drove away the poor ; ah, woe is me ! " the old lord said, " i rue my bargain sore ! " k atm li b n . 97 this lord be had a daughter fair, beloved of old and young, and oightly round (he shealing (ires of licr the gleeman song. "as sweet and l r «"»d is young kathleen i . ■>■■■ hex (all ; " so sang the harpei at the fair, 8 i harped he in the hall. " o, come to uk', my daughter deal '. come til upon my km for looking in yom face, kathleen, youi mother's own 1 he smoothed and smoothed ln-r half away, 1i<" kissed her forehead lair; "it is my darling mary'brow, it is my darling's hair ! n 0, then spake up the angry dame, " qei up. get up.*' quoth she, " i '11 sell ye over ireland. i '11 sell ve o'er the sea ! " 98 kathleen. she clipped her glossy hair away, that none her rank might know, she took away her gown of silk, and gave her one of tow, and sent her down to limerick town, and to a seaman sold this daughter of an irish lord for ten good pounds in gold. the lord he smote upon his breast, and tore his beard so gray ; but he was old, and she was young, and so she had her way. sure that same night the banshee howled to fright the evil dame, and fairy folks, who loved kathleen, with funeral torches came. she watched them glancing through the trees, and glimmering down the hill ; they crept before the dead-vault door, and there they all stood still ! i a t ii l i 99 • up, old man ! ibe wake-lights shine ! " • ye murthering witch" quoth \<\ " so i 'm rid of your tongue, i little one if they shine f<»r you or n* i i whoso brings my daughter back, \i . gold and land shall aai (). then spake ap his h i • n gold h'»r l:ui'l i < ■ m hut l r i\" ' b "u the land, i *11 bring her back to i " my daughter is ■ lady and you of low de rut she shall be your bride the day \ bring her back t<> n ii sail ' sailed ^ and far and long bailed he, until h(> came to boston town, \ ross the great sail 7 100 kathleen. " 0, have ye seen the young kathleen, the flower of ireland ? ye '11 know her by her eyes so blue, and by her snow-white hand ! " out spake an ancient man, " i know the maiden whom ye mean ; i bought her of a limerick man, and she is called kathleen. 11 no skill hath she in household work, her hands are soft and white, yet well by loving looks and ways she doth her cost requite." so up they walked through boston town, and met a maiden fair, a little basket on her arm so snowy-white and bare. " come hither child, and say hast thou this young man ever seen ? " they wept within each other's arms, the page and young kathleen. k at ii l e e n . 101 1 i ve to me this darling child, and lake my pui i." n b \ bei in the place of one the lord hath early t.i her heart 's in ireland, we [ ■ bez back again ! " o, for that same the saints in b< a for hipool -"wl -hall pray, and m:iry mother wash with tean l\< here** i away. sure now they dwell in ireland, ai you l r «> nj) claremore yell see their castle looking down the pleasant galway shore. and the old lord's wife ia dead and gone, and a happy man is he, for 1. tide bis own kathleen, with her darling; on his knee. first-day thoughts. in calm and cool and silence, once again i find my old accustomed place among my brethren, where, perchance, no human tongue shall utter words ; where never hymn is sung, nor deep-toned organ blown, nor censer swung, nor dim light falling through the pictured pane ! there, syllabled by silence, let me hear the still small voice which reached the prophet's ear ; read in my heart a still diviner law than israel's leader on his tables saw ! there let me strive with each besetting sin, recall my wandering fancies, and restrain the sore disquiet of a restless brain ; and, as the path of duty is made plain, may grace be given that i may walk therein, not like the hireling, for his selfish gain, with backward glances and reluctant tread, making a merit of his coward dread, — first-day thoughts. 103 but, cheerful, in the liirlit around me thrown, walking us one to pleasant service ;• 1 1 g irill as if it w< ivn, yet trusting not in mine, but in hi> strength alone! kossuth. 6 type of two mighty continents ! — combining the strength of europe with the warmth and glow of asian song and prophecy, — the shining of orient splendors over northern snow ! who shall receive him ? who, unblushing, speak welcome to him, who, while he strove to break the austrian yoke from magyar necks, smote off at the same blow the fetters of the serf, — rearing the altar of his father-land on the firm base of freedom, and thereby lifting to heaven a patriot's stainless hand, mocked not the god of justice with a lie ! who shall be freedom's mouth-piece ? who shall give her welcoming cheer to the great fugitive ? not he who, all her sacred trusts betraying, is scourging back to slavery's hell of pain the swarthy kossuths of our land again ! kossuth. 105 not he whose utterance now from lips the bugle-march of liberty to wind, and call hei tenth the breaking light, — the keen reveille of her morn of fight, — 1 note of the bloodhound's bay ing, the wolfs 1 ( > 1 1 lt howl behind the bondman's flight ! o for tintongue of him who lies at rest in quincy'a shade of patrimonial trees, — last of the puritan tribunes and the best, — to lend ■ voice to freedom*! sympathies, and hail the coming of the nobli which old world wrong has given • n vi the w to my old school-master an epistle not after the manner of horace. old friend, kind friend ! lightly down drop time's snow-flakes on thy crown ! never be thy shadow less, never fail thy cheerfulness ; care, that kills the cat, may plough wrinkles in the miser's brow, deepen envy's spiteful frown, draw the mouths of bigots down, plague ambition's dream, and sit heavy on the hypocrite, haunt the rich man's door, and ride in the gilded coach of pride ; — let the fiend pass ! — what can he find to do with such as thee ? seldom comes that evil guest where the conscience lies at rest, to my old school-mastek. 1 "7 ami brown health and quiet wit smiliiilt on the threshold sit. i, the urchin onto whom, in that smoked and dingy room, v< ■ district i • rule 0'< i ed printer school, thou didsl teach the n of those weary \ b i i's, — where, to fill the of thy wise and thr nu lo 1 and crazy wall canoe the cradle-ro nail, and th( with hia shrill and tipsy wife, — luring oa by stories old, with a comic unction told, bfore than by the eloqm of terse birchen srgumi 1 1 mibtful gain, i fear), to look with complari i book ! — where the geoial | half forgot i citing tale or apol j 08 to my old school -master. wise and merry in its drift as old phsedrus' two-fold gift, had the little rebels known it, risum et prudentiam monet ! i, — the man of middle years, in whose sable locks appears many a warning fleck of gray, — looking back to that far day, and thy primal lessons, feel grateful smiles my lips unseal, as, remembering thee, i blend olden teacher, present friend, wise with antiquarian search, in the scrolls of state and church ; named on history's title-page, parish-clerk and justice sage ; for the ferule's wholesome awe wielding now the sword of law. threshing time's neglected sheaves, gathering up the scattered leaves which the wrinkled sibyl cast careless from her as she passed, — to my old school-master. two-fold citizen art th< freeman of th< i past and dow. he who bore thy name of old .midway in the heavens did hold g "ii moon and bud ; thou hast bidden them backward run; of to-day the present r flinging over yesterday ! l< t the bn leride what i deem of right thy pride ; i■ the fools their tread-mills grind, look not forward nor behind, shuffle in and wriggle out, \ r with every breeze about, turning like a wind-mill sail, or a d •.: thai » its his tail ; let them laugh to tabernacled in the 1 v. rking out, with eye and lip, kiddles of old penmanship, patii'iit abelzoni there sorting out, with loving care, 110 to my old schoolmaster, mummies of dead questions stripped from their seven-fold manuscript ' dabbling, in their noisy way, in the puddles of to-day, little know they of that vast solemn ocean of the past, on whose margin, wreck-bespread, thou art walking with the dead, questioning the stranded years, waking smiles, by turns, and tears, as thou callest up again shapes the dust has long o'erlain,— fair-haired woman, bearded man, cavalier and puritan ; in an age whose eager view seeks but present things, and new, mad for party, sect and gold, teaching reverence for the old. on that shore, with fowler's tact, coolly bagging fact on fact, naught amiss to thee can float, tale, or sonsr, or anecdote : to n v old ''master. ill vill;i. ! old, told, what the pilgrim's tab] where b usd whom he n i. rawn bill of wine and b i i hiv ordination ch< or the flip that well-nigh made his funeral carak \ flavored by their age, like wii i. lint, i i '.htfol, puritanic saint ; 1 . j wh \ v that, for mortal hour--, 1 '1 our fathers 1 vital po* \ the long nineteenthlies poo downward from»the sounding-board, and, for fire ! tou»'liptl their 1" ards d ml rt frost. 112 to my old schoolmaster. time is hastening on, and we what our fathers are shall be, — shadow-shapes of memory ! joined to that vast multitude where the great are but the good, and the mind of strength shall prove weaker than the heart of love ; pride of gray-beard wisdom less than the infant's guilelessness, and his song of sorrow more than the crown the psalmist wore ! who shall then, with pious zeal, at our moss-grown thresholds kneel, from a stained and stony page reading to a careless age, with a patient eye like thine, prosing tale and limping line, names and words the hoary rime of the past has made sublime ? who shall work for us as well the antiquarian's miracle ? who to seeming life recall teacher grave and pupil small ? to my old school-master. 113 who shall give to thee and me freeholds in futurity i well, whatever lot be mine, long and happy daybe th ere thy full ami honored squire for master, stat wisely lenient, live and ru grown-up knave and roj play the watchful peda or, while pl< asure smili on duty, at the call of youth and ill for them the spell of law which shall l>ar and bolt withdraw, and the flaming sword i from tin' paradise of love. still, with undimmed eyesight, pore ancient tome r ; still thy week-day lyrics croon, pitch in church the sunday tune, showing something, in thy part, of the old puritanic art, sinjrcr after sternhold's heart ! 114 to biy old schoolmaster. in thy pew, for many a year, homilies from oldbug hear, 7 who to wit like that of south, and the syrian's golden mouth, doth the homely pathos add which the pilgrim preachers had; breaking, like a child at play, gilded idols of the day, cant of knave and pomp of fool tossing with his ridicule, yet, in earnest or in jest, ever keeping truth abreast. and, when thou art called, at last, to thy townsmen of the past, not as stranger shalt thou come ; thou shalt find thyself at home ! with the little and the big, woollen cap and periwig, madam in her high-laced ruff, goody in her home-made stuff, — wise and simple, rich and poor, thou hast known them all before ! n ' ' 1 1 . s . " th'.u talndflt dm in r 1 "' the incident here referred to irelated iaai irdrs henri saint piei i ■ i ai ••we arrived ut the habitation of the li -it down to their i irhik thej itchureh. .1. .1.1 for up our dei harm nhly beautiful. after hc ! the berndti with his h< ' at this i s:ii>l in the gospel ii my mm, ///«'<• (///i / fa "<«■ ml iotsl of i'i< ,7i. iirj o4 l happiness e bioh pa e soul.' i 1 if pension bed lived, yon would ba?< itholio.' b claimed, with teen in i e alive, i struggle to l r '-t into his sen teg in my sketch of saint pierre, it will be seen th.it i here some whet antedated the period of his old age. at thai time he was imt probebrj mote than fifty. in describing bias, i hare bj no menu ed hi< own history ofhii mental oonditi o a al the period of the story. en tipfragmentary sequel t<> hi* stirl re, h<* thus speakof himself : — " the ingratitude of tk whom 1 had deeerred kindness, nnexpeeted family i s 116 notes. the total loss of my small patrimony through enterprises solely undertaken for the benefit of my country, the debts under which i lay oppressed, the blasting of all my hopes, — these combined calamities made dreadful inroads upon my health and reason." " i found it impossible to continue in a room where there was com pany, especially if the doors were shut. i could not even cross an alley in a public garden, if several persons had got together in it. when alone, my malady subsided. i felt myself likewise at ease in places where i saw children only. at the sight of any one walking up to the place where i was, i felt my whole frame agi tated, and retired. i often said to myself, my sole study has been to merit well of mankind ; why do i fear them ? ' ' he attributes his impi*oved health of mind and body to the counsels of his friend, j. j. rousseau. "i renounced," says he, .*' my books. i threw my eyes upon the works of nature, which spake to all my senses a language which neither time nor nations have it in their power to alter. thenceforth my histories and my journals were the herbage of the fields and meadows. my thoughts did not go forth painfully after them, as in the case of human sys tems ; but their thoughts, under a thousand engaging forms, quietly sought me. in these i studied, without effort, the laws of that universal wisdom which had surrounded me from the cradle, but on which heretofore i had bestowed little attention." speaking of rousseau, he says : " i derived inexpressible satis faction from his society. what i prized still more than his genius, was his probity. he was one of the few literary characters tried in the furnace of affliction, to whom you could, with perfect secu rity, confide your most secret thoughts." " even when he devi ated, and became the victim of himself or of others, he could forget his own misery, in devotion to the welfare of mankind. he was uniformly the advocate of the miserable. there might be in scribed on his tomb these affecting words from that book, of which he carried always about him some select passages, during the last years of his life : * his sins, which are many, are forgiven, for he loved much.' " notes. 117 " like that i i»r. li ' • ■ . ho aoeoid] i \u>>n -11, thai describe! tlie appe ar ance of thai unknot ni'l lire, which wsj h«-<-n in litii bain of mountains, ti • i bich, from it1, jm.int to tlw ocean, i icovered with ererlastii "the water and the tkj .-■. or rath* i bine, than i h i d them in tintr i the inglj l eautiful i bich, when t 1 1 « * sun appro iched the !: tinti i with flame unbroken column! one ride jet-black, »!,«■ other giving of the -mi, sometimes tun ■it of win i . ibing many mi' ghtened bj the c the guidance of our oommander, int.. 1 1 deemed practic tble, that it over i • our own comparative insijniifi and bel] test time an indeacril able feelio the works of hui hand." the storming of the city of derne, in l v i i n, at the head of nine americans, tort v .,f turkand i one of tl> md <1 n-ing which have in :t t.-.i the admiration <>( the multitude. tluhigher and holier heroism of christian sslmenial bos, in the humble w:dks of private du( it is pn ; -a the-.iinee are tho joinl im promptu of my inserted i • rprcwtou of our 118 notes. admiration of the gifted stranger whom we have since learned to love as a friend. note 5, page 96. kathleen. this ballad was originally published in a prose work of the author's, as the song of a wandering milesian schoolmaster. in the 17th century slavery in the new world was by no means confined to the natives of africa. political offenders and crim inals were transported by the british government to the planta tions of barbadoes and virginia, where they were sold like cattle in the market. kidnapping of free and innocent white persons was practised to a considerable extent in the seaports of the united kingdom. note 6, page 104. kossuth. it can scarcely be necessary to say that there are elements in the character and passages in the history of the great hungarian statesman and orator, which necessarily command the admiration of those, even, who believe that no political revolution was ever worth the price of human blood. note 7, page 113. 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" tin' principal poem imil "i beauties, and -< ami in an, i in far i i 'in poini i.r mural • mini ■ii .n 1. 1 a * young and shining ingi l.' who tens in'. uh throng ol iiril-h! iiniiiurt.il-. seems t.i u i iii poesy. 4 in hj kinglj sweetness, kind and calm command, yet a uh long puttering blended . for the mil ( m dust u ino ingarb and sandalled sole — dusl ' i. ml. gold wh« h •' i infair forehead, rippling do* n hie neck — bedropt, defiled « ith o 1 1 and cave like dew. one band a staff of rirenl emerald held a'i_ ni the tree of life . ami one ■mouthed in inbreast t dove, fluttering it\ ings in lightnings, thousand bued, — 'i'll., sole companion "t inpilgrij bilenl be rtood aad . thy uf the bbthorh distinguished relebrity. bomcbod) eald <>t" bailey— we think it was elliott, • |kmi — that there was matter enough in tinauthor <.r * festuav to eel up fifty ind alfred tennyson wrote not long ago that be could scarce!] trust him self to sai bow much he admired i .-. i..r fear "t i <l milintn i r i\ . • doubt that tinjudgment of these two great authorities will be rally indorsed b] i • i world • througnout oar country. ** !'• i -. 1 !. v v i ■ i it books published by ticknor, reed, and fields. george combe. the constitution of man, considered in relation to ex ternal objects. by george combe. 1 vol. 12mo. 75 cents. "of the merits of this work it is almost needless to speak, as its extensive adoption, as a general reading bonk in families and class book in schools, has made its reputation every where familiar. there are few books extant, the uni versal introduction of which would be productive of more benefit." — nat. intel. alfred tennyson. complete poetical works. illustrated with a fine portrait of the author. 2 vols. lgmo. $1.50. cloth, $1.75; gilt, §2.50. " there are few living poets who can be compared with tennyson in those peculiar, distinctive qualities which raise the true poet to that quick apprehension of spiritual beauty which furnishes him with perpetual inspiration, and to the glad world an overflowing song." — edinburgh review. " of the living poets of england — we include not the few choice spirits of scotland — tennyson at this time occupies the highest rank, and he is destined to a wide and high regard." — dr. griswold. the princess : a medley. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cents. gilt, $1. m if we were to express the feeling of satisfaction with which we have just read every word of this beautiful, charming, and profound little book, we should be thought extravagant. nor does it stand in need of any enthusiastic commenda tion to secure for it a very large circle of readers ; for, of all living poets, hardly any has a wider or more desirable reputation in this country than tennyson. the mere announcement of a new poem from his pen will send thousands on an im mediate pilgrimage to their respective bookstores." — n. y. tribune. in memoriam. 1 vol. 16mo. cloth, 75 cents. 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" most of the ballads he has selected are beautiful specimens of that natural poetry which springs directly from the heart and imagination in words and images fresh and bright from nature's own mint. the interest of the reader is enhanced by feeling that he is reading poems which were sung, centuries ago, in the palace halls, and by the cottage hearths of a whole nation, and which formed the litera ture of thousands on thousands of minds who had no other. every thing in them ... and fields. « youth >>f !• < ling. th< 1 «>k.-fi upon a« n il bad j < i 1 come from the ■ .. and u it' i :ir~t u • upon it the i .kb. richard monckton milnes. poems of m v years. . th, 83 " 'i intuthor, who i livided with tennyson 1 1 i •admiration and land.' i hi ii> nth pun ng in the \ 1 the i ' i mchine tliii we n< ■ igtitful child l i many ■ childlike man ii u • it.«< i iisitivc not to ] horace and james smith. ■ i ed addr] 'lrnm. ftom tl"laal london ami notaa by the authors. i vol 1( ... " in -.1 .inn.' oni ticknor >■» co. bare certainly erinced u much judgment i the work bi i wabreniana, i i barry cornwall. english edition, l vol. ir.ii: •. b8 a nth ■ thai ahoul -li-ll which at all ; .1 i « i — on ii dom mii hto lied." — i •• th. i m idely known, t.«> justh reviewed caaual i) now. in contemplating them, criti tion, wboee ipeech la rilence. we had intended onl tions from this glorious volume — (ticult t<> maa iready houaehold words to us all 1 the s< >,' ' the bunu i epes sargent. songs of the bea, with other l\>cm<. 1 vol. 16m rrii' bta, " mr. bargi nt has an admirable faculty of description ; 1 re true and living, and never exaggerate i. tinmost striking feature of his vei t ii'ii ; everj thing moves with him. his diction, too, n uncommon!) good. hit i the ocean wave * is perfect j when we read it, we feel tin ruahing against our cheeks, and the blood atartia| is our veins, as theship tri umphs over the e v ! . i ■ 8 books published by ticknor, reed, and fields. henry theodore tuckerman. poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cents. 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"we have mr. sumner's printed discourses before us, and can testify from personal knowledge to their singular merits. they are pregnant with thoughts of profound and universal interest. they are not productions to be laid aside with the occasion that called them forth, but to be preserved for our future in struction and delight. they derive this quality, in a great measure, from those characteristics of the author's mind — his earnestness, the union of moral fear lessness and intellectual caution in the statement of his opinions, and his rever ence for original principles in comparison with popular custom or fashionable belief." — new york tribune. : reed, wit fields 1 10 'j > witli :.. i mlkvld or thomas de quincey. till: wrn [ngs op th vol uiin-.s tin .i>ly published : — ' >ars. ].; ii »pii | i: i i be, id i'm: ii. 'i ,i :. bl< .1m ii.' m. tub v i •• who thai know inj • i«, in ii m'i uland, 'l around dj the n ■ i ,'unl tin' sin w uli ni'.-t r. m ureird like |"' loornful • i q depth of a if«innin urhii h the fount dm in n lin h tk i■ w lit) li 1 1 l > h y g dr. greenwood. sern )la l ion. by k \ 1 w p. 1». i".. m ■ [ion. 1 v.l. • •• \ '.■ tba .: •. . u uli. .lit .1 the universal i " 'i'll in<l iti i ■ thoughl m vrondlj m (irs of i>. c. u i:> chri :-\. rtli, 1). 1 . " it inatural thai the admirers of v raised t \;x ctatioiu : blished by til knol 11 heroin! of the missionary i si 1 rpb • i prominent i " n<-t newell ; ann ii. j lii-nri •'i b. jlldstffl ily ('. juda m. i rol i' in ■. i " this is mi'of the moal that we bars fff-n for ■ \< r 1 1 jreara. h " knll «.i inti r. -t and r eompreheniivi , and . most touching yet ennobl ■ i »i ir instant ea >■! letnak devotion salem ) a boos of hymn • d votiun. i price • hi-. 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" and the father gave a great breath of relief. then, shading his eyes with his big rough hand to keep away the sharp rays of sunshine while he watched her landing, he continued: "there now, the little minx is laughing at me. i believe she saw the logs all the time. oh, that girl will be the death of me yet with her pranks." she came bounding up the bank toward him with the sprightliness of a wild deer, and threw herself laughingly into his arms. he patted her shoulder tenderly, and said: "why did you do it? you might know you'd frighten me." " maybe that's why i did it," she answered, mischiev ously. " oh, father, it's such fun being out on the river." and the black eyes snapped, the white teeth gleamed, and the unruly hair tumbled about her neck and shoulders. (5) 6 the hermit of the nonquon. their little )og cabin stood near the river, on the edge of a thick wood, and as they stepped inside the door the father said to tlie housewife: " mother, this mischief has been at her tricks again. had my heart in my month down there by the river just now trying to get herself canght in a drift of logs. we'll have to tic her up, mother, i think. it's the only way to keep her." "and sure that'll not keep her," retorted the mother. " you don't know her if you think it will. she's out of all manner of reason with anything i ever saw. sure and i don't; know where she gets it." for a mother never can understand why her daughter should develop unusual characteristics of this sort. but gabrielle came honestly by her disposition, after all. her mother was irish, and a lively dame too in her day, if the truth be told; while her father — well, his birthplace was unknown and his parentage a mystery, but he could not have been mistaken in appearance for anything but a frenchman. and his first name also smacked strongly of his nationality, but his second — well, his second was mcglorrie. bonaventurc mcglorrie — there was something grotesque in the combination; and we may as well tell how he came by such a name. in the early days of what was then called upper canada there was a sparse settlement in that region which in after years, as civilization pushed itself farther north, was called ** the front." " the front " embraced in a vague way all the territory on the shore of lake ontario in the vicinity of little york (now toronto), and running east fifty or sixty miles. about thirty miles east of little york, on the kingston road, an irishman of the name of timothy mcglorrie kept the mcglorrif.s. tavern, and one eveninjif late in the fall of 182a strange man called at his place with a little boy, and asked for some supper. after the meal was over the strang-er begged permission to leave the boy with the mcglorries while he pushed on to little york, promis ing to call on his way back and get him. mrs, mc glorrie saw how wearied the little fellow appeared, and consented to keep him. the stranger bade them "good-evening," and that was the last they ever saw of him. when they began questioning the boy they found that he could not speak a word of english. they had no means of finding out whence he came. the little waif was completely at their mercy; but an irish heart never was found amiss in a case of this kind. they adopted the lad, and treated him like a son. the only intelligible word connected with his former life that they ever got from him was his first name. v/hen they called him " sonny" he shook his little curly pate quite vigorously, and retorted, " bon'venture." when they tried to get him to tell his second name, he simply stared at them. he probably did not know that he had one. so they gave him their own name, and that is how it came to be bonaventure mcglorrie. the lad grew up, learned the language, married nora mcglorrie, and finally settled about twenty-five miles north of the kingston road, on the bank of the non quon river, where he followed the double pursuit of lumbering and farming. it was little of the latter he did, the former being more to his taste. bonaventure knew he was french; there was no mistake about that. the older he grew the more the fact impressed him, and he never lost an oppor 8 the hermit of the nonquon. s| tunity of stating his nationality. it came to be quite a mania with him. " i'm french, you know," he would say to every chance acquaintance. " french descent." and at these times, and also when he became angry or excited, he would unconsciously take on the french accent. he might start out by saying " french," but if he continued the subject long, or repeated the word many times, it would finally become " franch." he was never so happy as when he could meet a frenchman and talk with him. " i'm franch myself, you know," as if he were paying himself a compliment. when asked about his early life or whence he came, he would suddenly halt in the conversation, and sit awhile with his eyes turned toward the ceiling, watching the smoke curl up from his pipe, and then as suddenly break out again: "now that's just it! my fran', i'd give this right han' o' mine if i could tell you daty in these moments he was french in everything — expres sion, appearance, gesture, accent. when a baby girl was born to bonaventure and his wife he gave her a french name, and though mrs. mc glorrie never was greatly taken with his selection, yet she was mollified by the privilege of naming the baby boy who came a few years later. she called him den nis. so it was "gabrielle" and " dinnie." "and a precious pair they were," as mrs. mcglorrie often used to remark. ii. the indian and the fish. nrhe noikiuon river makes many eiuves and bends '■' in the last mile or so of its eonrsc before emptying into take seiigog, and in the depths of one of these bends, where the willows overhang the water and deepen its color almost to a black, some nice large bass were careening past each other and frolicking together one afternoon a few weeks after gabricue's adventure with the logs. one could tell that they were large by seeing a sturdy member of the tribe occasionally flop his fat sides out of the water in play. the sunshine would sparkle for an instant on his .shiny scales, and then he would dart back again to deep water, where he probably discussed with his fellows the advisability of taking the bait on the hook of one-eyed andy, the indian, who sat stolidly watching the line hanging over the side of his canoe. if the bass did discuss this ques tion they must have decided against it, for andy was having ill luck. and yet he sat there hour after hour patiently, lazily, looking at the line; while the sun gradually passed around to the west. presently he heard the sound of a paddle up the river, and in a few minutes a canoe rounded the bend, and gabrielle sang out cheerily: "hello! andy. what luck?" the indian simply shook his head and cast his one eye dolefully at the bottom of his empty canoe. m 10 tiif, ukrmit of'^ tmf, nonquon. "oh, you don't know how to lisli, andy," said ga bricllc, lau^hini,'-, "wait till yon sec mc catch 'cm." and she tossed her hook, baited with the leg of a frog, into the pool not far from the indian. " now, andy, let's see who'll catch the first fish." and both settled down into that ominous silence which creeps over every fisherman at the moment when he is expecting most on t' ' part of the fish. but the fish failed to bite, and it grew tiresome to gabrielle, who was not so patient as the indian. she never could remain quiet for long. " was the lake rough when you came over from the island, andy? " " not much. left there this morning." " been here fishing all day? " " 'most all day." " andy, i think you're a fool, or else you're lazy — maybe both. i couldn't stand this an hour, let alone all day." she was growing careless in her fishing. the absorption of the first few minutes had passed away, and she was looking across the water at a flock of blackbirds that were chattering among the rushes. presently they flew off with a whirring sound, and gabrielle cast her eyes about for something else to interest her. " did you notice whether they had taken the last lot of logs away from bascoes' landing as you came up — hello! — hold on, andy — keep cool, i've got him — look out or he'll get tangled in your line. oh, he's a big one. i'm afraid he'll break my hook, andy. steady now. see him dart! see him plunge!" her line was being twitched viciously here and there in the water, while her pole was bent into a semicircle. " oh, he's a beauty tfff, indian and thf, fish. 11 if i can only — lanil liim — hold on now — there! here lie comes — there — now i've j^ot him. whew, isn't he a bonncer? see him jump! he'll i!;qt out of the canoe yet if i'm not careful. i'll hold him down, andy, while you ptill your canoe alonj^-side and run your knife into him just back of the jjfills. be careful and don't cut me; he's squirming so. there, i guess that'll settle him." and she sank back into the canoe with a great sigh of satisfaction. her eyes sj)arkled, and when she brushed back the hair which had fallen over her face in the encounter it showed her checks aglow from excitement. "oh, andy, didn't he fight? look at him. he must weigh eight or ten pounds." and probably he looked that to her. but andy shook his head. "bass no weigh that much," he said. " but he's a big one, isn't he? " andy nodded his head and stared cnviou.sly at the plump fish lying in gabriclle's canoe. her success had unsettled the indian. it was well enough to sit and fish all day without any luck — he could do that with stolid indii-fcrencc — but when some one else came along and caught a fish right under his nose, that was a cruel blow. and then the aborigine was hungry. he was very hungry. he had eaten nothing since early morn ing, before he left the island, and the sight of that fish set his stomach rumbling. gabrielle was quick to read the wistful look on his face. "tell you what i'll do, andy. i'll give him to you if you'll bring me a pair of moccasins the next time you come over. a real nice pair, mind," as she looked h li 2& ,t: 13 the hermit of the nonquon. down at her prize and saw the sacrifice she was mak ing-. " beads and all on 'em, and the best of buckskin." " all right. me fetch 'em." and the bass was lifted from gabrielle's canoe into andy's. the indian was too anxious to get away and cook his fish to remain any long-er, and the shadows were bj'this time beginning to creep about the river, so that gabrielle did not care to stay to try her luck again. " mind you don't forget about the moccasins, andy," she shouted as they were paddling off in opposite direc tions. but andy either did not hear her or else was too much absorbed in the prospect of his coming meal to answer. pie paddled away toward the mouth of the river without a word, and was presently lost to sight at the next bend. "oh, mother," shouted gabrielle a few minutes later as she burst into the open door of the cabin, " i caught a bass that long," measuring with her hands. "where is it? " asked her mother. gabrielle knew there was a storm coming, and hesitated. " oh — i let — one-eyed andy, the indian, have it." *' let him have it? what for? " turning and lookmg at the girl in surprise. gabrielle pretended to be deeply absorbed in the occupation of arranging her fish-line on the little shelf back of the stove, and rather furtively answeiod; " he is going to bring me a pair of moccasins the next time he comes over. besides," she quickly added, as she saw her mother's face, "he was hungry." "moccasins! hungry! the vile wretch that he is! xvnd you're simple enough to let him wheedle you out of the fish. as if he'll ever bring you the moccasins, the indian and the fish. 13 the old heathen. and anyhow what can yon do with moccasins? do you want to turn yourself into a yoiinij squaw, wearingsuch things as them? i'm out of all manner of patience with you. first thing i know you'll be triggin' your brother dinnie here up in some out landish suit more fit for a wild man than for civilized bein's." she was always afraid gabrielle would con taminate dcnnie. as soon as gabrielle could make an excuse she slipped out of doors, and dennie, who probably never had thought about moccasins till he heard his mother speak, slyly followed his sister and whispered: " gabe, next you catch a bass you'll get me a pair of moccasins, won't you? " ** hush, dennie, mother'll hear you." " but you'll get 'em, won't you, gabe? " " don't know. i'll see. you must mind what mother says." but she showed her own mind in the matter by mut tering' to herself as she walked away dow*^ the path toward the stable, " i'll have them moccasins, and i'll wear 'em too; that is," she added, "if father says it's all right." iii. the mcfarlanes. t^he widow mcfarlane lived about half a mile north -■■ of the mcglorries, on a tract of land left by her husband, who had been killed by a falling tree shortly after they came to the nonquon. she had a son, donald, or, as she in her good scotch dialect called him, " tone-alt," and he was the apple of her eye. " my son tone-alt — i'm sure i canna* tell what he would be doing without me," meaning, of course, that she could not tell what she would do without her son donald, for the good woman invariably got the " cart before the horse " whenever she essayed the english language. donald merited his mother's favor. he was a brawny scotch lad, with gray full-cloth apparel, a rather heavy gait, and a big, tender heart. if he had a failing it was bashfulness. he was shy of everybody, and more par ticularly so of the little girl with the black eyes down by the river. as for gabrielle's sentiments toward donald — well, we shall see. " tone-alt! tone-alt! " shouted mrs. mcfarlane one day as, donald was struggling with a plow among the roots and stumps and stones of a new clearing some dis tance from the house. " tone-alt, is towser down in the field with you? i want him here. the old black soo, she is in the garden." ^ " yes, towser is here, mother; but you'd best let me (14) the mcfarlanes. la 1 come and drive out the sow. you know she's a stub born brute, and i'm afraid you and the dog can't do it." " yes, we can. go you on with your plooing, tone alt. here, towser! towser! towser! here, towser! sic, sic, si-boy! " and away the faithful towser, a peart, gamy fel low, with one ear standing straight up and the other lopping over the side of his head, started for the garden. and now began a chase which was to become mem orable in the history of mrs. mcfarlane. the sow was a long-nosed brute, with a vicious little eye, and a bris tling disposition to oppose everything human, mrs. mcfarlane pointed out to towser the hole in the fence where the sow had entered, and the sagacious dog headed the animal in that direction. away they went like the wind, the sow evidently realizing that there was a scrimmage in store for her, and willing to enter heartily into the spirit of the thing. "si — b-o-y! si — b-o-y! sic, sic, si — b-o-y! " shouted mrs. mcfarlane, clapping her hands to urge on the dog. she consoled herself for the way they were tear ing up the newly planted garden-beds by seeing the rapid progress they were making toward the hole. but alas for human hopes where there is a black sow in the question. mrs. mcfarlane was dumfounded to see the animal shoot past the hole in the fence and scamper away up the other side of the garden, digging up the black, moist earth with her feet, and scattering destruction among the seeds and plants. towser mis took his mistress' wild gesticulations for a vigorous encouragement to follow up the chase, and accordingly yelped and barked after the fying sow as if his life "1 16 the hermit of the nonquon. depended on it. before mrs. mcfarlane — who struck out across the garden to intercept them, holding her impeding skirts up in front of her with one hand and viciously waving the other in the air in tune with her imprecations — before she could head them off, they had made the circuit of the garden and were flying past the hole a second time. this was maddening to the old woman, who saw that every jump of the sow meant so much ruin to her garden. she stood still a moment, with hands on her hips and nearly out of breath, but using what little she had in heaping maledictions on both sow and dog. if her terrible tirade — some en glish, some scotch, and the rest a confused medley between the two — were possible of presentation with the pen it would give us pleasure to record it; but we retreat from the attempt in despair. her head was covered with a red kerchief tied in the prevailing fashion of pioneer farm -women, and the loose ends were blown by the breeze in concert with the tempest of her tongue. soon she ceased her shrill screaming and, struck with a new determination, started toward the hole in the fence, muttering to herself and shaking her head in a way that boded not well for the sow, pro vided mrs. mcfarlane's project turned not amiss. she planted herself sternly on the far side of the hole, near the fence, in the exact tracks made by the sow, determined to head her off at whatever cost. the animals were tearing down in her direction, and she grimly chuckled to herself at the thought of the sow's disappointment when she found herself checked at last. " i will be breaking her nose, the old hussy, if she will not stop." ■ the mcfarlanes. 17 / as the sow nearcd the hole, mrs. mcfarlane began a vigorous waving of the hands and a loud shouting. "si— b-o-y! si— b-o-y! oh, you old hussy! i'll have you to know — " but alas, and alas, we are never to learn what mrs. mcfarlane would have the old sow to know. driven to a blind desperation by the long chase, the animal bore down on the good woman without the slightest deviation to the right or left, and with a dogged desire to follow in her old tracks, she rushed between mrs. mcfarlane's feet. she was going at a terrific pace, and her long snout caught in the stout flannel skirts and brought the good dame pell-mell face down on the old sow's back. being a lusty brute, she bore up bravely under mrs. mcfarlane's weight, for the scotch woman was mostly skin and bone, with little flesh. and then began a furious struggle. the sow, blinded by rage and by mrs. atcfarlane's skirts, tore madly about, emitting the while a variety of the most unearthly squeals that ever came from even an old black sow. mrs. mcfar lane, no less enraged than the sow at finding herself in this predicament, seized with one hand the curly tail which was waving perilously close to her face, and with the other belabored the muddy hams of her enemy. to make matters worse, towser, wlio had now gained on the struggling sow, mistook the fluttering end of mrs. mcfarlane's kerchief for the sow's tail, perhaps, and seizing hold, tugged away with such might and main that it drove the good woman well-nigh dis tracted. and thus mrs. mcfarlane worried the sow, and both the sow and dog worried mrs. mcfarlane; till at last, the sow giving out under her burden, they all fell in an inglorious heap in the midst of a soft black a 18 the hermit of the nonquon. bed of onion-seed. we must here, in consideration of mrs. mcfarlane, draw the curtain, with the sufficient assurance that a vigorous application of her boot-heels on the old sow's hide eventually brought her release. donald, hearing such a prodigious squealing, and guessing at something of the truth, came up to put out the sow, and the perversity of the breed was never shown to better advantage than by the old tyrant walking straight to the hole and crowding her reeking body through. she had evidently known where the hole was all the while, and now, content with the mis chief she had done, was willing to go out. mrs. mcfarlane rose from the onion-bed and stood besmeared with mud, even to a great daub on the side of her face. she was bedraggled, and bruised, and out of breath, but her eye lost none of its vim, and her voice none of its vigor, as she pointed a trembling, bony finger in the direction of the sow and said: " tone-alt, the old soo, she will be kilt on the mor row. go you and tell mr. mcglorrie. he will help you kill her. the old hussy! " but donald simply smiled, with a sly twinkle in his eye, and he did not go for mr. mcglorrie. well he knew that, so far as his mother was concerned, the old sow would live for many a day to bless her age and generation. and so she did. t iv. the villagers. if nphe nonquon village lay a short distance up the ■^ river from the mcglorries, and contained as unique a set of characters as ever got together in a place of its size. gabrielle was always sure of a tilt with some of them whenever she entered the place, for she was a quick-tongued girl and full of fun. her especial victim was an individual who went by the name of brown, *' b'gob-sir " brown, as he was called. he was an inoffensive, boastful old fellow, who had dropped into the village tavern one day, and had been hanging around there ever since, doing odd chores for his living — and liquor. no one knew what his real name was. on his first arrival in the place, as he stepped into the bar-room and called for a drink in his pompous way, jerry, the tavern-keeper, asked him his name. "why, b'gob-sir, you kin call me brown if you like." and brown it was till one day gabrielle's quick wit seized on his favorite by-word and christened him b'gob-sir. ever since that he had been called "old b'gob-sir " oftener than anything else. " now, gabe, what the dickens you doin' down here so early in the day? " he called to gabrielle one morn ing as she came into the village. "you 'tend to your business and i'll 'tend to mine," was the laconic reply as she was turning toward the store. (19) 20 the hermit of the nonquon. "oh, i know what's the matter with yoii, gabe; you're goin' over to see old prosper and make eyes at him. them big black eyes o' yours '11 get you into trouble some day. prosper ain't no spring chicken^ let me tell you, and his wife is alive and well." the individual referred to was the village store keeper. besides that, he was the local preacher, class leader, and vsunday-school superintendent. this was on sunday, on monday morning he traded horses, and did it with all the due accompaniments of the business. gabrielle had little respect for any of the villagers, but she had less for prosper tryne than any one else. she hated him. b'gob-sir knew this, and chuckled at his own remark. " look at your eyes now," he added; "they're dancin' already," they were dancing somewhat, but with a light in them that boded not well for b'gob-sir. "speakin' of eyes," she said, " do you know i've often wondered what color yours was," b'gob-sir was thrown completely off his guard. he was flattered, "mine? why, what difference does that make?" — grinning in a foolish way, " shouldn't make no diff'rence with an old feller like me, should it? now, gabe, why don't you look for yourself and see what color they be, if you want to know so bad? " "can't do it," " can't do it? what do you mean? " "can't see 'em." " now, gabe, what the dickens you gittin' at? why can't you see 'em?" " 'cause i can't." \ i the villagers. 21 "well, bill — now what in the name o' snakes — why, what's to hendcr you from scein' 'em?" " your nose." "your nose. say, have you ever thoug^ht what a well-balanced man you are, b'g-ob-sir? your nose is about the size of your feet, and your feet are about the size of all out doors." b'^ob-sir was staring at her and catching for breath. " and that ain't all," she rattled on. " your nose and your boots match in other ways as well as in size. they're both red. look at 'em and see! you've used too much whisky and too little tallow for the good of 'em both. you'd best stop paintin' your nose with liquor and spend more of your time in greasin' your boots with tallow. good-by. see you later." and she was away before he could muster a reply. " that girl has got the all-firedest sharpest tongue in her head i ever heard tell of," he muttered to himself as he went pottering back into the bar-room. prosper smiled at her from behind the counter as she entered the store door, and broke out: " well, if that ain't strange! i've been thinkin' about you all the mornirj'. have jest been a-wonderin' if we couldn't git you to come and sing in the church. we're talkin' of gittin' up a choir, and i believe if you'd join all the rest would, and we'd have a real rousin' choir. what think you?" gabrielle shook her head, and began to examine some rope for a clothes-line. "i can't sing," she answered, in an evasive way. " how much is this clothes-line? " " oh, tut now, i've heard you sing often enough. i 22 the hermit of the nonquon. could tell your voice above all the others the night of the sleigh-ride party last winter, when you drove through the village. but i couldn't help a-thinkin','' he added, with a pious tone creeping into the words, ** that it was carryin' the thing a little too far for you young folks to be out so late on a saturday night singin' that kind of a song. it must * a ' been nigh sunday when you drove through here, and * we won't go home till morning' ain't a very nice song for sunday." " how did you come to be up at that time o' night ? " she asked, with a curl of her lip. " oh, preparin' my sunday-school lesson. i always go over that the last thing saturday night, and some times it keeps me up late." " do you prepare your sunday-school lesson out in the stable?" he looked at her with a start, but she continued, " and do you go over it with a sharp file? and do you learn it by looking into your horse's mouth, and rasping down his front teeth to make him look younger, so he'll trade better monday morning? " " why, gabrielle, what do you mean? " " oh, you'd better shut the stable door next time, and not hang the lantern so high. but you haven't told me yet how much this clothes-line is." he was glad to change the subject. " the price is 25 cents, but i'll let you have it for 20, and cheap, i can tell you. them lines cost me — " " here's your money," interposed gabrielle, and started for the door. " but ain't you goin' to let me have your name for the choir?" he asked, as she was leaving. " no; i told you i didn't want to." " oh, i guess i can see the reason you act this way. t the villagers. 23 you used to like to come to our church all right enough, but by the way things looks now i'm afraid the presby terians '11 git you before long. you'll be goin' to their church up in the scotch settlement perty soon if what folks says is true. they say that you and donald mcfarlane is — " but she slammed the door and was gone. '• that gabrielle mcglorrie is an impertinent little minx," prosper remarked to his wife as she came into the store a few minutes later. the wife had come to tell him that she was out of stove-wood, and she did not propose to split any more herself while he was hanging around in the store doing nothing. " you can either go without your dinner or else split me some wood," she had said. " ain't there any chips you can pick up around? " he ventured. " no," answered the neglected wife, " i've been pickin' up chips till there ain't any more to pick, and i've split my own wood till my hands are all blistered, and i ain't going to do it any longer. if you can't split wood you can't eat, that's all." " all right, i'll go out and split some in a minute," he was forced to say. and then he ventured the afore said remark about gabrielle's impertinence. " well, i'll warrant you said something to make her impertinent," his wife retorted. " i never heard any of her impertinence, and i guess you wouldn't if you'd leave her alone. the trouble with you is that she's got too sharp a tongue for you, and she knows enough to use it too when either you or old b 'gob-sir try to tease her. i'm glad she can take her own part. come now, i'll tend the store while you go out and split that wood." •) •^4 the hf.rmit of the nonquon. prosper shuffled out into the yard, and looke^ around for some easy sticks to split, l)ut he could not find any. his wife, poor soul, had picked out the easy ones lonj^;a^o. mrs. trync had n(;t been in possession of the store long when a small thin man, with a peaceful expres sion of countenance, entered. "hello, mrs. tryne," he said, "you keepin' store all alone to-day? where's prosper? " " he's out splittin' up s(mie wood. you're cpiite a stranger. philander; we don't see no more of you 'n 's if you lived a mile away. why ain't you more neigh borly? " "well, to tell the truth, pm perty busy these days. been so all spring. first of all it kep' me goin' lookin' after my mushrat traps, and when i got them all took up then my gardcnin' begun, and it seems 's if the weeds wasn't goin' to give a man a might o' peace all this summer." " how does your garden look? " " oh, torble well, considerin' the dry spell. but i believe we're goin' to have rain by the way the sky looks. i can almost smell it in the air," he added, going to the door and looking at the clouds. philander hunt was a bachelor who lived alone in a small shanty across-lots from the trynes. he made his living by shooting, trapping, fishing, and gardening, and was one of the few villagers with whom gabrielle got on well. to be sure he took her to task for " breakin' the hearts of all the young fellers round the nonquon," and she in turn teased him about the widow farley, who lived next door to the trynes, and who had a constant eye on the bachelor. but they understood each other and were the best of friends. 'i thk vil.r.af'.ers. sso " you can't tell mc anythinj^ mean about gabc," he would say to a chance )^roup of villagers who might be discussing gabriclle, which they often did. '* you can't show mc where she ever done a mean trick in her life. she's wild sometimes, mebbe, and so is a young fawn, but i never heard tell that anybody thought the less of a fawn for being a little wild. one thing i want to say, she ain't no wolf in the skin of a sheep, like some folks i know." which probably had reference to his neighbor the store-keeper, and possibly accounted as much as anything for the fact that he had been '* quite a stranger " to the trynes. as for gabrielle, her opinion of philander was summed up briefly in this wise: " he's the best one of the whole lot, and he's going to take me with him on one of his trips over to the ma'sh creek this fall when he goes to look after his traps." ! v. the wild man. /^ne evening in the early part of june, when the ^-^ soft, sweet fragrance of summer had begun to permeate the woods and fields, bonaventure sat in front of his cabin smoking his pipe. the air was mellow after a day of warm sunshine. the tree-toads down in ihe swamp screeched an accompaniment to the shrill song of the whip-poor-will, and the crickets chirped here and there among the growing grass. once in a while a venturesome mosquito dared the tobacco-smoke, and sang about bonaventure's ears or lit on the back of his hand. a lone cow bawled in the distance, and the dull rumble of a heavy wagon creeping slowly — so slowly that it was probably drawn by a yoke of plod ding oxen — over the hill to the north jarred upon the quiet air. some fowls, roosting in the low branches of a clump of evergreens down by the stable, now and then broke out into plaintive mutterings when dis turbed by the crowding of their fellows, and a couple of pigs grunted and snored contentedly in a corner of the zigzag rail fence. presently bonaventure heard footsteps coming down the path from the road, with voices accompanying, and in a few minutes the immense frame of old b 'gob sir hove in sight, followed by philander and donald mcfarlane. donald's mother had sent him down to see if he could borrow mr. mcglorrie's potash ket (86) the wild man. 27 tie; and it may be remarked in passing that this kettle was the bane of donald's life. his mother seemingly had more uses for a potash kettle than any one else ever heard tell of, and not being prosperous enough to own one herself, she was perpetually importuning donald in this wise: "go you down, tone-alt, and borrow mr. mcglorrie's kettle. i will be making soap on the morrow." while donald was for some reasons not loath to visit the mcglorries, yet this incessant application for the kettle was becoming a sore trial to him. he was won dering all the while what opinion the mcglorries would have of a yoimg man who was always running after a potash kettle. to-night he had met b 'gob-sir and phi lander as they were turning into bonaventure's, and was glad of their company. he could face mr. mc glorrie with less stammering when they were present, and he thought he could face a certain other person with less palpitation of the heart. "good-evening, gentlemen," cheerily said bonavent ure. " come in. come right inside and sit down," he added, rising to go indoors, " no, no," remonstrated b'gob-sir. " keep your seat. i'd ruther sit out-doors any time than go inside such a night as this." " yes," said philander, " we'll sit down out here, where we can hear the frogs booming down in the river." donald said nothing. "here, gabrielle," called bonavcnture, "bring out some chairs." gabrielle rushed to the open door of the cabin, sing ing out in her lively way: " hcllu! b'gob-sir. hello! philan— " 28 the hermit of the nonquon, but just here she checked herself, and her jauntmess fell like the spirit of a sensitive-plant touched with a sudden dash of cold water. she had noticed a third party, and seen who he was, and she quickly turned and went for the chairs. she brought out two and handed them to b'gob-sir and philander, and then stood lean ing in a constrained manner against the doorcase, try ing to look unconscious. " gabrielle, girl, what are you thinking of ? " said her father. " why don't you bring out one for donald? " had it been daylight, philander, who was looking curiously at her, would have seen her face painfully flush as she turned slowly away to get the chair. she passed the chair to b'gob-sir, who in turn passed it to philander, and he to donald. the seat somehow did not seem comfortable to donald, and gabrielle, not deigning to get one for herself, sank quietly down on the doorstep between her father and b'gob-sir, where she was hidden from view. "well, what do you think," said the old fellow with the big nose and feet, addressing bonaventure, " phi lander has jest been fillin'me full again about that wild man he seen over in the ma'sh this spring. that's about the fishiest thing philander ever told, and i'm kinder surprised at him fixin' up such a story as that." "that story ain't fixed up, i want you to understand," retorted philander with some significance. " i don't know whether you'd call it a wild man or what you'd call it, but i seen something the likes o' what pd never seen before, and hope to never see again." bonaventure was much impressed with philander's evident earnestness. he had heard vague rumors of something having been seen by hunters over in the the wild man. 29 i larg'e tract of dense forest called the marsh, but had paid little heed to them till now. he knew, ' owcver, that philander was no sensationalist, and hitching his chair around to face him, asked what he had seen. " i don't like to say much about the thing," said philander with some diffidence, ** because nobody ain't goin' to believe what i say till they see it for them selves; and i hope to gracious no on<^*ll ever see it." here b'gob-sir broke out into a derisive laugh, and loftily requested to be taken to the spot at once. " b'gob-sir, i'd like to see the thing that would make a cow�rd of me. i'm goin' to ferret this thing out some day." he made the " some day " sound conveniently vague and distant, as he sat comfortably back in his chair in front of bonaventure's cabin in the safety of companionship. " well, tell us about it," persisted bonaventure, ignoring the boastful figure at his side. " if none of you'll say anything about it on the out side, i'll tell you the whole thing," said philander, after a slight pause; and then proceeded: " you know the nonquon river takes a big turn, so that if you start up-stream from the village you go west a mile or two, and then a branch winds around to the north, and finally northeast. if you want to strike the stream up near its head, where it's called eraser's creek, you take a short cut a couple of miles north of here, and then strike in due nor'west for about the same distance. that is, you'd reach it if you fouered the line, but i never knew any one yet that could f oiler it. it's the roughest piece o' country over around that way that ever lay out-doors. and the fact is that it was in the edge of that rough bit of land that i seen this — this 30 the hermit of the nonquon. thing. i don't mind tellin' you folks that it wasn't so far away as the ma'sh, though i let people believe it was. if i told 'em that this thing was over near fraser's creek, only four or five miles from where we sit now, they'd laugh at me, same's b'gob-sir done a minute ago. but it's there, whatever it is," he added, with conviction. " how'd you come to see it? " asked bonaventure, " well, i was follerin' a wolf-track up along the edge of the creek one afternoon with old sancho; and i want to say right here that he is the best dog that ever put his nose to the ground, even if he did git scared this time. we had worked along up about as far as it seemed possible to go, and the ground was rougher at every step. i didn't see how even an animal could git through it. the banks was steep in most places, and a few feet in from the shore it was out of the question tryin' to move at all. sancho was on ahead, smashin' through the brush and sniffin' about, when all at once i heard him give a yelp, and the next minute he come scurryin' back to where i was, with his tail atween his legs and his hair standin' up on end, the worst scared animal you ever seen. he whined and growled, and went on at an awful rate, and one minute he'd ruvsh into the brush ahead, and then he'd come boundin' back again more excited than ever. i couldn't make out what in the light o' the sun ailed him, for i never seen that dog scared before. i knowed well enough it wasn't the wolf he'd seen, because he'd tackle a wolf quicker'n a wink, any day; and so i follered after him, with a perty tight hold o' my gun, and my front finger foolin' 'round mighty close to the trigger, i can tell you. i pushed through the bushes, and soon came to a \ {} the wild man. 81 i spot that was a little more open and clear than the rest, but i couldn't see anything, and was jest goin' to call sancho an old fool, when i noticed him sniffin' around in the snow, as if he was fouerin' some kind of a track. i went up to where he was, and sure enough there was the track, but whatever in the name of conscience made it i couldn't tell. it wasn't like anything i had ever seen before, and it was too outlandish big for any kind of an animal to make. it hadn't much shape to it, but looked more like a man's track thai, anything else, and yet it didn't look like a man's either. i didn't know what to make of it, but thought i'd fuller it up a ways, and see what become of it. i kept gropin' around after it in and out among the bushes, and while i was doin' so i remembered about barlow dreeme tcuin' me that he had seen some queer-lookin' tracks something like these over in the piece of ma'sh that runs up this way. they was tracks like what might be made by a man's foot if it hadn't any boots on, but was all wrapped up in some kind o' cloth or other. well, i foucred 'cm up till i got tired, and the place was so rough i called sancho back and started for home. i hadn't gone far before i come plump onto the wolf whose track i had seen by the creek comin' up, i had missed him in lookin' for the strange tracks, and we neither of us seen each other till i was within a couple o' rods of him. he stood there lookin' at me kinder startled for a min ute, as an animal will sometimes, and it give me a good chance to shoot him. i brought him first clip. he jest made one jump into the air, and let a snarl out of him, and then fell flat as a flounder. but what to do with him was the next question. it was gcttin' too late to stay and skin him, and i was too tired to lug his 32 the hermit of the nonquon. li 1 carcass home, so i strung him up to the limb of a tree, and trusted to luck to leave him there till mornin'. " i went back the next day to git him, but he was gone. i looked around and seen where the carcass had been dragged through the snow, and in follerin' it up a ways i could see every now and then this same queer track beside the trail, showin' that my wolf had been carried away by the same thing that had scared sancho the day before. i want to say that my mind hadn't been off'n them tracks much o' the time sence i had first seen 'em, and novv^ i was bound to fouer 'em up and find out something about 'em. the sun was shinin' bright as a new dollar, and it had snowed jest enough through the night to make the tracks fresh. sancho was snortin' around, with his big ears floppin' at the side of his head, and his tail standin' straight up, as if he was ready for any kind o' work. vso i put him onto the trail, and away we went, sancho ahead. it wasn't long before the very same thing happened that did the day before. sancho came boundin' back to where i was, frightened out of his wits. he whined, and shook, and crouched* down behind my legs, till i was jest betwixt gittin' mad at the dog and gittin' scared myself. but i was bound to see what it all meant, and so i pushed on ahead, though i couldn't make the dog go two feet in front of me. he stuck right to my heels, and when i tried to make him go on he whined, and set down on his haunches, and held up one of his front feet so pitiful that i let him foller." "well, you was a perty pair, i must say," broke in b'gob-sir, who felt that philander was absorbing the attention of the little group around him — mrs. mcglor rie was standing in the doorway listening with the rest i the wild man. 33 ► i — to an extent altogether unwarranted by his impor tance in the community. *' i guess the dog's master was jest as frightened as the dog, if the truth was known." " b'gob-sir, you keep still," whispered gabriellc, plucking his sleeve, "or i'll tell about the time i put the dead rat in your coat pocket." b'gob-sir subsided. " i don't mind admittin' that i was some scared," phi lander went on, "but if i was scared then, i was a blamed sight more scared a little later on. i heard the brush crack in front o' me, and sancho grcwled and kinder hung back, but come on again when i spoke to him; and in a few minutes i caught sight o' something through the bushes, but couldn't sec enough of it to tell what it was like. it was skippin' here and there quicker'n a flash, and however it managed to haul the dead wolf around over the logs and through the brush so fast was morc'n i could tell. i seen i wasn't goin' to overtake it very easy by fouerin' its track, so i cut out around to head it off, and made a wide half-circle about the brow of a little hill, till i come to a partly open space that sloped down to the creek. i waited in the edge of this for a spell to see if it wouldn't cross the space, but began to think i had miscalc'lated, and was jest steppin' from behind the bushes, when i saw some thing that made my blood run colder'n i ever want to feel it again. i didn't blame the dog a mite for bein' scared. and jest here i want to say to you," said phi lander, impressively, after a slight pause, during which he was watched with breathless attention, " i want to say that i can't tell you what it was i saw. can't describe it to save my life. it was about the color o' the wolf it was jerkin' along after it, but was more like 34 the hermit of the nonquon. the shape of a man. but scch a lookiii' creetur! all hair except jest its two eyes; and the kind of eyes you never saw. wild and piercin' as two coals of fire, and big as tea-sassers. it stood starin' at me jest a second, and then it dropped the wolf and darted into the thick brush, makin' a queer kind o' noise, and that was the last i seen of it." ** did you pick up your wolf?" asked b'gob-sir. " no-siree; never went near it. i got out of that locality about as quick as my legs would carry me. and i've never been there sence — at least not so far up as i went that day. but i can't get that thing off my mind, and some day i'm goin' to search it out. but i ain't goin' alone," he added, as he thought of his former experience. "oh, i'll go up there with you," loftily exclaimed b'gob-sir. '* i'll go and see what the dickens this is you're makin' so much fuss about. why, b'gob-sir, if you was a drinkin' man. philander, i'd think you'd been tryin* some o' jerry's whisky the day you went up eraser's creek, and it had give you the jim-jams. that last lot o' whisky jerry got in is enough to give a man the jim-jams at the distance of fourteen ord'nary townships." ** all the worse to paint with," whispered gabrielle, somewhat viciously. " you'd better stick to the tallow." bonaventure seemed strangely impressed with phi lander's story. his pipe had gone out during its recital, and he sat leaning forward with elbows on his knees, holding the pipe by its stem with the bowl upside down. " no," he said to philander, after a pause, wholly i i the wild man. 86 ignoringb'gob-sir's observation, " i shouldn't go alone after what yon saw, but then it is not right to let the matter rest where it is. vsomcthing should be done. we'll make up a party some of these days and search the woods. vstrange, very strange," he added, half to himself, as his mind ran back over philander's experience. •' 'deed now, and i don't want you to go traipsin' off into that turrible place lookin' for wild men," said mrs. mcglorrie, with a wifely solicitation for her husband's safety. " no tellin' anything about what a hathenish thing it might be. now, gabrielle, it's time you was in bed, girl. dinnie's been there this long while, and he's all the better for it." the propriety of sending gabrielle to bed was sug gested by the close attention which that young lady had been paying to philander while he spoke. she listened with breathless interest to every word, and her mother did not fancy the excited look in her eye as he finished. " i wish you'd get me a drink of water, gabrielle, before you go," said her father. vshe fetched some in a big tin dipper, and after he had drank she turned to philander and asked if he would have some. "perty wa^m to-night; don't care if i do," said phi lander. she brought him some, and stood patting the soft earth with one foot and looking abstractedly toward the village while he drank. " and you, b'gob-sir? " she asked, as philander handed her the dipper. b'gob-sir declined, and she took the dipper into the house. she did not ask donald if he would have some. i 36 the hermit of the nonquon. as the men rose to j^o, gabriel le managfed to gfet philandcr's ear, while her father was saying something to donald about the prospect of the crops. " you'll take me with you some day up eraser's creek, won't you?" ** i thought it was up the ma'sh creek you wanted to go." **no, i don't care about that; i'd rather sec what eraser's creek is like. you'll take me sometime, phi lander, won't you? " " don't know; i'll see about that. you haven't any idea what kind of a place it is, or you wouldn't want to go." " oh yes, i would. that's the reason i want to go. i — " but any further remark was cut short by b'gob-sir, who spluttered around about the difficulty of getting philander home in " any kind o' decent time o' night. wh)', b'gob-sir, the man would talk all night if i'd let him." which remark sounded peculiarly ludi crous in view of b 'gob-sir's natural propensity for talk and philander's well-known reserve. *' good-night, philander," said gabrielle. ** good night, b'gob-sir." but she did not say " good-night, donald." when mrs. mcfarlane learned the next morning that donald had failed to mention the subject of the potash kettle during his visit to the mcglorries, she stared at him in utter astonishment for a moment, and then shook her head disapprovingly, and muttered something to herself in a way that made donald feel very uneasy. " i will go myself," she said, " i will go after i eat my parritch." thf. wild man. 37 and she did. her longvigorous strides up the road indicated a determination to read donald a lesson on his negligence in not asking for the kettle, for it was her philosophy that whatever belonged to the neighbors was equally hers by right — at least to the extent of their patience in lending. she was always studying some new subterfuge to borrow, and was impatient because donald did not enter into the spirit of her plans. she found no one at home in the mcglorrie house hold except gabrielle, and on making known her wants to that young lady she met with a flat refusal. '* no, you can't have it," said gabrielle, with cruel bluntness. " you're always running after that kettle, and i guess we want to use it some of the time our selves." she spoke almost spitefully, and seemed to take a malicious delight in the effect her words had on the old scotch woman. the good lady stood amazed for an instant at such a reception, and then began to swell with a righteous indignation, " humph! " she ejaculated; and seeing gabrielle going on with her work, apparently oblivious to her presence, she grew more and more enraged at the slight put upon her, and rising to her tallest height and trembling in every fiber, she pointed a bony finger at gabrielle and burst out: *'weel, ef my son tone-alt will only speer goad almicghty for another 'ear, we'll have a kettash poh tal of ower ain." and forthwith she turned and strode in high dudgeon toward the road. all the way up the path she was shaking her head very vigorously, and muttering to herself, with an occasional outburst louder than the rest: "the little /lus-sj'," '' i'll have 38 the hermit of the nonquon. her to know," ** she will be insiilt-inj^'me, the little good-for-nothing," "humph!" "my son tone-alt, i shall naver — " but just at this point she felt her arm touched, and there stood gabrielle with the sweetest, mellowest expression of countenance ever seen; her great black eyes looking up into the old woman's face, and an altogether different light in them. in a voice soft as a summer's breeze, she said: " i didn't mean it. you may have the kettle when ever you want it, mrs. mcfarlane. you may come and get it without asking for it. jest take it any time, no matter where you find it, and you're always welcome to it. i mean every word i say," she added, quickly, as she saw the look on the old woman's face. and then clasping mrs. mcfarlane's thin arm between her two plump and shapely hands in a caressing way, she reiterated: " now remember, don't bother about ask in' for it, but use it whenever you like. good-by." and she was skipping down the path like a young deer before mrs. mcfarlane could regain her breath. "well, dear me, dear me," said the good dame, turn ing toward home. " bless me, i don't unnerstand her at all, at all. she's naver twice the same. sometimes she's con-trary as the old black soo, and then again she's good; she's good — almost — as my son tone-alt." i i ) vi. a big catch. tt had been some weeks since gabriellc eanj^ht the "'' bass and gave it to andy, the indian, and yet she had seen nothing of him, and had received no word of the promised moccasins. she watched the river closely for his canoe, but he avoided this route on his way to the village, and she was beginning to wonder how vshe should find him. one afternoon she saw philander rowing down-stream, and, running to the bank, she hailed him and asked where he was g;(u^ ■ "jest down to the mouth to troll for ge. won't you go along? " "course i will," said gabrielle, glad ui the oppor tunity. " you'll let me troll, won't you. philander? i'd give anything to catch a 'lunge." her eyes sparkled already in anticipation of the sport. " yes, you can troll, but mind, you must do as i say if you get one on. don't be in too big a hurry to land him. did you ever troll for ' lunge? " *' no, father never'll take me with him trollin'. he says i can still-fish for bass all i like, biit when it comes to trollin' he ain't going to scare all the fish out of the lake by totin' such a chatter-box as me around over the water. wish i was in his place for awhile, and him in mine; d'you know what i'd do? " " i s'pose you'd lock him up in the woodshed a whole day." (39) 40 the hermit of the nonquon. m " no i wouldn't," she said, with a softened light in her eye. " i'd take him out trouin' whenever he wanted to go, and let him chatter all he liked." " oh, gabe, you're a minx. well, we'll see what kind of a fist you make at trollin', and if you catch a big one you can take it home and make your father a present of it." " i catched a big bass right over in that bend this spring," she said, pointing across to the spot where she and andy had fished, " and i wish i'd given that to father." " what did you do with it? " "oh, i give it to one-eyed andy, the indian." an.', then she related in detail the circumstance. "well, gabe, i'm sorry," said philander, when she had finished. " you'll never git them moccasins in the world. old andy's too lazy to breathe good and natural, let alone making moccasins. he'll slink out of it somehow." "will he?" exclaimed gabrielle, hfh a dangerous glitter in her eyes. " you just wait and see! " and then she sat quietly pondering for a time, while philander's sweeping strokes brought the boat near to the mouth of the river. " now, gabe, we're coming into deep water. you'd best let out your line; but let it out slow, and be sure the hook plays all right. if it stops playin' you must pull in and see what's wrong. it's ii'ble to git caught in a weed or something like that, and if it doesn't play the fish won't bite it." " how am i to know whether it's playin' or not? " asked gabrielle. " oh, you'll feel a sort of twitchin' or quiverin' in the a big catch. 41 line if the hook plays. when the line doesn't kinder tremble between your tluimb and finger, you may know that something's wrong." " i believe i've got one on already," exclaimed gabrielle, commencing to haul in the few feet of line she had let out. " no, you haven't," said philander, laughing. " let out your line." " how'm i goin' to know when i have a bite? " she asked, with growing excitement. "you'll know all right," he answered, significantly. '' you'll feel a tug at the line, and then most likely it'll slack right up. when it slacks like that after a tug you must haul in fast as you can; but the minute the fish begins to pull again you must ease up on the line and humor him. jest keep workin' him carefully up to the boat, and — but i'll tell you how to handle him when you git one on." philander kept the boat moving to and fro across deep places in the lake near the mouth of the river, and gabriede's tongue seemed to justify her father's pre dictions; but in extenuation it must be admitted that most of her talk ran on the work in hand. " philander, i don't believe it's playin'," rather excitedly. "well, hold the line away out from t'le boat between your thumb and finger, and then sec." "oh, yes; it's workin' all right." and then a pause. " oh, i've got a bite! i've got a bite! " and instantly she begins to haul in. " sure you got a bite? " asks philander. "oh, yes, i know it; i feel it tug. and the line pulls heavy now." 43 the hermit of the nonquon. "all right; haul it in." she worked away at the line, hand over hand, in growing" excitement. "i believe it's a big one. philander. what'll i do with him when i git him up to the boat? " " wait till you git him up," said philander, who was watching the line with a calmness that surprised gabrielle. "gracious! he ought to be here soon," she said, look ing at the pile of line in front of her. " guess he will," philander remarked, with a twinkle in his eye. the next instant there was a " swish " on the surface of the water behind the boat, and a large mass of weeds was dragged up alongside. gabrielle's vision of a beautiful muscallonge on the hook vanished in an instant. " better luck next time, gabe. pick off the weeds and throw out the line again. you're not the first one that's been fooled that way with weeds." " i wish the weeds were in the bottom of the — " "well, that's jest where they are," laughed philan der, seeing gabrielle's mistake. " that's the trouble with 'em. if they was anywhere else than in the bot tom of the lake it'd be easier fishin'." the line was no sooner out again than gabrielle felt an unmistakable bite. "oh, philander, i've got one! there's something alive on the end of the line this time, sure. see him jerk! " and she began hauling in with might and main. " not too fast, gabe! not too fast." but gabrielle was oblivious to everything except that live wriggling thing on the hook. a big catch. 43 " look out, gabe! you're haulingin too fast." just at that moment a muscallonge flopped out of the lake about twenty yards behind the boat, and gabri elle's line hung limp and free in the water. "oh, he's gone! " she said, dolefully. "■ how did he git off the hook, i wonder? " " you pulled him up to the surface, and that give him a chance to flop out of the water and throw the hook from his mouth. i told you not to pull so fast." " i didn't hear you," she said, looking ruefully at the spot where the fish had escaped. "try again," said philander, encouragingly, "and don't forgit to humor your fish somewhat. if he pulls real hard give him a little line, and when he runs toward the boat haul in the slack fast. jest keep the line taut. if you leave it too loose it gives him a chance to wiggle the hook out of his mouth, and if you pull too hard he'll come to the top of the water and jump, like this one did." "i believe i'll let you pull in the next one," she said, much depressed at her loss, and evidently despairing of her own ability. " no you won't. you'll catch him yourself. you can troll as well's anybody, when you once git the hang of it." just as she was letting out the line again philander heard the sound of a paddle, and looking across the water, observed: " there's old andy now. he's trollin' too. i won der if he's got any fish." " i wish you'd row over in his direction jest a min ute," said gabrielle, looking at the indian in a peculiar way. 44 the hermit of the nonquon. *' have you got any fish?" philander asked, when they were in speaking distance, " have you got my moccasins? " said gabrielle, giv ing him no time to answer. the indian sullenly shook his head and went on paddling. " see here, andy, you miserable low-down sneak indian, ycju! do you remember that bass i caught for you up the river? well, now, you'd better bring them moccasins you promised me, or it won't be well for you! " the scolding her mother had given her for let ting andy have the fish, and philander's prediction that she would never get the moccasins, together with her recent experience with the muscallonge, all com bined to put her in a vicious mood against the indian, and that stolid creature was probably surprised to hear such an outburst from her. " now mind what i tell you, you lazy glutton! you was glad enough to git the fish, wasn't you? if you ever show your dirty face around the nonquon again without bringing them moccasins i'll shoot 5"ou, andy. i'll shoot you so full of holes your friends over in the happy huntin' groimds won't know you. now mind what i tell you!" " gabe, haven't you got a bite? " said philander, watching her line. " guess i have," she answered, turning her attention from the indian to her line. vshe manipulated the line more successfully this time, and soon had the fish alongside. " look out now you don't knock him on the side o' the boat when you're tryin' to land him. s\.ing him a big catch. 45 well out over the gunwale. that's it. there you are! good for you; you've got him! " " yes, but he's only a bass, after all. i wanted a 'lunge." her lip hung rather lov,'. "guess it's jest as well it wasn't a 'lunge that time, or you'd 'a' knocked him off the hook on the side o' the boat. a 'lunge always darts and dives the minute he gets up close enough to see the boat, and ten to one he goes right down under the boat. if you pull him up quick, 3'ou're sure to strike him ag'in' the side and knock him off the hook. when a 'lunge dives under the boat, jest keep the line tight for a bit, or pull a little on it, and he'll dart in the other direction, and when he is well away from the boat bring him up alongside, and whop him at arm's length clear over the side into the boat." "well, that's a nice bass, anyhow," said gabrielle, looking down at the fish. " but i thought he would weigh forty or fifty pounds when i was bringin' him in."^ " a bass is very deceivin'. take a four or five pound bass on a trouin' line and he'll make more fuss than a 'lunge of twice the size. gabe, i've changed my mind," suddenly veering from the subject, and looking at her in a quizzical manner. " what do you mean? " " i said andy'd never bring you the moccasins, but i believe he will. i don't think he'll dare to .show him self on this side o' the lake again, after that dressin' down you gave him, unless he has the moccasins. you're a terror, gabc^ when you git started; but i guess you wouldn't shoot anybodv, would you?" " n-no, i don't — s'pose — i — would. yes, i would too," 46 the hermit of the nonquon. ' i t she said, suddenly changing' her tone. " i'd shoot that blamed sneak of an indian quick as i would a dog — and quicker — that is, if he doesn't bring me them moc casins." *• well i guess he'll bring 'em," said philander, laughing. *' he'll set his squaw to work a makin' 'em, and you can depend on 'em by the next time he goes to the village." they trolled for some time before getting another bite, and gabrielle was beginning to despair of catch ing the coveted " 'lunge," when she felt a tug at the line, and this time, sure enough, it was a muscallonge. when the fish was near enough for philander to get a glimpse of him, he exclaimed: ** that's a 'lunge, gabe, sure's you're born; and you've got him near the boat. now look out and he's your fish." but the announcement that she had at last really a muscallonge so nearly caught was too much for gabri elle's presence of mind, and she instantly forgot all of philander's instructions. her one idea was to land the fish, and when she saw him dive out of sight it seemed to her that he was getting away from her, and she tugged at the line, without the slightest attention to philander's warning. up came the fish plump against the boat, and all that gabrielle saw of him after that was the white gleam of his throat as he turned on his side and dove away into deep water. " too bad, gabe, but it can't be helped. we'll catch one yet; they're biting fine to-day." and philander started to row on again. gabrielle was completely crestfallen. "it's all my fault. philander. i'm a perfect fool! i ain't fit for nothin' at all. you'd 'a' catched that fish if a big catch. 47 you'd had hold of the line. even old b'gob-sir would 'a' done better'n that. i'm glad b'gob-sir ain't here," she added, reflectively. and then, looking at philander resolutely, she broke out: " if i git another 'lunge on that hook i'll /^?;^<r/him! now you see if i don't. i'll land him, or i'll jump into the lake after him! " "all right, gabe, here goes." and he rowed away vigorously toward a stretch of deep clear water, where the largest fish were most likely to be found. gabrielle settled down into a reflective mood, with her eyes gazing abstractedly at the small ripples beside the boat. possibly she was thinking of the lost fish, or of andy and the moccasins, or of b'gob-sir brown, or the wild man, or of mrs. mcfarlane and the potash kettle, or — possibly she was thinking of some one else. after they had gone on in this way for some time with out a word, she suddenly started up and cried: " hold on. philander! vstop the boat! the hook is caught in a log or something." philander stopped rowing and began to back water, watching the line closely as he did so. all at once he noticed a startled, excited look on gabrielle's face, " philandci ! there's something alive on the hook! look at that! look — at — that! why, philander, what can it be? back water quick, or the line'll git away from me! " philander saw there was something unusual on the hook by the way the spare line was spinning through gabrielle's hand, and sent the boat back as fast as possible. " i can't think what you've got on there, gabe. i never saw anything act like that before. don't let the line git away from you, whatever you do. that's the 48 the hermit of the nonquon. best hook and line i've got, and i don't want to lose it." she was strugglinghard to prevent any more line running out, as she saw there were only a few yards more left in the boat. her exertions interfered some what with the progress of the creature, whatever it was, and it soon changed its tactics and swerved to one side, leaving the line slack. gabrielle immediately began to haul in, but was soon checked again, and the line went spinning as before. "look out, gabe! hang on! you haven't much vspare line. i don't see what in the dickens it can be." " oh, i don't believe i can hold it much longer. i never saw anything pull — " she was interrupted by a terrific splashing in the water away astern, and philander stared open-eyed at the spot. "heavens alive, gabe! that's a 'lunge. it's a 'lunge, sure's you're born! i never seen anything like it; it's big as a whale! " " i'm afraid he's off the hook! " exclaimed gabrielle, as the line slackened in her hand. " i guess he throwed the hook when he jumped out of the water. oh, he's gone, sure," she added, lugubriously, hauling in yard after yard of the wet line and casting it in a heap in front of her. " well, it wasn't my fault that ti — oh, glory! there he goes again. he's on all right." and away went the line more rapidly than ever. "that's a terror of a fish, gabe, and he's jest a git tin' waked up. we've got the biggest kind of a fight before us if we ever land him. no use talkin' about gittin' jiiin into the boat." if a kig catch. 4n " whatever'll we do with him?" asked gabriclle, screwing up her face as the hne tore its way through her clenched fingers. " we'll have to play him here in deep water till we tire him out, and then tow him ashore some place." *' oh dear, i don't believe he'll ever give up. he seems to be gittin' stronger every minute." and it looked as if gabrielle was right, for the fish was now heading for the middle of the lake at a terrific pace, and taking the boat after him as if it were no impediment. he made a much longer run of it this time, and seemed to verify philander's observation that he was just wak ing up. he tugged viciously at the line, and appeared to be maddened by the resistance. '* gracious! look where he's taking us this time. he's headin' straight for the island. i hope the line won't break. oh, philander, what if he'd git away from us now! i'd never git over it." her eyes were sparkling, and her cheeks flushed with the excitement; but philander looked more grave and dubious. " don't coimt too much on gittin' him, gabe. we'll do the best we can, but it'll take a long, hard fight to conquer that feller, and there's a thousand chances for us to lose him yet. the line is good and strong or it wouldn't have stood what it has, but the hook may break, if he hasn't swallered it. i begin to think he has, though, from the way it hangs on ; but if so the great danger is that the line'll git sawed off runnin' between his teeth. you must humor him all you can, but from the looks o' things he's goin' to take matters in his own hands, without consultin' anybody. i never seen a fish that could snatch a boat around like this." 4 50 the hermit of the nonquon. suddenly the muscallonge stopped running again, and gabrielle hauled away at the slack, while philander started the boat for the nearest available bit of land, called ** beaver-meadow point." "we'll work him up this way as well as — " "oh, there he goes again!" shrieked gabrielle, who felt the line drawn sharply around her back across the stern of the boat. " he's taken a new tack, and is goin' like the wind. i don't believe he'll ever give up! " she said, doubtfully, as she saw no symptoms of weariness on the part of the fish. matters certainly did begin to assume a rather serious outlook. the sky was clouding over, and a storm seemed brewing. an uneasy ripple agitated the surface of the lake, and the birds skimmed swiftly along close to the water. " gabe, we've got to do something perty soon, for there's a rainstorm comin'. you'd best let me have the line and see if i can manage him any better. you're wet through now handlin' the line, and your hands is all blistered. let me have it, gabe." "no you don't," she answered, resolutely. "you stay where you are, and 'tend to the oars. i'll catch this fish myself or die tryin'. oh, philander," she con tinued, in a more persuasive tone, " i can't give him up. i'll do anything you say, only — let me be the one that catches him. i don't care for the rain. i'm wet now, and a little more won't hurt. there, he's turned." and thus the fight went on for some time, first one side getting a slight advantage and then the other. to make matters worse for the occupants of the boat it soon began to rain. the great drops pelted their faces and beat into the boat, drenching them through. a 111(1 catch. 51 the lake grew rough, and philander was made busy keeping the boat at rights. tlic lowering sky darkened everything abcnit them, and as the wind inereased they could scarcely hear or see each other. the boat was by this time tossing terribly, and the vslightest turn of the fish in the wrong direction would have sent them over in spite of everything. " no use talkin', gabe," called out philander, " if this keeps up much longer we can't stand it. i'm afraid we'll have to give him up, if it gits worse." " you 'tend to the boat," cried (labrielle, her deter mination rising equal to the situation. " that girl is a brick," thought philander; " but i mustn't let her git drowned on account of a fish." she had managed by considerable maneuvering to get in quite a length of spare line in case of an emer gency, and the next movement of the fish proved the wisdom of her proceeding. "turn the bow to the right, quick!" she suddenly exclaimed. " he's gone across the stern again. hurry up or the line'll give out." by dint of the most expert use of the oars. philander managed to swing the boat just as the tug came. in another instant they would have been over. " that was a close shave, gabe, and we can't afford to take any more chances like that. you'd better let the fish go, for we're goin' to have all we can do to 'tend to ourselves. it's gittin* rougher every minute." " you 'tend to the boat," came back the dogged reply. " gabe, for god's sake, look out! " he yelled a minute later. " this boat'll be over in spite of me. let him go, i tell you." 62 thk hjirmil ()!• ihk nonquon. ;l! i ! " 'tend to your boat," she sanj;back throiij^^h the bbndinj^' rain. " (j /h; drop that hue. do you luar? " roared phi lander, growing desperate. " yes, i hear." •« well, drop it." " i won't." ** are yon tryin' to drown iis? sec the way the boat pitehes. let it j^o. for ( sake, (kibe, let it j^'o! " he threw more of a pleadin^, into liis v(jiee, as he was j^jrowinj^ truly terrified. "all right, there it }j;"oes," she yelled. philander breathed easier. " gabe, you're lyin'," he exclaimed a moment later. " you've got that line yet." " yes, and pm go'in' to keep it. you can make up your mind that pu hang onto this line now if it takes us to the bottom. pm goin' to have that fish, i tell you. ycni tend to the boat." and from that time she was mistress of the situa* ion philander could do notli ing with her, and with an a ms countenance gave his attention to keeping the boat at rights. she directed him now and then which way to turn, and through all that storm they sat facing each other, he battling with the boat and she with the muscallonge. but soon the wind died down, and the worst of the danger was over. " we'll git this feller yet," said gabrielle, triumph antly, as it began to clear up. " but we're too far away from beaver meadow point to land him there. you'd best strike for the island. he's gittin' pretty well played out now, and we'll soon have the better of him." "gabe, you're a brick," philander enthusiastically exclaimed. " pm as anxious now tc^ land him as you a big catch, 58 i arc, but t swow t thoiij^ht one spell yoii was ^oin' tn drown lis, sure." *' so 1 would if you imdn'l 'tended to the boat," she answered, with a twinkle of the eye. there was a ^^ravel bottom some distance out from the island shore, and, towinjj;the tired fish in that direction, they were soon within a few rods of the land. here the gamy fellow made one more dash for liberty; but it was weak compared to his former rushes, and gabrielle ({uickly had him under control aj^ain. as soon as the boat j^ratcd on the beach gabrielle sprang out, and begging philander to let her finish the work, she began hauling the line in hand over hand, watching all the while with boundless excitement the water in the direction of the fish. vshe realized his weight now better than ever, when she was standing on the firm ground instead of sitting in a boat that yielded easily to his strength. " there he comes," she shouted, as the fish gave a great lurch in the shallow water, not yet decided whether he would give it up or not. " oh, philander, isn't he a beauty? did you ever see anything like it?" ilcr hat had long ago blown to the back of her head, where it was held by the strings imder her chin; and her wet hair was tossed and tumbled about her face. her cheeks were glowing with excitement, and her eyes — well, they were gabrielle's eyes at their very best, and it was probably well for donald's palpitation of the heart that he was not present to see them. " hold on a minute, gabe. don't pull too hard. don't you see the line's nearly chawed off. he may git away yet." " here, take this," screamed gabrielle, excitedly, put 54 the hermit of the nonquon. ii ; tingthe line into philander's hand; and before he understood her object she had dashed into the water and was wading toward the muscallonge. "look out! don't grab him by the gills, gabe, or you'll git your hands all cut up. lift him by the body if you can." but gabrielle's attempt to do this resulted in such an unwieldy flop on the part of the fish that she sprang on him in sheer desperation, lest he should get away from her yet, and, regardless of lacerated hands, she seized him b; the gills and dragged him struggling toward the bank, with his monstrous mouth wide open. she slipped on the stones, and tugged away, and breathed hard, but finally landed him high and dry, where philander soon dispatched him with his hunting knife. then gabrielle gave a whoop that would have done credit to an indian after a victory. she danced around her prize, and snatched off her hat and waved it in the air. "what did i tell you, philander? didn't i say i'd git him? ain't he worth fightin' for? he's the biggest one 5'ou ever saw, ain't he? how much do you think he'll weigh? " " yes, he's the biggest 'lunge by ten or twelve pounds that i ever come across. i didn't think there was any thing like him in lake scugog. he'll go at least forty pounds." and philander viewed the fish with a critical eye, and expressed as much satisfaction over the capture as gabrielle. then, turning to her, he continued: "but good lordy, gabe, look at them hands of 5^ours! they're all tore and bleedin'. i told you not to catch him by the gills. and your dress, look at that! what'u your mother say? " a big catch. 66 " i don't care for dress, nor hands, nor anythingelse. jest run your eye over that beauty layin' there in the grass, and then talk about dress and hands, will you?" and the sight certainly justified gabrielle's enthu siasm. the monster was lying on his side, with his white throat sharply outlined against the green grass, his body, plump in proportion and trimly built; and his broad back, of a greenish brown color, blending with the foliage beneath him. some spots of bright-red blood on his throat showed where philandcr's knife had been, and his great jaws fell apart as if he had been utterly exhausted with the struggle. the grass was wet from the recent rain, and a fresh mist steamed up from the earth. the western sun peeped out after the storm, and some glorious rays came across the lake and brightened up the little scene on the island. " we're goin' to have a fine spell o' weather to go home in," said gabrielle, shading her eyes with her hand and looking across the lake. " yes, and we must be startin' right away," answered philander, as he drew the boat up on land to empty out the water. " it's a long pull from here to the nonquon, and — why, gabe, there's the bass you caught; i'd forgot all about him." ** so had i, but i don't care anything for //////. you can throw him away if you like." she was looking all the while at the muscallonge, and philander could not help laughing. " oh, my girl, you'd 'a' been mighty thankful to lug this bass home with you if you hadn't catched the 'lunge. he'd 'a' been a middlin' fine fish in your eye, only for you havin' one so much better. i'm goin' to 50 the hermit of the nonquon. ;i take this home and cook him for my supper, and you can do what you hke with your old 'hmge." gabrielle's quick perception instantly caught the sig nificance of this remark. " now, philander, none of that. this 'lunge belongs to you as much as he does to me — and more too." " no he don't; he's your 'lunge." " i tell you he ain't. what right have i to him? " " because you catched him." " i'd 'a' made a likely attempt at catchin' him if it hadn't been for jjv//." ** i'd 'a' lost both the 'lunge and the best trollin' line i've got if it hadn't been iov you." " now, philander, quit mockin' me." " wouldn't mock you for the world." " philander! " "yes." " tell you what i'll do." " well? " " we'll split the difference. you take half and mc half." " not a split; it's your 'lunge." " i just won't touch a scale of him." " all right, then, we'll have to leave him here. come, jump into the boat; it's time we was off." she resolutely stepped on board, and the next instant philander sent the boat spinning through the water, toward home. she watched him carefully for a moment, to see if she could not discover some symptoms of wavering on his part, but his face was serene and unconcerned, and every sweep of the oars took them farther away from the shore. in spite of herself she turned her head and looked back at the island, and the ■hi a big catch. 67 first object that caught her eye was the g-listening scales of the muscallonge lying on the bank. she gave vent to a piercing scream. ^'■philander! stop the boat! turn around this min ute and go back after that fish." " well, he's yours, is he? " "yes, he's mine — he's anybody's; only go and git him." "tell you what you can do with him, gabe," said philander, turning the boat and rowing to the island, " you can make a present of him to your father and mother, with your compliments and mine, and i'll invite myself up to your house for dinner to-morrow, and we'll see what he tastes like." " philander, you've got a heart as big as a washtub, and it's a good deal better than it's big. pu cook a piece of the 'lunge for you myself." and philander was better pleased with that than he would have been had he caught all the fish in lake scugog. mmmm vii. a cradling match. twtosquitoes were the natural pests of the non ^^^ quon, and the use of screens for doors and win dows had not yet entered into the philosophy of the inhabitants. during the hot summer nights no lights were permissible indoors, on account of its attractive ness for these tiny marauders, and in front of nearly every dwelling of an evening sat a family with a "smudge" in their midst; alternately blinking at the blinding smoke and striking out vigorously in the direc tion of a buzzing sound made by a daring member of the hated tribe. these "smudges" were made by building a small fire in the dooryard, and then throwing dirty chips or refuse on it, to make it smolder and smoke. between the two evils of irritating mosquito bites on the one hand and tear-bedimmed eyes from the smoke on the other, the inhabitants had a sorry choice; but the smart from the smoke did not last quite so long as that from the mosquito-bite, so they pretty generally submitted to the smoke. " i'll tell you what it is," said prosper tryne to a group sitting in front of his store one evening, " there ain't no smudge equal to one made from cedar boughs." " that's all you know about it," blurted out b'gob-sir brown, making a desperate pass at a miniature demon that had settled behind his ear. " the blamed spunky, good-for-nothing, man-eatin' little d-d-devils, they jest (68) ] ^sm a cradling match. 59 seem to enjoy vsuch smoke as this. and i can't say i admire their taste," he continued, rubbing" his bleary eyes in misery. " well, i didn't s'pose it wasgoin' to make you swear," said prosper, with a sanctimonious air, which added fuel to the flame of the old fellow's wrath. " why, b'gob-sir," he said, jumping up and pointing his finger at prosper, " you needn't p'etend to be so horrified at what a person says. jest clean your own boots, will you? i'd ruther say ' damn it ' a dozen times a day, if i felt like it, than to cork up my meanness inside o' me for the sake of appearin' all right before folks, and then when i thought no one was lookin' spittin' it out onto some poor critter that couldn't take its own part. oh, i — " " here, you sit down, and stop quarreling," said some one in the group, pulling his coat-tail. he sat down, still shaking his head and muttering to himself something about " hypocercy," *' church folks," etc. evidently he was in bad humor this evening. pros per went into the store a moment for something, and the old fellow, not content with what he had said to his face, assailed him behind his back. " this smoke puts me a good bit in mind of prosper's religion," he said; '' 'tain't good for much but to blind folks." the laugh that followed this made him forget his anger, and the conversation changed to the more peace ful topic of the crops. " i seen donald mcfarlane cradlin' in that field of fall wheat as i come along to-night, and i tell you that young feller swings a cradle the slickest of any 60 the hermit of the nonquon. ,1 t thing i ever seen. it was long after dark, when every body else had quit work, and yet he was slashin' down the grain as if it was play for him." "yes," said another member of the party, moving around to the windward side of the smudge, " i believe donald can cut more grain in a day than any young feller around here." prosper just came out of the store in time to hear this latter remark. "well, now, i don't know about that," he said, dubi ously. " you haven't seen my boy miley cradle wheat yet. he's been workin' down south this summer for old man harvey, and they say he is a dinger with the cradle." " bet you $4 donald can cradle more wheat in a day than he can," spoke up philander hunt, who had been a quiet listener till now. " oh, i never bet," said prosper, suddenly remember ing that the next day was vsunday. " you know i don't bet. tell you what i'll do, though. i'll agree to give $4 to the sunday-school if donald wins, and you give four if miley wins." " all right," said philander. prosper went coughing back into the store again, after encountering a dense wreath of smoke in his face. " philander, can't 3'ou seethe length of your nose?" exclaimed b'gob-sir. "who d'you s'pose handles the sunday-school money? wh}-, it's prosper himself, and he hain't much idee of losin' anything on that bet, i can tell you." " well, i hain't much idee of losin' cither, for donald can beat miley any day." " don't know about that. miley's a smart young r a cradling match. 01 i chap, i want you to know, even if he is prosper's lioy. guess he takes it from his mother." "oh, i know a way to make donald beat him," said philander, significantly. " how? " "jest leave that to me," waving his hand in front of him to drive away the smoke. *' well, when do you want thiscradlin' match to come ofy? " asked prosper, coming to the door again. " when that fourteen acres of bonaventure's is ripe," answered philander, pointing over toward the mc ghjrrics. " what do you mean by that? " " nothin', only i want the match to come off in that field of wheat." " why not have it on mrs. mcfarlane's place, or down to harvey's, where miley works? " " well, in the first place mrs. mcfarlane wouldn't have the match held on her farm, and in the second place donald wouldn't go down to harvey's to cradle, and in the third, fourth, fifth, and up to the five hun dredth place, i won't agree to it bein' held anywhere else, only at bonaventure's." the day of the match brought with it a high degree of excitement around the nonquon, every one appeared interested in the outcome, with the pos sible exception of gabriellc, who, if one might judge from outward evidence, cared not the toss of a feather which would win. the sun rose over the lake with a bright glare, and every one predicted a hot day. " it's goin' to be a scorcher, boys," philander said to the contestants as they stood whetting their scythes preparatory to the start. the two young fellows were 11 63 the hermit of the nonquon. the best of friends, and while each was bent on win ning, yet there was little likelihood of hard feelings between them, no matter which way the issue went. " if it gets too blamed hot in the middle of the day, donald, i'm goin' to lay down in the shade and take it easy, win or no win," said miles, looking out over the waving wheat. of course he was by no means so imconcerned about winning as he pretended to be; and neither was donald, when he answered in his quiet scotch way, with a mild twinkle in his eye, *' very well. miles; i think i'll lie down beside you." the field was divided into two equal parts, giving each seven acres to cut. lots were cast for the two sides of the field. that standing nearest the house fell to donald, and philander thought he saw a more settled look of determination on donald's face when he heard this. the greater part of this side was within full view of the house, and the fact was that philander knew what he was doing when he insisted on having the match held at bonaventure's. he probably would have smiled had any one remarked to him about gabrielle's unconcern in the matter. the young fellows started in with long, swinging strokes, and the grain fell plentifully at each sweep of the cradles. for the first hour or two it was difficult to tell which made the greater progress. donald's gait was certainly slower than miles', but he kept persistently at it, and did not stop so often to whet his scythe. "miley's goin' to win the match, sure's preachin'," prophesied b'gob-sir about the middle of the forenoon. "he can stop cradlin' as often as he likes, and take a rest whenever he w^ants to, and yet he holds his end up and gets over as much ground as donald. i don't know," )i a cradling match. g3 he added, shadinghis eyes with his hand, and looking carefully over the field, *' but what he's already got the most stubble on his side. oh, he's goin' to win." ** the wheat ain't all cut yet," remarked philander, sententiously. bonaventure, who was standing near, simply shook his head. " i don't want either of the boys to hurt himself," he said, as he turned toward the house to see how the " women folks " were getting along with the dinner. the sun was pouring down from a clear sky with an intensity which threatened to scorch everything to a crisp. waves of heat flared up from stumps and stones, and floated away over the yellow heads of grain. grasshoppers jumped here and there with a rasping, creaking noise, as if the sun had burned the oil from their machinery. the dog vsancho, who almost always accompanied his master, slunk away into a corner of the fence, and lay there with his tongue out and his mouth drooling at the corners. "whew!" exclaimed b'gob-sir, as he wilted down under a tree and took off his hat to fan himself. " this is what you might call hotter 'n love in dog days. it almost seems 's if the sun and earth was a strikin' fire. why, b'gob-sir, you could set a pail o' water out there in the sun and it'd soon be hot enough to bile trace-chains in. that last lot o' whisky jerry got in — " *'oh, don't mention whisky such a day as this," inter posed philander. ''well, that's all right. i was jest goin' to give you my opinion of that whisky, but if you don't want to hear it, why, i guess i know how to button my lip." 64 the hermit of the nonquon. '* button her up tight on that head." philander had heard b'gob-sir's opinion on " that last lot o' whisky " so many times already that his impo liteness was pardonable. of course the contestants in the cradlingmatch were to take dinner with bonaventure, and when mrs. mcglorrie blew the dinner-horn, philander and b'gob sir walked with them down to the house, and then turned up the path toward the village, the latter meanwhile casting a wistful look into the kitchen, whence came the tempting odor of cookery. "come in, gentlemen, and keep us company at din ner," said bonaventure. " we've plates on the table for you." "well, now, i don't understand this," exclaimed b'gob-sir. " i'd no idee of any such a thing as this, and i don't see how i can make up my mind to impose on you folks this way. guess i'd better go on down to jerry's to dinner, as usual." all the while the old fel low was edging toward the door, and had even taken off his hat. but philander was not so easily persuaded, and was bent on going home, till gabrielle came to the door and said, in a strangely softened voice: " now, philander," and then, rushing out to where he stood, she took him by the arm, blushing to the roots of her glorious hair for some reason, and led him to the house. " no use tryin' to back out when gabe takes a feller in hand," said philander, smiling. during the meal donald was awkward, as usual, and quiet. gabrielle was quiet, but not awkward. she waited on the table, and the dishes moved under her hand as if by magic; at least so it seemed to donald. i a cradling match. g5 i and he was perhaps not the only one who thought her expert, for philander remarked that " gabe was a natu ral-born housekeeper, if ever there was one." "yes, indeed, that she is," exclaimed bonaventure, who was proud of his daughter, and approved of giving her a compliment occasionally. " yes, and gabe is never going to get married," piped in little dcnnie. "an' i'm never goin' to get married either. we've got it made up between us to live together always, and gabe is goin' to keep house for me, and i'm to make a living for us both. ain't we, gabe? " "of course, dennie." but what could have made her blush so when they all laughed at dennie's remark? gabrielle came nearly being awkward after that; at least she almost dropped a dish once or twice, and was apparently ill at ease dur ing the rest of the meal. as the men sat in the shade of the trees down by the stable after dinner, b'gob-sir ruminated over *hc rebuff philander had given him about his opinion of jerry's last lot of whisk}^, and thought it a good chance to get even with him. " say, philander, now come right out and acknowl edge the corn. git down to hard-pan for once, and admit the truth of the matter. i know it's pressin' you perty hard, but you might as well out with it first as last. who ketched that 'lunge you and gabrielle brought home the day you was out trollin'? you didn't ketch him yourself, i'll bet a bottle of — i'll bet my best pair of boots on that. i guess you got him from the injuns, didn't you? come now, let's have the hull facts in the case." i 66 the hermit of the nonquon. "well," said philander, with some hesitation, "if the truth must be told, i didn't catch him." *' what did i tell you? " exclaimed the old fellow, enthusiastically, jumping to his feet and looking around at the otliers as if he had at last exposed the impostor. "why, b'gob-sir, i knowed it all along. when — you — undertake — to — pull — the — wool — over — the — eyes — of — a — man — of — the — name — of — brown, — you'd — bet ter — hire — out — to — a — cardin'-mill — for — a — spell, — and — learn — more — about — the — kind — of — wool — you're— usin'. well now, who'd you buy him of? you might as well tell us that." " didn't buy him of anybody." " well, who give him to you? " "no one." " what? " " no one, i said," " what do you mean? " " mean what i say." "well, but— well now, what — what in the name o* snakes arc you tryin' to git through you, philander? there's a lie out some place." " not unless it's on your side." " you — say — you — didn't — ketch — that — 'lunge? " "yes," " and you didn't buy him of any one? " " no." " and no person give him to you? " " no." "well, i'd like to know ho-n the dickens you come by him, then." " gabe caught hi^ .. " why, i thoug'i '^u . . you — well you told — a cradling match. 67 humph! some folks think they're so c-c-ciissed sharp, anyway." and he walked off along by the fence, mut tering to himself. not a word had been said during the noon hour about the prospective outcome of the match, but it was plainly evident to all — and to donald particularly — that miley had cut the most wheat in the forenoon. the scotch boy, accordingly, threw one suspender from his shoulder, letting it hang at his side, and started in at a pace that indicated a struggle. and there was one. the morning's work was play to what the afternoon developed. the perspiration — that safety-valve of hot humanity — poured down their backs, leaving great wet streaks on their cotton shirts. donald plodded along with grim determination, scarcely raising his eyes from his work. the air was hot to breathe, the stubble cracked under his boots, his eyes were blurred with the heat and the dripping perspiration, his lips felt parched and dry, his tongue cleaved unpleasantly to the roof of his mouth, and the terrible exertion began to distress him. as he was crossing the lower end of the field he suddenly came to a tin pail sitting in the swath he was just cutting. it was placed where he could not possibly avoid it, and on picking it up he found it half-filled with cold spring-water, into which had been dropped some oatmeal. was there ever a more refreshing drink than this? donald thought not, and as he replaced the lid after gratifying his thirst he cast his eye across the field to see if he might discover who had brought it for him. his first idea was that it must be philander, but he remembered seeing him walk down the road toward the village. all at once he g8 the hermit of the nonquon. li 31 i thought of something that he dare not think of. he quickly put down the pail and started cradling with new vigor, both physically and mentally. he was determined to win that match. when he made the next round the pail was gone. once again during the afternoon he found it sitting in the wheat, with the cool, delicious — no other word would have suited don ald — oatmeal-water in it. he finished his seven acres at least half an hour ahead of miles, who toiled through to the end as if it were the longest half-hour of his life. " miles," said donald, going up and shaking hands with him, ** i wouldn't repeat that day's work for all the wheat we cut. if ever i cradle another match i'll pick out an easier man to cradle against.'' " the trouble with me wvt,s that i put into it too hard in the early part of the day and played myself out," remarked miles. was there ever a son of adam who could accept defeat without offering an excuse for it? " well, prosper," said philander, as they were all assembled at the store in the evening, " i suppose your pocket-book will be $4 lighter to-night and tlie sun day-school $4 richer? " ** don't know about that," answered the storekeeper, with a queer look in his eye. " what do you mean? " " well, what do j'ou mean? " *' why, that was the agreement. i was to give $4 if miley won, and you was to give $4 if donald won." *' i know; but i can't see as either of them won." " how do you make that out? donald got through half an hour sooner than miley." a cradling match. 69 " i don't see as that has anything particular to do with it." "you don't?" "no." " well, i'd like to know what you're drivingat. we divided that fourteen acres into two equal parts, and the one that finished his half first was to be the winner, wasn't he? " " well, not exactly. you forgit what you said when you first give mo the bluff. you said you'd bet me $4 that donald could cradle more wheat in a day than milcy could. now you said just a minute ago that the field was divided into two equal parts. accordin' to that miley cut just as much wheat as donald. takin' you at your own word, don't you sec? oh, no, i can't pay out any $4 on such a bet as that." and he never did. viii. ' « iii■ , lilli : a battle with turnips. 1\ trs. mcfarlane held little communion with •^'-*the inhabitants of the nonquon village. her sympathies lay for the most part toward the scotch settlement farther north, and she looked with little favor upon donald's intimacy — such as it was — with the villagers. the one individual around the nonquon who held her esteem was bonaventure, but for that matter he was esteemed by every one who knew him. " now, mcglorrie, what think you? " she called to bonaventure one morning as he was passing her place. " i hear that prosper tryne is saying that he will not be trusting me for any more things at his store. the good-for-nothing make-believe! i naver was owing him so much as the price of a pail of swill in my life." " well, mrs. mcfarlane, i don't think prosper would say such a thing as that about you. he would be glad, i am sure, to give you all the credit you want. vsome one has been trying to make mischief, and you shouldn't listen to such reports as that." "trying to make mischief; that's what they are; and that's all they have to think about down in the village. the good-for-nothing lazy lot. they naver do a day's work, but just sit around and smoke and spet, and spet and smoke. and then they go tramping all over a body's farm hunting the poor foxes that naver harmed them, and — " (70) a battle with turnips. 71 " but, mrs. mcfarlane, i thought you said the foxes were eating all of your pullets last winter." " eating my pul-lets; and that's what they were, the good-for-nothing thiev-ing beasts. i will be setting a trap for them, if they will be up to their old tricks again this year, the mis-erable scamps! mr. mcglorrie, look you over here in the yard, and see what a fine lot of lye i have been running off. it's all from the ashes of beech and maple, too; but i'm afeard it will every bit spoil for want of boiling." " why don't you send down to my place and get the big kettle to boil it in? " "tone-alt! tone-alt!" she shouted, looking toward the barnyard where donald was engaged. *' tone-alt, hear you what mr. mcglorrie says? you're to go down and get his ketash poh-tal to boil soap. yes, mr. mcglorrie," turning to him again, " if tone-alt be speercd we'll have a ketash poh-tal of ower ain in another 'ear. well, good-by; i must be going to see if the black soo is in the garden, the old hus-sy." after bonaventure had gone on his way, she trudged over to the barnyard, and said: " tone-alt, i canna see the old black soo any place. she must be in the garden. here, tow-ser, come you with me and we will drive her out, the old hus-sy." towser, with one ear on the alert, leaped over the fence, and began to make a noisy circuit of the garden. mrs. mcfarlane, with increasing fire in her eye, fol lowed after, and disappeared around the other side of the house, shaking her head and muttering vengeance on the old sow as she went. she soon appeared again, and calling to donald, said: " tone-alt! come you and help me find the old soo. 73 the hermit of the nonquon. she must be here in the g-arden some place, i think. maybe she is under the house, the old hus-sy. here, towser, si-boy, si-boy! ' " why, mother, here is the old sow lyingin her pen all the while. she has never been near the j^arden." " ljangin her pen is she? the old hus-sy. i'll have her to know — " but donald heard no more, as the old lady disappeared beyond the wood-pile to put a fresh pail of water on the leach. other people usually made their soap in the spring-, but mrs. mcfarlane was liable to start her leach going at any season, and it seemed to donald that she took an especial delight in making soap as often as possible on account of the excuse it gave her for borrowing somebody's kettle. two things were mysteries — where she got so many ashes and what she did with all of the soap. "tone-alt," she said one day, somewhat later, "it is time we are digging the tarnips. it will be freez-ing, and the snow wall be coming, if we do not get them in. (jo you and dig a pit, and we will begin on the morrow." '* what are we going to use to cover the turnips with in the pit before we put the dirt on them? we've no pea-straw this year. t think i'd better go down in the swamp and cut some green brush." "green presh! green prcsh, did you say, tone-alt? well, i naver! bless me, what a boy! you'll do noth ing of the kind. tone-alt. go you over to tougald mclaughlin's and borrow some pea-straw." donald would much rather have labored with the brush than to go on a borrowing expedition, but his a battle with turnips, 73 mother's attitude on the question left him no alterna t '> ve. the mefarlanes had not yet risen to the dignity of owning a root-house, and were obliged to keep their turnips from freezing by using a pit or trench. this was lined with straw, and the turnips thrown in and piled lip to a gable shape, after which more straw was scattered over them, and finally earth thrown on them to a depth which prevented freezing. mrs. mcfar lane was never quite happy from the time the first autumn chill was felt in the air till her turnips were safely housed in this fashion. she always insisted on going out into the field herself to help gather them in, and if the truth be told, she was no mean manipulator of her favorite root. she could handle more turnips than the average man. this year, when the pit was well filled, they had nearly half a wagon-load over, and she said to donald: " go you on and bank over the pit, while i drive these in the wagon down to mr. mcglorrie. he has no tar nips this year, and i will be taking these to him." " you'd best let me put his kettle in the wagon too, and take that home. you've got your soap all boiled." " naver you mind, tone-alt. i will be asking mr. mcglorrie for his flail, when i am taking him the tar nips, and the flail and kettle can go back together." " what do you want with his flail, mother? we have one already." donald was in despair. she looked around severely at him, and said: " tone-alt, i will be helping you this year with the threshing, and we will want two flails." " why, mother, i can easily do the threshing myself, and anyhow, if you want a flail i can make you one." the hermit of the nonquon. " naver you mind, tone-alt. go on with your work," she said, significantly, as she drove away. when she arrived at the mcglorries. she drove up in front of the door and shouted: '' mr.mcglorric! " mrs, mcglorrie appeared at the door, with her sleeves rolled up and her hands white with flour from mixing bread. evidently she was very busy, and was impatient with an interruption of any kind, least of all from the woman who was always trying to borrow something. " my husband is not at home," she said, with a tone of dismissal in her voice. mrs. mefarlane sat like a statue in her wagon a mo ment, and then, evidently bent on being conciliatory, she turned her head, and, looking back into the wagon box, asked if i\irs. mcglorrie had any room in her cellar. mrs. mcglorrie jumped at the conclusion that she was going to ask the privilege of storing something in the cellar for the winter. " jist like her'," she thought to herself. "jist like her. she'll want to borry the rail finces next, and then the house and barn, and fin'uy the whole farm. plague take her!" and then, speaking aloud, she snapped out: " no, i haven't." the scotch woman's resentment began to kindle in spite of her. vshe stood up in the wagon, with fire in her eye, and pointing her bony finger at the turnips, began : *' here's as fine a lot of tarnips — " just then mrs. mcglorrie smelled her bread burning, and breaking into mrs. mcfarlane's speech, she exclaimed: a battle with turnips. 75 " well, you can't leave your turnips here; i can tell you that now. you can take care of 'em yourself. my bread's burning, and i've no time to talk with you. take your old turnips away." she hurried into the house, slamming the door after her. mrs. mcfarlane was furious. jumping in among the turnips, she seized a large one and flimg it viciously at mrs. mcglorrie's door. " the good-for-nothing hus-sy! i'll have her to know — " and bang! went a second turnip against the door, breaking it open. *' your bradc is burn-ing, is it? " she yelled. " come you out here, and i'll break your bones, you good-for-nothing. you won't have my tarnips, hey?" and an incessant shower flew from the wagon into mrs. mcglorrie's kitchen, rolling all over the floor. the irishwoman was soon aroused to defense, and forgetting all about her bread, she seized some of the turnips and began flinging them back at her assailant. a vigorous flow of words and turnips followed. " you old hus-sy " — " you murtherin' old hathen you " — " i'll have you to know" — " you dirty old throllop, take that, will you?" — " you irish soo, i'll be breaking your bones " — ** oh, hear that now, will ye? you old scotch vagabond, i'll smash your skull with a skillet." it was a battle royal between the scotch and irish, fought out on colonial soil, but the woman in the wagon having the " coigne of vantage " may be said to have come off victorious. vshe threw the last turnip from the wagon, and muttering a final imprecation on the head of her antagonist, drove off, leaving behind her in mrs. mcglorrie's kitchen a pile of turnips, and in her bosom a tempest of wrath. tx. the deer-hunt. » ■ ill' t^he season of greatest activity around the nonquon ■'■ was approaching-. during the fall and winter months the inhabitants were more in their native ele ment than at any other time. hunting and lumbering suited the taste of the average nonquonite better than the pursuit of the plow; and there were several log ging-camps in the vicinity, which annually supplied the material for the saw-mills at port rowen, a town situ ated about eight miles from the nonquon, at the foot of the lake. bonaventure was foreman of a camp down on beaver meadow point, and had begun to make preparation for the winter's work. the cutting was mostly done in the early fall, and the logs "snaked" into piles and placed on skidways ready f*^" hauling to the lake with sleds when the snow came. they were then dinnped on the ice, and each lot surrounded by boom-timber, and allowed to remain till the ice broke up in the spring, when they were towed to port rowen by boat. many of the shantymen were french, and this rendered the work very congenial to bonaventure. he was filled with a stirringanimation from the time the first tree was cut in the fall till the last logwas hauled in the spring. "why, b'gob-sir," mr. brown used to say, " bona venter is jest like two different persons summer and (76) i the deer-hunt. 77 winter. in summer he's like a white man, and talks like one, but in winter he splutters around and jabbers away jest like the rest of them french fellers he has workin' for him," and there was much truth in this remark, for bona venture dropped quite naturally into the french dialect the moment he was broug-ht into contact with french men. ** mon dieii " was a favorite expression of his through the winter, and one day when b'gob-sir said to him, " bonaventer, fd like to know what in the dickens you mean by ' mo doo,'" he answered with animation, " now, my fran', that's just it. that's the most beau-ti ful word. * mon dieu ' — that is what the frenchman say when he wish to say 'my goodness.' beau-ti-ful word, b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-1." he would linger over a french phrase that caught his fancy as if he were rolling a " sweet morsel under his tongue." his translations were seldom literally correct, it is true, but he usually caught the true spirit of the term after hearing it used several times by his countrymen. one day in october philander said to him: *' bonaventure, you have your cutters and skidders to work now, and you'd better come out with us for a deer-hunt some day." " very well. who is going? " "jerry — you know jerry is a splendid shot — and prosper — he's got a good dog: and barlow dreeme is coming out from the port to go with us; and then i thought we'd take old b'gob-sir along to have some fun. he has never been out with us, but is always ' what a shooter he is. i don't believe he ever "^ ll ■•toto' 73 the hermit of the nonquon. aic' ! shot anythinjj in his life, but we can git some fun out of him." "all right; i'm ready any time." the party accordingly .started one morning about 4 o'clock, taking with them each a gun, and the two dogs, sancho and mose, tied under the wagon. they were to drive about seven miles to a spot ** across the ma'sh," and leaving the horses tied to the foot-board of the wagon, which was well filled with hay, were going to hunt in that vicinity. " well, i want to say right here," grumbled old b'gob sir, as he sat humped up in the wagon, " that i can't see the pherlosophy of gettin' out of bed and goin' joltin' over these rough roads in the middle of the night to start deer. why, b'gob-sir, the deer'u be asleep for hours yet. i don't believe in goin' snoopin' roimd in the woods with nothin' but the stars blinkin' at you, tryin' to prod some deer up out of a sound sleep with the muzzle of a gun." "the deer'u be awake long before we git there," said phiknidcr, smiling at the old fellow's discomfort. " i'll bet if you was over in the ma'sh in the right spot this minute you'd see three or four deer jest a gittin' up out of their bed of leaves, a shakin' off the dust, and humpin' their backs away up in the air to stretch them selves." "would, hey? darn sight bigger fools than i ever give 'em credit for, then. them blamed dogs under the wagon seem to enjoy this kind of thing. caution how much alike some dogs and some men are." " it's plain to be seen you ain't much of a hunter," laughed jerry. " you'd best go back home and tend bar while i'm gone." the deer-hunt. 79 that was almost too much for the hostler, who intui tively cast a g-lance back toward the nonquon. this broug-ht such a roar from the men that he hitched him self around in his seat again, and darted a threatening look at his companions. ** well now, i'll jest systematically show you fellers about shootin' before we git home. you've dragged me into this thing, and now i'm goin' to show you." the pale moon was just settling down in the west, and the stars, wearied with their nightly vigil, were retreating into the depths of the limitless canopy beyond. it was in that cold, gray, cheerless hour before the dawn, when the glories of the night have all vanished, and the glories of the day have not yet arrived; when a chilling sense of misery steals over the human animal who chances to be abroad at that hour. the time when heavy, reeking mists creep around inanimate objects in field and swamp, rendering ihcm indistinct and goblin-like, and when the atmosphere is dank, and cold, and irritating to the nostrils. " a feller'd think there was frozen pepper scattered through the air this morning," b'gob-sir remarked, after they had jolted along over the rough road for some time in silence. "jerry, did you bring a bottle with you?" "why, you wouldn't expect me to bring a bottle with a party like this, would you? " " well, that last lot o' whisky you got in is mighty poor stuff, i want to tell you. it's jest as well you didn't bring any of it." " how do you know what it's like? i thought you said you hadn't tasted a drop of liquor in three weeks." " well, neither i have. i guess i can tell liquor, though, when i see it." ! i 80 the hermit ov the nonquon. "tell what it tastes like hy looking at it, ean you? sure you didn't jest smell of it? " " now see here," he answered, bristlinj^ up, " you think you're goin' to corner nie — " " no i don't. i was simply wonderinghow you knew anything about the quality of that whisky without tasting it. i—" "why, good christianity among the hottentots," he thundered out, "of coitrsi' i tasted it. how else would i know? that is, i didn't exactly taste it, you know; i jest took a little from the bottle, and — well, i didn't drink any of the stuff — couldn't go it, you see — it tasted so like all fury and brimstone; didn't get the pucker out of my throat for an hour. makes my stomach frizzle yet to think of it. sure you hain't got a bottle here with you, jerry? " jerry slipped a small flask into his hand, and b'gob-sir, tilting back his head, was oblivious to earthly woes during the next few seconds. " mighty poor stuff, i tell you," he sighed as he handed the empty flask to the tavern-keeper. he sub mitted, however, more complacently to the miseries of the situation for the remainder of their journey. it was broad daylight by the time they reached the hunting-ground, and after a cold lunch they started out. by common con.scnt philander was master of the hunt. he and barlow dreemc knew more about the ground than any of the others. they were conversant �ith all the runways, and knew the best spots to station the men. b'gob-sir was placed on a runway not half a mile from the horses and wagon. jerry was sent farther to the northeast, where two runways in tersected, and bonaventure was to go along down the the dker-hunt. 81 marsh creek to a point at which the deer usually crossed when too hard pressed in the marsh. im'osper tryne said he would stay around in the vicinity of the camp, and if the deer ran t(jo far away he would put in his time sh(m)tinyf partridge and rabbits. "i'll load one barrel with buck-shot," he said, ** in case i see a deer, and the other with fine sh(jt for smaller j^'ame." rifles were seldom used in those days by the non quonites for deer-shooting'. double-barreled jiuns, loaded with buck-shot or a loall, formed die favorite fire-arm. barl(jw could go where he pleased, or where occasion seemed to rec^uire him most throuj^h the day. lie started away off toward the east, with the evident con viction that some of the deer would likely elude the men in the marsh, and cross the creek in the direction of the hig'her timber. as philander was walking away, or rather being dragged away by the dogs, down toward a thick part of the marsh, where he expected to put them out, b'gob-sir said to him: " now see here. philander, you ain't stickin' me off some place where there ain't any game, are you? i come out here for the express purpose of shootin' a few deer, and i don't want to be hoodwinked out of it." " no, 3'ou're right (m the main runway, where a deer is sure to pass you within twenty minutes from the time the dogs start it. keep your wits about you, and don't git the 'buck fever ' and miss your shot." " buck fever? what do you mean? " " well, that's a pretty bad give-away. i guess you haven't shot your first deer yet or you wouldn't ask such a question as that. never you mind, you jest go 6 u iiil 82 the hermit of the nonquon. on up the runway, and you'll know soon enough what 'buck fever ' is." b'gob-sir went pottering off to his place, muttering something about certain persons thinking themselves "so darn smart; but he'd show 'em before the day was over." when philander had worked his way well down into the thicket, he had not long to search for a lead. both sancho and mose were frenzied with excitement in anticipation of the chase, and scurried here and there to the limit of their chains, with noses eagerly sniffing the ground. suddenly they halted, and both simulta neously gave a yelp, and strained away at their chains like fiends. they had struck a scent. *' hold on, boys; i don't know about that track. wait till we see if it's as fresh as you seem to think it is." he followed the dogs over the leafy ground till they came to a bare spot that permitted an examination of the tracks. "all right, my boys; i guess that'll do for a starter," and he unbuckled the collars. away they went, out of sight in an instant, and it was not ion 4' before he heard them "giving tongue " off down in the swamp in a rather unexpected locality. he hurried away to the west, thinking the deer might circle in that direction, imd thus evade the men on the runways. he had not gone far, however, when he heard the dogs again, and this time it was plain that the deer had headed about and were making for the main runway, on which b 'gob-sir was stationed. that gentleman, on hearing the dogs, had placed himself behind a fallen tree about thirty yards from the runway, and dropping on his knees, took repeated the deer-hunt. 83 sight across the tree in the direction of the runway, with the evident idea of studying the proper method of shooting the deer as soon as it appeared. he could hear the dogs coming nearer and nearer, and presently their great deep-toned signals sounded startlingly close at hand as they ascended a rise of ground on the side of a ravine which lay between him and the thicket. by the time they reached the summit he could hear something hurrying through the bushes in advance of them, and coming at a bounding pace down across the ravine. shades of the romans! what ailed his heart when that sound definitely struck his ear? it was jumping up and down in his breast, and knocking about under his ribs, and bounding up into his throat enough to choke him. the nearer the sound came the wilder his heart acted, and it suddenly developed an astonishing number of convolutions that in all his experience with it he had never known it to possess. and his hands! what was wrong with them? they were shaking in a v/ay which threatened to send the gun tumbling to the ground. in fact, he was shivering from head to foot, as if struck with a sudden chill. " i wish the good lord i had some of jerry's whis — " bang! he had seen a tawny thing — maybe there were two of them, he was not sure — come bounding along the runway, with nead thrown nobly back over the shoulder, and instinct ively his trembling fingers had somehow pressed the trigger. the shock of the gun added to his excite ment, but it brought back the feeling to his fingers, and seeing something else leaping up the runway, he jumped to his feet and let fiy the other barrel. fortu nately his aim was wild enough to scatter the shot away overhead among the upper branches of the trees, for ty"'e 84 the hermit of tlie nonquon. lit ! 1 iii the second object he shot at was sancho, who louowed np the chase without the slii^htest attention to the crazy old sportsman behind the tree. the next instant mose dashed ahjng with a resoundin^uf yelp, and when it began to dawn on the trembling victim of "buck fever" that the game had actually gone right past liim imharmed, within thirty yards of his gun, he scrambled quickly over the tree and ran pell-mell np the runway, with the vague idea of somehow overtaking the deer and retrieving his pitiable defeat. but the fast reced ing bay of the hounds in the distance soon brought him to his senses, and convinced him that reparation for that blunder must be made in some other way, if indeed it ever could be made. he came walking slowly back, and with a big sigh sat down on the fallen tree. it all seemed like a dream to him. " i'd give anvthing to know if there icas two of *em," he said to himself. then suddenly ])reaking out as if to offer himself some consolation, " wliy, b'gob sir, there isn't a man in the hull party that could 'a' done any better. that blamed deer was jest a — i'd give my best pair of boots to know if there 7i'(rs two — was jest a flyin'. the dogs had it about scared to death, and a feller can't be expected to sh(30t anything when it's a climbin' for kingdom come at that rate." and then, failing to recognize the contradiction in his next remark, he shook his head and vowed, "if i git another chance like that i'll show 'em. i'll blow the everlastin' liver an' lights right out of the next deer that tries to run past me." he reloaded with animation, and t' "^n sat looking with more of a subdued air up into the top branches ot the tall trees around him. vsuddcnly he heard the report of a gun off in jerry's direction. " bet my life iiy, the j)fer-hunt. 85 he missed it," he chuckled. " don't know, though. i'm afraid jerry's a pretty good shot." it grew tiresome sitting there watching the runway, and he finally wandered off farther down into the woods, and groped around to see if he could find some other kind of game to shoot. ** there ain't any deer around here to amount to any thing, anyhow," he muttered to himself. "and there don't seem to be a blamed thing else to shoot, either. i don't see what philander wanted to bring us into such a place a.-, this for, unless it's to make fools of us." it must have been about the middle of the forenoon, when, after tramping around for a long time, he came to a space more open than usual, and stood looking at the tall trees with the vain hope of seeing something in their branches worthy of a shot. it was a quiet, leafy spot, with the hush of an autumn day upon it. the air was still, and the subdued sounds of nature showed her in a mood of mellowest harmony. a detached leaf here and there gently floated to the ground, and a broken twig or bit of bark snapped lightly, and tumbled end over end with more rapid flight. the trees sighed softly, as if in contentment with the fullness of the season, and the sun, peeping in among the branches, showed the beech-nuts just burst ing from their rough and burry shells. the hostler was not i^oet enough to be visibly im pressed with all of these beauties, and was just turning away disgusted with the idea that he could see no squirrels or partridge, when suddenly he stood face to face with three pairs of great soft-brown eyes that looked wonderingly at him from a slight knoll not fifty yards away. he had not heard a sound, and the sud ii i i 86 the hermit of the nonquon. p !i den appearance of the deer — an old buck, a doe, and their fawn — so surprised him that he stood staring at them with his wits gone a-begging. it was only for an instant; the deer suddenly swerved and bounded out of sight behind the knoll. then b'gob-sir exhibited some vigorous movements. he gripped his gun tighter and broke into a lumbering pace up the side of the knoll. he cocked his gun as he ran, fully expect ing the deer would halt within shot and stand staring at him again. that was all he knew about the habits of deer. "not a hide nor hair of the blamed critters anywheres to be seen," he ejaculated, as he stood breathless on the summit. " if i had only been ex pectin' 'em." he dashed pell-mell down the other side of the knoll, in the direction the deer had gone, and began searching here and there behind every clump of bushes. possibly the brave sportsman had a vague idea that the deer had taken it into their heads to lie down and rest. as he was pottering about he was suddenly startled by a terrific explosion, and the gun, jumping from his nerveless hand, fell to the ground. '* what in the name o' cats could have made that c-c-cussed gun go off? " he exclaimed, enraged at the fright he had received. he picked it up, looked at it curiously a moment, and then muttered, '* humph! i guess i must have forgot to uncock it. geewhitaker, how it kicked! " of course all hopes of finding the deer vanished with the report of the gun, and he concluded to go over where jerry was and see what luck he was having. *' and mebbe he has another flask," added the unfortu nate sportsman, who certainly needed something in the form of a solace. so he started out. and — eot lost. x. the hunt continued. 't^he other men were having' var3'ing success. bona -'■ venture had committed the cardinal sin of the sportsman, and was just now sufferingthe penalty of remorse. he had left the runway iniguarded for a short time, with the idea of getting a " still-hunt " shot, and in his absence a deer had crossed the creek at the exact spot where philander had sent him. philander, after a sufficient reconnoiter to convince him of the uselessness of remaining where he was, struck out across the marsh in bonaventure's direction. he found that gentleman berating himself in good french fashion : "look here! look at this. philander," he said, pointing to the fresh tracks of the deer as it had gone down into the creek. " and look over there," signify ing the spot where the deer had clambered out of the water on the other side, leaving plenty of evidence with its dripping hide. "all my fault; all my fault! i went away, philander. i went away, like the great fool i am, and you see what comes of it." he shook his big curly head in anger at himself. " never mind, bonaventure; you're not the first one that's missed a good shot in that way." then, search ing carefully along the runway, he continued: "there was only one dog after that deer. i wonder what has become of the other one. this is sancho's track, and : (87) ^ h k> 'i ii i r 1 i s8 thk mermir of i' h f'. nonquon, t wish mose had stayed with liim, for mose is a young dog and hasn't always the best judgment. lie's phieky, tliough — the pluekiest pup i ever saw. he'd go right into a burnin' brush-heap after his game any day, " yes, he's more faithful than i am," grumbled bona venture, looking ruefully at the deer-traeks. he eould not forgive himself. " oh pshaw, bonaventurc, that's all right. i missed a deer onee myself in that very — hark! that deer has doubled, i believe. i hear the dog. he's coming this way, sure. you may get a shot yet." " if i do, i don't deserve it." "well, keep cool; and we'll see." ' sure enough, the deer was coming back, and evidently on the same runway. " you slip across the creek on that fallen log, bonavcnture, and git a pop at him as he comes down to the water. i'll stay on this side and let him have it in case you miss him." bonavcnture was determined the deer should not get past him alive — he wanted to retrieve his lost reputa tion; and as the deer, a lusty buck, was just springing over a log a few feet from the water, he fired both bar rels in quick succ ssion. over the log the buck went like a flash, carried by the impetus of his flight; but on reai:hing the ground he collapsed and tumbled heels over head. " that's a good shot," called out philander. "yes," admitted bonavcnture, at last appeased. " guess i'll cut his throat.' " look out he doesn't turn on you and strike you with his fore feet. he hasn't quite give up yet. go roimd behind him — and then look out for his horns. a dyin' til • ih'n'i' ( oniiniiki). s!) buck is a dan<;crc)iis tliino' to fool �itli. cut (|iiick and jump away. hello, sanclio, old fellow! here you arc. good boy." and he was insi mtly fondlin^j;and petting the dog, and talking to him as if he were human. who will contend that the dog did not fully understand all he said? there is a subtle sympathy between hunter and hound that might well read humanity many a lesson. barlow dreeme was having a rather unique experi ence that afternoon, which we will alhjw him to relate in his own words in due time. his friends were sur prised to see him come into cam]j toward evening with nothing to show for his day's shooting, for barlow was considered a good shot. he did not come alone, l)e it said. immediately behind him labored the "buck fever " patient, with a strangely unsettled, unsatisfied, unnatural air about him, and a reserve which indicated that his brain was working on some unusual problem of recent date. as barlow and b'gob-sir approached the wagon, they saw the deer in it. " hello! " said barlow, " who shot them? " "bonaventurc shot the buck and jerry the doe," said philander. as the men were filling their pipes preparatory to starting home, bonaventure related his experience with the buck — not forgetting to censure himself once more for leaving the runway. "and where did you shoot yours?" asked barlow of jerry. " over in there, between the third and fourth conces sions," said jerry. "the dogs hadn't been out more'n half an hour \.hen i heard a couple of shots down in b'gob-sir's direction " [here the gentleman in question i j. i! 90 the hermit of the nonquon. h iii shifted uneasily to the far side of the wagon, and stood his gun against the side-board, looking away in a con strained manner at something far off in the woods], "and i supposed all the game would be shot before it had a chance to reach me. but presently a couple of deer came along — " (" then there 'luas two of 'em, after all," muttered b'gol)-sir to himself) — "and i managed to keel this one over. mose stopped running when the doe fell, but sancho kept on after the buck. i started for the wagon with the doe, and thought i'd bring mose with me and tie him up the rest of the day, for ym can't tell what a pup will do if he gets to running alone. but he give me the slip somehow, and the last i heard of him he was givin' tongue away off east, and by the sound of things i guess the deer had started for era ser's creek." " yes," said barlow, somewhat indifferently. " i was over there. they crossed the creek, and headed away northeast toward the cedar swamps. mose will chase that deer till either one or the other drops." the men showed their surprise at this information by asking almost in chorus: " how was it you didn t get a shot at the deer if you were over there." " had something else on hand," was the laconic reply, given in a tone that admitted of no further questioning. " say, prosper," remarked jerry, turning to the owner of mose — who, by the way, had bagged some fine par tridge during the day — " ten to one your dog is lost. what'll you take for your chances on him? " " what'll you give? " " ten dollars," the hunt continued. 91 ** he might come back, and if he does he's worth more than that." ** he might not come back, and if he doesn't he isn't worth anything." "tell you what i'll do," said prosper, after a pause. "you give me $20, and if mose comes back he's your dog. if he doesn't come back, i'll make it right with you by givin' you ten dollars' worth of goods out of the store." jerry knew too well the probable price of prosper's goods in a deal of that kind, and declined the offer. n il xi. a horse-trade. a s the hunters were drivini^hoine in the dusk of the '^*' evening, they met a couple of farmers return inji;from port rowcn, after haulinga load of grain to market. they had paid their respects to the various taverns alontj;' the road, till they were in that condition in which the plebeian considers himself a kini^. there was nothiui^they dare not do, these erstwhile quiet plodders after the plow. ^vs they were approaching the huntini4--party, one was seen to slap the other familiarly on the back, and then both laut^hed uproar iously. when they were alongside, they pulled up their team, and exclaimed: " hovv'll you trade horses? " prosper, who was driving, stopped his horses with apparent reluctance. " oh, i don't know's we want to trade," he said. at the same time he glanced quickly at the other team, and remembered having seen the horses many times before. he knew what they were worth without examining them closely. "which of you owns this team?" asked one of the farmers, who had already jumped out of the wagon and was looking at the horses. " i own the off horse, and this man " — pointing to bonaventure — "owns the nigh one. you'd best stump him for a trade." (93) ( 'i a horse-tradk. o;} prospcr's horse was by far the hetter-hjokiiij;animal, and besides, he seemed a likely mate for the off horse in the other wa^on. " no," s;iid the farmer, " i don't want his horse. what kind of a dicker will you s^-ivc me for that nii^h one of mine? " "i don't care to trade my horse off just now," said prosper, with apparent unconcern. "he doesn't look very well, and i don't want to trade him on that account." " how old is he? " asked the farmer, viewini;the horse with incrcasin<^ admiration. " he's seven years old last sprin*;." " vseventeen, you mean," said the other in a bluffing" way, in.spired by whisky, and a horse-trade. "if you can't believe what i tell you, we'd best ([uit right liere," and prosper made a preten.se of starting up his team. " hold on, now," said the farmer, stopping him. "don't git your l)ack up so quick. a man can say what he likes in a hor.se-deal, can't he? come, now, how'll you trade'. "t tell you my horse doesn't look well, and t don't want to trade. if he looked all right, i wouldn't mind talkin' with you." "nevermind the looks; i don't care anything about that. i'll give you an even dicker for that nigh hor.se." "oh no you don't," said prosper, with a great deal (^f self-assurance. " i didn't suppose there was any use talkin' trade to you when you first stumped me." "well, i'll give you $5 to boot." "you want me to make you a present of this horse, don't you? " mi image evaluation test target (mt-3) 1.0 i.i 1.25 iiiim iiiim iim iiiii2.2 illlm m mil 2.0 1.4 1.6 v] <^ /} 'e^. o a 7 m photographic sciences corporation 23 west main street webster, n.y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 #> v iv ^9) v o 4l>^ :\ \ 6^ ^\.. 4. % n? w q <^ !ii 94 the hermit of the nonquon. " well, how much boot do you want? " " how much'u you give? " " i'll give you $io, and not a cent more." " then you can't trade horses with me," and he once more gathered up the lines as if to start. " hold on here," said the farmer, growing more anxious for the horse all the while. " why don't you say how much you'll take? " " twenty dollars." ** i won't give it." ** all right; no harm done. i knew all along you hadn't $20 to your name. you're a likely horse-trader, you are." the hunter's wagon slowly began to rumble away. the farmer's blood was up — mixed somewhat with bad whisky. prosper's horse looked better to him the far ther away he got. his own seemed stunted and under grown to his bleary eyes. and then that bluff about the money. he had sold a load of grain that day, and had a great deal more than $20 in his pocket. " hold on," he cried, in defiance. " i can buy your whole outfit." " if you're sare you've got $20 with you, i'll trade horses," said prosper, coolly. " unhitch your team, then. wait a minute. maybe that horse won't go on the nigh side." " he'll go on one side as well as the other," prosper assured him. *' it doesn't make a bit of difference to him which way he goes." by the time the exchange was made it was dark; and the hunters drove on toward home with little remark. two members of the party especially were quiet, and apparently absorbed in their own reflections. barlow a horse-trade. 95 and old b'gob-sir had neither one acted naturally since they came to camp together. presently philander remarked: '* what's the matter with you two fellers to-night? i never seen b'gob-sir still so long before, and as for barlow, why, he ain't a bit like himself. what ails you. barlow? " barlow shook himself out of his meditation, and removing his pipe from between his teeth — it had long since gone out — he knocked the ashes on the side-board of the wagon, and spitting out into the ditch, began: "well, i didn't intend to say anything about it, but i've had a mighty bad shaking-up to-day. 1 come across something over a little to the west of eraser's creek that makes my hair almost stand to think about it." philander and bonavenlure were instantly on the alert, and as for b'gob-sir, he began to stare at barlow with a quizzical, peculiar expression on his face. " i struck out this morning over that way," barlow continued, " expecting that if a deer got past you fel lows i'd get a shot at him as he made for the creek. after tramping around for a long time, i heard mose giving tongue away to the northwest, and i started north as hard as i could run, to try to head them off before they reached the creek. i was tearing along through the bushes at a great rate, when all at once i came upon something that nearly scared the wits out of me." *' what was it like? " asked prosper, whose contempla tion of his n2w horse had prevented him from being greatly interested till now. " well, i suppose you'll all laugh at me, but i'm going to tell you just what i saw, as nearly as i can." and then he repeated the description that philander had 96 the hermit of the nonquon. " 1 given of the wild man that night in front of bonavent iire's cabin. philander and bonavcntiire exchanged occasional glances as well as the darkness would per mit, and b'gob-sir appeared strangely agitated and nervous. "at first," said barlow," i was positive it was some kind of a queer animal — " " of course it was an animal,'' broke in b'gob-sir, no longer able to contain himself. the men all looked at him, and asked in a chorus: " how do you know? did you see it?" '■''sec it! should think i did," exclaimed the excited old fellow. "it chased me across fourteen townships! see iti why, god-:i-mighty, it was the most turriblest lookin' thing a man ever sjt eyes on! you don't ketch me over in that neck o' the woods again, let me tell you." there avere two men in the wagon who could not resist a laugh, though the laugh in each case ^^■as impelled b}^ a different reflection. philander remem bered the old felknv's braggadocio that night at bona venture's, and barhjw called to mind the circumstance of his meeting with b'gob-sir that afternoon. " i thought you was goin' over to ferret this thing out for me," said philander. b'gob-sir remained dumb. " so you think it was an animal? " observed barlow. "well, i don't agree with you. i just caught a glimpse of it at first, and it certainly looked like one, but i fol lowed it lip, and saw it several times after that, and an animal doesn't run on two feet the way it did. i was bound to see all i could of it, and instead of it chasing me " — here he looked rather comically at the hostler — a horse-trade. 97 * i chased it. i tramped around that woods nearly half the day, trying to get eloser to it, but i finally lost track of it, and had to give it up. i'm positive, though, that it's a human being of some sort." " how did you two men come to meet each other this afternoon?" asked jerry, who had been trying to put this and that together. " i'll let b'gob-sir tell that," said barlow, who was instantly on the point of a laugh. "well," said the old fellow, ''after i shot at the deer this morning — say, that gun you borrered for me isn't worth the powder to blow it up; you couldn't strike the side of a straw-stack with it if you stood two feet away and shoved the muzzle right into the straw. it jest simply lost us two or three deer to-day, and i don't want you fellers ever to play such a trick on me again." " you had your pick of the guns," interposed philan der, "and that was the only one you would take. bonaventure shot the buck with the gun you said was no good." "that's all right, now; i didn't start out to talk pc ticularly about guns, and if i'm goin' to tell this story, i wish you'd let me alone. well, after the deer passed me — now i jest want to say right here that there isn't a man in the hull party that could 'a' shot them deer the way they was goin'. they'd got kinder tired out by the '.ime they'd run as fur as jerry, and that give him some kind of a show, but when they passed me they was jest simply flyin'. i shot straight enough, there wasn't any doubt about that, for i went over and seen where the shot struck a beech-tree, and it was jest about the right height for a deer; but the animal was m 9a the hermit of the nonquon. runnin' so fast the shot hadn't time to travel that dis tance before it was out of the way. i can tell you, though/' he added, boastfully, " that if the deer had got that load of buck-snot in his carcass he'd never jumped another jump. it was a terror the way that tree was chawed up." " i thought you said the gun was no good," said philander. b 'gob-sir stared at the speaker, and relapsed into a moody silence. " go on with your story," said barlow. " well, after that," he finally continued, " i went off down in the woods to see if i coula git some kind of a decent shot, and i — well, there's no use in me takin' time to tell you where all i went, but — " " do you know yourself? " asked jerry. this was too much for the hostler. "there! that settles it," he exclaimed. "i ain't goin' to say another word. that settles it. if a man can't tell a story without bein' interrupted every second word, it's about time to quit talkin'." "oh, never mind philander and jerry," said barlow, who had good reasons of his own for wishing to see how the old fellow's story would terminate. " never mind what they say. tell us the rest of it." "well, they've got to keep quiet, that's all," he answei'ed, with a shake of his head. being assured that they would, he continued: " i'd been trampin' round quite a spell and got tired, and after awhile i come near the edge of the clearin' and thought i'd set down on a log to rest. i hadn't been settin' there long when i heard something down in the bushes, and thinks i * that's a deer, and i'll give a horse-trade. 91) my gentleman a dose of lead.' i set there quiet with my g-un on my knee, watchin' the direction of the noise, and all at once this — this — this thing that barlow tells you about come slashin' through the bushes right toward m*^, i kinder moved on out into the elearin', so as to git a better look at it, for i couldn't make out what it was through the bushes, and jest as i'd nicely got out into the open space barlow come along, and we started home." the rather tame ending of b'gob-sir's story, and the uncertain inflection of voice, gave rise to some suspicion as to its accuracy. barlow, especially, was much amused, and could not resist a question or two. " how did you come to throw away your gun and start to streak it across the field so fast? if it hadn't been for me you'd have left your gun there yet." •' well, now, i'll tell you the facts about the gun," said the old fellow, once more in trouble, but still undaunted. " i jest thought, as you said a few minutes ago, that the thing might be human, and i was so tempted to shoot it that i thought the only safe way was to throw away my gun, a feller never knows what foolish things he may do if he has a gun in his hand." " yes, but what about the two bears? you said 5^ou had just been chased out of the woods by a couple of bears." " oh, that's all right about the bears. i had to tell you something, and i was bound you shouldn't go down in there and git a glimpse of that — that thing if i could help it. i knew jest how it would frighten you; and then it was time we was startin' for camp," barlow spared him the recital of the true state of 100 the hermit of the nonquon. affairs when he found him. the truth was that on his way to the camp he was attracted by a series of the most unearthly yells that ever came from human throat, and emerg-inj4" into the small clearing he saw our vera cious friend running' at top speed, without hat or gun, and with hair aloft and eyes protruding, cmittiug the while a plaintive wailing, half yell, half cry. he was in a state of terror bordering on collapse, and barlow had some difficulty in quieting him. it was only after they were within sight of the wagon that he left off turning around and looking back every few steps. after all there can be little wonder that he was frightened, for he had been much imnerved. by being lost in the woods, and had wandered off in that direction without the slightest idea where he was, till rescued by barlow after his fright. as the hunters' wagon rumbled slowly over the brow of a hill, an occasional feeble light here and there llick ering from a candle showed them that they were near the nonquon village, and the only remark of note was made by bonaventurc, who stated that without delay a party must be organized to go over in that region and learn somethiniimore definite about the wild man. xii. the sequel to a horse-trade. "defore noon the fouowin^^ day two events occurred at the nonquon as the direct result of the hunt and the horse-trade. philander was walking aimlessly alongthe village street, with his hands deep in his trousers pockets and his pipe at a convenient angle between his teeth, when suddenly he stopped, took his pipe from his mouth, and looking intently up the road broke into a delighted exclamation at something he saw coming toward the village. " well, by gracious! if there ain't mose, sure'spreachin'. that dog is worth a farm this minute. here, old fel low, come over here." he shouted, as the hound came loping toward him, with tongue hanging out and a generally tired air, as if he had gone a long chase. mose jumped across the ditch in answer to the call, and philander, in his exuberance, caught him up and carried him in his arms to the store door, where he called out to prosper: " here you are. here's mose safe and sound. you ought to be proud of that dog, for he's made of the best kind o' stuff ever was put in a pup. and you can thank your lucky stars that it was an honest man who shot the deer in front of him, too, or you'd never seen your dog again." (101) 102 the hermit of the nonquon. " that's so," said prosper. " if it had been most men they'd have kept both dog and deer." *' well, you ean afford to let them have the deer, since they've sent mose home." ** yes, the deer wouldn't amount to much anyhow after runningso many hours. guess jerry '11 wish he'd taken my offer when he sees mose is back. i '^an tell you that no man is goin' to lose much by takin' up any offer i make him." this was said with a sunday-school air, which not only grated on philander's ear, but which was belied the next moment by the appearance of the farmer with whom the store-keeper had traded horses the previous evening. he drove up in front of the store with the horse he had got from prosper, and jumping out of his wagon, asked in an aggressive tone: "where's that horse of mine?" "it looks as if you had him hooked up there in that wagon," coolly answered prosper. " oh, you know what i mean. i want the horse you beat me out of last night." . " beat you out of? " " yes, beat me out of — that's plain enough, isn't it? " " not quite plain enough for me. i don't know what you're drivin* at." " don't, hey? you're mighty blind all at once; but you ain't quite so blamed blind as that old plug of a horse you sneaked off onto me. go and look at his eyes, and see what you have to say for yourself." " oh, i've seen 'em before," carelessly remarked the store-keeper. " well, what are you goin' to do about it? " "nothin'." the sequel to a horse-trade. 103 ** nothin'! do you mean to say you're g'oin* to cheat a man out of his horse by such a low-down lyin' trick as that? " ** now i don't know what you're drivin' at. i hain't done no lyin' nor cheatin' that i know oi." " do you mean to tell me that you didn't know that horsf was blind?" " why of course i knew he was blind." ** then what did you trade him to me for? " " because you wanted him." ** well, but i didn't want him if he was blind." " you didn't tell me that." " you didn't tell me he was blind. a man that'll — " " hold on there; hold on jest a minute. don't be too sure about that. you couldn't 'a' been payin' close attention to what i was sayin' last night. don't be too certain i didn't tell you." "tell me! you never said a word about him being blind from the bei^inning of the deal to the end. i guess i know what — " "hold on, now; keep cool jest a little spell, till you've had time to think. mebbc i didn't exactly mention the word blind; ain't quite sure that i did, now i come to think about it, but i put the thing in such a shape that a man with his wits about him might have known what was meant. i didn't suppose you was anybody's fool. i told 5'ou two or three times that the horse didn't look well, and that i didn't care to trade him on that account. i tried to git you to trade for the other horse, but you wouldn't have it. you said yoii didn't care how my horse looked. i jest simply give you your own way, and now you ain't satisfied." the man saw the trap into which he had fallen, and 104 thk nku.mir of iiik nonuuon. inwardly cursed two thinj^s — the individual who had duped liim and the whisky which had rendered him susceptible of bein^ duped. prosper, it is probable, had been the object of similar imprecations on like occasions before, and it is • rely a matter of hist(jry that this is not the first instance where whisky has been held as an accomplice when arraigned in the court of sober reflection at its session of " the next morning." "well, that's what i call worse than lyin'," bitterly observed the farmer. " any decent man will have a little respect for what he says, even in a horse-trade." "oh, you've chaiijj^ed your mind since last niyht. that wasn't what you said then. i remember you told me that ' a man can say what he likes in a horse-deal, can't he?' simply takin' you at your own word, don't you see? and yet, as i said before, you ain't satisfied." " no, i ain't satisfied. i want to know how you'll trade back. i can't do anything" with that old blind-eye out there." "well, if you can't do anything with him, what do yon s'pose i could do with him?" asked prosper, with a rather cunning twinkle. " you might trade him off to some other darn fool v^dio was half-full of whisky," answered the farmer, with bitter sarcasm. this evidently put an idea into pros per's head. he looked out at the horse standing in front of his store. he was certainly a fine appearing animal. " well, how do you want to trade back? " he finally asked. " that's just what i asked you." " but i didn't answer it, did i? " " no, i noticed that." i tiif, sf.quki, to a mnkski'r a |)e. !():» " well, notice it once more. the propersition niusl come from you this time. 1 told you hist ni,i,'-ht how i'd trade, and now it's for you to say how you'll tratlo back." " i paid you $20 to boot last night, didn't i?" prosper nodded his head indifferently. "well, you ^dvc me $15 of that back and take your horse, and i'll take mine. you never made $5 easier." the store-keeper was leaning" carelessly against the counter, and when the farmer made this proposition he looked off out of the window and began whistling s(>me slow air in a quiet, subdued tone, as if oblivious to everybody around him. the farmer looked at him intently, and commenc*.;d to get uneasy. "vso you won't do it, hey?" he ventured. prosper slowly shook his head, still looking out of the window. "well, what 7t'/// you do, then?" asked the farmer, somewhat desperately. "you're makin' the propersitions this time," was the cool reply. "ah right; you can keep $10 of. the boot money, then." another slow snake of the head. "well, for god's sake take $15 of it, then! vswindle me right out of $15 if you want to. shove your hand down into a man's pocket and steal $15 cnit of it, just because you've got a good chance. will that do you? will $15 do you? " prosper began to arrange some plugs of tobacco on the shelf behind him, whistling the same slow tune. " what in thunder do you mean, anyhow? " stormed the farmer. " ain't you goin' to take the $15?" 106 the lif.rmrr of the nonquon. a slower shake (^f tlie head than ever, without turn ing from the tobacco. tlie farmer looked at him for a m.oment, and then, suddenly whccliufi;' around, told him to "^o to ," and went out, slamniin^.j;the door viciously. he drove across the road to jerry's tavern, and tyingthe hor^e, » disappeared in the bar-room. " he'll git drunk, and then come back here and abuse me, i s'pose," was prosper's uncomfortable reflection. but while the store-keeper's reasoning certainly ap peared plausible, it turned out amiss this time, for the farmer had not much more than entered the tavern when he came out again, and walking across the street, approached prosper in a more subdued manner. " no use talkin'," he said. " you've got the bulge on me, and i suppose i'll have to put up with it. you can keep the whole $20. let's change horses and be done with it. it's pretty tough to throw away $20. but i can't take that blind horse home with me as>;ain." "tell you what i'll do," said prosper, leaning over, with his elbows on the counter. " tell you what i'll do. i'll trade back all right, seein' you will have it that way, but you must leave that harness on the mind horse and hitch your horse up in my harness. you see that harness fits the blind horse at present, and i've fitted my harness to your horse, so it'll save takin' up and lettin' out a good deal." "well, but i can't do that," expostulated the farmer. " that is a brand-new harness that i bought at port rowen yesterday, while yours is an old one. i'll fit the horses myself. you needn't bother about that." "welly yoit needn't bother about it either," said pros per, significantly. id the sequel to a horse-trade. 107 the farmer looked at him in a queer way. **so you won't trade back without the harnevss thrown in' " *• not exactly thrown in," said prosper. " we trade harness as well as horses, that's all." a peculiar light came i:ito the farmer's eye — not altogether a pleasant light. ^^ all right," he said, sim ply, "goto the stable and harness my horse, while i unhitch this one from the wagon." as prosper saw the blind horse led into the stall with a new harness on, he felt quite well disposed tt)ward the world generally, but the farmer had not driven away many rods when he was hailed by the store-keeper, who exclaimed: "hold on! come back here with my harness, you rascal! you've cut this harness all up, and i won't have it." " you was bound to have it a few minutes ago, and now you've got it," answered the farmer, with the first pleased look on his face he had exhibited that day. "yes, but you have ruined it with your jack-knife, and i'll have you arrested if you don't — " " you'll have to prove that i cut it first," sang out the farmer, derisively, driving away all the while, and grinning back in a taunting manner at prosper. "you're a scoundrel! " cried prosper. "scoundrel would be a pet name for you," said the farmer. "if that harness doesn't suit you, just buy another with that $20 you swindled me out of." " i'd rather be a swindler than a sneak," yelled prosper. " i'd rather be a sneak than a hypocrite and liar,'" shouted the farmer. " you're both of 'em yourself," shrieked prosper. 108 the hermit of the nonquon. *' you're all four put together," was the retort. *' throw you into a pot and boil you down and there'd be nothing left but a mass of meanness and bad grease." " i'd like to hang your hide on a barn door to dry and then use it for a target," was the soothing re sponse. " there wouldn't be enough of your hide left to shoot at if i got hold of you," came the comforting reply. and with these tender compliments the distance grew too great for even the highly pitched voices to travel, and the belligerents had to content themselves with shakings of the head, and mutterings, and sub dued threats. xiii. searching for the wild man. a ccording to arrangements made after the deer ^^^ hunt, barlow dreeme eame out from port rowen the followingweek, and he and bonaventure and philan der started in search of the wild man. b'^ob-sir was invited to accompany them, out waived the invitation. " you fellers can i^o nosin' off into that neck o' per dition if you want to, a lookin' f(;r somethinii;' you'll be sorry you found; but as fur's i'm concerned, enoui>h's as good as a feast. avhy, b'gob-sir, you dc^n't know what you're thinking about. you'll all git lost in that mis'able jumpin'-off place, and even if you don't lose yourselves, you're h'lole to run across somethin' that'll scare the liver and lights right out of you. i tell you what it is, you hain't any idea v/hat the blamed thing is like. it's somethin' more than an animal, and yet it ain't human by a long shot. i ain't nobody's fool, i want you to understand, and i've seen s(miethin' of the world, but i never run acro.ss anythin' that could touch one side of that thing for looks. you can go down there and tackle it all you like, but you don't take a man of the name of brown with you." it was decided by the men to go up one side of the creek and come back the other in their search. phi lander had encountered the wild man on the cast shore, and barlow on the west, and they were therefore uncer tain as to his exact whereabouts. ( 109 ) no the hermit of the nonquon. hi! *' let's take in the west bank first," said barlow, when they arrived at the creek, " and then if necessary we can cross over and come down this side. this shore is terribly rough, and anyhow i believe we'll find some thingon the other bank." but his reckoning proved amiss. after a weary tramp of several hours along the west shore without result, they were forced to abandon their search in that direc tion and cross the river. bonaventure seemed disappointed. he had appeared more eager and excited than either of the others. " i don't believe we'll find anything," he ventured, when they were starting south along the east shore. "if w' don't it won't be because there's nothing here," said the other two, almost in a breath, and with much significance. the men were working their way down into the thickest part of the undergrowth about a half-hour later, when philander, who was ahead, suddenly stopped, and turning to one side picked up a stone twice the size of a man's fist. it was moss-covered on one side, and the other showed fresh from the earth where it had only recently been dislodged. he held it up to bona venture and barlow with a meaning expression on his face. " oh, that might have been turned over by some ani mal," said bonaventure. " not likely," said barlow, looking intently at the stone. " especially," said philander, *' as it's been used to pound something with. look here," he suddenly ex claimed, after examining the ground for some distance searching for the wild man. ill aroimd, "there's the big stone that's been used to pound against." sure enough, there lay a large stone, with the moss displaced, showing where something had been battered upon it. " it's butternuts, that's what it is. some one has been cracking butternuts with the two stones." the three men looked at each other for a moment, and then without a word turned to pursue their search. they were more alert now, more expectant, and all three were excited. they pushed their way into diffi cult places, over fallen trees, through thick brush, always keeping as near the river as possible. the air was chilly and the surroundmgs somber. down in the depths of the ravine, through which the river ran, there was little stir of life, but upon the hill side a busy squirrel chattered in shrill notes, and a woodpecker thumped resoundingly at a hollow stub. a flock of crows cawed in the distance, an occasional out break among them seeming to indicate a lively debate over some matter of great importance — probably the advisability of a precipitate journey south to a warmer clime. the tall trees scattered here and there among the thicker brush sighed ominously, and one lordly old pine with a forked cedar lodged against him groaned at every sweep of the wind, as if weary of his burden. " i don't wonder that pine-tree is tired holding that cedar up so long," observed barlow, looking over to where the two trees came together. " see how the cedar has worn a deep groove on each side of the pine. it must be years since the cedar got lodged there." "yes, and it may hang on for years yet," observed philander. 112 the hermit of the nonquon. the men little imagined the part this forked cedar leaning against the pine had played, and was yet to play, in connection with the object of their search. "here's a beaten path — look you!" suddenly exclaimed bonaventiire, who seemed more > intent on other matters than the phenomena presented by a couple of trees. " an animal, it may be," he added, examining the path; "but i hardly think so. in any event we'll follow it up." somehow bonaventure's french instincts began to appear very vividly as he hurried along the winding path. he was unduly excited, and evidently labored under a straining suspense. one instant he was down on his knees closely scanning the indistinct foot-prints, the next he was vigorously pushing his burly form through the thick bushes, and glancing quickly before him in apparent anticipation of — something. in places the heavy brush formed a low archway over the path, as if the underbrush had been kept apart by repeated goings and comings. on account of the wild, rugged condition of the earth, the path wonnd hither and thither to avoid rocks, and knolls, and stumps, and partly fallen trees. "this is a terrible spot," observed barlow, as his hat was dragged off by a protruding limb. " i can make nothing out of it — nothing at all out of it — it puzzles me," said bonaventure, stopping long enough to wipe the perspiration from his broad brown forehead. " the path seems to go nowhere. it twists here, it twists there " — he was gesticulating in true french fashion — " but it comes to nothing. it must be an animal — but no " — slowly shaking his head, and bending down once more to examine the path — " tjiat searching for the wild man. iia isn't an animal. an animal makes no such a regular path." " yes they do," interposed barlow and philander, who were hunters. " animals often make a perfectly beaten path." " but you both said it ivasn't an animal," suddenly turning and looking at them in a queer way. the two men could scarcely fathom bonaventure's peculiar agitation.. in truth it was something that no one could fathom — not even bonaventure himself. " well, we're not likely to find out what it is if we stand here," said philander. "well, but, now, look you! " said bonaventure, in an argumentative way. " what's the use? here we've been looking and looking, and tramping and tramping, and no end to it all. what's the use? " philander and barlow looked inquiringly at each other. what had so suddenly come over bonaventure to make him hesitate just when their search promised some thing? they could not understand it. it looked as if he were afraid, and yet bonaventure was no coward. " surely you don't want to give up the search and go home now, when there is some prospect of success. this path must lead somewhere, and i vote we fol low it." "well, you go ahead," said the frenchman, waving his big hand in the direction of the path. then, see ing the expression on the faces of his companions, he broke out: " no, boys, i'm not afraid. it ain't that. i don't know what it is, but i ain't afraid. i never was afraid — but — i — i — feel queer, somehow. you go ahead." philander led the way. they had not gone far when 114 the hermit of the nonquon. bonaventure broke out again, after squeezing his bulky form between an upturned root and a large rock : " this is awful. look what a place. anything human to live in such a spot as this! boys, you sure it was human? it can't be human." " that's hard to say," said barlow. " but anyhow you'll surely have as good a chance to judge as the rest of us before long. if we don't come across the thing itself, we'll find the place where it lives, if we keep on." "hello!" exclaimed philander, who was a few steps in advance. " see here! " he had climbed up a steep incline of rock, along the sides of which rude steps were formed by natural indentations, and near the sum mit the path suddenly ended. a large flat stone marked the spot, and the men, after studying the situ ation, decided to move the stone. when pushed aside it revealed an opening leading into a dark cavern made by a cleft in the rock. the opening was nearly round, but so small that a man the size of bonaventure could not have forced his body through. the edges of the rock on two sides were worn smooth, indicating the fre quent passage of something in and out of the cave. the men peered cautiously into the opening, but could discern nothing in the darkness. " i'm goin' to see what's in there, anyhow," said philander, striking a light, and holding it into the mouth of the cavern. "well, if that ain't a pictiire! " he exclaimed, a moment later, withdrawing his head as the light went out. " that beats anything i ever seen in civilization. there's nothing alive in there, but there's more truck and dicker than you could shake a stick at in a month of sundays. you jest keep watch on the outside here, and i'll go down and explore." searching for the wild man. 115 after forcing his way, with some difficulty, tlirough the opening, he exclaimed: "why, it ain't so dark, after all, when you're once inside." " well, what do you see in there?" " what don't i see? better ask me that. i could answer it easier. here's a lot of old bones cut and carved into the funniest shapes you ever saw, and stuck here and there all over the place. and here's some furs piled up in one corner. i wondered what had been at my traps along the creek for the last two or three years. and there's a piece of old yellow newspaper fastened to the side of the cave by runnin' a twig through it and pinnin' it into a crevice in the rock. well, if that ain't — good lordy, what kind of readin' is this, anyhow? the paper is yellow enough to be a thousand years old, but for all that i could read it if — if it zuas readin'. but such a mixed-up mess of letters you never saw. what do you suppose this spells ? ' c-h-a-q-u-e-t-t-e f-i-l-s ' — " " never mind the paper; tell us what else is there," said bonaventure, impatiently. " well, here's some dried meat, and an old sap-bucket, and nuts — why, there's nuts enough here to keep a bear eatin' ten years; hazel-nuts, beech-nuts and butter nuts — loads of 'em. and an old flint-lock musket, made, i should say, about the time of the flood, a pat tern i never saw before; and an odd kind of tobacco pipe too. bonaventure, you ought to have this. doesn't look as if it had been smoked since the war of 1812." "no," said bonaventure, " i don't want it. leave it there. what else? " he asked, greedy for further infor mation. " oh, i don't know what all," answered philander, 116 the hermit of the nonquon. •i glancing around him curiously. " the walls of the cave are all marked with the queerest figures, as if the rock had been carved with some kind of a sharp instrument, probably a sharp-cornered flint-stone. but these nuts, you ought to see 'em — must be millions. well, that's the snuggest little spot i've seen for many a day," he remarked, as he was climbing out. " i wouldn't mind livin' in there myself." " now the question comes as to the occupant," said barlow. "yes, that's so, that's so; there t's something, after all," remarked bonaventure, half to himself. the men were standing near the opening of the cave, and philander had just replaced the stone, when bar low, looking down toward the creek, remarked: " why, see; we're right opposite the big pine and the forked cedar. i had no idea they were in sight yet. that path must be terribly crooked." suddenly bonaventure began to act strangely. he darted to one side, and stared down at the pine-tree, as if trying to see something on the other side of it. the cedar leaned against it from the opposite direction, and little of it could be seen except the forked portion. "see! see! quick! look you! look yon!" excitedly exclaimed the frenchman, beckoning to the other two. hurrying to where he stood. barlow and philander saw scrambling down the inclined cedar the identical object that they had each encountered before in the woods. ^' mon dieu! mon dieu! this is dreadful. it can't be human. it 7/mst be human. tell me, is t/mf what you saw? " asked bonaventure, turning to the others. they both nodded. then the three, with a common r searching for imf, wit, i) man. m purpose, started quickly clown the path toward the trees. but when they arrived, all trace of the lively moving^ creature was lost, and search as they would, they could not again get track of it. it seemed to move so noise lessly through the bushes that not a sound was audi ble. what appeared more peculiar still was the fact that there was no distinguishable path leading up to the foot of the cedar, while the one they had followed to the cave had its distinct origin at that point. clearly there was some connection between the cedar and the cave, but what it was they were unable to determine. night was approaching, and there was nothing left for the men but to abandon further investigation, for that day at least, and go home. xiv. pierre dufresne. 11 7" hen the story had been told at bonaventure's ' ^ fireside that night, and the matter fully dis cussed, it was the general conclusion that little more could be done for the present to unravel the mystery. ** i've been away from the camp two days now inside of a week," said bonaventure, "and the skidways are not filling up as fast as they should; so i must look sharp after my work. but, look you," he added, impressively, " we must know more about it. it must be tracked, and followed, and watched; and if neces sary it must be caught. anyhow, we must know more about it. it will never do — in this age — a human being — (it ;/ii(st be human)," he interposed to himself imder his breath. " a human being to go like that — it will never do." "well now, let me tell you," broke in b'gob-sir, who had been waiting at the mcglorries since early in the evening to hear the report of the searching-party, " my opinion is that the best thing to do is to do nothing at all. what you goin' to do with it if you should catch it? that's what i'd like to know. you can't start a menagerie with it if it should turn out to be an animal, and you can't make a man of it if it should turn out to be a monkey, and you can't make nothin' at all out of it if it should turn out to be a man. now what the dickens is the sense o' scarin' folks to death for nothin'? " (us) pierre dufresne. 119 , " faith, and i think the same thing-," said mrs. mcglorrie, with much fervency. *' i've alius been agin it. no earthly good can come of it, i can tell you that — traipsin' off like all possessed a meddlin' with things that's none of your affair." ** i don't see myself that much good can be accom plished by a further search," remarked barlow. *' no," said philander, looking into the fire, and speaking slowly, as if his mind were at a distance. " it docs look as if it was foolish to follow it up — " " oh, you're all cowards, every one of you," snapped out gabrielle, who had been listening intently. " that is, every one but father," she added, as he turned to look at her in some surprise at the outbreak. " i wish i was a man," partly to herself, but loud enough for her mother to catch it. " well now, just listen to that, will you? gabrielle, you're out of all manner of reason with anything i ever seen in the shape of a girl. you're always taken up with something that's more befitted to hathens than to civilized bein's. there's them moccasins you brought home with you the other day from that dirty old indian. i'll say this for him, though, i'd no idee he'd ever make 'em for you." " so andy brought you the moccasins, did he? " phi lander remarked, with a smile. " i guess he wantedto keep his hide whole." " gabe," piped in dennie — virtuous little dennie, "next time you catch a fish, you'll git me a pair of moccasins, won't you? " " there now, jiist listen to the boy," again broke out mrs. mcglorrie. " dinnie, it's your bed-time long ago. off with you this minute. moccasins indeed; and you r i i 120 the hermit of the nonquon. with as good a pair of boots as a boy ever had — red tops, copper toes, and all." gabrielle watched her chance, and when no one noticed, she reminded philander of his promise to take her up eraser's creek some day. "all right, gabc, i'll do it, if it scares you into fits." '* i'll risk the scare," with a toss of her head and a curl of her lip. " gabe, you're purtier when you try to be saccastic than you be any other time, and blamed if you ain't purty any time." ** philander, i wouldn't take that from another man on earth only you. i'd slap him in the face." " i believe you, gabe." *' well, good-night. i like you all the better for say ing it." " i believe you there again." " go on, now; you'll say too much if you ain't careful." "well, good-night." the next morning bonaventure went over to the lumber-camp bright and early, and found all the men hard at work except one of his countrymen, pierre dufresne. " well, pierre, what's the matter this morning? " asked bonaventure. "oh," answered the frenchman, with a woebegone countenance and a hand laid distressingly over his stomach, " i got a crank on my stom-meek." pierre frequently had this same " crank," and it was noticeable that it always came on just at a time when he was most needed in the woods. moreover, the affec tion appeared peculiar from the fact that he was a singularly healthy and robust individual in appearance; j v pierre dufresne. 131 ' ' \, ) and no matter how severe the " crank " happened to be pierre could be counted on to do double duty at meal time. " what's wrong with pierre? " asked one of the under foremen of bonaventure, as he was walkingacross the yard to the camp. " oh, he's got a ' crank' again," replied bonaventure, with a screwing up of his face and a mock solicitation which was not without its humorous effect. "why don't you sack that lazy dog, bonaventure?" the foreman simply shrugged his shoulders, and said, evasively: "oh, i don't know." " guess it's because he's a frenchman, isn't it? " " mebbe it is — i don't know — mebbe it is." pierre was a married man, and lived with his wife in a small log cabin near the main camp, " my waf she lak to wash, you see," he always said, with an apol ogetic grin, to any one who chanced to see her at her usual avocation of bending over the tubs. "like to wash indeed; yes, i'm sure any one would like such work as this," was mrs. dufresne's testy rejoinder. " straining a body's life and soul out every day tryin' to get these shantymen's clothes clean; and then only paid enough to barely buy bread and potatoes, when a lazy shirk of a husband does nothing but cat them. i don't like this work any more than you like rollin' logs in the woods, but i don't wiggle out of it as often as you do." pierre always took these tirades with a good-humored grin. " my waf, j^-ou see, she has her tongue, mebbe — but then, all the same, she lak to work." it was a way he had of easing a rather sleepy con 122 the hermit of the nonquon. science to insist that his wife preferred labor to rest. as for himself, he had a lively appreciation of the com forts of life, with an exaggerated aversion to the discom forts. he would smack his lips with satisfaction over a drink of cool spring-water, but never could see the philosophy of taking a pail to the spring and carrying the water himself. he was fond of finery of the flashy, shoddy sort, and doted on a new woolen sash, highly colored, as a boy would over a brilliant toy. he had a way all his own of tying his sash, and while the other shantymen were content with winding theirs around them and giving them a careless twist, for the practical purpose of holding them in place, pierre always took great pains to see that his had a nicely turned knot precisely in front of him, and that the tasseled ends were brought around to his right hip, tucked under the belt and carefully spread out to make the most elabo rate display. underwear, as the term is usually under stood, was little indulged in by the shantymen. if one pair of trousers was not warm enough, two pairs were worn, the larger drawn over the smaller. usually one pair was too old and tattered to be worn in any other way, and this fact led pierre to revolt against the prac tice; so he accordingly mustered the means to buy him self a regulation pair of drawers. the problem now was to let his friends know of his acquisition. in his own mind he had risen vastly in social rank the moment a new pair of drawers lay concealed beneath his trousers, but the very fact that they were concealed worried him. he went around among the men all day when he first put them on, with this load on his mind. he thought at one time of contriving in some way to make a slit in his trousers on the limb of a tree, and r pierre dufresne. 123 thus expose his drawers, but the awful thought hashed across him that he rpight accidently tear the drawers. sitting moodi'y by the fire in the evening, revolving the thing in his mind, he startled the men around him by suddenly slapping his thigh with his hand, and enthusiastically exclaiming: " das my trawsers, avcc my drawers/ by golly ^ she's warm! " pierre," said bonaventure the next morning after the " crank," '* i guess the only way to get any work out of you is to let you drive a team. you can hitch up the kedge team and go down to port rowen after provisions." pierre was delighted. there was little work about this, and he could manage to throw a great deal of importance into the position. he soon had his team decorated with cheap ribbon, though to speak literally the horses did not suffer from over-grooming. before he had been a week in charge of the team he had assumed a proprietorship in them that was ludicrous. " das de bes' team i ever draw a lang. af any man ax me what i take for dat team, i ax 'em right off, i shan't touch it." '* pierre will own the whole camp before the winter is half over if he keeps on," laughingly observed a shantyman to three or four comrades as they listened to this remark. "there's one thing he won't own, though, if he doesn't look out," said another. *' he will have to turn over a new leaf, or he won't own his wife very long. that woman'u leave him sure, and i wouldn't blame her a bit if she did. she's supported him ever since they was married." " leave him! not much she won't. you don't know iii 124 the hermit of the nonquon. what you're talkin' about. a woman will stick to a great lazy lunkhead of a fop like him and work her finger-ends off, but let a decent, plain, hard-handed sort of a fellow come along and she'll stick up her nose at him. oh, d n the wimmen! i hain't no use for em. this latter remark was expressed with such bitter significance that it is possible the speaker had passed through some personal experience which had warped his ideas of such matters; and if the history of all shan tymen were known, it might be found that many of them had drifted into this kind of life as the result of misimderstandings which, if we are permitted to esti mate the possibilities of human happiness, never should have occurred. f xv. an old-time revival. a utumn has passed rather abriiptly into winter, '^~*' and winter in the region about the nonquon means something. it means snow for one thing, great broad fields of it, knee-deep at first, and growing deeper at each successive storm, till sometimes it reaches two, or even three, feet on the level. it means cold, clear, crisp weather, which makes the trees in the woods snap with the frost, and sends the blood tingling through the checks. of course there is a frozen ear now and then, or a frozen nose, or even a frozen finger; but there is also a clear atmosphere, through which a peal of laughter will ring for a long distance, and echo back other peals. the sleigh-bells — best music of all — jingle from morning till night, and then far into the night, accompanied by the squeak of runners over frozen snow. in the early morning a dense mist comes from the breath — sometimes thick enough to be mis taken for tobacco-smoke — filling the shaggy beards of the shantymen with frost and icicles. the days are short, so that long before daylight and long after dark the shantymen are waking the echoes among the tall pines with their shouts and songs. it is the happiest season around the nonquon. mrs, mcfarlane's *' tar-neeps " are long since safely housed, the foxes which so ruthlessly stole her pullets are pretty v/ell shot off, and the old " soo " is in her (125) 126 the hermit of the nonquon. winter quarters. the only disturbing reflections which affect the widow are that donald will persist in taking his team to the shanty to work, and that it is a poor time of the year for potash kettles. old b'gob-sir potters around jerry's tavern with immense ear-laps sewed to his cap and tied under his chin, and his feet encased in mammoth moccasins. prosper tryne is in his element, for this is the season of "protracted meetin','* and if there is anything which prosper really excels in it is " exhortin' " at these meetings. this winter there was a new preacher on the circuit, with headquarters at port rowen, and he proposed holding his first revival at the nonquon, that being one of his appointments which seemed most in need of such work. he was a young unmarried man, and this was his first charge. he was honest, and in earnest, and when he announced one sunday after his sermon that a week from the following monday nightly services would be held " for the purpose of reclaiming lost souls to jesus," there was a flutter of expectancy on the part of the little congregation, " i feel doubly reinforced for this work," he said, "from th3 fact that i see so great a necessity for it in your midst, and also from the fact that i have so able an assistant in brother tryne. i sincerely hope and pray that our labors will result in a bountiful harvest being reaped in this vineyard of the lord." when b'gob-sir heard of the coming revival, he remarked: "well, prosper prob'ly won't trade horses much in the next few weeks. that's one blessin' in advance." " you'll change your tune about prosper when you t^imm an old-time revival. 127 hear him exhortin' a little while," said one of the by standers. " mr. springle may be a good devoted preacher, but when it comes to fetchin' folks up to the penitent bench, i don't believe he can touch one side of prosper." "that's so," said philander hunt, who overheard the remark. *' i think i'd 'a' been converted long ago by prosper if i hadn't seen anything of him only what i've seen in protracted meetin'. he does make a person feel for the time that everything in this world is goin' to turn out blacker'n a thunder-cloud unless you come up to that bench." " well now," blurted out the hostler, " i don't think i'll change my tune any, because i don't intend to go and hear him. why, b'gob-sir, the minute i'd see him beginning to put on a sanctimonious face i'd feel like gittin' up and spittin' right at him. i'd do it too — blamed if i wouldn't." " oh no you wouldn't," said gabriellc, who happened to be passing as he made the remark. " you'd be blubberin' first thing you knew, and wipin' your eyes on your coat-sleeve." " there now, i — " but the crowed laughed at him so that he wheeled and walked off in high dudgeon toward the tavern. the first night of the revival there were few faces seen in the little low school-house where the services were held except those of the regular congregation. the most conspicuous figures were the widow farley, who was always on hand to lead the singing; ]\[rs. tryne, who occupied a seat near the front; her husband, who held the post of honor beside the minister; ]\irs. mcglorrie, who had always been a consistent member 128 the hermit of the nonquon. of the church except when she had the row with mrs. mcfarlane over the turnips, and who, by the way, must look forward, as these services went on, to a great struggle with herself in order to develop contrition enough to forgive the scotch woman; and several others of lesser note in the neighborhood. the meet ings had not yet begun to draw people from a distance, or, as b'gob-sir irreverently remarked: "they hadn't got steam up yet." the rev. mr, springle preached a short sermon, dwelling principally on the great good that might be expected from the gathering together of even a few, provided they had gathered in the proper .spirit. he appealed to those present to consecrate their best efforts to the service of the lord during the coming revival, and wound up by saying: "we will now sing a hymn, and while this is being sung we invite all those who are anxious to serve the lord to come forward and mingle with us around the altar." the widow farley started the tune in her highly pitched, squeaky voice, and one by one the old mem bers stepped sedately forward and ranged themselves along the bench placed for penitents. after each verse the minister repeated the invitation to come forward, but got no response after the first. when the singing was done, he said: " i am sorry to see so many hanging back and show ing so much hesitation — i might say indifference — where a matter of so great importance is at stake. we will now have a short season of prayer, led by brother tryne." the first real enthusiasm of the meeting began. that prayer was a revelation to the rev. amos sprin an old-time revival. 129 jtfl?, v/ho had never heard prosper pray at revival l:)cfurc. his rci^ular, every-day, ordinary prayer was nothin^h" to this. there was vsomcthing about the atmos phere of a protracted mcetinjif which inspired prosper to a deg-ree of enthusiasm that he could not muster on other occasions. he started out in slow, measured tones, pitched rather low, but with an air of confidence tliat he had tlie subject well in hand. vsoon he began to warm up, and the devout ones commenced to shout "amen!" at proper intervals. as prosper's voice arose, his body began to sway backward and forward, and his hands to g-o up and down. the little school house rang with his strong', resonant voice, interspersed with sighings, and g'roanings, and moanings from the distressed congregation. the spirit was moving" among" them in rhythm with the intensity of the prayer, and when the grand final outburst of frenzy had come, and the words had died down to a breathless " amen," it left them in a seething tempest of eukjtion over their drear and sin-sick state. that prayer was typical of the series of meetings held that winter at the nonquon, in fact typical of almost every country revival of those days. they started rather quietly and sedately, and the excite ment rose with the progress of the revival and the increased emotion of the participants, till finally the scenes at the last few meetings could be compared to nothing short of bedlam. it was several nights before a really new convert was secured. some of the backsliders had been reclaimed, and the small circle around the altar commenced to grow as a consequence. old jonas wicklow, who lived just over the hill to the south, began to show symptoms of indulging in one of his periodical conversions. he 9 130 the hkrmit of the nonquon. went forward every winter as regularly as the winter came, and at the close of each revival he was one of the most contrite and promising converts. during the fol lowing february and march he was certain to attend services regularly, and always remained to " class meetin'." along in april he began to neglect class meeting, sometimes sauntering out at the close of the regular services. in may he did not always attend reg ular services, and by the end of june he remained home oftener than he went. july might fairly be esti mated as the limit, for after that he was never seen at church till the next revival. some of the younger backsliders too': the matter more to heart, and suffered a true repentance; but the greatest rejoicing was when a new convert made his trembling journey to the bench. miles tryne had never professed religion, and was on this account an enigma to many of the church people, who could not understand how a young man surrounded, as he was, by religious influences could fail to seek conversion. old b'gob-sir met their argument with his usual logic. " why, b'gob-sir, it's jest because he knows his father, that's all. he has seen too much of religion to make him want any of it." but the hostler failed to conceive the fact that there comes a time in the life of every young man — and young woman too, for that matter — when the individ ual is more impressionable than ever before, and that time had arrived with miles. he assumed a more serious air as the revival progressed, and soon attention was closely drawn to him. one evening the members centered their energies to induce him to *' bear the cross." an old-time revival. 181 ■s one after another of the leadingspirits approached him, and whispered in his ear the awful state his soul was in while out of christ. he seemed to waver. it is a difficult move for a youngman to make, in the face of his companions. his mother was praying for him, while his father stood inside of the altar adding a gen eral exhortation to the special pleadingof the others. the youngman was painfully distressed. the world, the flesh, and the devil never assumed such a terrible shape to him before. his past life was made to look like a horrible dream — a blind voyage upon quicksands and troublous waters. there was only one way out. the rev. mr. vspringle himself walked down the aisle, and laid his hand gently on the young man's shoulder, and talked to him in serious tones. miles began to tremble — the first sure symptom of a breaking away. the mingled voices rose and fell with the excitement of the moment, and every heart beat high in suspense as to the probable outcome. attention was concen trated on the two young men, the one standing with bowed head and quivering face, the other pleading earnestly in his ear. miles tightly gripped the back of the seat in front of him. there was a terrific tempest in his mind. the first step was so hard to take. he almost determined to remain where he was. he heard the din of the voices around him. he heard the minister talking in low tones, but was too confused to know what he said. in a partial lull he heard his mother sobbing, and in an instant he had turned and was pushing the minister before him in his haste to get to the bench, where he fell prostrate on his knees, with tears streaming down his face. a loud chorus of *' hallelujahs," mingled with an occasional fervent 133 tiff. hermit f)f the nonquon. "glory to god!" marked the journey fnjm tlie back seat to the l)ench, and the youn^ man was soon sur rounded by praying brothers and sisters anxious to pilot his soul into the souj^ht-for rest. an event had happened. the first important eon version of the revival had taken place, and a new impulse was thus j^^iven to the work. it created a mild sen.sation around the neijihborhood, and advertised the meetini^s. " have y(ni been down to the pert'acted mectin' yet? •• "no. have you?" " no. i heard they got miley tryne last ni^ht. guess i'll have to ^o down and see what's ji^oin' on." *' yes, guess i'll have to go too." this was a typical conversation among' some of the outsiders who never attended meetings except with a view to finding out " what was goin' on." a prominent convert was about equal in those days to a big elephant in the circus as a drawing-card. mr. vspringle soon discovered that no matter hrw earnest he might be in his exhortation, he could i -t move the crowd like prosper, whose magnetic influence with the people overshadowed for the moment any suspicions they might have as to his daily life. the minister therefore turned over this part of the service to the store-keeper, and prosper, impressed with the importance of his mission, threw an energy and pathos into the work which astonished even those who had heard him in previous years. as they sat and listened to his fervent appeals they forgot that he ever traded horses, or cut a yard of calico an inch too short. the revival progressed, and nearly a dozen new con t an (>i,n-rimr. rkvivai,. i:].-] verts were secured. some were mere children, too yuiin}4' by many years to realize in the sli^^luest dcj^rce t'le import of the step they were takinj^^. people attended from all parts. even the shantymen came down from heaver meadow point in {-(piads of six or eij»ht. they came " for the fun of the thinjif." pierre was of the number. he was boisterous and jolly on the way down the first nii^ht. goin^ htjme he was more quiet. the second ni^ht he was not so jolly, even on his way down. the third ni^ht he became converted. the fourth ni^ht he was the most hii^hly elated of all the converts, and declared that life had never been worth living till now. he was in an ec stasy of delirium, and grew even more enthusiastic in his demonstrations than prosper himself his religion held out through the revival, and for ( sunday after it, but failed u) hold out any longer. he was more fickle even than jonas wicklow. the meetings were drawing to a closj. the climax was ncaring, and yet there were two persons who had been made the special objects of prayer, but who so far had resisted. they were the two persons of all others around the nonquon upon whose conversion the church members had set their hearts. prosper, especially, seemed determined to " open their eyes to the error of their ways," and accordingly framed his remarks to fit their case. but so far he had not shot conviction home to them. the two were donald and gabrielle. they had attended almost nightly from the first; gabrielle to relieve the monotony of the winter evenings — an incentive which, to speak the truth, drives more than one resident of the country to church — and donald to see gabrielle. 134 the hfrmit of the nonquon. prosper argued that it would be a great card to get donald away from the presbyterians, and as for gabri elle, she ought to be converted on general principles — she needed it badly enough. the last night came. prosper determined that the opportunity should not slip by. they must be con verted. his reputation was at stake. everybody was talking about it, and even the minister himself seemed to take an especial interest in the black-eyed girl who always sat next the wall about half-way between the door and the altar. it was generally understood, with out being stated in so many words, that the principal object of this last meeting was to move upon these two young people. prosper vowed that if they came to the meeting he would convert them. but would they come? that was the question which agitated the minds of the people all that day some said they could not face it; others shook their heads without say ing anything. the time for meeting came. every body was on hand, and the little school-house was packed. vsuspense was high, till suddenly the door opened and in walked gabrielle to her usual seat. there were quick glances in all directions around the room — the people could not help it. in a few moments donald appeared, in company vr a pierre, from the shanty. donald sat near the door, while pierre stalked pompously up to the very front. expectancy ran high — the contest was on. the rev. mr. springle pleaded a sore throat, asked to be excused from the regular sermon, and forthwith turned the meeting over to brother tryne. he had learned diplomacy from his association with prosper, and he argued that time could not be wasted that night in a formal sermon. an old-time revival. 135 id • id provsper arose, and taking the hymn-book in his hand turned over several pages. " before we proceed with the hymn," he said, closing the book, with a finger between the leaves to ^:eep the place, " i have a few words i want to say to you. we have come here to-night for the last time during this revival. we have come with our hearts full of the love of god for what he has done for us, and yet we have come with our hearts full of fear and trcmblin' lest some poor, miserable sinner shall escape from this glorious opportunity, and be doomed to eternal torment. my friends, think of a lake made all of fire and brim stone, a lake burnin' on forever and ever and ever, a lake which gits hotter, and hotter, and hotter every time a wicked sinner is dropped down into it. think of havin' to sizzle and scorch in that red-hot mass through all the countless ages of eternity! some folks says that a sinner is only to burn up seven times, and then that's an end to it; but i tell you here to-night that this is not so. the sinner doesn't git let off so easy as that, by any means. the bible says that the smner is to endure eternal torment in a lake of fire which is never quenched. what does that mean.? it means that the torture is to last right through — no git tin' out of it by simply burnin' up. no such an easy death as that. think of it! think of flounderin' round in that melted brimstone, with the yellow stuff runnin' right into your eyes, and ears, and mouth, and not able to git a breath of fresh air nohow — and think of doin' this for all eternity! why, you imagine it's an awful thing now if you burn your finger jest the least bit — if you let a spark from the fire fall on it for an instant. you jump, and grab your finger, and stick it in the 136 the hermit of the nonquon, snow; but let me tell you, you'll have no snow there, and 'twon't be only your finger that's burnt either. oh, my friends, why not fly from the wrath to eome — why not keep out of this awful fire? why not eome to christ to-night? he stands ready with open arms. he stands willin' to save you. tears of pity are runnin' down his face this very minute. he is sweatin' great drops of his precious blood for you now. why won't you come? why not come to christ? " he gave out the hymn, and then continued in a sub dued tone, which was even more impressive than his former eloquence: "as we sing this hymn, we invite all who are on the lord's side to come forward. it is a simple thing to do. it jest shows which side you're on. if you come forward, we know you are on the lords' side; if you hang back, we know that you're on the side of one who will drag 3'our souls straight down to perdition. it's an awful moment for some of you. rise and sing." mrs. farley led out in a tremulous voice: " come, ye sinners, poor an-d needy. weak and ivonnded, sick an-d sore; jesus read-y stands io sai'e yon. full of pi-iy, lo-i'e, an-d power.''' rushing right into the midst of the last word. pros per infused new life into the singing with his full, strong voice highly pitched above the others, and his hand waving out over the congregation: *' turn io t/ie lord and seek sal-7'a-iion, sound i/ie p-ra-i-s-e of /lis dear name; glo-ry, hon-or, and salvation, christ the lord has come to reign!" a quite general movement toward the front took • an old-time revival, 137 place, cmbracinn^ all of the old members and the new converts, a distinct line was thus drawn between the consecrated ground around the altar and the abode of unbelievers in the rear, donald and gabrielle stayed with the sinners. prosper looked straight at gabrielle and turned his batteries point-blank in her direction. he knew if 1 c captured her donald would surrender arms uncon ditionally. " there are some within the sound of my voice," he began, " for whom the prayers of this congregation have been goin' up for weeks, and yet they remain blind to the awful chances they are takin' by stubborn ly holdin' out against the dictates of even their own conscience, i know their conscience must prick 'em. how can it help it? how can they even dare to draw a natural breath while every minute they are flyin' right in the face of providence by refusin' such an opportunity as this? why, jest think of it! it's like defyin' god. i feel constrained to believe that the lord brought about these meetin's for the express pur pose of savin' their souls, and here they are jest as much as sayin' to the lord that they don't want his salvation, wh)^ its awful, when you come to think of it! i'd expect to be struck dead on my way home from this meetin' if i held out like they are doin'. and who knows but what they will be? no one can tell what is to happen. we are never sure of our lives a single minute. we may none of us ever see the morning light again. think of it! and then for any one to hold out, when it's such a simple thing to come forward here and be saved. again we ask you, while we are singin' the rest of this hymn, to come forward. in the r 138 the hermit of the nonquon. w name of the lord, in the name of the blessed angels that are hoverin' round you this very minute, in the name of your family and friends, we plead with you to come forward." but the hymn was finished without a response. " let us pray," said prosper. " let us put up such a petition to the throne of grace that the old enemy satan will be forced out of the hearts of his victims here to-night. let us pray." he began in a general way, and offered up a prayer for everybody indiscriminately; then, warming to his work, he continued: '* and o lord, we hiive some with us to-night — ah, some who are sorely in need of thy salvation — ah, some who are stiff-necked and will not yield — ah. o lord, come down in thy almighty power — ah, come down and rescue these poor pcrishin' souls — ah. send down thine arrows of conviction — ah; send them right down this minute, o lord. yes, dear lord, we have some with us to-night — ah, some whose souls w'e can not yield up to satan — ah. o lord, make thy pres ence known — ah; pick 'cm out. lord — pick out these poor sinners, and claim them with thy savin' grace. o lord, there is o/ie among their number — o lord, we must save that one — ah. lord, come down like a mighty chariot of fire — ah, and snatch this poor soul from the clutches of satan — ah. satan has a terrible hold on her. lord. he has his chains wound tight around her, doubled and twisted, and welded solid — ah. o lord, break those chains! nothing but thine all powerful will can save her. snatch her like a precious brand from the burnin' — ah. cast her sins away from her, like the flesh-pots of sodom and gomorrer — ah. o ' i an old-time revival. 139 . lord, we can not give her up — ah. you must save her, lord — ah. you must save her — ah. you must save her to-night — ah; yes, this very night — ah; this very hour — ah. you must come right down — ah, right down now — ah, right down this minute — ah. make ihy presence known — ah by savin' this poor lost lamb — ah, and bringin' her safe into the fold — ah, o lord! — ah, o precious jesus! — ah, o heavenly spirit — ah, descend upon us! — ah, and take us into thine eternal rest — ah, forever and ever. amen." as the congregation rose to their seats the majority found it impossible to avoid glancing over to where gabrielle sat, to see how she was affected. such per sonal allusions in a prayer were not customary, and they all felt that the crisis had come with gabrielle. many of them were convinced by the expression on her face and her somewhat deepened color that conviction had been driven home at last, and that it was only a matter of the next exhortation when she would go forward. prosper remained on his knees several seconds, over come with the tempest of his emotions, and was the last to rise. he sat quietly down, with his hand shading his eyes, apparently unable to divert his mind from the spirit of his prayer. mr. springle, noting the situation, arose and said: " we will now have a short experience meeting. we want to know what the lord has done for those who have manifested their determination to enlist in his service. we shall be glad to hear from some of the more recent converts. their experience is always inter esting." instantly pierre was on his feet. " my frans," he began, very impressively, " i was 140 the iikrmit of the nonquon. about de weekcdest li'l sinner in dat whole shantee. sawm-tam i sivear. yas, my frans, dass so — dass so," shaking his head very seriously. " sawm-tam i got a crank on my stom-cek, sawm-tam, w'en i hain't got no crank/ dass so. i no ax any man how weeked i was, de shanty-men dey knoiv. dey can tol' you. an' my waf, she can tol' you. oh, i was ivcckcd! well — dass all right now. i cam here dat odder tarn. i feel good w'en i cam, hot after li'l whal i no feel so good. i got a pain — i got a pain raght here," placing both hands over his heart, "an' i ax mysalf, 'pierre, you're de weekedest li'l sinner in dat whole shantee.' den i cam up by de frawnt, an' altogedder queek lak, i feel so good. i feel lak i got a pleasant pain all oder mysalf. dass so. my waf can tol' you how weeked i was. oh, my poor waf," suddenly breaking off and shaking his head dolefully as he thought of her unconverted state. " ^ly waf, she no cam here. i ax her why she no cam wid ;//r, an' she ax me raght off queek lak, * i got to iron dcm clo'es.' oh, my poor waf, my poor waf !" overcome with his emotion he sat down, and mr. springle, possibly fearing a repetition, invited some of the older members to give their experience. mrs. farley arose to her feet, sniffling in her hand kerchief, and went on to tell what the lord had done for her. she wanted it understood that it was no cross, but a blessed privilege, for her to testify for jesus. he had taken her miserable feet from the mire and the clay, and had placed them on the solid rock of ages. how he ever came to think it worth while to save her she did not know, but she felt that she had ofttimcs tried his patience by her numerous shortcomings. she con cluded by saying, " i'm a poor, blind, blunderin', stum r an oi.d-time revival. 141 blin' critter, but if i only manage to stumble into heaven, it's — all — i'll — ask." after several others had spoken, prosper again took charge, and displayed a change of tactics by saying, in a subdued tone: " i want to find out how every soul in this house stands to-night. some of you appear to be determined to defy the lord, and refuse this means of grace. i can't think that you really mean this. i think that some of you hesitate because you don't quite agree with our methods of conversion. some of you prob'ly don't believe in revivals. i, for one, do; but that ain't no reason why every one else should, and i want to respect the religious beliefs of all of you. i jest have one request to make. it is a very simple one, and i know that you will grant it. i want every one in the house who believes that the lord is a better master than the devil to rise to their feet — simply stand up. it is a little thing to do. everybody rise." everybody did rise, converted and unconverted — except gabrielle. she sat still as a statue, and there was an awful hush over the congregation as they saw it. it was just like a defiant refutation of providence. prosper stood looking impressively straight at her. there was a painful suspense for the moment. " please be seated," said prosper; and the people knew from the look on his face that something was coming. " i wouldn't have believed," he began, " that we had any one in our midst who would openly declare that they'd sooner serve the devil tiian the lord! this is awful! the depths of human depravity are deeper than i thought they were." some of tlie women were sobbing, and the scene was 142 the hermit of the nonquon. impressive. prosper, with his eagle eye upon gabrielle, detected a change coming over her countenance. ** she is yielding at last," he thought. ** i will give one more chance for the reclaiming of this lost soul. i can not turn her over to perdition without another effort, and i ask you all to pray — and pray as if your own souls depended on it — while i give out another hymn." he announced the hymn, and then said, slowly: " while we are singin' this hymn — this last hymn — we appeal to this one poor waverin' soul to come forward. it may be the last chance this side of eternity." when the congregation rose to sing gabrielle re mained seated. prosper's eyes fairly danced for joy. this was the first tangible evidence of her conviction. " glory to god! glory to god! " he shouted. " the spirit is workin'! " all eyes instinctively turned toward gabrielle to dis cover the reason for prosper's demonstration. she reddened more and more under the scrutiny. " glory to god! " exclaimed prosper, confident of victory. '* satan isyieldin'. iknewit must come! i knew it must come!" gabrielle's head was somewhat bowed to hide her face. she moved slightly on her seat. the people were nerve-strung and breathless. some were hyster ically weeping. the scene was reaching a climax. gabrielle moved more nervously in unison with pros per's exclamations. she partly turned on her seat. " she can't hold out another minute," said prosper to himself, and as if in answer to his thought, gabrielle suddenly rose and began to leave her seat. " glory to god! " shouted prosper. " glory to god in the highest! glory! glory! glor — " t an old-time revival. 143 abruptly he stopped in the middle of the word, and the people turned to sec the cause. gabrielle was walking straight toward the door, and, motioning to donald, he opened it for her, and they both stepped out, leaving the congregation appalled. xvi. donald and gabrielle, \t hen the door closed behind donald and gabrielle, * ^ she impulsively took his arm, and they started for home, donald was instantly transported to a sev enth heaven more radiant than that described l)y prosper in his most imaginary mood. this was the first time that gabrielle had ever taken his arm. it was the first spontaneous act of hers which g-ave him any encouragement. '* well, what do you think of it all? " asked gabrielle, after they had walked some minutes in silence. "i was just thinking," answered donald, "and won dering how it was you didn't stand up when mr. tryne said that about the lord and the devil. i stood up willingly, although my people are all presbyterians, for i saw no objections to that." "neither would i have seen any objections if i thought prosper meant every word he said, and if i hadn't seen through his trick." " his trick? what do you mean?" "well now, old blindy," s!ie retorted, giving his arm a little pinch which sent him into ecstasies, "couldn't you see all along that prosper has been determined to convert us two? he was bound to get me, anyhow," she continued, dropping her head rather quickly as she noticed the pointed connection she had just made between them, "and when his regular plan didn't work (144) uonai-n and (lal'.riei.lk. 145 i he thought up somethingelse. oh, prosper's ciinnin', i tell you. he said what he did about serving the lord and the devil thinking i couldn't get around that. if i had got iip then he would have gone on with a lot of stuff about me not havin' the moral cour age to face satan openly, and he would have made as big a fool of himself as he did a little while after, when i didn't stand up when they went to vsing." " why, you seem to be awful hard on religion. i think that—" "no, i'm not. i don't mean it in that way. 'tain't so much the religion i don't like as it is some of the folks that's in it. religion is all right enough, but it's got into the hands of a mighty poor set around the nonquon here. why, jest look 'em over. there's prosper, as big a rascal as ever lived — " *' oh, i wouldn't say that, gabriclle," interposed don ald, somewhat shocked at gabriellc's estimate of the man who had just been pleading so earnestly for the salvation of souls. " w(3uldn't say that, hey? well, you wouldn't say the truth then, that's all. prosper may pull the wool over the eyes of other folks by his palaverin' ways in the pulpit — and i will admit that he docs seem to be in earnest while he is there — but i can't forget jest how tricky he is at other times. no-sirec; prosper's a fraud, and you can't git around it." *' but prosper is not the only religious person around the nonquon. they're not all dishonest, i hope." ** no, not all of them. there's the" minister, mr. ; springle, i believe he is an honest man, and means all he says." donald did not quite fancy this, as the minister's lo 140 the hermit of the nonquon. name had been coupled with gabriclle's by the gossips in a manner somewhat distiirv)injj to him. they had arj.'ued in a remote way that if gabrielle were only converted it might result in a material sequence as well as a spiritual one. but gabrielle was oblivious to donald's impressions, and went on: " and mrs. tryne, if ever there was a good aan she is one. the only fault with her is that she t. /// try to make folks believe that prosper doesn't really mean to do wrong when he cheats other people." "well, if you were married to a man like that wouldn't you do the same thing? " "i wouldn't be married to a man like that," snapped gabrielle. "but you can't always tell beforehand. if you got to like a man and married him, and then found (nit afterward that he wasr't what you expected, wouldn't you stick up for him bofo-^ ^olks? " " course i would. i'd "jst big enough fool to do that. i'd tell lies for him, or anything. that's the way with us women. we don't know anything, and never will — 'specially when it comes to thinkin' about the men. d'you know what i'd do if i was a man and had a good woman? " she asked, suddenly changing her tone. " no." "well, i'd use her a good sight better'n most men do their wives." "why?" " 'cause she'd deserve it. women don't have too good a time in this world, anyhow." "why, i thought you always had a pretty good time," said donald, rather surprised at gabrielle's mood. " well, you see," she said, with a return to her old donald and (; ahriki.i.p:. 147 as ve mischievous spirit, ** / ain't married. and, anyhow, t don't have half as good a time as i could if i was a boy. a girl can't do the first thing with a little fun in it but what she's called a tom-boy. i'm sick of always bein' held down 's if i was a dummy or an idiot. if folks only knowed it, a girl can cut up and have some fun and yet behave herself." *' well, i'm sure i never knew that you were held down very much," said donald. '* i ain't held down half so much as i would be if it wasn't for father. he seems to know jest what i like better'n anybody else, and he lets me do a little bit as i want to. he ain't pesterin' the life out of me all the time about bein' a heathen, and i'd do more for him this minute than anybody else, jest because he gives me a little peace. he's the best man ever lived, any way," she added, with emphasis. " talk about your religious people. why, there's father, who never goes to meetin' at all, and yet i'd take his word sooner'n i would any of the church folks. he'd cut off his right hand before he would do anything wrong. and there's philander hunt, catch him doin' a mean thing! no siree. oh, i tell you when you come to compare the religious folks around here with the ones that don't make any claim to religion, it's enough to make a person sick of the name of a church." '* i hope you don't quite mean that." " no, i don't s'pose i do," she answered, more thoughtfully. " i told you before that it wasn't religion itself that i didn't care for — it was the folks." the night was snapping cold, and the two were walking along with bowed heads facing the wind. the snow creaked under their feet at each step, and made \ 148 the hermit ()!■ ihe noncjuon. almost the only sound they heard. all about them the seene was quiet, and it was the kind of night which made companionship a comfort. it was peculiarly so to donald. he had never walked in this way with gabriellc before, and she had never talked so freely to him. it was a new experience to have her so near him, and to be told so frankly her sentiments on the several important topics that had come up. it was like taking him into he: confidence, he thought. donald counted it the most delightful experience he had ever known, and was just conjecturing as to the likelihood of any future opportunities like this arising for his benefit, when gabrielle rather startled him by looking up into his face and suddenly a.sking: *' what are you thinking about? " " i — well, i was just thinking that — that this is the last night of the meetings," he answered, rather con fused. • "and feeling bad because i didn't git converted, i s'pose? " " no, i don't mean that." "well, what do you mean? " " i — was just thinking — was just wondering — " he hesitated a moment, and gabrielle said, " wondering what? " " wondering when i'd be likely to see you again." " well, you'll be likely to see me whenever 3'ou happen to be in the same place as i am." she said this with an attempt at her usual repartee; but somehow it did not seem congenial to her mood to-night. she would have had something unenviable in her nature if she were not affected more or less by the scenes at the meeting, and though prosper's words had done little donald and gabrielle. 149 else than to incense her, yet the whole occurrence had left its impression upon her, and somehow softened her. "donald," she said, more quietly, "i don't feel like joking or saying anything mean to you to-night. i usually can— but not to-night. i feel different toward you someway— oh, here's our gate," suddenly turning in, "and i'm glad of it, for i'd be saying something foolish if i didn't look out. well, good-night." "hold on," said donald, as he saw her hurrying toward the door. "good-night!" she cried, as she darted inside. "well, she beats all," said the scotch boy to himself, walking away. " i can't keep track of her at all." but on the whole he was pleased with that night's experience. she had said things to him that she never had before, and she had acted in a way altogether new. the query was: would she be the same when he saw her again? xvii. the country tavern. t n those days the railroad which now runs through ■*• the nonquon district was not dreamed of, and all the marketing had to be done over the wagon-roads. most of the grain raised in that vicinity, and for miles north of it, was hauled to port rowen in winter; and between the farmers and the shantymen the roads were kept pretty lively all through sleighing. at short intervals along the road small taverns were located, each bearing the suggestive sign over the door, '* licensed to sclliviiu\ beer, and other spirituous liquors." they were supported mostly by droppers-in on their way to and from market. jerry's tavern at the non quon was quite a resort, and many a noisy crowd has spent a winter evening in his bar-room. one night shortly after the revival a larger crowd than usual assembled there. it had been a busy day in port rowen; a large quantity of grain had been sold, and much money paid to the farmers. the teams were sent vspinning toward home after the business was finished in town, and the distance between the "port" and jerry's was considered sufficient to call for a lialt at the latter place, for the purpose of " gittin" some thing hot to drink." a rather brisk acquaintance had been made with the tumbler and the mug before port rowen was aban doned, and by the time the nonquon was reached the (150) the country tavern. 161 horses were steamingfrom reckless driving. in this condition they were brought up with a sudden turn into jerry's shed, and left standing — with or without a blanket, as happened to suit the mood of the driver — till all hours of the night. " better take in your whip," said b'gob-sir to a sleigh-load of young fellows who had just driven up, " or somebody'll likely steal it." "oh, devil take the whip," was the offhand reply, as they sauntered toward the bar-room. " well," muttered the hostler to himself, " i didn't edsackly say jie'd take it, but somebody else prob'ly will. 'tain't none o' my bread and butter, though. hello, dougald, how are y^u? " he called out, as old dougald mclaughlan came along with a very ill-kept team. dougald was the farmer to whom the widow mcfarlane had sent donald to borrow some pea-straw when she wanted to cover her turnip-pit. to-night he had not progressed far enough yet in his libations to make him sociable. it took a good deal in those days to warm up a big scotch farmer, and the liquor drank at port rowen had been sufficient only to create a desire for more, so that he was rather glum; and in answer to b'gob-sir's salutation he merely gave an unintelli g-ible grunt, and clambered out of his sleigh to tie his horses. " purty lively day down to the port," again ventured b'gob-sir. another grunt, as the scotchman fumbled about the harness. " guess you didn't git a very high figure for your barley, did you? " said the hostler, slightly nettled, ** though i heard that grain was purty well up to-day." "come and have a drink," was the irrelevant but 153 the hermit of the nonquon. agreeable reply, as the horses were tied. b'gob-sir said not another word, but they both started toward the tavern. what a world of diseord that expression has quieted in the history of the human race. and what a world of discord it has created. the occupants of the bar-room were beginning to get noisy. young fellows whose only claim to dis tinction lay in their ability to steer a plow clear of stones and stumps in summer, or successfully bind a load of logs on a sleigh in winter, made a boisterous show of their manliness by tossing off frequent glasses of liquor. the older ones drank, not for show, but because they liked it. "hello, dune! just in time. come on and have something." this was said to a young man who had sauntered in. " no, i don't care for anything to-night." " well, what the h — 1 are you here for, then, if you don't want to drink? " " oh, i just strolled in to see what was goin' on." a motive which takes young men to the tavern as well as to the church. the greatest drawback to country life for young people is lack of companionship. it drives them to seek diversions not always to their benefit. " oh, i know what's the matter with you. the per tacted meetin' has jest been goin' on, and i hear they come near gettin' you up to the bench. how about that, dune? didn't you ask 'em to pray for you one night?" to admit a weakness of this kind in the bar-room was to cause as great a loss of caste for the individual as to admit in church that hg was in the habit of drink thf, country twirn. l.-)3 hvy liquor. a virtue in one place was a vice in the other. " not much i didn't," said dune, with some spirit. " oh, come now, own up." the crowd began to laugh at dune's expense. " i hain't got anything to own, i tell ytni. i went to tlic meetin's same's other folks, but i didn't go up to the bench — not by a long shot." " wanted to go bad enough, though, i guess. been there long before this if you wasn't afraid the boys would make fun of you. honest, now, didn't you ask *em to pray for you?" this was wit of a high order, and it caused a roar. "see here, you fellers think you're almighty smart, don't you? i ain't any nearer bein' converted than the rest of you. i guess i'm not quite so big a fool as that yet." " well, then, come and have a drink with us, why don't you? if you're goin' to be one o' the boys you've got to drink." dune evidently concluded to be one of the boys, for he stepped up to the bar and ordered his liquor with the others. before the night was over he had forgotten any of the good resolutions that he might possibly have made during the revival. if prosper had been there he would probably have said: "the devil is mighty • quick to take hold as soon as the lord lets go." b'gob-sir's comment on the occasion was to the effect that " that last lot o' whisky jerry got in was a leetlc bit worse than anything he had struck yet." " how is it you drink so much of it, then? " some one asked. "jest tj keep it from spoilin'. why, b'gob-sir, that 154 the hermit of the nonquon. last drink i took wouldn't 'a' lasted till to-morrow mornin'. it would 'a' been too weak by that time to run out of the bottle." '* then you simply drink it to keep jerry from losing it, hey? " " jest the p'int — jest the p'int edsackly. wouldn't drink it on no other account. i don't like licker very well, anyhow," he added, confidentially. " wouldn't touch a drop, only to be sociable." " who were you being sociable with the other morn ing when i f(jund you in here behind the bar alone, before the rest of the folks were up? " asked jerry, with a wink to the others. " well now, jerry, that's all right. i jest wanted to do a little cleanin' up in there — say, do you know, jerry, that you keep about the dirtiest bar of any one in four teen ord'nary townships? why, b'gob-sir, i'm 'shamed of it half the time. when i tended bar down in — " " you tended bar! " derisively interposed the young fcuow who had previously in the evening commended his whip to the care of his satanic majesty. " you tended bar! when did you ever tend bar, i'd like to know?" " my sonny," answered the hostler, suddenly chang ing his tone to a suave, patronizing air, " i tended bar before you was bigger'n a half a pint o' cider all drunk up. i tended bar before you had started to grow your pin-feathers — before you — before you'd pecked any at your shell. why, b'gob-sir," he continued, warming up, " when i was your age i knowed more in a minute than a yoke of oxen weighin' fifty hundred could tramp into your skull in a month o' saturday nights. you think you're mighty smart, my boy, but let me tell 5'ou, if you're ever goin' to know enough to chaw second the country tavern. 155 t handed gum you've got to begin to learn right off. wlien the lord made you, i guess the devil was around botherin' him a good deal, for he made a mighty poor job." " well, you must 'a' been a h — 1 of a feller when you was my age," said the youth, trying to turn the laugh that followed b'gob-sir's tirade. " no, i'd 'a' been too much like you if i was." " if you was my age now you'd take that back," replied the yoimg fellow, bristling up. " would i? i ain't in the takin' back bizness. and more'n that, when i was your age i could 'a' licked a meetin'-house full o' you. why, b'gob-sir," he continued, turning to the crowd, and waving his hand out over them to make his remarks general — from a possible fear that he was getting into too close quarters with the angry youth. "why, b'gob-sir, folks don't know anything about fightin' these days. when i was a young feller we thought nothin' o' fightin' all night long, hard as we could pelt. and you couldn't lick a man then either. • you could pound him all to pieces, but you couldn't lick him. he'd never give up as long as he could lift a finger, or swear at you. oh, them was the days for fun, though." the old fellow probably had never been in a contest of any kind except with his perpetual enemy, alcohol, but this description of these fictitious encounters did him as much good as if they had been real. in this instance it also served him a good turn, for it drew upon him the attention of the crowd, and prevented any further wrangle with the liquor-laden young fellow, who had been incensed by his remarks, and might so far have forgotten himself as to strike him. 156 the hermit of the nonquon. the talk now became general on the one grand theme of personal prowess. it was always so at these carousals. no matter what was talked of in the early part of the evening, the conversation always drifted around, as the liquor began its work, to the subject of fighting. man is essentially a boaster when he h full — or partially full — of whisky, and every man thinks he can whip every other man. words grew loud, hands waved, money flew, and whisky gurgled in the throats of men who would be sorry to-morrow. the atmosphere was filled with the aroma of steaming liquor, while the conversa tion ran largely into boasting and exaggeration. " i can lick any man in the nonquon." " you couldn't lick a mouse if its tail was tied behind its back." a general roar. " i've fought since i was knee-high to a grasshopper, and i never got a whippin' yet." " i don't want to hurt any of you fellers, but hx^k out how you're shovin' us around here." " oh, you put on a tin duster if you're so 'fraid o' gittin' smashed." " no use talkin', vyegot to fight some one. whoop!'' " you fight! you've done most o' your fightin' with your feet, i guess. you'd run like a deer if any one said *boo' to you." " come and have a drink." " hurrah, boys! come and have a drink." a general rush to the bar, bottles slammed on the counter, glasses clinked, money thrown over the bar, little heed given to the change, and the change seldom of the correct amount. a familiar slap on the back, with a return attempt to knock off a hat. a loud guffaw r^k the countrv tavern. 157 ringing above the others; a good deal of swearing, a maudlin embrace, a surging, jostling, grinning, clamor ous crowd. these men are kings — and fools. old dougald mclaughlan had been consistently stick ing to gin all the evening, and had at last got warmed up. he was red in the face, and still steaming. when the pugilistic talk rose to its height, he straightened himself up and, with an awkward gyration of his hand peculiar to his race, exclaimed: " i'm sexty-four years of old, an' i naver ficght alraady, but gi' me a mon o' my own old and my own haavy, and let him strike mc — i'll get up again, and i'll strike him, an' he'll naver rise." this caused another roar, and the general remark: ** dougald, you'll have to set np the drinks for that." dougald interpreted this as a compliment, and acquiesced. old b'gob-sir was standing near the vsc(;tch man at the time, and through mistake got hold of the gin-bottle. he poured some out and took a great swallow, and then began dancing around and spitting violently. "what's the matter with you?" asked one of the crowd, laughing. "what in the" — spit— " what in the d-d-devil's in that bottle? " "gin." " for god's sake "—spit—" for god's sake, gi' me "— spit — "gi' me some whisky to take the taste out o' my mouth, quick! thai's the pizenest stuff i ever put intc; my throat. ugh! (ii' mc some whisky." "thought that last lot o' whisky i got in was the worst you'd struck," .said jerry, with a laugh. "well, it's milk and molasses beside that gin. dou 158 thk hkrmit of the nonquon. gald, how'n thunder do yoii ever rnanag-c to swaller " — spit — " swaller that sickcnin* stuff? it's worse'n pep pc>ry dish-water mixed with the drippin's poured off'n b'iled snakes." " humph!" ejaeulated the scotchman. '"gen i tuk a mouthful o' yon whusky, i'd need to do more'n spui. i'd ha' to rub my tongue wi' a coarse file." *' ' t wouldn't do any petic'lar harm to put a file on your tongue, anyway," said b'gob-sir. " it's thick enough, god knows." " theck! theck, you say—" and instantly they were in a j angle of words. " here, yon two old duffers, stop quarrclin'. yon couldn't cither one of you strike a barn door if you was leanin' up agin' it. le's have a drink." this was enough. the two belligerents were soon embracing each other in a friendly jabber over the bar. there was an end to that night, as there is to all others. the last state of those in jerry's bar-room was worse than the first, but — they had imd a "good time." xviii. a trip to fraser'vs creek. (( philander, you promised to take mc up fra "'■ ser's creek sometime," said gabriclleone day as she met philander midway between her home and the village. " if to-morrow is a fine day, you put on your mocca sins and snow-shoes, and i'll take you — that is, if your mother is will in'." " oh, she'll be willin' — if vshe doesn't know anything about it," answered gabrielle, with mischief in her eye. " vscc here, old girl, i don't know whether i can agree to that or not. what do you suppose your father would say? " " he'd let me go in a minute," she exclaimed, with assurance. " i'll ask him if you say so. father's always sensible about anything i want to do, and he wouldn't say a w.:»rd against it so long as he knew you was with me." "well, if you're sure about that, i guess we'll go." " must i say anything to father about it?" " oh, .suit your.self, i'll leave that to you, but i think you'd better ask him." "all right, i'll suit myself, and — i won't ask him." "gabe, yoti're a minx. anything to bo contrary. why is it you are always takin' the opposite side aeainst me? " (( » r^ cause i like you." (159) kjo thk hkrmit of tiif, nonquon. " is that the reason you act so contrary witli — " " rinlandcr! " '* i �(m't say another word," as he wheeled on liis heel and walked away. they had a j^-reat tramp the followini^ day. the snow was deep, but that did not interfere with them; in fact it added immensely to their satisfacticm, as they were able, with their snow-shoes, to cnt across fields, and walk along the drifts and over fences without any obstruction. there is a sense of supremacy in treadinj^' on snow-shoes, when the landscape is thickly coated with the white yicldini; mass which renders travel by any other means almost impossible. it is somethiui-;' akin to walkiui;on the water; the drifts are like immense swells, the hollows like troughs. a misstep with the snow shoes on the brow of a drift means a collapse, after the manner of a plunijfe in the sea, while the novice is about as helpless on land as he would be i:i the water. but philander and (labrielle were not novices, and we have no tumbles to record on this trip. " gabe, rve.i>"ot scnncthinj^ to .say to you to-day, and i want you to listen. will you?" '' depends." " depends on what? " "on what you got to say." " no, that won't do. i want you tn promise me that you will hear me out." " did i ever refuse to hen* " no, but you've rm times." "that's jest v i u . anything you've n busin< ^s to." "well, i don't s'puse it v any of my business," he said, m.'' »~ rack a good many ,1 if you begin to say \ iim» a trip to iraslk s creek. 101 more reflectively, **and yet i'd like to talk to you about it." "well, if i need it, you'd better talk." she was scarcely in the mood to suit philander, but he despaired of ever finding her in a better one, so he bciji'an, somewhat awkwardly: " a jjirl has ^ot to marry sometime, hasn't she? " " i don't see why," with a toss of her head. " well, but all the best p^irls do marry." " don't know about that." " now sec here, gabc, you know you'll marry, and that's what i'm tryin' to j^-it at. you're the hardest j^irl to talk to i ever struck." "good heavens!" thoui^htgabrielle, somewhat startlc(]. "i wonder if he is ^oin^l>to ask me to marry liim! i wouldn't hurt philander's feelings for the world, but — " "what i was goin' to say," continued philander, "is that i've been watchin* you for some time now, and i think you need some one to give you a little advice." "what in the world is he gittin' at?" was gabriclle's puzzled reflection. "a girl may go on actin' jest as you do a little too long, and when she wakes up she may find she's waked up too late." " surely he isn't going to preach to me like prosper does," she thought. they were walking along side by side, and philander glanced at gabriclle's face to sec how she was taking it. his first reflection was: " lord a massy, what a perty creature she is! think i never seen her look so han'some before." his next thought he gave expression to. " why don't you say something? " " hain't got anything to say." 11 & i 1g2 the hermit of the nonquon. ,;|: " well, but a feller'd natii'ally expect something from you. never seen you so still before." " disappointed because i didn't run you off the track, hey? " " no, not that. but i jest want to know if you don't think there's some danger of a girl wakin' up too late? " ** not when her father has to have an early breakfast to go to the shanty." "oh pshaw! now, gabe, you know what i mean." " that's jest what i don't know." " do you mean to say that you don't know what i'm drivin' at? " he asked, looking at her in surprise. " of course i don't.'" and he saw she meant it. "well! " he ejaculated, "i s'pose i am an old blun derer, bvit i thought surely you'd see that i meant the way you was actin' with donald." suddenly, in spite of herself, a bright light filled her eyes. " then the thought of marryin' me never entered his blessed old head," she said to herself. philander caught sight of her changed expression, and interpreted it to his satisfaction, but her next words were disappointing. "i don't know how i could see that, for i wasn't aware that i had been actin' at all with him." *' that's jest the trouble. you don't act as you'd ought to." " well, maybe i could git some one who would tell me how i ought to act," she said, with some sarcasm. " oh, now, gabe, don't you git mad at me. you and i have always been the best of friends, and we ain't goin' to quarrel now. i didn't mean to interfere with your affairs at all, and mebbe i've said more'n i had a trip to fraser s crkiik. lo;} any business to, but somehow i think a good deal of both you and donald, and i didn't like the idea of him takin' up with that scotch girl." " w/iat scotch girl? " ah, gabrielle, you arc caught this time. no mistak ing that tone and look. philander is not so bad an old blunderer as he has given himself credit for, and that one sudden outburst has satisfied him. it is his turn to tantalize now. he answered in a vslow, provoking way: *' oh, i don't know's i could mention any ojie scotch girl in partic'lar, but i had an idea that a level-headed young chap like donald would naturally begin to look around among the scotch girls for a wife, when he couldn't git any encouragement some place else. he'd be a fool if he didn't. i wouldn't stand it a minute to be used as mean as you've used him." she slipped up to philander's side and pinched his arm. " i'll use him meaner'n ever next time i see him," she said, with a roguish expression on her face. " i'll resk it," answered philander, confidently. again she gave his arm a vicious little pinch, and continued walking close beside him. her face was redder than the wind could make it, and her eye was aglow with a new light. vshe looked more beautiful than ever, phi lander thought. but snow-shoes were not made for such close companionship, and she caught hers in the side of his and nearly fell. he seized her arm in time to save her, and remarked: " that's the first time i ever saw you trip, gabc." "well, i'm makin* a perfect fool of myself, anyway, to-day. i don't know what ails me — and — and it's all your fault," she said, with some confusion. " no, gabe, you're not makin' a fool of yourself — m iiiiii li^li. 1g4 the iif.rmit of the nonquon. you're makin' a woman of yourself. and i jest want u) remark that that woman will be the sweetest, the pertiest, the finest, and the best woman on top of this hull earth." " now stop that, philander, or i'll have tt) run you off the track." " well, there's one track you can't run me away from, for here we are right along by the edge of the creek, and there's only one track to take." in an instant she was on the alert. " i thought you said this was such a rough place," she remarked, look ing ahead. " you ain't into the worst of it yet, and anyhow you must remember there's lots of snow on the ground and we're on snow-shoes. if you tackled this in summer or when there was only a few inches of snow, you'd sing a different tune." " oh pshaw, i could go through as rough a place as you." "i don't know but what you could, gabe," admitted philander, as lie jumped down from a big mound of snow formed by a fallen log, and saw gabriclle spring lightly after him. the sun had been shining brightly all morning, and the woods looked rather dark and glum to the snow blind pedestrians as they entered the thicket. tlie small snow-birds twittered here and there, and seemed the only thing of life about the desolate spot. " what do you think of it, gabe? " asked philander, as he saw her glancing curiously about her. " i don't always telf what i think." "that's so, but i bet i can guess this time." " bet you can't." a trip to fraser s creek. 165 as " i'll bet you're thinkin' that we'd better go back. come now, own np." " philander, if you don't show me the way into that — that place, i'll g'o alone." " all right, old girl, i'll give you more'n you bargained for." they tramped steadily ahead for some time, and gabrielle was forced to admit that it was rough. " makes no difference, though, i'm goin' through," and she did. presently philander pointed ahead, and said: *' see that forked cedar leanin' up against the pine?" "yes." " that's the spot." " i'm glad of it," she answered, breathing hard from her exertions, " for this is gittin' pretty tiresome. let's hurry up and git there, though," she continued, eagerly. '* gabe, you ain't afraid o' nothin', are you? " exclaimed philander, watching her in some surprise. "yes, i am; i'm afraid of havin' you tell me how i ouirhter act toward other folks." "plain to be seen that's on her mind," thought phi lander, smiling to himself. " look here. philander, what's this? " she suddenly asked, bending down and pointing at the snow in front of her. "that's one of the tracks, sure's yini're born." "tracks! what kind of a track is thai, i'd like to know? " "jest what i'd like to know too." "well, let's follow it, anyhow." "gabe, you beat all." » "i'll beat you if you don't come along." sii' 166 the hermit of the nonquon. she was growing excited. they found that it led down toward the cedcir-tree, and as they approached it they saw many other tracks leading to the upturned roots. from there a well-beaten path ran away in the direction of the cave. "if you was up where that crotch is," said philander, looking up the trunk of the pine, " you could see where the mouth of the cave is." " well, i'm goin' up." • " goin' up? what do you mean?" " i'm goin' to climb up this cedar." " gabe, you're crazy! you can't do anything of the kind. you'd fall and break your neck." " my neck'u have to take its chances, for i'm goin' up that cedar," she replied, resolutely taking off her snow shoes. " moccasins are jest the thing to climb trees in." " well, gabe, you're a terror to snakes," he remarked, as he saw her half-way up the cedar. " look out you don't fall." " i can't see any cave," she observed, rather disap pointedly, as she reached the top. " no, you wouldn't likely notice it unless you knew jest where to look for it. the opening is covered." " you say that path leads to it? " "yes." " well, you go up the path and show me where the mouth of the cave is. i'll stay here." philander glanced around him uneasily for a moment. " oh, you needn't be afraid about me," she said. " i'll stay up here till you come back." " plague take that girl," muttered philander to him self as he started off. " i don't know's i was so afraid a trip to eraser s creek. 167 about her as i was about myself. and yet i s'pose i oughtn't to be frightened when she doesn't seem to care a rap. but, after all," he continued, "she hasn't seen the blamed thing yet, and doesn't have the slightest idee what it's like. i wish i hadn't brought her here." soon he was on the brow of the hill, and gabriellc, peeping around the side of the pine, saw him looking down at something in front of him. " here it is, gabe," he called out, touching the stone with the toe of his snow-shoe. " wait a minute. philander, and let me come up and see." '* you stay where you are, missy, and don't you dare to come up here. blame that girl, she'll get the wits frightened right out of her first thing she knows," as he looked nervously arotmd. ** say, philander, i've found out something i want to tell you," she exclaimed, slipping quickly down the tree. " gabe! see here! you stay — " but she was out of sight ere he could check her. in a short time she came panting to where he was. " what have you found out? " he asked, somewhat anxiously. "i've found out that i want to see into the cave." " d-d-d — why, gabe, you make me mad enough to swear." " why don't you swear, then, and not stutter so? " " see here, gabe, i don't want to frighten you, now i've got you into this spot, but i want to tell you that this ain't no place for you, and i'm goin' to get you out of it right off. i was a fool for bringin' you here, anyhow, but i'd no idee you'd act the way you do." 108 the hermit of the nonquon. " did you s'pose i'd want to come licrc without scein' anything? you must think i like a hjng walk for nothing." " well, you ain't goin' to see anything morc'n you have seen, for i'm goin' to take you home. if that thing'd happen to come along when we was pokin' our noses into its cave, you'd git the worst scare you ever had." " maybe it's in the cave now," said gabrielle, looking, if the truth be told, a little anxiously at the stone. *' no," he said, "i've thought that all over, and if i hadn't been sure it wasn't there i'd never been fool enough to let you come up here so close. it's out some place, but no knowin' when it'll come back, and wc must git right out of here." " not till i've seen into the cave," she said, pcrsisl ently. " gabe, now look here — " " philander. i'm lookin'." " now you've got to do as i say, and i'm not goin' to stay here another minute, so come along." " do you remember one other time. philander, when i wouldn't do as you said — the time of the storm on the lake? we came out all right then, didn't wc? and wo will now. i don't want to act as mean as i did then, but i must see into that cave. jest pull oif the stone and let me peep in, and i'll go." "well, peep in, then," said he, lifting away the stone. " if you get scared to death it ain't my fault." "good heavens!" she screamed, a moment later. '•'■philander ! there's something — ohcjl! there's some thing alive in there! come awa}^ quick! " and she was running like a frightened deer before philander a trip to fraser s creek. 1c9 could gather his senses. he hurried after her, and found her nervously tying on her snow-shoes where she had left them at the foot of the eedar. " i thought you said there was nothing in there," she said, in a pitiful agitation. " gabe, it ain't my fault. i'm sorry you got such a fright, but i thought sure it wasn't there. i thought our voices would have brought it out long ago if it was in the cave. but you were bound to look in, in spite of me." " i know," she admitted. " let's go home." gabrielle was thoughtful all the way home, but her fright did not last so long as philander expected. she seemed to be turning something over in her mind, but what it was philander could not guess. " gabe, that didn't scare you half so bad as i should have thought it would." '* it scared me bad enough at the time," she said, "for i didn't expect it; but when i had time to think it over i got over my fright. say, philander, do you think that can be a human being? " *'gabe, we've all asked ourselves that before, and none of us has been able to answer it for sure, but i don't see how it can be anything else. i never had a thing puzzle me so in my life." " i wish i was a man." "you've got more grit'n most men, gabc; and any way, if you was a man donald wouldn't have anything to keep him from marryin' that scotch girl." "oh fudge! i'm not thinkin' of him, c)r his vscotch girl either, just now." " but you would, though, if there had been any pe'tic'lar scotch girl, wouldn't you now? " f 170 the hku.mit of the nonquon. " i want you to promise mc one thing, philander," she said, not noticini^" his question. "what is it?" '* don't tell anybody — not a soul — that we've been over to eraser's creek to-day." "that's on your mind, hey? well, i won't say any thing about it. i thought you'd git enough of it." "how do you know i've got enough of it?" she asked, rather significantly, as she turned at last into her home. " well, i should think you had. good-by." i xix. hunting for tamarack gum. o everal weeks had passed, and during this inter ^ val the usual course of events went on around the nonquon. the shantymen were getting well along with their work, and the bay down beyond beaver meadow point was black with logs. most of the grain around the neighborhood was marketed, and the next year's supply of wood had been hauled up and piled in the yard to dry. mrs. mcglorrie prided herself in hav ing as nice a lot of beech and maple as a housewife could wish, and what added to her satisfaction was the fact that most of it had been split and piled by dcnnie. he was her favorite in all things. '' i only wish gabri elle was half the child that dinnie is," she often said; " but it isn't in her, and a body needn't expect to have any control over her. i'm sure i can't see who she takes it from." gabrielle had been especially trying to her mother of late. almost every fine day, and some days that were not fine, she put on her snow-shoes and went off some where for a tramp. when asked as to her route, she always said she was going down in the swamp to hunt for tamarack gum. " tamarack gum, to be sure," her mother would say, impatiently. " i don't see why you've got such a sudden fit for tamarack gimi. it's my opinion that you go traipsin' off the way you do for no other reason than (171) 172 tiik likrmir of tfik nonquon. because you'll sooner walk on thcni snow-shoes than to cat )our dinner, 'specially since you j^^-ot the moccasins from that old h'athen of lxn indian. i wish him and his moccasins was in the bottom of the lake, long before you ever come across him." but gabrielle seemed not to be deeply influenced by the expression of these sentiments, for she continued to use the moccasins. vshe usually returned from her tramps before her father came in from the shantv, but one evening he got to the house earlier than usual, and she had not arrived. the occasi(jn which brought him home so soon was a slight mishap to pierre. he had caught his finger in a clevis in some way and got it smashed, and there happened to be no liniment at the shanty, so bonaventurc took him home for reliel'. mrs. mcglorrie was binding up the finger, when bonaventurc asked where gabrielle was. "oh, she hasn't got ])ack from huntin' her tamarack gum yet. i'm out o' all manner o' patience with that girl. she's off nearly every day of her life lately, and she keeps stayin' away longer every time, till now she's traipsin' around on them snow-shoes most of her time." " well, w^ell, mother, never mind," said bonaventurc, good-humoredl}'; " you know that when you were a girl you liked to do a great deal of running around too, so don't be too hard on her. i don't like to have her out quite so late, though," he continued, as he looked and saw it was just growing dark. b}^ the time the sore hand was finally dressed it had darkened perceptibly, and yet no gabrielle. bonavent urc glanced several times out of the window, and began to grow slightly uneasy. pierre, who smelled a good ig, was loath to go back to the shanty ippei vi.-; '£>> hunting lou tamarack clum. 173 without tastini;it, so liu began to jabber away in real french fishion to bonav'entiirc. the iu'-enious fronchma.i had long ago learned that to get bona vcnture's attention and good-will it was only necessary to talk of their nationality; so he rattled ahead about some of the boy companions he used to have down in l(jwer canada, before he came west. he told of paul, and jean, and napole(m, and — yes, he even knew a bonaventure there. it was music in the foreman's ear, and he listened more and more intently as the nar rator grew enthused over his reminiscences. the time went on, and before they knew it supper was ready. as mrs. mcglorrie l)rought in the last dish she remarked: " i don't sec what's keepiii' (iabrielle. wshe never stayed out so late as this before." "isn't that girl here yet?" asked bonaventure, sud denly jumping t(; his feet. "no." " well, that's strange. i wish you'd told me. i was listening to pierre and forgot. which wav does .she usually go? oh, there, she's coming now, i think. i hear some one," but it turned out to be b'gob-sir, who stamped his feet noisily to shake off the snow, and then stepped heavily into the room. after bidding them all good evening, he asked: "where's gabrielle? i've brought her up some mendin' to do. i broke ofif one string to my ear-lappers, and i wouldn't let any one fix 'em but her, for she made 'em for me in the first place." gabrielle was in the habit of fixing up a few trifling comforts for the old fellow now and then — possibly to t 174 thk hkrmit ov thf, nonquon. repay him for the many times she joked at his expense. he was proud of this attention, and held her little presents very precious, "gabrielle's out some place," said bonaventurc, "and i was just thinking of going and looking for her. i'm uneasy at having her away from home at this hour. i don't know which way to go, though," he continued, as he went to the door and peered anxiously out into the night. " now, bonaventer, don't you worry a minute about gabrielle," said b'gob-sir. "that girl will take care of herself wherever she is. i'd trust her for that a blamed sight quicker'n i would most men. you jest come in and set down and rest yourself content, for she will turn up all right." there was really some solace in the old fellow's words, and in the confidence with which he said them. " i don't know but you're right," said bonaventure, shutting the door. " anyhow, i'll wait a little while, for, as i said, i wouldn't know which way to start." " we might as well have supper," said mrs. mcglor rie. " come, mr. brown, sit up and have something to eat with lis." " oh, no, thank you," answered b'gob-sir, in a reticent way. " i don't care for anything to eat jest now." " why, come along," insisted bonaventure. " draw up your chair and have a cup of tea. you mustn't hang back like that when you're in this house." "well, now, bonaventer, what a man you be. i'd no idee of havin' supper with you folks when i come up here, and i tell you i ain't a bit hungry " — at the same time sliding his chair up to the table. for a man who " wasn't a bit hungry," b'gob-sir hunting for tamarack gum. 176 made a very laudable attempt to do justiee to mrs, meglorrie's cooking. they were nearly through with their meal, when bonavcnture began to show a renewed anxiety on gabrielle's account. he glanced uneasily toward the door several times, and listened at every sound. " i surely must go and look for gabriellc," he exclaimed at last. *' i can't wait here any longer. i've thought i heard her two or three times outside, but i think it must be the wind. anyhow, i'm going." just as he said this there was a murmuring sound of words at the doorstep, followed by a fumbling at the latch. every eye was turned expectantly in that direc tion, when suddenly the door opened, and there stood gabrielle with the wild man held tightly by the arm! probably a supper-table was never demoralized so quickly before, b'gob-sir instantly took on the same panic of fright he had experienced at the time of the deer-hunt, and knocking over his chair, he floundered out into the kitchen, where he could be heard tearing around like a loose elephant among the pots, and pans, and kettles. somehow he finally found the door, and they saw no more of him that night. little dennie ran screaming into the bed-room, and sought refuge imder the far side of the bed, mrs. mcglorrie stood hemmed up in a corner, with her hands lifted high in holy horror, and her eyes sticking out so far " you could hang your hat on 'em," as gabrielle afterward claimed. pierre — well, pierre was french — he was naturally excitable — and he had never seen anything in all his life like this. no one can tell what he thought, but he acted very much like a chattering, terrified monkey driven to the far comer of his cage. li 170 the hermit of the nonquon. 'i : " pierre, stop that noise, you fool," exclaimed gubri elle, angrily, "or you'll frighten him away in spite of me, i've had hard enough work gittin' him here." " gabrielle, child," said bonaventure, almost palsied with excitement, " what arc you doing, girl? what have you there? " " an old man, father," answered gabrielle, with a world of pent-up pathos in her voice. *' an old man who is nearly starved, and who must have a home." the object of her remark stood beside her, in all the uncouth animalism that had struck terror to everybody who saw him. he seemed like a captured creature from the woods, ready to break away at the vslightest pro^'^o cation. he was frightened, and suspicious of every object about him — except one. that was gabrielle. he stood staring at the inmates of the house, with eyes " as big as tea-saucers," as phi lander had described, and at every move made by them he would suddenly turn as if to run. but a word from gabrielle, accompanied by a quieting gesture of her hand, brought him round, and made him cling close to her for protection. by dint of much persuasion she got him inside by the fire, and the sensation must have feh comforting to him, for he instinctively reached out his bony hands toward the stove. but she could not induce him to sit down. all the while he was darting sharp, suspicious glances at everything around him, and it was vsv)me time before gabrielle could bring about anything like an imdei\standing between him and the others. it was difficult to tell which was the more frightened, the wild human being or the domesticated ones, bon aventure seemed not so nnicli frightened as awed. he stood watching intently every action, but kept well out hunting for tamarack gum. m of gabriellc's way while she was attempting to reassure her charge. pierre, however, could not restrain himself. in his excitement he gave bonaventure his opinion as to what the thing was, in a variety of lingo beyond interpreta tion. his tongue slipped back so naturally, under the stress of the moment, into his native language, that lialf the words were french and the other half a wholly unintelligible english. what added to his uneasiness was the fact that every time he broke out into an exclamation the wild man darted a quick, curious glance at him that drove his heart into his throat. somehow there so(m began to be a peculiar fascinati(jn in pierre ft)r the wild man, and he watched him closclv. he looked from pierre to gabriel le, and from (jabri elle to pierre, and seemed more and more absorbed in the frenchman. he evidently began to lose his fear, but appeared restless about something, and looked almost appealingly at gabrielle. vslic could not make out what caused him to act in this way, but saw that pierre's incessant chatter seemed to absorb his atten tion, and relieve liis fear, .so she told pierre to talk away. finally the wild man began to show symptoms of wanting to go annmd (ju the side f^f the stove toward pierre. this caused a fresh flow of french from pierre, while the wild man stop[)ed short and stared at him with that same puzzled, peculiar expressitm. all at once his lips began to move, and a low, muttering sound came fr(/m him. it was almost a whisper, emit ted in short, jerky intervals, and seemed like the halt i' ing utterance of a thought strugglin; in a blank mind. lor recognition 12 178 the hermit of t?ie nonouon. 1h'* vsuddenly pierre ceased his chatter and listened intently, then broke out in the greatest excitement: " by golly, bonaventurc, she's franch!'" "what was tjiat you said, pierre? " asked bonavent urc, almost as excited as the other. " i tol' you she's francli. she spick dc fram^ais!'" " are you surc^ pierre? " " sure! mon dicii! can't you leesten? i tol' you yaas, she's franch! parlcz-vous franraisf" he said, turning to the wild man. a ray of intelligence shot across the uncouth face, and after a moment's hesitation the lips moved again, but with the same halting utterance. " she no spick ^'■^c^'," said pierre, '* bot — she's franch." bonaventure was strangely moved. somehow he felt the same sensation of awe that had come over him in the woods when they were searching for the cave. the element of fear seemed to be subsidinuwith the wild man, and he glanced around, till finally his eye fell on the supper-table. he looked somewhat greedily toward it, and gabrielle moved him up to a chair by the table and managed to force him into it. as he was sitting down he seized a bit of bread and began munch ing it. his back was turned to the others. suddenly he sprang to his feet, and turned and looked suspiciously at them. gabrielle pushed him around to the other side of the table, and seated him where his eyes could watch them. she sat close to him, and fed ' *m bountifullv. "isn't this worth bringin' him home for?" she said. '* look at the way he eats. poor old fellow, he's nearly starved." • the wild man evidently liked to hear gabrielle talk. he even stopped chewing while she spoke, and nestled 'ji ill hunting for tamarack gum. 1?9 h le at id. -ly ik. cd up close to her in a way that made ^irs. mcglorric's " flesh creep," as she afterward declared. the lii'irl exerted a wonderful influence over him for some reason. after feeding him his fill, she took him again to the stove, and this time ho sat down. the sense of animal comfort was fast allaying his suspicion, and gabrielle was soon relieved to see that he had lost all disposition to run away. little dennie, who had been shivering under the bed all iiiis time, hearing that the excitement had for some reason died down, ventured to come out. as he stepped cautiously to the bed-room door, the wild man caught sight of him, and instantly a strange agitation came over him. it was not fear — that was plain — but a pathetic emotion of some sort seized him, and he began to gasp for breath and tremble. he looked intensely — almost wistfully — at dennie, and started to go toward him; but it was not in the same way that he had approached pierre. evidently there was nothing about pierre except his speech which attracted him, for as soon as pierre stopped talking french he paid no further attention to him. but there was something in the appearance of dennie which seemed to have a sudden fascination for him. that poor youth, when he saw the wild man looking at him with such terribly big eyes, and saw him coming toward him, was frightened almost into spasms, and making a sudden dart managed this time to reach the stairs. he disappeared into the garret as precipitately as b'gob-sir had done out of the kitchen door. when mrs. mcglorric — the wild man had nev^er paid the slightest attention t(j her — at last found her tongue, she said to gabrielle: 180 tiih hermit of thf, nonquon. ** well, now that you've gone and brought this — this creatur' here, i'd like to know what you are going to do with him? " "i'm goin' to sit up with him to-night," answered gabrielle, " and see that he is kept comfortable till morning. i'll make a bed for him here by the stove, and watch him. it'll be the most comfortable bed the poor soul has had for many a long night, i should say." "well, gabrielle, my child," said her father, "i will keep you company. i don't want to leave you here alone, and anyhow, i wish you to tell me all about how you came to get him." pierre hastened away to the shanty, swelled with the startling news he had for the shantymen, while mrs. mcglorrie made her way into the garret to quiet the fears of her beloved dennic; and the last mutterings heard as she ascended the stairs sounded something like this: "hunting for tamarack gum, humph! " 1) n ' xx. gabrielle's story. ^ abrielle made a bed for her charge on the floor ^-^ by the vstove, and he curled down upon it much after the fashion of a vstray dog. his heavy breathing soon showed that his fear had left him, and he was sleeping soundly. it had been a trying day for gabrielle, and when at last an occasional snore from the cot by the stove indi cated that there was no further necessity for watching, she climbed impulsively on her father's knee, as she had so often done when a child, and, placing her arms around his neck, laid her head wearily on his broad shoulder. "you're tired, my child," said her father, tenderly brushing back the dark locks from her forehead with his hand. " you'd better go to bed, dearie, and let me watch. i'll call you if needed." " no, father, i don't want to go to bed to-night. i don't want to leave him — nor you either. i must talk to you, and tell you all about it, i'd have told you before, but i was afraid maybe you wouldn't want me to do it, and i couldn't bear to think of leavin' him out in the woods any longer. it was awful, father, when you think of it. and all these years — i don't know how many." " but how did you know where he was? " "philander took me over there some weeks ago and showed me the spot." "philander?" -^ . ' (181) 182 the hermit of the nonquon. "yes, father, l)ut you mustn't blame him, you must blame me, for he didn't want to do it without you knowin' it. you needn't blame him, for it was all my fault." ** fault! it was nobody's fault, child. i don't blame anybody — yes, i blame myself for not followingthe matter up as i should have done. gabrielle, you mustn't talk to me about blaming' you for anything you do. you know i never do that." "i know, father, and i often wonder why you don't." " because, child, i know that you would never do any thing wrong if you knew it." she kissed his roughened cheek and nestled closer to him. " but, father, i do act awful sometimes. don't you remember that time last spring, down by the creek, when i was out in the canoe?" and some of the old roguish twinkle came back into her eyes. " yes, you little minx, i do remember it, for i was frightened terribly for a minute." " i don't know what makes me do such things — but — i can't help it." " i know yoi. can't," said her father, with an amused smile, as he thought of some of her youthful capers; ''and that's the reason i can't blame you. but you are getting older now, gabrielle, and you mustn't do so many dangerous things. it would hurt me more than it would you if anything was to happen." ** i know i'm older, father, and i don't think i'll ever git into so much mischief again. i don't feel like i used to," she said, with more soberness. '*i ain't a bit like i was a year ago. i never used to think what i was doing. but now it's different. all the while since gabrielle s story. 183 i have been goin' over to fraser's creek i haven't been easy a minute on aecount of doin' something' on the sly from you; but i was afraid to tell you for fear you'd stop me." " and that's what i should have done," he remarked, with almost a shudder, as he thought it all over. " but i'd have gone myself and got this old man. that was my intention after the trip i made over there, but i've been so busy with the logs." "well, then, i'm glad i didn't tell you, father," gabrielle declared, " for you never could have got any where near him." " tell me how you managed it the whole thing frightens me.' " it needn't frighten you. the old fellow wouldn't hurt a mouse — tmless he wanted to catch it to eat; and i guess he'd eat almost anything. why, he v/as so hungry; but i must tell you all about it. i wish philan der was here. he thought i was frightened out entirely; and i tell you the first glimpse i got when philander and i peeped into the cave was enough to scare me most to death. i didn't expect to see anything, as philander had said it wouldn't likely be in the ciive, and when i looked in and seen the two great eyes starin' up at me i never got such a start. but when i thought it all over afterward, i was bound to see more of it, for i was sure it couldn't be very dangerous. i remembered you all telling how fast it would run away, and i thought by that it wouldn't be likely to hurt any one. and, anyhow, i couldn't rest till i had done some thing about it, for i couldn't bear the idea of icavin' it over there if it was human — and i knew it must be." " yoii have g(jt a bigger heart than all the rest of us," interposed her father fondlv. ^ 184 ii!i the hermit of the nonquon. " so i picked on a nice bri^dit day — it's an awful place over in there, isn't it? — and started to ' hunt for tamarack ^um.' " in spite of her the mischief would come into her words and looks. '* you shouldn't have told mother that," protested her father; hut the amused expression on his face relieved the protest of anythinij;" in the nature o{ a reprimand. ''what could i do, father? i either had to say some thing^ of that sort or give up goin', and i couldn't do that." " well, well, child, this is no time for me to be fault finding. tell your story." " i crept up carefully to where i could see the erotchcd cedar, and could almost see the cave, and then hid myself and watched. i knew he must climb that cedar often, for i seen wdiere he had made it smooth the first time i was over. it zcas h^iesome, i tell you, and i stayed there so long that i b'lieved i'd have to give it up and come away. then i thought i'd go down and climb the cedar and find out what i could from there. but right then i heard something movin' down in the hollow, and in a minute, sure enough, i seen him climbin' up the cedar. he got up as far as the crotch, and then looked carefully around the pine toward the cave. he glanced all over, as if suspicious of something, but couldn't see anything, and finally slid down the cedar out of sight. i watched in the direction of the cave, and soon i saw his head come bobbin' along, and in a minute i heard the stone grate over the mouth of the cave, i knew he was safe inside now, and i slipped down to the cedar and laid a piece of bread i had brought with me on the upturned root. then i was afraid some animal might come along and (iaijrlelle s story. 18') get it before he seen it, and i didn't know what to do." *' why didn't you take it up to the mouth of the cave and leave it there? " suj^j^ested her father, with a pecul iar inflection, at the same time watching her face closely. " well now, i — say, father, didn't he look jest awful olit there in the woods?" vshe snui4j4ied up to him. as it all came back to her, and he held her closer to his breast, with a smile. " i don't see how you had the courage to do what you did, my child. it frightens me now when i think of it. go on." ** so at last i climbed up the cedar and put the bread in the crotch, where he couldn't help sccin' it next time he went up. tlicn i started f(jr home, and as soon as i got my back turned on the spot i b'licve i must have got more scared every minute, for i never hurried so fast in my life till i was well out of the woods. but i couldn't rest the next day till i had gone back again, and instead of waitin' so long to watch the cedar, i looked all around, and then climbed up to where i had left the bread. it was g(mie, and i put some more in its place. i was jest startin' to come down, when i seen his head pop out from behind a clump of l)ushes up by the cave. instead of me watchin' him this time he had watched me. wh^n he seen me he come right out from behind the bushes and stared at me. he put his hand up over his eyes to shade 'em, for all the world li;:e you do sometimes, and i b'licve i wasn't quite so scared of him on that account. he didn't seem much afraid of me, and didn't act a bit like all the rest of you said he would. he acted something 186 the hermit of the nonquon. like he did to-nig-ht when he seen dcnnie. it's funny how cnrious he ^oes on sometimes, and you'd almost imag'ine he thoug'ht he knew some of us. it made me a little uneasy to be stared at like that — thouj^h i wasn't so frightened as poor little dennie was to-night — and so i erept down the tree and started away. i hadn't more'n got my back turned till he was at the foot of the cedar, and up it he went like a cat and grabbed the bread. why, he could climb that tree in a quarter of the time i could. he didn't seem to care anything more about me — never looked which direction i went — but the way he eat that bread paid me for all my trouble. father, don't you think it's awful to have any thing so hungry as that?" she suddenly asked, as she glanced pathetically down at the sleeping figure by the stove. " gabrielle, i wish all the world had your heart, my child. there wouldn't be much suffering, i'm sure." ** when i seen how hungry he was, i took more stuff with me next time, and i'm afraid the last week i've robbed mother's cupboard awfully." she smiled a lit tle as she continued. " i heard her scoldin' dennie the other day for piecin' so much between meals, but he denied it, and i didn't blame him. " after i had gone several times in that way, he got so he would watch for me, and at last one day he couldn't wait till i got away, but came right down the path within a few yards of me, as i was putting the food on the root of the cedar. he didn't look nearly so ugly and bad when i was close to him, and — somehow he piits me in mind, every once in awhile, of — oh, well, now i won't say what i was goin' to, for you might not like it, and anyway i know you'd laugh at me — but — " gabrielle s story. 187 "why, say it, my child," insisted her father, surprised at her sudden eonl'usion. " i won't laujj^h at you, child." ** well, i was g'oin' to say that — that sometimes he makes me think oi you. the way he put his hand over his eyes that first day was jest like you. of course he don't look a bit like you," she hastened to assure him, emphasizing it with a kiss, " but when he walked down the path toward the cedar there was somethins^about him that took away every bit of fright i had for him. before i stopped to think what i was doin' i reached out a piece cf meat, and he come up and took it out of my hand, and stood there and — and — guzzled it. there ain't any other word for it, father. you never saw a human being eat like he did. when the meat was swallowed, i gave him a piece of bread and butter, and i kept on feedin' him till all the stuff was gone. when he seen there was no more food he began looking at me in that same funny way of his, and i couldn't make out what it meant. i spoke to him, and he looked as if he wanted to talk, but didn't seem to understand what i said, and wasn't able to say anything himself. he mumbled a little, like he did here to-night to pierre, though not nearly so much. but the way he acted was the fimniest part of all. he seemed to want to come closer to me, and made such queer motions with his hands. i sat on the root of the cedar watchin' what he would do, and first thing i knew he came up close to me and reached out and touched my hair." bonaventure felt gabrielle give a little shiver as she said this; at least he thought he did, and yet he was not exactly sure that it was not himself that had shiv ered. he certainly felt like it. gabrielle went on: " he mumbled a little, and then begun to rub his image evaluation test target (mt-3) v // i^.r m. 1.0 i.i i;*i 1.25 sim im :: 'iiiim 2.0 iii— 1-4 mil 1.6 photographic sciences corporation 23 west main street webster, ny. 14s80 (716) 872-4503 l<p i^' ^. 188 the hermit of the nonquon. hand down over my shoulder and along my arm. i tell yon what it is, father, that wa.s about the tightest place i ever was in. i don 't know how i managed to keep from screamin' and runnin' away. it made my flesh creep in spite of me, and i couldn't help movin' jest a little as he went on feelin' of me. but the minute i stirred the least bit he jerked away his hand, kind o' scared, and stepped back. i seen he was as much afraid of me as i was of him, and maybe more, so i contrived to git my heart back where it ought to be again. i tried after that to coax him along with me, but i couldn't make him understand what i wanted, and i had to leave him for that day. when i went again he was waitin' for me at the foot of the cedar, and i fed him a little and then walked away and held out a piece of meat to him, and he followed after me till he got it. he stood still till he had swallowed it, and came after me to git some more. in this way i got him quite a distance from the cave, but when the food was all gone he wouldn't go any further. i stayed with him awhile, and talked to him, and tried to persuade him to come with me, but he didn't seem to know what i meant, i was about dis couraged, but when i started to go away i could see he didn't want me to leave him, and after i had gone a few rods i heard him comin' after me. i thought i had him then sure, but the minute we reached the clearin' he stooped, and wouldn't leave the woods. the next time i went — that was day before yesterday — i stayed away till later than usual, and by the time i got nicely into the woods i met him comin' to meet me. this time i managed to git him out as far as the road, but the first sleigh he saw driving along he run like the wind. i hadn't fed him nearly so much this time, for i wao gabrielle s story. 189 keepin' most of the food to coax htm with, and i knew he would be hungry. i stayed away yesterday on pur pose — anyway it was an awful long walk over there every day or two." " i don't see how you ever managed to go so often. you must have been very tired at night, after coming home," said her father. "oh, i didn't mind that at all/' and then, with a long breath, she admitted, " i'm glad it's all over, though. well, when i went there to-day i found him in the edge of the woods, and i suppose the poor old fellow had watched all day yesterday for me. there was no mistake about him being glad to see me. i didn't go till late, so that by the time i got him out to the main road it was gittiii' dusk. that was what i wanted. i didn't feed him very much, as i meant to keep him hungry. whenever he acted scared and looked like runnin' i held him by the arm and talked to him. the minute i spoke he was all right, and after awhile when he heard anything he would kind o' tremble and keep close to me, like you seen him to-night at the supper-table. i don't b'lieve any one else could 'a' done anything with him. poor old fellow, he jest seemed to lose all confidence in himself when he was some distance on the road, and looked to me to take care of him. 1 hurried him along as fast as i could after that, and finally got him here to the door. i thought he was goin' to break away and run when i brought him up near the house, but i talked away to him and he came with me like a dcg. there, you know it all now," she said, suddenly breaking off, "and i've got him here; and, father, i don't want to ever let him git away again to live in that terrible place. 190 the hermit of the nonquon. i 'it; 1<> : somehow there is something about him that makes me feel near to him, and though he does look most awful in that rough, shaggy suit — hasn't he got the skins fixed together, though, in a funny way? i don't believe i could ever tie anything up so snug and com fortable as that. \ou must look at it in the morning. pieces of wolf-skin, and fox-skin, and all sorts of things are fastened together with strings stripped from some kind of bark. but what i was goin to say was, that, with all his rough looks, i can't help feelin' that — well, what i mean is that i couldn't bear to think of him ever havin' to suffer any more like he has done. it's awful, father; and i want to ask you if we can' keep him here. i'm sure he won't do any one the least bit of harm, and he needn't be any bother, for i'll promise to look after him myself, and i'll do the cookin' — i'll work hard — i'll do anything, father, so't mother won't be troubled with him in any way, if you'll only let me keep him." " why, gabrielle, child, what are yon going on in this way for? as if i'd ever have the heart to turn the old man out. you may do as you wish with him, for surely he is yours — only i'd like you to get some different . clothes for him," he added, looking down at the uncouth heap by the fire. "oh, i'll 'tend to all' that," gabrielle replied, "when i get him so he'll wear 'em." "you mean when you get him tamed." "why, father, i didn't think you'd joke like that about it," she said, looking at him rather surprised. " i don't know as i was joking. well, never mind. i hope we'll know more about him some day — know something of his past life. he must have a queer story, if he could only tell it." gabrielle s story. 191 they both fell into a quiet study for some minutes, and then bonaventure said: "now, child, you'd better go to bed and get some sleep. i'll watch him." " father, i'd rather not leave cither of you to-niuht. somehow i want to stay with you." "then, dearie, go to sleep where you are." " but i'm afraid i'll be heavy on your knee." "ah, have i ever thought you heavy when i was holding you?" he asked, pressing her fondly to his breast. " father, there isn't another man in all the world like you." her left arm was thrown across his chest, and the hand lay over his right shoulder. her head sank upon the other side, and the beautiful dark hair fell in profusion over his arm. soon she was fast asleep. bonaventure sat and gazed long and thoughtfully into the shimmering streaks of light from the stove. he gazed, while the fire burned lower and lower, till at last but one faint glimmer held his eye. what he thought no one ever knew — what he felt he scarcely knew himself. !!f xxi. pierre and the wild man. t t may be imagined that there was great excitement "•■ around the nonquon when the news spread that gabrielle had captured the wild ma)i. people had been more or less superstitious about him ever since it became known that there vas siich a creature in exist ence. the majority had insisted at first that there could not be a wild man in that vncinity, and made sport of those who claimed to have seen him; but when one after another stated emphatically that they had caught passing glimpses of him, many of the people finally admitted that there must be something in it. and yet no one cared to investigate the matter, so it had drifted along with an occasional humorous allusion to it, much after the manner of b'gob-sir's previous taunting display the night philander had first told about it in front of bonaventure's. now when the partially mythical repeats had developed into actual facts, and the subject of all this talk was assuredly a human being, and was safely housed at the mc glorries, ctiriosity ran high. gabrielle was the heroine of the hour. she paid little attention to what the peo ple said — that did not interest her — but she watched carefully, day by day, the changes in the old man. and surely no human being ever changed more rapidly than he. by the time he had been there a week he had fallen into the ways of the household to a wonderful (192) pierre and the wild man. 193 dcpfrcc. he had on a proper suit of clothes, he showed not the slifjfhtcst inclination to run away, and he was willing to cat at regular intervals. true he retained many o^ the manners of the woods. he could not be induced to sleep in a bed, but snuggled down by the stove every night. it seemed more convenient for him to cat with his fingers than any other way, and he could not tolerate a hat on his shaggy head. when ever sitting or lying, he never rose without involun tarily ducking his head as if afraid of striking it against something — a pathetic memory of the cave. when left alone for any time, he would pick up the first sharp instrument he could get and begin scratching on the whitcw:ij-.hed surface of the logs forming the walls of the room. in this way he had made many queer figures along the wall, and gabrielle was completely puzzled at this, till one day philander happened to see them and told her they were the counterpart of those on the wall of the cave. he was most interesting whenever pierre came around. it was soon evident that he understood the french language, and he could even speak a few words that pierre could grasp. it was most amusing to see the emphatic gestures of pierre when trj'ing to lead the old man out into a general conversation, and get him to relate something about himself. ** what are you sa3'ing to him?" asked bonavcnturc one day as they were all sitting around, and pierre was laboring with the extreme vividness of his nature. "i ax him," said pierre, impressivcl}', " af he got a waf." "oh, you fool, pierre! " broke in (kibricllc, in disgust. but evidently the old man understood pierre better 13 194 the hermit of the nonquon. than she thought, for he was trying to say something. pierre listened intently, and then turned triumphantly to the others: " i tol' you — dass all right. he know. he say he hain't got no waf. bot — hoi' on — wass dat? " he sud denly asked, forgetting his t^rench, as the old man was stammering something, and motioning with his hand. " a-h-h-h." and, after listening a moment more, he continued: *' i teenk he say he got a icetle boy — 'bout so high," measuring a short distance above his knee. " i teenk — wall, i dunno." " oh, you don't know anything," said gabriellc, whose burning desire to learn something definite about the old man outstripped her judgment in giving pierre his just due. she knew the old man had no little boy. but pierre was able to understand more and more of his talk as time went on, and some of it turned out extremely interesting, as we shall see. xxii. one sunday night. t^here was one individual in the ncijji^hborhood who found it difficult to tell whether he was j^oin^ to like or to hate the old man. he was certain that he should do cither one or the other, for it appeared to him that his interests were to be largely affected l)y his advent. that was donald, he was inclined to look favorably on him in one way, for it gave him an excuse for frequent visits to the mcglorries, and donald always required some excuse other than the true one for visiting the home of the little bewitching, black eyed french girl. he lacked the courage to court gabrielle in an open-handed manner, as he should have done, and looked upon any unusual occurrence which brought him into her presence as a fortunate chance. in every fiber of his nature he was reticent and bashful. this was doubly emphasized when gabrielle was around. he was probably a little afraid of her; in any event he felt more awkward, and seemed to make more mistakes — so he considered them — when her 03^08 were upon him. he could not quite understand her, any more than could manj^ others arotmd the nonquon, but he loved her — there was no doubt about that. he had not been permitted to see much of her since that last night of the revival, and when he did see her it was always when some one else was present. ?ie had not the ingenuity of the ordinary lover to plan means of (195) 196 the hermit of the nonquon. seeing the object of his love alone, so he had to put up with the meager satisfaction of an occasional chance meeting. and, truth to tell, these chance meetings of kite had been productive of much doubt and foreboding in his mind. he watched closely for some evidence that her manner on the evening of their walk home from the revival had meant something more than a passing fancy of hers, but he was disappointed; worse than this, he was ahiiost discouraged. it seemed she ignored him more than ever. she scarcely ever spoke to him unless it was absolutely necessary, and appeared to be so interested in the old man she had rescued that she had no thought for the scotch boy at all. this was the point which raised the idea in donald's mind as to whether it would not be the proper thing for him to hate the old fellow. had there been a young man in the case, he certainly should have been aroused; and what appeared to be the very crowning climax of his trouble, a young man did appear in the case, and donald was aroused. the young man was none other than the rev. amos springle, the very one whoin donald would have selected as his most dangerous rival. he had heard it circulated quite freely among the gossips that the min ister was in the habit, each vsunday, of putting in more of his time at the mcglorries than was absolutely necessary or consistent with his duties as pastor. the fact was not to be mistaken that mr. springle took an unusual interest in the french girl, even though she had withstood the fervent appeals of prosper on the memorable night of the revival. possibly he took an interest in her because she had withstood those appeals. in any event he unwisely set the tongues in his congrega one sunday night. 197 tion to waj^-jj^ing by his repeated visits at bonaventure's. when donald beeamc aware of the frequency of these visits — reports had been greatly exaj^j^erated to him — he was in despair at first, and then, sagely shaking his good seotch head, he resolved on a plan: "i'll go down the next time he eonies, and i'll see for myself. i'd he a fool to let him get (iabrielle away from me, for he couldn't begin to love her like i do. how could he, when he's only known her so short a time? why, i've seen her day in and out for so long now that i know her every acti(mi, i know just how she walks, how she runs, how she drops down on one knee to tie little den nie's cap-strings under his chin, how she buttons his coat snug up to his neck, how she tucks his mittens under his coat-sleeves, how she makes him warm and comfortable whenever lie goes out with her; and how she does the same thing for her father, only she has to reach up instead of stooping down — and i'm sure i don't know which way !;he loo'.is best. oh," he contin ued, with more feeling, *' i've seen her do all these things so many times, and i've seen her moving around the house helping her mother, and it always seemed she could do her work in half the time other folks could; and then i've seen her bending over little allie farley when she was sick one time, with such a look on her face as if she'd rather have been sick herself; and i've seen her climb upon her father's knee, and put her arms around his neck, and — oh, i can't bear it! i can't think of her marrying any one else. no one could love her like i do. this preacher, what does he know about her? he never could love her as she ought to be loved; he doesn't know her well enough. i'm going down next time he comes." and he did. 198 the hermit of the nonquon. it was tho following sunday, and the minister had driven strai^^ht to i3(niavcntiire's before service, with the ostensible purpose, as he said, of seeing how the old man had 1)een j^etting alongsince his last visit to the nonquon. it seemed at the old man was proving a rather prolific source of excuse for gabrielle's suitors. mrs. mcglorrie insisted on the minister having his horse put out and taking tea with them before church. after supper dennie and his mother accompanied the minister to church, leaving gabrielle and her father home with the old man. in the course of the evening donald dropped in, and he and bonaventure were busily engaged talking about the work at the shanty when the others came from church. gabrielle had busied herself with the old man all evening, and had shunned donald so pointedly that it stung him severely, and set him to thinking harder than ever. he was determined to watch closely the relations between her and the minister. instantly on the arrival of the church goers .she was all smiles, and as full of life as a cricket. donald's heart sank with a terrible sense of despair when he noticed the sudden change that had come over her. the case had gone farther even than he had been led to believe by the gossips, and he was almost desper ate. he had never seen her act so bewitchingly charm ing as she was acting now; and when he thought that all of these charms were displayed for the benefit of some one else, who was almost like a stranger to them all, he could scarcely contain himself. and the minister, too, was in the best of spirits. donald thought he had never heard any one talk so brilliantly as he did — and he hated him for it. why could he not have the gift of speech in this way, so that he might prove attractive, one sunday night, 190 instead of being oblij^cd to sit dejectedly in one corner and feel himself completely humiliated and ignored? it was the darkest hour he had ever known, and he was quite appalled to find how seriously the thing affected him. he never knew till then how utterly imhappy life would be without gabrielle. he never knew how much he loved her. it was like tearing asunder his own heartstrings. he blamed himself for not having pushed his suit with all the vehemence of his soul months ago, before this other man came along, with his polish, his glitter, and his winning tongue. it was terrible to feel as donald felt then. when it came time for the minister to go, ronaven ture went out to hitch his h(jrse to the cutter, and donald rushed after him to help. he could not toler ate the idea of remaining in the house another minute. he felt stifled and desperate, and was glad of something to take him out into the open air. when the horse was driven up to the house, the minister was standing at the doorstep putting on his driving-gloves. gabrielle and her mother had come to the door to see him off. the night was beautifully clear and moonlight, and the bells jingled rhythmically to the tread of the horse. " oh, what a lovely horse! " exclaimed gabrielle. "wouldn't you like a drive after him?" asked the minister, delighted at her praise. " ' course i would." he looked around a moment, quickly studying the situation. he was bent on having her see what a really fine horse he had, and yet it was hardly appropriate for a minister to be seen driving through the village sun day evening after church with a young lady as his only companion. 200 the hermit of the nonquon. ?li!'l! mm m> "jump in, mr. mcfarlanc," he said to donald, "and we three will ^o for a short drive. the eiitter is large enough. get on your wraps," he eontinued, turning to gabriel ic. away she went, and socni eame out with her most beeoming winter hood tied tightly under her ehin. she looked prettier than ever in the moo'dight with that hood on as she tripped lightly down the steps and into the eutter. this was wormwood and gall to donald, but he cjuld do nothing else than elimb clumsily — he thought he never had been so clumsy before — in with the others. it seemed t(j him that he was in some manner aiding the minister's suit, and he had never seemed so helpless in his lii'e. "i'll bring her back in a little while," sang out mr. springle to bonaventure and his wife as he drove away. " bring /ut back," said donald to himself. " so you've forgotten already that there's anybody else with you. well, i wish there wasn't, that's all." what a jolly drive it was, for two of them. ]\ir. springle and gabriellc chatted away and laughed, and she praised his horse, and he praised her judgment, and they both seemed perfectly oblivious to donald, who sat fuming. he sincerely wished the cutter would upset, or something happen to stop this horrible night mare. he would not have cared much if they had all been injured badly. oh, hold on — all but gabriellc. he would not have a hair of her head injured to save the nation. but he wished he might be hurt some himself — he thought it would feel good to be hurt; and that preacher — well, he would not have been a bit sorry to see his nose bleeding, or something that would make him look ridiculous, and put him at a disadvantage. one sunj)ay n'kiht. 201 they had driven far over the liill lo the south of the vil la«^e, when suddenly gal)rielle said they must ^o back. " but i can't turn around here, on account of the snow-banks," said the minister. " i'll have to take you a little farther." "oh, g^oodness! " exclaimed gabrielle, " these banks lead away down past jonas wicklow's. we can never ride that far. donald and i will get out and walk back." ''oh no, i can't allow that," said the preacher, sud denly alarmed at the idea of losingher society so soon. " it wouldn't be treating you very nicely to invite you for a drive, and then compel you to walk home. i'll try to turn around here." "no, no," insisted gabrielle. "you could never get the cutter around without tippin' it over, and i'd be awful sorry to see you get into any trouble on our account. no, stop the horse, and we'll step out here," and before he could offer any protest she had gently touched the lines so that the horse halted, and the next instant she was in the road bidding him good-night. what he thought as he drove away no one ever knew. probably he wished that she used better gram mar, and that she was cut out more after the manner of an ideal minister's wife, but if these thoughts did enter his mind, it was probably not difficult to dispel them with the memory of her eyes, her hair, her figure, and her spirits. in any event, he drove a long distance with the lines hanging loosely over the dashboard, and his eyes cast abstractedly at the robe on his \ii\). what donald thought as he started home by ga brielle's side may be somewhat conjectured by his first remark. " i wish he /la d i\-psct\ " 202 the hermit of the nonquon. "what! " said gabrielle, looking up at him quickly. " i say i wish he had upset." " why, whatever do you mean? that's a nice way to talk about anybody, 'specially any one like mr. springle." " oh, i knoiv you think there isn't another man on earth like him," he said, rather bitterly. " well," she remarked, in feigned surprise, " don't you think he's nice? i thought — " " oh, what you think about him and what i think are two entirely different things," he broke in. " vscems we never could agree to think alike about anything, anyhow, so i suppose it's all right whatever you may think about him." " well, if that ain't — why, whatever is the matter with you to-night? " "no more the matter with me to-night than ever there was." "well, i never knew you to act like this before." " because i've always been too much of a fool." his scotch blood surely was up at last. " fool! well, if you are wiser to-night than you ever was before, i don't know but — but — i'd rather — " " you'd rather have me a fool all my life, would you? " he interposed, savagely. " i suppose you would, but i'm not going to be, i can tell you that." it was well that they were walking with the moon behind them so donald could not see gabrielle's face, for he probably v/ould have been much puzzled by it. she held her head demurely down as she walked along, and studiously avoided looking up at him. he inter preted this as an evidence that she wished to shun him as much as possible, and could have sworn to himself one sunday night. 203 that she was then and there comparing him with chat puppet of a preacher to his immense disadvantage this made him boil more than ever. "gabrielle! " he broke out again, excitedly, "you no doubt think he is the very pink of perfection. prob ably he can talk more politely than i can; probably he jias whiter hands, and a neater turned necktie, but — he—" "//r.?" she interposed. "who are you talking about? " " talking about! as if you didn't know! i'm talk ing about that young sprig of a minister — that's who i'm talking about — and you knew it well enough." " i don't see how i could know it. you never said." this in a low, subdued voice, altogether unlike her usual retort. he thought she was poking fun at him. suddenly he halted and looked at her, with his lip quivering. they were just passing through the village, and he choked back the utterance which rose to his lips, for fear some one might hear it. they walked on in silence till the sight of gabrielle's gate drove don ald to desperation. " gabrielle," he began, with more decision in his voice, but less vehemence, " i've something to say to you to-night. it may do no good, and i don't suppose it will — but i'm going to say it. you and i have known each other a long time, and you know what i think of you — " " you never told me," she murmured, in the strangest little voice he had ever heard from her lips. his heart almost jumped into his throat for an instant, and he glanced quickly at her in an inquiring way. but don ald was a sad blunderer when gabrielle was in the 204 the hermit of the nonquon. si! i w' v question, and he now added one more blunder to the others. lie was so desperately dejected that it was easy for him to think she was ag'ain making fun of him; but he managed to keep back the outburst that voi.fj within him, and went on, with a little more bitterness in his tone: "that mr. vspringle may be all very fine — i don't care to say anything against him — but, gabrielle, he hasn't got it in him to love you as i do. how could he ? he hasn't known you so long as i have. he hasn't seen so much of you. he may think he loves you, and you may think he does, but it isn't like my love. it can'/ be. he has other things to think of, while i have nothing but you. he must think of his sermons, and his church work, and his congregation. he mu>st study how he can please them; and there's lots of his congregation that he couldn't please very well by marrying you. i've thought it all over to-night — i've thought what might happen — i've thought that perhaps he would get you to — to — thinking a good deal of him, and then in the end yield to the influence of some of his swell church folks down at port rowen, and not marry you. i've thought of that, and how you'd feel, and what the folks around here would say about you; and, gabrielle, as i'm alive, i've swore that i'd thrash the man that would treat you like that. i'd do more than that — i couldn't help it — i'd kill him!" growing more excited and in earnest, and not looking at gabri elle at all. "i'd throttle the man who would trifle with you, gabrielle — i'd throttle him till his lying tongue dangled out of his mouth." "danam/" screamed gabrielle, suddenly throwing her arms passionately about his neck, and looking up one sunday night. )i05 into his face with streaming eyes. " my darling-, dar ling, don't! " she was trembling like a frightened fawn in his strong arms, as he began raining frenzied kisses upon her face. that one impulsive instant had told him more than his blundering senses had been able to learn through all the months that were past; and as the moonlight fell on that upturned face of hers, it showed him a new light in the dark eyes that filled his soul to overflowing. xxiii. donald and gabrielle. \:/:\ i: "\ 1 rhose right is it to say what happened in the next half-hour after that sudden revelation in the moonlight ? surely not ours. at the end of that time they were walking slowly, arm in arm, back and forth between the gate and the house, with apparently no inclination to part. at last gabriellc suddenly started and said: "oh my, it must be getting late. i'd forgot all about the time." "so had i," said donald. "anyhow, it's all the same to me now — early or late — it makes no difference." "but, donald, dear, i must go in. i'm afraid we've stayed out an awful long time. we've said so many things, you know." " yes, and i'd like to say 'em all over again." "is that because we didn't say 'em right? " she asked, looking up at him archly. "no, no, you little witch. i'd like to say them over again so i could remember 'em." " we'll remember them, donald. we'll never forget to-night; and if we don't say the same things again, we'll say better ones." "that's so," assented donald. " everything you say is better than what you said before." " you've learned to praise me very soon," she said, pinching his arm. " why didn't you do that long ago ? i like it" (200) donald and gabrielle. 207 * i was a big blundering fool — that's why." "now i'll put my hand over your mouth if you don't stop that." "then i'll kiss it if you do." "well, hadn't you better kiss me good-night, and go?" " i'll kiss you willingly enough, but i won't say good night till you've told me something else i want to know." "well, what is it, quiek? i must go in." " if you've loved me all along, as you say — if it was you who put the oatmeal-water in the field for me when i was cradling against miles tryne, if you've done so many of these nice things on the sly from me — why is it you treated the minister so very nicely when i was around this evening? " she looked up at him with that old familiar roguish expression that became her so well. " 'cause i wanted you to feel like i did when i heard about the scotch girl." "the scotch girl? what do you mean?" asked donald, knitting his brow. " never you mind, old blindy. i made you feel that way, anyhow, only you felt worse than i ever thought you would; and, oh, donald! i'm so happy — i'm so happy! now i must say good-night. you'll come down to-morrow evening, won't you? " no need to say that donald promised. the days flew rapidly after that — how rapidly only those who have been in love can tell. as with most love affairs, there was a certain degree of disaffection among some of the parties most interested. mrs. mcfarlane and mrs. mcglorrie were placed in a diffi 208 the fu:rmit of the nonquon. cult position. that affair of the turnips was a bhick letter day in their history, and was not to be forgotten. the influence of the revival on mrs. mcglorrie had passed away, and she saw no incentive for making peace with the scotch woman. truth to tell, she had not looked with favor on donald's suit, more especially since the new minister had promised so likely a catch. she had begun building castles on the possibility of having him for a son-in-law, and this sudden turn of affairs had proved a cruel blow. as for mrs. mcfarlane, she was austere and stub born, as usual. the only consoling thought was that donald had proved victorious, and she could not help inwardly admiring gabrielle for her selection. it flattered her somewhat to think that the methodist "meenister" had been rejected for her donald; and besides, she remembered what gabrielle had said about the potash kettle. so her final reflection was that she '* could abide the girl a wee bit — but that mither o' hers — ugh! " donald and gabrielle were walking up from the village — he had cjianccd to meet her there — when he said to her, with a sly scotch twinkle in his eye, " what are we going to do about your mother and mine?" " how do you mean? " " well, you know they don't get on well with each other." gabrielle could scarce repress a smile as she remem bered the sight of her mother's kitchen when she came in after the turnip episode. " oh, they'll get on all right in time. we'll make 'em like each other." and she spoke with the careless donald and gabrielle. 209 conviction that anythingwas easy of accomplishment where donald and she were concerned. then she looked up at him more earnestly, and said: " donald, i'm going to make your mother think more of me than she does. it's all my fault that she doesn't like mc. i'm meaner'n dirt sometimes, and i don't see how any body can think anything of me. i don't see how you could. i guess you must be a little soft." donald was willing to be called soft imder the cir cumstances, but hd did not agree with gabriellc. " i can't see any of your meanness, as you call it, and i don't want you to talk like that about yourself." " but i am, donald, and i can't help it. i say the meanest things before i ever think. why, look at the way i abuse poor old b'gob-sir — i even give him that nickname; and i tease him sometimes till i'm ashamed of myself. first thing i know something pops into my head, then it's onto my tongue, then out it comes, and the mischief's done. i think it over after ward, and i feel like crawlin' on my hands and knees to the person i've abused and takin' it all back a thousand times. donald," and she impulsivel ' took his arm in both her hands, and looked up into his face in a serious way, while her voice fell almost to a whisper, " when ever i make a blunder and say a mean thing to you, jest forget the mean thing, and think of mc crawlin' on my hands and knees to you, for that's what i'll want to be doin' next minute." he had never seen her in such a meek mood before, and this new phase of her nature touched him very tenderly. "bless your pretty heart," he exclaimed, "don't talk to me in that way. blunder! why, you never 14 ili'i!.. 210 the hermit of the nonquon. made a blunder in your life. think of me! i'm the one that blunders. seems to me i've done nothing but blunder when you were near me ever since i knew you. why, the very way i won you at last was only a big blunder on my part. i didn't know x was doing it. i simply bhmdered onto my happiness. think of it! " "oh, donald, that was a lovely blunder," she said, smiling through moist eyes. " i wish mine would turn out as well as that." so may we all wish. xxiv. back to life. a s time went on pierre and the hermit, as he was -^*now known, were able to commimicate more freely with each other. besides this, a very decided change had taken place in the faculties of the wild man. he could properly be called by that name no longer. he began to come to himself, and to construct a trembling bridge across the chasm made by his long hermitage. he slowly struggled to arrange matters definitely in his mind, and the struggle was not alto gether in vain. he was finally able to assign the peo ple about him to their proper relationship, and to realize their identity. at first they had seemed to him merely abstract beings, who fed him and made him warm, and who would not injure him. to be sure, he had been differently impressed by these different beings from the beginning, as we have seen, but his remnant of a mind appeared to be in confusion, and the impres sions seemed wholly instinctive. certain things and sounds struck responsive chords in his nature, as, for instance, the speech of pierre, the sight of dcnnic, and above all, the voice and presence of gabrielle. but the response had been such as might be expected from a well-disposed dog, who had been lost for a long time and afterward found himself with persons who some how appeared familiar to him. there was no intelli gent reasoning between the past and the present, any (211) 212 the hermit of the nonquon. i*' more than there would have been with the clog. in fact his long isolation from humanity had perceptibly dulled many of his human attributes, and he had drifted perilously near to a total eclipse of his finer mental faculties. it required some time for him to right himself about and obtain his proper bearings. it called for many mental gymnastics, to jiunp hither and thither over his former experiences, and weave together the tangled skeins so that he might reason logically as to events and their connection with himself. he had suffered a mild form of insanity — a sort of blank-mindedness — as the result of his hermitage, and his awakening to a proper realization of things, though not so sudden as with some insane people, was certainly as decisive. he could be seen sitting for hours at a time in a dazed sort of study, from which he would sometimes awaken with a start and look curiously about him. on one of these occasions gabrielle was watching him closely, as she had noticed that he was more restless of late, and thought that something unusual was passing in his mind. he was in his favorite nook by the south wall, where the april sun fell full upon him, and he had been there so long that gabrielle had almost concluded it best to arouse him from his reverie. just a.': she was about to do this, she noticed some imdue agitation stirring him. he began nervously to work his hands and mutter to himself. he shook his head slowly from side to side, as if turning .something in his mind, and finally jumped to his feet with much decision and looked around. as soon as he saw gabrielle, he a.sked for pierre. he seemed to realize that no one but pierre could understand him. back to life. 213 that individual had assumed a great importance in the vicinity by this time, on account of being the only available interpreter for the old man. when informed by dennie, whom gabrielle had sent across to the shanty, that ** gabc's old feller " wanted to see him, he precipitately dropped everything and marched off with the air of a man who was badly needed almost every where. when the old man saw him coming he immediately ran to meet him and commenced talking very earnestly. pierre listened with a great deal of gravity at first, but soon began to take on some of the old man's excite ment. finally he turned to gabrielle, with wide-open eyes, and said: "wall! by golly, he remember! he ax me raght off hces name. he live one tam — " " what's his name? " asked gabrielle, unable to con tain herself. " hees name baptiste chaquette." "that's french, isn't it? i wish father was here." she was growing wildly excited. "franch! didn't i tol' you? i ax you raght off dat odder night w'en he cam. deedn't i tol' you he spick franch? yaas — wass dat?" suddenly turning to the old man, who was trying to get his ear. after listen ing a moment, he again turned to gabrielle with the remark that the old man would like to have his things brought from the cave. " of course he shall have 'em," said gabrielle, touched somewhat tenderly by the appeal. " i do wish father was here. i can't stand it till he comes in from the shanty. where's philander, i wonder? where's — oh, the men are never around when they're wanted. i li^ 214 the hermit of the nonquon. i^^> wish i was a man." vshe was impetuous and rattle headed, as usual. " tell him we'll get the things for him as soon as we can, and ask him how he come to be over in that awful place, and who he is, and where he came from, and who his folks are, and if they know where he is, and — and — what are you standin' there for, starin' at me with your mouth wide open as if you didn't hear me? pierre, you're an awful fool when you want to be," she ccncluded, in disgust. pierre may well be excused for some slight inability to grasp the present situation in all of its bearings, for the difficulty of harmonizing the answers of one indi vidual who was obliged to stop and think and stammer a great deal with the questions of another who required half a dozen answered at once was enough to appall even a better man than pierre. but the whole matter came out in due time, and though gabrielle did not learn as much on the present occasion as she wished, yet she was well rewarded for waiting when the story was finally told. this event happened an evening or two later. gabrielle had sent over to the cave the day following the old man's request, and had all of its queer contents brought home. the sight of these things — most of them yellow with age — stirred the old man strangely, and seemed to recall many memories of bygone days. one thing especially, an old frayed letter, was carefully scanned, and placed with a sigh in his pocket. the night of the story several people had dropped in at bonaventure's to listen to pierre's interpretation, the old man having promised that he would tell them all the facts of his life as accurately as he could remember them. the group consisted of philander, donald, back to life. 215 bonaventure and his family, and old b'gob-sir, who had entirely recovered from his fright at the wild man. the story is too long to allow pierre to tell it in his own theatrical, disjointed manner, and its recital must be left to the old man himself. seated in the midst of his listeners, with the flickering fire-light shining through the cracks of the stove and darting across his roughened face with brighter illumination than that made by the feeble candle on the table, he began. t xxv. the old man's story. <( t am french. my name is baptiste chaquette. i -'■ was born in lower canada, near the old village of sorel, between montreal and quebec, i was a happy youth, light-hearted and thoughtless. i had a compan ion, leon bolio, and we were constantly together. everyone said that nothing could separate leon and l but something finally did separate us. we fell in love with the same girl, and became deadly enemies. angelique demerse was her name. she was the fair est creature that ever smiled on a suitor." here he cast one of those curious glances of his in the direction of gabrielle. it was something of the same scrutiny that he had given her when he first saw her in the woods. then he went on: "angelique gave her heart to me, and we were married. everyone said that leon would kill me, but he didn't do that. he dare not. he was no match for me in any contest. i was quicker, stronger, and heavier — always had been as we were boys together — so that he did not dare to attack me openly. had he killed me by stealth, the villagers would have killed him, and he knew it. they said we both had a fair field, and i had won, and there was an end of it. but he did something worse than to kill me. the rankling in his heart grew deeper and deeper as he saw how happy angelique and i were. people told him he had (216) the old man s story. 217 better go away from sorel if he did not like to see us living together, but he said no, he would not go away, he would stay and make us unhappy yet. and he did make us unhappy. we had a little son — a little boy — " " deedn't i tol' you? " cried pierre, stopping short in hio interpretation and turning to gabrielle. " deedn't i tol' you he got leetle boy? i ccl' you about — " " oh, shut your mouth," snapped gabrielle. " do shut your mouth about what you told me, and go on and tell us what he tells you." pierre subsided, and. the old man continued: '• we had a little boy, the brightest-eyed and burliest little fellow in all the world. how we loved him! it's only a memory with me now," he said, looking abstractedly into the fire, "but what a memory! angelique must love a thing with all her heart or not at all. she loved this little boy more than anything else on earth, except me, perhaps, and i — well, i wor shiped him. it frightens me now to think how much i loved him; but i couldn't help it, he was so like — so like angelique and — me. he grew up till he could talk, and play, and be happy, and then one day we missed him. search through the village as we would, we could not find him. leon disappeared at the same time, and then we knew it all. he had stolen our little boy. well he saw what v.-ould hurt us most. you don't know what that means, to. have your little boy stolen — and such a boy! we thought he would cross the line into the states, and we went there. then we searched in all directions, but never got a clue. "angelique — well, i don't want to think of angelique. it broke her poor heart. she lived on in a sort of way, 218 the hermit of the nonquon. i i'll but was no longer the angelique of before. she would sigh in her sleep, and reach out her arms, and call for her little boy. that was awful for me. once she dreamed she saw him. *oh, baptiste! i've got him! i've got him! he's come back! our little — ' then she awoke, and — oh! i can't tell about that! " he sud denly stopped, and leaning forward, let his face drop into his hands, and with his elbows resting on his knees, swayed back and forth for some moments in silence. then he slowly raised himself, and looking absently at the ceiling, he continued: " she died soon after that, and we buried her, and i was alone. that was worse than anything yet — to lose angelique. people were kind to me, but i could hear them say as i passed them on the street, * he'll go insane.' they little knew. it would have been a relief to go insane. i could have forgotten then, but now i could do nothing but remember. one day, years after, a letter came to me. this is it," producing the yellow scrap of paper from his pocket and handing it to pierre to ^ead. gabrielle seized the snuffers and snuffed the candle, to increase the light. but pierre could make nothing of the letter. it was so old and dim, and anyhow it is doubtful if pierre could have read it if it had been newly written. he shook his head. " what! " exclaimed the old man in surprise. " can't read that? why, every word is plain. i can see the letters standing right out on the paper." it is probable that his imagination aided him much in this, for the letter was perfectly illegible to others. " well, i don't need to read it. i can tell you what's in it without that. i couldn't forget it if i tried. it the old man s story. 319 was written from one of the southern states, and reads: " * b aftiste: i'm dying-. the yellow fever is here, and they say i've got it. i don't know if they'll let this letter through the quarantine to reaeh you or not, but i must write it. i stole your little bonaventure, because, bap tiste, i hated you. i hate you now, but i love angelique. i love her as much as i did when you took her away from me years ago. for her sake i send you this. i took the boy to montreal. then i was afraid you'd find me, and i started west into upper canada. i traveled with him day and night for a time, getting more and more afraid that you'd follow mc. one night i stopped with him at a country tavern, somewhere on what they called the kingston road. i left him there, telling the people i would go back for him next day; but i never went — i was afraid. i came quickly to this country, and here i am. i write you this before i die, so that, after all these years, there may be a slight chance that you can find him. this for angelique. for her sake i hope you may succeed. as soon as i think of you, i hope you won't. leon.' " the letter, as might be expected, produced a wonder ful effect on them all, but there was one individual especially who was more intensely agitated than the others at its close. this was bonaventure. gabrielle was astonished to see her father begin to catch for breath, and stare strangely at old baptistc, while the letter was being interpreted by pierre. he approached pierre as soon as it was done, and with a face pale from excitement, he caught him by the arm and said, in a voice husky almost to a whisper: m ■i ! 2^0 the hermit of the nonquon. " what did he say that little boy's name was in the letter? " pierre looked in astonishment at bonaventiire, and could not understand the terrible stress that seemed to suddenly come upon him. he had never seen bona venture act like this before. neither had gabrielle. '* why," said pierre, " you maght remamber. sem name yours. he say dat name bonaventure." " for god's sake, pierre, ask the old man how he'd know his little boy. ask him if there was any mark or anything on him." pierre stared somewhat stupidly at bonaventure a moment, unable to make out any just cause for such terrible excitement. "ask him, you fool!" suddenly exclaimed gabrielle, who could not wait an instant. pierre began jabbering away to the old man — gabri elle always brought him to his senses — and soon bap tiste started to answer. bonaventure saw him put his hand around to his back as best he could, to indicate something that he was describing to pierre, and sud denly he began to tremble more than ever. ** he say," said pierre, " hees leetle boy got wan, two, tree — what you call 'em? leetle — " he began to scratch his head to get the english word. "wan, two, tree leetle ivarts — no, not dat. ah — " " moles? " suggested bonaventure, scarcely above his breath. " yaas — yaas. dat's de ting. tree leetle moles on de top of hees beck." ^^ mon dicii! mon dieuf pierre, he's my fatjier! " " your w'at? your—" " yes, yes, pierre, he's my father — that old man is my the old man s story. 221 father! oh, gabriellc, my child, my child," turning quickly to her and seizingher in his arms, "you've saved my poor old fatlicr, you've brought him home to me. oh, mon dictt, vion dicu! what an hour is thi; ! " it may be imagined that the little group, who were by this time standing around in the center of the room, were deeply moved by the tmexpected development. old baptiste sat staring queerly at them, imable to make out what it all meant. "tell him, pierre," said gabriellc, with the tears streaming down her checks. " tell him. he'll be the happiest one of all to find it out." pierre's love of the theatrical came prominently to the surface at once. this was the most important interpretation he had yet been called upon to make, and he proposed that it should be done in a manner worthy its greatness. he struck a dramatic attitude, and pointing his finger at bonaventurc, proceeded very impressively with his information. the others saw the old man watching him closely as he spoke, and presently he began to tremble, and sprang to his feet and stood among them, as dt'cply agitated as bonaventurc himself. but he could not at first quite grasp the full import of pierre's remarks, and looking somewhat wildly and helple.'isly at the others, he asked pierre somethinir. pierre aeain explained matters, and emphasized his remarks by placing his hand on bonaventure's shoulder. old baptiste looked nervously at bonaventurc, apparently imable to believe that pierre meant precisely what he said. the matter was so imcxpcctcd to him that it took him some time to collect his ideas. he still stood tracing bonaventure's outlines up and down with his i^kwi 22^ the hermit of the nonquon. eyes, and murmuring something to himself, in the same way he had done that first night when gabrielle brought him home. bonaventure watched intently each pass ing expression of the old man's countenance, as if he would interpret his every thought. it was a moment of terribly straining suspense to both. bonaventure's eyes were glistening with tears. old baptiste was trembling as if palsied. suddenly their eyes met, as if by an electric spark. it was only an instant, and they were in each others arms, the strong man who had been a little boy and the old man who had been so long lost to him. there was no more of the old man's story told that night, except that when they were slightly calmer he was able to confirm the relationship by remembering that the letter contained a postscript which gave the name of the people who kept the tavern where leon had left little bonaventure. he had always read it " m. glorrg " instead of mcglorrid, leon having spelled it with a " y," which baptiste had mistaken for a " g." he had supposed the " m " at the beginning was meant for " monsieur," and had overlooked the small " c." but there was now no doubt that the name referred to was that of old timothy mcglorrie. when the matter was firmly settled in the minds of all present, old b'gob-sir expressed the sentiment of the party by saying: " well, now, b'gob-sir, if any one'd told me such a thing as that could happen, i'd 'a' said it was the biggest lie on top of this earth. it's worse than an ordinary lie. nobody'd ever think up sech a thing as that to tell. why, prosper himself couldn't 'a' thought up anything as good as that if he'd 'a' been right in the midst of a the old man's story. 223 horse-trade. anyhow, i want to tell you that things has turned out perty middlin' good, after all, even if mrs. mcglorric and me didn't want anybody to go traip sin' off after that wild— well, now, b'gob-sir, i jest can't bring myself to call this old feller a wild man any more," as he looked at old baptiste in some confusion. then suddenly remembering what a startling bit of news he had for the people at jerry's tavern, he turned to philander and said: "well, i guess we'd better be movin' on down toward the village, and let these folks talk it over among themselves. i never could under stand french very well, anyway, and i'll be busted if i can see how ever old pabclecst, as they call him, can make out anything from that clack of pierre's. it's worse'n the cackle of a hen. come along. philander; le's go down to jerry's. say, do you know," as they were starting out, "that last lot o' whisky — " but philander considerately slammed the door and shut the old fellow's words out into the night. xxvi. the story continued. t t may be imagined that there was some curiosity on -*■ the part of those who had listened to the first part of baptistc's story to hear the remainder; so on the next available evening they again came together at bona venture's, and the old man continued: "qf^ course after getting leon's letter i started to upper canada. i had little hope that i should find bonaventurc, it was so long since he had been stolen; and yet there was nothing to do but make the attempt. i traveled the kingston road — every foot of it — inquir ing all along for a man by the name of monsieur glorrg. of course i didn't find him. i gave it up, heart-broken. what was there for me to do? where should i go? it was impossible to go back to sorel — that would kill me. i wanted to go insane, but a man can't do that when he wants to. all the same, i could get away from my fel low-man, and that was something. i could live by myself among the trees, and hear them moan and sing in the wind. the trees didn't steal little boys, and even when they fell and died, they didn't say the things that angclique said to mc when she was dying. i would go and stay among the trees. maybe i 7iu7s insane, after all. i don't know. i started north from the kingston road in search of the roughest, wildest spot i could find. i had a long walk before i reached a place wild enough; but at last i succeeded. you know where («4) the story continued. 225 that is. i found a cave and slept in it, and i was happier that first night in the cave than i had been ever since angehque died. there was no human being to see me, no one who might prove false. that made me happy. maybe i tuas insane, though. i can't tell. all the same i must get something to eat in the morning. i had an old musket v ith me, and i shot a duck on the little creek below the cave; but the noise of the gun made me think too much of human beings. it jarred on me to hear any sound like that made by man. after this i never shot the old musket unless i was driven to it by hunger or fear. i lived on berries at first — it was in the early fall — and then the nuts began to get ripe. i gathered large quantities and stored them in the cave. a big storm came up that first fall, the worst i had ever seen. it was awful, that storm, and lying in my cave i thought surely the last day had come. i think i was glad that it had — i might see angelique. but by morning it was clear and bright. when i came out of the cave, i looked down toward the creek and saw that the wind had blown a forked cedar tree against a tall pine. it was fortunate for me that it did, for i used that forked cedar a great many times after that. the way i came to use it was this: one day — it may have been years after this, or it may have been only weeks, for i had little realization of time — i was gathering nuts, and placing them in a heap by the mouth of the cave. i had gone away after a fresh lot, and came running back with my load — i think i must have run most of the time in those days — when suddenly, on rounding a clump of bushes near the cave, i encountered an immense black thing that frightened me nearly into spasms. i turned and fled, flinging my 15 22g the hermit of the nonquon. m . ml nuts as i ran. i was now in a dilemma. i dare not go near the cave for fear of this huge animal, and there was no way that i could tell when it left the cave. suddenly i thought of the forked cedar, and i ran to it and climbed up till i reached the pine. i was hidden from view by the pine, and yet i could peep around it and see the mouth of the cave. i found it was a big bear, and that he was munching away at my heap of nuts. i remained up the tree till i saw him leave, and then i hastened to the cave and drew the flat stone i had secured as a covering over the mouth. i lay there in the cave till absolutely driven out by thirst. i was afraid to approach the cave after that for fear of encountering the bear. it was so situated that i could not see it till i was right at the spot, and so i always made it a practice to first run down to the cedar and climb up to look around. the bear came many times after that in the hope of finding more nuts, and one day i had to remain up the cedar till nearly night before he went away from the neighborhood. my great desire now was to kill this bear if i could, i should never be safe while he was prowling around, and anyhow i wanted his skin. but how to do it, that was the thing. i was afraid to trust a shot with the old musket, for i had no faith that it would kill him. if it simply injured him he would kill me; and however little i cared about living i couldn't bear the idea of being torn to pieces by an animal. i almost gave it up, but he began com ing so often that something must be done. so one day i loaded the musket with a very jieavy charge — it was about the last ammunition i had — and set it by the cave in some bushes, with a string made from the bark of a tree tied to the trigger, and leading to a twig lying on the story continued. 227 the ground with some hazel-nuts on it. i waited 'patiently hour after hour up the cedar, but he did not come that day. i set it again the next day, and toward night he came. he went rummaging around, and finally saw the twig of hazel-nuts. he put his paw on the twig and pulled off one of the nuts, and munched away at it as contentedly as possible. i was afraid he was not going to explode the musket, but presently he seized the twig in his teeth and began shaking it vigor ously. suddenly there was a terrific explosion, and i saw him leap to his hind legs and savagely beat the r.ir with his fore feet, growling all the while most terribly. he tore around among the bush mi a fearful rage, and i was unable to tell whether he badly injured or not. he got out of my sight in short time, and i heard him scrambling off among tuc bushes, making a noise that terrified me. i hurried to the cave and shut myself up, for i knew i was safe there. a bear of his size never could get through the opening. the next day i came out after some water, and as i was going down to the creek, listening every step i took for the slightest sound, i suddenly came upon his dead body. i was frightened of him even when dead, but i managed to skin him, and his hide helped to keep me warm for many a day and night. " but i can't tell you all of the things that happened to me in the woods, for i don't know myself. this adventure with the bear was the last really connected thing i can recount. i must have lost my mind part of the time, for most of the period that i was in the woods seems like a disjointed dream. i lived like an animal among the animals, only there was no other animal of my kind there. i can not say that time hung heavily ^■^mmifc.' f the hermit of the nonquon. with me, for. i had no object, no aim, no association to look forward to; and yet i often found myself carving figures on the wall of my cave, without ever remember ing picking up the stone that i carved them with. i think i must have mechanically done this carving on account of having nothing else to do. i ate because my stomach pained me if i failed to eat. i don't know whether i slept much or not, but i think i must have dreamed sometimes, though there was little distinction that i can see between my dreams in my sle^p and my waking dreams. in all my dreams, sleeping or waking, i was constantly disturbed by visions of little bona venture and poor dear angelique. i would sit some times looking at a certain tree, and if i looked steadily at it very long it would presently turn into angelique, and the limbs would reach out to me as if they were her arms and were trying to embrace me; and when i tried to get hold of them they were always too far away for me — i never could touch them. i would reach, and reach, and reach, but something alwa^rs seemed to keep her arms just outside of my touch. it was awful. if i tried for a long time to reach angel ique's arms — and i always must try, they were so appealing to me — the *^ ^e would presently begin to dance around and the arms make motions at me and wave through the air, and then the other trees would start until there were dozens of angcliqucs and hundreds of arms, all dancing around me and driving me dis tracted. then they would begin to jeer at me, and tantalize me, and exasperate me into a foaming rage; and when i could stand it no longer i would rush off to the cave and shut myself up in utter darkness. when i came out again there would be nothing but trees the story continued. 229 there — no angeliques; and then i would be disap pointed, for i would rather see angelique, even if i couldn't reach her arms. at other times the birds in the trees would turn into little bonaventures, and i would hurry after them and chase them for hours — i did want my little bonaventure so much; but i never could catch thera, and i never could let them alone either, till i had gone into the cave, where it was dark and i couldn't see them. " i must have lived in the woods a long time without ever seeing a human being, for at last when i did see one i was terribly frightened. i would sooner have met an animal than a man; but i kept encountering one now and then, and i think i must have seen people oftentimes when they didn't see me. i always got out of their way as fast as i could. one day i saw three men at my cave as i climbed the cedar — i had formed this habit of climbing the cedar, and always did it even after the bear was dead — and after that i was more frightened than ever. i came near moving away from the cave, but sheer force of habit kept me there. then another time as i was lying in the cave i heard voices outside, and presently the stone was drawn aside, and i heard angelique scream and run away. i thought at first it must be the trees mocking me again, but the sound was not the same, and then the stone was lifted away. i didn't know what to think after that; but one day when i went up the cedar i found some bread lying there. i knew that must be from angelique, for i had tasted nothing like that for so long. then i began watching for angelique, and one day i saw her climb ing up the cedar, and then i knew it was her, for it looked just like the real angelique. it was different hi in 230 the hermit of the nonquon. from the ones i had seen among the trees; and yet i was afraid to run toward her at once, for fear she'd get away from me again. i wanted angelique to stay with me; but she left me, and i went back to the cave, and thought it must be the angelique of the trees, after all. and yet the bread she gave me — the trees had never done that — and this looked like the real angelique, i watched for her to come again, because i wanted to see her, and i wanted to eat. she came again and again, and each time i felt worse at seeing her go, till at last i followed her. but when she led me where i could see other people, i ran back to the cave. i didn't want other people; i wanted angelique. but it was awful to go back to the cave after seeing angelique and hear ing her speak, even though she didn't speak as she used to and i couldn't understand her. i knew her voice so well that at last i must follow her — i couldn't leave her; and one night she brought me here, and — and — i guess you all know angelique," looking at gabri elle, who instantly rushed weeping to his embrace. he petted her and smoothed down her hair, much as he had done that day in the woods when he had so terri bly frightened her. " yes, bonaventure, my son," said the old man, ten derly pressing gabrielle to his breast, "she is the image of your dead mother. i have found my angel ique, and my little bonaventure," when pierre had interpreted this to bonaventure the great-hearted soul overflowed, and the man wept like a child. he had been intensely impressed, as indeed had all the others, over his father's pathetic story, and now the pent-up feelings of years must have vent in some way. i the story continued. 231 when gabrielle saw her father sobbing, she sprang from old baptiste's knee and leaped with her usual impulsive, heart-beating energy into his arms. the sit uation was not without its embarrassment for the vis itors present. donald's inward reflection was that he wished he might be able to sob like bonaventure, so that gabrielle should treat him in the same way. philander said to himself that he felt a little out of place there, but they were the best folks on top of this earth, and he was glad they were all so happy. b'gob-sir — well, he never thought anything to himself that he did not im mediately think out loud, and this wa^ no exception. " philander, plain to be seen we ain't no use here. can't do a blame bit o' good, 'cause the good's already done — and — and i'm tickled over it, i can tell you. if you can figger up anything better'n has happened here, i'd like to see the figgers and add 'em up. what say you, philander, hadn't we better mosey ? " philander assented, and after bidding all good-night, the two started toward the village. " say, philander," remarked b'gob-sir, after they had walked some time in silence, " do you know i come gosh-blamed nigh blubberin' there to-night ? i r/td blubber — ain't a-goin' to deny it. i blubbered right along half the time, and i ain't 'shamed of it, gosh blame it. what'd a feller be made of if he didn't ? i want to tell you, philander," he continued, more im pressively, " that hull affair makes a man think there's a god in heaven, after all, even if such a whelp as prosper tryne does do his best to disgrace him on earth. what say you. philander ? " " shouldn't wonder," said philander, after a pause, with perhaps more meaning than the words would seem to imply. pa xxvii. conclusion. c pring had come around the nonquon, with all its ^ softening-, mellowing influence. the snow had slowly stolen away, and swelled the creeks, and rivers, and lakes. the few patches that remained in the fence corners, where the drifts had been high, were black and scummed over with the refuse of a winter. the roads were muddy, the air humid, and humanity lazy. the shantymen had nearly all gone, leaving only one inci dent of interest marking their departure. this was a serious matter concerning pierre. poor pierre had lost his wife. not from death, l)y any means, but in the manner predicted by one of the shantymen on a previous occasion. mrs. dufresne had run away — possibly to escape the terrible alternative of not having enough work to do when the shantymen were gone. the fact that lent color to this theory was that she had gone about the same time as one of the shantymen for whom she used to do a great deal of washing. the few that were left condoled with pierre. they said it was too bad. " and then," remarked one of them, warningly, " no tellin'what trouble she'll git you into. she's your law ful wife, and she could go to all the stores and buy things and git trusted, and you'd have to pay for 'cm." '* wass dat ? " demanded pierre, excitedly, " vou say— " (232) conclusion. 233 1 all its w had rivers, ; fencc lck and e roads r. the le inci s was a ;ath, by i of the snc had ative of ntymen ory was e of the deal of [ pierre. rly, " no :)ur law md buy or 'cm." . " vou t' " yes, sir; i say she can run you in debt all over if she likes, and i'll bet she likes, sure enough. that's the kind of a woman she is." pierre was in a terrible dilemma. he stood with his eyes cast ruefully on the ground in front of him, and his hands pushed deeply into his trousers pockets. he slowly shook his head from side to side, revolving the thing in his mind. the fellow probably had not a dol lar in his pocket, and his credit was no good in any store in canada, but it was all the same to pierre. he fancied, as he stood there, that he was a very responsi ble personage, and that the prospects were good for him to be financially ruined. ** tell you what you can do, pierre," said the shanty man, wishing to push the joke further. " you can go to the stores around and warn 'cm." " wass dat you say? " wharn 'em? " "yes, warn 'cm." and he proceeded to give pierre the technical process necessary. he recited to him the set phrase used in such cases, and pierre started forthwith with an impressive mien in the direction of the village store. prosper was not in, so he walked up to mrs. tryne, who stood behind the counter, and in a very serious and dramatic manner l)cgan: '* my name, das pierre dufrcsne. dat's my waf's name too. aly waf, she leave my h(nise — she no ax me. af any man trus' my waf on my name, by golly, das los' for yo/(/ " and leaving the bewildered mrs. tryne staring at him, he stalked out with the air of a man who had just had his prospects in life scriou.sly jeopardized by the depravity of others, but who, through a remarkable degree of sagacity and decision, had thwarted their base designs. 234 the hermit of the nonquon. many springs have come and gone around the non quon since then. some changes have taken place, but few of any moment. the railroad has spoiled the busi ness of the country tavern, and not many of the old ones remain. there is a new store-keeper, a youngei and a better man than the one who traded a blind horse to the drunken farmer. the greatest change, and probably the one most to be regretted, is in the name of the village. not content with the suggestive indian title that had marked the place since the early days when the red man first put his foot upon it, the modern inhabitants petitioned the post office authorities at ottawa to give them a new word more to their liking. they had selected the name of seagrove for their vil lage, and sent it on for approval. through some mis take of the authorities the word was changed to sea grave. it was so registered, and so it remains — a fit ting rebuke upon the inhabitants for meddling. some shifting scenes have passed that throw us into reverie. old baptiste lived the rest of his days in serenity, and died in the arms of his "little bona venture." one day in may following the old man's rescue there was a wedding at bonaventure's — with two happy hearts, and — two mothers-in-law. the bride brought them together, and made them promise to be friends. no one could resist that bride, for she was so tender, tremulous, and tearful. so the old folks forgot about the turnips. another scene, a few years later. the shades of evening are falling fast, as we are passing a house quite modern on the old mcfarlane homestead. the blinds are always up in this house, so to-night we feel conclusion. 235 le non ice, but le busi the old '■oungei id horse ^e, and e name 5 indian •ly days modern rities at r liking, heir vil »me mis to sea ts — a fit • 7 lis into days in le bona :iie there o happy brought s friends, o tender, fot about privileged to pause and look in. we see by the light inside a man sitting in front of the open fire-place with something on his knee. a form is moving about the room, passing now and then between us and the lamp on the table. it is a familiar form — one we saw years ago in a canoe among the logs on the nonquon creek. we see her stoop and pick up something in her arms. it is a little boy, a noble little fellow in his small white night-robe. she places him on the father's other knee, and now we see that what he held before was a baby girl, a tiny tot of two. they clamber about his neck and kiss him good-night, and then jump down and scamper after the mother, who has taken the lamp from the table and opened the door to another room. we see two little bobbing heads trotting along. the light changes from one window to another, and we look again and see the white forms lifted into a small cot by the larger bed. we see the mother stooping above them, and tucking the clothing snugly about their little shoulders and under their little feet. and then we see — divinest sight of all — we see the mother bend ing over her precious babes, and printing on their lips a mother's good-night kiss, the sweetest passport to the ** beautiful land of nod." >hades of a house ;ad. the it we feel the end. n 4 .; 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half russia, $6 50. for sale by all booksellers. sent to any address, prepaid, on receipt of price, hy rand, mcnally & co., publishers, chicago and new york. ■il ipw p tw w 495 the poems of henry van dyke heronymus o andover-harvard theological library 200 нев x you holves john hay may 1900 1915¦ ¦ the poems of henry van dyke books by henry van dyke published by charles scribner's sons the unknown quantity. illustrated in color net $1.50 the ruling passion. illustrated in color. $1.50 the blue flower. illustrated in color $1.50 • days off. illustrated in color little rivers. illustrated in color fisherman's luck. illustrated in color out-of-doors in the holy land. illustrated in color poems the white bees, and other poems. the builders, and other poems. music, and other poems the toiling of felix, and other poems the house of rimmon .. ... · • · · · · · · • · · • · net $1.50 $1.50 $1.50 $1.50 · • · · net $2.00 net $1.25 net $1.00 $1.00 net $1.00 nel $1.00 1 faithfully yours. henry van dyke aelley. the poems of henry van dyke now first collected and revised with many hitherto unpublished new york charles scribner's sons mcmxiii faithfully horne, henryk the poems of henry van dyke = now first collected and revised with many hitherto unpublished new york charles scribner's sons mcmxiii copyright, 1911, by charles scribner's sons published september, 1911 reprinted august, 1912; april, 1913 fori mer t 1 yal 1248po 1913 a word in prose to my gentle reader this book is intended only for you, because you alone will keep it with you long enough to feel its meaning. here is gathered and set in order all that i have been permitted to write, as yet, of the poetry that has come to me. i hoped once that it would be more, and feared often that it might be less. the long silent interval between the earlier and the later poems was filled with hard work at the call of duty. i have laboured in the vineyard and fought in the ranks. the youthful plan of a whole life devoted to the art of poetry has not been fulfilled. instead has come an experience of the power of poetry to cheer and illumine the whole of life. metre and rhyme have a deep relation to the rhythm of human emotion, of which i grow more sure the less i can explain it. some call them a bondage, but the natural harmony of such laws makes for true freedom. therefore, while using the older metrical forms with love and care, i have also adventured new ones, believing that english poesy has to win a larger liberty in those happy regions which lie between the formal and the formless. what i have seen and felt and dreamed beyond the horizon of prose, yet ever in the most real world, is here interpreted in verse. and if it speaks to you, gentle reader, it is yours as much as mine. henry van dyke. 1 i 1 i l when tulips bloom the angler's reveille the whip-poor-will the song-sparrow. the ruby-crowned kinglet the maryland yellow-throat the hermit-thrush the veery • songs out of doors . · · a november daisy a snow-song contents . dulciora matins a noon song the after-echo. wings of a dove if all the skies school the parting and the coming guest spring in the north. spring in the south. the fall of the leaves indian summer · • · • · alpine sonnets roslin and hawthornden page 3 6 io 13 15 19 21 22 23 24 25 27 29 30 ±ˆ ˆ± 8 ww w w 34 38 40 42 43 45 46 49 vii viii contents light between the trees the lily of yorrow ode-god of the open air the toiling of felix vera another chance a legend of service. the white bees new year's eve the vain king the foolish fir-tree patria america • • · stories in verse · pro patria the ancestral dwellings hudson's last voyage sea-gulls of manhattan a ballad of claremont ill urbs coronata mercy for armenia sicily, december, 1908 . jeanne d'arc. national monuments • the monument of francis makemie the statue of sherman by st. gaudens "america for me" the builders spirit of the everlasting boy who follow the flag. • · • page 50 53 55 5889 67 82 102 106 iii 119 125 131 139 140 141 144 152 154 157 159 161 162 164 165 166 167 169 183 191 1 contents ix mother earth milton • wordsworth keats shelley robert browning tennyson · · "in memoriam" victor hugo longfellow thomas bailey aldrich edmund clarence stedman to james whitcomb riley richard watson gilder. music master of music to a young girl singing the pipes o' pan the old flute • • in praise of poets • · a mile with me the three best things reliance doors of daring a home song the child in the garden · lyrics of labour and romance • · music · · · page 205 207 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 219 223 225 227 228 231 246 248 249 250 255 256 259 260 261 262 x contents love's reason portrait and reality the echo in the heart "undine". "rencontre" love in a look my april lady a lover's envy. fire-fly city the gentle traveller nepenthe day and night hesper · arrival departure • · the black birds without disguise an hour "rappelle-toi" . • · eight echoes from the poems of auguste angellier love's nearness two songs of heine the river of dreams. rendezvous gratitude. songs of hearth and altar "little boatie" a mother's birthday santa christina transformation the wind of sorrow · · • · • • · · • page 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 271 272 273 274 276 277 278 279 280 284 285 286 288 298 299 300 307 309 311 314 315 316 317 contents xi hide and seek autumn in the garden the message. dulcis memoria the window peace the bargain bitter-sweet. to the child jesus song of a pilgrim soul hymn of joy. ode to peace • for katrina's sun-dial for katrina's window for the friends at hurstmont the sun-dial at morven the sun-dial at wells college. to mark twain stars and the to julia marlowe to joseph jefferson the mocking-bird. • inscriptions, greetings, and epigrams · • · the empty quatrain pan learns music the valley of vain verses the shepherd of nymphs echoes from the greek anthology one world joy and duty the prison and the angel • · · · · · page 318 320 322 323 325 327 328 329 330 331 332 334 341 342 343 344 345 346 348 349 350 351 351 351 352 353 354 357 357 358 xii contents the way love and light the arrow four things the great river · wayfaring psalms the distant road. the welcome tent the great cities the friendly trees the broken sword the unseen altar the pathway of rivers the glory of ruins the tribe of the helpers the good teacher the camp-fires of my friend the house of rimmon. index of first lines • • · · · page 358 359 359 360 360 363 365 367 369 371 372 374 376 377 378 379 381 461 songs out of doors when tulips bloom i when tulips bloom in union square, and timid breaths of vernal air go wandering down the dusty town, like children lost in vanity fair; when every long, unlovely row of westward houses stands aglow, and leads the eyes to sunset skies beyond the hills where green trees grow; then weary seems the street parade, and weary books, and weary trade: i'm only wishing to go a-fishing; for this the month of may was made. ii i guess the pussy-willows now are creeping out on every bough along the brook; and robins look for early worms behind the plough. 3 4 songs out of doors the thistle-birds have changed their dun, for yellow coats, to match the sun; and in the same array of flame the dandelion show 's begun. the flocks of young anemones are dancing round the budding trees: who can help wishing to go a-fishing in days as full of joy as these? iii i think the meadow-lark's clear sound leaks upward slowly from the ground, while on the wing the bluebirds ring their wedding-bells to woods around. the flirting chewink calls his dear behind the bush; and very near, where water flows, where green grass grows, song-sparrows gently sing, "good cheer." and, best of all, through twilight's calm the hermit-thrush repeats his psalm. how much i'm wishing to go a-fishing in days so sweet with music's balm! when tulips bloom 5 сл iv 'tis not a proud desire of mine; i ask for nothing superfine; no heavy weight, no salmon great, to break the record, or my line. only an idle little stream, whose amber waters softly gleam, where i may wade, through woodland shade, and cast the fly, and loaf, and dream: only a trout or two, to dart from foaming pools, and try my art: 'tis all i'm wishing-old-fashioned fishing, and just a day on nature's heart. 1894. 6 songs out of doors the angler's reveille what time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night, and all the little watchman-stars have fallen asleep in light, 'tis then a merry wind awakes, and runs from tree to tree, and borrows words from all the birds to sound the reveille. this is the carol the robin throws over the edge of the valley; listen how boldly it flows, sally on sally: tirra-lirra, early morn, new born! day is near, clear, clear. down the river all a-quiver, fish are breaking; time for waking. tup, tup, tup! do you hear? all clearwake up! the angler's reveille 7 the phantom flood of dreams has ebbed and vanished with the dark, and like a dove the heart forsakes the prison of the ark; now forth she fares thro' friendly woods and diamond-fields of dew, while every voice cries out "rejoice!" as if the world were new. this is the ballad the bluebird sings, unto his mate replying, shaking the tune from his wings while he is flying: surely, surely, surely, life is dear even here. blue above, you to love, purely, purely, purely. there's wild azalea on the hill, and iris down the dell, and just one spray of lilac still abloom beside the well; the columbine adorns the rocks, the laurel buds grow pink, along the stream white arums gleam, and violets bend to drink. this is the song of the yellowthroat, fluttering gaily beside you; 8 songs out of doors hear how each voluble note offers to guide you: which way, sir? i say, sir, let me teach you, i beseech you! are you wishing jolly fishing? this way, sir! i'll teach you. then come, my friend, forget your foes, and leave your fears behind, and wander forth to try your luck, with cheerful, quiet mind; for be your fortune great or small, you take what god will give, and all the day your heart will say, ""tis luck enough to live." this is the song the brown thrush flings out of his thicket of roses; hark how it bubbles and rings, mark how it closes: luck, luck, what luck? good enough for me, i'm alive, you see? the angler's reveille 9 1899. sun shining, no repining; never borrow idle sorrow; drop it! cover it up! hold your cup! joy will fill it, don't spill it, steady, be ready, good luck! io songs out of doors the whip-poor-will do you remember, father,it seems so long ago,— the day we fished together along the pocono? at dusk i waited for you, beside the lumber-mill, and there i heard a hidden bird that chanted, "whip-poor-will," "whippoorwill! whippoorwill!" sad and shrill,-“whippoorwill!” the place was all deserted; the mill-wheel hung at rest; the lonely star of evening was throbbing in the west; the veil of night was falling; the winds were folded still; and everywhere the trembling air re-echoed "whip-poor-will!" "whippoorwill! whippoorwill!" sad and shrill,-"whippoorwill!” the whip-poor-will ii you seemed so long in coming, i felt so much alone; the wide, dark world was round me, and life was all unknown; the hand of sorrow touched me, and made my senses thrill with all the pain that haunts the strain of mournful whip-poor-will. "whippoorwill! whippoorwill!” sad and shrill,-"whippoorwill!" what knew i then of trouble? an idle little lad, i had not learned the lessons that make men wise and sad. i dreamed of grief and parting, and something seemed to fill my heart with tears, while in my ears resounded "whip-poor-will." "whippoorwill! whippoorwill!" sad and shrill,-"whippoorwill!" "twas but a cloud of sadness, that lightly passed away; but i have learned the meaning of sorrow, since that day. 12 songs out of doors for nevermore at twilight, beside the silent mill, i'll wait for you, in the falling dew, and hear the whip-poor-will. "whippoorwill! whippoorwill!” sad and shrill,—“whippoorwill!” but if you still remember, in that fair land of light, the pains and fears that touch us along this edge of night, i think all earthly grieving, and all our mortal ill, to you must seem like a sad boy's dream, who hears the whip-poor-will. "whippoorwill! whippoorwill!" a passing thrill,-"whippoorwill!" 1894. the song-sparrow 13 the song-sparrow there is a bird i know so well, it seems as if he must have sung beside my crib when i was young; before i knew the way to spell the name of even the smallest bird, his gentle-joyful song i heard. now see if you can tell, my dear, what bird it is that, every year, sings "sweet-sweet-sweet-very merry cheer." he comes in march, when winds are strong, and snow returns to hide the earth; but still he warms his heart with mirth, and waits for may. he lingers long while flowers fade; and every day repeats his small, contented lay; as if to say, we need not fear the season's change, if love is here with "sweet-sweet-sweet-very merry cheer." he does not wear a joseph's-coat of many colours, smart and gay; his suit is quaker brown and gray, with darker patches at his throat. 14 songs out of doors and yet of all the well-dressed throng not one can sing so brave a song. it makes the pride of looks appear a vain and foolish thing, to hear his "sweet-sweet-sweet-very merry cheer." a lofty place he does not love, but sits by choice, and well at ease, in hedges, and in little trees that stretch their slender arms above the meadow-brook; and there he sings till all the field with pleasure rings; and so he tells in every ear, that lowly homes to heaven are near in sweet-sweet-sweet-very merry cheer." i like the tune, i like the words; they seem so true, so free from art, so friendly, and so full of heart, that if but one of all the birds could be my comrade everywhere, my little brother of the air, i'd choose the song-sparrow, my dear, because he'd bless me, every year, with "sweet-sweet-sweet-very merry cheer." 1895. the ruby-crowned kinglet 15 the ruby-crowned kinglet i where 's your kingdom, little king? where the land you call your own, where your palace and your throne? fluttering lightly on the wing through the blossom-world of may, whither lies your royal way, little king? far to northward lies a land where the trees together stand closely as the blades of wheat when the summer is complete. rolling like an ocean wide over vale and mountain side, balsam, hemlock, spruce and pine,— all those mighty trees are mine. there's a river flowing free,all its waves belong to me. there's a lake so clear and bright stars shine out of it all night; rowan-berries round it spread like a belt of coral red. 16 songs out of doors never royal garden planned fair as my canadian land! there i build my summer nest, there i reign and there i rest, while from dawn to dark i sing, happy kingdom! lucky king! ii back again, my little king! is your happy kingdom lost to the rebel knave, jack frost? have you felt the snow-flakes sting? houseless, homeless in october, whither now? your plight is sober exiled king! far to southward lie the regions where my loyal flower-legions hold possession of the year, filling every month with cheer. christmas wakes the winter rose; new year daffodils unclose; yellow jasmine through the wood flows in february flood, dropping from the tallest trees golden streams that never freeze. the ruby-crowned kinglet 17 thither now i take my flight down the pathway of the night, till i see the southern moon glisten on the broad lagoon, where the cypress' dusky green, and the dark magnolia's sheen, weave a shelter round my home. there the snow-storms never come; there the bannered mosses gray like a curtain gently sway, hanging low on every side round the covert where i bide, till the march azalea glows, royal red and heavenly rose, through the carolina glade where my winter home is made. there i hold my southern court, full of merriment and sport: there i take my ease and sing, happy kingdom! lucky king! iii little boaster, vagrant king, neither north nor south is yours, you've no kingdom that endures! wandering every fall and spring, 18 songs out of doors with your ruby crown so slender, are you only a pretender, landless king? never king by right divine ruled a richer realm than mine! what are lands and golden crowns, armies, fortresses and towns, jewels, sceptres, robes and rings,— what are these to song and wings? everywhere that i can fly, there i own the earth and sky; everywhere that i can sing. there i'm happy as a king. 1900. 1 the maryland yellow-throat 159 the maryland yellow-throat when may bedecks the naked trees with tassels and embroideries, and many blue-eyed violets beam along the edges of the stream, i hear a voice that seems to say, now near at hand, now far away, "witchery-witchery—witchery." an incantation so serene, so innocent, befits the scene: there's magic in that small bird's notesee, there he flits-the yellow-throat; a living sunbeam, tipped with wings, a spark of light that shines and sings "witchery-witchery-witchery." you prophet with a pleasant name, if out of mary-land you came, you know the way that thither goes where mary's lovely garden grows: fly swiftly back to her, i pray, and try to call her down this way, "witchery-witchery-witchery!" 20 songs out of doors tell her to leave her cockle-shells, and all her little silver bells that blossom into melody, and all her maids less fair than she. she does not need these pretty things, for everywhere she comes, she brings "witchery-witchery-witchery!" the woods are greening overhead, and flowers adorn each mossy bed; the waters babble as they runone thing is lacking, only one: if mary were but here to-day, i would believe your charming lay, "witchery-witchery-witchery!" along the shady road i lookwho's coming now across the brook? a woodland maid, all robed in whitethe leaves dance round her with delight, the stream laughs out beneath her feetsing, merry bird, the charm 's complete, "witchery-witchery-witchery!" 1895. the hermit thrush 21 the hermit thrush o wonderful! how liquid clear the molten gold of that ethereal tone, floating and falling through the wood alone, a hermit-hymn poured out for god to hear! o holy, holy, holy! hyaline, long light, low light, glory of eventide! love far away, far up,-up,—love divine! little love, too, for ever, ever near, warm love, earth love, tender love of mine, in the leafy dark where you hide, you are mine, mine, mine! ah, my beloved, do you feel with me the hidden virtue of that melody, the rapture and the purity of love, the heavenly joy that can not find the word? then, while we wait again to hear the bird, come very near to me, and do not move,now, hermit of the woodland, fill anew the cool, green cup of air with harmony, and we will drink the wine of love with you. may, 1908. 22 songs out of doors the veery the moonbeams over arno's vale in silver flood were pouring, when first i heard the nightingale a long-lost love deploring. so passionate, so full of pain, it sounded strange and eerie; i longed to hear a simpler strain, the wood notes of the veery. the laverock sings a bonny lay above the scottish heather; it sprinkles down from far away like light and love together; he drops the golden notes to greet his brooding mate, his dearie; i only know one song more sweet,-the vespers of the veery. in english gardens, green and bright and full of fruity treasure, i heard the blackbird with delight repeat his merry measure: the ballad was a pleasant one, the tune was loud and cheery, and yet, with every setting sun, i listened for the veery. but far away, and far away, the tawny thrush is singing; new england woods, at close of day, with that clear chant are ringing: and when my light of life is low, and heart and flesh are weary, i fain would hear, before i go, the wood-notes of the veery. 1895. dulciora 23 dulciora a tear that trembles for a little while upon the trembling eyelid, till the world wavers within its circle like a dream, holds more of meaning in its narrow orb than all the distant landscape that it blurs. a smile that hovers round a mouth beloved, like the faint pulsing of the northern light, and grows in silence to an amber dawn, born in the sweetest depths of trustful eyes, is dearer to the soul than sun or star. a joy that falls into the hollow heart from some far-lifted height of love unseen, unknown, makes a more perfect melody than hidden brooks that murmur in the dusk, or fall athwart the cliff with wavering gleam. ah, not for their own sake are earth and sky and the fair ministries of nature dear, but as they set themselves unto the tune that fills our life; as light mysterious flows from within and glorifies the world. 24 songs out of doors for so a common wayside blossom, touched with tender thought, assumes a grace more sweet than crowns the royal lily of the south; and so a well-remembered perfume seems the breath of one who breathes in paradise. 1872. matins flowers rejoice when night is done, lift their heads to greet the sun; sweetest looks and odours raise, in a silent hymn of praise. so my heart would turn away from the darkness to the day; lying open in god's sight as a flower adores the light. a noon song 25 a noon song there are songs for the morning and songs for the night, for sunrise and sunset, the stars and the moon; but who will give praise to the fulness of light, and sing us a song of the glory of noon? oh, the high noon, the clear noon, the noon with golden crest; when the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns with his face to the way of the west! how swiftly he rose in the dawn of his strength; how slowly he crept as the morning wore by; ah, steep was the climbing that led him at length to the height of his throne in the wide summer sky. oh, the long toil, the slow toil, the toil that may not rest, till the sun looks down from his journey's crown, to the wonderful way of the west! then a quietness falls over meadow and hill, the wings of the wind in the forest are furled, the river runs softly, the birds are all still, the workers are resting all over the world. 26 songs out of doors 1906. oh, the good hour, the kind hour, the hour that calms the breast! little inn half-way on the road of the day, where it follows the turn to the west! there's a plentiful feast in the maple-tree shade, the lilt of a song to an old-fashioned tune, the talk of a friend, or the kiss of a maid, to sweeten the cup that we drink to the noon. oh, the deep noon, the full noon, of all the day the best! when the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns to his home by the way of the west the after-echo 27 the after-echo how long the echoes love to play around the shore of silence, as a wave retreating circles down the sand! one after one, with sweet delay, the mellow sounds that cliff and island gave, have lingered in the crescent bay, until, by lightest breezes fanned, they float far off beyond the dying day and leave it still as death. but hark,another singing breath comes from the edge of dark; a note as clear and slow as falls from some enchanted bell, or spirit, passing from the world below, that whispers back, farewell. so in the heart, when, fading slowly down the past, fond memories depart, and each that leaves it seems the last; 28 songs out of doors 1871. long after all the rest are flown, returns a solitary tone,the after-echo of departed years,and touches all the soul to tears. wings of a dove 29 wings of a dove i ar sunset, when the rosy light was dying far down the pathway of the west, i saw a lonely dove in silence flying, to be at rest. pilgrim of air, i cried, could i but borrow thy wandering wings, thy freedom blest, i'd fly away from every careful sorrow, and find my rest. ii but when the filmy veil of dusk was falling, home flew the dove to seek his nest, deep in the forest where his mate was calling to love and rest. peace, heart of mine! no longer sigh to wander; lose not thy life in barren quest. there are no happy islands over yonder; come home and rest. 1874. 30 songs out of doors if all the skies if all the skies were sunshine, our faces would be fain to feel once more upon them the cooling plash of rain. if all the world were music, our hearts would often long for one sweet strain of silence, to break the endless song. if life were always merry, our souls would seek relief, and rest from weary laughter in the quiet arms of grief. school 31 school i put my heart to school in the world where men grow wise: "go out," i said, "and learn the rule; "come back when you win a prize." my heart came back again: "now where is the prize?" i cried.—"the rule was false, and the prize was pain, "and the teacher's name was pride." i put my heart to school in the woods where veeries sing and brooks run clear and cool, in the fields where wild flowers spring. "and why do you stay so long, "my heart, and where do you roam?" the answer came with a laugh and a song,"i find this school is home." april, 1901. 32 songs out of doors the parting and the coming guest who watched the worn-out winter die? who, peering through the window-pane at nightfall, under sleet and rain saw the old graybeard totter by? who listened to his parting sigh, the sobbing of his feeble breath, his whispered colloquy with death, and when his all of life was done stood near to bid a last good-bye? of all his former friends not one saw the forsaken winter die. who welcomed in the maiden spring? who heard her footfall, swift and light as fairy-dancing in the night? who guessed what happy dawn would bring the flutter of her blue-bird's wing, the blossom of her mayflower-face to brighten every shady place? one morning, down the village street, "oh, here am i," we heard her sing,and none had been awake to greet the coming of the maiden spring. the parting and the coming guest 33 but look, her violet eyes are wet with bright, unfallen, dewy tears; and in her song my fancy hears a note of sorrow trembling yet. perhaps, beyond the town, she met old winter as he limped away to die forlorn, and let him lay his weary head upon her knee, and kissed his forehead with regret for one so gray and lonely,-see, her eyes with tender tears are wet. and so, by night, while we were all at rest, i think the coming sped the parting guest. 1873. 34 songs out of doors spring in the north i ан, who will tell me, in these leaden days, why the sweet spring delays, and where she hides, the dear desire of every heart that longs for bloom, and fragrance, and the ruby fire. of maple-buds along the misty hills, and that immortal call which fills the waiting wood with songs? the snow-drops came so long ago, it seemed that spring was near! but then returned the snow with biting winds, and earth grew sere, and sullen clouds drooped low to veil the sadness of a hope deferred: then rain, rain, rain, incessant rain beat on the window-pane, through which i watched the solitary bird that braved the tempest, buffeted and tossed with rumpled feathers down the wind again. oh, were the seeds all lost when winter laid the wild flowers in their tomb? spring in the north 35 i searched the woods in vain for blue hepaticas, and trilliums white, and trailing arbutus, the spring's delight, starring the withered leaves with rosy bloom. but every night the frost to all my longing spoke a silent nay, and told me spring was far away. even the robins were too cold to sing, except a broken and discouraged note,only the tuneful sparrow, on whose throat music has put her triple finger-print, lifted his head and sang my heart a hint,— "wait, wait, wait! oh, wait a while for spring!" ii but now, carina, what divine amends for all delay! what sweetness treasured up, what wine of joy that blends a hundred flavours in a single cup, is poured into this perfect day! for look, sweet heart, here are the early flowers that lingered on their way, thronging in haste to kiss the feet of may, entangled with the bloom of later hours, anemones and cinque-foils, violets blue and white, and iris richly gleaming through 36 songs out of doors the grasses of the meadow, and a blaze of butter-cups and daisies in the field, filling the air with praise, as if a chime of golden bells had pealed! the frozen songs within the breast of silent birds that hid in leafless woods, melt into rippling floods of gladness unrepressed. now oriole and blue-bird, thrush and lark, warbler and wren and vireo, mingle their melody; the living spark of love has touched the fuel of desire, and every heart leaps up in singing fire. it seems as if the land were breathing deep beneath the sun's caress, trembling with tenderness, while all the woods expand, in shimmering clouds of rose and gold and green to veil a joy too sacred to be seen. iii come, put your hand in mine, true love, long sought and found at last, and lead me deep into the spring divine that makes amends for all the wintry past. spring in the north 37 for all the flowers and songs i feared to miss arrive with you; and in the lingering pressure of your kiss my dreams come true; and in the promise of your generous eyes i read the mystic sign of joy more perfect made because so long delayed, and bliss enhanced by rapture of surprise. ah, think not early love alone is strong; he loveth best whose heart has learned to wait: dear messenger of spring that tarried long, you 're doubly dear because you come so late. 38 songs out of doors spring in the south now in the oak the sap of life is welling, tho' to the bough the rusty leafage clings; now on the elm the misty buds are swelling; every little pine-wood grows alive with wings; blue-jays are fluttering, yodeling and crying, meadow-larks sailing low above the faded grass, red-birds whistling clear, silent robins flying,who has waked the birds up? what has come to pass? last year's cotton-plants, desolately bowing, tremble in the march-wind, ragged and forlorn; red are the hillsides of the early ploughing, gray are the lowlands, waiting for the corn. earth seems asleep, but she is only feigning; deep in her bosom thrills a sweet unrest; look where the jasmine lavishly is raining jove's golden shower into danäe's breast! now on the plum-tree a snowy bloom is sifted, now on the peach-tree, the glory of the rose, far o'er the hills a tender haze is drifted, full to the brim the yellow river flows. spring in the south 39 dark cypress boughs with vivid jewels glisten, greener than emeralds shining in the sun. whence comes the magic? listen, sweetheart, listen! the mocking-bird is singing: spring is begun. hark, in his song no tremor of misgiving! all of his heart he pours into his lay,"love, love, love, and pure delight of living: winter is forgotten: here's a happy day!" fair in your face i read the flowery presage, snowy on your brow and rosy on your mouth: sweet in your voice i hear the season's message,— love, love, love, and spring in the south! 1904. 40 songs out of doors the fall of the leaves i in warlike pomp, with banners flowing, the regiments of autumn stood: i saw their gold and scarlet glowing from every hillside, every wood. above the sea the clouds were keeping their secret leaguer, gray and still; they sent their misty vanguard creeping with muffled step from hill to hill. all day the sullen armies drifted athwart the sky with slanting rain; at sunset for a space they lifted, with dusk they settled down again ii at dark the winds began to blow with mutterings distant, low; from sea and sky they called their strength, till ith an angry, broken roar, like billows on an unseen shore, their fury burst at length. the fall of the leaves 4i i heard through the night the rush and the clamour; the pulse of the fight like blows of thor's hammer; the pattering flight of the leaves, and the anguished moan of the forest vanquished. at daybreak came a gusty song: "shout! the winds are strong. the little people of the leaves are fled. shout! the autumn is dead!" iii the storm is ended! the impartial sun laughs down upon the battle lost and won, and crowns the triumph of the cloudy host in rolling lines retreating to the coast. but we, fond lovers of the woodland shade, and grateful friends of every fallen leaf, forget the glories of the cloud-parade, and walk the ruined woods in quiet grief. for ever so our thoughtful hearts repeat on fields of triumph dirges of defeat; and still we turn on gala-days to tread among the rustling memories of the dead. 1874. 42 songs out of doors indian summer a silken curtain veils the skies, and half conceals from pensive eyes the bronzing tokens of the fall; a calmness broods upon the hills, and summer's parting dream distils a charm of silence over all. the stacks of corn, in brown array, stand waiting through the tranquil day, like tattered wigwams on the plain; the tribes that find a shelter there are phantom peoples, forms of air, and ghosts of vanished joy and pain. at evening when the crimson crest of sunset passes down the west, i hear the whispering host returning; on far-off fields, by elm and oak, i see the lights, i smell the smoke,— the camp-fires of the past are burning. tertius and henry van dyke. november, 1903. a november daisy 43 a november daisy afterthought of summer's bloom! late arrival at the feast, coming when the songs have ceased and the merry guests departed, leaving but an empty room, silence, solitude, and gloom are you lonely, heavy-hearted; you, the last of all your kind, nodding in the autumn wind; now that all your friends are flown, blooming late and all alone? nay, i wrong you, little flower, reading mournful mood of mine în your looks, that give no sign of a spirit dark and cheerless! you possess the heavenly power that rejoices in the hour. glad, contented, free, and fearless. lift a sunny face to heaven when a sunny day is given! make a summer of your own, blooming late and all alone! 44 songs out of doors once the daisies gold and white sea-like through the meadow rolled: once my heart could hardly hold all its pleasures. i remember, in the flood of youth's delight separate joys were lost to sight. that was summer! now november sets the perfect flower apart; gives each blossom of the heart meaning, beauty, grace unknown,blooming late and all alone. november, 1899 a snow song 45 a snow-song does the snow fall at sea? yes, when the north winds blow, when the wild clouds fly low, out of each gloomy wing, silently glimmering, over the stormy sea falleth the snow. does the snow hide the sea? nay, on the tossing plains never a flake remains; drift never resteth there; vanishing everywhere, into the hungry sea falleth the snow. what means the snow at sea? whirled in the veering blast, thickly the flakes drive past; each like a childish ghost wavers, and then is lost; in the forgetful sea fadeth the snow. 187546 songs out of doors alpine sonnets i. 'the glacier ar dawn in silence moves the mighty stream, the silver-crested waves no murmur make; but far away the avalanches wake the rumbling echoes, dull as in a dream; their momentary thunders, dying, seem to fall into the stillness, flake by flake, and leave the hollow air with naught to break the frozen spell of solitude supreme. at noon unnumbered rills begin to spring beneath the burning sun, and all the walls of all the ocean-blue crevasses ring with liquid lyrics of their waterfalls; as if a poet's heart had felt the glow of sovereign love, and song began to flow. zermatt 1872. the snow-field 47 ii the snow-field white death had laid his pall upon the plain, and crowned the mountain-peaks like monarchs dead; the vault of heaven was glaring overhead with pitiless light that filled my eyes with pain; and while i vainly longed, and looked in vain for sign or trace of life, my spirit said, "shall any living thing that dares to tread this royal lair of death escape again?" but even then i saw before my feet a line of pointed footprints in the snow: some roving chamois, but an hour ago, had passed this way along his journey fleet, and left a message from a friend unknown to cheer my pilgrim-heart no more alone. zermatt, 1872. 48 songs out of doors iii moving bells i love the hour that comes, with dusky hair and dewy feet, along the alpine dells to lead the cattle forth. a thousand bells go chiming after her across the fair and flowery uplands, while the rosy flare of sunset on the snowy mountain dwells, and valleys darken, and the drowsy spells of peace are woven through the purple air. dear is the magic of this hour: she seems to walk before the dark by falling rills, and lend a sweeter song to hidden streams; she opens all the doors of night, and fills with moving bells the music of my dreams, that wander far among the sleeping hills. gstaad, august, 1909. ľ roslin and hawthornden 49 roslin and hawthornden fair roslin chapel, how divine the art that reared thy costly shrine! thy carven columns must have grown by magic, like a dream in stone. yet not within thy storied wall would i in adoration fall, so gladly as within the glen that leads to lovely hawthornden. a long-drawn aisle, with roof of green and vine-clad pillars, while between, the esk runs murmuring on its way, in living music night and day. within the temple of this wood the martyrs of the covenant stood, and rolled the psalm, and poured the prayer, from nature's solemn altar-stair. edinburgh, 1877. 50 songs out of doors light between the trees long, long, long the trail through the brooding forest-gloom, down the shadowy, lonely vale into silence, like a room where the light of life has fled, and the jealous curtains close round the passionless repose of the silent dead. plod, plod, plod away, step by step in mouldering moss; thick branches bar the day over languid streams that cross softly, slowly, with a sound like a smothered weeping, in their aimless creeping through enchanted ground. "yield, yield, yield thy quest," whispers through the woodland deep; "come to me and be at rest; i am slumber, i am sleep." light between the trees 51 then the weary feet would fail, but the never-daunted will urges "forward, forward still! press along the trail!" breast, breast, breast the slope! see, the path is growing steep. hark! a little song of hope where the stream begins to leap. though the forest, far and wide, still shuts out the bending blue, we shall finally win through, cross the long divide. on, on, on we tramp! will the journey never end? over yonder lies the camp; welcome waits us there, my friend. can we reach it ere the night? upward, upward, never fear! look, the summit must be near; see the line of light! red, red, red the shine of the splendour in the west, glowing through the ranks of pine, clear along the mountain-crest! 52 songs of out doors long, long, long the trail out of sorrow's lonely vale; but at last the traveller sees light between the trees! march, 1904. the lily of yorrow 53 the lily of yorrow deep in the heart of the forest the lily of yorrow is growing; blue is its cup as the sky, and with mystical odour o'erflowing; faintly it falls through the shadowy glades when the south wind is blowing. sweet are the primroses pale and the violets after a shower; sweet are the borders of pinks and the blossoming grapes on the bower; sweeter by far is the breath of that far-away woodland flower. searching and strange in its sweetness, it steals like a perfume enchanted under the arch of the forest, and all who perceive it are haunted, seeking and seeking for ever, till sight of the lily is granted. who can describe how it grows, with its chalice of lazuli leaning over a crystalline spring, where the ferns and the mosses are greening? who can imagine its beauty, or utter the depth of its meaning? 54 songs out of doors calm of the journeying stars, and repose of the mountains olden, joy of the swift-running rivers, and glory of sunsets golden, secrets that cannot be told in the heart of the flower are holden. surely to see it is peace and the crown of a life-long endeavour; surely to pluck it is gladness,-but they who have found it can never tell of the gladness and peace: they are hid from our vision for ever. 'twas but a moment ago that a comrade was wandering near me: turning aside from the pathway he murmured a greeting to cheer me,then he was lost in the shade, and i called but he did not hear me. why should i dream he is dead, and bewail him with passionate sorrow? surely i know there is gladness in finding the lily of yorrow: he has discovered it first, and perhaps i shall find it to-morrow. 1894. god of the open air 55 ode god of the open air i thou who hast made thy dwelling fair with flowers below, above with starry lights and set thine altars everywhere,on mountain heights, in woodlands dim with many a dream, in valleys bright with springs, and on the curving capes of every stream: thou who hast taken to thyself the wings of morning, to abide upon the secret places of the sea, and on far islands, where the tide visits the beauty of untrodden shores, waiting for worshippers to come to thee in thy great out-of-doors! to thee i turn, to thee i make my prayer, god of the open air. ii seeking for thee, the heart of man lonely and longing ran, in that first, solitary hour, when the mysterious power 56 songs out of doors to know and love the wonder of the morn was breathed within him, and his soul was born; and thou didst meet thy child, not in some hidden shrine, but in the freedom of the garden wild, and take his hand in thine,there all day long in paradise he walked, and in the cool of evening with thee talked. iii lost, long ago, that garden bright and pure, lost, that calm day too perfect to endure, and lost the child-like love that worshipped and was sure! for men have dulled their eyes with sin, and dimmed the light of heaven with doubt, and built their temple walls to shut thee in, and framed their iron creeds to shut thee out. but not for thee the closing of the door, o spirit unconfined! thy ways are free as is the wandering wind, and thou hast wooed thy children, to restore their fellowship with thee, in peace of soul and simpleness of mind. god of the open air 57 iv joyful the heart that, when the flood rolled by, leaped up to see the rainbow in the sky; and glad the pilgrim, in the lonely night, for whom the hills of haran, tier on tier, built up a secret stairway to the height where stars like angel eyes were shining clear. from mountain-peaks, in many a land and age, disciples of the persian seer have hailed the rising sun and worshipped thee; and wayworn followers of the indian sage have found the peace of god beneath a spreading tree. v but one, but one,-ah, son most dear, and perfect image of the love unseen,walked every day in pastures green, and all his life the quiet waters by, reading their beauty with a tranquil eye. to him the desert was a place prepared for weary hearts to rest; the hillside was a temple blest; the grassy vale a banquet-room where he could feed and comfort many a guest. 58 songs out of doors with him the lily shared the vital joy that breathes itself in bloom; and every bird that sang beside the nest told of the love that broods o'er every living thing. he watched the shepherd bring his flock at sundown to the welcome fold, the fisherman at daybreak fling his net across the waters gray and cold, and all day long the patient reaper swing his curving sickle through the harvest-gold. so through the world the foot-path way he trod, breathing the air of heaven in every breath; and in the evening sacrifice of death beneath the open sky he gave his soul to god. him will i trust, and for my master take; him will i follow; and for his dear sake, god of the open air, to thee i make my prayer. vi from the prison of anxious thought that greed has builded, from the fetters that envy has wrought and pride has gilded, from the noise of the crowded ways and the fierce confusion, from the folly that wastes its days in a world of illusion, (ah, but the life is lost that frets and languishes there!) i would escape and be free in the joy of the open air. god of the open air 59 by the breadth of the blue that shines in silence o'er me, by the length of the mountain-lines that stretch before me, by the height of the cloud that sails, with rest in motion, over the plains and the vales to the measureless ocean, (oh, how the sight of the greater things enlarges the eyes!) draw me away from myself to the peace of the hills and skies. while the tremulous leafy haze on the woodland is spreading, and the bloom on the meadow betrays where may has been treading; while the birds on the branches above, and the brooks flowing under, are singing together of love in a world full of wonder, (lo, in the magic of springtime, dreams are changed into truth!) quicken my heart, and restore the beautiful hopes of youth. by the faith that the wild-flowers show when they bloom unbidden, by the calm of the river's flow to a goal that is hidden, by the strength of the tree that clings to its deep foundation, by the courage of birds' light wings on the long migration, (wonderful spirit of trust that abides in nature's breast!) teach me how to confide, and live my life, and rest. for the comforting warmth of the sun that my body embraces, for the cool of the waters that run through the shadowy places, 60 songs of out doors for the balm of the breezes that brush my face with their fingers, for the vesper-hymn of the thrush when the twlight lingers, for the long breath, the deep breath, the breath of a heart without care, i will give thanks and adore thee, god of the open air! vii these are the gifts i ask of thee, spirit serene: strength for the daily task, courage to face the road, good cheer to help me bear the traveller's load, and, for the hours of rest that come between, an inward joy in all things heard and seen. these are the sins i fain would have thee take away: malice, and cold disdain, hot anger, sullen hate, scorn of the lowly, envy of the great, and discontent that casts a shadow gray on all the brightness of the common day. these are the things i prize and hold of dearest worth: light of the sapphire skies, peace of the silent hills, god of the open air 61 shelter of forests, comfort of the grass, music of birds, murmur of little rills, shadows of cloud that swiftly pass, and, after showers, the smell of flowers and of the good brown earth,and best of all, along the way, friendship and mirth. so let me keep these treasures of the humble heart in true possession, owning them by love; and when at last i can no longer move among them freely, but must part from the green fields and from the waters clear, let me not creep into some darkened room and hide from all that makes the world so bright and dear; but throw the windows wide to welcome in the light; and while i clasp a well-beloved hand, let me once more have sight of the deep sky and the far-smiling land,then gently fall on sleep, and breathe my body back to nature's care, my spirit out to thee, god of the open air. 1904. stories in verse the toiling of felix a legend on a new saying of jesus in the rubbish heaps of the ancient city of oxyrhynchus, near the river nile, a party of english explorers, in the winter of 1897, discovered a fragment of a papyrus book, written in the second or third century, and hitherto unknown. this single leaf contained parts of seven short sentences of christ, each introduced by the words, "jesus says." it is to the fifth of these sayings of jesus that the following poem refers. the toiling of felix i prelude hear a word that jesus spake eighteen hundred years ago, where the crimson lilies blow round the blue tiberian lake: there the bread of life he brake, through the fields of harvest walking with his lowly comrades, talking of the secret thoughts that feed weary souls in time of need. art thou hungry? come and take; hear the word that jesus spake! 'tis the sacrament of labour, bread and wine divinely blest; friendship's food and sweet refreshment, strength and courage, joy and rest. but this word the master said long ago and far away, silent and forgotten lay buried with the silent dead, where the sands of egypt spread sea-like, tawny billows heaping over ancient cities sleeping, 67 68 stories in verse while the river nile between rolled its summer flood of green rolled its autumn flood of red: there the word the master said, written on a frail papyrus, wrinkled, scorched by fire, and torn, hidden in god's hand was waiting for its resurrection morn. now at last the buried word by the delving spade is found, sleeping in the quiet ground. now the call of life is heard: rise again, and like a bird, fly abroad on wings of gladness through the darkness and the sadness, of the toiling age, and sing sweeter than the voice of spring, till the hearts of men are stirred by the music of the word,gospel for the heavy-laden, answer to the labourer's cry: "raise the stone, and thou shalt find me; cleave the wood and there am i." ii legend brother-men who look for jesus, long to see him close and clear, hearken to the tale of felix, how he found the master near. the toiling of felix 69 born in egypt, 'neath the shadow of the crumbling gods of night, he forsook the ancient darkness, turned his young heart toward the light. seeking christ, in vain he waited for the vision of the lord; vainly pondered many volumes where the creeds of men were stored; vainly shut himself in silence, keeping vigil night and day; vainly haunted shrines and churches where the christians came to pray. one by one he dropped the duties of the common life of care, broke the human ties that bound him, laid his spirit waste and bare, hoping that the lord would enter that deserted dwellingplace, and reward the loss of all things with the vision of his face. still the blessed vision tarried; still the light was unrevealed; still the master, dim and distant, kept his countenance concealed. fainter grew the hope of finding, wearier grew the fruitless quest; prayer and penitence and fasting gave no comfort, brought no rest. 70 stories in verse lingering in the darkened temple, ere the lamp of faith went out, felix knelt before the altar, lonely, sad, and full of doubt. "hear me, o thou mighty master," from the altar-step he cried, "let my one desire be granted, let my hope be satisfied! "only once i long to see thee, in the fulness of thy grace: break the clouds that now enfold thee with the sunrise of thy face! "all that men desire and treasure have i counted loss for thee; every hope have i forsaken, save this one, my lord to see. "loosed the sacred bands of friendship, solitary stands my heart; thou shalt be my sole companion when i see thee as thou art. "from thy distant throne in glory, flash upon my inward sight, fill the midnight of my spirit with the splendour of thy light. "all thine other gifts and blessings, common mercies, i disown; separated from my brothers, i would see thy face alone. the toiling of felix 71 "i have watched and i have waited as one watcheth for the morn: still the veil is never lifted, still thou leavest me forlorn. "now i seek thee in the desert, where the holy hermits dwell; there, beside the saint serapion, i will find a lonely cell. "there at last thou wilt be gracious; there thy presence, long-concealed, in the solitude and silence to my heart shall stand revealed. "thou wilt come, at dawn or twilight, o'er the rolling waves of sand; i shall see thee close beside me, i shall touch thy pierced hand. "lo, thy pilgrim kneels before thee; bless my journey with a word; tell me now that if i follow i shall find thee, o my lord!" felix listened: through the darkness, like a murmur of the wind, came a gentle sound of stillness: "never faint, and thou shalt find." long and toilsome was his journey through the heavy land of heat, egypt's blazing sun above him, blistering sand beneath his feet. 72 stories in verse patiently he plodded onward, from the pathway never erred, till he reached the river-fastness called the mountain of the bird. there the tribes of air assemble, once a year, their noisy flock, then, departing, leave their sentinel perched upon the highest rock. far away, on joyful pinions, over land and sea they fly; but the watcher on the summit lonely stands against the sky. there the eremite serapion in a cave had made his bed; there the faithful bands of pilgrims sought his blessing, brought him bread. month by month, in deep seclusion, hidden in the rocky cleft, dwelt the hermit, fasting, praying; once a year the cave he left. on that day a happy pilgrim, chosen out of all the band, won a special sign of favour from the holy hermit's hand. underneath the narrow window, at the doorway closely sealed, while the afterglow of sunset deepened round him, felix kneeled. "man of god, of men most holy, thou whose gifts cannot be priced! grant me thy most precious guerdon; tell me how to find the christ." the toiling of felix 73 breathless, felix bowed and listened, but no answering voice he heard; darkness folded, dumb and deathlike, round the mountain of the bird. then he said, "the saint is silent; he would teach my soul to wait: i will tarry here in patience, like a beggar at his gate." near the dwelling of the hermit felix found a rude abode in a shallow tomb deserted, close beside the pilgrim-road. so the faithful pilgrims saw him waiting there without complaint,soon they learned to call him holy, fed him as they fed the saint. day by day he watched the sunrise flood the distant plain with gold, while the river nile beneath him, silvery coiling, seaward rolled. night by night he saw the planets range their glittering court on high, saw the moon, with queenly motion, mount her throne and rule the sky. morn advanced and midnight fled, in visionary pomp attired; never morn and never midnight brought the vision long. desired. 74 stories in verse now at last the day is dawning when serapion makes his gift; felix kneels before the threshold, hardly dares his eyes to lift. now the cavern door uncloses, now the saint above him stands, blesses him without a word, and leaves a token in his hands. 'tis the guerdon of thy waiting! look, thou happy pilgrim, look! nothing but a tattered fragment of an old papyrus book. read! perchance the clue to guide thee hidden in the words may lie: "raise the stone, and thou shalt find me; cleave the wood, and there am i." can it be the mighty master spake such simple words as these? can it be that men must seek him at their toil 'mid rocks and trees? disappointed, heavy-hearted, from the mountain of the bird felix mournfully descended, questioning the master's word. not for him a sacred dwelling, far above the haunts of men: he must turn his footsteps backward to the common life again. from a quarry near the river, hollowed out below the hills, rose the clattering voice of labour, clanking hammers, clinking drills. the toiling of felix 75 dust, and noise, and hot confusion made a babel of the spot: there, among the lowliest workers, felix sought and found his lot. now he swung the ponderous mallet, smote the iron in the rockmuscles quivering, tingling, throbbing-blow on blow and shock on shock; now he drove the willow wedges, wet them till they swelled and split, with their silent strength, the fragment, sent it thundering down the pit. now the groaning tackle raised it; now the rollers made it slide; harnessed men, like beasts of burden, drew it to the river-side. now the palm-trees must be riven, massive timbers hewn and dressed, rafts to bear the stones in safety on the rushing river's breast. axe and auger, saw and chisel, wrought the will of man in wood: 'mid the many-handed labour felix toiled, and found it good. every day the blood ran fleeter through his limbs and round his heart; every night he slept the sweeter, knowing he had done his part 76 stories in verse dreams of solitary saintship faded from him; but, instead, came a sense of daily comfort in the toil for daily bread. far away, across the river, gleamed the white walls of the town whither all the stones and timbers day by day were drifted down. there the workman saw his labour taking form and bearing fruit, like a tree with splendid branches rising from a humble root. looking at the distant city, temples, houses, domes, and towers, felix cried in exultation: "all the mighty work is ours. "every mason in the quarry, every builder on the shore, every chopper in the palm-grove, every raftsman at the oar, "hewing wood and drawing water, splitting stones and cleaving sod, all the dusty ranks of labour, in the regiment of god, "march together toward his triumph, do the task his hands prepare: honest toil is holy service; faithful work is praise and prayer." while he bore the heat and burden felix felt the sense of rest flowing softly like a fountain, deep within his weary breast; the toiling of felix 77 felt the brotherhood of labour, rising round him like a tide, overflow his heart and join him to the workers at his side. oft he cheered them with his singing at the breaking of the light, told them tales of christ at noonday, taught them words of prayer at night. once he bent above a comrade fainting in the mid-day heat, sheltered him with woven palm-leaves, gave him water, cool and sweet. then it seemed, for one swift moment, secret radiance filled the place; underneath the green palm-branches flashed a look of jesus' face. once again, a raftsman, slipping, plunged beneath the stream and sank; swiftly felix leaped to rescue, caught him, drew him toward the bankbattling with the cruel river, using all his strength to savedid he dream? or was there one beside him walking on the wave? now at last the work was ended, grove deserted, quarry stilled; felix journeyed to the city that his hands had helped to build. 78 stories in verse in the darkness of the temple, at the closing hour of day, as of old he sought the altar, as of old he knelt to pray: "hear me, o thou hidden master! thou hast sent a word to me; it is written-thy commandment-i have kept it faithfully. "thou hast bid me leave the visions of the solitary life, bear my part in human labour, take my share in human strife. "i have done thy bidding, master; raised the rock and felled the tree, swung the axe and plied the hammer, working every day for thee. "once it seemed i saw thy presence through the bending palm-leaves gleam; once upon the flowing water-nay, i know not, 'twas a dream! "this i know: thou hast been near me: more than this i dare not ask. though i see thee not, i love thee. let me do thy humblest task!" through the dimness of the temple slowly dawned a mystic there the master stood in glory, manifest to mortal sight: light; the toiling of felix 79 hands that bore the mark of labour, brow that bore the print of care; hands of power, divinely tender; brow of light, divinely fair. "hearken, good and faithful servant, true disciple, loyal friend! thou hast followed me and found me; i will keep thee to the end. "well i know thy toil and trouble; often weary, fainting, worn, i have lived the life of labour, heavy burdens i have borne. "never in a prince's palace have i slept on golden bed, never in a hermit's cavern have i eaten unearned bread. "born within a lowly stable, where the cattle round me stood, trained a carpenter in nazareth, i have toiled, and found it good. *they who tread the path of labour follow where my feet have trod; they who work without complaining do the holy will of god. "where the many toil together, there am i among my own; where the tired workman sleepeth, there am i with him alone. "i, the peace that passeth knowledge, dwell amid the daily strife; i, the bread of heaven, am broken in the sacrament of life. 80 stories in verse "every task, however simple, sets the soul that does it free;" every deed of love and mercy, done to man, is done to me. "thou hast learned the open secret; thou hast come to me for rest; with thy burden, in thy labour, thou art felix, doubly blest. "nevermore thou needest seek me; i am with thee everywhere; raise the stone, and thou shalt find me; cleave the wood, and i am there." iii envoy the legend of felix is ended, the toiling of felix is done; the master has paid him his wages, the goal of his journey is won; he rests, but he never is idle; a thousand years pass like a day, in the glad surprise of the paradise where work is sweeter than play. yet often the king of that country comes out from his tireless host, and walks in this world of the weary as if he loved it the most; for here in the dusty confusion, with eyes that are heavy and dim, he meets again the labouring men who are looking and longing for him. the toiling of felix 81 he cancels the curse of eden, and brings them a blessing instead: blessed are they that labour, for jesus partakes of their bread he puts his hand to their burdens, he enters their homes at night: who does his best shall have as a guest the master of life and light. and courage will come with his presence, and patience return at his touch, and manifold sins be forgiven to those who love him much; the cries of envy and anger will change to the songs of cheer, the toiling age will forget its rage when the prince of peace draws near. this is the gospel of labour, ring it, ye bells of the kirk! the lord of love came down from above, to live with the men who work. 1898. this is the rose that he planted, here in the thorn-curst soil: heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the blessing of earth is toil. 82 stories in verse 1 vera i a silent world,—yet full of vital joy expressed in rhythmic movements manifold, and sunbeams flashing on the face of things like sudden smilings of divine delight,— a world of many sorrows too, revealed in fading flowers and withering leaves and dark tear-laden clouds, and tearless, clinging mists that hung above the earth too sad to weep,a world of fluent change, and changeless flow, and infinite suggestion of new thoughts, reflected in the mirror of the heart with shifting colours and dissolving forms,— a world of many meanings but no words a silent world was vera's home. for her the inner doors of sound were closely sealed. the outer portals, delicate as shells suffused with faintest rose of far-off morn, like underglow of daybreak in the sea,the ear-gates of the garden of her soul, shaded by drooping tendrils of brown hair, waited in vain for messengers to pass, vera 83 and thread the labyrinth with flying feet, and swiftly knock upon the inmost door, and enter in, and speak the mystic word. but through those gates no message ever came. only with eyes did she behold and see,— with eyes as luminous and bright and brown as waters of a woodland river,-eyes that questioned so they almost seemed to speak, and answered so they almost seemed to hear,— only with wondering eyes did she behold the silent splendour of a soundless world. she saw the great wind ranging freely down interminable archways of the wood, while tossing boughs and bending tree-tops hailed his coming: but no sea-tuned voice of pines, no roaring of the oaks, no silvery song of poplars or of birches, followed him. he passed; they waved their arms and clapped their hands; but all was still. the torrents from the hills leaped down their rocky stairways, like wild steeds breaking the yoke and shaking manes of foam. the lowland brooks coiled smoothly through the fields, and softly spread themselves in glistening lakes whose ripples merrily danced among the reeds. 84 stories in verse the standing waves that ever keep their place in the swift rapids, curled upon themselves, and seemed about to break and never broke; and all the wandering waves that fill the sea came buffeting in along the stony shore, or plunging in along the level sands, or creeping in along the winding creeks and inlets. yet from all the ceaseless flow and turmoil of the restless element came neither song of joy nor sob of grief; for there were many waters, but no voice. silent the actors all on nature's stage performed their parts before her watchful eyes, coming and going, making war and love, working and playing, all without a sound. the oxen drew their load with swaying necks, the kine came sauntering home along the lane, the nodding sheep were led from field to fold, in mute obedience. down the woodland track the hounds with panting sides and lolling tongues pursued their flying prey in noiseless haste. the birds, the most alive of living things, the quickest to respond to joy and fear, mated, and built their nests, and reared their young, and swam the flood of air like tiny ships vera 85 rising and falling over unseen waves, and, gathering in great navies, bore away to north or south, without a note of song. all these were vera's playmates, and she loved to watch them, wondering oftentimes how well they knew their parts, and how the drama moved so swiftly, smoothly on from scene to scene without confusion. but she sometimes dreamed there must be something hidden in the play unknown to her, an utterance of life more clear than action and more deep than looks. and this she felt most deeply when she watched her human comrades and the throngs of men, who met and parted oft with moving lips that had a meaning more than she could see. she saw a lover bend above a maid, with moving lips; and though he touched her not a sudden rose of joy bloomed in her face. she saw a hater stand before his foe and move his lips; whereat the other shrank as if he had been smitten on the mouth. she saw the regiments of toiling men marshalled in ranks and led by moving lips. and once she saw a sight more strange than all: a crowd of people sitting charmed and still 86 stories in verse around a little company of men who touched their hands in measured, rhythmic time to curious instruments; a woman stood among them, with bright eyes and heaving breast, and lifted up her face and moved her lips. then vera wondered at the idle play, but when she looked around, she saw the glow of deep delight on every face, as if some visitor from a celestial world had brought glad tidings. but to her alone no angel entered, for the choir of sound was vacant in the temple of her soul, and worship lacked her golden crown of song. so when, by vision baffled and perplexed, she saw that all the world could not be seen, and knew she could not know the whole of life unless a hidden gate should be unsealed, she felt imprisoned. in her heart there grew the bitter creeping plant of discontent, the plant that only grows in prison soil, whose root is hunger and whose fruit is pain. the springs of still delight and tranquil joy were drained as dry as desert dust to feed that never-flowering vine, whose tendrils clung with strangling touch around the bloom of life vera 87 and made it wither. within the limits of her silent world; along its dumb and desolate paths she roamed a captive, looking sadly for escape. vera could not rest now in those distant days, and in that land remote, there lived a master wonderful, who knew the secret of all life, and could, with gentle touches and with potent words, open all gates that ever had been sealed, and loose all prisoners whom fate had bound. obscure he dwelt, not in the wilderness, but in a hut among the throngs of men, concealed by meekness and simplicity. and ever as he walked the city streets, or sat in quietude beside the sea, or trod the hillsides and the harvest fields, the multitude passed by and knew him not. but there were some who knew, and turned to him for help; and unto all who asked, he gave. thus vera came, and found him in the field, and knew him by the pity in his face, and knelt to him and held him by one hand, and laid the other hand upon her lips in mute entreaty. then she lifted up the coils of hair that hung about her neck 88 stories in verse and bared the beauty of the gates of sound,those virgin gates through which no voice had passed she made them bare before the master's sight, and looked into the kindness of his face with eyes that spoke of all her prisoned pain, and told her great desire without a word. the master waited long in silent thought, as one reluctant to bestow a gift, not for the sake of holding back the thing entreated, but because he surely knew of something better that he fain would give if only she would ask it. then he stooped to vera, smiling, touched her ears and spoke: "open, fair gates, and you, reluctant doors, within the ivory labyrinth of the ear, let fall the bar of silence and unfold! enter, you voices of all living things, enter the garden sealed, but softly, slowly, not with a noise confused and broken tumult,come in an order sweet as i command you, and bring the double gift of speech and hearing." vera began to hear. at first the wind. breathed a low prelude of the birth of sound, as if an organ far away were touched vera 89 by unseen fingers; then the little stream that hurried down the hillside, swept the harp of music into merry, tinkling notes; and then the lark that poised above her head on wings a-quiver, overflowed the air with showers of song; and one by one the tones of all things living, in an order sweet, without confusion and with deepening power, entered the garden sealed. and last of all the master's voice, the human voice divine, passed through the gates and called her by her name, and vera heard. ii what rapture of new life must come to one for whom a silent world is suddenly made vocal, and whose heart by the same magic is awaked at once, without the learner's toil and long delay, out of a night of dumbly moving dreams, into a day that overflows with music! this joy was vera's; and to her it seemed as if a new creative morn had risen upon the earth, and after the full week when living things unfolded silently, and after the long, quiet sabbath day, 00 stories in verse ¦ i when all was still, another day nad dawned, and through the calm expectancy of heaven a secret voice had said, "let all things speak." the world responded with an instant joy; and all the unseen avenues of sound were thronged with varying forms of viewless life. to every living thing a voice was given distinct and personal. the forest trees were not more varied in their shades of green than in their tones of speech; and every bird that nested in their branches had a song unknown to other birds and all his own. the waters spoke a hundred dialects of one great language; now with pattering fall of raindrops on the glistening leaves, and now with steady roar of rivers rushing down to meet the sea, and now with rhythmic throb and measured tumult of tempestuous waves, and now with lingering lisp of creeping tides,the manifold discourse of many waters. but most of all the human voice was full of infinite variety, and ranged along the scale of life's experience with changing tones, and notes both sweet and sad, all fitted to express some unseen thought, vera 225 some vital motion of the hidden heart. so vera listened with her new-born sense to all the messengers that passed the gates, in measureless delight and utter trust, believing that they brought a true report from every living thing of its true life, and hoping that at last they would make clear the meaning and the mystery of the world. but soon there came a trouble in her joy, a cloud of doubt across her sky of trust, a note discordant that dissolved the chord and broke the bliss of hearing into pain. not from the harsher sounds and voices wild of anger and of anguish, that reveal the secret strife in nature, and confess the touch sorrow on the heart of life,from these her trouble came not. for in these, however sad, she felt the note of truth, and truth, though sad, is always musical. the raging of the tempest-ridden sea, the crash of thunder, and the hollow moan of winds complaining round the mountain-crags, the shrill and quavering cry of birds of prey, the fiercer roar of conflict-loving beasts,all these wild sounds are potent in their place 92 stories in verse within life's mighty symphony; the charm of truth attunes them, and the hearing ear finds pleasure in their rude sincerity. even the broken and tumultuous noise that rises from great cities, where the heart of human toil is beating heavily with ceaseless murmurs of the labouring pulse, is not a discord; for it speaks to life of life unfeigned, and full of hopes and fears, and touched through all the trouble of its notes with something rcal and therefore glorious. one voice alone of all that sound on earth, is hateful to the soul, and full of pain,— the voice of falsehood. so when vera heard this mocking voice, and knew that it was false; when first she learned that human lips can speak the thing that is not, and betray the ear of simple trust with treachery of words; the joy of hearing withered in her heart. for now she felt that faithless messengers could pass the open and unguarded gates of sound, and bring a message all untrue, or half a truth that makes the deadliest lie, or idle babble, neither false nor true, but hollow to the heart, and meaningless. vera 93 she heard the flattering voices of deceit, that mask the hidden purposes of men with fair attire of favourable words, and hide the evil in the guise of good. the voices vain and decorous and smooth, that fill the world with empty-hearted talk; the foolish voices, wandering and confused, that cannot clearly speak the thing they would, but ramble blindly round their true intent and tangle sense in hopeless coils of sound,all these she heard, and with a sad mistrust began to doubt the value of her gift. it seemed as if the world, the living world, sincere, and deep, and real, were still concealed, and she, within the prison of her soul, still waiting silently to hear the voice of perfect knowledge and of perfect peace. so with the burden of her discontent she turned to seek the master once again, and found him sitting in the market-place, half-hidden in the shadow of a porch, alone among the careless crowd. she spoke: "thy gift was great, dear master, and my heart has thanked thee many times because i hear. 94 stories in verse but i have learned that hearing is not all; for underneath the speech of men, there flows another current of their hidden thoughts; behind the mask of language i perceive the eyes of things unuttered; and i feel the throbbing of the real heart of the world beneath the robe of words. touch me again, o master, with thy liberating hand, and free me from the bondage of deceit. open another gate, and let me hear the secret thoughts and purposes of men; for only thus my heart will be at rest, and only thus, at last, i shall perceive the meaning and the mystery of the world." the master's face was turned away from her; his eyes looked far away, as if he saw something beyond her sight; and yet she knew that he was listening; for her pleading voice no sooner ceased than he put forth his hand to touch her brow, and very gently spoke: "thou seekest for thyself a wondrous gift,the opening of the second gate, a gift that many wise men have desired in vain: but some have found it,-whether well or ill for their own peace, they have attained the power vera 95 to hear unspoken thoughts of other men. and thou hast begged this gift? thou shalt receive,not knowing what thou seekest,-it is thine: the second gate is open! thou shalt hear all that men think and feel within their hearts: thy prayer is granted, daughter, go thy way! but if thou findest sorrow on this path, come back again,-there is a path to peace." iii beyond our power of vision, poets say, there is another world of forms unseen, yet visible to purer eyes than ours. and if the crystal of our sight were clear, we should behold the mountain-slopes of cloud, the moving meadows of the untilled sea, the groves of twilight and the dales of dawn, and every wide and lonely field of air, more populous than cities, crowded close with living creatures of all shapes and hues. but if that sight were ours, the things that now engage our eyes would seem but dull and dim beside the wonders of our new-found world, and we should be amazed and overwhelmed not knowing how to use the plenitude of vision. 96 stories in verse so in vera's soul, at first, the opening of the second gate of sound let in confusion like a whirling flood. the murmur of a myriad-throated mob; the trampling of an army through a place where echoes hide; the sudden, whistling flight of an innumerable flock of birds along the highway of the midnight sky; the many-whispered rustling of the reeds beneath the passing feet of all the winds; the long-drawn, inarticulate, wailing cry of million-pebbled beaches when the lash of falling waves is drawn across their back,— all these were less bewildering than to hear what now she heard at once: the tangled sound of all that moves within the minds of men. for now there was no measured flow of words to mark the time; nor any interval of silence to repose the listening ear. but through the dead of night, and through the calm of weary noon-tide, through the solemn hush that fills the temple in the pause of praise, and through the breathless awe in rooms of death, she heard the ceaseless motion and the stir of never-silent hearts, that fill the world with interwoven thoughts of good and ill, vera 97 with mingled music of delight and grief, with songs of love, and bitter cries of hate, with hymns of faith, and dirges of despair, and murmurs deeper and more vague than all,thoughts that are born and die without a name, or rather, never die, but haunt the soul, with sad persistence, till a name is given. these vera heard, at first with mind perplexed and half-benumbed by the disordered sound. but soon a clearer sense began to pierce the cloudy turmoil with discerning power. she learned to know the tones of human thought as plainly as she knew the tones of speech. she could divide the evil from the good, interpreting the language of the mind, and tracing every feeling like a thread within the mystic web the passions weave from heart to heart around the living world. but when at last the master's second gift was perfected within her, and she heard and understood the secret thoughts of men, a sadness fell upon her, and the weight of an intolerable knowledge pressed her down with weary wishes to know more, or less. for all she knew was like a broken word — 98 stories in verse inscribed upon the fragment of a ring; and all she heard was like a troubled strain preluding music that is never played. then she remembered in her sad unrest the master's parting word,-"a path to peace,"and turned again to seek him with her grief. she found him in a hollow of the hills, beside a little spring that issued forth from broken rocks and filled an emerald cup with never-failing water. there he sat, with waiting looks that welcomed her afar. "i know that thou hast heard, my child," he said. "for all the wonder of the world of sound is written in thy face. but hast thou heard, among the many voices, one of peace? and is thy heart that hears the secret thoughts, the hidden wishes and desires of men, content with hearing? art thou satisfied?" "nay, master," she replied, "thou knowest well that i am not at rest, nor have i heard the voice of perfect peace; but what i hear brings me disquiet and a troubled mind. the evil voices in the souls of men, voices of rage and cruelty and fear have not dismayed me; for i have believed vera 99 the voices of the good, the kind, the true, are more in number and excel in strength. there is more love than hate, more hope than fear, in the deep throbbing of the human heart. but while i listen to the troubled sound, one thing torments me, and destroys my rest and presses me with dull, unceasing pain. for out of all the minds of all mankind, there rises evermore a questioning voice that asks the meaning of this mighty world and finds no answer,-asks, and asks again, with patient pleading or with wild complaint, but wakens no response, except the sound of other questions, wandering to and fro, from other souls in doubt. and so this voice persists above all others that i hear, and binds them up together into one, until the mingled murmur of the world sounds through the inner temple of my heart like an eternal question, vainly asked, by every human soul that thinks and feels. this is the heaviness that weighs me down, and this the pain that will not let me rest. therefore, dear master, shut the gates again, and let me live in silence as before! or else, and if there is indeed a gate 100 stories in verse unopened yet, through which i might receive an answer in the voice of perfect peace—" she ceased; and in her upward faltering tone the question echoed. then the master said: "there is another gate, not yet unclosed. for through the outer portal of the ear only the outer voice of things may pass; and through the middle doorway of the mind only the half-formed voice of human thoughts, uncertain and perplexed with endless doubt; but through the inmost gate the spirit hears the voice of that great spirit who is life. beneath the tones of living things he breathes a deeper tone than ever car hath heard; and underneath the troubled thoughts of men he thinks forever, and his thought is peace. behold, i touch thee once again, my child: the third and last of those three hidden gates that closed around thy soul and shut thee in, is open now, and thou shalt truly hear." then vera heard. the spiritual gate was opened softly as a full-blown flower unfolds its heart to welcome in the dawn, vera ioi and on her listening face there shone a light of still amazement and completed joy in the full gift of hearing. what she heard i cannot tell; nor could she ever tell in words; because all human words are vain, there is no speech nor language, to express the secret messages of god, that make perpetual music in the hearing heart. below the voice of waters, and above the wandering voice of winds, and underneath the song of birds and all the varying tones of living things that fill the world with sound, god spoke to her, and what she heard was peace. so when the master questioned, "dost thou hear?" she answered, "yea, at last i hear." and then he asked her once again, "what hearest thou? what means the voice of life?" she answered, "love! for love is life, and they who do not love are not alive. but every soul that loves, lives in the heart of god and hears him speak." 1898 102 stories in verse another chance a dramatic lyric come, give me back my life again, you heavy-handed death! uncrook your fingers from my throat, and let me draw my breath. you do me wrong to take me now-too soon for me to die— ah, loose me from this clutching pain, and hear the reason why. i know i've had my forty years, and wasted every one; and yet, i tell you honestly, my life is just begun; i've walked the world like one asleep, a dreamer in a trance; but now you've gripped me wide awake-i want another chance. my dreams were always beautiful, my thoughts were high and fine; no life was ever lived on earth to match those dreams of mine. and would you wreck them unfulfilled? what folly, nay, what crime! you rob the world, you waste a soul; give me a little time. you'll hear me? yes, i'm sure you will, my hope is not in vain: i feel the even pulse of peace, the sweet relief from pain; another chance 103 the black fog rolls away from me; i'm free once more to plan: another chance is all i need to prove myself a man! the world is full of warfare 'twixt the evil and the good; i watched the battle from afar as one who understood the shouting and confusion, the bloody, blundering fighthow few there are that see it clear, how few that wage it right! the captains flushed with foolish pride, the soldiers pale with fear, the faltering flags, the feeble fire from ranks that swerve and veer, the wild mistakes, the dismal doubts, the coward hearts that fleethe good cause needs a nobler knight to win the victory. a man whose soul is pure and strong, whose sword is bright and keen, who knows the splendour of the fight and what its issues mean; who never takes one step aside, nor halts, though hope be dim, but cleaves a pathway thro' the strife, and bids men follow him. no blot upon his stainless shield, no weakness in his arm; no sign of trembling in his face to break his valour's charm: a man like this could stay the flight and lead the wavering line; ah, give me but a year of life-i'll make that glory mine! 104 stories in verse religion? yes, i know it well; i've heard its prayers and creeds, and seen men put them all to shame with poor, half-hearted deeds. they follow christ, but far away; they wander and they doubt. i'll serve him in a better way, and live his precepts out. you see, i waited just for this; i could not be content to own a feeble, faltering faith with human weakness blent. too many runners in the race move slowly, stumble, fall; but i will run so straight and swift i shall outstrip them all. oh, think what it will mean to men, amid their foolish strife, to see the clear, unshadowed light of one true christian life, without a touch of selfishness, without a taint of sin,with one short month of such a life a new world would begin! and love! i often dream of that-the treasure of the earth; how little they who use the coin have realised its worth! "twill pay all debts, enrich all hearts, and make all joys secure. but love, to do its perfect work, must be sincere and pure. my heart is full of virgin gold. i'll pour it out and spend my hidden wealth with open hand on all who call me friend. not one shall miss the kindly deed, the largess of relief, the generous fellowship of joy, the sympathy of grief. another chance 105 i'll say the loyal, helpful things that make life sweet and fair, i'll pay the gratitude i owe for human love and care. perhaps i've been at fault sometimes-i'll ask to be forgiven, and make this little room of mine seem like a bit of heaven. for one by one i'll call my friends to stand beside my bed; i'll speak the true and tender words so often left unsaid; and every heart shall throb and glow, all coldness melt away around my altar-fire of love-ah, give me but one day! what's that? i've had another day, and wasted it again? a priceless day in empty dreams, another chance in vain? thou fool-this night-it's very dark-the last-this choking breathone prayer-have mercy on a dreamer's soul-god, this is death! 106 stories in verse a legend of service ir pleased the lord of angels (praise his name!) to hear, one day, report from those who came with pitying sorrow, or exultant joy, to tell of earthly tasks in his employ. for some were grieved because they saw how slow the stream of heavenly love on earth must flow; and some were glad because their eyes had seen, along its banks, fresh flowers and living green. at last, before the whiteness of the throne the youngest angel, asmiel, stood alone; nor glad, nor sad, but full of earnest thought, and thus his tidings to the master brought: "lord, in the city lupon i have found "three servants of thy holy name, renowned "above their fellows. one is very wise, "with thoughts that ever range beyond the skies; "and one is gifted with the golden speech "that makes men gladly hear when he will teach; "and one, with no rare gift or grace endued, "has won the people's love by doing good. "with three such saints lupon is trebly blest; "but, lord, i fain would know, which loves thee best?" a legend of service 107 then spake the lord of angels, to whose look the hearts of all are like an open book: "in every soul the secret thought i read, "and well i know who loves me best indeed. "but every life has pages vacant still, "whereon a man may write the thing he will; "therefore i read the record, day by day, "and wait for hearts untaught to learn my way. "but thou shalt go to lupon, to the three "who serve me there, and take this word from me: "tell each of them his master bids him go "alone to spiran's huts, across the snow; "there he shall find a certain task for me: "but what, i do not tell to them nor thee. "give thou the message, make my word the test, "and crown for me the one who loves me best." silent the angel stood, with folded hands, to take the imprint of his lord's commands; then drew one breath, obedient and elate, and passed the self-same hour, through lupon's gate. first to the temple door he made his way; and there, because it was a holy-day, he saw the folk in thousands thronging, stirred by ardent thirst to hear the preacher's word. then, while the people whispered bernol's name, 108 stories in verse through aisles that hushed behind him bernol came; strung to the keenest pitch of conscious might, with lips prepared and firm, and eyes alight. one moment at the pulpit step he knelt in silent prayer, and on his shoulder felt the angel's hand:-"the master bids thee go "alone to spiran's huts, across the snow, "to serve him there." then bernol's hidden face went white as death, and for about the space of ten slow heart-beats there was no reply; till bernol looked around and whispered, "why?" but answer to his question came there none; the angel sighed, and with a sigh was gone. within the humble house where malvin spent his studious years, on holy things intent, sweet stillness reigned; and there the angel found the saintly sage immersed in thought profound, weaving with patient toil and willing care a web of wisdom, wonderful and fair: a seamless robe for truth's great bridal meet, and needing but one thread to be complete. then asmiel touched his hand, and broke the thread of fine-spun thought, and very gently said, "the one of whom thou thinkest bids thee go "alone to spiran's huts, across the snow, a legend of service 109 "to serve him there." with sorrow and surprise malvin looked up, reluctance in his eyes. the broken thought, the strangeness of the call, the perilous passage of the mountain-wall, the solitary journey, and the length of ways unknown, too great for his frail strength, appalled him. with a doubtful brow he scanned the doubtful task, and muttered "how?" but asmiel answered, as he turned to go, with cold, disheartened voice, "i do not know." now as he went, with fading hope, to seek the third and last to whom god bade him speak, scarce twenty steps away whom should he meet but fermor, hurrying cheerful down the street, with ready heart that faced his work like play, and joyed to find it greater every day! the angel stopped him with uplifted hand, and gave without delay his lord's command: "he whom thou servest here would have thee go "alone to spiran's huts, across the snow, "to serve him there." ere asmiel breathed again the eager answer leaped to meet him, "when?" the angel's face with inward joy grew bright, and all his figure glowed with heavenly light; iio stories in verse he took the golden circlet from his brow and gave the crown to fermor, answering, "now! "for thou hast met the master's hidden test, "and i have found the man who loves him best. "not thine, nor mine, to question or reply "when he commands us, asking 'how?' or 'why?' "he knows the cause; his ways are wise and just; "who serves the king must serve with perfect trust." february, 1902. the white bees iii the white bees i legend long ago apollo called to aristæus, youngest of the shepherds, saying, "i will make you keeper of my bees." golden were the hives, and golden was the honey; golden, too, the music, where the honey-makers hummed among the trees. happy aristæus loitered in the garden, wandered in the orchard, careless and contented, indolent and free; lightly took his labour, lightly took his pleasure, till the fated moment when across his pathway came eurydice. then her eyes enkindled burning love within him; drove him wild with longing, for the perfect sweetness of her flower-like face; eagerly he followed, while she fled before him, over mead and mountain, on through field and forest, in a breathless race. but the nymph, in flying, trod upon a serpent; like a dream she vanished; pluto's chariot bore her down among the dead! 112 stories in verse lonely aristaeus, sadly home returning, found his garden empty, all the hives deserted, all the music fled. mournfully bewailing,-"ah, my honey-makers, where have you departed?" far and wide he sought them, over sea and shore; foolish is the tale that says he ever found them, brought them home in triumph,— joys that once escape us fly for evermore. yet i dream that somewhere, clad in downy whiteness, dwell the honey-makers, in aerial gardens that no mortal sees: and at times returning, lo, they flutter round us, gathering mystic harvest,— so i weave the legend of the long-lost bees. ii the swarming of the bees who can tell the hiding of the white bees' nest? who can trace the guiding of their swift home flight? far would be his riding on a lifelong quest: surely ere it ended would his beard grow white. never in the coming of the rose-red spring, never in the passing of the wine-red fall, the white bees 113 may you hear the humming of the white bee's wing murmur o'er the meadow, ere the night bells call. wait till winter hardens in the cold grey sky, wait till leaves are fallen and the brooks all freeze, then above the gardens where the dead flowers lie, swarm the merry millions of the wild white bees. out of the high-built airy hive, deep in the clouds that veil the sun, look how the first of the swarm arrive; timidly venturing, one by one, down through the tranquil air, wavering here and there, large, and lazy in flight,caught by a lift of the breeze, tangled among the naked trees,dropping then, without a sound, feather-white, feather-light, to their rest on the ground. thus the swarming is begun. count the leaders, every one perfect as a perfect star till the slow descent is done. 114 stories in verse look beyond them, see how far down the vistas dim and grey, multitudes are on the way. now a sudden brightness dawns within the sombre day, over fields of whiteness; and the sky is swiftly alive with the flutter and the flight of the shimmering bees, that pour from the hidden door of the hive till you can count no more. now on the branches of hemlock and pine thickly they settle and cluster and swing, bending them low; and the trellised vine and the dark elm-boughs are traced with a line of beauty wherever the white bees cling. now they are hiding the wrecks of the flowers, softly, softly, covering all, over the grave of the summer hours spreading a silver pall. now they are building the broad roof ledge, into a cornice smooth and fair, moulding the terrace, from edge to edge, into the sweep of a marble stair. wonderful workers, swift and dumb, the white bees 115 numberless myriads, still they come, thronging ever faster, faster, faster! where is their queen? who is their master? the gardens are faded, the fields are frore,— what is the honey they toil to store in the desolate day, where no blossoms gleam? forgetfulness and a dream! but now the fretful wind awakes; i hear him girding at the trees; he strikes the bending boughs, and shakes the quiet clusters of the bees to powdery drift; he tosses them away, he drives them like spray; he makes them veer and shift around his blustering path. in clouds blindly whirling, in rings madly swirling, full of crazy wrath, so furious and fast they fly they blur the earth and blot the sky in wild, white mirk. they fill the air with frozen wings and tiny, angry, icy stings;. they blind the eyes, and choke the breath, 112 stories in verse lonely aristaus, sadly home returning, found hi all the hives deserted, all the music fled. mournfully bewailing,-"ah, my honey-mal you departed?" far and wide he sought them, over sea a foolish is the tale that says he ever found t home in triumph,joys that once escape us fly for everm yet i dream that somewhere, clad in o the honey-makers, in aerial gardens that no mortal s and at times returning, lo, they fl mystic harvest,so i weave the legend of the lon the swarming who can tell the hiding of who can trace the guid far would be his riding surely er ed wo never in th never in ii ( o nom oven now moulding.com othe eriat in verse 115 bees rning, found his garden empty, music fled. honey-makers, where have er sea and shore; ound them, brought them rmore. owny whiteness, dwell round us, gathering es. es nest? home flight? may you hear hey come, murmurer, faster! cold wait fill winters wait fill leaves and the then love the gate where fr swarm the mers of f out of the high deep in the c look how f timidly down ware lam who is their master? he fields are frore,oil to store re no blossoms gleam? dream! ind awakes; the trees; ng boughs, and shakes f the bees ift; away, like spray; reer and shif ustering pa fing 116 stories in verse they dance a maddening dance of death. around their work, sweeping the cover from the hill, heaping the hollows deeper still, effacing every line and mark, and swarming, storming in the dark through the long night; until, at dawn, the wind lies down weary of fight; the last torn cloud, with trailing gown, passes the open gates of light; and the white bees are lost in flight. look how the landscape glitters wide and still, bright with a pure surprise! the day begins with joy, and all past ill, buried in white oblivion, lies beneath the snow-drifts under crystal skies. new hope, new love, new life, new cheer, flow in the sunrise beam,the gladness of apollo when he sees, upon the bosom of the wintry year, the honey-harvest of his wild white bees, forgetfulness and a dream! the white bees 117 iii legend listen, my beloved, while the silver morning, like a tranquil vision, fills the world around us and our hearts with peace; quiet is the close of aristæus' legend, happy is the endinglisten while i tell you how he found release. many months he wandered far away in sadness, desolately thinking only of the vanished joys he could not find; till the great apollo, pitying his shepherd, loosed him from the burden of a dark, reluctant, backward-looking mind. then he saw around him all the changeful beauty of the changing seasons, in the world-wide regions where his journey lay; birds that sang to cheer him, flowers that bloomed beside him, stars that shone to guide him,— traveller's joy was plenty all along the way! everywhere he journeyed strangers made him welcome, listened while he taught them secret lore of field and forest he had learned: 118 stories in verse how to train the vines and make the olives fruitful; how to guard the sheepfolds; how to stay the fever when the dog-sta₁ burned. friendliness and blessing followed in his footsteps; richer were the harvests, happier the dwellings, wheresoe'er he came; little children loved him, and he left behind him, in the hour of parting, memories of kindness and a god-like name. so he travelled onward, desolate no longer, patient in his seeking, reaping all the wayside comfort of his quest; till at last in thracia, high upon mount hæmus, far from human dwelling, weary aristaus laid him down to rest. then the honey-makers, clad in downy whiteness, fluttered soft around him, wrapt him in a dreamful slumber pure and deep. this is life, beloved: first a sheltered garden, then a troubled journey, joy and pain of seeking,—and at last we sleep! 1905. new year's eve 119 new year's eve i the other night i had a dream, most clear and comforting, complete in every line, a crystal sphere, and full of intimate and secret cheer. therefore i will repeat that vision, dearest heart, to you, as of a thing not feigned, but very true, yes, true as ever in my life befell; and you, perhaps, can tell whether my dream was really sad or sweet. ii the shadows flecked the elm-embowered street i knew so well, long, long ago; and on the pillared porch where marguerite had sat with me, the moonlight lay like snow. but she, my comrade and my friend of youth, most gaily wise, most innocently loved,she of the blue-grey eyes that ever smiled and ever spoke the truth,— 120 stories in verse from that familiar dwelling, where she moved like mirth incarnate in the years before, had gone into the hidden house of death. i thought the garden wore white mourning for her blessed innocence, and the syringa's breath came from the corner by the fence, where she had made her rustic seat, with fragrance passionate, intense, as if it breathed a sigh for marguerite. my heart was heavy with a sense of something good for ever gone. i sought vainly for some consoling thought, some comfortable word that i could say to her sad father, whom i visited again for the first time since she had gone away. the bell rang shrill and lonely, then the door was opened, and i sent my name to him, but ah! 'twas marguerite who came! there in the dear old dusky room she stood beneath the lamp, just as she used to stand, in tender mocking mood. "you did not ask for me," she said, "and so i will not let you take my hand; "but i must hear what secret talk you planned "with father. come, my friend, be good, new year's eve 121 "and tell me your affairs of state: "why you have stayed away and made me wait "so long. sit down beside me here,— "and, do you know, it seems a year "since we have talked together, why so late?" amazed, incredulous, confused with joy i hardly dared to show, and stammering like a boy, i took the place she showed me at her side; and then the talk flowed on with brimming tide through the still night, while she with influence light controlled it, as the moon the flood. she knew where i had been, what i had done, what work was planned, and what begun; my troubles, failures, fears she understood, and touched them with a heart so kind, that every care was melted from my mind, and every hope grew bright, and life seemed moving on to happy ends. (ah, what self-beggared fool was he that said a woman cannot be the very best of friends?) then there were memories of old times, recalled with many a gentle jest; 122 stories in verse and at the last she brought the book of rhymes we made together, trying to translate the songs of heine (hers were always best). "now come," she said, "to-night we will collaborate "again; i'll put you to the test. "here's one i never found the way to do,"the simplest are the hardest ones, you know,"i give this song to you." and then she read: mein kind, wir waren kinder, zwei kinder, jung und froh. but all the while, a silent question stirred within me, though i dared not speak the word: "is it herself, and is she truly here, "and was i dreaming when i heard "that she was dead last year? "or was it true, and is she but a shade "who brings a fleeting joy to eye and ear, "cold though so kind, and will she gently fade "when her sweet ghostly part is played "and the light-curtain falls at dawn of day?" but while my heart was troubled by this fear so deeply that i could not speak it out, new year's eve 123 lest all my happiness should disappear, i thought me of a cunning way to hide the question and dissolve the doubt. "will you not give me now your hand, "dear marguerite," i asked, "to touch and hold, "that by this token i may understand "you are the same true friend you were of old?" she answered with a smile so bright and calm it seemed as if i saw the morn arise in the deep heaven of her eyes; and smiling so, she laid her palm in mine. dear god, it was not cold but warm with vital heat! "you live!" i cried, "you live, dear marguerite!" then i awoke; but strangely comforted, although i knew again that she was dead. iii yes, there's the dream! and was it sweet or sad? dear mistress of my waking and my sleep, present reward of all my heart's desire, watching with me beside the winter fire, interpret now this vision that i had. but while you read the meaning, let me keep the touch of you: for the old year with storm 124 stories in verse is passing through the midnight, and doth shake the corners of the house, and oh! my heart would break unless both dreaming and awake my hand could feel your hand was warm, warm, warm! 1905. the vain king 125 the vain king in robes of tyrian blue the king was drest, a jewelled collar shone upon his breast, a giant ruby glittered in his crownlord of rich lands and many a splendid town. in him the glories of an ancient line of sober kings, who ruled by right divine, were centred; and to him with loyal awe the people looked for leadership and law. ten thousand knights, the safeguard of the land, were like a single sword within his hand; a hundred courts, with power of life and death, proclaimed decrees of justice by his breath; and all the sacred growths that men had known of order and of rule upheld his throne. proud was the king: yet not with such a heart as fits a man to play a royal part. not his the pride that honours as a trust the right to rule, the duty to be just: not his the dignity that bends to bear the monarch's yoke, the master's load of care, and labours like the peasant at his gate, 126 stories in verse to serve the people and protect the state. another pride was his, and other joys: to him the crown and sceptre were but toys, with which he played at glory's idle game, to please himself and win the wreaths of fame. the throne his fathers held from age to age, to his ambition seemed a fitting stage built for king martin to display at will, his mighty strength and universal skill. no conscious child, that, spoiled with praising, tries at every step to win admiring eyes, no favourite mountebank, whose acting draws from gaping crowds the thunder of applause, was vainer than the king: his only thirst was to be hailed, in every race, the first. when tournament was held, in knightly guise the king would ride the lists and win the prize; when music charmed the court, with golden lyre the king would take the stage and lead the choir; in hunting, his the lance to slay the boar; in hawking, see his falcon highest soar; in painting, he would wield the master's brush; in high debate,-"the king is speaking! hush!" thus, with a restless heart, in every field he sought renown, and made his subjects yield. but while he played the petty games of life the vain king 127 his kingdom fell a prey to inward strife; corruption through the court unheeded crept, and on the seat of honour justice slept. the strong trod down the weak; the helpless poor groaned under burdens grievous to endure; the nation's wealth was spent in vain display, and weakness wore the nation's heart away. yet think not earth is blind to human woesman has more friends and helpers than he knows; and when a patient people are oppressed, the land that bore them feels it in her breast. spirits of field and flood, of heath and hill, are grieved and angry at the spreading ill; the trees complain together in the night, voices of wrath are heard along the height, and secret vows are sworn, by stream and strand, to bring the tyrant low and free the land. but little recked the pampered king of these; he heard no voice but such as praise and please. flattered and fooled, victor in every sport, one day he wandered idly with his court beside the river, seeking to devise new ways to show his skill to wondering eyes. there in the stream a patient angler stood. 128 stories in verse and cast his line across the rippling flood. his silver spoil lay near him on the green: "such fish," the courtiers cried, "were never seen! "three salmon longer than a cloth-yard shaft"this man must be the master of his craft!" "an easy art!" the jealous king replied: "myself could learn it better, if i tried, "and catch a hundred larger fish a week"wilt thou accept the challenge, fellow? speak!" the angler turned, came near, and bent his knee: "tis not for kings to strive with such as me; "yet if the king commands it, i obey. "but one condition of the strife i pray: "the fisherman who brings the least to land "shall do whate'er the other may command." loud laughed the king: "a foolish fisher thou! "for i shall win, and rule thee then as now." then to prince john, a sober soul, sedate and slow, king martin left the helm of state, while to the novel game with eager zest he all his time and all his powers addressed. sure such a sight was never seen before! in robe and crown the monarch trod the shore; his golden hooks were decked with feathers fine, his jewelled reel ran out a silken line. the vain king 129 with kingly strokes he flogged the crystal stream; far-off the salmon saw his tackle gleam; careless of kings, they eyed with calm disdain the gaudy lure, and martin fished in vain. on friday, when the week was almost spent, he scanned his empty creel with discontent, called for a net, and cast it far and wide, and drew a thousand minnows from the tide! then came the angler to conclude the match, and at the monarch's feet spread out his catcha hundred salmon, greater than before. "i win!" he cried: "the king must pay the score." then martin, angry, threw his tackle down: "rather than lose this game i'd lose my crown!" "nay, thou hast lost them both," the angler said; and as he spoke a wondrous light was shed around his form; he dropped his garments mean, and in his place the river-god was seen. "thy vanity has brought thee in my power, "and thou must pay the forfeit at this hour: "for thou hast shown thyself a royal fool, "too proud to angle, and too vain to rule, "eager to win in every trivial strife,"go! thou shalt fish for minnows all thy life!" wrathful, the king the magic sentence heard; he strove to answer, but he only chirr-r-ed: 130 stories in verse his royal robe was changed to wings of blue, his crown a ruby crest,-away he flew! so every summer day along the stream the vain king-fisher darts, an azure gleam, and scolds the angler with a mocking scream. april, 1904. the foolish fir-tree 131 the foolish fir-tree a tale that the poet rückert told to german children, in days of old; disguised in a random, rollicking rhyme like a merry mummer of ancient time, and sent, in its english dress, to please the little folk of the christmas trees. a little fir grew in the midst of the wood contented and happy, as young trees should. his body was straight and his boughs were clean; and summer and winter the bountiful sheen of his needles bedecked him, from top to root, in a beautiful, all-the-year, evergreen suit. but a trouble came into his heart one day, when he saw that the other trees were gay in the wonderful raiment that summer weaves of manifold shapes and kinds of leaves: he looked at his needles so stiff and small, and thought that his dress was the poorest of all. then jealousy clouded the little tree's mind, and he said to himself, "it was not very kind "to give such an ugly old dress to a tree! "if the fays of the forest would only ask me, "i'd tell them how i should like to be dressed,32 stories in verse "in a garment of gold, to bedazzle the rest!" so he fell asleep, but his dreams were bad. when he woke in the morning, his heart was glad; for every leaf that his boughs could hold was made of the brightest beaten gold. i tell you, children, the tree was proud; he was something above the common crowd; and he tinkled his leaves, as if he would say to a pedlar who happened to pass that way, "just look at me! don't you think i am fine? "and wouldn't you like such a dress as mine?" "oh, yes!" said the man, "and i really guess "i must fill my pack with your beautiful dress." so he picked the golden leaves with care, and left the little tree shivering there. "oh, why did i wish for golden leaves?" the fir-tree said, "i forgot that thieves "would be sure to rob me in passing by. "if the fairies would give me another try, "i'd wish for something that cost much less, "and be satisfied with glass for my dress!" then he fell asleep; and, just as before, the fairies granted his wish once more. when the night was gone, and the sun rose clear, the tree was a crystal chandelier; the foolish fir-tree 133 and it seemed, as he stood in the morning light, that his branches were covered with jewels bright. "aha!" said the tree. "this is something great!" and he held himself up, very proud and straight; but a rude young wind through the forest dashed, in a reckless temper, and quickly smashed the delicate leaves. with a clashing sound they broke into pieces and fell on the ground, like a silvery, shimmering shower of hail, and the tree stood naked and bare to the gale. then his heart was sad; and he cried, "alas "for my beautiful leaves of shining glass! "perhaps i have made another mistake "in choosing a dress so easy to break. "if the fairies only would hear me again "i'd ask them for something both pretty and plain: "it wouldn't cost much to grant my request,— "in leaves of green lettuce i'd like to be dressed!" by this time the fairies were laughing, i know; but they gave him his wish in a second; and so with leaves of green lettuce, all tender and sweet, the tree was arrayed, from his head to his feet. "i knew it!" he cried, "i was sure i could find "the sort of a suit that would be to my mind. "there's none of the trees has a prettier dress, 134 stories in verse "and none as attractive as i am, i guess." but a goat, who was taking an afternoon walk, by chance overheard the fir-tree's talk. so he came up close for a nearer view;— "my salad!" he bleated, "i think so too! "you're the most attractive kind of a tree, "and i want your leaves for my five-o'clock tea." so he ate them all without saying grace, and walked away with a grin on his face; while the little tree stood in the twilight dim, with never a leaf on a single limb. then he sighed and groaned; but his voice was weakhe was so ashamed that he could not speak. he knew at last he had been a fool, to think of breaking the forest rule, and choosing a dress himself to please, because he envied the other trees. but it couldn't be helped, it was now too late, he must make up his mind to a leafless fate! so he let himself sink in a slumber deep, but he moaned and he tossed in his troubled sleep, till the morning touched him with joyful beam, and he woke to find it was all a dream. for there in his evergreen dress he stood, a pointed fir in the midst of the wood! 1 1 the foolish fir-tree 135 his branches were sweet with the balsam smell, his needles were green when the white snow fell. and always contented and happy was he,the very best kind of a christmas tree. i pro patria 1 i patria i would not even ask my heart to say if i could love another land as well as thee, my country, had i felt the spell of italy at birth, or learned to obey the charm of france, or england's mighty sway. i would not be so much an infidel as once to dream, or fashion words to tell, what land could hold my heart from thee away. for like a law of nature in my blood i feel thy sweet and secret sovereignty, and woven through my soul thy vital sign. my life is but a wave and thou the flood; i am a leaf and thou the mother-tree; nor should i be at all, were i not thine. june, 1904. 139 140 pro patria america i love thine inland seas, thy groves of giant trees, thy rolling plains; thy rivers' mighty sweep, thy mystic canyons deep, thy mountains wild and steep, all thy domains; thy silver eastern strands, thy golden gate that stands wide to the west; thy flowery southland fair, thy sweet and crystal air,— o land beyond compare, thee i love best! march, 1906. the ancestral dwellings 141 the ancestral dwellings dear to my heart are the ancestral dwellings of america, dearer than if they were haunted by ghosts of royal splendour; they are simple enough to be great in their friendly dignity,homes that were built by the brave beginners of a nation. i love the old white farmhouses nestled in new england valleys, ample and long and low, with elm-trees feathering over them: borders of box in the yard, and lilacs, and old-fashioned roses, a fan-light above the door, and little square panes in the windows, the wood-shed piled with maple and birch and hickory ready for winter, the gambrel-roof with its garret crowded with household relics,― all the tokens of prudent thrift and the spirit of self-reliance. i love the weather-beaten, shingled houses that front the ocean; they seem to grow out of the rocks, there is something indomitable about them: 142 pro patria their backs are bowed, and their sides are covered with lichens; soft in their colour as grey pearls, they are full of a patient courage. facing the briny wind on a lonely shore they stand undaunted, while the thin blue pennant of smoke from the square-built chimney tells of a haven for man, with room for a hearth and a cradle. i love the stately southern mansions with their tall white columns, they look through avenues of trees, over fields where the cotton is growing; i can see the flutter of white frocks along their shady porches, music and laughter float from the windows, the yards are full of hounds and horses. long since the riders have ridden away, yet the houses have not forgotten, they are proud of their name and place, and their doors are always open, for the thing they remember best is the pride of their ancient hospitality. in the towns i love the discreet and tranquil quaker dwellings, with their demure brick faces and immaculate marble doorsteps; i the ancestral dwellings 143 and the gabled houses of the dutch, with their high stoops and iron railings, (i can see their little brass knobs shining in the morning sunlight); and the solid self-contained houses of the descendants of the puritans, frowning on the street with their narrow doors and dormerwindows; and the triple-galleried, many-pillared mansions of charleston, standing open sideways in their gardens of roses and magnolias. yes, they are all dear to my heart, and in my eyes they are beautiful; july, 1909. for under their roofs were nourished the thoughts that have made the nation; the glory and strength of america come from her ancestral dwellings. 144 pro patria hudson's last voyage the shallop on hudson bay june 22, 1611 one sail in sight upon the lonely sea, and only one! for never ship but mine has dared these waters. we were first, my men, to battle in between the bergs and floes to these wide waves. this gulf is mine; i name it! and that flying sail is mine! and there, hull-down below that flying sail, the ship that staggers home is mine, mine, mine! my ship discoverie! the sullen dogs of mutineers, the bitches' whelps that snatched their food and bit the hand that nourished them, have stolen her. you ingrate henry greene, i picked you from the gutter of houndsditch, and paid your debts, and kept you in my house, and brought you here to make a man of you! you robert juet, ancient, crafty man, toothless and tremulous, how many times hudson's last voyage 145 have i employed you as a master's mate to give you bread? and you abacuck prickett, you sailor-clerk, you salted puritan, you knew the plot and silently agreed, salving your conscience with a pious lie! yes, all of you-hounds, rebels, thieves! bring back my ship! too late,-i rave,—they cannot hear my voice: and if they heard, a drunken laugh would be their answer; for their minds have caught the fatal firmness of the fool's resolve, that looks like courage but is only fear. they'll blunder on, and lose my ship, and drown,— or blunder home to england and be hanged. their skeletons will rattle in the chains of some tall gibbet on the channel cliffs, while passing mariners look up and say: "those are the rotten bones of hudson's men "who left their captain in the frozen north!" o god of justice, why hast thou ordained plans of the wise and actions of the brave dependent on the aid of fools and cowards? look, there she goes,-her topsails in the sun gleam from the ragged ocean edge, and drop 146 pro patria clean out of sight! so let the traitors go clean out of mind! we'll think of braver things! come closer in the boat, my friends. john king, you take the tiller, keep her head nor❜west. you philip staffe, the only one who chose freely to share our little shallop's fate, rather than travel in the hell-bound ship,too good an english sailor to desert your crippled comrades,-try to make them rest more easy on the thwarts. and john, my son, my little shipmate, come and lean your head against my knee. do you remember still the april morn in ethelburga's church, five years ago, when side by side we kneeled to take the sacrament with all our men, before the hopewell left st. catherine's docks on our first voyage? it was then i vowed my sailor-soul and yours to search the sea until we found the water-path that leads from europe into asia. i believe that god has poured the ocean round his world, not to divide, but to unite the lands. and all the english captains that have dared in little ships to plough uncharted waves,davis and drake, hawkins and frobisher, hudson's last voyage 147 raleigh and gilbert,-all the other names,— are written in the chivalry of god as men who served his purpose. i would claim a place among that knighthood of the sea; and i have earned it, though my quest should fail! for, mark me well, the honour of our life derives from this: to have a certain aim before us always, which our will must seek amid the peril of uncertain ways. then, though we miss the goal, our search is crowned with courage, and we find along our path a rich reward of unexpected things. press towards the aim: take fortune as it fares! i know not why, but something in my heart has always whispered, "westward seek your goal!" three times they sent me east, but still i turned the bowsprit west, and felt among the floes of ruttling ice along the greenland coast, and down the rugged shore of newfoundland, and past the rocky capes and wooded bays. where gosnold sailed,—like one who feels his way with outstretched hand across a darkened room,— i groped among the inlets and the isles, to find the passage to the land of spice. i have not found it yet, but i have found 148 pro patria things worth the finding! son, have you forgot those mellow autumn days, two years ago, when first we sent our little ship half-moon,the flag of holland floating at her peak,across a sandy bar, and sounded in among the channels, to a goodly bay where all the navies of the world could ride? a fertile island that the rcdmen called manhattan, lay above the bay: the land around was bountiful and friendly fair. but never land was fair enough to hold the seaman from the calling of the sea. and so we bore to westward of the isle, along a mighty inlet, where the tide was troubled by a downward-flowing flood that seemed to come from far away,-perhaps from some mysterious gulf of tartary? inland we held our course; by palisades of naked rock; by rolling hills adorned with forests rich in timber for great ships; through narrows where the mountains shut us in with frowning cliffs that seemed to bar the stream; and then through open reaches where the banks sloped to the water gently, with their fields of corn and lentils smiling in the sun. hudson's last voyage 149 ten days we voyaged through that placid land, until we came to shoals, and sent a boat upstream to find,-what i already knew,we travelled on a river, not a strait. but what a river! god has never poured a stream more royal through a land more rich. even now i see it flowing in my dream, while coming ages people it with men of manhood equal to the river's pride. i see the wigwams of the redmen changed to ample houses, and the tiny plots of maize and green tobacco broadened out to prosperous farms, that spread o'er hill and dale the many-coloured mantle of their crops. i see the terraced vineyard on the slope where now the fox-grape loops its tangled vine and cattle feeding where the red deer roam, and wild-bees gathered into busy hives to store the silver comb with golden sweet; and all the promised land begins to flow with milk and honey. stately manors rise along the banks, and castles top the hills, and little villages grow populous with trade, until the river runs as proudly as the rhine,the thread that links a hundred towns and towers! 150 pro patria now looking deeper in my dream, i see a mighty city covering the isle they call manhattan, equal in her state to all the older capitals of earth,the gateway city of a golden world,— a city girt with masts, and crowned with spires, and swarming with a million busy men, while to her open door across the bay the ships of all the nations flock like doves. my name will be remembered there, the world will say, "this river and this isle were found by henry hudson, on his way to seek the northwest passage." yes, i seek it still,my great adventure and my guiding star! for look ye, friends, our voyage is not done; we hold by hope as long as life endures! somewhere among these floating fields of ice, somewhere along this westward widening bay, somewhere beneath this luminous northern night, the channel opens to the farthest east,— i know it, and some day a little ship will push her bowsprit in, and battle through! and why not ours,-to-morrow,-who can tell? the lucky chance awaits the fearless heart! these are the longest days of all the year; hudson's last voyage 151 the world is round and god is everywhere, and while our shallop floats we still can steer. so point her up, john king, nor'west by north. we'll keep the honour of a certain aim amid the peril of uncertain ways, and sail ahead, and leave the rest to god. july, 1909. 152 pro patria sea-gulls of manhattan children of the elemental mother, born upon some lonely island shore where the wrinkled ripples run and whisper, where the crested billows plunge and roar; long-winged, tireless roamers and adventurers, fearless breasters of the wind and sea, in the far-off solitary places i have seen you floating wild and free! here the high-built cities rise around you; here the cliffs that tower east and west, honeycombed with human habitations, have no hiding for the sea-bird's nest: here the river flows begrimed and troubled; here the hurrying, panting vessels fume, restless, up and down the watery highway, while a thousand chimneys vomit gloom. toil and tumult, conflict and confusion, clank and clamour of the vast machine human hands have built for human bondageyet amid it all you float serene; sea-gulls of manhattan 153 4 circling, soaring, sailing, swooping lightly down to glean your harvest from the wave; in your heritage of air and water, you have kept the freedom nature gave. even so the wild-woods of manhattan saw your wheeling flocks of white and grey; even so you fluttered, followed, floated, round the half-moon creeping up the bay; even so your voices creaked and chattered, laughing shrilly o'er the tidal rips, while your black and beady eyes were glistening round the sullen british prison-ships. children of the elemental mother, fearless floaters 'mid the double blue, from the crowded boats that cross the ferries many a longing heart goes out to you. though the cities climb and close around us, something tells us that our souls are free, while the sea-gulls fly above the harbour, while the river flows to meet the sea! december, 1905. 154 pro patria a ballad of claremont hill the roar of the city is low, muffled by new-fallen snow, and the sign of the wintry moon is small and round and still. will you come with me to-night, to see a pleasant sight away on the river-side, at the edge of claremont hill? "and what shall we see there, but streets that are new and bare, and many a desolate place that the city is coming to fill; and a soldier's tomb of stone, and a few trees standing aloneyou walk for that through the cold, to the edge of claremont hill?" but there's more than that for me, in the place that i fain would see: there's a glimpse of the grace that helps us all to bear life's ill,— a touch of the vital breath that keeps the world from death,a flower that never fades, on the edge of claremont hill. a ballad of claremont hill 155 for just where the road swings round, in a narrow strip of ground, where a group of forest trees are lingering fondly still, there's a grave of the olden time, when the garden bloomed in its prime, and the children laughed and sang on the edge of claremont hill. the marble is pure and white, and even in this dim light, you may read the simple words that are written there if you will; you may hear a father tell of the child he loved so well, a hundred years ago, on the edge of claremont hill. the tide of the city has rolled across that bower of old, and blotted out the beds of the rose and the daffodil; but the little playmate sleeps, and the shrine of love still keeps a record of happy days, on the edge of claremont hill. the river is pouring down to the crowded, careless town, where the intricate wheels of trade are grinding on like a mill; 156 pro patria but the clamorous noise and strife of the hurrying waves of life flow soft by this haven of peace on the edge of claremont hill. and after all, my friend, when the tale of our years shall end, be it long or short, or lowly or great, as god may will, what better praise could we hear, than this of the child so dear: you have made my life more sweet, on the edge of claremont hill? december, 1896. urbs coronata 157 urbs coronata (song for the city college of new york) o youngest of the giant brood of cities far-renowned; in wealth and glory thou hast passed thy rivals at a bound; thou art a mighty queen, new york; and how wilt thou be crowned? "weave me no palace-wreath of pride," the royal city said; "nor forge of frowning fortress-walls a helmet for my head; but let me wear a diadem of wisdom's towers instead.” she bowed herself, she spent herself, she wrought her will forsooth, and set upon her island height a citadel of truth, a house of light, a home of thought, a shrine of noble youth. 158 pro patria stand here, ye city college towers, and look both up and down; remember all who wrought for you within the toiling town; remember all their hopes for you, and be the city's crown. june, 1908. mercy for armenia 159 mercy for armenià i the turk's way stand back, ye messengers of mercy! stand far off, for i will save my troubled folk in my own way. so the false sultan spoke; and europe, hearkening to his base command, stood still to see him heal his wounded land. through blinding snows of winter and through smoke of burning towns, she saw him deal the stroke of cruel mercy that his hate had planned. unto the prisoners and the sick he gave new tortures, horrible, without a name; unto the thirsty, blood to drink; a sword unto the hungry; with a robe of shame. he clad the naked, making life abhorred; he saved by slaughter, and denied a grave. 160 pro patria ii america's way but thou, my country, though no fault be thine for that red horror far across the sea; though not a tortured wretch can point to thee, and curse thee for the selfishness supine of those great powers that cowardly combine to shield the turk in his iniquity; yet, since thy hand is innocent and free, arise, and show the world the way divine! thou canst not break the oppressor's iron rod, but thou canst help and comfort the oppressed; thou canst not loose the captive's heavy chain, but thou canst bind his wounds and soothe his pain. armenia calls thee, sovereign of the west, to play the good samaritan for god. 1896. sicily, december, 1908 161 sicily, december, 1908 o garden isle, beloved by sun and sea, whose bluest billows kiss thy curving bays, whose light infolds thy hills with golden rays, filling with fruit each dark-leaved orange-tree, what hidden hatred hath the earth for thee, that once again, in these dark, dreadful days, breaks forth in trembling rage, and swiftly lays thy beauty waste in wreck and agony! is nature, then, a strife of jealous powers, and man the plaything of unconscious fate? not so, my troubled heart! god reigns above, and man is greatest in his darkest hours. walking amid the cities desolate, behold the son of god in human love! tertius and henry van dyke. 162 pro patria jeanne d'arc the land was broken in despair, the princes quarrelled in the dark, when clear and tranquil, through the troubled air of selfish minds and wills that did not dare, your star arose, jeanne d'arc. o virgin breast with lilies white, o sun-burned hand that bore the lance, you taught the prayer that helps men to unite, you brought the courage equal to the fight, you gave a heart to france! your king was crowned, your country free, at rheims you had your soul's desire: and then, at rouen, maid of domrémy, the black-robed judges gave your victory the martyr's crown of fire. and now again the times are ill, and doubtful leaders miss the mark; the people lack the single faith and will to make them one,-your country needs you still,— come back again, jeanne d'arc! jeanne d'arc 163 o woman-star, arise once more and shine to bid your land advance: the old heroic trust in god restore, renew the brave, unselfish hopes of yore, and give a heart to france! paris, july, 1909. 164 pro patria national monuments count not the cost of honour to the dead! the tribute that a mighty nation pays to those who loved her well in former days means more than gratitude for glories fled; for every noble man that she hath bred, es the bronze and arble that we raise, immortalised by art's immortal praise, to lead our sons as he our fathers led. these monuments of manhood strong and high do more than forts or battle-ships to keep our dear-bought liberty. they fortify the heart of youth with valour wise and deep; they build eternal bulwarks, and command immortal hosts to guard our native land. february, 1905. the monument of francis makemie 165 the monument of francis makemie (presbyter of christ in america, 1683-1708) to thee, plain hero of a rugged race, we bring the meed of praise too long delayed! thy fearless word and faithful work have made for god's republic firmer resting-place in this new world: for thou hast preached the grace and power of christ in many a forest glade, teaching the truth that leaves men unafraid of frowning tyranny or death's dark face. oh, who can tell how much we owe to thee, makemie, and to labour such as thine, for all that makes america the shrine of faith untrammelled and of conscience free? stand here, grey stone, and consecrate the sod where rests this brave scotch-irish man of god! april, 1908. 166 pro patria the statue of sherman by st. gaudens this is the soldier brave enough to tell the glory-dazzled world that 'war is hell': lover of peace, he looks beyond the strife, and rides through hell to save his country's life. april, 1904. "america for me” 167 "america for me" 'tis fine to see the old world, and travel up and down among the famous palaces and cities of renown, to admire the crumbly castles and the statues of the kings,— but now i think i've had enough of antiquated things. so it's home again, and home again, america for me! my heart is turning home again, and there i long to be, in the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars, where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars. oh, london is a man's town, there's power in the air; and paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair; and it's sweet to dream in venice, and it's great to study rome; but when it comes to living there is no place like home. i like the german fir-woods, in green battalions drilled; i like the gardens of versailles with flashing fountains filled; but, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a day in the friendly western woodland where nature has her way! i know that europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack: the past is too much with her, and the people looking back. 168 pro patria but the glory of the present is to make the future free,we love our land for what she is and what she is to be. oh, it's home again, and home again, america for me! i want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea, to the blessed land of room enough beyond the ocean bars, where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars june, 1909. the builders 169 the builders ode for the hundred and fiftieth anniversary of princeton college october 21, 1896 i into the dust of the making of man spirit was breathed when his life began, lifting him up from his low estate, with masterful passion, the wish to create. out of the dust of his making, man fashioned his works as the ages ran; fortress, and palace, and temple, and tower, filling the world with the proof of his power. over the dust that awaits him, man, building the walls that his pride doth plan, dreams they will stand in the light of the sun bearing his name till time is done. ii the monuments of mortals are as the glory of the grass; through time's dim portals a voiceless, viewless wind doth pass, the blossoms fall befo:e it in a day, 170 pro patria the forest monarchs year by year decay, and man's great buildings slowly fade away. one after one, they pay to that dumb breath the tribute of their death, and are undone. the towers incline to dust, the massive girders rust, the domes dissolve in air, the pillars that upbear the lofty arches crumble, stone by stone, while man the builder looks about him in despair, for all his works of pride and power are overthrown. iii a voice came from the sky: "set thy desires more high. thy buildings fade away because thou buildest clay. now make the fabric sure with stones that will endure! hewn from the spiritual rock, the immortal towers of the soul at death's dissolving touch shall mock, and stand secure while æons roll." the builders 171 iv well did the wise in heart rejoice to hear the summons of that voice, and patiently begin the builder's work within,houses not made with hands, nor founded on the sands. and thou, reverèd mother, at whose call we come to keep thy joyous festival, and celebrate thy labours on the walls of truth through sevenscore years and ten of thine eternal youtha master builder thou, and on thy shining brow, like cybele, in fadeless light dost wear a diadem of turrets strong and fair. v i see thee standing in a lonely land, but late and hardly won from solitude, unpopulous and rude,on that far western shore i see thee stand, like some young goddess from a brighter strand, while in thine eyes a radiant thought is born, enkindling all thy beauty like the morn. 172 pro patria sea-like the forest rolled, in waves of green, and few the lights that glimmered, leagues between. high in the north, for fourscore years alone fair harvard's earliest beacon-tower had shone when yale was lighted, and an answering ray flashed from the meadows by new haven bay. but deeper spread the forest, and more dark, where first neshaminy received the spark of sacred learning to a woodland camp, and old log college glowed with tennant's lamp. thine, alma mater, was the larger sight, that saw the future of that trembling light, and thine the courage, thine the stronger will, that built its loftier home on princeton hill. "new light!" men cried, and murmured that it came from an unsanctioned source with lawless flame; it shone too free, for still the church and school must only shine according to their rule. but princeton answered, in her nobler mood, "god made the light, and all the light is good. there is no war between the old and new; the conflict lies between the false and true. the stars, that high in heaven their courses run, in glory differ, but their light is one. the beacons, gleaming o'er the sea of life, the builders 173 are rivals but in radiance, not in strife. shine on, ye sister-towers, across the night! i too will build a lasting house of light." vi brave was that word of faith and bravely was it kept; with never-wearying zeal that faltered not, nor slept, our alma mater toiled, and while she firmly laid the deep foundation-walls, at all her toil she prayed. and men who loved the truth because it made them free, and clearly saw the twofold word of god agree, reading from nature's book and from the bible's page by the same inward ray that grows from age to age, were built like living stones that beacon to uplift, and drawing light from heaven gave to the world the gift. nor ever, while they searched the secrets of the earth, or traced the stream of life through mystery to its birth, nor ever, while they taught the lightning-flash to bear the messages of man in silence through the air, fell from their home of light one false, perfidious ray to blind the trusting heart, or lead the life astray. but still, while knowledge grew more luminous and broad it lit the path of faith and showed the way to god. 174 pro patria vii yet not for peace alone labour the builders. work that in peace has grown swiftly is overthrown, when in the darkening skies storm-clouds of wrath arise, and through the cannon's crash, war's deadly lightning-flash smites and bewilders. ramparts of strength must frown round every placid town and city splendid; all that our fathers wrought with true prophetic thought, must be defended! viii but who could raise protecting walls for thee, thou young, defenceless land of liberty? or who could build a fortress strong enough, or stretch a mighty bulwark long enough to hold thy far-extended coast against the overweening host that took the open path across the sea, the builders 175 and like a tempest poured their desolating horde, to quench thy dawning light in gloom of tyranny? yet not unguarded thou wert found when on thy shore with sullen sound the blaring trumpets of an unjust king proclaimed invasion. from the ground, in freedom's darkest hour, there seemed to spring unconquerable walls for her defence; not trembling, like those battlements of stone that fell when joshua's horns were blown; but standing firm the living rampart rose, to meet the onset of imperious foes with a long line of brave, unyielding men. this was thy fortress, well-defended land, and on these walls, the patient, building hand of princeton laboured with the force of ten. her sons were foremost in the furious fight; her sons were firmest to uphold the right in council-chambers of the new-born state, and prove that he who would be free must first be great in heart, and high in thought, and strong in purpose not to do or suffer wrong. such were the men, impregnable to fear, whose souls were framed and fashioned here; and when war shook the land with threatening shock, 176 pro patria the men of princeton stood like muniments of rock. nor has the breath of time dissolved that proud array of never-broken strength: for though the rocks decay, and all the iron bands of earthly strongholds are unloosed at length, and buried deep in gray oblivion's sands; the work that heroes' hands wrought in the light of freedom's natal day shall never fade away, but lifts itself, sublime into a lucid sphere, for ever calm and clear, preserving in the memory of the fathers' deed, a never-failing fortress for their children's need. there we confirm our hearts to-day, and read on many a stone the signature of fame, the builder's mark, our alma mater's name. ix bear with us then a moment, while we turn from all the present splendours of this placethe lofty towers that like a dream have grown where once old nassau hall stood all aloneback to that ancient time, with hearts that burn the builders 177 in filial gratitude, to trace the glory of our mother's best degree, in that "high son of liberty," who like a granite block, riven from scotland's rock, stood loyal here to keep columbia free. born far away beyond the ocean's tide, he found his fatherland upon this side; and every drop of ardent blood that ran through his great heart, was true american. he held no fealty to a distant throne, but made his new-found country's cause his own. in peril and distress, in toil and weariness, when darkness overcast her with shadows of disaster, and voices of confusion proclaimed her hope delusion, robed in his preacher's gown, he dared the danger down; like some old prophet chanting an inspired rune in freedom's councils rang the voice of witherspoon. and thou, my country, write it on thy heart, thy sons are they who nobly take thy part; who dedicates his manhood at thy shrine, 178 pro patria wherever born, is born a son of thine. foreign in name, but not in soul, they come to find in thee their long-desired home; lovers of liberty and haters of disorder, they shall be built in strength along thy border. dream not thy future foes will all be foreign-born! turn thy clear look of scorn upon thy children who oppose their passions wild and policies of shame to wreck the righteous splendour of thy name. untaught and overconfident they rise, with folly on their lips, and envy in their eyes: strong to destroy, but powerless to create, and ignorant of all that made our fathers great, their hands would take away thy golden crown, and shake the pillars of thy freedom down in anarchy's ocean, dark and desolate. o should that storm descend, what fortress shall defend the land our fathers wrought for, the liberties they fought for? what bulwark shall secure her shrines of law, and keep her founts of justice pure? then, ah then, the builders 179 as in the olden days, the builders must upraise a rampart of indomitable men. and once again, dear mother, if thy heart and hand be true, there will be building work for thee to do; yea, more than once again, thou shalt win lasting praise, and never-dying honour shall be thine, for setting many stones in that illustrious line, to stand unshaken in the swirling strife, and guard their country's honour as her life. x softly, my harp, and let me lay the touch of silence on these rudely clanging strings; for he who sings even of noble conflicts overmuch, loses the inward sense of better things; and he who makes a boast of knowledge, darkens that which counts the most,the insight of a wise humility that reverently adores what none can see. the glory of our life below comes not from what we do, or what we know, 180 pro patria but dwells forevermore in what we are. there is an architecture grander far than all the fortresses of war, more inextinguishably bright than learning's lonely towers of light. framing its walls of faith and hope and love in souls of men, it lifts above the frailty of our earthly home an everlasting dome; the sanctuary of the human host, the living temple of the holy ghost. xi if music led the builders long ago, when arthur planned the halls of camelot, and made the royal city grow, fair as a flower in that forsaken spot; what sweeter music shall we bring, to weave a harmony divine of prayer and holy thought into the labours of this loftier shrine, this consecrated hill, where through so many a year our alma mater's hand hath wrought, with toil serene and still, the builders 181 and heavenly hope, to rear eternal dwellings for the only king? here let no martial trumpets blow, nor instruments of pride proclaim the loud exultant notes of fame! but let the chords be clear and low, and let the anthem deeper grow, and let it move more solemnly and slow; for only such an ode can seal the harmony of that deep masonry wherein the soul of man is framed for god's abode. xii o thou whose boundless love bestows the joy of earth, the hope of heaven, and whose unchartered mercy flows o'er all the blessings thou hast given; thou by whose light alone we see; and by whose truth our souls set free are made imperishably strong; hear thou the solemn music of our song. o grant the knowledge that we need to solve the questions of the mind, and light our candle while we read, 182 pro patria to keep our hearts from going blind; enlarge our vision to behold the wonders thou hast wrought of old; reveal thyself in every law, and gild the towers of truth with holy awe. be thou our strength if war's wild gust shall rage around us, loud and fierce; confirm our souls and let our trust be like a shield that none can pierce; renew the courage that prevails, the steady faith that never fails, and make us stand in every fight firm as a fortress to defend the right. o god, control us as thou wilt, and guide the labour of our hand; let all our work be surely built as thou, the architect, hast planned; but whatso'er thy power shall make of these frail lives, do not forsake thy dwelling: let thy presence rest for ever in the temple of our breast. spirit of the everlasting boy 183 spirit of the everlasting boy ode for the hundredth anniversary of lawrenceville school june 11, 1910 i the british bard who looked on eton's walls, endeared by distance in the pearly gray and soft aerial blue that ever falls on english landscape with the dying day, beheld in thought his boyhood far away, its random raptures and its festivals of noisy mirth, the brief illusion of its idle joys, and mourned that none of these can stay with men, whom life inexorably calls to face the grim realities of earth. his pensive fancy pictured there at play from year to year the careless bands of boys, unconscious victims kept in golden state, while haply they await the dark approach of disenchanting fate, to hale them to the sacrifice 184 pro patria of pain and penury and grief and care, slow-withering age, or failure's swift despair. half-pity and half-envy dimmed the eyes of that old poet, gazing on the scene where long ago his youth had flowed serene, and all the burden of his ode was this: "where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." ii but not for us, o plaintive elegist, thine epicedial tone of sad farewell to joy in wisdom and to thought in youth! our western muse would keep her tryst with sunrise, not with sunset, and foretell in boyhood's bliss the dawn of manhood's truth. iii o spirit of the everlasting boy, alert, elate, and confident that life is good, thou knockest boldly at the gate, in hopeful hardihood, eager to enter and enjoy thy new estate. spirit of the everlasting boy 185 through the old house thou runnest everywhere, bringing a breath of folly and fresh air. ready to make a treasure of each toy, or break them all in discontented mood; fearless of fate, yet strangely fearful of a comrade's laugh; reckless and timid, hard and sensitive; in talk a rebel, full of mocking chaff, at heart devout conservative; in love with love, yet hating to be kissed; inveterate optimist, and judge severe, in reason cloudy but in feeling clear; keen critic, ardent hero-worshipper, impatient of restraint in little ways, yet ever ready to confer on chosen leaders boundless power and praise; adventurous spirit burning to explore untrodden paths where hidden danger lies, and homesick heart looking with wistful eyes through every twilight to a mother's door; thou daring, darling, inconsistent boy, how dull the world would be without thy presence, dear barbarian, and happy lord of high futurity! be what thou art, our trouble and our joy, 186 pro patria our hardest problem and our brightest hope! and while thine elders lead thee up the slope of knowledge, let them learn from teaching thee that vital joy is part of nature's plan, and he who keeps the spirit of the boy shall gladly grow to be a happy man. iv what constitutes a school? not ancient halls and ivy-mantled towers, where dull traditions rule with heavy hand youth's lightly springing powers; not spacious pleasure courts, and lofty temples of athletic fame, where devotees of sports mistake a pastime for life's highest aim; not fashion, nor renown of wealthy patronage and rich estate; no, none of these can crown a school with light and make it truly great. but masters, strong and wise, who teach because they love the teacher's task, and find their richest prize in eyes that open and in minds that ask; and boys, with heart aglow spirit of the everlasting boy 187 to try their youthful vigour on their work, eager to learn and grow, and quick to hate a coward or a shirk: these constitute a school,a vital forge of weapons keen and bright, where living sword and tool are tempered for true toil or noble fight! but let not wisdom scorn the hours of pleasure in the playing fields: there also strength is born, and every manly game a virtue yields. fairness and self-control, good-humour, pluck, and patience in the race, will make a lad heart-whole to win with honour, lose without disgrace. ah, well for him who gains in such a school apprenticeship to life: with him the joy of youth remains in later lessons and in larger strife! v on jersey's rolling plain, where washington, in midnight marching at the head of ragged regiments, his army led to princeton's victory of the rising sun; 188 pro patria here in this liberal land, by battle won for freedom and the rule of equal rights for every child of man, arose a democratic school, to train a virile race of sons to bear with thoughtful joy the name american, and serve the god who heard their father's prayer. no cloister, dreaming in a world remote from that real world wherein alone we live; no mimic court, where titled names denote a dignity that only worth can give; but here a friendly house of learning stood, with open door beside the broad highway, and welcomed lads to study and to play in generous rivalry of brotherhood. a hundred years have passed, and lawrenceville, in beauty and in strength renewed, stands with her open portal still, and neither time nor fortune brings to her deep spirit any change of mood, or faltering from the faith she held of old. still to the democratic creed she clings: that manhood needs nor rank nor gold to make it noble in our eyes; that every boy is born with royal right, from blissful ignorance to rise spirit of the everlasting boy 189 to joy more lasting and more bright, in mastery of body and of mind, king of himself and servant of mankind. vi old lawrenceville, thy happy bell shall ring to-day, o'er vale and hill, o'er mead and dell, while far away, with silent thrill, the echoes roll through many a soul, that knew thee well, in boyhood's day, and loves thee still. ah, who can tell how far away, some sentinel of god's good will, in forest cool, or desert gray, by lonely pool, or barren hill, 190 pro patria shall faintly hear, with inward ear, the chiming bell, of his old school, through darkness pealing; and lowly kneeling, shall feel the spell of grateful tears his eyelids fill; and softly pray to him who hears: god bless old lawrenceville! who follow the flag 191 who follow the flag phi beta kappa ode harvard university june 30, 1910 i all day long in the city's canyon-street, with its populous cliffs alive on either side, i saw a river of marching men like a tide flowing after the flag: and the rhythmic beat of the drums, and the bugles' resonant blare metred the tramp, tramp, tramp of a myriad feet, while the red-white-and-blue was fluttering everywhere, and the heart of the crowd kept time to a martial air: o brave flag, o bright flag, o flag to lead the free! the glory of thy silver stars, engrailed in blue above the bars of red for courage, white for truth, has brought the world a second youth and drawn a hundred million hearts to follow after thee. 192 pro patria ii old cambridge saw thee first unfurled, by washington's far-reaching hand, to greet, in seventy-six, the wintry morn of a new year, and herald to the world glad tidings from a western land,a people and a hope new-born! the double cross then filled thine azure field, in token of a spirit loath to yield the breaking ties that bound thee to a throne. but not for long thine oriflamme could bear that symbol of an outworn trust in kings. the wind that bore thee out on widening wings called for a greater sign and all thine own,a new device to speak of heavenly laws and lights that surely guide the people's cause. oh, greatly did they hope, and greatly dare, who bade the stars in heaven fight for them, and set upon their battle-flag a fair new constellation as a diadem! along the blood-stained banks of brandywine the ragged regiments were rallied to this sign; through saratoga's woods it fluttered bright amid the perils of the hard-won fight; o'er yorktown's meadows broad and green who follow the flag 193 it hailed the glory of the final scene; and when at length manhattan saw the last invaders' line of scarlet coats pass bowling green, and fill the waiting boats and sullenly withdraw, the flag that proudly flew above the battered line of buff and blue, marching, with rattling drums and shrilling pipes, along the bowery and down broadway, was this that leads the great parade to-day,the glorious banner of the stars and stripes. first of the flags of earth to dare a heraldry so high; first of the flags of earth to bear the blazons of the sky; long may thy constellation glow, foretelling happy fate; wider thy starry circle grow, and every star a state! iii pass on, pass on, ye flashing files of men who march in militant array; ye thrilling bugles, throbbing drums, ring out, roll on, and die away; 194 pro patria and fade, ye crowds, with the fading day! around the city's lofty piles of steel and stone the lilac veil of dusk is thrown, entangled full of sparks of fairy light; and the never-silent heart of the city hums to a homeward-turning tune before the night. but far above, on the sky-line's broken height, from all the towers and domes outlined in gray and gold along the city's crest, i see the rippling flag still take the wind with a promise of good to come for all mankind. iv o banner of the west, no proud and brief parade, that glorifies a nation's holiday with show of troops for warfare dressed, can rightly measure or display the mighty army thou hast made loyal to guard thy more than royal sway. millions have come across the sea to find beneath thy shelter room to grow; millions were born beneath thy folds and know no other flag but thee; who follow the flag 195 and other, darker millions bore the yoke of bondage in thy borders till the voice of lincoln spoke, and sent thee forth to set the bondmen free. rejoice, dear flag, rejoice! since thou hast proved and passed that bitter strife, richer thy red with blood of heroes wet, purer thy white through sacrificial life, brighter thy blue wherein new stars are set. thou art become a sign, revealed in heaven to speak of things divine: of truth that dares to slay the lie it sheltered unawares; of courage fearless in the fight, yet ever quick its foemen to forgive; of conscience earnest to maintain its right and gladly grant the same to all who live. thy staff is deeply planted in the fact that nothing can ennoble man save his own act, and naught can make him worthy to be free but practice in the school of liberty. the cords are two that lift thee to the sky: firm faith in god, the king who rules on high; and never-failing trust in human nature, full of faults and flaws, 196 pro patria yet ever answering to the inward call that bids it set the "ought" above the "must," in all its errors wiser than it seems, in all its failures full of generous dreams, through endless conflict rising without pause to self-dominion, charactered in laws that pledge fair-play alike to great and small, and equal rights for each beneath the rule of all. these are thy halyards, banner bold, and while these hold, thy brightness from the sky shall never fall, thy broadening empire never know decrease,thy strength is union and thy glory peace. v look forth across thy widespread lands, o flag, and let thy stars to-night be eyes to see the visionary hosts of men and women grateful to be thine, that joyfully arise from all thy borders and thy coasts, and follow after thee in endless line! they lift to thee a forest of saluting hands; they hail thee with a rolling ocean-roar of cheers; and as the echo dies, who follow the flag 197 there comes a sweet and moving song of treble voices from the childish throng who run to thee from every school-house door. behold thine army! here thy power lies: the men whom freedom has made strong, and bound to follow thee by willing vows; the women greatened by the joys of motherhood to rule a happy house; the vigorous girls and boys, whose eager faces and unclouded brows foretell the future of a noble race, rich in the wealth of wisdom and true worth! while millions such as these to thee belong, what foe can do thee wrong, what jealous rival rob thee of thy place foremost of all the flags of earth? vi my vision darkens as the night descends; and through the mystic atmosphere i feel the creeping coldness that portends a change of spirit in my dream the multitude that moved with song and cheer have vanished, yet a living stream flows on and follows still the flag, 198 pro patria but silent now, with leaden feet that lag and falter in the deepening gloom,a weird battalion bringing up the rear. ah, who are these on whom the vital bloom of life has withered to the dust of doom? these little pilgrims prematurely worn and bent as if they bore the weight of years? these childish faces, pallid and forlorn, too dull for laughter and too hard for tears? is this the ghost of that insane crusade that led ten thousand children long ago, a flock of innocents, deceived, betrayed, yet pressing on through want and woe to meet their fate, faithful and unafraid? nay, for a million children now are marching in the long pathetic line, with weary step and early wrinkled brow; and at their head appears no holy sign of hope in heaven; for unto them is given no cross to carry, but a cross to drag. before their strength is ripe they bear the load of labour, toiling underground in dangerous mines and breathing heavy air of crowded shops; their tender lives are bound to service of the whirling, clatttering wheels who follow the flag 199 that fill the factories with dust and noise; they are not girls and boys, but little "hands" who blindly, dumbly feed with their own blood the hungry god of greed. robbed of their natural joys, and wounded with a scar that never heals, they stumble on with heavy-laden soul, and fall by thousands on the highway lined with little graves, or reach at last their goal of stunted manhood and embittered age, to brood awhile with dark and troubled mind, beside the smouldering fire of sullen rage, on life's unfruitful work and niggard wage. are these the regiments that freedom rears to serve her cause in coming years? nay, every life that avarice doth maim and beggar in the helpless days of youth, shall surely claim a just revenge, and take it without ruth; and every soul denied the right to grow beneath the flag, shall be its secret foe. bow down, dear land, in penitence and shame! remember now thine oath, so nobly sworn, to guard an equal lot for every child within thy borders born! these are thy children whom thou hast forgot: 200 pro patria they have the bitter right to live, but not the blessed right to look for happiness. o lift thy liberating hand once more, to loose thy little ones from dark duress; the vital gladness to their hearts restore in healthful lessons and in happy play; and set them free to climb the upward way that leads to self-reliant nobleness. speak out, my country, speak at last, as thou hast spoken in the past, and clearly, bravely say "i will defend "the coming race on whom my hopes depend: "beneath my flag and on my sacred soil "no child shall bear the crushing yoke of toil." vii look up, look up, ye downcast eyes! the night is almost gone: along the new horizon flies the banner of the dawn; the eastern sky is banded low with white and crimson bars, while far above the morning glow the everlasting stars. who follow the flag 201 o bright flag, o brave flag, o flag to lead the free! the hand of god thy colours blent, and heaven to earth thy glory lent, to shield the weak, and guide the strong to make an end of human wrong, and draw a countless human host to follow after thee! in praise of poets mother earth mother of all the high-strung poets and singers departed, mother of all the grass that weaves over their graves the glory of the field, mother of all the manifold forms of life, deep-bosomed, patient, impassive, şilent brooder and nurse of lyrical joys and sorrows! out of thee, yea, surely out of the fertile depth below thy breast, issued in some strange way, thou lying motionless, voiceless, all these songs of nature, rhythmical, passionate, yearning, coming in music from earth, but not unto earth returning. dust are the blood-red hearts that beat in time to these measures, thou hast taken them back to thyself, secretly, irresistibly drawing the crimson currents of life down, down, down deep into thy bosom again, as a river is lost in the sand. but the souls of the singers have entered into the songs that revealed them,passionate songs, immortal songs of joy and grief and love and longing, 205 206 in praise of poets floating from heart to heart of thy children, they echo above thee: do they not utter thy heart, the voices of those that love thee? long hadst thou lain like a queen transformed by some old enchantment into an alien shape, mysterious, beautiful, speechless, knowing not who thou wert, till the touch of thy lord and lover wakened the man-child within thee to tell thy secret. all of thy flowers and birds and forests and flowing waters are but the rhythmical forms to reveal the life of the spirit; thou thyself, earth-mother, in mountain and meadow and ocean, holdest the poem of god, eternal thought and emotion. december, 1905. milton 207 milton i lover of beauty, walking on the height of pure philosophy and tranquil song; born to behold the visions that belong to those who dwell in melody and light; milton, thou spirit delicate and bright! what drew thee down to join the roundhead throng of iron-sided warriors, rude and strong, fighting for freedom in a world half night? lover of liberty at heart wast thou, above all beauty bright, all music clear: to thee she bared her bosom and her brow, breathing her virgin promise in thine ear, and bound thee to her with a double vow,— exquisite puritan, grave cavalier! 208 in praise of poets ii the cause, the cause for which thy soul resigned her singing robes to battle on the plain, was won, o poet, and was lost again; and lost the labour of thy lonely mind. on weary tasks of prose. what wilt thou find to comfort thee for all the toil and pain? what solace, now thy sacrifice is vain and thou art left forsaken, poor, and blind? like organ-music comes the deep reply: "the cause of truth looks lost, but shall be won. for god hath given to mine inward eye vision of england soaring to the sun. and granted me great peace before i die, in thoughts of lowly duty bravely done." iii o bend again above thine organ-board, thou blind old poet longing for repose! thy master claims thy service not with those who only stand and wait for his reward; he pours the heavenly gift of song restored into thy breast, and bids thee nobly close milton 209 a noble life, with poetry that flows in mighty music of the major chord. where hast thou learned this deep, majestic strain, surpassing all thy youthful lyric grace, to sing of paradise? ah, not in vain the griefs that won at dante's side thy place, and made thee, milton, by thy years of pain, the loftiest poet of the saxon race! 1908. 210 in praise of poets wordsworth wordsworth, thy music like a river rolls among the mountains, and thy song is fed by living springs far up the watershed; no whirling flood nor parching drought controls the crystal current: even on the shoals it murmurs clear and sweet; and when its bed deepens below mysterious cliffs of dread, thy voice of peace grows deeper in our souls. but thou in youth hast known the breaking stress of passion, and hast trod despair's dry ground beneath black thoughts that wither and destroy. ah, wanderer, led by human tenderness home to the heart of nature, thou hast found the hidden fountain of recovered joy. october, 1906. keats 211 keats the melancholy gift aurora gained from jove, that her sad lover should not see the face of death, no goddess asked for thee, my keats! but when the scarlet blood-drop stained thy pillow, thou didst read the fate ordained,— brief life, wild love, a flight of poesy! and then, a shadow fell on italy: thy star went down before its brightness waned. yet thou hast won the gift tithonus missed: never to feel the pain of growing old, nor lose the blissful sight of beauty's truth, but with the ardent lips urania kissed to breathe thy song, and, ere thy heart grew cold, become the poet of immortal youth. august, 1906. 212 in praise of poets shelley knight-errant of the never-ending quest, and minstrel of the unfulfilled desire; for ever tuning thy frail earthly lyre to some unearthly music, and possessed with painful passionate longing to invest the golden dream of love's immortal fire with mortal robes of beautiful attire, and fold perfection to thy throbbing breast! what wonder, shelley, that the restless wave should claim thee and the leaping flame consume thy drifted form on viareggio's beach? these were thine elements,-thy fitting grave. but still thy soul rides on with fiery plume, thy wild song rings in ocean's yearning speech! august, 1906. robert browning 213 robert browning how blind the toil that burrows like the mole, in winding graveyard pathways underground, for browning's lineage! what if men have found poor footmen or rich merchants on the roll of his forbears? did they beget his soul? nay, for he came of ancestry renowned through all the world,-the poets laurel-crowned with wreaths from which the autumn takes no toll. the blazons on his coat-of-arms are these: the flaming sign of shelley's heart on fire, the golden globe of shakespeare's human stage, the staff and scrip of chaucer's pilgrimage, the rose of dante's deep, divine desire, the tragic mask of wise euripides. november, 1906. 214 in praise of poets tennyson in lucem transitus, october, 1892 from the misty shores of midnight, touched with splendours of the moon, to the singing tides of heaven, and the light more clear than noon, passed a soul that grew to music till it was with god in tune. brother of the greatest poets, true to nature, true to art; lover of immortal love, uplifter of the human heart; who shall cheer us with high music, who shall sing, if thou depart? silence here for love is silent, gazing on the lessening sail; silence here for grief is voiceless when the mighty minstrels fail; silence here but far beyond us, many voices crying, hail! "in memoriam" 215 "in memoriam" the record of a faith sublime, and hope, through clouds, far-off discerned; the incense of a love that burned through pain and doubt defying time: the story of a soul at strife that learned at last to kiss the rod, and passed through sorrow up to god, from living to a higher life: a light that gleams across the wave of darkness, down the rolling years, piercing the heavy mist of tearsa rainbow shining o'er a grave. 216 in praise of poets victor hugo 1802-1902 heart of france for a hundred years, passionate, sensitive, proud, and strong, quick to throb with her hopes and fears, fierce to flame with her sense of wrong! you, who hailed with a morning song dream-light gilding a throne of old: you, who turned when the dream grew cold, singing still, to the light that shone pure from liberty's ancient throne, over the human throng! you, who dared in the dark eclipse,when the pygmy heir of a giant name dimmed the face of the land with shame,speak the truth with indignant lips, call him little whom men called great, scoff at him, scorn him, deny him, point to the blood on his robe of state, fling back his bribes and defy him! you, who fronted the waves of fate as you faced the sea from your island home, victor hugo 217 exiled, yet with a soul elate, sending songs o'er the rolling foam, bidding the heart of man to wait for the day when all should see floods of wrath from the frowning skies fall on an empire founded in lies, and france again be free! you, who came in the terrible year swiftly back to your broken land, now to your heart a thousand times more dear,prayed for her, sung to her, fought for her, patiently, fervently wrought for her, till once again, after the storm of fear and pain, high in the heavens the star of france stood clear! you, who knew that a man must take good and ill with a steadfast soulholding fast, while the billows roll over his head, to the things that make life worth living for great and small,honour and pity and truth, the heart and the hope of youth, and the good god over all! you, to whom work was rest, dauntless toiler of the sea, 218 in praise of poets following ever the joyful quest of beauty on the shores of old romance, bard of the poor of france, and warrior-priest of world-wide charity! you who loved little children best of all the poets that ever sung, great heart, golden heart, old, and yet ever young, minstrel of liberty, lover of all free, winged things, now at last you are free,your soul has its wings! heart of france for a hundred years, floating far in the light that never fails you, over the turmoil of mortal hopes and fears victor, forever victor, the whole world hails you! march, 1902. longfellow 219 longfellow in a great land, a new land, a land full of labour and riches and confusion, where there were many running to and fro, and shouting, and striving together, in the midst of the hurry and the troubled noise, i heard the voice of one singing. "what are you doing there, o man, singing quietly amid all this tumult? this is the time for new inventions, mighty shoutings, and blowings of the trumpet." but he answered, "i am only shepherding my sheep with music." so he went along his chosen way, keeping his little flock around him; and he paused to listen, now and then, beside the antique fountains, where the faces of forgotten gods were refreshed with musically falling waters; 220 in praise of poets or he sat for a while at the blacksmith's door, and heard the cling-clang of the anvils; or he rested beneath old steeples full of bells, that showered their chimes upon him; or he walked along the border of the sea, drinking in the long roar of the billows; or he sunned himself in the pine-scented shipyard, amid the tattoo of the mallets; or he leaned on the rail of the bridge, letting his thoughts flow with the whispering river; he hearkened also to ancient tales, and made them young again with his singing. then a flaming arrow of death fell on his flock, and pierced the heart of his dearest! silent the music now, as the shepherd entered the mystical temple of sorrow: long he tarried in darkness there: but when he came out he was singing. and i saw the faces of men and women and children silently turning toward him; the youth setting out on the journey of life, and the old man waiting beside the last mile-stone; the toiler sweating beneath his load; and the happy mother rocking her cradle; longfellow 221 the lonely sailor on far-off seas; and the grey-minded scholar in his book-room; the mill-hand bound to a clacking machine; and the hunter in the forest; and the solitary soul hiding friendless in the wilderness of the city; many human faces, full of care and longing, were drawn irresistibly toward him, by the charm of something known to every heart, yet very strange and lovely, and at the sound of his singing wonderfully all their faces were lightened. "why do you listen, o you people, to this old and world-worn music? this is not for you, in the splendour of a new age, in the democratic triumph! listen to the clashing cymbals, the big drums, the brazen trumpets of your poets." but the people made no answer, following in their hearts the simpler music: for it seemed to them, noise-weary, nothing could be better worth the hearing than the melodies which brought sweet order into life's confusion. 222 in praise of poets so the shepherd sang his way along, until he came unto a mountain: and i know not surely whether the mountain was called parnassus, but he climbed it out of sight, and still i heard the voice of one singing. january, 1907. thomas bailey aldrich 223 thomas bailey aldrich i birthday verses, 1906 dear aldrich, now november's mellow days have brought another festa round to you, you can't refuse a loving-cup of praise from friends the fleeting years have bound to you. here come your marjorie daw, your dear bad boy, prudence, and judith the bethulian, and many more, to wish you birthday joy, and sunny hours, and sky cerulean! your children all, they hurry to your den, with wreaths of honour they have won for you, to merry-make your threescore years and ten. you, old? why, life has just begun for you! there's many a reader whom your silver songs and crystal stories cheer in loneliness. what though the newer writers come in throngs? you're sure to keep your charm of only-ness. 224 in praise of poets you do your work with careful, loving touch,an artist to the very core of you,— you know the magic spell of "not-too-much": we read, and wish that there was more of you. and more there is: for while we love your books because their subtle skill is part of you; we love you better, for our friendship looks behind them to the human heart of you. ii memorial sonnet, 1908 this is the house where little aldrich read the early pages of life's wonder-book with boyish pleasure: in this ingle-nook he watched the drift-wood fire of fancy shed bright colour on the pictures blue and red: boy-like he skipped the longer words, and took his happy way, with searching, dreamful look among the deeper things more simply said. then, came his turn to write: and still the flame of fancy played through all the tales he told, and still he won the laurelled poet's fame with simple words wrought into rhymes of gold. look, here's the face to which this house is frame,a man too wise to let his heart grow old! edmund clarence stedman 225 edmund clarence stedman (read at his funeral, january 21, 1908.) oн, quick to feel the lightest touch of beauty or of truth, rich in the thoughtfulness of age, the hopefulness of youth, the courage of the gentle heart, the wisdom of the pure, the strength of finely tempered souls to labour and endure! the blue of springtime in your eyes was never quenched by pain; and winter brought your head the crown of snow without a stain. the poet's mind, the prince's heart, you kept until the end, nor ever faltered in your work, nor ever failed a friend. you followed, through the quest of life, the light that shines above the tumult and the toil of men, and shows us what to love. 226 in praise of poets right loyal to the best you knew, reality or dream, you ran the race, you fought the fight, a follower of the gleam. we lay upon your folded hands the wreath of asphodel; we speak above your peaceful face the tender word farewell! for well you fare, in god's good care, somewhere within the blue, and know, to-day, your dearest dreams are true, and true,-and true! to james whitcomb riley 227 to james whitcomb riley on his "book of joyous children" yours is a garden of old-fashioned flowers; joyous children delight to play there; weary men find rest in its bowers, watching the lingering light of day there. old-time tunes and young love-laughter ripple and run among the roses; memory's echoes, murmuring after, fill the dusk when the long day closes. simple songs with a cadence oldenthese you learned in the forest of arden: friendly flowers with hearts all goldenthese you borrowed from eden's garden. this is the reason why all men love you; truth to life is the finest art: other poets may soar above youyou keep close to the human heart. december, 1903. 228 in praise of poets richard watson gilder in memoriam soul of a soldier in a poet's frame, heart of a hero in a body frail; thine was the courage clear that did not quail before the giant champions of shame who wrought dishonour to the city's name; and thine the vision of the holy grail of love, revealed through music's lucid veil, filling thy life with heavenly song and flame. pure was the light that lit thy glowing eye, and strong the faith that held thy simple creed. ah, poet, patriot, friend, to serve our need thou leavest two great gifts that will not die: above the city's noise, thy lyric cry,amid the city's strife, thy noble deed! november, 1909. music music i prelude i daughter of psyche, pledge of that wild night when, pierced with pain and bitter-sweet delight, she knew her love and saw her lord depart, then breathed her wonder and her woe forlorn into a single cry, and thou wast born! thou flower of rapture and tnou fruit of grief; invisible enchantress of the heart; mistress of charms that bring relief to sorrow, and to joy impart a heavenly tone that keeps it undefiled,thou art the child of amor, and by right divine a throne of love is thine, thou flower-folded, golden-girdled, star-crowned queen, whose bridal beauty mortal eyes have never seen! 2 thou art the angel of the pool that sleeps, while peace and joy lie hidden in its deeps, waiting thy touch to make the waters roll 231 232 music in healing murmurs round the weary soul. ah, when wilt thou draw near, thou messenger of mercy robed in song? my lonely heart has listened for thee long; and now i seem to hear across the crowded market-place of life, thy measured foot-fall, ringing light and clear above unmeaning noises and unruly strife. in quiet cadence, sweet and slow, serenely pacing to and fro, thy far-off steps are magical and dear,ah, turn this way, come close and speak to me! from this dull bed of languor set my spirit free, and bid me rise, and let me walk awhile with thee. ii invocation where wilt thou lead me first? in what still region of thy domain, whose provinces are legion, wilt thou restore me to myself again, and quench my heart's long thirst? i pray thee lay thy golden girdle down, and put away thy starry crown: music 233 for one dear restful hour assume a state more mild. clad only in thy blossom-broidered gown that breathes familiar scent of many a flower, take the low path that leads through pastures green; and though thou art a queen, be rosamund awhile, and in thy bower, by tranquil love and simple joy beguiled, sing to my soul, as mother to her child. iii play song o lead me by the hand, and let my heart have rest, and bring me back to childhood land, to find again the long-lost band of playmates blithe and blest. some quaint, old-fashioned air, that all the children knew, shall run before us everywhere, like a little maid with flying hair, to guide the merry crew. along the garden ways we chase the light-foot tune, 234 music and in and out the flowery maze, with eager haste and fond delays, in pleasant paths of june. for us the fields are new, for us the woods are rife with fairy secrets, deep and true, and heaven is but a tent of blue above the game of life. the world is far away: the fever and the fret, and all that makes the heart grow grey, is out of sight and far away, dear music, while i hear thee play that olden, golden roundelay, "remember and forget!" iv sleep song forget, forget! the tide of life is turning; the waves of light ebb slowly down the west: along the edge of dark some stars are burning to guide thy spirit safely to an isle of rest. a little rocking on the tranquil deep music 235 of song, to soothe thy yearning, a little slumber and a little sleep, and so, forget, forget! forget, forget,the day was long in pleasure; its echoes die away across the hill; now let thy heart beat time to their slow measure, that swells, and sinks, and faints, and falls, till all is still. then, like a weary child that loves to keep locked in its arms some treasure, thy soul in calm content shall fall asleep, and so forget, forget. forget, forget,and if thou hast been weeping, let go the thoughts that bind thee to thy grief: lie still, and watch the singing angels, reaping the golden harvest of thy sorrow, sheaf by sheaf; or count thy joys like flocks of snow-white sheep that one by one come creeping into the quiet fold, until thou sleep, and so forget, forget! forget, forget,thou art a child and knowest so little of thy life! but music tells 236 music the secret of the world through which thou goest to work with morning song, to rest with evening bells: life is in tune with harmony so deep that when the notes are lowest thou still canst lay thee down in peace and sleep, for god will not forget. v hunting song out of the garden of playtime, out of the bower of rest, fain would i follow at daytime, music that calls to a quest. hark, how the galloping measure quickens the pulses of pleasure; gaily saluting the morn with the long, clear note of the hunting-horn, echoing up from the valley, over the mountain side,— rally, you hunters, rally, rally, and ride! drink of the magical potion music has mixed with her wine, full of the madness of motion, joyful, exultant, divine! leave all your troubles behind you, ride where they never can find you, into the gladness of morn, with the long, clear note of the hunting-horn, music 237 swiftly o'er hillock and hollow, sweeping along with the wind,follow, you hunters, follow, follow and find! what will you reach with your riding? what is the charm of the chase? just the delight and the striding swing of the jubilant pace. danger is sweet when you front her,in at the death, every hunter! now on the breeze the mort is borne in the long, clear note of the hunting-horn, winding merrily, over and over,come, come, come! home again, ranger! home again, rover! turn again, home! vi dance-music i now let the sleep-tune blend with the play-tune, weaving the mystical spell of the dance; lighten the deep tune, soften the gay tune, mingle a tempo that turns in a trance. half of it sighing, half of it smiling, 238 music smoothly it swings, with a triplicate beat; calling, replying, yearning, beguiling, wooing the heart and bewitching the feet. every drop of blood rises with the flood, rocking on the waves of the strain; youth and beauty glide turning with the tidemusic making one out of twain, bearing them away, and away, and away, like a tone and its tercetill the chord dissolves, and the dancers stay, and reverse. violins leading, take up the measure, turn with the tune again,-clarinets clear answer their pleading,-harps full of pleasure sprinkle their silver like light on the mere. semiquaver notes, merry little motes, tangled in the haze of the lamp's golden rays, quiver everywhere in the air, like a spray,— till the fuller stream of the might of the tune, music 239 gliding like a dream in the light of the moon, and away, away, floating in the trance of the dance. bears them all and away, 2 then begins a measure stately, languid, slow, serene; all the dancers move sedately, stepping leisurely and straitly, with a courtly mien; crossing hands and changing places, bowing low between, while the minuet inlaces waving arms and woven paces,— glittering damaskeen. where is she whose form is folden in its royal sheen? from our longing eyes withholden by her mystic girdle golden, beauty sought but never seen, music walks the maze, a queen. vii the symphony music, they do thee wrong who say thine art is only to enchant the sense. for every timid motion of the heart, 240 music and every passion too intense to bear the chain of the imperfect word, and every tremulous longing, stirred by spirit winds that come we know not whence and go we know not where, and every inarticulate prayer beating about the depths of pain or bliss, like some bewildered bird that seeks its nest but knows not where it is, and every dream that haunts, with dim delight, the drowsy hour between the day and night, the wakeful hour between the night and day,imprisoned, waits for thee, impatient, yearns for thee, the queen who comes to set the captive free! thou lendest wings to grief to fly away, and wings to joy to reach a heavenly height; and every dumb desire that storms within the breast thou leadest forth to sob or sing itself to rest. all these are thine, and therefore love is thine. for love is joy and grief, and trembling doubt, and certain-sure belief, and fear, and hope, and longing unexpressed, in pain most human, and in rapture brief almost divine. love would possess, yet deepens when denied; music 241 and love would give, yet hungers to receive; love like a prince his triumph would achieve; and like a miser in the dark his joys would hide. love is most bold, he leads his dreams like armèd men in line; yet when the siege is set, and he must speak, calling the fortress to resign its treasure, valiant love grows weak, and hardly dares his purpose to unfold. less with his faltering lips than with his eyes he claims the longed-for prize: love fain would tell it all, yet leaves the best untold. but thou shalt speak for love. yea, thou shalt teach the mystery of measured tone, the pentecostal speech that every listener heareth as his own. for on thy head the cloven tongues of fire,diminished chords that quiver with desire, and major chords that glow with perfect peace,have fallen from above; and thou canst give release in music to the burdened heart of love. sound with the 'cellos' pleading, passionate strain the yearning theme, and let the flute reply in placid melody, while violins complain, 242 music and sob, and sigh, with muted string; then let the oboe half-reluctant sing of bliss that trembles on the verge of pain, while 'cellos plead and plead again, with throbbing notes delayed, that would impart to every urgent tone the beating of the heart. so runs the andante, making plain the hopes and fears of love without a word. then comes the adagio, with a yielding theme through which the violas flow soft as in a dream, while horns and mild bassoons are heard in tender tune, that seems to float like an enchanted boat upon the downward-gliding stream, toward the allegro's wide, bright sea of dancing, glittering, blending tone, where every instrument is sounding free, and harps like wedding-chimes are rung, and trumpets blown around the barque of love that rides, with smiling skies above, a royal galley, many-oared, into the happy harbour of the perfect chord. music 243 viii iris light to the eye and music to the ear,— these are the builders of the bridge that springs from earth's dim shore of half-remembered things to reach the heavenly sphere where nothing silent is and nothing dark. so when i see the rainbow's arc spanning the showery sky, far-off i hear music, and every colour sings: and while the symphony builds up its round full sweep of architectural harmony above the tide of time, far, far away i see a bow of colour in the bow of sound. red as the dawn the trumpet rings; blue as the sky, the choir of strings darkens in double-bass to ocean's hue, rises in violins to noon-tide's blue, with threads of quivering light shot through and through; green as the mantle that the summer flings around the world, the pastoral reeds in tune embroider melodies of may and june. purer than gold, yea, thrice-refinèd gold, and richer than the treasures of the mine, 244 music floods of the human voice divine along the arch in choral song are rolled. so bends the bow complete: and radiant rapture flows across the bridge, so full, so strong, so sweet, that the uplifted spirit hardly knows whether the music-light that glows within the arch of tones and colours seven is sunset-peace of earth, or sunrise-joy of heaven. ix sea and shore music, i yield to thee as swimmer to the sea, i give my spirit to the flood of song! bear me upon thy breast in rapture and at rest, bathe me in pure delight and make me strong; from strife and struggle bring release, and draw the waves of passion into tides of peace. remembered songs most dear in living songs i hear, while blending voices gently swing and sway, in melodies of love, music 245 whose mighty currents move with singing near and singing far away; sweet in the glow of morning light, and sweeter still across the starlit gulf of night. music, in thee we float, and lose the lonely note of self in thy celestial-ordered strain, until at last we find the life to love resigned in harmony of joy restored again; and songs that cheered our mortal days break on the shore of light in endless hymns of praise. december, 1901-may, 1903. 246 music master of music (in memory of theodore thomas, 1905) glory of architect, glory of painter, and sculptor, and bard, living forever in temple and picture and statue and song,— look how the world with the lights that they lit is illumined and starred; brief was the flame of their life, but the lamps of their art burn long! where is the master of music, and how has he vanished away? where is the work that he wrought with his wonderful art in the air? gone, it is gone like the glow on the cloud at the close of the day! the master has finished his work and the glory of music iswhere? once, at the wave of his wand, all the billows of musical sound followed his will, as the sea was ruled by the prophet of old: now that his hand is relaxed, and his rod has dropped to the ground, silent and dark are the shores where the marvellous harmonies rolled! master of music 247 nay, but not silent the hearts that were filled by that life-giving sea; deeper and purer forever the tides of their being will roll, grateful and joyful, o master, because they have listened to thee,the glory of music endures in the depths of the human soul. 248 music to a young girl singing oh, what do you know of the song, my dear, and how have you made it your own? you have caught the turn of the melody clear, and you give it again with a golden tone, till the wonder-word and the wedded note are flowing out of your beautiful throat with a liquid charm for every ear: and they talk of your art, but for you alone the song is a thing, unheard, unknown; you only have learned it by rote. but when you have lived for awhile, my dear, i think you will learn it anew! for a joy will come, or a grief, or a fear, that will alter the look of the world for you; and the lyric you learned as a bit of art, will wake to life as a wonderful part of the love you feel so deep and true; and the thrill of a laugh or the throb of a tear, will come with your song to all who hear; for then you will know it by heart. april, 1911. the pipes o' pan 249 the pipes o' pan great nature had a million words, in tongues of trees and songs of birds, but none to breathe the heart of man, till music filled the pipes o' pan. 250 music the old flute the time will come when i no more can play this polished flute: the stops will not obey my gnarled fingers; and the air it weaves in modulations, like a vine with leaves climbing around the tower of song, will die in rustling autumn rhythms, confused and dry. my shortened breath no more will freely fill this magic reed with melody at will; my stiffened lips will try and try in vain to wake the liquid, leaping, dancing strain; the heavy notes will falter, wheeze, and faint or mock my ear with shrillness of complaint. then let me hang this faithful friend of mine upon the trunk of some old, sacred pine, and sit beneath the green protecting boughs to hear the viewless wind, that sings and soughs above me, play its wild, aerial lute, and draw a ghost of music from my flute! so will i thank the gods; and most of all the delian apollo, whom men call the old flute 251 the mighty master of immortal sound,lord of the billows in their chanting round, lord of the winds that fill the wood with sighs, lord of the echoes and their sweet replies, lord of the little people of the air that sprinkle drops of music everywhere, lord of the sea of melody that laves the universe with never silent waves,— him will i thank that this brief breath of mine has caught one cadence of the song divine; and these frail fingers learned to rise and fall in time with that great tune which throbs thro' all; and these poor lips have lent a lilt of joy to songless men whom weary tasks employ! my life has had its music, and my heart in harmony has borne a little part, before i come with quiet, grateful breast to death's dim hall of silence and of rest. freely rendered from the french of auguste angellier, 1911. lyrics of labour and romance a mile with me o who will walk a mile with me along life's merry way? a comrade blithe and full of glee, who dares to laugh out loud and free, and let his frolic fancy play, like a happy child, through the flowers gay that fill the field and fringe the way where he walks a mile with me. and who will walk a mile with me along life's weary way? a friend whose heart has eyes to see the stars shine out o'er the darkening lea, and the quiet rest at the end o' the day,-. a friend who knows, and dares to say, the brave, sweet words that cheer the way where he walks a mile with me. with such a comrade, such a friend, i fain would walk till journeys end, through summer sunshine, winter rain, and then?-farewell, we shall meet again! 255 256 lyrics of labour and romance the three best things i work let me but do my work from day to day, in field or forest, at the desk or loom, in roaring market-place or tranquil room; let me but find it in my heart to say, when vagrant wishes beckon me astray, "this is my work; my blessing, not my doom; "of all who live, i am the one by whom "this work can best be done in the right way." then shall i see it not too great, nor small, to suit my spirit and to prove my powers; then shall i cheerful greet the labouring hours, and cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall at eventide, to play and love and rest, because i know for me my work is best. the three best things 257 ii love let me but love my love without disguise, nor wear a mask of fashion old or new, nor wait to speak till i can hear a clue, nor play a part to shine in others' eyes, nor bow my knees to what my heart denies; but what i am, to that let me be true, and let me worship where my love is due, and so through love and worship let me rise. for love is but the heart's immortal thirst to be completely known and all forgiven, even as sinful souls that enter heaven: so take me, dear, and understand my worst, and freely pardon it, because confessed, and let me find in loving thee, my best. 258 lyrics of labour and romance iii life let me but live my life from year to year, with forward face and unreluctant soul; not hurrying to, nor turning from, the goal; not mourning for the things that disappear in the dim past, nor holding back in fear from what the future veils; but with a whole and happy heart, that pays its toll to youth and age, and travels on with cheer. so let the way wind up the hill or down, o'er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy: still seeking what i sought when but a boy, new friendship, high adventure, and a crown, my heart will keep the courage of the quest, and hope the road's last turn will be the best. reliance 259 reliance not to the swift, the race: not to the strong, the fight: not to the righteous, perfect grace: not to the wise, the light. but often faltering feet come surest to the goal; and they who walk in darkness meet the sunrise of the soul. a thousand times by night the syrian hosts have died; a thousand times the vanquished right hath risen, glorified. the truth the wise men sought was spoken by a child; the alabaster box was brought in trembling hands defiled. not from my torch, the gleam, but from the stars above: not from my heart, life's crystal stream, but from the depths of love. 260 lyrics of labour and romance doors of daring the mountains that inclose the vale with walls of granite, steep and high, invite the fearless foot to scale their stairway toward the sky. the restless, deep, dividing sea that flows and foams from shore to shore, calls to its sunburned chivalry, "push out, set sail, explore!" the bars of life at which we fret, that seem to prison and control, are but the doors of daring, set ajar before the soul. say not, "too poor," but freely give; sigh not, "too weak," but boldly try; you never can begin to live until you dare to die. a home song 261 a home song i read within a poet's book a word that starred the page: "stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage!" yes, that is true, and something more: you'll find, where'er you roam, that marble floors and gilded walls can never make a home. but every house where love abides, and friendship is a guest, is surely home, and home-sweet-home: for there the heart can rest. 202 lyrics of labour and romance the child in the garden when to the garden of untroubled thought i came of late, and saw the open door, and wished again to enter, and explore the sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought, and bowers of innocence with beauty fraught, it seemed some purer voice must speak before i dared to tread that garden loved of yore, that eden lost unknown and found unsought. then just within the gate i saw a child,— a stranger-child, yet to my heart most dear; he held his hands to me, and softly smiled with eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear: "come in," he said, "and play awhile with me; "i am the little child you used to be." love's reason 263 love's reason for that thy face is fair i love thee not; nor yet because thy brown benignant eyes have sudden gleams of gladness and surprise, like woodland brooks that cross a sunlit spot: nor for thy body, born without a blot, and loveliest when it shines with no disguise pure as the star of eve in paradise,for all these outward things i love thee not: but for a something in thy form and face, thy looks and ways, of primal harmony; a certain soothing charm, a vital grace that breathes of the eternal womanly, and makes me feel the warmth of nature's breast, when in her arms, and thine, i sink to rest. 264 lyrics of labour and romance portrait and reality if on the closed curtain of my sight my fancy paints thy portrait far away, i see thee still the same, by night or day; crossing the crowded street, or moving bright 'mid festal throngs, or reading by the light of shaded lamp some friendly poet's lay, or shepherding the children at their play,— the same sweet self, and my unchanged delight. but when i see thee near, i recognize in every dear familiar way some strange perfection, and behold in april guise the magic of thy beauty that doth range through many moods with infinite surprise,never the same, and sweeter with each change. the echo in the heart 265 the echo in the heart it's little i can tell about the birds in books; and yet i know them well, by their music and their looks: when may comes down the lane, [er airy lovers throng to welcome her with song, and follow in her train: each minstrel weaves his part in that wild-flowery strain, and i know them all again by their echo in my heart. it's little that i care about my darling's place in books of beauty rare, or heraldries of race: for when she steps in view, it matters not to me what her sweet type may be, of woman, old or new. 266 lyrics of labour and romance i can't explain the art, but i know her for my own, because her lightest tone wakes an echo in my heart. "undine" 'twas far away and long ago, when i was but a dreaming boy, this fairy tale of love and woe entranced my heart with tearful joy; and while with white undine i wept your spirit, ah, how strange it seems,— was cradled in some star, and slept, unconscious of her coming dreams. "rencontre" 267 "rencontre” он, was i born too soon, my dear, or were you born too late, that i am going out the door while you come in the gate? for you the garden blooms galore, the castle is en fête; you are the coming guest, my dear,-for me the horses wait. i know the mansion well, my dear, its rooms so rich and wide; if you had only come before i might have been your guide, and hand in hand with you explore the treasures that they hide; but you have come to stay, my dear, and i prepare to ride. then walk with me an hour, my dear, and pluck the reddest rose amid the white and crimson store with which your garden glows,a single rose,-i ask no more of what your love bestows; it is enough to give, my dear,-a flower to him who goes. the house of life is yours, my dear, for many and many a day, but i must ride the lonely shore, the road to far away: so bring the stirrup-cup and pour a brimming draught, i pray, and when you take the road, my dear, i'll meet you on the way. 268 lyrics of labour and romance love in a look let me but feel thy look's embrace, transparent, pure, and warm, and i'll not ask to touch thy face, or fold thee in mine arm. for in thine eyes a girl doth rise, arrayed in candid bliss, and draws me to her with a charm more close than any kiss. a loving-cup of golden wine, songs of a silver brook, and fragrant breaths of eglantine, are mingled in thy look. more fair they are than any star, thy topaz eyes divineand deep within their trysting-nook thy spirit blends with mine. my april lady 269 my april lady when down the stair at morning the sunbeams round her float, sweet rivulets of laughter are rippling in her throat; the gladness of her greeting is gold without alloy; and in the morning sunlight i think her name is joy. when in the evening twilight the quiet book-room lies, we read the sad old ballads, while from her hidden eyes the tears are falling, falling, that give her heart relief; and in the evening twilight, i think her name is grief. my little april lady, of sunshine and of showers she weaves the old spring magic, and breaks my heart in flowers! 270 lyrics of labour and romance but when her moods are ended, she nestles like a dove; then, by the pain and rapture, i know her name is love. a lover's envy 271 a lover's envy i envy every flower that blows along the meadow where she goes, and every bird that sings to her, and every breeze that brings to her the fragrance of the rose. envy every poet's rhyme that moves her heart at eventime, and every tree that wears for her its brightest bloom, and bears for her the fruitage of its prime. i envy every southern night that paves her path with moonbeams white, and silvers all the leaves for her, and in their shadow weaves for her a dream of dear delight. i envy none whose love requires of her a gift, a task that tires: i only long to live to her, i only ask to give to her, all that her heart desires. 272 lyrics of labour and romance fire-fly city like a long arrow through the dark the train is darting, bearing me far away, after a perfect day of love's delight: wakeful with all the sad-sweet memories of parting, i lift the narrow window-shade and look out on the night. lonely the land unknown, and like a river flowing, forest and field and hill are gliding backward still athwart my dream; till in that country strange, and ever stranger growing, a magic city full of lights begins to glow and gleam. wide through the landscape dim the lamps are lit in millions; long avenues unfold clear-shining lines of gold across the green; clusters and rings of light, and luminous pavilions,oh, who will tell the city's name, and what these wonders mean? why do they beckon me, and what have they to show me? crowds in the blazing street, mirth where the feasters meet, kisses and wine: many to laugh with me, but never one to know me: a cityful of stranger-hearts and none to beat with mine! the gentle traveller 273 look how the glittering lines are wavering and lifting,— softly the breeze of night scatters the vision bright: and, passing fair, over the meadow-grass and through the forest drifting, the fire-fly city of the dark is lost in empty air! the gentle traveller "through many a land your journey ran, and showed the best the world can boast: now tell me, traveller, if you can, the place that pleased you most." she laid her hands upon my breast, and murmured gently in my ear, "the place i loved and liked the best was in your arms, my dear!" 274 lyrics of labour and romance nepenthe yes, it was like you to forget, and cancel in the welcome of your smile my deep arrears of debt, and with the putting forth of both your hands to sweep away the bars my folly set between us-bitter thoughts, and harsh demands, and reckless deeds that seemed untrue to love, when all the while my heart was aching through and through for you, sweet heart, and only you. yet, as i turned to come to you again, i thought there must be many a mile of sorrowful reproach to cross, and many an hour of mutual pain to bear, until i could make plain that all my pride was but the fear of loss, and all my doubt the shadow of despair to win a heart so innocent and fair; and even that which looked most ill was but the fever-fret and effort vain to dull the thirst which you alone could still. but as i turned, the desert miles were crossed, and when i came, the weary hours were sped! nepenthe 275 for there you stood beside the open door, glad, gracious, smiling as before, and with bright eyes and tender hands outspread restored me to the eden i had lost. never a word of cold reproof, no sharp reproach, no glances that accuse the culprit whom they hold aloof,— ah, 'tis not thus that other women use the empire they have won! for there is none like you, beloved,-none secure enough to do what you have done. where did you learn this heavenly art,-you sweetest and most wise of all that live,with silent welcome to impart assurance of the royal heart that never questions where it would forgive? none but a queen could pardon me like this! my sovereign lady, let me lay within each rosy palm a loyal kiss of penitence, then close the fingers up, thus-thus! now give the cup of full nepenthe in your crimson mouth, and come-the garden blooms with bliss, the wind is in the south, the rose of love with dew is wetdear, it was like you to forget! 276 lyrics of labour and romance day and night how long is the night, brother, and how long is the day? oh, the day's too short for a happy task, and the day's too short for play; and the night's too short for the bliss of love,for look, how the edge of the sky grows gray, while the stars die out in the blue above, and the wan moon fades away. how short is the day, brother, and how short is the night? oh, the day's too long for a heavy task, and long, long, long is the night, when the wakeful hours are filled with pain, and the sad heart waits for the thing it fears, and sighs for the dawn to come again,the night is a thousand years! how long is a life, dear god, and how fast does it flow? the measure of life is a flame in the soul: it is neither swift nor slow. hesper 277 but the vision of time is the shadow cast by the fleeting world on the body's wall; when it fades there is neither future nor past, but love is all in all. hesper her eyes are like the evening air, her voice is like a rose, her lips are like a lovely song, that ripples as it flows, and she herself is sweeter than the sweetest thing she knows. a slender, haunting, twilight form of wonder and surprise, she seemed a fairy or a child, till, deep within her eyes, i saw the homeward-leading star of womanhood arise. 278 lyrics of labour and romance arrival across a thousand miles of sea, a hundred leagues of land, along a path i had not traced and could not understand, i travelled fast and far for this,-to take thee by the hand. a pilgrim knowing not the shrine where he would bend his knee, a mariner without a dream of what his port would be, so fared i with a seeking heart until i came to thee. o cooler than a grove of palm in some heat-weary place, o fairer than an isle of calm after the wild sea race, the quiet room adorned with flowers where first i saw thy face! then furl the sail, let fall the oar, forget the paths of foam! the fate that made me wander far at last has brought me home to thee, dear haven of my heart, and i no more will roam. departure 279 departure он, why are you shining so bright, big sun, and why is the garden so gay? do you know that my days of delight are done, do you know i am going away? if you covered your face with a cloud, i'd dream you were sorry for me in my pain, and the heavily drooping flowers would seem to be weeping with me in the rain. but why is your head so low, sweet heart, and why are your eyes overcast? are you crying because you know we must part, do you think this embrace is our last? then kiss me again, and again, and again, look up as you bid me good-bye! for your face is too dear for the stain of a tear, and your smile is the sun in my sky. 280 lyrics of labour and romance the black birds i once, only once, i saw it clear,that eden every human heart has dreamed a hundred times, but always far away! ah, well do i remember how it seemed, through the still atmosphere of that enchanted day, to lie wide open to my weary feet: a little land of love and joy and rest, with meadows of soft green, rosy with cyclamen, and sweet with delicate breath of violets unseen,and, tranquil 'mid the bloom as if it waited for a coming guest, a little house of peace and joy and love was nested like a snow-white dove. ii from the rough mountain where i stood, homesick for happiness, only a narrow valley and a darkling wood the black birds 281 to cross, and then the long distress of solitude would be forever past,— i should be home at last. but not too soon! oh, let me linger here and feed my eyes, hungry with sorrow, on all this loveliness, so near, and mine to-morrow! iii then, from the wood, across the silvery blue, a dark bird flew, silent, with sable wings. close in his wake another came,fragments of midnight floating through the sunset flame,— another and another, weaving rings of blackness on the primrose sky,another, and another, look, a score, a hundred, yes, a thousand rising heavily from that accursed, dumb, and ancient wood, they boiled into the lucid air like smoke from some deep caldron of despair! and more, and more, and ever more, the numberless, ill-omened brood flapping their ragged plumes, 282 lyrics of labour and romance possessed the landscape and the evening light with menaces and glooms. oh, dark, dark, dark they hovered o'er the place where once i saw the little house so white amid the flowers, covering every trace of beauty from my troubled sight,and suddenly it was night! iv at break of day i crossed the wooded vale; and while the morning made a trembling light among the tree-tops pale, i saw the sable birds on every limb, clinging together closely in the shade, and croaking placidly their surly hymn. but, oh, the little land of peace and love that those night-loving wings had poised above,where was it gone? lost, lost, forevermore! only a cottage, dull and gray, in the cold light of dawn, with iron bars across the door: only a garden where the drooping head of one sad rose, foreboding its decay, hung o'er a barren bed: the black birds 283 only a desolate field that lay untilled beneath the desolate day,where eden seemed to bloom i found but these! so, wondering, i passed along my way, with anger in my heart, too deep for words, against that grove of evil-sheltering trees, and the black magic of the croaking birds. 284 lyrics of labour and romance without disguise if i have erred in showing all my heart, and lost your favour by a lack of pride; if standing like a beggar at your side with naked feet, i have forgot the art of those who bargain well in passion's mart, and win the thing they want by what they hide; be mine the fault as mine the hope denied, be mine the lover's and the loser's part. the sin, if sin it was, i do repent, and take the penance on myself alone; yet after i have borne the punishment, i shall not fear to stand before the throne of love with open heart, and make this plea: "at least i have not lied to her nor thee!" an hour 285 an hour you only promised me a single hour: but in that hour i journeyed through a year of life: the joy of finding you,—the fear of losing you again, the sense of power to make you all my own,-the sudden shower of tears that came because you were more dear than words could ever tell you, then,—the clear soft rapture when i plucked love's crimson flower. an hour, a year, i felt your bosom rise and fall with mystic tides, and saw the gleam of undiscovered stars within your eyes,— a year, an hour? i knew not, for the stream of love had carried me to paradise, where all the forms of time are like a dream. 286 lyrics of labour and romance "rappelle-toi" remember, when the timid light through the enchanted hall of dawn is gleaming; remember, when the pensive night beneath her silver-sprinkled veil walks dreaming; when pleasure calls thee and thy heart beats high, when tender joys through evening shades draw nigh, hark, from the woodland deeps a gentle whisper creeps, remember! remember, when the hand of fate my life from thine forevermore has parted; when sorrow, exile, and the weight of lonely years have made me heavy-hearted; think of my loyal love, my last adieu; absence and time are naught, if we are true; long as my heart shall beat, to thine it will repeat, remember! remember, when the cool, dark tomb receives my heart into its quiet keeping, "rappelle-toi" 287 · and some sweet flower begins to bloom above the grassy mound where i am sleeping; ah then, my face thou nevermore shalt see, but still my soul will linger close to thee, and in the holy place of night, the litany of love recite,remember! freely rendered from the french of alfred de musset. 288 lyrics of labour and romance eight echoes from the poems of auguste angellier i the ivory cradle the cradle i have made for thee is carved of orient ivory, and curtained round with wavy silk more white than hawthorn-bloom or milk. a twig of box, a lilac spray, will drive the goblin-horde away; and charm thy childlike heart to keep her happy dream and virgin sleep. within that pure and fragrant nest, i'll rock thy gentle soul to rest, with tender songs we need not fear to have a passing angel hear. ah, long and long i fain would hold the snowy curtain's guardian fold around thy crystal visions, born in clearness of the early morn. dreams 289 but look, the sun is glowing red with triumph in his golden bed; aurora's virgin whiteness dies in crimson glory of the skies. the rapid flame will burn its way through these white curtains, too, one day; the ivory cradle will be left undone, and broken, and bereft. ii dreams often i dream your big blue eyes, though loth their meaning to confess, regard me with a clear surprise of dawning tenderness. often i dream you gladly hear the words i hardly dare to breathe,the words that falter in their fear to tell what throbs beneath. often i dream your hand in mine falls like a flower at eventide, and down the path we leave a line of footsteps side by side. 290 lyrics of labour and romance but ah, in all my dreams of bliss, in passion's hunger, fever's drouth, i never dare to dream of this: my lips upon your mouth. and so i dream your big blue eyes, that look on me with tenderness, grow wide, and deep, and sad, and wise, and dim with dear distress. iii the garland of sleep a wreath of poppy flowers, with leaves of lotus blended, is carved on life's façade of hours, from night to night suspended. along the columned wall, from birth's low portal starting, it flows, with even rise and fall, to death's dark door of parting. how short each measured arc, how brief the columns' number! the wreath begins and ends in dark, and leads from sleep to slumber. tranquil habit 291 the marble garland seems, with braided leaf and bloom, to deck the palace of our dreams as if it were a tomb. iv tranquil habit dear tranquil habit, with her silent hands, doth heal our deepest wounds from day to day with cooling, soothing oil, and firmly lay around the broken heart her gentle bands. her nursing is as calm as nature's care; she doth not weep with us; yet none the less her quiet fingers weave forgetfulness,we fall asleep in peace when she is there. upon the mirror of the mind her breath is like a cloud, to hide the fading trace of that dear smile, of that remembered face, whose presence were the joy and pang of death. and he who clings to sorrow overmuch, weeping for withered grief, has cause to bless, more than all cries of pity and distress,dear tranquil habit, thy consoling touch! 292 lyrics of labour and romance v the old bridge on the old, old bridge, with its crumbling stones all covered with lichens red and gray, two lovers were talking in sweet low tones: and we were they! as he leaned to breathe in her willing ear the love that he vowed would never die, he called her his darling, his dove most dear: and he was i! she covered her face from the pale moonlight with her trembling hands, but her eyes looked through, and listened and listened with long delight: and she was you! on the old, old bridge, where the lichens rust, two lovers are learning the same old lore; he tells his love, and she looks her trust: but we, no more! sonnets of angellier 293 vi eyes and lips i our silent eyes alone interpreted the new-born feeling in the heart of each: in yours i read your sorrow without speech, your lonely struggle in their tears unshed. behind their dreamy sweetness, as a veil, i saw the moving lights of trouble shine; and then my eyes were brightened as with wine, my spirit reeled to see your face grow pale! our deepening love, that is not yet allowed another language than the eyes, doth learn to speak it perfectly: above the crowd our looks exchange avowals and desires,like wave-divided beacon lights that burn, and talk to one another by their fires. 2 when i embrace her in a fragrant shrine of climbing roses, my first kiss shall fall on you, sweet eyes, that mutely told me all,through you my soul will rise to make her mine. 294 lyrics of labour and romance upon your drooping lids, blue-veined and fair, the touch of tenderness i first will lay, you springs of joy, lights of my gloomy day, whose dear discovered secret bade me dare! and when you open, eyes of my fond dove, your look will shine with new delight, made sure by this forerunner of a faithful love. 'tis just, dear eyes, so pensive and so pure, that you should bear the sealing kisses true of love unhoped that came to me through you. 3 this was my thought; but when beneath the rose that hides the lonely bench where lovers rest, in friendly dusk i held her on my breast for one brief moment,-while i saw you close, dear, yielding eyes, as if your lids, blue-veined and pure, were meekly fain at last to bear the proffered homage of my wistful prayer,in that high moment, by your grace obtained, forgetting your avowals, your alarms, your anguish and your tears, sweet weary eyes, forgetting that you gave her to my arms, sonnets of angellier 295 i broke my promise; and my first caress, ungrateful, sought her lips in sweet surprise,— her lips, which breathed a word of tenderness! vii an evocation when first upon my brow i felt your kiss, a sudden splendour filled me, like the ray that promptly runs to crown the hills with bliss of purple dawn before the golden day, and ends the gloom it crosses at one leap. my brow was not unworthy your caress; for some foreboding joy had bade me keep from all affront the place your lips would bless. yet when your mouth upon my mouth did lay the royal touch, no rapture made me thrill, but i remained confused, ashamed, and still; beneath your kiss, my queen without a stain, i felt,-like ghosts who rise at judgment day,a throng of ancient kisses vile and vain! 296 lyrics of labour and romance viii resignation i well, you will triumph, dear and noble friend! the holy love that wounded you so deep will bring you balm, and on your heart asleep the fragrant dew of healing will descend. your children, ah, how quickly they will grow between us, like a wall that fronts the sun, lifting a screen with rosy buds o'errun, to hide the shaded path where i must go. you'll walk in light; and dreaming less and less of him who droops in gloom beyond the wall, your mother-soul will fill with happiness when first you hear your grandchild's babbling call, beneath the braided bloom of flower and leaf that life has wrought to veil your vanished grief. 2 then i alone shall suffer! i shall bear the double burden of our grief alone, while i enlarge my soul to take your share of pain and hold it close beside my own. sonnets of angellier 297 our love is torn asunder; but the crown of thorns that love has woven i will make my relic sacrosanct, and press it down upon my bleeding heart that will not break. ah, that will be the depth of solitude! for my regret, that evermore endures, will know that new-born hope has conquered yours; and when the evening comes, no gentle brood of wondering children, gathered at my side, will sooth away the tears i cannot hide. freely rendered from the french, 1911. 298 lyrics of labour and romance love's nearness i think of thee when golden sunbeams glimmer across the sea; and when the waves reflect the moon's pale shimmer i think of thee. i see thy form when down the distant highway the dust-clouds rise; in darkest night, above the mountain by-way i see thine eyes. i hear thee when the ocean-tides returning aloud rejoice; and on the lonely moor in silence yearning i hear thy voice. i dwell with thee; though thou art far removed, yet thou art near. the sun goes down, the stars shine out,-beloved if thou wert here! from the german of goethe, 1898. two songs of heine 299 two songs of heine i "ein fichtenbaum" a fir-tree standeth lonely on a barren northern height, asleep, while winter covers his rest with robes of white. in dreams, he sees a palm-tree in the golden morning-land; she droops alone and silent in burning wastes of sand. ii "du bist wie eine blume" fair art thou as a flower and innocent and shy: i look on thee and sorrow; i grieve, i know not why. i long to lay, in blessing, my hand upon thy brow, and pray that god may keep thee as fair and pure as now. 1872. 300 lyrics of labour and romance the river of dreams the river of dreams runs quietly down from its hidden home in the forest of sleep, with a measureless motion calm and deep; and my boat slips out on the current brown, in a tranquil bay where the trees incline far over the waves, and creepers twine far over the boughs, as if to steep their drowsy bloom in the tide that goes by a secret way that no man knows, under the branches bending, under the shadows blending, while the body rests, and the passive soul drifted along to an unseen goal, while the river of dreams runs down. the river of dreams runs gently down, with a leisurely flow that bears my bark out of the visionless woods of dark, into a glory that seems to crown valley and hill with light from far, clearer than sun or moon or star, luminous, wonderful, weird, oh, mark the river of dreams 301 how the radiance pulses everywhere, in the shadowless vault of lucid air! over the mountains shimmering, up from the fountains glimmering,'tis the mystical glow of the inner light, that shines in the very noon of night, while the river of dreams runs down. the river of dreams runs murmuring down, through the fairest garden that ever grew; and now, as my boat goes drifting through, a hundred voices arise to drown the river's whisper, and charm my ear with a sound i have often longed to hear,a magical music, strange and new, the wild-rose ballad, the lilac-song, the virginal chant of the lilies' throng, blue-bells silverly ringing, pansies merrily singing,for all the flowers have found their voice; and i feel no wonder, but only rejoice, while the river of dreams runs down. the river of dreams runs broadening down, away from the peaceful garden-shore, with a current that deepens more and more, 302 lyrics of labour and romance by the league-long walls of a mighty town; and i see the hurrying crowds of men gather like clouds and dissolve again; but never a face i have seen before. they come and go, they shift and change, their ways and looks are wild and strange,— this is a city haunted, a multitude enchanted! at the sight of the throng i am dumb with fear, and never a sound from their lips i hear, while the river of dreams runs down. the river of dreams runs darkly down into the heart of a desolate land, with ruined temples half-buried in sand, and riven hills, whose black brows frown over the shuddering, lonely wave. the air grows dim with the dust of the grave; no sign of life on the dreary strand; no ray of light on the moutain's crest; and a weary wind that cannot rest comes down the valley creeping, lamenting, wailing, weeping,i strive to cry out, but my fluttering breath is choked with the clinging fog of death, while the river of dreams runs down. the river of dreams 303 the river of dreams runs trembling down, out of the valley of nameless fear, into a country calm and clear, with a mystical name of high renown,— a name that i know, but may not tell,and there the friends that i loved so well, old companions forever dear, come beckoning down to the river shore, and hail my boat with the voice of yore. fair and sweet are the places where i see their unchanged faces! and i feel in my heart with a secret thrill, that the loved and lost are living still, while the river of dreams runs down. the river of dreams runs dimly down by a secret way that no man knows; but the soul lives on while the river flows through the gardens bright and the forests brown; and i often think that our whole life seems to be more than half made up of dreams. the changing sights and the passing shows, the morning hopes and the midnight fears, are left behind with the vanished years; onward, with ceaseless motion, the life-stream flows to the ocean, 304 lyrics of labour and romance while we follow the tide, awake or asleep, till we see the dawn on love's great deep, and the shadows melt, and the soul is free,— the river of dreams has reached the sea. 1900. songs of hearth and altar "little boatie" a slumber-song for the fisherman's child furl your sail, my little boatie; here's the haven still and deep, where the dreaming tides in-streaming up the channel creep. now the sunset breeze is dying; hear the plover, landward flying, softly down the twilight crying; come to anchor, little boatie, in the port of sleep. far away, my little boatie, roaring waves are white with foam; ships are striving, onward driving, day and night they roam. father's at the deep-sea trawling, in the darkness, rowing, hauling, while the hungry winds are calling,god protect him, little boatie, bring him safely home! 307 308 songs of hearth and altar not for you, my little boatie, is the wide and weary sea; you're too slender, and too tender, you must bide with me. all day long you have been straying up and down the shore and playing; come to harbour, no delaying! day is over, little boatie, night falls suddenly. furl your sail, my little boatie, fold your wings, my weary dove. dews are sprinkling, stars are twinkling drowsily above. cease from sailing, cease from rowing; rock upon the dream-tide, knowing safely o'er your rest are glowing, all the night, my little boatie, harbour-lights of love. a mother's birthday 309 a mother's birthday lord jesus, thou hast known a mother's love and tender care: and thou wilt hear, while for my own mother most dear i make this birthday prayer. protect her life, i pray, who gave the gift of life to me; and may she know, from day to day, the deepening glow of joy that comes from thee. as once upon her breast fearless and well content i lay, so let her heart, on thee at rest, feel fear depart and trouble fade away. 310 songs of hearth and altar ah, hold her by the hand, as once her hand held mine; and though she may not understand life's winding way, lead her in peace divine. i cannot pay my debt for all the love that she has given; but thou, love's lord, wilt not forget her due reward,bless her in earth and heaven. santa christina 311 santa christina saints are god's flowers, fragrant souls that his own hand hath planted, not in some far-off heavenly place, or solitude enchanted, but here and there and everywhere,in lonely field, or crowded town, god sees a flower when he looks down. some wear the lily's stainless white, and some the rose of passion, and some the violet's heavenly blue, but each in its own fashion, with silent bloom and soft perfume, is praising him who from above beholds each lifted face of love. one such i knew,-and had the grace to thank my god for knowing: the beauty of her quiet life was like a rose in blowing, so fair and sweet, so all-complete 312 songs of hearth and altar and all unconscious, as a flower, that light and fragrance were her dower. no convent-garden held this rose, concealed like secret treasure; no royal terrace guarded her for some sole monarch's pleasure. she made her shrine, this saint of mine, in a bright home where children played; and there she wrought and there she prayed. in sunshine, when the days were glad, she had the art of keeping the clearest rays, to give again in days of rain and weeping; her blessed heart could still impart some portion of its secret grace, and charity shone in her face. in joy she grew from year to year; and sorrow made her sweeter; and every comfort, still more kind; and every loss, completer. her children came to love her name,"christina,""-'t was a lip's caress; and when they called, they seemed to bless. santa christina 313 no more they call, for she is gone too far away to hear them; and yet they often breathe her name as if she lingered near them; they cannot reach her with love's speech, but when they say "christina" now 't is like a prayer or like a vow: a vow to keep her life alive in deeds of pure affection, so that her love shall find in them a daily resurrection; a constant prayer that they may wear some touch of that supernal light with which she blossoms in god's sight. 314 songs of hearth and altar rendezvous i count that friendship little worth which has not many things untold, great longings that no words can hold, and passion-secrets waiting birth. along the slender wires of speech some message from the heart is sent; but who can tell the whole that's meant? our dearest thoughts are out of reach. i have not seen thee, though mine eyes hold now the image of thy face; in vain, through form, i strive to trace the soul i love: that deeper lies. a thousand accidents control our meeting here. clasp hand in hand, and swear to meet me in that land where friends hold converse soul to soul. gratitude 315 gratitude "do you give thanks for this?-or that?" no, god be thanked i am not grateful in that cold, calculating way, with blessings ranked as one, two, three, and four,—that would be hateful. i only know that every day brings good above my poor deserving; i only feel that in the road of life true love is leading me along and never swerving. whatever gifts and mercies to my lot may fall, i would not measure as worth a certain price in praise, or great or small; but take and use them all with simple pleasure. for when we gladly eat our daily bread, we bless the hand that feeds us; and when we tread the road of life in cheerfulness, our very heart-beats praise the love that leads us. 316 songs of hearth and altar transformation only a little shrivelled seed, it might be flower, or grass, or weed; only a box of earth on the edge of a narrow, dusty window-ledge; only a few scant summer showers; only a few clear shining hours; that was all. yet god could make out of these, for a sick child's sake, a blossom-wonder, fair and sweet as ever broke at an angel's feet. only a life of barren pain, wet with sorrowful tears for rain, warmed sometimes by a wandering gleam of joy, that seemed but a happy dream; a life as common and brown and bare as the box of earth in the window there; yet it bore, at last, the precious bloom of a perfect soul in that narrow room; pure as the snowy leaves that fold over the flower's heart of gold. 1875. the wind of sorrow 317 the wind of sorrow the fire of love was burning, yet so low that in the peaceful dark it made no rays, and in the light of perfect-placid days the ashes hid the smouldering embers' glow. vainly, for love's delight, we sought to throw new pleasures on the pyre to make it blaze: in life's calm air and tranquil-prosperous ways we missed the radiant heat of long ago. then in the night, a night of sad alarms, bitter with pain and black with fog of fears that drove us trembling to each other's arms, across the gulf of darkness and salt tears into life's calm the wind of sorrow came, and fanned the fire of love to clearest flame. 318 songs of hearth and altar hide and seek i all the trees are sleeping, all the winds are still, all the fleecy flocks of cloud, gone beyond the hill; through the noon-day silence, down the woods of june, hark, a little hunter's voice, running with a tune. "hide and seek! "when i speak, "you must answer me: "call again, "merry men, "coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" now i hear his footsteps rustling in the grass: hidden in my leafy nook, shall i let him pass? just a low, soft whistle,-quick the hunter turns, leaps upon me laughing loud, rolls me in the ferns. "hold him fast, "caught at last! "now you're it, you see. "hide your eye, "till i cry, "coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" hide and seek 319 ii long ago he left me, long and long ago; now i wander thro' the world, seeking high and low. hidden safe and happy, in some pleasant place,if i could but hear his voice, soon i'd see his face! 1898. far away, many a day, where can barney be? answer, dear, don't you hear? coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee! birds that every spring-time sung him full of joy, flowers he loved to pick for me, mind me of my boy. somewhere he is waiting till my steps come nigh; love may hide itself awhile, but love can never die. heart, be glad, the little lad will call again to thee: "father dear, "heaven is here, "coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" 320 songs of hearth and altar autumn in the garden when the frosty kiss of autumn in the dark makes its mark on the flowers, and the misty morning grieves over fallen leaves; then my olden garden, where the golden soil through the toil of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep, whispers in its sleep. 'mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox, where the box borders with its glossy green the ancient walks, there's a voice that talks of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here year by year,and the dreams that brightened all the labouring hours, fading as the flowers. yet the whispered story does not deepen grief; but relief for the loneliness of sorrow seems to flow from the long-ago, autumn in the garden 321 when i think of other lives that learned, like mine, to resign, and remember that the sadness of the fall comes alike to all. what regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs! and what prayers for the silent strength that nerves us to endure things we cannot cure! pacing up and down the garden where they paced, i have traced all their well-worn paths of patience, till i find comfort in my mind. faint and far away their ancient griefs appear: yet how near is the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face, of the human race! let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart,— not apart! they who know the sorrows other lives have known never walk alone. october, 1903 322 songs of hearth and altar the message waking from tender sleep, my neighbour's little child put out his baby hand to me, looked in my face, and smiled. it seems as if he came home from a happy land, to bring a message to my heart and make me understand. somewhere, among bright dreams, a child that once was mine has whispered wordless love to him, and given him a sign. comfort of kindly speech, and counsel of the wise, have helped me less than what i read in those deep-smiling eyes. sleep sweetly, little friend, and dream again of heaven: with double love i kiss your hand,— your message has been given. november, 1903. dulcis memoria 323 dulcis memoria long, long ago i heard a little song, (ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?) so lowly, slowly wound the tune along, that far into my heart it found the way: a melody consoling and endearing; and now, in silent hours, i'm often hearing the small, sweet song that does not die away. long, long ago i saw a little flower(ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?) so fair of face and fragrant for an hour, that something dear to me it seemed to say,a wordless joy that blossomed into being; and now, in winter days, i'm often seeing the friendly flower that does not fade away. long, long ago we had a little child,(ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?) into his mother's eyes and mine he smiled unconscious love; warm in our arms he lay. an angel called! dear heart, we could not hold him; yet secretly your arms and mine infold him— our little child who does not go away. 324 songs of hearth and altar long, long ago? ah, memory, make it clear(it was not long ago, but yesterday,) so little and so helpless and so dearlet not the song be lost, the flower decay! his voice, his waking eyes, his gentle sleeping: the smallest things are safest in thy keeping,— sweet memory, keep our child with us alway. november, 1903. the window 325 the window all night long, by a distant bell the passing hours were notched on the dark, while her breathing rose and fell; and the spark of life i watched in her face was glowing, or fading,-who could tell?— and the open window of the room, with a flare of yellow light, was peering out into the gloom, like an eye that searched the night. oh, what do you see in the dark, little window, and why do you peer? "i see that the garden is crowded with creeping forms of fear: little white ghosts in the locust-tree, wave in the nightwind's breath, and low in the leafy laurels the lurking shadow of death." sweet, clear notes of a waking bird told of the passing away of the dark, and my darling may have heard; for she smiled in her sleep, while the ray of the rising dawn spoke joy without a word, 326 songs of hearth and altar till the splendour born in the east outburned the yellow lamplight, pale and thin, and the open window slowly turned to the eye of the morning, looking in. oh, what do you see in the room, little window, that makes you so bright? "i see that a child is asleep on her pillow, soft and white: with the rose of life on her lips, the pulse of life in her breast, and the arms of god around her, she quietly takes her rest." neuilly, june, 1909. peace 327 peace with eager heart and will on fire, i strove to win my great desire. "peace shall be mine," i said; but life grew bitter in the barren strife. my soul was weary, and my pride was wounded deep; to heaven i cried, "god grant me peace or i must die;" the dumb stars glittered no reply. broken at last, i bowed my head, forgetting all myself, and said, "whatever comes, his will be done;" and in that moment peace was won. 328 songs of hearth and altar the bargain what shall i give for thee, thou pearl of greatest price? for all the treasures i possess would not suffice. i give my store of gold; it is but earthly dross: but thou wilt make me rich, beyond all fear of loss. mine honours i resign; they are but small at best: thou like a royal star wilt shine upon my breast. my worldly joys i give, the flowers with which i played; thy beauty, far more heavenly fair, shall never fade. dear lord, is that enough? nay, not a thousandth part. well, then, i have but one thing more: take thou my heart. bitter-sweet 329 bitter-sweet just to give up, and trust all to a fate unknown, plodding along life's road in the dust, bounded by walls of stone; never to have a heart at peace; never to see when care will cease; just to be still when sorrows fall— this is the bitterest lesson of all. just to give up, and rest all on a love secure, out of a world that's hard at the best, looking to heaven as sure; ever to hope, through cloud and fear, in darkest night, that the dawn is near; just to wait at the master's feetsurely, now, the bitter is sweet. 330 songs of hearth and altar to the child jesus i the nativity could every time-worn heart but see thee once again, a happy human child, among the homes of men, the age of doubt would pass,-the vision of thy face would silently restore the childhood of the race. ii the flight into egypt thou wayfaring jesus, a pilgrim and stranger, exiled from heaven by love at thy birth, exiled again from thy rest in the manger, a fugitive child 'mid the perils of earth,— cheer with thy fellowship all who are weary, wandering far from the land that they love; guide every heart that is homeless and dreary, safe to its home in thy presence above. song of a pilgrim-soul 331 song of a pilgrim-soul march on, my soul, nor like a laggard stay! march swiftly on. yet err not from the way where all the nobly wise of old have trod,the path of faith, made by the sons of god. follow the marks that they have set beside the narrow, cloud-swept track, to be thy guide: follow, and honour what the past has gained, and forward still, that more may be attained. something to learn, and something to forget: hold fast the good, and seek the better yet: press on, and prove the pilgrim-hope of youth: the creeds are milestones on the road to truth. 1892 332 songs of hearth and altar hymn of joy to the music of beethoven's ninth symphony joyful, joyful, we adore thee, god of glory, lord of love; hearts unfold like flowers before thee, praising thee their sun above. melt the clouds of sin and sadness; drive the dark of doubt away; giver of immortal gladness, fill us with the light of day! all thy works with joy surround thee, earth and heaven reflect thy rays, stars and angels sing around thee, centre of unbroken praise: field and forest, vale and mountain, blooming meadow, flashing sea, chanting bird and flowing fountain, call us to rejoice in thee. thou art giving and forgiving, ever blessing, ever blest, well-spring of the joy of living, ocean-depth of happy rest! hymn of joy 333 thou our father, christ our brother,all who live in love are thine: teach us how to love each other, lift us to the joy divine. mortals join the mighty chorus, which the morning stars began; father-love is reigning o'er us, brother-love binds man to man. ever singing march we onward, victors in the midst of strife; joyful music lifts us sunward in the triumph song of life. 1908 334 songs of hearth and altar ode to peace i in excelsis two dwellings, peace, are thine. one is the mountain-height, uplifted in the loneliness of light beyond the realm of shadows,—fine, and far, and clear,-where advent of the night means only glorious nearness of the stars, and dawn unhindered breaks above the bars that long the lower world in twilight keep. thou sleepest not, and hast no need of sleep, for all thy cares and fears have dropped away; the night's fatigue, the fever-fret of day, are far below thee; and earth's weary wars, in vain expense of passion, pass before thy sight like visions in a glass,or like the wrinkles of the storm that creep across the sea and leave no trace of trouble on that immemorial face,so brief appear the conflicts, and so slight the wounds men give, the things for which they fight! ode to peace 335 here hangs a fortress on the distant steep,a lichen clinging to the rock. there sails a fleet upon the deep,a wandering flock of snow-winged gulls. and yonder, in the plain, a marble palace shines, a grain of mica glittering in the rain. beneath thy feet the clouds are rolled by voiceless winds: and far between the rolling clouds, new shores and peaks are seen, in shimmering robes of green and gold, and faint aerial hue that silent fades into the silent blue. thou, from thy mountain-hold, all day in tranquil wisdom looking down on distant scenes of human toil and strife, all night, with eyes aware of loftier life uplifted to the sky where stars are sown, dost watch the everlasting fields grow white unto the harvest of the sons of light, and welcome to thy dwelling-place sublime the few strong souls that dare to climb the slippery crags, and find thee on the height. 336 songs of hearth and altar ii de profundis but in the depth thou hast another home, for hearts less daring, or more frail. thou dwellest also in the shadowy vale; and pilgrim-souls that roam with weary feet o'er hill and dale, bearing the burden and the heat of toilful days, turn from the dusty ways to find thee in thy green and still retreat. here is no vision wide outspread before the lonely and exalted seat of all-embracing knowledge. here, instead, a little cottage, and a garden-nook, with outlooks brief and sweet across the meadows, and along the brook,a little stream that nothing knows of the great sea to which it gladly flows,— a little field that bears a little wheat to make a portion of earth's daily bread. the vast cloud-armies overhead are marshalled, and the wild wind blows its trumpet, but thou canst not tell whence comes the wind nor where it goes; ode to peace 337 nor dost thou greatly care, since all is well. thy daily task is done, and now the wages of repose are won. here friendship lights the fire, and every heart, sure of itself and sure of all the rest, dares to be true, and gladly takes its part in open converse, bringing forth its best: and here is music, melting every chain of lassitude and pain: and here, at last, is sleep with silent gifts,kind sleep, the tender nurse who lifts the soul grown weary of the waking world, and lays it, with its thoughts all furled, its fears forgotten, and its passions still, on the deep bosom of the eternal will. inscriptions, greetings, and epigrams for katrina's sun-dial in her garden of yaddo hours fly, flowers die. new days, new ways, pass by. love stays. time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice; but for those who love, time is not. 341 342 inscriptions and greetings for katrina's window in her tower of yaddo this is the window's message, in silence, to the queen: "thou hast a double kingdom and i am set between: look out and see the glory, on hill and plain and sky: look in and see the light of love that nevermore shall die!" l'envoi window in the queen's high tower, this shall be thy magic power! shut the darkness and the doubt, shut the storm and conflict, out; wind and hail and snow and rain dash against thee all in vain. let in nothing from the night,let in every ray of light. for the friends at hurstmont 343 for the friends at hurstmont the house the cornerstone in truth is laid, the guardian walls of honour made, the roof of faith is built above, the fire upon the hearth is love: though rains descend and loud winds call, this happy house shall never fall. the hearth when the logs are burning free, then the fire is full of glee: when each heart gives out its best, then the talk is full of zest: light your fire and never fear, life was made for love and cheer. the door the lintel low enough to keep out pomp and pride: the threshold high enough to turn deceit aside: the doorband strong enough from robbers to defend: this door will open at a touch to welcome every friend. 344 inscriptions and greetings the dial time can never take what time did not give; when your shadows have all passed, i shall live. the sun-dial at morven for bayard and helen stockton two hundred years of blessing i record for morven's house, protected by the lord: and still i stand among old-fashioned flowers to mark for morven many sunlit hours. the sun-dial at wells college 345 the sun-dial at wells college for the class of 1904 the shadow by my finger cast divides the future from the past: before it, sleeps the unborn hour, in darkness, and beyond thy power: behind its unreturning line, the vanished hour, no longer thine: one hour alone is in thy hands,the now on which the shadow stands. march, 1904. 346 greetings and epigrams to mark twain i at a birthday feast with memories old and wishes new we crown our cups again, and here's to you, and here's to you with love that ne'er shall wane! and may you keep, at sixty-seven, the joy of earth, the hope of heaven, and fame well-earned, and friendship true, and peace that comforts every pain, and faith that fights the battle through, and all your heart's unbounded wealth, and all your wit, and all your health,— yes, here's a hearty health to you, and here's to you, and here's to you, long life to you, mark twain. to mark twain 347 ii at the memorial meeting we knew you well, dear yorick of the west, the very soul of large and friendly jest! you loved and mocked the broad grotesque of things in this new world where all the folk are kings. your breezy humour cleared the air, with sport of shams that haunt the democratic court; for even where the sovereign people rule, a human monarch needs a royal fool. your native drawl lent flavour to your wit; your arrows lingered but they always hit; homeric mirth around the circle ran, but left no wound upon the heart of man. we knew you kind in trouble, brave in pain; we saw your honour kept without a stain; we read this lesson of our yorick's years,true wisdom comes with laughter and with tears. november 30, 1910. 348 greetings and epigrams stars and the soul (to charles a. young, astronomer) "two things," the wise man said, "fill me with awe: the starry heavens and the moral law." nay, add another wonder to thy roll,— the living marvel of the human soul! born in the dust and cradled in the dark, it feels the fire of an immortal spark, and learns to read, with patient, searching eyes, the splendid secret of the unconscious skies. for god thought light before he spoke the word; the darkness understood not, though it heard: but man looks up to where the planets swim, and thinks god's thoughts of glory after him. what knows the star that guides the sailor's way, or lights the lover's bower with liquid ray, of toil and passion, danger and distress, brave hope, true love, and utter faithfulness? stars and the soul 349 but human hearts that suffer good and ill, and hold to virtue with a loyal will, adorn the law that rules our mortal strife with star-surpassing victories of life. so take our thanks, dear reader of the skies, devout astronomer, most humbly wise, for lessons brighter than the stars can give, and inward light that helps us all to live. to julia marlowe (reading keats' ode on a grecian urn) long had i loved this "attic shape," the brede of marble maidens round this urn divine: but when your golden voice began to read, the empty urn was filled with chian wine. 350 greetings and epigrams to joseph jefferson may 4th, 1898.-to-day, fishing down the swiftwater, i found joseph jefferson on a big rock in the middle of the brook, casting the fly for trout he said he had fished this very stream three-and-forty years ago; and near by, in the paradise valley, he wrote his famous play.-leaf from my diary. we met on nature's stage, and may had set the scene, with bishop-caps standing in delicate ranks, and violets blossoming over the banks, while the brook ran full between. the waters rang your call, with frolicsome waves a-twinkle,they knew you as boy, and they knew you as man, and every wave, as it merrily ran, cried, "enter rip van winkle!" the mocking-bird 351 the mocking-bird in mirth he mocks the other birds at noon, catching the lilt of every easy tune; but when the day departs he sings of love,his own wild song beneath the listening moon. the empty quatrain a flawless cup: how delicate and fine the flowing curve of every jewelled line! look, turn it up or down, 't is perfect still,but holds no drop of life's heart-warming wine. pan learns music for a sculpture by sara greene limber-limbed, lazy god, stretched on the rock, where is sweet echo, and where is your flock? what are you making here? "listen," said pan,"out of a river-reed music for man!" 352 greetings and epigrams the valley of vain verses the grief that is but feigning, and weeps melodious tears of delicate complaining from self-indulgent years; the mirth that is but madness, and has no inward gladness beneath its laughter straining, to capture thoughtless ears; the love that is but passion of amber-scented lust; the doubt that is but fashion; the faith that has no trust; these thamyris disperses, in the valley of vain verses below the mount parnassian,and they crumble into dust. the shepherd of nymphs 353 the shepherd of nymphs the nymphs a shepherd took to guard their snowy sheep; he led them down along the brook, and guided them with pipe and crook, until he fell asleep. but when the piping stayed, across the flowery mead the milk-white nymphs ran out afraid: o thyrsis, wake! your flock has strayed,the nymphs a shepherd need. 354 greetings and epigrams echoes from the greek anthology i starlight with two bright eyes, my star, my love, thou lookest on the stars above: ah, would that i the heaven might be with a million eyes to look on thee. plato. ii roseleaf a little while the rose, and after that the thorn; an hour of dewy morn, and then the glamour goes. ah, love in beauty born, a little while the rose! unknown. echoes from the greek anthology 355 iii phosphor-hesper o morning star, farewell! my love i now must leave; the hours of day i slowly tell, and turn to her with the twilight bell,o welcome, star of eve! meleager. iv seasons sweet in summer, cups of snow, cooling thirsty lips aglow; sweet to sailors winter-bound, spring arrives with garlands crowned; sweeter yet the hour that covers with one cloak a pair of lovers, living lost in golden weather, while they talk of love together. asclepiades. 356 greetings and epigrams v the vine and the goat although you eat me to the root, i yet shall bear enough of fruit for wine to sprinkle your dim eyes, when you are made a sacrifice. euenus. vi the professor seven pupils, in the class of professor callias, listen silent while he drawls,three are benches, four are walls. unknown. one world 357 one world "the worlds in which we live are two the world 'i am' and the world 'i do."" the worlds in which we live at heart are one, the world "i am," the fruit of "i have done"; and underneath these worlds of flower and fruit, the world "i love," the only living root. joy and duty "joy is a duty,"-so with golden lore the hebrew rabbis taught in days of yore, and happy human hearts heard in their speech almost the highest wisdom man can reach. but one bright peak still rises far above, and there the master stands whose name is love, saying to those whom weary tasks employ: "life is divine when duty is a joy." 358 greetings and epigrams the prison and the angel self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul; love is the only angel who can bid the gates unroll; and when he comes to call thee, arise and follow fast; his way may lie through darkness, but it leads to light at last, the way who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul, may keep the path, but will not reach the goal; while he who walks in love may wander far, but god will bring him where the blessed are. love and light 359 love and light there are many kinds of love, as many kinds of light, and every kind of love makes a glory in the night. there is love that stirs the heart, and love that gives it rest, but the love that leads life upward is the noblest and the best. the arrow life is an arrow-therefore you must know what mark to aim at, how to use the bowthen draw it to the head, and let it go! 360 greetings and epigrams four things four things a man must learn to do if he would make his record true: to think without confusion clearly; to love his fellow-men sincerely; to act from honest motives purely; to trust in god and heaven securely. the great river "in la sua volontade è nostra pace." o mighty river! strong, eternal will, wherein the streams of human good and ill are onward swept, conflicting, to the sea! the world is safe because it floats in thee. wayfaring psalms the distant road blessed is the man that beholdeth the face of a friend in a far country, the darkness of his heart is melted in the dawning of day within him, it is like the sound of a sweet music heard long ago and half forgotten: it is like the coming back of birds to a wood when the winter is ended. i knew not the sweetness of the fountain till i found it flowing in the desert, nor the value of a friend till we met in a land that was crowded and lonely. the multitude of mankind had bewildered me and oppressed me, and i complained to god, why hast thou made the world so wide? but when my friend came the wideness of the world had no more terror, because we were glad together among men to whom we were strangers. 363 364 wayfaring psalms it seemed as if i had been reading a book in a foreign language, and suddenly i came upon a page written in the tongue of my childhood: this was the gentle heart of my friend who quietly understood me, the open and loving heart whose meaning was clear without a word. o thou great companion who carest for all thy pilgrims and strangers, i thank thee heartily for the comfort of a comrade on the distant road. the welcome tent 365 the welcome tent this is the thanksgiving of the weary, the song of him that is ready to rest. it is good to be glad when the day is declining, and the setting of the sun is like a word of peace. the stars look kindly on the close of a journey, and the tent says welcome when the day's march is done. for now is the time of the laying down of burdens, and the cool hour cometh to them that have borne the heat. i have rejoiced greatly in labour and adventure; my heart hath been enlarged in the spending of my strength. now it is all gone, yet i am not impoverished, for thus only i inherit the treasure of repose. blessed be the lord that teacheth my fingers to loosen, and cooleth my feet with water after the dust of the way. blessed be the lord that giveth me hunger at nightfall, and filleth my evening cup with the wine of good cheer. 366 wayfaring psalms blessed be the lord that maketh me happy to be quiet, even as a child that cometh softly to his mother's lap. o god, thy strength is never worn away with labour: but it is good for us to be weary and receive thy gift of rest. the great cities 367 the great cities how wonderful are the cities that man hath builded: their walls are compacted of heavy stones, and their lofty towers rise above the tree-tops. rome, jerusalem, cairo, damascus,— venice, constantinople, moscow, pekin,london, new york, berlin, paris, vienna,-these are the names of mighty enchantments, they have called to the ends of the earth, they have secretly summoned a host of servants. they shine from far sitting beside great waters, they are proudly enthroned upon high hills, they spread out their splendour along the rivers. yet are they all the work of small patient fingers, their strength is in the hand of man, he hath woven his flesh and blood into their glory. the cities are scattered over the world like ant-hills, every one of them is full of trouble and toil, and their makers run to and fro within them. 368 wayfaring psalms abundance of riches is laid up in their treasuries, but they are tormented with the fear of want, the cry of the poor in their streets is exceeding bitter. their inhabitants are driven by blind perturbations, they whirl sadly in the fever of haste, seeking they know not what, they pursue it fiercely. the air is heavy-laden with their breathing, the sound of their coming and going is never still, even in the night i hear them whispering and crying. beside every ant-hill i behold a monster crouching: this is the ant-lion death, he thrusteth forth his tongue and the people perish. o god of wisdom thou hast made the country: why hast thou suffered man to make the town? then god answered, surely i am the maker of man: and in the heart of man i have set the city. the friendly trees 369 the friendly trees i will sing of the bounty of the big trees, they are the green tents of the almighty, he hath set them up for comfort and for shelter. their cords hath he knotted in the earth, he hath driven their stakes securely, their roots take hold of the rocks like iron. he sendeth into their bodies the sap of life, they lift themselves lightly toward the heavens. they rejoice in the broadening of their branches. their leaves drink in the sunlight and the air, they talk softly together when the breeze bloweth, their shadow in the noon-day is full of coolness. the tall palm-trees of the plain are rich in fruit, while the fruit ripeneth the flower unfoldeth, the beauty of their crown is renewed on high for ever. the cedars of lebanon are fed by the snow, afar on the mountain they grow like giants, in their layers of shade a thousand years are sighing. 370 wayfaring psalms how fair are the trees that befriend the home of man, the oak, and the terebinth, and the sycamore, the broad-leaved fig-tree and the delicate silvery olive. in them the lord is loving to his little birds, the linnets and the finches and the nightingales, they people his pavilions with nests and with music. the cattle also are very glad of a great tree, they chew the cud beneath it while the sun is burning, and there the panting sheep lie down around their shepherd. he that planteth a tree is a servant of god, he provideth a kindness for many generations, and faces that he hath not seen shall bless him. lord, when my spirit shall return to thee, at the foot of a friendly tree let my body be buried, that this dust may rise and rejoice among the branches. the broken sword 371 the broken sword mine enemies have prevailed against me, o god: thou hast led me deep into their ambush. they surround me with a hedge of spears, and the sword in my hand is broken. my friends also have forsaken my side: from a safe place they look upon me with pity. my heart is like water poured upon the ground, and i have come alone to the place of surrender. to thee, to thee only will i give up my sword,— the sword which was broken in thy service. thou hast required me to suffer for thy cause: in my defeat thy will is victorious. o my king, show me thy face shining in the dark, while i drink the loving-cup of death to thy glory. 372 wayfaring psalms the unseen altar man the maker of cities is also a builder of altars, he setteth tables for the gods among his habitations. he bringeth the beauty of the rocks to enrich them: marble and alabaster, porphyry, jade and jasper. he cometh with costly gifts to offer an oblation, and with the fairest of his flock to purchase favour. around the many altars i hear strange music arising, loud lamentations and shouting and singing and wailing. i perceive also the pain and terror of their sacrifices, and the tears and the blood staining the white marble. o my god, these are the altars of ignorance: they are built by thy children who do not know thee. surely thou wilt have pity upon them and teach them: hast thou not prepared for them a table of peace? then the lord mercifully sent his angel forth to lead me, and i came through the courts of the temple to the holy of holies. the unseen altar 373 here the multitudes are kneeling in the silence of the spirit, they are kneeling at the unseen altar of the lowly heart. here is plentiful forgiveness for the souls that are forgiving, and the benediction falleth upon all who pray in love. surely this is the altar where the penitent find pardon: and the priest who stands beside it is the christ, the son of god. 374 wayfaring psalms the pathway of rivers the rivers of god are full of water, they are wonderful in the renewal of their strength, he poureth them out from a hidden fountain. they are born among the hills in the high places, their cradle is in the bosom of the rocks, the mountain is their mother and the forest is their father. they are nourished among the long grasses, they receive the tribute of a thousand springs, the rain and the snow provide their inheritance. they are glad to be gone from their birthplace, with a joyful noise they hasten away, they are going for ever and never departed. yet the courses of the rivers are all appointed: they roar loudly but they follow the road, for the finger of god hath marked their pathway. the rivers of damascus rejoice among their gardens: the great river of egypt is proud of his ships: the jordan is lost in the lake of bitterness. the pathway of rivers 375 surely the lord guideth them every one in his wisdom, in the end he gathereth all their drops on high, and sendeth them forth again in the clouds of mercy. o my god, my life floweth away like a river: guide me, i beseech thee, in a pathway of good: let me run in blessing to my rest in thee. 376 wayfaring psalms the glory of ruins the lizard rested on the rock while i sat among the ruins, and the pride of man was like a vision of the night. lo, the lords of the city have disappeared into darkness, the ancient wilderness hath swallowed up all their work. there is nothing left of the city but a heap of fragments; the bones of a vessel broken by the storm. behold the waves of the desert wait hungrily for man's dwellings, and the tides of desolation return upon his toil. all that he hath painfully built up is shaken down in a moment, the memory of his glory is buried beneath the billows of sand. then a voice said, look again upon the ruins, these broken arches have taught generations to build. moreover the name of this city shall be remembered, for here a poor man spoke a word that shall not die. this is the glory that is stronger than the desert; god hath given eternity to the thought of man. the tribe of the helpers 377 the tribe of the helpers the ways of the world are full of haste and turmoil: i will sing of the tribe of the helpers who travel in peace. he that turneth from the road to rescue another, turneth toward his goal: he shall arrive in time by the foot-path of mercy, god will be his guide. he that taketh up the burden of the fainting, lighteneth his own load: the almighty will put his arms underneath him, he shall lean upon the lord. he that speaketh comfortable words to mourners, healeth his own hurt: in the time of grief they will come to his remembrance, god will use them for balm. he that careth for a wounded brother, watcheth not alone: there are three in the darkness together, and the third is the lord. blessed is the way of the helpers, the companions of the christ. 378 wayfaring psalms the good teacher the lord is my teacher, i shall not lose the way. he leadeth me in the lowly path of learning, he prepareth a lesson for me every day; he bringeth me to the clear fountains of instruction, little by little he showeth me the beauty of truth. the world is a great book that he hath written, he turneth the leaves for me slowly; they are all inscribed with images and letters, he poureth light on the pictures and the words. he taketh me by the hand to the hill-top of vision, and my soul is glad when i perceive his meaning; in the valley also he walketh beside me, in the dark places he whispereth to my heart. even though my lesson be hard it is not hopeless, for the lord is patient with his slow scholar; he will wait awhile for my weakness, and help me to read the truth through tears. the camp-fires of my friend 379 the camp-fires of my friend thou hast taken me into thy tent of the world, o god, beneath thy blue canopy i have found shelter, therefore thou wilt not deny me the right of a guest. naked and poor i arrived at thy door before sunset: thou hast refreshed me with beautiful bowls of milk, as a great chief thou hast set forth food in abundance. i have loved the daily delights of thy dwelling, thy moon and thy stars have lighted me to my bed, in the morning i have made merry with thy servants. surely thou wilt not send me away in the darkness? there the enemy death is lying in wait for my soul: thou art the host of my life and i claim thy protection. then the lord of the tent of the world made answer: the right of a guest endureth for a certain time, after three days and three nights cometh the day of departure. yet hearken to me since thou fearest to go in the dark: i will make with thee a new covenant of hospitality, behold i will come unto thee as a stranger and be thy guest. 380 wayfaring psalms poor and needy will i come that thou mayest entertain me, meek and lowly will i come that thou mayest find a friend, with mercy and with truth will i come to give thee comfort. therefore open thy heart to me and bid me welcome, in this tent of the world i will be thy brother of the bread, and when thou farest forth i will be thy companion for ever. then my soul rested in the word of the lord: and i saw that the curtains of the world were shaken, but i looked beyond them to the stars, the camp-fires of my eternal friend. the house of rimmon drama in four acts dramatis personæ king of damascus. high priest of the house of rimmon. a noble. benhadad: rezon: saballidin: hazael izdubhar rakhaz shumakim: elisha: naaman: ruahmah: tsarpi: khamma nubta courtiers. the king's fool. prophet of israel. captain of the armies of damascus. a captive maid of israel. wife to naaman. attendants of tsarpi. soldiers, servants, citizens, etc., etc. scene: damascus and the mountains of samaria. time: 850 b. c. 382 act i scene i night, in the garden of naaman at damascus. at the left the palace, with softly gleaming lights and music coming from the open latticed windows. the garden is full of oleanders, roses, pomegranates, abundance of crimson flowers; the air is heavy with their fragrance: a fountain at the right is plashing gently: behind it is an arbour covered with vines. near the centre of the garden stands a small, hideous image of the god rimmon. beyond the arbour rises the lofty square tower of the house of rimmon, which casts a shadow from the moon across the garden. the background is a wide, hilly landscape, with the snow-clad summits of mount hermon in the distance. enter by the palace door, the lady tsarpi, robed in red and gold, and followed by her maids, khamma and nubta. she remains on the terrace: they go down into the garden, looking about, and returning to her. khamma: there's no one here; the garden is asleep. nubta: the flowers are nodding, all the birds abed,nothing awake except the watchful stars! 383 384 [act i, sc. i the house of rimmon khamma: the stars are sentinels discreet and mute: how many things they know and never tell! tsarpi: [impatiently.] unlike the stars, how many things you tell and do not know! when comes your master home? nubta: lady, his armour-bearer brought us word,at moonset, not before. tsarpi: he haunts the camp and leaves me much alone; yet i can pass the time of absence not unhappily, if i but know the time of his return. an hour of moonlight yet! khamma, my mirror! these curls are ill arranged, this veil too low,so, that is better, careless maids! withdraw,but bring me word if naaman appears! khamma: mistress, have no concern; for when we hear the clatter of his horse along the street, we'll run this way and lead your dancers down with song and laughter,-you shall know in time. [exeunt khamma and nubta laughing, tsarpi descends the steps.] act i, sc. i] the house of rimmon 385 tsarpi: my guest is late; but he will surely come! the man who burns to drain the cup of love,— the priest whose greed of glory never fails,both, both have need of me, and he will come. and i, what do i need? why everything that helps my beauty to a higher throne; all that a priest can promise, all a man can give, and all a god bestow, i need: this may a woman win, and this will i. [enter rezon quietly from the shadow of the trees. he stands behind tsarpi and listens, smiling, to her last words. then he drops his mantle of leopardskin, and lifts his high priest's rod of bronze, shaped at one end like a star.] rezon: tsarpi! tsarpi: [bowing low before him.] the mistress of the house of naaman salutes the master of the house of rimmon. rezon: rimmon receives you with his star of peace, for you were once a handmaid of his altar. [he lowers the star-point of the rod, which glows for a moment with rosy light above her head.] and now the keeper of his temple asks the welcome of the woman for the man. 386 [act i, sc. 1 the house of rimmon tsarpi: [giving him her hand, but holding off his embrace.] no more,―till i have heard what brings you here by night, within the garden of the one who scorns you most and fears you least in all damascus rezon: trust me, i repay his scorn with double hatred,-naaman, the man who stands against the nobles and the priests, this powerful fool, this impious devotee of liberty, who loves the people more then he reveres the city's ancient god: this frigid husband who sets you below his dream of duty to a horde of slaves: this man i hate, and i will humble him. tsarpi: i think i hate him too. he stands apart from me, ev'n while he holds me in his arms, by something that i cannot understand. he swears he loves his wife next to his honour! next? that's too low! i will be first or nothing. rezon: with me you are the first, the absolute! when you and i have triumphed you shall reign; and you and i will bring this hero down. tsarpi: but how? for he is strong. act i, sc. 1] the house of rimmon 387 rezon: of tsarpi; and by this, the rod of rimmon. tsarpi: your plan? by this, the hand rezon: you know the host of nineveh is marching now against us. envoys come to bid us yield before a hopeless war. our king is weak: the nobles, being rich, would purchase peace to make them richer still: only the people and the soldiers, led by naaman, would fight for liberty. blind fools! to-day the envoys came to me, and talked with me in secret. promises, great promises! for every noble house that urges peace, a noble recompense: the king, submissive, kept in royal state and splendour: most of all, honour and wealth shall crown the house of rimmon, and his priest,yea, and his priestess! for we two will rise upon the city's fall. the common folk shall suffer; naaman shall sink with them in wreck; but i shall rise, and you shall rise above me! you shall climb, through incense-smoke, and days of pomp, and nights of revelry, 388 [act i, sc. i the house of rimmon unto the topmost room in rimmon's tower, the secret, lofty room, the couch of bliss, and the divine embraces of the god. tsarpi: [throwing out her arms in exultation.] all, all i wish! what must i do for this? rezon: turn naaman away from thoughts of war. tsarpi: but if i fail? his will is proof against the lure of kisses and the wile of tears. rezon: tsarpi: where woman fails, woman and priest succeed. before the king decides he must consult the oracle of rimmon. this my hands prepare, and you shall read the signs prepared in words of fear to melt the brazen heart of naaman. but if it flame instead? rezon: i know a way to quench that flame. the cup, the parting cup your hand shall give to him! what if the curse of rimmon should infect that sacred wine with poison, secretly to work within his veins, week after week corrupting all the currents of his blood, act i, sc. i] the house of rimmon 389 dimming his eyes, wasting his flesh? what then? would he prevail in war? would he come back to glory, or to shame? what think you? tsarpi: i do not think; i only do my part. but can the gods bless this? rezon: i?the gods can bless whatever they decree; their will makes right; and this is for the glory of the house of rimmon,—and for thee, my queen. come, come! the night grows dark: we'll perfect our alliance. [rezon draws her with him, embracing her, through the shadows of the garden. ruahmah, who has been sleeping in the arbour, has been awakened during the dialogue, and has been dimly visible in her white dress, behind the vines. she parts them and comes out, pushing back her long, dark hair from her temples.] ruahmah: what have i heard? o god, what shame is this plotted beneath thy pure and silent stars! was it for this that i was brought away a captive from the hills of israel to serve the heathen in a land of lies? ah, treacherous, shameful priest! ah, shameless wife 390 [act i, sc. i the house of rimmon of one too noble to suspect thy guilt! the very greatness of his generous heart betrays him to their hands. what can i do! nothing, a slave,-hated and mocked by all my fellow-slaves! o bitter prison-life! -i smother in this black, betraying air of lust and luxury; i faint beneath the shadow of this house of rimmon. god have mercy! lead me out to israel. to israel! nubta: [music and laughter heard within the palace. the doors fly open and a flood of men and women, dancers, players, flushed with wine, dishevelled, pour down the steps, khamma and nubta with them. they crown the image with roses and dance around it. ruahmah is discovered crouching beside the arbour. they drag her out beside the image.] look! here's the hebrew maid,she's homesick; let us comfort her! khamma: [they put their arms around her.] yes, dancing is the cure for homesickness. we'll make her dance. ruahmah: [she slips away.] i pray you, let me go! i cannot dance, i do not know your measures. act i, sc. i] the house of rimmon 391 khamma: then sing for us,-a song of israel! ruahmah: how can i sing the songs of israel in this strange country? o my heart would break! a servant: a stubborn and unfriendly maid! we'll whip her. [they circle around her, striking her with rose-branches; she sinks to her knees, covering her face with her bare arms, which bleed.] nubta: look, look! she kneels to rimmon, she is tamed. ruahmah: [springing up and lifting her arms.] nay, not to this dumb idol, but to him who made orion and the seven stars! all: she raves, she mocks at rimmon! punish her! the fountain! wash her blasphemy away! [they push her toward the fountain, laughing and shouting. in the open door of the palace naaman appears, dressed in blue and silver, bareheaded and unarmed. he comes to the top of the steps and stands for a moment, astonished and angry.] naaman: silence! what drunken rout is this? begone, 392 [act i, sc. i the house of rimmon ye barking dogs and mewing cats! out, all! poor child, what have they done to thee? ruahmah: [looking up in his face.] [exeunt all except ruahmah, who stands with her face covered by her hands. naaman comes to her, laying his hand on her shoulder.] ruahmah: nothing, my lord and master! they have harmed me not. naaman: [touching her arm.] dost call this nothing? naaman: naaman: i do not know thy face,-who art thou, child? ruahmah: since my lord is come! the handmaid of thy wife. whence comest thou? thy voice is like thy mistress, but thy looks have something foreign. tell thy name, thy land. ruahmah: ruahmah is my name, a captive maid, the daughter of a prince in israel,where once, in olden days, i saw my lord ride through our highlands, when samaria was allied with damascus to defeat our common foe. i act i, sc. i] 393 the house of rimmon naaman: ruahmah: as clear as yesterday! master, i saw thee riding on a snow-white horse beside our king; and all we joyful little maids strewed boughs of palm along the victors' way; for had driven out the enemy, you broken; and both our lands were friends and free. and thou rememberest this? naaman: [sadly.] well, they are past, those noble days! the days when nations would imperil all to keep their liberties, are only memories now. the common cause is lost,—and thou art brought, the captive of some mercenary raid, some skirmish of a gold-begotten war, to serve within my house. dost thou fare well? ruahmah: naaman: master, thou seest. ruahmah: yes, i see! my child, why do they hate thee so? i do not know, unless because i will not bow to rimmon. 394 the house of rimmon [act i, sc. i naaman: thou needest not. i fear he is a god who pities not his people, will not save. my heart is sick with doubt of him. but thou shalt hold thy faith,—i care not what it is,— worship thy god; but keep thy spirit free. [he takes the amulet from his neck and gives it to her.] here, take this chain and wear it with my seal, none shall molest the maid who carries this. thou hast found favour in thy master's eyes; hast thou no other gift to ask of me? ruahmah: [earnestly.] my lord, i do entreat thee not to go to-morrow to the council. seek the king and speak with him in secret; but avoid the audience-hall. naaman: why, what is this? thy wits are wandering. my honour is engaged to speak for war, to lead in war against the assyrian bull and save damascus. ruahmah: [with confused earnestness.] then, lord, if thou must go, i pray thee speak,i know not how,-but so that all must hear. with magic of unanswerable words persuade thy foes. yet watch,-beware,act i, sc. i] the house of rimmon 395 naaman: ruahmah: [turning aside.] i am entangled in my speech,-no light,how shall i tell him? he will not believe. of what? o my dear lord, thine enemies are they of thine own house. i pray thee to beware,beware, of rimmon! naaman: child, thy words are wild; thy troubles have bewildered all thy brain. go, now, and fret no more; but sleep, and dream of israel! for thou shalt see thy home among the hills again. ruahmah: master, good-night. and may thy slumber be as sweet and deep as if thou camped at snowy hermon's foot, amid the music of his waterfalls. there friendly oak-trees bend their boughs above the weary head, pillowed on earth's kind breast, and unpolluted breezes lightly breathe a song of sleep among the murmuring leaves. there the big stars draw nearer, and the sun looks forth serene, undimmed by city's mirk or smoke of idol-temples, to behold 396 [act i, sc. ii the house of rimmon the waking wonder of the wide-spread world. there life renews itself with every morn in purest joy of living. may the lord deliver thee, dear master, from the nets laid for thy feet, and lead thee out, along the open path, beneath the open sky! [exit ruahmah: naaman stands looking after her.] scene ii time: the following morning. the audience-hall in benhadad's palace. the sides of the hall are lined with lofty columns: the back opens toward the city, with descending steps: the house of rimmon with its high tower is seen in the background. the throne is at the right in front: opposite is the royal door of entrance, guarded by four tall sentinels. enter at the rear between the columns, rakhaz, saballidin, hazael, izdubhar. izdubhar: [an excited old man.] the city is all in a turmoil. it boils like a pot of lentils. the people are foaming and bubbling round and round like beans in the pottage. hazael: [a lean, crafty man.] fear is a hot fire. act i, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 397 rakhaz: [a fat, pompous man.] distant. well may they fear, for the assyrians are not three days they are blazing along like a waterspout to chop damascus down like a pitcher of spilt milk. saballidin: [young and frank.] cannot naaman drive them back? rakhaz: [puffing and blowing.] ho! naaman? where have you been living? naaman is a broken reed whose claws have been cut. build no hopes on that foundation, for it will run away and leave you all adrift in the conflagration. saballidin: he clatters like a windmill. what would he say, hazael? hazael: naaman can do nothing without the command of the king; and the king fears to order the army to march without the approval of the gods. the high priest is against it. the house of rimmon is for peace with asshur. rakhaz: yes, and all the nobles are for peace. we are the men whose wisdom lights the rudder that upholds the chariot of state. would we be rich if we were not wise? do we not know better than the rabble what medicine will silence this fire that threatens to drown us? izdubhar: but if the assyrians come, we shall all perish; they wil despoil us all. 398 [act i, sc. ii the house of rimmon hazael: not us, my lord, only the common people. the envoys have offered favourable terms to the priests, and the nobles, and the king. no palace, no temple, shall be plundered. only the shops, and the markets, and the houses of the multitude shall be given up to the bull. he will eat his supper from the pot of lentils, not from our golden plate. rakhaz: yes, and all who speak for peace in the council shall be enriched; our heads shall be crowned with seats of honour in the procession of the assyrian king. he needs wise counsellors to help him guide the ship of empire onto the solid rock of prosperity. you must be with us, my lords izdubhar and saballidin, and let the stars of your wisdom roar loudly for peace. izdubhar: he talks like a tablet read upside down,-a wild ass braying in the wilderness. yet there is policy in his words. saballidin: i know not. can a kingdom live without a people or an army? if we let the bull in to sup on the lentils, will he not make his breakfast in our vineyards? [enter other courtiers following shumakim, a humpbacked jester, in blue, green and red, a wreath of poppies around his neck and a flagon in his hand. he walks unsteadily, and stutters in his speech.] act i, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 399 hazael: here is shumakim, the king's fool, with his legs full of last night's wine. shumakim: [balancing himself in front of them and chuckling.] wrong, my lords, very wrong! this is not last night's wine, but a draught the king's physician gave me this morning for a cure. it sobers me amazingly! i know you all, my lords: any fool would know you. you, master, are a statesman; and you are a politician; and you are a patriot. rakhaz: am i a statesman? i felt something of the kind about me. but what is a statesman? shumakim: a politician that is stuffed with big words; a fat man in a mask; one that plays a solemn tune on a sackbut full o' wind. hazael: and what is a politician? shumakim: a statesman that has dropped his mask and cracked his sackbut. men trust him for what he is, and he never deceives them, because he always lies. izdubhar: why do you call me a patriot? 400 [act 1, sc. ii the house of rimmon saballidin: shumakim: because you know what is good for you; you love your country as you love your pelf. you feel for the common people, as the wolf feels for the sheep. and what am i? benhadad: shumakim: a fool, master, just a plain fool; and there is hope of thee ―― for that reason. embrace me, brother, and taste this; but not too much, it will intoxicate thee with sobriety. [the hall has been slowly filling with courtiers and soldiers; a crowd of people begin to come up the steps at the rear, where they are halt d by a chain guarded by servants of the palace. a bell tolls; the royal door is thrown open; the aged king totters across the hall and takes his seat on the throne with the four tall sentinels standing behind him. all bow down shading their eyes with their hands.] the hour of royal audience is come. i'll hear the envoys. are my counsellors at hand? where are the priests of rimmon's house? [gongs sound. rezon comes in from the side, followed by a procession of priests in black and yellow. the courtiers bow; the king rises; rezon takes his stand on the steps of the throne at the left of the king.] act i, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 401 benhadad: where is my faithful servant naaman, the captain of my host? [trumpets sound from the city. the crowd on the steps divide; the chain is lowered; naaman enters, followed by six soldiers. he is dressed in chain-mail with a silver helmet and a cloak of blue. he uncovers, and kneels on the steps of the throne at the king's right.] naaman: my lord the king, the bearer of thy sword is here. benhadad: [giving naaman his hand, and sitting down.] welcome, my strong right arm that never me failed yet! i am in doubt,—but stay thou close to me while i decide this cause. where are the envoys? let them appear and give their message. [enter the assyrian envoys; one in white and the other in red; both with the golden bull's head embroidered on their robes. they come from the right, rear, bow slightly before the throne, and take the centre of the hall,] white envoy: [stepping forward.] greeting from shalmaneser, asshur's son, who rules the world from nineveh 402 [act i, sc. ii the house of rimmon unto benhadad, monarch in damascus! the conquering bull has led his army forth; the south has fallen before him, and the west his feet have trodden; hamath is laid waste; he pauses at your gate, invincible,to offer peace. the princes of your court, the priests of rimmon's house, and you, the king, if you pay homage to your overlord, shall rest secure, and flourish as our friends. assyria sends to you this gilded yoke; receive it as the sign of proffered peace. [he lays a yoke on the steps of the throne.] benhadad: what of the city? said your king no word of our damascus, and the many folk that do inhabit her and make her great? what of the soldiers who have fought for us? white envoy: of these my royal master did not speak. benhadad: strange silence! must we give them up to him? is this the price at which he offers us the yoke of peace? what if we do refuse? red envoy: [stepping forward.] then ruthless war! war to the uttermost. no quarter, no compassion, no escape! act i, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 403 the bull will gore and trample in his fury nobles and priests and king,-none shall be spared! before the throne we lay our second gift; this bloody horn, the symbol of red war. [he lays a long bull's horn, stained with blood, on the steps of the throne.] white envoy: our message is delivered. we return unto our master. he will wait three days to know your royal choice between his gifts. keep which you will and send the other back. the red bull's horn your youngest page may bring; but with the yoke, best send your mightiest army! [the envoys retire, amid confused murmurs of the people, the king silent, his head, sunken on his breast.] benhadad: proud words, a bitter message, hard to endure! we are not now that force which feared no foe: our old allies have left us. can we face the bull alone, and beat him back? [many speak at once, confusedly.] what babblement is this? were ye born at babel? give me clear words and reasonable speech. rakhaz: [pompously.] give me your counsel. o king, i am a reasonable man! and there be some who call me very wise 404 [act i, sc. ii the house of rimmon and prudent; but of this i will not speak, for i am also modest. let me plead. persuade, and reason you to choose for peace. this golden yoke may be a bitter draught, but better far to fold it in our arms, than risk our cargoes in the savage horn of war. shall we imperil all our wealth, our valuable lives? nobles are few, rich men are rare, and wise men rarer still; the precious jewels on the tree of life, wherein the common people are but bricks and clay and rubble. let the city go, but save the corner-stones that float the ship! have i not spoken well? benhadad: [shaking his head.] excellent well! most eloquent! but misty in the meaning. hazael: [with cold decision.] then let me speak, o king, in plainer words! the days of independent states are past: the tide of empire sweeps across the earth; assyria rides it with resistless power and thunders on to subjugate the world. oppose her, and we fight with destiny; submit to her demands, and we shall ride with her to victory. therefore accept the golden yoke, assyria's gift of peace. act i, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 405 naaman: [starting forward eagerly.] there is no peace beneath a conqueror's yoke! for every state that barters liberty to win imperial favour, shall be drained of her best blood, henceforth, in endless wars to make the empire greater. here's the choice, my king, we fight to keep our country free, or else we fight forevermore to help assyria bind the world as we are bound. i am a soldier, and i know the hell of war! but i will gladly ride through hell to save damascus. master, bid me ride! ten thousand chariots wait for your command; and twenty thousand horsemen strain the leash of patience till you let them go; a throng of spearmen, archers, swordsmen, like the sea chafing against a dike, roar for the onset! o master, let me launch your mighty host against the bull,—we'll bring him to his knees! [cries of "war!" from the soldiers and the people; "peace!" from the courtiers and the priests. the king rises, turning toward naaman, and seems about to speak. rezon lifts his rod.] rezon: shall not the gods decide when mortals do rimmon is master of the city's fate; 406 [act i, sc. ii the house of rimmon rezon: we read his will, by our most ancient-faith, in omens and in signs of mystery. must we not hearken to his high commands? benhadad: [sinking back on the throne, submissively.] i am the faithful son of rimmon's house. consult the oracle. but who shall read? tsarpi, the wife of naaman, who served within the temple in her maiden years, shall be the mouth-piece of the mighty god, to-day's high-priestess. bring the sacrifice! [gongs and cymbals sound: enter priests carrying an altar on which a lamb is bound. the altar is placed in the centre of the hall. tsarpi follows the priests, covered with a long transparent veil of black, sown with gold stars; ruahmah, in white, bears her train. tsarpi stands before the altar, facing it, and lifts her right hand holding a knife. ruahmah steps back, near the throne, her hands crossed on her breast, her head bowed. the priests close in around tsarpi and the altar. the knife is seen to strike downward. gongs and cymbals sound: cries of "rimmon, hear us!" the circle of priests opens, and tsarpi turns slowly to face the king.] act i, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 407 tsarpi: [monotonously.] black is the blood of the victim, rimmon is unfavourable, asratu is unfavourable; they will not war against asshur, they will make a league with the god of nineveh. evil is in store for damascus, a strong enemy will lay waste the land. therefore make peace with the bull; hearken to the voice of rimmon. [she turns again to the altar, and the priests close in around her. rezon lifts his rod toward the tower of the temple. a flash of lightning followed by thunder; smoke rises from the altar; all except naaman and ruahmah cover their faces. the circle of priests opens again, and tsarpi comes forward slowly, chanting.] chant: hear the words of rimmon! thus your maker speaketh: i, the god of thunder, riding on the whirlwind, i, the god of lightning leaping from the storm-cloud, i will smite with vengeance him who dares defy me! he who leads damascus into war with asshur, conquering or conquered, bears my curse upon him. surely shall my arrow strike his heart in secret, 408 [act i, sc. ii the house of rimmon ruahmah: burn his flesh with fever, turn his blood to poison, brand him with corruption, drive him into darkness; he shall surely perish by the doom of rimmon. [all are terrified and look toward naaman, shuddering. ruahmah alone seems not to heed the curse, but stands with her eyes fixed on naaman.] be not afraid! there is a greater god shall cover thee with his almighty wings: beneath his shield and buckler shalt thou trust. benhadad: repent, my son, thou must not brave this curse. naaman: my king, there is no curse as terrible as that which lights a bosom-fire for him who gives away his honour, to prolong a craven life whose every breath is shame! if i betray the men who follow me, the city that has put her trust in me, what king can shield me from my own deep scorn what god release me from that self-made hell? the tender mercies of assyria i know; and they are cruel as creeping tigers. give up damascus, and her streets will run rivers of innocent blood; the city's heart, that mighty, labouring heart, wounded and crushed act i, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 409 beneath the brutal hooves of the wild bull, will cry against her captain, sitting safe among the nobles, in some pleasant place. i shall be safe,-safe from the threatened wrath of unknown gods, but damned forever by the men i know, that is the curse i fear. benhadad: speak not so high, my son. must we not bow our heads before the sovereignties of heaven? the unseen rulers are divine. naaman: o king, i am unlearned in the lore of priests; yet well i know that there are hidden powers about us, working mortal weal and woe beyond the force of mortals to control. and if these powers appear in love and truth, i think they must be gods, and worship them. but if their secret will is manifest in blind decrees of sheer omnipotence, that punish where no fault is found, and smite the poor with undeserved calamity, and pierce the undefended in the dark with arrows of injustice, and foredoom the innocent to burn in endless pain, i will not call this fierce almightiness divine. though i must bear, with every man, 410 [act i, sc. ii the house of rimmon the burden of my life ordained, i'll keep my soul unterrified, and tread the path of truth and honour with a steady heart! have ye not heard, my lords? the oracle proclaims to me, to me alone, the doom of vengeance if i lead the army out. "conquered or conquering!" i grip that chance! damascus free, her foes all beaten back, the people saved from slavery, the king upheld in honour on his ancient throne,— o what's the cost of this? i'll gladly pay whatever gods there be, whatever price they ask for this one victory. give me this gilded sign of shame to carry back; i'll shake it in the face of asshur's king, and break it on his teeth. benhadad: [rising.] then go, my never-beaten captain, go! and may the powers that hear thy solemn vow forgive thy rashness for damascus' sake, prosper thy fighting, and remit thy pledge. rezon: [standing beside the altar.] the pledge, o king, this man must seal his pledge at rimmon's altar. he must take the cup of soldier-sacrament, and bind himself by thrice-performed libation to abide the fate he has invoked. act i, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 411 naaman: [slowly.] and so i will. [he comes down the steps, toward the altar, where rezon is filling the cup which tsarpi holds. ruahmah throws herself before naaman, clasping his knees.] ruahmah: [passionately and wildly.] my lord, i do beseech you, stay! there's death within that cup. it is an offering to devils. see, the wine blazes like fire, it flows like blood, it is a cursed cup, fulfilled of treachery and hate. dear master, noble master, touch it not! naaman: poor maid, thy brain is still distraught. fear not, but let me go! here, treat her tenderly! [gives her into the hands of saballidin.] can harm befall me from the wife who bears my name? i take the cup of fate from her. i greet the unknown powers; [pours libation.] i will perform my vow; [again.] i will abide my fate; [again.] i pledge my life to keep damascus free. [he drains the cup, and lets it fall.] curtain. act ii time: a week later. the fore-court of the house of rimmon. at the back the broad steps and double doors of the shrine: above them the tower of the god, its summit invisible. enter various groups of citizens, talking laughing, shouting: rakhaz, hazael, shumakim and others. first citizen: great news, glorious news, the assyrians are beaten! second citizen: naaman is returning, crowned with victory. glory to our noble captain! third citizen: no, he is killed. i had it from one of the camp-followers who saw him fall at the head of the battle. they are bringing his body to bury it with honour. o sorrowful victory! rakhaz: peace, my good fellows, you are ignorant, you have not been rightly informed, i will misinform you. the accounts of naaman's death are overdrawn. he was killed, but his life has been preserved.. one of his 412 act ii) 413 the house of rimmon wounds was mortal, but the other three were curable, and by these the physicians have saved him. shumakim: [balancing himself before rakhaz in pretended admiration.] o wonderful! most admirable logic! one mortal, and three curable, therefore he must recover as it were, by three to one. rakhaz, do you know that you are a marvelous man? rakhaz: yes, i know it, but i make no boast of my knowledge. shumakim: hazael: too modest, for in knowing this you know more than any other in damascus! [enter, from the right, saballidin in armour: from the left, tsarpi with her attendants, among whom is ruahmah.] here is saballidin, we'll question him; he was enflamed by naaman's wild words, and rode with him to battle. give us news, of your great captain! is he safe and well? when will he come? or will he come at all? [all gather around him listening eagerly.] saballidin: he comes but now, returning from the field where he hath gained a crown of deathless fame! 414 iact ii the house of rimmon three times he led the charge; three times he fell wounded, and the assyrians beat us back. yet every wound was but a spur to urge. his valour onward. in the last attack he rode before us as the crested wave that leads the flood; and lo, our enemies were broken like a dam of river-reeds. the flying king encircled by his guard was lodged like driftwood on a little hill. then naaman, who led our foremost band of whirlwind riders, hammered through the hedge of spearmen, brandishing the golden yoke. "take back this gift," he cried; and shattered it on shalmaneser's helmet. so the fight dissolved in universal rout; the king, his chariots and his horsemen fled away: our captain stood the master of the field, and saviour of damascus! now he brings, first to the king, report of this great triumph. [shouts of joy and applause.] ruahmah: [coming close to saballidin.] but what of him who won it? fares he well? my mistress would receive some word of him. saballidin: hath she not heard? act ii] 415 the house of rimmon ruahmah: but one brief message came: a letter saying, "we have fought and conquered," no word of his own person. fares he well? saballidin: alas, most ill! for he is like a man consumed by some strange sickness: wasted, wan,his eyes are dimmed so that he scarce can see; his ears are dulled; his fearless face is pale as one who walks to meet a certain doom yet will not flinch. it is most pitiful,but you shall see. ruahmah: yea, we shall see a man who dared to face the wrath of evil powers unknown, and hazard all to save his country. [enter benhadad with courtiers.] benhadad: where is my faithful servant naaman, the captain of my host? saballidin: my lord, he comes. [trumpet sounds. enter company of soldiers in armour. then four soldiers bearing captured standards of asshur. naaman follows, very pale, armour dinted and stained; he is blind, and guides himself 416 [act ii the house of rimmon by cords from the standards on each side, but walks firmly. the doors of the temple open slightly, and rezon appears at the top of the steps. naaman lets the cords fall, and gropes his way for a few paces.] naaman: [kneeling.] where is my king? master, the bearer of thy sword returns. the golden yoke thou gavest me i broke on him who sent it. asshur's bull hath fled dehorned. the standards of his host are thine! damascus is all thine, at peace, and free! benhadad: [holding out his arms.] thou art a mighty man of valour! come, and let me fold thy courage to my heart. rezon: [lifting his rod.] forbear, o king! stand back from him, all men! by the great name of rimmon i proclaim this man a leper! see, upon his brow, this little mark, the death-white seal of doom! that tiny spot will spread, eating his flesh, gnawing his fingers bone from bone, until the impious heart that dared defy the gods dissolves in the slow death which now begins. unclean! unclean! henceforward he is dead: no human hand shall touch him, and no home of men shall give him shelter. he shall walk act ii] the house of rimmon 417 only with corpses of the selfsame death down the long path to a forgotten tomb. avoid, depart, i do adjure you all, leave him to god,-the leper naaman! [all shrink back horrified. rezon retires into the temple; the crowd melts away, wailing: tsarpi is among the first to go, followed by her attendants, except ruahmah, who crouches, with her face covered, not far from naaman.] benhadad: [lingering and turning back.] alas, my son! o naaman, my son! why did i let thee go? i must obey. who can resist the gods? yet none shall take thy glorious title, captain of my host! i will provide for thee, and thou shalt dwell with guards of honour in a house of mine always. damascus never shall forget what thou hast done! o miserable words of crowned impotence! o mockery of power given to kings who cannot even defend their dearest from the secret wrath of heaven! o naaman, my son, my son! [exit.] naaman: [slowly, passing his hand over his eyes, and looking up.] am i alone with thee, inexorable one, whose pride 418 [аст_п the house of rimmon offended takes this horrible revenge? i must submit my mortal flesh to thee, almighty, but i will not call thee god! yet thou hast found the way to wound my soul most deeply through the flesh; and i must find the way to let my wounded soul escape! [drawing his sword.] come, my last friend, thou art more merciful than rimmon. why should i endure the doom he sends me? irretrievably cut off from all dear intercourse of human love, from all the tender touch of human hands, from all brave comradeship with brother-men, with eyes that see no faces through this dark, with ears that hear all voices far away, why should i cling to misery, and grope my long, long way from pain to pain, alone? ruahmah: [at his feet.] nay, not alone, dear lord, for i am here; and i will never leave thee, nor forsake thee! naaman: what voice is that? the silence of my tomb is broken by a ray of music,-whose? ruahmah: [rising.] the one who loves thee best in all the world. act ii] 419 the house of rimmon naaman: why that should be,-o dare i dream it true? tsarpi, my wife? have i misjudged thy heart as cold and proud? how nobly thou forgivest! thou com'st to hold me from the last disgrace,the coward's flight into the dark. go back unstained, my sword! life is endurable while there is one alive on earth who loves us. ruahmah: my lord, my lord,-o listen! you have erred,— you do mistake me now,-this dreamnaaman: ah, wake me not! for i can conquer death dreaming this dream. let me at last believe, though gods are cruel, a woman can be kind. grant me but this! for see,-i ask so little,— only to know that thou art faithful, that thou art near me, though i touch thee not,— o this will hold me up, though it be given from pity more than love. ruahmah: [trembling, and speaking slowly.] not so, my lord! my pity is a stream; my pride of thee is like the sea that doth engulf the stream; my love for thee is like the sovereign moon that rules the sea. the tides that fill my soul flow unto thee and follow after thee; 420 [act ii the house of rimmon and where thou goest i will go; and where thou diest i will die,—in the same hour. [she lays her hand on his arm. he draws back.] naaman: o touch me not! thou shalt not share my doom. ruahmah: entreat me not to go. i will obey in all but this; but rob me not of this,the only boon that makes life worth the living,to walk beside thee day by day, and keep thy foot from stumbling; to prepare thy food when thou art hungry, music for thy rest, and cheerful words to comfort thy black hour; and so to lead thee ever on, and on, through darkness, till we find the door of hope. naaman: what word is that? the leper has no hope. ruahmah: dear lord, the mark upon thy brow is yet no broader than my little finger-nail. thy force is not abated, and thy step is firm. wilt thou surrender to the enemy before thy strength is touched? why, let me put a drop of courage from my breast in thine! there is a hope for thee. the captive maid of israel who dwelt within thy house knew of a god very compassionate, act ii] 421 the house of rimmon long-suffering, slow to anger, one who heals the sick, hath pity on the fatherless, and saves the poor and him who has no helper. his prophet dwells nigh to samaria; and i have heard that he hath brought the dead to life again. we'll go to him. the king, if i beseech him, will appoint a guard of thine own soldiers and saballidin, thy friend, to convoy us upon our journey. he'll give us royal letters to the king of israel to make our welcome sure; and we will take the open road, beneath the open sky, to-morrow, and go on together till we find the door of hope. come, come with me! [she grasps his hand.] naaman: [drawing back.] thou must not touch me! ruahmah: [unclasping her girdle and putting the end in his hand.] take my girdle, then! naaman: [kissing the clasp of the girdle.] i do begin to think there is a god, since love on earth can work such miracles! curtain ruahmah: act iii time: a month later: dawn naaman's tent, on high ground among the mountains near samaria: the city below. in the distance, a wide and splendid landscape. saballidin and soldiers on guard below the tent. enter ruahmah in hunter's dress, with a lute slung from her shoulder. saballidin: scene i peace and good health to you, saballidin. good morrow to you all. how fares my lord? the curtains of his tent are folded still: they have not moved since we returned, last night, and told him what befell us in the city. ruahmah: told him! why did you make report to him and not to me? am i not captain here, intrusted by the king's command with care of naaman until he is restored? 'tis mine to know the first of good or ill 422 act iii, sc. i] the house of rimmon 423 in this adventure: mine to shield his heart from every arrow of adversity. what have you told him? speak! saballidin: lady, we feared to bring our news to you. for when the king of israel had read our monarch's letter, he rent his clothes, and cried, "am i a god, to kill and make alive, that i should heal a leper? ye have come with false pretence, damascus seeks a quarrel with me. go!" but when we told our lord, he closed his tent, and there remains enfolded in his grief. i trust he sleeps; 't were kind to let him sleep! for now he doth forget his misery, and all the burden of his hopeless woe is lifted from him by the gentle hand of slumber. oh, to those bereft of hope sleep is the only blessing left,-the last asylum of the weary, the one sign of pity from impenetrable heaven. waking is strife; sleep is the truce of god! ah, lady, wake him not. the day will be full long for him to suffer, and for us to turn our disappointed faces home on the long road by which we must return. 424 the house of rimmon [act iii, sc. i ruahmah: return! who gave you that command? not i! the king made me the leader of this quest, and bound you all to follow me, because he knew i never would return without the thing for which he sent us. i'll go on day after day, unto the uttermost parts of earth, if need be, and beyond the gates of morning, till i find that which i seek,new life for naaman. are ye ashamed to have a woman lead you? then go back. and tell the king, "this huntress went too far for us to follow: she pursues the trail of hope alone, refusing to forsake the quarry: we grew weary of the chase; and so we left her and retraced our steps, like faithless hounds, to sleep beside the fire." did naaman forsake his soldiers thus when you went forth to hunt the assyrian bull? your manly courage is less durable than woman's love, it seems. who bids me now farewell? soldiers: saballidin: go, go, if you will,not i, not i! lady, lead on, we'll follow you forever! act iii, sc. 1] the house of rimmon 425 ruahmah: why, now you speak like men! brought you no word out of samaria, except that cry of impotence and fear from israel's king? saballidin: i do remember while he spoke with us a rustic messenger came in, and cried "elisha saith, bring naaman to me at dothan, he shall surely know there is a god in israel." ruahmah: what said the king? saballidin: he only shouted "go!" more wildly yet, and rent his clothes again, as if he were half-maddened by a coward's fear, and thought only of how he might be rid of us. what comfort could there be for him, what hope for us, in the rude prophet's misty word? ruahmah: it is the very word for which i prayed! my trust was not in princes; for the crown, the sceptre, and the purple robe are not significant of vital power. the man who saves his brother-men is he who lives his life with nature, takes deep hold on truth, 426 the house of rimmon [act iii, sc. i and trusts in god. a prophet's word is more than all the kings on earth can speak. how far is dothan? soldier: ruahmah: along the valley southward. saballidin: lady, 'tis but three hours' ride near! so near? i had not thought to end my task so soon! prepare yourselves with speed to take the road. i will awake my lord. [exeunt all but saballidin and ruahmah. she goes toward the tent.] saballidin: ruahmah, stay! [she turns back.] i've been your servant in this doubtful quest, obedient, faithful, loyal to your will,— what have i earned by this? ruahmah: the gratitude of him we both desire to serve: your friend,— my master and my lord. no more than this? ruahmah: yes, if you will, take all the thanks my hands can hold, my lips can speak. act iii, sc. i] 427 the house of rimmon saballidin: i would have more. ruahmah: my friend, there's nothing more to give to you. my service to my lord is absolute. there's not a drop of blood within my veins but quickens at the very thought of him; and not a dream of mine but he doth stand within its heart and make it bright. no man to me is other than his friend or foe. to you. ruahmah: you are his friend, and i believe you true! saballidin: i have been true to him,-now, i am true why, then, be doubly true to him! o let us match our loyalties, and strive between us who shall win the higher crown! men boast them of a friendship stronger far than love of woman. prove it! i'll not boast, but i'll contend with you on equal terms in this brave race: and if you win the prize i'll hold you next to him: and if i win he'll hold you next to me; and either way we'll not be far apart. do you accept my challenge? 428 the house of rimmon [act iii, sc. i saballidin: yes! for you enforce my heart by honour to resign its great desire, and love itself to offer sacrifice ruahmah: of all disloyal dreams on its own altar. yet love remains; therefore i pray you, think how surely you must lose in our contention. for i am known to naaman: but you he blindly takes for tsarpi. 'tis to her he gives his gratitude: the praise you win endears her name. her name? why, what is that? a name is but an empty shell, a mask that does not change the features of the face beneath it. can a name rejoice, or weep, or hope? can it be moved by tenderness to daily services of love, or feel the warmth of dear companionship? how many things we call by names that have no meaning! kings that cannot rule; and gods that are not good; and wives that do not love! it matters not what syllables he utters when he calls, 'tis i who come,-'tis i who minister unto my lord, and mine the living heart that feels the comfort of his confidence, act iii, sc. i] the house of rimmon 429 the thrill of gladness when he speaks to me,i do not hear the name! saballidin: and yet, be sure there's danger in this error,-and no gain! ruahmah: i seek no gain: i only tread the path marked for me daily by the hand of love. and if his blindness spared my lord one pang of sorrow in his black, forsaken hour,— and if this error makes his burdened heart more quiet, and his shadowed way less dark, whom do i rob? not her who chose to stay at ease in rimmon's house! surely not him! only myself! and that enriches me. why trouble we the master? let it go,to-morrow he must know the truth,—and then he shall dispose of me e'en as he will! saballidin: to-morrow? · ruahmah: yes, for i will tarry here, while you conduct him to elisha's house to find the promised healing. i forebode a sudden danger from the craven king of israel, or else a secret ambush 430 [act iii, sc. i the house of rimmon from those who hate us in damascus. go, but leave me twenty men: this mountain-pass protects the road behind you. make my lord obey the prophet's word, whatever he commands, and come again in peace. farewell! [exit saballidin. ruahmah goes toward the tent, then pauses and turns back. she takes her lute and sings.] song above the edge of dark appear the lances of the sun; along the mountain-ridges clear his rosy heralds run; the vapours down the valley go like broken armies, dark and low. look up, my heart, from every hill in folds of rose and daffodil the sunrise banners flow. o fly away on silent wing, ye boding owls of night! o welcome little birds that sing the coming-in of light! for new, and new, and ever-new, the golden bud within the blue; and every morning seems to say: "there's something happy on the way, "and god sends love to you!" act iii, sc. i] the house of rimmon 431 naaman: [appearing at the entrance of his tent.] o let me ever wake to music! for the soul returns most gently then, and finds its way by the soft, winding clue of melody, out of the dusky labyrinth of sleep, into the light. my body feels the sun though i behold naught that his rays reveal. come, thou who art my daydawn and my sight, sweet eyes, come close, and make the sunrise mine! ruahmah: [coming near.] a fairer day, dear lord, was never born in paradise! the sapphire cup of heaven is filled with golden wine: the earth, adorned with jewel-drops of dew, unveils her face a joyful bride, in welcome to her king. and look! he leaps upon the eastern hills all ruddy fire, and claims her with a kiss. yonder the snowy peaks of hermon float unmoving as a wind-dropt cloud. the gulf of jordan, filled with violet haze, conceals the river's winding trail with wreaths of mist. below us, marble-crowned samaria thrones upon her emerald hill amid the vale of barley, while the plains to northward change 'their colour like the shimmering necks of doves. the lark springs up, with morning on her wings, 432 [act iii, sc. j the house of rimmon to climb her singing stairway in the blue, and all the fields are sprinkled with her joy! naaman: thy voice is magical: thy words are visions! i must content myself with them, for now my only hope is lost: samaria's king rejects our monarch's message,-hast thou heard? "am i a god that i should cure a leper?" he sends me home unhealed, with angry words, back to damascus and the lingering death. ruahmah: what matter where he sends? no god is he to slay or make alive. elisha bids you come to him at dothan, there to learn there is a god in israel. naaman: i fear that i am grown mistrustful of all gods; their secret counsels are implacable. ruahmah: ruahmah: fear not! there's one who rules in righteousness high over all. naaman: what knowest thou of him? oh, i have heard,-the maid of israel,rememberest thou? she often said her god act iii, sc. i] the house of rimmon 433 was merciful and kind, and slow to wrath, and plenteous in forgiveness, pitying us like as a father pitieth his children. naaman: if there were such a god, i'd worship him forever! ruahmah: then make haste to hear the word his prophet promises to speak to thee! obey it, my dear lord, and thou shalt find healing and peace. the light shall fill thine eyes. thou wilt not need my leading any more,— nor me, for thou wilt see me, all unveiled,i tremble at the thought. naaman: ➖➖➖ why, what is this? why shouldst thou tremble? art thou not mine own? ruahmah: [turning to him and speaking in broken words.] i am, thy handmaid,-all and only thine,the very pulses of my heart are thine! feel how they throb to comfort thee to-dayto-day! because it is thy time of trouble. [she takes his hand and puts it to her forehead and her lips, but before she can lay it upon her heart, he draws away from her.] 434 the house of rimmon [act iii, sc. i naaman: thou art too dear to injure with a kiss,how should i take a gift may bankrupt thee, or drain the fragrant chalice of thy love with lips that may be fatal? tempt me not to sweet dishonour; strengthen me to wait until thy prophecy is all fulfilled, and i can claim thee with a joyful heart. ruahmah: [turning away.] thou wilt not need me then,-and i shall be no more than the faint echo of a song heard half asleep. we shall go back to where we stood before this journey. naaman: never again! for thou art changed by some deep miracle. the flower of womanhood hath bloomed in thee,art thou not changed? ruahmah: yea, i am changed,—and changed again, bewildered,-till there's nothing clear to me but this: i am the instrument in an almighty hand to rescue thee from death. this will i do,-and afterward[a trumpet is blown without.] hearken, the trumpet sounds, the chariot waits. away, dear lord, follow the road to light! act iii, sc. .1] the house of rimmon 435 scene ii* the house of elisha, upon a terraced hillside. a low stone cottage with vine-trellises and flowers; a flight of steps, at the foot of which is naaman's chariot. he is standing in it; saballidin beside it. two soldiers come down the steps. first soldier: we have delivered my lord's greeting and his message. second soldier: yes, and near lost our noses in the doing of it! for the servant slammed the door in our faces. a most unmannerly reception! first soldier: but i take that as a good omen. it is a mark of holy men to keep ill-conditioned servants. look, the door opens, the prophet is coming. second soldier: no, by my head, it is that notable mark of his master's holiness, that same lantern-jawed lout of a servant. [gehazi loiters down the steps and comes to naaman with a slight obeisance.] *note that this scene is not intended to be put upon the stage, the effect of the action upon the drama being given at the beginning of act iv. 436 the house of rimmon [act iii, sc. i gehazi: my master, the prophet of israel, sends word to naaman the syrian, are you he?-"go wash in jordan seven times and be healed." [gehazi turns and goes slowly up the steps.] naaman: what insolence is this? am i a man to be put off with surly messengers? has not damascus rivers more renowned than this rude muddy jordan? crystal streams, abana! pharpar! flowing smoothly through a paradise of roses? might i not have bathed in them and been restored at ease? come up, saballidin, and guide me home! saballidin: bethink thee, master, shall we lose our quest because a servant uncouth? the road that seeks the mountain leads us through the vale. the prophet's word is friendly after all; for had it been some mighty task he set, thou wouldst perform it. how much rather then this easy one? hast thou not promised her who waits for thy return? wilt thou go back to her unhealed? naaman: no! not for all my pride! i'll make myself most humble for her sake, act iii, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 437 and stoop to anything that gives me hope of having her. make haste, saballidin, bring me to jordan. i will cast myself into that river's turbulent embrace a hundred times, until i save my life or lose it! [exeunt. the light fades: musical interlude. the light increases again with ruddy sunset shining on the door of elisha's house. the prophet appears and looks off, shading his eyes with his hand as he descends the steps. trumpet blows,-naaman's call;-sound of horses galloping and men shouting. naaman enters joyously, followed by saballidin and soldiers, with gifts.] naaman: behold a man delivered from the grave by thee! i rose from jordan's waves restored to youth and vigour, as the eagle mounts upon the sunbeam and renews his strength! o mighty prophet deign to take from me these gifts too poor to speak my gratitude; silver and gold and jewels, damask robes,elisha: [interrupting.] as thy soul liveth i will not eceive a gift from thee, my son! give all to him whose mercy hath redeemed thee from thy plague. 438 the house of rimmon [act ii, sc. п naaman: he is the only god! i worship him! grant me a portion of the blessed soil of this most favoured land where i have found his mercy; in damascus will i build an altar to his name, and praise him there morning and night. there is no other god in all the world. elisha: thou needst not this load of earth to build a shrine for him; yet take it if thou wilt. but be assured god's altar is in every loyal heart, and every flame of love that kindles there ascends to him and brightens with his praise. there is no other god! but evil powers make war against him in the darkened world; and many temples have been built to them. naaman: i know them well! yet when my master goes to worship in the house of rimmon, i must enter with him; for he trusts me, leans upon my hand; and when he bows himself i cannot help but make obeisance too,— but not to rimmon! to my country's king i'll bow in love and honour. will the lord pardon thy servant in this thing? act iii, sc. ii] the house of rimmon elisha: my son, peace has been granted thee. 'tis thine to find the only way to keep it. go in peace. naaman: thou hast not answered me, may i bow down? elisha: the answer must be thine. the heart that knows the perfect peace of gratitude and love, walks in the light and needs no other rule. when next thou comest into rimmon's house, thy heart will tell thee how to go in peace. curtain 439 act iv scene i the interior of naaman's tent, at night. ruahmah alone, sleeping on the ground. a vision appears to her through the curtains of the tent: elisha standing on the hillside at dothan: naaman, restored to sight, comes in and kneels before him. elisha blesses him, and he goes out rejoicing. the vision of the prophet turns to ruahmah and lifts his hand in warning. elisha: daughter of israel, what dost thou here? thy prayer is granted. naaman is healed: mar not true service with a selfish thought. nothing remains for thee to do, except give thanks, and go whither the lord commands. obey, obey! ere naaman returns thou must depart to thine own house in shechem. [the vision vanishes.] ruahmah: [waking and rising slowly.] a dream, a dream, a messenger of god! o dear and dreadful vision, art thou true? then am i glad with all my broken heart. 440 act iv, sc. 1] 441 the house of rimmon nothing remains,-nothing remains but this,give thanks, obey, depart,—and so i do. farewell, my master's sword! farewell to you, my amulet! i lay you on the hilt his hand shall clasp again: bid him farewell for me, since i must look upon his face no more for ever!-hark, what sound was that? [enter soldier hurriedly.] soldier: mistress, an arméd troop, footmen and horse, mounting the hill! ruahmah: my lord returns in triumph. soldier: not so, for these are enemies; they march in haste and silence, answering not our cries. ruahmah: our enemies? then hold your ground,-on guard! fight! fight! defend the pass, and drive them down. [exit soldier. ruahmah draws naaman's sword from the scabbard and hurries out of the tent. confused noise of fighting outside. three or four soldiers are driven in by a troop of men in disguise. ruahmah follows: she is beaten to her knees, and her sword is broken.] 442 the house of rimmon [act iv, sc. i rezon: [throwing aside the cloth which covers his face.] hold her! so, tiger-maid, we've found your lair and trapped you. where is naaman, your master? ruahmah: [rising, her arms held by two of rezon's followers.] he is far beyond your reach. rezon: brave captain! he has saved himself, the leper, and left you here? ruahmah: rezon: what mean you? ruahmah: rezon: the leper is no more. he has gone to meet his god. dead? dead? behold how rimmon's wrath is swift' damascus shall be mine; i'll terrify the king with this, and make my terms. but no! false maid, you sweet-faced harlot, you have lied to save him,-speak. ruahmah: i am not what you say, nor have i lied, nor will i ever speak a word to you, vile servant of a traitor-god. act iv, sc. i] the house of rimmon 443 rezon: break off this little flute of blasphemy, this ivory neck,-twist it, i say! give her a swift despatch after her leper! but stay, if he still lives he'll follow her, and so we may ensnare him. harm her not! bind her! away with her to rimmon's house! is all this carrion dead? there's one that moves,— a spear,-fasten him down! all quiet now? then back to our damascus! rimmon's face shall be made bright with sacrifice. [exeunt, forcing ruahmah with them. musical interlude. a wounded soldier crawls from a dark corner of the tent and finds the chain with naaman's seal, which has fallen to the ground in the struggle.] wounded soldier: the signet of my lord, her amulet! lost, lost! ah, noble lady,-let me die with this upon my breast. [the tent is dark. enter naaman and his company in haste, with torches.] naaman: what bloody work is here? god, let me live to punish him who wrought this horror! treacherously slain at night, by unknown hands, my brave companions: 444 [act iv, sc. i the house of rimmon tsarpi, my best beloved, light of my soul, put out in darkness! o my broken lamp of life, where art thou? nay, i cannot find her. wounded soldier: [raising himself on his arm.] master! naaman: [kneels beside him.] one living? quick, a torch this way! lift up his head, so,-carefully! courage, my friend, your captain is beside you. call back your soul and make report to him. wounded soldier: hail, captain! o my captain,-here! naaman: be patient, rest in peace,-the fight is done. nothing remains but render your account. wounded soldier: they fell upon us suddenly, we fought our fiercest, every man, our lady fought fiercer than all. they beat us down,-she's gone. rezon has carried her away a captive. see,her amulet, i die for you, my captain. naaman: [he gently lays the dead soldier on the ground, and rises.] farewell. this last report was brave; but strange beyond my thought! how came the high priest here? and what is this? my chain, my seal! but this act iv, sc. i] the house of rimmon 445 has never been in tsarpi's hand. i gave this signet to a captive maid one night,a maid of israel. how long ago? ruahmah was her name,-almost forgotten! so long ago, how comes this token here? what is this mystery, saballidin? saballidin: ruahmah is her name who brought you hither. naaman: where then is tsarpi? saballidin: in damascus. she left you when the curse of rimmon fell,took refuge in his house,-and there she waits her lord's return,-rezon's return. naaman: 'tis false! saballidin: the falsehood is in her. she hath been friend with rezon in his priestly plot to win assyria's favour,-friend to his design to sell his country to enrich his temple,and friend to him in more,-i will not name it. naaman: nor will i credit it. impossible! 446 [act iv, sc. 1 the house of rimmon saballidin: did she not plead with you against the war, counsel surrender, seek to break your will? naaman: she did not love my work, a soldier's task. she never seemed to be at one with me until i was a leper. saballidin: naaman: did you receive the sacred cup? saballidin: from whose hand from hers. and from that hour the curse began to work. naaman: but did she not have pity when she saw me smitten? did she not beseech the king for letters and a guard to make this journey? has she not been the fountain of my hope, my comforter and my most faithful guide in this adventure of the dark? all this is proof of perfect love that would have shared a leper's doom rather than give me up. can i doubt her who dared to love like this? saballidin: o master, doubt her not,—but know her name; ruahmah! it was she alone who wrought act iv, sc. i] the house of rimmon 447 this wondrous work of love. she won the king to furnish forth this company. she led our march, kept us in heart, fought off despair, watched over you as if you were her child, prepared your food, your cup, with her own hands, sang you asleep at night, awake at dawn,naaman: [interrupting.] enough! i do remember every hour of that sweet comradeship! and now her voice wakens the echoes in my lonely breast. shall i not see her, thank her, speak her name? ruahmah! let me live till i have looked into her eyes and called her my ruahmah! [to his soldiers.] away! away! i burn to take the road that leads me back to rimmon's house,— but not to bow,-by god, never to bow! 448 the house of rimmon [act iv, sc. i scene ii time: three days later inner court of the house of rimmon; a temple with huge pillars at each side. in the right foreground the seat of the king; al the left, of equal height, the seat of the high priest. in the background a broad flight of steps, rising to a curtain of cloudy gray, embroidered with two gigantic hands holding thunderbolts. the temple is in half darkness at first. enter khamma and nubta, robed as kharimati, or religious dancers, in gowns of black gauze with yellow embroideries and mantles. khamma: all is ready for the rites of worship; our lady will play a great part in them. she has put on her tyrian robes, and all her ornaments. nubta: that is a sure sign of a religious purpose. she is most devout, our lady tsarpi! khamma: a favourite of rimmon, too! the high priest has assured her of it. he is a great man,-next to the king, now that naaman is gone. nubta: but if naaman should come back, healed of the leprosy? act iv, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 449 khamma: how can he come back? the hebrew slave that went away with him, when they caught her, said that he was dead. the high priest has shut her up in the prison of the temple, accusing her of her master's death. nubta: yet i think he does not believe it, for i heard him telling our mistress what to do if naaman should return. khamma: what, then? nubta: she will claim him as her husband. was she not wedded to him before the god? that is a sacred bond. only the high priest can loose it. she will keep her hold on naaman for the sake of the house of rimmon. a wife knows her husband's secrets, she can tell[enter shumakim, with his flagon, walking unsteadily.] khamma: hush! here comes the fool shumakim. he is never sober. shumakim: [laughing.] are there two of you? i see two, but that is no proof. i think there is only one, but beautiful enough for two. what were you talking to yourself about, fairest one! khamma: about the lady tsarpi, fool, and what she would do if her husband returned. 450 the house of rimmon [act iv, sc. ii shumakim: fie! fie! that is no talk for an innocent fool to hear. has she a husband? nubta: you know very well that she is the wife of lord naaman. shumakim: i remember that she used to wear his name and his jewels. but i thought he had exchanged her, for a leprosy. khamma: you must have heard that he went away to samaria to look for healing. some say that he died on the journey; but others say he has been cured, and is on his way home to his wife. shumakim: it may be, for this is a mad world, and men never know when they are well off, except us fools. but he must come soon if he would find his wife as he parted from her, or the city where he left it. the assyrians have returned with a greater army, and this time they will make an end of us. there is no naaman now, and the bull will devour damascus like a bunch of leeks, flowers and all, flowers and all, my double-budded fair one! are you not afraid? nubta: we belong to the house of rimmon. he will protect us. act iv, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 451 shumakim: what? the mighty one who hides behind the curtain there, and tells his secrets to rezon? no doubt he will take care of you, and of himself. whatever game is played, the gods never lose. but for the protection of the common people and the rest of us fools, i would rather have naaman at the head of an army than all the sacred images between here and babylon. khamma: you are a wicked old man. punish you. shumakim: [bitterly.] you mock the god. he will how can he punish me? has he not already made me a fool? hark, here comes my brother the high priest, and my brother the king. rimmon made us all; but nobody knows who made rimmon, except the high priest; and he will never tell. gongs and cymbals sound. enter rezon with priests, and the king with courtiers. they take their seats. a throng of khali and kharimati come in, tsarpi presiding; a sacred dance is performed with torches, burning incense, and chanting, in which tsarpi leads.] chant hail, mighty rimmon, ruler of the whirl-storm, hail, shaker of mountains, breaker-down of forests, 452 the house of rimmon [act iv, sc. ii hail, thou who roarest terribly in the darkness, hail, thou whose arrows flame across the heavens! hail, great destroyer, lord of flood and tempest, in thine anger almighty, in thy wrath eternal, thou who delightest in ruin, maker of desolations, immeru, addu, barku, rimmon! see we tremble before thee, low we bow at thine altar, have mercy upon us, be favourable unto us, save us from our enemy, accept our sacrifice, barku, immeru, addu, rimmon! [silence follows, all bowing down.] rezon: o king, last night the counsel from above was given in answer to our divination. ambassadors must go forthwith to crave assyria's pardon, and a second offer of the same terms of peace we did reject not long ago. benhadad: dishonour! no other way! assyria will refuse, or make still harder terms. disaster, shame for this gray head, and ruin for damascus! rezon: yet i see yet may we trust rimmon will favour us, if we adhere devoutly to his worship. act iv, sc. .] the house of rimmon 453 he will incline his brother-god, the bull, to spare us, if we supplicate him now with costly gifts. therefore i have prepared a sacrifice: rimmon shall be well pleased with the red blood that bathes his knees to-night! benhadad: my mind is dark with doubt,—i do forebode some horror! let me go,-i am an old man,— if naaman my captain were alive! but he is dead, the glory is departed! [he rises, trembling, to leave the throne. trumpet sounds,-naaman's call;-enter naaman, followed by soldiers; he kneels at the foot of the throne.] benhadad: [half-whispering.] art thou a ghost escaped from allatu? how didst thou pass the seven doors of death? o noble ghost i am afraid of thee, and yet i love thee,-let me hear thy voice! naaman: no ghost, my king, but one who lives to serve thee and damascus with his heart and sword as in the former days. the only god has healed my leprosy: my life is clean to offer to my country and my king. benhadad: [starting toward him.] o welcome to thy king! thrice welcome! 454 the house of rimmon [act iv, sc. ii rezon: [leaving his seat and coming toward naaman.] stay! the leper must appear before the priest, the only one who can pronounce him clean. [naaman turns; they stand looking each other in the face.] yea, thou art cleansed: rimmon hath pardoned thee,in answer to the daily prayers of her whom he restores to thine embrace,-thy wife. [tsarpi comes slowly toward naaman.] naaman: from him who rules this house will i receive nothing! i seek no pardon from his priest, no wife of mine among his votaries! tsarpi: [holding out her hands.] am i not yours? will you renounce our vows? naaman: the vows were empty,-never made you mine in aught but name. a wife is one who shares her husband's thought, incorporates his heart with hers by love, and crowns him with her trust. she is god's remedy for loneliness, and god's reward for all the toil of life. this you have never been to me,--and so i give you back again to rimmon's house where you belong. claim what you will of mine,— act iv, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 455 not me! i do renounce you, or release you,— according to the law. if you demand a further cause than what i have declared, i will unfold it fully to the king. rezon: [interposing hurriedly.] no need of that! this duteous lady yields to your caprice as she has ever done: she stands a monument of loyalty and woman's meekness. naaman: let her stand for that! adorn your temple with her piety! but you in turn restore to me the treasure you stole at midnight from my tent. rezon: what treasure! i have stolen none from you. naaman: the very jewel of my soul,-ruahmah! my king, the captive maid of israel, to whom thou didst commit my broken life with letters to samaria,―my light, my guide, my saviour in this pilgrimage,— dost thou remember? benhadad: i recall the maid,but dimly, for my mind is old and weary. she was a fearless maid, i trusted her and gave thee to her charge. where is she now? 456 the house of rimmon [act iv, sc. ii naaman: this robber fell upon my camp by night,while i was with elisha at the jordan,slaughtered my soldiers, carried off the maid, and holds her somewhere in imprisonment. o give this jewel back to me, my king, and i will serve thee with a grateful heart for ever. i will fight for thee, and lead thine armies on to glorious victory over all foes! thou shalt no longer fear the host of asshur, for thy throne shall stand encompassed with a wall of dauntless hearts, and founded on a mighty people's love, and guarded by the god of righteousness. benhadad: i feel the flame of courage at thy breath leap up among the ashes of despair. thou hast returned to save us! thou shalt have the maid; and thou shalt lead my host again! priest, i command you give her back to him. rezon: o master, i obey thy word as thou hast ever been obedient to the voice of rimmon. let thy fiery captain wait until the sacrifice has been performed, and he shall have the jewel that he claims. must we not first placate the city's god act iv, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 457 with due allegiance, keep the ancient faith, and pay our homage to the lord of wrath? benhadad: [sinking back upon his throne in fear.] i am the faithful son of rimmon's house,and lo, these many years i worship him! my thoughts are troubled,—i am very old, but still a king! o naaman, be patient! priest, let the sacrifice be offered. rezon: [the high priest lifts his rod. gongs and cymbals sound. the curtain is rolled back, disclosing the image of rimmon; a gigantic and hideous idol, with a cruel human face, four horns, the mane of a lion, and huge paws stretched in front of him enclosing a low altar of black stone. ruahmah stands on the altar, chained, her arms are bare and folded on her breast. the people prostrate themselves in silence, with signs of astonishment and horror.] behold the sacrifice! bow down, bow down! naaman: [stabbing him.] bow thou, black priest! down, down to hell! ruahmah! do not die! i come to thee. [naaman rushes toward her, attacked by the priests, crying "sacrilege! kill him!" but the soldiers stand on the steps and beat them back. he springs upon the altar and clasps her by the hand. tumult 458 the house of rimmon [act iv, sc. ii and confusion. the king rises and speaks with a loud voice, silence follows.] benhadad: peace, peace! the king commands all weapons down! o naaman, what wouldst thou do? beware lest thou provoke the anger of a god. naaman: there is no god but one, the merciful, who gave this perfect woman to my soul that i might learn through her to worship him, and know the meaning of immortal love. benhadad: [agitated.] yet she is consecrated, bound, and doomed to sacrificial death; but thou art sworn to live and lead my host,-hast thou not sworn? naaman: only if thou wilt keep thy word to me! break with this idol of iniquity whose shadow makes a darkness in the land; give her to me who gave me back to thee; and i will lead thine army to renown and plant thy banners on the hill of triumph. but if she dies, i die with her, defying rimmon. [cries of "spare them! release her! give us back our captain!" and "sacrilege! let them die!" then silence, all turning toward the king.] act iv, sc. ii] the house of rimmon 459 benhadad: is this the choice? must we destroy the bond of ancient faith, or slay the city's living hope! i am an old, old man,-and yet the king! must i decide?-o let me ponder it! [his head sinks upon his breast. all stand eagerly looking at him.] naaman: ruahmah, my ruahmah! i have come to thee at last! and art thou satisfied? ruahmah: [looking into his face.] belovéd, my belovéd, i am glad of all, and glad for ever, come what may. nothing can harm me,-since my lord is come! finis k index of first lines 1 · 1 index of first lines a fir-tree standeth lonely a flawless cup: how delicate and fine a little fir grew in the midst of the wood a little while the rose a silent world,—yet full of vital joy a silken curtain veils the skies a tear that trembles for a little while a wreath of poppy flowers. across a thousand miles of sea, a hundred leagues of land afterthought of summer's bloom! ah, who will tell me, in these leaden days all day long in the city's canyon-street all night long, by a distant bell. all the trees are sleeping, all the winds are still, although you eat me to the root. at dawn in silence moves the mighty stream at sunset, when the rosy light was dying. blessed is the man that beholdeth the face of a friend in a far country. children of the elemental mother come, give me back my life again, you heavy-handed death! could every time-worn heart but see thee once again count not the cost of honour to the dead! daughter of psyche, pledge of that wild night dear aldrich, now november's mellow days dear to my heart are the ancestral dwellings of america dear tranquil habit, with her silent hands do you remember, father,does the snow fall at sea? • deep in the heart of the forest the lily of yorrow is growing "do you give thanks for this?-or that?" no, god be thanked • • . · • page 299 351 131 354 82 42 23 290 278 43 34 191 325 318 356 46 29 363 152 102 330 164 231 223 141 291 53 315 io 45 463 464 index of first lines fair roslin chapel, how divine flowers rejoice when night is done for that thy face is fair i love thee not four things a man must learn to do from the misty shores of midnight, touched with splendours of the moon furl your sail, my little boatie • glory of architect, glory of painter, and sculptor, and bard great nature had a million words hear a word that jesus spake heart of france for a hundred years her eyes are like the evening air hours fly.. how blind the toil that burrows like the mole · how long is the night, brother how long the echoes love to play how wonderful are the cities that man hath builded i count that friendship little worth i envy every flower that blows i love the hour that comes, with dusky hair i love thine inland seas i put my heart to school i read within a poet's book i think of thee when golden sunbeams glimmer • • · i will sing of the bounty of the big trees i would not even ask my heart to say if all the skies were sunshine if i have erred in showing all my heart if on the closed curtain of my sight in a great land, a new land, a land full of labour and riches and confusion in mirth he mocks the other birds at noon in robes of tyrian blue the king was drest in warlike pomp, with banners flowing into the dust of the making of man it pleased the lord of angels (praise his name!) it's little i can tell · · • · page 49 24 263 360 214 307 246 249 67 216 277 341 213 276 27 367 314 271 48 140 31 261 298 369 139 30 284 264 219 351 125 40 169 106 265 index of first lines 465 "joy is a duty,"-so with golden lore joyful, joyful, we adore thee just to give up, and trust knight-errant of the never-ending quest let me but do my work from day to day let me but feel thy look's embrace. let me but live my life from year to year let me but love my love without disguise life is an arrow-therefore you must know. like a long arrow through the dark the train is darting. limber-limbed, lazy god, stretched on the rock long ago apollo called to aristæus, youngest of the shepherds long had i loved this "attic shape," the brede · · long, long ago i heard a little song long, long, long the trail lord jesus, thou hast known lover of beauty, walking on the height • man the maker of cities is also a builder of altars march on, my soul, nor like a laggard stay! mine enemies have prevailed against me, o god: mother of all the high-strung poets and singers departed not to the swift, the race now in the oak the sap of life is welling o garden isle, beloved by sun and sea o mighty river! strong, eternal will o morning star, farewell! . . o who will walk a mile with me o wonderful! how liquid clear o youngest of the giant brood oh, quick to feel the lightest touch. oh, was i born too soon, my dear, or were you born too late. oh, what do you know of the song, my dear oh, why are you shining so bright, big sun often i dream your big blue eyes on the old, old bridge, with its crumbling stones · · : page 357 332 329 212 256 268 258 257 359 272 351 iii 349 323 50 309 207 372 331 371 205 259 38 161 360 355 255 21 157 225 267 248 279 289 292 466 index of first lines once, only once, i saw it clear,— one sail in sight upon the lonely sea only a little shrivelled seed our silent eyes alone interpreted remember, when the timid light saints are god's flowers, fragrant souls self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul. seven pupils, in the class . . soul of a soldier in a poet's frame stand back, ye messengers of mercy! stand sweet in summer, cups of snow · the british bard who looked on eton's walls the cornerstone in truth is laid the cradle i have made for thee the fire of love was burning, yet so low the grief that is but feigning the land was broken in despair the lizard rested on the rock while i sat among the ruins .. · the lord is my teacher the melancholy gift aurora gained the moonbeams over arno's vale in silver flood were pouring the mountains that inclose the vale the nymphs a shepherd took the other night i had a dream, most clear the record of a faith sublime the river of dreams runs quietly down the rivers of god are full of water the roar of the city is low the shadow by my finger cast the time will come when i no more can play the ways of the world are full of haste and turmoil the worlds in which we live at heart are one there are many kinds of love, as many kinds of light there are songs for the morning and songs for the night there is a bird i know so well there's no one here; the garden is asleep this is the soldier brave enough to tell • • • • • • page 280 144 316 293 286 311 358 356 228 159 355 183 343 288 317 352 162 376 378 211 22 260 353 119 215 300 374 154 345 250 377 357 359 25 13 383 166 index of first lines 467 this is the thanksgiving of the weary this is the window's message · • thou hast taken me into thy tent of the world, o god thou who hast made thy dwelling fair • • "through many a land your journey ran 'tis fine to see the old world, and travel up and down to thee, plain hero of a rugged race 'twas far away and long ago two dwellings, peace, are thine. two hundred years of blessing i record "two things," the wise man said, "fill me with awe waking from tender sleep we knew you well, dear yorick of the west we met on nature's stage · well, you will triumph, dear and noble friend! what shall i give for thee what time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night when down the stair at morning when first upon my brow i felt your kiss when may bedecks the naked trees when the frosty kiss of autumn in the dark when to the garden of untroubled thought when tulips bloom in union square where's your kingdom, little king? white death had laid his pall upon the plain who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul who watched the worn-out winter die? with eager heart and will on fire with memories old and wishes new with two bright eyes, my star, my love wordsworth, thy music like a river rolls yes, it was like you to forget you only promised me a single hour yours is a garden of old-fashioned flowers • · · • • · page 365 342 379 55 273 167 165 266 334 344 348 322 347 350 296 328 6 269 295 19 320 262 3 15 47 358 32 327 346 354 210 274 285 227 1 3 2044 038 429 66 gland's van dyke, henry. the poems of henry van dyke. y91 v248po 1913 301 cihm microfiche series (l\/lonographs) ici\/ih collection de microfiches (monographies) in canadian inatituta for hiitorical microrairoductiona / institut canadian da microraproductiona historiquaa 1996 t technical and bibliographic notes / notes technique et bibliographiques the institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. features of this copy which may be blbliographically unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly chcnge the usual method of filming are checked below. 0' d d d d coloured covers / couverture de couleur j i covers damaged / ' — ' couverture endommagee i i covers restored and/or laminated / ' — ' couverture restaur^e et/ou pellicutee i i cover title missing / le titre de couverture manque i i coloured maps / cartes geographiques en couleur j a coloured ink {i.e. other than blue or black) / — encre de couleur {i.e. autre que 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la darnitra paga qui comporta una taiia amprainta. un daa symbolaa suivants apparaitra sur la darnlara imaga da ehaqua microficha, salon la cas: la symbols ^» signifia "a suivre", la symbols v signifia "fin". las cartas, planchas, tsblaaux, ate, pauvant ixr» filmto t das taux da r4duction diffsrants. lorsqua la documant ast trop grand pour itrs raproduit an un saul clicha, il ast fllms a partir da i'angia supiriaur gaucha, da gaucha i droiia, r: da haut an baa, an pranant la nombra ■1 magaa nteassaira. las diagrammas suivants iliustrant la mithoda. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 mictocofy >bolution tbt cha«t (ansi ond iso test chart no. 2) ^ applied iivmge in ^^ 1653 eost moin street sr^ rochester. ntw yorti 14609 j5a ■^sz (^'6) *fi2 0300 phone ^s (7'6) 28b 5989 fo. i the hermit and the wild woman and other s. dries thk hkkmir am) thk wild woman and other storiks hv f.dith \h.\ l{|()\ tohointu \lr!,k()li ,v \l,l,i;\. i'l i,iisiif.i:s mcmviil ropvhiqht, 1908, hy rmni.kfi srrinnitr's sons rublishril .september, iwh tablk or contknts tlie hermit and the if'ild woman thf laiit a.sxet ii 43 in trust ui 97 the pretext tv 189 the verdict 177 the pot-boller vi 195 tlie best man vii 241 the hermit and the wild woman ■i' 1 the hermit and the wild woman i the hermit lived in a cave in the hollow of a hill. below him was a glen, with a stream in a coppice of oaks anil nwcrs, and across the valley, half a day's journey distant, a.iother hill, steep and bristling, raised against the sky a little walled town with ghibelline swallow-tails. when the hermit was a lad, and lived in the town, the crenellations of the walls had been square-topi)ed, and a guelf lord had flown his standard from the keep. then one day a steel-coloured line of men-at-arms rode across the valley, wound up the hill and battered in the gates. stones and greek fire rained from the ramparts, shields clashed in the streets, blade sprang at blade in passages and stairways, pikes and lances dripped above huddled flesh, and all the still familiar place was a stew of dying bodies. the boy fled from it in horror. he had seen his father go forth and not come back, his mother drop dead from an arquebuse shot as she leaned from the platform of the tower, his little sister fall with a slit throat across the altar steps of the chajkl— and he ran, ran for his life, [3] i ! ' ! i i 1 the hermit through the slippery streets, over warm twitching bodlet, between legs of soldiers carousing, out of the gates, past burning farms, trampled wheat-fields, orchards stripped and broken, till the still woods received him and he fell face down on the unmutilated earth. lie had no wish to go back. his longing was to live hid den from life. up the hillside he found a hollow rock, and built before it a porch of boughs bound with withies. he fed on nuts and roots, and on trout caught with his hands under the stones in the stream. he had always been a quiet boy, liking to sit at his mother's feet and watch the flowers grow under her needle, while the chaplain read the histories of the desert fathers from a great silver-clasped volume. he would rather have been bred a clerk and scholar than a knight's son, and his happiest moments were when he ser\'ed mass for the chaplain in the early morning, and felt his heart flutter up and up like a lark, up and up till it was lost in infinite space and brightness. almost as happy were the hours when he sat beside the foreign painter who came over the mountains to paint the chapel, and under whose brush celestial faces grew out of the wall as if he had sown some magic seed which flowered while you watched it. with the appearing of every gold-rimmed face the boy felt he had won another friend, a friend who wouw come and bend above him at night, keeping the ugly visions from his pillow — visions of the gnawing monsten, about the church porch, evil-faced bats and dragons, giant worms and winged i*] and the wild woman bristling hoga, a devil'!) 6ock who crept down from the ■tone-work at night and hunted the kouih of sinful children through the town. with the growth of the picture the bright mailed angels thronged so ^lose about the boy's bed that between their interwoven wings not a snout or a claw could force itself; and he would turn over sighing on his pillow, which felt as soft and warm as if it had been lined with dovn from those sheltering pinions. all these thoughts came back to him in his cave on the cliff-side. the stillness seemed to enclose him with wings, to fold him away from life and evil. he was never restless or discontented. he loved the long sile'>t empty days, each one as uke the other as pearh in a well-matched string. above all he liked to have time to save his soul. he had been greatly troubled about his soul since a band of flagellants had passed through the town, showing their gaunt scourged bodies and exhorting the people to turn from soft raiment and delicate fare, from marriage and money-getting and dancing and games, and think only how they might escape the devil's talons and the great red blaze of hell. for days that red blaze hung on the edge of the boy's thoughts like the light of a burning city across a plain. there seemed to be so many pitfalls to avoid — so many things were wicked which one might have supposed to be harmless. how could a child of his age tell ? he dared not for a moment think of anything else. and the scene of sack and slaughter from which he had fled gave shape and [5] t i hi the hermit distinctness to that liicxkl-red vision. ilcll win like tlint.only a million million times worse. now he knew how flesh looked when dcvil'-s pincers tore it, how the shrieks of the damned soimdei', and how ronsting bodies sniellcd. how could a christian sfiare one moment of his days and nighti from the long long stniggle to keep safe from the wroth to come? gradually the horror faded, leaving only a tranquil pleasure in the minute performanrc of his reli);ious duties. his mind was not naturally given to the oontemplation of evil, and in the blessed solitude of his new life his thoughts dwelt more and more on the beauty of holiness. his desire was to be perfectly good, and to live in love and charity with his fellows; and how could one do this without flee ing from them? ■-', first his life was difficult, for in winter he was put to great straits to feed himself; and there were nights when the sky was like an iron vault, and a hoarse wind rattled the oak-wood in the valley, and a fear came on him that was worse than any cold. but in time it became known to his townsfolk and to the peasants in the neighbouring val leys that he had withdrawn to the wilderness to lead a godly life; and after that his worst hardships were over, for pious persons brought him gift.s of oil and dried fniit, one good woman gave him seeds from her ganlen, another spun for him a hodden gown, and others would have brought him all manner of food and clothing, had he not refused to ac [6] and the wild woman ccpt nnythiiif; hut for his hnre newlii. the womnn who ha(l given him tho mvth showed him iilso how to build a httle garden on the noiithem ledge of his elift, and all one sum mer the hermit carried up soil from the «lreamsiile, ami the next he carried up water to keep his garden green. afl' r that the fear of sohtude passed from him, for he was s( busy all day that at night he had much ado to fight off the demon of sleep, which saint arsenius the abbot has denounced as the chief foe of the solitary. his memory kept good store of prayers and li^'^nies, liesidcs long passages from the mass and other offices, and he mnrked the hours of his day by different act:i of devotion. on sundays and feaiit days, when the wind \"as set his way, he could hear the church bells from his native town, and these hel|x-d him to follow the worship of the faithful, and to bear in mind the seasons of the liturgical year; and what with carrying uj water from tht river, digging in the garden, gathering fagots for his fire, observing his religious duties, and keeping his thoughts continually on the salvation of his soul, the hermit knew not a moment's idleness. at first, during his night vigils, he had felt a fear of the stars, which seemed to set a cruel watch on him, as though they spied out the fr.'ilty of his heart and took the measure of his littleness. but cnc day a wondering clerk, to whom he chanced to give a night's shelter, explained to him that, in the opinion of the most learned doctors in theology, the stars were inhabited bv the spirits of the blessed, and ■[7] ii ii the hermit this thought brought gtttl aolace to the hermit. even on winter nighta, when the eaglei kreamed among the peakii, •nd he heard the long howl o( wolve* about the aheep cotes in the valley, he no longer felt anjr fear, but thought of thow aounda a* representing the evil voicei of the world, and hugged himuif in the aecluiion of hii cave. some time*, to keep himaelf awake, he compoied laudf in honour of christ and the saint), and they seemed to him so pleas ant that he feared to forget them, so after much debate with himself he decided to ask a friendly priest, who sometimes visited him. to write them down; and the priest wrote them on comely sheepskin, which the hermit dried and prepared with bis own hands. when the hermit saw them written they appeared to !.im so beautiful that he feared to commit the sin of vanity if he looked at them too often, so he hid them between two smooth stones in l ^ cave, and vowed that he would take them out only once in the year, at easter, when our lord has risen and it is meet that christians should rejoice. and this vow he faith fully kept; but, alas, when easter drew near, he found he was looking forward to the blessed festival less because of our lord's risirg than because he should then be able to read his pleasant lauds written on fair sheepskin; and thereupon he took a vow that he would not look on the lauds till he lay dying. so the hermit, for many years, lived to the glory of god and in great peace of min '. [8] and the wild woman n /^nk iliiy he rpmilvcil to iwt fhilli on u vinil |o ihc saiiil ^^ of ihc hik'k, whii lived iiii llic oilier side of llie iiii tains. traveller liud hruuf>lil the hermit r»'|h)rt of this sohlnry, how lie liveil in holinciut iind nuslerily in a dcacrt place among the hills, where «now lay all winter, and in summer the sun beat down cruelly. the saint, it a|>|icarcd, had vowed that he would withdraw from the world to a s|iot where there was neither shacknor water, lest he should ixtempled to take his ease and think leu continually ijwn his maker but wherever he went he found a spreading tree or a gushing fountain, till at last be climbed to ihc bare heights where nothing grows, and where the only water comes from the melting of the snow in spring. here he found a tall rock rising from the ^round, and in it he scooped a hollow with his own hands, lo' hir ing for five years and wearing his fingers to the hone. then he seated himself in the hollow, which faced the west, so that in wintc r he should have small warmth of the sun and in summer be consumed by it; and there he had sat with out moving for years beyond number. the hermit was greatly drawn by the tale of such austeri ties.which in his humility he did not dream of emulating, but desired, for his soul's good, to contemplate and praise; so one day he bound sandals to his feet, cut an alder staff from the stream, and set out to visit the saint of the rock. [u] i: »■■♦, the hermit it was the pleasant season when seeds are shooting and the bud is on the tree. the hermit was troubled at the thought of leaving his plants without water, but he could not travel in winter by reason of the snows, and in summer he feared the garden would suffer even more from his absence. so he set out, praying that rain might fall while he was away, and hoping to return again in five days. the peasants in the fields left their work to ask his blessing; and they would even have followed him in great numbers had he not "old them that he was bound on a pilgrimage to the saint of the rock, and that it behooved him to go alone, as one sohtary seeking an other. so they resiieeted his wish, and he went on and entered the forest. in the forest he walked for two days an.1 slept for two nights. he heard the wolves crying, and foxes rustung in the covert, and once, at twilight, a shaggy brown man , -"d at him through the leaves and galloped away with a soft padding of hoofs; but the hermit feared neither wild beasts nor evil-doers, nor even the fauns and satyrs who linger in unhallowed forest depths where the cross has not been raised; for he said; "if i die, i die to the glory of god, and if i hve, it must be to the same end." only he felt a secret pang at the thought that he might die without seeing his lauds again. but the third day, without misadventure, he came out on another valley. then he began to climb the mountain, first through [10] and the wild woman brown woods of beech and oak, then through pine and broom, and then across red stony ledges where only a pinched growth of lenlisk and briar spread over the bald rock. by this time he thought to have reached his goal, but for two more days he fared on through the same scene, the sky close over him and the green earth receding far below. sometimes for hours he saw only the red glistering slopes tufted with thin bushes, and the hard blue heaven so close that it seemed his hand could touch it; then at a turn of the path the rocks rolled apart, the eye plunged down a long pine-clad defile, and beyond it the forest flowed away to a plain shining with cities and another mountain-range many days' journey away. to some eyes this would have been a terrible spectacle, reminding the wayfarer of his remoteness from his kind, and of the perils which lurk in waste places and the weakness of man against them; but the hermit was so mated to solitude, and felt such love for all created things, that to him the bare rocks sang of their maker and the vast distance bore witness to his greatness. so his servant journeyed on unafraid. but one morning, after a long climb over steep and difficult slopes, the wayfarer halted a! a bend of the way; for below him was no plain shining with cities, but a bare expanse of shaken silver that reached to the rim of the world; and the hermit knew it was the sea. fear seized him then, for it was terrible to see that great plain move [11] i \ i ;\ i 1 the hermit like 11 heaving bosom, and, as he loolvcil on it, the earth seemed also to heave beneath him. but presently he re membered how christ had walked the waves, and how even saint mary of egypt, a great sinner, had erossed the waters of jordan dry-shod to receive the sacrament from the abbot zosimus; and then the hermit's heart grew still, and he sang as he went down the mountain; "the sea shall praise thee, o lord." all day he kept m eing it and then losing it; but toward night he came to a deft of the hills, and lay down in a pine wood to sleep. he had now been six days gone, and once and again he thought anxiously of his herbs; but he said to himself: "what though my garden perish, if i see a holy man face to face and praise god in his company?" so he was never long cast down. before daylight he was afoot under the stars; and leav ing the wood where he had slept, began climbing the face of a tall cuff, where he had to clutch the jutting ledges with his hands, and with every step he gained, a rock seemed thrust forth to hurl him back. so, footsore and bleeding, he reached a high stony plain as the sun dropped to the sea; and in the red light he saw a hollow rock, and the saint sitting in the hollow. the hermit fell on his knees, praising god; then he rose and ran across the plain to the rock. as he drew near he saw that the saint was a very old man, clad in goat skin, with a long white beard. he sat motionless, his bands [12] i i and the wild woman on his knees, and two red eye-sockets turned to the sunset near him was a young boy in skins who brushed the flies from his face; but they always came back, and settled on the rheum from his eyes. he did not appear to hear or see the approach of the hermit, but sat quite still till the boy said: "father, here is a pilgrim." then he lifted up his voice and asked angrily who was there and what the stranger sought. the hermit answered: "father, the report of your holy practices came to me a long way off, and being myself a solitary, though not worthy to be named with you for god liness, it seemed fitting that i should cross the mountains to visit you, that we might sit together and speak in praise of solitude." the saint replied: "you fool, how can 'wo sit together and praise solitude, since by so doing they put an end to the thing they praise?" the hermit, at that, was sorely abashed, for he had thought his speech out on the way, reciting it many times over; and now it appt j to him vainer than the crac!: ling of thorns under a pot. nevertheless he took heart and said: "true, father; but may not two sinners sit together and praise christ, who has taught them the blessings of solitude?" but the other only answered: " if you had really learned the blessings of solitude you would not squander them [13] i 4 the hermit in idle wandering." and, the hermit not knowing how to reply, he said again: "if two sinners meet they can best praise christ by going each his own way in silence." after that he shut his lips and cortinued motionless while the boy brushed the flies from his eye-sockets; but the hermit's heart sank, and for the first time he felt the weariness of the way he had travelled, and the great dis tance dividing him from home. he had meant to take counsel with the saint concerning his lauds, and whether he ought to destroy them; but now he had no heart to say more, and turning away he began to go down the mountain. presently he heard steps run ning at his back, and the boy came up and pressed a honey-comb on him. "you have come a long way and must be hungry," he said; but before the hermit could thank him he hastened back to his task. so the hermit crept down the mountain till he reached the wood where he had slept be fore; and there he made his bed again, but he had no mind to eat before sleeping, for his heart hungered more than his body; and bis tears made the honey-comb bitter. [14] and the wild woman in /^n the fourteenth day he came to his own valley and saw the walls of his native town against the sky. he was footsore and heavy of heart, for his long pilgrimage had brought him only weariness and humiliation, and as no drop of rain had fallen he knew that his garden must have perished. so he climbed the cliff heavily and reached his cave at the angelus. but there a wonder awaited him. for though the scant earth of the hillside was parched and crumbling, his gar den-soil shone with moisture, and his plants had shot up, fresh and glistening, to a height they had nevsr attained. more wonderful still, the tendrils of the gourd had been trained about his door; and kneeling down he saw that the earth had been loosened between the rows of sprouting vegetables, and that every leaf dripped as though the rain had but newly ceased. then it appeared to the hermit that he beheld a miracle, but doubting his own deserts he refused to believe himself worthy, and went within doors to ponder on what had befallen him. and on his bed of rushes he saw a young woman sleeping, clad in an out landish garment with strange amulets about her neck. the sight was fuu of fear to the hermit, for he re called how often the demon, in tenpting the desert fathers, had taken the form of a woman ; but he reflected that, since there was nothing pleasing to him in the sight of this [13] .' ii m the hermit female, who was brown 09 i" nut and lean with waj-faring, he ran no great danger iu looking at her. at brst he took her for a wandering egj'ptian, but as he looked he per ceived, among the heathen charms, an agnus dei in her bosom; and this so surprised him that he hem over and called on her to wake. she sprang up with a start, but seeing the hermit's gown and staff, and his face above her, lay quiet and said: " i have watered your garden daily in return for the beans and oil that i took from your store." "who are you, and how come you here?" asked the hermit. she said: "i am a wild woman and uve in the woods." and when he pressed her again to tell him why she had sought shelter in his cave, she said that the land to the south, whence she came, was full of armed companies a. j bands of marauders, and that great license and blood shed prevailed there; and this the hermit knew to be true, for he had heard of it on his homeward journey. the wild woman went on to tell him that she had been hunted through the woods like an animal by a band of drunken men-at-arms, landsknechts from the north by their bar barous dress and speech, and at length, starving and spent, had come on his cave and hidden herself from her pur suers. ** for," she said, " i fear neither wild beasts nor the woodland people, charcoal burners, egyptians, wandering minstrels or chapmen; even the highway robbers do not [10] and the wild woman touch me, bocn\ise i am poor and brown; but tliese armed men flown with wine are more terrible than wolves and tigers." and the hermit's heart melted for he thought of his little sister lying with her throat silt across the altar, and of the scenes of blood and rapine from which he had fled into the wilderness. so he said to the stranger that it was not fitting he should house her in his cave, but that he would send a messenger to the town, and beg a pious woman there to give her lodging and work in her house hold. "for," said he, "i jierceive by the blessed image p.wut your neck that you are not a heathen wilding, but a child of christ, though so far astray in the desert." "yes," she said, "i am a christian, and know as many prayers as you; but i will never set foot in city walls again, lest i be caught and put back into the convent." "what," cried the hermit with a start, "you a-e a runa gate nun?" and he crossed himself, and again thought of the demon. she smiled and said: "it is true i was once a clois tered woman, but i will never wiuingly be one again. now drive me forth if you like; but i cannot go far, for i have a wounded foot, which i got in climbing the cliff with water for your garden." and she pointed to a cut in her foot. at that, for all his fear, the hermit was moved to pity, and washed the' cut and bound it up; and as he did so he [17] 'ijii ■fl the hermit bethought him that perhnps his strange visitor had been sent to him not for his soul's undoing but for her own sal vation. and from that hour he yearned to save her. but it was not fitting that she should remain in his cave; so, having given her water to drink and a handful of lentils, h'j raised her up, and putting his staff in her linnd guided her to a hollow not far off in the face of the cliff. and while he was doing this he heard the sunset bells across the valley, and set about reciting the angelun domini nunti arit maria; and she joined in piously, her hands folded, not missing a word. nevertheless the thought of her wickedness weighed on him, and the next day when he went to carry her food he asked her to tell him how it came about that she had fallen into such abominable sin. and this is the story she told. rv t was born (said she) in the north country, where the winters are long and cold, where snow sometimes falls in the valleys, and the high mountains for months are white with it. my father's castle is in a tall green wood, where the winds always rustle, and a cold river runs down from the ice-gorges. south of us was the wide plain, glowing with heat, but above us were stony passes where eagles nest and the storms howl; in winter fires roared in our chimneys, and even in summer there was [18] and the wild woman always a cool air off the gorges. but when i was a child my mother went southward in the great empress's train and i went with her. wc travelled manv dnyn, across plains and mountains, and saw rome, where the 1'o|k' lives in a golden paloce, and many other cities, till we came to the great emiwror's court. there for two years or more wo lived in pomp and merriment, for it was a wonderful court, full of mimes, magicians, philosophers and poets; and the empress's ladies siwnt their days in mirth and music, dressed in light silken garments, walking in gardens of roses, and bathing in a cool marble tank, while the emperor's eunuchs j/uurded the approach to the gardens. oh, those baths in the marble tank, my father! i used to lie awake through the whole hot southern night, and think of that plunge at sunrise under the last .stars. for we were in a burning country, and i pined for the tall green woods and the cold stream of my father's valley; and when i had cooled my body in the tank i lay all day in the .scant cypress shade and dreamed of my next bath. my mother pined for the coolness till she died; then the empress put me in a conv nt and i was forgotten. the convent was on the side of a bare yellow hill, where bees made a hot buzzing in the thyme. below was the sea, blazing with a million shafts of light; and overhead a blind ing sky, which rchected the sun's glitter like a huge baldric of steel. now the convent was built on the site of an old pleasure-house which a holy princess had given to our [19] il ■ ■i'l 1 ,l\ i ii, the hermit order; nn.l a part of ll.e house was left slan.iing, with iu court and garden. the nuns had built all about the garden: bfl ihey lefi the cypresses in the middle, and the long marble tank where the princess and her ladies had bathed. the tank, however, as you may conceive, was no longer used as a bath, for the washing of the body is an indulgence forbidden to oloislerej virgins; and our ^blx-ss, who was famed for her austerities, boasted that, like holy sylvia the nun. she never touched water save to bathe her finger tips before receiving the sacrament. with such an example before them, the nuns were obliged to conform to the same pious rule, and many, having been bred in the convent from infancy, regarded all ablutions with horror, and felt no temptation to <lenn.se the filth from their flesh; but i. who had bathed daily, had the freshness of water in my veins, and perished slowly for want of it, like your garden herbs in a drought. my cell did not look on the garden, but on the steep mule-path leading up the cliff, where all day long the sun beat as with flails of fire, and i saw the sweating jx-asants toil up and down behind their thirsty asses, and the beg gars whining and scraping their sores. oh, how i hated to look out on that burning world! i used to turn away from it, sick with disgust, and lying on my hard bed, stare up by the hour at the ceiling of my cell. but flies crawled in hundreds or the ceiling, and the hot noise they made was worse than the glare. sometimes, at an hour when i knew [20] and tlik wild woman n.y«lf unub«n«l. i ton,,11 my ,tilli„g «„«,,. „„j ,.„„^ it over the gr,it,..l wi„.|„w. ihut 1 n.ight no lonrer^nthe »h«ft of aunhrhl lying across my ivll. and the dual dancing in it like fat i„ tw fire. bui the .larknc.,, choke,! me, and i »tn.ggled for br,.ath as though i hy at the bottom „f a pit; so that at last i would ,,>ring up, and dragging down the dres.. fling myself on my knee, u-forc the cross, and entreat our lonl to give me the gift „f holiness, that i might e»cai>e the everlasting fires of hell, of whic^h this heal was a foretaste. for if i could nol en.lurc the scorching of a summer's day, with what coi.slaney could i meet the thought of the flame that dieth not? this longing to cscni«! the heal of hell made me apply myself lo a devoutcr way of living, and i reflected that if my bodily distress were somewhat eased i should be able to throw myself with grcter zeal into the practice of vigils and austerities. and at length, having set forth to the abbess that the .sultry air of my cell induced in me a grievous heaviness of sleep, i prevailed on her to l«ige me in that part of the building which overlooked the garden. for a few days i wis happy, for instead of the dusty mountainside, and the sight of the sweating peasants and their asses, 1 looked out on dark cypresses and rows of budding vegetables. but presently i found i had not bru -red myself. for with the approach of midsummer the garden, being all enclosed with buildings, grew as stifling as my eeu. .ul the green things in it withered and dried [81] i 1' * i? t v the hermit oir, irnvink tppiiclim of biire ml wihli, a<to«« which the cypresses cbsl strips of shade too imrrow to cool the uchiiig heads of the nuns; and i began to think sorrowfully of my former cell, when; now and then there cumc u sea-breeze, hot and languiil, yet alive, and where at uosl i coul.l look out on the sea. but this was not the worst; for when the dog-days came i found that the sun, at a certain hour, cnsl on the ceiling of my cell the reflection of the ripples on the gnrden-tank; and to say how i suffered from this sight is n.il within the power of siieech. it was indee<l agony to watch the clear water rippling and washing above my head, yet feel no solace of it on my limbs: as though i had been a senseless brazen image lying at the bottom of a weil. but the image, if it felt no refreshment, would have suffered no torture; whereas every vein of my bo<ly was a mouth of dives praying for water. oh, father, how shall i tell you the grievous pains that i endured i j,.mt times i so feared the sight of the mocking ripples over head that i hid my eyes from their approach, lying face down on my bed till i knew that they were gone; yet on cloudy days, when they did not come, the heat was even worse to bear. by day i hardly dared trust myself in the garden, for the nuns walked there, and one 6cry noon they found me hanging so close above the tank that they snatched me away, crying out that i had tried to .lestroy myself. the scandal of this reaching the abbess, she sent for me to [ii] am) tiik wild woman know whn, demon h..l ^ „ „., .„j ,,,e„ . wep, „„,| «,,. the l..„k,„„ .,. uth. my burning body, .he broke m„„ «npt and .ried o„,: -ite y„u „„t k„„„ ,^,j „_,, ,^ ^^ ^. _ w..ll.„,kl. „, g„ve a, ,he other, and «,ndem„c,l by all the greau.»t ,aln..? for u „„„ „., be tem,.,«j to take her l.fe through ex«,, of «.„.«„,(„,. „„j j,,,^;, ^^ ^^^ ^^__ worth,ne,,; but ,l,i, de,ire to indulge the despicable body .« one of the l,.,t, of the fle,,h. to be ,.la,«.d with concupij «noe and adultery." and ,he or,i..red me to ,ieep every n.gm for a month in my heavy g„w„. with a veil upon my now. father. i believe i, wa. .hi. penance that d«.ve m. to «n. for we were in the dog-day,. and it wa, more than fie,h ™uld bear. and on the third nigh., after the portre,, had pa,w.d. and the light, were out. i ,„« and flung off my veil and gown, and knelt in my window faint ing> h..re wa., no moon, but the ,ky u„. f„„ of ,.ar,. a. fi"t .he garden w„, all blackne,,; but a, i looked i «.w a fa,n. twinkle between the oypre,,.trunks. and i knew it wa, the starlight on the tank. the water! the wateri, wa, there clo^, to me-^„,y a few bolt, and bar, were iwtween us. . . . the ,k,rtre„ wa, a heavy ,leeper. and i knew where 3he hung her key,. i ,t„le .hither. «i.ed the kev, and .tept ba,.foot down the long corridor. the bolt, of ".he cloister door were „iff and heavy, and i dragged a. .hem .il, my wn,., were bursting. then i turned the key and it t«3] ' !! it the hermit ctic<l out ill the ward. i stood still, my whole body bfiitiiig with fear lest the hinges too should liiivu a voitu — but no one stirred, and i pushed open the door and slip|)cd out. the ganlen was as airless as a pit, but at least i could stretch my arms in it; and, oh, my father, the sweetness of the stars! sharp stones cut my feet as i ran, but i thought of the joy of bathing them in the tank, and that made the wounds sweet to me. . . . my father, i have heard of the temptations which assailed the holy solitaries of the desert, flattering the reluctant flesh be yond resistance; but none, i think, could have surpassed in ecstasy that first touch of the water on my limbs. to prolong the joy i let myself slip in slowly, resting my hands on the edge of the tank, and smiling to see my body, as i lowered it, break up the shining jhick surface and shat ter the star-beams into splinters. and the water, my father, seemed to crave me as i craved it. its ripples rose about me, first in furtive touches, then in a long embrace that clung and drew me down; till at length they lay like kisses on my lips. it was no frank comrade like the mountain pools of my childhood, but a secret playmate compassionating my pains and soothing them with noise less hands. from the first i thought of it as an accomplice — its whisper seemed topromise me secrecy if i would promise it love. and i went back and back to it, my father; all day i lived in the thought of it; each night i stole to it with fresh thirst. . . . [24] and the wild woman but at lengtl. „.e om ,»r.ress died, and a joung lav sister took her nln o «i, ,. ^""ng laj earedan . t """ " ''^'" '^"'p^'""^ ^een ared.andj •-■ tia d..., ■• „f venturing ,o her ceil l"'=v"'.''''"'"'"*"<^"'''-oallfeu: water dra.,„g^ but th second i erept to her door. she „.ade no motion :':i ' ""'-'• ""' -"p -eti, and stoie afterte and thenextn,ght she warned the abbess, and the": came on u by tli^ tank. i was punished with terrible penances: fasting, scourg for the abbess stood amazed at the obduracy oly , ' and was resolved to .nake .„e an e.ample. l a l2 was f . , of fl e3 and blood; bnt while the other nuns r..n h,ther and thither, clinging to the abbess or shriek ■ng on the steps of the altar. i .ip„ed through an. -tched ,k,s,em and „,ade my way to the hi„s z beach, the abbess and nuns were rescued, the convent «.ns . „nt, and peace was restored to the ho,v pri: a h.s i heard fr«n. „ .hepherdess of the hills, who fou d r: " "' ':''"'' """ •^-«'" '-o-y^.b and water in ler s,mphc,ty she offered to lead me home to the con vent;butwhile she sleptllaidotfmy wimple and scapz [2i] the hermit and stealing her clonk fled away. and since then i have wandered alone over the face of the world, living in woods and desert places, often hungry, often cold and sometimes fearful; yet resigned to any hardship, and with a front for any peril, if only i may sleep under the free heaven and wash the dust from my body in cool water. the hermit, as may be supposed, was much per turbed by this story, and dismayed that such sin fulness should cross his path. his first motion was to drive the woman forth, for he knew the heinousness of the crav ing for water, and how saint jerome, saint augustine and other holy doctors have taught that they who would purify the soul must n't be distraught by the vain cares of bodily cleanliness; yet, remembering the desire that drew him to his lauds, he dared not judge his sister's fault too harshly. moreover he was moved by the wild woman's story of the hardships she had suffered, and the godless com pany she had been driven to keep — egyptians, jugglers, outlaws .ind even sorcerers, who are masters of the pa gan lore o' the east, and still practice their rites among the simple folk of the hills. yet she would not have him think wholly ill of this vagrant peo]>le, from whom she had often received food and comfort; and her worst danger, as [26] and the wild woman he learned with shanae, had c„n,e f^n .,. „>„,,,„, „ wand „„„,,_,_^^ ^^^ _^^ ._^_^ . o of ch nstendo™; ean^-ing ,he,t ribald idlene. f.on, one — e^ .o another, and leaving on .he. wa, „ ..ad o t"'"'"""^ and wor.e. on™ or ,„,.« .he wi, wo^anh^dneah, ,„..„..„ .he. hand. ...had lei aved by her own qu.ck wi. and skill in wooderafc. once o she assured .he he™i., she had found ref.,^ .i,h a' zz t '" "" " ''^•' "' '""'^^ -"' 'heir sha,gv nujhngs;a„dn.hiseaveshehadseenas.ockorido; wood, ex.re™ely sealed and ancien.. befo« which ,he and the wdd bees' honeycomb. she .old him also of a hill-vihage of weavers, where she hve jany weeks, and learned .o pi, their .rade in re. n cobblers charcoal-burners or goatherds came a. mid n.ght and taugh. s.range doctrines i„ the hovels. v^ . t hey t,„ght she oould no. clearly .ell. save tha. .hey c hev^d each sou, c„„,d commune directly with its maker, wthou. need of priest or i„.ercessor; and she had heard fromsome of .heir disciples .ha. .here are .wo gods „ e of good and one of evil, and .ha. .he god of evil h 's m lovmg-kmdness toward poor j^rsons and wayfa^rs; so 1 the hermit that she grieved for them wlien one day ii dominican moiil< appeared with a company of soldiers, seizing some of the weavers and dragging them to prison, while others, with their wives and babes, fled to the winter woods. she fled with them, fearing to be charged with their heresy, and for months they lay hid in desert places, the older and weaker, when they fell sick from want and exjiosure, being de voutly ministered to by their brethren, and dying in the sure faith of heaven. all this she related modestly and simply, not as one who joys in a godless life, but as having been drawn into it through misadventure; and she told the hermit that when she heard the sound of church bells she never failed to say an ave or a pater; and that often, as she hiy in the darkness of the forest, she had hushed her fears by re citing the versicles from the evening hour: kcrp v.i, jjyrd, as the apple nj the ei/r. protect vs under the shadow of thtj winrjs. the wound in her foot healed slowly; and the hermit, while it was mending, repaired daily to her cave, reason ing with her in love and charity, and exhorting her to re turn to the cloister. but this she still refused to do; and fearing lest she attempt to fly before her fool was healed, and so expose herself to hunger and ill-usage, he promised not to betray her presence, or to take any meas ures toward restoring her to her order. he bep ii indeed to doubt whether she had any calling [28] am) the wild woman to tlie life enclosed; yet her innoeenoy of ,„i„d ,„„de him feel that she might be won back to holy living if only her freedom were assured. so after many inward struggles (since his promise forbade his taking counsel with any concerning her) he resolved to let her stay in the cave till some light should come to him. and one day, visiting her about the hour of nones (for it be came his pious habit to say the evening offi<,with her), he found her engaged with a little goatherd, who in a sudden seizure had fallen from a rock above her cave, and lay senseless and full of blood at her feet. and the' hermit saw with wonder how skilfully she bound up his cuts and restored his .senses, giving him to drink of a liquor she had distilled from the simples of the moun tain; whereat the boy opened his eyes and praised god, as one restored by heaven. now it was known that this lad was subject to possessions, and had more than once dropped lifeless while he heeded his flock; and the hermit, knowing that only great saints or unclean necromancers can loosen devils, fcred that the wild woman had exorci.,ed the spirits by means of unholy spells. but she told him that the goatherd's sickness was caused only by the heat of the sun, and that, such seizures being common in the hot countries whence she came, she had learned from a wise woman how to stay them by a decoction of the carduus be.-.edtctue, made in the third night of the waxing moon, but without the aid of magic. [29] ■i ' 1 1 i 111 ! i lt:'l the hermit **but," she continued* "you need not fear my bringing scandal on your holy retreat, for by the arts of the same wise woman my own wound is well-nigh healed, and to night at sunset 1 set forth." the hermit's heart grew heavy as she spoke, and it seemed to him that her own look was sorrowful. and suddenly his perplexities were lifted from him, and he saw what was god's purpose with the wild woman. *' why," said he, " do you fly from this place, where you are safe from molestation, and can look to the saving of your soul ? is it that your feet weary for the road, and your spirits are heavy for lack of worldly discourse?" she replied that she had no wish to travel, and felt no repugnance to solitude. " but," said she, " i must go forth to beg my bread, since in this wilderness there is none but yourself to feed me; and moreover, when it is known that i have healed the goatherd, curious folk and scandal mongers may seek me out, and, learning whence i come, drag me back to the cloister." then the hermit answemd her and said; "in the early days, when the faith of christ was first preached, there were holy women who fled to the desert and lived there in solitude, to the glory of god and the edification of their sex. if you are minded to embrace so austere a life, contenting you with such sustenance as the wilder ness yields, and wearing out your days in prayer and vigil, it may be that you shall make amends for the great sin [30] and the wild woman you have committed, and live and die in the peace of the lord jesus." he spoke thus, knowing that if she left him and returned to her roaming, hunger and fear might drive her to fresh sin; whereas in a life of penance aid reclusion her eyes might be opened to her iniquity. he saw that his words moved her, and she seemed about to consent, and embrace a life of holiness; but suddenly she fell silent, and looked down on the vauey at their feet. "a stream flows in the glen below us," she said. "do you forbid me to bathe in it in the heat of summer?" "it is not i that forbid you, my daughter, but the laws of god," said the hermit; "yet see how miraculously heaven protects you-for in the hot season, when your lust i3 upon you, our stream runs dry, and temptation will f« removed from you. moreover on these heights there is no excess of heat to madden the body, but always, before dawn and at the angelus, a cool breeze which refreehes it like water." and after thinking long on this, and again receiving his promise not to betray her, the wild woman agreed to embrace a life of reclusion; and the hermit feu on his knees, worshipping god and rejoicing to think that, if he saved his sister from sin, his own term of probation would be shortened. [31] i u .■if i 'j" uk iikumit vi 't^hkrkafter for two ji-am tlie hermit and the -'wild woman lived side by side, meeting i "ethei to pray on the great feast-days of the year, but on all other days dwelling apart, engaged in pious practices. at first the hermit, knowing the weakness of woman, and hct little aptitude for the life apart, had feared that he might be disturbed by the nearness of his penitent; but she faithfully held to hij commands, abstaining from all sight of him save on the days of obligation; and when they met, so modest and devout was her demeanour that she raised his soul to fresh fervency. and gradually it grew sweet to him to think that, near by though unseen, was one who performed the same tasks at the same hours; so that, whether he tended his garden, or recited his chap let, or rose under the stars to repeat the midnight office, he had a companion in all his labours and devotions. meanwhile the report had spread abroad that a holy woman who cast out devils had made her dwelling in the hermit's cliff; and many sick persons from the valley sought her out, and went away restored by her. these poor pilgrims brought her oil and flour, and with her own hands she made a garden like the hermit's, and planted it with corn and lentils; but she would never take a trout from the brook, or receive the gift of a snared wild-fowl, for she said that in her vagrant life the wild creatures of the wood had [38] and the wild woman befriended her, and a, she had ,lept in peace am >ng then,, so now she would never suffer them to be nmlesled. in the third year came a plague, and death walked the cities, and many ik)or peasants fled to the hills to esoa]* 't. these the hermit and his ,»nitent failhfullv tended and so skilful were the wild woman's ministralions that the report of them reached the town across the valley and a deputation of burgesses came with rich otfcrlng, ond besought her to descend and comfort their sick. the' hermit, seeing her depart on so dangerous a mission would have accompanied her, but she bade him remain and tend those who fled to the hills; and for many days his heart was consumed in prayer for her, and he feared lest every fugitive should bring him word of her death. but at length she returned, wearicj-out but whole and covered with the bl««ings of the townsfolk; and there after her name for holiness spread as wide as the ilermifs. seeing how constant she remained in her chosen life and what advance she had made in the way of ,k^rfection' the hermit no^. !elt that it behooved him to exhort her again to return to the convent; and more than once he resolved to speak with her, but his heart hung back. at length he bethought him that by failing in this duty he ■mperilled his own soul, and thereupon, on the next feast day, when they met, he reminded her that in spite of her good works she still hved in sin and excommunicate, and that, now she had once more tasted the sweets of godli [38] h; 11 ii the hermit new, it was her duty to mnlem her fault and give berwlf up to her i<u|>erlors. she heard him meekly, but when he had »|)oken she was silent and her tears ran over; and loiiking at her lie wept also, and said no more. and they prayed together, and re tume<l each to his cave. it was not till late winter that the plague abated; and the spring and early summer following were heavy with rains and great heat. when the hermit visited his peni tent at the feast of pentecost, she appeared to him so weak and wasted that, when they had recited the vcni, sande spirilm, and the proper psalms, he taxed her with too great rigour of penitential practices; but she replied that her weakr^«s was not due to ai. excess of discipline, but that shu y„ 1 brouplit bftck from her labours among thi sick a heaviness of body which the intemperance of the season no doubt increased. the evil rains continued, fall ing chiefly at night, while by day the land reeked with heat and vajjours; so that lassitude fell on the hermit also, and he could hardly drag himself down to the spring whence he drew his drinking-water. thus he fell into the habit of going down to the glen before cockcrow, after he had re cited matins; for at that hour the rain commonly ceased, and a faint air was stirring. now because of the wet season the stream had not gone dry, and instead of replenishing his flagon slowly at the trickling spring, the hermit went down to the waterside to fill it; and once, as he descended 134] a n d t ii e w i l 1) w () m a \ the .tev-p slope of the glen, hiheard the covert rutlle, aii<l saw the l™ve!. stir ns ihoiik' «oinclhiiik moved behind them. as the sound ceased the leaves grew still; but his heart was shaken, for it seemed to him that what he bad seen in the dusk had a human semblance, such as the wood-|ho[.le wear. and he was loath to think that such un hallowed beings haunted the glen. a few days passed, and again, descending to the stream, he saw a figure flit through the c^ovcrt; and this time a deejier fear entered into him; but he put away the thought, and prayed fervently for all .souls in temptation. and when he siwkc with the wild woman again, on the feast of the seven maccabees, which falls on the first day of august, he was smitten with fear to see her wasted looks, and besought her to cease from labouring and let him min ister to her. but she denied him gently, and replied that all she asked of him was to keep her steadfastly in his prayers. before the feast of the assumption the rains ceased, and the plague, which had begun to show itself, was stayed; but the ardency of the sun grew greater, and the hermit's cliff was a fiery furnace. never had such heat been known in those regions; but the people did not murmur, for with the cessation of the rain their crops were saved and the pestilence banished: and these mercies they ascribed in great part to the prayers and macerations of the two holy anchorets. therefore on the eve of the assumption they [35] ft; i' the hermit will » mrswiipt iii lliihermit, mijing tliiil iit clnvliklil on the mcirniw iho to»,i..|k-,i|)le uiki uii the i�,v\u-n in the valley woiil.l come forth, l«l by their bishop, who bore the pope's bleuiiif; to the two soliluric-n, anil who wb« miiideil to i-elebrulc the mnsi of tin; assiiinplion in the ii<tiiiif» rnve in the ijiffbiae. at tlie worcl the hermit wan well-nikh .listrnukhl with joy. for he felt tliih to be a sign from heaven that his prayers were heani, an<l thai he imd won the wild woman's (jraec as well as his own. and all nielli he prayed that on the morrow she might confess her fault and reivive the sacrament with him. before dawn he recited the psalms of the pro|k'r noc tum; then he girded on his gown and .sandals, an.l went forth to meet the bishop. as he went downward daylight stood on the mountains, and he thought he had never seen so fair a dawn. it filled the farthest heaven with brightness and i^netrated even to the woody crevices of the glen, as the grnre of (iod had entered into the obscurest folds of his heart. the morning airs were hushed, and he heard only the .sound of his own footfall, and the mur-our of the stream which, though di minished, still poured a swift current between the rocks; but as he reached the bottom of the glen a sound of chant ing came to him, and he knew that the pilgrims were at hand. his heart leapt up and his feet hastened forward; but at the stream's edge they were suddenly staye.l, for in a pool where the water was still deep he saw the shining (3b] an i) rilk �i m) woman <>f n w„maii\ l„hly-hr..l on the imnk liiv ihi\m wiiiniin'ii k'lwri anil nimliin. fear .in.l rnp|k««-,m.,i t|,c l|erniil'» hcnrt, nn.l he suhm[ as on,. «nitl,.>, dmnb. .-..vrriiik i'in <■><•» from ihc ,hnm,-. riul ll„. ,onk of tho «|m'r..a.l„nk pilkrini,, """'"'■'' '''-f »"-' "i'ltrer, aiul h..rid arikril), in the wild woman (o rome forth and hide herv^lf fr„„, the people. she mad.no answer, but in the dusk he .saw her liniln »w«y with the ,«aur,p water, and her eves were lnrne,| to him as if in nioek.rv. . the sirhl fury fi i hi.n, an.l elambering over the r.hks to the [xh>rs e-lge he in^nt down nnd eau^hl h.r by the shoniiler. . that moment heeuuld have strangle,! her with hi.s hands, so abhorrent was the toueh of h.r llc,l, : but as he ericd out. heapiur her with eruel names, he sjiw that lier eyes iffnn»-,| his |,x,k without wavering: and su.ldenly it n,me to him that .she was .lead. then throurh all hi,, anger and fear a gr..al pang smote him; for here was his work undone, and one he had loved in <hri.sl laid low in her sin. in spite of all his .a' ours. one momenl pity possessed him; the next he thought how the people would find him bending above the b.mly of a naked woman, whom he had held up to them as holy, but whom they might now well take for the secret instru ment of his undoing; and seeing how at her ton.h all the slow cdi6ce of his holiness was demolishe.l, and his soul in 1,17] ,j ^ ¥ the hermit mortal jeopardy, he felt the earth reel round him and his eyes grew bh'nd. already the head of the procession had appeared, and the glen shook with the great sound of the salve regina. when the hermit opened his eyes once more the air shone with thronged candle-flames, which glittered on the gold of priestly vestments, and on the blazing monstrance be neath iu canopy; and close above him he saw the bishop's face. the hermit struggled to his knees. "my father in god," he cried, "behold, for my sins i have been visited by a demon—" but as he spoke he per ceived that those about him no longtr listened, and that the bishop and au his clergy had fallen on their knees beside the pool. then the hermit, following their gaze, saw that the brown waters of the pool covered the wild woman's limbs as with a garment, and that about her floating head a brightness floaled; and to the utmost edges of the throng a cry of praise went up, for many were there whom the wild woman had healed, and who read god's mercy in this wonder. but fresh fear feu on the hermit, for he had cursed a dying saint, and denounced her aloud to all the people; and this new angm'sh, coming so close on the other, smote down his enfeebled frame, so that his limbs failed him and again he sank to the ground. the earth reeled, and the bending faces grew dim about him; but as he forced his weak voice once more to pro [38] and the wild woman "t he last voyage on hi, lips and eyes. peace returned ^h.n,the„.andwi.hit.belo„ging.olootonc.n.oreupo„ h. lauds as he had drea.ed of doing at h.. death. bu.t to put t f„„ h.sm,„d. yet in his weakness it held him. and the tears ran down his face and the everlasting arms „plac« i,. he heard a peal o vo-ces that seemed to come down f„m the sky and mingle w.th the smging of the th»ng; and the words of tt chant were the words of his own lauds, so long hidden n the s^ret of his breast, and now .joicing above ht through he spheres. and his soul ™se on th! chant, and soared with it to the seat of mercy. fs9l r l\ the last asset ( : i i the last asset 1 >he devil!" paul garnetl exclaimed as he re-read hnote; and the dry old gentleman who was at the moment his only neighbour in the modest restaurant they both frequented, remarked with a smile you don't seem particularly disturbed at meeting him " garnett returned the smile. "i don't know why i anos troph-sed him. for he's not in the least p,.sent-except in asmuch as he may prove to be at the bottom of anything unexpected." ' "* the old gentleman who. like garnett, was an american, and s k, ;„ .,„ ,,;„ ^^^^^^ ^^.^^ ^^.^^ ^^^ ^^^ fitted to em,t sententious truths, twisted his lean neck ~und to cackle out: "ah. it's generally a woman who's at the bottom of the unexpected. not," he added, lean ;ng onvard with deliberation to select a tooth-pick, that that precludes the devil's being there too " garnet attend the requisite laugh, and his neighbour, pushmg back his plate. caued out with a perfectly unbend mg^amencan intonation: "gassong! l'addition. silver his repast, as usual, had been a simple one. and he left [43] y ' l'> i the last asset only thirty rentimes in the plate on which his account was presented; but the waiter, to whom he was evidently a familiar presence, received the tribute with latin amen ity, and hovered helpfully about the table while the old gentleman cut and lighted his cigar. "yes," the latter proceeded, revolving the cigar medi tatively between his thin lips, "they're generally both in the same hole, like the owl and the prairie-dog in the nat ural historjbooks of my youth. i believe it was all a mis take about the owl and the prairie-dog, but it isn't about the unexpected. the fact is, the unexpected ia the devil —the sooner you find that out, the happier you'll be." he leaned back, tilting his bald head against the blotched mirror behind him, and rambling on with gentle garrulity while gamett attacked his omelet. "get your life down to routine— eliminate surprises. arrange things so that, when you get up in the morning, you'u know exactly what's going to happen to you during the day— and the next day and the next. i don't say it's funny— it ain't. but it's better than being hit on the head by a brickbat. that's why i always take my meals at this restaurant. i know just how much onion they put in things —if 1 went to the next place i shouldn't. and i always take the same streets to come here— i've been doing it for ten years now. i know at which crossing to look out— i know what i'm going to see in the shop-windows. it saves a lot of wear and tear to know what's coming. for a good [44] the last asset many yea„ i „eve, 4ia know, f „„ o„e minute .o another he pau«d calmly to knock the a,he, ,„„ h.-, ,,^ we cut off nearly all the possibilities ? " the old gentleman made a contemptuous motion po..h.ht,es of what .= of being multifariously misera ep' the« are lots of ways of being miserable, but the., only rnzt t""^.™"'-^""'"«' ">■•' to stop run„i4 «ter happmess. if you make up your mind not z ^ happy there's no ,^n why you shouldn't have a fairly good time." "that was schopenhauer's idea. i believe." the youn. ~^..uhng his wine with the smile of youthf^r "jtst '*' ,'?'' "■" "'°"°'~'^'" '^'p""^'"' ^^ wend, mat so few live up to it." he rose f™m his seat, pushing the table forward, and sunding passive while the waiter advanced with his t fftltt ""' ""'"""■ ^''^" "« ^'^^'^ ^ gar. aesk. and passed out into the street garnett looked after him with a musing smile. the two had exchanged views on lifefor two years without so mu" [45] \^ a the last asset 09 knowing each other's nnraca. gamett was a newspaper corrcsjtondent whose work kepi him mainly in ixindon, but on his periodic visits to paris he lodged in a dingy hotel of the latin quarter, the chief merit of which was its nearness lo the cheap and excellent restaurant where the two amer' ans had made acquaintance. but ganiclt's assiduity in frequenting the place arose, in the end, less from the excellence of the food than from the enjoyment of his old friend's conversation. amid the flashy sophistications of the parisian life to which gamett's trade introduced him, the american sage's conversation had the crisp and homely flavour of a native dish — one of the domestic compounds for which the exiled palate is supposed to yearn. it was a mark of the old man's impersonality that, in spite of the interest he inspired, gamett had never got beyond idly wondering who he might be, where he lived, and what bis occupations were. he was presumably a bachelor — a man of family ties, however relaxed, though he might have been as often absent from home would not have been as regularly present in the same place — and there was about him a boundless desultoriness which renewed gamett's convic tion that there is no one on earth as idle as an american who is not busy. from certain allusions it was plain that he had lived many years in paris, yet he had not taken the trouble to adapt his tongue to the local inflections, but spoke french with the accent of one who has formed his notion of the language from a phrase-book. [48] the last asset on h.m a, ..speech. he appeared .o have no artimio or in ness wh,ch «e., ,he f™i, of innocence rather than of ex^ merest .„ the political problem, of hi, adopted count-y. tlt :f "'"^"^' '° "'^""""^ "'■" -'^ '"--i human folly never ceased to divert him. and though hi. e ample, of .t «.med mainl, drawn from the column, of one ex,guo„s daily paper, he found there matter for end ™,on, on hi, favourite theme. if thi, monotony of op.c d,d not weary the younger man. it wa, becau jhe fenced he could detect under it the trag-c note of the fi^ed ,dew «,„e great moral upheaval which had flung t fnend stnpped and starving on the de^rt i,land of the imle „,uurant where they met. he hardly knew wher^l he read th„ revela.ion-whether in the ,habbine„ of t; -ges dre,,.the imper«.„a. courtcyof hi,manner,or the • shade of app.hen,ion which lurked, indescribably, in hi, »» yet suspicion, eye. the. were momon[, wl.et garne.teo,.mo.„ydefi„e him by saying that helookedlik a man who had ,een a ghost. m j ii ' [47] the last asset ii an apparition almost aa atartling had come to gamett ■^ *■ himself in the ahape of the mauve note handed to him by hia concierge aa he was leaving »".e hotel for luncheon. not that, on the face of it, a missive announcing mrs. sam newell's arrival at riti's, and her need of his pres ence there that day at five, carried any mark of the portentous. it was not her being at ritz's that sur prised him. the fact that she was chronically hard up, and had once or twice lately been so harshly confronted with the consequences aa to accept— indeed solicit— a loan of five pounds from him: this circumstance, as gamett knew, would never be allowed to affect the general tenor of her existence. if one came to paris, where could one go but to ritz's ? did he see her in some grubby hole across the river ? or in a family pennon near the place de i'etoile ? there was no affectation in her tendency to grav!' i e toward what was costliest and moat conspicuous. in fi .g so she obeyed one of the profoundest instincts of her n,. • ure, and it was another mstinct which taught her to gratify the first at any oost, even to that of dipping into the pocket of an impecunious journalist. it was a part of her strength —and of her charm, too— that she did such things naturally, openly, without any of the grimaces of disaimulation or compunction. her recourse to gamett had of course marked a specially [48] the last asset low ebb in h.r fortune,. save in moment, of exceplion.1 dearth .he had richer »uree, of ,up,.ly: and he wa, nearly •lire that by nmning over the "wciely column" of the pari, uerm he ,hould find an explanation, not perhap. of her pre«nce at ritz'., but of her mean, of .ub,i,tenc« there. what perplexed him wa, not the financial but the »ci«l aspect of the ca«. when mr,. nowell had left london in july she had told him that, between cowe, and scotland. ,he and ilermy were provided for till the middle of octoberafter that, a, .he put it, they would have to look about. why. then, when ,he had in her hand the op portunity of living for three month, at the expense of the briti,h aristocracy, did she rush off to pari, at heaven knew whose expense in the beginning of september? she was not a woman to act incoherently; if she made mistake, they were not of that kind. gamett felt sure she would never willingly relax her hold on her distinguished friend, -was it possible that it wa, they who had somewhat violently let go of her? a, gamett reviewed the situation he began to me that thi, pcsibility had for some time been latent in it. lie had felt that «>mething might happen at any moment-and was not this the »mething he had obscurely foreseen ? mrs newell really moved too fast: her position wa, a, perilou, as that of an invading army without a base of supplies. she used up everything too quickly-fricnds, credit, in fluence, forbearance. it was so easy for her to acquire au [4!.] ill ( the last asset lhe«c— whni a pity she had never learned to keep ihemi he hinnelf. for in«tance— the most insiftnificant of her no qui»ition.-wa« be(finnin(j to feel like a «iuee7.ed .ifionfte at the mere thought of her; and it was this lenae of exhaus tion, of the inability to provide more, either materially or morally, which had provoked hit exclamation on open ing her note. from the 6rst days of ihei, .cjuaintancc her prodigality had ama/cd him. but he had believed it to be surpassed by the infinity „( ;..•>■ resources. if she exhausted old supplies she always had new ones to replace them. when one set of people began to find her im|>os5!ble, an other was always beginning to find her indisfx-nsable. yes— 1ml there were limits— there were only so many seta ■.r (h^ple, at least in her classification, and when she came to an end of them, what then ? was this fiighf to paris a sign that she had come to an end— was she going to try paris because london had failed her? the time of year pn-cluded such a conjecture. mrs. newell's paris was non-existent in september. the town was a desert of gaping trippers— he could as soon think of her seeking social res toration at margate. for a moment it occurred to him that she might have come over to renew her wardrobe; but he knew her dates too well to dwell long on this. it was in april and december that she visited the dress-makers: before de cember, he had heard her explain, one got nothing but "the american fashions." mrs. newell's scorn of all [50] the last asset think, a,....nv„„ wa, «.,„.wl.„, il,„,i™„^. „ ,^ ,..,^ •he delerm,„„,i„„ ,o „«. h„ „,„ a„„.ri™„i,„, ,„ ,he „.. mo,t a, a me«„, of «,,(„, „,,,.„^^ g,,^ ^^^ ,^^^^j ^^^ . »«<. that, on crtain lino,, i, p„i.l ,„ i,„d„„ ,„ ^e amenvan.' «..<i . e had a.,.„.f„hu«^ for lu.r..,f . p.^„„,i„ i„. dependent of rt^krafhical or «<.ial .lenmpcalion,. and pre -'".mg that re„n.rkable blend of plantation dialect. bow ery .lang a„,i hy,,erb„lic .tatemenl. which exp,e«e, the bnt.,h idea of an unadulterated an,ericani,m. m» neweu. for ,.„ uer talent,, wa, no. by nature either humo^u, or |.v,,crbolic. and the,« were time, when i, would doubtles, have been a relief to her to be a, „olid « «>me of the per«.n, who« duln.» i, wa, her fate to enhven. it wa, ,.rh«p,, the need of relaxing which had drawn her into her odd intimacy with garnett. with whom .he did not have to be either scrupulously eng l.»h or artibcially american, since the imp,.,si„„ ,he made on him was of no mo« «,nsequenc. than that wh.ch she produced on her footman. garnett was aware hat he owed his suc«,s to his insignificance, but the act affected him only as adding one more element to h,s knowledge of mrs. newell', character. he was as readv to sacnfice his personal vanity in such a cause as he had been, at the outlet of their acquaintance, to sacrifice his professional pride to the opportunity of knowing her when he had accepted the position of "london corre spondent" (with an occasional side-glance at paris) to [51] 1 11 i the last asset the new york searchlight, he had not understood that his work was to include the obligation of "interviewing"; indeed, liad the possibility presented itself in advance, he would have met it by packing his valise and returning to the drudgery of his assistant-editorship in new york. but when, after three months in europe, he received a letter from his chief, suggesting that he should enliven the sunday searchlight by a series of "talks with smart americans in london" (beginning say, with mrs. sam newell), the change of focus already enabled him to view the proposal without passion. for his life on the edge of the great world-caldron of art, politics and pleasure — of that high-spiced brew which is nowhere else so subtly and variously compounded— had brea in him an eager ness to taste of the heady mixture. he knew he should never have the full spoon at his lips, but he recalled the peasant-girl in one of browning's plays, who boasts of having eaten polenta cut with a knife which has carved an ortolan. might not mrs. newell, who had so success fully cut a way into the dense and succulent mass of eng lish society, serve as the knife to season his polenta ? he had expected, as the result of the interview, to which she promptly, almost eagerly, agreed, no more than the glimpse of brightly lit vistas which a waiting messenger may catch through open doors; but instead he had found himself drawn at once into the inner sanctuary, not of london society, but of mrs. newell's relation to it. she [54] the last asset had been candidly charmed by the idea of the interview it struck him that she was conscious of the need of being freshened up. her appearance was brilliantly fresh, with the inveterate freshness of the toilet-table; her paint was as ■mpenetrablc as armour. but her personality was a little tarnished: she was in want of social renovation. she had been doing and saying the same things for too long a time. london. cowes, hamburg, sc-otland, monte carlo-that had been the ro.-.nd since hermy was a baby. hermy was her daughter. miss hermione newell, who was caued in presently -o be shown off to the interviewer and add a para graph to the celebration of her mother's charms. miss newell-s appearance was so full of an unassisted freshness that for a moment gamett made the mistake of fancying that she «>uld fill a paragraph of her own. but he soon found that her vagtie personality was merely tributary to her parent's; that her youth and grace were, m some r ysterious way. her mother's rather than her own' she smiled obediently on gamett, but could contribute htue beyond her smile, and the general sweetness of her presence, to the picture of mrs. neweu's existence that it was the young man's business to draw. and presently he found that she had left the room without his noticing it. he learned in time that this unnoticeableness was the most conspicuous thing about her. burning at best with a mild light, she became invisible in the glare of her mother's personality. it was in fact only as a product of her environ [53] i.; the last asset menl hint jxior ilcrmione struck the imagination. with the smartest woman in london as her guide and example she had never developed a taste for dress, and with opportuni ties for enlightenment from which gamett's fancy recoiled she remained simple, unsuspicious and tender, with n inclination to good worlis and afternoon church, a taste for the society of dull girls, and a clinging fidelity to old governesses and retired nurse-maids. mrs. newell, whose boast it was that she looked facts in the face, frankly owned that she had not been able to make anything of hermione. "if she has a role i haven't discovered it," she confessed to gamett. "i've tried everything, but she doesn't fit in anywhere." mrs. newell spoke as if her daughter were a piece of furniture acquired without due reflection, and for which no suitable place could be found. she got, of course, what she could out of hermione, who wrote her notes, ran her errands, saw tiresome people for her, and occupied an intermediate office between that of lady's maid and secre tary; but such small returns on her investment were not what mrs. newell had counted on. what was the use of producing and educating a handsome daughter if she did not, in some more positive way, contribute to her parent's advancement ? [54] the last asset iii "jt's about hermy ... m„. neweu said, rising f„„ ,h, heap of embroidered cushions which formed the background of her afternoon repose. ner sitting.„«^ ,, r,,., ,^^ ,„„ ^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^"grance. long-stemmed roses filled the vases on the dmnney p,ece. in which a fire sparkled with that effect of uxu^ wh,ch fires produce when the weather is not c„,d ough to ,ust.fy them. on the writing-table, among note, and cards, and signed photographs of celebrities. mrs. neweu sgold inkstand, her jeweued pen-holder. her heavily monogrammed despatch-box. gave back from their e. pens.ve surfaces the glint of the flame, which sought out and magn^ed the orient of the pearls among the lad/s aces and found a mirror in the pinky polish of her finger -ps. it was just such a scene as a little september fire, lit for »how and not for warmth, would deught to dweu on and p.ck out in all its opulent details; and even gamett mu-^tomrs^newell-scapacityforextractingmannaf^m the desert, reflened that she must have found new fields to glean. hi?'!'."*""! "r™''" ^'^ "'"^"^""■'■■"« "-for h.mathers,de. "i had to see you at once. wecameover yesterday from london." gamett. seating himself, continued his leisurely survey [55] ' \' ii 1 m the last asset of the room. in the blaze of mrs. newell's refulgence herjiiione, as usual, faded out of aight, and he hardly noticed her mother's allusion. "i've never seen you more resplendent," he remarked. she received the tribute with complacency. "the rooms are not bad, are they? we came over with the woolsey hubbaids (you've heard of them, of course ?— they're from detroit), and reauy they do things very decently. their motor met us at boulogne, and the courier al ways wires ahead to have the rooms filled with flowers. this talon is really a part of their suite. i simply couldn't have afforded it myself." she delivered these facto in a high decisive voice, which had a note like the clink of her many braceleto and the ratue of her ringed hands against the enamelled cigarette case that she held out to gamett after helping herself from ito contente. "you are always meeting such charming people." said the young man with mild irony; and, reverting to her first remark, he bethought himself to add: "i hope miss hermione is not ill?" "hi? she was never iu in her life," exclaimed mrs. neweu, as though her daughter had been accused of an indelicacy. "it was only that you said you had come over on her account." so i have. hermione is to be married " [56] the last asset mrs. neweu brought out tlie words impresaively. draw ing back to observe their effect on her visitor. it was such that he received them with a long silent stare, which finally passed into a cry of wonder. "married? for heaven's sake, to whom?" mrs. newell continued to regard him with a smile «, «rene and victorious that he saw she took his somewhat unseemly astonishment as a merited tribute to her genius presenuy she extended a glittering hand and took a sheet of note-paper from the blotter. "you can have that put in to-morrow's herm." she said. gamett. receiving the paper, read in hermione's own finished hand: "a marriage has been arranged, and wiu shortly take place, between the comte louis du trayas son of the marquis du trayas de la baume, and misi hermione neweu, daughter of samuel c. neweu esore of ehnira. n. y. comte uuis du trayas belong, to one of the oldest and most distinguished famiues in france and ,s equally weu com.ected in england, being the nephew of ix„d saint priscoe and a cousin of the countess of mommgfield, whom he frequently visits at adham and portlow." the perusal of this document fiued gamett with such deepenmg wonder that he <»uld not. for the moment, even do justice to the strangeness of ito being written out for publication in the bride's own hand. hermione a bride' [57] « ii hi' the last asset hennione a future countess! hermione on the brink of a marriage which would gire her not only a great "situa tion" in the parisian world but a footing in some of the best houses in england! regardless of its unflattering im plications, gamett prolonged his stare of amazement till mrs. newell somewhat sharply exclaimed— " well, didn't i always tell you she'd marry a frenchman ?" gamett, in spite of himself, smiled at this revised version of his hostess's frequent assertion that hermione was too goody-goody to take in england, but that with her little dowdy air she might very weu "go off" in the fau bourg if only a dot could be raked up— and the recollec tion flashed a new light on the versatility of mrs. newell's genius. "but how did you do it— ? " was on the tip of his tongue: and he had barely time to give the query the more conven tional turn of: "how did it happen?" "oh, we were up at glaish with the edmund fitz arthurs. lady edmund is a sort of cousin of the morning fields', who have a shooting-lodge near glaish— a place called portlow— and young trayas was there with them. lady edmund, who is a dear, drove hermy over to port low, and the thing was done in no time. he simply fell m er head and ears in love with her. you know hermy is reauy very handsome in her peculiar way. i don't think you've ever appreciated her," mrs. newell summed up with a note of reproach. [48] the last asset "i've appreciated her. i assure you; but one «,mehow didn t think of her marrying-so soon." "soon? she', three and twenty; but youve no imam nafon, „id mr,. neweu; and gamett inwardly admitted that he had not enough to «,ar to the height, of her inven tion. for the marriage, of course, wa, her invention, a .uperlative ,troke of bu,ine» in which he was ,u,e the principal partie, had au been passive agent,, in wh.ch every one. from the bankrupt and disreputable f-tzarthu™ to the rich and immaculate morningfield,. had by »me mysterious sleight of hand been made to fit mto mr,. neweu-, design,. but it wa, not enough for gamett to marvel at her work-he wanted to under,tand 't. to take .t apart, to find out how the trick had been done. it wa, true that m,.. neweu had alway, «.id hermy m.ght go off in the faubourg if she had a dot-hnt even mrs. neweu's juggling a,uld hardly conjure up a dot ■uch feat, a, she was able to perform in this line were usu «% made to serve her own urgent necessities. and be ..des. who was likely to take sufficient interest in hermione to supply her with the means of manying a french noble man ? the flower, ordered in advance by the woolsey hubbard,courier made gamett wonder if that accom phshed^ functional, had also wired over to have mis, neweu, settlement, drawn up. but of all the comments hovenng on his lips the only one he could decently formu late was the remark that he supposed mrs. neweu and her [59] nil i = ■ the last asset daughter had come over to ke the young man'. f«nily and make the final arrangements. "oh. they're made-eveiything's settled." raid mrs. neweu. looking him squarely in the eye. "you're wonder ing, of course, about the <fa(-frenchmen never go off their heads to the extent of forgetting that; or at least their parents don't allow them to." gamctt murmured a vague assent, and she went on without the least appearance of resenting his curiosity: "it au came about so fortunately. only fancy, just the week they met i got a litue legacy from an aunt in elmir. -a good soul i hadn't seen or heard of for years. i sup pose i ought to have put on mourning for her, by the way. but it would have eaten up a good bit of the legacy, and i really needed it au for poor hermy. oh, it's not a fortune, you understand-but the young man is madly in love, and has always had his own way, so after a lot of correspond ence it's been arranged. they saw henny this morning, and they're enchanted." "and the marriage takes place very soon?" "yes, in a few weeks, here. his mother is an invaud and couldn't have gone to england. besides, the french don't travel. and as ilenny has beer ae a cathouc-" "already?" mrs. neweu stared. "it doesn't take long. and it suit hermy exactly-she can go to church so much oftener. so i thought.' mrs. neweu concluded with dignity, "that [60] in-» j the last asset »uit8ble thing at thia mason." cal'i'ltr" "!" ''""''"• "' ""• '^' "-"^-i 2 t ca^h up w.th you. i ,„pp„« „.„ the day i, fixed caled the official announcement in hi, hand "tf. poor dear. becau« my „,awr, ,00 hid,x>u,-but i you. there wa, a splendid directne« about m«. newell ft would never have occur«d to her to p„tend to gam^ ^. .he had summoned him for the p.ea.u« o, h.w hull::;.""' "" ""^ ^ *^' *'^'" "<> -■>"'-' "to^move the last obstacle to its being fixed." ejont ""''"'""'""' ~""'^ '--«'-'' leas. m«. newen met his banter with a look which queued "t.^^ i want you to find her father." "her father? miss hermione's-p" ^y husband, of «.ur«. i ^,^ ,„„ ,„„^ ^^.^ gamett blushed at his own clumsiness. "i-yes-that '"• ; ~"^ ■"•-'wng-" he stammer. zn, ha ^eh word added to it. if hermione was unnotilb mr. neweu had always been invisible. the young man 11 if f i) the last asset had never so much u given him a thought, and it wu awkward to come on him ao suddenly at a turn of the talk. "weu. he i»— living here in pari.," said mr.. neweu. with a note of a.perity which memed to imply that her friend might have taken the trouble to post himwif on thii (mint. "in pari.? but in that cak i.n't it quite simple—?" "to find him? 1 dare uy it won't be difficult, though he's rather mysterious. but the point is that i can't go to him— and that if i write to him he won't answer." "ah," uid gamett thoughtfully. "and m you've got to find him for me. and teu him." "teu him what?" "that he must come to the wedding-thai we must show ourselves together at church and afterward in the sacristy." she delivered the behest in her sharp imperative key, the tone of the bom commander. but for once gamett ventured to question her orders. and supposing he won't come?" "he must if he cares for his daughter's happiness. she can't be married without him." "can't be married?" "the french are hke that— especiauy the old families. i was given to undersund at once that my husband must appear-if only to establish the fad that we're not di vorced." {68] 'i'lie last asset ■'an-you're lurf, ihen?" escaped from gamelt. "mercy no! divorce i, .tupid. they d.n't like it in europe. and in thi, r.^ i, would have been .he end of hermy-. marriage. they wouldn't think of letting their son marry the child of divorced parenu." "how fortunate, then—" "ve,; but i always think of such things beforehand. and of cour» i've told them that my husband will be pment." "you think be will consent?" "no; not at first: but you must make him. you must teu h,m how sweet hermione is-«„d you „,„,! see louis and be able to describe their happiness. you must dine here l^mght-he's coming. we're all dining with the hub bards, and they expect you. they've given hermy «,be very good diamonds-though i should have preferml a cheque, as she'u be horribly poor. put i think kate hul> bard means to do something about the irousseau-hermy .» at paquin's with her now. you've no idea how delight ful all our friends have been.-ah, he,« is one of them now." she broke off smiling, as the door opened to admit, without preliminary announcement, a gentleman so glossy and ancient, with such a fixed unnatural freshness of smile and eye. that he gave gamett the effect of having been em balmed and then enamelled. it needed not the exotic looking ribbon in the visitor's button-hole, nor mr, neweu's introducuon of him as her friend baron schenk [03] l\ ' 1 !'^ ■'1 1 .i :^1 the last asset merit, to auun gamett of hu connection with a race if ancient a* hii appearance. baron schenkelderff greet«l hi* hosteu with paternal puyfulnew, and the young man with an eaae which might have been acquired on the stock exchange and in the dreu ing-rooma of "leading ladiei." he spoke a faultleai colourlesa english, from which one felt he might pass with equal mastery to half a dozen other languages. he in quired patronisingly for the excellent hubbards, asked his hostess if she did not mean to give him a drop of tea and a cigarette, remarked that he need not ask if her mione was slill closeted with the dress-maker, and, on the waiter's coming in answer to his ring, ordered the tea him self, and added a request for fine champagne. it was not the first time that gamett had seen such minor liberties uken in mrs. neweu's drawing-room, but they had hitherto been taken by persons who had at least the superiority of know ing what they were permitting themselves, whereas the young man fell ahnost sure that baron schenkelderil's manner waa the most distinguished he could achieve; and this deepened the dii^st with which, as the minutes passed, he yielded to the conviction that the baron wai mrs. ncw ell's aunt. [64] the last asset iv a^arnett hid alwaya for< ,, en th.l mm. newell might some day atk him l„ ju «„n,fl,t.,.. 1, should greauy di.llke. he hod never ^ «, f ,, ,, ,„ , oui.ctuw what it might be, but had .in, iv f, ;, .l,ai if he «1!„" ,1 hi, •cquainlwice with her to pa», .rem -)«c»,i.or»lu,. t.> pu tici,«tion he mu.t be pr. [.ared (., and i,;.,.,..lf, „ .„y moment, in a queer /lituation. the moment had comej and he was u-i;^yn,\ t„ find th^t he could meet it by refusing her re-iue,!. lie had not al way. been sure that .he would leave him thi. alternative she had a way of involving people in her complication, without their being aware of it; and gamelt had pictured him«tf in hole, „ tight that there might not be room for « wriggle. happily in thi. caw he could .tiu move freely. nothing compeued him to act a. an intermediary between mr.. newell and her husband, and it wa. preposterous to »uppo« that, even in a life of such perpetual upheaval as hers, there were no roou which .truck deeper than her casual intimacy with himself. she had simply uid hands on him because he happened to be within reach, and he would put himself out of reach by leaving for london on the morrow. having thus inwardly asmrted hi. independence, he felt free to let hi. fancy dweu on the strangenem of the situation. he had alway. .uppowd that mr.. neweu. in tea] i the last asset her flight through life, must have thrown a good many victims to the wolves, and had assumed that mr. newell had been among the number. that he had been dropped overboard at an early stage in the lady's career seemed probable from the fact that neither his wife nor his daughter ever mentioned him. mrs. newell was incapable of reti cence, and if her husband had still been an active element in her life he would certainly have figured in her conversa tion. gamett, if he thought of the uiatter at all, had con cluded that divorce must long since have eliminated mr. newell; but he now saw how he had underrated his friend's faculty for using up the waste material of life she had always struck him as ihe most extravagant of women, yet it turned out that by a miracle of thrift she had for years kept a superfluous husband . . je chance that he might some day be useful. the day had come, and mr. neweu was to be caued from his obscurity. gamett wondered what had become of him in ihe interval, and in what shape he would respond to the evocation. the fact that his wife feared he might not respond to it at all seemed to show that his exile was volur.lary, or had at least come to appear preferable to other alternatives; but if that were the case it was curious he should not have taken legal means to free himself. he could hardly have had his wife's motives for wishing to maintain the vague tie between them; but co-.jecture lost itself in trying to picture what his point of view was likely to be. and gamett. on his way [«8] the last asset to the hubbards' dinner that evening, could not help re gretting that circumstances denied him the opportunity of meeting so enigmatic a person. the young man's knowl edge of mrs. neweu's methods made him feel that her hus band might be an interesting study. this, however, did not affect his resolve to keep clear of the business. he entered the hubbards' dining-room with the firm intention of refusing to execute mrs. newell's commission, and if he changed his mind in the course of the evening it was not owing to that lady's persuasions. gamett's curiosity as to the hubbards' share in her mione's marriage was appeased before he had been five minutes at their table. mrs. woolsey hubbard was an expansive blonde, whose ample but disciplined outline seemed the result of a weu-matched struggle between her cook and her corset maker. she talked a great deal of what was appropriate in dress and conduct, and seemed to regard mrs. newell as a final arbiter on both points. to do or to wear anything inappropriate would have been extremely mortifying to m.s. hubbard, and she was evidently resolved, at the price of eternal vigilance, to prove her familiarity with what she frequently referred to as "the right thing." mr. hubbard appeared to have no sucl preoccupations. gamett, if called on to describe him, would have done so by say ing that he was the american who always pays. the young man, in the course of his foreign wanderings, had i«7j in 1 i i the last asset come across many fellow-citizens of mr. hubbard's type, in the most diverse company and surroundings; and wher ever they were to be found, they always had their hands in their pockets. mr. hubbard's standard of gentility was the extent of a man's capacity to "foot the biu"; and as no one but an occasional compatriot cared to dispute the privilege with him he seldom had reason to doubt his social superiority. garnott, nevertheless, did not believe that this lavish pair were, as mrs. newell would have phrased it, "putting up" hermione's <fof. they would go very far in diamonds but they would hang back from securities. their readiness to pay was indefinably mingled with a dread of being ex pected to, and their prodigalities would take flight at the first hint of coercion. mrs. newell, who had had a good deal of experience in managing this type of millionaire, could be trusted not to arou« their susceptibilities, and garnett was therefore certain that the chimerical legacy had been extracted from other pockets. there were none in view but those of baron schenkelderit, who, seated at mr.. hubbard's right, with a new order in his bitton hole, and a fresh glaze upon his features, enchanted that lady by his careless references to crowned heads and his condesrending approval of the champagne. gamett was monthan ever certain that it was the baron who was paying: and it was this conviction which made him sud denly resolve that, at any co.,t, hermione's marriage must [08] ^ the last asset take place. he had felt no special interest in the marriage except aa one more proof of mrs. newell's extraordinary eapacit):: but now it a|>,h.-aled to him from the girl's own sland-point. for he saw, with a touch of compunction, that in the mephitic air of her surroundings a love-story of miraculous freshness had flowered. he had only to intercept the gunces which the young couple exchanged to find himself transported to the candid region of romance. it was evident that hermione adored and was adored; that the lovers behevcd in each other and in evcrv one about them, and that even the legacy of the defunct aunt had not been too great a strain on their faith in human nature. his fint gunce at the comte louis du trayas snowed gamett that, by .some marvel of fitness, hermione had happened on a kindred nature. if the young man's long mild features and short-sighted gunce revealed no special force of character, they showed a benevolence and sim plicity as incorruptible as her own, and declared that their possessor, whatever hi.s failings, would never imperil the illusions she had so wondrously preserved. the fact that the girl took her good fortune naturally, and did not re gard herself as suddenly snatched from the jaws of death, added poignancy to the situation; for if she missed this' way of escape, and was thrown back on her former life, the day of discovery could not be long deferred. it made garnett shiver to think of her growing old between her [«►] ! f ti, i » the last asset mother and schenkelderff, or such successors of the baron's as might probably attend on mrs. newell's waning fortunes; for it was clear to him that the baron marked the first stage in his friend's rledine. when garnett took leave that even ing he had |)romiscd mrs. newell that he would try to find her husband. tf mr. newell read in the pajwrs the announcement of his daughter's marriage it did not cause him to lift the veil of seclusion in which his wife represented him as shrouded. a round of the american banks in paris failed to give garnett his address, and it was only in chance talk with one of the young secretaries of the embassy tut he waa put on mr. newell's track. the secretary's father, it ap peared, had known the newells some twenty ye«rs eariier. he had had business relations with mr. neweb, who was then a man of property, with factories or somethii^ of the kind, the narrator thought, somewhere in western .vew york. there had been at this period, for mrs. newell, a phase of large hi)si>ilality and showy carriages in wash ington and at narragansett. then her husband had had reverses, had lost heavily in wau street, and had finally drifted abroad and di.sappeared from sight. the young man did not know at what point in his financial decline mr. newell had parted comii npany ' [70] i wife and daugh h the last asset ter; "though you n,„y bet your hat." he philosophically e»nclude.l. "that the old girl h„„g on a, long as there were any picking,." he did not himself know mr. newell's addrt^ss, but opined that it might be extracted from a certam offi.ial of the consulate, if garnett could give a sufficiently good reason for the request: and here in fact mrs. newell-s emissary learned that her husband was to be found in an obscure street of the luxembourg quarter. in order to be near the scene of action, gametl went to breakfast at his usual haunt, determined to despatch his business as early in the day as pouteness allowed. the head waiter welcomed him to a table near that of the trans atlantic sage, who sal in his customary comer, his head tilled back against the blistered mirror at an angle suggest ing that in a freer civilisation his feet would have sought the same level. he greeted garnett affably and the two ex changed their usual generalisations on life till the sage rose to go; whereupon it occurred to garnett to accompany him. his friend took the offer in good part, merely remark ing that he was going to the luxembourg gardens, where it wa« his invariable habit, on good days, to feed the spar rows with the remains of his breakfast roll; and garnett replied that, as it happened, his own business lay in the same direction. •p.thaps, by the way," he added, "you can tell me how to find the rue panonceaux, where i must go presently [71 j i j i »■! : i ml li m <■' the last asset i thought i knew this quarter fairly well, but i have never heard of it." his companion come to a halt on the narrow pave ment, to the confusion of the dense ond desultory traffic which flows through the old streets of the latin quarter. he fixed his mild eye on gamett and gave a twist to the cigar which lingered in the comer of his mouth. "the rue panonceaux ? it ia an out-of-the-way hole, but i can tell you how to find it," he answered. he made mmotion to do so, however, but continued to bend on the young man the full force of his interrogative gaze; then he added: "would you mind telling me your object in going there?" gamett looked at him with surprise: a question so un blushingly personal was strangely out of keeping with his friend's usual attitude of detachment. before he could re ply, however, the other had continued: "do you happen to be in search of samuel c. newell?" why, yes, i am," said gamett with a start of conjcrture. his companion uttered a sigh. "i supposed so," he .said resignedly; "and in that case," he added, "we moy as well have the matter out in tic luxembourg." garnett had halted before him with deepening aston ishment. "but you don't mam to teu me—?" he stam mered. the little man made a motion of assent. "i am samuel c. newell," he said; "and if you have no objection, i pre [721 the last asset fer not to break through my habit of feeding the sparrows. we are five minutes late as it is." he quickened his pace without awaiting a reply from gamett, who walked beside him in unsubdued wonder till they reached the luxembourg gardens, where mr. newell, making for one of the less frequented aueys, seated him self on a bench and drew the fragment of a roll from bis pocket. his coming was evidently expected, for a shower of little dusky bodies at once descended on him, and the gravel buttered with battling beaks and wings as he dis tributed his dole. it was not till the ground was white with crumbs, and the first frenzy of his ;t«nsioners appeased, that he turned to garnett and said: "i presume, sir, that you come from my wife." gamett coloured with embarrassment: the more simply the old man took his mission the more complicated it ap peared to himself. "from your wife— and from miss neweu," he said at length. "you have perhaps heard that your daughter is to be married." "oh, yes— i read the herald pretty faithfully," said miss newell's parent, shaking out another handful of crumbs. garnett cleared his throat. "then you have no doubt thought it natural that, under the circumstances, they should wish to communicate with you." [73] illi i i the last asset the sage continued to fix his attention on the sparrows. "my wife," he remarked, "might have written to me." "mrs. newell was afraid she might not hear from you in reply." "in reply? why should she? i suppose she merely wishes to ,-irr ounce the marriage. she knows i have no money lef 'o buy wedding-presents," said mr. newell astonishiif'ly, gamett felt his colour deepen: he had a vague sense of standing as the representative of something guilty and enormous, with which he had rashly identified himself. "i don't think you understand," he said. "mrs. newell and your daughter have asked me to see you because they're are anxious that you should consent to appear at the wedding." mr. newell, at this, ceased to give his attention to the birds, and turned a compassionate gaze on gamett. "my dear sir— i don't know your name—" he remarked, "would you mind telling me how long you've been ac quainted with mrs. newell?" and without waiting for ,.n answer he added: "if you wait long enough she will ask you to do some very disagreeable things for her." this echo of his own thoughts gave garnett a twinge of discomfort, but he made shift to answer good-hiimour edly: "if you refer to my present errand, i mu.st sell you that i don't find it di.sngreeable to do anything which may be of service to miss hermione." [74] the last asset mr. newell fumbled in his pocket, as though searching unavailingly for another morsel of bread; then he said: "prom her point of view i shall not be the most important person at the ceremony." gamett smiled. "that is hardly a reason—" he began; but he was checked by the brevity of tone with which his companion repued: " i am not aware that i am called upon to give you ray reasons." "you are certainly not," the young man rejoined, "except in so far as you are willing to consider me as the messenger of your wife and daughter." "oh, i accept your credentials," said the other with his dry smile; "what i don't recognise is their right to send a message." this reduced gamett to silence, and after a moment's pause mr. newell drew his watch from his pocket. " i am sorry to cut the conversation short, but my days are mapped out with a certain regularity, and this i.s the hour for my nap." he rose as he spoke and held out his hand with a glint of melancholy humour in his small clear eyes. "you dismiss me, then ? i am to take back a refusal ?" the young man exclaimed. "my dear sir, those ladies have got on very well without me for a number of years: i imagine they can put through this wedding without my help." "you're mistaken, then; if it were not for that i shouldn't have undertaken this errand." [75] lit ),, :■■{ the last asset mr. newell paused an he was turning away. "not for what?" he inquired. "the fact that, as it happens, the wedding can't be put through without your help." mr. neweu'.i thin lips formed a noiseless whistle. "they've got to have my consent, have they? well, is he a good young man ?" "the bridegroom?" gamett echoed in surprise. "i hear the best accounts of him — and miss newell is very much in love." her parent met this with an odd smile. "well, then, i give my consent — it's all i've got left to give," he added philosophically. gamett hesitated. "but if you consent — if you ap prove — why do yon rcfnsc your daughter's request?" mr. newell looked ot him a moment. "ask mrs. newell!" he said. and as gamett was again silent, he turned away with a slight f^sture of leave-taking. but in an instant the young man was at his jide. "i will not ask your reasons, sir," he .said, "but 1 will give you mine for being here. miss newell cannot be married unless you are present at the ceremony. the young man's parents know that she has a father living, and they give their con sent only on condition that he appears at her marriage. i believe it is customary in old french families — " "old french families be damned!" said mr. newell. "she had better mnrry an american." and he made a [7«] ^ the last asset more decidwl molion to free himwlf from gamelt'i !m portunitiei. but hia resiatance only atrrngthened the young man'a. the more unpleaaant 'he latter'* task iiecame, the more unwilling he grew to sec his efforts end in failure. during the three days which hiid been consumed in his queat it had become clear to him that the bridegroom's parents, having been aurprised to a reluctant consent, were but too ready to withdraw it on the pica of mr. newell's non appearance. mrs. newell, on the last edge of tension, had confided in gamett that the morningfields were "being nasty"; and he could picture the whole powerful clan, on both aides of the channel, arrayeil in a common re solve to exclude poor ilermione from their ranks. the very inequality of the conteat stirred his blootl. and made him vow that in this case at least the sins of the piirenta should not be visited on the children. in his talk with the young secreurj' he had obtained certain glimpses of baron schenkelderff's past that fortified this resolve. the baron, at one time a familiar figure in a much-observed london set, had been mixed up in an ugly money-lending business ending in suicide, which had excluded him from the society most accessible to his race. uis alliance with mrs. newell was doubtless a des|ierate attempt at rehabili tation, a forlorn hope on both sides, but likely to be an en during tie because it represented, to imth partners, their last chance of escape from .swinl extinction. that iler [77] micdocoi-y resolution lest ch*«t (ansi ond iso test chart no. 2) ^ m li^5 iiiiii.4 m m m ^ applied in/mge i, ^^ 1^53 east main street s'-g rochester. new york 1*609 usa *-ag (716) 482 ojoo phone ^^ ;716) 288 5969 fax the last asset mione's marriage was a mere stake in their game did not in the least affect gamett's view of its urgency. if on their part it was a sordid speculation, to her it had the freshness of the first wooing. if it made of her a mere pawn in their hands, it would put her, so garnett hoped, beyond farther risk of such base uses; and to achieve this had become a necessity to him. the sense that, if he lost sight of mr. newell, the latter might not easily be found again, nerved garnett to hold his ground in spite of the resistance he encountered; and he tried to put the full force of his plea into the tone with which he cried: "ah, you don't know your daughter!" vi atrs. newell, that afternoon, met 'iiji on the threshold of her sitting-room with a "well?" of pent-up anxiety. in the room itself. baron schenkelderff sat with crossed legs and head thrown back, in an attitude which he did not see fit to alter at the young man's approach. garnett hesitated; but it was not the summariness of the baron's greeting which he resented. "you've found him?" mrs. newell exclaimed. "yes; but—" she followed his glance and answered it with a slight shrug. "i can't take you into my room, because there's a [78] li'is. the last asset dress-maker there, and she won't go because she's waiting to be paid. sehenkcldeiff," slie exclaimed, "you're not wanted; please go and look out of the window." the baron rose, and, lighting a cigarette, laughingly retired to the embrasure. mrs. newell flung herself down and signed to garnett to take a seat at her side. "well— you've found him? you've talked with him?" "yes; i've talked with him— for an hour." she made an impatient movement. "that's too long! does he refuse?" *he doesn't consent." "then you mean — ?" "he wants time to think it over." "time? there w no time — did you tell him so?" "i told him so; but you must remember that he has plenty. he has taken twenty-four hours." mrs. newell groaned. "oh, that's too much. when he thinks things over he always refuses." "well, he would have refused at once if i had not agreed to the delay." she rose nervously from her seat and pressed her hands to her forehead. "it's too hard, after all i've done! the trousseau is ordered— think how disgraceful! you must have managed him badly; i'll go and see him my self." the baron, at this, turned abruptly from his study of the place vendome. [79] f .' ¥' the last asset "my dear creature, for heaven's sake don't spoil everj- thing!" he exclaimed. mrs. newell coloured furiously. "what's the meaning of thnt brilliant speech ? " "i was merely putting myself in the place of a man on whom you have ceased to smile." he picked up his hat and stick, nodded knowingly to gamett, and walked toward the door with an air of creak ing jauntiness. but on the threshold mrs. newell waylaid him. "don't go— i must speak to you," she said, following him into the ante-chamber; and gamett remembered the dt«ss-maker who was not to be dislodged from her bed room. in a moment mrs. newell relumed, with a small flat packet which ahe vainly sought to dissemble in an inaccessi ble pocket. "he makes everything too odious!" she exclaimed; but whether she referred to her husband or the baron it was left to gamett to decide. she sat silent, nervously twisting her cigarette-case be tween her fingers, while her visitor rehearsed th<! details of his conversation with mr. newell. he did not indeed tell her the arguments he had used to shake her husband's resolve, since in his eloquent sketch of hermione's situa tion there had perforce entered hints unflattering to her mother; but he gave the impression that his hearer had [80] the last asset in the end been moved, and for that reason had consented to defer his refusal. ah, it's not that — it's to prolong our misery!" mrs. newell exclaimed; and after a moment she added drear ily: "he's been waiting for such an o|)|iortunity for years." it seemed needless for gamett to protract his visit, and he took leave with the promise to report at once the result of his final talk with mr. newell. but as he was passing through the ante-oha!iiber a side door opened and llermione stood before him. her face was bushed and shaken out of its usual repose, and he saw at once that she had been waiting for him. mr. gamett!" she said in a whisper. he paused, considering her with surprise: he had never suppo.sed her capable of such emotion as her voice and eyes revealed. "i want to speak to you; we are quite safe here. mamma is with the dress-maker," she explained, closing the door behind her, while garnett laid aside his hat and stick. "i am at your service," he said. "you have seen my father? mamma told me that you were tn see him to-day," the girl went on, standing close to him in order that she might not have to raise her voice. "yes; i've seen him," garnett replied with increas ing wonder. hermione had never befonmentioned her father to him, and it was by a slight stretch of veracity [81] t i'1 m thk last asset ihnt he hail iiuludcd her name in her mother's plea to mr. n..w(ll. he hi'd supimsed her to be either unconscious of the transaction, or else too much engrossed in her own happiness to give it a thoiif;ht; and he had forgiwn her the lust altenialive in consideration of the abnormal character of her aiiul relations. bu het now saw that he must read just his view of her. "you went to ask him to come to my wedding; i know about it," llermione continued. "of course it's the cus tom—people will think it odd if he does not come." she paused, and then uikcd: "does he consent?" "no; he has not yet consented." "ah, i thought so when i saw mamma just now!" "but he hasn't <pnic refused— he has promised to think it over." "b.t he hated it— he hated the idea?" gamett hesitated. "it seemed to arouse painful associa tions." ah, it would — it would!" she exclaimed. he was astonislied at the passion of her accent; aston ished still more at the tone with which she went on, lay ing her hand on his arm: "mr. gamett, he must not be askedhe has been asked too often to do things that he hated!" gamett looked at the girl with a shock of awe. what abysses of knowledge did her purity hide? 'but, my dear miss llermione — " he began [82] the last asskt 'i know wliat you are goiti); lo say," slip intfrruplpd him. "it is necessary that he sliciiilil be present at the marriage, or the du trayas will hniik it off. they don't want it very miieh, at any rate," she added with a .strange candour, "and they'll not be sorry, perhaps — for of course louis would have to obey them." "so i e.xplaincd to your father," garnett assured her. "yes— yes; i knew you would put it to hira. but that makes no difference. he must not be forced to come un willingly." "but if he sees the point — after all, no one can force him ! " "no; but if it's painful to him — if it reminds him too much. . . . oh, mr. garnett, i was not a child when he left us. ... i was old enough to see ... to sec how it must hurl him even now to be reminded. peace was all he asked for, and i want him to be left in peace i" garnett paused in deep embarrassment. "my dear child, there is no need to remind you that your own future — " she had a gesture that recalled her mother. "my future must take care of itself; he must not be made to sec us!" she said imperatively. and as garnett remained silent she went on: "i have always hoped he didn't hate me, but he would hate me now if he were forced to see me." "not if he could see you at this moment!" she lifted her face with swimming eyes. [83] m: the last asset "well, go to him, then; tell him what i've said to you ! " (jarnett continued to stand before her, deeply struck. "it might be the best thing," he reflected inwardly; but lie did not give utterance to the thought. he merely put out his hand, holding ilermione's in a long pressure. "i will do whatever you wish," he replied. "you understand i hat i'm in earnest r' she urged. "i'm quite sure of it." "then i want you to repeat to him what i've said— i want him to be left undisturbed. i don't want him ever to hear of us again!" the next day, at the appointed hour, gamett resorted le luxembourg gardens, which mr. newell had named a mi ling-place in preference to his own lodgings. it was clear that litdid not wish to admit the young man any farther into his privacy than the occasion required, and the extreme shabbiness of his dress hinted that pride might be the cause of his reluctance. gamett found him feeding the sparrows, but he desisted at the young man's approach, and said at once: "you won't thank me for bringing you all this distance." if that means that you're going to send me away with a refusal, i have come to spare you the necessity," gamett answered. mr. newell turned on him a glance of undisguised [84] the la siasset wonder, in whiili a ling., of disiipixjiiilnicnt might almost have been detected. "ah— they've got no use for me, after all?" he said ironically. garnett, in reply, related without comment his conver sation with ilormioiie, and the message with which she had charged him. he remembered her words exactly and repeated them without modification, heedless of what they implied or revealed. mr. newell listened with an immovable face, occasion ally casting a cnimb to his hock. when garnett ended he asked: " does her mother know of this ?" "assuredly not!" cried guruett with a movement of disgust. "you must pardo. me; but mrs. newell is a very in genious woman." mr. newell shook out his remaining crumbs and turned thoughtfully toward garnett. "you believe it's quite clear to hermione that these people will use my refusal as a pretext for baeki.ig out of the marriage?" "perfectly clear— she told me so herself." "doesn't she consider the young man rather chicken hearted ? " "no; he has already put up a big hght for her, and you know the french look at the.se things differently. he's only twenty-three, and his marrying against his parents' ap proval is in itself an act of heroism." [85] li] < i t ii e l a st asset "ye«; i believe they look at it that wiiv," mr. n'cwcu assented. lie rose and picked up the lia'f-smoked eignr which lie liad laid on the ix-neh beside him. "what do they wear at these freiidi wcddinfjs, any how? a dress-suit, isn't it '" he asked. the ((uestion was such a surprise to ganiett that for the moment he could only stammer out— "you consent then ? i may go and tell her?" "you may tell my girl— yes." he gave a vague lau^h and added: "one way or another, my wife always gets what she wants." vii ■]w"r. newell's conjnt brought with it no accom ■*■ panying concessions. in the first flush of his suc cess gamett had pictured himself as bringing together the father and daughter, and hovering in an attitude of benediction over a family group in whicli mrs. newell did not very distinctly figure. but mr. newell's conditions were inflexible. he would "see the thing through" for his daughter's sake; but he stipulated that in the meantime there should be no meet ings or farther communications of any kind. he agreed to be ready when garnett called for him, at the appomted hour on the wedding-day; but until then he begged to be left alone. to this decision he adhered immovably, and [36] the i, a s t a s s k t wluti giirnctt <oiivi-}e(l it |o lli-rmioiic she n<-,-,.|,ti-,l i( with ii (l,v|i limk of undcmtaridiiik. as for mrs. newell .she was tim> mueh eii(;ros.sc<l in 111.' riiiptiul |)ro|mirnlions to rive her husband another thourht. .slie had gained her |kiinl, she had disarmed lier foes, and in the first flush of suecess she had no mine to reniemlx-r by what means her victory had been woi. even (iarnett's serviees received little rceoj; nilion, unlesm he found thom sufficiently com|)eu3ated by the new look in ilermione's eyes. the principal figures in mrs. newell's foreground were the woolsey hubbards and itaron sehenkelderit. with these she was in hourly consultntion, and mrs. hubbard went pbout aureoled with the im|x)rtancc of her dose con nection with an "aristocratic marriage," and dazzled by the daron's famil' jrity with the intricacies of the ^ ' lanach de gotha. in his society and mrs. newell's, mi .. hub bard evidently felt that she had penetrated to the sacred ptcincts where "the right thing" flourished in its native soil. as for hermione, her look of happiness had returned, but with an undertint of melancholy, visible perhaps onlv to gamett, but to him always hauntingly present. out wardly she sank back into her pa-ssive self, resigned to serve as the brilliant lay-figure on which mrs. newell huii;» the trophies of conquest. preparations for the wed ding were zealously pressed. mrs. newell knew the dan ger of giving people time to think things ove.', and her fears about her husband being allayed, she b'gar to [87] the last asset dreail a iirw atti-iii|it at evaaiuii on llie |>art of tliv l>ri<le ^room'it family. '*'!'he sooner it's over the sounder i shall sleep!" she declared to uarnctt; and all the tnitigations of art eould not conceal the fact that she was desjicratcly in need of that restorative. there were moments, indeed, when he was sorrier for her than for her husband or her daughter; so black ano •infathomable apjieared the abyss into which she must slip back if she lost her hold on this last spar of safety. but she did not lose her hold; bis own experience, as well as her husband's declaration, might have told him that she always got what she wanted. how much she had wanted this particular thing was shown by the way in which, on the last day, when all peril was over, she bloomc<l out in renovated splendour. it gave garnett a shivering sense of the ugliness of the alternative which hoc*, confronted her. the day came; the showy coupe provided by mrs. newell presented itself punctually at gamett's door, and the young man entered il and drove to the rue panon ceaux. it was a little melancholy back street, with lean old houses sweating rust and damp, and glimpses of pit-like gardens, black and sunless, between walls bristling with iron spikes. on the narrow pavement a blind man pottered along led by a red-eyed poodle: a litt'.; farther on a di shevelled woman sat grinding coffee on the threshold of [88] tiik i, a st asskt a hiiirltr. the bridal rarriiirp »l<)[)|>eil before one of the dikirwiiya, willi a clutter of lionfs miil hurm'sm which drew the nei){hlk>urh<kml tii its wiiiilowt, luiil (iiiriictt •tarteil to mount the ill-smelling stain to the fourth floor, on which he leiirncd from the concierijithat mr. newell li«l(,'ed. but hulf-wiiy up he met the lii'tcr descending, and they turned mid went down together. ilermionc's purent wore his usual im|h'rturlhible look, and his eye seemed aa full as ever of generali.sutions on human folly; but there was something oddly .shrunken and submerge<l in his npp'iiraiice, as tluiugli he had grown smaller or his clothes larger. and on the last iiy|»thesi3 garnett paused — for it became evident to him that mr. newell had hired his dress-suit. seoted at the young man's side on the satir cushions, he remained silent while the carriage rolled smoothly and "ipidly through the net-work of streets leading to the boulevard saint-demiain; only once he remarked, glanc ing at the ehibornte fittings of the coupe: "is this mrs. newell's carriage ? " "i believe so — ^yes," garnett ossented, with the guilty sense that in defining that kdy's possessions it was im possible not to trespass on those of her friends. mr. newell made no farther comment, but presently requested his companion to rehearse to him once more the exact duties which were to devolve on him during the coming ceremony. having mastered these he remnmcd [89] /ml m t! if' the last asset silent, fixing a dry speculative eye on the panorama of the brilliant streets, till the carriage drew up at the entrance of saint philippe du roule. with the same air of composure he followed his guide through the mob of spectators, and up the crimson velvet steps, at the head of which, but for a word from gamett, b formidable suisse, glittering with cocked hat and mace, would have checked the advance of the small crumpled figure so oddly out of keeping with the magnificence of the bridal party. the french fashion prescribing that the family cortege shall follow the bride to the altar, the vestibule of the church was thronged with the participilors in the coming procession; but if mr. newell felt any ner vousness at his sudden projection into this unfamiliar group, nothing in his look or manner betrayed it. he stood beside gannett till a white-favoured carriage, dashing up to the church with a superlative glitter of highly groomed horse flesh anc* silver-plated harness, deposited the snowy appa rition of the bride, supported by her mother; then, as her mlone entered the vestibule, he went forward quietly to meet her. the girl, wrapped in the haze of her bridal veil, and a little confused, perhaps, by the anticipation of the meeting, paused a moment, as if in doubt, before the small oddly clad figure which blocked her path — a horrible moment to gamett, who felt a pang of misery at this satire on the infallibuity of the filial instinct. he longed to make some [90] the last asset sign, to break in some way the pause of uncertainty; but before he could move he saw mrs. neweu give her daughter a sharp push, he saw a blush of compunction flood her mione-5 face, and the girl, throwing back her veil, bent her tell head and flung her arms about her father. mr. newell emerged unshaken from the embrace: it seemed to have no effect beyond giving an odder twist to his tie. he stood beside his daughter tiu the church doors were thrown open; then, at a sign from the verger, he gave her his arm, and the strange couple, with the long train of fashion and finery behind them, started on their march to the altar. gamett had already slipped into the church and secured a post of vantage which gave him a side-view over the assemblage. the bi.llding was thronged— mrs. newell had attained her ambition and given hermione a smart wedding. gametfs eye traveued curiously from one group to another— from the numerous representatives of the bridegroom's family, all stamped with the same air of somewhat dowdy distinction, the air of having had their thinking done for them for so long that they could no longer perform the act individually, and the heterogeneous com pany of mrs. newell's friends, who presented, on the op posite side of the nave, every variety of individual convic tion in dress and conduct. of the two groups the latter was decidedly the more interesting to gamett, who observed that it comprised not only such recent acquisitions as the [81j i'i it i v the last asset woolsey hubbards and the baron, but also sundry more important fij^res which of late had faded to the verge of mrs. newell'a horizon. hermione's marriage had drawn them back, had once more made her mother a social en tity, had in short already accomplished the object for which it had been planned and executed. and as he looked about him gamett saw that all the other actors in the show faded into insignificance beside the dominant figure of mrs. newell, became mere mario nettes pulled hither and thither by the hidden wires of her intention. one and all they were there to serve her ends and accomplish her purpose: schenkelderff and the hub bards to pay for the show, the bride and bridegroom to seal and symbolize her social tehabilitation, gamett him self as the humble instrument adjusting the diflerent parts of the complicated machinery, and her husband, finally, as the last stake in her game, the last asset on which she could draw to rebuild her fallen fortunes. at the thought gamett was filled with a deep disgust for what the scene signified, and for his own share in it. he had been her tool and dupe uke the others; if he imagined that he was serv ing hermione, it was for her mother's ends that he had worked. what right had he to sentimentalise a marriage founded on such base connivances, and how could he have imagined that in so doing he was acting a disinterested part? while these thoughts were passing through his mind [92] the last asset the ceremony had already bcrun. and the principal personages in the drama were ranged before him in the row of crimson velvet chairs whidi fius the foreground of a catholic marriage. through the glow of lights and the perfumed haze about the altar, gametfs eyes rested on the central figures of the group, und gradually the others disappeared from his view and his mind. after all, neither mrs. newell's schemes nor his own share in them could ever unsanctify hermione's marriage. it was one more testimony to life's indefatigable renewals, to nature's secret of drawing fragrance from corruption; and as his eyes turned from ihe girl's illuminated presence to the re signed and stoical figure sunk in the adjoining chair, it occurred to him that he had perhaps worked better than he knew in placing them, if only for a moment, side by side. , «< [93] in trust 11 r m iti )! in trust in the good days, just after we all left college, ned halidon and i used to 'isten, laughing and smoking, while paul ambrose set forth his plans. they were immense, these plans, involving, as it some times seemed, the ultimate {esthetic redemption of the whole human race, and provisionally restoring the sense of beauty to those unhappy millions of our fellow-country men who, as ambrose movingly pointed out, now live and die in surroundings of unperceived and unmitigated ugli "i want to bring the poor starved wretches back to their lost inheritance, to the divine past they've thrown away — i want to make 'em hate ugliness so that they'll smash nearly everything in sight," he would exclaim, stretching his arms across the shabby black walnut writing-table at which he sal, and shaking his thin consumptive fist in the face of all the accumulated upuness in the world. "you might set the example by smashing that table," i once suggested with youthful brutality; and paul, pull ing himself up, cast a surprised glance at me, and then looked slowly about the paternal library. his parents were dead, and he had inherited the house in seventeenth street, where his grandfather ambrose had [97] ill i: ■v.\: in trust lived in a setting of black walnut and pier glasses, giving madeira dinners, and ^.aying to his guests, as they rejoined the ladies across a florid waste of aubusson: "this, sir, is dabnt-y's first study for the niagara— the grecian slave in the bay window was executed for me in rome twenty years ago by my old friend ezra stimpson— " by token of which he passed for a msecenas in the new york of the 'forties,' and a poem had once been published in tlie keepsake or the book of beauty "on a picture in the possession of jonathan ambrose, esqre." since then the house had remained unchanged. paul's father, a frugal liver and hard-headed manipulator of in vestments, did not inherit old jonathan's artistic sensi bilities, and was content to live and die in the unmodified black walnut and red rep of his predecessor. it was only in paul that the grandfather's esthetic faculty revived, and mrs. ambrose used often to say to her husband, as they watched the little pale-browed boy poring over an old number of the art journal: "paul will know how to ap preciate your father's treasures." in recognition of these transmitted gifts paul, on leav ing harvard, was sent to paris with a tutor, and established in a studio in which nothing was ever done. he could not paint, and recognised the fact early enough to sa/e himself much labour and his friends many painful efforts at dis simulation. but he brought back a touching enthusiasm for the forms of be-uty which an old civilization had revealed [08] in trust to him, and an apostolic ardour in the cause of their dis semination. he had paused in his haranjfue to take in my ill-timed parenthesis, and the colour mounted to his thin cheek bones. "it is an ugly room," he owned, as though he had noticed the library for the fint time. the desk was carded at the angles with the heads of hehneted knighu with 1 .ng black wahiut moustaches. the red cloth top was worn thread-bare, and patterned like a map with islands and peninsulas of ink; and in its centre throned a massive brr,nze inkstand representing a syrian maiden slumbering by a well beneath a palm-tree. "the fact is," i said, walking home that evening with ned halidon, "old par' wiu never do anything, for the simple reason that he's too stingy." ned, who was an idealist, shook his handsome head. "it's not that, my dear feuow. he simply doesn't see things when they're too close to him. i'm glad you woke him up to that desk." the n-xt time i dined with paul he said, when we entered the library, and i had gently rejected one of his cheap cigars in favour of a superior article of my own: " look here, i've been hunting round for a decent writing table. i don't care, as a rule, to turn out old things, es pecially when they've done good service, but i see now that this is too monstrous — " [99] ^f 5 l-.'l 1)1 i ill j'l «f m m j! .i ■ ( k ^ r in trust "for on apoatle of beauty to write hi* evangel on," i agrred, "it ii a little inappropriate, except as an awful warning." paul colournl. " well, but, my dear fellow, i'd no idea how much a table of thii kind costs. i &nd i can't get any thing decent — the plainest mahogany — under a hundred and 6fty." he hung his head, and pretended not to notice that i was taking out my own cigar. "well, what's a hundred and fifty to you ?" i rejoined. " you talk as if you had to live on a book-keeper's salary, with a large family to support." he smiled nervously and twirled the ring on his thin finger. "i know— i know— that's all very well. but for twenty tables that i don't buy i can send some fellow abroad and unseal his eyes." "oh, hang it, do both!" i exclaimed impatiently; but the writing-table was never bought. the lib.ary remained as it was, and so did the contention between halidon and myself, as to whtlher this inconsistent acceptance of his surroundings was due, on our frind's part, to a congenital inability to put his hand in his pocket, or to a real uncon sciousness of the ugliness that happened to fall inside his point of vision. "but he owned that the table was ugly," i argued. "yes, but not till you'd called his attention to the fact; and i'll wager he became unconscious of it again as soon as your back was turned." [100] in trust "not before he'd had lime lo look at a lot of others, and make up his mind that he couldn't affonl to buy one." "that waa just his exrusie. he'd rather be thought mean than inaensible to ugliness. but the truth is he doesn't mind the table and is used to it. he knows bis way about the drawers." "but he could get another with the ^umc number of drawers." "too much trouble," argued halidon. "too much money," i persisted. "oh, hang it, now, if he were mean would he have founded three travelling scholarships and be planning the big academy of arts ? " " well, he's mean to himself, at any rate." "yes; and magnificently, royally generous lo all the world besides!" halidon exclaimed with one of his great flushes of enthusiasm. but if, on the whole, the last word remained with hali don, and ambrose's personal chariness seemed a trifling foible compared to his altruistic breadth of intention, yet neither of us could help observing, as time went on, that the habit of thrift was beginning to impc<le the execution of his schemes of art-philanthropy. the three traveuing scholarships had been founded in the first blaze of his ardour, and before the personal management of his prop erty had awakened in him the sleeping instincts of parsi mony. but as his capital accumulated, and problems of in [101] i 1 i'! ml in trust veatmrnt and oontidcrationa of interest began to encroach on his visionary hours, we saw a gradual arrest in the de velopment of his plan. " for every thousand dollars he talks of spending on hii work, i believe he knocks off a cigar, or buys one less news paper," halidon grumbled i "ctionately; "but after all," he went on, with one of lli ,iiick revivals of optimism that kept his spirit perpetually fresh, "after all, it makes one admire him all the mor« when one sees such a nature condemned to be at war with the petty inherited instinct of greed." still, i could see it was a disappointment to halidon that the great project of the academy of arts should con tinue to languiiih on paper after all its details had been discussed and settled to the satisfaclion of the projector, and of the expert advisers he had call<'d in council. "he's quite right to do nothing in a hurry — to take advice and compare ideas and points of view — to tol led and classify his mati^rial in odvanco," halidon argued, in answer to a taunt of mine about paul's perpetually reiterated plea that he was still waiting for so-and-so's report; "but now that the plan's mature — and ruth a plan i you'll grant it's magnificent? — i should think he'd bum to see it carried out. instead of pottering over it till his enthusiasm cools and the whole business turns stale on his hands." that summer ambrose we. it to europe, and spent his [108] in trust holiday in , fruffal walking-tour through brittany. when he came back he «emcd refro,he,l by hi, re,,.i.e from bu,ne« care, and from the interminable revision of hi« cheri.hed k^heme; while contact with the concrete mani festations of beauty had, a. u.ual, renewed hi» flagring ardour. " by jove." he cried. " whenever i in.h.lged my unworthv eyes m a long ga,e at one of those big ihings-pi.timor church or ,lalue-i kept saying to myself: 'you lucky devil, you. to be able to provide such a sight as that for eyes that can make some good u.^ of it i isn't it better to give fifty fellow, a chan.. to paint or carve or build, than to be able to daub canvas or punch clay in a corner all by yourself?'" "weu,"i«,id, 1 he had worked off his first ebuui tion, "when is the idafion stone to be laid?" his excitement drc *d. "the foundation stone-?" "when are you going to touch the electric button that kts the thing going?" paul, his hand, in his sagging pockets, began to pace the library hearth-rug-i can see him now .setting hi, shabby red .slippers between it, ramified cabbages. "my dear fellow, there are one or two point, to be con ■■idered slill-onc or two new suggestions 1 picked up over there — " i sat silent, and he paured before me, flushing to the root, of hi, thin hair. "you think i've had lime enough [103] ill li in trust that i ought to have put the thing through before this? i suppose you're right; i can see that even ned hahdon thinks so; and he has always understood my difficulties better than you have." this exasperated me. " ned would have put it through years ago!" i broke out. paul pulled at his straggling moustache. "you mean he has more executive capacity? more — no, it's not that; he's not afraid to spend money, and i am!" he suddenly exclaimed. he had never before alluded to this weakness to either of us, and i sat abashed, suffering from his evident dis tress. but he remained planted before me, his little legs wide apart, his eyes fixed on mine in an agony of volun tary self-exposure. "that's my trouble, and i know it. big sums frighten me — i can't look them in the face. by george, i wish ned had the carrying out of this scheme — i wish he could spend my money for me!" his face was lit by the reflection of a passing thought. "do you know, i shouldn't wonder if i dropped out of the running before either of you chaps, and in case i do i've half a mind to leave everything in trust to hahdon, and let him put the job through for me." "much better have your own fun with it," i retorted; but he shook his head, saying with a sigh as he turned away: "it's not fun to me — that's the worst of it." [104] r in trust halidon, to whom i could not help repeating oup talk, was amused and touched by his friend's thought. "heaven knows what wiu become of the scheme, if paul doesn't live to carry it out. there are a lot of hungry-am brose cousins who wiu make one gulp of his money, and never give a dollar to the work. jove, it wmm be a fine thing to have the carrying out of such a plan-but he'u do it yet, you'll see he'u do it yet!" cried ned, his old faith in his friend flaming up again through the wet blanket of fact. n paul ambrose did not die and leave ws fortune to halidon, but the fouowing summer he did something far more unexpected. he went abroad again, and came back married. now our busy .ancy had never seen paul married. even ned recognised the vague unlikelihood of such a metamorphosis. "he'd stick at the parson's fee-not to mention the best man's scarf-pin. and i should hate," ned added sentimentauy, "to see 'the touch of a woman's hand' desecrate the sublime ugliness of the ancestral home. think of such a house made 'cosy'!" but when the news came he would own neither to sur prise nor to disappointment. "good-bye. poor academy!" i exclaimed, tossing over [105] \ i :f 'ill in trust the bridegroom's, eight-pap! rhapsody to halidon, who had received its duplicate by the siime post. "now, why the deuce do you say that?" he growled. "1 never saw such a beast as you are for imputing mean motives." to defend myself from this accusation i put out my hand and recovered paul's letter. "here: listen to this. 'studying art in paris when i me' her— "the vision and the faculty divine, but lacking the accomplishment," etc.... a little ethereal profile, like one of piero della francesca's angels ... not rich, thank heaven, but not afraid of money, and already enamoured of my project for fertilizing my sterile millions . . . ' " "well, why the deuce — ?" ned began again, as though i had convicted myself out of my friend's mouth; and i could only grumble obscurely: "it's all too pat." he brushed aside my misgivings. "thank heaven, she can't paint, anyhow. and now that i think of it, paul's just the kind of chap who ought to have a dozen children." "ah, then indeed: good-bye, poor academy!" i croaked. the lady was lovely, of that there could be no doubt; and if paul now for a time forgot the academy, his doing so was but a vindication of his sex. halidon had only a glimpse of the returning couple before he was himself snatched up in one of the chariots of adventure that seemed perpetually waiting at his door. this time he was [106] q|i in trust going to the far east in the train of a "special mission," and his head was humming with new hopes and ardours; but he had time for a last word with me about am brose. "you'll see— you'll see!" he summed up hopefully as we parted; and what i was to see was, cf course, the crown ing pinnacle of the academy lifting itself against the horizon of the immediate future. it was in the nature of things that i should, meanwhile, see less than formerly of the projector of that unrealised structure. paul had a personal dread of society, but he wished to show his wife to the world, and i was not often a spectator on these occasions. paul indeed, good fellow, tried to maintain the pretense of an unbroken intercourse, and to this end i was asked to dine now and then; but when i went i found guests of a new type, who, after dinner, talked of sport and stocks, while their host blinked at them silently through the smoke of his cheap cigars. the first innovation that struck me was a sudden im provement in the quality of the cigars. was this daisy's doing ? (mrs. ambrose was daisy.) it was hard to tell— she produced her results so noiselessly. with her fair bent head and vague smile, she seemed to watch life flow by without, as yet, trusting anything of her own to its current. but she was watching, at any rate, and anything might come of that. such modifications as she produced were as yet almost imperceptible to any but the trained obsener. i [1071 h n ■\ i i 5 . 1 i i!' r il i in trust saw that paul wished her to be well dressed, but also that he suffered her to drive in a hired brougham, and to have her door opened by the raw-boned celt who had bumped down the dishes on his bachelor table. the drawing-room curtains were renewed, but this change served only to ac centuate the enormities of the carpet, and perhaps dis corraged mrs. ambrose from farther experiments. at any rate, the desecrating touch that halidon had alfected to dread made no other inroads on the serried ugliness of the ambrose interior. in the early summer, when ned returned, the ambroses had flown to europe again — and the academy was still on paper. "well, what do you make of her?" the traveller asked, as we sat over our first dinner together. "too many things — and they don'tliang together. per haps she*s still in the chrysalis stage." "has paul chucked the scheme altogether?" "no. he sent for me and we had a talk about it just before he sailed." "and what impression did you get?" "that he had waited to send for me till just before he sailed." "oh, there you go again!" i offered no denial, and after a pause he asked: "did she ever talk to you about it ?" "yes. once or twice — in snatches." "weu— ?" [108] in trust "she thinks it au too beautiful. she would like to see beauty put within the reach of every one." "and the practical side — ?" "she says she doesn't understand business." halidon rose with a shrug. "very likely you frightened her with your ugly sardonic grin." "it's not my fault if my smile doesn't add to the sum total of beauty." "well," he said, igno . g me, "next winter we shall see." but the next winter did not bring ambrose back. a brief line, written in november from the italian lakes, told me that he had "a rotten cough," and that the doctors were packing him off to egypt. would i see the architects for him, and explain to the trustees? (the academy al ready had trustees, and all the rest of its official hierarchy.) and would they all excuse his not writing more than a word ? me was really too groggy— but a httle warm weather would set him up again, and he would certainly come home in the spring. he came home in the spring— in the hold of the ship, with his widow several decks above. the funeral services were attended by all the officers of the academy, and by two of the young fellows who had won the travelling scholarships, and who shed tears of genuine grief when their benefactor was committed to the grave. after that there was a pause of suspense— and then the newspapers announced that the late paul ambrose had left [109] i »l i ii). 1 1 :i '. in trust hu entire estate to his widow. the board of the academy dissolved hke a summer cloud, and the secretary lighted his pipe for a year with the official paper of the still-bom institution. after a decent lapse of time i called at the house in seventeenth street, and found a man attaching a real estate agent's sign to the window and a van-load of lug gage backing away from the door. the care-taker told me that mrs. ambrose was sailing the next morning. not long afterward i saw the library table with the helmeted knights standing before an auctioneer's door in university place; and i looked with i. pang at the familiar ink-stains, in which i had so often traced the geography of paul's visionary world. halidon, who had picked up another job in the orient, wrote me an elegiac letter on paul's death, ending with —"and what about the academy ?" and for all answer i sent him a newspaper-chpping recording the terms of the will, and another announcing the sale of the house and mrs. ambrose's departure for europe. though ned and i corresponded with tolerable regu larity i received no direct answer to this communication till about eighteen months later, when he surprised me by a letter dated from florence. it began: "though she tells me you have never understood her—" and when i had reached that point i laid it down and stared out of my office window at the chimney-pots and the dirty snow on the roof. [110] in trust "ned halidon and paul's wife!" i murmured; and, in congruously enough, my next thought was: "i wish i'd bought the library table." the letter went on with waxing eloquence: "i could not stand the money if it were not that, to her as well as to me, it represents the sacred op|)ortunity of at last giving speech to his inarticulateness ..." "oh, damn it, they're too glib!" i muttered, dash ing the letter down; then, controlling wy unreasoning resentment, i read on. "you remember, >.ld man, those words of his that you repeated to me three or four years ago: 'i've half a mind to leave my money in trust to ned'? well, it has come to me in trust — as if in mysterious fulfilment of his thought; and, oh, dear chap — " i dashed the letter down, and plunged into my work. fi i 1 iii " ax /*^^ "^ >'°" °^n yourself a beast, dear boy ? " hali ~ ~ don asked me gently, one afternoon of the follow ing spring. i had escaped for a six weeks' holiday, and was lying outstretched beside him in a willow chair on the terrace of their villa above florence. my eyes turned from the happy vale at our feet to the illuminated face beside me. a little way off, at the other end [111] 1 •l:( i i in trust of the terrace, mrs. halidon was bending over a pot of carnations on the balustrade. "oh, cheerfully," i assented. "you see," he continued, glowing, "living here costs ua next to nothing, and it was quite her idea, our founding that fourth scholarship in memory of paul." i had already heard of the fourth scholarsliip, but i may have betrayed my surprise at the plural pronoun, for the blood rose under ned's sensitive skin, and he said with an embarrassed laugh: "ah, she so completely makes me forget that it's not mine too." " well, the great thing if that you both think of it chiefly as his." "oh, chiefly — altogether. i should be no more than a wretched parasite if i didn't live first of all for that!" mrs. halidon had turned and was advancing toward us with the slow step of leisurely enjoyment. the bud of her beauty had at last unfolded: her vague enigmatical gaze had given way to the clear look of the woman whose hand is on the clue of life. "she's not living for anything but her own happiness," 1 mused, "and why in heaven's name should she? but ned—" "my wife," halidon continued, his eyes following mine, "my wife feels it too, even more strongly. you know a woman's sensitiveness. she's — there's nothing she wouldn't do for his memory — because — in other ways. . . . you [112] ii ii in trust understand," lie added, lowering hia tone as she drew nearer, " that as soon os the child is bom we mean to go home for good, and take up his work — paul's work." mrs. halidon recovered slowly after the birth of her child: the return to america was deferred for six month.i, and then again for a whole year. i heard of the hulidons as established first at biarritz, then in rome. the second summer ned wrote me a line from st. moritz. he said the place agreed so well with his wife — who was still delicate — that they were "thinking of building a house there: a mere cleft in the rocks, to hide our happiness in when it becomes too exuberant"— and the rest of the letter, very properly, was filled with a rhapsody upon his little daughter. he spoke of her as paula. the following year the halidons reappeared in new york, and i heard with surprise that they had taken the brereton house for the winter. "well, why not?" i argued with myself. "after all, the money is hers: as far as i know the will didn't even hint at a restriction. why should i expect a pretty woman with two children" (for now there was an heir) "to spend her f'>rtune on a visionary scheme that its originator hadn't the heart to carry out ?" "yes," cried the devil's advocate — "but ned?" my first impression of halidon was that he had thick ened—thickened all through. he was heavier, physically, [113] t m ii lii in trust with the rud(linc!i.i of good living rather thnn of hard train ing; he s|h>kc more deliberately, and had lew* tn quent bursts of subversive enthusiasm. well, he vus a father, a house holder—yes, and a capitalist now. it was fitting that hia mcnner should show a sense of these responsibilities. as for mrs. ilaliiloii. it was evident that the only res|)onsibilitics she was conscious of were those of the hand-some woman and the accomplished hostess. she was imndsomcr than ever with her two babies at her knee — perfect mother as she was perfect wife. poor paul ! i wonder if he ever dreamed what a flower was hidden in the bud ? not long after their arrival, i dined alone with the hali dons, and lingered on to smoke with ned while his wife went alone to the opera. lie s»emed dull and out of sorts, and complained of a twinge of gout. " fact is, i don't get enough exercise — i must look about for a horse." he had gone afoot for a good many years, and kept his clear skin and quick eye on that homely regimen — but i had to remind myself that, after all, we were both older; and also that the ilalidons had champagne every evening. "how do you like these cigars? they're some i've just got out from london, bui i'm not quite satisfied with them myself," he grumbled, pushing toward me the silver box and its attendant taper. i leaned to the flame, and our eyes met as i lit my cigar. ned flushed and laughed uneai,ily. "poor paul! were you [114] 1 1! in trust tliinking of thone execrable weeds of his ?— i womlrr liow i knew you were ? probably because i've been wiintinf; to talk to you of our plan— 1 »«'nt daisy off alone so that we might have a ijuiet evening. not that she isn't interested, only the technical details bore her." i hesitated. "arc there many technical details left to settle?" ilalidon pushed his armchair back from the iire-light, and twirled his cigar between his finger-.. " i dicln'l supjwse there were till i began to look into things a little more closely. you know i never had much of a head for business, and it was chiefly with you that paul used to go over ine figures." "the figures — ?" "there it is, you see." he paused. "hove you any ideo how much this thing is going to cost ?" "approximately, yes." "and have you any idea how much we — how much daisy's fortune amounts to :" "none whatever," i hastened to assert. he looked relieved. "well, we simply can't do it — ond live." "live?" "paul didn't lire," he said impatiently. "i can't ask a woman with two children to think of— hang it, she's under no actual obligation—" he rose and beg..n to walk the floor. presently he turned and halted in front of me, de [115] n in trust fcnsively, u paul had once done jears before. " if. not timt i've lo>t the hum of my obligation— it grow, keener with the growth of my happineu: but my po«ition'i« dell tale one — " "ah, my dear fellow — " " you ,/« we it ? i knew you would." (yea. he waa duller!) "thafa the point. i can't .trip my wife and children to cany out a plan— a plan k> nebulous that even it. inven tor. . . . the long and .hort of it i. thnt the whole kheme mu..t be resludied, reorganized. paul lived in a world of dreams." i ro.« and toawd my cigar into the bre. "there weie some things he never dreamed of," i said. ilnlidon rose too, facing me uneasily. "you mean—?" "that you would taunt him with not having spent that money." he pulled himself up with darkening browa; then the muscles of his forehead relaxed, a flush suffused it, and he held out his hand in boyish penitence. "i stand a good deal from you," he said. he kept to his idea of going over the academy ques tion-threshing it out once for all, as he expressed it; but my suggestion that we should provisionally resus citate the extinct board did not meet with his ap proval. "not tiu the whole business is settled. i shouldn't have [110] 5 i: in trust the face — wait till i can go to them niiil my; 'we're lay ing the foundation-atone on such a ilay.'" we had one or two confitmcc*, ami nod ii|)«'rclily inat himwlf in a maze of figure*. his nimble fancy wnn una menable to mental discipline, and he excum<l his inatten tion with the plea that he bad no head for busineu. "all i know is that it's a coloswil undertaking, and that short of living on bread and water — " and then we turned ■new to the hard problem of retrenchment. at the close of the second conference wc fixed a dale for a third, when ned's business adviser was to \k culleil in; but before the day came i learned casually that the liali dons had gone south. some weeks later ned wrote me from florida, apologizing for his remi5.sncss. they had rushed off suddenly — his wife had a cough, he ex plai". ". when they returned in the spring i heard that they had bought the brereton house, for what seemed to my inex perienced ears a very large sum. but ned, whom i met one day ftt the club, explained to me convincingly that it was really the mo.st economical thing they could do. "you don't understand about such things, dear boy, living in your diogenes tub; but wait till there's a mrs. diogenes. i can assure you it's a lot cheaper than building, which is what daisy would have preferred; and of course," he added, his colour rising as our eyes met, "of course, once the academy's going, i shall have to make my head-quartera [in] r-j i 1^ t :;4 .1 in trust here; and i suppose even jou won't grudge me a roof over my head." the brereton roof was a vast one, with a marble balus trade about it; and i could quite understand, without ned's halting explanation, that "under the circum stances" it would be necessary to defer what he called "our work — " "of course, after we've rallied from this amputation, we shall grow fresh supplies— i mean my wife's investments will," he laughingly corrected, "and then we'll have no big outlays ahead and shall know ex actly where we stand. after all, my dear fellow, charity begins at home!" rv |:i if , 't^he halidons floated off to europe for the summer. in due course their return was announced in the social chronicle, and walking up fifth avenue one after noon i saw the back of the brereton house sheathed in scaffolding, and perceived that they were adding a wing. i did not look up halidon, nor did i hear from him till the middle of the winter. once or twice, meanwhile, i had seen him in the back of his wife's opera box; but mrs. halidon had grown so resplendent that she reduced her handsome husband to a supernumerary. in january the papers began to talk of the halidon ball; and in due course i received a card for it. i am not a frequenter of balls, [118] in trust aihi 'idd no intention of going to this one; but .vhen the day came some obscure impulse moved me to set as \ my rule and toward midnight i presented myself o id's illuminated portals. i shall never forget his look when i accosted hiu. '.\ : the threshold of the big new ball-room. with celibate egoism i had rather fancied he would be gratified by my departure from custom; but one glance sl'v d me my mistake. he smiled warmly, indeed, and threw into his hand-clasp an artificial energy of welcome — "you of all people — my dear fellow! have you seen daisy?" — but the look behind the smile made me feel cold in the crowded room. nor was mrs. halidon's greeting calculated to restore my circulation. "have you come to spy on us r " her frosty smile seemed to say; and i crept home early, wondering if she had not found me out. it was the following week that halidon turned up one day in my office. he looked pale and thinner, and for the first time i noticed a dash of gray in his hair. i ^as startled at the change in him, but i reflected that it was nearly a year since we had looked at each other by daylight, and that my shaving-glass had doubtless a similar tale to tell. he fidgeted about the office, told me a funny story about his little boy, and then dropped into a chair. "ix)ok here," he said, "i want to go into business." "business?" i stared. [119] i i 'f'\ i y i i'^ in trust "well, why not ? i suppose men have gone to work, even at my age, and not made a complete failure of it. the fact is i want to make some money." he paused, and added: "i've heard of an opportunity to pick up for next to noth ing a site for the academy, and if i could lay my hands on a little cash — '* "do you want to speculate?" i interposed. "heaven forbid! but don't you see that, if i bad a fixed job — so much a quarter — i could borrow the money and pay it off gradually ? " i meditated on this astounding proposition. "do you really think it's wise to buy a site before — " "before what?" "well — seeing ahead a little?" his face fell for a moment, but he rejoined cheerfully: "it's an exceptional chance, and after all, i shall see ahead if i can get regular work. i can put by a little every month, and by and by, when our living expenses diminish, my wife means to come forward — her idea would be to give the building — " he broke off and drummed on the table, waiting ner vously for me to speak. he did not say on what grounds he still counted on a diminution of his househoh expenses, and i had not the cruelty to press this point; but i mur mured after a moment: "i think you're right — i should try to buy the land." we discussed his potentialities for work, which were [120] £ in trust obviously still an unknown quantity, and the conference ended in my sending him to a firm of real-estate brokers who were looking out for a partner with a little money to invest. halidon had a few thousands of his own, which he decided to embark in the venture; and thereafter, for the remaining -lonths of the winter, he appeared punctually at a desk in the broker's office, and sketched plans of the academy on the back of their business paper. the site for the future building had meanwhile been bought, and i rather deplored the publicity which ned gave to the fact; but, after all, since this publicity served to commit him more deeply, to pledge him conspicuously to the completion of his task, it was perhaps a wise instinct of self-coercion that had prompted him. it was a dull winter in realty, and toward spring, when the market began to revive, one of the halidon children showed symptoms of a delicate throat, and the fashion able doctor who humoured the family ailments counselled — nay, commanded — a prompt flight to the mediterranean. "he say? a new york spring would be simply criminal — and as for those ghastly southern places, my wife won't hear of them; so we're oif. but i shall be back in july, and i mean to stick to the office all summer." he was true to his word, and reappeared just as all his friends were deserting town. for two torrid months he sat at his desk, drawing fresh plans of the academy, and wait ing for the wind-fall of a "big deal"; but in september [121] i i in trust he broke down from the effect of the unwonted confine ment and his indignant wife swept him off to the mountains. "why ned should work when we have the money — i wish he'd sell that wretched piece of land!" and sell it he did one doy: i chanced on a record of the transaction in the realty column of the morning paper. he afterward explained the sale to me at length. owing to some spas modic effort at municipal improvement, there had been an unforseen rise in the adjoining property, and it would have been foolish — yes, i agreed that it would have been fool ish. he had made $10,000 on the sale, and that would go toward paying off what he had borrowed for the original purchase. meanwhil he could be looking about for another site. later in the winter he told me it was a bad time to look. his position in the real-estate business enabled him to follow the trend of the market, and that trend was ob stinately upward. but of course there would be a reaction — and he was keeping his eyes open. as the resuscitated academy scheme once more fell into abeyance, i saw halidon less and less frequently; and we had not met for several months, when one day of june my morning paper startled me with the announcement that the president had appointed edward halidon of new york to be civil commissioner of our newly acquired eastern possession, the manana islands. "the unhealthy climate of the islands, and the defective sanitation of the [182] in trust towns, make it necessary that vigorous measures should be taken to protect the health of the american citizens es tablished there, and it is believed that mr. halidon's large experience of eastern life and well-known energy of char acter — " i read the paragraph twice; then i dropped the paper, and projected myself through the subway to hali don's office. but he was not there; he had not been there for a month. one of the clerks believed he was in wash ington. "it's true, then!" i said to myself. "but mrs. halidon in the mananas — ?" a day or two later ned appeared in my office. he looked better than when we had last met, and there was a deter mined line about his lips. "my wife? heaven forbid! you don't suppose i should think of taking her? but the job's a tremendouniy inter esting one, and it's the kind of work i believe i can do — the only kind," he added, smiung rather ruefully. "but my dear ned — " he faced me with a look of quiet resolutirn "i think i've been through all the buta. it's an infernal climate, of course, but then i am used to the ^^ast— i know what pre cautions to take. and it would b a big thing to clean up that augean stable." " but consider your wife and children — " he met this with deliberation. "i have considered my children — that's the point. i don't want them to be able to [123] 'i ( in trust say, when ihey look back ; ' he was content to go on living on that money — '" "my dear ned — " "that's the one thing they shan't say of me," he re peated vehemently. " i've tried other ways — but i'm no good at business. i see now that i shall never make money enough to carrjout the scheme mysel'; but at least i can clear out, and not go on being his pension-^r — seeing his dreams turned into horses and carpets and clothes—" he broke off, and leaning on my desk hid his face in his hands. when he looked up again his flush of wrath had subsided. "just understand me — it's not her fauh. don't fancy i'm trying for an instant to shift the blame. a woman with children simply obeys the instinct of her sex; she puts them first— and i wouldn't have it otherwise. as far as she's concerned there were no conditions attached^thcre's no reason why she should make any safrifice." he paused, and added painfully: "the trouble is, i can't make her see that i'm differently situated." "but, ned, the climate — what are you going to gain by chucking yourself away ? " he lifted his brows. "that's a queer argument from you. and, besides, i'm up to the tricks of all those ague holes. and i've got to live, you see: i've got something to put through." he saw my look of enquiry, and added with a shy poignant laugh— how i hear it still!—: "i don't [m] in trust mean only the job in hand, though that's enough in itself; but paul's work— you understand.— it won't come in my day, of courae-i've got to accept that— but my boy's a splendid chap" (the boy was three), "and i tell you what it is, old man, i believe when he grows up he'u put it through." halidon went to the mananas, ant. for two years the journals brought me incidental reports of the work he was accomplishing. he certainly had found a job to his hand: official words of commendation rang through the country, and there were lengthy newspaper leaders on the efficiency with which our representative was prosecuting his task in that lost comer of our colonies. then one day a brief para graph announced his death— "one of the last victims of the pestilence he had so successfully combated." that evening, at my club, i heard men talking of him. one said: "what's the use of a fellow wasting himself on a lot of savages?" and another wiseacre opined: "oh, he went off because there was friction at home. a fellow like that, who knew the east, would have got through all right if he'd taken the proper precautions. i saw him before he left, and i never saw a man look less as if he wanted to live." i turned on the last speaker, and my voice made him arop his lighted cigar on his complacent knuckles. "i never knew a man," i exclaimed, "who had better reasons for wanting to live!" [125] in trust a handsome youth mused; "yes, his wife is very beauti ful—but it doesn't follow—" and then some one nudged him, for they knew i was halidon's friend. 1 f (h8j l\ •i the pretext '1 i k h i!) the pretext mrs. ransom, when the front door had closed on her visitor, passed with a spring from the drawing-room to the narrow hull, and thence up the narrow stairs to her bedroom. though slender, and still light of foot, she did not al ways move so quickly: hitherto, in her life, there had not been much to hurry for, save the recurring domestic tasks that com|)el haste without fostering elasticity; but some impetus of youth revived, communicati-'l to her by her talk with guy dawnish, now found expression in her girlish flight upstairs, her girlish impatience to bolt herself into her room with her throbs and her blushes. her blushes ? was she really blushing ? she approached the cramped eagle-topped mirror above her plain piim dressing-table: just such a meagre concession to the weakness of the flesh as every old-fashioned house in wentworth counted among its relics. the face re flected in this unflattering surface— for even the mirrors of wentworth erred on the side of depreciation— did not seem, at first sight, a suitable theatre for the display of the tenderer emotions, and its owner blushed more deeply as the fact was forced upon her. [189] i i the pretext hit fnir hnir hnil grown too thin— it no lon(j«t quite hid the blue veins in the nindid foreheoil that one aeemed to see turned toward i>rofr»soriol desks, in large bare balll where a snowy winter light fell uneoiupromisingly on row. of "thoughtful women." her mouth was thin, too. and a little strained: her lips were loo pale; and there were lines in the comers of her ryes. it was u fu<-e which had grown middle-aged while it waited for the joys of youth. well— but if she could still blush? instinctively ahe drew back a little, so that her scrutiny became less micro scopic, and the pretty lingering pink throw a veil over her pallour, the hollows in her temples, the faint wrinkles of in exih-rience about her lips and eyes. how a little colour helped! it mode her eyes so deep ond shining. she .saw now why bad women rouged her redness deeiwned at the thought. but suddenly she noticed for the first time that the col lar of her dress was too low. it showed the shrunken hnes of the throat. she rummaged feverishly in a tidy scentless drawer, and snatching out a bit of black velvet, bound it about her neck. yes— that was better. it gave her the relief she needed. relief— contrast— that was it! she had never had any, either in her appearance or in her setting. she was as flat as the pattern of the wall-paper— and so was her life. and all the people about her had the same look. wentworth was the kind of place where husbands and wives gradually grew to resemble each other— one or two [130] is:l the imiktext of hrr frirncn, slir remi'inlm'n'<l, hnd inlil her liitcly thai ahe and ranmiiii were lieginntiik to l<k)k alike. . . . but why had ahe always, 8a tamely, allowed her asiicct to confonii lo her sitimllon ? i'erhiiph u gnyvr exterior would hove provoked a brighter fate. kveii now — she turned back to the glass, uk)s<>n(ml her tight strands of hair, run the fine end of the comb under them with a frizzing motion, and then disposed them, more lightly and amply, above her eager face. yes — it was really better; i> made a difference. she smiled ol herself with a timid (wiuelry, and her lips seemed rosier as she smiled. then she laid down the comb and the smile faded. it made a differ ence, certoinly — but was it right to try to make one's hair look thicker and wavier than it really was ? between that and rouging the ethical line seemed almost imperceptible, and the spectre of her rigid new england ancestry rose reprovingly before her. she was sure that none of her grand mothers had ever simula'e-l a > .r' -r encouraged a blush. a blush, indeed! what h-.l i.iy ■ f lln .n ever had lo lilusb for in all their frozen lives ? and what, in heaven's name, had she ? she sat down in the stiff mahogany rocking-chair beside her work-table and tried to collect herself. from childhood she had been taught to "collect herself" — but never before had her small sensations and as;>irations been so widely scattered, diffused over so vague and uncharted an expanse. hitherto they lad lain in neatly sorted and easily accessible bundles on the high shelves of a perfectly [131] h< :.. ■i !. >. i i ' the pretext ordered moral consciousness. and now— now that for the first time they needed collecting— now that the little winged and scattered bits of self were dancing madly down the vagrant winds of fancy, she knew no spell to cau them to the fold again. the best way. no doubt— if only her be wilderment permitted— was to go back to the beginning— the begii,„ing, at least, of to-day's visit— to recapitukte, word for word and look for look she clasped her hands on the arms of the chair, checked its swaying with a thrust of her foot, and hxed her eyes on the inward vision. . . . to begin with, what had made to-day's visit so different from the others ? it became suddenly vivid to her that there had been many, almost daily, others, since guy dawn ish's coming to wentworth. even the previous wintei— the winter of his arrival from england— his visits had been numerous enough to make wentworth aware that— very naturally— mrs. ransom was "looking after" the stray young englishman committed to her husband's care by an eminent q. c. whom the ransoms had known on one of their london visits, and with whom ransom had since maintained professional relations. all this was in ihe naiural order of things, as sanctioned by the social code of wentworth. every one was kind to guy da^nish —some rather importunately so, as margaret ransom had smiled to observe— but it was recognised as fitting that she should be kindest, since he was in a sense her [138] ¥ i^ 1 1^ \ ski^ ■i j! the pretext property, since his people in england, by profusely ac knowledging her kindness, h"-^ »iven it the domestic sanction without which, to wer..,t'orth, any social relation between the sexes remained unhallowed and to be viewed askance. yes! and even this second winter, when the visits had become so much more frequent, so admitted a part of the day's routine, there had not been, from any one, a hint of surprise or of conjecture. mrs. ransom smiled with a faint bitterness. she was protected by her age, no doubt — her age and her past, and the image her mirror gave back to her. . . . her door-handle turned suddenly, and the bolt's re sistance was met by an impatient knock. "margaret!" she started up, her brightness fading, and unbolted the door to admit her husband. "why are you locked in? why, you're not dressed yet!" he exclaimed. it was possible for ransom to reach his dressing-room by a slight circuit through the passage; but it was character istic of the relentless domesticity of their relation that he chose, as a matter of course, the directer way through his wife's bedroom. she had never befcre been disturbed by this practice, which she accepted as inevitable, but had merely adapted her own habits to it, delaying her hasty toilet till he was safe in his room, or completing it before she heard his step on the stair; since a scrupulous tra [133] ■ i' ii i ! ":i i "* it i; :| j' ■ (' the pretext ditional prudery had miraculously survived this massacre of all the privacies. "oh, i shan't dress this evening — i shall just have some tea in the library after you've gone," she answered absently. "your things are laid out," she added, rous ing herself. he looked surprised. "the dinner's at seven. i suppose the speeches will begin at nine. i thought you were com ing to hear them." she wavered, "i don't know. i think not. mrs. sperry's ill, and i've no one else to go with." he glanced at his watch. "why not get hold of dawn ish? wasn't he here just now? why didn't you ask him?" she turned toward her dressing-table and straightened the comb and brush with a nervous hand. her husband had given her, that morning, two tickets for the ladies' gallery in hamblin hall, where the great public dinner of the evening was to take place — a banquet offered by the faculty of wentworth to visitors of academic eminence — and she had meant to ask dawnish to go with her: it had seemed the most natural thing to do, till the end of his visit came, and then, after all, she had not spoken. . . . "it's too late now," she murmured, bending over her pincushion. "too late? not if you telephone him." her husband came toward her, and she turned quickly [134] the pretext to face him, lest he should suspect her of trying to avoid his eye. to what duplicity was she already committed! ransom laid a friendly hand on her arm: "come along, margaret. you know i speak for the bar." she was aware, in his voice, of a little note of surprise at his having to re mind her of this. "oh, yes. i meant to go, of course — " "well, then — " he opened his dressing-room door, and caught a glimpse of the retreating house-maid's skirt. "here's maria now. maria! call up mr. dawnish— at mrs. creswell's, you know. tell him mrs. ransom wants him to go with her to hear the speeches this evening— the speeches, you understand ?— and he's to call for her at a quarter before nine." margaret heard the irish "yessir" on the stairs, and stood motionless while her husband added loudly: "and bring me some towels when you come up." then he turned back into his wife's room. "why, it would be a thousand pities for guy to miss this. he's so interested in the way we do things over here — and i don't know that he's ever heard me speak in pub lic." again the slight note of fatuity! was it possible that ransom was fatuous ? he paused in front of her, his short-sighted unobservant glance turned unexpectedly on her face. "you're not going like that, are you ?" he asked, with glaring eye-glasses. [135] ' 1 pi i i i' ( 1 1 1' 1 1 m"-! the pretext "like what?" she faltered, lifting a conscious hand to the velvet at her throat. "with your hair in such a fearful mess. have you been shampooing it? you look like the brant girl at the end of a tennis-match." the brant girl was their horror— the horror of all right-thinking wentworth; a laced, whale-boned, frizzle headed, high-heeled daughter of iniquity, whj came— from new york, of course— on long disturbing tumultu ous -i-isits to a wentworth .i.ml, working h^voc among the freshmen, and leaving, wh she departed, an angry wake of criticism that ruffled the social waters for weeks. she, too, had tried her hand at guy— with ludicrous unsuccess. and now, to be compared to her— to be accused of look ing "new yorky!" ah, there are times when husbands are obtuse; and ransom, as he stood there, thick and yet juiceless, in his dry legal middle age, with his wiry dust coloured beard and his perpetual pince-nez, seemed to his wife a sudden embodiment of this traditional attribute. not that she had ever fancied herself, poor soul, a."jemme incompriae." she had, on the contrary, prided herself on being understood by her husband almost as much as on her own complete comprehension of him. wentworth laid a good deal of stre&s on "motives"; and margaret ran som and her husband had dwelt in complete community of motive. it had been the proudest day of b-r life when, without consulting her, he had refused an of? .• of partner [136] the pretext ship in an eminent new york firm beca.« he preferre- the d.,met.-o„ of practising in vventworth. of being known the lega, repreaen .tive of the university. wentworth. m fact, had always been the bond between the two; they were united in their veneration for that estimable seat of 'earnmg. and in their modest yet vi.d consciousness of posse-mg its tone. the wentworth "tone" is unmis akabic: .t permeates every part of the social economy. food. it haa ,ts sumptuary laws as well as its curriculum of leannng. it sits in judgment not only on its own towns men but on the rest of the world-enlightening, criticising ostracsmg .. heedless universe-and non-conformity to wentworth standards involves obuteration from went worth's consciousness. in a world without traditions, without reverence, with out stability, such uttle expiring centres of prejudice and precedent make an irresistible appeal to those instincts for which a democracy has neglected to p„>vide. went worth with its "tone." its backward references, its in flexible aversions and condemnations, its hard moral out ime preserved intact against a whirling background of expenment had been all the poetry andhistory of margaret ransoms hfe. yes. what she had really esteemed in her husband wa. the fact of his being so intense an embodi ment of wentworth; so long and closely identified, for mstance. with its legal aft.u. , that he was ahnost a part of [137] !(i i the pretext iu university existence, that of course, at a college banquet, he would inevitably speak for the bar! it was wonderful of how much consequence all this hud seemed till now. . . . ii i.i= when, punctually at ten minutes to seven, her hus band had emerged from the house, margaret ransom remained seated in her bedroom, addressing herself anew to the difficult process of self-collection. as an aid to this endeavour, she bent forward and looked out of the window, following ransom's figure as it re ceded down the elm-shaded street. he moved almost alone between the prim flowerless grass-plots, the white porches, the protrusion of irrelevant shingled gables, which stamped the empty street as part of an american college town. she had always been proud of living in hill street, where the university people congregated, proud to as sociate her husband's retreating back, as he walked daily to his office, with backs literary and pedagogic, backs of which it was whispered, for the edification of duly-im pressed visitors: "wait till that old boy turns — that's so-and-so." this had been her world, a world destitute of personal experience, but filled with a rich sense of privilege and distinction, of being not as those millions were who, de [138] -!'• ') / the pretext nied the inestimable advantage of living at wenlwortli, pursued elsewhere careers foredoomed to futility. and now — ! she rose and turned to her work-table, where she had dropped, on entering, the handful of photographs that guy dawnish had left with her. while he sat so close, pointing out and explaining, she had hardly taken in the details; but now, on the full tones of his lew young voice, they came back with redoubled distinctness. this was guise abbey, bis uncle's place in wiltshire, where, under his grandfather's rule, guy's own boyhood had been spent: a long gabled jacobean fafade, many-chimneyed, ivy-draped, overhung (she felt sure) by the boughs of a venerable rookery. and in this other picture — the walled garden ot guise — that was his uncle. lord askem, a hale gouty-looking figure, planted robustly on the terrace, a gun on his shoulder and a couple of setters at his feet. and here was the river below the park, with guy "punt ing" a girl in a flapping hat — how margaret hated the flap that hid the girl's face! and here was the tennis-court, with guy among a jolly cross-legged group of youths in flannels, and pretty girls about the tea-table under the big lime: in the centre the curate banding bread and butter, and in the middle distance a footman approaching with more cups. margaret raised this picture closer to her eyes, puzzling, in the diminished light, over the face of the girl nearest [139] i li 1. rl ^t: 1 the pretext to guy dawnuh — bent above him in profile, while he laughingly lifted his head. no hat hid this profile, which stood out clearly against the foliage behind it. "and who is that handsome girip" margaret had said, detaining the photograph as he pushed it aside, and struck by the fact that, of the whole group, he hi ! left only this member unnamed. "oh, only gwendolen matcher — i've always known her — . look at this: the almshouses at guise. aren't they jolly?" and then — without her having had the courage to ask if the girl in the punt were also gwendolen matcher — they passed on to photographs of his rooms at oxford, of a cousin's studio in london — one of lord askem's grand sons was "artistic" — of the rose-hung cottage in wales to which, on the old earl's death, his daughter-in-law, guy's mother, had retired. every one of the photographs opened a window on the hfe margaret had been trying to picture since she had known him — a life so rich, so romantic, so packed — in the mere casual vocabulary of daily life — with historic refer ence and poetic allusion, that she felt almost oppressed by this distant whiff of its air. the very words he used fascinated and bewildered her. he seemed to have been bom into all sorts of connections, political, historical, official, that made the ransom situation at wentworth as featureless at the top-shelf of a dark closet. some one [140] the pretext in the family had "asked for the chiltem hundreds"— one uncle was an elder brother of the trinity house — some one eke was the master of a college — some one was in command at devonport — the army, the navy, the house of commons, the house of lords, the most venerable seats of learning, were all woven into the dense background of this young man's light unconscious talk. for the un consciousness was unmistakable. margaret was not with out ex)yerience of the transatlantic visitor t.'ho sounds loud names and evokes reverberating connections. the poetry of guy dawnish's situation lay in the fact that it was so completely a part of early associations and accepted facts. life was like that in england— in wentworth, of course (where he had been sent, through his uncle's in fluence, for two years' training in the neighbouring elec trical works at smedden) — in wentworth, though "im mensely jolly," it was different. the fact that he was qualifying to be an electrical engineer— with the hope of a secretaryship at the london end of the great smedden company— that, at best, he was returning home to a life of industrial "grind," this fact, though avowedly a bore, did not disconnect him from that brilliant pinnacled past, that many-faceted existence in which the brightest episodes of the whole body of enghsh fiction seemed collectively re flected. of course he would have to work — ^younger sons' sons almost always had to — but his uncle askem (like wentworth) was "immensely jolly," and guise always [141] ••j m i m i the pretext open to him, and his other uncle, the master, a capital old boy too — and in town he could always put up with his clever aunt. lady caroline duckett, who had made a "beastly marriage" and was horribly poor, but who knew everybody jolly and amusing, and had always been par ticularly kind to him. it was not — and margaret had not, even in her own thoughts, to defend herself from the imputation — it was not what wentworth would have called the "material side" of her friend's situation that captivated her. she was austerely proof against such appeals: her enthusiasms were all of the imaginative order. what subjugated her was the unexampled prodigality with which he poured for her the same draught of tradition of which went worth held out its little teacupful. he besieged her with a million wentworths in one — saying, as it were: "all these are mine for the asking — and i choose you instead!" for this, she told herself somewhat dizzily, was what it came to — the summing-up toward which her conscientious efforts at self-collection had been gradually pushing her: with all this in reach, guy dawnish w leaving went worth reluctantly. "i wan a bit lonely here at first — but now i" and again: "it will be jolly, of course, to see them all again— but there are some things one doesn't easily give up...." [im] 51: the puetkxt if he had known only wenlworth, it would have been wonderful enough that he should have chosen her out of all vventworth— but to have known that other life, and to set her in the balance against it— poor margaret ransom, in whom, at the moment, nothing seemed of weight but her years i ah, it might well produce, in nerves, and brain, and poor unpractised pulses, a flushed tumult of sensation, the rush of a great wave of life, under which memory struggled in vain to reassert itself, to particularise again just what his last words— the very last— had been when consciousness emerged, quivering, from this ret rospective assault, it pushed morgaret ransom— feeling hervelf a mere leaf in the blast— toward the writing-table tp which her innocent and voluminous correspondence > utually flowed. she had a letter to write now— much shorter but more diflicult than any she had ever been called on to indite. "dear mr. dawnish," she began, "since telephoning you just now i have decided not — " maria's voice, at the door, announced that tea was in the library: "and i s'pose it's the brown silk you'll wear to the speaking?" in the usual order of the ransom existence, its mistress's toilet was performed unassisted; and the mere enquiry— at once friendly and deferential— projected, for margaret, b strong light on the importance of the occasion. that she [143] f'l n tf ' ii the pretext should answer "but i am not going," when the going was so manifestly part of a household solemnity about which the thoughts below stairs fluttered in proud partici pntion; that in face of such participation she should utter 8 word implying indifference or hesitation — nay, repeal ing herself the transposed uprooted thing she had been on the verge of becoming; to do this was — well! infinitely harder than to perform th>. alternative act of tearing up the sheet of note-paper under her i^'luctant pen. yes, she said, she -vould wric the brown silk m all the hent and glare from the long illuminated ■^ *• table, about which the fumes of many courses still hung in a savoury fog, seemed to surgr up to the ladies' galleiy, and concentrate themselves in the burning cheeks of a slender figure withc^rawn behind the projection of a pillar. it never occurred to margaret ransom that she was sitting in the shade. she supposed that the full light of the chandijiers was beating on her face — and there were mo ments when it seemed as though all the heads about the great horse-shoe below, bald, shaggy, sleek, close-thatched, or thinly latticed, were equipped with an additional pair of eyes, set at an angle which enabled them to rake her face as relentlessly as the electric burners. '1; i the pretext in the lull after a iipmrch, the gallery was buttering with the rujile of prugrammei consulted, iind mrs. sheff (tl.« brant girl's aunt) leaned forwurtl to say enthusiastically: "and now we're to hear mr. itanaom!" a louder buzz rose from the table, and the heads (with out relaxing their upward vigilance) seemed to merge and flow together, like an attentive flood, toward the upper end oi the horse-shoe, where all the threads of margaret ransom's consciousness were suddenly drawn into what seemed a small speck, no more— a black speck that rose, hung in air, dissolved into gyrating gestures, became dis tended, enormous, preponderant— became her husband "speaking." "it's the heat—" margaret gasped, pre.ssing her hand kerchief to her whitening lips, and finding just strength enough left to push back farther into the shadow. she felt a touch on her arm. "it u horrible— shall we go?" a voice suggested; and, "yes, yes, let us go," she whispered, feeling, with a greot throb of relief, that to be the only possible, the only conceivable, solution. to sit and listen to her husband now — how could she ever have thought she could survive it? luckily, under the lingering hubbub from below, his opening words were inaudible, and she had only to run the gauntlet of sympathetic feminine glances, shot after her between waving fans and programmes, as, guided by guy dawn ish, she managed to reach the door. it was really so i ' r ml the pretext hot that even mrs. shefif was not much surprised — till long afterward. . . . the winding staircase was empty, half dark and blessedly silent. in a committee room below dawnish found the in evitable water jug, and filled a glass for her, while she leaned back, confronted only by a frowning college presi dent in an emblazoned frame. the academic frown de scended on her like an anathema when she rose and fol lowed her companion out of the building. hamblin hall .stands at the end of the long green "campus" with its sextuple line of elms — the boast and singularity of wentworth. a pale spring moon, rising above the dome of the university library, at the opposite end of the elm-walk, diffused a pearly mildness in the .sky, melted to thin haze the shadows of the trees, and turned to golden yellow the lights of the college windows. against this soft suffusion of light the library cupola assumed a braman tesque grace, the white steeple of the congregational church became a campanile topped by a winged spirit, and the scant porticoes of the older halls the colonnades of classic temples. "this is better — " dawnish said, as they passed down the steps and under the shadow of the elms. they moved on a little way in silence before he began again: "you're too tired to walk. let us sit down a few minutes." [146] the pretext her feet, in truth, were leaden, and not far off a group of park benches, encircling the pedestal of a patriot in bronze, invited them to rest. but dawnish was guiding her toward a lateral path which bent, through shrubberies, toward a strip of turf between two buildings. "it will be cooler by the river," he said, moving on with out waiting for a possible protest. none came: it seemed easier, for the moment, to let herself lie led without any conventional feint of resistance. and besides, there was nothing wrong about ihia — the wrong would have been in sitting up there in the glare, pretending to usten lo her hus band, a dutiful wife among her kind. . . . the path descended, as both knew, to the chosen, the inimitable spot of wentworth: that fugitive curve of the river, where, before hurrying on to glut the brutal industries of south wentworth and smedden, it simulated for a few hundred yards the leisurely pace of an ancient university stream, with willows on its banks and a stretch of turf ex tending from the grounds of hamblin hall to the boat houses at the farther bend. here, too, were benches beneath the willows, and so close to the river that the voice of its gliding softened and filled out the reverberating silence between margaret and her companion, and made her feel that she knew why he had brought her there. "do you feel better?" he asked gently as he sat down beside her. "ob, yes. i only needed a little air." [147] 11 i ^11 41 ilj^ i ^)l ! i i the pretext "i'm so glad you did. of course the speeches were tre mendously interesting — but i prefer this. what a good night!" "yes." there was a pause, which now, after all, the soothing accompaniment of the river seemed hardly sufficient to fill. "i wonder what time it is. i ought to be going home," margaret began at length. "oh, it's not late. they'll be at it for hours in there — yet." she made a faint inarticulate sound. she wanted to say: "no — bobert's speech was to be the last — " but she could not bring herself to pronounce ransom's name, and at the moment no other way of refuting her companion's state ment occurred to her. the young man leaned back luxuriously, reassured by her silence. "you see it's my last chance — and i want to make the most of it." "your last chance?" how stupid of her to repeat his words on that cooing note of interrogation! it was just such a lead as the brant girl might have given him. "to be with you — like this. i haven't had so many. and there's less than a week left." she attempted to laugh. "perhaps it will sound longer if you call it five days," [148] li 'ii the pretext the flatness of that, again! and she knew there were people who called her intelligent. fortunately he did not aeem to notice it; but her laugh continued to sound in her own ears — the coquettish chirp of middle age! she decided tha' .. he spoke again — if he taid anything — she would make no farther effort at evasion : she would take it directly, seriously, frankly — she would not be doubly disloyal. "besides," he continued, throwing his arm along the back of the bench, and turning toward her so that his face was like a dusky bas-relief with a silver rim — "besides, there's something i've been wanting to tell you." the sound of the river seemed to cease altogether: the whole world became silent. margaret had trusted her inspiration farther than it ap peared likely to cany her. again she could think of nothing happier than to repeat, on the same witless note of interro gation: "to tell me?" "you only." the constraint, the di£sculty, seemed to be on his side now: she divined it by the renewed shifting of his atti tude — he was capable, usually, of such fine intervals of im mobility — and by a confusion in his utterance th? set her own voice throbbing in her throat. "you've been so perfect to me," he began again. "it's not my fault if you've made me feel that you would under stand everything — make allowances for everything — see just how a man may have held out, and fought against a [119] l\ ml .-'ff i i: ill the pretext thing — as long as he had the strength. . . . this may be my only chance; and i can't go away without telling you." he had turned from her now, and was staring at the river, so that his profile was projected against the moon light in all its beautiful young dejection. there was a slight pause, as though he waited for her to speak; then she leaned forward and laid her hand on hia. "if i have really been — if i have done for you even the least part of what you say . . . what you imagine . . . will you do for me, now, just one thing in return ?" he sat motionless, as if fearing to frighten away the shy touch on his hand, and she left it there, conscious of her gesture only as part of the high ritual of their farewell. " wliat do you want me to do ?" he asked in a low tone. "not tu tell me!" she breathed on a deep note of en treaty. "jvottoteuyou— ?" "anything — anything — just to leave our . . .our friend ship ... as it has been — as — as a painter, if a friend asked him, might leave a picture — not quite finished, perhaps, . . . but all the more exquisite. . . ." she felt the hand under hers slip away, recover itself, and seek her own, which had flashed out of reach in the same instant — ^felt the start ^l swept him round on her as if he had been caught and turned about by the shoulders. "you — you — ?" he stammered, in a strange voice full of fear and tenderness, but she held fast, so centred in [150] hi 1 the pretext her inexorable resolve that she was hardly conscious of the effect her words might be producing. "don't you see," she hurried on, "don't you feel how much safer it is — ^yes, i'm willing to put it so! — how much safer to leave everything undisturbed . . . just as ... as it has grown of itself . . . without trying to say : ' it's this or that' . . . ? it's what we each choose to call it to ourselves, after all, isn't it ? don't let us try to find a name that . . . that we should both agree upon ... we probably shouldn't succeed." she laughed abruptly. "and ghosts vanish when one names them!" she ended with a break in her voice. when she ceased her heart was beating so violently that there was a rush in her ears like the noise of the river after rain, and she did not immediately make out what he was answering. but as she recovered her lucidity she said to herself that, whatever he was saying, she must not hear it; and she began to speak again, half playfully, half ap pealingly, with an eloquence of entreaty, an ingenuity in argument, of which she had never dreamed herself cap able. and then, suddenly, strangling hands seemed to reach up from her heart to her throat, and she had to stop. her companion remained motionless. he had not tried to regain her hand, and his eyes were away from her, on the river. but his nearness had become something formid able and exquisite — something she had never before [151] 1 i ". 3 v(f the pretext imagined. a flush of guilt swept over her — vague reminis cences of french novels and of opera plots. this was what such women felt, then . . . this was "shame." . . . phrases of the newspaper and the pulpit danced before her. . . . she dared not speak, and his silence began to frighten her. had ever a heart beat so wildly before in wentworth ? he turned at last, and taking her two hands, quite simply, kissed them one after the other. "i shall never forget — " he said in a confused voice, unlike his own. a return of strength enabled her to rise, and even to let her eyes meet his for a moment. "thank you," she said, simply also. she turned away from the bench, regaining the path that led back to the college buildings, and he walked beside her in silence. when they reached the elm walk it was dotted with dispersing groups. the "speaking" was at an end, and hamblin hall had poured its audience out into the moonlight. margaret felt a rush of relief, followed by a receding wave of regret. she had the distinct sensation that her hour — her one hour — was over. one of the groups just ahead broke up as they ap proached, and projected ransom's solid bulk against the moonlight. "my husband," she said, hastening forward; and she never afterward forgot the look of his back — heavy, round-shouldered, yet a little pompous — in a badly fitting [152] the pretext overcoat that stood out at the neck and hid hia collar. she had never before noticed how he dressed. iv 'tphey met again, inevitably, before dawnish left; but the thing she feared did not happen— he did not try to see her alone. it even became clear to her, in looking back, that he had deliberately avoided doing so; and this seemed merely an added proof of his "understanding," of that deep un definable communion that set them alone in an empty world, as if on a peak above the clouds. the five days passed in a flash; and when the last one came, it brought to margaret ransom an hour of weak ness, of profound disorganisation, when old barriers fell, old convictions faded— when to be alone with him for a moment became, after all, the one craving of her heart. she knew he was coming that afternoon to say "good-bye " —and she knew also that ransom was to be away at south wentworth. she waited alone in her pale little drawing room, with its scant kakemonos, its one or two chilly re productions from the antique, its slippery chippendale chairs. at length the bell rang, and her world became a rosy cloud— through which she presently discerned the austere form of mrs. sperry, wife of the professor of palaeontology, who had come to talk over with her the next winter's pro [153] in in., i i hi the pretext gramme for the iliglier thought club. they debated the que,stinn for tin liour, and when mrs. sperry departed margaret hud a ronfuaed niipreh.'<ion that the course was to deal with the influence of the first crusade on the development of european architecture — but the sentient part of her knew only that dnwnish had not come. he "bobbed in," as he would have put it, after dinner — having, it appeared, run across ransom early in the day, and learned that the latter wnuld be absent till evening. margaret was in the study with her husband when the door opened and dawnish stood there. ransom — who had not had time to dress — was seated at his desk, a pile of shabby law books at his elbow, the light from a hanging lump fall ing nn his grayish stubble of hair, his sallow forehead and spectacled eyes. dawnish, towering higher than usual against the shadows of the room, and refined by his un usual pallour, hung a moment on the threshold, then came in, explaining himself profusely — laughing, accepting a cigar, letting ransom push an arm-chair forward — a dawnish she had never seen, ill at ease, ejaculatory, yet somehow more mature, more obscurely in command of himself. margaret drew back, seating herself in the a'l-ide, in such a way that she saw her husband's heod first, and beyond it their visitor's, relieved against the dusk of the book shelves. her heart was still — she felt no throbbing in her throat or [154] the pretext lemplcs: all her life seemed concentrated in the hand that lay on lier knee, the hand he would touch when they said good-bye. afterward her heart ranr all the changes, and there was a mood in which she reproached herself for <owanlic>c— for having deliberately missed her one moment with liini, the moment in which she might have sounded the depths of life, for joy or anguish. but that mood was fleeting and infrequent. in quieter hours she blushed for it— she even trembled to think that he might have guessed such a re gret in her. it seemed to convict her of a lack of fineness that he should have had, in his youth and his power, a tenderer, surer sense of the peril of a rash touch— should have handled the case so much more delicately. at first her days were fire and the nights long solemn vigils. her thoughts were no longer vulgarised and defaced by any notion of "guilt." she was ashamed now of her shame. what had happened was as much outside the sphere of her marriage as some transaction in a star. it had simply given her a secret life of incommunicable joys, as if all the wasted -rings of her youth had been stored in some hidden pool,ai lecouldreturntherenow to bathe in them. after t, it there came a phase of loneliness, through which the life about her l.mmed phantasmal and remote. she thought the dead must feel thus, repeating the vain gestures of the living beside some stygian shore. she [155] '(! the pretext wondt-red if any other woman had lived to whom nothing had ercr happened r and then his first letter came it was a charming letter— a perfect letter. the little touch of awkwardness and constraint under its boyish spontaneity told her more than whole |«igcs of eloquence. he spoke of their friendship— of their good days together . . . ransom, chancini; to come in while she read, noticed the foreign stamps; and she was able to hand him the letter, saying gaily: "there's a message for you," and knowing all the while that her message was safe in her heart. on the days when the letters came the outlines of things grew indistinct, and she could never afterward remember what she had done or how the business of life had been carried on. it was always a surprise when she found dinner on the table as usual, and ransom seated opposite to her, running over the evening paper. but though dawnish continued to write, with all the english loyalty to the outward observances of friendship, his communications came only at intervals of several weeks, and between them she had time to repossess herself, to regain some sort of normal contact with life. and the customary, the recurring, gradually reclaimed her, the net of habit tightened again— her daily life became real, and her one momentary escape from it an exquisite illu sion. not that she ceased to believe in the miracle that had befallen her; she still treasured the reality of her one mo ment beside the river. what reason was there for doubting [1s8] the pretext it? she could hear the ring of inith in young dawni.h'i voice: "if, n„t my fault if you've mude me feel that you would undenland everjthing. . . . " no! ,he believe, in her miracle, and the belief sweetened and illumined her hfe; but .he came to »e that what wa., for her the iran^for mation of her whole being might wcu have been, for her companion, a mere pawing , vp|o,ion of gratitude, of bor i«h good-fellowship touched with the pang of leave-uking. she even reached the point of telling her«.|f that it was "better so": this view of the episode so defends it from the alternating extremes of self-reproach and derision, so enshrined it in a pale immortality to which she could make her secret pilgrimages without reproach. for a long time she had not been able to pass by the bench under the wiuow»-,he even avoided the elm walk tiu autumn had stripped iu branches. but every day. now. she noted a step toward recovery; and at last a day came when, walking along the river, she sai.l to herself, as she approached the bench: "i used not to be able to pass here without thinking of him; and now i am not thinking <,/ him at aur this seemed such convincing prwf of her recovery that she began, as spring returned, to permit her^lf. now and then, a quiet session on the bench-a dedicated hour from which she went back fortified to her task. she had not heard from her friend for six weeks or more -the intervals between his letters were growing longer [1s7] i'h the pretext but that wm "bnt" too, and »he woa not anxious, for (he knew he had obtained the poit he hod been prt-fhiring for, and that hii active life in london had begun. the thought reminded her, one mild march day, that in hav ing the house she had thrust in her reticule a letter from a wentworlh friend who was abroad on a holiday. the en velope bore the london post mark, a fact showing that the udy's face was turned toward home. margaret seated her self on her bench, and began to read the letter. the london described was that of shops and museums — as remote as possible from the setting of guy dawnish's existence. but suddenly margaret's eye fell on hii mime, and the page began to tremble in her hands. "i heard such a funny thing yesterday about your friend mr. dawnish. we went to a tea at professor bunce's (i do wish you knew the bunces — their atmosphere is so uplifting), and there i met that miss bruce-pringle who came out last year to take a course in histology at the an nex. of course she asked about you and mr. ransom, and then she told me she had just seen mr. dawnish's aunt — the clever one he was always talking about. lady caroline something — and that they were all in a dreadful slate about him. i wonder if you knew he was engaged when he went to america ? he never mentioned it to tu. she said it was not a positive engagement, but an understanding with a girl he has always been devoted to, who lives near their place in wiltshire; and both families expected the marriage [158] r uk p r e t e \ t to uki' place u aoon ni he ftiit back. it soems the girl ia an heiress (yois know iww low the english iilean arc <oui|«r.kl with ouni), and mi.<u bruc'e-pringle said his relations were perfectly delighted at his 'being provided for.' as .he call. d it. well, when he got back he asked the girl to release him . and she and her family were furious, and so wei.iiis people; but he holds out. and won't many her, and ivm i give o reason, except that he has 'formed an unforhnmle attachment.' did you ever hear anything so peculiar = his aunt, who is quite wild about it, says it must have happened at wcntworth, becousc he didn't go anywhere else in america. do you suppose it could have been the bront girl ? but why 'unfortunate' when everybody knows she would have jumped at him?" margaret folded the letter and looked out across the river. it was not the same river, but a mystic current shot with moonlight. the bare willows wove a leafy veil above her head, and beside her she felt the nearness of youth and tempestuous tenderness. it had all happened just here, on this very seat by the river— it had come to her, and passed her by, and she had not held out a hond to detain it well! was it not, by that very abstention, made more deeply and ineffaceably hers? she could argue thus while she had thought the episode, on his side, a mere transient effect of propinquity; but now that she knew it hod altered the whole course of his life, now that it took on substance and reality, asserted a separate existence outside of her [159] ( , 'ii 1^' t4 the pretext own troubled consciousness— now it seemed almost cow ardly to have missed her share in it. she walked home in a dream. now and then, when she passed an acquaintance, she wondered if the pain and glory were written on her face. but mrs. sperry, who stjpped her at the comer of maverick street to say a vord about the next meeting of the higher thought club, seemed to remark no change in her. when she reached home ransom had not yet retjmed from the office, and she went straight to the library to tidy his writing-table. it was part of her daily duty to bring order out of the chaos of his papers, and of late she had fastened on such smau recurring tasks as some one falling over a precipice might snatch at the weak bushea in its clefts. when she had sorted the letters she took up some pam phlets and newspapers, glancing over them to see if they were to be kept. among the papers was a page torn from a london time.i of the previous month. her eye ran down its columns and suddenly a paragraph flamed out. "we are requested to state that the marriage arranged between mr. guy dawnish, son of the late colonel the hon. roderick dawni.sh, of malby, wilts, and gwendolen, daughter of samuel matcher, esq., of aimingham towers, wills, will not take place." margaret dropped the paper and sat down, hiding her face against the stained baize of the desk. she remembered the photograph of the tennis-court at guise— she re [160] the pretext membered .he hand«.:„e giri at whom guy daw„i,h ooked up. laughing. a gust of tear, shook her. loosening the d.y surface of conventional feeling, welling up from unsuspected depths. she was sorry-ve^ ,ony. yet » glad-ao ineffably. impenitenuy glad. 'phere came a reaction in which she decided to write to h.m. she even sketched out a letter of sisterly almost motherly, remonstrance, in which she reminded h.m that he "stiu had au his life before him." but she re flected that so. after all. had she, and that seemed to weaken ifle argument. in .lie end she decided not to send the letter. he had never spoken to her of his engagement to gwendolen matcher, and his letters had contained no allusion to any sentimental disturbance in his life. she had only his few broken wo«ls. that night by the river, on which to build ber theoiy of the case. but illuminated by the phrase "an unfortunate attachment" the th.0,7 towei^l up. distinct and immovable, like some high landmark by which trav ellers shape their course. she had been loved^.traordi nurily loved. but he had chosen that she should know of it by his silence rather than by his speech. he had understood that only on those terms could their transcendant com munion continue-that he must lose her to keep her to [101] .hi i 3 ■!f the pretext break that silence would be like spilling a cup of water in a waste of sand. there would be nothing left for her thirst. her life, thenceforward, was bathed in a tranquil beauty. the days flowed by like a river beneath the moon— each ripple caught the brightness and passed it on. she began to take a renewed interest in her familiar round of duties. the tasks which had once seemed colourless and irksome had now a kind of sacrificial sweetness, a symbolic mean ing into which she alone was initiated. she had been rest less—had longed to travel; now she felt that she should never again care to leave wentworth. but if her desire to wander had ceased she travelled in spirit, performing in visible pilgrimages in the footsteps of her friend. she re gretted that her one short visit to england had taken her so little out of london— that her acquaintance with the liiridscape had been formed chiefly through the windows of a railway carriage. she threw herself into the architec tural studies of the higher thought club, and distinguished herself, at the spring meetings, by her fluency, her compe tence, her inexhaustible curiosity on the subject of the growth of english gothic. she ransacked the shelves of the college libran . she borrowed photographs of the ca thedrals, she pond over the folio pages of "the seats of nobleriiea and gentlemen." she was like some banished princess who learih that she has inherited a domain in her own eonntrp. who knows that she will never see it, yet feels, wherever she w«lks, its soil beneath her feet. [182] the pretext may was half over, and the higher thought club was to hold its last meeting, previous to the college festivities which, in early june, agreeably disorganised the social routine of wentworth. the meeting was to take place in margaret ransom's drawing-room, and on the day before she sat upstairs preparing for her dual duties as hostess and orator— for she had been invited to read the final paper of the course. in order to sum up with precision her conclusions on the subject of english gothic, she had been re-reading an analysis of the structural features of the principal english cathedrals; and she was murmuring over to herself the phrase: "the longitudinal arches of lincoln have an ap proximately elliptical form " when there came a knock on the door, and maria's voice announced: "there's a lady down in the parlour. " margaret's soul dropped from the heights of the .shadowy vaulting to the dead level of an afternoon call at went worth. "a lady? did she give no name?" maria became confused. "she only said she was a lady—" and in reply to her mistress's look of mild surprise: "well, ma'am, she told me .so three or four times over." margaret laid her book down, leaving it open at the de scription of lincoln, and slowly descended the stairs. aa she did so, she repeated to herself: "the longitudinal arches are elliptical." [163] ll the pretext on the threshold below, she had the odd impression that her bare inanimate drawing-room was brimming with life and noise-an impression produced, as she pres ently perceived, by the resolute forward dash-it was al most a pounce-of the one smau 6gure restlessly measur >ng its length. the dash checked itself within a yard of margaret and the lady-a stranger-held back long enough to stamp on her hostess a sharp impression of sauowness, leanness, keenness, before she said, in a voice that might have been' addressing an unruly committee meeting: "i am lady carohne duekett-a fact i found it impossible to make clear to the young woman who let me in." a warm wave rushed up from margaret's heart to her face. she held out both hands impulsively. "oh, i'm so glad — i'd no idea — " her voice sank under her visitor's impartial scrutiny. "i don't wonder," said the utter dryly. "i suppose she d.da't mention either that my object in calling here was to s.e mrs. ransom.'" "oh, yes-won't you sit down?" margaret pushed a .hair forward. she seate.1 herself at a little distanc«, brain ..nd heart humming with a confused interchange of signals. this dark sharp woman was his aunt-the "clever aunt" who had had such a hard life, but had always managed to keep her head above water. margaret remembered that guy had spoken of her kindness-perhaps she would seem [164] m. c^l., .1 wnwbj^ ^at r,."asj»ir^ the pretext kinder when they had talked together a little. meanwhile the fir«t .mpre^ion she produced wa, of an amplitude out of all proportion to her .omewhat seant exterior. with her small flat figure-, her shabby heterogeneous dress, she was a^ dowdy as any profes^-r's wife at wentworth: but her dowdmess (margaret bor^wed a literary analogy to de fine it), her dowdiness was somehow "of the centre " like the insignificant emissary of a great power, .she was to be judged rather by her passports than her (h-rson while margaret was receiving these impressions. lady carohne, with quick bird-like twist., of her head was gathering others from the pale void spaces of the drawing "«m. her eyes, divided by a sharp nose like a bill, .«.emed to be set far enough apart to see at separate angles; but suddenly she bent both of them on margaret. "this u mrs. ilansom-s house.'" she asked, with an emphas.h on the verb that gave a distinct hint of unfulfilled expectations. mwipwet assented. "because your american hou.ses, espe<ially in the pro v.«.,al tow„«, all look ^ remarkably alike, that i thought i m.ghi have been .aktaken: and as n,y time is extremely hmited-m fact i'm .,„i|i„g on wwlue.sday" she pau.,ed long enough to let marga.*t say: "i had no idea yea were in america." udy caroline made na attempt to uke this up.-" and « much rf it." she carried on her sentence, "has been [ifis] ■iv.«ifc.'?'-:x h the pretext wasted in talking to peo|)le i really hadn't the slightest desire to see, that you must excuse me if i go straight to the point." margaret felt a sudden tension of the heart. "of course," she said, while a voice within her cried. "he's dead — he has left me a message." there was another pause; then lady caroline went on with increasing asperity: "so that— in short— if i could see mrs. ransom at once — " margaret looked up in surprise. "i am mrs. ransom," she said. the other stared a moment, with much the same look of cautious incredulity that had marked her inspection of the drawing-room. then light came to her. "oh, i beg your pardon. i should have said that i wished to see mrs. robert ransom, not mrs. ransom. but i under stood that in the states you don't maki' 'hose distinctions." she paused a moment, and then went on, before margaret could answer: "perhaps, after all, it's as well that i should see you instead, since you're evidently one of the household — ^your son and his wife live with you, i suppose ? yes, on the whole, then, it's better— i shall be able to talk so much more frankly." she spoke as if, as a rule, circumstances prevented her giving rein to this prosperity. " . d frank ness, of course, is the only way out of this — this extremely tiresome complication. you know, i suppose, that my nephew thinks he's in love with your daughter-in-law i' " [166] %is9t^^^tm, . '.^mnwm the pretext margaret made a slight movement, but her visitor pressed on without heeding it. "oh, don't fancy, please, that i'm pretending to take a high moral ground-though his mother does, poor dear! i can perfectly imagine that in a place like this-ive just been walking about it for two hours— a young man of guy's age would have to provide himself with some sort of distraction; and he's not the kind to go in for anything objectionable. oh, we quite allow for that— we should auow for the whole affair, if it hadn't so preposterously ended in his throwing over the girl he was engaged to, and upsetting an arrangement that af fected a number of people besides himself. i understand that in the states it's different— the young people have only themselves to consider. in england— in our class, i mean— a great deal may depend on a young man's mak ing a good match; and in guy's case i may say that his mother and sisters (i won't include myself, though i might) have been simply stranded— thrown overbonrd by his freak. you can understand how serious it is when i teu you that it's that and nothing else that has brought me all the way to america. and my first idea was to go straight to your daughter-in-law, since her influence is the only thing we can count on now, and put it to her fairly, as i'm putting it to you. rut, o.i the whole, i dare say it's better to see you first— you might give me an idea of the line to take with her. i'm prepared to throw my.sclf on her mercy!" [167] 'i'l if i the pretext margaret rose from her chair, outwardly rigid i„ pro portion to her inward tremor. "you don't understand—" she began. lady carohne brushed the interruption aside. "oh, but i do-completely! i cast no reaectioi, vour daughter in-law. guy has made it quite clear tc . that his attach ment is-has, in short, not been rewu ."ed. but don't you see that that's the worst part of it ? there'd be much more hope of his recovering if mrs. robert ran«,m had had — " margaret's voice broke from her in a cry. "i am mrs. robert ransom," she said. if lady caroline duckett had hitherto given her hostess the impression of a personnot easily silenced, thisfact added «>nsibly to the effect produced by the intense stillness which now fell on her. she sat quite motionless, her large bangled hands clasped about the meagre fur boa she had unwound from her neck on entering, her rusty black veil pushed up to the edge of a "fringe" of doubtful authenticity, her thin hps parted on a gasp that seemed to sharpen itself on the edges of her teeth. so overwhehning and helpless was her silence that margaret began to feel a motion of pity beneath her indignation-a desire at least to facilitate the excuses which must terminate their di.sustrous couoquy but when lady caroline found voice she did not use it to excuse herself. fias] the pretext "you ean'l be." she said, quite simply. "can't bei"' margaret stammered, with a bushing cheek. "i mean, it's some mistake. are there two mrs. rob ert hansoms in the same town? your family arranrc ments are so extremely puzzling." she had a farther ru,h of enlightenment. "oh, i see! i oum.t „f course to have asked for mrs. robert ransor; junior t" the idea sent her to her feet with a haste which showed her impatience to make up for lost lime. "there is no other mrs. robert ransom at went worth," said margaret. "no other-no 'junior'? are you mre ?" udy caro line fell back into her seat again. "then i simply don't see," she murmured. margaret's blush had fixed itself on her throbbing fore head. she remained standing, while her strange visitor continual to gaze at her with a perturbation in which the consciousness of indiscretion had evidently as yet no part. "i simply don't see," she repeated. suddenly she sprang up, and advancing to margaret, laid an inspired hand on her arm. "but, my dear woman, you can help us out all the same; you can help us to find out who it is— and you will, won't you ? because, as it's not you, you can't in the least mind what i've been say ing—" [169] ,1 ir'l t in i'he pretext margaret, /feeing her arm fmm k dback . ^,.,1, l.r '"" '■" -"<>'•• hom. 1^^ f. •" i^dy carolme .„.un(ly rejoined >.-•».. ire. t;z:n::—tv -"k >ou all ,hi, ,i„,e aa a p«.tex,-,h t , 7 ' '"' "7er^r'"'"'"'■•'^•'*'-^'"x' ■tm » j . ■ """* ""soli'te gesture ^.i/rw:".:'""'" '""""•■• ^-"^ "'^^''.vlarolinecmukhllh.rup oh. but do plea.*understand mc i ™„w ^ most slromrly for u,in„ "1 n,i condemn guy vou-d h« '^ ^'""" ""'"'-"i'en we all know the quesli,,,, rang out loudly, as if au th. „ . • mr. na„.„„h ' "'"• ' ""^ "<'«"''« of the hi,to.y „, i-«dy caroline gave a sfniv. n„j hand g.,.1 ,„, j, j, 7;x'' '^ "" "'•--«, -lly about her long ne..; '^*'" '" """ " "-'■«'' "'-ouldrea,lyhea,,e™,,,p.„„,_^,^ the i'retext poor gwendolen matcher," .he per.i,te<l plea.linrlj:. "and you'd !» doing guy himaelf a good turn." margaret remained allent and motionless while her visitor drew on one of the worn gloves .he had pulled of? to adjust her veil. udy caroline gave the veil a final twitch. "i've come a tremendously long way." .he said, "and. since it isn't you, i can't think why you won't help me. . . . " when the door had closed on her visitor margaret ran som went slowly up the stairs to her room. as she dragged her feet from one step to another, she remembered how she had sprung up the same steep flight after that visit of guy dawnish's when she had looked in the glass and seen on her face the blush of youth. when she reached her room she bolted the door as she had done that day. and again looked at herself in the nar row mirror above her dressing-table. it was just a year since thcn-the elms were budding again, the willows hanging their green veil above the bench by the river. but there was no trace of youth left in her face-she saw it now as others had doubtless always .seen it. if it seemed as it did to udy caroline ducketf, what look must it have worn to the fresh gaze of young guy dawnish ? a pretext-she had been a pretext. he had used her name to screen some one else-or perhaps merely to es cape from a situation of which he was weaiy. she did not [171] i <u| miaiocory >esoiution test chait (ansi ond iso test chart no. 2) _^ /ipplied im/ige inc jgr^165 j easi moin streel s-.ss rockesler, new york 14609 usa '^s: (716) 482 0300 phone !ss (716) 2885989 fo< the pretext care to conjecture what his motive had been— everything connected with him had grown so remote and alien. she felt no anger— only an unspeakable sadness, a sadness which she knew would never be appeased. she looked at herself long and steadily: she wished to clear her eyes of all illusions. then she turned away and took her usual seat beside her work-table. from where she sat she could look down the empty elmshaded street, up which, at this hour every day, she was sure to see her husband's figure advancing. she would see it presently —she would see it for many years to come. she had an aching vision of the length of the years that stretched before her. strange that one who was not young should still, in all likelihood, have so long to live! nothing was char -ed in the setting of her life, perhaps nothing would ever . hange in it. she would certainly live and die in wentworth. and meanwhile the days would go on as usual, bringing the usual obligations. as the word flitted through her brain she remembered that she had still to put the finishing touches to the paper she was to read the next afternoon at the meeting of the higher thought club. the book she had been reading lay face downward beside her, where she had left it an hour ago. she look it up, and slowly and painfully, like a child labouriously spelling out the syllables, she went on with the rest of the sentence: [172] if the pretext —"and they spring from a level not much above that of the springing of the transverse and diagonal ribs, which are so arranged as to give a convex curve to the surface of the vaulting conoid." '"■l 'ii' 1,1 i [173] •m 1 ill. i [.)!._ the verdict ii the verdict i had always thought jack gisburn rather a cheap genius— though a good fellow enough— so it was no great surprise to mc to hear that, in the height of bis glory, he had dropped his painting, married a rich widow, and established himself in a villa on the riviera. (though i rather thought it would have been rome or florence.) "the height of his glory"— that was what the women railed it. i can hear mrs. gideon thwing— his last chi cago sitter— deploring his unaccountable abdication. "of course it's going to send the value of my picture 'way up; but i don't think of that, mr. rickham— the loss to arrt is all i think of." the word, on mrs. thwing's lips, multiplied its rs as though they were reflected in an endless vista of mirrors. and it was not only the mrs. thwings who mourned. had not the exquisite hermia croft, at the last grafton gallery show, stopped me be fore gisbum's "moon-dancers" to say, with tears in her eyes: "we shall not look upon its like again"? well!— even through the prism of hermia 's tears i felt able to face the fact with equanimity. poor jack gisburn ! the women had made him— it was 6tting that they should mourn him. among his own sex fewer regrets were heard, and in his own trade hardly a murmur. professional jeal [177] rii f' n the veiidict ousy ? perhap. if i, „e„., the honour of the craf, was vindi oa.ed , ,a,e aa.,e n.,e,. who. .•„ al, j f • trough ou. .„ .he buhi„«.o„ a ve,, handsome cbhuar," n jack--<.„e of .ho„ ,howy articles stocked with randon. ^ehn,ca ..e, .ha, i have heard (i .„„, ,,, ,, j^^'^ z "■ r ''"• '''■"'■"« •""! p-d-'ed. the pl of ijisbums" went up. few weeks .dl.ng on the rivier.. it suddenly oceurred to ".to wonder wh, gisbum had given np'his paill on reflecfon. it real,, was a ten.p,i„, pjen.. to ae use .trn.'rztr""""?''""''-^^ isted til. . ^"•'""'-as such-had not ex ted t nearly a year after jack's ..solve had been taken. it nn^,t be that he had :narried her-«i„ce he liked h s ease because he didn't want to go on painting; ^ut won id have been har^ .o prove .hat he had give' up his pamtmg because he had married her eou7.r""m.' '""^ •"" ""' '''^^' '"■■^"-. "-e had equally, as m.ss croft contended, failed to "lift hin. up" -he had not led hi. back to the case,. to put .he brush mrs g.sbum appeared .o have di.sdained i.-and i felt "might be interesting to find out why. [178] the vkudict the desultory life of the hivicrii icnd.i itself to such pure ly acbdemic »|)eeulatlons; and having, on my way to monte carlo, caught a glimpse of jack's baluslrated terraces between the pines, i had myself borne thither the next day. i found the couple at tea beneath their palm-trees; and mrs. gisburn's welcome was so genial that. in the ensuing weeks, i claimed it frequently. it was not that my hostess was "interesting": on that [wint i could have given mi.sa croft the fullest reassurance. it was just because she was not interesting— if i may be pardoned the bull— that i found her so. for jack, all his life, had been surrounded by interesting women; they had fostered his art, it had been reared in the hot-house of their adulation. and it was therefore instructive to note what effect the "deaden ing atmosphere of mediocrity" (i ciuotc miss croft) was having on him. i have mentioned that mrs. gisburn was rich; and it was immediately perceptible that her husband was ex tracting from this circumstance a delicate but substantial satisfaction. it is, as a rule, the people who scorn mone\ who get most out of it; and jack's elegant disdain of his wife's big balance enabled him, with an appearance of perfect good-breeding, to transmute it into objects of art and luxury. to the latter, i must add, he remained rela tively indifferent; but he was buying renaissance bronzes and eighteenth-century pictures with a discrimination that bespoke the amplest resources. [179] (.1 a i i t m the verdict "mono/., on,, .„.„^ ,, ,„ ,,„, whit :;j;-::^^ "':■-•-•' '^^ carlo. »„ i ^ !! "*''"" ™" °^" '""« monte poor jackle had alwa,, been hi, fa.e .„ have women 7 »-h ""•"«» of hi»: the fae. .h„,.,d be .t down" ", enuauonjvha. struck n.e now w. tha, for the fir tt i he re^nted the tone. i had .en hin,. » often zz under similar tributes-was if .!,..„ ■ , * '^e» of their s„.ourpn:^t.;x::rir"^ ap„thathewasfondofmrs.oirr-!l:et: -ttose^herabsurdity.itwashisownabsurdity he seemed 'o be w,nemg under-his own attitude as an object fl' garlands and incense. ^ my dear, since i've dinrto' ^ • .• ».-st..a.„tm^t:^; --rsnt" was h.s only protest, as he .se f^m the table and « out onto the sunlit terrace. i g'aneed after him. struck by his last word. victor grmd e was. in fact, bec»,mi„g the man of the moment a jack h-mself. one mi«ht , ut it. had been the man ofl at 1; w 7t "^'^ ^•'' '•"■" '" •■'-ed himself [180] the vekdic'l it was not till .iftt-r that event lliul lh<fnhjiiomiblc clrnwing ttmmn had bcfjiin to illspluy their "griml' ». " i turned to mrs. gisbu-n, who had lingered to give a lump of sugar to her spaniel in the dining-room. "why hai he ehucke<l pairiling?" i asked abruptly. she raised her eyebrows with a hint of good-humoured iurprisc. "oh, he doesn't have to now, you know, and i want him to enjoy himself," she said (juite simply. i looked alxiiit the spacious ahite-panelled room, with its jamiue-eerte vases repenting the tones of the pale dam ask curtains, and its eighleenth-century pastels in deli cate faded frames. "has he chucked his | ires too? i haven't seen a single one in the house." a slight shade of constraint crossed mra. gisburn's open countenance. "it's his ridiculons modesty, you know. he says they're not fit to have about: he's sent them all away except one — my portrait — and that i have to keep upstairs." his ridiculous modesty — jack's moaesty about his pictures ? my curiosity was growing l:ke the bean-s'. ik. i said persuasively to my hostess: "i must really see your |k>rtrait, you know." sbe glanced out almost timorously at the terrace 'vhere her husband, lounging in a hooded chair, had lit a cigar and drawn the russian deerhound's head between his knees. [181] (t if the vkunict "w.ll. „.,„.. whilo |».-, ,„„ |,h,ki„„," ,h, n.i,l, with a iniirh hint (rio,l (.. l,i,|,. (..t mmmis,,..,,; „,„| | f„||„„,,d 1..t bctw.-.-.! iho marw,. k,n,k.r„rs of (he l.all. „„,l „,, ,|,p wklo ,t„irs with tt.rr,..«tlu nympha ,x)i«d among flower, nt cacli laikling. in the dimmcht corner of her boudoir, amid a profusion of ddicate and <li.stink„isl„.d objects, hiinr one of the fa mih-ar oval <anv,..s,„. i„ ,he inevitable garlanded frame the mere outline of the frame ealle,l „,. all (;i,b„rn's past! mrs. gi,bum drew back the window-curtains. moved a».dc a jardiniere fuu of pink azaleas. pu,hed an arm chair away, and said: "if you .land here vou can ju.l manage to «e it. i had it over the mantelpiece, but he wouldn't let it stay." yea-i could just manage to see it-lhe first portrait of jack's i had ever had to strain my eyes over! usually they had the place of honour-say the central panel in a pale yellow or ros. dubarry drawing-room, or a monu mental easel placed so that it took the light through cur tams of old venetian point. the more modest place became the picture better: yet, as my eyes grew accustomed to the half-light, all the characteristic qualities came out-all the hesitations disguised as audacities, the tricks of prestidigi tation by which, with such consummate skill, he managed to divert attention from the real business of the picture to some pretty irrelc-ance of detail. mrs. (usburn, pre senting a neutral surface to work on-forming, as it were [182] til k vkiidk t m iin-viliilj|y ihc ijiukjjroiiiiil of her own |>i<hin— liiid li-iil hcr^'lf ill an iiniihiiul drfjri !• to tin(lis|ilay of ihih fal>«o virtuiisily. 'i'lif picliire wan iiriiof jaik'.i "ulroiiffcsl," ax hi» uiliiiirith would havr put il — it rrpresu'iitnl, on liis part, o .swflling of niiihc'ich, a oinkchtinr of veins, a (■ laii liiik. slradillitik and »lrainin({, lliut rcniinili'd oiiv of "le circus-c-lown'si ironic efforts to lift a feallier. il niel. in short, ul every |ioint the demand of lovely woman to be painted "strongly" beeainie she was tired i ' being painted "sweetly" — and yet not lo lose an .itom ot ihc sweetness. "it's the last he painted, you know," mrs. gisburn saiil with pardonable pride. "the last but one," she correcteil herself — "but the other doesn't count, because he de stroycd il." "destroyed it?" i waabout to follow up this due when i heard a footstep and saw jack himself on the threshold. as he stood there, his hands in the pockets of his velve teen coat, the thin brown waves of hair pushed back from his white forehead, his lean sunburnt cheeks furroweil by a smile that lifted the tips of a self-confident .-noustailic, i felt to what a degree he had the same quality as his pict ures—the quality of looking cleverer than he was. his wife glanced at him deprecatingly, but his eyes travelled past her to the portrait. "mr. rickham wanted to see it," she began, as if ex cusing herself. he shrugged his shoulders, still smiling. [183] r| l'} : i w\ 1/ the verdict "oh, rickham found me out long ago," he said lightly; then, passing his arm through mine: "come and see the rest of the house." he showed it to me with a kind of naive suburban pride: the bath-rooms, the speaking-tubes, the dress-closets, the trouser-presses— all the complex simplifications of the millionaire's domestic economy. and whenever my wonder paid the expected tribute he said, throwing out his chest a litue: "yes. i reauy don't see how people manage to live without that." weu— it was just the end one might have foreseen for him. only he was, through it all and in .spite of it all— as he had been through, and in spite of, his pictures— so handsome, so charming, so disarming, that one longed to cry out: "be dissatisfied with your leisure!" as once one had longed to say: "be dissatisfied with your work!" but, w:th the cry on my lips, my diagnosis suffered an unexpected check. "this is my own lair," he said, leading me into a dark plain room at the end of the florid vista. it was square and brown and leathery: no "effects," no bric-a-brac, none of the air of posing for reproduction in a picture weekly— above au, no least sign of e er having been used as a studio. the fact brought home to me the absolute finality of jack's break with his old life. [184] i the verdict "don't you ever dabble with paint any more ?" i asked, still looking about for a trace of such activity. "never," he said briefly. ' or water-colour — or etching ? " his confident eyes grew vague, and his cheeks changed colour a little under their handsome sunburn. "never think of it, my dear fellow— any more than if i'd never touched a brush." and his tone told me in a flash that he never thought of anything else. i moved away, instinctively embarrassed by my unex pected discovery; and as i turned, my eye fell on a small pi ture above the mantelpiece— the only object breaking the plain oak panelling of the room. "oh, by jove!" i said. it was a sketch of a donkey— an old tired donkey standing in the rain under a wall. "by jove— a stroud!" i cried. he was silent; but i felt him close behind me, breath ing a little quickly. "what a wonder! made with a dozen lines— but on ever^ lasting foundations. you lucky chap, where did you get it ? " he answered slowly: "mrs. stroud gave it to me." "ah— i didn't know you even knew the strouds. he was such a hermit." "i didn't— till after she sent for me to paint him when he was dead." [185] '!: vl 'i ; . the verdict "when he was dead? you?" i must have let a little too much amazement escape through my surprise, for he answered with a deprecating laugh: "yes— she's an awful simpleton, you know, mrs. stroud. her only idea was to have him done by a fashion able paintei— ah, poor stroud! she thought it the surest way of proclaiming his greatness— of forcing it on a pur blind public. and at the moment i was the fashionable painter." "ah, poor stroud— as you say. was thai his history?" "that was his history. she believed in him, gloried in him— or thought she did. but she couldn't bear not to have all the draing-rooms with her. she couldn't bear the fact that, on varnishing days, one could always get near enough to see his pictures. poor woman! she's just a fragment groping for other fragments. stroud is the only whole i ever knew." "you ever knew? but you just said—" gisbum had a curious smile in his eyes. "oh, i knew him, and he knew me— only it happened after he was dead." i dropped my voice instinctively. "wh™ she sent for you?" "yes— quite insensible to the irony. she wanted him vindicated — and by me!" he laughed again, and threw back his head to look up at the sketch of the donkey. "there were days when i [188] the verdict couldn't look at that thing— couldn't face it. but i forced myself to put it here; and now it's cured me— cured me. that's the reason why i don't dabble any more, my dear rickham; or rather stroud himself is the reason." for the first time my idle curiosity about my companion turned into a serious desire to understand him better. "i wish you'd tell me how it happened," i said. he stood looking up at the sketch, and twirling between his fingers a cigarette he had forgotten to light. suddenly he turned toward me. "i'd rather like to tell you— because i've always sus pected you of loathing my work." i made a deprecating gesture, which he negatived with a good-humoured shrug. "oh, i didn't care a straw when i believed in myself — and now it's an added tie between us!" he laughed slightly, without bitterness, and pushed one of the deep arm-chairs forward. "there: make your self comfortable — and here are the cigars you uke." he placed them at my elbow and continued to wander up and down the room, stopping now and then beneath the picture. "how it happened? i can tell you in five minutes — and it didn't take much longer to happen i can re member now how surprised and pleased i was when i got mrs. stroud's note. of course, deep down, i had always felt there was no one uke him — only i had gone with the [187] it \l 'i it ' ' m j '; \ il:i "k. the verdict stream, echoed the usual platitudes about him, tiu i half got to think he was a failure, one of the kind that are left behind. by jove, and he w<u, left behind-because he had come to stay! the rest of us had to let ourselves be swept along or go under, but he was high above the current-on everlasting foundations, as you say. "well, i went off to the house in my most egregious mood-rather moved. lord forgive me, at the pathos of poor stroud's career of failure being crowned by the glory of my painting him! of course i meant to do the picture for nothing-i told mrs. stroud so when she began to stammer something about her poverty. i remember get ting off a prodigious phrase about the honour being min^ -oh, i was princely, my dear rickham! i was posing to myself like one of my own sitters. "then i was taken up and left alone with him. i had sent all my traps in advance, and i had only to set up the easel and get to work. he had been dead but twenty-four hours, and he died suddenly, of heart disease, so that there had been no preliminary work of destruction-his face was clear and untouched. i had met him once or twice, years before, and thought him insignificant and dingy.' now i saw that he was superb. "i was glad at first, with a merely testhetic satisfaction: glad to have my hand on such a 'subject.' then his strange life-likeness began to affect me queerly— as i blocked the head in i felt as if he were watching me do it. the sensa [188] the verdict tion was followed by the thought: if he were watching me, what would he say to my way of working? my strokes be gan to go a httle wild— i f jt ne-vous and uncertain. "once, when i looked up, i se>-med to see a smile be hind his close grayish beard— as if he had the secret, and were amusing himself by holding it back from me. that exasperated me still more. the secret? why, i had a secret worth twenty of his! i dashed at the canvas furiously, and tried some of my bravura tricks! but they failed me, they crumbled. i saw he wasn't watching the showy bits— i couldn't distract his attention; he just kept his eye.« on the hard passages between. those were the ones i had always shirked, or covered up with some lying paint. and how he saw through my lies! "i looked up again, and caught sight of that sketch of the donkey hanging on the wall near his bed. his wife told me afterward it was the last thing he had done— just a note taken with a shaking hand, when he was down in devonshire recovering from a previous heart attack. just a note! but it tells his whole history. there are yeara of patient scornful persistence in every line. a man who had ^ um with the current could never have learned that mighty up-stream stroke. . . . "i turned back to my work, and went on groping and muddling; then i looked at the donkey again. i saw that when stroud laid in the first stroke he knew just what the end would be. he had possessed his subject, absorbed if, [189] h mil ill m the verdict recreated it. when had i done that with any of my things ? they hadn't been born of me-i had just adopted them. . . . "hang it, ricltham, with that face watching me 1 couldn't do another strol<e. the plain truth was, i didn't know where to put it-/ had never knoim. only, with my sitters and my public, a showy splash of colour covered up the fact— i just threw paint into their eyes. . . . well, paint was the one medium those dead eyes could see through— •see straight to. the tottering foundations underneath. don't you know how, in talking a foreign language, even fluently, one says half the time, not what one wants to, but what one can? weu-that was the way i painted; and as he lay there and watched me the thing they caued my 'technique* collapsed like a house of cards. he didn't sneer, you understand, poor stroud-he just lay there quietly watching, and on his lips, through the gray beard, i seemed to hear the question: 'are you sure you know where you're coming out?' "if i could have painted that face, with that question on it, i should have done a great thing. the next greatest thing was to see that i couldn't— and that grace was given me. but, oh, at that minute, rickham, was there anything on earth i wouldn't have given to have stroud alive be fore me. and to hear him say: 'it's not tuo late— i'u show you how'? "it was too late— it would have been, even if he'd been alive. i packed up my traps and went down and told mrs. [190] •<_ the verdict stroud. of course i didn't tell her that— il would have been greek to her. i simply said i couldn't paint him, that i wan too moved. she rather liked the idea— she's so romantic! it was th-t that made her give me the donkey. but she was terribly upset at not getting the portrait— she did so want him 'done' by some one showy: at first i was afraid she wouldn't let me off— and at my wits' end i suggested grindle. yes, it was i who started grindle: i told mrs. stroud he was the 'coming' man, and she told somebody else, and so it got to be true and he painted stroud witliout wincing; and she hung the picture among her hus band's things. ..." he flung himself down in the arm-chair near mine, laid back his head, and clasping his arms beneath it, looked up at the picture above the chimney-piece. "i like to fancy that stroud himself would have given it to me, if he'd been able to say what he thought that day." and, in answer to a question i put half-mechanically —"begin again?" he flashed out. "when the one thing that brings me anywhere near him is that i knew enough to leave off?" he stood up and laid his hand on my shoulder with a laugh. "only the irony of it is that i am still painting— since grindle's doing it for me! the strouds stand alone, and happen once— but there's no exterminating our kind of art." 'i d [191] ^\ '^na^ .i w. i'* vi i, -"«s-^^ the pot-boiler the studio faced north, looking out over a dismal reach of roofs and chimneys, and fire-escapes hung with heterogeneous garments. a crust of dirty srow covered the level surfaces, and a december sky with more snow in it lowered above them. the room was bare and gaunt, with blotchth walls and a stained uneven floor. on a divan lay a pile cf "proper ties" — limp draperies, an algerian scarf, a moth-eaten fan of peacock feathers. the janitor had forgotten to fill the coal-scuttle over-night, and the cast-iron stove pro jected its cold flanks into the room like a black iceberg. ned stanwell, who had just added his hat and great-coat to the heap on the divan, turned from the empty stove with a shiver. "by jove, this is a little too much like the last act uf bohime," he said, slipping into his coat again after a vain glance at the coal-scuttle. much solitude, and a lively habit of mind, had bred in him the habit of audible soliloquy, and having flung a shout for the janitor down the six flights dividing the studio from the basement, he turned back, picking up the thread of his monologue. "exactly like [195] m p' i t f\ the pot-boiler bohfme. „.hj,_,h,. „„,, ,„ ^^^ ^.„ ., _^^^^ _^^^ ^.^^ a .t.«e.cr.ck than . real o„e-ju., ,he «>rt of „.ck mun gold would p.i„, i, h. ,,„ j„,.„g , „^_^^|^ j^^^^.^^ „ munkold. the f..hion.bl. portrait-painlcof the hour, w» the .vourile object of the younger men', irony. ii only need, kate arran to be borne in dying." stan 1 eoutmued with a uugh. "much .on, likely to b. poor c"p". uiough," he concluded. hi. neighbour «^ ,he landing-the little «n.lptor caapar .rran. humourou.ly called "gaaper" on account of h,. bronchial a,thn>a-had lately been joined by a ...ter kate arran. a .trapping girl. fre.h from the country who had .n.uued her«|f in the little room off her b,„thex .lud.o. kcping hou«, for him with a chafing-di.h and a coffee-machine, to the mirth and envy of the other young men m the building. poor little gasper had been very bad all the autumn, •nd .t was -armi«d that hi. .i,ter', prepuce, which he -poke of growlingly. a., a tmublesome necessity impo«,d on h™ by the death of an aunt, wa, really a .ig„ of h,s fa.hng ability to take car. of him^lf. kate arran took h, complainu with unfailing good humour, darned h.s socks , rushed hi, clothes, fed him with .teaming broths and foaming miik-punches. and listened with rever enfal as«=nt to hi, interminable disquisitions on art tve-y one in the house was sony for little gasp.,, and the other fellows liked him all the mo« becau* it wa. [196] ^^< the p o t b () i i. k a ■o impomibic to like bia sculpture: but hi.i talk wai ■ bore, and when h\» rolleagues ran in to ace him they were apt to keep a hand on the door-knnh md to plead a presaink engagement. at least they had been till kate came; but now they began to show a disposition to enter and sit down. caspar, who was no fool, perceived the change, and perha[m detected its cause; at any rale he showed no special gratification at the increased cordiality of his friends, and kate, who followed him in everything, took this as a sign that guests were to be discouraged. there was one exception, however: ned stanwcll, who was deplorably good-natured, had always lent a patient ear to "^ospar, and he now reaped his reward vy being taken into kate's favour. before she had been a month in the building they were on confidential terms as to cv '^r's health, and lately stanwell had penetrated farther, '■': to the inmost recessef of her anxiety about her brc pr's career. caspar had recently had a bad blow in the n. jsal of his nuignum, opiu — a vast allegorical group — by the commissioners of the minneapolis exhibition. he took the rejection with prcmethean irony, proclaimed it as the clinching proof of his genius, and abounded in reasons why, even in an age of such crass arfiatic ignor ance, a refusal so egregious must react to the advantage of its object. but his sister's indignation, if as glowing, was a shade less hopeful. of course caspar was going to suc ceed — she knew it was only a question of time — but she [197] n m the pot-boiler paled at the word and turned imploring eyes on slanweu. iva^ there time enough f it was the one element in the combination that she could not count on; and stanwell, reddening under her look, and cursing his own glaring robustness, woum affirm that of course, of course, of course, by everything that was holy there waa time enough —with the mental reservation that there wouldn't be, even if poor caspar lived to be a hundred. "vos dat you yelling for the shanitor, mr. sdanweu?" inquired an affable voice through the doorway; and ."^lan weu, turning with a laugh, confront.xl the squat figure of a middle-aged man in an expensive fur coat, who looked as if his face secreted the oil which he used on his hair. "hullo, shepson— i should say i was yelling. did you ever feel such cold? that fool has forgotten to light the stove. come in, but for heaven's sake don't take off your coat." mr. shepson glanced about the studio with a look which seemed to say that, where so much else was lack ing, the absence of a fire hardly added to the general sense of destitution. "veu, you ain't as veil fixed as mr. mungold— ever been to his studio, mr. sdanweu? de most exyutsite blush hangings, and a gas-fire, shoost as natural—" "oh, hang it, shepson, do you call ihd a studio? it's iike a manicure's parlour— or a beauty-doctor's. by george," broke off stanwell, "and that's just what he is!" [19b] the pot-boiler "a peauty-doctor ? " "yes — oh, well, you wouldn't see," murmured stanwell, mentally storing his epigram for more appreciative ears. " but you didn't come just to make me envious of man gold's studio, did you?" and he pushed forward a chair for his visitor. the latter, however, declined it with a friendly motion. "of gourse not, of gourse not — but mr. mungold is a sensible man. he makes a lot of money, you know." "is that what you came to tell me?" said £tanwell, still humourously. "my gootness, no — i was downstairs looking at hol br<x>k's sdained class, and i shoosl thought i'd sdep up a minute and fake a beep at your vork." "much obuged, i'm sure — especially as i assume that you don't want any of it." try as he would, stanwell could not keep a note of eagerness from his voice. mr. shepson caught the note, and eyed him shrewdly through goid-rimm> 1 glasses. "veil, veil, veil — i'm not prepared to commit myself. shoost let me take a look round, vill you ? " "with the greatest pleasure — and i'll give another shout for the coal." stanwell went out on the landing, and mr. shepson, left to himself, began a meditative progress about the room. on an easel facing the improvised dais stood a canvas on which a young woman's head had been blocked in. it was [199] ; 'i i^ i the pot-boiler just in that state of semi-evocation when a picture seems to detach itself from the grossness of its medium and live a wondrous moment in the actual; and the quality of the head— a vigorous dusky youthfulness, a kind of virgin majesty— lent itself to this illusion of life. stanwell, who had re-entered the studio, could not help drawing a sharp breath as he saw the picture-dealer pausing with tilted head before this portrait: it seemed, at one moment, so impossible that he should not be struck with it, at the next so incredible that he should be. shepson cocked his parrot-eye at the canvas with a de sultory "vat's dat?" which sent a twinge through the young man. "that? oh— a sketch of a young lady," stammered stanwell, flushing at the imbecility of his reply. "it's miss arran, you know," he added, "the sister of my neighbour here, the sculptor." "sgulpture? there's no market for modem sgulpture except dombstones," said shepson disparagingly, passing on as if he included the sister's portrait in his condemna tion of her brother's trade. stanwell smiled, but more at himself than shepson. how could he have supposed that the gross fool would see anything in his sketch of kate arran ? he stood aside, straining after detachment, while the dealer continued his round of exploration, waddling up to the canvases on the walls, prodding with his stick at those stacked in com [200] "■*«>., the pot-boiler ers, prying and peering sideways like a great bird rum maging for seed. he seemed to find little nutriment in the course of his search, for the sounds he emitted ex pressed a weary distaste for misdirected effort, and he completed his round without having thought it worth while to draw a single canvas from its obscurity. as his visits always had the same result, stanwell was reduced to wondering why he had come again; but shep son was not the man to indulge in vague roamings through the field of art, and was safe to conclude that his purpose would in due course reveal itself. his tour brought him at length face to face with the painter, where he paused, clasping his plump gloved hands behind him, and shak ing an admonitory bead. "gleffer — very gleffer, of course — i suppose you'll let me know when you want to sell anything?" " let you know ? " gasped stanwell, to whom the room grew so suddenly hot that he thought for a moment the ianitor must have made up the fire. shepson gave a dry laugh. "veil, it doesn't sdrike me that you want to now — doing this kind of thing, you know!" and he swept a disparaging ha: about the studio. ah," said stanwell, who could not keep a note of flatness out of his laugh. "see here, mr. sdanwell, vot you do it for? if you do it for yourself and the other fellows, veil and good— [201] the pot-boiler only don't ask me round. i sell pictures, i don't theorize about them. ven you vant to sell, gome to me with what my gustomers vant. you can do it— you're smart enough. you can do most anything. vere's dat bortrait of gladys glyde dat you showed at the fake club last autumn? dat little thing in de romney style ? dat vas a httle shem, now," exclaimed mr. shepson, whose pronunciation grew increasingly semitic in moments of excitement. stanweu stared. called on a few momhs previously to contribute to an exhibition of skits on well-known artists, he had used the photograph of a favourite music-hall "star" as the basis of a picture in the pseudohistorical style affected by the fashionable portrait-painters of the day. "that thing?" he said contemptuously. "how on earth did you happen to see it ?" "i see everything," returned the dealer with an oracular smile. "if you've got it here let me look at it, please." it cost stanweu a few minutes' search to unearth his skit— a clever binding of dash and sentimentality, in just the right proportion to create the impression of a powerful brush subdued to mildness by the charms of the sitter. stanweu had thrown it off in a burst of imitative frenzy, beginning for the mere joy of the satire, but gradu ally fascinated by the problem of producing the requisite mingling of attributes. he was surprised now to see how weu he had mixed the brew, and shepson's face reflected his approval. [202] y\ a ' i" the pot-boiler 'by george! dat's something like," the dealer ejacu der for a bortrait, mr. cried shcpson, swing la ted. "like what? like mungold?' "like business! like a big o sdanwell — dat's what it's like!' ing round on bin.. stanwell's stare widened. "an order for me?" " vy not ? accidents ww happen," said sliopson jocosely. "de fact is, mrs. archer millington wants to be baintcd — ^you know her sdyle? well, she prides herself on her likeness to little gladys. and so ven she saw dat biclure of v ^rs at de fake show she made a note of your name, and de udder day she sent for mc and she says: 'mr. shepson, i'm tired of mungold — all my friends are done by mungold. i vant to break away and be orishinal — i vant to be done by the bainter that did gladys glyde.'" shepson waited to obsene the result of this overwhelm ing announcement, and stanwell, after a momentary halt of surprise, brought out laughingly: "but this is a mun gold. is that what she calls being original ? " "shoost exactly," said shepson with unexjiected acute ness. "that's va^ dey all want — something different from vat all deir friends have got, but shoost like it all de same. dat's de public all over! mrs. millington don't want a mungold, because everybody's got a mungold, but she wants a picture that's in the same sdyle, because dat's de sdyle, and she's afraid of any oder!" [203] a j h the pot-boi1.er stanweu was listening with real enjoyment. "ah, you know your public," he murmured. "veil, you do too, or you couldn't have painted dat." the dealer retorted. "and i don't say dey're wrong mind dat. i like a bretty picture myself. and i understand the way dey feel. dey're viuing to let sargent take liber ties vid them, because it'.s like being punched in de ribs by a king; but if anybody else baints them, they vant to look as sweet as an obituary." he turned earnestly to stanweu. "the thing is to attract their notice. vonce you got it they von't gif you dime to sleep. and dat's why i'm here to-day-you've attracted mrs. miuington's notice, and vonce you're hung in dat new bau-room-dat's vere she vants you, in a big gold panel— vonce you're dere, vy, you'u be hk^ the pianola— no home gompleat without you. and i ain't going to charge you any commission on the first job!" he stood before the painter, exuding a mixture of defer ence and patronage in which either element might prevail as events developed; but stanweu could see in the inci dent only the stuff for a good story. "my dear shepson," he said, "what are you talking about? this is no picture of mine. why don't you ask me to do you a corot? i hear there's a great demand for ,them stiu in the west. or an arthur schracker —i can do schracker as well as mungold," he added, turning around a small canvas at which a paint-pot [204] (11 ; the pot-boiler seemed to have been hurled with violence from a con siderable distance. shepson ignored the allusion to corot, but screwed his eyes at the picture. "ah, schracker— veil, the schracker sdyle would take first rate if you were a foreigner — but for goodness sake don't try it on mrs. milling ton!" stanwell pushed the two skits aside. "oh, you can trust me," he cried humorous'y. "the pearls and the eyes ver}' large — the hands and feet very small. isn't that about the size of it?" "dat's it — dat's it. and the cheque as big as you vant to make it! mrs. millington vants the picture finished in time for her first barty in the new ball-room, and if you rush the job she won't sdickle at an extra thousand. vill you come along with me now and arrange for your first zitting?" he stood before the young man, urgent, paternal, and so imbued with the importance of his mission that his face stretched to a ludicrous length of dismay when stan well, giving him a good-humoured push, cried gaily: "my dear fellow, it will make my price rise still higher when the lady hears i'm too busy to take any orders at present — and that i'm actually obliged to turn you out now because i'm expecting a sitter!" it was part of shepson 's business to have a quick ear for the note of finality, and he offered no resistance to [«05] the pot-boiler stanwell's push; but on the threshold he paused to mur mur, with a regretful glance at the denuded studio: "you could haf done it, mr. sdanwell— you could haf done it!" \^ 'ft ' n jr'ate arpan was stanwell's sitter; but the janitor had hardly filled the stove when she came in to say she could not sit. caspar had had a bad night; he was de pressed and feverish, and in spite of his protests she had resolved to fetch the doctor. care sat on her usually tran quil features, and stanwell, as he offered to go for the doctor, wished he could have caught in his picture the wide gloom of her brow. there was alwavs a kind of biblical breadth in the expression of her emotions, and to-day she suggested a text from isaiah. "but you're not busy?" she hesitated, in the full voice which seemed tuned to a solemn rhetoric. "i meant to be— with you. but since that's off i'm quite unemployed." she smiled interrogatively. "i thought perhaps you had an order. i met mr. shepson rubbing his hands on the landing." "was he rubbing his hands? well, it was not over me. he says that from the style of my pictures he doesn't sup pose i want to sell." she looked at him superbly. "well, do you?" the pot-boiler he embraced his bleak tvalu in a circular gesture. "judge for yourself!" "ah, but it's splendidly furnialicd!" "with rejected pictures, you mean?" "with ideals!" she exclaimed, in a tone caught from her brother, and which would have been irritating to stanwell if it had not been moving. he gave a slight shrug and took up his hat; but she in ter|)o.sed to say that if it didn't make any difference she would prefer to have him go and sit with poor caspar, while she ran for the doctor and did some household errands by the way. stanwell divined in l.er renuest the need of a brief respite from caspar, and though he shivered at the thought of her facing the cold in the scant jacket which had been her only wear since he had known her, he let her go without protest, and betook himself to arran's studio. he found the little sculptor dressed and roaming fret fully about the melancholy room in which he and his plastic off-spring lodged. in one comer, where kate's chair and work-table stood, a scrupulous order prevailed; but the rest of the apartment had the dreary untidiness, the damp gray look, which the worker in clay usual"" creates about him. in the centre of this desert stood the .shrouded image of caspar's disappointment: the colossal rejected group as to which his frie.ids could .seldom remember whether it represented jove hurling a titan from olympus or science subjugating religion. caspar was the sworn [207] a ■. the pot-boiler foe of religion, which he appeared to regard an indirectly connected with hia inability to sell his slutiies. the sculptor vas too ill to work, and stanwell's op pearance loosed the pent-up springs of his talk. "hauo! what are you doing here? i thought kate had gone over to sit to you. she wanted a little fresh air? i should say enough of it came in through these windows. how like a woman, when she's agreed to do a cerla.n thing, to make up her mind at once that she's got to do another! they don't call it caprice— it's always duly; that's the humour of it. i'll be bound kate alleged a press ing engagement. sorry she should waste your time so, my dear fellow. here am i with plenty of it to bum— look at my hand shake; i can't do a thing! well, luckily nobody wants me to— posterity may suffer, but the present genera tion isn't worrying. the present generation wants to be car�d in sugar-candy, or painted in maple syrup. it doesn't want to be told the truth about itself or about any thing in the universe. the prophets have always lived in a garret, my dear fellow— only the ravens don't always find out their address! speaking of ravens, though, kate told me she saw old shepson coming out of your place— i sa>, old man, you're not meditating an apostasy ? you're not doing the kind of thing that shepson would look at ? " stanwell laughed. "he looked at them— but only to confirm his reasons for rejecting them." "ha! ha! that's right— he wanted to refresh his mem [208] the pot-boiler oiy with their badncu. but how on earth diil hp happen to have any doubtn on the subject ? i should as luion hove thought of his coming in here!" stanwell winced at the comparison, but rephed in caspar's key: "oh, he's not as sure of any of us as he is of you!" the sculptor received thif tribute with a joyous ex pletive. "by god, no, he's sure of me, as you say! he and his tribe know thai i'll starve in my tracks sooner than make a concession — a single concession. a fellow came ofter me once to do an angel on a tombstone — an nngel leaning against a broken column, and looking as if it was waiting for the elevator and wondering why in hell it didn't come. he said he wanted me to show that the deceased was pining to get to heaven. as she was his wife i didn't dispute the proposition, but when i asked him what he understood by heaven he grabbed his hat and walked out of the studio. he didn't wait for the elevator." stanwell listened with a practised smile. the story of the man who had come to order the angel was .w famil iar to arran's friends that its onl3' interest consist^nl in waiting to see what variation he would give to the retort which had put the mourner to flight. it was generally supposed that this visit represented the sculp tor's nearest approach to an order, and one of his fellow-craftsmen had been heard to remark that if caspar had made the tombstone, the lady under it would have [809] ! i n ■ t ' the pot-boiler fried harder than ever to gt-t to heaven. to slanwcll'i pre«nt mood, however, there waa wmethiiik more than usually irritating in the gratiiitoua awumption that arran had only to dei«*nd from hia altitude to have a prew. of purrhaiiera at hi.i door. "well-wiiat did you gain by kicking your widower out?" he obje<ted. "why cun't a man <],. two kinds of work-one to please himself and the other to boil the pot ?" caspar stopped in his jerky walk-the stride of a tall man attempte<i with short legs (it sometimes appeared to stanwell to symbolize his artistic endeavour). "why can't a man— why can't he? you aak me that, stanwell ?" he blazed out. "yes; and what's more, i'll answer you: it isn't every body who can adapt his art as he wants to!" caspar stood before him, gasping with incredulous scorn. "adapt his art? as he wants to? unhappy wretch, what lingo are you talking? if you mean that it isn't every honest man who can be a renegade—" "that's just what i do mean: he can't unless he's clever enough to sec the other side." the deep groan with which cn.,par met this casuistry was cut short by a knock at the .studio door, which there upon opened to admit a small dapperly-dressed man with a silky moustache and mildly-bulging eyes. "ah, mungold," exclaimed stanwell, to cover the gloomy silence with which arran received the new [810] t>1 ^' ''!( the pot-boiler cotnrr; whcrral the latlrr, with thr air of a man who ilom not easily believe hlmaelf unwelrunir, bestowed a »yni|)a thetic precaurc on the sculptor's hum). " m;' deor chnp, i've just met miss arran, and she told me you were luid up with u bud cold, su i thought i'd pop in and cheer you up." lie looked uljout him with a smile evidently intended as the first act in his beneficent pnijframmp. mr. munf{old, freshly soaiied and scented, with a neat glaze of gentility extending from his vnmishcil lxk>t-tip» to his glossy hat, looked like the "haltered" |k)rtrait of a common man — just such an idealized presentment aj hi» own brush might have produced. as a rule, however, he devoted himself to the jiortrayal of the other sex, painting ladies in syrup, as arran said, with marsh-mallow children ogttinst their knees. he was as quick as a dressmaker at catching new ideas, and the style of his pictures change;! as rapidly as that of the fashion-plates. one year all his sitters were done on oval canvases, with gauzy draperies and a back-ground of clouds; the next they were seated under an immemorial elm, caressing enormous dogs obviou.sly constructed out of door-mats. whatever their occupation they alwoys looked straight out of the canvas, giving the impression that their eyes were fixed on an in visible camera. this gave rise to the rumour that mungold "did" his portraits from photographs; it was even said that he had invented a way of tran.sferring an enlarged [411] i'i '■ ■ i'^ '■j \ the pot-boiler photograph to the canvas, so that all that remained was to fill in the colours. if he heard of this charge he took it calmly, but probably it had not reached the high spheres in which he moved, id in which he was esteemed for painting pearls better, and making unsuggestive children look lovelier, than any of his fellow-craftsmen. mr. mun gold, in fact, deemed it a part of his professional duty to study his sitters in their home-life; and as this life was chiefly led in the homes of others, he was too busy dining out and going to the opera to mingle much with his col leagues. but as no one is wholly consistent, mr. mungold had lately belied his ambitions by falling in love with kate arran; and with that gentle persistency which made him so wonderful in managing obstreperous infantile sitti 3, he had contrived to establish a footmg in her brother's studio. part of his success was due to the fact that he could not easily think himself the object of a rebuff. if it seemed to hit him he regarded it as deflected from its aim, and brushed it aside with a discreet gesture. a touch of comedy was lent to the situation by the fact that, till kate arran's coming, mungold had always served as her brother's awful example. it was a mark of arran's lack of humour that he persisted in regarding the little man as a conscious apostate, instead of perceiving that he painted as he could, in a world which really looked to him uke a vast con fectioner's window. stanwell had never quite divined [212] i.i; the pot-boiler how mungold had won over the sister, to whom her brother's prejudices were a r..iigion; but he suspected the painter of having united a deep iieli'. '.r^ caspar's genius with the occasional offer of ■ .(/oitune ilciij nes — the portwine or game which kate h j i.i other m'ins of pro curing for the patient. stanwell, persuaded that mungold would stick to his post till miss arran's return, felt himself freed from his promise to the latter am' i't the incongnious pair to them selves. there had been a tiu.e when it amused him to see caspar submerge the painter in a torrent of denunciatory eloquence, and to watch poor mungold sputtering under its rush, yet emitting little bland phrases of assent, like a gentleman drowning correctly, in gloves and eye-glasses. but stanwell was beginning to find less food for gaiety than for envy in the contemplation of his colleague. after all, mungold held his ground, he did not go under. spite of his manifest absurdity he had succeeded in propitiating the sister, in making himself tolerated by the brother; and the fact that his success was due to the ability to purchase portwine and game wlj not in this case a mitigating circumstance. stanwell knew that the arrans really pre ferred him to mungold, but the knowledge only sharpened his envy of the latter, whose friendship could command visible tokens of expression, while poor stanwell's re mained gloomily inarticulate. as he returned to his over populated studio and surveyed anew the pictures of which [213] n.i the pot-boiler shep.«n had not offered to relieve him, he found himself wshmg. not for mungold's lack of scruples, for he be l.eved him to be the most scrupulous of men. but for that happy mean of talent which so completely satisfied the art-sfc requirements of the inartistic. mungold was not to be despised as an apostate-he wa« to be congratulated as a man whose aptitudes were exactly in line with the taste of the persons he liked to dine with. at this pomt in his meditations. stanwell's eye fell on the portrait of miss gladys clyde. i, was really a. shepson said, as good as a mungold; yet it could never be made to serve the same purpose, because it was the work of a man who knew it was bad art. that at least would have been caspar arran's co„,..„,ion-poor cas par. who produced as bad art in the service of the loftiest convictionsthe distinction began to look like mere casuisfy to stanwell. he had never been ve,y proud of his own adaptability. it had seemed to him to indicate the lack of an individual standpoint, and he had tried to counteract it by the cultivation of an aggressively personal style. but the cursed knack wa. in his fingers-he wa. always at the mercy of some other man's sensations, and there were moments when he blushed to remember that h.s grandfather had spent a laborious life-time in rome copying the old masters for a generation which lacked the resource of the camera. now, however, it struck him that the ancestral versatility might be a useful inheritance [214] the pot-boiler in art, after all. the greatest of them did what they could; and if a man could do several things instead of one, why should he not profit by his multiplicity of gifts ? if one had two talents why not serve two masters ? in qtanwell, while seeing caspar through the attack which had been the cause of his sister's arrival, had struck up a friendship with the young doctor who climbed the patient's six flights with unremitting fidelity. the two, since then, had continued to exchange confidences re garding the sculptor's health, and stanwell, anxious to waylay the doctor after his visit, left the studio door ajar, and went out when he heard a sound of leave-taking across the landing. but it appeared that the doctor had just come, and that it was mungold who was making his adieux. the latter at once assumed that stanwell had been on the alert for him, and met the supposed advance by in viting himself into the studio. "may i come and take a look around, my dear fellow? i've been meaning to drop in for an age—" mungold always spoke with a girllsh emphasis and effusiveness— "but i have been so busy getting up mrs. van orley's tableaux— english eighteenth century portraits, you know —that really, what with that and my sittings, i've hardly [215] u ii ■ml itl • i i flji' u til the pot-boiler had time to think. and then you know you owe me about a dozen visits! but you're a savage — ^you don't pay visits. you stay here and piocher — which is wiser, as the results prove. ah, you're strong — immensely strong!" he paused in the middle of the studio, glancing about a little ap prehensively, as though he thought the stored energy of the pictures might result in an explosion. "very original — very striking — ah, miss arran! a powerful head; but — excuse the suggestion — isn't there just the least little lack of sweetness? you don't think she has the sweet type? perhaps not — but fould she be so lovely if she were not intensely feminine? just at present, though, she's not looking her best — she is horribly tired. i'm afraid there is very little money left — and poor dear caspar is so im possible: he won't hear of a loan. otherwise i should be most happy — . but i came just now to propose a piece of work — in fact to give an order. mrs. archer miuington has built a new ball-room, as i daresay you may have seen in the papers, and she's been kind enough to ask me for some hints — oh, merely as a friend: i don't presume to do more than advise. but her decorator wants to do some thing with cupids — something light and playful. and so i ventured to say that i knew a very clever sculptor — well, i do believe caspar has talent — latent talent, you know — and at any rate a job of that sort would be a big lift for him. at least i thought he would regard it so; but you should have heard him when i showed him the jecorator's [216] ab f! the pot-boiler sketch. he asked me what the cupids were to be done in — lard ? an(' if i thought he had had his training at a con fectioner's ? and i don't know what more besides — but he worked himself up to such a degree that he brought on a frightful fit of coughing, and miss arran, i'm afraid, was rather annoyed with me when she came in, though i'm sure an order from mrs. archer millinglon is not a thing that would annoy most people!" mr. mungold paused, breathless with the rehearsal of his wrongs, and stanwell said with a smile: "you know poor caspar's terribly stiff on the purity of the artist's aim." "the artist's aim?" mr. mungold stared. "what is the artist's aim but to please — isn't that the purpose of all true art? but his theories are so extravagant. i really don't know what i shall say to mrs. millinglon — she's not used to being refused. i suppose i'd better put it on the ground of ill-health." the artist glanced at his hand some repeater. " dear me, i promised to be at mrs. van orley's before twelve. we're to settle about the curtain before luncheon. my dear fellow, it's been a privilege to see your wo<-k. by the way, you have never done any modelling, 1 mppose ? you're so extraordinarily versatile — i didn't know whether you might care to undertake the cupids yourself." stanwell had to wait a long time for the doctor; and when the latter came out he looked grave. worse? no, [217] if im ni '■' i i!.v the pot-boiler he couldn't say that caspar was worse— but then he wasn't better. there was nothing mortal the matter, but the question was how long he could hold out. it was the kind of case where there is no use in drugs— he had merely scribbled a prescription to quiet miss arran. "it's the cold, i suppose," stanwell groaned. "he ought to be shipped off to florida." the o'jctor made a negative gesture. "florida be hanged! what he wants is to sell his group. that would set him up quicker than sitting on the equator." "sell his group?" stanwell echoed. "but he's so in different to recognition— he believes in himself so thor oughly. i thought at first he would be hard hit when the exhibition committee refused it, but he seems to regard that as another proof of its superiority." his visitor turned on him the keen eye of the confessor. "indifferent to recognition.' he's eating his heart out for it. can't you see that all that talk is just so much whistling to keep his courap. up? the name of his disease is failure — tind i can't write the prescription that will cure that. but if somebody would come along and take a fancy to those two naked parties who are breaking each other's heads we'd have mr. caspar putting on a pound a day." the truth of this diagnosis became suddenly vivid to stanwell. how dull of him not to have seen before that it was not cold or privation which was killing caspar— [2181 4' the pot-boiler not anxiety for his sister's future, nor the aehe of watehing her daily struggle-but simply the cankering thought that he might die before he had made himself known! it was h.s vanity that was starving to death, and all mungom's hampers could not appease that hunger. stanwell was not shocked by the discovery-he was only the more sorry for the httle man. who was. after all. denied that solace of self-sufficiency which his talk so noisily proclaimed. h.s lot seemed hard enough when stanwell had pictured him as buoyed up by the sc«m of public opinion-it be came tragic if he was denied that support. the artist wondered if kate had guessed her brother's secret or .f she were still the dupe of his stoicism. stanwell 'was sure that the sculptor would take no one into his confidence and least of au his sister, whose faith in his artistic inde pendence was the chief prop of that tottering pose. kate's penetration was not great, and stanwell recalled the in credulous smile with which she had heard him defend poor mungold's "sincerity" against caspar's assaults; but she had the insigl : of the heart, and where her brother's happiness was concerned she might have seen deeper than any of them. it was this last consideration which took the strongest hold on sta„well-he felt caspar's sufferings chiefly through the thought of his sister's possible dish lusionment. [219] the pot-boiler i i !. if iv t t rithin three months two events had set the studio " ' building talking. stnnwell had painted a full length portrait of mrs. archer millington, and caspar arran had received an order to execute his group in marble. the name of the sculptor's patron had not been diitilged. the order came through shepson, who explained tliat an american customer living abroad, having seen a photo graph of the group in one of the papers, had at once cabled home to secure it. lie intended to bestow it on a public building m america, and not wishing to advertise his munificence, had preferred that even the sculptor should remain ignorant of his name. the group bought by an enlightened compatriot for the adornment of a civic building in his native land! there could hardly be a more complete vindication of unappreciated genius, and caspar made the most of the argument. he was not exultant, he was sublimely magnanimous. he had always said that he could afford to await the verdict of posterity, and his unknown patron's act clearly shadowed forth that impressive decision. happily it also found expression in a cheque which it would have taken more philosophy to await. the group was paid for in advance, and kate's joy in her brother's recognition was deliciously mingled with the thrill of ordering him some new clothes, and coax [220] the potbo i lint ing him out to dine sueculenlly at a neighbouring restnur mt. casirar lonrished insufferably on tliis regime: he began to strike the attitude of tlie (;reat master, who gives adviee and encouragement to tlie struggling neophyte. he held himself up as an example of the rcwuril of dis interestedness, of the triu,.i|.h ol' the artist who clings doggedly to his ideals. "a man must believe in his star— look at napoleon! it's the trust in one's convi.tions that tells— it always ends by forcing the public into line. only be sure you make no concessions— don't give in to any of their humbug! an artist who listens to the critics is ruined— they never have any use for the poor devils who do what they're told. run after fame and she'll keep you running, but stay in your own corner and do your own work, and by george sir, she'll come crawling up on her hands and knees and ask to have her likeness done!" these exhortations were chiefly directed to stanwell. partly because the inmates of the other studios were ajit to elude them, partly also because the rumours concern ing stnnwell's portrait of mrs. millington had begun to disquiet the sculptor. at first he had taken a condescend ing interest in the fact of his friend's receiving an order, and had admonished him not to lose the chance of "show ing up" his sitter and her environment. it was a splendid opportunity for a fellow with a "message" to be intro duc-ed into the tents of the phlliaine. and stanweu was [hi] t the pot-boiler i'hnrgcd to ilrivc a loiig sharp niiil into llic enemy's skull. hut presently arran began to suspect that the (lortruit was not aa comminatory as he could have wished. munguld, the most kindly of rivals, let drop a word of injudicious praise: the picture, he said, promised to be delightfully "in keeping" with the decorations of the ball-room, and the lady's gown harmonised exijuisltely with the window curtains. stanwell, called to accoimt by his monitor, rc niindid the latter that he himself had been .selected by mungold to do the cupids for mrs. millington's ball room, and that the friendly artist'.s praise could, therefore, not be taken as positive evidence of incapacity. "ah, but i didn't them— i kicked him out!" cas par rejoined; and sia..> -d could oniy plead that, even in the cause of art, one could hardly kick !• lady. "ah, that's the worst of it. if the women get at you you're lost. you're young, you're impressionable, you won't mind my saying that you're not built for a stoic, and hang it, they'll coddle you, they'll enervate you, they'll sentimentalise you, they'll make a mungold of you!" "poor mungold," stanwell laughed. "if he lived the life of an anchorite '■e couldn't help painting pictures that would please mrs. millington." "whereas you could," kate interjected, raisir.g her head from the ironing-board where, spliinx-like, mag nificent, she swung a splendid arm above her brother's shirts. [2221 t uk 1' o t u o i l e r "oh, well. iktluips i shan't please lier; |k-:,np« i shall elcviilc hor liislc." cnspar (lire.li.,| n rroan to hi^ sister. '"i'hhf.s whet they ..11 thi.,k «l flrst-childe rolun.l to the dark tower <ame. but inside the dark tower there's the venusborr. oh, i don't mean that you'll ixtaken with truffles and plush footmen, like .munkol.l, h„| prai.„., my |kk.r ned praise is a deadly drug! it's the al«i„tl,e of the artist und they'll stupefy you with it. you'll wallow in the mire of .sueee.s.s." slanwell raised a protesting hand. " heally, for one order you're a little lurid!" "one? haven't you already had a <io2en others?" "only one other, so far-an<l i'm not sure i shall do that." "not sure-wavering already! that's the way the mis chief begins. if the women get a fad for you they'll work you uke a galley-slave. you'll have to do your round of 'c-opy' every morning. what becomes of inspiration then ? how are you going to loaf and invite the soul? don't barter your birthright for a mess of ,»ttage! oh, i under stand the temptation-i know the taste of money and sue eess. but look at me, stanwell. you know how long i had to wait for recognition. well, now it's come to tr. i don't mean to let it knock me off my feet. i don't mean to let myself be overworked; i've already made it known that i will not be bullied into taking more orders than i [ *23 ] k^ v i. ? ! i the potbo i leu ran do full jiisllcc to. anil my sister u with me, (jiki i)u's« her; kiite wuuld rnllii'r gn on ironing nijuliirln in u garret than »ee me prosllluir my art!" kale's nullnnt glance confirmed ihlji tleclnrntion of inile|>eniu'iico, iiiul stanwell, with ills evasive langh, asked her if, meanwhile, she shonid ohject to his iiiveslltig a part of his ill-gotten gnins in theatre tickets for the |>arty thai evening. it appeared that stanwell had also ix-en paid in ad vance, and well ))aid: for he ix'gan to permit himself vari ous milil distractions, in which he gc-nerally contrived to have the arrans shan-. it seemed |)«-rfeitly natural to kate that casimr's friends should sjiend their money for his recreation, and by one of the moat touching sophistries of her sex she thus reconciled herself to taking a llltle pleasure on her own account. mungold was less often in the way, for she had never been able to forgive him for proposing that caspar should do mrs. millington's cupids; and for a few happy weeks stanwell had the undisputed enjoyment of her pride in her brother's achieve ment. stanwell had "rushed through" mrs. millington's [lor troit in time for the opening of her new ball-room; and it was perhaps in return for this favour that she consented to let the picture be exhibited at a big portrait show which was held in april for the benefit of a fashionable charity. in mrs. milling-ton's ball-room the picture had been 1824] the pot-boi lkll iifcn niid n|i|>ri)vf<l only liv llw <liiilin(fiii»lh-(l feu who had acccha to (hut soiiiil sunrlimrj : but on the wiills of iho ex liitiilioii it bt-cniiip a rontri' of comiiitot ami diwumlon. oiif of the liiiincdiiitc results of this |>iil>|ici|y wn» n visit from slicpson, with two or ihrit onlers in his [hk-kct. as he |>iit it. he surveyed the studio with fresh diskusi, iisked stanwell why he did not move, and was impressed rather than downcast on leaniin({ thai the painter had not de cided whether he would lake any mori' orders that sprin);. "you niirhl liaf a studio at nett|h)rt," he surijeslcil, "it would lie rather new to do your sitters out of doors, with the sea behind iheni— showing they had n blme on the gliffs!" the picture produced a diirererit ,inil less flalterinf; cftcct on the erilics. they f;uve it, indci'd, nior<' space than they had ever before accorded lo the artist's efforts, but their estimate seemed to confirm caspar arran's fore bodings, and stanwell hml |>orliaps never despised them so little as when he read their conniienls on his work. on 1 '""i ,i.wever,neithcrpraisc nor blame disipiicled him iii■•■:»e.inrrossed in ihc contemplation of kate arran's happiness, and ba.sking in the refracted warmth it shed about her. the doctor's prognostications had come true. caspar was putting on a pound a week, and had plunged into a fresh "creation" more symbolic and en cumbering than the monument of whicli he had been so opportunely relieved. if there was any cloud on stan [2s5] ;{ i i.|. 1' v 'i u j!? m the pot-boiler wells enjoyment of life, it was caused by the discovery that success had quadrupled caspar's artistic energies. meanwhile it was delightful to see kate's joy in her brother's recovered capacity for work, and to listen to the axioms which, for stanwell's guidance, she deduced fi»m the example of caspar's heroic devotion to the ideal. there was nothing repellent in kate's borrowed didacticism. if it sometimes bored stanwell to hear her quote her brother, he was sure it would never bore him to be quoted by her himself; and there were moments when he felt he had nearly achieved that distinction. caspar was not addicted to the visiting of art exbibitiol.i. he took little interest in any productions save his cwn, and was disposed to believe that good pictures, like clever criminals, are apt to go unhung. stanwell therefore thought it unlikely that his portrait of mrs. miuing ton would be seen by kate, who was not given to inde pendent explorations in the field of art; but one day, on entering the exhibition— which he had hitherto rather nervously shunned— he saw the arrans at the end of the gallery in which the portrait hung. they were not look ing at it, they were moving away from it, and to stanweu's quickened perceptions their movement was ahnost that of flight. for a moment he thought of flying too; then a desperate resolve nerved him to meet them, and stemming the crowd he made a circuit which brought him face to face with their retreat. [226] the pot-boiler the room in which ihey met was n»arly empty, and there nothing to intervene between the shock of their interchanged glances. caspar was flushed and bristling: his little body quivered like a machine from which the steam has just been turned off. kate lifted a stricken glance. stanwell read in it the reflection of her brother's tirade, but she held out her hand in silence. for a moment caspar was silent too; then, with a terri ble smile: "my dear fellow. i congratulate you: mungold will have to look to his laurels," he said. the shot delivered, he stalked away with his seven league stride, and kate fouoved sadly in his wake. '■" ghepson took up his hat with a despairing gesture. "veil. i gif you up— i gif you up!" "don't— yet." protested stanwell from the divan. it was winter again, and though the janitor had not for gotten the fire, the studio gave no other evidence of iu master's increasing prosperity. if stanwell spent his money it was not on himself. he leaned back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, a cigarette between his lips, while shepson paced the dirty floor or halted impatiently before an untouched canvas on the easel. "i tell you vat it is, mr. sdanwell, i can't make you [227] 4 1 1' i 1' a m i m the pot-boiler outr be ,„„e„,e.. ■■ last vinter ,o„ got a ,dari that d^fa and .a,.„g yo„ ean't .„ke up vour .ind to ake not . o.de. ven. i can o„l, ., that . ,„u dake ^ueh ng mo ,, , „p_ ^.^^.^, ^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ r jt r'' '"' ^'^ """^ ""^ ^°" j-™'' -an swered her letter." ;■ how eouid i p i didn't know if i wanted to paint her." my goodness, don', ,ou know if you vant three thousand tollars?" stanwell surveyed his cigarette. 'tn. „ot sun. i do" uc said. ' ^^sh^»n flung out his hands. "ask more den-hut do left to himself, stanwell stood contemplating the can i had been dest.ned to reflect the opulent image of mrs. alp eus van orley. but some secret reluctancf of stan well shad staved the execution of the task. he had pa.ntd two of mrs. miuington-s friends in the spring, had been -c. pra.sed and liberally paid for his l^and t^n deelmmg several orders to be executed at newport, had rpr.ed h.s fr,cnds by remaining ,uiet,y in tow^ i wa^ not t.11 august that he hired a. ittle cottage on the new [228] the pot-boile r jersey coast and invited the arrans to visit him. they accepted the invitation, and the three had s,«nt together six weeks of seashore idleness, during which stanwell's modest rafters shook with caspar's denunciations of lu's host's venahty, and the brightness of irate's gratitude was tempered by a tinge of reproach. but her grief over stanwclj's apostasy could not efface the fact that he had offered her brother the means of esca,,e from town, and stanwell himself was consoled by the reflection that but for mrs. millington's portrait he could not have performed even this trifling service for his friends. when the arrans left him in september he went to pay a few visits in the country, and on his return, a month later, to the studio building, he found that things had not gone well with caspar. the little sculptor had caught cold, and the labour and expense of converting his gigantic off sprmg into marble seemed to hang heavily upon him. he and kate were living in a damp company of amor phous clay monsters, unfinished witnesses to the creative frenzy which had seized him after the sale of his group; an.l the doctor had urged that his patient should be re moved to warmer and drier lodgings. but to uproot cas j'ar was impossible, and his sister could only feed the stove, and swaddle him in mufflers and felt slippers. stanwell found that during his absence mungold had reappeared, fresh and rosy from a summer in europe and as prodigal bs ever of the only form of attention which [229] % i ■^■ if the pot-boiler kate could be counted on not to resent. the game and champagne reappeared with him, and he seemed as ready as stanwell to lend a patient ear to caspar^s homilies. but stanwell could see that, even now, kate had not for given him for the cupids. stanwell himself had spent the early winter months in idleness. the sight of his tools filled him with a strange repugnance, and he absented himself as much as possible from the stuaio. but shepson's visit roused him to the fact that he must decide on some definite course of action. if he wi.«'ied to follow up his success of the previous spring he must refuse no more orders: he mu.' not let mrs. van orley slip away from him. he knev ""here were competitors enough ready to profit by his hesitations, and since his success was the result of a whim, a whim might undo it. with a gesture of decision he caught up his hat and left the studio. on the landing he met kate arran. she too was going out, drawn forth by the sudden radiance of the january afternoon. she met him with a smile which seemed the answer to his uncertainties, and he asked if she had time to take a walk with him. yes; for once she had time, for mr. mungold was sitting with caspar, and had promised to remain till she came in. it mattered uttle to stanwell that mungold was with caspar as long as he himself was witli kate; and he in stantly soared to the suggestion that they should prolong the painter's vigil by taking the "elevated" to the park. [230] the pot-boiler in this too his companion acquiesced nftcr a moment of surprise: she seemed in a consenting mood, and stanwell augured well from 'he fact. the park was clothed in the double glitter of snow and sunshine. they roamed the hard white alleys to a continu ous tinkle of sleigh-bells, and kate brightened with the exhilaration of the scene. it was not often that she i«rmitted herself such an escape from routine, and in this new en vironment, which seemed to detach her from her daily setting, stanwell had his first complete vision of her. to the girl also their unwonted isolation seemed to create a sense of fuller communion, for she began presentlv, as they reached the leafless solitude of the ramble, to speak with sudden freedom of her brother. it appeared that the orders against which caspar had so heroically steeled himself were slow in coming: he had received no commission since the sale of his group, and he was beginning to suffer from a reaction of discouragement. oh, it was not the craving for popularity-stanwell knew how far above that he stood. but it had been exquisite, yes, exquisite to him to find himself believed in, understood. he had fancied that the purchase of the group was the dawn of a tardy recog nition-and now the darkness of indifference had closed in again, no one .poke of him, no one wrote of him, no one cared. "if he were in good health it wouldn't matter-he would throw off such weakness, he'd live only for the joy of his [231] the pot-boiler work; but he's losing ground, his strength is failing, and he's so afraid there will not be time enough left — time enough for full recognition," she explained. the quiver in her voice silenced stanwell: he was afraid of echoing it with his own. at length be said: "oh, more orders will come. success is a gradual growth." "yes, real success," she said, with a solemn note in which he caught — and forgave — a reflection on his own facile triumphs. "but when the orders do come," she continued "will he have strength to carry them out? last winter the doctor thought h« only needed work to set him up; now he talks of rest instead! he says we ought to go to a warm cumate — but how can caspar leave the group?" "oh, hang the group — let him chuck the order!" she looked at him tragically. "the money is spent," she said. stanwell coloured to the roots of his hair. "but ill health — ill-health excuses everything. if he goes away now he'll come back good for twice the amount of work in the spring. a sculptor's not expected to deliver a statue on a given day, like a package of groceries! you must do as the doctor says — ^you must make him chuck every thing and go." they had reached a windless nook above the lake, and, pausing in the stress of thei • talk, she let herself sink on [232] the pot-boiler a bench beside the path. the movement encouraged him. and he seated himself at her side. "you must take him away at once," he repeated urgently. "he must be made comfortable-you mu.,t both be free from worry. and i want you to let me manage il for you" he broke off, silenced by her rising blush, her protesting murmur. "oh, stop, please; let me explain," he went on. "i'm not talking of lending you money; i'm talking of giving you-myself. the offer may be just as unacceptable, but ■fs of a kind to which it's customary to accord a hear mg. i should have made it a year ago-the first day i saw you. 1 believe!-but that, then, it wasn't in my power to make things easier for you. now, you know, ive-had a little luck. since i painted mrs. milllngton things have changed. i believe i can get as many orders as i choose there are two or three people waiting now. what's the use of it au, if it doesn't bring me a little happiness? and the only happiness i know is the kind you can give me." he paused, suddenly losing the courage to look at her, so that her pained murmur was framed for him in a glit tering vision of the frozen lake. he turned with a start and met the refusal in her eyes. "no— really no?" he repeated. she shook her head silently. "i could have helped you-i could have helped you!" he sighed. [233] i? „ h the pot-boiler she flushed distressfully, but kept her eyes on his. "it's just that-don't you see?" she reproached him. "just that— the fact that i could be of use to you ?" "the fact that, as you say, things have changed since you painted mrs. miuington. i haven't seen the later por traits, but they tell me—" "oh, they're just as bad!" stanwell jeered. "you've sold your talent, and you knov it: that's the dreadful part. you did it dcuberately," she cried with passion. "oh, deliberately," he grimly assented. "and you're not ashamed— you talk of going on!" "i'm not ashamed; i talk of going on." she received this with a long shuddering sigh, and turned her eyes away from him. "oh, why— why— why?" she lamented. it was on the tip of stanwell's tongue to answer: "that i might say to you what i'm saying now—" but he re plied instead: "a man may paint bad pictures and be a decent fellow. look at mungold, after all!" the adjuration had an unexpected effect. kate's colour faded suddenly, and she sat motionless, with a stricken face. ^^ "there's a difference-" she began at length abruptly: "the difference you've always insisted on. mr. mungold paints as weu as he can. he has no idea that his pictures are— less good than they might be." [234] the pot-boiler "weu— ?•• "so he can-t be accu«d of doing what he doe, for money ■^fjacnficng anything better." she turned on him with t»ubl«l eye,. 'it wa, you who made me understand that, when caspar used to make fun of him " stanwell smiled. "im glad you stiu think me a better pamter than mungold. but isn't it hard that for that very re^on i should sur^e in a hole ? if i painted badly enougj you d see no objection to my living at the waldorf ah don't joke about it." ,he murmured. "don't triumph in it." _ "i «e no reason to at present," said stanweu drily. but i won t pretend to be ashamed when i'm not i .hmk there are occasions whenaman is justified in doing what i ve done. she looked at him solemnly. "what occasions?" why, when he wants money, hang it'" she drew a deep breath. "money-money? ha, cas pars example been nothing to you, then?" '•it hasn't proved to me that i must starve while mun gold hves on truffles!" again her face changed and she stirred uneasily, and then rose to her feet. »cnficmg h„ convictions!" she exclaimed stanwell rose too, facing her with a mounting urgency which sent a flush to his cheek. [235] tl-l\ 11 /* if ^ t'fi 4 the pot-boiler "can't you conceive such an occasion in my case? the wish, i mean, to make things easier for caspar — to help you in any way you might let me ? " her face reflected his blush, and she stood gazing at him with a wounded wonder. "caspar and i— you imagine we could live on money earned in that way?" stanwell made an impatient gesture. "you've got to live on something — or he has, even if you don't include yourself!" her blush deepened miserably, but she held her head high. "that's just it— that's what i came here to say to you." she stood a moment gazing away from him at the lake. he looked at her in surprise. "you came here to say something to me?" "yes. that we've got to live on something, caspar and i, as you say; and since an artist cannot sacrifice his con victions, the sacrifice must— i mean— i wanted you t" know that i have promised to marry mr. mungold." "mungold!" stanwell cried with a sharp note of irony; but her white look checked it on his lips. "i know all you are going to say," she murmured, with a kind of nobility which moved jim even through his sense of its grotesquenes"but you must see the distinction, because you first m«ae it clear to me. i can take money earned in good faith — i can let caspar live on it. i can [t36] the pot-boiler m.ny m. mungold beo.u.. .hou.h hi. plcu„. .„ "ad. he doe, not prostitute hi, art " she began to move .way f„„. h.„. ,,, ^^ ,„„^„^^ ■n .ilence along the frozen path. when sunweu ^-entered his studio the dusk had fallen e ht h,. lamp and rummaged out s„„e wnting-^a.^il, "avmg found then., he „„,e ,„ shepson to s«, .ha t "uld not paint mrs. van orlev and hm . '">'"'»"'« ai,v™„~. j , ""^>'""'**'l not care to accept any more orders for the niw^n. «... ♦1,1 .. . present. he sealed and stamped ^ e te. and flung it over the banisters for the janitor^ p-^. then he dragged out his unfinished head of kate th t " "" "" '"^'^' -' ''-" befo't with a grim smile. (1 [237] the best mai ii^! ,1 the best man dusk had fallen, and the circle of light shed by the lamp on governor mon-way's wriung-table just rescued from the .urmunding dimness his own imposing bulk, thrown back in a deep chair in the loungmg attitude habitu.to him at that hour when the governor of midsylvania .^sted he rested completely. five minutes earlier he hau been bowed over h.s office desk, an atlas with the state on his shoulders now. h,s working hours over, he had the air of a man who has spent his day in desultory pleasure, and means to end ,t m the enjoyment of a good dinner. this freedom from care threw into relief the hovering unrest of his sister. mrs. n.m.ck. who. just outside the circle of lamplight, haunted th. gloom of the hearth, from which the wood fire now and then shot up an exploring flash into her lace. mrs. nimick's presence did not usuauy minister to repo... but the governor's cahn was too deep to be easily disturbed, and he felt the composure of a man who knows here ., a mosquito in the ™om. but has dmwn the net ting close about his head. this composure reflected itself [«41] i ' :( f ml .feii'i ir the best man in the accent with which he s y, throwing himself back to smile up at his sister: "you know i am not going to make any appointments for a week." it was the day after the great reform victory which had put john momway for the second time at the head of his state, a triumph compared with which even the mighty battle of his first election sank into insignificance, and he leaned back with the sense of unassailable serenity which follows on successful effort. mrs. nimick murmured an npologj-. "i didn't under stand—i saw in tliis morning's papers that the attorney general was reappointed." "oh, fleetwood— his reappointment was involved in the campaign. he's one of the principles i represent!" mrs. nimick smiled a little tartly. "it seems odd to some people to think of mr. fleetwood in connection with principles." the governor's smile had no answering acerbity; the mention of his attorney-general's name had set his blood humming with the thriu of the fight, and he wondered how it was that fleetwood had not already been in to shake hands with him over their triumph. "no," he said good-humouredly, "two years ago fleet wood's name didn't stand for principles of any sort; but i believed in him, and look what he's done for me! i thought he was too big a man not to see in time that statesmanship is a finer thing than poutics, and now that [hi] < if the best man i've given him a chance to make the discovery he's on the way to becoming ju,t such a statesman as the countrv needs." "oh, it's a great deal easier and pleasanter to believe in people," replied mrs. nimick, in a tone of occult al lusion, "and of course we all knew mr. fleetwood would have a hearing before any one else." the governor took this imperturbably. "well, at any rate, he isn't going to fill au the offices in the state; there will probably be one or two to spare after he has helped himself, and when the time comes i'll think over your man, i'll consider him." mrs. nimick brightened. "it would make >uch a difference to jaek-it might mean anything to the poor boy to have mr. ashford appointed!" the governor held up a warning hand. "oh, i know, one mustn't say that, or at least you mustn't listen. you're so dreadfully afraid of nepotism. but i'm not asking for jack-i've never asked for a crust for any of us, thank heaven! no one can point to me-" mrs. nimick check.i herself and continued in a more impersonal tone: "but there's no harm, surely in my saying a word for mr. ashford. when i know he's actually under consideration. i don't see why the fact that jack is in his office should prevent my speaking." "on the contrary," said the governor, "it implies, on your part, a personal knowledge of mr. ashford's quali [«43] ■^.h r i f m m 'i ! in t the best man fications which may be of great help to me in reaching a decision." mrs. nimick never quite knew how to meet him when he took that tone, and the flickering fire made her face for a moment the picture of uncertainty; then at all hazards she launched out: "well, i've ella's promise at any rate." the governor sat uprigt'! "ella's promise?" "to back me up. she thoroughly approves of him!" the governor smiled. "you talk as if my wife had a poutical mlm and distributed mrea de cachet i i'm glad she approves of ashford; but if you think she makes my appointments for me—" he broke off with a la':gh at the superfluity of the protest. mrs. nimick reddened. "one never knows how you wiu take the simplest thing. what harm is there in my saying that ella approves of mr. ashford ? i thought you liked her to take an interest in your work." "i like it immensely. but i shouldn't care to have it take that form." "what form?" "that of promising to use her influence to get people appo...ted. but you always talk of politics in the vocabu lary of european courts. thank heaven, eua has less imagination. she has her sympathies, of course, but she iluesn't think they can affect the distribution of oflsces." mrs. nimick gathered up her furs with an air at once [«44j 3m » \ the best man crestfauen and re«,ntful. 'tm sorry-l always seem to say the wrong thing. i'm sure i came with the best in tent.ons-it's natural that your sister should want to be with you at such a happy moment." "of course, it is, my dear," exclaimed the governor geniauy, as he rose to grasp the hands with which she was nervously adjusting her wraps. mrs. nimick, who lived a little way out of town, and whose visits to her brother were apparently achieved at the co.,t of immense effort and mysterious complications, had «,me to congratulate him on his victoiy, and to sound him regarding the nomination to a coveted postof thelawyer to whose office her eldest son had lately been admitted in the urgency of the latter errand she had rather lost sight of the former, but her face softened as the governor, keeping her hands in his, said in the voice which always' seemed to put the most generous interpretation on her motives: "i was sure you'd be one of the first to give me your blessing." "oh, your success-no one feels it more than i do'" sighed mrs. nimick, always at home in the emotional key. "i keep in the background, i make no noise, i claim no credit, but whatever happens, no one shall .ver pre vent my rejoicing in my brother's success!" mrs. nimick's felicitations were always couched in the conditional, with a side-glance at dark contingencies, and the governor, smiling at the familiar construction, re the best man turned cheerfully: "i don't see why any one should want to deprive you of that privilege." "they couldn't— they couldn't—" mrs. nimick af firmed. "well, i'm in the saddle for another two years at any rate, so you'd better put in all the rejoicing you can." "whatever happens — whatever happens!" cried mrs. nimick, melting on his bosom. "the only thing likely to happen at present is that you'll miss your train if i let you go on saying nice things to me much longer." mrs. nimick at this dried her eyes, renewed her clutch on her draperies, and stood glancing sentimentally about the room while her brother rang for the carriage. "i take away a lovely picture of you," she murmured. "it's wonderful what you've made of this hideous house." "ah, not i, but ella — here she does reign undisputed," he acknowledged, following her glance about the library, which wore an air of permanent habitation, of slowly formed intimacy with its inmates, in marked contrast to the gaudy impersonality of the usual executive apartment. "oh, she's wonderful, wonderful! i see she has got those imported damask curtains she was looking at the other day at fielding's. when i'm asked how she does it all, i always say it's beyond me!" "it's an art like another," smiled the governor. "ella [246] i' i the best man has been used to living i„ ,en,s and ,he ha, the knack of giving them a wonderful look of (wrmanence." "she eertalnly make, the met wonderful b«rgaln, au the knack in the world won't take the plac-e of ™ch curtains and carpets." '■are they good ? i'm glad to hear it. but ail the curtains and carpets won't make a house comfortable to live in there's where the knack comes in, you see." he recalled with a shudder the lean congressional years-,he years before his marriage-when mrs. nimick had hved with him in washington, and the daily struggle ■n the house had been combined with domestic conflicts ahnost as recurrent. the offer of a foreign mission, though disconnecting him from active politics, had the advantage of freeing him from his sister's tutelage, and in europe where he remained for two years, he had met the lady who was to become his wife. mrs. henfield was the widow of one of the diplomatists who languish in perpetual first secretaryship at our various embassies. her hfe had given her ease without triviah.y, and a .>«.nse of the importance of politics seldom found in ladies of her nationality she regarded a public life as the noblest and most engrossing of careers, and combined with great social versatility an equal gift for reading blue-books and studying debates so smcere was the latter taste that sl,e passed without regret from the amenities of a european life well stocked with picturesque intimacies to the rawness of the midsylvanian [247] t« the best man capital. she helped momway in his fight for the governor ship as a man likes to be helped by a woman — by her tact, her good looks, her memory for faces, her knack of saying the right thing to the right person, and her capacity for obscure hard work in the background of his public ac tivity. but, above all, she helped him by making his private life smooth and harmonious. for a man careless of per sonal ease mornway was singularly alive to the domestic amenities. attentive service, well-ordered dinners, brightly burning fires, and a scent of flowers in the house — these material details, which had come to seem the extension of his wife's personality, the inevitable result of her near ness, were as agreeable to him after five years of marriage as in the first surprise of his introduction to them. mrs. nimick had kept house jerkily and vociferously; ella performed the same task silently and imperceptibly, and the results were all in favour of the latter method. though neither the governor nor his wife had large means, the household, under mrs. momway's guidance, took on an air of sober luxury as agreeable to her husband as it wfts exasperating to her sister-in-law. the domestic ma chinery ran without a jar. there were no upheavals, no debts, no squalid cookless hiatuses between intenals of showy hospitality: the household moved along on lines of quiet elegance ..a comfort, behind which only the eye of the housekeeping sex could have detected a gradually increasing scale of expense. [248] the best man such an eye wa, now projected on the governor', sur rounding,, and its conclusion, were summed up in the |one in which mrs. nimick repeated from the threshold: i always say i don't see how she does it!" the tone did not escape the governor, but it disturbed him no more than the buzz of a baibed insect. poor grare it was not his fault if her husband was given to chimerical mvestmenu, if her sons were "unsatisfactoiy" and her «k,ks would not stay with her; but it was natural that these facts should throw into irritating „ntrast the ease and harmony of his own domestic life. it made him all the sorrier for his sister to know that her envy did not pene trate to the essence of his happiness, but lingered on those external signs of well-being which counted for so uttle m the sum total of his advantages. poor mrs. nimick's hfe seemed doubly thin and mean when one remembered that, beneath its shabby surface, there were no com pensating riches of the spirit. n jt was the custodian of his own hidden treasure who at this moment broke in upon his musings. mrs momway, fresh from her afternoon drive, entered the room w.lh that air of ease and lightness which seemed to diffuse a social warmth about her; fine, slender, pliant w polished and modelled by an intelligent experience of [249] the best man life that youth aeemed clumsy in her presence. she looked down at her husband and shook her head. "you promised to keep the afternoon to yourself, and i hear grace has been here." "poor grace— she didn't stay long, and i should have been a brute not to see her." he leaned back, filling his gaze to the brim with her charming image, which obliterated at a stroke the fretful ghost of mrs. nimick. "she came to congratulate you?" "yes; and to ask me to do something for ashford." " ah— on account of jack. what does she want for him ? " the governor laughed. "she said you were in her con fidence—that you were backing her up. she seemed to think your support would ensure her success." mrs. momway smiled; her smile, always full of delicate implications, seemed to caress her husband while it gently mocked his sister. "poor grace! i suppose you undeceived her." "as to your influence? i told her it was paramount where it ought to be." "and where is that?" "in the choice of carpets and curtains. it seems ours are almost too good." "thanks for the compliment! too good for what?" "our sution in life, i suppose. at least they seemed to bother grace." [iso] the best man "poor g™«! i-ve alw.y, bolhercl her." she pa«^. ^mov.„k her «love, reaec.ively „. ; ,„,;„, her long fine hand, on h„ .houlder, ., ,he »,.k,d behind him. "then you don-t believe in a.hford?" k-viing hi» .light ..ar,. .hedrewaway her hand, and rai«d them to detach her veil jvhat makes you think i don't believe in a,hford?" i asked out of curiosity. i wondered whether you had decided anything." "no. and i don't mean to for a week. i'm dead beat and i want to bring a fresh mind to the ,,ue.,.i„„. there "hardly one appointment i'm sure of except, of cour«= fleetwood's." ' she turned away from him. smoothing her hair in the mirror above the mantelpiece. "you're sure of that?" she asked after a moment. "of george fleetwood ? and poor grace thi.ucs you're deep m my counsels! i am as sure of m,p,k,inti„g fleet wood as i am that i've just been re-elected myself i've never made any secret of the fact that if they wanted me back they must have him loo." '•you're tremendously generous!" she murmured generous? what a strange word! flc.wood is my trump card-the one man x can ™unt on to cariy out my ideas through thick and thin." she mused on this, smiling a little. "that's why i call you gene„,us-when i remember how you disliked him two years ago!" i f j h.i.' it the best man "what of that? i wan prejiirfiml nkainut him, i own; or rather. i hail a ju«t diiitru«t of a man with such a pant. but how iplendidly he', wiped it out 'what a rccoh he', written on the new leaf he promised to turn over if i gave him the chance! dojou know." the governor interrupted himself with a reminiscent laugh, "i was rather annoyed with grace when she hinted that you had promised to back up ashford— i told her you didn't aspire to distribute patronage. but she might have reminded me— if she'd known— that it ira»you who persuaded me to give fleet wood that chance." mrs. momway turned with a slight heightening of colour. "grace— how could she possibly have known?" "she couldn't, of course, unless she'd read my weak ness in my face. but why do you look so startled at my httle joke?" "it's only that i so dislike grace's ineradicable idea that i am a wire-puller. why should she imagine i would help her about ashford?" "oh. grace has always been a mild and ineffectual conspirator, and she thinks every other woman is built on the same plan. but you did get fleetwood's job for him. you know," he repeated with laughing insistence. "i had more faith than you in human nature, that's all." she paused a moment, and then added: "person auy, you know, i've always rather disliked him." "oh. i never doubted your disinterestedness. but [252] the best man youv. nol going to turn «k„in.t your cnuidate. «« she hciuted. "i am „„, ,^„._ „,v,,„„.,„^. ^,,^^ c.««. when you made mr. fleo.w««| atlorn-v-cjenerui two year, ago he wa. the inevitable man for ,,!,„ •• ^weu-is there a better one now?" "i don-t „y there is-ifn not my bu,!. ss „. 1,,,,, /„, h.m. at any mte. what i mean i, th., .,m.u. ,„„e ,,.. wa. worth risking anything for-„ow f .loni knn. .i.at he h. "but even if he were not. what do i ri»k f„r .,„„ „r,«-. i don't see your point. since he didn't co,t me on n .-l.-c tion what can he possibly cost me now i'm in ?" " "he', immensely unpopular. he will c^osl you a great deal of popularity, and you have never pretended to de spise that." "no. nor ever sacrificed anything es.,enlial to it. are you reauy asking me to offer up fleetwood to it now?" i don't ask you to do anything^xcept to consider .f he ., essential. you said you were over-tired and wanted to bnng a fresh mind to bear on the other appointmenu. why not delay this one too?" momway turned in his chair and looked at her search ■ngly. "this means something. ella. what have you heard?" ' "just what you have, probably, but with more attentive ears. the very re«,rd you are so proud of has made george [453] *^ l. i it^ §m (! i 1 ! the best man fleetwood innumerable enemies in the last two years. the lead trust people are determined to ruin him, and if his reappointment is attacked you will not be spared." "attacked? in the papers, you mean?" she paused. "you know the 'spy' has always threatened a campaign. and he has a past, as you say!" "which was public property long before i first ap pointed him. nothing could be gained by raking up his old political history. everybody knows he didn't come to me with clean hands, but to hurt iiim now the 'spy 'would have to fasten a new scandal on him, and that would not be ea.sy." "it would be easy to invent one!" "unproved accusations don't count much against a man of .such proved capacity. the best answer is his record of the last two years. that's what ik ; blie looks at." "the public looks wherever the press points. and be sides, you have your own future to consider. it would be a pity to sacrifice sui'h a career as yours for the sake of backing up even as useful a man as george fleetwood." she paused, as if checked by his gather-'-^g frown, but went on with fresh decision: "oh, i'm not speaking of personal ambition; i'm thinking of the good you can do. will fleetwood's reappointment secure the greatest good of the greatest number, if his unpopularity reacts on you to the extent of hindering your career?" [m4] the best man the governor's brow cleared and he rose with a smile. 'my dear, your reasoning is admirable, but we must leave my career to take care of itself. whatever i may be to morrow i am governor of midsylvania to-day, and my business as governor is to appoint as attorney-general the best man i can find for the place — and the best man is george fleetwood, unless you have a better to propose." she met this with perfect good-humour. "no; i have told you already that that's not my business. but i have a candidate of my own for another office, so grace was not quite wrong, after all." "well, who is your candidate, and for what office? i only hope you don't want to change cooks!" "ob, i do that without your authority, and you never even know it has been done." she hesitated, and then said with a bright directness: "i want you to do some thing for poor gregg." "gregg? rufus gregg?" he stared. "what a strange request! what can i do for a man i've had to kick out for dishonesty?" "not much, perhaps; i know it's difficult. but, after all, it was your kicking him out that ruined him." " it was his dishonesty that ruined him. he was getting a good salary as my stenographer, and if he hadn't sold those letters to the ' spy ' he would have been getting it still." she wavered. "after all, nothing was proved — he al ways denied it." [«55] h. if i * 1 1 the best man "good heavens, eua! have you ever doubled bis guilt?" "no— no; i don't mean that. but of course his wife and children beheve in him, and think you were cruel, and he has been out of work so long that they're starving." "send them some money, then; i wonder you thought it necessary to ask." "i shouldn't have thought it so, but money is not what i want. mrs. gregg is proud, and it's hard to help her in that way. couldn't you give him work of some kind just a little post in a corner?" "my dear child, the little posts in the comer are just the ones where honesty is essential. a footpad doesn't wait under a street-lamp! besides, how can i recommend a man whom i've dismissed for theft? i'u say nothing to hinder his getting a place, but on my conscience i can't give him one." she paused and turned toward the door silently, though without any show of resentment; but on the threshold .,he lingered long enough to say: "yet you gave fleetwood his chance!" "fleetwood? you class fleetwood with gregg? the best man in the state with a little beggarly thieving non entity? it's clear enough you're new at wire-puuing, or you'd show more skill at it!" she n«.t this with a laugh. "i'm not likely to have ■uch practice if my first attempt is such a failure. weu, [ 256 ] fl,. i\ the best man i'u see if mrs. gregg wiu let me help her a little— i suppose there's nothing else to be done." "nothing that we can do. if gregg wants a place he had better get one on the staff of the 'spy.' he served them better than he did me." b 'tphe governor stared at the card with a frown. half an hour had elapsed since his wife had gone upstairs to dress for the big dinner from which official duties excused him, and he was still lingering over the fire before preparing for his own solitary meal. he ex pected no one that evening but his old friend hadley shackweu, with whom it was his long-established habit to talk over his defeats and victories in the first lull after the conflict; and shackweu was not likely to turn up till nine. the unwonted stillness of the room, and the knowledge that he had a quiet evening before him, filled the gov ernor with a luxurious sense of reirose. the world seemed to him a good place to be in, and his complacency was shadowed only by the fear that he had perhaps been a trifle harsh in refusing his wife's plea for the stenographer. there seemed, therefore, a certain fitness in the appear ance of the man's card, and the governor with a sigh gave orders that gregg should he admitted. gregg was still the soft-stepping scoundrel who in [2.57] i* . m u if f i the best man vited the toe of honesty, and momway. as he entered was conscious of a sharp revulsion of feeling. but it was impossible to evade the interview, and he sat silent while the man stated his case. mrs. momway had represented the stenographer as being m desperate straits, an.l ready to accept any job that could be found, but though his appearance might have seemed to corroborate her account he apparently took a less hopele.ss view of his case, and the governor found with surprise that he had fi..ed his eye on a clerk ship m one of the government offices, a ,»st which had been half promised him before the incident of the letter, h.s plea was that the governor's charge, though un proved, had so injured his reputation that he could hope to clear himself only by getting some sort of small job under the administration. after that it would be easy for him to obtain any employment he wanted. hemetmomway'srefusalwithcivility.butremarkedafter a moment: "i hadn't expected this. governor. mrs. mor,^ way led me to think that something might be arranged " the governor's tone was brief. "mrs. moraway is sorry for your wife and children, and for their sake wouu be glad to find work for you. but she could not have led you to think that there was any chance of your getting a clerkship." "well, that's just it; she said she thought she could manage it." [258] twsr the best man "you have misinterpreted my wife's interest in your family. mrs. momway has nothing to do with the distri bution of government offices." the governor broke off, annoyed to find himself asserting for the second time so obvious a fact. there was a moment's silence; then gregg said, still in a perfectly equable tone: "you've always been hard on me. governor, but i don't bear malice. you accused me of selling those letters to the 'spy' — " the governor made an impatient gesture. 'you couldn't prove your ca.se," gregg went on, "but you were right in one respect. i was on confidential terms with the 'spy.'" he paused and glanced at momway, whose face remained immovable. "i'm on the same terms with them still, and i'm ready to let you have the benefit of it if you'll give me the chance to retrieve my good npme." in spite of hia irritation the governor could not repress a smile. "in other words, you'll do a dirty trick for me if i undertake to convince people that you're the soul of honour." gregg smiled also. "there are always two ways of putting a thing. why not call it a plain case of give and take ? i want something and can pay for it." "not in any coin i have a use for," said mornway, pushing back his chair. [459] |m the best man g«gg hesitated; then he «.id: "pe,hap. ^ zl " "':'"~'°' "-"'~^" t"' govern1 ^v mrs^mor„wayha.beenkind,„u,.«„diy,i^,^^ ^^^ .. you u be k.„d enough, ^ leave „.y wife's name out of u.e d.cu,s.o„. i apposed you knew n.e well enough to <-w that i don. bu, newspaper sects a. anypl least of all at that of the public money atpn-srtat;;"""^--'---^-oir. liking 'is that final. governor?" "quite final." "well, good-evening." iv had !, "" """ '*" •''^'°'=''-'' 'h" -rvant had carr-ed away the coffee and li,ueurs. leaving the wo men to their cigars. moroway had once more ^ .nto h.s arm-chair, and sat with outstretched fee, zz comfortably at his friend. ^^ shackwell was a small d^ man of fifty, with a face as sallow and freckled as a winter pear, a hmp ml tache and shrewd melancholy eyes. [ieo] the best man "i'm glad jou have given yourself a day's rest," he said, looking at the governor. "well, i don't know that i needed it. there's such exhilaration in victory that i never felt fresher." "ah, but the fight's just beginning." "i know— but i'm ready for it. you mean the cam paign against fleetwood. i understand there is to be a big row. well, he and i are used to rows." shackwell paused, surveying his cigar. "you knew the 'spy' meant to lead the attack ?" "yes. i was offered a glimpse of the documents this afternoon." shackwell started up. "you didn't refuse?" momway related the incident of gregg's visit. "i could hardly buy my information at that price," he said, "and, besides, it's really fleetwood's business this time. i sup pose he has heard the report, but it doesn't seem to bother him. i rather thought he would have looked in to-day to talk things over, but i haven't seen him." shackwell continued to twist his cigar through his fingers without remembering to light it. "you're de termined to reappoint fleetwood?" he asked. the governor caught him up. "you're the fourth jier son who has asked me that to-day! you haven't lost faith in him, have you, hadley ?" "not an atom!" siiid the other with emphasis. "well, then, what are you nil thinking of, to suppose [£61] f''u> ■ill.' m j'.'i -^ i: i i? the best man i can be frightened by a little newspaper talk ? beside., if fleetwood is not afraid, why should i be?" "because you'll be involved in it with him." the governor laughed. "what have they got against me now?" shackwell, standing up, confronted his friend sol emnly. "this-tb . -fleetwood bought his appointment two years ago." "ah-bought t of me? why didn't it come out at the time?" "because it wasn't known. it has only been found out lately." "known— found out? this is magnificent! what was my price, and what did i do with the money?" shackwell glanced about the room, and his eyes re turned to momway's face. "look here, john, fleetwood is not the only man in the world." "the only man?" "the only attomey-general. the 'spy' has the lead trust behind it and means to put up a savage fight. mud sticks, and — " "hadley, is this a conspiracy? you're saying to me just what ella said this afternoon." at the mention of mrs. momway's name a silenc-e fell between the two men and the governor moved un easily in his chair. [262] the best man "you arc not advising me to chuck fleetwood be caune the 'spy' is going to accuse me of having sold him his first appointment?" he said at length. shaekwell drew a deep breath. "you say yourvlf that mrs. momway gave you the same advice this afternoon." "well, what of that? do you imagine that my wife distrib— " the governor broke off with an exasperated laugh. shaekwell, leaning ..gainst the mantelpiece, looked down into (he embers. "i didn't say the 'spy' meant to accuse you of having sold the office." momway stood up slowly, his eyes on his friend's averted face. the ashes dropped from his cigar, scatter ing a white trail across the carpet which had excited mrs. nimick's envy. "the office is in my gift. if i didn't seu it, who did?" he demanded. shaekweu laid a hand on hia arm. "for heaven's sake. john — " "who did, who did?" the governor violenuy repeated. the two men faced each other in the curtained silence of the dim luxurious room. shackwell's eyes again wan dered, as if summoning the walls to reply. then he said: "i have [wsitive information that the 'spy' will say nothing if you don't ap|)oint fleetwood." "and what will it say if i do?" "that he bought his first appointment from your wife " [ilia] i !. the best man the (lovemor stood ailent, immovable, while the blood crept slowly from his strong neck to bis lowering brows. once be laughed, then he set his lips and continued to gaze into the fire. after a while he looked at his rignr and shook the freshly formed cone of ashes carefully on the hearth. he had just turned again to shackwell when the door opened and the butler announced: "mr. fleetwood." the room swam about shackwell, and when he re covered himself mornway, with outstretched hand, was advancing quietly to meet his guest. fleetwood was a smaller man than the governor. he was erect and compait, with a dry energetic face which seemed to press forward with the spring of liis prominent features, as though it were the weapon with which he cleared his way through the world. he was in evening dress, scrupulously appointed, but pole and nervous. of the two men, it was mornway who was the more com posed. "i thought 1 should have seen you before this," he said. fleetwood returned his grasp and shook hands with shackwell. "1 knew you needed to be let alone. i didn't mean to cume to-night, imt i wanted to say a word to you." at this shackwell, who had fallen into the background, made a motion of leave-taking; but the governor ar rested it. [m] the best man "we haven't any kcrets from ilailk-j, have wc. fleet wood?" "certainly not. i am glad to have him itay. i've nlmpjy come to soy that i've been thinking over my future iir rangrraenta. and that i find it wl'l not be ixjssiblc fur mc to continue in office." there was n long pause, during which slia.kwcil k,.[,t hia eyes on momway. the governor had turned pale, but when he spoke his voice was full and firm. "this is sudden," he said. fleetwood stood leaning against a lii),'li <hair-back, fretting its carved ornaments with restless fingers. "it is sudden— yes. i— ihcrc arc a variety of reasons." "is one of them the fact that you're afraid of what llie 'spy" is going to say?" i'he attorney-general flushed deeply and moved away a few steps. "i'm sick of mud-throwing," he nmllereil. "george fleetwood!" momway exclaimed. he had advanced toward his friend, and the tw<i stood con fronting each other, already oblivious of sliaekweh's presence. "it's not only that, of course. i've b<en frightfully hard-worked. my health has given way—" "since yesterday?" fleetwood forced a smile. "my dear fellow, what a slave-driver you are! hasn't a man the right to lake a rest?" [265] microcoty hesoiution test chart (ansi and iso test chart no. 21 1^ 1^ 12.2 ^ 11^ m mmi^ ^ appusn ik/mge inc s^ '653 eost main street t'^ rochester, ne» rork 14609 usa •-^ (716) *82 ojoo phone =:= (716) 2b8 5939 fax 1 1 ' •' ■' ' ^ ' the best man " not a soldier on the eve of battle. you've never failed me before." "i don't want to fail you now. but it isn't the eve of battle — you're in, and that's the main thing." "the main thing at present is that you promised to stay in with me, and that i must have your real reason for breaking your word." fleetwood made a deprecatory movement. "my dear governor, if you only knew it, i'm doing you a service in backing out." "a se^^•ice — why?" "because i'm hated — because the i^ead trust wants my blood, and will have yours too if you appoint me." "ah, that's the real reason, then — you're afraid of the 'spy'?" "af..:d— ?" the governor continued to speak with dry deliberation, "evidently, then, you know what they mean to say." fleetwood laughed. "one needn't do that to be sure it will be abominable!" "who cares how abominable, if it's untrue?" fleetwood shrugged his shoulders and was silent. shackwell, from a distant seat, uttered a faint protesting sound, but no one heard. the governor stood squarely before fleetwood, his hands in his pockets. "it ia true, then?" he demanded. "what is true?" [266] nifl the best man "what the 'spymean, to «,y_,hat you bought my wife , mfluenee to get your first appointment." in the silence shackwell started to his feel. a sound of ca,t.age.wheels had disturbed the quiet street. they paused and then roued up the semicircle to the door of the executive mansion. "john!" shackweu warned him. the governor turned impatiently; there was the »und o a servant's steps in the hau, fouowed by the opening and closing of the outer door. "your wife-mrs. momway!" shackweu cried another step, accompanied by a soft rustle of skirt, was advancing toward the ubrary. "my wife? ut her come!" said the governor. ghe stood before them in her bright evening dr.s,, tnth an anested brilliancy of aspect hke the sparkle of a fountain suddenly caught in i«. her look moved from one to the other, then she came forward, while shack weu slipped behind her to close the door. "what has happened?" she said. shackwev began to speak, but the governor interposed calmly: fleetwood has come to tell me that he does not wish to remain in office." ah!" she murmured. [267] 1 ; ic v: the best man there was another silence. fleetwood broke it by say ing: " ii is getting late. if you want to see me to-morrow—" the governor looked from his face to ella's. "yes; good-night," he said. shackwell moved in fleetwood's wake to the door. mrs. momway stood with her head high, smiling slightly. she shook hands with each of the men in turn; then she moved toward the sofa and laid aside her shining cloak. all her gestures were calm and noble, but as she raised her hand to unclasp the cloak her husband uttered a sudden exclamation. "where did you get that bracelet ? i don't remember it." "this?" she looked at him with astonishment. "it belonged to my mother. i don't often wear it." "ah — i shall suspect everything now," he groaned. he turned away and flung himself with bowed head in the chair behind his writing-table. he wanted to col lect himself, to question her, to get to the bottom of the hideous abyss over which his imagination tottered. but what was the use ? what did the facts matter ? he had only to put his memories togethei--they lee' him straight to the truth. every incident of the day seemed to point a leering finger in the same direction, from mrs. nimick's allusion to the damask curtains to gregg's confident ap peal for rehabilitation. "if you imagine that my wife distributes patronage—" he heard himself repeating inanely, and the walls seemed [268] the best man lrit^ with .he ,«u,h,er which h. ,...„ ^nd ' sit still!" he fommanded. she sank bac. without speakin,, and he hid hi, face w..che dance about him. he remembered a hundred l nificant th hffs ni, n j , . """urea sig mr, m•, "^"'^''""'y i"' ™™lled having pitied "n::;rhaxth^"'"r"^'--°- ■' wen. on stnkmg .nterminably. a. length he heard his ;l:;::ir— — uthorit,:...h:: authority-.he spoke to him with authorityhe lau.heh aga.n. and though his laugh he heard the »n! ' , plx"".:"^'■'"---'---. -2 he looked up and saw her standing befo.„ him if „„. she would not he about it! he said "yn! /^""'^ happened." ' ^"^ «« ^w has ;;i suppose some one has told you about .he 'spy who told ;,ou?g«gg?" he interposed, les." she said quietly. "that was why you wanted—?" "why 1 wanted you to help him ? yes." [2b9] t ', '11 ll ii i m the best man "oh, god! ... he wouldn't take money?" "no, he wouldn't take money." he sat silent, looking at her, noting with a morbid minuteness the exquisite finish of her dress, that finish which seemed so much a part of herself that it had never before struck him as a mere purchasable accessory. he knew so little what a woman's dresses cost! for a moment he lost himself in vague calculations; finally he said : " what did you do it for?" "do what?" "take money from fleetwood." she paused a moment before replying: "if you will let me explain — " and then he saw that, all along, he had thought she would be able to disprove it! a smothering blackness closed in on him, and he had a physical struggle for breath. he forced himself to his feet and t^aid: "he was your lover?" "oh, no, no, no i" she cried with conviction. he hardly knew whether the shadow lifted or deepened; the fact that he instantly believed her seemed only to increase his bewilderment. presently he found that she was still speak ing, and he began to listen to her, catching a phrase now and then through the deafening noise of his thoughts. it amounted to this — that just after her husband's first election, when fleetwood's claims for the attorney generalship were being vainly pressed by a group of his [270] the best man hitical backers, mrs. momway im.l chanced to sit next to him once or twice at dinner. one day, on the strength of these meetings, he had called and asked her frankly if she would not help him with her husband. he made a clean breast of his past, bnt said that, under a man like momway, he felt he could wipe out his political sins and purify himself while he served the party. she knew the party needed his brains, and she believed in him-she was sure he would keep his word. she would have spoken m his favour in any case-she would have used all her influence to overcome her husband's prejudice-and it was by a mere accident that, in the course of one of their talks, he happened to give her a "lip" (his past connec tions were still useful for such purposes), a "tip" which, in the first invading pressure of debt after momway's election, she had not had the courage to refuse. fleetwood had made some money for hei-yes, about thirty thousand dollars she had repaid what he had lent her, and there had been no farther transactions of the kind between them. but it appeared that gregg, before his dismissal, had got hold of an old cheque-book which gave a hint of the story, and had pieced the rest together with the help of a clerk in fleetwoods office. the "spy" was in possession of the facts, but did not mean to use them if fleetwood was not reappointed, the lead trust having no personal grudge against momway. her story ended there, and she sat silent while her hus [271] tup: rest man biiml lontituicd to look at her. so much had perished in the wreck of his fuith that he did not attach great value to what remained. it .scarcely muttered that he believed her when the truth was so sordid. there had been, after all, nothing to envy him for but what mrs. nimick had .seen; the core of his life was as mean and miserable as his si.sler's .... ilis wife rose at length, pale but still calm. she had a kind of external dignity which she wore like one of her rlcli dresses. it seemed as little a part of her now as the fitury of which his gaze contemptuously reckoned the cost. "john — " she begun, laying her hand on his shoulder. he looked up wearily. "you'd better go to bed," he said. "don't look at me in that way. i'm pr<;pared for your being angr)' with me — i made a dreadful mistake and must bear my punishment: any punishment you choose to in flict. but you must think of yourself first — you must spare yourself. why should you be so horribly unhappy ? don't you see that since mr. fleetwood has behaved so well we're quite safe p and i swear to you i've paid back every penny." vi 't^hree days later shackwell was summoned by tele -*■ phone to the governor's office in the capitol. there had been, in the interval, no communication between the two, and the papers had been silent or nor ommittal. [272] the best man in the lobby shackwell met fleetwood icnving the building. for a moment the attorney-general aeemei. about to apeak: then he nod.led and p«s«d on. leaving to shackwell the impression of a face more than ever thrust forward like a weapon. the governor sat behind his desk in the autumn sun light. in contrast to fleetwood he seemed relaxed and un. wieldy, and the face he turned to his friend had a gray look of convalescence. shackwell wondered, with a start of ap prehension, if he and fleetwood had been together. he relieved himself of his overcoat without speaking, and when he turned again toward momway he was sur prised to find the latter watching him with a smile. "it's good to see you, hadley," the governor said. "i waited to ha sent for; i knew you'd let me know when you wanted me," .shackwell replied. "i didn't send for you on purpose. if i had i might have asked your advice, and i didn't want to ask any body's advice but my own." the governor spoke steadily, but in a voice a trifle too weu controlled to be natural. "i've had a three days' conference with myself," he con tinued, "and now that everything is settled i want you to do me r favour." "yjs?" shackweu as.sented. the private issues of the affair were still w-apped in mystery to him, but he had never had a moment's doubt as to its public solution, and he had no difficulty in conjecturing the nature of the service [873] ! i lit >l the best man he wa, to render. hu heart ached for momway, but he was glad the inevitable .tep wa» to be taken without farther delay. "eveiything is mttled." the governor repeated, "and i want you to notify the press that i've decided to reappoint fleetwood." shackwell bounded from y seat. "good heavens' ^^ "to reappoint fleetwood." the governor repeated, "because at the present juncture of aflfnirs he's the only man for the place. t: ; work we began together is not finished, and i ca.. t finish it without him. remember the vistas opened by the lead trust investigntion-he knows where they lead and no one else does. we must put that enquiry through, no matter what it costs us, and that's why i've st-nt for you to take this letter to the * spy. • " shackweu's hand drew back from the proffered envelope. "you say you don't want my advice, but ;ou can't ex pect me to go on such an errand with my eyes shut. what on earth are you driving at ? of course fleetwood wiu per sist in refusing." momwuy smiled. "he did persist-for three hours. but when he left here just now he'd given me his word to accept." shackweu grx,a„ed. "then i'm dealing with two mad men instead of one." the governor laughed. "my poor hadley, you're worse than i expected. i thought you would understand me " i«74] the best man '•under,.a„,l yo„p il„,v can i. i„ ,„.„,,.„•, „„„,. „hen i don t understand the .situation " "the .ituat.o„-the .ilualion?" momway repeated •lowly. who«. ? hi, or mine ? i don't ei.her-i haven't had time to think of them." "what on earth have you been thinking of. then r" the ciovernor rose, with a gesture toward the window, through wln-ch, below the slope of the capitol ground,, the roofs and .steeples of the city spread their smoky mass to the mild air. of all that is left." he snih "nt .......i. ", ne saia. of everything except fleetwood and myself." ah—" shackwell murmured. momway turn, .aek and sank into his seat. "don't you see that was ail i had to turn .3? the state-the counlry-if s big enough, in all conscience, to fill a good deal of a void! my own waus had g™wn too cramped for "ne. so i just stepped outside. you've no idea how it simplified matters. all i had to do was to say tc myself go ahead, and do the best y.-, can for the country' the personal issue simply didn't exist." "yes— and then?" "then i turned over for three d.^s this question of the atlomey-generalship. i couldr see that it was changed how should n,:, feelings have affected l? fleetwood hasn t betrayed the state. there isn't a scar on his public record-he's still the best man for the place. my business [2"5] . 'i the he st man is to appoint the ijont man i can finil, iinil i can't find any one a" good an fleetwood." " but— but— your wife?" sharkwell slrmmrred. the governor loolced up with aurjjrihe. sbacltwell could almost have sworn that he had indeed forgotten the private issue, "my wife is ready to face the consequences," he said. shackwell returneil to his former attitude of incredulity. "but fleetwood? fleetwood has no right to sacri fice — " "i'o sacrifice my wife to the state? oh, lei us bewore of big words. fleetwood was inclined to use them at first, but i managed to restore his sense of proportion. i showed him that our private lives are only a few feet square, and that really, to breathe freely, one must get out of them into the open." he paused and broke o"t with sudden violence: "my god, hadlcy, don't you see thot fleetwood had to obey me ? " "yes— i see that," said shackwell, with reviving ob stinacy. "but if you've reached .such a height and pulled him up to your side it seems to me that from that stand point you ought to gel an even clearer view of the madness of your position. you say you've decided to sacrifice your own feelings and your wife's— though i'm not so sure of your right to dispose of her voice in the matter; but what if you sacrifice the party and the state as well, in this tran scendental attempt to distinguish between private and [276] tiik best man public honour? you'll h,.v.. „. „„,„,., „.,., ,,,„„ ,„„,„„ gi'l nic to inrry this letter." jhe (ioveruop ,li.| „ol hh.n.h un.ler the „,„.,.k i ih.nk the letter will „„s,vcr jou," i,, . ,i,| "the letter?" "yc«. if, wmethinr more than .1 nolifi.«tion of fi„.(. *o™j-. rea,.,k.i„,„,e„t." moruway paus...l a„,l |«,|<ed «.e«.l.ly at hi, friend. "youv. raid of an invemi«„tion -an impeaehment? well, the letter anticipate, tha,." how, in hcavn's name?" "by « plain statement of fact,. my „;(, h„, ,„,,, „„ „,„, .he d.d bor^w of kleetwo«l. he ,,.cul„ted r her and made a ™n,iderahle ,um. out of which ,h ..paid hi, loan. the spj ,• a™u«.tion i, true. if i, can be prove," that my wife induced no to appoint fleetwood, it may be a.k"h that ,he .sold him the appointment. but i, can't be proved, and the 'spy' won't waste it, breath in trjin. ,0 becau«, my statement will take the ,ting out of its innu" endoes. i propo« to forestall i,, attack by netting forth the fact, in it, columns, and asking the public to decide between u,. on one side is the private fact that mv wife without my fc, owledge, borrowed money from fleetwood j«»t before i appointed hin. to an important post; on the other side i, his public record and mine. i want people to see both side, and judge between them, not in the red glare of a newspaper denunciation but in the plain daylight of common.«,„se. charges against the private morality of [277] ' y i'l, the best man defence can't make itself heard. !,». t have to say before tne yeipuis public to hear what i have to y ■ mv lettewiu take the wind out of the spys ^-.-rsira;:;:-=ti-b,auo.ea tarrirruleusefulness^a^^^^^^^^^^ who goes through what i'm undergoing may to thank me if no one else does. ^^ shackweu sat silent for a moment, the nng words in his ears. "give me the suddenly he rose and held out his hand. give letter." he said. ^^^^^^ ^ou see the governor smiled. us au » and you'u take it?" melancholy inter shaekweu met his glan« ^^ ,,^ ,^, kin ^.ation. "i see a magmficent su.cde „f way i shouldn't mind dying myself. h pulled himself -ilently into his c»at and put the lett, . oft pockets: but as he was turning to the d. ,„ one of .ts pocka „^^ ^^^ ^^ radr::-r""----"«-'^'"«^' dinner to-morrow?" ^^^^ the best man shaekwell paused with a look of surprise. "i believe we are — why?" "because, if there's room for two more, my wife and i would like to be invited." shaekwell nodded his assent and turned away without answering. as he came out of the lobby into the sunset radiance he saw a victoria drive up the long sweep to the capitol and pause before the central portico. he descended the steps, and mrs. momway leaned from her furs to greet him. "i have called for my husband," she said smiling. "he promised to get away in time for a little turn in the park before dinner." t«79] 253 widener library hx cmdc n 5253.8 mdcl n sigill.c et th foll harvard. emptus ex dono thomae hollis, angli, hospit lincoln reg et ant ss lond. sodalis accept, 12 aug. 1830 ; rec? aug. 12, 1830. ancient historic ballads. c adde newcastle: printed and sold by d. akenhead and sons; sold also by longman, hurst, rees, and orme, pater noster row, london. 1807. 25233.8 harvard college library امان ۸۰۸۸ 37 contents. richard plantagenet the cave of morar, the man of sorrows the battle of floddon the hermit of warkworth hardyknute i page. 3 24 49 159 219 the editor hopes the singularity of the story of the following poem, and the moral tendency, which so obviously and strongly inculcates the duty of a patient submission to the destinations of providence, in all vicissitudes and afflictions of life, will justify his giving it to the world. he judged it too curious to be utterly lost; and his desire to preserve it, induced him to collect, and scatter in notes throughout the work, such curious particulars as (in his judgment) prove the actual existence of such a person as richard plantagenet, and the chief event of his life to have been incontestibly certain. richard plantagenet; a legendary tale. "the work is done, the structure is compleatlong may this produce of my humble toil (6 "un-injur'd stand, and echo long repeat, "round the dear walls, benevolence and moyle!"* so richard spake, as he survey'd the dwelling he had rais'd; and, in the fullness of his heart, his gen'rous patron prais❜d. him moyle o'erheard, whose wand'ring step chance guided had that way; the workman's mien he ey'd intent, then earnest thus did say: a 2 sir thomas moyle, possessor of eastwell-place, in the county of kent, in the year 1546, gave richard plantagenet (who for many years had been his chief bricklayer) a piece of ground, and permission to build himself a house thereon. the poem opens, just when richard is supposed to have finished this task. eastwell place hath since been in the possession of the earls of winchelsea. 4 66 66 my mind, i see, misgave me not, my doubtings now are clear, "thou oughtest not, in poor attire, "have dwelt a menial here. "to drudgery, and servile toil, "thou couldst not be decreed "by birth and blood, but thereto wrought by hard o'er-ruling need. 66 "is it not so? that crimson glow, "that flushes o'er thy cheek, "and down-cast eye, true answer give, "and thy tongue need not speak. "oft have i mark'd thee, when unseen "thou thought'st thyself by all, "what time the workman from his task "the ev'ning bell did call; "hast thou not shunn'd thy untaught mates, "and to some secret nook, "with drooping gait, and musing eye, "thy lonely step betook? "there hath not thy attention dwelt "upon the letter'd page, "lost, as it seem'd to all beside, "like some sequester'd sager 5 "and wouldst thou not, with eager haste, "the precious volume hide, "if sudden some intruder's eye "thy musings hath descried? "oft have i deem'd thou couldst explore "the greek and roman page, "and oft have yearn'd to view the theme, "that did thy hours engage. "but sorrow, greedy, grudging, coy, "esteems of mighty price "it's treasur'd cares, and to the world "the scantiest share denies; "all as the miser's heaped hoards, "to him alone confin'd, (6 they serve, at once, to soothe and pain "the wretched owner's mind. "me had capricious fortune doom'd "thine equal in degree, long, long ere now, i had desir'd "to know thine history; 66 "but who their worldly honors wear "with meekness chaste and due, "decline to ask, lest the request "should bear commandment's hue. 6 "yet now thy tongue hath spoke aloud 66 thy grateful piety, "no longer be thy story kept "in painful secrecy. "give me to know thy dawn of life; "unfold, with simple truth, "not to thy master, but thy friend, "the promise of thy youth. # "now, late in life, 'tis time, i ween, "to give thy labours o'er; "thy well-worn implements lay by, "and drudge and toil no more. "here shalt thou find a quiet rest, "for all thy days to come, "and every comfort that may serve "t'endear thy humble home. "hast thou a wish, a hope to frame, beyond this neat abode? 66 "is there a good, a higher bliss, by me may be bestow'd? 66 "is there within thy aged breast "the smallest aching void? "give me to know thy longings all, "and see them all supply'd. 7 "all i entreat, in lieu, is this, "unfold, with simple truth, "not to thy master, but thy friend, "the promise of thy youth." so gen'rous moyle intent bespake the long-enduring man,* who raised, at length, his drooping head, and, sighing, thus began. richard plantagenet reciteth his tale. hard task to any, but thyself, to tell the story of my birth and treach'rous fate, or paint the tumults in my breast that swell, at recollection of my infant state! oft have i labour'd to forget my birth, and check'd remembrance, when, in cruel wise, from time's abyss she would the tale draw forth, and place my former self before my eyes. yet i complain not, tho' i feel anew, all as i speak, fell fortune's bitter spite, who once set affluence, grandeur, in my view, then churlish snatch'd them from my cheated sight. • the time of richard's service, at eastwell-place, was near sixty years. 8 and yet it may be-is-nay, must be best, whate'er heav'n's righteous laws for man ordain; weak man! who lets one sigh invade his breast, for earthly grandeur, fugitive as vain! perchance contentment had not been my mate, if in exalted life my feet had trod, or my hands borne, in transitory state, the victor's truncheon, or the ruler's rod. my curse, perchance, had been one dazzling glare of splendid pride, and i in vain had sought the quiet comforts of this humble sphere, rest undisturb'd, and reason's tranquil thought. but whither roam i? o! forgive, my kind, my honour'd lord, this undesign'd delay, forgive, while in my new-awaken'd mind a thousand vague ideas fondly play. enough!-they're flown-and now my tongue prepares, thou source of every good by me possest, to pour a tale into thy wond'ring ears, full* three-score years close-lock'd within my breast. * at the time of this relation, richard is supposed to be nigh four-score years of age; but he did not become acquainted with his own story, till he was near twenty; probably, in his sixteenth or seventeenth year. 9 of those care-woven, long protracted years, some sixteen summers pass'd obscurely on, a stranger to the world, its hopes, and fears, my name, birth, fortunes, to myself unknown. plac'd in a rural, soft, serene retreat, with a deep-learn'd divine i held abode, who sought, by pious laws and conduct meet, the way to immortality and god. by him instructed, i attain'd the sweet, the precious blessings that from learning flow, he fann'd in my young breast the genial heat, that bids th' expanding mind with ardor glow. he taught me with delighted eye to trace the comely beauties of the mantuan page, enraptur'd mix with tully's polish'd grace, or catch the flame of homer's martial rage. nor stopt he there, preceptor excellent, nor deem'd that wisdom lay in books alone, but would explain what moral virtue meant, and bid us make our neighbour's woes our own. heav'n's genuine pity glist'ning in his eyes, the sweets of charity he would instill, and teach what blessedness of comfort lies in universal mercy and good-will. b 10 so taught this pious man, so thought, so did, squaring his actions to his tenets true; his counsel or relief to none denied, a gen'ral good, like heav'n's all-cheering dew! thus guided, thus inform'd, thus practice-drawn, in guileless peace my spring of life was spent, my leisure hours i sported o'er the lawn, nor knew what restless care or sorrow meant. a courteous stranger, ever and anon, my kind instructor's due reward supplied; but still my name, my birth, alike unknown, wrapt in the gloom of secrecy lay hid. one autumn-morn (the time i well recall) that stranger drew me from my soft retreat, and led my footsteps to a lofty hall, where state and splendor seem'd to hold their seat. thro' a long range of spacious gilded rooms dubious i pass'd, admiring as i went, on the rich-woven labours of the looms, the sculptur'd arch, or painted roof intent. my guide, at length, withdrew; wrapt in suspense and fear i stood, yet know not what i fear'd; when straight to my appall'd, astounded sense, a man of noble port and mein appear'd. ii his form commanded and his visage aw'd, my spirit sunk as he advanced nigh, with stately step along the floor he trod, fix'd on my face his penetrating eye. the dancing plumage o'er his front wav'd high, thick-studded ribs of gold adorn'd his vest, in splendid folds his purple robe did ply, and royal emblems glitter'd on his breast. i sought to bend me, but my limbs refus'd their wonted office, motionless and chill; yet somewhat, as the figure i perus'd, a dubious joy did in my mind instill. while thus i cowr'd beneath his piercing eye, he saw and strove to mitigate my fear, soft'ning the frown of harsh austerity in his bold brow, which nature grafted there. with speeches kind he cheer'd my sinking heart, question'd me much, and strok'd my drooping head: yet his whole mind he seem'd not to impart, his looks implied more than his speeches said. a broider'd purse, which weighty seem'd with gold, he gave me then, and kindly press'd my hand; and thus awhile did stay me in his hold, and on my face did meditating stand. b 2 12 his soul work'd hugely, and his bosom swell❜d, as tho' some mighty thing he yearn'd to say, but (with indignant pride the thought repell'd) he started, frown'd, and snatch'd himself away. my guide return'd, and reconducted me tow'rd the abode of my preceptor kind; a man he seem'd of carriage mild and free, to whom i thought i might unload my mind. without reserve i told him all that pass'd, striving by mine his confidence to gain; then my enquiries frank before him cast, hoping some knowledge of myself t'attain. i ask'd what wond'rous cause, yet undescry'd, urg'd him his time and zeal for me t'employ; and why that man of dignity and pride had deign'd his notice to a stranger boy. confus'd, yet undispleas'd, my guide appear'd, nought he divulg'd (tho' much he seem'd to know) save this, which he with earnest look aver'd, "no obligation, youth, to me you owe; "i do but what my place and duty bid, "with me no kindred drops of blood you share, "yet (hard to tell!) your birth must still be hid; "enquire no farther-honour bids, forbear." 13 thus he reprov'd, yet did it with a look, as tho' he pitied my sensations keen; patient i bow'd me to his mild rebuke, and pledg'd obedience, with submissive mein. he left me at my tutor's soft abode, and parting, bless'd me by the holy cross; my heart wax'd sad, as he re-trac'd the road, and seem'd to have sustain'd some mighty loss. but soon tumultuous thoughts began give way, lull'd by the voice of my preceptor sage; unquiet bosoms he could well allay, his looks could soften, and his words assuage. unruly care from him was far remov'd, grief's wildest murmurs at his breath would cease; o! in his blameless life how well he prov'd the house of goodness is the house of peace! here i again enjoy'd my sweet repose, and taught my heart, with pious wisdom fill'd, no more with anxious throb to seek disclose what stubborn fate had doom'd to lie conceal'd. but long these fond delusions did not last, some sterner pow'r my rising life controul'd, my visionary hopes too swiftly past, and left my prospects, dreary, dark, and cold. 14 when rugged march o'er-rules the growing year, have we not seen the morn, with treach'rous ray, shine out awhile, then instant disappear, and leave to damp and gloom the future day? so dawn'd my fate, and so deceiv'd my heart, nor wean'd me from my hopes, but cruel tore; in one unlook'd-for moment, bade me part from all my comforts, to return no more. my guide once more arriv'd, tho', as of late, of soft deportment he appear'd not now, but wild impatience flutter'd in his gait, and care and thought seem'd. busy on his brow. "rise, youth," he said, "and mount this rapid steed;" i argued not; his bidding strait was done; proud-crested was the beast, of warlike breed, arm'd at all points, with rich caparison. we commun'd not-such heat was in our speed, scantly would it allow me pow'r of thought, till eve, deep painted with a burning red, to * bosworth field our panting coursers brought. who hath not heard of bosworth's fatal plain, where base advent'rers did in compact join 'gainst chiefs of prowess high, and noble strain, and low'r'd the crest of york's imperial line? • bosworth, in leicestershire. 15 now verging on that memorable ground, our course we stay'd-yet we alighted not; fill'd with astonishment i gaz'd around, while in my glowing breast my heart grew hot. thick-station'd tents, extended wide and far, to th' utmost stretch of sight could i behold, and banners flutt'ring in the whistling air, and archers trimly dight, and prancers bold. the sinking sun, with richly burnish'd glow, now to his western chamber made retire, while pointed spears, quick shifting to and fro, seem'd all as spiral flames of hottest fire. promiscuous voices fill'd the floating gale, the welkin echoed with the steed's proud neigh: the bands oft turn'd and ey'd the western vale, watching the closure of departing day. light vanish'd now apace, and twilight grey with speed unusual mantled all the ground, the chieftains to their tents had ta'en their way, and centinels thick-posted watch'd around. as sable night advanced more and more, the mingled voices lessen'd by degrees, sounding at length, as, round some craggy shore, decreasing murmurs of the ebbing seas. 16 now tow'rd the tents awhile we journey'd on with wary pace, then lighted on the ground, befriended by the stars, that shimmʼring shone, and fires, that cast a trembling gleam around. with hasty foot we press'd the dewy sod, fit answer making to each station'd guard; when full before us, as we onward trod, a martial form our further progress barr'd. he seem'd as tho' he there did list'ning stand, his face deep-muffl'd in his folded cloak; now threw it wide, snatch'd quick my dubious hand, and to a neighb'ring tent his speed betook. with glowing crimson the pavilion shone, reflected by the lofty taper's ray, the polish'd armour, bright and deft to don, beside the royal couch in order lay. the crown imperial glitter'd in mine eye, with various gems magnificently grac'd, nigh which, as meant to guard its dignity, a weighty curtelax unsheath'd was plac'd. the chief unbonnetted, and drew me nigh, wrapt in a deepen'd gloom his face appear'd like the dark low'rings of the clouded sky, ere the big-bursting tempest's voice is heard. 17 revenge, impatience, all that mads the soul, all that despair and frenzy's flame inspires, shewn by the tapers, in his eyes did roll, hot meteors they amid the lesser fires. tho' each dark line i could not truly scan, yet thro' the veil of his distemper'd mein, broke forth a likeness of that lofty man, whom, whilom, at the palace i had seen. to quell his feelings huge he sternly try'd, holding strong combat with his fighting soul, cresting himself with more than earthly pride, as tho' from pow'r supreme he scorn'd controul. at length (in part subdu'd his troubled breast) on my impatient ear these accents broke, (i pale and trembling as th' attentive priest, who waits th' inspirings of his mystic oak!) "wonder no more why thou art hither brought, "the secret of thy birth shall now be shewn; "with glorious ardour be thy bosom fraught, "for know, thou art imperial richard's son. * "thy father i, who fold thee in my arms, "thou royal issue of plantagenet! richard the third, 18 "soon as my pow'r hath quell'd these loud alarms, "thou shalt be known, be honour'd, and be great. "rise from the ground, and dry thy flowing tears, "to nature's dues be other hours assign'd! "beset with foes, solicitude, and cares, * "far other thoughts must now possess the mind. "to-morrow, boy, i conbat for my crown, "to shield from soil my dignity and fame: "presumptuous richmond † seeks to win renown, "and on my ruin raise his upstart name: "he leads yon shallow renegado band, "strangers to war and hazardous emprize, "and 'gainst the mighty chieftains of the land, "vain and unskill'd, a desp'rate conflict tries. yet since assurance is not giv'n to man, "nor can ev'n kings command th' event of war, "since peevish chance can foil the subtlest plan "of human skill, and hurl our schemes in air. to-morrow's sun beholds me conqueror, "or sees me low among the slaughter'd lie; "richard shall never grace a victor's car, "but glorious win the field, or glorious die. * this decisive battle, which terminated the contentions between the houses of lancaster and york, was fought on monday, august 22d, 1485. this interview, consequently, was on the preceding sabbath night. + henry, earl of richmond, afterwards king henry vii. 19 "but thou, my son, heed and obey my word; "seek not to mingle in the wild affray: "far from the winged shaft and gleaming sword, "patient await the issue of the day. * "north of our camp there stands a rising mound, "(thy guide awaits to lead thee on the way,) "thence shalt thou rule the prospect wide around, "and view each chance, each movement of the fray. "if righteous fate to me the conquest yield, "then shall thy noble birth to all be known; "then boldly seek the centre of the field, "and midst my laurell'd bands son i'll own. my "but if blind chance, that seld' determines right, "rob me at once of empire and renown, "be sure thy father's eyes are clos'd in night, "life were disgrace when chance had reft my crown. "no means are left thee then, but instant flight, "in dark concealment must thou veil thy head; c 2 the encampment and action were three miles distant from the town of bosworth, and the place obtained the name of bosworth field, from that memorable battle. camden, in his account of leicestershire, says, "the exact place is frequently more and more discovered by pieces of armour, weapons, and other warlike accoutrements, digged up; and especially a great many arrow heads were found there, of a long, large, and big proportion, far greater than any now in uſe." 20 "on richard's friends their fellest rage and spite "his foes will wreak, and fear ev'n richard dead. "begone, my son! this one embrace! away! "some short reflections claims this awful night: "ere from the east peep forth the glimm'ring day, "my knights attend to arm me for the fight." once more i knelt, he clasp'd my lifted hands, bless'd me, and seem'd to check a struggling tear; then led me forth to follow his commands, o'erwhelm'd with tenderest grief, suspense, and fear. what need of more? who knows not the event of that dread day, that * desp'rate foughten field, where, with his wond'rous deeds and prowess spent, by numbers overpow'r'd, my sire was kill'd? a son no more, what course was left to tread, to whom apply, or whither should i wend? back to my tutor's roof, by instinct led, my orphan footsteps did i pensive bend. o'er-ruling fate against my wishes wrought; the pious man, snatch'd from this frail abode, had found the blessing he so long had sought, the way to immortality and god. the whole continuance of this action is said to have been but two hours, during which, the king's personal bravery was astonishingly great. 21 with flowing eyes i left the sacred door, and with relying heart to heav'n did bend; to god my supplication did i pour, to god, the mourner's best and surest friend. that he would guide me to some soft retreat, where daily toil my daily bread might earn, where pious peace might soothe ambition's heat, and my taught heart sublimer ardour learn. he heard me-all i ask'd in thee was lent, thou lib'ral proxy of my gracious god! thou paid'st my industry with rich content, and giv'st my weary age this soft abode.* * richard plantagenet died in december, 1550 (the fourth year of edward the sixth's reign) aged, 81, consequently he enjoyed his little comfortable retreat barely four years. the following is still to be found in the old register of the parish of eastwell. "richard plantagenet was buryed the 22d daye of december, 1550." this last piece of intelligence was transmitted to the editor by a very sensible and worthy clergyman now living, who kindly went from wye to eastwell, to collect as many circumstances as he could, to confirm the authenticity of this singular story. to the transcript of the register he subjoined as follows: "it is observable that in the old register there is prefixed to the name of every person of noble blood such a mark as this, at the name of richard plantagenet there 22 the work is done, the structure is compleatlong may the produce of my humble toil un-injur'd stand! and echo long repeat, round the dear walls benevolence and moyle! t. hull. is the same mark, (and it is the first that is so distinguished) only with this difference, that there is a line run across it, thus, “there is still remaining în eastwell-park the ruin of a building, which, they say, was his house; and a well near it, which, to this day, is called plantagenet's well. "there is also a tomb in the wall of eastwell church, under which he is said to be buried, but it appears to me of much older date." the editor of this poem holds it incumbent on him to return grateful thanks to the gentleman who sent him these curious particulars, for the trouble he took, and the politeness of his letter; the whole of which he should be proud to make publick, together with the name, could he presume such a liberty to be warrantable. the editor conjectures the line, which is mentioned to run across the mark of nobility, to be what is stiled in heraldry, the bar of bastardy. the characters in the following tale i are not rendered conspicuous by the splendor of riches, or the empty glare of honorary titles.— the author is hopeful the story he has told is not altogether unnatural; because, though he has taken the liberty of placing in the last century several incidents which happened in the present age, yet the sorrows which compose the life of the hermit, are such as himself has once witnessed; for the birth of morar, and the death of his parents, are almost literally copied from his own life, and the incident of maria's death is taken from a very affecting scene of which he was an eye-witness: so that the circumstance of morar's becoming a hermit, and the discovery made at the end of the poem, are the only imaginary incidents in the second part of it; and for these the author can offer no apology. the cave of morar, the man of sorrows. a legendary tale. in two parts. part first. “here, emma, in this lonely grot, "thy wearied limbs awhile repose; "i go to meet yon warlike scot, "whose threat'ning horn so loudly blows. "here rest with morar in his cell, "where wild ambition ne'er annoys; "for here content and virtue dwell, "far from the world's tumultuous joys. "behold he comes from yonder rock, “i see him wending o'er the plain, "where the blythe shepherd feeds his flock, "and sweetly pours his artless strain. 25 "his rev'rend age will guard thy charms, "with pleasing tales he'll soothe thy ear, "whilst, 'mid the battle's loud alarms, "i boldly push my conqu'ring spear. 4. "see in yon vale my troops await, "keen for the field, a chosen band, "who ne'er will seek a base retreat "while foes invade their native land. "aided by them, i'll soon return, "with conquest and with glory crown'd; "then why these tears? why dost thou mourn? why dost thou dread the trumpet's sound? 66 "such sounds as these exalt the soul, "and fit my warriors for the field; "then smile, my love, thy fears controul, "the bold intruders soon shall yield." "go, edgar, go," fair emma cried, "i know the valour of thy arm; "go check yon haughty scotsman's pride, "whose trumpets give the loud alarm. "i know you never fear'd a foe, "i know you never su'd for peace; "then bravely strike the 'vengeful blow, "and let these bold incursions cease.d 26 "yet whilst thou'rt absent, should a sigh "from emma's anxious bosom steal, "or should a tear fall from my eye, "and tell too plainly what i feel: "can i that sigh, that tear controul?"affection prompts that tear to fall, "and grateful love, which fills my soul, inspires that sigh, and sweetens all." 66 she spoke, brave edgar seized his spear, and quickly join'd the troops below, who march'd along, devoid of fear, to meet the fast-advancing foe. with placid smile and sober pace, at length old morar reach'd his cell; tho' melancholy mark'd his face, his breast no boist'rous passions swell. when beauteous emma caught his eye, what soft emotions fill'd his breast! he sympathis'd in every sigh, and thus the lovely fair addrest: 66 "fair virgin, whither dost thou stray, along this unfrequented road; "for scarce a pilgrim turns this way "to visit me or my abode? 27 "and what was he i lately saw, "who march'd so swiftly o'er the green, "with manly looks, commanding awe, "with stately port, and graceful mein?”— "hermit," she said, "that gallant youth "is edgar, fam'd for martial deeds, "whose bosom glows with love of truth, "whose friendly heart with pity bleeds. "wilt thou attend while i impart 66 by what strange means he gain'd my love, "and how he won my grateful heart "amid the shades of maresham's grove. "the tale to me is wondrous dear, "it brings my joys again to view”the hermit bow'd, well pleas'd to hear, and bid the maid her tale pursue. --"one day," she said, "i stray'd along "the flow'ry banks of rona's flood, "intent to hear the linnet's song, "that echo'd from a neighbouring wood. "the chearful shepherd tun'd his reed, "the sportive flocks rejoic'd around, "and from the flower-bespangl'd mead "issu'd at once the pleasing sound. d 2 28 "each rural object sweetly smil❜d, "all nature wore the face of joy, "and long i roam'd 'mid prospects wild, "where strangers us'd not to annoy. "but ratcliffe's son, who long had tried "to gain my youthful heart in vain, "swift from the mountain's summit hied, "and met me on the lonely plain. "he warmly press'd me to be kind, "he told me many an artful tale, "by which he meant to taint my mind, "but all his arts could not prevail. "at last he caught me in his arms, "and, struggling, strove to crown his flame "my cries proclaim'd my just alarms, "and edgar to my rescue came. "he heard my voice, he curs'd the swain, "in my defence his sword he drew; "but edgar drew his sword in vain, "for o'er the plains base ratcliffe flew.--"yet edgar swore he'd check his pride, "he swore he'd have a just revenge, "and oft wou'd watch on noreham's side, "where worthless ratcliffe us'd to range. 29 "and swore, if e'er he met the youth, "his base, his treacherous heart should feel "the safe-guard of the soldier's truth, "the point of his avenging steel.→→ "i thank'd him for his friendly aid, "i lov'd him for his dauntless soul; "for while we stray'd beneath the shade, "a tender sigh had often stole. "to maresham's hall we bent our way, "where oft my honour'd sire resorts, "in calm content to pass the day, "or share the huntsman's manly sports. "edgar, at his request remain'd "three summer's days in maresham's vales; by feats of arms my sire he gain'd, "he won me by his artless tales. 66 "my father bless'd the rising flame, "at hymen's shrine he join'd our hands; "and told the youth he then might claim "his wealth, his far extended lands. "but edgar, with expressive smile, "refus'd the gift my sire design'd; "be mine," he said, "the warrior's spoil, "be mine the joy thy foes to bind. 30 "when the rough scots, with lawless might, "victorious often, threat the brave, "in thy defence let edgar fight, "a higher boon he ne'er shall crave. "my father granted his request, "he prais'd him for his matchless zeal, "and warmly press'd him to his breast, "when he remov'd from maresham's vale. "now in yon plain he meets the foe, "i hear the battle's dreadful sound, "hark! hark! the conqu'ring trumpets blow, edgar with glory now is crown'd. 66 "watch him, ye powers who rule above, "shield him from all impending harms; hear, hear the fervent prayers of love, "and bring him safe to emma's arms."66 "no, emma, no, he'll ne'er return," (with fault'ring voice, a pilgrim said) "unhappy fair, well may'st thou mourn, "for edgar lies among the dead. "deserted by his friends he fell, "and left with me this dread command, go, pilgrim, go to morar's cell, "and give this sword to emma's hand. 66 31 "tell her, when pale distress shall seize, "when she demands relief in vain, "this trusty blade will give her ease, "and quickly banish all her pain." "give me the sword," she wildly said, "what comes from edgar must be dear; "now let me try the trusty blade, "i feel distress, but know not fear.”she spoke, she lifted up the steel, in vain old morar caught her hand: "forbear," she cried, "the pains i feel "from edgar's sword relief demand." with dread intent she rais'd her arm, but edgar's self restrain'd the blow; "my love," he cried, "what fears alarm? "i've overcome the boastful foe." her lips grew pale, she wildly gaz'd, and lifeless dropp'd upon the ground: but soon again her head she rais'd, heav'd a deep sigh, and look'd around. "and art thou still alive!" she said, "do i still press thee to my breast? "or art thou an illusive shade, "come to disturb my promis'd rest? 32 "a pilgrim told me thou wert slain, "descrted by thy faithless bands; "he said he left thee on the plain, and brought from thee these dread commands: "when pale distress shall emma seize, "when she demands relief in vain, "this trusty blade will give her ease, "and quickly banish all her pain." "what wretch!" he cried, "with lying tongue "told thee my brave associates fled? "for boldly they oppos'd the strong, "and scotland's choicest warriors bled. my "where is the wretch who told "i fell inglorious in the field? "on him this faithful arm shall prove, "that edgar never stoop'd to yield."love indignant, thus brave edgar spoke, and cast his fiery eyes around, when he beheld, behind a rock, the pilgrim stretch'd upon the ground. his bosom glow'd with ruthless ire, for boist'rous passions rule the brave; he seiz'd the wretch, whose mean attire, from threat'ned vengeance could not save. 33 he plung'd a dagger in his breast, "let this," he cried, "my rage suffice." when lo! the pilgrim shone confest old ratcliffe's son in base disguise.— "edgar," he said, " 'twas justly done, "for long, too long, i've envied thee, "because that matchless maid you won, "and gain'd her heart, who slighted me. "a spy inform'd me, that to-day "you went to meet the warlike scot, "and left that helpless fair, to stay "till you return'd, at morar's grot. "to morar's grot i swiftly came, "for base-born passions fill'd my mind; "but morar's presence check'd my aim, "and stopp'd the crime i first design'd. "then, full of guile, i told the tale, "which cred❜lous emma soon believ'd; "with joy i saw my arts prevail, "and smil'd while emma was deceiv'd. "but you restrain'd the fatal blow, "and on my head thy vengeance fell; "edgar, tho' long i've liv'd thy foe, 66 my parting breath bids thee farewell."e 34 he spake; he died;-old morar turn'd where beauteous emma hung her head: "in death, he said, be ratcliffe mourn'd, "for vengeance ne'er pursues the dead. "unseen in some sequester'd grot, "with decent rites his corse we'll lay, "where all his crimes shall be forgot, "and soon become oblivion's prey. "but see the sober shades of eve "in clouds on clouds their glooms unité; say, may an humble hermit crave, "you'd pass with him th' approaching night? 66 "the hermit's food shall be your fare, "fresh herbs collected from the green, "and oft, to banish gloomy care, "some pleasing tale shall intervene. perhaps the tale of morar's woes "may force the friendly tear to swell, "morar, who long has sought repose "in the poor hermit's chearless cell. "when morning dawns, you may proceed "where liberal fortune casts your lot." consenting edgar bow'd his head, and led fair emma to the grot. 66 35 part second. now, when the simple feast was o'er, contentment smil'd around the board, and fresh from nature's bounteous store, the sage the crystal bev'rage pour'd. his guests enjoyed the rustic cheer, nor were their kindest thanks forgot, till beauteous emma begg'd to hear the mournful tale of morar's lot. "my friends," he said, "though rude my voice, "and most unfit to touch the heart, "with tales wrapt up in quaint disguise, "where modest nature yields to art: "yet if a story, sad though true, "if real grief, which oft i've shar'd, "can claim a tear as justly due, "you'll weep when morar's woes are heard. "remote from cities liv'd a swain, "whose honest heart ne'er felt a care, "till artless love, with pleasing pain, "told him that anna's face was fair; e 2 36 "told him that virtue fill'd her mind, "and heighten'd all her youthful charms: "told him, perhaps she'd soon prove kind, "and bade him woo her to his arms. "his suit was heard, she bless'd his flanie, "they soon were join'd in wedlock's bands; "and from these parents morar came, "morar who now your ear demands.— "sweet flow'd their hours replete with joy; "such was their virtue, such their love, "that envy's self durst not annoy, "nor scandal's tongue their lives reprove. "i was the object of their care; "for soon they strove to warm my breast "with virtue's flame, by fixing there "precepts the noblest and the best. "with what success their toils were crown'd "it is not fit for me to boast, "suffice it that they sometimes own'd "their fond endeavours were not lost.— "one fatal morn,-forgive this tear, "for sad remembrance bids it fall, "nor think, though now a hermit here, "such scenes i calmly can recall; 37 "one fatal morn, serene and gay, "when summer's beauties charm'd the eye, my hapless sire resolv❜d to stray "to a small rural village nigh. 66 "anna, he said, farewell a while, "be joyful till we meet again; "it chears my heart to see thee smile. “then smile, nor let me ask in vain.— "my friends expect me, i must go, "but i'll return before 'tis night: "farewell, let pleasures round thee flow"-“he spoke, and vanish'd from her sight."with jocund tales he chear'd his friends, "his friends were pleas'd, they laugh'd around; "but soon each earthly pleasure ends, "nor are our joys substantial found. 66 "for near, too near a towering pile, by some unskilful artist rear'd, "my father stood with chearful smile, "it shook; it fell; he disappear'd. ――――― "ere long his bleeding corse was found, "each remedy was soon applied, "but ah, in vain, the fatal wound "the feeble power of art defied. 38 "let those whose tender hearts can share "the sorrows which th' afflicted feel, "let those express my mother's care, "and all her dreadful thoughts reveal; "when for that husband, ever gay, "who, smiling, left her in the morn, "his corse mov'd slowly on the way, by a few weeping friends upborne, 66 despair and anguish fill'd her soul; "her words were wild and full of woe, "and many a sigh unbidden stole, "and many a tear began to flow. "long, long beneath oppressive grief, "chearless she pass'd the lonely hour, "nor vainly hop'd to find relief, "nor sought sweet consolation's pow'r. "i too forgot my joys a while, "and, weeping, saw my father's bier; "but trifling pleasures soon beguile, "and soon dry up the childish tear. "yet pale misfortune mark'd my lot "with other griefs, with other woes, "which drove me to this silent grot, "where i at last enjoy repose. 39 "for soon as youth, with boastful glee, "begun his gay aspiring reign, "("twas mad ambition prompted me) "i rashly left the peaceful plain. "amid the city's pompous noise, "a while i join'd the bustling ring, "but soon i found these wish'd-for joys "to me but few delights could bring. "i straight resolv'd to quit the town, "i sigh'd to tread the flowery dale, "nor vainly hop'd to gain renown, "where basest arts alone prevail. "farewell, i said, ye giddy scenes, "where vice with artifice is join'd, "where, leagu'd with folly, falsehood reigns, "and baneful flattery taints the mind. "a long farewell, i'll ne'er return, "to rural scenes i'll bend my way, "where honest breasts with candour burn, "and virtue shines with purest ray. "a weeping parent claims my care, "to her with open arms i'll fly, "in all her griefs i'll fondly share, "and wipe the torrent from her eye." i 40 "such were my hopes, but ah! how vain "the hopes which mortals often rear! "for soon i reach'd the wish'd-for plain, "and met, alas! my mother's bier. "to the lone grave her head i bore, "and as i laid her in the clay, "i felt a pang unknown before, "for there my father's ashes lay. ""twas sad indeed, his bones i saw, "i fondly grasp'd them in these hands, "i grasp❜d, and felt that sacred awe, "which ev'ry form of death demands. my brothers then beside me stood, "i saw them, and i heav'd a sigh, "my sisters came in mournful mood, "i wip'd the tear that fill'd my eye.— "l "in vain each friend assiduous strove "my plaintive murmurs to controul, "in vain they struggl'd to remove "the griefs which harbour'd in my soul. "in vain compassion lent her aid, “in vain she try'd each soothing art, "ev'n reason's self in vain essay'd "to banish woe from morar's heart. 41 "but time, at last, to wonted ease "restor❜'d my long-afflicted mind; "again i felt internal peace, "again in festive mirth i join'd. "i mingl❜d with the rural ring, "who gaily tript along the plain, "with sprightly notes i touch'd the string, "and all the virgins prais'd the strain. "yet oft the sigh of sorrow stole, "when faithful mem'ry brought to view "the griefs which lately fill'd my soul; "sad scenes, which fancy often drew. "while thus i join'd the mirthful throng, "whose artless breasts no cares alarm, "maria chiefly claim'd my song; "she who could boast each matchless charm. "fair was the maid, and sweet her air, "with virtue's flame her breast was fir'd, "where'er she came, she banish'd care, "save that alone which love inspir'd. "with ev'ry art the shepherds strove "the siniles of such a nymph to gain, "but morar only shar'd her love, "morar alone su'd not in vain. f 42 "for oft, beneath the woodland's gloom, "with her in converse sweet i've stray'd, "or thro' the meads, whose vernal bloom gay nature's fairest scenes display'd. 46 "encourag'd thus, i bade her name "the blissful day when we should join, "to crown our long-expecting flame, "and bend at hymen's holy shrine. "the day was nam'd, her sire agreed, "at hymen's shrine we bent the knee, "while ev'ry youth that trod the mead, "approv'd my choice, or envy'd me. "the highest pleasure now i found, "i tasted each exalted joy, "and soon my fairest hopes were crown'd "with a sweet-smiling, lovely boy. "maria then with transport smil'd, "and oft her sire a wish exprest, "that he might see his daughter's child, "and press her offspring to his breast. "his wish was heard, my love complied, "and to her father fondly bore "the smiling object of her pride, "his grandsire's blessing to implore. 43 "i staid behind, i watch'd my flocks, "nor were domestic cares forgot, "i gather'd woodbine from the rocks, "and deck'd with flow'rs my humble cot; "i thought maria would approve "the ornaments i thus prepar'd, "i thought a tender look of love "would amply all my toils reward.---"three days maria blest her sire, "and on the fourth, at dawn of morn, "she signified a warm desire "to my poor cottage to return. "her father granted her request, "my infant son was left behind, "lock'd in the arms of balmy rest, "and to a servant's care consign'd. "the good old man, with duteous love, "his child conducted on the way, "and by each fond endearment strove "to chear her heart and make her gay.-"in a deep glen my cottage stood, "near which a river held its course: "tho' ceaseless rains had swell'd the flood "and urg❜d it on with threatful force; f 2 44 "yet when they reach'd the further shore, "the sage exclaim'd with chearful voice, "our cares, my child, will soon be o'er, "and morar too will soon rejoice. "our slow approach perhaps he blames, "i see him waiting on the mead, "what haste a husband's transport claims! "he spoke, and onward push'd his steed. "they reach'd the middle of the stream, "it roar'd, it foam'd, maria fell; "i heard a loud, a dreadful scream, "i knew the plaintive voice too well. "soon, soon i reach'd the river's side, "i saw maria's floating corse, "while all in vain her father tried "to save her from the torrent's force. "his feeble arm i saw him wave, "have mercy, heav'n, he faintly said: this, this must be maria's grave, "i can no more!—then join'd the dead. 66 "what pangs of sorrow fill'd my soul, "the feeling breast alone can know; "for from my lips no murmur stole, (6 my mind to ease, to tell my woe. 45 "to save the bodies from the flood, "long, long in vain i fondly strove, "while the pale virgins weeping stood, “and mourn'd the fate of morar's love. "at last i brought them to the shore, "i laid them in one friendly tomb, "and thus, when silent grief was o'er, "bewail'd maria's fatal doom: "farewell, maria, ever dear, "so late the source of morar's joys, "these joys which once i deem'd sincere, "tho' adverse fate my hopes destroys. "farewell, my love; though death divide, 66 thy mem❜ry shall be dear to me, "till some propitious angel guide 66 my wearied soul to heav'n and thee. "farewell, ye scenes i lov'd so well, farewell, ye shepherds, ever gay, "for in some lone sequester'd cell, "remote from you, i'll pass the day. 66 "reflection there shall dart her beams, "in scenes from earthly cares remov'd, "and fancy oft shall fill my dreams, "with pictures of the wife i lov'd. • • 46 my parents too demand a tear, "a tear affection bids me give; "i'll let it flow with grief sincere, "i'll praise their virtues while i live. (6 "no more, alas! with heart-felt joy, "such as a parent only knows, "can i attend my lovely boy, "and in his smiles forget my woes. "i cannot guard his childish years, "that care, maria, was thy own, "nor, when ambitious youth appears, "can i his tow'ring wishes crown. "but i've a kind, a faithful friend, "whose heart i've always found sincere, "and to his love i'll recommend "the dearest object of my care, "he'll guard his youth, he'll form his mind, "he'll teach him virtue's purest laws; "and like a parent, always kind, "he'll give, when he deserves, applause. "such were my words, and soon i rov'd "to this sequester'd mountain's side; "i saw this grot, i saw, i lov'd, "and here determin'd to reside. 47 "the holy hermit's dress i chose, "and oft i roam thro' yonder woods "for well this garb becomes my woes, "these shades befriend a serious mood. 66 "such is the life which i have liv'd; my fate indeed has been severe; "i've grasp'd at bliss, and been deceiv'd, "i've nourish'd hope, and found despair. "but now these varying scenes are o'er, "content and i together dwell, "while health sits smiling at my door, "and virtue's self protects my cell. "one anxious wish intrudes alone, "and need i tell you what it is? "i wish to see my darling son, "and then i'll die in perfect bliss. "but ah! that wish i'll ne'er obtain, “i've sought him at his guardian's hands, "i've sought him, but i sought in vain, "the youth has fled to other lands. "now bow'd with age, i soon must fall, "nor shall my edwin see his sire, "tho' mine and alford's wishes all, "oft, oft from heav'n that boon require."→→ 48 "he sees you now!" brave edgar cried, "i am the son you've sought so long; "for alford's care my wants supplied, "when first i join'd the youthful throng. "from him i learn'd the arts of peace, "he shew'd me nature's rural charms, "but i despis'd a life of ease, "and sought the fame acquir'd by arms. "i left his cot, i chang'd my name, "i fought to save my native land, "at last fair emma bless'd my flame, "and crown'd my wishes with her hand." with wild surprise, the hermit heard, and thus to heav'n address'd a pray'r:"yes, yes, ye pow'rs, ye will reward "the man who triumphs over care. ---"i thank you for my sorrows past, "i thank you for my present joy, "and while my days of trial last, "let me my voice in praise employ." then in his arms he fondly press'd the happy pair he lov'd so well, while many a tender look express'd that heart-felt joy which none can tell. j. tait. e 5. 12 j. tait an exact and circumstantial history » of the battle of floddon. in verse. written about the time of queen elizabeth. in which are related many particular facts not to be found in the english history. published from a curious manuscript in the possession of john askew, of palins-burn, in northumberland, esq. with notes, by robert lambe, vicar of norham upon tweed. lucian de rat. conscrib. hist. 8 • h 1 the following poem is inscribed to john askew of palins-burn, esq. as a testimony of gratitude for the friendship which he hath shown to norham, jan. 30, 1773. the editor. the battle of floddon. part 1. fit. 1. to a pleasant tune. now will i cease for to recite king henry's affairs in france so wide, and of domestick jars i'll write, that in his absence did betide. a fearful field, in verse i'll frame, if you'll be pleased to understand, o floddon-mount! thy wonderous name doth sore affright my trembling hand. thou god of war! do me admit for to discourse with sounding praise, this bloody field, this fearful fight fought in our old forefathers days. pardon, ye poets all, i cry, my simple, rude, and rugged rhyme; even though the hill, parnassus high, presumptuously i press to climb. g 2 52 for what is he, with haughty style, such deeds of honour could contrive; no, not the learned virgil great, if that on earth he was alive. that could reveal in volume short great howard's deeds, who did excell; though lovely print made no report, fame would not fail the same to tell. or thou, o stanley, wonderous man! thou son of mars, who can proclaim thy matchless deeds? tell me, who can paint thy just praise, on wings of fame? thy doleful day-work still shall be in scotland cursed with an outcry: for hector's match this man was he who climbed the mount of floddon high. what banners bravely blazed and born, what standards stout brought he to ground, what worthy lords by him forlorn, that sorrow in scotland yet doth sound! ye heavenly powers, your aid i crave; my slender muse help to awake; grant, this work, which in hand i have, a fine and lucky end may make. 53 before king henry crost the seas, and e'er to france he did transfleet, he thought the scots might him disease with constituted captains meet. he knew that english kings they fought, and by what might they were controuled; much more he in their absence thought, what damage had been done of old. and lest that they should work some teen, as they thought to have done indeed, he left his realm unto his queen, to be ruled as there was need. then for the earl of surrey sent and regent of the north him made; and bad him, "if the scots were bent "the northern borders to invade: "that he should raise a royal band "in bishoprick, and in yorkshire; "in westmoreland and cumberland, "in cheshire and in lancashire. "and if thou need northumberland, "quoth he, there be strong men and stout, "that will not stick, if need they stand, "to fight on horseback, or on foot. 54 "there is the valiant dacres old, "warden of the west-march is he: "there are the bows of kendal bold, "who fierce will fight, and never flee. "there is sir edward stanley stout, "for martial skill clear without mack, "from latham-house his line came out, "whose blood will never turn their back. "all lancashire will live and die "with him, so chiefly will cheshire: "for through his father's force, quoth he, "this kingdom first came to my sire. "lord clifford too, a lusty troop "will there conduct, a captain wise; "and with the lusty knight, lord scroop, "the power of richmondshire will rise. "the wardens all look that you warn, "to hearken what the scots forecast; "if they the signs of wars discern, "bid them the beacons fire fast." the earl then with a sorry heart, had drowned his face with trickling tears, when from his prince he did depart, and from his royal country peers. 55 and "thou, quoth he, almighty god, "let him a death most shameful die, "which is the cause of mine abode, "bereaved of my king's company." some thought to the king of scots that he did wish such sad untimely fate; and some, to the earl of derby, with whom he had a great debate. the earl did then his tenants all in musters fair, and brave elect; and on his way, by journeys small, to pomfret-castle did direct. then did he send sir william bulmer, and bad him on the borders lie, with ordnance and other geer, each house of fence to fortify. and bad him call the borderers bold, and hold with him in readiness; and get him word, with speech he could, if that the scots meant his distress. then caused he watch in every street, and posts to run through downs and dales, so what was wrought, he knew of it, from carlisle to the coast of wales. 56 when flying fame, that monstrous wight, with hundred wings was nimbly flown, and in the court of scotland light, and all abroad, was blazed and blown. of great king henry's enterprize and how he forced was into france, with all his peers in princely wise, to bring that land to complaisance. england to over-run with rage, the scots then meant, as was their guise, still as the king was under age, or occupied some otherwise. king james's courage did increase, and of his council craved to know, if he had better live in peace, or fight against his brother-in-law. "alas, said he, my heart is sore, and care constraineth me to weep, that ever i to england swore, a league or love a day to keep. had i not entred in that band, i swear now by this burnished blade, england and scotland both one land, and kingdom one i could have made. 57 that realm we should soon over-run, that england, when this age is past, as to our elders they have done, should homage do to us at last.” then stood there up a baron stout, the lusty lord of douglas blood, 66 my liege, quoth he, have you no doubt, but mark my words, with mirthful mood. the league is broke, no doubt you need, believe me, liege, my words are true. what was the english admiral's deed, when andrew barton bold he slew! your ships and armour too he took ; and since, their king did nothing fear, to send his aid, against the duke of gelders, your own cousin dear. hath not the bastard heron slain, your warden with his spiteful spear? the league and peace therefore are vain, my liege, you nothing have to fear.” then manful maxwell answered soon, (( my liege, the league is broke by right; for the english king, ought not to have gone, against your friend, in france to fight. h 1 58 have you in league not entered late, with lewis chosen the french king? and now, you see, what great debate betwixt the king and him doth spring. what greater kindness could you show, unto your friend the king of france, than in english blood your blade to imbrue, against their land to lift your lance? you know what hurt to you was done, by english kings in times of old; your borders burned, and berwick town still by strong hand they from you hold. wherefore more time let us not consume, but fiercely fight that land again." and then stood up the proud lord hume, of scotland, the chief chamberlain. "my liege, quoth he, in all your life, more lucky fate could never fall; for now that land, with little grief, unto your crown you conquer shall. for england's king, you understand, to france is past with all his peers; there is none at home, left in the land, but joult-head monks, and bursten fryers. 59 or ragged rustics, without rules, or priests prating for pudding-shives, or millners madder than their mules, or wanton clerks, waking their wives. there is not a lord left in england, but all are gone beyond the sea; both knight and baron with his band, with ordnance, or artillery." the king then called to dallamount, which bodword out of france did bring; qouth he, "the nobles names pray note, "who are encamped with the english king." "that will i do, my liege, quoth he, as many as i have at heart; first there is the great earl of derby, with one that is called lord herbert. there is an earl, of ancient race, plumed up in proud and rich array, his banner casts a glittering grace, a half-moon in a golden ray." " "that is the noble percy plain," the king did say and gave a stamp, "there is not such a lord again, "no, not in all king henry's camp." h 2 60 "there is a lord that bold doth bear a talbot brave, a burly tyke, whose fathers struck france so with fear, as made poor wives and children shriek." the king then answered at one word, "that is the earl of shrewsbury." "there is likewise a lusty lord, which called is the famed darcy. there's dudley and brave delaware, and drury, great lords all three; the duke of buckingham is there, lord cobham and lord willoughby. there is the earl of essex gay, and stafford stout, earl of wiltshire; there is the earl of kent, lord gray, with haughty hastings, hot as fire. there is the marquis of dorset brave, fitz-water and fitz-leigh, lords most great; of doughty knights, the lusty lave i never could by name repeat. there is a knight of the north country, which leads a lusty plump of spears; i know not what his name should be, a boisterous bull all black he bears." 61 lord hume then answered, loud on hight "this same is sir johm nevil bold; king harry hath not so hardy a knight, in all his camp, my coat i will hold. he doth maintain, without all doubt, the earl of westmoreland's estate, i know of old his stomach stout; in england is not left his mate." the king then asked his lords all round, if wars or peace they did prefer? they cried, and made the hall to sound, "let peace go back, and let us have war. our armour is for usage marred, both helmet, habergeon, and crest; our startling naggs, in stable spared, are waxen wild with too much rest. our staves, that were both tall and straight, wax crooked, and are cast each where; therefore in england let us go fight, our booties brave from them to bear." the king rejoiced then to see his lords so lively hearts to have; and to their words did soon agree, complying to their pleasures brave. 62 to lyon, king at arms, he cried, and took to him a letter broad, quoth he, "no longer look thou bide, but toward france soon take thy road. to terwin town take thou thy way, and greet well then my brother-in-law, and bid him there no longer stay, but homeward to his country draw. and bid him cease his furious force, against my friend, the king of france, for fear domestick wars prove worse, when in his kingdom i advance. and summon him soon to return, lest that our power we ply apace; with fire and sword, we beat and burn, his men and land in little space." then lyon made him reverence, and with his coat of arms him deckt. he haled up sail, and towards france, he did his way with speed direct. 63 fit. 2. meanwhile the king did letters write, which swiftest post did nimbly bear, to all his lords which had delight, with him in england arms to wear. then every lord, and knight each where, and barons bold in musters met; each man made haste, to mend his gear, and some their rusty pikes did whet. some made a mell of massy lead, which iron all about did bind; some made strong helmets for the head, and some their grisly gisarings grind. some made their battle-axes bright; some from their bills did rub the rust; some made long pikes and lances light; some pikeforks for to join and thrust. some did a spear for weapon wield; • some did their lusty geldings try; some all with gold did gild their shield; some did with divers colours dye. 64 the ploughmen hard their teams could take, and to hard harness them convert, their shares defensive armour make, to save the head, and shield the heart. dame ceres did unserved remain, the fertile fields did lie untilled; outrageous mars so sore did reign, that scotland was with fary filled. the king of scots was much inflamed with joy to see himself obeyed, and did command his chamberlain, in england all this gang to lead. the chamberlain lord hume in haste, march-warden over east also, within the english border's breast with full eight thousand men did go. and enter in northumberland, with banners bravely blazed and born, and finding none them to withstand they straight destroyed both hay and corn. they spoiled and ravaged all abroad, and on each side, in, booties brought, the coarser loons got geldings good, and droves of kine and cattle caught. mos and but 7 as c th an t 65 most stately halls, and buildings gay, with sacrilegious hands they burn; and this has always been their way, whenever they could serve their turn. but happy harwood-church on the hill, thou always 'scaped their barbarous rage; as thou wert once, so art thou still, the wonder of the present age. there judge gascoigne, once wisely grave, with his fair dame entombed doth lie; and there lies rudimond so brave, in armour, by his family. with other noble persons too, for valour famed, and piety; their monuments you now may view, most sweet and lovely to the eye. but to return, for i have digrest. the scots thus having over-run the bordering parts, and filled with prey, they thought to scotland to return. sir william bulmer being told of this great road and wild array, did strait forecast, all means he could, the scots in their return to stay. i 66 two hundred men himself did lead, to him there came the borderers stout, and divers gentlemen, with speed, repaired to him with horse and foot. they were not all a thousand men, but knowing where the scots would come, the borderers best their coasts did, ken, and hid them in a field of broom. the scots came scouring down so fast, and proudly pricked up with their prey; thinking their perils all were past, they straggling ran out of their way. the english men burst out apace, and skirmished with scots anon; there was fierce fighting, face to face, and many geldings made to groan. there men might see spears fly in spells and tall men tumbling on the soil, and many a horse turned up his heels; outrageous mars kept such a coil. the scots their strength did long extend; and broken ranks did still renew; but the english archers, in the end, with arrows shot: most sore they flew. 67 the english spears, on the other side amongst the scots did fiercely fling, and through their ranks did rattling ride, and chased them through moss, mire; and ling. the chamberlain, viewing this chance, and seeing his host all put to flight, did with the foremost forth advance: but happy in his horse so light. straightway he flew, when he perceived his banner-bearer down was beat: the english then their spoil received, besides a store of geldings great. six hundred scots were slain that day, and near that number prisoners ta'en, but of the english, brave and gay, there were no more than sixty slain. in august month this broil befell, wherein the scots lost so much blood, that mournful when the tale they tell, they call it now, "the devil's road." thus while the scots, both near and far, were through all scotland occupied, in framing weapons, fit for war, and mustering men on every side, i 2 68 by this time came the herald sent, before the town of terwin high; there to king henry soon he went, and bowing low upon his knee, he reverently the king did greet; who took from him his letters large; and then, as ordered, what was writ, in open words he did discharge. the letters soon were looked upon, and in king henry's sight perused; king james's mind he knew full soon, and found himself most sore abused. who summoned him his siege to raise, and stay those wars he took in hand; or else with blood he would pave his ways, and straight invade his native land. king henry's heart began to rise, and to the herald he did say, "thy master thus i did surmise, would in our absence partly play. seir indeed he doth not now digress from his old sires, never brave; but if he do my land distress, i hope he welcome hard shall have. 69 for in my land i left a lord, who aiding of my royal queen, will stay your prince at point of sword; his blade was ever fierce and keen. let him not deem so destitute my land of lords and valiant knights; for if he dare to prosecute, he there shall find some warlike wights. who will shed for me their purple gore, and all his streaming standards rent: they will send upon him many a shower, of arrows, ere he pass the trent. since perjured he now doth prove, and doth so small esteem his oath; our siege we will not cease to move, be he so never mad or wroth. and here a valiant vow we will make, at what time as we shall return, all scotland we will harrass and sack, and never cease to spoil and burn. nor ever peace with him contrive, nor ever league nor union make, while one false scot is left alive, and till the land be brought to wrack." 70 then he to the king of scots did write a letter, banishing all fears, that he, for all his ire and spight, in france would still proceed his wars. then gave it to the herald's hand, besides, with it, a rich reward; who hastened to his native land, to see how with his king it fared. and while he waited for the wind, and for his ships did things ordain, for all his haste he came behind, and never saw his prince again. king henry then the scottish bill. unto the earl of surrey sent, to pomfret, where abiding still, he bid him be for battle bent. the earl did all things straight provide the scotch king's purpose to resist, throughout all scotland far and wide, and all was done that he did list. lord dacres also did perceive, the scots intention manifest; he knew their meetings, musters brave, and daily riding, without rest. 71 the truth whereof he sent straitway, and told the earl of surrey sage; that time was not for to delay, but soldiers raise for to engage. which when the earl did understand, he letters sent both far and near, to all the nobles in the land, that they their forces might prepare. and tell what numbers they could make, of valiant men, all well arrayed; then with sir philip tilney spake, how they their wages might be paid. he, after this, for ordnance sent unto sir nicholas appleyard 5 who did accordingly consent, and towards him apace prepared: with culverines, and portals great, and double cannons two or three; which he brought on by steed and cart, to durham in the north country. the noble earl then letters wrote, unto each castle, fort, and hold, that they should furnish them with shot, and fortify their bulwarks bold. 72 who answered all, with stomachs stout, and every captain with his train, that they would keep the scots quite out, until the king returned again. which answer of the captains keen the noble earl did much delight; but what the scots this while did mean, and of king james i mean to write. after he to his brother-in-law, defiance into france had sent, his nobles all to him did draw, well busked, and for battle bent. and thus arrayed in armour bright, they met in edinborough town; there was many a lord and many a knight, and baron brave, of high renown. of prelates proud, a populous lave, and abbots boldly there were known. with bishop of st. andrew's brave, who was king james's bastard son. surely it was an unseemly sight, and quite against our christian laws, to see a prelate press to fight, and that too in a wicked cause. 73 " were these the scots religious rules, who taught the priests such pranks perverse, to march forth mustered on their mules, and soldier-like to sue god mars? the messenger of christ, st. paul, taught them to shoot at no such mark, peter, and christ's apostles all, did never lead them in the dark. their patron so did not them learn, st. andrew, with his shored cross, but rather ninian of quhytehorn, or, doffin, demi-god of ross. → this bishop bold, this bastard blest, with other bishops in his band, and abbots bold, as all the rest, for be gle-rods, took bills in hand. and every lord with him did lead, a mighty band for battle prest; numbers so great, they did extend to a hundred thousand men at least. king james for joy began to smile, so great an army to behold; who, for to serve him, thought no toil, but blazoned forth his banners bold. k c.". 74 each lord went on then with his band, and every captain with his train, the music echoed through the land, and brazen trumpets blowed amain. the drums did beat, with warlike sound, and banners bravely waved wide, men scarce could view the fruitful ground, for soldiers armed on every side. in midst of ranks, there rode the king, on stately steed, which graceful stampt; a goodly sight to see him fling, and how his foaming bits he champt. thus did king james most gorgeous ride, a pleasure to his noble peers; he had a heart puft up with pride, and was a prince that banished fears. alas! he thought himself too strong, having so great a multitude: but providence, when kings do wrong, their mighty power can elude. he thought no king in christendom, in field to meet him was of might; no, nor an emperor of rome had been of force with him to fight. 75 nor herculus, nor hannibal, the soldan, sophy, nor the turk; none of the mighty monarchs all; such valiant blood did in him work. but yet for all his armed host, his puffed-up pride, and haughty heart, full soon abated was his ghost; he was brought to london in a cart. it was in the midst of harvest-tide, august the two and twentieth day, that this great prince, replete with pride, to the english borders burst his way. where piles he pulled down apace, and stately buildings brought to ground, the scots, like loons, void of all grace, religion's precepts sore did wound. fair matrons they did force each where, and ravished maidens sweet and mild; in flames the houses made appear, and murdered many a man and child. but how the english did prepare, to fight the scots, with hand and heart, their valour also will appear, if you will read the second part. k 2 76 part ii. fit. iii. it was the king's express command, to waste with cruel sword and flame, a field of blood he made the land, till he to norham-castle came. which soon with siege he did beset, and trenches digged without delay; with bombard-shot, the walls he beat, and to assault it did essay. the captain great, with courage stout his fortress fiercely did defend; but for a while he lashed out, till he his ordnance did spend. his powder he did profusely waste, his arrows he haled out every hour; so that he wanted at the last, and at the last had none to pour. but yet five days he did defend, though with assaults they him assailed. though all their strength they did extend; yet all their power had not prevailed. 77 had there not been a traiterous thief, who came king james's face before, that in that hold had got relief, the space of thirty years and more. i say, quoth he, king james, my liege, your brave assaults are all in vain, long may you hold a tedious siege, yet all this while can get no gain. but what reward shall i receive, quoth he, express, and speak anon, and i will let you plain perceive, how that this castle may be won. if that to pass you bring this can, the king did say, where he did stand, i shall make you a gentleman, and livings give thee in our land. o king, quoth he, now quit this place, and down to yonder vallies draw, the walls then shall you rend and raze, your batteries will bring them low. which, as he said, so did the king, and against the walls his ordnance bent; it was a wretched dismal thing, to see how soon the walls were rent. 78 which made the captain sore afraid, beholding the walls, how they reeled, his weapons all then down he laid, and to king james did humbly yield. the scots straightway did pour in, and plied apace unto their prey; look what was worth one point or pin, you need not bid them take away. so when the scots the walls had won, and rifled every nook and place, the traitor came to the king anon, but for reward met with disgrace. the king then asked him by and by, where he was born, and in what town? a scot i am, he did reply, this answer gave the treacherous loon. the king then asked him, meek and mild, for how long time he lodged there; even, quoth he, since but a child, a good deal more than thirty year. why, quoth the king, hast thou so wrought unto thy friends, this frantic rage, who in this castle thee up brought, and always gave thee meat and wage? 79 but since thy heart is falsified to them who gave thee meat and fee, it is a token to be tried, thou never canst prove true to me. therefore, for this thy traiterous trick, thou shalt be tied in a trice; hangman, therefore, quoth he, be quick; the groom shall have no better place. what he did say, forthwith was wrought, the traitor had his just desert, although the king himself was naught, and proved deceitful in the heart. by this time came the flying posts, which made the earl to understand how that the king of scotland's hosts, already entered had the land. which when the earl of surrey knew, it was but vain to bid him haste: he sent to all his friends most true, that they their men should muster fast. and shortly sent to every shire, that on september the first day, each gentleman, lord, knight, and squire, should to newcastle take their way. 80 then with five hundred soldiers stout, himself appearing in renown, he never stayed to rest his foot, until he came to durham town. there he devoutly did hear prayers, and worshipped god his maker dear, who banished from him cares and fears, st. cuthbert's banner he did bear. then straight he to newcastle came, of august, on the thirtieth day, there many a nobleman of fame, to him repaired without delay. there valiant dacres him did meet, and brought with him a noble band, of warlike men, right well compleat, from westmoreland and cumberland. sir marmaduke constable stout, attended with his lovely sons; sir william bulmer, with his rout, lord clifford, with his clapping guns. then from newcastle soon he went, and took his way to alnwick town. that weary men, with travel spent, and weather-beaten, might have room. 81 then might you see on every side the ways all filled with men of war, with shining streamers, waving wide, and helmets glittering from afar. from lancashire and cheshire too, to stanley came a noble train, to hornby, from whence he withdrew, and forward set with all his main. what banners brave before him blazed, the people mused where he did pass: poor husbandmen were much amazed; and women, wondering, cried, alas! young wives did weep with woeful chear, to see their friends in harness drest, some rent their cloaths, some tore their hair, some held their babes upon their breast. but who can plain express with pen, what prayers were said on hallowed stone, what tears came from religious men, what sacred service too was done? that stanley might come safe away, and victor valiantly return; the bells did sound both night and day, and holy fires bright did burn. l 82 men with grey beards drew to their beds, and fast their prayers poured out; old wives for woe did wag their heads, and saints were sought on naked foot. but stanley over stainmore strait did pass; and resting there, did view a banner brave, born up on hight, where under went a warlike crew. what lusty troop is yon i see? sir edward stanley did enquire. a yeoman said, it is, i see, bryan tunstal, that bold esquire. for in his banner i behold a curling cock, as though he would crow; he brings with him his tenants bold, a hundred men at least i know. then stanley said, as there he stood, would christ he would but take our part, his clean and undefiled blood, good speed doth promise at my heart. blaze out therefore, i bid you soon, the earl of darby's banner brave; by chance with us he will be one, when it in sight he shall perceive. 83 but tunstall took no heed that tide, without saluting forth he past; upon the valiant howard's side, his faithful heart he fixed fast. and then again, said stanley brave, o valiant lads, draw up your heart; be not amazed, look not so grave, though tunstall will not take your part. but forward set without delay, unto the howards let us make haste. thus they, though wearied, kept their way, till they to alnwick came at last. whose coming greatly did rejoice the earl and all his company. none but the eagle bear the voice, with wrapping wings as he would fly. there did the army much increase, although there were the most extreams; for rain down rattling never did cease, till bubbling brooks burst mighty streams. such blustering winds besides there were, that day and night the air did sound; which put the earl into great fear, lest his son the admiral should be drowned; l 2 84 who, at his parting, promised plight unto his father, if alive, at newcastle, with all his might, for his assistance, to arrive. which promise he did fully keep: such friendship neptune did him show, as to conduct him over the deep, and his desires just bestow. then soldiers soon he set on land, and to his father fast he hied; such warlike wights in worthy band, two thousand men in arms well tried. with captains most courageous keen, at alnwick they arrived at last: whom, when the earl's army had seen, with sudden fear they were aghast. but seeing their armour black as ink, some said it was some scottish band; and divers did esteem and think, they were some force from foreign land. some took their harness, some their horse, and forward hasted as to fight, but when they saw st. george's cross, and english arms born up on hight, 85 some said, it was a jolly crew, the king had sent from france that tide, the southern men, the truth soon knew, and loud lord admiral! they cried. whom, when the earl of surrey saw, he thanked god with heart so mild, and hands for joy to heaven did throw, that his son was saved from waters wild. a merry meeting there was seen, for first they kist, and then embraced; for joy the tears fell from their eyne, all forepast fears were then defaced. then caused the earl each captain count, under their wings what soldiers were; which done, the number did but mount, to six and twenty thousand there. the earl then called a council soon, of prudent lords and captains wise, and how the battle might be done; he bid them shew their best devise. some said too small their number was, to atchieve so great an enterprize, some counselled posts back for to pass for aid, and cause the countries rise. 86 and from the south, the queen, some said, a band of soldiers soon would send; and willed to stay, for while they staid, their powers daily might amend. boud hak insu e some said the scots straitway would fly, a mo and powers daily would diminish; wherefore to stay was their counsel, and thus the earl they did admonish. albar then did the admiral start in ire, and stamping stood with stomach hot: why, sir, said he, unto his sire; woods you so hath cowardice lent you his coat. jangan l om vro a let never king henry hear for shame, it has go that you should act this dastard part; ob nor ever blown by trump of fame, ob did that you did bear a coward's heart. f hath not king henry left you heres und bis t his governour to rule the land; nolobing 10) not doubting but, without all fear, und salt wod ba the treacherous scots you would withstand.. bila think of your father, though his chance it was to fall at bosworth field, though he his life, by stanley's lance, with honourable wounds did yield, as, ge no armed nor in a what royal hath he what ample if life had the seas he not pyrat even pyrate the great how oft the would ge were he in conflict whe had sca he gloriou no multitude nor numb great shame and to our your father's and all his your honour, nor yet yo 87 would god that edward, brother dear, were here alive this present day: no armed foes, could make him fear, nor in a camp, like coward stay. what royal fame, what high renown, hath he left to his line and race, what ample glory would him crown, if life had lasted longer space. the seas he did both sweep and scour, not pyrate durst appear in sight, even pyrate john, for all his power, the great renowned lothian knight. how oft the royal fleet of france, in conflicts fierce by him was grieved? if he had scaped that fatal chance, he glorious acts might have atchieved. no multitudes made him dismayed, nor numbers great his stomach swage; great shame then would on us be laid, and to our offspring in each age. your father's fame would soon be lost, and all his worthy acts no more, your honour, flitting like a ghost, nor yet your sons could ever restore. 88 if here you loitering lie like loons, and do not fight the scots again: for do not you hear how english towns are burnt, while suckling babes are slain? they daily pilfer every place, and spoil the people all about: wherefore let us stay no longer space, but now step forth with stomachs stout. fit. iv. the earl of surrey then replied, and to his warlike son did say, no bashfulness doth make me bide, nor stomach faint doth make me stay. the cause is for no cowardice so long time here to make delay: but yet i fear this enterprize will prove no childish sport or play. great counsel then must be embraced; then let us careful think upon, which way our cards to count and cast, for great is the business to be done. 89 too hardy oft good hap doth hazard, and over-bold oft is not best; and that i have proved by my son edward, who ever was too bold of breast. he had been a living man this day, if he with counsel wise had wrought; but he was drowned in bathrumb's bay; his rashness to this end him brought. my father, at king richard's field, under great stanley's lance lay slain; and i did there a captive yield; our manhood great got us this gain. we might have scaped that scurvy day if warning could our wits have beat; a friend of our's, to cause us stay; upon my father's gate had set. a certain scroll, whose scripture said jocky of norfolk, be not so bold," and underneath in verse was laid, "for dickon thy master is bought and sold.” 66 my father fighting fierce was slain, king richard lost both life and crown, some goodly guerdon oft they gain, who rashly run to get renown. m 90 for see the duke of york was brought, at wakefield to his fatal fall; who might have scaped, if he had wrought the counsel wise of david hall. i read of conquerors and kings for lack of counsel cast away: now since at hand such danger springs, our council we had need to say. it is not i am fright with fear, nor for myself such thoughts i take, but for young babes, and infants dear, which fathers sore i fear will lack. such fortunes fall, through fights doubtless, poor widows plenty shall be left; and many a servant masterless, and mothers of their sons bereft. this is the cause i counsel crave, the only cause i cast such doubts: i had rather one english soldier save, than for to kill a thousand scots. i can no kind of compass cast, but many a life there must be lost; and many a tall man death must taste, the scots are such a mighty host. 91 the prince himself is there present, with all his peers prepared for war; with barons, knights, and commons bent, a hundred thousand men they are. put case our total english power were ready drest and made in meat; at two meals they would us devour, the scottish army is so great. therefore let each man's mind be exprest how that the scots we may convince, and how to pass this peril best, and save the honour of our prince. then spake sir edward stanley stout, and fierce on the earl he fixt his eyne, what need have we thus for to doubt, and be afraid of foes unseen? shall we by loitering on this manner, thus still permit the scots to rest? fye, let them see an english banner, and view our soldiers seemly drest. what though our foes be five to one, for that let not our stomachs fail. god gives the stroke, when all is done, if it please him we shall prevail. m 2 92 if ancient books we do peruse, set forth by famous clerks of old, which both of christians, pagans, jews, do plain describe the battles bold. there may we certain see in sight, many a mighty prince and king, with populous armies, put to flight, and vanquished by a little wing. with hundreds three, judge gideon, the midian host overcame in fight. and jonathan, saul's valiant son, the fierce philistines put to flight. so judas maccabeus, the man, of foremost fame among all knights, who can describe what fields he wan, with handfuls small of warlike wights; the mighty macedonian prince, with puissance small and power, king darius host did all convince, who were for one in number four. the great renowned roman peers, whose glorious praise can never blin; the fame, that daily fills men's ears, by numbers great did never win. 1 93 for titus livy doth protest, the less their power, the more their gain, when they were most, they wan the least; the greater press, the more were slain. example at canna's fierce conflict, so many nobles there were slain, that bushels three they did collect of rings from dead men's fingers drawn, where scipio, with numbers small, of warlike wights of lusty blood, in field to flight put hannibal, and burnt with fire carthage proud. what further need i for to seek, of christian kings the manful acts; since records of the same still speak, of henry, and his famous facts. all europe yet afresh doth sound, of his high prowess the report. what standards stout he brought to ground with numbers small at agincourt. all france yet trembleth to hear talk, by death what nobles took their flight, two thousand, besides vulgar folk, simplest of whom was squire or knight. 94 he never stint from war and strife, till the heir of france he was proclaimed; if fate had lent him longer life, with english laws all france he had framed. of bedford too, his brother john, the dauphin beat with a small band; lord talbot, with his name alone, to tremble forced all the french land. the earl of richmond, with small power, of england, wan both realm and crown, at bosworth where the bragging boar, and all his host were overthrown. so though the scottish host be great, let us not stint, but them withstand; in battle bold we shall them beat, for god will help us with his hand. but if in fighting we are slain, and in the battle brought to ground, perpetual praise we then shall gain, men will our fame for ages sound. the memory of our great manhood, mongst english men will ever last; and then, for vengeance of our blood, king henry home from france will haste... 1 95 our kinsfolks and our cousins free, will wreak our deaths with doleful dint; till time that they revenged be, from sturdy strokes they will not stint. our ghosts shall go to god on high, though bodies vile to death be dight; in better case we cannot die, than fighting for our country's right. put case the lot light contrary, as firm by faith is fixed it shall, and that to gain the victory, good fortune on our side shall fall. and then to give our foes the foil, what worthy praises shall we win? what mighty prey, what plenteous spoil, what prisoners of princely kin. the prince is there himself, king james, with prelates passing rich in pride; fifty great lords there are of name, with barons, knights, and squires beside. their tents, if standing they be found, when fight is done, i do not fear, but for their entering english ground, the charges shall pay us full dear. 96 such fate shall fall to them i trust as to their elders has before, who dared into our borders burst, when they were beat in battle sore. their mighty mars, king malcomy, did valiantly this land invade; at tinmouth he was forced to fly, and slain was by an english blade. king david unto durham came, who with the scots in pitched field, for all their pride yet left the game, king david there did captive yield. what shall i further mention make of henry the fourth, how in his days, the earl of murray and lord murdake, angus and douglass pricked with praise, did enter in northumberland and murdered without mercy." were they not beat by a small band, in battle by sir henry piercy? the story saith, who list may look, ten thousand scots in field were slain, and through the valiant piercy's stroke, all the earl's captives did remain. k 97 such luck i trust to our foes will light, and all that wars do raise in wrong; wherefore against them let us fight, it is shame we loiter here so long. if any seem abased to be, that we in battle shall be beat, cheshire and lancashire with me, shall give the scots the first onset. when this was said, then stanley stout all silent down did sit in place; the eyes of all the lords about, were fixed upon his valiant face. his wisdom great all wondered at, all did his manful proffer praise; all they that would have lingered late, their courage keen did now upraise. now they that lately would have staid, with foremost cryed, forth to the field; with one voice all the earl they prayed, that stanley might the vanguard wield. but on that side the earl of surrey was deaf, for why, he could not hear; for being moved with stanley's glory, his rancour old then did appear. n 98 quoth he, the king's place i supply, at pleasure mine each thing shall bide. then on each captain he did cry, in presence to appear that tide. that done, straitway he did ordain his battle brief on this same sort, whose order and array right plain, with pen i truly shall report. when stanley did with stomach stout valiantly the vanguard crave, the earl of surrey sore did doubt, that too much honour he should have, if fortune good fell on his part, and valiant victor he did return. gainst stanley's blood such hateful heart in the earl's blood did boiling burn. wherefore in forward, first of all chief captain constituted he his loving son lord admiral, with soldiers such as came from sea. whom valiant lords accompanied, with barons bold, and hardy knights; lord ogle one of courage tried, who led a band of warlike wights. 99 in order, next to the admiral, the lusty knight, lord clifford, went, who was concealed in shepherd's coat, till twice twelve years were gone and spent. for when his father at wakefield, the duke of york and his son had slain; he by a friend was thus concealed, till richmond's earl began his reign. and him restored to all his right seating him in his father's land; or else to death he had been dight, while the house of york had the uphand. now like a captain bold he brought a band of lusty lads elect, whose curious coats, most cunning wrought, with dreadful dragons were bedeckt. from pennigent to pendlehill, from linton to long addingham, and they that craven coasts did till, all with the lofty clifford came. all staincliff hundred went with him, with striplings strong from worledale; and all that haughton hills did climb, with langstroth too, and littondale. n 2 100 whose milk-fed fellows, fleshly bred were fit the strongest bows to bend; all such as horton-fells had fed, on clifford's banner did attend. lord lumley next, and latimer were equal matched with all their power, with whom was next their neighbour near lord conyers stout, and stiff in stour. with many a gentleman and squire, from rippon, ripley, and rydale, with them marched forth all massamshire, with nosterfield and netherdale. with tillmen tough, in harness store, who turned the furrows of mittan-field, with billmen bold from blackamoore, most warlike wights, these lords did wield. next them was placed, with all his power, lord scroope of upsall, aged knight, sir stephen bull, with all his power, was matched next him with all his might. sir walter griffith, sage and grave was with sir henry sherbourn bent, and under bulmer's banner brave, the whole bishoprick of durham went. • 101 the third part it will more unfold the glorious train of heroes bright, such as may please the sage and old, and yield to children sweet delight. part iii. fit. v. sir christopher ward the next ensued, with him sir edward echingham; next were sir nicholas appleyard, sir mettham, sidney, everingham. all in the foremost battle bold, these knights who in the vanguard were seven thousand men numbered and told, simplest of whom bore bow or spear. then the earl, sir edmund howard, did call, and marshall soon him made; my son, said he, now soon set forward, with valiant hearts the scots invade.. chief captain of the right-hand wing, to brother thine i thee ordain; now surely see thou serve the king, and for his sake never think it pain.. 3 17 102 of southern soldiers hundreds two, under thy wing shall go with thee; a thousand thanks sir edmund to, his father dear did render free. with him was matched an equal mate, bryan tunstall, that trusty squire; whose stomach stout nought could abate, nor ought could sway his bold desire.. the glory of his grandsire old, the famous acts too of his sire; his blood, unspotted, made him bold, and stirred his stomach hot as fire. for when debate did first begin, and rancour raised most rueful work, and ruffling ruled this realm within, "twixt lancaster and the house of york.. 1 during which hurly-burly strife, were murdered many a mother's child. many a lord bereaved of life, and noble house with blood defiled. but this man's father, void of fear while in this realm such ruffling was, to henry the sixth did still adhere, and for no pains did from him pass. 103 for he to york would never yield for all the struggling stir and strife, nine times he fiercely fought in field, so oft in danger was his life. and when the king was captive caught, and the earl of warwick overthrown, to save his life best means he sought, and was in bark to bretagne blown. with earl of richmond he remained, and lords of the lancastrian kin; when then the earl the crown had gained, and england's empire fair did win. he rendered tunstall all his right, knowing his valiant blood unstained, the king he caused this trusty knight, undefiled tunstall to be named. most fierce he fought at thalian field, where martin swart on ground lay slain. when rage did reign, he never reeled, but like a rock did still remain. now came this man amongst the rest to match his father in manhood, for battle ready bent and prest, with him a band of lusty blood. 104 next went sir bold, and butler brave, two valiant knights of lancashire, then bruerton bold, and bygod grave, with warcop wild, a worthy squire. next richard chomley and chiston stout, with men of hatfield, and of hull, laurence of dun, with all his rout, the people freest with them did pull. john clarvis then was 'nexed near, with stapleton of stomach stern; next whom fitz-williams forth did fare, who martial feats was not to learn. these captains keen, with all their might, in right-hand wing did warlike wend: all these on edmond howard, knight, the earl ordained to attend. then next the left-hand wing did wield sir marmaduke constable old, with him a troop well tried in field, and eke his sons and kinsfolk bold. next him sir william percy stood, who went with the earl piercy's power, from lancashire of lusty blood, a thousand soldiers stiff in stour. 105 then the earl himself did undertake of the rearward the regiment; whom barons bold did bravely back, and southern soldiers seemly bent. next whom in place was 'nexed near lord scroop of bolton stern and stout, on horseback, who had not his peer, no english man, scots more did doubt. with him did wend all wensledale from morton unto morsdale-moor: all they that dwelt by the banks of swale, with him were bent in harness-store. from wensdale warlike wights did wend, from bishopsdale went bowmen bold; from coverdale to cotter end, and all to kidson causeway cold. from mollerstang and middleham and all from mask and middletonby, and that climb the mountain cam, whose crown from frost is seldom free. with lusty lads and large of length, which dwelt on seimer water-side; all richmondshire its total strength, the valiant scroope did lead and guide. o 106 next went sir philip tilney tall, with him sir thomas barclay brave; sir john ratcliff in arms royal, with sir william gascoyne grave. next whom did pass, with all his rout, sir christopher pickering proud; sir bryan stapleton, most stout, two valiant knights of noble blood. next with sir john stanley there came the bishop of ely's servant bold; sir lionel piercy, knight of fame, did lead some hundred men well told. next went sir ninian markanville, in armour coat of cunning work; the next went sir john normanville, with him the citizens of york. sir george darcy in banner bright, did bear a bloody broken spear; next went sir magnus with his might, and clapham bold of lusty chear. sir guy dawney, with glorious rout, then mr dalby's servants bold; then richard tempest with his rout, in rereward thus array did hold. 107 the right-hand wing, with all his rout, the lusty lord dacres did lead; with him the bows of kendal stout, with milk-white coats and crosses red. all keswick eke, and cockermouth, and all the capeland craggy hills; all westmoreland, both north and south, whose weapons were great weighty bills. all carlisle eke and cumberland, with the lord dacres proud did pass, from branton and from broughly sands, from grayston and from ravenglass. with striplings stout from stainmoor side, and austen-moor, men marched even; and those that gilsland grave did hide, with horsemen light from heshan-leven. all these did go in dacres' band, all these ensued his banner broad; no lustier lord was in this land, nor more might boast of birth and blood. many strong horses, huge of height, were all his own to give or sell, a baron fair by his birthright, and heritage, which to him fell. 0 2 108 " these royal lords thus ray did hold, with ranges, ranks, and warlike wings, but yet the man is left untold, from whom true valour fairly springs. whose worthy praise and prowess great, whose glorious fame shall never blin; nor neptune ever shall forget, what praise he hath left to his king. sir edward stanley, stiff in stour, he is the man on whom i mean; with him did pass a mighty power of soldiers seemly to be seen. most lively lads in lonsdale bred, with weapons of unwieldy weight; all such as tatham fells had fed, went under stanley's streamer bright. * from bolland bill-men bold came on, with such as botton banks did hide; from wharmore up to whittington, and all to wenning water-side. from silverdale and kent sand-side, where soil is sown with cockle-shells; from cartmel eke and conney-side, and fellows fierce from furney's fells. 109 all lancashire, for the most part, the lusty stanley stout did lead, a stock of striplings strong of heart, brought up from babes with beef and bread. from warton unto warrington, from wiggan unto wiresdale, from wedicar to waddington,. from ribchester unto ratchdale. from poulton and preston, with pikes, they with the valiant stanley went, from pemerton and pilling-dikes, for battle bill-men bold were bent. 1 with fellows fresh, and fierce in fight, which horton-fields did turn in furs, with lusty lads hearty and light, from blackbourn and bolton in the moors. with youth elected from cheshire, in armour bright for battle drest; and many a gentleman and squire, were under stanley's streamer prest. thus stanley stout, the last of all of the rereward, the rule did wield; which done to bolton in glendale, the total army took the field. 110 where all the counsel did consent, that rouge croix to the scottish king with strict instructions should be sent, to know for why these wars did spring. fit. vi. whereas the castle too of ford he threatened had to overthrow; rouge croix was charged word for word, the earl's intent to let him know. that if the king would so agree, to suffer that said fort to stand, and william heron send home free, who there was captive in scotland; if thus the king would condescend, the earl promised to restore, and to the king immediate send, of scotsmen taken captives four. lord johnston and sir sandy hume, richard hume and william carr: but if king james would yet presume in wrongful sort to raise up war; 111 against king henry his brother-in-law, and commons cruelly would kill, and piles and forts would fierce down draw, and english blood proceed to spill. the earl charged the herald strait, to certify the said scots king, that he in field with him would fight, on friday then next following. and then ere rouge croix forth did fare, the admiral took him aside, and bade him to the king declare, his coming and access that tide. that he from sea descended was with all his total power and might, and that in forward with his grace, he would prepare himself to fight. " and when the scots for him did call in days of march to make redress, for andrew barton their admiral, whom he with bloody blade did bless. now he was come in person prest the said sir andrew's death to vouch; and if it in his power doth rest, quoth he, i shall serve him with such. 112 for there no scot shall 'scape unslain, the king in person sole except; for so of scots, quoth he again, no other mercy i expect. and yet ere rouge croix went his way the earl and counsel did expect, that the scots king, without delay, an herald would again direct. rouge croix was yet commanded there no scotchman near the field to bring, lest he their conduct might declare, and thereby dangers great might spring. then rouge croix ready took his horse, bedeckt with coat of arms most brave, with him did go a trumpet hoarse, that scots their coming might perceive. their geldings were both good and light, from galloping they seldom staid, till at the length they viewed in sight, whereas their enemies army laid. the scottish watch soon them descried, and them conveyed before the king, where he with barons bold did bide, whom rouge croix, on the ground kneeling, 113 with salutations did greet. he after, his instructions straight, each one exprest, in order meet, and letters livered in their sight. whom, when the king of scots had heard, and also read his letters large, even frantic-like he fuming fared, and bombard-like did boasts discharge. if true, quoth he, let it be exprest, thou herald sent anon recite: and was your earl so bold of breast, thus proudly to a prince to write? but since he seems to be so rough, i swear by sceptre and by crown, he shall have fighting fill enough, on friday, before sun go down. for here to god i promise plight, we never will part, from this same hill, till we have tried your earl's whole might, and given your folks fighting their fill. because he vexed our land of late perchance his stomach is extolled, but now we will withstand his grace, or thousand heads there shall be polled. 114 to presence then he called his peers, to whom he read the earl's whole bill; audience being given, with ireful ears, some said it came of little skill. an earl of such a simple shire, to anointed king such words to write! some bad the schedule cast in fire, some for to speak did spare for spite. some said the herald of his head, such talk extempore did express, and counselled that they with speed, a scottish herald should address, to know of the earl of surrey plain, if he such message did procure; and till the time he turned again, the english herald to make sure. whereto the king did soon consent, that rouge croix should with them remain, and home with the english trumpet sent, their herald ilay called by name. who was commanded for to know of the earl and his council sage, if rouge croix truth to him did show, or if he had sent such message? 115 and if true tidings he had brought, and to his grace avouched no lie: the king in mind anon forethought, how he the earl might terrify. he ilay then instructed strait, with letters large and eloquent; which done, they soon set forth that night, and towards the english camp they went. but at a little village poor ilay did light, and lodging take; the army was two miles off or more, whilst clanging trumpets noise did make. the night was even at midst well near, and the english lords lying on grass, till time the trumpet did appear; and told earl surrey all the case, how that the scotchmen did detain rouge croix, and credit him would not, and for to know the truth more plain, the king himself had sent a scot. which he constrained for to stay, and lodged then in a village mean, lest he their order might display, and so the scots advantage gain.p 2 116 which when the earl had understood, and viewed the scotchmen's dealings all, he in a sound and sober mood, upon his council strait did call. where he in presence did repeat the total tale the trumpet told, the counsel mused with inarvel great, why scots their herald did with-hold. and causes none they could conject, but all surmises were deferred; and sage advice was then defect, till they the scottish herald heard. wherefore as soon as phoebus fair dame luna's light and stars did stain, and burning in the fiery chair, his startling steeds haled forth amain. the earl then called his council sage, who soon on horseback did surround; and every man did bring his page, to hold their horses in that stound. but when they stept within the street, the scot was scarce from cabbage got, where he the english earl did greet, with little courtesy, like a scot. 117 which done, the earl did then command his message he should manifest, then ilay quickly out of hand, his chiefest charge anon exprest. my sovereign lord, quoth he, king james, would of your honour gladly hear, if rouge croix was charged in your name, such bold words to his grace to bear. my master doth mistrust his words, they cannot well be understood; likewise do all our peerless lords, then soon he told what rouge croix said. quoth the earl, what does thy master mean of herald ours to make such dread, he did not forge the same, nor feign, nor do we any favour need. our herald's words, we will justify, who truly did the same reveal; his writings too the same will try, which of our arms do bear the seal. wherefore i of thy master muse, our herald why he handleth so, and 'gainst all reason doth refuse, our message to make answer to 118 then ilay to the earl replied, i say, quoth he, so said my lord, and to your message at this tide, i shall make answer word for word. and for ford-castle first of all, which to preserve you make such suit; to save the same from fire or fall, my master thereto biddeth mute. and for the owner of the fort, who william heron hath to name, my master says, to show you short, he will not answer to the same. for johnston and sir sandy hume, richard hume and william carr, our prince himself in person is come, them to redeem by dint of war. if you your message dare make good, on friday next in field to fight, my master with a manful mood, to mighty jove hath promised plight,.. for to abide the battle bold, and give your folks fighting their fill, and that your lordship show i should, so grateful be his grace until. ". 119 as any earl all england thorough, for if you had such message sent, to him at home in edinborough, he would have answered your intent. now if with dint of sword you dare, abide his grace in battle bold, on friday next, he craves no far, my message whole now i have told. a thousand thanks, earl surrey there, unto the royal king did yield, whose princely heart did not forbear, so simple a lord to meet in field. and then a valiant vow he plight, that he the battle bold would bide, and on prefixed day would fight. which done he did command that tide, the scottish herald ilay kept, should for a season there sojourn, and in safe custody be kept, till time that rouge croix did return. when this the herald flay heard, he to the king his servant sent, who to his grace all things declared, with the earl's answer and intent. 120 the king then rouge croix did discharge, who hied home to the earl in haste, then ilay was let go at large, when rouge croix came, who was kept fast. then rouge croix did make true report to the earl and captains in like case, as he had seen and in what sort, the scottish king encamped was. even on the height of floddon-hill, where down below his ordnance lay, so strong that no man's cunning skill to fight with him could find a way. such mountains steep, such craggy hills, his army on one side did not lose, the other side, great grizzly gills, did fence about with mire and moss. which, when the earl had understood, he council craved of his captains all, who bad set forth with manful mood, and take such fortune as would fall. whereto the earl did soon consent, and quickly called for a guide, lest by the way he harm might hent, but hark, what happened that tide. 121 the army pressed thus to proceed, and all prepared in ranks to fight, came on a champion then indeed, with sword in hand, in armour bright. at first his face his helmet hid, thus plainly have i heard report, who swiftly by the ranks did ride, and to the earl did strait resort. the army marvelled at this man, to see him ride in such array, but what he was, or whence he came, none of them all could certain say. when he the earl of surrey saw, from off his steed, he leaped there, and kneeling, gracefully did bow, holding his horse and quivering spear. in little time he silence brake, my lord, quoth he, afford some grace; pardon my life for pity's sake, for now you are in king henry's place. mercy, my lord, from you i crave, freely forgive me mine offence: perhaps you shortly may perceive, your kindness i shall recompence. £ 122 quoth the earl then, tell us thy name: perhaps you have done some heinous deed, and dare not shew thy face for shame, what is thy fact, declare with speed. if thou hast wrought some treason, tell, or english blood by murder spilt, or hast thou been some rude rebell, else we will pardon thee thy guilt. then to the earl he did reply, my lord, my crime it is not such; the total world i do defy, no man for treason can me touch. i grant indeed i wrong have wrought, yet disobedience was the worst; else i am clear from deed or thought, and to extreams i have been forced. and as for hurting english men, i never hurt man, maid, or wife, howbeit, scots some nine or ten, at least i have bereaved of life. else i in time of wealth and want, unto my king persisted true, wherefore, good lord, my life now grant, and then my name i will shortly shew. 123 quoth the earl then, pluck up thy heart, you seem to be a person brave; stand up at once, lay dread apart, thy pardon freely thou shalt have. thou seemest to be a man indeed, and of thy hands hardy and wight, of such a man we will stand in need, perchance at friday next at night. then on his feet he started strait, and thanked the earl for that good tide, then on his horse he leaped light, saying, my lord, ye lack a guide. but i shall you conduct full strait to where the scots encamped are; i know of old the scottish fleight, and crafty stratagems of war. thereto experience hath me taught, now i will shew you who i am; on borders here i was up brought, and bastard heron is my name. what, quoth the earl, bastard heron, he dyed at least now two years since, betwixt newark and northampton, he perished through the pestilence. q 2 124 our king to death had deemed the man, cause he the scottish warden slew, and on our borders first began those raging wars for to renew. but god his purpose did prevent, he died of the plague, to prove, king henry his death did since lament, he wondrous well the man did love. would god thy tale were true this tide, thou bastard heron might be found, thou in this gate should be our guide, i know right well you know the ground. i am the same, said he again, and therewith did unfold his face: each person then perceived him plain, that done, he opened all the case. quoth he, when i the scots warden had with my blade bereaved of life, i knew well i should get no pardon, but sure i was to suffer death. in haste king henry for me sent, to whom i durst not disobey: so towards london strait i went, but, hark, what i wrought by the way. 125 i nothing but the truth shall note: that time in many a town and borough, the pestilence was raging hot, and raging, reigned all england thorough, so coming to a certain town, i said i was infected sore; and in a lodge they laid me down, where company i had no more; but my own secret servants three, who, fraid of townsmen, careful watched; so in that stead no more staid i, but homeward by the dark dispatched. my servants secretly that night, did frame a corps in cunning sort; and on the morning, soon as light, my death did ruefully report. and so my servants on that morn the corps to bury soon were bound; crying, alas! like men forlorn, and seemed for sorrow to fall down. the corps they cunningly conveyed, and made the bell aloud be rung; and money to the priest they paid, and service for my soul was sung. 126 which done, they tidings strait did bring unto king henry, i was dead; christ have his soul, then said the king, for sure he should have lost his head. if he up to the court had come, i promised had so, by st. paul, but since god did prevent our doom, almighty christ forgive his saul. to mansion mine, i came at last, by journeys nimbly, all by night; and now two years or more are past since openly i came in sight. no wight did know but i was dead save my three servants and my wife; now am i start up in this stead, and come again from death to life. so said, the lords and knights of fame, from laughing loud could not refrain; to hear his gando, had good game, and of his welfare all were fain. whose policy they had perceived, and oftentimes his truth had tried, which was the cause so sore they craved, this heron grave to be their guide. 127 read the fourth part, it makes an end of heron's story, and the fight. let young and old to this attend, it will give instruction with delight. part iv. fit. vii. then forth before brave heron flew, the borderers bold to him did draw, the total army did ensue, and came that night to wooler-haugh. the english lords there lodged their host because the place was plain and dry; and was within six miles at most, whereas their enemies did lie. the morrow next they were removed, though weather was both foul and ill, along down by a pleasant flood, which called is, the water of till. and all that day they viewed in sight, whereas the scots for battle stood, because the day was spent, that night the army lodged at barmoor wood. 128 then valiantly, with the vanguard, the morrow next, with mature skill, the admiral did march forward, and passed over the water of till. at twizle bridge, with ordnance, and other engines, fit for war, his father eke did forth advance, and at millfield from thence not far, with the rereward, the river past, all ready in ranks and battle-array, they had no need more time to waste, for victuals they had none that day. but black fasting as they were born, from flesh or fish, or other food; drink had they none two days before, but water won in running flood. yet they such stedful faiths did bear unto their king and native land; each one to other then did swear, gainst foes to fight while they could stand, and never flee, while life did last, but rather die by dint of sword: thus over plains and hills they past, until they came to sandyford; 129 a brook, of breadth a taylor's yard, where the earl of surrey thus did say, good fellow soldiers be not afraid, but fight it out like men this day. like english men now play your parts, bestow your strokes with stomach bold, ye know the scottish toward hearts, and how we have scourged them of old. strike but three strokes with stomach stout, and shoot each man sharp arrows three, you shall see without all doubt, the scolding scots begin to flee. and think on your country's commonwealth, in what estate the same shall stand, to englishmen no hopes of health, if scotsmen gain the upper hand. if we should not them boldly bide, but, cowards-like, from them should turn; all england north, from trent to tweed, the haughty scots would harry and burn. your faithful wives, and daughters pure, they would not stick for to defile; of life none could be safe and sure, but murdered be by villains vile. r 130 but if you will fight like souls most fierce, so that by force we win the field, my tongue cannot tell and rehearse what plenteous soil we then shall wield. besides all that, perpetual praise throughout all ages we shall gain, and quietly pass out our days; and in a lasting peace remain. agreed; the soldiers then replied, and to the earl they promised plight, there on that bent boldly to bide, and never flee, but fiercely fight. then marched forth the men of war, and every band their banners shewed and trumpets hoarse were heard afar, and harness glittering was viewed. thus they past forth along the plain, and strait forth by a valley low; whence up above, on the mountain, the scotch army they clearly saw. which they did leave on the left hand, and past forth on the surrey side, till twixt the scots and scottish land, they were conducted by their guide. 131 now all this while the king of scots beheld them fair before his eyne, within his mind drove many doubts, musing what the english did mean. giles musgrave, then, a gainful greek, and friend familiar with the king, said, now, sir king, if you do seek, to know the english men's meaning. you better notice cannot have, than that which i to you shall tell, what they forecast, i full conceive, i know their meaning passing well. your marches they mean for to sack, and borders yours to harry and burn, wherefore its best that we go back, from such intent them for to turn. this musgrave was a man of skill, and spake this for a policy, to cause the king come down the hill, that so the battle tried might be. the king gave credit to his words, trusting his talk was void of train, he with consent of all his lords, did march with speed down to the plain. r 2 132 by north there was another hill, which branxton-hill is called by name, the scots there scoured with right good will, lest the english men should get the same. the litter which they left behind, and other filth on fire they set, whose dusty smoak the light did blind, that both the armies soon they met. for when the weather waxed clear and smoak consumed within a while, the armies both in distance were, not past a quarter of a mile. then the admiral did plain aspect the scots arrayed in battles four, the man was sage and circumspect, and soon perceived that his power so great a strength could not gainstand, wherefore he to his father sent, desiring him strait out of hand, with the rereward ready to be bent, and join with him in equal ground: whereto the earl agreed anon, then drums struck up with dreadful sound, and trumpets blew with doleful tune. 133 then sounding bows were soon up bent, some did their arrows sharp up take, some did in hand their halbards hent, some rusty bills did ruffling shake. fit. viii. then ordnance great anon out-brast, on either side with thundering thumps, and roaring guns with fire fast, then levelled out great leaden lumps. with rumbling rage thus vulcan's art, began this fierce and dreadful fight, but the arch-gunner on the english part, the master scot did mark so right, that he with bullet brust his brain, and hurled his heels his head above, then piped he such a peal again, the scots he from their ordnance drove. so by the scots artillery, the english men no harm did hend; but the english gunner grievously, them tennis-balls did sousing send. 134 into the midst of the enemies ranks, where they in furious rage down rushed, some shouting laid with broken shanks, some crying laid with members crushed.. thus englismen with bombard shot, their enemies down thick they threw; but yet the scots, with stomachs stout, their broken ranks did still renew. and when the roaring guns did cease to handy strokes they hied apace; and with their total power did press, to join with enemies face to face. then englishmen, a feathered flight sent out anon from sounding bow, which wounded many a warlike wight; and many a groom to ground did throw. the gray-goose wings did work such grief, and did the scots so scour and skail; for in their battle, to be brief, they rattling flew as rank as hail. that many a soldier on the soil, lay dead that day through dint of dart, the arrows keen kept such a coil, and wounded many to the heart. 135 they pierced the scalp of many a scot, so that on ground they groaning fell, some had his shoulder quite through shot, some losing life did loudly yell. one from his leg the lance would pull, another through his stomach stricked; some bleeding, bellowed like a bull, some were through privy members pricked. but yet the scots still stout did stand, till arrow-shot at last was done, and then they went to strokes of hand, and at the last did battle join. then on the english part with speed, the bills stept forth, and bows went back, the moorish pikes, and mells of lead, did deal there many a dreadful thwack. the englishmen stretcht east and west, and southward did their faces set; the scotchmen northward proudly prest, and manfully their foes they met. first, westward of a wing there was sir edmund howard, captain chief, with whom did pass, in equal mace, sir brian tunstall, to be brief. 136 with whom encountered a strong scot, who was the king's chief chamberlain, lord hume by name, of courage hot, who manfully marched them again. ten thousand scots, well tried and told, under his standard stout he led; when the englishmen did them behold, for fear at first they would have fled, had not the valiant tunstall been, who still stept on with stomach stout, crying, come on, good countrymen, now fiercely let us fight it out. let not the number of our foes, your manful hearts minish or shake; nor ever let the world suppose, that scotchmen made us turn our back. like doughty lads, let us rather die, and from our blood take all rebuke: with edged tools now let us try; then from the ground he mould up took, and did the same in mouth receive in token of his maker dear; which, when his people did perceive, his valiant heart renewed their chear. 137 then first before, in foremost ray, the trusty tunstall bold forth sprung; his stomach could no longer stay, but thundering thrust into the throng. and as true men did make report in present place which did on look, he was the first, for to be short, on the english part, that proffered stroke. all those that he with halbert wrought, he made to stagger in that stound; and many a man to ground he brought, and dealt there many a deadly wound. and forward still gainst foes he flew, and threshing turned them all to teen; where he a noble scotchman slew, who called was sir malkin keene. he still his foes pursued fast, and weapon in scotch blood he warmed, and slaughter lashed, till at the last the scots so thick about him swarmed, that he from succour covered was, and from his men which scots had skailed, yet for all that he kept his place, he fiercely fought and never failed. $ 138 till with an edged sword one came, and at his legs below did dash; and near a score of scots, the same, upon his helmet high did clash. though he could not withstand such strength, yet never would he flee nor yield, alas! for want of aid, at length, he slain was fighting in the field. down fell this valiant active knight, his body great, on ground did lie; but up to heaven, with angels bright, his golden ghost did fluttering fly. who, now, entombed, lies at a church, carved out in stone to shew his fate, that though, by fate, left in the lurch, he died a death renowned and great. after his fall the people fled, and all that wing did fall to wrack, some fighting fierce died in the stead, the rest for terror turned their back. save sir edmund howard all alone, who with his standard-bearer yet, seeing his folks all fled and gone; in haste to vanguard hyed to get. 139 but he scot-free had not so scaped, for why, right hot sir david hume, with troop of horse had him entrapped, had not john bastard heron come with half a score of horsemen light, crying, now howard, have good heart for unto death till we be dight, i promise here to take thy part. which heard then howard's heart up drew and with the spearmen forth he sprung, and fierce amongst their foes they flew, where david hume down dead they flung. then many a scot that stout did stand, with dreadful stroke they did reward; so howard, through bold heron's hand, came safe and sound to the vanguard. where the admiral, with strength extent, then in the field fierce fighting was, gainst whom in battle bold was bent, two scotch earls of an ancient race. one crawford called, the other montross, who led twelve thousand scotchmen strong, who manfully met with their foes, with leaden mells and lances long. s 2 140 their battering blows made solid sound, there many a sturdy stroke was given; and many a baron brought to ground, and many a banner broad was riven. but yet, in fine, through mighty force the admiral quit himself so well, and wrought so, that the scots had worst, for down in field both earls they fell. now the earl surrey next by east, most fiercely gainst his foes he fought; gainst whom king james, in battle prest, with banners blazed, his battle brought. under which was many a baron bold, and many a lord of lusty blood; and trusty knights well tried and told; with mitred prelates passing proud, with the earl of caithness and cassel, the earl of morton and of mar; with errol, addell, and atholl, with bothwell bold, and of glencarr. lord lovett led a lusty power, so clustone, inderby, and ross; lord maxwell, with his brethren four, lord borthwick, bargeny, and forbes. 141 lord erskine, sinclair, and sempel, with them well tried a mighty sum; all with the king came down the hill, with cawell, kay, and caddy hume. with captains great and commons stout, bove twenty thousand men at least, all with the king most fierce on foot, against their foes themselves addrest. now the earl of surrey on the english side encouraged his soldiers keen, crying, good fellows, strike this tide, let now your valiant acts be seen. then spears and pikes to work were put, and blows with cutting axes dealt. then towering helmets through were cut, that some their wounds scarce ever felt. on one side death triumphant reigned and stopt their pains as well as groans; of those who piercing wounds had gained, the hills did echo with the moans. then on the scottish part right proud the earl of bothwell did out-burst, and stepping forth with stomach good; unto the english fierce did thrust. 142 and bothwell, bothwell, cried bold, to cause his soldiers to ensue; but there he catched a welcome cold; a valiant englishman him slew. thus herbert, through his haughty heart his fatal end in conflict found; now all this while, on either part, was dealt full many a deadly wound. on either side were soldiers slain and stricken down with strength of hand, that who should win, none could say plain, the victory in doubt did stand. fit. ix. but at the last great stanley stout, came marching up the mountain steep;. his folks could hardly fast their feet, forced on hands and knees to creep. some from the leg the boot would draw, that loose it might take the better hold, some from the foot the shoe would thraw; thus of true men i have been told. 143 the sweat down from their bodies ran, and hearts did hop in panting breast, until the mountain-top they wan, in warlike-wise ere scotsmen wist. where for a while brave stanley staid, until his folks had taken breath; to whom at last even thus he said, most hardy mates, down from this heath, against our foes fast let us hye, our valiant countrymen to aid; with fighting fierce, much fear have i, lest that they should be overlaid. my lancashire most lively wights, and chosen men from cheshire strong; with sounding bow your feathered flights let fiercely fly your foes among. march down from this high mountain-top, and brunt of battle let us bide with stomach stout, let us make no stop, stanley will be to you a guide. a scourge for scots my father was, he berwick town from them did gain; no doubt but ere this day shall pass, his son like fortune shall obtain. 144 1 and now the earl of surrey sore the scots i see besets this tide; but since with foes he fights before, we will suddenly set on the side. the noise then made the mountains ring, and stanley stout they all did cry: out went anon the grey-goose wing, and amongst the scots did fluttering fly. and though the scots at stanley's name were stonished sore, yet stout they stood; and for defence did fiercely frame, a narrow dint of dangerous bode. lord borthwick, bargeny, and forbes, with them ten thousand scotsmen strong; endured death through danger's force, alas! for them, they staid too long. which when lord stanley stout did see, into the throng, he thundering thrust; my lancashire brave lads, quoth he, down with the scots this day we must. then foes he forced to break their ray, and many a life was lost that while, no voice was heard but kill and slay, down goes the scots earl of argyle. 145 the earl of lenox, luck had like, he slain was fighting fierce that tide: lord forbes, bargeny, and borthwick, upon that bent did breathless bide. and so the earl of huntley's hap had been resembled to the rest, but that through skill he made escape, with an english blade he had been blest. for having near a horse at hand, on him he scouring scaped away, else doubtless, as the case did stand, on floddon hill he had died that day. after these lords were dead or fled, and companies left captainless; their soldiers then did fly with speed: with souls of horror and distress. whom stanley, with his total strength swiftly pursues unto the plain, where, on the king he light at length; who fighting was with all his main. when his approach the king perceived, with stomach stout he him withstood; his scots right bravely then behaved, and battle boldly there abode. t 146 then showers of arrows fierce were shot, which did each side so pierce and gaul, that ere they came to handy strokes, great numbers on the ground did fall. the king himself was wounded sore, an arrow in his forehead light, that he could scarce fight any more, the blood so blemished his sight. fight on, my men, the king then said, yet fortune she may turn the scale, and for my wounds be not dismayed, nor ever let your courage fail. thus dying, did he brave appear, till shades of death did close his eyes. till then he did his soldiers chear, and raise their courage to the skies. but what availed his valour great or bold device, it was all in vain: his captains keen failed at his feet, and standard-bearer too was slain. the archbishop of st andrews brave, king james his son in base begot, that doleful day did death receive, with many a lusty lord-like scot. 147 lord erskine, sinclair, and sempel, morton and fair for all their power, the earl of erroll and atholl, lord maxwell, with his brethren four. and last of all, amongst the lave, king james himself to death gave way, yet by whose hands none could perceive, but stanley still most like was he. after the king and captains slain, the commons strait did fall to ground; the englishmen pursued amain, and never ceased till sun went down. / then the earl surrey caused to sound a trumpet to retreat anon; and captains caused to keep their ground, till morrow next while night was gone. and the english soldiers all that night, although they weary were with toil; of scotsmen costly slain in fight, of jewels rich spared not to spoil. the carcase of the king himself naked was left as it was found, the earl could not know it right,. searching the same upon the ground. t 2 148 till the lord dacres, at the last, by certain signs did know the king; his corps into a cart being placed they to newcastle did it bring. twelve thousand scots it seems were slain, of english but five thousand fell; but fifteen hundred, others plain; as words can make it, to us tell. great store of guns were likewise taken, amongst the rest seven culverines; seven sisters called, which do remain, to be talked of to latest times. king james's body was embalmed, sweet, like a king, and then was sent to shene in surrey, where entombed, some say there is now a monument. but bryan tunstall, that brave knight, a never-dying honour gains. and will, as long as day and night, or as this little book remains. thus have you heard of floddon-fight, worthy of each to be commended; because that then old england's right was bravely by her sons defended. notes on the battle of floddon. n denotes words which are now ſpoken in the north. page 51. fit fignifies diviſion or part. 5. great howard. thomas howard, earl of surry, was knighted for his remarkable courage at the battle of barnet. he was made knight of the garter 1 rich. iii. he was taken prifoner in the battle of bofworth, committed to the tower by hen. vii. and attainted by parliament. k henry aſked him how he durft bear arms on behalf of that tyrant richard; to which he anſwered, "he was my crowned king, and if the parliamentary authority of england ſet the crown upon a flock, i will fight for that ſtock, and as i fought then for him, i will fight for you, when you are eſtablished by the fame authority”.a. 1514, the earl was created duke of norfolk.he died 1524. 54. mack, match. macklefs, matchlefs, n. latham houſe, near ormſkirk, in lancaſhire, is famous for ſuſtaining a fiege of two years againſt the parliamentary army, being moſt gallantly defended by charlotte, countess of derby, who maintained the place till prince rupert came with the king's forces, and compelled the enemy to raiſe the ſiege, a. 1644. --150 page 57. your warden. sir robert carr was made by james iv. his chief butler, engineer, and warden of the middle marches, and was much efteemed for his virtuous qualities. at a folemn meeting between the english and scotch, altercations arofe, when three defperate engliſhmen, john heron, the baſtard, lilburn, and starhed fell upon him; one of whom ſtabbed him with a ſpear in the back, and the other two diſpatched him. 59. millners. millers. bodword. an ominous meffage. a half moon, &c. the filver crefcent is the badge of the percys. 60. lave. the reft. n. --bull. dunn bulls were the fupporters of the arms of nevil, earl of weftmorlanda. 1414, the earl was warden of the marches, and was faid to have been a man of great gravity, wiſdom and experience. he died in 1425, and was buried in the cathedral church of durham, on its fouth fide. his monument and that of his fon john, the fecond earl of weftmorland, near to it, were defaced by the scots, of whom 4500, after the battle of dunbar, were imprifoned in the cathedral. 61. habergeon. the diminutive of haubert, (french) a little coat of mail. 63. gifarings. halberts. derived from the french, guifarme, a kind of long handled and long headed weapon. 64. loons. rafcals. 65. gascoigne sir w. gascoigne, chief juſtice of the king's bench, committed the prince of wales, af. terwards henry v. to priſon, for inſulting, and, as it 151 fage 65. road; i. e. inroad. 71. portals perhaps mean portcullices. 72. buſked, dreffed. -n. lave. the reft; croud. n. william, archbiſhop of st. andrew's, was natural fon of james iv. by margaret, daughter of archibald boyd of bonfhaw, and born 1495. he was well educated by his father, who fent him abroad, attended with a travelling governour. vide. epiſt. jac iv. is faid, ftriking him on the bench. shakeſpeare, 2d part of henry iv. he died, december 17. 1413, and lies buried in harwood church, yorkſhire, where his monument is ftill to be ſeen. 73. shored croſs, i. e. propped. trimon of quhytehorn, read ninian of quhytehorn, many pilgrims reſorted on the 16th september to the fepulchre of st. ninian in the church of whithorn. duffin demigod, &c read duthack, demigod of roſs. he was a biſhop and confeffor, and lived at tayne in rofsfhire. in the old breviary of aberdeen, there is an office and legend of this ſaint, which enumerates the miracles wrought by him. abbots. william bunch, abbot of kilwinning. lawrence oliphant, abbot of incheffray. · beagle rods, ſhould be bugle rods, the crofiers or paſtoral ſtaves of biſhops. 75. where piles. in lancaſhire is an old fort, called the pite of fouldery. peels as it is called in scot. land, is a ſmall caſtle, baſtillon, or baſtle. fair matrons it is apparent from hiſtory that the wars between the engliſh, and scotch were carried on with equal cruelty on both ſides. 152 page 76. norham caftle. a. d. 1121, ralph flamberg, bifhop of durham, built norham-caftle on the top of a ſteep rock, and moated it round he finished alfo the prefent cathedral chaurch of durham, which was begun by his predeceffor, william de sancto carilepho, a rc8o, who died a. 1997. flamberg alfo built framwellgate bridge in durham. he died in 1128. the keep or tower of norham was deatroyed by the scots, and afterwards rebuilt by hugh pudſey, by the command of his coufin, king stephen. he died a. 1195 77. o king. the king by the advice of this traitor defcended from ladykirk bank into the flat ground, near the tweed, now called the gin-haugh, whence, with his cannon, he threw down the north-eaft corner of the caſtle wall, a large fragment of which now lies by the fide of the river. bishop tunſtall, in queen elizabeth's time, rebuilt the wall; this is now very diſtinguiſhable from the old work. 79. fee wages. n. the traitor. a field near the caſtle, in which this traitor was hanged, is now called the hangman's land. it was fated to this invincible caſtle, that the betrayer of it ſhould periſh, and likewiſe the enemy, by whom this traitor was executed. there is a tradition here, that the king was told where the caſtlewall was weakeſt, by a letter fixed to an arrow, fhot over the tweed, into his camp. 80. st cuthbert, according to he monkish writers, was born of royal blood in ireland; but others ſay, probably with more truth, in the north of england. he was nominated the fixth biſhop of holy iſland, by king egbert, and died at the farne lfland, a. 686. 153 st. cuthbert was depofited at norham. whether he diſliked his damp fituation, or began to fear ano. ther vifit from his old foes, the danes, is not at prefent known; but after having lain there fome time, near a well, which now bears his name, he ordered his monks to carry him twenty miles up the tweed, to melroſs, in scotland. he quarrelled with this place alfo; upon which, by his directions, they put him in a ſtone boat, in which he failed down the tweed, to tilmouth, where he landed. we cannot find how long he abode there. he was afterwards removed into yorkſhire, then to cheſter, and thence to durham, where he remains. not many years fince a farmer of cornhill covet. ed the faint's ſtone boat, in order to keep pickled beef in it. before this profane loon could convey it away, the faint came in the night-time, and broke it in pieces. page 83. tide; i, e. time. soon after the battle of nevil's crofs, a. 1346, john foffer, prior of durham made a new banner, and confecrated it to st. cuthbert. the banners of st. cuthbert, king james, and many scotch noblemen were brought from floddon, and ſet up in the feretory of st. cuthbert, in the cathedral of durham, in which they remained till the abbey was fuppreffed by king henry, when it, together with the exceedingly rich ſhrine of the faint, was plundered of its furniture, gold and jewels. thus shrovetide. the lothian knight. john barton, when with his brothers, robert and andrew, received letters of mark from james iv. in order to revenge the death u 154 of their father, captain john, who was killed by the portugueſe, in the reign of james iii. page 83. fleet of france. sir edward howard, a. 1513, admiral of a fleet of forty-two men of war, was the "firft that boarded the french admiral's fhip in conqueft harbour, near breft. he, being unknown, was pushed over-board with a ſpear, and drowned. 89. guerdon. french. a reward. 92. blin, ceaſe. n. 94. stint, ſtop. n. lord talbot. the fword of john talbot, earl of shrewſbury, was found on the river of dordon, and fold by a peaſant to an armourer of bordeaux. it had the following infcription: sum talboti 1443. pro vincere inimico meo. richard iii. was killed a. 1485. he had for his device, a white boar. 95. dint. stroke, impreffion. n. dight. dreffed, prepared. *n. 96. malcolm iii. was killed, together with his ſon, at a place called malcolm's well, near alnwick, about 1092. king david. many nobles of scotland, and 15,000 men were flain in this battle of 1346, in the time of edward iii. part of 'nevil's crofs, erected upon this occafion, is now ſtanding. the earl, &c. in this battle, fought a. 1402, were flain twenty-ſeven scotch knights, and 10,000 men. murdacke, earl of fife, fon to robert, duke of albany, governor of scotland, archibald, earl of douglas, thomas, earl of murray, george, earl of angus. and ſeveral other nobles were taken priſoners, in a valley near hamildon, by henry, lord percy, fon ----155 to the earl of northumberland, and george of dunbar, earl of march. page 99. henry lord clifford, of clifford, was remarkably preferved from the fury of the duke of york, who would have killed him, on account of the cruelties which his father had committed. he was concealed and brought up as a fhepherd in the mountains of cumberland, for twenty-four years, having never learnt to read or write. 100. stour. duſt in motion, metaphorically, battle. n. ioi. sir thomas mettham, sir william sidney, sir john everingham. 102. sir brian tunftal of thurland caſtle, in lancaſhire, father of cuthbert, biſhop of durham, and the laſt bishop who treated with the scots upon the borders. there are defcendants feated at wycliff, near the river tees. 103. thalian, ſuppoſed to be uſed for theffalian. martin swart. a german colonel, under the command of john, earl of lincoln, defeated by henry vii. at stoke, near newark, 105. wend. to go. obſolete. the paſt time, went, is only now in uſe. 108. blin. ceafe. iii. blefs. wound; from bleffer, french. 119. ilay kept. should be clept; i. c. called from the obfolete verb, clepe.. 120. gills. narrow vallies. n. hent. catch. 123 wight. nimble, active, ſtout. this ſtory of baftard heron is not to be found in the engliſh hiſtory. see note, pa. 57. 124. deemed. judged. from the saxon deman. u 2 156 page 124. gate. way. n. king henry viii. 126. doom. judicial fentence. gando. the text may be here erroneous. perhaps the poet wrote gano, a spaniſh word, uſed at the game of ombre. or our author may allude to a ball, with which the lapland wizards divert themſelves, called by them gand, here lengthened to gando. } 128. black-faſting. a n. c. phrafc. sandyford. a rivulet near crookham, in the pariſh of ford. 129. harry. plunder. n. 130. bent. field. a long kind of grafs, which grows in northumberland, near the fea, and is uſed for thatch, is called bent. surrey side. should be the funny fide, i. e. on the north fide. 131. a gainful greek. a fraudulent man. 132. battle four; i. e. four wings. 133. hent. to lay hold on. 134. groom. a young man. skail. difperfe. 135. mace. perhaps ſhould be pace. 136. march them again. againſt. n. 137. teen. sorrow. n. 138. it is faid, that there is a monument of bryan tunftal, in the n. w. of yorkſhire, upon which is his effigy, lying in armour. stead. place. fo 139. john lindſay, e. of crawford. william graham, e. of montrofe. 14c. mitred prelates. george hepburn, bishop of the 157 ifles, and another biſhop whoſe name is unknown. page 140. william sinclair, e. of caithneſs. david kennedy, e. of caffils. john douglas, e. of morton. william hay, e. of errol. john stuart, e. of athol. patrick hepburn, e. of bothwell. cuthbert cunningham, e. of glencairn. thomas fraſer, maſter of lovat. sir patrick houſton, of houſton. thomas stuart, lord innermeath. john lord rofs. sir james kofs, the chief of a higland clan, was likewife at this battle. 141. patrick hepburn, e. of bothwell. 142. herbert ſhould be hepburn. thus of true men. it would feem by this verſe that it was not written long after the battle of floddon. 143. wan. gained. n. wift. knew. n. ― 145. malcolm stuart, e. of lennox. 146. but what availed. the scots caft themſelves into a ring, who were all flain with the king, except sir william scott, and sir john forman, who were taken priſoners. the battle laſted three hours. 147. fair, perhaps ſhould be ker. 148. by certain figns. the day after the battle, the body of king james was found; a great number of noblemen lay dead round the king, whoſe body, though much defaced, was known by lord dacres, sir wm. scott, and sir john forman. seven sifters. seven brafs cannon of a very wide bore, called the seven sifters, taken in the battle, and fent to berwick by the earl of surrey. king james's body. the king's body was brought to. berwick, and there embowelled, embalmed and cered, and incloſed in lead, and ſecretly conveyed to london, and entombed at sheene, in surrey. the hermit of warkworth. a dorthumberland ballad, in three fits or cantos. to her grace elizabeth, duchess and countess of morthumberland, in her own right baroness percy, &c. &c. &c. down in a northern vale wild flow'rets grew, and lent new sweetness to the summer gale; the muse there found them all remote from view, obscur'd with weeds, and scattered o'er the dale. o lady, may so slight a gift prevail, and at your gracious hands acceptance find! say, may an ancient legendary tale amuse, delight, or move the polish'd mind? surely the cares and woes of human kind, tho' simply told, will gain each gentle ear: but all for you the muse her lay design'd, and bade your noble ancestors appear; she seeks no other praise, if you commend, her great protectress, patroness, and friend. w advertisement. warkworth castle, in northumberland, stands very boldly on a neck of land near the sea-shore, almost surrounded by the river coquet, (called by our latin historians, coqueda) which runs with a clear rapid stream, but when swollen with rains becomes violent and dangerous. about a mile from the castle, in a deep romantic valley, are the remains of a hermitage; of which the chapel is still intire. this is hollowed with great elegance in a cliff near the river; as are also two adjoining apartments, which probably served for an ante-chapel and vestry, or were appropriated to some other sacred uses: for the former of these, which runs parallel with the chapel, is thought to have had an altar in it, at which mass was occasionally celebrated, as well as in the chapel itself. each of these apartments is extremely small; for that which was the principal chapel does not in length exceed eighteen feet; nor is more than seven feet aud a half in breadth and height: it is, however, very 163 beautifully designed and executed in the solid rock; and has all the decorations of a complete gothic church or cathedral in miniature. but what principally distinguishes the chapel, is, a small tomb or monument, on the south side of the altar: on the top of which, lies a female figure extended in the manner that effigies are usually exhibited praying on ancient tombs. this figure, which is very delicately designed, some have ignorantly called an image of the virgin mary; though it has not the least resemblance to the manner in which she is represented in the romish churches; who is usually erect, as the object of adoration, and never in a prostrate or recumbent posture. indeed the real image of the blessed virgin probably stood in a small nich, still visible behind the altar: whereas the figure of the bull's head, which is rudely carved at this lady's feet, the usual place for the crest in old monuments, plainly proves her to have been a very different personage. about the tomb are several other figures, which as well as the principal one above-mentioned, are cut in the natural rock, in the same manner as the little chapel itself, with all its ornaments, and the two adjoining apartments. what slight traditions are scattered through the country concerning the origin and w 2 164 foundation of this hermitage, tomb, &c. are delivered to the reader in the following rhymes. it is universally agreed, that the founder was one of the bertram family, which had once considerable possessions in northumberland, and were anciently lords of bothal castle, situate about ten miles from warkworth. he has been thought to be the same bertram, that endowed brinkburn priory, and built brenkshaugh chapel: which both stand in the same winding valley, higher up the river. but brinkburn priory was founded in the reign of king henry i.* whereas the form of the gothic windows in this chapel, especially of those near the altar, is found rather to resemble the style of architecture that prevailed about the reign of king edward iii. and indeed that the sculpture in this chapel cannot be much older, appears from the crest which is placed at the lady's feet on the tomb; for cambden† informs us, that armorial crests did not become hereditary till about the reign of king edward ii. these appearances, still extant, strongly confirm the account given in the following poem, and plainly prove that the hermit of warkworth was not the same person that founded brinkburn priory in the twelfth century, but rather one of the bertram family, who lived at a later period. • tanner's mon. ang. see his remains. the hermit of warkworth. a northumberland ballad. fit. i. dark was the night, and wild the storm, and loud the torrent's roar; and loud the sea was heard to dash against the distant shore. musing on man's weak hapless state, the lonely hermit lay; when, lo! he heard a female voice lament in sore dismay. with hospitable haste he rose, and wak'd his sleeping fire; and, snatching up a lighted brand, forth hied the reverend sire. 166 all sad beneath a neighbouring tree a beauteous maid he found, who beat her breast, and with her tears bedewed the mossy ground. o weep not, lady, weep not so; nor let vain fears alarm; my little cell shall shelter thee, and keep thee safe from harm. it is not for myself i weep, nor for myself i fear; but for my dear and only friend, who lately left me here: and while some sheltering bower he sought within this lonely wood, ah! sore i fear his wandering feet have slipt in yonder flood, o! trust in heaven, the hermit said, and to my cell repair; doubt not but i shall find thy friend, and ease thee of thy care. then climbing up his rocky stairs, he scales the cliff so high; and calls aloud, and waves his light to guide the stranger's eye. 167 among the thickets long he winds with careful steps and slow; at length a voice return'd his call, quick answering from below: o tell me, father, tell me true, if you have chanc'd to see a gentle maid, i lately left beneath some neighbouring tree: but either i have lost the place, or she hath gone astray: and much i fear this fatal stream hath snatch'd her hence away. praise heaven, my son, the hermit said; the lady's safe and well: and soon he join'd the wandering youth, and brought him to his cell. then well was seen, these gentle friends they loved each other dear: the youth he press'd her to his heart; the maid let fall a tear. ah! seldom had their host, i ween, beheld so sweet a pair: the youth was tall with manly bloom, she slender, soft, and fair. 168 the youth was clad in forest-green, with bugle-horn so bright: she in a silken robe and scarf snatch'd up in hasty flight. sage; sit down, my children, says the sweet rest your limbs require: then heaps fresh fewel on the hearth, and mends his little fire. partake, he said, my simple store, dried fruits, and milk, and curds; and spreading all upon the board, invites with kindly words. thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare; the youthful couple say: then freely ate, and made good cheer, and talk'd their cares away. now say, my children, (for perchance my counsel may avail) what strange adventure brought you here within this lonely dale? first tell me, father, said the youth, (nor blame mine eager tongue) what town is near? what lands are these? and to what lord belong? 169 alas! my son, the hermit said, why do i live to say, the rightful lord of these domains is banish'd far away? ten winters now have shed their snows on this my lowly hall, since valiant hotspur (so the north our youthful lord did call) against fourth henry bolingbroke led up his northern powers, and stoutly fighting lost his life near proud salopia's towers. one son he left, a lovely boy, his country's hope and heir; and oh! to save him from his foes it was his grandsire's care. in scotland safe he plac'd the child beyond the reach of strife, nor long before the brave old earl at bramham lost his life. and now the percy name, so long our northern pride and boast, lies hid, alas! beneath a cloud; their honors reft and lost. x 170 no chieftain of that noble house now leads our youth to arms; the bordering scots despoil our fields, and ravage all our farms. their halls and castles, once so fair, now moulder in decay; proud strangers now usurp their lands, and bear their wealth away. not far from hence, where yon runs winding down the lea, fair warkworth lifts her lofty towers, and overlooks the sea. full stream those towers, alas! now stand forlorn, with noisome weeds o'erspread, where feasted lords and courtly dames, and where the poor were fed. meantime far off, 'mid scottish hills the percy lives unknown: on stranger's bounty he depends, and may not claim his own. o might i with these aged eyes but live to see him here, then should my soul depart in bliss!he said, and dropt a tear. 171 and is the percy still so lov'd of all his friends and thee? then, bless me, father, said the youth, for i thy guest am he. silent he gaz'd, then turn'd aside to wipe the tears he shed; and lifting up his hands and eyes, pour'd blessings on his head: welcome, our dear and much-lov'd lord, thy country's hope and care: but who may this young lady be, that is so wondrous fair. now, father, listen to my tale, and thou shalt know the truth: and let thy sage advice direct my unexperienced youth. in scotland i have been nobly bred beneath the regent's hand, in feats of arms, and every lore to fit me for command. with fond impatience long i burn'd my native land to see: at length i won my guardian friend, to yield that boon to me. x 2 172 then up and down in hunter's garb, i wandered as in chace, till in the noble neville's house i gain'd a hunter's place. sometime with him i liv'd unknown, till i'd the hap so rare, to please this young and gentle dame, that baron's daughter fair. now, percy, said the blushing maid, the truth i must reveal; souls great and generous, like to thine, their noble deeds conceal. it happened on a summer's day, led by the fragrant breeze, i wandered forth to take the air among the green-wood trees. sudden a band of rugged scots, that near in ambush lay, moss-troopers from the border-side, there seiz'd me for their prey. my shrieks had all been spent in vain, but heaven, that saw my grief, brought this brave youth within my call, relief. who flew to my 173 with nothing but his hunting spear, and dagger in his hand, he sprung like lightning on my foes, and caus'd them soon to stand. he fought, till more assistance came; the scots were overthrown; thus freed me, captive, from their bands to make me more his own. o happy day! the youth replied: blest were the wounds i bare! from that fond hour she deign'd to smile, and listen to my prayer. and when she knew my name and birth, she vowed to be my bride; but oh! we fear'd, (alas, the while!) her princely mother's pride: sister of haughty bolingbroke, our house's ancient foe, to me i thought a banish'd wight could ne'er such favour show. despairing then to gain consent; at length to fly with me i won this lovely timorous maid; to scotland bound are we. 174 this evening as the night drew on, fearing we were pursu❜d, we turn'd adown the right-hand path, and gain'd this lonely wood: then lighting from our weary steeds to shun the pelting shower, we met thy kind conducting hand, and reach'd this friendly bower. now rest ye both, the hermit said; awhile your cares forego: nor, lady, scorn my humble bed; we'll pass the night below. 175 notes, on fit. 1. page 171. "beneath the regent's hand," robert stuart, duke of albany. see the continuator of fordun's scoti-chronicon, cap. 18, cap. 23, &c. page 172. "till in the noble neville's houfe" ralph neville, firſt earl of westmoreland, whoſe principal refidence was at raby caſtle, in the biſhoprick of durham. page 173. "siſter of haughty bolingbroke,” joan, countess of weſtmoreland, mother of the young lady, was daughter of john of gaunt, and half-fiſter of k. henry iv. page 174. "we'll pass the night below." adjoining to the cliff, which contains the chapel of the hermitage, are the remains of a ſmall building, in which the hermit dwelt. this confifted of one lower apartment, with a little bedchamber over it, and is now in ruins: whereas the chapel, cut in the folid rock, is ftill very intire and perfect. 176 fit. ii. lovely smil'd the blushing morn, and every storm was fled: but lovelier far, with sweeter smile, fair eleanor left her bed. she found her henry all alone, and cheer'd him with her sight; the youth consulting with his friend had watch'd the livelong night. what sweet surprize o'erpower'd her brea s her cheek what blushes dyed, when fondly he besought her there to yield to be his bride? within this lonely hermitage there is a chapel meet: then grant, dear maid, my fond request, and make my bliss compleat. o henry, when thou deign'st to sue, can i thy suit withstand? when thou, lov'd youth, hast won my heart, can i refuse my hand? 177 for thee i left a father's smiles, and mother's tender care; and whether weal or woe betide, thy lot i mean to share. and wilt thou then, o generous maid, such matchless favour show, to share with me, a banish'd wight, my peril, pain, or woe? now heaven, i trust, hath joys in store to crown thy constant breast; for, know, fond hope assures my heart that we shall soon be blest. not far from hence stands coquet isle, surrounded by the sea; there dwells a holy friar, well known to all thy friends and thee: 'tis father bernard, so revered for every worthy deed; to raby castle he shall go, and for us kindly plead. to fetch this good and holy man our reverend host is gone; and soon, i trust, his pious handswill join us both in one. y 178 thus they in sweet and tender talk the lingering hours beguile: at length they see the hoary sage come from the neighbouring isle. with pious joy and wonder mix'd he greets the noble pair, and glad consents to join their hands with many a fervent prayer. then strait to raby's distant walls he kindly wends his way; mean time in love and daliance sweet they spend the livelong day. and now, attended by their host, the hermitage they view'd, deep hewn within a craggy cliff, and over-hung with wood. and near a flight of shapely steps, all cut with nicest skill, and piercing thro' a stony arch, ran winding up the hill. there deck'd with many a flower and herb his little garden stands; with fruitful trees in shady rows, all planted by his hands. 179 then, scoop'd within the solid rock, three sacred vaults he shows: the chief a chapel, neatly arch'd, on branching columns rose. each proper ornament was there, that should a chapel grace; the lattice for confession fram'd, and holy water vase. o'er either door a sacred text invites to godly fear; and in a little scutcheon hung the cross, and crown, and spear. up to the altar's ample breadth two easy steps ascend; and near a glimmering solemn light two well wrought windows lend. beside the altar rose a tomb all in the living stone; on which a young and beauteous maid in goodly sculpture shone. a kneeling angel fairly carv'd lean'd hovering o'er her breast; a weeping warrior at her feet; and near to these her crest. y 2 180 the cliff, the vault, but chief the tomb, attract the wondering pair: eager they ask, what hapless dame lies sculptured here so fair? the hermit sigh'd, the hermit wept, for sorrow scarce could speak: at length he wip'd the trickling tears that all bedewed his cheek: alas! my children, human life is but a vale of woe; and very mournful is the tale which ye so fain would know. the hermit's tale. young lord, thy grandsire had a friend in days of youthful fame; yon distant hills were his domains, sir bertram was his name. where'er the noble percy fought his friend was at his side; and many a skirmish with the scots their early valour try'd. 181 young bertram lov'd a beauteous maid, as fair as fair might be; the dew-drop on the lily's cheek was not so fair as she. fair widdrington the maiden's name, yon towers her dwelling place; her sire an old northumbrian chief devoted to thy race. many a lord, and many a knight to this fair damsel came; but bertram was her only choice; for him she felt a flame. lord percy pleaded for his friend, her father soon consents; none but the beauteous maid herself his wishes now prevents. but she with studied fond delays defers the blissful hour; and loves to try his constancy, and prove her maiden power. that heart, she said, is lightly priz❜d, which is too lightly won; and long shall rue that easy maid, who yields her love too soon. 182 lord percy made a solemn feast in alnwick's princely hall; and there came lords, and there came knights, his chiefs and barons all. with wassel, mirth, and revelry the castle rung around: lord percy call'd for song and harp, and pipes of martial sound. the minstrels of thy noble house, all clad in robes of blue, with silver crescents on their arms, attend in order due. the great atchievements of thy race they sung: their high command: "how valiant mainfred o'er the seas "first led his northern band. "brave galfrid next to normandy "with venturous rollo came; "and from his norman castles won "assum'd the percy name. "they sung, how in the conqueror's fleet "lord william ship'd his powers, "and gain'd a fair young saxon bride "with all her lands and towers. 183 "then journeying to the holy land, "there bravely fought and dy'd: "but first the silver crescent wan, "some paynim soldan's pride. "they sung how agnes, beauteous heir, "the queen's own brother wed "lord josceline, sprung from charlemagne, "in princely brabant bred. "how he the percy name revived, "and how his noble line "still foremost in their country's cause "with godlike ardour shine.” with loud acclaims the listening crowd applaud the master's song, and deeds of arms and war became the theme of every tongue. now high heroic acts they tell, their perils past recall: when, lo! a damsel young and fair step'd forward thro' the hall. she bertram courteously address'd; and kneeling on her knee; sir knight, the lady of thy love hath sent this gift to thee. .184 then forth she drew a glittering helme well-plated many a fold, the casque was wrought of tempered steel, the crest of burnish'd gold. sir knight, thy lady sends thee this, and yields to be thy bride, when thou hast prov'd this maiden gift where sharpest blows are try'd. young bertram took the shining helme and thrice he kiss'd the same: trust me, i'll prove this precious casque with deeds of noblest fame. lord percy, and his barons bold then fix upon a day to scour the marches, late opprest, and scottish wrongs repay. the knights assembled on the hills. a thousand horse and more: brave widdrington, tho' sunk in years, the percy standard bore.. tweed's limpid current soon they pass, and range the borders round: down the green slopes of tiviotdale their bugle horns resound. 185 as when a lion in his den hath heard the hunters' cries, and rushes forth to meet his foes; so did the douglas rise. attendant on their chief's command a thousand warriors wait: and now the fatal hour drew on of cruel keen debate. a chosen troop of scottish youths advance before the rest; lord percy mark'd their gallant mien, and thus his friend address'd. now, bertram, prove thy lady's helme, attack yon forward band; dead or alive i'll rescue thee, or perish by their hand. young bertram bow'd, with glad assent, and spur'd his eager steed, and calling on his lady's name, rush'd forth with whirlwind speed. as when a grove of sapling oaks the livid lightning rends; so fiercely 'mid the opposing ranks sir bertram's sword descends. ꮓ 186 this way and that he drives the steel, and keenly pierces thro'; and many a tall and comely knight with furious force he slew. now closing fast on every side they hem sir bertram round: but dauntless he repels their rage, and deals forth many a wound. the vigour of his single arm had well nigh won the field; when ponderous fell a scottish axe, and clove his lifted shield. another blow his temples took, and reft his helme in twain; that beauteous helme, his lady's gift! his blood bedewed the plain. lord percy saw his champion fall amid the unequal fight; and now, my noble friends, he said, let's save this gallant knight. then rushing in, with stretch'd out shield he o'er the warrior hung; as some fierce eagle spreads her wing to guard her callow young. 4 187 three times they strove to seize their prey, three times they quick retire: what force could stand his furious strokes, or meet his martial fire? now gathering round on every part the battle rag'd amain; and many a lady wept her lord that hour untimely slain. percy and douglas, great in arms, there all their courage show'd; and all the field was strew'd with dead, and all with crimson flow'd. at length the glory of the day the scots reluctant yield, and, after wonderous valour shown, they slowly quit the field. all pale extended on their shields and weltering in his gore lord percy's knights their bleeding friend to wark's fair castle bore. well hast thou earn'd my daughter's love; her father kindly said; and she herself shall dress thy wounds, and tend thee in thy bed. z 2 188 a message went, no daughter came, fair isabel ne'er appears: beshrew me, said the aged chief, young maidens have their fears. cheer up, my son, thou shalt her see so soon as thou canst ride e; and she shall nurse thee in her bower, and she shall be thy bride. sir bertram, at her name reviv'd, he bless'd the soothing sound; fond hope supplied the nurse's care, and heal'd his ghastly wound. 189 notes, on fit. 2. page 177. "to all thy friends and thee;" in the little iſland of coquet, near warkworth, are ſtill ſeen the ruins of a cell, which belonged to the benedictine monks of tinemouth-abbey. page 179. "and near to theſe her creft." this is a bull's head, the creſt of the widdrington family. all the figures, &c. here deſcribed are ſtill viſible; only ſomewhat effaced with length of time. c page 181. "yon towers her dwelling place;" widdrington caſtle is about five miles fouth of warkworth. page 182. "firſt led his northern band." see dugdale's baronage, &c. "affum'd the percy name." in lower normandy are three places of the name of percy: whence the family took the furname de percy. 190 page 182. "with all her lands and towers." william de percy, (fifth in deſcent from galfrid, or geffrey de percy, fon of mainfred,) affiſted in the conquest of england, and had given him the large poffeffions in yorkſhire, of emma de porte, (fo the norman writers name her,) whoſe father, a great saxon lord, had been ſlain fighting along with harold. this young lady, william, from a principle of honour and generoſity, married: for having had all her lands beſtowed upon him by the conqueror," he (to ufe the words of the old whitby chronicle) wedded hyr that was very heire to them, in diſcharging of his confcience." see harl. mss. 692. (26.)— he died at mountjoy, near jerufalem, in the firſt cruſade. page 183. "in princely brabant bred." agnes de percy, fole heiress of her houſe, married jofceline de lovain, youngeſt ſon of godfrey barbatus, duke of brabant, and brother to queen adeliza, fecond wife of king henry i. he took the name of percy, and was anceſtor of the earls of northumberland. his fon, lord richard de percy, was one of the twenty-five barons, chofen to fee the magna charta duly obferved. jous 3 ji page 187. "to wark's fair caftle bore." wark caſtle, a fortreſs belonging to the engliſh, and of great note in ancient times, ſtood on the ſouthern bank of the river tweed, a little to the eaſt of tiviotdale, and not far from kelfo. it is now intirely deſtroyed. 1.) e vh. v*** 191 fit. iii. one early morn, while dewy drops hung trembling on the tree, sir bertram from his sick-bed rose, his bride he would go see. a brother he had in prime of youth, of courage firm and keen, and he would tend him on the way because his wounds were green. 230 ****. v all day o'er moss and moor they rode, by many a lonely tower; and 'twas the dew-fall of the night ere they drew near her bower. a most drear and dark the castle seem'd, that wont to shine so bright; and long and loud sir bertram call'd ere he beheld a light. t at length her aged nurse arose with voice so shrill and clear: what wight is this, that calls so loud, and knocks so boldly here? 192 "tis bertram calls, thy lady's love, come from his bed of care: all day i've ridden o'er moor and moss to see thy lady fair. now out alas! (she loudly shriek'd) alas! how may this be? for six long days are gone and past since she set out to thee. sad terror seiz'd sir bertram's heart, and oft he deeply sigh'd; when now the draw-bridge was let down, and gates set open wide. six days, young knight, are past and gone, since she set out to thee; ↑ and sure, if no sad harm had hap'd, long since thou wouldst her see. for when she heard thy grievous chance she tore her hair, and cried, alas! i've slain the comeliest knight, all thro' my folly and pride! my sad fault, and now to atone for and his dear health regain, i'll go myself, and nurse my love, and soothe his bed of pain. 193 then mounted she her milk-white steed one morn at break of day; and two tall yeomen went with her to guard her on the way. sad terror smote sir bertram's heart, and grief o'erwhelm'd his mind: trust me, said he, i ne'er will rest 'till i thy lady find. that night he spent in sorrow and care; and with sad boding heart or ever the dawning of the day his brother and he depart. now, brother, we'll our ways divide, o'er scottish hills to range; do thou go north, and i'll go west; and all our dress we'll change. some scottish carle hath seized my love, and borne her to his den; and ne'er will i tread english ground till she is restored agen. the brothers strait their paths divide, o'er scottish hills to range; and hide themselves in quaint disguise, and oft their dress they change. a a 194 sir bertram clad in gown of gray, most like a palmer poor, to halls and castles wanders round, and begs from door to door. sometimes a minstrel's garb he wears, with pipes so sweet and shrill; and wends to every tower and town; o'er every dale and hill. one day as he sate under a thorn all sunk in deep despair, an aged pilgrim pass'd him by, who mark'd his face of care. all minstrels yet that ever i saw, are full of game and glee; but thou art sad and woe-begone! i marvel whence it be! father, i serve an aged lord, whose grief afflicts my mind; his only child is stolen away, and fain i would her find. cheer up, my son; perchance, (he said) some tidings i may bear: for oft when human hopes have fail'd, then heavenly comfort's near. 195 behind yon hills so steep and high, down in the lowly glen, there stands a castle fair and strong, far from th' abode of men. as late i chanc'd to crave an alms about this evening hour, me-thought i heard a lady's voice lamenting in the tower. and when i ask'd what harm had hap'd, what lady sick there lay? they rudely drove me from the gate, and bade me wend away. these tidings caught sir bertram's ear, he thank'd him for his tale; and soon he hasted o'er the hills, and soon he reach'd the vale. then drawing near those lonely towers, which stood in dale so low, and sitting down beside the gate, his pipes he 'gan to blow. sir porter, is thy lord at home to hear a minstrel's song? or may i crave a lodging here without offence or wrong? a a 2 196 my lord, he said, is not at home to hear a minstrel's song: and should i lend thee lodging here my life would not be long. he play'd again so soft a strain, such power sweet sounds impart, he won the churlish porter's ear, and moved his stubborn heart. minstrel, he said, thou play'st so sweet, fair entrance thou should'st win; but, alas, i'm sworn upon the rood to let no stranger in. yet, minstrel, in yon rising cliff thou'lt find a sheltering cave; and here thou shalt my supper share, and there thy lodging have. all day he sits beside the gate, and pipes both loud and clear; all night he watches round the walls, in hopes his love to hear. the first night, as he silent watch'd, all at the midnight hour, he plainly heard his lady's voice lamenting in the tower. 197 the second night the moon shone clear, and gilt the spangled dew; he saw his lady thro' the grate, but 'twas a transient view. the third night wearied out he slept 'till near the morning tide; when starting up, he seiz'd his sword, and to the castle hy'd. when, lo! he saw a ladder of ropes depending from the wall; and o'er the mote was newly laid a poplar strong and tall. and soon he saw his love descend wrapt in a tartan plaid; assisted by a sturdy youth in highland garb y-clad. amaz'd, confounded at the sight, he lay unseen and still;* and soon he saw them cross the stream, and mount the neighbouring hill. unheard, unknown of all within, the youthful couple fly; but what can scape the lover's ken? or shun his piercing eye? 198 with silent step he follows close behind the flying pair, and saw her hang upon his arm with fond familiar air. thanks, gentle youth, she often said; my thanks thou well hast won: for me what wiles hast thou contriv'd? for me what dangers run? and ever shall my grateful heart thy services repay:— sir bertram could no further hear, but cried, vile traitor, stay! vile traitor! yield that lady up!and quick his sword he drew; the stranger turn'd in sudden rage, and at sir bertram flew. with mortal hate their vigorous arms gave many a vengeful blow; but bertram's stronger hand prevail'd, and laid the stranger low. die, traitor, die!-a deadly thrust attends each furious word; ah! then fair isabel knew his voice, and rush'd beneath his sword. 199 o stop, she cried, o stop thy arm! thou dost thy brother slay!-and here the hermit paus'd, and wept : his tongue no more could say. at length he cried, ye lovely pair, how shall i tell the rest? ere i could stop my piercing sword, it fell, and stab'd her breast. wert thou thyself that hapless youth? ah! cruel fate! they said. the hermit wept, and so did they: they sigh'd; he hung his head. o blind and jealous rage, he cried, what evils from thee flow? the hermit paus'd; they silent mourn'd he wept, and they were woe. ah! when i heard my brother's name, and saw my lady bleed, i rav'd, i wept, i curst my arm, that wrought the fatal deed. in vain i clasp'd her to my breast, and clos'd the ghastly wound; in vain i press'd his bleeding corpse, and rais'd it from the ground. 200 my brother, alas! spake never more, his precious life was flown. she kindly strove to soothe my pain, regardless of her own. bertram, she said, be comforted, and live to think on me: may we in heaven that union prove, which here was not to be! bertram, she said, i still was true; thou only had'st my heart: may we hereafter meet in bliss! we now, alas! must part. for thee, i left my father's hall, and flew to thy relief, when, lo! near cheviot's fatal hills i met a scottish chief, lord malcolm's son, whose proffered love, i had refus'd with scorn; he slew my guards and seiz'd on me upon that fatal morn: and in these dreary hated walls he kept me close confin'd; and fondly sued, and warmly press'd to win me to his mind. 201 each rising morn increas'd my pain, each night increas'd my fear; when wandering in this northern garb thy brother found me here. he quickly form'd this brave design to set me captive free; and on the moor his horses wait ty'd to a neighbouring tree. then haste, my love, escape away, and for thyself provide ; and sometime fondly think on her, who should have been thy bride. thus pouring comfort on my soul even with her latest breath, she gave one parting fond embrace, and clos'd her eyes in death. in wild amaze, in speechless woe, devoid of sense i lay: then sudden all in frantic mood i meant myself to slay: and rising up in furious haste i seiz'd the bloody brand: a sturdy arm here interpos'd, and wrench'd it from my hand. b b 202 a croud, that from the castle came, had miss'd their lovely ward; and seizing me to prison bare, and deep in dungeon barr'd. it chanc'd that on that very morn their chief was prisoner ta'en: lord percy had us soon exchang'd, and strove to soothe my pain. and soon those honoured dear remains to england were convey'd; and there within their silent tombs, with holy rites were laid. for me, i loath'd my wretched life, and oft to end it sought; till time, and thought, and holy men had better counsels taught. they rais'd my heart to that pure source, whence heavenly comfort flows: they taught me to despise the world, and calmly bear its woes. no more the slave of human pride, vain hope, and sordid care; i meekly vowed to spend my life in penitence and prayer. 203 the bold sir bertram now no more, impetuous, haughty, wild; but poor and humble benedict, now lowly, patient, mild: my lands i gave to feed the poor, and sacred altars raise; and here a lonely anchoret i came to end my days. this sweet sequestered vale i chose, these rocks, and hanging grove; for oft beside this murmuring stream my love was wont to rove. my noble friend approv'd my choice; this blest retreat he gave: and here i carv'd her beauteous form, and scoop'd this holy cave. full fifty winters, all forlorn, my life i've lingered here; and daily o'er this sculptured saint i drop the pensive tear. and thou, dear brother of my heart, so faithful and so true, the sad remembrance of thy fate still makes my bosom rue! bb 2 204 yet not unpitied pass'd my life, forsaken, or forgot, the percy and his noble son would grace my lowly cot. oft the great earl from toils of state, and cumbrous pomp of power, would gladly seek my little cell to spend the tranquil hour. but length of life is length of woe, i liv'd to mourn his fall: i liv'd to mourn his godlike son, their friends and followers all. but thou the honours of thy race, lov'd youth, shalt now restore; and raise again the percy name more glorious than before. he ceas'd, and on the lovely pair his choicest blessings laid: while they with thanks and pitying tears his mournful tale repaid. and now what present course to take they ask the good old sire; and guided by his sage advice to scotland they retire. 205 mean-time their suit such favour found at raby's stately hall, earl neville and his princely spouse now gladly pardon all. she suppliant at her nephew's throne the royal grace implor'd: to all the honours of his race the percy was restor❜d. the youthful earl still more and more admir'd his beauteous dame: nine noble sons to him she bore, all worthy of their name. the end of the ballad 206 notes on fit 3. page 204. "i liv'd to mourn his godlike fon," hotſpur. page 205. "she fuppliant at her nephew's throne" king henry v. a, d. 1414. the account given in the foregoing ballad of young percy, the fon of hotſpur, receives the following confirmation from the old chronicle of whitby. 66 henry percy, the ſon of sir henry percy, that was flayne 66 at shreweſbery, and of elizabeth, the daughter of the erle "of marche, after the death of his father and grauntſyre, was "exiled into scotland* in the time of king henry the fourth: "but in the time of king henry the fifth, by the labour of * remained an exile in scotland during the reign of king henry iv. in scotia exulavit tempore henrici regis quarti. lat. ms. penes duc. north. 207 "johanne the countes of westmerland, (whoſe daughter "alianor he had wedded in coming into england) he reco"vered the king's grace, and the countye of northumberland, "fo was the fecond erle of northumberland. "and of this alianor his wife, he begate ix ſonnes, and iii "daughters whofe names be johanne, that was buried at whyt"bye: thomas, lord egremont: katheryne gray, of kythyn: "sir raffe percy: william percy, a byſhopp; richard percy: john, that dyed without iffue: (another john, called by "vincent johannes percy ſenior de warkworth:') george "percy, clerk: henry, that dyed without iſſue. anne66 c (befides the eldeſt fon and fucceffor here omitted, becauſe he comes in below, viz.) "henry percy, the third erle of northumberland." vid, harl. mss. no. 692. (26.) in the britiſh muſeum. • see his great baronag. no. 20. in the herald's office. " 208 postscript. it will perhaps gratify the curious reader to be informed, that from a word or two formerly legible over one of the chapel doors, it is believed that the text there inſcribed was that latin verfe of the pfalmiſt,* which is in our tranſlation, 66 my tears have been my meat day and night. it is alfo certain, that the memory of the firſt hermit was held in ſuch regard and veneration by the percy family, that they afterwards maintained a chantry prieſt, to refide in the hermitage, and celebrate maſs in the chapel: whoſe allowance, uncommonly liberal and munificent, was continued down to the diffolution of the monaſteries: after which the whole falary, together with the hermitage and all its dependencies, reverted back to the family, having never been endowed in mortmain. on this account we have no record, which fixes the date of the foundation, or gives any particular account of the first hermit; but the following inſtrument will ſhow the liberal exhibition afforded to his fucceffors. it is the patent granted to the laſt hermit in 1532, and is copied from an ancient ms. book of grants, &c. of the vi earl of northumberland, in henry viii time.† sir george lancastre patent of xx merks by yere. henry erle of northumbreland, &c. knowe youe that i, the faide erle, in confideration of the diligent and thankfull fervice, that my welbeloved chaplen fir george lancaſtre hath • pfal. xlii. 3. † claffed, f. 1. no. 1. penes duc. northumb. 209 don unto me the ſaid erle, and alfo for the goode and vertus difpofition that i do perceyve in him: and for that he ſhall have in his daily recommendation and praiers the good eftate of all fuch noble blode and other perfonages, as be now levynge; and the foules of fuch noble blode as be departed to the mercy of god owte of this prefent lyve, whos names are conteyned and wrettyn in a table upon perchment figned with thande of me the ſaid erle, and delivered to the cuſtodie and keapynge of the ſaid fir george lancaſter; and further, that he ſhall kepe and faye his devyn ſervice in celebratyng and doynge maſſe of requiem every weke accordinge as it ys written and ſet furth in the ſaide table: have geven and graunted, and by theſe prefentes do gyve and graunte unto the ſaid fir george, myn armytage belded in a rock of ſtone within my parke of warkworth in the countie of northumbreland in the honour of the bleffed trynete, with a yerly ftipende of twenty merks by yer, from the feeſt of ſeint michell tharchaungell laſt paſt affore the date herof yerly duryng the naturall lyve of the ſaid fir george: and alſo i the faid erle have geven and graunted, and by theſe preſents do gyve and graunte unto the faid fir george lancaſter, the occupation of one little grefground of myn called cony-garth nygh adjoynynge the ſaid harmytage, only to his owne uſe and proufit wynter and ſomer durynge the faid terme; the garden and orteyarde belonging the faid armytage; the gatet and paſture of twelf kye and a bull, with their calves fuking; and two horſes goying and beyng within my ſaid parke of warkworth wynter and ſomer; one draught of fisſhe every sondaie in the yere to be drawen fornenſt‡ the faid armytage, called the trynete draught; and twenty lods of fyrewode to be taken of my wodds called shilbotell wode, c c this would be equal to 100l. per annum now. see the chronicon pretiofum. † i. e. going: from the verb, to gae. or fore-anenft: i. e. oppoſite. 210 duryng the faid terme. the ſaid ſtipend of xx merks by yer to be taken and perceyved* yerly of the rent and ferme of my fysfhyng of warkworth, by thands of the fermour or fermours of the fame for the tyme beynge yerly at the times ther uſed and accuſtomed by evyn portions. in wytnes whereof to thes my lettres patentes i the faid erle have fet the feale of myn armes: yeven undre my fignet at my caftell of warkworth, the third daie of december, in the xx yer of the reigne of our fovereyn lorde kyng henry the eight." on the diffolution of the monafteries, the above patent was produced before the court of augmentation in michaelmasterm, 20 oct. an. 29. hen. viii. when the fame was allowed by the chancellor and counſel of the ſaid court, and all the profits confirmed to the incumbent fir george lancaſter; excepting that in compenſation for the annual ſtipend of twenty marks, he was to receive a ſtipend of ten marks, and to have a free chapel called the rood chapel, and the hoſpital of st. leonard, within the barony of wigdon, in the county of cumberland. allowe in recompenfe hereof yerly x". † richard ryche. after the perufal of the above patent it will perhaps be needleſs to caution the reader againſt a miſtake, ſome have fall en into; of confounding this hermitage near warkworth, with a chantry founded within the town itſelf, by nicholas de farnham, biſhop of durham, in the reign of henry iii. who appropriated the church of brankefton for the maintenance there of two benedictine monks from durham. that ſmall monaftic foundation is indeed called a cell by biſhop tanner:|| sic ms. so the ms. the above fir richard rych was chancellor of the augmentations at the fuppreffion of the monafteries. ang. sacr. p. 738. mon. ang. p. 396. 211 but he muſt be very ignorant indeed, who ſuppoſes that by the word cell is neceffarily to be underſtood a hermitage whereas it was commonly applied to any ſmall conventual eſtabliſhment which was dependant on another. as for the chapel belonging to this endowment of biſhop farnham, it is mentioned as in ruins in ſeveral old furveys of queen elizabeth's time; and its fcite, not far from warkworth church, is ftill remembered. but that there was never more than one prieſt maintained, at one and the fame time, within the hermitage, is plainly proved (if any further proof is want. ing) by the following extract from a ſurvey of warkworth, made in the year 1567,* viz. “there is in the parke, (ſc. of warkworth) alſo one howſe hewyn within one cragge, which is called the hermitage chapel: in the fame ther haith bene one preaſt keaped, which did fuch godlye fervices as that tyme was ufed and celebrated. the mantion howfe (fc. the fmall building adjoining to the cragg) ys nowe in decaye: the cloſes that apperteined to the faid chantrie is occupied to his lordſhip's uſe." • by geo. clarkſon, penes duc. north. ссе a description of the hermitage of warkworth. an extract of a letter from newcastle upon tyne, dated the 6th of september, 1771. i shall now, in compliance with your requeft, attempt to give you a defcription of the ruins of the ancient hermitage at warkworth, which the very intereſting ballad lately publiſhed on that ſubject, excited in me ſo great a defire to fee. as i went from newcaſtle, i quitted the great northern road at a ſmall village called felton, (which ſtands about mid-way between morpeth and alnwick) and had a moſt romantic ride for the most part down a beautiful rocky vale, worne by the current of the river coquet, which afforded a fucceffion of very pictureſque ſcenes. i was much pleaſed with the ſituation of warkworth itſelf, particularly with the caſtle, which, although in ruins, is a fine monument of ancient grandeur, being one of the proud fortreffes, which heretofore belonged to the noble houſe of percy, and from them defcended to the prefent duke and duchefs of northumberland; who, together with the princely poffeffions, have inherited the generofity and magnificence of that great family. 213 warkworth caſtle deſerves itſelf a particular deſcription: i ſhall, therefore, at preſent only obſerve, that it is very boldly fituate on an eminence, and overlooks the river coquet, where it diſcharges its waters into the ſea, and almoſt waſhes an iſland of the fame name; which, from its circular form, eaſy diſtance from the ſhore, and a little antique tower, the remains of a fmall monaftic edifice erected upon it, is a moſt beautiful object feen from every part of the coaſt. from the caſtle we aſcended not more than half a mile up the river, before we came to the hermitage; which is probably the beſt preſerved and moſt intire now remaining in theſe kingdoms. it ſtili contains three apartments, all of them hollowed in the folid rock, and hanging over the river in the moſt pictureſque manner imaginable, with a covering of ancient hoary trees, reliques of the venerable woods, in which this fine folitude was anciently embowered. as the hermitage with all its ftriking peculiarities, is very exactly deſcribed in the ballad of the hermit of warkworth, i might be content to tranſcribe the deſcriptive part of that poem: but as you have infiſted upon me relating to you what i faw myſelf, i fhall endeavour to obey you. the cave contains three apartments; which, by way of dif tinction, i will venture to call the chapel, facrifty, and antichapel. of theſe, the chapel is very intire and perfect: but the two others have ſuffered by the falling down of the rock at the weſt end. by this accident a beautiful pillar, which formerly stood between theſe two apartments, and gave an elegant finiſhing to this end of the facred vaults, was, within the memory of old people, deſtroyed. the chapel is not more than eighteen feet long, nor more than ſeven and a half in width and heighth; but is modelled and executed in a very beautiful ſtyle of gothic architecture. the fides are ornamented with neat octagon pillars, all cut in the 214 folid rock; which branch off into the cieling, and forming little pointed arches, terminate in groins. at the east end is a handſome plain altar, to which the prieſt aſcended by two ſteps: thefe, in the courfe of ages, have been much worn away through the foft yielding nature of the ſtone. behind the altar is a little nich, which probably received the crucifix, or the pix. over this nich is ftill feen the faint outline of a glory. on the north fide of the altar is a very beautiful gothic window, executed like all the reft, in the living rock. this window tranſmitted light from the chapel to the ſacrifty; or what elſe fhall we call it, being a plain oblong room which ran parallel with the chapel, ſomewhat longer than it, but not fo wide. at the eaſt end of this apartment are ſtill ſeen the remains of an altar, at which maſs was occafionally fung, as well as in the chapel. between it and the chapel is a ſquare perforation, with fome appearance of bars, or a lattice, thro' which the hermit might attend confeffion, or behold the ele. vation of the hoft without entering the chapel. near this perforation is a neat door-cafe opening into the chapel out of this fide-room or facrifty, which contains a benching cut in the rock, whence is feen a moſt beautiful view up the river, finely over-hung with woods. over the door-caſe, within the chapel, is carved a ſmall neat fcutcheon, with all the emblems of the paſſion, fc. the croſs, the crown of thorns, the nails, the fpear and the ſpunge. on the fouth fide of the altar is another window, and below it a neat cenotaph, or tomb, ornamented with three human figures elegantly cut in the rock. the principal figure repreſents a lady lying along, ſtill very intire and perfect: over her breaſt hovers, what probably was an angel, but much defaced: and at her feet is a warrior erect, and perhaps originally in a praying poſture; but he is likewiſe mutilated by time. at 215 her feet is alfo a rude fculpture of a bull's or ox's head; which the editor of the ballad not unreaſonably conjectures to have been the lady's creſt. this was, as he obſerves, the creſt of the widdrington family, whoſe caſtle is but five miles from this hermitage. it was alfo the ancient creft of the nevilles, and of one or two other families in the north. on the fame fide is another door-cafe, and near it an excavation to contain the holy water. over both the door-cafes are ſtill ſeen the traces of letters, veftiges of two ancient infcriptions; but ſo much defaced as to be at preſent illegible. i muſt refer you to the poem for a further account of them. this door opens into a little veſtibule, containing two fquare niches, in which the hermit fat to contemplate; and his view from hence was well calculated to inſpire meditation. he looked down upon the river, which waſhes the foot of the hermitage, and glides away in a conſtant murmuring lapſe; and he might thence have taken occafion, like the author of the night thoughts, to remind ſome young thoughtleſs vifitant, "life glides away, lorenzo! like a ſtream, for ever changing, unperceived the change. in the fame ftream none ever bath'd him twice; to the fame life none ever twice awoke. we call the ſtream the fame, the fame we think our life, tho' ſtill more rapid in its flow; nor mark the much irrevocably laps'd, and mingled with the fea. over the inner door, within the veftibule, hangs another fcutcheon with ſome ſculpture, which we took for the reprefentation of a gauntlet; perhaps it was the founder's arms or creft. on the outward face of the rock, near the ſmall vefbule above-mentioned, is a winding fair-cafe, cut alſo in the 216 living ſtone, and leading through a neat, arched door-cafe in the fame, up to the top of the cliff which joins the level of the antient park; and here was planted the hermit's orchard. this has long fince been deſtroyed; but cherry trees, propagated from his plantations, are ſtill ſcattered over the neighbour. ing thicket. his garden was below, at the foot of the hill, as we were informed; and indeed ſome ſtraggling flowers, and one little folitary gooſeberry buſh, which ſtill grows out of a cleft in the rock, confirm the tradition. as all the apartments above-defcribed feem to have been appropriated to facred uſes, you will naturally enquire where was the dwelling of the hermit, or at leaſt of his fucceffors? this was a ſmall ſquare building, erected at the foot of the cliff, that contains the chapel. it confiſted of one ſingle dwelling. room, with a bed-chamber over it; and a ſmall kitchen adjoining; which is now fallen in and covered with earth; but the ruins of the oven ſtill mark its fituation, and fhew that fome of the inhabitants of this hermitage did not always diſlike good chear. this little building, erected below the chapel, being compofed of materials brought together by human hands, has long fince gone to ruin: whereas the walls of the chapel itſelf, being as old as the world, will, if not purpoſely deſtroyed, probably laſt as long as it, and continue to amuſe the lateſt poſterity. it gave me particular pleaſure to obſerve, that the preſent noble proprietors have thought this curiofity not unworthy their attention, and have therefore beſtowed a proper care to have it kept clean and neat; have cleared the hermit's path, which was choaked up, by the river's fide; have reſtored his well, (a fmall bubbling fountain of clear water, which iffues from the adjoining rock;) and have renewed the wood by new plantations at the top of the cliff, where the trees had been thinned or deſtroyed by time. 217 in this delightful folitude, ſo beautiful in itſelf, and fo venerable for its antiquity, you will judge with what pleaſure i perufed the very amuſing and intereſting tale of the hermit of warkworth: having the whole ſcene before me, and fancying i was preſent at the hermit's tender relation. and this leads me to your laſt query; what foundation the author of the poem had for his ſtory, which he gives as founded on truth? by all the inquiries i could make in the neighbourhood, it is the received tradition, that the founder of this hermitage was one of the bertram family, who were anciently lords of bothal caſtle, and had great poffeffions in this county. he is alfo thought to be the fame bertram, who having built brinkburn abbey, and brinkfhaugh chapel higher up the river, at laſt retired to end his life in this fequeſtered valley. but the editor has given reafons, why he thinks the hermitage was founded at a later period than thoſe buildings, by another of the fame name and family. it is alſo the univerſal tradition that he impofed his penance upon himſelf to expiate the murder of his brother. as for the lady, i could not find that any thing particular is remembered concerning her; but the elegant ſculpture of her figure on the tomb, and the creſt at her feet, ſeem ſufficiently to warrant the ſtory of the ballad. the old record of the endowment of this hermitage by the percy family, which the editor has printed at the end of his poem, is a curiofity very fingular in its kind. when i perufed it, i could not help ſmiling at the article of the trinity draught of fifb, to be taken oppoſite to the chapel, which was to be the hermit's perquifite every sunday. it was, i affure you, no contemptible perquifite: for there is a very rich falmon-fishery in this river belonging to the duke and ducheſs of northumberland; and i was told, that at one fingle draught, d d 218 this fummer, more than three hundred fifh had been taken oppofite to the hermitage. • i fhall conclude my long, tedious description with a ſtanza from spenfer; which, if you will pardon a few alterations, will give you a pretty exact picture of the place. "a little lonely hermitage there ſtood "down in a dale, hard by a river's fide, "beneath a moffy cliff, o'erhung with wood; "and in the living rock, there cloſe befide, "a holy chapel, entering we defcried; "wherein the hermit duly wont to ſay 66 "his lonely prayers, each morn and even tide: thereby the cryſtal ſtream did gently play, "which thro' the woody vale came rolling down alway.” • i have been affured, that more than four hundred fifb, chiefly falmon, falmon-trouts, and gilts, have been taken at one draught between the hermitage and the fea, which is about two miles diftant. hardyknute. as "there is more than reason to suspect, that most of the beauties of this poem are of modern date," it has been deemed prudent to alter its difficult and affected orthography. in doing this, however, no liberty has been taken with the sense; and such words as would not bend to modern usage, have been allowed to stand in their original form, and are thrown into a glossary at the conclusion. of its history, "the following particulars may be depended upon. one mrs wardlaw, whose maiden-name was halket (aunt of the late sir peter halket of pit-ferran in scotland, who was killed in america along with general bradock in 1755) pretended she had found this poem, written on shreds of paper, employed for what is called the bottoms of clues. a. suspicion arose that it was her own composition. some able judges asserted it to be modern. the lady did in a manner acknowledge it to be so. being desired to shew an additional stanza, as a proof of this, she dd 2 220 produced the three last beginning with "loud and chill &c." which were not in the copy that was first printed. the late lord president forbes, and sir gilbert elliot of minto (now lord justice clerk for scotland) who had believed it ancient, contributed to the expence of publishing the first edition, which came out in folio about the year 1720.—this account is transmitted from scotland by a gentleman of distinguished rank, learning and genius, who yet is of opinion, that part of the ballad may be ancient; but retouched and much enlarged by the lady abovementioned indeed he hath been informed, that the late william thompson, the scottish musician, who published the orpheus calidonius, 1733, 2 vols. 8vo. declared he had heard fragments of it repeated during his infancy: before ever mrs wardlaw's copy was heard of. hardyknute. scottish fragment. seen, stately stept he east the way, and stately stept he west, full seventy years he now had with scarce seven years of rest. he lived, when britain's breach of faith wrought scotland mickle woe: and aye his sword told to their cost he was their deadly foe. high on a hill his castle stood, with halls and towers on height, and goodly chambers fair to see, where he lodged many a knight. his dame so peerless once and fair, for chaste and beauty deemed, no marrow had in all the land, save eleanor the queen. 222 full thirteen sons to him she bore, all men of valour stout; in bloody fight with sword in hand nine lost their lives but doubt; four yet remain, long may they live to stand by liege and land: high was their fame, high was their might, and high was their command. great love they bore to fairly fair, their sister soft and dear, her girdle shewed her middle gimp, and golden glist her hair. what woeful woe her beauty bred! woeful to young and old, woeful i trow to kyth and kin, as story ever told. the king of norse in summer tide, puffed up with power and might, landed in fair scotland the isle, with many a hardy knight. the tidings to our good scots king came, as he sat to dine, with noble chiefs in brave array, drinking the blood-red wine. 223 "to horse, to horse, my royal liege, your foes stand on the strand, full twenty-thousand glittering spears the king of norse commands." bring me my steed, mage, dapple gray," our good king rose and cried, a trustier beast in all the land a scots king never seyd. 66 go, little page, tell hardyknute, who lives on hill so high, to draw his sword, the dread of foes, and haste and follow me. page flew swift as dart the little flung by his master's arm, "come down, come down, lord hardyknute and rid your king from harm." then red red grew his dark brown cheeks, so did his dark brown brow; his looks were keen, as they were wont in dangers great to do. he's ta'en a horn as green as glass, and given five sounds so shrill, that trees in greenwood shook thereat, so loud rang ilka hill. 224 his sons, in manly sport and glee, had past their summer's morn, when loud down in a grassy dale, they heard their father's horn. that horn, quoth they, ne'er sounds in peace, we have some sport to bide, and soon they hied them up and soon were at his side. the hill, "late late yestrene i weened in peace to end my lengthen'd life, my age might well excuse my arm from manly feats of strife; but now that norse does proudly boast fair scotland to enthrall, its ne'er be said of hardyknute he feared to fight or fall. robin of rothsay, bend thy bow, thy arrows shoot so leil, many a comely countenance they've turned to deadly pale. broad thomas, take you but your lance, you need no weapons mair, if you fight wi't, as you fought once 'gainst westmorland's fierce heir. 225 "malcolm, light of foot as stag, that runs in forest wild, get me my thousands three of men well bred to sword and shield: bring me my horse and harnessing, my blade of metal clear. if foes kenned but the hand it bore, they soon had fled for fear. "farewell my dame, so peerless good," (and took her by the hand,) "fairer to me in age you seem, than maids for beauty famed: my youngest son shall here remain to guard these stately towers, and shut the silver bolt that keeps so fast your painted bowers." and first she wet her comely cheeks, and then her bodice green, her silken cords of twirled twist, well plat with silver sheen; and apron set with many a dice of needle work so rare, wove by no hand, as you may guess, save that of fairly fair. ее 226 and he has ridden o'er moor and moss, o'er hills, and many a glen, when he came to a wounded knight, making a heavy moan: "here must i lie, here must i die,. by treachery's false guiles; witless i was that e'er gave faith to wicked woman's smiles." "sir knight, if you were in my bower, to lean on silken seat, my lady's kindly care you'd prove, who ne'er kenned deadly hate;. herself would watch you all the day, her maids in dead of night; and fairly fair your heart would cheer, as she stands in your sight.. "arise young knight, and mount your steed, full lowns the shining day: choose from my menzie whom you please to lead you on the way." with smileless look, and visage wan, the wounded knight replied,, "kind chieftain, your intent pursue, for here i must abide. 227 to me no after day nor night, can e'er be sweet or fair, but soon, beneath some dropping tree, cold death shall end my care." with him no pleading might prevail; brave hardyknute to gain, with fairest words and reason strong, strove courteously in vain. syne he has gone far hind attowre lord chattan's land so wide; that lord a worthy wight was aye, when foes his courage seyed: of pictish race by mother's side, when picts ruled caledon, lord chattan claimed the princely maid, when he saved pictish crown. now with his fierce and stalwart train, he reached a rising height, where broad encamped on the dale, norse' menzie lay in sight. "yonder my valiant sons and fierce, our raging rovers wait, on the unconquered scottish sword to try with us their fate. e e 2 228 make orisons to him that saved our souls upon the rood; syne bravely show your veins are filled with caledonian blood." then forth he drew his trusty glaive, while thousands all around drawn from their sheaths glanced in the sun, and loud the bugles sound. to join his king adown the hill in haste his march he made, while, playing pibrochs, minstrels meet afore him stately strode. "thrice welcome, valiant stoup of war, thy nation's shield and pride; thy king no reason has to fear when thou art by his side." when bows were bent and darts were thrown, for throng scarce could they fly, the darts clove arrows as they met, the arrows dart the trie. long did they rage and fight full fierce, with little skaith to man, but bloody, bloody was the field, or that long day was done. 229 the king of scots, that seldom bruiked the war that looked like play, drew his broad sword, and broke his bow, since bows seemed but delay. quoth noble rothsay, "mine i'll keep i wot it's bled a score." haste up my merry men, cried the king, as he rode on before. the king of norse he sought to find, with him to mense the fight, but on his forehead there did light, a sharp, unsonsy shaft; as he his hand put up to find the wound, an arrow keen, o woeful chance! there pinned his hand in midst between his ene. "revenge, revenge, cried rothsay's heir your mail-coat shall nought bide the strength and sharpness of my dart :" then sent it through his side. another arrow well he marked, it pierced his neck in twa, his hands then quit the silver reins, he low as earth did fa'. 230 "sore bleeds my liege, sore, sore, he bleeds!" again, with might, he drew, and gesture dread, his sturdy bow, fast the broad arrow flew: woe to the knight he ettled at, lament now queen elgreid, hie dames to wail your darling's fall, his youth and comely meid. "take off, take off his costly jupe (of gold well was it twined, knit like the fowler's net through which his steely harness shined) take, norse, that gift from me, and bid him 'venge the blood it bears; say, if he face my bended bow, he sure no weapon fears.” proud norse, with giant body tall, broad shoulder and arms strong, cried "where is hardyknute so famed, and feared at britain's throne. tho' britons tremble at his name, i soon shall make him wail, that e'er my sword was made so sharp, so soft his coat of mail." 231 that brag his stout heart could not bide, it lent him youthful might: "i'm hardyknute, this day," he cried, "to scotland's king i hecht, "to lay thee low, as horse's hoof, my word i mean to keep." syne with the first stroke e'er he struck, he garred his body bleed. norse eyes, like grey goshawk's, stared wild, he sighed with shame and spite; disgraced is now my far-famed arm, that left thee power to strike:?" then gave his head a blow so fell, it made him down to stoop, as low as he to ladies used in courtly guise to lout. 66 full soon he raised his bent body, his blow he marvelled sair, since blows till then on him but darrd as touch of fairly fair: norse ferliet too as sore as he, to see his stately look, so soon as e'er he struck a foe, so soon his life he took.. 232 where, like a fire to hether set, bold thomas did advance, a sturdy foe, with look enraged, up towards him did prance; he spurred his steed through thickest ranks, the hardy youth to quell, who stood unmoved at his approach, his fury to repel. "that short, brown shaft, so meanly trimmed, looks like poor scotland's gear, but dreadful seems the rusty point!" and loud he laughed in jeer. "oft briton's blood has dimmed its shine; this point cut short their vaunt:" syne pierced the boist'rous, bearded cheek, no time he took to taunt. short while he in his saddle swung, his stirrup was no stay, so feeble hung his unbent knee sure token he was fey: swith one the hardened clay he fell, right far was heard the thud; but thomas looked not as he lay all weltering in his blood. 233 with careless gesture, mind unmoved, on rode he north the plain: his seim in throng of fiercest strife, when winner aye the same; not yet his heart dames dimpled cheek, could meise soft love to brook, till vengeful anne returned his scorn, then languid grew his look. in throes of death, with wallowit cheek, all panting on the plain, the fainting corpse of warriors lay, ne'er to arise again; ne'er to return to native land, no more with blithsome sounds to boast the glories of the day, and shew their shining wounds. on norway's coast the widow'd dame may wash the rocks with tears, may long look o'er the shipless seas before her mate appears. cease, emma, cease to hope in vain; thy lord lies in the clay; the valiant scots no revers thole to carry life away. ff 234 there on a lie, where stands a cross set up for monument, thousands full fierce that summer's day filled keen wars black intent. let scots, while scots, praise hardyknute, let norse, the name aye dread, aye how he fought, oft how he spaired, shall latest ages read. loud and chill blew the westlin wind, sore beat the heavy shower, mirk grew the night ere hardyknute wan neir his stately tower. his tower that used with torches blaze, to shine so far at night, seemed now as black as mourning weed, no marvel sore he sigh❜d. "there's no light in my lady's bower, there's no light in my hall; no blink shines round my fairley fair, nor ward stands on my wall. what bodes it? robert, thomas, say!" no answer fits their dread. "stand back, my sons, i'll be your guide." but by they passed with speed. 235 as fast i have sped o'er scotland's foes there ceased his brag of war sore shamed to mind ought but his dame, and maiden fairley fair. black fear he felt, but what to fear he wist not yet with dread; sore shook his body, sore his limbs and all the warrior fled. * * * * * * glossary to hardyknute. hether. s. beath, a low shrub, that grows upon the moors, c. so luxuriantly, as to choak the grass: to prevent which the inhabitants set whole acres of it on fire, the rapidity of which gave the poet that apt and noble simile. attowre. s. out over. aye. ever. blink. s. a glimpse of light: the sudden light of a candle seen in the night at a distance. darr'd. s. bit. ene. s. eyn. eyes. ene. s. even. ettled. aimed. ferliet. s. wondered. gar. make. gimp, jimp. s. neat, slender. glaive. f. sword. ilke. each, every. jupe. s. an upper garment. fr. a petticoat. kend. s. knew. kith and kin. acquaintance and glist. s. glistered. hecht to lay thee law. s. prokindred. mised, engaged to lay thee low. leil. s. loyal, bonest, true. 236 lie. s. lee. field, plain. lowns. s. blazes. lowte, lout. bow, stoop. marrow. s. equal. meid. s. mood. meise. s. soften, reduce, mitigate. mense the faucht. s. measure the battle. to give to mense, is, to give above the measure. twelve and one to the mense, is common with children in their play. menzie, s. meany. retinue, company. mickle. much, great. mirke. s. dark, black. norse. s. norway. pibrochs. s. highland wartunes. revers. s. robbers, pirates. seyd. s. saw. shene. shining. skaith, fcath. barm, mischief. stalwart. stout. swith quickly, instantly. syne. s. then. thole; tholed. suffer; suffered. thud. noise of a fall. trie. s. tre, tree. unsonsie. s. unlucky, unfortunate. wallowit. s. faded, withered. wan neir. s drew near. ward. s. watch, sentinel. akenhead & sons, printers, newcastle. finis. 溜​: f h ! 352 nedl transfer hn 2ghr g тас се juv 797 16 kd11 •....... harvard college library ve ri tas from the books in the homestead of sarah orne jewett at south berwick, maine bequeathed by theodore jewett eastman a.b. 1901 m.d. 1905 1931 c g 251 indi acereck 1 1 1 frontispiece. see page 5, m. brown del. he was overjoyed to find that it sucked as naturally as if it had really found a mother. the goat too seemed to receive pleasure from the efforts of the child, & submitted without opposition to discharge the duties of a nurse. published as the act directs dec. 8th 1787, by john stockdale, piccadilly. 0 o the children's miſcellany: ! in which is included the history of little jack; by thomas day, esq. author of the history of sandford and merton. bid him, befides, his daily pains employ, to form the tender manners of the boy; and work him, like a waxen babe, with art, to perfect fymmetry in every part. dryden.. a new edition, embellished with twenty-eight cuts, by bewick, and a frontispiece.. london: printed for john stockdale, piccadilly. 1797. [price 3s. 6d. bound. ] júr 197.16 harvard college odrary the bequest of theodore jawest eastman ī advertisement. a s the editor of this collection is conſcious there may appear fome defects in the arrangement of his materials, he thinks it neceffary to acquaint the public with the true reafon of their appearing in a lefs finifhed ftate than he could have wiſhed to preſent them. some gentlemen of fortune and literary abilities had once conceived the ſcheme of contributing to the entertainment and inftruction of the rifing generation by a felection of the moſt intereſting and improving hiftories from different authors. they intended to tranflate from the different languages of europe iv advertisement. rope whatever might engage, the minds of children to the improvement of their knowledge, and infpire them with an early love of virtue. to theſe they were to have added a judicious felection from natural hiftory, and the moft entertaining deſcriptions that are to be found in the ample collection of modern voyages; together with many original pieces of their own compofition. all theſe, it was prefumed, would contribute a pleafing and uſeful miſcellany for the ufe of children, which they intended to have publiſhed in periodical numbers. after they had made fome progreſs in the execution of this fcheme, they were compelled, by accidents which it is unneceffary to relate, to abandon their defign. but, though the modefty of the authors would rather have led them to fupprefs what they could not engage to finish, the editor, to whom their papers advertisement. papers were entrufted, has judged them too valuable to be entirely fuppreffed. he has, therefore, collected them into a volume, with the hopes that this miſcellany may not appear undeferving of the public favour, and may be deemed no contemptible addition to that branch of literature which propoſes to itſelf the important object of pleafing and inftructing children. the つ ​ the history of little jack. th here was once a poor lame old man that lived in the midft of a wide unculti vated moor, in the north of england. he had formerly been a foldier, and had almoft loft the ufe of one leg by a wound he had received in battle, when he was fighting againſt the enemies of his country. this poor man, when he found himſelf thus difabled, built a little hut of clay, which he covered with turf dug from the common. he had a little bit of ground which he made a fhift to cultivate with his own hands, and which ſupplied him with potatoes and vegetables; befides this, he fometimes gained a few halfpence by opening a gate for travellers, which ftood near his houfe. he did not indeed get much, becauſe few people paffed that way. what he earned was, however, enough to purchafe cloaths, and the few neceffaries he wanted. but though poor, he was ftrictly honeft, and never failed night and morning to addrefs his prayers to god; by which means he was reſpected by all who knew him, much more than many b the history of many who were fuperior to him in rank and fortune. this old man had one domeſtic. in his walks over the common, he one day found a little kid that had loft its mother, and was almoſt famiſhed with hunger: he took it home to his a cottage, fed it with the produce of his garden, and nurfed it till it grew ftrong and vigorous. little nan, (for that was the name he gave it) returned his cares with gratitude, and became as much attached to him as a dog. all day ſhe browzed upon the herbage that grew around his hut, and at night repofed upon the fame bed of ſtraw with her mafter. frequently did ſhe divert him with her innocent tricks and gambols. she would neftle her little head in his bofom, and eat out of his hand part of his ſcanty allowance of bread, which he never failed to divide with his favourite. the old man often beheld her with filent joy, and, in the innocent effufions of his heart, would lift his hands to heaven, and thank the deity, that, even in the midſt of poverty and diftrefs, had raiſed him up one faithful friend. • one night, in the beginning of winter, the old man thought he heard the feeble cries and lamentations of a child. as he was naturally charitable, he aroſe and ftruck a light, and, going out of his cottage, examined on every fide. it was little jack. was not long before he difcerned an infant, which had probably been dropped by fome ftrolling beggar or gypfy. the old man ſtood amazed at the fight, and knew not what to do. shall i, faid he, who find it fo difficult to live at prefent, incumber myſelf with the care of an helplefs infant, that will not for many years be capable of contributing to its own fubfiftence? and yet, added he, foftening with pity, can i deny affiftance to an human being ſtill more miferable than myſelf?-will not that providence which feeds the birds of the wood and the beaſts of the field, and which has promiſed to bleſs all thoſe that are kind and charitable, affift my feeble endeavours?—at leaſt, let me give it food and lodging for this night; for without i receive it into my cottage, the poor abandoned wretch muft perish with cold before the morning. saying this, he took it up in his arms, and perceived it was a fine healthy boy, though covered with rags; the little foundling too feemed to be fenfible of his kindneſs, and ſmiling in his face, ftretched out his little arms, as if to embrace his benefactor. 1 when he had brought it into his hut, he began to be extremely embarraſſed how to procure it food: but looking at nan, he recollected that the had juft loft her kid, and faw her udder dif b 2 tended ( 4 the history of tended with milk: he, therefore, called her to him, and, preſenting the child to the teat, was overjoyed to find, that it fucked as naturally as if it had really found a mother. the goat too feemed to receive pleaſure from the efforts of m wymia the child, and fubmitted without oppofition to difcharge the duties of a nurfe. contented with this little jack. 5 this experiment, the old man wrapped the child up as warmly as he could, and ftretched himſelf out to reft, with the conſciouſneſs of having done an humane action. early the next morning he was awakened by the cries of the child for food, which, with the affiftance of his faithful nan, he fuckled as he had done the night before. and now the old man began to feel an intcreft in the child, which made him defer fome time longer the taking mcafures to be delivered. from its care. who knows, faid he, but providence, which has preferved this child in fo wonderful a manner, may have deſtined it to fomething equally wonderful in his future life, and may bleſs me as the humble agent of his decrees? at leaſt, as he grows bigger, he will be a pleaſure and comfort to me in this lonely cabin, and will affift in cutting turf for fuel, and cultivating the garden. from this time he became more and more attached to the little foundling; who, in a fhort time, learned to confider the old man as a parent, and delighted him with its innocent careffes. gentle nanny too, the goat, feemed to adopt him with equal tenderneſs as her offspring: fhe would ftretch herſelf out upon the ground, while he crawled upon his hands and knees towards her; and when he had b 3 fatisfied 6 the history of fatisfied his hunger by fucking, he would neftle between her legs and go to fleep in her bofom. it was wonderful to fee how this child, thus left to nature, increaſed in ftrength and vigour. unfettered by bandages or reftraints, his limbs acquired their due proportions and form; his countenance was full and florid, and gave indications of perfect health; and, at an age when other children are fcarcely able to fupport themfelves with the affiftance of a nurſe, this little foundling could run alone. it was true that he fometimes failed in his attempts, and fell to the ground; but the ground was foft, and little jack, for fo the old man called him, was not tender or delicate; he never minded thumps or bruiſes, but boldly ſcrambled up again and purſued his way. in a fhort time, little tool pletely ma java r of his legs; and as the fummer came on, he attended his mamma, the goat, ---ins com 135 cures upon little jack. 7 upon the common, and uſed to play with her for hours together; fometimes rolling under her belly, now climbing upon her back, and friſking about as if he had really been a kid. as to his cloathing, jack was not much incumbered with it he had neither fhoes, nor ftockings, nor fhirt; but the weather was warm, and jack felt himſelf ſo much lighter for every kind of exercife. in a thort time after this, jack began to imitate the founds of his papa, the man, and his mamma, the goat; nor was it long before he learned to ſpeak articulately. the old man, delighted with this firft dawn of reaſon, uſed to place him upon his knee, and converſe with him for hours together, while his pottage was flowly boiling amid the embers of a turf fire. as he grew bigger, jack became of confiderable uſe to his father; he could truft him to look after the gate, and open it during his abfence; and, as to the cookery of the family, it was not long before jack was a complete proficient, and could make broth almoſt as well as his daddy himſelf. during the winter nights, the old man uſed to entertain him with ftories of what he had feen during his youth; the battles and fieges he had been witnefs to, and the hardships he had undergone; all this he related with fo much vivacity, that jack was never tired of liftening. but what de-. r 4 lighted b 8 the history of lighted him beyond meaſure was to fee daddy ſhoulder his crutch, inſtead of a mufquet, and give the word of command. to the right-to the left-prefent-fire-march-halt-all this was familiar to jack's ear as foon as he could ſpeak, and before he was fix years old, he poized and preſented a broom-ſtick, which his daddy gave him for that purpofe, with as good a grace as any foldier of his age in europe. carolina 66 mi̇ne comm wild the old man too inſtructed him in ſuch plain and fimple morals and religion, as he was able to explain. "never tell an untruth, jack," ſaid he, even though you were to be flayed alive; a foldier never lies." jack held up his head, marched acroſs the floor, and promiſed his daddy that he would always tell the truth like a foldier. but the old man, as he was fomething of a fcholar little jack. 9 a fcholar, had a great ambition that his darling fhould learn to read, and write; and this was a work of fome difficulty; for he had neither printed book, nor pens, nor paper in his cabin. induftry, however, enables us to overcome difficulties; in the fummer time, as the old man fat before his cottage, he would draw letters in the fand, and teach jack to name them fingly, until he was acquainted with the whole alphabet, he then proceeded to fyllables, and after that to words; all which his little pupil learned to pronounce with great facility: and, as he had a ſtrong propenfity to imitate what he faw, he not only acquired the power of reading words, but of tracing all the letters which compofed them, on the fand. about this time, the poor goat, which had nurfed jack fo faithfully, grew ill and died. he tended her with the greateſt affection and affiduity during her illneſs, brought her the freſheſt herbs for food, and would frequently ſupport her head for hours together upon his little bofom. but it was all in vain; he loft his poor mammy, as he uſed to call her, and was for fome time inconfolable; for jack, though his knowledge was bounded, had an uncommon degree of gratitude and affection in his temper. he was not able to talk as finely about love, tendernefs, and fenfibility, as many other little boys, that have enjoyed b 5 greater 10 the history of greater advantages of education, but he felt the reality of them in his heart, and thought it fo natural to love every thing that loves us, that be never even ſuſpected it was poffible to do otherwife. the poor goat was buried in the old man's garden, and thither little jack would often come, and call upon his poor mammy nan, and afk her why ſhe had left him? one day, as he was thus employed, a lady happened to come by in a carriage, and overheard him before he was aware. jack ran in an inſtant to open the gate; but the lady ſtopped, and aſked him whom he was bemoaning fo pitifully, and calling upon. jack anfwered, that it was his poor mammy, that was buried in the garden. the lady thought it very odd to hear of fuch a burial place, and therefore proceeded to queftion him," how did your mamma little jack. 11 "she uſed mamma get her living?" faid ſhe. to graze here upon the common all day long," faid jack. the lady was ftill more aſtoniſhed; but the old man came out of his hut, and explained the whole affair to her, which furprized her very much; for though this lady had ſeen a great deal of the world, and had read a variety of books, it had never once entered into her head that a child might grow ftrong and vigorous by fucking a goat, inftead of eating pap. she therefore looked at jack with amazement, admired his brown but animated face, and praifhis ſhape and activity. "will you go with me, little boy?" ſaid ſhe," and i will take care of you, if you behave well." "no," faid jack, "i muſt ſtay with daddy; he has taken care of me for many years, and now i muſt take care of him; otherwife i fhould like very well to go with fuch a ſweet, good-natured lady." the lady was not diſpleaſed with jack's anfwer, and putting her hand in her pocket, gave him half a crown, to buy him ſhoes and ſtockings, and pur-fued her journey. jack was not unacquainted with the uſe of money, as he had been often fent to the next village to purchaſe bread and neceffaries; but he was totally unacquainted with the uſe of ſhoes: and ftockings, which he had never worn in his b 6 life, 12 the history of 66 << life, or felt the want of. the next day, however, the old man bade him run to town, and lay his money out as the lady had defired; for he had too much honour to think of diſobeying her commands, or fuffering it to be expended for any other purpoſe. it was not long before jack returned; but the old man was much furprized to fee him come back as bare as he went out. heigh, jack!" faid he, "where are the fhoes and ftockings which you were to purchaſe?" daddy, anfwered jack, "i went to the ſhop, and juſt tried a pair for ſport, but i found them fo cumberſome, that i could not walk, and i would not wear fuch things, even if the lady would give me another half crown for doing it; / fo i laid the money out in a warm jacket for you, becauſe the winter is coming on, and you feem to be more afraid of the cold than formerly." many fuch inftances of conduct did jack difplay; from which it was eafy to perceive, that he had an excellent foul and generous temper. one failing, indeed, jack was liable to; though a very good natured boy, he was a little too jealous of his honour. his daddy had taught him the uſe of his hands and legs, and jack had fuch difpofitions for the art of boxing, that he could beat every boy in the neighbourhood, of his age and fize. even if they were a head taller, 1 it little jack, 13 it made no difference to jack, provided they ſaid any thing to wound his honour; for otherwiſe he was the moft mild, pacific creature in the world. one day that he had been fent to the village, he returned with his eyes black, and his face fwelled to a frightful fize it was even with difficulty that he was able to walk at all, ſo fore was he with the pomelling he had received. "what have you been doing now, jack ?” ſaid the old man." only fighting with dick the butcher." “you rogue, ſaid the old man, he is twice as big as you are, and the beſt fighter in all the country' "what does that fignify, faid jack, he called you an old beggarman, and then i ftruck him; and i will ftrike him again whenever he calls you fo, even if he ſhould beat me to pieces; for you know daddy, that you are not a beggarman, but a foldier.” 29 in this manner lived little jack, until he was twelve years old; at this time his poor old daddy fell fick and became incapable of moving about. jack did every thing he could think of for the poor man; he made him broths, he fed him with his own hands, he watched whole nights by his bed-fide fupporting his head and helping him when he wanted to move. but it was all in vain; his poor daddy grew daily worſe, and perceived it to be impoffible that he fhould recover. 14 the history of ' cover. he one day therefore called little jack to his bed-fide, and preffing his hand affectionately, told him that he was juſt going to die. little jack burst into a flood of tears at this information, but his daddy defired him to compofe himſelf, and attend to the laft advice he fhould be able to give him. "i have lived, faid the old man, a great many years, in poverty, but i do not know that i have been worfe off than if i had been rich. i have avoided, perhaps, many faults, and many uneafineffes, which i ſhould have incurred had i been in another fituation; and though i have often wanted a meal and always fared hard, i have enjoyed as much health and life as ufually falls to the lot of my betters. i am now going to die; i feel it in every part; the breath will foon be out little jack. 15 1 out of my body; then i fhall be put in the ground, and the worms will eat your poor old daddy." at this jack renewed his tears and fobbings, for he was unable to reftrain them. but the old man faid; "have patience, my child; though i fhould leave this world, as i have always been ſtrictly honeft and endeavoured to do my duty, i do not doubt but god will pity me, and convey me to a better place; where i fhall be happier than i have ever been here. this is what i have always taught you, and this belief gives me the greateſt comfort in my laſt moments. the only regret i feel, is for you, my deareſt child, whom i leave unprovided for. but you are ftrong and vigorous, and almoft able to get your living. as foon as i am dead, you muſt go to the next village and inform the people, that they may come and bury me. you must then endeavour to get into fervice, and work for your living; and, if you are ſtrictly honeſt and fober, i do not doubt that you will find a livelihood, and that god, who is the common father of all, will protect and bless you. adieu, my child, i grow fainter and fainter; never forget your poor old daddy, nor the example he has fet you; but in every fituation of life difcharge your duty, and live like a foldier, and a chriftian." when the old man had with difficulty uttered theſe laſt inftructions, 16 the history of ftructions, his voice entirely failed him, his limbs grew cold and ftiff, and in a few minutes he expired without a groan. little jack, who hung crying over his daddy, called upon him in vain, in vain endeavoured to revive him. at length he pulled off his cloaths, went into his daddy's bed, and endeavoured for many hours to animate him with the warmth of his own body; but finding all his endeavours fruitlefs, he concluded that he was indeed dead; and therefore, weeping bitterly, he dreft himfelf, and went to the village as he had been ordered. the poor little boy was thus left entirely deftitute and knew not what to do; but one of the farmers, who had been acquainted with him before, offered to take him into his houfe, and give him his victuals, for a few months, till he could find a fervice. jack thankfully accepted the offer, and ferved him faithfully for feveral months; during which time he learned 'to milk, to drive the plough, and never refuſed any kind of work he was able to perform. but, by ill luck, this good-natured farmer contracted a fever, by over-heating himfelf in the harveſt, and died in the beginning of winter. his wife was therefore obliged to diſcharge her fervants, and jack was again turned looſe upon the world, with only his cloaths, and a fhilling in his pocket, which his kind miſtreſs had made him a prefent of. little jack. 17 of. he was very forry for the lofs of his mafter; but he was now grown bigger and ſtronger, and thought he ſhould eaſily find employment. he therefore fet out upon his travels, walking all day, and inquiring at every farm-houfe for work. but in this attempt he was unfortunate, for nobody choſe to employ a ftranger: and though he lived with the greateſt economy, he foon found himſelf in a worſe ſituation than ever, without a farthing in his pocket, or a morfel of bread to eat. jack, however, was not of a temper to be eaſily caft down; he walked refolutely on all day, but towards evening was overtaken by a violent ftorm of rain, which wetted him to the ſkin before he could find a bufh for fhelter. now, poor jack began to think of his old daddy, and the comforts he had formerly enjoyed upon the common, where he had always a roof to ſhelter him, and a flice of bread for fupper. but tears and lamentations were vain; and therefore, as foon as the ftorm was over, he purfued his journey, in hopes of finding ſome barn or out-houſe to creep into for the rest of the night. while he was thus wandering about, he ſaw at ſome diſtance a great light, which feemed to come from ſome prodigious fire. jack did not know what this could be ; but, in his prefent fituation, he thought a fire no difagreeable object, and therefore determined to approach # 18 the history of approach it. when he came nearer, he faw a large building which feemed to fpout fire andfmoke at feveral openings, and heard an inceffant noiſe of blows, and the rattling of chains. jack was at firſt a little frightened, but fummoning all his courage, he crept cautiouſly on to the building, and looking through a chink, diſcovered fewhere casareluntar h veral men and boys employed in blowing fires and hammering burning maſſes of iron. this was a very comfortable fight to him in his preſent forlorn condition; fo finding a door half open, he ventured in, and placed himſelf as near as he dared to one of the flaming furnaces. it was not long before he was diſcovered by one of the workmen, who aſked him, roughly, what bafinefs he had there? jack anſwered, with great humility, that he was a poor boy, looking out for work; that little jack. 19. that he had had no food all day, and was wet to the ſkin with the rain, which was evident enough. from the appearance of his cloaths. by great good luck, the man he ſpoke to was good-natured, and therefore not only permitted him to ſtay by the fire, but gave him fome broken victuals for his fupper. after this, he laid himſelf down in a corner, and flept without difturbance till morning. he was fcarcely awake the next day, when the mafter of the forge came in to overlook his men, who finding jack, and hearing his ſtory, began to reproach him as a lazy vagabond, and aſked him why he did not work for his living. jack affured him there was nothing he fo earneſtly defired, and that if he would pleaſe to employ him, there was nothing he would not do to earn a ubmitence. vy cil, fly boy, faid the mafter, if this is true, you ſhall foon be tried; nobody need be idle here; fo calling his foreman, he ordered him to fet that lad to work, and pay him in proportion to his deferts. jack now thought himſelf completely happy, and worked with fo much affiduity, that he foon gained a comfortable liveli hood, and acquired the efteem of his mafter. but unfortunately, he was a little too unreſerved in his converfation, and communicated the ftory of his former life and education. this was great matter of diverſion to all the other boys of the + րո -b forge; 11זזז " 20 the history of forge; who, whenever they were inclined to be merry, would call him little jack the beggar-boy, and imitate the baaing of a goat. this was too much for his irafcible temper, and he never failed to refent it; by which means he was engaged in continual quarrels and combats, to the great difturbance of the houfe; fo that his mafter, though in other refpects perfectly fatisfied with his behaviour, began to fear that he fhould at laſt be obliged to diſcharge him. it happened one day, that a large company of gentlemen and ladies were introduced to fee the works. the mafter attended them, and explained, with great politenefs, every part of his manufacture. they viewed with aftoniſhment the different methods by which that uſeful and neceffary ore of iron is rendered fit for human ufe. they examined little jack. 21 amined the furnaces where it is melted down, to difengage it from the drofs, with which it is mixed in the bowels of the earth, and whence it runs down in liquid torrents like fire. they beheld with equal pleaſure the prodigious hammers, which, moved by the force of water, mould it into maffy bars, for the fervice of man. while they were buſy in examining thefe different proceffes, they were alarmed by a fudden noife of difcord, which broke out on the other fide of the building; and the mafter enquiring into the caufe, was told, that it was only little jack, who was fighting with tom the collier. at this, the mafter cried out, in a paffion, there is no peace to be expected in the furnace, while that little rafcal is employed; fend him to me, and i will inftantly difcharge him. at this moment jack appeared, all 22 the history of all covered with blood and dirt, and ſtood before his angry judge in a modeft, but reſolute poſture. is this the reward," ſaid his maſter, "you little audacious vagabond, of all my kindnefs? can you never refrain a fingle inſtant from broils and fighting? but i am determined to bear it no longer; and therefore you fhall never, from this hour, do a fingle ftroke of work for me." "sir," replied jack, with great humility, but yet with firmnefs, "i am extremely forry to have difobliged you, nor have i ever done it willingly fince i have been here; and if the other boys would only mind their buſineſs as well as i do, and not moleſt me, you would not have been offended now; for i defy them all to fay, that, fince i have been in the houſe, i have ever given any one the leaft provocation, or ever refuſed, to the utmoſt of my ftrength, to do whatever i have been ordered." "that's true, in good faith,", ſaid the foreman; i muft do little jack the juſtice to ſay, that there is not a more honeft, fober, and induſtrious lad about the place. set him to what you will, he never fculks, never grumbles, never flights his work; and if it were not for a little paffion and fighting, i don't believe there would be his fellow in england." "well," faid the mafter, a little mollified, "but what is the cauſe of all this fudden diſturbance ?" "sir," anfwered little jack. 23 ed jack, "it is tom that has been abuſing me, and telling me that my father was a beggarman and my mother a nanny-goat; and when i defired him to be quiet, he went baaing all about the houſe; and this i could not bear; for as to my poor father, he was an honeſt foldier, and if i did fuck a goat, fhe was the beſt creature in the world, and i won't hear her abufed while i have any ſtrength in my body." at this harangue, the whole audience were ſcarcely able to refrain from laughing, and the maſter, with more compofure, told jack to mind his buſineſs, and threatened the other boys with puniſhment if they diſturbed him. but a lady who was in company ſeemed particularly intereſted about little jack, and when ſhe had heard his ftory, faid, this muſt certainly be the little boy who opened a gate ſeveral years paft for me upon norcot moor. i remember being ftruck with his appearance, and hearing him lament the lofs of the goat that nurfed him. i was very much affected with his hiftory, and fince he deferves fo good a character, if you will part with him, i will inſtantly take him into my fervice. the mafter replied, that he fhould part with him with great fatisfaction to fuch an excellent miſtreſs; that, indeed, the boy deferved all the commendations which had been given; but fince 24 the history of fince the other lads had fuch an habit of plaguing, and jack was of fo impatient a temper, he deſpaired of ever compofing their animofities. jack was then called, and informed of the lady's offer, which he inftantly accepted with the greateft readineſs, and received immediate directions to her houſe. jack was now in a new fphere of life. his face was waſhed, his hair combed, he was clothed afreſh, and appeared a very fmart active lad. his bufinefs was to help in the ſtable, to water the horfes, to clean fhoes, to perform errands, and to do all the jobs of the family; and in the diſcharge of thefe fervices, he foon gave univerfal fatisfaction. he was indefatigable in doing what he was ordered, never grumbled, or appeared out of temper, and feemed fo quiet and inoffenfive in his manners, that every body wondered how he had acquired the character of being quarrelfome. in a fhort time, he became both the favourite and the drudge of the whole family; for, fpeak but kindly to him, and call him a little foldier, and jack was at every one's difpofal. this was jack's particular foible and vanity; at his leiſure hours, he would divert himfelf by the hour together in poizing a dung-fork, charging with a broomſtick, and ſtanding centry at the ftable-door. another propenfity of jack's, yr الی which little jack 25 which now diſcovered itſelf, was an immoderate love of horfès. the inftant he was introduced. into the ftable, he attached himſelf fo ftrongly to theſe animals, that you would have taken him for one of the fame fpecies, or at leaſt a near relation. jack was never tired with rubbing down and currying them; the coachman had fcarcely any buſineſs but to fit upon his box; all the operations of the ſtable were intrufted to little jack, nor was it ever known that he neglected a fingle particular. but what gave him more pleaſure than all the reft, was fometimes to accompany his miſtreſs upon a little horſe, which he managed with infinite dexterity.. jack too diſcovered a great difpofition for all the uſeful and mechanic arts. he had ferved an apprenticeſhip already to the manufactory of iron, and of this he was almoſt as vain as being a foldier. as he began to extend his knowledge: of the world, he faw that nothing could be done: without iron. how would you plough the ground, faid jack; how would you dig your garden; how would you even light a fire, dreſs a. dinner, ſhoe a horſe, or do the leaſt thing in the world, if we workmen at the forge did not take the trouble of preparing it for you? thus jack would fometimes expatiate upon the dignity and importance of his own profeffion to the great admiration of all the other fervants. thefe ideas: naturally c 26 the history of naturally gave jack a great eſteem for the profeffion of a blackſmith, and in his occafional vifits to the forge with the horſes, he learnt to make and fix a ſhoe as neatly as any artiſt in the country. nor were jack's talents confined to the manufactory of iron; his love of horſes was fo wan hrime great, and his intereft in every thing that related to them, that it was not long before he acquired a very competent knowledge in the art of fadlery. jack would alfo fometimes obſerve the carpenters when they were at work, and fometimes by ſtealth attempt the management of their tools, in which he fucceeded as well as in every thing elſe, ſo that he was looked upon by every body as a very active, ingenious boy. there was in the family where he now lived a young gentleman, the nephew of his miſtreſs, who had loft his parents, and was therefore brought little jack. 27 brought up by his aunt. as maſter willets was fomething younger than jack, and a very goodnatured boy, he foon began to take notice of him, and be much diverted with his company. jack, indeed, was not undeſerving this attention; for although he could not boaft any great advantages of education, his conduct was entirely free from all the vices to which fome of the lower clafs of people are fubject. jack was never heard to fwear, or exprefs himſelf with any indecency. he was civil and reſpectful in his manners to all his fuperiors, and uniformly goodnatured to his equals. in refpect to the animals entruſted to his care, he not only refrained from ufing them ill, but was never tired with doing them good offices. added to this, he was fober, temperate, hardy, active, and ingenious, and deſpiſed a lie as much as any of his betters. mafter willets now began to be much pleaſed with playing at cricket and trap-ball with jack, who excelled at both theſe games. maſter willets had a little horſe, which jack looked after, and not contented with looking after him in the beſt manner, he uſed to ride him at his leiſure hours with fo much care and addrefs, that in a fhort time he made him the moft gentle and docile little animal in the country. jack had acquired this knowledge partly from his own experience, and partly from paying particular attention to an c 2 itinerant 28 the history of itinerant riding-mafter, that had lately exhibited various feats in that neighbourhood. jack attended him ſo cloſely, and made fo good an uſe of his time, that he learned to imitate almoſt every thing he faw, and uſed to divert the fervants and his young mafter with acting the taylor's riding to brentford. the young gentleman had a mafter who uſed to come three times a week to teach him accounts, and writing, and geography. jack ufed to be fometimes in the room while the leſſons were given, and liftened, according to cuſtom, with fo much attention to all that paffed, that he received very confiderable advantage for his own improvement. he had now a little money, and he laid fome of it out to purchaſe pens, and paper, and a flate, with which at night he uſed to imitate every thing he had heard and feen in the little jack. 29. the day; and his little mafter, who began to love him very fincerely, when he ſaw him fo defirous of improvement, contrived, under one pretence or another, to have him generally in the room while he was receiving inftruction himſelf. in this manner jack went on for fome years, leading a life very agreeable to himſelf, and difcharging his duty very much to the fatisfaction of his miſtreſs. an unlucky accident at length happened to interrupt his tranquillity. a young gentleman came down to vifit mafter willets, who, having been educated in france, and among genteel people in london, had a very great tafte for finery, and a fupreme contempt for all the vulgar. his drefs too was a little particular, as well as his manners; for he ſpent half his time in adjuſting his head, wore a large black bag tied to his hair behind, and would fometimes ſtrut about for half an hour together with his hat undime der 30 the history of der his arm, and a little fword by his fide. this young man had a fupreme contempt for all the vulgar, which he did not attempt to conceal; and when he had heard the ftory of jack's birth and education, he could fcarcely bear to be in the fame room with him. jack foon perceived the averfion which the ftranger entertained for him, and at firſt endeavoured to remove it, by every civility in his power; but when he found that he gained nothing by all his humility, his temper, naturally haughty, took fire, and, as far as he dared, he plainly fhewed all the refentment he felt. it happened one day, after jack had received fome very mortifying uſage from this young gentleman, that as he was walking along the road, he met with a ſhowman, who was returning from a neighbouring fair with fome wild beafts in a cart. among the reft was a middle-fized monkey, who was not under cover like the reft, and played fo many antic tricks, and made fo many grimaces, as engaged all jack's attention, and delighted him very much, for he always had a propenfity for every ſpecies of drollery. after a variety of queſtions and converſation, the ſhowman, who probably wanted to be rid of his monkey, propoſed to jack to purchaſe him for half a crown. jack could not refift the temptation of being mafter of fuch a droll diverting animal, and therefore little jack. 31 therefore agreed to the bargain. but when he was left alone with his purchaſe, whom he led along by a chain, he foon began to repent his hafte, and knew not how to difpofe of him. as there was, however, no remedy, jack brought him carefully home, and confined him ſafe in an out-houſe, which was not applied to any uſe.in this fituation he kept him feveral days, without accident, and frequently vifited him at his leiſure hours, with apples, nuts, and ſuch other prefents as he could procure, among the other tricks which the monkey had been taught to perform, he would riſe upon his hind legs at the word of command, and bow with the greateſt politeness to the company. jack, who had found out theſe accompliſhments in his friend, could not refift the impulfe of making them fubfervient to his refentment. he, therefore, one day, procured fome flour, with which he powdered his monkey's head, fixed a large paper bag to his neck, put an old hat under his arm, and tied a large iron ſkewer to his fide, inſtead of a fword; and thus accoutred, led him about with infinite fatisfaction, calling him monfieur, and jabbering fuch broken french as he had picked up from the converſation of the vifitor. it happened very unluckily at this very inftant, that the young gentleman himself paffed by, c 4 and 32 the history of and inftantly faw at one glance the intended copy himſelf, and all the malice of little jack; who was leading him along, and calling to him to hold up his head, and look like a perſon of faſhion. rage inftantly took poffeffion of.his mind, and drawing his fword, which he happened to have on, he ran the poor monkey through with a fudden thruft, and laid him dead upon the ground. what more he might have done is uncertain, for jack, who was not of a temper to fee calmly fuch an outrage committed upon an animal whom he confidered as his friend, flew upon him like a fury, and wrefting the fword out of his hand, broke it into twenty pieces. the young gentleman himfelf received a fall in the ſcuffle, which, though it did him no material damage, daubed all his cloaths, and totally ſpoiled the whole little jack. 33 citateng ndegilmore whi nl pe join limanglething fiho tm 11111 2 ..16 4:4 c tut whole arrangement of his dreſs. at this inftant, the lady herſelf, who had heard the noiſe, came down, and the violence of poor jack was too apparent to be excufed. jack, indeed, was fubmiffive to his miftrefs, whom he was very forry to have offended; but, when he was ordered to make conceffions to the young gentleman, as the only conditions upon which he could be kept in the family, he abfolutely refuſed. he owned, indeed, that he was much to blame for reſenting the provocations he had received, and endeavouring to make his miſtreſs's company ridiculous; but as to what he had done in defence of his friend the monkey, there were no poffible arguments which could convince him he was in the leaſt to blame; nor would he have made fubmiffions to the king himſelf.— this unfortunate obftinacy of jack's was the c 5 occafion 34 the history of occafion of his being diſcharged, very much to the regret of the lady herſelf, and ſtill more to that of mafter willets. jack therefore packed up his cloaths in a little bundle, fhook all his fellow-fervants by the hand, took an affectionate leave of his kind maſter, and once more fallied out upon his travels. latera. he had not walked far before he came to a town, where a party of foldiers were beating up for volunteers. jack mingled with the crowd that furrounded the recruiting ferjeant, and liftened with great pleaſure to the found of the fifes and drums; nor could he help mechanically holding up his head, and ſtepping forward with an air that fhewed the trade was not entirely new to him. the ferjeant foon took notice of theſe geftures, and feeing him a ftrong likely lad, came up to him, clapped him upon the 霉 ​ little jack. 35 the back, and aſked him if he would enliſt."you are a brave boy," ſaid he, "i can fee it · in your looks-come along with us, and i don't doubt, in a few weeks, you'll be as complete a foldier as thoſe who have been in the army for years." jack made no anſwer to this, but by inſtantly poizing his ftick, cocking his hat fiercely, and going through the whole manual exercife." prodigious, indeed!" cried the ferjeant, "i fee you have been in the army already, and can eat fire as well as any of us. but come with us, my brave lad, you fhall live well, have little to do, but now and then fight for your king and country, as every gentleman ought; and in a fhort time, i don't doubt, but i fhall fee you a captain, or fome great man, c 6 rolling 36 the history of rolling in wealth, which you have got out of the fpoils of your enemies."" no, faid jack, captain, that will never do---no tricks upon travellers-i know better what i have to expect if i enliſt-i muſt lie hard, live hard, expoſe my life and limbs, every hour of the day, and be foundly cudgelled every now and then into the bargain."" o'ons, cried the ferjeant, where did the young dog pick up all this?. he is enough to make a whole company defert."-" no, faid jack, they fhall never defert through me; for though i know this, as i am at prefent out of employment, and have a great refpect for the character of a gentleman foldier, i will enlift directly in your regiment." "a brave fellow, indeed, faid the ferjeant; here, my boy, here is your money and your cockade," both which he directly prefented, for fear his recruit fhould change his mind; and thus in a moment little jack became a foldier. he had ſcarcely time to feel himſelf eaſy in his new accoutrements, before he was embarked for india in the character of a marine. this kind of life was entirely new to jack; however, his uſual activity and ſpirit of obſervation did not defert him here, and he had not been embarked many weeks, before he was perfectly acquainted with all the duty of a failor, and in that refpect equal to moft on board. it happened that little jack. 37 ה that the fhip, in which he failed, touched at the cormo iflands, in order to take in wood and water; thefe are fome little iſlands near the coaft of africa, inhabited by blacks. jack often went on fhore with the officers, attending them on their fhooting parties to carry their powder and ſhot, and the game they killed. all this country confifts of very lofty hills, covered with trees and fhrubs of various kinds, which never lofe their leaves, from the perpetual warmth of the climate. through theſe it is frequently dif ficult to force a way, and the hills themſelves abound in precipices. it happened that one of the officers whom jack was attending upon a ſhooting party, took aim at fome great bird and brought it down; but as it fell into fome deep valley, over fome rocks which it was impoffible to defcend, they defpaired of gaining their prey. jack, 38 the history of jack, immediately, with officious hafte, ſet off and ran down the more level fide of the hill, thinking to make a circuit and reach the valley into which the bird had fallen. he fet off, therefore, but as he was totally ignorant of the country, he, in a fhort time, buried himſelf fo deep in the wood, which grew continually thicker, that he knew not which way to proceed. he then thought it moſt prudent to return; but this he found as difficult to effect as the other. he therefore wandered about the woods with inconceivable difficulty all day, but could never find his company nor even reach the ſhore, or obtain the profpect of the fea. at length the night approached, and jack, who perceived it to be impoffible to do that in the dark, which he had not been able to effect in the light, lay down under a rock, and compofed himſelf to reft, as well as he was able. the next day he rofe with the light, and once more attempted to regain the ſhore: but unfor tunately he had totally loft all idea of the direction he ought to purſue, and ſaw nothing around him but the difmal profpect of woods and hills and precipices, without a guide or path. jack now began to be very hungry, but as he had a fowling piece with him, and powder and ſhot, he foon procured himſelf a dinner; and kindling a fire with fome dry leaves and flicks, he roafted his little jack. 39 his game upon the embers, and dined as comfortably as he could be expected to do, in fo forlorn a fituation. finding himſelf much refreſhed, he purſued his journey, but with as little fuccefs as ever. on the third day, he indeed came in fight of the ſea, but found that he was quite on a different fide of the iſland from that where he left the ſhip, and that neither ſhip nor boat was to be feen. jack now loft all hopes of rejoining his comrades, for he knew the fhip was to fail at fartheft upon the third day, and would not wait for him. he, therefore, fat down very penfively upon a rock, and caft his eyes upon the vaſt extent of ocean which was ftretched out before him. he found himſelf now abandoned upon a ſtrange country, without a fingle friend, acquaintance, or even any one who ſpoke the fame language. he at the history of at first thought of feeking out the natives, and making known to them his deplorable ſtate; but he began to fear the reception he might meet with among them. they might not be pleaſed, he thought, with his company, and might take the liberty of treating him as the white men generally treat the blacks when they get them into their poffeffion; that is, make him work hard with very little victuals, and knock him on the head if he attempted to run away. and therefore, fays jack, as he was meditating all alone, it may, perhaps, be better for me to ſtay quiet where i am. it is true, indeed, i fhall not have much company to talk to, but then i fhall have nobody to quarrel with me, or baa, or laugh at my poor daddy and mammy. neither do i at preſent ſee how i ſhall get a livelihood, when my powder and ſhot are all expended; but however i fhall hardly be ftarved, for i faw feveral kinds of fruit in the woods, and fome roots which look very much like carrots. as to cloaths, when mine wear out, i fhall not much want new ones; for the weather is charmingly warm; and therefore, all things confidered, i don't ſee why i ſhould not be as happy here as in any other place. when jack had finiſhed his fpeech, he fet himſelf to find a lodging for the night. he had not examined far before he found a dry cavern in a rock, which little jack. 41 which he thought would prove a very comfortable refidence; he therefore went to work with an hatchet he had with him, and cut fome boughs of trees, which he fpread upon the floor, and over thofe a long filky kind of grafs, which he found in plenty near the place, to make himſelf a bed. his next care was, how to fecure himſelf in caſe of any attack, for he did not know whether the island contained any wild beafts or not. he therefore cut down feveral branches of trees, and wove them into a kind of wicker work, as he had feen the men do hurdles when he lived with the farmer; with this contrivance he found he could very fecurely barricade the entrance of his cave. and now, as the evening was again approaching, he began to feel himſelf hungry, and ſeeking along the fea-fhore, he found fome fhell-fifh, which ſupplied him with a plentiful meal. the next day jack arofe, a little melancholy indeed, but with a refolution to ftruggle manfully with the difficulties of his fituation. he walked into the woods and faw feveral kinds of fruit and berries, fome of which he ventured to eat, as the birds had pecked them, and found the taſte agreeable. he alfo dug up feveral fpecies of roots, but feared to taſte them left they ſhould be poiſonous. at length, he ſelected one that very much refembled a potatoe, and determined to roaft it in the embers, 42 the history of bers, and taſte a very ſmall bit. it can hardly, thought jack, do me much hurt, in fo very ſmall a quantity; and if that agrees with me i will increaſe the dofe. the root was fortunately extremely wholeſome and nutritive, fo that jack was in a very short time tolerably fecure againſt the danger of wanting food. in this manner did jack lead a kind of ſavage, but tolerably contented life, for feveral months; during which time he enjoyed perfect health, and was never diſcovered by any of the natives. he uſed ſeveral times a-day to viſit the ſhore, in hopes that fome fhip might paſs that way and deliver him from his folitary impriſonment. this, at length, happened, by the boat of an engliſh ſhip, that was failing to india, happening to touch upon the coaft; jack inftantly hailed the crew, and the officer, little jack. 43 officer, upon hearing the ftory, agreed to receive him; the captain too, when he found that jack was by no means a contemptible failor, very willingly gave him his paffage, and promiſed him a gratuity beſides, if he behaved well. jack arrived in india without any accident, and relating his ftory, was permitted to ferve in another regiment, as his own was no longer there. he foon diftinguiſhed himſelf by his courage and good behaviour on feveral occafions, and before long was advanced to the rank of a ferjeant. in this capacity, he was ordered out upon an expedition into the remote parts of the country. the little army in which he ferved now marched on for feveral weeks, through a burning climate, and in want of all the neceffaries of life. at length, they entered upon fome extenfive plains, which bordered upon the celebrated country of the tartars. jack was perfectly well acquainted with the hiftory of this people, and their method of fighting. he knew them to be fome of the beft horſemen in the world; indefatigable in their attacks, though often repulfed returning to the charge, and not to be invaded with impunity; he, therefore, took the liberty of obferving to fome of the officers, that nothing could be more dangerous than their rafhly engaging themſelves in thoſe extenfive plains, where 44 the history of where they were every moment expoſed to the attacks of cavalry, without any fuccefsful method of defence, or place of retreat, in caſe of any misfortune. theſe remonftrances were not much attended to, and after a few hours farther march, they were alarmed by the approach of a confiderable body of tartar horfemen. they, however, drew up with all the order they were able, and firing feveral fucceffive vollies, endeavoured to keep the enemy at a diſtance. but the tartars had no defign of doing that with a confiderable lofs, which they were fure of doing with eaſe and ſafety. inſtead therefore of charging the europeans, they contented themſelves with giving continual alarms, and menacing them on every fide, without expofing themſelves to any confiderable dan, ger. little jack. 45 1 ger. the army now attempted to retreat, hoping that they fhould be able to arrive at the neighbouring mountains, where they would be fafe from the incurfions of the horſe. but in this attempt they were equally diſappointed; for another confiderable body of enemies appeared on that fide, and blocked their paffage. the europeans now found they were furrounded on all fides, and that refiftance was vain. the commanding officer, therefore, judged it expedient to try what could be effected by negociation, and ſent one of his officers, who underſtood fomething of the tartar language, to treat with the general of the enemies. the tartar chief received the europeans with great civility, and after having gently reproached them with their ambition, in coming fo far to invade a people who had never injured them, he confented upon very moderate conditions to their enlargement: but he infifted upon having their arms delivered up, except a very few which he permitted them to keep for defence in their return, and upon retaining a certain number of europeans as hoftages for the performance of the ftipulated articles. among thoſe who were thus left with the tartars jack happened to be included, and while all the reft feemed inconfolable at being thus made priſoners by a barbarous nation, he alone, accuſtomed to all the viciffitudes of life, retained 7 k 46 the history of ed his cheerfulneſs, and prepared to meet every reverſe of fortune with his ufual firmnefs. the tartars among whom jack was now to refide, conftitute feveral different tribes or nations which inhabit an immenfe extent of coun try both in europe and afia. their country is in general open and uncultivated, without cities or towns, fuch as we fee in england. the inhabitants themſelves are a bold and hardy race of men that live in ſmall tents, and change their place of abode with the different ſeaſons of the year. all their property confifts in herds of cattle, which they drive along with them from place to place; and upon whofe milk and fleſh they fubfift they are particularly fond of horſes, of which they have a ſmall but excellent breed, hardy and indefatigable for the purpoſes of war, and they excel in the management of them, beyond what is eaſy to conceive. immenfe herds of theſe animals wander looſe about the deferts, but marked with the particular mark of the perſon or tribe to which they belong. when they want any of theſe animals for ufe, a certain number of their young men jump upon their horſes with nothing but an halter to guide them, each carrying in his hand a pole with a nooſe or cord at the end. when they come in fight of the herd, they purſue the horſe they wish 1 to little jack. 47 to take at full ſpeed, come up with him in ſpite of his ſwiftneſs, and never fail to throw the noofe about his neck as he runs. they are frequently known to jump upon young horfes that have paffed their whole life in the defert, and with only a girt around the animal's body to hold by, maintain their feat, in ſpite of all his violent exertions, until they have wearied him out and reduced him into perfect obedience. such was the nation with whom the lot of jack was now to refide, nor was he long before he had an opportunity of fhewing his talents. it happened that a favourite horſe of the chief was taken with a violent fever, and feemed to be in immediate danger of death. the khan, for fo he is called among the tartars, feeing his horſe grow hourly worſe, at length applied to the europeans, to know if they could fuggeft any thing for his recovery. all the officers were profoundly ignorant of farriery; but when the application was made to jack, he defired to ſee the horſe, and with great gravity began to feel his pulfe, by paffing his hand within the animal's fore-leg; which gave the tartars a very high idea of his ingenuity. finding that the animal was in a high fever, he propoſed to the khan to let him blood, which he had learned to do very dexterouſly in england. he obtained permiffion to do as he pleaſed, 4.8 the history of pleaſed, and having by great good luck a lancet. with him, he let him blood very dexterously. in the neck. after this operation he covered thewor him up, and gave him a warm potion made out of fuch ingredients as he could procure upon the ſpot, and left him quiet. in a few hours the horſe began to mend, and, to the great joy of the khan, perfectly recovered in a. few days. this cure, fo opportunely performed, raiſed the reputation of jack fo high,. that every body came to confult him about. their horfes, and in a fhort time he was the univerfal farrier of the tribe. the khan himfelf conceived fo great an affection for him, that he gave him an excellent horfe to rid upon. and attend him in his hunting parties; and jack, who excelled in the art or horfemanſhip, . manalittle jack.. 49 managed him fo well as to gain the efteem of the whole nation. the tartars, though they are excellent horſemen, have no idea of managing their horfes, unleſs by violence; but jack in a ſhort time, by continual care and attention, made his horfe fo docile and obedient to every motion of his hand and leg, that the tartars themſelves would gaze upon him with admiration, and allow themfelves to be outdone. not contented with this, he procured fome iron, and made his horſe ſhoes in the european tafte; this alfo was matter of aftonishment to all the tartars, who are accuftomed to ride their horfes unfhod. he next obferved that the tartar faddles are all prodigiouíly large and cumberfome, raifing the horfernan up to a great diftance from the back of his horfe. jack ſet himſelf to work, and was not long bed fore 50 the history of fore he had completed fomething like an englifh hunting faddle, on which he paraded before the khan. all mankind feem to have a paffion for novelty, and the khan was fo delighted with this effort of jack's ingenuity, that, after paying him the higheſt compliments, he intimated a defire of having fuch a faddle for himſelf. jack was the moft obliging creature in the world, and fpared no labour to ferve his friends; he went to work again, and in a fhort time completed at faddle ſtill more elegant for the khan. theſe exertions gained him the favour and efteem both of the khan and all the tribe; fo that jack was an univerfal favourite, and loaded with prefents, while all the reft of the officers, who had never learned to make a faddle or an horfe-fhoe, were treated with contempt and indifference. jack, indeed, behaved with the greateſt generofity to his countrymen, and divided with them all the mutton and venifon which were given him; but he could not help fometimes obferving, that it was great pity they had not learned to make an horfe-thue inſtead of dancing and dreffing hair. and now an ambaſſador arrived from the englifh fettlements, with an account that all the conditions of the treaty had been performed, and demanding the reftitution of the prifoners. the tartar chief was too much a man of honour to delay an inftant, and they were all reftored; but before 1 8 1 little jack. 51. before they fet out, jack laboured with indefatigable zeal to finish a couple of faddles and a dozen horſe-ſhoes, which he preſented to the khan, with many expreffions of gratitude. the khan was charmed with this proof of his affection, and in return made him a preſent of a couple of fine horfes, and feveral valuable ſkins of beafts. jack arrived without any accident at the engliſh fettlements, and felling his ſkins and horſes, found himſelf in poffeffion of a moderate fum of money. he now began to have a defire to return to england, and one of the officers, who had often been obliged to him during his captivity, procured him a difcharge. he embarked, therefore, with all his property on board a fhip, which was returning home, and in a few months was fafely landed at plymouth. but jack was too active and too prudent to d 2 give 52 the history of give himſelf up to idleneſs. after confidering various ſchemes of bufinefs, he determined to take up his old trade of forging; and for that purpoſe made a journey into the north, and found his old mafter alive, and as active as ever. his mafter, who had always entertained an efteem for jack, welcomed him with great affection, and being in want of a foreman, he engaged him at a very handfome price for that place. jack was now indefatigable in the execution of his new office; inflexibly honeft where the intereſts of his maſter were concerned, and at the fame time humane and obliging to the men who were under him, he gained the affection of all about him. in a few years, his mafter was fo thoroughly convinced of his merit, that growing old himſelf, he took jack into partnerſhip, and committed the management of the whole bufinefs to his care. he continued to exert the fame qualities now which he had done before, by which means he improved the bu finefs fo much, as to gain a confiderable fortune, and become one of the moft refpectable manufacturers in the country.-but, with all this profperity, he never difcovered the leaſt pride or haughtiness; on the contrary, he employed part of his fortune to purchaſe the moor where he formerly lived, and built himſelf a ſmall, but convenient houſe, upon the very ſpot where his daddy's little jack. 53 dy's hut had formerly ftood. hither he would fometimes retire from bufinefs, and cultivate his garden with his own hands, for he hated'id'enefs. 13441931 113-11 to all his poor neighbours he was kind and liberal, relieving them in their diftrefs, and often entertaining them at his houfe, where he used to dine with them, with the greateft affability, and frequently relate his own ftory, in order to prove that it is of very little confequence how a man comes into the world, provided he behaves well, and diſcharges his duty when he is in it. d 3 a sketch 34 a sketch of a sketch of universal history: advertisement. he following sketch of univerſal hiſtory was written by a gentleman for the uſe of two young ladies, and not intended for publication; but as it was defigned to ſupply what he thought was wanting to give the minds of children fome idea of general hiſtory, and as it perfectly anſwered the purpoſe for which he compofed it, he has been induced to publish it, that others might reap the fame advantage which thoſe have for whoſe uſe it was particularly compofed. there are, it is true, many abridgments of sacred, greek, roman, and engliſh hiſtory; but fome ſhort ſketch of general hiſtory ſeems wanting, that the learner may be enabled to fee how the ſeparate parts are connected with each other. this deficiency is here attempted to be fupplied; and as young minds are too volatile to be long fixed, it is drawn on as fmall a fcale as poffible: on the fame account it was thought proper not to load it with chronological dates, but to throw it into a conciſe and fimple narrative, that the connection of the fucceffive events with each other might be readily acquired, and eaſily retained when acquired. " the universal history. 55 the author has carefully avoided the giving a greater ſpace to thofe circumſtances which are neareſt the preſent time; for though in larger hiſtories this muſt neceffarily happen, from the increafing quantity of materials, yet it is a fault in a work of this fort, fince it tends to impreſs on the ductile imagination of youth wrong ideas of chronology, which are not eafily eradicated, as the mind will be apt to connect the length of the æra with the number of the pages it occupies. the author of theſe ſheets is free to confefs, that his own imagination, even in riper years, was ſo much biaffed by this early prejudice, that it coft fome pains to correct it; and he will venture to ſay, that many perſons of no inconfiderable hiftorical knowledge will find the time beſtowed on a careful perufal of this sketch, accompanied with an inſpection of doctor prieftley's hiftorical and biographical charts, by no means thrown away. a sketch, &c. the he earlieft information we have of the actions of mankind is from the holy scriptures. we have there an account of the creation of the world, the destruction of it by the flood, the renewal of mankind by the family of c 4 noah, 56 a sketch of noah, who were preferved in the ark, and their increaſe and difperfion over the whole face of the earth. the scriptures then proceed principally with the hiftory of the defcendants of abraham, whofe great grandfon, jofeph, fettling in egypt with his eleven brothers, they became, with their progeny, flaves to that powerful people. but increafing in proceſs of time, they migrated from thence, and fettled in paleſtine, after many wars, expelling the old inhabitants, who are called, in our tranflation of the bible, philiftines. the defcendants of abraham ftiled themſelves ifraelites, or children of ifrael, from jacob, the father of jofeph, who was alfo named ifrael. they divided the country among their twelve tribes, diſtinguiſhed by the names of the twelve fons of jacob, from whom they were feverally defcended. at first, they were governed by magiftrates, called judges; and afterwards by kings. in the reign of rehoboam, their fourth king, fon to solomon, and grandfon to david, ten of the tribes revolted, under a leader named jeroboam, leaving two tribes only, viz. juda and benjamin, under rehoboam, whofe defcendants were called kings of juda, from whence the name of jews was derived; and the fucceffors of.. jeroboam were called kings of ifrael. several powerful nations aroſe in their neighbourhood, which all became in time fubject to the universal history. 57 1 the empire of affyria. to fuch a formidable enemy the offspring of abraham were an eaſy conqueft: the ten tribes of ifrael were carried into captivity, and their name no more heard of among the nations: the chief perfons among the jews were alſo carried to babylon, the capital of affyria; but the people were permitted to remain at home under the dominion of their conquerors. soon after this a new power aroſe. the king of affyria turned his arms againſt the medes and perfians. cambyfes, king of perſia, had married mandane, daughter of aftyages, king of media. the firft attack of the affyrians was againſt media. the perfians fent cyrus, fon of cambyfes and mandane, at the head of an army, to the affiftance of his uncle cyaxares, who was then king. the invader was repelled, invaded in his turn, the king of affyria killed at the taking of babylon, and the whole empire reduced under the dominion of the medes and perfians, over both of whom cyrus reigned, by marrying the only daughter of his uncle cyaxares. thus was the perfian empire founded. the perfian empire extended over all the known parts of afia: and the ambition of darius, a fucceffor, though not a deſcendant of cyrus, induced him to attempt the conqueft of part d 5 of 1 53 a sketch of of europe; but here he met with a fevere repulfe from the grecian republics. this ſmall people, who inhabited a country of narrow extent, were not only able, by their courage and military ſkill, to check this powerful invader, but they had made fuch a proficiency in wiſdom and arts, that we may now fay, every attainment modern europe has made in both, is principally, if not folely derived from them. the origin of this fingular people is very uncertain. the first time they made any confpicuous figure in the annals of mankind, was in the trojan war, which has been rendered immortal by the poems of homer. at that time they were divided into fmall kingdoms, under limited monarchs; all of which, before the perfian invafion, were formed into republics. 1 the perfian king darius defpifed fuch feeble antagoniſts; but both he and his fon xerxes foon learned, by fatal experience, the advantage of valour and difcipline over timid multitudes. after the lofs of immenfe armies, the kings of perfia contented themſelves with fomenting the differences which began to arife among the grecian republics, in which athens and sparta took the lead; and remaining anxious fpectators of the bloody wars which they made with each other, when freed from the apprehenfions of a foreign enemy. while universal history. 59 while greece was thus wafting her ſtrength in wars at home, great jealoufy was ftill entertained left the common enemy (for ſo the king of perfia was eſteemed) fhould take advantage of her weakneſs to accompliſh his ambitious defigns, when a ftorm unexpectedly burst on them from another quarter. there was a country to the north of greece, called macedonia, which, though in many refpects congenial with it, was looked on as barbarous (for the greeks called all nations but themſelves barbarians). macedonia was governed by an abfolute king. philip, prince of macedonia, happening, on fome occafion, to be an hoftage among the greeks, had the advantage, at the ſame time, of learning their art of war, and feeing their internal diffentions. profiting by this knowledge, when he fucceeded to the throne of macedonia, he fo contrived to embroil the affairs of greece by corruption and intrigue, and by taking part fometimes with one party, and fometimes with another, fo to weaken the whole, that, having bribed the chiefs of fome of the republics to his intereft, and totally defeated the athenians and their allies at the battle of charonea, he rendered greece entirely dependent on himſelf. knowing, however, the difficulty of keeping fuch a people in peaceable ſubjection, he pland 6 ned 60 a sketch of ned the popular ſcheme of an invaſion of perfia; affembling for this purpofe the whole force of greece, and caufing himſelf to be acknowledged chief of the confederacy. in the midſt of this undertaking he was affaffinated, and was fucceeded in his power by his fon, diſtinguiſhed by the appellation of alexander the great. • alexander, immediately putting himſelf at the head of this formidable army, conquered the perfian empire, with all its dependencies, and, penetrating to the banks of the ganges, fubdued even part of that country fo well known to us by the name of the eaſt-indies. but this immenſe empire was of ſhort duration; for, on his return, he died at babylon, as fome fay, by poiſon, as others by exceffive drinking, leaving his vaft dominions to be divided among his generals. afia, egypt, and greece, exhibited a continual fcene of war and defolation, eſpecially greece, where there were perpetual ftruggles between the fucceffors of alexander for dominion and the republics for liberty, till the whole was reduced to fubjection by the power of rome. 1 rome, which makes fo confpicuous a figure in the hiftory of mankind, aroſe from being a ſmall ſtate to the utmoſt extent of territory and power. at firſt it was governed by kings, who were expelled for their tyranny, and two annual magiftrates chofen in their place; thefe, with the universal history. 61 the fenate and affemblies of the people, formed the government, not unlike our king, lords, and commons. the romans foon engaged in wars with the other ftates of italy, all of which they finally conquered; increaſing by thoſe means not only their ſtrength but their military knowledge; and as many of the italian ſtates were greek colonies, they had all the advantage of the grecian art of war, improved by their own experience. being maſters of italy, they turned their arms againſt sicily, which engaged them in a war with carthage, a powerful ſtate on the north of africa, who had colonies in that iſland. this war was profecuted with various fuccefs, till the perfeverance and courage of the romans prevailed, and carthage was totally fubdued. to return to the affairs of greece: rome made the affifting the greek republics a pretence for interfering in their difputes, and finally reduced both the oppreffors and the oppreffed to an entire dependence on herſelf. 'the armies of rome now became invincible. not only afia, egypt, greece, and the northern parts of africa, were fubdued, but the extended. her conquefts to spain, gaul, and britain. yet, amid theſe fplendid ſcenes of victory abroad, rome was torn to pieces by factions at home. at firſt the ftruggles were between the fenate and the people, till particular perſons obtaining 62 a sketch of obtaining power by holding long commands abroad, the names of the popular, or noble party were only uſed as fkreens to the ambition of individuals. the laft great conteft was between julius cæfar and pompey; the firſt of whom had commanded in the northern, and the other in the eaſtern provinces. the decifive battle of pharfalia, and the fubfequent death of pompey, gave the whole roman empire into the hands of cæfar. the fpirit of liberty, however, made one dying effort. cæfar was ftabbed in the ſenate houſe, and an army raiſed in defence of public freedom. but after a fhort war, the veteran troops of cæfar, under command of octavius, his nephew and adopted heir, marcus antonius, his friend, and lepidus, one of his generals, defeated the army of the republic, and the three leaders divided the empire among them. lepidus, being a weak man, was foon depofed; and m. antonius, devoted to his pleafures, ſhut himſelf up in egypt with cleopatra, the queen of that country. octavius cæfar, taking advantage of his indolence, encroached on his provinces, and a war enfuing, antonius was totally defeated at the naval battle of actium, foon after which he killed himſelf, and octavius remained fole mafter of the roman empire, with the title of emperor, and the name of universal history. 63. of auguftus cæfar; and rome, with its vaft territories, from this period became fubject to the dominion of an arbitrary monarch. our saviour was born during the reign of auguftus, and fuffered crucifixion under tiberius, his immediate fucceffor. from this time the whole civilized world being under one maſter, hiſtory for a long period has little elfe to record than the characters of the roman emperors; and mankind were happy or miſerable as their governors were mild or cruel. perhaps the fate of the human race was never more enviable than when fuch characters as titus, trajan, or the antonines, were maſters of the world. while under the government of fuch monsters, as caligula, nero, and domitian, who ſeemed to delight only in cruelty, mankind were in the moſt miſerable fituation, unable either to refift the power of the tyrant, or eſcape from his dominions, as there was no country out of the limits of the roman empire that was not inhabited by the moſt favage barbarians. it may not be amifs here to mention, that, under the reign of titus, tenth emperor from auguftus, the city of jerufalem, after repeated rebellions, was finally deſtroyed by the romans, and the jews difperfed, as they remain at this day a fingular inftance of a people, who having loft their country, ftill maintain, though fcattered 64 a sketch of fcattered over the face of the earth, their religion, their language, and their laws, the fame as they were at a period far beyond any antiquity to which the annals of any the moſt ancient nation extend. " though the barbarous tribes that bordered on the roman empire were continually infeſting the frontiers with hoftilities, and gradually encroaching on its provinces, yet it fuffered no great diminution of territory till after the time of conftantine, who was the forty-first emperor in fucceffion from auguftus, and lived upwards of three hundred years after him. during that period chriſtianity had been gradually, though privately, extending itſelf. the profeffors of it had been cruelly perfecuted by fome of the emperors, and tolerated by others; but conftantine was the first emperor who openly profeffed to be a chriftian, and from his time chriſtianity became the eſtabliſhed religion of the empire. conftantine, from an abfurd vanity, removed the imperial feat from rome to a city of his own building, between the mediterranean and euxine seas, which he called conftantinopolis, or the city of conftantine; and on his death he divided the empire between his fons. from this time the roman empire confifted of two parts; the one, whoſe feat continued at rome, was called universal history. 65 called the weſtern empire; the other, whofe capital was conftantinople, was called the eaftern, and ſometimes the grecian empire. the empire, being thus divided, grew confequently weaker, and the inroads of the barbarous nations more formidable. the goths and vandals attacked the weſtern empire. the franks, a brave, though uncivilized people, poffeffed themſelves of gaul, from whom it received the name of france. the britons, on being abandoned by rome to the inroads of the favage tribes in the north of the iſland, called in the saxons to their affiftance, who foon made themfelves mafters of the whole, except the mountains of wales and scotland, which afforded an afylum to the ancient inhabitants. and rome, itſelf, under auguftulus, the laſt of its emperors, was taken by odoacer, king of the heruli. the eaſtern empire was attacked by the saracens, a fierce people, who had embraced the religion of mahomet, an impoftor, and founder of a new fect, whofe doctrine foon ſpread, and ftill retains its influence, in the eaft. this warlike race conquered arabia, syria, egypt, and the northern coafts of africa; but they were, in their turn, expelled by the turks, a nation of scythian origin, who adopted the religion and manners of the vanquished. the provinces of the 66 a sketch of, the eaſtern empire gradually mouldered away, till it was at laft confined to the walls of conftantinople. a final period was put to the roman empire fo late as the year of our lord 1453, when conftantinople was taken by mahomet, sultan of the turks, of whofe dominion it has ever fince remained the capital. this happened under conftantine x. (the hundred and fourteenth emperor in fucceffion from auguftus), who was killed in the affault, 2200 years from the foundation of rome, and during the reign of henry vi. of england. this was the real end of the roman empire; but previous to this, fo early as the year of our lord 800, there was a pretended revival of it in the perſon of charlemagne, or charles the great. the barbarous tribes who overturned the roman empire, having very obfcure notions of any religion, eaſily adopted that of the people they conquered; and as the saracens, and after them the turks, who ravaged the eaft, embraced the errors of mahomet, which they found eſtabliſhed in arabia, fo the northern barbarians who conquered gaul, germany, and italy, were eaſily converted to the faith of chrift: and the biſhop of rome, who affumed the title of pope, and patriarch of the roman church, ſoon obtained the universal history. 67 the fame influence over the heruli, and the lombards, who fucceeded them, as he had over the romans under their chriftian emperors. but defiderius, the lombard king of italy, oppoſing the ambition of pope stephen iii. the pope called charlemagne, king of france, to his aid, who dethroned defiderius and conquered italy as a reward for which, the pope crowned him emperor at rome; and charlemagne becoming afterwards maſter of germany, and dividing his dominions between his fons, that to whom germany fell retained the title of roman emperor, which his fucceffors ftill continue to affume and the head of a limited elective monarchy, who refides at vienna, now calls himfelf emperor of the romans, and takes the names of cæfar and auguftus. about the fame time that charlemagne made thefe conquefts on the continent of europe, egbert united the feven provinces into which the saxons had divided all the ſouthern part of this iſland (except wales) into one kingdom by the name of england. theſe barbarians were no fooner fettled in their conquefts, and in fome degree civilized, than a freſh inundation poured in from the north, under the name of danes and normans, and, committing the fame ravages on the new . poffeffors which they had committed on the old inhabitants. 68 a sketch of inhabitants, at laft fixed themſelves, part in germany, part in england, and part in that province of france which yet retains the name of normandy; and, as their predeceffors had done, foon affumed the religion and manners of the vanquished. as thefe northern nations fettled over all the western parts of europe, which were divided by them into many ftates, fo the fame form of government, derived from the fame origin, was eftabliſhed in them all. the leader of each army of invaders was confidered as king, and in ſome meaſure as proprietor, of the conquered territory. but as it was neceffary to have an army ready at all times to repel new invaders, and guard againſt the encroachment of neighbours, the king, or general, parcelled out his land among the fuperior officers, who, by way of acknowledgment, were bound to furnish him with a proportionable affiftance of men and arms in time of war, and to attend his councils in time of peace. and theſe leaders, to enable themſelves to command the requifite number of troops which they were to furniſh, allotted part of their lands again to the inferior officers and foldiers, on condition that they fhould attend them to the wars when fummoned by the king or the lord paramount. and this, which is called the feudal ſyſtem, is the origin of that li2 mitted universal history. 69 mitted monarchy, which, till within theſe two centuries, was eſtabliſhed throughout the greateft part of europe, and which this iſland has been fo happy as to preſerve. civilization has as yet made but a ſmall fmall progrefs: the writings of the ancient greeks and romans, which are now the models of every thing great and elegant, were confined to the hands of a bigotted clergy; and war was the fole delight of princes and nobles too ignorant even to write their names. this warlike fpirit, however, was attended by fome good confequences: for the saracens, who had overrun the eaſtern parts of europe, began to turn their arms againſt the fouthern parts of western europe; they threatened italy, invaded the fouthern part of france, their african colonies had made themſelves mafters of the best part of spain, and nothing leſs than the warlike turn of its inhabitants could have prevented all europe from becoming a prey to thefe fierce barbarians, and the confequent rudeness and defpotifm which ever have attended the religion of mahomet wherever it prevails. the chriftian doctrine, corrupted as it was by the church of rome, had yet a tendency to poliſh and ſoften the manners of its profeffors; and even the power of the pope, whoſe ſupremacy 70 a sketch of macy was acknowledged by fo many independent and turbulent princes, though often uſed for the purpoſes of fuperftition, was fometimes alſo inftrumental in ftopping the progress, or mitigating the horrors of war. a new fpirit of enterprize now took place in europe. as the zeal for chriftianity increafed, the warlike princes and nobles who profeffed it, beheld with indignation the fcene of all the miracles, recorded both in the old and new teftament, in the hands of infidels. the pope encouraged this religious fervour; and vaft armies were poured forth to refcue theſe confecrated feats from the mahometans. but, after deluging the plains of palestine with chriftian blood, and making a conqueft of jerufalem, which could not be retained, the votaries of mahomet remained, and ftill remain, poffeffors of that country which is commonly called the holy land. some advantage, however, was derived from theſe enterprizes. part of the immenſe armies that paffed from europe to afia, took their route by conftantinople; and though, to their fhame it muſt be owned, that while their end was to refcue part of afia from the power of infidels, they themſelves committed devaftation in the dominions of the only chriſtian prince in the caft of europe, yet they were ftruck with the universal history. 71 1 the magnificence of the court of conftantinople, where fome relics of the fplendour of the roman empire were ftill preferved. this introduced a tafte for the arts among the princes of weſtern europe; and on the turks putting an end to the caftern empire by the capture of conftantinople, the learned men of that city migrated into france, italy, germany, and britain, and introduced there a knowledge of grecian literature. happily for the revival of learning, leo x. who was then pope, was as defirous of extending literature as fome of his predeceffors had been of ſpreading ignorance: he therefore entertained the grecian exiles, and encouraged letters among the.clergy. at this time europe was in a more pacific ftate: england breathed after the long wars between york and lancafter: france, from being divided among a number of independent nobles, each able to awe the titular king, became one powerful monarchy: the moors were driven out of spain, and that whole country, which had formed many feparate kingdoms, was united by the marriage of ferdinand of caftile and ifabella of arragon: germany was one large republic of princes, of whom the emperor was the head; and italy was divided into many ſmall ſtates, the chief of which 72 a sketch of 1 which were the kingdom of naples, and the commonwealth of venice. the pope now found his authority ſhaken. as literature advanced, a ſpirit of inquiry took place, and the monftrous errors grafted by the church of rome on the pure religion of chriſt' began to be perceived. luther and calvin publiſhed their opinions on this fubject, and had many followers, who, from protefting againſt the errors of the church of rome, obtained the name of proteftants; and their opinions prevailed in england, the northern countries, and part of germany and switzerland. about this time the art of navigation being greatly improved, a large continent was difcovered in the weft, called america. many colonies were foon formed there by the engliſh, french and spaniards, which have occafioned frequent wars among thofe nations. from this period, as commerce has increaſed, mankind have become more civilized. religion and politics for a time filled both england and france with inteftine commotions. charles i. of england' was brought to the ſcaffold by his fubjects, and henry iv. of france was ſtabbed by an enthufiaft. but at length thefe ftorms have fubfided. by the arts of lewis xiv. france is brought to be an abfolute monarchy, without any universal history. 73. any legal reftraint, indeed, on the power of the crown; but as that crown derives all its ſtability from a gallant nobleſſe, jealous to a degree of their honour, that honour muſt be reſpected, and is a fufficient barrier againſt any wanton exertion of defpotifm. the ſpirit of the people of england has obtained them a form of government which is the envy of the world. the hiſtory of theſe nations, eternal rivals in glory and intereft, for the two laſt centuries, is in fact the hiftory of the world. during that period, there has been no war of any confequence between european powers in any part of the world in which they have not acted a principal part; and a war between them extends its influence from the fhores of america to the banks of the ganges. they have been conftantly ready to attack each other on the moſt trivial occafions, and even their treaties of peace have feemed rather ceffations of hoftilities for the purpofe of renewing them with greater vigour, than any permanent reconciliation. may the preſent commercial intercourfe lead to better hopes, and may the only conteft for the future be, who fhall excel moft in the arts of peace and the purfuits of literature ! e epistle {74 epistle to a friend on his . epistle to a friend, on his return from the army. a¹ t length, war's bloody, banners furl'd, peace fpreads her influence o'er the world; great george his laurel crown refigns, and round his brow the olive twines; you from the martial field retreat, to feek your old paternal feat, and, after five years abfence, come loaded with debts and glory home. of tender parents favorite fon, behold their happineſs begun: no more the gazette's glorious tale now makes their anxious features pale, left on the verdant laurel's ftem the cypreſs dark ſhould grow for them. joyful they hail the morning ray, and hope expectant gilds the day; for fure, they cry, ere clofe of light, our abfent fon will blefs our fight. till eve they watch with aching eyes, and the next morn new hopes fupplies. kiman and now the wifh'd-for hour draws near, that drowns in tranfport every fear; bleft comfort of their waning lives, their fon, their much lov'd ſon, arrives!— on either fide your bofoms glow, and mutual tears of rapture flow; i fee, i fee your generous breaſt with filial love and joy poffefs'd: i feel, return from the army. 75 i feel, my friend! that joy impart fire to my ſympathizing heart, and bid my artleſs pen portray the ſcenes that fancy's dreams diſplay. while yet ftill night, in fable robe, broods o'er our quarter of the globe; while flumber wraps each labouring breaft, and care herſelf is footh'd to reſt, alone impatient of delay, your thoughts anticipate the day: you rouſe at once from morpheus' reign the landlord and his menial train; the drowſy oftler cries in vain, " 'tis dark, you cannot fee your hand: booted and ſpurr'd you ready ftand, and mounting fwift your eager fteed, fearleſs through night and cold proceed. soon as aurora's ruddy ray } beams forth to chear you on your way, i fee you fweep, with loofen'd rein, o'er hill and dale, thro' wood and plain; now gallop down the fteep, and now, climbing the mountain's loftieft brow, bend o'er the landſcape wide your eye, anxious your fire's abode to fpy: the fleeting ſpot eludes your view, and feems to fly as you purſue.faint on the horizon's fartheft mound, what hill is that with pine trees crown'd? the well-known landmark ſtrikes your fight; your bofom fwells with fond delight; fancy 76 epistle to a friend on his fancy vain hope no longer yields: "ye much-lov'd thades! ye blooming fields! "my eager ſteps," you cry," once more" "your green receſſes ſhall explore." and now, as with redoubled fpeed forward you urge your bounding fteed, you fee the well-known fpire arife, and point its fummit to the ſkies; and now, each envious barrier paft, with heart-felt blifs you view at laſt the turrets of the gothic dome, your parents' venerable home. here memory's fond powers difpenfe their influence o'er each raptur'd fenfe. 'twas here, to pay a mother's care, you firft imbib'd the vital air; here each paternal art exprefs'd, to foothe and charm your infant breaſt, taught you in opening youth to prove the blifs fincere of filial love. think how your parents' bofoms burn to welcome your long-wifh'd return; torn from their arms by glory's power, how have they told each tedious hour! already to your eyes appear the faultering voice, the joyful tear. belide the road the peaſants throng to fee you ſwiftly paſs along; and bowing as you gallop by, " 'tis the young captain, fure," they cry: on you their greetings are all loft, forward with eager zeal you poft; 3 to-morrow return from the army.77 to-morrow you'll return each bow, but warmer duties call you now. arriv'd, at length, you touch once more your father's hofpitable door. the cheerful family furround the hearth with crackling faggots crown'd; some friends partake the genial ray, nor is the parish prieſt away. of taxes, hay, and war, they chat, of news and weather, this and that; of the young foldier too they fpoke, when a loud knock the converſe broke. aftonish'd by a found fo loud, around the window quick they crowd. when ſcreams of joy their blifs declare, "'tis he, 'tis belville come, i fwear!" your parents, fifters, round you throng, and tranfport looſens every tongue: your fire exclaims, "five years are paft "since i beheld my belville laſt: "your country call'd you to the field, "and i no more her fword could wield; : "well haft thou fill'd thy father's place, "brave fcyon of a warlike race: "nor fhall my arms your fteps detain, "if fame and britain call again." o'er the brave vet'ran's furrow'd cheek the beams of martial ardor break ;. and from the eye where courage glows, the tear of fond affection flows. with filent joy your mother ſtands, and grafps with trembling bliſs your hands: e 3 her 1 78 epistle to a friend, &c. her prefent hopes, her future fears, call forth alternate fmiles and tears; and in her face thofe thoughts are ſhewn, which anxious mothers feel alone. your fifters, too, the tranſport ſhare, and, with foft friendship's mildeſt air, demand if still your bofom prove the fondneſs of fraternal love. "how tedious pafs'd," they cry, "the day, "when our lov'd brother was 'away: "you promis'd you would often write; "but the old proverb-out of fight"now ardent friendſhip's kindling joy, and filial love, your thoughts employ; and all the feelings of your breaſt are on your blooming cheek exprefs'd: a thoufand queftions, fondly made, by fond careffes are delay'd; tranfport forbids your words to flow, nor can you anſwer yes, or no. and fee the ancient dame appears, the fofterer of your infant years: "lord blefs me! how young mafter's grown! "i fcarce fhould have the captain known "elſewhere, unleſs i had been told: "how well he looks in red and gold! "thank heaven he has neither maim or wound, "but comes again quite ſafe and found: "for war's at beft a dangerous choice; "good sirs! how madam muft rejoice!" what focial blifs! what charming ties! from parents, country, friends, ariſe. may the little queen. 79 may they who fcorn their rights to know, ne'er feel the tranfports they beftow! and far from me and thoſe i love, that ftubborn breaft, kind heaven, remove, who meets unmov'd a mother's face, who tearleſs feels a friend's embrace; nor fmiles to fee thofe fcenes rever'd, which infant paftimes have endear'd. the little queen. the here reigned once upon a time, in a diftant ifland, a good prince, who was paffionately beloved by all his fubjects. it could not happen otherwife, for he was their common fàther. he provided for all their reafonable wants, he rewarded thofe who deferved well of their country, and he let none of the wicked, nor even of the idle, efcape without puniſhment. this amiable monarch had but one cauſe of anxiety; myra, his only child, by no means requited the attention which had been given to her education. at twelve years of age fhe was ſhamefully ignorant. her thoughtleſſneſs made her forget every leffon which fhe had been taught, and her prefumption kept pace with her want of knowledge of confequence, as the thought herself perfectly accompliſhed, ſhe defpifed all inftruction. one day the was indulging e 4 her 1 80 the little queen. her abfurd vanity by hinting, that were the to govern the ifland, things would be better managed than they were now. the king, having been informed of his daughter's fentiments, fent for her immediately. on her coming, he told her, without the leaft difcompofure, "that as fhe was deftined to reign, one day or other, "over his kingdoms, he fhould wish to know "how far her talents were proper for fo impor16. tant a charge. we may, if you pleaſe,” added this good prince, "make the experiment "without any delay. careleſs as you always were about the leffons which have been given you "in geography, you cannot but know that the "fortunate iſland makes a part of my domi"nions; it is a fmall, but well inhabited dif"trict; its people are active, induftrious, good "tempered, and thoroughly attached to their sovereigns. go, child! reign over them, i "fhall order a yacht to be inftantly fitted up to "convey you to your capital." then making a moſt profound reverence to the little sovereign, "adieu, madam," faid he, with difficulty concealing a ſmile. 66 myra, for fome time, thought that the king meant only to divert himfelf, but foon found her miſtake, and that every thing was preparing for her voyage. she was even permitted to form a court to her own mind, and accordingly the the little queen. ſhe picked out a dozen of her playfellows to accompany her. "thefe young people," ſaid ſhe to her father, "are fo very rational and fedate, "that there can be no need of their being at"tended by governeffes or tutors." the king, however, thought otherwife, and ordered the teachers to embark with their pupils. the young sovereign, on her part, took care there fhould be abundance of muſicians for her balls, and that a company of players fhould be provided for the amuſement of herſelf and her court. on the morn of her departure, fhe took an affectionate leave of her father, but the few tears which ſhe ſhed were foon dried up by the confideration of her being going to a place where ſhe ſhould do" juft what ſhe pleaſed." "the “only advice that i fhall give you," ſaid the king at parting, " is, that you would follow the “advice of ariſtus (the governor of the iſland "over which you are to reign) in every thing of importance. he is a man for whom i have a "high eſteem, and with reafon, as he is difcreet, 66 • honeft, and humane. i could wish that you "would make him your firſt miniſter; i mean, "that you ſhould confult him in every thing, and “entruſt him with the execution of all your or"ders." this direction no way fuited the taſte of our young queen, who wished to have given that important charge to one of her favourites, phie 5 lintus, 82 the little queen. lintus, a tall, genteel lad, not, indeed, many years older than herſelf, but one who, to tolerable ſkill in dancing and finging, added the very agreeable talent of elegant flattery. he was himſelf as averfe to ftudy, and of confequence as ignorant as his royal miſtreſs; but he had knowledge enough of his own intereſt to excite him never to omit affuring her that every one looked on her as a model of a perfect princefs, although he was confcious that, out of her hearing, ſhe was univerfally blamed for being fo totally unlike her excellent father, and for ſpending her whole time in trifling amuſements. as foon as the little sovereign reached her ifland, ſhe beheld with pleaſure troops of fhepherds and ſhepherdeffes, in elegant fancy dreffes of rofe colour and white, who fung carols in praiſe of their new queen, ftrewed fweet-fcented flowers in her path, and preſented her with odoriferous nofegays. myra, charmed with this ſpecimen of her fubjects gallantry, ordered money to be diſtributed amongſt them; and, under the conduct of ariftus, repaired to a lovely, though fmall palace, fitted up for her reception. fatigued with the voyage, the queen and her young court made hafte to their repofe; but her majefty forgot not to order, for the next day, a comedy to be acted, followed by a ball and a fplendid entertainment. on the next morn, myra the little 'queen. 83 myra and her court amufed themſelves by walking into the capital town, which lay not far from the palace. "obferve," faid ariftus to his sovereign, "the air of content which reigns in every "face we meet." "that," faid philintus, "we "ſhould attribute to the prefence of our lovely "queen." without doubt," replied ariftus,. "they are fenfible of that honour; but i ought "to inform you, that their gaiety is chiefly owing to their being confcious of the excellent government under which they live, and of the "wifdom of thofe laws by which their king, "whom they look upon as their father, governs "the country.""let us now," faid myra,. "extend our walks into the country." they did fo. an orchard, in full bloom, now tempt-ed her to take a nearer view of its beauty."what," faid fhe to ariftus, "occafions the "buzzing founds which i hear ?""the bees," replied he; "a uſeful tribe of your majeſty's fubjects." at that inftant, moſt unfortunately one of thefe animals, not perfectly acquainted with the reſpect due to royalty, and diſguſted at the queen's approaching too near to his hive, fettled on her hand, and made her feel his fting! c6 "shocking creatures, thefe bees!" exclaimed myra; "one of them has half killed me!" "the prefumptuous, ungrateful wretches ought," faid philintus, "to be utterly extirpated."e 6 6. you -66 દ 66 84 the little queen. you are right," ſaid the queen; "i will have "them deſtroyed, not on my own account, but to “preſerve my poor people from receiving fuch 66 cruel wounds, when they are purſuing their occupations in the country." " permit me," faid ariftus, to obſerve, that theſe accidents happen but very feldom, and that the pain which the bees occafion by their ftings, is trifling, "when compared with the vaſt advantage which "accrues from their labours; your fubjects, ma-“dam, will ſuffer feverely indeed, if they are de"prived of that uſeful creature."-here he was interrupted by philintus, who, bursting with laughter, cried out, "a pretty tale you tell us, "ariftus! why, fure you take us all for chil"dren! suffer indeed! what! becauſe that nafty¨ infect is kept from ftinging them! make us believe that if you can."-" i will have every "bee in my kingdom put to death," faid the young queen, with an air of dignity." poffibly," faid ariftus, "your majefty may fee cauſe hereafter to repent of this hafty com"mand."-"nevertheleſs," repeated myra, "it fhall be executed." ariftus retired with a figh, and philintus loudly applauded the mingled humanity and firmnefs of his infant sovereign. that evening the queen entertained herſelf at the play, and afterwards was prefent at a ball, which, the little quein. 85 which, with a magnificent ſupper, laſted until two in the morning. unluckily, among the ladies of the bedchamber were two, who, not having reached their eleventh year, had been uſed to eat little or no fuppers, to take moderate exerciſe, and to go to bed early. but the royal banquet had been fo tempting, the ball fo charming, and the whole fo perfectly new to them, that they had deſpiſed the admonitions of their governeffes, who had very naturally remonftrated againſt their launching at once into this new ſyſtem. in confequence, they were both extremely ill the next morning. the phyſician attended, and ordered proper medicines, which they refuſed to take. "they were permitted by the queen," they faid, "to do what they liked beft, and they “hated naſty phyfic." their complaints, however, increaſed; they could neither eat, drink, or fleep, and one of the two felt the attack of a fever. on this the governeffes were obliged to have recourſe to the royal authority, and the queen having commanded the young ladies to fubmit to diſcipline, they took what was ordered, and all went right again. one day that the young queen was walking in the garden of her palace, fhe was difgufted at the devaftation which had been made by ca"what terpillars on the leaves of the trees. * vile 863 the little queen. vile creatures are thefe ?" faid the to philintus: "did you ever fee fuch a piece of work: "as they have made here ?"-"i think," replied the courtier, " that it would be a good deed "to root them out of the iſland, and to proclaim "rewards for thofe who would undertake to de"ftroy them."-"what fay you to that, arif"tus," faid myra, "can my ſubjects exiſt with66 out caterpillars ?"" your majefty," replied ariftus, "has not forgot the bees, i find, but "here the cafe is widely different. the cater"pillars which have ftripped thoſe trees do much mifchief, and are of no one ufe to fociety." "i am heartily glad," faid the queen," that "we coincide in opinion, for i am determined "to have all the caterpillars in my dominions. deftroyed; i hate them, nafty creatures !""your majefty," faid ariftus, "certainly means "to except from this general maffacre that kind "of caterpillar which produces the filk worm." "do but hear him," faid philintus, in the queen's ear, "that fellow makes a point of contradicting your majefty in every thing.' "let every caterpillar in my realm be put to. "death," exclaimed the piqued sovereign. 29 "i am tired to death," faid myra one day, "of this eternal verdure. theſe walks of turf,. "and thefe clumps of laurel, though i like them well enough on the whole, yet being re"peated 66 66 पे i the little queen. 87 "peated fo often, they fatigue my eyes;green, and green, and nothing but greenwhy can i not have a rofe-colour bower?" philintus now turned all his thoughts towards the accompliſhment of his sovereign's rational with. he had obferved in a diftant part of the garden an arbour where a honeysuckle overfpread the green frame work. he ordered the leaves to be ſtripped off, the wood to be painted rofe colour, and he covered the whole with artificial roſes hanging by crimson ribbands. the queen was enchanted with this gaudy retreat, and as foon as fhe faw it, ordered her dinner to be fet out upon that very fpot. the fun fhone out with great power, and ſcarce had the company fate ten minutes at their meal, before fome complained of aching heads, fome of dazzled eyes; all loft their appetites, and the whole was a confufion of heat and glare. ariſtus adviſed the whole party to abandon the flaring ſcene, and to refreſh their eyes by gazing on the turf in ſome ſhady place. they did fo, and all went well again. in confequence, it was fettled by her majefty in council, that, during the fummer, it were better for the leaves of trees to be green than to be rofe colour. 66 66 1 myra was fo enchanted with the pleaſures of her palace, that ſhe gave herſelf little trouble as to what paffed in the iſland at large. her whole time 88 the little queen. time was employed in ſchemes for increaſing and varying her amufements: fometimes, indeed, fhe walked into the country, but her preſence no longer appeared to give any pleaſure to her fubjects,—there were no more fongs in her praiſeno more cries of "long live our queen !". "what," faid myra, "can occafion this ſtrange "alteration in the behaviour of my people? "are they diſpleaſed with any part of my go"vernment?"" if," faid philintus, "they are "out of humour with ſuch an amiable sovereign, "they do not deſerve the honour of her enqui"ries." this anſwer was not entirely fatisfactory to the queen; fhe was, even for fome time, buried in thought; but the efforts of philintus, (who had obferved the gloom on her countenance) and the gay turn of his converfation, together with the novelty of an entertainment which he propoſed for the next evening, drove away all ferious thoughts, and ſprightlineſs refumed its reign again. the plan was, that all the court ſhould appear in paſtoral dreffes, and that the company fhould dance on one of thoſe elegant lawns with which the palace garden abounded. myra approved of this plan, only defiring that the habits might be as elegant as the plan would allow. "they can only be made of linen, madam," faid one of the bedcham"ber-women. "how fo?" faid the queen. "there the little queen. 89 "there is not, in your majefty's dominions, "filk enough for one drefs." "you muſt be miſtaken. on my taking the "government into my hands, i obferved ſhops "without end, well furniſhed with filk." + "it is true, madam, there were fuch; but they are now all ſhut up, and the owners have " left the iſland." 46 "and why fo, pray?" "since your majefty's orders for the deftruc❝tion of all caterpillars, the filk manufacture is entirely ſtopped." "aye! why, what have thoſe naſty vermin "to do with the manufacture of filk?" 66 "there is one fpecies of thofe caterpillars "which produces the materials, without which "filk cannot be made; and as the fellers of "filk in 'towns are in general connected, by marriage or relationſhip, with the breeders of filk-worms, they have determined all together to quit a country where they are depriv "ed of the means of fubfifting." 46 that very evening the queen obferved with a furpriſe, which almoſt equalled horror, that the apartments of the palace were lighted with tallow candles. "heavens !" exclaimed the affronted sovereign, "what means this filthy "'fight?" she was told that there were no waxen tapers to be found in the ifle. ""tis 3 "impoffible! 90 the little queen. impoffible!" fhe cried; "let ariftus be fent for." he appeared. "have you not told "me, sir, that my inland abounded with wax ?" "madam, it did fo, when i gave you that infor"mation." "and how happens it that it is "not fo now?" "becauſe fince your majefty "ordered the bees to be extirpated, no more "wax is to be found." philintus fneered at this reply, and myra aſked with aſtoniſhment, "what was the connection between bees and 66 "tapers ?" "without them," faid ariftus, "the tapers can not exiſt, ſince the bees fupply "the materials of which the tapers are com<6 pofed." and what is become of thoſe who "ufed to get their living by making thoſe ta"pers?""poor fouls !" replied ariftus, "they are on the point of quitting a place, where they cannot earn their bread. alas" added he, "were your majefty to make, at this time, "the tour of your dominions, you would find "the face of the whole country deplorably "altered." philintus would have turned this account into ridicule, but myra, by a look, ftopped his buffoonery, and retired to her chamber with a heavy heart. the next morning the took ariftus with her, and drove into the environs of her capital. "you were too much in the right," faid the, "when you bad me expect a deplorable altera❝tion 46 << the little queen. 91 “tion among my people. i hear no more ac"clamations! no more fongs! but i fee the painfulleft of fights; crowds of people in rags, begging their bread," formerly," faid ariftus, "no beggars were to be found here; "there was a large building erected for the poor, "where the old where maintained, the fick "cured, and all the young folks fet to work; but "fince your majefty has allowed twelve to be "the age of difcretion, many of thefe children "have refuſed to be employed, and chufing to "wander about the country, without knowing "how to get their bread, they are of courfe re"duced to rags and mifery." the queen, having given fome relief to thefe wretched objects, proceeded to aſk ariftus, what was become of the crowds of bufy people who were uſed to throng in the ſtreets of the capital? "for," faid the," half the houfes feem to be "fhut up, and the whole town appears defert"ed, in compariſon of its ſtate when i firſt ſaw "it." the miniſter told her, "that there was << 66 66 66 a mutual dependance of one trade upon ano"ther, and that, in confequence of the depar"ture of the filk and wax merchants and manu"facturers, thofe who were uſed to ſupply that large body of men with cloaths, fhoes and "ftockings, provifions, and every other accom❝modation, having now no market for their goods, 66 92 the little queen. "goods, had fhut up their fhops, and were pre"paring, one and all, for their departure." he added, "that it was much to be feared, that "the farmers, who uſed to bring to the town corn, hay, butter, eggs, poultry, &c. together "with their families, labourers, &c. would foon "follow this example." 86 66 struck with this painful detail, the young queen, whofe goodneſs of heart was equal to the thoughtleffnefs of her head, exclaimed in an agony of diftrefs, "oh heavens why did i "leave my father's court? why take upon me a taſk of which i was fo incapable? i ſuffer feverely for my prefumption, but at leaſt i "will do no more miſchief here." then turning to ariftus, fhe begged him to haften the preparations for her return to the kingdom of her father. her orders were inftantly obeyed, and fhe, with her whole court, took leave of the fortunate ifland, and foon reached the port they wifhed for. as foon as myra faw the king, the threw herſelf at his feet, bathed in tears. "how is this," faid he, "my daughter, are you re"turned already? are you fo foon weary of fovereign power?" "alas! sire!" replied the weeping myra, "never was any being more "wretched than your daughter! i have child"ifhly thrown away my own happineſs, and "that of thoſe whom you entruſted to my care. "the 66 66 the little queen. ૭૩ "the ifland which i have governed, no longer "deferves the name of fortunate. i have, by "my own mifmanagement, reduced an induftri"ous people to beggary and ruin! but i con“jure you, sire, to order all my jewels to be inftantly fold, that i may, by their means, in "fome fort relieve the miferies which my in"fantine folly has brought upon them.” « make "yourſelf eafy," faid the good king, foothing his afflicted daughter, "the miſchiefs which "your want of confideration has caufed, are by 64 no means irreparable. i forefaw that you "would make great miſtakes in government, and managed affairs fo as to prevent thofe "miſtakes from having any very bad confe"quences. thofe of your fubjects, who have by your errors been forced to quite your isle, "have, by the direction of ariftus, found a "comfortable retreat in this kingdom, have "been fupplied with all neceffaries, and will now return to their own country, with proper materials, to re-affume their feveral trades "and occupations. you have, m beloved myra, an excellent heart, and in all the mifchief which you have done, you have had the "best intention in the world. this ought to "teach you that princes ought not to trust to their good difpofitions alone, but that they' ** ſhould take counfel with the moſt intelligent " of j : 3j 1 94 the elephant. "of their fubjects, concerning the meaſures of "their government, and above all, that they "ſhould guard againſt forming too high an opi"nion of their own wifdom. the errors of private perfons can only affect a ſmall number "of individuals, but thofe of fovereigns may "ruin nations." 66 myra profited by this leffon, and by her own experience. she dedicated, for the future, a confiderable part of her time to ſtudy, and forbad philintus ever to appear in her preſence again. x. the elephant. next text to man, the elephant is the moſt refpectable of the almighty's creatures. in fize he exceeds all other terreftrial animals; and by his underſtanding he approaches nearly to the human fpecies. his temper is naturally gentle. even while wild in the forefts he thirfts not after blood, nor does he uſe his vaft ftrength, except in defending himſelf or protecting his companions. his favourite food is rice, roots, and herbs; he abhors fiſh and fleſh. when he finds a plentiful paſture, he makes uſe of a particular cry, which gives notice to his comrades to come and partake of the dainties which he has found. an the elephant. 95 # an invitation which they readily obey, to the great lofs of the owner of the land.-the elephant is caught and tamed without difficulty. his love of fociety renders him eaſy to be allured into a fnare by' others of his own fpecies, who have been educated for that purpoſe. two of thefe, after he is in confinement, conſtantly attend all his motions, and, when he is not difpofed to ſubmit, compel him by ftriking him with their trunks to obedience. very foon, however, his own aftoniſhing judgment convinces him that no harm is meant to him, and that his efforts towards refiftance are all in vain. in confequence of this he applies himſelf to learn his duty, and becomes the mildeſt and moſt obedient of all domeftic animals. he foon learns to comprehend figns. he diftinguiſhes the tone of command, of anger, and of approbation. he never miſtakes the voice of his mafter, receives his orders with attention, and executes them with prudence and eagernefs, but without precipitation. he feems to take pleaſure in being covered with gilded harneſs and gay houfings. he draws carriages, waggons, artillery, &c. with evennefs and good humour, provided he be not treated ill, undefervedly, and that the people who are employed with him have the air of being pleaſed with his behaviour. his conductor (ftyled his cornac) generally rides on the 96 the elephant. the elephant's neck, and carries in his hand a fharp iron, with which, when neceffary, he pricks the creature's head or ears, to make him move fafter; but this is feldom put in practice, fince words are always fufficient, provided that the cornac has had time to acquire the elephant's confidence; after which the beaft's attachment and affection become ſo ſtrong, that one is actually recorded to have died of grief, becauſe in a fit of paffion he had killed his keeper. before the invention of gunpowder, elephants were uſed in war, and have often by their efforts decided the fate of battles. on their backs they carried fmall towers which held five or fix armed men; and from their trunks hung heavy chains, which they were taught to ſwing around them in order to break the ranks of the enemy's army. but now that fire is the chief inftrument of death in battles, the elephant, as he is fubject to dread both the noife and the flame of fire-arms, would be dangerous to his own party. he is ftill employed by europeans in the east for the purpoſe of tranſporting the baggage of their troops, and by the indian princes, for carrying their women in large cages covered with green branches of trees. elephants are more numerous in africa than in afia, the only two parts of the world where they are, naturally, found. in africa they live uncontrouled, the elephant. ancontrouled, for they defpife the negroes as a ſet of unſkilful, weak beings, who have neither ftrength nor art enough to reduce them to flavery. thoſe of the afiatic iſland, ceylon, are looked upon as the largeft, boldeft, and moſt intelligent of the whole fpecies. the elephant is ftrong in proportion to his vaft bulk. he can with eafe carry from three to four thouſand weight; and on his tuſks alone® he can fupport upwards of one thouſand pounds. the quickneſs of his paces, when the immenſe weight of his body is confidered, is a proof of his amazing ſtrength. his ufual walk equals the common trot of a horfe; and he can run as faft as a horſe can gallop. he is generally permitted to walk when loaded, and can with eaſe perform fifty miles in a day, but, when puſhed, can go almoft twice as far. he will do as much work as fix ftrong horfes, but his price is immenfe, and the charge of maintaining him very great indeed. an elephant who has been properly diſciplined is worth from four to twelve hundred guineas; and he will eat in a day above a hundred pounds of rice, befides vegetables. in india all barrels, facks, and bales of goods are carried from place to place by elephants, and if their necks and trunks have no more room for burthens, they will carry an additional weight in their mouth. the elephant unites fagacity f p 98 the elephant: gacity with ſtrength, and never injures any thing committed to his charge, be it ever ſo delicate. he will carry each particular parcel to a boat in his trunk without wetting it; he will range each in order, will try whether each lies firm, and will actually place ftones where neceffary to prevent cafks from rolling from their proper ftations. the trunk (or probofcis) of this wonderful animal ought to be particularly deſcribed. it extends itſelf confiderably beyond his mouth, and is terminated by a protuberance which per´forms all the offices of, and is by no means unlike to, a finger; with this he can lift the fmalleft piece of money from the ground; he can untie knots; he can turn keys, puſh back bolts, or loofen ftraps from buckles; and with this he can gratify his fenfe of fmelling (which there is reaſon to believe to be very exquifite) by gathering flowers, and conveying them to his nofe, which, as well as his finger, compoſes a part of his trunk. the orange tree, in whofe flowers he delights, both for their tafte and fmell, is an object of his moſt eager purſuit. the elephant, when old, fuffers great inconvenience from the increaſing fize of his large teeth or turks; to remedy this evil, his natural fagacity prompts him to make two holes in a tree, if wild, or if tamed, in a wall, to ſupport them, the elephant. 59 them, and prevent the vaft fatigue which his neck endures from their weight. as great part of his fkin is tender and delicate, he fuffers much from the bites and ftings of flies. to prevent this inconvenience, he puts in practice all the means which his peculiar good ſenſe fuggefts: if he cannot keep the inſects away by brushing them off with branches of trees and whiſps of ftraw, he then wets all the moft expofed parts of his body, and gathering duft with his trunk, ſpreads it carefully over each unguarded place. the height of the creature in his natural ftate is generally between ten and fourteen feet; but in captivity his growth is confiderably checked. he is nice in many particulars, abhors bad fmells, and, probably on that account, dreads the fight or even the cry of a hog. in eating, let him be ever fo hungry, he will faſt until he has nicely examined his victuals, and ſeparated from them every particle of dirt, duft, or other uncleanlineſs. both antient and modern writers dwell with peculiar pleaſure on the innumerable inftances of inftinct, or rather fomewhat which approaches very nearly to reaſon, in this noble animal; but of theſe we ſhall felect a few of the beſt attefted. an elephant had been provoked by ill ufage f 2 to 100 the elephant. i 1 to kill his conductor.-the widow, who had been a witneſs to the horrid fcene, rufhed with her two infant children to the enraged animal. -"here," faid fhe, "fince you have flain my "huſband, take my life too, and complete your bloody bufinefs by deftroying theſe poor "babes!" the beaſt, apparently hurt at his own excess of paffion, loft at once his refentment, and taking the eldeſt of the children in his trunk, adopted him, as it were for his governor, and would never fuffer any other perfon to mount his neck. 86 if the elephant is revengeful when ill treated, he is truly grateful to thoſe who uſe him kindly. a foldier in the eaft indies had been accuftomed, when he received his pay, to treat one of thefe fenfible animals with arrack; one day, having himſelf partaken too largely of the fame liquor, he escaped from a detachment who had been ordered to convey him to priſon, and taking fhelter beneath the creature whom he had obliged, he fell faſt aſleep. his purfuers finding that the elephant had taken him under his protection, left him, and he, when he awoke, fober, and frightened at his fituation, was confoled by the careffes of the good-natured animal, who feemed fenfible of the terrors which his benefactor felt, and willing to remove them. an elephant, in a battle fought not many years ago, having been driven to diftraction by the p ain the elephant. 101 pain of his wounds, ran about the field making the moſt hideous cries. a wounded foldier of his own party lay juft in his way, and naturally expected inſtant deftruction. but the poor tortured animal, confcious that he owed none of his pain to the foldier, took him tenderly up with his trunk, and, having placed him out of the common path, continued his route. this anecdote points out the fpecies of excellent reafoning in the elephant, which prevents him from being provoked, even by the moſt acute pain, to hurt fuch as have not injured him: but he must not be wantonly infulted; and even the moft trifling affront may expofe the giver to a fatal recompence. an elephant which was kept at verfailles* not many years paſt, appeared to know when he was mocked by any perfon, and ſeldom failed to revenge the infult. a man deceived him, by pretending to throw eatables into his mouth. the animal took this opportunity to knock him down with his trunk, and treated him fo feverely, that he ſcarcely efcaped with life. another time a painter, in order to draw him with his trunk elevated, employed his fervant to throw, or pretend to throw, fruit into the elephant's mouth; the deceitful 1 * a palace about ten miles from paris, where the king of france has a collection of curious beafts, birds, &c. &c. f 3part 102 the elephant. part of this order was reſented by the creature with fuch excellent fagacity, that instead of revenging himſelf on the fervant, (who appears to have been within his reach) he fquirted fuch a quantity of water from his trunk at the maſter, (whom he judicioufly difcerned to be the contriver of his morțification) that it utterly ruined the paper on which his work was going forward. it is recorded, and univerfally credited, of an elephant, that as he was paffing along a ſtreet in the city of delhi, he thruft his trunk in at the window of a room where a taylor fate, employed on a rich habit.-this man, diſpleaſed at being interrupted in his work, caufed the animal to withdraw in great hafte, by pricking him with a needle; provoked at this treatment, the elephant, who knew that he ſhould paſs by the fame ſtreet again the next day, it being the ufual road to his watering place, took care to be prepared for his enemy, by laying in a ſtore of dirty water; this he emptied from his trunk at the fame window, and completed his revenge, by thoroughly fpoiling the filk on which the taylor was at work. accounts hardly credible, although perfectly well attefted, are told of the elephant's fenfibility to reproach. one in particular, having been upbraided by his keeper, as a poor indolent creature, for having failed in an effort to fet afloat the elephant. 103 1afloat a veffel which lay afhore, an attempt which was really beyond his ftrength, was fo much hurt by the charge, that he made a new trial, fucceeded in it, but fell inftantly dead, from the damage which he had received in confequence of the exertion. f it has been faid before, that mild as the elephant naturally is, he is not to be trifled with. one of theſe animals having, with great fagacity, carried the iron veffel in which he uſually drank, to the fmith's fhop where it uſed to be repaired, the workman mended it but by halves; the elephant carried it back, and was feverely reproached by his mafter, who made him comprehend, by fhewing him how the water ran out of the veffel, that it needed a farther repair. the animal, as much hurt as if he had been accountable for the workman's neglect, fnatching the veffel out of the owner's hand, half full of water as it was, carried it in hafte to the ſhop, and as foon as the perfon who had done his work fo ill appeared, the elephant diſcharged the water in his face, as a puniſhment for his miſbehaviour. hitherto, m. buffon has fupplied what has been faid of the elephant; what follows, is chiefly taken from sparman's account of the cape of good hope. a female elephant loft her young one. it feems that it had fallen into the hands of a party f 4 of 304 the elephant. of the native hottentots, who had killed and deyoured it. the mother, the next night, having fome how (probably by the fcent) diſcovered the place of its death, attacked the kraal or village in the dark, and utterly deſtroyed it, by beating down all the huts, and trampling all the plantations to picces. and here it may be properly remarked, that the hottentots eagerly feck the fleſh of the elephant to eat it, which is not the cafe with any other african or afiatic people, that we read of. in the country round the cape, the elephant is purfued, not to be tamed, but to be flain for the fake of the ivory which his teeth afford. in this chace the danger to the hunter is great; but the hopes of a large profit (fometimes as much as 300 gilders, or about twenty-fix pounds, by a fingle elephant) make him cloſe his eyes to all perils. he muft be very attentive to approach the animal on the fide whence the wind blows; for, fhould he be difcerned by his piercing ſcent, the elephant ruſhes on him, nor can any thing fave him, except a fteep hill or wood, either of which circumſtances encumber the beaſt, and fave the ſportſman. the bullet which is deftined to deſtroy this immenfe creature, muſt be made of a proportionable mixture of tin and lead; the piece from whence it is diſcharged, is generally one of thofe mufquets which were in ufe the three sisters. 105 ufe about one hundred and eighty years ago, fo ftrong and heavy, as to require a reſt to ſupport it when levelled. and yet, when theſe enormous pieces are deeply loaded, and fupplied' with proper balls, an elephant has been known' to receive eight wounds in his body before he was deprived of life.. • the three sisters. no ot many years ago, there returned from bengal a man whom we will call john sterling: he had been well educated, was fprung from a decent family, and brought home the fame good heart which he carried out with him from britain. as his fortune was now very large, and he had formed no matrimonial connections, his first care, on his arriving in his native land, was to diſcover what relations he had ftill remaining, and to enquire into their circumſtances,. in order to bestow on the moft deferving of them part of his great acquifitions. it chance that the perfon to whom he applied was able to affift in his fearch. "some, at leaft," faid he, "of your family i can give you a pretty good "account of: you have two coufins fettled in. "london; they are fifters, and are by no means "in diftreffed circumftances, but are perfect: " contrafts f 5 106 1 the three sisters. "contrafts to each other in their manner of liv ❝ing. the eldest of them is avaricious to an "extreme, lives in a paltry lodging, keeps but one maid fervant, and, in fhort, feems to have no “pleaſure on earth, except that of heaping up money. not fo her younger fifter; fhe takes "care to ſpend to the very extremity of her inincome. she takes great delight in dreſs, "equipage, and every ſpecies of luxury, but her "expences of the fhowy kind never prevent the "exertions of her humanity: there paffes no week in which the does not diftribute, on an "appointed day, money, cloaths, and victuals, "to a number of beggars, who crowd around "her door to be relieved.". "this laſt coufin " of mine," ſaid our indian, "i like well enough, "by your account; but as to the other, not a "penny of mine fhall fhe have, to add to her heaps, an old avaricious fkin-flint !" ... with theſe ſentiments, john sterling fet out: to vifit his youngeſt relation. from her he met with a polite and hofpitable reception, and de-, parted from her houſe in a perfect good humour with her and her manner of living. it happened that the only maid fervant who lived with the elder fifter, was acquainted in the family of the perfon from whom sterling had received his intelligence concerning the charac→ ters of the two fifters. some of the domeftics had 66 * the three sisters.. 107 had overheard the converfation, and took the firſt opportunity to reproach the girl for the parfi mony of her miftrefs, which they told her had loft her the ſharing of a fine fum of money. this foon reached the ears of the female mifer, whoſe vexation, at hearing what fhe had miffed, was almoſt inſupportable. the large fortune, which by dint of the moſt penurious œconomy ſhe had fcraped together, now appeared to her leſs than nothing, when the confidered the immenſe trea fures of her coufin, all of which he thought. might have been her own, had ſhe but managed fo as to gain the good graces of the owner. perhaps," faid fhe to herſelf, "it may not,. " even now, be too late to retrieve my error.. "some of my money i muſt facrifice, it is true, " but then if i fucceed, i fhall be nobly reim"burfed. it will go to my heart, indeed, to .66 part with what has been the whole joy of my life to procure, but i fee no. other chance in: "my favour, and this fcheme must be tried." having taken her refolution, fhe determined, as the firſt ſtep, to contrive to fall into company with her opulent relation. this fhe foon brought about, by meeting him at her fifter's, where he was almoſt always to be found. she now endeavoured, by every winning grace in her powerto captivate his attention, and when the thought the had in fome meaſure fucceeded, fhe took an f 6 opportunity " 108 the three sisters. opportunity to reproach him for appearing to have forgotten that he had ſuch a relation as : herſelf. "no, madam, faid the blunt sterling, "i had by no means forgotten you, but the plain "truth is, that finding on enquiry, that your * turn and mine were as widely different as light "and darkneſs, i thought that no good could arife from any connection between us.""i comprehend you, sir," replied the lady, "you have heard me reprefented in the moſt "odious colours, as a pattern of meannefs and avarice. how cruel is the tongue of defamation! i have laid up money, it is true, but "heaven knows with what intent! the fervice "of my indigent fellow-creatures has been my real motive, and it was only to amafs a fum fufficient to lay the foundation of a new hofpital, that i have deprived myſelf of not only "the fuperfluities, but almoſt of the neceſſaries of life. at length i have attained to my wiſh, "and to-morrow i intend to depofit, in the hands "of proper truſtees, five hundred guineas, which "i mean to be laid out in the purchaſe of land "for the edifice to ftand upon." the honeft indian was completely taken in by this manœuvre. "how unjustly," faid he to himſelf, "have i thought of this poor woman! here has "the denied herſelf every gratification for the "fake of the poor, and i have looked on her as 6.6 a felf66 the three sisters. 109 7 "a felf-interefted mifer! well, well, i must "contrive to make her amends." then turning to the lady, "madam," faid he, "hitherto i "have miſtaken your character, but i now ho"nour you as much as a few hours paft i defpifed you. but you muft not prevent me from fharing with you the merit of the noble work " which you have taken in hand; to-morrow i "will attend upon you, and will add my part to “the donation which you are about to make." he kept his word, and accompanied her the next morning: he then faw her make a depoſit of the fum which ſhe had mentioned, to which he joined a much more confiderable preſent for the fame charitable purpoſe. 4 the worthy sterling was recounting the adventures of the day to his friend, and was telling him how very unjustly he had thought of the elder of his coufins, when he was told that an old domeftic of the family earneſtly entreated to ſpeak with him. "perhaps," ſaid the good eaſtindian," he may need my affiftance; let him "come in." the poor fellow entered. "can ❝i, my good friend, be of any ſervice to you?” faid sterling. "i am very unfortunate," faid the ſuppliant," and it is only the report which i "have heard of your goodnefs, that has tempted "me to this application. i lived twenty years in the ſervice of your worthy uncle: i mar 66 66 ried 110 the three sisters. "ried, and when. i loft my good mafter, i fet up 6 a little ſhop: when i was going on with tole"rable fuccefs, i was utterly ruined by an unfor"tunate fire, which confumed my whole ſtock. "since that cruel event, i have been unable to provide for my young and numerous family, " and i now prefume to hope that your good"nefs will enable me to put my poor children. "into fome way of bufinefs." "but why, in the name of wonder, did you "not apply to my two coufins!" "alas, good “sir, i addreffed myſelf to them in the begin"ning of my misfortunes; but from the eldeſt i "met with a pofitive refufal; and the other "lady, though fhe offered me fome relief, yet "the accompanied that offer with the condition "of my coming publicly along with the other poor, to receive charity at her door; and indeed, sir, it appeared hard to one who had been a reputable tradeſman, to be reduced to "beg his bread at a door in a public ftreet. no, “sir, i rather choſe to get into a ſervice, which "i fortunately contrived to do." 66 " 66 "and what, my good friend, became then of your children?" "my eldeſt daughter, sir, has had the happinefs of being protected by your honour's cou"fin, madam sophia, who is goodneſs itſelf, "and who, although in very narrow circum"ftances, the three sisters. 111"ſtances, yet finds opportunities of doing a "thouſand good actions." "how!" faid the good sterling," and have "i another coufin? and is the poor, and yet is the charitable? and have i, like a blockhead "as i am, been ignorant of her very exiſtence ?" "there is fuch a one, i affure you, sir; fhe "is the daughter of your uncle, and the youngeſt "of the three fifters." "is this poffible?" faid the eaft-indian, and "if fo, how comes it about that neither of her "fifters have mentioned her name to me?"where has the lived? how came fhe fo poor?” 66 "the good lady, sir, trufted her fortune in "the hands of a merchant, who became a bank"rupt, and loft nearly the whole of it. she "then retired, with what little fhe had remain"ing, to a village in the country, where the "boarded at the houſe of a friend of her's, who "married a clergyman. there, from her ſmall "income, the found means to be of infinite fer"vice to her poor neighbours; fhe vifited the fick, the inftructed the young, and, by her ex❝ample and advice, fhe reclaimed the idle, and encouraged the worthy members of fociety. "as to her name not being mentioned to you by "her fifters, i fear their motive for keeping you. -in ignorance concerning her, was their con"ſciouſneſs 112 the three sisters. "ſciouſneſs of her fuperior claim to your favour "and protection." 66 "this," cried sterling, "is the exact perfon "that i am looking for. come, my lad, get "your boots ready, to-morrow you ſhall be my 'guide to the village where this precious coufin "of mine refides; trouble yourſelf no more "about your children; they fhall henceforward "be my care and as to yourſelf, quit your fer❝vice as foon as you can with decency; you are, "too old to wear a livery, i will provide for you comfortably for the reſt of your life.” "oh, sir," faid the old fervant, "be affured "that what is left of that life fhall be employed "in praying for bleffings on you, and on my "kind benefactreſs, madam sophia.". sterling foon reached the village. he alighted at the parfonage, and enquired of the minifter concerning his amiable coufim. "she is an an"gel," faid the prieft;"notwithſtanding the lofs of her fortune, her countenance expreffes "the happy tranquillity of her mind. nothing, in fhort, can deprive her of her benevolence, "and that benevolence must always infure her "tranquillity.""tell her, i entreat you, sir," faid sterling, "that a relation, whom he has never ſeen, begs to be introduced to her." sophia received her coufin with unaffected regard << 6.6 7 the three sisters. 113 gard and natural politeneſs. "i am enchanted "with you, my fweet coufin !" faid the eaftindian. "in your modeft, neat, linen gown, you look more like a woman of faſhion, than "your ſhowy fifter in her gayeft dreffes; and "poor as you are, your features are illuminated "by an air of content which never appears on "the vifage of that other fifter of yours; that "rich lady that founds hofpitals! but tell me "now honeftly, coufin sophy, how has it hap"pened that neither of my coufins ever made " mention of your name to me fince my arrival? "have you fallen out with them? or do they "not know where you refide ?” believe me, sir," replied sophia, "i love "them both too well to keep them in igno"rance of my place of abode, and within theſe "laft three days i have written to each of "them.". "hard-hearted wretches!" exclaimed the good sterling; "can i ever forgive "their indifference to fo amiable a relation ?" "excufe them this one time," faid the gentle sophia; "i doubt not but that they meant "to have made me amends for this omiffion, "by the future kindneſs of their behaviour." "no, no," faid her coufin, "i know the "vilenefs of their hearts. they were confci"ous of your fuperior merit, and dreaded, left "i ſhould reward it by beſtowing on you that "fortune 66 114 the contrast. * fortune which each of them already grafped "as her own: but their odius cunning and "greedinefs fhall be diſappointed. to your " oftentatious fifter i will not give one farthing; "fhe does good, indeed, but it is merely for "the fake of being talked of abroad as a wo"man of unbounded charity. your penurious fifter i am ftill lefs difpofed to encourage. "the donation which fhe has made in favour "of the poor, has her own intereſt ſo immedi"ately in view, that it gives me infinitely more "difguft than pleaſure. you, my worthy cou"fin, who do good actions merely becauſe it is "right and fitting do to them, you i declare to be "my fole inheritrix; and from this moment i "infift on your making ufe of my fortune as if "it were your own. i know that fortune is by "no means neceffary to your happineſs; but i know, at the fame time, that your being rich "will be the means of communicating happi"nefs to numbers of fufferers, whom, until now, "you could only pity and not relieve." 1 1 x. the contrast. rederic was the fon of a lady of fortune, who, having retired to her eſtate in the country, beftowed moſt of her time on his fred education.. the contrast. 115 education. in return for her attachment to him, frederic was modeft, ftudious, and humane; he felt the obligations which he was under to his parent, and did his beſt to requite them by purfuing her inftructions with care, and by preferring her company to that of any other perſon. jacob, a lad of the fame age with frederic, and whofe mother's cottage ftood near the park-pale of the lady we have juſt ſpoken of, was in every reſpect of a character directly oppoſite to that of his amiable neighbour. he was loved by no one, not even by his poor mother, all whofe endeavours could never prevail on him even to take the pains of learning to read. the moft innocent way in which he ſpent his time was in loitering from place to place, and lounging about; at other feafons he was the plague of his comrades, and, in confequence, the deteftation of the village. frederic was too well bred up to chufe fo vile a boy for a play-fellow; jacob, however, taking advantage of the opportunities which the fituation of the mother's tenement gave him, ftole, one day, into the room where frederic's play-things were kept, broke to pieces his violin and his chariot, completely fpoilt his bird organ, and carried off in triumph his hobby-horſe. the author of this mifchief was foon difcovered, and frederic, in the firſt emotions of refent1 116 the contrast. refentment, was running by the advice of a fervant, to acquaint the mother of jacob with the exploits of her fon, "but, no," ſaid he, checking his fpeed," the is a fevere woman, and the "will horfewhip him without mercy, and, may "be, fhut him up in an out-houſe for a week together: how fhould i like that for my"felf? no, no, i had better forgive him, for "this once." not long after this, frederic was walking out with his beloved mother, when unluckily they ftrolled near a place where the thoughtless, wicked jacob was amufing himſelf by throwing ftones with all his little force at every object within his reach, totally regardleſs of the mifchief which he might occafion. one of theſe unluckily hit the little frederic on the head, and fetched the blood; but frederic was too much of a man to cry at a little pain."mama," ſaid the ſpirited lad, "this ftone has "hurt me a little, but i dare fay the pain will "foon be over." as his forehead, however, was all covered with blood, his mother went directly home with him, and had every proper care taken of his wound. it was an ugly one, and brought on a fever, and it was the end of feven or eight days before he was permitted to walk out, and his mother being engaged with company, ordered a fervant to accompany him. as the contrast. 117 as they were walking, the difcourfe turned on the wickedness of jacob; and juſt as the domeftic was hoping they might ſee nothing of him during their walk, they heard a ruſtling noife in a tree behind them, and down, at once, came jacob, ſcreaming and crying, from the top of an elm, which his uſual ſpirit of miſchief had tempted him to climb in purſuit of a crow's neft. "i fear," faid frederic, exerting his utmoſt endeavours to raiſe the poor wretch," that you "have hurt yourſelf fadly." jacob ftill continued his groans and cries; and well he might, for, upon examination, his leg appeared to be broken in two places. "poor fellow," ſaid the benevolent frederic, "how he muft fuffer! let "us contrive fome how or other, to convey him "home to his mother.-unhappy woman! "what diftrefs muft fhe not feel when the fees "the condition of her unlucky fon!" her diftrefs was great indeed. "poor as i am," the exclaimed, “i can juſt ſupport myſelf and this "ungracious lad; but how fhall i ever be able "to pay the long demand which the furgeon "will have upon me, by the time that jacob "recovers." little frederic, who was a witnefs to her complaints, afforded to them thoſe tears which his own fuffering could never extort from him." make yourſelf eaſy, my good neighbour," ſaid the amiable boy, "and oblige "me 46 118 the contrast. trast. "me fo far as to accept this new crown-piece, "which my good mama has juſt given me, that "i might buy me a fairing, but i can do with"out it better than you can." the afflicted mother looked at him with filent admiration. frederic proceeded to affure her, that as he was confcious of the fmallneſs of the fum, (though it was his all) he would uſe his intereft with his parent for a larger fupply, and did not doubt to obtain it. the unfortunate woman nów found her tongue, and expreffed in the moſt affecting terms, her aſtoniſhment at feeing his earneſtneſs in relieving that worthless lad, by whoſe miſchievous hand his forehead was fill fmarting. "this," ſaid ſhe, "is truly to return good for "evil!" frederic now returned to his mother, and after giving her the hiftory of the whole occurrence, "how comes it, mama," faid he, "that although i was truly forry for poor ja"cob's misfortune, and though i feel both for him and his mother, yet, on the whole, i am "more pleafed than grieved?" child," faid the lady, "you have had an opportunity of doing "well, and you have made ufe of it; and, believe me, throughout life you will find, that "the conſciouſneſs of having done a benevolent "action will be the moſt effectual cordial for "every painful fenfation." the [ 119 ] the natural history of the lion. the he lion, though inferior in fize to ſeveral other animals which inhabit the fame countries with himſelf, is fo fuperior in the united qualities of ftrength, addrefs, and courage, as to have obtained the higheſt rank amongſt the brute creation. even the cumbrous elephant, and the robuſt buffalo, are conquered by this lordly beaft, who proudly fubdues and preys upon all, but is himſelf the prey of none. nor is his courage lefs remarkable than his ftrength. the fierce lion, who has been uſed to conquer, and is ignorant of the fuperior powers of man, will fometimes rufh upon a caravan which is travelling through the deferts; and fuch is his contempt of danger, that when he is repulfed, he does not turn his back and endeavour to escape, but retreats fighting, and defending himſelf againſt the attacks of his enemies. the largeft lions are about eight or nine feet in length, and three or four feet in height : their colour is yellow on the back, and a duſky white on the fides and belly. the male lion is adorned with a large flowing mane, which grows larger as he advances in years; but the female is without this ornament, and is about one-fourth lefs in fize. in general the lioneſs is 120 natural history is much more docile and gentle than the lion; but when ſhe has young, ſhe becomes ftill fiercer than he, and will attack a number of armed men in defence of her whelps. her care to fecure's them from diſcovery is fhewn before their birth; the retires to the leaft frequented places, and when they are brought forth, fhe is fo careful to preſerve them, that when the leaves them to procure food, fhe carefully bruſhes away the marks of her feet with her tail, that her young may not be difcovered by the prints of her fteps. the lion is an inhabitant of warm climates, and is never found in the frozen regions of the north. indeed the ftrength and fierceness of this terrible animal appear to be greatly increafed by the heat of the climate he inhabits; and there is a remarkable difference between the ferocity of thoſe lions which breathe the temperate air of lofty mountains, and of thoſe which dwell in the fandy and fcorching plains. the american lions, which are natives of a milder climate, 'have neither the fiercenefs, the ſtrength, nor the courage of thoſe born under the fervid rays of an indian or african fun; nor are they adorned with a mane. indeed, their differing in fo many reſpects has made ſeveral naturaliſts very doubtful whether or not they were of the true lion fpecies. though the lion is naturally an inhabitant of hot of the lion. 121 7 hot countries, he can fubfift a long time in more> : temperate climates. several have lived during many years in europe, and fome have brought forth young, and attained to a confiderable age, in england. the time which has been fuppofed the ufual term of their lives is between twenty, and twenty-five years. their numbers have been greatly leffened by the increaſe of the human fpecies, and the invention of fire-arms; and though many ſtill inhabit the ſouthern parts of africa and afia, and are very fierce and dreadful, yet they are no longer found in very largenumbers. thofe lions which dwell near the villages of india or barbary, have ſo often proved the fuperior powers of man, that they have loft much of their native fiercenefs, and, if forc-. ed by hunger, or provoked by the attacks of men, they attempt to affault them, they approach with great caution and figns of fear. it is however afferted, that if this fierce beaft has conquered, and has once tafted human fleſh, he will never afterwards prey with equal pleaſure upon any other animal. when the lion prepares to attack his prey, he generally makes ufe of ftratagem to enfure his fuccefs. he lies in wait near the fprings where the animals go to drink, couched upon his belly, darts upon them as they paſs, and feldom miffes his aim, though he frequently makes ꮐ a leap 122 natural history a leap twelve or fifteen feet in length. as he neither hears nor fees very well, though he has the faculty of feeing in the night, he is known' to employ great watchfulneſs to procure his prey, and is obliged to keep at a confiderable diftance from the animal he means to attack, who would, if he came nearer, foon diſcover him by his ſtrong fcent. springs and fountains are very agreeable to him, not only on account of their being frequented by other animals, but alfo from the great thirstineſs of the lion; for though he is able to fupport great hunger, he fuffers much from thirſt. when he attacks the buffalo, he ruſhes upon him unfeen, faftens his two fore paws upon his mouth and noftrils, and does not refign his hold till the animal is quite strangled; he then fometimes tears out the entrails that he may remove the body with more cafe, and drags it to a retreat, where he may enjoy his feaft in fecurity. all animals appear to have a natural dread of the lion, and travellers have frequently been acquainted with their approach by the uneafinefs of their cattle. the oxen and horfes figh deeply, and ſhew every appearance of terror, and the dogs creep cloſe to the feet of their mafters, and are afraid even to bark. at the found of his terrible voice the affrighted animals run wildly about to avoid him; but as he lays his mouth 1 1 1 of the lion 123 mouth to the ground when he utters his deep continued roars, the found is fo diffuſed, that they know not whence it proceeds, and they frequently advance to the very ſpot where he ſtands ready to devour them. but terrible as the lion is to every other animal, he is fo inferior to man, that he is not only frequently taken in toils, which are formed to deftroy him, but is even hunted for amuſement. the inhabitants of the fouthern parts of africa, mounted on horſeback, frequently purſue and kill him, and they eſteem his fleth both pleafant and nouriſhing. his fkin, which in fome countries has been uſed as a royal mantle, is however regarded as very inferior in real ufefulneſs to the hide of an ox. # the inhabitants of the cape of good hope, who are much infefted by lions, which devour their flocks, make uſe of many artifices to deftroy them. in travelling in the night, they are obliged to be pretty conſtantly upon their guard againſt this fierce animal, though he feldom attacks them in the day, except he is very hungry, or greatly provoked. a hottentot, who was travelling to a confiderable diſtance, obferved that he was followed by one of theſe formidable animals, which kept ſeveral yards behind him, but advanced with exactly the ſame ſpeed. senfible of the cunning of the lion, who feldom attacks his prey openly, the traveller cong 2 eluded a 124 natural history cluded that he only waited for the approach of darkneſs to ruſh upon him; and as he was without weapons, and at a great diſtance from any habitation, he was in the utmoſt danger of being torn in pieces by his purfuer. his knowledge of the manners of the animal, and his own ingenuity, furniſhed him, however, with the means to efcape. he carefully fought for fome rocky place, which was level at the top, and had a deep precipice on one fide; and ſeating himself on the brink, he prepared for the part he was to act to fave himſelf from deftruction, while his enemy lay couched upon the ground, and ſteadily obferving him. as foon as it became duſk, the hottentot, gently fliding forwards, let himſelf down upon a ſmall part of the rock which projected juſt below him; and which was juſt large enough to fupport him; but in order to deceive the lion, he raiſed his ſtick, upon which he had placed his hat and cloak, and made a gentle motion with it juſt above his head, at a fmall diftance from the edge of the mountain. this ftratagem had the defired fuccefs. the lion crept gently towards the ftick, which he miftook for the man, and then bounded upon it, with fo exact an aim, as to fall down the precipice cloſe to the fpot where the hottentot had placed the fnare. there are few difpofitions fo favage, that they may of the lion. 125 may not be tamed by kindneſs, and even the ferocious lion has afforded the ſtrongeſt proofs of attachment and gratitude for the benefits he has received. the celebrated earl of peterborough, when a boy, was prefented with a young lion, which he greatly delighted to careſs and to feed; and the animal became ſo tame, as to fuffer his lordſhip to play with him with the familiarity of a brother. they grew up together, and their intimacy had continued feveral years, when the earl was appointed by queen ann to the command of her army in spain. his promotion did not, however, make him forgetful of his old friend the lion; he gave ftrict orders to his houſekeeper to take care of his playfellow. the animal fhewed great concern at the abfence of his lordſhip, fenfibly pined for his lofs, and refufed his food; and the earl, in order to preferve his life, ordered him to be preſented to her ma jefty, in hopes that the fociety of the other animals in the tower would make him forget his old friend. a long time pafled before the return of the earl from spain, who brought over with him a spanish officer whom he had taken prifoner. his humanity made him defirous of making the captivity of the spaniard as eaſy as poffible; and in hopes of amufing him, he took him to view whatever was curious, in or near london, and amongſt other places they vifited g 3 : the 126 fatal effects the tower. here the earl was received by a roar of joy from his old companion, who imme diately knew him, and fhewed the greateſt tranfports at the return of his benefactor; nor did he fuffer him to depart, till, in the excefs of his rapture, he had deprived his lordſhip of nearly the whole of his coat, though he very carefully avoided injuring his perfon. tal 1 ** * 30 the fatal effects of delay. charle » harles stanley was the fecond fon of a gentleman, who poffeffed a fmall eftate in yorkshire, which at his death was defigned for his eldeſt fon, and the youngeſt was to be brought up to fome genteel buſineſs, by which he might improve the little fortune which his father intended for him. · charles gave early marks of a fweet and engaging temper; he was dutiful to his parents, he tenderly loved his brother, and was fo obliging to the ſervants, that he became the favourite with them all. every little 'boy in the village taiked of the good nature of little charles, and of his willingneſs to part with his ſweetmeats and playthings. when charles was about four years old, his father fent him to a neighbouring ſchool, where he was very foon as much remarked for the progrefs of delay. 127 grefs he made in learning as he had been for his fweet temper. he read better than any boy in the ſchool, and whenever he went before his mafter to fpell, he was certain to get the first place. this great quickneſs gave much delight to his fond parents and his tutor, though they obferved that, with all his good qualities, charles 素 ​had one capital fault; instead of going directly to fchool, he would often loiter in the fields till long after the other boys had gone in, and his books were always to be fought for at the very time when he fhould have taken them to his mafter, to 2 } at a proper age, charles was placed by his father at a great fchool, where he no longer found the indulgence to his faults, which he had met with from the village tutor. he was not allowed to defer the morning's taſk till the afternoon, and it was remarked to him that he was inferior in learning to many who were his juniors in age. charles was ftung with the remark; he knew that he was able to excel, and he refolved that he would at fome time take great pains, and obtain the fame rank he had held in the village fchool; but he thought he might defer this till fome future time. his work, while he was under the eye of his mafter, was performed as well, and in leſs time than that of moft of his fchool-fellows; but the talks g 4 which 128 fatal effects which he had to perform out of ſchool hours were always deferred, and every thing furniſhed charles with an excufe for delay, not that het paſſed his vacant time in play; inftead of that, he was often employed in writing exerciſes for his fchool-fellows while they were amuſing themſelves, and his own tak was deferred till the morning, when there was little time to perform it well, and he was puniſhed for the faults. thus poor charles feldom enjoyed the proper feafon for play. he was compelled to complete his talk when his companions were enjoying themſelves in innocent fports, and he was feldom fet free from work till they were retiring to reft. c charles continued in this fituation till the age of fourteen, and was every day remarked for his abilities to excel, and for thofe habits of delay which often deſtroyed all the advantages he naturally poffeffed. mr. stanley then took him to london, and placed him with a merchant, a friend of his, in the city, to whom he hoped charles would become fo agreeable, as in time to be admitted into partnership with him. in this fituation charles gave the ſtrongeſt proofs of integrity, ſweet temper, and great abilities, but delay attended whatever he undertook; he was not dreſſed till fome hours after he ſhould be at the deík; he did not get to the cuftom-houfe till of delay. 129 1 f till the books were fhut, nor appear upon change till every man of buſineſs had deferted it. with more virtues, and greater ability, than almoft any man of his acquaintance, he became a general object of ridicule and derifion, and when the term of his apprenticeſhip expired, he found that, with a character which was fhaded with only one foible, all intimate connections with him were fhunned by the fober part of the trading world. about this time charles had the misfortune to loſe his father, who bequeathed him fuch a fortune as entitled him to expect a partnerſhip in fome refpectable houſe. but his known habit of delay prevented his friends from making the offer; and though he fully intended to feek fuch a connection, yet he continued to defer it till he had greatly leffened his little patrimony. his father had introduced him to feveral friends who might have affifted him greatly, but he had difgufted them by his conduct, by deferring his vifits to unfeaſonable hours, and by protracting them till the repeated yawns of the family informed him that it was time to depart. charles, who faw himſelf in a fituation where he was very likely to be without either friends or fortune, now refolved to exert himſelf, and to follow the plan which his father had traced out for his conduct in life. he could not, indeed, meet g 5 with 130 fatal effects fi with an agreeable partnerſhip, but he determined to enter into a mercantile line by himſelf; and his friends, who were delighted with his exertions, formed fuch extenfive connections for him, that he had the greateſt chance of being in a few years one of the richeſt men in the city. but, alas! his habit of delay had acquired more ftrength than he was aware of, and his efforts to conquer it were but tranfient. charles foon relapfed into his former indolence. he deferred bufinefs till he had not time to tranfact it. he neglected to comply with the orders of his correfpondents till the goods they fent for were no longer wanted; and he omitted inſuring his veffels, not becauſe he intended to riſk the lofs, but becauſe, as he did not fee them finking, he thought he might defer the bufinefs to fome fu ture time. in a fhort time his bufinefs declined, feveral of his veffels had either been taken or loft, his creditors poured in from every quarter, his property could not answer their demands; and charles stanley, whofe integrity was reſpected by all, was hurried to priſon, with the conviction that his misfortunes were the confe quence of his folly." .. * in this wretched fituation charles was a. prey to forrow. his heart was melted at the mifery which many poor and innocent families muft have fuffered from his failure; and he thought elsa of of delay. 131 of the uneafinefs he muſt have given to his mo ther with agony. firmly did he refolve, that if he could ever again be eſtabliſhed, he would atone by his future diligence for his paft mifconduct; but where could he look for affiftance? his mo-. ther had no more than was fufficient for her fupport; and his brother had already given him whatever he could afford. charles was fitting alone, reflecting upon the fad fituation of his af fairs, when he was informed that a gentleman enquired for him below, and in a few moments he beheld a brother of his mother's, whom the family had believed to be dead, but who was juſt returned from india with a large fortune. mr. hilton was much grieved at the miſconduct and misfortunes of his nephew; but was fo much affected by his ingenuous account of his paft faults, and his refolutions of amendment, that he generously diſcharged all his debts, and enabled him to appear again amongſt his old acquaintance with credit. # charles, fully fenfible of the miferies from which he had been delivered, was very earneft to fettle himſelf in fome bufinefs which would afford him fupport; and his kind uncle, who hoped that a new fcene would be favourable to his new-formed plans, earneſtly adviſed him to embark for india, promifing to return with him, that he might fee him well fettled. this good g 6. nefs 132 fatal effects, &c. nefs filled the heart of charles with the warmest gratitude: he fell at his feet, and declared with tears, that he would exert himſelf to the utmoſt to fulfil the commands of his generous benefactor. every thing was ordered for their departure, and when the time arrived for the failing of the fhip, mr. hilton went on board with ſome goods which were in readineſs, leaving his nephew to follow him to the downs with thofe which were not quite finished. but delay again appeared in the conduct of charles; he omitted enquiring after them till an exprefs arrived from mr. hilton, with the account that the veffel was to fail the next day, and that he muſt haften down immediately. charies then began to execute the orders which his uncle had left, but was detained fo long before he could get the goods, that when he reached the downs he found the ſhip had failed fome hours. almoft diftracted with this account, and with the thoughts of what his kind uncle muft think of his mifconduct, he wandered about for fome time in the greatcft diftrefs, and at length having become almoſt deſperate, he hired a quick-failing boat, in hopes of being able to overtake the fhip. for fome time they advanced rapidly, and gained fight of the india fhip, and the heart of charles was alternately agitated by hope and fear. but fuddenly the ſky was overcaft, the fea fwelled, the wind roared, and the boatmen the nosegay. 133 men declared that there was every appearance of an approaching ſtorm, which foon raged around them with the utmoſt fury. the veffel, which was too light to refift its force, was toffed about at the mercy of the wind and waves, and the only hope the unhappy charles had of faving his own life, and thoſe of his companions, was by reaching the fhip, which they faw at a ſmall diſtance before them. but they exerted every effort in vain; a great ſea broke over the bark, and mr. hilton had the mifery of feeing it fink for ever into the bofom of the ocean, and to lament the lofs of the unfortunate charles, who, though poffeffed of fuch talents as made him loved and admired by all, yet by one unhappy foible was rendered miferable and ridiculous through life, and ſubjected to a dreadful and premature death. the nosegay. aptain dormer, and his amiable lady, had lived during feveral years at their feat in dorfetfhire, happy in themſelves, and beloved by all around them, when they received the unwelcome account that the captain was commanded to join his regiment, which was ordered to embark for america. the news of this 134 the nosegay. this event filled all the country with forrow. the rich grieved for the lofs of fo excellent a neighbour; the poor mourned for the departure of their kind and conftant benefactor and the tenants and fervants wept aloud at the thoughts of being feparated from a mafter who had always treated them more like children than dependants. but in vain were their entreaties that he would remain; honour called upon him to depart, and mrs. dormer faw, with the utmoft forrow, that to honour he would facrifice the ftrongest feelings of his breaft. she refolved, however, not to be left behind, and in a fhort time, they exchanged the tranquil pleaſures of belmount for the horrors of carnage and war. mr3. dormer had not been long in america before the lay-in of twins, both daughters, and very beautiful. in the care of thefe fweet children fhe found fome relief during the frequent abfences of her huſband, and would often indulge the hope of returning peace, when the captain, inſtead of engaging in the flaughter of his fellow-creatures, might enjoy the delight of improving his little fanny and sophia. the children daily became more fond of their pa rents, often clinging to their father when they faw him preparing to go out, and always clap ping their little hands with joy when they faw him return. as foon as they were able to ſpeak, mrs. the nosegay. f 135 mrs. dormer taught them to fay papa, and in a fhort time, when they faw him at a diftance; they would directly leave their play, and running up to their mama, would cry out, "papa "is come, dear papa is come to fee his little "girls."uck the improvement of the children became more visible every day, and they were daily more dear to their parents, when captain dor mer, returning from a foraging party, was fierceby and fuddenly attacked by the indians, and a defperate engagement enfued. the time when mrs. dormer had expected his return had long paffed, and fhe fat in filent agony looking at her dear children, whom at one moment the feared were deprived of their parent, and the next, ſtepping to the room door, fhe anxiouſly lif tened to every noife, and was fearful, left even the found of her own breath fhould prevent her, from hearing the well-known ſtep of her be loved hufband. at length a found reached her ears it came nearer; it increaſed, and ſhe flew down ftairs in the fond hope of welcoming the return of what was moſt dear to her. the door was opened, but it no longer opened to admit the tender huſband, and fond father, joyfully. returning from the labours of the day;-captain dormer was brought in a mangled, lifeless corpfe. 2129 1 thus 136 the nosegay. thus cruelly deprived of her huſband, mrs. dormer refolved to return to england, and to employ her time in the education of her little girls. she took them down into dorfetfhire, and inftructed them herfelf; and little fanny and sophia dormer were foon remarked as the neateft work-women in the country. but their good mama did not direct their attention merely to the little arts of making trifling ornaments: the taught them that virtue was fuperior to accomplishments, and that what was ufeful was more excellent than what was merely elegant. little fanny foon underſtood, that though mufic gave her great delight, it was ſtill more delightful by her own ſweetneſs to charm all around her and sophia learned that no pleaſure was equal to the pleaſure of doing good to her fellow-creatures. in this happy retirement mrs. dormer continued for fome years improving her fweet girls in real virtue and uſeful knowledge. at this time lady aubrey, a relation of mrs. dormer's, paid her a vifit, and upon her return would gladly have prevailed with the good mother to fuffer both her daughters to ſpend ſome time with her in london. this, however, mrs. dormer could not agree to; but as fanny had fhewn a ftrong affection for her ladyſhip, and earneſtly wifhed to fee london, the confented to her go, ing; the nosegay. 137 ing; and sophia, who preferred the company of her mama to any other enjoyment, was left at home. at firſt indeed, fhe felt uneafy without her fifter; fhe found a folo on the harpfichord was not half fo agreeable as a duet, and the beautiful alcove in the garden was not near fo pleaſant, as when fanny fat with her there, at her drawing or needle-work. by degrees, however, fhe became reconciled to her lofs, but frequently thought that fanny could not enjoy half the pleaſure in london that ſhe did at belmount, in affifting her mama to work for the poor people of the village, or in going with her to vifit thoſe who were fick. but her greateſt delight was in the office which mrs. dormer had given her of diſtributing the broken victuals, which were given away to the poor every day at her gate. this was the higheſt pleaſure sophia could receive. she flew with rapture to the houſe-keeper to obtain her welcome burden, under which the tottered to the door. she exulted in feeing fo many poor creatures made happy by her bounty, and delighted to hear them fay, "here comes the good little girl; "the will, one day, be as good a lady as her "mama" and fhe often thought with great pleaſure of the joy which her fifter fanny would have, when the returned, in this new employment. but 138 the nosegay. but fanny's vifit to lady aubrey unfitted her for the innocent pleafures of belmount. she never heard of fuch a thing as working for the poor from her ladyfhip; and cards, drefs, and elegant equipages, engaged the attention of all the circles to which fanny was admitted. she almoſt learned to forget the poor; and when fhe returned to belmount, fhe ſpoke haughtily to the fervants, and ſcarcely noticed her inferiors; and when the poor came to receive their daily allowance, inftead of ferving them, the either turned away, or fuffered her little favourite dog, surly, to bark at them, and fhake their tattered cloaths. all the village talked of her pride, and lamented that the good mrs. dormer ſhould have ſuch a naughty little girl, but the good and gentle sophia was loved by them all. they prefented her with the choiceft flowers in their gardens, and the most beautiful bantams and pea-fowls were fent to the poultry yard of the good little girl that behaved fo well to every one. when mrs. dormer came from church, all the farmers and their wives made their beſt bows and curtfies to the good lady, who ſpoke kindly to them all. she was followed by fanny, who never turned her head afide; but when sophia came near, the children plucked one another, and faid, "here comes the young lady, "fee “. the nosegay. 139 "fee how good humoured the looks: fhe will "afk us all how we do." fanny could not avoid ſeeing how diſagreeable her pride made her to every body, and the found herſelf much lefs irappy than fhe was before fhe went to london; but the had learned there to think that fuch behaviour was right, and, if it was an error, fhe foolishly refolved rather to adhere to it than to own fhe had been wrong. she was one day invited with her fifter to a ball at the houfe of a lady in the neighbourhood, where he was to meet all the young people in that country. her heart exulted in the thoughts of this gay party, and ſhe reſolved to behave in the fame manner the had feen fome faſhionable ladies do in london. upon entering the room the advanced to a ſmall knot of young ladies of her acquaintance; and, without ſpeaking to the reft of the company, began to make remarks upon their dreſs and manners in a whiſpering voice, but in a tone loud enough to be heard. after fome time a young lady, whom she had never ſeen before, entered the room, in a dreſs made up in a manner very different from any that fanny had ever obferved; the directly began to fneer at her, and declared, that for her part fhe was furprized fuch ſtrange figures fhould think of mixing with people of fashion, 2 140 the nosegay. faſhion, and wondered where they came from. the young lady confounded at fo rude a recep, tion, retired to a corner, where the was joined by the good humoured sophia, who chatted with her till the lady of the houſe returned into the room, and introduced her into the company as the eldest daughter of the duke of dorfet, who was juſt returned from a tour to france. nothing could exceed the chagrin of fanny, when the found that the young lady whom the had been ridiculing was the principal perfon in the company, and that the drefs fhe had defpifed, was the admiration of all who faw it. she had not the affurance to endeavour to repair her fault by apologies, or to preſs her acquaintance upon the lady whom he had fo grofsly affronted. indeed fhe faw that neither her excufes nor intimacy would be accepted, and the had the mortification of hearing her fifter svphia receive a very preffing invitation to dorfet houſe, in which fhe was not included. fanny was greatly mortified at this incident, and the refolved never to behave in fuch a manner again. she ought, indeed, directly to have endeavoured to conquer every feeling of pride, and to return to that behaviour which made her beloved by every body; but the only refolved that fhe would not again laugh aloud at a ſtranger in a genteel company, and run the rifk the nosegay. 141 risk of offending her fuperiors. as to the poor and miferable, ſhe thought them beneath her regard. some time after this, fanny and sophia were again invited to the houſe of a lady, whom, as fanny regarded her as a perfon of great tafte, fhe was defirous to pleaſe her by appearance. she put on all her little finery, but found that one thing was neceffary to complete her dreſs, which was a nofegay, and this ſhe was determined to buy when they reached the town. they fet off in the carriage, attended only by fervants, and by fanny's little dog, which ran at the fide of the chariot. fanny could talk of nothing but of calling at the florist's, and of the elegant nofegay with which the fhould be adorned. at length they faw a little tattered girl lying afleep upon the fide of the road, whom surly directly attacked, and began to ſhake her ragged cloaths. sophia called him haftily away, and would have fucceeded before he had awakened the poor little girl, but fanny encouraged him to proceed; upon this the child ftarting up, aimed a blow at the dog, which he avoided, and made a fnap at her leg. the poor terrified girl then endeavoured to run away, but in running miffed her ftep, and fell down the bank into the ditch. she had hurt her foot, and lay crying in the ditch till sophia ordered the fervant 142 the nosegay. fervant to take her up, and, contrary to the advice of fanny, defired him to place her in the chariot that they might convey her home. she then began to comfort the poor child, and inquired about her hurt; but ſhe continued to cry out, "o my poor mammy, my poor mammy, "what will ſhe do, now i cannot run about and 66 beg for her and my daddy!" "who is your "mammy," faid sophia," and what ſhall we "do for your foot?" "oh don't mind my "foot," faid the child, 66 give me only fome "bread for my poor mammy and daddy, and "my little brother, and i don't care what be66 comes of my foot." the child had fcarcely finiſhed her ſpeech when the carriage ftopped at the door of a cottage, which the little girl faid was her home. when the attempted to get out, the found herfelf unable to walk; and was obliged to be carried by the footman, who, accompanied by sophia, entered the houfe, while fanny remained in the carriage fullenly pouting at her fiſter's condefcenfion, and very angry to be ſo delayed. she was indeed forry to fee the poor child fo hurt, and when he was taken out of the carriage gave her what money fhe could ſpare; but fhe took care to keep enough to buy her elegant nofegay. when sophia entered the houſe, fhe found a fcene of mifery which he could not have the nosegay. 143 have conceived. the father of the little girl had long laboured under an ague and fever, her mother was worn down with poverty and fatigue, and her little brother crying for hunger in a corner of a poor cottage, ftripped of almoſt all its furniture, which had been fold to buy neceffaries. sophia found that little sally had gone out in the morning to beg fomething for this afflicted family, and that, quite exhauſted with hunger and fatigue, the fat down upon the bank and cried herſelf to fleep. the tender heart of sophia was greatly affected by this diſtreſs; ſhe emptied her pocket of every farthing which it contained, and gave it to the good woman of the houſe, and would not keep enough to buy the collar which he had once intended for her little favourite fquirrel. she then prepared to leave the cottage, but before the went defired the poor people to get what was neceffary, and told them fhe would foon return with her good mama, who would give them cloaths and victuals enough. the fifters then proceeded to their vifit. fanny bought her nofegay, which was very beautiful: but the ſweetneſs of sophia, and the cheerfulnefs which the thoughts of the good action fhe had been performing inſpired her with, made her fo agreeable, that all the company were charmed with her, but paid little attention to fanny. 144 the nosegay. ¡ fanny. at night, when they returned, mrs. dormer noticed fanny's nofegay, which, though it had begun to fade, was ftill very beautiful. this pleafed fanny, and fhe cried out, "ah! "mama, i was fure you would like it, it is fo '". very pretty, and my fifter liked it very much "indeed." "then why did the not buy one?” faid mrs. dormer; fanny hung down her head, and in a faultering tone anfwered, "becaufe fhe "had no money." mrs. dormer, furprized at this, for ſhe had given fome to each of them that very morning, inquired from sophia what was become of it; sophia then recounted to her mother the condition in which the had ſeen the poor people at the cottage, but took care not to mention a word of fanny's ill behaviour: the then told her the way in which ſhe had diſpoſed of her money, and the promiſe fhe had made. of taking her mama to the cottage; and ended by begging that fhe would go with her in the morning. tranſported with her conduct, mrs. dormer preffed her virtuous child to her bofom, and promiſed to take care of the wretched family, for whom sophia was fo much interefted. then looking with anger at fanny, the faid, "did you then give nothing to theſe poor unhappy creatures?" fanny hung down her head in filence, for fhe was afhamed to ſpeak ; but sophia faid, "oh yes, mama, indced the 66 "gave the nosegay. 145 1 "gave them all the money he had, except "juſt enough to buy her noſegay and a trinket "for her little watch; and i am fure if ſhe had "gone into the cottage and feen their miſery, "fhe would have given them that too." "she "fat at the door then," faid mrs. dormer, "while you went in." then turning to fanny, "proud and unfeeling girl," faid he, "who "could prefer vain and trifling ornaments to "the delight of relieving the fick and mifer "able! retire from my preſence; take with you' your trinket and nofegay, and receive from "them all the comforts which they are able to "beſtow." 66 sophia would gladly have retired with her fifter; fhe was grieved at the diſpleaſure ſhe had incurred from her mama; and fhe wifhed earneftly to footh and comfort the dejected fanny. mrs. dormer, however, chofe that ſhe ſhould be left alone, and fanny was obliged to paſs the night by herſelf. she then began to reflect upon the happineſs which ſhe had known before fhe went to vifit lady aubrey: ſhe was then beloved by every one, every body met her with a ſmile; all the fervants were ready to oblige her, and all the neighbours loved her; now all was changed, and no one, except sophia, no, not even her mama, feemed to love her. at this thought the wept bitterly. "and why am i not beloved?" h 1446 the nosegay beloved?" faid fhe, " and why does every one › ' “ſhun me, at the very time that they are fo "fond of my fifter? alas! it is becauſe i am ¦ » "not fo good as fhe." fanny then thought of the vexatious fituations into which ſhe had been: "* brought by her vanity and pride. they had caufed her to be fhunned not only by her inferiors, but by thoſe above her, and had made her w generally hated or defpifed. heartily afhamed of her conduct, and grieved at its confequences,poj the paffed the greatest part of the night in weep-n ing, and refolving that the would again be good,ra and again behave in fuch a manner as ſhould make her beloved by all, and happy in herſelf. towards morning fanny fell aſleep, and, as fhe was much tired with lying awake fo long, fhe flept till it was pretty late; the next day's when he awoke, the inquired for her mama,vor and was refolved to afk her forgivenefs, and tog inform her of her forrow for her paft faults, and y her refolution to amend. she was informed that mrs. dormer and sophia were gone to thes cottage, and had taken cloaths, and other new ceffaries for the family, and had fent for a phyfician to attend the fick man. "ah!" faid fhe, "sophia is happy, and the deferves to be "fo, for fhe is good; i was not worthy to • have the pleaſure of going to the cottage, but i will be good and happy too." she then the nosegay. 147 then rofe, and the first thing the faw was her nofegay, which the maid had carefully put into za pot of water the night before. "this nofe-t દ gay," faid fanny, "fhall be the conftant me"morial of my faults, and of my repentance." she then reached her pallet, and making a beausand tiful fketch of the almoft dying flowers, the wrote under them in a large hand, virtue never fades, and placed the drawing in the moſt confpicuous part of the room. when mrs. dormer returned, fhe was ftruck with this elegant performance, and calling for fanny, had the delight of hearing from herſelf what had paſſed in her mind during the paſt night, and her refolutions of amendment. after fome time, during which fanny had entirely laid afide her haughty behaviour, the indulgent mrs. dormer would have removed the drawing that it might no longer mortify her child; but fanny begged it might remain, and whenever the found herſelf inclined to return to her former folly, fhe placed herſelf before the picture, which foon became, not merely the fhameful memorial of paft faults, but the elegant monument of her return to virtue. ii 2 1 14 descrip. • [ 148 ] 暴发 ​" description of the two-horned rhinoceros. th 9: th his animal is found in africa, chiefly about the cape of good hope, and is diftinguiſhed from the common or one-horned rhinocéros, as well as from all other beafts, by having two horns upon its nofe, the larger of which ftands foremoſt towards the muzzle or fnout of the animal, the fhorter behind it, and higher up towards the forehead. the foremost horn grows almoft to the length of two feet, and feven or eight inches thick at the bottom; the hindmoft fometimes meaſures fo long as fixteen inches, and proportionably thick. they are of a conical ſhape, with the tips inclined fomewhat backwards, but their fize does not always appear to be in proportion to the body. this fpecies of rhinoceros is endued with prodigious ftrength, and, though little inferior in fize to the elephant, and ſomewhat refembling it in its enormous unwieldy make, runs with aſtoniſhing ſwiftnefs. it harbours amongſt cloſe thickets and bushy copfes, from whence it comes forth in the cool of the evening, to graze for the night. its food confifts of plants and roots, with the tops of fhrubs, and ſmall branches of trees. the foots it is ſuppoſed to dig up with the fmaller of its horns, as this, efpecially in the older animals, is moft two-horned rhinoceros. 149 3 moft commonly obſerved to be worn away in different parts, which is never the cafe in the foremoſt and larger one. it is natural to ſuppoſe that this latter is the offenfive weapon of the animal, and is therefore never uſed in the fervile employment of digging for its food, at which time it is turned on one fide, out of the = way; for thefe horns are faid to be fo loofe and moveable, that when the rhinoceros walks careleſsly along, one may fee its horns dangle about, and hear them clafh and clatter againſt each other. the ſhrubs and plants, which alfo compofe part of its food, it clips off with its lips, not having any fore teeth for that purpoſe. indeed it has little room for them, as the mouth goes off ſo ſharp at the fore part (fomething like that of tortoife) that it is only an inch and a half-broad. befides, it has no occafion for any teeth there, the fkin which forms the lips being of that extreme hardneſs, that it can perform the office of teeth very well, and that with fo much the greater eaſe, as the under jaw goes within the upper. @ the tongue is perfectly foft, which directly bcontradicts the common notion that the rhinoceros kills by licking with his tongue. notwithstanding the formidable bulk and amazing ſtrength of this animal, which has been known to run up to a waggon and carry it to a g 3 confiderp ་ ནཱ f j 150 two-horned rhinoceros. + confiderable diftance upon its fnout and horns, the hottentots and the dutch farmers who live in the inland parts round the cape of good hope, frequently attack and overpower. it. for the purpoſe of ſhooting it they uſe balls made of lead and tin mixt, and having found out its retirement, they approach it on the fide oppofite to that from which the wind blows. this precaution is abfolutely neceffary on account of the very acute, fmell and hearing with which the animal is endued. at the leaſt noiſe more than ufual, it takes the alarm, and erecting its ears, ftands clapping with them and liſtening; and if the hunter be fo imprudent as to get to the windward of it, even at a great diſtance, it feldom fails directly to follow him by the ſcent, and attack him with the greateſt fury. being therefore pretty ſecure on the fide of the wind, the rhinoceros has the fagacity in general to chufe, by way of entrenchment, a buſh very thick, and high on that fide from whence it has no fcent. if wounded it rufhes out from the thickets into the plain, when the boldeſt ſportſmen prudently confult their fafety by flight. it foon, however, turns afide, and if there be no copfe convenient for its eſcape, makes off ftraight forward over the plain: if they happen to have hounds out with them, theſe purſue it, and form a ftrong contraft to the coloffal fize of the two-horned rhinoceros. 151 the animal, which, however, feems not to take the leaft notice of them. with a gentle rife land fall of the neck it keeps on an even ſteady courſe, a kind of pacing, which nevertheleſs gets to over a great deal of ground: but this pace, on hearing a few fhots fired after it, it alters to a faft gallop, fo as in an inftant to leave the hounds at a great diſtance behind; and, in lall probability, any ſportſman would inevitably be loft, who fhould happen to become the object of its purfuit, if he had not art enough to get out of the fight and feent of it by fhifting and dodging occafionally. in this particular the rhinoceros is faid to reſemble the elephant, that without delaying or ftopping in the leaft, it will run to the diftance of many leagues from the place where it has been cloſely hunted, or in any other way molefted. the two-horned rhinoceros fleeps in a different pofture from the elephant: it lies down on the ground on one fide, and withal is faid to fleep fo found, that the hottentots and dutch coloniſts frequently ſteal upon it while in that fituation, and fhoot it; it differs very much in this refpect from the common or one-horned rhinoceros, which is defcribed as by no meansja fleepy animal. if it happens not to die immediately of its wounds, the hottentot hunterswill neverthelefs follow the traces of it for one h 4 or 152 two-horned rhinoceros. or more days, till it drops down with weakneſs and fatigue. in general, however, they poiſon one or two of their darts before they attack it, in which cafe they have no occafion to wait fo many days as they otherwife would before their prey falls into their hands. fortunately for thoſe who attack the rhinoceros, with all its keenneſs of finell and hearing, it labours under the diſadvantage of being extremely near-fighted. in effect, its eyes are very fmall and funk into its head, which is perhaps the reaſon why it fees but indiſtinctly, and that only ſtraight forward, fo as not even to perceive a horfeman at the diſtance of fifty or fixty yards upon the open plain, unleſs directed by its ſcent or hearing to fix upon the object. whenever, therefore, it happens to receive a wound without being able to difcover from what hand it proceeds, this circumſtance feems to provoke it to a greater degree of fury. not knowing where, to wreak its vengeance, it fwings the fore part; of its body violently from one fide to the other,, and ſnuffs up with its noftrils, as if endeavouring to diſcover the enemy by its fmell. the noife. which it makes with its nofe upon fuch occafions is particularly terrible to the horfes of thofe who are in chace of it; for when wounded, it will fnuff and blow fo hard and fo loud as to ftartle them, and make them uneafy, at the dif diw tance two-horned rhinoceros. 153 tance of fome hundreds of yards. indeed, inftinct fufficiently informs the horſe of its danger, when the rhinoceros is nigh, not only by the hearing but by the fiell alfo; for whenever the fportímen approach its retreat, which is always done againſt the wind, the horfes having the advantage of the breeze, are enabled to difcover their tremendous enemy fo far off as forty or fifty yards by the fmell; upon this they immediately flop, and give evident proofs of terror by their unwillingness to proceed any farther. this animal is of a greyifh or afh colour, but, which is very remarkable, feems to change its hue, and become almoſt black upon being hard hunted. this is owing probably to the duft and dried mud that fticks to its fkin (as it is very fond of rolling and wallowing in the mire) and when moistened by fweat, becomes much darker in colour. about the groin, however, where the fkin is not fo thick as on the reft of the body, and almoſt quite ſmooth, it is nearly the colour of a man's flefh. on all other parts the furface of the fkin is rough and knotty, and not much differing from that of an elephant, but of a cloſer texture, and when it is dry extremely hard. it has not, however, any of thofe plaits and folds which are to be obſerved in the common deſcriptions and figures publiſhed of it, and which give it the appearance of being covered with h 5. 3.154 two-horned rhinoceros. with a harneſs. the hide is an inch and a half thick on the back, and fomewhat thicker on the dfides, though lefs compact there. it is, howsever, by no means impenetrable, as has been commonly fuppofed. leaden balls, indeed, will fooner be flattened againſt the fkin than pierce it; but when they are hardened by a proper 2: mixture of tin, the rhinoceros may be killed by a fingle shot. nay, its hide, as well as that of the elephant, is capable of being penetrated by javelins and darts. a hottentot, at the diſtance of five or fix paces, has been known to pierce through the hide of a rhinoceros half a foct deep into its body. some have alſo imagined it to poffefs no feeling in its fkin; but, befides ..what is mentioned of the common rhinoceros, that it is capable of being tickled under the belly with a whiſp of ſtraw, the two-horned rhinoceros is fond (as was mentioned before) of wallowing in the mire like a hog, which would hardly be the cafe were its hide abfolutely infenfible; and indeed, when the thick hide of an elephant is affected by the ftinging of flies, we cannot fuppofe that of the rhinoceros to be totally deftitute of feeling. its ſkin, though tough and clofe in its texture, has, particularly about the groin, veffels, blood, and juices, adapted for the nouriſhment of infects; and, in effect, this animal is found to be infeſted in that part with a particular 3. 1 教 ​ two-horned rhinoceros. 155 a particular ſpecies of infect; neither does the thickness of its hide hinder it from perfpiring. lastly, the rhinoceros here defcribed may be faid to be totally deftitute of hair, though there are a few ſcattered dark briftly hairs, about an inch long, on the edges of the ears, with a very few between and round about the horns, and at the tip of the tail. this part of the animal is about an inch thick, diminifhing by degrees from the root to the tip, where it is flattened at the fides; and on the edges, produced by this flatnefs, are to be feen fome ftrong ftiff hairs, an inch or an inch and a balf in length. such of them as ftand towards the creature's hard and rough body are vifibly worn down and ſtunted. of the inward parts of this animal, it is fuffi cient to obferve, that its flesh, when dreffed; taftes a good deal like pork, but much coarfer. its brains are leſs than thofe of a middle-fized man; like the horſe, it has no gall; its entrails alſo moſt reſemble thofe of a horſe: ſo that this beaft, notwithſtanding its being furniſhed with horns, does by no means belong to the clafs of thofe which chew the cud, but rather of thofe whofe fat is of a foft nature like lard, and not hard like tallow. the ftomach, however, does not bear the leaſt reſemblance to that of a horſe, but rather to that of a man or hog; and the contents of it, when opened, after the animal has h.6 been 7 155 the three brothers.. been lately killed, are ufually without ſmell, and perfectly fresh and ſweet, conſiſting of roots and fmall branches of trees chewed, fome of them as. big as the end of a man's finger; and of fucculent plants, the whole diffufing around a very ftrong and not difagreeable aromatic odour. the three brothers. eug ugene, richard, and caffander, were the fons of mr. smithſon, a reputable merchant in the north of england, who having no other children befides them, and being in pretty affluent circumftances, refolved to have them educated immediately under his own eye. for this purpoſe he invited into his houſe a mr. markham, a gentleman of learning and approv ed morals, to be their tutor, whofe care and attention to their improvement afterwards, fully anfwered all his expectations. thefe three brothers, from their earlieſt infancy, were playmates and companions. they had never been fent out of their father's houſe, either to nurſe or even to a ſchool; as mrs. smithſon, their mother, whofe education rendered her perfectly equal to the taſk, undertook to put them through the firft rudiments of learning, and to prepare them for whatever ſtudies a tutor ܐ the three brothers. 157 a tutor might afterwards direct them to. whether it was their conftant fociety from their earlieft childhood; in the courfe of which, notwithſtanding the difference of two years, between the age of caffander and that of eugene, each ſhared invariably in the ftudies as well as the amufements of the other two; or whether it was the natural bent of their difpofitions, i know not, but they were remarkable for bearing towards each other a degree of affection that is rarely to be found amongst brothers in general. in their sports they were infeparable; the inequality of their number was never an obftacle to their all partaking of the fame paſtime, though it might originally have been intended but for two; and notwithſtanding there would now and then arife a trifling diſpute amongst them concerning their play, all differences were ufually fettled and reconciled before the conclufion of the game, fo that they never parted from each other in a pet; but, on the contrary, after they were tired of play, it was no uncommon thing to fee them linked all three arm in arm, fauntering up and down the garden walks, which were commonly the ſcene of their amufements; and in that friendly attitude communicating to each other their little fancies, difcuffing the remarkable ftories that occurred in the courfe of their j l leffons, 158 the three brothers. 1 וי leffons, or elfe laying their heads together to plan and ſtrike out fome new mode of diverfion. thus agreeing, and unanimous in all things, they entered with pleaſure upon the courfe of ſtudy laid down to them by mr. markham, their mrs. smithfon had never, while her fons were under her care, made their leffons a painful tutor. or the three brothers. 159 1 or diſagreeable tafk; the novelty, therefore, of mr. markham's firft examination, under whom they found that they were to learn both latin and greek, fo charmed and delighted them, that they all three jumped for joy when their papa fhewed them three lilly's grammars, which they were to begin the next day. befides, their fatisfaction at not being obliged to leave their dear parents, nor to be feparated from each other, might not a little contribute to the alacrity they fhewed on this occafion. in effect, the quicknefs of their progrefs furprized and delighted mr. markham, their prefent tutor, as well as their former one, that is their mama, to whom they would run every day in raptures of joy to communicate the contents of their feveral leffons. * hitherto we have feen eugene, richard, and caffander, perfectly alike and equal in all things; it is neceffary now to fhew in what refpects they were unlike, and how the particular character and difpofition of each, though leading to actions extremely different from what the others would purfue, yet always uniformly concurred in the exertion of that amiable principle, brotherly love. eugene, therefore, with much generofity, and fomething of fire in his compofition, was at the fame time a little arch, or what is called waggith. his pranks, in general, were the moft in nocent j. 160 the three brothers. nocent in the world, it is true, and he could fay at leaſt that he never meant to hurt: if, however, it would fometimes happen, which after all was feldom the caſe, that any of his little jokes coſt either of his brothers a tear, that tear, it was eaſy to be feen, gave eugene infinitely more pain than any he himſelf fhed: but the open franknefs and ardent good nature with which he would confole his weeping brother, feldom failed to dry it up in a moment. he would never juſtify his own miſtakes nor his aukwardnefs; and thus he feldom felt the reproaches of his companions, becauſe they always found him ready to fubmit to them candidly, and, whenever it ſo happened, to own himſelf in fault. richard, on the other hand, was all fimplicity he had not the leaſt ſhadow of defign in him; and were it not for the extraordinary apprehenfion that he fhewed in his learning, in which he outstripped both his brothers, he might be faid not to have a thought of his own, thus richard, though as cheerful as the day, feldom laughed unleſs eugene or caffander led the joke. he never propoſed a new fort of play, or invented a freſh plaything, but always was ready, with the greateſt good humour, to join in the one or admire the other, if offered to his attention by either of his brothers. he might even be faid to have no wants or likings of his own, the three brothers. 161 own, but as they put him in mind of them. if eugene faid to the maid, "molly, i want to go. to bed;" richard would add, "fo do i too.". if caffander faid, "mama, pray give me a piece "of bread and butter," richard, if prefent, would commonly join, "aye, and me too."and this difpofition of richard was the happieſt in the world, for preferving the friendſhip of the three brothers; fince, whatever advantage or fuperiority he might have in his learning, all his amuſements, all the pleafure that he enjoyed. from fociety, depended wholly on eugene and caffander. this laft was neither fo volatile as his elder. brother, nor fo fimple as richard: he had fomething grave even in his countenance, and though youngest of the three, was allowed to be much the moſt prudent; by which means he balanced, as it were, the oppofite defects of his brothers, and frequently would act as their adviſer and cenfor, by reproving eugene for his too great vivacity, which led him fo often into fcrapes, and richard for his thoughtleſs abfence and extreme credulity. but though he ſometimes took this freedom, it was always with the greateſt tenderneſs, being accuſtomed from his infancy to treat his elders with refpect, particularly his brothers. indeed, a refpect for their elders and fuperiors mrs. smithſon took early care to incul cate 162 the three brothers. 4 richard + cate on the minds of all her children. was commanded to yield in every thing to eugene, and caffander to richard; and all three to behave with proper deference to thoſe who were more advanced in life than themfelves. this injunction had a good effect more ways than one it prevented any childiſh contefts for the preference, as each knew and was contented with his own rank, and always waited his proper turn. befides, it made them behave with good manners to ftrangers, let their condition in life be what it will; nor was any one of them ever known to ſpeak or act with petulance even to a beggar. 1 after remaining a competent time under the inftruction of mr. markham, it was their father's pleaſure that they fhould all three enter the univerſity together, and purſue their ftudies there, in order to qualify themſelves for whatever of the learned profeffions they might afterwards chufe. this circumftance gave them infinite pleaſure. the love that they bore to each other while children, was now ripening into a fteady, ardent friendſhip, which no time could alter or diminish; and they faw before them a profpect of being happy in each other's fociety during the whole courfe of their lives. but human events are uncertain, and the ſhades of misfortune often intervene unexpectedly to chequer the the three brothers. 163 f } the most equal and placid funſhine of profperity. mr. smithſon was ftill in trade, and therefore liable to accidents and croffes which merchants frequently experience. it happened, in the beginning of the war, that two fhips, containing property of his to a very confiderable amount, uninfured, were taken by the enemy. the deficiency produced in his capital by this misfortune, joined to feveral other ſmaller loffes, obliged mr. smithſon to become a bankrupt; after which, conceiving a diftafte to his native place, he determined to take a voyage to the weft-indies, in order to look after an eftate in land, which had been bequeathed him as a legacy by fome diftant relation fince the time of his failure. at his departure, not judging it expedient to take his wife along with him, he left her a ſmall fum of ready money, but promiſed to fend over remittances whenever the property, of which he went to take poffeffion, could be turned to any account. our three brothers were inconfolable at parting with their father: this was the firft time in their lives that they might be faid to feel the grief of abfence from their beloved parents; for while at college they could hardly be called abfent from home, as they converfed weekly, nay, almoſt daily, by letters, either with mr. or mrs. smithfon. • 164 the three brothers. smithfon. but their forrow was confiderably increaſed, when, after two years had elapſed without any tidings from their father, they received a melancholy epiftle from mrs. smithfon, informing them of her utter inability to maintain them any longer at college, and requeſting their immediate return, in order to confult how they fhould difpofe of themfelves for their future fettlement in life. during the laſt two years that they had ſpent ´at the univerſity, nothing but the ſtricteſt œconomy, on the part of the brothers, as well as that of their indulgent parent, could have enabled them to fubfift; yet, notwithſtanding the general diffipation of the place, their temperance and frugality did not hinder them from fupporting an amiable character, and being highly efteemed by all who knew them. they were remarked for an obliging, affable demeanour, an unexceptionable attention to their college duties, but particularly for the ftri&t intimacy and happy degree of unanimity which they always appeared to maintain. they were, indeed diftinguished by the title of the three brothers; and the wits of the place fpoke of them as an exception to that remark of the poet, 7 friendship, like love, is but a name, unles to one you fint the flame. however, the three brothers. 165 however, there was a confiderable difference in their difpofitions, which, without the leaft impairing their affection, grew every day more and more confpicuous. eugene was now ambitious, enterprizing, and changeable; his parts were rather brilliant than folid. caffander, on the contrary, was fteady in his opinions and refolutions, which he built on the foundeſt and moſt mature reflection: he appeared more flow in apprehending the difficulties of ſcience than his elder brother; but, in return, his memory was more faithful and retentive, and whatever knowledge he once made his own was ever after at his com mand; for, as mr. pope elegantly obſerves, where beams of warm imagination play, the memory's foft figures melt away. richard was a fort of medium between theſe oppofites: with ſomething of eugene's vivacity and the 166 the three brothers. the ſteadineſs of caffander, he had an ardent and infatiable thirft of knowledge; in effect, he had recommended himſelf ſo powerfully to his fuperiors, by the extent and ſplendour of his attain-ments, that he was, at this very time of mrs. smithſon's writing for him and his brothers, pointed out to a nobleman, equally reſpectable for his rank and principles, as a proper perſon to be private tutor to his lordſhip's two fons, who were lately entered at the univerſity. at their return therefore, upon the fummons of their mother, when ſhe laid before them the melancholy ſtate of their affairs, the diſappointment of their expectations, and, to crown all, the dreadful apprenfions that the entertained of the lofs of her huſband, either at fea or by the cafualties of war, concluding with the tendereft advice to them, to unite their efforts towards the re-eſtabliſhing of their circumſtances by a ſteady courſe of induſtry, in whatever profeffions they might adopt: upon this occafion it was that the advantages of fuperior application and a more rapid progreſs in learning appeared confpicuous. while eugene and caffander endeavoured to comfort mrs. smithſon by the ſtrongeſt affurances of their future diligence, and the exertion of their induſtry in fome line or other that might afford themfelves and her a decent maintenance, richard had the happineſs of being able to make ta d 1 his the three brothers. 167 his mother and brothers the immediate tender of a ſmall competency from the falary which his noble patron was to allow him, who only waited for his anfwer to inveſt him with the care of his children's education. this profpect was a ſeaſonable relief to mrs. smithfon from the deſpondency into which the preſent gloom of her affairs had thrown her. it is true, the iron hand of want had not as yet begun to pinch her and her children, but the near approach of that unwelcome vifitor (without fuch a refource as richard now fuggefted) was fufficient to fill her mind with the moſt melancholy ideas and difmal prefages of adverfity and diſtreſs. * now, therefore, at length, by the irreſiſtible decree of neceffity, were our three brother's obliged to part, and take different walks on the vaft theatre of life. richard, returning to the v univerſity, attached himſelf with ſo much fuc31 ceſs to the education of his noble pupils, and to his own improvement, that, beſides being able for the prefent to contribute to the comforts of his mother, and thofe whom he held moft dear 1 next to her, he had the profpect before him of n obtaining an ample fettlement in the church, o through the intereſt of his munificent patron,» whofe favour he enjoyed in as full a meafure as lo his numerous good qualities entitled him to its eugene having procured recommendations to abid merchant $ 168 the three brothers merchant in london, repaired thither, and, ap plying himſelf fteadily to bufinefs, in the courfe of four years gave fuch proofs of his integrity and other good qualifications, that he was taken by the merchant into partnerſhip. caffander, in the mean time, fearing to become a burthen on the moderate penfion that richard allowed his mother, embraced the offer of a newcaſtle trader, who, having formerly been an intimate friend of mr. smithfon's, agreed to take caffander a voyage to the eaft country upon trial. caffander was ftill but young, being no more than fixteen at the time of his entering upon a fea life, and after his voyage of trial, he prudently made it his choice, in preference to waiting for the uncertain chance of fome more brilliant eſtabliſhment. in effect, what with the advantage of an excellent education, a patient and humane difpofition, and the uncommon character (for a ſeaman) of being remarkably fober and frugal, he in a very few years fo improved himſelf in the knowledge of trade and navigation, that he was appointed mate of a veffel trading to ruffia, the owners of which were fo wellpleaſed with his activity and good conduct, that they were determined, notwithſtanding his youth, to fend him out mafter of one of their fhips the firft opportunity that offered. thus, for fome years after the feparation of the the three brothers. 169 • the three brothers, fortune feemed to recompence the fevere lofs that they had felt in the perſon of their father, concerning whom, all this time, notwithſtanding every poffible enquiry, not the ſmalleſt intelligence had been received. but now, alas! once more, forrow and adverfity came hand in hand to diſquiet the feeling hearts of our three youths, by an hour of trial fuch as they had never yet experienced. the news of their mother's death was the fevere prelude to their misfortunes. richard had ſcarcely recovered the ſhock of this, when the death of his patron totally diffipated all the flattering hopes that he had formed of fortune and preferment in the church, in which he had already taken orders. eugene, and his partner had for fome time felt their affairs in a critiaal condition; but this did not hinder him from exerting his native generofity in the ſervice of an ancient friend. indeed, the voice of friendſhip and gratitude always met with a favourable hearing from eugene, let their fummons be ever fo preffing and importunate. his old tutor, mr. markham, under whom he and his brothers had ſpent ſome of the happieſt years of their life, was at this time in london. diſabled by fickneſs and infirmity, advancing faſt towards helpleſs old age, and forely galled by poverty and the neglect of the world, he was almoſt i without co 170 the three brothers. without a friend. in this crifis, chance threw his generous pupil in his way, who amply fupcb l -935 svola -re 30 42 plied the place of one to him. befides furniſhing him with the means of fupplying his prefent neceffity, eugene, and by his perſuaſion his partner, became fecurity for the payment of a very confiderable debt, which was on the point of configning mr. markham to a gaol, where he might probably have paffed the remainder of his life. but how ill did fortune requite eugene for this friendly action! mr. markham died in leſs than three months after, when of courſe the debt devolved upon thofe who had given fecurity for him. immediately upon the heels of this misfortune followed another. the affairs of eugene's partnerſhip growing defperate, they were obliged to declare themſelves bankrupt, and this very kindneſs which he fhewed mr. markham b the three brothers. 171 ? 14 markham was reckoned among the misfortunes that contributed to his ruin. the fhock that eugene's fpirits fuffered upon this occafion, as he found himſelf now unable to fulfil engagements which he looked upon as facred, drove him from one act of raſhneſs and deſpair to another, till in the end, reduced to extremity of went, in an obfcure country place, he madly and precipitately threw himſelf among a company of travelling players, and, to crown all, in this unpromifing ſtate of life, being barely able to fubfift himſelf, he had the defperate imprudence to marry. it ſeems he had formed a flight acquaintance with a young lady (the daughter of a clergyman, who was fo ftruck with *his figure and accompliſhments, that the yielded to his folicitations to be united with him in the :ties of clandeftine wedlock, thereby utterly forfeiting all her expectations of fortune, together 2 with the friendſhip of every one of her relations. the confequences of this unadviſed ſtep, 2 which brought poverty and her train into eugene's habitation, in fhapes unknown before, he bore with as much fortitude and philofophy as : ufually falls to the ſhare of five and twenty, that is, with very little, if any at all. some time before this, caffander, who had made two or three voyages for his north-country' owners, was inwited to london by his brother and his partner, 1 2 to 172 the three brothers. to take the command of one of the large fhips in which they were principal proprietors. overjoyed at this invitation, which would give him an opportunity, or rather indeed lay him under the neceffity, of being frequently with his brother while on fhore, he came to town with all fpeed, and was just time enough to be witneſs to the unfortunate failure of eugene and his affociate in trade. thus were the three brothers plunged into circumſtances of the moſt helpleſs diſtreſs, juft at a time when they entertained hopes (apparently well founded) of fixing themſelves to their fatisfaction for life in their refpective profeffions. had any one of them been exempt from the preffure of misfortune, the other two would have been fure of partaking with him in the comforts that depend on a competency of wealth. but all three were equally reduced; and the only remnant of happineſs, that they could call their own, was the fenfe of their mutual affection, which ſtill continued unalterable, amidſt the moft pinching trials of difappointment and calamity. in this fituation were the smithſons, when an incident happened which put that affection to the proof, and brought forth inftances of felf-denial and generofity that well deferve to be recorded. in the courfe of eugene's wanderings as a country player, cane the three brothers. 173 player, fortune conducted him to gravesend, where, as he was exhibiting before an audience, chiefly compoſed of ſeafaring people, the fame fortune unaccountably led his father to become a fpectator of his performance. in order to explain the fudden appearance of mr. smithſon, it will be neceffary to relate what befel him after his departure from england. the reader will remember that this gentleman had fet fail for the weft indies, in order to take poffeffion of an eſtate in one of the islands there; but, having pretty early intelligence that the enemy were mafters of the island, and therefore apprehending numberlefs obftacles to his obtaining clear and quiet poffeffion of the eftate; he formed the immediate reſolution of getting out, if poffible, to the eaft indies, where he trufted that, by his general knowledge of trade, he fhould in a fhort time be able to retrieve his fhattered circumftances, and return to his native country with a fortune fufficient to render the remaining years of his life eafy and comfortable. at the fame time he took another refolution (the fource of infinite grief and difquiet to his family), which was, never to inform them of the place of his retirement until he had gained wealth fufficient to releaſe them from the ſtate of indigence and obfcurity into which, he was perfuaded, his abſence muſt have plunged them. 舅 ​i } i 3 this 3 174 the three brothers, this object he amply accompliſhed in ten years, during all which time his family confidered him as dead; and at the end of that period he was now returning to fhare his riches with thoſe whom he held moſt dear; when the firſt fight that faluted his eyes after he went on fhore was his unfortunate fon figuring in the humble profeffion of a ftroller. it is impoffible to exprefs the rage, forrow, and diſappointment, which at once took poffeffion of mr. smithſon's breaſt, when he was at length convinced that his eyes and ears did not deceive him. he fuddenly left the theatre, or rather barn, before the play was half over, and taking no farther notice of his fon than to leave a note directed for him, and filled with the bittereft reproaches, he hur→ ried on board the ſhip. upon his arrival in london, finding his anxious wiſhes and all the projects of his affection difconcerted by his eldeſt fon's imprudence; his next care was to make inquiry about richard and caffander; for his wife's death he had been informed of by mere accident a fhort time before he left india. richard he foon found out, who, upon the firſt fummons, flew to embrace his long loft parent, mr. smithſon, after briefly relating to him the circumſtances of his voyage to and ſucceſs in the east indies, began bitterly to lament his misfor itune in having a fon fo abandoned to modefty avat as and the three brothers. 175 and difcretion, as he ftyled the unfortunate eugene. he added, that the bulk of the fortune which he had realized abroad, he intended now to divide between his two younger fons, the elder having proved himſelf fo unworthy of his favour: that he did not mean to keep them in expectation until his death, but would put each of them in immediate poffeffion of an ample fortune; reſerving for himſelf what he was de→ termined ſhould be fufficient for his neceffities during the remainder of his life. he concluded with infifting, that whatever he meant thus to difpofe in favour of his younger fons, he would take care to fee fettled in fuch a manner, that neither eugene nor his poſterity ſhould ever inherit a penny of it. 45 richard modeftly thanked his father for the affectionate care that he teftified for his intereft, but tenderly intreated him not to form too pre cipitate a refolution to the prejudice of his eldeſt born. he uſed many arguments to excufe, or at leaſt to palliate eugene's indiſcretion; reprefented the forrowful effects that a continuance of his father's refentment might have upon a mind fo exquifitely feeling as his; and ended with thefe words: "as to what regards my own perfonal advantage, i affure you, sir, i "feel myſelf naturally very indifferent; and were i hot fo by nature, the profeffion that i' i 4 ❝ have 176 the three brothers. *have embraced, the precepts of which i have "with my whole heart confented to obey, that "profeffion commands me to fix my thoughts " and expectations upon matters of a far different nature. befides, had i the moft worldly "regard for my own intereft, the affection that "i have ever borne, and ftill bear to my bro"ther eugene, would ftand as a bar to my ac"cepting any fortune to which he had the moſt diftant claim. i am not without hopes, my dear father, that when your preſent anger fubfides, you will once more look upon him "with the tenderneſs of a parent, in which cafe you will, i truft, applaud the principle that "induces me to decline your liberal offer." mr. smithfon, with aſtoniſhment in his countenance, aſked his fon if he was ſerious in refufing fo handfome a fortune; and finding him fixed in the determination that he had before expreffed, he roſe up with evident marks of vexation and diſappointment; and cafting fome uncharitable reflections on the deſtiny which, he faid, purfued him through life, baffling and fruftrating the moſt favourite and even laudable wishes of his heart, he added in a tone of voice, fomewhat foftened, "little did i expect, when i fent for you, to "find you an abettor of that profligacy which "has alienated my heart from your elder bro "ther. i fondly thought that my children "would 86 66 the three brothers. 177 "would pay fuch deference to my authority as "even to adopt my prejudices; but fince you. "have determined to think for yourſelf, be your "own maſter. thank heaven, i have yet one "fon left." richard endeavoured in the moft refpectful manner, to reprefent the motives of his conduct, but perceiving that whatever he ſaid only tended to irritate his father, and that it was impoffible, for the prefent, to obtain a calm hearing, he reluctantly withdrew, leaving his fa ther in a fituation not to be envied by a parent. nothing could arrive more opportunely to relieve the depreffion of mr. smithfon's fpirits, than the news that he heard next morning; which was, that a fhip, in which caffander had gone out in the capacity of a mate, after the failure of eugene, was returned from her voyage in the river. his refentment was now not only pointed at eugene for his indifcretion, but at richard for his too fcrupulous, uncomplying principles. he was therefore determined to beſtow his whole fortune upon caffander. but what language can exprefs the amazement of mr. smithſon, when, upon his propofing to do fo, the generous feaman, without the leaft he-fitation or preamble, flatly refuſed to accept a penny of it! he thought, however, that reſpect to his father required him to give the reaſons on which he grounded his refufal. he did fo; and 1.5 with 478 the three brothers, 66. with arguments nearly the fame as thoſe uſed by his brother richard, he endeavoured to convince his father that paffion had a much greater fhare than mature deliberation in the fentence which he was going to paſs upon his eldeſt ſon: we are all liable to go aftray," faid caffander: happy is he who has the feweſt faults. “if we do not forgive thoſe of a ſon, or a brother, heaven help us when our own come to be judged! as for me, i have lived contented "with a little, and am not unacquainted with "hardship and diftrefs. god forbid, therefore, "that i ſhould grafp at my brother's birth-right. as -but i declare, were eugene no brother of "mine, knowing as i do his generous nature and the warmth of his honeft heart, i would "go before the maft all my life long, fooner than accept, to his prejudice, a property "which nature and reafon fo clearly adjudge to him.' "" there was fomething fo ingenuous in this addrefs of caffander's, fomething that ſpoke fo feelingly to his father's breaſt, that, in ſpite of a fhort conflict which refentment endeavoured to excite there, he found himſelf conftrained to yield the point, and while he wiped away a tear, the offspring of returning tenderneſs and affeetion, he took his fon by the hand: "caf"fander," the three brothers. 179 fander," faid he, fmiling, "thou haft conquered. surely there muſt be fomething of extraordinary merit in eugene, finde he has found two fo refolute advocates in his favour as you and your brother richard. well, i "forgive all the paft-it fhall be buried in oblivion. convince me, as i doubt not you will, that my eldeſt fon poffeffes qualities worthy to excite fuch fentiments as you have "both expreffed in his favour, and i fhall be "happy indeed.” it is needleſs to add, that the joy produced by this favourable change in mr. smithfon's feelings was foon diffuſed to the breafts of his two difconfolate fons. eugene, upon the receipt of his father's note, had hurried up to town from gravefend, like one diftracted, and was now at richard's lodgings, indulging the moſt paffionateeffufions of grief and deſpair; while richard, depreffed with a load of forrows, fat moping in filence, without a word of comfort to offer to his brother. they hardly perceived caffander enter the room; but when he met their eyes, they ftarted as at the fight of an angel. something prophetic whiſpered comfort to their minds even. before he ſpoke. but how full was the meaſure of their joy when he announced to them his father's invitation to repair immediately to his pre : i 6 gea 66: 66 180 courage inspired 4 h prefence! the fequel is eafy to be imagined: all was reconciled: the paft was forgotten, and the future opened a profpect of happinefs before. them more fmiling than they had ever enjoyed before. thus the brothers, by the efforts of their mutual affection, increaſed the happineſs that profperity afforded them, fuftained each other, under the preffure of misfortune, and, by perfevering in unalterable friendſhip to each other, at length enfured both their own happineſs and that of their deareft and firſt friend on earththeir father. courage inspired by friendship. two wo failors, a frenchman named robert, and a native of spain, called antonio, were flaves to the fame mafter at algiers. friendby friendship. 181 • friendſhip is the only confolation of perſons in diftrefs. antonio and robert happily enjoyed. this confolation-they communicated to each other their mutual griefs; they converfed perpetually about their families, their countries, and of the exquifite delight which the recoveryof their liberty, ſhould it ever be granted to their wiſhes, would afford them. their conferences always ended in a flood of affectionate tears, and this expanfion of their hearts enabled them both to ſupport the hard labour, which was their daily lot, with uncommon fortitude. the taſk appointed them was the conftruction of a road on the top of a cliff which overhung the fea. one morning the spaniard, refting for a moment from his toil, and caſting an anxious look on the fea, "my friend," faid he, "all "my vows, all my hopes, are directed towards "the oppofite bounds of that vaſt liquid plain ; why can i not, in company with the partner "of my woes, attain thoſe happy fhores? my "wife, my children, are ever before my eyes, eagerly longing for my arrival, or bitterly la"menting my ſuppoſed death." antonio perpetually indulged himſelf in theſe gloomy reflections, and every day that he was fummoned to his work on the cliff, he turned his eyes to the ocean, and regretted the fatal expanſe which ſeparated him from his friends and his country. 66 it 182 courage inspired * it chanced that one day a chriſtian ſhip appeared at anchor not very diftant from the ſhore. "there, friend," cried the spaniard, do you "fee that veffel? she brings us life and liberty. "though the will not touch here, (for every one avoids thefe barbarous coafts,) yet'to"morrow if you chufe it, robert, our woes "fhall end, and we will be free! yes, to"morrow that fhip will pafs within a league of the fhore, and we will plunge into the fea "from this rock, or periſh in the attempt; for "even death is preferable to this cruel flavery." • if you can fave yourſelf," replied robert, "i fhall fupport my unhappy lot with greater refignation. you know antonio, how dear you "are to me; my friendſhip for you will only "terminate with my life. i have only one favour to aſk of you; endeavour to find out "my father-if grief for my lofs, and old age, have not already deſtroyed. him, tell him""what do you mean?". anſwered antonio; "i feek your father!and do you think i could live happily a fingle moment with the ❝idea of having left you in chains ?" "but i ›❝ cannot ſwim," cried robert; " and you "know""i know that i have the ſtrongeſt friendſhip for you," replied the spaniard, embracing him, and fhedding tears of affection: "friendſhip will give me redoubled ſtrength: you ¢¢ by friendship. 183 1 * you fhall hold up my belt, and we will both "fave ourſelves." in vain did robert repreſent the danger there would be of his periſhing himfelf, and dragging his preferver down with him to deſtruction; nothing could overcome the refolution of antonio. "we will both eſcape, or both perish together," he cried. "but we draw the attention of our favage keepers; “even fome of our companions would be baſe enough to betray us-farewel, i hear the bell "that calls us from our work; we muſt ſepa"rate; farewel till to-morrow!" 66 they now returned to their dungeon.-antonio was wrapped up in the idea of his project : he fancied he had already paffed the mediterranean, and was in the arms of his friends, his wife, and his children. but robert formed to himſelf a very different picture: he faw his friend falling a victim to his own generofity, and dragged by him to the bottom of the ſea, and periſhing by that means, when, if he had only confulted his own fafety, he might have preſerved himſelf,, and been restored to the boſom of his family, who moſt probably were continually lamenting his lofs. "no," faid the unfortunate frenchman to himſelf, "i will not give way to the folicitations of antonio; i "will not repay fo generous a friendſhip by being the cauſe of his death. he will be free. "my 66 46 • 184 courage inspired "my unhappy father will at leaſt learn that i "am alive, and that my affection for him is "unabated. alas! i could wish to be the fup"port and confolation of his age. he wanted my affiftance-perhaps he is now perifhing in poverty, and wishing to fee and embrace his "fon. however, if antonio is happy, i fhall "die with lefs regret." 1 66 the flaves were not taken from their prifon the next morning at the ufual hour. the spaniard was all impatience, while robert was in doubt whether he ſhould rejoice or grieve at the difappointment. at length they were called to their labour, but they could not ſpeak to each other, for their mafter went with them. antonio could only look at robert and figh. sometimes he caft his eyes towards the fea, and could hardly fupprefs his emotions. at length night arrives, and they find themſelves alone. "let us feize this opportunity," cries the spa-niard, "come !" "no," replies the other:: my friend i never will confent to endanger your life: farewel, antonio! i embrace 66 you for the laft time. save yourſelf, i conjure you; you have no time to lofe. re"member our friendship. i only request you "to remember your promife in regard to my fa"ther. he must be very old, and much in dif"trefs; go and confole him. if he ſhould want "affift66 66 66 by friendship. 185 9 "affiftance, i am fure, my friend" at theſe words the voice of robert failed-he fhed a torrent of tears-his bofom was torn with anguiſh. "you weep, robert," fays antonio: "it is not "tears, but courage, that we now want: refift "no longer; a moment's delay may ruin us; "we may never have the opportunity again; "either deliver yourſelf to my direction, or i "will dash my head againſt thoſe rocks." 1 the frenchman threw himſelf at the feet of the generous spaniard: he ftill repreſented the hazard of the attempt, and pointed out the inevitable danger that muft attend his refolution of endeavouring to preferve him. antonio made no reply, but catching him in his arms, he ran to the edge of the precipice, and plunged with him into the fea. at first they both funk; but, rifing to the furface, antonio exerted all his force, and ſwimming himſelf, kept robert alfo above the water, who feemed to refufe his af fiftance, and to fear left he fhould involve him in his own deftruction. h the people in the fhip were ftruck with an object which they could not well diſtinguiſh. they thought it was fome fea-monfter that approached the veſſel. their curiofity was now called another way; they ſaw a boat leave the ſhore, and haftily purfue what ſeemed to them a monftrous fea animal. theſe were the foldiers. who 1 186 courage inspired 1 who guarded the flaves, and who were anxious to overtake antonio and robert. the laft. faw them approach, and, cafting his eyes on his friend, and perceiving that he grew weak, he made an effort, and got loofe from antonio, faying to him at the fame time, "we are purſued. "save yourſelf, and let me perifh; i only retard 66 your courfe." he had hardly finiſhed theſe words when he funk. a new tranſport of friendſhip animates the spaniard; he darts towards the frenchman, and ſeizing him as he is juft ready to expire, they both difappeared. the boat, uncertain which way to purfue, ftopped, while another was fent from the veffel to diſcover what the object was which they had ſeen. the waves began to grow rough; at laſt they diſcovered two men, the one ſupporting the other, and trying to reach the veffel. they rowed to them as faſt as poffible, and came up with them juft as antonio's ftrength began to fail. they took them both on board. antonio cried 'out feebly, "affift my friend-i die;”—and his countenance feemed convulfed with the agonies of death. robert, who was in a fwoon, recovering at the inftant, and ſeeing antonio, without any fign of life, extended by his fide, was almoft diſtracted; he threw himfelf on the body of his friend. "antonio!" he cried, "my dear antonio, my friend, my deliverer, have i been << your by friendship. 187 your murderer? alas! you cannot hear me. is this your recompence for having faved my * life? but what is life? who can fupport it "after the lofs of fuch a friend?"? saying this, he ftarted up in the boat, and, feizing a fword, would have plunged it into his bofom, if he had not been difarmed; but, in the midft of his lamentations and diftraction, providence, apparently to reward an affection fo fincere, interpofed in his favour-antonio breathed a figh. robert flew to the affiftance of his friend, who, lifting up his languid eyes, tried to find the frenchman, and, as foon as he perceived him, cried out with a tranfport beyond his ftrength, "i have faved my friend!" they were both conveyed on board the veffel. their exemplary friendſhip diffuſed a reſpect for them among the whole crew. and, fuch is the effect of virtue even on the rougheſt minds, every one contended with his fellows in fhewing them attention. robert arriving in france flew to his father, who was ready to die with exceſs of joy at feeing him, and was appointed to a genteel office under the government. but the spaniard, who was likewife offered a very advantageous poft, for one in his fituation of life, choſe rather to return to his wife and family. but abſence did not diminiſh his friendſhip; he continued ſtill to correfpond with robert, and their 188 courage inspired. their letters, which are maſterpieces of fimplicity and affection, do honour to the fentiment which was capable of producing fo heroic an action. sebewick del the [189] the diverting history of john gilpin; shewing how he went farther than he intended, and came fafe home again. ohn gilpin was a citizen of credit and renown; a train-band captain eke was he of famous london town. john 66 john gilpin's fpoufe faid to her dearthough wedded we have been "theſe twice ten tedious years, yet we "no holiday have ſeen. to-morrow is our wedding day, "and we will then repair, "unto the bell at edmonton, "all in a chaiſe and pair. "my fifter and my fifter's child, "myſelf and children three, "will fill the chaife; fo you muft ride "on horfeback after we." he foon replied-" i do admire "of womankind but one, "and you are fhe, my deareft dear, "therefore it fhall be done. "i am a linen-draper bold, "as all the world doth know, and my good friend the callender, "will lend his horfe to go." " quoth 190 the history of quoth mrs. gilpin-" that's well faid; "and, for that wine is dear, "we will be furniſh'd with our own, "which is both bright and clear.” john gilpin kifs'd his loving wife: o'erjoy'd was he to find, that, though on pleaſure ſhe was bent, she had a frugal mind. the morning came, the chaiſe was brought, but yet was not allow'd to drive up to the door, left all should fay that ſhe proud. so three doors off the chaife was ſtaid, where they did all get in, six precious fouls' and all agog to dafh through thick and thin. smack went the whip, round went the wheels, were never folks fo glad ; the ftones did rattle underneath, as if cheapfide were mad. john gilpin at his horfe's fide, seiz'd faft the flowing mane, and up he got, in hafte to ride, but foon came down again. for faddle-tree fcarce reach'd had he, his journey to begin, when, turning round his head, he faw three cuftomers come in. cber " de * so john gilpin. 0191 so down he came; for lofs of time, although it griev'd him fore, yet loſs of pence, full well he knew, would trouble him much more. 'twas long before the cuſtomers were fuited to their mind, when betty, ſcreaming, came down ſtairs, "the wine is left behind!" "good lack!" quoth he-" yet bring it me, my leathern belt likewiſe, 66 "in which i bear my trusty fword "when i do exerciſe." now mrs. gilpin-careful foulhad two ftone bottles found,. to hold the liquor that the lov'd, and keep it ſafe and found, each bottle had a curling ear, through which the belt he drew; and hung a bottle on each fide, to make his balance true. w dadd tres then over all, that he might be equipp'd from top to toe, his long red cloak, well brushed and neat, o he manfully did throw badoo dud 10.5-8 now fee him mounted once again haroldal to upon his nimble ſteed, full flowly pacing o'er the ftones, adinues to w with caution and good.heed.oo sof 300 #f ܐ but 192 the history of but finding foon a ſmoother road beneath his well-fhod feet, the fnorting beaſt began to trot, which gall'd him in his feat, so," fair and foftly," john he cried, but john he cried in vain ; that trot became a gallop foon, in ſpite of kirb and rein. so ftooping down, as needs he muſt who cannot fit upright, he grafp'd the mane with both his hands, and eke with all his might. his horfe, who never in that fort had handled been before, what thing upon his back had got did wonder more and more. away went gilpin, neck or nought, away went hat and wig; he little dreamt when he fet out, of running fuch a rig. the wind did blow, the cloak did fly, like ftreamer long and gay, till loop and button failing both, at last it flew away. then might all people well difcern the bottles he had flung; a bottle ſwinging at each fide, as hath been faid or fung. the john gilpin 193 the dogs did bark, the children ſcream'd, up flew the windows all; and ev'ry foul cried out, "well done!" as loud as he could bawl. away went gilpin-who but he ! his fame foon fpread around"he carries weight! he rides a race !— "'tis for a thousand pound! and ftill, as faft as he drew near, 'twas wonderful to view, how, in a trice, the turnpike-men their gates wide open threw. and now as he went bowing down his reeking head full low, the bottles twain behind his back, were shattered at a blow. down ran the wine into the road, moft piteous to be ſeen, which made his horfe's flanks to ſmoke as they had bafted been. but ſtill he feem'd to carry weight, with leather girdle brac'd; for all might fee the bottle-necks still dangling at his waiſt. thus all through merry islington, theſe gambols he did play, and till he came unto the waſh of edmonton fo gay; k and 194 the history of and there he threw the waſh about on both fides of the way, juft like unto a trundling-mop, or a wild goofe at play. at edmonton his loving wifefrom the balcony fpied her tender huſband, wond'ring muchto ſee how he did ride. "stop, ftop, john gilpin; here's the houſe!" they all at once did cry; "the dinner waits, and we are tir'd !"— said gilpin-" so am i." but yet his horſe was not a whit inclin'd to tarry there; for why?-his owner had a houſe full ten miles off, at ware. so like an arrow fwift he flew, shot by an archer ſtrong; so did he fly-which brings me to the middle of my ſong. away went gilpin out of breath, and fore againſt his will, till at his friend the callender's his horfe at last flood ftill. the callender, amaz'd to fee his neighbour in ſuch trim, laid down his pipe, flew to the gate and thus accofted himwhat john gilpin. 195 "what news! what news! your tidings tell, "tell me you muſt and fhall66 now gilpin had a pleaſant wit, and lov'd a timely joke; and thus unto the callender in merry guiſe he ſpokesay, why bare headed you are come, or why you come at all?” 66 "i came becauſe your horfe would come; "and, if i well forebode,: my hat and wig will foon be here; they are upon the road." the callender right glad to find his friend in merry pin, return'd him not a ſingle word, but to the houſe went in. * . -8 ➢ཏ༣, whence ſtraight he came with hat and wig, a wig that flow'd behind, a hat not much the worſe for wear, each comely in its kind. k 2 he held them up, and, in his turn, thus fhew'd his ready wit"my head is twice as big as yours, 66 they, therefore, needs muſt fit. "but let me fcrape the dirt away "that hangs upon your face; "and ſtop and eat-for well you may be in a hungry cafe! ka said 196 the history of said john-" it is my wedding day, "and all the world would ftare, "if wife fhould dine at edmonton, and i fhould dine at ware." so turning to his horſe, he ſaid "i am in hafte to dine; ""twas for your pleaſure you came hereyou fhall go back for mine." ah! lucklefs fpeech and bootless boaft, for which he paid full dear; for, while he ſpake, a braying afs did fing moft loud and clear; whereat his horfe did fnort, as he had heard a lion roar, and gallopp'd off with all his might, as he had done before. away went gilpin and away went gilpin's hat and wig ; he loft them fooner than at first, for why?-they were too big. now mrs. gilpin, when fhe faw her huſband pofting down into the country far away, she pull'd out half-a-crown ; and thus unto the youth the faid that drove them to the bell, "this fhall be yours, when you bring back "my huſband fafe and well." the john gilpin, 197 the youth did ride, and foon did meet john coming back again, whom in a trice he tried to ftop, by catching at his rein; but not performing what he meant, and gladly would have done, the frighted ſteed he frighted more, and made him fafter run. away went gilpin-and away went poft-boy at his heels, the poſt-boy's horſe right glad to miſs the lumb'ring of the wheels. six gentlemen upon the road,. thus feeing gilpin fly, with poſt-boy fcamp'ring in the rear, they rais'd the hue-and-cry. › "stop thief!-ſtop thief!-a highwayman!" not one of them was mute; and all and each that paſs'd that way did join in the purſuit. and now the turnpike gates again flew open in ſhort ſpace, the toll-men thinking, as before, that gilpin rode a race. and fo he did, and won it too; for he got firft to town, nor ſtopp'd till where he had got up he did again get down. k 3 a now 198 gray's elegy. now let us fing-long live the king; "and gilpin, long live he; "and when he next doth ride abroad, may i be there to fee!" 6: gray's elegy. written in a country church-yard. he curfew tolls the knell of parting day, the lowing herd winds flowly o'er the lee, the plowman homeward plods his wearied way, and leaves the world to darkness and to me. now fades the glimmering landſkip on the fight, and all the air a folemn ftillnefs holds; save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, or drowſy tinkling lulls the diftant folds: save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r, the moping owl does to the moon complain of fuch as, wand'ring near the fecret bow'r, moleft her ancient-folitary reign. beneath theſe rugged elms-that yew-tree's fhade, where heaves the turf in a many a mould'ring heap, each in his narrow cell for ever laid, the rude forefathers of the hamlet fleep. the breezy call of incenfe-breathing morn, the ſwallow twitt'ring from her ſtraw-built ſhed, the cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn, no more ſhall rouze them from their lowly bed. for gray's elegy. 199 1 for them no more the blazing hearth ſhall burn, or bufy houſewife ply her evening care, no children run to lifp their fire's return, or climb his knees the envy'd kifs to share. oft did the harveft to the fickle yield, their harrow oft the ſtubborn glebe had broke, how jocund did they drive their team a-field! how bow'd the woods beneath their ſturdy ſtroke! let not ambition mock their uſeful toil, their homely joys and deſtiny obfcure, nor grandeur here, with a difdainful fimile, the ſhort and fimple annals of the poor. the boaſt of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, all that beauty-all that wealth e'er gave, await alike th' inevitable hour; the paths to glory lead but to the grave. nor you, ye proud, impute to thofe the fault, if mem❜ry o'er their tomb no trophies raife, where thro' the long-drawn ifle and fretted vault, the pealing anthem ſwells the note of praiſe. can ftory'd urn, or animated buft, back to its manfion call the fleeting breath? can honour's voice provoke the filent duft, or flatt'ry footh the dull cold ear of death? perhaps in this neglected ſpot is laid some heart once pregnant with celeſtial fire: hands that the reins of empire might have fway'd, or wake to ecstacy the living lyre. k4 but 200 gray's elegy.' but knowledge to their eyes her ample page, rich with the fpoils of time, did ne'er unroll; chill penury reprefs'd their noble rage, and froze the genial current of the foul. full many a gem of pureft ray ferene the daik unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; full many a flower is born to blufh unfeen, and wafte its fweetnefs on the defart air. some village hampden, that, with dauntleſs breaſt, the little tyrant of his fields withſtood; some mute, inglorious milton here may reſt; some cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. th' applaufe of lift'ning fenates to command, the threats of pain and ruin to defpife, to ſcatter plenty o'er a fmiling land, and read their hift'ry in a nation's eyes. their lot forbade: not circumfcrib'd alone their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd: forbade to wade through flaughter to a throne, and fhut the gates of mercy on mankind. the ſtruggling pangs of conſcious truth to hide, to quench the bluſhes of ingenuous ſhame, or heap the fhrine of luxury and pride with incenfe kindled at the mufe's flame. far from the madding crowd's ignoble ftrife, their fober wifhes never learn'd to ftray: along the cool fequefter'd vale of life, they kept the noiſeleſs tenor of their way. yet gray's elegy. 201 yet e'en theſe bones from infult to protect some frail memorial ſtill erected nigh, with uncouth rhymes and ſhapeleſs ſculpture deck'd, implores the paffing tribute of a ſigh. their name, their years, fpelt by th' unletter'd mufe, the place of fame and elegy fupply, and many a holy text around fhe ftrews, to teach the ruftic moralift to die.. for who, to dumb forgetfulneſs a prey, this pleaſing anxious being e'er refign'd, left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, nor caft one longing, ling'ring look behind! on fome fond breaft the parting foul relies, some pious drop the clofing eye requires; ev'n from the tomb the voice of nature cries, ev'n in our afhés live their wonted fires. for thee, who, mindful of the unhonour'd dead, doft in theſe lines their artleſs tale relate, if chance by lonely contemplation led, some kindred spirit fhall inquire thy fate: haply fome hoary-headed fwain may fay, "oft have we ſeen him at the peep of dawn. bruſhing with hafty ſteps the dews away, "to meet the fun upon the upland lawn. 66 "there at the foot of yonder nodding beech, "that wreaths its old fantaftic roots fo high, "his liftless length at noon-tide would he ſtretch, "and pore upon the brook that bubbles by. k 5 "hard 202 gray's elegy. · "hard by yon wood, now fmilling as in fcorn, "mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; "now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, "or craz'd with care, or crofs'd in hopeleſs love. "one morn i mifs'd him on the cuftom'd hill, "along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree; "another came, nor yet befide the rill, "nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he: "the next, with dirges due, in fad array, "slow through the church-way path we ſaw him borne ; approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay "gray'd on the ftone beneath yon aged thorn. "there fcatter'd oft, the earlieſt of the year, 66 by hands unfeen are ſhowers of violets found; "the red-breaft loves to build and warble there, "and little footſteps lightly print the ground." 66 the epitaph. here refts his head upon the lap of earth, a youth to fortune and to fame unknown: fair ſcience frown'd not on his humble birth, and melancholy mark'd him for her own. large was his bounty, and his foul fincere ; heav'n did a recompence as largely fend; he gave to mis❜ry (all he had) a tear; 1 he gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. no universal prayer. 203 no farther feek his merits to diſcloſe, or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (there they alike in trembling hope repoſe) the bofom of his father and his god. the universal prayer. f ather of all! in ev'ry age, in ev'ry clime ador❜d, by faint, by favage, and by fage, jehovah, jove, or lord. thou great firft caufe, leaft underflood, who all my fenfe confin'd to know but this, that thou art good, and that myſelf am blind. yet gave me in this dark eſtate to fee the good from from ill`; and binding nature faſt in fate, left free the human will. what confcience dictates to be done, or warns me not to do, this, teach me more than hell to fhun, that, more than heav'n purfue. what bleffings thy free bounty gives, let me not caſt away ; for god is paid when man receives, t'enjoy is to obey. k 6. yet " 204 pope's universal prayer. yet not to earth's contracted ſpan thy goodnefs let me bound, or think thee lord alone of man, when thouſand worlds are round. let not this weak unknowing hand prefume thy bolts to throw, or deal damnation round the land, on each i judge thy foe. if i am right, thy grace impart still in the right to ſtay! if i am wrong, o teach my to find the better way. heart save me alike from fooliſh pride, or impious difcontent, at aught thy wiſdom has deny'd, or aught thy goodneſs lent.. teach me to feel another's woe, to hide the fault i fee; that mercy i to others fhew, that mercy fhew to me. mean tho' i am, not wholly fo, since quicken'd by thy breath; o lead me wherefoc'er i go, thro' this day's life or death. this day be bread and peace my lot; all elfe beneath the fun thou know'ft if beſt beſtow'd, or not, and let thy will be done. to the duel. 205 to thee whoſe temple is all ſpace, whoſe altar, earth, ſea, ſkies, one chorus let all beings raiſe ! all nature's incenfe rife! + the duel; or, the man of true courage. mel elcour loft his parents at an age when he could not be fenfible of the greatneſs of his misfortune. one of his uncles took him home, brought him up with his own fon, and paid the utmoſt attention to his education. florival and melcour, already united by the ties of kindred, were foon more fo by thoſe of friendfhip, which, from their living conſtantly together, grew ftronger every day. they were both defigned for the army. when they were of a proper age, they got commiffions in the fame regiment. florival always hated application, and the diffipation that naturally attends a military life ftill inclined him lefs to it. as for melcour, he had not only a very good natural genius, but ftrong inclination to cultivate it. his ftudies had been properly directed; and a generous and humane difpofition, joined with a habit of thinking ſeriouſly, led him to condemn the criminal practice of fighting duels on trivial occafions, a cuſtom too prevalent in the army. different 206. the duel; or, different purfuits leffened, by degrees, the friendſhip of the two young men. florival was blinded by the love of pleaſure, he ran into all forts of extravagance, and became involved in debt. melcour lamented his folly, affifted him with his purſe, and endeavoured to fave him from the ruin into which he was going to plunge. he repreſented to him how much his conduct degraded him in the eyes of fenfible people. "even thofe," faid he to him, "who now ap"plaud your extravagance, will be the firft to upbraid you when they fee you in diſtreſs. they call themſelves your beſt friends, and you believe them: they have eftranged you "from me. they have painted me to you in "the moſt unfavourable colours, and if they "have not entirely extinguiſhed the friendſhip "that fubfifted between us, at leaſt they have "greatly weakened it. the wretches well-knew "my fincere affection for you; they are inform"ed of the pains i have taken to diſcover to you "their perfidious defigns, and they wiſh to pu"niſh me for them. o, my friend, if they ſhould "fucceed in robbing me of your efteem, their triumph will be too complete! but, my dear “florival, i do not ſpeak on my own account only. i conjure you, by every ſentiment of "virtue that united our infancy, not to plunge. "a dagger in the heart of the beſt of fathers. if "he 66 66 66 66 66 1 the man of true courage. 207 " he were to know the exceffes you run into, he "would die with forrow. theſe remonftrances touched the heart of florival. he promiſed to amend; but his perfidious friends repreſented vice to him in fo amiable a form, that he was unable to refift. melcour being informed, that, after having loft a great fum of money at play, he was gone to diffipate his forrow by infamous debauchery, immediately went to him, and urged to him, with fome vehemence, the duties of his fituation, and the promifes he had made to fulfil them. florival was no longer mafter of himſelf; he fell into a moft violent rage againſt his coufin ; he even drew his fword on him; and on melcour's refufing to fight him, he abufed him in the groffeft terms, and was almoſt tempted to ftrike him. his coufin ftill kept his temper; unworthy as florival appeared of his affection, he yet only regarded him as a friend and relation. overcome by this feadineſs, he at length recovered his temper. he was afhamed of his behaviour, and begged pardon of melcour for his violence, which was immediately granted by the generous youth, and an immediate and perfect reconciliation took place. an officer belonging to another regiment happened to be preſent during the affair; he had been witneſs to the provocation given by florival, 208 the duel; or, val, and he imputed the coolness of his coufin to want of courage. he did not fail to make many farcaſtic remarks on it, and they came at length to the ears of fome of melcour's friends. the leaft fufpicion is deemed injurious to the honour of a foldier. after many enquiries, it was diſcovered whoſe conduct had given riſe to the fcandal. they were told the honour of the corps was wounded through them, and it was their duty to vindicate it. the means were evident. if the report was true, they muſt fight each other; if falfe, they muft puniſh the author of it. melcour was truly miferable. his principles difapproved of duelling in any inftance; and in this, if he obeyed the injunctions of his corps, he was reduced to the terrible neceffity of plunging his fword into the bofom of his relation and friend. but, in vain did he repreſent his feelings to his brother officers, they would hear of nothing but the choice of weapons, time, and place. his forrow was unutterable; he retired to his apartment. florival, who went to look for him, found him leaning on a table, hiding his face with his hands, his eyes ftreaming with tears, and his continual fighs, only interrupted by the frequent repetition of the name of florival. at fuch a fight he was not able to contain himſelf; he threw himfelf at the feet of his friend. his appearance recalled . the man of true courage. 209 1 recalled to melcour all the horror of his fituation "what! in a moment i am called upon "to pierce your heart, and do you come to feek "me?-o florival!" faid he, his voice almoſt choaked with tears, "fhould my arm deprive you of life, i would not furvive you. what "fhould i fay to your father? did he take fo "much care of my infancy, to fee me ſtained. "with the blood of his fon? o, wretched old "man, whatever may be the event of this hor"rid duel, it will be an eternal fource of anguiſh for you!" at this inftant fome of the officers forced open the door; they came to tell melcour he could not delay the combat any longer without giving room to call his courage in queſtion. what a terrible fituation !-at this inftant the two friends were embracing each other-they were unable to return any anſwer. 66 florival was the firft who broke this mournful filence. in him the miſtaken principles of honour at preſent prevailed over thoſe of friendſhip. he got up, and extended his arm to affift melcour, without daring to look at him. he arofe, and walked about the room in the greateft agitation; he fancied he faw his relation and friend murdered by his hands, and his diſtracted uncle demanding vengeance for the blood of his fon. at length, recovering himſelf, he turned to 210 the duel; ok, to the officers, and faid to them in a firm and refolute tone of voice: "i will no longer hefi"tate to act that part which is pointed out to -re me by the voice of religion, of reafon, and of humanity, be the conſequence what it may.. "my determination is fixed. go, and inform "thoſe who ſent you, that melcour prefers an "imaginary difhonour to a real crime, and that no confideration upon earth fhall tempt himto point his fword againſt the bofom of his "friend." this anfwer determined his fate." his brother officers informed him, with the fincereft regret, that, as he had refuſed to fight, it was impoffible for them. to roll with him, and that he muſt quit the regiment. who can defcribe the feelings of florival, when he heard this fentence? it was he who had brought melcour into this terrible fituation. the difgraceof his coufin was owing to his follies. theſe thoughts almoft drove him to diftraction. his friends were alarmed for the conſequence, and removed him by force from the mournful ſcene.. melcour, left to himſelf, foon determined what fteps to take. he was determined not to. return home, to be there expofed to a diſgrace he was conſcious of not deferving. he refolved to endeavour to improve the talents which nature had endowed him with by travelling, till time ſhould either obliterate the memory of this the man of true courage. 211 ť 66 this unfortunate adventure, or fhew it in its true light. that very evening he made the proper preparations for his journey, and wrote a letter to his coufin, acquainting him with his intended expedition. "inform my uncle," he added, "of "all that has happened; let him know that they "wanted to compel me to become your murderer. "he will fhudder at the thought. though theſe ❝ barbarians, guided only by a falſe ſenſe of ho"nour, think me unworthy to ferve my king "and country, he at leaſt will applaud the cou"rageous efforts i have made to preferve us both "from a crime. this leffon, my dear florival, "will be of advantage to you; your eyes are * "now opened to the conduct of your compa"nions. still continue your regard for me; and "never eſteem me unhappy while i preſerve a place in your friendship." he fet out at day-break the next morning, accompanied by a fingle fervant. he had not gone many miles from the garrifon when he faw a large detachment of the enemy on the point of defeating an inferior number of french troops. he could not behold his countrymen in danger of being vanquiſhed, without burning with ardour to affift them. regardleſs of the danger of the attempt, he only liftened to the call of glory; and this melcour, whofe courage his brother officers had prefumed to queſtion, flew to the 212 the duel; or, the field of battle, performed prodigies of valour, took one of the enemy's colours, and animating his countrymen by his example, they obtained the victory. the general officer who commanded the detachment was charmed with the bravery of the young warrior, and earneſtly defired to know his name. "sir," he replied, "i will tell you who "i am directly; but, will you give me leave "firft to afk, what is the immediate deftination "of your detachment?" "it is going," faid he, "to reinforce the neighbouring garrifon," (naming that which melcour had left,) " of which i "am to take the command." "then, sir," faid melcour, "if you will permit me, i will "attend you thither, and receive there thofe "marks of your approbation that you ſhall be "pleaſed to honour me with." fin $ they arrived." sir," faid melcour, "the. "only favour i aſk of you, is to call together "the officers of the regiment of ***?? (that which he had quitted); they aſſembled, and melcour appeared. “behold, gentlemen," faid he, "the unfortunate victim of a falfe ho"nour, to which you facrifice every thing, "though it often renders you cruel and unjuſt. "becauſe i refuſed to ſtain my hands with the “blood of a relation younger than myſelf, and "who had expiated a very flight offence by the "moft 4 * i i the man of true courage. 213 * moſt unequivocal marks of forrow and repent"ance; becauſe i liſtened to the voice of religion and humanity; becauſe i reſpected the "laws, you have judged me unworthy to carry "arms in the fervice of my country. blinded "by prejudice, you have dared to accuſe me of "cowardice. for that accufation i have taken "ample revenge. thefe colours, taken from "the enemy, are a fufficient teftimony of my "courage." his brother officers furrounded him, and embracing him, by the praiſes they laviſhed on him, and the excufes they made, they atoned for the rafh fufpicions they had entertained of him. " 66 the general, aftonifhed and charmed with the behaviour of melcour, preffed him to refume his rank for the preſent, till he could have an opportunity of reporting fo gallant an action to the miniſter. melcour yielded to his folicitations, feconded by thoſe of the officers of the regiment. accept," faid the general, "that "commiffion you was deprived of yeſterday, as "a tacit avowal of the injuftice of that preju "dice which condemned you, and may your "example entirely root it out!" then turning to the officers who furrounded him, he added: "let the behaviour of this virtuous young 16 man teach you, for the future, not to accufe "the perſon of cowardice, who, obedient to "the 214 the duel. "the laws of true honour, and of his coun66 try, refuſes to become a murderer. re"nounce, gentlemen, that fatal error, which "fhews you the man of true courage in him "who is not afraid to wash out an injury in "the blood of his fellow citizen: behold him "rather in the perſon who has greatneſs of ſoul "to be above the defire of revenge. for the "future, defer your quarrels till the day of "battle, and let the contefts for fuperior refolu"tion be decided in the face of the enemies of "your king and country. or, if the infult of"fered you is amenable to the laws, let the "laws fix that ignominy on your adverſary that "his conduct may deſerve. but let your warm"eft praiſes be beſtowed on melcour, and on "thoſe who have the magnanimity to follow "the example he has this day given us." it is impoffible to defcribe the tranſports of florival during this affecting ſcene. from that moment he renounced his fatal errors, and, ftrictly keeping the folemn promiſes he had made to his friend, and profiting by his example, they both were raiſed to the higheſt ſtations in the army, which they filled with the greateſt honour to themſelves, their family, and their country. on history of philip quarll. 215 on thomas day, esq. f penſive genius ever pour'd the tear of votive anguish o'er the poet's bier; if drooping britain ever knew to mourn in filent forrow o'er the patriot's urn, here let them weep their day's untimely doom, and hang their faireft garlands o'er his tomb, for never poet's hand did yet confign so pure a wreath to virtue's holy ſhrine; for never patriot tri'd before to raiſe his country's welfare on fo firm a baſe; glory's bright form he taught her youth to fee, and bade them merit freedom to be free. no fculptur'd marble need his worth proclaim, no herald's founding ftyle record his name, for long as ſenſe and virtue fame can give, in his own works his deathlefs name fhall live. " the history of philip quarll. introduction. the he refources of the human mind in ftruggling againſt misfortunes are never fo well underſtood, as in fituations of diſtreſs and difficulty. nothing is fo feeble, nothing fo helplefs, as a being that has been accuſtomed to fubfift by the labour of others, without the leaſt exertion. this is one of the diſadvantages attending 216 the history of ing a ſtate of refinement and civilization. mankind forget the fimple dictates of reaſon and nature, and make a thouſand pernicious indulgencies neceffary to their ideas of happineſs. one man imagines that it is impoffible to tranſport himſelf from place to place, without the affiftance of other animals, who are to relieve him from the fatigue of uſing his own legs; another, that it is impoffible to fupply his hunger without a fplendid table, covered with the productions of every climate; a third cannot fleep unleſs upon beds of down, and in a palace. thus are a thouſand things made neceffary to our happineſs, which have no natural connection with it, and our lives are confumed in the acquifition of fuperfluous trifles. our vanity, ever ingenious to torment us, renders us incapable of repofe, and prompts us to be continually making ufelefs compariſons with all around. surely, in this reſpect, the uncultured savage that inhabits the woods, and afks no more than a fkin to repel the winds of winter, an hut to defend him from the ftorms, and a moderate quantity of the coarſeft food, is happier far than we. he views the whole detail of european luxury with indifference and contempt, and prefers his native woods and plains to all the magnificence of our cities; nor would the moſt effeminate 1 philip quarll. 217 12 feminate native of our capital be more mortified to inhabit the rudeft forefts, than he to exchange them for the endleſs reftraints and ceremonies, which we ſubmit to in civilized fociety. he fleeps as found upon a bed of grafs and leaves, and gratifies his hunger as fatisfactorily with roafted corn, or millet, as a rich and indolent citizen can do with all the accumulated inven-" tions of arts and manufactures. but in the en-* tire poffeffion of all his bodily faculties, how great is the fuperiority of the savage! the in-" habitant of cities, pale, feeble, and bloated, drags on a tedious exiftence with difficulty,' under the incumbrance of an hundred difeafes, to which his intemperance has fubjected him. before half his life is run out, we frequently bekold him incapable of uſing his limbs, and that idlenefs, which was at firft voluntary, becomes inevitable, from the imbecility he has contracted. in vain would the beautiful revolution of" the ſeaſons attract his notice, or call him out to fhare the common bleffings which nature difpenſes to all her uncorrupted offspring. neither the care of his own neceffary affairs, the defence of his country, nor even fears for his own perfonal fafety, can any longer animate him to the ſmalleſt exertion; and fhould he not be in a fituation to buy the affiftance of others, he muft remain for ever attached to one ſpot, like a l muſcle * 218 the history of muſcle or an oyfter. how different from this is the life of an american or a tartar! accuf. tomed from his infancy to contend with dangers and difficulties, he becomes hardened againſt all the viciffitudes of nature, againſt all the attacks of fortune. wherever the earth extends her furface, he finds a bed; the foreſt affords him all the ſhelter he demands; and he can every where procure, by his own induftry, fufficient food to fupply his wants. in the uſe of his limbs, and the full enjoyment of all his natural powers, he is not exceeded by the very beafts that fly before him. such are all the uncivilized nations with which we were formerly acquainted; fuch are thofe which are lately added to our knowledge by modern diſcoveries. but the moſt extraordinary inftances of the exertions of human beings in difficult fituations, are to be found in the lives of fuch men, as have been compelled by ſhipwreck to remain for ſeveral years on uninhabited islands. deprived in an inftant of all the advantages and fupport which we derive from mutual affiſtance, they have been obliged to call forth all the latent refources of their own minds. from a contemplation of thefe we are enabled to form fome ideas of the wonderful powers of the human conſtitution, when properly ftimulated to action by neceffity. the following narrative, whether philip quarll. 219. e 1 whether real or fictitious, feems to be admirably adapted to the illuftration of this fubject, and therefore we ſhall make no apology for re-⠀ printing it in this collection. the history of philip quarll. philip quarll, was an engliſh failor, who affifted to navigate a ſhip in the fouthern feas of america. during his voyage they were affailed: by fuch a violent tempeft, which continued, without intermiffion, for two days and nights, that the captain and the moſt experienced mariners began to deſpair of the ſafety of the ſhip. in this exigency, quarll, being bold and active, took a hatchet in his hand, and ran up the fhrowds, by the captain's order, to cut away the main-yard, which they could not lower; but by the time he had mounted, there came a fea which daſhed the ſhip againſt a rock, and, with the violence of the motion, flung quarll, who was aftride, upon the main-yard, on the top of the rock, where, having the good fortune to fall into a clift, he was fecured from being waſhed back again into the fea and drowned, as all the reft were that belonged to the fhip. quarll, in a difimal condition, remained the fucceeding night in the clift, being continually beaten with the dafhing back of the fea, and being both bruifed and numbed, pulled off his l 2 cloaths 220 the history of cloaths which were dripping wet, over fatigued, lays himſelf down on the ſmootheſt place of the rock he could find, being quite ſpent with the hardſhip he had undergone, and flept while his cloaths were drying. his fleep, though very profound, was not refreſhing the danger he had been lately in, fo ran in his mind, that death was ever before his eyes, and conftantly disturbed his reft: but nature, which wanted repofe, would be ſupplied. having flept a few hours, he awakes almoft as much fatigued as before, and faint for want of nouriſhment, having taken none for thirty-fix hours before: fo having looked upon his cloaths, which he perceived were not quite dry, he turned the other fide to the fun, and laid himſelf down to fleep again; but ſtill nothing but horror .entered his mind. when he awoke, he was very much terrified with his dreams, and ſtared about him in a frighted manner, expecting every minute fome creature to devour him; but, taking a little courage, put on his cloaths, which by this time were quite dry. he then looks about him; but alas! could fee nothing but the dreadful effects of the late tempeft, dead corpfes, broken planks, and battered chefts floating; and fuch fights as at once filled him with terror and grief. turning from thoſe ſhocking objects, which prefented to his eyes the dreadful death he fo lately philip quarll. 22f $ "c lately had efcaped, he fees on the other fide the profpect of one more terrible, hunger and thirſt, attended with all the miferies that can make life burthenfome. being feized with the terror of the threatening evil, he turns again towards the fea, and looking on the dead corpfes, which the fea now and then drove to the rock, and back again, "oh! that i was like one of you," faid he, "paft all dangers! i have ſhared with you in the terrors of death why did i not "alfo partake with you in its relief? but why´ "fhould i complain? and have ſo much reafon "to be thankful! had i been cut off, when "the cares of faving this worthless carcaſe in"tercepted me from feeking the falvation of my foul, i ſhould not have had the preſent 66 opportunity of taking care of it." so, having returned thanks for his late deliverance, he refigns himself to providence, on whom he fully relies; climbs up the rock, and being come to the top, fees land on the infide, bearing both trees and graſs: "heaven be praiſed !" faid he : "i ſhall not perish upon theſe barren rocks :" fo made a fhift to go down to it, the weather then being calm. 66 a being come to the other fide of the rock, he finds at the bottom of it a narrow lake, which ſeparated it from the land: therefore pulling off his cloaths, the water being but fhallow, he l3 wades 222 the history of wades over with them in his arms; and drefling himſelf, walks up a confiderable way in the iſland, without feeing any human creature, or perceiving any fign of its being inhabited, which ſtruck a great damp to his fpirits. he walks it over and over, croſs-ways and long-ways; yet could fee -nothing but monkeys, ſtrange beaſts, birds, and fowls, fuch as he had never feen before. having ranged himſelf weary, he fat down under a cluſter of trees, that made an agreeable arbour. the place being pleaſant and cool, made, as it were, for repofe, and he being ſtill very much fatigued, prompted him to lie down and fleep, during which his mind is continually alarmed with the frightful aſpect of grim death. sometimes he fancies himſelf ſtriving with the rolling waves, ftretching out his arm to catch hold of a plank toffing by; which, juſt come at, is beaten back by the roaring billows, whoſe terrible noiſe pronounces his death: at other times he thinks himſelf aſtride upon a piece of a maſt, labouring to keep himſelf on, and of a fudden waſhed away, and funk down by a bulky wave; on every fide of him men calling for help; others, ſpent and paſt ſpeaking; here fome floating that are already periſhed, and there others expiring ; thus in every object feeing his approaching fate. being awaked out of that irkſome and uneafy fleep, he falls into as anxious and melancholy thoughts: philip quarll. 223 t thoughts: "i have," ſaid he, "efcaped being "drowned, but how ſhall i avoid ſtarving? here "is no food for man. but why should i de"fpair? cannot i eat grafs for a few days? by "which time, providence, which has hitherto protected me, may raiſe me fome means to "get from hence." so, being entirely refigned, he walks about to fee the iſland, which he found furrounded with rocks, at the bottom of which there was a ſmall lake, which was fordable in moſt places, fo that he could with eaſe wade over to the rock; which he did at every fide of the iſland, to fee if he could perceive any ſhip, whereby he might get away: but, feeing none, and it drawing towards night, he returns, and employs the remainder of the day in looking for the moſt convenient place for him to pass away the approaching night; and, having fixed upon one of the higheſt trees, he gets up as far as he well could, fearing fome wild beaft might devour him if he ſlept below: where, having returned thanks to heaven for his late great deliverance, he commits himſelf to its care; then fettles, and falls to fleep, and ſlept till hunger waked him in the morning, having dreamt over night of abundance of victuals, which he would fain have come at, but was kept off by a crofs cook, who bid him go and fifh for fome to which he anſwered, that he l 4 was 66 224 the history of was hipwrecked, and had nothing to fifh withaf. "well then," faid the cook to him again, "go "where thou waft like to lofe thy life, and "there thou shalt find wherewithal to ſupport "it." being awaked, he makes reflections upon his dream, which he imagined might proceed from the emptiness of his ftomach, being cuſtomary for people to dream of victuals, when they go to bed hungry. but driven by neceffity, and led by curiofity, he went to the fame fide of the rock he had been caft upon; where, having flood feveral hours without feeing ſhipping, or aught that might anſwer his dream, the air coming from the fea being pretty ſharp, and he faint, having taken no manner of food for near three days, he gave over all hopes of relief. thus fubmitting himſelf to the will of heaven, which he fuppofed decreed a lingering death to puniſh him for his paft fins, he refolves to return where he lay the night before, and there wait for his doom; but being ſtopped by a ſudden noife which iffued from a creek in the rock, not far from where he ftood, he had the curiofity to go and fee what occafioned it. being come to the place he heard the noiſe proceed from, he fees a fine large cod-fiſh near fix feet long, dabbling in a hole in the rock, where the late ftorm had caft it. one 1. " philip quarll. · 225 one under condemnation of death, and juſt arrived at the place of execution, could not be more rejoiced at the coming of a reprieve, than he was at the fight of this fiſh, having felt ſeveral fick qualms, fore-runners of the death he thought he was doomed to. "heaven be praiſ"ed!" faid he, "here is fubfiftence for ſeveral days." 66 so having taken off both his garters, he gets* into the hole where the fifh lay, and having run. them through its gills, he hauls it out, and drags it after him, being heavy, and he very weak. going along, he finds feveral oyſters, muſcles, and cockles, in his way, which the ſea had caft up and down the rock; and having a knife about him, he fat down and eat a few: fo refreſhed himſelf, his fpirits being exhauſted for want of food. this fmall nutriment very much recruited his decayed ſtrength, and the thoughts of his fupply of provifion having difperfed the dull ideas his late want had bred in his mind, he cheerfully takes his fiſh, which he drags with much more vigour than before; and filling his pockets with falt that was congealed by the fun, which he found in the concavities of the rock, away he goes to the place where he lay the night before, in order to drefs fome of the codfish; where being come, he picks up a parcel of dry leaves, and, with his knife and a flint, l5 ftruck # 226 the history of # ftruck fire and kindled them: then getting together a few ſticks, made a fire preſently, and broiled a flice of his fifh; of which he eat fo heartily, that it overcame his ftomach, being grown weak with fafting. thus fick, and out of order, he applies to the recourfe of the feeble, which was lying down; and having much fatigued and harraſſed himſelf with hauling the heavy fiſh up and down the rock, he fell aſleep until the next morning. having flept quietly the remainder of the night, he awoke in the morning pretty freſh and hearty, but anxious about his future deſtiny; for though he might for awhile fubfift upon fiſh, wherewith he might be fupplied by the fea, yet he could not imagine which way he could be furniſhed with cloaths and bed againſt the winter; for want of which he muſt miſerably perish. with cold, unleſs fupplied by fome fuch difmal accident as expoſed him to the want thereof, which he heartily wishes and prays may never happen. having made theſe confiderations, he, on his knees, returns kind providence his hearty thanks for all its mercies that had been extended to him; begging the continuance of its affiftance. then, watching the opportunity of getting away from that melancholy place, he goes to the other philip quarle. 227 other fide of the rock, to try if he could perceive any ſhipping in fight. the wind being pretty high, fed his hopes, that each fucceeding hour would gratify his. wiſhing look with that object the preceding could not bring forth; but he was diſappointed. the night approaching, kept back all probability for that time; however, depending on better fuccefs the next day, he returns whence he came; and being hungry, makes a fire, and broils another flice of the fifh, then lays the reſt upon broad green leaves, and ftrews falt thereon. to keep it from ſpoiling, and then goes to reft; and as he lay undiſturbed the night before under the trees, and much more eaſy than at top, he ventured again, committing himſelf to the care of providence. he flept in fafety. that night, but with the returning morning all his anxieties were renew-ed, and he determined to lofe no time in pro-viding as well as he could for all his neceffities. accordingly, firſt he begins to think of making himſelf an houſe to preſerve him from the injuries of the weather; but having nothing to make it of, nor any inftrument but a knife, which could be of little fervice to him, he refolves to go to that part of the rock where he. was ſhipwrecked, to fee if he could diſcover any thing among the wreck that might be ſervicel 6 able 228. the history of able to him and therefore takes a branch of a tree along with him, and coming to the place, he ftrips himſelf, and goes into the water, (the water being low, diſcovering the tops of ſeveral fharp pointed rocks) and gropes along with his ftaff for fure footing, wading as high as his chin, diving to the bottom frequently, and feeling about with his hands. this he continued do-ing for almost two hours, but to no purpoſe, not daring to go out of his depth; for he well knew that he could do little good there, becauſe he could difcover no part of the fhip, not fo much. as the maft, or any of the rigging, but fancied the lay in fome deep hole, where it was impoffible to get at her. thus defpairing, and fretting and teazing himfelf, he calls to, mind that he had a hatchet in his hand when he was caft away, and thought probably it might lie in that clift of the rock into which he was thrown; thither he went, and looking about, perceived fomething like the handle of a hatchet, juft above the furface of the water, at the bottom of the rock; and, going down to it, took it up; which, to his great joy, proved to be the very thing he wanted. having got his tool, he dreffes himſelf, and goes on to the ifland again, intending to cut down fome trees to make himſelf a hut; looking about, therefore, for the propereft plants, and philip quarll.. 229 and taking notice of a fort of trees, whoſe branches, bending to the ground, took root and became a plant, he thought they might be the fitteft for this purpoſe, and cut a fufficient parcel of them to make his barrack; which was full bufinefs for him that day. the next morning, having paid his uſual devotion, he walks out again to look for a pleafant and convenient place to make his hut or barrack upon. he walked feveral hours, and could find none more ſheltered from the cold winds than that where he already lay, being in the middle of the iſland, well fenced on the north and eaſt fides with trees, which ſtood very thick. the place being fixed upon, he hews down fome trees that grew in his way, and clears a ſpot of ground about twelve feet fquare, leaving one tree ſtanding at each corner; and, with the young plants he provided the day before, filled the diſtance between quite round, fetting them about fix inches afunder, leaving a larger vacancy for the door. his incloſure being made, he bends the branches at the top from both fides, and weaves them acroſs one another, making a cover to it, which being ſomething too thin, he laid other branches over, till they were grown thicker. having finiſhed the top, he goes about clofing the fides; for which purpoſe, taking large branches, he ftrips off their ſmall twigs, 230 the history of twigs, and weaves them between the plants, as they do for fheep pens, then made a door after the fame manner. his barrack being finiſhed, which took him up fifteen days hard work, "now," faid he, "here is a houſe, but where is the furniture ? "this, indeed, may keep the weather from me, "but not the cold. the ground on which i do "and muſt lie, is hard, and, doubtless, in the "winter, will grow damp, which, with want of "covering, may occafion agues and fevers, the "cholic and rheumatiſm, and twenty racking diftempers, which may caufe me to repent my "having eſcaped a milder death.” in this great confternation and perplexity, he goes to fee if he could fpy any ſhipping riding. within fight of the island.. as he was walking along, full of heavy and dull thoughts, which weighed his looks to the ground, he happened: to find a fort of high grafs that grows but here and there, round fome particular fort of trees, of which he never took notice before. "heaven. "be praiſed!" faid he, "i have found where"withal to keep my poor body from the ground, "whilft i am, by providence, doomed to remain "here. so paffes on, intending at his return. to cut down a fufficient quantity of it to make mats that might ferve him inftead of bed and bed-cloaths.. 66 having philip quarll. 231 having looked himſelf almoſt blind, without feeing the leaſt profpect of what he defired, he concludes upon going to cut the graſs, which he ftood in fuch want of, and fpread it to dry, whilft the weather was yet warm.. that piece of work kept him employed the remainder of the day, and beft part of the fucceeding, having nothing but a pocket knife to cut withal. that work being done, wanting a tool to ſpread and turn his grafs, he takes a branch off the next tree, which, having ftript of all the fmall ones about it, all but part of that at the top, made a tolerable fork. thus being equipped for haymaking, he went on with his work; and as he was at it, he faw, at fome diſtance, ſeveral monkeys as bufy as himſelf, ſcratching ſomething out of the ground, which they eat in part upon the ſpot, and carried the reft to their home. his hopes that thoſe roots might be for his uſe, thoſe creatures being naturally dainty, eating nothing but what men may, made him haften to the place he faw them ſcratching at, that by the herb they bear (which they tore off) he might find out the root. having, by the leaves which he picked off the ground, found fome of the fame, he digs them up, and carried them to his barrack, where he broiled a flice of fiſh, and in the aſhes roafted 232 the history of roafted them, which eat fomething like chefnuts done in the fame manner. this new found-out eatable much rejoiced him; he returned his hearty thanks to kind providence, that had put him in a way to provide himſelf with bread, and that of a moft delicious" kind. as foon, therefore, as he had dined, he" went out on purpoſe to dig up a good quantity; but, as he was going to the place where he had taken notice they grew pretty thick, he ſees a tortoiſe of about a foot over, crawling before him: "heaven be praiſed!" faid he, "here is "what will ſupply me both with victuals and "utenfils to drefs it in ;" he ran, therefore, and turned it on its back, to keep it from getting away, whilft he went for his hatchet, that he might cut the bottom ſhell from the top, in order to make a kettle of the deepeſt, and a diſh of the flat part. being tired of cod-fiſh, he dreffes the tortoife, an animal feldom eaten but upon extremity, the fleſh thereof often giving the flux; nevertheleſs he ventured upon it, and liked it extremely, fome part of it eating very much like veal: which at that time was a very great novelty to him, having eaten no freſh meat for a long time before. happening to eat of that part of the tortoiſe; which is the moft feeding, and lefs hurtful, he was... philip quarll. 233 1 was in no wife difcompofed; but, having boiled it all, he laid by the remainder to eat now and then between his fifh. being provided with a boiling utenfil, he often had change, by means of thofe admirable roots fo luckily difcovered; fome of which he roafted for bread, others he boiled with falt cod... this in a great meaſure mitigated his misfortune, and foftened the hardſhip he lay under; ſo that feeing but little profpect of changing his prefent condition, by getting away from thence yet awhile, he thinks on means to make it as eafy as poffible whilft he remained in it; for, having projected a bed, and taking the graſs, which by that time was dry, he falls to work; and a mat being the thing concluded upon, he twiſts his hay into ropes, the bignefs of his leg; then he cuts a pretty number of fticks, about two feet long, which he drives into the ground, ten in a row, and near four inches afunder, and oppofite to them fuch another row at fix or feven feet diftance from the firft, which made the length of his mat; then having faftened one end of his rope to one of the corner ſticks, he brings it round the other corner ſtick, and fo to the next at the other end, till he has laid his frame; then he weaves acroſs ſhorter ropes of the fame, in the manner they make pallions on board with old cable ends. when he had finiſhed. · 234 the history of finished his mat, he beat it with a long ſtick, which made it fwell up; and the grafs being of a foft cottony nature, he had a warm and eaſy bed to lie on. the comfort and pleaſure he found on his foft. mat (being grown fore with lying on the ground for a ſpace of a month or more) fo liberally gratified him for the time and labour he had be ftowed in making it, that it gave him encouragement to go about another; a covering being the next neceffary wanted; for though the weather was as yet pretty warm, and he`in a great meaſure ſeaſoned by the hardship he had gone through; yet the winter approaching, and the preſent ſeaſon being ftill favourable for him to make proviſion againſt it, he goes and cuts more grafs, which being made ready for ufe, he lengthens his loom, to allow for rolling up at one end, inſtead of a bolfter, and makes it thicker than the first, which he intends, in cold weather, ſhall lie upon him inftead of blankets. being provided with the moft neceffary furniture he wanted, he thinks on more conveniences, refolving to make himſelf a table to eat his victuals upon, and a chair to fit on. thus, having cut ſeveral ſticks about four feet long, he drives them in a row a little way in the ground,, then takes fmaller, which he interweaves between; having made the top, he fets it upon four * philip quarle. 235 [ f * 1 four other ſticks, forky at the upper end, which he ftuck in the ground at one fide of his barrack, to the height of a table; this being done, he cuts four more branches, fuch as he judged would do beft for the feat and back of a chair, which he alfo drove in the ground near his table; and having twiſted the branches, which grew to them, with each other, from back to front, and acroſs again, he weaves fmaller between, bottoming his feat; which completes the furniture of his habitation. that care being over, another fucceeds, of a far greater moment: "here is a dwelling,” faid he, "to fhelter me from the weather, and a "bed to reft this poor body of mine; but where "is food to fupport it? here i have fubfiſted "near one month upon a fiſh, which the fame "dreadful ftorm, that took away forty lives, fent "me to maintain my own. well, fince kind "providence has been pleaſed to preſerve my "life preferable to fo many,, who fatally periſhed "in that difmal accident, i am bound, in grati❝tude, to hold it precious; and fince my fiſh is "almoft gone, and i am not certain of more, i "muft by degrees bring myſelf to live upon roots, "which i hope will never be wanting, being the "natural product of this iſland: ſo i muſt eat of the fmall remnant of my fiſh but now and then, "to make it hold out longer. dainties or plenty 4 were 236 the history of "were not allotted for him that was doomed to flavery, but labour and hard living; and, if i meet here the latter, heaven be praifed, i "have efcaped the worfe; i can take my reft, " and ſtand in no dread of any fevere inſpector "or tafkmafter." 68 now being intirely reconciled to the ftate of life, providence, on whom he fully depended, had been pleaſed to call him to, he refolves to make provifion of thofe excellent roots; and with his hatchet he cuts a piece of a tree, wherewith he makes a fhovel, in order to dig them up with more eaſe: with this inftrument he went to the place where he had obferved they grew. thickeft, which being near the monkeys quarters, they came down from off their trees in great numbers, grinning as if they would have flown at him; which made him ſtop awhile. he might, indeed, with the inftrument in his hand, have killed feveral, and perhaps difperfed the reft; but would not: "why," faid he, "ſhould i add barbarity to injuftice? it is but "natural and reaſonable for all creatures to * 26 guard and defend their own: this was given. "them by nature for food, which i am come to rob them of: and fince i am obliged to get of "them for my fubfiftence, if i am decreed to be "here another feafon, i will fet fome in a place “diſtant from theirs for my own ufc." having philip quarll. -237 having ftood ſtill a confiderable time, thoſe animals, ſeeing he did not go forwards, each went and ſcratched up for itſelf, afterwards retiring; giving him the opportunity to dig up a few for himſelf; and as he was not come to the place where they grew thick, he laid them in fmall heaps as he dug them up; while thoſe fly creatures would, whilft he was digging up more, come down from the trees where they ſtood hid among the leaves, and ſteal them away; which obliged him to be contented for that time with as many as his pockets would hold, refolving to bring fomething next time which would contain a larger quantity; and fearing thoſe animals, which are naturally very cunning, fhould dig them up, and hide them, he comes early the morning following to make his proviſion; and for want of a fack to put them in, he takes his jacket, which he buttons up, and ties at the fleeves; and as he had obferved, that every root *had abundance of little off-ſets hanging at it by fmall fibres, he pulled off his fhirt alſo, of which the makes another fack, to put them in.. being naked, all but his breeches, and the day being pretty hot, he thought he had as good pull them off too, and fill them, his jacket being but fhort, and therefore holding but few; taking, therefore, his bundle in one arm, and having the hovel in the other hand, he goes to the place he 238 the history of he intended to do the day before; and expect ing to find the fame oppofition as he did then, he brought with him fome of the roots he had dug up the preceding day, in order to throw them amongſt thofe animals, and fo quiet them; but to his great wonder, and as great fatisfaction, thofe creatures, which the time before had oppofed him with noife and offenfive motions, let him now paſs by quietly, without offering to meddle with any when dug up, though he had laid them up by heaps in their way, and ſtood at a confiderable diſtance from them. this ſurpriſing reverence from thofe creatures.. fet him upon deep reflections on what could be the cauſe thereof; whether it might not proceed from the proximity of their fhape and his: "but, then," faid he, "my ftature and colour of ſkin is fo different from theirs, that they cannot but diſtinguiſh i am not of their kind: no, it muſt be a remnant of that awe, entailed by nature upon all animals, to that moft noble and complete mafter-piece of the creation, called man, which, now appearing in the ftate he was firft created in, and undiſguiſed by cloaths, renews an image of that refpe&t he has forfeited by his fatal tranfgreffion, which ever fince obliged him to hide the beauty of his fabric under a gaudy difguife, which often renders him ridiculous to the rest of mankind, and generally obnoxious to all philip quarll. 239 all other creatures; making a pride of what he ought to be ashamed of. well, adds he, fince my cloaths bred the antipathy, i will remove that caufe, which will fuit both the nature of thoſe animals, and my own circumftances." from that time he refolves to go naked, till the hardneſs of the weather obliged him to put fomething on. having picked up a fufficient quantity of offfets to ſtock about two acres of land, he returns home, leaving behind him a confiderable number of roots dug up for thoſe poor animals which attended him all the time he was at work, without offering to touch one till he was gone. being come home, he fixes upon a ſpot of ground near his habitation, and digs it up as well as he could with his wooden inftrument, in order to fow his feed; which having compaffed in about twenty days, he implores a bleſſing upon his labour, and leaves it to time to bring it forth. thus having finiſhed the most neceſſary work about his barrack, he refolves to take a more particular view of the island, which till then he had not time to do; and taking a long ſtaff in his hand, he walks to the lake, which parts the land from the rock, and goes along the fide of it quite round the iſland, finding all the way new fubjects of admiration: on the left hand ſtood a rampart made of one folid ftone, adorned by nature 210 the history of ture with various forms and fhapes, beyond the power of art to imitate; fome parts challenging a likeneſs to a city, and cluſters of houſes, with here and there a high ſteeple ſtanding above the other buildings; another place claiming a near refemblance to a diſtant ſquadron of men of war in a line of battle: farther, it bears compariſon with the dull remains of fome ſumptuous edifice, ruined by the often repeated ſhocks of time, inciting the beholders to condolence for the lofs of its former beauty. at ſome diſtance from thence the profpect of a demoliſhed city is repreſented to the fight; in another place large ftones, like ſmall mountains, laid, as it were, a-top of one another, impreſs the mind with an idea of the tower of babel; and on the right hand a moſt pleaſant land covered with beautiful green graſs, like chamomile, and here and there a cluſter of trees, compofing moft agreeable groves, amongſt a vaſt number of fine lofty trees of divers heights and ſhapes, which ſtood more diftant, whoſe irregularity added to the delightfulneſs of the place. as he was a walking on, admiring all theſe wonderful works of nature, having caught cold (not being uſed to go naked), he happened to fneeze oppofite to a place in the rock, which hollowed in after the manner of the infide of fome cathedral, and was anfwered by a multitude philip quarll. 241 # 3 tude of different voices iffuing from that place. the agreeableneſs of the furprize induced him to roufe thofe echoes a fecond time, by giving a loud hem; which was, like his fneezing, repeated in different tones, but all very harmonious; again he hem'd, and was ſo delighted with the repetition, that he could have ſpent hours in the hearing of it. "but why fhould i," ſaid he, "wafte thofe melodious founds, fo fit to relate "the almighty's wonderful works, and ſet forth "his praife?" immediately he fang feveral pfalms and hymns with as much emulation and devotion, as if he had been in company with numbers of fkilful and celebrated choriſters. having ſpent a confiderable time there with much pleaſure, he proceeds in his walk, being refolved to make that his place of worſhip for the future, and attend it twice a day conſtantly. about three or four hundred paces farther, having turned on the other fide of a jetting out part of the rock, he was ftopt a fecond time by another furprizing product of nature; a large ſtone, growing out of the rock, adyancing quite over the lake at the bottom of it, reprefenting fomething of a human ſhape, out of the breaſt whereof iffued a fountain of exceeding clear water, as fweet as milk, and, when looked at fronting, was like an antique piece of architecture, which in old times they built over particular m fprings; 242 the history of . fprings; and on the other fide appeared as if fpringing from the noftrils of a fea horſe. theſe three fo very different and yet rightly compared likeneffes, being offered by one and the fame unaltered object, made him curious to examine what parts of every refemblance helped to make the others; and having ſpent a confiderable time in the examination, he found every thing, `which the front had likenefs of, was employed in making the fide reprefentation, by being in fome places fhortened, and others lengthened, according to the point of fight. being fatisfied about that ſubject, he enters upon another as puzzling: the bafon in which the fountain ran, which was about five yards diftant from whence the water did fpring, being but about nine feet over every way, without any vifible place to evacuate its over complement, and yet keeping the fame height, without dafhing or running over, altho' the ftream that fell into it ran as big as his wrift. having a long time fearched into the caufe, without any fatisfaction, he conjectures it must make its way out fomewhere under ground; fo went on, till he came to the place he had begun his march at, which ended that day's work. f having been round the island, which, to the beſt of his judgment, was about ten or eleven miles in circumference, of an oblong form, going in philip quarll. 243 j i in and out in feveral places, extending from north to fouth, the fouth end near twice as broad as the oppofite; he refolves to employ the next day in viewing the infide. so the next morning he walks along the land, which he found very level, covered with a de-, lightful green grafs, and adorned with trees of divers forts, shapes, and height, inhabited with feveral forts of curious finging birds, of various colours and notes, which entertained him with their melodious harmony. in fome places ftood a cluſter of trees, compofing agreeable and delightful groves, proceeding from only one main body, whofe lower branches, being come to a certain length, applied to the earth for immediate nouriſhment, as it were, to eafe the old ftem that produced them; and fo became a plant, and did the fame. 1 having for fome time admired the agreeablenefs and curiofity of the plant, by which nature feemed to give human kind inftructions; and looking about, if perchance he could find any thing in his way for his own proper ufe, he took along with him a fample of every different herb he thought might be eatable. croffing the iſland in feveral places, he came to a moſt delightful pond, about two hundred yards in length, and one hundred and fifty wide, with fine trees fpreading their branchy limbs over its brink, m 2 which 244 the history of which was furrounded with a beautiful bank, covered with divers kinds of flowers and herbs, fo naturally intermixed, which completed it in ornament and conveniency, as though intended by nature for more than mortal's uſe. ci having walked feveral times round it with much pleaſure, he fat down a while upon its bank, to admire the clearnefs of the water, through which, to his great comfort, he faw many different forts of fifh, of various fizes, fhapes and colours. "heaven be praiſed!" faid he, "here is a flock of fresh water fiſh to fupply me with food, if the ſea ſhould fail me." being fufficiently diverted with their chafing one another, which were of many beautiful and different colours, and a moſt delightful ſcene, he proceeds in his walk, and goes to the fouth of the iſland, where he finds another fubject of admiration, a noble and fpacious wood, whofe fhades feemed to be made for the abode of peace and pleaſure. he walked round it with much delight, which made the time feem thort; yet he could guefs it to be no lefs than two miles about. having viewed the outfide, whofe extraordinary agreeablenefs incited in him an unfurmountable defire to get into it, but where he was afraid to venture, left there might be deftructive creatures; yet, having recommended himfelf philip quarll. 245 ť t himſelf to the care of providence, he ventured into it, finding feveral pleaſant walks, fome ftraight, edged with lofty trees, as though planted for pleaſure; others crooked and winding, bordered with a thick hedge of pimentoes, which caft a moft fragrant fmell; here and there a large clufter of buſhes and dwarf trees, wherein fheltered feveral different kinds of wild beafts and fowls: "sure," faid he, "this island never "was intended by nature to lie wafte, but ra"ther referved to be the happy abode of fome, for whom heaven had a peculiar bleffing in ftore. here is every thing fufficient, not only for the fupport, but alſo for the pleaſure of life: heaven make me thankful, that i am "the happy inhabitant of fo bleffed a land !"; being hungry, and tired with walking, he goes home in order to get fome victuals, and having made a fire, he boils a flice of his falt fifh with fome roots, and then the herbs he brought with him, which proved of divers taftes, and all excellent; fome eating like artichoaks, others like afparagus and fpinach. "now," faid he, "what can i wish for more!" here i poffefs a plenti"ful land, which produces both fleſh and fiſh; "bears excellent greens and roots, and affords "the beſt of water, which by nature was or"dained for man's drink. pomp and greatneſs "are but pageantry, which oftentimes prove m 3 "more +30 246 the history of 1 "more prejudicial to the actor, than diverting "to the beholder; eafe and indulgence are apt to breed the gout, and various distempers, "which make the rich more wretched than the 46 poor; now thefe evils, thanks to my maker! "i ſtand in no danger of, having but what is fufficient, which never can do any harm." thus thoroughly eafy in his mind, he propofes to fpend the afternoon at the outfide of the rock, in viewing the fea, and looking for oyfters; fo takes in his hand his long ftaff to grapple in holes; and his breeches, which he ties at the knees, to bring them in. being come to a place of the rock he never had been at before, he fees at a diſtance ſomething like linen hanging upon it, which, when he came at, he found to be the main-fail of a fhip, with a piece of the yard faftened to it: "alas!" faid he, "a difmal "token of infatiable ambition! which makes "men often lofe their lives in feeking what they "feldom find; and, if they ever do, 'tis commonly attended with a world of care. happy “is he who limits his defires to his ability, af"piring not above his reach, and is contented "with what nature requires." then he falls a ripping the sheet from the yard, which he finds in one place tied with one of his garters, (having himſelf made ufe of it for want of another ftring) "heaven be praiſed " ſaid he, “this is no teri 66 philip quarll.~ 247 * " "no effect of another fhipwreck, but a fragment "of the unfortunate fhip, whofe lofs was my redemption;" which reflection made him thed 86 tears. having ripped the fail in pieces, he rolls them in fuch bundles as he could conveniently carry, and lays them down till he had got a few oyſters, proceeding to grope in holes with his ſtick as he went on. about forty paces farther, he finds a cheft in the clift of the rock, which had been waſhed up there by the violence of the late form: "hea "ven!" faid he, "more fatal effects of fate's "cruelty and man's temerity! was the fea "made for man to travel on? is there not land "enough for his rambling mind to rove? muft "he hunt after dangers, and put death to defi-. "ance? what is the owner of this the better. "for it now? or who can be the better in a place "fo remote, and the acceſs to it fo difficult? be"ing not to be approached but on the wings of "providence, and over the back of death. now, "was this full of maffy gold, or yet richer things, "i thank my god, i am above the ufe of it; yet "i'll take it home; it was fent hither by provi"dence, perhaps for the relief of fome fo ne-1 "ceffitated and deftitute." then going to lift it, he could not; therefore was obliged to fetch his hatchet to beat it open, that he might take away what 248 the history of what was in it by degrees. having taken as much of the fail cloth as he could conveniently carry, with the few oyfters he had got, he went home and fetched the tool, wherewith he wrenched the cheft open, from which he took a fuit of cloaths and fome wearing linen: "thefe," faid he, "neither the owner nor i want;" fo laid them down; the next thing he took out was a roll of feveral fheets of parchment, being blank indentures and leafes: "thefe," faid he, are inftruments of the law, and often applied. "to injuftice; but i'll alter their mifchievous properties, and make them records of hea"yen's mercies, and providence's wonderful liberality to me; fo, inftead of being the ruin "of fome, they may chance to be the reclaim16 t 66 ing of others." at the bottom of the cheft lay a runlet of brandy, a cheſhire cheeſe, a leather bottle full of ink, with a parcel of pens, and a penknife: "as for thefe," faid he, " "they are of ufe; the pens, ink, and parchment "have equipped me to keep a journal, which "will divert and pafs away a few anxious hours; "as for the cheeſe and brandy, they will but caufe me new cares: before i had them, i "wanted them not; now, the benefit and com"fort i fhall find in them, when gone, will "make me hanker after them more; i wish i "had ftill been without them; but now they 5. "are "c (" 66 1 philip quarll. 249 t "are here, it would be a fin to let them be "loft. i'll take them home, and only ufe them "at my need; which will both make them hold out the longer, and me grow lefs fond of "them." "w 2 j 1 so, by degrees, he takes home the cheft, and what was in it; and now having materials to begin his journal, he immediately fell to work; that for want of other books, he might, at his leifure, perufe his paft tranfactions, and the many mercies he had received from heaven;" and that, after his deceaſe, whoever is directed thither by providence, upon reading his wonderful eſcapes in the greateſt of dangers; his miraculous living, when remote from human affiftance; in the extremity, might not deſpair. thus he begins from his being eight years old (as well as he can remember, he heard an old aunt of his fay) to the day of his being caft away, being then twenty-eight years of age, refolving to continue it to his death. he now refolves to make provifion against winter, and the feafon being pretty far advanced, he gathers a good store of fucf and roots, begins to line the outfide of his barrack with a wall of turf, and lays the fame at top, to keep out the wet. and as he now and then found fmall fhell-fish and oyfters upon the rock, he makes a bridge over the lake, which in warm weather m 5. he 250 the history of he uſed to wade, that in the winter he might go over dry. so, having completed his bridge, which was made of two ftrong poles, which reached from the land to the rock, and ſeveral leffer branches laid acrofs pretty clofe, he retires home, the day being far fpent. the following night there arofe a violent ftorm, attended with dreadful claps of thunder, which the many echoes from the rock rendered more terrible; and lightnings, flaſhing in a moſt frightful manner, fucceeding each other, before the preceding was well out of the ſky, which put poor loneſome quarll in fuch a confternation, that notwithſtanding his reliance on heaven's protection, he would have given the world (had it been in his poffeffion) to have been within the reach of human affiftance; or at leaſt to have ſome company; folitude adding much to his terror and affliction. the glorious rifing of the next morning's fun having laid the mortifying rage of the bluſtering winds, quarll, whofe late alarm was hardly quelled, ftill fufpecting its moft reviving rays to be terrifying glances and flashes of lightning; but having lain awhile, and hearing no noife, but that which ftill raged in his mind, was at laft convinced the ftorm was over; and fo gets up with a refolution to go and fee if he could difcern any effect of the late tempeſt. jurit being philip quarll. 251 w being come at the other fide of the rock, he faw indeed ſurpriſing objects, but not afflicting; the miſchief that was done, being to the inhabitants of the fea only, a vaft number of which had, by the wind, been difelemented: a quantity of ftately whitings, fine mackerels, large herrings, divers fizes of codlings, and feveral other forts of fiſh, with a great number of fhells, of different ſhapes and bigneffes, lying up and down upon the rock. "heaven be praiſed !" ſaid he, "inſtead of damage to bewail, what thanks have "i now to return for this mighty benefit! here "the powerful agent of miſchief is, by kind "providence, made a minifter of good to me: "make me thankful! i am now provided for "all the next winter, and yet longer, by which "time i am certain to have a freſh ſupply."..! thus having taken up as many fiſh as he could hold in his arms, he carries them home, and brings his fhirt, which he ufed inftead of a fack; fo, at feveral times, he brought away all the fifh, and as many of the fhells as he had occafion for; of fome of which he made boilers and ftewpans, of others difhes and plates: fome he kept water in, and others fifh in pickle; fo that he was ſtocked with neceſſary veffels as well as provifion. being very weary with often going backwards and forwards with his fish, which took up all m 6 that 252 the history of that day to bring them home, he fits down to reft himſelf; and the runlet of brandy lying by, he was tempted to take a fup, which was at that time very much wanted, his fpirits being very low; but was loth to tafte it, left he should grow fond of the liquor, and grieve after it when gone: fome moments were ſpent before he could come to a refolution; at laft, having confidered the uſe of it, which fuited the prefent occafion, he concludes to take a dram, and to ufe it like a cordial, which it was firft intended for; but the veffel out of which he drank being at his mouth, the cordial turns to a nectar; one gulp decoys another down; fo the intended dram became a hearty draught. the pleaſantnefs of the liquor made him forget its nature; fo that poor quarll, who had, for the ſpace of near three months before, drank nothing but water, was prefently overcome with the ftrength of the brandy, and fell aſleep in his chair, with the runlet on his bare lap, from whence it foon fell to the ground, and, being unſtopt, ran all out. 1 l being awaked with hunger, having flept from evening till almoft noon of another day, which he knew not whether the fuccecding or the next to it; feeing what had happened, he was forely vexed, and could have wept at the accident; but confidering the liquor which occafioned it might philip quarll. 7253 c might perhaps, in time, have cauſed greater miſchief, he was foon reconciled to the lofs, but could not with that of the right order of the days, which having entirely forgot, hindered the going on of his journal; fo was obliged to make only a memorial. that damage being repaired, another appears of a far greater confequence; the sunday is loft, which he had fo carefully obferved to that time: how can that be made up? "now," faid he, "fhall i daily be in << danger of breaking the fabbath, knowing not "the day. o fatal liquor! that ever thou wert "invented to cauſe fo much mischief! but why "fhould i lay the blame upon the ufe, when it "is the abufe that does the hurt? and exclaim "againſt a thing which, being taken in modera❝tion, is of fo great a benefit, reviving a faint"ing heart, raiſing finking fpirits, warming cold "and decayed nature, and affuaging feveral pains." so blames himſelf highly for gratifying his appetite with that wherewith he only ought to have refreſhed nature; and fince that often mifguided faculty had prompted him to commit the fault, he dedicated that day, in which he became fenfible of it, to prayers and fafting; and every feventh from that he fets apart for divine worship only, which he hoped would keep him from breaking the commandments for keeping holy the fabbath day: fo went 66 254 the history of 1. } went to the place where the echoes, in many different and melodious founds, repeated his thankſgiving to the almighty, which he had fixed upon to pay his devotion, and there ſpent the reft of the day in prayers and finging of pfalms. the next morning, having breakfaſted with fome of his ufual bread, and a flice of the cheeſe he found in the cheft, he goes about curing his fish, in order to falt them: having laid by as many for the prefent uſe as he thought he could eat whilft freth, he improves the fair weather, to dry one part of the remainder, and keeps the reft in pickle. the winter being near at hand, and the weather growing damp and cold, hinders him from taking his walks; fo being confined within doors, he employs his idle hours in beautifying his utenfils, which were not to be uſed on the fire; and bestowed fome pains in ſcraping and poliſhing the reft of his fhells, fome as fine as though they had been nakers of pearl; which made them not only more fit for their intended uſes, but alſo a great ornament to his barrack, which he fhelved round with plaited twigs after the manner of his table, and fo ſet them upon it. thus he spent the beft part of the winter; making no farther remarks, but that it was very sharp, attended with high winds, abundance of hail philip quarll. 255 $ a hail and fnow, which obliged him to make a broom to fweep it away from about his hut, which otherwiſe would have been damaged by it. but fhivering winter, having exhauſted his frofty ftores, and weary with vexing nature, retired; boreas alfo, grown faint with hard blowing, is forced to retreat into his cave; gentle zephyrus (who till then kept up in his temperate cell) now comes forth to ufher in the blooming fpring; fo mildly flips on to inform nature of her favourite's approach, who at the joyful news puts on her gay enamelled garb, and out of her rich wardrobe ſupplies all vegetables with new vefture, to welcome the moſt lovely gueft. the feathered chorifters alfo receive new ftrength; their tender lungs are repaired from the injuries the foggy and mifty air did occafion; and, thus revived, are placed on every budding tree, to grace his entrance with their harmonious notes. quarll alſo, whom bad weather had confined within doors a confiderable time, which had in a great meaſure numbed his limbs, and dulled his fenfes, now finds himſelf quite revived: he no longer can keep within; the fair weather invites him out; the finging birds on every fide call to him; nature itſelf fetches him out to behold her treaſures. having with unfpeakable pleaſure walked fome 256 the history of fome time, diverted with the fweet melody of various finging birds, and the fight of abundance of different forts of bloffomed trees, and blooming flowers; all things within the iſland infpiring joy; he had the curiofity to go and view the fea; fo goes over his bridge; and then, at the other fide of the rock, where he finds more objects, requiring as much admiration, but affording a great deal lets plcafure; vaft mountains of ice, floating up and down, threatening all that came in their way. theſe terrible effects of the winter, which to that time he was a ftranger to, occafioned his making thefe reflections: he who on billows roves, riches or wealth to gain, is ever in danger, and labours oft in vain; it fortune on him fmiles, giving his toil fuccefs, each ay new cares arife, which mar his happineſs. l the only treature then worth laying up in ſtore, is a contented mind which never leaves one poor; he is not truly rich who hankers after more. so, having returned heaven thanks for his happy ſtate, he creeps to the north-eaft fide of the rock, at the foot of which lay an extraordinary large whale, which the late high wind had. caft there, and died for want of water. "if "this," faid he, "is all the damage that has been "done laft winter, it may be borne;" fo went down, and meaſured the length of it, which was 1 above philip quarle. 257 1 " 1 above thirty yards, and proportionable in bignefs: there were fhoals of fmall fithes fwimming about it in the fhallow water wherein it lay, as rejoicing at its death. thus," faid he," the oppreffed rejoice at a tyrant's. fall. what "numbers of thefe have been deftroyed to make "this monstrous bulk of fat! well, happy are they, who, like me, are under heaven's go"vernment only." so with his knife, which he always carried in his pocket, cuts ſeveral flices of the whale, and throws them to the finall fishes, faying, "it is but juſt ye ſhould at "laft feed on that which fo long fed on you." as oil ran, in abundance, from the places he had cut the flices out of, it vexed him to fee that wafted, which might turn to good money: "but why," faid he, "fhould i be diſturbed at it? "what uſe have i for any? providence takes "none, it gives me all gratis." so goes on feeling for oyſters with his ftaff, which he always walked with. 66 66 66 having at laſt found a hole, where by their rattling at the bottom with his ftaff, he judged there might be a pretty many, he marks the place, and goes home to contrive fome inftrument to drag them up, being yet too cold for him to go in the water; and as he had no tool but his knife and hatchet, both improper to make a hole in a board, as requifite to make a rake • 258 the history of rake, which was wanting for that purpoſe: he beats out the end of his cheft, in which there was a knot: ſo having driven it out, he faftens the ſmall end of a pole to it. thus equipped, he went and raked up oyfters, which added one diſh to his ordinary, and fauce to others; yet at length his ftomach growing qualmiſh with cating altogether fith, and drinking nothing but water withal, he wishes he could have a little fleſh, which he might eaſily, there being animals enough in the wood apparently fit for food; but then he must deprive them of their lives, barely to make his own more eaſy. thus he debates with himſelf for fome time, whether or no it would not be injuſtice for him (who only by a providential accident was brought thither to ſave his life) now to deſtroy thoſe creatures, to whom nature has given a being, in a land out of man's reach to diſturb: yet nature requires what feems to be againſt nature for me to grant: i am faint, and like to grow worſe, the longer i abſtain from fleſh. having paufed a while; " why," faid he, "fhould i be fo fcrupulous? were not all things "created for the uſe of man? now, whether it "is not worſe to let a man periſh, than to de"ftroy any other creature for his relief? nature "craves it, and providence gives it: now, not "to uſe it in neceffity, is undervaluing the gift." sa philip quarll. 259 so having concluded upon catching ſome of thoſe animals he had feen in the wood, he confiders by what means, having no dogs to hunt, nor guns to fhoot. having paufed a while, he refolves upon making gins, wherewith he had feen hares catched in europe: thus taking fome of the cords which he found with the fail at the outfide of the rock, he goes to work, and makes feveral, which he faftens at divers gaps in the thickſet within the wood, through which he judged that fort of beaſt, he had a mind for, went. impatient to know the fuccefs of his fnares, he gets up betimes the next morning, and goes to examine them; in one he found a certain animal fomething like a fawn, the colour of a deer, but feet and ears like a fox, and as big as a wellgrown hare. he was much rejoiced at his game, whoſe mouth he immediately opened, to fee if he could find out whether it fed upon grafs, or lived upon prey: the creature being caught by the neck, and ſtrangled with ftruggling, before it died, had brought up in its throat fome of the greens it had been eating, which very much pleafed him; accounting thoſe which lived upon fleſh as bad as carrion. having returned thanks for his good luck, he takes it home in order to drefs part of it for his dinner; fo cafes and guts it: but it proving to be a female, big with three young ones, grieved him to 260 the history of to the heart, and made him repent making thofe killing noofes. "what pity," ſaid he, that fo many lives fhould be loft, and creatures wafted! "one would have ferved me four days; and here " are four killed at once. well, henceforth, to "prevent the like evil, i will take alive what i (6 juſt want, and fave all the females." so, having stuck a long ftick at both ends in the ground, making a half circle, he hangs one quarter of the animal upon a ftring before a good fire, and fo roafts it. * his dinner being ready, having faid grace, he fet to eating with an uncommon appetite; and, whether it was the novelty of the difh, or that the meat did really deferve the praife, he really thought he never eat any thing of flesh, till then, comparable to it, either for taſte or tenderneſs. having dined both plentifully and deliciouſly, he moſt zealouſly returns kind providence thanks for the late, and all favours received; then purfuant to his refolution, he goes to making nets, in order to take his game alive for the future; and as he had no fmall twine to make it with, he was obliged to unravel fome of the fail which he luckily had by him; and with the thread, twiſted ſome of the bignefs he judged proper for that uſe. having made a fufficient quantity, he makes a couple of nets, about four feet fquare, which he faſtens in the room of the killing fnares; fo fo " philip quarll. 261 j j 1 fo retired, and refolved to come and examine them every morning. several days paffed without taking any thing, fo that he wanted fleſh for a whole week, which did begin to diforder his ftomach, but not his temper; being entirely refigned to the will of providence, and fully contented with whatever heaven was pleaſed to fend. one afternoon, which was not his cuftomary time of day to examine his nets, being too viſible in the day time for game to run in; he happened to walk in the wood, to take the full dimenfions thereof, fo chanced to go by his nets; in one of which were taken two animals, as big as a kid fix weeks old, of a bright dun, their horns upright and ftraight, their ſhape like a ſtag, moſt curioufly limbed, a fmall tuft of hair on each fhoulder and hip. by their horns, which were but fhort, they appeared to be very young, which rejoiced him the more, being in hopes to tame thofe which he did not want for preſent/ ufe; fo carried them home joyful of his game, depending upon a good dinner; but was fadly diſappointed: the animals he found were antelopes (calling to mind he had feen them in his travels), which proving both females, he had made a refolution to preferve. though they were too young to be with kid, and he in great need of fleſh, yet he would not kill them; fo with cords faftens $ . p 1 11 1 7 1 262 the history of faftens them to the outfide of his lodge; and with conftant feeding them, in two months time made them fo tame, that they followed him up and down; which added much to the pleaſure he already took in his habitation, which by that time was covered with green leaves, both top and fides; the ſtakes it was made of having ſtruck root, and fhot out young branches, whofe ftrength increafing that fummer, to fill up the vacancy between each plant, he pulled the turfs wherewith he had covered the outfide and top of the hut between them, to keep the cold out in the winter. his former hut, being now become a pleaſant arbour, gave him encouragement to beſtow fome pains about it towards the embelliſhment of it, which feemed to depend on being well attended. he refolved upon keeping it pruned and watered, the better to make it grow thick and faft, which anſwered his intent; for in three years time, the ſtems of every plant that compofed the arbour, were grown quite clofe, and made a folid wall of about fix inches thick, covered with green leaves without, which lay moft regular and even, and within had a moſt agreeable ſmooth bark, of a pleaſant olive colour. his late arbour being, by his care and time, and nature's affiftance, become a matchlefs lodge, as intended by nature for fomething more than human gueſts, he now confults to make it as commodi14 ous philip quarll. 263 66 ous as beautiful. "here is," faid he, "a delightful dwelling, warm in the winter, and cool "in the fummer; delightful to the eye, and com"fortable to the body; pity it ſhould be employed to any uſe but repofe and delight!" so refolved upon making a kitchen near it. thus having fixed upon a place convenient at the fide of his lodge, about fix feet from it, twelve in length, and eight in breadth, which he enclofed with the turfs that covered the outfide of his arbour, before it was fufficiently thick to keep out the cold; then having laid ſticks acroſs the top of the walls, which were about eight feet high, he lays turf thereon, and fo covers it, leaving an open place for the finoke to go out. the outfide being done, he goes about infide neceffaries, as fire-places to roaſt and boil at; thus cuts a hole in the ground, at a ſmall diſtance from the wall, after the manner of ftew-ftoves in noblemens' kitchens; then, at another place, he fets two flat ſtones, about eight or nine inches broad, and one foot long, edgeways, oppofite to one another, near two feet aſunder; then puts a third in the fame manner, at the end of the other two; fo makes a fire-place fit to roaſt at: then, for other conveniences, he weaves twigs about fticks, ftuck in the wall on one fide of the kitchen, where he lays the fhells fit for utenfils, which both adorned and furnished it. 66 having 264 the history of having completed that piece of work, he goes and vifits his plantations, which he finds in a thriving condition; the roots being, in fix months time, grown from the bignefs of a pea (as they were when firſt ſet) to that of an egg: his antelopes alfo were come to their full growth and complete beauty, which exceeded moft fourfooted beafts, having a majeftic prefence, body and limbs repreſenting a ftag, and the noble march of a horfe: fo every thing concurred to his happinefs. for which having returned his moſt liberal benefactor his grateful acknowledgments, he thinks on means to prevent any obftructions that may intercept the continuation thereof; and as the want of cloaths was the only cauſe he could think of to make him uneafy, having but the jacket and hoſe which were given him on board, to fave his own cloaths, which when worn out he could not recruit; therefore, to accuftom hiinfelf to go without, he leffens thofe he had, and takes away the lining from the outfide, in order to wear the thickeft in the coldeft weather, and fo thins his dreſs by degrees, till at last he went quite naked. having thus concluded, as being the beſt ſhift neceffity could raiſe him, he falls to ripping his jacket, in the lining whereof he finds feven peas and three beans, which were got in a hole at the corner of his pocket. thofe philip quarll. 265 66 thoſe few made him wifh for more, which he had no room to hope for, they being raiſed by feed, which the island did not produce:"theſe few," faid he, "which at prefent are "hardly fufficient to fatisfy a woman's longing,,, may, with time and induſtry, be improved to a quantity large enough to ferve me for a "meal;" then lays them up againſt a proper time to fet them; ſo ſpent the remainder of that fummer in walking about the iſland, watering his lodge, weeding his root plantation, attending his nets, which now and then ſupplied him with an antelope or goat, to eat at intervals between fiſh he commonly found on the rock after high winds and ſtorms; never failing to viſit the ſea three or four times a week, according as the weather did prove; thus diverting many anxious hours with variety of objects that element affords. sometimes he had the pleaſure of feeing great whales chafing one another, fpouting large ftreams of water out of their gills and noftrils; at other times, numbers of beautiful dolphins rolling amongſt the waves; now and then a quantity of ftrange monftrous fifh playing on the ſurface of the fea, fome whereof had heads (not common to fishes) like thoſe of hogs; others not unlike thofe of dogs, calves, horfes, lions, bulls, goats, and feveral other creatures: fome chafing another fort; which to avoid being taken, would quit their n 66 266 the history of their element, and feck refuge in the air, and fly fome yards above the water; till their fins being dry, obliged them to plunge in again. theſe paſtimes being generally fucceeded with bad weather, and dreadful ftorms, checked the pleaſure they gave with a dread of the evil that threatened to follow. thus commiferating the cafe of thoſe whofe misfortune is to be expoſed to them; having ſpent fome time in reflection, he goes to his uſual devotion, and calling to mind, that in all that time he never faw a young fiſh in the pond, he conjectured that ſomething might deftroy the fmall ones; and as he imagined fo it proved: for at his approach, a large fowl flew out of the pond with a fiſh in its bill, being too large for it to fwallow... at that diſtance, the bird being alfo upon the wing, he could neither difcern colour nor make; but he had the fatisfaction of diſcovering the cauſe why the fiſhes did not increaſe, they being devoured when young by that creature; which to prevent for the future, he ftudies means to kill the deſtroyer, nets not being proper inftruments; it being requifite, for that purpoſe, to have one all round, as alfo to cover the pond, which was impoffible by reaſon of its largeneſs; and a lefs being of no uſe, the birds probably not coming to one certain place. he wished for a gun and ammunition fitting, as being the moſt probable things philip quarll. 267 things to fucceed; but no fuch inftrument being within his reach, he ponders again; during which time, a crofs-bow offers itſelf to his mind, but is as diftant from his reach as the gun. it is true, there was ftuff enough in the island to make many, but no tools but a hatchet and pocket knife, wherewith, if he made ſhift to cut and ſhape a bow, he could not make a latch and fpring neceffary to it; fo he muſt not think on it: yet, a bow being the only thing he could apply to, he goes about one forthwith. thus having picked a branch of a tree, which had the reſemblance of yew, and as tough, of which they are ſometimes made, he, with the tools he had, made a ſhift to make one about fix feet long, and arrows of the fame, which he hardens and ftraightens over the fire, then having flit them at one end, about two or three inches, he flips in a bit of parchment, cut ſharp at one end, and about three inches at the other, then ties the end clofe, to keep it in, which ferved for feathers; and, with the ravelling of fome of the fail, he makes a ftring to it. thus equipped for an archer, wanting nothing but ſkill, which is only to be gained by practice, he daily exerciſes ſhooting at a mark for the ſpace of a fortnight; in which time he made fuch an improvement, that at three ſhoots he would hit a mark n 2 268 the history of mark of about three inches fquare, at near fifty paces diſtance. being fufficiently fkilled, he goes and lies in wait for his defired game; fo placed himſelf behind a tree, as near the pond as he could, whither the bird came in a few hours after. the creature being pitched upon the bank, never ſtood ſtill, but kept running round, watching for a fizeable fiſh fit to ſwallow; ſo that he had no opportunity to foot; till having, at laſt, efpied out one, it launched itſelf into the pond, but rofe more flowly, which gave him time to take aim: nevertheleſs, he miffed it being in motion; but when come to the top, he ftruck it through the body as it opened its wings, and laid it flat on the other fide of the pond. he took it up, wonderfully pleafed at his good fuccefs the firft time of his practiſing his new acquired art; yet, having taken notice of the bird's beauty, he had a regret for its death, though he might, in time, have rued its living; the ſtock of fish weekly decreaſing, by his own catching one now and then with a ſmall net he made for that uſe, when ſhort of other provifions, and their recruiting prevented by that bird's daily devouring their young. the inexpreffible beauty of the feathers, which were after the nature of a drake, every one philip quarll. 269 اه one diftinguiſhed from another by a rim round the edge thereof, about the breadth of a large thread, and of a changeable colour, from red to aurora and green; the ribs of a delightful blue, and the feathers pearl colour, fpeckled with a bright yellow; the breaſt and belly (if it might be faid to be of any particular colour) was that of a dove's feather rimmed like the back, diverfly changing; the head, which, was like that of a ſwan for make, was purple alfo, changing as it moved; the bill like burnished gold; eyes like a ruby, with a rim of gold round it; the feet the fame as the bill; the fize of the bird was between a middling goofe and a duck, and in fhape refembling a fwan. having bemoaned the death of that delightful creature, he carefully takes out its flesh, which, corrupting, would fpoil the outfide; then fills the fkin with fweet herbs, which he dried for that uſe; and having fewed up the place he had cut open to take the flesh out, he fet it up in his lodge. his good fuccefs in archery made him love the exercife; fo that what odd hours he had in the day (befides thofe he fet apart for his divine worſhip, and thofe neceffary occupations about his lodge, plantations, and making remarks) he beftowed in fhooting at the mark, which in time made him fo expert, that he hardly would mifs n 3 a ftandat 270 the history of a ſtanding mark the bigneſs of a dove, at forty or fifty yards diſtance, once in ten times; and would shoot tolerably well flying, having once occafion to try it upon a monſtrous eagle, which often flew round over the place where his antelopes and goats fed, near his lodge, which he fhot at, fearing it would damage them, and killed it with the fecond arrow. the fummer being over, during which, having been much taken up about his habitation and plantations, he had neither time nor opportunity to make remarks, farther than it was fome days very ſhowery, and for the moſt part generally very hot; but now the weather being grown fomething cold, and the wind pretty fharp, he muſt be obliged to put on fome cloaths to keep it off, being as yet too tender to go any longer without; next to provide for his antelopes against the approaching winter; fo makes a lodge for them, at the backfide of his kitchen, with ſticks, which he drove into the ground, about two feet from the wall, and then bends them about three feet from the ground, and fticks them in the faid wall, and ſmaller branches he interwove between them: he fhuts up the front, and covers the top, leaving both ends open for the antelopes to go in at; then lays grafs (which he dried on purpoſe) in the ſaid lodge, for them to lie on. thus, having dug up a conphilip quarll. 271 a confiderable quantity of roots, and being already stocked with falt-fiſh, both dry and in pickle, he was pretty well provided for his cattle and himſelf, againſt the enſuing winter, which proved much like the preceding one, only not ſo ftormy. the fucceeding fpring having awaked flumbering nature, and revived what the preceding hard feafon had caufed to droop, every vegetable puts on new cloathing and recovers its wonted beauty; each animal affumes freſh vigour; the beafts in the wood leap and bound for joy, and each bird on the trees fings for gladneſs. the whole creation is, as it were, repaired, and every creature decked with new life. love by nature's direction, for the increaſe of every kind, warms their harmleſs breafts; each animal feeks a mate; our tame antelopes quit their abode, and range the woods for the relief ordained to quell their innocent paffion; which being affuaged, they return home, pregnant with young, to their maſter's great fatisfaction; who, having given them over, was doubly rejoiced to fee them come again in an increafing condition. "heaven be praiſed!" ſaid he, “i ſhall have a "ftock of my own, and will not fear wanting." so, having made fitting preparations againſt their kidding, he goes and examines the improvement of his new plantation, where he n 4 found " 272 the history of found his roots grown full as large as any of thofe that grew wild. "make me thankful!" faid he, "i am now provided with all neceffary "food. i fhall no more need to rob thoſe poor "creatures of that which nature had provided "for their own proper ufe." next he goes and views his fmall ftock of peas and beans, which he found in a very promifing cafe. so, whilft the weather was fair, he falls to clearing a ſpot of ground to fet them in, as they increaſed. turning up the ground he found feveral forts of roots that looked to bee a table, fome whereof were as big as a large carrot, others lefs. he broke a bit of every one, fome of which breaking fhort, and being not ftringy, he judged they muſt be eatable; then he ſmells them, and finding the fcent not difagreeable, he taſtes them. some were ſweetiſh, others fharp and hot, like horfe-radiſh; and thofe he propofes to uſe inſtead of fpice. sure," faid he, "theſe being of a pleaſant ſcent and favour, cannot be offenfive "to nature." so having manured his ground, he takes a ſample of every root which he judged eatable, and boils them, as the fureft way to experience their goodneſs. 66 moft of them proved not only paffable good, but extraordinary; fome eating like parſnips, others almoft like carrots, but rather more agreeable; fome like beets and turnips; every one 66 10 in philip quarll. 273 in their feveral kinds, as good as ever he eat in england, but of different colours and make; fome being bluish, others black, fome red, and fome yellow. thefe though not wanted, having fufficient to gratify a nicer taſte than his, were, nevertheleſs, extremely welcome, being fomewhat like his native country fare and product. so having returned thanks for this moft agreeable addition to his ordinary, he fets a mark to every herb which thofe roots bore, in order to get fome of the feed to fow in a ground he would prepare fo, being provided with flesh, fish, herbs, and feveral forts of roots, he goes and examines what improvement his peas and beans have made, which he found increaſed to admiration; the feven peas having produced one thoufand, and the three beans one hundred: having returned thanks for that vaft increaſe, he lays them by, in order to fet them at a proper feafon, as he had done the year before. by this time his antelopes had kidded, one of them having brought three young ones, and the fecond two. this vaft addition to his provifions very much rejoiced him, being fure now not to want fleſh at his need, which before he was in danger of, finding but feldom any thing in his net: fo makes account to live upon two of the young bucks whilft they lafted, killing one as foon as fit for meat, and fo now and then anon 5 ther, 274 the history of ther, faving only five to breed; one whereof fhould be a mate to keep the females from the wood; left at one time or other they ſhould ſtay away for good and all. the old ones being well fed, as he always took care to do, providing for them ftore of thoſe greens he knew they loved; as alfo boiled roots for them now and then, of which they are very fond; the young ones throve apace, and grew very fat fo that in three weeks time they were large and fit to eat. he killed one; which being roafted, proved to be more delicious than any houſe-lamb, fucking pig, young fawn, or any other fuckling whatever. having lived upon that, with now and then a little fifh, about one month, which was as long as he could keep it eatable, having dreſſed it at two different times, five days interval; eating the cold remains in ſeveral manners; referving one of the other two males for a time he fhould be fcanted, and in want of flesh; but was unluckily diſappointed by a parcel of large eagles, which flying one morning over the place where the young antelopes were playing, being of a gay, as well as active difpofition, launched themfelves with precipitation upon the male he referved for time of need, and one of the females which he kept for breed: feeing his beloved diverters carrying away by thoſe birds of prey, he runs philip quarll. 275 runs in for his bow, but came too late with it, the eagles being gone. having loft his two dear antelopes, eſpecially the female, having doomed the male for his own eating, he hardly could forbear weeping to think of their being cruelly torn to pieces by thoſe ravenous creatures: thus having for fome time lamented the lofs, and bewailed their hard fate, he thinks on means to prevent the like evil for the time to come; and as his bow was not always at hand, he refolves upon making a net, and faſtens it between the trees he faw them come in at. the fucceeding winter proving very wet and windy, gave him but little invitation to take his ufual walks; ſo having every thing he had occafion for at hand, he kept cloſe to his net making; for which having twine to twiſt, and thread to ravel out, tò make the faid twine, kept him employed till the following fpring, which came on apace. having finished his net, and every thing which belonged to it, he goes and faftens it to the trees, as he had propoſed; then takes a walk to his new plantations, which he found in a thriving condition; for which, and other benefits already received, he refolves, as in duty bound, to attend at his ufual place of worſhip, and fing thankſgiving pfalms, which the hardn 6 nefs 1 276 the history of nefs of the weather had kept him from all the late winter; but it now coming into his mind, that whilft he was at his devotion, returning thanks for the fair profpect of a plentiful crop, his antelopes would break into the cloſe, the hedge being as yet but thin, and devour the promifing buds, which are the principal occafion of bis devotion; this not altogether improper confideration puts a fad check to his religious intention and though there was a vaſt obligation to prompt him to the performance of that part of his duty, yet he could not, with wiſdom, run the hazard, out of mere devotion, to lofe fo promifing a crop, which he ſhould never be able to retrieve; all his ftock of feed being then in graſs. : as he was debating in his mind between religion and reaſon, whether the latter ought not to be a director to the former, he perceived his antelopes making towards the peas, to which they, doubtless, would have got in, had he not returned, and driven them another way: which accident convinced him he might find a more proper time to go about his devotion; no man being required to worship to his prejudice: fo, having put off his religious duty till he had better fecured his peas and beans, he cuts a parcel of branches, wherewith he ftops thoſe gaps to prevent the creatures going in; and having completed his work, he goes to his devotion, adding to philip quarll. 277 +1 -to his ufual thankſgiving a particular collect for his luckily being in the way to prevent his being fruftrated of the bleffing heaven fo fairly promiſed to beftow on his labours. having paid his devotion, he walks about the iſland, being all the way delighted with the birds celebrating their maker's praiſe, in their different harmonious notes! "every thing in na"ture," faid he, " anſwers the end of its crea"tion, but ungrateful man! who, ambitious to "be wife as his creator, only learns to make "himfelf wretched." thus he walks till evening, making feveral reflections on the different conditions of men, preferring his preſent ſtate to that of adam before his fall, who could not be fenfible of happineſs, having never known a reverfe; which, otherwife, he would have been more careful to prevent. being come home and near bed-time, he firſt ate his ſupper, and then, having performed his cuftomary religious fervice, he goes to bed. the next morning, after paying his ufual devotion, he takes a walk to his plantations, on which he implores a continuation of the profperous condition they appear to be in; next he goes to examine his nets, in which he finds a brace of fowls like ducks, but twice as large, and exceeding beautiful: the drake (which he knew by a coloured feather on his rump) was of a fine cinnamon colour upon his 278 the history of his back, his breaſt of a mazarine blue, the belly of a deep orange, his neck green, head purple, his eyes, bill, and feet, red; every colour changing moſt agreeably as they moved. the duck was alſo very beautiful, but of quite different colours, and much paler than the drake's. 66 the diſappointment in catching thofe delightful fowls, inftead of ravenous eagles, as he had purpoſed, no ways diſpleaſed him, but he rather was rejoiced to have fuch beautiful fowls to look at; yet it went much againſt his mind to deprive thofe creatures of their liberty (the greateft comfort in life) which nature took fuch pains to adorn: “but," ſaid he," they were created for "the uſe of man: fo, in keeping them for my pleaſure, they will but anfwer the end of their "creation. their confinement fhall be no "ftricter than my own; they ſhall have the "whole iſland to range in." he then pinions them, puts them in the pond, and makes baſkets for them to ſhelter in, which he places in the branches of thoſe trees that hung cloſeſt to the water, taking particular care to feed them daily with roots roafted and boiled, and the guts of the fish and other creatures he uſed for his own eating; which made them thrive mainly, and take to the place; fo that they had a breed in their ſeaſon. the five antelopes had by this time kidded, and philip quarll. 279 1 and brought ten young ones: his peas and beans alfo were wonderfully improved, having that feafon enough to ſtock the ground the year following. thus he returned kind providence thanks for the vaft increaſe, and concludes to live upon the young antelopes as long as they lafted, referving only one for fuck of the old ones, to keep them in milk, of which he had taken notice they had plenty, defigning to draw it daily for his own ufe; fo that in a little time he had enough to fkim for cream, which he uſed for fauce inſtead of butter, and made fmall cheeſes of the reft. now having a pretty ſtore of dairy ware, he refolves to make a place to keep it in; the kitchen wherein he was obliged to lay his falt fiſh, (which commonly ſmells ftrong) not being a proper place for cream and milk: for which end he makes a dairy-houfe at the other fide of his dwelling, with branches of trees, after the manner of a cloſe arbour, and thatches it over with grafs; which anfwering the kitchen in form and fituation, made uniform wings, that added as much to the beauty as conveniency of the habitation. having completed his dairy, he proceeds in his refolution of making cheeſe, having learned the way in holland; and for want of rennet to turn his milk, he takes fome of the horſe-radiſh feed, which, being of a hot nature, had the fame effect; having curd to his mind, he ſeaſons it to his 280 the history of his palate; then with his hatchet, he cuts a notch round in the bark of a tree, about eighteen inches in circumference; and a fecond in the fame manner fix inches below that; then flits the circle, and with his knife gently opens it, parting it from the tree: thus he makes as many hoops as he judged would contain his pafe, which, being girded round with cords to keepthem from opening, he fills with the faid pafte, and lays them by, till fit to eat. this being done, which completed his provifions, he returns thanks for thoſe bleffings which had been fo liberally beſtowed on him: "now," faid he, "heaven be praiſed! i exceed a prince "in happineſs: i have a habitation strong and 66 lafting, a beautiful and convenient freehold, "ftore of comforts, with all neceffaries of life "free coft, which i enjoy with peace and plea"fure uncontrouled: yet i think there is ſtill "fomething wanting to comple my happineſs: "if a partner in grief can leffen forrow, certain"ly it muſt in delight augment pleaſure. what objects of admiration are here concealed, and "like a mifer's treaſure, hid from the world! "if man, who was created for blifs, could have been completely happy alone, he would not "have had a companion given him :" thus he walks about thoughtful till bed-time. 66 in that difpofition he goes to bed, and foon fell aſleep the night alfo, being windy, added to 66 philip quarll. 281 j to his difpofition; but his mind finds no repoſe: it ftill runs heavy upon the fubject that took it up the day before, and forms ideas fuitable to his inclination; and as folitude was the motive of its being diſturbed, he indulges it with the thoughts of company, dreaming that the fame of his ftation, and happy ſtate of life, was ſpread about the world; that it prompted a vaft number of people, from all parts, to come to it, which at laſt induced ſeveral princes to claim a right to it; which being decided by a bloody war, a governor was fent, who laid taxes, demanded duties, raiſed rents, and warns him to be gone, having fixed upon his habitation for himſelf to dwell in. being fadly difturbed, he cries out in his fleep, "this is a great puniſh"ment for my uneafinefs: could i not be con"tented with being lord of this ifland, without provoking heaven to bring me under the power of extorting governors?" there happening a great noife, he ſtarts out of his fleep, with the thoughts of hearing a proclamation; and cries out, "alas! it is too late "to proclaim an evil which is already come :" but, being thoroughly awake, and the noiſe ſtill continuing, he found he had been dreaming, which very much rejoiced him, he therefore put on his cloaths, and haftens to the place he heard the noife come from. << "" being 282 the history of 1 being within forty or fifty yards thereof, he faw a number of monkeys of two different kinds; one fort ſquealing and fighting againſt the other without intermixing, but ftill rallying as they fcattered in the fcuffle. he ftood fome time admiring the order they kept in; and the battle ftill continuing as fierce as at firſt, he advanced to ſee what they fought about, for he took notice they ſtrove very much to keep their ground. at his approach the battle ceaſed; and the combatants, retiring at ſome diſtance, left the fpot of ground, on which they fought, clear; whereon lay a confiderable quantity of wild pomegranates, which the wind had fhook off the trees the night before, and which were the occafion of their ftrife. his coming having cauſed a truce, every one of thofe creatures keeping ftill and quiet during his ſtay, he refolves to uſe his endeavours to make a folid peace; and as that difference had arifen from the fruit there prefent, to which he could fee no reaſon but that each kind had an equal right, he divides it into two equal parcels, which he lays oppofite to each other towards both the parties, retiring a little way, to fee whether this expedient would decide the quarrel which anſwered his intent; thofe animals. quietly coming to that ſhare next to them and peaceably carrying it away, each to their quarters. philip quarll. 283 ters. this occafioned feveral reflections on the frivolous, and often unjuft quarrels that ariſe among princes, which create fuch bloody wars, as prove the deftruction of vaft numbers of their fubjects. if monarchs," faid he, "always act"ed with as much reafon as theſe creatures, "how much blood and money would they "fave!" thus he goes on to his uſual place of worſhip, in order to return thanks, that he was free of that evil, the dream whereof had fo tortured his mind, though he confeſſed he juſtly deferved the reality, for his uneafineſs in the happieſt of circumftances. 1 having paid his devotion, he takes a walk to fee how his peas and beans came on, which he found in a very improving diſpoſition, each ſtem bearing a vast number of well filled pods."heaven be praiſed!" faid he, "i ſhall eat of "this year's crop, and have fufficient to ſtock my ground the enſuing one." 66 thus being plentifully fupplied with neceffaries, and in a pleaſant iſland, every thing about him being come to perfection; his dwelling, which ſeems intended by nature for fome immortal gueſt, being, by time, yearly repaired and improved, leaving no room for care; yet the unwife man, as if an enemy to his own eaſe, cannot be contented with the enjoyment of more than he could reaſonably crave, but muſt diſturb his 284 the history of his mind with what concerns him not: "what pity," ſaid he, "fo delightful a habitation, at"tended with fuch conveniences, and fituated "in fo wholefome an air, and fruitful a land, "fhould at my death lofe all thofe wonderful properties, being become uſeleſs for want of fomebody to enjoy them? what admiration "will here be loft for want of beholders? but "what kind of man could i fettle it upon, wor"thy of fo fine an inheritance? were it my "pleaſure to chuſe myſelf an heir, fuch only ap66 pear virtuous, whofe weak nature confides to "chaſtity; every conftitution cannot bear ex"cefs: want of courage occafions mildnefs, and "lack of ſtrength good temper: thus virtue is "made a cloak to infirmity. but why do i thus willingly hamper myſelf with thoſe cares pro"vidence has been pleaſed to free me of?" thus he holds the island from providence: freely he bequeaths it to whom providence ſhall think fit to beſtow it upon; and that his heir may the better know the worth of the gift, he draws a map of the whole eftate, and made an inventory of every individual tenement, appurtenances, meffuages, goods, and chattels, and alſo a draft of the terms and conditions he is to hold the here-mentioned poffeffion upon; viz. imprimis, a fair and moſt pleaſant ifland, richly stocked with fine trees, and adorned with feveral 66 66 66 philip quarll. 285 t 3 feveral delightful groves, planted and improved by nature, ftored with choice and delicious roots and plants for food, bearing peas and beans; likewiſe a noble fifh pond, well stocked with divers forts of curious fiſh; and a ſpacious wood, harbouring feveral forts of wild fowl, and beasts, fit for a king's table. item, a dwelling commenced by art, improved by nature, and completed by time, which yearly keeps it in repair, and alſo its furniture. item, the offices and appurtenances thereof, with the utenfils thereunto belonging; which faid ifland, dwelling, &c. are freehold, and clear from taxes; in no temporal dominion, therefore ſcreened from any impofitions, duties, and exactions; defended by nature from invafions or affaults; guarded and ſupported by providence: all which incomparable poffeffions are to be held upon the following terms, viz. that whofoever fhall be by providence ſettled in this bleffed abode, fhall, morning and evening, conftantly (unleſs prevented by ill weather or accident) attend at the eaft fide of this ifland, and within the alcove nature prepared for the lodgment of ſeveral harmonious echoes, and there pay his devotion, finging thankſgiving pfalms to the great origin and director of all things, whofe praiſes he will have the comfort to hear repeated by melodious voices. next, 286 the history of next, he ſhall religiouſly obſerve and keep a feventh day for worship only, from the rifing of the fun until the going down thereof: therefore he ſhall, the day before, make all neceffary provifion for that day. that he ſhall, after any tempeftuous wind or ftorm, vifit the fea at the outfide of the rock, at the eaſt, ſouth, weft, and north ends, in order to affift any one in diftrefs. he ſhall not be wafteful of any thing whatfoever, eſpecially of any creature's life; killing no more than what is neceffary for his health: but fhall every day examine his nets, ſetting at liberty the overplus of his neceffity, left they ſhould periſh in their confinement, he muſt alſo keep every thing in the fame order and cleanneſs he ſhall find them in ; till and manure the ground yearly; fet and fow plants and feeds, fit for food, in their proper ſeaſons. having written this at the bottom of the map he had drawn, being fupper time, he takes his meal; then goes to his ufual evening devotion; and, after an hour's walk, to his bed, fleeping quietly all night, as being eaſy in his mind. the next morning he takes his uſual walks, and vifits his nets. in that he had fet for eagles, he found a fowl as big as a turkey, but the colour of a pheaſant, only a tail like a partridge; this having no fign of being a bird of prey, he was loth ! philip quarll. 287 مل loth to kill it; but having had no freſh meat for above a week, he yields to his appetite, and dreffes it, eating part thereof for his dinner: it was very fat and plump, and eat much like a pheafant, but rather tenderer, and fuller of gravy. though he was very well pleaſed with the bird he had taken, yet he had rather it had been one of the eagles which kept his young antelopes in jeopardy; but as he could not deſtroy them with his net, which had hung a confiderable time without the intended fuccefs, he projects the prevention of their increaſe, by deftroying their eggs, leaving his nets wholly for the uſe they had been ſucceſsful in; and ſearches the clifts of the rocks next the ſea, where thoſe birds commonly build, where having found feveral nefts, he takes away the eggs that were in them, being then their breeding time, and carries them home, in order to empty the ſhells, and hang them up and down in his habitation, amongst the green leaves which covered the cieling thereof; but having accidentally broke one, and the yolk and white thereof being like that of a turkey, he had the curiofity to boil one and taſte it, which eat much after the inanner of a fwan's. the reft he faved to eat now " and then for a change, reaping a double advantage by robbing thoſe birds, leffening thereby the 288 the history of the damage they might do him in time, and adding a difh to his preſent fare. in this profperous way he lived fifteen years, finding no alteration in the weather or feaſons, nor meeting in all the time with any tranſactions worthy of record; ftill performing his ufual exerciſes, and taking his walks with all the content and fatisfaction his happy condition could procure, entirely forſaking all thoughts and defires of ever quitting the bleſſed ſtation he then had in his poffeffion. thus having walked the iſland over and over (which though delightful, yet the frequent repetition of the wonders it produces, renders them, as it were, common, and lefs admirable) he proceeds to view the fea, whoſe fluid element being ever in motion, daily affords new objects of admiration. the day being fair, and the weather as calm, he fat down upon the rock, taking pleaſure in feeing the waves roll, and, as it were, chace one another; the next purſuing the firft, on which it rides, when come at; and being itſelf overtaken by a fucceeding, is alfo mounted on thus, wave upon wave, till a bulky body is compofed, too heavy for the undermoft to bear, and then finks all together: this, faid he, is a true emblem of ambition; men ftriving to outdo one another are often undone. as t philip quarll. 289 اتہ 갱 ​2 1 1 as he was making reflections on the emptinefs of vanity and pride, returning heaven thanks that he was feparated from the world, which abounds in nothing elſe, a ſhip appears at a great diſtance, a fight he had not feen fince his fhipwreck: "unlucky invention!" faid he, "that thou ſhouldeft ever come into men's "thoughts! the ark, which gave the firſt notion "of a floating habitation, was ordered for the "prefervation of man; but its fatal copies daily "expoſe him to deftruction." having therefore returned heaven thanks for his being out of thoſe dangers, he makes a folemn vow, never to return into them again, though it were to gain the world; but his refolution proved as brittle as his nature was frail. the men on board had ſpied him out with their perſpective glaffes; and fuppofing him to be ſhipwrecked, and to want relief, fent their long-boat with two men to fetch him away. at their approach his heart alters its motion; his blood ftops from its common courſe; his finews are all relaxed, which entirely unframes his reaſon, and makes him a ſtranger to his own inclination, which, ftruggling with his wavering refolution, occafions a debate between rope and fear; but the boat being come pretty nigh, gave hope the advantage, and his late refolution yields to his revived inclination; which being now eno couraged 290 the history of 1 couraged by a probable opportunity of being anfwered, ruſhes on to execution. he now, quitting all his former reliance on providence, depends altogether upon his getting away, bleffing the lucky opportunity of feeing his bleſſed country again, for which pleaſure he freely quits and forfakes all the happineſs he enjoyed; gladly abandoning his delightful habitation, and plentiful ifland. he thinks no more of providence ; his mind is entirely taken up with his voyage; but difappointment, which often attends the greatest probabilities, fnatches fuccefs out of his hand before he could grafp it, and intercepts his fuppofed infallible retreat: the boat could not approach him, by reaſon of the rocks running a great way into the fea under water; nor could he come at the boat for fharp points, and deep holes, which made it unfordable as well as unnavigable; fo that after ſeveral hours ſtriving in vain on both fides to come at one another, the men, after they had ſtriven all they could, but to no purpoſe, ſaid ſomething to him in a rage, which he underſtood not, and went without him, more wretched now than when he was firſt caft away. his fuil dependence on a retreat made him abandon all further reliance on providence, whom then he could implore; but now, having ungratefully deſpiſed heaven's bounties, which had been fo largely beſtowed on him, he has forfeited 1 philip quarll. 291 forfeited all hopes of affiftance from thence, and expects none from the world. thus deftitute, and in the greateſt perplexity, he cries out, "whither ſhall i now fly for help? the world ❝ can give me none, and i dare not crave any "more from heaven. o curfed delufion! but "rather curfed weakneſs! why did i give way "to it? had i not enough of the world, or was “i grown weary of being happy?" so faying, he falls a weeping : "could i fhed a flood of "tears fufficient to wash away my fault, or eaſe (6 me of the remorfe it does create!" the pains and labour he had been at in the day, climbing up and down the rock, dragging himſelf to and fro, to come at the boat, having very much bruifed his limbs; and the difappointment of his full dependence on the late promifing fuccefs, as alfo the tormenting remorfe, and heavy grief, for his finful reliance thereon, much fatiguing his mind, rendered fleep, which is ordained for the refreſhment of nature, of fmall relief to him; his thoughts are continually disturbed with frightful vifions; all his paſt dangers glare at him, as if threatening their return. being now awaked from his diſagreeable fleep, he makes a firm refolution never to endeavour to go from hence, whatever opportunity offers, though attended with ever fo great a probability o 2 of 292 the history of ? of fuccefs, and profpect of gain; fully fettling his whole mind and affection on the ftate and condition heaven has been pleafed to place him in; refolving to let nothing enter into his thoughts, but his moft grateful duty to ſo great a benefactor, who has fo often and miraculouſly refcued him from death. thus having entirely baniſhed the world out of his mind, which before often diſturbed it, he limits his thoughts within the bounds of his bleffed poffeffion, which affords him more than is fufficient to make his life happy: where plenty flows on him, and pleaſure attends his defires; abounding in all things that can gratify his appetite, or delight his fancy: a herd of delightful antelopes, bounding and playing about his habitation, divert him at home; and in his walks he is entertained with the harmony of divers kinds of finging-birds; every place he comes at offers him new objects for pleaſure: thus all feems to concur in compleating his happinefs. in this moft bleffed ftate he thinks himſelf as adam before his fall, having no room for withes, only that every thing may continue in its prefent condition; but it cannot be expected, that fair weather, which fmiles on the earth's beauty, will not change. the fun muft go its courfe, and the ſeaſons take their turn; which confiderations philip quarll. 293 #1 1 09 ations muſt, for the preſent, admit ſome ſmall care he is naked, and his tender conftitution fufceptible of the cold; therefore the cloaths he was caft away in being worn out, he is obliged to think of providing fomething to defend his limbs from the hardneſs of the approaching winter, whilft it was yet warm. having confidered what to make a wrapper of, he concludes upon uſing of the graſs he made mats of, on which he lay, being foft and warm, very fit for that purpoſe: of this he cuts down a fufficient quantity, which, when ready to work, he makes ſmall twine with, and plaits it in narrow braids, which he fews together with fome of the fame, and ſhapes a long looſe gown, that covered him to his heels, with a cap of the fame. by that time he had finiſhed his winter-garb, the weather was grown cold enough for him to put it on. the frofty ſeaſon came on apace, in which there fell fuch a quantity of ſnow, that he was forced to make a broom, and ſweep it away from about his habitation twice a day; as alſo the path he made to the places he had occafion to go to, toffing the fnow on each fide, which before the winter was over, met at top, and covered it all the way; which obliged him to keep within doors for a confiderable time, and melt fnow inftead of water; left, going for 03 fome, 294 the history of fome, he might chance to be buried amongſt the fnow. the winter being over, and the fnow diffolved, the gay fpring advances apace, offering nature its ufual affiftance, repairing the damages the laft froft had done: which joyful tidings made every thing fmile. quarll, alfo, finding himfelf revived, took his former walks, which the preceding bad weather had kept him from, though there had been no confiderable ftorm the winter before. n he having a mind to view the ſea, and being come to the outfide of the north-west end of the rock, fees at the foot thereof, fomething like part of the body of a large hollow tree, the ends whereof were ſtopped with its own pitch; and the middle, which was flit open from end to end, gaping by a ſtick laid acroſs. this put him in mind of canoes, with which indians paddle up and down their lakes and rivers and being on that fide the rock next to the iſland of california, he fancied fome of them were come to viſit this iſland, though not many in number; their canoes holding at moſt, but two men ; for the generality, one only; yet, as fome of theſe people are accounted great thieves, daily robbing one another, he haftens home to fecure what he had; but it was too late; philip quarll. 295 late; they had been there already, and had taken away the cloaths he found in the cheft; which being by far too little for him, hung carelefsly on a pin behind his door. had they been contented with that, he would not have regarded it; but they carried away fome of his curious ſhells, and, what grieved him moft, the fine bird he had taken fuch pains to dreſs and ſtuff, and care to preferve; as alfo his bow and arrows. having miffed thefe things, which he much valued, he haftens to the outfide of the rock, with his long ſtaff in his hand, in hopes to overtake them before they could get into their canoe; but happened to go too late, they being already got half a league from the rock. yet they did not carry away their theft: for there arifing fome wind, it made the fea fomewhat rough, and overfet their canoe; fo that what was in it was all loft but the two indians, who moſt dexterously turned it on its bottom again, and with ſurpriſing activity leaped into it, one at the one fide, and the other at the oppofite; fo that the canoe being trimmed at once, they paddled out of fight. having feen as much of them as he could, he walks to the north-eaft fide, in order to diſcover the effect of the high wind, which happened the night before. being come to the outſide of the rock, he 04 per296 the history of perceives fomething at a diſtance like a large cheft, but having no lid on it; taking that to be the product of fome late ſhipwreck, he grieved at the fatal accident; "how long," reflected he, "will covetouſneſs decoy men to purſue wealth, "at the coft of their precious lives? has not "nature provided every nation and country a "fufficiency for its inhabitants? that they will "rove on this most dangerous and boisterous fea, which may be titled death's dominions, many periſhing therein, and not one on it be"ing fafe." as he was bewailing their fate who he imagined had been caft away, he fees two men come down the rock, with each a bundle in his arm, who went to that which he had taken to be a cheft: and, having put their load in it, puſhed it away till come to deep water; then, having got in it, with a long ftaff, fhoved it off, till they could row to a long hoat that lay at ſome diſtance behind a jetting part of the rock, which fcreened it from his fight, as alfo the fhip it belonged to. 66 the fight of this much amazed him, and made him ceafe condoling others fuppofed lofs, to run home and examine his own; well knowing thoſe bundles, he faw carried away, muſt needs belong to him, there being no other moveables in the iſland but what were in his lodge. 1 being philip quarll. 297 being come home, he finds indeed what he fufpected; thofe villains had moſt facrilegiouſly, rifled and ranfacked his habitation, not leaving him fo much as one of the mats to keep his poor body from the ground; his winter garb alfo is gone, and what elfe they could find for their ufe. } the lofs of thofe things, which he could not do without, filled him with forrow. "now," faid he, “i am in my firſt ſtate of being; naked "i came into the world, and naked i ſhall go "out of it;" at which he fell a weeping. having grieved awhile, "why," faid he, "fhould i thus caft myſelf down is not pro"vidence, who gave me them, able to give me "more?" thus, having refolved before winter to repleniſh his lofs, he reſts himſelf.contented, and gives the ruffians evil action the beſt conftruction he could. "now i think on it," ſaid he, "theſe furely are the men, who, about "twelve months fince, would charitably have "carried me hence, but could not for want of "neceffary implements; and now being better "provided, came to accomplish their hofpitable defign; but not finding me, fuppofing i was "either dead or gone, took away what was here "of no ufe; much good may what they have got do them, and may it be of as much ufe to "them as it was to me." thus walks out, in o 5 order 66 298 the history of order to cut grafs to dry, and make himſelf new bedding, and a winter garb. having walked about half a mile, he perceives the fame men coming towards the pond. "hea"ven be praiſed!" faid he, "here they be ftill. "now when they fee i am not gone, nor willing to go, they will return my things, which "they are fenfible i cannot do without," with which words he goes up to them, by this time they had caught the two old ducks, which, being pinioned, could not fly away as the reft did. he was much vexed to fee the beft of his stock thus taken away, yet, as he thought they were come to do him fervice, he could grudge them nothing, that would any wife gratify them for fo good an intent. but having returned them thanks for their good will, he told them he was very happy in the iſland, and had made a vow never to go out of it. theſe being frenchmen, and of an employment where politenefs is of little uſe, being fiſhermen, and not underſtanding what he ſaid, only laughed in his face, and went on to the purpoſe they came about: then having as many of the ducks as they could get, they proceeded towards the houſe where they had ſeen the antelopes, fome of which not running away at their approach, they propoſed to catch hold of them. being come to the place where they uſed to feed, 1 philip quarll. 299 feed, which was near the dwelling, the young ones, not being uſed to ſee any men in cloaths, nor any body but their mafter, prefently fled; but the two old ones, which he had bred up, were ſo tame, that they ſtood ftill, only when the men came to them, they kept cloſe to him, which gave the men opportunity to lay hold of them; when, notwithſtanding quarll's repeated intreaties, they tied a halter about their horns, and barbaroufly led them away. quarll was grieved to the heart to fee his darlings, which he had taken fuch care to breed up, and which were become the principal part of his delight, following him up and down, and which, by their jumping and playing before him, often difperfed melancholy thoughts; notwithſtanding all theſe endearing qualifications, thus hauled away he weeps, and on his knees begs they may be left; and though they underſtood not his words, his actions were fo expreffive and moving, that had they had the humanity of cannibals, who eat one another, they would have yielded to fo melting an object as the poor broken hearted quarll was; but the inflexible boors went on, cruelly hauling and dragging the poor creatures, which, as if fenfible of the barbarity of the act, looked back to their afflicted mafter, as craving his affiſtance; which, at laſt, fo exafperated him, that he was feveral times. 0 6 tempted 1 1 300 the history of tempted to lay on the raviſhers with his long ſtaff; as often was ftopt by the following confideration: shall i," ſaid he, "be the de"ftruction of my fellow creatures, to reſcue out "of their hands, animals of which i have an improving ftore left, and deprive them of "their healths, and perhaps of their lives, to <s recover what coft me nought? let them go "with what they have, and the merit of their "deed be their reward." thus he walks about melancholy, bemoaning his poor antelopes fate, and his own misfortune: "6 they were uſed to “liberty,” ſaid he, "which they now are depriv"ed of, and for which they will pine and die, "which, for their fake i cannot but wish; for "life, without liberty, is a continual death.” as he was walking, thinking (as it is uſual after the lofs of any thing one loves) of the pleaſure he had during the enjoyment, the ruffians having fecured the poor animals, came back with ropes in their hands. "what do "they want next?" faid he," have they not all they defire; would they carry away my habi "tation alfo? sure they have no defign on my perfon; if ſo, they will not take it ſo eaſily as "they did my dear antelopes." thus he refolved to exerciſe his quarter ftaff, if they offered to lay hands on him. the villains, whoſe defign was to bind him, and fo carry him away, feeing <s << 64. t... philip quarll. 301 s ſeeing him armed and refolute, did not judge it fafe for them to advance within the reach of his weapon, but kept at ſome diſtance, divining how to feize him. + quarll, who, by their confulting, gueffed at their defign, not thinking proper to let them come to a refolution, makes at the neareſt, who immediately takes to his heels, and then to the next, who immediately does the fame. thus he follows them about for a confiderable time; but they divided, in order to tire him with running, till the night approaching, and the wind rifing, made them fear their retreat might be dangerous, if they deferred it; fo that they went clear away which being all he defired, he returned as foon as he faw them in the long-boat, which they rowed to their fhip, that lay at anchor fome diſtance from the rocks. theſe wretches being gone, he returns heaven thanks for his deliverance; and as his bridge had favoured their coming, he pulls it off, and only laid it over when he had a mind to view the fea, and goes home to eat a bit, having not, as yet, broken his faft. having, therefore, eaten fome of his roots and cheeſe, and being wearied with hunting theſe boors, he confults how to lie, his bed and bedding being gone, as alfo his winter gown, and the nights being as yet cold: however, after a fmall confideration, he concludes 302 the history of cludes to lie in the lodge, which was left vacant by the ftolen antelopes abfence; whofe litter being made of the fame grafs as his mats were, he lay both foft and warm. next morning having paid his uſual devotion, he goes into the kitchen, in order to breakfaſt, and afterwards to take his cuftomary walk. whilft he was eating, there arofe a noife in the air, as proceeding from a quantity of rooks, jackdaws, crows, and fuch like birds, whofe common notes he was acquainted with; and as the noiſe approached, he had the curiofity to go and fee what was the matter, but was prevented. by the coming of a large fowl, which flew over his head, as he was going out; he turned back. to gaze at the bird, whofe beauty feized him with admiration; the pleaſure of feeing fo charming a creature quite put out of his mind the curiofity of looking from whence proceeded the diſagreeable noife without; which ceafing as foon as the bird was fheltered, made him imagine thoſe carrion birds had been chafing that beautiful fowl, which, feeing itfelf out of danger, ſtood ftill, very calm and compoſed; which gave him the opportunity of making a difcuffion of every individual beauty which compoſed fo delightful an object; it was about the bigneſs and form of a fwan, almoſt headed like it, only the bill was not fo long nor fo broad, and red like philip quarll. 303 a " like coral; his eyes like thofe of a hawk, his head of a mazarine blue, and on the top of it a tuft of fhining gold coloured feathers, which ſpread over it, hanging near three inches beyond, all round; its breaſt, face, and part of its neck, milk white, curiouſly ſpeckled with ſmall black ſpots, a gold coloured circle about it; its back and neck behind of a fine crimson, fpeckled with purple; its legs and feet the fame colour as its bill; its tail long and round, fpreading like that of a peacock, compofed of fix rows of feathers, all of different colours, which made a moft delightful mixture. having ſpent ſeveral minutes in admiring the bird, he lays peas, and crumbled roots, both roaſted and boiled, before it: as alfo water in a ſhell, withdrawing, to give it liberty to eat and drink; and ſtood peeping to fee what it would do: which, being alone, having looked about, picks a few peas, and drinks heartily; then walks towards the door in a compoſed eaſy manner, much like that of a cock. quarll, being at the outfide, was dubious whether he ſhould detain him, or let him go; his affection for that admirable creature equally prompts him to both: he cannot bear the thoughts of parting with fo lovely an object, nor harbour that of depriving it of liberty, which it fo implicitly intrufted him withal. thus, after a ſmall 304 the history of 1 a fmall paufe, generofity prevails over felf-pleafure; "why fhould i," faid he, "make the place of its refuge its prifon ?". he therefore makes room for it to go, which, with a flow pace, walks out; and having looked about a little time, mounts up a confiderable height; and then takes its courfe north-weft. 66 there happening nothing the remainder of the year worthy of record, he employs it in his. cuſtomary occupations; as pruning and watering his lodge and dairy, making his mats to lie on, as alfo his winter garb; every day milking his antelopes and goats; making now and then butter and cheeſe, attending his nets, and fuch like neceffary employments. the mean time, the french mariners, who, probably, got money by what they had taken from him the year before, returned, it being much about the fame feafon; and being refolved to take him away, and all they could make any thing of, out of the island, were provided with hands and implements to accompliſh their defign; as ropes to bind what they could get alive, and guns to fhoot what they could not come at, faws and hatchets to cut down logwood and brazil, pick-axes and ſhovels to dig up orris roots, and others of worth, which they imagined the iſland produced; likewife flat bottomed boats to tow in fhallow water, where others philip quarll. 305 " others could not come; and thus by degrees to load their fhip with booty: but ever watchful. providence blafted their evil projects, and confounded their devices, at the very inftant they thought themſelves fure of ſucceſs: implements: in a flat-bottomed boat were towed to the very foot of the rock, by a young fellow, who being lighter than a man, was thought fitteft to go with the tools, which pretty well loaded the boat. their materials being landed, to their great fatisfaction, the men on board embarked in two more of the fame fort of boats; but were no fooner in them, than a ſtorm arofe, which daſhed their flender bottom to pieces, and waſhed them into the fea, in which they periſhed, overfetting alſo the flat bottomed boat on ſhore, with the load, and the lad underneath it. the ftorm being over, which lafted from about eight in the morning till almoſt twelve at noon, quarll, according to his cuftom, went to ſee if he could perceive any damage done by the late tempeft, and if any, diftreffed by it, ftood in want of help. being at that fide of the rock he uſed to viſit, he could fee nothing but a few fiſhes and fhells the fea had left in the clifts: "if this," faid he, "be all the damage that has been done, make "me thankful; it will recruit me with freſh fiſh "and utenfils." going to the n. w. part,: where 306 the history of where he fees a battered boat, floating with the keel upwards," this," faid he, "bodes fome "miſchief;" but thought it not to be of any confequence. having gone about fifty yards further, he efpies a fmall barrel at the foot of the rock, with feveral planks and fragments of a fhip floating with the tide: " alas!" faid he, "theſe are too evident proofs of a ſhipwreck, "to hope otherwife." as he was looking about, he hears a voice cry out, much like that of a man, at fome diftance, behind a part of the rock: being advanced a ſmall matter beyond where he was, "heaven be praiſed !" faid he, "there is fomebody, whom i am luckily come "to fave, and he is moſt fortunately come to be 66 my companion: i cannot but rejoice at the "event, though i heartily grieve for the acci-"dent." haftening to the place where he thought the cries came from, which, as he advanced, he could difcern to be too fhrill for a man's voice; "certainly," ſaid he, “this muſt "be fome woman by the noiſe." he then, with his ſtaff, endeavoured to break that which he took to be the lid of the cheft, but proved the bottom; and as he was ſtriking, the boy underneath, calling to him to turn it up, thruft his hand under the fide, which he perceiving, though he underſtood him not, ſtood ftill. finding his miſtake, " this," faid he, "is philip quarll. 307 " is a flat-bottomed boat, fuch as the french"men ufed the year before, when they came "and plundered me. now, am i fafe if i turn "it up? doubtlefs they are come in great num"bers." paufing awhile, and the lad (whom he took to be a woman) ftill continuing his moan, he was moved to compaffion; and, having confidered the boat could not hold any great number, he ventures: "let what will come on "it, or who will be under, for the poor woman's "fake i will relieve them; there cannot be 66 many men. however i will let but one out "at a time; if he be mischievous, i am able to "deal with him." at this, he puts the end of his ſtaff where he had feen the hand, and lifts it up about a foot from the ground. out of the opening immediately creeps the boy, who, on his knees falls a begging and weeping, expecting death every moment, as being the merited puniſhment for the evil purpoſe he came about. being affected with his fupplications, though the fight of the preparations made for his intended ruin had moved him to anger againft that mercenary nation, he helps the young fellow up by the hand, and the night coming on apace, he takes one of the hatchets that lay by, and gave another to the boy, then falls a knocking the boat to pieces, and directed him to do the fame, which he accordingly did. the 308 the history of the boat being demolifhed, they carried the boards up higher on the rock, as alfo the reft of the things; left, in the night, fome florm fhould rife, which might wash them back into the fea; it being then too late to bring them away. hav ing done, they each of them took up what they could carry, and fo went home. the young frenchman, finding a kinder treatment than either he deſerved or expected, was extraordinary fubmiffive and tractable; which made quarl the more kind and mild; and inſtead of condemning his evil attempt, he commiferated his misfortune, and in room of refentment fhewed him kindneſs. thus having given him of what he had to eat, he puts him to bed in his lodge, wherein he lay, till he had got his mats made up; then went to bed himſelf. " # the next morning he rofe and walked about till he thought it time for the boy to rife; he then calls him up, and takes him to the place that he uſually went to every morning and even-› ing to fing pfalms; where the youth being come, and hearing fo many different voices, and feeing nobody, was ſcared out of his wits, and took to his heels, making towards the rock as faft as he. could; but as he was not acquainted with the eaſieſt and moſt practicable parts thereof, quarl had made an end of his pfalm, and overtook him before he could get to the fea fide, into which philip quarll. 309 which he certainly would have caſt himſelf at the fright; but quarll, who, by the boy's ftaring, gueffed his diſorder, not having the benefit of the language, endeavoured to calm him by his pleafing countenance, and prevented his drowning himſelf; but could not keep off a vio lent fit the fright had occafioned, which held him feveral minutes. 'the fit being over, he and the boy took away at divers times the remains of the boat, and what was in it, which they could not carry home the day before then taking up two guns, "now," faid he, "thefe unlucky inftruments, "which were intended for deftruction, ſhall be "employed for the prefervation of that they "were to deſtroy" and taking them to his lodge, fets them at each fide of the door; then being dinner time, he ſtrikes a light, and fets the boy to make a fire, whilft he made fome of the fiſh fit to fry, which he picked up upon the rock the evening before; then takes dripping he faved, when he roafted any flesh, to fry them with. the boy, who had lived fome time in holland, where they uſed much butter, ſeeing dripping employed in room thereof, thought to pleaſe his maſter in making fome; and as he had ſeen milk and cream in the dairy arbour, wanting a churn only, there being a fmall rundlet lying empty, i 310 the history of empty, he takes out one of the ends of it, in which, the next day, he beat butter. quarll, feeing this youth induſtrious, begins to fancy him, notwithſtanding the averfion he had conceived for his nation, ever fince the ill treatment he had received from his countrymen; and, as fpeech is one of the moſt neceffary faculties to breed and maintain fellowſhip, he took pains to teach him engliſh. 66 the lad being acute and ingenious, was ſoon made to underſtand it, and in fix months capable to ſpeak it fufficiently, fo as to give his maſter a relation of his late coming, and to what intent. "the men," ſaid he, "who about one year "fince carried away from hence fome antelopes, with extraordinary ducks, and feveral rarities, "which they ſaid belonged to a monftrous eng66 lifh hermit, whofe hair and beard covered his "whole body, having got a great deal of money 66 by fhewing them, encouraged others to come; "whereupon feveral, joining together, hired a "a fhip to fetch away the hermit, and what "elfe they could find; therefore brought with "them tools, and guns to ſhoot what they could "not take alive.". "barbarous wretches!" replied he, "to kill my dear antelopes and ducks! pray, what did they intend to do with me?”. why," faid the boy, "to make a fhow of 66 you." 66 --philip quarll. 311 i 3 da 2: 66 you."-"to make a fhow of me! sordid "wretches!, is a chriftian then ſuch a rarity "amongst them? well, and what were the faws "and hatchets for?"-"to cut down your "houfe, which they intended to make a drink"ing booth of."-" oh, monftrous! what time and nature has been fifteen years a completing, they would have ruined in a moment: "well, thanks to providence, their evil defign "is averted. pray, what is become of thoſe facrilegious perfons?"" they are all drown"ed," faid the boy.-"then," replies he, "the "heavens are fatisfied, and i avenged: but how "cameft, thou to efcape? for thou waft with "them."-"no," replied the youth, "i was upon the rock when their boat was daſhed againft it, and was overfet with the fame fea, "under the flat-bottomed boat, where you "found me.". "that was a happy overfet for "thee. well, is there no gratitude due to pro"vidence for thy eſcape?"" due to provi"dence!" faid he, "why, i thought you had "faved me: i am fure you let me out.""yes," replied quarll, "but i was fent by "providence for that purpofe."-"that was kindly done too," ſaid the boy; "well, when "i fee him, i will thank him: doth he live “hereabout?"—" poor ignorant creature !" replied quarll; "why providence is every where. "what! « 66 66 66 66 812 the history of · "what! didſt thou never hear of providence? "what religion art thou of?"-religion !" artfwered the youth: "i don't know what you "mean: i am a fiſherman by trade, which my "father lived by,"—"well," ſaid quarll, "did "he teach thee nothing elfe? no prayers?""prayers!" replied the lad; "why, fiſhermen "have no time to pray; that is for them who "have nothing elſe to do: poor folks muſt work " and get money; that is the way of our town." "covetous wretches! well," faid he, "i grudge them not what they poffefs, fince it is "all the happineſs they aſpire at; but thou fhalt "learn to pray, which will be of far more ad"vantage to thee than work, both here and "hereafter:" from which time he begins to teach him the lord's prayer and the ten commandments, as alfo the principles of the chriftian religion; all which inftructions the youth taking readily, won his affection the more: he likewife taught him to fing pfalms, which farther qualified him to be his companion in ſpiritual exerciſes as well as in temporal occupations. now, having company, he is obliged to enlarge his bed, the lodge being wanted for his antelopes againſt breeding time: he adds, therefore, to his mats. his other proviſions alſo wanting to be augmented, and he having both tools and boards, out of the flat boat which he had 66 philip quarll. 318 tu had taken to pieces, he and the lad went about making large boxes to falt fleth and fifh in; then, with the boards that were left, they made a table for his dwelling that he had before, and one for his kitchen, as alſo ſhelves in the room of thoſe that were made of wicker: then, having recruited his fhell utenfils that were ftolen the year before, he was completely furniſhed with all manner of conveniences; and providence fupplying him daily with other neceffaries, there was no room left him for wiſhes, but for thankſgiving, which they daily moſt religi-、 ouſly paid. in this moſt happy ſtate they lived in peace and concord the ſpace of ten years, unanimouſly doing what was to be done, as it lay in each of their ways, without relying on one another. quarll, who before, though alone, and deprived of fociety (the principal comfort of life) thought himſelf bleſſed, now cannot expreſs his happineſs, there being none in the world to be compared to it, heartily praying he might find no alteration until death: but the young man, not having met with fo many diſappointments in the world as he, had not quite withdrawn his affections from it; his mind fometimes will run upon his native country, where he has left his relations, and where he cannot help wiſhing to be himſelf: thus, an opportunity offering itſelf p one 314 the history of one day, as he went to get oyfters, to make fauce for fome fresh cod-fifh which quarll was dreffing, he faw, at a diſtance, a ſhip; at which his heart fell a panting; his pulſes double their motion; his blood grows warmer and warmer, till at last, inflamed with defire of getting at it, he lays down the bag he brought to put the oyfters in, as alfo the inftrument to dredge them up with, and takes to fwimming. the men on board having efpied him out, fent their boat to take him up; fo he went away without taking leave of him he had received fo much good from; who, having waited a confiderable time, fearing fome accident would befal him, leaves his cooking, and goes to fee for him; and, being come at the place where he was to get the oyfters, he fees the bag and inflrument lie, and nobody with them. having called feveral times without being anfwered, various racking fears tortured his mind: fometimes he doubts he is fallen in fome hole of the rock, there being many near that place where the oysters were: he, therefore, with his ftaff, which he always carried with him when he went abroad, at the other fide of the rock, grabbled in every one round the place; and, feeling nothing, he concludes fome fea-monſter had ftolen him away, and, weeping, condemns himſelf as the caufe of this fatal accident; refolving for the future to punish philip quarll. 315 a ㄅ​ㄨ​ˋ punish himſelf by denying his appetite; and only eat to ſupport nature, and not to pleaſe his palate. 66 having given over hopes of getting him again, he returns home in the greateſt affliction, refolving to faft till that time the next day but, happening to look weftward, in which point the wind ftood, he perceives fomething like a boat at a great diſtance; wiping the tears off his eyes, and looking ſtedfaſtly, he diſcovers a fail beyond it, which quite altered the motive of his former fear: "no monſter," ſaid he, "hath "devoured him; it is too plain a cafe, that he "has villainously left me: but what could i expect of one who had projected fuch evil againſt me?" so faying, he went home, and made an end of dreffing his dinner; refting himfelf contented, being but as he was before, and rather better, fince he had more conveniences and tools to till his ground and dig up his roots with. having recommended himſelf to providence, he reſumes his ufual works and recreations, refolving that no cares fhall mar his happineſs for the future, being out of the way of all thoſe irreſiſtible temptations with which the world abounds, to lay the beſt men's hopes in the duft. 66 being again alone, the whole bufinefs of the houſe lies upon his hands; he muſt now prune p 2 and 316 the history of and trim the habitation that daily harbours him, being made of fine growing plants, which yearly fhoot out young branches: this makes them grow out of ſhape. he muſt alſo till the ground, fet and gather his peas and beans in their feafon; milk and feed his antelopes daily; make butter and cheeſe at proper times; dig up his roots; fetch in fuel and water when wanted; attend his nets; go to deſtroy eagles neſts; and every day dreſs his own victuals: all which neceffary occupations, beſides the time dedicated for morning and evening devotions, kept him wholly employed, which made his renewed folitude leſs irkſome. and, having walked all that afternoon to divert his thoughts, admiring all the way the wonderful works of nature, both in the furprizing rocks which fürrounded the ifland, and in the delightful creatures and admirable plants that are in it; being weary with walking, he returns home, thanking kind providence for fettling him in fo bleffed a place; and in his way calls at his invifible choir, where, having fung a thankſgiving pfalm, and his uſual evening hymn, he goes to fupper, and then to bed, with a thoroughly contented mind, which occafions pleaſant dreams to entertain his thoughts. a. there happening a great noife of ſquealing, it waked him out of his dream; and his mind being impreffed with notions of war, it at firft 1900 feized philip quarll. 317 1 1 feized him with terror; but being fomewhat fettled, and the noiſe ftill continuing, he perceived it proceeded from the two different kinds of monkeys in the ifland, which were fighting for the wild pomegranates that the high wind had fhaken off the trees the preceding night, which was very boisterous. having gueffed the occafion of their debate, he rifes, in order to go and quell their difference, by dividing amongst them the cauſe thereof. getting up, he opens the door, at the outfide of which, an old monkey of each fort were quietly waiting his levee, to entice him to come, as he once before did, and put an end to their bloody war. he was not a little furprized to fee two fuch inveterate enemies, who at other times never meet without fighting, at that juncture agree fo well. that moſt furprizing fign of reaſon in thoſe brutes, which, knowing his decifion would compoſe their comrades difference, came to implore it, put him upon theſe reflections: would "princes," faid he, "be but reafonable as thofe "which by nature are irrational, how much "blood and money would be faved!" having admired the uneafinefs of thofe poor creatures, who ftill went a few fteps forward, and then backward to him; he was in hopes to decoy one or both into his lodge, by throwing meat to p 3 them : 318 the history of them but thofe exemplary animals, hearing their fellows in trouble, had no regard to their ſeparate intereft, taking no notice of what he gave them; but kept walking to and again with all the tokens of uneafinefs they could exprefs; which fo moved him, that he haftened to the place, where his prefence cauſed immediately a ceffation of arms, and both parties retired a confiderable diftance from each other, waiting his fharing the windfalls, which being done, they quietly took that heap which lay next each kind, and went to their different quarters. fourteen years more being paffed, every thing keeping its natural courfe, there happened nothing extraordinary, each fucceeding year renewing the pleaſures the preceding had produced. thunders and high winds being frequent, though not equally violent, he thought it not material to record them, or their effects, as blowing and throwing fiſhes, fhells, empty veffels, battered chefts, &c. upon the rock; only tranfactions and events wonderful and uncommon; and there happened a moft furprizing one a few days after, which though of no great moment, is as worthy of record as any of far greater concern, being a wonderful effect of providence, manifefted in a miraculous manner, though not to be faid fupernatural... one philip quarle. 319 one morning, when he had roaſted a parcel of thoſe roots which he uſed to eat inftead of bread, and this he commonly did once a week, they eating beft when ftale; having fpread them on his table and cheft to cool, he went out to walk, leaving his door open to let the air in. his walk, though graced with all the agreeables nature could adorn it with to make it delightful; a grafs carpet, embroidered with beautiful flowers, of many different colours and ſmells, under his feet, to tread on; before, and on each fide of him, fine lofty trees, of various forms and heights, cloathed with pleaſant green leaves, trimmed with rich bloffoms of many colours, to divert his eye; a number of various forts of melodious inging birds perching in their moſt lovely fhades, as though nature had ftudied to excel man's brighteſt imagination, and exquifiteneſs of art; yet all theſe profufeneffes of nature's wonders are not fufficient to keep away or expel anxious thoughts from his mind. it runs upon his two dear antelopes, the darling heads of his prefent ftock, which he took fuch care to bring up, and were fo engaging, always attending him in thoſe fine walks; adding, by their fwift races, active leapings, and other uncommon diverfions, to the natural pleaſantnefs of the place; which now, by their moſt lamented abſence, is become p 4 a dull 320 the history of a dull memorandum of the barbarous manner in which they were raviſhed away from him. in theſe melancholy thoughts, which his loneſomeneſs every now and then created, he returns home, where providence had left a remedy for his grievance; a companion, far exceeding any he ever had, waits his return, which was a beautiful monkey of the fineſt kind, and the most complete of the fort, as though made to manifeft the unparalleled ſkill of nature, and fent him by providence to diffipate his melancholy. being come to his lodge, and beholding that wonderful creature, and in his own poffeffion, at the fartheft end of it, and him at the entrance thereof to oppoſe its flight, if offered, he is at once filled with joy and admiration: "long," faid he, "i endeavoured in vain to get one, and "would have been glad of any, though of the "worft kind, and even of the meaneft of the "fort; and here kind providence has fent me one of an unparalleled beauty.” having a confiderable time admired the beaft, which all the while ftood unconcerned, now and then eating of the roots that lay before him, he fhuts the door, and goes in, with a refolution of ftaying within all day, in order to tame him, which he hoped would be no difficult matter, 66 his philip quarll. 321 his diſpoſition being already pretty familiar, little thinking that providence, who ſent him thither, had already qualified him for the commiffion he bore; which having found out by the creature's furpriſing docility, he returns his benefactor his moft hearty thanks for that miraculous gift. this moſt wonderful animal having by its furpriſing tractability and good nature, joined to its matchleſs handſomeneſs, gained its maſter's love, beyond what is ufual to place on any fort of beafts; he thought himſelf doubly recompenfed for all his former loffes, eſpecially for that of his late ungrateful companion, who, notwithſtanding all the obligations he held from him, baſely left him at a time he might be most helpful: and as he fancied his dear beaufidelle (for fo he called that admirable creature) had ſome ſort of reſemblance to the picture he framed of him, he takes it down, thinking it unjuſt to bear in his fight that vile object, which could not in any wife claim a likeneſs to fo worthy a creature as his beloved monkey. one day, as this lovely animal was officiating the charge it had of its own accord taken, being gone for wood, as wont to do when wanted, he finds in his way a wild pomegranate, whofe extraordinary fize and weight had cauſed it to fall off the tree: he takes it home, and then returns for 322 the history of for his faggot; in which time quarll, withing the goodness of the infide might anſwer its outward beauty, cuts it open; and, finding it of a dull lufcioufnefs, too flat for eating, imagined it. might be uſed with things of an acid and ſharp tafte; having therefore boiled fome water, he 、puts it into a veffel, with a fort of an herb which is of taſte and nature of creffes, and fome of the pomegranate, letting them infuſe fome time, now and then ſtirring it; which the monkey having taken notice of, did the fame: but one very hot day, happening to lay the veffel in the fun, made it turn four. quarll, who very much wanted vinegar in his fauces, was well pleaſed with the accident, and fo continued the fouring of the liquor, which proving excellent, he made a five gallon veſſel of it, having feveral which at times he found upon the rock. having now ftore of vinegar, and being a great lover of pickles, which he had learnt to make by ſeeing his wife, who was an extraordinary cook, and made of all forts every year; calling to mind he had often in his walks feen fomething like mushrooms, he makes it his bufinefs to look for fome: thus he picked up a few, of which beaufidelle (who followed him up and down) having taken notice, immediately ranges about, and bep ing philip quarll. 323 ing nimbler footed than his mafter, and not obliged to ſtoop fo low, picked double the quantity in the ſame ſpace of time; fo that he foon had enough to ferve him till the next ſeaſon.. his good fuccefs in making that ſort of pickle encourages him to try another; and, having taken notice of a plant in the wood that bears a ſmall green flower, which, before it is blown, looks like a caper, he gathers a few; and, their taſte and flavour being no way difagreeable, judging that, when pickled, they would be pleaſant, he tries them, which, according to his mind, were full as good as the real ones; and gathers a fufficient quantity, with the help of his attendant, ſtocking himſelf with two as pleaſant pickles as different forts. but there is another which he admires above all: none, to his mind like the cucumber; and the ifland producing none, left him no room to hope for any; yet (as likeneſs is a vaſt help to imagination) if he could but find any thing, which ever fo little reſembles them in make, nature, or tafte, it will pleaſe his fancy : he therefore examines every kind of buds, bloffoms, and feeds; having at laſt found that of a wild parfnip, which being long and narrow, almoft the bignefs and make of a pickling cucumber, green and crifp withal, full of a ſmall flat feed, not unlike that of the thing he would have it 324 the history of it to be, he pickles fome of them; which being of a colour, and near upon the make, he fancies them quite of the taſte. his beans being at that time large enough for the first crop, he gathers fome for his dinner : the thells being tender and, of a delicate green, it came into his mind, they might be made to imitate french beans: "they are," faid he, near the nature, i can make them quite of the "fhape, fo be they have the fame favour." accordingly he cuts them in long narrow flips, and pickles fome; the other part he boils; and there being none to contradict their tafte, they paſſed current for as good french beans as any that ever grew. 66 the diſappointment of having ſomething more comfortable than water to drink being retrieved by producing, in the room thereof, wherewithal to make his eatables more delicious, he proceeds in his firſt project; and, taking neceffary care to prevent that accident which intercepted ſucceſs in his firſt undertaking, he accompliſhes his defign, and makes a liquor no wife inferior to the beſt cyder: fo that now he has both to revive and keep up his ſpirits, as well as to pleaſe his palate, and fuit his appetite. having now nothing to crave or wish for, but rather all motives for content; he lies down with a peace* philip quarll. 325 $ a peaceable mind, no care or fear diſturbing his thoughts: his fleep is not interrupted with frightful fancies, but rather diverted with pleaſant and diverting dreams; he is not ftartled at thunder or ftorms, though ever ſo terrible, his truſt being on providence, who at fundry times, and in various manners, has reſcued him from death, though apparently unavoidable; being for above thirty years miraculouſly protected and maintained in a place ſo remote from all human help and affiftance. 3013 finis. 1.. a. 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0 0 0 0 6 46 2 600 52137 i o o io o o 12 o 10 จ 2 6 6 6 6 o 6. ooo 09060 69696 7 0 ።።። se ele this book should be returned to the library on or before the last date stamped below. a fine of five cents a day is incurred by retaining it beyond the specified time. please return promptly. lancaster (pa) public 6/13/40 ww widener mar 0 5 2000 book due 353 al 3525.10 * a harvard college library # } 1 frank r. stockton volume xvii stories iii | 1 day the novels and stories of frank r. stockton stories iii new york charles scribner's sons 1900 .butz zid mi notdot2 .m .dgorgofodd mott mr. stockton in his study. from a photograph. the novels and stories of frank r. stockton stories iii fr new york charles scribner's sons 1900 alsoactio * a harvard college library putnam memorial juc 25,1730 copyright, 1887, 1888, 1892, 1893, 1897, 1900, by charles scribner's sons the de vinne press. 1 смо l the griffin and the minor canon contents · old pipes and the dryad the bee-man of orn the queen's museum ✔ the clocks of rondaine christmas before last; or, the fruit of the fragile palm prince hassak's march the banished king • experiences ✔ the philopena ✔amos kilbright: his adscititious · • • • page • 3 25 the battle of the third cousins 169 51 669 93 117 145 189 203 231 contents the christmas shadrach the bishop's ghost and the printer's baby the philosophy of relative existences page 281 . 311 321 vi the griffin and the minor canon no the griffin and the minor canon ver the great door of an old, old church, which stood in a quiet town of a far-away land, there was carved in stone the figure of a large griffin. the old-time sculptor had done his work with great care, but the image he had made was not a pleasant one to look at. it had a large head, with enormous open mouth and savage teeth. from its back arose great wings, armed with sharp hooks and prongs. it had stout legs in front, with projecting claws, but there were no legs behind, the body running out into a long and powerful tail, finished off at the end with a barbed point. this tail was coiled up under him, the end sticking up just back of his wings. the sculptor, or the people who had ordered this stone figure, had evidently been very much pleased with it, for little copies of it, also in stone, had been placed here and there along the sides of the church, not very far from the ground, so that people could easily look at them and ponder on their curious forms. there were a great many other sculptures on the outside of this church-saints, martyrs, grotesque heads of men, beasts, and birds, as well as those of other creatures which cannot be named, because nobody knows exactly what they were. but none were so curious and interesting as the great griffin over the 3 the griffin and door and the little griffins on the sides of the church. a long, long distance from the town, in the midst of dreadful wilds scarcely known to man, there dwelt the griffin whose image had been put up over the church door. in some way or other the old-time sculptor had seen him, and afterwards, to the best of his memory, had copied his figure in stone. the griffin had never known this until, hundreds of years afterwards, he heard from a bird, from a wild animal, or in some manner which it is not easy to find out, that there was a likeness of him on the old church in the distant town. now, this griffin had no idea whatever how he looked. he had never seen a mirror, and the streams where he lived were so turbulent and violent that a quiet piece of water, which would reflect the image of anything looking into it, could not be found. being, as far as could be ascertained, the very last of his race, he had never seen another griffin. therefore it was that, when he heard of this stone image of himself, he became very anxious to know what he looked like, and at last he determined to go to the old church and see for himself what manner of being he was. so he started off from the dreadful wilds, and flew on and on until he came to the countries inhabited by men, where his appearance in the air created great consternation. but he alighted nowhere, keeping up a steady flight until he reached the suburbs of the town which had his image on its church. here, late in the afternoon, he alighted in a green meadow by the side of a brook, and stretched himself on the grass to rest. his great wings were tired, for he had not made such a long flight in a century or more. the news of his coming spread quickly over the 4 the minor canon town, and the people, frightened nearly out of their wits by the arrival of so extraordinary a visitor, fled into their houses and shut themselves up. the griffin called loudly for some one to come to him; but the more he called, the more afraid the people were to show themselves. at length he saw two laborers hurrying to their homes through the fields, and in a terrible voice he commanded them to stop. not daring to disobey, the men stood, trembling. "what is the matter with you all?" cried the griffin. "is there not a man in your town who is brave enough to speak to me?" "i think," said one of the laborers, his voice shaking so that his words could hardly be understood, "that-perhaps the minor canon would come." "go, call him, then!" said the griffin. "i want to see him." the minor canon, who filled a subordinate position in the old church, had just finished the afternoon service, and was coming out of a side door, with three aged women who had formed the week-day congregation. he was a young man of a kind disposition, and very anxious to do good to the people of the town. apart from his duties in the church, where he conducted services every week-day, he visited the sick and the poor; counselled and assisted persons who were in trouble, and taught a school composed entirely of the bad children in the town, with whom nobody else would have anything to do. whenever the people wanted something difficult done for them, they always went to the minor canon. thus it was that the laborer thought of the young priest when he found that some one must come and speak to the griffin. 5 the griffin and the minor canon had not heard of the strange event, which was known to the whole town except himself and the three old women, and when he was informed of it, and was told that the griffin had asked to see him, he was greatly amazed and frightened. "me!" he exclaimed. "he has never heard of me ! what should he want with me?" "oh, you must go instantly!" cried the two men. "he is very angry now because he has been kept waiting so long, and nobody knows what may happen if you don't hurry to him." the poor minor canon would rather have had his hand cut off than to go out to meet an angry griffin; but he felt that it was his duty to go, for it would be a woeful thing if injury should come to the people of the town because he was not brave enough to obey the summons of the griffin; so, pale and frightened, he started off. "well," said the griffin, as soon as the young man came near, "i am glad to see that there is some one who has the courage to come to me." the minor canon did not feel very courageous, but he bowed his head. "is this the town," said the griffin, "where there is a church with a likeness of myself over one of the doors?" the minor canon looked at the frightful creature before him, and saw that it was, without doubt, exactly like the stone image on the church. "yes," he said, "you are right.” "well, then," said the griffin, "will you take me to it? i wish very much to see it." the minor canon instantly thought that if the 6 the minor canon griffin entered the town without the people knowing what he came for, some of them would probably be frightened to death, and so he sought to gain time to prepare their minds. "it is growing dark now," he said, very much afraid, as he spoke, that his words might enrage the griffin, "and objects on the front of the church cannot be seen clearly. it will be better to wait until morning, if you wish to get a good view of the stone image of yourself." "that will suit me very well," said the griffin. "i see you are a man of good sense. i am tired, and i will take a nap here on this soft grass, while i cool my tail in the little stream that runs near me. the end of my tail gets red-hot when i am angry or excited, and it is quite warm now. so you may go; but be sure and come early to-morrow morning, and show me the way to the church.” the minor canon was glad enough to take his leave, and hurried into the town. in front of the church he found a great many people assembled to hear his report of his interview with the griffin. when they found that he had not come to spread ruin and devastation, but simply to see his stony likeness on the church, they showed neither relief nor gratification, but began to upbraid the minor canon for consenting to conduct the creature into the town. "what could i do?" cried the young man. "if i should not bring him he would come himself, and perhaps end by setting fire to the town with his red-hot tail." still the people were not satisfied, and a great many plans were proposed to prevent the griffin from com7 the griffin and ing into the town. some elderly persons urged that the young men should go out and kill him. but the young men scoffed at such a ridiculous idea. then some one said that it would be a good thing to destroy the stone image, so that the griffin would have no excuse for entering the town. this proposal was received with such favor that many of the people ran for hammers, chisels, and crowbars with which to tear down and break up the stone griffin. but the minor canon resisted this plan with all the strength of his mind and body. he assured the people that this action would enrage the griffin beyond measure, for it would be impossible to conceal from him that his image had been destroyed during the night. but they were so determined to break up the stone griffin that the minor canon saw that there was nothing for him to do but to stay there and protect it. all night he walked up and down in front of the church door, keeping away the men who brought ladders by which they might mount to the great stone griffin and knock it to pieces with their hammers and crowbars. after many hours the people were obliged to give up their attempts, and went home to sleep. but the minor canon remained at his post till early morning, and then he hurried away to the field where he had left the griffin. the monster had just awakened, and rising to his fore legs and shaking himself, he said that he was ready to go into the town. the minor canon, therefore, walked back, the griffin flying slowly through the air at a short distance above the head of his guide. not a person was to be seen in the streets, and they 8 the minor canon proceeded directly to the front of the church, where the minor canon pointed out the stone griffin. the real griffin settled down in the little square before the church and gazed earnestly at his sculptured likeness. for a long time he looked at it. first he put his head on one side, and then he put it on the other. then he shut his right eye and gazed with his left, after which he shut his left eye and gazed with his right. then he moved a little to one side and looked at the image, then he moved the other way. after a while he said to the minor canon, who had been standing by all this time: "it is, it must be, an excellent likeness! that breadth between the eyes, that expansive forehead, those massive jaws! i feel that it must resemble me. if there is any fault to find with it, it is that the neck seems a little stiff. but that is nothing. it is an admirable likeness-admirable!" the griffin sat looking at his image all the morning and all the afternoon. the minor canon had been afraid to go away and leave him, and had hoped all through the day that he would soon be satisfied with his inspection and fly away home. but by evening the poor young man was utterly exhausted, and felt that he must eat and sleep. he frankly admitted this fact to the griffin, and asked him if he would not like something to eat. he said this because he felt obliged in politeness to do so; but as soon as he had spoken the words, he was seized with dread lest the monster should demand half a dozen babies, or some tempting repast of that kind. "oh, no," said the griffin, "i never eat between the 9 the griffin and equinoxes. at the vernal and at the autumnal equinox i take a good meal, and that lasts me for half a year. i am extremely regular in my habits, and do not think it healthful to eat at odd times. but if you need food, go and get it, and i will return to the soft grass where i slept last night, and take another nap." the next day the griffin came again to the little square before the church, and remained there until evening, steadfastly regarding the stone griffin over the door. the minor canon came once or twice to look at him, and the griffin seemed very glad to see him. but the young clergyman could not stay as he had done before, for he had many duties to perform. nobody went to the church, but the people came to the minor canon's house, and anxiously asked him how long the griffin was going to stay. "i do not know," he answered, "but i think he will soon be satisfied with looking at his stone likeness, and then he will go away." but the griffin did not go away. morning after morning he went to the church, but after a time he did not stay there all day. he seemed to have taken a great fancy to the minor canon, and followed him about as he pursued his various avocations. he would wait for him at the side door of the church, for the minor canon held services every day, morning and evening, though nobody came now. "if any one should come," he said to himself, "i must be found at my post." when the young man came out, the griffin would accompany him in his visits to the sick and the poor, and would often look into the windows of the school-house where the minor canon was teaching his unruly scholars. all the other schools were closed, 10 the minor canon but the parents of the minor canon's scholars forced them to go to school, because they were so bad they could not endure them all day at home-griffin or no griffin. but it must be said they generally behaved very well when that great monster sat up on his tail and looked in at the school-room window. when it was perceived that the griffin showed no sign of going away, all the people who were able to do so, left the town. the canons and the higher officers of the church had fled away during the first day of the griffin's visit, leaving behind only the minor canon and some of the men who opened the doors and swept the church. all the citizens who could afford it shut up their houses and travelled to distant parts, and only the working-people and the poor were left behind. after some days these ventured to go about and attend to their business, for if they did not work they would starve. they were getting a little used to seeing the griffin, and having been told that he did not eat between equinoxes, they did not feel so much afraid of him as before. day by day the griffin became more and more attached to the minor canon. he kept near him a great part of the time, and often spent the night in front of the little house where the young clergyman lived alone. this strange companionship was often burdensome to the minor canon. but, on the other hand, he could not deny that he derived a great deal of benefit and instruction from it. the griffin had lived for hundreds of years, and had seen much, and he told the minor canon many wonderful things. "it is like reading an old book," said the young clergyman to himself. "but how many books i would 11 the griffin and have had to read before i would have found out what the griffin has told me about the earth, the air, the water, about minerals, and metals, and growing things, and all the wonders of the world!" thus the summer went on, and drew toward its close. and now the people of the town began to be very much troubled again. "it will not be long," they said, "before the autumnal equinox is here, and then that monster will want to eat. he will be dreadfully hungry, for he has taken so much exercise since his last meal. he will devour our children. without doubt, he will eat them all. what is to be done?" to this question no one could give an answer, but all agreed that the griffin must not be allowed to remain until the approaching equinox. after talking over the matter a great deal, a crowd of the people went to the minor canon, at a time when the griffin was not with him. "it is all your fault," they said, "that that monster is among us. you brought him here, and you ought to see that he goes away. it is only on your account that he stays here at all, for, although he visits his image every day, he is with you the greater part of the time. if you were not here he would not stay. it is your duty to go away, and then he will follow you, and we shall be free from the dreadful danger which hangs over us." "go away!" cried the minor canon, greatly grieved at being spoken to in such a way. "where shall i go? if i go to some other town, shall i not take this trouble there? have i a right to do that?" "no," said the people, "you must not go to any 12 the minor canon other town. there is no town far enough away. you must go to the dreadful wilds where the griffin lives, and then he will follow you and stay there." they did not say whether or not they expected the minor canon to stay there also, and he did not ask them anything about it. he bowed his head, and went into his house to think. the more he thought, the more clear it became to his mind that it was his duty to go away, and thus free the town from the presence of the griffin. that evening he packed a leather bag full of bread and meat, and early the next morning he set out on his journey to the dreadful wilds. it was a long, weary, and doleful journey, especially after he had gone beyond the habitations of men; but the minor canon kept on bravely, and never faltered. the way was longer than he had expected, and his provisions soon grew so scanty that he was obliged to eat but a little every day; but he kept up his courage, and pressed on, and after many days of toilsome travel he reached the dreadful wilds. when the griffin found that the minor canon had left the town, he seemed sorry, but showed no disposition to go and look for him. after a few days had passed, he became much annoyed, and asked some of the people where the minor canon had gone. but although the citizens had been so anxious that the young clergyman should go to the dreadful wilds, thinking that the griffin would immediately follow him, they were now afraid to mention the minor canon's destination, for the monster seemed angry already, and if he should suspect their trick, he would doubtless become very much enraged. so every one 13 the griffin and said he did not know, and the griffin wandered about disconsolate. one morning he looked into the minor canon's school-house, which was always empty now, and thought that it was a shame that everything should suffer on account of the young man's absence. "it does not matter so much about the church," he said, "for nobody went there. but it is a pity about the school. i think i will teach it myself until he returns." it was the hour for opening the school, and the griffin went inside and pulled the rope which rang the school bell. some of the children who heard the bell ran in to see what was the matter, supposing it to be a joke of one of their companions. but when they saw the griffin they stood astonished and scared. "go tell the other scholars," said the monster, "that school is about to open, and that if they are not all here in ten minutes i shall come after them." in seven minutes every scholar was in place. never was seen such an orderly school. not a boy or girl moved or uttered a whisper. the griffin climbed into the master's seat, his wide wings spread on each side of him, because he could not lean back in his chair while they stuck out behind, and his great tail coiled around in front of the desk, the barbed end sticking up, ready to tap any boy or girl who might misbehave. the griffin now addressed the scholars, telling them that he intended to teach them while their master was away. in speaking he endeavored to imitate, as far as possible, the mild and gentle tones of the minor canon, but it must be admitted that in this he was not very successful. he had paid a good deal of attention to the studies of the school, and he 14 the minor canon determined not to attempt to teach them anything new, but to review them in what they had been studying. so he called up the various classes, and questioned them upon their previous lessons. the children racked their brains to remember what they had learned. they were so afraid of the griffin's displeasure that they recited as they had never recited before. one of the boys, far down in his class, answered so well that the griffin was astonished. "i should think you would be at the head," said he. "i am sure you have never been in the habit of reciting so well. why is this?" "because i did not choose to take the trouble," said the boy, trembling in his boots. he felt obliged to speak the truth, for all the children thought that the great eyes of the griffin could see right through them, and that he would know when they told a falsehood. "you ought to be ashamed of yourself," said the griffin. "go down to the very tail of the class, and if you are not at the head in two days, i shall know the reason why." the next afternoon this boy was number one. it was astonishing how much these children now learned of what they had been studying. it was as if they had been educated over again. the griffin used no severity toward them, but there was a look about him which made them unwilling to go to bed until they were sure they knew their lessons for the next day. the griffin now thought that he ought to visit the sick and the poor, and he began to go about the town for this purpose. the effect upon the sick was miraculous. all, except those who were very ill indeed, 15 the griffin and jumped from their beds when they heard he was coming, and declared themselves quite well. to those who could not get up he gave herbs and roots, which none of them had ever before thought of as medicines, but which the griffin had seen used in various parts of the world, and most of them recovered. but, for all that, they afterwards said that no matter what happened to them, they hoped that they should never again have such a doctor coming to their bedsides, feeling their pulses and looking at their tongues. as for the poor, they seemed to have utterly disappeared. all those who had depended upon charity for their daily bread were now at work in some way or other, many of them offering to do odd jobs for their neighbors just for the sake of their meals-a thing which before had been seldom heard of in the town. the griffin could find no one who needed his assistance. the summer now passed, and the autumnal equinox was rapidly approaching. the citizens were in a state of great alarm and anxiety. the griffin showed no signs of going away, but seemed to have settled himself permanently among them. in a short time the day for his semi-annual meal would arrive, and then what would happen? the monster would certainly be very hungry, and would devour all their children. now they greatly regretted and lamented that they had sent away the minor canon. he was the only one on whom they could have depended in this trouble, for he could talk freely with the griffin, and so find out what could be done. but it would not do to be inactive. some step must be taken immediately. a 16 the minor canon meeting of the citizens was called, and two old men were appointed to go and talk to the griffin. they were instructed to offer to prepare a splendid dinner for him on equinox day-one which would entirely satisfy his hunger. they would offer him the fattest mutton, the most tender beef, fish and game of various sorts, and anything of the kind he might fancy. if none of these suited, they were to mention that there was an orphan asylum in the next town. "anything would be better," said the citizens, "than to have our dear children devoured." the old men went to the griffin, but their propositions were not received with favor. "from what i have seen of the people of this town," said the monster, "i do not think i could relish anything which was prepared by them. they appear to be all cowards, and, therefore, mean and selfish. as for eating one of them, old or young, i could not think of it for a moment. in fact, there was only one creature in the whole place for whom i could have had any appetite, and that is the minor canon, who has gone away. he was brave, and good, and honest, and i think i should have relished him." "ah!" said one of the old men, very politely, "in that case i wish we had not sent him to the dreadful wilds!" "what!" cried the griffin. "what do you mean? explain instantly what you are talking about!" the old man, terribly frightened at what he had said, was obliged to tell how the minor canon had been sent away by the people, in the hope that the griffin might be induced to follow him. when the monster heard this he became furiously 17 the griffin and angry. he dashed away from the old men and, spreading his wings, flew backward and forward over the town. he was so much excited that his tail became red-hot, and glowed like a meteor against the evening sky. when at last he settled down in the little field where he usually rested, and thrust his tail into the brook, the steam arose like a cloud, and the water of the stream ran hot through the town. the citizens were greatly frightened, and bitterly blamed the old man for telling about the minor canon. "it is plain," they said, "that the griffin intended at last to go and look for him, and we should have been saved. now who can tell what misery you have brought upon us?" the griffin did not remain long in the little field. as soon as his tail was cool he flew to the town hall and rang the bell. the citizens knew that they were expected to come there, and although they were afraid to go, they were still more afraid to stay away, and they crowded into the hall. the griffin was on the platform at one end, flapping his wings and walking up and down, and the end of his tail was still so warm that it slightly scorched the boards as he dragged it after him. when everybody who was able to come was there, the griffin stood still and addressed the meeting. "i have had a contemptible opinion of you," he said, "ever since i discovered what cowards you are, but i had no idea that you were so ungrateful, selfish, and cruel as i now find you to be. here was your minor canon, who labored day and night for your good, and thought of nothing else but how he might benefit you and make you happy; and as soon as you imagine 18 the minor canon yourselves threatened with a danger,—for well i know you are dreadfully afraid of me,-you send him off, caring not whether he returns or perishes, hoping thereby to save yourselves. now, i had conceived a great liking for that young man, and had intended, in a day or two, to go and look him up. but i have changed my mind about him. i shall go and find him, but i shall send him back here to live among you, and i intend that he shall enjoy the reward of his labor and his sacrifices. go, some of you, to the officers of the church, who so cowardly ran away when i first came here, and tell them never to return to this town under penalty of death. and if, when your minor canon comes back to you, you do not bow yourselves before him, put him in the highest place among you, and serve and honor him all his life, beware of my terrible vengeance! there were only two good things in this town: the minor canon and the stone image of myself over your church door. one of these you have sent away, and the other i shall carry away myself." with these words he dismissed the meeting; and it was time, for the end of his tail had become so hot that there was danger of its setting fire to the building. the next morning the griffin came to the church, and tearing the stone image of himself from its fastenings over the great door, he grasped it with his powerful fore-legs and flew up into the air. then, after hovering over the town for a moment, he gave his tail an angry shake, and took up his flight to the dreadful wilds. when he reached this desolate region, he set the stone griffin upon a ledge of a rock which rose in front of the dismal cave he called his home. there the image occupied a position somewhat similar to 19 the griffin and that it had had over the church door; and the griffin, panting with the exertion of carrying such an enormous load to so great a distance, lay down upon the ground, and regarded it with much satisfaction. when he felt somewhat rested he went to look for the minor canon. he found the young man, weak and half starved, lying under the shadow of a rock. after picking him up and carrying him to his cave, the griffin flew away to a distant marsh, where he procured some roots and herbs which he well knew were strengthening and beneficial to man, though he had never tasted them himself. after eating these the minor canon was greatly revived, and sat up and listened while the griffin told him what had happened in the town. "do you know," said the monster, when he had finished, "that i have had, and still have, a great liking for you?" "i am very glad to hear it," said the minor canon, with his usual politeness. "i am not at all sure that you would be," said the griffin, "if you thoroughly understood the state of the case, but we will not consider that now. if some things were different, other things would be otherwise. i have been so enraged by discovering the manner in which you have been treated that i have determined that you shall at last enjoy the rewards and honors to which you are entitled. lie down and have a good sleep, and then i will take you back to the town." as he heard these words, a look of trouble came over the young man's face. "you need not give yourself any anxiety," said the griffin, "about my return to the town. i shall not 20 the minor canon remain there. now that i have that admirable likeness of myself in front of my cave, where i can sit at my leisure and gaze upon its noble features and magnificent proportions, i have no wish to see that abode of cowardly and selfish people." the minor canon, relieved from his fears, lay back, and dropped into a doze; and when he was sound asleep, the griffin took him up and carried him back to the town. he arrived just before daybreak, and putting the young man gently on the grass in the little field where he himself used to rest, the monster, without having been seen by any of the people, flew back to his home. when the minor canon made his appearance in the morning among the citizens, the enthusiasm and cordiality with which he was received were truly wonderful. he was taken to a house which had been occupied by one of the banished high officers of the place, and every one was anxious to do all that could be done for his health and comfort. the people crowded into the church when he held services, so that the three old women who used to be his week-day congregation could not get to the best seats, which they had always been in the habit of taking; and the parents of the bad children determined to reform them at home, in order that he might be spared the trouble of keeping up his former school. the minor canon was appointed to the highest office of the old church, and before he died he became a bishop. during the first years after his return from the dreadful wilds, the people of the town looked up to him as a man to whom they were bound to do honor and reverence. but they often, also, looked up to the 21 the griffin and minor canon sky to see if there were any signs of the griffin coming back. however, in the course of time they learned to honor and reverence their former minor canon without the fear of being punished if they did not do so. but they need never have been afraid of the griffin. the autumnal equinox day came round, and the monster ate nothing. if he could not have the minor canon, he did not care for anything. so, lying down with his eyes fixed upon the great stone griffin, he gradually declined, and died. it was a good thing for some of the people of the town that they did not know this. if you should ever visit the old town, you would still see the little griffins on the sides of the church, but the great stone griffin that was over the door is gone. 223 old pipes and the dryad 8 1 1 i old pipes and the dryad α' mountain brook ran through a little village. over the brook there was a narrow bridge, and from the bridge a foot-path led out from the village and up the hillside to the cottage of old pipes and his mother. for many, many years, old pipes had been employed by the villagers to pipe the cattle down from the hills. every afternoon, an hour before sunset, he would sit on a rock in front of his cottage and play on his pipes. then all the flocks and herds that were grazing on the mountains would hear him, wherever they might happen to be, and would come down to the village-the cows by the easiest paths, the sheep by those not quite so easy, and the goats by the steep and rocky ways that were hardest of all. but now, for a year or more, old pipes had not piped the cattle home. it is true that every afternoon he sat upon the rock and played upon his familiar instrument, but the cattle did not hear him. he had grown old, and his breath was feeble. the echoes of his cheerful notes, which used to come from the rocky hill on the other side of the valley, were heard no more, and twenty yards from old pipes one could scarcely tell what tune he was playing. he had become somewhat deaf, and did not know that the sound 25 old pipes and the dryad of his pipes was so thin and weak, and that the cattle did not hear him. the cows, the sheep, and the goats came down every afternoon as before, but this was because two boys and a girl were sent up after them. the villagers did not wish the good old man to know that his piping was no longer of any use, so they paid him his little salary every month, and said nothing about the two boys and the girl. old pipes's mother was, of course, a great deal older than he was, and was as deaf as a gate,-posts, latch, hinges, and all,-and she never knew that the sound of her son's pipe did not spread over all the mountainside, and echo back strong and clear from the opposite hills. she was very fond of old pipes, and proud of his piping, and as he was so much younger than she was, she never thought of him as being very old. she cooked for him, and made his bed, and mended his clothes, and they lived very comfortably on his little salary. one afternoon, at the end of the month, when old pipes had finished his piping, he took his stout staff and went down the hill to the village to receive the money for his month's work. the path seemed a great deal steeper and more difficult than it used to be, and old pipes thought that it must have been washed by the rains and greatly damaged. he remembered it as a path that was quite easy to traverse either up or down. but old pipes had been a very active man, and as his mother was so much older than he was, he never thought of himself as aged and infirm. when the chief villager had paid him, and he had talked a little with some of his friends, old pipes 26 old pipes and the dryad started to go home. but when he had crossed the bridge over the brook, and gone a short distance up the hillside, he became very tired, and sat down upon a stone. he had not been sitting there half a minute when along came two boys and a girl. "children," said old pipes, "i'm very tired to-night, and i don't believe i can climb up this steep path to my home. i think i shall have to ask you to help me." "we will do that," said the boys and the girl, quite cheerfully. then one boy took him by the right hand, and the other by the left, while the girl pushed him in the back. in this way he went up the hill quite easily, and soon reached his cottage door. old pipes gave each of the three children a copper coin, and then they sat down for a few minutes' rest before starting back to the village. "i'm sorry that i tired you so much," said old pipes. "oh, that would not have tired us," said one of the boys, "if we had not been so far to-day after the cows, the sheep, and the goats. they rambled high up on the mountain, and we never before had such a time in finding them." "had to go after the cows, the sheep, and the goats!" exclaimed old pipes. "what do you mean by that? the girl, who stood behind the old man, shook her head, put her hand on her mouth, and made all sorts of signs to the boy to stop talking on this subject. but he did not notice her, and promptly answered old pipes. 99 "why, you see, good sir," said he, "that as the cattle can't hear your pipes now, somebody has to go 27 old pipes and the dryad after them every evening to drive them down from the mountain, and the chief villager has hired us three to do it. generally it is not very hard work, but to-night the cattle had wandered far." "how long have you been doing this?" asked the old man. the girl shook her head and clapped her hand on her mouth more vigorously than before, but the boy went on. "i think it is about a year now," he said, "since the people first felt sure that the cattle could not hear your pipes, and from that time we've been driving them down. but we are rested now, and will go home. good night, sir." the three children then went down the hill, the girl scolding the boy all the way home. old pipes stood silent a few moments, and then he went into his cottage. "mother," he shouted, "did you hear what those children said?" "children!" exclaimed the old woman. "i did not hear them. i did not know there were any children here." then old pipes told his mother, shouting very loudly to make her hear, how the two boys and the girl had helped him up the hill, and what he had heard about his piping and the cattle. "they can't hear you?" cried his mother. "why, what's the matter with the cattle?" "ah, me!" said old pipes. "i don't believe there's anything the matter with the cattle. it must be with me and my pipes that there is something the matter. but one thing is certain: if i do not earn the wages 28 old pipes and the dryad the chief villager pays me, i shall not take them. i shall go straight down to the village and give back the money i received to-day." "nonsense!” cried his mother. "i'm sure you've piped as well as you could, and no more can be expected. and what are we to do without the money?" "i don't know," said old pipes. "but i'm going down to the village to pay it back." the sun had now set; but the moon was shining very brightly on the hillside, and old pipes could see his way very well. he did not take the same path by which he had gone before, but followed another, which led among the trees upon the hillside, and, though longer, was not so steep. when he had gone about half-way, the old man sat down to rest, leaning his back against a great oaktree. as he did so, he heard a sound like knocking inside the tree, and then a voice distinctly said: "let me out! let me out!" old pipes instantly forgot that he was tired, and sprang to his feet. "this must be a dryad tree!" he exclaimed. "if it is, i'll let her out." old pipes had never, to his knowledge, seen a dryad tree, but he knew there were such trees on the hillsides and the mountains, and that dryads lived in them. he knew, too, that in the summer-time, on those days when the moon rose before the sun went down, a dryad could come out of her tree if any one could find the key which locked her in, and turn it. old pipes closely examined the trunk of the tree, which stood in the full moonlight. "if i see that key," he said, "i shall surely turn it." before long he perceived a piece of bark standing out from the tree, 29 old pipes and the dryad which appeared to him very much like the handle of a key. he took hold of it, and found he could turn it quite around. as he did so, a large part of the side of the tree was pushed open, and a beautiful dryad stepped quickly out. for a moment she stood motionless, gazing on the scene before her-the tranquil valley, the hills, the forest, and the mountain-side, all lying in the soft, clear light of the moon. "oh, lovely! lovely!" she exclaimed. "how long it is since i have seen anything like this!" and then, turning to old pipes, she said: "how good of you to let me out! i am so happy and so thankful that i must kiss you, you dear old man!" and she threw her arms around the neck of old pipes, and kissed him on both cheeks. "you don't know," she then went on to say, "how doleful it is to be shut up so long in a tree. i don't mind it in the winter, for then i am glad to be sheltered, but in summer it is a rueful thing not to be able to see all the beauties of the world. and it's ever so long since i've been let out. people so seldom come this way, and when they do come at the right time they either don't hear me, or they are frightened and run away. but you, you dear old man, you were not frightened, and you looked and looked for the key, and you let me out, and now i shall not have to go back till winter has come and the air grows cold. oh, it is glorious! what can i do for you to show you how grateful i am?" "i am very glad," said old pipes, "that i let you out, since i see that it makes you so happy. but i must admit that i tried to find the key because i had a great desire to see a dryad. but if you wish to do 30 old pipes and the dryad something for me, you can, if you happen to be going down toward the village." "to the village!" exclaimed the dryad. "i will go anywhere for you, my kind old benefactor." "well, then," said old pipes, "i wish you would take this little bag of money to the chief villager, and tell him that old pipes cannot receive pay for the services which he does not perform. it is now more than a year that i have not been able to make the cattle hear me when i piped to call them home. i did not know this until to-night, but now that i know it i cannot keep the money, and so i send it back." so handing the little bag to the dryad, he bade her good night, and turned toward his cottage. "good night," said the dryad. "and i thank you over and over and over again, you good old man!” old pipes walked toward his home, very glad to be saved the fatigue of going all the way down to the village and back again. "to be sure," he said to himself, "this path does not seem at all steep, and i can walk along it very easily, but it would have tired me dreadfully to come up all the way from the village, especially as i could not have expected those children to help me again." when he reached home, his mother was surprised to see him returning so soon. "what!" she exclaimed, "have you already come back? what did the chief villager say? did he take the money?" old pipes was just about to tell her that he had sent the money to the village by a dryad, when he suddenly reflected that his mother would be sure to disapprove such a proceeding, and so he merely said he had sent it by a person whom he had met. 31 old pipes and the dryad "and how do you know that the person will ever take it to the chief villager?" cried his mother. "you will lose it, and the villagers will never get it. oh, pipes! pipes! when will you be old enough to have ordinary common sense?" old pipes considered that as he was already seventy years of age he could scarcely expect to grow any wiser, but he made no remark on this subject, and saying that he doubted not that the money would go safely to its destination, he sat down to his supper. his mother scolded him roundly, but he did not mind it, and after supper he went out and sat on a rustic chair in front of the cottage to look at the moonlit village, and to wonder whether or not the chief villager really received the money. while he was doing these two things, he went fast asleep. when old pipes left the dryad, she did not go down to the village with the little bag of money. she held it in her hand, and thought about what she had heard. "this is a good and honest old man," she said, "and it is a shame that he should lose this money. he looked as if he needed it, and i don't believe the people in the village will take it from one who has served them so long. often, when in my tree, have i heard the sweet notes of his pipes. i am going to take the money back to him." she did not start immediately, because there were so many beautiful things to look at. but after a while she went up to the cottage, and finding old pipes asleep in his chair, she slipped the little bag into his coat-pocket, and silently sped away. the next day old pipes told his mother that he would go up the mountain and cut some wood. he 32 old pipes and the dryad had a right to get wood from the mountain, but for a long time he had been content to pick up the dead branches which lay about his cottage. to-day, however, he felt so strong and vigorous that he thought he would go and cut some fuel that would be better than this. he worked all the morning, and when he came back he did not feel at all tired, and had a very good appetite for his dinner. now, old pipes knew a good deal about dryads, but there was one thing which, although he had heard, he had forgotten. this was that a kiss from a dryad makes a person ten years younger. the people of the village knew this, and they were very careful not to let any child of ten years or younger go into the woods where the dryads were supposed to be, for if they should chance to be kissed by one of these treenymphs, they would be set back so far that they would cease to exist. a story was told in the village that a very bad boy of eleven once ran away into the woods, and had an adventure of this kind, and when his mother found him he was a little baby of one year old. taking advantage of her opportunity, she brought him up more carefully than she had done before, and he grew to be a very good boy indeed. now, old pipes had been kissed twice by the dryad, once on each cheek, and he therefore felt as vigorous and active as when he was a hale man of fifty. his mother noticed how much work he was doing, and told him that he need not try in that way to make up for the loss of his piping wages, for he would only tire himself out, and get sick. but her son answered that he had not felt so well for years, and that he was quite able to work. in the course of the afternoon, old 33 old pipes and the dryad pipes, for the first time that day, put his hand in his coat-pocket, and there, to his amazement, he found the little bag of money. "well, well!" he exclaimed, "i am stupid indeed! i really thought that i had seen a dryad, but when i sat down by that big oaktree i must have gone to sleep and dreamed it all, and then i came home thinking i had given the money to a dryad, when it was in my pocket all the time. but the chief villager shall have the money. i shall not take it to him to-day, but to-morrow i wish to go to the village to see some of my old friends, and then i shall give up the money." toward the close of the afternoon, old pipes, as had been his custom for so many years, took his pipes from the shelf on which they lay, and went out to the rock in front of the cottage. "what are you going to do?" cried his mother. "if you will not consent to be paid, why do you pipe?" "i am going to pipe for my own pleasure," said her son. "i am used to it, and i do not wish to give it up. it does not matter now whether the cattle hear me or not, and i am sure that my piping will injure no one." when the good man began to play upon his favorite instrument he was astonished at the sound that came from it. the beautiful notes of the pipes sounded clear and strong down into the valley, and spread over the hills, and up the sides of the mountain beyond, while, after a little interval, an echo came back from the rocky hill on the other side of the valley. "ha, ha!" he cried, "what has happened to my 34 old pipes and the dryad pipes? they must have been stopped up of late, but now they are as clear and good as ever." again the merry notes went sounding far and wide. the cattle on the mountain heard them, and those that were old enough remembered how these notes had called them from their pastures every evening, and so they started down the mountain-side, the others following. the merry notes were heard in the village below, and the people were much astonished thereby. "why, who can be blowing the pipes of old pipes?" they said. but as they were all very busy, no one went up to see. one thing, however, was plain enough: the cattle were coming down the mountain. so the two boys and the girl did not have to go after them, and had an hour for play, for which they were very glad. the next morning old pipes started down to the village with his money, and on the way he met the dryad. "oh, ho!" he cried, "is that you? why, i thought my letting you out of the tree was nothing but a dream." "a dream!" cried the dryad. "if you only knew how happy you have made me, you would not think it merely a dream. and has it not benefited you? do you not feel happier? yesterday i heard you playing beautifully on your pipes." "yes, yes," cried he. "i did not understand it before, but i see it all now. i have really grown younger. i thank you, i thank you, good dryad, from the bottom of my heart. it was the finding of the money in my pocket that made me think it was a dream." “oh, i put it in when you were asleep," she said, 35 old pipes and the dryad laughing, "because i thought you ought to keep it. good-by, kind, honest man. may you live long, and be as happy as i am now." old pipes was greatly delighted when he understood that he was really a younger man. but that made no difference about the money, and he kept on his way to the village. as soon as he reached it, he was eagerly questioned as to who had been playing his pipes the evening before, and when the people heard that it was himself, they were very much surprised. thereupon old pipes told what had happened to him, and then there was greater wonder, with hearty congratulations and hand-shakes, for old pipes was liked by every one. the chief villager refused to take his money, and although old pipes said he had not earned it, every one present insisted that, as he could now play on his pipes as before, he should lose nothing because, for a time, he was unable to perform his duty. so old pipes was obliged to keep his money, and after an hour or two spent in conversation with his friends, he returned to his cottage. there was one individual, however, who was not at all pleased with what had happened to old pipes. this was an echo-dwarf who lived on the hills on the other side of the valley, and whose duty it was to echo back the notes of the pipes whenever they could be heard. there were a great many other echo-dwarfs on these hills, some of whom echoed back the songs of maidens, some the shouts of children, and others the music that was often heard in the village. but there was only one who could send back the strong notes of the pipes of old pipes, and this had been his sole duty for many years. but when the old man grew feeble, 36 old pipes and the dryad and the notes of his pipes could not be heard on the opposite hills, this echo-dwarf had nothing to do, and he spent his time in delightful idleness; and he slept so much and grew so fat that it made his companions laugh to see him walk. on the afternoon on which, after so long an interval, the sound of the pipes was heard on the echo hills, this dwarf was fast asleep behind a rock. as soon as the first notes reached them, some of his companions ran to wake him. rolling to his feet, he echoed back the merry tune of old pipes. naturally, he was very much annoyed and indignant at being thus obliged to give up his life of comfortable leisure, and he hoped that this pipe-playing would not occur again. but the next afternoon he was awake and listening, and, sure enough, at the usual hour along came the notes of the pipes, as clear and strong as they ever had been, and he was obliged to work as long as old pipes played. the echo-dwarf was very angry. he had supposed, of course, that the pipe-playing had ceased forever, and he felt that he had a right to be indignant at being thus deceived. he was so much disturbed that he made up his mind to go and try to find out whether this was to be a temporary matter or not. he had plenty of time, as the pipes were played but once a day, and he set off early in the morning for the hill on which old pipes lived. it was hard work for the fat little fellow, and when he had crossed the valley and had gone some distance into the woods on the hillside, he stopped to rest, and in a few minutes the dryad came tripping along. "ho, ho!" exclaimed the dwarf, "what are you doing here? and how did you get out of your tree?" 37 old pipes and the dryad "doing!" cried the dryad. "i am being happy, that's what i am doing. i was let out of my tree by the good old man who plays the pipes to call the cattle down from the mountain, and it makes me happier to think that i have been of service to him. i gave him two kisses of gratitude, and now he is young enough to play his pipes as well as ever." the echo-dwarf stepped forward, his face pale with passion. "am i to believe," he said, "that you are the cause of this great evil that has come upon me? that you are the wicked creature who has again started this old man upon his career of pipe-playing? what have i ever done to you that you should have condemned me for years and years to echo back the notes of those wretched pipes?" at this the dryad laughed loudly. "what a funny little fellow you are!" she said. "any one would think you had been condemned to toil from morning till night, while what you really have to do is merely to imitate for half an hour every day the merry notes of old pipes's piping. fie upon you, echo-dwarf! you are lazy and selfish, and that is what is the matter with you. instead of grumbling at being obliged to do a little wholesome work, which is less, i am sure, than that of any other echo-dwarf upon the rocky hillside, you should rejoice at the good fortune of the old man who has regained so much of his strength and vigor. go home and learn to be just and generous, and then, perhaps, you may be happy. good-by." "insolent creature!" his fat little fist at her. you shall find out what shouted the dwarf, as he shook "i'll make you suffer for this. it is to heap injury and insult ! 38 old pipes and the dryad upon one like me, and to snatch from him the repose that he has earned by long years of toil." and shaking his head savagely, he hurried back to the rocky hillside. every afternoon the merry notes of the pipes of old pipes sounded down into the valley and over the hills and up the mountain-side, and every afternoon, when he had echoed them back, the little dwarf grew more and more angry with the dryad. each day, from early morning till it was time for him to go back to his duties upon the rocky hillside, he searched the woods for her. he intended, if he met her, to pretend to be very sorry for what he had said, and he thought he might be able to play a trick upon her which would revenge him well. one day, while thus wandering among the trees, he met old pipes. the echo-dwarf did not generally care to see or to speak to ordinary people, but now he was so anxious to find the object of his search that he stopped and asked old pipes if he had seen the dryad. the piper had not noticed the little fellow, and he looked down on him with some surprise. "no," he said. "i have not seen her, and i have been looking everywhere for her." "you!" cried the dwarf. "what do you wish with her?" old pipes then sat down on a stone, so that he should be nearer the ear of his small companion, and he told what the dryad had done for him. when the echo-dwarf heard that this was the man whose pipes he was obliged to echo back every day, he would have slain him on the spot had he been able. but as he was not able, he merely ground his teeth and listened to the rest of the story. 1 d 39 old pipes and the dryad "i am looking for the dryad now," old pipes continued, "on account of my aged mother. when i was old myself i did not notice how very aged my mother was; but now it shocks me to see how feeble and decrepit her years have caused her to become, and i am looking for the dryad to ask her to make my mother younger, as she made me." the eyes of the echo-dwarf glistened. here was a man who might help him in his plans. "your idea is a good one," he said to old pipes, "and it does you honor. but you should know that a dryad can make no person younger but one who lets her out of her tree. however, you can manage the affair very easily. all you need do is to find the dryad, tell her what you want, and request her to step into her tree and be shut up for a short time. then you will go and bring your mother to the tree, she will open it, and everything will be as you wish. is not this a good plan?" "excellent!" cried old pipes. "i will go instantly and search more diligently for the dryad." "take me with you," said the echo-dwarf. "you can easily carry me on your strong shoulders, and i shall be glad to help you in any way that i can." "now, then," said the little fellow to himself, as old pipes carried him rapidly along, "if he persuades the dryad to get into a tree,—and she is quite foolish enough to do it,—and then goes away to bring his mother, i shall take a stone or a club, and i will break off the key of that tree, so that nobody can ever turn it again. then mistress dryad will see what she has brought upon herself by her behavior to me." before long they came to the great oak-tree in 40 old pipes and the dryad which the dryad had lived, and, at a distance, they saw that beautiful creature herself coming toward them. "how excellently well everything happens!" said the dwarf. "put me down, and i will go. your business with the dryad is more important than mine, and you need not say anything about my having suggested your plan to you. i am willing that you should have all the credit of it yourself." old pipes put the echo-dwarf upon the ground, but the little rogue did not go away. he concealed himself between some low, mossy rocks, and he was so much of their color that you would not have noticed him if you had been looking straight at him. when the dryad came up, old pipes lost no time in telling her about his mother, and what he wished her to do. at first the dryad answered nothing, but stood looking very sadly at old pipes. "do you really wish me to go into my tree again?” she said. "i should dreadfully dislike to do it, for i don't know what might happen. it is not at all necessary, for i could make your mother younger at any time if she would give me the opportunity. i had already thought of making you still happier in this way, and several times i have waited about your cottage, hoping to meet your aged mother; but she never comes outside, and you know a dryad cannot enter a house. i cannot imagine what put this idea into your head. did you think of it yourself?" "no, i cannot say that i did," answered old pipes. "a little dwarf whom i met in the woods proposed it to me." "oh!" cried the dryad, "now i see through it all. . 41 old pipes and the dryad it is the scheme of that vile echo-dwarf-your enemy and mine. where is he? i should like to see him." "i think he has gone away," said old pipes. "no, he has not," said the dryad, whose quick eyes perceived the echo-dwarf among the rocks. "there he is. seize him and drag him out, i beg of you." old pipes perceived the dwarf as soon as he was pointed out to him, and running to the rocks, he caught the little fellow by the leg and pulled him out. "now, then,” cried the dryad, who had opened the door of the great oak, "just stick him in there, and we will shut him up. then i shall be safe from his mischief for the rest of the time i am free." old pipes thrust the echo-dwarf into the tree. the dryad pushed the door shut. there was a clicking sound of bark and wood, and no one would have noticed that the big oak had ever had an opening in it. "there," said the dryad. "now we need not be afraid of him. and i assure you, my good piper, that i shall be very glad to make your mother younger as soon as i can. will you not ask her to come out and meet me?" "of course i will," cried old pipes. "i will do it without delay." then, the dryad by his side, he hurried to his cottage. but when he mentioned the matter to his mother, the old woman became very angry indeed. she did not believe in dryads; and if they really did exist, she knew they must be witches and sorceresses, and she would have nothing to do with them. if her son had ever allowed himself to be kissed by one of them he ought to be ashamed of himself. as to 42 old pipes and the dryad its doing him the least bit of good, she did not believe a word of it. he felt better than he used to feel, but that was very common. she had sometimes felt that way herself, and she forbade him ever to mention a dryad to her again. that afternoon old pipes, feeling very sad that his plan in regard to his mother had failed, sat down upon the rock and played upon his pipes. the pleasant sounds went down the valley and up the hills and mountain, but, to the great surprise of some persons who happened to notice the fact, the notes were not echoed back from the rocky hillside, but from the woods on the side of the valley where old pipes lived. the next day many of the villagers stopped in their work to listen to the echo of the pipes coming from the woods. the sound was not as clear and strong as it used to be when it was sent back from the rocky hillside, but it certainly came from among the trees. such a thing as an echo changing its place in this way had never been heard of before, and nobody was able to explain how it could have happened. old pipes, however, knew very well that the sound came from the echo-dwarf shut up in the great oaktree. the sides of the tree were thin, the sound of the pipes could be heard through them, and the dwarf was obliged by the laws of his being to echo back those notes whenever they came to him. but old pipes thought he might get the dryad in trouble if he let any one know that the echo-dwarf was shut up in the tree, and so he wisely said nothing about it. one day the two boys and the girl who had helped old pipes up the hill were playing in the woods. 43 old pipes and the dryad stopping near the great oak-tree, they heard a sound of knocking within it, and then a voice plainly said : "let me out! let me out!" for a moment the children stood still in astonishment, and then one of the boys exclaimed: "oh, it is a dryad, like the one old pipes found! let's let her out!" "what are you thinking of?" cried the girl. "i am the oldest of all, and i am only thirteen. do you wish to be turned into crawling babies? run! run! run!" and the two boys and the girl dashed down into the valley as fast as their legs could carry them. there was no desire in their youthful hearts to be made younger than they were. for fear that their parents might think it well that they should commence their careers anew, they never said a word about finding the dryad tree. as the summer days went on, old pipes's mother grew feebler and feebler. one day when her son was away, for he now frequently went into the woods to hunt or fish, or down into the valley to work, she arose from her knitting to prepare the simple dinner. but she felt so weak and tired that she was not able to do the work to which she had been so long accustomed. "alas! alas!" she said, "the time has come when i am too old to work. my son will have to hire some one to come here and cook his meals, make his bed, and mend his clothes. alas! alas! i had hoped that as long as i lived i should be able to do these things. but it is not so. i have grown utterly worthless, and some one else must prepare the dinner for my son. i wonder where he is." and tottering to the door, she 44 old pipes and the dryad went outside to look for him. she did not feel able to stand, and reaching the rustic chair, she sank into it, quite exhausted, and soon fell asleep. the dryad, who had often come to the cottage to see if she could find an opportunity of carrying out old pipes's affectionate design, now happened by, and seeing that the much-desired occasion had come, she stepped up quietly behind the old woman and gently kissed her on each cheek, and then as quietly disappeared. in a few minutes the mother of old pipes awoke, and looking up at the sun, she exclaimed: "why, it is almost dinner-time! my son will be here presently, and i am not ready for him." and rising to her feet, she hurried into the house, made the fire, set the meat and vegetables to cook, laid the cloth, and by the time her son arrived the meal was on the table. "how a little sleep does refresh one!" she said to herself, as she was bustling about. she was a woman of very vigorous constitution, and at seventy had been a great deal stronger and more active than her son was at that age. the moment old pipes saw his mother, he knew that the dryad had been there. but, while he felt as happy as a king, he was too wise to say anything about her. "it is astonishing how well i feel to-day!" said his mother, "and either my hearing has improved or you speak much more plainly than you have done of late." the summer days went on and passed away, the leaves were falling from the trees, and the air was becoming cold. "nature has ceased to be lovely," said the dryad, "and the night winds chill me. it is time for me to 45 old pipes and the dryad go back into my comfortable quarters in the great oak. but first i must pay another visit to the cottage of old pipes." she found the piper and his mother sitting side by side on the rock in front of the door. the cattle were not to go to the mountain any more that season, and he was piping them down for the last time. loud and merrily sounded the pipes of old pipes, and down the mountain-side came the cattle, the cows by the easiest paths, the sheep by those not quite so easy, and the goats by the most difficult ones among the rocks, while from the great oak-tree were heard the echoes of the cheerful music. "how happy they look, sitting there together!" said the dryad, "and i don't believe it will do them a bit of harm to be still younger." and moving quietly up behind them, she first kissed old pipes on his cheek, and then his mother. old pipes, who had stopped playing, knew what it was, but he did not move, and said nothing. his mother, thinking that her son had kissed her, turned to him with a smile and kissed him in return. then she arose and went into the cottage, a vigorous woman of sixty, followed by her son, erect and happy, and twenty years younger than herself. the dryad sped away to the woods, shrugging her shoulders as she felt the cool evening wind. when she reached the great oak, she turned the key and opened the door. "come out," she said to the echo-dwarf, who sat blinking within. "winter is coming on, and i want the comfortable shelter of my tree for myself. the cattle have come down from the mountain for the last time this year, the pipes will no 46 old pipes and the dryad longer sound, and you can go to your rocks and have a holiday until next spring." upon hearing these words the dwarf skipped quickly out, and the dryad entered the tree and pulled the door shut after her. "now, then," she said to herself, "he can break off the key if he likes. it does not matter to me. another will grow out next spring. and although the good piper made me no promise, i know that when the warm days arrive next year, he will come and let me out again." the echo-dwarf did not stop to break the key of the tree. he was too happy at being released to think of anything else, and he hastened as fast as he could to his home on the rocky hillside. the dryad was not mistaken when she trusted in the piper. when the warm days came again he went to the oak-tree to let her out. but, to his sorrow and surprise, he found the great tree lying upon the ground. a winter storm had blown it down, and it lay with its trunk shattered and split. and what became of the dryad, no one ever knew. 47 the bee-man of orn } the bee-man of orn in n the ancient country of orn there lived an old man who was called the bee-man, because his whole time was spent in the company of bees. he lived in a small hut, which was nothing more than an immense beehive, for these little creatures had built their honeycombs in every corner of the one room it contained, -on the shelves, under the little table, all about the rough bench on which the old man sat, and even about the headboard and along the sides of his low bed. all day the air of the room was thick with buzzing insects, but this did not interfere in any way with the old bee-man, who walked in among them, ate his meals, and went to sleep without the slightest fear of being stung. he had lived with the bees so long, they had become so accustomed to him, and his skin was so tough and hard, that they no more thought of stinging him than they would of stinging a tree or a stone. a swarm of bees made their hive in a pocket of his old leather doublet; and when he put on this coat to take one of his long walks in the forest in search of wild bees' nests, he was very glad to have this hive with him, for if he did not find any wild honey, he would put his hand in his pocket and take out a piece of honeycomb for a luncheon. the bees in his pocket 51 the bee-man of orn worked very industriously, and he was always certain of having something to eat with him wherever he went. he lived principally upon honey; and when he needed bread or meat, he carried some fine combs to a village near by and bartered them for other food. he was ugly, untidy, shrivelled, and sun-burnt. he was poor, and the bees seemed to be his only friends. but, for all that, he was happy and contented. he had all the honey he wanted, and his bees, whom he considered the best company in the world, were as friendly and sociable as they could be, and seemed to increase in number every day. one day there stopped at the hut of the bee-man a junior sorcerer. this young person, who was a student of magic, necromancy, and the kindred arts, was much interested in the bee-man, whom he had frequently noticed in his wanderings, and he considered him an admirable subject for study. he had had a great deal of useful practice in endeavoring to find out, by the various rules and laws of sorcery, exactly why the old bee-man did not happen to be something that he was not, and why he was what he happened to be. he had studied this matter a long time, and had found out something. "do you know," he said, when the bee-man came out of his hut, "that you have been transformed?" "what do you mean by that?" said the other, much surprised. "you have surely heard of animals and human beings who have been magically transformed into different kinds of creatures?" "yes, i have heard of these things," said the beeman. "but what have i been transformed from?" 52 the bee-man of orn "that is more than i know," said the junior sorcerer. "but one thing is certain-you ought to be changed back. if you will find out what you have been transformed from, i will see that you are made all right again. nothing would please me better than to attend to such a case." then, having a great many things to study and investigate, the junior sorcerer went his way. this information greatly disturbed the mind of the bee-man. if he had been changed from something else, he ought to be that other thing, whatever it was. he ran after the young man, and overtook him. "if you know, kind sir," he said, "that i have been transformed, you surely are able to tell me what it is that i was." "no," said the junior sorcerer, "my studies have not proceeded far enough for that. when i become a senior i can tell you all about it. but, in the meantime, it will be well for you to try to discover for yourself your original form, and when you have done that, i will get some of the learned masters of my art to restore you to it. it will be easy enough to do that, but you cannot expect them to take the time and trouble to find out what it was." with these words, he hurried away, and was soon lost to view. greatly disquieted, the bee-man retraced his steps, and went to his hut. never before had he heard anything which had so troubled him. "i wonder what i was transformed from?" he thought, seating himself on his rough bench. "could it have been a giant, or a powerful prince, or some gorgeous being whom the magicians or the fairies 53 the bee-man of orn wished to punish? it may be that i was a dog or a horse, or perhaps a fiery dragon or a horrid snake. i hope it was not one of these. but, whatever it was, every one has certainly a right to his original form, and i am resolved to find out mine. i will start early to-morrow morning, and i am sorry now i have not more pockets to my old doublet, so that i might carry more bees and more honey for my journey." he spent the rest of the day in making a hive of twigs and straw, and when he had transferred to this some honeycombs and a colony of bees which had just swarmed, he rose before sunrise the next day, put on his leather doublet, bound his new hive to his back, and set forth on his quest, the bees who were to accompany him buzzing about him like a cloud. as the bee-man passed through the little village the people greatly wondered at his queer appearance, with the hive upon his back. "the bee-man is going on a long expedition, this time," they said. but no one imagined the strange business on which he was bent. about noon he sat down under a tree, near a beautiful meadow covered with blossoms, and ate a little honey. then he untied his hive and stretched himself out on the grass to rest. as he gazed upon his bees hovering above him, some going out to the blossoms in the sunshine, and some returning laden with the sweet pollen, he said to himself: "they know just what they have to do, and they do it. but alas for me! i know not what i may have to do. and yet, whatever it may be, i am determined to do it. in some way or other i will find out what was my 54 the bee-man of orn original form, and then i will have myself changed back to it." and now the thought again came to him that perhaps his original form might have been something very disagreeable, or even horrid. "but it does not matter," he said sturdily. "whatever i was, that shall i be again. it is not right for any one to retain a form which does not properly belong to him. i have no doubt i shall discover my original form in the same way that i find the trees in which the wild bees hive. when i first catch sight of a bee tree i am drawn toward it, i know not how. something says to me: 'that is what you are looking for.' in the same way i believe that i shall find my original form. when i see it, i shall be drawn toward it. something will say to me: "that is it."" when the bee-man had rested he started off again, and in about an hour he entered a fair domain. around him were beautiful lawns, grand trees, and lovely gardens, while at a little distance stood the stately palace of the lord of the domain. richly dressed people were walking about or sitting in the shade of the trees and arbors, splendidly caparisoned horses were waiting for their riders, and everywhere were seen signs of opulence and gayety. "i think," said the bee-man to himself, "that i should like to stop here for a time. if it should happen that i was originally like any of these happy creatures it would please me much." he untied his hive, and hid it behind some bushes, and taking off his old doublet, laid that beside it. it would not do to have his bees flying about him if 55 the bee-man of orn he wished to go among the inhabitants of this fair domain. for two days the bee-man wandered about the palace and its grounds, avoiding notice as much as possible, but looking at everything. he saw handsome men and lovely ladies, the finest horses, dogs, and cattle that were ever known, beautiful birds in cages, and fishes in crystal globes, and it seemed to him that the best of all living things were here collected. at the close of the second day the bee-man said to himself: "there is one being here toward whom i feel very much drawn, and that is the lord of the domain. i cannot feel certain that i was once like him, but it would be a very fine thing if it were so; and it seems impossible for me to be drawn toward any other being in the domain when i look upon him, so handsome, rich, and powerful. but i must observe him more closely, and feel more sure of the matter, before applying to the sorcerers to change me back into a lord of a fair domain." the next morning the bee-man saw the lord of the domain walking in his gardens. he slipped along the shady paths, and followed him so as to observe him closely, and find out if he were really drawn toward this noble and handsome being. the lord of the domain walked on for some time, not noticing that the bee-man was behind him. but suddenly turning, he saw the little old man. "what are you doing here, you vile beggar?" he cried, and he gave him a kick that sent him into some bushes that grew by the side of the path. the bee-man scrambled to his feet, and ran as fast 1 1 f 56 the bee-man of orn as he could to the place where he had hidden his hive and his old doublet. "if i am certain of anything," he thought, "it is that i was never a person who would kick a poor old man. i shall leave this place. i was transformed from nothing that i see here." he now travelled for a day or two longer, and then he came to a great black mountain, near the bottom of which was an opening like the mouth of a cave. this mountain, he had heard, was filled with caverns and underground passages, which were the abodes of dragons, evil spirits, and horrid creatures of all kinds. "ah me!" said the bee-man, with a sigh, "i suppose i ought to visit this place. if i am going to do this thing properly, i should look on all sides of the subject, and i may have been one of those dreadful creatures myself." thereupon he went to the mountain, and as he approached the opening of the passage which led into its inmost recesses, he saw, sitting upon the ground, and leaning his back against a tree, a languid youth. "good day," said this individual, when he saw the bee-man. "are you going inside?” "yes," said the bee-man, "that is what i intend to do." "then," said the languid youth, slowly rising to his feet, "i think i will go with you. i was told that if i went in there i should get my energies toned up, and they need it very much. but i did not feel equal to entering by myself, and i thought i would wait until some one came who was going in. i am very glad to see you, and we will enter together." so the two went into the cave, and they had pro57 the bee-man of orn ceeded but a short distance when they met a very little creature, whom it was easy to recognize as a very imp. he was about two feet high, and resembled in color a freshly polished pair of boots. he was extremely lively and active, and came bounding toward them. "what did you two people come here for?" he asked. "i came," said the languid youth, "to have my energies toned up." "you have come to the right place," said the very imp. "we will tone you up. and what does that old bee-man want?" "he has been transformed from something, and wants to find out what it is. he thinks he may have been one of the things in here." "i should not wonder if that were so," said the very imp, rolling his head on one side and eying the bee-man with a critical gaze. "all right," continued the very imp, "he can go around and pick out his previous existence. we have here all sorts of vile creepers, crawlers, hissers, and snorters. i suppose he thinks anything will be better than a bee-man." "it is not because i want to be better than i am," said the bee-man, "that i started out on this search. i have simply an honest desire to become what i originally was." "oh! that is it, is it?" said the other. "there is an idiotic moon-calf here, with a clam head, which must be very much like what you used to be." "nonsense," said the bee-man. "you have not the least idea what an honest purpose is. i shall go about and see for myself." 58 the bee-man of orn "go on," said the very imp, "and i will attend to this fellow who wants to be toned up." so saying, he joined the languid youth. "look here," said that individual, regarding him with interest, "do you black and shine yourself every morning?" "no," said the other, "it is waterproof varnish. you want to be invigorated, don't you? well, i will tell you a splendid way to begin. you see that beeman has put down his hive and his coat with the bees in it. just wait till he gets out of sight, and then catch a lot of those bees and squeeze them flat. if you spread them on a sticky rag, and make a plaster, and put it on the small of your back, it will invigorate you like everything, especially if some of the bees are not quite dead." "yes," said the languid youth, looking at him with his mild eyes, "but if i had energy enough to catch a bee i would be satisfied. suppose you catch a lot for me." "the subject is changed," said the very imp. "we are now about to visit the spacious chamber of the king of the snapdragons." "that is a flower," said the languid youth. "you will find him a gay old blossom," said the other. "when he has chased you round his room, and has blown sparks at you, and has snorted and howled, and cracked his tail, and snapped his jaws like a pair of anvils, your energies will be toned up higher than ever before in your life." "no doubt of it," said the languid youth. "but i think i will begin with something a little milder." "well, then," said the other, "there is a flat-tailed 59 the bee-man of orn demon of the gorge in here. he is generally asleep, and, if you say so, you can slip into the farthest corner of his cave, and i'll solder his tail to the opposite wall. then he will rage and roar, but he can't get at you, for he doesn't reach all the way across his cave; i have measured him. it will tone you up wonderfully to sit there and watch him." "very likely," said the languid youth. "but i would rather stay outside and let you go up in the corner. the performance in that way will be more interesting to me." "you are dreadfully hard to please," said the very imp. "i have offered them to you loose, and i have offered them fastened to a wall, and now the best thing i can do is to give you a chance at one of them that can't move at all. it is the ghastly griffin, and is enchanted. he can't stir so much as the tip of his whiskers for a thousand years. you can go to his cave and examine him just as if he were stuffed, and then you can sit on his back and think how it would be if you should live to be a thousand years old, and he should wake up while you are sitting there. it would be easy to imagine a lot of horrible things he would do to you when you look at his open mouth with its awful fangs, his dreadful claws, and his horrible wings all covered with spikes." "i think that might suit me," said the languid youth. "i would much rather imagine the exercises of these monsters than to see them really going on." "come on, then," said the very imp, and he led the way to the cave of the ghastly griffin. the bee-man went by himself through a great part of the mountain, and looked into many of its gloomy 60 the bee-man of orn caves and recesses, recoiling in horror from most of the dreadful monsters who met his eyes. while he was wandering about, an awful roar was heard resounding through the passages of the mountain, and soon there came flapping along an enormous dragon, with body black as night, and wings and tail of fiery red. in his great fore-claws he bore a little baby. "horrible!" exclaimed the bee-man. "he is taking that little creature to some place to devour it." he saw the dragon enter a cave not far away, and following, looked in. the dragon was crouched upon the ground, with the little baby lying before him. it did not seem to be hurt, but was frightened and crying. the monster was looking upon it with delight, as if he intended to make a dainty meal of it as soon as his appetite should be a little stronger. "it is too bad!" thought the bee-man. "somebody ought to do something." and turning around, he ran away as fast as he could. he ran through various passages until he came to the spot where he had left his beehive. picking it up, he hurried back, carrying the hive in his two hands before him. when he reached the cave of the dragon, he looked in and saw the monster still crouched over the weeping child. without a moment's hesitation, the bee-man rushed into the cave and threw his hive straight into the face of the dragon. the bees, enraged by the shock, rushed out in an angry crowd, and immediately fell upon the head, mouth, eyes, and nose of the dragon. the great monster, astounded by this sudden attack, and driven almost wild by the numberless stings of the bees, sprang back to the far61 the bee-man of orn thest portion of his cave, still followed by his relentless enemies, at whom he flapped wildly with his great wings and struck with his paws. while the dragon was thus engaged with the bees, the bee-man rushed forward, seized the child, and hurried away. he did not stop to pick up his doublet, but kept on until he reached the entrance of the caves. there he saw the very imp hopping along on one leg, and rubbing his back and shoulders with his hands; he stopped to inquire what was the matter, and what had become of the languid youth. "he is no kind of a fellow," said the very imp. "he disappointed me dreadfully. i took him up to the ghastly griffin, and told him the thing was enchanted, and that he might sit on its back and think about what it could do if it were awake. but when he came near it the wretched creature opened its eyes and raised its head, and then you ought to have seen how mad that simpleton was. he made a dash at me and seized me by the ears. he kicked and beat me till i can scarcely move." "his energies must have been toned up a good deal," said the bee-man. "toned up! i should say so!" cried the other. "i raised a howl, and a scissor-jawed clipper came out of his hole, and got after him. but that lazy fool ran so fast he could not be caught." the bee-man now ran on, and soon overtook the languid youth. "you need not be in a hurry now," said the latter, "for the rules of this institution don't allow the creatures inside to come out of this opening, or to hang around it. if they did, they would frighten away 62 the bee-man of orn visitors they go in and out of holes in the upper part of the mountain." the two proceeded on their way. "what are you going to do with that baby?" said the languid youth. "i shall carry it along with me as i go on with my search," said the bee-man, "and perhaps i may find its mother. if i do not, i shall give it to somebody in the little village yonder. anything would be better than leaving it to be devoured by that horrid dragon." "let me carry it. i feel quite strong enough now to carry a baby." "thank you," said the bee-man, "but i can take it myself. i like to carry something, and i have now neither my hive nor my doublet." "it is very well that you had to leave them behind," said the youth, "for the bees would have stung the baby." "my bees never sting babies," said the other. "they probably never had a chance," remarked his companion. they soon entered the village, and after walking a short distance the youth exclaimed: "do you see that woman over there, sitting at the door of her house? she has beautiful hair, and she is tearing it all to pieces. she should not be allowed to do that." "no," said the bee-man. "her friends should tie her hands." "perhaps she is the mother of this child," said the youth, "and if you give it to her she will no longer think of tearing her hair." "but," said the bee-man, "you don't really think this is her child?" 63 the bee-man of orn "suppose you go over and see," said the other. the bee-man hesitated a moment, and then he walked toward the woman. hearing him coming, she raised her head, and when she saw the child she rushed toward it, snatched it into her arms, and screaming with joy, she covered it with kisses. then with happy tears she begged to know the story of the rescue of her child, whom she never expected to see again. she loaded the bee-man with thanks and blessings; the friends and neighbors gathered around and there was great rejoicing. the mother urged the bee-man and the youth to stay with her and rest and refresh themselves, which they were glad to do, as they were tired and hungry. they remained at the cottage all night, and in the afternoon of the next day the bee-man said to the youth: "it may seem an odd thing to you, but never in all my life have i felt myself drawn toward any living being as i am drawn toward this baby. therefore i believe that i have been transformed from a baby." "good!" cried the youth. "it is my opinion that you have hit the truth. and would you really like to be changed back to your original form?" "indeed i would!" said the bee-man. "i have the strongest yearning to be what i originally was." the youth, who had now lost every trace of languid feeling, took a great interest in the matter, and early the next morning started off to inform the junior sorcerer that the bee-man had discovered what he had been transformed from, and desired to be changed back to it. the junior sorcerer and his learned masters were filled with enthusiasm when they heard this report, 64 the bee-man of orn and they at once set out for the mother's cottage, where, by magic arts, the bee-man was changed back into a baby. the mother was so grateful for what the bee-man had done for her that she agreed to take charge of this baby and to bring it up with her own. "it will be a grand thing for him," said the junior sorcerer, "and i am glad i studied his case. he will now have a fresh start in life, and will have a chance to become something better than a miserable old man living in a wretched hut, with no friends or companions but buzzing bees." the junior sorcerer and his masters then returned to their homes, happy in the success of their great performance. and the youth went back to his home anxious to begin a life of activity and energy. years and years afterward, when the junior sorcerer had become a senior and was very old indeed, he passed through the country of orn, and noticed a small hut about which swarms of bees were flying. he approached it, and looking in at the door, he saw an old man in a leather doublet, sitting at a table, eating honey. by his magic art he knew this was the baby which had been transformed from the bee-man. "upon my word!" exclaimed the sorcerer, "he has grown into the same thing again!” 65 1 the queen's museum 1 1 the queen's museum th a here was once a queen who founded, in her capital city, a grand museum. this institution was the pride of her heart, and she devoted nearly all her time to overseeing the collection of objects for it, and their arrangement in the spacious halls. this museum was intended to elevate the intelligence of her people, but the result was quite disappointing to the queen. for some reason-and what it was she could not imagine-the people were not interested in her museum. she considered it the most delightful place in the world, and spent hours every day in examining and studying the thousands of objects it contained. but although here and there in the city there was a person who cared to visit the collection, the great body of the people found it impossible to feel the slightest interest in it. at first this grieved the queen, and she tried to make her museum better. but as this did no good, she became very angry, and she issued a decree that all persons of mature age who were not interested in her museum should be sent to prison. this decree produced a great sensation in the city. the people crowded to the building, and did their very best to be interested, but, in the majority of 69 the queen's museum cases, the attempt was an utter failure; they could not feel any interest whatever. the consequence was that hundreds and thousands of the people were sent to prison, and as there was not room enough for them in the ordinary jails, large temporary prisons were erected in various parts of the city. those persons who were actually needed for work or service which no one else could do were allowed to come out in the daytime on parole, but at night they had to return to their prisons. it was during this deplorable state of affairs that a stranger entered the city one day. he was surprised at seeing so many prisons, and approaching a window in one of them, behind the bars of which he saw a very respectable-looking citizen, he asked what all this meant. the citizen informed him how matters stood, and then, with tears mounting to his eyes, he added: "oh, sir, i have tried my best to be interested in that museum, but it is impossible. i cannot make myself care for it in the slightest degree. what is more, i know i shall never be able to do so, and i shall languish here for the rest of my days." passing on, the stranger met a mother coming out of her house. her face was pale, and she was weeping bitterly. filled with pity, he stopped and asked her what was the matter. "oh, sir," she said, "for a week i have been trying, for the sake of my dear children, to take an interest in that museum. for a time i thought i might do it, but the hope proved false. it is impossible. i must leave my little ones, and go to prison." the stranger was deeply affected by these cases and 70 the queen's museum many others of a similar character which he soon met. "it is too bad! too bad!" he said to himself. "i never saw a city in so much trouble. there is scarcely a family, i am told, in which there is not some uninterested person. i must see the queen and talk to her about it." and with this he wended his way to the palace. he met the queen just starting out on her morning visit to the museum. when he made it known that he was a stranger, and desired a short audience, she stopped and spoke to him. "have you visited my museum yet?" she said. "there is nothing in the city so well worth your attention as that. you should go there before seeing anything else. you have a high forehead and an intelligent expression, and i have no doubt that it will interest you greatly. i am going there myself, and i shall be glad to see what effect that fine collection has upon a stranger." this did not suit the stranger at all. from what he had heard he felt quite sure that if he went to the museum he would soon be in jail, and so he hurried to propose a plan which had occurred to him while on his way to the palace. "i came to see your majesty on the subject of the museum," he said, "and to crave permission to contribute to the collection some objects which shall be interesting to every one. i understand that it is highly desirable that every one should be interested." "of course it is," said the queen, "and although i think that there is not the slightest reason why every one should not feel the keenest interest in what the 71 the queen's museum museum already contains, i am willing to add to it whatever may make it of greater value." "in that case," said the stranger, "no time should be lost in securing what i wish to present." "go at once," said the queen. "but how soon can you return?” "it will take some days, at least," said the stranger. "give me your parole to return in a week," said the queen, "and start immediately." the stranger gave his parole and left the palace. having filled a leather bag with provisions from a cook's shop, he went out of the city gates. as he walked into the open country, he said to himself: "i have certainly undertaken a very difficult enterprise. where i am to find anything that will interest all the people in that city i am sure i do not know; but my heart is so filled with pity for the great number of unfortunate persons who are torn from their homes and shut up in prison, that i am determined to do something for them, if i possibly can. there must be some objects to be found in this vast country that will interest every one." about noon he came to a great mountain-side covered with a forest. thinking that he was as likely to find what he sought in one place as another, and preferring the shade to the sun, he entered the forest, and walked for some distance along a path which gradually led up the mountain. having crossed a brook with its edges lined with water-cress, he soon perceived a large cave, at the entrance of which sat an aged hermit. "ah," said the stranger to himself, "this is indeed fortunate! this good and venerable man, who passes his life amid the secrets of nature, 72 the queen's museum can surely tell me what i wish to know." saluting the hermit, he sat down and told the old man the object of his quest. "i am afraid you are looking for what you will not find," said the hermit. "most people are too silly to be truly interested in anything. they herd together like cattle, and do not know what is good for them. there are now on this mountain-side many commodious and comfortable caves, all of which would be tenanted if people only knew how improving and interesting it is to live apart from their fellow-men. but, so far as it can be done, i will help you in your quest, which i think is a worthy one. i can do nothing for you myself, but i have a pupil who is very much given to wandering about and looking for curious things. he may tell you where you will be able to find something that will interest everybody, though i doubt it. you may go and see him, if you like, and i will excuse him from his studies for a time, so that he may aid you in your search." the hermit then wrote an excuse upon a piece of parchment, and giving it to the stranger, he directed him to the cave of his pupil. this was situated at some distance, and higher up the mountain, and when the stranger reached it, he found the pupil fast asleep upon the ground. this individual was a long-legged youth, with long arms, long hair, a long nose, and a long face. when the stranger awakened him, told him why he had come, and gave him the hermit's excuse, the sleepy eyes of the pupil brightened, and his face grew less long. "that's delightful," he said, "to be let off on a 73 the queen's museum monday, for i generally have to be satisfied with a half-holiday wednesdays and saturdays." "is the hermit very strict with you?" asked the stranger. "yes," said the pupil. "i have to stick closely to the cave, though i have been known to go fishing on days when there was no holiday. i have never seen the old man but once, and that was when he first took me. you know it wouldn't do for us to be too sociable. that wouldn't be hermit-like. he comes up here on the afternoons i am out, and writes down what i am to do for the next half-week." "and do you always do it?" asked the stranger. "oh, i get some of it done,” said the pupil. "but there have been times when i have wondered whether it wouldn't have been better for me to have been something else. but i have chosen my profession, and i suppose i must be faithful to it. we will start immediately on our search; but first i must put the cave in order, for the old man will be sure to come up while i am gone." so saying, the pupil opened an old parchment book at a marked page, and laid it on a flat stone which served as a table, and then placed a skull and a couple of bones in a proper position near by. the two now started off, the pupil first putting a line and hook in his pocket, and pulling out a fishingrod from under some bushes. "what do you want with that?" asked the stranger. "we are not going to fish!" "why not?" said the pupil. "if we come to a good place, we might catch something that would be a real curiosity." 74 the queen's museum before long they came to a mountain brook, and here the pupil insisted on trying his luck. the stranger was a little tired and hungry, and so was quite willing to sit down for a time and eat something from his bag. the pupil ran off to find some bait, and he stayed away so long that the stranger had quite finished his meal before he returned. he came back at last, however, in a state of great excitement. "come with me! come with me!" he cried. "i have found something that is truly astonishing! come quickly!" the stranger arose and hurried after the pupil, whose long legs carried him rapidly over the mountain-side. reaching a large hole at the bottom of a precipitous rock, the pupil stopped, and exclaiming, "come in here and i will show you something that will amaze you!" he immediately entered the hole. the stranger, who was very anxious to see what curiosity he had found, followed him some distance along a narrow and winding underground passage. the two suddenly emerged into a high and spacious cavern, which was lighted by openings in the roof. on the floor, in various places, were strongly fastened boxes, and packages of many sorts, bales and bundles of silks and rich cloths, with handsome caskets, and many other articles of value. "what kind of a place is this?" exclaimed the stranger, in great surprise. "don't you know?" cried the pupil, his eyes fairly sparkling with delight. "it is a robber's den! isn't it a great thing to find a place like this?" "a robber's den!" exclaimed the stranger, in alarm. 75 the queen's museum "let us get out of it as quickly as we can, or the robbers will return, and we shall be cut to pieces." "i don't believe they are coming back very soon," said the pupil, "and we ought to stop and take a look at some of these things." "fly, you foolish youth!" cried the stranger. "you do not know what danger you are in." so saying, he turned to hasten away from the place. but he was too late. at that moment the robber captain and his band entered the cave. when these men perceived the stranger and the hermit's pupil, they drew their swords and were about to rush upon them, when the pupil sprang forward and, throwing up his long arms, exclaimed: "stop! it is a mistake!" at these words, the robber captain lowered his sword, and motioned to his men to halt. "a mistake!" he said. "what do you mean by that?” "i mean," said the pupil, "that i was out looking for curiosities, and wandered into this place by accident. we haven't taken a thing. you may count your goods, and you will find nothing missing. we have not even opened a box, although i very much wanted to see what was in some of them." "are his statements correct?" said the captain, turning to the stranger. "entirely so," was the answer. "you have truthful features and an honest expression," said the captain, "and i do not believe you would be so dishonorable as to creep in here during our absence and steal our possessions. your lives shall be spared, but you will be obliged to remain with us, for we cannot allow any one who knows our secret 76 the queen's museum to leave us. you shall be treated well, and shall accompany us in our expeditions. and if your conduct merits it, you shall in time be made full members." bitterly the stranger now regretted his unfortunate position. he strode up and down one side of the cave, vowing inwardly that never again would he allow himself to be led by a hermit's pupil. that individual, however, was in a state of high delight. he ran about from box to bale, looking at the rare treasures which some of the robbers showed him. the two captives were fed and lodged very well, and the next day the captain called them and the band together, and addressed them. "we are now twenty-nine in number," he said,"twenty-seven full members, and two on probation. to-night we are about to undertake a very important expedition, in which we shall all join. we shall fasten up the door of the cave, and at the proper time i shall tell you to what place we are going." an hour or two before midnight the band set out, accompanied by the stranger and the hermit's pupil, and when they had gone some miles the captain halted them to inform them of the object of the expedition. "we are going,” he said, "to rob the queen's museum. it is the most important business we have ever undertaken." at these words the stranger stepped forward and made a protest. "i left the city yesterday," he said, "commissioned by the queen to obtain one or more objects of interest for her museum; and to return now to rob an institution which i have promised to enrich will be simply impossible." "you are right," said the captain, after a moment's 77 the queen's museum reflection; "such an action would be highly dishonorable on your part. if you will give me your word of honor that you will remain by this stone until our return, the expedition will proceed without you." the stranger gave his word, and having been left sitting upon the stone, soon dropped asleep, and so remained until he was awakened by the return of the band, a little before daylight. they came slowly toiling along, each man carrying an enormous bundle upon his back. near the end of the line was the hermit's pupil, bearing a load as heavy as any of the others. the stranger offered to relieve him for a time of his burden, but the pupil would not allow it. "i don't wish these men to think i can't do as much as they can," he said. "you ought to have been along. we had a fine time! we swept that museum clean, i tell you! we didn't leave a thing on a shelf or in a case." "what sort of things are they?" asked the stranger. "i don't know," replied the pupil. "we didn't have any light for fear people would notice it, but the moon shone in bright enough for us to see all the shelves and the cases, and our orders were not to try and examine anything, but to take all that was there. the cases had great cloth covers on them, and we spread these on the floor and made bundles of the curiosities. we are going to examine them carefully as soon as we get to the den.” it was broad daylight when the robbers reached their cave. the bundles were laid in a great circle on the floor, and, at a given signal, they were opened. for a moment each robber gazed blankly at the contents of his bundle, and then they all began to fumble 78 the queen's museum and search among the piles of articles upon the cloths; but after a few minutes they arose, looking blanker and more disappointed than before. "so far as i can see," said the captain, "there is nothing in the whole collection that i care for. i do not like a thing here!" "nor i!" "nor i!" "nor i!" cried each one of his band. "i suppose," said the captain, after musing for a moment, "that as these things are of no use to us, we are bound in honor to take them back." "hold!" said the stranger, stepping forward. "do not be in too great a hurry to do that." he then told the captain of the state of affairs in the city, and explained in full the nature of the expedition he had undertaken for the queen. "i think it would be better," he said, "if these things were not taken back for the present. if you have a safe place where you can put them, i will in due time tell the queen where they are, and if she chooses she can send for them." "good!" said the captain. "it is but right that she should bear part of the labor of transportation. there is a disused cave a mile or so away, and we will tie up these bundles and carry them there, and then we shall leave the matter to you. we take no further interest in it. and if you have given your parole to the queen to return in a week," the captain further continued, "of course you'll have to keep it. did you give your parole also?" he asked, turning to the pupil. "oh, no!” cried that youth, "there was no time fixed for my return. and i am sure that i like a robber's life much better than that of a hermit. there is ever so much more spice and dash in it." 79 the queen's museum the stranger was then told that if he would promise not to betray the robbers he might depart. he gave the promise, but added sadly that he had lost so much time that he was afraid he would not now be able to attain the object of his search and return within the week. "if that is the case," said the captain, "we will gladly assist you. comrades!" he cried, addressing his band, "after stowing this useless booty in the disused cave, and taking some rest and refreshment, we will set out again, and the object of our expedition shall be to obtain something for the queen's museum which will interest every one." shortly after midnight the robbers set out, accompanied by the stranger and the pupil. when they had walked about an hour, the captain, as was his custom, brought them to a halt, that he might tell them where they were going. "i have concluded," said he, "that no place is so likely to contain what we are looking for as the castle of the great magician, alfrarmedj. we will, therefore, proceed thither, and sack the castle." "will there not be great danger in attacking the castle of a magician?" asked the stranger, in somewhat anxious tones. "of course there will be," said the captain, "but we are not such cowards as to hesitate on account of danger. forward, my men !" and on they all marched. when they reached the magician's castle, the order was given to scale the outer wall. this the robbers did with great agility, and the hermit's pupil was among the first to surmount it. but the stranger was not used to climbing, and he had to be assisted over 80 the queen's museum the wall. inside the great courtyard they perceived numbers of weirds-strange, shadowy creatures who gathered silently around them. but, not in the least appalled, the robbers formed into a body and marched into the castle, the door of which stood open. they now entered a great hall having at one end a doorway before which hung a curtain. following their captain, the robbers approached this curtain, and pushing it aside, entered the room beyond. there, behind a large table, sat the great magician, alfrarmedj, busy over his mystic studies, which he generally pursued in the dead hours of the night. drawing their swords, the robbers rushed upon him. "surrender!" cried the captain, "and deliver to us the treasures of your castle." the old magician raised his head from his book, and pushing up his spectacles from his forehead, looked at them mildly, and said: "freeze!" instantly they all froze as hard as ice, each man remaining in the position in which he was when the magical word was uttered. with uplifted swords and glaring eyes, they stood, rigid and stiff, before the magician. after calmly surveying the group, the old man said: "i see among you one who has an intelligent brow and truthful expression. his head may thaw sufficiently for him to tell me what means this untimely intrusion upon my studies." the stranger now felt his head begin to thaw, and in a few moments he was able to speak. he then told the magician about the queen's museum, and how it had happened that he had come there with the robbers. 81 the queen's museum "your motive is a good one," said the magician, "though your actions are somewhat erratic, and i do not mind helping you to find what you wish. in what class of objects do the people of the city take the most interest?" "truly i do not know," said the stranger. "this is indeed surprising!" exclaimed alfrarmedj. "how can you expect to obtain that which will interest every one, when you do not know what it is in which every one takes an interest? go find out this, and then return to me, and i will see what can be done." the magician then summoned his weirds, and ordered them to carry the frozen visitors outside the castle walls. each one of the rigid figures was taken up by two weirds, who carried him out and stood him up in the road outside the castle. when all had been properly set up, with the captain at their head, the gates were shut, and the magician, still sitting at his table, uttered the word "thaw!" instantly the whole band thawed and marched away. at daybreak they halted, and considered how they should find out what all the people in the city took an interest in. "one thing is certain," cried the hermit's pupil : "whatever it is, it isn't the same thing." "your remark is not well put together," said the stranger, "but i see the force of it. it is true that different people like different things. we find out what the different people like?” "by asking them," said the pupil. but how shall "good!" cried the captain, who preferred action to words. "this night we will ask them." 82 the queen's museum he then drew upon the sand a plan of the city,with which he was quite familiar, having carefully robbed it for many years,—and divided it into twentyeight sections, each one of which was assigned to a man. "i omit you," the captain said to the stranger, "because i find that you are not expert at climbing." he then announced that at night the band would visit the city, and that each man should enter the houses in his district, and ask the people what it was in which they took the greatest interest. they then proceeded to the cave for rest and refreshment, and a little before midnight they entered the city, and each member of the band, including the hermit's pupil, proceeded to attend to the business assigned to him. it was ordered that no one should disturb the queen, for they knew that what she took most interest in was the museum. during the night nearly every person in the town was aroused by a black-bearded robber, who had climbed into one of the windows of the house, and who, instead of demanding money and jewels, simply asked what it was in which that person took the greatest interest. upon receiving an answer, the robber repeated it until he had learned it by heart, and then went to the next house. as so many of the citizens were confined in prisons, which the robbers easily entered, they transacted the business in much less time than they would otherwise have required. the hermit's pupil was very active, climbing into and out of houses with great agility. he obtained his answers quite as easily as did the others, but whenever he left a house there was a shade of disappointment upon his features. among the last places that 83 the queen's museum he visited was a room in which two boys were sleeping. he awoke them and asked the usual question. while they were trembling in their bed, not knowing what to answer, the pupil drew his sword and exclaimed: "come, now, no prevarication. you know it's fishing-tackle. speak out!" each of the boys then promptly declared it was fishing-tackle, and the pupil left, greatly gratified. "i was very much afraid,” he said to himself, "that not a person in my district would say fishing-tackle, and i am glad to think that there were two boys who had sense enough to like something that is really interesting." it was nearly daylight when the work was finished, and then the band gathered together in an appointed place on the outside of the city, where the stranger awaited them. each of the men had an excellent memory, which was necessary in their profession, and they repeated to the stranger all the objects and subjects that had been mentioned to them, and he wrote them down upon tablets. the next night, accompanied by the band, he proceeded to the castle of the magician, the great gate of which was silently opened for them by the weirds. when they were ushered into the magician's room, alfrarmedj took the tablets from the stranger and examined them carefully. "all these things should make a very complete collection," he said, "and i think i have specimens of the various objects in my interminable vaults." he then called his weirds, and giving one of them the tablets, told him to go with his companions into the vaults and gather enough of the things therein mentioned to fill a large museum. in half an hour the 84 the queen's museum weirds returned and announced that the articles were ready in the great courtyard. "go, then," said the magician, "and assist these men to carry them to the queen's museum." the stranger then heartily thanked alfrarmedj for the assistance he had given, and the band, accompanied by a number of weirds, proceeded to carry the objects of interest to the queen's museum. it was a strange procession. half a dozen weirds carried a stuffed mammoth, followed by others bearing the skeleton of a whale, while the robbers and the rest of their queer helpers were loaded with everything relating to history, science, and art which ought to be in a really good museum. when the whole collection had been put in place upon the floors, the shelves, and in the cases, it was nearly morning. the robbers, with the hermit's pupil, retired to the cave, the weirds disappeared, while the stranger betook himself to the queen's palace, where, as soon as the proper hour arrived, he requested an audience. when he saw the queen, he perceived that she was very pale and that her cheeks bore traces of recent tears. "you are back in good time," she said to him, "but it makes very little difference whether you have succeeded in your mission or not. there is no longer any museum. there has been a great robbery, and the thieves have carried off the whole of the vast and valuable collection which i have been so long in making." "i know of that affair," said the stranger, "and i have already placed in your museum building the collection i have obtained. if your majesty pleases, i shall be glad to have you look at it. it may, 85 the queen's museum in some degree, compensate for that which has been stolen." "compensate!" cried the queen. "nothing can compensate for it. i do not even wish to see what you have brought." "be that as your majesty pleases," said the stranger; "but i will be so bold as to say that i have great hopes that the collection i have obtained will interest the people. will your majesty graciously allow them to see it?" "i have no objection to that," said the queen. "indeed, i shall be very glad if they can be made to be interested in the museum. i will give orders that the prisons be opened, so that everybody can go to see what you have brought. and those who shall be interested in it may return to their homes. i did not release my obstinate subjects when the museum was robbed, because their fault then was just as great as it was before, and it would not be right that they should profit by my loss." the queen's proclamation was made, and for several days the museum was crowded with people moving from morning till night through the vast collection of stuffed animals, birds, and fishes, rare and brilliant insects, mineral and vegetable curiosities, beautiful works of art, and all the strange, valuable, and instructive objects which had been brought from the interminable vaults of the magician alfrarmedj. the queen's officers, who had been sent to observe whether or not the people were interested, were in no doubt upon this point. every eye sparkled with delight, for every one found something which was the very thing he wished to see. and in the throng was the 86 the queen's museum hermit's pupil, standing in rapt ecstasy before a large case containing all sorts of fishing-tackle, from the smallest hooks for little minnows to the great irons and spears used in capturing whales. no one went back to prison, and the city was full of reunited households and happy homes. on the morning of the fourth day, a grand procession of citizens came to the palace to express to the queen their delight and appreciation of her museum. the great happiness of her subjects could but please the queen. she called the stranger to her, and said to him: "tell me how you came to know what it was that would interest my people." "i asked them," said the stranger; "that is to say, i arranged that they should be asked." "that was well done," said the queen. "but it is a great pity that my long labors in their behalf should have been lost. for many years i have been a collector of buttonholes, and there was nothing valuable or rare in the line of my studies of which i had not an original specimen or a facsimile. my agents brought me from foreign lands, even from the most distant islands of the sea, buttonholes of every kind, in silk, in wool, in cloth of gold, in every imaginable material, and of those which could not be obtained careful copies were made. there was not a duplicate specimen in the whole collection, only one of each kind, nothing repeated. never before was there such a museum. with all my power i strove to educate my people up to an appreciation of buttonholes, but, with the exception of a few tailors and seamstresses, nobody took the slightest interest in what i had provided for their benefit. i am glad that my people are 87 the queen's museum happy, but i cannot restrain a sigh for the failure of my efforts." "the longer your majesty lives," said the stranger, "the better you will understand that we cannot make other people like a thing simply because we like it ourselves." "stranger," said the queen, gazing upon him with admiration, "are you a king in disguise?" "i am,” he replied. "i thought i perceived it," said the queen, "and i wish to add that i believe you are far better able to govern this kingdom than i am. if you choose i will resign it to you." "not so, your majesty," said the other. "i would not deprive you of your royal position, but i should be happy to share it with you." "that will answer very well," said the queen. and turning to an attendant, she gave orders that preparations should be made for their marriage on the following day. after the royal wedding, which was celebrated with great pomp and grandeur, the queen paid a visit to the museum, and, much to her surprise, was greatly delighted and interested. the king then informed her that he happened to know where the robbers had stored her collection, which they could not sell or make use of, and, if she wished, he would regain the collection and erect a building for its reception. "we will not do that at present," said the queen. "when i shall have thoroughly examined and studied all these objects, most of which are entirely new to me, we will decide about the buttonholes." the hermit's pupil did not return to his cave. he 88 the queen's museum was greatly delighted with the spice and dash of a robber's life, so different from that of a hermit, and he determined, if possible, to change his business and enter the band. he had a conversation with the captain on the subject, and that individual encouraged him in his purpose. "i am tired," the captain said, "of a robber's life. i have stolen so much that i cannot use what i have. i take no further interest in accumulating spoils. the quiet of a hermit's life attracts me, and, if you like, we will change places. i will become the pupil of your old master, and you shall be the captain of my band." the change was made. the captain retired to the cave of the hermit's pupil, while the latter, with the hearty consent of all the men, took command of the band of robbers. when the king heard of this change, he was not at all pleased, and he sent for the ex-pupil. "i am willing to reward you," he said, "for assisting me in my recent undertaking, but i cannot allow you to lead a band of robbers in my dominions." a dark shade of disappointment passed over the ex-pupil's features, and his face lengthened visibly. "it is too bad," he said, "to be thus cut short at the very outset of a brilliant career. i'll tell you what i'll do," he added suddenly, his face brightening; "if you'll let me keep on in my new profession, i'll promise to do nothing but rob robbers." "very well," said the king, "if you will confine yourself to that, you may retain your position.” the members of the band were perfectly willing to rob in the new way, for it seemed quite novel and exciting to them. the first place they robbed was their 89 the queen's museum own cave, and as they all had excellent memories, they knew from whom the various goods had been stolen, and everything was returned to its proper owner. the ex-pupil then led his band against the other dens of robbers in the kingdom, and his movements were conducted with such dash and vigor that the various hordes scattered in every direction, while the treasures in their dens were returned to the owners, or, if these could not be found, were given to the poor. in a short time every robber, except those led by the ex-pupil, had gone into some other business, and the victorious youth led his band into other kingdoms to continue the great work of robbing robbers. the queen never sent for the collection of curiosities which the robbers had stolen from her. she was so much interested in the new museum that she continually postponed the reëstablishment of her old one, and, as far as can be known, the buttonholes are still in the cave where the robbers shut them up. 90 the clocks of rondaine ( the clocks of rondaine enturies ago, there stood on the banks of a cen was a long and winding stream which ran through different countries, and was sometimes narrow and swift, and sometimes broad and placid; sometimes hurrying through mountain passes, and again meandering quietly through fertile plains; in some places of a blue color and almost transparent, and in others of a dark and sombre hue; and so it changed and changed until it threw itself into a warm, far-spreading sea. but it was quite otherwise with the little town. as far back as anybody could remember, it had always been the same that it was at the time of our story, and the people who lived there could see no reason to suppose that it would ever be different from what it was then. it was a pleasant little town, its citizens were very happy, and why there should be any change in it, the most astute old man in all rondaine could not have told you. if rondaine had been famed for anything at all, it would have been for the number of its clocks. it had many churches, some little ones in dark side streets, and some larger ones in wider thoroughfares, besides, here and there, a very good-sized church fronting on 93 the clocks of rondaine a park or open square; and in the steeple of each of these churches there was a clock. there were town buildings, very old ones, which stood upon the great central square. each of these had a tower, and in each tower was a clock. then, there were clocks at street corners; two clocks in the market-place; clocks over shop doors; a clock at each end of the bridge, and several large clocks a little way out of town. many of these clocks were fashioned in some quaint and curious way. in one of the largest a stone man came out and struck the hours with a stone hammer, while a stone woman struck the half-hours with a stone broom. in another an iron donkey kicked the hours on a bell behind him. it would be impossible to tell all the odd ways in which the clocks of rondaine struck. but in one respect they were alike : they all did strike. the good people of the town would not have tolerated a clock which did not strike. it was very interesting to lie awake in the night and hear the clocks of rondaine strike. first would come a faint striking from one of the churches in the by-streets-a modest sound, as if the clock was not sure whether it was too early or not; then from another quarter would be heard a more confident clock striking the hour clearly and distinctly. when they were quite ready, but not a moment, before, the seven bells of the large church on the square would chime the hour, after which, at a respectful interval of time, the other church clocks of the town would strike. after the lapse of three or four minutes, the sound of all these bells seemed to wake up the stone man in the tower of the town building, and he struck the hour with his hammer. when this had been done, the other 94 the clocks of rondaine so. municipal clocks felt at liberty to strike, and they did and when every sound had died away, so that he would be certain to be heard if there was any one awake to hear, it would be very likely that the iron donkey would kick out the hour on his bell, though there were times when he kicked before any of the clocks began to strike. one by one the clocks on the street corners struck, the up-town ones first, and afterwards those near the river. these were followed by the two clocks on the bridge, the one at the country end waiting until it was quite sure that the one at the town end had finished. somewhat later would be heard the clock of vougereau, an old country house in the suburbs. this clock, a very large one, was on the top of a great square stone tower, and from its age it had acquired a habit of deliberation, so that when it began to strike people were very apt to think it was one o'clock, until, after a considerable interval, another stroke would assure them that it was later or earlier than that, and if they really wanted to know what hour the old clock was striking they must give themselves time enough to listen until they were entirely certain it had finished. the very last clock to strike in rondaine was one belonging to a little old lady with white hair, who lived in a little white house in one of the prettiest and cleanest streets in the town. her clock was in a little white tower at the corner of her house, and was the only strictly private clock which was in the habit of making itself publicly heard. long after every other clock had struck, and when there was every reason to believe that for a considerable time nothing but halfhours would be heard in rondaine, the old lady's clock 95 the clocks of rondaine would strike quickly and decisively, and with a confident tone, as if it knew it was right, and wished everybody to know that it knew. in an unpretentious house which stood on a corner of two of the smaller streets in the town lived a young girl named arla. for a year or more arla had been in the habit of waking up very early in the morning, sometimes long before daylight, and it had become a habit with her to lie and listen to the clocks. her room was at the top of the house, and one of its windows opened to the west and another to the south, so that sounds entered from different quarters. arla liked to leave these windows open so that the sounds of the clocks might come in. arla knew every clock by its tone, and she always made it a point to lie awake until she was positively sure that the last stroke of the clock at vougereau had sounded. but it often happened that sleep overcame her before she heard the clock of the little old lady with white hair. it was so very long to wait for that! it was not because she wanted to know the hour that arla used to lie and listen to the clocks. she had a little clock of her own, which stood in her room, and on which she depended for correct information regarding the time of day or night. this clock, which had been given to her when she was a small girl, not only struck the hours and half-hours and quarterhours, but there was attached to it a very pretty piece of mechanism which also indicated the time. on the front of the clock, just below the dial, was a sprig of a rose-bush beautifully made of metal, and on this, just after the hour had sounded, there was a large green 96 the clocks of rondaine bud. at a quarter past the hour this bud opened a little, so that the red petals could be seen. fifteen minutes later it was a half-blown rose, and at a quarter of an hour more it was nearly full blown. just before the hour the rose opened to its fullest extent, and so remained until the clock had finished striking, when it immediately shut up into a great green bud. this clock was a great delight to arla, for not only was it a very pleasant thing to watch the unfolding of the rose, but it was a continual satisfaction to her to think that her little clock always told her exactly what time it was, no matter what the other clocks of rondaine might say. arla's father and mother were thrifty, industrious people, who were very fond of their daughter. they not only taught her how to employ herself usefully, but insisted that she should take the recreation and exercise that a young girl ought to have. all day she was so occupied with work or play that she had little opportunity of thinking for herself. but even if they had considered the matter, this fact would not have troubled her parents, as they looked upon arla as entirely too young for that sort of thing. in the very early morning, however, listening to the clocks of rondaine or waiting for them, arla did a great deal of thinking. and it so happened, on the morning of the day before christmas, when the stars were bright and the air frosty, and every outside sound very clear and distinct, that arla began to think of something which had never entered her mind before. "how in the world," she said to herself, "do the people of rondaine know when it is really christmas? christmas begins as soon as it is twelve o'clock on 97 the clocks of rondaine christmas eve, but as some of the people depend for the time upon one clock and some upon others, a great many of them cannot truly know when christmas day has really begun. even some of the church clocks make people think that christmas has come when, in reality, it is yet the day before. not one of them strikes at the right time! as for that iron donkey, i believe he kicks whenever he feels like it. and yet there are people who go by him! i know this, for they have told me so. but the little old lady with white hair is worse off than anybody else. christmas must always come ever so long before she knows it." with these important thoughts on her mind, arla could not go to sleep again. she heard all the clocks strike, and lay awake until her own little clock told her that she ought to get up. during this time she had made up her mind what she should do. there was yet one day before christmas, and if the people of the town could be made to see in what a deplorable condition they were on account of the difference in their clocks, they might have time to rectify the matter so that all the clocks should strike the correct hour, and everybody should know exactly when christmas day began. she was sure the citizens had never given this matter proper consideration, and it was quite natural that such should be the case, for it was not every one who was in the habit of lying awake in the very early morning; and in the daytime, with all the outdoor noises, one could not hear all the clocks strike in rondaine. arla, therefore, thought that a great deal depended upon her, for she knew exactly how this matter stood. when she went down to breakfast she asked per98 the clocks of rondaine mission of her mother to take a day's holiday. as she was a good girl, and never neglected either her lessons or her tasks, her mother was quite willing to give her the day before christmas in which she could do as she pleased, and she did not think it necessary to ask if she intended to spend it in any particular way. the day was cool, but the sun shone brightly and the air was pleasant. in the country round about rondaine, christmas-time was not a very cold season. arla put on a warm jacket and a pretty blue hood, and started out gayly to attend to the business in hand. everybody in rondaine knew her father and mother, and a great many of them knew her, so there was no reason why she should be afraid to go where she chose. in one hand she carried a small covered basket in which she had placed her rose-clock. the works of this little clock were moved and regulated like those of a watch, and therefore it could be carried about without stopping it. the first place she visited was the church at which she and her parents always attended service. it was a small building in a little square at the bottom of a hill, and to reach it one had to go down a long flight of stone steps. when she entered the dimly lighted church, arla soon saw the sacristan, a pleasant-faced little old man whom she knew very well. "good morning, sir," said she. "do you take care of the church clock?" the sacristan was sweeping the stone pavement of the church, just inside the door. he stopped and leaned upon his broom. "yes, my little friend," he said, "i take care of everything here except the souls of the people." 99 the clocks of rondaine "well, then," said arla, "i think you ought to know that your clock is eleven minutes too fast. i came here to tell you that, so that you might change it, and make it strike properly." the sacristan's eyes began to twinkle. he was a man of merry mood. "that is very good of you, little arla-very good indeed. and now that we are about it, isn't there something else you would like to change? what do you say to having these stone pillars put to one side, so that they may be out of the way of the people when they come in? or those great beams in the roof? they might be turned over, and perhaps we might find that the upper side would look fresher than this lower part, which is somewhat time-stained, as you see. or, for the matter of that, what do you say to having our clock-tower taken down and set out there in the square before the church door? then short-sighted people could see the time much better, don't you think? now tell me, shall we do all these things together, wise little friend?" a tear or two came into arla's eyes, but she made no answer. "good morning, sir," she said, and went away. "i suppose," she said to herself, as she ran up the stone steps, "that he thought it would be too much trouble to climb to the top of the tower to set the clock right. but that was no reason why he should make fun of me. i don't like him as much as i used to." the next church to which arla went was a large one, and it was some time before she could find the sacristan. at last she saw him in a side chapel at the upper end of the church, engaged in dusting some old 100 the clocks of rondaine books. he was a large man with a red face, and he turned around quickly, with a stern expression, as she entered. "please, sir," said arla, "i came to tell you that your church clock is wrong. it strikes from four to six minutes before it ought to, sometimes the one and sometimes the other. it should be changed so that it will be sure to strike at the right time." the face of the sacristan grew redder and twitched visibly at her remark. "do you know what i wish?" he almost shouted in reply. "no, sir," answered arla. "i wish," he said, "that you were a boy, so that i might take you by the collar and soundly cuff your ears, for coming here to insult an officer of the church in the midst of his duties! but, as you are a girl, i can only tell you to go away from here as rapidly and as quietly as you can, or i shall have to put you in the hands of the ecclesiastical authorities!" arla was truly frightened, and although she did not run,—for she knew that would not be proper in a church,--she walked as fast as she could into the outer air. "what a bad man," she then said to herself, "to be employed in a church! it surely is not known what sort of person he is, or he would not be allowed to stay there a day!" arla thought she would not go to any more churches at present, for she did not know what sort of sacristans she might find in them. "when the other clocks in the town all strike properly," she thought, "it is most likely they will know 101 the clocks of rondaine for themselves that their clocks are wrong, and they will have them changed." she now made her way to the great square of the town, and entered the building at the top of which stood the stone man with his hammer. she found the concierge, or doorkeeper, in a little room by the side of the entrance. she knew where to go, for she had been there with her mother to ask permission to go up and see the stone man strike the hour with his hammer, and the stone woman strike the half-hour with her broom. the concierge was a grave, middle-aged man with spectacles, and, remembering what had just happened, arla thought she would be careful how she spoke to him. "if you please, sir," she said, with a courtesy, “i should like to say something to you, and i hope you will not be offended when i tell you that your clock is not quite right. your stone man and your stone woman are both too slow. they sometimes strike as much as seven minutes after they ought to strike.” the grave, middle-aged man looked steadily at her through his spectacles. "i thought," continued arla, "that if this should be made known to you, you would have the works of the stone man and the stone woman altered so that they might strike at the right time. they can be heard so far, you know, that it is very necessary they should not make mistakes." "child," said the man, with his spectacles still steadily fixed on her, "for one hundred and fifty-seven years the open tower on this building has stood here. for one hundred and fifty-seven years the thunder 102 the clocks of rondaine and the lightning in time of storm have roared and flashed around it, and the sun in time of fair weather has shone upon it. in that century and a half and seven years, men and women have lived and have died, and their children and their grandchildren and their great-grandchildren, and even the children of these, have lived and died after them. kings and queens have passed away, one after another, and all things living have grown old and died, one generation after another, many times. yet, through all these years, that stone man and that stone woman have stood up there, and in storm and in fair weather, by daylight or in the darkness of night, they have struck the hours and the half-hours. of all things which, one hundred and fifty-seven years ago, were able to lift an arm to strike, they alone are left. and now you, a child of thirteen or perhaps fourteen years, come to me and ask me to change that which has not been changed for a century and a half and seven years!" arla could answer nothing with those spectacles fixed upon her. they seemed to glare more and more as she looked at them. "good morning, sir," she said, dropping a courtesy as she moved backward toward the door. reaching it, she turned and hurried into the street. "if those stone people," she thought, "have not been altered in all these years, it is likely they would now be striking two or three hours out of the way! but i don't know. if they kept on going slow for more than a century, they must have come around to the right hour sometimes. but they will have to strike ever and ever so much longer before they come around there again!" 103 the clocks of rondaine arla now walked on until she came to a street corner where a cobbler had a little shop. in the angle of the wall of the house, at the height of the second story, was a clock. this cobbler did not like the confined air and poor light of his shop, and whenever the weather allowed he always worked outside on the sidewalk. to-day, although it was winter, the sun shone brightly on this side of the street, and he had put his bench outside, close to his door, and was sitting there, hard at work. when arla stopped before him he looked up and said cheerfully: "good morning, mistress arla. do you want them half-soled, or heeled, or a patch put on the toes?" "my shoes do not need mending," said arla. "i came to ask you if you could tell me who has charge of the clock at this corner." "i can easily do that," he said, "for i am the man. i am paid by the year, for winding it up and keeping it in order, as much as i should get for putting the soles, heels, tops, linings, and buckles on a pair of shoes." "which means making them out and out," said arla. "you are right," said he, "and the pay is not great. but if it were larger, more people might want it and i might lose it; and if it were less, how could i afford to do it at all? so i am satisfied." "but you ought not to be entirely satisfied," said arla, "for the clock does not keep good time. i know when it is striking, for it has a very jangling sound, and it is the most irregular clock in rondaine. sometimes it strikes as much as twenty-five minutes after the hour, and very often it does not strike at all." the cobbler looked up at her with a smile. "i am 104 the clocks of rondaine sorry," he said, "that it has a jangling stroke, but the fashioning of clocks is not my trade, and i could not mend its sound with awl, hammer, or waxed end. but it seems to me, my good maiden, that you never mended a pair of shoes." "no, indeed!" said arla. "i should do that even worse than you would make clocks." "never having mended shoes, then," said the cobbler, "you do not know what a grievous thing it is to have twelve o'clock, or six o'clock, or any other hour, in fact, come before you are ready for it. now, i don't mind telling you, because i know you are too good to spoil the trade of a hard-working cobbler,— and shoemaker, too, whenever he gets the chance to be one,―that when i have promised a customer that he ishall have his shoes or his boots at a certain time of day, and that time is drawing near, while the end of the job is still somewhat distant, then do i skip up the stairway and set back the hands of the clock according to the work that has to be done. then when my customer comes i look up to the clock-face and i say to him, 'glad to see you!' and then he will look up at the clock and will say, 'yes, i am a little too soon.' and then, as likely as not, he will sit down on the door-step here by me and talk entertainingly; and it may happen that he will sit there without grumbling for many minutes after the clock has pointed out the hour at which the shoes were promised. sometimes, when i have been much belated in beginning a job, i stop the clock altogether, for you can well see for yourself that it would not do to have it strike eleven when it is truly twelve. so, if my man be willing to sit down, and our talk be very entertaining, the 105 the clocks of rondaine clock being above him where he cannot see it without stepping outward from the house, he may not notice that it is stopped. this expedient once served me very well, for an old gentleman, over-testy and overpunctual, once came to me for his shoes, and looking up at the clock, which i had prepared for him, exclaimed, 'bless me! i am much too early!' so he sat down by me for three quarters of an hour, in which time i persuaded him that his shoes were far too much worn to be worth mending any more, and that he should have a new pair, which, afterwards, i made." "i do not believe it is right for you to do that," said arla. "but even if you think so, there is no reason why your clock should go wrong at night, when so many people can hear it because of the stillness." "ah me!" said the cobbler, "i do not object to the clock being as right as you please in the night, but when my day's work is done, i so desire to go home to my supper that i often forget to put the clock right, or to set it going if it is stopped. but so many things stop at night-such as the day itself-and so many things then go wrong-such as the ways of evilminded people-that i think you truly ought to pardon my poor clock." "then you will not consent," said arla, "to make it go right?" "i will do that with all cheerfulness," answered the cobbler, pulling out a pair of waxed ends with a great jerk, "as soon as i can make myself go right. the most important thing should always be done first. surely i am more important than a clock!" and he smiled with great good humor. 106 the clocks of rondaine arla knew that it would be of no use to stand there any longer and talk with this cobbler. turning to go, she said: "when i bring you shoes to mend, you shall finish them by my clock, and not by yours." "that will i, my good little arla," said the cobbler, heartily. "they shall be finished by any clock in town, and five minutes before the hour, or no payment." arla now walked on until she came to the bridge over the river. it was a long, covered structure, and by the entrance sat the bridge-keeper. "do you know, sir," said she, "that the clock at this end of your bridge does not keep the same time as the one at the other end? they are not so very different, but i have noticed that this one is always done striking at least two minutes before the other begins." the bridge-keeper looked at her with one eye, which was all he had. "you are as wrong as anybody can be," said he. "i do not say anything about the striking, because my ears are not now good enough to hear the clock at the other end when i am near this one, but i know they both keep the same time. i have often looked at this clock, and have then walked to the other end of the bridge, and have found that the clock there was exactly like it." arla looked at the poor old man, whose legs were warmly swaddled on account of his rheumatism, and said: "but it must take you a good while to walk to the other end of the bridge." "out upon you!" cried the bridge-keeper. "i am 107 the clocks of rondaine not so old as that yet! i can walk there in no time!" arla now crossed the bridge and went a short distance along a country road until she came to the great stone house known as vougereau. this belonged to a rich family who seldom came there, and the place was in charge of an elderly man who was the brother of arla's mother. when his niece was shown into a room on the ground floor which served for his parlor and his office, he was very glad to see her, and while arla was having something to eat and drink after her walk, the two had a pleasant chat. "i came this time, uncle anton," she said, "not only to see you, but to tell you that the great clock in your tower does not keep good time." uncle anton looked at her a little surprised. "how do you know that, my dear?" he said. then arla told him how she had lain awake in the early morning, and had heard the striking of the different clocks. "if you wish to make it right," said she, "i can give you the proper time, for i have brought my own little clock with me." she was about to take her rose-clock out of her basket, when her uncle motioned to her not to do so. "let me tell you something," said he. "the altering of the time of day, which you speak of so lightly, is a very serious matter, which should be considered with all gravity. if you set back a clock, even as little as ten minutes, you add that much to the time that has passed; the hour which has just gone by has been made seventy minutes long. now, no human being has the right to add anything to the past, nor to make hours longer than they were originally made. and, 108 the clocks of rondaine on the other hand, if you set a clock forward even so little as ten minutes, you take away that much from the future, and you make the coming hour only fifty minutes long. now, no human being has a right to take anything away from the future, or to make the hours shorter than they were originally intended to be. i desire, my dear niece, that you will earnestly think over what i have said, and i am sure you will then see for yourself how unwise and even culpable it would be to trifle with the length of the hours which make up our day. and now, arla, let us talk of other things." so they talked of other things until arla thought it was time to go. she saw there was something wrong in her uncle's reasoning, although she could not tell exactly what it was, and thinking about it, she slowly returned to the town. as she approached the house of the little old lady with white hair, she concluded to stop and speak to her about her clock. "she will surely be willing to alter that," said arla, "for it is so very much out of the way." the old lady knew who arla was, and received her very kindly. but when she heard why the young girl had come to her, she flew into a passion. "never, since i was born," she said, "have i been spoken to like this! my great-grandfather lived in this house before me; that clock was good enough for him. my grandfather lived in this house before me; that clock was good enough for him. my father and mother lived in this house before me; that clock was good enough for them. i was born in this house, have always lived in it, and expect to die in it; that clock is good enough for me. i heard its strokes when 109 the clocks of rondaine i was but a little child; i hope to hear them at my last hour. and sooner than raise my hand against the clock of my ancestors, and the clock of my whole life, i would cut off that hand!" some tears came into arla's eyes. she was a little frightened. "i hope you will pardon me, good madam," she said, "for, truly, i did not wish to offend you. nor did i think that your clock is not a good one. i only meant that you should make it better. it is nearly an hour out of the way." the sight of arla's tears cooled the anger of the little old lady with white hair. "child," she said, "you do not know what you are talking about, and i forgive you. but remember this: never ask persons as old as i am to alter the principles which have always made clear to them what they should do, or the clocks which have always told them when they should do it." then, kissing arla, she bade her good-by. "principles may last a great while without altering," thought arla, as she went away, "but i am sure it is very different with clocks." the poor girl now felt a good deal discouraged. "people don't seem to care whether their clocks are right or not," she said to herself, "and if they don't care, i am sure it is of no use for me to tell them about it. if even one clock could be made to go properly, it might help to make the people of rondaine care to know exactly what time it is. now, there is that iron donkey. if he would but kick at the right hour it would be an excellent thing, for he kicks so hard that he is heard all over the town." determined to make this one more effort, arla 110 the clocks of rondaine walked quickly to the town building at the top of which was the clock with the iron donkey. this building was a sort of museum. it had a great many curious things in it, and it was in charge of a very ingenious man, who was learned and skilful in various ways. when arla had informed the superintendent of the museum why she had come to him, he did not laugh at her, nor did he get angry. he was accustomed to giving earnest consideration to matters of this sort, and he listened attentively to all that arla had to say. "you must know," he said, "that our iron donkey is a very complicated piece of mechanism. not only must he kick out the hours, but five minutes before doing so he must turn his head around and look at the bell behind him, and then, when he has done kicking, he must put his head back into its former position. all this action requires a great many wheels and cogs and springs and levers, and these cannot be made to move with absolute regularity. when it is cold some of his works contract, and when it is warm they expand. there are also other reasons why he is very likely to lose or gain time. at noon on every bright day i set him right, being able to get the correct time from a sun-dial which stands in the courtyard. but his works-which, i am sorry to say, are not well made-are sure to get a great deal out of the way before i set him again." "then, if there are several cloudy or rainy days together, he goes very wrong indeed," said arla. "yes, he truly does," replied the superintendent, "and i am sorry for it. but there is no way to remedy his irregularities except for me to make him all over 111 the clocks of rondaine again at my own expense, and that is something i cannot afford to do. the clock belongs to the town, and i am sure the citizens will not be willing to spend the money necessary for a new donkey-clock. for, so far as i know, every person but yourself is perfectly satisfied with this one." "i suppose so," said arla, with a sigh. "but it really is a great pity that every striking clock in rondaine should be wrong!" "but how do you know they are all wrong?" asked the superintendent. "oh, that is easy enough," said arla. "when i lie awake in the early morning, when all else is very still, i listen to their striking, and then i look at my own rose-clock to see what time it really is." "your rose-clock?" said the superintendent. "this is it," said arla, opening her basket and taking out her little clock. the superintendent took it into his hands and looked at it attentively, both outside and inside. then, still holding it, he stepped out into the courtyard. when, in a few moments, he returned, he said: "i have compared your clock with my sun-dial, and find that it is ten minutes slow. i see also that like the donkey-clock its works are not adjusted in such a way as to be unaffected by heat and cold." "my clock ten-minutes slow!" exclaimed arla, with wide-open eyes. "yes," said the superintendent, "that is the case to-day, and on some days it is, probably, a great deal too fast. such a clock as this-which is a very ingenious and beautiful one-ought frequently to be compared with a sun-dial or other correct time-keeper, 112 the clocks of rondaine and set to the proper hour. i see it requires a peculiar key with which to set it. have you brought this with you?" "no, sir," said arla. "i did not suppose it would be needed." "well, then," said the superintendent, "you can set it forward ten minutes when you reach home. and to-morrow morning if you compare the other clocks with it, i think you will find that not all of them are wrong." arla sat quiet for a moment, and then she said: “i think i shall not care any more to compare the clocks of rondaine with my little rose-clock. if the people are satisfied with their own clocks, whether they are fast or slow, and do not desire to know exactly when christmas day begins, i can do nobody any good by listening to the different strikings and then looking at my own little clock with a night-lamp by it." "especially," said the superintendent, with a smile, "when you are not sure that your rose-clock is right. but if you will bring here your little clock and your key on any day when the sun is shining, i will set it to the time shadowed on the sun-dial, or show you how to do it yourself." "thank you very much," said arla, and she took her leave. as she walked home, she lifted the lid of her basket and looked at her little rose-clock. "to think of it!" she said. "that you should be sometimes too fast and sometimes too slow! and, worse than that, to think that some of the other clocks have been right and you have been wrong! but i do not feel like altering you to-day. if you go fast sometimes, and slow sometimes, 113 the clocks of rondaine you must be right sometimes, and one of these days, when i take you to be compared with the sun-dial, perhaps you may not have to be altered so much." arla went to bed that night quite tired with her long walks, and when she awoke it was broad daylight. "i do not know," she said to herself, "exactly when christmas began, but i am very sure that the happy day is here." "do you lie awake in the morning as much as you used to?" asked arla's mother, a few weeks after the christmas holidays. "no, mother dear," said arla. "i now sleep with one of my windows shut, and i am no longer awakened by that chilly feeling which used to come to me in the early morning, when i would draw the bedcovers close about me and think how wrong were the clocks of rondaine." the little rose-clock never went to be compared with the sun-dial. "perhaps you are right now,” arla would say to her clock each day when the sun shone, "and i will not take you until some time when i feel very sure that you are wrong." 114 christmas before last; or, the fruit of the fragile palm a christmas before last; or, the fruit of the fragile palm the he horn o' plenty was a fine, big, old-fashioned ship, very high in the bow, very high in the stern, with a quarter-deck always carpeted in fine weather, because her captain could not see why one should not make himself comfortable at sea as well as on land. covajos maroots was her captain, and a fine, jolly, old-fashioned, elderly sailor he was. the horn o' plenty always sailed upon one sea, and always between two ports, one on the west side of the sea, and one on the east. the port on the west was quite a large city, in which captain covajos had a married son, and the port on the east was another city in which he had a married daughter. in each family he had several grandchildren, and, consequently, it was a great joy to the jolly old sailor to arrive at either port. the captain was very particular about his cargo, and the horn o' plenty was generally laden with good things to eat, or sweet things to smell, or fine things to wear, or beautiful things to look at. once a merchant brought to him some boxes of bitter aloes and mustard-plasters, but captain covajos refused to take them into his ship. "i know," said he, "that such things are very useful 117 christmas before last and necessary at times, but you would better send them over in some other vessel. the horn o' plenty has never carried anything that, to look at, to taste, or to smell, did not delight the souls of old and young. i am sure you cannot say that of these commodities. if i were to put such things on board my ship, it would break the spell which more than fifty savory voyages have thrown around it." there were sailors who sailed upon that sea who used to say that sometimes, when the weather was hazy and they could not see far, they would know they were about to meet the horn o' plenty before she came in sight. her planks and timbers, and even her sails and masts, had gradually become so filled with the odor of good things that the winds that blew over her were filled with an agreeable fragrance. there was another thing about which captain covajos was very particular: he always liked to arrive at one of his ports a few days before christmas. never, in the course of his long life, had the old sailor spent a christmas at sea, and now that he had his grandchildren to help make the holidays merry, it would have grieved him very much if he had been unable to reach one or the other of his ports in good season. his jolly old vessel was generally heavily laden, and very slow, and there were many days of calm on that sea when she did not sail at all, so that her voyages were usually very, very long. but the captain fixed the days of sailing so as to give himself plenty of time to get to the other end of his course before christmas came around. one spring, however, he started too late, and when he was about at the middle of his voyage, he called to 118 christmas before last him baragat bean, his old boatswain. this venerable sailor had been with the captain ever since he had commanded the horn o' plenty, and on important occasions he was always consulted in preference to the other officers, none of whom had served under captain covajos more than fifteen or twenty years. "baragat," said the captain, "we have just passed the isle of guinea-hens. you can see its one mountain standing up against the sky to the north." "there she "ay, ay, sir," said old baragat. stands, the same as usual." “that makes it plain," said the captain, "that we are not yet half-way across, and i am very much afraid that i shall not be able to reach my dear daughter's house before christmas." "that would be doleful, indeed," said baragat, “but i've feared something of the kind, for we've had calms nearly every other day, and sometimes, when the wind did blow, it came from the wrong direction, and it's my belief that the ship sailed backward." "that was very bad management," said the captain. "the chief mate should have seen to it that the sails were turned in such a manner that the ship could not go backward. if that sort of thing happened often, it would become quite a serious affair." "but what is done can't be helped," said the boatswain, "and i don't see how you are going to get into port before christmas." "nor do i," said the captain, gazing out over the sea. "it would give me a sad turn, sir," said baragat, "to see you spend christmas at sea, a thing you never did before, nor ever shall do, if i can help it. if you'll 119 christmas before last take my advice, sir, you'll turn around and go back. it's a shorter distance to the port we started from than to the one we are going to, and if we turn back now, i am sure we all shall be on shore before the holidays." "go back to my son's house!" exclaimed captain covajos, "where i was last winter! why, that would be like spending last christmas over again!" "but that would be better than having none at all, sir," said the boatswain, "and a christmas at sea would be about equal to none." "good!" exclaimed the captain. "i will give up the coming christmas with my daughter and her children, and go back and spend last christmas over again with my son and his dear boys and girls. have the ship turned around immediately, baragat, and tell the chief mate i do not wish to sail backward if it can possibly be avoided." for a week or more the horn o' plenty sailed back upon her track toward the city where dwelt the captain's son. the weather was fine, the carpet was never taken up from the quarter-deck, and everything was going on very well, when a man, who happened to have an errand at one of the topmasts, came down and reported that he had seen, far away to the north, a little open boat with some people in it. "ah me!" said captain covajos, "it must be some poor fellows who are shipwrecked. it will take us out of our course, but we must not leave them to their fate. have the ship turned about, so that it will sail northward." it was not very long before they came up with the boat, and, much to the captain's surprise, he saw that it was filled with boys. 120 christmas before last "who are you?" he cried as soon as he was near enough. "and where do you come from?" "we are the first class in long division," said the oldest boy, "and we are cast away. have you anything to eat that you can spare us? we are almost famished." "we have plenty of everything," said the captain. "come on board instantly, and all your wants shall be supplied." "how long have you been without food?" he asked, when the boys were on the deck of the vessel. "we have had nothing to eat since breakfast,” said one of them, "and it is now late in the afternoon. some of us are nearly dead from starvation." "it is very hard for boys to go so long without eating," said the good captain, and leading them below, he soon set them to work upon a bountiful meal. not until their hunger was fully satisfied did he ask them how they came to be cast away. "you see, sir," said the oldest boy, "we and the multiplication class had a holiday to-day, and each class took a boat and determined to have a race, so as to settle, once for all, which was the highest branch of arithmetic-multiplication or long division. our class rowed so hard that we entirely lost sight of the multiplicationers, and found, indeed, that we were out of sight of everything, so that, at last, we did not know which was the way back, and thus we became castaways." "where is your school?" asked the captain. "it is on apple island," said the boy. "and although it is a long way off for a small boat with only four oars for nine boys, it can't be very far for a ship." 121 christmas before last "that is quite likely," said the captain, "and we shall take you home. baragat, tell the chief mate to have the vessel turned toward apple island, that we may restore these boys to their parents and guardians." now, the chief mate had not the least idea in the world where apple island was, but he did not like to ask, because that would be confessing his ignorance. so he steered his vessel toward a point where he believed he had once seen an island, which, probably, was the one in question. the horn o' plenty sailed in this direction all night, and when day broke, and there was no island in sight, she took another course, and so sailed this way and that for six or seven days, without ever seeing a sign of land. all this time, the first class in long division was as happy as it could be, for it was having a perfect holiday, fishing off the sides of the vessel, climbing up the ladders and ropes, and helping the sailors whistle for wind. but the captain now began to grow a little impatient, for he felt he was losing time; so he sent for the chief mate, and said to him mildly but firmly : "i know it is out of the line of your duty to search for island schools, but if you really think that you do not know where apple island lies, i wish you to say so, frankly and openly." "frankly and openly," answered the mate, "i don't think i do." "very well," said the captain. "now, that is a basis to work upon, and we know where we stand. you can take a little rest, and let the second mate find the island. but i can only give him three days in which to do it. we really have no time to spare." the second mate was very proud of the responsi122 christmas before last bility placed upon him, and immediately ordered the vessel to be steered due south. "one is just as likely," he said, "to find a totally unknown place by going straight ahead in a certain direction as by sailing here, there, and everywhere. in this way you really get over more water, and there is less wear and tear on the ship and rigging." so he sailed due south for two days, and at the end of that time they came in sight of land. this was a large island, and when they approached near enough, they saw upon its shores a very handsome city. "is this apple island?" said captain covajos to the oldest boy. "well, sir," answered the youth, "i am not sure i can say with certainty that i truly believe it is. but i think, if we were to go on shore, the people there would be able to tell us how to go to apple island." "very likely," said the good captain. "we will go on shore and make inquiries. and it has struck me, baragat," he said, "that perhaps the merchants in the city where my son lives may be somewhat annoyed when the horn o' plenty comes back with all their goods on board, and not disposed of. not understanding my motives, they may be disposed to think ill of me. consequently, the idea has come into my head that it might be a good thing to stop here for a time, and to try to dispose of some of our merchandise. the city seems to be prosperous, and i have no doubt there are a number of merchants here." so the horn o' plenty was soon anchored in the harbor, and as many of the officers and crew as could be 123 christmas before last spared went on shore to make inquiries. of course the first class in long division was not left behind, and, indeed, they were ashore as soon as anybody. the captain and his companions were cordially welcomed by some of the dignitaries of the city who had come down to the harbor to see the strange vessel, but no one could give any information in regard to apple island, the name of which had never been heard on those shores. the captain was naturally desirous of knowing at what place he had landed, and was informed that this was the island of the fragile palm. "that is rather an odd name," said the old captain. "why is it so called?" “the reason is this," said his informant: "near the centre of the island stands a tall and very slender palmtree, which has been growing there for hundreds of years. it bears large and handsome fruit which is something like the cocoanut, and, in its perfection, is said to be a transcendently delicious fruit." "said to be!" exclaimed the captain. "are you not positive about it?" "no," said the other. "no one living has ever tasted the fruit in its perfection. when it becomes over-ripe it drops to the ground, and even then it is considered royal property, and is taken to the palace for the king's table. but on fête-days and grand occasions small bits of it are distributed to the populace." "why don't you pick the fruit," asked captain covajos, "when it is in its best condition to eat?” "it would be impossible," said the citizen, "for any one to climb up that tree, the trunk of which is so extremely delicate and fragile that the weight of a man would probably snap it, and, of course, a ladder 124 christmas before last placed against it would produce the same result. many attempts have been made to secure this fruit at the proper season, but all of them have failed. another palm-tree of a more robust sort was once planted near this one, in the hope that when it grew high enough men could climb up the stronger tree and get the fruit from the other. but although we waited many years, the second tree never attained sufficient height, and it was cut down." "it is a great pity," said the captain, "but i suppose it cannot be helped." then he began to make inquiries about the merchants in the place, and what probability there was of his doing a little trade here. the captain soon discovered that the cargo of his ship was made up of goods which were greatly desired by the citizens of this place, and for several days he was very busy selling the good things to eat, the sweet things to smell, the fine things to wear, and the beautiful things to look at, with which the hold of the horn o' plenty was crowded. during this time the first class in long division roamed, in delight, over the city. the busy streets, the shops, the handsome buildings, and the queer sights with which they occasionally met, interested and amused them greatly. still the boys were not satisfied. they had heard of the fragile palm, and they made up their minds to go and have a look at it. therefore, taking a guide, they tramped out into the country, and in about an hour they came in sight of the beautiful tree standing in the centre of the plain. the trunk was, indeed, exceedingly slender, and, as the guide informed them, the wood was of so very brittle a nature that, if the tree had not been protected from 125 christmas before last the winds by the high hills which encircled it, it would have been snapped off ages ago. under the broad tuft of leaves that formed its top, the boys saw hanging large clusters of the precious fruit, great nuts as big as their heads. "at what time of the year," asked the oldest boy, "is that fruit just ripe enough to eat?" "now," answered the guide. "this is the season when it is in the most perfect condition. in about a month it will become entirely too ripe and soft, and will drop. but, even then, the king and all the rest of us are glad enough to get a taste of it." "i should think the king would be exceedingly eager to get some of it just as it is," said the boy. "indeed, he is!" replied the guide. "he and his father, and i don't know how many grandfathers back, have offered large rewards to any one who would procure them this fruit in its best condition. but nobody has ever been able to get any yet." "the reward still holds good, i suppose?" said the head boy. "oh, yes,” answered the guide. "there never was a king who so much desired to taste the fruit as our present monarch." the oldest boy looked up at the top of the tree, shut one eye, and gave his head a little wag. whereupon every boy in the class looked up, shut one eye, and slightly wagged his head. after which the oldest boy said that he thought it was about time for them to go back to the ship. as soon as they reached the vessel, and could talk freely together, the boys had an animated discussion. it was unanimously agreed that they would make an 126 christmas before last attempt to get some of the precious fruit from the fragile palm, and the only difference of opinion among them was as to how it should be done. most of them were in favor of some method of climbing the tree and trusting to its not breaking. but this the oldest boy would not listen to. the trunk might snap, and then somebody would be hurt, and he felt, in a measure, responsible for the rest of the class. at length a good plan was proposed by a boy who had studied mechanics. "what we ought to do with that tree,” said he, "is to put a hinge into her. then we could let her down gently, pick off the fruit, and set her up again." "but how are you going to do it?" asked the others. "this is the way," said the boy who had studied mechanics. "you take a saw, and then, about two feet from the ground, you begin and saw down diagonally, for a foot and a half, to the centre of the trunk. then you go on the other side, and saw down in the same way, the two cuts meeting each other. now you have the upper part of the trunk ending in a wedge, which fits into a cleft in the lower part of the trunk. then, about nine inches below the place where you first began to saw, you bore a hole straight through both sides of the cleft and the wedge between them. then you put an iron bolt through this hole, and you have your tree on a hinge, only she won't be apt to move, because she fits in so snug and tight. then you get a long rope, and tie one end in a slip-knot loosely around the trunk. then you get a lot of poles, and fasten them end to end, and push this slip-knot up until it is somewhere near the top, when you pull it tight. then you take another rope with a slip-knot, and push 127 christmas before last this a little more than half-way up the trunk. by having two ropes, that way, you prevent too much strain coming on any one part of the trunk. then, after that, you take a mallet and chisel and round off the lower corners of the wedge, so that it will turn easily in the cleft. then we take hold of the ropes, let her down gently, pick off the fruit, and haul her up again. that will all be easy enough." this plan delighted the boys, and they all pronounced in its favor. but the oldest one suggested that it would be better to fasten the ropes to the trunk before they began to saw upon it, and another boy asked how they were going to keep the tree standing when they hauled her up again. "oh, that is easy," said the one who had studied mechanics. "you just bore another hole about six inches above the first one, and put in another bolt. then, of course, she can't move." this settled all the difficulties, and it was agreed to start out early the next morning, gather the fruit, and claim the reward the king had offered. they accordingly went to the captain and asked him for a sharp saw, a mallet and chisel, an auger, two iron bolts, and two very long ropes. these, having been cheerfully given to them, were put away in readiness for the work to be attempted. very early on the next morning, the first class in long division set out for the fragile palm, carrying their tools and ropes. few people were awake as they passed through the city, and, without being observed, they reached the little plain on which the tree stood. the ropes were attached at the proper places, the tree was sawn diagonally, according to the plan, 128 christmas before last the bolt was put in, and the corners of the wedge were rounded off. then the eldest boy produced a pound of butter, whereupon his comrades, who had seized the ropes, paused in surprise and asked him why he had brought that. "i thought it well," was the reply, "to bring along some butter, because, when the tree is down, we can grease the hinge, and then it will not be so hard to pull it up again." when all was ready, eight of the boys took hold of the long ropes, while another one with a pole pushed against the trunk of the fragile palm. when it began to lean over a little, he dropped his pole and ran to help the others with the ropes. slowly the tree moved on its hinge, descending at first very gradually. but it soon began to move with greater rapidity, although the boys held it back with all their strength, and, in spite of their most desperate efforts, the top came to the ground at last with a great thump. then they all dropped their ropes and ran for the fruit. fortunately the great nuts encased in their strong husks were not in the least injured, and the boys soon pulled them off, about forty in all. some of the boys were in favor of cracking open a few of the nuts and eating them, but this the eldest boy positively forbade. "this fruit," he said, "is looked upon as almost sacred, and if we were to eat any of it, it is probable that we should be put to death, which would be extremely awkward for fellows who have gone to all the trouble we have had. we must set up the tree and carry the fruit to the king." according to this advice, they thoroughly greased the hinge in the tree with the butter, and then set 129 christmas before last themselves to work to haul up the trunk. this, however, was much more difficult than letting it down; and they had to lift up the head of it, and prop it up on poles, before they could pull upon it with advantage. the tree, although tall, was indeed a very slender one, with a small top, and if it had been as fragile as it was supposed to be, the boys' efforts would surely have broken it. at last, after much tugging and warm work, they pulled it into an upright position, and put in the second bolt. they left the ropes on the tree because, as some of them had suggested, the people might want to let the tree down again the next year. it would have been difficult for the boys to carry in their arms the great pile of fruit they had gathered, but having noticed a basket-maker's cottage on their way to the tree, two of them were sent to buy one of his largest baskets or hampers. this was attached to two long poles, and having been filled with the nuts, the boys took the poles on their shoulders, and marched into the city. on their way to the palace they attracted a great crowd, and when they were ushered into the presence of the king, his surprise and delight knew no bounds. at first he could scarcely believe his eyes, but he had seen the fruit so often that there could be no mistake about it. "i shall not ask you," he said to the boys, "how you procured this fruit, and thus accomplished a deed which has been the object of the ambition of myself and my forefathers. all i ask is, did you leave the tree standing?" "we did," said the boys. "then all that remains to be done," said his maj130 christmas before last esty, "is to give you the reward you have so nobly earned. treasurer, measure out to each of them a quart of gold coin. and pray be quick about it, for i am wild with desire to have a table spread, and one of these nuts cracked, that i may taste of its luscious contents." the boys, however, appeared a little dissatisfied. huddling together, they consulted in a low tone, and then the eldest boy addressed the king. "may it please your majesty," he said, "we should very much prefer to have you give each of us one of those nuts instead of a quart of gold." the king looked grave. "this is a much greater reward," he said, "than i had ever expected to pay. but, since you ask it, you must have it. you have done something which none of my subjects has ever been able to accomplish, and it is right, therefore, that you should be fully satisfied." so he gave them each a nut, with which they departed in triumph to the ship. by the afternoon of the next day the captain had sold all his cargo at very good prices, and when the money was safely stored away in the horn o' plenty, he made ready to sail, for he declared he had really no time to spare. "i must now make all possible haste," he said to old baragat, "to find apple island, put these boys ashore, and then speed away to the city where lives my son. we must not fail to get there in time to spend last christmas over again." on the second day after the horn o' plenty had left the island of the fragile palm, one of the sailors who happened to be aloft noticed a low, black, and exceedingly unpleasant-looking vessel rapidly approaching. 131 christmas before last this soon proved to be the ship of a band of corsairs, who, having heard of the large amount of money on the horn o' plenty, had determined to pursue her and capture the rich prize. all sails were set upon the horn o' plenty, but it soon became plain that she could never outsail the corsair vessel. "what our ship can do better than anything else," said baragat to the captain, "is to stop short. stop her short, and let the other one go by." this manœuvre was executed, but although the corsair passed rapidly by, not being able to stop so suddenly, it soon turned around and came back, its decks swarming with savage men armed to the teeth. "they are going to board us," cried baragat. "they are getting out their grappling-irons, and they will fasten the two ships together." "let all assemble on the quarter-deck," said the captain. "it is higher there, and we shall not be so much exposed to accidents." the corsair ship soon ran alongside the horn o' plenty, and in a moment the two vessels were fastened together, and then the corsairs, every man of them, each with cutlass in hand and a belt full of dirks and knives, swarmed up the side of the horn o' plenty, and sprang upon its central deck. some of the ferocious fellows, seeing the officers and crew all huddled together upon the quarter-deck, made a movement in that direction. this so frightened the chief mate that he jumped down upon the deck of the corsair ship. a panic now arose, and he was immediately followed by the officers and crew. the boys, of course, were not to be left behind, and as the captain and baragat felt themselves bound not to desert the crew, they 132 christmas before last jumped also. none of the corsairs interfered with this proceeding, for each one of them was anxious to find the money at once. when the passengers and crew of the horn o' plenty were all on board the corsair ship, baragat came to the captain, and said: "if i were you, sir, i'd cast off those grapnels, and separate the vessels. if we don't do that, those rascals, when they have finished robbing our moneychests, will come back here and murder us all." "that is a good idea," said captain covajos. and he told the chief mate to give orders to cast off the grapnels, push the two vessels apart, and set some of the sails. when this had been done, the corsair vessel began to move away from the other, and was soon many lengths distant from her. when the corsairs came on deck and perceived what had happened, they were infuriated, and immediately began to pursue their own vessel with the one they had captured. but the horn o' plenty could not, by any possibility, sail as fast as the corsair ship, and the latter easily kept away from her. "now, then," said baragat to the captain, "what you have to do is easy enough. sail straight for our port, and those sea-robbers will follow you, for, of course, they will wish to get their own vessel back again, and will hope, by some carelessness on our part, to overtake us. in the meantime the money will be safe enough, for they will have no opportunity of spending it, and when we come to port, we can take some soldiers on board, and go back and capture those fellows. they can never sail away from us on the horn o' plenty." 133 christmas before last "that is an admirable plan,” said the captain, "and i shall carry it out. but i cannot sail to port immediately. i must first find apple island and land these boys, whose parents and guardians are probably growing very uneasy. i suppose the corsairs will continue to follow us wherever we go." "i hope so," said baragat. "at any rate, we shall see." the first class in long division was very much delighted with the change of vessels, and the boys rambled everywhere, and examined with great interest all that belonged to the corsairs. they felt quite easy about the only treasures they possessed, because, when they had first seen the piratical vessel approaching, they had taken the precious nuts which had been given to them by the king, and had hidden them at the bottom of some large boxes in which the captain kept the sailors' winter clothes. "in this warm climate," said the eldest boy, "the robbers will never meddle with those winter clothes, and our precious fruit will be perfectly safe." "if you had taken my advice," said one of the other boys, "we should have eaten some of the nuts. those, at least, we should have been sure of." "and we should have had that many less to show to the other classes," said the eldest boy. "nuts like these, i am told, if picked at the proper season, will keep for a long time." for some days the corsairs on board the horn o' plenty followed their own vessel, but then they seemed to despair of ever being able to overtake it, and steered in another direction. this threatened to ruin all the plans of captain covajos, and his mind became trou134 christmas before last bled. then the boy who had studied mechanics came forward and said to the captain : "i'll tell you what i'd do, sir, if i were you. i'd follow your old ship, and when night came on i'd sail up quite near to her, and let some of your sailors swim quietly over, and fasten a cable to her, and then you could tow her after you wherever you wished to go." "but they might unfasten the cable, or cut it," said baragat, who was standing by. "that could easily be prevented," said the boy. "at their end of the cable must be a stout chain which they cannot cut, and it must be fastened so far beneath the surface of the water that they will not be able to reach it to unfasten it." "a most excellent plan," said captain covajos. "let it be carried out." as soon as it became quite dark, the corsair vessel quietly approached the other, and two stout sailors from finland, who swam very well, were ordered to swim over and attach the chain-end of a long cable to the horn o' plenty. it was a very difficult operation, for the chain was heavy; but the men succeeded at last, and returned to report. "we put the chain on fast and strong, sir," they said to the captain, "and six feet under water. but the only place we could find to make it fast to was the bottom of the rudder." "that will do very well," remarked baragat, "for the horn o' plenty sails better backward than forward, and will not be so hard to tow." for week after week, and month after month, captain covajos, in the corsair vessel, sailed here and there in search of apple island, always towing after 135 christmas before last him the horn o' plenty, with the corsairs on board; but never an island with a school on it could they find, and one day old baragat came to the captain and said: "if i were you, sir, i'd sail no more in these warm regions. i am quite sure that apples grow in colder latitudes, and are never found so far south as this." "that is a good idea," said captain covajos. "we should sail for the north if we wish to find an island of apples. have the vessel turned northward." so, for days and weeks, the two vessels slowly moved on to the north. one day the captain made some observations and calculations, and then he hastily summoned baragat. "do you know," said he, "that i find it is now near the end of november, and i am quite certain that we shall not get to the port where my son lives in time to celebrate last christmas again. it is dreadfully slow work, towing after us the horn o' plenty, full of corsairs, wherever we go. but we cannot cast her off and sail straight for our port, for i should lose my good ship, the merchants would lose all their money, and the corsairs would go unpunished. besides all that, think of the misery of the parents and guardians of those poor boys. no. i must endeavor to find apple island. and if i cannot reach port in time to spend last christmas with my son, i shall certainly get there in season for christmas before last. it is true that i spent that christmas with my daughter, but i cannot go on to her now. i am much nearer the city where my son lives. besides, it is necessary to go back and give the merchants their money. so now we shall have plenty of time, and need not feel hurried." 136 christmas before last "no," said baragat, heaving a vast sigh, "we need not feel hurried." the mind of the eldest boy now became very much troubled, and he called his companions about him. "i don't like at all," said he, "this sailing to the north. it is now november, and although it is warm enough at this season in the southern part of the sea, it will become colder and colder as we go on. the consequence of this will be that those corsairs will want winter clothes; they will take them out of the captain's chests, and they will find our fruit." the boys groaned. "that is true," said one of them. "but still we wish to go back to our island." "of course," said the eldest boy, "it is quite proper that we should return to long division. but think of the hard work we did to get that fruit, and think of the quarts of gold we gave up for it! it would be too bad to lose it now!" it was unanimously agreed that it would be too bad to lose the fruit, and it was also unanimously agreed that they wished to go back to apple island. but what to do about it they did not know. day by day the weather grew colder and colder, and the boys became more and more excited and distressed for fear they should lose their precious fruit. the eldest boy lay awake for several nights, and then a plan came into his head. he went to captain covajos and proposed that he should send a flag of truce over to the corsairs, offering to exchange winter clothing. he would send over to them the heavy garments they had left on their own vessel, and in return would take the boxes of clothes intended for the winter wear of his sailors. in this way they would get their fruit 137 christmas before last back without the corsairs knowing anything about it. the captain considered this an excellent plan, and ordered the chief mate to take a boat and a flag of truce, and go over to the horn o' plenty and make the proposition. the eldest boy and two of the others insisted on going also, in order that there might be no mistake about the boxes. but when the flag-oftruce party reached the horn o' plenty they found not a corsair there! every man of them had gone. they had taken with them all the money-chests, but, to the great delight of the boys, the boxes of winter clothes had not been disturbed, and in them still nestled, safe and sound, the precious nuts of the fragile palm. when the matter had been thoroughly looked into, it became quite evident what the corsairs had done. there had been only one boat on board the horn o' plenty, and that was the one on which the first class in long division had arrived. the night before, the two vessels had passed within a mile or so of a large island, which the captain had approached in the hope it was the one they were looking for, and they passed it so slowly that the corsairs had time to ferry themselves over, a few at a time, in the little boat, taking with them the money-and all without discovery. captain covajos was greatly depressed when he heard of the loss of all the money. "i shall have a sad tale to tell my merchants," he said, "and christmas before last will not be celebrated so joyously as it was the first time. but we cannot help what has happened, and we all must endeavor to bear our losses with patience. we shall continue our search for apple island, but i shall go on board my own ship, for i have greatly missed my carpeted quar138 christmas before last ter-deck and my other comforts. the chief mate, however, and a majority of the crew shall remain on board the corsair vessel, and continue to tow us. the horn o' plenty sails better stern foremost, and we shall go faster that way." the boys were overjoyed at recovering their fruit, and most of them were in favor of cracking two or three of the great nuts and eating their contents in honor of the occasion; but the eldest boy dissuaded them. "the good captain," he said, "has been very kind in endeavoring to take us back to our school, and still intends to keep up the search for dear old apple island. the least we can do for him is to give him this fruit, which is all we have, and let him do what he pleases with it. this is the only way in which we can show our gratitude to him." the boys turned their backs on one another, and each of them gave his eyes a little rub, but they all agreed to give the fruit to the captain. when the good old man received his present, he was much affected. "i will accept what you offer me," he said, "for if i did not, i know your feelings would be wounded. but you must keep one of the nuts for yourselves. and, more than that, if we do not find apple island in the course of the coming year, i invite you all to spend christmas before last over again with me at my son's house." all that winter the two ships sailed up and down, and here and there, but never could they find apple island. when christmas-time came, old baragat went around among the boys and the crew, and told them it would be well not to say a word on the subject to 139 christmas before last the captain, for his feelings were very tender in regard to spending christmas away from his families, and the thing had never happened before. so nobody made any allusion to the holidays, and they passed over as if they had been ordinary days. during the spring, and all through the summer, the two ships kept up the unavailing search, but when the autumn began, captain covajos said to old baragat: "i am very sorry, but i feel that i can no longer look for apple island. i must go back and spend christmas before last over again with my dearest son, and if these poor boys never return to their homes, i am sure they cannot say it was any fault of mine.” “no, sir,” said baragat. “i think you have done all that could be expected of you." so the ships sailed to the city on the west side of the sea, and the captain was received with great joy by his son and his grandchildren. he went to the merchants, and told them how he had lost all their money. he hoped they would be able to bear their misfortune with fortitude, and begged, as he could do nothing else for them, that they would accept the eight great nuts from the fragile palm that the boys had given him. to his surprise, the merchants became wild with delight when they received the nuts. the money they had lost was as nothing, they said, compared to the value of this incomparable and precious fruit, picked in its prime, and still in a perfect condition. it had been many, many generations since this rare fruit, the value of which was like unto that of diamonds and pearls, had been for sale in any market in the world; and kings and queens in many countries 140 christmas before last were ready to give for it almost any price that might be asked. when the good old captain heard this he was greatly rejoiced, and, as the holidays were now near, he insisted that the boys should spend christmas before last over again at his son's house. he found that a good many people there knew where apple island was, and he made arrangements for the first class in long division to return to that island in a vessel which was to sail about the first of the year. the boys still possessed the great nut which the captain had insisted they should keep for themselves, and he now told them that if they chose to sell it they would each have a nice little fortune to take back with them. the eldest boy consulted the others, and then he said to the captain: "our class has gone through a good many hardships, and has had a lot of trouble with that palm-tree and other things, and we think we ought to be rewarded. so, if it is all the same to you, i think we will crack the nut on christmas day, and we all will eat it." "i never imagined," cried captain covajos, as he sat, on that christmas day, surrounded by his son's family and the first class in long division, the eyes of the whole party sparkling with ecstasy as they tasted the peerless fruit of the fragile palm, "that christmas before last could be so joyfully celebrated over again." 141 1 prince hassak's march atlantistatic. prince hassak's march n the spring of a certain year, long since passed away, prince hassak of itoby determined to visit his uncle, the king of yan. in "whenever my uncle visited us," said the prince, "or when my late father went to see him, the journey was always made by sea; and in order to do this it was necessary to go in a very roundabout way between itoby and yan. now, i shall do nothing of this kind. it is beneath the dignity of a prince to go out of his way on account of capes, peninsulas, and promontories. i shall march from my palace to that of my uncle in a straight line. i shall go across the country, and no obstacle shall cause me to deviate from my course. mountains and hills shall be tunnelled, rivers shall be bridged, houses shall be levelled, a road shall be cut through forests, and when i have finished my march, the course over which i have passed shall be a mathematically straight line. thus will i show to the world that when a prince desires to travel it is not necessary for him to go out of his way on account of obstacles." as soon as possible after the prince had determined upon this march, he made his preparations, and set out. he took with him a few courtiers, and a large body of miners, rock-splitters, bridge-builders, and 145 prince hassak's march workmen of that class, whose services would, very probably, be needed. besides these, he had an officer whose duty it was to point out the direct course to be taken, and another who was to draw a map of the march, showing the towns, mountains, and the various places it passed through. there were no compasses in those days, but the course-marker had an instrument which he would set in a proper direction by means of the stars, and then he could march by it all day. besides these persons, prince hassak selected from the schools of his city five boys and five girls, and took them with him. he wished to show them how, when a thing was to be done, the best way was to go straight ahead and do it, turning aside for nothing. "when they grow up they will teach these things to their children," said he, "and thus i shall instil good principles into my people." the first day prince hassak and his party marched over a level country, with no further trouble than that occasioned by the tearing down of fences and walls, and the destruction of a few cottages and barns. after encamping for the night, they set out the next morning, but had not marched many miles before they came to a rocky hill, on the top of which was a handsome house, inhabited by a jolly-cum-pop. "your highness," said the course-marker, "in order to go in a direct line we must make a tunnel through this hill, immediately under the house. this may cause the building to fall in, but the rubbish can be easily removed." "let the men go to work," said the prince. "i will dismount from my horse and watch the proceedings." 146 prince hassak's march when the jolly-cum-pop saw the party halt before his house, he hurried out to pay his respects to the prince. when he was informed of what was to be done, the jolly-cum-pop could not refrain from laughing aloud. "i never heard," he said, "of such a capital idea. it is so odd and original. it will be very funny, i am sure, to see a tunnel cut right under my house." the miners and rock-splitters now began to work at the base of the hill, and then the jolly-cum-pop made a proposition to the prince. "it will take your men some time," he said, “to cut this tunnel, and it is a pity your highness should not be amused in the meanwhile. it is a fine day; suppose we go into the forest and hunt." this suited the prince very well, for he did not care about sitting under a tree and watching his workmen, and the jolly-cum-pop having sent for his horse and some bows and arrows, the whole party, with the exception of the laborers, rode toward the forest, a short distance away. "what shall we find to hunt?" asked the prince of the jolly-cum-pop. "i really do not know," exclaimed the latter, “but we'll hunt whatever we happen to see-deer, small birds, rabbits, griffins, rhinoceroses, anything that comes along. i feel as gay as a skipping grasshopper. my spirits rise like a soaring bird. what a joyful thing it is to have such a hunt on such a glorious day!" the gay and happy spirits of the jolly-cum-pop affected the whole party, and they rode merrily through the forest. but they found no game, and, after an hour or two, they emerged into the open 147 prince hassak's march country again. at a distance, on a slight elevation, stood a large and massive building. "i am hungry and thirsty," said the prince, "and perhaps we can get some refreshments at yonder house. so far, this has not been a very fine hunt." "no," cried the jolly-cum-pop, "not yet. but what a joyful thing to see a hospitable mansion just at the moment when we begin to feel a little tired and hungry!" the building they were approaching belonged to a potentate who lived at a great distance. in some of his travels he had seen this massive house, and thought it would make a good prison. he accordingly bought it, fitted it up as a jail, and appointed a jailer and three myrmidons to take charge of it. this had occurred years before, but no prisoners had ever been sent to this jail. a few days preceding the jolly-cumpop's hunt, the potentate had journeyed this way and had stopped at his jail. after inquiring into its condition, he had said to the jailer: "it is now fourteen years since i appointed you to this place, and in all that time there have been no prisoners, and you and your men have been drawing your wages without doing anything. i shall return this way in a few days, and if i still find you idle i shall discharge you all and close the jail." this filled the jailer with great dismay, for he did not wish to lose his good situation. when he saw the prince and his party approaching, the thought struck him that perhaps he might make prisoners of them, and so not be found idle when the potentate returned. he came out to meet the hunters, and when they asked if they could here find refreshment, he 148 prince hassak's march gave them a most cordial welcome. his men took their horses, and, inviting them to enter, he showed each member of the party into a small bedroom, of which there seemed to be a great many. "here are water and towels," he said to each one, "and when you have washed your face and hands, your refreshments will be ready." then, going out, he locked the door on the outside. the party numbered seventeen: the prince, three courtiers, five boys, five girls, the course-marker, the map-maker, and the jolly-cum-pop. the heart of the jailer was joyful. seventeen inmates was something to be proud of. he ordered his myrmidons to give the prisoners a meal of bread and water through the holes in their cell doors, and then he sat down to make out his report to the potentate. "they must all be guilty of crimes," he said to himself, "which are punished by long imprisonment. i don't want any of them executed." so he numbered his prisoners from one to seventeen, according to the cell each happened to be in, and he wrote a crime opposite each number. the first was highway robbery, the next forgery, and after that followed treason, smuggling, barn-burning, bribery, poaching, usury, piracy, witchcraft, assault and battery, using false weights and measures, burglary, counterfeiting, robbing hen-roosts, conspiracy, and poisoning his grandmother by proxy. this report was scarcely finished when the potentate returned. he was very much surprised to find that seventeen prisoners had come in since his previous visit, and he read the report with interest. "here is one who ought to be executed," he said, 149 prince hassak's march referring to number seventeen. "and how did he poison his grandmother by proxy? did he get another woman to be poisoned in her stead? or did he employ some one to act in his place as the poisoner?" "i have not yet been fully informed, my lord," said the jailer, fearful that he should lose a prisoner. "but this is his first offence, and his grandmother, who did not die, has testified to his general good character." "very well," said the potentate. "but if he ever does it again, let him be executed. and, by the way, i should like to see the prisoners." thereupon the jailer conducted the potentate along the corridors, and let him look through the holes in the doors at the prisoners within. "what is this little girl in for?" he asked. the jailer looked at the number over the door, and then at his report. "piracy," he answered. "a strange offence for such a child," said the potentate. "they often begin that sort of thing very early in life," said the jailer. "and this fine gentleman," said the potentate, looking in at the prince, "what did he do?" the jailer glanced at the number, and then at the report. "robbed hen-roosts," he said. "he must have done a good deal of it to afford to dress so well," said the potentate, passing on, and looking into other cells. "it seems to me that many of your prisoners are very young." "it is best to take them young, my lord," said the jailer. "they are very hard to catch when they grow up." 150 prince hassak's march the potentate then looked in at the jolly-cum-pop, and asked what was his offence. "conspiracy," was the answer. "and where are the other conspirators?" "there was only one," said the jailer. number seventeen was the oldest of the courtiers. "he appears to be an elderly man to have a grandmother," said the potentate. "she must be very aged, and that makes it all the worse for him. i think he should be executed." "oh, no, my lord," cried the jailer. "i am assured that his crime was quite unintentional." "then he should be set free," said the potentate. "i mean to say," said the jailer, "that it was just enough intentional to cause him to be imprisoned here for a long time, but not enough to deserve execution.” "very well," said the potentate, turning to leave. "take good care of your prisoners, and send me a report every month." "that will i do, my lord," said the jailer, bowing very low. the prince and his party had been very much surprised and incensed when they found that they could not get out of their rooms, and they had kicked and banged and shouted until they were tired; but the jailer had informed them that they were to be confined there for years, and when the potentate arrived they had resigned themselves to despair. the jollycum-pop, however, was affected in a different way. it seemed to him the most amusing joke in the world that a person should deliberately walk into a prison cell and be locked up for several years; and he lay down on his little bed and laughed himself to sleep. 151 prince hassak's march that night one of the boys sat at his iron-barred window, wide awake. he was a truant, and had never yet been in any place from which he could not run away. he felt that his schoolfellows depended upon him to run away and bring them assistance, and he knew that his reputation as a truant was at stake. his responsibility was so heavy that he could not sleep, and he sat at the window, trying to think of a way to get out. after some hours the moon arose, and by its light he saw upon the grass, not far from his window, a number of little creatures which at first he took for birds or small squirrels; but on looking more attentively he perceived that they were pigwidgeons. they were standing around a flat stone, and seemed to be making calculations on it with a piece of chalk. at this sight the heart of the truant jumped for joy. "pigwidgeons can do anything," he said to himself, "and certainly these can get us out." he tried in various ways to attract the attention of the pigwidgeons; but as he was afraid to call or whistle very loud, for fear of arousing the jailer, he did not succeed. happily he thought of a pea-shooter which he had in his pocket, and taking this out, he blew a pea into the midst of the little group with such force that it knocked the chalk from the hand of the pigwidgeon who was using it. the little fellows looked up in astonishment, and perceived the truant beckoning to them from his window. at first they stood angrily regarding him. but on his urging them in a loud whisper to come to his relief, they approached the prison, and, clambering up a vine, soon reached his window-sill. the truant now told his mournful tale, to which the pigwidgeons listened very attentively, 152 prince hassak's march and then, after a little consultation among themselves, one of them said: "we will get you out if you will tell us how to divide five sevenths by six." the poor truant was silent for an instant, and then he said: "that is not the kind of thing i am good at, but i expect some of the other fellows could tell you easily enough. our windows must be all in a row, and you can climb up and ask some of them, and if any one tells you, will you get us all out?" "yes," said the pigwidgeon who had spoken before. "we will do that, for we are very anxious to know how to divide five sevenths by six. we have been working at it for four or five days, and there won't be anything worth dividing if we wait much longer." the pigwidgeons now began to descend the vine. but one of them lingering a little, the truant, who had a great deal of curiosity, asked him what it was they had to divide. "there were eight of us," the pigwidgeon answered, "who helped a farmer's wife, and she gave us a pound of butter. she did not count us properly, and divided the butter into seven parts. we did not notice this at first, and two of the party, who were obliged to go away to a distance, took their portions and departed, and now we cannot divide among six the five sevenths that remain." "that is a pretty hard thing," said the truant, "but i am sure some of the boys can tell you how to do it." the pigwidgeons visited the next four cells, which were occupied by four boys, but not one of them could tell how to divide five sevenths by six. the prince was questioned, but he did not know, and neither did the course-marker, nor the map-maker. it was not 153 prince hassak's march until they came to the cell of the oldest girl that they received an answer. she was good at mental arithmetic, and, after a minute's thought, she told them that it would be five forty-seconds. "good!" cried the pigwidgeons. "we will divide the butter into forty-two parts, and each take five. and now let us go to work and cut these bars." three of the six pigwidgeons were workers in iron, and they had their little files and saws in pouches by their sides. they went to work manfully, and the others helped them, and before morning one bar was cut in each of the seventeen windows. the cells were all on the ground floor, and it was quite easy for the prisoners to clamber out-that is, it was easy for all but the jolly-cum-pop. he had laughed so much in his life that he had grown quite fat, and he found it impossible to squeeze himself through the opening made by the removal of one iron bar. the sixteen other prisoners had all departed. the pigwidgeons had hurried away to divide their butter into forty-two parts, and the jolly-cum-pop still remained in his cell, convulsed with laughter at the idea of being caught in such a curious predicament. "it is the most ridiculous thing in the world," he said. "i suppose i must stay here and cry until i get thin." and the idea so tickled him that he laughed himself to sleep. the prince and his party kept together, and hurried from the prison as fast as they could. when the day broke they had gone several miles, and then they stopped to rest. "where is that jolly-cum-pop?" said the prince. "i suppose he has gone home. he is a pretty fellow to lead us into this trouble and then 154 prince hassak's march desert us! how are we to find the way back to his house? course-marker, can you tell us the direction in which we should go?" "not until to-night, your highness," answered the course-marker, "when i can set my instrument by the stars." the prince's party was now in a doleful plight. every one was very hungry. they were in an open plain, no house was visible, and they knew not which way to go. they wandered about for some time, looking for a brook or a spring where they might quench their thirst, and then a rabbit sprang out from some bushes. the whole party immediately started off in pursuit of the rabbit. they chased it here, there, backward and forward, through hollows and over hills, until it ran quite away and disappeared. then they were more tired, thirsty, and hungry than before, and, to add to their miseries, when night came on, the sky was cloudy, and the course-marker could not set his instrument by the stars. it would be difficult to find sixteen people more miserable than the prince and his companions when they awoke the next morning from their troubled sleep on the hard ground. nearly starved, they gazed at one another with feelings of despair. "i feel," said the prince, in a weak voice, "that there is nothing i would not do to obtain food. i would willingly become a slave if my master would give me a good breakfast." "so would i," ejaculated each of the others. about an hour after this, as they were all sitting disconsolately upon the ground, they saw, slowly approaching, a large cart drawn by a pair of oxen. on 155 prince hassak's march the front of the cart, which seemed to be heavily loaded, sat a man with a red beard, reading a book. the boys, when they saw the cart, set up a feeble shout, and the man, lifting his eyes from his book, drove directly toward the group on the ground. dismounting, he approached prince hassak, who immediately told him his troubles and implored relief. "we will do anything," said the prince, "to obtain food." standing for a minute in a reflective mood, the man with the red beard addressed the prince in a slow, meditative manner. "how would you like," he said, "to form a nucleus?" "can we get anything to eat by it?" eagerly asked the prince. "yes," replied the man, "you can." "we'll do it!" immediately cried the whole sixteen, without waiting for further information. "which will you do first," said the man, "listen to my explanations, or eat?" "eat!" cried the entire sixteen in chorus. the man now produced from his cart a quantity of bread, meat, wine, and other provisions, which he distributed generously, but judiciously, to the hungry prince and his followers. every one had enough, but no one too much. soon, revived and strengthened, they felt like new beings. "now," said the prince, "we are ready to form a nucleus, as we promised. how is it done?" "i will explain the matter to you in a few words," said the man with the red beard. "for a long time i have been desirous to found a city. in order to do this one must begin by forming a nucleus. every 156 prince hassak's march great city is started from a nucleus. a few persons settle down in some particular spot, and live there. then they are a nucleus. then other people come there, and gather around this nucleus, and then more people come, and more, until in course of time there is a great city. i have loaded this cart with provisions, tools, and other things that are necessary for my purpose, and have set out to find some people who would be willing to form a nucleus. i am very glad to have found you, and that you are willing to enter into my plan. and this seems a good spot for us to settle upon." "what is the first thing to be done?" said the prince. "we must all go to work," said the man with the red beard, "to build dwellings, and also a school-house for these young people. then we must till some ground in the suburbs, and lay the foundations, at least, of a few public buildings." "all this will take a good while, will it not?" said the prince. "yes," said the man, "it will take a good while, and the sooner we set about it, the better." thereupon tools were distributed among the party, and prince, courtiers, boys, girls, and all, went to work to build houses and form the nucleus of a city. when the jailer looked into his cells in the morning, and found that all but one of his prisoners had escaped, he was utterly astounded, and his face, when the jolly-cum-pop saw him, made that individual roar with laughter. the jailer, however, was a man accustomed to deal with emergencies. "you need not laugh," he said; "everything shall go on as before, and 157 prince hassak's march i shall take no notice of the absence of your companions. you are now numbered one to seventeen inclusive, and you stand charged with highway robbery, forgery, treason, smuggling, barn-burning, bribery, poaching, usury, piracy, witchcraft, assault and battery, using false weights and measures, burglary, counterfeiting, robbing hen-roosts, conspiracy, and poisoning your grandmother by proxy. i intended to-day to dress the convicts in prison garb, and you shall immediately be so clothed." "i shall require seventeen suits," said the jolly-cumpop. "yes," said the jailer, "they shall be furnished." "and seventeen rations a day," said the jolly-cumpop. "certainly," replied the jailer. "this is luxury," roared the jolly-cum-pop. "i shall spend my whole time in eating and putting on clean clothes." seventeen large prison suits were now brought to the jolly-cum-pop. he put one on, and hung up the rest in his cell. these suits were half bright yellow and half bright green, with spots of bright red as big as saucers. the jailer now had doors cut from one cell to another. "if the potentate comes here and wants to look at the prisoners," he said to the jolly-cum-pop, "you must appear in cell number one, so that he can look through the hole in the door and see you. then, as he walks along the corridor, you must walk through the cells, and whenever he looks into a cell you must be there." "he will think," merrily replied the jolly-cum-pop, 158 prince hassak's march "that all your prisoners are very fat, and that the little girls have grown up into big men." "i shall endeavor to explain that," said the jailer. for several days the jolly-cum-pop was highly amused at the idea of his being seventeen criminals, and he would sit first in one cell and then in another, trying to look like a ferocious pirate, a hard-hearted usurer, or a mean-spirited chicken-thief, and laughing heartily at his failures. but after a time he began to tire of this, and to have a strong desire to see what sort of a tunnel the prince's miners and rock-splitters were making under his house. "i had hoped," he said to himself, "that i should pine away in confinement, and so be able to get through the window-bars. but with nothing to do, and seventeen rations a day, i see no chance of that. but i must get out of this jail, and as there seems no other way, i will revolt." thereupon he shouted to the jailer through the hole in the door of his cell: "we have revolted! we have risen in a body, and have determined to resist your authority and break jail!" when the jailer heard this he was greatly troubled. "do not proceed to violence," he said. "let us parley." "very well," replied the jolly-cum-pop, "but you must open the cell door. we cannot parley through a hole." the jailer thereupon opened the cell door, and the jolly-cum-pop, having wrapped sixteen suits of clothes around his left arm as a shield, and holding in his right hand the iron bar which had been cut from his window, stepped boldly into the corridor and confronted the jailer and his myrmidons. 159 prince hassak's march "it will be useless for you to resist," he said. "you are but four, and we are seventeen. if you had been wise you would have made us all cheating shopkeepers, chicken-thieves, or usurers. then you might have been able to control us. but when you see before you a desperate highwayman, a daring smuggler, a bloodthirsty pirate, a wily poacher, a powerful ruffian, a reckless burglar, a bold conspirator, and a murderer by proxy, you well may tremble!" the jailer and his myrmidons looked at each other in dismay. "we sigh for no blood," continued the jolly-cumpop, "and will readily agree to terms. we will give you your choice: will you allow us honorably to surrender, and peacefully disperse to our homes, or shall we rush upon you in a body, and, after overpowering you by numbers, set fire to the jail, and escape through the crackling timbers of the burning pile?" the jailer reflected for a minute. "it would be better, perhaps," he said, "that you should surrender and disperse to your homes." the jolly-cum-pop agreed to these terms, and the great gate being opened, he marched out in good order. "now," said he to himself, "the thing for me to do is to get home as fast as i can, or that jailer may change his mind." but, being in a great hurry, he turned the wrong way, and walked rapidly into a country unknown to him. his walk was a very merry one. "by this time," he said to himself, "the prince and his followers have returned to my house, and are tired of watching the rock-splitters and miners. how amused they will be when they see me come back in this gay suit of green and yellow with red spots, and with six160 prince hassak's march teen similar suits upon my arm! how my own dogs will bark at me! how my own servants will not know me! it is the funniest thing i ever knew of!" and his gay laugh echoed far and wide. but when he had gone several miles without seeing any signs of his habitation, his gayety abated. "it would have been much better," he said, as he sat down to rest under the shade of a tree, "if i had brought with me sixteen rations instead of these sixteen suits of clothes." the jolly-cum-pop soon set out again, but he walked a long distance without seeing any person or any house. toward the close of the afternoon he stopped, and looking back, he saw coming toward him a large party of foot travellers. in a few moments he perceived that the person in advance was the jailer. at this the jolly-cum-pop could not restrain his merriment. "how comically it has all turned out!" he exclaimed. "here i've taken all this trouble, and tired myself out, and nearly starved myself, and the jailer comes now, with a crowd of people, to take me back. i might as well have stayed where i was. ha! ha!" the jailer now left his party and came running toward the jolly-cum-pop. "i pray you, sir," he said, bowing very low, "do not cast us off." "who are you all?" asked the jolly-cum-pop, looking with much surprise at the jailer's companions, who were now quite near. "we are myself, my three myrmidons, and our wives and children. our situations were such good ones that we married long ago, and our families lived in the upper stories of the prison. but when all the convicts had left we were afraid to remain, for, should 161 prince hassak's march the potentate again visit the prison, he would be disappointed and enraged at finding no prisoners, and probably would punish us grievously. so we determined to follow you, and to ask you to let us go with you, wherever you are going. i wrote a report, which i fastened to the great gate, and in it i stated that sixteen of the convicts escaped by the aid of outside confederates, and that seventeen of them mutinied in a body and broke jail." "that report," laughed the jolly-cum-pop, "your potentate will not readily understand." "if i were there," said the jailer, "i could explain it to him. but, as it is, he must work it out for himself." "have you anything to eat with you?" asked the jolly-cum-pop. "oh, yes," said the jailer, "we brought provisions." "well, then, i gladly take you under my protection. let us have supper. i have had nothing to eat since morning, and the weight of sixteen extra suits of clothes does not help to refresh one." the jolly-cum-pop and his companions slept that night under some trees, and started off early the next morning. "if i could only get myself turned in the proper direction," said he, "i believe we should soon reach my house." the prince, his courtiers, the boys and girls, the course-marker, and the map-maker worked industriously for several days at the foundation of their city. they dug the ground, they carried stones, they cut down trees. this work was very hard for all of them, for they were not used to it. after a few days' labor, the prince said to the man with the red beard, who -1 1 i 162 prince hassak's march was reading his book: "i think we have now formed a nucleus. any one can see that this is intended to be a city." "no," said the man with the red beard, "nothing is truly a nucleus until something is gathered around it. proceed with your work, while i continue my studies upon civil government." toward the close of that day the red-bearded man raised his eyes from his book and beheld the jolly-cumpop and his party approaching. "hurrah!" he cried, "we are already attracting settlers!" and he went forth to meet them. when the prince and the courtiers saw the jollycum-pop in his bright and variegated dress, they did not know him. but the boys and girls soon recognized his jovial face, and, tired as they were, they set up a hearty laugh, in which they were loudly joined by their merry friend. while the jolly-cum-pop was listening to the adventures of the prince and his companions, and telling what had happened to himself, the man with the red beard was talking to the jailer and his party, and urging them to gather around the nucleus which had been here formed, and help to build a city. "nothing will suit us better," exclaimed the jailer, "and the sooner we build a town wall so as to keep off the potentate, if he should come this way, the better shall we be satisfied." the next morning the prince said to the redbearded man: "others have gathered around us. we have formed a nucleus, and thus have done all that we promised to do. we shall now depart." the man objected strongly to this, but the prince 163 prince hassak's march paid no attention to his words. "what troubles me most," he said to the jolly-cum-pop, "is the disgraceful condition of our clothes. they have been so torn and soiled during our unaccustomed work that they are not fit to be seen." "as for that," said the jolly-cum-pop, "i have sixteen suits with me, in which you can all dress, if you like. they are of unusual patterns, but they are new and clean." "it is better," said the prince, "for persons in my station to appear inordinately gay than to be seen in rags and dirt. we will accept your clothes." thereupon the prince and each of the others put on a prison dress of bright green and yellow with large red spots. there were some garments left over, for each boy wore only a pair of trousers with the waistband tied around his neck, and holes cut for his arms, while the large jackets, with the sleeves tucked, made very good dresses for the girls. the prince and his party, accompanied by the jolly-cum-pop, now left the red-bearded man and his new settlers to continue the building of the city, and set off on their journey. the course-marker had not been informed the night before that they were to go away that morning, and consequently had not set his instrument by the stars. "as we do not know in which way we should go," said the prince, "one way will be as good as another, and if we can find a road let us take it. it will be easier walking." in an hour or two they found a road, and they took it. after journeying the greater part of the day, they reached the top of a low hill, over which the road 164 prince hassak's march ran, and saw before them a glittering sea and the spires and houses of a city. "it is the city of yan," said the course-marker. "and as we are so "that is true," said the prince. near, we may as well go there." the astonishment of the people of yan, when this party, dressed in bright green and yellow with red spots, passed through their streets, was so great that the jolly-cum-pop roared with laughter. this set the boys and girls and all the people laughing, and the sounds of merriment became so uproarious that when they reached the palace the king came out to see what was the matter. what he thought when he saw his nephew in his fantastic guise, accompanied by a party apparently composed of sixteen other lunatics, cannot now be known. but, after hearing the prince's story, he took him into an inner apartment, and thus addressed him: "my dear hassak : the next time you pay me a visit, i beg, for your sake and my own, that you will come in the ordinary way. you have sufficiently shown to the world that, when a prince desires to travel, it is often necessary for him to go out of his way on account of obstacles." "my dear uncle,” replied hassak, "your words shall not be forgotten." after a pleasant visit of a few weeks, the prince and his party (in new clothes) returned (by sea) to itoby, whence the jolly-cum-pop soon repaired to his home. there he found the miners and rock-splitters still at work at the tunnel, which had now penetrated half-´ way through the hill on which stood his house. "you may go home," he said, "for the prince has changed his plans. i will put a door to this tunnel, and it will 165 prince hassak's march make an excellent cellar in which to keep my wine and provisions." the day after the prince's return his map-maker said to him: "your highness, according to your commands, i made, each day, a map of your progress to the city of yan. here it is." the prince glanced at it and then he cast his eyes upon the floor. "leave me," he said. "i would be alone." city of itoby jolly-cum-pop's house place of the tabbit hunt prison ann sis city of yan where the nucleus was formed the map of the prince's journey from itoby to yan. 166 the battle of the third cousins 1 1 l the battle of the third cousins here was never any one who could correctly of mutjado. the reason for this was that the boundary line was not stationary. whenever the autocrat felt the need of money, he sent his tax-gatherers far and wide, and people who up to that time had no idea of such a thing, found that they lived in the territory of mutjado. but when times were ordinarily prosperous with him, and people in the outlying districts needed protection or public works, the dominion of the autocrat became very much contracted. in the course of time, the autocrat of mutjado fell into bad health and sent for his doctor. that learned man prescribed some medicine for him, and as this did him no good, he ordered another kind. he continued this method of treatment until the autocrat had swallowed the contents of fifteen phials and flasks, some large and some small. as none of these was of the slightest benefit, the learned doctor produced another kind of medicine which he highly extolled. "take a dose of this twice a day," said he, "and you will soon find—” "a new medicine?" interrupted the autocrat, in 169 battle of the third cousins disgust. "i will have none of it! those others were bad enough, and rather than start with a new physic, i prefer to die. take away your bottles, little and big, and send me my secretary." when that officer arrived, the autocrat informed him that he had determined to write his will, and that he should set about it at once. the autocrat of mutjado had no son, and his nearest male relatives were a third cousin on his father's side, and another third cousin on his mother's side. of course these persons were in nowise related to each other, and, as they lived in distant countries, he had never seen either of them. he had made up his mind to leave his throne and dominions to one of these persons, but he could not determine which of them should be his heir. "one has as good a right as the other," he said to himself, "and i can't bother my brains settling the matter for them. let them fight it out, and whoever conquers shall be autocrat of mutjado." having arranged the affair in this manner in his will, he signed it, and soon after died. the autocrat's third cousin on his father's side was a young man of about twenty-five, named alberdin. he was a good horseman, and trained in the arts of warfare, and when he was informed of the terms of his distinguished relative's will, he declared himself perfectly willing to undertake the combat for the throne. he set out for mutjado, where he arrived in a reasonable time. the third cousin on the mother's side was a very different person. he was a boy of about twelve years of age, and as his father and mother had died when he 170 battle of the third cousins was very young, he had been for nearly all his life under the charge of an elderly and prudent man, who acted as his guardian and tutor. these two, also, soon arrived in mutjado—the boy, phedo, being mounted on a little donkey, which was his almost constant companion. as soon as they reached the territory of the late autocrat, old salim, the tutor, left the boy at an inn, and went forward by himself to take a look at the other third cousin. when he saw alberdin mounted on his fine horse, and looking so strong and valiant, his heart was much disturbed. "i had hoped," he said to himself, "that the other one was a small boy, but such does not appear to be the case. there is but one way to have a fair fight between these two. they must not now be allowed to see each other. if they can be kept apart until my boy grows up, he will then be able, with the military education which i intend he shall have, to engage in combat with any man. they must not meet for at least thirteen years. phedo will then be twenty-five, and able to do worthy combat. to be sure, i am somewhat old myself to undertake to superintend so long a delay, but i must do my best to keep well and strong, and to attain the greatest possible longevity." salim had always been in the habit of giving thirtytwo chews to every mouthful of meat, and a proportionate number of chews to other articles of food, and had, so far, been very healthy. but he now determined to increase the number of chews to thirty-six, for it would be highly necessary for him to live until it was time for the battle between the third cousins to take place. having made up his mind on these points, the old 171 battle of the third cousins tutor introduced himself to alberdin, and told him that he had come to arrange the terms of combat. "in the first place," said alberdin, "i should like to know what sort of a person my opponent is." "he is not a cavalryman like you," answered salim. "he belongs to the heavy infantry." at this, alberdin looked grave. he knew very well that a stout and resolute man on foot had often the advantage of one who is mounted. he would have preferred meeting a horseman, and fighting on equal terms. "has he had much experience in war?" asked the young man. "it is not long," answered the tutor, "since he was almost constantly in arms, winter and summer." "he must be a practised warrior," thought alberdin. "i must put myself in good fighting trim before i meet him." after some further conversation on the subject, the old man advised alberdin to go into camp on a beautiful plain not far from the base of a low line of mountains. "your opponent," said he, "will intrench himself in the valley on the other side. with the mountains between you, neither of you need fear a surprise. and when both are ready, a place of meeting can be appointed." "now, then," said salim to himself, when this had been settled, "if i can keep them apart for thirteen years, all may be well." as soon as possible, alberdin pitched a tent upon the appointed spot, and began to take daily warlike exercise in the plain, endeavoring in every way to put 172 battle of the third cousins himself and his horse into proper condition for the combat. on the other side of the mountain, old salim intrenched himself and the boy phedo. he carefully studied several books on military engineering, and caused a fortified camp to be constructed on the most approved principles. it was surrounded by high ramparts, and outside of these was a moat filled with water. in the centre of the camp was a neat little house which was well provided with books, provisions, and everything necessary for a prolonged stay. when the drawbridge was up, it would be impossible for alberdin to get inside of the camp. moreover, the ramparts were so high that he could not look over them to see what sort of antagonist he was to have. old salim did not tell the boy why he brought him here to live. it would be better to wait until he was older before informing him of the battle which had been decreed. he told phedo that it was necessary for him to have a military education, which could very well be obtained in a place like this; he was also very careful to let him know that there was a terrible soldier in that part of the country who might at any time, if it were not for the intrenchments, pounce down upon him and cut him to pieces. every fine day, phedo was allowed to take a ride on his donkey outside of the fortifications, but during this time the old tutor kept a strict watch on the mountain, and if a horseman had made his appearance, little phedo would have been whisked inside, and the drawbridge would have been up in a twinkling. after about two weeks of this life, phedo found it dreadfully stupid to see no one but his old tutor, and 173 battle of the third cousins never to go outside of these great ramparts except for donkey-rides, which were generally very short. he therefore determined, late one moonlight night, to go out and take a ramble by himself. he was not afraid of the dreadful soldier of whom the old man had told him, because at that time of night this personage would, of course, be in bed and asleep. considering these things, he quietly dressed himself, took down a great key from over his sleeping tutor's head, opened the heavy gate, let down the drawbridge, mounted upon his donkey, and rode forth upon the moonlit plain. that night-ride was a very delightful one, and for a long time the boy and the donkey rambled and ran; first going this way and then that, they gradually climbed the mountain, and, reaching the brow, they trotted about for a while, and then went down the other side. the boy had been so twisted and turned in his course that he did not notice that he was not descending toward his camp, and the donkey, whose instinct told it that it was not going the right way, was also told by its instinct that it did not wish to go the right way, and that the intrenchments offered it no temptations to return. when the morning dawned, phedo perceived that he was really lost, and he began to be afraid that he might meet the terrible soldier. but, after a time, he saw riding toward him a very pleasant-looking young man on a handsome horse, and he immediately took courage. "now," said he to himself, "i am no longer in danger. if that horrible cut-throat should appear, this good gentleman will protect me." alberdin had not seen any one for a long time, and 174 battle of the third cousins he was very glad to meet with so nice a little boy. when phedo told him that he was lost, he invited him to come to his tent, near by, and have breakfast. while they were eating their meal, alberdin asked the boy if, in the course of his rambles, he had met with a heavy-infantry soldier, probably armed to the teeth, and very large and strong. "oh, i've heard of that dreadful man!" cried phedo, "and i am very glad i did not meet him. if he comes, i hope you'll protect me from him." "i will do that," said alberdin. "but i am afraid i shall not be able to help you find your way home, for in doing so i should throw myself off my guard, and might be set upon unexpectedly by this fellow, with whom i have a regular engagement to fight. there is to be a time fixed for the combat, for which i feel myself nearly ready, but i have no doubt that my enemy will be very glad to take me at a disad. vantage if i give him a chance.” phedo looked about him with an air of content. the tent was large and well furnished; there seemed to be plenty of good things to eat ; the handsome horseman was certainly a very good.humored and agreeable gentleman; and, moreover, the tent was not shut in by high and gloomy ramparts. "i do not think you need trouble yourself," said he to his host, "to help me to find my way home. i live with my tutor, and i am sure that when he knows i am gone he will begin to search for me, and after a while he will find me. until then i can be very comfortable here." for several days the two third cousins of the autocrat lived together in the tent, and enjoyed each 175 battle of the third cousins other's society very much. then alberdin began to grow a little impatient. "if i am to fight this heavy-infantryman," he said, "i should like to do it at once. i am now quite ready, and i think he ought to be. i expected to hear from him before this time, and i shall start out and see if i can get any news of his intentions. i don't care about going over the mountain without giving him notice, but the capital city of mutjado is only a day's ride to the west, and there i can cause inquiries to be made as to when he would like to meet me, and where." "i will go with you," said phedo, greatly delighted at the idea of visiting the city. "yes, i will take you," said alberdin. "your tutor doesn't seem inclined to come for you, and, of course, i can't leave you here.” the next day, alberdin on his horse and phedo on his donkey set out for the city, where they arrived late in the afternoon. after finding a comfortable lodging, alberdin sent messengers to the other side of the mountain, where his opponent was supposed to be encamped, and gave them power to arrange with him for a meeting. he particularly urged them to try to see the old man who had come to him at first, and who had seemed to be a very fair-minded and sensible person. in two days, however, the messengers returned, stating that they had found what they supposed to be the intrenched camp of the heavy-infantry-man for whom they had been sent in search, but that it was entirely deserted, and nobody could be seen anywhere near it. "it is very likely," said alberdin, "that he has 176 battle of the third cousins watched my manœuvres and exercises from the top of the mountain, and has concluded to run away. i shall give him a reasonable time to show himself, and then, if he does not come forward, i shall consider him beaten, and claim the autocracy." "that is a good idea," said phedo, "but i think, if you can, you ought to find him and kill him, or drive him out of the country. that's what i should do, if i were you." "of course i shall do that, if i can," said alberdin, "but i can not be expected to wait for him forever." when his intention had been proclaimed, alberdin was informed of something which he did not know before, and that was that the late autocrat had left an only daughter, a princess about twenty years old. but, although she was his daughter, she could not inherit his crown, for the laws of the country forbade that any woman should become autocrat. a happy idea now struck alberdin. "i will marry the princess," he said, "and then every one will think that it is the most suitable thing for me to become autocrat." so alberdin sent to the princess to ask permission to speak with her, and was granted an audience. with much courtesy and politeness he made known his plans to the lady, and hoped that she would consider it advisable to marry him. "i am sorry to interfere with any of your arrangements," said the princess, "but as soon as i heard the terms of my father's will, i made up my mind to marry the victor in the contest. as i cannot inherit the throne myself, the next best thing is to be the wife of the man who does. go forth, then, and find your 177 battle of the third cousins antagonist, and when you have conquered him, i will marry you." "and if he conquers me, you will marry him?" said alberdin. "yes, sir," answered the princess, with a smile, and dismissed him. it was plain enough that there was nothing for alberdin to do but to go and look for the heavy-infantryman. phedo was very anxious to accompany him, and the two, mounted as before, set out from the city on their quest. when old salim, the tutor of phedo, awoke in the morning and found the boy gone, he immediately imagined that the youngster had run away to his old home. so he set forth with all possible speed, hoping to overtake him. but when he reached the distant town where phedo had lived, he found that the boy had not been there; and, after taking some needful rest, he retraced his steps, crossed the mountains, and made his way toward the capital city, hoping to find news of him there. it was necessary for him to be very careful in his inquiries, for he wished no one to find out that the little boy he was looking for was the third cousin of the late autocrat on the mother's side. he therefore disguised himself as a migratory medical man, and determined to use all possible caution. when he reached the camp of the young horseman, alberdin, and found that personage gone, his suspicions became excited. "if these two have run off together," he said to himself, "my task is indeed difficult. if the man discovers it is the boy he has to fight, my poor phedo will be cut to pieces in a twinkling. i do not believe 178 battle of the third cousins there has been any trouble yet, for the boy does not know that he is to be one of the combatants, and the man would not be likely to suspect it. come what may, the fight must not take place for thirteen years. and in order that i may still better preserve my health and strength to avert the calamity during that period, i will increase my number of chews to fortytwo to each mouthful of meat." when old salim reached the city, he soon found that alberdin and the boy had been there, and that they had gone away together. "nothing has happened so far," said the old man, with a sigh of relief, "and things may turn out all right yet. i'll follow them, but i must first find out what that cavalryman had to say to the princess." for he had been told of the interview at the palace. it was not long before the migratory medical man was brought to the princess. there was nothing the matter with her, but she liked to meet with persons of skill and learning to hear what they had to say. "have you any specialty?" she asked of the old man. "yes," said he, "i am a germ-doctor." "what is that?" asked the princess. "all diseases,” replied the old man, "come from germs, generally very little ones. my business is to discover these, and find out all about them." "then i suppose," said the princess, "you know how to cure the diseases?" "you must not expect too much," answered the old man. "it ought to be a great satisfaction to us to know what sort of germ is at the bottom of our woes." "i am very well, myself," said the princess, "and, 179 battle of the third cousins so far as i know, none of my household is troubled by germs. but there is something the matter with my mind which i wish you could relieve." she then told the old man how she had determined to marry the victor in the contest for her father's throne, and how she had seen one of the claimants whom she considered to be a very agreeable and deserving young man, while the other, she had heard, was a great, strong foot-soldier, who was probably very disagreeable, and even horrid. if this one should prove the conqueror, she did not know what she should do. "you see, i am in a great deal of trouble,” said she. "can you do anything to help me?" the pretending migratory medical man looked at her attentively for a few moments, and then he said: "the reason why you intend to marry the victor in the coming contest is that you wish to remain here in your father's palace, and to continue to enjoy the comforts and advantages to which you have been accustomed." "yes," said the princess, "that is it." "well, having discovered the germ of your disorder," said the old man, "the great point is gained. i will see what i can do." and with a respectful bow he left her presence. "well," said old salim to himself, as he went away, “she can never marry my boy, for that is certainly out of the question. but now that i have found out her motive, i think i can arrange matters satisfactorily, so far as she is concerned. but to settle the affair between that young man and phedo is immensely more difficult. the first thing is to find them." having learned the way they had gone, the old 180 battle of the third cousins tutor travelled diligently, and in two days came up with alberdin and phedo. when he first caught sight of them, he was very much surprised to see that they were resting upon the ground quite a long distance apart, with a little stream between them. noticing that alberdin's back was toward him, he threw off his disguise and hastened to phedo. the boy received him with the greatest delight, and, after many embraces, they sat down to talk. phedo told the old man all that had happened, and finished by relating that, as they had that day stopped by this stream to rest, alberdin had taken it into his head to inquire into the parentage of his young companion, and after many questions about his family, it had been made clear to both of them that they were the two third cousins who were to fight for the autocracy of mutjado. "he is very angry," said the boy, "at the tricks that have been played upon him, and went off and left me. is it true that i am to fight him? i don't want to do it, for i like him very much." "it will be a long time before you are old enough to fight," said salim, "so we need not consider that. you stay here, and i'll go over and talk to him." salim then crossed the stream, and approached alberdin. when the young man saw him, and recognized him as the person who had arranged the two encampments, he turned upon him with fury. "wretched old man, who came to me as the emissary of my antagonist, you are but the tutor of that boy! if i had known the truth at first, i would have met him instantly, would have conquered him without hurting a hair on his head, and carrying him bound 181 battle of the third cousins to the capital city, would have claimed the autocracy, and would now have been sitting upon the throne. instead of that, look at the delay and annoyance to which i have been subjected. i have also taken such a fancy to the boy that, rather than hurt him or injure his prospects, i would willingly resign my pretensions to the throne, and go back contentedly to my own city. but this cannot now be done. i have fallen in love with the daughter of the late autocrat, and she will marry none but the victorious claimant. behold to what a condition you have brought me!" the old man regarded him with attention. "i wish very much," said he, "to defer the settlement of this matter for thirteen years. are you willing to wait so long?" "no, i am not," said alberdin. "very well, then," said the old man, "each third cousin must retire to his camp, and as soon as matters can be arranged the battle must take place." "there is nothing else to be done," said alberdin, in a troubled voice, "but i shall take care that the boy receives no injury if it can possibly be avoided." the three now retraced their steps, and in a few days were settled down, alberdin in his tent in the plain, and salim and phedo in their intrenchments on the other side of the low mountain. the old man now gave himself up to deep thought. he had discovered the germ of alberdin's trouble, and in a few days he had arranged his plans, and went over to see the young man. "it has been determined," said he, "that a syndicate is to be formed to attend to this business for phedo." "a syndicate !" cried alberdin. "what is that?" "a syndic," answered salim, "is a person who at182 battle of the third cousins tends to business for others, and a syndicate is a body of men who are able to conduct certain affairs better than any individual can do it. in a week from to-day, phedo's syndicate will meet you in the large plain outside of the capital city. there the contest will take place. will you be ready?" "i don't exactly understand it," said alberdin, "but i shall be there." general notice was given of the coming battle of the contestants for the throne, and thousands of the inhabitants of the autocracy assembled on the plain on the appointed day. the princess with her ladies was there, and as everybody was interested, everybody was anxious to see what would happen. alberdin rode into the open space in the centre of the plain, and demanded that his antagonist should appear. thereupon old salim came forward, leading phedo by the hand. "this is the opposing heir," he said. "but as every one can see that he is too young to fight a battle, a syndicate has been appointed to attend to the matter for him; there is nothing in the will of the late autocrat which forbids this arrangement. the syndicate will now appear." at this command there came into the arena a horseman heavily armed; a tall foot-soldier completely equipped for action; an artilleryman with a small cannon on wheels; a sailor with a boarding-pike and a drawn cutlass, and a soldier with a revolving gun which discharged one hundred and twenty balls a minute. "all being ready," exclaimed salim, "the combat for the autocracy will begin!" 183 battle of the third cousins alberdin took a good long look at the syndicate ranged before him. then he dismounted from his horse, drew his sword, and stuck it, point downward, into the sand. "i surrender!" he said. "so do i!" cried the princess, running toward him, and throwing herself into his arms. the eyes of alberdin sparkled with joy. "let the autocracy go!" he cried. "now that i have my princess, the throne and the crown are nothing to me." "so long as i have you," returned the princess, "i am content to resign all the comforts and advantages to which i have been accustomed." phedo, who had been earnestly talking with his tutor, now looked up. "you shall not resign anything!" he cried. "we are all of the same blood, and we will join together and form a royal family, and we shall all live at the palace. alberdin and my tutor shall manage the government for me until i am grown up, and if i have to go to school for a few years, i suppose i must. and that is all there is about it!" the syndicate was now ordered to retire and disband. the heralds proclaimed phedo the conquering heir, and the people cheered and shouted with delight. all the virtues of the late autocrat had come to him from his mother, and the citizens of mutjado much preferred to have a new ruler from the mother's family. "i hope you bear no grudge against me," said salim to alberdin, "but if you had been willing to wait for thirteen years, you and phedo might have fought on ---184 battle of the third cousins equal terms. as it is now, it would have been as hard for him to conquer you as for you to conquer the syndicate. the odds would have been quite as great." "don't mention it," said alberdin. "i prefer things a they are. i should have hated to drive the boy avay and deprive him of a position which the people wsh him to have. now we are all satisfied." phedo soon began to show signs that he would pnbably make a very good autocrat. he declared that if he was to be assisted by ministers and cabinet offters when he came to the throne, he would like then to be persons who had been educated for their postions, just as he was to be educated for his own. conequently he chose for the head of his cabinet a brigt and sensible boy, and had him educated as a minster of state. for minister of finance he chose anoter boy with a very honest countenance, and for the oher members of his cabinet suitable youths were selectd. heilso said that he thought there ought to be still anothe officer, one who would be something like a minister o general comfort, who would keep an eye on the helth and happiness of the subjects, and would also se that everything went all right in the palace, not onł in regard to meals, but lots of other things. for thi office he chose a bright young girl, and had her eduated for the position of queen. 185 1 1 1 the banished king m m 1 the banished king here was once a kingdom in which everything go everybody talked about it, especially the king. the bad state of affairs troubled him more than it did any one else, but he could think of no way to make it better. "i cannot bear to see things going wrong," he said to the queen and his chief councillors. "i wish i knew how other kingdoms were governed." one of his councillors offered to go to some other countries, see how they were governed, and come back and tell him all about it, but this did not suit his majesty. "you would simply return," he said, "and give me your ideas about things. i want my own ideas.” the queen then suggested that he should take a vacation, and visit other kingdoms, and see for himself how things were managed in them. this did not suit the king. "a vacation would not answer," he said. "i should not be gone a week before something would happen here which would make it necessary for me to come back." the queen then suggested that he be banished for a certain time, say a year. in that case he could not 189 the banished king come back, and would be at full liberty to visit foreign kingdoms and find out how they were governed. this plan pleased the king. "if it were made impossible for me to come back," he said, "of course i could not do it. the scheme is a good one. let me be banished." and he gave orders that his council should pass a law banishing him for one year. preparations were immediately begun to carry out this plan, and in a day or two the king bade farewell to the queen, and left his kingdom, a banished man. he went away on foot, entirely unattended. but, as he did not wish to cut off all communication between himself and his kingdom, he made an arrangement which he thought a very good one. at easy shouting distance behind him walked one of the officers of the court, and at shouting distance behind him walked another, and so on, at distances of about a hundred yards from each other. in this way there would always be a line of men extending from the king to his palace. whenever the king had walked a hundred yards the line moved on after him, and another officer was put in the gap between the last man and the palace door. thus, as the king walked on, his line of followers lengthened, and was never broken. whenever he had any message to send to the queen or any other person in the palace, he shouted it to the officer next him, who shouted it to the one next him, and it was so passed on until it reached the palace. if he needed food, clothes, or any other necessary thing, the order for it was shouted along the line, and the article was passed to him from man to man, each one carrying it forward to his neighbor, and then retiring to his proper place. 190 the banished king in this way the king walked on day by day until he had passed entirely out of his own kingdom. at night he stopped at some convenient house on the road, and if any of his followers did not find himself near a house or cottage when the king shouted back the order to halt, he lay down to sleep wherever he might be. by this time the increasing line of followers had used up all the officers of the court, and it became necessary to draw upon some of the under government officers in order to keep the line perfect. the king had not gone very far outside the limits of his dominions when he met a sphinx. he had often heard of these creatures, although he had never seen one before. but when he saw the winged body of a lion with a woman's head, he knew instantly what it was. he knew, also, that the chief business of a sphinx was that of asking people questions, and then getting them into trouble if the right answers were not given. he therefore determined that he would not be caught by any such tricks as these, and that he would be on his guard if the sphinx spoke to him. the creature was lying down when the king first saw it, but when he approached nearer it rose to its feet. there was nothing savage about its look, and the king was not at all afraid. "where are you going?" said the sphinx to him, in a pleasant voice. "give it up," replied the king. "what do you mean by that?" said the other, with an air of surprise. "i give that up, too," said the king. the sphinx then looked at him quite astonished. "i don't mind telling you," said the king, "of my 191 the banished king own free will, and not in answer to any question, that i do not know where i am going. i am a king, as you may have noticed, and i have been banished from my kingdom for a year. i am now going to look into the government of other countries in order that i may find out what it is that is wrong in my own kingdom. everything goes wrong, and there is something very faulty at the bottom of it all. what this is i want to discover." "i am much interested in puzzles and matters of that kind," said the sphinx, "and if you like i will go with you and help to find out what is wrong in your kingdom." "all right," said the king. "i shall be glad of your company." "what is the meaning of this long line of people following you at regular distances?" asked the sphinx. "give it up," said the king. the sphinx laughed. "i don't mind telling you," said the king, "of my own free will, and not in answer to any question, that these men form a line of communication between me and my kingdom, where matters, i fear, must be going on worse than ever, in my absence." the two now travelled on together until they came to a high hill, from which they could see, not very far away, a large city. "that city," said the sphinx, "is the capital of an extensive country. it is governed by a king of mingled sentiments. suppose we go there. i think you will find a government that is rather peculiar." the king consented, and they walked down the hill toward the city. 192 the banished king "how did the king get his sentiments mingled?" asked the king. "i really don't know how it began," said the sphinx, "but the king, when a young man, had so many sentiments of different kinds, and he mingled them up so much, that no one could ever tell exactly what he thought on any particular subject. of course, his people gradually got into the same frame of mind, and you never can know in this kingdom exactly what people think or what they are going to do. you will find all sorts of people here: giants, dwarfs, fairies, gnomes, and personages of that kind, who have been drawn here by the mingled sentiments of the people. i, myself, came into these parts because the people every now and then take a great fancy to puzzles and riddles." on entering the city, the king was cordially welcomed by his brother sovereign, to whom he told his story, and he was lodged in a room in the palace. such of his followers as came within the limits of the city were entertained by the persons near to whose houses they found themselves when the line halted. every day the sphinx went with him to see the sights of this strange city. they took long walks through the streets, and sometimes into the surrounding country-always going one way and returning another, the sphinx being very careful never to bring the king back by the same road or street by which they went. in this way the king's line of followers, which, of course, lengthened out every time he took a walk, came to be arranged in long loops through many parts of the city and suburbs. many of the things the king saw showed plainly 193 the banished king the mingled sentiments of the people. for instance, he would one day visit a great smith's shop, where heavy masses of iron were being forged, the whole place resounding with tremendous blows from heavy hammers, and the clank and din of iron on the anvils, while the next day he would find the place transformed into a studio, where the former blacksmith was painting dainty little pictures on the delicate surface of egg-shells. the king of the country, in his treatment of his visitor, showed his peculiar nature very plainly. sometimes he would receive him with enthusiastic delight, while at others he would upbraid him with having left his dominions to go wandering around the earth in this senseless way. one day his host invited him to attend a royal dinner, but when he went to the grand dining-hall, pleased with anticipations of a splendid feast, he found that the sentiments of his majesty had become mingled, and that he had determined, instead of having a dinner, to conduct the funeral services of one of his servants who had died the day before. all the guests were obliged by politeness to remain during the ceremonies, which our king, not having been acquainted with the deceased servant, did not find at all interesting. "now," said the king to the sphinx, "i am in favor of moving on. i am tired of this place, where every sentiment is so mingled with others that you can never tell what anybody really thinks or feels. i don't believe any one in this country was ever truly glad or sorry. they mix one sentiment so quickly with another that they cannot discover the actual ingredients of any of their impulses." "when this king first began to mingle his senti194 the banished king ments," said the sphinx, "it was because he always desired to think and feel exactly right. he did not wish his feelings to run too much one way or the other." "and so he is never either right or wrong," said the king. "i don't like that at all. i want to be one thing or the other." "i have wasted a good deal of time at this place," continued the king, as they walked on, "and i have seen and heard nothing which i wish to teach my people. but i must find out some way to prevent everything going wrong in my kingdom. i have tried plan after plan, and sometimes two or three together, and have kept this up year after year, and yet nothing seems to do my kingdom any good." "have you heard how things are going on there now?" asked the sphinx. "give it up," said the king. "but i don't mind saying of my own accord, and not in answer to any question, that i have sent a good many communications to my queen, but have never received any from her; so i do not know how things are going on in my kingdom." they then travelled on, the long line of followers coming after, keeping their relative positions a hundred yards apart, and passing over all the ground the king had traversed in his circuitous walks about the city. thus the line crept along, like an enormous snake, in straight lines, loops, and coils; and every time the king walked a hundred yards a fresh man from his capital city was obliged to take his place at the tail of the procession. "by the way," said the sphinx, after they had 195 the banished king walked an hour or more, "if you want to see a kingdom where there really is something to learn, you ought to go to the country of the gaumers, which we are now approaching." "all right," said the king. "let us go there." in the course of the afternoon they reached the edge of a high bluff. "on the level ground beneath this precipice," said the sphinx, "is the country of the dwarfs called gaumers. you can sit on the edge of the bluff and look down upon it." the king and the sphinx then sat down and looked out from the edge over the country of the little people. the officer of the court who had formed the head of the line wished very much to see what they were looking at, but when the line halted he was not near enough. "you will notice," said the sphinx, "that the little houses and huts are gathered together in clusters. each one of these clusters is under a separate king." "why don't they all live under one ruler?" asked the king. "that is the proper way." "they do not think so," said the sphinx. "in each of these clusters live the gaumers who are best suited to one another. and if any gaumer finds he cannot get along in one cluster, he goes to another. the kings are chosen from among the very best of them, and each one is always very anxious to please his subjects. he knows that everything that he, and his queen, and his children, eat, or drink, or wear, or have, must be given to him by his subjects, and if it were not for them he could not be their ruler. so he does everything that he can to make them happy and contented, for he knows if he does not please them and 196 the banished king govern them well, they will gradually drop off from him and go to other clusters, and he will be left without any people or any kingdom." "that is a very queer way of ruling," said the king. "i think the people ought to try to please their sovereign." "he is only one, and they are a great many," said the sphinx. "consequently they are much more important than he is. no subject is ever allowed to look down upon a king simply because he helps to feed and clothe him and send his children to school. if any one does a thing of this kind, he is banished until he learns better." "all that may be very well for gaumers," said the king, "but i can learn nothing from a government like that, where everything seems to be working in an opposite direction from what everybody knows is right and proper. a king anxious to deserve the good opinion of his subjects! what nonsense! it ought to be just the other way. the ideas of this people are as dwarfish as their bodies." the king now arose and took up the line of march, turning away from the country of the gaumers. but he had not gone more than two or three hundred yards before he received a message from the queen. it came to him very rapidly, every man in the line seeming anxious to shout it to the man ahead of him as quickly as possible. the message was to the effect that he must either stop where he was or come home : his constantly lengthening line of communication had used up all the chief officers of the government, all the clerks in the departments, and all the officials of every grade, excepting the few who were actually needed t 197 the banished king to carry on the government, and if any more men went into the line it would be necessary to call upon the laborers and other persons who could not be spared. "i think," said the sphinx, "that you have made your line long enough." "and i think," said the king, "that you made it a great deal longer than it need to have been by taking me about in such winding ways." "it may be so," said the sphinx, with its mystic smile. "well, i am not going to stop here," said the king, "and so i might as well go back as soon as i can." then he shouted to the head man of the line to pass on the order that his edict of banishment be revoked. in a very short time the news came that the edict was revoked. the king next commanded that the procession return home, tail-end foremost. the march was at once begun, each man, as he reached the city, going immediately to his home and family. the king and the greater part of the line had a long and weary journey, as they followed each other through the country and over the devious ways in which the sphinx had led them in the city of mingled sentiments. the king was obliged to pursue all these complicated turnings, or be separated from his officers, and so break up his communication with his palace. the sphinx accompanied him. when at last he reached his palace, his line of former followers having apparently melted entirely away, he hurried up-stairs to the queen, leaving the sphinx in the courtyard. the king found, when he had time to look into the 198 the banished king affairs of his dominions, that everything was in the most admirable condition. the queen had retained a few of the best officials to carry on the government, and had ordered the rest to fall, one by one, into the line of communication. the king set himself to work to think about the matter. it was not long before he came to the conclusion that the main thing which had been wrong in his kingdom was himself. he was so greatly impressed with this idea that he went down to the courtyard to speak to the sphinx about it. "i dare say you are right," said the sphinx, "and i don't wonder that what you learned when you were away, and what you have seen since you came back, have made you feel certain that you were the cause of everything going wrong in this kingdom. and now, what do you intend to do about your government?” "give it up," promptly replied the king. "that is exactly what i should advise," said the sphinx. the king did give up his kingdom. he was convinced that being a king was exactly the thing he was not suited for, and that he would get on much better in some other business or profession. he determined to be a traveller and explorer, and to go abroad into other countries to find out things that might be useful to his own nation. his queen had shown that she could govern the country most excellently, and it was not at all necessary for him to stay at home. she had ordered all the men who had made up his line to follow the king's example and to go into some good business, in order that, not being bothered with so many officers, she would be able to get along quite easily. 199 the banished king the king was very successful in his new pursuit, and although he did not this time have a line of followers connecting him with the palace, he frequently sent home messages which were of use and value to his nation. "i may as well retire," said the sphinx to itself. "as the king has found his vocation, and everything is going all right, it is not necessary i should remain where i may be looked upon as a questionable personage." 200 the philopena the philopena here were once a prince and a princess who, when quite young, ate a philopena together. they agreed that the one who, at any hour after sunrise the next day, should accept anything from the other-the giver at the same time saying "philopena!" -should be the loser, and that the loser should marry the other. they did not meet the next day, as they had expected, and at the time our story begins many years had elapsed since they had seen each other, and the prince and the princess were nearly grown up. they often thought of the philopena they had eaten together, and wondered if they should know each other when they met. he remembered her as a pretty little girl dressed in green silk, playing with a snowwhite cat, while she remembered him as a handsome boy, wearing a little sword, the handle of which was covered with jewels. but they knew that each must have changed a great deal in all this time. neither of these young people had any parents. the prince lived with guardians and the princess with uncles. the guardians of the prince were very enterprising and energetic men, and were allowed to govern the 203 the philopena country until the prince came of age. the capital city was a very fine city when the old king died, but the guardians thought it might be much finer, so they set to work with all their might and main to improve it. they tore down old houses and made a great many new streets; they built grand and splendid bridges over the river on which the city stood; they constructed aqueducts to bring water from streams many miles away; and they were at work all the time upon some extensive building enterprise. the prince did not take much interest in the works which were going on under direction of his guardians, and when he rode out, he preferred to go into the country or to ride through some of the quaint old streets where nothing had been changed for hundreds of years. the uncles of the princess were very different people from the guardians of the prince. there were three of them, and they were very quiet and cosey old men, who disliked any kind of bustle or disturbance, and wished that everything might remain as they had always known it. it even worried them a little to find that the princess was growing up. they would have much preferred that she should remain exactly as she was when they first took charge of her. then they never would have been obliged to trouble their minds about any changes in the manner of taking care of her. but they did not worry their minds very much, after all. they wished to make her guardianship as little laborious or exhausting as possible, and so divided the work. one of them took charge of her education, another of her food and lodging, and the third of her dress. the first sent for teachers, and 204 the philopena told them to teach her; the second had handsome apartments prepared for her use, and gave orders that she should have everything she needed to eat and to drink; while the third commanded that she should have a complete outfit of new clothes four times a year. thus everything went on very quietly and smoothly, and the three uncles were not obliged to exhaust themselves by hard work. there were never any new houses built in that city, and if anything had to be repaired, it was done with as little noise and dirt as possible. the city and the whole kingdom were quiet and serene, and the three uncles dozed away most of the day in three great, comfortable thrones. everybody seemed satisfied with this state of things except the princess. she often thought to herself that nothing would be more delightful than a little noise and motion, and she wondered if the whole world were as quiet as the city in which she lived. at last she became unable to bear the dreadful stillness of the place any longer, but she could think of nothing to do but to go and try to find the prince with whom she had eaten the philopena. if she should win, he must marry her, and then, perhaps, they could settle down in some place where things would be bright and lively. so, early one morning, she put on her white dress, and mounting her prancing black horse, she rode away from the city. only one person saw her go, for nearly all the people were asleep. about this time, the prince made up his mind that he could no longer stand the din and confusion, the everlasting upsetting and setting-up in his native city. he would go away, and see if he could find the princess with whom he had eaten the philopena. if he 205 the philopena should win, she would be obliged to marry him, and then, perhaps, they could settle down in some place where it was quiet and peaceful. so, on the same morning in which the princess rode away, he put on a handsome suit of black clothes, and mounting a gentle white horse, he rode out of the city. only one person saw him go, for, even at that early hour, the people were so busy that little attention was paid to his movements. about half-way between these two cities, in a tall tower which stood upon a hill, there lived an inquisitive dwarf, whose whole object in life was to find out what people were doing and why they did it. from the top of this tower he generally managed to see all that was going on in the surrounding country. and in each of the two cities that have been mentioned he had an agent, whose duty it was to send him word, by means of carrier-pigeons, whenever a new thing happened. before breakfast, on the morning when the prince and princess rode away, a pigeon from the city of the prince came flying to the tower of the inquisitive dwarf. "some new building started, i suppose," said the dwarf, as he took the little roll of paper from under the pigeon's wing. "but no, it is very different ! ” "the prince has ridden away from the city alone, and is travelling to the north.'” but before he could begin to puzzle his brains about the meaning of this departure, another pigeon came flying in from the city of the princess. "well!" cried the dwarf, "this is amazing! it is a long time since i have had a message from that city, i • · 206 the philopena and my agent has been drawing his salary without doing any work. what possibly can have happened there?" when he read that the princess had ridden alone from the city that morning, and was travelling to the south, he was truly amazed. "what on earth can it mean?" he exclaimed. "if the city of the prince were to the south of that of the princess, then i might understand it, for they would be going to see each other, and that would be natural enough. but as his city is to the north of her city, they are travelling in opposite directions. now what is the meaning of this? i most certainly must find out." the inquisitive dwarf had three servants whom he employed to attend to his most important business. these were a gryphoness, a water sprite, and an absolute fool. this last one was very valuable, for there were some things he would do which no one else would think of attempting. the dwarf called to him the gryphoness, the oldest and most discreet of the three, and told her of the departure of the princess. "hasten southward," he said, "as fast as you can, and follow her, and do not return to me until you have found out why she left her city, where she is going, and what she expects to do when she gets there. your appearance may frighten her, and, therefore, you must take with you the absolute fool, to whom she will probably be willing to talk. but you must see that everything is managed properly." having despatched these two, the inquisitive dwarf then called the water sprite, who was singing to herself at the edge of a fountain, and telling her of the 207 the philopena departure of the prince, ordered her to follow him, and not to return until she had found out why he left his city, where he was going, and what he intended to do when he got there. "the road to the north," he said, "lies along the river-bank. therefore you can easily keep him company." the water sprite bowed, and dancing over the dewy grass to the river, threw herself into it. sometimes she swam beneath the clear water, sometimes she rose partly in the air, where she seemed like a little cloud of sparkling mist borne onward by the wind, and sometimes she floated upon the surface, her pale blue robes undulating with the gentle waves, while her white hands and feet shone in the sun like tiny crests of foam. thus, singing to herself, she went joyously and rapidly on, aided by a full, strong wind from the south. she did not forget to glance every now and then upon the road which ran along the river-bank, and, in the course of the morning, she perceived the prince. he was sitting in the shade of a tree near the water's edge, while his white horse was grazing near by. the water sprite came very gently out of the river, and seating herself upon the edge of the grassy bank, she spoke to him. the prince looked up in astonishment, but there was nothing in her appearance to frighten him. "i came," said the water sprite, "at the command of my master, to ask you why you left your city, where you are going, and what you intend to do when you get there." the prince then told her why he had left his city, and what he intended to do when he had found the princess. 208 the philopena "but where i am going," he said, "i do not know myself. i must travel and travel until i succeed in the object of my search." the water sprite reflected for a moment, and then she said: "if i were you, i would not travel to the north. it is cold and dreary there, and your princess would not dwell in such a region. a little above us, on the other side of this river, there is a stream which runs sometimes to the east and sometimes to the south, and which leads to the land of the lovely lakes. this is the most beautiful country in the world, and you will be much more likely to find your princess in those lovely regions than among the desolate mountains of the north." "i dare say you are right," said the prince, "and i will go there, if you will show me the way." "the road runs along the bank of the river,” said the water sprite, "and we shall soon reach the land of the lovely lakes." the prince then mounted his horse, forded the river, and was soon riding along the bank of the stream, while the water sprite gayly floated upon its dancing ripples. when the gryphoness started southward in pursuit of the princess, she kept out of sight among the bushes by the roadside, but sped swiftly along. the absolute fool, however, mounted upon a fine horse, rode boldly along upon the open road. he was a goodlooking youth, with rosy cheeks, bright eyes, and a handsome figure. as he cantered gayly along, he felt himself capable of every noble action which the human mind has ever conceived. the gryphoness kept near 209 the philopena him, and in the course of the morning they overtook the princess, who was allowing her horse to walk in the shade by the roadside. the absolute fool dashed up to her, and, taking off his hat, asked her why she had left her city, where she was going, and what she intended to do when she got there. the princess looked at him in surprise. "i left my city because i wanted to," she said, "i am going about my business, and when i get to the proper place, i shall attend to it." "oh," said the absolute fool, "you refuse me your confidence, do you? but allow me to remark that i have a gryphoness with me who is very frightful to look at, and whom it was my intention to keep in the bushes, but if you will not give fair answers to my questions, she must come out and talk to you, and that is all there is about it." "if there is a gryphoness in the bushes," said the princess, "let her come out. no matter how frightful she is, i would rather she should come where i can see her than to have her hiding near me." the gryphoness, who had heard these words, now came out into the road. the horse of the princess reared in affright, but his young rider patted him on the neck and quieted his fears. "what do you and this young man want?" said the princess to the gryphoness, "and why do you question me?" "it is not of our own will that we do it," said the gryphoness, very respectfully. "but our master, the inquisitive dwarf, has sent us to obtain information about the points on which the young man questioned 210 the philopena you, and until we have found out these things, it is impossible for us to return." "i am opposed to answering impertinent questions," replied the princess, "but in order to rid myself of you, i will tell you the reason of my journey." she then briefly stated the facts of the case. "ah me!" said the gryphoness. "i am very sorry, but you cannot tell us where you are going, and we cannot return until we know that. but you need not desire to be rid of us, for it may be that we can assist you in the object of your journey. this young man is sometimes very useful, and i shall be glad to do anything that i can to help you. if you should think that i would injure you, or willingly annoy you by my presence, it would grieve me to the heart." and as she spoke, a tear bedimmed her eye. the princess was touched by the emotion of the gryphoness. "you may accompany me," she said, "and i will trust you both. you must know this country better than i do. have you any advice to give me in regard to my journey?" "one thing i would strongly advise," said the gryphoness, "and that is that you do not travel any farther until we know in what direction it will be best to go. there is an inn close by, kept by a worthy woman. if you will stop there until to-morrow, this young man and i will scour the country round about, and try to find some news of your prince. the young man will return and report to you to-morrow morning; and if you should need help or escort, he will aid and obey you as your servant. as for me, unless we have 211 the philopena found the prince, i shall continue searching for him. there is a prince in the city to the north of my master's tower, and it is not unlikely that it is he whom you seek." "you can find out if it is he," answered the princess, "by asking about the philopena." "that will i do," said the gryphoness, "and i will return hither as speedily as possible." then, with respectful salutations, the gryphoness and the absolute fool departed by different ways. the princess then repaired to the inn, where she took lodgings. the next morning, the absolute fool came back to the inn, and, seeing the princess, said: "i rode until after nightfall, searching for the prince, before it occurred to me that, even if i should find him, i would not know him in the dark. as soon as i thought of that, i rode straight to the nearest house, and slept until daybreak, when i remembered that i was to report to you this morning. but as i have heard no news of the prince, and as this is a beautiful, clear day, i think it would be extremely foolish to remain idly here, where there is nothing of interest going on, and when a single hour's delay may cause you to miss the object of your search. the prince may be in one place this morning, and there is no knowing where he will be in the afternoon. while the gryphoness is searching we should search also. we can return before sunset, and we will leave word here as to the direction we have taken, so that when she returns she can quickly overtake us. it is my opinion that not a moment should be lost. i will be your guide. i know this country well." 212 the philopena the princess thought this sounded like good reasoning, and consented to set out. there were some beautiful mountains to the southeast, and among these, the absolute fool declared, a prince of good taste would be very apt to dwell. they, therefore, took this direction. but when they had travelled an hour or more, the mountains began to look bare and bleak, and the absolute fool declared that he did not believe any prince would live there. he therefore advised that they turn into a road that led to the northeast. it was a good road, and therefore he thought it led to a good place, where a person of good sense would be likely to reside. along this road they therefore travelled. they had ridden but a few miles when they met three men, well armed and mounted. these men drew up their horses, and respectfully saluted the princess. "high-born lady," they said, "for by your aspect we know you to be such, we would inform you that we are the soldiers of the king, the outskirts of whose dominions you have reached. it is our duty to question all travellers, and, if their object in coming to our country is a good one, to give them whatever assistance and information they may require. will you tell us why you are come?" "impertinent vassals!" cried the absolute fool, riding up in a great passion. "how dare you interfere with a princess who has left her city because it was so dull and stupid, and is endeavoring to find a prince with whom she has eaten a philopena, in order that she may marry him! out of my way, or i will draw my sword and cleave you to the earth, and thus punish your unwarrantable curiosity!" 213 the philopena the soldiers could not repress a smile. "in order to prevent mischief," they said to the absolute fool, "we shall be obliged to take you into custody." this they immediately did, and then requested the princess to accompany them to the palace of their king, where she would receive hospitality and aid. the king welcomed the princess with great cordiality. he had no son, and he much wished he had one, for in that case it might be his prince for whom the young lady was looking. but there was a prince, he said, who lived in a city to the north, who was probably the very man, and he would send and make inquiries. in the meantime the princess would be entertained by himself and his queen, and if her servant would make a suitable apology his violent language would be pardoned. but the absolute fool positively refused to do this. "i never apologize," he cried. "no man of spirit would do such a thing. what i say i stand by." "very well," said the king, "you shall fight a wild beast." then he gave orders that the affair should be arranged for the following day. in a short time, however, some of his officers came to him and told him that there were no wild beasts, those on hand having been kept so long that they had become tame. "to be sure, there's the old lion sardon," they said, "but he is so dreadfully cross, and has had so much experience in these fights, that for a long time it has not been considered fair to allow any one to enter the ring with him.” "it is a pity," said the king, "to make the young 214 the philopena man fight a tame beast, but, under the circumstances, the best thing to do will be to represent the case to him just as it is. tell him we are sorry we have not an ordinary wild beast, but that he can take his choice between a tame one and the lion sardon, whose disposition and experience you will explain to him." when the matter was stated to the absolute fool, he refused with great scorn to fight a tame beast. "i will not be degraded in the eyes of the public," he said. "i will take the old lion." the next day the court and the public assembled to see the fight, but the queen and our princess took a ride into the country, not wishing to witness a combat of this kind, especially one which was so unequal. the king ordered that every advantage should be given to the young man, in order that he might have every possible chance of success in fighting an animal which had been a victor on so many similar occasions. a large iron cage, furnished with a turnstile, into which the absolute fool could retire for rest and refreshment, but where the lion could not follow him, was placed in the middle of the arena, and the youth was supplied with all the weapons he desired. when everything was ready, the absolute fool took his stand in the centre of the arena, and the door of the lion's den was opened. the great beast came out; he looked about for an instant, and then, with majestic step, advanced toward the young man. when he was within a few paces of him, he crouched for a spring. the absolute fool had never seen so magnificent a creature, and he could not restrain his admiration. with folded arms and sparkling eyes, he gazed with delight upon the lion's massive head, his long and 215 the philopena flowing mane, his magnificent muscles, and his powerful feet and legs. there was an air of grandeur and strength about him which completely enraptured the youth. approaching the lion, he knelt before him, and gazed with wondering ecstasy into his great, glowing eyes. "what glorious orbs!" he inwardly exclaimed. "what unfathomable expression! what possibilities! what reminiscences! everywhere, what majesty of curve!" the lion was a good deal astonished at the conduct of the young man, and he soon began to suppose that this was not the person he was to fight, but probably a keeper, who was examining into his condition. after submitting to this scrutiny a few minutes, he gave a mighty yawn, which startled the spectators, but which delighted the absolute fool, for never before had he beheld such a depth of potentiality. he knelt in silent delight at this exhibition of the beauty of strength. old sardon soon became tired of all this, however, and he turned and walked back to his den. "when their man is ready," he thought to himself, "i will come out and fight him." one tremendous shout now arose from the multitude. "the youth has conquered!" they cried. "he has actually frightened the lion back into his den!" rushing into the arena, they raised the absolute fool upon their shoulders and carried him in triumph to the open square in front of the palace, that he might be rewarded for his bravery. here the king, followed by his court, quickly appeared, for he was as much delighted as anyone at the victory of the young man. 216 the philopena "noble youth," he exclaimed, "you are the bravest of the brave. you are the only man i know who is worthy of our royal daughter, and you shall marry her forthwith. long since i vowed that only with the bravest should she wed." at this moment the queen and the princess, returning from their ride, heard with joy the result of the combat, and riding up to the victor, the queen declared that she would gladly join with her royal husband in giving their daughter to so brave a man. the absolute fool stood for a moment in silent thought; then, addressing the king, he said: "was your majesty's father a king?" "he was," was the answer. "was his father of royal blood?" "no, he was not," replied the king. "my grandfather was a man of the people; but his preeminent virtue, his great ability as a statesman, and the dignity and nobility of his character made him the unanimous choice of the nation as its sovereign." "i am sorry to hear that," said the absolute fool, "for it makes it necessary for me to decline the kind offer of your daughter in marriage. if i marry a princess at all, she must be one who can trace back her lineage through a long line of royal ancestors." as he spoke his breast swelled with manly pride. for a moment the king was dumb with rage. then, loudly he shouted: "ho, guards! annihilate him! avenge this insult!" at these words the sword of every bystander leaped from its scabbard. but before any one could take a step forward, the princess seized the absolute 217 the philopena fool by his long and flowing locks, and put spurs to her horse. the young man yelled with pain, and shouted to her to let go. but she held firmly to his hair, and as he was extraordinarily active and fleet of foot, he kept pace with the galloping horse. a great crowd of people started in pursuit, but as none of them were mounted, they were soon left behind. "let go my hair! let go my hair!" shouted the absolute fool, as he bounded along. "you don't know how it hurts. let go! let go!" but the princess never relinquished her hold until they were out of the king's domain. "a little more," cried the indignant youth, when she let him go, "and you would have pulled out a handful of my hair." "a little less," said the princess, contemptuously, "and you would have been cut to pieces, for you have not sense enough to take care of yourself. i am sorry i listened to you, and left the inn to which the gryphoness took me. it would have been far better to wait there for her, as she told me to do.” "yes," said the absolute fool, "it would have been much better." "now," said the princess, "we will go back there, and see if she has returned." "if we can find it," said the other, "which i very much doubt." there were several roads at this point, and, of course, they took the wrong one. as they went on, the absolute fool complained bitterly that he had left his horse behind him, and was obliged to walk. sometimes he stopped, and said he would go back after it, but this the princess sternly forbade. 218 the philopena when the gryphoness reached the city of the prince, it was night, but she was not sorry for this. she did not like to show herself much in the daytime, because so many people were frightened by her. after a good deal of trouble, she discovered that the prince had certainly left the city, although his guardians did not seem to be aware of it. they were so busy with a new palace, in part of which they were living, that they could not be expected to keep a constant eye upon him. in the morning she met an old man who knew her and was not afraid of her, and who told her that the day before, when he was up the river, he had seen the prince on his white horse, riding on the bank of the stream, and that near him, in the water, was something which looked now like a woman, and again like a puff of mist. the gryphoness reflected. "if this prince has gone off in that way," she said to herself, "i believe that he is the very one whom the princess is looking for, and that he has set out in search of her; and that creature in the water must be our water sprite, whom our master has probably sent out to discover where the prince is going. if he had told me about this, it would have saved much trouble. from the direction in which they were going, i feel sure that the water sprite was taking the prince to the land of the lovely lakes. she never fails to go there, if she can possibly get an excuse. i will follow them. i suppose the princess will be tired, waiting at the inn, but i must know where the prince is, and whether or not he is really her prince, before i go back to her." the gryphoness soon arrived at the land of the 219 the philopena lovely lakes, but although she wandered all that day and the next night, she saw nothing of those for whom she was looking. the princess and the absolute fool journeyed on until near the close of the afternoon, when the sky began to be overcast, and it looked like rain. they were then not far from a large piece of water, and at a little distance they saw a ship moored near the shore. "i shall seek shelter on board that ship," said the princess. "it is going to storm," remarked the absolute fool. "i should prefer to be on dry land." "as the land is not likely to be very dry when it rains," said the princess, "i prefer a shelter, even if it is upon wet water." "women will always have their own way," muttered the absolute fool, folding his arms upon his chest and knitting his brows. the ship belonged to a crew of amazon sailors, who gave the princess a hearty welcome. "you may go on board if you choose," said the absolute fool to the princess, "but i shall not risk my life in a ship manned by women." "it is well that you are of that opinion," said the captain of the amazons, who had overheard this remark, "for you would not be allowed to come on board, if you wished to. but we will give you a tent to protect you and the horse, in case it should rain, and will send you something to eat." while the princess was taking tea with the amazon captain, she told her about the prince, and how she was trying to find him. 220 the philopena "good!" cried the captain. "i will join in the search and take you in my ship. some of my crew told me that yesterday they saw a young man, who looked like a prince, riding along the shore of a lake which adjoins the one we are on. in the morning we will sail after him. we shall keep near the shore, and your servant can mount your horse and ride along the edge of the lake. from what i know of the speed of this vessel, i think he can easily keep up with us." early in the morning, the amazon captain called her crew together. "hurrah, my brave girls!" she said. "we have an object. i never sail without an object, and it delights me to get one. the purpose of our present cruise is to find the prince of whom this princess is in search, and we must spare no pains to bring him to her, dead or alive." luckily for her peace of mind, the princess did not hear this speech. the day was a fine one, and before long the sun became very hot. the ship was sailing quite near the land, when the absolute fool rode down to the water's edge, and called out that he had something very important to communicate to the princess. as he was not allowed to come on board, she was obliged to go on shore, to which she was rowed in a small boat. "i have been thinking," said the absolute fool, "that it is perfectly ridiculous, and very uncomfortble, to continue this search any longer. i would go back, but my master would not suffer me to return without knowing where you are going. i have, therefore, a plan to propose. give up your useless search for this prince, who is probably not nearly so handsome and intellectual as i am, and marry me. we 221 the philopena will then return, and i will assume the reins of government in your domain." "follow the vessel," said the princess, "as you have been doing, for i wish some one to take care of my horse." then, without another word, she returned to the ship. "i should like to sail as far as possible from shore during the rest of the trip," said she to the captain. "put the helm bias!" shouted the amazon captain to the steerswoman, "and keep him well out from land." when they had sailed through a small stream into the lake adjoining, the outlook, who was swinging in a hammock hung between the tops of the two masts, sang out, "prince ahead!" instantly all was activity on board the vessel. story-books were tucked under coils of rope, hemstitching and embroidery were laid aside, and every woman was at her post. "the princess is taking a nap," said the captain, "and we will not awaken her. it will be so nice to surprise her by bringing the prince to her. we will run our vessel ashore, and then steal quietly upon him. but do not let him get away. cut him down if he resists!" the prince, who was plainly visible only a short distance ahead, was so pleasantly employed that he had not noticed the approach of the ship. he was sitting upon a low, moss-covered rock, close to the water's edge, and with a small hand-net, which he had found on the shore, he was scooping from the lake the most beautiful fishes, holding them up in the sunlight to admire their brilliant colors and graceful forms, and then returning them uninjured to the water. the 222 the philopena reits f as yo te care e retame le from the cap azon d 1 stream swing le two was act dekeda ty wer the cas de so t r. wer горс dovi: nly a st ed thr be lose to nich be he lake he sul forms, ater. t water sprite was swimming near him, telling the fish to come up and be caught, for the gentle prince would not hurt them. it was very delightful and rare sport, and it is not surprising that it entirely engrossed the attention of the prince. the amazons silently landed, and softly stole along the shore, a little back from the water. then, at their captain's command, they rushed upon the prince. it was just about this time that the gryphoness, who had been searching for the prince, caught her first sight of him. perceiving that he was about to be attacked, she rushed to his aid. the amazon sailors reached him before she did, and seizing upon him, they began to pull him away. the prince resisted stoutly, but seeing that his assailants were women, he would not draw his sword. the amazon captain and mate, who were armed with broad knives, now raised their weapons, and called upon the prince to surrender or die. but at this moment the gryphoness reached the spot, and catching the captain and mate each by an arm, she dragged them back from the prince. the other amazons, however, continued the combat, and the prince defended himself by pushing them into the shallow water, where the water sprite nearly stifled them by throwing over them showers of spray. and now came riding up the absolute fool. seeing a youth engaged in combat with the amazon sailors, his blood boiled with indignation. "a man fighting women!" he exclaimed. "what a coward! my arm shall ever assist the weaker sex." jumping from the horse, he drew his sword, and rushed upon the prince. the gryphoness saw the danger of the latter, and she would have gone to his 223 the philopena assistance, but she was afraid to loosen her hold of the amazon captain and mate. spreading her wings, she flew to the top of a tree, where she deposited the two warlike women upon a lofty branch, from which she knew it would take them a long time to get down to the ground. when she descended she found that the absolute fool had reached the prince. the latter, being a brave fellow, although of so gentle a disposition, had been glad to find a man among his assailants, and had drawn his sword to defend himself. the two had just begun to fight when the gryphoness seized the absolute fool by the waist and hurled him backward into some bushes. "you must not fight him!" she cried to the prince. "he is beneath your rank! and as you will not draw your sword against these amazons, you must fly from them. if you run fast they cannot overtake you." the prince followed her advice, and, sheathing his sword, he rapidly ran along the bank, followed by some of the amazons who had succeeded in getting the water out of their eyes and mouths. "run from women!" contemptuously remarked the absolute fool. "if you had not interfered with me," he said to the gryphoness, "i should soon have put an end to such a coward." the prince had nearly reached the place opposite to which the ship was moored, when the princess, who had been awakened by the noise of the combat, appeared upon the deck of the vessel. the moment she saw the prince, she felt convinced that he was certainly the one for whom she was looking. fearing that the pursuing amazons might kill him, she sprang 224 the philopena from the vessel to his assistance. but her foot caught in a rope, and instead of reaching the shore, she fell into the water, which was here quite deep, and immediately sank out of sight. the prince, who had noticed her just as she sprang, and who felt equally convinced that she was the one for whom he was searching, stopped his flight and rushed to the edge of the bank. just as the princess rose to the surface, he reached out his hand to her, and she took it. "philopena!" cried the prince. "you have won," said the princess, gayly shaking the water from her curls, as he drew her ashore. at the request of the princess, the pursuing amazons forbore to assail the prince, and when the captain and the mate had descended from the tree, everything was explained. within an hour, the prince and princess, after taking kind leave of the gryphoness and water sprite, and of the amazon sailors, who cheered them loudly, rode away to the city of the princess, while the three servants of the inquisitive dwarf returned to their master to report what had happened. the absolute fool was in a very bad humor, for he was obliged to go back on foot, having left his horse in the kingdom where he had so narrowly escaped being killed. and, besides this, he had had his hair pulled, and had not been treated with proper respect by either the princess or the gryphoness. he felt himself deeply injured. when he reached home, he determined that he would not remain in a position where his great abilities were so little appreciated. "i will do something," he said, "which shall prove to the world that i deserve to stand among the truly 225 the philopena great. i will reform my fellow-beings, and i will begin by reforming the inquisitive dwarf." thereupon he went to his master and said: "sir, it is foolish and absurd for you to be meddling thus with the affairs of your neighbors. give up your inquisitive habits, and learn some useful business. while you are doing this, i will consent to manage your affairs." the inquisitive dwarf turned to him and said: "i have a great desire to know the exact appearance of the north pole. go and discover it for me." the absolute fool departed on this mission, and has not yet returned. when the princess, with her prince, reached her city, her uncles were very much amazed, for they had not known she had gone away. "if you are going to get married," they said, "we are very glad, for then you will not need our care, and we shall be free from the great responsibility which is bearing us down." in a short time the wedding took place, and then the question arose in which city should the young couple dwell. the princess decided it. "in the winter," she said to the prince, "we will live in your city, where all is life and activity, and where the houses are so well built, with all the latest improvements. in the summer we will come to my city, where everything is old, and shady, and serene." this they did, and were very happy. the gryphoness would have been glad to go and live with the princess, for she had taken a great fancy to her; but she did not think it worth her while to ask permission to do this. 226 the philopena "my impulses, i know, are good," she said, "but my appearance is against me." as for the water sprite, she was in a truly disconsolate mood, because she had left so soon the land of the lovely lakes, where she had been so happy. the more she thought about it, the more she grieved, and one morning, unable to bear her sorrow longer, she sprang into the great jet of the fountain. high into the bright air the fountain threw her, scattering her into a thousand drops of glittering water, but not one drop fell back into the basin. the great, warm sun drew them up, and, in a little white cloud, they floated away across the bright blue sky. 227 1 amos kilbright: his adscititious experiences ९ | amos kilbright: his adscititious experiences [this story is told by mr. richard colesworthy, an attorney-at-law in a large town in one of our eastern states. the fact that mr. colesworthy is a practical man, and but little given, outside of his profession, to speculative theorizing, adds a weight to his statements which they might not otherwise possess.] n the practice of my profession i am in the habit sorts and conditions of men, women, and even children. but i do not know that i ever encountered any one who excited in me a greater interest than the man about whom i am going to tell you. i was busily engaged one morning in my office, which is on the ground floor of my dwelling and opens upon the street, when, after a preliminary knock, young man entered and asked leave to speak with me. he was tall and well made, plainly but decently dressed, and with a fresh, healthy color on his smoothly shaven face. there was something in his air, a sort of respectful awkwardness, which was not without a suggestion of good breeding, and in his countenance there was an annoyed or troubled expression which did not sit well upon it. i asked him to take a chair, 231 amos kilbright and as he did so the thought came to me that i should like to be of service to him. of course i desire to aid and benefit all my clients, but there are some persons whose appearance excites in one an instinctive sympathy, and toward whom there arise at first sight sentiments of kindliness. the man had said almost nothing. it was simply his manner which had impressed me. i mention these points because generally i do not take an interest in persons until i know a good deal about them. "what can i do for you?" i asked. the man did not immediately answer, but began searching for something in one of the pockets of his coat. the little awkwardness which i had first noticed now became more apparent. he appeared to be looking for his pockets rather than for what might be in one of them. he was conscious of his ungainliness, and reddened a little as he fumbled on the inside and outside of his coat. "i pray you pardon me," he said, "but i will bring before you instantly the matter of my business." so saying, he got his hand into a breast-pocket and drew out a little packet. there was a certain intonation of his voice which at first made me think that he was not an american, but in that intonation there was really nothing foreign. he was certainly a stranger,—he might be from the backwoods,—and both his manner and speech appeared odd to me. but soon i had no doubt about his being my countryman. in fact, there was something in his general appearance which seemed to me to be distinctively american. "i came to you, sir," he said, "to ask if you would have the goodness to purchase one or more of these 232 amos kilbright tickets." then he held out to me a card entitling one person to admission to a séance to be given by a party of spiritualists in one of the public buildings of the town. a feeling of anger arose within me. i was chagrined to think that i had begun to interest myself in a person who merely came to interrupt me in my business by trying to sell me tickets to a spiritualistic exhibition. my instant impulse was to turn from the man and let him see that i was offended by his intrusion, but my reason told me that he had done nothing that called for resentment. if i had expected something more important from him, that was my affair. he had not pretended to have any other business than that which brought him. besides, he offered me something which in fact i wanted. i am a member of a society for psychical research, which, about a year before, had been organized in our town. it is composed almost exclusively of persons who are desirous of honestly investigating the facts, as well as theories, connected with the spiritual phenomena, not only of our own day, but of all ages. we had heard of the spiritualistic exhibitions which were to be given in our town, and i, with a number of my fellow-members, had determined to attend them. if there was anything real or tangible in the performances of these people, we wanted to know it. considering all this, it would be foolish for me to be angry with a man who had brought me the very tickets i intended to buy, and, instead of turning away from him, i took out my pocket-book. "i will take one ticket for each of the three séances," i said, and i placed the money on the table. 233 amos kilbright i would have been glad to buy two sets of tickets, one for my wife, but i knew this would be useless. she did not belong to our society, and took no interest in its investigations. "those things are all tricks and nonsense,” she had said. "i don't want to know anything about them. and if they were true, i most certainly would not want to know anything about them." so i contented myself with the tickets for my own use, and as the man slowly selected them from his little package, i asked him if he had sold many of them. "these you now buy are the first of which i have made disposal," he answered. "for two days i have endeavored to sell them, but to no purpose. there are many people to whom i cannot bring myself to speak upon the matter, and those i have asked care not for these things. i would not have come to you, but having twice passed your open window, i liked your face and took courage." i smiled. so this man had been studying me before i began to study him! this discovery revived in me the desire that he had come on some more interesting business than that of selling tickets, a thing he did so badly as to make me wonder why he had undertaken it. "i imagine," said i, "that this sort of business is out of your line." he looked at me a moment, and then with earnestness exclaimed: "entirely! utterly! absolutely! i am altogether unfitted for this calling, and it is an injustice to those who send me out for me to longer continue in it. some other person might sell their 234 amos kilbright tickets; i cannot. and yet," he said, with a sigh, "what is there that i may do?" the idea that this strong, well-grown man should have any difficulty in finding something to do surprised me. if he chose to go out and labor with his hands, and surely no man who was willing to wander about selling tickets should object to that,-there would be no difficulty in his obtaining a livelihood in our town. "if you want regular employment," i said, "i think you can easily find it." “i want it,” he answered, his face clouded by a troubled expression, "but i cannot take it." "cannot take it!" i exclaimed. "no," he said. "i am not my own master. much a slave as any negro hereabouts!" i was rather surprised at this meaningless allusion, but contented myself with asking him what he meant by not being his own master. he looked on the floor, and then he looked at me with a steady, earnest gaze. "i should like well to tell you my story," he said. "i have been ordered not to tell it, but i have resolved that when i should meet a man to whom i should be moved to speak i would speak." i am as now i felt a very natural emotion of pride. my perception of objects of interest was a quick and a correct one. "speak on," i said; "i shall be very glad to hear what you have to say." he looked toward the open door. i arose and closed it. when i had resumed my seat he drew his chair closer to me, leaned toward me, and said: "in the first place, you should know that i am a materialized spirit." 235 amos kilbright i sat up, hard pressed against the back of my chair. "nay, start not," he said. "i am now as truly flesh and blood as you are, but a short three weeks ago i was a spirit in the realms of endless space. i know," he continued, "that my history is a sore thing to inflict upon any man, and there are few to whom i would have broached it, but i will make it brief. three weeks ago these spiritualists held privately in this town what they call a séance, and at that time i was impelled, by a power i understood not, to appear among them. after i had come it was supposed that a mistake had been made, and that i was not the spirit wanted. in the temporary confusion occasioned by this supposition, and while the attention of the exhibitors was otherwise occupied, i was left exposed to the influence of the materializing agencies for a much longer time than had been intended-so long, indeed, that instead of remaining in the misty, indistinct form in which spirits are presented by these men to their patrons, i became as thoroughly embodied, as full of physical life and energy, and as complete a mortal man as i was when i disappeared from this earth, one hundred and two years ago." "one hundred and two years!" i mechanically ejaculated. there was upon me the impulse to get up and go where i could breathe the outer air, to find my wife and talk to her about marketing or some household affair, to get away from this being-human or whatever he was; but this was impossible. that interest which dawned upon me when i first perceived my visitor now held me as if it had been a spell. "yes," he said, "i deceased in seventeen hundred and eighty-five, being then in my thirtieth year. i 236 1 · amos kilbright was a citizen of bixbury, on the massachusetts coast, but i am not unconnected with this place. old mr. scott, of your town, is my grandson." i am obliged to chronicle the fact that my present part in this conversation consisted entirely of ejaculations. "old mr. scott your grandson!" i said. "yes," he replied. "my daughter, who was but two years old when i left her, married lemuel scott of bixbury, who moved to this town soon after old mr. scott was born. it was, indeed, on account of this good old man that i became materialized. he was present at the private séance of which i have spoken, and being asked if he would like to see a person from the other world, he replied that he should be pleased to behold his grandfather. when the necessary influences were set to work i appeared. the spiritualists, who, without much thought, had conceived the idea that the grandfather of old mr. scott ought, in the ordinary nature of things, to be a very venerable personage, were disappointed when they saw me, and concluded i was one who, by some mistake, had been wrongfully summoned. they therefore set me aside, as it were, and occupied themselves with other matters. old mr. scott went away unsatisfied, and strengthened in his disbelief in the powers of the spiritualists, while i, as i have before said, was left unnoticed under the power of the materializing force, until i was made corporeal, as i am now. "when the spiritualists discovered what had happened they were much disturbed, and set about to dematerialize me; for it is not their purpose or desire to cause departed spirits to again become inhabitants of this world. but all their efforts were of no avail. i 237 amos kilbright remained as much a man as any one of themselves. they found me in full health and vigor, for i had never had a day's sickness in my life, having come to my death by drowning while foolishly swimming too far from land in a strong ebb-tide, and my body, being carried out to sea, was never recovered. being thus put to their wit's end, they determined to keep the matter privy, and to make the best of it, and the first necessity was to provide me with clothing, for on my second entrance into this world i was as totally without apparel as when i first came into it. they gave me these garments of the ordinary fashion of the day, but to which i find myself much unaccustomed, and enjoined upon me to keep silent regarding what had happened, fearing, as i was made aware by some unguarded words, that their efforts to dematerialize me might bring them into trouble." my professional instincts now came to the front. "that would be murder," i said, "and nothing less." "so i myself told them," he continued, "for i had come to the determination that i would choose to finish out the life i had broken off so suddenly. but they paid little heed to my words and continued their experiments. but, as i have told you, their efforts were without avail, and they have ceased to make further trial of dematerialization. as, of course, it would be impossible to keep a full-grown man for any considerable length of time secluded and unseen, they judged it wise to permit me to appear as an ordinary human being. having no other use to which they could put me, they set me to selling tickets for them, and in this business i have fared so badly that i shall restore to them these that are left, and counsel them 238 amos kilbright to seek another agent, i being of detriment to them rather than profit. what may then happen i do not know, for, as i told you, i am not my own master." "i do not understand you," i said. "if you have been, in this unparalleled manner, restored to your physical existence, surely you are free to do as you please. what these spiritualists have done for you was done by accident. they intended you no benefit, and they have no claim upon you." "that is true," he said, with a sigh, "but they have a hold upon me. it was but yesterday that they informed me that although, so far, they had failed to restore me to what they call my normal spiritual existence, they had every reason to believe that they soon would be able to do so. a psychic scientist of germany has discovered a process of dematerialization, and they have sent to him for his formula. this, in a short time, they expect to receive, and they assure me that they will not hesitate to put it in force if i should cause them trouble. now, sir," he continued, and as he spoke there was a moisture about his eyes, "i am very fond of life. i have been restored to that mortality from which i was suddenly snatched by the cruel sea, and i do not wish to lose it again until i have lived out my natural term of years. my family is one of long life, and i feel that i have a right to fifty more years of existence, and this strong desire for the natural remainder of my life is that which gives these men their power over me. i was never a coward, but i cannot but fear those who may at any moment cause this form, these limbs, my physical state and life, to vanish like a candle-flame blown out." my sympathies were now strongly aroused in be239 amos kilbright half of the subject of these most extraordinary conditions. "that which you fear must not be allowed," i said. "no man has the right to take away the life of another, no matter what plan or method he may use. i will see the spiritualists, and make it plain to them that what they threaten they cannot be allowed to do." the man arose. "sir," he said, "i feel that i have truly found a friend. whatever may happen to me, i shall never forget your kindness to a very stranger." he held out his hand, and i stood up by him and took it. it was as much a flesh-and-blood hand as my own. "what is your name?" i asked. "you have not yet told me that." "i am amos kilbright of bixbury," he answered. "you have not revisited your native place?” i said. "no," he replied. "i much desire to do so, but i have no money for a journey, even on foot, and i doubt me much if those men would suffer me to go to bixbury." "and have you spoken to your grandson, old mr. scott?" i said. "it is but right that you should make yourself known to him." "so have i thought," he answered, "and i have felt an earnest drawing toward my daughter's child. i have seen him thrice, but have not had the heart to speak to him and declare myself the progenitor of that mother whose memory i know he cherishes." "you shall make yourself known to him,” i said. "i will prepare the way." he shook me again by the hand, and took his leave without a word. he was deeply affected. i reseated myself by my table, one thought after 240 amos kilbright it wedis me life : may st lain to cwed that is stra msad as m bar swee sobr dot, me tog clis hare heart! roft i sle another rushing through my mind. had ever man heard a story such as this? what were all the experiences of the members of the society for psychical research, their stories of apparitions, their instances of occult influences, their best-authenticated incidents of supernaturalism, compared to this experience of mine! should i hasten and tell it all to my wife? i hesitated. if what i had heard should not be trueand this my first doubt or suspicion impressed upon me how impossible to me had been doubt or suspicion during the presence of my visitor-it would be wrong to uselessly excite her mind. on the other hand, if i had heard nothing but the truth, what would happen should she sympathize as deeply with amos kilbright as i did, and then should that worthy man suddenly become dematerialized, perhaps before her very eyes? no, i would not tell her—at least, not yet. but i must see the spiritualists. and that afternoon i went to them. the leader and principal worker of the men who were about to give a series of spiritual manifestations in our town was mr. corbridge, a man of middle age with a large head and earnest visage. when i spoke to him of amos kilbright he was very much annoyed. "so he has been talking to you," he said, "and after all the warnings i gave him! well, he does that sort of thing at his own risk!" "we all do things at our own risk," i said, "and he has as much right to choose his line of conduct as anybody else." "no, he hasn't," said mr. corbridge. "he belongs to us, and it is for us to choose his line of conduct for him." e 241 amos kilbright "that is nonsense," said i. "you have no more right over him than i have." "now, then," said mr. corbridge, his eyes beginning to sparkle, "i may as well talk plainly to you. my associates and myself have considered this matter very carefully. at first, we thought that if this fellow should tell his story we would simply pooh-pooh the whole of it, and let people think he was a little touched in his mind, which would be so natural a conclusion that everybody might be expected to come to it. but as we have determined to dematerialize him, his disappearance would bring suspicion upon us, and we might get into trouble if he should be considered a mere commonplace person. so we decided to speak out plainly, say what we had done and what we were going to do, and thus put ourselves at the head of the spirit operators of the world. but we are not yet ready to do anything or to make our announcements, and if he had held his tongue we might have given him a pretty long string." "and do you mean," i said, "that you and your associates positively intend to dematerialize mr. kilbright?" "certainly we do," he answered. "then i declare such an act would be inhumana horrible crime." "no," said mr. corbridge, "it would be neither. in the first place, he isn't human. it is by accident that he is what he is. but it was our affair entirely, and it was a most wonderfully fortunate thing for us that it happened. at first it frightened us, but we have become used to it now, and we see the great oppor242 amos kilbright tunities that this entirely unparalleled case will give us. as he is, he is of no earthly good to anybody. you can't take a man out of the last century and expect him to get on in any sort of business at the present day. he is too old-fashioned. he doesn't know how we do things in the year eighteen hundred and eighty-seven. we put this subject to work selling tickets just to keep him occupied. but he can't even do that. but as a spirit who can be materialized or dematerialized whenever we please, he will be of the greatest value to us. when a spirit has been brought out as strongly as he has been, it will be the easiest thing in the world to do it again. every time you bring one out, the less trouble it is to make it appear the next time you want it. and in this case the conditions are so favorable that it will be absolute business suicide in us if we allow ourselves to lose the chance of working it. so you see, sir, that we have marked out our course, and i assure you that we intend to stick to it." "and i assure you," said i, rising to go, "that i shall make it my business to interfere with your wicked machinations." mr. corbridge laughed. "you'll find," he said, "that we have turned this thing over pretty carefully, and we are ready for whatever the courts may do. if we are charged with making away with anybody, we can make him appear, alive and well, before judge and jury. then what will there be to say against us? besides, we are quite sure that no laws can be found against bringing beings from the other world, or sending them back into it, provided it can be proved by the subject's admission, or in any 243 amos kilbright other manner, that he really died once in a natural way. you cannot be tried for causing a man's death a second time.” i was not prepared to make any answer on this point, but i went away with a firm resolution to protect amos kilbright in the full enjoyment of his reassumed physical existence, if the power of law, or any other power, could do it. the next morning mr. corbridge called on me at my office. "i shall be very sorry," he said, "if any of my remarks of yesterday should cause unpleasant feelings between us. we are desirous of being on good terms with everybody, especially with members of the society for psychical research. you ought to work with us." "we do not work with you," i replied, "nor ever shall. our object is to search earnestly and honestly into the subject of spiritual manifestation, and not to make money out of unfortunate subjects of experiment." "you misunderstand us," said he, "but i am not going to argue the question. i wish to be on good terms with you and to act fairly and plainly all around. we find that we cannot make use of the dematerialization process as soon as we expected, for the german scientist who controls it has declined to send us his formula, but has consented to come over and work it on this subject himself. his engagements will not allow him to visit this country immediately, but he is very enthusiastic about it, and he is bound to come before long. now, as you seem to be interested in this ex-kilbright, we will make you an offer. we will give him into your charge until we want him. 244 amos kilbright he is of no use to us, as he can't tell us anything about spiritual matters, his present memory beginning just where it broke off when he sank in the ocean in seventeen hundred and eighty-five; but he might be very useful to a man who was inclined to study up oldtime manners and customs. so, if it suits you, we will make him over to you, agreeing to give you three days' notice before we take any measures to dematerialize him. we are not afraid of your getting away with him, for our power over him will be all the same, no matter where he is." "i will have no man made over to me,” said i, “and mr. kilbright, being his own master, can do with himself what he pleases. but, as i said before, i shall protect him, and do everything in my power to thwart your schemes against him. and you must remember he will have other friends besides me. he has relatives in this town." "none but old mr. scott, at least so far as i know," said corbridge, "and he need not expect any help from him, for that ancient personage is a most arrant disbeliever in spiritualism." and with this remark he took his leave. that very afternoon came to me amos kilbright, his face shining with pleasure. he greeted me warmly, and thanked me for having so kindly offered to give him employment by which he might live and feel under obligations to no man. i had promised nothing of the kind, and my mind was filled with abhorrence of such men as corbridge, who would not only send a person into the other world simply to gratify a scientific curiosity or for purposes of profit, but would rehabilitate a departed spirit with 245 amos kilbright all his lost needs and appetites, and then foist him upon a comparative stranger for care and sustenance. such conduct was not only mean, but criminal in its nature, and if there was no law against it, one ought to be made. kilbright then proceeded to tell me how happy he had been when corbridge informed him that his dematerialization had been indefinitely postponed, and that i had consented to take him into my service. "it is now plain to me," he said, "that they have no power to do this thing and cannot obtain it from others. this discardment of me proves that they have abandoned their hopes." it was evident that corbridge had said nothing of the expected coming of the german scientist, and i would not be cruel enough to speak of it myself. besides, i intended to have said scientist arrested and put under bonds as soon as he set foot on our shores. "i do not feel," continued kilbright, "that i am beginning a new life, but that i am taking up my old one at the point where i left it off." "you cannot do that," i said. "things have changed very much, and you will have to adapt yourself to those changes. in many ways you must begin again." "i know that," he said, "and with respect to much that i see about me i am but a child. but as i am truly a man, i shall begin to do a man's work, and what i know not of the things that are about me, that will i learn as quickly as may be. it is my purpose, sir, to labor with you in any manner which you may deem fit, and in which i may be found serviceable, until i have gained sufficient money to travel to bix246 amos kilbright bury, and there endeavor to establish myself in some worthy employment. i had at that place a small estate, but of that i shall take no heed. without doubt it has gone, rightly, to my heirs, and even if i could deprive them of it, i would not." "have you living heirs besides your grandson here?" i asked. "that i know not," he said. "but if there be such i greatly long to see them." "and how about old mr. scott?" said i. "when shall we go to him and tell him who you are?" "i greatly desire that that may be done soon," answered kilbright, "but first i wish to establish myself in some means of livelihood, so that he may not think that i come to him for maintenance." of course it was not possible for me to turn this man away and tell him i had nothing for him to do, and therefore i must devise employment for him. i found that he wrote a fair hand, a little stiff and labored, but legible and neat, and as i had a good deal of copying to do, i decided to set him to work upon this. i procured board and lodging for him in a house near by, and a very happy being was amos kilbright. as for me, i felt that i was doing my duty, and a good work. but the responsibility was heavy, and my road was not at all clear before me. my principal source of anxiety was in regard to my wife. should i tell her the truth about my new copyist, or not? in the course of a night i resolved this question, and determined to tell her everything. when the man was merely mr. corbridge's subject the case was different; but to have daily in my office a clerk who had been drowned one hundred and two years before, and not 247 amos kilbright tell mrs. colesworthy of it would be an injustice to her. when i first made known to her the facts of the case, my wife declared that she believed "psychics" had turned my brain. but when i offered to show her the very man who had been materialized, she consented to go down and look at him. i informed kilbright that my wife knew his story, and we three had a long and very interesting conversation. after an hour's talk, during which my wife asked a great many questions which i should never have thought of, we went up-stairs and left kilbright to his work. "his story is a most wonderful one," said mrs. colesworthy, "but i don't believe he is a materialized spirit, because the thing is impossible. still, it will not do to make any mistakes, and we must try all we can to help him in case he was drowned when he says he was, and if that german comes over to end his mortal career a second time. science is getting to be such a wicked thing that i am sure if he crosses the ocean on purpose to dematerialize mr. kilbright, he will try to do it in some way or other, whether the poor man was ever a spirit before or not. one thing, however, is certain : i want to be present when old mr. scott is told that that young man is his grandfather." mr. kilbright worked very assiduously, and soon proved himself of considerable use to me. when he had lived in bixbury he had been a surveyor and a farmer, and now, when he finished his copying duties for the day, or when i had no work of that kind ready for him, it delighted him much to go into my garden and rake and hoe among the flowers and vegetables. i frequently walked with him about the town, showing 248 amos kilbright and explaining to him the great changes that had taken place since the former times in which he had lived. but he was not impressed by these things as i expected him to be. "it seems to me," he said, "as though i was in a foreign country, and i look upon what lies about me as if everything had always been as i see it. this town is so different from anything i have ever known that i cannot imagine it has changed from a condition which was once familiar to me. at bixbury, however, i think the case will be otherwise. if there are changes there i shall notice them. in a little place like that, however, i have hopes that the changes will not be great." he was very conservative, and i could see that in many cases he thought the old ways of doing things much better than the new ones. he was, however, a polite and sensible man, and knew better than to make criticisms to one who had befriended him. but in some cases he could not conceal his disapprobation. he had seen a train of cars before i met him, and i was not able to induce him to approach again a railroad track. whatever other feelings he may have had at first sight of a train in motion were entirely swallowed up in his abhorrence of this mode of travelling. "we must not be in a hurry," said my wife, when we talked of these matters. "when he gets more accustomed to these things he will be more surprised at them." there were some changes, however, which truly did astonish him, and these were the alterations-in his opinion, entirely uncalled for and unwarrantablewhich had been made in the spelling of the words of 249 amos kilbright our language since he had gone to school. no steamengine, no application of electricity, none of the modern inventions which i showed him, caused him the emotions of amazement which were occasioned by the information that in this country "honor" was now spelled without a u. during this time mr. kilbright's interest in his grandson seemed to be on the increase. he would frequently walk past the house of that old gentleman merely for the purpose of looking at him as he sat by the open window reading his newspaper or quietly smoking his evening pipe on a bench in his side yard. when he had been with me about ten days he said: "i now feel that i must go and make myself known to my grandson. i am earning my own subsistence, and, however he may look upon me, he need not fear that i am come to be a burden upon him. you will not wonder, sir, that i long to meet with this son of the little baby girl i left behind me." i did not wonder, and my wife and i agreed to go with him that very evening to old mr. scott's house. the old gentleman received us very cordially in his little parlor. "you are a stranger in this town, sir," he said to kilbright. "i did not exactly catch your name. kilbright?" he said, when it had been repeated to him. "that is one of my family names, but it is long since i have heard of any one bearing it. my mother was a kilbright, but she had no brothers, and no uncles of the name. my grandfather was the last of our branch of the kilbrights. his name was amos, and he was a bixbury man. from what part of the country do you come, sir?" 250 amos kilbright "my name is amos, and i was born in bixbury." old mr. scott sat up very straight in his chair. "young man, that seems to me impossible!" he exclaimed. "how could there be any kilbrights in bixbury and i not know of it?" then, taking a pair of big silver spectacles from his pocket, he put them on and attentively surveyed his visitor, whose countenance during this scrutiny was filled with emotion. presently the old gentleman took off his spectacles, and, rising from his chair, went into another room. quickly returning, he brought with him a small oilpainting in a narrow, old-fashioned frame. he stood it up on a table in a position where a good light from the lamp fell upon it. it was the portrait of a young man with a fresh, healthy face, dressed in an old-style high-collared coat, with a wide cravat coming up under his chin, and a bit of ruffle sticking out from his shirt-bosom. my wife and i gazed at it with awe. "that," said old mr. scott, "is the picture of my grandfather, amos kilbright, taken at twenty-five. he was drowned at sea some years afterwards, but exactly how i do not know. my mother did not remember him at all. and i must say," he continued, putting on his spectacles again, "that there is something of a family likeness between you, sir, and that picture. if it wasn't for the continental clothes in the painting there would be a good deal of resemblance— yes, a very great deal." "it is my portrait," said mr. kilbright, his voice trembling as he spoke. "it was painted by tatlow munson in the winter of seventeen hundred and eighty, in payment for my surveying a large tract of land north of the town, he having no money to otherwise 251 amos kilbright he wrote his name in ink upon the compensate me. back of the canvas." old mr. scott took up the picture and turned it around; and there we all saw plainly written upon the time-stained back, "tatlow munson, 1780.” old mr. scott laid the picture upon the table, took off his spectacles, and with wide-open eyes gazed first at mr. kilbright and then at us. the sight of the picture had finished the conversion of my wife. "oh, mr. scott," she cried, leaning so far forward in her chair that it seemed as if she were about to go down on her knees before the old man, "this gentleman is your grandfather! yes, he is, indeed! oh, don't discard him, for it was you who were the cause of his being here. don't you remember when you went to the spiritualist meeting, and asked to see the spirit of your grandfather? that spirit came, but you didn't know it. the people who materialized him were surprised when they saw this young man, and they thought he couldn't be your grandfather, and so they didn't say anything about it. they left him right in the middle of whatever they use, and he kept on materializing without their thinking of him until he became just what you see him and if he now wore old-fashioned clothes, with a queue, he would be the exact image of that portrait of him which you have, only a little bit older-looking and fuller in the face. but the spiritualists made him cut off his long hair, because they said that wouldn't do in these days, and dressed him in those common clothes just like any other person. now, dear mr. scott, you must see for yourself that he is truly your grandfather!" now. 252 amos kilbright old mr. scott made no answer, but still sat with wide-open eyes, gazing from one to the other of us. as i looked at that aged, white-haired man, and thought of his mother, who must have died ever so long ago, being the daughter of the young man who sat opposite to him, it was indeed difficult to believe that these things could be so. "mr. scott," exclaimed my wife, "will you not speak to him? will you not give him your hand? will you not acknowledge him as your grandfather, whose picture you have always had near you, and which, when a little boy, i expect your dear mother has often told you to look up to and try to be like? and if you have grown old, and he has not, on account of differences in circumstances, why should that make any difference in your feelings, dear mr. scott? oh, why don't you let him take you to his heart? i don't see how you can help it," she said, with a sob, “and you his little daughter's only child !" old mr. scott rose to his feet. he pulled down the sleeves of his coat, and gave an adjusting shake to its collar and lapels. then he turned to my wife and said: "madam, let us two dance a virginia reel while your husband and that other one take the poker and tongs and beat out the music on the shovel. we might as well be durned fools one way as another, and all go to the lunatic asylum together." now arose mr. kilbright to his feet, and stood up very tall. "grandson lemuel," he said, "i leave not your house in anger. i see well that too heavy a task has been laid upon your declining years when you are asked to believe that which you have heard to-day. but i wish you to know that i am here to ask nothing 253 amos kilbright of you save that you will give me your hand. i earnestly crave that i may again touch one of my own flesh and blood." old mr. scott picked up the portrait and looked at it. then he laid it down and looked at mr. kilbright. "young man," said he, "can you stand there and put your hand upon your heart, and say to me that you are truly amos kilbright, my mother's father, who was drowned in the last century, and who was brought back and turned into a live man by those spiritualists, and that you are willing to come here and let yourself be vouched for by mr. and mrs. colesworthy, who belong to some sort of society of that kind and ought to know about such things?" i was on the point of remarking that the society for psychical research had nothing to do with spiritualism except to investigate it, but my wife saw my intention and checked me. mr. kilbright put his hand upon his heart and bowed. "what you have heard is true," he said. "on my honor, i swear it." "then, grandfather," said old mr. scott, "here is my hand. it doesn't do to doubt things in these days. i didn't believe in the telephone when they first told me of it, but when i had a talk with squire braddon through a wire, and heard his new boots creak as he came up to see who it was wanted him, and he in his own house a good two miles away, i gave in. 'fetch on your wonders,' says i, 'i am ready.' and i don't suppose i ought to be any more dumfounded at seeing my grandfather than at any of the other wonders. i'm getting too old now to try to find out the whys and the wherefores of the new things that turn up 254 amos kilbright every day. i must just take them as they come. so, if you, grandfather kilbright, and our good friends, mr. and mrs. colesworthy, will come into the back room, we'll have a cup of tea, and a talk over old times. to be sure, there will be some gaps which none of us will be able to get over, but we must do the best we can." after this mr. kilbright and his grandson saw a good deal of each other, and the old gentleman always treated his mother's father with the respectful deference which was due to such a relative. "there are times," he once said to me, "when this grandfather business looks to me about as big and tough as anything that any human being was ever called on to swallow. but then i consider that you and mrs. colesworthy have looked into these matters, and i haven't, and that knowin' nothing i ought to say nothing. and if it ever happens to look particularly tough, i just call to mind the telephone and squire braddon's creaking boots, and that settles it." mr. kilbright became more and more useful to me, particularly after he had disciplined his mind to the new style of spelling. when he had been with me about a month i insisted that he should take a holiday and visit bixbury, for i knew that to do this was the great desire of his heart. he could easily reach his native place by rail, but believing that he would rather not go at all than travel on a train, i procured a saddle-horse for him, and when i had given him full directions as to the roads, he set out. in four days he returned. "how did you find bixbury?" i asked of him. "there is no longer such a place," he answered 255 amos kilbright sadly. "i found a town of that name, but it is not the bixbury in which i was born. that has utterly disappeared." and after this he never again alluded to his native place. the high character and many admirable qualities of this man daily increased the affectionate regard and esteem in which he was held by my wife and myself, and, feeling that we could do nothing better for him than to endeavor to make him forget the things of the past, and take a lively and earnest interest in those of the present, we set ourselves to work upon this task. in a great degree our efforts were successful, and we soon perceived that mr. kilbright cared more and more for what he saw about him. it was, indeed, natural that he should do this, for he was still a young man, and able to adapt himself to changes in his surroundings. as i have said, he gradually did so adapt himself, and in the course of the autumn this adaptation took a form which at first amused mrs. colesworthy and myself, and afterwards enlisted our hearty sympathy. he became attached to miss budworth, the librarian of our town library. he frequently went there for books, and as she was a very intelligent young woman, and very willing to aid him in his selections, it was not strange that he should become interested in her. very often he would remain at the library until it closed in the evening, when he would walk to her home with her, discoursing upon literary and historical subjects. my wife and i discussed this situation very thor. oughly. lilian budworth was a good girl, a sensible i 256 amos kilbright one, and a very good-looking one. her family was highly respectable and her years well proportioned to those of mr. kilbright. there seemed to be, therefore, no reason why this intimacy should not be encouraged. but yet we talked over the matter night after night. "you see," said my wife, "it all seems plain and simple enough. but, on the other hand, it isn't. in the first place, she does not know that he has had a wife, or what old mr. scott is to him. he has promised us that he will never say anything to anybody about having lived in the last century without first consulting us. old mr. scott has said over and over again that he doesn't intend to speak of it, and the spiritualists have left town long ago. so, of course, she knows nothing about it. but if things go on she must be told, and what will happen then i would like to know!" "i am very sorry, indeed, that i cannot tell you,” i answered. "it would be a queer case, anyway," mrs. colesworthy continued. "mr. kilbright has had a wife, but he never was a widower. now, having been married, and never having been a widower, it would seem as if he ought not to marry again. but his wife is dead now; there can be no doubt about that." it was not long before there was no further need for suppositions in regard to this matter, for mr. kilbright came to us and announced that he had determined to offer himself in marriage to miss budworth. "i think it is meet and proper," he said, "that i should wed and take that position at the head of a family which a right-minded and respectable man of 257 amos kilbright my age should fill. i reasoned thus when, for the first time, i took upon me this pleasing duty, and these reasons have now the selfsame weight as then. i have been studying the surveying methods of the present day, and i believe i could reëstablish myself in my former profession. thus could i maintain a wife, if, haply, i get her." "get her!" exclaimed mrs. colesworthy. "of course you will get her! she can't help accepting you." "i should feel the more hope, madam," said mr. kilbright, "were it not requisite that she be informed of all that has happened to me. and all this must she know before i require her to make answer to me.” “i must admit,” i said, "that i am afraid you are going to have a tough job." "i don't believe it!" warmly exclaimed my wife. "lilian budworth is a girl of good, solid sense, and when she knows just exactly what has happened, it is my opinion she will not object a bit." "madam," said mr. kilbright, "you greatly embolden me, and i shall speak to miss budworth this very day." notwithstanding my wife's confidence in miss lilian's good sense, she was as much surprised as i when, the next morning, mr. kilbright informed us that he had been accepted. as it was yet an hour before the library would open, she hurried around to miss budworth's home to know all about it. the young lady was found pale but very happy. "when he left me last night," she said, "my mind was in a strange hubbub. he had told me that he loved me, and had asked me to marry him, and my heart would not let me say anything but yes. and 258 amos kilbright yet, after he had gone, his wondrous story came up before me as it had not come when he told it, having just been told something else. i did not sleep all night, thinking of it. i have read and pondered a great deal upon these subjects, but i have never been able to make up my mind whether or not to put faith in the strange spiritual manifestations of which we are told. so i determined, a good while ago, not to consider the matter at all. i could do nothing with it, and it i would be better that i should let it alone. to this same determination i came early this morning in the case of mr. kilbright. none of us knows what he may once have been, nor what he may become. all we know is what we are. mr. kilbright may be mistaken as to what he was, but i know what he is. and to that man i give myself as i am. i am perfectly satisfied with the present." mrs. colesworthy enfolded her in an approbatory embrace, and hurried home to tell me about it. "there, now!" she exclaimed, "didn't i say that lilian budworth was a girl of good, sound common sense?" "that is what you said," i answered, "but i must admit that i was afraid her common sense would interfere with her acceptance of his story. we had outside evidence in regard to it, but she had only his simple statement." "which is quite enough when a woman truly loves," said mrs. colesworthy. when old mr. scott was informed of what had happened, he put down his newspaper, took off his spectacles, and smiled a strange, wide smile. "i have been reading," he said, "about a little machine, or box, that 259 amos kilbright you can talk into and then cork up and send by mail across the ocean to anybody you know there. and then he can uncork it, and out will come all you have said in your very words and voice, with the sniffles and sneezes that might have got in accidental; so that if one of the old testament egyptians that they've been diggin' up lately had had one of these boxes with him, it might have been uncorked, and people could have heard in his own voice just who he was and what was his personal opinion of moses and his brother aaron. now, when an old man like me has just come to know of a thing of this kind, it isn't for him to have a word to say when he is told that lilian budworth is to be his step-grandmother. he must take it in along with the other wonders." as to mr. kilbright and his lady-love, they troubled themselves about no wonders. life was very real to them, and very delightful, and they were happy. despite her resolutions to give no consideration whatever to her lover's previous existence, miss budworth did consider it a good deal, and talked and thought about it, and at last came to understand and to appreciate the fact as thoroughly as did mrs. colesworthy and myself. she learned much more of mr. kilbright's former life than his modesty had allowed him to tell us, and some of these things she related with much pride. he had been a soldier during the revolution, having enlisted, at the age of twenty-three, under general sullivan, when his forces lay near newport. he afterwards followed that commander in his indian campaigns in western new york, and served during the rest of the war. it was when the army was in winter quarters in 1780 that tatlow munson painted 260 amos kilbright his portrait in payment of an old debt. miss budworth's glowing rendition of mr. kilbright's allusions to some of the revolutionary incidents in which he had had a part made us proud to shake hands with a man who had fought for our liberties and helped to give us the independence we now enjoy. mr. kilbright's business prospects soon began to look promising. as was quite natural, his ideas upon some subjects were a little antiquated. but although many of the changes and improvements he saw about him met with no favor in his eyes, he had sense enough to take advantage of certain modern progressive ideas, especially such as related to his profession of surveying. my introduction of him as a friend from bixbury helped him much in respect to patronage, and having devoted all his spare time during the autumn and winter to study and the formation of business connections, he secured enough profitable employment for the coming season to justify him in taking to himself a wife, and his marriage with miss budworth was appointed for the middle of april. it was about the end of march when i received a letter from mr. corbridge, the spiritualist manager, in which he informed me that dr. hildstein, the german scientist of whom he had previously spoken to me, had set sail for america and would probably arrive in about ten days. "as soon as possible after his arrival," wrote mr. corbridge, "we shall resume possession of the subject of whom you have been kind enough to take charge during the time when we had no need of him. he will then be dematerialized in order that we may cause him to manifest himself in our séances whenever it may be 261 amos kilbright desirable, but never, i may say, in the complete and perfect physical condition to which he was unintentionally materialized the first time. i promised you that i would give you at least three days' notice of our intention to resume work on this subject, and i have now been much better than my word. i have written very plainly of our intentions, because we wish you to understand exactly what we are going to do; and should we succeed in our proposed experiment, which we certainly expect to do, we shall, probably, make public our whole action in the affair, for this course would most greatly benefit both ourselves and our cause. it will not be necessary for you to inform the subject of our intention, for our power over him will be as great at one time and at one place as at another; and as his coöperation is not in any way needful, you will see for yourself that it will be pleasanter for him not to concern himself with what we are about to do." when i had read this letter, i sat for half an hour with it open in my hands. it came upon me like a shower of iced water. i had supposed that the spiritualists had utterly abandoned their endeavors to dematerialize mr. kilbright. therefore the news of the revival of these criminal intentions greatly shocked me. to be sure, the coming scientist might have no such power as he pretended to possess, but this supposition did not comfort me. if the man had not already had success in that sort of thing it was not likely that he would come over here to attempt it now. when i had sufficiently quieted my mental agitation i wrote instantly to mr. corbridge, and in my letter i assumed a very confident tone. i told him that mr. kilbright's circumstances had so changed that the intended action of the spiritualists in regard 1 262 amos kilbright to him was now rendered impossible. he had become an active member of society, had gone into business, and would be married in april. the mere statement of these facts i felt quite certain,—so i wrote,—would cause the spiritualists to instantly relinquish all idea of carrying out their previous intention in regard to this most estimable man. if, however, any inhuman craving for scientific investigation should cause them to persist in their cruel and criminal designs, the utmost power of the law should be invoked against them. "to take away human life," i wrote, "in a case like this is murder, no matter how it is done, and should you take away mr. kilbright's life, or even attempt it, you shall be indicted and punished for this cold-blooded and premeditated crime." before i mailed this letter, i found it absolutely necessary for my peace of mind that i should make my wife acquainted with the threatened danger, and confer with her as to what it would be well to do. of course, mrs. colesworthy was greatly shocked when i read her corbridge's letter, but she recovered courage sooner than i had done. "it's all stuff and nonsense," she said. "the man is just as much alive as you and i are, and i don't believe any human power can turn him into a spirit. they might kill him, but then he would be a dead man and not a spiritual mist or vapor. i don't believe they even intend to try to do anything of the kind. they merely wish you to hand him over to them so they can make him work for them for little or no pay. they think, and with good reason, too, that by this time you have taught him how to get along at the present day, and that he may now be of some use to them." + 263 amos kilbright i showed her the letter i had written, and she highly approved of it. "if i were you," she said, "i would send that letter, and then i would not do another thing. take my word for it, you will never hear from those people again." we resolved, of course, that we would say nothing to mr. kilbright or lilian about this matter, for it was unwise to needlessly trouble their minds. but we could not help talking about it a great deal ourselves. in spite of the reassuring arguments which we continually thought of, or spoke of to each other, we were troubled, anxious, and apprehensive. "if we could only get them safely married," said mrs. colesworthy, "i should feel at ease. certainly those people would not do anything to him then.” "i don't believe they can do anything to him at all," i answered. "but how a marriage is going to protect him i cannot imagine." "of course, you can't explain such things," said my wife, "but i do wish they were married and settled." not long after this she came to me with a supposition. "supposing," she said, "that those people find it impossible to dematerialize him, they might do something which would be a great deal worse." "what could that possibly be?" i asked. "they might materialize his first wife," said she, "and could anything be more dreadful than that? i suppose that woman lived to a good old age, and to bring her forward now would be a height of cruelty of which i believe those people to be fully capable." "my dear," i exclaimed, "don't bring up any harrowing possibilities which no one but yourself is likely to think of!" 264 amos kilbright "i wish i could be sure of that," she said. "i have heard, but i don't know how true it is, that spirits cannot be called up and materialized unless somebody wants them, and i don't suppose there is anybody who wants the first mrs. kilbright. but these men might so work on mr. kilbright's mind as to make him think that he ought to want her." i groaned. "dear me !" i said. "i suppose if they did that they would also bring up old mr. scott's mother, and then we should have a united family." "and a very funny one it would be," said my wife, smiling, notwithstanding her fears, "for now i remember that old mr. scott told me that his grandmother died before she was sixty, but that his mother lived to be seventy-five. now, he is eighty, if he is a day, so there would be a regular gradation of ages in the family, only it would run backward instead of in the usual way. but, thinking it over, i don't believe the spiritualists will permanently bring up any more of that family. if they did, they would have to support them, for they could not ask old mr. scott to do it, who hasn't money enough to satisfy his descendants, and ought not to be expected to support his ancestors." my letter must have had a good deal of effect upon mr. corbridge, for in less than a week after it was written he came into my office. he informed me that he and his associates were about to give a series of séances in our town, but that he had come on before the others in order to talk to me. "i am extremely sorry," he said, "to hear of this proposed marriage. we want to do what is right and fair, and we have no desire that any act of ours shall create a widow." 265 amos kilbright "then," i exclaimed, "you relinquish your design against mr. kilbright?" "not at all," said he. "we shall carry out our plan before our subject marries. if you choose to hurry up matters and have the wedding take place before we are ready to proceed with our dematerializing process, we shall be very sorry, but the blame must rest on you. you should have had consideration enough for all parties to prevent any such complication as an engagement to marry. as to what you said in your letter in regard to invoking the law against us, i attach no weight whatever to that threat." "you will find you have made a great mistake," said i, angrily, "when i have brought the law to bear upon you, which now i shall not delay to do." "you will merely bring ridicule upon yourself,” he said, "if you assert that the man you wish to protect is amos kilbright. we can prove by records, still to be seen in bixbury, that said person died in seventeen hundred and eighty-five. on the other hand, if you choose to assert that he is, or was, anybody else, how are you going to prove it? all that you can say is that the person you refer to came from you know not where, and has gone you know not where. if you declare that at one time he was a materialized spirit, you know very well how such a statement as that would be received in a court of law. it will be much wiser to let it be supposed that the person who has lately been seen about this town has run off to canada than to make any sort of legal inquiry into the matter. if said person were really a man we could have nothing to do with his disappearance, while if he were a 266 amos kilbright materialized spirit the law would have nothing to do with him." i arose and paced the floor. there was entirely too much force in this man's arguments, but although i could not immediately answer him, his cool determination to persevere in his iniquitous designs so angered me that i declared that he should be punished if i had to do it myself. "then you admit," he said, with a smile, "that the law cannot do it. the situation," he continued, "is very plain to us. although the law can take no cognizance of our action, the case will be very different with all believers in spiritualism, and those who are interested in us. the news that we have done this thing will spread through the spiritualistic circles of the world." "has your german arrived?" i asked abruptly. "not yet," answered corbridge, "but we expect him in a few days. he will come directly to this town, because we wish to give him an opportunity of observing the subject in his present form before beginning the dematerializing process." "what refinement of cruelty!" i exclaimed. "oh, of course, the doctor will not make himself known," said corbridge. "he will merely wish to take a good look at the subject, and see for himself how perfect his materialization has been. then he will know just what work is before him." so saying, mr. corbridge went away, leaving me too angry to speak, if, indeed, i could have thought of anything which it would have been worth my while to say. 267 amos kilbright when mrs. colesworthy heard what corbridge had said, she turned white. "they must be married instantly!" she exclaimed. "i knew that was the only way." it was all very well to talk of an immediate marriage, but it was not so easy to bring it about. it was yet a week before the day fixed for the wedding, and the happy lovers were busy with their preparations, never dreaming of the danger which hung over them. what reason could we give for hastening the marriage rites? at one time we thought it might be wise to explain to them fully the state of the case, but from this course we were deterred for fear of the terrible effect that the news might have on lilian. should she hear of the design of dr. hildstein, she would never again have a moment's peace, married or unmarried. once i advised that the two be dissuaded from marrying, at least for a year. in that time we could see if these people really had any power over mr. kilbright. "that will not do at all," said mrs. colesworthy. "it will be very long to postpone their happiness, and besides, if that german gets hold of mr. kilbright while he is still unmarried, he will snap him up, or rather blow him out, in no time." "i thought we had persuaded ourselves," i said sadly, "that no one could have any real power of dematerialization." "so we had," said she, "but that sort of persuasion does not always last." the result was that we did nothing but hope for the best. but we could not blame ourselves, for, really, there was nothing else to do. i had given up all idea 268 amos kilbright of endeavoring to put mr. corbridge and his associates under legal restriction, because if they had power to do the evil we feared, they could do it in one place as well as another, and no court could determine when, how, or by whom mr. kilbright had been dematerialized. the day before the wedding day the german doctor arrived in our town; and having heard this, i went immediately to the hotel where mr. corbridge and his party were staying. the spiritualistic manager was not glad to see me, and frankly said so. "i had hoped," he remarked, "that you had concluded to keep out of this thing. it is no concern of yours. you can be of no possible good to anybody, and the wisest thing you can do will be to drop it." i assured him that i had no intention of dropping it, and that i should do everything in my power to protect mr. kilbright. "then, again," continued corbridge, "there is really no need of giving yourself all this worry. dr. hildstein may succeed, and he may not. we have failed, and so may he. he has seen the subject, and has come to a very philosophical and sensible conclusion in regard to him. he will not believe, merely on our assertion, that the man is a materialized spirit. he will proceed with his experiments, and, if they fail, he will consider that the man is a man, and was never anything else. if they succeed, then he will be quite satisfied that he had a perfect right to dematerialize what we had materialized." "then you really believe," i said, "that there is a chance that he may fail?" "of course there is," said corbridge. "i do not 269 amos kilbright know his methods, and there may be nothing in them." i had no doubt that this change of tone in corbridge was intended to produce in me a feeling of security, that they might thus rid themselves of me. but, though i saw through his purpose, the man's words encouraged me. of course there must be a good deal of doubt about the german's powers, and, after all, there might be no cause whatever for our anxieties. "now, sir," said corbridge, as i left, "if i were you i would trouble myself no more about this matter. if dr. hildstein fails, you will still have your man to do your copying, or your surveying, or anything you like. if he succeeds, we are all in the same condition we were a year ago. "that subject did not exist at that time. he does not exist at this time.' that will be all we shall have to say about it." "you forget," i said severely, "the wife he may leave behind him." "i have nothing to say about that," said corbridge, rather sharply. "it is a reprehensible business, and i have nothing to do with it." i went away without seeing the german doctor, but as i heard he spoke no english, and as i did not know german, an interview with him would have been of no avail. neither mrs. colesworthy nor myself slept that night, we were so filled with anxious fears. but when the day broke, bright and clear, and i had hurried round to mr. kilbright's lodgings, and had found him as full of life and vigor as i had ever seen him, we were greatly comforted, and ate our breakfasts with fair appetites. 1 270 amos kilbright "if it had been a dark and lowering day," said my wife, "i don't believe i could have swallowed a mouthful." the marriage was to take place at noon, and the happy pair were to start by the first afternoon train for the sea-shore, where they were to spend a week. mr. kilbright hated locomotives and railroads almost as much as ever, but he had told me some time before that he intended to conquer this prejudice, if such a thing were possible. "being one of you, i must do as you do," he had said. the wedding was to be a very simple one. miss budworth was to go from her mother's house to the church, where mr. kilbright was to meet her. we insisted that he should dress at our house, where he would find better accommodations than at his lodgings; and we assigned him our best guest-room, where he repaired in very good season to array himself in his wedding suit. it was not quite eleven o'clock when i went up-stairs to see if i could be of any use to mr. kilbright in regard to the conclusion of his toilet. i knocked at the door, but received no answer. waiting a few moments, i opened it and entered. on the floor, in front of a tall dressing-glass, was a suit of clothes. not only did i see the black broadcloth suit,—not laid out at length, but all in a compact heap,-but i saw the shoes and stockings, the collar and cravat, everything. near by lay a whisk broom. the truth was plain. while giving the last touches to his wedding attire, all that was amos kilbright had utterly disappeared! 271 amos kilbright i stood where i had stopped, just inside the door, trembling, scarcely breathing, so stunned by the terrible sight of those clothes that i could not move, nor scarcely think. if i had seen his dead body there i should have been shocked; but to see nothing! it was awful to such an extent that my mind could not deal with it. presently i heard a step, and slightly turning, saw my wife close by me. she had passed the open door, and seeing me standing as if stricken into a statue, had entered. it did not need that i should speak to her. pale as a sheet, she stood beside me, her hand tightly grasping my arm, and with her lips pallid with horror, she formed the words: "they have done it!" in a few moments she pulled me gently back, and said in quick, low tones, as if we had been in presence of the dead: "in less than an hour she will be at the church. we must not stay here." with this she turned and stepped quickly from the room. i followed, closing the door behind me. swiftly moving, and without a word, my wife put on her hat and left the house. mechanically i followed. i could speak no word of comfort to that poor girl, at this moment the happiest of expectant brides. i knew that i had not the power even to attempt to explain to her the nature of the dreadful calamity that had fallen upon her. but i could not let my wife go alone. she, indeed, must speak to lilian, but there were other members of the family. i might do something. to my great surprise, mrs. colesworthy did not turn into the street which led to the budworths' house, but 272 amos kilbright went straight on. i thought at first she was going to the church to countermand the wedding preparations ; but before i could put a question to her she had gone around a corner, and was hurrying up the steps of the principal hotel in our town. "is dr. hildstein in?" she asked of the first person she met. the man, gazing astonished at her pallid face, replied that he was, and immediately conducted us to a little parlor on the first floor, the door of which stood partly open. without knocking, mrs. colesworthy hastily entered, i closely following. a middle-aged man suddenly arose from a small table at which he was sitting, and, turning quickly toward us, made an abrupt exclamation in german. as i have said, i do not understand german, but mrs. colesworthy knows the language well, and stepping up to the man, she said (she afterwards told me the meaning of the words that passed between them): "are you dr. hildstein?" "i am," he said, his face agitated by emotion, and his eyes sparkling; "but i can see no one, speak to no one! i go out this moment to observe the result of an important experiment!" my wife motioned to me to close the door. "you need not go," she said, "i can tell you that your experiment has succeeded. you have dematerialized mr. kilbright. in one hour he was to be married to a noble, loving woman, and now all that remains where he stood is a pile of clothes!" "do you tell me that?" exclaimed the doctor, wildly seizing his hat. "stop!" cried mrs. colesworthy, her face glowing 273 amos kilbright ! with excitement, her eyes flashing, and her right arm extended. "stir not one step! do you know what you have done?" "i have done what i had a right to do!" exclaimed the doctor, almost in a shout. "if he is gone he was nothing but a spirit. tell me where-" "i will tell you this!" exclaimed my wife. "he was a great deal more than a spirit. he was a man engaged to be married at twelve o'clock this day. you may think there is no law that will sweep down on you, but i tell you there is, and before the clock strikes twelve you shall know it. do you imagine you have come upon a people who will endure the presence of an ogre―a wretch who reduces to nothing a fellow human being, and calls it an experiment? when we tell what you have done,-my husband cannot speak german, but he is a leader in this town, and he supports me in all i say,-when we have told what you have done, there will be no need of courts or judges or lawyers for you. like a wild beast you will be hunted down. you will be trampled under foot, you will be torn to pieces! fire, the sword, the hangman's noose, clubs, and crowbars will not be enough to satisfy the vengeance of an outraged people upon a cold-blooded wretch who came to this country solely for the purpose of perpetrating a crime more awful than anything that was ever known before! did you ever hear of lynching? i see by your face you know what that means. you are in the midst of a people who, in ten short minutes, will be shrieking for your blood!" the man's face changed, and he looked anxiously at me. i did not know what my wife had been say274 amos kilbright ing, but i had seen by her manner that she had been threatening him, and i shook my uplifted fist. "now, heed what i say," cried mrs. colesworthy. "if you do not wish to perish at the hands of an infuriated mob, to die a thousand deaths before your vile spirit leaves this world, knowing that, besides the torments you feel, and those which are to come, you will be in the power of men who will bring you back in a half-finished form to make sport at their meetings whenever they feel like it—” drops of perspiration stood on the doctor's face. "stop that!" he cried, throwing up his arm. "i cannot stand that! i did not know the subject had such friends!" "nothing shall be stopped!" exclaimed my wife, "and everything shall happen unless you immediately sit down at that table, or wherever you do those things, and rematerialize mr. kilbright, just as you found him, and into the very clothes that were left lying upon the floor!" the doctor stepped forward-his face was now pale --and addressed himself very deferentially to my wife, totally ignoring me. "if you will retire," he said, "i will try-i swear to you that i will try." "there is not a minute to be lost," said mrs. colesworthy, "not one second. and if as much as a fingernail is missing, remember what i have told you!" with this we quickly left the room. as we went down the steps of the hotel mrs. colesworthy looked at her watch. "it is twenty-five minutes to twelve," she said. "we must get home as fast as we can." we hurried along, sometimes almost running. 275 amos kilbright when we reached our house, mrs. colesworthy motioned to me to go up-stairs-she had no breath left with which to speak. i ran up, and stood for a moment at the closed door of our guest-room. with my hand on the knob, i was unable to open it. i heard a step on the stairs behind me, and i opened the door. there stood mr. kilbright, in his wedding clothes, with the whisk broom in his hand. he turned at the sound of my entrance. "do you know," cried the cheery voice of my wife from just outside the door, "that we have barely fifteen minutes in which to get to the church?” "can that be?" cried mr. kilbright. "the time has flown without my knowing it. we must truly make haste!" "indeed we must," said mrs. colesworthy, and as she stepped back from the door, she whispered in my ear: "not a look, not a tremble, to let him know!" in less than thirty seconds we were on our way to the church, in the carriage which had been ordered for the purpose. on the church porch we found old mr. scott. he was dressed in his best clothes, and greeted us cordially. "in good time," he said. "i am glad to see that. it promises well." then, looking around to see that no one was within hearing, he came nearer to us. "if i were you," he continued, "i wouldn't say nothing to folks in general about relationships, for there are people, and very good people, too, whose minds haven't got on far enough to make 'em able to understand telephones and the other new kinds of wonders." we acknowledged the force of his remarks, and all went into the church. 276 amos kilbright three days after the departure of mr. and mrs. kilbright on their wedding tour, my wife received a letter from dr. hildstein, written by himself from new york, but addressed in the handwriting of mr. corbridge. "i return," he wrote, " to germany, perfectly happy in having succeeded in my experiments; but nevermore, esteemed lady, will i dematerialize a subject who has remained long enough in this world to make friends, and i am the only man who can do this thing." this letter greatly satisfied us. "it shows that he has some heart, after all," said mrs. colesworthy, "but as to that man corbridge, i believe he would have kept poor mr. kilbright dancing backward and forward between this world and the other as long as a dollar could be made out of him. but there is only one way in which he can do us any harm now, and that is by materializing the first mrs. kilbright. but knowing us as he now does, i don't believe he will ever try that." "no," said i, "i don't believe he ever will." should you ever meet with mr. amos kilbright, you need not hesitate to intrust him with any surveying you may have on hand. mr. corbridge cannot dematerialize him, the german scientist will not, and there is no one else in the world who would even think of such a thing. therefore you need feel no fear that he may suddenly vanish from your sight, leaving nothing behind him but his clothes and the contents of his pockets-unless, indeed, he should again be so foolish as to go to swim in the ocean at a point where there is a strong ebb-tide. 277 j 1 i i the christmas shadrach } the christmas shadrach w henever i make a christmas present i like it to mean something-not necessarily my sentiments toward the person to whom i give it, but sometimes an expression of what i should like that person to do or to be. in the early part of a certain winter, not very long ago, i found myself in a position of perplexity and anxious concern regarding a christmas present which i wished to make. the state of the case was this: there was a young lady, the daughter of a neighbor and old friend of my father, who had been gradually assuming relations toward me which were not only unsatisfactory to me, but were becoming more and more so. her name was mildred bronce. she was between twenty and twentyfive years of age, and as fine a woman in every way as one would be likely to meet in a lifetime. she was handsome, of a tender and generous disposition, a fine intelligence, and a thoroughly well-stocked mind. we had known each other for a long time, and when fourteen or fifteen mildred had been my favorite companion. she was a little younger than i, and i liked her better than any boy i knew. our friendship had continued through the years, but of late there had been a change in it. mildred had become very fond 281 the christmas shadrach of me, and her fondness seemed to have in it certain elements which annoyed me. as a girl to make love to, no one could be better than mildred bronce. but i had never made love to her, at least not earnestly,-and i did not wish that any permanent condition of loving should be established between us. mildred did not seem to share this opinion, for every day it became plainer to me that she looked upon me as a lover, and that she was perfectly willing to return my affection. but i had other ideas upon the subject. into the rural town in which my family passed the greater part of the year there had recently come a young lady, miss janet clinton, to whom my soul went out of my own option. in some respects, perhaps, she was not the equal of mildred, but she was very pretty. she was small; she had a lovely mouth; she was apparently of a clinging nature, and her dark eyes looked into mine with a tingling effect that no other eyes had ever produced. i was in love with her because i wished to be, and the consciousness of this fact caused me a proud satisfaction. this affair was not the result of circumstances, but of my own free will. i wished to retain mildred's friendship, i wished to make her happy; and with this latter intent in view i wished very much that she should not disappoint herself in her anticipations of the future. each year it had been my habit to make mildred a christmas present, and i was now looking for something to give her which would please her and suit my purpose. when a man wishes to select a present for a lady which, while it assures her of his kind feeling toward 282 the christmas shadrach her, shall at the same time indicate that not only has he no matrimonial inclinations in her direction, but that it would be entirely unwise for her to have any such inclinations in his direction; that no matter with what degree of fondness her heart is disposed to turn toward him, his heart does not turn toward her, and that, in spite of all sentiments induced by long association and the natural fitness of things, she need never expect to be to him anything more than a sister, he has, indeed, a difficult task before him. but such was the task i set for myself. day after day i wandered through the shops. i looked at odd pieces of jewelry and bric-a-brac, and at many a quaint relic or bit of art work which seemed to have a meaning, but nothing had the meaning i wanted. as to books, i found none which satisfied me-not one which was adapted to produce the exact impression that i desired. one afternoon i was in a little basement shop kept by a fellow in a long overcoat, who, so far as i was able to judge, bought curiosities, but never sold any. for some minutes i had been looking at a beautifully decorated saucer of rare workmanship for which there was no cup to match, and for which the proprietor informed me no cup could be found or manufactured. there were some points in the significance of an article of this sort, given as a present to a lady, which fitted my purpose, but it would signify too much. i did not wish to suggest to mildred that she need never expect to find a cup. it would be better, in fact, if i gave her anything of this kind, to send her a cup and saucer entirely unsuited to each other, and which could not, under any conditions, be used together. 283 the christmas shadrach i put down the saucer, and continued my search among the dusty shelves and cases. "how would you like a paper-weight?" the shopkeeper asked. "here is something a little odd,” handing me a piece of dark-colored mineral nearly as big as my fist, flat on the under side, and of a pleasing irregularity above. around the bottom was a band of arabesque work in some dingy metal, probably german silver. i smiled as i took it. "this is not good enough for a christmas present," i said. "i want something odd, but it must have some value." "well," said the man, "that has no real value, but there is a peculiarity about it which interested me when i heard of it, and so i bought it. this mineral is a piece of what the iron-workers call shadrach. it is a portion of the iron or iron ore which passes through the smelting-furnaces without being affected by the great heat, and so they have given it the name of one of the hebrew youths who was cast into the fiery furnace by nebuchadnezzar, and who came out unhurt. some people think there is a sort of magical quality about this shadrach, and that it can give out to human beings something of its power to keep their minds cool when they are in danger of being overheated. the old gentleman who had this made was subject to fits of anger, and he thought this piece of shadrach helped to keep him from giving way to them. occasionally he used to leave it in the house of a hot-tempered neighbor, believing that the testy individual would be cooled down for a time, without knowing how the change had been brought about. i bought a lot of things of the old gentleman's widow, and this among them. i 284 the christmas shadrach thought i might try it some time, but i never have done so." i held the shadrach in my hand, ideas concerning it rapidly flitting through my mind. why would not this be a capital thing to give to mildred? if it should, indeed, possess the quality ascribed to it, if it should be able to cool her liking for me, what better present could i give her? i did not hesitate long. "i will buy this," i said. "but the ornamentation must be of a better sort. it is now too cheap and tawdry-looking." "i can attend to that for you," said the shopkeeper. "i can have it set in a band of gold or silver filigreework like this, if you choose." i agreed to this proposition, but ordered the band to be made of silver, the cool tone of that metal being more appropriate to the characteristics of the gift than the warmer hues of gold. when i gave my christmas present to mildred, she was pleased with it. its oddity struck her fancy. "i don't believe anybody ever had such a paperweight as that," she said, as she thanked me. "what is it made of?" i told her, and explained what shadrach was, but i did not speak of its presumed influence over human beings, which, after all, might be nothing but the wildest fancy. i did not feel altogether at my ease as i added that it was merely a trifle, a thing of no value except as a reminder of the season. "the fact that it is a present from you gives it value," she said, as she smilingly raised her eyes to mine. i left her house—we were all living in the city then 285 the christmas shadrach -with a troubled conscience. what a deception i was practising upon this noble girl, who, if she did not already love me, was plainly on the point of doing so! she had received my present as if it indicated a warmth of feeling on my part, when, in fact, it was the result of a desire for a cooler feeling on her part. but i called my reason to my aid, and i showed myself that what i had given mildred-if it should prove to possess any virtue at all—was, indeed, a most valuable boon. it was something which would prevent the waste of her affections, the wreck of her hopes. no kindness could be truer, no regard for her happiness more sincere, than the motives which prompted me to give her the shadrach. i did not soon again see mildred, but as often as possible i visited janet. she always received me with a charming cordiality, and if this should develop into warmer sentiments i was not the man to wish to cool them. in many ways janet seemed much better suited to me than mildred. one of the greatest charms of this beautiful girl was a tender trustfulness, as if i were a being on whom she could lean and to whom she could look up. i liked this. it was very different from mildred's manner. with the latter i had always been well satisfied if i felt myself standing on the same plane. the weeks and months passed on, and again we were all in the country, and here i saw mildred often. our homes were not far apart, and our families were very intimate. with my opportunities for frequent observation i could not doubt that a change had come over her. she was always friendly when we met, and seemed as glad to see me as she was to see any other · 1 286 the christmas shadrach member of my family, but she was not the mildred i used to know. it was plain that my existence did not make the same impression on her that it once made. she did not seem to consider it important whether i came or went, whether i was in the room or not, whether i joined a party or stayed away. all this had been very different. i knew well that mildred had been used to consider my presence as a matter of much importance, and i now felt sure that my christmas shadrach was doing its work. mildred was cooling toward me. her affection, or, to put it more modestly, her tendency to affection, was gently congealing into friendship. this was highly gratifying to my moral nature, for every day i was doing my best to warm the soul of janet. whether or not i succeeded in this i could not be sure. janet was as tender and trustful and charming as ever, but no more so than she had been months before. sometimes i thought she was waiting for an indication of an increased warmth of feeling on my part before she allowed the temperature of her own sentiments to rise. but, for one reason and another, i delayed the solution of this problem. janet was very fond of company, and although we saw a great deal of each other, we were not often alone. if we two had more frequently walked, driven, or rowed together, as mildred and i used to do, i think miss clinton would soon have had every opportunity of making up her mind about the fervor of my passion. the summer weeks passed on, and there was no change in the things which now principally concerned me, except that mildred seemed to be growing more and more indifferent to me. from having seemed to 287 the christmas shadrach care no more for me than for her other friends, she now seemed to care less for me than for most people. i do not mean that she showed a dislike, but she treated me with a sort of indifference which i did not fancy at all. this sort of thing had gone too far, and there was no knowing how much further it would go. it was plain enough that the shadrach was overdoing the business. i was now in a state of much mental disquietude. greatly as i desired to win the love of janet, it grieved me to think of losing the generous friendship of mildred-that friendship to which i had been accustomed for the greater part of my life, and on which, as i now discovered, i had grown to depend. in this state of mind i went to see mildred. i found her in the library, writing. she received me pleasantly, and was sorry her father was not at home, and begged that i would excuse her finishing the note on which she was engaged, because she wished to get it into the post-office before the mail closed. i sat down on the other side of the table, and she finished her note, after which she went out to give it to a servant. glancing about me, i saw the shadrach. it was partly under a litter of papers, instead of lying on them. i took it up, and was looking at it when mildred returned. she sat down and asked me if i had heard of the changes that were to be made in the timetable of the railroad. we talked a little on the subject, and then i spoke of the shadrach, saying carelessly that it might be interesting to analyze the bit of metal. there was a little knob which might be filed off without injuring it in the least. "you may take it," she said, "and make what ex288 the christmas shadrach periments you please. i do not use it much. it is unnecessarily heavy for a paper-weight." from her tone i might have supposed she had forgotten that i had given it to her. i told her that i would be very glad to borrow the paper-weight for a time, and, putting it into my pocket, i went away, leaving her arranging her disordered papers on the table, and giving quite as much regard to this occupation as she had given to my little visit. i could not feel sure that the absence of the shadrach would cause any diminution in the coolness of her feelings toward me, but there was reason to believe that it would prevent them from growing cooler. if she should keep that shadrach she might in time grow to hate me. i was very glad that i had taken it from her. my mind easier on this subject, my heart turned more freely toward janet, and going to her house the next day, i was delighted to find her alone. she was as lovely as ever, and as cordial, but she was flushed and evidently annoyed. "i am in a bad humor to-day," she said, "and i am glad you came to talk to me and quiet me. dr. gilbert promised to take me to drive this afternoon, and we were going over to the hills where they find the wild rhododendron. i am told that it is still in blossom up there, and i want some flowers ever so much -i am going to paint them. besides, i am crazy to idrive with his new horses. and now he sends me a note to say that he is engaged." this communication shocked me, and i began to talk to her about dr. gilbert. i soon found that several times she had been driving with this handsome 289 the christmas shadrach young physician, but never, she said, behind his new horses, nor to the rhododendron hills. dr. hector gilbert was a fine young fellow beginning practice in town, and one of my favorite associates. i had never thought of him in connection with janet, but i could now see that he might make a most dangerous rival. when a young and talented doctor, enthusiastic in his studies, and earnestly desirous of establishing a practice, and who, if his time were not fully occupied, would naturally wish that the neighbors would think that such were the case, deliberately devotes some hours on i know not how many days to driving a young lady into the surrounding country, it may be supposed that he is really in love with her. moreover, judging from janet's present mood, this doctor's attentions were not without encouragement. i went home, i considered the state of affairs, i ran my fingers through my hair, i gazed steadfastly upon the floor. suddenly i rose. i had had an inspiration. i would give the shadrach to dr. gilbert! i went immediately to the doctor's office, and found him there. he, too, was not in a very good humor. "i have had two old ladies here nearly all the afternoon, and they have bored me to death," he said. "i could not get rid of them, because i found they had made an appointment with each other to visit me to-day and talk over a hospital plan which i proposed some time ago, and which is really very important to me, but i wish they had chosen some other time to come here. what is that thing?" "that is a bit of shadrach," i said, "made into a paper-weight." and then i proceeded to explain 290 the christmas shadrach what shadrach is, and what peculiar properties it must possess to resist the power of heat, which melts other metal apparently of the same class. i added that i thought it might be interesting to analyze a bit of it and discover what fire-proof constituents it possessed. "i should like to do that," said the doctor, attentively turning over the shadrach in his hand. "can i take off a piece of it?" "i will give it to you," said i, "and you can make what use of it you please. if you do analyze it, i shall be very glad indeed to hear the results of your investigations." the doctor demurred a little at taking the paperweight with such a pretty silver ring around it, but i assured him that the cost of the whole affair was trifling, and i should be gratified if he would take it. he accepted the gift, and was thanking me, when a patient arrived, and i departed. i really had no right to give away this paper-weight, which, in fact, belonged to mildred, but there are times when a man must keep his eyes on the chief good, and not think too much about other things. besides, it was evident that mildred did not care in the least for the bit of metal, and she had virtually given it to me. there was another point which i took into consideration. it might be that the shadrach might simply cool dr. gilbert's feelings toward me, and that would be neither pleasant nor advantageous. if i could have managed matters so that janet could have given it to him, it would have been all right. but now all that i could do was to wait and see what would happen. 291 the christmas shadrach if only the thing would cool the doctor in a general way, that would help. he might then give more thought to his practice and his hospital ladies, an let other people take janet driving. about a week after this i met the doctor. he seemed in a hurry, but i stopped him. i had a curiosity to know if he had analyzed the shadrach, and asked him about it. "no," said he, "i haven't done it. i haven't had time. i knocked off a piece of it, and i will attend to it when i get a chance. good day." of course, if the man was busy, he could not be expected to give his mind to a trifling matter of that sort, but i thought he need not have been so curt about it. i stood gazing after him as he walked rapidly down the street. before i resumed my walk i saw him enter the clinton house. things were not going on well. the shadrach had not cooled dr. gilbert's feelings toward janet. but because the doctor was still warm in his attentions to the girl i loved, i would not in the least relax my attentions to her. i visited her as often as i could find an excuse to do so. there was generally some one else there, but janet's disposition was of such gracious expansiveness that each one felt obliged to be satisfied with what he got, much as he may have wished for something different. but one morning janet surprised me. i met her at mildred's house, where i had gone to borrow a book of reference. although i had urged her not to put herself to so much trouble, mildred was standing on a little ladder looking for the book, because, she said, she knew exactly what i wanted, and she was sure she 292 the christmas shadrach could find the proper volume better than i could. janet had been sitting in a window-seat, reading, but when i came in she put down her book and devoted herself to conversation with me. i was a little sorry for this, because mildred was very kindly engaged in doing me a service, and i really wanted to talk to her about the book she was looking for. mildred showed so much of her old manner this morning that i would have been very sorry to have her think that i did not appreciate her returning interest in me. therefore, while under other circumstances i would have been delighted to talk to janet, i did not wish to give her so much of my attention then. but janet clinton was a girl who insisted on people attending to her when she wished them to do so, and having stepped through an open door into the garden, she presently called me to her. of course i had to go. "i will not keep you a minute from your fellowstudent," she said, "but i want to ask a favor of you." and into her dark, uplifted eyes there came a look of tender trustfulness clearer than any i had yet seen there. "don't you want to drive me to the rhododendron hills?" she said. "i suppose the flowers are all gone by this time, but i have never been there, and i should like ever so much to go." i could not help remarking that i thought dr. gilbert was going to take her there. "dr. gilbert, indeed!" she said, with a little laugh. "he promised once, and didn't come, and the next day he planned for it it rained. i don't think doctors make very good escorts, anyway, for you can't tell who is going to be sick just as you are about to start on a trip. besides, there is no knowing how much 293 the christmas shadrach botany i should have to hear, and when i go on a pleasure drive i don't care very much about studying things. but of course i don't want to trouble you." "trouble!" i exclaimed. "it will give me the greatest delight to take you for that drive or any other, and at whatever time you please." "you are always so good and kind," she said, with her dark eyes again upraised. "and now let us go in and see if mildred has found the book." i spoke the truth when i said that janet's proposition delighted me. to take a long drive with that charming girl, and at the same time to feel that she had chosen me as her companion, was a greater joy than i had yet had reason to expect. but it would have been a more satisfying joy if she had asked me in her own house and not in mildred's, if she had not allowed the love which i hoped was growing up between her and me to interfere with the revival of the old friendship between mildred and me. but when we returned to the library mildred was sitting at a table with a book before her, opened at the passage i wanted. "i have just found it," she said, with a smile. "draw up a chair, and we will look over these maps together. i want you to show me how he travelled when he left his ship." "well, if you two are going to the pole," said janet, with her prettiest smile, "i will go back to my novel." she did not seem in the least to object to my geographical researches with mildred, and if the latter had even noticed my willingness to desert her at the call of janet, she did not show it. apparently she was as much a good comrade as she had ever been. 294 the christmas shadrach this state of things was gratifying in the highest degree. if i could be loved by janet and still keep mildred as my friend, what greater earthly joys could i ask? the drive with janet was postponed by wet weather. day after day it rained, or the skies were heavy, and we both agreed that it must be in the bright sunshine that we would make this excursion. when we should make it, and should be alone together on the rhododendron hill, i intended to open my soul to janet. it may seem strange to others, and at the time it also seemed strange to me, but there was another reason besides the rainy weather which prevented my declaration of love to janet. this was a certain nervous anxiety in regard to my friendship for mildred. i did not in the least waver in my intention to use the best endeavors to make the one my wife, but at the same time i was oppressed by a certain alarm that in carrying out this project i might act in such a way as to wound the feelings of the other. this disposition to consider the feelings of mildred became so strong that i began to think that my own sentiments were in need of control. it was not right that while making love to one woman i should give so much consideration to my relations with another. the idea struck me that in a measure i had shared the fate of those who had thrown the hebrew youths into the fiery furnace. my heart had not been consumed by the flames, but in throwing the shadrach into what i supposed were mildred's affections it was quite possible that i had been singed by them. at any rate, my conscience told me that under the circumstances my sentiments toward mildred were too warm. in 295 the christmas shadrach honestly making love to janet i ought to forget them entirely. it might have been a good thing, i told myself, if i had not given away the shadrach, but kept it as a gift from mildred. very soon after i reached this conclusion it became evident to me that mildred was again cooling in my direction as rapidly as the mercury falls after sunset on a september day. this discovery did not make my mercury fall. in fact, it brought it for a time nearly to the boiling-point. i could not imagine what had happened. i almost neglected janet, so anxious was i to know what had made this change in mildred. weeks passed on, and i discovered nothing, except that mildred had now become more than indifferent to me. she allowed me to see that my companionship did not give her pleasure. janet had her drive to the rhododendron hills, but she took it with dr. gilbert and not with me. when i heard of this it pained me, though i could not help admitting that i deserved the punishment. but my surprise was almost as great as my pain, for janet had recently given me reason to believe that she had a very small opinion of the young doctor. in fact, she had criticised him so severely that i had been obliged to speak in his defence. i now found myself in a most doleful quandary, and there was only one thing of which i could be certain: i needed cooling toward mildred if i still allowed myself to hope to marry janet. one afternoon i was talking to mr. bronce in his library, when, glancing toward the table used by his daughter for writing purposes, i was astounded to see, 296 the christmas shadrach lying on a little pile of letters, the christmas shadrach. as soon as i could get an opportunity i took it in my hand and eagerly examined it. i had not been mistaken. it was the paper-weight i had given mildred. there was the silver band around it, and there was the place where a little piece had been knocked off by the doctor. mildred was not at home, but i determined that i would wait and see her. i would dine with the bronces, i would spend the evening, i would stay all night-i would not leave the house until i had had this mystery explained. she returned in about half an hour, and greeted me in the somewhat stiff manner she had adopted of late. but when she noticed my perturbed expression and saw that i held the shadrach in my hand, she took a seat by the table, where for some time i had been waiting for her, alone. "i suppose you want to ask me about that paperweight," she remarked. "indeed i do," i replied. "how in the world did you happen to get it again?" "you may well "again?" she repeated satirically. say that. i will explain it to you. some little time ago i called on janet clinton, and on her writing-desk i saw that paper-weight. i remembered it perfectly. it was the one you gave me last christmas, and afterward borrowed of me, saying that you wanted to analyze it, or something of the sort. i had never used it very much, and of course was willing that you should take it and make experiments with it if you wanted to, but i must say that the sight of it on janet clinton's desk both shocked and angered me. i asked her where she got it, and she told me a gentleman had given it to her. i did not need to waste any words in 297 the christmas shadrach inquiring who this gentleman was, but i determined that she should not rest under a mistake in regard to its proper ownership, and told her plainly that the person who had given it to her had previously given it to me—that it was mine, and he had no right to give it to any one else. 'oh, if that is the case,' she exclaimed, 'take it, i beg of you. i don't care for it, and, what is more, i don't care any more for the man who gave it to me than i do for the thing itself.' so i took it and brought it home with me. now you know how i happened to have it again." for a moment i made no answer. then i asked her how long it had been since she had received the shadrach from janet clinton. "oh, i don't remember exactly," she said. "it was several weeks ago." now i knew everything. all the mysteries of the past were revealed to me. the young doctor, fervid in his desire to please the woman he loved, had given janet this novel paper-weight. from that moment she had begun to regard his attentions with apathy, and finally—her nature was one which was apt to go to extremes-to dislike him. mildred repossessed herself of the shadrach, which she took, not as a gift from janet, but as her rightful property, presented to her by me. and this horrid little object, probably with renewed power, had cooled, almost frozen indeed, the sentiments of that dear girl toward me. then, too, had the spell been taken from janet's inclinations, and she had gone to the rhododendron hills with dr. gilbert. one thing was certain: i must have that shadrach. 298 the christmas shadrach "mildred," i exclaimed, "will you not give me this paper-weight?—give it to me for my own?” "what do you want to do with it?" she asked sarcastically. "analyze it again?” "mildred,” said i, “i did not give it to janet. i gave it to dr. gilbert, and he must have given it to her. i know i had no right to give it away at all, but i did not believe that you would care. but now i beg that you will let me have it-let me have it for my own. i assure you solemnly i will never give it away. it has caused trouble enough already." "i don't exactly understand what you mean by trouble," she said, "but take it if you want it. you are perfectly welcome." and picking up her gloves and hat from the table, she left me. as i walked home my hatred of the wretched piece of metal in my hand increased with every step. i looked at it with disgust when i went to bed that night, and when my glance lighted upon it the next morning i involuntarily shrank from it as if it had been an evil thing. over and over again that day i asked myself why i should keep in my possession something which would make my regard for mildred grow less and less, which would eventually make me care for her not at all? the very thought of not caring for mildred sent a pang through my heart. my feelings all prompted me to rid myself of what i looked upon as a calamitous talisman, but my reason interfered. if i still wished to marry janet it was my duty to welcome indifference to mildred. in this mood i went out to stroll, to think, to decide, and that i might be ready to act on my decision i put the shadrach into my pocket. without exactly 299 the christmas shadrach intending it, i walked toward the bronce place, and soon found myself on the edge of a pretty pond which lay at the foot of the garden. here, in the shade of a tree, there stood a bench, and on this lay a book, an ivory paper-cutter in its leaves as marker. i knew that mildred had left that book on the bench. it was her habit to come to this place to read. as she had not taken the volume with her, it was probable that she intended soon to return. but then the sad thought came to me that if she saw me there she would not return. i picked up the book. i read the pages she had been reading. as i read i felt that i could think the very thoughts that she thought as she read. i was seized with a yearning to be with her, to read with her, to think with her. never had my soul gone out to mildred as at that moment, and yet, heavily dangling in my pocket, i carried-i could not bear to think of it. seized by a sudden impulse, i put down the book. i drew out the shadrach, and, tearing off the silver band, i tossed the vile bit of metal into the pond. "there!" i cried. "go out of my possession, out of my sight! you shall work no charm on me. let nature take its course, and let things happen as they may." then, relieved from the weight on my heart and the weight in my pocket, i went home. nature did take its course, and in less than a fortnight from that day the engagement of janet and dr. gilbert was announced. i had done nothing to prevent this, and the news did not disturb my peace of mind. but my relations with mildred very much disturbed it. i had hoped that, released from the baleful influence of the shadrach, her friendly feelings toward me would return, and my passior for her had now 300 hadrag the christmas shadrach bree (retty peace in the sta sayas pket. centen to read ! t was it then th here she to ead the that in as she ber. sol ret ber act ber peti the p ste hear d pot ed grown so strong that i waited and watched, as a wrecked mariner waits and watches for the sight of a sail, for a sign that she had so far softened toward me that i might dare to speak to her of my love. but no such sign appeared. i now seldom visited the bronce house. no one of that family, once my best friends, seemed to care to see me. evidently mildred's feelings toward me had extended themselves to the rest of the household. this was not surprising, for her family had long been accustomed to think as mildred thought. one day i met mr. bronce at the post-office, and, some other gentlemen coming up, we began to talk of a proposed plan to introduce a system of water-works into the village, an improvement much desired by many of us. "so far as i am concerned," said mr. bronce, "i am not now in need of anything of the sort. since i set up my steam-pump i have supplied my house from the pond at the end of my garden with all the water we can possibly want for every purpose." "do you mean," asked one of the gentlemen, "that you get your drinking-water in that way?" "certainly,” replied mr. bronce. "the basin of the pond is kept as clean and in as good order as any reservoir can be, and the water comes from an excellent, rapid-flowing spring. i want nothing better." a chill ran through me as i listened. the shadrach was in that pond. every drop of water which mildred drank, which touched her, was influenced by that demoniacal paper-weight, which, without knowing what i was doing, i had thus bestowed upon the whole bronce family. 301 the christmas shadrach when i went home i made diligent search for a stone which might be about the size and weight of the shadrach, and having repaired to a retired spot, i practised tossing it as i had tossed the bit of metal into the pond. in each instance i measured the distance which i had thrown the stone, and was at last enabled to make a very fair estimate of the distance to which i had thrown the shadrach when i had buried it under the waters of the pond. that night there was a half-moon, and between eleven and twelve o'clock, when everybody in our village might be supposed to be in bed and asleep, i made my way over the fields to the back of the bronce place, taking with me a long fish-cord, with a knot in it showing the average distance to which i had thrown the practice stone. when i reached the pond i stood as nearly as possible in the place by the bench from which i had hurled the shadrach, and to this spot i pegged one end of the cord. i was attired in an old tennis suit, and, having removed my shoes and stockings, i entered the water, holding the roll of cord in my hand. this i slowly unwound as i advanced toward the middle of the pond, and when i reached the knot i stopped, with the water above my waist. i had found the bottom of the pond very smooth, and free from weeds and mud, and i now began feeling about with my bare feet, as i moved from side to side, describing a small arc; but i discovered nothing more than an occasional pebble no larger than a walnut. letting out some more of the cord, i advanced a little farther into the centre of the pond, and slowly described another arc. the water was now nearly up to my armpits, but it was not cold, though if it had 302 the christmas shadrach been i do not think i should have minded it in the ardor of my search. suddenly i put my foot on something hard and as big as my fist, but in an instant it moved away from under my foot; it must have been a turtle. this occurrence made me shiver a little, but i did not swerve from my purpose, and, loosing the string a little more, i went farther into the pond. the water was now nearly up to my chin, and there was something weird, mystical, and awe-inspiring in standing thus in the depths of this silent water, my eyes so near its gently rippling surface, fantastically lighted by the setting moon, and tenanted by nobody knew what cold and slippery creatures. but from side to side i slowly moved, reaching out with my feet in every direction, hoping to touch the thing for which i sought. suddenly i set my right foot upon something hard and irregular. nervously i felt it with my toes. i patted it with my bare sole. it was as big as the shadrach. it felt like the shadrach. in a few moments i was almost convinced that the direful paperweight was beneath my foot. closing my eyes and holding my breath, i stooped down into the water and groped on the bottom with my hands. in some way i had moved while stooping, and at first i could find nothing. a sensation of dread came over me as i felt myself in the midst of the dark, solemn water,-around me, above me, everywhere,almost suffocated, and apparently deserted even by the shadrach. but just as i felt that i could hold my breath no longer, my fingers touched the thing that had been under my foot, and, clutching it, i rose and thrust my head out of the water. i could do nothing ――――― 303 the christmas shadrach until i had taken two or three long breaths; then, holding up the object in my hand to the light of the expiring moon, i saw that it was like the shadrach-so like, indeed, that i felt that it must be it. turning, i made my way out of the water as rapidly as possible, and dropping on my knees on the ground, i tremblingly lighted the lantern which i had left on the bench, and turned its light on the thing i had found. there must be no mistake. if this was not the shadrach i would go in again. necessity for reëntering the pond. rach. but there was no it was the shadwith the extinguished lantern in one hand and the lump of mineral evil in the other, i hurried home. my wet clothes were sticky and chilly in the night air. several times, in my haste, i stumbled over clods and briers, and my shoes, which i had not taken time to tie, flopped up and down as i ran. but i cared for none of these discomforts. the shadrach was in my power. crossing a wide field, i heard, not far away, the tramping of hoofs, as of a horseman approaching at full speed. i stopped and looked in the direction of the sound. my eyes had now become so accustomed to the dim light that i could distinguish objects somewhat plainly, and i quickly perceived that the animal that was galloping toward me was a bull. i well knew what bull it was. this was squire starling's pasturefield, and that was his great alderney bull, ramping sir john of ramapo ii. i was well acquainted with that bull, renowned throughout the neighborhood for his savage temper and his noble pedigree-son of ramping sir john of 304 the christmas shadrach ramapo ii, whose sire was the great rodolphin, son of prince maximus of granby, one of whose daughters averaged eighteen pounds of butter a week, and who, himself, had killed two men. the bull, who had not perceived me when i crossed the field before, for i had then made my way with as little noise as possible, was now bent on punishing my intrusion upon his domains, and bellowed as he came on. i was in a position of great danger. with my flopping shoes it was impossible to escape by flight. i must stand and defend myself. i turned and faced the furious creature, who was not twenty feet distant, and then, with all my strength, i hurled the shadrach, which i held in my right hand, directly at his shaggy forehead. my ability to project a missile was considerable, for i had held, with credit, the position of pitcher in a base-ball nine, and as the shadrach struck the bull's head with a great thud, he stopped as if he had suddenly run against a wall. i do not know that actual and violent contact with the physical organism of a recipient accelerates the influence of a shadrach upon the mental organism of said recipient, but i do know that the contact of my projectile with that bull's skull instantly cooled the animal's fury. for a few moments he stood and looked at me, and then his interest in me as a man and trespasser appeared to fade away, and moving slowly from me, ramping sir john of ramapo ii began to crop the grass. i did not stop to look for the shadrach. i considered it safely disposed of. so long as squire starling used that field for a pasture, connoisseurs in mineral fragments would not be apt to wander through 305 the christmas shadrach it, and when it should be ploughed, the shadrach, to ordinary eyes no more than a common stone, would be buried beneath the sod. i awoke the next morning refreshed and happy, and none the worse for my wet walk. "now," i said to myself, "nature shall truly have her own way. if the uncanny comes into my life and that of those i love, it shall not be brought in by me.” about a week after this i dined with the bronce family. they were very cordial, and it seemed to me the most natural thing in the world to be sitting at their table. after dinner mildred and i walked together in the garden. it was a charming evening, and we sat down on the bench by the edge of the pond. i spoke to her of some passages in the book i had once seen there. "oh, have you read that?" she asked with interest. "i have seen only two pages of it," i said, "and those i read in the volume you left on this bench, with a paper-cutter in it for a marker. i long to read more and talk with you of what i have read." "why, then, didn't you wait? you might have known that i would come back." i did not tell her that i knew that because i was there she would not have come. but before i left the bench i discovered that hereafter, wherever i might be, she was willing to come and to stay. early in the next spring mildred and i were married, and on our wedding trip we passed through a mining district in the mountains. here we visited one of the great iron-works, and were both much interested in witnessing the wonderful power of man, air, and fire over the stubborn king of metals. 1 j 306 the christmas shadrach "what is this substance?" asked mildred of one of the officials who was conducting us through the works. "that," said the man, "is what we call shad—” "my dear," i cried, "we must hurry away this instant or we shall lose the train. come, quick; there is not a moment for delay." and with a word of thanks to the guide, i seized her hand and led her, almost running, into the open air. mildred was amazed. "never before," she exclaimed, "have i seen you in such a hurry! i thought the train we decided to take did not leave for at least an hour." "i have changed my mind," i said, "and think it will be a great deal better for us to take the one which leaves in ten minutes." 307 the bishop's ghost and the printer's baby . the bishop's ghost and the printer's baby ar round the walls of a certain old church there stood many tombs, and these had been there so long that the plaster with which their lids were fastened down had dried and crumbled so that in most of them there were long cracks under their lids, and out of these the ghosts of the people who had been buried in the tombs were in the habit of escaping at night. this had been going on for a long time, and, at the period of our story, the tombs were in such bad repair that every night the body of the church was so filled with ghosts that before daylight one of the sacristans was obliged to come into the church and sprinkle holy water everywhere. this was done to clear the church of ghosts before the first service began, and who does not know that if a ghost is sprinkled with holy water it shrivels up! this first service was attended almost exclusively by printers on their way home from their nightly labors on the journals of the town. the tomb which had the largest crack under its lid belonged to a bishop who had died more than a hundred years before, and who had a great reputation for sanctity-so much so, indeed, that people had been in the habit of picking little pieces of plaster from 311 the bishop's ghost under the lid of his tomb and carrying them away as holy relics, to prevent disease and accidents. this tomb was more imposing than the others, and stood upon a pedestal, so that the crack beneath its lid was quite plain to view, and remarks had been made about having it repaired. very early one morning, before it was time for the first service, there came into the church a poor mason. his wife had recently recovered from a severe sickness, and he was desirous of making an offering to the church. but having no money to spare, he had determined that he would repair the bishop's tomb, and he consequently came to do this before his regular hours of work began. all the ghosts were out of their tombs at the time, but they were gathered in the other end of the church, and the mason did not see them, nor did they notice him, and he immediately went to work. he had brought some plaster and a trowel, and it was not long before the crack under the lid of the tomb was entirely filled up, and the plaster made as smooth and neat as when the tomb was new. when his work was finished, the mason left the church by the little side door which had given him entrance. not ten minutes afterwards the sacristan came in to sprinkle the church with holy water. instantly the ghosts began to scatter right and left, and to slip into their tombs as quickly as possible; but when the ghost of the good bishop reached its tomb it found it impossible to get in. it went around and around it, but nowhere could it find the least little chink by which it could enter. the sacristan was walking along the i 312 and the printer's baby by: ing thit4 en e for e fins 50% bee kazd ar be bet cad star he ha ret ig was te tha eft the er hig he int tirt ghst it bat ig the other side of the church, scattering holy water, and in great trepidation the bishop's ghost hastened from tomb to tomb, hoping to find one which was unoccupied, into which it could slip before the sprinkling began on that side of the church. it soon came to one which it thought might be unoccupied, but it discovered, to its consternation, that it was occupied by the ghost of a young girl who had died of love. "alas! alas!" exclaimed the bishop's ghost. "how unlucky! who would have supposed this to be your tomb?" "it is not really my tomb," said the ghost of the young girl. "it is the tomb of sir geoffrey of the marle, who was killed in battle nigh two centuries ago. i was told that it had been empty for a long time, for his ghost has gone to castle marle. not long ago i came into the church, and finding this tomb unoccupied, i settled here." "ah me!" said the bishop's ghost, "the sacristan will soon be around here with holy water. could not you get out and go to your own tomb? where is that?" "alas, good father," said the ghost of the young girl, "i have no tomb. i was buried plainly in the ground, and i do not know that i could find the place again. but i have no right to keep you out of this tomb, good father. it is as much yours as it is mine, so i will come out and let you enter. truly, you are in great danger. as for me, it doesn't matter very much whether i am sprinkled or not." so the ghost of the young girl slipped out of sir geoffrey's tomb, and the bishop's ghost slipped in, but not a minute before the sacristan had reached the auto watt a i 1 313 the bishop's ghost place. the ghost of the young girl flitted from one pillar to another until it came near the door, and there it paused, thinking what it should do next. even if it could find the grave from which it had come, it did not want to go back to such a place. it liked churches better. soon the printers began to come in to the early morning service. one of them was very sad, and there were tears in his eyes. he was a young man, not long married, and his child, a baby girl, was so sick that he scarcely expected to find it alive when he should reach home that morning. the ghost of the young girl was attracted by the sorrowful printer, and when the service was over, and he had left the church, it followed him, keeping itself unseen. the printer found his wife in tears. the poor little baby was very low. it lay upon the bed, its eyes shut, its face pale and pinched, gasping for breath. the mother was obliged to leave the room for a few moments to attend to some household affair, and her husband followed to comfort her, and when they were gone the ghost of the young girl approached the bed and looked down on the little baby. it was nearer death than its parents supposed, and scarcely had they gone before it drew its last breath. the ghost of the young girl bowed its head. it was filled with pity and sympathy for the printer and his wife. in an instant, however, it was seized with an idea, and the next instant it had acted upon it. scarcely had the spirit of the little baby left its body than the spirit of the young girl entered it. 314 ost and the printer's baby andz ixta per! in to sall s was set. whenk ttracted ce was .ke in teas epoc hed e room i d'affaire when the roacheit it wa caree ets head! printer seized acted by left i red it now a gentle warmth suffused the form of the little child, a natural color came into its cheeks, it breathed quietly and regularly, and when the printer and his wife came back they found their baby in a healthful sleep. as they stood amazed at the change in the countenance of the child, it opened its eyes and smiled upon them. "the crisis is past!" cried the mother. "she is saved. and it is all because you stopped at the church instead of hurrying home, as you wished to do." the ghost of the young girl knew that this was true, and the baby smiled again. it was eighteen years later, and the printer's baby had grown into a beautiful young woman. from her early childhood she had been fond of visiting the church, and would spend hours among the tombs, reading the inscriptions, and sometimes sitting by them, especially by the tomb of sir geoffrey of the marle. there, when there was nobody by, she used to talk with the bishop's ghost. late one afternoon she came to the tomb with a happy smile on her face. "holy father," she said, speaking softly through the crack, "are you not tired of staying so long in this tomb which is not your own?" "truly i am, daughter," said the bishop's ghost. "but i have no right to complain. i never come back here in the early morning without a feeling of the warmest gratitude to you for having given me a place of refuge. my greatest trouble is caused by the fear that the ghost of sir geoffrey of the marle may some time choose to return. in that case i must give 315 the bishop's ghost up to him his tomb. and then, where, oh, where shall i go?" "holy father," whispered the girl, "do not trouble yourself; you shall have your own tomb again, and need fear no one." "how is that?" exclaimed the bishop's ghost. "tell me quickly, daughter." "this is the way of it," replied the young girl. "when the mason plastered up the crack under the lid of your tomb he seems to have been very careful about the front part of it, but he did not take much pains with the back, where his work was not likely to be seen, so that there the plaster has crumbled and loosened very much, and with a long pin from my hair i have picked out ever so much of it, and now there is a great crack at the back of the tomb, where you can go in and come out just as easily as you ever did. as soon as night shall fall you can leave this tomb and go into your own." the bishop's ghost could scarcely speak for thankful emotions, and the happy young girl went home to the house of her father, now a prosperous man, and the head printer of the town. the next evening the young girl went to the church and hurried to the bishop's tomb. therein she found 'the bishop's ghost, happy and content. sitting on a stone projection at the back of the tomb, she had a long conversation with the bishop's ghost, which, in gratitude for what she had done, gave her all manner of good advice and counsel. "above all things, my dear daughter," said the bishop's ghost, "do not repeat your first great mistake. promise me that you will not die of love." 316 and the printer's baby ul. te not trou again, p's ge young under ery earth take n not like ambled a om my d now the where on ever e this ti for thank home to tr an, and the church in she found of the tom hop's ghost de gar "above hop's gist promise t the young girl smiled. "fear not, good father," she replied. "when i died of love i was, in body and soul, but eighteen years old, and knew no better. now, although my body is but eighteen, my soul is thirty-six. fear not; never again shall i die of love." • " · 8 317 the philosophy of relative existences t the philosophy of relative existences in na certain summer, not long gone, my friend bentley and i found ourselves in a little hamlet which overlooked a placid valley, through which a river gently moved, winding its way through green stretches until it turned the end of a line of low hills and was lost to view. beyond this river, far away, but visible from the door of the cottage where we dwelt, there lay a city. through the mists which floated over the valley we could see the outlines of steeples and tall roofs, and buildings of a character which indicated thrift and business stretched themselves down to the opposite edge of the river. the more distant parts of the city, evidently a small one, lost themselves in the hazy summer atmosphere. bentley was young, fair-haired, and a poet. i was a philosopher, or trying to be one. we were good friends, and had come down into this peaceful region to work together. although we had fled from the bustle and distractions of the town, the appearance in this rural region of a city, which, so far as we could observe, exerted no influence on the quiet character of the valley in which it lay, aroused our interest. no craft plied up and down the river; there were no ? 321 the philosophy of bridges from shore to shore; there were none of those scattered and half-squalid habitations which generally are found on the outskirts of a city; there came to us no distant sound of bells, and not the smallest wreath of smoke rose from any of the buildings. in answer to our inquiries, our landlord told us that the city over the river had been built by one man, who had a great deal more money than common sense. "it is not as big a town as you would think, sirs," he said, "because the general mistiness of things in this valley makes them look larger than they are. those hills, for instance, when you get to them, are not as high as they look to be from here. but the town is big enough, and a good deal too big, for it ruined its builder and owner, who, when he came to die, had not money enough left to put up a decent tombstone at the head of his grave. he had a queer idea that he would like to have his town all finished before anybody lived in it, and so he kept on working and spending money year after year and year after year until the city was done and he had not a cent left. during all the time that the place was building hundreds of people came to him to buy houses or to rent them, but he would not listen to anything of the kind. no one must live in his town until it was all done. even his workmen were obliged to go away at night to lodge. it is a town, sirs, i am told, in which nobody has slept for even a night. there are streets there, and places of business, and churches, and public halls, and everything that a town full of inhabitants could need, but it is all empty and deserted, and has been so as far back as i can remember, and i came to this region when i was a little boy." 322 relative existences "and is there no one to guard the place?" we asked, -"no one to protect it from wandering vagrants who might choose to take possession of the buildings?" "there are not many vagrants in this part of the country," he said, "and if there were, they would not go over to that city. it is haunted." "by what?" we asked. "well, sirs, i scarcely can tell you. queer beings that are not flesh and blood, and that is all i know about it. a good many people living hereabouts have visited that place once in their lives, but i know of no one who has gone there a second time." "and travellers," i said,—“are they not excited by curiosity to explore that strange uninhabited city?" "oh, yes," our host replied. "almost all visitors to the valley go over to that queer city-generally in small parties, for it is not a place in which one wishes to walk about alone. sometimes they see things, and sometimes they don't. but i never knew any man or woman to show a fancy for living there, although it is a very good town." this was said at supper-time, and as it was the period of full moon, bentley and i decided that we would visit the haunted city that evening. our host endeavored to dissuade us, saying that no one ever went over there at night. but as we were not to be deterred, he told us where we would find his small boat tied to a stake on the river-bank. we soon crossed the river, and landed at a broad but low stone pier, at the land end of which a line of tall grasses waved in the gentle night wind as if they were sentinels warning us from entering the silent city. we pushed through these, and walked up a street fairly 323 the philosophy of wide, and so well paved that we noticed none of the weeds and other growths which generally denote desertion or little use. by the bright light of the moon we could see that the architecture was simple, and of a character highly gratifying to the eye. all the buildings were of stone and of good size. we were greatly excited and interested, and proposed to continue our walks until the moon should set, and to return on the following morning-"to live here, perhaps," said bentley. "what could be so romantic and yet so real? what could conduce better to the marriage of verse and philosophy?" but as he said this we saw around the corner of a cross-street some forms as of people hurrying away. "the spectres," said my companion, laying his hand on my arm. "vagrants, more likely," i answered, "who have taken advantage of the superstition of the region to appropriate this comfort and beauty to themselves." "if that be so," said bentley, "we must have a care for our lives." we proceeded cautiously, and soon saw other forms fleeing before us and disappearing, as we supposed, around corners and into houses. and now suddenly finding ourselves upon the edge of a wide, open public square, we saw in the dim light-for a tall steeple obscured the moon-the forms of vehicles, horses, and men moving here and there. but before, in our astonishment, we could say a word one to the other, the moon moved past the steeple, and in its bright light we could see none of the signs of life and traffic which had just astonished us. timidly, with hearts beating fast, but with not one 324 relative existences thought of turning back, nor any fear of vagrants,for we were now sure that what we had seen was not flesh and blood, and therefore harmless,—we crossed the open space and entered a street down which the moon shone clearly. here and there we saw dim figures, which quickly disappeared; but approaching a low stone balcony in front of one of the houses, we were surprised to see, sitting thereon and leaning over a book which lay open upon the top of the carved parapet, the figure of a woman who did not appear to notice us. ―――― "that is a real person," whispered bentley, "and she does not see us." "no," i replied, "it is like the others. let us go near it." we drew near to the balcony and stood before it. at this the figure raised its head and looked at us. it was beautiful, it was young, but its substance seemed to be of an ethereal quality which we had never seen or known of. with its full, soft eyes fixed upon us, it spoke. "why are you here?" it asked. "i have said to myself that the next time i saw any of you i would ask you why you come to trouble us. cannot you live content in your own realms and spheres, knowing, as you must know, how timid we are, and how you frighten us and make us unhappy? in all this city there is, i believe, not one of us except myself who does not flee and hide from you whenever you cruelly come here. even i would do that, had not i declared to myself that i would see you and speak to you, and endeavor to prevail upon you to leave us in peace." the clear, frank tones of the speaker gave me 325 the philosophy of courage. "we are two men," i answered, "strangers in this region, and living for the time in the beautiful country on the other side of the river. having heard of this quiet city, we have come to see it for ourselves. we had supposed it to be uninhabited, but now that we find that this is not the case, we would assure you from our hearts that we do not wish to disturb or annoy any one who lives here. we simply came as honest travellers to view the city." the figure now seated herself again, and as her countenance was nearer to us, we could see that it was filled with pensive thought. for a moment she looked at us without speaking. "men!" she said. "and so i have been right. for a long time i have believed that the beings who sometimes come here, filling us with dread and awe, are men." "and you," i exclaimed,-"who are you, and who are these forms that we have seen, these strange inhabitants of this city?" she gently smiled as she answered: "we are the ghosts of the future. we are the people who are to live in this city generations hence. but all of us do not know that, principally because we do not think about it and study about it enough to know it. and it is generally believed that the men and women who sometimes come here are ghosts who haunt the place." "and that is why you are terrified and flee from us?" i exclaimed. "you think we are ghosts from another world?" "yes," she replied, "that is what is thought, and what i used to think." "and you," i asked, "are spirits of human beings yet to be?" a aa h 326 of relative existences ed. "$% the be hlaing for our but pove id asser eo dista py and vi ze that ct she law d are belie -re, f ou, and w strange we are who ar o not thi wit tomer the pe fee for hosts for ought, and man being "yes," she answered. "but not for a long time. generations of men-i know not how many-must pass away before we are men and women." "heavens!" exclaimed bentley, clasping his hands and raising his eyes to the sky, "i shall be a spirit before you are a woman.” "perhaps," she said again, with a sweet smile upon her face, "you may live to be very, very old." but bentley shook his head. this did not console him. for some minutes i stood in contemplation, gazing upon the stone pavement beneath my feet. "and this," i ejaculated, "is a city inhabited by the ghosts of the future, who believe men and women to be phantoms and spectres?" she bowed her head. "but how is it," i asked, "that you discovered that you are spirits and we mortal men?" "there are so few of us who think of such things," she answered, "so few who study, ponder, and reflect. i am fond of study, and i love philosophy, and from the reading of many books i have learned much. from the book which i have here i have learned most, and from its teachings i have gradually come to the belief, which you tell me is the true one, that we are spirits and you men." "and what book is that?” i asked. "it is "the philosophy of relative existences,' by rupert vance." "ye gods!" i exclaimed, springing upon the balcony, "that is my book, and i am rupert vance." i stepped toward the volume to seize it, but she raised her hand. 327 the philosophy of "you cannot touch it," she said. "it is the ghost of a book. and did you write it?" "write it? no," i said, "i am writing it. it is not yet finished." "but here it is," she said, turning over the last pages. "as a spirit book it is finished. it is very successful. it is held in high estimation by intelligent thinkers. it is a standard work." i stood trembling with emotion. "high estimation!" i said. "a standard work!" "oh, yes," she replied with animation, "and it well deserves its great success, especially in its conclusion. i have read it twice." "but let me see these concluding pages!" i exclaimed. "let me look upon what i am to write." she smiled and shook her head, and closed the book. "i would like to do that," she said, "but if you are really a man you must not know what you are going to do." "oh, tell me, tell me," cried bentley, from below, "do you know a book called 'stellar studies,' by arthur bentley? it is a book of poems." the figure gazed at him. "no," it said presently, "i never heard of it." i stood trembling. had the youthful figure before me been flesh and blood, had the book been a real one, i would have torn it from her. "o wise and lovely being!" i exclaimed, falling on my knees before her, "be also benign and generous. let me but see the last page of my book. if i have been of benefit to your world, more than all, if i have been of benefit to you, let me see, i implore you-let me see how it is that i have done it." 328 relative existences s the p g it. i er the itz intelle 39 and ite conck es!" ! o writ' d the if yat 1 are g om ber tudies' presente rure befor a real on falling generis i. if i have e pop-le she rose with the book in her hand. "you have only to wait until you have done it," she said, "and then you will know all that you could see here." i started to my feet, and stood alone upon the balcony. "i am sorry," said bentley, as we walked toward the pier where we had left our boat, "that we talked only to that ghost girl, and that the other spirits were all afraid of us. persons whose souls are choked up with philosophy are not apt to care much for poetry. and even if my book is to be widely known, it is easy to see that she may not have heard of it." i walked triumphant. the moon, almost touching the horizon, beamed like red gold. "my dear friend,” said i, "i have always told you that you should put more philosophy into your poetry. that would make it live." "and i have always told you," said he, "that you should not put so much poetry into your philosophy. it misleads people." "it didn't mislead that ghost girl," said i. "how do you know?" said bentley. "perhaps she is wrong, and the other inhabitants of the city are right, and we may be the ghosts, after all. such things, you know, are only relative. anyway," he continued, after a little pause, "i wish i knew that those ghosts were now reading the poem which i am going to begin to-morrow." 329 i 3 2044 019 895 671 this book should be returned to the library on or before the last date stamped below. a fine of five cents a day is incurred by retaining it beyond the specified time. please return promptly. que nov 1638. due oct 30 39 due nov 2150 w widener apr 1 5 1996 6 book due www widener sep 1 0 2004 off book due jun 1 2005 cancelled 165 6f:/h;' ^if' rl vi^\ rhe hermit of capri bl 50 .t37 1910 steventon, john, 1832-1923. the hermit of capri r^j 13 19 the hermit of capri by john steventon illustrated harper & brothers publishers new york and london m c m x il copyright, 1910, by harper & brothers. au rights reserved. published march, 1910. illustrations (( (< when johnny comes marching home frontispiece the light that failed " .... facing p. 14 the golden madonna, chapel and hermit " 16 monte tiberio and ruins of villa jovis " 34 "and he, a hermit!" " 52 "good-bye, capri!" " 132 3a10 the hermit of capri the hermit of capri capri, italy, october 3, 190-. (sunday night.) my dear : you may fill the blank. let me thank you for the kind wishes you were pleased to express for me in your note received on the steamer at sailing. you have been ever good to me, and 1 left my native land feeling that i had a fellow-traveller, for you said you would "follow" me. i shall try to keep my promise to write to you, so that you may know that i am "all right." it is needless to tell you of the usuals of the voyage: the ever-widening ocean, the great ship, the passengers of low and high degree, the passing ship on the far i horizon, the tick-tack of the aiarconi, the betting on the day's run, the captain's dinner on the eve of arrival, and the glad steaming into the bay of naples. then naples, with its rocky, narrow streets; its beautiful, calm, alluring bay; its treasure-house of all sorts of fascinating, creeping things, etc. the "etc." covers a multitude of voices — singing, bray ing, crowing, bleating voices; and the mourn ful cry of the brush-and-broom man goes up, the wandering echo of them all — a wailing jonah. standing on the balcony of san martino, high on the summit of the cliff-brow north, the city below — with its flat roofs and warty chimney-pots, its threads of streets, its swell ing domes here and there — curves along the bay shore, on the left to portici and vesuvius, on the right to posilipo, with castello dell ovo in the centre projecting into the bay as the handle of a cupid's bow. but i merely disembarked at this former capital of a kingdom on my way to capri, which lies south across the bay — a great leviathan of stone guarding its entrance and bearing my hopes of rest as well. 2 "and yonder, bluest of the isles, calm capri waits; her sapphire gates beguiling to her bright estates." there remains with me the abiding picture of you as, on that warm september afternoon, you turned and walked away so straight and dainty "all in white samite," your five-feet five really appearing to grow taller in your departing distance, your wheat-gold hair more golden in the glowing sunset. i had said: "good-bye. god bless you." and you: **how shall i know that you are — are all right?" and i, again: "i will write, if you will permit." you had bowed with a smile of assent in your moist, clear gray eyes. it is to that departing figure, under the rose of that smile and to those honest eyes i write. we had spoken of many things as we walked : of your ambitions in your profession, your love for the children you taught, your misgivings as to your ability to accomplish the good you desired, and, finally, you left me to infer from your exclamation, as we neared the gate of your home, "oh, i want to be doing some thing in the world, to take my part!" that 3 you contemplated the possibility of your abandonment of the work which you had often said you felt to be your "calling," to yield to that universal beckon of nature to her children; but at whose special behest you left me to imagine. i was not left in doubt that there was some one^ yet in those maidenly eyes came a forbidding mist as a veil through which i might not intrude. our parting had come — had it not t and so, i, lonely, among the crowd of passengers on the liner, remembered the vision and our talk of many things, and, oh, i do not like your mr. call — or whoever that "some one" is! but come with me to capri and forgive in me whatever needs to be forgiven. you never got into a "wobbly-calf" skiff at the naples landing and were rowed by a barefoot fisherman to the bay steamer, where you mounted the rope-balustered ladder to the deck, and there, while the steamer waited, threw coins to the amphibious divers who, treading water, appealed for "awn franc," and, many francs being thrown edgewise into the blue waves, dove many a fathom deep, brought up the francs, put them in their 4 mouths until from many divings their cheeks bulged with the enormous quid ? no! you have been too busy in your ten years' "call ing," and have had no time "to go abroad far countries for to see." then "follov^^ me, full of glee," across the bay in the warm october morning, the blue waters glistening, the gulls flying, the little band of mandolin, guitar, and triangle musicians on the deck playing maria, mart and addio la bella napoli for your lire, until you pass mandarin groved sorrento, the broken baths of agrip pina, the bocca (or mouth) between the sor rentine peninsula and monte tiberio — the leviathan's head of sheer rock-cliff rising a thousand feet above the sea — and, disembark ing, come to marina grande, where your two-hundred-pound trunk is taken on the head of a capri lady, who, in her bare feet, patters along the stone wharf with it to the omnibus, while the strong men, hotel porters, wrestle with your hand-bag and umbrella. thus "johnny comes marching home!" then you are terraced up by many a zigzag winding way five hundred feet to the saddle of the island — the piazza of the town of capri. 5 i am alone in capri, though i make believe you have followed me. you ask me (in your steamer note): "tell me the truth, why you go so far away 'for rest'?" you think with naaman, the leper, who, when elisha prescribed that he should wash himself in jordan, said: "are not abana and parphar, rivers of damascus, better than all the rivers of israel ?" capri is my jordan and the bathing is healing — for me, i hope. here are eight hundred species of flora, and "the nightingale sings here all the night long." even if here, per chance, one should happen, accidentally, to die, no funeral director with trappings of woe would funereally direct, but the brothers of misericordia, in white gown and mask, would silently come and on their shoulders bear what remained to the church of san stefano and thence to the little cemetery. but, my dear, wise. little teacher, you may not understand that of necessity — necessity, that great god of some philosophic clay eaters — i must veil the truth, for, in my case, it is ugly. should i not have adopted the grammar of the mythologists and spoken of "it" as a goddess.? the ultimate truth is 6 beauty. you remember bernini left unfin ished his statue of truth in the vestibule of the bernini palace, in rome. none but the sculptor himself can say what was his ulti mate design for the perfect statue of truth. none but the artist of the universe can imag ine the perfected truth. only he sees the end from the beginning. what is truth ? "pilate therefore said unto him, 'art thou a king?' then jesus answered: 'thou sayest that i am a king. to this end have i been born and to this end am i come into the world, that i should bear witness unto the truth. every one that is of the truth heareth my voice.' pilate said unto him: 'what is truth ?' and when he had said this, he went out again unto the jews, and saith unto them: 'i find no crime in him.'" whatever ap prehension of the wisdom which passeth reason pilate gathered from the informing eyes of his prisoner, in answer to "what is truth .?" he was satisfied with silence. i suppose you went to church this morning. wherever you went you found a noble "body of truth," but the whole, perfect truth has its face turned toward the infinite — the in finitely beautiful. 7 you will be patient with my evasion of your solicitous questioning (for which thanks!) while i tell you a little story, for i, too, have been to church, and, "edified" by the earnest simplicity of the eloquence of the priest preacher, which rapt the attention of the simple folk and of my lord and lady, have heard an angel sing. there at the organ — "the very best in italy," say the capri people — sat an old, brown-gowned man, and played with that delicate touch, that sensitive feeling of accord, which is the distinctive quality of one "play ing by ear." as the notes stole lingeringly from beneath his fingers and rose jubilant to escape and soar, his tenor voice winged high, clear as a silver bell, melodious as a flute heard over wide waters, with the appealing cadence of schubert's serenade^ filled chapel, transept and high-groined arch with a rich ness and quality of sound which, in its eff^ect, i can only compare to the sense of that light "like a lily in bloom" within which abou ben adhem "saw an angel writing in a book of gold"; and there, out of his very soul sat my seraph in brown pouring out his voice of gold, "a voice above singing." 8 in a side aisle, by one of the great pillars, stood a woman straight and tall; her face, under the cowl-like scarf worn over her head, "as it were the face of an angel," with joy tears trickling in an ecstasy of release down her aged cheek. the worshippers, at first joining in the anthem, ceased to follow, and, i do not know why or how, i found myself with them, all silent, impulsively to have risen; and we all stood immovably attent on the voice of the singer. then, coming tremblingly with a few broken chords to the descendo, he ceased. there was a hushing sigh from the parted lips of the upturned faces as the singer bowed over the keys, his face in his hands. the people stood still a few moments, one not looking at another, and then, as in a daze of awakening, melted away. the woman caught up her scarf more closely about her face, halted hesitatingly in the shadow of the pillar, furtively yet longingly gazed on the bowed figure, then went swiftly out. do you not think we worshipped .? ah, so well: we in the melody to which the music had keyed us, that in which all nature finds 9 a note; but she, i was sure, in the singer as well. i can understand you when, in our graver talk, you said: "i have no rehgion, but am very rehgious." you acknowledge no dog matic creed as your rule of conduct, yet are reverently devotional to the truth. what was it st. paul said.? ''the truth shall make you free." that is, truth is not bond of any creature or fashion, is not of man's making, wears no garments of semblance; is naked! the decadent seeks truth because she is naked. yet we must need, however vainly, to personify truth as a help to the imagina tion — a mental and moral hitching-post. the test of a saviour of mankind is that his teaching of truth shall be of universal applica tion, or constitute a universal rehgion, so that each man, as he has his several need, finds himself included; and that such a saviour in his life on earth shall be the highest example of that teaching. he must be both song and singer. your "good wishes" have followed me so far (thank you again), and, having them, i am not lonely, although in a strange land among strangers with which and 10 with whom i shall try to acquaint myself and you. jjs ^ ijc 5f£ ^ faithfully yours. capri, italy, november 2, 190-. my dear : never was realized by me the force of the simile, "like good news from a far country," until your dear letter came (forgive the last adjective, although it is my own). i can now appreciate that "blessings brighten as they take their flight," when their flight is of several thousand miles from you to me. you ask me to "explain" myself. it is hard to conceive how so simple a person as i am requires a foot-note or an appendix. may be you intended the demand as a challenge preliminary requiring a retort-courteous. in deed, i do not call to mind any ambiguity in me worth explanation. you also, in that connection, again ask me why i should leave my clients and my life-work to go "so far away." let me tell ii you something about capri, and you shall judge whether it is not as interesting as a law-office and as cheerful as a court-room. why it should be so to me "is another story" — which, perhaps, as an envoi, you may "know by heart." but, quilps and quiddi ties discarded, i came to explain, if not an swer, to myself certain questionings which have so persistently demanded attention that i had to beat a retreat or be utterly routed. it may be that for me, even yet, "care sits on the crupper of the horseman." however, if anywhere, "earth hath no sorrow that capri cannot heal." here amid vineyards, and orange, lemon, and olive groves, the rose blooms all the year around, and the narcissus, the morning-glory, and camellia unfold. a friend tells me a part of the story of it. from earliest times it has been noted for its mild winters and cool summers. the nereids, affrighted by passing ships, took shelter here, and the song of the sirens on the adjacent rocks could be heard by the native teleboans as ulysses sailed past. virgil peopled it with (ebale, child of telon, and the nymph sabethes. augustus caesar built palaces there — a palace for each of the 12 twelve gods. then came tiberius, and erect ed and inhabited villa jovis on the high jutting eastern promontory of the island. tiberius chose capri for his retreat from the cares which infested his day, because it was accessible only by a narrow beach, being it self on all sides a precipitous cliff surrounded by a deep sea. in his villa jovis, tiberius entertained astrologers and learned greeks; caligula, then a somewhat nice young man, lived with him; and there vitellius, as a youth, had dreams of wild oats. there the poisoners of drusus, the son of tiberius, were, brought, tried, tortured, and dropped out of the back door — a straight fall of a thousand feet to their sea graves. that same fall was also "a drop too much" for a fisherman who surprised the noble emperor, as suetonius says, "in a lark." here the old gentleman "got a fall" on his gardener for stealing a peacock from its roost in the imperial orchard, and here the supervisor of highways, who did not keep the roads in good order, was tarpeianed. it is said that crispina, wife of commodus, and lucilla, his sister, "were exiled to capri before disappearing from the world." people who visit capri in these days acquire 13 a habit of "disappearing from the world"; that is, because capri becomes all the world to them. the ruins of villa jovis yet rear themselves as a monument to the rage for building in the old roman days. near by is the ancient lighthouse, of which a writer of the time says: "the lighthouse, rival of the wandering moon, sheds its rays sweet to anxious ships." the house yet remains, but it is "the light that failed." my friend also says that the muse once dwelt in the olive groves of capri, for "artheneus tells us of blaesus, quoting a line of his poetry: "'pour out for me now seven measures of the best sweet wine.' "this is the one articulate cry of ancient capri which has come across the ages to us." capri blanco and capri rosso are wines famous for their healthful purity; and, in recent times, they well may have lent their potency to the after-dinner enthusiasm of a notable painter, a visitor, who walked out with his fellow-diners on the favorite (and only level) promenade, the via tragara, to h the punta tragara. there he stood and beheld, on the south, the wide sea with its rhythmic sighing against the rocks, the fara ghoni, five hundred feet below; monte solaro rising on the west in the looming grandeur of its two thousand feet, overtowering the gray walls and turrets of dismantled castiglione; above, on the east, monte semaphore; while the white, flat-roofed, balconied little city shone silent, ghostlike in the solemn night. the wandering moon, full, as befitted the occasion, rode in the resplendent blue of the mid-sky, radiant, in her own lustre, as a god dess coming down out of the heavens. thus standing, entranced by the witchery of the scene, with arms upraised in rapture to the queen of night, he cried: "george! i'm coming out here the first thing to-morrow morning to paint her!" upon the highest point of the ruins of villa jovis, overlooking the bocca, stands, shining golden far out to sea, a statue of ste. maria, recently erected by the brother of the ex-king of naples. near it is a small chapel, built in the sixteenth century by the devotion of the capri people, and there, as custodian, has lived for nearly half a century a gentle 15 hermit, who now is aged more than four score years. he seems a remaining soul, the last survivor of the lares of the villa jovis. the " lead, kindly light," of his shining brown eyes, the meditative brow, the respon sive smile for the visitor in quick recognition of friendly appeal, the unconscious grace of movement, might well be taken for the sum of the qualities of the gentle capri folk. he sits many hours in the sun in front of the west facing chapel door, the broad expanse of the sea on his left, the smiling island of greenery before him, the bay of naples with vesuvius and its mushroom clouds of steam and smoke on his right. i present myself, and his tall form rises to greet me in welcome as i ascend the steps to his door — the singing organist! shall i repeat to him your question: "please explain yourself?" he could ex plain many things, with that high, broad fore head, and in the benignity of his gaze find excuse for more. don't you think, if you were here, you would not think capri "so far away".f' if you could associate me with this ancient presiding genius of monte tibe rio, would you yet think me "an enigma ".-^ i had almost forgotten your request that i i6 h i m o o r o m z > d o z z > n i > m r > z d i m 2 should acquaint you with "anything occult" i might find in my travels which would give zest to your contemplated paper for the woman's club until i had several interviews with the hermit — i was so occupied with settling those "questionings!" selfish in me ? it is only a good constitutional climb of an hour from the town to the cozy chair by the chapel door; and there, with the madonna to watch over us, my ancient and i make close friends with the breeze and the birds, and call up the ghosts from the temples of the twelve gods — who have gone "so far away." *^0 ^^ ^m *f^ ^^ ^^ ^* ^t^ faithfully yours, capri, italy, november 30, 190-. my dear , yes, as you hoped, i did enjoy a "thanks giving day " with (would you believe it ?) a real turkey -and -cranberry dinner. but the glad thanksgiving was for your letter received that day. your club paper seems to trouble you, al though the programme sets it for some time 17 to come. "courage, christian soldier!" i have been sitting at the feet of my gamahel! but no apostohc succession can halo me as an apostle to any one. by the way, in the midst of your absorbing duties as a teacher, why not recreate yourself by a ramble through st. paul's letters ^ — just for the sake of the novelty of it! it will be as if you opened a new book for the denouement; for you must turn back to the beginning for local color, times, character, and motive — to matthew et seq. you might get a religion! st. paul was illumined by a supernal search-light to de clare the mysteries of the life of the spirit. how he makes plain the perfect way! "be hold i show you a mystery: we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed; for this cor ruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality." there is some occult for your paper! i await your club paper! of the thirty thousand strangers who tour to capri yearly my ancient has been visited daily during the long years past by men of many minds, and appears to have garnered the intellectual experiences and speculations of the times, and these have simmered down i8 in his lonely meditations into a residual com pound which, as he administers to me allopathically, i shall endeavor to give you in homoeopathic doses; for i have nothing else to do, and must "be doing something in the world," even at the risk of your thinking it better undone. i am sorry i cannot give you word for word the language of my old friend, and i fear the transmitting medium of his mono logues will only enable you to see as through a glass darkly. i speak of his monologues because, when i have led him to talk on the supernatural, the occult, and the spiritual, i have touched him where he lives! you should behold him sometimes when im passioned in his discourse. i have stayed late, and as in the starlight he has passed to and fro before me, "as a tree walking," gesticulating, his gown flowing with his movement, his head in the clouds of speech, his long beard punctuating his sentences on the sky, he was the traditional picture of a prophet of israel. it is said that we should translate the record "elijah was fed by the ravens" that he was fed by the tramps — the passers-by. i am not wise as to that, but 19 my dear old hermit has had food where of and who of i know not. one evening i led up to your subject. in substance, he holds that there is and should be an occult science, a secret treas ure of knowledge. that it is pursued by the elect is the mere condition of qualifica tion, as is that of the priest, the physician, the lawyer, the artist, the artificer. that it is understood depends upon the same condition — that ability to comprehend. to his disciples christ said: "to you it is given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it is not given." the elect are simply those who are in condition to receive. "he that hath ears to hear let him hear" is the foreordination of all knowledge. to the occult has been referred the studies, experiments, and exhibitions of astrologers, necromancers, and magicians, the seekers after the philosopher's stone, the elixir of hfe, and the universal solvent. they have been said to have had their "familiars" — spirits, devils — and from them bought or wrested the secrets forbidden of nature. there was a woman at endor that had a famihar spirit. it is curious how the devil 20 has been thought to reign exclusively over the unknown, the hidden powers of nature. he is that vermiform appendix surviving from the primeval heat which both science and religion are submitting to surgery. he is the hero of ignorance. what occult science teaches cannot be known generally. the writings which teach of it are obscure except to the enlightened : they are in allegory, or they deal in symbols of which the initiated only have the key to the cryptogram. st. john's revelation needs a revealer, and genesis requires an esoteric teacher. there is no systematic grammar or baedeker by which any one may certainly learn or practise occult science or know what it is. the student, the neophyte, the chela^ must put himself in condition, mentally and physically, to know and pursue the science, or in fact to know that there is such a science. reading bulwer's zanoniy one perceives how difficult it was for the young man to give himself to the pursuit. and the man, who had kept all the commandments, inquired of the teacher what he should do to inherit eternal life, when required to go and sell all that he had and give to the poor, that he might have 21 treasures in heaven, and to come, follow him, "went away sorrowful, for he was one that had great possessions." the occultist must give his whole heart to his purpose; every light of intelligence must be shining, every force of will must be in hand, or the awful foot of the brute will break the charmed circle of his endeavor. as he seeks to wring her secret from nature, he must achieve a mastery over her by enveloping himself in a spiritual mantle with which to ungirdle this fierce brunhild in her bridal bed. elisha, the prophet, knew what was whis pered in the bedchamber of the hostile king of syria. he healed naaman, the leper, and ■ caused the leprosy to cleave to the boodling gehazi. an army sent to arrest him was stricken with blindness. at his behest thirsty land became refreshed with water. to re lieve distress, upon his supplication, oil and bread increased many fold. he restored to life the son of the shunamite woman. he magnetized a twig so that it drew up from the bottom of jordan the borrowed axe of the bereft workman. he foretold birth and death, the victory and defeat of kings; he anointed men to be kings. the fact 22 that his so-called "miracles" are narrated in the bible does not argue that elisha did not know what he was about; nor does it preclude inquiry as to how he wrought them. he was the pupil of elijah, and was himself the teacher and manager of a school of the prophets. there must have been resident in him a quality of life, a potential force, a lodestone of vitality, by means of which he could magnetize the dull iron of common life. he had a sixth sense pervasive of space. his soul was an inhabitant of the fourth dimen sion. he was clairvoyant to see the powers and principalities of the air encamped about him, with power to open the eyes of his ser vant likewise to view them. he was clair audient of the secrets of kings. he knew and foretold — maybe, caused — the flight of the besieging syrian army because of fear at the "noise of chariots and a noise of horses, even the noise of a great host." he was a man of physical superiority, and by his mode of life peculiar. he attained an incorporeal development unique even among that spiritual race, the hebrews; so that, in after times, when jesus appeared working wonders "some said it was elias." the 23 pupil of elijah far exceeded his occult teacher in power and prescience, and covered the stern qualities of his preceptor with a mantle of kindliness. the fakirs of india, so far and beyond that they are mere prestidigitateurs, by heredity and long-continued exercise of will, have a faculty of animal magnetism, or hypnotism, by which they delude the imag ination of the onlooker, so that he appre hends any object at their suggestion; or it may be, in instances, they do project appear ances of particular objects, shapes, dummies, to which the spectator attributes life and characteristics, as must have been the case in the contest between moses and the magi cians before pharaoh. moses was " learned in all the wisdom of egypt"; was a neophyte at hieropolis, the priestly college, was educat ed in the priesthood as became the adopted son of egypt's king, who was both king and the high priest of the great god ra, and so was possessed of "that divinity which doth hedge about a king." so, in exemplification of your subject, you might induce your club to buy a bible for 24 its library. but while it is engaged in so depleting its treasury, let me add some fur ther reflections — you may call them hy potheses — with which my instructor has favored me. he says that the evolution of the human soul is one thing, the birth or devolution of the spirit, or spiritual soul, quite another. the trinity of man is body, soul, and spirit. the body and human soul are matters of evolution, but the spiritual soul is not a matter of evolution — the survival of the fittest — for it is an emanation from the infinite one. the spirit is that image of him — the "likeness" into which man became — for "god is a spirit." it is this spirit which is the wonder worker. man's wilful denial of that spirit is a refusal of life everlasting. to be conscious of its indwelling is to "inherit eternal life." as man can recognize what is without him self only from that which he has within, it is essential to his perception of things spiritual that he himself be spiritually minded. "the natural man," says st. paul, "receiveth not the things of the spirit, neither can he know them, for they are spiritually discerned." the quest for the holy grail is to him who 3 25 has already drunk of the wine of the spirit. as st. paul wrote to the corinthians: "how beit we speak wisdom among the perfect: yet a wisdom not of this world, nor of the rulers of this world, which are coming to nought: but we speak god's wisdom in a mystery, even the wisdom that hath been hidden, which god foreordained before the worlds unto our glory: which none of the rulers of this world knoweth: for had they known it, they would not have crucified the lord of glory; but as it is written: "'things which eye saw not, and ear heard not, and which entered not into the heart of man, whatsoever things god prepared for them that love him. "'but unto us god revealed them through the spirit, for the spirit searcheth all things, yea, the deep things of god.'" now if there should be any heartburnings about the diversion of the club's funds for the book, you have only to refer it to the above so apt quotation coming from my aged one to prove the existence of the occult, "the wisdom that hath been hidden," and to identify the persons to whom and through 26 what interposition it is revealed. but hear my friend explain: "the human soul is merely illustrated by the personality. the animal soul is of the animal. as man is an animal he has an animal soul; and, as he is a man, he has evolved or is capable of evolving a human soul which, despite immense longevity of ages upon ages, may finally lose its personality, disintegrate, and dissolve into other forms of semi-material life which is 'the second death,' or, by attainment of the spiritual quality, achieve the condition of living everlastingly. it is the inexorable law of cause and effect — which is justice — in things moral that man's nature and condition in the future life de pend, and they are the effects of tendencies voluntarily encouraged by him in the past and present. this necessitates future lives on earth, as man in this life is the product, the effect, of past lives. nature loses nothing. *be not deceived, god is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap. for he that soweth unto the spirit shall of the spirit reap eternal life.' the occultist deals with the causes of things. in this age of investigation experiments in 27 all matters which may be demonstrated to any of the five senses have ceased to be deemed occult, and the domain of the so called supernatural has been reduced and almost limited to the consideration of the so-called immaterial qualities of the body and spirit; that is, to the psychical feature of occult science. the medium is one whose vital force, by reason of bodily imperfection, escapes as water oozes through a sun-dried barrel, or is one who has a superabundance of that fluidic force which more than fills the body and trickles over the brim. it is in this substance of vitality oozing or over flowing out of the living body that the 'spirit' bodies of the departed in hades, and other intelligences as well, live again, and for the time of immersion are filled with ap preciable life. this fluid, 'biogen, od,' is substantial. it is not only such stuff" as dreams are made on, but is the dream-stuff' itself. it is the magic carpet. it is that to which the hypnotist appeals, and which materializes in the imagination of the sub ject all that is suggested to him. it is simply the vehicle of the life principle; so intimate the connection with the body that 28 while it remains unexhaled lazarus may be bidden to 'come forth!' it is this substance which flees when one is frightened to death. it is the 'hoorla,' the mirror, which receives and retains impressions of things, of thoughts and images in the minds of others as well. its supra-normal development gives us the medium, the clairvoyant and clairaudient, the gift of second-sight, the seer. this de velopment is a matter of proper (or, as the ignorant consider, improper) exercise. the clairvoyant is a person who discovers ob jects concealed from sight by distance or intervening obstacles; who sees into things without opening them, or has second sight. it is the positive and voluntary, instead of the passive and involuntary, use made of this fluid or ghost-stuff of the medium, which the clairvoyant and clairaudient person uses to sense things. we are creatures of five senses in search of that sixth, whose faculty of expression may be swedenborg's 'com munication by correspondence,' but whose self may be the expression of that real soul — that spiritual soul in whose potency lies the force to set in motion and to dominate all the bodily and psychic capabilities of man. if 29 such potency can be evoked the laying on of hands means something, and the heahng of paralytics and the ills arising from ob structions of the blood becomes a possibility: but this 'cometh only through fasting and prayer.' "the practices of asceticism are sup posed to require mortification of the body, but uncleanliness or disregard of the body is as repugnant to the highest devotion to occult science as idle or lustful thoughts are to purity of heart. these practices may be followed by those who cannot otherwise disregard fleshly indulgence and concentrate their thoughts. the prescriptions to 'sub ject the body' and to 'bring the body under' are only applicable to a weak or diseased mind. 'one man hath faith to eat all things; but he that is weak eateth herbs.' it is only in the perfect body of 'one among ten thousand and altogether lovely' who is capable of the sustained la bors, the self-denials, the courage of will to become a hierophant so as to control the forces of nature as well outside as with in himself. no doubt the schools of the prophets have been maintained to this day. 30 it could hardly be that a man having at tained to the 'gift of the spirit' would will ingly break the ladder of his success, but the rather, as he ascended, would drop his mantle upon some elisha of his hope. one hardly could be expected to leave no heir of him succeeding who had heard from afar the whispered consultation in the king's bed chamber; or who had suffered unharmed the bite of poisonous vipers and fought uncon quered with lions at ephesus; or who, 'whether in the body or out of the body,' had seen the mysterious progress of the soul in the nether world, and heard voices whose speech it was 'not lawful for man to utter.' the authority which jesus gave to his disciples, whom he sent forth to heal all manner of diseases, must have been accom panied with instructions how to exercise as well as to avail themselves of the power given them by him when he retired with them into 'a mountain apart.' is there any miracle to him who performs it ? he may not be able to define or analyze, or to explain the origin or action of the force he is conscious of having employed. he knows, however, 'that virtue has gone out of him.' there is nothing 31 supernatural. the will of god in nature cannot be supernatural. god works no miracles which are so to him. his works are past finding out, that is all. man is now engaged in the development of his human soul: some men have attained to the posses sion of a spiritual soul, and are accounted as of the divine. we may become con scious of the existence of it as a flashing spark in the recesses of a vast cavern, and lift our hands in the hope of realizing its flame in the ages upon ages. to reahze it in full consciousness is to have 'our face to shine' and our 'raiment to become shining, exceed ing white as snow, as no fuller on earth can whiten them.' the attainment of this su preme consciousness is the destiny of man in his procession in the ages on ages through the world; how to obtain it belongs to the study of the psychology of occult science — a religion. the gospel of christ teaches for mankind the possibility of possessing this christ within us — the 'hope of glory, the hope of everlasting life.' the transfigura tion was a physical manifestation of its presence, the resurrection a proof of its po tential quality, and the ascension of its be 32 ing in the image of god. the centurion at the crucifixion recognized its presence when he exclaimed: 'truly this man was the son of god!' the spirit only can be said to be the son of god — the only begotten; gross m.atter is the work of his hands. the high est chmax of the drama of job is the ecstatic outburst of hope reahzed: 'i know that my redeemer hveth, and at last he will stand up upon the earth: and after my skin, even this body, is destroyed, then without my flesh shall i see god.' how grand are the possibilities of man! need he longer say, as manoah to his wife, *we shall surely die, for we have seen god ' ^. the occultist en deavors to answer the question: 'all things in heaven and in earth are of god, both the visible and the invisible. such as is the in visible is the visible also; for there is no im passable bound between spirit and matter. matter is spirit made exteriorly cognizable by the force of the divine word. when god shall resume all things by love — the divine attraction — the material shall be re solved into the spiritual and there shall be a new heaven and a new earth.'" when my ancient had so ended the 33 occultist's rhapsody he was so exultant of the vision of the coming spiritual new heaven and new earth that i felt he would be more lonely with than without my company. in his pale, upturned face i saw the glorified calm of the great peace, and, without a word, i left him and went quietly down the star-lit way. stumbling along, i wondered if that supervisor of tiberian roads had not come back and was in office again. the marble palaces which once adorned the roman highway were not; the rumbling chariots and ramping horses, the processions of priests of isis, of mithra, and of the twelve gods of rome with their flaming torches, blaring trumpets, dancing youths, and the thousand slaves of burden, had gone; and there was only a lonely rock -paved and stone-walled path with the one solitary foot man pondering the words he had just heard, and wondering if in any former life he had ever been, or in the great hereafter he would be, companion, friend (or ?) of you ! i do not suppose the hermit would object to your availing yourself of anything he has said; he has no use for speech, or anything 34 o 2 h m cd m > z a c 2 t/l o r r > o < else, except to give it away. as for myself, i am still sitting at his feet — at the foot of the class — and remaining faithfully yours, capri, italy, december 24, 190-. my dear : i posted my last letter hurriedly to catch the home-bound steamer, and to give you my aged's ideas on occultism for use in your paper; and i am glad it arrived in the nick o' time for the purpose, but i was not pre pared for the result you have been so speedy to relate in your letter gladly received the day before yesterday, part of which i could not resist the temptation to read to the aged author on the evening of that day. it is the part in which you say that, with many quota tion marks, and "it is saids," and "it is helds," you interweaved your paper with extracts from the hermit's outgivings; but had not given any consideration to the few lines about reincarnation, a subject in which 35 you had never taken much interest. i can imagine the explosions with which you say those "few hnes" were met: "do you believe in reincarnation ? do you believe in mncarnation ?" your response: "do you think that i, my ego, my self, am a creature of flesh and blood ?" was well seconded by a facetious friend with: "no, i don't think you're a mere 'critter creetur!'" but, oh! how did you cover your defenceless head when the little, pale innocent exclaimed: "why, i never knew that oculists were so religious!" no wonder, with the pelting you received, you felt that you were like "a cer tain man going down from jerusalem to jericho." i always knew you had gay re sources, and it was with heightened respect therefor, and without disesteem for the club, that i learn that you rounded it up with that old, old conundrum: "where was moses when the light went out v to which they all cried out: "in the dark!" and then, to your, "what light remained v they hummed and ah'd until the little innocent one re deemed herself with: "oh, the israelite!" then you came in with an inning: "when the light of this life goes out and / am in 36 the great dark, the israel-hght will remain; shall remain because it must have been before the lamp of this life was lit: the light but illumined, it did not create moses !"3^7^ please return my thanks to your "good samaritan," whose hair threaded with gray years of experience and in the depths of whose dark-blue eyes shine the sacred secrets of many things, who, at adjournment, smiling, whispered: "your israel-light saved you." after i had concluded your report, the dear old man rather tentatively remarked: "the dear girl, the good woman!" he did not continue, but fell into one of his reflective moods, and i left him to his medi tations. you say you never had taken much in terest in the subject. no, you haven't been with the hermit. did you ever think, when in the night you looked up at the stars, millions and millions of miles away, that you had not much business with them— except to apostrophize ? is not this earth, of which we know so little, so little — not even how the grass grows on it — big enough to house us for some time to come ? isn't this hive large enough to store all the honey we can gather 37 from the gardens of god and then come back here for a span of threescore and ten years out of, say, every two thousand ? if we could only realize that the true life is that of the conscious spirit, we would consider our immersion into this world but a baptism to a new birth in "heaven." i am reminded of a question you ask: "what do we do be tween births?" "sleep, perhaps to dream," says hamlet. but what do you do now } you think. the outer world with which, during this life, you come into contact through your senses, merely furnishes you food for thought; then you go away until you have exhausted the subject and are hungry again. you wrestle with ignorance, the lack of divine perfection (some call that lack. evil); you touch the earth and gather strength of experience, labor, suffering, love, and finally, when in exhaustive possession of all, conquer. you learn and sing the score of all the music of this world, and, when proficient, join the "choir invisible." in heaven there are many mansions, and you must furnish and inhabit them all. the fact of his going prepared them for your faith. 38 i do not think that you need be afraid of the "gods many" of st. paul, or of the pantheon of the pagan. if there be any differences in the degrees of advancement of humanity in the spiritual world when released from the wheel of in carnation, they will not be greater than those on the earth now. there will be work and joy enough — as there is here and now. as admiral schley said, after the victory off santiago: "there's glory enough for all." i know there are many questions as to how, when, and where you lived during past lives on earth. when you think of it, the same questions arise as to you — you, the thinker; you, the dreamer, the word-builder, during this present life — who have in haunt "many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore." if the essential you is a veritable thing, a substance however ethereal, however subtile — as magnetic force, electricity, or the ether itself, is a thing — then you have existed before you became manifested in that beautiful body of yours; and i may loyally add, so lived that you deserved your present habitation. grant ed that you lived on this planet, you were 39 with your kindred-soul relations, of all sorts, and you gravitated to this life kinward. even obedience to the law of motion by way of least resistance would bring this accord. as "love is stronger than death, many waters cannot drown it,',' the soul seeks its companion-soul when reincarnated. then don't you think loving should find its object without striving, without impatience, with out jealousy ? it should come from above, as the dew from the sky of former lives. true love is not made, it is born; it is the child of the past and of interbirth dreams; it is the honey stored from all the flowers of the life-fields. the object loved is the ideal pictured by all our past lives — for they are the painters. such love is worth waiting for as we wait for the rose to bloom from seed planted long ago. if we do not, in this one life, meet our ideal, this true love, then single blessedness is no failure. you say: " it is not very amusing to have to be born again and to work out my salvation. once is enough for me. so far, life is hardly worth living again." but, my dear, you will not live the same life again; you will know better how to live. last evening i was at the 40 chapel door again and told my ancient what you had further written: that you wished you could live your present life over again if you could only be born with the knowledge you now have, for you could then avoid making many grievous mistakes and order your hfe on different and greatly higher levels. "yes, yes," he began, "that is the wish of unreflection; but it shows a noble discontent which is the seed of progress. your friend may have cause for her dissatisfaction. she may have lost some opportunity, failed to realize some ideal — as we all have. ah me! yet the fact that she perceives and acknowl edges such loss and failure is evidence of her high intent. she can begin a new life, be born again, now! let her re-form her broken ideals, and, having unmasked her enemies — her weaknesses and faults — begin the battle anew. however, she may console herself, in part; she has already fought a good fight — for what was she when she last lived on earth .? her discontent is of ancient seeding, and is now fruiting in grander as pirations. all that she is now is plus what she has been in the past. let her consider 4 41 the pit from which she has been digged, and take courage. i am glad, young man, that you have such a friend." as he concluded we sat in silence for some time, watching the full moon sinking over monte solaro into your west, and i, following it over sea and land, came to the gate of our parting; then, rather thinking aloud as in a dream than responding to him, i said: "so am i." i felt him detect and follow my gaze, and then: "indeed!" was all my wise one said. once i heard, "as the voice of one crying in the wilderness," one who had lost the way, was bewildered, despairing, for the paths were tangled, crooked; before and behind was the gloom of impending forest: "i wish i had never been born, but / cannot get back!" the mistakes of the years past were a maze, the future was a continuing labyrinth. it was dreadful, that "i cannot get back!" to such a caged starling, is there not some solace in the fact that although it cannot get back it can go forward — can rest, review, and repent its errors, and come again into the wilderness and make straight its paths ? withal, there is one reflection which gives 42 us pause. there is no escape of the soul from reincarnation by shuffling off this mortal coil; death does not give absolution; if one life is not worth living, we must live until it is made worth while; the coward suicide but prolongs his task of sisyphus. that we are to be born again into this earth-life is what makes this life worth living, my old friend says. that we shall try again gives a zest to the present; for the manner in which we enjoy or suffer now we will en rich or impoverish the hereafter life, with the added enrichment of the intermediate rest, the dream-life. the motives, the thoughts (for "thoughts are things") will give suggestion to the hereafter even as "the child is father of the man." the lives past are an anagoge to the present one. if it is not " amusing" it is verily interesting. when we go hence, don't you think we shall ponder of things left undone, of mistakes to be corrected, kindnesses foreborne; the failure of one may become the triumph of the next life; the unsatisfied longings of the one be adjusted in the next by wisdom gained from reflection in our intermediary life — " heaven." and so we will go on through the ages until 43 in the divine progress (for it is a progress) of all things we become "sons of god." oh! life is worth hving, worth loving, because we may, some day, attain to the love which god has for all things. in your past hfe you may have been a pupil of some master of the ferule and rod, and often craved to show him what a teacher should be. i hope, now, if he is learning his lessons of you, his head is hot under the coals of fire you heap upon it. it is this past — the causes set in motion from life to life — that is the suggestion which projects the lesson of one life into another, and is really that which charles grant, in his "poem of life," personifies: "ere a babe is born to its bliss or harm, god takes the naked soul on his arm, and whispers a great word in his ear, so that it cannot choose but hear. on whatever land that babe shall grow. whether the world shall hear or know, if he be strong, or if he be weak, no other word his soul shall speak." blessed is she who hath ears to hear that word! you have heard the story of the 44 "lost name"? the true name of the supreme, the only one, was given by him to a wise man, who was to impart it only with his dying breath to one other. it was passed thus from one to another until a wise one, dying, sought to transmit it to a youth as his successor, but, as with expiring breath he was uttering it, the youth turned to listen to the song of a girl beneath the window, and — alas! the name, the holy word, unheard, was lost! so, now, we have only man-made symbols to signify the unutterable mystery. oh no, i am not "studying for the minis try"; i am simply hermiting. you further add that you avoided mention in your club paper of the hermit's occult explanation of the faculties of spirit-mediums, because, as their performances are mostly in the dark, you "did not deem it best to in troduce the shady subject." let me suggest what i infer from the ancient's theory (?) of vibrations. the light from the sun is hurled to the earth at the rate of about ninety-five million miles in eight minutes; in vibrations it beats upon and penetrates the atmosphere of the earth, which is about forty miles thick and has a weight of fifteen pounds to the 45 square inch on the earth's surface. it strikes the earth with a direct force equal to nearly a hundred thousand tons weight. now, don't you think that force must be accounted when dealing with that subtile fluid (if it may be so called) of vital or magnetic energy oozing out of or overflowing from the medium ? it would seem that the direct rays of the sun driven, palpitating with throbbing percussion upon the earth would break in storm upon the fragile, tenuous waves of ooze or over flow of mediumistic magnetism, and drown any spook who adventured his frail bark across the styx. the surging push of the sun's rays of light is a force which con tinually aids the centrifugal flight of the planets, in a degree counteracting the power of gravity of the sun's immensity. those who deny the longing and the pitiful attempts of the disembodied to communicate with their kindred on earth usuallv disclose a preference to cut out the hereafter alto gether — probably for reasons of their own. i broached inquiringly this subject of medium ship to the hermit, but all the information ( ?) he vouchsafed was, "alas, poor medium!" yet there must be some fluid to bear the 46 wireless telegrams of disunited souls, which the patience of the open-minded scientist and the hope of the christian shall yet probatively rediscover. who shall say that, in the complementary and now invisible (as the infra-red and the ultra-violet) rays of light, the ghostly fingers that rap and write may not become sensible to mortal eyes ? «^ ^1^ ^u u^ ^u * ' ^* ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ faithfully yours, capri, italy, december 27, 190 my dear : for fear of being tiresome to you, i did not attempt to answer all the inquiries in your last (club!) letter. besides, i have had an other sitting with my gamaliel. i am pleased to find you interested in this little island, but hardly flattered by your saying this "dot on the earth must derive its color from the eyes which seem to be in love with it"; and you intimate that capri rosso has also lent its rubiness to beautify 47 it. but i can say, as daniel webster said of massachusetts: "there she is. behold her, and judge for yourselves!" it is not her blue, white, red, and green grottos, her caves, her crumbled altars of mithra and the gods; the saracen watch-towers embrasur ing its west coast; the grim, tattered castle of barbarossa on steepled monte solaro, or even the good people who cheerily build and plant, worship and make merry; but it is the altogether, the atmosphere of the whole island, which makes one feel not only alive but living. you say you are "glad to learn about the occult matters the hermit talked of," and ask me, "as his pupil, to be prepared for 'exams.'" my seer is sufficient unto him self — an oracle on his own account, without any "assumacy." he believes in the man datory permission given originally when adam was installed in the command of the earth, his commissary limited by: "of every grain that beareth seed thou shalt eat"; and, through obedience, the days of his years are threescore years and ten; and by reason of strength they are fourscore, yet is their strength rest and gladness! 48 the trouble with some of your club mem bers is that they enjoy the bliss of ignorance; particularly that one who came out of ambush with her 22-calibre black eyes levelled at you and demanded that you stand and deliver with: "oh! what you say about elisha — why, that's in the bible! give us something fresh!" you might refer such a one to the evidences gathered in late years, since scientific methods in collecting facts have been instituted, and to the deductions there from which at least tend to prove that the individual soul (spirit, thinker) does exist after death, and that it is possible for it to communicate with the living (but, ah! why awaken the smiling dreamer?); that it, in a bodily shape, while of the body as well as when recently not, can, possibly, visit and be seen by the living. people in general are heedless of the great work done in these days to blow into flame the embers of smoul dering faith in the resurrection of the christ — the spiritual soul in the spiritual body. indeed, if your club guerilla wishes some really recent refreshment, you might refer her to the life of father ignatius^ the monk of llanthony. 49 the via tiberio, wall-lined, between villas and vineyards, leads up by the "caffe mar gherita and carolina," where the siren, carolina, " always gay," greets this traveller, "who passeth by this road so late" (or early), with a tarantella carol from her overlooking balcony; while the gentle evan geline-faced margherita offers a bouquet of the fragrant narcissus as he reaches her door; thence up by the lighthouse — once "wont to shed its rays sweet to anxious ships" — and over ruined tiberian galleries, halls, amphitheatres, armories, and cisterns, until he again finds the gentle hermit, who, having seen him a long way off, awaits his prodigal. neither falls on the other's neck nor kisses — although falling was an ancient practice up here, and kissing must not be surprised; alas, poor fisherman! yet one might kiss the sweet-faced old man and be forgiven. i wonder if, half a century ago, some fair margherita was not seen afar ofi^ and, prodigally, kissed and been forgiven! my daily, and often nightly, pilgrimages to my old friend, up there on the lonely moun tain under the blue tent of god, have given me something to think of at least. 5° i was going to tell you something which suggested my "wonder," and then i hesitated for the space of the last sentence, thinking i ought not to tell tales out of school; yet i can trust you with all my heart — and do — why not with something of that of another; though i know the sacredness with which you treasure (from me) the secret of your elect one! besides, this is not a secret — simply something occult, to the ignorant — and may be a belated chapter in that "little story" i told you in my first letter. last evening, as the sun tarried over monte solaro, and was paying his parting respects to the golden madonna, to the ruins of villa jovis and the little chapel, before seeking a shrine beyond the sea, i came up for a night's occult revel with my ancient, and with my kodak, that iconoclast of all the gods of modesty, sur prised my dear old friend standing on the steps leading up to the chapel, and gazing mournfully and tenderly upon a tall, kerchief ed figure in white below, whose face i could not see (as it was fixed on him), until, as i ad vanced, she turned toward me. she was old, for her hair was streaked with gray; but young, for "the light that never was on sea or 51 land," effulged her face, and the lines of patient years fled away and caused her to be transfigured. she was straight and strong, for she had borne the heat and burden of the day of a capri workwoman; she was glorified, for she loved! for her was not written: "there's a love for a year, a love for a day, but alas for the love that lasts alway!" while she but glanced at my coming upon this innocent tryst, she was not ashamed or embarrassed, but, turning, walked away with the free step and joyance of bearing of one refreshed with the wine of the spirit which her threescore years and ten but enriched. and he, a hermit! the extreme gentleness of my abelard, as he greeted me and led the way to our accustomed seat, was enhanced by a subdued joyousness. i was so perplexed by my self-reproaches for untimeliness in in vading the sanctuary of the aged couple, that, to try to hide my confusion by the rule of opposites, i was led to ask the most irrel evant and malapropos question: "what is the genealogy of hell ?" my dear old friend "never turned a hair," but with the serenity 52 and he. a hermit!' of a babe answered: "ah! hell is the fear of the future and is born of the past. fear is the mother of care; and you know what killed the cat." " but what was it that feared r' i asked. "ah," said he, "that's another question. there was something that feared: the past cast its shadow, and out of it fear arose, its spectre. but what was it evoked the ghost f it was that something which does fear, does hope, grieve, rejoice, hate, love. it is the i, the ego, the soul — call it what you will — the subjective; the subliminal; the consciousness of consciousness, the residuum of thought ex periences; the sublimate essence of all our emotions, desires, personalities; the individual entity — it is the substance of them all, the self." " but what is the origin of the * substance' ?" " my young friend," said the old man, " that origin is, as the jewish scriptures have it, 'in the beginning?' the spirit of life per vades all material things (and i am not saying there is any other than the material — that is, substance) in the heavens above and the earth beneath, in one form or another. that spirit of life was breathed out of the 53 infinite, the god, the beginner; and, formed and crystalhzed under his law, by process of that law, evolves ever higher and more com plex forms of expression of that life, and finally is resolved back into himself, com pleting the circle of manifestation. now man, combining in himself all the preceding forms, cannot, if he would, stop the spiral climb of evolution. he must, by the divine propulsion, ever seek that life more abun dantly until he shall acquire what we may call a spiritual life — the life of the soul as self-existent. can the evolution of the spirit of life, the life force, be complete ? can the persistence of force, the conservation of energy, the law of continuing, be exhausted, come to a standstill, in the production of a mere man-animal } "you may have a personal god, an an thropomorphic god, if you will — if it helps you to comprehend, in any degree, by en larging the proportions of the highest con ceivable personality, until you may con template him in all man-like perfection — and yet you will have but a bare suggestion of what may be the all-wise, the beneficent, the almighty, the only one. to this end, 54 as helps to the imagination, man has shrined his images; but the old command is upon the wise: 'thou shalt make no graven images.' yet, can you look up yonder at the myriad stars, at the milky way — that nebula of world -stuff — -at the illimitable spaces no glass has yet pierced, and bridle your god to this less than an atom in his universe, and say that all this was made and per petuated for a mere man-animal ?" the aged one had risen, and, stretching his arms aloft and abroad, as if to call an expression of his idea down from the im mensity, exclaimed: "oh, that i might know himf' after a contemplative pause, he turned to me with folded arms, as if in silent apology, and i asked: "then you have heard of the eastern doctrine of nirvana ?" "oh yes," he answered. "i have had several very learned visitors here who be lieved in it. why should a rain-drop refuse to flow down into the ocean .? we may be in accord, or at one, with god; but patience, my son, the universe will be a graybeard before you or i shall be of god. when we 55 can think god's thoughts (and, remember, you are one of them), we won't object to become of him; but, until then — good night!" the hermit sought to tell me what hell is. let me give you the geography of it — and then some! seers, poets, and saints have localized hell and peopled an under-world with lost souls — mostly those of their enemies; but they, and even the amiable hermit, had not dreamed of a still farther but easily accessible place for the final abode of sinners. it remained for the rev. obedia mashim, of the eight gallon persuasion, 'way back in the "airly days," on his return to his congregation, after having driven his hogs to market at cin cinnati, and lingered there until saturday night to sell them on a rising market, and having scruples against travelling on sunday, was forced to remain in the city over the next day, to describe the wrecking of the moselle (april 25, 1838), and proclaim to his flock upon his return home a new geography of souls. after making his excuses for absence on the preceding sunday, he proceeded: "i was seekin' some place of worship, but, 56 like noah's dove, i found no rest for my foot; but, meanderin' by the river-sides, there mine eyes beheld the new steamboat mosellee reposin' upon the bosom of the beautiful ohio, her steam blowin' off, her bells ringin', and on the v^harf a vast crov^d huzzahin', singin', and laughin' as the mosellee started on her trial trip up the river. then a band of music desecrated the sabbath air v^ith its audacious goin' on. slowly she backed from the wharf, and then her great wheels churned the waters like the leveeathan in his fury, and she swum out into the stream, a magnif icent structure and a credit to the city of her birth. then, let mine ears be deaf and mine eyes blind, if i did not hear fiddlin' and see dancin' on her deck— aye, fiddun' and dancin' and laughin' on the lord's day! fiddlin' and dancin'! — the men with their arms around the women! i fain would have turned mine eyes away, so full was i of wrath. but there was the mosellee^ as she swep' up the river, the grand work of men's hands; and the sun in the blue heavens did not cease to shine on the abomination of wickedness of that sodom and gomorrah on her deck! up the river she flew like a bird, and then ' 57 slewed about near the other side, when, all of a suddent, she explored her boilers — ah! she blew everything sky-high — ah! and all that fiddhn' and dancin' crew — ah! she blew some to heaven and some to hell and some clean away over into kentucky — ah!" and thus it was that the bloody hunting ground came to be a new locus umbra in the world of spirits. of the three places you have choice. in heaven there is no marrying or giving in marriage; in hell it is too hot for domestic tranquillity; there remains kentucky — with you i'll risk her. i fear your patience will not endure what to me has become so interesting — my con versations with my friend. you have your daily work (i hope it is not labor), and i have my continuing leisure, coupled with an old habit of being busy — at something! you may think an "old man of the sea" is riding me, but, i assure you, it is i who am being carried away; i only wish it were to you. but this may not be, mea miserum! suppose i join the hermit, and " so let the wide world wag as it will, we'll be gay and happy still!" then there would be no hermit, 58 only two jolly companions. i fear, however, that would violate the injunction: "be not unequally yoked together." let me say good-night! faithfully yours, capri, italy, january 30, 190-. my dear : yours of the 15th inst. discloses you as a see-er, a star performer of a seance with yourself as audience, solus. you appear to have been a shadow-dancer — the shadow your own. you say you are glad i wrote you on the 24th ult., as you had been much alarmed on the 22d by seeing my spook at your gate. you ran from the veranda, where you had tarried after bidding good-night to some very late departing guests, and were enjoying the clear, brilliant light of the moon in mid sky, and, with the soft south wind presaging a green christmas, were longing for a "cer tain truant" to come home for a christmas 59 ing, when there, in full, palpable view, he stood! you sa}^ you ''ran to meet him,"' and when you got to the gate he vanished away, "the snark was a boogum, you see." you hastened to the gate, looked up and down the street, but he was nowhere. it is generally believed that what you saw was "another of those things no fellow can find out" — out of certain mysterious cabinets, though "you may seek it with thimbles and seek it with care; you may hunt it with forks and hope; you may threaten its life with a railroad share; you may charm it with smiles and soap." and you did not faint! you simply leaned on the gate-post and said: "he is dead." you do not give me any of the post-mortem particulars — the garments of woe, heart breakings, and so-forth; but it's gratifying to learn that my letter of the 24th ult. "was a glad relief." i knew a little girl who, when it fell to her lot to wash the dishes, always sang with the most dolorous psalmistry that blasphemous 60 hymn-line: " i'm glad that i was born to die." she is not dead yet; but she never saw a spook! if you really want an explanation of my manifestation, i can only suspect: / was there! yet it was "all in your eye, betty martin." up there into the cortices of your gray matter "where is fancy bred," as i sat at the chapel door and saw the moon going down to you, my thought of you and myself at the gate of our parting projected itself, and (may i be pardoned for imagining) at the same time you had a vision of the same sadness: our thought of each other as we once stood there, united, and i was made exteriorly cognizable to you. you saw me present, as i was consciously thinking my self to be. so, you see, "thoughts are things,''^ a mode of motion, between us ^. it was all on the wireless-telegraph system — finer and farther. it represents the idea of the near invention of the telephonic picture of the sender and receiver respectively appearing in response to the "hi loo!" when our wills, consciously, are able to project our thoughts with our images to receptive wait ing members of the new telephone of souls, call me up, please! 6i i told you of the hermit and the lady at the chapel steps expecting sympathetic ap preciation, but find you intimating a scandal. the whispered truth is scandalful. i would not have believed it, you inno cent little teacher! here i have you, in black and white, a traitor to your sex! or is it an overweening vanity of that same sex with which you write: "i knew there was 'a woman in it'!" hurrah for her, i say! i wonder if it was really your prescience of facts or a mere eve-itical instinct which dis closed to you that "there can be no hermit, pure and simple." women have a sort of illusive intuition; for were not the sibyls, the delphines, the vestals, all women .? so much so that woman has assumed to be "the divinity that stirs within us" — all sorts of de-dev-devotion! instance: all our sym bols — in fresco and statue, in park and palace, everywhere — of industry, art, literature, justice, liberty, peace, and — and war^ are woynen. there is a fable that when the gods were making woman and were throwing the in gredients into the caldron, one inadvertently tossed in a soul — and thence came man's 62 toil and trouble. blessings on the incon sequent young chap for his carelessness! for he must have been a youthful sport, in tent on fun. or may it have been an old 'un on mischief bent — throwing the chestnuts into the fire that we men might monkey with the cat to get them out i the widow of general custer, in a lecture, said that during the civil war she once was invited to the headquarters of the army to witness the dis tribution of medals to twenty soldiers for distinguished service. when the men were lined up to receive their decorations they would have passed muster as so many pretty girls, they were so young and so blushingly handsome; and, for acts, then and there nar rated by the general commanding as each was given his insignia, of gay gallantry, reck less and loyal devotion, patient suffering, and intrepid deviltry, they deserved to be ! i wonder if between fable and fact there is any relation of sequence; if so, it certainly was the young chap! you say your work is often labor, for as a teacher you are, in law, in place of the parents, a parent-in-law — you must com bine in one the most heterogeneous elements. 63 the "old woman who hved in a shoe" had her blessed privileges. you think that as the remedy for divorces is proposed to be in sensible marriage laws requiring physical examinations for degenerates, additionally there should be required of the would-be happy couple certificates of qualification as nurses and kindergarten teachers; thus they would be qualified to stand /« loco parentis themselves. i agree with you. i think that a person who has taught school for, say, about ten years, would be entirely eligible! how would it do to establish reformatories for incorrigible parents .'' also, provide kin dergartens for honeymooners and hospitals for divorcees ? i went to the hermit with your difficulties in regard to rewards and punishments, which you seem to have difficulty in distributing in your school. you wish me to discover for you "the rod that chasteneth without chastis ing," and to tell you "how spoiled the rod should be to spare the child." the hermit never argues, never disputes. he listens and he talks; who am i to inter locute ? i stated your case, and then tried to have ears to hear, but i doubt if i shall 64 be able to lend them to you. he talked as if alone: *'as a fact, i do not think god ever punishes. punishment for sin is a mis nomer — the invention of man. we see a consequence of what we call wrong-doing, and we say it is a reward or a punishment. there is neither reward nor punishment in god's purpose. in it there is only cause and effect — justice — justice inexorable. there is no escape from it. there is no such thing as mercy either — mercy in the sense of relief from the effect of wrong-doing on the doer. i know this is shocking to one who has re garded only man and his mode of govern ment. indeed, our legal punishments are not justice at all. you say: 'let us temper justice with mercy.' yes, let us. we are fallible: we do not know all. we administer justice like we do medicine — afflict the patient, hoping that nature will hear the cry for help. our penal statutes are hostile provisions for the safety of the social body, for the welfare of every other than the criminal. the so called effect of sin against man's laws is arti ficial; it is not caused by but merely follows disobedience. we put a man in prison, or take his property from him, or kill him; it is 65 not even an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. the punishment does not fit the crime, simply because we cannot create a natural effect from the artificial cause. society, as such, is not responsible for the sins of men, save as the result of such sins hurts the whole or some member of the system. it is even deemed justifiable to in flict the severest penalties upon a culprit as an example to deter others from committing crime. this is the old idea of the scapegoat bearing the sins of the people into the wilder ness — without consulting the goat or the wilderness! it is in line with the counsel of caiaphas, the high priest, that it was ' expedient that one man should die for the people'; in accordance with which the holy nazarene was murdered, obsequious to the expediency of the law. christ dealt with the individual. 'love thy neighbor as thyself is for the hap piness of the loving, the effect on the neighbor is the incident. until within a few years, before we had reformed the law^s a little, if you saw a man judicially hanged by the neck, you could not say whether he had stolen, counterfeited the coin of the realm, smuggled a keg of brandy, rebelled against 66 the king, refused to attend church, or was a bigamist or a murderer. and now, if you visit a penitentiary, you cannot say of any convict there what offence he has committed. but, in nature, not a flower blooms or wind blows for which there is not a sure and adequate cause. it is easy, after the event, to say that sodom and gomorrah were punished by fire from heaven for sin; but christ said: 'those eighteen upon whom the tower of siloam fell and slew them, think ye that they were sinners above all that dwelt in jerusalem .? i tell you, nay.' it might as well be said of pompeii and herculaneum, that fires rained down from heaven and destroyed them as punishment for sin. v\'e know they perished in an eruption of mount vesuvius, which had from time immemorial emitted flames and lava threatening them. they were pagan in all things of worship. they chose to live under a volcano and suf fered the consequences. let us not forget that there are ethical causes which may pro duce physical effects. the low, voluptuous worship of the pompeians was one of the first nature-religions of man. physical lux uriousness selected their place of abode, and 67 in sympathy with riotous nature they revelled in contiguity to the primeval, the passional heat of the fruitful slope of the burning moun tain. spiritual depravity and animal desire w^ere associated w^ith cosmic fertility and un rest. the good often escape; they heed w^arnings. there may be angels — moral forces — to warn the good; for goodness in its receptivity, its obedience to spiritual sug gestion, is in the line of godward progress. but natural causes produce natural effects, and a good man may die of apoplexy in his tribune. if he had been wise in knowledge of his disease he might have lived longer, and, probably, he had lived long by reason of his obedience to suggestion. mere good ness does not change the laws of the universe, but by obeying them one has length of days. a man by taking thought may not add a cuhit to his stature, but he may add an inch or two. while all i have heretofore said is true, you must know that there is a repentance and an obtaining mercy, in the sense that ceasing to do evil and learning to do good is obtaining mercy — is a coming into a non sinning state. that man is able to repent, to turn from doing evil, is itself a mercy. 68 ihat one can turn godward, can love his neighbor as himself, can love the supreme, is a mercy. one may not escape the effect of past sinning by repentance, but that effect will be better borne; no more seed being sown, the harvest of evil will be cut short; and although tares may appear in the harvest, the wheat will be sufficient to rejoice in; be sides, good is a more fertile seed than evil. it rains on the just and the unjust, but the just receive the gifts of god with fruit bearing hands. "this rule of cause and effect — this equal working of the laws of nature, the com pensatory adjustment of all forces — does not shut out the fact (the law) that the wise may cause nature to work effects by the use of her laws, as the smith heats the iron and hammers it into such shape as he wills. so christ healed the sick; so, by the power of the law of faith. he survived the crucifixion. nothing happens. ignorance, knowing no law of expectancy, says: 'it happens.' nor does the rule deny that 'the prayer of the righteous availeth much,' for the faith begetting prayer of the righteous is a force, a dynamic force in nature. it stirs the vital 69 influences to healing. it is the telegraphic wire between the spirit of man and the forces in nature. given the same faithful prayer by an equally righteous one, and the same result of healing will follow as an effect of the same cause. the mighty works of the prophets of old are not now seen simply be cause the prophets are not — are not seen ? all this is but asserting the power of the spirit within man, the rule of the spiritual law over matter, to set in motion the forces of nature. what we now generally do is to drill the body and exercise the mind in order to feed and clothe the body. we invent wants, and spend our lives gratifying them. no wonder the prophets are not born of us. we breed cattle and kings, but not prophets or seers. we pray for riches and things of sense, which are to be worked for. the man who deter mines to be rich can be rich; the law gives him the pound of flesh, but the life of the spirit is not his. we can and do sow for riches and harvest them; they perish with the using, but there is a sowing of wise endeavor and joy which enricheth with the using." when my old friend had ceased, i asked 70 him: "what of one's past sins ? what is one to do with them ?" with a look of utter weariness, he answered : "sins? there are sins and sins! whatever they are, coddle them not, nor bedevil them, 'go and sin no more,' and, by all means, go! bandage your bruised feet and — forget them! displace the thou-shalt-nots of moses with the affirmations of christ! don'ts are rocks of stumbling — they suggest offence, as 'the strength of sin is the law.' " don't you think my seer is correct m hold ing that society should exist only for the pro tection of its members — for self-preservation, not for vengeance ? percival lowell has said that "politeness is the social art of living agreeably with one's fellows." the criminal must be taught politeness. if he cannot love his neighbor as himself, he, at least, must not be disagreeable; if he won't be polite, he must be restrained from evil until he learns to do good, although society cannot compel him to be good: for, after all, he must punish himself. it is said: "the suicide is one who meets his executioner and slays him." every man must meet his besetting sin and starve it to death. the preacher ends his sermon with 71 an "application," the fabulist with a moral; one criminal i know of is a prisoner of capri, trying to reform himself; but the more he tries, the more he is beset; the more he starves, the hungrier he is. please pardon the per sonal application and forego the moral, for i am afraid to meet my executioner— lest she slay me. i fear, however, that my sin has found me out (in the sense of discovery, not escape), when in your last note you say: "men have said they loved me, and some i believed." it is a satisfaction to know that you have not, with job, said in your heart that "all men are liars." that "some" may cover a multitude of sinners, "of whom i am chief." i merely quote st. paul and de mand the proof, for i never have said it, yet — f however, i was troubled when you added: "i have had a bitter disappointment." there you stop! don't you think, this time, that it is you who should "explain yourself"? i have read that sentence over so often that, in my colloquies with my hermit, when i tried to listen, so as to write you of what you style "his religions" (you seem to think he has several), i have become a disappoint ment myself. i resent anything which is a 72 cause of pain to you. if any person has dis appointed you, i shall certainly doubt if my seer is correct in his views of punishment. my politeness, too, has its limit. your trust is not sufficiently alive to impel you to confide your trouble to me, as of old. i have sinned and come short of the high calling of friend ship, or something, which used to make a partnership of our hopes, fears, and trials. it cannot be that your mr. call is a disap pointment — although the bitterness of him i have had reason to know. you cannot have failed as the little teacher — that is im possible. i try to think you have exaggerated something trivial, which to your sensitive conscience is a mountain; but you are not given to misjudge. it is all a puzzle — a puzzle! i can only wait, and hope i also serve. meanwhile, to cease from troubling, i shall earnestly devote myself to learn all i can from the lips of my philosopher and friend ; although your " bitter disappointment " has caused me to feel that tom moore's lines, "here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish, earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal," 6 73 do not apply to capri after all, for heaven's not a place, but, like it is said of our athens: "boston is not a place, but a state of mind." faithfully yours, capri, italy, february 28, 190-. my dear jjc sk •(* *!• t* again and again i recall that, during that last walk and talk we had together on the eve of my departure — a talk so rosemaryed for me — you said: "i want to be doing some thing in the world, to be in fellowship of experience with my kind." there is an old mystic fable that the gods first made man "male and female" (as the literal reading of genesis states it), but that, by reason of the arrogance of this self-suf ficient, parthenogenetic creature, in its per fect self capable of peopling the world and defying its makers, these same gods repented that they had made man and divided this vain work of their hands. thereupon the halves, perplexed, in perpetual lament, went 74 about the world in search of each other, and were so occupied in their quest they let the gods eat their ambrosia in peace; yet, being often deceived by similarities, by appear ances, by impatient desires (wanting to be doing something in the world), they united in marriage to find that they were joined to strangers! and thus the divergence from their original oneness continued, until, even if the hapless halves finally united, their experiences meantime with their mismates had so impressed the images of the latter upon the originals they could hardly dis tinguish their own true-love selves. hence the proverb: "the course of true-love never did run smooth." yet, once in a while, now and then, they came together with instant recognition, amid great rejoicing, and "lived happily ever after." whether this is all a mere allegory, or an accounting after the fact for unhappy mar riages, i leave you to determine, to decide whether he — the unknown (i wish he were mwknown) — is that other half, the only one in the universe for whom you can make the sacred sacrifice of individual liberty, interests, likes, and even name! true, we have our 75 desires, passions, which cry out to be satis fied. we are prone to sacrifice; proud to vanity to be able to give, since giving implies in us a surplus of riches. we "want to be doing something in the world" in the order of inherited nature — to obey the sentence of the law adjudged on adam, as an effective, not a punishment, for his disobedience: for "in adam's fall we sinned all." by -the -way, according to the account, adam was no gentleman; he was the first cad. he told tales out of school; he kissed and told, and, if the truth were known, he doubtless lied! the nazarene, it is said, was "the first true gentleman that ever breathed." he was the first in quality — the spiritual aristocrat; prince of all the humanities. the first gentleman of the old testament, in point of time, was abimelech, a king of the philistines, who dwelt in gerar. how to reverse the judgment visited on our first parents has been a world's puzzle. some have kicked against the goads and broke the entail by a common recovery, have volun tarily abdicated manhood and womanhood to escape, have side-stepped to avoid the blow, and are saints! yet the vestal mother 76 . of romulus and remus was burled alive, and "nephews" have been numerous. single blessedness in such case was the failure; yet marriage is declared by some socialists to be a monopoly! the latter seem to seek some indeterminate-sentence method to modify the judgment for adam's fall. had we not better seek a reversal of the transgressive force of our first progenitors by the generation of a second spiritual adam; and so find a com pensation, if not a satisfaction .? can we not take the consequences and rejoice in it ? can't we adamites eat our bread in the sweat of our brows and joy in the work, and you eveites bear the children of mated true love, not the offspring of convenience or of the fierce cries of edenic desire, and so breed temples for souls ? you have heard the song of the seventeen year locust, the cicada ? the egg-child falls, a speck of down, from its cradle in the tender branch of the tree, its orphanage home, and burrows far into the ground, where it sum mers and winters itself as a worm, and then a beetle, until seventeen years have passed. then on the very day, the hour appointed, through all the underworld the prophesied 77 reveille summons from under every green tree in the land the now armored host of cicadae to arise and fight its battle up to sunshine and the renew^al of its race. it marches, assaults, and storms the barricading earth walls and is in eden! there it hangs its spears and shields on the rough bark of the trees, emerges from its coat of mail — a legion of winged cupids, an army of amorites. embowered on every leafy twig the trouba dour serenades the lady of his love, until the forest resounds with the palpitating refrain: "i live for love, for love i die." he tarries with her a few days, and then "the shrilling locust slowly sheathes his dagger voice and creeps away beneath the brooding leaves where breathes the zephyr of the dying day," and v/ith it dies. his lady-love lays her eggs in the nest cradle carved by her in the tender twigs of the tree, and, having fulfilled the law by giving her life that the cicadas shall not perish from the earth, she also dies. the 78 cicada has been transmitted for another life-round. within forty-two days from the moment of the sortie of the army of crusad ers in the cause of the hfe more abundantly not a martyr remains, and the grove is silent once more — silent for another seventeen years. "fear ye not, therefore; ye are of more value than many ctcadcb." for psyche is thine. if man — man! — has arisen from the dust to become the prince of all animal life, to hold in his hands the power of life and death over all animate things, is there not in him a higher destiny yet in the eternal progress of life ? must he be satisfied with the gratification of the animal impulse to "multiply and re plenish" ? true it is that nature has spread all its decoys to allure and its nets to capture every amorous cupid. the humblest flower as well as the proudest oak puts forth in numerable germs of life to reproduce other flowers, other oaks; the very stones do "cry out to raise seed to abraham." nature runs to seed-bearing. every sense is appealed to and seems to have been evolved for the pur pose of embodying life. pollen and stigmata 79 call to each other; the lions of the mountain roar; the vegetable invites the animal and the mineral the vegetable world to assist; every atom in the universe runs to and fro in an agony of motion: all seeking life more abun dantly. yet shall man remain king of beasts only ? after all, is not this inbred impulse, desire, passion to perpetuate, a corollary to the uni versal law of the persistence of force, and argues an inherent impulsion toward ever lasting existence ? what are you not doing in the world ? the young woman, through her instinct of unexpended motherhood, is the natural teacher of children, while man teaches from his pro pensity for mastery. in the appeal of help less childhood to the sympathies of woman is the birth of altruism; and now, when the schoolmaster is abroad, it is the schoolmis tress who is at home. she is discovering herself — the quasi mother of the great here after. it is inazo nitobe, who, in his bushido; or. soul of japan, says: "when character and not intelligence, when the soul and not the head, is chosen by a teacher for the ma 80 terial to work upon and develop, his voca tion partakes of a sacred character. 'it is the parent who has borne me; it is the teacher who makes me man.'" i know of a boy with his diploma from the university, who, when asked by his father, a minister of the gospel, what he had chosen for his life-work, answered: "father, i can't make a minister out of myself." to which the reverend gentleman, laying his hand on his boy's head, replied: "ah, no, my son; it is god who makes ministers of the gospel." so it is of a woman-teacher, who, with pure, exalted ideals of being and living, hears the cry of the coming need and stress of her people, with jephtha's daughter, answers: "here am i, a willing sacrifice," and denies her personal self in fulfilling the answer. such was once your intrepid answer, while here am i, pedicled to "the wandering foot." there is no altruism in fact, for in the scales of nature there are compensations against every deprivation. yet can there be any greater self-denial for a woman to forego than the inherited demand of motherhood that she may minister to the crying needs of virtually parentless children — children whose 8i future, and the future of society as well, de pend upon the self-denying care of the teacher in the public schools ? and, if foregoing the personal longing to love and be loved by one alone, there must come to that teacher the satisfaction of having done something in the world, of having entered into the loving life of hundreds of her pupils, who shall rise up and call her blessed ? the teacher rocks the cradle of the future of her people. the true-born teacher has heard the coming, com ing heralds of her nation's progress, and all the babes of promise leap within her at the sound of their announcing bugles. with zeph, the old black seer, she cries: "the blood ansahs; i'se bawn with a caul! i'se bawn with a caul!" i hope you will pardon me for giving that significance to the concluding sentence of your last letter which its occultness deserves. let me repeat it: "please don't trouble your self about 'your mr. call.' 'speak for yourself, john.'" now, it strikes me that "your mr. call" (forgive the mention of him by me this last time) is set upon a pedestal, a dodo on a consecrated altar dedicated to silence. in the awed hush of your worship 82 of his saintship his is the "lost name" — unutterable by my profane lips. you mean that i, wicked, must cease from troubling and give him (and you) a rest. i am to speak for myself, as i am no prophet for your most high and mighty sacredness, your little tin god! your meaning is plain, though under covert of the quotation-marks to screen the rebuke. you omit from the quotation the present inquisitive, "why don't you v — pre ferring the imperative to suit your mood. although i accord you all the graces, purity, and loveliness of priscilla, i have not the courage to be as modest as john alden. li'ou never, never (were you x) so impatient with me, and 1, no doubt, deserved to be — to be — reprimanded! well, in your heaven this wicked one shall cease from troubling, and in my capri the weary shall be at rest — i hope. i shall try to be content with the memory of our dear old companionship of thought and sympathy — the communion of the saints, one of whom i always hold you, though i am far from being another, except under your halo. in the case at bar i have a client, but, though i have always fought to the last ditch 83 for my clients, now an ancient maxim of the legal profession warns against a foolish championship of his cause by me; therefore let me flee to the mountain, to my dear old hermit, and to that ever-fond kinship with you in things spiritual which hallows my rest. faithfully yours, capri, italy, march 7, 190-. my dear i am sorry if anything in my last letter offended you — you do not mention my out break against the nameless one; and that is ominous (i might say "omni-ous"), for your letter, now before me, seems as if cut short by a frost. but frosted cake is all the sweeter, and the sweetness of your cake is in your in quiry: "when are you coming home?" the inference is that i should come, though you assign no reason why. there is only one reason which could appeal to me, and that is too unreasonable for me to think of. 84 **in capri's land i'll take my stand, and live and die in capri!" for i find this hospitable southland is most interesting — to me. though it is of stone, its heart is mysteriously tender. it has had its tragedy, even in later times. it is said that, in a raid by a band of saracens from across the narrow sea, some years ago, when it land ed to rob, and to rapt the fair women for their harems and the children for the tunis ian slave-market, the inhabitants, as of old, sought the security of the cavern under the old castle on castiglione. the cavern, or grotto, is approached by a foot -wide path along the face of a bare cliff several hundred feet above the sea, where one person at the entrance of the cave has only to push the intruder a hand's-breadth to hurl him down the abyss. most of the people had made their entry into safety, when one young man at the beginning of the path tarried to ward off the pursuers from a beautiful young woman who was about to enter the narrow passage. he chivalrously held them at bay until "heloise" escaped into the cavern, but her defender and rescuer himself fell victim, 85 overpowered by numbers, and was left man gled and for dead on the mountain-side. whether or not this incident has any rela tion to my "little story" of the organist and the lady, i will repeat what my informant said: "we know very little, suspect a great deal, guess at some things." while i cannot ask my hermit, for there is about him a silent forbidding of personalities as too trivial for consideration, yet i believe — i dream, per haps — that my saintly friend who so brave ly champions psyche would not hesitate to face an army of saracens in defence of a woman. during this same raid a little shoemaker was pegging his way up the steeps toward the cavern when overtaken by the raiders, and was by them carried oversea a prisoner. his bereaved wife, with her "nine small children and one at the breast," pleaded with the good church people of capri to ran som him. in a year or two the money was sent, and the son of crispin was returned and received with joy and fatted chickens. he seemed pleased with his reception, and, in his character as munchausen, he reflected honor on the original until he began to believe 86 his own fairy tales, was reduced to the neck of the chickens, and was "on his uppers" — to speak professionally. alas, one morn ing he was missing! he had learned the trick. he had "folded his tent like the arabs and as silently stole away" — to get his share of the ransom and rejoice his two saracen wives, fulfilling the adage of his trade : "let the shoemaker stick to his last." notv.ithstanding the pie-crustian short ness of your last note (you had "no time to write a letter"), yet it was long on recondite inquiries. you "wish to know what the hermit means by saying that the resurrection of christ was a proof of the essential quality of the spirit, the spiritual soul — the christ within us"; and you also "wish to learn what he knows of the relation of the spirit to the animal-man." yet i have been hinting that yours was a short note! although i cannot question my aged one about his younger life, i have continued to inquire, and he has continued to respond, concerning the life spiritual in which he is almost wholly absorbed, and from time to time his responses have fallen into the lines which i have tried to remember, and in 87 which i hope you will find, in some sort, a solution of the problems you present. to begin with, the other evening he made a resume of the whole subject of matter and spirit, i was glad to listen, and now am the more so, because it may help you as an answer to your note of inquiries. he began: "what is mind } the simplest exposition is, that mind is a result. thought is born of the spirit and matter. given the spirit and the animal-man, the former acting in and upon, or, as some say, over shadowing the latter, engenders an activity of perception, cognition, with consequent association of the informations obtained, by comparison, contrast, reasoning; and thus man has a mind, memory, knowledge. mind thus becomes the instrument through which the soul takes cognizance of things, experi ments with matter. it is the antennae with which the soul seeks nutriment. " so our thoughts are born. they depend upon the heredity both of our overshadowing spirit and of our bodies. we may escape the easy, indolent following of the mere animal desires by giving the lead to the spirit, de veloping the consciousness of it, bringing it 88 by a life of work and faith to be an ever abiding presence witliin, so that it becomes no longer an 'overshadowing,' an 'over-soul,' but an active 'christ within us, the hope of glory'; an existing quality — not quantity — of eternal life. denying fate, we weave our destiny — the certain jfinal effect of ef ficient causes. "our destiny is in our own hands, if we have the will to do our master's will. the spirit ever stands at the door and knocks. conscience is the latch. every one can open the door by lifting the latch — if he will. jesus — the exemplified christ for us — stood among us, divine in and because of the per fection of the spirit. in this he was at one with the supreme, with god. the perfect spirit is the only — not the only thing, for spirit, although it is a substance, is no thing in the popular terms of matter — the 'only begotten son of god.' it is the 'man in our image.' to utterly quench this spirit, put out its lighting fire, is to 'die the death'; to abjure, to deny this spirit — this whole, perfect spirit, this whole. holy ghost within us — is to strive against and destroy the eternizing principle of our present life, and 7 89 it leaves us to go on in a purely human-animal existence, with the spirit grieved, though present ceasing to strive with us; and, finally, when physical death comes — or even before — the spirit 'returns to god who gave it.' the soul has committed suicide. 'and every one who shall speak a word against the son of man, it shall be forgiven him; unto him who blasphemeth against the holy ghost, it shall not be forgiven.' in such a case, what becomes of the result of the con nection of such a spirit and such a rejecting human-animal } there must be some effect caused by such a connection — the life lived, the body of desire, the personality. "the man-animal has lived, has been a person, has had an animal-soul, and, so far as the spirit has been resident, the beginnings of a human-soul. this animal-soul must have an existence hereafter, for it is a some thing; memory and remains of reason be long to it, but it is a shell — the spirit, the eternal fire divine, having been trampled out. it thereafter is an insane person babbling of illusion, a person obsessed of the past, possessed of a demon — his own. "to that incorrigible is reserved the 90 'second death,' the condition and effect of the 'sin against the holy ghost.' the quality of continuing, which gives eternal life, repudiated, has withdrawn itself. such a personality may linger long among the shades by the river styx, but having no obolus to pay charon, the ferryman, he wanders maundering on the shore. he is of those dead, according to st. john, to be 'cast into the lake of fire; this is the second death.' even in this life he is like the church at sardis, to whom it was said: 'i know thy works, that thou hast a name, that thou livest, and art dead.' but of the human soul, attaching itself to and so being eternized by the spirit that quickeneth, the savor of life unto life, it is said: 'he that overcometh shall not be hurt by the second death.' to him who overcometh his desires for the en joyment of the pleasure of sense as the end and purpose of this present life, who uses all things, without abusing any, as a means of clothing the spirit with the experiences of this life, enriching it with loving action, all things are given, even eternal life. spirit is that quality of the life of the universe, which is from the beginning — the everlasting. 91 the destiny of man is to become of that quality. as there is no annihilation of sub stance — only change of its forms — it follows that whatever is, was and shall be. it is for man to acquire the everlasting form, to gather the immortelle from the gardens of god. if the animal-man develops, acquires, or at tains to a spiritual -soul, which is of what may be called the divine quality capable of surviving without change of form — a son of-man become a son-of-god — the mortal will have 'put on immortality,' the everlast ing substance of life will have been absorbed, assimilated, by the man, and he will become individually everlasting. the son-of-david, descended of a kingly strain, of a peculiar people, was doubtless one among miuions in bodily perfection — a fit temple for the indwelling of the spirit of all life. it was objected by the pharisees that he ate and drank with publicans and sinners. this was after his body had been cleansed by the trials in the wilderness and perfected for the indwelling of the spirit by its thirty years' apprenticeship. his body became a temple through all the portals of which his spiritual soul shone in the splendor of the trans 92 figuration. he so overcame bodily condi tions that all men looking up to him may feel that kin-throb of the divine spirit of life, may become conscious of heirship with him to eternal life, and be free from the desires of the flesh by the inbreeding of that spirit! it is this spirit of all life which is the 'lamb slain from the foundations of the world ' by being embodied in flesh; which was in breathed 'in the beginning,' triumphing over its environment, arising from the cerements of burial, overcoming the illusions of man ifested creation, resurrected a redeemer; which in its perfection in the life, death, and resurrection of our lord we must seek, and, having found, shall no more see death. why did the spirit descend into matter? why this mystery of redemption 'into which the angels desired to look'.? if we, 'become as little children,' may make so great question ings; inquire into the genesis of man; seek to discover why the only begotten — the spirit — should be subjected to the created adam, and why the involution of the spirit into matter should include an evolution of the spirit out of matter, we shall enter the never-ending spiral of the circle which in 93 volves an evermore seeking for more life, and shall approach him not knowing what manner of man we shall finally become, but assured as we do approach we shall be like unto him. the divine order on earth, first natural then spiritual, resolves all things back as substantial spirit — the logos — though, as st. paul says, 'with much groanings of the spirit making intercession for the creature.' the ray of the spirit strikes the prism of this life, is refracted and separated into its con stituent colors, adorning the tearful sky of earth for the time, yet gathering all to itself 'when the storm of life is past.' "however hypotheses may differ as to whether any particular soul existing in the body came as a direct special emanation, or creation, from god into that particular body; or came through successive reincarnations from such a direct, though incipient, original emanation; or is an evolution from the prin ciple of life force universally infused into all matter, and at last, by progressive experiences, working its spiral way upward to him — the living head — finally to become a conscious, living, spiritual-soul, we may rest — italiciz ing according to the light received — with the 94 written: 'and the lord god formed man of the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of hfe; and man be came a hving soul.' when he shall so be come, shall he not be able to breed a strain of everlasting son-souls ? the effect of 'adam's fall' may cite us to the cause and light us to the remedy. the flood of genera tion from adam is turned back by the re generation of the spirit, as manifested in the christ. sin is generic. to be 'born in sin,' to be 'totally depraved,' is to be subject to the flesh — to the material — to be un regenerate. the development and realiza tion in consciousness of the spirit is a re demption from the flesh, a 'growth in grace,' an involution of the christ in man. in the spiritual-soul is the quality of eternal life, and in it resides the potency of all things. redemption from sin is the acquirement of the quality — the condition — of non-sinning; it is the 'new birth' by the regeneration of the spirit in man. this quality of eternal life is of individual experience, to be sought with patient obedience and courage. it is a state of being. will must join with desire and as piration to achieve it. it is a gift from above, 95 but its reception and realization in conscious ness is upon condition of earnest personal seeking — 'knock and it shall be opened.' simon, the sorcerer, could not purchase it. this individual responsibility to seek it can not be shirked or shared. neither custom nor fashion, authority nor servitude, can di vest the right or absolve from the duty of every one to strive for individual everlasting life. the acquirement of the quality of not sinning may be called the 'state of holiness'; as the personal consciousness of the incom ing of the spirit may be termed 'conversion ' — 'the new birth.' while heaven is a state of condition, not a place, what makes it is the quahty of the inhabitant. 'the kingdom of heaven is within you.' nature, with man a part, climbs without haste, irresistibly sure, to complexity, the final step embracing all before. there is naught in the universe which is not in man — its epitome, its mi crocosm the egyptian conceived the idea of the irresistible force of the spirit of life when he set up the sphinx — 'the champion spirit of the world,' 'with calm, eternal eyes gazing straight on,' and with nourishing breasts — 96 a symbol of the persistence and frultfulness of that force. "every atom of the universe, subject to the spirit of life, has an intelhgent purpose, adapting itself to its environment, pursuing that purpose in the way of least resistance. that intelligent purpose progressively be comes instinct, and, by heredity, perpetuates itself, with increasing tendencies as intelli gence accumulates, the fittest for the environ ment surviving. as instinct meets obstacles in its subservience to the persistence of force, endeavoring to obey this law of its being, reason is the result and reward. thereupon in his progress animal-man reaches up to and embraces psyche, the soul, as his help mate toward immortality. '*as psyche develops by experience with man, the time comes when she may exist alone, without the cruder grossness of flesh and blood as an informer and interpreter, and, with the spiritual body as her habitat, seek an ethereal home. can we conceive a higher intelligence than that force which pervades all matter — the divine wisdom in the life of the universe ? "why should not this life be aggregated in 97 the highest complexity of matter, man ? and, if it should be, why may not man be come conscious of its indwelling force and use it to discover and forward his own spiritual progress as an individual entity, to attain and be of the quality of eternal life — to be an everlasting immortal: and when he shall become and be such, why should he not be an intelligent force, as a radium of light, an electron permeating matter ? nor would it be in derogation of the possession by man of such immortality that he should finally deny to himself further en try into human life on earth, or to anew his experiences of the unrealities of material life, but should prefer to become a spiritual sphinx! to such an immortalized man life and death would be only changes of environ ment. "it is a function of such a soul to exist without the human body as well as within it. while the body is habitable the soul has the possible power of egress and ingress, and by means of that vehicle, by some called the astral body, it may assume bodily shape and presence without as well as when resi dent in the body. 98 "where was christ during the burial of his body? he, his spiritual-soul, was 'preach ing to the souls in bondage.' that highest spiritual potency manifest in jesus, the christ, was in him an embodied entity, being of the essential quality of eternal life. it was something, a resident, incorporeal substance. it existed on earth while his body was in the sepulchre — apart from yet of the body. it went into the middle under-world. hades; into hades, the world of spirits, where souls bound by affection for those yet living, where souls filled with the unsatis fied passions of life, where souls released from their bodies by untimely death through disease, accidental or suicidal violence — sent into hades 'half made up,' have not entered into their rest nor yet desire to enter therein, and so are 'in prison'; maybe, in course of purgation; to these the liberated christ, the spiritual personage, as a celestial presence, preached. he descended into hell — hades — and 'loosed those which were bound,' not to return to earth but to pass forward. he held the keys of both death and hades. lazarus went through the gate of death, but not of hades. when the stone was rolled 99 away from the tomb of joseph of arimathea, jesus went 'before them into gahlee,' as he had told his disciples and mary; and it is questionable whether his body of flesh ever after its entombment was seen by his disciples. his public work, his work for the ages was finished. upon the cross he had yielded up his life on earth with a recitative of the open ing cry of that singularly appropriate script ure, the twenty -second psalm: 'my god, my god, why hast thou forsaken me ?' that psalm, if read to its triumphant conclusion, vindicates his quotation from despair. while filled with the woes of the crucifixion, it was an adoption of the psalm as a prophecy, a last testament of his own character and final victory. afterward, in the garden, mary did not recognize him. to the two disciples, with him in a walk of threescore furlongs to emmaus, though their hearts burned within them as he talked by the way, he was not known save, at last, in the break ing of bread. then 'their eyes were opened and they knew him; and he vanished from their sight.' the same evening, in jerusalem, he appeared to the disciples, the doors being shut for fear of the jews, and the disciples, 100 though terrified, recognized the lord. a visitation was made by him in hke manner a week later. it was his speech which made him known to them. at the sea of tiberias, whither he went 'before them into galilee,' he was not at first recognized. upon the mount of ascension he ascended — disap peared in the air — 'in the clouds of heaven.' these manifestations as such were substantial. the idea that they were merely the visions of self-deluded and credulous persons is as chimerical as the phenomena doubted. must it not have been his phantasm, simulacrum, double, bodiless body, astral body — the spir itual body, under the control of his own conscious spirit, walking, speaking, eating even, substantially flowing out of his body of flesh and blood — of the whereabouts of which body conjecture has no facts to present. between the several separate times when he manifested himself we have no account of him whatever. st. john always speaks of his appearances after the burial as mani festations, revealings, of himself. "light is a force in motion; we do not see its shine save as its rays are obstructed in their progress and reflected; so spirit, which is a loi formless force, to be visible, must come in contact with, or invest, some material object. "as the imponderables, heat, electricity, magnetism, are resolvable into each other, are correlatives, there must be a matrix of them all, out of which they are differentiated by vibration — a mother of many children, a complexity of one in which they all reside. so it must be that there is a force of life be hind all motion, a life that vibrates through all the universe, in the vibrations of that force of life is the telegraph of souls — in and out of the body. may not the blood be vitalized by that force in motion, and that force be the thing which makes the difference between the living and the dead } he who has the power to put that force in motion may act as a battery and evolve and transmit it, 'for whether it is easier to say. thy sins are forgiven; or to say. arise and walk.'' but that ye may know that the son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins, i say unto thee. arise, and take up thy bed and go into thy house.' disease, the consequence and the burden of transgression (sin), the hireling of death, is the changing of the form of life, not its activity. the decay of one 102 form is the insurgence of another — a change in the direction of force, a transformation of motion. this constant progression of forms is the recurrent sowing and harvest — saturn devouring his children. the scenes are shifted, the play — the play goes on. each scene is prolonged until the part it localized is fully played out. rest is but the coming into equilibrium with the environment; and motion is only motion by relation. up and down are not opposed to each other. the balloonist is not conscious of moving as he rests on the bosom of the wind, except as he observes the earth beneath or the clouds about him. all earthly objects appear to rest as they yield to and are at one with the force which carries the earth in its orbit. gravitation is the seeking for harmony with the motion of force. the harmony of nat ure is the unity of direction of force. the re sistance of the air to force is the cause of its vibration as sound; the air is not the vehicle of force to carry sound: it is the resistance of the air to force which causes the vibration known as sound. behind all motion lies force — the divine energy. it may well be imagined that the various forms of force must 103 be conserved in one, of which they are but part and into which they may be resolved. each atom ceaselessly whirls within its sphere; the earth revolves about the sun, and the sun advances in step with a multitude of other suns on his grand round, followed by his courtier suite. may not it yet be found that the activities of all are as one, the mode of motion of the atom in its ratio the same with the shining hosts of the firma ment ^ it must be in the small as in the great. to find it is to unveil the infinite force, 'that power, outside ourselves, which makes for righteousness.' sin is want of con formity to that force. so love is the gravita tion of souls — toward god. "as it is the hinted suggestion of modern science that all matter may be resolved into one element, it is but a sequence that it is the evolution, the out-breathing, of an initial force — the one. if electricity is life, does it think ? no, the smith is behind the ham mer. thought is a force which can project a vibration. the thinker is the god in the machine. "all things are possible to the spirit of life — this out-breathed force — to be excited 104 to motion through man by faith. 'if ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed ye shall say unto this mountain: remove hence to yonder place, and it shall remove; nothing shall be impossible unto you.' such faith must be a force capable of exciting atomic action. may not atomic vibration be awak ened by the will of the spiritual minded .? "ordinarily we do not distinguish between opinion, belief, and faith. opinion is tenta tive; asserting a fact to be upon the known evidence, but with an implied reservation of final decision upon newly discovered evidence. belief rests upon the known evidence with a conclusive finding that there is no other variant, and this behef regulates conduct. belief, in the sense in which jesus employed it, has been defined to be 'that judgment of the human soul which vindicates the absolute verity of a suggestion; that condition of the fully enlightened soul which unhesitatingly recognizes such verity.' prayer, by a per son's concentrated contemplation of and ap peal to the supreme, is a means of lifting the soul into spiritual condition — one of the mind's athletics whereby the soul is prepared for insight, for strength, for help to believe, 8 105 through which faith may be obtained. there must be a consciousness of power in a man possessed of faith. it is the man who has received faith — the divine efflux of the spirit of life, the 'god in us' — who may remove the mountain. "'as a man thinketh, so he is.' the thoughts of god; who can think them ? they are manifest in matter — as above, so below; on earth as it is in heaven, in the small as in the great. "only as we are fitted hy condition^ so can we receive; and as we are able, so we shall receive. 'unto every one which hath shall be given; and from him that hath not, even that he hath shall be taken away from him' — that is, the unused capacity to have. " knowledge of the truth ' cometh not by observation.' it is the gift of the spirit. a kernel of wheat may lie for thousands of years in an egyptian pyramid, and when taken out may germinate and grow to a harvest. so may a soul in its fruition of this life lie in hades, and, retaining a fertilization of the divine spirit of life, in the ages, come forth into growth again upon the earth and begin anew its spiral climb to everlasting life. 1 06 ignorance is the home of the supernatural. there is nothing supernatural to the wise." my hermit is not a priest, nor is he a preacher. he's simply a thinker for think ing's sake, and a meditative talker. i put a question or two touching your inquiries, and out of the quaint fulness of his thought there springs the flow of words which i have pitchered from time to time and now pour out to you, until i am afraid you have dropped your cup from utter weariness. faithfully yours, gapri, italy, march 20, 190-. my dear : i see the dawning smile which ushers the awaiting dimple in your cheek, as you read of my enthusiasm for my dear hermit, when you remember the "waltzes, polkas, lancers, reels, and glides, highland, schottische, quadrille, gallops, slides, . . . how we danced them all!" 107 oh, how we swam and swirled with the swing of the viohn in valse bleu! "and it's all over now." . . . ? i am glad if you do remember, and if the smile shall ripple into glad, gay laughter when you think of the good times "o' life! we've had long together, through pleasant and through cloudy weather." but i hope it shall be ages before "in some brighter clime i shall bid you good-morn mg! you say that "at least the influence of the ancient will teach jne reverence for grave matters, if one is to believe what he says about the resurrection." there, i see cupid's bow pouted over little teacher's firm under lip as it closes over "grave matters." the earnestness of that straight guardian nose above bids me pause. if we really do believe in the life of the spiritual-soul apart from the body in an ascended christ, why not be cheerful about "one who wraps the drapery of his couch about him and lies down to pleasant dreams"? why always be going ''down to the grave," or be going to "the 1 08 undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns" ? for death **was not spoken of the soul," and "the grave is not its goal." as my ancient says, *' there is no up or down; it's all god!" what is the use of our tossing up the dirt in our road that we may walk in the falling dust? "pray, and in everything give thanks!" "joy in tribula tion," as a means if not a reward for well doing; and know that we are in the world to stay and see it out! why should we not run rejoicing as the sun of the morning than loiter with that dolly varden nun of the skies, "pale forweariness of climbing heaven"? "the laughter of man is the contentment of god !" the dying irishman who, when asked by his friend whether the mourners should drink the wake-whiskey going to or coming from the cemetery, answered, "whin goin', for i'll be wid ye thin," had a better com prehension of grave affairs than those lugu brians who are never so happy as when they are miserable, and who dote on the time when "the mourners go about the street and the grinding is low," the theological student who, when requested by his professor to give the exegesis of st. paul's exclamation, "now 109 death is swallowed up in victory," said, "there are two lessons to be drawn — one patent, the other inferred: one that death is swallowed up in victory, and the other that it is swallowed down." you have your choice! "oh, bold blue sky! oh, keen glad wind! i wonder me if this may be ? that some fair day, leaving life behind, our eyes shall view new land, new sea, so exquisite that, lo! with thrilling breath, we shall laugh loud for very joy of death." we will learn, "some sweet day," how to die as we now go to sleep; we will know, also, how to awake — and when! and this will be when we undoubtingly know "that life is ever lord of death, and love can never lose its own." the face of the comfortably dead is won derful for its peacefulness, its "strange aloof ness and preoccupation." "death smoothes the wrinkles of the past, and somewhat . . . reveals the child forgot." no i doubt if my hermit has given as clear a definition of faith as this, stated by st. paul: "faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen." hope ex presses both desire and expectation. you may desire, yet not expect. to expect you must have a basis of facts from experience sufficient to remove doubt from the mind, and this, with desire, is a reasonable ground for "things hoped for"; so, to have faith to heal or to remove mountains, you must also have in yourself the substance of things hoped for — the poiuer to do so, v^hich is "the evi dence of things unseen"; without that you cannot expect to do anything. i suspected you would be surprised by my old friend's matter-of-fact treatment of the resurrection of our lord. the truthfulness of the appearances to the disciples is shown by the ingenuousness of their narration, upon the assumption by them that the spiritual soul may exist and be visible in the spiritual body. he was dead by all the common tests of the time, but the power of resurrection was in the vitalizing energy of his will, which operated as a force to revive tissue. he had asserted his ability to rebuild the temple iii of his body in three days; it was rebuilt between friday evening and that sunday dawn when he came forth from the tomb, to the terror and stupefaction of his roman guard, which had been posted at the sepulchre to prevent his disciples carrying his body away by night. he, in his crucified body, went before them into galilee. he could not in safety have been seen by the jews of jerusalem, for the decree of death would not have been satisfied. many modern instances of both living and of recently dead persons projecting their "appearances" to a distance and being rec ognized and conversed with have been proved. there is a very old and famous tapestry in the galleria of the arazzi in the vatican which pictures the appearance of jesus to his disciples as a "shade." this shows that the artist who designed the tapes try sought to revive the idea conveyed by the new testament. when jesus appeared to his disciples in galilee, st. matthew re lates that "when they saw him they wor shipped him, but some doubted"; and st. john writes of the same event: "and none of the disciples durst ask him, *who art 112 thou ?' knowing that it was the lord." both st. matthew and st. john convey the idea of timorous apprehension on the part of the disciples at the sight of the appearance. t here was no such wonder, fear, or doubt at the grave of lazarus, or in the house of jairus, or in the street of the city of nain, when the dead were raised. he was not rec ognized as an actual flesh-and-blood man, but appeared with all the semblance of one, and invited the disciples to identify him as such, and not as a mere ghost of the imagi nation, when he came in unto them in jeru salem, "the doors being shut." you say: "if he appeared to his disciples as a mere shade, it takes all the force from the idea of the resurrection." but if it was an intelligent "shade" — the house of his mind, soul, the spiritual-soul in the spiritual body — does not that prove the existence of the mind, the soul, apart from the flesh-and-blood body, as an existing entity resurgent from the common clay, and justifies your faith in the christ as ever living? this imperial per sonage whose teachings, moral and ethical, are absolute edicts for all time, is and through the ages shall be a spiritual pres "3 ence ever living, preaching to all souls in bondage. you do not suppose that jesus in his body of flesh and blood ascended ? the material flesh-and-blood body of the son of mary was not the christ of your hope. that he w2ls able to manifest himself on earth as a living soul without that body is the proof of the immortality of that soul. you are becoming a real theologue when you follow up your first interrogatory by a socratian other: "if it be true that it was the 'spiritual-body' which ascended into the heavens, what becomes of the resurrection of the earth-body,?" let st. paul answer: "now this i say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of god; neither doth corruption inherit incorrup tion, "so also is the resurrection of the dead. it is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorrup tion; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body. if there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body. so also it is written, the first adam became a living 114 soul. the last adam became a life-giving spirit." so far as i am concerned, i don't care; earth to earth, dust to dust, and ashes to ashes with my body, so that i save my soul. "that which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the spirit is spirit." when titus burned to ashes the temple at jerusalem, and the blood of the brave and only death-conquered jews ran in floods about the holy of holies, it is said that, above the turmoil and roar of battle and flame, strange voices were heard in the air, sorrowful yet fateful: "let us go hence." you further say: "your hermit does not admit or affirm that he has ever lived in the flesh on earth before his present incarnation. if he affirms it, what reason has he to know it .? does he remember .?" no, he has neither admitted nor affirmed; yet he evidently beheves that he has. i think this because of his firm assertion of his belief in the fact of the reincarnation and progress of souls. if he did admit or affirm, what conclusive proof would that be to you or me ? we would not rest content upon the word of belief even of so good and sincere a man; 115 we must have proof — something tangible to our reasonable intelligence; and he fully realizes the futility of such a mere expression. i might answer your question by asking: how would he give you such proof? how could you verify his experience ? no doubt he feels many suggestions foreign to all his experiences in this hfe which determine his intuitive loves and his hates (if the dear soul has any hates, even for the saracens), so many hmitations and inspirations to feeling and conduct, so many susceptibilities, for which he has no cause or reason whatever, and for which he can look for their source only in a previous incarnation. my seer has passed that animal stage where thought is but the recurrence of fermentations of cellular conditions, evolving electrical currents in the billions of thought tracts with which a long excitation of sensory nerve action has criss crossed the brain, as the scientific mate rialists would have it. he has spiritual insight; his meditations are those of concen trated intellections. his is not "the ecstatic stupor of the cow . . . chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancies." he has come to himself and said, "i will go to my father," leaving ii6 the "husks that the swine did eat" — to — to those who hke them! i can conceive how a person may attain a clear consciousness, a knowledge of former lives, not derivative from memory, but ac quired by actual inspiration, which he may hesitate to assert. there are certain sacred nesses which the soul (as well as the heart) may not profane by speech. they belong to the experiences of that sixth sense my old friend talks of; are the revelations no man may utter; for words are but the angels of the soul and many of them are fallen. "see thou tell no man " was a prescription for healing of which jesus knew the psychical efficacy — the failure to follow which is the origin of doubt and then relapse. henry ward beecher once denounced as sacrilegious those familiar but good-meaning people who slap a person on the back and say, "how's your soul .?" you say you are afraid you would "lose identity when born again into a strange, new body." have you lost it in your present body ? do you think you are you now .? the physicists say that we renew our tissues, our bones even, every seven years. don't 117 you think your ego rather comfortably feels itself to be itself now after, say, three such renewals ? may i not venture to suppose that you vividly remember the personal events of your life, even some of your dreams, preceding all the three ? but it is not upon that remembrance only that you base your identity; it is rather upon your knowledge of the continued sameness, of the unintermittent continuity of your self. you may compare your states of mind and feeling now with those, let me suppose, of last september! but you will not, by the mere act of memory, assume to test your identity. that any thing is or was does not depend on memory. that you remember now depends on your present ability to reproduce the sensation of — of — our parting! that sensation may not affect you now, except as a passing memory — a has-been. you have spent one-fourth, at any rate, of your time in sleep; hke that church at sardis, you were living yet dead — asleep; yet your thinker knows itself to be itself after for getting itself for seven years of your present life. why should you fear to prolong that sleep, or to go to sleep and, when you awake, ii8 get into a new body as you shall deserve to choose; for it must be the logical conclusion of the aged one's doctrine of cause and effect, the sowing and reaping, that you will get your deserts — with some of us, that's the rub ! the genealogy of sin as an infraction of moral or physical law, under the operation of the rule of cause and effect, embraces the past as well as the present life, as shown by the story of the "man blind from his birth," concerning whom the disciples of jesus asked: "master, who did sin, this man or his parents, that he was born blind ?" the master answered: "neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents; but that the works of god should be manifest in him." thereupon he healed the man. but why the question ? it must have been upon the presentation of the blind man as an object-lesson of a previous teaching by the master, and was shown to be an exception proving the rule; the "sin" was an accidental sin, a prenatal mishap, for which neither the parents nor the blind man was morally responsible. i fear you will have to be content to believe that each soul must come to have within itself the subconsciousness of previous existence, 119 because any extrinsic record of a previous life on earth after a thousand years or so of "heaven" can hardly be preserved, and memory of the sensations of any previous hves on earth will only have as their heirs by spiritual heredity the unconscious suggestions they have in the present life. to a soul in born of the spirit of life there must come in some transcendent state of intellection a conscious continuity of individuality inde pendent of the shell-body, which, as in the hermit, knows itself to be itself — a child ever lasting from its progenition, and not a gross phenomenon of matter. solely because a man-animal stands erect on his hind legs, and, reasoning upon his experiences, feeds, clothes, and shelters him self, he has not a continuing "soul to save," nor can he "call his soul his own" so as to be capable of living endlessly; but to become so he must involve the highest into his lower condition by reaching up and bringing down into himself the spirit of life. "all good gifts come from above." evolution is a cry for help ! growth is the ability to add to one's self. my old philosopher and friend does not ignore physical heredity in his exaltation and 1 20 prophecy of the everlastingness of the spiritual entity; for, upon my suggestion that his genealogy of the spirit or soul in man ought to have some correlation in man's material body, to keep pace with his spiritual uplift, he said: "these bodies of ours are instinct with the man-animal germ since his emergence. each of the millions of cells in our flesh and bones has a history, and by specific functions of the brain carrying those sensations to the thinker a character has been formed by that history. this character is transmitted and specialized from generation to generation, and each, in its degree, is intelligently re lated to others and becomes more complex as well as distinctive — a microcosm of all past experiences — just as the thinker, the psyche, has its past history and character; with the vital difference that psyche has assumed control and wardship, and finally has outgrown the body." i can readily trace your wheat-gold hair, born of the sun and snow, nurtured by the winds of northern seas, to anglo-saxon an cestry, and there is a heraldry can blazon your title to that remote adam (or to those remoter adamses) who first stood erect and » 121 enforced service from all his congeners of the slime ? but you are an heir, a progenition, a composite picture of all the lives of your fathers who have lived during all the years since. i am sure yours is a noble strain of thinkers and doers. your psyche! alas, of what does it not assume wardship .? you know the story of psyche — the story painted on the wall and ceiling of the farnese palace .? it is of her triumph and translation to the home of the gods through the inter vention of cupid and her marriage to him. it is a personification of the soul perfected by love. shall not psyche, through love, create a new heaven and a new earth, and man, immensely gianted, become the sum of all creatures ? the conception of christ as the son-of-man is a prodigious step toward the realization of that final consummation. you "wish to know why man should not have been created a spiritual-soul in the first instance; why he was made 'a little lower than the angels' to begin with.?" and you add: "if he had been made perfect in the beginning, it would have saved a world of trouble." "well," as dundreary says, "that is another of those things no fellow can find 122 out" — yet! would you have him an angel? beware of lucifer! but you might ask why all flowers do not grow spontaneously in the air, or on your hat, and all of them your favorite roses! "why" is the word of curiosity, of prog ress, and in the long-run is answered; and that is what faith in god means — the as surance of the answer. the life of the uni verse is being lived; we can grow with it, or we can cumber the ground. you know the say ing, "a letter unanswered answers itself." all letters are answered in the progress of that life. the homely speech, "it will all come out in the washing," is but another expression of that common faith in the ultimate explana tion — the cleansing from all doubt. sj» 5j! j^c 3p "i* faithfully yours. capri, italy, april 2, 190-. my dear : this afternoon i wandered up my accus tomed route and had a seance with my ancient of days at his friendly door. all the 123 island is abloom, and was reflected in the cheeriness of him in whose veins the wine of life is renewed with the flowering spring. i do not wait for your reply to my last letter before giving you a new personal experience, and trying to answer how long a person's re incarnations were to be kept up "as a going concern," and what they have to do with the "spoilt child." from what i can make out from the de tached emanations, so to speak, of my old friend, rewards and punishments as we style them, cause and effect in his vocabulary, are meted out through reincarnations, and throughout them the human soul is ever helped toward perfection by the constant effluence of the life of the universe — the spiritual force of god. the survival of the fittest (the fightest, if you will) is but the selection by this force of the means of prog ress. it is a good deal like the scholar working his way, by excelhng in learning, to the head of his class with the aid of the teacher. the soul continually grows into the sacred image of the father — until it can say: "i and my father are one," and then the cycle of life on earth is complete. as 124 belief in eternal life — a self-consciousness of it — is the muniment of an individual's title thereto, so disbelief is a negation, a dis possession of it. yet an individual, self conscious of eternal life in himself, may seek reincarnation for the purgation of effects caused by his former lives. that is, an in dividual may be entitled to live everlastingly, but his happiness may require reincarnations to free himself from previous ill-doings — from the effect of "deeds done in the body," for it is by good deeds that every man is to attain happiness. reincarnation v^ill cease when the soul is in perfect accord v^ith the life of the universe — at one with god, and that at-oneness will be when it can be said of it as of one of old: "enoch walked with god; and was not, for god took him." was not jesus of nazareth a son of man become a son of god, an individual entity possessed of the quality of everlasting life, sinless as well, and, as such exalted personage, may he not, if he will, reincarnate in a human body as easily as he may dwell in the ether — in fine, may he not "come again".? general lew wallace would never consent to the drama tization of ben-hur for the stage until the 125 nazarene should appear only as a light, in which the lepers were healed, exemplifying the scripture that "in him was life; and the life was the light of men." i asked the hermit, "if the kingdom of god is within us, and is a condition of the soul, will that condition involve any powers, as of healing, or of obtaining knowledge, illumination of the understanding ?" he answered: "to attain that condition the first thing is to obey the command, 'love god with all your heart and your neighbor as yourself.' then there comes an effluence from the source of all life which transfuses and enlightens the soul. why or how i do not know; i simply know it is so by being con scious of its inspiriting power, which each soul must 'feel to know.'" "what is the effect upon one in his rela tion to his fellows ?" i asked. "well, practically, it is a prompting to go about doing good." "then," i returned, "i suppose a man, so conditioned, lives by what he feeds on, as 'every man is the son of his own works'; but has such a man any extraordinary, not to say supernatural or occult, power ?" 126 "that is a matter you will know more of when you attain to it," was his answer. but he resumed: "'eye hath not seen nor ear heard . . . the things which god hath prepared for them that love him'— and, my son, let me add, for them you love." i scarcely think his addenda was intended specifically for myself, but was applicable to one who should love his neighbor as him self; yet i doubt not that eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, the things prepared for him you love. he is a very loving as well as lovely old man, and was quite rhapsodical when he continued: "love is the universal harmony, the cohesive force of all matter, and in 'the sweet influences of the pleiades' all the stars of heaven feel its centring force; and why should the soul of man be ashamed to ac knowledge and glory in this power to love which centres in the very god ?" "then," i added, "it is worth while to love even for love's own sake." with a quizzical glance at me, he rejoined: "yes, if it will keep you in capri!" i sat there beside him, warm in the sun setting, for some time, thankful that the dear old man was in any wise pleased to have me 127 remain in the island, while the bhthe air over blossoming vines brought up the perfume of the springtime from the underlying vine yards, until, turning to him, i found him with closed eyes, relaxed at ease in his arm-chair, lapsed into a state of dreaminess with a seem ing consciousness that he was dreaming, to judge from the placid expression of his face. after a moment he awoke, to gaze at me with those illumining brown eyes as if to impart his dream; but with a smile of kindliness wrinkling up his eyes he only said: "i shall miss you." i thanked him for his interest in me, and, as the sun hovered over monte solaro in the west, bade him "good-evening," but lightly called back, as i descended the chapel steps, "i haven't gone yet!" i went down over the ruins some three hundred yards, and turned aside from the path once more to enjoy the extended view of the sea and island from the top of the old lighthouse perched on the cliff over the sea. climbing up, i sat there some time, content to inhale the gracious air, and, relaxed into a brown-study, to follow the wake of the sun as it led westward toward home and you, 128 when i distinctly heard a clear, bell-like voice exclaiming: ''oh, my beloved, come!" it was an appealing, assertive voice. i heard it not from without or from a distance, but as an articulate speech in my inner ear — at the spot in the brain where we do hear. aroused, i wondered if my seer was ex ercising one of his occult gifts on me; or was i becoming nervously excited by my night watches with him on the mountain, and my "subjective" was juggling with my "ob jective" in make-believes; or had i intercept ed some wireless telegram designed for some wanderino; lover ? — for the voice was melodious, of timbre feminine! really, would it not be something dizzily occult if one could only "hear what is whispered in the king's bed chamber" .f* i proceeded homeward as far as the little church of san michele, which stands at the north side of my way, near the town, and had sat down on the rude steps leading up from the road toward the church, when there came up along the steep ascent from the town my lady of the pillar in san stefano, also of the chapel steps and kodak — and, was it not, i wonder, of the cavern of the castiglione! 129 how comely she was in her simple, gray dress of woollen, on her head the ever-worn capri scarf of varied and bright hue, and on her feet the white cotton shoes with soles of hempen cord which cling to the rocky paths! as she approached with hesitating pause of recognition and inquiry, i rose with hat raised in respectful salute, to which she, in the musical italian aspirate, "ii signor!" re sponded, with a gentle inclination of her head, while her dark eyes, timorously confident of friendliness, held my salutation in privilege, as she stood with questioning lips apart. she, evidently, had not halted in dalliance or w^ithout the authority of purpose. now that she was near, facing me, i could see where the greek had left his modelled grace of form and strength of profile to wander down the years. a fine sensibility played about the corners of her mouth and eyes, the former responsive to the latter. imper sonality was in the atmosphere of her, yet with a pervading individuality giving strength and purpose, as if she put aside herself in the thought which preoccupied her or the message she had in charge. i stood thus, hat in hand, not a little in awe, before this admirable 130 epitome of historic capri, and was at a loss to imagine why so evidently she should wish to interview me. while the faintest blush hovered about her temples below her gray black hair, she began: "you have been with our friend, the hermit ?" she laid no emphasis on the "our," nor did she consciously use it as a confidence be tween us, but it was as a relation granted as of course, an indefinite adjective. "oh yes, i left him not a quarter of an hour ago. the descent is rapid," i answered. she continued: "are you going away .''" "away .? from capri, do you mean ? no." "i was told to meet you as you came down the way, and, if i could, ask you." surprised, i interrupted with: "you were told to ask me! who is so interested ? may i be curious enough to inquire who told you to question me ?" she smiled, and, with a lighting eye, an swered: "he did." "when?" "within the hour." "where?" "while i was at my home in the town. he 131 told me to meet you here and ask. shall i tell him you say, 'no'?" "certainly, if you are going up to villa jovis, and will be so kind — " "but 1 do not have to go up to tell him," she broke in. amazed, i stammered: "you — you do not have to go up to see him to — to tell him!" "no. don't you know?" "yes, i begin to understand. it is one of those things that 'eye hath not seen nor ear heard, prepared for — for them that — '" "yes! yes!" with radiant face, she in terrupted me. "he has been telling you." and, giving me a parting smile and bow, with springing step she passed on over the stone-paved way, and was at once lost to my sight in its near windings. thereupon, directly, i began the steep descent from the little church, and in a five minutes of slipping and sliding down the pitching grade of the stone pavement entered one of those long arcades between the houses of the town where, on either side, shops and children do most abound, and soon was at my hotel. heigho! capri is not "so far away," after all. 132 i hope soon to unravel the knitting for your entertainment. meanwhile i remain, as ever, faithfully yours, -, u. s. a., april 2, 190-. my dear : ^'you may fill the blank." it is already full in my heart. this is the first day of our spring vacation, and it brought v^ith it your dear letter of march 20th, while a few friends were with me at noon luncheon. the girls have just gone, and i have fled to my room, and in tears have read your every word. yes, indeed, i do remember the "good times "'o' life! we've had long together.'" and now, dear, i do not want to do anything in the world without you! i have suffered until i can endure it no longer. every letter you have written has been to me a reproach as well as a gladness. the world has seemed to be gliding from under me ever since you went away. i had lost gravity. some time ago, in one of your letters, you asked what was my "bitter disappointment," and i was not brave enough to tell you. you know, you and i always have been loyal comrades; and, unconsciously, or, as you metaphysicians say, "subjectively," i always must have felt that oneness of thought and sympathy with you which, ever since your departure "for rest from worrisome work," as you gayly put it, has come home to me as a possible loss most unbearable until i have become jealous of your hermit even. sincerity is evidenced by confession, and that is repentance. you alone can give me absolution. "mr. call," as you have been pleased to name him, caught my fancy as something new. he was evidently in earnest in his court, and i believed him — one of the "some i have believed." yet when he made his avowal, a few days before you left for europe, i found, to my surprise, / did not love him! i had fancied i did, and, frankly, this dis covery that i did not was a "bitter disap pointment"; for i was so fascinated with the 134 idea of being "in love" that when he "pro posed" i was dumfounded to find suddenly arise in me a deadly repulsion for him. a sudden realization of what true-love was took possession of me. he was an unknown quantity, an x, and i was no y, and we could not equal anything. not that there was any known objection to him! but an utter re vulsion seized me. it was as if he, a stranger, had attacked me. i hated him abhorrently; partly, i suppose, because i so hated myself for my total lack of self-knowledge. i did, in truth, all the while, love. my love was so perfect and it so rounded my days with such peaceful assurance that, without asking my self why, i found that i had treasured, not only your every word and look, but, with the tenderest care, as a matter of course, had pre served every transient note, flower, book, picture, and all that, which you had given me in the gayety and frank cordiality of our comradeship. but this episode brought me to my senses. oh, the pang of it when we parted in the sunshine at the gate! i had sinned against you — and myself. the spirit of love, grieved, was about to take its flight with you. 135 as we stood there in the glow of the parting day i felt the sun going down on my sin, and was speechless with the shame of it, knowing that you thought me disloyal to our unspoken past; yet you must have felt the truth! i know you did! i could not forgive myself enough to be frank with you — that was the "bitter disappointment," indeed. you would have pitied and forgiven me if you had known why, as you say, i turned from you and walked away so straight, without looking back, after asking you to write that i might know you were "all right." lot's wife saved me! now, dear, is it "all a puzzle".'' does anybody "trouble" you.? now! wont you "speak for yourself, john".'' dearest, with all my love, i send you many messages from my strong and constant heart. oh, my beloved, come! — when you will. auf wiedersehen. faithfully yours. the end ^i'limijiiiiilitt^if.?' seminary libra ries 1 1012 235 8232 150 ,i'::!!l':'i';l';-o>ii':;v'im'^;'''!'-^^^ '; '.■■■i\' illil l^!)7-i:;!ii^r:;;\l^:.'v>i:": ii, v; '!:■>• :;li! 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"•^vr>c,v * -^5>^v 1^ ♦z^^** (•4''^ x^ "^^ c° ♦* ^0 ^•^^^ '^..^^ /ax^ya'o "<:;.^^ .^ i. •• • 4 ^^ ^^ • ^ • ♦ "^^^ a*^ « " • ♦ < o-^-ijcj^ -^ ^«^' ka^^^^^ ^^'^9 the hermit of the pyrenees and other miscellaneous poems, wm. d. s. alexander. reprinted from the london edition v london : longman, brown, green, longmans, a roberts. 1859. \ im « « s the the p's^i &c ^^^-^^^ crr>^^^-->-c^ ss^ot^ ^^^9 thomas m'oill, printer, vtashington, d. c. the hermit of the pyrenees and othkr miscellaneous poems. % \vm. d. s. alexxlnder. heprinted from the london edition. london : longmax, brown, green. longmans, & roberts. 1859. entered according to act of congress, in the yjaklssq, by c. l. alexander, in the clerk's office of the district court of the district of columbia. t(.> charles dickens. esq.. the following pofms abe with his k i x 1) p k k m 1 js s 1 n bt the atthor. 1* contents. page. the heemit of the pyrenees ...... i part i. the hermit, and his cell in the tallej' of luz 9 '* 11. the ilermit and the man 19 " iii. story of the bear-hunter 35 " iv. the val d'osseau 57 •' v. story of marie d'aoste 67 '• yi. the peak of bagnieres 91 mijceliaxeous poems and sonnets ..... 109 1 1 to will thine eye look upon this mystic page ? and wilt thou know from whom these visions come ? or art thou so much changed since last we met that at this hour thou canst no longer tell what hand thus writes — what burdened heart pours out the current of its woe ? not as in former days can i now murmur forth a dulcet lay, or charm thine ear with glad enlivening song — the storm, the blight have entered here within, and all is bitterness where once was life and joy. x yes, i have suffered heavily and long, and still appears no end, no cheering goal, no welcome haven shining from afar, reward for present trial. all is dark. and through the deepening shades i wander on ! yet in my spirit burns a fierce consuming fire that will not rest, but ever and anon shoots meteor-like into the spangled heaven, then sinks again. the other stars are bright — no sympathy is there ! it ended all with thee. -my path lies through the wilderness of life, or mid its rocky mountains, cold and drear, thine, in the cultured gardens of the earth, where perfumed flowers and shady groves appear, and palaces disclose their marble fronts. the edifice /raised once on a time for thee hath fall'n to ruin, and ivy hath o'errun the spots where roses bloomed. l chance thoullt say it matters not how soon all trace is gout; but i can linger still about it with regret. xi art thou quite happy in thy present state ? surrounded by the riches of the world — doth not one thought of former days return, and hang upon the bright horizon, like a summer cloud to veil the blazing sun ? true, i have heard thee say thou wouldst look on the past as on a di'eam, all bodiless and light ! not from thy spirit came those thoughtless words : with all thy might thou canst not conquer thought ! and thought will wander back to scenes of former days. yet why to thee do i address these lines ? on which, perchance, thine eyes will never rest — and if they should, what follows? o'er the grave which will be opened in the past again wilt thou let fall one warm regretful tear? — i'll fain believe as much. and treasure up the flower that on the spot will raise its gentle head — one rose amid this wilderness to bloom and waft its perfume through the chilling air! . . peace ! the thread i weave breaks in my hand — farewell i the )^4r ^ ilt^tn'is o£ fiit fountains. note. at the south-eastern extremity of the beautiful valley of luz, in the pyrenees, upon an eminence, rises an old and half-ruined tower, which, it is said, was for a number of years tenanted by a lonely recluse. introduction. -»•► still, mighty mountains ! still my fancy flies back to the clime where you sublimely rise, robed in dark cloudy mantles and ice-crowned — befitting sovereigns of the plains around ! from east to west your serried ranks extend, and with the skies above their glories blend ; now lovely in rich verdant slopes and woods where beauty wanders and where silence broods, now gently sinking into valleys, meet, to be for love or age the calm retreat : now terrible in dismal waste or steep down which the angry torrents madly sweep. burst from the towering cliff in foaming surge or thunder through the dark and hollow gorge ; — where desolation, nature's anarchy. revels and mocks at order's monarchy. such wondrous scenes, with ever-varied hue, rise like enchantment to the stranger's view ; 4 the hermit of and, if his soul at grandeur in him glows, around his glances with delight he throws ! imagination, freed from meaner things. soars proudly upward on its eagle wings — surveys the cataract, the verdant vale whose balmy odours rise upon the gale. or broods majestic o'er some precipice belted with clouds and capped with glittering ice, where angel ministers alone have trod in blest communion with great nature's god. what voice of earth could raise its feeble key to the full compass of a melody that in its golden and inspired flow might all the overwhelming wonders show which, ever-loved and glorious mountains ! you within your granite bosoms hide from view ? not mine the power to raise this mighty song, and o'er our land its thrilling notes prolong : not mine to sing the splendours of a clime where beauty sits upon a throne sublime — beneath a sun, displays her radiant smiles, unfelt, unknown in our cold northern isles. wake ! ye that slumber on from hour to hour and know not beauty in its pride and power ! ■ awake, and worship at those cloud-capped shrine.s whereon a never-dying grandeur shines ; the pyrenees. 5 where i have worshipped and inhaled a joy whose memory no time can e'er destroy — sweet as rich nectar in the brimming bowl w^as that blest draught to my enraptured soul ! rise from your too voluptuous revels, ye pale children of that false fiend luxury, whose hours are barren as a waste of sand when the tide-wafted waters leave the strand — whose days too oft are nights — whose nights are days consumed amid the empty dazzling rays of gilded lamps that shed their light on courts. or baser temples where foul crime resorts. awake ! ye in speculation bold, whose thoughts are wealth, whose only god is gold ! wake to the true one ! who deigns not to dwell where men their souls and bodies buy and sell ; nor glitters in the myriad shining gems that deck profusely pleasure's diadems — awake, i say, worldly ones awake ! and pilgrimage to nature's altars make. there worship him at whose pervading voice the hills and valleys tremble or rejoice ! majestic mountains ! i have known you long and cling yet to you with affection strong : my fate hath snatched me from your rugged breasts yet with you ever my crushed spirit rests — 2* 6 the hermit of the pyrenees. in daylight roaming 'mid your solitudes near roarinoj torrents or in trackless woods : at evening, like a spectre pale and dim, stealing among the shadows dark and grim of some exalted peak, or erring now through the cold moonlight on the glacier's in ow. nature ! — mother nature ! — 'tis to be more than thrice blessed thus to worship thee ! could i into thy lap pour all my years ! that certainty would soothe all future fears ! ope then thine arms ! let me not call in vain, and take me faithful to thy heart again. receive me with thine aspect grand yet calm ; much need have i of thy restoring balm to my world-blighted powers, or how essay to weave the thread of this fantastic lay — this mystic floweret culled upon the height from whence the eagle spreads his wings for flight. combine, nature, with true poesy, that not in vain my arduous task may be — that to my listeners i may show how faith and holy love can conquer even death. ill; his cell ix. the valley of luz. 9 i. none knew the dwellfer on that rugged ^tee]). yet all regarded hmi with fear. hi^ dark expressive eyes shone w^ith a melancholy light, like those fair golden stars, distant and wonderful, vvhich rouse our speculation as ave gaze — . they were like those bright worlds men seek in vain to fethom, and yet their lustre pleased, for, though their rays w^ere mystery, tliere was a meaning in them felt by all. arching those soul-lit orbs arose his pale and intellectual brow. wide, high, majestical, and ploughed with lines of ponderous thought, or deep and untold grief. so looks the mighty portal of some time-hoary edifice, more deeply beautiful by ruin made. upon whose massive moss-grown front we seek the history of bygone days. p 10 the hermit of each feature of his face most eloquently spake to all who know to read the human heart ; but unto those dull souls who look not farther than the surface, nor care to sound the depths, — to them the hermit stood alone, mysteriously apart from every other of his mortal race. his dark beard low depended, like his locks, with here and there a thread of silvery white to prove that time had joined hands avith sorrow — this only, and no more. tall was his stature as erect he stood at morn upon some lofty pinnacle hard by his lonely cell. and seemed a spirit for a better world invoking pardon on this harmful one. neglect is but a sloven, not a man, and in him showed not ever. his garb was neat but plain, in colour stern, close fitting to each limb ; coarse sandals clothed his feet. simple his habits as his neighbours poor, who gazed with reverence on him from the fair vale beneath. hast thou e'er wandered on the sea-washed shore, the pyrenees. 11 mid broken rocks and caves, in classic italy? (while listening to the music of the waters, and meditating 'mid the ruins strewn everywhere around) perchance thine eye hath lighted on a column. standing alone; no object of its kind * afar or near. how fair it looks, so desolately left upon the shore ! unscathed its marble pride. save in its whiteness which the sun and time have softened to a rosy hue. on high it rears its sculptured, lordly head. a perishable thing although it be, around it clings the glory of its race to make men marvel thai it should be there. so stood the hermit of the vale of luz, at morning seen upon the mountain height. struck by the majesty of form and look, the traveller paused, and, wondering, gazed upon him; but to the questions " who and what he was ?" " why lived he life of barren solitude ?" answer could none. they loved their hermit, said the simple swains. supplied with care his humble wants. but knew no more. 12 the hermit of they dared not question him themselves ; enoiigli indeed that lie had deigned to choose their valley for his home and shroud them with his blessing. he was a mystic spirit that sometimes came and sometimes went, whither, they could not say. for days and weeks together they missed his godlike figure from the hill and prayed for his return. when he once more appeared their hearts felt gladness at the sight, and shone the sun yet warmer on their valley. strange are the tales they of the hermit tell to the rapt, listening stranger. at evening seated by the peasant's hearth on the dark mountain side. god shield him in his need! he was a holy, self-denying man. his way of life well proved ; but what he once had been none dare to risk surmise : had he been guilty of the deepest crimes the world's black records own all must be pardon' d, thought they, long ago. years had he lived within yon ancient tower that crowns the lofty eminence the pyrenees. 13 at the east end of luz's smiling vale ; and when ho first appeared they could but ill remember — could fix no certain date — he always had been there, they thought, — at least as far adown the slopes of time as their own days extended. all was deep mystery concerning him ! if of another world, as some believed, he was no evil genius, sure they felt. for since he hither came they had no cause to grieve ; all prospered wondrously ! their harvests were abundant, pastures fine, and flocks and herds increasing. year after year in greater number strangers poured their vast riches in, and generous plenty came to drive lean poverty in shame away unto less favoured scenes. yes, they all loved their father hermit well, and he for them felt love, or wherefore choose their valley and abide in the grey, ancient tower? he ne'er would leave them till the mystic hour that saw his mission to the earth fulfilled, 3 14 the hermit of and then perchance to thenupturned eyes his spirit-form would reassume its shape, and wing its flight upon the rushing wind to paradise and god ! spirit or man, his nature was most strange. the food up carried to his lonely cell accepted was, or with a gracious smile, or a few gentle words that fell harmonious on the bearer's ear, sometimes did he refuse and close his door, announcing near departure; but there 'twas ever left till eagles, or the prowling hungry wolf consumed the proff'ered fare. hunters adventurous on the izard's track, that climb the icy peak at early dawn, or brave the dangers of the glacier's snows, with fear declare to have encountered him gliding majestic o'er the frozen mass. unshaken by the terrors of the way. would they to speak to him have dared ? not even for their lives ! once on a time, they say, a bold man raised his voice to question rudely why he wandered thus upon the virgin snow? the hermit's eye upon him glared the pyrenees. 15 so piercing and so stern that the rash hunter quailed beneath its awful fire. he turned away and fled; and, struck with terror, heeding not his steps, fell down a yawning gulf to rise no more ! in pleastng contrast, others will relate how, when black night descended o'er the world robed in the vapoury mantle of the storm, and summoned forth the winds that eager watch, like mischief-laden fiends, to spread alarm and dire confusion far and wide — when the big echoing thunder sent its mighty notes abroad, and lightnings curled like fiery serpents down the mountain flanks with awful glare and crash — as from the summit of the peak. beneath the self-same stroke rolled the tall hoary pine, the riven granite rock plunging into the boiling torrent deep ! — when the poor traveller, stumbling on his way, faint with his efibrts, and with terror wild, sought the lost track in vain. and, yielding to his fate. sank slowly down to die — in that nigh fatal hour 16 the hermit of the pyrenees. the hermit suddenly beside him stood, spoke words of comfort sweet, and lending to his aid a stalwart arm. raised the poor drooping wretch to lead him from his flinty couch of death, and its cold shroud of snow, back unto life, his children, and his home ! did they not bless him for such acts as these ? ay, fervently ! and when at evening shone his lamp of watchfulness — perhaps of prayer from the grey time-worn tower, upward their eyes they turned to the pale gleaming star. and then, above it, to the ethereal vault, as if to marvel which of those that burned amid the countless thousands bright and fair had thus so near them come ! m 3* 19 ii. sweet vale of luz, fairesf among so many passing fair ! when first i saw thee, by thy glowing charms my heart was won ; and now my memories wander back to thee, like care-worn pilgrims of the olden time laden with offerings to their favourite shrine. i'll raise thy much loved picture from the dust long years have strewn upon it, and once more thy beauty show in its own wooing form. who can forget thee, fair smiling valley ? watched by thy mountain brothers, whose huge arms close linked, protect thee with a jealous care : so slept the virgin in the warrior camp in the old time of strife and mail-clad men : so 'mid the ocean's stormy billows hides some golden isle, a speck of paradise. luz ! thou art girt by giants : their proud crests, towering aloft, the stranger spies afar. 20 the hermit op and marvels that a thing so fair as thou could nestle in such bosoms. yet paint we beauty in the arms of mars ; and vulcan's fingers toy with venus' locks — yea, ugliness itself will woo and win if but the power of soul be there to arm the tongue with eloquence. hail to thee, luz ! as through the hollow gorge of pierrejitte we approach, hoav sink our hearts within us at the sight ! on either side, a thousand dizzy feet, huge walls arise and form a mighty porch to greater terrors as our steps advance. so dark the chasm, so grim, so menacing — earthquake, who made it, must lie sleeping there ! in such a doorway might death's angel stand with outstretched dusky wings. to sweep all bold adventuring mortals down ! in such a doorway (did it lead to hell and not the smiling heaven that lies beyond) might the grim beldam, sin, sit with her bestial train in conflict horrible. but onward now we toil, and turn and wind, and wind and turn the pyrenees. 21 upward and upward still. above our heads stupendous mountains meet in tlie embrace of titans, casting deep shadows down — now they retire a space and through the momentary 'gap a cheering beam from heaven descends. thus to the mind of man, through error's clouds that gather round his steps. will truth and eaith appear, and fill his being with a blessed light ! could he be satisfied to rest him there, all would be well — but, no ! the tortuous path still tempts him, and the cloud again surrounds his way. on ! on ! where tread we now ? where once the eagle scaled with wide expanded wings the towering cliff, and taught her eaglets from their eyrie first to trust the void and gaze into the sun. man hath fought nature in her wildest haunt and conquered here ; not for one footing but for many feet support he finds ; and where the vast abyss profoundest yawns he spans it in mid air. one light and graceful arch, 22 the hermit of and we look danger in the face and smile, as she, abashed, steals through the deep'ning gloom in the fierce cataract that boils beneath. e'en thus strong will can force a passage through the rocks of flint adversity uprears. despair may like a frightful chasm gape, but resolution throws the bridge across. and now, sweet luz, thy charms salute our gaze, and the past terrors are forgotten, all. lovely vale ! who would not brave e'en more to be rewarded with a smile from thee. and hang upon thy bosom fair ? fragrant and fresh, thy breath is e'er the same, when first thou wakest up at dewy morn to the warm kisses of the amorous sun. or veil'st thyself at eve to rest in peace. through thy pure veins abundantly rich streams of life and health pursue their playful course — and the green flowery meads, the waving sprightly trees, thy flocks, thy herds, thy people — all, all alike rejoice that thou art theirs, and they are thine ! lovely, happy vale !• and happy ye that call yourselves her sons ! the pyrenees. 23 't is summer, and the day is hastening to its close. from the great western ridge the shadows softly steal down to the cheerful vale, like the first shades of grief on youthful innocence. unreached, the old grey tower exalted on its rugged eminence. clothed in full radiance yet, looks boldly o'er the scene in the calm pride of age. he, too, is there — the hermit, the lone man mysterious ! see where he stands upon the threshold of the low gothic door, down gazing with those star-like eyes into the depth below ; and now he raises them to heaven. now sadly turns them to his narrow cell. while on his countenance the thoughts within work fitful change — now pale, now red. and pale again. see ! his lips move,, and thus the inward tumult finds vent in words : — 24 the hermit of " so dies another day after short cheerful life ; and in the aspect of yon western heaven i read the coming glories of to-morrow. how many times have i thus seen the light die and give promise of as fair a dawn ! nature can change her aspect with the seasons, now frown or gaily smile, feel warm as love, or cold as yon wild hills that in the distance chill me with their ice. but i who live and wear this human form must ever be the same. unchanged, unchanging till the hour of doom. " how many, gazing on this scene of day's departing glory, in themselves would thus be tempted to exclaim : — far better to be blotted out for aye, with every imperfection, than to bear within one's bosom the immortal, spark which never can expire ! "a retrospect of days can make the strong man weak, or give the weak one strength : thrice happy he who wandering back, in thought, along the placid stream of well-spent hours sees heaven reflected there ! the pykenees. 25 to him the present, like yon western sky, glows with the radiant promise of the morrow ! his thoughts, like mountain summits, far above the storm-racked surface of the world, arise to catch the gorgeous sunset's myriad hues. death, like calm night, comes down free from all terrors, cloudless and serene ; faith,-like the moon, a silver radiance throws upon his rest, and his good actions all shin« o'er him like the stars — thus blissfully he sleeps to waken with the glorious morrow's dawn ! " our doubts and speculations are as chaff blown in the face of heaven. to be returned upon ourselves ! — philosophy ! thy praises have been sounded forth to men, by their own tongues, in languages of iron and of gold ; and, casting back our eyes to where the mists of time are thick'ning most, loom the pale phantoms of thy votaries, sages and rulers in long ages past, whose names shine out upon the night of time with lustre, though subdued, magnificent as the great galaxy of heaven ! — philosophy ! i 26 the hermit of it was thy precious lamp, tliey said. that lit them hence. pale, feeble light to that which blazes now ! yet in these days — these final days — a little ere the last great change shall come — men fly from faith to thee, or shelter error in wild theories, false as themselves and barren ! philosophy was dead, or should have died. with the old era in the new-made man — what need for her and him ? the moon for darkness and the sun for day shine both at once, the weaker light must pale into eclipse. man ! vain man ! vain world ! vain empty things born of her labouring womb, confusion is your name, and ye shall be confounded in the end, and scattered all ! " why did i leave thee, world, and hither come an outcast and a wanderer ? because i loved thee and found no return ; because i trusted thee and found thee false ; because i dreamt of freedom and found chains 1 would not drag, and call their clanking music — because i saw, amid thy storms and wrecks, the pyrenees. 27 a mighty trutli wliicli men essayed to teach, but only darkened with their cavils, surmises, wild imaginings; heart-coldness all, and narrowness of mind. i saw with mine own eyes, halo'd with light celestial. that open way which others would allow but took not, and i raised my voice to speak what i believed. — then persecution came. my crime, the crime of all who dare to utter what the heart can feel 'mid the assenting crowd that fear to own the truth lest lip of scorn against them curl, or the sharp stinging lash of ridicule assail their fame. thou tyrant. fame ! that in the breast of man canst stifle conscience and the voice of truth — of truth that cheers him through the light of faith !— i would not bear this stain, and fled. . " ye mountains and ye valleys ! now for years my refuge and my home, that peace which dwells not in the world i sought and found in your wild bosoms — through the elastic air my spirit soars 28 the hermit of with a new life from ye to liail its god ! blessed solitudes ! delightful haunts for the heartweary wanderer, the worn and sick of soul ! do i regret thee now, thou outer world ? — the prison-house wherein my spirit pined like the poor captive in his narrow cell — here i least am free — i breathe ! " yet was there one alone, e'en there, with whom i dreamt of lil^rty. and love, and happiness — vain dream ! her heart, that i had deemed so rich, contained mere dross ! it would not stand the test true gold will bear, but softened and grew cold with but a show of trial. ida ! hadst thou listened to my voice at the last moment, what might now have been thy portion ! in thine eyes seemed mirror' d heaven, yet they could not see what mine perceived, and their dark lashes fell to rise on me no more ! . . . pale rose ! thou droop 'st upon the desert's edge, striving to bloom amid thy beauty's wreck ; — oh, when the flood from this wide mortal sea shall set in all ita force on that far shore. the pyrenees. 29 may i be there to gather up some leaves its waters shall have wafted ! . . . . " slow sinks the sun beneath the western range ! like to some mighty sovereign of the earth who feels his splendours hastening to their close, yet to the last would make his subjects feel he wa§ their emperor, and king, and lord, — though fading fast still keeps his royal state. and 'mid its lustre stalks away from sight, the memory of his exit leaving long its hues upon admiring multitudes. " i must begone this night ! farewell, thou peaceful vale ! thou happy cell ! farewell, perhaps for ever ! if i return i'll love thee as of yore ; if not, my memory and my spirit shall yet hang about thine ancient ruined walls. and men shall point to thee, and call thee mine." night steals into the valley, and its shades ascend each mountain to the highest peak. then leap the void to summon forth the stars — obedient they appear ; and, last of all. the silver-crowned queen withdraws her veil to look with envy on the scene below, so calm in its repose. 4* 30 the hermit of wakes there not one witliin yon lowly liuts whose thoughts display pale images of sin ? no ; all are wrapped in sleep, the sleep of peace and calm content that feareth not the dawn. a beam falls on the tower, streams through a loophole in its time-worn flank, and shows a hard low couch, a table and a stool ; upon the table rests an open book. and blazon'd on the thickly worded page doth revelation shine ! but he who wanders through the long still night. and reads those wondrous words — where is he now? his steps are in the valley. — no one hears, for like a spirit from another world he wanders through the silence of the night. and now the entrance of the pass he gains, but pauses ere he seeks its midnight depths, to cast, perchance, a last regretful look up to his dwelling on the moonlit rock — his home for many years. while thus he stands and breathes a last farewell. an echoing voice resounds through the still gorge beyond, chanting a cheerful lay, and a tall figure soon 1 the pyrenees. 31 comes gaily up the path : 'tis pierre, the hunter. not a better man draws breath in all bigorre. he sees the hermit as he stands display 'd in the cold moonlight, and at once his song ceases in mid career. — he lowly bends and blessing asks of him -he meets, which freely is bestow m in solemn silence, and they part each on his several way. few konw the hermit of the vale of luz, but pierre well knows him — hath conversed with him and seen him in his cell. why favoured thus and how that favour won the following tale shall tell. the stoky fsl »141=s3i3iril» 35 iii. thy valley, campan, oft hath been the theme of thin§ own native poets' glowing lays : romance in thee hath found a happy site whereon to build her structures light and fair ; if i, too, place thy name upon my page, 'tis to recall the many joyous hours 't was once my lot to while away in thee. nor first nor last art thou amid thy sister vales that cluster round thee in profusion rich — thy beauty hath a quiet tone, and takes us not by storm at the first careless glance, but steals upon us as we follow up thy varied course and know thee more. so in this changeful world, amid the loveliness that meets our gaze, some silent beauty moves, scarce noticed at the first. but, as we wander through the dazzling groups, her grace and gentleness attract our eye : 36 the hermit of then by degrees, as we peruse her face, she gains upon us with her softer charms and steals into our hearts. near where sainte marie from her ancient tower uprears the cross which doth redeem mankind, and hath assembled round her sacred fane a few stanch children of the quiet vale — above the rest, upon a grassy slope, pierre's humble cottage stands. a hundred years have passed and left unchangec its roof of slate, its walls of uncut stone, its lowly porch, and garden strip, and field where grows the red-eared corn, the peasant's prop his fuel, bed, and food. lord of the small domain his grandsire tilled, with honest pride he looks upon his own. and feels that freedom independence gives. best boon from heaven to man ! liberty ! thy name is holy in the mouths of those who truly breathe thine air — who gaze around and mark the dread oppressor's hated track amid the sighs and tears of nobler natures than his own. how many boast of thee who know thee not ! rear altars to thee — heap upon thy name 1 the pyrenees. 37 their mockery of praise ; their savage deeds, which shock the world and heaven, daring to justify by thee ! shameless falfn are they that can pervert thee thus, and dip thy white robe in a sea of blood ! degenerate france ! this act was thine : and to the end of time it shall cling round thee like the poisoned garment that robbed great hercules of strength and life ! in contrast fair shine the long glories of the elder time when heroes fought and died for liberty and home. and, later, when the lofty patriot, tell, with all his brethren brave, trampled proud tyranny for ever down, and taught the world what virtuous freedom was. yes ; to the stalwart, noble mountaineer freedom is life ! he breathes it from his birth in the fresh joyous air that sweeps his native vales. and to his manly limbs a vigour gives so wondrous, so enduring. who dare oppress the haughty mountain child ? answer, proud austria ! whose hands are stained with tyrolean gore, shed in defence the hermit of of home and kindred. and, imperious czar, whose barbarous hordes, like hungry wolves, have sought the life-blood of circassia — hast thou succeeded in thy dark designs. and forced thy yoke upon her freeborn neck ? vain the attempt ! she mocks thee from her hills and rolls her rocks upon the wretched slaves who do thy hateful bidding ! ^ a hardy son of mountain soil was pierre ; the hero of his vale for many acts of unrecorded might. and daring, that would put to shame those feats which in the world obtain both fame and high reward. comely in feature, and in stature tall, active as izard, strong as wolf or bear, few could compete with him, and none excel in those time-honoured trials of manly strength which oft at eve upon the verdant sod assembled youth and age. and when the gfaloubee, with thrilling note. and deep bass ta7nbourin, aroused the vale upon some festive morn. first in the field was pierre, in gay attire. to lead the dance, and win from her he loved. sweet katinosse, the belle of campan fair, a smile of fond return. the pyrenees. 39 where heaven the precious gift of strength bestows, its far-seeing wisdom adds thereto a soul of lofty, generous nature, that such gift may nothing lose, but all its value prove. so with our hero, pierre. though envied all his agile, iron frame, with pxide and joy they owned him for a friend. and praised his daring and his matchless skill in the chase perilous or festive sports. more than himself they felt and owned his worth. and yielded to his voice in all dispute without dissenting word. full oft would some aspiring youth up to pierre's cottage take his way, and learn a lesson from his exploits, told with frank good-humoured warmth. in many hearts his graphic words have lit a fiery ardour for the dangerous life 't was his delight to lead ; and many a simple swain, from his instruction and example. won for himself the hunter's dear-bought fame. thou monster of creation, grisly, huge, that mankind flee with hatred and with fear — bear of the pyrenees ! for cruelty surpassing all thy kind — 40 the hermit of wliat havoc made lie in tliy horrid ranks, that, ere his time, spread death and terror round, a thousand tongues can tell. oft from the lonely valley, far remote, uprose the cry of woe : sometimes for cattle, fall'n an easy prey. sometimes, alas, for human victims too. ''the bear! the bear!" and pierre is on the track. perchance attended by a chosen few hardy and brave, but oftener still alone. nor gives he ground until the foe is slain. what tales are told within his native vale of desperate daring, such as ears of men scarce heard before ! how he would crouch inside the fatal cave. whose rocky floor was paved with mangled bones that told a dismal tale. and there with knife or gun (such weapons frail !) await the night and grisly enemy. he hears him come at length — one shot, one deadly stab, and soon he falls. gasping his life away with savage growls. and tearing at the ground with vengeful claws in impotence of rage, whilst calmly stands his conqueror. the pyrenees. 41 hail ! beauteous efforts of creation's skill, izard and bouquetin called, clean limbed and light ! harmless and gentle as the timid hind, ye fly the face of man to climb the highest peak of alp or pyrenee. how wondrous to behold at early dawn — the season of alarm to all your graceful kind, for then the hunter notes the doubtful track of feet that scarce leave impress in the snow — how wondrous to behold your headlong, bounding course. knowing not pause or stop. o'er the blue chasmed ice, or broken, jagged rocks. or where the precipice, with sudden dip, looks down a thousand feet ! descent thus terrible affrights you not ; death is behind, life hangs upon your speed ! down, down ye plunge amid the rattling crags, where foot of man would vainly seek a hold. soon far beyond his reach i at early morn, upon some peak remote, whose shield of ice reflects in roseate hues the rising orb of day. how fair to view those light and graceful forms 42 the hermit of in bold relief stand forth against the sky ! with outstretched necks they snuff the passing breeze, to danger e'er awake ; and should it lurk afar, and they detect the well-known savour, vain the hunter's toil i they vanish as a thought of beauty we neglect to seize. yet often have i seen, despite instinctive caution and quick fear. the murderous rifle-ball o'ertake the herd and lay its victim low. poor timid thing ! each deep convulsive throb seemed a reproach to man that he must fain destroy a life so sinless and so free. e'en here triumphant love asserts his sway ! lo ! while one victim bleeds the loving mate checks her wild flight, wherein her safety lay. to mourn his loss, until another ball mingles her ebbing life with his. great lesson for humanity ! if brutes can feel devotion such as this. what should not man ! whose godlike form and ' sense place him so far above them. yet his hand too oft, alas ! divides the holy cord whereon are strung affection's precious pearh but to our hero, lion-hearted pierre, the pyrenees. 4o avhose exploits are our theme — whose iron nerves, oft put to fearful proof, never such trial or such horror knew as one too dreadful day — a day deep graven on his memory in ^characters as lasting as his life. • winter's stern chilling glance usurps sweet summer's smile, that like a timid laughing maid hath flown to hide her face until the beldam w4iom she fears shall pass upon her way. in vain the wandering eye surveys the mountain and the misty vale for one lone spot of green whereon to find relief from the cold dazzling snow : all sparkles bright around, dreary, profoundly deep. save where some pointed rock, or precipice stupendous, rears aloft its black and dismal wall, frowning like crime on gentle innocence, that, robed in white, smiles calmly from beneath. 'twas early morn when pierre his cottage left in campan's snowclad vale. 44 the hermit of to track a foe whose claw-defended feet had left tlie impress of their power and size both far and near. untiring in exertion, afternoon found the bold hunter distant from his home. but still no nearer to the prowling brute whose death he sought. in vain with anxious eyes he looks aroun-d — ascends the cold grey rocks, or peers into the chasm — loses the track — recovers it, and wanders here and there. impatience and vexation from his lips at length find vent in words, and, muttering curses on the shaggy game, reluctantly he yields the long pursuit and homeward turns his steps. t:he chase hath led him to the giant ridge that hides sweet luz, and near to barege famed. whose roofs, scarce rising 'bove the drifted snow, beside the angry torrent might be seen down in the deep, dark, dismal vale beneath. both cold and bleak the dreary mountain waste on every side extends, and the sharp northern blast uplifts its distant voice to howl hoarse warning in the traveller's ear. the pyrenees. 45 but imappalled is pierre, and onward wends his way, dreaming of home and katinosse, his love, whom he ere long will lead, a happy wife, to cheer his lone fireside. sudden he stops upon the yawning brink of a tall precipice, and gazes dow^n into a gprge two thousand feet below — there, on the dazzling surface, closely grouped, a troop of izards seek their scanty food ^ beneath the freezing snow. the hunter's bold heart leaps within him at the sight ! and disappointment and his previous toil are soon forgotten, both. his gun is primed, and down upon the ground he drops, that thus he may observe unseen, and measure with his eye the space that lies betwixt him and the game. his brief inspection o'er, and settled how the quarry he'll attain. he seeks to rise ; but horror ! in his haste he took no heed of where he laid him down — perceived not ice beneath the slender crust of fresh fau'n snow that on a slight incline attains the sudden brink of the huge precipice — 46 the hermit of and wlien he strives his feet once more to gain onward lie slowly slides ! a dreadful truth hath flasht before his eyes he's lost i for ever lost ! wildly with starting eyes he glares around ! the gun slips from his grasp, glides on a space — is gone ! he spreads his arms— with eager nails essays to dig into the surface — all in vain ! they clutch but yielding snow ! they glance from the ice ! his feet fail to hold ! onward he swiftly glides ! then from his lips a ringing, maddening yell breaks the stern solitude. . . the brink is past into the dreadful yawning gulf headlong, alas ! he falls, over and over turns until both sense and breath have fled ! — oh wretched, hapless pierre, a fearful fate is thine ! lo ! half way down the rugged precipice a stunted oaken bush. with others, from a narrow ledge puts forth its strong and matted boughs : — ! i the pyrenees. 47 0, wondrous to relate ! the hunter's crimson sash and vest entangle with the branches, and his death-fall is arrested suddenly. poor pierre ! what thoughts are thine when breathing and perception both return roused by the fearful shock ! at first his awe-struck eyes can nothing see around — can nothing comprehend. pale horror with a vacant stare possesses them ; and then by slow degrees the fact dawns on his mind (a cheering blessed sun thawing the ice of fear) that he yet lives, may yet be saved ! but how ? kind heaven ! how ? for midway down he hangs — above him rises the appalling height ! deep, deep beneath him yawns the white abyss ! around no hold for mortal foot ! and one unguarded motion might break the frail support, and death in its cold shroud ^ receive his mangled limbs. 48 the hermit of oh hoitible ! too horrible is this ! and still more dreadful to his mind the thought that thus he may hang on for hours 'twixt life and death ! or die by inches, cold and hunger both assailing him. — yes, better far is death in one dread plunge than agony prolonged to tortures such as these. the criminal, condemned, may for the final moment string his nerves to meet his awful fate ; but comes unsought reprieve. extending life, not saving it at last. false hopes of manhood rob him, and he dies shrieking for mercy when the knell is rung. around the hunter throws his anxious, starting eyes. to learn the nature true of his position dire — too soon he sees ! too well he understands ! the hope of life that blazed so lately o'er him, great as the sun itself, now dwindles to a star, feeble and waning dim. a sob, a groan of woe bursts from his pale blue lips. the pyrenees. . 49 and from his brow the sweat by anguish drawn falls drop by drop into the cold white gulf that mocks his torture with its aspect calm ! he did not fear to die. — how oft, how freely had he risked his life in battle short and fierce, with the grim angry bear ! had heard his savage growls unmoved, when others quailed. and fled the horrors of that dire embrace from limbs of giant might ! such terrors filled his heart with eager joy. and would again — oh ! give him but the chance of such a glorious combat ! . . . but to hang thus helpless in his misery. and gaze upon the spectre-form of death waiting below, is horror such as thought can scarce conceive — imagination paint ! he shouts, he shrieks aloud ! the rocks return the cry, the lonely snow-clad rocks, in echoes long repeated, and again that frightful silence reigns, more terrible to bear than all the pangs of conscience to the stricken murderer. \ 50 the hermit of' again his voice resonnds and dies away unanswered, and unheard by mortal ear upon that dreary waste of mountain, ice, and snow. grown hoarse and faint, he ceases soon to shout : the cold benumbs his limbs and iron frame, and seem to pierce his bones. e'en as he looks below strange shapes arise out of the hollow gloom ; black shattered rocks, like legendary fiends. in hideous forms seem crowding round their prey. he notes them all — he counts them one by one ; — how long have they been there ? and, if he fell, would that sharp point he sees run through him like a two-edged sword ? kill him outright ? 't were merciful ! . . . see ! now a fire is burning bright, and cheering is the blaze from crackling fir-tree logs. ah ! well he knows the humble dwelling — -' his 0w71 in campan's vale ! and, seated by the hearth, his katinosse is sweetly smiling, calling him her pierre ! great god ! he hears her voice — he speaks .... and in the act the happy vision fades — where ? where ? — can he not follow ? — no ! ii the pyrenees. 51 once more he shrieks to find himself alone thus face to face with death ! an hour hath passed. to him an age it seems full of dire agony. if hell be like to this, and spirits can experience pangs like these, . its torments are indeed most terrible to bear. lo ! now another fear, born of the hideous past. hangs o'er him like a pall. in twice the time that he hath suffered thus the night will close its shroud around the scene, and, image of his fate. envelope him for ever ! he prays that he may die ! speedily ! — speedily ! yea, ere the night can come i o desolation ! awful is thy form, whether in nature thou art found, or in the embittered loneliness of man ! but when combined, as now, how doubly dire is to poor pierre thy dreadful aspect ! he feels thy presence at his very heart as thou sitt'st brooding o'er that fatal gulf! thou, all unknown to him — so light, so gay, 52 the hermit of so full of life and hope but one short hour ago — thy freezmg touch hath driven him raving mad ! upon him, all ye fierce and howling winss ! rend him to pieces ! let the hungry wolves feast on his scattered limbs ! what careth he ! despair is now a friend, and stirs him into laughter at the pale spectre, death ! his brain is burning. yet another hour, a weary hour he hangs — another age of pain to his worn mind and frame. sudden above his head a rushing sound, as if of wings, is heard. — is it an angel sent from heaven down to comfort and to aid ? what means that murmur falling on his ear ? and now a voice close at his side ! — he turns his dizzy eyes, great heaven ! they meet i a human face ! — a form of living man " suspended in mid air ! sense fails him then ; he sees no more — feels not the rope, securely round him fixed, which drawls him swiftly from his threatened grave to slow returning life. >k * * * * * the pyrenees. 53 long lay poor pierre upon a feverish couch tossing 'twixt life and death ; grateful he learned how heaven indeed had sent its angel to his aid in yon lone man, the wandering hermit of the vale of luz, who, from a rock hard by, beheld him sink into the dark abyss — beheld the bush arrest him in his fall ; with steps which pity winged had sped to luz (by happy chance not far) for aid substantial in the stalwart arms of ready, generous men. himself he led them to the fearful scene, and taught them silently and surely then to lower their ropes and save their fellow man. led by the hermit's never-failing care. in safety to his home they carried pierre over the snow-clad pass, tourmallet stern, and through the vale of grippe, and laid him gently on his lonely couch beneath the roof where he was born and bred. and when the fever raged, and all around made for thenbrother lamentation, came ofttimes the hermit, skilled to tend and soothe his hours of pain, and waken cheering hope. she, too, was there — his katinosse, his own — with all a woman's love to hasten back 6* 54 the hermit of the pyrenees. upon his cheek the ruddy glow of health : and when it came her hand was clasped in his never to be withdrawn ! could he forget the hermit ? could she forget the hand that saved her pierre ? all blessings rest with him ! all they possess is his who gave to them life, and the life-long bliss of mutual love ! li i331j 57 iv. whither, hermit ! must we seek thee now ? last seoji descending from thy lonely cell in luz's peaceful vale : on mystic mission bent, ' t is hard to follow where thy footsteps lead, for scant repose is thine : yet would i wander with thee to the end of this, perchance, thy latest pilgrimage — hast thou not felt it such ? — and, ere thy voice is hushed, revisit all the scenes of bygone days ; feel o'er again w^hat i have felt before, through thee and in thee, thou my spirit's tongue speaking from nature to eternity, its element and life. welcome ! bright dreams that cheer us on the way. though comet-like ye rise upon the atmosphere [of the cold world, to vanish soon from view. yet is there glory in your fiery train that leaves its golden hue upon the mind, — portent or not to those who mark its flight. 58 the hermit of how wonderful art thou, subtlest of all tilings, thought ! of what composed, what nature, who can say 't ethereal, infinite ! spanning both earth and heaven with outstretched giant wings ! vv^hether thou brood'st upon the outer deep, and mak'st it pregnant, or confin'st thee here within the compass of the world, thou art in substance still the same— an unknown spark a lidit, a shade, and unto feeble man 7' subservient yet superior. he grasps thine airy form, and "bids it fly. or walk, or swim, or dive into the depths beneath the girdled earth ; or with its aid, seeks in the labyrinth of science vast, and deep philosophy, when faith falls short, to solve the first great problem of the soul. offspring of mind, thy source is in the hght immortal and eternal of that one whose throne above the universe is heaven ! could we but keep thee pure as from that spring first issuing, obedient to the word, and not defile thee with our earthly lubts and vain unworthy aims, how happy we ! too oft, alas ! perverted and debased, the grandeur of thine origin is lost. 1 the pyrenees. 59 riiy mission changed,* and where thou shouldst support, raise, and adorn mankind, thou art to them a minister of ill — an evil blight poisoning where thou shouldst nourish and restore. cursing where thou shouldst bless ! fair poesy ! — to thought the golden spring, whose perfumed waters, if she seek their charm, can purify from every stain of earth — let thy sweet stream pour forth the fulness of its beauty once again ! fair poesy ! there are who dare to reckon thee with things long past, unsuited to this age. — maid of the radiant morn ! thy fountain is not dry. i looked within and saw the blue of heaven reflected still upon its sparkling face. they are but weeds the careless time hath cast into the channel ; they may obstruct, but cannot choke its way, soon, soon to vanish, as the gushing stream rolls its harmonious course. v^ale of osseau, thy smiles invite once more ^y wandering footsteps, and i fly to thee as to a well-loved friend. 130 the hermit of thou first of all clidst^reet my view when from the tinted plains i came to learn the marvels of the mountain world, to me unknown before. upon thy verdant pastures first my soul felt the true joy that beauty can inspire ; and now the tribute that my memory owes i'd pay to thee in full. i'll call thee fairest, 'mid so many fair, save one, my hermit's home ; that first, thou next in loveliness shalt hold the place thy merits claim. so fresh, so smiling through thy varied length, who enters thee indifferent to thy charms ? from teeming plains we come, whose bosoms bare court the full ardour of that southern sun ; and grateful are thy woods, their bright green arches high above our heads. extending long and wide, and all the air oppressed with savour from unnumbered shrubs, or modest flowers that fringe the tempting way. here all at once a vista opening shows some peaceful cot secluded in a dell where daphne might have roamed and phoebus woo'd. or breathed soft music from his tuneful reed:. the pyrenees. 61 where innocence is born, and passes on from youth to age in simple rustic bliss, contented with its quiet little world, knowing no other, seeking nought beyond. a little further, and a limpid brook hums in the gladdened ear its welcome lay, now gaily laughs along, now hides away in amorous sport beneath the pendent flowers ; or, bolder, leaping from the moss-clothed rock, bursts into glittering spray, and showers around its healthful, cooling dew. anon some lofty peak the prospect crowns, clothed with rich verdure to its highest point, or waving sprightly trees. naught terrible is there to blight the eye, or fill the soul with awe. 'tis graceful beauty, all, and silently appealeth to our hearts. and now the woods are passed, and other scenes new loveliness disclose. here fields of yellow corn, here pastures rich in herds and flocks, on either hand extend ; here the neat cottage or the modest farm. high seated on the mountain's grassy side. or snugly in the vale ; here the proud chateau from its lofty site, 1 q2 the hermit of full in the midst, looks down, upon whose ancient walls time hath writ legends of its younger days, when court and hall resounded with the clang of arms and armour, and the ladye fair smiled on her knight from victory returned. noble, joyous vale ! here roamed, great france, thy henri of navarre who drew from nature, in her grandest form, the wisdom that distinguished later years. how cherished still by every peasant heart is the proud memory of that royal name — his people's " conqueror and father !"* — oft they point to pau, his birthplace, and osseau the nursery of his youth, and with a sigh think on the hero's fate ! vale of osseau ! not only is thy name for beauty known ; deep in thy verdant bosom hide those rich springs which yield, in generous flow, their charmed floods, to nourish and restore. eauxbonnes, eauxchaudes, ye both are there, pale hollow-eyed consumption knows you well, and grinds her yellow teeth with rage, to think how oft from her rapacious jaws * « et fut de ses sujets le vainqueur et le pere." la henkiade, chant i. the pyrexees. 63 her countless victims have by you been torn ; — nor she alone, but all her sister plagues in haste from thy too healthful air retire, to glut their maws upon the swampy plain. or the devoted city, cramped and foul. the sun hath set, hath risen and set ao:ain. since the lone hermit looked upon the world from his own threshold in the vale of luz ; and now at early morn his way he takes o'er osseau's verdant meads, bent on some holy mission. he pauses not, but follows up the path, oft trod before, which to aosta leads. — aosta, sftnple village far retired, where industry and rural worth abide ; hard by eauxbonnes, down in the gorge below, its scattered cots and ancient church appear : — and now he stops before the humble porch of one lone tenement, and knocks. a venerable man over whose head some threescore years have passed. and marked their passage by the silver threads that thickly lace his locks of raven hue. soon at the threshold stands. he sees the hermit, and a flush of joy heightens his care-worn cheek. as eagerly he welcomes him within : 64 the hermit of the pyrenees. '* oh, father, we have prayed that thou mightst come. and lo ! our prayers are answered. she is there, and longs once more to hear thy voice : come, speak to her, and soothe the few short hours of ebbing life — my marie 1 — my lost child !" " ha ! say'st thou so ? i feared as much ; but be thou calm, if heaven so decrees. her life hath been a stormy one. bless god that he now takes her to himself in peace." so saying they approach the inner room where, stretched upon her bed. poor hapless marie lies : she sleeps awhile, and all her previous life passes before her in a feverish dream. sad is the tenour of the tale it tells, and stern the lesson which its truth conveys. the story of mmm, wi 1 ■ 67 v. not in the gardens of the earth did beauty first unfold the glories of its presence. its bright ethereal spirit blooms on the boundless plains of heaven ! e'en on the holy mount, the throne of light and life, and majesty eternal, infinite — where angels hymn unceasing strains of praise on sweet-toned golden harps— e'en there it finds it home. thence streaming through the vast expanse of heaven it shines upon the gathered hosts of saints, gilding their star-crowned brows, whereon the seal of everlasting peace is fixed, faith's high reward; then issues from the sapphire gate through which those prayers ascend that true hearts breathe. and fills the universe around with all those sparkling spheres (38 the hermit of that shadow forth a future unto man, and raise his thoughts above the prostrate v/orld. inanimate, yet portion of the same primeval loveliness, in nature next 'tis seen of every shape and hue : now it is gentle, wooing in its form ; now, sternly grand, it fills our hearts witli awe ;-^ a graceful waving tree ; a modest flower ; an image of repose in some green quiet dell ; a mighty towering rock — a cataract that plunges o'er the neck of some huge precipice — a mountain cleft in twain ! or in the glorious changing rainbow's arch uniting earth with heaven. the bright connecting link made manifest between body and spirit— world, eternity ! lastly, in breathing, moving shape, man, it is thine own. beauty in thee is greatness of the soul, and sovereignty of reason ; and, joined to these, the outward noble form the pyrenees. 69 erect, and tall, the contour firm of muscle and of limb : in likeness of omnipotence itself, thou walk'st the earth, to conquer and adore. in thee, woman, more refined and pure, it blushes like the rose upon thy cheek, • and from thy dark sweet eye its lucid rays pour forth in soft, voluptuous streams. appear in all thine innocence, in all thy virgin truth. and, could perfection dwell upon the earth as in the realms above, thou to contain it wert the vessel meet ! thy form is living loveliness ! and round thy polished limbs a thousand bashful graces play. thy tresses are a veil beneath whose ample shade young pleasure hides, joined with sweet modesty, his fitting mate. so looked the mother of mankind, fresh from her maker's hands ; her form was of the earth, but in her eyes the glories of a brighter region shone ! at meek aosta, in the yal d'osseau, from tenderest years the graceful marie grew ; 70 the hermit of and, like some beauteous plant but scant'ly known, whose every slioot doth with its age disclose some beauty new, so to the watchful eyes of those around the gentle maid revealed new charms each fleeting year. scarce eighteen summers passed, and all throughout the vale — from high eauxbonnes, perched in her eaglet's nest, down to its threshold on the g-ave of pau — confess fair marie queen unrivalled, unapproached. behold where now she stands beside yon crystal pool, whose tranquil purity. unruffled by the wild, ungentle wind. sleeps like true innocence — herself ! oh, what a native grace beams in that rounded form, that perfect moulded nature, unadorned, uncramped by bastard art ! what power is in that eye. whose fires e'en thro' the fringe of silken lashes force their way i yet modesty is there. for, lo ! how soon they droop and all advance repel. dare you look into them. the pyrenees. 71 her lips, like rosy fruit, bloom on their tree, that passion hungers for with flaming eyes, but chaster love claims as his rightful due — ah ! happy one whom destiny reserves to banquet on their sweetness. i see thee, marie, even now, tlirough the thin film that envious time, consumer of all beauty, draws before thy matchless form : i see thee in the fullness of thy bloom. the idol of the vale, the wondrous rose among the rocks whose perfume fills the air. i hear the stranger still pronounce thy name with eulogy, and point unto the spot that gave thee birth. i hear thy native brethren with delight count thy perfections o'er. and marvel 'mong themselves which man of men shall win so sweet a prize. thy mother's breast o'erflows with joy and pride to mark such homage as thy beauty wins. her only darling one, sha loves to see thee in thy best attire. simple and picturesque, on festive day. concentrate, like a sun. 72 the hermit of the beams from every eye around ; and wlien to dance some swain allures thy ever willing feet, how the applause thy graceful movements wake thrills through her gladdened heart — the happiest woman in the valley she ! with colder glance thy father looks upon the joyous scene. he was a soldier stern, tried on the battle plain, ere back he turned him to his native hills, with his young wife and child, to till his little field and dwell in peace. he knows too well the world. its perils and its snares ; and marie is the jewel of his heart, the pride and joy of his declining years ! he likes not all this homage, for he knows how flattery's subtle coil winds round a heart so young. alas ! 'tis not without good cause this fear reigns in his breast. and robs him of all peace. amongst the eager, swelling crowd «» of strangers and of swains who revel in the light the pyrenees. 73» of marie's matchless cliarms, his quick eye soon perceives one of superior presence to the rest, whose manners speak refinement and high blood ; from whose too fluent tongue seductive eloquence, clothed in the garb of flattery, pours an unceasing honied stream. with a deep, inward pang poor marie's father sees her eye flash with too bright a fire as those soft dangerous words. like false fiends decked in golden liveries, steal through the unbarred portals of her ears to desecrate the temple of her mind. how earnestly he, in his marie's cause, pleads to her mother, and with graphic tongue depicts the danger lurking for the child ! — shows how, tho' pure as light, and beautiful as pure, this adulation ofiered at the shrine of her surpassing charms — this fast far-spreading fame — may bring its curse upon their happy home. why teach her virgin heart to prize the accents of beguiling praise. and court temptation in her million forms ? • 74 the hermit of the very angels fell, and so may she ! withdraw her then from idle gaping crowds that gaze with lustful eyes — from that too favored one ! — yea, save her e'er it be too late to save ! thus wisely flow his words ; but in the breast where they should rouse alarm befitting to their import, they excite high indignation and unruly pride. reproachful and unseemly from her lips her hasty language flows : what need to school her thus ? she knew her duty well as he knew his, and, thank great providence, could guard her child from all these fancied ills with or without his aid ! withdraw the girl, forsooth, from public gaze ? she gloried in her charms, and in their wide-spread fame — ay, felt a pride a parent feels in such a boon from heaven as marie was to them ; — she prays him lock his fears within his breast and never fret her with such shadows more. to this rough speech her prudent spouse forbears reply, revolving ever in his mind the pyrenees. 75 the only course ms sense of right approves. meanwhile the fame of marie's beauty spreads wider each day, and she with childish joy perceives the envied height to which it hath upraised her, feeling not the peril that attends it. so waves the flower upon the glacier's edge in fancied safety from impending ruin — so thrives the tree upon the torrent's brink, proudly and cheerfully, until it falls and finds its foe in what it deemed a friend. how oft desire to work out some good end misguides our steps, and hurries on the evil that we would most avoid ! e'en as the mariner, whose watchful eye perceives some danger, straight consults his chart whereon the tracks are marked, but chooses one which seems to clear it by a shorter course — vain all his caution ; lo ! the rocks appear, and wreck him when he deemed the peril past ! thus with poor marie. in his eager haste to save her, as he thinks, her father (deaf to all entreaty) suddenly declares that she must for a time bid an adieu to home. at pau his brother lives, to whose strict guard he will commit his daughter. against this 76 the hermit of her mother clamours loudly, but in vain, and marie drops a tear, but murmurs not. the next day she is gone. the val d'osseau hath lost its sweetest maid— the fairest pearl that e'er the mountains owned, torn from its setting, now adorns the plain. marie, had thy young heart found within thy native vale some worthy one to bless with all its love. much after misery hadst thou been spared ! but forth thou wentest in thy pride of beauty too soon, alas ! that beauty proves thy bane, and down thou fallest, never more to rise ! why here repeat the tale so often told, so threadbare worn. how the seducer, baffled for a time, discovered thee too soon, and won thine ear with flattery's tinsel phrase and hollow vows, till all thy scruples, one by one, o'ercome. he bears thee off in triumph from thy friends, grief-stricken and dismay' d ! — enough to tell the fatal truth that thou, alas ! didst fall ! let pity cast her veil upon thy guilt ; but thy repentance, like the sunset ray. shall leave its tint upon thy fading hours. the pyrenees. 77 two years pass heavily away — no news of marie to aosta comes. the strangers, knowing her in happier times, inquiry make when passing on their way through the bright val d'osseau, and hear the burden of the saddening tale. the peasant points to her once happy home, ^ and tells how sorrow broke her mother's once proud heart, leaving her father desolate to mourn the hour when, in his anxious haste, he dared entrust her to another's care. two years pass heavily away. pale winter's snows are melting fast from view in the deep vale and on the mountains' sides. beneath the genial smile of spring. the hermit issues from his peaceful cell to wander forth, as is his wont. upon his unknown way. through argel^s, a valley wide and fair, well known to fame, he shapes his silent coursse, in meditation rapt ; and soon he nears its northern bound, where gapes a pass, the solitary route far winding down to ancient lourdes ; when suddenly a woman from a cottage, that in its little garden stands hard by. 78 the hermit of springs forth to meet him, and with humble prayer entreats to walk within and blessing give to a poor stranger sickness hath o'erta'en beneath their modest roof. he bows assent and follows where she leads. distress ne'er pleaded unto him in vain. in a low chamber, on a pallet mean, the suiferer lies, a tall and way-worn girl, the perfect contour of whose prostrate form — the classic head — the dark and flashing eyes — the well cut mouth — proclaim, alas ! the trutli ; — 'tis marie, once the pride. the idol of osseau. still beautiful, but, oh ! how fallen now from what she was but two short years before ! grief, like a blight, hath stricken the fair tree and scathed it in its bloom — its better life — its dearest hopes — its all ! like the wan spectre of despair itself she hangs 'twixt life and death, and loathes the past, but dreads what is t<» come. with tearful smile the mystic man she hails. whose gracious words fall gently in her ear. and pour their balm upon her troubled spirit. e'en as she listens, lo ! another day the pyrenees. 70 appears to dawn upon the dreary night of her dejection. blessed be his voice ! all is not gone from her; some light remains to cheer the darkened path beyond the -world. to him with eager haste she tells the story of her woful fall — and how she early felt the fulness of her loss — how soon, when sated with his virgin prey. the smooth deceiver in the villain merged ; and, when she murmured, bade her hold her peace. or to another sell the charms she so much prized ! — where were his vows of lasting, faithful love ? oh, when he spoke these words, how she abhorred her wretched self and him ! gay paris was the scene of her brief reign of guilt. did she enjoy it whilst it lasted ? — no ! the worm gnawed at her heart, and she awoke, as from a dream, to find herself the hateful thing she was. around her pleasure, like the ocean, rolled through the vast channels of that gorgeous town. and wealth and splendour on its surface shone — it dashed its glittering spray in jewels over her ! 80 the hermit of with horror she recoiled, and shook them oif at last, and fled ! whither she cared not, could she but escape from him who had betrayed her — from the world, from the dread frown of an offended god, and (would that such could be !) from her vile conscience-stricken self ! among the mountains once she had a home — a tranquil, happy home. where her first childhood passed. she had a father and a mother fond, who both then loved her, and with joyful pride beheld her beauty from the bud expand into the full-blown, perfect flower. sullied and faded, would they own her now ? would they e'en look upon her ? no ! to them she never, never can return ! but in some desert spot must lay her bones where the cold blast shall howl its dismal dirge over the lost one's grave ! thus the fierce tumult in her troubled soul once more aw^akes ; but soon the hermit's voice. with dulcet tone, to calmness soothes it down, and then it sleeps, as doth the placid lake lulled by the soft breath of a summer's eve : the stars that gem the glorious dome of heaven , the pyrenees. 81 reflected shine within its bosom deep ; e'en so her mind upon its tranquil face reflects the lustre of his heavenly thoughts. this good work done, the gracious man departs, and toward osseau with swiftest pace he speeds ; there seeks her father in his lonely cot, and bids him come, and in god's holy name receive his erring but repentant child. not hard the task to lead him to her arms. with unchecked joy he hears the welcome news of her unhoped return ; and for her sin, the pains she hath endured are chastisement enough. that ere she fell from her once happy state of innocence and beauty w^as, alas ! (0 woe ! that such confession should be his i) his error — his the blame — had he less hasty been, but kept her like a jewel next his heart, and not dismissed her to another's care, he had not grown into the grief-worn w"retch he was ! but he was struck with fear at the wide homage that her charms obtained, and sought to save her from o'erweening pride by one stern, timely blow. great heaven pardon him. 82 the hermit of ^ if evil sprang from his intended good i-^ he sought to rescue, not to lose his child. yet a short while, and marie once again feels her fond father clasp her to his heart, ' with words of comfort and forgiveness kind. he bids her live to cheer the remnant of his days, and from her thoughts dismiss the hateful memory of the bitter past. alas ! her mother's voice joins not with his to urge this gentle prayer. her voice hath long been hushed, too soon she learns ; and for a time the thought that her misdeeds had cut the thread of that dear parent's life o'erwhelms her ; but at length, her father's love regained, the hermit's care, upraise her once again. by slow degrees unto her weakened frame some strength returns that barely may suffice to take her back into her native vale. scene of far happier days ! her childhood's home ! once more she stands within its humble w^alls ; but what a change a few short months have wrought — not in its aspect, that is still the same — in her own self ! the pyrenees. 83 there is her room ; the bed whereon she lay and slept the sleep of innocence and peace ; there the small crucifix against the wall, and, close beneath, the blessed virgin's smile. there hangs the glass upon whose truthful face her own was mirrored in its. loveliness, its purity ! sh£ dare not look upon it now. for it would show in characters too plain the havoc sin hath made. all is the same as in that happy time too swiftly fled, and every object round conveys reproach until her burdened heart pours forth its anguish at her eyes in floods of burning tears. oh, that such tears could wash away the past, and all its memories ! the mountain stream sweeps o'er its pebbly bed. chafes at its bounds, and from their contact grows sullied awhile, but soon runs pure again ! but if life's troubled stream contract a stain, unto the ocean of eternity in all its foulness it is hurried on ! our conscience is a book wherein our faults are registered ; and angels turn away, and veil their faces, whilst the fiends rejoice — 84 the hermit of with greedy, jealous eyes they watch and wait to add a new impeachment to the list. time passes swiftly on : the sun shines brightly o'er the yal d'osseau; its children's hearts are glad, for plenty smiles upon them in their fields, and peace and happiness are theirs within. but in poor marie's breast reigns bitter desolation. no sun can warm her into joy again — no smiles recall the blighted rose of health. and playful youth, to those pale features more. she flies the festive scenes, where she was once the queen, and seeks the lonely wood, the quiet dell. or her still chamber : there she at least may give vent to the hidden agony which will gush forth, consuming as it comes ! in vain her father and her pitying friends crowd anxious round her, seeking to dispel the fatal cloud that on her spirit rests. from the dread past she cannot draw her eyes to lose it in the present — still 'tis there! the woful thought that poisons her young life — yes, still his there! .... oh for a draught of lethe's cooling wave to her parched lips ! — i the pyrenees. 85 forgetfiilness ! then death, if it must be ; but thought is torment, and she still must think i a saddening sight it is to watch decay creep o'er this mortal frame, e'en when the measure of our years is full : . but sadder still to mark its withering, fatal hand, on youth and beauty in their pride of bloom. the mighty maw of death is full of this rich food, but still unsated, aye he craves for more ; and more are his. poor, hapless marie ! many years too soon he bends his bow at thee. and the dread arrow quivers in thy breast. the blow is struck ! no healing for such wound ! she sinks ! she sinks ! the wretched father sees and cannot save his child ! oh, why restore her to him — why stir his heart with joy, only to break it thus ? alas ! the curse is still upon the hour in which he sent her forth. for now that he would keep her to himself to cheer the twilight of his woful life, death snatches her away. 86 the hermit 0¥ a short time back, and day appeared to dawn ; but night is lowering thicker than before, and he must wander in the dark alone ! the generous hermit from his distant cell at intervals appears. to that sad home his coming is a cheering beam from heaven, piercing the clouds that intervene to hide the brighter glories of the future. they hang upon his words that breathe of peace : and chiefly she who feels her hour at hand. in his mild accents naught of threatened doom, no awful images arise — no talk of death eternal, or the pains of unconsuming fires. he never spoke of death, or taught its fear. but raised the'drooping soul from earth to heaven ! his eyes had long been opened to a truth which spurns corruption and the grave: — rapt in the glory of that brighter promise, he waits, he hopes, and if, meanwhile, death come, 't is like a sleep unvexed by troubled dreams betwixt a dreary day and an unfadino; morrow ! — happiness supreme, 'mid all poor marie's crushing woes, to hear such godlike accents from the lips of man ! the pyrenees. 87 the mystic hour of sleep has come for her — the two lone watchers stand beside her couch, gazing upon her as she prostrate lies in the still chamber : even as thej watch those once so lustrous eyes now wearily unclose, and a gweet smile plays on her pale blue lips, that part as if to speak. but no avords issue forth ; one deep-drawn sigh escapes, and on its airy wings the spirit soars from the poor, blighted, earthly tenement to meet its god and judge. o that night there was a silence in each home, and hearts were heavy in the val d'osseau. the rising moon, full-orbed. through one small casement throws her silver beams upon the placid features of the dead, and on the grey locks of a lone old man who crouches by the side of her to him so dear i his head is bowed upon his heaving breast. and to and fro he rocks. as his grief sways him ever — or only stops to chase 88 the hermit of the pyrenees. the fly that fain would settle upon that pallid cheek ! he weeps not, for his grief is deep and hot within him, and sears his tearless eyes. . oh ! it is terrible to feel a desolation such as his ! 1 1^1111113. 91 vi. stranger ! lov'st thou to feel the chilling kisses of the queen of night 't there is a glory in her reign, though she look pale and sick as fear or blighted hope. i've watched her shine upon the mighty deep. tipping with silver all its crested waves, and thought upon the w^ide, tumultuous world, and the dark workings of its secret breast — its plottings, wiles, and mischief. i've seen her light upon a broad blue lake, whose waveless waters slept as do the minds of those who find in death a friend. rest all their aim on earth, no hope in heaven beyond ! — i've seen her shine upon the monuments of some old sculptured race, and bring their hoary beauty forth to view, till every fretted angle told its tale of the great buried past. so the old warrior, or the storied sage. 92 the hermit of in the calm moonlight, of his latter days, relates the wonders of the early time, which show still greater through this silvery veil. i will not wrong thee, mysterious night ! and draw comparisons with joyous day ; let each live in itself; the one all smiles like thoughtless youth,— the other sombre, grave. as best becomes the elder of the twain. thine age who dares to guess v thou with thy brothers grim. chaos and space, wast never young, x d limit hath no name in thy domain. a million unknown spheres might lose their way ^ left they their thrones to wander through thy shades. one power, night, can compass thee. — one power, night, can conquer thee— he said, " let there be light !" and at his will the new-created ray sprang from thy bosom, then first taught to feel dismay that for a time your reigns should be alternate— henceforth thou must yield him all i yes, dark-browed, ancient night, though black thy frowns. and terrible sometimes, thou hast thy charm in measured portion with the gorgeous day. sated with lustre from the flaming sun, the pyrenees. 9o how sweet the shelter of thme ebon wing, in the soft hip of sleep ! how sweet for him, who toils from early dawn to wring a pittance out of pampered wealth, or cold, stern avarice, to feel thj shades creep o'er him, granting kindly interval ^rom the long, weary task ! how sweet for her who counts each lingering hour of the long day, and dreams of love and bliss, to find them both in thee. sweet unto him, whose soul is in some mystic science rapt. are thy kind, silent hours, and the pale lamp that sheds its halo o'er the realms of thought. i will not hate thee, night, though crime may hide her in thine ample cloak. and stalk abroad to ravage and destroy. i w^ill not hate thee, though men stain thy bosom with their foul acts and treasons : let them benr the hellish stigma ! thou, the looker-on and favourer perforce. i will not hate thee, night, but call thee kind and generous to men — to me most kind ! beneath the shadow of thy giant wings i lay me down to sleep, and visions float before my spirit's ever wakeful eyes of mystic seeming, which, with early dawn. spring into life. bright forms ! more palpable than may appear from your fantastic dress, 94 the hermit of truth hides within you, and my weary heart is soothed into endurance by your smiles. gracious, friendly night ! would we awaken to thy majesty, 'tis not within the densely peopled hell men call a city, whence they shock thine ear with their mad riot and ungodly deeds, but in the peaceful, far-removed plain, or where the mountain pythons of the earth point their proud crests to heaven 1 'tis there we know thee in thy regal state and comprehend thy power. there, too, queen, that 'mid a blaze of jewels on a rich robe, hang'st like the modest opal — there, too, we view thee in thy silvery pride of beams that emulate the fiercer sun. and the rich clustering stars! — those watchful eyes of myriads of bright angels — how they gem the raven tresses of the old king night, adding fresh lustre to his diadem ! the world profoundly sleeps ' after its many toils, wrapped closely in the mantle of the dark — if dark indeed you call a spectre of midday, clothed in bright silver beams. the pyrenees. 95 the giants of bigorre in serried ranks stand forth, and cast their mighty shades far o'er the silent plains, like the famed oracles of ancient days searching the clouded fjature. above all other, looms into the moonlit air, bagnieres, thine ice-crowned peak, the sovereign of its range, whose sparkling crest for forty leagues around makes its great presence known ! what figure moving up those rugged slopes, now wrapped in shadow, now in light displayed, salutes our startled gaze ? — what reckless wretch thus lonely in the night seeks doom inevitable ? mark it well ! that form is not of earth ! its face is pale — it glides upon the rocks and glittering ice ! no human footstep e'er so swift, so sure ! and now it gains the summit where it stands and, statue-like, awaits — wonderful to see ! it is no phantom form — 'tis mortal! — 'tis the wanderer of the mountains — the lone man of luz's distant vale. why comes he there while sleeps the prostrate world ? — 96 the hermit of '' lo ! from tliis point i overlook the earth. and, first of men, shall hail the morning's light — to me blest privilege ! thus vroulcl i ever hail it — ever watch for the first streak of dawn. in bygone ancient days ^^b so stood the prophet on the hill of faith ^^bl down gazing through the stormy night around ; and, while all slept, or heeded not his voice, proclaimed the terrors of the coming time ! ye, too, profoundly sleep, people ! 'neath my feet, unmindful of the morrow, as of yore. when will ye learn to wake, and watch, and feel that which is soon to come — which is e'en now so near that it may take you in the lap of sleep ! " thou glorious heavenly arch ! i gaze upon thy majesty to-night for the last time from this exalted stand. the angel's whisper passed into my ear. as i ascended, that my feet no more should leave their impress on the monarch's crown. may all who follow read in thy bright book. lit by yon wondrous stars, what i have read so oft before, and may they be prepared | the pyrenees. 97 even as i am now. • be merciful, heaven ! give them the peace that filleth all my soiil^ which i knew not until i learnt thj ways, and clomb the mountain nearer unto thee !" i he ceased to speak, and for a while his head j drooped on his ample chest : i he raised it soon, and with his eye of power i he pierces the deep shadows of the night. i , long stood he thus ; his form defined against the southern sky, i ^ distinct and clear. in its proportions rose more vast than nature. so destiny, from some huge pinnacle untrod by man, broods o'er the plastic world, hatching fresh change and turmoil while it sleeps in false security ! athwart the face of night a change comes on perceptible, though gradual, like the light of truth that steals into the stubborn heart ; at first a spark, then rising to a flame triumphant and eternal. pale is the silver moon ; more wan, more pale now shows her queenly brow, a.s at her heart some bitter grief were gnawing. ' 98 the hermit of the stars, too, that before so thickly spangled all the dome of heaven, wax fainter and retire. like wearied watchers, to refresh their strength for lengthened vigils new. the hermit's eyes upon the east are fixed with steadfast gaze, as though some cherished hope long buried there, was soon to be revealed ; and in that region doth the solemn blue of heaven dissolve into a gentle grey — (the tint that in this world some choose to call the robe of piety, which sin assumes when she repents her of her past misdeeds : — how many use this seeming saintly cloth. deceiving others and not less themselves !) and now a warmer flush, so delicately pure that with it naught of earth hath rivalry. it deepens then in hue, like the fresh summer rose, emblem of innocence and virgin love unstained by contact foul with earthly guile. truly happy state ! which many know not, or who, knowing, leave too soon for that which brings with wider range of knowledge evil seeds, producing in the end their rotten fruit — 1 the pyrenees. 99 in lieu of peace, discomfort, pain, uncertainty, confusion, sin, and its dread offspring, death ! yet brighter glows the east ! as grim old night his sable chariot turns, and whij)s his steeds into the farthest west — brighter and brighter still ! each moment is a messenger, clothed with new beauty from the sun, that rushes forth upon the sleeping world, full of glad tidings of his near approach : he comes, he comes, he comes ! up and receive him in your best attire evervarying nature ! ye fertile plains ! ye high aspiring hills ! give him due honour in return for all the beauty and the wealth ye win from him in multiplied abundance. man alone, unmindful and ungrateful, sleeps ! bigorre, thou mountain king ! thy crown of ice w^ill soon be molten gold — and thy huge brethren, too, shall take their share of the fast rising splendours long ere the lower world can tear away its misty veil. he comes ! — hail glorious sun ! — 100 the heemit of he rises to thy view, man of heaven ! crowning the monarch's crown. the streams of light are, to thy spirit's glance, a pathway forming to the realms of day ! — unequalled, wondrous scene ! can pen of man depict thee ? can weak words, though fraught with passion of the poet's soul, imbue the minds of others with the sense of thy o'erwhelming beauty ? vain the task ! go ye who have the gift of god within ye for the great, the grand — follow the hermit — stand where he now stands, and drink, nay, revel, where he revels now ! the sun is risen, and the night hath fled — the night beneath whose sable mantle lie the sins and secrets of yon drowsy world — the sun hath risen high. and in his sea of living light the mountains bathe their brows. and from their flanks unwrap the vapoury shroud which evening winds around them. beyond the utmost bounds of mortal vision thy plains, bigorre, now lay their beauty bare, smiling and blushing, like sweet maidens coy for the first time in loveliness revealed, xlmid their beauty doth full many a town arrest the wandering eye ; the pyrenees. 101 til vain it hovers o'er the vast expanse, and strains its utmost might ; grey distance mocks its efforts and retires beyond the blue horizon. such wondrous scene as this should wake in dullest brain the holy life of poe«y — and from the inner depths of coldest hearts call forth both love and praise. lo ! how its power within the hermit works, as down he gazes from his lofty throne, the monarch mountain's crown. his eyes dilate, his face all flushed with fire from the rapt soul, and thus his words pour forth in swift, melodious stream :— *' eternal fountain of all living light ! from heaven thy glory through yon rising orb revives this thankless earth. how wearily she lay beneath the shadow of impending night a few short hours ago ! and now, how eagerly she drinks thy beams at every teeming pore ! how wondrous are thy works ! these mountains and yon plains that stretch so far aivay — whose beauty fills my spirit e'en to o'erflowing — these are thine i 10* 102 the hermit of this air, so fresh and pure, that stirs my snow-streaked locks and plays upon my cheek buoyant and healthful, doth proclaim thy grace and mercy unto all mankind ! this sun, whose early beams now raise the vapours of the night, and spread their light refulgent to the utmost verge of the far blue horizon, these all breathe of thy spirit and thy powei-. unmeasured, unapproached ! " favoured, happy clime ! whose fertile breast the scantiest toil repays with tenfold gain. unlike the barren north, where toil and sweat are oft profusely spent to win the meanest pittance from the earth, and sometimes that denied. thrice happy, happy clime ! for all this bounty which his hand bestows. the note of praise should rise at earliest dawn, and fill the air with melody divine. but ye, alas ! are mute. people forgetful of these precious gifts. and sleep when ye should wake ! " world that i have left, and now behold so far beneath my feet. the pyrenees. 108 for the last time, perchance, i speak to thee ! — sore hast thou laboured to bring forth thy fruit. and sorer still thy travail shall become, ^luch shall be wasted ; much that seemeth good for offering shall rejected be, and cast aside as emptiness, amid the wreck of matter and of men. '' is the work done, nations ! which w^as set for you to do, each in your own degree ? — l>oth order, eldest born of heaven, and sent with his meek spouse. obedience, here below to reign with peace and plenty, hand in hand — doth he abide and hold his sovereign sway. as first designed ? alas ! proud man ! thou hast unstrung the first great harmon}^ ! and discord and confusion, in its stead. show their vile birth and parentage in their yet baser progeny. " thou mighty, gorgeous realm, whose limit northward is the narrow sea crossed by the first great caesar ! thou art fair to look upon, and valorous as fair ; but all thy valour and thy beauty are as naught, because misused. why conquer others if thou hast not learned to rule thyself within ? 104 the hermit of how vain that outward show, that clash of arms, that loud high-soundmg tongue which thunders forth the fame of thy past deeds — how vain ! hast thou reformed mankind, adventurous france v laid the foundations of an edifice which shall outlive these latter days ? thou hast cast kingdoms down, and thine own kings hast spurned and humbled, to no worthy end. woe unto thee ! thou hast offended heaven ! perverting all its laws to thy bad use. avhat next must follow but convulsive throes, succeeding each the other, till ensues a wild delirium and eternal death ! " i turn me to the north, the south, the east : — empires and kingdoms stretch in long array, tottering and crumbling to their bases, rent by their internal strife. the passions vile of those that would be great. or, great already, ever thirst for more. how loathsome to thy sight, great heaven ! this mass. corrupt, confused, which thou didst destine first 1^0 be the best, the proudest of thy works, — how loathsome, how impure ! yet naught is inaccessible to thee tn ocean, earth, or sky ; and thou hast said the pyrenees. 105 that these thy works are good, and shall be so to all eternity, though sullied now : thy word shall come with awful power ere long ! the dregs of earth shall fill the tombs they build, iind from one mighty, teeming multitude. thou wilt choose forth thine own !" he ceased to speak ; and, statue-like, upon the pinnacle of the great monarch, rested still, as though he were most loath to quit his icy throne. 'tis joy to him to triumph o'er the world, that world still hushed in slumber at his feet. and feel his burning thoughts ascend to heaven ! his starry eyes are filled with glory from above ; they revel in the vast expanse, they heed no more the valley ! lo ! the thick mists arise. swathing the mountain round ayithin their duskv folds. they roll beneath his feet, and frown upon the world, but ever o'er his head the gorgeous mid-day sun shines forth resplendently ! 106 the hermit of shine on, thou mighty orb, and pour thy living light in liquid, golden streams ! the hermit hails thee ! revels in the glow of thy celestial presence ! upon an islet now, amid a milk-white, dazzling sea, he stands alone. such quiet reigns. such gracious and such holy quiet, known only in those wondrous realms above, where the soft ambient air yields to the pressure of angelic wings ! the hermit stands alone ; the envious clouds have wrapt him from our sight ! long time the mists hang round the granite king, casting dark scowls upon the vales beneath, and the big drops descend ; then through each gorge and glen the rude winds wildly sweep, and soon the vapoury shroud is scattered by their breath, assuming to the eye in the wide span of heaven a thousand varied shapes. aerial palaces and pinnacles. huge phantom mountains, glowing in the light, rosy and golden, of the setting sun. n the pyre^:ees. 107 again the icy crown of the great monarch gleams in all its royal pride ; but he who lately stood rejoicing on that height, the gentle hermit, the lone man of liiz, -he there is seen no more. his noble form hath melted into air ; no more his footsteps echo on the rocks, no more we trace them in the silent paths, that wind among the gorges of the mountain. deep silence reigns : he hath departed ; whither ? who can tell ? his coming and his going, both, are clothed in mystery. to solve it why essay ? enough to feel his life of faith and love obtained its own reward. liisaltoju0its i0mb anjj brnwds, 11 ill a poet's joys. yes, let me roam in freedom, where the mountains raise their heads, and breathe the fresh and joyous air on lofty summit, wild and bare ; or in the gentle valley — there the earth her carpet spreads. ( )r lead me by the tell-tale brook that babbles forth its lay unto the flowers which in it look ; or to a lonely quiet nook. with silence and great nature's book to while the time away. my joys are in vast solitudes far, far removed from men ; i love to track the pathless woods. or where the kingly eagle broods above the sparkling mountain floods that thunder through the glen. 112 a poet's joys. i love to see the golden sun awake the world from sleep — to watch how fast the shadows run, how soon bright day's short life is done. night's solemn reign in state begun on the great western deep. i love to hear the throats of birds pour forth at peep of morn a hymn of praise, without the words, or learned rules of firsts and thirds ; the lowing of the distant herds, rich bass, the scores adorn. in every spreading tree or flower, an image lurks for me; i see even in the falling shower the angels weeping for the hour when man succumbed to evil power, and knew mortality. i love to watch the eagle rise on wide, expanded wings, and look with proud and flashing eyes upon the glories of the skies ; or round high mountain majesties. sweep in gigantic rings. a poet's joys. 113 and when at eve the god of day reins in his steeds of flame, i love to watch him stalk away, still clad in all his bright array, which to the world doth seem to say, he goes the king he cam'e ! i love to watch the stars appear amid th' ethereal space ; a countless host from far and near that come to hail their sovereign dear. the moon, who then, serenely clear, unveils her pallid face. a meteor, like a flash of thought, shoots through the gulf profound, with train of fire ; then, lo ! — 't is naught ! by this the erring world is taught that vanity, so glittering wrought, is but a sight or sound. there's joy in all the wondrous things betwixt the sky and sod ; and music from her million springs sustains this truth the poet sings. creation is a harp — its strings touched by the hand of god ! 11* 114 the maid of ocean. upon the sands of ocean stood a maiden tall and fair ; in proud inspired attitude long hours she lingered there. the wind toyed with her golden locks and stirred her raiment white ; she looked the queen of waves and rocks. that maiden fair and bright. she gazed upon the stormy deep whose angry billows rolled e'en to her feet, with foaming sweep, to threaten one so bold : but unappalled amid the strife of waters stood she there — they could not steal the charmed life of one so bright and fair. the maid of ocean. 115 '^ roll on ! rave on, thou stormy sea !" exultingly she cried, "" my cradle first was rocked by thee — thou art my joy and pride ! thy wrath is music to mine ear. thy sleep felicity — holl on thy course from year to year. stream of eternity ! ''thy passions are not those of men, thou hast no thoughts impure ; there is no malice in thee when with smiles thou dost allure. both fierce and sudden is thy wrath. when in its might displayed ; for crime thou hast no secret path. no poison, and no blade. " if e'er thy waters owned a stain 'twas man that left it there. to vanish soon — no spot of pain thy purity will bear. the myriads that have found their rest beneath thine emerald pall sleep sounder than within the breast of earth, or marble wall. 116 the maid of ocean. " roll on ! rave on ! for ever loved, for ever glorious sea — mirror whereon god's spirit moved in its immensity ! roll on ! rave on a little space, — the death of time is near, and that dread form upon thy face shall once more reappear !" n 117 i. love. loxg hath the voice of song been hushed in me ; i scarce know why, for i am much the same— and jet, methinks, 'tis not so. poesy ! i love thy numbers, i revere thy name ; but in my breast there is a raging flame which burneth ceaselessly both night and day ; that fire is love, unquenchable, supreme, and brooks naught else beneath its sovereign sway. yet will i dip me in thy sunny stream, sweet harmony, that when she wanders near my voice from out thy waves may strike her ear. and steep her senses in a blissful dream. ha !— see !— she comes !— she lingers near the brink, — and now she bendeth down to drink i—to drink ! 118 ii. hope. fair child of lieaven ! soul-inspiring hope ! why from my fond embraces hast thou flown ? may i not know why thou from me art gone ? why i am left thus desolate to cope with the rude world ? once, when against the slope of the bright heavens i saw thy colours thrown. my soaring spirit caught a higher tone ; but now^ i feel no more thy mighty prop. thy rainbow hues have faded from my mind. and left its troubled waters dark as night ; and dismal thoughts rush o'er them, like a wind, blasting all others with a fatal blight ! must it thus continue ? hope, be kind ! disperse these terrors with a ray of light ! 119 iii. home. how dark and dreary is this winter night ! the voices of the winds are loud and shrill as they rush madly forth to sport their fill upon the pathless heath. with true delight i sit alone, and store my mind, or wtite, or gaze into the cheerful little flame that leaps up on the hearth close at my side. oh, why should men so pant, so thirst for fame and the vain glories that compose a name — which, after all, cannot for aye abide ? within the compass of these narrow walls is bliss ; outside, the world doth rage and foam. and he who listens to ambition's calls must wander through the storm without a home ! 120 iv. life. our early childhood is the first fan' beam of morning in the east ; and, as we grow, the colours deej)en to a fiercer glow, and life appears one joyous, golden dream ! our thoughts, like angels, spread their wings and fly, exulting o'er this earthly paradise, which g od hath spread before our avondering eyes, and crowned with star-bespangled sky. but, mounted in the chariot of our years, whose motion soon attains a headlong speed, we quickly learn by sounds of woe, and tears. those truths to which at first we gave no heed. our tempered thoughts then contemplate the west, and, like the sun, we slowly sink to rest. 1 121 v. the age of gold. what are the treasures of the unfettered mind ? the gems of thought it can dispense around ? why, so much dross ! they lie upon the ground unvalued by the bulk of human kind. in vain the poet's mighty spirit soars to sing of beauty in the realms above, or stoops to earth and tells a tale of love that touched his soul on distant sunny shores : men's thoughts are on the metal from the mine which the}^ can grasp, and with it sway the world ; nor shall they care for that which is divine until the earth is from its centre hurled — then only will their awe-struck eyes behold the soul resplendent in its native gold ! 12 122 vi. the past. the past is like a place where many tombs stand in the unvexed silence of the night ; and memory is the moon, whose silver light steals in among the death-polluted rooms. the ghosts arise, and bathe them in her beams. as in a crystal pool. some cherished form appears again, as lovely and as warm as when it lived ; but others draw the shroud over their faces, and avoid the gleams of light, like hateful shadows. motley crowd i 'tis in your power some pleasure still to give, though ye are dead, and never more shall live. i've spent long hours among you, and the sun has seen me grieve my spectre-dream was done. 3 123 vii. the present. the present is the life, the breathing form, that comes all joyous, like the rising morn ; or, bathed in tears, dejected and forlorn, doth seem a wreck struck by some mighty storm. the countless thousands pour their streams along, through many channels, to their several ends — onward, still onward with a current strong ! strangers to-morrow are the dearest friends. the note of war is sounding in the east ; grim death impatient for his bloody feast ; and angel peace home up to heaven ascends, to take her seat upon a thorne of glory — joy unto all, when she once more descends, and bloodshed only shall survive in story ! 124 viii. the future, the future ! 'tis a heaven or a hell : an eden passmg fan; a desert waste ; a glorious isle amid rough ocean's swell ; a dismal rock by roaring surge embraced. we know not what it may be, yet our eyes are by a mighty impulse to it drawn, and, ere a happy present fades and dies, our secret thoughts are with the morrow's dawn. the glories of the earth, the sea, the skies may mingle with our silent reveries ; but still 't is there, that one prevading dream, the joys, the dangers of forthcoming days ; now tinged with sadness, like the evening beam. now clothed, like noon, in full meridian blaze. i 12(> \ \ . the stars. the stars above us ! are they worlds ? or gleams of mightier, purer, though still veiled things ? are they the seraph choirs, from whose sweet strings the golden harmony of heaven streams ? are they the souls of saints, who, though earthborn. have thus been glorifiedj thus made to shine as lamps unto the world they did adorn — which once denied their mission was divine ? — yet more ! those stars are god's own words, out spread upon the vast abyss, line after line ! first revelation, ere that blood was shed which raised a living glory from the dead, and made man what he is. read, gazer, read the myriad wonders of yon starry creed ! the eni), 12.0 ix. eternity. by day, by night, gaze on the troubled deep, and then upon the mighty dome above : they both are seas, yet neither is asleep. one watches with its countless eyes of love ; the other chafes, and boils, and leaps, and roars. or bursts in thunder on the rocky shores with awful discord. but th' ethereal seji, though vaster far, is ever still the same, unchanged, unchanging — 't is eternity ! god's holy throne ; the sun, his tongue of fianie. speaking in glory, yet in mystery, the marvels that compose his wondrous name ! the moon that sparkles on the rolling wave displays his mercy and intent to save. 1^ deacidified using the bookkeeper process. * neutralizing agent: magnesium oxide ^ /wo.t.j , ^, , • treatment date: march 2009 / ^* ^ %'^pav' preservationtechnologies 4 a world leader in collections preservation 111 thomson park drive cranberry township, pa 16066 (724) 779-2111 k « « -...' .0' '*5> '...• ^ "^ *<^ 6 » " « ^ "«^ i' r .',*< ■{'][■■ ,.f;'i !■,(■;).'"; l;!!;;i!i'' 'i 'ir^ /''.iv'''v !■ -^ ^u(;,:l^^'■i'i:vv'':•!'':';.|j'i;ii^'^^i■'l 289 widener library hx jf8z+ br 3618.20:2 harvard college library ( the hermit in london; or, sketches of english manners. 'tis pleasant through the loopholes of retreat to peep at such a world; to see the stir of the great babel, and not feel the crowd. cowper. mekons a new edition, in three volumes. vol. i. london: henry colburn and co. public library, conduit-street, hanover-square. 1821. br 3618.20.2 marvard college library the gift of friends of the library sep 20, 1926 1(3 vols) n london: printed by cox and baylis, great queen street. contents of vol. i. page 1 9 introduction, entering a room,.... a patron,.... too late for dinner, . hyde park on a sunday,.... on the rage for imitating foreign manners, 59 on guard for the first time,... 73 time and wedlock,..... the fatigue of pleasure,. fashion in dress,.... the new member of parliament, sudden changes,.. the waterloo panorama, female charioteers,. female gamblers,... the romance,.. 224 ****86 21 31 45 83 93 99 ....109 115 123 .133 145 157 iv contents. page 169 177 187 fortune hunters,.. 195 .211 a morning drive in a nobleman's curricle, 203 sitting for a picture, a visit to my friend at his country seat,..225 delicate distinctions, ....235 a rainy day in the country,.. killing time,. a conversazione,.. just returned from college,.. fashionable advice,... ·· .... ..... .. my country cousin,. giving and receiving, . 1 ·· ·· ..243 251 ....265 ....271 the hermit in london. introduction. ir was remarked by my immortal predecessor, the spectator, that a reader seldom perused a book with pleasure, until he knew whether the writer of it was a black or a fair man; of a mild or cholerick disposition; married or a bachelor; with many other particulars of the like nature, which conduce very much to the right un· derstanding of an author: and, since he made the observation, it has been so often repeated by those who have attempted to tread in his steps, that nothing remains for vol. i. b 2 introduction. me, but to subscribe to its truth, and proceed accordingly to put my readers in possession of such facts relative to myself, as may give them an interest in the papers which i intend to lay before them in the ensuing pages. suppose to yourself, then, gentle reader, one whose years have imperceptibly rolled on in drawing-rooms, in parties, and in what is called the world; whose lookingglass now begins to cause unpleasant reflections; and whose hair reminds him of the utility of such men as mr. ross, in bishopsgate-street, and mr. bowman, in new bond-street. such is the author of these pages too old to be an exquisite or a coxcomb, yet neither old enough, nor wicked enough, to sigh over, or to frown upon the past. he can now not only enjoy the pleasures of memory, but sit by calmly, and observe the present day, without being blinded by tumultuous passions, or soured by age and infirmity. it may easily be conceived that such a man must have seen and felt all the enjoyintroduction. 3 ments of life. with these his account of the past must necessarily be filled; nor would it be possible for him to vegetate in the seclusion of woods and forests, or to become the solitary of a desert, or of a monastic retreat. a time, however, must come when the fire of youth will decay; though, with such a man, the warmth of friendship succeeds to the flame of love, and the glow arising from a relish for society, survives the ardent pursuit of pleasure. such a man will certainly be the little hero of his tale; but he will neither be fastidious nor querulous, and although he may be somewhat prone to telling his own history, yet will he have so far derived benefit from his intercourse with fashionable society, that he will have learned how to listen, and how to observe. there will naturally be rather more distance and retirement in his habits, even though remaining in the very midst of the world, than there was when he was an actor, instead of a looker-on; but such a man's retirement is the corner of a well-filled b 2 4 introduction. drawing-room, a niche in a reading-room, the back row of an opera-box, behind a sexagenary duchess, unenvied, and almost unobserved; or in the deep shade of an umbrageous tree in st. james's park. a célibataire more from chance than from determination, he has no domestic concerns to perplex him, no wife to promote or to impede his welcome in the gay world, no train to carry after him, no addition to his unity in an invitation card, and he is, therefore, more easily provided for, and more generally invited than a family man. without assuming any peculiar merit, a well dressed and a well-bred raan, whose face is become common at parties, bien composées, will be asked to one place merely because he has been seen at another, where the same class of society moves; and thus must the scenes of high life multiply infinitely to him in the course of years, making up an almost imperceptible experience. a beautiful, young, unmarried lady can with safety honour his arm, as the introduction. 5 companion and protector of her morning walk, without fear of exciting either ambition or passion in his breast, or of raising jealousy or uneasiness in the bosom of a more favoured swain. the flaunting married woman of quality can take such a man in her carriage to make the round of her morning visits, or to kill time by shopping, without fear of wearing out his patience, or of furnishing chit-chat at some distinguished conversazione, where the tongue of scandal might have canvassed the connexion and society of a younger cicisbeo. he may also be consulted as to dress, with implicit trust in the sincerity of his advice; and he may be allowed to witness a tender glance, a hand pressed, or a significant look given to a more youthful beau, without fear of rivalry, or any risk of scandalizing him. a donna attempata will sit with him in a morning deshabille, having no designs upon him. an exquisite and a ruffian will unrestrainedly play off their part before + b 3 6 introduction. " him, considering him as a good-natured, gentlemanlike old fellow, or, in other words, a cypher in the busy scene of high life. lady jemima's "at home," or mrs. alamode's "fancy ball," must be numerously attended; and men like him are precisely the materials for making up the corner figures of the belle assemblée. "hand me to my carriage," an angry belle will say to such a man; and to him she will confess her disappointments and disgusts,—the coldness of a favourite,-the flirting of a husband, the neglect with which she expected not to meet,—the killing superiority of a rival, the untimely giving way of the lace of her corset,-the mortifying bursting of the quarters of her satin shoe, her loss of temper, or her loss at play,—an assignation which calls her away, or vapours arising from the dissipation of the preceding night... " j if such a man see, and observe not, it must be his own fault; for, no longer blinded by his passions, nor quitting the world .. introduction. 7 in disgust, he can reason upon the past, correctly weigh the present, and calculate thereby what may occur in time to come. life is a drama more or less brief-with some gay, with others insipid; and all men are actors of some part or other, from the prince on the throne to the little tyrant of his domestic circle,-nor is it given. to those actors to see and learn themselves, but only to those who, like the hermit in london, occupy a seat in the stage-box, and are the calm spectators of the piece. whilst the fashionable novels (for, alas! nothing is so fashionable as scandal) are hewing away, à l'indienne, on every side and cutting up, not only public, but private characters; it is the intention of the following pages to pursue an entirely different plan, namely, to strike at the folly, without wounding the individual-to give the very sketch and scene, but to spare the actor in each; so that, upon every occasion, personality will be most sedulously avoidb 4 8 introduction. co ed: to blend the useful with the laughable, and to cheat care of as many moments as possible, being the chief and favourite views of the hermit in london. + entering a room. "ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute." whatever a man is accustomed to do, he will do with ease; and ease is grace, to a certain degree, at least there can be no grace without it. yet the very same person who performs every thing to which he may have been habituated, in the most becoming manner imaginable, will perhaps feel the bashfulness of a school-boy, or the awkwardness of a rustic, if unexpectedly called on to appear in a character entirely new to him. thus we may see a player get through his part with all the eloquence of passion, aided by the most impressive gesticulation; yet if it fall to his lot, in the course of the evening, to deliver an apob 5 10 entering a room. logy to the audience, for some disappointment in the appearance of a brother performer, or some alteration in the amusements, his fluency deserts him, his carriage becomes constrained, and he very likely feels himself almost as much at a loss in addressing the spectators in this extemporaneous manner, as the major part of them would do, if required to leave the boxes at a moment's warning, and "fret and strut their hour upon the stage.' 3 behold, in the same manner, a clergyman enter the pulpit, whence he is accustomed to exhort an admiring and attached body of parishioners. how calmly he looks around on them! with what ease he opens his discourse! with what facility he proceeds! how readily he confutes the objections which, for the moment, he supposes to be raised against the doctrines he s advancing! and how ingeniously he winds up his arguments, precisely at the moment when he is aware that they have produced the full effect which he intended, on the minds of his congregation! yet let this . "2 entering a room. 11 very same preacher be called on to give his evidence in a court of justice, or his opinion at a public meeting, on matters unconnected with his profession, and it is probable that an attorney's clerk, or an intelligent farmer, would speak with as much perspicuity, and more to the purpose. place a man whose life has been devoted to the study of the fine arts, among a set of merchants talking over their specula tions, and how silent he will sit, in all the amazement of ignorance, whilst they discuss the value of russia or of india produce; of hemp, tallow, and iron; cottons, sugars, or dye-stuffs. in return, bring him who has never studied any thing but the prices current, and the list of exports and imports, into a party of connoisseurs, and what will become of all the commercial knowledge, and the correctness of calculation which has gained him the reputation on 'change of a shrewd man, and a good man ? he will find small hope of making cent per cent of his capital, by studying the beau ideal and the chiaroscuro, the breadth b 6 12 entering a room. of light, the mass of shadow, and the draperies, grouping and effect, which excite such admiration in the party among whom he wanders about, impatient and bewildered, angry at the unprofitable nature of their discussions, yet ashamed to show his ignorance of them, and devoutly wishing himself boxed up in his countinghouse again, among his clerks, or reclining at his ease on the benches of his favourite coffee-house, where his countenance is watched as a kind of index to the probable averages of the markets. it follows, then, that in order to appear to the most advantage, we ought to be seen in the place which we have been the longest accustomed to fill, and it is perhaps from a little anxiety respecting myself on this head, that i have been led into the foregoing reflections. a first appearance as an author is a tremendous undertaking: however, he that ventures on it may have been used "the applause of listening senates to command," or to lay down the law with more certainty 1 entering a room. 13 of success, and less fear of contradiction, on a matter of taste, in a lady's boudoir. it is one thing for a man to fix the eyes of a fashionable circle upon his dress and figure, and another to fix the eyes of the public upon his works. the remarks that may excite most enviable peals of laughter in an elegant drawingroom, may be read with phlegmatic rigidity of muscle in the corner of a bookseller's shop, particularly if the day should happen to be damp and foggy; and the criticisms which sound vastly acute and erudite, as delivered from a stage box at the theatre, or in fop's alley, at the opera, may be criticised, themselves, as sufficiently vapid, when they fall under the lash of critics by profession, instead of being reechoed by pretty savantes at one of the numerous conversaziones which this age of intellectual improvement has established, in order to perfect us in the ancient art of talking, which, it should seem, we have been too much accustomed to consider, hitherto, as a mere matter of amusement. 1 14 entering a room. dangers and difficulties are, however, the price of honours, whether they be such as the hero, or as the saint aspire to. behold me, therefore, gentle reader, a hermit by choice, an author at your service, and solicitous only to know what topic i can fix on for the opening of my lucubrations, so as most to minister to your entertainment. there is something so awkward in choosing a subject for the first time! it is like first entering a room-which, by the bye, is one of the most difficult things in the world, to accomplish in a graceful and prepossessing manner. there are a thousand ways of doing it—and why not remark upon some of them? an excellent thought! : "what shall i write upon?" said cowper to his fascinating friend, lady austin. "write upon the sofa, to be sure!" she replied and from her lively équivoque arose that delightful poem of " the task," than which i will not pledge myself to my readers for any thing much better, in the whole course of the following pages. this was all owing to seizing a first thought, entering a room. 15 an impulse; and as cowper was of the hermit-species himself, though somewhat of a different class from the hermit in london, being a follower of heraclitus, instead of democritus, i cannot do better than take him, in this instance, for my example; and if i so far imitate him as to make the most of the moment whilst the impression is warm, for expanding the idea which is uppermost in my mind, i must not waste time in further deliberation, but immediately proceed to analyse some of the various modes of entering a room. in no situation are we more prepossessed by the expression of countenance, and the general figure, than when a person first enters a room. it is, in some measure, like a scenic representation; and we are prepared, however unjustly, to applaud or to disapprove the character, unexamined and unheard. i have so often sat myself down, like a statue, in the corner of a drawingroom, that i have had good experience in this way; and, close observer as i am, and albeit neither dazzled from inexperience, 16 entering a room. nor inflamed by youth, yet to the prepossession for or against, i have, involuntarily, very frequently given way. modesty blended with dignity (a beautiful point, most difficult to hit) has always won my vote in favour of the possessor; and yet i am aware that a consummate courtier, a high-bred, finished gentleman, or a travelled man of fashion, endowed with observation and imitation, can assume this character perfectly and successfully. the grave, gloomy, eye-averted and browdejected man, the man who hastily enters the apartment, and fain would say to one behind him, "shove me in, that i may get over these odious ceremonials," appears a suspicious guest. you say to yourself, "we shall never get acquainted; 'tis no loss, i do not wish it; he is a stoic, a cynic, a sceptic, a fellow of long head, perhaps, but selfish; he would cheat you in a bargain; 'tis either pride or meanness which makes him so shy." whilst every interchanged look and word with any of the former personages, is like a wish to our better acquaintance.” 66 entering a room. 17 but, besides these extremes, there are various ways of entering an apartment, divers characters assumed at the moment, many modes of expressing, by the very look and bow, what rank in society the person holds, who thus appears on the scene,and not only his rank in society, but the estimation in which he is held in the very circle of which he now forms a segment, and in which he has a character to play, very frequently, for that night only:-i say night, because i allude to a dinner party, which, in high life, always takes place at night, as the breakfast is the repast of the afternoon, and the morning call, or ride, is an evening amusement. one character enters with dignity, and an assumed condescension; which is pride in a fancy dress. the bow bends little, it says, "i am come,-not very late neither i might have sent an apology; but i am come, to confer honour, and to be praised." the smile means, "i greet ye all; be seated; i shall show no superiority amongst you, but make myself uncommonly pleasant.” hành thân nhân sự như bệnh nhân 18 entering a room. another enters with a briskish step, usually accompanied by "i fear i am late; i had not an idea of the hour; i hope i have not kept you waiting very long." this person looks round for smiles, for acknowledgements; bows rapidly and circularly; squeezes his host's hand; steps up boldly, but respectfully, to the lady of the house,-sometimes shakes hands with her; fidgets, as it were, until he is brought into play; then attitudes himself for a moment, and casts a beam of mirth around him. this is either one who is whispered all round the room to be a pleasant fellow, a wit, a table light, one who will be looked to for a joke at dinner, one whose attic salt is to give a relish to the feast; or he is a character for whom all are prepared; or lastly, he is the friend of the family, or a young, not overbearing patron. a third lounges in, and lisps and drawls out his answers; holds one finger to his landlord, as if loth to be too kind; and bows to the lady of the house as if an exquisite was the very gas of a brilliant circle, entering a room. 19 and as if he felt that he must be every where welcome. very little interest is created by such a doll, which is importantly to fill a chair, in all the plenitude of emptiness. a fourth bashfully hangs back; enters slowly; waits to be met, and to be brought forward in the circle; directs his glance and the profound inclination of his head to the host and hostess; taking his chance for gaining friends afterwards by gentleness, obliging attention at table, and humility; or perhaps looks meekly at the donor of the feast, and glides away into a corner, into the embrasure of a window, or a situation remote from the foreground figures of the picture. this character you may set down for a man of modest worth; perhaps an artist who has yet his fame to build, one who is there for the first time, or else an unfortunate protégé, a voter at an election just secured, or a poor relation. lastly, we may observe a very quickstepped, over civil, circularly smiling, wise looking, mysterious eyed, obsequious, grave 20 entering a room. dressed man in black, with a sufficient number of seals and rings, white hands, and often with a powdered head, canvassing every eye for notice; who will applaud every thing which you say, laugh before the joke be concluded, often look at his watch, be called out, or take french leave. this is either an author of doubtful rank, a clergyman of somewhat too complaisant habits, or the physician of the family. there are a hundred other kinds of entrances, too tedious to mention. i have, however, confined myself to men only; as female fascinations speak for themselves, and as all women in high life enter a drawing-room in pretty much the same way; a little more or less consequence, a little more or less diffidence and freedom from mauvaise honte, being the only shades of difference; at least all others are so minute as to have escaped, hitherto, the penetration even of the hermit in london, ; ; a patron. patrons, in days of yore, were men of sense, were men of taste, and had a fair pretence to rule in lettera :-some of them were heard to read off hand, and never spell a word. our patrons are of quite a different strain, with neither sense nor taste; against the grain they patronize for fashion's sake-no more! 99.66 churchill. genius, like the beautiful flowers which adorn the garden, requires culture and the sun of patronage: without these, however rich the soil, it will pine and wither in the shade of neglect. some talents there are, like those of the immortal burns, which may be considered as field flowers, as the mountain daisy, cheerfully "glinting forth" above the storm," or the wild violet, which wastes its sweetness on the desert air." but these are few in number. for the most part, where genius puts forth 66 1 22 a patron. the blossoms of promise in a young mind, some kind patron—a nobleman, a clergyman or a man of science, not unfrequently the honest schoolmaster of the village, cultivates the tender plant, by bestowing education on the growing capacity; and, at a future period, it depends on the great for support, and for being brought to maturity. there is not indeed a nobler office than that of patronizing talent in every branch. it is often done from the purest motives of philanthropy, and a love for science; but still oftener from pride or the desire of flattery; for, not unfrequently, a laboured panegyric, or a florid dedication, will advance the author's fame and fortune more rapidly and more effectually than seven years' literary labours, or than gli più belli concetti of the poet or the artist. protégés are of three classes,-the man of talent, author, artist or professional man, -the useful man, who, under the title of a secretary, or an humble friend, writes his patron's letters, publishes something in his a patron. 23 name, makes his speeches for him, and directs his mind, when obstinacy, or selfsufficiency does not mar his good intentions, and the paltry shade of quality, the trusted dependent on rank and power, who makes himself a jackal to an ass, instead of to a lion. the last character is too contemptible for remark; while the other two are praiseworthy for their exertions in the field of wisdom, though often to be pitied for the sacrifice of independence, which they are called on to make at the shrine of imperial ignorance, or of illustrious haughtiness. talent, however, ought surely so far to elevate the possessor, that the man shall become ennobled by the bright gem which he wears in his mind; as we often see titled insignificance raised into importance from the lustre of decorations, by which alone the owner is recognized and acknowledged. many of our nobility and rich men are fond of being the patrons of men of abilities, whether foreign or native. that those who encourage the former, often do "" 24 a patron. it out of affectation, it is not unfair to suppose: to the protectors of the latter, credit ought to be given for sincerity, until they forfeit it by their conduct. of this number is my lord do-little. he has always some protégé with him, and nothing can flatter him so much as to recommend any one to his notice; but his protection is not that which impairs his fortune, or narrows the source of any other of his enjoyments. his lordship's patronage floats in a cup of tea, or appears by its object being permitted the honour of sitting at the foot of his table. it rewards by his distinguished condescension in leaning on the artist's arm, or by his allowing the poet or the historian to occupy a back seat in his carriage. the protégé of this nobleman may hope to be elevated by being introduced to people of the first rank and fashion; but it will be only by name, and his vanity may enjoy the same unsubstantial feast on being familiarly nodded to, or shaken by the hand, if met in public, by his macænas. so fond, a patron. 25 however, is lord do-little of this patronizing system, that you never meet him unless supported by an author or an artist; nor ever visit him without seeing modest merit in a neglected corner of his room; whilst he is reading letters of recommendation in favour of some one who seems panting after the very lot which cowley so forcibly expresses his abhorrence of, when he says― "is there a man on earth i ought to hate? "attendance and dependence be his fate." more than one man of letters has waited on his lordship's walking and talking hours, until he found his money spent, and his wardrobe worn out, by living without turning his talent to account, in hopes of the peer's putting him in the way of doing and by dressing for dinner, or, more frequently, for a morning walk (to the great destruction of boots), in company with the great man whose shade he was. and more than one artist has lost his time, and forfeited opportunities of benefiting so; c vol. i. 26 a patron. himself, whilst listening to the encouraging conversations of the peer, attending his levée, and expecting some sapient suggestion, or powerful interest which might introduce him to royal patronage; or at least insure his celebrity with the public. my friend, dr. dabble, is a very different patron. made an ll.d. at an early period, and gifted with a fine estate, he has set himself up for the promoter of learning, and the patron of science; but his patronage is not the mere warmth of a teapot, nor does it evaporate in a morning walk, nor can it be covered by a plate at table. he deals in solids-extracted, however, not from his own pocket, but from the paper currency, or the metallic substances of his friends and acquaintance. it is dangerous to meet the doctor, unless you have money about you for which you have no use; for his pockets are crammed with addresses, prospectuses, tickets for benefits, and plans or drawings of some architectural pile, which is destined to rise from the earth; whilst his house is like an a patron. 27 auction-room for antiques, statues, paintings, drawings, cameos, books and goods, to be disposed of, for the benefit of their respective owners. 66 do, my dear fellow, give me your guinea for this splendid work; here is a prospectus; it will be printed in the first style of perfection;" or "i must have you put your name down for this book of drawings, just about to be published;" or "i have set you down as a subscriber to mr. polyphrase's readings;" or "you are the very person i wanted to meet; you are so popular, so generally acquainted, that i am sure you will get me off half a dozen tickets in a raffle for a cameo, or for such a man's benefit." such is the constant language of the learned doctor, who spends his time in giving audience to artists and authors; in being the porter of their plans and cards in the streets; in negociating for them with booksellers in the morning, or puffing their respective abilities at evening parties. all this costs him personally very c 2 28 a patron. little except his labour; in giving which, by the by, there is merit; and, at the same time, it amuses and occupies him, and gains him the name of a patron, which he considers to be a very desirable distinction. "" 66 he is however so well known, that he often fails in his endeavours to serve; for if you see him fumble in his pocket, you know he is about to bring out "proposals for printing," "6 plan of an extensive collection of prospectus of a work to be published by subscription," or some such pocket-pistol, which he means to fire at your bank note; so that many of his acquaintance fly from his approach, and some are even scandalous enough to report that he has an interest in these speculations, beyond the mere pleasure of encouraging merit. such is the character of these two patrons of the arts. others there are, however, although the number be but few, who are the pure encouragers of science, the promoters of knowledge, and the distinguished cultivators of talent. insensible # " a patron. 29 to flattery, the only pride of such men is to see the success of those who owe their outset in life to their generous and bountiful assistance. friends to wisdom, and to mankind, they dedicate a great part of their fortune to the support of indigent talent, to drawing merit from the shade of adversity, or from obscurity of situation, and to enriching the republic of letters. it is to such men that statues are due. their names deserve to be written in letters of gold, to be chronicled here with sages and with heroes, and to reign hereafter in immortality; for they are the pillars on which wisdom and virtue lean, they are the support of growing genius; without them, a world of genius and science would fall to the ground uncultivated and unknown; and i trust that, amidst the praise and gratitude which is their due, they will not reject the humble tribute offered them by the hermit in london. c 3 too late for dinner, ........ ........ parthis mendacior. sed non ego credulus illis. hor. virgil this circumstance is a matter of chance or misfortune to some people; an affair of affectation and bad habit in others; but a practice, from whatever cause it may arise, of continual occurrence in the beau monde, although evidently at variance with true politeness. young woodville, an acquaintance of mine, an exquisite of the first class, in the way of magnificent living, splendid equipage, and well-appointed establishment, is conspicuous for this failing. i think i see him this moment, flying out of his chariot, \—the grey horses arriving at a break-neck c 4 32 too late for dinner. pace, a knock like thunder announcing him at the door,-and affecting himself to look overcome and chagrined on entering the apartment where every one is either just seated, or just finished the first course. his general plan is, on presenting himself at the dining-parlour door, to withdraw as it were, to join his hands, elevate his shoulders, make a slight inclination of his body, or a shake of his head, as much as to say, "this is very bad indeed; an't i incorrigible? most abominable for late hours? always engaged-always run away with by pleasure-never in time any where ! but quite the thing-monstrous agreeable -pardoned by the ladies-every where welcome." the pantomimic representation is followed by a demonstration of his very white teeth, rather than a smile; and then, shaking hands with his friend at the bottom of the table, or giving him a gentle tap on the back (if an intimate), ogling all round, glancing at all the beauty and fashion in the, room, he proceeds with much confidence to the seat allotted to too late for dinner. 33 him, disturbing, and apologizing to, as many as possible, in his way towards the head of the table. his hacknied excuses in general are, "upon my life, i don't deserve to be pardoned; yet i reckon on your ladyship's indulgence; i never was so mistaken in my life; it was six when i was talking about a horse, to the duke, at tattersall's; the moment that i discovered it, i gallopped home at the risk of upsetting a score of plebs, and took only ten minutes to dress and get here" "upon my soul, i beg your pardon; 'tis too bad i know: " or "i know not on earth how to apologize for my seeming rudeness; but i did not get home from the quadrille ball until seven o'clock; could not close my eyes for two hours; let my watch go down; and have gone wrong all day since:"." upon my honour i had not an idea of its being so late by an hour; but i know your goodness, and that you'll excuse me; you know me; the very worst head in the world; never could calculate time or money; you c 5 34 too late for dinner. know that, sir charles; i have always twice as much to pay as i expected, and am always an hour or two later than i intended;" and an insipid laugh closes this misstatement. or else it is, "do forgive me; it is not my fault; i wish the house of commons was annihilated; i went in with my brother, and could not move until half-an-hour ago; dressed all by guess, and almost half in my carriage; i never was so put out in my life." now all these excuses are nearly as old as himself, known to all his acquaintance, worn out as to effect, and wearing out the patience of every one concerned; yet does he think this bad habit quite an accomplishment, and prefers it to the chance of entering a half-filled apartment in proper time, or to being mistaken for a man of exactitude and order. many of his female acquaintance, who are fearful of dinner's suffering from his neglect, or who are not dazzled by his good looks and affectation, have relinquished his presence at their tables on this account; but still he will too late for dinner. 35 not submit to the dull five minutes before dinner, and thinks it stylish in the extreme to be always in a great hurry, gallopping out of the park, or dashing up to your door, as if on business of the last importance. hence he has acquired the nickname of the late mr. woodville; and so far is he from being ashamed of it, or corrected by the charge, that he seems to pitch his ambition at a still higher mark, and aspire to be called latest among the late, as marshal ney was termed "le brave parmi les braves." i need not add that he is incorrigible: and well he may be so; when one lady holds out her hand to him at the head of the table, crying, "sit down, madcap; i wonder you did not come in at the desert:" another exclaims, "ah! woodville, are you come so soon?" a third, in answer to his practised, easy, and insincere apologetical tricks, says, "sit down, never mind; we all know you; you (with a stress) are a privileged man for late hours: have you seen the young dowager?" c 6 36 too late for dinner. 4 all this, woodville thinks, adds éclat to his course through fashion's airy circle. he fancies, and often with truth, that very young tendrils of fashion, the scions of elegant and extravagant stocks, admire him for his foibles, commend his assurance, and extol his vanity. his practised weaknesses so often gaining indulgence, he becomes an habitual defaulter at dinner, and he would not know how to take his chair without an excuse. how prettily he looks and answers to lady mildway, when she, with a suavity peculiar to herself, observes, "my only regret is, that the soup will not be worth your tasting, although mercier (the cook) pleases you in general; and that the fish will be neither hot nor cold." "upon my life," lisps the youth, “you overpower me with goodness; it's my own fault if either be the case; but if you would expiate my enormity by taking half a glass of madeira with me, i should feel much more comfortable; for i really am horrified at coming so uncommonly late:" (habitually ought to be the word). * too late for dinner. 37 all these minor manœuvres lend a false interest to mr. woodville, which he has 'usurped, which indulgence has admitted, which youthful inexperience tolerates, and, which ignorance admires. lord livre-rouge, whose only superiority is his place in the red-book, his name, style, title and designation in the court kalendar, is another of these dinnerspoilers, these abusers of good-nature, these violators of good manners, these usurping coxcombs, who wish to soar above even the circle of elegance and good company, by coming last, by being waited for, by deranging a party, and by creating a sensation, as they swagger, seemingly confounded, to the first places at the tables they have so long kept waiting for them. my lord, however, has not woodville's good humour, none of his simpers and his smiles, no false humility, no submissive pride: he makes you wait as a matter of course, and takes his place as a matter of right. he sometimes seems to look surprised, and motions a regret at deranging 38 too late for dinner. a whole party, but it is with a self-approving deportment. he will tell you, that he is that moment arrived from derby, or from newmarket, or from the upper house, in which however he takes much less interest than at the winning-post of either of the other places. he wishes you had not waited: but it is very easy to perceive that he would never have forgiven you, if you had not. he canvasses the respect and attention of the family; and is mortified in the extreme if he finds himself in the minority. every glance of his claims applause and every civility caricatures condescension. he dines with you for form's sake; comes late for fashion's sake; stops as long as it suits himself; and takes french leave, without heart or interest in your party. : sometimes he will say, with a superior and saucy tone, "indeed, my dear mrs. so-and-so, i am sure you think me very rude in coming so late; but it was with difficulty that i came at all: i put off five engagements for your's; and i left a dozen too late for dinner. 39 things undone, and people dissatisfied, sooner than disappoint you." or, by way of being jocose, "i dare say your french cook wishes me at the antipodes for spoiling his fricassée or his vol au vent, his omelet or his macaroni; but i had a hard matter to get here at all-only i hate sending excuses." the prevalence of these late dinner visitors is such, that there is quite a struggle betwixt the makers of banquets and the eaters of them, who shall be latest in their hours; and, as was said by an irish gentleman of my acquaintance, who has crossed the channel to nod and monosyllablize, in the house of commons, annually since the union, "upon my faith people are getting so much later every year in their hours, that i should not at all be surprised to find dinner put off until the next day." the givers of parties are so afraid of having their delicacies spoiled, that they know not how late to make the hour of meeting; and yet the rival party, the guests of fashion, all emulating each other in haut 40 too late for dinner. " ton, struggle who shall come last, who shall cut in for the last moment, who shall drive up last to the door, who shall make the most dignified, graceful apology, in which a multitude of engagements, their parliamentary duty, general dissipation, their break-of-day habits, or their horseracing, or other laudable pursuits take the lead; and, until some very high authority give a contrary example, this evil will increase daily. yet how pitiful, how stupid are these excuses, founded in folly and untruth. if you fall in with a man of fashion in rotten row, he will deign to go down the ride once, or once and a half with you; but when tired of you, out comes his watch, he looks all wonder, he is astonished at the lateness of the hour, and he must leave you. he goes off in a hard canter; and, in five minutes more, you see him walking his horse by the side of a new acquaintance, aş leisurely and insipidly as if he did not know what to do with his time, and hailed any company in preference to study or · too late for dinner. 41 solitude. from the second picked-up companion he escapes as from you-" is sorry he must leave him or her; has a particular engagement;" yet returns to the charge, and skirmishes among the trees, with a fourth, fifth, or sixth ; or perhaps he passes you unnoticed, with a greater personage by his side, or gives you a slender acknowledgment, a bow which bespeaks an air of protection. i confess that i like punctuality myself, and that, but for fashion's sake, i would adopt it in its utmost exactitude. i have however so often been shewn into a study, by an astonished and astonishing puppy out of livery, and had a parcel of pamphlets, novels, and new publications put before me about half-past six o'clock, with a look of "who can you be, to come so very soon ?" so often been in the drawingroom with only officious slaves stirring up the fire, presenting me a newspaper already read, and looking contempt at me for coming in time to read it; so often beheld my lord dismount his horse, and 42 too late for dinner. so proceed to dress, after i had come fully prepared to dine in ten minutes; often heard a groom of the chambers, in a practiced accent and a haughty voice, inform me, that he dares say his master or his mistress would soon be in; that i have got nearly as incorrect, in keeping time, as the rest of my circle. nevertheless, i commend and highly esteem the principle and plan of the late immortal lord nelson, who held promptitude of measures and exactness in time as most valuable qualities, and who, when he recommended a tradesman to send off some articles for him so early as six a. m., on the man's saying, "yes, my lord, i will be on the spot myself by six o'clock," mildly touched him on the shoulder, and, with a very significant look, added, "mr. a quarter of an hour before, if you please." the tradesman seemed astonished; but stammered out, "surely, my lord, if you wish it; yes, a quarter before six; yes, a quarter before, instead of six!" "right," said his lordship, "it is to that quarter 66 -too late for dinner. 43 before the time that i owe all the good i ever did." the more we consider this remark, and weigh it with the activity and decision of our late naval hero, the more inestimable it appears. but my readers are just as well able to appreciate this as i am; and "je reviens à mes moutons," by saying, that if i could get others not to be too late for dinner, they should never have that fault to lay to the charge of the hermit in london. : hyde park on a sunday. round, round, and round-about, they whiz, they fly, with eager worrying, whirling here and there, they know nor whence, nor whither, where, nor why; in utter hurry-scurry, going, coming, maddening the summer air with ceaseless humming. frere. "i wish there was not such a thing as a sunday in the whole year," said my volatile friend lady mary modish: "a fine sunday draws out as many insects, from the butterfly of fashion down to the grub-worm, from courts leading out of bishopsgate without, or bishopsgate within, as a hot sun and a shower of rain can produce in the middle of june. the plebs flock so, that you can scarcely get into your barouche without being hustled by the men-milliners, linen-drapers, and shop46 hyde park on a sunday. boys, who have been serving you all the rest of the week. bad horsemen and pedestrian women, parés à outrance, ultras in conceit and in dress, press you on every hand; and yet one cannot be at church all day, nor make a prisoner of one's self because it is sunday. for my part, i am ennuyé, beyond measure, on that day; and were it not for my harp and a little scandal, there would be no getting through it at all." 3 the carriage now drew up to the door, and her ladyship proposed that i should take a corner, and go down the park just once, with her and her younger sister, merely, as she said, "to shew her friends that she was in town." "what legions of counter coxcombs !'' exclaimed she, as we entered grosvenor gate. "the tilbury and dennet system is a great convenience to these people. upon the plunder of the till, or by overcharging some particular article sold on the saturday to a négligente, who goes shopping. more for the purpose of meeting her hyde park on a sunday. 47 favored swain, than for any thing which she wants to purchase, it is so easy for these once-a-week beaux to hire a tilbury and an awkward groom in a pepper and salt, or drab coat, like the incog. of the royal family, and to sport their odious persons in the drive of fashion. some of the monsters, too, have a trick of bowing to ladies whom they do not know, merely to give them an air, or pass off their customers for their acquaintance. " there!" continued she, "there goes my plumassier, with fixed spurs like a field officer, and riding as importantly as if he were one of the lords of the treasury. there again is my banker's clerk, so stiff and so laced up, that he looks more like an egyptian mummy than a man. what impudence! he has got some groom out of place with a cockade in his hat, by way of imposing himself on the world for a beau militaire. i have not common patience with these creatures. "i have long since left off going to the play on a saturday, because, independent 48 hyde park on a sunday. of my preference for the opera, these insects from cheapside, and so on westwards, shut up their shops, cheat their masters, and font les importans about nine o'clock. the same party crowd the park on sunday; but on black monday return like school-boys to their work, and you see them with the pen behind their ear, calculating how to make up for their hebdomadal extravagancies, pestering you to buy twice as much as you want, and officiously offering their arm at your carriage door." at this juncture, mr. millefleurs came up to the carriage, perfumed like a milliner, his colour much heightened by some vegetable dye, and resolved neither to blush unseen,' nor to waste his c sweetness on the desert air.' two false teeth in front shamed the others a little in their ivory polish, and his breath savoured of myrrh like a heathen sacrifice, or the incense burned in an ancient temple. he thrust his horse's head into the carriage (i thought) a little abruptly and indecorously; but i perceived that it gave $ hyde park on a sunday. 49 no offence. he smiled very affectedly, adjusted his hat, pulled a lock of hair across his forehead with a view of shewing, first, that he had a white forehead, and next, that the glossiness of his hair must have owed its lustre to at least two hours' brushing, arranging, perfuming, and unguenting. he now got his horse's head still closer to us, dropped the rein upon his neck, hung half in and half out of the carriage, with his whip stuck under his arm, and a violet in the corner of his mouth, a kind of impudent stare in his eyes, and a something half too familiar, yet half courtly, in his manner. "what a beautiful horse!" said lady mary. "yes," replied millefleurs," he is one of the best bred horses in europe." i must confess that i thought otherwise, for i did not admire his head being so close to my face; "and," continued he, "the best fencer in europe." this accomplishment i had myself formerly excelled in; but i was ignorant of its having become a part of equine education. i urged him to explain, vol. i. d 50 hyde park on a sunday. and amused him at my own expense very much. he, however, was polite enough to instruct my ignorance; and informed me that he was a high-couraged horse, and one of the best leapers of fences that he had ever seen. lady mary condescended all this time to caress the horse, and to display her lovely arm ungloved, with which she patted his neck, and drew a hundred admiring eyes. : the exquisite, meanwhile, brushed the animal gently with a highly scented silk handkerchief, after which he displayed a cambric one, and went through a thousand little minauderies, which would have suited an affected woman better than a lieutenant in his majesty's brigade of guards. although he talked a great deal, the whole amount of his discourse was, that he gave only seven hundred guineas for his horse; that his groom's horse had run at the craven; that he was monstrous lucky that season on the turf; that he was a very bold horseman himself; and that, being engaged to dine in three places that day, he did not hyde park on a sunday. 51 know how to manage; but that, if lady mary dined at any one of the three places, he would cut the other two. at this moment, a mad-brained ruffian of quality flew by, driving four-in-hand, and ⚫ exclaimed in a cracked, but affected tone, "where have you hid yourself of late, charles?" "i have been one of his majesty's prisoners in the tower," said millefleurs; meaning that he had been on duty there; and, turning to lady mary, in a half whisper, he observed, ".although you see him in such good form, though his cattle and his equipage are so well appointed, he got out of the bench only last week, having thrown over the vagabonds his creditors: he is a noble spirited fellow, as good a whip as any in britain, full of life and humour, and i'm happy to say that he has now a dozen as fine horses as any in christendom, kept, bien entendu, in my name: but there are wheels within wheels." he now dropped the violet, kissed his hand, and was out of sight in two seconds. “a fine young man!" said her ladyship. d 2 52 hyde park on a sunday. i bowed assent, and offered her some eau de cologne which i had about me, as a corrective to the scent which her taper fingers had gained, by patting the wellbred fencing horse." alas!" thought i, "this young rake has made his impression!" lady mary has a fine fortune, and i am sorry to see her thus dazzled by this compound of trinkets and cosmetics, who, deeply involved in his circumstances, will, in a short time, squander a great part of her property. but mr. millefleurs is a complete merveilleux: and that is quite enough for my volatile friend. looking after him for a half minute, she perceived a group of women in the very last parisian fashions. "there," said she, "there is all that taffeta, feathers, flowers, and lace can do; and yet you see, by their loud talking, and their mauvais ton, by their being unattended by a servant, and by the bit of straw adhering to the petticoat of one of them, that they have come all the way from fleet street, or ludgate hill, in a hackney coach, and are now hyde park on a sunday. 53 trying to play the women of fashion. see the awkward would-be-beau, too, in a coat on to-day for the first time, and boots which have never crossed a horse." mrs. marvellous now drew up close to us. "my dear lady mary," said she, "i am suffocated with dust, and sickened with vulgarity; but, to be sure, we have every thing in london, here, from the house of peers down to waterloo-house, and the inhabitants of the catch-penny cheap shops all over the town. i must tell you about the trial, and about lady barbara's mortification, and about poor mrs. o's being arrested, and the midnight flight to the continent of our poor dandy who arrived in an open boat, our borough member ruined, his wife exposed, strong suspicions about the children, young willoughby called out, thought slack, pretended that he could not get a second, lavender upon the ground—all a hoax.” $ here she lacerated the reputation of almost all her acquaintance, and i perceived that to this part of her conversation 4 d 3 54 hyde park on a sunday. the serving men attached to both carriages were most particularly attentive. when she drove off, i observed to lady mary, that "i thought people of quality were not sufficiently cautious of speaking before their servants, and that they owed to themselves and to polite society more care in this particular." she gave a slight toss with her head, and said, "oh! they know nothing about amours and high life; they can't understand our conversation." i was, however, quite of a different opinion, in which i was afterwards confirmed. our exquisite now came up to the carriage a second time, with some concert tickets, which he wished my fair friend to take; and he looked, as much as to say, "thou art a happy dog, old gentleman!" a telegraphic signal passed; and he said to me, "i just met sir peter panemar, the nabob, and he swears that there is the most beautiful spanish woman that ever looked through a veil, this moment gone into the garden. it is said, by the by, that she is protected by a certain peer; but i hyde park on a sunday. 55 believe her to be a rich diamond merchant's wife. the whole park is in a blaze about her." i am a great amateur, i confess. a lovely picture is worth contemplating; but my designs go no further. i suspected, however, that this was an adroit manœuvre to get rid of me for a time. i therefore requested permission to alight for the purpose of looking into the garden. this was cheerfully agreed to; and lady mary promised to wait until i had feasted my eyes on the fascinating incognita. the happy swain then offered to take my place until i returned; and this arrangement seemed to please all three. our exquisite entangled his spur in her ladyship's flounces; but it did not discompose her in the least. i recommended chevaux de frise in future, at which she laughed; and the step was let down for me. arrived in the gardens, i sought la bella senora in vain; and am even now uncertain whether i was hoaxed or not, although d 4 56 hyde park on a sunday. our exquisite most solemnly protested that the nabob had seen her. i sat down for a moment on the low wall, and heard the scandal of the liveried tribe. "how does your coat fit you, sir jerry?" cried one footman to another: "you'll only have to try it on. i once lived with your old mistress, and she was determined that i should not eat the bread of idleness; for i never got a moment's amusement whilst i was in her service. she sacks the card-money; measures out her provisions like a nip-cheese purser of a man of war; notes down every thing in her own account-book; and if you can make a guinea besides your wages, i'll allow you to eat me roasted: but you'll not be long there, though the old man is a good-natured fool enough, deaf and drunken, snuffy, but never out of temper." much more was added; but this was quite enough for me, another scoundrel insinuated something concerning a fellow servant of his and a lady of high rank, which almost induced me to cane him. * hyde park on a sunday. 57 at my return to the carriage, i delicately hinted a part of what i had heard; but it had no effect: neither had the tearing of the lace flounce, nor the want of principle of the young four-in-hand buck : all seemed to pass with her ladyship as matters of course in high life. and yet she is virtuous, prudent, and well principled: but she is far gone, as mrs. marvellous calls it, and i am sorry for it. six o'clock now called us to dress, and a third succession of company arrived, who all appeared to have dined, and on whose cheeks sat the flush of punch and other strong liquors. in these groups were children drawn by dogs, or by their papas, in little chairs; others in arms; fat landladies, tall strapping wives, and tame submissive husbands-the emblems of domestic drill and petticoat subordination. every insect of fashion flew off on fancy's wing, at the appearance of le tiers état. and now commenced the pleasures and the labours of the toilette, which i leave d 5 58 hyde park on a sunday. my fair friend to indulge in, convinced at the same time qu'elle aura des distractions, though she may not communicate them to the hermit in london. on the rage for imitating foreign manners. why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashionmongers, these pardon-me's, who stand so much on the new forms, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? o, their bons, their bons! romeo and juliet. what can an englishman gain by being mistaken for a foreigner? what can he propose to himself, at home, by showing off foreign conceit, foreign affectation, and foreign grimace? why, he expects, thereby, to gain the reputation of a travelled, and consequently highly informed man. the grounds, however, of such a reputation are to be obtained without the gesticulations of mountebanks, without making our conversation an olio of all kinds of languages and quotations, and even without assuming a foreign accent, or foreign airs. 60 on the rage for a scholar, whose mind is filled with classic and scientific lore, is scouted in polished circles, if he frequently indulge himself in greek or latin quotations. you may say, it is because he is not understood by the majority of the company. not at all it is to be presumed that the majority do understand him; but it is because he is not understood by all-by the ladies, for instance; and by the less classically educated among the gentlemen. for the very same reason is an interlarding of foreign living languages equally offensive. some of the circle may not understand you. one nobleman speaks french, but not spanish; another understands spanish, but not german; a lady speaks french and italian, but understands neither spanish, portuguese, nor german; whilst the language which the impertinent coxcomb wishes to show off in, is precisely the one not understood: and, not unfrequently, it is selected for that very purpose; the speaker having just sense enough to be conscious of the shallowness of his imitating foreign manners. 61 acquirements, even those he is most anxious to display. when foreign languages are spoken, or even scraps of them interpolated in english conversation, with a view of facilitating our intercourse with a foreigner, the object is amiable and praiseworthy; but when such conduct is adopted merely for the purpose of assuming something above the circle in which we then move, or with the view of showing the company how much we know, it is truly unworthy of a gentleman; and it appears contemptible to a scholar and a man of taste, whether he understand the affected prattler or not. to communicate our ideas, it is necessary to be understood; but to show off these strange and silly airs, the very reverse is desirable; and the non-intelligent has the best of the bargain, by losing some flimsy quotation, or some trite foreign trash, in the way of quaint saying or common-place remark. . at the close of the continental war, nothing could be more ludicrous than our 62 on the rage for military foplings masqueraded into the dress, the language, and the deportment of foreigners; and, what was worse, they played these foreign parts with very second-rate abilities,-forgetting or omitting, disfiguring or mutilating the characters. thus had we, in our military exquisites, bearded or beardless, returned from abroad, spaniards without gravity or religion; italians with neither harmony, finesse, nor genius; germans free alike from taciturnity or judgment; and french puppies divested of playfulness and volatility. it was enough that these mock germans had their pipes and their want of polish; the spaniards, their mustachios and cigars; the italians, their sensuality; and as for the french, they were sufficiently distinguished, in the opinion of their representatives, by their snuff-boxes, their contortions, and their obtrusiveness. what an importation for great britain ! to be spit out, snuffed out, smoked out, and put out of countenance, from morn till night; and to hear grunts, nasals, and imitating foreign manners. 63 " gutturals, out of time and place, in french and in german; or the more effeminate lispings, sighings, and smoothings of the italian and spanish languages! here we had an insipid cornet of horse, leering and ogling con amore, abusing his fair countrywomen, his climate and his language; and it was "pazienza per forza, as we say in italian," "pian piano, if you please;" or "sin cumplimiento, as we say in spain,' muy obligato senor, as the spaniard says." in another place, we had a more elderly but not less affected militaire, all german, all smoke, tobacco, spurs and waltz, who could find nothing in his own country worthy of notice. 99.66 sometimes was to be seen a schoolboy of one campaign, swelled into an alexander the great, who could talk of nothing but of military movements, and who was enfilading the company, turning your flank, outmarching you, advancing in échelon upon you, and doing every thing en militaire, except making a masterly and steady retreat, which would have been the • 1 1 b 1 " 64 on the rage for wisest and the most agreeable of all. this dashing character would tire you to death with the shredwork of continental languages, and with military manœuvres; from the advance of the army, and getting engaged, to the taking up of a new position, and there bivouacking all night; so that his hearers heartily wished him to remain in that situation, or to join the reserve, of which he seemed to stand much in need. f but not to the brave defenders of our country, however coxcombical, are these failings alone to be attributed: our nobility and men of fortune and fashion are equally culpable in this respect. an irish earl, now no more, returned from his, continental tour perfectly unintelligible. he would ask you, in broken english, if he made himself understood by you; and he never framed a sentence that was not at least half french. a certain marquis has the very air, accent, appearance, and expression of an italian; and he marshals his foreign servants before you, merely to 5 imitating foreign manners. 65 show you how much he is above being an englishman. some, and very illustrious personages too, are so germanized, that you are in danger of forgetting that they drew their first breath in this country; and thus they lose a portion of the national attachment which, but for their disguise, would every where fall to their share. then we have women all à la mode de paris-all broken sentences of french and english-all shrug, humpback, stooped shoulders, quick short step, and quadrille anticks. these ladies are quite proud of having breathed the air of paris; and unless you can talk with them of the thuilleries and the champs elisées, of the parisian promenades, theatres, and performers, if you have not every moment mademoiselle mars, messieurs talma, vestris, gardel, and beaupré, mesdames clotilde and chenigny, the singers lays, derinis lavigne, madame amand, and all the corps du théâtre français, the corps d'opéra, and the corps de ballet, they turn their backs on you, and treat you as a 66 on the rage for rustic, as a superannuated being, or an ultra-tramontane. a few weeks trip over the water quite metamorphoses our youth of both sexes'; giving them a most usurped and unjust tone of superiority, and unfitting them for home and british society. these individuals also herd together, form waltz and quadrille parties, and imagine that they have a right to be leaders of fashion and models of taste; whilst their dress is ungraceful, their manners extravagant, their language imperfect, their morals often impaired, their talents generally confined, and their conduct always ridiculous. ❤ one would imagine the english language to be quite rich and various enough to express our thoughts without interlarding it with any other forms of speech; yet our exquisites and insipids, our unintelligible belles, and pert half-educated misses, cannot explain themselves without "the foreign aid of ornament;" and, therefore, they inform us that, in spite of such and such an occurrence, they preserved their imitating foreign manners. 67 sang froid; that they treated the affair with the utmost nonchalance; that it was une affaire du cœur, or, une affaire de goût. if asked how they will act, they will faire leur possible, or, faire l'impossible (which, by the by, they wish to do), with a million of other hacknied french phrases, that de not express the object alluded to one jot better than plain english would do. add to these things the ah bahs! the tout au contraires, the point du touts, and a few more phrases of this kind; with the starts and the shrugs, the elevations of shoulders, the shakings of heads, the writhings, the convulsions, and the puppet-show tricks of features; and you will have the whole language and manoeuvres of the pseudo-learned and accomplished ones, who have introduced foreign manners into our native soil. the mistakes, too, which they make, are additional proofs of a want of judgment. why does the frenchman add such stageeffect to his words? because he doubts that the simple matter of fact will be 68 on the rage for credited by you; or because his impatience and volatility bring into action all his resources at the same moment; or because, voluptuous and intriguing, madame brings language, eyes, gestures, and limbs into play, as if she were bringing all her artillery to bear upon the enemy at once; or, finally, because both wish to deceive you, to divide your attention, and find this powerful diversion quite necessary. in hot countries, speech is often abridged, and action becomes its auxiliary; and for this reason a neapolitan, for instance, is a complete player at pantomime. the foreigner adds telegraphic and pantomimic signs, to imperfect and almost unintelligible language: and yet john bull, who must be understood by a countryman, thinks the imitation of this, smart, well-bred, and fashionable. italian and other foreign performers writhe and contort their figures, in order to give effect to their fine cadences. ad libitum; and, therefore, a boardingschool miss cannot sing a common english ballad, without drooping over the keys of imitating foreign manners. 69 her piano, bowing and waving about, giving her eyes a die-away expression, and practising a thousand little affected fooleries. it is objected to the english, that they have a want of action and expression in conversation,—a want of play of countenance, and elegance of attitude: but this i deny. if you go into the higher circles, the fact does not exist. where do you find persons of family, and of high polish, address you with their back turned to you, with their arms folded across, or their hands in their pockets? where is the inquirer in genteel life, who asks a question without an inclination of the head? or (if a lady in particular) without a gracious and graceful smile? does a gentleman ever speak to you with averted eye, stern countenance, or surly gloom? do we not assume respect when addressing the higher dignitaries of the state? and is there any well educated man who does not adapt his countenance and demeanour to his company, and to the subject and situation of the time; 2 70 on the rage for without finding any dislocation of muscles, any convulsion of limbs, any broad stare of the eye, or violent disguise of the countenance, at all necessary? dignity and composure, with a look of mind, and an air of reflection, best befit our national character. the fairer sex has a natural and peculiar softness, serenity, and gentleness of expression and deportment. when we depart from these, we lose by the exchange, and we accept of the counterfeit in return for the sterling material. 爱 ​. but whilst these are national characteristics, there is no need for the male to appear all coldness, stoicism, and apathy; nor for the female to have that look of a dreaming sheep, un mouton qui réve, which our impertinent neighbour has bestowed upon her. in our language, also, if a dispassionate judge do but visit our higher circles, he will find it chaste, classical, expressive, and correct: so much so, that a person must possess no patriotism, who finds it requisite to borrow, either in gesimitating foreign manners. 71 ture or in diction, from any other country; and, if he really do wish to improve the former, it can be effected only by consult ing, not the french and italian living models, but the greek and roman immortal ones, which still live in the statues of antiquity. i cannot conclude without mentioning the intolerable affectation of a certain exquisite, who is the most conceited piece of english manufacture, disguised and varnished over with plaster of paris, and other materials, that i ever knew. he asserts, that not one englishman in a thousand knows how to take a pinch of snuff like a gentleman! and that it takes twelve months to learn the art! yet he has contrived to acquire this useful and ornamental accomplishment in about onetwelfth of the time! he may think himself an object of universal admiration, on account of the polish he has gained by his travels, but i can assure him he is one only of contemptuous pity, at least to the hermit in london. ! on guard for the first time. for he made me mad, to see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, and talk so like a waiting gentlewoman. -shakespeare. "hopfman,* wake me at six o'clock tomorrow morning, or i shall never be in time for guard (pronounced affectedly gard!);—and i say (in a slow conceited tone), let me have the last boots which hoby made me wellingnot the ton's; nor the dress boots; nor any of the six pair in the closet; nor the iron-heeled ones; but the last ones with copper heels; -and i say, be sure to use the blacking made after lord r's receipt, which comes to so much money,-that which has * a german valet de chambre. vol. i. e —— 74 on guard for marasquina in it, and oil of lavender, and about twenty other things, and has such a superior polish ;-and i say, fetch home my regimental jacket from scott; -and i say, see that it is well padded on the breast (it gives a martial air) and well stuffed on the shoulders, so as to give me my natural look of strength;—and i say, lay out the pantaloons that were made by the german soldier, under the patronage of prince vanstinkerstein; not those made by the leather-breeches-maker, nor any whatever made by my three english tailors; and i say, put two handkerchiefs in my regimental jacket, a cambric one, and one of my barcelonas ;—and i say, perfume them well, and let me have my gold snuff-box with the sleeping beauty on it, which the italian took me in so for; not the gold embossed one, nor the gold engine-turned, nor the gold antique box, nor the silver gilt, nor the one which i bought at the palais royal;-and i say, order my tilbury to take me down to the gard; for i shall otherwise get my boots the first time. 75 dusty, and might be run against by some coal-porter or sweep, and have my french scarlet cloth soiled; besides, one looks heated and flustered, after a long walk from harley street to the parade, instead of coming cool into the field;-and i say, i'll wear the twenty-guinea gold chain round my neck with my quizzing-glass ; and you must bring down my silk nightgown and turkish embroidered slippers, in order to astonish the weak minds of mes camarades; and i must have my backgammon-board pour passer le tems, and my poodle dog to play with; and you may take a coach and bring my violoncello with you, and my writing-desk, that i may write billets doux in order to soften the hardships of war;—and i say, i must have the cedar box of cigars, my gold cigar tube, my german bag, some scented tobacco, and my écume de mer pipe; 'twill pass an hour, and it looks so soldier-like to smoke on gard;—and i say, i must have a cambric chemise with the collar highly starched for dressing-time-one of those that look like winkers, and you may bring e 2 76 on guard for the other regimental jacket-either the one made by scott, so nicely pigeon-tailed, or that made by weston; and i must have my musical snuff-box for dinner; you will put prince's mixture in it, and high dried in the other; and you'll bring my light morocco boots for dinner, with soles as thin as a wafer ;-and i say, i shall begin to dress at five or half after, for it is too warm to hurry one's-self; and i must have my hair brushes, and my razors (for which he had very little use), and damask napkins, and rose-water for my eyes, and all my soaps, and some white wax for my nails, and all my paraphernalia set in gold, with my crest on each article, in my best dressing-case; and i say, "meinher !" "nothing; you may go away now; but be sure to awaken me at six. what a bore gard is!" "" here ended the colloquy betwixt a young cousin of mine and his servant; and although he called being on gard" a bore," yet he was delighted with this debut, and quite captivated with "all the pomp and circumstance of war." thus mounted he the first time. 77 his first guard, and gave me the following account of the manner in which he spent his time. "i walked up and down st. james's street and pall-mall forty-four times; sent my servant home for my stop-watch, and made a calculation of the time which it took to go from hoby's corner to the st. james's; looked in at parslow's, and lost some money at billiards; my hand shook so, that i was obliged to drink some curaçoa, and take three ices afterwards to cool myself; spoke to two-and-twenty pretty women, and bowed to fifty carriages, by which i got a stiff neck; hung on to lady mary's carriage facing white's for just twenty minutes, and was envied by the whole street; played a tune on my violoncello, and amused myself a whole hour by my repeater, in teaching my poodle to do his exercise with a cane, and to smoke a pipe, in order to fit him for a military life; read the racing calendar, and a table of odds at betting; looked into the horse-guards, and found a rascal e 3 78 on guard for dunning my friend bellamour; kicked the fellow down stairs, and took a hit at backgammon; treated my brother-officers on gard with some liqueurs; dined, got half-and-half, looked in at some gambling shops, came off minus ten guineas :-lucky enough! for at one time i was out a hundred; met lord somerfield and dick dandy in the hands of the watchmen; drew my sword like a man, and put the raggamuffins to flight; saw the sun rise in st. james's park,-beautiful, by jove! wrote a dozen billets doux, and made as many appointments, not half of which i shall keep; bivouacked (very like bivouacking!) for an hour on three chairs; smoked a pipe, which did not agree with was relieved (by the guard be it understood); came home, and slept until dinner-time." it will be unnecessary to comment on the useful life of my young cousin, and on the active nature of his services. he is, however, very young, very good hearted, but, unfortunately for him, very vain the first time. 79 and very handsome. i have often done every thing in my power to break him of being such a puppy; but it is all in vain. he holds the last generation very cheap indeed, and laughs at the old school, and at myself as much as at any of them. i endeavoured to point out to him how idle such a division of time was, and that even on guard a man might do something useful and ornamental; that he might read improving books in and out of his profession, draw, play on some instrument, and learn languages; and that tactics, histories of campaigns, and mathematics would be most exemplary lessons for these occasions. but my exquisite cousin seemed to think that "all that" was impossible in london, and far beneath a gardsman; adding that the gards behaved as well in the field as any men; that it was time enough to study when a man was going on actual service, and that he was as well pleased with his first gard as if he had returned home covered with glory. e 4 80 on guard for he considered himself as now completely launched into high life, and as having received the last stamp of fashion by being an officer in the guards. he assured me, that he was looked upon as a very hopeful recruit―a very prime fellow, by his brother officers; they said that he had nothing of the fresh man-of the greenhorn, about him, and that he was as much the thing as if he had been a redcoat of a twelvemonth. he, furthermore, informed me that his liqueurs were very much admired,—that he had been offered a pony for his german pipe, which cost him sixty guineas from the famous mr. hudson, and was a splendid article, that he had had fifty guineas bid for his musical snuffbox,--that he had given a dozen receipts for his superior blacking, that his taste was generally admired, that poodle was considered as very little inferior to le chien munito,and that he had received a score of invitations, and was to be proposed as a member of all the best clubs in town. the first time. 81 the plain english of all this is, that my poor cousin is newly enlisted under fashion's banner, is a recruit of pleasure, an aspirant of sensuality,-that he is about to become the imitator of the great, and the dupe of gamblers,-that his moderate fortune is marked down for a finish,— and that he is on the high road to ruin. the peace is an unlucky circumstance for him, since actual service and going abroad, years and experience, would be the only cure for his fashion-fever-the only check to his extravagance, for he pays no regard to the lectures of the hermit in london. e 5 time and wedlock, such is the common process of marriage. a youth or maiden meeting by chance, or brought together by artifice, exchange glances, reciprocate civilities, go home and dream of one another. they marry; and discover what nothing but voluntary blindness had before concealed; they wear out life in altercations, and charge nature with cruelty. dr. johnson. sauntering up may-fair, i perceived a name on a door which reminded me of an acquaintance whom i had not seen for five years. at that period he was at weymouth, where a very lovely girl (i shall call her caroline) also was, with her family, for the purpose of sea-bathing. venus, when she rose from the wave (i must choose a metaphor suited to the scene), could not shine brighter in youth and in beauty's pride than she. e 6 84 time and wedlock. my friend, who now lives in may-fair, was deeply enamoured of her, and committed more extravagancies in the way of courtship than ever i had heard of before. he would pass half the night under her window, serenade her, write verses on her, sit alone at a ball unless he danced with her : he would fire with rage when any male accosted her; and i actually saw tears in his eyes on her standing up to dance with a handsome young naval officer. he must have written, i suppose, about a ream of paper, in billets doux; and he fought two duels on her account. caroline was not much less romantic and impassioned than himself. she used to pass whole days in his society, walking and rambling together; she wore his picture concealed; had every thing marked with his hair; wrote to him daily, although they met twice in that day; and rendered herself conspicuous, as his amante, to the whole town. time and wedlock; 85 his father, who had a very large fortune, was averse to his marrying a poor baronet's daughter, who made one of five children; and the opposition on this occasion added strength to their flame. restraint and prohibition form the fuel of love, and greatly increase the combustion. i was made the mutual confidant of the youth and the lovely maid, and was entrusted as a mediator between the two families. my friend assured his father that he would commit suicide, if he were not allowed to marry the girl of his heart; and caroline made a vow of perpetual celibacy if she were not to have the youth of her choice,-adding, that "the thread of life could not be very long, since her heart must break without him." the affrighted parents consented to the. match, and the happy couple were united in hymen's bonds. they started in a chaise and four for devonshire, there to pass the honey-moon. on their road, they wrote me a joint letter, in which they ' སཙྪཱ 86 time and wedlock. called me "their more than father, their best of friends, the author of their felicity, and one for whom they never could do half enough." at this juncture, the bride was sixteen; and the bridegroom, about two and twenty. since then the father of the latter has paid the debt of nature, and left his son in possession of a very fine fortune, the only thing apparently wanting to the young couple's unequalled felicity. how they lost sight of me, their more than father, i am at a loss to account for; but i believe that they spent nearly a twelvemonth imparadised in each other's soft society in devonshire, and were three years on the continent. i had heard that fortune had blessed them with a family; and i anticipated a most interesting and happy meeting. 66 the servant who opened the door, had lived with his master for ten years, and immediately recognized me. my master and mistress will be delighted to see you, sir," exclaimed he, on beholding me, and time and wedlock. 87 flew up stairs, his eyes beaming with joy, to announce me. i found the enamoured pair seated on each side of a pembroke table: the lady was drawing a pattern for an embroidered flounce; and the husband had his elbow on the newspaper, and was perusing a number of accounts. five years had given maturity and fulness of beauty to caroline; nor had that period made any material alteration in her spouse, who was, and is, a handsome man. but the cast of features of each was wholly altered. hers used to be by turns the sportive, the lively, the frolicksome, the arch, the tender, and the impassioned: it was now the wholly and solely pensive and interesting. once it inspired admiration now it called forth sympathy and regret. his were the features of devotion, of enthusiasm, of furious and of uncontrolled love: now they were the outlines of asperity, discontent, satiety and disgust. what a change! what could all this mean! 88 time and wedlock. at her knee stood a child of three years old, playing with some flowers; and another was in a nurse's arms, archly admiring itself in the mirror, and slapping its reflection with its chubby little hand. "of all people in the world, our old friend!" exclaimed the husband, in an adagio tone of more gentle surprise than lively exultation. "how do you do ?" said caroline, rising hastily, and shaking me by the hand; whilst her eye was momentarily lit up, her colour came and went, and her lip quivered, as if struggling with some inward feeling : i am very glad to see you," continued she; but the joy was a moderate movement. 66 66 "here you see me," resumed the husband, quite an old married man, with the cares of the world, and a parcel of brats about me; i have two more, besides: these articles." "articles!" said i; "most lovely creatures," kissing the head of the one nearest to the table; "i think i never saw two finer children." "he does not, think so," observed caroline, laying such a لمي time and wedlock. 89 stress on the word he as signified, he alone ungrateful!"no," replied he; "if my friend knew how noisy, how perverse, and how troublesome they were, he would be of my opinion." the more like a certain person," retorted caroline. 66 here the youngest of the children broke an expensive mirror with a key. "d-n the child," angrily exclaimed the husband; "she is always doing some mischief. take her out, nurse.' at this unlucky moment, a sudden whirl-about of the little boy henry, attracted by the fracture of the looking-glass, caused him to knock the inkstand upon the papers, the table, and a white cambric pocket-handkerchief. take this little devil out, too;" roared he out to the servant. "and me with him," interrupted caroline. "what a monster you are to curse your children! i wonder you do not throw us all out of the window !!!" 66 here she burst into tears; and turning to me, said, "i beg your pardon for thus receiving you after so many years separa"" 90 time and wedlock. tion; but it is not my fault. you once knew me happy: now i am the reverse. some men do not deserve to have fine children, but"-her speech failed her, and she left the room. 66 i could not help reproaching her hus band with my eyes, and saying, in a sterner tone than i am wont to use, sir, i am sorry for all this." he perfectly understood me; and, looking confused and chagrined, replied, " faith and so am i, my good friend; i am sorry that i d-d the child; the idea was furthest from my heart; believe me" (assuming a mild strain, and laying his hand on my arm) "that i love my children; aye," (the tone was doubtful)" and my wife too; but they are so troublesome, and she is so extravagant and fond of pleasure, that it almost turns my brain. look at all these bills." "and you," observed i, in a half kind, half angry tone, "are so hasty that you drive caroline from your presence, and from your confidence, to seek for amusement elsewhere: pleasures are expensive; time and wedlock. 91 and thus do love, time, confidence, and money melt away together. but," (changing the subject) "how long have you been in town? where is your wife's family?" with many other trivial inquiries unnecessary to mention. i then took occasion to praise caroline's work, and to observe, a second time, what lovely children his were. "the work," said he, "is well enough, but she thinks of nothing else. her dress-makers, her milliners, and her lace-merchants ruin me. when a man" (continued he in a preaching tone) "marries beauty only, he weds a shadow instead of a substance, and "-i was out of patience with him so i looked at my watch and departed; observing, that i hoped he would, by kindness, remove the harsh impression which he must have made on his lady's mind, and that when next we met, all would be harmony and happiness. i saw through the whole business. the possession of an assemblage of charms had been the only object of this orlando fu92 time and wedlock. rioso in love; novelty was passed, and his natural bad temper had resumed its sway. his wife was weak, and easily captivated by dress and paraphernalia; and she had no kind mentor, no indulgent partner, to disengage her from the chain of pleasure, and win her over to a matron-like life. my readers may imagine that such a scene did not place the attractions of matrimony in a very strong point of view to a bachelor like the hermit in london. f the fatigue of pleasure. strenua nos exerçet inertia........... whom call we gay? that honour has been long the boast of mere pretenders to the name. hor. cowper. i was at lady modish's rout the other night. just as i was leaving the principal drawing-room, i met mr. bellamont. "i shall be glad when it is over," said he; "but do just let me pass you; i merely want to make my bow to her ladyship, that she and the whole town may know i have been here. i shall see myself in the long list in the morning papers tomorrow, provided i just make my appearance, for i shall not stay two minutes. i am jaded to death. it is now two in the morning; and this is the fourth squeeze which i have been at. but pray where is her ladyship?" i pointed her out to him.— • 94 the fatigue of pleasure. he looked as pale as a ghost; and seemed so tired, that he could scarcely walk up the great staircase. , you her ladyship was near the embrasure of a door; just planted so that each person might pass her. she made the same curtesy, the same smile, and nearly the same speech to every one, namely, " look so well that i don't ask you how you do; but an't you late? will you go into the card-room, or take a peep at the waltzers?" this i heard about forty times. she was extremely heated; and, after standing four hours, was ready to drop with fatigue. the very exercise of fanning herself became a labour to her, and lost its designed effect. she continued receiving company from eleven o'clock at night until four in the morning. i inquired after her the next day, and found that she was confined to her bed. i myself went home in a fever; for i got jammed in betwixt two rows of honourables and right honourables; and in the morning i found myself nearly deaf from the fatigue of pleasure. 95 the buzz of the company, and the continuous thundering sound of the knocker at the door. the announcing and repeating servants too were hoarse, and, at last, were scarcely audible, from calling the names of so many votaries of fashion, and movers in high life. many of the ladies fainted away from the heat of the rooms; and lord corpulent told me, that his sides were black and blue from the elbows of the company, and that he never got further than the second apartment the whole night. many visitors did not even see lady modish, whose size is none of the greatest; and the sole object of most of the party was, to have it to say that they had been there, and to appear in the columns of the fashionable journals. indeed it was in the newspapers, more than in her ladyship's splendid house, that her numerous quality friends wished to be seen. and yet this is pleasure! to go from one house to another after midnight! to be ready to faint with the heat of one party, and to be squeezed to a jelly in another! 96 the fatigue of pleasure. here to have a sight of the prince, and there to make your bow, and to repeat one single common-place sentence to her ladyship or to her grace! to have the triumph of answering in the affirmative, if asked if you have been to a fashionable belle's "at home," and to be put down with all the world, who, you are told by a lisping miss, or a chattering countess, was at such or such a one's splendid party! but, above all, to get into the newspapers, and thereby to get into fashion! if it were not for the fashionable papers, which appear at the breakfast-tables of the great, we should not know that many people existed. their whole fame, their whole celebrity, and their whole being, is there. not unfrequently do they contain the life of a man of fashion and his biography :chronicled in the daily press as a frequenter of all fashionable parties,-set down as presented at court,-put in print for having a horse run at newmarket, or at the derby,-gazetted as married,-stuck in the miscellaneous columns for having a new • the fatigue of pleasure. 97 carriage, or for having given some preposterous sum for a horse more celebrated than the purchaser,-annually accounted for in his arrivals and in his departures from town (which, by the by, has its inconvenience),-puffed in some way, directly or indirectly, by himself or by hired writers, as a good shot, as having destroyed so many head of game, as travelling with a titled man, or some such very useful and interesting circumstance,blazoned at the top of a crim. con. trial, and made notorious for ruining a woman, or betraying a friend,-next mentioned as going abroad (a blind to creditors),-and, lastly, being put in small letter amongst law cases, as having been white-washed in the bench! yet such is the love of pleasure and fashion, that no fatigue, no expense, no ruin, no exposure is spared to gain the object of this vain and empty ambition. the last print is the death. but that publicity flatters not the person named. a thought of this last appearance in black vol. i. f 98 the fatigue of pleasure. f and white, might greatly damp the ardour of a novice in fashion's short race; yet these same votaries of pleasure read over that article, too, with well-bred calmness. "lady mary, who do you think's dead?" "don't know." "lord foppington." "ha! why he was only fifty." "no; but a hard goer." this is the sympathy of fashion's airy circle; and the reader of the paper passes apathetically on to, "dear me, who'd have thought it! we were eight hundred of us at the marchioness's last night;" or, "oh! i knew it would come to that: mrs. lively is divorced ;” or, "the peer is wounded in a duel for an affair of gallantry;" or to some other equally amusing and equally moral subject. -all this is pleasure!!! but it is pleasure that begins to pall upon the hermit in london. fashion in dress. new customs, though they be never so ridiculous, nay let them be unmanly, yet are followed. ………………. henry viii. i often remarked, that my rattle-brained cousin in the guards had a new coat monthly, and some novelty in the way of a waistcoat weekly; that he changed his cloths three times per day, and was never twice seen dressed in the same manner. the variety of his great-coats, driving coats, tuniques, military great-coats, nightcloaks, tartans, and pelisses, was surprizing. it puzzled me, to think how human imagination could produce this proteuslike change of shape and appearance, and i was at a loss to know who actually were the leaders of fashion. f 2 100 fashion in dress. referring to himself, i could get no satisfactory reply. he merely observed that he often set the fashion himself (which i doubted, and i was right in my doubts), and that moreover whenever he saw a stylish fellow, a dandy, a noble, or a man of fancy in dress, he followed his fashion, particularly if it were expensive and eccentric, so that it would not suit the vulgar herd, the lawyers'-clerk breed, the knights of the bags, the 'squires of the counter, or the half-price theatre crew, or any mechanics, and sunday bloods (such were his words). i was not satisfied with this; and i should probably have been defeated in my researches, had i not observed the shop of a certain celebrated tailor to be always full of customers, looking at new clothes, which appeared to me to be different every time that i saw them; whilst very respectable, well-dressed men, with a good wardrobe, seemed to vary their fashions scarcely oftener than once a year, or at the changes of the season from hot to cold. i imparted fashion in dress. 101 this remark to mr. bonton, an old fop, who let me into the secret. "there is," said he, "a combination of the tailoring trade against the nobility and fashionables of the country. the object of this junto is to create new temptations to expense for the elegants of town, at least weekly; and to make themselves masters of their habits, which this board of green cloth, in council assembled, takes special care shall be expensive ones. they frequently play very mischievous tricks with their customers by making them ridiculous; but then each customer so hoaxed misleads another, and no one knows who is at the head of these affaires de toilette. "thus this committee sometimes sew up the corpulent customer in a sack, until, betwixt his stays and his tight garb, he is in danger of rupturing a blood-vessel, and is under great difficulty of respiration, puffing and blowing like a grampus, and being ready to burst asunder the bonds imposed upon him by his tailor, who first imprisons his body in this garb of slavery, f 3 102 fashion in dress. and afterwards probably lodges it in the fleet, or the king's bench; where retaliative measures are taken by the prisoner, and snip is thrown over, thus over-reaching himself. i remember seeing a most illustrious personage in one of these tight shells; his corpulence protruding in all directions, and his skirts flying off so as to make a very strange exposé of a prominent part of his figure. "these fellows occasionally make the whole town pigeon-breasted or martintailed. at one time, a man's frock becomes his little great coat, and is as loose as perhaps the general habits in high life: at another, he is cur-tailed to a jacket; or elongated in imitation of the tailor's bill. one day all is starch; and the next day we are all men in buckram.' a distinguished exquisite is padded all over today; and all the other foplings are, on the morrow, mere walking pincushions. a prince requires confinement in his limbs; and all his subjects are immediately restrained within the same limits. 6 fashion in dress. 103 "the tailors who recommend these absurdities never avow them as their invention, but always add, that his royal highness, his grace, his lordship, have all given them extensive orders for the very same thing; and old and young are new-modelled and metamorphosed accordingly. "thus, one day, the back is to be as broad as an irish chairman's, and the shoulders to be bolstered up to imitate a hod-man; and the next, the shoulders are to be flat, and a man is to be pinched in, and laced up, until he resemble an earwig; or he is to be so totally masqueraded by snip, that, betwixt the long skirts of his great coat, fur embroidery, tassels, olivet buttons, pigeon breast, and pale face, you may mistake a decent young man for a very indecent young woman. "all these are master snip's manœuvres, who contrives to make his bill equally long, whether the spencer or the bang-up box-coat be in vogue; whether he live (by clipping) on the skirts of the town, or whether he wrap up his cusf 4 104 fashion in dress. tomers in the greatest amplitude of cloth and linen. but it may be well briefly to state how this is done; for there are two modes of practising these tricks of trade. "the first method is, by persuading some great man (from the prince to the private gentleman, if a supposed leader of fashion), that such a dress becomes him exceedingly; that he looks most captivatingly, either lost in a dozen capes, or with his neck emerging from a flat collar; that his chest is so broad and so fine, that the coat buttoned right across it will show it to the greatest possible advantage; or that a single-breasted hunting frock gives him a most irresistible appearance of youth, elegance, and activity. instantly are all forms and shapes clad in this becoming coat, which at any rate cannot become all, and, perchance, becomes none; but it becomes the fashion, at all events, and that is enough for the vender. "the second plan is, to make a fancy suit of clothes, in confederacy with the rest of the fashionable tradesmen, and to fashion in dress. 105 expose it, nor bashful, nor obtrusive'not for sale in a shop window, but just finished on the counter. the lover of novelty beholds it, and it draws and impels him, just as the red rag acts upon the flock of geese. if he pass it by at one place, his lounging arm-companion perhaps takes him into another, where they are probably both taken in. then this same model is seen at every expensive tailor's in town; and therefore it must be the fashion. 6 "dear me,' drawls out an extravagant insipid, 'i thought that long waists were in fashion.' so they were last week,' replies a flippant snip, but we can't make them too short now,' (a strong emphasis on the now). then he names the nobleman for whom the one on the counter is made, and a dozen lords and marveilleux who have just ordered the same pattern and swallowed the same bait. the insipid instantly declares, that he never made so unaccountable an oversight as not to observe that it was the fashion; ( f 5 106 fashion in dress. says, that he must go to an assembly tonight, where he cannot possibly be seen without such a coat; and conjures snip to send him one in the evening. he then actually appears in it, to the astonishment of all who see him—the very first who has been induced to wear such an article! his example however is followed; and snip's purpose is served. "it would be endless to enumerate how frequently and how suddenly these changes of fashion are rung upon the credulous. certain however it is, that the tailor is the fashion-maker for the men, whilst the dress-makers and milliners practise the same arts upon the ladies. "there is, however, another trick of trade. it is, to force new clothes upon fashionably-dressed men, because, by multiplying such models, the copies are multiplied of course. moreover, when the extravagant cannot pay, he must play the tailor's game, by making other dupes pay it, who take the new fashion in imitation of the declining exquisite." fashion in dress. 107 thus ended my friend; and i was quite satisfied of the truth of his remarks. i was now determined, more than ever, to adhere to my own formal, grave, and convenient mode of dress; but i cannot help acknowledging, and lamenting, that we are more regarded by our coats than by our characters, and that if a man be not in the last fashion, he must content himself with holding the last place in the beau monde.-the late colonel m > when expiring from his wound received in a duel, regretted that he had spoken so arrogantly to his antagonist (the cause of the quarrel), and assured the valiant knight, his second, that he did not take his antagonist for a gentleman until it was too late, merely on account of his having a coat of the last year's fashion." would that, before he drew such conclusion, he had consulted 66 on the hermit in london. f 6 the new member of parliament. tous les hommes sont fous, et malgré tous leurs soins, ne diffèrent entre eux, que du plus et du moins. boileau. "well, stephen," said i to an old acquaintance, "how are you to-day?" "considering existing circumstances," replied he, "i am pretty well." "what circumstances?" said i. "oh!" answered he, "nothing but the pressure of business, a general correspondence, letters innumerable to answer, precedents to examine, friends to oblige, and so forth. odd!" thought i; "a merchant's son-a stupid one too-plenty of money—as lazy as a sloth! what can all this mean ?" “very 110 new member of parliament. i sat down and glanced my eye over the paper, whilst he stood leaning on the left haunch, the right foot advanced, his head a little inclined towards me, his right hand clenching a two-penny post letter, and rounded like some of the bad statues in our squares, his left hand thrust into the pocket of his pantaloons, and his whole figure displaying a studied attitude! he now looked in the glass, dropped the letter as if he was presenting it to some one, stood upright, thrust the right hand into his breast, and faced me like an overgrown image, or a full length in a niche. "what the devil is the matter with you?" said i. "order, order,” replied stephen, looking at himself in the glass. "a little touched!" quoth i to myself. "i remember hearing that his grandfather, the bacon-man, died in st. luke's, that he left his son roger a large fortune, that roger became a sleeping partner in a mercantile concern, and left the profits to this stephen, who seems to be a noondreamer." new member of parliament. 111 stei took up the paper once more. phen, the while, looked at a parcel of letters, and smiled. then assuming another studied attitude, he faced his mirror again, and paid me the compliment of listening whilst i read a few paragraphs aloud; but i soon found he did so only to give himself an opportunity of practising the outward signs of parliamentary approbation or disapprobation. when he disliked the subject, he coughed and scraped his feet; when he liked it, he cried "hear, hear." upon my word," said i, "you seem to be so occupied and so out of reason, that i wish you a good morning." i hastily withdrew; the young man remaining fixed before his looking-glass. "chair, chair," i heard as i went down stairs. 66 meeting an old servant of his, i said to him, "i fear your master is not well: he seems in a kind of hurry which is not consistent with sound reason. he was a very silent dull boy when he was at the charter-house, and he now does nothing but talk, and that very incoherently also." 66 112 new member of parliament. "law bless ye!" replied honest john, "he is only a little overjoyed and proud. he came home last night from cornwall; and he has done nothing ever since but place the chairs like so many folk, walk in and out of the room, practise how to take a seat with a particular grace, rise up and sit down again, screap us feet, and cough, change us hattitoods afore the glass, cry aye and noah! order! hear! hear!""very bad symptoms indeed!" observed i. "that's not all," said john. "he takes up a sheet o’peaper and fills it with nought but us neame; and then he rung for i, and when i came into the room, he made me sit down in a high chair, and standing up afore me with a quire o' peaper rolled up in his hand, he muttered some gibberidge, called the blank peaper a rode bill, and then bid me go about my business. now i knew that i paid all the bills last week. taking pity on him as i shut the door, i opens it again and looks back, saying, 'master, when will you have dinner?' "when the plebous question is new member of parliament. 113 disposed of,' said he' at the divisionwhen the house is up.'"-" aye, it's all up with him," said i. "well, so thought i," cried john, laughing immoderately. "i thought as how master was turned out a right fool at last; but it's noah such a thing; he's only made a parliament man of. as been down and bought a burrough and every mother's son in't; and us come hoame as pleased as the pigs (a very suitable simile). the packet afore him were franks; and he has rit us name fifty toimes to practize (the word syllabled, and the tize as long as my arm). he has also spoiled a quire o' peaper in writing to humself, with a large m. p. at the end of us name. for 6 "i mentioned master's madness to lord liquorpond's scullion; and he told me my comfort never to mind: it was only a boyish frolic. bless you,' says the scullion, and he, sir, reads the debates every day; 'let'en have his way; it's only the glory of the thing-the impulse o' the moment, when he comes to the house 114 new member of parliament. he'll be as mute as a mack'rel."". he were there now," said i. here ended john's account; and as i was going out of the door, i heard silly stephen call john. "john! john!" said he, "run after the gentleman and ask if he will have a frank? i have only received one letter from my constituents, containing a publican's bill: it shall be laid on the table. no; on second consideration, it shall be thrown out. therefore, john, you see that i have lots of franks to give and to receive, and if you want to write to your friends, you may call upon me. they may direct too to you, under cover -mind, under cover, to stephen " esq., m. p. you know that i am now returned." 66 "i wish mercy defend us! what a resemblance there is betwixt st. stephen's chapel and st. luke's hospital!" thought the hermit in london. sudden changes. the wheel of life is turning quickly round, and in one place is very seldom found: the mid wife wheels us in, and death he wheels us out, good lack-a-day! how we are wheeled about. old ballad. "what a host of blunders i have been committing this morning!" said my rattle of a cousin, the guardsman. "confound me if i ever make another morning call, or ever venture to talk upon religion, politics, or any other topic but horseracing or drinking, as long as i live, i have no doubt but that i shall be disinherited by my aunt, lady agnes; that the general will never speak to me again; and that the money-lending agent will never advance me another shilling. the devil is in the town! such sudden 116 sudden changes. changes, religious, political, and moral. it is like an unsteady climate, for which one has to alter one's dress half a dozen times a day: a man requires a diary of his acquaintance's actions, to regulate his features and conversation by." "who on earth," continued he, "would have expected my old aunt to have turned methodist; the general to be a government man; or the old rascal tripartite to be a moralist? why, my aunt was the gayest of the gay in her youth, and has sat up all night playing at brag, and drinking noyeau like a dragoon, for the last twenty years. the general used to put you to sleep with his philippics against the administration, bribery, corruption, violation of the privileges of the people, boroughmongers, the influence of the aristocracy, and court favour. and as for old cocker (as i used to call him), he was the hardest going old villain i ever knew, and cost me many a headache when i wanted a loan from him. now, forsooth, he is all honesty and morality." sudden changes. 117 "what a reprobate you are," said i to this scapegrace. "not at all, sir: but hear my story." and here it may be remarked, that notwithstanding the disparity of years and the difference of habit betwixt this giddy youth and myself, yet as he has nothing to hope, and consequently nothing to fear from me, and as i loved him in his childhood, he tells me all his adventures and all his scrapes. 6 "i had heard," recommenced he, " that my aunt was verily ill, and i thought perhaps that she was about to quit; so i thought it was as politic to pay her a visit, and to do the pretty, by shewing her a little attention for a short time. how are you, aunt?' said i, as i entered her apartment: you don't look so ill (this was not true; she looked very ill, which i thought rather promising to me): pray what is your complaint?' it is what my physicians call dyspesia,' replied she,—“ a debility of the stomach, which is scarcely able to perform its office; i have not eaten an ounce of solid food' (she said nothing 6 1 118 sudden changes. 6 6 6 about drink) for this last fortnight: but this,' continued she, laying her hand on a folio bible, this is my food.' rather new diet, aunt!' answered i: 'no wonder that you cannot digest it all at once: why you don't think i can swallow that?' what do you mean?' answered she, not stomaching my remark. why have the bethel and ebenezer people, the jumpers or the methodists got hold of you?' 'peace, reprobate,' cried she; i am under conviction.' of what crime, thought i to myself! but i saw it was in vain to proceed. she gave me a very severe lecture on leading an exemplary life, and quoted scripture at every sentence, accompanied by a turning up of her eyes, which so alarmed me that i was glad to get clear of her. "from my aunt's i proceeded to the general's, where, as i had a favour to ask, i pretended (as usual) to be of his opinion in politics, by way of giving him an opportunity to grumble, and by that means to gain my point. i began by sudden changes. 119 abusing ministry, and by saying that we were ruined; but i soon found that as my aunt, who was under conviction, had received a new light, so the general, who was about to get into the house, had embraced a new political creed. he had, it seems, had an offer of a seat, on condition that he should bind himself to a certain line of conduct, and he had readily agreed to these terms, from the vanity of being a parliament man. my diatribe was therefore most inopportune. he contented himself with observing, that men had a right to change their opinions upon conviction, and that as he felt his former notions were erroneous, he was not ashamed of saying that he had altered them. he added, that he was sorry to see me so intemperate in my politics, and concluded by observing, that it was the duty of every military man to strengthen the hands of government, and that when he did not do so, he thought that his sovereign ought to dispense with his services. this was truly alarming to one who had just embarked in a favourite 120 sudden changes. profession: so i explained away in the best manner i could, and withdrew, regretting my unsuccessful hypocrisy. "the want of cash now drove me to the agent and money-scrivener, with whom i have often been obliged to mispend an hour in hard drinking, in order to bring him into lending me, at usurious interest. i found him (instead of being in a suit of mourning, and his bald head powdered, half tipsy, and a pen behind his ear) reclined on a sofa, in a new olive coloured tunique, a flaxen wig, white trowsers, and a white hat, under which his purpureal countenance, studded with topaz blotches, had a very curious effect. he was, moreover, perfectly sober. well, old cocker,' said i, 'how are you to-day? have you had your drop? and how's peg?' (his housekeeper.) sir,' replied the old villain, 'you make very free; i have left off drinking in a morning; and as for mrs. tripartite, margaret that was, i must have her treated with the respect due to my spouse." i remembered having treated her very often 1 c sudden changes. 121 before; but i saw that the game was up here also, for the old usurer had been married that morning. i contented myself with asking for a hundred pounds, by way of bill at two months, for which i offered ten guineas premium; but i was refused. i therefore blew up the hoary humbug à la congreve. i told him he was an old hypocrite and an usurer; that i had too often demeaned myself by my condescensions towards him; that i regretted that i had been so often his dupe; that in future i should keep company better suited to my age and my rank in life; and that peg and he might go to the devil their own way. "defeated thus at all points, i am come to you for the loan of the sum in question, which as a soldier and a gentleman i will return you in two months. i shall not offend you by talking of interest; but my gratitude may be some compensation for obliging me, and for laying out your money for this short time. i shall make no promises, but i will try and be steadier; for vol. i. g 122 sudden changes. i know i am going a little too hard. and now you have heard my whole story." there appeared so much candour in this relation, that i lent him the money; and→ he paid me honourably. there are many instances of these fops in the dressing-room being heroes abroad; and not unfrequently rakes of twenty turn to something very good in ten years after. nor am i even without hope that this youth may, one day, be as steady a character as his cousin the hermit in london. 2 the waterloo panorama. he that outlives this day, and comes safe home, will stand a tip-toe when this day is named. shakespeare. "i have just returned with my uncle, the general, from the panorama of waterloo," said lady mary. "he described the action so well, that i really could see the cuirassiers charge three distinct times, and hear the scottish royals and immortal greys shout "scotland for ever!" i could see them hew in pieces the steel-clad warriors of france, could see napoleon's countenance change at the operations of 'ces terribles chevaux gris,' and could behold its expression of consternation, as when, lean. ing over the horse of his peasant guide, and discerning the columns of prussians adg 2 124 the waterloo panorama. vancing like a cloud in the horizon, he exclaimed, tout est perdu! c "so charmed was my uncle, that i actually began to fear that we should have to pass the night on the field of battle, or to bivouac somewhere in the neighbourhood. so much, however, do i respect my elders, and above all, the brave defenders of my country, that i did not presume to interrupt him in his progress over the gory field, but striking my repeater as if by accident, he perceived that it was six o'clock, and that we were not dressed for dinner: he therefore made some general observations, and we withdrew. but i shall say no more on the subject. i advise you to go and see it it is well worth your while; and i trust that the scene will have interest for a briton a century hence, when we and when our's are no more. our heroes have gathered their laurels in vain, unless the dews of immortality, falling from on high, preserve them: the brave but sleep, the coward perishes and is forgotten.' here a glow of heroism lit up her countenance, > "" the waterloo panorama. 125 and she appeared to me something more than woman. i now prepared to follow her advice; and i went directly to the panorama. the room was crowded with company, and the representation was just what she had described. luckily for me, i fell in with an officer of the intrepid scotch greys, who gave me much information on the subject that corps covered itself with glory; and, of course, no one was better able to describe the battle, than one who had so much contributed to its renown. when the officer had concluded his observations, i retired to a corner in order to observe the company. in all assemblages of people, a spectator may learn much. here there were groups of all classes, and feelings of as many descriptions :-the man and woman of quality, proud to distinguish on the canvass some hero who added lustre to their name,-the female of sensibility, who heaved the deep sigh for some relative or bosom friend left on the bed of glory, the military spectator, who g 3 126 the waterloo panorama. had been an actor in the scene, and who, pride beaming in his countenance, yet wrapt in silence, looked on the representation of that awful and eventful reality,-or the garrulous but worthy veteran, who saw his own deeds of arms live again in the pictured story, and who, bereft of an arm, or leg, and leaning on a friend, indulged in the gratifying account of what his country owed him, whilst, "thrice he routed all his foes, "and thrice he slew the slain." there also was the exquisite militaire, youthful and blooming, affected and vain, lounging with an air of sans souci, a tooth_ pick or a violet in his mouth, a quizzingglass either suspended round his neck or fixed in the socket of his eye, seeming to disdain taking an interest in the thing, yet lisping out, "upon my thoul, it's d-d like, d-d like indeed,-yeth, that's just the place where we lotht tho many men,it's quite ridiculouth, how like it ith." what a contrast! so much valour, yet so the waterloo panorama. 127 much feminine conceit, starch and perfume, whalebone and pasteboard! it is, however, not less true, that these fops, who take so much care of their pretty persons out of the field, took no care of them in it. here were idlers looking at the action merely as a picture; and there were vacant countenances staring at nothing but the company. in one place a fat citizen came in merely to rest himself; and in another, a pretty brunette of the second class, whose only business was to meet my lord. in a third corner, i could see a happy couple enjoying the short space previous to a permanent union, and who came here for fashion's sake, or to be alone in the world, and thus to escape the attention of a smaller circle; for there exists a certain retirement or solitude in crowds, known only to the few. this couple took as much interest in the battle of waterloo as in the fire of london. at the entrance, were some jealous painters looking out for defects in the piece; and, in the doorway, was a covey of beauties g 4 128 the waterloo panorama. surrounded by fashionables, who seemed scarcely to know why they came there, and enjoying nothing but their own conversation. "what a squeeze at the dowager's last night !" drawls out a male coquette. "monstrous pleasant party at lord foppington's!" lisps another epicene-looking thing; "if," continued it, "the fat countess had less rage for waltzing, and the old dandy would give up sailing through the quadrille ;""or," (observed a british lady clad in every thing from france, and covered with folds of drapery, circles of ribbons and tucks, tier over tier of flounces, and quillings of lace and puffings of all sorts, in the directly opposite extreme to the flimsy garments in which the ladies appeared a few years since, as if they were sewed up in a tight bag)—“ or if,” exclaimed she, "the duchess's proud daughter, who seemed to doze through the figure of the dance, and to look upon all possible partners as beneath her, had been absent." the waterloo panorama. 129 "not so with lady evremont," exclaimed a disdainful woman of quality (whose short up-turned nose, step à la française, rapid delivery in discourse, and fiery eye, bespoke heat of temper and swelling of pride)," not so with her ladyship! she thought herself the very loadstone of attraction, and considered dancing as a loss of time. i am sure if i were her husband "you would," interrupted an elderly exquisite of sickly composure, but of satirical dissatisfied aspect," you would do just what her husband does, namely, not care sixpence about her, but leave her to herself." this produced a general laugh, but in the moderate key of fashionable mirth; for the whole circle was composed of her enemies. -why? because she is beautiful. 66 "" "what brought you here, sir george.?" sighed out a languid looking widow of fashion. "the attraction of your beauty." "stuff!" exclaimed the widow, in a more animated tone, biting her lips (not spitefully but playfully), and twinkling her g 5 130 the waterloo panorama. ૮ eyes. "and "and you, major?" "a shower of rain," replied the hibernian. "oh! then i have nothing to do with your coming." "nothing, except (recovered pat) that whilst it rains without, you reign within, in every heart and in every mind." "none of your nonsense!" cried the widow, putting her hand on his lips: "i hate flattery-blarney i believe you call it." "just what you please; truth is truth still, in english, irish, or even dutch," concluded he. the lady appeared delighted; but turning round to a boarding-school cousin, endeavoured to hide her satisfaction by saying, "i do hate 30 many compliments." i extricated myself from this buzz of high life, giving and receiving acknowledgments from those of my acquaintance who formed a part of the circle; and on my exit, i perceived some wry faces and some discontented looks at the door. these were french people come over here, all with a view of gain, in some shape or other, but who sickened at any thing 1 the waterloo panorama. 131 which lowered france, avec ses armées victorieuses, which so long gave laws to the greater part of europe, but could never dictate them to us. as much was said by the french, about their légion d'honneur and napoleon's invincibles, as ever ancient history has trumpeted concerning the sacred battalion commanded by pelopidas : but i did not stay long to listen to them. i left the panorama more of a briton than ever i had, on many occasions, considered myself as a cosmopolite; but upon this one, i confessed myself to be wholly an englishman; and i was proud of the title. divers ideas of my country's glory rushed on my brain at the same instant and as i was sauntering along the pavé of london, so eulogized by voltaire as an emblem of our constitution, and formed equally for the little and for the great, i caught myself in a reverie, and ι was actually muttering : "soldiers, stand firm," exclaim'd the chief, "england shall tell the fight." g 6 132 the waterloo panorama, my from this brown study, i was awakened by the ringing of a bell, and the cry of "dust, ho!" it was a good lesson of humility, and brought me to a sense of my own nothingness; but it was a very unwelcome one to me in the heroics in which it found me, and ill-suited the temper of mind at that moment. "ah! well," said i to myself, "dust, ho! we must all be dust at last; yes, we must all come to that." the fellow rang his bell again :-it seemed to have a more solemn sound; it put me in low spirits; and i could almost have wished him at waterloo himself, for charming away the "visions of glory" which had begun to take possession of the imagination of the hermit in london. -" female charioteers. sunt, quos curriculo pulverem olympicum collegisse juvat: metaque fervidis evitata rotis. hor. more than one steed must delia's empire feel, who sits triumphant o'er the flying wheel, and as she guides it through th' admiring throng, with what an air she smacks the silken thong. young. after waiting an hour at the mount, for an old officer returned from india, whom i had not seen for many years, i was proceeding across bond street, full of my disappointment, and looking back to the days of our childhood, when first our intimacy commenced. filled with these melancholy pleasing thoughts, i was almost stunned by the cry of "hoy!" i turned round, and perceived a groom advancing towards me on horseback, and 134 female charioteers. a curricle coming on me at the rate of nine miles per hour. the female charioteer pulled up with difficulty; and, in doing so, quite altered the lines of a very comely countenance, for all was tugging and muscular exertion. i was now just out of the line of danger, and the vehicle was abreast of me, when the other groom, touching his hat, and the lady recognizing me and smiling, i perceived it was lady dashalong, one of my best friends, who had nearly run over me. she apologized, was quite shocked, but could not conceive how i could be so absent; and, lastly, laid the blame on her horses, observing, that they had had so little work of late, that they were almost too much for her. a few civilities passed between us, with the usual barometrical and thermometrical observations of an englishman, which are his great auxiliaries in conversation, and we parted. during our short colloquy, one of her beautiful horses became what she called fidgety, for which she promised to pay texn female charioteers. 135 him off in the park. the other, at starting, shewed symptoms of great friskiness, for which she gave him a few dexterous cuts, distorting, in no small degree, her features at the same time, as much as to say, "will you? i'll be your master (not mistress; there is no such term in coachmanship, yet); i'll teach you better manners; i'll bring you to a sense of your duty," or something to that purpose. i turned about to view her as she went along. she had a small round riding-hat on; she sat in a most coachmanlike manner, handled her whip in a very masterly style, and had altogether something quite gentlemanlike in her appearance. she was going at a bold brisk trot; and, as she passed her numerous acquaintance, she was so intent upon the good management of her reins, and her eyes so fixed upon her high mettled cattle, that she could only give them a familiar, knowing, sideway nod of her head, very similar to what i have seen stage-coachmen, hackneymen, and the fashionable ruffians, their copies, 136 female charioteers. give a brother whip, passing on the road, or when they almost graze another's wheel, or cut out a carriage, and turn round with a nod, which means, "there's for you, what a flat you must be." this led me to some reflections on female charioteers in general. and first, to acquire any talent, it is necessary to learn it. how is the knowledge of driving obtained by the fairer sex? if a lady take the reins from her husband, her brother, or her lover, it is a strong emblem of assuming the mastery. if she have no courage, no muscular strength, and no attention to the domination and guidance of her steeds, she must be a bad driver, a poor whip, and run the daily risk of breaking the neck of herself and her friends. if she excel in this study, she becomes immediately masculine and severe: she punishes, when occasion requires, the animals which come under her lash; assumes an ungraceful attitude; heats her complexion by exertion; loses her softness by virtue of her female charioteers. 137 office; hardens her hands, and may perchance harden her heart; at all events, she gains unfeminine habits, and such as are not easily got rid of. if she learn of the family coachman, it must be allowed that it is not likely that he should give her any peculiar grace, or teach her anything particularly polite. the pleasure of his company, whilst superintending her lesson, cannot much improve her mind; and the freedom of these teachers of coachmanship must be so offensive to her, that only a total loss of feeling, gradually worn away by the pride of excelling as a whip, can render them bearable to her. when the accomplishment of driving is learned, what does it tend to? a waste of time; a masculine enjoyment;. and loss of feminine character, i will not say moral; of that sweet, soft, and overpowering submission to, and dependance on man, which, whilst it claims. our protection, and awakens our dearest sympathies, our tenderest interests, en1 1 i 138 female charioteers. chants, attaches, and subdues us. i have known ladies so affected by an inordinate love for charioteering, that it has completely altered them; insomuch that they have at last become more at home in the stable, than in the drawing-room. the very lady in question is so different when dressed for dinner, that her driving dress is a complete masquerade disguise, which i should never wish to see her in, and which certainly is not calculated to captivate a lover nor to gain a husband, unless he should choose to be a slave who gives the whip-hand to his lady. i now began to recollect the female whips of my acquaintance; and i found that i never could esteem one of them. a certain titled lady, who shall be nameless, since she is no more, used to excel in driving four milk-white horses in hand. her face was a perfect enamel, something like china, from the paint which she used: and to see the thong of her whip fly about the leaders, to behold her gather up her reins and square her elbows, was the defemale charioteers. 139 light of the ostlers and hackney-coachmen about town, who, nevertheless, spoke very lightly of her at the same time. i confess that she became a complete object of disgust to myself, and to most thinking men of my acquaintance. she used frequently to drive out a male relation, which made the picture still more preposterous in my eyes; whilst the very praise of the lower classes alluded to, sunk her in my estimation. and why do coachmen and pugilists, grooms and jockies, praise the superior ranks of society for excelling in driving, in boxing, in horse-racing, or in riding like a postboy? because it reduces the highest to the level of the lowest; because (to adopt their own expression, so often made use of by the bargemen on the thames towards a certain duke) he's not proud; he is just like one of us; he can tug at his oar; smoke and drink beer "" "like a man ; aye, and take his own part. that such qualities may, upon an emergency, prove useful, i admit; but his f 140 female charioteers. grace, as well as all female charioteers, must excuse me from considering them as any way ornamental. to return to my female driving friends. a certain fair daughter of green erin used formerly to drive me out in her curricle: she is a perfect whip; and has, from conversing so much on the subject, and from seeing so much stable company, assumed a tone, an attitude, and a language, most foreign to her sex. driving, one day, in the circular road, near dublin, her horses pulled very hard, and would have blistered common fingers: but, protected by stiff york tan gloves, and hardened by the management of the whip, she stood up and punished them, crying, "i'll take the shine out of you before i have done with you;" then, "keeping them up to their work," as she called it, and fanning furiously along, she exultingly exclaimed, all in a heat and flurry herself, "there and be (i looked thunderstruck)" be hanged to you," concluded she, smiling at me, and resuming her sang froid. "" ― female charioteers. 141 a commoner's lady was my third driving acquaintance: she was very bold; given to the joys of the table; got lightly spoken of as to reputation; and, after all, overturned herself and broke her arm. my inquiries into the character of the other celebrated female whips, have not obtained any information which could change my opinion as to the advantages of a lady's becoming a good whip. it militates against the softness, the delicacy, the beauty, and attrac tions of the sex. i would ask any amateur, the greatest possible admirer of lovely woman, whether, her complexion being heated, her lips dry, and her features covered with dust, as she returns from a horse race, or from a morning drive, are circumstances of improvement to her in any way? i doubt if our forefather adam could have been captivated with eve, had she appeared to him, either in a dream, or in coarse reality, with a masculine expression of countenance, and a four-horse whip in her hand; nor was it ever intended, that "those limbs, formed for the gentler 142 female charioteers. offices of love," should be displayed behind prancing coach-horses. the very diamond itself is unseemly when clad in its rough coat of earth: 'tis the high polish which it receives, that displays its hidden lustre, and which, reflecting its real worth, makes it so brilliant and so eminently valuable. thus it is with woman: every thing which tends to divest her of the asperity and ruggedness of the inferior part of our sex, augments her attractions: every thing which can assimilate her to the harshness of man, despoils her of her richest ornaments, and lowers her in our estimation. i remember once passing a lady in the king's road, one of whose outriders had dismounted, and was adjusting something about the reins, whilst the other was holding his horse behind. the lady and the groom, who appeared to be her instructor in the art of coachmanship, had much conversation respecting the cattle. the latter said, (6 give him his hiding, my lady, and don't spare him." to which she elegantly replied, "d-n the little " female charioteers, 143 horse." this gave the finishing confirmation to my former opinion. i know it will be objected to me, that these vulgarities are not general in highbred coachwomen, and that they are not necessary; but to this i beg leave to answer, that their very existence is odious.; and that if, on the one hand, these vices are not absolutely a part of coachmanship, on the other, coachmanship, or charioteering, is not at all necessary to a woman's accomplishments, nor even to her amusement. indeed, the display of them, in ever such perfection, excites not even momentary admiration in the breast of the hermit in london. female gamblers. ..........immania monstra preferimus................ virgil. it has always appeared to me, that the stronger passions, such as avarice, ambition, and revenge, appear with double deformity in the softer sex. they disfigure the beauty of woman, and completely change her nature. gaming, which is a compound of idleness and cupidity, has precisely the same tend ncy, and hurries the fairest work of nature into the greatest excesses. there is, however, a minor species of play which is not so dangerous, and which can be blamed only for the loss of time which it occasions. it is one of the taxes on a man in society to be compelled to sit vol. i. h ܦܐ ܝܕܡܪܝܐ ܕܠܐ 10 ܐܢܢܗ 146 female gamblers. down, for a certain space of time, at a card-table, at routes, and at other evening parties. i feel a je ne sais quoi of misery and disgust, the moment the fair lady of the house presents me the pack of cards to draw one; and i view myself destined to be fixed to my chair for at least one rubber, or perhaps more.. then farewell conversation; farewell my greatest amusement-observation; farewell mirth, and all variety ! a young exquisite may just make his appearance for a few minutes,, make his bow to the lady of the house, cast a glance round, in order to be able to count all the beauty and fashion in the room, and then withdraw, throw himself into his chariot or vis-à-vis, and repeat the same brief visit at two or three other parties, in the course of the night. a dancer may escape the card tax. but a man of serious habits, and of middle age, must pay the forfeit of money and time. it is astonishing how many hours this occupation engrosses in high life. lady female gamblers. 147 lansquenette assured me, that she played three rubbers of whist regularly every evening, unless she sat down to some game of chance. in wet weather she played in the morning; and at castle costley, she always spent two or three hours before dinner at cards, when the state of the atmosphere, or the roads, prevented her going out. averaging her play hours at four or five per day, they compose one third of her time, since her ladyship devotes twelve hours to rest. now, abstracting four more for her toilette, which is not less than it takes, there are but four hours remaining for any rational employment, out of which breakfast and dinner time are to be deducted. i met with her the other night at lady racket's; and she immediately hooked me in for a rubber. i had scarcely got clear of this engagement, and of five guineas at the same time, having lost five points, when i was entreated to sit down to cassino in company with mrs. marvellous, sir herbert maxton, and lady longtick. h 2 148 female gamblers. i the more readily, however, complied with the request of my right honourable hostess, as at cassino the attention is not so entirely taken up; less importance is attached to the game; and a little light and desultory conversation may be allowed; whilst at whist you see grave faces sitting in judgment over your play, and observe as much interest and anxiety, as much silence and attention, as a speech of demosthenes would have claimed from his auditors. "come," said lady racket to me," you must make one at cassino; (then lowering her voice) you will have the charms of lady longtick to contemplate; and mrs. marvellous will amuse you with some very astonishing stories in the intervals of the deal." "your ladyship's commands are so many laws to me," said i, resignedly taking my place at the table. "the hermit!" exclaimed mrs. marvellous, in a half whisper to sir herbert. they both elevated their eyebrows-as much as to say, "here's a fellow who will observe us closely." i made my best bow, and took my seat. female gamblers. 149 we drew cards, and i fell to the lot of mrs. marvellous. "you must not scold me if i play ill," said she. "not for the world," answered i; "i never scolded a lady in my life." "i wish i could say as much of sir herbert," said she; "indeed it was nothing short of cruelty, your crossness to lady maxton yesterday; you actually brought tears into her eyes." "nonsense," exclaimed the baronet; 66 you know i wanted not to play at all; but the nabob could not make up his party without us, and i hate above all to play with my wife; married couples never ought to play together." "unless,” interrupted lady longtick, "they understand one another as well as our friends in portland place," "and then," replied the baronet, "it is not very pleasant to play against them." (a general smile.) "it is your deal, mrs. marvellous." 66 two and three are five," "the heart is your's, lady longtick, and little cas falls to me." ""have you heard of the royal marriages?” “three tricks, by jupiter!" н 3 150 female gamblers. 66 "the naval duke.” "your knave, my lady.”—“ i am quite out of luck." "how many aces, sir herbert?" one, and that's quite enough." "bravo, mrs. marvellous," said i, "you are always fortunate; 'tis my trick." (mrs. marvellous) "have you heard that lady barbara blankton has-" "cut, madam," (interrupted the baronet). "yes, sir herbert, she has cut, and left her lovely children' -"your ladyship's game,"—"to the mercy of the world. how shocking for her three daughters!" "a double game, mrs. marvellous." "she certainly had the most indulgent husband in the world." "the base wretch, i have no patience with her." "a hard rub." "yet i could always see through her conduct." "had you said through her drapery,” replied sir herbert, "i should have been satisfied that you were right, for she was a walking transparency. but here comes her cousin, the general." "the game is up." 66 27 released from my party, i walked round the room, and cast an eye on the different female gamblers. 151 tables. i stopped, for a moment, behind my friend lord levity's chair, and contemplated the countenances at an unlimited loo. "i pass," said lady lavish, in a tone of brokenheartedness, which told me that she had lost. every feature was changed; the warm smile which gives such attractions to her countenance had disappeared; dejection filled her eyes, and despair sat on every feature. mrs. beverly was also a great loser; not less than eighty guineas did she pay for her night's pastime. she put on a sort of placid look, a well-bred indifference, a forced smile; but nature, true to its feelings, betrayed the secret of her mind, and gave the outlines of revenge and disappointment to her countenance. "you are out of luck," observed i. trifle," answered she, with an assumption of tranquillity, which imposed upon nobody. the three ladies racket (the eldest only eighteen) were all anxiety. the youthful lustre of their complexions was marred by a flush of intemperate feeling and eager "a # 4 152 female gamblers. ness to win. their eyes were attentively rivetted to the cards; and from time to time they communed with each other by glances of satisfaction, doubt, or discontent. whilst these three graces were thus metamorphosed by their attention to their bad or good fortune, colonel crab sneered as he was pocketing his gains, and lady mary moody expressed the intoxication of success. this she strove to stifle; but it flushed on her cheek, spoke on her half opened lip, and sparkled in her eyes. how little do these fair creatures, thought i, know how their looks betray them! so much are they a prey to the passion of gaming, that not even these magnificent venetian mirrors can bring a useful reflection to cure them of this vice, i now moved towards the door, and got into a crowd of beaux and belles, and into a confusion of tongues. the broken sentences which came to my ear from different quarters, were ridiculous enough. lady racket was discoursing about a new novel; sir wetherby jostle was holding forth on 1 female gamblers, 153 horse-racing; a new member was affecting the ministerial tone, and laying down the law to a deaf dowager who had the best of it, for she was paying attention to an antiquated exquisite the whole time. mrs. marvellous told me that lady t was ruined, and that she owed her butler a thousand guineas. "lady longtick has made a good thing of it to-night," whispered lady r's maiden aunt to a young guardsman," her dress-maker will now have a chance of being paid." "a complete hoax! the majority was certain," broke upon my ear from another quarter." a love-match upon my, honour," observed an insipid, lolling on the arm of a couch.—“ a maiden speech,” observed a member of parliament to a gouty bishop. "not an honour in the world," echoed from a neighbouring cardtable; whilst count mainville was talking politics, and sir harry was saying the most gallant things imaginable to the lincolnshire heiress. h 5 154 female gamblers. lady lovemore passed by at this moment, convulsed with rage, but bridling her temper as well as she could. she had not only lost at cards, but perceived a happy rival in the affections of the colonel, to whom she was paying the warmest assiduities, and her rival had smiled contemptuous pity upon her. lady racket seemed to enjoy the defeat of lady love more. "i fear your ladyship is not well,” said she to her in an assumed tone of pity and of kindness. "a sick headache distracts me," answered lady lovemore, and flounced away quite unattended; which circumstance was observed, with different remarks and comments from half-a-dozen quarters at once. how little charity one female has for another at any time! thought i; and at cards, indeed, the quality is annihilated altogether. i now perceived sir herbert, who had been looking over his wife's play, and must have been giving her some unwelcome hints. "did i play ill in trumping?" female gamblers. 155 sweetly and softly she inquired, in a silvery tone. "not at all," replied he, sharply: "if you wished to lose, you could not play better." she gently raised up her shoulders, and heaving a sigh, said, “my dear, i am sorry for it." "it's always the same," exclaimed he; and broke unkindly away from her. what a pity that a few hearts and clubs, villainously painted upon the surface of a piece of pasteboard, should occasion such contending passions, and imbitter the hours of so many rational beings; that a card played out of place or without judgment should mar the domestic felicity of an otherwise happy couple; and that lady maxton should persevere in playing, without any abatement of ill-fortune abroad, or of ill-humour and reproach at home! i now perceived a number of the beau monde going to their carriages, and upon striking my repeater, found that it was four o'clock. thus were four hours consumed when i retired to rest; but the countenances at the loo table were before my eyes 4 1. н 6 156 female gamblers. in my dream, and i longed to be able to give a little advice to the fair creatures, whose figures thus, even in his sleep, haunted the hermit in london. the romance. alas, my heart! how languishingly fair yon lady lolls! with what a tender air! young. i had frequently remarked two very lovely women, apparently sisters, quit their carriage in hyde park, to enter kensington gardens, there to remain four hours, during which their carriage was kept waiting, and then to return in apparent low spirits. what seemed most extraordinary to me was, that from the moment they entered the gardens, until that of reaching their carriage, they were no where to be seen; for i sometimes sauntered for an hour there, but never met them in any direction whatever. one day i was determined to watch them more closely, and i perceived them dash 158 the romance. into the thickest shade of the trees, and there hide themselves, i sat down in one of the alcoves, and read my journal of the day before, my newspaper, and some letters which i had received by the post. i continued for about an hour more in one of my reveries; making in all about two hours; when, skirting the wood in my way, to return by the shortest cut across the gardens, i perceived them through the light quivering shade of umbrageous branches, seated on the ground and bathed in tears. a thousand apprehensions rushed across my mind, and i was resolved to accost them, to inquire the cause of their distress, and to offer my aid, under whatever circumstances they might be. they were so absorbed in grief, that they did not perceive me until i was close to them, when one of them gave a loud shriek, which alarmed me in my turn, and immediately both flew off like startled deer, leaving a cambric pocket handkerchief and an open book behind them. the romance. 159 never did daphne fly more precipitately nor more panic-struck from apollo, than these sister beauties did from me; but i was no apollo, no winged messenger of love, no love-sick nor moon-struck lover, neither inclined nor able to give chace to youth and beauty. i regretted my temerity, and picked up the trophies, which now became mine, on the field (not of fight, but) of flight. in vain did i motion them to return, or to allow me to restore them their forfeited property. in vain did the powder, flying from my hair, bespeak me to be an elderly gentleman: in vain did i wave the white handkerchief in signal of peace, and as a motive for their return. they never turned their heads to the right or to the left; but in a few seconds shewed me how weak and how tardy is age when attempting the pursuit of youth. this of itself served as a wholesome lesson, for it was a practical one, which taught me, more forcibly than ever, that old men should not run after young women. the attempt is always a lame one, and attended with failure or disgrace. 160 the romance. my reason now brought me up, and i called myself an old fool for thus intimidating these defenceless females, and for being the cause of their losing the source of their amusement and instruction, as well as a small portion of their property. my next reflection was, that wherever i met these ladies they might mistake me for a brutal intruder, and that the purity of my motives for disturbing them would never be known to them; nay more, it might be doubted or even entirely misconstrued. the mark on the handkerchief might perhaps lead to a discovery of their name or of their abode, or both might be written on the first leaf of the book! yet even were it so, should i not further offend by sending the articles home? perhaps i might involve them in some unpleasant affair, bring on them some parental severity, or expose them to unfavourable reflections. ridiculous as it may appear, i was in a most painful dilemma. "women," said i, "are always perplexing and getting men into scrapes. nay, even an old bachelor and a soi-disant hermit cannot escape their the romance. 161 witchcraft. what had i to do with watching beauties of their age, or any beauties at all? i wish, from the bottom of my heart, that i had not fallen into possession of this pocket-handkerchief and book; and yet if i leave them here, they may lead to some exposure of which i am not now aware. would that there were no women in the world, torments to man! perche," repeated i to myself, (remembering my first reading of orlando furioso, and meditating on the effect which it produced on my young mind,) 1 "perche fatto no ha l'alma natura "che senza lo potesse nascer l'huomo, "come s'inesta per umuna cura "l'un sopra l'altro il pero, il sorbo e'l pomo?" i now proceeded to examine the handkerchief and the book. the former gave no other means of tracing it to its owner, than the name of seraphina marked in fine glossy black hair, with a heart under it. the book belonged to a circulating 162 the romance. library in the neighbourhood of portland place. it was a romance the most romantic, a most tragical tragedy, a tale of love and adventure, constancy and sufferings, of imprisoned lady and adventurous knight, and, finally, of insanity and death! according to this story, the knight aldebert after a number of "most disastrous chances, "of moving accidents by flood and field," is at last drowned in crossing a frightful river, in a tempest of thunder and lightning, in company with his faithful squire fidel, in the enterprise of rescuing gertrude from a lonely dungeon, where her inexorable father, the baron fitzallan, has shut her up, previous to his forcing her to take the veil; and all this because she will not give her hand to don pedro emanuel feliz de alvarez, a grand espagnol of the first class. the faithful knight fixes his signet ring to his cloak, which, floating on shore, or rather against the battlements of the romance. 163 the tower, is picked up by gertrude, who instantly runs mad, whilst the baron stabs himself for rage and despair. all this, however, is after such escapes from shipwreck and starvation, such captures and re-captures, such dwelling on an (until then) uninhabited island, such dangers by land and sea, and such trials of love and of constancy as never were invented before, and, much less, ever really occurred. the leaf which contained the deep catastrophe was bedewed with tears; and a number of amatory remarks and allusions were pencilled on the margin in a female hand. on one leaf was the following sentiment : "happy are they who die for love, "united they must be above." not admiring either the poetry or the sentiment of these lines, i began to reflect on the dangerous tendency of romance, and the effect which the study of it had produced on the heated imaginations of these young ladies. 164 the romance. i however despaired of ever being able to discover who they were, when it struck me, that by returning the book to the library, some light might be thrown on the subject. i did so accordingly, and, without any trouble, the officious shopman immediately divulged the name, by saying, “my master's duty to miss whimper, and we are sorry we cannot find any thing deep enough for her perusal at present; but there is a novel on the stocks, translated from the german, entitled, the self-immolated victim; or, sentimental robber,' will just suit the young ladies; and the moment it comes from the press, it shall be sent to duchess street, portland place." 6 i had now the names and address of my fair friends, and it was easy to enquire into further particulars. the result of these inquiries was, that mrs. whimper (the mother) was a widow, given up to parties and pleasure to cards and late hours; and that her family, of which these two young ladies were the eldest, and which included four more children, were all kept either in the romance. 165 the nursery or at school. the circumstance of having them at all militated much against the matrimonial promotion of a comely mother. in order, however, to give her an air of youth, and prevent competition, mary and elizabeth were confined until fourteen to the nursery; and afterwards in the utmost seclusion, until they attained the ages of seventeen and eighteen. plain dress, distance from company, and rigid severity, excluded them from society; but a circulating library, accommodating servants, loneliness, warmth of constitution, and an abandonment to themselves, had allowed these tender plants, like unpruned trees, to shoot out into the wildest directions, to put forth the most undirected, uncontrolled luxuriance of growth, to waste their exuberance of ideas in the richest (if i may be allowed the expression) infertility of extension, and to lose themselves amidst the weeds of fiction, fastening upon the specious flowers of description, and the flashes of impassioned feeling, which make the great charm of works of fancy. 166 the romance. so wedded did they soon become to romance, that the one assumed the name of seraphina, and the other took that of blanche; they passed whole nights by the wasting taper, over the romantic pages of love and chivalry; and fled precipitately, like "stricken deer," to their feverish couch, at the thundering knock of mamma, returned from an "at home," a masquerade, or a quadrille ball, from all of which these overgrown children were proscribed. mamma always lay until three p. m. but the misses were ordered regularly to take their airing at one. loaded with novels and romances, they sallied forth, and sought the darkness of the grove, in order to live an imaginary existence. they were confined for the rest of the day to their apartments; where open windows, the æolian harp, sighed songs, mouthed declamation, two veiled figures placed at a balcony, and a spanish guitar, attracted attention, misled conjecture, announced the wandering of the heart and the mind, the romance. 167 and-it will be well if that be all. a defect of education, and maternal neglect, go a great way towards female ruin, for "the vine luxurious, if neglected, lies "prone on the earth, and unsupported dies."so dawning reason in a youthful mind "remains inactive, dormant, and confiu'd, "till education calls its virtues forth, "extends its prospects and makes known its worth, "corrects, improves, inspires the human soul, "completes the man, and finishes the whole." my warmest solicitude is excited for these youthful wanderers in error. their lady mother will have much to reproach herself with, if any domestic calamity should occur in her family, and i really think i must gain admittance to her myself, and make her listen to some friendly remonstrances on the subject from the hermit in london. fs a conversazione. il me tarde de voir notre assemblée ouverte, et de nous signaler par quelque découverte. nous approfondirons, ainsi que la physique, grammaire, histoire, vers, morale, et politique. les femmes sçavantes. moliere. i met mrs. montagu marionville, at a fashionable bookseller's, the other day. she was expatiating on lady laura learnedlore's exquisite conversazione, as she was pleased to term it. on perceiving me, she gave me her hand, and was good enough to say, that she very much regretted my not being there. i thanked her, and requested to know what were the chief attractions of the evening, who was there, and whether it was the company, the conversation, or both, which formed that night's peculiar charms? "both," vol. i. i 170 a conversazione. exclaimed she, delighted. "there was a great union of talent, novelty, and vast information. besides all the old set, there were sir alexander alkali, one of our first gentlemen chymists; varnish, the painter, just returned from rome; and sir robert euphony, a most profound greek scholar he exhibited the first possible example of memory, by repeating three hundred lines from sophocles, without missing a word :-it is true i did not understand it, nor did lady ruin and her knot of blues, but i am convinced by the bominas and the ominas, that it must be very sublime. : "then we had mr. architrave, who described the shaft of a broken column to us with such energy, that it seemed to rise stately to our view, and i actually thought myself either in greece or at herculaneum. "we had, moreover, mr. dactyllus, the poet (the bard, i ought to say), and chatterini, the improvisatore, who made an elegant little impromptu on lady hardtag a conversazione. 171 castle's lapdog. mr. dactyllus is delightful-quite the roman: his hair cut exactly like the statue of brutus, and a thin cambric cravat, so loose as to fall on his shoulders, gave us an opportunity of seeing a fine muscular neck, similar to that of the gladiator. he is certainly a little touched in his upper story; but that gives the more energy and fancy to his lines. what fine flights of imagination in his ode to the moon! and then, again, what descriptive alliteration in the line, where he addresses her as "mild meditation's melancholy maid!" "doctor dabble was likewise of our party; he has invented a new and speedy cure for the globus hystericus. and there was also miss fanny fermor, the greatest botanist in england. she recited some beautiful lines on the polyandria monogynia, and shewed us the finest rhododendron i ever beheld! "lord gothic, too, came in about midnight he is a disciple of gall's. his lordi 2 172 a conversazione. ship enlightened us much: he demonstrated the organ of theosophy very clearly on the head of a child; and assured me, that i ought to have been a builder, for he never saw the organ of constructiveness so determined as on my cranium. that of destructiveness was as distinct on the german marshal baron vonklinkencattendundertromp. but he got rather into a scrape, by wishing to shew the organ of inventiveness on lady laura; for she wears a wig : therefore of course it was impossible for her to allow his lordship to touch on that head. "we inspected some beautiful alto and basso relievos, many intaglios, cameos, medals, and coins. we looked over a choice portfolio, and saw some curious specimens of geology. lady laura has purchased a superb etruscan vase; and has had a present made to her of some more mosaic. the doctor shewed us his new snuff-box of lava, elegantly set; and the italian brought a curious picture for sale. "the hours, in short, passed so swiftly away, that it was two o'clock before i could a conversazione. 173 look round me; i then ordered my chair, took a wafer and a glass of lemonade, and retired to bed. monologue, the celebrated actor, handed me to my chair, and promised to introduce me to that most delightful of all creatures flaxman ; also to a mr., i forget his name, who is writing a new system of physiognomy, and a treatise on the clouds, where there are strata and tumuli, mountains, paths, and i don't know what besides; so that, by and by, we shall be as much at home in the clouds, as we are now in the stars. oh! science, thou divine gift! how do i love learning and learned men! this was indeed an evening of virtù-a conversazione worthy of being remembered and recorded the feast of reason and the flow of soul.' """ she was running on, when one of the shopmen produced a very splendid book, open. "oh! ye powers!" exclaimed she, ready to drop with admiration, "what a margin !!!" i looked at the book, and saw a very few lines finely printed in the 1 3 174 a conversazione. middle of each page, with the broadest margin i ever beheld. mrs. marionville was resolved to purchase it, be the price what it might; and this diversion drew her attention off from me, and ridded me from hearing any thing more about the conversazione. on my way home, i reflected how many ways there were of conjuring a man's money out of his pocket, in a gentlemanlike and apparently sensible way-without squandering it on vice, cards, dice, dogs, horses, and trinkets. but the following list presents as many roads to ruin as would (taken together) pay the national debt paintings-architecture and a taste for building-coins-medals-antiquities— chemistry-encouraging of foreigners and the arts, and buying rare and expensive books. to this may be added, a rage for purchasing chronometers: but that is a passion chiefly consigned to a very high personage, and if he learn from it the value of time, it may be considered a very profitable pursuit. a conversazione. 175 in book buying, it is curious enough that the book, and not the author, furnishes the attraction so that pope was quite correct in saying, "in books, not authors, curious is my lord." a book printed on vellum, or with gilt letters, or illuminated (as it is called by those who are enlightened only by such illuminations), or a book of ancient date, be its contents ever so stupid or uninteresting, is all the charm necessary; for such works are bought, not to be read, but to be looked at. as for me, i have always held that "the proper study of mankind is mau ;" but in order to see him as he really is, i have studied his actions more than his professions, and it is the result of many years' observation that enables me to present my readers with the lucubrations, such as they are, of their friend, the hermit in london. 1 4 just returned from college. what's a' your jargon o' your schools, your latin names for horns an' stools; if honest nature made your fools, what sais your grammars ?. ye'd better ta'en up spades and shools, or knappin hammers; a set of dull conceited hashes, confuse their brains in college classes! they gang in stirks, and come out asses, plain truth to speak. burns. being informed that my old friend, dr. drudge's son, had come to town, i called, the other day, to visit him. i valued the father much he was an honest, industrious, and successful man; and i wished to show every civility in my power to his : n son. the doctor had, by much labour and long practice, amassed a large fortune, i 5 178 which he left to his only son; to whom he was so partial, that he spared no expense to educate him in the first style. general knowledge was what the doctor was anxious to give his child; who, on his part, seconded his wishes by a thirst for improvement. this, however, was accompanied by a volatility and an eccentricity wholly unexampled. it is often the case that the son of a learned man, or of a great public character, is a dunce: just as the common consequence in life is, that the successor of a miser is a prodigal; but, in the present instance, it is otherwise; for the doctor's son is still more ambitious of shining as a man of science and letters than his father's most anxious wishes could desire. just returned from college.“ about a year ago, the young man was deprived of his worthy father; and it is a week since he concluded his academic studies, having taken a bachelor's degree, and quitted college. very different from those young men of rank and fashion, who leave oxford and cambridge, perfect only in just returned from college. 179 horse-racing, sporting, drinking, and gaming, mr. drudge has read, in the last four years, more books than any other man of his age that i am acquainted with. he has had a gleaning of almost every science; but with such rapidity, that it has produced a confusion of matter and languages in his head, similar to what we read of the confusion of tongues at the tower of babel. to this he adds great self-confidence, and a fine flow of spirits, which render him altogether a very peculiar character. i called at his lodgings, and found him at home, seated in his robe de chambre, a spanish grammar on one side of him, and the cranium of a dog on the other. squares, compasses, and mathematical instruments, retorts and phials, books and papers, were all around him; and a description of persia was in his hand. two foreigners were employed in the corners of the room; one working in plaster of paris, the other at a desk. he rose to receive me with a cheerfulness unlike the expression of a bookworm, 1 6 180 just returned from college. and, making me a half prostration, with a smile he cried, "salam, salam, most worthy sir; friend of my sire; i delight in seeing you; you are welcome beyond my descriptive powers; se seda signor -asseyez-vous, s'il vous plait-sit down by the little boy who gratefully remembers being on your knee-dans l'aurore de la vie. how do you do? how is the nervous system? no hypochondriasis? no dyspepsia? all well in the pulmonary regions? the viscera ? the muscular economy? aye, i'll swear to it. the vital system as entire as a youth's of twenty! and the intellectual one mature and sane-mens sana in corthe mind is (i perceive) pore sano. 'though deep yet clear, though gentle yet not dull.' but tell me-quid agis? what are your present pursuits?-moral or experimental philosophy, zoology, mineralogy, conchology or geology, metaphysics, philology, anatomy, ethics, natural history, or the belles lettres ? i have heard of you. i know that you are a savant, a man of virtù, one of the cognojust returned from college. 181 scenti, of the dillettanti, a man of science, and a leader of bon goût.” he overpowered me, but i put in a few words. "well," said he, abruptly, 66 we have a fine prospect of affairs, political and general. pretty work, this election; great efforts at an oligarchy-at a democracy, or a mobocracy, if you please. they would give us a republic non libre, as montesquieu calls it. you see what our liberty comes to. it is that libertas which in vitium excidit. aye, the life guards will settle that! but it is truly shocking: amputations and fractures, lacerations and dislocations, are the effects of the poll: in consequence of those emulations and strifes, those contentions and passions which war in our own members,' hem! it is every where the same. vide the revo lutions of france, of holland, of the colonies. odi profanum vulgus. these demagogue orators poison the public mind, intoxicate weak brains with their frothy oratory, themselves being the worst of private characters, and then leave the 6 182 just returned from college. popolaccio to a sense of their own wretchedness. thus it is that "belle parole e certi fatti "ingannano savj e matti,” 66 apropos, but for these elections the town would be a desert. at the court end of the town it is a memento mori, a rus in urbe. the grass is actually growing in the streets; and the sight of a nobleman's carriage is a treat." then turning to the implements around him, "you see," said he, "my amusements and occupations; chemistry, anatomy, geology (holding up a specimen of basalt), and history. that multum in parvo little fellow is taking my bust (pointing to a deformed italian). the other is my spanish master, who is writing my exercise. "su servidor ; viva usted muchos anos (to the language master, bowing him out). this cranium was that of a dog, the most intellectual (if i dare use. the phrase) of his species. the animal was a roman, and i am examining the cerebellum. [his servant enters with a letter.] that fellow i keep because i made just returned from college. 183 an experiment on him. he was as deaf as the tarpeian rock, and i cured him by electricity, after trying magnetism, the metallic tractors, and the devil besides. vous me permettrez, mon ami-you will allow me to peruse this billet-it is an invitation to the institute, and a promise to take me to an experiment of the voltaic pile. a fine thing, no doubt! i know the principle, as one ought to know the principle of every thing; from the five per cents. up to the solar and lunar systems. talking of the sun, the prince carries it with a high hand; every measure goes through—the indemnity act, and all the rest. by and by, these demi-gods of ministers will issue their orders-such is our will.' it will εων δ' ετελείετο βέλη. what will become of old magna charta at last i know not. it will be carta pecora, or carte blanche, i believe. by the by, how they are stultified in france! no nerve! a general paralysis !" here i stopped him, for fear that he should have gone all over the continent, 薯 ​ 184 just returned from college. and have hurried me with him; and i asked him what were his plans for his future modes of life? "it is my intention, first," resumed the youth, "to make a tour of the continent of europe, and the greek isles; to become a member of a number of foreign universities, and to have as many a.m.'s f.r.s.'s a double s.s., and initials of science, as will fill the titlepage of a book, tacked to my name. i mean to write my tour, and to have it printed on fine wove, hot-pressed royal octavo paper, with a flattering engraving of self, in an antique costume. i shall get a needy foreigner to make drawings for it, and i shall dedicate it to some leading man. i'll praise the edinburgh reviewers up to the skies-" resque ad sidera." i'll have two mottoes, one in greek and one in hebrew, to the book; and, on my return from the continent, i'll give dinners to all the celebrated booksellers in town. i'll buy up a hundred copies of the work; and have the second and third editions issued out simultaneously with just returned from college. 185 ~ the first. thus ushered into celebrity, my next ambition will be to get into parlia ment, and to make a thundering maiden speech; then, with m. p. attached to all the other distinctions of a man of alphabetical as well as of learned distinction, i may publish anything, and shall be sure of becoming a popular author. lastly, i propose retiring to my tusculum, where i must discover some theory, and publish it, by which means i shall be called by the name of my theory, and thus be rendered immortal. all this accomplished, i shall retire to the country, there, ‘ducere solicite jocunda oblivia vitæ,' and end the scene in the arms of the muses." here concluded the projects of my ambitious friend, young drudge. the reader may consider the picture as overcharged; but i assure him that it is faithful. in the course of a long life, many singular objects have passed before my eyes; and i have, amongst the number, met with more than one of this cast. we have fanatics of all kinds religious, political, poetical, phy186 just returned from college. sical, and metaphysical. we have fanatics in love, in painting, and in all the fine arts. every body must have seen "il fanatico per la musica;" and not a bad play might be written on "il fanatico per la scienza :" such is the worthy friend above described of the hermit in london. fashionable advice. empty of all good wherein consists woman's domestic honour and chief praise: bred only, and completed to the taste of lustful appetence; to sing, to dance, to dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye. milton. "my dear julia," said lady to her youngest daughter, as i was paying them a morning visit, "i was quite horrified, last night, to see you go out of the argyle rooms hanging on young walsingham's arm. you put both your hands through it, clasped together, and leaned forward, and looked in his face, as if he was your whole dependence and delight, with an air of regard and confidence which quite petrified me. i assure you it was observed by lady glibspeech, and by the three misses 188 fashionable advice. "" mortimer; for they kept their eyes upon you, and whispered to each other, 'a match, i suppose!"""dear me, mamma,' said the artless julia, "i did not err intentionally, i'm sure; i only leaned upon his arm, because i was fatigued, and becausehe offered it so kindly." "there are many hints i wish to give you, child," continued her ladyship. "in taking a man's arm, you should do it. neither bashfully nor confidently; neither disdainfully nor kindly. you should never lean upon him, in any sense of the word; but receive either his arm for the promenade, or his hand for the dance, as a mere matter of course. "when you smile, too, in return for a bow, or other salutation or acknowledgment, you smile with all your heart! your eyes wide open, and beaming regard. now, nothing is more vulgar. your smile should be half grave, half sportive: enough of the grave to show becoming pride; and of the sportive to set off and embellish your countenance, fashionable advice. 189 "when you laugh, you laugh as if you really were delighted, which is plebian in he extreme. a woman of quality's laugh is in a very doubtful, minor key, as if half ashamed of herself at being moved to mirth by the exertions of any one. "in surprise, again, you expand your large blue eyes, and look like a picture" (julia is beautiful in this expression of countenance)," although i have told you, a hundred times, that none but rustics appear amazed; nothing being quite novel to people of fashion." (a fine compound of deceit she will make of her, cried i, to myself.) "then, you have a trick of standing near the fire, which catches your face and arms, and makes you look as ruddy as a milkmaid, and ruins your complexion for the night." (this was impossible to be done to her ladyship's artificial lilies and roses.) "when you are asked if you are engaged to dance, you cry no,' with the 6 190 fashionable advice. simplicity of a girl at a fair, and look, as much as to say, 'i'll dance with you, with a great deal of pleasure,'-instead of hanging down your head, then looking up in a pretty attitude, expressive of doubt and consideration, so as to give added interest to your hand, which the gentleman is uncertain of obtaining; and showing, at the same time, how much you are in request. nay, when you have accepted a partner, you should not rise full of spirits and satisfaction, to join the gay throng; but, even then, testify some degree of indifference, and take your place coolly, and loungingly, as it were." "but, then," replied julia, " my dear mamma, i am so fond of dancing!" "that is just what i complain of!" said her ladyship. "you ought to be fond of nothing but fashion, your father, and myself."-" and brothers and sisters," added julia, hanging down her head. brothers and sisters," answered lady—; "but don't hang down your head, and pronounce the words like a simpleton. "yes, fashionable advice. 191 "when you ride out with a gentleman (i beg your pardon, for delivering this lecture before you, but i know that you are a friend of the family," said she to me.-"oh, madame, ne vous génez pas; the discourse is very edifying," replied i) "never," resumed she, "allow him either to ride on your left side, or to lean on the pummel of your saddle. "when you walk with beaux, never dismiss your footman; and never let me see you go out with young archer, in his tilbury. a curricle, with two grooms behind, is well enough, even if the grooms be a quarter of a mile behind: because these two witnesses defeat the idea of a téte-à-tête, and are stylish; whilst the other is mean and matrimonial." aye, there's the rub, thought i; for the first position exhibits a distinction without a difference, considering the quarter of a mile business. "and," concluded she, " when you waltz, extend your arms, and keep your partner literally at arm's length: look 1 192 fashionable advice. occasionally at your feet, and smile around you; but never allow his eye to meet your's, nor give him one positive smile upon any account whatever; and pray do not let me have to blush for you any more." "very well, mamma," said julia, and left the room with a tearful eye. -"" "she is," said her ladyship, addressing herself to me, "such a novice, that i have no patience with her." "what would you have her to be," exclaimed i, "at sweet sixteen, and as innocent and engaging as a girl can be?" "stuff!" said her ladyship; "the girl's barely passable (her ladyship was envious of her). "but, don't you think," added i, "that it would be just as useful, and a deal more simple, to advise her not to waltz at all, nor to ride out, nor to lean on any one's arms in a morning promenade, unless with a relation to protect her, or in your ladyship's company; "oh! nonsense!" replied her ladyship; "i can't be bound to dance attendance on grown-up girls, although it 66 . fashionable advice. 193 vol. 1. • be my duty to give good advice. i might shut myself up in a prison just as well. that would finely interfere with my engagements, indeed! a pretty thing to make a bear-leader of me! yet, i would chuse my daughters to be perfect women of fashion." "oh! i understand you," replied i; and shifting the subject, took an early leave: for i found i was not likely to make a convert of her ladyship; any more than she of the hermit in london. k fortune hunters. ......he that has two strings t' his bow, and burns for love and money too. butler. life has been called, by some, a dream, by others a drama, (" since all the world's a stage,")-and by others a game. in the former point of view we are all somnambulists; surrounded with uncertainty and darkness in feeling our way through the world; our minds obnubilated by phantoms, blinded by interest, lulled into security by a delusive reverie, attracted by unsubstantial pleasures, and only awakened to wisdom and reason when it is too late. in the two latter views of the subject we are mere actors in a piece where we cannot chuse our own k 2 196 fortune hunters. parts, or speculators on a game of which we know not the nature of the stake. as i do not like the gloomy side of things, i shall consider men in this last point of view; namely, in pursuit of some game, with interest or amusement for their main object; classifying the sportsmen in life under the heads of pleasure hunters, quality hunters (or, as it is called at oxford, where the gold tuft is the badge of nobility, tuft hunters), place and pension hunters, and, lastly, fortune or wife hunters; more properly the former, as the latter is only considered as an accompaniment, and often a very inharmonious one, to it. the mere pleasure hunter, who follows the ignis-fatuus of enjoyment, that is to say, "the something unpossess'd," is scarcely worth a thought. brief is his summer's day in the garden of life; fickle his taste; many the sweets which he fain would cull; but the premature cold breeze of winter, the clouded sun, or sudden approach of evening, cloyed pleasures and fortune hunters. 197 sated appetite, produce surfeit, disappointment, and disgust; sickness and sorrow follow, and the insect is no more; his day is done. the quality or fashion hunter is a mere reptile. he crawls after other insects, or feebly mounts to follow the titled butterfly. his reign is as brief and more contemptible than the former. not unfrequently, like the silly and obtrusive gnat, he plays round the blaze of power, until he burns his wings and becomes a spectacle for life; or until he consumes his existence entirely, and is destroyed by the dazzling glare of ambition. not to dwell on the other varieties, we will come to the fortune hunter, who has a longer and more active course before him; though not less contemptible, and more culpable than the former. he has a substantial object in view, and is ever awake to his own interest, ever alive to the most sordid views. he runs not giddily, but creeps warily and like a sportsman on his prey. intent frequently on destruck 3 198 fortune hunters. tion, he is steady, cool, artful, patient, and designing. no beauty melts his refrigerated bosom, no female enchantments divert his reasoning powers from their favourite employment of calculation. pleasure and passion he commands; and undazzled by fashion or by glittering appearance, he looks to the intrinsic, however encumbered with earthly deformity, however degraded in baseness, rusted, mildewed, or disguised. the woman of fortune, whether old or infamous, deformed or disgusting, base-born or illbred, has always attractions for him; whilst simple beauty, in its modest bed, withers by the way-side, or is spurned by the adventurer's foot, in his road to fortune's temple. i cannot, myself, conceive a more base, or a more degraded character than this: yet thousands we have, in town and at our fashionable watering-places, who are gazetted fortune hunters, and are known to be "hanging out for wives;" dancing, flattering, fawning, attending on and de" * fortune hunters. 199 ceiving one heiress after another, until some one fall a prey to them. mr. flutter, after having dissipated his own fortune, has been at this trade for four-and-twenty years; and has, in the last ten, had, what he deems the good fortune, to bury two rich wives, without heir or incumbrance. he is now trying for a third, though rather aged himself, and wholly unattractive, not having the generosity to bestow a fortune on unprovided female merit, nor manliness enough to marry for love. but the worst of all is, that mr. flutter, and all such wretches, in their course through life, angle also for the affections of beauty and innocence; and when by inquiry the fortune of the party is not commensurate with their avarice and ambition, they leave the love-sick girl to regret, to wretchedness, and to the pointed finger of scorn; for when a heart is betrayed, although virtue be unimpaired, yet will scandal point out its owner as a deserted damsel, one with whom a match has been broken off, a forsaken maid; k 4 200 fortune hunters. whilst the fortune hunter is barbarously trying all in his power to create the same interest in another heart, his own callous alike to sympathy or remorse. the following anecdote of mr. flutter will give a pretty striking example of this tribe. having buried his first wife, in whose breed the ethiopian cast was very discernible, he went on a voyage of discovery (as the gold mineralogists often do) to the north. he ascertained that an heiress, who shall now be nameless, dwelt on the border, and that she possessed lands, a castle, and money in the stocks. he immediately cast his net, and it fell, as he imagined, on the bird, a sprightly and 解 ​very engaging young person. with this lady he danced and walked ; to her he sighed and wept, read love sonnets, and made love verses; he was unwearied in his attentions, and had fixed the day for popping the question to her; with the precaution, however, of being still better informed as to the castle, the acres, and the bank stock. in the course fortune hunters. 201 of his extravagant courtship, he extolled her figure to the skies, assured her that a blonde was the goddess of his idolatry, and that an eye like her's (a full humid blue) was an empire in itself. riding out with her previous to the day of the intended grand attack, after admiring her accomplishments, and even her horse, he informed her that he had seen her castle, and he thought it worthy of such a mistress; a most noble, romantic, and desirable spot; that he should be delighted to be her shepherd in those groves, and contented to pass his existence in retirement with her whom he adored. ► the young lady had good sense enough immediately to perceive his drift, and bursting out into a fit of laughter, informed him that the castle, the woods, and the fortune, whose beauties and excellencies had so attracted him, and with which he was so deeply in love, belonged to her cousin (of the same name), and that she herself did not possess an acre in the world. mr. flutter was struck dumb; he k 5 202 fortune hunters. hesitated; he stuttered; said that he was taken suddenly unwell; made his retreat; and never again beheld the beautiful maria. the following month he was married to the cousin, a plain deformed young woman, with little black jewish eyes, who, although warned by her cousin maria, yet fell into the snare, and survived her happy union only three years. it would be for the good of womankind, at least, if these goldfinch fanciers were marked in society, so that they might be avoided by females, and treated with contempt by men. mr. flutter is, however, very much thought of at bath, where he is considered to have many winning ways; and he gives it out that he espoused his dingy wife on account of her having manifested an attachment to him, which excited his pity. let no such man be trusted for a moment," is the advice of 66 the hermit in london. a morning drive in a nobleman's curricle. ye who, borne about, in chariots and sedans, know no fatigue but that of idleness.. 66 ........ cow per. + i had sauntered down pall mall one day, as far as carlton house, when i was overtaken by lord random, who informed me that he wanted to speak to me, and requested me to come into his curricle. come," said he," the day is too hot for walking; i have nothing to do; i will set you down where you please; and you may as well bear me company as indulge your own cogitation thus solitarily." i thanked him, and accepted his proposal. his business was to talk к 6 204 a morning drive about lady mary's intended match; or rather he had no business at all, but was alone. he wanted company; and the opportunity was favourable to pick out of me all that i knew respecting lady mary. in this he failed: but i was now his curricle companion, and destined to pass the morning with him; for i had nothing particular to do myself, and i anticipated, at least, a pleasant airing. we first drove to friburg's, where my lord tried a variety of snuffs. he looked also at a dozen kinds of cigars and of tobacco, and purchased a little of each article. all this time a crowd was round the curricle, listening to his lordship's loud talk. this occupied about twenty minutes. from friburg's we wheeled round, and drove through pall mall and st. james's street, as if we had been going -on life and death. at the corner of bennet street, my lord pulled up, and conversed with an acquaintance for a few minutes. a few yards further, he stopped again at hoby's, the in a nobleman's curricle. 205 boot-maker's, and abused the foreman for disappointing him in not sending home some boots. here again he talked loud, and collected a host of beggars and idlers about us. thence we proceeded the short distance of dover street, nodding to, and nodded at by a numerous acquaintance. we alighted at morton the gunsmith's. here his lordship looked at threescore rifles, double and single barrelled guns and pistols: inspected some powder and shot ; talked of his immense dexterity as a marksman; mentioned many of his sporting feats; praised himself very largely; bought nothing, and remounted his curricle. in all this shooting piece i was mum, taking no part or interest in the concern. he now drove furiously to scott the tailor's, in pall mall, where he alighted; but as we had been one hour at morton's, and i was tired of a conversation in which i was neuter, i preferred remaining in the curricle; thinking, at the same time, that this would tend to shorten his stay. i was deceived; he remained there an hour also; 206 a morning drive and so fidgetty and unmanageable were his high-mettled cattle, that i was forced to drive them up and down for fifty minutes, expecting to be relieved every moment, and not daring to go out of sight of the tailor's door. ; his lordship apologized, and we drove briskly up towards oxford street, making three momentary halts, to shake hands with bond street loungers. a veterinary surgeon's in oxford street was our next destination. here my lord had a sick horse; and he begged me to look at it, and give my opinion. i pleaded ignorance; but he would have me out, and indeed i preferred this to the driving up and down, as in pallmall. we alighted, and proceeded to visit the sick horse, which seemed to claim a much greater share of his lordship's attention than i had done. seated on the manger, the peer held forth concerning horseflesh, the distempers to which these animals were subject, and their general anatomy: and here my lord seemed to be quite at home. i had now the felicity of listening to various in a nobleman's curricle. 207 remarks, on the part of the peer and the farrier, respecting farcy, glanders, spavin, worms, sand-cracks, and divers other dirty diseases. we sat there until we all smelt of the stable like ostlers, and until the peer, pulling out his musical watch, found that it was six o'clock. it was a little past two when we met in pall-mall, and we had therefore been near four hours making these uninteresting calls. "i thought of going to the park,” said he, "6 but it is now too late; and i must go home to dress: where shall i set you "down?" i told him any where he pleased; for i longed to be released from this bondage and loss of time. he set me down at the bottom of old bond street, shook hands with me, and took the direction of berkley square. i leave my reader to judge what benefit i derived from his lordship's society, what amusement i could have had in his conversation, what advantage i could reap from such an airing, or rather a dusting, up and down the streets in a hot day. but there 208 a morning drive are many noblemen who thus shackle their acquaintance, and who are vain, presumptuous, and unjust enough to imagine that a commoner is sufficiently paid for his loss of time, by being their companions a whole long morning in a coroneted carriage, with a couple of servants behind it. these lovers of dependants, of hangers-on, and of shades, always contrive to catch hold of some complaisant person to keep them company, and to listen to their self-praise, or their bad jokes, in order to beguile their own time at the expense of the sufferers. these lordlings will take you to tattersal's, to their stables, to long acre, and to all their tradesmen's, in order to purchase dogs, horses, a carriage, or to look at every thing and buy nothing; or finally, to show off their stud, their landau, barouche, or vis-à-vis, and to impress you with an adequate idea of their own importance, and of the felicity which you possess in being the friend and companion of a peer. the only conversation which took place in four hours, (if conversation it can be in a nobleman's curricle. 209 called, where one man speaks all, and the other only listens), was his lordship's account of himself, and his detail of the preceding day. it was brought forward to prove the excellence of his constitution, and how he tried it by hard living; and it was nearly as follows: he rose at three; took a short drive: went into long acre, to see his new travelling carriage; bought a brace of spaniels of a dog-breaker, and visited his sick horse; he dined at eight; got plenty of wine; made a party to vauxhall at midnight; spent twenty pounds in bad champagne; returned about four in the morning; and enjoyed his own reflections with a german pipe until half past five, when he retired to rest. if the attending of fanciful ladies on a shopping excursion be annoying, ten times more so is a morning's attendance on great men, as above described. this one lesson served me ever after; for i took special care never to be so taken in again: nor do i ever remember to have allowed any 210 a morning drive. man, be his rank what it would, to make a tool of me since: although the fairer sex have occasionally drawn me into shoppings, morning calls, and once to a portrait painter's; of which visit my readers shall have an account in the next lucubration of the hermit in london. sitting for a picture. painter. it is pretty mocking of the life. here is a touch; is't good? poet. i'll say of it, it tutors nature: artificial strife lives in these touches, livelier than life. shakespeare.-timon of athens. "do now be a good creature, and go with me to my painter's," were lady jane mandeville's words, stopping her carriage, on perceiving me at the cocoa-tree door. "there is nothing so stupid as sitting for one's picture," continued she, "and i know you are a good soul, and will amuse me with your society, during the trying hour of being studied by the painter. upon my word, i wonder how many a handsome timid girl can stand the trial: it is quite awful: besides, one is apt to get into low 1 212 sitting for a picture. spirits, it is so excessively tiresome. so step into the carriage, and i shall be for ever obliged to you. i have had two sittings; yet i perceive something wanting to the likeness which i am at a loss to describe, and which your superior judgment will point out." the last compliment acted on me as a bribe; yet i saw that it was her ladyship's intention to make a convenience of me. my age, however, and my habits favoured the thing: i was weak enough to be pleased with a remark so much in my favour, and to comply. we arrived at the painter's, and were shewn into a room where the easel and half-finished portrait stood. lady jane looked it through, examined, looked again, shook her head, and appeared dissatisfied. "that," said she, "is not me; it wants something; what is it?" "it wants life," replied i, "it wants expression; your countenance changes so frequently, that it cheats the artist of the likeness which he, for a moment, had in his power; another expression, yet more agreeable and engagsitting for a picture. 213 66 ing, presents itself to his view, and he is compelled to quit the last play of features, which, if continued, would have been perfect. thus, for instance, you smiled; he caught that smile, but it died upon your lips, and in your eyes, just as he was impressing it on the canvass. he looks up; he finds you pensive and grave-another countenance ! pray, my lady, smile again." you cannot; the next attempt is unnatural; it is not a smile; the artist is puzzled; he looks at you again and again; the charm of the last smile is broken; you make a dozen unsuccessful attempts, in order to satisfy the painter; you grow impatient; the placidity of your brow is ruffled; the artist lays down his brush; he too is out of temper, but he must not shew it; he pauses, he reflects, he begs you to sit unconcerned; "sorry to give you so much trouble;" what can he do?-he paints from recollection, and fails. now had an approved and an approving, a loved and loving swain, been before you, and had he said, "lovely lady jane, smile 214 sitting for a picture. as you did this moment, for it was the most wily winning smile i ever beheld," you would have immediately smiled all heart, and the painter would have seized the happy moment.” "you are a wicked man, a practised flatterer, a gay deceiver," exclaimed her ladyship, hitting me amicably with her parasol; "but do tell me what the picture wants. it is stiff; it is grave; it looks like a woman of thirty; in short, it is not me; and i have half a mind not to take it." i saw immediately its defects in her eyes it was not handsome enough-not ten years younger than herself—in a word, not sufficiently flattering; but i could not tell her so. it wants,' resumed i, 'as i said before, your play of features; it cannot, like you, say the most amiable things in the world, nor do the most friendly ones; it has not your wit, your conversation, your knowledge of the world, and your obliging disposition-such things exist not in canvass; and it is not the painter's fault. perhaps,' continued i, it has a little too sitting for a picture. 215 much colour.' "not a bit, (for she was pleased with its improved complexion) ; but (concluded she) it is too old." "perhaps it may be.' she was quite dissatisfied. "" we now heard very loud talking in the next room. "let us listen," said she. "it is that vain creature, mrs. blossom! i am sure if mr. varnish takes a faithful likeness of her, it will be a fright, and it will be the first faithful thing about her." 'how severe,' said i. "oh! i hate her, answered her ladyship; "but hush!" upon listening attentively, we discovered that she was come to get her daughter laura's portrait taken. the poor artist was to be pitied. nothing could satisfy her. it would have been far more candid to have said-i must have a venus, instead of my daughter; you must make this woman an angel in picture: the colours must breathe-they must be the spirante colore of the italian artist; yet it must be my daughter, in spite of nature and of art. -"i will have laura painted at her harp,' said mrs. blossom. "she must be clad in "" 216 sitting for a picture., white-light drapery of exquisite designher neck and arms bare-a lily of the valley in her bosom-her raven locks fancifully arranged-one shed over her forehead-a favourite ringlet straying o'er her ivory neck.”—you paint so beautifully yourself, madam,' observed the artist, 'that i shall execute nothing half so well; but the young lady will make a most interesting picture, and i will do my best to please you; your idea is excellent, and i shall follow it with the utmost care.' "yes," resumed mrs. blossom, “i am allowed to have a very fine taste for painting," (for painting herself, undoubtedly she had). 66 "but stop, not so quick," exclaimed mrs. blossom, "another thought has come into my mind. i will have her painted at full length-a light drapery hanging over one shoulder-the other quite bare-her hair à la victime behind, and fastened upon the top of the head-one lock over the left shoulder, long, full, and natural, and finely contrasted with the whiteness of her bosom sitting for a picture. 217 6 -her head half turned (this was enough to turn it altogether)-her eyes drooping-a book in one hand-the other arm reclining on an elegantly executed pillar." very good indeed,' cried the painter! young lady's fine silken eyelashes and full eyes will have an excellent effect in this pensive attitude.' 'the "nay," interrupted the partial and fanciful mother," now i have a better thought she shall be painted as dianamy beautiful greyhound at her feet, which will be a double advantage, as it will bring in a favourite: then we will have her drapery looped up in front, it will display her well-proportioned finely-turned instep to advantage-her bow suspended from her shoulders-the head-dress exactly like that of the goddess in question." "admirable!' exclaimed mr. varnish. " or if she were drawn as hebe, or"here we had no longer patience, and we left our listening station. "fool!" cried lady jane; and ringing the bell, ordered the footman to remind his master that lady vol. i. l 218 sitting for a picture. jane mandeville was waiting, and that she was pressed for time. the artist entered, all confusion and excuses, and told us that he had been detained for an hour by a lady, who at last went away undetermined as to how her daughter was to be drawn. lady jane, who had so blamed and so ridiculed mrs. blossom for her conceit and fantasticalness, now began herself to play the difficult. she found a thousand faults with the picture, and was quite angry with me for not finding a thousand more. "the eye wants light," observed she. 'i will give it a little,' answered the painter. "and the bosom should be fuller." he made it so, although it was nearer the truth at first. "it is too old," said she, next. he retouched it. the likeness, or rather the portrait, was more flattering. "that's better; now i'll have the head-dress altered; it shall be like those of the greek models." "your ladyship shall be obeyed.' "and that nose, again, is frightful. i am sure i have not that pert turned-up thing which you have given me." the painter looked sitting for a picture. 219 all confounded: his eyes said, 'pray what nose would your ladyship please to have?' but he could not so express himself. he pondered, and at last painted a very handsome nose, quite unlike the original; for lady jane is pleasing, without the least pretensions to regularity of features, or to what may be termed beauty, and she has precisely the nose she objected to so much. by this time the picture was grown very unlike indeed. "that's better," said she, with a nod and a smile. "come, my friend," continued she, addressing herself to me, "tell me some of your excellent anecdotes, in order to put me in good humour with myself." and with me also,' modestly added the painter. "there, my lady, that smile will do inimitably.' she turned her head, and was uneasy; she looked all impatience; it was lost. you do not sit so well as you did yesterday-not so pleasantly, nor in such good spirits,' observed the artist. "oh! i rememberyes; i had that rattle, george myrtle, of the guards, with me; he kept talking non< l 2 220 sitting for a picture. sense to me the whole time of my sitting; do excuse me for this morning, and i'll come again to-morrow, and bring him with me." mr. varnish dropped his brush, and bowed disappointment—'just as your ladyship pleases.' we all rose together: and, as he was conducting us to the door, we met mrs. versatile and lady bellamy. "do, my love," said the former to lady jane, “return with me to the painting-room, and see if you can find out my portrait; it is not quite finished, although i have sat ten times."—"yes,' interrupted the artist, 'for ten minutes each time.'-"but," continued she, "if the likeness be striking, you will know it immediately." we re-entered the room; and, by an approving smile and a glance of mrs. versatile's, we discovered a most beautiful picture to be her's, not by the likeness, but by her self-satisfaction at being so flattered. we both agreed that it was uncommonly like. lady bellamy grew pale with envy; and lady jane observed, hastily, "mr. varnish has not taken half so sitting for a picture. 221 much pains with my picture as with your's." he modestly answered, 'madam, it is not yet finished;' whilst mrs. versatile smiled disdain, as much as to say, "poor silly thing! do you ever expect to look half so well as i do?" mrs. versatile then addressed herself to the artist." mr. varnish, i really do (laying a stress on the last word) beg your pardon for being so troublesome to you, but you must excuse me to-day; i was up all night at a quadrille ball, and i shall fall asleep, or do nothing but yawn, if i sit down. (turning to the looking-glass,) i protest i look quite a fright, i will not sit to-day." he bowed submission; and it came out afterwards that she had disappointed him five times running. once she was engaged to a déjeuné; once she had a sick head-ache; the third time she disapproved of her dress, which was to be changed; next she looked too pale after riding; and, lastly, she was fluttered, and put out of temper, and could not, as she called it, l3 222 sitting for a picture. "bear herself, because she looked so unbecomingly." to all these changes of temper and disappointments are artists exposed. her grace is so disordered by the high wind that she is not fit to be seen ;-lady soand-so has had no rest, and her eyes look quite red ;-miss lovemore is so fidgetty that she cannot sit still: she is going to a waltz party, and will put off the sitting until to-morrow. lady bellamy now put in her word; for she had a picture which did not half please her, and which was to be altered." mr. varnish," said she, "my husband does not approve of my picture (the case with many husbands, thought i); he says that it is a stiff, prim, formal piece of stuff." the painter looked all patience. "it is not half so gay as i am (some truth in that); it is unlike about the eyes; it must be touched up again and improved; besides, my husband says that he must have me in an easy undress, instead of that crimson robe and feathers." just as your sitting for a picture. 223 husband pleases,' answered the tormented artist. we now took our leave; and lady jane set me down at hookham's, observing on the way that mrs. versatile's picture was not a bit like her, that mr. varnish had made a perfect beauty of her, and that she much regretted having her portrait painted by him, as she did not admire his likenesses at all. on my way home, i could not help ruminating on the painful task of the painter, and recollected that very few of the portraits which we saw in his show-room were strong likenesses of those for whom they were taken. the two great causes for this, however, were, that almost every body wishes to be flattered, while some others have the conceit of being painted in dresses so utterly foreign to their situation. in life, that their acquaintance can never possibly have seen them attired in that manner. there was, for instance, lord heavyhead, in the costume of a roman senator, l 4 224. sitting for a picture. which he is as like as he is to a windmill; the rev. mr. preachhard, in a scarlet hunting-frock and black velvet cap, which he used to wear before his ordination, and a fox's brush instead of the bible in his hands; a captain fairweather in a suit of polished armour; a mrs. modish as a magdalen; and the dowager lady lumber as a sleeping venus, with a rich silk drapery thrown over her. now who on earth could expect to discover his friends under such disguises? yet to all these whims and fantasies must the painter submit. his task, to please, must be difficult. "it is easier to draw characters than features," thought i; and, indeed, i dare say the poor artist himself could often give a heightening touch, from his own personal observation, to the portraits of 4 the hermit in london. a visit to my friend at his country seat. hor. o rus, quando te aspiciam. o knew he but his happiness, of men the happiest he! who, far from public rage, deep in the vale, with a choice few retired, drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life. thompson. i have always preferred the "shady side of pall mall" to any other shady groves or bowers in the world. but though my attachment for a town life is such, that i have refused a thousand invitations to the country, yet after a whole winter of promising to visit lord riverbank at his retreat, twenty miles from london, i at last did violence to my inclination and went l 5 226 a visit to my friend thither. i had heard a great deal of the magnificence of his house-of his improvements and his hospitality,—and i was now about to judge for myself as to all these particulars. i accordingly threw myself into a postchaise; and arrived at riverbank park about two o'clock, p.m. i inquired for my lord, and was informed that he was busy, but would be with me immediately. her ladyship was employed in stag-hunting. i next asked for the young lord, and found that he was fishing:-lady ann, the eldest daughter?-she was out with the coachman, learning to drive :-lady elizabeth ?-she was with her drill-master, that is to say, with a serjeant of the guards, who was putting her through her facings, and teaching her to march :lady mary?-she was lying down. "bless me," said i, "the family are oddly employed! but i am sorry for lady mary's indisposition." she is not indisposed at all, sir,' replied the butler, she is lying flat on the floor for an hour, by order of 6 6 at his country seat. 227 6 her ladyship, by way of improving her shape.'"and mademoiselle martin, the governess?" added i,is,' answered the butler, waltzing with a young officer who is on a visit here, for amusement's sake;'"whilst lady mary is thus stretched on a board. preposterous!" muttered i to myself. 6 the nursery was now let loose, and the infantine race crowded about me, hid under the skirts of my coat, and insisted upon my playing at battledore and shuttlecock with them, which i reluctantly did. at length, after the lapse of an hour, my lord made his appearance in a very slovenly undress, his hands quite dirty, and an unfinished needle-case between his finger and thumb. he had been turning in his workshop (his favourite amusement), and apologized for his delay. his first anxiety was to shew me his shop, his tools, and his performances. he then stunned me with the noise of a wheel, and presented me with a pencase, which i could have bought, better done, for sixpence. his next care was to l 6 228 a visit. to my friend take me over his improvements, which business lasted two hours, and fatigued me exceedingly. i had the honour to visit his piggery, to get knee-deep in straw and manure in his farm-yard, to catch cold after walking fast in his dairy, and to assist him in reclaiming a horse which broke through a fence. in our walk, he praised himself a good deal, talked to me of the size of his cattle, and added something about a cross in his sheep, which escaped my attention. we now came in to dress for dinner, and the family assembled together. lord greenthorn had caught three small fish, and had pricked his finger whilst baiting his hook. the serjeant was heard in praise of lady ann, who performed as well, he said, as if she had been an old soldier. coachee was interrogated respecting lady elizabeth, who, he assured my lord, would in a short time make a very pretty whip. the governess's evidence was not so favourable to lady mary, who, she complained, would not be still a at his country seat. 229 minute. this was very bad; but lady mary stated, in her defence, that it was impossible whilst waltzing was going on. my lord patted her on the head; and, turning to me, observed, "she's a fine wild girl, an't she?" dinner was now served up in a sumptuous style; but all was stiffness and formality. i was seated next to her ladyship, whose conversation ran upon the pleasures and the dangers of the chase. she had been twice up to the saddle in water, had been once nearly knocked down by the bough of a tree, and had taken some very desperate leaps. my lord talked to the curate, all dinner time, about farming, with all the ardour of a theorist and all the ignorance of a novice. lady ann and lady elizabeth quarrelled together most part of the time, about the trimming of their dresses. mademoiselle martin appeared to be the great favourite of the young officer; and lady mary annoyed me by asking a thousand silly questions about what was doing in town,—what was 4 230 a visit to my friend the last fashion, if i could tell her the name of any new novels, and the like. the circulation of the bottle, after dinner, was slow and confined. the parson drank two to one to his neighbour. the militaire tippled wine and water, complaining of being feverish; and soon left us, that he might walk with the young ladies and their governess, who kept them running races, whilst she was flirting with the captain. lord riverbank now proposed another stroll, but i declined it, on account of my morning's fatigue. i accordingly went up to the drawing-room, where i found her ladyship sleeping on the sofa, overcome with her hard riding; and miss m'clintach, a highland unmarried lady of about fifty, whose pardon i beg for not having named her at dinner. this caledonian lady is the quintessence of old maidishness, yet affected in the extreme, and much inclined to be taken for twenty-five years of age. she is so formal however withal, that she would not sit next a man at table, at his country seat. 231 for fear he should touch her knee by accident. when the walking party returned, cards were proposed; but we could not make up a table. miss m'clintach said it did not do for young people to gamble, and (in a very broad accent) observed, that cards were the deevle's bukes. waltzing was then mentioned; and two couples began, whilst the third sister played on the piano forte. there was a quarrel at starting, as to who should have the captain for a partner. the eldest daughter, however, claimed the right of primogeniture, whilst the second sister danced with tears in her eyes, for disappointment, and mademoiselle looked as black as a thunder-cloud. i was set down to cards with the parson, and lost ten games at piquet. lord greenthorn established a game at forfeits for the younger children, and in this miss m'clintach joined, by way of appearing young and innocent. when, however, it came to her turn to be saluted, she made a most desperate resistance, appealing to 232 a visit to my friend the higher powers, and exclaiming very loudly, and in her broadest northern accent, "a beg leave to state, that a set my fece against the measure entirely." a roar of laughter from all quarters followed this remark; and the cause was given against the lady, who slapped the young lord's face, and retired in a rage, amidst thundering applause, or rather thundering mirth at her • expense. lord riverbank, fatigued with turning, now fell asleep; and i, taking the hint, slipped unperceived to my room, where i noted down the transactions of the day. after breakfast, the following morning, i took my leave, resolved never again to pass such a day in the country, unless brought there on some most urgent and pressing occasion. my lord's estate is a fine one, his house is roomy and expensively fitted up; but comfort is no where to be found in his domains; and as for improvements, there is great room yet, for many more-beginning with the family itself. at his country seat. 233 on my way home, i could not help thinking that there was much truth in the remark of a frenchman, who stated as his opinion, that we find in life fewer things positively and intentionally bad, than things out of place, des choses déplacées. this led me to consider the pursuits and pleasures of the riverbank family, all innocent in themselves, but quite out of place, as if the family had changed sexes, sides, and conditions, and did every thing by a rule contrary to propriety. thus, had lord riverbank been staghunting, and lady riverbank fishing,— had the young lord been in the hands of his drill-serjeant, or driving out for the purpose of becoming an able charioteer,had lady ann been dancing, in the place of her governess, and had lady elizabeth, and the recumbent lady mary, been employed at their music or at study, and mademoiselle ornamenting their dresses; it strikes me that the pursuits of the family would have been more analogous to the age, sex, rank, and understandings of -234 a visit to my friend. its members. as for the turning, carpentry, and the cabinet-making, they might have been omitted altogether—at least, according to the value of such merely mechanical pursuits, in the estimation of the hermit in london. delicate distinctions. thro' tattered clothes small vices do appear, robes and furred gowns hide all.-plate sin with gold, and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks: arm it in rags-a pigmy straw doth pierce it. king lear. -'s 66 how sorry i was to see lady name in print," said lady leonora ogle, the other day. "i knew of her unfortunate attachment to the colonel long ago. one can hardly blame her: she ought to have been married to him; but he was too poor. the attachment has lasted these ten years. how unlucky that it should have been exposed at last. she is much to be pitied." "and her lord," said i. "oh! the nasty disagreeable creature." oh, ho! cried i to myself, scratching my forehead, i was right never to have 236 delicate distinctions. married. this is a delicate distinction, indeed, only fitted for high life. an illicit intercourse, forsooth, is called an unfortunate attachment! and, because the lady has dishonoured her husband for years, 'tis a pity that she should be found out! she can hardly be blamed for marrying a man that she hates, because he is rich! nor for making him a cloak for her sins, because her lover is handsomer and poorer than he and he is not to be pitied, because, irritated by well-grounded suspicion, he becomes a disagreeable creature! very pretty, indeed! a moment after, a very elegant young man entered the drawing-room. he played off all the airs of an exquisite, looked grave and interesting, sighed, complained of ennui, of his unlucky stars, and made his visit short. "i saw you in the king's road, yesterday," said she, at parting. "no! did you?" replied he, in a silvery tone. "i'm always seen by somebody; i am an unfortunate wretch. adieu! au revoir." delicate distinctions. 237 i "i do like that young man," exclaimed she with much interest. "indeed every body likes him but his frump of a wife. wonder how he could sell himself to a lump of warehouse vulgarity and riches. the daughter of a packer to aspire to such a man as that! or to conceive for a moment that he could like her! he is desperately attached to mrs., and i fear there will be a discovery there before it be long. i have no patience with his jealouspated spouse, she torments the poor fellow to death." "and you pity him, too," said i. "i do," concluded her ladyship, "from the bottom of my heart." another nice distinction. a common man, who squandered his wife's means, lived with another woman, and treated her with scorn, would be reckoned a vagabond and a reprobate: and the honest woman of a wife's case would be commiserated: but here the wife is blamed for not submitting gracefully and genteelly to adultery; and her presumption 238 delicate distinctions. is excessive in expecting any thing else from so elegant a man. riding in the park, i fell in with an officer in the guards. we took a turn or two, and met george rackrent. 66 i am astonished," said i, " at seeing him about again. i understood he was in prison, and had not a shilling left in the world, out of his large fortune. what an imprudent man he has been!" "true," said the old captain; "but i'm happy to tell you that he is now as fresh as ever; he has quite made a recover; he is brought round, and lives as comfortably as any man, and in pretty good style. he has taken the benefit; and has, moreover, been very lucky at play of late. i rather think that he has been put up; but i assure you he is as good-natured and generous a fellow as ever lived; and, in spite of all his misfortunes, he has not lost a friend, nor does he owe a gaming debt in the world." here's discrimination for you! he throws away his own fortune in gambling, delicate distinctions. 239 in horse-racing, and in all sorts of debauchery; he pays his gaming debts in preference, and to the exclusion of his tailor, his wine-merchant, his butcher, and a host of minor creditors, who may be ruined by such conduct on his part; he degrades himself by taking the benefit of the insolvent act; he sets up in good style, instead of making an effort to be honest; he learns to cheat at cards and at dice; and yet, because he prefers fleecing strangers to his friends, who very likely have little to lose, or may be as clever as himself, he is a good-natured generous fellow! nay, an honourable one, although it is rather thought that he lives by plunder! what would a tradesman be thought of who lived beyond his means and above his sphere; then cheated his creditors, and afterwards subsisted by fraudulent practices? this delicate distinction is something like my cousin tom's calling himself an old soldier, because he has learned to sell a horse for more than it is worth; to take 240 delicate distinctions. advantage of a novice at billiards; to play a good rubber at whist; and because he receives obligations of every one, without returning any-such as sponging upon a greenhorn, sharing the extravagance of a profligate, betting with the odds in his favour, and hoaxing the ignorant in all gentlemanly ways. quare, whether this is not being not only very unlike a soldier, but very like a rogue? 6 a servant woman came to lady leonora to be hired, one morning when i was present. her ladyship asked her why she left her last place? why, my lady,' said she, to confess the truth, i was deceived by a young man who had promised to marry me.' "then," said her ladyship, sternly, "you will not suit me, for i cannot encourage vice." i expostulated with her ladyship, and assured her, that the girl's misfortune was just as natural as her other friend's faux pas, and that i should have expected her ladyship's pity on this occasion to be as charitable and extensive as on the other. but her ladyship made a 6 delicate distinctions. 241 very nice distinction betwixt the orders of society, with the view of convincing me that there was all the difference in the world between the cases. thus vice in the vulgar herd, is error in people of quality; an adulterous intercourse in low life, is an unfortunate partiality in high life; extravagance in people of humble birth, is mere want of order in people of fashion; dishonesty in common people, is thoughtlessness in their betters; and robbing with dice in your hand, instead of with a pistol on the highway, provided it be done in the higher circles, is only a little manœuvring-for which (with change of person, place, and instrument) a wretched fellow-creature might be put up on a high post, or put down in a dreary prison. but to place these delicate distinctions in their proper point of view, is one great part of the office of vol. i. the hermit in london. m a rainy day in the country. for this one day ............ do go, dear rain! do go away. coleridge. i gave an account to the dowager lady eaglemont of my country excursion to riverbank park. she sympathized very sincerely with me, and added that, for her part, she would rather live in london all the year round, than pass one month at her son's castle. fashion, however, makes it necessary to quit town at a certain period, merely to say that you have been in the country. "now," continued she, "in the hottest day in summer, when town is most empty, and when you meet not an acquaintance in a whole morning, still are m 2 244 a rainy day in the country. the shops open-one can go shopping, lounge at a library, get the last new novel, take an ice at a confectioner's, talk scandal at a dress-maker's, hear the on dits that are going about, drop in at the minor theatres, and sit at one's window, on a sunday, quizzing the beaux and belles emerging from the counter and the showroom. "in the country there are no such pastimes. a watering-place, indeed, is very well for a month, because it is not like the country; one can gamble all day, go to balls and assemblies at night, frequent the libraries, and gossip as much as in town. but a visit to what is called your country seat, your family estate, is to me being a prisoner on parole in fine weather, and a close prisoner in bad weather. a rainy day, for instance! what a trial of patience! what a penance for one of my habits! in a jail there may be variety,—the prisoners must have many and marvellous adventures to relate; but at the family mansion a rainy day in the country. 245 all is clock-work sameness, healthy stupidity, and the gloomiest of all gloomy retirement. "i neither ride nor fish: and as for a walk, unless upon the flag-stones, i never think of it. country drives are equally odious. to be dragged along without shops or loungers to look at, i deem detestable; and then to arrive at a village, and to set all the curs and mongrels barking at me, to startle a donkey out of a ditch, and to set a parcel of cocks and hens to flight, whilst broad grins and opened eyes meet me at every cottage door, affords me not the least entertainment. 9 "nutting parties, too-what a bore! getting your face scratched with brambles, and your bonnet knocked off by the branch of a tree. to boil your kettle like a gipsy, under a hedge, and dine in woods, tents, or in the open air, has this horrible difference from the worst entertainment in a house, that you have the misery of being bit by insects, your complexion spoiled, and your dishes filled with animalculi. m 3 246 a rainy day in the country. 66 then the society in the country is the most monotonous in the world. you are entertained by the parson, perhaps, who preserves the same soporific and nasal note with which he treats his parishioners from the pulpit; or by the village apothecary, who puts you in low spirits by detailing how sickly the season is, how many patients he has to attend, and the miraculous cures which he has performed; or who delights you with a four hours' discourse of unintelligibilities about oxygen and hydrogen, muriates and nitrates and carbonates! "my poor brother, who you know is retired from the army, perfectly agrees with me in his hatred for the country, and suffers just as much as i do in it. but to return to a rainy day. i remember, last july, it set in for rain in such good earnest, that we had only five dry days in the month. i know it to my sorrow, for i counted them all, as i did the moments, until i got off to brighton, and thence (tired enough of the seaside) to bath. a rainy day in the country. 247 ¦ "one day, in particular, it rained incessantly. my son and the apothecary played billiards all day; and the women must needs be industrious and go to work. my poor brother was confined with the gout, and i could get no one to make up a rubber at whist. i counted, from my window, the slates of the stables, being in number seven hundred and fourteen; i measured the room sixteen times, and numbered the medallions on the carpet; i read every advertisement in the papers; and stood three-quarters of an hour, by the clock, watching a goose upon the lawn; which, as idle and unhappy as myself, had no other amusement than extending one leg and standing on the other; thereby bringing vestris, and all the delights of the opera, to my remembrance. "it was an awful day! i thought that there never would be an end to it. how relieved i was when six o'clock struck, and the dinner bell rung! after dinner i played cards till i scarcely knew a heart from a club. my brother told me that, one 1 m 4 248 a rainy day in the country. *+ rainy day, he measured ten miles in the library, played with the bell-rope for two hours, and, after dinner, played four and twenty games at billiards. i do protest that i never will pass more than one week at a time again at a family mansion as long as i live, and that will be purely out of complaisance, and to keep up old family customs." thus ended her ladyship's description of the country. i, too, remember a comical day, or rather a most idle one, passed at richmond, with a friend. it rained torrents; and our horses were twice ordered, and twice sent from the door. every one of a party invited to dinner sent apologies; and the billiard-table was under repair. my friend was no reader; and he had lost so much at whist and piquet, at bath, that he had made a vow not to touch a card for a twelvemonth. we therefore looked over a portfolio of caricatures for three hours, and played at long and short for shillings, until i lost ten pounds. then we varied a rainy day in the country. 249 our game for odd and even, and dined and played at backgammon until midnight, when i left him to smoke his german pipe. he fell fast asleep at this lively amusement, and was awakened by his valet-de-chambre at four o'clock in the morning. i blush when i recollect how i spent that day; but there are many, if they would take a review of their past life, who will find innumerable hours consumed in the same way: not to mention the passa tempo of many an elegant dragoon detached at country-quarters, who, in his tædium vitæ, strolls with a companion to the first bridge, and spits over it for half-crowns or guineas; or plays at pitch and toss by the road-side, until the hour of dinner arrives; when he either drowns recollection and life in the purple tide of wine; or, if he be a selfish insipid, who wishes to preserve his health and good looks, sips his pint of claret or madeira, lounges his evening away in misleading the mind of the prettiest milliner, or mantua-maker, in the village, and then returns home, to admire himself in the m 5 250 a rainy day in the country. looking-glass, to boast to his comrade of his success, or to laugh at the poor innocent girl's credulity. if such be the effects of idleness in the country! surely it is better to be a hermit in london. killing time. "their only labour was to kill the time, "and labour dire it was, and weary woe." thompson. sir peter panemar was knighted for his civil services in india. he came home with the liver complaint, and a plum. he met with usurers who enabled him to lay out his money to great advantage, by way of annuity: this was all quiet and underhand. lady panemar has a blaze of jewels, and she is fond of play, and has a great opinion of her judgment in it. both these qualities turn to the account of her acquaintance; whilst an excellent cook, and a very large house, offer attractions to guests of the first family, who condescend to compose their circle, and who call m 6 252 killing time. them two mighty good people in their way: id est, in the way of dinner-giving, and of losing at cards. the table, and other gratifications of the senses, carried on sub rosá, compose the round of sir peter's pleasures, and occupy his time. but his lady has more striking features in her character: she is stormy, jealous, changeable, and ambitious. to be classed with the great, and to fatigue echo with the sound of her strange name and empty title, at every rout in town, is the summum bonum of her enjoyments. late hours, and laced liveries, constitute her splendour in society. she is known like the sign at an inn door, and held quite as cheap by people of quality. "let us just look in at the nabob's house," is as common as the call of a ticket porter at barclay and perkins's entire shop; and the motive is much the same: the former is made a convenience to high life; the latter, an accommodation to the lower orders. killing time. 253 sir peter never has a vacant hour to answer a letter, to receive a petition to attend to the call of humanity, to improve his mind, or, in fact, to spare, in any way whatever. he has not a vacant hour in the whole day; all are bespoken, all are disposed of; all are engaged; and yet how? for that is the object of our animadversion. the important labours of his day, the useful dividing of time, the taste ful variety of improvement and pleasure,these are the objects of inquiry. in short, how does sir peter live? what is his diary? what the agenda which mark the features of his mind, which render him a useful member of society, and which endear him to his fellow men, and to the community at large?-nearly as follows:eleven is his breakfast hour. having kept every one waiting, he comes down to breakfast, as many members go to the house, empty, insipid, and having nothing but habit in view. he takes twice as much time at breakfast as is necessary, 254 killing time. even for an idle man; yawns over every cup of tea; turns over every paper; looks at the barometer, and at the thermometer, and talks of india, and changes of climate, and constitution; abuses england, yet condemns india; looks at his letters, and puts them in his drawer unread; fancies himself into a complication of disorders, and longs for the visit of his physician, who appears secundum artem, a grave coxcomb, profiting by the weakness of mankind. of the physician, ignorant questions are asked by sir peter, as to materia medica, physiology, and anatomy. they are enough to make him laugh; but he preserves his unaltered muscles. the nabob persuades himself that he has a complication of disorders; the doctor bows; he nods approbation to the idea, and a prescription is written and sent off; for the physician and the apothecary play into each other's hands: the former fills his patient's head with whims, alarms, and a conviction that he cannot live without 1 killing time. 255 medicine; whilst the latter makes a complete medicine-chest of the nabob's trunk, -not his strong-box, for both draw upon that, in order to fill their own pockets, and to get a good annuity out of sir peter. the patient then grows low-spirited. "may he take a pint of madeira?" "decidedly; it is absolutely necessary.'"and eat turtle?" "in moderation: yes.'"and ortolans?" "nothing better.' "doctor, will you come and taste them?" "if my professional calls allow me, i will.' (he comes.) "and a bit of venison?" "the easiest thing possible for digestion.' 9.66 and a little iced champagne ?" hum-three glasses.'"noyau ?" one glass.'"hermitage ?" "yes, just for a finish; but, to live on simple food, and to keep good hours and temperance, is quite necessary, and, indeed, the only thing to be relied on.' pleased with the prescription, sir peter enjoys the anticipation of the epicurean delights, and thinks on dinner for an hour. 6 256 killing time. : it is now one o'clock.-a poor artist calls: "he has nothing for him." a widow "she is an impostor." a tradesman: "he will teach him better manners, and wo'n't pay him for a twelvemonth, for daring to ask for his bill." an humble relation calls : "never at home." he must now ride: his horse is over-fed; he himself is not over courageous, long used to the palanquin,-a brentford horseman. he is nervous, and determines on walking. it is now three o'clock! what has been done? (-1) he saunters down bond street; meets a poor man from india, who has a law"he suit might he speak to him?' : has not time." he is now in the middle of st. james's street; and a tenant wishes for a word with him: the poor man's stock and crop have failed; his farm-house has been consumed by fire. but the nabob has not a moment: he even regrets that he should have bought an estate what are crops and tenants, fires, or other men's calamities, the growth of timber, and mere 6 killing time. 257 ; vegetable matter, to him? nothing: they are a tax upon a man of fortune's time he considers it as a great liberty taken by the tenant to accost him in the street. "after all," says he to himself (for he has no taste for these pursuits), 66 agriculture and horticulture are very vulgar employments; the former only fit for a peasant, and the latter for a lady, and that as far only as overlooking her greenhouse, and of talking on the subject. i had rather," continues he (to his dearest friend-self) "smoke my hookar, and listen to a good story, than see all the crops, and fields, and gardens in the world; wetting one's feet, perhaps, and bringing on a fit of the gout, by following some new-invented plough, or looking at some odd breed of cattle." he now determines to sell his estate. but then again, mount pleasant house, and a vote in the county, give consequence; they draw my lord, and the county member also, to his parties; they 258 killing time. procure him invitations to great dinners, and shed showers of visiting cards upon his breakfast table. he wo'n't sell his estate. it is now four. he is in pall-mall; he looks into 's; he fancies that this is a parliamentary, literary, diplomatic, scientific lounge. it is a fancy-it is all fancy. he sits down, he listens, he yawns, he forgets; but he has been there, and he has not time to recollect what passed. it is past five. a parson accosts him for a subscription for the poor of his parish, or for a singular case of distress: time permits not; he will be too late for dinner. signor santineri's readings! five guineas, and be d-d to him!" he gives the money; but he is in a devil of a hurry, and a little out of temper; he must dress; he is tired; a pill to take; too late; must be put off till to-morrow; what a pity! 66 he is overfatigued; with what? with going from harley street to pall-mall. he will take his carriage next day; it is killing time. 259 too fatiguing-too much for him; it occupies too long a space of time; he forgets the medicine, the sale of china, the milliner, his promise to buy the cigars, and the prince's mixture! how many wants! how many omissions! how important too! and the satirical novel!-forgot that too! how could that be?-too much hurried; not a moment to spare. a servant now annoys him again by bringing in widows' petitions and tradesmen's bills: not that he can't pay the one, and relieve the other, if he pleases; but that he hates the name of them. her ladyship wishes to speak to him: he cannot. it is six, and he is but half dressed (and that very ill too, he might say, for he is the worst judge of colours and dress in the world). "she must write;" "a party for the next day." agreed: he will put off an old friend, a commoner, because sir gregory gives the feast. 'tis seven. how has he passed the last two hours? in swearing at his servants, 260 killing time. and in trying on two coats which don't please him he declares they were made for a hog, yet they fit him exactly. his gloves are too small; they burst in putting on; the fact is, that his hand exceeds bond street proportions. a spring wig took three quarters of an hour in adjusting, and did not please at last. he fears that he shall have scarcely time to reach the dinner party before the first course is concluded how could it happen? what has he done? he has been hurried all day, and swears that he will not undertake so much the ensuing day; but yet the vortex of pleasure allures him, and impels him, whilst idleness forms the leeway of his reckoning on life's voyage. what a progress he has made in the useful part of life! he has walked all the way from harley street to pall-mall; has spoken to a dozen people; bowed to twenty carriages; bought some currie powder; and looked in at colburn's library; and, after a long and unsatisfactory toilette (for killing time. 261 the quicksilver of his mirrors gives a vulgarity to his features, and a blueness to his lips, wrinkles to his cheek, and something unfashionable to his tout ensemble) : he is enabled to cut in for the announcing of dinner, just time enough to offer his arm to a withering plant of quality. what a pity that he has not more leisure how much more might be done in the same way! but it is the lot of rich men to be overpowered with engagements. two hours at breakfast; two or three in consulting about health; as many in doing nothing up and down the streets; an hour to listen at the library; an hour to forget what he heard. how a man must, after this, be pressed to get ready for dinner, and to appear in time! then, four courses and a dessert bring on midnight; and, two rubbers last until two o'clock in the morning. what a beautiful division of the hours! sir peter is fatigued, by this time, beyond measure; but he has to sooth her ladyship for her loss of temper, or for her 262 killing time. loss at play. "dear how late it is! how little time for rest!-must not be called until noon the next day!-overfatigued ;too active a life!" this is the diary of one who has not a vacant hour; because vacancies, like ciphers, swell the numerical account of his life. such is sir peter panemar; and such are many others of his stamp. time, which still hangs heavy on their hands, consumes and slips, as it were, from under their feet, whilst they are thinking what to do, yawning, complaining, and idling. calls of various kinds are made on them; claims of humanity, or mere social claims; but they have no time. the sale of a pipe of madeira, or of some old china, or of a great man's pictures (the two first of which they are perfect judges of, though ignorant enough of the latter), require a whole morning; and a great dinner, with the additional attraction of cards, will, at all times, dip deep into the night. poor people, how they are to be pitied! what a killing time. 263 relief would they find by occasionally seeking refuge in that rational retirement, at their own firesides, which so often affords the greatest gratification to the hermit in london. my country cousin. come, spur away, i have no patience for a longer stay, but must go down, and leave the chargeable noise of this great town. randolph. ............ "what a pretty morning i have made of it!" exclaimed my cousin bob, who had arrived the day before from the country. 'what do you mean?' said i. "why, i have been hoaxed, and queered, and gammoned by every body." relate the particulars,' said i, interrupting him; for he appeared in a flurry, and somewhat ashamed of himself. 6 "in the first place," said he, "as i was going to look at my horses, a fellow ran against me, and smeared my new drab great coat. "you unmannerly rascal," exclaimed i, “do you know who i am?" vol. i. n 266 my country cousin. 'know who you are?' answered he : 'no, mayhap giles jolter, from warwickshire." "so, laughing and lolling his tongue out of his mouth, he passed on. at the same moment a mud-cart crossed me, just as i was going after the fellow to give him a touch of my hand-whip, and spattered me all over. i told my mind pretty freely to the driver, who made a swell of his cheek, by tucking his tongue into it, and cried, johnny raw! when did you come to town?" "i'll commit you," cried i; "i'm a magistrate ;" and a fool,' says the fellow: vy i'll box you for your estate;' so saying he off'd with his coat. now as i am a bit of a dab that way, i thought that i'd indulge him a little, and that he'd find me an ugly customer. so, giving my coat to a well dressed gentleman, i squared, and stood up to him like a man. 6 "he's beneath your notice,' cried a grave gentleman, dressed in a suit of mourning, with powdered hair and green spectacles; 'don't dirty your fingers with him; he's beneath your notice; and you, sirrah, my country cousin. 267 66 if you don't ask the gentleman's pardon this minute, i'll take the number of your cart, and have you fined; i saw you splash the gentleman on purpose, and that's a breach of the peace.' 'i humbly ask your pardon,' says the rascal, why then," says i," all malice is over." so i turned round to put on my coat; but the well-dressed gentleman was off with it. 'stop thief!' says the carman; 'i'll catch him; but where can i bring the coat to your honour?'"to that livery stable," i replied, pointing to where my horses stand. 'i'll accompany you,' said the elderly gentleman in black. "many thanks," said i; " and when i have got my coat, i should be happy to offer you a sandwich and a glass of madeira." the gentleman stopped a quarter of an hour; but the carman did not return. so he made his excuses, that he could not remain any longer, and left me, exchanging cards, and promising to call upon me. i read his card, "you 6 sir john jones, adelphi hotel.' do me honour, sir john," said i, offering him my hand. t n 2 268 my country cousin. ( "at this moment the carman came up. very sorry, your honour,' said he; but the rascal is too nimble for me.' i put my hand in my pocket to give him half-a-crown, when, lo and behold! my pocket was picked of fourteen pounds, besides silver, my grandmother's gold ring, my watch, a receipt for making blacking, a gold pencil-case, and my gardening knife. "the devil is in london!" cried i. "why what a burning shame! botany bay must be let loose in this quarter of the town: and, would you believe it? all the grooms, and the ostler, burst out a laughing. "dye all," cried i, and smacked my whip at 'em; on which they ran off, one crying to another, what a greenhorn! what a spoony!' and i don't know what besides. 66 "i now sent my groom for my bottlegreen hunting frock, and mounted my famous roan-cost me two hundred; my man riding a thorough-bred bay. well, i had not been a quarter of an hour in rotten row, when two dandies, as i'm told they're called, turned up their noses at me. one took his glass, measured me from head to my country cousin. 269 foot; and, as i passed by the other, the monkey-thing says to his brother baboon, 'where's my country cousin? who have we got from the fens of lincolnshire? a fine pigeon! mind the country-cut coat, and the mahogany topp'd boats.' "well, i despised them; and as i was carelessly walking my horse down the ride, with my whip under my arm, i had the misfortune to run it into the eye of a beautiful woman, mounted on a rare bit of blood, and followed by a groom in a crimson and gold livery. "a thousand pardons ma'am, said i; i hope i have not hurt you." "not much,' replied she, in a very sweet voice; so i took off my hat respectfully to her; begged her pardon again and again; and we rode up and down the park twice, and got into a very pleasant conversation. 6 "just at this moment, cousin dick, in his dragoon uniform, gallops up to me, and taking me aside, says he, don't you know what sort of a lady you are riding with? just give you a hint-that's all,'and so off he gallopped; and thus ended my morning's adventure." n 3 270 my country cousin. my unfortunate cousin afterwards went out to dinner, and informed me next morning, that he was laced up so tight, in order to be in the fashion, that he could not eat an ounce; and after the opera, a schoolfellow took him to a tavern, where there was private play, and fleeced him of three hundred pounds, for which he gave his bill. "a pretty three days in london, indeed!" said i. he went home on the fourth; and i trust that his example may be useful to other country cousins, who may be exposed to the same snares. i need not add, that sir john jones, of the adelphi hotel, was no where to be found, any more than the purse and other articles, which my cousin lost at the time he had the honour to get acquainted with him, though, from his description him, i suspect him to be a practised swindler, almost as well known about town, though i trust not quite so much esteemed, as the hermit in london. giving and receiving. you gave with words of so sweet breath composed, as made the things more rich. shakespeare. from the two circumstances of giving and receiving, the human character is more easily learned, than from almost any other act in life. the man of delicacy and sensibility gives with a smiling and graceful countenance; bends gently forward, and drops or insinuates his donation into the receiver's hand; often presses that hand in token of kindness, or in order to conceal the amount of the gift; and whenever he can find an opportunity, puts it on a table, or in a drawer, in order to avoid either ostentation or thanks. the well-bred man and the 272 giving and receiving. man of the world spares the feelings of the receiver, by conversing cheerfully on some subject unconnected with the donation; by giving the present with the utmost gentleness, and without gesticulation; and by looking at parting as if he had received, instead of conferring a favour. the very handling of the money bespeaks the man of fashion, or the unmannered churl. the former has it always ready, but never apparent; conceals it in the palm of his hand, or goes to fetch it from another room, and wraps it up in paper, or writes an order payable to the bearer, folds it up and seals it, and delivering it with a kind of obeisance, and a graceful presentation, adds, " i am happy in complying with your wishes;" or, 66 when you look on this at home, i trust you will find it answer your purpose." the ostentatious, haughty brute, who, whether he subscribe to an institution, purchase a work of art, take tickets for a benefit, or relieve distress, does it from pride and the love of praise, makes as "" giving and receiving. 273 much of his donation as he possibly can; and keeps the expectant wretch in the agonies of uncertainty or wavering hope for some time, whilst he dives down into the profundity of his pocket, or, rummaging for a vulgar looking pocket-book, opens it like his bible (and for the same purpose) as wide as he can, to show the extent of the exertion, and to let every one see what he is doing; then, perhaps, tantalizes the needy artist, or the hungry petitioner, with the sight of a number of heavy notes, and, at last, scrutinizes a one-pound note, for fear it should be a two, and gives it to the blushing, bowing, or trembling receiver. if it be a gift in money, he rings it on the table, or holds it out as he would to a pauper in the street. • these soi-disant generous men are fond of having their names in print, in return for their money. they like to take receipts, expect to be thanked, and to be written to; and whether they grant or refuse the petitioned boon, the letter is made as public as possible. "take this 274 giving and receiving. to my banker, and he will pay you," is a common phrase of their's; or, "send for my steward or clerk: mr. scrub, give this gentleman ten pounds, and take his receipt;" or, "pay my subscription to this person;" or, "you'll give this man fifty guineas for his picture;" or, "one guinea for his book,-i don't want it, but he says that he is in distress;" or, "i see a good list of subscribers to it, though (with a laugh) i never read." a certain peer ordered his livery servant, when a petitioner called, to give the poor gentleman ten pounds! thus intrusting the gentleman's secret to a valet and a pimp (for he was both), and exposing an honourable man to the contempt of the basest of the base. "oh! it's you, sir," said the liveried varlet: my lord can't be seen, but he ordered me to give you ten pounds here it is, sir." the gentleman very properly replied, john, you will take the ten pounds to my lord, and tell him, that i should receive them from no other hand but his own, could i prevail upon 6 66 giving and receiving. 275 myself to accept them at all, after this act of arrogance and baseness of mind.' with regard to those who receive, the gentleman does so with placidity and even with dignity. if he have sold a work of ingenuity or science, he has only made a fair exchange. if he receive a favour or assistance, modesty and gravity mark his. attitude and countenance. he never hastily pockets the amount, but keeps it in his hand until he retire, politely and quietly. a very distressed object sometimes receives with an increased blush, or with a tear. when this is the case, the donor is overpaid. a professional man generally smirks and smiles, bows, acts about, pockets the cash, which he examines almost before he has left you, and retires delighted. the impostor clenches his hand on its contents, and secures, as it were, it's possession. he looks as if he had hoaxed you, overacts gravity and feeling, says too much in the way of thanks, and either retreats precipitately (his job being done), or glides like a thief out of your presence. 276 giving and receiving. i know a great man whose table is always covered with open letters and petitions. he wishes to pass for a good man; but the moment that i saw his table thus strewed with exposed secrets and betrayed distress, i lost my favourable opinion of him; for a man blessed with any sensibility would have silently attended to the applications, and then would have burnt the painful records. how true is the french adage! "c'est la façon de faire qui fait tout." and may the mode of remonstrating give effect to the remonstrances of 1 the hermit in london. end of vol. 1. london: printed by cox and baylis, great queen-street. harvardiant et veri tas isto academia onya barvard college library the gift of friends of the library 89 rossini pietro l'eremita 1827 305 586 mus mus 580.305 ንግስተ ሳባ 榮 ​harvard college library 944 veri tas the gift of william sumner appleton of boston, massachusetts class of 1896. music library pietro l'eremita. price two shillings. 4 pietro l'eremita. peter the hermit. pietro l'eremita, opera seria, in due atti. la musica di rossini. rappresentata nel teatro del re, haymarket, march 17, 1827. got sou im londra: j stampata presso di t. brettell, rupert street, dal john ebers, 27, old bond street, e si vende nel teatro del re. [prezzo due scellini.] 1827. peter the hermit, a serious opera, $7 in two acts. the music by rossini. as represented at the king's theatre, haymarket, march 17, 1827. 7 london: nomb משפר printed by t. brettell, rupert street, for john ebers, 27, old bond street, and sold at the king's theatre. [price two shillings.] 1827. college harvard sep 30 1905 interlocutori. t library william s. appleton jr. noraddino, sultano diy signor galli. egitto orosmane, figlio di no-signor curioni. raddino ismeno, ministro del sulsul-} ul. signor deville. tano pietro l'eremíta, capoy de' crociati " capo? signor giubilei. lusignano, guerriero ilit} signor torri. lustre fra' crociati fatima, sultana agia, figlia di uno de' principali guerrieri crociati, e sigra giacinta toso. segreta moglie di orosmane costanza, moglie di lumadame cornega. signano madame caradori. guerrieri crociati. grandi del regno d'egitto. soldati e guardie del sultano. damigelle egizie. donzelle cristiane. paggi, &c. &c. fursa la scena si finge in egitto, presso damietta, ove noraddino ha trasportato i crociati prigionieri. n. b.-i versi virgolati non si cantano. 1 dramatis persone. noraddin, sultan of egypt orosman, son of norad-noraddin ismen, minister of the sul_ tan peter the hermit, leader of the crusaders lusignan, a noble cru-sader fatima, the sultana agia, daughter of a noble crusader, and secretly mar-sigra giacinta toso. ried to orosman constance, wife of lu[w= }} signan signor galli. signor curioni. signor deville. signor giubilei. signor torri. madamé caradori. egyptian ladies. christian maidens. pages, &c. &c. madame cornega. crusaders. grandees of egypt. soldiers and warriors of the sultan. the scene is in egypt, near damietta, whither noraddin has transported the crusaders, prisoners. n. b.-the lines marked with inverted commas are omitted in the representation. oros. nor. fat. scena i. reggia: notte profonda. l noraddino, fatima, ed orosmane, assisi, e circondati da grandi e damigelle, tutti in varie attitudini di dolore. nor. atto i. a quando si squarcerà? mi opprime un freddo gel; l'alma mancando va! a pena sì crudel reggere il cor non sa ! tutti del coro. 1. coro. oh! chi n' aita? oh, ciel! g si tenebroso vel ignoto dio di pier, deh cada il tuo furor sul capo al seduttor, che alla già data fè rese spergiuro un re. (rimprovero tremendo! non lacerarmi il petto!. ah, troppo il mio comprendo reo pertinace error!) '+ £ 10% oros. nor. fat. scene i. a royal palace: profound night. noraddin, fatima, and orosman, seated, and surrounded by grandees and ladies, all in va rious attitudes of grief. chorus. alas! who will aid us? oh, heaven! when will this veil of darkness be rent asunder ?. the chill of fear oppresses me; 'my spirit fails me! nor. act i. p a under an affliction so severe the heart cannot support itself! all the chorus. thou unknown god of peter, let thine anger fall upon the head of the betrayer, who, after his faith has been plighted, counsels perjury to his king. (0, terrible reproach! no longer let it wound my bosom ! ah, too well i feel my guilty and obstinate error!) ܐ ܗܝ 8 oros. fat. (qual di contrari effetti sento fatal conflitto !) oh, desolato egitto ! oh, giorni di terror ! nor. grandi e damigelle. stanno a tuoi piè, o signore, [prostrandosi a nor. i figli tuoi dolenti! in vano a tai portenti resiste il tuo rigor. si chiami pier. nor. oros. fat. nor. fat. nor. oros. fat. (qual gioja !) cor.fat. ah! già di speme un lampo sul cor mi balenò! [dopo qualche causa. qual cenno! fia ver? alfin tu sei deciso? i torti miei ravviso. (ti perdo agìa.) pietro si affretti. oros. (per me non vi è più scampo! misero! e che farò?) tutti, ad eccezione di orosmane. ignoto dio di pier, se brami in libertà il popol tuo guerrier, di lui, di noi pietà! mano ultrice d' un dio! tardi conosco l'immenso tuo poter, che troppo, ahi folle! a danno dell' egitto io provocal. i cari tuoi cristiani jet vuoi tu ch'iorenda, onde si compia il grande giuramento che feci? io lo prometto: (più non m'oppongo, e il tuo voler rispetto. oros. fat. nor... oros. fat. nor. fat. nor. oros. fat. (what conflicting passions harrow up my soul!) oh, desolated egypt! oh, days of terror! grandees and ladies. behold at thy feet, great sir, [prostrating themselves before nox. thine afflicted children! nor. in vain would thy rigour resist such portents as these. let péter be called hither. [after a pause. what a command! "y! let peter hasten hither. can it be true? hast thou at last decided?. "( i acknowledge my error. (agia, i lose thee.) (what joy!) cho.fat. ah! at length does a ray of hope flash upon my heart. oros. (for me there is no resource left! wretch! what shall i do!) all, except orosman. thou unknown god of peter, i nou u if it be thy will that thy warriors should obtain their freedom, sty 1 3.13 .1 have pity upon him, upon us! thou avenging hand of a god! too late do i know 1 tox the power of thy might, which, foolas i was, i fatally provoked, to the ruin of egypt. is it thy will that i should restore liberty to thy highly-favoured christians, and fulfil the solemn oath i took? i promise it: i oppose thee no longer, but respect thy will. b 10 oros. fat. nor. " piet. nor. lus. nor. of ve p (si schiarino, i miei rai, padre, s'io sappia oppormi allor vedrai.) pietro l' eremita, lusignano, e detti.. (g) quel pietro che chiedesti è a te vicino.. a che mi chiami? ad ascoltar novelli sprezzi ed ingiurie al dio, che di sua ". " ma perchè tanto indugia del popolo cristiano il condottiero ? al suo destin severo più non è noraddin; venga ed arresti il flagello divino. scena ii. . ܝ ܕ } possa tante prove ti diè ? purchè sereno splenda l' egizio ciel, col popol tuo, pietro, lo giuro, ove ti piaccia andrai. oh quante volte, oh quante promettesti così, ma poimalvaggio consiglier, false ragioni " " m'han sedotto finor: ma, questa volta, han le tenebre orrende. 210185 ! idee d' alto terror nell' alma impresse, ***te fido attenderò le mie promesse. piet. (t ebben; quel dio che volontier perdona, mentre tardi punisce, accoglie ancora la data fe. tu, all' apparir di nuova luce, che il ciglio, e i sensi tuoi rischiara, l'alto suo nome a venerare impara. 167 ti accheta. { 1..1 (let light but return to these eyes, and then, father, shalt thou see if i oppose thee.) fat but why delays so long jai the leader of the christian people? noraddin no longer opposes nor. his destinies; let him come and arrest the scourge of divine indignation. *、, oros. cui h $... 2001 15 pet. nor. scene ii. peter the hermit, lusignan, and the above. that peter, whom thou didst call, is beh fore thee. lus. } nor. [23 pet. 11 91. "for what hast thou called me? to hear new taunts and insults against the god who has given thee so many proofs of his power? let light but return to benighted egypt, and, with thy people, sain i swear to thee, peter, thou shalt go it pleases thee. o, how many and how many times i hast thou promised thus, and yet where potú peace. a base counsellor, and false reasons, have till now seduced me: but, this time, the horrors of darkness have deeply impressed my soul with fear, and faithfully will i perform my promise. well; that god, who is swift to pardon, and slow god, who is and slow to punish, again receives i the faith thou pledgest. do thou, on the appearance of the new light, which shall at once enlighten thine eyes 1 and thy understanding, learn to venerate his exalted name. 12 fat. oros. i coro. oros. piet. j .30 ji lus. piet. oh piacer! tutti: nor. fat. cor. oros. lus. piet. 6 oh, noi felici! (ah, che morir mi sento!) eterno, immenso, incomprensibil dio! ah tu, che vegli ognora de' tuoi servi allo scampo, e 'l popol tuo colmi di beneficj; ah tu, ch' in giusta lance dell' opre nostre osservi il oh tu, che sei il santo, il giusto, e il peso; forte, (oh, tormento!) che l'oppressor del popol tuo punisci; glorifica il tuo nome, fa pompa di clemenza, e dell' egitto a nuova meraviglia il lume che sparì, rendi alle ciglia. [alle tenebre succede all istante il più luminoso giorno; tutti pieni di gioja. ah! qual portento è questo! o,luce desiata! 19. {js = (prodigio a me funesto!) celeste man placata! chi è mai che non comprende ai prove sì stupende la somma tua bontà ? "i f fatima, noraddino, orosmane. (stupor mi agghiaccia il core, muto il mio labbro rende ! chi ad opre sì stupende resistere potrà?) egizzi! noraddino! f 13 fat. oros. cho. oros. pet. lust l pet. oh, delight! oh, happy that we are! all. nor. fat. cho. oros. lus. pet.' (oh, torment!) (alas! it is death to me!) eternal, immense, incomprehensible deity! o thou that dost continually watch over the welfare of thy servants, and thy people dost heap with blessings; o thou, that in thy just balance dost weigh the sum of our deeds; o thou, who art the holy, the just, and the strong, """ who hast punished the oppressor of thy people; glorify thy name, display the pomp of thy clemency, and, by a new miracle, restore to the eyes of egypt the light which has been taken from them. [to the darkness succeeds, in an instant, the most luminous day; all are full of joy. ah! what prodigy is this! oh, light, so long desired! (0 prodigy, to me how fatal !) o hand of heaven, thus appeased who cannot comprehend by proofs so stupendous the excess of thy goodness? fatima, noraddin, orosman. (wonder freezes, my heart, and chains my tongue! who can any longer resist proofs so stupendous?) noraddin! : egyptians! 0 14 lus. piet. nor. oros. fat. piet. oros. lus, s fat. nor. oros. di questa luce un raggio vi schiari alfin la mente. e il nume onnipotente quai figli vi amerà. non più; pria del meriggio con quanti v' ha de' tuoi, in libertà tu puoi muover sicuro il piè. ma pria rifletti ancora vuoi contrastarlo? ingrato! m la ragion di stato cua al voler del cielo e intempestivo il zeloluogo a pensar non v' è. (0 crude smanie! e come, ahi misero! la sposa amabile perder dovrò?) * gli altri, col coro. m hotl scena iii.^ orosmane, poi ismeno. oros. "e` avete, avverse stelle, 3 1.1 voci di giubilo d' intorno eccheggino; l'iride di pace per noi spunto! [escono tutti, il solo oros. resta immerso ne' suoi tristi pensieri. * xt/x .201 .9 xx "più fulmini per me? colei che adoro, "che de' pensieri miei forma il primiero, 15 lus. pet. nor. prij oros. fat. pet. oros. lus. fat. nor. oros. oros. let a ray of this light at last illuminate your minds. and the omnipotent will love you as his own children. no more before noon," with all your followers, you are at full freedom to depart in safety. yet first reflect still would you oppose his purpose? ungrateful man! but reasons of stateyield to the will of heaventhis zeal is unseasonable there is no time for reflection here. (o cruel madness! and shall i, wretch that i am! shall i be obliged to lose my beloved spouse?) the rest, with chorus. let shouts of joy be re-echoed around: the dawn of peace has beamed upon us! * [all, retire; oros. remains alone, › buried in melancholy thoughts. scene iii. orosman, then ismen. and have ye, ye angry powers, more bolts in store for me? shall she i adore, who is ever the first in my thoughts, 16 ism. oros. ism. oros. : agia. "mi lascerà per sempre? ah, non fià vero! d'orosmane il potere ** .? "estinto non è ancora. ismen, non sai"tutto mi è noto: de' cristiani il duce "di nuovi inganni autor trionfa, e gode "del mio rossor, delle tue pene estreme ; "da' miei consigli allontanato il rege "del mago reo cede ai prestigi." ah, corri2.2 l'inganno adopra-il mio dolor ti muova→→ "io ben conosco a prova, "quanto puoi, quanto sai: va: dapertutto "spargi il velen della discordia: vegga "nella partenza loro "le sue perdite egitto: infin, se l' oro "basta del volgo a guadagnare i cori, "disponi a larga man de' miei tesori." tutto tentar saprò. prence, vedrai che al fertile mio ingegno fia di lieve momento muover la plebe, e farti appien contento. [parte. ah! tutto non è perduto. scena iv. a agia affannosa, e detto. (') compagni, a voi son grata della vostra pietà. ..... così dispose il mio tristo destin, e coraggiosa piego la fronte al mio decreto estremo. of 17 • leave me for ever? ah, it cannot be true! the power of orosman 127512 is not yet extinct. knowest thou, ismen-? all is known to me. the leader of the christians code h triumphs in his new deceptions, and enjoys my confusion, and your own anguish; estranged from my counsels, the king yields to the arts of this base magician, ah, hasten unmask the deception-let my anguish move thee i well know, by experience, how much {} you can do, and how much you know then delay nothasten to sow the seeds of discord in every place: let egypt see in their departure 注 ​lans how great will be its loss. in a word, if hɔ dingil 44 ཎཱ ? gold ja can avail to gain the hearts of the crowd, dispose of my treasures with an unsparing hand. ism. oros. ism. # joler agia. 5 nothing will i leave unattempted. thou shalt see, prince, that to my mind it shall be an easy task to stir up the mob, and fulfil thy utmost i wish. 1 1 ah! all is not yet lost, & oros. liz lm load g team; edo lom so zob oirdued n scene iv. iu 197¶ heura suti v agia in grief, and the above. 064 f [exit. pо:0 da coro i thank ye, my friends, for your pity. thus fate orders it; and courageously i 0 con le submit to its laws. الله i only lament to die with the stain of treason; ec 2000 95915 | bm. 18 solo io mi dolgo e gemo che con taccia io mora di traditrice; ma verrà giorno io spero che si palese il vero, e onorata risorga il nome mio. ricevete da me l'estremo addio. ah! che appena ai sensi miei presto fede un cor tremante. ciel se sogno in questo istante io più non farmi risvegliar. ah, mio prence adorato! is mo " ... brim oros.' gd agi, colsi questo momento per involarmi a stento dal nostro condottier, sol per vederti, e per l'ultima volta ! 1 than oros. agi. oros. oros. *1231 90 agi. già in libertà, i cristiani, bwo rapidi al par del lampo, guisqe.si affrettano a partir. oros. agl vil hop 11 i-bnos ار amata speme! dinanzi agli occhi tuoi pria vedermi spirar? ym f oh, immensa pena! qual istante fatal! bool sit b**** barbara! e puoi qual nuova è questa specie di tormentare un' alma oppressa? ah, rimanti! ti arresta !! j 4/ c oh dio! mel vieta un barbaro dover. caro! che affanno ! prendi l' estremo addio. ferma, ben mio! ah se puoi così lasciarmi..!! se già tace in te l'affetto, di tua man pria m' apri il petto, e ne squarcía a braní il cor! i pis 匪 ​to mam agi. ma perchè così straziarmi? 0 aj) $19. t oros. agi. oròs. agi. oros. agi. oros. agi. t il atarí agi. but a day will come, i hope, when truth will appear, and my name again be honoured. receive from me this last farewell; alas! my trembling heart will hardly credit my senses. *3 heavens! should i, at this instant, labour under a delusive dream, let me awake no more. ah, my beloved prince! *』 my dearest hope! i have seized this moment, and with difficulty, too, to steal away from our leader; it is but to see thee, and for the last time! oh, insupportable anguish! already at liberty, the christians, with the lightning's speed, are hastening to depart... 2010 cruel one! and canst thou bear to see me perish here before thine eyes? what new invention is this to torture a heart already overwhelmed? oros. stay, my beloved! ah! if thou canst thus leave me654601 if the voice of affection is stifled in thy heart! this rather, with thy own hand, lay open bosom, and tear hence my bleeding heart! but why thus harrow up my feelings? ah, remain! stay awhile! 7230 oh, heavens! an imperious duty forbids me. my love! how painful the task! take my last farewelloh, fatal moment ! 20 1 perchè farmi più infelice? questo pianto a te non dice quanto è fiero il mio dolor ? non è ver che stringa il cielo di due corri le catene, se a quest' alma affanni, e pene costò sempre il nostro amor.a alloon[squillano le trombe da lontano. ah! quel suon già della croce or raccoglie i fidi-addio! oros. chi sarà quel uom, quel dio, che da me ti può involar? deh mi lascia! agi. in van lo speri. a 2. jent agi. oros. agr. oros. agi. oros. a 2. -10 fat. ism. [trattenendola con impeto. orrendi, e neri cadan tutti sul mio capo del tuo dio gli sdegni, e l' ire! ma funesto un tanto ardire l'alma mia non sa tremar. dov'è mai quel cor amante, che, in sì fiero e rio momento, non compianga il mio tormento, questo barbaro penar? ah, paventa!1 549 t [acia si allontana quasi a forza da orosmane, che entre disperato per la parte opposta. scena v. 2520 fatima, ismeno; indi noraddino ed orosmane, con real seguito. "ah! dov'è noraddino? affretta "che fù? 26.9 1. okoh diw att ܪ ܟ ܐ . ismen, ti pa 21 a 2. agi. oros. agi. oros. agi. oros. aci. oros. a 2. " j 1 why seek to render me still more miserable? do not those tears bespeak the excess of my anguish ? no; it cannot be that heaven unites the bonds of two faithful hearts, if anguish and sorrow have always been the portion of our love. [trumpets sound at a distance. ah! that sound already assembles the followers of the cross.-adieu ! where is the man, or the god, that shall tear thee from me? oh, leave me ! in vain you hope it. ah, beware! 901 let all the dark and horrid wrath of thy god, fall upon my head! ah! this excess of passionmy soul knows no fear. [retaining her with violence. 'i ; f " t h x where is the loving heart that, in a moment of anguish like this, does not compassionate my torments, and the bitter pangs i endure? ** [adia drags herself away by force from obosman, who hurries, with desperation, out at the opposite side. oligi mund ..tabent lec"," scene v. jor c. fatima, ismen; then noraddin and orosman, with a royal retinue. sit sites ار .. 20 fat. ah! where is noraddin? ismen, haste theewhat may it be? it belon lucivan?) ism. fat. ism. fat. ism. fat. ism. fathom nor. fat. nor. oros. 1 "cinta è la reggia "da folto stuol di mussulmani, e audace "pretende ognun che l'ordine già dato "di libertà ai prigion sia rivocato. "lo sappia il re-(già siamo in porto!) "impune "non resti un tanto ardir: cada la scure "sul capo al sedizioso, 1 "che il nume de' crociati a nuovo sdegno "osa di provocar sul nostro regno. "ecco il sovrano, e il prence è seco. "(ah! troppo nor. "d' orosmane pavento. suo talento il cor paterno ei muove: "e noraddin per suo destin fatale “debole è al bene, e pertinace al male.) 66 "(la vittoria è per noi !)" ? ir chrous to fusino mio re! non sai tutto mi è noto.tran der good sombra 15,984 ah! di esemplar rigore 2013 931200g ti arma, o signor! fia doma la popolar baldanza, e ammiri egitto omai la tua costanza. sposa, t'accheta. alle muliebri cure, ........donna, rivolgi il tuo pensier. amal moby 1016 a la benda } 53 che un fattucchier maligno 1: pose al credulo ciglio, grazie al profeta, m' ha squarciato il figlio. 23 fat. ism. fat. ism. fat. ism. fat. nor. fat. nor. oros. " nor. ... much do i fear orosman. 1 b.. the palace is surrounded by a numerous throng of mussulmans, who, daringly, demand that the royal order given for liberating the prisoners should be revoked. the king shall know-it-all is to our wish!) such audacity passes not with impunity; the axe shall fall upon the head of the seditious, who thus dare to call down again upon our kingdom the wrath of the god of the crusaders. behold the sovereign, and, with him, the prince. (ah! too he has the art to work on the mind of his father; 1 and noraddin, by a fatal destiny, is weak to good, and obstinate in ill.) (the victory is for us!) my sovereign, knowest thou not? all is known to me. ah! great sir, arm thyself with exemplary rigour, tame this popular insolence, and let egypt for everadmire thy firmness. peace, fatima. lady, turn thy thoughts to things befitting a woman's care. the bandage, with which a wicked impostor had covered my eyes, is, thanks to the prophet, torn away by 1 my son. 24 # fat. che sento! oh me infelice! xff oh sventurato egitto! e il flagello divin ? it oros. fat. nor. oros. fat. e qual prova maggior ?nor. (.. *** 14 .5% 9 sels non più: va, ismeno; prence tu stesso il piede affretta, e sappia pietro da voi, che rivocato è il cenno; e se da egitto un sol partire ardisca, acerba morte il punirà. f. son tutti inganni. (qual gioja !) deh rifletto, o mio re; cangia consiglio. taci, o regina, ho risoluto; e basta. ah, tremi il mio nemico: 12 tremi ciascun che al mio voler contrasta! } a rispettarmi apprenda chi ad ubbidir sol nacque; ne seco più discenda a patti vili un re. io deggio al ben bel regno ogni mia cura, o sposa : e quell' affanno indegno del tuo bel cor, di te. oh quanto grato al tuo consiglio, saggio mio figlio, e' il genitor! se ognora al lato, caro, mi sei, némico aguato non temo allor. " [ +1.4 ti calma, e taci: miei cenni adempi, i & 1 i jur mom ta': 407. pero ส่งท้ [a fat. [ad isм. 25 fat. oros. fat. nor. oros. fat. nor, * what do i hear! wretch that i am! o unhappy egypt! and the divine scourge? 1 is all a deception. and what greater proof?— no more; ismen, go. prince, do thou thyself hasten, and let peter hear from thee, that the command is revoked; and if a single man shall dare to depart from egypt, he shall suffer a cruel death. (what joy !) o reflect, my sovereign-change thy counsel. peace, o queen! i have resolved; it is done. ah, let my enemy tremble; tremble all those who oppose my will! let those who are born to obey, learn to respect my will; let not a king descend to make unworthy condition. i owe to the welfare of my kingdom all my cares. ah, fatima: this distress is unworthy of thy excellent heart, and of thee. ŏ, wisest of sons, how great is thy father's gratitude towards thee for thy prudent counsels! with thee at my side, thou best of sons, i should never fear any secret wiles. be calm and silent: fulfil my commands, d to fat. тto ism. 26 fat. oros. coro d' uom. lus. lus. tutti. cost. tutti. scena vl vasta pianura. a vista le mura di damietta. i "cristiani tutti uniti per la partenza. lusignano e costanza in mezzo ad essi. } coro di don. cost. } e se quegli empi resisteranno, destar sapranno più il mio furor. [parte. "ove mi ascondo? ah! d'atro nembo il cielo [parte. [partono. "già parmi che si copra. "ismen, si vada e si coroni l' opra." all' etra, al ciel ogni fedel di gioja inalzi i cantici. offra al suo dio benefico in olocausto il cor; di puro ardente amor devoto omaggio. confin non hà la sua bontà. punì l' infido egizio. ed al diletto popolo col suo divin poter i lacci fè cader del rio servaggio. signor del cielo, o re dei re. sian lodi a te. fattor del tutto, signor dei re. sian lodi a te. { 27 fat. oros. scene vi. an extensive plain. in the distance the walls of damietta. the christians all assembled for departure. lusignan and constance in the midst of them. chorus of men. lus. chorus of ladies. const. and if these impious ones dare resist, lexit. they shall know what it is to rouse my anger anew. where shall i hide me? ah! the sky already appears veiled in portentous clouds. [exit. ismen, let us hence to crown the work we have begun. [exeunt. lus. all. const. all. to the heavens let every faithful tongue re-echo the canticles of joy. to the god of goodness let each one offer the holocaust of his heart; the devout homage of a pure and ardent love. his goodness is without bounds. he has punished perfidious egypt. and by his divine power he has unfettered his people from the galling bonds of unmerited slavery.. lord of heaven, and king of kings. be praises to thy name. creator of all things, and king of kings. be praises to thy name. 28 lus. ed uom. cost. edonne. s tutti lus. ed uom. s xx cost. é don. agia. per te risuonino i sacri timpani, te i canti armonici cost. agia. cost. agia. cost. agia. piet. per sempre esaltino. alto stupor sarà nel cor de' più remoti posteri, che ne' prodigj di quest' età. la tua giustizia ammirerà. scena vii. agia e detti, indi pietro, orosmane, ed ismeno con seguito. }o re dei re, sian lodi a te. signor dei re, sian lodi a te. tutto mi ride intorno ! io sola-oh rio penar! in così lieto giorno mi struggo in lagrimar. gran dio, se al tuo cospetto delitto è un tanto ardor, tu del tuo santo affetto infiamma questo cor. agia, compagna amata! lasciami al mio dolor. dolor! ma un tale istantecrudele a un core amante. se il nume lo condanna, vinci un f fatale amor. questa virtù tiranna in me non sento ancor che narri? [ad oros. entrando 29 lus. & men. const. and ladies. all. lus. & men. const. and ladies. agia. to thy praise let the timbrels resound. to thy praise let the voice of harmony respond. deep wonder shall be in the heart of posterity the most remote; who in the prodigies of our age -shall admire thy justice. o king of kings, be praises to thy name. lord of hosts, be praises to thy name. scene vii. agia and the above; then peter, orosman, and ismen, with attendants. all smiles around me! i alone-oh, tormenting thought! on a day so happy, pine away in grief. great god, if in thy sight the affections of my bosom be guilty, do thou, with thy purer love, inflame this heart. const. agia, beloved companion! leave me to my sorrows. agia. sorrows! but at a moment like this— const. agla a moment fatal to a loving heart. const. if the deity forbid it, conquer this fatal love. this tyrant virtue agia. i feel not as yet within me. what sayest thou? pet. [to oros. entering. 30 oros. piet. ism. oros. lus. coro di cris. piet. oros. cost. e lus. s coro. agia. oros. agia. piet. oros. ed isм. cost.e lus. prence, ah! che fai? ah! tu non sai— colla tempesta e il foco iddio vi puniràminacci? ism. oros. cada costuiagia. ti arrestacoro di cris. prima si verserà coro di cris. agia. il ver. m'inganni; ne a' detti tuoi do fede. ma un tanto ardire eccede. favella il padre in me. il cenno è rivocato che i ceppi tuoi scioglia, e schiava è ancor la rea turba, nemica al re. oh, qual perfidia! oimè ! superbi, iddio lo vuole ; iddio lo esigerà. palesi son tue fole. 1 oh, errore! no, non fia verfra poco, audace! amici, che dici? } ferite-distruggete. pietro voi difendete. t'acchetail nostro sangue oh, cecità! [ai loro seguaci. [ai crociati. che osate? 31 oros. ism. oros. lus. chorus of chris. pet. agia. oros. agia. pet. ism. oros. agia. the truth. alas! oros. proud ones, god so wills it; god will reclaim the promise. your impostures are discovered. const. } oh, fatal error! & lus. chorus. const. & lus. i cannot give credit to thy words. this presumption is excessive. in me my father speaks. the edict is recalled thou deceivest me; that freed thee from thy bonds, and captive are still thy guilty. people, the enemies of the king. oh, base perfidy! of chris. oros. & ism. s oh, blindness! prince, alas! what art thou doing?peacewithin a little, ah! thou knowest not1 with a tempest and with fire will god punish theedost thou threaten? audacious wretch! friends, let him perishholdour blood be shedstrike-destroy. what sayest thou? sooner shall peter forbids you, of chris. } no, it cannot beagia. [to their followers. [to the crusaders. what would ye? 32 scena ultima. noraddino, fatima, guardie e detti. fermate, audaci, olà ! nor. fat. cos. agi. nor. oros. ism. fat. cos. agi. nor. oros. ism. piet. e lus. oros. piet. oros. piet. nor. piet. nor. le tre donne. i tre uomini. i sudetti. e da un vortice di affetti fat. oros. agia, } all' idea di tanto eccesso, geme, " avvampa, combattuto in seno e oppresso. delle stelle-ognor rubelle sente il barbaro rigor. tu all' idea di tanto eccesso fremi, o nume onnipossente. già da un vortice di affanni chi t'oltraggia io veggo oppresso. provi l'empio un tristo scempio che punisca il grave error. padre signoril cor dolente. il cor fremente. costui fù ardito a segno credei che i cenni tuoi osassi rivocarvile, lo dissi, è il voglio. ah! dunque è ver? io mai l'orgoglio deponi, o alle ritortecessa, o mio re. degno è il fellon. di morte (ti calma.) f 36 scene the last. noraddin, fatima, guards, and the above. 1 nor. stay, presumptuous men, hold! fat. const. agia. nor. oros. ism. pet. a d lus. fat. const. agia. how grieves, nor. oros. isм. the three women. the three men. the above. and struggling amid this whirlpool of passions, feels the cruel rigour of the offended powers. at the sight of such violence oros. pet. oros. pet. nor. pet. nor. fat. oros. agia. at the sight of such violence. 1 how burns, how art thou offended, 'almighty the saddened heart. the indignant heart. power! amid this whirlpool of passions how dost thou feel thyself outraged. let the impious be made an example, to show how thou punishest error. fathersirthis man was audacious enough toi could not believe that thou wouldst recal the order thou hadst given. wretch! i have said it, such is ah! is it then true? speak less haughtily, or in chainsforbear, o, my sovereign. 21 is worthy of death. my will. the traitor (be calm.) 34 nor. piet. nor. nor. fat. oros. ism. agia. a 5. se nuovo ardire ostenta io lo farò svenar. piet. no; ci protegge un dio che i figli suoi difende. agia. tu del mio dio paventa; arresta i fulmin suoi, e il fallo tuo, che il puoi, ti affretta di emendar. schiavo ti abbassa, e taci; frena quei detti audaci, e al tuo signore apprendi da schiavo a favellar. [scoppia il tuono, infierisce la tempesta, e cade una pioggia di fuoco. mira, se chi l' offende sà pronto fulminar. pie. lus. e coro. cielo! qual turbine! che piove il fuoco! ah! cade il fulmine! ah! mugge ah! dove sono? il tuono! sovunque incalzami atro terror! dio così estermina i suoi nemici. temete, o perfidi, sue furie ultrici ! e' questo un segno del suo rigor. rimorsi barbari, deh mi lasciate! troppo una misera voi tormentate! troppo mi lacera fiero dolor! & 35% nor. pet. nor. pet. nor. fat. oros. ism. agia. a 5. pet. lus. and cor. agia. if he show any farther insolence he shall die. do thou dread the god i adore; arrest the bolts of his vengeance, and hasten, as far as thou art able, to repair thy error. peace, slave, and learn submission; restrain thy audacious tongue, and know how, as a slave, to address thy master. no; that god protects us who ever defends his children. [the thunder roars, the tempest howls, and a rain of fire falls. see if his bolts are not always ready to fall on the head of the offender. heavens! what storm is this! how it rains fire! ah! the thunderbolt falls! ah! how the thunder bellows! ah! where am i? 1 every where does black horror pursue me! it is thus that god exterminates his enemies. dread, o perfidious men, his avenging rage! this-this is a token of his wrath. ye overwhelming horrors, spare this agonized heart! too severely has a wretched woman felt your severity! too cruelly have ye lacerated her bleeding bosom ! 1 1 36. gli altri. ah! quale smania! quale spavento! da quante furie straziar mi sento da quanti palpiti e' oppresso il cor! + [tutto è confusione. fine dell'atto primo. 37 the rest. ah! what anguish! what fear! with what a conflict of passions is my bosom torn; how throbs with terror my overburthened heart! [all is confusion. end of the first act. fat. nor. fat. nor. fat. nor. fat. nor. atto ii. scena i. apartamento reale. noraddino e fatima. sposo? che brami?' deh lascia alfin partir. ah, le cristiane genti sì: di mio pugno già ne feci il decreto. ma tu più saggia alfine cessa d' importunarmi. ah, noraddino, io temo ancor; nè sol pavento l' ira d' un dio ch' alti portenti nel suo furor dispiega, ma quasi a venerarlo il cor si piega. olà, che parli? al gran profeta infida, sì sacrileghi sensi esprimer così? ah, negarlo non sotaci, spergiura! chi la legge degli avi e' d' oltraggiar sì audace, di tradire il suo sposo è ancor capace. fat. nor. fat. nor. fat. nor. fat. nor. act. ii. scene i. a royal apartment. noraddin and fatima. husband? what wouldst thou? ah, suffer at length the christians to depart. yes; this hand has already signed the decree. but do thou, at length grown wiser, cease to importune me. ah, noraddin, i still fear; nor do i alone fear the wrath of a god, who in his anger displays such wonders, but my heart almost inclines to adore him. hold: what sayest thou? faithless to the great prophet, darest thou utter such sacrilegious words? ah, i cannot deny itpeace, perjured woman! she who is daring enough to outrage the laws of her forefathers, is also capable of betraying her spouse. 40 1 nor. a 2. fat. nor. fat. nor. fat. nor. fat. nor. nor. دیا a 2. i fat. (tremo, o ciel! la mia sposa de' cristiani protettrice! l' ira mia nol soffrirà.) (tremo, o ciel, la sorte mia è ben cruda, oh me infelice! chi m' assiste per pietà! ti calma, ei i detti audaci se freni, o donna, e taci, entro il mio cor sicura fatima ognor sarà. no, che non son spergiura; sto in mia virtù sicura; ma, oh dio! l' ignoto nume l'alma obliar non sà. dunque now fat. nor. fat. nor. fat. noro pi fat. nor. fat. nor. fat 1 nel coreforza maggiore di sdegno, d' affetto mi palpita il core, ah, d'ira, d'amore, mi sento avvampar! quel torbido aspetto mi desta timore; mi palpita il core, mi sento gelar! e persisti sconsigliata? certo un dio mi dà consiglio. e non temi forsennata? perderai de stesso, e il figlio. ah! non piùper te paventa. come?-parla ascolta『"% stolta!fas vuoi saperlo? exe giusto cielo! ah, che sarà!. io t' abborro. i oh crudeltà!! ah che dissi?" morbo chi m' aita ?---41 nor. a 2. fat. nor. fat. now. fat. nor fat. nor. nor... a 2. fat. nor. fat nor. (o heavens! i shudder; my spouse protectress of the christians! my rage will not endure it.) (o heavens! i tremble; my lot how cruel; wretch that i am! who will aid me, for pity's sake!) be calm and if thou dost restrain these daring words, and be silent, for ever within this heart fatima may rest secure. no; i am no perjured one; i stand secure in conscious virtue ; but still my soul cannot forget this unknown deity then*1 hear mefoolish woman! with mingled indignation and love/ beats this heart; wrath and affection possess my soul by turns. that turbid aspect awakens my fear; how throbs my heart, i am frozen with fear! rash woman! dost thou still persist ?surely it is a god that whispers to my heart. senseless woman! and fearest thou not?thou wilt ruin thyself and thy son. nor. ah! no more-fear for thyself. how? speak akeup of wouldst thou know? righteous heaven! what may it be? iabhor thee. fat. fat. nor. fat. nor. fat. nor. fat. otre in my hearta higher powerbuon fo-op ah, what have i said or on ? p f ia o cruelty by chĩ t "0% t who will aid me? 42 nor. deh mia vita!fat. nor. fat. nor. fat. 60 nor. : sposo ingrato! ah, non sai che un re sprezzato l'ira sua frenar non sà. sposo barbaro, spietato, perchè tanta crudeltà! de' cristiani il sangue odiato verserò se tu m' irriti; partiran da questi liti, ma tu frena la pietà. 75x .f. eremita sventurato ! sian tuoi voti alfin compiti, ai paterni amati liti il tuo dio ti guiderà. scena. ii. noraddino, lusignano, indi orosmane. eccoti, o lusignano, 12. il decreto real: fatale al regno fia la vostra dimora; anzi di morte e' reo, qual de' crociati a damietta intorno [fat. parte. *** s' aggiri ancor quando risorge il giorno. lus. dell' ultimo flagello i tristi effetti divas 1a1 rammenta ognora; ed alle nostre preci se questa volta ancora i ***arrise iddio, fuggi l' insidia, e l'arte del cortigian, che a malignarti il core poco tornerà. pietoso il nume fra sempre non troverai. 43 nor. fat. nor. fat. nor. fat. 25 nor. lus. nay, my lifeungrateful man! ah, thou knowest not that a king despised can ill restrain his anger. barbarous, pitiless spouse, whence such cruelty! i will shed the hated blood 57 of those christians, if thou dost irritate me:" they shall depart from these shores; but do thou restrain thy pity. unfortunate hermit ! at length thy vows shall be fulfilled, and to thy loved paternal shores thy god shall guide thee. [exit fat. t *、 scene ii.) g noraddin, lusignan, then orosman. ) behold, o lusignan, the royal decree: fatal to my kingdom was your sojourning here: therefore, when to-morrow's dawn appears, whoever of the crusaders shall be found lingering near damietta shall be capitally punished. 1 let the sad effects of the last scourge be for ever remembered; and if to our prayers. god has once again been propitious, 2 2 let it warn thee to fly the insidious arts of courtiers, who will soon pervert thy t stdi) 490 heart to evil and deceit. hope not always to find the deity thus compassionate. -44 nor. lus. nor. $9. obos. nor. oros. nor. { oros. nor. oros. nor. oros. "'7 debole tante noraddin non sarà. lo voglia il cielo: sia diradato alfin l' orrido nembo, ´e` ognun respiri a bella pace in grembo. [parte. sì; copra eterno obblio le passate sciagure, e lieto ognora splenda l' egizio ciel : ah vieni, o figlio! esulti pur pur quell' alma; oh, quai delizie a te destina il fato! (se mi leggessi in cor!) argante ambasciador. e 1 tornò d'arabia (che ascolto?) accoglie la tua destra, il tuo cor, le offerte nozze la real principessa. then (io moro!) y appena dai rei cristian sgombrato sia l'egitto, si accendano le tede, e si augurate e amabili catene succedono una volta tante pene. i (che mai farò? la fiamma mia che al padre svelar volea, per ottener che agia meco restasse, e come a lui paleserò?)· 158 :', prence ti veggo in volto? e quale affanno hai nel tuo seno accolto? **** perchè dolente parlar, spiegar non posso quel che nel petto io sento! ah, no: del mio tormento, o' darsi non può maggior !! 45 nor. lus. nor. oros. nor. oros. nor. oros. nor. oros. nor. 01 oros. noraddin shall not again prove so weak. heaven grant it. let the clouds of dissension disappear, and all taste repose on the bosom of peace. [exit. yes; let eternal oblivion veil all evils past; and joy and serenity for ever gild the heaven of egypt: ah, come, my son, let thy soul rejoice; oh, what blessings has fate in store for thee! (ah, if he could but read my heart!) argante has returned ambassador from arabia. (what do i hear ?) the royal princess receives thy hand, thy heart, and the proffered nuptials. (0, worse than death !) no sooner shall egypt be cleared from these impious christians, than the nuptial torch shall be lighted, and the omens of thy happy and propitious union shall succeed to all the evils past. (what shall i do? i wished to reveal my flame to my father, that agia might be suffered to remain with me, but how unbosom myself to him?) the secret of my bosom ! ah, no: alas! what anguish can be greater than mine! • f why, my son, do i see thy countenance thus melancholy? what sorrow is hidden in thy bosom ? i cannot reveal 46 nor. oros. nor. oros. nor. oros. nor. oros. nor. piet. 1.279 e' il ciel per noi sereno, se pria fù avverso, e fiero; ti calmerà, lo spero, dolce e soave amor. no, sempre sventuratoperchè? qual tristo fatopadre! ah! non saila mia nemica stella +3 mi vuole oppresso ognor. e`a te ragion rubella? non ti comprendo ancor. (non merta più consiglio il misero mio stato ; e il più fatal periglio vo intrepido a sfidar!) (palpito a quell' aspetto; gemo nel suo dolore! ah! qual sarà l'oggetto del grave suo penar?) 1 eestim favellascena iii. fatima, con seguito, e pietro; indi lusignano. dad bg. མདྡྷ༷ཙྩཾ gentil regina; oh quanto " mi è noto il tuo bel cor! tu mia difesa, tu scudo al popol mio presso il consorte fosti mai sempre; e se a' consigli tuoi ceduto avesse il re, straziato e afflitto da tanti affanni or non sarebbe egitto. ܂ ܕ ܂ fat. spera possiamo almen, che questa volta dal celeste rigor reso più saggio, non si cangi il mio sposo.) 47 nor. oros. nor. oros. nor. oros. nor. oros. nor. pet. the heaven is now serene that before was so sad ; then, i hope, that the sweets of love will restore calm to thy bosom. no-for ever unhappy: and why? the severity of fatefather! ah! thou knowest notspeakmy adverse stars for ever forebode evil. is thy reason disturbed? still i comprehend thee not. (the misery of my situation. is beyond the reach of counsel; i go intrepidly to brave the worst that may befal!) (my bosom beats at the sight; i mourn over his sorrows! ah! what can be the cause of this his bitter anguish?) scene iii. fatima, with attendants, and peter; then lusignan. fat. 1,0 4. how well, o queen, is the goodness of thy heart known to me! thou hast ever been my defence, and the shield interposed between my people 74 and thy consort; and had the king but yielded to thy counsels, egypt had not now been torn and afflicted with so many woes. we may hope that this time, at least, rendered wiser by the anger of heaven, my spouse will not again change. 1 48 piet. fat. coro. fat. coro. lus. piet. lus. eh! temo ancora! più dell' aura incostante, e di una fronda esposta al vento è più leggier. la tua sollicita partenza, i mezzi, e l'' armi tolga a nemici tuoi di sedurre il suo cor. che inutile trascorra, è periglioso a' tuoi desiri, ed al comun riposo. lik qualunque istante, la pace mia smarrita ah respirar vorrei ! spero che i voti miei il ciel seconderà. ti calma, ti consola il ciel si placherà. oh dio! spiegar vorrei z i palpiti del core ! ah, il mio crudel timore più grande ognor si fà ? chi sa se a me ritorni bella felicità ? che fiero dubbio è questo, che palpito! che pena! tormento più funesto del mio no non si dà. ah spera, ti consola; il ciel si placherà. [parte col coro. "nuove seiagure! 4 “lusignan, che rechi ? orosmane furente vidi da lunge, che traendo agìa joy ✨***quasi per forza, a solitario calle "i suoi passi volgea. celarla ei tenta, "onde sottrarla alla partenza. a tai 30 02 49 pet. fat. chor. fat. w bu chor. old lus. pet. lus.' ah! i still fear! he is more inconstant than the breeze, and lighter than the leaf exposed to the wind. th 201 this your solicited departure, your means and your arms a have the power and means of seducing his heart; 1 " but every moment that passes unemployed is dangerous to you, and to the common repose. ah! i hope to taste again that repose so long denied me! i trust that heaven 35 will be propitious to my vows. may it please heaven to calm and console thee! 2 o heavens! i could wish to unfold the sorrows of my heart! ah, my cruel fears every hour become greater! who knows if happiness will yet return to me? what distracting doubt is this, what agitation-what torment ! no greater anguish than mine could afflict the heart. 870 damanig new disasters! ah, still cherish hope; be consoled: heaven will be appeased. i exit with chorus. }; lusignan, what bringest thou? i beheld, from a distance, the furious orosman; he was dragging agia, bas if by force, and turned he seeks to condown a solitary path. ceal her, and thus prevent her departure. ꮐ 50 piet. lus. piet. agia. oros. agia. oros. t 45 i 11.. "oh folle ! "allo sguardo di dio chi mai si asconde ? "che degli amanti rei seguisser l' orme imposi ai fidi miei: saprò fra poco, il loro asilo. 66 "a fatima veloce "va lusignano, e tutto! "a lei palesa: ella con te sorprenda "la coppia contumace. a radunare "io corro i miei; se agìa non vien, se ancora "v'ha chi audace resiste al nostro dio, "i giorni suoi ne pagheranno il fio.” [lusignano entra nelle stanze di fatima, e pietro esce dalla parte opposta. 1 orosmane con fiaccola conducendo a stento la timida agìa. scena iv. ad oscuro sotteraneo. دراز dove mi guidi? il mio timor dilegua"segui chi t' ama e temi ? e' in così mesta 25 tenebrosa caverna, ove giammai “luce penetra, e il di cui tristo aspetto "mi agghiaccia l' alma, e i sensi miei con1 d fonde, "qual novella cagion me teco asconde? "a numi ed ai mortali " "ti vo' celar. se di maschil coraggio, 1 51 pet! lus. ( pet." cha teib 1 8 agia. oros. agia. oros. senseless man! who can conceal himself from the eye of god? i gave in charge to some of my faithful companions, to follow the footsteps of the guilty lovers; soon shall i discover their retreat. lusignan, hasten quickly to fatima, and reveal.. all to her she will aid thee to surprise the deluded pair. i hasten to assemble my people. if agia return not, if there be any one so daring as to resist our god, his life shall pay the forfeit of the deed. [lusignan enters the apartment of fatima, and peter retires by the opposite side. scene iv. a dark cavern. orosman with a torch, leading, with difficulty, the timid agia. o :11 دابیری 11 : **! whither dost thou lead me? dispel my fears$ཏིཙྪཱ thou followest him thou lovest, and dost thou fear? but in this miserable al. and gloomy cavern, where never light can penetrate, and whose melancholy aspect freezes my y soul and confounds my senses, what new cause induces thee to conceal me? from gods and from mortals i wish to conceal thee. couragem tis #d if, with masculine ab ord 58 agia. oros. agia. oros. agia. oros. agia. oros. agia. oros. amor non ti arma il sen, mi perdi, agìa; "io ti lascio per sempre. 1 66 11 "ah! servir deggio "al dover che m' impose il dio che adoro. "ma tutto ancor non sai, mio bel tesoro ! "d' arabia la regina a me in isposa "il padre destinò. "stelle ! "s' è vero che mi ami, o cara, a respirar si corra sotto più amico ciel. finchè la notte "non distenda il suo vel, fra questi orrori "nascosa resterai. "prence, che dici ?” mio ben! giorni felici vivrem fra le capanne: a boschi in seno lieto sarò, se ignoto al padre, al mondo, da semplice pastore il mio trono ergerò nel tuo bel core. quale assalto! qual cimento! chi dà lena all' alma oppressa? deh risolvi--a chè perplessa? fausto amor ci assisterà. principessa avventurata ! tu godrai sì caro oggetto? e di agia la sventurato, giusto ciel! che mai sarà ? se il tuo spirto è irresoluto, se fra dubbi ondeggi ancora; ah! per noi tutto è perduto, rio destin ci opprimera } tel. 1: 68 . agia. oros. agia: oros. agia. obos. agia. oros. agia. oros. lok love arm not thy bosom, thou must lose me, agia; i leave thee for ever. ah! i must obey the duty imposed upon me by the god i adore. but, as yet, my heart's best treasure, thou knowest not all! l my father has destined for me, as bride, arabia's queen. heavens ! if it be true that thou lovest me, o dearest, let us fly, and live 1 under a more friendly sky. until night shall extend her friendly veil, amid these horrors you must remain concealed. prince, what sayest thou? my beloved! happy the days' we will spend under our cottage roof; in the bosom of the woods i shall be happy, if unknown to my father, to the world; as a simple shepherd i shall erect my throne in thy heart. ⠀ what a situation! what a trial is this! who will support my overburthened soul? nay, resolve-why thus irresolute? [[ favouring love will be propitious to us. happy and envied princess !! and shalt thou enjoy this beloved object? then, just heaven! what shall become. i of the unhappy agia? ) if thy soul is irresolute, } if thou dost still waver in doubt, alas! every thing will be lost, cruel destiny will overwhelm us. 54 agia. rendi a me, poter divino, quel valor che più non sento, se a cadere è già vicino troppo debole il mio cor! tu di amor poter divino, più coraggio infondi in lei, e al periglio già vicino, fa che ceda omai quel cor. oros. agia. oros. agia oros. a fat. oros lus. agia a 4. siuos b fat. agia... lus. oros. eoro [si odu qualche rumore dall' alto. veggonsi fatima e lusignano seguiti dalle guardie, e dai soldati cristiani, che recano le faci. ah, mira! oh ciel ! uk siamo sorpresi ! #5 e' il padre, o l'audace cristian, che a noi sen viene― fa cor, teco son io. ށ chi mi sostiene ? [giunti al basso si sorprendono a vicenda nel riconoscersi. 1 orosmane ! pond regina ! ? t. agia! (ah! che mai vedo?) al guardo mio non credo ! mi sembra di sognar. * 4 ht 1 b2 i fxt involto in fiamma rea, preda di amor non degno, un successor del regno, io non credea trovar. : sperai che un folle ardore in te già fosse estinto::: ma agia si grave errore non seppe cancellar. freno a tuoi detti, o'donna a chiudi quel labbro, insano !…a miak ht 4:30 i janja 200 aida [ad oros. 040 [a agia. ja fat. ja lus. 55 agia. oros. 080 manda agia. oros. agia. oros. agia. fat. oros. lus. agia. a 4. fat. lus. oros. restore me, o power divine, that force which i no longer feel, for my too weak heart is even now ready to yield'! o, thou divine power of love, inspire her with more courage; and now danger is so nigh, grant that her heart may yield. int. [sounds are heard from above. fatima and lusignan are seen, followed by guards and christian soldiers. ah, see! o, heavens ! we are surprised! it is my father, or the audacious christian, who is coming hither 1 take courage i am with thee. who will support me? [being come to the bottom of the stairs, they recognise each other by turns. orosman! queen! agia! {} f (ah, what do i see?) i cannot believe my eyes i am surely in a dream. the victim of a guilty flame, the prey to an unworthy love; this i did not expect to find in the successor to a throne. [to oros. i had hoped that this foolish love had been extinguished in thy breast; but agia has been unable to cancel her former error. spare thy reproaches, lady: restrain thy tongue, madman! [to agia. 1 [to fat. [to lus. 56 agia. lus. fat. oros. agia. a ꮞ. fat. ། oros. lus. agia. oros. agia. oros. lus. fat. agia. oros. a 4. + + forza suprema in vano 4 da agìa mi può staccar! non reo, ma sventurato fù il mio fatale affetto. si svelga dal mio petto un cor, che seppe amar! incauto! seduttrice! oh, rabbia ! a non mi sò frenar!' mi manca la voce ! mi sento morire ! sì fiero martire chi può tollerar ? costei dal suo lato sia tolta, o custodi crudele ! oh, me infelice! a prima svenatodeh cedideh m' odi! lo voglio rinunzio, al mio soglio! o eccesso! oh, rossor! no: servi allo stato, il padre consola, e lascia me sola al pianto, al dolor. ah cielo tiranno! spietata mia sorte! puo darmi più affanno il vostro rigor? i [ad oros. tad agia. "0 ; aо 0 pat {j* ** 201 4167. ... i fiera guerra mi sento nel seno ! vari affetti lo straziano agara!t più la mente ragion non rischiara, 0 per me tutto è tormento e dolor! 57 agia. lus. fat. oros. agia. a 4. fat. oros. lus. agia. oros. agia. oros. lus. fat. agia. oros. a 4. no human force, shall tear agia from me! not guilty, but unhappy, has been my ill-fated love. tear from this bosom a heart that loved too truly! rash man! [to oros. enchantress! [to agia. oh rage! ah, wretch that i am! ah, i cannot command myself; my voice fails me ! i feel the hand of death on me! so cruel a martyrdom who could bear? guards, let her be dragged from his sideah, kill me firstnay, yield— cruel ones! h nay, hear me ! i wishi forswear the throne! o, crime ! o shame! no: forswear not the throne, console your father, and leave me alone to grief and affliction. oh, unpitying heaven! how cruel my destiny! could your utmost rigour heap more sorrows on me? how fierce the conflict in my bosom ! a thousand feelings distract my soul! reason no longer rules my mind, all is distraction and torture! 58 coro. nor. piet. nor. piet. nor. altri affanni per noi già prepara il destino crudele, oppressor. [lusignano s impadronisce di acia, orosmane è trattenuto da fatima. tutti escono del sotteraneo. scena v. reggia. noraddino, pietro, e guardie. 14 che potrai dir? "già della persia il rege, "il gran nadir, o pietro, "che s' oppone non sai? d'acri il sultano, "con quel d' edessa, e quello di nicea "inonderan le mie campagne, il regno "se lascerò, come indicò l'editto, "i cristiani prigion partir da egitto. "e da misera gente "qual mal si può temer? "tutto: bramosi "di conquistar la siria, le vostre armi "ottenerla sapran: quindi turbati "de' vicini regnanti "i dominj saranno. "oh debole pretesto! oh nuovo inganno! "e chi sono costoro 1 "ed agita, e disperde in un momento. "grave ragion di stato "a rivocar mi astringe, "tu il vedi ben, l' ordin già dato. i "in faccia al nostro dio?-polve, che il ❝vento 59 cho. *36* nor. pet. nor. pet. nor. cruel and oppressive destiny is preparing other evils for us, [lusignan takes charge of agia. orosman is dragged away by fatima. all leave the cavern. scene v. the palace. noraddin, peter, and guards. what can i say? knowest thou not, o peter, that persia's king, the great nadir, opposes your departure? the sultan of acre, leagued with the sultans of edessa and of nicea, would inundate my plains, were i to permit the christian prisoners, according to my late decree, to quit the kingdom of egypt. and from this miserable race what evil hast thou to fear? 1 every thing. desirous of conquering syria, your arms can obtain it; then the states of the neighbouring kings will be troubled. oh, feeble pretext! oh, new deceit ! and what are these. before the face of our god?-dust, that the windo` ! raises and disperses in an instant. weighty reasons of state oblige me, as thou seest, to revoke the order i had given. 60 piet. nor. piet. nor. piet. nor. piet. "oh, cieco! "oh, affascinato re! nuovi flagelli "richiami sul tuo capo. "olà! favelli "pietro sì altier ? "pietro non è: ragiona "sul suo labbro quel dio che tante prove "ti diè dal suo poter; quel dio, che stanco "di più soffrirti, atroce 66 colpo già scaglia al tuo paterno core, che costar ti saprà pianto e dolore." superbo ! il real prence, mal fido consiglier, sarà fra breve scopo all' ira del ciel. guardie! fra ceppi costui sia tratto: or, or vedrem dal fulmine se cadrà rovesciato il trono mio, o te da morte salverà il tuo dio. là, del ciel nell' arcano profondo, del poter sull' altissimo tronc veglia un nume, signore del mondo, al cui piè basso mormora il tuono. tutto sà, tutto vede, e non lascia nell' ambascia perir la bontà. un crescente mormorio non ti sembra d'ascoltar? questo è l' ira del mio dio, ch' è vicina già a scoppiar. 61 pet. nor. pet. nor. pet. nor. pet. oh, blindness! oh, infatuated king! thou dost but call down fresh vengeance on thy head. hold! whence this daring language, peter? it is not peter: it is the god who has given thee so many proofs of his power, who reasons by his lips; that god who, wearied with enduring thee any longer, even now is aiming a fearful blow at thy paternal heart, that shall cause thee deep and bitter sorrow. presumptuous man! the royal prince, thy evil counsellor, shall ere long be struck by the anger of heaven. guards! let him be dragged to prison: then-then shall we see whether my throne shall be overwhelmed by his thunders, or whether thy god will save thee from? death. there, in the deep recesses of heaven, sublime on the throne of power, watches a deity, lord of the universe, below whose feet roars the thunder. he knows all things, he sees all things, and allows not goodness to perish in distress. dost thou not seem to hear a rising murmur? it is the wrath of my god, on the point of bursting upon thee. 62 a 2. ism. nor. " tu ti turbi, ti confondi, ostinato non rispondi ? fluttuante è la tua testa, che tabalza quà e là, come nave in gran tempesta, che di sotto in sù sen và. ma già il nembo è suscitato, non v'è più serenità; piangerai tardi il tuo fato, e innocenza brillerà. scena vi., noraddino inde ismeno, poi fatima, infine orosmane. [è condotto via pietro. nor! “o gran profeta, o dio che egitto adora! "e neghittosi un tanto ardir soffrite? ah, no se il poter vostro oltraggia un 66 empio 66 "tanti misfatti pagherà il suo scempio:giungi opportuno, ismeno. al real 66 prence, "sostegno, e sola speme del mio regno, "osò poc anzi minacciar i giorni "l'orgoglioso eremita! ---“oh, qual baldanza ! "sul tron d'egitto al fianco mio lo vegga "però quel vil, e di sua morte il cenno "abbia dal prence istesso. 63 nor. thou art agitated and confused, obstinate one, why dost thou not reply? thy senses fluctuate like a vessel that, tossed in a tempest, ism. nor. is now raised aloft, now plunged below. scene vi. noraddin, then ismen, afterwards fatima, and lastly orosman. but already the tempest rages, the hour of calm is past; too late shalt thou bewail thy destiny, and innocence shall triumph. [peter is led out. o, great prophet, o god, whom egypt adores! canst thou remain indifferent to presumption like this? ah, no-if a wretch dares outrage your divinity an example shall be made of his impiety:but at a fortunate moment ismen comes. against the royal prince, the support and only hope of my kingdom, durst the impious hermit utter threats like these! ― oh, what presumption! on egypt's throne, and at my side, this wretch shall behold him, and he shall receive the # signal of his death from that very prince 64 ism. nor. ism. fat. nor. fat. nor. nor. fat. suo folle presaggio annunzia "che un 66 oppresso. "eh! si svelga una volta "dal suol pianta venefica, che ognora infesta! "la nostra pace 1 "e sempre fiera "col figlio mio? perchè non madre incolpi "al suo giovane ardor, al puro zelo, "tutto il mal che ne oppresse? "oh, giusto cielo ! “e ignorar tu potrai— "e`orosmane incapace : "pensa a te stessa, e me pur fat. (ah! un perfido trionfa !) nor, (al oros. entrando.) “oh prence "parte del sangue mio! vieni. oros. "or tu raduna "i grandi, o ismeno; al principe sul "soglio "fedeltade ciascun giuri, e rispetto. "sì bel comando ad eseguir mi affretto. "un nero eccesso io vengo "d'orosmane a svelarti. 66 [ria. [entrando. "so, che di colpa lascia in pace. ! oh cara "già ismeno "tutto mi palesò. (respiro! al padre "finor fatima tacque-) "ismen, veloce "come servi al mio cenno! i grandi a gara "si appressan già: tu meco il soglio "ascendi, "e nel punire i rei pagno me rendi. 66 (ah, tolga il ciel! che tutto "il giubilo comun si cangi in luto.) [partono. 63 1 nor. thou art agitated and confused, obstinate one, why dost thou not reply? thy senses fluctuate like a vessel that, ism. nor. x tossed in a tempest, is now raised aloft, now plunged below. scene vi. noraddin, then ismen, afterwards fatima, and lastly orosman. 1 but already the tempest rages, the hour of calm is past; too late shalt thou bewail thy destiny, and innocence shall triumph. [peter is led out. o, great prophet, o god, whom egypt adores! canst thou remain indifferent to presumption like this? ah, nc-if a wretch dares outrage your divinity an example shall be made of his impiety:but at a fortunate moment ismen comes. against the royal prince, the support and only hope of my kingdom, durst the impious hermit utter threats like these! → oh, what presumption! on egypt's throne, and at my side, this wretch shall behold him, and he shall receive the signal of his death from that very prince 66 a scena vii. una lieta marcia annunzia l'arrivo di grandi, seguiti dalle guardie reali. noraddino ed orosmane sono sul trono; indi ismene che conduce frà le catene pietro; poi lusignano: infine agia scarmigliata ed affannosa, conducendo seco costanza, ed alcune donzelle. coro di grandi. nor. oros. nor. "se a mitigar tue cure "chiami un compagno al trono, signor, di tanto dono "grati noi siamo a te. specchio di tue virtudi, "al popolo, alle squadre, “sarà, come già il padre, "sostegno, amico, e re." sì, popoli di egitto, io vi offro in lui di voi degno sovrano; e in voi pur gli offro 66 466 sudditi di lui degni. or stringi, o figlio, questo scettro real; del regno mio ti chiamo a parte, e teco ne divido il poter. se il ciel concede a voti miei, che le paterne imprese possa imitar chi più di me beato? (più agia non perderò: cangia il mio stato.) pietro si chiami; ormai " l'opprima il peso 67 scene vii. a lively march announces the arrival of the grandees, followed by the royal guards. noraddin and orosman are seated on the throne: then ismen conducting peter in chains; afterwards lusignan at last agia, disordered and in grief, bringing with her constance, and female attendants. nor. oros. nor. chorus of grandees.¨ if, to mitigate thy cares, thou takest a companion to thy throne, great sir, for so great a gift we are grateful to thee. the mirror of thy virtues, he shall, like his father, be to his people and to his troops their support, their friend, and their king, of 23 yes, people of egypt, in him i offer to ye a sovereign worthy of you; and in you, too, i offer him subjects worthy of him. now bear, o son, this royal sceptre: i call thee to partake of my kingdom, and with thee divide my royal power. should heaven fulfil my vows, and grant me to imitate the virtues of my father, who more blest than myself? (now i shall not lose agia; my situation is changed.) let peter be called; and let him be oppressed by the weight *** 68 } ism.. 40 piet. "(umana cecità, sei pertinace!) oros. "alzami or tu la temeraria fronte ! “orosmane son io, "cui non ha guari, e in questa reggia " osasti 66 piet. nor. lus. "il tuo desio prevenni, e al regio piede to trassi già l'audace. 1. 14 .l #etor "del tuo regio splendore, "dell' altrui fedeltà, del suo rossore. i't "come tuo servo obbedisco al comando, e re t' inchino: "come di un dio ministro alzo la voce, "e torno a minacciar: sciogli i cristianí, 8f) 14 jib. "se te vuoi salvo è il popol tuo: se il groso zabda nieghi, a cader ti prepara: "3 "tu ti credi sul trono, e sei sull' ara. "e nelle offese ei più imperversa." }; "la morte minacciar. gli dei custodi "della vita de' re, mi alzaro al trono, "per far più chiare le tue fole. or vieni, "prostrato a questo piè comincia, o audace, "a temermi, a tremar ! lg, " id o, cielo ! [entrando, e sorpreso di vedere pietro fra lacci. 71 fù dunque ver quanto la fama intorno sparse di te? deh principe che tenti? 69 ism. pet. oros. pet. nor. lus. } 44 43 380 of thy regal splendour, of others faith, and of his own shame. i have anticipated thy wish, and to thy royal feet have dragged the audacious wretch. (o human blindness, how obstinate art thou!) raise, man, thy presumptuous brow! i am orosman, whom but a little while since, and in this palace, hast thou dared to threaten with death. the gods who watch over 1.2 the lives of kings, have raised me to the .. throne, more clearly to belie thy fables. prostrate at this foot begin, audacious 1 wretch, to fear me, and to tremble! as thy servant, i obey thy commands, and bend to thee as my king: as a minister of the most high, i raise my voice, and turn to threaten thee. set free the christians, if thou wouldst save thyself and thy people; if thou dost refuse," prepare thyself for destruction: thou thinkest thyself on the throne, and thou art on the altar. he is more perverse in his offences. de o, heavens! [entering, and surprised at seeing peter in chains. cai and was it then true what fame reported concerning thee? prince, what wouldst thou do? 70 oros. lus. oros. agia. 6 oros. nor. piet. agia. 734 nor. oros. smentir falsi portenti; scoprir magia bugiarda. (perchè a farti tacer fatima tarda?) son di soffrir già stanco. olá! che fai? ti arresta o prence, e ascolta. [frapponendosi impetuosa, e seguita dalle donzelle. d'un cor straziato ed a mancar vicino gli estremi sensi. (agia!) chi è mai costei ? signor, tu vedi in leila rea cagion di tanti affanni, e tanticolei che nata per soffrir, si rese de genitori, e del suo nume indegna-si vedi in me la vittima infelice, che a sconsigliato ardor sciogliendo il freno, suo consorte il tuo prence accolse in seno. che ascolto?e tu potesti! [ad oros. ah! pria la mira; resisti pur se puoi di quei lumi al riflesso; 11 e poi condanna un giovanile eccesso. nor.... ma di te indegno è un tale amor. agla. sì, prence, che giova più fiamma nudrir, che un dio, tuo padre, il tuo splendor, quel soglio offende! i cedi al dover; sciogli i prigion; felice 71 1 oros. lus.. oros. agia. oros. nor. pet. agia. nor. oros. nor. agia. belie his false portents; lay open his pretended magic. (why does fatima delay to awe thee into silence?) i can endure no more— ho, there! what wouldst thou? hold, prince, and hear [rushing impetuously between them, and followed by maidens. the last words of one whose heart is on the point of breaking. (agia!) who may this be? sir, in her you beholdthe guilty cause of so many and so many woes} she, who born to suffer, has rendered herself unworthy of her father and of her godin me you behold the unhappy victim, who, yielding to the dictates of an illadvised passion, has received to her bosom thy son as her spouse. what do i hear?-and couldst thou! [to oros. ah! do but look upon her; resist if thou canst the magic of those eyes, and then condemn an excess of youth. but such a love is unworthy of thee. yes, prince, why persist to nourish a flame, at once offensive to thy god, thy father, thy dignity, and thy throne? yield to thy duty free the prisoners; render egypt 72 oros. jogurt agia. piet. agia. 1: oros. rendi l'egitto; il popolo cristiano! rendi all' europa; ed a placar del cielo l'ira ben giusta, agia, tranquilla e forte, saprà il fallo espiar colla sua morte. agia. dary oros., cortis l porgi la destra amata alla real donzella; e ti ami il cor di quella come ti amò il mio cor. ah! tu sarai la bella' regina del mio cor! t d pietro, lusignano, noraddino. di una passion rubella non senti in te rossor? can # costanza, coro di egizi e di donzelle. fo che fai? che tenti, insano? ti calmait 17 di una passion rubella vittima è l'alma ognor. e ancor resisti ? ancora non cedi alla ragione? ch'io ceda !—ah, quel fellone, anzi per questa mano ora dovrà morir! io non ti temo. odi l'accento estremo di chi tu amasti— f port. 359 aval 2154 [snuda il ferro, é si vuole avventare a pietro, 867 1. 16 ah, cada quel mago indegno, e reo! [mentre si scaglia contro pietro, è colpito da un fulmine, e cade morto: tutti restano sorpresi. 78 oros. agia. oros. happy restore the christian people to europe; and, to appease the just anger of heaven, agia, with calmness and fortitude, will know how to expiate her crime by her death. pet. agia. oros. give thy hand to the loved and royal maiden; and may her heart love thee as my heart loves thee. 1 ah! thou alone shalt be the queen of this heart! peter, lusignan, noraddin. constance, chorus of egyptians and maidens. the heart is still the victim of this rebellious passion. and dost thou still resist! still refuse to yield to reason! i yield !-ah, that felon, and by this hand, too, shall now meet his death! ; does not this rebellious passion fill thee with shame? [he draws his sword, and attempts to rush upon peter. agia. madman, what wouldst thou attempt? be calmi fear thee not. hear the last accents of one thou didst love— ah, perish this base and guilty magician! [while darting forward upon peter, he is struck by a thunderbolt, and falls down dead: all remain astounded. k 774 tutti. ah! piet. nor. cost. lus. piet. agia. tutti. piet. coro. lus. così atterra iddio un pertinace ardir. figlio! mio caro figlio ! ei più non vive! [sviene sul cadavero di orosmane. o evento ! } e a così gran portento non vi arrendete ancor? sorte crudele e ria ? o immense, o acerbę pene! e spento il caro bene! l'oggetto del tuo amor! tormenti, affanni, smanie, voi fate a brani il cor! tutte di averno o furie versate in me il furore; straziate voi quest' anima, che regge al duolo ancor! o egitto! o instante orribile! giorno sterminator! [noraddino desolato fa traspostare il cadavere del figlio, seguendolo esso stesso con tutti gli altri egiziani. lungi un vano timor! devoti e fidi fervide preci a dio figli porgiamo. dal celeste favor tutto speriamo. dal tuo stellato soglio, signor, ti volgi a noi. pietà de' figli tuoi. del popol tuo pietà. se pronti al tuo potere sono elementi e sfere, tu amico scampo addita al dubbio errante piè. 75 all. pet. nor. const. lus. pet. agia. all. pet. chorus. lus. ah! it is thus that god confounds an obstinate presumption. my son ! my dear son! alas, he is no more! [he faints on the body of orosman. o fatal event! and at the sight of so great a prodigy, wilt thou not as yet yield? o severe and cruel fate! o deep and bitter anguish ! gone is the idol of thy heart! the object of thy tenderest love. o torture, agony, madness, how do you rend this bosom ! oh, all ye furies of hell, pour your rage upon me; rend asunder this heart, which sorrow strives in vain to break. o egypt! o moment of horror! o day of extermination! [noraddin, in great grief, orders the corpse of his son to be removed, following it himself, with all the other egyptians. hence with vain fear! let us, my devout and faithful [god. children, send up fervent prayers to our let us hope for every thing from his celestial favour. from thy starry throne, o lord, look down upon us: have pity upon thy children. upon thy people pity. if the elements and spheres are obedient to thy power, do thou give a friendly passage to our doubtful and wandering footsteps. 76 coro. agia. coro. pietoso iddio ne aita! noi non viviam che in te. in questo cor dolente deh scendi, o dio clemente, e farmaco soave di rendi al sen. pace il nostro cor che pave deh tu conforta almen. 11 21 fine. -77 chorus. help us, o merciful god! we live only in thee. agia. let thy presence, o god of clemency, fill this anguished heart; and healing balm of peace restore to this bosom., chorus. do thou restore comfort to our trembling hearts. 1 the end. london: printed by t. brettell, rupert street, haymarket. ì i p ebers' british and foreign subscription library, no. 27, old bond street, london. in calling the attention of the public to the terms of subscription to this library, the proprietor begs leave respectfully to enumerate some of the advantages derived by subscribers, which he flatters himself are peculiar to this establishment. from an unlimited and abundant supply of all new works, magazines, reviews, &c., foreign as well as english, a speedy perusal is ensured to subscribers, and the delay so much complained of entirely obviated (a particular attention, in this respect, gives to this establishment a decided superiority over most others in london). the catalogue, newly arranged, will be found to contain all the works of the most celebrated authors in the various departments of english, french, and italian literature; and subscribers have the privilege of referring to a most splendid illustrative library, consisting of a series of highly-finished engravings, maps, atlases, &c. &c. [terms. terms of subscription. subscribers paying 101. 10s. a year; 61. 6s. the half year; or 31. 13s. 6d. the quarter; are allowed 15 volumes in town, or 30 in the country; the immediate perusal of all new works; to have purchased for them any publication of general interest, not previously added to the library; and are entitled to the use of the illustrative library, containing a splendid collection of picturesque and architectural views, maps, &c. as described in a separate catalogue. subscribers paying 51. 5s. the year; 31. 3s. the half year; or 11. 168. the quarter; are allowed 12 volumes in town, or 24 in the country, and are entitled to any two of the new works in the library. subscribers paying 4l. 4s. the year; 2l. 12s. 6d. the half year ; or 11. 11s. 6d. the quarter; are entitled to 8 volumes in town, or 16 in the country, including two new publications in the octavo and duodecimo sizes. each quarto volume to be reckoned as two. books sent to subscribers to all parts of the united kingdom, or the continent, and in any quantity, by paying a proportionate subscription. 2 subscribers have the liberty of choosing any books from the library, as described in the catalogues, but (except of the first class) are not allowed to retain in their possession more than two of the newest works at one time. covent garden and drury lane theatres. private boxes, in the best situations, at covent garden and drury lane theatres, adapted to large or small parties, to be let by the night or season. pietro l'eremita. price two shillings. gaylord mus 586 .305 peter the hermit; a serious opera i loeb music library ans2316 3 2044 040 755 290 date due 42 .--4' hermit of lane musfts ***i»'»i'i(«"fl«'.>»aw«tm«embi»»<!'i"«f««»ai* i«e»i«uiik<mr ftneua minoh khiiovo the hermit of lover's lane by cornelia minor arnold author of "stonefield silhouettes," "historical saapbook," "the laying of the manor ghost," etc. "glamourie slept in her eyes, terribly calm in the tumult. hidden and secret and sweet was the smile of her crimson mouth." — gjipsj) verses. the billington press ossining, new york 1912 60\ ,t^r< <^^'^ copyrighted 1912 by cornelia minor arnold ;^ t digitized by the internet archive in 2011 with funding from the library of congress http://www.archive.org/details/hermitofloverslaooarno o c (0 o _o c (0 m co .2' <u c c e e 1^ 1 ^ .si u ns » e ■£ -o c 1> 4j ^-^ -a "— c bo 5 c •" _e c ji ii «i 3 # i -s >. & the hermit of lover's lane. " spring was sweet cind keen in his blood. singing, he sought his mate. the wife for the life and time of his mood. formed for his needs by fate." — gypsy "verses. absalom clabby halted his yoke of oxen in the furrow, while he lifted a torn hat from his brow and wiped therefrom the sweat of honest toil. the brow was white and well shaped though the spring sun had spread a healthy russet over face and neck. he passed a strong brown hand through his wavy hair, and leaned on the plough handles, while the sleek handsome red oxen, perfectly matched, and with marvelous breadth of horn finished with polished brass buttons, stood with eyes almost closed, and ruminated placidly. absalom had followed the plough all day, beguiling his labor by singing psalm tunes in a sweet tenor. he had a good voice, and was popular at "singin' skewl," while in "meetin* " it rose strong and clear above the cracked and quavering tones of the congregation. now as he looked over the spnng landscape green with tender buds, and the ploughed lands, with their promise of a rich harvest, he sang by strange contrast, a verse from "habak kuk" as the tune was called in "the shawm," the old board covered psalm book used in the congregational meeting. "altho' the vine its fruit deny, altho' the olive yield no oil — the withering fig tree droop and die. the fields elude the tiller's toil." it was one of those days filled with "the light that never was on sea or land," and a vague restless longing for something outside of his life, he knew not what, filled his breast. the odor of freshly turned earth, the high sweet monotone of peepers m the marsh at the foot of the hill, and the soft warble of a bluebird " — shifting his light load of song from post to post along the cheerless fence." all appealed to the senses, and the sum total was unrest, a feel mg which may be described by the paradox of "sweet sorrow." his eye rested on his matched yoke, and a thrill of pleasure moved him, as he noted their sleek hides and perfect points. but comforting as a fine ox team may be, they did not fill the void that ached in his bosom. "dunno whut ails me. cal'late i better take some yarb tea; reckon i'm bilious," he soliloquized. a warm april shower fell in sparkling gems, though the sun shone brightly; a robin, his red breast glowing in its late beams, burst into a jubilant song of praise. a rainbow curved its splendid arch, seeming to end behind a small white house on the adjommg hill, which stood out clear against a dark spring cloud. charity eels lived in that house, and absalom had been seeing her home from "singin' skewl." in country parlance he had been "sparking" her. his discomfort grew. he wondered if his vague discontent had anything to do with her. perhaps it had. " i reckon i'd better walk over tonight, an' clench th' bargain with charity. she's a pretty gal, an a good one too," thought he. having made this good resolution, he settled his hat. took the plough handles in a firm grasp, called to his oxen "whoa haw-gee-g'lang. star an' bright," and began singing another psalm tune suited to his resolve. 2 "come my beloved, haste away, cut short the hours of thy delay. fly like a youthful hart or roe over the hills where the spices grow." never again did absalom sing these words; their associa tion with that april day made them a song of sorrow instead of joy. the oxen leaned forward in the creaking yoke, and the ploughshare turned over a roll of the rich black soil. as he approached the stone wall along the country road, he glanced down the highway, and beheld a sight which excited his rural curiosity. passers were always interesting in the country, even of the most ordinary character, and the approaching multitude was worth halting to look at. several covered wagons painted red and green, were drawn by equines in a more or less perfect state of preserva tion, while led horses, many dogs, a few goats, a riotous crowd of strange looking children, and stranger men and women, pro claimed the party as a band of gypsies let loose from enforced winter quarters by the welcome spring. as absalom watched them, a feeling of repulsion, a true puritan hatred of the wandering ishmaelites, their mode of life and lack of morals and religion seized his emotions. he could not refrain from looking at them however, and even the oxen opened their mild eyes wadely to stare at the clan. withered swarthy hags peered out from the wagons, their repulsiveness accentuated by long pinchbeck ear-rings set with gaudy imitation jewels, heavy necklaces encircled bony and yellowed necks, bracelets and bangles clattered together, while large rings covered dirty hands. a dim idea, unformed in words, came to absalom, of the need of youth and beauty to make such things endurable, and he remembered his mother's plain homespun gown and little quilted black silk bonnet with a measure of satisfaction. 3 old men with gold hoops in their ears, jaunty young men with black loosely curling hair, embroidered jackets, and high black sheepskin caps, mingled with gaily dressed young women, making a bright dash of color in the pale spring landscape. suddenly a woman separated herself from the crowd, and ceune boldly up to the stone wall. she was lithe, young and graceful, with olive skin like velvet, great eyes that one moment seemed of midnight black ness, and the next held topaz lights in their depths, jet black hair in two massive braids almost to her knees, and scarlet lips. those lips! they held absalom's eyes as a serp ent holds a bird. never in dull pale new england had he seen such lips, such eyes, such color. it was as if a gorgeous midsummer day, all light and brilliance and bloom should suddenly burst into being from the cold gray fogs of february. how had he thought charity beautiful, with her gray eyes, rose tinted cheeks, and simple quakerish gown ? charity had an old amethyst brooch, an heirloom, which she seldom wore, lest it should be too gay. charity's gowns were of gray-blue to match her eyes. she suddenly seemed plain and pale as a windflower beside a full blown flaming peony. this girl's dress was of scarlet, with yellow trmimmg and gilt tinsel embroidery. yet the scarlet gown paled beside those wonderful lips. she wore on her bosom a bunch of flowers gathered in the swampy ground at the foot of the hill, dull purplish red tnllium, with its strange ill scented bloom. absalom had always thought "wake-robin," as it was familiarly called, a noxious malodorous weed. now it seemed rare and beautiful as an orchid, absolutely in harmony with the strange brilliant creature before him. even the heavy jewelry which seemed so vulgar on the 4 older gypsies enhanced her eerie beauty. she stood a moment silently, a smile parting the wonderful lips, displaying teeth, regular and white as ivory. absalom stood transfixed, oblivious to all the world except the romany maid. doubtless she fully realize^! his amazement and admiration, for the smile was tinged with scorn. she spoke in a deep rich contralto. " sarshan, giorgio ! rakessa tu romanis ? '* (greeting, gentile ! do you speak the romany language ? ") absalom stammered a few incoherent words. the gypsy laughed aloud, — a bubbling liquid laugh, like the song of the wood thrush. verily, she was a scarlet sorceress. then she spoke in good english. " gilda, the zmgara, speaks, oh son of new england. cross the gypsy maiden's palm with silver, and she wall unfold to thee thy life; the past, the present and the future. gilda is the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, and the veil lay on her eyes at birth, which when lifted reveals the future. lo, fate hath somewhat in store for thee ! " the topaz light faded from her eyes, and they glittered. unwillingly absalom stepped from the furrow, and came slowly to the stone wall. gilda held out her hand, and absalom, with reluctance in spite of his admiration extended his. as their hands met an electric shock seemed to pass up his arm; he drew away his hand, and put it behind his back. a chorus of laughter went up from the gypsy crew, and absalom blushed like a girl. an old hag bedecked with heavy jewelry came forward, pushing gilda aside, saying in a whining insinuatmg voice — " goot efenin'! i lof you ferry well; 'ow de do! let the romany dye (gipsy mother) speak. the beautifool, lofely young man, he wants be dukk^red. (have fortune told.) he no 'fraid ol' dye. "besh alay; lei a hitti ral^l^erben. " (sit 5 down; have a little talk.) she seated herself on the stone wall, and seized absalom s unwilling hand. she glanced at his work hardened palm, and cast her eyes to heaven, placing her disengaged hand on her heart, " oh, the lofely giorgio ! he born under planets o' venus an* juno ! he have the long life line ! he two time rt/mmerec/ (married.) he be soon rummered, yes, — before this moon grow dark ! he no have seek gold, silver, jewels ; they come to him ! but ah, the sorrow, — the sorrow ! " absalom's senses returned to him with a rush. he snatched back his hand, and returned to the plough, wheeled the oxen about and began his furrow across the long field. looking back, he saw gilda gazing after him, her eyes full of topaz lights. the old woman laughed shrilly, and called after him " latcho ratti ! " (good night.) absalom sang no more ; when he reached the other side of the field, he carefully scanned the road before returning. nothing was in sight except the covered wagons and caravan moving slowly up the next hill. absalom drew a deep breath and retraced the field, thinking of a pair of scarlet lips and strange eyes. as he halted his oxen by the wall, suddenly there uprose from the ground the gypsy gilda. she had been seated where the wall concealed her. she approached him, holding out both hands, with a smile no longer scornful and mocking, but full of allurement. had absalom thought her eyes black ? the eyes looking into his were no more black than were charity's. they were a warm soft yellow, full of sunlight, clear as a mountain brook, tender as the budding spring. and those scarlet lips ! they stood speechless gazing in each others' eyes, absalom with his saxon face, deep blue eyes and fair wavy hair ; the gypsy girl, doubtless the child of spanish blood, with olive velvet skin and long black braids — a strange contrast. i after a moment of silence the gypsy spoke. her voice was as the murmur of a singing stream. " beautiful giorgio," she said, "gilda could not leave thee. there is that in thy palm she must tell thee, and she could not speak in the presence of the romany rye (gypsy gentleman) and the romany dye." (gypsy mother.) she took his hand in both her own ; a mesmeric current seemed to flow through his arm. his head swam, and all the world seemed blotted out except those lips ! gilda gently turned his hand so that the palm was visible, and continued, " what is the past ? — though gilda could tell thee ! it is only the beautiful present and the joyous future that we need know. the romany dye esmerelda was right ; — a long life, riches, and twice rummer ed." she sighed deeply, and repeated, "alas, twice married ! yet why should the gypsy weep that another chenshes his old age, when his youth and beauty are hers? the zingara's life is short and merry. let those drag through the weakness and infirmity of age who will. spring and summer for the romany, autumn and winter for the giorgio. it is well ! " absalom knew not what to say. at last he said hesitat ingly — "am, — am i to — marry ? can ye see aught o' th* maid ? is she hght complected with gray eyes, — or is she — ? " "a fair maiden ! " laughed the gypsy with an unpleasant ring in her mirth. " nay, nay ! thy wife is dark, she has eyes like a fawn, sometimes black, and again yellow, she has a torrent of jet black hair, she — " the girl paused significantly. "she will rest in thy arms ere that faint young fingernail of of a moon which lies on the western horizon shall wax and wane. yea, she shall rest in thy strong arms, even as the new moon holds the old moon in her arms. love is the only thing in this wide world. gilda has sought it in many countries. turn not away when it comes to thee ! " 7 gently she drew his hand to her, and before absalom could realize what was happening, his lips were pressed to hers, — wonderhil, warm, scarlet. gilda sprang from him into the road, as he would have caught her in his arms, and with a radiant smile, said as the romany dye esmerelda had done, " latcho ratti ! " she was gone. he looked about him bewildered. the spring evening was falling, and there the west was the new moon, with the old moon in its arms. a tin horn was blowing at the farm house. it was "aunt nabby" as his mother was known, calling him to supper. mechanically he unhitched the oxen from the plough, and took his homeward way. he sat down to the supper table as usual, but scarcely ate, in place of his customary excellent appetite. " what ails ye, absalom ? " asked his mother. " reckon your liver's upsot. i'll fix ye up some yarb tea. did ye see that gang of gypsies go long a spell ago ? ye better nail up th' barn door tonight, an* don't leave th' bosses out to paster. nail up th* chicken coop, while ye*re *bout it, too. i sense it s a lot o' trouble, but it's better to be sure than sorry. ther* aint nuthin' safe when that scum comes traipsin' roun'.'* absalom felt a slow sense of indignation. nothing was ever locked and bolted on the farm. " nabby's right" added " uncle isaiah," as absalom's father was known. " these here latter day ishmaelites aint no good fer this worl' ner the nex'. strange the gov'ment lets 'cm stroll roun' like a pack o' jackals. they oughter be kelched, an' sot to work with a ball an' chain hitched to em. ther* was one on'cm come trampoosin* past, arter th' bunch hed gone by, with a bright red gown. she reminded me o th "scarlet woman " mentioned in scriptur'. " a dull wrath pervaded absalom. was beautiful gilda an ishmaclile, who should be hampered with a ball and chain ? 8 " uncle isaiah" was not misnamed for his prophetic pro totype. he was a tall patriarchal man, with long white hair floating on his shoulders, and a beard like that of the prophets. had he dressed in flowing robes, he might have served as a model for moses himself. he was deeply religious according to his lights, and the language of scripture was to him as his native air. much of his spare time had been spent in poring over the old testament, and its majestic language fell from his lips as naturally as his daily conversation. strangely enough, while he spoke the prevailing vernacular ordinarily, in scriptural quotation and in prayer, his english was pure and undefiled, untainted with provincial colloquialism. his imposing presence, knowledge of scripture, and eloquent delivery, made him an object of surprise and admira tion to strangers. after supper absalom nailed up the buildings in accord ance with instructions, and in spite of his day's ploughing, wandered about with unrest. he was the only child, and there was none in the family to whom he could open his heart about the events of the afternoon, since he knew without doubt his family's sentiments toward the gypsy race. he reasoned that their camp could not be far distant, as it was so late in the day when they halted at the field. a vsald desire to see those lips overwhelmed him, and he at last yielded to the temptation to search for the gypsy camp. hastily changing his working clothes for his sunday gar ments, he met his mother as he left the house. "be ye goin' over to charity's ? " asked she. " ef ye be, ! wish ye'd fetch me the pattern o' the block fer thet new kind o' quilt ; she promised to let me hev it." absalom started guiltily. "yes, i'm goin' over to charity's," he said slowly. his mother went in the kitchen where her husband sat 9 reading, holding a tallow candle close to the page. "absalom gettin' ruther thick over to charity's" said she with a pleased smile. " i do hope its suthin' more'n puppy love. she'd make a good wife fer our son, an* she'll hev means one o' these days.** " he's alius hed good sense," said his father placidly. "absalom's got too much clabby blood in hirn to pick up one o' them 'ere highty-tighty fly-away gals, all ribbins, an' hoop skirts, and folderols. when he ondertakes to ' lead about a wife,' as saith st. paul, he'll do credit to hisself an' to us too, mark my words ! " " wal, i do hope so, i'm sure," replied his wife. " the kind o' marriage a man gets into makes or mars his hull life. they do say that a man hes to ax his wife's leave to git rich." " blood will tell ! " responded the old man proudly. "an* th' clabby blood came over in th' mayflower ! " meanwhile absakxn pursued his expedition of discovery, regardless of his aikestors, both remote and recent. a pair of scarlet lips and saffron eyes were his lodestar and goal ; he saw them in the sunset sky, and through the gloom, " so softly dark, and darkly pure" of the spring evening ; he heard that rippling laugh in the wayside brook, and the pleasant noises of the night. never was mariner rrwre swiftly and completely captivated by siren, or rhine voyager by the lorelei, than was absalom clabby, the descendant of the pilgrim fathers, by the vagrant daughter of the romany tribe. presently he caught the odor of wood smoke, and saw the gleam of camp fires in a glade at the edge of a wood. the twang of violin strings and the thrum of zithers mingled with the stamp of picketed horses. he withdrew behind the massive trunk of an oak, and stood absolutely without plan or purpose. he did not know why he had come; he only knew he could not keep away. the staid, sober young new englander had 10 never before been so carried off his feet in all his proper, web regulated existence. the old men and women sat smoking around the fires, while the young men thrununed on musical instruments, break ing occasionally into a wild song, unintelligible to their listener. suddenly the players burst forth with the music of the " czardas," the national dance of the magyars, one motif slow and stately, the other wild and rapid. the wailing of the violin and the clash of the cymbal spoke with the voices of ** love and rage, fierce passion, and unutterable sadness." suddenly there darted into the circle of firelight a scarlet robed figure moving with the lightness and sinuous grace of the panther, now swaying with uplifted arms, now clapping her hands, and anon whirling dizzily with the abandon of a nautch dancing girl, and finally moving with slow easy grace, and elegance of movement. it was gilda. as she danced she gradually gained the outer edge of the circle of fire light, and at last passed beyond it, and was lost in the darkness of the wood. while absalom strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of scarlet, a hand was laid on his arm. he started in sudden fright ; he had heard nothing, not the breejdng of a twag, or a movement in the undergrowth. gilda stood beside him. " fear not, giorgio," said she. "did gilda startle thee? her heart called her, she knew not why. when the heart calls, gilda follows. she is not deceived." absalom stammered some incoherent words ; the strange spell of her personality crqdt over his senses. gilda continued : — '* soon the romany rye and the romany dye will go their way through the spring weather. soon, too soon, will gilda be torn from one whom she loved when she first looked in his eyes. why should not the heart speak, when time is so short, and eternity so long? the 11 romany speaks when the giorgio is silent ; but though the lips answer not, the heart cries aloud." " oh," cried absalom, startled from his new england unresponsiveness — " gild a, it is true ! it is true ! do not leave me; do not go when they — these people, — do. stay, and be my wife ! i never saw a woman like you. tell me, you are not married ? " " gilda is a romany maiden, and of high birth," said she, drawing herself up proudly. " gilda is a gypsy princess. her father is king of the gypsies in another country. but she loves not the men of gyj)sy blood. she loves the fair hair and blue eyes of this cold country. gilda fled lest she be married to a romany she loved not." absalom's heart expanded with sympathy. her fascina tion had woven its spell, and all else was forgotten. he caught her hand. " gilda, you belong to me ! when will you marry me? she answered, scarcely breathing, — " in yeck, dui, trin, — yes, in one, two, three days, — in three days from now, gilda will be thy gypsy bride. meet me in three nights, here at this hour." suddenly a step in the underbrush warned them that a gypsy was approaching on his return from some nightly raid. in an instant gilda was gone, noiselessly as a dryad. absalom stood in silence until the gypsy, a slouching, black, ill-favored fellow, had passed into camp. immediately a dispute and brawl broke out between two young romanys and the new comer ; a confusion of unintel ligible language rent the air, and loud shouts of what was apparently the names of two of the men — " rudi i rudi 1 san dor i sandor i " ensued. in the confusion absalom gamed the road, and the thought 12 came to him that he had told his mother that he was going to charity's. yes, he must go to charity. he must tell her that his past attentions were naught. absalom was straight forward and honorable, and he had no doubt led her to believe that marriage was in his thought. as soon as he knew, he must tell charity. he strode toward her home with the determination to have the unpleasant thing over as soon as possible. she met him at the gate, in the sweet moon-lit eve, with a happy smile. she was dressed in her simple best, and wore the amethyst brooch. she wore a cluster of flowers also. not purplish red trillium. but pure white blood-root. plainly, she had expected that he would come. absalom was no silver-tongued orator. he aimed bunglingly directly at the heart of the matter, " no, charity, i wont come in. i come to tell ye — that i hoped — that ye havn't thought that i, — that is, i thought so myself until today — oh, what i want to say is that i'm afeard i've given ye reason to think that i meant to pop the question, but i can't, i can't ! i've seen the only woman i could ever love. i couldn't help it. charity, — i told her so, — don't feel hard ! forgive me ! " charity turned white as the bunch of closed bloodroot on her heaving breast, and slowly turning went into the house without answer. indeed, she was incapable of speech. absa lom, with a strange feeling that the world was out of joint, walked slowly home. his quiet sea of life had in a few hours become a whirlpool, and for a girl strange in every particular of birth, thought, and habit, whom he had seen but twice. as he passed through the kitchen on his way upstairs his mother called out from her bedroom : — "absalom, did ye re member to git that quilt pattern o' charity ? " " no, mother," he answered. " i didn't think on't." 13 " aint young fellers all alike, father ? " said mrs. clabby to her husband. " gals in, wits out o' their heads. i s'pose he *n charity's so wrapped up in the'r own affairs, ther' aint nothin' else on 'arth. wall, i'm mighty thankful he's picked out such a nice wife ! " "a clabby s head is alius level on both business an' love," replied the old man with deep satisfaction. the mistaken couple peacefully slept, while the son whose prudence had been extolled, tossed restlessly, with broken snatches of dreams in which he saw scarlet lips and topaz eyes. the three days passed like a dream to absalom ; he moved through his usual duties in a daze which caused much comment between his father and mother. " i've seen young fellers in love afore, but it seems to me i never seen none quite so daffy es absalom," said uncle isaiah. " oh fly, father ! 'pears to me i ricolleck when ye hed a spell o' th' same disease, " replied the old lady smiling slyly. "i sartin never wus so silly actin' es this, mother! ' said the old man. " never in this 'arthful world ! " the fatal third day came, as all days good and bad have a habit of coming. at the appointed time absalom's horse and buggy stood at the edge of the wood, he and gilda had met at the rendezvous, and gone in search of a minister who would marry them, a somewhat difficult pursuit. absalom had insisted on a marriage by clergy, while gilda was not in the least troubled about ceremonial rites. parson kellogg refused pomt blank, nor could any one be found who would undertake the doubtful task, until the millerite leader, old elder tweddle was persuaded to tie the ill-assorted knot. as it was late before this feat was accomplished, absalom left his bride at the gypsy camp, with the intention of breaking the dire news at home in the morning. but when the clear 14 light of day shone on the matter, he found it impossible to open his mouth to his father and mother, though he still was as madly infatuated with the gypsy as ever. " colors seen by candle light do not look the same by day." however, that evening he gathered together his courage and told the tale of his folly. isaiah clabby sat in the kitchen reading as usual by holding a tallow candle close to the paper. his wife sat knitting by the firelight, for the spring evenings were still cool. upon this scene of domestic peace absalom's con fession fell like lightning from a clear sky. when it had been made absolutely clear to their minds that their only child, absalom clabby, a mayflower descendant, and a member of the congregational " meetin'," had wilfully and with malice aforethought married a gypsy whom he had seen for the first time three days before, and the identical "scarlet woman" whom isaiah had seen " trampoosin' past," they were at first too stunned to find words. mrs. clabby, after the way of women, first recovered her power of speech, and burst into wild reproaches. " her manners had not that repose which stcimps the caste of vere de vera." mrs. clabby talked long and shrilly, while her husband sat in silence, and absalom stood sulkily by. she exhausted her vituperation on the delilah who had led her son from the beaten paths of new england decorum, ending by saying: " who married ye, or did ye jump over a broomstick ? i've heerd tell that was the way them wild gypsy folks got married, an' i mistrust thet when they git sick on't, they jest jump back agin, an' call themselves single ! " mrs. clabby folded her arms in her apron, and rocked in an abandon of grief. presently she burst forth again : "a mis'able traipsin' trollope ! i don't s'pose she wus 15 ever inside a congregational meetin' house, in all her born days, an' dunno even thet " in adam's fall, we sinned all." " i s'pose she never heerd o' foreordination, predestination sanctification an' justification ! o, dear me suz-a-day ! whut shell i do ? " uncle isaiah waited in silence until his wife's grief had spent its audible expression. his paper had fallen to the floor, and he set the candlestick on the table beside him. then he arose, looking with his stately height, and long white hair and beard as one of the prophets might have done, when pronounc ing doom upon a wayward nation. he raised one hand, and held it a moment in silence. when at last he spoke, it was in the majestic language of the prophets. "arise, cry out in the night ; in the beginning of the watches pour out thy heart like water." " suddenly are my tents spoiled, and my curtains in a moment." " our inheritance is turned to strangers, our houses to aliens." "now is my house left unto me desolate." "a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother." "and why wilt thou, my son, be ravished v\^th a strange woman ? ' " the mouth of a strange woman is a deep pit. he that is abhoried of the lord shall fall therein." "and behold, i mourn as one mourncth for his only son, as one that is in bitterness for his first-born." " gird thee with sackcloth, and wallow thyself in ashes ; make thee mourning as for an only son. most bitter lamentation ; for the spoiler shall suddenly come upon us." 16 " o my son absalom, my son, my son absalom ! would god i had died for thee, o absalom, my son, my son ! " " let us pray." the old man fell upon his knees, and raised both hands to heaven. " oh lord, have mercy on our absalom. thou knov^^est that a strange w^oman hath led him av^ay from the path of our puritan fathers, but wilt thou put thy hook in his jaw^s, and pull him back to thee. thou hast added one to our family ; it may be thy will ; it would never have been mine ! if it is of thee, do thou bless the connection. but if the poor fool hath been and done it out of carnal desire, may the cold wind of adversity settle on his habitation ! amen, and amen." uncle isaiah rose to his feet, and the three looked at each other. then absalom turned sullenly, and passed out of the door. his mother was seized with a sudden revulsion of feel ing. was he not her only child ? she ran after him, crying — "absalom, stay with us tonight. give yer father an' me time to think. ye're all we hev, an' this was so suddint, sech a blow ! " after much persuasion he finally yielded, and went up to his room. in truth, he knew not where to go, the whole thing had been done so upon blind impulse. he could not go to the gypsy camp, he had no place to take his wife. all night long his father and mother talked together of this sudden calamity. early in the morning they sent for parson kellogg and laid bare their grief, asking his council. finally natural affection prevailed, coupled with the peaceful advice of the minister, that since the misfortune had fallen, they should accept the wild stranger, teach her so far as possible, the customs of new england, and lead her in the paths of righteousness. so would their skirts be cleared of responsibility toward a heathen, and paremtal duty to their son would be fulfilled. 17 so it came to pass that the "scarlet woman" came from the woodland ways, and the long roads that stretch away over the hills, to the new england farm, and the straight and narrow path laid out as that of virtue. now began the struggle of aunt nabby's life, the problem of fitting a square peg into a round hole. gilda's manners, her thoughts, cmd her habits were a revelation to the unwilhng mother-in-law, and of nothing did she approve. she insisted that the gypsy bride should lay aside the offending scarlet dress, and wear the dull shades of homespun ; that her black braids should be pinned tightly around her head, and re-christened gilda with the prosaic name of sarah ann. mrs. clabby took her reconstructed daughter-in-law to meetin', bitter as was the process of running the gauntlet of curious eyes, and shocking as were the gypsy's errors in etiquette, willful and otherwise. even her beauty seemed in a measure laid aside with her native dress. naturally she was absolutely without domestic instincts, and aunt nabby was a notable housewife. even the food of the gypsy was strange, and she scorned the sacred baked bean. the only things the caged eagle was willing to do, were to play on a mandolin which she had brought with her, drink hard cider and roam the fields. once mrs. clabby took her to a missionary meeting, hoping that some seed might fall in good ground in the heathen's heart, and gilda at the most solemn moment had sprang up and danced the czardas ! she seized the passing communion cup, and drank to the last drop its contents of homemade wine, to the horror of the deacons, the amusement of the congregation, and the mortifica tion of aunt nabby. also, dirty old gypsy women and impudent looking young men, especially one called rudi, haunted the back door to the horror of uncle isaiah, and the terror of his wife. 18 the climax came when gilda seemed ill and drowsy, and after a period of stupid seeming unconsciousness, dr. pumpelly, who was sent for in haste, pronounced her simply drunk ! affairs in the clabby family daily grew more strained, until at last they were indeed "on the knees of the gods." absalom was still under gilda s spell, and often secretly did foolish things which would have reduced his parents to the verge of despair, had they known of them. she persuaded him to bury all his money beside a stone wall under a tree in the pasture, telling him that money so planted would grow, and that esmeralda had said he should be rich. she assured him that gypsies always buried money when they wished it to increase, and when he pointed out the im possibility, she asked him if he did not always bury grain which he wanted to grow, and at length prevailed on him to bury his nest-egg, foolish as he knew it to be. aunt nabby faithfully endeavored to instruct her wild daughter-in-law in congregational doctrines, in needlework, domestic ways, and all that made for new england virtues. one day she felt impelled to impress on gilda the honor that had been bestowed on her in marrying a descendant of the pilgrim fathers. gilda drew herself up with flashing eyes. " what were these mayflower men ? farmers, laborers ! she had heard of them before ! gilda descends from k^^^gs^ — from king zindl, from king cristall ! her line goes back hundreds of years before this skiff, this dory, called the may flower brought over its load of peasants ! gilda s fathers wore velvets and satins when ab-so-leem's wore dornick! gilda is a princess ! the honor is all ab-so-leem's ! " the sturdy new england woman quailed before the fury of her royal daughter-in-law, and thereafter ventured not to attempt the education of this descendant of kings. so life dragged on for weeks, and matters must soon have 19 reached a crisis, when one morning gilda, who had a plebeian early morning habit, for a princess, of sucking raw eggs, did not return from her customary raid on the hen's nests in the bam. as the day passed without her return, toward evening absalom went up to the gypsy camping ground, only to find a vacancy where the wagons had stood. nothing remained to tell of their presence except trampled grass with spots worn bare, greasy paper and dirty linen, bones and scraps of vegetables, feathers, and a few soiled and ragged garments left hanging on bushes. sickness of heart filled absalom; he was still fascinated by this strange woman, in spite of the problem and bone of contention which she had been in the family. suddenly his thought reverted to the buried money, and stopping in the pasture, he found the earth newly disturbed, and the money gone. slowly he returned home with the tale of their departure. his mother was unable to conceal her joy, while his father's sole comment was : — " render them a recompense, o lord, according to the work of their hands." gossip and comment was naturally rife for many miles. the tale of absalom's matrimonial venture had crept even over into "york state." people looked at him curiously, and whispered together before his back was turned. his mother, in feminine fashion, could not refrain from an occasional remark of satisfaction that the family was rid of the disturbing element. absalom grew more reticent and secluded, and at last, as the pricks of home and neighborhood comment, and " the stings and arrows of outrageous fortune" became more annoying, he left the house, and betook himself to a little shanty used in maple sugar time, down a wood road in the depths of a sugar bush. he went nowhere, was social with none, laboring daily on the farm, and retreating to his lonely cabin at the close of the day. soon the neighbors dubbed him " the hermit, " and the 20 pretty wood road, "lxjver's lane." so absalom became known as "the hermit of lover's lane." though often urged to return home by his father and mother, autimm leaves fell in their yellow drift, and snow blocked the road, yet absalom remained. spring came back with its sweet sounds and odors. a year had been rounded out since the fateful day when absalom ploughed the upland field, singing as he went, and the disturber of his peace came up the road, and smiled with lips and eyes to his undoing. one night there was a wild spring storm. the south wester whistled, shrieked and groaned around the little shanty, the trees rocked and writhed, and from time to time wild gusts of rain drove against the v^ndow, and shook the door like one determined on entering. absalom sat leaning with his head on his hands, absorbed in bitter retrospect. suddenly a wail was mingled with the shrieking of the wind, — a wail which had a strangely human intonation. absalom started up and listened. agciin the cry, mingled with a dash of rain. he sprang to the door ; upon the step lay a bundle which he hesitatingly lifted, and unwrapping an old shawl, a young child looked up from its folds. a lusty howl testified to the infant's disapproba tion. absalom dropped it as if it burned him. here was a predicament which distracted him from his sorrows. finally he decided that he must examine the clothing, as a horrid fear began to oppress him. handling the fearful creature timidly, he found around its neck a locket suspended by a string, — a locket which he had given gilda. on opening it, his own face looked out at him. here was a new complication before which his past troubles withdrew to the background. he had not thought of such a possibility. what should he, what could he do with this mite of a few weeks, which 21 screwed up a funny little mouth, and blinked a pair of expres sionless eyes, while it waved its arms eiimlessly about. he cautiously extended a finger, which was seized and held firmly. at last absalom realized that something must be done for this little rain-drenched creature. he was as awkward as most men with the young of the human species, and he gingerly removed the wet shawl and wrapped the baby in his coat. the infant still howled. absalom began to suspect that it might be hungry. of course that was the matter! the only young things that he had experience with were chickens, calves and lambs, one of the latter reposing in a bushel basket of hay behind the stove at the moment. he had found the little creature chilled when the sheep were folded that night. an mspiration came to absalom. why not feed the baby with milk prepared for the lamb ? he was past master at nursing chilled lambs, and what was good for a lamb, must certainly be good for a baby ! therefore very shortly the infant was lying beside the lamb in the basket, and placidly feedmg from the lamb's bottle, on warm milk, sweetened with molasses, and flavored with a dash of black pepper ! absalom spent a sleepless night. what could he do with this new perplexity, fallen as lightning from a clear sky ? verily he had sown the wind, and reaped the whirlwind. he would not ask his mother to undertake the infant's care ; she was well advanced in years, and he knew would regard the child as of the viper's brood, forgetting that her own blood flowed in its veins. a desperate thought of charity crossed his vexed spirit, dismissed with a qualm of self reproach. at last in the cold gray of the early morning he came to a decision. he would take the child to the town farm, the overseer of which had been friendly, so far as absalom permitted. he would leave it with 11 mr. and mrs. hobbs, and pay for its care. he acted at once, wishing to run the gauntlet of the distance to the town farm before early risers were abroad. ahi hobbs listened sympathetically to absalom's story, and his wife, a motherly creature, took the burden from the father's awkward arms. she chirruped to the mite, which opened a pair of wondering eyes and regarded her gravely. "aint it a cute little creetur ! " exclaimed she. "an so knowin' ! see it look up an' breathe! is it a boy er a gal, absalom ? " absalom started. the idea had not occurred to him at all. it was just a baby, his analysis had gone no further. he blushed like a peony, and stammered something unintelligibly. but mrs. hobbs was chucking the baby under the chin, and talking equally unintelligible language to it, in the midst of which absalom made his escape. a few days later as he was working in the field, mr. hobbs called to him in passing, " wal, absalom, yer darter's a gal, an' a mighty peart un, too!" he drew nearer the fence, and said in a low voice: — "absalom, come up clus ter th' fence ; i want ter talk ter yer." he told absalom that charity eels had come to the town farm, and asked for the baby girl, promising to bring her up in the narrow path of new england virtue. " i cal'late charity feels lonesome like, sence she lost her maw, an' nobuddy lef but her brother. be ye willin' to let her hev a try ? " concluded ahi. absalom's heart gave a mighty leap. he had often thought of charity and her sweet gentle ness, and imagined her with his child in her arms. " i'm more'n willin', ahi. i know yer wife's good es she kin be, but she hes so much on her hands, 'thout carin' fer a baby. but ther's one thing i must do. i'll pay ye reg'lar, an' you hand it over to charity." 23 so it was arranged, and the village had another nine days wonder to gossip over. time passed, and absalom was still the hermit of lover's lane. his parents were gathered to their fathers, but he did not return to his old home. the thrall of the gypsy was still at times over him, and he would often stand before his hut in the sweet twilight of the summer night, and look up and dov^ the grassy lane, shaded with the interwoven arch of forest trees, and out where its vista opened on the western sky, where the sunset waved its banners of daffodil, purple, and gold, watching for the woman he had married in a moment of madness. but gilda never came, and as the years passed with their relentless tread, absalom's hair became frosted, until at fifty he looked an old man. he had regularly left a sum of money with ahi, long since retired from the poor farm, to be devoted to the child's upbringing. ahi had several times attempted to tell him of her, but he would not listen. it recalled too keenly the mistakes of his youth, and the life of loneliness and sorrow he had entailed on himself. another spring came, and one evening in the gloaming absalom sat outside his hut, when he became aware of the approach of some one down the wood road. he gazed in surprise, as few intruders ventured on his solitude. but presently he saw this was a stranger, a woman, ragged but gaudily attired. her face was withered and wrinkled, hard in feature and expression, and she walked unsteadily, as one under the influence of strong drink. she stopped before him, and laughed in a maudlin fashion. suddenly she threw her arms around his neck, and laughing and weeping, demanded to know if absalom did not recognize his wife, his gilda ? he thrust her from him in a horror of repulsion. she knelt before him, crying — 24 " rudi is dead, — poor rudi ! true, he beat gilda, but he did it because he loved her. poor gilda ! she has no one, now rudi is gone, she comes back to the giorgio. ab-so-leem, he once loved gilda. he will take her to himself? she is his gypsy bride." her breath, heavy with bad whiskey came in his face, and he shrunk further away, saying, — " i don't know ye ! ye re drunk ! " she moaned and lamented, and relapsing into a patois of english and romany, exclaimed — "ab-so-leem, the giorgio, think gilda matto ! (drunk.) true, gilda stop in the kitchema, (tavern) but she only been piin leoinor. (drinking beer.) that not make drunk ! " " go ! " exclaimed absalom. " ye are not gilda ; ye're jest a common tramp ! " in reply the woman drew from her breast a cord on which was suspended the half of a silver coin. " know you this, giorgio? " asked she with a sneer. it was half of a silver piece which absalom had divided as a love token during the brief madness which possessed him. "ab-so-leem," she went on in a wheedling, cajoling tone. " be kind to gilda. you say not even to her besh alay." (sit down.) she was becoming more under the influence of liquor. her eyes, which had lost all their strange beauty, were dull and heavy. "gilda sick, — sick! " she went on. " gilda travel far to see ab-so-leem ; to see her child, the baby esmeralda, to give her a dowry, — before gilda die. where is the child ? tell gilda quickly, before she cry aloud through the country for her flesh and blood, until she find her." absalom was chilled. he could not have charity so troubled and annoyed, and the child must not see her mother. 25 though he had never seen his offspring since the day when mrs. hobbs took her from his arms, though he did not even know by what name she was called, he would not have her thus humiliated, and again start the tongues of malicious gossip. he would quiet this creature by any means possible, and trust to fortune to keep her visit a secret. how dearly he had paid for his short folly ! he was completely disenchanted, his love turned to loathing. so, forcing a smile, he said, adopting her manner of speech : — " will not gilda rest in the house of absalom, and we will talk more afterward ? " the woman staggered into the little room, and fell across his bed, where she was presently in a drunken sleep, only stirring to say before wholly under its influence : — " under tree, — dig, dig ; jewels, — silver and gold." again absalom spent a sleepless night, as he had done often before on her account. at daybreak, as she still slept heavily, he slipped out to attend to the cattle, and on his return she was gone. he searched the woods, but there was nothing to prove that he had not passed through a horrible nightmare. indeed, he was trying to persuade himself that such was the truth, when ahi, who was almost the only one with whom he held conversation, told him that there was great excitement in the neighborhood, that a woman tramp had been found dead in a bam. he talked on garrulously, drawn out by a few questions, until absalom was certain that it was gilda. a wild emotion of freedom and relief came to him, as he learned that no one had been found who had conversed with the woman, though she had been seen hanging around the vicinity for some days. "absalom," continued the old man, "i don't want ter hurt yer feelin's, but i sort o* suspected thet, — the woman wus, — 26 you know who, — an' i'm glad ye're free. she's safely buried in the poor farm corner o' th' frog holler buryin' groun*. absalom, don't live in this shack the rest o* yer days ; ye're got es pooty a darter es ye need ter look at, an' charity ! — " then absalom told ahi of his night's vigil, and found great relief in speech after his silent years ; he cursed the folly that had sold his birthright for a mess of pottage. absalom spent the next week in deep thought ; at its end he went to the next village, where he bought new attire, and after the pruning of his hair and beard was accomplished, he looked as if the clock of time had turned its hands backward on the dial. absalom was a man of decision, and he had decided. as he crossed the lots on his homeward way, he passed through the pasture where in days of folly he had buried his all at gilda's instigation, and turned aside to look at the spot, as her incoherent words crossed his mind. to his astonishment, the earth had been disturbed, and on digging, he found a store of gold and silver coins, and precious stones, more in value than the farm on which they were buried. so this was gilda's dowry for her daughter. that evening, the young spring moon shone softly, the peepers in the marshes sang their shrill song, and absalom turned his steps to charity's home, even as he had done more than twenty years ago. a figure stood at the gate, even as of yore. absalom knew who waited, even before a word was uttered. " charity," said he, " i have come back to ye, after years worse than wasted. will ye take what is left o' my life, an' try to straighten out the tangled skein ? she is dead. i can only offer ye the last years of a life that should have been all yours, but for an awful mistake, — an awful mistake." she answered in the low sweet voice that he so well remembered, — 27 "absalom, i have waited for you all these years. i knew the time would come when you would need comfort, love and sympathy ; i have waited that i might give when you sought. a faithful woman can wait a life time for the man she loves." a joyous young voice called from the doorway, — "aunty, — aunt charity ! where are you?" absalom and charity walked slowly up the path to the door. he looked almost in terror at the young girl who stood m the lamp light, fearing lest he should see scarlet lips and topaz eyes. to his joy and surprise a fair slender young girl looked at him with his mother's eyes, large serious blue-gray orbs. "absalom," said charity solemnly, joining the hands of father and child, " i give to you your daughter. i loved her first for your sake, and after for her own. i have saved for her every penny that you have sent for her care these twenty years. she is as my own to me, — and her name is — hope! " absalom stood as in a dream. then, after the manner of old isaiah, he spoke softly, — "and hope maketh not ashamed! " he went on gently, " charity suffereth long and is kind * * * seeketh not her own * * * thinketh no evil * * * beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth au things, endureth all things. charity never faileth." he paused a moment, and finished solemnly : — "but the greatest of these, is charity." the farmhouse door closed behind them, bound together by that threefold cord, which is not easily broken. it shut out the sorrowful past, the mistakes and grief, and shut in love, joy, and peace, 28 ^ot 26 1912 301 mit hape 145 "the tauchnitz collection" is allowed to circulate among the university officers, professors, and students, only on condition that the librarian shall permanently withdraw from circulation any volume which is out of print, and that all volumes lost or unfit for use shail be promptly replaced by the librarian at the university's expense. edition tauchnitz british presented το & cornell university by american theodore stanton the of the class of 1876. authors a. 132.001 1 5/14/99 pate due y 3 1924 013 212 042 each volume sold separately. theodore wanton collection of aris british authors tauchnitz edition. vol. 3322. hope the hermit by edna lyall. in two volumes. vol. i. leipzig: bernhard tauchnitz. paris: librairie c. reinwald, 15, rue des saints-pères. paris: the galignani library, 224, rue de rivoli, and at nice, 8, avenue masséna. this collection is published with copyright for continental circulation, but all purchasers are earnestly requested not to introduce the volumes into england or into any british colony. november 1898. tauchnitz edition. latest volumes: his grace of osmonde. a new novel by frances hodgson burnett. 2 vols. the skipper's wooing. a new work by w. w. jacobs. i vol. the king with two faces. a new novel by m. e. coleridge. 2 vols. the war of the worlds. a new work by h. g. wells. i vol. simon dale. a new novel by anthony hope. 2 vols. my lord duke. a new novel by ernest william hornung. i vol. shrewsbury. a new novel by stanley j. weyman. 2 vols. (continued on page 3 of cover.) collection of british authors tauchnitz edition. vol. 3322. hope the hermit. by edna lyall. in two volumes. vol. i. 1850 b3322 tauchnitz edition. we two donovan by the same author, 2 vols. 2 vols. in the golden days • 2 vols. knight-errant won by waiting 2 vols. 2 vols. wayfaring men 2 vols. hope the hermit a novel by edna lyall, b. to o author of "we two," "donovan," "wayfaring men," etc. m a.&. buying. copyright edition. i n two volume s. vol. i. leipzig bernhard tauchnitz 1898, 1850 b3322 abr a. 132001 once in a blithe greenwood, liv'd a hermit wise and good, whom the folks from far and near for his counsel sought, knowing well that what he taught the dreariest of hearts would cheer. though his hair was white, his eye was clear and bright, and he thus was ever wont to say: "though to care we are born, yet the dullest morn often heralds in the fairest day!" * * * * * * * * * * * pray, is the hermit dead? from the forest has he fled? no, he lives to counsel all who an ear will lend to their wisest, truest friend, and hope, the hermit's name they call; still he sits, i ween, 'mid branches ever green, and cheerily you may hear him say: "though to care we are born, yet the dullest morn often heralds in the fairest day!" ― from chappell's old english ditties. dedicated to the rev. canon and mrs. rawnsley, in memory of pleasant hours at crosthwaite. hope the hermit. chapter i. "come, death! and match thy quiet gloom with being's darkling strife, come, sit beside the lonely tomb, the solitude of life!" houghton. the sun had set. a crimson glow lit up the western sky and lingered on the mountain tops, but the little white farm among the hills was already in shadow. there it stood in lonely watendlath, and even on this summer evening in the year 1668 its walls had witnessed the joys and sorrows of many generations. yet never had so sad a story been enacted in the old house as the one which was now drawing to a close-dying out with the day, but less peacefully. a deep porch with stone steps led up to the thick oaken door heavily studded with nails, but wide open now to let in the summer air; in the large house-place, hope the hermit. or kitchen, two women sat by the fire talking, and to the left a door led into a second room which, in a sudden emergency, had been converted into a guest chamber. the guest was evidently dying. death was written on her white face and pale lips, which contrasted so curiously with the ruddy face of the little new-born child, nestled on her arm. they were in every way a contrast. the mother, a mere girl of seventeen, wore a look of heartrending grief and anxiety; the baby was wrapt in a peace as profound and untroubled as if he had begun an existence in the garden of eden, instead of being launched on the waves of this troublesome world. "if only your father would come," sighed the girl. "if only i could once hear him promise to care for you! yet what use would it be? he ever promises and promises. did he not vow when we were wed to cherish and love me—and what has it proved? for a week of happiness i have lost home and all who loved me there." and at this thought she fell a-crying, but was terrified to find that her sobs were quite tearless. had not her old nurse at home once told her that the dying can shed no tears? "oh, john!" she moaned, "come back to me! come back! i can't die alone in this strange place." the mistress of the house, kind-hearted mary wilson, hope the hermit. 9 paused for a minute in her talk, thinking the babe had cried; but finding that all was still she took up the thread of her story again, and poured into the ears of the neighbour who had come to bear her company that night the amazing news which had stirred the quiet cumberland farmhouse from its usual peace. two nights ago, just as it was growing dusk, a gentleman wearing the usual long, curled wig, and with feathers in the broad-brimmed hat which was pulled low over his brow, had knocked at the door of the farm and had begged their hospitality for his wife, who was quite unable to travel further. he had lifted the lady from the pillion and half led, half carried her into the house, whereupon mary wilson, seeing the plight she was in, and touched by the sweet face and golden-brown eyes which had lighted with relief as they looked into hers, hastened to make the guest-room ready. busy with her preparations, she had never noticed the gentleman riding away from the farm, but when she came back into the house-place there was the lady all alone by the hearth crying like a tired child. the neighbour, who had listened to all this with bated breath, made that shocked sound with her tongue against the roof of her mouth by which women can express so much. "he shouldna ha'e left ye,' says i to her," resumed mary wilson. "but at that the leddy drew herself oop ιο hope the hermit. an' says she, 'my husband will coom back; he will but leave me to rest awhile.' i said nae mair an' juist helped her to bed, but in the mornin' i saw how 'twad be, and at cock-crow to-day the laal barn was born." "a doot the gentleman will never coom back," said the neighbour, shaking her head ominously. "it's the auld story." "mappen they've never been weddit," said mary wilson. "but i'm loth to think ill of the puir leddy. anyhoo, she's deein'. she'll no be lang in this world, puir soul." in the next room all this had been quite audible, nor did the cumbrian expressions at all veil the truth from the dying girl. they were perfectly familiar to her, and the words went to her heart like a sword-thrust. she drew down the little unconscious child closer to her heart, holding him with a passionate devotion, as if her frail arms could shield him from the hard, cruel world. "it's a lie," she whispered. "you are his true son and heir, my sweet one. oh, john! why don't you come back to me? why did you make me promise not to tell them our name?” what was that last thing they had said? she was dying? would not be long in this world? why, then, this little defenceless child of hers would be left nameless and unfriended, with a doubt, a horrible slur, cast hope the hermit. i i on his birth! was she bound still to keep her word and to say nothing? or could it be true that her hushand was so utterly weary of her that he really never meant to return? unhappy as her short married life had been, she was yet too loyal to credit such a thought as that. he had often left her for weeks at a time, but he had always returned. the haunting thought remained, however, that he might return now too late. nor could she flatter herself that he would take very much trouble about his child. it was not john's way to burden himself-he left the burdens to other people. "mappen they've never been weddit," her hostess had said. other people would say the same, very likely, and the child would be the sufferer. what could she do for him? in those days wedding rings were not all of one pattern; any ring served. she drew from her finger the one her husband had given her. it was a thick gold ring with a large sapphire set in it, and the poesy engraved on the inner side was this:-in christ and thee my comfort be. a little tearless sob escaped her as she glanced at the words. "john" had proved a sorry comforter, and had deserted her in her greatest need. she had excused him with a sort of patient dignity when mary wilson blamed him, but in her heart she knew that he i 2 hope the hermit. had cruelly neglected the woman he had vowed to love and cherish. "i will fasten this round the child," she said to herself; "maybe it will speak for him when i am gone." and catching at a bit of green ribbon which hung from her travelling cloak, she tore it off with some difficulty, threaded the ring on it, and tied the ends securely under the child's clothes. at this he woke and began to wail piteously, which brought mary wilson from the next room. she just glanced at the shadowy face on the pillow, and then called quickly to her neighbour to come and hold the infant. "the puir leddy is passin' awa'," she said, lifting the child from its mother's breast and giving it to her companion. "tell me the gentleman's name, dear," she pleaded, raising the dying girl's head tenderly. there was a slight gesture of refusal. the colourless lips closed firmly. "tell me juist his name," urged mary wilson, "or your feyther's name. mappen the gentleman hath wronged thee, but--" she broke off, astonished by the energy and strength which suddenly nerved the form she was supporting. the dying girl sat bolt upright; a glow of colour rose in her pale face. "i call god to witness that he is my lawful hushope the hermit. 13 band," she cried, and without another word she fell back dead in mary wilson's arms. the sunset glow had faded and the night had set in when two travellers passed by the gloomy watendlath tarn, upon which the moonlight made a broad, silvery track. "ha!" exclaimed the elder of the two, "the good folk at the farm are still astir; there's a light in the window. what does that bode? i wish, christopher, you would go on and ask how lucy fares. you can say her husband hath sent for tidings. it would be as well that i should not show my face in watendlath an it can be helped." "what is the name of the farm people?" asked christopher vane, a somewhat thickset and heavyfeatured lad who looked about eighteen, but was in reality younger. "their name is wilson. but the man himself is away at some fair. i will wait for you here. already we have roused all the dogs of the place." christopher vane, not much liking his errand, but accustomed to obey this brilliant friend of his, who was a courtier and a wit besides being fifteen years his senior, moved off in the direction of the little white farm and knocked at the door. "how fares it with the lady who came here for 14 hope the hermit. shelter two nights ago?" he asked, when mary wilson appeared in answer to his summons. "oh, sir, she has passed awa' this verra night," replied the good woman. "her laal barn-a son, sirwas born at cock-crow." christopher vane made a stifled ejaculation. "wait a bit," he said; "i must speak a few words to my friend here." mary wilson saw him stride hastily down to the side of the little beck, which foamed and tumbled over its rocky bed not far from the house. he disappeared in the shadow of the trees, and after a few minutes a taller and older man came slowly forward into the moonlight. looking sharply at the plumed hat and the general outline of the form, the mistress of the house had no difficulty in recognising the strange gentleman who had asked for shelter two nights since, but then, as now, his face had been half hidden. "where is the child?" he said, abruptly. she led him into the kitchen, where, in a wooden cradle, lay the new-born infant. "put one of the lady's cloaks about it and give it to me," he said, with the merest glance at the little dark head nestled into the pillow. mary wilson hesitated. "the night is cauld, sir," she ventured, "and a babe in swaddling clothes-—” hope the hermit. 15 "do as i tell you," he said, with a peremptory gesture, "and let me have a light here.” he moved towards the inner room and mary wilson lit a candle, and would have carried it for him into the death chamber; but, taking it from her with a hand which trembled a little, he went in, shutting the door behind him. in the presence of death a momentary sense of awe had quenched the courtier's mirth. his heartless schemes were for awhile checked; tears stood in his eyes as he looked on the lovely, tranquil face of the girl he had loved for a few weeks and whose life he had wrecked. "it would have been well for both of us if we had never met! "poor lucy!" he muttered. here is this cursed brat to be disposed of! he not the grace to die with you?" and now why had he drew the sheet once more over the face of the dead girl, and, setting down the candle, paced to and fro with knitted brow. "there is no help for it," he said to himself at last. "he stands in the way of all my schemes. and after all who will be the worse for it? that it goes against my stomach proves naught." he caught up the warm travelling cloak which lucy had worn but a day or two ago, and strode back to the kitchen, where mary wilson held the sleeping child in the firelight flickered upon the rosy little. her arms. 16 hope the hermit. face; how full of life it seemed after the marble face in the inner room! he shuddered and turned away, ostensibly to count out some money from his purse. "i am obliged to you for all you have done," he said, placing some gold pieces in the woman's hand. "i want no payment, sir," she replied, with quiet dignity. "the puir leddy was welcome to a' the help i could gi'e her." "then keep this for the burial," he said, quickly. "i would stay to arrange things myself were it possible, but urgent and pressing business calls me away from this part of england. give me the child." between the thought of the burial of the poor lady, and what her husband would say to it all when he came back from the fair, and this sudden demand for the infant, mary wilson was so much agitated that words failed her, nor did she venture on a second remonstrance when the gentleman took the sleeping child in his arms, flung a corner of his own short cloak over it, and, with a promptitude which fairly bewildered her, threw open the door and passed down the steps. when he had actually disappeared her faculties returned to her, and hastening out into the porch she called after him eagerly, "sir, sir, at least tell me your name!" but there was no reply, nor could she even hear his footsteps. a passing cloud had hidden the moon; nothing was to be seen but the dark outline of the hills, hope the hermit. 17 nothing was to be heard save the familiar rushing of the little beck. but after awhile, as she stood there straining her ears in the hope of hearing his steps, she caught the dreaded sound of the phantom hounds baying as they hunted the "barfoot stag". then in deadly terror she closed and barred the door, and, crouching beside the kitchen fire, said the lord's prayer for comfort; for was it not well known that the "barfoot stag," the terror of that part of the country, always went through watendlath tarn, and was chased over the fells down into borrowdale? in the meantime christopher vane had been rejoined by his companion, and the two men were making their way to rosthwaite. "it's well you know the path," said christopher, stumbling down the rough track. "you seem to the manner born." "well, that's not unnatural," replied his friend. "this part of the world was known to me as a boy, and one doesn't forget things learnt in youth." a muffled wail made christopher start. "good lord! what's that?" he cried, in alarm. "no banshee," said his companion, with a laugh. "only this brat of mine has roused up, worse luck to him." "you have brought the child away?" "yes; it was the safest plan. the woman would hope the hermit. i. 2 18 hope the hermit. never have kept him without asking a score of awkward questions, she was too shrewd for that." "what shall you do with it?" said christopher. "dispose of it somewhere in borrowdale, the loneliest place in creation, and then ignore the fact that it ever existed. i know i can trust you to keep a still tongue. i have your oath." "yes, you have," said christopher vane, not daring to remonstrate with his friend, yet secretly uneasy about this night's work. "i suppose you'll leave the babe with some of the dales-folk?" he suggested, hesitatingly. "i have a scheme in my head," said the older man. they had by this time reached the valley, and the speaker paused for a minute. "do you recollect the way to longthwaite?" he asked; "over yonder and across the river." "yes," said christopher; "i can find my way there if the moon keeps clear." "then you go on and bid them prepare us the best meal they can, with plenty of hot spiced ale, and in an hour or two, when light breaks, we will take horse and go over the stake pass.” "where are you going now?" said christopher, uneasily. "only to dispose safely of this brat. i'll be with you anon; and mind! not a word as to the child. we'll keep a golden silence." hope the hermit. 19 so saying, he turned sharply to the right, while christopher vane made his way slowly to longthwaite farm, where their horses were stabled. for some time the infant had made no sound whatever; it had, in fact, been violently jogged to sleep as its father strode down the steep track from watendlath. once it crossed his mind that perhaps it had been stifled beneath his cloak. he paused in a little clearing where the moonbeams pierced the trees, and looked at it. in the cold, pale light the tiny face was like marble. surely the child was dead! he felt quite kindly towards it for having considerately relieved him from a piece of work very little to his taste. but even as he looked a smile flickered over the face of the sleeping child, and it stirred a tiny yet vigorous-looking fist. with a muttered curse the father flung the cloak over it, and again strode on through lovely borrowdale, with its stately trees and craggy mountains and its river gleaming like a silver thread in the moonlight. "i ought to have hired some ruffian to do my dirty work," he reflected. "yet then there is always the risk of betrayal. after all, if i christen the imp first it will but translate him to paradise. i'll get down by the river as soon as may be. old father francis once told me that lay baptism was valid, but i'll warrant he never 2* 20 hope the hermit. thought of the baptiser drowning the child the next minute." he laughed grimly, but there was, nevertheless, a sick feeling at his heart; he shivered. it seemed to him that the little unconscious babe was drawing out all his vital heat, it lay so warm and peacefully on his arm. waging an uncomfortable debate within himself, he strode on until he could see the outline of castle crag just across the river, while not far from him on the hillside to the right was the huge detached piece of rock known by the dales-folk as the bowder stone. he must go no further or, as he well knew, he should come within sight of the tiny hamlet of grange. the piece of work he so cordially detested must be done without any more delay. quitting the rough mule track, he bent his steps to the left and climbed down to the riverside, depositing his burden on the grass, and removing lucy's mantle, which had been folded about it. rolling this into a tight bundle, he hid it in the hollow trunk of an old oak tree, and paused for a minute to remove from beneath his doublet a miniature which hung there. "i'd better throw this into the derwent," he reflected, "or else bury it here. if lucy's successor were to come across it her jealousy would be up in arms, and she would get at the whole truth by hook or by crook." hope the hermit. 21 in the moonlight he glanced for the last time at the sweet, girlish face, and with a stifled sigh thrust the miniature under a flat stone beside the oak, to the great discomfiture of the ants beneath it. then, lifting the sleeping child once more, he stepped down to the water's edge. "it's a "what shall i name the imp?" he thought. matter of little moment. i will name him after the river which is to carry him to paradise." and bending down he sprinkled the child's brow, hastily muttering the words, "derwent, i baptise thee, in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy ghost." he had hoped not to rouse his little son, but at the first touch of the cold water the infant awoke; he could have sworn that it looked up at him with lucy's eyes— that the tiny face of the new-born babe was the face of the wife he had neglected. something in its helplessness and innocence appealed to him strongly. he cursed his own weakness, but he could not, as he had intended, drown this little defenceless mortal. "there are things a gentleman cannot put his hand. to," he said to himself, with a soothing sense of his innate refinement. "i cannot do it. i will only leave him here by the river.” and without any more delay he put the child down on the wet grass at the foot of a silver birch tree, and turned to go, pluming himself on his forbearance. 22 hope the hermit. like so many, he failed to see that it is often more cruel for a parent to desert a child than to murder it outright that desertion is in fact, as a rule, only murder long drawn out. without once looking back, he turned away to regain the mule track, when suddenly he paused, rooted to the spot by overmastering terror. what unearthly tumult was this which greeted him? on the mountain-side, above the bowder stone, there came the blood-curdling sound of that mysterious phantom hunt which he had heard of in his boyhood. the "barfoot stag" had made its way through watendlath tarn, and was now plunging down in its headlong course to borrowdale. he could hear the awful baying of the phantom hounds and the rushing of many feet; nay, there came a moment when he could hear the panting of the stag close beside him. then he could endure the mystery of it no longer, but fled to rosthwaite, running the faster because a wailing, piteous voice rang in his ears, and he knew that the phantom hunt must be plunging into the derwent at the very place where his baby son lay helpless and forlorn. hope the hermit. 23 chapter ii. "the child, the seed, the grain of corn, the acorn on the hill, each for some separate end is born in season fit, and still each must in strength arise to work the almighty will." stephenson. now it chanced that the worthy owner of isel hall -one sir wilfrid lawson-who had great possessions in cumberland, and owned part of borrowdale besides st. herbert's isle on derwentwater, had come to spend a few weeks at his summer house on the island. he, waking early and seeing that the day bade fair to be still and cloudy-just such a day as isaak walton commends to anglers-ordered his gillie to make ready the boat, in which they rowed from st. herbert's isle, and the water being high after much rain, made their way up the river within sight of grange farm. having fastened the boat to an ash tree, sir wilfrid in his fishing boots strode along the bank in the direction of castle crag, and had just landed his first trout when dickon, the gillie, came hurrying back with consternation in his sunburnt face. "sir," he said, "there's 24 hope the hermit. a strange cratur over yonder—an uncanny cratur, that makes a sound betwixt a lamb's bleat and the hootin' of an owl." sir wilfrid laughed. "go and bring me this strange thing," he said. but dickon hesitated. "weel, sir, the cratur's uncanny; maybe it would bewitch us. i will fetch it, sir, if you order it—but— i've no liking for bogles." 66 'come, come," said the knight. "who ever heard of bogles after sunrise? i'll go and see the monster myself. where is it?" dickon, glad to be quit of the duty of fetching this strange thing, led the way a few hundred yards up the river and pointed across to the further bank, where, under a silver birch tree, was a white bundle which certainly justified his description. sir wilfrid strode across from boulder to boulder, waded through the shallower part of the river, and stepped on to the further shore. his companion, made brave by his example, followed closely in his wake. "why, god preserve us!" exclaimed the knight. "tis a new-born babe, and someone must have deserted it hours ago, for the poor brat is half-dead with cold lying in this heavy dew. better have drowned it outright than have left it to suffer like this." dickon, ashamed of his fears, ventured now to pick hope the hermit. 25 up the poor little mortal, whose wailing had chilled his blood. "this be no gipsy's child, sir," he said. "see, its swaddlin' clothes be fine and soft." the knight looked perplexed. had they been near any highroad he could have understood it; but a deserted child in borrowdale, where travellers hardly ever ventured! this was a mystery indeed. "well, we can scarce hope to track the parents," he said, “and anyhow we must first carry this poor little imp to some shelter. perhaps anne fisher at grange farm would see to it. she has an infant of her own." "nay, sir; it died three days since, and i heard agnes say that her mother was to nurse mistress radcliffe's infant." "well, carry it to grange and let us see what can be done," said sir wilfrid. "we shall have it dying if there's much more delay. of all cowardly deeds the most cowardly is to bring a child into the world and then to desert it. i wish i had the horse-whipping of its father!" they tramped back to grange, and the knight knocked at the door of the snug farmhouse and told the mistress of the discovery they had made. anne fisher's sad face brightened with a gleam of amusement as she glanced at awkward dickon and the burden he was bearing. 26 hope the hermit. "why, dickon!" she said, "you hold the babe face down for all the world as if't were a pig. give it to me. bless its heart, it is half-starved with the cauld." she took it in her motherly arms, and sitting down by the kitchen fire, began to unfold the soft flannel and fine linen in which it was swathed. "why, here is a ring, sir, tied aboot it," she exclaimed. "it's clear this child belongs to gentlefolks. and noo i think o' it, agnes did say that she saw two gentlemen, foreigners to borrowdale, riding from keswick at dusk yesterday." sir wilfrid looked at the ring, with its magnificent sapphire; then he read the poesy and shrugged his shoulders. he felt convinced that he should never unravel the mystery, but being a practical and a most kindly man he determined to do all that could be done for the poor little waif whom he had rescued from a lingering and painful death. "look here, anne," he said. little imp for awhile i will make "if you will tend this myself responsible for before long this boy all charges that you are put to. will be worth his salt. if he promises well i will have him educated, and if he is a dunce-why, at the worst he can be put to field work. is that mistress radcliffe's babe? i hear there is great disappointment on lord's island that this posthumous child is a lassie.” hope the hermit. 27 he bent down to glance at an infant that slept by the hearth in a wooden cradle. "yes, sir; old sir nicholas radcliffe langed sair for a grandson. mrs. radcliffe has put the barn out to nurse for a year,” said anne fisher. "and it's glad i am to have her now that my own babe is taken. as for this little one, i'll do my best for him, sir; you may trust me." "ay, i would trust you, anne, sooner than any woman in the world," said sir wilfrid, with a glance at the strong, quiet face, with its look of motherly patience and tenderness. "i go back to isel to-day, but by michaelmas i shall be over again for the shooting, and will come and see how this little imp thrives." bidding her good-day he left the farm, and anne, having warmed and fed and washed her little charge, laid him in the cradle by the tiny descendant of the derwentwaters, little dreaming that, while the one by her sex had failed to inherit the coveted property in patterdale, the other had been disinherited and deserted. by the cruel caprice of his own father. supremely indifferent to all this, however, the two little mortals lay cosily beside the hearth in the farmhouse kitchen, and anne fisher rocked the cradle and sang to comfort her own sad heart one of the old metrical psalms:28 hope the hermit. unto the righteous doth arise in trouble joy, in darknesse light: compassion is in his eyes, and mercy alwaies in his sight: yea, pitie moveth such to lend, he doth by judgment things expend. and surely such shall never faile, for in remembrance had is he, no tidings ill can make him quaile, who in the lord sure hope doth see. his heart is firm, his feare is past, for he shall see his foes down cast. true to his word, sir wilfrid lawson visited the farm again at michaelmas, bringing with him this time his wife. beyond the fact that two strange gentlemen had rested their horses at longthwaite farm the night before the discovery of the child, nothing had transpired. up at watendlath they were busy with the harvest, and then mary wilson had been ill, and though her husband had certainly been down to keswick market he was a man who had a wonderful gift of silence, and when he did open his lips it was to discourse of crops and to grumble at the weather. "has the child been baptised yet?" asked lady lawson, who took very kindly to the pretty little unknown babe. . "no, ma'am, but mistress radcliffe's is to be christened at crosthwaite church to-morrow morn, and hope the hermit. 29 maybe i'd better take the little lad, too. be called, sir?" what is he to "poor little imp, i doubt he has no surname," said the knight. "we had better call him after the riverit's there we found him; as for his christian namesince he is to be christened at michaelmas-let him be called michael, and you and i, my dear, will be sponsors." lady lawson assented, and held the little babe. tenderly enough in her motherly arms the next day in crosthwaite church. at the last moment there was a hue and cry for a second godfather, the parish clerk sturdily refusing to add to his already large number of godchildren. "i'd do it for a parishioner," he said, "but at foreigners i draw the line; a parish clerk must draw the line somewhere." at that there stepped forward a curious-looking man, with an enormous forehead and a bush of flaxen hair. it was the keswick fiddler-usually known as sebastian snoggles-though, as he was apt to inform the good cumbrians, his name was not that at all, but zinogle. his grandfather had been one of the miners who came over from germany in queen elizabeth's days to work the copper mines now closed, and "snoggles" was a popular person in all the country round because30 hope the hermit. although "a dutchman"-he played divinely on the fiddle. "i'm ready to stand sponsor," he said, with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "i'm not one myself to draw the line at foreigners." and the little discussion being over, the ceremony proceeded, and michael the foundling, and audrey, the youngest member of the keswick branch of the derwentwaters, were enrolled in the christian army. hope the hermit. 31 chapter iii. recollections of michael derwent. begun in this month of august, anno domini 1687, at christ's college, cambridge. "two children in one hamlet born and bred, so runs the round of life from hour to hour." tennyson. a sen'night since there came to me here at cambridge a fellow who had lain at isel hall and had been charged with messages to me by sir wilfrid lawson. lady lawson, who had always shown me great kindness, sent me sundry gifts welcome enough to a poor sizar who likes very ill to go shabby about the world, and in the parcel, to my great content, was enclosed another smaller packet directed in audrey radcliffe's irregular writing and indifferent spelling. as i hastily unfolded the paper i saw two pair of most well-knit socks, with sprigs of lavender laid between them; and with the smell there seemed to rise before me a vision of the pleasance on lord's island, and of my playmate and foster-sister, and the world felt to me a better place, just because she was in it, and because she took thought for me and my needs. a student left alone at cambridge in the long vaca32 hope the hermit. tion is apt to mope like an owl by day, and in the drowsy, enervating heat of the summer noon i found myself consumed with longing for the old days at borrowdale, climbing once more in imagination scafell and great gable, and roaming with audrey along the shores of derwentwater. to wake from those dreams of the past to the deathly quiet of cambridge in august was dreary enough; to trudge alone over that desolate, flat country only made me more homesick for the mountains of my own north country, while to look out into the grey quad of christ's, where not a single man was left to bear me company, made me at times wellnigh desperate. one day, when thoughts of audrey had haunted me more incessantly than ever, it came into my head that i would write down some of the recollections of our childhood, and no sooner had i taken pen and paper in hand than i found a sort of companionship in the notion, and what with writing and remembering and living over again the old days i passed the time indifferent well. my earliest recollection is a strange one. it is of the landing-place at lowdore, not far from the mill. old zinogle was beside me with his fiddle, and we stood watching a boat and measuring with our eyes the swiftly-increasing space between it and the bank. some of the lord's island servants were in the boat, hope the hermit. 33 and beside them sat audrey, a plump, jolly little child of three, much excited at the long-deferred home-going, and chatting fast to her companions, yet ever and anon turning to wave farewells to me. i can remember now the horrid way in which the boat dwindled and dwindled till it was a mere speck in the distance, and then i flung myself down upon the grass and sobbed, for borrowdale felt as desolate as a wilderness. zinogle and the miller talked together; the old fiddler said it was cruel to part us when we were just like sweethearts. i had no idea what the word meant, but his tone was sympathetic and comforting. the miller, on the other hand, argued that it was not to be expected that mrs. radcliffe would let her daughter be any longer with a brat that had neither father nor mother, but had just been picked up under a bush. he had a slow, drawling voice, and his words made a deep impression on me. when he was gone i asked question. my old friend the fiddler a "snoggles," i said, hiding my wet face on his shaggy beard, "was it wrong of me to be picked up under a bush?" "why', no, my laddie," he said, gathering me up in his strong arms, and laughing. "but very wrong of them that left ye there; and when ye grow to be a man, laddie, i should set off like jack in the fairy tale hope the hermit. i. 3 34 hope the hermit. and find them that did ye that wrong. i hope to god ye'll ha'e your rights yet. often enoo 'tis the grey dawn that brings the fine day. so don't forget to hope, laddie. hope maun be your guiding star through life.” luckily for me, lord's island did not suit audrey well, or perhaps she pined for companionship. at anyrate, it happened that she was constantly being sent back to grange farm; so that practically we grew up together, belonging to each other from the very first. as for anne fisher, she was as happy as i was when audrey returned, and i overheard her once saying to the servant who had come from the island that the children did each other a "mort o' good," that the boy made the girl brave, and the girl made the boy gentle. there was certainly truth in the last notion, for nobody could have been rough with one like audrey; and though she was as brave as anyone could have desired, she was none of your stuck-up, independent lasses, but from the first loved to have a stronger hand to help her in climbing as we roamed about the hills and scrambled about the crags. in those days i think we learned to know every inch of the fells. we would play at cavaliers and roundheads by the hour together, and many were the hiding-places in which distressed fugitives found shelter from imaginary pursuers. there was what we called the steeple rock on grange fell, where actually in hope the hermit. 35 sight of the farm we could hide in a narrow little cleft; and there was the wood in what we called the happy valley, a tiny, unfrequented gully among the hills, where beneath an old yew tree was a sheltered recess, which we considered our most secure retreat. but, perhaps, our favourite expedition was a long scramble up to high lowdore, where in a v-shaped opening between shepherd's crag and gowder crag one could catch a lovely glimpse of skiddaw and of derwentwater, with its islands like little green dots on a silver shield. i remember there was a hiding-place not far from here in the woods betwixt lowdore and ashness farm. we called it the quarry, and often made our hunted patriots take shelter there. but to no one did we ever reveal these secrets, but treasured them up as possessions of our very own, fully believing that some day we might need them ourselves. and what would be the good of a secret hiding-place if all borrowdale knew of it? in the evenings anne would sometimes be persuaded into telling us of the borrowdale bogle. she had not seen it herself, but her daughter agnes had seen it and would never speak to us on the subject, looking scared if the very word bogle was spoken in her presence. this ghost was a far-away kinsman of audrey's—a radcliffe, but of which of the many branches i never clearly understood. the story ran that when in the time of the civil 3* 36 hope the hermit. war st. herbert's isle had been garrisoned for the parliament, some wag thought to amuse himself at the expense of one of the royalist defenders of carlisle castle, robert phillipson, and persuaded him that the custodian of st. herbert's isle was a traitor and would yield up his valuable store of ammunition. accordingly anne told us that mr. phillipson sallied forth one night from carlisle, cut his way through the lines besieging the castle, and with a strong party of men rode up to cat bells. but then he found that it was all a jest; every boat was drawn up upon the island, and when he summoned the st. herbert's garrison to surrender he was only greeted with shouts of derisive laughter. he had had a useless ride of sixty miles! afterwards he went to keswick, where his men refreshed themselves, while he in great dudgeon visited sir edward radcliffe on lord's island and told him and the garrison there of the way in which the parliamentarians had cozened him. it chanced that one of the many radcliffe cousins, named james, was present, and he vowed that he would be revenged on the perpetrators of the joke. a few days later a young officer from st. herbert's isle was returning from a day's shooting, and as he strode along, his servant following with the birds, who should appear from among the trees near their boat but james radcliffe! with many bitter words he challenged the officer, and a duel was fought by the water's side, and hope the hermit. 37 in this way james radcliffe met with his death, and ever since his ghost has haunted the neighbourhood, being seen by many both in grange and borrowdale, and on the fells and in the woods round derwentwater, whence it happens that nobody cares to go out after dark, since to meet a ghost is enough to make even a brave man recoil. it was well enough to hear anne tell the tale as we sat by the hearth near the glowing logs, but it was not so pleasant when we had to go up to bed in the dark rooms above, and to pass the great carved oak chest in the passage, in which it seemed always so likely that ghosts would hide! audrey used to pant like a hunted stag as we ran up the stairs hand in hand, but though i was scared too, i am sure i would have bucklered her against a thousand bogles, for there was nothing that heartened me so much as to feel her grip tight hold of my hand as though she had faith in my strength. i must have been about ten years old when i first went, at sir wilfrid lawson's request, to keep christmas at isel hall; my patron wished to see what progress i had made since i had been a scholar at the keswick high school, and zinogle, who was needed to play his fiddle at a dance, took me over with him. by the time we reached cockermouth we were very 38 hope the hermit. weary, and glad enough to dine at one of the inns in the little town. afterwards zinogle dropped asleep over his pipe, while i, eager to be off once more, strolled out to the open door, and stood watching the busy throng of people in the street. all at once there rose in the distance a most curious noise; every moment it grew louder. it seemed to me the most awful sound i had ever heard, and for a moment i shook in my shoes, thinking that the day of judgment had come, and that all the fiends in hell were hastening to seize and drag down their victims to perdition. it comforted me greatly to see that the landlord, in spite of his fiery nose and shaking hands and the other tokens he gave of being a drunkard, did not manifest the least alarm; clearly it could not be the last day. "is it a wild beast show?" i asked, cheering up. "are those lions and bears roaring?" for i had heard zinogle describe how he once met a travelling show, and had always longed to come across one. the landlord laughed till the tears ran down his bloated face. "beasts roaring!" he said. "why, no, laddie; those be the worthy inhabitants of this town hounding down the pestilent knaves called quakers." i was greatly disappointed. to have seen lions and bears would haye been an event worth living for; but who cared to see these eccentric preachers? why, hope the hermit. 39 even so kind-hearted a man as sir wilfrid called them a most dangerous sect. i had heard him say as much once when he was in keswick. still, there was comfort in knowing that it was not the last day. and now the shouting and jeering and groaning grew louder and louder, and a great crowd came into sight. i scrambled up onto a window-sill to see the better, and was much surprised to find that these dangerous folk were nought but some peaceable-looking men and women, and my blood began to boil to see them so defenceless in the midst of the rude, bawling throng. though they were pushed and goaded and driven like beasts amid blows and curses, they made no show whatever of resistance. even the women, when their hoods and scarves were torn off them by the rabble, showed never a sign of anger, but went calmly on, for this, i learnt afterwards, was part of their creed. i doubt if there is any feeling more deeply rooted in the hearts of most english folk than the instinct that makes us rush to the help of the ill-used and weak. the quakers suffered chiefly because a wave of panic was sweeping through the land, and men became cruel because they feared; but they were also unpopular because they spoke plainly against many vested interests. our landlord, for instance, was one of the foremost in throwing mud and stones at them. but when i caught 40 hope the hermit. sight of a brutal fellow striding along, repeatedly striking with his stick the bald head of one of the quakers until the blood streamed down, a sort of fiery strength suddenly possessed me. from the vantage-ground of the window-sill i snatched at the stick, wrenched it out of the fellow's hand, and dropped it down the grating beneath the window. the face of the quaker lit up for a moment with an expression which i can never forget, but the next instant the owner of the stick had caught me by the hair of the head, and with oaths and blows had flung me with all his force on to the doorstep of the inn. "after all, it is my last day," i thought in the curious moment of reflection for which there always seems time during a fall. then came a crash, and i knew no more till i woke up on zinogle's knee. "are you better, sonny?" he asked, kindly, and i sat up, but turned deadly sick, and was glad to fall back once more on the old fiddler's breast. "you're a blessed young fool to help scum like that," said the landlord, contemptuously-"folks as won't take their bible oath as all decent christians do." "what has become of the man with the bald head?" i asked. "well, i reckon you saved him from many a blow of bully barton's stick," said zinogle, in his comforting voice. "and, strangely enough, he be a radcliffe, hope the hermit. 41 there be catholic radcliffes an' church of england radcliffes, and now there be this quaker radcliffe. and i will say for them that they all know how to suffer for their faith, and that's more'n can be said for some folk." it was now high time to go on our way, and having washed my face and hands at the pump in the backyard, and sleeked down my wet hair over my forehead so that the worst of the bruises was hidden, i set off with zinogle, feeling very shaky about the knees. "i whope you've learnt your lesson," said the landlord in a patronising tone; "you'll ha'e mony a sair head, i'm thinking, if ye go aboot the world interfering with the course of justice.” "but it was not justice," i thought to myself, and trudged on doggedly, hardly daring to think how many miles still lay betwixt us and isel hall. we had only just gained the outskirts of the town when we were hailed by a farmer who was driving home from market. he had a broad, honest, cheerful face that made me think of a withered but still rosy apple. "why, snoggles!" he cried, heartily, "so you're shepherding the laddie that snatched bully barton's stick from him. art going to isel, man?" "ay," said zinogle, "if bully barton has left breath enough in this little imp's body." 42 hope the hermit. "i'll gi'e ye a lift," said the farmer; "put the laddie up betwixt us. but," with a sly wink at me, "ye mustna be takin' my whip awa' if i touch up brown bess now and agin." i shall never forget the relief of that unexpected ending to our journey. dear old snoggles threw his arm about me, and farmer birkett wrapped me in a horsecloth, and in two minutes, what with the gathering gloom and the cold air and the monotonous jogging of the cart, i was sound asleep. by the time we reached isel the moon was shining, and i can dimly remember my first sleepy view of that grand old mansion, with its battlemented walls and its peel tower. i wished we could have driven on in the cart for ever. however, farmer birkett patted me on the shoulder and wished me good-night and good luck, and zinogle led me into the house, where we were taken to a large room with curious panelling round the walls and a blazing fire of logs, beside which sat my patron and his lady. "why, heaven help us! what has befallen the child?" cried my lady lawson. whereupon zinogle gave a graphic account of what had passed at cockermouth, and i stood by trembling, for i well knew that sir wilfrid detested the quakers. "come here, boy," he said when zinogle paused, and i stepped swiftly up to him, much as one steps towards the schoolmaster for a stroke of the cane, caring hope the hermit. 43 only to get it over quickly and not to flinch. he lifted his hand and raised the hair from my forehead as gently as a woman could have done it; there was a kindly twinkle in his bright eyes. "so thou couldst not brook seeing bully barton beat a quaker," he said, "and did snatch his stick from him." at that he laughed right out, for as i learnt afterwards this barton was a notorious character and much addicted to prize-fighting, so that it seemed mere midsummer madness for a child of ten to provoke him. "the quaker did not strike back again, sir," i pleaded in excuse, "and somebody had to try and help him, else he might have been killed." "i am not blaming you," said sir wilfrid. "nay, i like you the better for it. nevertheless your friend with the bald head will have to stay in prison, and i shall do my utmost to put down this sect, for i consider that it is a danger to the state. there, go get your supper, and good-night to you. if you mean to champion every ill-used mortal you come across you'll not find this world a bed of roses." it must have been soon after my return from this visit that one afternoon mrs. radcliffe invited a few children from the neighbourhood to play with her daughter. there were two or three of the radcliffe kinsfolk and the brownriggs of millbeck hall, and after 44 hope the hermit. thawing our shyness with "hoodman blind" someone proposed a game of "all hid.” it fell about that audrey and i were to hide together, and as we were searching about for a good place in the little room above the porch we looked into a large old chest which stood against the wall. "let us get in here," i suggested. "why, how the thing smells! it is just as though a candle had been blown out in it." audrey scrambled in, but her attention was at once drawn to an iron ring let into the floor of the chest. she showed it to me, and we wondered that we had never noticed it before. "what can be the good of it?" i said, and, bending, down, began to tug at the ring, for no special reason, but just from curiosity. "why, a bit of the floor lifts up!" cried audrey, and then, as with much exertion i raised the square piece of wood to which the ring was fastened, we both started back with exclamations of horror, for just below, quite clearly to be seen, was the head of a bald old man. "it's a robber!" cried audrey, turning as white as a sheet and gripping hold of my arm; as for me, i was dumb with dismay, but seeing the terror in the face of this unexpected visitor, my courage began to return. "for god's sake," he cried, "do not raise an alarm. hope the hermit. 45 sir nicholas knows i am here in the secret hiding-place. he himself put me here, and if another soul learns of it my life will be in danger." "are you a quaker?" i asked, thinking of my cockermouth friend, and with some foolish connection in my mind betwixt bald heads and persecuted devotees. he smiled involuntarily at the question. “nay, i am a catholic priest, and in telling you the truth i put my life in your hands, for they hunt us as though we were wild beasts. i beg you to speak of this to no one but to sir nicholas." we both solemnly promised to keep his secret, and then shut him down once more in the hiding-place which, till that day, had been utterly unknown to anyone in the house save to sir nicholas and to one of the old servants. then we prudently chose another room for our hiding-place in the game, but took scant interest in it, and were quickly discovered. "what a stupid place!" said henry brownrigg, a boy some years my senior, who played with us in an ungracious and patronising fashion. "you were so long gone, too, that you might have done better than just creep behind curtains. hide with me, audrey, and you will see it will go much better. are there no sliding 46 hope the hermit. panels in this house? i expect you have two or three priests' holes, as they call them. come you?" now, haven't audrey had turned crimson; in another minute she would have cried. "it is not a good house for all hid," i said quickly. "let us come to the garret and dress up in the putaway clothes there; when the lamps are lighted we'll play the mummers in the hall." this idea was popular with everybody, and we skurried upstairs like rabbits, audrey giving me a grateful little nod of acknowledgment for having tided her over her difficulty. we heard no more of the hunted priest; but not very long after another catholic friend of sir nicholas radcliffe became a permanent member of the lord's island household. this was mr. noel, a gentleman who helped sir nicholas in the management of his estate, and acted as tutor, first to audrey, and eventually to me also. i think in our hearts we children knew from the first that he was a priest in disguise. the persecution of the catholics was very bitter just then owing to the revelations of dr. titus oates; and mrs. radcliffe, who belonged to the church of england, told us that sir nicholas himhope the hermit. 47 self might have run some danger of imprisonment had he not lived so peaceful and inoffensive a life. in truth he was too much of an invalid to leave the island, and no one could suspect him of having any part in the popish plot which was the talk of the land. and here i should like to say that however much mr. noel's opinions may have been wrong, his presence at lord's island was a capital thing for all of us. he was an excellent teacher, and i always found him a most kind friend; he, too, like dear old zinogle, always urged me to work and to hope, and though, for aught i can see, nothing lies before me but to become secretary to sir wilfrid lawson, i still buoy myself up with the hope of one day finding that i have an honest name of my own, and kith and kin to care what befalls me. nothing can be foreseen with certainty in these strange times; and whereas in our childhood the papists were glad to hide from the fury of the storm, now they are become most deadly tyrants, and his majesty is trying to force the fellows of magdalen at oxford to violate their statutes and their oaths, and men say he intends to turn the college into a popish seminary. law being thus wholly set aside, no clergyman throughout the land feels secure in his benefice, it being well known that king james abhors the english church, and in ejecting the clergy would not even grant that third part 48 hope the hermit. of the income which the puritans granted them when they were ejected in the civil war. however, i have yet another year at cambridge, and much may happen in this changeful world before i again see borrowdale and my friends on lord's island. hope the hermit. 49 chapter iv. "cautious, she knew never yet what a wanton courtship meant; nor speaks loud to boast her wit, in her silence eloquent: of her self survey she takes but 'tween men no difference makes." william habington. the passing years produced wonderfully little change in zinogle the fiddler. he had never looked young, and now at sixty he did not look old. his flaxen hair might have had a grey thread or two perhaps, and his face was more deeply lined, but otherwise he looked much as he had done that michaelmas day in crosthwaite church, as, twenty years later, he wandered along the wooded shore of lord's island. his fiddle was tucked under his arm, and his keen blue eyes, with their irresistible humour, their twinkling merriment, took little heed of the lovely view to the west, where the autumn sunset was already mellowing the sky and throwing a gleam of glory over the mountains. zinogle was not thinking of sunsets, he was thinking how amusing the world can be to a spectator, the little passing world of men, with their strange makeshifts, hope the hermit. i. 4 50 hope the hermit. their subtle plans, their mixed motives. "potztausend! -'tis a queer world, a most queer, topsy-turvy world!" he cried, laughing at his thoughts. "i fiddle to-night for old sir nicholas radcliffe, the papist, who this year is in the ascendant, though he had to lie low when the plot was the talk of the land. and now it's sir john lowther who is shaking in his shoes, and praying night and morning for a protestant wind to save him from the scaffold he sees in the future. a mad world, my masters -a most mad world! ha! here comes pretty mistress audrey, who, methinks, cares little for the wrangling between parties in the state, but loves her papist grandfather and her protestant mother alike, and expects them to agree in heaven, but not before, like a sensible lass." "what! zinogle!” cried a clear, fresh voice close by. and the next moment a young girl, dressed in white and wearing a wreath of mountain-ash berries and bracken in her nut-brown hair, stepped out from among the trees and eagerly greeted the fiddler. "have you seen michael? has he come?" she asked, eagerly. "ay, ay," said the old german. "he rode over from isel hall yesterday, and will be here anon. quite a man he's grown since last he was here. not that he's so tall, neither, as one might expect. i reckon he has had to rough it at cambridge, where, according to him, sizars don't have an easy time. but though he's but a hope the hermit. 51 stripling there's just the old spirit that made him ever the foremost to be after the eagles on glaramara.” "ah, yes, to be sure," said audrey, gaily. "how well i remember seeing him lowered over the crags by a rope, and how anne fisher and i could hear our hearts thumping as we watched him. we were very happy as children together in borrowdale! i wish the dear old times would return again." "why, mistress audrey, that's for an old man like me to say, not for a young maid with the best of life before her." he looked meditatively at the sweet, thoughtful face, with its delicate outline and fair colouring, its great wistful grey eyes shaded by black lashes, and the rich brown curls touched with a golden glory where the sun glinted on them. "now, zinogle, how stupid you are,” she said, laughing. "it's exactly because all my life is before me, and because things are perplexing and the future uncertain, that i want the old times back. when we were children together we were as happy as the day was long. what did we know of factions and disputes? what did money signify, or rank, or creed? as to the future, it troubled us not at all. we never thought about it, but enjoyed every day as it came." "and why not now?" asked zinogle, thrumming his strings. 4* 52 hope the hermit. "why not?" she asked, hesitatingly. "why, because things happen so contrarily, and thoughts will come troubling, whether we want them or not.” for answer zinogle drew his bow across the strings, and to a fantastic accompaniment, and in the most mirth-provoking fashion, sang a verse of "begone, dull care". merely to look at his face as he sang was irresistible, and audrey's laughter rang through the wood. "if i only had you always at hand, zinogle, i should never be in the dumps," she said, merrily. "maybe," said zinogle, hugely pleased with her compliment; "but there is always an 'if only' with all of us. if only i could have a good tankard of home-brewed now i could have sung that more musically.” "then go to the house and get it," said audrey, blithely. "but come back again; don't forget to come back." "what a funny old fellow he is!" she said to herself. "he is quite right, i ought to be happy enough to-day; here's my foster-brother come back after his long absence, and to-night there will be the tenants' merrymaking in the hall, and all the hallowe'en sports, and henry brownrigg and his sister coming to see the fun. i'm afraid michael will not be over-glad to see them, for in old days he never did like the brownriggs; they never seem to forget that he is a foundling, though, after all, hope the hermit. 53 it's no shame to him. michael was always too ready to he seemed to feel a sneer as mind being laughed at. other people feel a blow. ah! there's a boat coming across from st. herbert's isle! michael must be coming!" she started up from the log on which she had been resting, and ran down to the water's edge, her face lighting up radiantly as she recognised her old playmate. "michael!" she cried, in her clear voice, fearful lest he should go to the chief landing-stage. the rower glanced round, waved his hat in greeting, and hastily put in to the little creek on the island close to which she was standing. "zinogle told me you were here," she said, as he sprang on shore and caught her hand in his. "he told me of you and he told me of the periwig. it is well i was forewarned, or i should have been afraid of so fine a gentleman. welcome to lord's island, sir," and she swept him a mocking curtsey, to which he responded by a profound bow. "madam, your humble servant," he said, with a smile which quite disguised his secret nervousness. the most noticeable things about him were his eyes, which were extraordinarily bright, and of that golden colour which makes one think of sunlight on a mountain stream. for the rest his well-cut features and rather 54 hope the hermit. short face seemed to be of the welsh type, and though wiry and athletic he was neither tall nor particularly strong-looking, but had a resolute expression bespeaking great powers of endurance. "after all, save for the periwig, i don't think you are much altered," said audrey, gaily, "and you have grown monstrous silent. there's a great change there; has cambridge cultivated your brain at the expense of your tongue?" "in the words of the riddle it's only tongue and brains that make the best dish for conversation," he replied, with a laugh. "cambridge is not to be blamed, but rather the spell of this place and the change in you." "what!" she cried, with a roguish little glance, "have i turned into a gorgon during your absence, and do i now freeze you into silence? in what, pray, am i changed?" "you are a thousand times more beautiful," he said, in a voice so low and reverent that it seemed like an act of worship. but audrey failed to catch its significance; he was to her nothing but her old comrade, and people are seldom very observant under those circumstances. "they teach you to make compliments at cambridge," she said, laughing-"a very dangerous practice let me tell you, sir, and not to be tolerated from a fosterhope the hermit. 55 brother. we two, at anyrate, will speak the truth together. come!"—she slipped her hand into his as she would have done years ago-"let us sit down here for awhile and chat; there are many things i want to hear and to tell." michael had winced involuntarily at the word brother; he could hardly tell whether it was pleasure or torture to him to feel her hand resting carelessly in his; but they walked together to the fallen tree, and there sat talking in friendly fashion. "and so your cambridge days are over," she said. "and zinogle tells me you found the life of a sizar a rough one." "it was what my life is like to prove from beginning to end," he said. "one of uncertain position, one which must be always looked down on and held in contempt. as for the menial part of the work that fell to me, i cared nothing about that. it was honest labour, and there was no disgrace in it; but the thing which galled one was the contempt of other men whose lot chanced to be happier." audrey's face had grown thoughtful and tender. her thoughts flew back to a time when michael had been a daily scholar at the keswick high school, founded in the days of the tudors, and she remembered how zinogle the fiddler had once brought him to lord's 56 hope the hermit. island, more dead than alive, after fighting henry brownrigg, a boy nearly twice his size. "why did you fight him?" her mother had asked as she bathed his face. "he called me base-born," replied michael, with an indignation which had made a deep impression on his little foster-sister. and from that day forward there had always been a sort of feud between michael and his antagonist, though of late years they had seen nothing of each other. "i suppose anne fisher really knows no more than what she always told us as children?" said audrey. "no, i questioned her only yesterday, and sir wilfrid and dickon, the gillie, did their utmust to trace things out at the time, but failed." "then why trouble any more about it?" said audrey; "after all, what does it matter? 'what's in a name?' as the bard of avon sings." "all the difference betwixt honour and dishonour at times," said michael, with a sigh. "this ring—” he took off the sapphire ring he was wearing and glanced at the poesy inscribed on it; "this ring may be clear proof to my own mind that my mother was wedded, but it is no legal proof whatever." "for my part," said audrey, holding out her hand for the ring and looking at it attentively, "i could weave a whole romance out of this. they were good and hope the hermit. 57 godfearing people, your parents, else wherefore this motto, and some treacherous servant, out of spite, made away with you on the death of your mother; your father was away from home, and either believed that you had died at your birth or else learnt something of the truth and still searches all england for you. then the wicked nurse who had hoped to get him into her power and to step into the place of her late mistress, and win the estate for her children, pined away and came to a miserable end, as the covetors of land and money always do. did you never hear the tale of my great-aunt isabella?" "who was she?" "i never saw her, she died six years ago, and had long been bedridden. you must have heard of my great-uncle radcliffe, a younger brother of my grandfather's. well, the story goes no sooner was i born and great-uncle radcliffe became heir to the estate-not this island, which belongs, of course, to the radcliffes of dilston, but heir to goldrill, near ulleswater—this fair lady isabella, who for some reason had ever coveted the estate, straightway consented to wed my great-uncle; and there was born to them a most lovely child, a son, who was the delight of both father and mother. when this child was but three years old he fell into the beck which runs past the house, and his mother saw his peril and tried to save him but could not; and the terrible 58 hope the hermit. sight of his death wholly shattered her health, poor lady." "have you ever seen your great-uncle?” "i have no remembrance of him," said audrey. "after the death of his son he lived in london, and at the time of the so-called popish plot he was for long in prison and in peril of his life, although he was innocent enough, like many others in those times who fell victims to that false-tongued dr. titus oates." "have a care," said michael; "it is not always safe to denounce dr. oates even yet. there are some that would take you for a papist an you spoke like that. here comes zinogle. any news to-day in keswick, zinogle?" "why yes, sir, there has come news that the prince of orange set sail last week, but after two days at sea was driven back by reason of a great tempest, and they do say that sir john lowther is in the dumps, and prays night and day for a protestant wind." ""tis like enough," said michael. "for if the prince does not come to deliver us from the king's tyranny he will pay dearly for his expedition the other night." "is it, then, really true that sir john armed his tenants?" asked audrey. "my mother heard some rumour of it, but in our divided household we seldom learn the truth of things." "tell it not in gath, but i was in the expedition hope the hermit. 59 myself," said michael, his face lighting up. "by great good fortune sir wilfrid had sent me over to sir john lowther's with important papers for his perusal. and it so chanced that andrew huddleston, of hutton john, brought word to the lowthers that a ship would arrive at workington laden with arms and ammunition for the popish garrison at carlisle. then there was such a mustering of the tenants as it would have done your heart good to see, and we were marched by night to the coast, and forced the vessel to surrender. that was the first act of the drama, but the second act does not prosper so well. of course, the prince of orange should have been here by now, but thanks to contrary winds he is yet in holland.” "i care not whether he comes or no, so that they do not molest my grandfather," said audrey. "no one would molest him," said michael, warmly. "they say, moreover, that the prince of orange is tolerant and just, and a papist who lives in peace with his neighbours, and seeks not to meddle with the liberties of englishmen, is not likely to be in any peril." "perhaps not, yet i would that dr. oates were safely out of the way," said audrey. then as zinogle wandered away playing his favourite air, "lady francis nevill's delight," she said, lowering her voice, "can you ever forget that poor old priest we suddenly came upon in the secret hiding-place?" 60 hope the hermit. "no," said michael. "what awful terror there was in his face when we suddenly unearthed him in our game of all hid. it was well for him we were the children, and not any of the brownrigg clan; they would certainly have betrayed him, and brought trouble on your grandfather, and perhaps death to the refugee.” "it was well that he let us tell my grandfather, otherwise i could never have borne it," said audrey. "and do you know, michael, i believe it was your courage and your silence that day that first made my grandfather take so kindly to you. he always speaks of you with respect." "i wonder what became of the priest?" said michael. "i asked my grandfather not long since. he said that he escaped the following day, and went over to ireland, and then, i think, to france. he is alive now, but where i don't know. what should you do in a like case now that you are a man? should you harbour a papist?" "that would depend on the sort of man he proved to be. such an one as sir nicholas radcliffe i would most certainly shield and protect had i the chance, but for the lying scoundrels who would bring free englishmen under the thraldom of rome, why i would not lift a finger to help them. as for sir nicholas, he is one of the best men living, and differences of creed come not to one's mind when speaking with him." hope the hermit. 61 "there is the bell ringing to summon us to the merry-making," said audrey, springing up from the fallen "now let us forget all cares, and only remember that it is allhallows e'en." tree. 62 hope the hermit. chapter v. recollections of michael derwent. written in the month of november, 1688, at st. herbert's isle, derwentwater. "honour and shame from no condition rise; act well your part, there all the honour lies. fortune in men has some small diff'rence made, one flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade; the cobbler apron'd, and the parson gown'd, the friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd." alexander pope. when, after my long absence at cambridge, i once more saw audrey radcliffe, she bade me to a merrymaking and said that we were to forget all cares, it being hallowe'en. her face had been a trifle grave a moment before, our talk having turned upon religious differences, which ever bring some sadness into the happiest of homes; but it lit up as she spoke with its old look of radiant, childlike happiness. never, surely, was there a more winsome face than hers, with its frank, sweet look, its freedom from all that was artificial. one would as soon have expected the noble beech trees in the pleasance to lend themselves to the grotesque figures hope the hermit. 63 into which gardeners hack box bushes, as have expected audrey to abandon her free, natural manner for the catand-mouse tactics which most women adopt. to talk with her was like talking with a boy, so free was she from any trying after effect, only all the time one was conscious of a sweet, subtle difference, and knew that she was just a pure-minded woman who had grown up among the hills and dales of the dear old north-country, and was as yet heart-whole as a child. we walked slowly towards the old house, a fifteenthcentury mansion built of rough-hewn stone, but now, since the stormy times of the great civil war, sadly falling into decay. sir wilfrid lawson has often told me what stirring times they had then, even in this quiet part of the world, for lord's island was garrisoned for the king by old sir edward radcliffe, while st. herbert's isle-the lawson property-was garrisoned, of course, for the parliament. naturally lord's island came off the worst, and the large private chapel, which, to judge by the fragments remaining, must have been a fine building, was unroofed, leaving little standing but the eastern wall and its pointed window, with ivy and creepers now festooning the broken tracery. the dining-room, moreover, which adjoined it, was half-demolished, so that there only remained on the ground floor three rooms for the family use. sir francis radcliffe, the present head of the der64 hope the hermit. it wentwater family, lived wholly on his great property at dilston, in northumberland, and they say that it was only to humour a fancy of his kinsman, old sir nicholas, that he permitted this younger branch of the derwentwaters to reside in the old house. in his heart of hearts sir nicholas believes that the lord's island property should really have been his, he being the descendant of nicholas radcliffe, gentleman, of keswick, fourth son of sir thomas radcliffe, who built the house. seems there was a family arrangement made by which the first son was disinherited, and was only to be allowed occupation by sufferance during his life, after which the estate was to pass to the other sons and their descendants. however, when the time came for this extraordinary arrangement to be carried out, the son of the disinherited heir was allowed to succeed, and, being a man of much force of character, he made for himself a good position and devised the estate at his death. this story of the far past still rankles, nevertheless, in the mind of old sir nicholas, who spends much of his time in poring over musty old deeds and trying to prove to the satisfaction of the lawyers that he should really be owner of lord's island instead of merely the occupant of this half-dismantled house. audrey led me through the withdrawing-room into the great hall, where the tenants were already gathering in answer to the big bell which clanged overhead in the hope the hermit. 65 tower. standing to welcome them was old sir nicholas in his mulberry-coloured coat. he was not in the least altered; indeed, he appeared to me, if anything, younger, for, as a boy, i had always thought of him as a very aged man. now there seemed to me, after all, to be much vitality in the gentle old face, though he had already reached his threescore years and ten. his mild blue eyes had always to me the look of some mediaval saint, and they glanced at me very kindly when he spoke and bade me welcome to lord's island. it was in audrey's mother that i noticed more plainly the havoc that time had wrought. she had never been strong, and now her hair was quite grey, while there were lines that told of pain and anxiety about her mouth. one does not think much about one's elders in childhood, but, coming back to the old scenes again, it struck me for the first time what a difficult life mrs. marmaduke radcliffe had led. even the days of her courtship must have been troubled, for it had sorely displeased sir nicholas that his heir should fall in love with a dowerless maid, and a protestant to boot, and marmaduke had made matters still more trying to his father by joining the church of england himself, and leaving directions in his will that his children should be brought up in the same faith. then he had died before they had been married a year, and his widow had still further disappointed sir nicholas by giving birth to a daughter hope the hermit. i. 5 66 hope the hermit. instead of a son, whereby the goldrill estate would pass upon his death to his younger brother, who, although of his own creed, was not a man in whom anyone put much confidence-at least, so i have heard zinogle say. mrs. radcliffe put many questions to me about my life at cambridge, to which i replied dutifully, though, at the same time, i could not forbear now and again glancing at audrey as she moved about, chatting now with this tenant, now with that. she had grown up among them much as i had done, and she loved and respected these sturdy north-country folk, and they, needless to say, were quite ready to like one so winsome. "and what are your plans now?" asked mrs. radcliffe. her voice made me start guiltily, for, truth to tell, i had paid no very great heed to what she had been saying as to the changes that had come about during my absence, or at anyrate had given it but a divided attention, hearing also audrey's merry talk with zinogle. "what are your plans?" said mrs. radcliffe once more, and there was something in her look and tone that disconcerted me horribly. i felt as if my heart had been suddenly laid bare before her, as if she knew all about the love which had quietly grown with my growth and strengthened with my strength, and had now taken possession of me body and soul. i grew hot all over hope the hermit. 67 beneath the searching inquiry of those grey eyes, which were so like audrey's in shape and colour, but so unlike in expression. i stammered like a stupid schoolboy. "sir wilfrid lawson has made me his secretary, ma'am," i explained. "i shall be sometimes at the house on st. herbert's isle, but more often at isel hall." mrs. radcliffe looked relieved, for isel hall lies beyond bassenthwaite and cockermouth, and is, as i found to my cost, a most cruel distance from lord's island. and at the thought of this and the recollection that it was sheer midsummer madness for a poor and penniless foundling of doubtful birth to woo audrey radcliffe, a great heaviness fell upon me, and maybe it would have been better had that sobering recollection continued to weigh me down. unfortunately, all things seem possible at twenty, and no sooner had zinogle played the first two or three bars of the merry air "come, lasses and lads," than my spirits had risen again, and before the great bell had ceased clanging i had asked audrey to be my partner in the country dance, and we were galloping down the middle and up again. i do not know whether at court audrey would have been considered a good dancer; perhaps in the stiff and stately minuets she might not have excelled, but at a country dance no one could beat her; she was all life and animation and gaiety; she enjoyed it as unfeignedly 5* 68 hope the hermit. as a child. as for me, naturally enough, i was in the seventh heaven of happiness, and came down to earth again with a shock as zinogle ceased playing, and-the dance being over-we suddenly perceived that two visitors had entered the hall while it was in progress, and were now talking to sir nicholas and mrs. radcliffe. audrey just glanced at me, and then laughed. "i see you do not recognise them," she said. "come and let me introduce you." there was no doubt that the guest who stood talking to sir nicholas was a remarkably fine man. his huge proportions seemed to dwarf the old knight altogether; he was broad and massive, and held his head very erect, as though calmly conscious of his own immense superiority to the average mortals he met. at the first glance i disliked the fellow, but when i saw him stoop to salute audrey, and speak to her in his affected, patronising tone, i longed to kick him. "here is an old schoolfellow of yours," she said, cheerfully; "but you fail to recognise each other. let me present mr. derwent, mr. brownrigg." i bowed stiffly, but henry brownrigg with a laugh— artificial as the rest of his manners and customs-held out his huge hand, and said in most patronising tones, "what, michael derwent, the foundling? i had almost forgotten your existence. what have you been doing with yourself all this time?" hope the hermit. 69 there was nothing for it but to take the massive hand he proffered; it was so broad and large that it felt like shaking hands with a beef-steak. i muttered something about cambridge, and sir wilfrid lawson, angry with myself for letting this conceited fellow put me so foolishly out of countenance. "ah, to be sure; sir wilfrid lawson was your patron from the first; i remember now," he said, looking me over in his supercilious way. "don't you find him rather too outspoken-rather uncompromising? he seems to me a dangerous patron in these dubious days, when no one knows which way things will turn." "he has always been a good friend to me," i said, hotly, "and it scarcely becomes his secretary to criticise him." "oh, he has made you his secretary?" said brownrigg, with a covert sneer. "i see; you are, of course, quite tight; you mustn't bite the hand that feeds you." with that he turned his back upon me and began to talk in a low voice to audrey, who seemed very well pleased with his attentions, as indeed was most natural, for there was no denying that he was a fine fellow, though of a type i instinctively loathe. old sir nicholas glanced at them thoughtfully, then with a slight shrug of the shoulders he turned to me and said in his kind, courteous fashion, "if you will come with me into my study we will have a chat with 70 hope the hermit. your old friend and tutor, mr. noel; i see him over yonder, listening to one of william hollins' tales." and, truly enough, on looking across the hall i saw that mr. noel, while listening to the farmer's talk, had his keen grey eyes fixed upon our group, and had evidently noticed all that had passed. he gave me a very pleasant greeting and we followed the old knight into his study, a small, square room leading out of the hall. it was lighted only by the blazing fire on the hearth, and through the uncurtained window we could see the moonlight on the water and the dark outline of skiddaw against the pale sky. sir nicholas, tired with the effort of receiving his guests, sank down wearily in his armchair, while mr. noel held me for some time in talk by the window. he had lived for the last ten years with sir nicholas, and passed for his secretary; he kept all the household accounts, looked after the property at patterdale which belonged to this younger branch of the derwentwaters, and during our childhood had acted as tutor to audrey. he wore secular dress, but of late years it had become an open secret in the neighbourhood that he was in reality a priest, probably one of the many papists who had been in peril of their lives during the late king's reign, when panic had possessed the country and many false reports had been spread abroad. mr. noel had always been exceptionally kind to me, hope the hermit. 71 as i said before, and it was largely through his influence that audrey and i had been permitted to continue friends after our actual childhood was over; it was from him that i had learnt many things which i could never have learnt in the keswick high school; and my success at cambridge was due to the thoroughness of the grounding which he had given me in his leisure hours. mrs. radcliffe had taken good care that he should never interfere with our religious views; but i am not sure that i could have resisted his strong, indirect influence had i not been withdrawn from it during the most critical years of life and plunged into the wider world of the university. coming back to my old friend and teacher after these years of absence, i noticed one or two things about him which as a boy had wholly escaped me. beneath his polished manners and his kindly, quiet way of talking there was a suggestion of hardness. his power of reading people's thoughts seemed almost uncanny, and he presented a curious contrast to the saintly old knight, for where the one was simple as a child the other was evidently a man of schemes, though always, i should fancy, schemes woven for what he thought the benefit of others, since he was a good and a kind-hearted man. the more he talked to me, however, that evening, the more i became conscious that he looked upon life as a very serious game of chess which the almighty had set 72 hope the hermit. him to play with the devil as opponent. we the laity whom he came across-were merely the pieces in the game, to be moved as he thought best. and i am sure he honestly believed that free-will was only given to the laity that they might resign their wills into the hands of the priest, who would mediate betwixt them and heaven, guide all their affairs with the discretion and wisdom which come from knowing the secrets of all other men in the confessional, and, saving us a mort of trouble, would personally conduct us through life in the easiest way conceivable. nevertheless, though in common with the vast majority of englishmen i abhorred this notion of priestly domination, i loved my old friend very heartily, and spite of his failure to number me among his converts i think he loved me, too. there were three things which bound us closely together; the first was a mutual admiration for old sir nicholas and his island home, the second was a love of climbing the fells and crags of borrowdale, and the third was a common detestation of henry brownrigg. my heart warmed to the old tutor when i found that this last was stronger than ever. "why are the brownriggs here to-night?" i questioned, seeing that sir nicholas had fallen asleep, and that it was possible to inquire. hope the hermit. 73 "why, indeed?" said mr. noel, shaking his head. "i know not; it is mrs. radcliffe's doing. i believe she maintains that the sister is a good friend for mistress audrey. all i can say is that it is invariably the brother who talks to her." i winced as his searching eyes rested for a moment on my face, being sure that the torturing jealousy which for the first time filled my heart must have been clearly visible. but mr. noel was always full of tact; there was no slightest reference to audrey in his next remark. "henry brownrigg," he said, "thinks himself a fine gentleman, but i can only say that for all his london manners and his fine clothes he is but pinchbeck after all. the poorest statesman in borrowdale would have had better breeding than to greet you in the fashion he did to-night." "sir," i said, "as a lad you always bade me to wait and to ask no questions, but i can wait no longer. i must and will try to unravel the mystery of my parentage." "i still advise you to wait," said mr. noel, thoughtfully. "had there been any chance of discovering the truth do you not think it would have transpired in twenty years' time? besides, what will you gain? it is pretty clear from the clothes in which you were found that you are of gentle birth, and to my mind it is 74 hope the hermit. clear that this ring shows that you were born in wedlock." "i was always grateful to you for holding that the ring was evidence," i replied. "but no one else accepts it as evidence; even mrs. radcliffe, kind as she is, never admitted that it proved anything." "mrs. radcliffe invariably takes the opposite side to any opinion of mine," said mr. noel, smiling somewhat grimly. "her protestant prejudice is too strong to allow her to put faith in anything i do, or in any conclusion i draw." there was a touch of bitterness in his tone at which one could not wonder, for what he said was true enough. mrs. radcliffe, though always civil to him, could not bring herself to trust him. they had lived under the same roof twenty years, but in reality they knew little of each other, as both were lynx-eyed to detect the other's faults, and somehow never succeeded in reaching that meeting-place of mutual interest which must be gained before heart can answer to heart. our talk was interrupted just at this point. i felt a light touch on my arm which thrilled me through and through. there stood audrey, looking more exquisite than ever in the pale moonlight. "what grave discourses are you having?" she exclaimed, merrily, yet speaking low for fear of disturbhope the hermit. 75 ing sir nicholas. "come into the hall and let us roast our chestnuts and see what fortune lies before us. zinogle and some of the others are playing at bob apple and the sight would make even a quaker laugh." 76 hope the hermit. chapter vi. recollections of michael derwent (continued). "but truth by its own sinews will prevail." dryden. during the next few days sir wilfrid kept me hard at work, and it was not until sunday that i again had a chance of seeing audrey. after service, as we came out of crosthwaite church, i had the good fortune to overtake her, and while sir wilfrid walked with mrs. radcliffe it fell to my share to carry audrey's prayerbook for her and to escort her to the landing-place. it was then that i was able to tell her of our old fostermother's invitation to spend a day with her at grange; and audrey, who had a great love for the place where some of the happiest years of our childhood had been spent, quickly gained her mother's permission, and it was arranged that dickon and i should call for her in the boat early in the morning when the weather permitted, and that we should spend a long day with anne fisher at grange farm. poets have sung dismal ditties about november, but as a matter of fact that particular november morning hope the hermit. 77 when we set out on our expedition was the most beautiful day conceivable. the sun had just dispersed the thick mist which had shrouded derwentwater, but here and there on the side of skiddaw foam-like wreaths still lingered. causey pike had but lately thrown back its silvery veil, and now rose radiant in the morning sunshine, a light sprinkling of snow on its summit, which contrasted with the golden brown bracken on catbells; while the thickly-wooded shore, with its dark green firtrees and golden beeches and russet oaks, fast thinning after the recent gales, made a perfect setting to the glassy stillness of the water. audrey sat in the stern, closely wrapped in a cloak of lincoln green cloth, and wearing a little puritan hood in black velvet bordered with fur which suited her vastly well. "have you heard any news?" she asked, anxiously. "nothing certain," i replied. "sir wilfrid heard last night in keswick that there were some that had seen the prince of orange embark at brill on wednesday, and that the princess had been there to take leave of him and wish him god-speed. but this may be mere idle gossip. it is thought he will land here in the north. i only wish we had a chance to see him." "they say he hath a sour temper," said audrey, "but that he is all for toleration. in any case he must be better than king james, who seems the most cruel78 hope the hermit. hearted bigot that ever wore the crown. talk no more of such vexed questions. ceeded yet in your quest?" well, let us have you suc"no," i replied; "but to-day i mean to question anne fisher more closely, and dickon hath been showing me the exact spot in borrowdale where he and sir wilfrid rescued me." "you must show it to me," said audrey, eagerly; "i never understood precisely where it was. let us come there first, for anne will be busy making ready the dinner, and will not have time to talk to us yet." accordingly we left dickon and the boat at lowdore, and made our way along the mule-track to grange, paused just to greet our foster-mother at the farm, and then wandered into borrowdale, making our way along the riverside and talking as friends talk when they have been parted for a long time and have great arrears to make up. at last we came to the place where, not far from the bowder stone, the river, after a broad, shallow reach, grows somewhat narrower, and without much difficulty i found my way again to the old hollow oak which dickon had pointed out to me. here, some three years after my birth, they had discovered the remains of an old cloak much weather-stained and covered with mildew, but with a ribbon torn from it in one place, hope the hermit. 79 which anne fisher stoutly maintained was without question the ribbon which had bound the ring about me. "and where did dickon and sir wilfrid find you?” said audrey. "close to the river, just by this birch tree, roaring, they say, at the top of my voice." "what hard hearts they must have had who deserted you!" she exclaimed. "they can have been only hirelings. i wonder whether those who found the cloak searched for other things hidden in the tree." "let us come and look," i said, turning back to the oak. nothing, however, was to be seen, and, giving up the search, we sat down to rest and chat; and, truth to tell, i was too happy in the present and too full of dreams for the future to care much about what had happened twenty years ago. "look at this ant!" exclaimed audrey, laughing. "it is toiling along with a grain almost as large as itself. there it goes down the crack by that large stone. here comes another and another; we must be on the highroad to an anthill." with a mischievous smile she tried to lift the big stone, but it was too heavy. "you will cause a terrible commotion in that ant kingdom," i said, remonstratingly. "never mind," she said, laughing. "they must have 80 hope the hermit. their revolutions just as we do. now please enact the prince of orange, and let me see what is going on in that world below." i tore up the big stone from the moss and earth in which it was embedded. the ants scurried away in all directions, but we scarcely heeded them, for the sun glinted on something bright and shining; it was the gold setting of an oval miniature which lay there unharmed. in the earth. lifting it up eagerly and rubbing the mould from the glass, i saw the face of a beautiful girl with soft brown curls lying on her white shoulders; the face somehow seemed familiar to me. i turned to audrey in amazement. "who is it?" i said. "how do i know these features so well?" "why," said audrey, looking gravely first at the miniature and then at me, "there can be no doubt whatever about it. this must be your mother; you are her living image, only with the strength of a man in your look. see, the face is rather short, the cheekbones somewhat high, and the moulding of mouth and chin and the very bright eyes-why, they are precisely like yours." we turned the miniature over and searched anxiously for any trace of a name, but there was none, nor could we imagine why the miniature should have been hidden in this extraordinary fashion; it almost looked as though hope the hermit. 81 the hirelings who had deserted me had some special dislike to my mother. we went back to grange farm to show the treasure we had discovered to anne fisher, and she, too, instantly recognised the likeness which had struck us both. unluckily it conveyed to her mind an idea which had not occurred to me. when audrey was out looking at her old friends the pigeons my foster-mother drew me aside to give me a word of counsel. "keep this quiet, my lad," she said, "for i fear it points more to your mother's shame than anything yet has done. no doubt it was the old story of a wilytongued deceiver, and maybe she died at your birth, and her family put away all remembrance of her and left you to perish. depend upon it, lad, there's shame in the story, and you would do well not to search further." "would you have me believe anything evil of such an one as this?" i asked, looking again at the lovely face, which was as guileless as the face of a child. "ah, lad, you are young," she said. "god knows life is harder for such as have a face like this, for they'll have sair temptations, and willna find it easy faring. but don't take it too heavily. you are not the first that has been born nameless and yet has done good work in the world." but though she spoke cheeringly my heart sank hope the hermit. 1. 6 82 hope the hermit, down like lead, for i thought of audrey, and felt more than ever cut off from her, and i thought of henry brownrigg with a sort of dumb fury. then i remembered the ring and the motto, and felt certain that at anyrate my mother must have been deceived by some mock marriage; to think otherwise of that exquisitely pure face was impossible. it was my father who had betrayed her and forsaken me and tossed aside the very picture of the girl whose life he had ruined. for what had i found this miniature if not to aid me in tracing him out and calling him to account? the truth should be dragged from him, cost what it might, and my mother should be avenged. "come, my lad," said anne fisher; "dinner is ready. will you go and tell mistress audrey?” i strode out of the house-place, and, standing in the porch, saw that audrey was surrounded by pigeons, which she was feeding. one that was specially tame had perched on her shoulder and was eating from her hand. "there, you greedy birds," she cried; "you have eaten every grain, now fly away and let me go to my dinner." she clapped her hands and away flew the pigeons, their white wings flashing in the sunlight, and making a vivid streak of brightness against the purple-grey heights of maiden moor, hope the hermit. 83 "oh, mic!" she said, "how good it is to be here, away from all cares and anxieties! what pleasant summer visits we used to have here! i could almost wish we were just children again. by-the-bye, i never heard what you thought of henry brownrigg. not grown into a fine-looking man?" "very," i said, drily. has he "he is so tall and strong," she said, reflectively; “i do like those great big men." "yes, women always admire that 'prize ox' kind of man," i said, with a touch of bitterness, which did not escape her. "now, michael,” she said, laughing, "i am not going to allow you to make an eternal feud out of a schoolboy quarrel. you two will have to be good friends now. that you have come back to the north. don't be cross; come and be fed." it was impossible to resist her coaxing, merry face; we went into the house-place, and anne fisher feasted us with all the favourite dishes of our childhood, beginning with eggs and bacon and ending with girdle cakes. it was dusk when dickon and i rowed audrey back to lord's island; i remember that she sang, as she sat in the stern, that quaint old song which begins, "now, robin, lend to me thy bow". her voice was quite untrained, but sweet and clear as a bird's. when she had 6* 84 hope the hermit. left us it seemed to me that all the brightness had gone out of my world. "let us come to keswick," i said to dickon. "sir wilfrid will want to hear if any news has come, and i must speak to zinogle." the german fiddler lived in the market-place in a house not far from that of sir john banks. he owned a couple of the upper rooms, and had no belongings in the world but his fiddle and his dog; also, perhaps, i should add his pipe, which was, he always maintained, the best of companions. i found him as usual in an atmosphere of music and tobacco, and he seemed not a little interested in the miniature when i showed it to him. he agreed with anne fisher that it would be as well were i not to mention it to people in general. "there is one person, though, that ought to see it," he remarked, "and that is mr. noel. show it to him and see what he says." "yes, i will show it him," i replied; "he always maintained that the ring was a wedding-ring." "did it ever strike you that he perhaps knows more than he says?" asked zinogle, his keen eyes looking right into mine. "if he knew the truth surely he would tell it," i said; "but no, it is impossible. from the way in which he was talking only the other night it's clear to me that hope the hermit. 85 he knows nothing. he was saying that if it had been possible for the truth to come out it would surely have transpired in twenty years." "h'm," grunted zinogle, "you might take that saying in two ways. he is deep and subtle. i still think he knows the truth; and if he learnt it in the confessional, why, his tongue is tied. that must be a bad predicament for an honest man, to know, perhaps, of some atrocious wrong and to be unable to speak and save the innocent." "the whole system is an accursed one," i said, hotly. "ha! what is that hubbub in the market-place?" such a shouting and cheering and huzzaing as i had never heard in quiet little keswick rent the air. we thrust our heads out of the window, and saw that the people were crowding round a rider who had drawn rein at the town hall, a quaint old timber building in the centre of the square. "the prince must have landed!" cried zinogle, and with one accord we rushed downstairs and out into the market-place, there to hear the welcome tidings that on the morning of the 5th the prince of orange had landed at brixham in devonshire, and that king james would no longer be free to trample the laws of england under foot. we had expected the landing to be in the north, and ever since the trial of the seven bishops prepara86 hope the hermit. tions for a rising had been silently going on under the leadership of the earl of devonshire, the earl of derby, and my lord lumley. it was something of a disappointment that brixham should have chanced to be the landing-place, but as there was no question of fighting, at anyrate at present, we cumbrians worked off our excitement in other ways, and there was a hurried climbing of skiddaw to kindle the beacon, which had last been fired when the seven bishops were acquitted in the summer. the night was clear and frosty, and the beacon blazed gloriously in the still air, bearing its good tidings into many a distant dale and town. one old veteran, who had climbed as lustily as any of us youngsters, stood with his white head uncovered, and solemnly gave thanks to god for having sent a deliverer to the nation, and then zinogle, who for all his comic vein had a grave side as well to his character, played on his fiddle the first line of the old hundredth, and we all fell in with his thought and sang the psalm which more than any other tends to deepen joy and quicken gratitude. then came a race down the mountain at some peril to our necks, and after pushing our way through the thronged market-square, where many drunken revellers were shouting "lero, lero, lillibulero," at the tops of their voices, dickon and i made our way to the landingplace and rowed across the quiet water to st. herbert's hope the hermit. 87 isle. there was a faint yellow light in audrey's bedchamber, and it looked pale as a primrose in contrast with the red glare of the beacon, which still blazed on skiddaw. i wondered much how the news would affect the divided household on lord's island. 88 hope the hermit. chapter vii. "oh, liberty! thou goddess heav'nly bright, profuse of bliss and pregnant with delight! eternal pleasures in thy presence reign, and smiling plenty leads thy wanton train; eas'd of her load, subjection grows more light, and poverty looks cheerful in thy sight; thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay, giv'st beauty to the sun and pleasure to the day." addison. as michael rowed past lord's island the old knight and his chaplain were sitting by the hearth in the study, talking gravely over the great event of the day. that unwelcome red glare in the sky, that blazing beacon on skiddaw, had roused even gentle old sir nicholas to think anxiously of the future which lay before them. but it was not so much of the country in general as of his own estate and his own private affairs that sir nicholas thought. "i fancy however things turn they will not molest me," he said. "they know that i meddle not in affairs of state, and that for the last year i have not even quitted the island. but when my brother succeeds to the estate matters will be very different. he has ever hope the hermit. 89 been headstrong and over-much embroiled in plots and politics. if this scheme of my daughter-in-law for marrying audrey to young mr. brownrigg is carried out i foresee nothing but storms in the future." "that is too true," said mr. noel, thoughtfully. "it would be to henry brownrigg's interest to get your brother out of the way and seize on the estate in his wife's name. oh, he is quite capable of that, for he is ambitious and a lover of money, besides being as bitter a protestant as ever i met. if he had his way every catholic would be driven from the land. heaven grant that pretty mistress audrey may never be his wife." "amen to that," said sir nicholas, feebly rubbing his thin hands. "it is the wish of my heart to see her wedded to young cuthbert salkeld, who is not only rich, but a good catholic and of excellent character. her mother is bitterly opposed to it, however, and will not hear of her being given in marriage to any but a protestant." "how mrs. radcliffe can be hoodwinked by such an overbearing and pragmatical piece of conceit as henry brownrigg passes my understanding," said mr. noel. "but she can see no fault in him. and what is more, if she encourages his suit, i fear mistress audrey will be won over, for no doubt he is a fine figure of a man, and that goes for much with one so young. if it be indeed out of the question to urge the 90 hope the hermit. marriage with mr. salkeld, how would it be to take advantage of michael derwent's perfectly evident devotion to your granddaughter?" "eh? what? does the wind sit in that quarter?" said sir nicholas, with some surprise. "i knew they were good friends, but never guessed that the boy dreamt of such a thing." "he has said naught," said mr. noel, "but i have known him all his life, and can read his face like a book. he is very much in love-there is no doubt of that." "but his birth, father, and his fortune? in no way is he a fitting match for my granddaughter." "oh, as for his birth, that is indeed a mystery," said mr. noel; "but everything pointed to his being of gentle lineage. as for money, it is true that he hath but what he earns, yet i am much mistaken if he does not make his mark in the world. then, although he is a protestant, and for that reason might prove acceptable as a son-in-law to mrs. radcliffe, he is no bigot, as we have good reason to know. indeed, i am sure he would be the very one to help and shelter any catholic, if he deemed him hardly dealt with by the government. there is a generosity about michael derwent which is wholly wanting in such men as henry brownrigg." "yes, yes, they are poles apart, and i like the lad hope the hermit. 91 well enough. still, it is not such a match as a radcliffe might have looked for." the priest's face bore a curious expression; one might almost have fancied that there was a momentary gleam of humour in his grey eyes. he turned away, and began to pace the room restlessly. "of course, the other match would be in every way more desirable," he said; "young salkeld is a good catholic and will succeed to the title, but that seems out of the question during mrs. radcliffe's lifetime. the point now is whether, to get rid of the brownrigg incubus, it might not be worth while to encourage michael derwent." "i leave it to you," said sir nicholas, with a sigh. "such things are better managed by active and observant people. i am merely a recluse. you love audrey, and have her best interests at heart. act as it seems well to you. for my own part, i have always liked michael." mr. noel was quite ready to echo these last words, for his affection for his pupil was perfectly genuine. nevertheless, he had no scruples as to using michael in whatever way seemed best for the general furtherance of his well-meaning schemes; and it was quite possible, as he now foresaw, that, after encouraging his passion for audrey, circumstances might arise which would make it politic to reverse these tactics. there were so many things which might alter the 92 hope the hermit. whole state of affairs. not only private happenings, but the troubled and uncertain state of the country, made it a most interesting problem for the priest's brain to busy itself with. he sat musing over it in silence. the salkeld marriage was the move he had actually planned, but his opponent's play had necessitated a new development, in which michael for a time was to be the piece brought into action. he, meanwhile, quite unconscious of all this, was supping with sir wilfrid and discussing the great news of the day. audrey and her mother, having watched the beacon die out and darkness settle over derwentwater, lingered a little over their preparations for the night to talk over the news as it affected their own particular neighbourhood. "the lowthers will sleep more peacefully now," said mrs. radcliffe, with a smile. "and henry brownrigg he is pretty sure to get promotion if the prince's cause triumphs, as there is every reason to think it will." will feel that his star is in the ascendant. "that will just suit him; his sister says he is very ambitious," said audrey, laughing. "what will they make him, i wonder? he certainly loves ordering other folk about." her mother glanced at her a little anxiously. did this frank criticism of henry brownrigg hide any deeper feelings? she could not feel sure; and her heart mishope the hermit. 93 gave her a little when audrey began a graphic description of her happy day in borrowdale, and of how they had discovered the miniature. "poor michael!" said mrs. radcliffe. "this makes there can be no doubt now of his case even worse. his mother's disgrace. to-morrow, audrey, we will go over to millbeck hall and see the brownriggs. henry is sure to have the latest news as to the prince's progress, and i have great confidence in his opinion. young as he is, i would take his judgment before sir wilfrid's." to this audrey was quite ready to agree. to her there seemed no comparison between sir wilfrid and that paragon of perfection at millbeck hall. undoubtedly she was much flattered by henry brownrigg's attentions, and honestly admired his splendid physique; nor was she altogether unaware of a certain throbbing of the heart and quickening of the pulses at the very mention of his name. but these details were nothing to mr. noel; he rated them at precisely what they were worth, and with a shrug of his shoulders calmly continued his game of human chess. the peaceful english revolution meanwhile went quietly on its course. the prince of orange, who had come over at the pressing invitation of the leading men among tories and whigs, and worthy representatives of the church of england and the nonconformists, was 94 hope the hermit. naturally acknowledged with little delay by the nation. york and newcastle, and indeed city after city, declared in his favour, and king james found that his tyranny had wholly alienated the hearts of the people. the spies sent by him to find out what was doing in the west took his money and quietly joined the prince, so that it was almost impossible for the king to get any true idea of his son-in-law's movements. he could only learn that day after day one great man after another joined his army, the cruellest cut of all being, perhaps, the desertion of lord churchill and the duke of grafton, who joined the prince at axminster, churchill quitting the king's army at night, and explaining by letter that he could not fight against the protestant cause. then followed negotiations which might very possibly have left james the crown, but made for ever out of the question that despotic authority which he desired. unfortunately for himself, he had all his father's duplicity without his virtues, and while treating with the prince of orange he was also negotiating with france, and endeavouring to set up his despotism once more by french aid. at last, affairs growing desperate he resolved upon flight. having previously contrived to send the queen and her child to france, he left whitehall on the tenth of december disguised as the servant of sir edward hope the hermit. 95 hales, and favoured by the darkness of very early morning. thinking to plunge the country into difficulties, he flung the great seal into the river, and escaped in a miserable fishing-boat which had been provided by his companion. but unluckily, sir edward hales was recognised by some fishermen at feversham, who took upon themselves to check his progress, and the king, thus caught in the act of running away, was ignominiously brought back again, to the general embarrassment of the people and their leaders, who were at a great loss to know what to do with him. some were for keeping him prisoner, and it became clear that while he remained at whitehall disorders would be certain to arise in london. it was at length suggested to him that he should retire to rochester, and from thence in a few days he once more escaped by night, and going on board a frigate in the medway, was swiftly borne, as the people would have said, "by a protestant wind" to ambleteuse, from which place he made his way to st. germains. 96 hope the hermit. chapter viii. recollections of michael derwent. "i that have love and no more give you but love of you, sweet: he that hath more, let him give; he that hath wings, let him soar; mine is the heart at your feet here, that must love you to live." swinburne. all through december and january there was scarcely anything but talk of public events, and sir wilfrid kept me hard at work, so that, what with writing of letters and attending conferences at cockermouth and elsewhere, i began to despair of ever seeing audrey again. henry brownrigg had just been promoted to the office of under-sheriff, and it maddened me to think that he might see her every day if it so pleased him. however at last my chance came, and his, thanks to providence-or as i sometimes fancy to the machinations of mr. noel-was for the time lost. it came about in this fashion. there lived at raby castle in the county of durham one sir christopher vane-son of the late sir harry hope the hermit. 97 vane, commonly known as the patriot-and he had arranged to hold high festival at raby late in february, in honour of a family event it was said, though probably not without reference to the great change which had taken place in public affairs. sir christopher had at one time held office under king james; the sovereign's illegalities had, however, so disgusted him that he gave up the untenable theory that the king could do no wrong and, in the reaction, went back to the faith of his fathers and became a strong advocate of freedom. it was therefore both convenient and seemly that his change of front should be generally known, and by inviting a host of friends and showing them a princely hospitality he managed very neatly to effect his object. sir wilfrid lawson being an old friend of the vanes was among the first to be invited, and i thought myself in luck's way to get the chance of accompanying him, specially when i learnt through old zinogle, who chanced to be in cockermouth to play at a wedding, that audrey and her mother had also received an invitation,-owing i believe to some past connection between the vanes and the radcliffes. we left isel hall just after the news had arrived that the convention had offered the crown to the prince of orange and the princess mary, and that they had hope the hermit. i. 7 98 hope the hermit. been proclaimed king and queen at london and westminster. great therefore were the rejoicings at cockermouth, where what with church bells ringing, and the people half wild with joy to think that the suspense and uncertainty were ended, and the reign of toleration beginning, we found some difficulty in making our way through the thronged streets. for-let alone the crowd -there were scores of folk that wanted a word with sir wilfred, he being much beloved in all the neighbourhood. however, at length we were riding along the quiet shore of bassenthwaite and as dusk fell found ourselves once more in the familiar little market town of keswick. we lay that night at the royal oak, where zinogle came to see me, bringing me word that henry brownrigg was to accompany the ladies from lord's island on their journey early the next morning. this was not very cheerful hearing, and i lay awake a whole hour brooding over the news. nevertheless things looked brighter by daylight, and having made a hearty breakfast i set out with my patron in excellent spirits, full of hope that we might fall in with audrey upon the road. we had only just quitted the town when suddenly a man sprang forward from the shelter of a great beech tree and waving a paper in his hand to attract attention called to sir wilfrid to draw rein. "there's mischief afoot, sir," he panted breathlessly. hope the hermit. 99 "of your charity bear this to, the under-sheriff-they say he has ridden to stable hills farm." before sir wilfrid could put a single question to him the man had thrust the letter into his hand and had dashed away into the wood as though dreading detection. "here's a pretty state of things," said sir wilfrid. "mischief afoot already and the king and queen but just proclaimed! we must lose no time, michael, but carry this news to henry brownrigg. did you ever see that fellow before?" "i never caught a full sight of his face, his hat was over his eyes, sir," i replied. "but his way of speaking was not cumbrian. now i think of it his speech savoured a little of that irish cobbler that mr. noel nursed through the small-pox." "ah, i remember hearing about that," said sir wilfrid, "though i never saw the cobbler. mr. noel has as kind a heart as any man in the county. pity he is on the wrong side." we rode as fast as might be to stable hills farm, which was on the eastern side of derwentwater and within a stone's throw of lord's island. it was here the radcliffes stabled their horses. in front of the farm there was a little group which i eagerly scanned. audrey, looking wonderfully fresh and winsome in her brown riding-skirt and broad plumed 7* 100 hope the hermit. hat was already mounted on her chestnut mare—firefly; and henry brownrigg was in the act of helping mrs. radcliffe to her pillion behind one of the serving-men, while mr. noel stood talking to william hollins the farmer. he glanced round quickly as we approached and i am sure i saw a twinkle of amused satisfaction in his eye as we drew rein. "i am glad to have caught you before you started, mr. brownrigg," exclaimed sir wilfrid, after saluting the ladies. "just as we rode out of keswick a man thrust this letter for you into my hand and asked me to give it you with all speed, as mischief was brewing. what the fellow means i have no notion, nor was he a man i had ever seen before. he disappeared before i could question him, but perhaps the letter will explain itself." henry brownrigg with an important air which evidently amused mr. noel, slowly broke the seal and read the letter. as he read, his face darkened. he read the communication a second time more carefully and stood for a few minutes deep in thought, not unconscious that all eyes were upon him, for he was the sort of man to find this a very soothing sensation to his selflove. "well, there is no help for it," he said, with a shrug of the shoulders, "my duty calls me away, ladies; there is i fear mischief afoot and i shall not be able to escort hope the hermit. ιοι you to raby castle. be sure that i shall follow you, though, as soon as i can. possibly to-morrow or the next day.” he handed the missive to sir wilfrid, who quite agreed with him that he must stay and inquire into the matter and courteously volunteered to take his place as escort to mrs. radcliffe and her daughter. they were very glad to accept the suggestion, and audrey, after saying a courteous word or two of regret to henry brownrigg and hoping that the business would not detain him long, was very soon chatting gaily enough with me, nor could i read in her face any sign that she was grieving over the absence of the under-sheriff. i built a great deal on this-foolishly enough-not having learnt yet that women have a most extraordinary power in hiding their true feelings, and that the most skilful of all actresses is a maiden who would fain conceal her love-story from the public gaze. i shall never pass along the penrith road without remembering our cheery ride that day. "isel hall has taught you how to talk," she said once with a roguish glance in my direction. "the silent cambridge graduate is no more!" and how was i to sum up audacity enough to tell her the truth, that it was not the time at isel which had taught me, but just the delight of being in her presence which, since that first bewildering november afternoon 102 hope the hermit. when we had met once more on lord's island, had changed my whole world, and made me for the first time feel that i truly lived. without her it was mere existence, but with her life indeed. we broke the journey at the most comfortable of the wayside inns, arriving at staindrop, the village close to raby castle, just as the sun was setting on the second day. the broad village street was unusually lively, and as we passed the old grey-towered church audrey drew my attention to a group of pretty children standing by the wall, and with a laugh tossed them some comfits from a little embroidered bag hanging at her side. "i warrant you they envy us, these chubby little mortals," she said. "and yet, to tell the truth, i would far liefer dismount and play with them than ride on to this stately place where we shall find only strangers." but spite of the shyness natural enough to one who was used to nothing but country life, she gave a cry of delight when, as we rode up the rising ground, that splendid pile of massive towers and turrets and battlemented walls came into view. the red sun was sinking like a glowing ball in the grey misty sky and a rosy glow rested on the castle-the pride of the neighbourhood ever since the days of canute. the place had been partially ruined and had been sold to the elder sir henry vane by charles i. according to the purhope the hermit. 103 chaser it had then been merely "a hillock o' stanes," but judicious re-building had soon wrought a magical transformation and it is said king charles considered that the splendid castle which he visited later on had been very cheaply obtained. passing over the drawbridge and across a courtyard we rode into the actual castle itself, dismounting at the foot of the great staircase where sir christopher stood to receive his guests. he was a somewhat heavy-featured man and i, naturally enough, expected the most formal of greetings from him, but as i made my bow and his eyes rested for a moment on my face a look of astonishment and a muttered ejaculation escaped him; however, quickly recovering himself, he turned again to speak with mrs. radcliffe, and it was not until the following day that i understood the meaning of the look of recognition which i had certainly seen in his eyes. chancing to be early astir, i came across sir christopher in one of the corridors, and he, with a kindly greeting and a somewhat searching look, invited me to go with him into the walled garden at a little distance from the castle. "i understand from sir wilfrid that you are his secretary," he began, as we entered the garden. “i did not catch your name yesterday," he glanced at me questioningly. "i am called michael derwent, sir," i replied. "but 104 hope the hermit. sir i have no real surname, being just a foundling. wilfrid rescued me twenty years ago in borrowdale by the river-side." a most extraordinary look passed over sir christopher's face. "do you mean that he found you there deserted?" he asked quickly. "yes, deserted and half-dead with cold and hunger. luckily he chanced to be out early that morning on a fishing expedition or it would have been all over with me." "and you have never found out anything of your parentage?" "never, sir, though i would give the world to do so. i am in a miserable position now, and until i can find out the truth my career is sure to be more or less hampered." "perhaps i can help you up to a certain point," said sir christopher cautiously. "i recognised you in a moment, for you are the living image of your mother." "you knew her, sir?" i asked eagerly, and after a moment's reflection i drew out the miniature, which i had never ceased to wear since the day we had discovered it, and placed it in his hands. he looked at it with admiration but quite without any trace of special feeling; clearly my mother had been but an acquaintance, and yet it set all my pulses hope the hermit. 105 throbbing at double time to think that he had once seen her and that he knew her story. "is she still living?" i asked eagerly. "no," he replied, "she died at your birth. poor girl! she was only seventeen if i remember right.” me." "then it must have been my father who deserted "yes, i suppose so," he replied, cautiously weighing his words. "your father was my friend. i understood that he meant to leave you in charge of some of the dalesfolk. i suppose he changed his mind." "at least tell me his name," i said with rage in my heart. "i wish i could do so. but i was a mere lad at the time," replied sir christopher, "and my friend, who was considerably older, extorted a vow of secrecy from me." "i suppose he wronged my mother and then naturally enough desired to make an end of me," i said with burning cheeks. "no, no, it was not so bad as that," said sir christopher. "he may have neglected your mother, it is true, his passion was too vehement to last long, it burnt itself out in a few weeks. but he wedded her honestly enough in london, though at what church i dare not tell you. i was one of the witnesses myself however, and can set your mind at rest on that score." 106 hope the hermit. i was silent for a minute trying to realise that the load which had so long oppressed me had suddenly been taken away and that the worst obstacle to my acceptance by mrs. radcliffe as audrey's suitor no longer existed. we passed a great bush of lavender about which a spider had been spinning its web, and now all wet with morning dew it sparkled in the sun like a dainty network of diamonds. no less brilliant was the dream castle i hastily reared upon these words of sir christopher. "is my father still living, sir?" i asked after a pause. "yes, but it is many years since i saw him. and now i believe he is not in england. you wonder no doubt why it was that he deserted you since you were his rightful heir. i have no right to explain that matter to you, but i will certainly communicate with him and let him know that i have come across you. he may yet acknowledge you-indeed i should think he would be glad to do so. there, let us say no more of the matter, i have perhaps already been ill-advised in speaking so freely." with a few kindly and hospitable words he left me to think over the astonishing news that he had told me, and i might have paced up and down the garden paths for hours had i not been interrupted. there was a merry shout and a ringing child's laugh; then, down the 1 hope the hermit. 107 green alley in pursuit of a ball, ran a little imp of about seven years of age, hotly pursued by audrey, who always dearly loved a good romp with children. "neighbour, i've come to torment you-do as i do!" was her laughing greeting, and whether i would or no she dragged me into the game which, to the great delight of little will vane, we continued until he was fetched away by one of the servants. "why, 'tis as hot as midsummer!" said audrey, her face all aglow with the fresh air and the exercise, "come, let us rest awhile in this arbour. what were you meditating upon so solemnly when we came across you just now?" then i told her of all that sir christopher had said, and her delighted sympathy made my heart beat fast. audrey had a way of identifying herself with her friends and their interests which very few women possess. many can give sympathy, but she gave her whole being and made you feel that she cared for your concerns almost more than you cared yourself. all this i understood afterwards, but in the glow of hope and excitement which filled my heart this morning it seemed to me that a whole new life was opening before me and that all the wishes of my heart were going to be granted at once. yet i dared not tell her yet of my love, though i longed to do so. for that it was surely best to wait until all things connected with my • 108 hope the hermit. father had been made clear. the only thing that i ventured to do was to ask her to tell her mother what sir christopher had said, and later in the day mrs. radcliffe spoke very kindly to me about this, while sir wilfrid, who probably had some inkling as to my feelings towards audrey, was full of congratulations and earned my eternal gratitude by giving me almost unlimited. freedom during our brief visit. but all things delightful must come to an end, and on the fourth evening of our stay there came a sudden eclipse of all satisfaction as far as i was concerned. there was dancing that night in the baron's hall— one of the most magnificent rooms i have ever seen. all the wealth and beauty of the neighbourhood seemed gathered together beneath its vaulted roof, but audrey with her childlike grey eyes and her wealth of goldenbrown hair was the fairest of all the company-not the least of her charms being her wonderful simplicity. i heard one critical matron declare that for all her good looks she did not know how to use her charms and make the most of her advantages; but it was just in that very fact that her great charm lay. while other maidens picked up a dozen coquettish tricks, and ogled every man they encountered, audrey went on her way with the light-hearted ease of a child of six years old, heartily enjoying fun and frolic and without i am sure one vain or selfish thought. it was wonderful to me that everyhope the hermit. 109 one was not at her feet. but my luck was still in the ascendant; she gave me three dances, and afterwards for awhile we sat together in one of the window-seats chatting of trivial things, and letting the golden hours slip by in a way which i bitterly regretted when it was too late. how was i to know that fate in the person of henry brownrigg was climbing the stair, entering the hall, and at that very moment seeking me out? i felt audrey start a little, and glancing up saw the massive figure and handsome haughty features of the under-sheriff. he greeted audrey effusively. "the rumour "yes, i have been able at last to overtake you,” he said, favouring me with a curt nod. seems to have been a false alarm after all. derwent, sir wilfrid is looking for you. by-the-bye, a messenger before i left rode over to keswick from isel hall just and i was able to bring the letter on here. it seems that lady lawson is very ill." i hastened to join my patron and found that henry brownrigg's news was only too true. sir wilfrid was in great anxiety, and as it was a moonlight night and the roads in these parts were not so dangerous as in many other neighbourhoods, he had determined to lose no time but to press on at once. so ended the happiest days of my life. hastily taking leave of audrey and her mother i hurried off to prepare for the journey, to change my black velvet cosιιο hope the hermit. tume for a sober travelling dress of brown tweed, to don a heavy frieze cloak warranted to keep the wearer warm even in our northern winter, and to pack sir wilfrid's possessions for him. sir christopher took a kindly farewell of us and just at the last drew me aside to say in a low voice that he would not forget his promise to write to my father at the earliest opportunity. then we rode out through the great door and across the drawbridge, and through the park with its bright stretches of white light and its inky shadows. the clock was striking ten when i turned to get one last look at the castle with its noble outlines, its orange-coloured lamps shining from every window, and its stately towers clearly defined against the pale sky. would audrey give a thought to me on this dreary night journey? something told me she would; and i rode on, cold and tired, and chafing under the thought that our gala days had come to so sudden an end; yet beneath it all was that comforting assurance which kept with me like a living presence all through the night. hope the hermit. iii chapter ix. "you who are earth and cannot rise above your sense, boasting the envied wealth which lies bright in your mistress' lips or eyes, betray a pitied eloquence.” habington. it was with a sense of great content that henry brownrigg watched his rival disappear from the baron's hall. it was not easy any longer to despise michael derwent; he could not be bullied as in the old school days, and he had a way of entirely ignoring slights and snubs which recoiled upon the snubber, and was highly irritating. that the fellow had the presumption to love audrey radcliffe there was no doubt, but whether audrey returned the feeling was fortunately quite uncertain, and henry brownrigg, who had his share of the wisdom of the serpent, checked the disparaging remark which was on his lips and made no allusion to michael at all, but instead gave the girl an amusing account of the difficulties he had had to contend with in hunting up traces of the rumoured plot. audrey was interested and not a little flattered by i 12 hope the hermit. his way of talking to her; empty compliments would not have pleased her at all, but she felt the subtle charm of being deferred to and consulted by a man who knew so much of the world; and whereas michael had never been able to awaken in her anything but the most sisterly friendship, this older man, with his fine physique and his carefully drawn plan of campaign, was able to lay a most successful siege upon her heart. her pulses beat quickly when the following morning her mother called her aside just before the guests went to make ready for morning church. "my child," she said, "mr. brownrigg has just asked me to give you to him in marriage. could you love him as a husband?” audrey blushed and trembled. tell me the truth: "i think i could, ma'am," she said, "and yet--oh mother! must i wed him yet! i do not think i can leave you." "dear child," said her mother, "there is no immediate haste, and indeed your marriage to such a man would be a great comfort to me. we cannot always be together, dear heart, and as you well know my health is but uncertain." "oh do not say that," said audrey, tears rushing to her eyes, "i could never be happy without you, mother." mrs. radcliffe took the girl's hand and held it caressingly. hope the hermit. 113 "why, audrey," she said, "it will not make me die a day sooner to speak of the possibility. and think what a load you will take from my heart if you can indeed accept henry brownrigg's proposal of marriage. i should then be at rest about your future. but if i had to leave you in the old house with only your grandfather and mr. noel i should be anxious indeed for your wellbeing." "then i will accept this offer of marriage," said audrey with great calmness, "only do not let there be any haste as to the ceremony. if we are betrothed would you then feel happy about me?” "quite happy," said mrs. radcliffe, with a sigh of relief. "i will tell mr. brownrigg that he may speak with you after church. run and dress quickly, my dear, or we shall keep the others waiting." audrey, in a whirl of excitement, half painful, half pleasurable, hastily put on her fur-bordered mantle and her broad, feathered hat; she also put on for the first time a dainty pair of french gloves which had been given to her at christmas, and taking her large moroccobound prayer-book joined the other guests at the foot of the great staircase. she perceived directly that henry brownrigg was talking to lady vane, and stole a shy glance at her future husband, who, in his purple coat, best lace cravat and huge periwig, looked a very fine gentleman indeed. did she love him? yes, there could hope the hermit. i. 8 114 hope the hermit. certainly be no doubt as to that; she loved him with that blind admiration which is not the highest or the happiest form of love, but which while it lasts is undoubtedly most real. like one treading on air she walked through the park to staindrop church and side by side with her lover paced up the path between the graves which led to the stately building where according to tradition canute had once worshipped. it was rich in monuments of the nevill family, and audrey found herself drawn by a sort of fascination to the tomb of the fifth earl of westmoreland, who, with his first wife on one side of him and his second wife on the other, lay with upturned face awaiting the resurrection where "they neither marry nor are given in marriage." there was a special thanksgiving for the happy settlement of the nation's great difficuties, and for the first time the names of the new king and queen were introduced in the prayers, upon which a strange thrill seemed to pass through the congregation; but audrey observed that one sturdy-looking old gentleman rose from his knees and closed his prayer-book with a resounding thud, upon which a small schoolboy tittered and the beadle advancing with his staff of office gave the offending lad a tap on the head, and would evidently have enjoyed applying the staff to the knees of the old man. then followed the sermon, which it is to be feared hope the hermit. 115 audrey did not hear at all, for her thoughts would keep wandering to the great event which was about to change her whole life. she remembered how greatly michael would dislike her marriage with one who had always failed to understand him, and she wondered whether she should be able to make her husband and her foster-brother the good friends she would fain have had them to be. it never once occurred to her that michael's friendship had developed into love, nor did she dream that while. she sat there in staindrop church wondering whether the revelation as to his parentage would in itself be sufficient to make henry brownrigg adopt a different tone to him, michael was riding towards penrith treasuring up in his heart every word she had spoken to him at raby castle, and blind to the beauty of the landscape because of the inward vision of her face which continually haunted him. at the close of the sermon they sang the metrical version of the 15th psalm, and audrey thought in her mind how well the words applied to her lover. her confidence in henry's generosity was boundless, but it was hard to say upon what she grounded it. had she analysed her impressions-which needless to say she never did—she might possibly have found that his size had something to do with it. she was one of those girls who reverence mere physical bulk; skiddaw was 8* 116 hope the hermit. much more to her than causey pike because though less beautiful it was larger. she loved old rollo the mastiff because of his huge proportions, trusting him far more than fritz the terrier. and she had an instinct that a man of henry brownrigg's build must be also large-minded and trustworthy. her heart beat fast with happy excitement when on the way back from church he confessed his love to her, and begged her to spare him a few minutes' private talk in the walled garden, that he might plead his cause. they sat together in the very arbour in which she had sat with michael when, but a few days before, he had told her of sir christopher's revelation; where also, though she little guessed it, he had been on the point of telling her of his love, but had choked back the words, determined that he would bide his time and have at least a name to offer the woman he loved. but audrey had no leisure to think of her fosterbrother at such a moment as this. for was not the man she loved and admired with her whole heart asking her to be his wife? she did not keep him long waiting for his answer, and in her heart there lurked no faintest shadow of doubt as to their future happiness. to henry's failings she was as yet altogether blind, and the mere fact that her mother liked him, and that mr. noel detested him, added piquancy to the whole affair and made her ready hope the hermit. 117 to champion him against all the world. her heart burnt within her as she remembered that she had once heard mr. noel speak of him as an ambitious and selfish schemer. well, there was a wise old proverb which said "we judge others by ourselves," and audrey, who was no saint, but had her share of elfish delight in teasing and baffling and making sport out of those who had displeased her, looked forward with no slight pleasure to an encounter with her old tutor on their return to lord's island. henry brownrigg, kneeling beside her, saw the swift changes in her expressive face and wondered what they betokened. "what are your thoughts, sweetheart?" he said, raising her hand to his lips. "why do you frown?" audrey broke into a merry laugh. "i was only thinking of my old tutor at home-you know he was never one of your likers, but he will have to change his mind now.” "that priest?" said henry brownrigg bitterly. "don't let him come betwixt us, audrey, for heaven's sake." "why, no, how could he do that?" said audrey confidently. "the day of his power has quite gone by; and depend upon it, when he really knows you he will like you." henry brownrigg shook his head. "scarcely that, i think," he said with a bitter smile. 118 hope the hermit. "but after all we need not come across him much. when once we are wedded all will be well. i hate to think that till then you must be under a papist's roof." "why," said audrey, a little startled at his tone. "how strangely you speak! you forget how dearly i love my grandfather. you speak of him as if he were no christian! but it is because you do not know him. when you see how kind, how gentle, how full of charity he is you will not talk in that hard voice." henry seemed about to speak, but he checked himself and only smiled in a superior and rather patronising way, which in any other man audrey would have deeply resented. just now, however, she was in the blind stage of love; and after all how was it likely that she should trouble herself about such matters when for the first time she felt her lover's strong arm round her, when she heard him lavishing upon her every endearing epithet, and began faintly to realise what it means to love and to be loved? her face was radiant as they went slowly back together to the castle, there to receive her mother's tender and happy greeting and the congratulations of those who had had the pleasure of guessing beforehand that a betrothal was imminent. two days later, when the festivities at raby came to an end, audrey and her mother, attended of course by 1 hope the hermit. 119 henry brownrigg, went on their homeward way as far as penrith, where, according to previous arrangements, they were to spend a few weeks with some of mrs. radcliffe's kinsfolk. the news of the betrothal was therefore sent to lord's island by a letter carried by one of the serving-men, a course which mrs. radcliffe greatly preferred to breaking the news herself to her father-in-law. she wrote dutifully and courteously but dwelt much on her satisfaction in seeing audrey betrothed to one they had long known, a near neighbour, moreover, and one who held her own views as to religious matters. it pained her to hurt one so kindly as old sir nicholas, but she must hold her own and bestow her daughter as she thought best and in accordance with what would have been her father's wishes. she had signed her name and was about to fold and seal the letter when an idea suddenly flashed into her mind and taking up her pen once more she added a postscript. "it may be well to let michael derwent know of the betrothal," she wrote. "also all relatives and friends in the neighbourhood that come in your way." "i fear the lad cared for her," she said to herself thoughtfully. "audrey never seemed even to guess at it, but there were many things which pointed that way. well, he is young-he will get over it. yet i am sorry for him nevertheless." i 20 hope the hermit. but just then the church bells began to ring for service, and not unnaturally mrs. radcliffe's thoughts quickly left michael derwent and his trouble, and turned instead to a much more cheering idea. wedding bells -the bells of st. kentigern's at crosthwaite were pealing gaily, and down the churchyard path walked audrey and henry brownrigg. hope the hermit. 121 chapter x. recollections of michael derwent. "when the lord's blessed will bloweth across your desires, it is best, in humility, to strike sail to him." samuel rutherford. that lady lawson should have chosen that precise time for falling ill seemed to me hard lines, for to be forced to quit raby castle, to leave the coast clear for henry brownrigg just when my hopes were highest, seemed intolerable. as we rode on through the dismal night, i found myself wishing that my patron had been a less affectionate and anxious husband, or that he had been a rigid sabbatarian, when no doubt we should have remained until monday as sir christopher's guests. above all i wished myself a free agent, not a great man's secretary, and at thought of the small discomforts of the situation i fell to remembering the injury my father had done to me in leaving me all these years to the mercy of fate. how cruelly unfair was the treatment he had dealt out to me in the past! and was it likely that he would be willing now to remedy the wrong as far as might be, and own me as his heir? sir christopher vane would doubtless do what he could to urge this 122 hope the hermit. course upon him, but was it wise to hope much from a parent who in the past had proved himself so coldhearted and callous? surely i had been a fool to hope anything from such a man. then back into my mind there came the remembrance of audrey's words in the arbour, how she had argued in her tender womanly way that he might be only too glad of a chance of righting the great wrong he had wrought years ago. and from her arguments i fell to thinking of the flush of excitement that had risen to her face, and the sweet sympathy of her eyes as i told her my tale. it was from such thoughts that sir wilfrid's laughing voice recalled me. "art asleep, lad?" he asked, turning towards me with a smile. "three times have i spoken and never an answer can i get.” i stammered an apology, but he only laughed goodhumouredly. "nay, lad, 'tis easy to see that you left your heart behind you at raby. and in truth were i your age i should have done the same. as to that pragmatical and humourless under-sheriff, i scarce think you need fear him as a rival. the girl has surely wit enough to see through his pretensions, and to despise his vanity. let us but unearth this father of yours, and get you your rights, and i would back you against ten henry brownriggs." hope the hermit. 123 there was something so comfortable and cheering in these words that my fears were for the time lulled, but when late on the sunday we reached penrith and after a hearty supper went to bed, the fates were less kind to me, and all night i was pursued by a horrid vision of the under-sheriff twice as big as he was in real life. everywhere he followed me with that hateful superior smile of his, and everywhere he led audrey like a child by the hand. "only one can win in this game," he said to me with a sneer, "and foundlings are handicapped." i raged at this, and could feel the blood tingling in my veins as in the old days at school when i had fought him. but what broke my heart was that audrey turned and looked at me with her great grey eyes, and in them i read a sort of curiosity. "how are you taking it?" the eyes seemed to say. "is it true as my lover declares that you really cared for me?” at that i rushed away from both pursuers, and throwing myself down beside the derwent for always borrowdale formed the background of my dreams-i fell a-sobbing and so woke up, shaken and exhausted and a prey to the most deadly depression. in very low spirits we went on our journey that monday morning, but when we reached isel hall the presence of serious illness in the household drove out every other thought; indeed for days it was impossible 124 hope the hermit. to think of anything but of the shadow of death that hung over us like a pall. on the thursday, however, this anxiety abated. lady lawson began to mend and the doctor no longer waited long hours in the house as though expecting a deadly combat with the foe he was always trying to cheat of his prey, but rode back cheerfully to cockermouth to see how it fared with his other patients. by the friday morning we had settled down into the ordinary routine of work, and i was doing accounts in the library while sir wilfrid at the other side of the table was busy over some legal documents when a servant entered and handed me a letter. i had not so many correspondents that i could long remain in doubt. as to who the letter was from, and indeed mr. noel's handwriting was well known to me. i don't know what instinct warned me, but in an instant i knew that the letter contained news of audrey's betrothal to henry brownrigg. my heart seemed all at once to turn to stone, mechanically i broke the seal and read the letter. it was short and ran as follows:my dear michael, i regret to say that we have received a letter from penrith in which mrs. radcliffe tells sir nicholas that her daughter was betrothed to mr. brownrigg on sunday last at raby castle. the marriage is highly distasteful to sir nicholas but he has no power to forbid it. i am anxious to see you if you are able to visit lord's hope the hermit. 125 island within the next fortnight, and you will find us quite at leisure, for mrs. radcliffe will remain for two or possibly three weeks with her kinsfolk at penrith. sir nicholas begs to be remembered to sir wilfrid lawson. i remain, yours faithfully, written at lord's island, derwentwater. to mr. michael derwent, care of sir wilfrid lawson, at isel hall, near cockermouth. augustine noel. i folded the letter, and taking up my quill began to write on a scrap of paper that lay near me. to go on with my patron's accounts was at that moment out of the question, yet the act of mechanically writing down any words which came to hand, helped me to control myself, kept me from yielding to that passion of despair which sweeps from the man who abandons himself to it all faith, all hope, all power of endurance. "that way madness lies." there was it is true not much sense in the disjointed letters and words i forced my pen to write on that blank sheet of paper, but for the time they availed, they tided me over the first horrible moments of agony, and gave me time to rally. after awhile i found myself writing down some words of shakspere which-i know not why-had floated through my brain. "love give me strength! and strength shall help afford." 126 hope the hermit. to this thought of strength i clung like a drowning man to a plank. this disastrous love of mine which, it seemed, had been all a mistake should not drag me down into those depths of despair and ruin which threatened to close above my head; i would wrest from it a strength which might yet fit me to serve audrey in some far future. and with increasing steadiness i wrote again and again the words, "love give me strength!" as though they had been a charm. "you have had news?" said sir wilfrid, glancing at me. i handed him mr. noel's letter, and was grateful for his silence. when at length he did speak it was not to make any comment on the letter but to send me up to the withdrawing-room on some errand—a task which i was glad enough to execute, though as i went up the long slippery flight of polished wooden steps i had an odd feeling that my limbs were not my own. gaining the head of the staircase i started back, for coming to meet me i saw what for a moment i took to be a wraith. it was the figure of a young man dressed in brown and wearing a brown periwig, his face was quite colourless, his pale lips were set in a straight line, his eyes seemed as though they had looked into hell. the next moment i saw with a shock of astonishhope the hermit. 127 ment that the wraith was nothing but my own reflection in a tall mirror that hung from the wall. "you shall at anyrate play your part better than that!" i muttered, with a angry glance at the reflection. "is it for you to be looking like a love-sick swain in a penny ballad, when in half an hour you must be dining iwith all the household?" the thought of the smoking joint on the board made my stomach turn, and the dread of the curious eyes sent a cold shudder through me. but where was the use of stopping to think of such things? i delivered sir wilfrid's message and went down once more to him in the library. "i have a letter for the vicar of crosthwaite," said my patron, glancing at me quickly as i took my place. at the writing-table. "it will be as well, i think, if you ride over with it this afternoon. you can sleep at herbert's isle and bring me back word as to the damage done by tuesday's storm. this summer, if all is well, i think of enlarging the house there, you can talk matters over with the steward." i thanked him, and asked if there was any more writing to be done. "nothing more now," he replied. "start when you please; and look you, michael! go and have a talk with that old tutor of yours, for he is a shrewd man. if i 128 hope the hermit. were you i would tell him all that you learnt from sir christopher vane." i promised to do so and hurried away to my room in the pele tower there to make ready for the ride to keswick. never had man a more kindly patron, and i knew well enough that the errand to crosthwaite and the confabulations with the steward might very well have waited. it was nothing more than a device to give me a breathingspace in which to regain my bearings. the pele tower was by far the most ancient part of isel hall; it stood at one corner of the battlemented house and my room was in the upper part of it. it was but sparsely furnished, but whatever it contained of interest was in some way associated with audrey radcliffe. here i kept my few worldly possessions-the birds' eggs we had collected together as children; the books we had shared, and one or two trifles of needlework wrought by her hands years ago. looking back now it seemed to me that there had never been a time in my life when i had not loved her; she had been mine from the beginning, mine years and years before this under-sheriff had ever seen her. who was he that he should come betwixt us now? at that thought pain changed to a blind hatred and resentment that by contrast seemed for the time a relief. i hurried down the tower stairs at a headlong hope the hermit. 129 pace, saddled my horse and rode swiftly away from isel with the thought of henry brownrigg ever present in my mind. had she given herself to one more worthy of her i might have borne it patiently, but that she should have been caught by the wiles of a man of fine presence and handsome features, seemed intolerable. for well i knew that henry brownrigg's mind was of the narrowest, that all his petty prejudices would ere long irritate her large-minded nature, that his insufferable conceit and fussiness would chafe audrey as nothing else could have done. respectable he might be, but it was with the heartless pharisaical respectability that only repulses, and it sickened me to think that audrey should be tied for life to such an one. i was past cockermouth now, and as i galloped along by the shore of bassenthwaite, the fresh air and the exercise invigorated me, yet at the same time seemed to fan the fire of raging hatred that burned in my heart. my chief hope was that he might have returned to millbeck hall, that we might casually meet, and that i might have the chance of picking a quarrel with him and calling him out. it would surely not be hard to find some pretext for fighting? i knew his haunts in keswick pretty well, and that evening i would do my best to make a duel inevitable. having left sir wilfrid's letter at the crosthwaite vicarage i turned my horse's head towards the little hope the hermit. i. 9 130 hope the hermit. market town, still brooding over my schemes with regard to henry brownrigg, when suddenly a mischievous lad in a smock frock leapt out of the hedge with a shrill war-whoop which terrified hotspur and sent him tearing down the lane at full gallop. i had been riding carelessly with slack reins and now found it impossible to stop the horse. on we rushed at lightning speed, when to my horror i saw a little troop of children filing out of a dame-school at the side of the road; they paused and looked with stupefied faces at the runaway horse; in another moment we should be upon them. with a desperate effort i dragged at the right rein and put hotspur at the hedge, he just cleared it, while i lost my seat and was thrown violently to the ground. how long i lay there stunned i have no idea, probably not many minutes, but i seemed to wake up in a quite unknown world. i was lying on a smooth lawn in a garden; close by, a very neat, box-edged path led through a vista of bare and gnarled apple-trees, and walking up the path came a soberly dressed old gentleman whose face was the most peaceful it has ever been my lot to see. "i must have died," i thought to myself; "these must be the 'gardens and the gallant walks' the hymn speaks of. that is how men look in heaven, quiet and kindly and with no shadow of care and self-seeking; yet hope the hermit. 131 the cut of his doublet might be better, there's room for improvement there." the man with the peaceful face had drawn near by this time, he did not raise his hat or salute me in any way whatever, but just bent down and looked into my face. as for me i was still too much bewildered to wish to move or speak. "friend," he said at last, "wilt thou walk to my house and rest? or shall i send for my servants to carry thee?" i sat up, then with some difficulty struggled to my feet, not feeling any pain but with a strange dizziness in my head. perhaps this was the natural effect of waking in a quite different world. my new friend drew my arm into his, and we walked down the trimly-kept path under the apple-trees, the box bordering seemed natural enough, but beyond it there grew some curious yellow and puce-coloured plants that i had never seen before; it seemed to me wonderful that such fair flowers should bloom so early in the year; till i remembered that i was in a place where time had ceased to exist. this thought, and also perhaps the moving, made my brain feel in a whirl; my eyes grew dim, so that i could only leave it to my companion to guide me. he led me into a house and made me lie down on a couch, where being still giddy and shaken i was glad 9* 132 hope the hermit. enough to stay quietly. it was not apparently the custom in this place to ply one with questions, and there was a strange restfulness in the man's friendly silence. "take this cordial," he said to me after a timeless interval, during which i had lain with closed eyes, basking as it were in the quiet. i took the silver cup he placed in my hand and thanked him. "the horse is not injured," he remarked, "my servant has put it in the stable, so be at rest on that point." the cordial had revived me, and now these startling words thoroughly roused me, for somehow i had never fancied that dear old hotspur would go to heaven. "what has happened, sir?—i thought i was out of the world yet you speak of the horse?" i stammered, looking in perplexity at my friend. "what is this place? and how did i come here, sir?" "the place is hye hill, and i am nathaniel radcliffe, one of the society of friends. walking in my garden this afternoon i heard in the road sounds as of a runaway horse and the shouting of many voices; then over my hedge leapt a chestnut steed, and its rider was flung with violence on to my lawn." "i hope hotspur did no mischief to your garden, sir?" i said. "i put him to the hedge to save the chilhope the hermit. 133 dren in the lane who were too much scared to get out of the way." "he did no harm, for the gardener quickly caught him, but i fear, my friend, thou thyself art more injured than at first we thought. i see thou art suffering great pain." i could not reply, for it took all my manhood to strangle the sobs that rose in my throat. as long as i live i shall never forget the horrible revulsion of feeling that overwhelmed me as i realised that i was back in this dreary world in which all things seemed going so hopelessly wrong. the quaker put his hand on mine, probably to feel the pulse and judge of my state. his cool quiet touch had something soothing in it, and i gripped his hand hard in a way which must, i think, have astonished him. "have patience," he said. "the sharpest pain cannot last long; god allows long aches but only short agonies." i wondered if his words applied to mental pain as well as bodily, he looked like a man who had lived through both, and this gave his sayings a curious force. perhaps that is why the prophets of old, nay of all ages, have led such troubled lives. they could not tell forth the truth with any force till they had lived through much 134 hope the hermit. tribulation. it was suffering that fitted them for the goodly fellowship of the prophets. "i will send for a surgeon, maybe he could relieve thee," said the quaker. for answer i broke into a wild fit of laughter, which was discourteous, but for the life of me i could not help it. i struggled to my feet and paced the room like one possessed. "why, sir, what could a leech do for me?" i cried. "it is no bodily pain i feel. it is the torture of being in this hateful world when i thought i was well out of it. it's the torture of knowing that a rival whom i hate and despise is to win and keep and drag down to his own level the best and the most beautiful woman in all cumberland. she little knows what he really is or she would never dream of wedding him. but i'll not live to see her ruin her happiness, somehow i can surely pick a quarrel with him. he is a better swordsman than i-but i shall at least have the pleasure of fighting him." "wouldst thou break one of christ's commandments to gratify thy carnal lust?" said the quaker gravely. "christ would never approve of this marriage!" i said vehemently. "maybe that is true," replied nathaniel radcliffe, "indeed if thou dost refer to the marriage of which i hope the hermit. 135 heard some rumour to-day betwixt my young kinswoman audrey radcliffe and the under-sheriff i incline to agree with thee. little true happiness is like to come of such a union." "you are her kinsman, sir, i had forgot that. remember now to have heard that you were at length released from gaol by king james. i saw you years ago at cockermouth when all the people were hooting the quakers." i trust that the they were hard "why then thou art most like the lad that didst lay hold of barton's stick to save my pate," said the quaker with a smile. "long ago as it is i recall thy face and am glad to see thee again. days of persecution are at an end. to endure, as hard perchance as this pain that now tries thee so grievously, but we have grown strong through them and so mayst thou, my friend, an thou wilt follow the guidance of the spirit, and hold down thy brute instincts." "if you knew the under-sheriff's overbearing arrogance, sir, you would long to fight him yourself,” i said hotly. "it might put off the marriage, moreover, for he is so good a swordsman that he would most likely make worm's meat of me, and audrey would scarce wed the murderer of her foster-brother." he laid his hand on my shoulder and drew me back once more to the couch. 136 hope the hermit. "rest, my friend, and quietly think what thy words. do nothing rashly, but wait for the leadtruly mean. ing of the spirit." i think if he had preached at me i should have scoffed, or if he had argued with me i should have rushed from the house, but when he drew me back into that attitude of repose, and sat down himself at a little distance in an old high-backed chair, there was something in the extreme gentleness of his manner that i could not resist. there was absolute silence in the room save for the ticking of the tall eight-day clock, and the gentle flickering of the flames on the hearth. i wondered vaguely if my companion would speak. should we stay there for hours in this extraordinary silence? what was the good of it all? how cruelly it contrasted with the tumult of my mind, with the angry heat of the blood that pricked and throbbed in my veins. my eyes rested on the fine face of nathaniel radcliffe and for a time i forgot my own misery in wondering how a man though pale and emaciated by the unhealthy life he had led in prison could yet bear such an extraordinary look of serenity and peace. i shall never forget the expression of calm, was on his face. most clearly he voice to speak to him. and after all what could be more natural? does god command us to pray and then intend that we shall spare not a minute to listen patient waiting that expected an inner hope the hermit. 137 of the duties of prayer to what he will say to us? and praise i had been taught ever since i was a child, but no one had said a word about waiting for the guidance of the inner light. well, we naturally tend to follow the example of those we are with, and the influence of that calm serene old man had much weight with me. i, too, began to wait expectantly. by degrees the angry heat died out of me, and i reflected with a gleam of satisfaction that nathaniel radcliffe had agreed with me that christ could hardly approve of this proposed marriage. would he not then bring it to naught? that might or might not be, for evils were unquestionably for a time permitted; "short agonies," as the quaker had called them, certainly found place in this sad world which i would so gladly have quitted. i fell to waiting again, but for a long, long time nothing came to me, only i was conscious of the slow ticking of the clock in the corner. i could almost have smiled, for to my fancy the pendulum seemed to beat time to the words, "choose well," "choose well." the words seemed a mockery. what choice was left me? this hideous bit of suffering had been thrust into my life and somehow i had to endure it. then back into my mind flashed the line from shakspere which had come to me that morning at isel: "love give me strength, and strength shall help afford". 138 hope the hermit. i began to see that there was a weak way and a strong way of bearing this heavy blow-that it might cripple and mar my life or, if i would, might make me strong with a strength which does not come to those who live lapped in ease. what if i could come out of this fiery furnace as nathaniel radcliffe had come out of his long imprisonment? the thing that happened then i cannot explain, but suddenly all the pain and tumult in my heart was hushed. an inner stillness, like the outer stillness of the room, fell upon me, and out of this heavenly calm a voice spoke in my heart-spoke the words that ended. my desolation, and gave me the leading i craved, that comforted even the old soreness as to my birth. it seemed to me a miracle when, a few minutes later, nathaniel radcliffe quietly rose to his feet and repeated the very words that had been spoken to me. his manner was slow and gentle, he seemed like a child repeating a message as he began— "i have called thee by thy name. thou art mine.' it is laid upon me to speak these words to thee, friend, and to bid thee be loyal to him whose love is the unfailing fount of strength." then he sat down again in the high-backed chair and stillness fell upon us once more. but the wish for vengeance and the craving for death had died out of me, and i stood on the threshold of a new life. hope the hermit. 139 chapter xi. "yet not without us but within our true life lies, untouched by all a city's din, or cloudless skies; "and if we bear a lurking pain within the heart, no charm of nature can restrain or take its smart; "and if we bear a parched soul, whose pain is worst, no summer glories can control or stay its thirst." arthur l. salmon. on the saturday morning as sir nicholas radcliffe rose from the table at the end of breakfast, his chaplain put a question to him. throughout the meal there had been silence, for the old knight was in the lowest of spirits, and the priest's busy brain had been at work on an interesting problem. "sir," he said, "is your brother mr. john radcliffe still in france?" "he spoke in his last letter of coming to england 140 hope the hermit. in the spring," said sir nicholas, "and by this time he may be in london for aught i know." "might it not be well that he should know this news as to mistress audrey's betrothal?" said the priest. ""tis a matter that cannot be without interest to him." "true," said sir nicholas, "since he will succeed at my death, he has doubtless a right to know the unwelcome news; i would that he or any man had the power to forbid the match." the priest's shrewd kindly face was overclouded now; the thought of audrey's marriage to henry brownrigg was abhorrent to him for many reasons. he was really fond of his pupil and was grieved to think of the life she was likely to lead with a man so overbearing and selfish as the under-sheriff. then, too, he sincerely desired her marriage with the son of sir francis salkeld, a catholic gentleman of good position and excellent character. and deep down in his heart there was one thought keenly painful to a really good man, and this was that-his lips being silenced by the knowledge that he had gained in the confessional-he was obliged to keep quiet, and see one for whom he had real affection placed in a most unfair position, and rendered now utterly useless in the game. he was heartily sorry for michael, who by some perverse fate seemed always to be the one to get the worst of things, hope the hermit. 141 and through no fault of his own to pay the penalty of other people's sins and mistakes. the question as to mr. john radcliffe's return to england had been prompted by a strong desire both to check the brownrigg marriage and to help michael to his rights, but no one knew better than the priest how difficult the course he proposed to steer would probably prove. for many years, the whole truth as to michael's parentage had been known to him, and again and again. he had been forced to act a living lie. long ago john radcliffe had in confession revealed to him all the details of his first marriage, the death of his wife at watendlath and his own abandonment of the child in borrowdale. at that time mr. noel had been living in london, and it was not till the so-called popish plot had driven numbers of catholics into hiding that he left his work in the south of england and found shelter with old sir nicholas radcliffe on derwentwater. here, in audrey's little foster-brother, the borrowdale foundling, he speedily recognised john radcliffe's deserted child, and though his lips were necessarily sealed he wrote most urgently to michael's father, strongly counselling him to acknowledge his son. his letters however proved of no avail. john radcliffe had escaped to france and saw no reason to burden himself with any additional trouble or expense; moreover he shrank from the reproaches of his second 142 hope the hermit. wife and her kinsfolk, and determined to let things be. the priest now began to think that it would be well to undertake a journey to london to seek out the heir to the estate and to rouse him to a sense of his duty in this matter. he hoped that when all was made public and henry brownrigg realised that audrey would not succeed to the goldrill estate on the death of her greatuncle, he would readily consent to abandon the proposed alliance with the radcliffes, and, in that case, either michael's union with audrey might solve the difficulty and end matters happily, or audrey could be married to the heir of sir francis salkeld, as proved best and most desirable for the general good. he was pacing up and down in the garden still musing over these schemes, when he was startled to see the figure of michael himself at the further end of the path. the priest had time as he approached to take in every detail of his appearance. he looked years older than when they had last met, but notwithstanding his pallor and the unmistakable signs of a great struggle passed through, there was something vigorous and strong in his bearing which delighted the priest. he had had to deal with many love-sick youths in his time, but had never come across one who met his troubles precisely in this fashion. "you are early at derwentwater!" he exclaimed with a cheery greeting. "hast had my letter?" hope the hermit. 143 "yes, sir, it reached isel yesterday," said michael, and his voice betrayed more than his face, for it had a curious note in it that is only heard in the voice of one who suffers. “i should have seen you last night; for i rode into crosthwaite with a letter from sir wilfrid lawson, but i was thrown from my horse and stunned, so got no further than keswick." i "none the worse i hope," said the priest, "though now i look at you 'tis clear you have had a shaking. hear, by-the-bye, from sir nicholas that you had good news while you were at raby castle." "good news?" said michael, looking bewildered, for it seemed to him a mockery to speak of anything being good just then. "ay, to be sure," said the priest cheerfully, “mrs. radcliffe said in her letter that sir christopher vane knew of your parentage, and that all doubt as to your having been born in wedlock was at an end." "yes," said michael, "that is clear, but i don't know that the knowledge will avail much." "nonsense," said the priest. "it may avail you more than you think and you should leave no stone unturned to get at further evidence and to learn the whole truth. what did you hear from sir christopher?” michael repeated what had passed between them. "i have a notion," he said, "that from the description he gave it must have been up at watendlath that i 144 hope the hermit. was born. he spoke of coming down into borrowdale at night, and that he had much difficulty in making his way to the left to a farm where they had stabled the horses. that fits in with what we already know as to the two gentlemen who left their horses at longthwaite; and in the meantime my father must have walked along towards the bowder stone till he came to the place where i was found by sir wilfrid and dickon." "if i were you," said the priest, "i would go to watendlath and see what you can discover from the good folk up there. what do you say to making a day of it among the hills? nothing would clear your brain better after your tumble of yesterday. come, go out with me. we will walk first to seathwaite where i have to visit a sick man, and afterwards we will work our way up to watendlath and learn what we can as to the past." michael fell in very readily with this plan, and was grateful to his old tutor for the discreet silence he preserved as to audrey. he tried hard to rouse himself into taking interest in the research which had once meant so much to him, but all his future had become blank and empty; he could only hold fast to the thought that had come to him at hye hill the day before, that his life belonged to one who was actually within him, and that through weal and through woe he had to follow the guidance of that inner light. hope the hermit. 145 the walk would have been a silent one had it depended on michael to find topics for conversation, but the priest with rare skill and kindliness kept up a cheery flow of such chat as he thought best suited to draw his pupil away from dwelling overmuch on his troubles. he talked of his own youth, of his training at st. omer, of his life in london, of adventures that had befallen him as he crossed the alps years ago on a pilgrimage to rome; so that it was not until they had reached seathwaite, and michael was left for an hour to his own devices, that he had much leisure for remembrance. the cloud quickly fell upon him then, however, and as he wandered on to the foot of the styhead pass everything in the landscape seemed to harmonise only too well with the utter dreariness that oppressed him. the grey amphitheatre of rugged hills, the foaming white stream which he had crossed lower down in the valley, the stunted, leafless mountain-ash tree which seemed the only living thing within sight, made a picture that for desolation could hardly have been surpassed. he threw himself on the rocks by a tiny waterfall that went splashing down beside the mountain-ash; the dull aching at his heart seemed to creep all over his physical frame as he rested his throbbing head on the grey boulder nearest him. he wondered whether jacob had felt half as desolate and weary on that night long ago when the stones had been his pillow. hope the hermit. i. ιο 146 hope the hermit. presently he fell asleep, and like jacob dreamed a dream. someone bent over him and kissed him on the forehead, and looking up quickly he saw the face that he had learnt to know so well from the miniature-his mother's face. its tender yet strong sympathy seemed to fill him with new energy. "your work awaits you!" she said, and he started up from sleep and looked round in a bewildered way. the vision had faded, only in the bare mountain-ash tree there was a robin singing its cheerful morning song, and revelling in a brief gleam of sunshine which swept over the gloomy grey of the hills. he had no notion how long he had been asleep, and fearing to keep mr. noel beyond the appointed time he went back to seathwaite, his mind still haunted by the loveliness of the face he had just seen. the priest did not keep him waiting, but came promptly out of the little stone cottage where the sick man lived, directly his step was heard without. "i shall have to leave you to go to watendlath alone," he said. "for jo milburn is in a critical state and his wife worn out with watching. i cannot leave them yet." and so it chanced that michael made his way alone up from rosthwaite to watendlath and, early in the afternoon, climbed the steps leading to the door of wilson's farm and knocked for admittance. there was hope the hermit. 147 little journeying about in those days, and as often as not people in the next hamlet did not know each other. although watendlath was such a short distance from the place where michael had spent the greater part of his life he had never before seen the face of the elderly woman in clean white mutch and snowy kerchief who opened the door to him and inquired what he needed. his tale was soon told, and mary wilson, who had listened in silence to all that he had heard at raby, gave an exclamation of heartfelt interest and recognition as he showed her the miniature. all her caution and northern reserve were scattered by the sight. "aw, to be sure! 'tis the bonnie leddy hersel'. an' you are as like her, sir, as like can be, and reet glad am i to think that no mischance befell ye the night the gentleman carried ye off in such haste." "did you ever learn his name?" asked michael eagerly. "no, sir, though i asked the leddy mair then once, but she just shook her head. and after she had deed and you were carried off i called after the gentleman to ask him, but the wind was blawin', and awa' in the distance cam' the sound of the 'bar-foot stag' and the hounds, and i was forced to shut the door." "it was at night then?" asked michael. io* 148 hope the hermit. "oh, ay, sir! and i niver fairly saw the gentleman's face, he was in sair haste, and after going in to see the corp' he just bade me wrap a cloak aboot ye, and laid some gold on the table for the buryin' and was gone before i reetly knew what he was aboot. . . . ill fitted ... was he to tak' care of a babe, or a wife either for that matter. and the bonny leddy vowed with her last breath that she was his true weddit wife, though 'twas plain to see that he'd broke his vows and had done nowt to comfort and cherish her. but there! mony a man will swear those words glib enoo' in kirk, and niver give the matter a thought agin. they wouldna treat a horse with as little care as their ain weddit wife often enoo'. there's ain thing ye should have, sir," she added, going to an oaken chest and searching diligently among its contents. "when we cam' to make the leddy ready for her buryin' we found this." she handed to him a copy of the imitation of christ, and eagerly opening it michael read the inscription on the flyleaf. "lucy carleton. her booke. penrith. 1666." "why, here is the name clearly enough!" he exclaimed, reading the words aloud. "mappen that would be her maiden name,” said the shrewd north country woman. ""twas in the summer of the year 1668 as i mind weel that she deed in this hoose, an' she told me her ain sel' she had been but hope the hermit. 149 ten months weddit. god forgive me! i doubted her at first and thought 'twas just the auld story over again. of a young girl an' a braw-faced man that had deceived her; but i never doubted after she deed. there was truth-god's truth in her look as she said her last words, an' the strength of her i shall niver forget, for it frightened me in one just passin' awa'. she made a beautiful corp', sir. you wad like mebbe to see the room yonder, 'twas in there she deed." michael felt a choking sensation in his throat as he glanced round the room. "and her husband? what of him?" he asked. "what sort of man was he?" "aboot your ain height, sir, he was, an' as i think with light hair, but he kept his face well-nigh hidden. as for me i thought him stern and hard, but belike 'twas the shock of seein' his wife dead. an' angry i was with him for takin' the laal barn-that's you, sir-oot into the cauld. howiver there was no gainsayin' him, he was off wid the babe under his cloak before i could rightly understand that he meant it in sober earnest, and nowt more have i heard or seen of him since." "where was my mother buried?" asked michael. "over at wythburn, sir. 'twas the way they had travelled from, and my husband he made inquiries but could learn nowt. they had been just travellers passin' through the country, foreign to these parts i take it." 150 hope the hermit. this was all that michael could gather, and having thanked mary wilson, and accepted the meal she hospitably offered him, he tramped down to derwentwater once more and borrowing a boat from mounsey, the miller of lowdore, rowed himself out to sir wilfrid's summer house on st. herbert's isle. hope the hermit. 151 chapter xii. "heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate, all but the page prescrib'd, their present state: from brutes what men, from men what spirits know: or who could suffer being here below?" pope. audrey radcliffe had in the meantime been passing a very quiet interval at penrith with her mother's kinsfolk. the first excitement of her betrothal was over and she had settled down into a state of dreamy content, liking well enough to work at the store of new garments which her mother was helping her to prepare, and wondering in her own heart whether in their old age she and henry brownrigg would be as quarrelsome a couple as her great-aunt and great-uncle aglionby. surely henry could never so flatly contradict her, or adopt uncle aglionby's invariable retort"nonsense, madam, you know nothing whatever about it, ply your needle and hold your tongue." if he did, could she have had the patience to go on meekly making his shirt, while he blundered over some detail which a woman with her quicker insight would have had the skill to avoid? certainly aunt aglionby 152 hope the hermit. revenged herself by most withering remarks when her husband was ruefully obliged to admit himself mistaken. there was something indescribably irritating about her smile and her "just as i told you, sir." still the old people were fond of each other after a fashion, and apart they would have been utterly miserable; but audrey, who had seen scarcely anything of married life, began to perceive that it was not all unmixed bliss, and that even these old kinsfolk who had lived together for fifty years had still to make large allowance for each other's little infirmities. she was sitting one morning in the parlour busy with a piece of fine embroidery, when her mother entered with an open letter in her hand. "i have heard from an old friend of my mother, audrey," she said, "a mrs. simpson who is visiting her kinsman, mr. carleton, not far from penrith. she has but just heard of our being in the neighbourhood, and mr. carleton's coach waits below to take us back to visit them. put on your best sacque, child, and let us come at once, for the horses must not be kept waiting in this cold east wind." "who is mr. carleton, ma'am?" asked audrey, glancing towards the hearth where aunt aglionby was busy with her spinning wheel. "he lives at carleton manor, a mile from penrith," said the old lady. "but he is a strange-tempered old hope the hermit. 153 gentleman and crippled with gout; the simpsons are the only visitors who ever stay at the manor now." "did not his daughter and heiress marry thomas simpson?" asked mrs. radcliffe. "to be sure she did; they had her safely wedded when she was but a child of fourteen lest she should follow the example of her elder sister," said mrs. aglionby. "the poor old man has never got over that scandal." audrey would have liked to stay and hear more, for aunt aglionby seemed in a chatty mood, but she was obliged to hasten away and dress, and though she had intended to ask her mother what the scandal was that had so disturbed old mr. carleton, she forgot all about it when they were rattling along in the cumbrous old coach, nor did it recur to her mind until mrs. simpson, a pleasant-looking elderly lady, led her into the room. where, half lost in a huge grandfather chair with cushioned sides and arms to it, sat a withered, wrinkled old man in a purple coat, with his gouty foot on a leg-rest, and that ominous single upright line between the eyes which betokens a stormy temper. he received mrs. radcliffe with an effort at courtesy, but either a twinge of gout or some painful memory made him glare at audrey as she curtseyed in response to his slight bow. "what! madam!" he said turning to mrs. radcliffe, 154 hope the hermit. "do i understand that your daughter has arrived at this age and is not yet married? that's a mistake—a great mistake." "audrey is betrothed to mr. brownrigg the undersheriff," said mrs. radcliffe, amazed, but secretly amused, at this very plain speaking. "get her married quick, madam," growled the old man. "delays are dangerous. i would have all maids wedded at fourteen before they have time to get foolish notions in their heads or try to take the bit between their teeth." here mrs. simpson contrived to put in a word which turned the conversation, and soon after the butler announced that dinner was served. the meal proved a long and very dull function, and audrey sighed with relief when they returned to the cooler atmosphere of the withdrawing-room. here a pretty little boy of seven years old joined them, mrs. simpson's small grandson, tom; and audrey, who could always make herself happy with children, soon induced the little fellow to cast aside his stiff company manner and to chatter away freely. "show your doves to miss radcliffe, tom," said his grandmother, not unwilling to get rid of the two younger members of the party and to enjoy a quiet talk with mrs. radcliffe. and audrey, willing enough, went off hand in hand. with the child, who led her into a far-away wing where hope the hermit. 155 in the big deserted nursery his wicker cage of doves occupied the wide window-seat. "did you bring this big cage with you from home?" asked audrey. "no, the doves live here," said the child. "but every year i come here and see them, sometimes with my mother, sometimes with grandmother. i should like it if it weren't for the ghost." audrey laughed merrily. "why, tom, there are no such things as ghosts," she said. "come! i am sure you never saw one." "no," said the child doubtfully. "i don't think it comes into the house, but betty-that's the housemaid -she says that any night you may see her walking in the pleasance and crying!" "see betty?" said audrey mischievously. "no, see the ghost," said the child with wide eyes. "who is she?" "well," said tom lowering his voice, "don't say i told you, for they think i don't know, they always do think i don't know things-but it is my mother's sister, lucy-i b'lieve she was a very wicked woman—that's why we must never say her name, betty says-though all the same i think betty is very sorry for her. she disobeyed grandfather, and no one ever dares do that— i can't think how she dared do it. betty said that rather than marry sir james grey who was always drunk by 156 hope the hermit. two in the afternoon, she ran away from home. betty's mother was a servant here then and she told her. you come here and i'll show you something." audrey allowed herself to be led along a corridor at the end of which tom unbolted a door and took her into an empty room. not an atom of furniture was in it, but leaning against the wainscot with its face to the wall there stood a large picture. "this was aunt lucy's bedroom," whispered the child, "and after she ran away my grandfather had it all stripped like this, and he made them take down her picture from the dining-room and had it put away in here with its face to the wall." "and what makes you fancy that she walks still in the garden?" said audrey. "they have seen her," said the child in an awestruck voice. "her ghost walks up and down under the trees in the pleasance, just as betty's mother saw her doing the afternoon when my grandfather said she should marry sir james whether she liked it or not. she walked to and fro crying, for hours, they say, and in the morning when they came here to wake her up, the room was empty and the window wide open; she had got out in the night by this tree that grows close by." audrey went to look at the tree and reflected that the girl must have been desperate indeed before she hope the hermit. 157 took such a leap. then she stooped down and looked at the name painted on the back of the picture. "lucy carleton. anno domini, 1666, ætat. 15.” strong curiosity to see the face of the heroine of this strange romance suddenly seized her. she carefully turned the picture round, rather to the horror of little tom, who gripped fast hold of her dress, curious, too, yet full of an inexplicable dread at the thought of seeing the face of the ghost. flicking off the dust with her handkerchief, audrey saw that the picture represented a young girl sitting in a conventional attitude on a grassy slope, in a white satin dress much more suited to a ball-room. at her feet two little king charles' spaniels played with a ball, but when, raising her hand to dust the higher part of the picture, audrey was able to make out the features distinctly, she gave a stifled exclamation of astonishment. for in that familiar short face with its healthy colouring, its finely moulded mouth and chin, its dazzlingly bright hazel eyes and soft brown curls, she at once recognised the face painted in the miniature which she and michael had discovered in borrowdale. here at last was fresh evidence as to michael's parentage, and she hastily turned over in her mind the plan she had best adopt. it would hardly do to speak of the discovery downstairs, she must at anyrate consult with her mother first, and with another long look at the picture 158 hope the hermit. she turned it once more with its face to the wall, and hand in hand with tom returned to the nursery. "you could not be afraid of such a sweet-looking ghost as that," she said, glancing at the child. "n-no,” said tom doubtfully. "i'm somehow glad she was fond of dogs." that was a human touch and gave him a fellow feeling for the poor ghost. "i wish she had the dogs with her when she walks," he said. "but she doesn't. they say she is always crying, and heart would break." crying, as if her audrey was silent; the mournful cooing of the doves in the cage seemed to harmonise only too well with the sad story of poor lucy. could it really be true that she was unable to rest, but still returned to her old home, haunting the place where she had suffered so much? "i wonder why she walks?" said tom. "is it because my grandfather never forgave her?" "i don't know," said audrey musingly. "perhaps there is some wrong that she wants set right." "there's rover barking in the pleasance; come and look at him" said the child, running to the window. "why, see! he is barking at that pretty lady; he always does bark at strangers. who can she be? look, she is stopping to make friends with him, he's quiet now, he's wagging his tail." hope the hermit. 159 "but, tom," said audrey in astonishment, "there is no lady there, only the dog." "yes, there is! why, i can see her as plain, as plain! she's coming this way, she's looking up at us. oh! it is the lady in the picture-how lovely-how lovely she is. it's you she's looking at! what is it she wants so much?" "dear tom, it's your fancy, there's nothing to be seen at all, only the dog wagging his tail." "it's the ghost lady. and she's begging you to do something for her," said tom, struggling to unfasten the window. "what is it that you want, ma'am?" he called in his shrill treble. "oh, she gave such a smile at that, and now she's looking at you; she must be very fond of you. oh see! she's going, she's waving her hand. she's gone out, just as my soap-bubbles go." audrey looked in some perplexity at her companion's intent little face. she was afraid that his brooding over the ghost story, and the sight of the picture, had overexcited his brain. "you have been having a spring afternoon's dream, tom," she said laughingly. "come, let us have a good game of battledore and shuttlecock. i'll warrant i can beat you at that." delighted to have a playfellow, tom willingly assented to this plan, and they were still hard at work, and making the nursery ring with their merry voices 160 hope the hermit. and the monotonous beat of the battledores, when the old serving-man came to say that the coach was at the door, and would mistress radcliffe come to the withdrawing-room? "i shall never be afraid of the ghost any more," whispered tom in her ear, "now that i've seen her.” the farewells were said and audrey and her mother were shut into the cumbrous old coach. "such a strange thing has happened, mother," said the girl eagerly. "through the chatter of little tom simpson i have learnt something more about michael derwent's mother, there can be no doubt that she was old mr. carleton's runaway daughter, for her picture is precisely like the miniature we found. do they know whom she married?" "they have no idea. mrs. simpson was talking of it just now. i believe old mr. carleton knows, but no one else has ever discovered who the man was." "we must let michael know about this," said audrey, "i will write to him and tell him just what i found out." "no need to write,” said mrs. radcliffe. "we shall soon be at home again and shall doubtless see him." "yes, we shall soon be home," said audrey, and then with a sudden catching of the breath she gripped fast hold of her mother's hand. for as they passed out through the gate something made the horses shy viohope the hermit. 161 lently and for a minute it seemed that the coach must be overturned. then, plunging and kicking in desperate terror, the frightened animals suddenly bolted and went tearing madly along the road to penrith. "don't be frightened, dear," said mrs. radcliffe, surprised to see the deathly pallor of audrey's face, for as a rule the girl was not easily alarmed. "oh mother!" she said trembling violently, "it was the ghost that made them shy, i saw her by the gatepost, and she was weeping bitterly." "you are overwrought," said her mother soothingly. "it must have been your fancy and the memory of the picture." so she argued, but the fact remained that the terrified horses were still galloping at a pace which seemed incredible considering the load they were dragging; that the coachman sat on the box trembling like a man with the palsy quite unable to control them, and that the carleton coach was rolling and swinging from side to side, bumping over stones, crashing through ruts and shaking the occupants intolerably. at length there came one tremendous upheaving, and the coach was overturned just as they reached the outskirts of penrith. how long they lay there stunned audrey had no notion, she awoke to the consciousness that someone was lifting her up and that the fresh cold wind was blowing on her face. in a bewildered way she looked hope the hermit. i. i i 162 hope the hermit. round, two passers-by were lifting mrs. radcliffe, and as they laid her on the grass by the roadside she heard her mother moan faintly. the sound made her start to her feet and hasten to mrs. radcliffe's side. it was evident that she was seriously hurt, nor did she entirely recover consciousness until they had carried her back to uncle aglionby's house, where under the care of aunt aglionby's maid, who seemed to have every appliance that was needed for fainting ladies, from hartshorn to burnt feathers, she gradually came to herself. audrey breathed more freely on hearing the surgeon's report that no bones were broken, but before long it became evident that some serious internal mischief had been caused by the accident, and their unlucky drive from carleton manor proved the beginning of a long and wearing illness which made any thought of returning to lord's island out of the question for some months. hope the hermit. 163 chapter xiii. "delight is layd abedde; and pleasure past; no sonne now shines; cloudes han all overcast." spenser. at isel hall the summer passed by uneventfully. michael had had plenty to do, and fortunately it had not been possible for him to brood over his private troubles, for no one could live with sir wilfrid and fail to take a keen and practical interest in the affairs of the political world. though sorry to hear of mrs. radcliffe's tedious illness, audrey's enforced stay at penrith was clear gain to him, and he was not without hope that sir wilfrid-who had recently been made a baronetmight be compelled before long to make a journey to london in connection with a lawsuit, and that by accompanying him he might still further postpone that dreaded meeting with the girl he loved, in her new position as henry brownrigg's betrothed. one september afternoon, dinner being over, he was pacing to and fro in the quaint walled garden which lay in front of the house, when he saw, coming towards him down the broad flight of stone steps which were ii* 164 hope the hermit. always half veiled by moss and ferns, the well-known figure of zinogle, the keswick fiddler. "why, zinogle!" he exclaimed, greeting the old man heartily. "tis an age since i saw you. how goes the world at keswick?" "not so well as it did last november, sir, when we fired the beacon," said zinogle with a sly gleam in his eye. "there's less of thanking the almighty and more of grumbling and squabbling. for my part i say long live king william, who had the chimney tax repealed.” "what! you bring a letter for me?" said michael, glancing curiously at the missive which zinogle produced from his leather wallet. "a letter from mr. noel, sir, and i've just delivered one from mrs. radcliffe to sir wilfrid lawson." "is mrs. radcliffe at lord's island then?" asked michael, his heart stirring uncomfortably. "yes, sir, they are at home, and mrs. radcliffe calls herself well, but to my thinking she'll never again be what she was before her accident." michael did not reply; he was busy with mr. noel's letter, which brought him news that was sufficiently startling. my dear michael, a rumour has reached us that sir wilfrid lawson is about to go to london. deeming it probable that you will attend him, i am most anxious to see you first that i may give you an introhope the hermit. 165 duction to an old friend of mine who may, i believe, be of service to you. mrs. radcliffe is writing to sir wilfrid lawson, at the request of sir nicholas, and trusts that he will break his journey here. there is yet a further reason why we are anxious to get speech of you. while at penrith mrs. radcliffe and her daughter visited a mr. robert carleton of carleton manor; they have reason to believe that he must be your grandfather, but have not succeeded in getting actual proof. the name corresponds with that in the book which was given you at watendlath and i think you should lose no time in following up the clue. i am, yours very faithfully, augustine noel. michael read this letter with very mingled feelings. to escape from this quiet place would indeed be a relief; he had suffered too bitterly in that stately old hall with its imposing façade and its massive pele tower not to crave for fresh fields and pastures new; the thought of at length finding his mother's people stimulated his fancy, and the notion of at length seeing london pleased him well enough; but all this would be dearly purchased by having to stay at lord's island under the same roof as audrey, and with the constant dread that henry brownrigg might appear upon the scene. "well, after all!" he reflected somewhat bitterly, "i am not my own master and shall have to do as sir wilfrid thinks best." "come indoors, zinogle," he said, turning to the 166 hope the hermit. fiddler; "you must want rest and food after your journey, and i will go and write a reply to mr. noel.” a journey to london in those days was a formidable undertaking, and in this instance sir wilfrid knew that he would probably meet with a thousand delays and hindrances and that several months would probably elapse before he returned to the north country. many things had to be discussed and arranged; the attorney was summoned from cockermouth to make out a new will, tenants had to be seen and entertained, accounts overhauled, and everything set in order as though instead of making a journey to the south of england, the good baronet was taking leave of this world altogether. however, at length all arrangements were made, and on a bright october morning sir wilfrid and his secretary set out for the long-talked-of expedition. it was about noon when they reached keswick, and michael, in spite of himself, felt a thrill of pleasure as he caught sight once more of derwentwater glistening in the sun and beyond it that wonderful vista of the borrowdale crags. he might be coming face to face with sorrow, but after all it was a home-coming, and he felt new life in him as he looked lovingly at those familiar mountains which had been the friends of his childhood. no other hope the hermit. 167 • place in the world could ever be to him what borrowdale had been. putting up their horses at stable hills farm, they were rowed across the narrow strip of water to the island by old william hollins, and then, with steady steps but a wildly throbbing heart, michael walked beside his patron up the familiar path to the great door. it opened just as they approached, and he saw audrey standing between the two old serving-men, waiting to receive her grandfather's guests, and making a pretty apology to sir wilfrid. sir nicholas, she said, was not well, and they had persuaded him not to venture from the hearth. the next moment her hand was in michael's, and she was giving him the most matter-of-fact greeting, friendly but preoccupied-apparently quite oblivious that anything out of the common had happened since they had last held each other's hands at raby castle. well, he reflected, she had never in the least understood what she had been to him, and it was better so. his heart seemed to turn into a lump of ice, but then, after all, was not that more or less convenient? he found himself able to talk with perfect sangfroid, even to jest with father noel-as most people called him in these more tolerant days-over the outfit he would need directly he reached london. mrs. radcliffe was particularly kind to him, perhaps because her quick insight penetrated below his mask 168 hope the hermit. of composure and well-assumed indifference; or possibly because she could not help rejoicing in the thought that she was not to have this penniless and nameless foundling for a son-in-law,-a mere boy, moreover, contrasting most unfavourably in every respect with the undersheriff, who was a man of good standing, wealthy, and eminently fitted to protect audrey from the wiles of father noel. it did not occur to her that the priest's schemes were by no means ended by the betrothal, and that he had no intention whatever of quietly acquiescing in what seemed to him a most disastrous state of things. she retired when dinner was over, leaving the gentlemen over their wine, and being still weak after her long illness, she was glad to go to her own room and rest while audrey took a basketful of scraps of bread and went out to feed her swans. father noel caught sight of her just as sir nicholas rose from the table, and went off to the library with sir wilfrid lawson. he glanced from the girl's retreating figure to the face of his pupil and thought for a moment. was he deliberately to lead this boy into temptation? "his heart is frozen," he reflected. "it must at any cost be thawed, or he will inevitably go to the dogs. were there another woman likely to serve the purpose i would throw him in her way, but as things are it is hope the hermit. 169 absolutely necessary that we should keep him still in love with audrey. he will suffer, but that can't be helped. to save him from himself, and to save her from henry brownrigg, i must put up with that and run a certain amount of risk." "let us come out together in the orchard," he said, turning to michael. "i want to speak a few words with you as to my friend in london, to whom you have kindly promised to bear a book. he, also, was one of those falsely suspected in the time of the so-called. popish plot in 1678. we left london together, but he has spent most of his time abroad, having only lately returned to london. i know that you are not one of the bigots who will have no dealings with a catholic or i should not have asked this service of you." "i will gladly serve any friend of yours, sir," said michael. "what is the gentleman's name?" "ask for him under the name of mr. calverley. he is staying in villiers street, york buildings. i have known him for many years, and shall be grateful if you will deliver into his hands the letter and packet i will give you. and now let us say a word as to your own affairs." "as to this mr. carleton of penrith, sir?" "yes. it was strange that the discovery should have been made, was it not?" 170 hope the hermit. "it comes too late," said michael with a sigh. care little about it now." "i "there i think you are wrong. audrey cares very much indeed, and is most anxious that you should investigate matters for yourself.” he coloured painfully. "is she?" he said. "how can it affect her?" father noel hailed both the blush and the slight faltering of the voice. the thawing process had clearly begun. "it may affect her more than you think," he said, and the words were strictly true, but he said them in one sense and knew quite well that they would convey a very different sense to michael. there was silence for some minutes. the two paced on beneath the trees until they came to the water, and here, standing on the shore with four snowy swans close to the margin of the water, they saw audrey feeding her favourites. "are they not beautiful creatures?" she said. “now there is only one bit of bread left-they shall have a race for it." she flung it far out and clapped her hands as the largest swan followed the prize. "i knew he would beat the others," she said. “isn't he splendid with his long, stately neck?" "the race is not always to the swift nor the battle hope the hermit. 171 to the strong," said father noel musingly, and the words made michael pull himself together, for he always instinctively rebelled against audrey's curious admiration for mere bulk. size. fortunately for him, strength was not dependent on "do you think," said the priest, "that sir wilfrid will object to your going to carleton manor, on your way to london? i think you should get speech of mr. carleton himself. that would be possible, i suppose, audrey?" "oh, yes,” said the girl eagerly. "though he is an invalid i think he would certainly see you, and he is the only person who knows who it was his daughter ran away with; they say he has never mentioned the name and that there were all sorts of guesses made at the time in penrith. but old mrs. aglionby thinks it must have been some stranger from quite another neighbourhood." they had strolled along as far as the fallen tree, where a year before they had sat together on the day of michael's return; he recognised the place at once and sighed as all the old hopes and dreams recurred to his mind." "tell all about your discovery of the picture," said father noel, and for a minute or two he sat down be172 hope the hermit. side them, but soon complained of the cold and wandered away by himself. the two scarcely noted his departure, for audrey was thoroughly interested in telling exactly what had passed at carleton manor, and michael was not only absorbed in her description, but seemed unable to take his eyes from her face. in truth she looked most lovely with her soft grey eyes, a trifle wider than usual as she spoke of the apparition, her face all animation and life, her sunny brown curls lightly stirred by the western wind. and the priest had spoken truly, for she did care very much that he should follow up the clue she had so strangely discovered. after all, was his case absolutely hopeless? wild dreams began to find place in his mind; was there not, after all, many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip? she was not yet wedded to henry brownrigg. mrs. radcliffe's illness had already delayed the marriage. might not some other chance intervene and once more save her from a fate which seemed more intolerable now than ever? "it is strange," he said, "but i, too, had the same vision of my mother, although only in a dream.” he told her of his walk with father noel, and of how he had waited on the styhead pass and had seen what he had never for a moment doubted to be his mother; and then with far more hope than he had felt hope the hermit. 173 at the time, he told all that had passed at watendlath, audrey listening with that whole-hearted attention which she had always shown in matters that concerned him. by-and-by he took the copy of thomas à kempis from his pocket and they looked at it together. audrey's thoughts were of that strange romance of the past; absorbed in picturing poor lucy, whose sweet, sad face had been stamped on her heart ever since she had seen it at the gate of carleton manor, she never paused to reflect that her curls brushed michael's cheek and fell on his hand as together they bent over the book. but he was conscious of it in every fibre of his being, and it was with a bewildered wonder that he read mechanically on the page at which audrey had opened, the description of a man who, hundreds of years before, had somehow attained to a peace of mind which seemed scarcely credible. "he committed himself wholly to the will of god, and that noisome anxiety ceased. neither had he the mind to search curiously any farther, to know what should befall him; but rather laboured to understand what was the perfect and acceptable will of god for the beginning and accomplishing of every good work.” audrey read on thoughtfully, but his eyes were no longer on the book, but on that bright soft tress of hair which rested on the back of his hand. 174 hope the hermit. at that moment a shadow darkened the sunlight and made them both look up hastily, imagining that father noel had strolled back towards them along the grassy path. audrey gave a little exclamation of surprise and pleasure when she saw that it was not the priest after all, but henry brownrigg. she greeted him gaily, and never noticed the expression on his face until he turned to michael with the stiffest and most unfriendly of salutations. then she glanced in perplexity from one to the other. what did it all mean? both men were evidently furious; her lover's brow wore a frown so menacing and stormy that for the first time in her life she was afraid of him; while michael, with flushed face and over-bright eyes, stood by erect and scornful, defiance in his whole attitude. there was an awkward pause; she had an instinct that unless she broke it quickly something terrible would happen, and with an effort she made a step or two forward and put her hand on henry brownrigg's arm. "see," she said gently, "we were looking at this book which was found at watendlath. it belonged to michael's mother and will form a link in the chain of evidence he is getting together.” "indeed!" he said with sarcasm in his voice, and taking the book from her hand, he gave it to michael with a formal bow, and a look which said as plainly as hope the hermit. 175 words, "i should like to throw it at your head if courtesy did not forbid." michael glanced swiftly at audrey; her clear, innocent eyes had a troubled look. he felt that for her sake he ought not to linger. “i have an errand in keswick," he said, "and shall not return till supper time. can i do anything for you in the town?" she thanked him, but said she needed nothing, and with a sense of relief saw him disappear among the trees, leaving her alone with her lover. "how long has that boy been here with you?" said henry in an angry voice. "michael? he came with sir wilfrid lawson just before dinner.” "you know very well i meant what o'clock was it when he came out here with you alone." perhaps she resented his masterful tone, or perhaps it was merely her innate love of teasing which made her reply with a laugh::"as orlando said to rosalind, 'there's no clock in the forest!"" "i will not have him hanging about you!" said henry brownrigg furiously. "can't you see yourself how unseemly it is?" "i don't understand you," she said, colouring. "michael is my foster-brother. i knew him long before 176 hope the hermit. i knew you. if my grandfather and my mother choose to invite him here as a guest it is not your place to complain that we talk together." henry brownrigg had the shrewdness to see that he had made a mistake in adopting such a tone to his betrothed, and with an effort he refrained from saying another word as to michael, though his heart was still hot within him. "of course you very naturally wished to tell your ghost story," he said, allowing his face to relax into a smile. "i had forgotten that." then seeing that she still looked grave and displeased, he threw his arm about her, and began to tell her of the wearing work he had had to do that morning, and to speak of the future when he should have her always near to gladden his life. "but i am forgetting the special reason of my visit," he said at length. "it was to ask whether you and mrs. radcliffe will not spend a day with us next week. the short distance to millbeck hall would surely not be too much for your mother, and there are many things to discuss and arrange before our marriage." "we could come for the day," said audrey, “but indeed i don't think my mother can spare me yet; she is not strong. don't urge her to fix any early date for the wedding." she could hardly have explained why for the first hope the hermit. 177 time she felt a dread of her lover; she was not in the least accustomed to analysing her thoughts. had she done so she might have discovered that the entire blindness of her admiration was at an end; his revelation of petty jealousy of so old a friend as michael, the insufferable manner in which he had looked at her fosterbrother, had in reality opened her eyes to perceive something of his true character. now, love has power to see faults and blemishes and still to love on, because it goes deeper than the faults, and loves what shall one day be perfected. but the so-called love which is only admiration is quickly killed by the sudden discovery of serious failings; never having penetrated below the surface, it withers and dies easily enough. audrey's admiration of her betrothed was by no means ended that october afternoon, but the perfect content she had enjoyed during the first part of their engagement was over. had she been able to follow him when he left her his true self would have been plainly revealed, but unfortunately she never guessed that he rode away from stable hills farm with the full intention of overtaking michael before he reached keswick. to his great satisfaction, he came upon him close to castle hill, for michael was on foot. he reined in his horse. "a word with you, mr. derwent, if you please," he said in his haughtiest tone. hope the hermit. i. 12 178 hope the hermit. michael stood still and looked his rival in the face. "understand plainly, sir," said henry brownrigg, "that i will not endure a repetition of what i saw today. i will not have you enjoying private interviews with my betrothed.” "do you dare to dictate to sir nicholas radcliffe's guests?" said michael angrily. "let me remind you, sir, that lord's island is not your property.” "thank god "no," said henry brownrigg with a sneer. "it is not, but mistress audrey radcliffe is my property." "not yet," said michael passionately. you can't say that till she is your wife. the law will permit you to do it then, and, like petruchio, i have no doubt you'll proclaim, 'she is my goods, my chattels, my horse, my ox, my ass, my anything!'" "perhaps i shall," said henry brownrigg, determined to provoke a quarrel. "it is nothing to you. what have you to do, pray, with audrey radcliffe? you! a mere foundling bastard!” the blood rushed to michael's face. "you lie!" he said fiercely. "take back your words or give me satisfaction." "that would please me better than anything," said henry brownrigg with a sneer, "and since you leave tomorrow"9 he broke off abruptly, for from among the trees and bushes which clothed the lower part of castle hill there hope the hermit. 179 suddenly emerged an old and venerable-looking man wearing a sober-hued doublet and a plain, broadbrimmed hat, black-silk hose of the finest quality, and silver shoe-buckles which were faultlessly polished. "friend," he said to michael, "do not forget." michael turned to the speaker; his eyes were bright with passion, his boyish face flushed, but the quaker's calm voice and manner exerted over him the same extraordinary influence as on that march day when he had first heard of audrey's betrothal. "sir," he said, "mr. brownrigg foully slandered my mother. am i to stand still and endure that? he lies, and knows it right well." "if thou dost fight every liar thy sword will never be sheathed," said the quaker; "remember the sage who sought through a city for one honest man, yet found him not for all his seeking. as for thee, henry brownrigg, i heard thee stirring up strife with thy unseemly words, and, as audrey radcliffe's kinsman, i liked it very ill that thou didst so little reverence her as to speak of her as thy property in the public way." “had i known, sir, that mistress radcliffe's illustrious quaker cousin, instead of being in prison, was skulking among the trees, i would have spoken more carefully," said henry brownrigg with a sneer on his handsome face, 12* 180 hope the hermit. "i take thy words as an apology," said the quaker. "but, nevertheless, 'tis the presence of the lord, not the presence of man, that should teach thee rightly to reverence woman." "well, derwent, the fates are against us," said the under-sheriff with a laugh as he touched up his horse. “it seems that this time we must forego our meeting. better luck, i hope, in our next dispute." michael, with a sick feeling of disappointment, bowed in silence, and watched his rival until he disappeared among the trees which bordered the horse track. the quaker eyed him keenly, understanding well enough what was passing in his mind. "art thou wise to visit at lord's island?" he said at last. "i am in attendance on sir wilfrid lawson, sir," said michael. "the visit was none of my seeking. we only rest there to-night on our way to london, and there were letters of introduction which father noel wished to give me." they walked on together, as they spoke, in the direction of keswick. "do not take it ill of me if i speak plainly to thee with regard to augustine noel," said the quaker. "he is, as i know, an old and tried friend of thine, but i hope the hermit. 181 iwould have thee careful as to these same letters of introduction. london is in a troubled state, as i learn from my worthy friend george fox; the very elect may be deceived, led, before they know it, into meddling with matters of earthly government." "i am the last to wish to dabble in politics," said michael with an air of distaste, "and am well content with our new king and queen. all i care for is to see the town, to get away to something that will be fresh and free from memories. you can never have known, sir, what restlessness means." "indeed, 'tis a malady that doth too often haunt a prison," said the quaker with a smile upon his quiet face. “but 'tis a foe to be wrestled with and not lightly yielded to. do not in thy restlessness become like the rolling stone of the proverb which gathers no moss. as for thy journey to london, that is well enough, only have a care and remember that thy life is not thine own. tell me, hast thou room in thy valise for a small book? if so i would be much beholden to thee if thou wouldst carry it to george fox, who is scarce likely again to be at swarthmoor hall, or to venture upon a journey to these parts, for he waxes old and feeble." michael gladly undertook to deliver the packet to the great leader of the friends, and nathaniel radcliffe 182 hope the hermit. prevailed upon him to stay and sup at hye hill, where, in the stillness of the parlour in which he had once lived through so strange an experience, he began once more to face the life that lay before him, shamed into patient endurance by the silent influence of his quaker friend. hope the hermit. 183 chapter xiv. recollections of michael derwent. “the prince, unable to conceal his pain, gazed on the fair who caused his care, and sighed and looked, sighed and looked, sighed and looked, and sighed again." dryden. more than seven months passed by after the march day when i first heard of audrey's betrothal before i again found myself at hye hill. late in october i had to attend sir wilfrid to london, and on our way, at sir nicholas radcliffe's request, we lay for a night at the mansion on lord's island. it chanced unluckily that i came across henry brownrigg there; and afterwards, near castle hill, high words passed betwixt us, so that we should certainly have fought upon the matter had not my quaker friend suddenly appeared, managed to patch up a peace between us, and brought me to his house. what it was in nathaniel radcliffe and that sweetfaced old lady his wife which wrought so strange an effect on me i never can tell. i went into their house 184 hope the hermit. heated and chafed and at war with fate; i came out again calmed, and with a strength that made me ready to face outer storms. yet they never preached at me -it was not the quaker way to speak much of religion. they were just friends; and it was not what they did or what they spoke, but what they were in themselves, which somehow worked like magic. my old fancy that hye hill was heaven, came back to me curiously that night, and perhaps, after all, the dream had not been wholly wrong; for in this old couple there certainly was a heavenly-mindedness i never saw elsewhere. had they gained it in those long years of persecution and imprisonment? was it the reward-the martyr's crown -won by their patient suffering? all the way back to lord's island i pondered over it. there was a light in the window of the withdrawingroom, and in the still evening air i caught the sound of music as william hollins set me down at the landingplace. drawing nearer, the whole room became clearly visible to me. sir nicholas, in his armchair by the hearth, beat time feebly with his long, slender hand; mrs. radcliffe was playing at chess with sir wilfrid, while audrey, with her nut-brown hair gleaming like gold in the lamplight, sang to her lute ben jonson's song, "see the chariot at hand here of love". her voice, though sweet, was not very strong, and hope the hermit. 185 the charm of her singing lay in the clear, unaffected way in which she rendered the words. i could have wished it had not been so that night, for each phrase seemed to have its own special torture for me. have you seen but a bright lily grow, before rude hands have touched it? have you mark'd but the fall of the snow before the soil hath smutched it? have you felt the wool of the beaver? or swan's down ever? or have smelt the bud of the briar? or the nard in the fire? or have tasted the bag of the bee? o, so white! o, so soft! o, so sweet is she! the very unconsciousness with which seemed to heighten the charm of the song. away trembling like a palsied man. she sang i turned he was in the hall i came across father noel. pacing to and fro, breviary in hand, and with one of his swift glances he read my face. audrey's lute still sounded through the silent house. "welcome back again," he said with his pleasant smile. "will you join them in the withdrawing-room, or will you have supper first?" "i supped at hye hill," i replied, and then briefly told him of the dispute with henry brownrigg and of the quaker's intervention. "he was quite right," said father noel. "you were 186 hope the hermit. ever too ready to fight that braggart. henry brownrigg needs tackling in other ways. do not forget to see what you can of my friend mr. calverley when you reach london; and now let us join the others." but i hung back and begged him to make my excuses, to say that i was preparing for the journey, or was indisposed, for to meet audrey again at that minute seemed to me intolerable. the priest, however, with a persistence that i could not understand, would take no refusal, and i was forced to follow him into the room where the family was assembled. he could not force me, however, to approach audrey. i stood by the fire near sir nicholas, while father noel took the vacant chair close to the singer and asked for one song after another, deliberately choosing or so it seemed to me--the ones that would give me the keenest pain. that he hated henry brownrigg and shrank from the idea of the marriage i knew well enough, but why, now that the betrothal was a fact, did he add to my misery by compelling me to meet the woman i vainly loved? i had reached lord's island that morning with a heart like a lump of ice, but when i left the next day, after a miserable night haunted by visions of past happiness, love and passion and pain raged within me once more, and dreams as wild as an old fairy tale hope the hermit. 187 began to take shape in my mind as i rode beside sir wilfrid to penrith. in the forenoon of the following day i rode to carleton manor. audrey had described the house so well that i seemed to know every stone of it, and standing in the morning sunshine, the whole place seemed steeped in peace. it was what they call st. luke's summer; not a breath of wind stirred the russet and gold of the trees, only now and then a leaf detached itself from its twig and fluttered noiselessly down upon the smooth green turf below. one could hardly picture that restless, sad spirit, which audrey had described, haunting a place where all things seemed so tranquil. feeling not unlike jack the giant-killer, i blew the horn which hung beside the great door, and after some little delay an old serving-man appeared in somewhat shabby livery. i inquired whether it were possible to see mr. carleton. the old man looked at me very narrowly. a puzzled expression stole over his wrinkled face. "the master sees few guests, being an invalid,” he said. "but i come on an urgent matter and bring letters of introduction," i said persuasively. whereupon the old man, still eyeing me very curiously, permitted me to enter, and ushering me into a small anteroom, took 188 hope the hermit. the letter with which mrs. radcliffe had furnished me and hobbled off into the adjoining apartment. "don't disturb me," said a harsh, irritable voice, plainly audible through the open door. the toothless old serving-man was not so audible, but i heard a remonstrating mumble. "i tell you i will not be disturbed. impudence." "mumble, mumble, mumble." curse your "well, open the confounded letter, then, and hand it to me to read, you idiot! what! mrs. radcliffe, who was in the overturned coach? humph! i suppose i must see the gentleman. blockhead, and show him in." shift my leg for me, you i began to think it would be no pleasant task to go and claim kinship with this irascible old invalid, and my heart beat fast as i was shown into the presence of a white-haired and most crabbed-looking veteran of about eighty, who gave me a ceremonious greeting, and inquired after mrs. radcliffe's health. when i had replied to that, there followed an uncomfortable pause. some instinct warned me as i looked at old mr. carleton not to beat about the bush, but to speak straightforwardly, even abruptly. "sir," i said, "you will wonder what hath brought me here to trouble you with a question, seeing that i am a total stranger. but perhaps you will bear with hope the hermit. 189 me when i tell you that all my life will be overclouded till my question is answered. my mother was deserted by her husband just before my birth; she died refusing to reveal his name, and only within the last few months have i discovered her maiden name. it is written in this book." and with that i opened and held towards him the copy of thomas à kempis. his bushy white eyebrows contracted as he peered down at the inscription; then with a fierce, quick movement he clutched me by the shoulder and drew me down that he might more closely scan my face. the scrutiny would have been embarrassing, but something in the old man's eager eyes arrested my attention, and i fell to thinking of him rather than of myself. there was something piteous after all about his crabbed, solitary, old age. "you are lucy's son; there is no doubt about that," he said, falling back to his former position. "the child of her shame." "sir," i said, "i have met one who nessed my mother's marriage; he is one actually witwhose word baronet as is he pledged you could not possibly doubt—as worthy a to be found in all the county of durham. himself at the time not to reveal her husband's name. that is why i come to you to-day to ask it." "you come to me?" he said with a bitter, mirthless laugh. "you could not have come to a worse person." 190 hope the hermit. "surely, sir," i pleaded, "you will not withhold from me my own father's name. i have a right to know itif only that i may call him to account for having first deserted my mother and then done his best to murder me by the spartan plan of exposure." old mr. carleton's eyes lit up with a gleam of something like sympathy. "i like your spirit," he said. "i would help you if i could, but that arch-deceiver's name is still unknown to me. my daughter did not see fit to inform me who it was that imposed upon her, who it was in whose honour she confided rather than in the honour of the father to whom she owed everything." this unexpected blow fairly staggered me. "you do not know even his name?" i faltered. "then surely you must be able at least to guess which of her admirers she was likely to favour." "indeed, sir, i can do nothing of the kind," said the old man bitterly. "you have doubtless heard from mrs. radcliffe the current version of the tale. you not unnaturally side with your mother, but now hear my side of the story. i have never spoken of it from that day to this, but now methinks i have a mind that lucy's son should hear both versions. have the goodness, sir, to cross the room and open the doors of that japan cabinet." i obeyed, turned the curiously wrought brass key, hope the hermit. 191 and revealed the daintily arranged pigeonholes and drawers inside. "now press with your fingers on the bottom of the centre compartment," said mr. carleton. this apparently touched a spring, for out flew a little secret drawer in which there lay a letter yellow with age. mr. carleton told me to bring it to him, and motioned to me to resume my former place. "my wife had died," he said, "at the birth of our second daughter, and thus, at twelve years old, lucy found herself mistress of this house. i had no fault to find with her; she was dutiful and affectionate. i expected perfect obedience, and she never refused it until it came to the time of her proposed marriage; then, without any warning, she changed her whole method of behaviour, and flatly refused to marry the husband i had chosen for her. it became a contest of wills. i knew that i should not yield, and thought that with time and patience we should bring her to hear reason. but the girl was old for her years, had some inkling of what marriage involved, and vowed that nothing on earth should make her wed worthy sir james grey, because, forsooth, he was, like other gentlemen, a little over-free at times with the wine. at last, as you know, she fled from home, and the news brought to me the next day so shattered my health that by the time i 192 hope the hermit. could attend to things again it was useless to search for her." "but she wrote?" i said, eagerly glancing at the letter. "ay, weeks after her flight this letter arrived-it had evidently been delayed on the road. probably her lover saw to that. read it, sir, and see what you make of it." i unfolded the letter; it was written in a clear, round hand, but the spelling was in many places faulty. me, my deare sir, to have disobeyed you and given you griefe pains me, but i could not wed sir james. i knew you would not relent; therefore my only course was to leave home. i had intended to go to old betty the nursekeeper at york, but on the road, being in danger from a highwayman, i was courteously rescued by a gentleman that was journeying with a friend to london. they vowed to protect and we journeyed on together. deare sir, my kindly rescuer hath won my heart, and hath promised to wed me when we reach london. he is a gentleman of an honourable family, and i truste you will pardon me for having prifered him to the husband you had chosen for me, since to wed sir james would have been lifelong miserie to me. i pray you to forgive me, and to let me know of yure forgiveness, deare sir. i will write again from london to send you word where we have made our home. pardon this ill writ letter; the messenger waits and i am in haste, as we travel on at once. i remain, yure most affectionate daughter, lucy carleton. "and did she write again?" i asked eagerly. hope the hermit. 193 "never again," said the old man bitterly. "she had at least enough good feeling to hide her shame." "but, sir, i have seen an eye-witness of her marriage," i said. "surely it was her sorrow and disappointment in having wedded one who quickly tired of her that kept her silent. nor did she know whether you would forgive her flight." the old man's eyes seemed to soften a little; he looked at me very searchingly. "sir," he said, "you are young and hopeful. i think you have not yet seen much of the world. for my own part i believe your worthy baronet, who witnessed the marriage ceremony, was hoodwinked by his scoundrel of a friend. we all know that it is easy enough to go through a form of marriage. your mother, i doubt not, was easily deceived. she was like you, slow to suspect evil, and altogether wanting in judgment. she preferred this adventurer, this total stranger, to the husband i had chosen for her-one who owned as fair an estate as could be desired." the thought that sir christopher vane had been deceived had not occurred to me, and i remembered reluctantly, and with an effort to suppress the thought, that he must have been very young at the time, and a mere country-bred lad. "i'll not rest till i have met my father face to face and heard the truth from his own lips," i said, starting hope the hermit. i. 13 194 hope the hermit. up with a longing to set off on my quest there and then. old mr. carleton watched me in silence for a minute. "take that letter with you," he said. "it may be of use in proving matters. god grant you may succeed in calling that villain to account. god grant that i may live to see him suffer as he deserves." "amen to that," i said hotly, for the old man's righteous anger touched an answering chord in my heart. "sir," i pleaded after a moment's silence, "there is one favour i would ask you. mistress audrey radcliffe spoke of a picture of my mother which she saw here in one of the upper rooms. i would fain see it with your permission, and judge how far it corresponds with this miniature." he held out his hand eagerly for the miniature, and gazed at it for some minutes in silence, then made me tell him exactly when and where it had been found. "depend upon it, 'twas a mock marriage," he said. "why should a man be so anxious to be rid of all traces of his dead wife? and why should he practically murder his own son and heir? but all the more reason that you do your utmost to search for this villain and expose him. ring that bell, sir, and i will send for the picture. timothy," he added as the old servinghope the hermit. 195 man appeared, "bring down once more the portrait that used to hang above the sideboard." the old servant, with an involuntary start of astonishment at such a command, disappeared, favouring me, however, with a keen glance as he left the room. "you bear your story in your face," said mr. carleton. "the fellow sees who you are.” then with that curious, intent look in which i could not help thinking there lurked something like affection, the old man gripped hold of my hand. "you must not take it ill of me,” he said, “if i ask you to do me a favour. left as a foundling, you cannot have much of this world's goods to help you on your way." "sir wilfrid lawson gave me my education, sir, and i have my salary of eighteen pounds a year and the use of a horse, that is more than many secretaries receive." "true," he replied. "he has dealt generously with you, but if you are to trace out this scoundrel you will need money, and i would fain have my money used for such a purpose. take this purse and furnish yourself with all that you need; nay, i'll take no refusal! use it, if not to pleasure me, then to avenge your mother.” it was impossible after this to decline the old man's gift, and indeed little more could be said, for at that moment the serving-man entered, staggering under the weight of an oil-painting nearly as tall as himself. very 13* 196 hope the hermit. eagerly i looked at the picture audrey had described, and saw at once that it exactly corresponded with the miniature; moreover, i could see in this larger portrait more distinctly that the face was indeed as my own. i glanced towards old mr. carleton and saw that his wrinkled face was quivering with emotion. he held out his hand in farewell, evidently unable to endure any more. "go and prosper," he said fervently. "avenge her, sir! avenge her!" hope the hermit. 197 chapter xv. recollections of michael derwent (continued). "but some there are that in a sacred want and hunger rise, and draw the misery home and live with it, and excellent in honour wait, and will that something good should yet be found in it, else wherefore were they born?" jean ingelow. our journey to london was uneventful but somewhat tedious, and i was heartily glad when we at length reached the house of sir wilfrid's friend, sir william denham. it stood in norfolk street, betwixt the river and the strand, and was to be our headquarters during our stay, for the two were close friends, and had many hobbies in common, both being lovers of science and keen naturalists. the actual day of our arrival had not of course been fixed, and we chanced to get in on an evening when guests had been bidden. now, one of the smaller discomforts of my life had always been the uncertainty of position which attaches to anyone in such circumstances. most men are fixed by fate either in one sphere or the other. i hovered 198 hope the hermit. uncertainly on the borderland, one of the waifs of the world, yet educated as a gentleman, and enjoying many privileges owing to sir wilfrid's kind-heartedness and to the affection which he had always shown me. at isel i had never anything to complain of, and at raby, thanks to sir christopher vane's interest on the night of our arrival, i had been treated precisely like any other guest. but elsewhere often enough there were snubs and disagreeables to be encountered, those petty vexations which affect an older and wiser mortal very little, but rankle bitterly when one is young, and has not yet learnt to look on such matters philosophically. supper was going on when we reached the house, and having hastily donned evening dress, we were shown to the dining-room by an old servant named thomas, who pompously announced sir wilfrid as he flung open the door, and then gripping my arm, said in a stage aside:— "there ain't no more room, sir; as it is, i'm putting sir wilfrid into the place of lord downshire's chaplain. luckily the roast had been removed and he'd returned thanks. one can always turn out the chaplain before the sweets are served. you are the secretary, i believe, sir?" he looked up questioningly as though he would say: "don't let us have any mistakes; if you are a gentleman of means, say so at once, and i'll apologise." "yes, i am the secretary," i replied, unable to suphope the hermit. 199 press a smile as i saw the expression of the old man's face and the relieved air with which he received my answer. "then step this way, sir; you'll find the parson to keep you company." "but i can't eat the parson, and i am as hungry as a hunter," i suggested, seeing that the fellow was evidently an old family servant and looked capable of taking a joke. his broad shoulders shook, and he promised to bring me some supper without delay, which was as well, for the chaplain was the most lean and scraggy of men, and even a cannibal would scarce have deemed his bones worth picking. he bowed rather stiffly as i entered. "i am the reverend ambrose newfold, chaplain to my lord downshire," he said pompously. "may i ask your name, sir?" "i am michael derwent, secretary to sir wilfrid lawson, of isel hall, cumberland," i replied, glancing round the somewhat comfortless little room, which contained nothing warmer in the grate than some very curious specimens of stuffed birds, and nothing more edible than cases of eminently dull fossils ranged all round the walls. we had journeyed far that day, and i was both hungry and cold, nor did the savoury odours from the next room help to make matters more pleasant. 200 hope the hermit. i yawned prodigiously, which seemed to offend the reverend ambrose. "it is a most unseemly custom," he said sourly, "that the chaplain should be asked to withdraw when the meat is removed; a great insult to the church in the person of her unworthy representative." "for my part i think you came off very well, sir,” i said with a laugh. "i would willingly dispense with the sweets if only they would bring me a good plate of beef and a tankard of ale." "sir," said the chaplain, "i thought of no such carnal matters; it is the insult to the cloth that i resent -the insult to the cloth,-sir." "oh, hang the insult!" i replied, chafed by the man's pettishness. "for the matter of that, they have insulted my pen far worse, for i never got a chance of sitting down to table at all. the truth of the matter is, sir, that there was no room, and had not sir wilfrid lawson arrived just at that precise time, you might have said grace without any latent resentment." "do you suppose, sir," said the chaplain angrily, "that i hankered after the paltry cates of the pastrycook?" "i ask your pardon; it was perhaps the natural inference of a hungry man," i said, dropping into the nearest chair and relapsing into silence. but ill-humour is infectious, and the chaplain's fit of discontent soon hope the hermit. 201 attacked me, so that i fell to wondering gloomily whether it was always to be my lot to take the lowest place, to see the henry brownriggs of the world gaining all that i coveted, and to remain to the end of my days merely a rich man's secretary. as for the serving-man, he seemed basely to have deserted me, and though hunger is said to be the best sauce, it is apt to make a man decidedly short-tempered, so that each moment as i waited i hated that lean chaplain with a more deadly hatred, and only longed to be rid of the sight of his lantern jaws. at last there was a sound of voices and steps without, and then the door opened, and in came a lady in primrose-coloured satin, with filmy white lace about her neck and shoulders. she was a brunette, with soft, stag-like eyes, which somehow were sad even when they smiled. i guessed her to be about thirty, but found later on that she was younger than she looked. "i am afraid, mr. newfold," she said, turning with an apologetic air to the chaplain, "that old thomas treated you somewhat unceremoniously. in his anxiety to make ready for sir wilfrid lawson, he hurried you away most abruptly. he is such a good old fellow that we put up with his brusque tongue; he has been with my uncle for five-and-thirty years." the chaplain was obliged to accept the apology, and 202 hope the hermit. in the meantime sir william denham's niece had become aware of my presence, and the parson seeing her bewilderment, presented me. "this is sir wilfrid lawson's secretary," he said in his raucous voice. "mr. michael derwent, mistress mary denham.” the lady curtseyed very graciously. "why," she exclaimed warmly, "you have been worse treated even than mr. newfold, and have had no supper at all. i shall have to give thomas a thorough scolding. come, mr. newfold, my aunt is longing for a game of chess with you in the withdrawing-room. please find your own way up while i give orders about mr. derwent's supper." the chaplain, glad, i am sure, to leave my uncongenial society, hurried upstairs, and in a few minutes mistress denham reappeared, followed by the guilty thomas, who, to make up for his misdeeds, provided me at length with the best that the house could afford, waiting upon me with sedulous attention, while mistress denham took the chair which the chaplain had vacated and chatted to me in the most friendly and comfortable way about our journey. in what her great charm lay i have never been able to tell. she was not to be compared for one moment in beauty with audrey radcliffe, and her face, though sweet and winning, had quite lost its youthfulness. i hope the hermit. 203 think it must have been her frank friendliness and the consciousness that she had a large share of womanly wisdom that so won me to her. no other woman ever held just the same place in my life that she was destined to fill. for audrey radcliffe an undying and passionate love brought me as much pain as rapture; for mrs. radcliffe i had a genuine affection, but it was tempered by a certain resentment, for i knew that the betrothal of her daughter to henry brownrigg had been to a great extent a matter of her own arrangement. then there was lady lawson, who had always been most kind to me, but who was naturally much absorbed by her own children and the claims of her great household. in mistress mary denham i for the first time came across one who seemed almost as much alone in the world, as far as near relations went, as myself; this made her able to understand, as others could not understand, many things in my life. there was, moreover, about her what i have never observed in any other woman—a sort of genius for friendship, and a power of throwing herself wholly into the lives of her friends. she seemed to move in a different region to most women, as though the page of personal desire in the book of her life had been turned while she was yet quite young, and she was now intent only in the lives of other people. it was not in that first evening that i 204 hope the hermit. learnt to understand her fully, but it was then that the charm began to work. for certainly part of her fascination was that she in many ways perplexed one, being full of curious contradictions. surrounded by the friends she had won by her friendliness, yet always somehow giving you the impression of loneliness; dressed like a woman of the world, yet with something in her manner which suggested the simplicity and straightforwardness of a quaker; frank and genial, yet always beyond a certain point curiously reserved; and quite free from the desire to make an impression, which is the bane of most people. there was absolutely nothing in our talk of the north road and of the difficulties of the way, of the state of london, and of the recent events, that would be worth setting down, but nevertheless for the first time since i had quitted hye hill i was conscious of that rest of mind and heart which had first come to me among the quakers. later on, when we were in the crowded withdrawing-room, where some had betaken themselves to cards, and others to talk, while in one corner a string quartette discoursed sweet music, i-still watching the wearer of the primrose-satin gown as she moved about among her uncle's guests, with her sweet, restful face--was carried away in thought to that calm-faced man who had walked down the box-bordered path between the apple-trees in hope the hermit. 205 the place i had dreamily mistaken for heaven. was it, after all, merely a fancy that these two had already reached in some degree that state of heavenly citizenship? that it was this that made them so ready of access, so open-hearted to one who was but a stranger? surely nothing else would have made it possible to accept all they gave without reluctance, or hesitation; nothing else could have given me that curious sense of kinship with them. the old quaker had doubtless attained to this state while suffering so patiently his long years of imprisonment. but how had this gentle-faced lady gained the serene heights which to one in the midst of the battle looked so unattainable? there was much talk that evening of the festivities that were to take place on the 5th of november, the anniversary of the king's landing at brixham, and sir wilfrid, to my no small content, not only arranged that i should attend him when he came to whitehall, but carried me off the very next morning to a tailor specially recommended by mistress denham's cousin, rupert. how it was that while desperately miserable about audrey's betrothal, and thirsting to avenge my mother's honour, and distracted by the wildest visions of what the future might bring, i could yet find satisfaction in the colour of a vest or the cut of a doublet or the fineness of a lace cravat, i know not. but so it was; and 206 hope the hermit. i am fain to confess that i took keen pleasure in donning for the first time a court suit of tawny-brown velvet, and silken hose of the approved shade of orange, and a long vest of rich cream satin with innumerable gold buttons, together with fine lace frills and furbelows, and a rakishlooking three-cornered hat on the top of a freshly-dressed peruke. mistress denham seemed in good spirits when we set out on the evening of the 5th. she wore a very beautiful dress of flame-coloured brocade; her brown hair was turned back from the forehead and dressed high over a cushion according to the fashion then prevailing, and about her slender throat she wore a row of fine pearls. nothing could have been less quaker-like than such attire, and yet, as ever, she made me think of the society of friends. "it is all so different, so happily different to the whitehall i can remember in king charles' time, seven years ago," she said to me as we entered the great gallery, which was thronged with people. "and yet, in spite of all king william's good intentions, the strict orders he gave for toleration to be shown towards papists and nonconformists, his repeal of the hearth tax, and his honest endeavour to make the whigs and the tories work together for the real good of england, he is greatly misunderstood and seems far from popular." we were greeted just then by rupert denham's hope the hermit. 207 brother-in-law, a young barrister named wharncliffe, whom i had already met at the house in norfolk street. mistress mary denham fell into conversation with his pretty wife, who was one of her closest friends, and mr. wharncliffe began to tell me how parliament had reversed the attainders of colonel algernon sydney, of lord russell, and of the lady alice lisle. i had heard from the denhams how some years ago he had well-nigh lost his life in newgate while they tried by every means short of actual torture to make him give evidence against colonel sydney, and could understand how keen an interest he would take in this act of reparation. only it saddened one to see that evil can never be really undone; the hardships he had endured in prison had sown the seeds of disease in him, and it was easy to tell by his over-bright eyes, by the unnatural beauty of his colouring, and by the soft but troublesome cough which seemed habitual to him, that he was already in consumption. however, for the present he was as happy as a man well can be; was the father of three delicate but very winsome little children, and was blessed with a most charming wife, who looked capable of taking the utmost care of him, and prolonging his life by her tender care to the longest possible span. he was a pleasant companion, and pointed out to me many well-known people as we stood there waiting for the entrance of the royal party. 208 hope the hermit. "there goes my lord devonshire," he said, indicating a magnificently dressed nobleman clad in orange and green. "he is lord steward of the household, and is a great lover of balls. one of his greatest annoyances is that the court balls cannot be given in the splendid rooms which king charles built for the duchess of portsmouth, for the princess anne, at the revolution, got king william to promise them to her, and though the queen did her utmost to get her to relinquish them, she will not yield; in fact, she has for her private use not only that splendid suite, but the cockpit as well. whether 'tis her doing or the doing of her favourite lady marlborough, no one really knows, but between them they have certainly obtained a very goodly heritage." "who is that handsome boy?" i inquired, glancing at a youth who passed close to us in conversation with a merry-looking companion. "that," said mr. wharncliffe, "is young arnold van keppel, the king's favourite page, and his companion is dillon, the aide-de-camp to my lord marlborough. according to van keppel, the king hates lord marlborough and speaks of him as 'that vile man'. like most of the silent and quiet people in the world, his majesty has a pretty insight into character and well knows with whom he has to deal. ah! the doors are hope the hermit. 209 being thrown open; the king and queen are about to come in." i looked eagerly in the direction to which all eyes turned, and frankly confess that at first a chill of surprise and disappointment ran through me; for the deliverer who had responded to the appeal of the oppressed people of england, the conquerer who had freed us from the despotism of king james, was a little, sickly-looking man with that air of constant suffering which is too often mistaken for crossness, and in addition one of those careworn brows which betoken a mind incessantly harassed by vexatious details. he was much shorter than the queen, who, in her white satin robes, orange-lined train, and magnificent diamonds, seemed to tower above him. she was strikingly handsome, and had just the lively charm of manner in which his majesty was so singularly lacking, but from the tone of the talk that i heard later on i doubt if she was really any more popular than her husband; for after effusively welcoming the new king and queen people seemed mercilessly ready to criticise them. if the king looked grave he was instantly dubbed a sullen, ill-mannered dutchman. if her majesty exerted herself to be animated and gay, people promptly said she was a most heartless daughter, and ought to be mourning over the sad plight in which her poor father found himself. they seemed quite to forget that the english themhope the hermit. i. 14 210 hope the hermit. selves had summoned the new monarchs to their aid, and, by their own act, had placed them on the throne which king james had deserted when he found that his tyranny would no longer be tolerated. dancing now began, and the pleasure of watching it had not had time to pall upon me, when my attention was distracted by feeling upon me the piercing gaze of a pair of eyes which seemed to have in them a most curious influence. shifting a little in my place, i looked across the gallery, compelled almost against my will to meet the gaze of a gentleman several years my senior. he wore a suit of black velvet laced with silver, and a light peruke, and there was something in his face which attracted and interested me. "who is that gentleman standing close to my lord portland?" i inquired. "why, that,” replied mr. wharncliffe, "is a man i am surprised to see here. his name is calverley, and, though 'tis not generally known, i have good reason to believe that he is a papist. at the chambers next to mine in king's bench walk, there is a barrister named winter-as good a fellow as breathes, but hampered not a little in his career because he comes of the well-known papist family of that name. i was once introduced to yonder gentleman in his rooms, and have passed him many times on the staircase." “why, then he must be the very man to whom i hope the hermit. 2ii "see, brought a book from father noel," i exclaimed. he is coming this way. i beg you to introduce me to him." the stranger bowed very courteously, and thanked me for the packet i had left in villiers street-he had been out when i delivered it. "i should have known you were from the north country," he said pleasantly. "none of these wretched southerners can say their r's properly. and how is my friend father noel?" "i left him well, sir." "and his patron-let me see what is the old gentleman's name-radcliffe, is it not?" "yes, sira kinsman of my lord derwentwater named sir nicholas radcliffe." "to be sure, i remember now, and indeed have met the old gentleman many years ago. how does he fare?" "he ages fast, sir. i fear we shall soon have his brother inheriting the estate, for old sir nicholas can't in nature last much longer. the brother, they say, is a very different man and goes in overmuch for plots and politics. however, he'll not be on lord's island, for that really belongs to my lord derwentwater, and he lives wholly at dilston, and would not, i am sure, disturb mrs. radcliffe and her daughter." in the pleasure of finding one who knew the rad14* 212 hope the hermit. cliffes even very slightly, i had wandered on perhaps rather rashly, considering how little i knew this gentleman. there was, however, something about him which tended to draw one out. he had a frank, pleasant manner, which inspired confidence, and i felt attracted to him. i knew that mr. wharncliffe's surmise as to his religion was perfectly true, for father noel had himself told me that he was a catholic. but there was, after all, nothing so very strange in his being present at court, for every english gentleman had from time immemorial possessed the right of free entrance at whitehall, both during the king's dining-hour and at any special diversion. probably he came merely out of curiosity. while i mused over this, i was startled by a sudden question from the stranger:"then old sir nicholas radcliffe's granddaughter is next in succession to her great-uncle, i suppose?" "yes," i replied, "for he has no living child." "i heard a rumour that she was betrothed to a most bigoted protestant. how does sir nicholas take that?" the colour flamed up into my face. "he likes it, as most folks do, very ill,” i answered shortly. mr. calverley lowered his voice. "what! are you one of us?" i shook my head. hope the hermit. 213 "no, but i loathe henry brownrigg's bigotry." and, as i spoke, all the miserable recollections that had for a time been driven from my mind by the novelty of the present scene, came crowding in upon me. i thought of audrey singing "see the chariot at hand. here of love"; i thought of our talk by the shore and of henry brownrigg's interruption; i thought of the words the under-sheriff had used by castle hill, and of the expression on his face as he rode away to keswick after the quaker's intervention. what a hard world it was! and how soon the splendour of whitehall, and the charms of music and dancing and gay attire, palled upon one! "the king, they say, is longing to be with his army in ireland," said someone standing near me to his companion. "he is more at home in camp than at court, and that's the honest truth. did you ever see anything more like a fish out of water?" so that was the meaning of the restless, unhappy expression on king william's face! it was this horrible atmosphere of hollow merriment, of meaningless splendour, that was stifling him. it was the thought of the hateful bigotry and party-spirit with which he was everywhere confronted that gave him that almost despairing expression. he longed to be fighting with foes that could be fairly faced and frankly dealt with. a war of words was intolerable to him; he craved to be handling 214 hope the hermit. his sword. a strong wave of sympathy with the silent and much misunderstood sovereign swept over me. after all, was the quaker right? surely the fighting instinct was a noble one. surely his doctrine of passive resistance was only a counsel of perfection, never meant at all for the world at large. i was startled back to the present by finding mr. calverley's curiously attractive eyes fixed intently upon me, so that i could not help wondering how long he had been reading my face like a book. "the scene impresses you, mr. derwent," he said with a smile which was wholly kind and free from sarcasm. "i would give something to see it with eyes as young as yours." "people always take it for granted that to be young means to be happy. it's a confounded mistake," i said bitterly. but before my companion could make any reply i was summoned by sir wilfrid lawson and, following my patron, i saw mr. calverley no more that night. hope the hermit. 215 chapter xvi. "drive despaire away, and live in hopë which shall do you good. joy cometh after when the payne is past; be ye pacient and sober in mode; to wepe and waile, all is for you in waste. was never payne, but it had joy at last in the fayre morrowe." hawes. "our friend, i think, has a grievance," said mr. calverley, turning with a smile to hugo wharncliffe. "tis a pity. 'twill sour him. he's over-young for a grievance." hugo wharncliffe laughed. "few can pick and choose the time for such things," he said. "and as for that poor fellow derwent, his grievance, i understand, began when he first drew breath. they say he was a foundling." "if he never has a worse grievance than that he'll survive," said mr. calverley, fidgeting with a ravelled bit of silver lace on his doublet which offended his eye. "he has been well educated, and is in the service of a kindly gentleman-what more does he wish? no, no, depend upon it, there's a nearer grievance than that to 216 hope the hermit. i make a fellow of twenty-one wear the look he wears. there's a woman in the case, and a hated rival. know something of the rival, and detest him as cordially as i fancy our friend does. possibly i may be able to put a spoke in his wheel, and so aid mr. derwent. what a small world it is, and how we all jostle up against one another! i like that young fellow, and must see more of him.” with that he passed on to other topics, and before very long left whitehall. hugo wharncliffe turned then to his friend mary denham. "that mr. calverley seems much taken with sir wilfrid's secretary. if you have any influence with him it would be kind to warn him that calverley is strongly suspected of being a jacobite." "you mean that he had better not get intimate with him?" asked mary. "he ought to be on his guard," said hugo wharncliffe. "without being a bigot, one can be prudent as to intercourse with those who are under suspicion. besides, to tell the truth, mr. calverley is a dangerously persuasive talker, and from the look of that young fellow i fancy he is just in the state when a very slight touch might send him in the wrong direction." "but he will have mary for his friend," said little mistress wharncliffe with a look of happy confidence in hope the hermit. 217 her friend's influence. "i'll warrant her to outweigh the most persuasive of jacobites. as for me, i think it is quite clear that the poor boy is in love. did you not see how he coloured up like a girl when mr. calverley spoke of mistress radcliffe?" "so thinks mr. calverley, and he even knows the hated rival," said hugo wharncliffe with a smile. "i heard him say as much but now. i wish i could make the fellow out, but he is deep." "who? mr. derwent?" asked mary denham. "no, no, he is as honest and straightforward as the day; it was the mysterious mr. calverley i meant. one can't help liking him, yet he is not a man i should readily trust." michael derwent, being some years younger and knowing far less of the world, took much longer to discover the shortcomings hidden beneath mr. calverley's very winning exterior. it chanced that the lawsuit which had brought sir wilfrid lawson to town took far longer than had been anticipated, and all through the winter and the spring they remained in london, owing to the endless delays of the lawyers. during this time michael saw much of his new friend, sometimes at his rooms in villiers street and sometimes in the chambers of mr. winter, the young barrister who had been mentioned by hugo wharncliffe. here he often met a very pleasant and clever friend of father noel's named 218 hope the hermit. anthony sharp, a middle-aged and highly cultivated scholar, and one of the keenest arguers conceivable. the two younger men, as a rule, simply listened to the discussions between anthony sharp and mr. calverley. they debated numberless questions, but more often than not the discussion turned upon some point of difference between the anglican and roman churches. on these occasions it always happened that, for the sake of argument, mr. calverley would take a brief for the english church, and anthony sharp would, with wonderful skill, crush his argument beneath the overpowering weight of a merciless logic. he was now, as hugo wharncliffe had shrewdly surmised, michael was just at this time in a state when a very slight touch might send him hopelessly wrong. unhappy; he had good cause for suspecting a great deal of the noisy protestantism which he came across, to be nothing more than place-hunting under the cloak of religion; and he hated with all his heart a certain very aggressive protestant who performed the duties of under-sheriff in cumberland with more zeal than charity. in old times father noel had done his best to make a convert of him, but had failed. now, however, in the bitterness of his isolation, in the restlessness which is the sure symptom of a sore heart, there was undoubtedly something that attracted him in a church. hope the hermit. 219 which would, so to speak, take you in and do for you, save you from all personal responsibility, think for you and care for you, exacting nothing but filial obedience in return. surely, too, even in that thought of filial obedience there was a charm to one who all his life had been a waif. one day early in april there arrived in norfolk street a letter from father noel directed to michael. he read it at first with shocked surprise, then with a curious stirring of the heart. "you have received bad news?" asked mary denham, who happened to be attending to her pet birds in a small aviary which opened out of the study. "yes," he said. "mrs. radcliffe has died. she had never wholly recovered from an accident last year in a coach near penrith, but the end was very sudden and unexpected." "the poor daughter! what will she do?" said mary. "i suppose for the present she will remain with her grandfather," said michael, the tell-tale colour rising to his brow. "father noel tells me that the marriage was to have taken place at easter, but is now of course postponed for awhile." "poor girl! how desolate she must be! and she will feel doubly alone because in matters of religion she thinks differently to her grandfather.” 220 hope the hermit. "nay," said michael. "it is in trouble that we see how slight are the differences betwixt us." "i like your thought that, as far as may be, we should live at unity with each other, but unity is the fruit of love and toleration, and has nought to do with uniformity, which is a matter of outward ordinances and differing beliefs, and never can come in this world." "yet in uniformity there would be peace," said michael wearily. "one grows sick of these strivings as to party questions-these miserable divisions." "the peace of a hard and fast uniformity would be the peace of slavery--of death," said mary denham. "there will always be differences of view, for men are not turned out in one mould. surely, as the proverb has it, 'twill ever be 'many men, many minds'. it is not a system, but a spirit that will bring peace; not a church where all think alike and use precisely the same ceremonies, but the spirit of love." he looked into her clear, shining eyes; they seemed to him like wells of light, so deep yet so calm were they in their brightness. was it possible that this woman had more true insight into the problem that was filling his heart than such a ripe scholar, such a trained debater, as anthony sharp? "i sometimes think," he said with apparent irrelevance, "that it would be far the happiest thing for hope the hermit. 221 audrey radcliffe if she came to share her grandfather's views." "how can that be?" said mary denham. "if, as we think, his views are mistaken, then it cannot be for her real happiness." "it would, at anyrate, save her from a miserable marriage-a marriage that would be hell on earth." "but to save a great pain would you do wrong?" said mary. "i think there are cases where it might be permissible,” he replied, as though feeling his way in the dark along a strange path. "but once allow that we may do evil that good may come and there is an end of all morality," she said; and now there was some trace of agitation in her manner. her breath came quickly, her eyes dilated, her colour rose, for instinctively she knew that she was fighting for a soul-struggling to resist the devil's own doctrine. when such a time as that comes to man or woman one of life's keenest delights is felt, and just as a soldier glories in being called to some difficult task, so the spirit exults in being used for so glorious an end. yet, though her words were clear and forceful, it was not the power of her argument which arrested michael; it was rather a sort of bewildered gratitude and surprise when the realisation broke upon him, that 222 hope the hermit. she cared intensely that he should not swerve from the absolutely true, the absolutely right. from the first he had known that she was singularly free from that petty craving for attention which characterises so many women; she had always been to him a perfectly frank and unselfish friend. but now he understood how greatly she cared for him, how divine a thing this friendship was which, in the time of his desolation, had brought fresh interest into his life. he began to tell her of anthony sharp, and of the way in which his arguments were always recurring to his mind; how it had seemed to him that there was something of devotion in the life of a good catholic, like winter of the inner temple, which was lacking in men. of their own church. "but surely," urged mary, "devotion is not the special characteristic of any set of men. we have saintly men in the english church, like bishop ken and dean tillotson; and saintly quakers, like your friend at keswick and like george fox." "yes, that's true," said michael reflectively. "and how they are misunderstood! i was walking along the strand the other night with mr. calverley and a jacobite friend of his who was calling the dean of st. paul's every vile name you can think of.” "are you wise to be thus mixed up with jacobites ?" said mary denham thoughtfully. hope the hermit. 223 "oh, it was merely by chance that i fell in with this gentleman," said michael. "as for mr. calverley, i have never heard him talk of politics. i remember once before you warned me. but i assure you king james is never so much as mentioned in mr. winter's chambers. he is a very quiet, peaceable man, and has good reason to avoid plots or conspiracies of any sort." mary was silent for a minute. all this might be true enough, but she could not rid herself of the impression that a strong effort was being made to win michael derwent over to the romish church. it was quite evident that unless they had both great desire to gain him as an adherent and confidence in the likelihood of his conversion, they would not at this particular time have dared to risk admitting him to the discussions which he had described to her. she knew, moreover, how likely it was that in a state of sore-hearted restlessness he would catch at anything which seemed to offer a sheltered haven, without pausing to consider whether it was a safe refuge, or the best and truest to be had. as she mused over the danger which threatened him it occurred to her that in the utterances of a man like the much-persecuted george fox, with his intense spirituality, his profound belief in the divine guidance of each soul, he might find what he just at this time needed to restore his mental balance. "i should like to see mr. fox," she said. "i wish 224 hope the hermit. you would some day take me to the meeting-house in gracechurch street. the quakers are able now to meet without any molestation, and mr. wharncliffe told me strangers were freely admitted.” michael laughed a little. "what! would you go all the way to the city and then perchance sit for a couple of hours and hear no single word? they do not speak unless the spirit moves them." "i should like to go, all the same," said mary. "tomorrow is wednesday, or what they call fourth day, so there is sure to be a meeting. let us go and see what it is like." "there is no one like them when one is in trouble," said michael thoughtfully. "i only wish that audrey may see something of her old kinsfolk at keswick. but that is scarce likely. mrs. brownrigg will be for ever fussing round her, and will perhaps carry her off to millbeck hall." he sighed with a fierce impatience and began to pace the room restlessly. "tell me about mistress audrey," said mary denham. "is she young?" "she is my age; we were reared by the same fostermother, brought up in the same place. there was never a time when i did not love her, and she-she would have cared had it not been for my cursed ill-luck. hope the hermit. 225 for just as i had well-nigh proved my birth we were separated, and they betrothed her to a man that i know to be nothing but a great hectoring bully, a fellow she would never have accepted had it not been that he is the sort of prize-ox type of man that women admire." "does her grandfather know mr. brownrigg well?" "yes, knows him and detests him, but he has no power to interfere, for it was expressly arranged in his son's will that any children born of the marriage should be brought up in the english church. how sick one grows of all these religious disputes and party wranglings! it half inclines one to have done with all struggling after truth, and hand oneself over, body and soul, to some father confessor who would arrange matters comfortably. why think for yourself if you can think by proxy?" his tone had been cynical. hers, as she replied, was sweet, yet so eager that the contrast was extraordinary. "but why draw water from a pump in the public street, often in past times found defective and dangerous, when in your own dwelling-place you have the fountain-head?" hope the hermit. i. 15 226 hope the hermit. chapter xvii. "by mutual confidence and mutual aid great deeds are done and great discoveries made. the wise new prudence from the wise acquire, and one brave hero fans another's fire." iliad. they were interrupted just then, but the words haunted michael all that day and indeed for many days after. mary denham, with her clear insight, had seen rightly the peril which at that moment threatened him. james calverley, the scheming man of the world, anthony sharp, the scholar and theologian, and winter, the saintly devotee, who honestly believed that all who were not members of his own church were doomed to unending torments, were doing their very utmost to win over the young north-countryman to their own views. their tact and judgment were wonderful, and probably their efforts would have been successful had it not been for another and stronger influence which they had not reckoned on. brought up among the hills and dales of cumberland, and inheriting from his mother one of those hope the hermit. 227 spiritual minds which turn more readily to the mystical rather than the sensuous side of things, michael had inevitably been attracted by the inwardness of the quaker teaching. and when he found himself on "fourth day" sitting among those quiet "friends" who were neither praying nor preaching but just waiting upon god, all the restlessness seemed to be smoothed out of him. rebellion against god's ordering was a thought that died in this atmosphere, and the same calmness which was clearly visible in the faces of the quakers, gradually stole over him also, as he waited there in the unbroken silence. presently there stood up a woman who prayed with great simplicity and earnestness; the whole meeting stood and prayed silently with her. then they sat down again, and all was still once more. they had prayed for all who walked in darkness, for all seekers after truth, and woven in now with scraps and shreds of the arguments that had been of late so much pressed upon him, there came the remembrance of the quiet room at hye hill and of nathaniel radcliffe's voice saying the words-"be loyal to him whose love is the unfailing fount of strength". presently, in the quiet building there came a very faint stir as of people roused from an inward to an outward listening. all eyes were turned upon an old man 15* 228 hope the hermit. dressed in brown leather who had risen from his place. he was tall, and although much crippled by rheumatism, and aged by the persecutions he had for so many years suffered, there was something commanding in his presence. his snow-white hair, parted in the middle over a low broad forehead, hung in scanty locks about his shoulders, and the massive large-featured face was relieved from sternness by the piercing sweetness of the large dark eyes. michael knew at once that this was george fox, for he had seen the quaker for a few minutes when delivering to him nathaniel radcliffe's packet. he listened to the sermon with some curiosity, wondering how this man, who had learnt to endure every sort of ill treatment without retaliating, would speak. he had none of the cultivation of anthony sharp, and yet in what he said, and in his intense earnestness, there was something which riveted the attention of all hearers. he spoke on the text "be still and know that i am god," begging the friends to keep their minds retired to the lord, to make an effort to do so, to control all over-eagerness in telling and hearing news, since in the lower region all news was uncertain and nothing stable; while in the higher region—the kingdom of christ—all things were stable and sure, and the news always good and certain, because christ ruled there. neither should they seek after earthly guidance, but rather go straight to christ himself. all men had the inner light, and by it their hope the hermit. 229 consciences should be enlightened, and they should be led both to see their sin and to be healed of it. there was only one way in which to gain true independence, true peace, and that was perfect trust in the divine guidance. if we turned to earthly guides, we should lose that religious reserve which is the rightful and wholesome state for the souls of men, and we should no longer turn the whole force of our wills to keep the mind retired to the lord. only by waiting upon god could the strength come which should enable each follower of christ to go forth and do the work to which he was called; only in silence could we gain clear conviction that a concern was specially laid upon us. after the sermon they rose once more to pray, and to michael it all came as a revelation. in george fox's prayer there was a reverence so profound, an inward realisation of god's presence so wonderful, that it seemed as though he drew all hearts with him into a like heavenly-mindedness. he used very few words and these of a great simplicity, but as though they were carefully weighed and chosen like the words of a poet, and, above all, with a deep, unfailing regard to absolute truth. there were no whining and exaggerated and long-winded confessions of sin, no florid and fulsome ascriptions of praise, no informing the almighty of what he had or 230 hope the hermit. had not done; it was rather the solemn communion of one who speaks heart to heart with the being he loves and reveres most profoundly. there was one other point which struck michael with surprise and admiration; the prayer had been curiously short, as though george fox took very literally the injunction in ecclesiastes-"let thy words be few." when the congregation dispersed it chanced that the veteran leader caught sight of michael, whose face was one which it was not easy to forget. he paused and spoke to him for a few minutes, giving him no greeting, for it was against his principles to say "goodmorning," or to lift his hat, but nevertheless conveying by his whole manner and expression a courtesy so far beyond any conventional forms, that it impressed all who met him. his eyes rested tenderly on the young north-countryman, for during his life of wandering he had come to know countless people and was noted for being both a "discerner of others' spirits, and very much a master of his own". there was a gentleness and sympathy in his manner which was all the more striking because of his strength, and the severity of which he was capable whenever evil had to be fought against. "i would fain journey back to the north with thee,” hope the hermit. 231 he said, "and see my wife at swarthmoor hall, but the way is over-long for me now. marriage register that 'tis thy "no, sir," said michael. many registers for the year found it." hast thou found yet the desire to find?" "i have searched through 1667, but have not yet "hast thou sought yet in the steeple-house of dunstan?" "nay, sir, i have not yet been there." "when i saw thy face this morning and remembered thy story, there was brought to my mind how that just a year after my release from scarboro' (which took place the very day before the great fire of london), i was walking from the house of thomas marsh down fleet street, and by the door of the steeple-house there stood a bride and bridegroom just about to step into a hackney coach. i know not why the scene lived in my memory; perchance it was that my own marriage was then in contemplation; also there was something unusual in the face of the bride. perchance there is a leading in this. go and search the register for the 1st of seventh month, 1667, and see what entries there are." so they parted, and mary denham being much inclined to think that they might find this curious coincidence the means of discovering the lost clue, suggested 232 hope the hermit. that they should lose no time, but go at once to the church of st. dunstan. a most crabbed old verger reluctantly admitted them to the vestry, and amid incessant grumbling unlocked an oaken chest. it was richly carved with a very quaint design of eve giving the apple to adam, and beneath was the inscription, "it is more blessed to give than to receive," which greatly tickled mary's fancy and made them both laugh. this enraged the verger, who fully believed that they were making game of him. "if you wish to take copies of a marriage register you'll please to do it with care or not at all," he said severely. "there was a couple of gentlemen in here a sen'night since, old enough to have known better, both of them, and they must needs get fooling about with the inkhorn and spilt it all over the page-a plague upon them! just look ye there! there's a fine mess for you in a parish register! but, bless you, i made 'em pay for it! they didn't leave this vestry till they'd crossed my hand with gold." he chuckled at the remembrance, and michael and mary bent over to look at the damaged page. "why, 'tis the very date, 1st september, 1667!" exclaimed mary. michael's heart seemed to stand still, for there was hope the hermit. 233 the entry he had been seeking, but so damaged by the ink stains, and by an effort to scratch them out, that the name of the bridegroom, the very name which he desired to learn, was illegible. the rest was all perfectly clear and ran as follows:on this 1st day of september, 1667, was solemnised a marriage between . . . . and lucy carleton, spinster, daughter of robert carleton, gent., of carleton manor, penrith, at this church of st. dunstan, according to the rites and ceremonies of the church of england, by me joseph baynes, clerk in holy orders, in the presence of christopher vane, of raby castle, county durham, and zachary stevens, ye parish clerk of st. dunstan's. “ 'clearly the first name must have been ‘john,'” said mary denham, pointing to the faint indications of the first and last letters. "now, if only it had been some out-of-the-way name! at all!" "when was this but john! why, it is no guide confounded mess made?" asked michael, "and who were the gentlemen?" "they give no names, sir," said the verger, “and 'twas a sen'night since. one of them, sir, was just about your height and build, and might ha' been fifty or thereabout; the other seemed a bit younger, and i reckoned 'un the more learned of the two." "they took a copy of this particular marriage certificate?" 234 hope the hermit. "well, sir, i'm no reader myself, so i can't say, but know it was on this page." "who is the witness named in the register-zachary stevens?" "that be my father, sir." "can i see him?" "bless you no, sir! poor old man, he's been a-lyin' why, out there in the churchyard these fifteen year. he'd be more'n a hundred if so be that he was alive." "there seems a fate against me!" said michael with an impatient sigh, and putting some silver into the verger's hand, he turned to leave the church, feeling terribly downhearted. "one thing is clear," said mary denham, "that was no genuine accident with the inkhorn. and there had been a deliberate scratching out of your father's name. had the old verger been able to read he would have realised that." "then it must mean that sir christopher vane has communicated with my father," said michael. "he promised that he would do so, and my father must still be anxious to disown me, and has destroyed the only certain legal proof that would have availed me." "and yet, nevertheless," said mary, "i think this hope the hermit. 235 will prove, as mr. fox said, 'a leading'. it, at anyrate, shows you that for the present you can do no more, that you must just be still and wait for more light.” they had walked as far as temple bar, when their talk was interrupted by a sound of street brawling; a crowd had gathered about an extremely noisy and halfintoxicated gentleman, who was singing at the top of his voice one of the familiar jacobite songs of the day:— ken ye how he requited him? ken ye how he requited him? the dog has into england come, and ta'en the crown in spite of him! the rogue he shall not keep it lang; to budge we'll make him fain again. we'll hang him high upon a tree; king james shall ha'e his ain again! at this moment the singer was confronted by a messenger, who showed him a warrant which he was quite incapable of reading, and marched him off to the tower, amid the mingled cheers and groans of the crowd. "why, that is a fellow i have often seen with mr. calverley-young sir arthur bell. so he, too, is a jacobite! i wonder how long he will be clapt up.” mary was wishing in her heart that he would be more careful as to the people he mixed with, but she was too wise to press the matter further just then. 236 hope the hermit. "do you know," said michael, "what it is to care not a straw for anything in the world? to be indifferent as to what happens? to find everything one dull, dead level?" "yes," she said, "i know very well what you mean." "since finding that damaged register i feel that there's no more to be done; my life is over, at least all that makes it worth living," he said with profound dejection. "what did you do when you were in like case?” "you will find, i think, that other people's interests are put into your life, and you'll begin to care for them instead. by-the-bye, there is a matter in which you could help me very much. you remember how, in the winter, we had that appeal from the bishop of london to help the protestant vaudois, who had been obliged to fly from their homes because of the persecution of the duke of savoy and the french? there is much need of a man who understands accounts and business matters, at which, to tell the truth, the clergy are notoriously bad, and the ladies nothing to boast of. much has been given in charity. if you could spare us some of your free time you would be doing a very kindly deed.” michael could not refuse such a request, though at that moment he felt perfectly hard and callous as to the sufferings of the vaudois. but the work in itself did hope the hermit. 237 him good; moreover, as mary had known would be the case, it brought him into contact with men like dean tillotson, hugo wharncliffe, and mr. john evelyn, who was staying just then with his family in soho square. 238 hope the hermit. chapter xviii. "only be steadfast, never waver, nor seek earth's favour, but rest. thou knowest what god's will must be for all his creatures-so, for theethe best." paul fleming, 1609. "so far it has been a dead failure," said james calverley, closing the shutters of his sitting-room in villiers street, and proceeding in a leisurely fashion to get a light with flint and steel and kindle the two candles which, in very ill-cleaned silver candlesticks, stood on the table. "before the fellow can be of much service he must be won over to the true faith. i thought the last debate had nearly converted him, but since easter i have not set eyes on him; he deliberately avoids me, and even when asked to come here writes an excuse." "there is some other influence at work," said anthony sharp, "and i think i can tell you what it is. that dark-eyed niece of sir william denham's hath introduced him to the good folk who are bent on relieving the heretic vaudois. i despair of him now, for they'll stuff hope the hermit. 239 his ears with gruesome tales of cruelty, and he will conclude that we are all fiends; for somehow your good protestant always manages to forget that he too can be a persecutor when he has a chance. such an one will talk very big about the fires of smithfield, but will manage to forget the horrible cruelties perpetrated in ireland, to say nothing of the murder of my lord strafford, as innocent a man as ever breathed." "you must have another try at him," said calverley, "for it is essential that he should somehow be converted." "that, my dear friend, is more easily said than done, particularly now that he is hand and glove with dean tillotson." "tillotson? perhaps the worthy dean will only comfort him as they say he did the queen-i mean the dutchman's wife-with a sermon on hell." "perhaps," said anthony sharp, with an odd motion of the eyebrows. "but if, as they say is the case, tillotson holds that the torments of hell are not endless, then you may be sure he will attract a fellow of michael derwent's nature. some may be won by fear, but he is not of that make. the doctrine of neverending evil and suffering revolts his sense of justice, and you may be quite sure that tillotson will net him." "perhaps he only sees the dean about this vaudois business." 240 hope the hermit. "no; i saw them together a sen'night since, walking to and fro in the half-built new st. paul's, in deep talk. by stepping behind some scaffolding, i contrived to catch a sentence now and then as they passed, and heard the dean arguing against an infallible church, and speaking outrageous things of his holiness the pope. the church, he argued, was but the congregation of faithful men, liable to err, and as yet unfinished and incomplete, just like the building in which they walked. it was built up, not out of rules and dogmas and ceremonies, but of the lives of christian men and women; and there, to do him justice, he said many excellent and practical things to young derwent, for practical charity hath a large place in the dean's teaching, and accounts no doubt for his enormous influence. it's not that the man is a great scholar or a profound theologian-his best friends would scarce claim that for him --but he certainly is zealous in good works, and, depend upon it, his influence over young derwent will last. i can do no more for you." "then the fellow must remain sir wilfrid lawson's nameless secretary," said james calverley with a shrug of the shoulders. "no one can say i haven't done my utmost to save him." "true, and, even as it is, you may find him of use some day," said anthony sharp. "have you a lemon here? i might write a letter to nevil payne and tell hope the hermit. 241 him how matters progress. i almost wonder enderby hasn't returned from st. germains by this time; he has been longer gone than i thought for." "ay, now that the dutchman has started for ireland, the sooner we set our plan agoing, the better," said calverley, producing a lemon, which he cut in half, and fetching from a drawer a goose-quill and some sheets of writing paper. together the two proceeded to concoct a letter which was carefully written in lemon-juice, and would only become legible on the application of heat. they were still at work, when a tap at the door made anthony sharp hastily thrust the quill into his pocket and shuffle the papers under the table-cover. calverley meantime crossed the room, and flinging the door open, greeted his visitor effusively. "we were but now talking of you, mr. derwent," he said in that genial, pleasant tone which had from the first won michael's heart. "you are too much of a stranger here. has sir wilfrid been keeping you chained to the desk that you have not visited me all this time?" "no, sir," said michael, a little sorry to find anthony sharp present. "but i have been taken up with other things, and have come now to bid you farewell, for we go back to the north on monday." hope the hermit. i. 16 242 hope the hermit. "what! so soon? i am sorry for that," said james calverley thoughtfully. "there is nothing now to wait for," explained michael. "sir wilfrid's lawsuit has come to a successful finish, and my search after my father's name to an unsuccessful one." "how's that?" said anthony sharp, scanning the young man's face attentively. "why, sir, i have found the entry in the register at st. dunstan's, but it had been tampered with, a quantity of ink spilt over it, and the name—just the one name i need-is quite illegible." "that does indeed seem a cruel stroke of fate,” said anthony sharp. "but accidents will happen, and maybe you will find other proofs." "it was no accident, sir, but design, if i mistake not," said michael. "i firmly believe my father himself to have moved in the matter." calverley had been elaborately slicing up the lemon into a tumbler of water; he looked up now with a smile. "most men would be willing enough to have such a fellow for son and heir. what reason can your father have for still disowning you?" "i know not, sir, unless perchance it is a matter of money, or unless he is ashamed now, after all these years, to face one he did his best to murder." hope the hermit. 243 "but now that you have discovered that you were without doubt born in wedlock, why seek further?" said calverley. "by your own showing, the meeting could scarce be a pleasant one.” “why, sir, i should naturally like to know my own name," said michael. "and were it only for the sake of pleasing my old grandfather at carleton manor, i would fain speak a few plain words to the man who so grossly neglected my mother." "it is a thousand pities that you dwell so much on what is past," said calverley, dropping the straw through which he had been drinking his lemon water. "you want some fresh interest in your life. why not take up politics?" michael laughed and shook his head with an air of distaste. "they interest me very little," he said, "and from all i can gather it is hard for a man to keep his honesty if he meddles much with them." "in matters of state," said anthony sharp, "it is not always possible to observe the same distinction between right and wrong that governs the private life of an individual." and therewith he started on a long and ingenious argument to prove that strict honesty, perfect justice, is not always possible or even desirable. but somehow through it all michael seemed to see the face of george 16* 244 hope the hermit. fox the quaker, with those clear, wonderful eyes, protesting against this devil's doctrine, and showing how possible it was even here and now to live in the higher region where are to be found whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just. while anthony sharp was still speaking, there came a hasty rap at the door, and without waiting for leave to enter, in walked a young fellow of about five and twenty, dusty and heated and evidently fresh from a long journey. he looked flushed and excited, and was in excellent spirits-quite irrepressible spirits, indeedfor do what they would, neither calverley nor anthony sharp could stop his mouth. "i should have been back long before, but the wind was dead against us. i left st. germains on saturday," he explained, taking a vacant chair beside michael and facing the other two. as the name st. germains was uttered, michael felt a violent kick under the table from his vis-à-vis and shrewdly surmised that it had been intended for the over-talkative new-comer. a light began to dawn upon him; clearly his friends were in communication with the exiled queen. "so the oranger has really gone at last," said the stranger. "hey! what's the matter?" apparently the kick had reached him this time. "finding you here in hope the hermit. 245 close confabulation and with a lemon on the table, i naturally concluded the coast was clear. gentleman?" who is this calverley, who was half-angry, half amused, gave a keen glance at michael's face. "this is my friend mr. derwent," he said. "come and change your travelling dress in my room, dick, for in truth you are one mass of dust. then we can sup together and hear your news." "nay, you shall hear that at the globe tavern in an hour's--——___ ” وو the rest of the sentence was lost, for calverley contrived to get his talkative friend out into the adjoining room and to close the door with a resounding bang. meanwhile michael turned over in his mind the mysterious words, "seeing you with a lemon on the table, i thought the coast was clear." was the lemon some secret symbol? he looked in perplexity at the untouched half on the plate and at the fragments of peel at the bottom of the empty tumbler. what could it mean? evidently, too, there was to be a special meeting at the glove tavern that evening, when the news from st. germains was to be discussed. well, he had better go before he heard any more, and taking up his hat, he rose from the table, when just at that moment calverley returned to the room. 246 hope the hermit. "i will bid you good-bye, sir," he said in a somewhat constrained tone. "not good-bye," said calverley with a cordial handshake; "i shall see you again before you go to the north." "i think not," said michael, colouring. "our ways evidently lie apart." "that talkative fellow has betrayed us," said calverley with an air of great annoyance, while anthony sharp scanned with no small interest michael's expressive face; he could not help wondering whether his conscience would urge him to make public what he could hardly help knowing must be a jacobite conspiracy of some sort. "sir," said michael, "the gentleman certainly talked over-freely, but i was here as your guest, and am surely in honour bound not to take any heed of matters which were not meant for my ears." calverley pressed his hand, and a look of relief crossed his face; then having sent kindly messages to father noel, he parted with michael, and closing the door after him, paced the room in silence. "we can trust implicitly to him," said sharp. "he will not repeat any of that fellow's remarks. as long as i live i will never employ enderby again; i believe the fellow was drunk." "no, no, but, as usual, careless and excitable. he hope the hermit. 247 swore he thought he had seen mr. derwent, or someone much like him, at one of our meetings beneath the arches of the haymarket. after all, it does not matter so far as public affairs go, for michael derwent is, as you say, a man of his word and will reveal nothing. yet i am sorry, too, that he found out the truth. if things go well for us it will not signify though, and indeed if all enderby says be true, our plans are most promising. now that the oranger is off for ireland and has left his wife to rule alone, we shall have an excellent chance of restoring his majesty. however, you will hear all presently at the globe. here, take the papers from under the table-cover, and we will add a postscript to our lemon letter." as they wrote, enderby cautiously opened the inner door and glanced round the room. "is the gentleman from the north safely departed?" he asked. "that's well! i breathe again! now, gentlemen, let me favour you with the latest lyric!" and he trolled out in a clear baritone voice the song-ye whigs and ye tories, repair to whitehall, and there ye shall see majestical mall; she fills up the throne in the absence of willy; never was monarch so chattering and silly. "do have the goodness to remember that you are in england and not in france," said calverley impatiently. 248 hope the hermit. "if you are anxious to be lodged in the tower i am not." "what! you don't think mr. derwent will betray us?" said enderby in consternation. "no, he can hold his tongue, but you apparently can't," said anthony sharp severely. "come, gentlemen, we may as well repair at once to the globe, where no doubt our friends will be assembling." and so saying, he carefully folded the illegible letter, threw the remains of the lemon into the tumbler, and prepared to go out. hope the hermit. 249 chapter xix. "a faithful friend is a strong defence." michael's thoughts were far from pleasant as he quitted villiers street. to know that a jacobite conspiracy was on foot was nothing now, for it had long been the news of the town that queen mary of modena was in communication with many zealous adherents of king james both in england and scotland. only a short time ago some highly important despatches had been sent over by two men named fuller and crone. fuller had, however, proved false to his trust; on reaching london he turned government spy and carried his communications straight to king william, who was at his new palace at kensington. crone delivered his letters to the plotters, but afterwards, on fuller's evidence, was arrested and thrown into newgate, where, however, he steadily refused to reveal what he knew of the plot. he was now lying, as michael well knew, under sentence of death, but it was thought that he would probably be respited and induced to tell the whole truth. meantime, king william, unable to delay any 250 hope the hermit. longer his departure for ireland, where his presence was absolutely necessary, had been forced to leave the queen to rule the distracted country as best she could. he had set out for the war on the very day that crone was brought up for trial, and those who saw his unmoved, mask-like face little guessed how deeply he felt leaving the queen in such a perilous time. only to his friend lord portland, and to burnet-whom he detested but knew to be faithful-did he reveal the distress he was enduring. but never perhaps has there been so striking an instance of the way in which a woman can rise to the occasion as is shown by the manner in which queen mary ruled in england during one of the most dangerous and trying years the country has ever passed through. the jacobite songs might describe her as chattering and silly, might laugh at her pastime of knotting fringes, but those who know the inner history of those difficult times cannot but admire the wonderful ability and judgment which she showed. on the whole, as he thought over the unsettled state of the country, and remembered with a sense of discomfort how much he had been in mr. calverley's company, michael felt glad that they were soon to return to cumberland, and as he walked along the crowded and evil-smelling streets a longing came over him for the fresh mountain air of his native place. avoiding a noisy hope the hermit. 251 party of "scourers," who were making merry over the persecution of a poor old watchman, he turned down norfolk street, and hearing sounds of music in the withdrawing-room, went upstairs at once. the room was lighted only by two wax candles, which stood on the spinet at the far end. mary denham was playing whitelocke's coranto, and sir william slept peacefully, with "the ornithology of francis willoughby, esq., illustrated by most elegant figures nearly resembling the live birds," open before him. "that is an old tune that my mother used to play," said mary, glancing up at him as he appeared. “i always have to play it when i stay with my uncle sir joscelyn heyworth at katterham.” "you are going there soon, are you not?" "yes, i go next week. one begins to long for the country. you, too, will be glad to leave london and get back to the north." "for some things," he replied, his face clouding a little. "if one could just get a good blow on the fells and come back. but the thought of settling down there for the rest of one's life does not, i must own, attract me." "you look forward too far," said mary. "a good many changes are sure to come before your life is ended. when i think of all we have passed through in the last 252 hope the hermit. eight years merely in matters of state, it seems to me that we certainly can't complain of monotony. there were those sad years at the end of king charles' reign, with all their anxiety, and then the tyranny of king james, and monmouth's rebellion, and the frightful cruelties of judge jeffreys in the west; then the trial of the seven bishops, and the invitation to the present king, and the excitement of the revolution. we certainly live in stirring days. i wonder what will happen to that poor young jacobite, crone.” "the general opinion is that he will not be able to face death when it actually comes, and will reveal the truth at the last moment," said michael. "however wrong or mistaken he may be, i cannot help but pity him," said mary. "to lie all these weeks in newgate with death staring him in the face is hard on one so young. this afternoon lady temple was here; she is devoted to the queen, and has been much with her since king william's departure. she told me that lord monmouth constantly brings to her majesty in cabinet council most mysterious letters, which he declares are intercepted by his friend major wildman. they are all written in lemon-juice." "in lemon-juice?" said michael, starting. "yes, the writing only becomes visible when exposed to heat. but the extraordinary thing is that they conhope the hermit. 253 tain abstracts of everything done in the cabinet council, of which lord monmouth, you know, is a member.” "to whom are they directed?" asked michael. "to m. contenay at amsterdam. her majesty begins to think that perhaps lord monmouth himself contrives them, and wishes to raise doubts and stir up strife in the queen's council. it must be a terrible time for her; she does not know whom to trust, and everything she does seems to give offence, while all the time lady temple says she is breaking her heart over the enforced absence from her husband, and is miserably anxious lest her father should be killed or wounded in ireland." "i think her majesty need hardly be anxious on that last point," said michael with a smile. "from all one hears, the late king is very unlike his father in personal courage, and will take good care of his own skin, though he will let the poor irish folk die by the thousand in his cause." "she can hardly help being anxious about her own father when her husband is fighting against him. it must be the same terrible struggle that my uncle heyworth had to face in the civil war, that sad time of divided households. people say the queen is heartless because when, at the people's invitation, she came to the rescue of england, she put on a bright face as she 254 hope the hermit. entered whitehall and affected a gaiety she was far from feeling. but lady temple is her close friend, and she knows that her majesty has implored king william to take every care of her father's person, and to let all people know that he specially desired no hurt should. happen to him.” "tis well she has such a sweet-natured friend as lady temple. you have taught me in these months, mistress denham, that, as the old sage wrote long ago, 'a faithful friend is a strong defence'." she coloured with pleasure at his words. "i have good reason to believe in friendship," she said as she played on dreamily upon the spinet. "as our old scotch servant says, i have been well "friended” always. and don't you forget your promise to write to me as soon as you find those moths which uncle denham thinks you may discover on the wooded shores of derwentwater. it will be a rare delight to him if you can send him some, and, moreover, i shall want to know how you fare." just then sir william woke up, and they fell to talking over the moths in question. he said that his friend the late mr. willoughby had died before studying them as he had wished, and now he and dr. martin lister, whose study of spiders was so well known, desired to hope the hermit. 255 collect specimens. mary felt no small satisfaction as she perceived that her efforts had not been altogether in vain, and that she had really roused the young northcountryman from his private troubles into taking interest again in other things. 256 hope the hermit. chapter xx. "those sweet, sweet snatches of delight that visit our bedarken'd clay, like passage birds, with hasty flight, it cannot be they perish quite, although they pass away." hartley coleridge. "my dear audrey, if you would but realise that delays are dangerous!" said mrs. brownrigg with a touch of impatience in her voice. "i have tried to hint as much to you times without number, but it seems useless." the good lady was not unlike her son; she was large and solid, with very handsome features and a slightly dictatorial tone. and now, as she sat in the parlour at millbeck hall watching the pale, downcast face of her future daughter-in-law, she felt not a little irritated. for audrey, in her deep mourning, with all the colour flown from her sweet face, and with dark shadows under her eyes, looked very little like a girl who was on the eve of a happy marriage. hope the hermit. 257 "indeed, i am sorry for the delay, ma'am," she said wistfully, "but i should make but a sad wife yet awhile, and should bring little happiness to henry." "of that, my dear, you are no fit judge," said mrs. brownrigg. "to my mind you would show greater respect to your mother's memory by wedding the man she desired you to wed, than in letting yourself pine like this in a grief that is of no avail.” audrey kept her eyes upon her embroidery, though they were so full of tears that she could not see the stitches. "i promised henry this morning that our marriage should be in august, as he wishes," she said. "it could not be before that, for now that father noel has sprained his knee and is invalided, i could not leave my grandfather." "i believe that provoking mr. noel hurt himself on purpose to postpone the wedding again. you can't deny, audrey, that both he and your grandfather dislike your wedding a protestant." audrey sighed. "they do not understand henry," she said. "and sometimes i think he does not understand them." then seeing mrs. brownrigg draw herself up with an air of offence, she hastened to add, “maybe when we are really married, all things will go more smoothly. is that five o'clock striking? then the horses will be coming to the door, and i must not keep them hope the hermit. i. 17 258 hope the hermit. waiting. for me." my two invalids at home will be looking putting on her hat and riding-gloves, she went with her hostess to the great front door, and stood in the sunny little garden waiting for her groom, listening half dreamily to mrs. brownrigg's parting exhortations, while her eyes rested on the quaint old latin motto carved above the name of the former owner, nicholas williamson, upon the lintel:— "quorsum? vivere mori. mori vivere." "whither? to live (is) to die. live." to die (is) to audrey had reached that stage of sorrow when a supreme indifference to everything in the world falls with numbing influence on the heart. she looked back at millbeck hall without the least quickening of the pulses as she remembered that in a short time it was to become her home, and there was much excuse for the impatient and worried look on mrs. brownrigg's face as she watched her future daughter-in-law out of sight. "now, what in the world possesses that girl i would give much to understand!" she ejaculated, returning to her work in the parlour in no very good humour. "from love to my son i urge on the marriage, but 'tis signing my own death warrant, for to be shut up day after day in the same house with a chit who has no hope the hermit. 259 more spirit left in her than a broody hen, will make my life a burden." the good lady, however, would have endured much for her son, and her hard face softened when later she heard his step without. he came in looking flushed and eager, and asked at once for audrey. 1 "did you not meet her? she rode home with the groom but a little while ago,” said mrs. brownrigg. "she declared she must go back to her two invalids, and truly the way in which she pampers that disguised priest is enough to sicken any good protestant. my belief is that his injured knee is nothing but a pretext for hindering the wedding." "i wish i had not missed her," said henry with an air of vexation. "but i was coming from the other direction and never thought she would leave yet awhile." "what is the news? and where have you been?" asked his mother. "i have been at wythop hall with the fletchers, and there is great news afoot. a jacobite plot has been discovered, and the queen and the privy council at whitehall have ordered the arrest of my lord clarendon and many others. it seems, moreover, that john radcliffe, sir nicholas' younger brother and heir, has been one of this accursed gång, and there is a warrant out against him. he had been plotting and 17* 260 hope the hermit. carrying on correspondence with st. germains these many months in london, but went always under an assumed name. at last he was recognised and his arrest was ordered. somehow he contrived, however, to escape from london, and it is thought that he will possibly seek shelter with his kinsfolk in the north." mrs. brownrigg was an astute lady, and she sat up now with eager eyes. "it will rest with you, of course, will be your positive duty, to search for this traitor," she said. "certainly," replied her son. "and he will be a clever man if he contrives to escape me. not only do i hate all these vile plotters, but it would be to my own interest to rid audrey of this dastardly great-uncle. she would then inherit her grandfather's estate of goldrill near ulleswater." "to be sure," said mrs. brownrigg, rubbing her hands gently together. "i should like to see you the master of goldrill. 'tis a beautiful place, and i remember once dining there in the old times when mrs. john radcliffe was a bride. 'tis strange that sir nicholas lets such a place stand empty and lives in that half-ruined old house on lord's island, which he only dreams to be his own. a most unpractical, visionary old man. i have no patience with him." "visionary, yes, but easy enough to manage," said henry brownrigg complacently. "a generous and foolish hope the hermit. 261 old man, too. he will be certain to shelter this ne'erdo-weel brother of his." "but how will you find out?" asked mrs. brownrigg. "why, easily enough, mother," said henry with a laugh. "the little god cupid will come to my help, and i shall draw all the information i need from audrey." "to be sure," said his mother. "a girl will do anything for love, and i don't for a moment doubt her love to you, henry. it is about the only thing left to her, poor lassie; she's lost her looks and her spirits and all her small talk. but her love to you survives. you were but a foolish fellow ever to be jealous of michael derwent." "that bête noire of mine is come on the scene once more. sir wilfrid is returned from london, and derwent is to be on st. herbert's isle this summer, looking after the work on the new house there, and tutoring the children, for it seems that some of the household at isel hall are down with the small-pox." "audrey had heard as much, but she clearly takes no interest in her old playmate. not a muscle of her face moved when i spoke of him.” "yes, i don't think i need be jealous," said henry. 262 hope the hermit. "to-morrow i will go and see how the land lies with regard to the great-uncle. as you say, a girl will not withhold information from her lover." the next day henry brownrigg lost no time in visiting lord's island, and audrey gave him so eager and loving a welcome that his heart beat high with hope. they sat together in a little arbour in the shady pleasance, and after beating about the bush for some little time, he made a direct attack on the matter that was filling his thoughts. "you have no visitors here?" he said, watching her keenly as he put the question. "no," she replied, "none whatever. they tell me michael has returned from london, but he has not come to see us." "i wonder at that," said henry. “i am glad he has not come,” she said wearily. "i dread seeing people since my mother died. i want no one but you." he raised her hand to his lips. should he tell her of the discovered plot? on the whole he thought not. "my dearest heart!" he said tenderly. "i come to you whenever i can, and indeed i need you now more than ever, for we live in troubled times and my work just now is arduous. you little know how it cheers and helps me to throw all public cares aside and come here hope the hermit. 263 you to this quiet place and find you waiting for me. will not mind if i come even more often than i have done hitherto?" "mind?" she said with a little shy caress. "why, no, henry, your coming is the one thing that cures my heartache." "i shall be much in keswick during the next few weeks," he said, "and will make a point of coming whenever i can. and do not forget, dear heart, that at lammas-tide, you will be my bride, and that next sunday our banns are to be read in crosthwaite church. have told your grandfather that?" you "yes, i told him last night, and he consents, though liking but ill to lose me," said audrey. "well, well, that is but natural," said her lover. "and, after all, millbeck hall is no very great distance; you will often see him." he left the island in good spirits, feeling that there would be no difficulty in learning the whole truth from his betrothed should john radcliffe seek shelter in the house. audrey watched him row back in the direction of keswick, feeling happier than she had done for some time. there was something in henry brownrigg's strength which comforted her; and to-day she had noticed in his manner a warmth and eagerness that 264 hope the hermit. touched her sad heart, rousing it from its grief, and kindling once more a gleam of hope in the life that lay before her. after all, was she not young? it was impossible to dwell for ever in the happiness that was past. perhaps joy awaited her in that wedded home at millbeck; perhaps mrs. brownrigg was, after all, right, and she would most truly show her love to her mother by making the very utmost of such happiness as might fall to her share. there was much to brighten her life in the prospect of henry's love and protection; then, too, god might send her the blessed gift of children. in many ways, as she sat there dreaming over the possibilities of the future, her outlook grew wider and more sunshiny, till something of its former youth and beauty stole back to her face, and the old gardener, as he approached her, was quick to note the change. "bless her!" he said to himself. "she's like her ain sel' once more. good-mornin', mistress. ha'e ye time to be cuttin' the lavender? it be fine and dry now, and by night i'm thinkin' we shall ha'e rain." "why, to be sure, jock. i am but idling here in the arbour," said audrey with a smile; and going to the house, she returned in a snowy apron, carrying a large flat basket and a pair of scissors to clip the lavender. jock heard her singing softly as she set about her work, hope the hermit. 265 and had a very shrewd suspicion of the direction in which her thoughts had turned; for, as the fragrant, mauve spikes were laid in the basket, audrey involuntarily began to picture her fine new linen and the great chest where her bridal clothes were stored. 266 hope the hermit. chapter xxi. "the devil is but god's master fencer, to teach us to handle our weapons." samuel rutherford. late on the evening of this same 4th july the rain which old jock, the gardener, had foretold came down in good earnest, wetting to the skin a wayfarer who, in the fading light, was making his way down the stake pass towards borrowdale. from the way in which he walked it was evident that he knew the country, nor did he greatly care for the bad weather, but strode on at a brisk pace, a solitary figure in the grey landscape. he had journeyed far that day and was footsore and tired, so that a sigh of relief escaped him as he came down. into the valley, tramped through the little sleeping village of rosthwaite, where folks went early to bed, and made his way through borrowdale to the margin of derwentwater. here he paused and looked across to st. herbert's isle, his eye being attracted by the light burning in michael's room. "so sir wilfrid is apparently at his summer house! worse luck to the old protestant! unless he is safely hope the hermit. 267 at isel we shall have him playing the spy. well, at anyrate there is a light on lord's island too, so the good folks there have not gone to roost. the question is, how am i to reach them without disturbing the servants?" musing over his plans, he strode on through the woods which fringed the shore, pausing now and then to glance at some remembered landmark, and finally stealing down towards stable hills farm, close to which was one of the radcliffe boathouses. "no dogs about; that is well," he muttered to himself as he unlatched the door, and soon with deft hands he had loosed a boat and was rowing across the narrow strip of water which lay between the shore and the chief landing-stage on the island. it was now quite dusk, and having safely moored his boat, he crept noiselessly round the ruined chapel until he reached the window of the room in which he had seen a light burning as he stood near lowdore. the shutters were still unclosed; he glanced into the deserted hall, and saw that the remains of supper were still upon the table. "they must have gone to the study," he reflected. "i'll not risk going round by the garden and the kitchen premises; better creep round the chapel and the brewhouse; one is less likely to fall foul of the servants." swiftly crossing the open courtyard in front of the mansion, he made his way to the window of the study, 268 hope the hermit. and here good fortune attended him, for the window was open, and beside it, drinking in the cool night air, sat father noel, a self-controlled person with iron nerves, who was not in the least likely to be startled by his sudden appearance. "any shelter, good father, for a hunted stag?" he asked in a low but cheery voice. father noel involuntarily crossed himself and turned a shade paler; then, with a warning gesture to the fugitive, he turned to prepare old sir nicholas, who dozed in his armchair. "my child," he said as audrey glanced up at him with startled eyes, "your great-uncle mr. john radcliffe stands without asking for shelter. we must ask your grandfather what is to be done." audrey threw down her knitting and knelt beside the old man's chair, gently rousing him. "grandfather," she said quietly, "there is a great surprise for you. my uncle radcliffe has come. needs shelter." he "john!" said the old man, waking all in a tremble; "john here and needing shelter?" "ay," said a voice behind them, and glancing round, they saw the heir to the estate swing himself lightly in by the open window with the ease and agility of a much younger man. "i am here, good friends, but have only escaped the hope the hermit. 269 tower by the skin of my teeth. how are you, brother?” he greeted the old knight with light-hearted goodnature, speaking as though they had but parted a few days ago. "my pretty niece, you will scarce remember me; but an you love me, go close the window and the shutters; then i shall breathe more freely. we must keep my coming dark, father noel, or i shall maybe land you all in trouble." "what has happened?" said the old priest anxiously. "we have heard naught up here, save that the french fleet is in the channel. is that true?" "ay, indeed it is, and by this time, like enough, it may have beaten the english fleet, for my lord torrington hath one of those timid natures that shrink from responsibility of any sort. the queen and the council, threatened by a french invasion and by a jacobite insurrection, grew desperate. then, unluckily, that poor young fellow crone could hold out no longer." "they say he had a fair enough trial," said old sir nicholas. "we must at least allow that the present government do not treat enemies after the fashion of former times, when my lord jeffreys condemned men. but what of young crone? is he dead?" "no, poor beggar, at last he broke down and couldn't face the scaffold. they offered him a free pardon if only he would confess all he knew, and so at 270 hope the hermit. whitehall he revealed many matters which showed the queen the strength of the jacobite cause. my lord clarendon is in the tower, and i should be keeping him company had i not, by the aid of my worthy friend father sharp, contrived to escape before the warrant had been delivered. what do you say? can i shelter for a time in the priests' hole?" "yes, you would be safe enough there," said sir nicholas; "as audrey remembers, from her game of hide and seek, 'tis little likely to be found. we had old father francis there for weeks." "what is the matter, my child?" said father noel, his keen eyes at once observing the look of doubt and trouble that flashed into audrey's face. "could it be possible," she said, "that henry already knows my uncle to be a fugitive?" "why, doubtless the authorities at keswick know it," said john radcliffe easily. "i have been some time getting here, and ill news, as we all know, flies apace. you mean that this under-sheriff lover of yours will come searching the house?" "he was here this morning," said audrey, colouring crimson, "and i remember that he asked if we had any visitors, and spoke of having to be much in keswick during the next few weeks, and that he hoped often to come and see me." her eyes filled with tears, for a terrible doubt of hope the hermit. 271 henry's motive for the first time came into her mind. was he just professing special tenderness to her to further his own ends? did he mean to use her as his tool? use her against her own kith and kin? the thought tortured her, nor was there any comfort in the long-embarrassed silence which reigned in the room. it was quite evident that even gentle old sir nicholas, with all his reluctance to think evil of his neighbours, believed that her lover had been seeking for information that morning as to the escaped jacobite. now, audrey, though gentle and sweet by nature, was quite capable of being roused by anything which savoured of meanness, and the notion of being trapped into betraying those who were of her own blood made her heart stir indignantly. "oh," she cried, "i don't think you will be safe here! i believe henry will come again with his question as to visitors, and how am i truthfully to answer him if you are in the priests' hole?-actually in the house?" "my child, a lie in such a case would be quite permissible," said father noel. "you would be merely telling such a lie as michal did to save david from her father's fury." "i can't tell a lie to my lover," said audrey. "the maid is right," said john radcliffe. "never fear, audrey; no one has a right to expect that of you. better give up your old uncle, my dear." he stooped 272 hope the hermit. and kissed her with the frank kindliness of look that had won him so many hearts; and as audrey felt him pat her gently on the shoulder, as though she had still been a child, her heart went out to this unknown kinsman, and she felt the impossibility of betraying him. "i could never give you up, uncle," she said warmly. "only if we could contrive to shelter you elsewhere, i think henry's suspicions would be more easy to allay. even if i tried to lie, i should do it badly, and he would at once guess that something was amiss." "there is something in that," said father noel. “a lover of truth for its own sake ever bungles the matter and lies shamefacedly. ha! there's knocking at the great door. i fear your coming to the island has been observed." for a moment they all seemed stupefied, for a visitor at that late hour was unheard of, and to bestow john radcliffe in the priests' hole was now out of the question. audrey was the most quick-witted, and with a woman's swift intuition saw in a flash the sole chance of escape. "quick, uncle," she said, "come with me to my room and i will bolt the door. henry would never dream of disturbing me." "you are willing to take the risk?" said john radcliffe, hesitating for a moment. but she caught his arm impatiently and drew him hope the hermit. 273 to the door. "quick, quick! or we shall not reach the stairs before the servants come," she urged; and john radcliffe, without another word, obeyed, following her swiftly up the broad, shallow steps, along the gallery, and into a room dimly visible by a rushlight which burnt on the table near the bed. she closed and bolted the door behind them, then breathlessly motioned him towards the large, roomy cupboard where her dresses hung. "i will let you out when they tell us that all is safe below," she said, locking the door upon him, and then pausing for a minute to listen intently to what was passing. she heard steps in the entrance hall, then the voice of old duncan, the butler. "sir nicholas is alone, sir," he said. "if any visitor had come into the house to-day, why, i should have known it." "well, let me speak a few words with sir nicholas," replied a clear, penetrating voice, and audrey shivered, for she knew that it was, as they had feared, henry himself. she stole across the room to the bed, and creeping into it with her clothes on, drew up the heavy, knitted coverlet, shuddering as though it had been a cold winter's night instead of a sultry evening in july. it seemed to her that without a moment's warning hope the hermit. i. 18 274 hope the hermit. she had been plunged into a sea of difficulties and perils, and her heart ached as she thought how soon the brightness of the morning had passed away. but though plainly seeing that she had a difficult part to play, there was no wavering about her. in an instant she had thrown in her lot with those of her own blood. it was nothing to her that she shared neither their religious nor their political views; on such details she never even bestowed a thought in this crisis. she only knew that her lover was seeking her uncle's life and liberty, and all her sympathies went to the man who had begged for help and shelter. for to fly to the rescue of the oppressed is the natural instinct of every true woman, the secret of that motherliness which enters into every relation of life, perfecting her attitude not only towards children, but towards husband, kinsman, and friend. meanwhile henry brownrigg had entered the study, looking sharply round with expectant eyes and feeling somewhat nonplussed by the calm of the atmosphere. sir nicholas leant back in his armchair, with his eyes shielded by one of his long, slender hands, and as the visitor was announced he rose with an air of mild surprise and gave him a quiet, courtly greeting. beside the window sat father noel, book in hand. "you'll excuse my rising, mr. brownrigg; but, as very likely you have heard, i have crippled my knee," hope the hermit. 275 he said pleasantly. "i trust nothing is wrong with mrs. brownrigg?" "i do not come from millbeck, but from keswick," said henry brownrigg. "a very disagreeable errand has been entrusted to me, sir nicholas, and i only wish i were not called by my duty to carry it out. the fact is a warrant is out for the arrest of your brother, mr. john radcliffe." father noel made a startled ejaculation. "upon what charge, sir?" he inquired. "on a charge of high treason," said henry brownrigg, trying in vain to read the priest's face. "foolish fellow!" said father noel. "he is one of those who cannot keep from dabbling in politics. 'tis a pity he has not followed the example of his brother and held aloof altogether from public affairs; but he has been much abroad, and that is an ill training for an englishman: they lose all genuine patriotism if they are much in france." "there is truth in that," said sir nicholas. "but i think, mr. brownrigg, you know me well enough to be aware that i have no sympathy with any of the harebrained schemes for calling the french to invade our shores in the hope of restoring king james. rather than see a french invasion i would welcome again the days of cromwell and the commonwealth." "sir, i am quite well aware that you are a true18* 276 hope the hermit. hearted english gentleman," said henry brownrigg, touched in spite of himself by the unmistakable sincerity of the old man's tone. "but to-night we have had terrible news; the english fleet has been disgracefully beaten by the french off beachy head, and my lord torrington has been forced to fly along the coast of kent and to take refuge in the thames." "great heavens!" said sir nicholas, his eyes kindling. "this is terrible news, indeed! mr. brownrigg, on many matters we disagree, but i call god to witness that in this matter of the french invasion we are entirely of the same mind” he held out his hand, and henry brownrigg pressed it in his, not without genuine admiration of the old catholic gentleman, whose patriotism was plainly visible. "it seems ungracious," he said, "to return to the object of my visit, but duty must be done. it will be my duty to arrest your brother, however little i like the task, and it seems only too likely that, having, as we know, fled from london, he should take refuge here." "he would be very slow to imperil sir nicholas," said father noel. "in old days i knew him well, and there is much kindly generosity in his nature. moreover, to come here would be a foolish and risky thing to do, and mr. john radcliffe is a shrewd man." "i will be open with you," said henry brownrigg, "and will tell you just how things stand. we know hope the hermit. 277 that some days ago mr. john radcliffe left london, and came down to york by coach. at york he disappeared; and in spite of many efforts we have not yet traced him. this evening, however, i chanced to observe a boat crossing at an unusually late hour to the island, and on inquiry learnt from a travelling pedlar who was passing with his pack-horse that he had seen a gentleman in the path between rosthwaite and grange. now, it is of course quite possible that i may be mistaken, but taken in connection with the boat which i myself noticed"" "that, if you will pardon the interruption, is a matter of frequent occurrence," said the priest; "on these long summer evenings the servants often cross from the farm quite late." "still i conceive it my duty," said henry brownrigg haughtily, "to make a search of the house, though i am sorry to put you to any inconvenience, sir nicholas." "not in the least," said the old knight with a courtly bow; "you are perfectly at liberty, sir, to make whatever search you deem necessary." the under-sheriff was puzzled by this ready acquiescence. "they will show me round the place," he reflected, "but all the while they may have got the fellow stowed away in some secret room.” "it is hardly to be imagined, sir nicholas," he said, "that an old mansion like this was built without its 278 hope the hermit. secret hiding-place; it would save us all a world of trouble if you would kindly tell me where your secret room is." "with pleasure," said the old knight. "it is known to few; but old duncan will open it for you if i give him instructions." then summoning the old butler, he said:"take mr. brownrigg round the house; he is in search of a gentleman against whom a warrant has been issued. show him through the rooms and let him look into the priests' hole. but go quietly, duncan, for i do not wish mistress audrey to be disturbed; by this time she will be asleep." "oh, we will go quietly, i assure you," said henry brownrigg. "i would not for the world alarm audrey: she has looked sadly out of health since her mother's death, and we must not let her be harrassed by this affair. pray say nothing to her about my visit." "you are quite right," said sir nicholas; "she must not be disturbed or in any way troubled." so the under-sheriff was solemnly conducted round the house, and looked into every hole and cranny with the one exception of audrey's room; but, needless to say, he discovered no trace of the jacobite, and before long was rowing back to keswick greatly crestfallen and disappointed. in the meanwhile sir nicholas and the priest had hope the hermit. 279 been holding a consultation and had come to the conclusion that it was necessary to take the old butler into their confidence. when he returned from bolting the great door upon the under-sheriff they had him into the study and told him the whole truth, making him swear perfect secrecy. "now go and bid mistress audrey bring her uncle down once more, and bring some supper in here, for i doubt mr. radcliffe will be hungry after his journey," isaid sir nicholas. duncan bustled off in great excitement, eager to see with his own eyes this visitor whose presence he had strenuously and honestly denied to the under-sheriff. "mistress audrey," he whispered, knocking softly on her door, "i was to tell you that all is safe below." audrey hastened across the room, and holding the rushlight in her hand, peered cautiously into the dark passage. "is mr. brownrigg gone?" she asked. 66 "ay, miss, he has searched the house and has gone, and i was to bid you and mr. radcliffe come down once more to the study." audrey, with a sigh of relief, unlocked the cupboard. "tis all safe, uncle," she whispered. and john radcliffe, who had stretched himself out comfortably enough in the roomy dress-cupboard, sprang 280 hope the hermit. to his feet and gave the old butler a careless, kindly greeting. "tis many a year since i met you, duncan," he said, "but, by the mass! you're not a day older as far as looks go. come, my pretty niece, you have been the saving of me to-night, and i'm much mistaken if you haven't sharper brains even than father noel, which is saying a good deal. by all means let us come down and have a family conclave." audrey, who was most eager to know all that her lover had said, was glad enough to make one of the little group which gathered round the table in the study while john radcliffe made a hearty meal. with a sinking heart she heard of the disaster at beachy head and the threatened french invasion, yet it was a comfort to know that her grandfather by no means shared his brother's views with regard to these matters, and she listened with a thrill of loving pride to his straightforward words. "you know well enough, john, that i hate all your plottings and contrivings and will take no part in them. but blood is thicker than water, and i will do my utmost to shelter you. what are your plans?" "if i can take shelter here for awhile until we see which way events run," said john radcliffe, "that is all i desire. if king james prospers in ireland and hope the hermit. 281 the french invasion is successful in the south of england, why, i should return before long to london. if not, i should make my way to the coast and take ship for france. in any case a few weeks must decide the fate of the kingdom and my fate with it." "uncle, you will not be safe in this house," said audrey quickly. "what! not even in the priests' hole?” "the under-sheriff knows the secret of that since to-night," said father noel. "and he will be constantly coming here to see me," said audrey, blushing. "i cannot parry his questions if you are in the house." john radcliffe gave a low whistle of dismay. "then what is to be done?" he said composedly, helping himself a second time to the pigeon pie. "i thought now he had once searched the house, all would be well." "there are many other hiding-places among the hills if you don't mind being in the open air," she suggested. "michael and i used to know of several when we were children. i could take you myself this very night, and no one else knows of them." "but, my dear child, if you were seen wandering about the fells the truth would at once be guessed,” said sir nicholas. 282 hope the hermit. "there are few people astir in borrowdale," said father noel. "she would be safe enough, and henry brownrigg is disposed of, at anyrate, for to-night. i have just seen his boat disappear in the distance." "how are we to tell that she may not happen upon some shepherd? the less we desire to meet folk the more certain we are to do it, as a rule.” "grandfather," said audrey, "i have thought of all that while waiting upstairs. it would never do to go in my own dress; but you remember how all the borrowdale folk say that the bogle still haunts the neighbourhood and has by many of them been seen, dressed in the clothes he wore when he fought the duel with the parliamentary officer from st. herbert's isle. now, upstairs we still have some of the clothes my father wore when he was a lad of seventeen. in old days i often used to help my mother to unfold them, and see that they were free from moth.” "and you would make your uncle wear these?" asked sir nicholas. "no, i would wear them myself," said audrey, blushing a little. "then, did any chance to catch sight of us, they would at once run away, for there is nothing so much dreaded as the sight of the borrowdale bogle." john radcliffe laughed and rubbed his hands. "bravo! little niece, did i not say you had the best hope the hermit. 283 wits of us all? you shall enact the ghost of the royalist radcliffe, and i for the nonce will be one of old noll's crew." "child," said sir nicholas, putting his wrinkled hand on hers, "do not rush into this escapade without thinking. you are right to try to help your uncle, but remember that 'tis a perilous part you are about to play; one, moreover, which might be gravely misunderstood by mr. brownrigg should he ever by ill chance come to hear of it." "i know," said audrey, "but oh, sir, anything is better than that uncle radcliffe should fall into henry's hands. i cannot bear to think that henry should be the one to bring him to the gallows—anything is better than that!" her eyes filled with tears, for it is hard to have to put into words the very fear with which the heart has been fighting. moreover, there surged over her once more that horrible feeling that henry had used her that morning as his tool, that even his devotion had been tinged with that other motive. she was recalled to the present by finding the entire breast of a fat capon thrust on to her empty plate. "eat, my pretty niece, eat," said john radcliffe. "if you mean to pilot me across the fells to-night you will 284 hope the hermit. stand in need of a good supper. after all, you are flesh and blood, you know, and but a mock ghost." she laughed, and did her best to obey, glancing now and then with something of curiosity at this unknown kinsman, who in the course of half an hour had succeeded in making himself so entirely one of the family. not only in face was he curiously like his elder brother, but the tone of his voice kept reminding her of some other voice which she knew, and she puzzled her brain to think which of the many radcliffe cousins it could be. though like sir nicholas in feature, he was twenty years younger, and his light periwig, alert, brisk manner, and upright carriage made him look less than his true age. there was, moreover, about him a buoyancy and youthfulness which astonished audrey, and she began to understand that whereas her grandfather hated the very notion of a plot and would not have stirred a finger to restore king james, uncle radcliffe revelled in anything likely to bring him excitement and stirring adventure, enjoying the jacobite conspiracy as a boy enjoys a risky game. "uncle," she said, "how long can you bear to shelter among the hills? i must go and arrange with duncan to get your provisions for the next few days." "oh, if you'll not starve me i'll bide my time hope the hermit. 285 patiently enough. and in a few days' time there is bound to be news of one sort or the other." "very well, i will get you plenty of food; and look for me between ten and twelve at night on wednesday, the 9th; then i can bring you fresh supplies and whatever news we have heard." she went away to make her preparations, and as the door closed gently behind her a silence fell on the little group gathered round the table. end of vol. i. printing office of the publisher. november 1898. tauchnitz edition. latest volumes: (continued from page 2 of cover.) a storm-rent sky. a new novel by m. betham-edwards. i vol. the gods arrive. a new novel by annie e. holdsworth. i vol. the invisible man. a new story by h. g. wells. i vol. a soul on fire. a new novel by florence marryat. i vol. the fight for the crown. a new novel by w. e. norris. i vol. a forgotten sin. a new novel by dorothea gerard. i vol. in the choir of westminster abbey. a new novel by emma marshall. i vol. (continued on last page of cover.) november 1898. tauchnitz edition. latest volumes: (continued from page 3 of cover.) three partners. a new novel by bret harte. i vol. a woman of kronstadt. a new novel by max pemberton. i vol. the cedar star. a new novel by mary e. mann. i vol. reminiscences. a new work by m. betham-edwards. i vol. the millionaires. a new novel by frank frankfort moore. i vol. dreamers of the ghetto. a new work by i. zangwill. 2 vols. (continued on cover of vol. ii.) the tauchnitz edition is to be had of all booksellers and railway libraries on the continent, price m 1,60. or 2 francs per volume. a complete catalogue of the tauchnitz edition is attached to this work. 5 fhiarll wrecked. ///>//////////• t (puaru in ijw woad (, ! //</r/i <y/rr/'ts///////a th£ s/untiarj st&& the adventures of philip quarix, the who was disco vered b y mr. d orring ton on an where he had lived upwards of fifty years. uoniron j printed by and for hodgson and co. 10, newgate street. sixpence. i 74 i: w n »' p 1 .^-. % v . o ••"•* a& » <f>. 4 **, x ^ <*u a « *> ^>. 4 v vv ,/x r0 «.°^l ^ o. s%. . -e v a * v ^ 'of v't, ^° ** % ? .-^**> 1 ♦ tk v • os v : *? fs "**^ ^o 5 •v^.x' v^ r^kfe s»* m,\ %/ -^kfe \-/ ,y<m '' rt a .0*0. <i, .<b v • ^\ -3 ^^ r«\/ %,--«&•> .• ^-^ ** 0° -*> ».r.» ^ "o. *.tvt* a >p-»j, „^q. ♦♦^** ^ ^. .»"•>, v^ 1 .^% r ' v v s .0 * *a. -^ ♦♦^ '-.toa, j ^. a 4,0 v> ♦*> *0* !« *bv ^•0^ "ov ^•6* :^,3 ■ ft "■% ii\'ai \j i vi 'i he hermit a ballad. by oliver goldsmith. with illustrations. .=0 173s?~ 7 philadelphia: j. b. lippincott company. 1886. ^% copyright, 1885, by j. b. lippincott company. \ ■ n /,. fot*of.>iili^tp&tion? "unnumber'd suitors cams" . frontispiece induction page 11 i "turn, gentle hermit'' 5 . ... 15 follows to the cell lingering hours beguiled 23 "2-"/ .;^ stands confess'd 27 "he caroll'd lays op love" . . 31 "sought a solitude forlorn" . . 35 "but mine the sorrow" .... 39 " turn, angelina" ...... 43 hj) finis 45 i _ . f^ ™-" / urn", gentle hermit of the dale, * and guide my lonely way to where yon taper cheers the vale with hospitable ray. "for here forlorn and lost i tread, with fainting steps and slow, where wilds, immeasurably spread, seem lengthening as i go." " forbear, my son," the hermit cries, "to tempt the dangerous gloom; for yonder faithless phantom flies to lure thee to thy doom. "here to the houseless child of want my door is open still ; and though my portion is but scant, i give it with good will. " then turn to-night, and freely share whate'er my cell bestows; my rushy couch and frugal fare, my blessing and repose. "no flocks that range the valley free to slaughter i condemn : taught by that power that pities me, i learn to pity them: " but from the mountain's grassy side a guiltless feast i bring, — a scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, and water from the spring. " then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego ; all earth-born cares are wrong : man wants but little here below, nor wants that little long." soft as the dew from heaven descends his gentle accents fell : the modest stranger lowly bends, and follows to the cell. *j£^&s«*hr far in a wilderness obscure the lonely mansion lay, a refuge to the neighboring poor, and strangers led astray. no stores beneath its humble thatch required a master's care : the wicket, opening with a latch, received the harmless pair. and now, when busy crowds retire to take their evening rest, the hermit trimm'd his little fire, and cheer'd his pensive guest, and spread his vegetable store, and gayly press'd, and smiled, and, skill'd in legendary lore, the lingering hours beguiled. around, in sympathetic mirth, its tricks the kitten tries, the cricket chirrups on the hearth, the crackling fagot flies. but nothing could a charm impart to soothe the stranger's woe ; for grief was heavy at his heart, and tears began to flow. £m£k i <' / ||! his rising caves the hermit spied, with answering care oppressed: and, "whence, unhappy youth," he cried, "the sorrows of thy breast? " from better habitations spurn'd, reluctant dost thou rove? or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, or. unregarded love? "alas! the joys that fortune brings are trifling, and decay; and those who prize the paltry things, more trifling still than they. " and what is friendship but a name, a charm that lulls to sleep, a shade that follows wealth or fame, but leaves the wretch to weep ? and love is still an emptier sound, the modern fair one's jest; on earth unseen, or only found to warm the turtle's nest. "for shame, fond youth! thy sorrows hush, and spurn the sex," he said; but, while he spoke, a rising blush his love-lorn guest be tray 'd. surprised, he sees new beauties rise, swift mantling to the view; like colors o'er the morning skies, as bright, as transient too. the bashful look, the rising breast, alternate spread alarms: the lovely stranger stands confess'cl, a maid in all her charms. 26 1 -^*ii--v:\£^:'-^-.'l..s±.±ix.*,±. --: ■'....!.. :w^mw and, "ah ! forgive a stranger rude, a wretch forlorn," she cried, "whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude where heaven and you reside. "but let a maid thy pit) 7 share, whom love has taught to stray; who seeks for rest, but finds despair companion of her way. "my father lived beside the tyne; a wealthy lord was he; and all his wealth was mark'd as mine, he had but only me. "to win me from his tender arms unnumber'd suitors came, who praised me for imputed charms, and felt, or feign'd, a flame. 29 '.' each hour a mercenary crowd with richest proffers strove : amongst the rest young edwin bow'd, but never talk'd of love. " in humble, simplest habit clad, no wealth nor power had he; wisdom and worth were all he had, but these were all to me. "and when, beside me in the dale, he caroll'd lays of love, his breath lent fragrance to the gale, and music to the grove. > ( e "the blossom opening to the day, the clews of heaven refined, conld nought of purity display to emulate his mind. ' : '>'?,v "the dew, the blossom on the tree, with charms inconstant shine : their charms were his, but, woe to me, their constancy was mine. "for still i tried each fickle art, importunate and vain ; and while his passion touch'd my heart, i triumph'd in his pain; "till, quite dejected with my scorn, he left me to my pride, and sought a solitude forlorn, in secret, where he died. ::,,; f'"3:'j " but mine the sorrow, mine the fault, and well my life shall pay : i'll seek the solitude he sought, and stretch me where he lay. "and there, forlorn, despairing, hid, i'll lay me down and die : twas so for me that edwin did, and so for him will i." "forbid it, heaven!" the hermit cried, and clasp'd her to his breast : the wondering fair one turn'd to chide 'twas edwin's self that press'd ! " turn, angelina, ever dear, my charmer, turn to see .■if. j;,/. ""\ thy own, thy long-lost edwin here, restored to love and thee. " thus let me hold thee to my heart, and every care resign : and shall we never, never part, my life — my all that's mine? "no, never from this hour to part, we'll live and love so true, the sigh that rends thy constant heart shall break thy edwin's too." 48s q 5 ♦♦ % deacidified using the bookkeeper process. neutralizing agent: magnesium oxide treatment date: march 2009 . ' preservationtechnologies a world leader in collections preservation j 111 thomson park drive a"© 1 cranberry township, pa 1 6066 %* (j> (724)779-2111 119 the hermit, or an account of francis maw joseph phyle^ a native of switzerland, who lived without the use oi fire for upwards of twentv-two years, in a smalt cave, in the midst of a wood, near mount-holly, in bur lington county, new-jersey ; and was found dead therein, in the year 1780. in a series of letters, from 3{altus hiltzhimer to melghoir millkb. i'iterspersed witii son»e observations of the jiuthoti and sentt' ments of ceu brated men* second edition. new jersey. pubushed by john atkinsok. ?rliited by john bioren, no. 88, cbcsnatfss'^cr. phiiadeiphia, 1811. dist&ict of new jersey, to wit t ^t it ttmembt%tb» that on the twenty.first day of december, in the thirty-fifth year of the independence of the united states of ame rica, john atkinson of the said district hath deposited m this office the title of a book, the right whereof he claims as author in the words follow ing, to wu : " the hermit, or an account of fran. cis adam joseph phyle, a native of switzerland, who lived without the use of fire for upwards of twenty.two years, in a small cave, in the midst of a wood, near mount-hojly in burlington county, new-jersey, and was found dead therein in the year 1780 ; in a series of letters from baltus hiltz himer to melchior miller, interspersed with some observations of the author, and sentiments of ce lebrated men." in conformity to the act of the congress of the united states entitled « an act for the encourage ment of learning by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies during the times therein mention ed;" and also to the act intitled "an act supple mentary to an act entitled an act for the encour agement of learning by securing the copies of maps, charts and books to the authors and propri etors of such copies during the times therein mentioned, and by extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving and etching historical aud other prints. robert boggs, clerk of the district of new-jersey. >0t /**•****% i certify the above to fee a » ccat i true copy of the original record. in * * testimony whereof i have hereunto *«*«*«*«#»* affixed the seal of the said district. robert boggs, clttk. letter i. dear friend^ buhmngton cocntt^ june, irso. you " request an account of the mount-holly hermit — where he came from — the time of his arri val—a description of his hermitage — • the manner of his procuring suste nance — his cha7'acter, conduct, death, and burial''^ living ill the neighbourhood of mount-holly, and havmg frequently seen the sohtaire who is the subiecc of your inquiries, as well in his soli tude as in his mendicant peregrina tions, i will cheerfully give you such iniormation respecting him as i ixuh at present in possession of, on condi tion only that you will call into exer cise all your candour and good nature in excuse of the very many faults you will, at the first glance, discover in my communications ; indeed, i am, so well aware of my deficiency in the composition, that had i not the ut most reliance on your friendly par-> tiahty, the gratitude i feel for all your past favours, i fear^ would be scarcely powerful enough to compel a com pliance with your request. thus as» sured, i shall make it my business to collect, from suurcf. s which may be implicitly relied o.i, si'ch anecdotes concerning him as may be worth your notice, and from time to lime communicate them, well assured that ill thus gratifying a curiosity pro ceeding from the most laudable mo tives, i am at the same time record ing the fate of a member of the hu man family, who, however uncom monly led to retire from the busy scenes of life, to despise the riches, honours, and conveniences for which millions of his fellow men are daily risquing immortal happiness to ob tain, appeared to possess a mind cast in no common mould ; a hardihood of character which would have added honour to many of the heroes of an tiquity, and a suavit}^ of manners which no gentleman of modern times would blush to own. in the spring of 1756, the people in mount-holly and parts adjacent. found their curiosity much awakened by reports, that a stranger had taken up his abode in a wood belonging to joseph burr, on the buriington road ; that he appeared to be a middle aged man, was a foreigner, was totally ig. norant of the english language, and was dressed in the uniform of a french soldier; that he had frequent 3y been seen at the neighbouring farm-houses, begging victuals. the people, suspecting from his frequent visits that he lived somewhere near them, had followed him, and found that he had dug out the ground un der the side of a large tree, which had been blown up by the roots, until there was room enough for him to creep into it. this incident gave rise to a good ^eal of speculation, but as an account thereof would be no more likcl}1© amuse than to profit you, i will not trouble you with it, but proceed to relate that the stranger had been seen first on the farm of lot ridgway, about a month before, whose servants going to a distant part of the farm to break some stacks of hay, descried a hovel composed of rails taken from an adjoining fence and reared against one of the stacks, over which there was ha}^ thrown. upon advancing to it they found our hermit, whose figure appearing extraordinary, ex cited a surprise which was equalled on his part by chagrin, for it was plain enough to be seen by the wag° gons having the usual apparatus for removing hay, that his encampment was to be broken up, and that he mi]st remove, which 5 after interehart 10 giiig some marks of civility with them, he undertook ; but, as he knew not where to go, being a stranger to the country and its language, every reflecting mind will suppose his situ ation was very trying; and he has since said, that in his peregrinations up and down in a country to whose language he was a stranger, and in which all his supplies were obtained through signs, his adverse allotment required a greater share of philoso phy than he could at all times call to his aid. it being but six miles to where he took up his permanent abode, he reached it the same day, and as he stopped several times and made signs for victuq^ls it was then noticed, as indeed, it has sufliciently appeared since, that he possessed great good 11 breeding, and would upon receiving any thing, make a low bow, and always kiss his crucifix, at the same time lifting up his hands and eyes in apparent supplication, as if calling down benedictions on the heads of those who vrere administer ing to his necessities. this appear ance of gratitude and devotion would cause the people to forget their pre judices (long entertained against some tenets of the church he be longed to) and strong emotions of pi ty were excited for the distressed stranger ; and i rejoice that i can re cord to the honour of the people in his neighbourhood, that (with a fe^v exceptions which shall be noticed in proper time) they have ever treated our hermit with kindness and hu manity; i the more willingly do this 12 it being not only a just encomium on the virtue and hospitality of a peo ple among whom our hermit has al wa} s found a ready admittance, and from whose tables he neve' tailed to receive a plentiful supply, but that it will highly gratify my friend in whose composition there is so great a portion of the '* milk of human kindness;" in finding that not only the necessities of this poor forlorn stranger were supplied, but many would gladly have alleviated that load of mental distress he seemed to la bour under, if it had been in their power. tours, ^c. let^rer il buklingtow countv^ june, 1780. dear friend^ the wood in which he took up his abode, hadi its north side bound ed by the road leading from mount holly to the city of burlington, dis tant four miles from the latter, and a little more than two from the former, in which is yet to be seen the tree (a white oak of great dimensions) un der the south side of which he form ed his subterranean lodgment. the •14 aperture by wliich he descended, was in an oblique direction for about three feet and a half, when it entered the body of his cave, t]ie form of which was an oval, but so much cir cumscribed in its dimensions that he could scarcely stretch himself at length in it. this circumstance \ as not known till after his death, when a partial descent was absolutely neces sary to free the cave of that body w hich had occupied it so long, for he had spent twenty-three years there, during all which time he had no use of fire. this would seem so incredible, tliat i should be afraid to assert it^ were there not hundreds who can at test the same. the aperture he sliielded from the rain, 8;c. by bark laid from the body of tiie tree, and which reached to a pole supported by forked sticks let into the ground. his spring was si tuated about forty rods from his cave in a southerly direction. the con veniency of which doubtless suggest ed the idea of settling here. for al though it is a sequestered place, be ing impervious to view from the road, by a thick growth of under wood, yet it is not so captivating a spot as some might choose. and those persons v/ho (from the fascina ting de^c^ iption in romaiitic story of the neatiicss of a hermitage and the deliglitfiil situation, in which all that, is included in the best selected lan guage to convey ideas the most be wit chins; to imaa'ination, is called to their aid,) may expect gratification of a lik^ nature in mv account, they l& will be much disappointed. for i have no materials, if i was ever so ca pable and ever so much inclined to embellish my account without having recourse to fiction, but in detailing the life of the mount-holly -hermit, that does not come within my plan. i do not remember that the pub lic knew any thing of his reasons for living in this retired way, until per haps six weeks or two months after his arrival, col. charles read spoke to him through an old german lin guist, and requested to know where he was from, and his motive in se cluding himself from society. when he gave the following short account, " his name was francis adam joseph phyle, that he was a native of the canton of lucern in switzer land, which, on account of some 17 disagreeable circumstances taking place, he had left, and went to france, with whose troops, after some length of time intervening, he had come to canada, but was, soon after his arri val, from disgust to the life of a sol dier determined to leave them, and throw himself on the mercy of his enemies. that accordingly he ef fected an escape, came on southward until he reached here, where he wish ed to remain." col. read who was one of the judges of the supreme court, after hearing his story \^'itliout pressing him to enter into the particulars there of, told him he should have liberty to reside in the wood, and recom mended him to the charity of the people, saying that he appeared to he labouring under great distress of b 2 18 mind, and wished he might not re ceive any alxise in the coiuatry he had adopted. the colonel ^.vas sus ceptible of very tender impressions, and of course when he saw a person totally a stranger to the country and its language, whose behaviour be spoke him to be a man of good breeding and who not only was des titute bf every of the comforts of life, and strenuously persisted in re fusing pecuniary aid when ever of fered, and at the same time appear ing under a great weight of mental distress, occasioned, (as he said) by his sins which appeared to over v/helm hini with a deep sense of their turpitude, and v/ishing to expiate them in solitude, by foregoing ail the enjoyments of this life. all this was more than col. read c<3u]d behold 19 witliout dropping a sympathetic tear, giving place to a compassionate sigh and sincerely pitying the miserable stranger. his kindness tr francis, (by which name i shall fo die future distinguish him,) may well be sup posed to act as a cordial to his dis tressed mind. for as he had been a soldier he did not know but that he should be forced into the british army, who we^-e then at war with its great rival power, whose mutual ani mosities have kept the world in con fusion for more than three hundred years. but his fears were happily relieved from all danger of again en tering into scenes, than which death would have been more welcome. after this interview between the colonel and francis, the latter return ed with ha'st\^ step to his retreat, from 20 which he had been absent on a httle excursion after provisions, and might have experienced comparative hap piness had not the corroding reflec tions of his guilty breast thrown in an allay. for he has since acknow ledged that his guilty fears follow ed him to his solitude. it does not with certainty appear that he had any other than the common failings of humanity to bewail: though in deed it was believed upon something that once fell from him in conversa tioti that he had killeda man in a duel. however that may be, it is enough for us to know tliat in his own opi nion, his sins were of such a cast as to preclude him the privilege of par taking any more of the comforts of this life. and it would be well if ^\'e all knew that the common failings ^f mankind are sufficient to produce in the ingenious mind the most poig nant grief. and many there has been who have been in great distress in being favoured with a true sight of their condition, when their worldly neighbours have thought them very weak to indulge such whimsies, and have laughed at their sorrows. *' but they would do well to beware how they ridicule, or speak' lightly of such distressing perplexities ; far better would it be for them that they were in the same condition." yours, yc. letter 111, burlin'gton cottntt: july, 1780. dear friend, i told you that strong convic tions pursued francis to his solitude. he had before sought to silence them, by a voluptuous gratification of the sensual appetites, both in his own country and afterwards in france, among a people well calculated both by nature and habit to contribute their full quota of those blandish ments which are best adapted to stu pify the awakened mind. but he found that however sedulous his own endeavours joined with the seductive arts of that volatile people, to lessen the poignancy of his feelings, that his conscience would, as in the " cool of the day," arrest his progress in the emphatic language of " man, where art thou ;" when finding it to be im possible to procure peace in such a way, he had at length the \ isdom to flee from such a course, and endea vour to obtain it by another medium ; which shews that he was favoured with a proper sense of his condition. and though we do entertain much charity for him, in his thinking to ey 24 piate his crimes by great austerity and rigid mortification, ^ve may at the same time without a breach there of, withhold our beuef of there being any merit attached to such vokintary acts, and assert the inefficacy thereof unless accompanied by a total change in the mind, will and aftections, which is emphatically called a new birth, and without which, a victor}^ over that leprosy of sin that is en twined into every fibre of the soul, will not be experienced. i think no one from what i have written can mistake my meaning, and infer that i have uncharitable thoughts of those who have made choice of the ascetic life. to cut off all possible occasion for such con clusion, i will freely declare, that if i had been ignorant of all those who have devoted their lives to retire ment, except thomas a. kenipis, and alban butler, their writings alone, would abundantly convince me that a man could be truly great and good, and at the same time hold principles which we as protestants assent not unto ; but to return. it being now generally knovm that francis had taken up his abode in the wood, he began to have visitors, and as he attained some knowledge of their language could discriminate between those whose visits proceed ed from laudable motives, and those of vacant minds led there by idle cu riosity. to the first, whose questions were .^jways guided by humanitv, he would answer with politeness, and if indeed it could be said that he was 26 sometimes evasive, he could not be charged with a departure from that good breeding which was so distin guished a trait in his character. but to those of the latter class, whose questions were, frequently im proper and sometimes insolent, he would remain silent or speak in a language they did not understand.. and this he would do with great fa cility : for if a german would pur sue him from the german to the french, he would then speak in la tin, spanish or italian, each of which i have been told, he could pronounce as well as his vernacular tongue. there wxre others, whose ques tions, though not of the tenor of those last mentioned, yet were evidently not agreeable to him, as being con cerning the war just commenced. '11 ttie relative strength of the two na tions, and of the probable way it would result. these things t\-ere discordant to the mind of a poor creature, who wished not only to have nothing to do with such scenes, but to forget if possible, what he had heretofore known of them. his subterranean abode, was lined with cast clothes which the charity of the people supplied : it w as as be foresaid so contracted in size that he could not stretch himself at his length, consequently was obliged to lay in a curve-line, which must be acknowledged to have been a very disagreeable position during his long abode there, and would have dra^\ n forth a greater share of our sympathy if he had been precluded the privi lege of enlarging it. the clothes he 28 lined it with, was continually imbib ing moisture, which rendered it ne cessary frequently to take them from his lodge and spread them on the bushes that it might be exhaled by the rays of the sun. when they were worn out, or for the above reason had become unfit for use, he found no difficulty in re placing them with others ; so that he was in greater danger of suifering from the heat of summer than the eold of the winter. but the unpleasantness of his situ ation during the summer nights might have been remedied, if he had slept above ground, under the awn ing which he had jutted from the wind-fall to shield as before men tioned the mouth of his cave froai the wet and which extended to some 29 length along the body of thetreea this indeed might have been esteem ed a luxury ; but for that very reason he determined not to avail himself of the advantage such a lodging present ed, but clx)se to suffer in his lodge. not indeed but that he spent a good portion of his nocturnal hours above ground, for his vigils were as rigid as is usual with others who devote their lives to retirement, but that he would not indulge himself in sleeping any where but in his lodgment under ground. which is but one instance of a hundred that could be produced in proof of his willingly denying him self all the comforts of this life, and confining himself to an austerity that to many may seem incredible, but is nevertheless true. and those per sons w^ho were acquainted ^vith tli(? ofters that were afterwards made hinj^ which will be noticed in due time, will not fail to acknowledge that his retiring from tiie world, arose from a full persuasion that it was his duty. and it appeared evident to those with whom in after years he would free ly converse, it arose not on the one hand, as some weakly imagined^ fi om an insuperable dislike to an ac tive life, nor on the other, fi'om an apathy inherent in his nature : for he had, as might be supposed from his accomplishments, been bred amidst the elegancies of life, knew how to enjoy, and had freely partook thereof. in good weather he was always seen vvalking in the path that led to his spring, with great alertness, which he kept very clean idv sweeping it si with a bunch of twigs kept for the purpose, and was rendered ver}^ hard by his constant walking in it. in this path he spent many of his nocturnal hours — in what way did he occupy his thoughts? in giving scope to his imagination, and bring ing those gay scenes to his remem brance with m^hich the men of the world are so captivated ? no, impos sible ! that he employed his thoughts in such way, unless to contrast the poor gratifications such scenes yield, with those pleasures he enjoyed in his retirement. for here, in a clear evening, when the bright expanse was lighted up by all its shining lumina ries, if those scenes should, i had al most said sacrilegiously usurp a place in his thoughts, he could instantljr dispossess th^n by an happy recur 52 rence to that aid flowing from faith which taught him that ** the soul of man was made to walk tlie skies, delightful outlet of her prison here ! there, disincumbered from her chains, the ties of toys, terrestrial, she can rove at large ; there freely can respire, dilate, ex tend, in full proportion let loose all her povv^ers."* and in consequence thereof, his pleasures were of that rational kind, arising from his duly appreciating the vast disparity between the grovelling pleasures which are derived from * young. ^ sensual enjoyments, and those which flow to the contemplative mmd, whose thoughts are not how they may acquire the means to ensure them wealth or power, but the transcen clantly more rational enquiry how they may obtain the " one thing needful," a home beyond the skies. therefore the charitable and un prejudiced will not think it unlikely his language was frequently in his lonely walks quite in unison with the following beautiful words of the poet: '« father of light! and life! thou good supreme ! o teach me what is good ! teach me thyself! save me from folly, vanity and vice, t^ u from every low pursuit! and feed my soul with knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue piire ; sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss!''* you will please to pardon me for the length of my digressions, for in giving a short account of poor fran cis, i shall think if any thing should occur by which there may arise a hope that but an individual person may receive benefit, i shall be justi fied in claiming a portion of that can-» dour, which i claim as the condition on which only i could consent to comply with your wishes, yoursy yc, * t|iompson letter iv* burlington county, july, 1780. dear friend^ francis would never leave his ha« bitation while he had any thing re maining in his sack, but when his provisions were exhausted, he would take his staff and go among his near ^'st neighbours; at another time to 3^ mount-holiy ; then to burlington or the surrounding villages : it would seem by his conduct herein, as though he thought it was most pro per to receive his supplies in rotation from the people all around him, thinking thereby to avoid being bur densome : but his care in that res pect, although it evinced him to be a man possessing great modesty and delicacy, certainly was misplaced, for i never heard of his meeting with any difficulty in obtaining a supply. upon his arrival at a house, he would salute the people in a way that at once bespoke him to be far above the level of common mendicants having made them a low bovi , while holding his hat in one hand would lay the other on his breast, in a most impressive manner, and ask them for s7 some bread in aii accent v'ery remote from meanness, and widi a deport ment diat might well be called dig nified, without any mixture of pride or insolence. and after receiving what they pleased to give, though it should be ever so indifterent, for he made choice of the worst kind, think ing it the most suitable for him, would then kiss their friendly hand, still preserving that admirable mix ture of humility and dignity. and \t-ould never forget to express some short ejaculations as they were sup posed to be, being uttered in latin, and at intervals kissing his crucifix which always hung on his breast sus pended from his neck by a ribbon. a few years previous to the pre sent war, the united brethren or (as they are commonly called) mora s3 vialis, hearing at bethlehem, theii was such a recluse person here, the), agreeable to that philanthrophy and benevolence which so highly distin guish tliem as a people, thought to j add to his happiness by sending a dei putation of three of the brethren to invite him to remove to bethlehem . and live with them, where, he was i told, he might live in his own way,^ | and as retired as he pleased. but they did not succeed in their mis sion : for he had fully made up his 1 mind on that subject, and all their kind endeavours were ineffectual to persuade him to relinquish his be loved retirement. and when we find that to be the case, the benevo lent mind cannot help regretting that such was his inflexible determina^ tion ; for those who have any know^ ledge of the ''brethren," will not doubt but great exertions would have been made to alleviate his dis tress, and tho&o exertions directed by good judgment too. and it con fessedly requires much judgment to give advice in such cases that may be profitable to the subjects of it. strangers, led by curiosity to see francis, would upon seeing the man ner in which he lived, find a most powerful appeal to their compassion, and would frequently try to get him to receive money, but it is believed they never once succeeded, he al ways stoically refusing every pecunia ry aid. but i am glad, notwithstand ing his refusal, to have it in my pow er to record such incidents, as re flecting honour on them for their be ]ie\'olent intentions, and at the same 4p time as it will contribute to the satisfac tion of those who delight in contem plating the brighter side of things c although i have to record a fla grant act of cruelty exercised on the person of francis, yet the general te= nor of his life was quiet and unruffled, and he frequently had an opportuni ty to see that his hard fate drew the tender sympathy of many, who would have rejoiced if they could have ad ministered consolation to his distres sed mind. and are we to suppose that all such charitable endeavours were altogether fruitless ? or may . we not more reasonably suppose, that their kind attempts, when man aged with tliat tenderness and delica cy, which the feeling heart aided by the benign influences of religion can inspire, were sometimes successful ? 41 o ! yes, i had much rather believe this to be the case ; and that he could have told some of those who endea voured to soothe the anguish of his mind, that he found the keenness of it to abate, and his corroding reflec tions allayed. and at some peculi ar seasons he could look forward and find the most joyful feelings to per vade the whole man, in anticipating that time when ''all tears were to be wiped from all eyes," and feel like a new creature indeed, when all and every of tlie malignant passions were ana'hilated or more properly re pressed. for we must suppose those prelibations of happiness were of no long continuance, and accordingly we find his distress would return and precipitate him into that hoji-ror, wliich © 2 he thought a proper piuubhment ibi him. oh! that all may be induced to let the sufferings of francis operate as a check to the motions of pride and anger. for if we admit the truth of the report which made him the murderer of one in a duel, we may reasonably expect pride, anger or resentment, and probably an as semblage of all three, backed by foul envy and fell revenge were the lead ing cause of his precipitation into that abyss of misery and pungent sorrow, and that protracted to the end of his life. but the motions of pride, envy, malice, guile and deceit, with all the filthy brood of carnal affections which are either generally or partially, re ceived into the breast of eytry man 43 (tliougli tlirough restraining grace they may but seldom drive to acts of murder) yet in their effects produce such a total auenation to tl^at holi ness, without which, none shall see the lord, that it is most sorrowful to reflect upon. and when by the touches of divine grace the madness of a course of life always consequent on an unresisted reception of such malignant passions is fully seen, there will arise such pungent distress, that crowns and sceptres would be willingly parted with could they ob tain perfect peace. such is the defomiity of sin ! and such' is the consequence of a partial persisting therein. but the conse quence of an obstinate adherence thereto may be gathered by i had al most said reason y and certainly i may 4.4. say reason when aided and enligh tened by that grace (a portion of which has entered the heart of every man) which will point to the dreadful punishment that necessarily takes place on a separation of the soul from the body when it will fall into its own proper hell, described in scripture by the never dying worm, which is apprehended to mean the corroding thoughts and anguishing reflections in finding there will be an eternal se paration between the soul and the supreme good. ''and the reason '' why the unregenerate do not feel *' themselves in such a state of woe '' and torment in this life is, because *' the soul, during its union with the "' body, qualifies or unites with the '' gratifications of sense, the cheer " ing influences of the sun, and othpr 45 '' satisfactions of outward nature^ " which charm its misery for the ^' present; but that upon this consti " tution being dissolved, and all its '' communication with the animal life ^' ceasing, then the soul so unre *' deemed looses every source ofmit ** igation and comfort, and falls into " its own proper hell"^ as aforesaid. this may be but a gloomy sub ject to some, " but it is better to re " fleet on it for a few minutes, than *' to endure it to eternal ages, per *' haps the consideration of the mis " eries of the wicked may be profi ••' tabiy terrible, may teach us to flee *' to the saviour, " who delivers v from going down into the bottom ** less pit," may drive like the avcn^ * thbmas hartley, 4& **^ gers sword, to the only city of refuge *' for obnoxious sinners,"! viz. the blood of the everlasting covenant-. t hervey lettefe v burlington counts. septembet, 1780. dear friend^ though i have said a good deal concerning the manner francis re ceived his supplies of food, i will give an account of . nother source whence a considerable quantity flow ed, and which in good measure su perseded the necessity of traversing 4:s his usual rounds : and tliis was the visits of children, who frequently as a stipulation of, and reward for good behaviour, were permitted to go and see him when they were always pro vided with something for him to eat. their parents learning the reason of his retirement, found those sensations which were excited by the novelty of the circumstance, give place to those which may be traced to pity and com passion, and would encourage their children to behave well that they might go and see francis, whose visits were commonly productive of profit to him. though it must be confessed their natural loquacity did so ill accord with his turn and man ner, their visits were rather trouble some to him. however, he would tviss the hand of each of them and an^ 49 swer their artless interrcgatofies with as much patience, as could be rea sonably expected from him, who was extremely irritable, inheriting from nature a choleric disposition. but this trait in his character, would never have appeared to us if this country could boast of what none ever could, viz. an exemption from boorish people : some few of such have at times visited him, whose re ligious education diifered from his, if indeed it could be said such crea tures ever had a religious education, who could be so cruel as to make a helpless and inoffensive man, think the religion of his fathers and which he held as most sacred, w^as scanda lized by the treatment he received from them. for with that careless 5s and indifference which francis 50 could not bear, they would handle his -grucifix, at the same time asking him questions, the nature of which tended to irritate. this indeed would instantly raise his choler to an hig'h degree and draw forth anathemas on their (as he thought) devoted heads and uttered in a most awful manner. and as i have spoken fa vourably of francis heretofore, i still wish to do so, and when i undertake, not to exculpate, but extenuate those traits in his character, which i ac knowledge were as foils to his bright er virtues, give me hberty to press on your remembrance tliat supersti tion which )^ou so freely (charge to him, and so fondly think'yourself ex empt from, and then ask yourself whether any evil tempters drawn from thcii^ lurking pkces, in consequence 51 of the worst treatment he could pos sibly receive, would have irlerited excuse or palliation as well as this» for my part i think seriously, that a roman catholic (allowance being made for the prejudice of education) is more intided to our charity for their ill tempers, consequent on such behaviour, than a protestant is in any casej but difference of education out of the question, i contend that francis may, in adverting to his ex treme imtability, receive a share of our chcirity as well as others^. mar tin luther for instance, was a *' man of like passions with ourselves,'' and was ;v.uch under the dominion of ill tempers. aud yet who goes to de tract from his venerable character on account diereof ? i could mention others too, w^ho w^re great men in 52 their day, who laboured sorely un der the like infirmity. the truth of the matter lays here, that people attatch virtues to things that in their nature are not so, and on the contrary are for denying a per son the name of christian, upon some sudden exhibition of infirmity, when that probably, is the burden of his soul, and his daily cries are, that he may be delivered therefrom. i have seen people who have been remarkable for an equable, serene, un ruffled temper, and called on account thereof religious people, who i believe were at the same time strangers to true religion. "many mistake na ** ture for grace and so rest short of a *' true change. the tempering make " avast difterence in many blades, " all made of the same van?}, soni' 53 '" of which will bend before they " break, others break before they '' bend. good nature, without grace, ^^ maketh a fairer shew than grace ' with an evil nature. a cur out " runs a greyhound if the latter has *' a clog.""^ if i pertinently introduce quota tions i need, not fear blame, because my selections so far surpass any tiling my pen can produce, therefore will trouble you with the following, wrote by a man of very different sen timents with regard to some points of doctrine, from the man just quoted from, but notwithstanding said dif ference, i believe them both, to have been men of great piety, and singu lar usefuhiess. * fletcher. e 3 54 '' a double quantity of real gnicc, ' if i may so speak, that has a dou^ '^ ble quantity of hinderance to con " flict with, will not be easily ob3er>- '' ed, unless these hinderances are ^' likewise known and attended to, ^' and a smaller measure of grace " may appear great when its exer ^* cise meets widi no remarkable ob "' struction. for these reasons, we *' ean never be competent judges of ' ' each other, because we cannot be '-' acquainted with the whole com]yi. x *' cjase. butour merciful ula '' priest knows tlie whole, he con '' siders our frame, remembeiis that " we are but dust, makes gracious '' allowances, pities, bears, accepts^ " and approves with unerring; iiidg '' ment."^ * john ne^vton. let it not be thought i have a hght esteem of good nature. indeed i have a just esteem of gentleness of disposition, and think it a great be nefit to its possessor, in a merely ci vil point of view, for he will glide through life with far less difficulty, escaping numberless broils, to whujh the man of irritable tempers will be daily liable to, and the people of his neighbourhood, will duly appreciate advantages derived from an habitual intercourse with him. and if it is so highly commendable from merely human motives, as contributing to that serenity and quiet so delightful among neighbours, how will, or how can vre do jlistice in describing it when it meets in the same person, that divine grace which vv hen not re sisted, but suffered to expand and 56 producing, as it infallibly will, those excellent fruits, viz. knowledge, tem perance, godliness, bx'otherly-kind ness and charity. the man in whose breast tliese have taken root, is a prince among men, and is in forw^ardness for eter iih bliss,, where he will arrive in due time, if his faith fail not. when the merely good natured man ^viil fall short. i have been the more lengthy on this subject, because that pharasaic leaven, so hateful in every age, is alive in this, and great stress is laid, by many on outside things, and thmk all is well, if they can live free from any thing that will injure their credit among men. but the christian, let him belong to what class or society he may, has different views. he sr knows indeed that it is indispensably necessary to live free from those things which may wound his credit as a man : and that he must attend to many httle things which the chris tian ufe embraces, and which, in their nature are subservient to the grand and ultimate object he has in view. but all this though ever so beautiful j and however useful in constituting the basis of that good character which however the cynic may despise, is confessedly not to be overlooked by any man of good sense. all this he does, but he does it because divine grace, now took root in his heart, has made a contrary course hateful to him, being favoured to see the ex tremely opposite nature thereof, to perfect purity, which purity he now strives to imitate according to his 58 measure or capacity, amidst the im perfections and infirmities of his na ture ; which ijifirmities, his faith gives him good reason to hope, will be weakened by obedience to that grace now shed abroad in his heart, and which teaches him to do those things now, as being agreeable to the divine nature. whereas he formerly wrought them, (as the w orks of all hypocrites are) with sinister views^ and selfish designs. yours, £5v. letter vl burlington county^, october, 1780. dear friend^ it is painful to me in the recital, as it will be to you in the perusal, of those things evincive of the brutality of the persons who behaved so un worthy as related in my last. but that i may consistent with that truth which is the basis of these letters, in 60 seit every incident connected with the hfe of francis, i shall now relate a cruel act committed on him. and i shall not merit the title of impartial, if i let any thing slip, through a bias to the people among whom he lived, or through my fears that the sensi bilities of your nature should be ex cited on the perusal. francis never after his arrival here shaved his beard, indeed he always clipped with a small pair of scissors that part which grew near his mouth, but that on his cheeks and chin grew to a very considerable length. this, though to you from your neighbour hood to ephrata, whose inhabitants, invariably exhibit this appearance, from an inhibition coeval ^vith their becoming a separate society, is no novel thing, but here it was other 61 wise, and was regarded by the muki tilde with that ideot stare, which is common to tlieir rank in every coun try. however this subjected him to no inconvenience, for he cared but little in what hght they regarded die singularity, while they kept their hands from it, but this i am sorry to say, in one instance vras not the case, for some rude wicked boys hving in a village near mountholly, followed him, threw him down and sacrilige ously (if i may so term it, and joined with a' cruelty unworthy of a mo hawk) divested his chin of the appen dage, so long pendant from it. and this barbarous act was highly aggra ■ %'ated by the mode adopted in the ex ecution, for instead of taking a pair of scissors, they made use of a clasp ed knife, which doubtless caused 62 great pain to the poor, and by this time aged man, for it is but a few years since the perpetration of the deed. i remember hearing of this most st>andalous transaction at the time, and now, wonder the sensations ex cited by it were so cold and phlegma tic, and could reflect on it with great er complacency if i had shewed a marked disapprobation of the execra ble deed, and have nothing to plead, in excuse of the supineness, crhiiinal supineness of the people in neglecting to ascertain who were the actors in the nefarious business and punishing them for it. i knew a person, who, when a boy, in company with some others of like age, visited him, and like those un thoughtful creatui'es mentioned in 63 my last, carelessly took hold of hi^ crucifix, when instantly francis in his zeal to avenge the affront, spit in liis face; this in turn called forth the boy's ire, when lifting his foot to the breast of francis, kicked him over, for which i liave heard this person express great sorrow, saying he wish ed it never had happened. so easy is it, for us, through unwatchfulness, and the sudden impulse of passion, to commit acts that may give us long and great uneasiness. since the death of francis i have qf ten thought it strange i did not try to do him more service, and think it equal ly strange that those who possessed more ample means, did not more strenuously insist upon rendering his life more comfortable, for though i have acknowledged they \^'ere kind 64 to hini, yet i think there should hav^ been strong arguments, a reiteration of arguments, to induce him to suf fer them to make him more comfort able ; their neglect herein can be at tributed to nothing but that " their charity was more fervid than active." they would always give him vic tuals, an old coat or blanket, or even money, if he could have been pre^ vailed upon to receive it. but to go and insist that if he would fiot leave his beloved retirement, he should suffer them to build a small hut for him, this i never heard was attempt ed. but wa-ibx is very surprising, that notwithstanding the hardships he suffered in such a damp situation, and never having any fire to warm his benumbed limbs, at the same time, being of a small size, delicate 65 frame and texture of body, he should enjoy almost uninterrupted health, which was really the case, and can be attributed to nothing short of the su perintending providence of him m ho " tempers the �ind to the shorn lamb." indeed, if we properly consider his being pent up in his little subter ranean lodge, a long wintcis night, and turning out in the morning with his clothes all wet, we can hardly con ceive any situation more distressing, and terrible as we should think our fate to be, if endured but one week, in that manner. he who once mix- ed with the gay and polite, and was blessed with the endearing* conversa tion of his friends and relatives, pas sed twenty-three long winters there. when i now think of him, as being f 2 66 toiled up, in his dreary abode, i won <der much he was not oftener the sub ject of our commiseration, and can account for the apathy to the afflic tions and poverty of others because not immediately presented to view. " ah ! httle think the gay, hcentious, proud, " whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround ; *' they who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, ' ' and \i^anton, often cruel riot w^aste; "• ah! little think they, while they dance along, *' how many feel, this very moment death, ^' and all the sad variety of pain ; *' how many sink in the devouring rood. 67 ""' or more devouring flame? how many bleed " by shameful variance betwixt man and man ! '' how many pine in want andduiw geon glooms, *' .shut from the comman air, and common use '" of their own limbs ! how may drink the cup '' of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread '' of misery ! sore pierced by win try winds. '* how many sink into the sordid hut '' of cheerless poverty ! how many shake '' with all the fiercer tortures of the mind. " how many rack'd with hoo^^st pas sions^ droopj 6s ^^ in deep retired distress ! how ma ny stand ^' around the death-bed of their dearest friends, ^* and point the parting anguish ! think fond man ^' of these, and all the nameless ills ^' that one incessant struggle rendei' life " one scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate ; ^^ vice in its high career would stand appall'd, " and heedless rambling impulse learn to think ; ^^ the conscious heart of charity would warm, ^* and her wide wish, benevolence dilate ; *^ the social tear would rise, the so, cial sigh ; 69 '* and into clear perfection gradual bliss '' refining still, the social passions work."-^ yourss ^c. thompson, letter vll sxjbxington county, october, 1780. dear friend^ francis was not fitted by nature to undergo labour, and if he had been endowed with strength, (if we consid er the state of his afflicted mind) to have withheld provisions from him under the notion that by so doing, he 71 would be compelled to take to some kind of labour, would have been in consistent with die ideas of humani ty and benevolence, which in this en- lightened age seem to be generally entertained, and have savored more of that cold prudential disposition (to speak as lightly as possible of it) which actuates too many it is to be feared, in their refusal to contribute to the necessities of others, and who are like the horse leach at the vein^ crying give, give, and are never sa« tisfied unless they are accumulating the dross of this world, notwithstand ing they have been told an hundred times, of the impossibility of obtain ing happiness in such a way, yet tliey are striving, unremittingly striving night and day, and eating the bread of carefulness, that their own expe 72 rience (as it would seem) should con tradict the sayings of the wise of all ages, and also the scriptures them selves, which abundantly inculcate the belief, nay, roundly assert as a fact, that riches are not the chief good, upon possession whereof every thing else should be added. i suppose, all tliat could be alleged 1ft favour of denying him food, would be, that it was encouraging him in idleness, and that he ought not to eat if he did not work, agreeable to paups inhibition, i grant that if fran cis had been able to work, and had been exempt from distress of mind, it might have been right to withhold food from him. and i grant it is the duty, the indispensible duty of people universally to be employed in some way for the good of society. and probably francis thought, the mode of living he had adopted might operate in that way. and who can tell but it did? we are poor short sighted creatures, and our capacities are very limited, and my knowledge thereof, forbids my saying there has no good devolved upon the commu 3iity, at least some individual thereof, it may be, we know not who, yet such may be the fact. as to people being of use, if all were denied the ngcessaries of life, that could not make it appear they had been of more use to society than francis, i am afraid many would have but short commons. for the same complaint or observation applies in our days, as did at rome in the davs of horace^ who above sixteen 74 hundred years ago, complained iu the following lines, as translated into english by dr. watts, that '' there are a number of us creep " into the world to eat and and sleep, '' and know no reason why they're born, " but merely to consume the coni, *' devour the cattle, fowl and fish, *' and leave ^ehind an empty dish, '' the crows and ravens do the same, " unlucky bird|i of hateful name; '' ravens or crows might fill their place, ^' and swallow corn and carcasses. '' then if their tombstone when they die, " ben't taught to flatter or to lie, *^ there's nothing better will be said, 75 than that they've eat up all their bread, drank up their drink, and gone to ded." thus i have related the general v^nor of the life of francis, in which there was a large portion of mortifi cation and self denial. and without entering into a disquisition, on the merits of a total abstraction from the world, and all its fascinating plea sures, in order to avert the wrath of the deity, or on the criminality of an individual, who by such abstraction, contributes not towards that mass of happiness, which divine goodness, doubtless is well pleased to see his creatures enjoy, and who collectively have a right to the individual exer tions of every man to further the 76 iiame : i will not hesitate to express a belief that francis enjoyed a greater portion of real happiness, than is with in the lot of many, who carry them selves aloft, amidst a gaping throng, and ai'e highly gratified if they can raise the envy of the multitude, by their daily exhibitions of splendor, and show things which francis had learned heartily to despise, from a conviction that they could not sup ply that true inward peace and quiet conscience, which lie ardently sought, and which are the best criterions, to judge of the death ofthatbodyofsin, with whicli every man either is, or hath been fettered, and vvhich can not be obtained but by, and through true faith, in that '' fountain which was opened at jerusalem for sin and uucleanness." and a subsequent 517 and faithful adherence to that portion of grace, which hath in mercy been given to every man, and of course every woman for they are all one in christ, to guide them in the v/ay they should walk ; and would by a steady obedience to its dictates have preserved us from that vortex of sin and misery, which by actual compli ance to that stimulus which devolv ed on us by fatal inheritance from our first parents, hath involved us in, and from the deadning and benumb ing effects thereof, there is no way under heaven, appointed for our es cape, but through the laver of rege neration and a new birth unto righ teousness, which is not experienced but by frequent ablutions in that " fountain" above mentioned, which is a most beautiful metaphor, and is g 2 elusive of tliat all powerful cleansing, which true faith in the redeemer brings to light in the soul. and though francis might be wading in the gloom of error, yet as he was conscious of the turpitude of his crimes, and sought by every means in his power to avert the pun ishment he thought they justly me rited, by an inflexible determination to deny himself a participation of the comforts of this life, believing there by to expiate the sins he groaned un der. we may, i think, without any great display of that charity ^vhich surpasseth all the other virtues, have a hope that francis is at rest, being forgiven for the sake of him ;\'hose sufferings was his daily contempla tion ; which i had rather call the true intent and meaning of the regard he 79 paid to the little representation which hung on his breast, and which seems to imply from the name monitiary , therefore i would much rather think the intent was to call the substance to his recollection, than to attach the liarsh name of idolatry to the respect he paid it. i hope i shall not subject myself to rebuke, for the above remarks, i think that the introduction of moni^ tiary crucifixes into places devoted to religious uses, and having them at tached to the persons of any, is radi cally wrong, and cannot be defended on scriptvu'al grounds. yet all this will not preclude me the liberty of be lieving that many, very many of the roman cadiolics, though they are in possession of each his, or her cruci fix, are nevertheless persons of true 80 piety, as much so, as many who see the absurdity of all such supposed helps. it remains for me to relate, that francis never after his arrival here, shewed any desire to be informed how, in what way, or where the war of ^56 was carried on, evincing strongly by his conduct herein, that such things were foreign from his thoughts. and the same incurious turn of mind has been observed in the present war, save, that at near the commencement of it, observing an unusual stir among the people, (troops marching and countermarching,) he went to his hospitable landlord, who was his near est neighbour, and enquired who were the principals engaged in it, and the cause thereof, and it was observed that he seldom or never spoke of it 81 afterwards, not even in the memora ble winter of '76 and '77, when the british troops overrun jersey, for then a partial action took place be tween a detachment from the ameri can army, and two regiments com manded by the baron donop, the scene of action was near the dwelling of francis, but he never left his ha bitation until all was still, which was the case in a few days, when he crept out, being forced thereto by hunger, but never enquired any thing con cerning the fray. no, francis was happily delivered from all anxiety concerning how it might terminate, thinking it best for him to let the potsherds of the eai'th smite each other. and had much rather sing in his 82 solitary walks, through the w^ood, to the following tenor : "when e'er i take my walks abroad," o'er wood or field or grove, i contemplate thy works o lord, and find that thou art love. whether i sing, or pray or praise, my heart is fix'd on thee, and when thou viewest this lower world, o lord remember me. than to occupy his precious tim^ in conversing on subjects which we may reasonably suppose from his si lence thereon, he could not think of but with abhorrence. and indeed when i think of the fate of the baron donop, above h^s mentioned, avho with six hundred hessian grenadiers fell at red-bank^ about three years ago, i cannot re frain from telling you that i have fell out with the ^vhole trade of ^var ; for i saw the baron (and the regiment, a great part of which fell with him,) at mount-holly in december '76, he appeared to me to possess much urban ity and good nature, being less haugh ty in his manners than any officer of rank i ever saw, and when we reflect that he and his brave followers came to this country at the will of their sovereign, to fight against those they had had no quarrel with, it appears most soitowful indeed. but it is said that bai'on donop was a brave man, and died gloriously ; sounding things these ^ and doubtless, many to emulate his braverv, will advance to the can a4 non's mouth and be blown to atoms. if my dear melcliior, you will look into history and see the devastation there has been made, and the rivers of blood there has been spilt on the plains of germany, ill fated country ! you will excuse me if i paint the mi sery war entails, eternally entails on thousands, for though charity con strains us to allow there may have been many virtuous men in the field of battle : yet it is to be feared the far greater part are of a contrary character. but dear friend, my paper will al low no more, therefore will bid you adieu. yottrs^ ^c. letter vivl burlington county noyember, 1780. dear friendy i undertook in my last to paint some of the horrors attendant on that greatest of scom'ges, war ! " from whence come wars and lightings"? they may ahvays be traced either immediately fi'om satan, bv his transfusina: his osvn nature into 86 the sons of men, fell malice, envy, rage and revenge. or more remote ly to numerous causes, which the de generate sons of adam by the aid of that sophistry which satan is always ready to supply, soften into names alluring, but rvhich however, claim him for their father. and there is no sight on the earth so congenial to him, as two embattled hosts in all the pomp of martial array, advancing to bury their bayonets in the bowels of each other, they regard at some little distance their enemies, a dreadful pause takes place, and while they are every moment expecting the word to be given, their blood rolls with impe tuous tide through their distended veins, their breasts heaving, and their eyes darting fire like the hyena's, and now the w^ord, probably some bias «7 phcmous expression, such as "god and our king," is sounded through the embattled host, accompanied by the shrill clarions martial sound,when, but stop my pen, pourtray not the deeds excited first by satan, and carri ed into execution by mistaken mortals animated by the furies, for imagina tion will do enough, without thy aid, in painting the horrors of the day. and if your stout hearts would have been appaled by the savage acts of the infuriated multitude, how will the tender sympathies of your nature be moved in beholding the group of mourners whose prospects of earthly happiness are forever fled ? first comes the tender father sup porting the tottering steps of the wife of his youth. then ye aged cou ple ! ye have heard that he who wits 88 the only support, all that stood be tween you and the cold chill of po verty is no more ! now alas ! bereft of your only prop, your grey hairs must descend with sorrow to the grave ! and now thou once loved and lov ing wife, but now pale widow, how can i paint the sorrows of thy breast 2 thy husband, thy much loved hus band, torn from thy arms and drag ed from ail he hglds most dear, his beloved wife and lisping prattlers, draged to the murderous scene, which heretofore only to hear of, his ten der soui would always revolt from, with horror, poor unfortunate wo man, alas ! thy foreboding fears :;r: sadly realized, for thy james is a clay cold corpse, his temple is pierc ed by the fatal ball. and thou, thou lovely looking s? virgin, dost thou also belong to the mournful throng ? ah ! i need not ask, for upon thy nearer approach, i see thy grief depicted in every fea ture. dear girl, thou vvert always cheerful and e'av until that ill fated evening, when thy william was forced from thee, alas! thy case is singu larly afflictive, for thee and thy wil liam had plighted your vows, and one week more would have seen the blushing maid give her hand to the manly youth who w^as his parents joy, and the pride of the village throng ; but now, thou and thy william art forever separated, for he is number ed with those who swell the conquer or's brov/, who has already sent, ex ultingly sent a list of the slain to his sovereign, who has given orders that the churches shall resound with te 90 deiims, giving thanks for the death of thy wilham and his hapless com panions. but will indeed he who by the mouth of one of his servants hath said ' ^ god is not' ' with impunity * ' mock ed," will he be delighted with tlieir rejoicing? no! the god of heaven turns his eyes from their vile pa geantry. he regards their reli gious mockery with anger, and it h of his tender mercy they are not all consumed. '•ah! vvdil kings forget that thev are men, ''and men that they are brethren,..,. why delight -' in human sacrifice ^ v/nv ^~nr:^': • ci ties 91 ''of nature? that should knit their souls together " in one soft band of amity and love. " father of men was it for this, ''thy breath divine, kindled within his breast '' the vital flame? for this, was thy fair image " stampt on his soul with god-like lineaments ? '• for this dominion given him abso lute *' o'er all thy works, only that lie might reign '* supreme in woe."*" you will excuse me for dwelling so long on the subject of war, but if, by any thing i could say, the mad * porteous, bishop of london. <^% career of but one solitary individu al might be arrested, and persuaded to forego his desires, to make one in the number of those who rejoice at the shrill clarion and *' drums dis cordant sound ,' ' i should not grudge my pains. but however, whether they will hear or forbear, the purposes of di vine goodness will be established, the messiah's "unsuffering kingdom yet shall come;" and happy will those be, who shall not be found counteracting those principles, which as harbingers, proclaim the certain approach of the glorious day. but to return to francis. al though during the time he lived here, his life was one continued scene of suffering, yet they were highly ag gravated during the last winter, which 93 as you very well remember, was iiu commonly severe, the great depth of the snow rendered it almost impossi ble for him to get out among the neighbours, and they kindly and very humanely carried provisions frequent ly to him. his kind and hospitable landlord, joseph burr, took the lead in this business, and it may very well be expected that he who had always been accustomed to order his people to load francis with provisions when ever he would go to the house, w^ould not neglect him then, when the snow was nearly the depth of three feet on the level, neither did he, but would go with his sleigh and carry him com fortable victuals. suffer me before i go further, to obviate an objection that will be made to the consistency of my account, for it may be supposed, 94 his being accommodated with com» fortable food, lessened rather than aggravated his sufferings, which is granted, but his sufferings, arose from his being pent up, to use a course simile, like a ground-hog, during almost all the winter, which we may reasonably suppose, contri buted to shorten his days; but he was consistent throughout all his con duct, being of a piece, for as he tlirough life had refused every offer to render his life more tolerable, so now as his age and sufferings increas ed, he would not accept of the kind invitations of his landlord, when he pressed him to let him take him in his sleigh to his house, where he might have every accommodation his age and weakness required, which 95 certainly reflects credit on the cha racter of joseph burr.* but the period to all the troubles of francis was nearly arrived, for up on his landlord visiting him one morning, francis told him he was sick, which drew forth another invi tation to his house, he thanked him (as he always did those who wished to do him a service,) but again for the last time refused, for the next morning, the same *rson, upon his arrival at the dwelling of francis, af ter hailing him aloud, and receiving no answer to his repeated calls, knew that he must be dead ; he then went to mount-^olly and informed the overseers of the poor, who ordered * the finends of humanity will be highly gra tified in being told, that joseph burr during the life of francis, would not suffer the wdod wheto he resided to be cleared. 96 a decent coffin to be made and taken to the wood, where the people assem bled and took out of the cave the bo dy, and also every thing that could be found therein, which were no thing more than old blankets, a small pair of scissors, with which he clip ped his beard, and a blank book, in which he had drew or delineated sundry religious pieces, with a black lead pencil, found in the book. his body was takal to the friends old buriel-ground, near mount-holly, and there decently interred : he being about sixty-six years of age; and had spent nearly twenty-tliree of them in his solitude. * ^ thus dear melchifir, i have giv en as full an accouit of this poor recluse person, as i have been able to obtain, and which jl trust will not 97 be altogether uninteresting to you, notwithstanding, the a^^ant of just ar rangement, and the desultory manner in which it is written. the hermits body now is laid^ to moulder in the grave, that great and solemn debt is paid, which death of all will have. ii. but the grim tyrant could not sting, our hermit's, mental part. as death approached the more he'd sing, ^' come fling thy pointed dart." iii. '* the grave nor thee, nor both of* you, ^^ i do not fear, not i, i 98 " thy dart is blunted, and the grave " will have no victory.'* iv. " and this i sing through faith that makes " rough things seem sweet to me, " for all my sins, my jesus takes, '' he hath my soul set free. v. ** my sins and stains of scarlet dye, " doth snow resemble well, *^ my crimesalthough of crimson hue, " are now all made like wool. vi. ^' and all the hardships i have seen, " i now think of with pleasure, ^' they've been a mean whereby to wean, ^* my heart from eardily treasure." 99 vii. and now you young men, come and tell if francis was not wise, in striving hard his sins to quell, that he might gain the prize. viii. that prize i mean, which all will gain, who seek it through the blood of the high-priest, who once was slain, to bring us home to god. lftfc? letter ix. burlington county, december, 25th, 17s0, dear friend, having concluded francis, i had no expectation of writing at this time— but as it is christmas, the time so many, up and down, are re. veiling and rioting, and spending their precious time, in such way that we may reasonably suppose will prove their utter ruin. i thought i would try to divert my mind by giv ing you a line. how very different is the anniversary of the birth of our saviour ushered in, in our times, trom what it was, when the cry of crlory to god in the highest, peace on 101 earth an^ good will to men," was sounded by those who hailed the aus picious day. — o my dear melchoir let us remember that, " on this distinguished day of grace, " the eternal prince of glory came, *' to purge the guilt of human race, " and save them by his powerful name. " when we in bondage were exipd, " and rebels to the eternal god, *' our souls with blackest guilt de fipd, * * obnoxious to the impending rod, *' that from his seat of perfect bliss, '* the son of glory should descend, " to ofter man the terms of peace, " and his unbounded grace extend, " such goodness, such stupendous 9 r^ce ■' norman, nor angels can explore, i 2 102 '' then let us, what we cannot trace, '* with awful reverence adore." and never may we prophane the day, like the giddy multitude, who fre quently have ridiculed the veneration with which poor francis regarded it, and have bech heard to say he was a fool.— but if he was a fool, what shall be said of the drunkard and glutton, the deist and infidel, the prodigal and avaricious, all of whom are standing on a dreadful precipice, notwithstandingthey, (many of them,) by their possessing abundance of this world's goods may draw the envy of the foolish;— the drunkard and prophane, the irreligious and infidel, the prodigal and avaricious, will fall, all of them fall, into one irremeable misery unless they are favoured with the grace of repentance. and which lo: misery, they have an awful anticipa tion of, near the solemn close. " in that dread moment how the frantic soul " raves round the walls of her clay tenement, " runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help, " but shrieks in vain 1 how wishful ly she looks *' on all she's leaving, now no long er her's ! <* a little longer, yet a little longer, " o! might she stay to wash away her crimes, *' and fit her for her passage! mourn^ ful sight ! '' her very eyes weep blood, and every groan '' she heaves, is big with horror : but the foe, 104 ^< like a staunch murderer, steady to his purpose, " pursues her close through every lane of life " nor misses once the track, but presses on ; ^' till, forc'd at last to the tremen dous verge ** at once she sinks."* o ! that we all may, by timely re pentadcc, and fleeing to him '* who is a strolg hold in the d.iy of trou ble,'' experience a difttrent ei:d, and be eikoled, through divine grace to coniba^ rhe ragiijgs oi satan, and de-pise thv^ misshapen lorm of death, and iiehoid " sweet fields beyond the sweliine ^ flood ^ " stand drestin living green ; * blair. 105 *' so to the jews old canaan stobd, *' while jordan roll'd between, "f ancj preparatory to such a beatic vision, let the drunkard, and glut ton, think of the vast difference, be tween such a course their lives daily exhibit, and that purity we are com manded to attain. — and let the de« ist stop short in the midst of his ca reer, and remember with all his boasted powers of reason, that as great men as any his whole tribe can produce, were christians. the late governor livingston wtote a litde piece, a part of which i will tran scribe for your amusement. '' courteous reader. — — " did you ever *^ see a man who had the assurance to t watts. 106 '^ tell you, that our belief in the divine " origin of the scriptures is wholly to '* be ascribed to the force of educa *^ tion, and the early infusions of the '* nurse and the priest ; but that all *' men of unfettered, uninfluenced * • sentiments, all philosophers and rea *' soners, have ever esteemed revela ** tion as imposture ; and this man at " the same time confessing that sir *' isaac newton, and mr. locke, *' and lord bacon, and sir, robert " boyle, and grotius, and boerhave, ** and littleton, and west, and pas *' cal, and penn, and barcla-% and " phipps, were all christians, after " the most impartial scrutiny and the ^* most assiduous investigation of the " evidences by which revelation is *' supported." " have you '^ ever seen such a man sir? why, '^ then you have seen a blockhead*" lor as to the prodigal and avaricious, they as well as the rest, will be in volved in ruin, except they > repent, but the prodigal has this advantage over the avaricious, for he will soon want the means to pursue his wild schemes of profusion, and there has been many instances of their turning their faces towards their fathers house, after being reduced to their husks, and many, after a grievous repen tance have been favoured to reach there. but alas ! for the avaiicious man, he is so hedged about with er ror, it will be next to a miracle if he escapes ruin. — for as the prodigal by his waste is reduced to a state whereby he detects the folly of pros tituting liberality to subserve his base profusion, is now brought to see that in the outset he was ^\tong in sepa rating liberality from economy, from ios which he is now sensible his outward ruin is to be traced, but which how ever, is a mean whereby he escapes everlasting ruin. while on the other hand, the poor muck-worm, in his exertions to sub^ serve, as he persuades himself, the bright virtues of prudence and econo my, (but which are sadly perverted by him,) finding an increase to his stores, at the same time finds an in crease to his desires, and what was in tended as a blessing, is rendered a curse to him, and his perverted view of some of the virtues, gives him a total disrelish to the social ones, when at last his heart becomes callous to the common feelings of humanity. finis. congress 363 t<3 5 fltaruell univmitg ptag the gift of . xfrv mtjl aa^ju jl jik e^o^l lvlj^ajl . aj37?ajl jk/jr? cornell university library bx2845 .k55 1891 hermits / bv chaites klnorte: olin 3 1924 029 407 057 cornell university library the original of this book is in the cornell university library. there are no known copyright restrictions in the united states on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924029407057 the hermits. the hermits 1)y charles kingsley ill ustra ted h o n t> o n macmillan and co. and new york l8qi the right of translation is reserved 3* kss al3 7?0 2_ richard clay and sons, limited, london and bungay. first printed in parts 1868. reprinted in 1 volume, crown %vo. 1871, 1875, 1880, 1885, 1890, 1891. contents. introduction . i saint antony 21 the life cf saint paul, the first hermit 83 h1larion 104 arsenius 149 the hermits of asia 155 basil . 162 simeon stylites 167 the hermits of europe 219 st. sevekinus, the apostle of noricum 224 the celtic hermits 246 st. malo 278 st. columba 282 st, guthlac 300 st. godric of finchale 309 anchorites, strictly so called 329 list of illustrations. page st. brendan setting sail . frontispiece. life of st. antony . . to face 35 "and having committed his sister to known and faithful virgins, and given to her wherewith to be educated in a nunnery," &c. paul, the first hermit . to face 92 " for entering the cave he saw, with bended knees, erect neck, and hands spread out on high, a lifeless corpse. and at first, thinking that it still lived," &c. the hermits. introduction. st. paphnutius used to tell a story which may serve as a fit introduction to this book. it contains a miniature sketch, not only of the social state of egypt, but of the whole roman empire, and of the causes which led to the famous monastic movement in the beginning of the fifth century after christ. now paphnutius was a wise and holy hermit, the father, abba, or abbot of many monks ; and after he had trained himself in the desert with all severity for many years, he besought god to show him which of his saints he was like. and it was said to him, " thou art like a certain flute-player in the city." then paphnutius took his staff, and went into the city, and found that flute-player. but he confessed that he was a drunkard and a profligate, and had till lately got his living by robbery, and recollected not s.l. u. b introduction. having ever done one good deed. nevertheless, when paphnutius questioned him more closely, he said that he recollected once having found a holy maiden beset by robbers, and having delivered her, and brought her safe to town. and when paphnutius questioned him more closely still, he said he recollected having done another deed. when he was a robber, he met once in the desert a beautiful woman ; and she prayed him to do her no harm, but to take her away with him as a slave, whither he would ; for, said she, " i am fleeing from the apparitors and the governor's curials for the last two years. my husband has been im prisoned for 300 pieces of gold, which he owes as arrears of taxes ; and has been often hung up, and often scourged ; and my three dear boys have been taken from me; and i am wandering from place to place, and have been often caught myself and con tinually scourged ; and now i have been in the desert three days without food." and when the robber heard that, he took pity on her, and took her to his cave, and gave her 300 pieces of gold, and went with her to the city, and set her husband and her boys free. then paphnutius said, " i never did a deed like that : and yet i have not passed my life in ease and idleness. but now, my son, since god hath had such care of thee, have a care for thine own self." and when the musician heard that, he threw away the flutes which he held in his hand, and went with paphnutius into the desert, and passed his life in hymns and prayer, changing his earthly music into introduction. heavenly ; and after three years he went to heaven, and was at rest among the choirs of angels, and the ranks of the just. this story, as i said, is a miniature sketch of the state of the whole roman empire, and of the causes why men fled from it into the desert. christianity had reformed the morals of individuals; it had not reformed the empire itself. that had sunk into a state only to be compared with the worst despotisms of the east. the emperors, whether or not they called themselves christian, like constantine, knew no law save the basest maxims of the heathen world. several of them were barbarians who had risen from the lowest rank merely by military prowess ; and who, half maddened by their sudden elevation, added to their native ignorance and brutality the pride, cunning, and cruelty of an eastern sultan. rival emperors, or generals who aspired to be emperors, devastated the world from egypt to britain by sanguinary civil wars. the government of the provinces had become altogether military. torture was employed, not merely, as of old, against slaves, but against all ranks, without distinction. the people were exhausted by compulsory taxes, to be spent in wars which did not concern them, or in court luxury in which they had no share. in the municipal towns, liberty and justice were dead. the curials, who answered somewhat to our aldermen, and who were responsible for the pay ment of the public moneys, tried their best to escape the unpopular office, and, when compelled to serve, wrung the money in self-defence out of the poorer b 2 introduction. inhabitants by every kind of tyranny. the land was tilled either by oppressed and miserable peasants, or by gangs of slaves, in comparison with whose lot that even of the american negro was light. the great were served in their own households by crowds of slaves, better fed, doubtless, but even more miserable and degraded, than those who tilled the estates. private profligacy among all ranks was such as cannot be described in these or in any modern pages. the regular clergy of the cities, though not of profligate lives, and for the most part, in accord ance with public opinion, unmarried, were able to make no stand against the general corruption of the age, because — at least if we are to trust such writers as jerome and chrysostom — they were giving them selves up to ambition and avarice, vanity and luxury, intrigue and party spirit, and had become the flatterers of fine ladies, "silly women laden with sins, ever learn ing, and never coming to the knowledge of the truth." such a state of things not only drove poor creatures into the desert, like that fair woman whom the robber met, but it raised up bands of robbers over the whole of europe, africa, and the east,— men who, like robin hood and the outlaws of the middle age, getting no justice from man, broke loose from society, and while they plundered their oppressors, kept up some sort of rude justice and humanity among themselves. many, too, fled, and became robbers, to escape the merciless conscription which carried off from every province the flower of the young men, to shed their blood on foreign battle-fields. in time, too, many of introduction. these conscripts became monks, and the great monas teries of scetis and nitria were hunted over again and again by officers and soldiers from the neighbouring city of alexandria in search of young men who had entered the " spiritual warfare " to escape the earthly one. and as a background to all this seething heap of decay, misrule, and misery, hung the black cloud of the barbarians, the teutonic tribes from whom we derive the best part of our blood, ever coming nearer and nearer, waxing stronger and stronger, learning discipline and civilization by serving in the roman armies, alternately the allies and the enemies of the emperors, rising, some of them, to the highest offices of state, and destined, so the wisest romans saw all the more clearly as the years rolled on, to be soon the conquerors of the csesars, and the masters of the western world. no wonder if that, in such a state of things, there arose such violent contrasts to the general weakness, such eccentric protests against the general wicked ness, as may be seen in the figure of abbot paphnu tius, when compared either with the poor man tortured in prison for his arrears of taxes, or with the governor and the officials who tortured him. no wonder if, in such a state of things, the minds of men were stirred by a passion akin to despair, which ended in a new and grand form of suicide. it would have ended often, but for christianity, in such an actual despair as that which had led in past ages more than one noble roman to slay himself, when he lost all hope for the republic. christianity taught those who despaired introduction. of society, of the world — in one word, of the roman empire, and all that it had done for men — to hope at least for a kingdom of god after death. it taught those who, had they been heathens and brave enough, would have slain themselves to escape out of a world which was no place for honest men, that the body must be kept alive, if for no other reason, at least for the sake of the immortal soul, doomed, according to its works, to endless bliss or endless torment. but that the world — such, at least, as they saw it then — was doomed, scripture and their own reason taught them. they did not merely believe, but see, in the misery and confusion, the desolation and de gradation around them, that all that was in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life, was not of the father, but of the world ; that the world was passing away, and the lust thereof, and that only he who did the will of god could abide for ever. they did not merely believe, but saw, that the wrath of god was revealed from heaven against all unrighteousness of men ; and that the world in general —above all, its kings and rulers, the rich and luxurious —were treasuring up for themselves wrath, tribulation, and anguish, against a day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of god, who would render to every man according to his works. that they were correct in their judgment of the world about them, contemporary history proves abun dantly. that they were correct, likewise, in believing that some fearful judgment was about to fall on man, is proved by the fact that it did fall ; that the first half introduction. of the fifth century saw, not only the sack of rome, but the conquest and desolation of the greater part of the civilized world, amid bloodshed, misery, and mis rule, which seemed to turn europe into a chaos, — which would have turned it into a chaos, had there not been a few men left who still felt it possible and necessary to believe in god and to work righteousness. under these terrible forebodings, men began to flee from a doomed world, and try to be alone with god, if by any means they might save each man his own soul in that dread day. others, not christians, had done the same before them. among all the eastern nations men had ap peared, from time to time, to whom the things seen were but a passing phantom, the things unseen the only true and eternal realities ; who, tormented alike by the awfulness of the infinite unknown, and by the petty cares and low passions of the finite mortal life which they knew but too well, had determined to renounce the latter, that they might give themselves up to solving the riddle of the former; and be. at peace ; and free, at least, from the tyranny pf their own selves. eight hundred years before st. antony fled into the desert, that young hindoo rajah, whom men call buddha now, had fled into the forest, leaving wives and kingdom, to find rest for his soul. he denounced caste ; he preached poverty, asceticism, self-annihilation. he founded a religion, like that of the old hermits, democratic and ascetic, with its con vents, saint-worships, pilgrimages, miraculous relics, rosaries, and much more, which strangely anticipates introduction. the monastic religion ; and his followers, to this day, are more numerous than those of any other creed. brahmins, too, had given themselves up to penance and mortification till they believed themselves able, like kehama, to have gained by self-torture the right to command, not nature merely, but the gods themselves. among the jews the essenes by the dead sea, and the therapeutae in egypt, had formed ascetic communities, the former more " prac tical," the latter more " contemplative : " but both alike agreed in the purpose of escaping from the world into a life of poverty and simplicity, piety and virtue ; and among the countless philosophic sects of asia, known to ecclesiastical writers as " heretics," more than one had professed, and doubtless often practised, the same abstraction from the world, the same contempt of the flesh. the very neo platonists of alexandria, while they derided the christian asceticism, found themselves forced to affect, like the hapless hypatia, a sentimental and pharisaic asceticism of their own. this phase of sight and feeling, so strange to us now, was common, nay, primaeval, among the easterns. the day was come when it should pass from the east into the west. and egypt, "the mother of wonders;" the parent of so much civilization and philosophy both greek and roman; the half-way resting-place through which not merely the merchandise, but the wisdom of the east had for centuries passed into the roman empire ; a land more ill-governed, too, and more miserable, in spite of its fertility, because more introduction. defenceless and effeminate, than most other roman possessions — was the country in which naturally, and as it were of hereditary right, such a movement would first appear. accordingly it was discovered, about the end of the fourth century, that the mountains and deserts of egypt were full of christian men who had fled out of the dying world, in the hope of attaining everlasting life. wonderful things were told of their courage, their abstinence, their miracles : and of their virtues also ; of their purity, their humility, their helpfulness, and charity to each other and to all. they called each other, it was said, brothers ; and they lived up to that sacred name, forgotten, if ever known, by the rest of the roman empire. like the apostolic christians in the first fervour of their conversion, they had all things in common ; they lived at peace with each other, under a mild and charitable rule ; and kept literally those commands of christ which all the rest of the world explained away to nothing. the news spread. it chimed in with all that was best, as well as with much that was questionable, in the public mind. that men could be brothers ; that they could live without the tawdry luxury, the taste less and often brutal amusements, the low sensuality, the base intrigue, the bloody warfare, which was tht accepted lot of the many ; that they could find time to look stedfastly at heaven and hell as awful realities, which must be faced some day, which had best be faced at once ; this, just as much as curiosity about their alleged miracles, and the selfish longing to rival io introduction. them in superhuman powers, led many of the most virtuous and the most learned men of the time to visit them, and ascertain the truth. jerome, ruffinus, evagrius, sulpicius severus, went to see them, under going on the way the severest toils and dangers, and brought back reports of mingled truth and falsehood, specimens of which will be seen in these pages. travelling in those days was a labour, if not of necessity, then surely of love. palladius, for instance, found it impossible to visit the upper thebaid, and syene, and that " infinite multitude of monks, whose fashions of life no one would believe, for they surpass human life ; who to this day raise the dead, and walk upon the waters, like peter ; and whatsoever the saviour did by the holy apostles, he does now by them. but because it would be* very dangerous if we -went beyond lyco" (lycopolis ?), on account of the inroad of robbers, he "could not see those saints." the holy men and women of whom he wrote, he says, he did not see without extreme toil ; and seven times he and his companions were nearly lost. once they walked through the desert five days and nights, and were almost worn out by hunger and thirst. again, they fell on rough marshes, where the sedge pierced their feet, and caused intolerable pain, while they were almost killed with the cold. another time, they stuck in the mud up to their waists, and cried with david, " i am come into deep mire, where no ground is." another time, they waded for four days through the flood of the nile by paths almost swept away. in trod uction. 1 1 another time they met robbers on the seashore, coming to diolcos, and were chased by them for ten miles. another time they were all but upset and drowned in crossing the nile. another time, in the marshes of mareotis, " where paper grows," they were cast on a little desert island, and remained three days and nights in the open air, amid great cold and showers, for it was the season of epiphany. the eighth peril, he says, is hardly worth mentioning — but once, when they went to nitria, they came on a great hollow, in which many crocodiles had remained, when the waters retired from the fields. three of them lay along the bank ; and the monks went up to them, thinking them dead, whereon the crocodiles rushed at them. but when they called loudly on the lord, " the monsters, as if turned away by an angel," shot themselves into the water ; while they ran on to nitria, meditating on the words of job, " seven times shall he deliver thee from trouble ; and in the eighth there shall no evil touch thee." the great st. athanasius, fleeing from persecution, had taken refuge among these monks. he carried the report of their virtues to treves in gaul, and wrote a life of st. antony, the perusal of which was a main agent in the conversion of st. augustine. hilarion (a remarkable personage, whose history will be told hereafter) carried their report and their example like wise into palestine ; and from that time judaea, deso late and seemingly accursed by the sin of the jewish people, became once more the holy land ; the place of pilgrimage; whose ruins, whose very soil, were introduction. kept sacred by hermits, the guardians of the footsteps of christ. in rome itself the news produced an effect which, to the thoughtful mind, is altogether tragical in its nobleness. the roman aristocracy was deprived of all political power; it had been decimated, too, with horrible cruelty only one generation before,* by valentinian and his satellites, on the charges of profligacy, treason, and magic. mere rich men, they still lingered on, in idleness and luxury, without art, science, true civilization of any kind ; followed by long trains of slaves ; punishing a servant with three hundred stripes if he were too long in bringing hot water ; weighing the fish, or birds, or dormice put on their tables, while secretaries stood by, with tablets to record all ; hating learning as they hated poison ; indulging at the baths in conduct which had best be left undescribed ; and " complaining that they were not born among the cimmerians, if amid their golden fans a fly should perch upon the silken fringes, or a slender ray of the sun should pierce through the awn ing;" while, if they "go any distance to see their estates in the country, or to hunt at a meeting col lected for their amusement by others, they think that they have equalled the marches of alexander or of caesar." on the wives, widows, and daughters of men of this stamp — and not half their effeminacy and base ness, as the honest rough old soldier ammianus * about a. d. 368. see the details in ammianus marcellinus, lib. xxviii. introduction. 13 marcellinus describes it, has been told here — the news brought from egypt worked with wondrous potency. women of the highest rank awoke suddenly to the discovery that life was given them for nobler pur poses than that of frivolous enjoyment and tawdry vanity. despising themselves ; despising the hus bands to whom they had been wedded in loveless marriages de convenance, whose infidelities they had too often to endure : they, too, fled from a world which had sated and sickened them. they freed their slaves ; they gave away their wealth to found hospitals and to feed the poor ; and in voluntary poverty and mean garments they followed such men as jerome and ruffinus across the seas, to visit the new found saints of the egyptian desert, and to end their days, in some cases, in doleful monasteries in palestine. the lives of such women as those of the anician house; the lives of marcella and furia, of paula, of the melanias, and the rest, it is not my task to write. they must be told by a woman, not by a man. we may blame those ladies, if we will, for neglecting their duties. we may sneer, if we will, at the weaknesses — the aristocratic pride, the spiritual vanity — which we fancy that we discover. we may lament — and in that we shall not be wrong — the influence which such men as jerome obtained over them — the example and precursor of so much which has since then been ruinous to family and social life : but we must confess that the fault lay not with the ladies themselves, but with their fathers, husbands, and , 4 introduction. brothers ; we must confess that in these women the spirit of the old roman matrons, which seemed to have been so long dead, flashed up for one splendid moment, ere it sunk into the darkness of the middle age ; that in them woman asserted (however strangely and fantastically) her moral equality with man ; and that at the very moment when monasticism was consign ing her to contempt, almost to abhorrence, as "the noxious animal," the "fragile vessel," the cause of man's fall at first, and of his sin and misery ever since, woman showed the monk (to his nayvely confessed surprise), that she could dare, and suffer, and adore as well as he. but the movement, having once seized the roman empire, grew and spread irresistibly. it was accepted, supported, preached, practised, by every great man of the time. athanasius, basil, chrysostom, gregory of nazianzen in the east, jerome, augustine, ruffinus, evagrius, fulgentius, sulpicius severus, vincent of lerins, john cassian, martin of tours, salvian, cae sarius of aries, were all monks, or as much of monks as their duties would allow them to be. ambrose of milan, though no monk himself, was the fervent preacher of, the careful legislator for, monasticism male and female. throughout the whole roman empire, in the course of a century, had spread hermits (or dwellers in the desert), anchorites (retired from the world), or monks (dwellers alone). the three names grew afterwards to designate three different orders of ascetics. the hermits remained through the middle ages those who dwelt in deserts ; the anchorites, or introduction. 15 " ankers " of the english middle age, seem generally to have inhabited cells built in, or near, the church walls; the name of "monks" was transferred from those who dwelt alone to those who dwelt in regular communities, under a fixed government. but the three names at first were interchangeable; the three modes of life alternated, often in the same man. the life of all three was the same, — celibacy, poverty, good deeds towards their fellow-men ; self-restraint, and sometimes self-torture of every kind, to atone (as far as might be) for the sins committed after baptism: and the mental food of all three was the same likewise ; continued meditation upon the vanity of the world, the sinfulness of the flesh, the glories of heaven, and the horrors of hell : but with these 'the old hermits combined — to do them justice — a personal faith in god, and a personal love for christ, which those who sneer at them would do well to copy. over all europe, even to ireland,* the same pattern of christian excellence repeated itself with strange regularity, till it became the only received pattern ; and to "enter religion," or "be converted," meant simply to become a monk. * in the celtic irish church, there seems to have been no othei pattern. the hermits who became abbots, with their monks, were the only teachers of the people — one had almost said, the only christians. whence, as early as the sixth century, if not the fifth, they, and their disciples of iona and scotland, derived their peculiar tonsure, their use of bells, their eastern mode of keeping the paschal feast, and other peculiarities, seemingly without the intervention of rome, is a mystery still unsolved. i6 introduction. of the authentic biographies of certain of these men, a few specimens are given in this volume. if they shall seem to any reader uncouth, or even absurd, he must remember that they are the only ex isting and the generally contemporaneous histories of men who exercised for 1,300 years an enormous influ ence over the whole of christendom ; who exercise a vast influence over the greater part of it to this day. they are the biographies of men who were regarded, during their lives and after their deaths, as divine and inspired prophets ; and who were worshipped with boundless trust and admiration by millions of human beings. their fame and power were not created by the priesthood. the priesthood rather leant on them, than they on it. they occupied a post analogous to that of the old jewish prophets ; always inde' pendent of, sometimes opposed to, the regular clergy ; and dependent altogether on public opinion and the suffrage of the multitude. when christianity, after three centuries of repression and persecution, emerged triumphant as the creed of the whole civilized world, it had become what their lives describe. the model of religious life for the fifth century, it remained a model for succeeding centuries ; on the lives of st. antony and his compeers were founded the whole literature of saintly biographies; the whole popular conception of the universe, and of man's relation to it ; the whole science of dsemonology, with its peculiar literature, its peculiar system of criminal jurisprudence. and their influence did not cease at the reformation among protestant divines. the influence of these intro d uction, 1 7 lives of the hermit fathers is as much traceable, even to style and language, in "the pilgrim's pro gress " as in the last papal allocution. the great hermits of egypt were not merely the founders of that vast monastic system which influenced the whole politics, and wars, and social life, as well as the whole religion, of the middle age ; they were a school of philosophers (as they rightly called themselves) who altered the whole current of human thought. those who wish for a general notion of the men, and of their time, will find all that they require (set forth from different points of view, though with the same honesty and learning) in gibbon ; in m. de montalembert's "moines d'occident," in dean mil man's " history of christianity " and " latin chris tianity," and in ozanam's " etudes germaniques." * but the truest notion of the men is to be got, after all, from the original documents ; and especially from that curious collection of them by the jesuit ros weyde, commonly known as the "lives of the hermit fathers." f after an acquaintance of now five-and-twenty years with this wonderful treasury of early christian mythology, to which all fairy tales are dull and meagre, i am almost inclined to sympathise with m. de montalembert's questions, — "who is so igno rant, or so unfortunate, as not to have devoured these tales of the heroic age of monachism ? who has not * a book which, from its bearing on present problems, well deserves translation. t " vitas patram.'' published at antwerp, 1628. s.l. 11 c 1 8 introduction. contemplated, if not with the eyes of faith, at least with the admiration inspired by an incontrollable greatness of soul, the struggles of these athletes of penitence ? . . . . everything is to be found there — • variety, pathos, the sublime and simple epic of a race of men, naifs as children, and strong as giants." in whatever else one may differ from m. de monta lembert — and it is always painful to differ from one whose pen has been always the faithful servant of virtue and piety, purity and chivalry, loyalty and liberty, and whose generous appreciation of england and the english is the more honourable to him, by reason of an utter divergence in opinion, which in less wide and noble spirits produces only antipathy — one must at least agree with him in his estimate of the importance of these " lives of the fathers," not only to the ecclesiologist, but to the psychologist and the historian. their influence, subtle, often trans formed and modified again and again, but still potent from its very subtleness, is being felt around us in many a puzzle — educational, social, political ; and promises to be felt still more during the coming generation ; and to have studied thoroughly one of them— say the life of st. antony by st. athanasius— is to have had in our hands (whether we knew it or not) the key to many a lock, which just now refuses either to be tampered with or burst open. i have determined, therefore, to give a few of these lives, translated as literally as possible. thus the reader will then have no reason to fear a garbled or partial account of personages so difficult to con introduction. 19 ceive or understand. he will be able to see the men as wholes ; to judge (according to his light) of their merits and their defects. the very style of their biographers (which is copied as literally as is com patible with the english tongue) will teach him, if he be wise, somewhat of the temper and habits of thought of the age in which they lived ; and one of these original documents, with its honesty, its vivid touches of contemporary manners, its intense earnestness, will give, perhaps, a more true picture of the whole hermit movement than (with all respect, be it said) the most brilliant general panorama. it is impossible to give in this series all the lives of the early hermits — even of those contained in ros weyde. this volume will contain, therefore, only the most important and most famous lives of the egyp tian, syrian, and persian hermits, followed, perhaps, by a few later biographies from western europe, as proofs that the hermit-type, as it spread toward the atlantic, remained still the same as in the egyptian desert. against one modern mistake the reader must be warned ; the theory, namely, that these biographies were written as religious romances ; edifying, but not historical ; to be admired, but not believed. there is not the slightest evidence that such was the case. the lives of these, and most other saints (certainly those in this volume), were written by men who be lieved the stories themselves, after such inquiry into the facts as they deemed necessary ; who knew that others would believe them ; and who intended that c 2 introduction. they should do so ; and the stories were believed accordingly, and taken as matter of fact for the most practical purposes by the whole of christendom. the forging of miracles, like the forging of charters, for the honour of a particular shrine, or the advantage of a particular monastery, belongs to a much later and much worse age ; and, whatsoever we may think of the taste of the authors of these lives, or of their faculty for judging of evidence, we must at least give them credit for being earnest men, in capable of what would have been in their eyes, and ought to be in ours, not merely falsehood, but im piety. let the reader be sure of this — that these documents would not have exercised their enormous influence on the human mind, had there not been in them, under whatever accidents of credulity, and even absurdity, an element of sincerity, virtue, and nobilitv. saint antony. the life of antony, by athanasius, is perhaps the most important of all these biographies ; because first, antony was generally held to be the first great example and preacher of the hermit life; because next, athanasius, his biographer, having by his con troversial writings established the orthodox faith as it is now held alike by romanists, greeks, and protestants, did, by his publication of the life of antony, establish the hermit life as the ideal (in his opinion) of christian excellence ; and lastly, because that biography exercised a most potent influence on the conversion of st. augustine, the greatest thinker (always excepting st. paul) whom the world had seen since plato, whom the world was to see again till lord bacon ; the theologian and philosopher (for he was the latter, as well as the former, in the strictest sense) to whom the world owes, not only the for mulizing of the whole scheme of the universe for a thousand years after his death, but calvinism (wrongly so called) in all its forms, whether held by the saint antony. augustinian party in the church of rome, or the " reformed " churches of geneva, france, and scotland. whether we have the exact text of the document as athanasius wrote it to the " foreign brethren " — probably the religious folk of treves —in the greek version published by heschelius in i6n,and in certain earlier greek texts ; whether the latin translation attributed to evagrius, which has been well known for centuries past in the latin church, be actually his ; whether it be exactly that of which st. jerome speaks, and whether it be exactly that which st. augustine saw, are questions which it is now impos sible to decide. but of the genuineness of the life in its entirety we have no right to doubt, contrary to the verdicts of the most distinguished scholars, whether protestant or catholic; and there is fair reason to suppose that the document (allowing for errors and variations of transcribers) which i have tried to translate, is that of which the great st. augustine speaks in the eighth book of his con fessions. he tells us that he was reclaimed at last from a profligate life (the thought of honourable marriage seems never to have entered his mind), by meeting, while practising as a rhetorician at treves, an old african acquaintance, named potitanius, an officer of rank. what followed no words can express so well as those of the great genius himself. " when i told him that i was giving much attention to those writings (the epistles of paul), we began to saint antony. 23 talk, and he to tell, of antony, the monk of egypt, whose name was then very famous among thy servants : * but was unknown to us till that moment. when he discovered that, he spent some time over the subject, detailing his virtues, and wondering at our ignorance. we were astounded at hearing such well-attested marvels of him, so recent and almost contemporaneous, wrought in the right faith of the catholic church. we all wondered : we, that they were so great ; and he, that we had not heard of them. thence his discourse ran on to those flocks of hermit cells, and the morals of thy sweetness, and the fruitful deserts of the wilderness, of which we knew nought. there was a monastery, too, at milan, full of good brethren, outside the city walls, under the tutelage of ambrosius, and we knew nothing of it. he went on still speaking, and we listened intently ; and it befell that he told us how, i know not when, he and three of his mess companions at treves, while the emperor was engaged in an afternoon spectacle in the circus, went out for a walk in the gardens round the walls ; and as they walked there in pairs, one with him alone, and the two others by themselves, they parted. and those two, straying about, burst into a cottage, where dwelt certain servants of thine, poor in spirit, of such as is the kingdom of heaven ; and there found a book, in which was written the life of antony. one of them began to read it, and to wonder, and to be warmed ; and, as he read, to think of taking up such a life, and leaving the warfare of this world to serve * he is addressing our lord. 24 saint antony. thee. now, he was one of those whom they call managers of affairs.* then, suddenly filled with holy love and sober shame, angered at himself, he cast his eyes on his friend, and said, ' tell me, prithee, with all these labours of ours, whither are we trying to get ? what are we seeking ? for what are we soldiering ? can we have a higher hope in the palace, than to become friends of the emperor ? and when there, what is not frail and full of dangers ? and through how many dangers we do not arrive at a greater danger still ? and how long will that last ? but if i choose to become a friend of god, i can do it here and now.' he spoke thus, and, swelling in the labour pangs of a new life, he fixed his eyes again on the pages and read, and was changed inwardly as thou lookedst on him, and his mind was stripped of the world, as soon appeared. for while he read, and rolled over the billows of his soul, he shuddered and hesitated from time to time, and resolved better things; and already thine, he said to his friend, ' i have already torn myself from that hope of ours, and have settled to serve god ; and this i begin from this hour, in this very place. if you do not like to imitate me, do not oppose me.' he replied that he would cling to his companion in such a great service and so great a war fare. and both, now thine, began building, at their own cost, the tower of leaving all things and following thee. then potitianus, and the man who was talking with him elsewhere in the garden, seeking them, came to the same place, and warned them to return, as the * " agentes in rebus." on the emperor's staff? saint antony. sun was getting low. they, however, told their resolu tion, and how it had sprung up and taken strong hold in them, and entreated the others not to give them pain. they, not altered from their former mode of life, yet wept (as he told us) for themselves ; and con gratulated them piously, and commended themselves to their prayers ; and then dragging their hearts along the earth, went back to the palace. but the others, fixing their hearts on heaven, remained in the cottage. and both of them had affianced brides, who, when they heard this, dedicated their virginity to thee." the part which this incident played in st. augus tine's own conversion must be told hereafter in his life. but the scene which his master-hand has drawn is not merely the drama of his own soul or of these two young officers, but of a whole empire. it is, as i said at first, the tragedy and suicide of the old empire ; and the birth-agony of which he speaks was not that of an individual soul here or there, but of a whole new world, for good and evil. the old roman soul was dead within, the body of it dead without. patriotism, duty, purpose of life, save pleasure, money, and intrigue, had perished. the young roman officer had nothing left for which to fight ; the young roman gentleman nothing left for which to be a citizen and an owner of lands. even the old roman longing (which was also a sacred duty) of leaving an heir to perpetuate his name, and serve the state as his fathers had before him — even that was gone. nothing was left, with the many, but selfishness, which could rise at best into the 26 saint antony. desire of saving every man his own soul, and so transform worldliness into other-worldliness. the old empire could do nothing more for man ; and knew that it could do nothing ; and lay down in the hermit's cell to die. treves was then "the second metropolis of the empire," boasting, perhaps, even then, as it boasts still, that it was standing thirteen hundred years before rome was built. amid the low hills, pierced by rocky dells, and on a strath of richest soil, it had grown, from the mud-hut town of the treviri, into a noble city of palaces, theatres, baths, triumphal arches, on either side the broad and clear moselle. the bridge which augustus had thrown across the river, four hundred years before the times of hermits and of saints, stood like a cliff through all barbarian invasions, through all the battles and sieges of the middle age, till it was blown up by the french in the wars of louis xiv., and nought remains save the huge piers of black lava stemming the blue stream ; while up and down the dwindled city, the colossal fragments of roman work— the black gate, the heidenthurm, the baths, the basilica or hall of jus tice, now a lutheran church — stand out half ruined, like the fossil bones of giants amid the works of weaker, though of happier times ; while the amphi theatre was till late years planted thick with vines, fattening in soil drenched with the blood of thousands. treves had been the haunt of emperor after emperor, men wise and strong, cruel and terrible ; — of constan tius,constantinethe great, julian, valentinian.valens; saint antony. 27 and lastly, when potitianus's friends found those poor monks in the garden* of gratian, the gentle hunter who thought day and night on sport, till his arrows were said to be instinct with life, was holding his mili tary court within the walls of treves, or at that hunting palace on the northern downs, where still on the bath floors lie the mosaics of hare and deer, and boar and hound, on which the feet of emperors trod full fifteen hundred years ago. still glorious outwardly, like the roman empire itself, was that great city of treves ; but inwardly it was full of rottenness and weakness. the roman empire had been, in spite of all its crimes, for four hundred years the salt of the earth : but now the salt had lost its savour; and in one generation more it would be trodden under foot and cast upon the dunghill, and another empire would take its place, — the empire, not of brute strength and self indulgence, but of sympathy and self-denial, — an empire, not of cffisars, but of hermits. already was gratian the friend and pupil of st. ambrose of milan ; already, too, was he persecuting, though not to the death, heretics and heathens. nay, some fifty years before (if the legend can be in the least trusted) had st. helena, the mother of con * st. augustine says, that potitianus's adventure at treves happened " i know not when." his own conversation with potitianus must have happened about a.d. 385, for he was baptized april 25, a.d. 387. he does not mention the name of potitianus's emperor : but as gratian was augustus from a.d. 367 to a.d. 375, and actual emperor of the west till a. d. 383, and as treves was his usual residence, he is most probably the person meact : but if not, then his father valentinian. 28 saint antony. stantine the great, returned from palestine, bearing with her — so men believed — not only the miraculously discovered cross of christ, but the seamless coat which he had worn ; and, turning her palace into a church, deposited the holy coat therein : where — so some believe — it remains until this day. men felt that a change was coming, but whence it would come, or how terrible it would be, they could not tell. it was to be, as the prophet says, " like the bulging out of a great wall, which bursteth suddenly in an instant." in the' very amphitheatre where gratian sat that afternoon, with all the folk of treves about him, watching, it may be, lions and antelopes from africa slaughtered — it may be criminals tortured to death — another and an uglier sight had been twice seen some seventy years before constantine, so-called the great, had there exhibited his " frankish sports,'' the "magnificent spectacle," the "famous punishments," as his flattering court-historians called them : thou sands of frank prisoners, many of them of noble, and even of royal blood, torn to pieces by wild beasts, while they stood fearless, smiling with folded arms ; and when the wild beasts were gorged, and slew no more, weapons were put into the hands of the survivors, and they were bidden to fight to the death for the amusement of their roman lords. but fight they would not against their own flesh and blood : and as for life, all chance of that was long gone by. -so every man fell joyfully upon his brother's sword, and, dying like a german man, spoilt the sport of the good folk of treves. and it seemed for a while as saint antony. 29 if there were no god in heaven who cared to avenge such deeds of blood. for the kinsmen, it may be the very sons, of those franks were now in gratian's pay ; and the frank merobaudes was his "count of the domestics," and one of his most successful and trusted generals ; and all seemed to go well, and brute force and craft to triumph on the earth. and yet those two young staff officers, when they left the imperial court for the hermit's cell, judged, on the whole, prudently and well, and chose the better part when they fled from the world to escape the " dangers " of ambition, and the " greater danger still " of success. for they escaped, not merely from vice and worldliness, but, as the event proved, from immi nent danger of death if they kept the loyalty which they had sworn to their emperor ; or the worse evil of baseness if they turned traitors to him to save their lives. for little thought gratian, as he sat in that amphi theatre, that the day was coming when he, the hunter of game — and of heretics — would be hunted in his turn ; when, deserted by his army, betrayed by merobaudes — whose elder kinsfolk were not likely to have kept him ignorant of " the frankish sports " — he should flee pitiably towards italy, and die by a german hand ; some say near lyons, some say near belgrade, calling on ambrose with his latest breath* little thought, too, the good folk of treves, as they sat beneath the vast awning that afternoon, that * see the excellent article on gratian in smith's dictionary, by mr. means. 30 saint antony. within the next half century a day of vengeance was coming for them, which should teach them that there was a god who "maketh inquisition for blood;" a day when treves should be sacked in blood and flame by those very " barbarian " germans whom they fancied their allies — or their slaves. and least of all did they fancy that, when that great destruction fell upon their city, the only element in it which would pass safely through the fire and rise again, and raise their city to new glory and power, was that which was represented by those poor hermits in the garden-hut outside. little thought they that above the awful arches of the black gate — as if in mockery of the roman power — a lean anchorite would take his stand, simeon of syracuse by name, a monk of mount sinai, and there imitate, in the far west, the aus terities of st. simeon stylites in the east, and be enrolled in the new pantheon, not of caesars, but of saints. under the supposed patronage of those saints, treves rose again out of its ruins. it gained its four great abbeys of st. maximus (on the site of constantine's palace) ; st. matthias, in the crypt whereof the bodies of the monks never decay;* st martin ; and st. mary of the four martyrs, where four soldiers of the famous theban legion are said to have suffered martyrdom by the house of the roman prefect. it had its cathedral of st. peter and st. helena, supposed to be built out of st. helena's palace; its exquisite liebfrauenkirche ; its * i cannot explain this fact : but i have seen it with my own eyes. saint antony. 31 palace of the old archbishops, mighty potentates of this world, as well as of the kingdom of heaven. for they were princes, arch-chancellors, electors of the empire, owning many a league of fertile land, governing, and that kindly and justly, towns and villages of christian men, and now and then going out to war, at the head of their own knights and yeomen, in defence of their lands, and of the saints whose ser vants and trustees they were ; and so became, accord ing to their light and their means, the salt of that land for many generations. and after a while that salt, too, lost its savour, and was, in its turn, trodden under foot. the french republican wars swept away the ecclesiastical consti tution and the wealth of the ancient city. the cathe dral and churches were stripped of relics, of jewels, of treasures of early art. the prince-bishop's palace is a barrack ; so was lately st. maximus's shrine ; st. martin's a china manufactory, and st. matthias's a school. treves belongs to prussia, and not to " holy church;" and all the old splendours of the "empire of the saints " are almost as much ruinate as those of the "empire of the romans." so goes the world, because there is a living god. • " the old order changeth, giving place to the new ; and god fulfils himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world." but though palaces and amphitheatres be gone, the gardens outside still bloom on as when potitianus and his friends wandered through them, perpetual as 32 saint antony. nature's self; and perpetual as nature, too, endures whatever is good and true of that afternoon's work, and of that finding of the legend of st. antony in the monk's cabin, which fixed the destiny of the great genius of the latin church. the story of st. antony, as it has been handed down to us,* runs thus : — the life and conversation of our holy father antony, written and sent to the monks in foreign parts by our father among the saints, athanasius, archbishop of alexandria. you have begun a noble rivalry with the monks of egypt, having determined either to equal or even to surpass them in your training towards virtue; for there are monasteries already among you, and the monastic life is practised. this purpose of yours one may justly praise; and if you pray, god will bring it to perfection. but since you have also asked me about the conversation of the holy antony, wishing to learn how he began his training, and who he was before it, and what sort of an end he made to his life, and whether what is said of him is true, in order that you may bring yourselves to emulate him, with great, readiness i received your command. for to me, too, it is a great gain and benefit only to remember antony ; and i know that you, when you hear of him, after you have wondered at the man, will wish also to emulate his purpose. for the life of antony is for monks a perfect pattern * i use throughout the text published by heschelius, in 1611. saint antony. 3j of ascetic training. what, then, you have heard about him from other informants do not disbelieve, but rather think that you have heard from them a small part of the facts. for in any case, they could hardly relate fully such great matters, when even i, at your request, howsoever much i may tell you in my letter, can only send you a little which i remember about him. but do not cease to inquire of those who sail from hence ; for perhaps, if each tells what he knows, at last his history may be worthily compiled. i had wished, indeed, when i received your letter, to send for some of the monks who were wont to be most frequently in his company, that i might learn something more, and send you a fuller account. but since both the season of navigation limited me, and the letter-carrier was in haste, i hastened to write to your piety what i myself know (for i have often seen him), and what i was able to learn from one who followed him for no short time, and poured water upon his hands ; always taking care of the truth, in order that no one when he hears too much may disbelieve, nor again, if he learns less than is needful, despise the man. antony was an egyptian by race, born of noble parents,* who had a sufficient property of their own : and as they were christians, he too was christianly brought up, and when a boy was nourished in the house of his parents, besides whom and his home he knew nought. but when he grew older, he * he is said to have been born at coma, near heracleia, in middle egypt, a.d. 251. s.l. 11. d 34 saint antony. would not be taught letters,* not wishing to mix with other boys ; but all his longing was (according to what is written of jacob) to dwell simply in his own house. but when his parents took him into the lord's house, he was not saucy, like a boy, nor in attentive as he grew older; but was subject to his parents, and attentive to what was read, turning it to his own account. nor again (as a boy who was moderately well off) did he trouble his parents for various and expensive dainties, nor did he run after the pleasures of this life ; but was content with what he found, and asked for nothing more. when his parents died, he was left alone with a little sister, when he was about eighteen or twenty years of age, and took care both of his house and of her. but not six months after their death, as he was going as usual to the lord's house, and collecting his thoughts, he meditated as he walked how the apostles had left all and followed the saviour ; and how those in the acts brought the price of what they had sold, and laid it at the apostles' feet, to be given away to the poor ; and what and how great a hope was laid up for them in heaven. with this in his mind, he entered the church. and it befell then that the gospel was being read ; and he heard how the lord had said to the rich man, " if thou wilt be perfect, go, sell all thou hast, and give to the poor; and come, follow me, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven." antony, therefore, as if the remembrance of the saints had come to him from god, and as if the lesson had * seemingly the greek language and literature. life of st. antony. ' and having committed his «l,i..„ k,> ?..a — — "■? f-"*^f-i w, wrmnc and e-iven to her wherewith to saint antony. 35 been read on his account, went forth at once from the lord's house, and gave away to those of his own village the possessions he had inherited from his ancestors (three hundred plough-lands, fertile and very fair), that they might give no trouble either to him or his sister. all his moveables he sold, and a considerable sum which he received for them he gave to the poor. but having kept back a little for his sister, when he went again into the lord's house he heard the lord saying in the gospel, "take no thought for the morrow," and, unable to endure any more delay, he went out and distributed that too to the needy. and having committed his sister to known and faithful virgins, and given to her wherewith to be educated in a nunnery, he himself thenceforth devoted himself, outside his house, to training;* taking heed to himself, and using himself severely. for monasteries were not then common in egypt, nor did any monks at all know the wide desert; but each who wished to take heed to himself exercised himself alone, not far from his own village. there was then in the next village an old man, who had trained himself in a solitary life from his youth. when antony saw him, he emulated him in that which is noble. and first he began to stay outside the village ; and then, if he heard of any earnest man, he went to seek him, like a wise bee ; and did not return till he had seen him, and having got from him (as it were) provision * i have thought it more honest to translate a<no}<ns by "training," which is now, as then, its true equivalent; being a metaphor drawr fiom the greek games by st. paul, 1 tim. iv. 8. d 2 36 saint antony. for his journey toward virtue, went his way. so dwelling there at first, he settled his mind neither to look back towards his parents' wealth nor to recollect his relations ; but he put all his longing and all his earnestness on training himself more intensely. for the rest he worked with his hands, because he had heard, " if any man will not work, neither let him eat ; " and of his earnings he spent some on himself and some on the needy. he prayed continually, because he knew that one ought to pray secretly, without ceasing. he attended, also, so much to what was read, that, with him, none of the scriptures fell to the ground, but he retained them all, and for the future his memory served him instead of books. behaving thus, antony was beloved by all ; and sub mitted truly to the earnest men to whom he used to go. and from each of them he learnt some im provement in his earnestness and his training : he con templated the courtesy of one, and another's assiduity in prayer ; another's freedom from anger ; another's love of mankind : he took heed to one as he watched ; to another as he studied : one he admired for his endurance, another for his fasting and sleeping on the ground ; he laid to heart the meekness of one, and the long-suffering of another ; and stamped upon his memory the devotion to christ and the mutual love which all in common possessed. and thus filled full, he returned to his own place of training, gathering to himself what he had got from each, and striving to show all their qualities in himself. he never emulated those of his own age, save in what is best ; and did saint antony. 37 that so as to pain no one, but make all rejoice over him. and all in the village who loved good, seeing him thus, called him the friend of god ; and some embraced him as a son, some as a brother. but the devil, who hates and, envies what is noble, would not endure such a purpose in a youth : but attempted against him all that he is wont to do ; suggesting to him the remembrance of his wealth, care for his sister, relation to his kindred, love of money, love of glory, the various pleasures of luxury, and the other solaces of life ; and then the harshness of virtue, and its great toil ; and the weakness of his body, and the length of time ; and altogether raised a great dust-cloud of arguments in his mind, trying to turn him back from his righteous choice. but when the enemy saw himself to be too weak for antony's determination, but rather baffled by his stoutness, and overthrown by his great faith, and falling before his -continual prayers, then he attacked him with the temptations which he is wont to use against young men ; . . . . but he protected his body with faith, prayers, and fastings, . . . setting his thoughts on christ, and on his own nobility through christ, and on the rational faculties of his soul, . . . and again on the terrors of the fire, and the torment of the worm, . . . and thus escaped unhurt. and thus was the enemy brought to shame. for he who thought himself to be equal with god was now mocked by a youth ; and he who boasted against flesh and blood was defeated by a man clothed in flesh. for the lord worked with him, who bore flesh on our account, and 38 saint antony. gave to the body victory over the devil, that each man in his battle may say, " not i, but the grace of god which is with me." at last, when the dragon could not overthrow antony even thus, but saw himself thrust out of his heart, then gnashing his teeth (as is written), and as if beside himself, he appeared to the sight, as he is to the reason, as a black child, and as it were falling down before him, no longer attempted to argue (for the deceiver was cast out), but using a human voice, said, " i have deceived many ; i have cast down many. but now, as in the case of many, so in thine, i have been worsted in the battle." then when antony asked him, " who art thou who speakest thus to me ? " he forthwith replied in a pitiable voice, " i am the spirit of impurity.". . . then antony gave thanks to god, and gaining courage, said, " thou art utterly despicable ; for thou art black of soul, and weak as a child ; nor shall i henceforth cast one thought on thee. for the lord is my helper, and i shall despise my enemies." that black being, hearing this, fled forthwith, cowering at his words, and afraid thenceforth of coming near the man. this was antony's first struggle against the devil : or rather this mighty deed in him was the saviour's, who condemned sin in the flesh that the righteousness of the lord should be fulfilled in us, who walk not after the flesh, but after the spirit. but neither did antony, because the daemon had fallen, grow care less and despise him; neither did the enemy, when saint antony, 39 worsted by him, cease from lying in ambush against him. for he came round again as a lion, seeking a pretence against him. but antony had learnt from scripture that many are the devices of the enemy ; and continually kept up his training, considering that, though he had not deceived his heart by pleasure, he would try some other snares. for the daemon delights in sin. therefore he chastised his body more and more, and brought it into slavery, lest, having con quered in one case, he should be tripped up in others. he determined, therefore, to accustom himself to a still more severe life; and many wondered at him: but the labour was to him easy to bear. for the readiness of the spirit, through long usage, had created a good habit in him, so that, taking a very slight hint from others, he showed great earnestness in it. for he watched so much, that he often passed the whole night without sleep ; and that not once, but often, to the astonishment of men. he ate once a day, after the setting of the sun, and sometimes only once in two days, often even in four ; his food was bread with salt, his drink nothing but water. to speak of flesh and wine there is no need, for such a thing is not found among other earnest men. when he slept he was content with a rush-mat : but mostly he lay on the bare ground. he would not anoint himself with oil, saying that it was more fit for young men to be earnest in training, than to seek things which softened the body ; and that they must accustom themselves to labour, according to the apostle's saying, " when i am weak, then i am strong;" for that the mind was strengthened 4 o saint antony. as bodily pleasure was weakened. and this argument of his was truly wonderful. for he did not measure the path of virtue, nor his going away into retirement on account of it, by time; but by his own desire and will. so forgetting the past, he daily, as if beginning afresh, took more pains to improve, saying over to himself continually the apostle's words, " forgetting what is behind, stretching forward to what is before ; " and mindful, too, of elias' speech, " the lord liveth, before whom i stand this day." for he held, that by mentioning to-day, he took no account of past time : but, as if he were laying down a beginning, he tried earnestly to make himself day by day fit to appear before god, pure in heart, and ready to obey his will, and no other. and he said in himself that the ascetic ought for ever to be learning his own life fi om the manners of the great elias, as from a mirror. antony, having thus, as it were, bound himself, went to the tombs, which happened to be some way from the village; and having bidden one of his acquaint ances to bring him bread at intervals of many days, he entered one of the tombs, and, shutting the door upon himself, remained there alone. but the enemy, not enduring that, but rather terrified lest in a little while he should fill the desert with his training, coming one night with a multitude of daemons, beat him so much with stripes, that he lay speechless from the torture. for he asserted that the pain was so great that no blows given by men could cause such agony. but by the providence of god (for the lord does not overlook those who hope in him), the next day his saint antony. 41 acquaintance came, bringing him the loaves. and having opened the door, and seeing him lying on the ground for dead, he carried him to the lord's house in the village, and laid him on the ground ; and many of his kinsfolk and the villagers sat round him, as round a corpse. but about midnight, antony coming to himself, and waking up, saw them all sleeping, and only his acquaintance awake, and, nodding to him to approach, begged him to carry him back to the tombs, without waking any one. when that was done, the doors were shut, and he remained as before, alone inside. and, because he could not stand on account of the daemons' blows, he prayed prostrate. and after his prayer, he said with a shout, "here am i, antony : i do not fly from your stripes; yea, if you do yet more, nothing shall separate me from the love of christ." and then he sang, " if an host be laid against me, yet shall not my heart be afraid." thus thought and spoke the man who was training himself. but the enemy, hater of what is noble, and envious, wondering that he dared to return after the stripes, called together his dogs, and bursting with rage, — " ye see," he said, " that we have not stopped this man by the spirit of impurity ; nor by blows : but he is even growing bolder against us. let us attack him some other way."* for it is easy for the devil to invent schemes of mischief. so then in the night they made such a crash, that the whole place seemed shaken, and the daemons, as if breaking in the four walls of the room, * i give this passage as it stands in the greek version. in the latin, attributed to evagrius, it is even more extravagant and rhetorical. 42 saint antony. seemed to enter through them, changing themselves into the shapes of beasts and creeping things;* and the place was forthwith filled with shapes of lions, bears, leopards, bulls, and snakes, asps, scorpions, and wolves, and each of them moved according to his own fashion. the lion roared, longing to attack ; the bull seemed to toss ; the serpent did not cease creeping, and the wolf rushed upon him ; and alto gether the noises of all the apparitions were dreadful, and their tempers cruel. but antony, scourged and pierced by them, felt a more dreadful bodily pain than before : but he lay unshaken and awake in spirit. he groaned at the pain of his body : but clear in intellect, and as it were mocking, he said, "if there were any power in you, it were enough that one of you should come on ; but since the lord has made you weak, therefore you try to frighten me by mere numbers. and a proof of your weakness is, that you imitate the shapes of brute animals." and taking courage, he said again, " if ye can, and have received power against me, delay not, but attack ; but if ye cannot, why do ye disturb me in vain ? for a seal to us and a wall of safety is our faith in the lord." the daemons, having made many efforts, gnashed their teeth at him, because he rather mocked at them, than they at him. but neither then * surely the imagery painted on the inner walls of egyptian tombs, and probably believed by antony and his compeers to be connected with devil-worship, explain these visions. in the " words of the elders" a monk complains of being troubled with "pictures, old and new." probably, again, the pain which antony felt was the agony of a fever ; and the visions which he saw, its delirium. saint antony. 43 did the lord forget antony's wrestling, but appeared to help him. for, looking up, he saw the roof as it were opened and a ray of light coming down towards him. the daemons suddenly became invisible, and the pain of his body forthwith ceased, and the build ing became quite whole. but antony, feeling the succour, and getting his breath again, and freed from pain, questioned the vision which appeared, saying, " where wert thou ? why didst thou not appear to me from the first, to stop my pangs ? " and a voice came to him, " antony, i was here, but i waited to see thy fight. therefore, since thou hast withstood, and not been worsted, i will be to thee always a succour, and will make thee become famous everywhere." hearing this, he rose and prayed, and was so strong, that he felt that he had more power in his body than he had before. he was then about thirty-and-five years old. and on the morrow he went out, and was yet more eager for devotion to god ; and, going to that old man aforesaid, he asked him to dwell with him in the desert. but when he declined, because of his age, and because no such custom had yet arisen, he himself straightway set off to the mountain. but the enemy again, seeing his earnestness, and wishing to hinder it, cast in his way the phantom of a great silver plate. but antony, perceiving the trick of him who hates what is noble, stopped. and he judged the plate worth less, seeing the devil in it ; and said, " whence comes a plate in the desert ? this is no beaten way, not is there here the footstep of any traveller. had it 44 saint antony. fallen, it could not have been unperceived, from its great size ; and besides, he who lost it would have turned back and found it, because the place is desert. this is a trick of the devil. thou shalt not hinder, devil, my determination by this : let it go with thee into perdition." and as antony said that, it vanished, as smoke from before the face of the fire. then again he saw, not this time a. phantom, but real gold lying in the way as he came up. but whether the enemy showed it him, or whether some better power, which was trying the athlete, and showing the devil that he did not care for real wealth ; neither did he tell, nor do we know, save that it was real gold. antony, wondering at the abundance of it, so stepped over it as over fire, and so passed it by, that he never turned, but ran on in haste, until he had lost sight of the place. and growing even more and more intense in his determi nation, he rushed up the mountain, and finding an empty inclosure full of creeping things on account of its age, he betook himself across the river, and dwelt in it. the creeping things, as if pursued by some one, straightway left the place : but he blocked up the entry, having taken with him loaves for six months (for the thebans do this, and they often remain a whole year fresh), and having water with him, enter ing, as into a sanctuary, into that monastery,* he remained alone, never going forth, and never looking at any one who came. thus he passed a long time * here is an instance of the original use of the word "monastery,'' vu. a cell in which a single person dwelt. saint antony. 45 there training himself, and only twice a year received loaves, let down from above through the roof. but those of his acquaintance who came to him, as they often remained days and nights outside (for he did not allow any one to enter), used to hear as it were crowds inside clamouring, thundering, lamenting; crying — " depart from our ground. what dost thou even in the desert ? thou canst not abide our onset." at first those without thought that there were some men fighting with him, and that they had got in by ladders : but when, peeping in through a crack, they saw no one, then they took for granted that they were daemons, and being terrified, called themselves on antony. but he rather listened to them than cared for the others. for his acquaintances came up continually, expecting to find him dead, and heard him singing, " let the lord arise, and his enemies shall be scattered ; and let them who hate him flee before him. as wax melts from before the face of the fire, so shall sinners perish from before the face of god." and again, "all nations compassed me round about, and in the name of the lord i repelled them." he endured then for twenty years, thus training himself alone ; neither going forth, nor seen by any one for long periods of time. but after this, when many longed for him, and wished to imitate his train ing, and others who knew him came, and were bursting in the door by force, antony came forth as from some inner shrine, initiated into the mysteries, and bearing the god.* and then first he appeared out of * an allusion to the heathen mysteries. 46 saint antony. the inclosure to those who were coming to him. and when they saw him they wondered; for his body had kept the same habit, and had neither grown fat, nor lean from fasting, nor worn by fighting with the daemons. for he was just such as they had known him before his retirement. they wondered again at the purity of his soul, because it was neither contracted as if by grief, nor relaxed by pleasure, nor possessed by laughter or by depression ; for he was neither troubled at beholding the crowd, nor over-joyful at being saluted by too many ; but was altogether equal, as being governed by reason, and standing on that which is according to nature. many sufferers in body who were present did the lord heal by him ; and others he purged from daemons. and he gave to antony grace in speaking, so that he comforted many who grieved, and reconciled others who were at variance, exhorting all to prefer nothing in the world to the love of christ, and persuading and exhorting them to be mindful of the good things to come, and of the love of god towards us, who spared not his own son, but delivered him up for us all. he persuaded many to choose the solitary life ; and so thenceforth cells sprang up in the mountains, and the desert was colonized by monks, who went forth from their own, and registered themselves in the city which is in heaven. and when he had need to cross the arsenoite canal (and the need was the superintendence of the brethren), the canal was full of crocodiles. and having only prayed, he entered it ; and both he and all who saint antony. 47 were with him went through it unharmed. but when he returned to the cell, he persisted in the noble labours of his youth ; and by continued exhortations he increased the willingness of those who were already monks, and stirred to love of training the greater number of the rest ; and quickly, as his speech drew men on, the cells became more numerous ; and he governed them all as a father. and when he had gone forth one day, and all the monks had come to him desiring to hear some word from him, he spake to them in the egyptian tongue, thus — "that the scriptures were sufficient for instruction, but that it was good for us to exhort each other in the faith." .... [here follows a long sermon, historically important, as being the earliest christian attempt to reduce to a science dffimonology and the temptation of daemons : but its involved and rhetorical form proves sufficiently that it could not have been delivered by an unlettered man like antony. neither is it, probably, even com posed by st. athanasius ; it seems rather, like several other passages in this biography, the interpolation of some later scribe. it has been, therefore, omitted.] and when antony had spoken thus, all rejoiced ; and in one the love of virtue was increased, in another negligence stirred up, and in others conceit stopped, while all were persuaded to despise the plots of the devil, wondering at the grace which had been given to antony by the lord for the discernment of spirits. so the cells in the mountains were like tents filled with divine choirs, singing, discoursing, 48 saint antony. fasting, praying, rejoicing over the hope of the future, working that they might give alms thereof, and having love and concord with each other. and there was really to be seen, as it were, a land by itself, of piety and justice ; for there was none there who did wrong, or suffered wrong: no blame from any talebearer : but a multitude of men training themselves, and in all of them a mind set on virtue. so that any one seeing the cells, and such an array of monks, would have cried out, and said, " how fair are thy dwellings, o jacob, and thy tents, o israel; like shady groves and like parks beside a river, and like tents which the lord hath pitched, and like cedars by the waters." he himself, meanwhile, withdrawing, according to his custom, alone to his own cell, increased the severity of his training. and he groaned daily, considering the mansions in heaven, and setting his longing on them, and looking at the ephemeral life of man. for even when he was going to eat or sleep, he was ashamed, when he considered the rational element of his soul; so that often, when he was about to eat with many other monks, he remem bered the spiritual food, and declined, and went far away from them ; thinking that he should blush if he was seen by others eating. he ate, never theless, by himself, on account of the necessities of the body; and often, too, with the brethren, being bashful with regard to them, but plucking up heart for the sake of saying something that might be useful ; and used to tell them that they ought saint antony. 49 to give all their leisure rather to the soul than to the body ; and that they should grant a very little time to the body, for mere necessity's sake : but that their whole leisure should be rather given to the soul, and should seek her profit, that she may not be drawn down by the pleasures of the body, but rather the body be led captive by her. for this (he said) was what was spoken by the saviour, " be not anxious for your soul, what ye shall eat ; nor for your body, what ye shall put on. and seek not what ye shall eat, nor what ye shall drink, neither let your minds be in suspense : for after all these things the nations of the world seek : but your father knoweth that ye need all these things. rather seek first his kingdom ; and all these things shall be added unto you." after these things, the persecution which happened under the maximinus of that time,* laid hold of the church ; and when the holy martyrs were brought to alexandria, antony too followed, leaving his cell, and saying, " let us depart too, that we may wrestle if we be called, or see them wrestling." and he longed to be a martyr himself, but, not choosing to give himself up, he ministered to the confessors in the mines, and in the prisons. and he was very earnest in the judg ment-hall to excite the readiness of those who were called upon to wrestle ; and to receive and bring on * a.d. 311. galerius valerius maximinus (his real name was daza) had been a. shepherd-lad in illyria, like his uncle galerius valerius maximianus; and rose, like him, through the various grades of the army to be co-emperor of rome, over syria, egypt, and asia minor ; a furious persecutor of the christians, and a brutal and profligate tyrant. such were the "kings of the world" from whom those old monks (led. s.l. 11. e 50 saint antony. their way, till they were perfected, those of them who went to martyrdom. at last the judge, seeing the fearlessnes and earnestness of him and those who were with him, commanded that none of the monks should appear in the judgment-hall, or haunt at all in the city. so all the rest thought good to hide themselves that day; but antony cared so much for the order, that he all the rather washed his cloak, and stood next day upon a high place, and appeared to the general in shining white. therefore, when all the rest wondered, and the general saw him, and passed by with his array, he stood fearless, showing forth the readiness of us christians. for he himself prayed to be a martyr, as i have said, and was like one grieved, because he had not borne his witness. but the lord was preserving him for our benefit, and that of the rest, that he might become a teacher to many in the train ing which he had learnt from scripture. for many, when they only saw his manner of life, were eager to emulate it. so he again ministered continually to the confessors ; and, as if bound with them, wearied himself in his services. and when at last the perse cution ceased, and the blessed bishop peter had been martyred, he left the city, and went back to his cell. and he was there, day by day, a martyr in his con science, and wrestling in the conflict of faith ; for he imposed on himself a much more severe training than before ; and his garment was within of hair, without of skin, which he kept till his end. he neither washed his body with water, nor ever cleansed his feet, nor actually endured putting them into water unless it saint antony. were necessary. and no one ever saw him unclothed till he was dead and about to be buried. when, then, he retired, and had resolved neither to go forth himself, nor to receive any one, one mar tinianus, a captain of soldiers, came and gave trouble to antony. for he had with him his daughter, who was tormented by a daemon. and while he remained a long time knocking at the door, and expecting him to come to pray to god for the child, antony could not bear to open, but leaning from above, said, " man, why criest thou to me ? i, too, am a man, as thou art. but if thou believest, pray to god, and it comes to pass." forthwith, therefore, he believed, and called on christ ; and went away, with his daughter cleansed from the daemon. and many other things the lord did by him, saying, " ask, and it shall be given you." for most of the sufferers, when he did not open the door, only sat down outside the cell, and believing, and praying honestly, were cleansed. but when he saw himself troubled by many, and not being permitted to retire, as he wished, being afraid lest he himself should be puffed up by what the lord was doing by him, or lest others should count of him above what he was, he resolved to go to the upper thebaid, to those who knew him not. and, in fact, having taken loaves from the brethren, he sat down on the bank of the river, watching for a boat to pass, that he might embark and go up in it. and as he watched, a voice came to him : " antony, whither art thou going, and why ? " and he, not terrified, but as one accustomed to be often called thus, answered when he heard it, 52 saint antony. " because the crowds will not let me be at rest ; therefore am i minded to go up to the upper thebaid, on account of the many annoyances which befall me ; and, above all, because they ask of me things beyond my strength." and the voice said to him, " even if thou goest up to the thebaid, even if, as thou art minded to do, thou goest down the cattle pastures,* thou wilt have to endure more, and double trouble ; but if thou wilt really be at rest, go now into the inner desert." and when antony said, "who will show me the way, for i have not tried it ? " forthwith it showed him saracens who were going to journey that road. so, going to them, and drawing near them, antony asked leave to depart with them into the desert. but they, as if by an ordinance of pro vidence, willingly received him ; and, journeying three days and three nights with them, he came to a very high mountain;"]" and there was water under the mountain, clear, sweet, and very cold ; and a plain outside ; and a few neglected date-palms. then antony, as if stirred by god, loved the spot ; for this it was what he had pointed out who spoke to him beside the river bank. at first, then, having received bread from those who journeyed with him, he re mained alone in the mount, no one else being with him. for he recognised that place as his own home, and kept it thenceforth. and the saracens themselves, * the lonely alluvial flats at the mouths of the nile. " below the cliffs, beside the sea," as one describes them. t now the monastery of deir antonios, over the wady el arabah, between the nile and the red sea, where antony's monks endure to this day. saint antony. 53 seeing antony's readiness, came that way on pur pose, and joyfully brought him loaves; and he had, too, the solace of the dates, which was then little and paltry. but after this, the brethren; having found out the spot, like children remembering their father, were anxious to send things to him ; but antony saw that, in bringing him bread, some there were put to trouble and fatigue ; and, sparing the monks even in that, took counsel with himself, and asked some who came to him to bring him a hoe and a hatchet, and a little corn ; and when these were brought, having gone over the land round the moun tain, he found a very narrow place which was suitable, and tilled it; and, having plenty of water to irrigate it, he sowed ; and, doing this yean by year, he got his bread from thence, rejoicing that he should be trouble some to no one on that account, and that he was keeping himself free from obligation in all things. but after this, seeing again some people coming, he planted also a very few pot-herbs, that he who came might have some small solace after the labour of that hard journey. at first, however, the wild beasts in the desert, coming on account of the water, often hurt his crops and his tillage ; but he, gently laying hold of one of them, said to them all, " why do you hurt me, who have not hurt you ? depart, and, in the name of the lord, never come near this place." and from that time forward, as if they were afraid of his com mand, they never came near the place. so he was there alone in the inner mountain, having leisure for prayer and for training. but the brethren who 54 saint antony. ministered to him asked him that, coming every month they might bring him olives, and pulse, and oil ; for, after all, he was old. and while he had his conversa tion there, what great wrestlings he endured, according to that which is written, " not against flesh and blood, but against the daemons who are our adversaries," we have known from those who went in to him. for there also they heard tumults, and many voices, and clashing as of arms ; and they beheld the mount by night full of wild beasts, and they looked on him, too, fighting, as it were, with beings whom he saw, and praying against them. and those who came to him he bade be of good courage, but he himsell wrestled, bending his knees, and praying to the lord. and it was truly worthy of wonder that, alone in such a desert, he was neither cowed by the daemons who beset him, nor, while there were there so many four-footed and creeping beasts, was at all afraid of their fierceness : but, as is written, trusted in the lord like the mount zion, having his reason unshaken and untost ; so that the daemons rather fled, and the wild beasts, as is written, were at peace with him. nevertheless, the devil (as david sings) watched antony, and gnashed upon him with his teeth. but antony was comforted by the saviour, remaining un hurt by his craft and manifold artifices. for on him, when he was awake at night, he let loose wild beasts ; and almost all the hysenas in that desert, coming out of their burrows, beset him round, and he was in the midst. and when each gaped on him and threatened to bite him, perceiving the art of the enemy, he said saint antony. 55 to them all, " if ye have received power against me, i am ready to be devoured by you : but if ye have been set on by daemons, delay not, but withdraw, for i am a servant of christ." when antony said this, they fled, pursued by his words as by a whip. next after a few days, as he was working — for he took care, too, to labour — some one standing at the door pulled the plait that he was working. for he was weaving baskets, which he used to give to those who came, in return for what they brought him. and rising up, he saw a beast, like a man down to his thighs, but having legs and feet like an ass ; and antony only crossed himself and said, " i am a servant of christ. if thou hast been sent against me, behold, here i am." and the beast with its daemons fled away, so that in its haste it fell and died. now the death of the beast was the fall of the daemons. for they were eager to do everything to bring him back out of the desert, but could not prevail. and being once asked by the monks to come down to them, and to visit awhile them and their places, he journeyed with the monks who came to meet him. and a camel carried their loaves and their water ; for that desert is all dry, and there is no drink able water unless in that mountain alone whence they drew their water, and where his cell is. but when the water failed on the journey, and the heat was most intense, they all began to be in danger; for going round to various places, and finding no water, they could walk no more, but lay down on the ground, and they let the camel go, and gave themselves up. 56 saint antony. but the old man, seeing them all in danger, was utterly grieved, and groaned ; and departing a little way from them, and bending his knees and stretching out his hands, he prayed, and forthwith the lord caused water to come out where he had stopped and prayed. and thus all of them drinking took breath again ; and having filled their skins, they sought the camel, and found her ; for it befell that the halter had been twisted round a stone, and thus she had been stopped. so, having brought her back, and given her to drink, they put the skins on her, and went through their journey unharmed. and when they came to the outer cells all embraced him, looking on him as a father. and he, as if he brought them guest-gifts from the mountain, gave them away to them in his words, and shared his benefits among them. and there was joy again in the mountains, and zeal for improvement, and comfort through their faith in each other. and he too rejoiced, seeing the willingness of the monks, and his sister grown old in maidenhood, and herself the leader of other virgins. and so after certain days he went back again to the mountain. and after that many came to him; and others who suffered dared also to come. now to all the monks who came to him he gave continually this command : to trust in the lord and love him, and to keep themselves from foul thoughts and fleshly plea sures; and, as is written in the parables, not to be deceived by fulness of bread ; and to avoid vainglory ; and to pray continually ; and to sing before sleep and after sleep; and to lay by in their hearts the command saint antony. 57 ment of scripture ; and to remember the works of the saints, in order to have their souls attuned to emulate them. but especially he counselled them to meditate continually on the apostle's saying, " let not the sun go down upon your wrath ;" and this he said was spoken of all commandments in common, in order that not on wrath alone, but on every other sin, the sun should never go down; for it was noble and necessary that the sun should never condemn us for a baseness by day, nor the moon for a sin or even a thought by night ; therefore, in order that that which is noble may be preserved in us, it was good to hear and to keep what the apostle commanded : for he said : " judge yourselves, and prove yourselves." let each then take account with himself, day by day, of his daily and nightly deeds ; and if he has not sinned, let him not boast, but let him endure in what is good and not be negligent, neither condemn his neighbour, neither justify himself, as said the blessed apostle paul, until the lord comes who searches secret things. for we often deceive ourselves in what we do, and we indeed know not : but the lord compre hends all. giving therefore the judgment to him, let us sympathise with each other ; and let us bear each other's burdens, and examine ourselves ; and what we are behind in, let us be eager to fill up. and let this, too, be my counsel for safety against sinning. let us each note and write down the deeds and motions of the soul as if he were about to relate them to each other ; and be confident that, as we shall be utterly ashamed that they should be known, we shall 58 saint antony. cease from sinning, and even from desiring anything mean. for who when he sins wishes to be harmed thereby ? or who, having sinned, does not rather lie, wishing to hide it ? as therefore when in each other's sight we dare not commit a crime, so if we write down our thoughts, and tell them to each other, we shall keep ourselves the more from foul thoughts, for shame lest they should be known. . . . and thus forming ourselves we shall be able to bring the body into slavery, and please the lord on the one hand, and on the other trample on the snares of the enemy." this was his exhortation to those who met him : but with those who suffered he suffered, and prayed with them. and often and in many things the lord heard him ; and neither when he was heard did he boast ; nor when he was not heard did he murmur : but, remaining always the same, gave thanks to the lord. and those who suffered he exhorted to keep up heart, and to know that the power of cure was none of his, nor of any man's ; but only belonged to god, who works when and whatsoever he chooses. so the sufferers received this as a remedy, learning not to despise the old man's words, but rather to keep up heart ; and those who were cured learned not to bless antony, but god alone. for instance, one called fronto, who belonged to the palace, and had a grievous disease (for he gnawed his own tongue, and tried to injure his eyes), came to the mountain and asked antony to pray for him. and when he had prayed he said to fronto, " depart, and be healed." and when he resisted, and remained saint antony. 59 within some days, antony continued saying, "thou canst not be healed if thou remainest here ; go forth, and as soon as thou enterest egypt, thou shalt see the sign which shall befall thee." he, believing, went forth; and as soon as he only saw egypt he was freed from his disease, and became sound ac cording to the word of antony, which he had learnt by prayer from the saviour [here follows a story of a girl cured of a painful complaint : which need not be translated.] but when two brethren were coming to him, and water failed them on the journey, one of them died, and the other was about to die. in fact, being no longer able to walk, he too lay upon the ground expecting death. but antony, as he sat on the mountain, called two monks who happened to be there, and hastened them, saying, " take a pitcher of water, and run on the road towards egypt; for of two who are coming hither one has just expired, and the other will do so if you do not hasten. for this has been showed to me as i prayed." so the monks going found the one lying dead, and buried him; and the other they recovered with the water, and brought him to the old man. now the distance was a day's journey. but if any one should ask why he did not speak before one of them expired, he does not question rightly ; for the judgment of that death did not belong to antony, but to god, who both judged concerning the one; and revealed con cerning the other. but this alone in antony was wonderful, that sitting on the mountain he kept his 60 sajnt antony. heart watchful, and the lord showed him things afar off. for once again, as he sat on the mountain and looked up, he saw some one carried aloft, and a great rejoicing among some who met him. then wondering, and blessing such a choir, he prayed to be taught what that might be ; and straightway a voice came to him that this was the soul of ammon, the monk in nitria,* who had persevered as an ascetic to his old age ; and the distance from nitria to the moun tain where antony was, is thirteen days' journey. those then who were with antony, seeing the old man wondering, asked the reason, and heard that ammon had just expired, for he was known to them on account of his having frequently come thither, and many signs having been worked by him, of which this is one. . . . [here follows the story (probably an interpolation) of amnion's being miraculously carried across the river lycus, because he was ashamed to undress himself.] but the monks to whom antony spoke about ammon's death noted down the day ; and when brethren came from nitria after thirty days, they inquired and learnt that ammon had fallen asleep at the day and hour in which the old man saw his soul carried aloft. and all on both sides wondered * this most famous monastery, i.e. collection of monks' cells, in egypt is situate forty miles from alexandria, on a hill where nitre was gathered. the hospitality and virtue of its inmates are much praised by ruffinus and palladius. they were, nevertheless, the chief agenis in the fanatical murder of hypatia. sa int a nton y. 6 1 at the purity of antony's soul ; how he had learnt and seen instantly what had happened thirteen days' journey off. moreover, archeleas the count, finding him once in the outer mountain praying alone, asked him con cerning polycratia, that wonderful and christ-bearing maiden in laodicea ; for she suffered dreadful internal pain from her extreme training, and was altogether weak in body. antony, therefore, prayed ; and the count noted down the day on which the prayer was offered. and going back to laodicea, he found the maiden cured; and asking when and on what day her malady had ceased, he brought out the paper on which he had written down the date of the prayer. and when she told him, he showed at once the writing on the paper. and all found that the lord had stopped her sufferings while antony was still praying and calling for her on the goodness of the saviour. and concerning those who came to him, he often predicted some days, or even a month, beforehand, and the cause why they were coming. for some came only to see him, and others on account of sickness, and others because they suffered from daemons, and all thought the labour of the journey no trouble nor harm, for each went back aware that he had been benefited. and when he spoke and looked thus, he asked no one to marvel at him on that account, but to marvel rather at the lord, because he had given us, who are but men, grace to know him according to our powers. and as he was going down again to the outer cells, 62 saint antony. and was minded to enter a boat and pray with the monks, he. alone perceived a dreadfully evil odour, and when those in the boat told him that they had fish and brine on board, and that it was they which smelt, he said that it was a different smell ; and while he was yet speaking, a youth, who had an evil spirit, had gone before tbem and hidden in the boat, suddenly cried out. but the daemon, being rebuked in the name of our lord jesus christ, went out of him, and the man became whole, and all knew that the smell had come from the evil spirit. and there was another man of high rank who came to him, having a daemon, and one so terrible, that the pos sessed man did not know that he was going to antony, but [showed the common symptoms of mania]. those who brought him entreated antony to pray over him, which he did, feeling for the young man, and he watched beside him all night. but about dawn, the young man, suddenly rushing on antony, assaulted him. when those who came with him were indignant, antony said, " be not hard upon the youth, for it is not he, but the daemon in him ; and because he has been rebuked, and com manded to go forth into dry places, he has become furious, and done this. glorify, therefore, the lord for his having thus rushed upon me, as a sign to you that the daemon is going out." and as antony said this, the youth suddenly became sound, and, re covering his reason, knew where he was, and embraced the old man, giving thanks to god. and most of the monks agree unanimously that many like things saint antony. 63 were done by him: yet are they not so wonderful as what follows. for once, when he was going to eat, and rose up to pray about the ninth hour, he felt himself rapt in spirit ; and (wonderful to relate) as he stood he saw himself as it were taken out of himself, and led into the air by some persons ; and then others, bitter and terrible, standing in the air, and trying to prevent his passing upwards. and when those who led him fought against them, they demanded whether he was not accountable to them. and when they began to take account of his deeds from his birth, his guides stopped them, saying, "what happened from his birth upwards, the lord hath wiped out : but of what has happened since he became a monk, and made a promise to god, of that you may demand an account." then, when they brought accusations against him, and could not prove them, the road was opened freely to him. and straight way he saw himself as if coming back and standing before himself, and was antony once more. then, forgetting that he had not eaten, he remained the rest of the day and all night groaning and praying, for he wondered when he saw against how many enemies we must wrestle, and through how many labours a man must traverse the air; and he remembered that it is this which the apostle means with regard to the prince of the power of the air ; for it is in the air that the enemy has his power, fighting against those who pass through it, and trying to hinder them. wherefore, also he especially exhorts us : " take the whole armour of god, that the enemy, having no evil to say about 64 saint antony. us, may be ashamed." but when we heard this, we remembered the apostle's saying, "whether in the body i cannot tell, or out of the body i cannot tell : god knoweth." but paul was caught up into the third heaven, and, having heard unspeakable words, descended again ; but antony saw himself rapt in the air, and wrestling till he seemed to be free. again, he had this grace, that as he was sitting alone in the mountain, if at any time he was puzzled in himself, the thing was revealed to him by provi dence as he prayed ; and the blessed man was, as scripture says, taught of god. after this, at all events, when he had been talking with some who came to him concerning the departure of the soul, and what would be its place after this life, the next night some one called him from without, and said, " rise up, antony ; come out and see." so coming out (for he knew whom he ought to obey), he beheld a tall being, shapeless and terrible, standing and reaching to the clouds, and as it were winged beings ascending ; and him stretching out his hands ; and some of them hindered by him, and others flying above him, and when they had once passed him, borne upwards without trouble. but against them that tall being gnashed his teeth, while over those who fell, he rejoiced. and there came a voice to antony, " consider what thou seest." and when his understanding was opened, he perceived that it was the enemy who envies the faithful, and that those who were in his power he mastered and hindered from passing ; but that those who had not obeyed saint antony. 65 him, over them, as over conquerors, he had no power. having seen this, and as it were made mindful by it, he struggled more and more daily to improve. now these things he did not tell of his own accord ; but when he was long in prayer, and astonished in himself, those who were with him questioned him and urged him ; and he was forced to tell ; unable, as a father, to hide anything from his children ; and considering, too, that his own conscience was clear, and the story would be profitable for them, when they learned that the life of training bore good fruit, and that visions often came as a solace of their toils. but how tolerant was his temper, and how humble his spirit; for though he was so great, he both honoured exceedingly the canon of the church, and wished to put every ecclesiastic before himself in honour. for to the bishops and presbyters he was not ashamed to bow his head ; and if a deacon ever came to him for the sake of profit, he discoursed with him on what was profitable, but in prayer he gave place to him, not being ashamed even himself to learn from him.* for he often asked questions, and deigned to listen to all present, confessing that he was profited if any one said aught that was useful. moreover, his countenance had great and wonderful grace ; and this gift too he had from the saviour. for if he was present among the multitude * it appears from this and many other passages, that extempore prayer was usual among these monks, as it was afterwards among the puritans (who have copied them in so many other things), whenever a godly man visited them. s. l. n. f 66 saint antony. of monks, and any one who did not previously know him wished to see him, as soon as he came he passed by all the rest, and ran to antony himself, as if attracted by his eyes. he did not differ from the rest in stature or in stoutness, but in the steadiness of his temper, and purity of his soul ; for as his soul was undisturbed, his outward senses were undisturbed likewise, so that the cheerfulness of his soul made his face cheerful, and from the movements of his body the stedfastness of his soul could be perceived, according to the scripture, " when the heart is cheerful the countenance is glad ; but when sorrow comes it scowleth." and he was altogether wonderful in faith, and pious, for he never communi cated with the meletian* schismatics, knowing their malice and apostasy from the beginning ; nor did he converse amicably with manicha^ans or any other heretics, save only to exhort them to be converted to piety. for he held that their friendship and converse was injury and ruin to the soul. so also he detested the heresy of the arians, and exhorted all not to approach them, nor hold their misbelief, f in fact, when certain of the ariomanites came to him, having * meletius, bishop of lycopolis, was the author of an obscure schism calling itself the "church of the martyrs," which refused to commu nicate with the rest of the eastern church. see smith's " dictionary," on the word " meletius." t arius (whose most famous and successful opponent was athanasius, the writer of this biography) maintained that the son of god was not co-equal and co-eternal with the father, but created by him out of nothing, and before the world. his opinions were condemned in the famous council of nicsea, a. d. 325. saint antony. 67 discerned them and found them impious, he chased them out of the mountain, saying that their words were worse than serpent's poison ; and when the arians once pretended that he was of the same opinion as they, he was indignant and fierce against them. then being sent for by the bishops and all the brethren, he went down from the mountain, and entering alexandria he denounced the arians, saying, that that was the last heresy, and the forerunner of antichrist ; and he taught the people that the son of god was not a created thing, neither made from nought, but that he is the eternal word and wisdom of the essence of the father ; wherefore also it is impious to say there was a time when he was not, for he was always the word co-existent with the father. wherefore he said, " do not have any com munication with these most impious arians ; for there is no communion between iight and darkness. for you are pious christians : but they, whenthey say that the son of god and the word, who is from the father, is a created being, differ nought from the heathen, because they worship the creature instead of god the creator* believe rather that the whole creation itself is indignant against them, because they number the creator and lord of all, in whom all things are made, among created things." all the people therefore rejoiced at hearing that christ opposing heresy anathematized by such a man ; and * if st. antony could use so extreme an argument against the arians, what would he have said to the mariolatry which sprang up after his death ? v 2 58 saint antony. all those in the city ran together to see antony and the greeks,* and those who are called their priests f came into the church, wishing to see the man of god ; for all called him by that name, because there the lord cleansed many by him from daemons, and healed those who were out of their mind. and many heathens wished only to touch the old man, believing that it would be of use to them ; and in fact as many became christians in those few days, as would have been usually converted in a year. and when some thought that the crowd troubled him, and there fore turned all away from him, he quietly said that they were not more numerous than the fiends with whom he wrestled on the mountain. but when he left the city, and we were setting him on his journey, when we came to the gate a certain woman called to him : " wait, man of god, my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil ; wait, i beseech thee, lest i too harm myself with running after thee." the old man hearing it, and being asked by us, waited willingly. but when the woman drew near, the child dashed itself on the ground ; and when antony prayed and called on the name of christ, it rose up sound, the unclean spirit having gone out ; and the mother blessed god, and we all gave thanks : and he himself rejoiced at leaving the city for the mountain, as for his own home. now he was very prudent ; and what was wonder * /. e. those who were still heathens. t upeis. the christian priest is always called in this work simp]) trjj<?8vttoos, or elder. saint antony. 69 ful, though he had never learnt letters, he was a shrewd and understanding man. once, for example, two greek philosophers came to him, thinking that they could tempt antony. and he was in the outer mountain ; and when he went out to them, under standing the men from their countenances, he said through an interpreter, " why have you troubled yourselves so much, philosophers, to come to a foolish man ? " and when they answered that he was not foolish, but rather very wise, he said, " if you have come to a fool, your labour is superfluous, but if ye think me to be wise, become as i am ; for we ought to copy what is good, and if i had come to you, i should have copied you ; but if you come to me, copy me, for i am a christian." and they wondering went their way, for they saw that even daemons were afraid of antony. and again when others of the same class met him in the outer mountain, and thought to mock him, because he had not learnt letters, antony answered, " but what do you say ? which is first, the sense or the letters ? and which is the cause of the other, the sense of the letters, or the letters of the sense ? " and when they said that the sense came first, and invented the letters, antony replied, " if then the sense be sound, the letters are not needed." which struck them, and those present, with astonishment. so they went away wondering, when they saw so much understand ing in an unlearned man. for though he had lived and grown old in the mountain, his manners were not rustic, but graceful and urbane ; and his speech was ;o saint antony. seasoned with the divine salt, so that no man grudged at him, but rather rejoiced over him, as many as came. . . . [here follows a long sermon against the heathen worship, attributed to st. antony, but of very ques tionable authenticity : the only point about it which is worthy of note is that antony confutes the philosophers by challenging them to cure some pos sessed persons, and, when they are unable to do so, casts out the daemons himself by the sign of the cross.] the fame of antony reached even the kings, for constantinus the augustus, and his sons, constan tius and constans, the augusti, hearing of these things, wrote to him as to a father, and begged to receive an answer from him. but he did not make much of the letters, nor was puffed up by their messages ; and he was just the same as he was before the kings wrote to him. and he called his monks and said, " wonder not if a king writes to us, for he is but a man : but wonder rather that god has written his law to man, and spoken to us by his own son." so he declined to receive their letters, saying he did not know how to write an answer to such things ; but being admonished by the monks that the kings were christians, and that they must not be scandalized by being despised, he permitted the letters to be read, and wrote an answer ; accepting them because they worshipped christ, and counselling them, for their salvation, not to think the present life great, but rather to remember judgment to come ; and saint antony. 71 to know that christ was the only true and eternal king ; and he begged them to be merciful to men, and to think of justice and the poor. and they, when they received the answer, rejoiced. thus was he kindly towards all, and all looked on him as their father. he then betook himself again into the inner mountain, and continued his accustomed training. but often, when he was sitting and walking with those who came unto him, he was astounded, as is written in daniel. and after the space of an hour, he told what had befallen to the brethren who were with him, and they perceived that he had seen some vision. often he saw in the mountain what was happening in egypt, and told it to serapion the bishop, who saw him occupied with a vision. once, for instance, as he sat, he fell as it were into an ecstasy, and groaned much at what he saw. then, after an hour, turning to those who were with him, he groaned and fell into a trembling, and rose up and prayed, and bending his knees, remained so a long while ; and then the old man rose up and wept. the bystanders, therefore, trembling and altogether terrified, asked him to tell them what had happened, and tormented him much, that he was forced to speak. and he groaning greatly — "ah! my children," he said, " it were better to be dead before what i have seen shall come to pass." and when they asked him again, he said with tears, that " wrath will seize on the church, and she will be given over to men like unto brutes, which have no understanding ; for i saw the table of the lord's house, and mules standing all ■/2 saint antony. around it in a ring and kicking inwards, as a herd does when it leaps in confusion ; and ye all perceived how i groaned, for i heard a voice saying, ' my sanctuary shall be defiled.' " this the old man saw, and after two years there befell the present inroad of the arians,* and the plunder of the churches, when they carried off the holy vessels by violence, and made the heathen carry them : and when too they forced the heathens from the prisons to join them, and in their presence did on the holy table what they would.f then we all per ceived that the kicks of those mules presignified to antony what the arians are now doing without understanding, like the brutes. but when antony saw this sight, he exhorted those about him, saying, " lose not heart, children ; for as the lord has been angry, so will he again be appeased, and the church shall soon receive again her own order and shine forth as she is wont ; and ye shall see the persecuted restored to their place, and impiety retreating again into its own dens, and the pious faith speaking boldly every where with all freedom. only defile not yourselves with the arians, for this teaching is not of the apostle but of the daemons, and of their father the devil : barren and irrational and of an unsound mind, like * probably that of a.d. 34.1, when gregory of cappadocia, nominated by the arian bishops, who had assembled at the council of antioch, expelled athanasius from the see of alexandria, and great violence was committed by his followers and by philagrius the prefect. atha nasius meanwhile fled to rome. t !•'. celebrated there their own communion. saint antony. 73 the irrational deeds of those mules." thus spoke antony. but we must not doubt whether so great wonders have been done by a man ; for the saviour's promise is, " if ye have faith as a grain of mustard-seed, ye shall say to this mountain, pass over from hence, it shall pass over, and nothing shall be impossible to you ; " and again, " verily, verily, i say unto you, if ye shall ask my father in my name, he shall give it you. ask, and ye shall receive." and he himself it is who said to his disciples and to all who believe in him, " heal the sick, cast out devils ; freely ye have received, freely give." and certainly antony did not heal by his own authority, but by praying and calling on christ; so that it was plain to all that it was not he who did it, but the lord, who through antony showed love to men, and healed the sufferers. but antony's part was only the prayer and the training, for the sake whereof, sitting in the moun tain, he rejoiced in the sight of divine things, and grieved when he was tormented by many, and dragged to the outer mountain. for all the magistrates asked him to come down from the mountain, because it was impossible for them to go in thither to him on account of the litigants who followed him ; so they begged him to come, that they might only behold him. and when he declined they insisted, and even sent in to him prisoners under the charge of soldiers, that at least on 'their account he might come down. so being forced by necessity, and seeing them lamenting, he came to 74 saint antony. the outer mountain. and his labour this time too was profitable to many, and his coming for their good. to the magistrates, too, he was of use, counselling them to prefer justice to all things, and to fear god, and to know that with what judgment they judged they should be judged in turn. but he loved best of all his life in the mountain. once again, when he was compelled in the same way to leave it, by those who were in want, and by the general of the soldiers, who entreated him earnestly, he came down, and having spoken to them somewhat of the things which conduced to salvation, he was pressed also by those who were in need. but being asked by the general to lengthen his stay, he refused, and persuaded him by a graceful parable, saying, " fishes, if they lie long on the dry land, die ; so monks who stay with you lose their strength. as the fishes then hasten to the sea, so must we to the mountain, lest if we delay we should forget what is within." the general, hearing this and much more from him, said with surprise that he was truly a servant of god, for whence could an un learned man have so great sense if he were not loved by god ? another general, named balacius, bitterly per secuted us christians on account of his affection for those abominable arians. his cruelty was so great that he even beat nuns, and stripped and scourged monks. antony sent him a letter to this effect: — " i see wrath coming upon thee. cease, therefore, to persecute the christians, lest the wrath lay hold upon thee, for it is near at hand." but balacius, laughing, saint antony. 75 threw the letter on the ground and spat on it ; and insulted those who brought it, bidding them tell antony, " since thou carest for monks, i will soon come after thee likewise." and not five days had passed, when the wrath laid hold on him. for bala cius himself, and nestorius, the eparch of egypt, went out to the first station from alexandria, which is called chasreas's. both of them were riding on horses belonging to balacius, and the most gentle in all his stud : but before they had got to the place, the horses began playing with each other, as is their wont, and suddenly the more gentle of the two, on which nestorius was riding, attacked balacius and pulled him off with his teeth, and so tore his thigh that he was carried back to the city, and died in three days. and all wondered that what antony had so wonder fully foretold was so quickly fulfilled. these were his warnings to the more cruel. but the rest who came to him he so instructed that they gave up at once their lawsuits, and blessed those who had retired from this life. and those who had been unjustly used he so protected that you would think he and not they was the sufferer. and he was so able to be of use to all ; so that many who were serving in the army, and many wealthy men, laid aside the burdens of life and became thenceforth monks; and altogether he was like a physician given by god to egypt. for who met him grieving, and did not go away rejoicing ? who came mourning over his dead, and did not forth with lay aside his grief ? who came wrathful, and was not converted to friendship ? what poor man 76 saint antony. came wearied out, and when he saw and heard him did not despise wealth and comfort himself in his poverty? what monk who had grown remiss, was not strengthened by coming to him ? what young man coming to the mountain and looking upon antony, did not forthwith renounce pleasure and love tempe rance ? who came to him tempted by devils, and did not get rest ? who came troubled by doubts, and did not get peace of mind ? for this was the great thing in antony's asceticism, that (as i have said before), having the gift of discerning spirits, he understood their movements, and knew in what direction each of them turned his endeavours and his attacks. and not only he was not deceived by them himself, but he taught those who were troubled in mind how they might turn aside the plots of daemons, teaching them the weakness and the craft of their enemies. how many maidens, too, who had been already betrothed, and only saw antony from afar, remained unmarried for christ's sake ! some, too, came from foreign parts to him, and all, having gained some benefit, went back from him as from a father. and now he has fallen asleep, all are as orphans who have lost a parent, consoling themselves with his memory alone, keeping his instructions and exhortations. but what the end of his life was like, it is fit that i should relate,and you hear eagerly. for it too is worthy of emulation. he was visiting, according to his wont, the monks in the outer mountain, and having learned from provi dence concerning his own end, he said to the brethren, " this visit to you is my last, and i wonder if we saint antony. 77 shall see each other again in this life. it is time for me to set sail, for i am near a hundred and five years old." and when they heard that they wept, and embraced and kissed the old man. and he, as if he was setting out from a foreign city to his own, spoke joyfully, and exhorted them not to grow idle in their labours or cowardly in their training, but to live as those who died daily, and (as i said before) to be earnest in keeping their souls from foul thoughts, and to emulate the saints, and not to draw near the mele tian schismatics, for " ye know their evil and profane determinations, nor to have any communion with the arians, for their impiety also is manifest to all. neither if ye shall see the magistrates patronising them, be troubled, for their phantasy shall have an end, and is mortal and only for a little while. keep yourselves therefore rather clean from them, and hold that which has been handed down to you by the fathers, and especially the faith in our lord jesus christ which ye have learned from scripture, and of which ye have often been reminded by me." and when the brethren tried to force him to stay with them and make his end there, he would not endure it, on many accounts, as he showed by his silence ; and especially on this : — the egyptians are wont to wrap in linen the corpses of good persons, and especially of the holy martyrs, but not to bury them underground, but to lay them upon benches and keep them in their houses;* thinking that by this they honour the * evidently the primaeval custom of embalming the dead, and keep ing mummies in the house, still lingered among the egyptians. 78 saint antony. departed. now antony had often asked the bishops to exhort the people about this, and in like manner he himself rebuked the laity and terrified the women; saying that it was a thing neither lawful nor in any way holy ; for that the bodies of the patriarchs and prophets are to this day preserved in sepulchres, and that the very body of our lord was laid in a sepulchre, and a stone placed over it to hide it, till he rose the third day. and thus saying he showed that those broke the law who did not bury the corpses of the dead, even if they were holy ; for what is greater or more holy than the lord's body ? many, then, when they heard him, buried thenceforth underground ; and blessed the lord that they had been taught rightly. being then aware of this, and afraid lest they should do the same by his body, he hurriedhimself, and bade farewell to the monks in the outer mountain ; and coming to the inner mountain, where he was wont to abide, after a few months he grew sick, and calling those who were by — and there were two of them who had remained there within fifteen years, exercising themselves and ministering to him on account of his old age — he said to them, " i indeed go the way of the fathers, as it is written, for i perceive that i am called by the lord." . . . [then follows a general exhortation to the monks, almost identical with much that has gone before, and ending by a command that his body should be buried in the ground.] " and let this word of mine be kept by you, so that no one shall know the place, save you alone, for t shall saint antony. 79 receive it (my body) incorruptible from my saviour in the resurrection of the dead. and distribute my garments thus. to athanasius the bishop give one of my sheepskins, and the cloak under me, which was new when he gave it me, and has grown old by me ; and to serapion the bishop give the other sheep skin ; and do you have the hair-cloth garment. and for the rest, children, farewell, for antony is going, and is with you no more." saying thus, when they had embraced him, he stretched out his feet, and, as if he saw friends coming to him, and grew joyful on their account (for, as he lay, his countenance was bright), he departed and was gathered to his fathers. and they forthwith, as he had commanded them, preparing the body and wrapping it up, hid it under ground : and no one knows to this day where it is hidden, save those two servants only. and each {i.e. athanasius and serapion) having received the sheepskin of the blessed antony, and the cloak which he had worn out, keeps them as a great possession. for he who looks on them, as it were, sees antony; and he who puts them on, wears them with joy, as he does antony's counsels. such was the end of antony in the body, and such the beginning of his training. and if these things are small in comparison with his virtue, yet reckon up from these things how great was antony, the man of god, who kept unchanged, from his youth up to so great an age, the earnestness of his train ing ; and was neither worsted in his old age by the 8o saint antony. desire of more delicate food, nor on account of the weakness of his body altered the quality of his gar ment, nor even washed his feet with water ; and yet remained uninjured in all his limbs : for his eyes were undimmed and whole, so that he saw well ; and not one of his teeth had fallen out, but they were only worn down to his gums on account of his great age ; and he remained sound in hand and foot ; and, in a word, appeared ruddier and more ready for exer tion than all who use various meats and baths, and different dresses. but that this man should be cele brated everywhere and wondered at by all, and regretted even by those who never saw him, is a proof of his virtue, and that his soul was dear to god. for antony became known not by writings, not from the wisdom that is from without, not by any art, but by piety alone ; and that this was the gift of god, none can deny. for how as far as spain, as gaul, as rome, as africa, could he have been heard, hidden as he was in a mountain, if it had not been for god, who makes known his own men everywhere, and who had promised antony this from the beginning? for even if they do their deeds in secret, and wish to be concealed, yet the lord shows them as lights to all, that so those who hear of them may know that the commandments suffice to put men in the right way, and may grow zealous of the path of virtue. read then these things to the other brethren, that they may learn what the life of monks should be, and may believe that the lord jesus christ our saviour saint antony. 81 will glorify those who glorify him, and that those who serve him to the end he will not only bring to the kingdom of heaven, but that even if on earth they hide themselves and strive to get out of the way, he will make them manifest and celebrated everywhere, for the sake of their own virtue, and for the benefit of others. but if need be, read this also to the heathens, that even thus they may learn that our lord jesus christ is not only lord and the son of god, but that those who truly serve him, and believe piously on him, not only prove that those daemons whom the greeks think are gods to be no gods, but even tread them under foot, and chase them out as deceivers and corrupters of men, through jesus christ our lord, to whom be glory and honour for ever and ever. amen. thus ends this strange story. what we are to think of the miracles and wonders contained in it, will be discussed at a later point in this book. mean while there is a stranger story still connected with the life of st. antony. it professes to have been told by him himself to his monks ; and whatever groundwork of fact there may be in it is doubtless his. the form in which we have it was given it by the famous st. jerome, who sends the tale as a letter to asella, one of the many noble roman ladies whom he persuaded to embrace the monastic life. the style is as well worth preserving as the matter. its ruggedness and awkwardness, its ambition and affectation, contrasted with the graceful simplicity of 82 sa/a't antomy. athanasius's " life of antony," mark well the differ ence between the cultivated greek and the ungraceful and half-barbarous roman of the later empire. i have, therefore, given it as literally as possible, that readers may judge for themselves how some of the great fathers of the fifth century wrote, and what they believed. the life of saint paul, the first hermit. by the divine hieronymus the priest. (st. jerome.) prologue. many have often doubted by which of the monks the desert was first inhabited. for some, looking for the beginnings of monachism in earlier ages, have deduced it from the blessed elias and john ; of whom elias seems to us to have been rather a prophet than a monk ; and john to have begun to prophesy before he was born. but others (an opinion in which all the common people are agreed) assert that an tony was the head of this rule of life, which is partly true. for he was not so much himself the first of all, as the man who excited the earnestness of all. but amathas and macarius, antony's disciples (the former of whom buried his master's body), even now affirm that a certain paul, a theban, was the be ginner of the matter ; which (not so much in name as in opinion) we also hold to be true. some scatter about, as the fancy takes them, both this and other stories ; inventing incredible tales of a man in a sub terranean cave, hairy down to his heels, and many g 2 84 paul, the first hermit. other things, which it is tedious to follow out. for, as their lie is shameless, their opinion does not seem worth refuting. therefore, because careful accounts of antony, both in greek and roman style, have been handed down, i have determined to write a little about the begin ning and end of paul's life ; more because the matter has been omitted, than trusting to my own wit. but how he lived during middle life, or what stratagems of satan he endured, is known to none. the life of paul. under decius and valerius, the persecutors, at the time when cornelius at rome, and cyprian at car thage, were condemned in blessed blood, a cruel tempest swept over many churches in egypt and the thebaid. christian subjects in those days longed to be smitten with the sword for the name of christ. but the crafty enemy, seeking out punishments which delayed death, longed to slay souls, not bodies. and as cyprian himself (who suffered by him) says : " when they longed to die, they were not allowed to be slain." in order to make his cruelty better known, we have set down two examples for remem brance. a martyr, persevering in the faith, and conqueror amid racks and red-hot irons, he commanded to be fa ul, the first hermit. 85 anointed with honey and laid on his back under a burning sun, with his hands tied behind him ; in order, forsooth, that he who had already conquered the fiery gridiron, might yield to the stings of flies. ***#*•*■# in those days, in the lower thebaid, was paul left at the death of both his parents, in a rich inheritance, with a sister already married ; being about fifteen years old, well taught in greek and egyptian letters, gentle tempered, loving god much ; and, when the storm of persecution burst, he withdrew into a distant city. but " to what dost thou not urge the human breast curst hunger after gold 1 " his sister's husband was ready to betray him whom he should have concealed. neither the tears of his wife, the tie of blood, or god who looks on all things from on high, could call him back from his crime. he was at hand, ready to seize him, making piety a pretext for cruelty. the boy discovered it, and fled into the desert hills. once there he changed need into pleasure, and going on, and then stopping awhile, again and again, reached at last a stony cliff, at the foot wherof was, nigh at hand, a great cave, its mouth closed with a stone. having moved which away (as man's longing is to know the hidden), exploring more greedily, he sees within a great hall, open to the sky above, but shaded by the spreading boughs of an ancient palm ; and in it a clear spring, the rill from which, flowing a short space forth, was sucked up again by the same ho paul, the first hermit. soil which had given it birth. there were besides in that cavernous mountain not a few dwellings, in which he saw rusty anvils and hammers, with which coin had been stamped of old. for this place (so books say) was the workshop for base coin in the days when antony lived with cleopatra. therefore, in this beloved dwelling, offered him as it were by god, he spent all his life in prayer and solitude, while the palm-tree gave him food and clothes ; which lest it should seem impossible to some, i call jesus and his holy angels to witness that i have seen monks one of whom, shut up for thirty years, lived on barley bread and muddy water ; another in an old cistern, which in the country speech they call the syrian's bed, was kept alive on five figs each day. these things, therefore, will seem incre dible to those who do not believe ; for to those who do believe all things are possible. but to return thither whence i digressed. when the blessed paul had been leading the heavenly life on earth for 113 years, and antony, ninety years old, was dwelling in another solitude, this thought (so antony was wont to assert) entered his mind — that no monk more perfect than he had settled in the desert but as he lay still by night, it was revealed to him that there was another monk beyond him far better than he, to visit whom he must set out. sc when the light broke, the venerable old man, support ing his weak limbs on a staff, began to will to go, he knew not whither. and now the mid day, with the sun roasting above, grew fierce ; and yet he was not paul, the first hermit. k7 turned from the journey he had begun, saying, '' i trust in my god, that he will show his servant that which he has promised." and as he spake, he sees a man half horse, to whom the poets have given the name of hippocentaur. seeing whom, he crosses his forehead with the salutary impression of the cross, and, " here ! " he says, " in what part here does a servant of god dwell?" but he, growling i know not what barbarous sound, and grinding rather than uttering, the words, attempted a courteous speech from lips rough with bristles, and, stretching out his right hand, pointed to the way; then, fleeing swiftly across the open plains, vanished from the eyes of the wondering antony. but whether the devil took this form to terrify him ; or whether the desert, fertile (as is its wont) in monstrous animals, begets that beast likewise, we hold as uncertain. so antony, astonished, and thinking over what he had seen, goes forward. soon afterwards, he sees in a stony valley a short manikin, with crooked nose and brow rough with horns, whose lower parts ended in goat's feet. undismayed by this spectacle like wise, antony seized, like a good warrior, the shield of faith and habergeon of hope ; the animal, however, was bringing him dates, as food for his journey, and a pledge of peace. when he saw that, antony pushed on, and, asking him who he was, was answered, "i am a mortal, and one of the inhabitants of the desert, whom the gentiles, deluded by various errors, worship by the name of fauns, satyrs, and incubi. i come as ambassador from our herd, that thou mayest pray 88 paul, the first hermjt. for us to the common god, who, we know, has come for the salvation of the world, and his sound is gone out into all lands." as he spoke thus, the aged way farer bedewed his face plenteously with tears, which the greatness of his joy had poured forth as signs of his heart. for he rejoiced at the glory of christ, and the destruction of satan ; and, wondering at the same time that he could understand the creature's speech, he smote on the ground with his staff, and said, " woe to thee, alexandria, who worshippest portents instead of god ! woe to thee, harlot city, into which all the daemons of the world have flowed together ! what wilt thou say now ? beasts talk of christ, and thou wor shippest portents instead of god." he had hardly finished his words, when the swift beast fled away as upon wings. lest this should move a scruple in any one on account of its incredibility, it was corrobo rated, in the reign of constantine, by the testimony of the whole world. for a man of that kind, being led alive to alexandria, afforded a great spectacle to the people ; and afterwards the lifeless carcase, being salted lest it should decay in the summer heat, was brought to antioch, to be seen by the emperor. but — to go on with my tale — antony went on through that region, seeing only the tracks of wild beasts, and the wide waste of the desert. what he should do, or whither turn, he knew not. a second day had now run by. one thing remained, to be confident that he could not be deserted by christ. all night through he spent a second darkness in prayer, and while the light was still dim, he sees paul, the. first hermit. 89 afar a she-wolf, panting with heat and thirst, creep ing in at the foot of the mountain. following her with his eyes, and drawing nigh to the cave when the beast was gone, he began to look in : but in vain ; for the darkness stopped his view. however, as the scripture saith, perfect love casteth out fear ; with gentle step and bated breath the cunning explorer entered, and going forward slowly, and stopping often, watched for a sound. at length he saw afar off a light through the horror of the darkness ; hastened on more greedily ; struck his foot against a stone ; and made a noise, at which the blessed paul shut and barred his door, which had stood open. then antony, casting himself down before the entrance, prayed there till the sixth hour, and more, to be let in, saying, "who i am, and whence, and why i am come, thou knowest. i know that i de serve not to see thy face; yet, unless i see thee, i will not return. thou who receivest beasts, why repellest thou a man ? i have sought, and i have found. i knock, that it may be opened to me : which if i win not, here will i die before thy gate. surely thou shalt at least bury my corpse." " persisting thus he spoke, and stood there fixed : to whom the hero shortly thus replied." "no one begs thus to threaten. no one does injury with tears. and dost thou wonder why i do not let thee in, seeing thou art a mortal guest ?" then paul, smiling, opened the door. they mingled mutual embraces, and saluted each other by their names, and committed themselves in common to the 9o paul, the first hermit. grace of god. and after the holy kiss, paul sitting down with antony thus began — " behold him, whom thou hast sought with such labour ; with limbs decayed by age, and covered with unkempt white hair. behold, thou seest but a mortal, soon to become dust. but, because charity bears all things, tell me, i pray thee, how fares the human race ? whether new houses are rising in the ancient cities ? by what emperor is the world governed ? whether there are any left who are led captive by the deceits of the devil ? " as they spoke thus, they saw a raven settle on a bough ; who, flying gently down, laid, to their wonder, a whole loaf before them. when he was gone, " ah," said paul, " the lord, truly loving, truly merciful, hath sent us a meal. for sixty years past i have received daily half a loaf, but at thy coming christ hath doubled his soldiers' allowance." then, having thanked god, they sat down on the brink of the glassy spring. but here a contention arising as to which of them should break the loaf, occupied the day till well-nigh evening. paul insisted, as the host ; antony declined, as the younger man. at last it was agreed that they should take hold of the loaf at opposite ends, and each pull towards himself, and keep what was left in his hand. next they stooped down, and drank a little water from the spring ; then, immolating to god the sacrifice of praise, passed the night watching. and when day dawned again, the blessed paul said to antony, " i knew long since, brother, that thou wert dwelling in these lands; long since god paul, the first hermit. 91 had promised thee to me as a fellow servant : but because the time of my falling asleep is now come, and (because i always longed to depart, and to be with christ) there is laid up for me when i have finished my course a crown of righteousness ; therefore thou art sent from the lord to cover my corpse with mould, and give back dust to dust." antony, hearing this, prayed him with tears and groans not to desert him, but take him as his com panion on such a journey. but he said, " thou must not seek the things which are thine own, but the things of others. it is expedient for thee, indeed, to cast off the burden of the flesh, and to follow the lamb : but it is expedient for the rest of the brethren that they should be still trained by thine example. wherefore go, unless it displease thee, and bring the cloak which athanasius the bishop gave thee, to wrap up my corpse." but this the blessed paul asked, not because he cared greatly whether his body decayed covered or bare (as one who for so long a time was used to clothe himself with woven palm leaves), but that antony's grief at his death might be lightened when he left him. antony astounded that he had heard of athanasius and his own cloak, seeing as it were christ in paul, and venerating the god within his breast, dared answer nothing : but keeping in silence, and kissing his eyes and hands, returned to the monastery, which afterwards was occupied by the saracens. his steps could not follow his spirit ; but, although his body was empty with fastings, and broken with old age, yet his courage conquered his 92 paul, the first hermit. years. at last, tired and breathless, he arrived at home. there two disciples met him, who had been long sent to minister to him, and asked him, " where hast thou tarried so long, father ? " he answered, " woe to me a sinner, who falsely bear the name of a monk. i have seen elias ; i have seen john in the desert ; i have truly seen paul in paradise ; " and so, closing his lips, and beating his breast, he took the cloak from his cell, and when his disciples asked him to explain more fully what had befallen, he said, " there is a time to be silent, and a time to speak." then going out, and not taking even a morsel of food, he returned by the way he had come. for he feared — what actually happened — lest paul in his absence should render up the soul he owed to christ. and when the second day had shone, and he had retraced his steps for three hours, he saw amid hosts of angels, amid the choirs of prophets and apostles/ paul shining white as snow, ascending up on high ; and forthwith falling on his face, he cast sand on his head, and weeping and wailing, said, " why dost thou dismiss me, paul ? why dost thou depart without a farewell ? so late known, dost thou vanish so soon ? " the blessed antony used to tell after wards, how he ran the rest of the way so swiftly that he flew like a bird. nor without cause. for enter ing the cave he saw, with bended knees, erect neck, and hands spread out on high, a lifeless corpse. and at first, thinking that it still lived, he prayed in like wise. but when he heard no sighs (as usual) come from the worshipper's breast, he fell to a tearful kiss, under £ ft pa ul, the first herm/t. 93 standing how the very corpse of the saint was praying, in seemly attitude, to that god to whom all live. so, having wrapped up and carried forth the corpse, and chanting hymns of the christian tradition, antony grew sad, because he had no spade, where with to dig the ground ; and thinking over many plans in his mind, said, " if i go back to the monas tery, it is a three days' journey. if i stay here, i shall be of no more use. i will die, then, as it is fit ; and, falling beside thy warrior, christ, breathe my last breath." as he was thinking thus to himself, lo ! two lions came running from the inner part of the desert, their manes tossing on their necks ; seeing whom he shuddered at first ; and then, turning his mind to god, remained fearless, as though he were looking upon doves. they came straight to the corpse of the blessed old man, and crouched at his feet, wagging their tails, and roaring with mighty growls, so that antony understood them to lament, as best they could. then not far off they began to claw the •ground with their paws, and, carrying out the sand eagerly, dug a place large enough to hold a man : then at once, as if begging a reward for their work, they came to antony, drooping their necks, and lick ing his hands and feet. but he perceived that they prayed a blessing from him; and at once, bursting into praise of christ, because even dumb animals felt that he was god, he saith, " lord, without whose word not a leaf of the tree drops, nor one sparrow falls to the ground, give to them as thou knowest 94 pa ul, the first hermit. how to give." and, signing to them with his hand, he bade them go. and when they had departed, he bent his aged shoulders to the weight of the holy corpse ; and lay ing it in the grave, heaped earth on it, and raised a mound as is the wont. and when another dawn shone, lest the pious heir should not possess aught of the goods of the intestate dead, he kept for himself the tunic which paul had woven, as baskets are made, out of the leaves of the palm ; and returning to the monastery, told his disciples all throughout ; and, on the solemn days of easter and pentecost, always clothed himself in paul's tunic. i am inclined, at the end of my treatise, to ask those who know not the extent of their patrimonies ; who cover their houses with marbles ; who sew the price of whole farms into their garments with a single thread — what was ever wanting to this naked old man ? ye drink from a gem ; he satisfied nature from the hollow of his hands. ye weave gold into your tunics ; he had not even the vilest garment of your bond-slave. but, on the other hand, to that poor man paradise is open ; you, gilded as you are, gehenna will receive. he, though naked, kept the garment of christ ; you, clothed in silk, have lost christ's robe. paul lies covered with the meanest dust, to rise in glory ; you are crushed by wrought sepulchres of stone, to burn with all your works. spare, i beseech you, yourselves ; spare, at least, the riches which you love. why do you wrap even your dead in golden vestments ? why does not ambition stop amid grief and tears ? can pa ul, the first hermit. 95 not the corpses of the rich decay, save in silk ? i beseech thee, whosoever thou art that readest this, to remember hieronymus the sinner, who, if the lord gave him choice, would much sooner choose paul's tunic with his merits, than the purple of kings with their punishments. this is the story of paul and antony, as told by jerome. but, in justice to antony himself, it must be said that the sayings recorded of him seem to show that he was not the mere visionary ascetic which his biographers have made him. some twenty ser mons are attributed to him, seven of which only are considered to be genuine. a rule for monks, too, is called his : but, as it is almost certain that he could neither read nor write, we have no proof that any of these documents convey his actual language. if the seven sermons attributed to him be really his, it must be said for them that they are full of sound doctrine and vital religion, and worthy, as wholes, to be preached in any english church, if we only substitute for the word " monk," the word " man." but there are records of antony which represent him as a far more genial and human personage ; full of a knowledge of human nature, and of a tenderness and sympathy, which account for his undoubted power over the minds of men ; and showing, too, at times, a certain covert and "pawky" humour which puts us in mind, as does the humour of many of the egyptian hermits, of the old-fashioned scotch. these remi niscences are contained in the " words of the elders," q6 words of the elders. a series of anecdotes of the desert fathers collected by various hands ; which are, after all, the most inte resting and probably the most trustworthy accounts of them and their ways. i shall have occasion to quote them later. i insert here some among them which relate to antony. sayings of antony, from the "words of the elders." a monk gave away his wealth to the poor, but kept back some for himself. antony said to him, " go to the village and buy meat, and bring it to me on thy bare back." he did so: and the dogs and birds attacked him, and tore him as well as the meat. quoth antony, " so are those who renounce the world, and yet must needs have money, torn by daemons." antony heard high praise of a certain brother ; but, when he tested him, he found that he was impatient under injury. quoth antony, " thou art like a house which has a gay porch, but is broken into by thieves through the back door." antony, as he sat in the desert, was weary in heart, and said, " lord, i long to be saved, but my wander ing thoughts will not let me. show me what i shall do." and looking up, he saw one like himself twist ing ropes, and rising up to pray. and the angel (for it was one) said to him, " work like me, antony, and you shall be saved." one asked him how he could please god. quoth antony, " have god always before thine eyes ; what words of the elders. 97 ever work thou doest, take example for it out of holy scripture : wherever thou stoppest, do not move thence in a hurry, but abide there in patience. if thou keepest these three things, thou shalt be saved." quoth antony, " if the baker did not cover the mill-horse's eyes he would eat the corn, and take his own wages. so god covers our eyes, by leaving us to sordid thoughts, lest we should think of our own good works, and be puffed up in spirit." quoth antony, " i saw all the snares of the enemy spread over the whole earth. and i sighed, and said, ' who can pass through these ? ' and a voice came to me, saying, ' humility alone can pass through, antony, where the proud can in no wise go.' " antony was sitting in his cell, and a voice said to him, " thou hast not yet come to the stature of a currier, who lives in alexandria." then he took his staff, and went down to alexandria and the currier, when he found him, was astonished at seeing so great a man. said antony, "tell me thy works; for on thy account have i come out of the desert." and he answered, " i know not that i ever did any good ; and, therefore, when i rise in the morning, i say that this whole city, from the greatest to the least, will enter into the kingdom of god for their righteousness: while i, for my sins, shall go to eternal pain. and this i say over again, from the bottom of my heart, when i lie down at night." when antony heard that, he said, "like a good goldsmith, thou hast gained the kingdom of god sitting still in thy house ; while i, as one without discretion, have been haunting s.l. ii. h words of the elders. the desert all my time, and yet not arrived at the measure of thy saying." quoth antony, " if a monk could tell his elders how many steps he walks, or how many cups of water he drinks, in his cell, he ought to tell them, for fear of going wrong therein." at alexandria, antony met one didymus, most learned in the scriptures, witty, and wise: but he was blind. antony asked him, "art thou not grieved at thy blindness ? " he was silent : but being pressed by antony, he confessed that he was sad thereat. quoth antony, " i wonder that a prudent man grieves over the loss of a thing which ants, and flies, and gnats have, instead of rejoicing in that possession which the holy apostles earned. for it is better to see with the spirit than with the flesh." a father asked antony, "what shall i do?" quoth the old man, " trust not in thine own righteousness ; regret not the thing which • is past ; bridle thy tongue and thy stomach." quoth antony, " he who sits still in the desert is safe from three enemies : from hearing, from speech, from sight : and has to fight against only one, his own heart.'' a young monk came and told antony how he had seen some old men weary on their journey, and had bidden the wild asses to come and carry him, and they came. quoth antony, " that monk looks to me like a ship laden with a precious cargo ; but whether it will get into port is uncertain." and after some days he began to tear his hair and weep ; and when words of the elders. 99 they asked him why, he said, " a great pillar of the church has just fallen ; " and he sent brothers to see the young man, and found him sitting on his mat, weeping over a great sin which he had done ; and he said, " tell antony to give me ten days' truce, and i hope i shall satisfy him ;" and in five days he was dead. abbot elias fell into temptation, and the brethren drove him out. then he went to the mountain to antony. after awhile, antony sent him home to his brethren ; but they would not receive him. then the old man sent to them, and saying, " a ship has been wrecked at sea, and lost all its cargo ; and, with much toil, the ship is come empty to land. will you sink it again in the sea ? " so they took elias back. quoth antony, " there are some who keep their bodies in abstinence : but, because they have no dis cretion, they are far from god." a hunter came by, and saw antony rejoicing with the brethren, and it displeased him. quoth antony, " put an arrow in thy bow, and draw;" and he did. quoth antony, " draw higher ; " and again, " draw higher still." and he said, " if i overdraw, i shall break my bow." quoth antony, " so it is in the work of god. if we stretch the brethren beyond measure, they fail." a brother said to antony, " pray for me." quoth he, " i cannot pity thee, nor god either, unless thou pitiest thyself, and prayest to god." quoth antony, "the lord does not permit wars to arise in this generation, because he knows that men are weak, and cannot bear them." h 2 words of the elders. antony, as he considered the depths of the judg ments of god, failed ; and said, " lord, why do some die so early, and some live on to a decrepit age ? why are some needy, and others rich ? why are the unjust wealthy, and the just poor ? " and a voice came to him, "antony, look to thyself. these are the judgments of god, which are not fit for thee to know." quoth antony to abbot pastor, " this is a man's great business — to lay each man his own fault on him self before the lord, and to expect temptation to the last day of his life." quoth antony, " if a man works a few days, and then is idle, and works again and is idle again, he . does nothing, and will not possess the perseverance of patience." quoth antony to his disciples, " if you try to keep silence, do not think that you are exercising a virtue, but that you are unworthy to speak." certain old men came once to antony; and he wished to prove them, and began to talk of holy scripture, and to ask them, beginning at the youngest, what this and that text meant. and each answered as best they could. but he kept on saying, " you have not yet found it out." and at last he asked abbot joseph, " and what dost thou think this text means ? " quoth abbot joseph, " i do not know." quoth antony, "abbot joseph alone has found out the way, for he says he does not know it." quoth antony, " i do not now fear god, but love him, for love drives out fear." words of the elders. he said again, " life and death are very near us ; for if we gain our brother, we gain god : but if we cause our brother to offend, we sin against christ." a philosopher asked antony, " how art thou content, father, since thou hast not the comfort of books?" quoth antony, " my book is the nature of created things. .in it, when i choose, i can read the words of god." brethren came to antony, and asked of him a say ing by which they might be saved. quoth he, " ye have heard the scriptures, and know what christ requires of you." but they begged that he would tell them something of his own. quoth he, " the gospel says, ' if a man smite you on one cheek, turn to him the other.' " but they said that they could not do that. quoth he, " you cannot turn the other cheek to him ? then let him smite you again on the same one.'' but they said they could not do that either. then said he, " if you cannot, at least do not return evil for evil." and when they said that neither could they do that, quoth antony to his disciples, " go, get them something to eat, for they are very weak." and he said to them, " if you cannot do the one, and will not have the other, what do you want ? as i see, what you want is prayer. that will heal your weakness." quoth antony, " he who would be free from his sins must be so by weeping and mourning ; and he who would be built up in virtue must be built up by tears." quoth antony, " when the stomach is full of words of the elders. meat, forthwith the great vices bubble out, according to that which the saviour says : ' that which entereth into the mouth defileth not a man ; but that which cometh out of the heart sinks a man in destruction.' " [this may be a somewhat paradoxical application of the text : but the last anecdote of antony which i shall quote is full of wisdom and humanity.] a monk came from alexandria, eulogius by name, bringing with him a man afflicted with elephantiasis. now eulogius had been a scholar, learned, and rich, and had given away all he had save a very little, which he kept because he could not work with his own hands. and he told antony how he had found that wretched man lying in the street fifteen years before, having lost then nearly every member save his tongue, and how he had taken him home to his cell, nursed him, bathed him, physicked him, fed him ; and how the man had returned him nothing save slanders, curses, and insults ; how he had insisted on having meat, and had had it ; and on going out in public, and had company brought to him ; and how he had at last demanded to be put down again whence he had been taken, always cursing and slandering. and now eulogius could bear the man no longer, and was minded to take him at his word. then said antony with an angry voice, " wilt thou cast him out, eulogius ? he who remembers that he made him, will not cast him out. if thou cast him out, he will find a better friend than thee. god will choose some one who will take him up when he is words of the elders. 103 cast away." eulogius was terrified at these words, and held his peace. then went antony to the sick man, and shouted at him, "thou elephantiac, foul with mud and dirt, not worthy of the third heaven, wilt thou not stop shouting blasphemies against god ? dost thou not know that he who ministers to thee is christ ? how darest thou say such things against christ ? " and he bade eulogius and the sick man go back to their cell, and live in peace, and never part more. both went back, and, after forty days, eulogius died, and the sick man shortly after, "altogether whole in spirit." hilarion. 1 would gladly, did space allow, give more bio graphies from among those of the egyptian hermits : but it seems best, having shown the reader antony as the father of egyptian monachism, to go on to his great pupil hilarion, the father of monachism in palestine. his life stands written at length by st. jerome, who himself died a monk at bethlehem ; and is composed happily in a less ambitious and less rugged style than that of paul, not without elements of beauty, even of tragedy. prologue. remember me in thy holy prayers, glory and honour of virgins, nun asella. before beginning to write the life of the blessed hilarion, i invoke the holy spirit which dwelt in him, that, as he largely be stowed virtues on hilarion, he may give to me speech wherewith to relate them ; so that his deeds may be equalled by my language. for those who (as cris pus says) " have wrought virtues " are held to have been worthily praised in proportion to the words in hilarion. 105 which famous intellects have been able to extol them. alexander the great, the macedonian (whom daniel calls either the brass, or the leopard, or the he-goat), on coming to the tomb of achilles, " happy art thou, youth," he said, " who hast been blest with a great herald of thy worth " — meaning homer. but i have to tell the conversation and life of such and so great a man, that even homer, were he here, would either envy my matter, or succumb under it. for although st. epiphanius, bishop of salamina in cyprus, who had much intercourse with hilarion, has written his praise in a short epistle, which is commonly read, yet it is one thing to praise the dead in general phrases, another to relate his special virtues. we therefore set to work rather to his advantage than to his injury; and despise those evil-speakers who lately carped at paul, and will perhaps now carp at my hilarion, unjustly blaming, the former for his solitary life, and the latter for his intercourse with men ; in order that the one, who was never seen, may be supposed not to have existed; the other, who was seen by many, may be held cheap. this was the way of their ancestors likewise, the pharisees, who were neither satisfied with john's desert life and fasting, nor with the lord saviour's public life, eating and drinking. but i shall lay my hand to the work which i have determined, and pass by, with stopped ears, the hounds of scylla. i pray that thou mayest persevere in christ, and be mindful of me in thy prayers, most sacred virgin. io6 hilarion. the life. hilarion was born in the village of thabatha, which lies about five miles to the south of gaza, in palestine. he had parents given to the worship of idols, and blossomed (as the saying is) a rose among the thorns. sent by them to alexandria, he was en trusted to a grammarian, and there, as far as his years allowed, gave proof of great intellect and good morals. he was soon dear to all, and skilled in the art of speaking. and, what is more than all, he believed in the lord jesus, and delighted neither in the madness of the circus, in the blood of the arena, or in the luxury of the theatre : but all his heart was in the congregation of the church. but hearing the then famous name of antony, which was carried throughout all egypt, he was fired with a longing to visit him, and went to the desert. as soon as he saw him he changed his dress, and stayed with him about two months, watching the order of his life, and the purity of his manner ; how frequent he was in prayers, how humble in receiving brethren, severe in reproving them, eager in exhorting them; and how no infirmity ever broke through his con tinence, and the coarseness of his food. but, unable to bear longer the crowd which assembled round antony, for various diseases and attacks of devils, he said that it was not consistent to endure in the hilarion. 107 desert the crowds of cities, but that he must rather begin where antony had begun. antony, as a valiant man, was receiving the reward of victory : he had not yet begun to serve as a soldier. he re turned, therefore, with certain monks to his own country; and, finding his parents dead, gave away part of his substance to the brethren, part to the poor, and kept nothing at all for himself, fearing what is told in the acts of the apostles, the example or punishment, of ananias and sapphira; and espe cially mindful of the lord's saying — " he that leav eth not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple." he was then fifteen years old. so, naked, but armed in christ, he entered the desert, which, seven miles from maiuma, the port of gaza, turns away to the left of those who go along the shore towards egypt and though the place was blood-stained by robbers, and his relations and friends warned him of the imminent danger, he despised death, in order to escape death. all wondered at his spirit, wondered at his youth. save that a certain fire of the bosom and spark of faith glittered in his eyes, his cheeks were smooth, his body delicate and thin, unable to bear any injury, and liable to be overcome by even a light chill or heat. so, covering his limbs only with a sackcloth, and having a cloak of skin, which the blessed antony had given him at starting, and a rustic cloak, between the sea and the swamp, he enjoyed the vast and terrible solitude, feeding on only fifteen figs after the setting of the sun ; and because the region was, as io8 hilar10n. has been said above, of ill-repute from robberies, no man had ever stayed before in that place. the devil, seeing what he was doing and whither he had gone, was tormented. and though he, who of old boasted, saying, " i shall ascend into heaven, i shall sit above the stars of heaven, and shall be like unto the most high," now saw that he had been conquered by a boy, and trampled under foot by him, ere, on account of his youth, he could com mit sin. he therefore began to tempt his senses ; but he, enraged with himself, and beating his breast with his fist, as if he could drive out thoughts by blows, " i will force thee, mine ass," said he, " not to kick ; and feed thee with straw, not barley. i will wear thee out with hunger and thirst ; i will burden thee with heavy loads ; i will hunt thee through heat and cold, till thou thinkest more of food than of play." he therefore sustained his fainting spirit with the juice of herbs and a few figs, after each three or four days, praying frequently, and singing psalms, and digging the ground with a mattock, to double the labour of fasting by that of work. at the same time, by weaving baskets of rushes, he imitated the disci pline of the egyptian monks, and the apostle's saying — " he that will not work, neither let him eat " — till he was so attenuated, and his body so exhausted, that it scarce clung to his bones. one night he began to hear the crying* of infants, the bleating of sheep, the wailing of women, the * these sounds, like those which st. guthlac heard in the english fens, are plainly those of wild-fowl hilar10n. log roaring of lions, the murmur of an army, and utterly portentous and barbarous voices ; so that he shrank frightened by the sound ere he saw aught. he understood these to be the insults of devils ; and, falling on his knees, he signed the cross of christ on his forehead, and armed with that helmet, and girt with the breastplate of faith, he fought more valiantly as he lay, longing somehow to see what he shuddered to hear, and looking round him with anxious eyes : when, without warning, by the bright moonshine he saw a chariot with fiery horses rushing upon him. but when he had called on jesus, the earth opened suddenly, and the whole pomp was swal lowed up before his eyes. then said he, " the horse and his rider ne hath drowned in the sea ;" and " some glory themselves in chariots, and some in horses : but we in the name of the lord our god." many were his temptations, and various, by day and night, the snares of the devils. if we were to tell them all, they would make the volume too long. how often did ' women appear to him ; how often plenteous banquets when he was hungry. sometimes as he prayed, a howling wolf ran past him, or a barking fox ; or as he sang, a fight of gladiators made a show for him : and one of them, as if slain, falling at his feet, prayed for sepulture. he prayed once with his head bowed to the ground, and — as is the nature of man — his mind wandered from his prayer, and thought of i know not what, when a mocking rider leaped on his back, and spurring his sides, and whipping his neck, " come," he cries, " come, run ! why do you sleep ? " hilarion. and, laughing loudly over him, asked him if he were tired, or would have a feed of barley. so from his sixteenth to his twentieth year, he was sheltered from the heat and rain in a tiny cabin, which he had woven of rush and sedge. afterwards he built a little cell, which remains to this day, four feet wide and five feet high — that is, lower than his own stature — and somewhat longer than his small body needed, so that you would believe it to be a tomb rather than a dwelling. he cut his hair only once a year, on easter-day, and lay till his death on the bare ground and a layer of rushes, never washing the sack in which he was clothed, and saying that it was superfluous to seek for cleanliness in hair-cloth. nor did he change his tunic, till the first was utterly in rags. he knew the scriptures by heart, and re cited them after his prayers and psalms as if god were present. and, because it would take up too much time to tell his great deeds one by one, i will give a short account of them. [then follows a series of miracles, similar to those attributed to st. antony, and, indeed, to all these great hermit fathers. but it is unnecessary to relate more wonders which the reader cannot be expected to believe. these miracles, however, according to st. jerome, were the foundations of hilarion's fame and public career. for he says, " when they were noised abroad, people flowed to him eagerly from syria to egypt, so that many believed in christ, and professed themselves to be monks — for no one had known of a monk in syria hilarion. in before the holy hilarion. he was the first founder and teacher of this conversation and study in the province. the lord jesus had in egypt the old man antony ; he had in palestine the young hilarion .... he was raised, indeed, by the lord to such a glory, that the blessed antony, hearing of his conversa tion, wrote to him, and willingly received his letters ; and if rich people came to him from the parts of syria, he said to them, 'why have you chosen to trouble yourselves by coming so far, when you have at home my son hilarion ? ' so by his example innumerable monasteries arose throughout all pales tine, and all monks came eagerly to him .... but what a care he had, not to pass by any brother, however humble or however poor, may be shown by this ; that once going into the desert of kadesh, to visit one of his disciples, he came, with an in finite crowd of monks, to elusa, on the very day, as it chanced, on which a yearly solemnity had gathered all the people of the town to the temple of venus ; for they honour her on account of the morn ing star, to the worship of which the nation of the saracens is devoted. the town itself too is said to be in great part semi-barbarous, on account of its remote situation. hearing, then, that the holy hilarion was passing by — for he had often cured saracens possessed with daemons — they came out to meet him in crowds, with their wives and children, bowing their decks, and crying in the syrian tongue, ' barech ! ' that is, ' bless ! ' he received them courteously and humbly, entreating them to worship god rather than hilarion. stones, and wept abundantly, looking up to heaven, and promising them that, if they would believe in christ, he would come oftener to them. wonderful was the grace of the lord. they would not let him depart till he had laid the foundations of a future church, and their priest, crowned as he was, had been consecrated with the sign of christ. ******* he was now sixty-three years old. he saw about him a great monastery, a multitude of brethren, and crowds who came to be healed of diseases and un clean spirits, filling the solitude around ; but he wept daily, and remembered with incredible regret his ancient life. "i have returned to the world," he said, " and received my reward in this life. all palestine and the neighbouring provinces think me to be worth somewhat; while i possess a farm and household goods, under the pretext of the brethren's advantage." on which the brethren, and especially hesychius, who bore him a wondrous love, watched him narrowly. when he had lived thus sadly for two years, aristaeneta, the prefect's wife, came to him, wish ing him to go with her to antony. " i would go," he said, weeping, " if i were not held in the prison of this monastery, and if it were of any use. for two days since, the whole world was robbed of such a father." she believed him, and stopped. and antony's death was confirmed a few days after. others may wonder at the signs and portents which he did, at his incredible abstinence, his silence, his hilarion. 113 miracles : i am astonished at nothing so much as that he was able to trample under foot that glory and honour. bishops and clergy, monks and christian matrons (a great temptation), people of the common sort; great men, too, and judges crowded to him, to receive from him blessed bread or oil. but he was thinking of nothing but the desert, till one day he determined to set out, and taking an ass (for he was so shrunk with fasting that he could hardly walk), he tried to go his way. the news got wind ; the desolation and destruction of palestine would ensue; ten thousand souls, men and women, tried to stop his way ; but he would not hear them. smiting on the ground with his staff, he said, " i will not make my god a liar. i cannot bear to see churches ruined, the altars of christ trampled down, the blood of my sons spilt." all who heard thought that some secret revelation had been made to him: but yet they would not let him go. whereon he would neither eat nor drink, and for seven days he persevered fasting, till he had his wish, and set out for bethulia, with forty monks, who could march without food till sundown. on the fifth day he came to pelusium, then to the camp thebatrum, to see dracontius ; and then to babylon to see philo. these two were bishops and confessors exiled by constantius, who favoured the arian heresy. then he came to aphroditon, where he met barsanes the deacon, who used to carry water to antony on dromedaries, and heard from him that the anniversary of antony's death was near, and would be celebrated s.l. u. x ti4 hilarion. by a vigil at his tomb. then through a vast and horrible wilderness, he went for three days to a very high mountain, and found there two monks, isaac and pelusianus, of whom isaac had been antony's inter preter. a high and rocky hill it was, with fountains gushing out at its foot. some of them the sand sucked up ; some formed a little rill, with palms without number on its banks. there you might have seen the old man wandering to and fro with antony's disciples. " here," they said, "he used to sing, here to pray, here to work, here to sit when tired. these vines, these shrubs, he planted himself; that plot he laid out with his own hands. this pond to water the garden he made with heavy toil ; that hoe he kept for many years." hilarion lay on his bed, and kissed the couch, as if it were still warm. antony's cell was only large enough to let a man lie down in it; and on the mountain top, reached by a difficult and winding stair, were two other cells of the same size, cut in the stony rock, to which he used to retire from the visitors and disciples, when they came to the garden. "you see," said isaac, "this orchard, with shrubs and vegetables. three years since a troop of wild asses laid it waste. he bade one of their leaders stop ; and beat it with his staff. ' why do you eat,' he asked it, ' what you did not sow ? ' and after that the asses, though they came to drink the waters, never touched his plants." then hilarion asked them to show him antony's grave. they led him apart ; but whether they hilarion. n; showed it to him, no man knows. they hid it, they said, by antony's command, lest one pergamius, who was the richest man of those parts, should take the corpse to his villa, and build a chapel over it. then he went back to aphroditon, and with only two brothers, dwelt in the desert, in such abstinence and silence that (so he said) he then first began to serve christ. now it was then three years since the heaven had been shut, and the earth dried up : so that they said commonly, the very elements mourned the death of antony. but hilarion's fame spread to them ; and a great multitude, brown and shrunken with famine, cried to him for rain, as to the blessed antony's successor. he saw them, and grieved over them; and lifting up his hand to heaven, obtained rain at once. but the thirsty and sandy land, as soon as it was watered by showers, sent forth such a crowd of serpents and venomous animals that people without number were stung, and would have died, had they not run together to hilarion. with oil blessed by him, the husbandmen and shepherds touched their wounds, and all were surely healed. but when he saw that he was marvellously honoured, he went to alexandria, meaning to cross the desert to the further oasis. and because since he was a monk he had never stayed in a city, he turned aside to some brethren known to him in the brucheion* not far from alexandria. they received * the brucheion, with its palaces and museum, the residence of the kings and philosophers of egypt, had been destroyed ie the days i 2 n6 hilarion. him with joy : but, when night came on, they sud denly heard him bid his disciples saddle the ass. in vain they entreated, threw themselves across the threshold. his only answer was, that he was hastening away, lest he should bring them into trouble ; they would soon know that he had not departed without good reason. the next day, men of gaza came with the .prefect's lictors, burst into the monastery, and when they found him not — " is it not true," they said, "what we heard? he is a sorcerer, and knows the future." for the citizens of gaza, after hilarion was gone, and julian had suc ceeded to the empire, had destroyed his monastery, and begged from the emperor the death of hilarion and hesychius. so letters had been sent forth, to seek them throughout the world. so hilarion went by the pathless wilderness into the oasis;* and after a year, more or less — because his fame had gone before him even there, and he could not lie hid in the east — he was minded to sail away to lonely islands, that the sea at least might hide what the land would not. but just then hadrian, his disciple, came from palestine, telling him that julian was slain, and that a christian emperor was reigning ; so that he ought to return to the relics of his monastery. of claudius and valerian, during the senseless civil wars which devas tated alexandria for twelve years ; and monks had probably taken up their abode in toe ruins. it was in this quarter, at the beginning of the next century, that hypatia was murdered by the monks. * probably the northern, or lesser oasis, ouah el baharieh, about eighty miles west of the nile. htlarion. 117 but he abhorred the thought ; and, hiring a camel, went over the vast desert to parsetonia, a sea town of libya. then the wretched hadrian, wishing to go back to palestine and get himself glory under his master's name, packed up all that the brethren had sent by him to his master, and went secretly away. but — as a terror to those who despise their masters — he shortly after died of jaundice. then, with zananas alone, hilarion went on board ship to sail for sicily. and when, almost in the middle of adria,* he was going to sell the gospels which he had written out with his own hand when young, to pay his fare withal, then the captain's son was possessed with a devil, and cried out, " hilarion, servant of god, why can we not be safe from thee even at sea ? give me a little respite till i come to the shore, lest, if i be cast out here, i fall headlong into the abyss." then said he, " if my god lets thee stay, stay. but if he cast thee out, why dost thou lay the blame on me, a sinner and a beggar ? " then he made the captain and the crew promise not to betray him : and the devil was cast out. but the captain would take no fare when he saw that they had nought but those gospels, and the clothes on their backs. and so hilarion came to pachynum, a cape of sicily,t and fled twenty miles inland into a deserted farm ; and there every day gathered a * jerome (who sailed that sea several times) uses the word here, as it is used in acts xxvii. 27, for the sea about malta, "driven up and down in adria." + the southern point of sicily, now cape passaro. n8 hilar10n. bundle of firewood, and put it on zananas's back, who took it to the town, and bought a little bread thereby. but it happened, according to that which is written, " a city set on an hill cannot be hid," one scutarius was tormented by a devil in the basilica of st. peter at rome; and the unclean spirit cried out in him, "a few days since hilarion, the servant of christ, landed in sicily, and no man knows him, and he thinks himself hid. i will go and betray him." and forthwith he took ship with his slaves, and came to pachynum, and, by the leading of the devil, threw himself down before the old man's hut, and was cured. the frequency of his signs in sicily drew to him sick people and religious men in multitudes ; and one of the chief men was cured of dropsy the same day that he came, and offered hilarion boundless gifts : but he obeyed the saviour's saying, " freely ye have received ; freely give." while this was happening in sicily, hesychius, his disciple, was seeking the old man through the world, searching the shores, penetrating the desert, and only certain that, wherever he was, he could not long be hid. so, after three years were past, he heard at methone* from a jew, who was selling old clothes, that a prophet of the christians had appeared in sicily, working such wonders that he was thought to be one of the old saints. but he could give no description of him, having only heard common * in the morea, near the modern navariuo. tillarion. 119 report. he sailed for pachynum, and there, in a cottage on the shore, heard of hilarion's fame — that which most surprised all being that, after so many signs and miracles, he had not accepted even a bit of bread from any man. so, " not to make the story too long," as says st. jerome, hesychius fell at his master's knees, and watered his feet with tears, till at last he raised him up. but two or three days after he heard from zananas, how the old man could dwell no longer in these regions, but was minded to go to some barba rous nation, where both his name and his speech should be unknown. so he took him to epidaurus,* a city of dalmatia, where he lay a few days in a little farm, and yet could not be hid ; for a dragon of wondrous size — one of those which, in the country speech, they call boas, because they are so huge that they can swallow an ox — laid waste the province, and devoured not only herds and flocks, but husband men and shepherds, which he drew to him by the force of his breath.f hilarion commanded a pile of wood to be prepared, and having prayed to christ, * at the mouth of the bay of cattaro. f this story — whatever belief we may give to its details — is' one of many which make it tolerably certain that a large snake (python) still lingered in eastern europe. huge tame snakes were kept as sacred by the macedonian women ; and one of them (according to lucian) pere grinus proteus, the cagliostro of his time, fitted with a linen mask, and made it personate the god ^esculapius. in the "historia lausiaca," cap. lii. is an account by an eye-witness of a large snake in the thebaid, whose track was "as if a beam had been dragged along the sand." it terrifies the syrian monks : but the egyptian monk sets to work to kill it, saying that he had seen much larger— even up to fifteen cubits. 120 h1lari0n. and called the beast forth, commanded him to ascend the pile, and having put fire under, burnt him before all the people. then fretting over what he should do, or whither he should turn, he went alone over the world in imagination, and mourned that, when his tongue was silent, his miracles still spoke. in those days, at the earthquake pver the whole world, which befell after julian's death, the sea broke its bounds ; and, as if god was threatening another flood, or all was returning to the primaeval chaos, ships were carried up steep rocks, and hung there but when the epidauritans saw roaring waves and moun tains of water borne towards the shore, fearing lest the town should be utterly overthrown, they went out to the old man, and, as if they were leading him out to battle, stationed him on the shore. and when he had marked three signs of the cross upon the sand, and stretched out his hands against the waves, it is past belief to what a height the sea swelled, and stood up before him, and then, raging long as if indignant at the barrier, fell back little by little into itself. all epidaurus, and all that region, talk of this to this day; and mothers teach it their children, that they may hand it down to posterity. truly, that which was said to the apostles, "if ye believe, ye shall say to this mountain, be removed, and cast into the sea; and it shall be done," can be fulfilled even to the letter, if we have the faith of the apostles, and such as the lord commanded them to have. for which is more strange, that a mountain hilarion. should descend into the sea; or that mountains of water should stiffen of a sudden, and, firm as a rock only at an old man's feet, should flow softly everywhere else ? all the city wondered ; and the greatness of the sign was bruited abroad even at salo. when the old man discovered that, he fled secretly by night in a little boat, and finding a merchantman after two days, sailed for cyprus. between maleae and cythera * they were met by pirates, who had left their vessels under the shore, and came up in two large galleys, worked not with sails, but oars. as -the rowers swept the billows, all on board began to tremble, weep, run about, get handspikes ready, and, as if one messenger was not enough, vie with each other in telling the old man that pirates were at hand. he looked out at them and smiled. then turning to his disciples, " o ye of little faith," he said ; " where fore do ye doubt ? are these more in number than pharaoh's army ? yet they were all drowned when god so willed." while he spoke, the hostile keels, with foaming beaks, were but a short stone's throw off. he then stood on the ship's bow, and stretching out his hand against them, "let it be enough," he «aid, " to have come thus far." o wondrous faith ! the boats instantly sprang back, and made stern-way, although the oars impelled them in the opposite direction. the pirates were * now capo st. angelo and the island of cerigo, at the southern point of greece. m hilarlon. astonished, having no wish to return back-foremost, and struggled with all their might to reach the ship ; but were carried to the shore again, much faster than they had come. i pass over the rest, lest by telling every story i make the volume too long. this only i will say, that, while he sailed prosperously through the cy clades, he heard the voices of foul spirits, calling here and there out of the towns and villages, and running together on the beaches. so he came to paphos, the city of cyprus, famous once in poets' songs, which now, shaken down by frequent earthquakes, only shows what it has been of yore by the foundations of. its ruins. there he dwelt meanly near the second milestone out of the city, rejoicing much that he was living quietly for a few days. but not three weeks were past, ere throughout the whole island whosoever had unclean spirits began to cry tha.t hilarion the servant of christ was come, and that they must hasten to him. salonica, curium, lapetha, and the other towns, all cried this together, most saying that they knew hilarion, and that he was truly a servant of god; but where he was they knew not. within a month, nearly 200 men and women were gathered to gether to him. whom when he saw, grieving that they would not suffer him to rest, raging, as it were to revenge himself, he scourged them with such an instancy of prayer, that some were cured at once, some after two or three days, and all within a week. so staying there two years, and always meditating flight, he sent hesychius to palestine, to salute the h1lar10n. 123 brethren, visit the ashes of the monastery, and return in the spring. when he returned, and hilarionwas longing to sail again to egypt, — that is, to the cattle pastures,* because there is no christian there, but only a fierce and barbarous folk, — he persuaded the old man rather to withdraw into some more secret spot in the island itself. and looking round it long till he had examined it all over, he led him away twelve miles from the sea, among lonely and rough mountains, where they could hardly climb up, creeping on hands and knees. when they were within, they beheld a spot terrible and very lonely, surrounded with trees, which had, too, waters falling from the brow of a cliff, and a most pleasant little garden, and many fruit-trees — the fruit of which, however, hilarion never ate— and near it the ruin of a very ancient temple, f out of which (so he and his disciples averred) the voices of so many daemons resounded day and night, that you would have fancied an army there. with which he was ex ceedingly delighted, because he had his foes close to him ; and dwelt therein five years ; and (while hesy chius often visited him) he was much cheered up in this last period of his life, because owing to the rough ness and difficulty of the ground, and the multitude of ghosts (as was commonly reported), few, or none, ever dare climb up to him. but one day, going out of the little garden, he saw a man paralytic in all his limbs, lying before the gate ; and having asked hesychius who he was, and how he * see p. 52. + probably dedicated to the paphian venus. 124 hilarion. had come, he was told that the man was the steward of a small estate, and that to him the garden, in which they were, belonged. hilarion, weeping over him, and stretching a hand to him as he lay, said, " i say to thee, in the name of jesus christ our lord, arise and walk." wonderful was the rapidity of the effect. the words were yet in his mouth, when the limbs, strengthened, raised the man upon his feet. as soon as it was known, the needs of many conquered the difficulty of the ground, and the want of a path, while all in the neighbourhood watched nothing so carefully, as that he should not by some plan slip away from them. for the report had been spread about him, that he could not remain long in the same place; which nevertheless he did not do from any caprice, or childishness, but to escape honour and importunity ; for he always longed after silence, and an ignoble life. so, in the eightieth year of his age, while hesychius was absent, he wrote a short letter, by way of testa ment, with his own hand, leaving to hesychius all his riches ; namely, his gospel-book, and a sackcloth shirt, hood, and mantle. for his servant had died a few days before. many religious men came to him from paphos while he was sick, especially because they had heard that he had said that now he was going to migrate to the lord, and be freed from the chains of the body. there came also constantia, a high-born lady, whose son-in-law and daughter he had delivered from death by anointing them with oil. and he made them all swear, that he should not be kept hilarion. 125 an hour after his death, but covered up with earth in that same garden, clothed, as he was, in his haircloth shirt, hood, and rustic cloak. and now little heat was left in his body, and nothing of a living man was left, except his reason : and yet, with open eyes, he went on saying, " go forth, what fearest thou ? go forth, my soul, what doubtest thou ? nigh seventy years hast thou served christ, and dost thou fear death?" with these words, he breathed out his soul. they covered him forthwith in earth, and told them in the city that he was buried, before it was known that he was dead. the holy man hesychius heard this in palestine ; reached cyprus ; and pretending, in order to prevent suspicion on the part of the neighbours, who guarded the spot diligently, that he wished to dwell in that same garden, he, after some ten months, with ex treme peril of his life, stole the corpse. he carried it to maiuma, followed by whole crowds of monks and townsfolk, and placed it in the old monastery, with the shirt, hood, and cloak unhurt; the whole body perfect, as if alive, and fragrant with such strong odour, that it seemed to have had unguents poured over it. i think that i ought not, in the end of my book, to be silent about the devotion of that most holy woman constantia, who, hearing that the body of hilarion, the servant of god, was gone to palestine, straightway gave up the ghost, proving by her very death her true love for the servant of god. for she was wont to pass nights in watching his sepulchre, and to con verse with him as if he were present, in order to assist 126 hilarion. her prayers. you may see, even to this day, a won derful contention between the folk of palestine and the cypriots, the former saying that they have the body, the latter that they have the soul, of hilarion. and yet, in both places, great signs are worked daily ; but most in the little garden in cyprus ; perhaps because he loved that place the best. such is the story of hilarion. his name still lingers in " the place he loved the best." " to this day," i quote this fact from m. de montalembert's work, " the cypriots, confounding in their memories legends of good and of evil, the victories of the soul and the triumph of the senses, give to the ruins of one of those strong castles built by the lusignans, which command their isle, the double name of the castle of st. hila rion, and the castle of the god of love." but how intense must have been the longing for solitude which drove the old man to travel on foot from syria to the egyptian desert, across the pathless westward waste, even to the oasis and the utmost limits of the egyptian province; and then to sicily, to the adriatic, and at last to a distant isle of greece. and shall we blame him for that longing ? he seems to have done his duty earnestly, according to his own light, towards his fellow-creatures whenever he met them. but he seems to have found that noise and crowd, dis play and honour, were not altogether wholesome for his own soul ; and in order that he might be a better man he desired again and again to flee, that he might collect himself, and be alone with nature and with hilarion. 127 god. we, here in england, like the old greeks and romans, dwellers in the busy mart of civilized life, have got to regard mere bustle as so integral an element of human life, that we consider a love of solitude a mark of eccentricity, and, if we meet any one who loves to be alone, are afraid that he must needs be going mad : and that with too great solitude comes the danger of too great self-consciousness, and even at last of insanity, none can doubt. but still we must remember, on the other hand, that without soli tude, without contemplation, without habitual collec tion and re-collection of our own selves from, time to time, no great purpose is carried out, and no great work can be done ; and that it is the bustle and hurry of our modern life which causes shallow thought, unstable purpose, and wasted energy, in too many who would be better and wiser, stronger and happier, if they would devote more time to silence and medita tion ; if they would commune with their own heart in their chamber, and be still. even in art and in me chanical science, those who have done great work upon the earth have been men given to solitary meditation. when brindley, the engineer, it is said, had a difficult problem to solve, he used to go to bed, and stay there till he had worked it out. turner, the greatest nature-painter of this or any other age, spent hours upon hours in mere contemplation of nature, without using his pencil at all. it is said of him that he was seen to spend a whole day, sitting upon a rock, and throwing pebbles into a lake ; and when at evening his fellow painters showed their day's sketches, and 128 hilarion. rallied him upon having done nothing, he answered them, " i have done this at least : i have learnt how a lake looks when pebbles a>re thrown into it." and if this silent labour, this steadfast thought are required even for outward arts and sciences, how much more for the highest of all arts, the deepest of all sciences, that which involves the questions — who are we ? and where are we ? who is god ? and what are we to god, and he to us ? — namely, the science of being good, which deals not with time merely, but with eternity. no retirement, no loneliness, no period of earnest and solemn meditation, can be misspent which helps us towards that goal. and therefore it was that hilarion longed to be alone ; alone with god ; and with nature, which spoke to him of god. for these old hermits, though they neither talked nor wrote concerning scenery, nor painted pictures of it as we do now, had many of them a clear and intense instinct of the beauty and the meaning of outward nature ; as antony surely had when he said that the world around was his book, wherein he read the mysteries of god. hilarion seems, from his story, to have had a special craving for the sea. perhaps his early sojourn on the low sandhills of the philistine shore, as he watched the tideless mediterranean, rolling and breaking for ever upon the same beach, had taught him to say with the old prophet as he thought of the wicked and still half idolatrous cities of the philistine shore, " fear ye not ? saith the lord ; will ye not tremble at my presence who have placed the sand for the bound of hilarion. 129 the sea, for a perpetual decree, that it cannot pass it ? and though the waves thereof toss themselves, yet can they not prevail ; though they roar, yet can they not pass over. but this people has a revolted and rebellious heart, they are revolted and gone." per haps again, looking down from the sunny sicilian cliffs of taormino, or through the pine-clad gulfs and gullies of the cypriote hills upon the blue mediter ranean below, " and watching from his mountain wall the wrinkled sea beneath him crawl, " he had enjoyed and profited by all those images which that sight has called up in so many minds before and since. to him it may be, as to the psalm ist, the storm-swept sea pictured the instability of mortal things, while secure upon his cliff he said with the psalmist, " the lord hath set my feet upon a rock, and ordered my goings ; " and again, " the wicked are like a troubled sea, casting up mire and dirt." often, again, looking upon that far horizon, must his soul have been drawn, as many a soul has been drawn since, to it, and beyond it, as it were into a region of boundless freedom and perfect peace, while he said again with david, " oh that i had wings like a dove ; then would i flee away and be at rest ! " and so have found, in the contemplation of the wide ocean, a substitute at least for the contemplation of those eastern deserts which seemed the proper home for the solitary and meditative philosopher. for indeed in no northern country can such situa tions be found for the monastic cell as can be found s.l. ii. k 130 hilar ion. in those great deserts which stretch from syria to arabia, from arabia to egypt, from egypt to africa properly so called. here and there a northern hermit found, as hilarion found, a fitting home by the sea side, on some lonely island or storm-beat rock, like st. cuthbert, off the coast of northumberland ; like st. rule, on his rock at st. andrew's ; and st columba, with his evervenerable company of missionaries, on iona. but inland, the fens and the forests were foul, unwholesome, depressing, the haunts of fever, ague, delirium, as st. guthlac found at crowland, and st. godric at finkhale.* the vast pine-woods which clothe the alpine slopes, the vast forests of beech and oak which then spread over france and ger many, gave in time shelter to many a holy hermit but their gloom, their unwholesomeness, and the severity of the climate, produced in them, as in most northern ascetics, a temper of mind more melan choly, and often more fierce; more given to pas sionate devotion, but more given also to dark super stition and cruel self-torture, than the genial climate of the desert produced in old monks of the east. when we think of st. antony upon his mountain, we must not picture to ourselves, unless we, too, have been in the east, such a mountain -as we have ever seen. we must not think of a brown northern moorland, sad, savage, storm-swept, snow buried, save in the brief and uncertain summer months. we must not picture to ourselves an alp, * the lives of these two hermits and that of st. cuthbert will bt given in a future number. hilar10n. 131 with thundering avalanches, roaring torrents, fierce alternations of heat and cold, uninhabitable by mortal man, save during that short period of the year when the maidens in the sennhutt watch the cattle upon the upland pastures. we must picture to ourselves mountains blazing day after day, month after month, beneath the glorious sun and cloudless sky, in an air so invigorating that the arabs can still support life there upon a few dates each day ; and where, as has been said, — "man needs there hardly to eat, drink, or sleep, for the act of breathing will give life enough ;" an atmosphere of such telescopic clearness as to explain many of the strange stories which have been lately told of antony's seemingly preternatural powers of vision ; a colouring, which, when painters dare to put it on canvas, seems to our eyes, accustomed to the quiet greys and greens of england, exaggerated and im possible — distant mountains, pink and lilac, quivering in pale blue haze — vast sheets of yellow sand, across which the lonely rock or a troop of wild asses or gazelles throw intense blue-black shadows — rocks and cliffs not shrouded, as here, in soil, much less in grass and trees, or spotted with lichens and stained with veins ; but keeping each stone its natural colour, as it wastes — if, indeed, it wastes at all — under the action of the all but rainless air, which has left the paintings on the old egyptian temples fresh and clear for thousands of years ; rocks, orange and purple, black, white, and yellow; and again and again beyond them* * sihor, the black river, was the ancient name of the nile, derived from the dark hue of its waters. k 2 132 hi la ri on. glimpses, it may be, of the black nile, and of the long green garden of egypt, and of the dark blue sea. the eastward view from antony's old home must be one of the most glorious in the world, save for its want of verdure and of life. for antony, as he looked across the blue waters of the gulf of akaba, across which, far above, the israelites had passed in old times, could see the sacred goal of their pilgrimage, the red granite peaks of sinai, flaming against the blue sky with that intensity of hue which is scarcely exaggerated, it is said, by the bright scarlet colour in which sinai is always painted in mediaeval illumi nations. but the gorgeousness of colouring, though it may interest us, was not, of course, what produced the deepest effect upon the minds of those old hermits. they enjoyed nature, not so much for her beauty, as for her perfect peace. day by day the rocks re mained the same. silently out of the eastern desert, day by day, the rising sun threw aloft those arrows of light, which the old greeks had named"the rosy fingers of the dawn." silently he passed in full blaze almost above their heads throughout the day; and silently he dipped behind the western desert in a glory of crimson and orange, green and purple ; and without an interval of twilight, in a moment, all the land was dark, and the stars leapt out, not twinkling as in our damper climate here, but hanging like balls of white fire in that purple southern night, through which one seems to look beyond the stars into the infinite abyss, and towards the throne of god him hilarion. ,33 self. day after day, night after night, that gorgeous pageant passed over the poor hermit's head without a sound ; and though sun and moon and planet might change their places as the year rolled round, the earth beneath his feet seemed not to change. every morn ing he saw the same peaks in the distance, the same rocks, the same sand-heaps around his feet. he never heard the tinkle of a running stream. for weeks together he did not even hear the rushing of the wind. now and then a storm might sweep up the pass, whirling the sand in eddies, and making the desert for a while literally a "howling wilderness ;" and when that was passed all was as it had been before. the very change of seasons must have been little marked to him, save by the motions, if he cared to watch them, of the stars above ; for vegetation there was none to mark the difference between summer and winter. in spring of course the solitary date-palm here and there threw out its spathe of young green leaves, to add to the number of those which, grey or brown, hung drooping down the stem, withering but not decaying for many a year in that dry atmosphere; or perhaps the accacia bushes looked somewhat gayer for a few weeks, and the retama broom, from which as well as from the palm leaves he plaited his baskets, threw out its yearly crop of twigs ; but any greenness there might be in the vegetation of spring, turned grey in a few weeks beneath that burning sun ; and the rest of the year was one perpetual summer of dust and glare and rest. amid such scenes the mind had full time for thought. nature and man 134 hilar10n. alike left it in peace ; while the labour required for sustaining life (and the monk wished for nothing more than to sustain mere life) was very light. wherever water could be found, the hot sun and the fertile soil would repay by abundant crops, perhaps twice in the year, the toil of scratching the ground and putting in the seed. moreover, the labour of the husbandman, so far from being adverse to the contem plative life, is of all occupations, it may be, that which promotes most quiet and wholesome meditation in the mind which cares to meditate. the life of the desert, when once the passions of youth were conquered, seems to have been not only a happy, but a healthy one. and when we remember that the monk, clothed from head to foot in woollen, and sheltered, too, by his sheepskin cape, escaped those violent changes of temperature which produce in the east so many fatal diseases, and which were so deadly to the linen-clothed inhabitants of the green lowlands of the nile, we need not be surprised when we read of the vast lon gevity of many of the old abbots ; and of their death, not by disease, but by gentle, and as it were wholesome natural decay. but if their life was easy, it was surely not ill spent. if having few wants, and those soon supplied, they found too much time for the luxury of quiet thought, those need not blame them, who having many wants, and those also easily supplied, are wont to spend their superfluous leisure in any luxury save that of thought, above all save that of thought con cerning god. for it was upon god that these men, hilarion. 135 whatever their defects or ignorances may have been, had set their minds. that man was sent into the world to know and to love, to obey and thereby to glorify, the maker of his being, was the cardinal point of their creed, as it has been of every creed which ever exer cised any beneficial influence on the minds of men. dean milman in his " history of christianity," vol. iii. page 294, has, while justly severe upon the failings and mistakes of the eastern monks, pointed out with equal justice that the great desire of knowing god was the prime motive in the mind of all their best men : — " in some regions of the east, the sultry and op pressive heat, the general relaxation of the physical system, dispose constitutions of a certain tempera ment to a dreamy inertness. the indolence and prostration of the body produce a kind of activity in the mind, if that may properly be called activity which is merely giving loose to the imagination and the emotions as they follow out the wild train of incoherent thought, or are agitated by impulses of spontaneous and ungoverned feeling. ascetic chris tianity ministered new aliment to this common pro pensity. it gave an object, both vague and determinate enough to stimulate, yet never to satisfy or exhaust. the regularity of stated hours of prayer, and of a kind of idle industry, weaving mats or plaiting baskets, alternated with periods of morbid reflection on the moral state of the soul, and of mystic communion with the deity. it cannot indeed be wondered that this new revelation, as it were, of the deity, this profound and rational certainty of his existence, this 136 hjlarion. infelt consciousness of his perpetual presence, these as yet unknown impressions of his infinity, his power, and his love, should give a higher character to this eremitical enthusiasm, and attract men of loftier and more vigorous minds within its sphere. it was not merely the pusillanimous dread of encounter-* ing the trials of life which urged the humbler spirits to seek a safe retirement ; or the natural love of peace, and the weariness and satiety of life, which commended this seclusion to those who were too gentle to mingle in, or who were exhausted with, the unprofitable turmoil of the world ; nor was it always the anxiety to mortify the rebellious and refractory body with more advantage. the one absorbing idea of the majesty of the godhead almost seemed to swallow up all other considerations. the transcendent nature of the triune deity, the relation of the different persons of the godhead to each other, seemed the only worthy object of men's contemplative faculties." and surely the contemplation of the godhead is no unworthy occupation for the immortal soul of any human being. but it would be unjust to these hermits did we fancy that their religion consisted merely even in this ; much less that it consisted merely in dreams and visions, or in mere stated hours of prayer. that all did not fulfil the ideal of their profession is to be expected, and is frankly confessed by the writers of the lives of the fathers ; that there were serious faults, even great crimes, among them is not denied. those who wrote concerning them were so sure that they were on the whole good men, that hilarion. 137 they were not at all afraid of saying that some of them were bad, — not afraid, even, of recording, though only in dark hints, the reason why the arab tribes around once rose and laid waste six churches with their monasteries in the neighbourhood of scetis. st. jerome in like manner does not hesitate to pour out bitter complaints against many of the monks in the neighbourhood of bethlehem. it is notorious, too, that many became monks merely to escape slavery, hunger, or conscription into the army. unruly and fanatical spirits, too, grew fond of wandering. bands of monks on the great roads and public places of the empire, massalians or gyrovagi, as they were called, wandered from province to province, and cell to cell, living on the alms which they extorted from the pious, and making up too often for protracted fasts by outbursts of gluttony and drunkenness. and doubtless the average monk, even when well-con ducted himself and in a well-conducted monastery, was, like average men of every creed, rank, or occupa tion, a very common -place person, acting from very mixed and often very questionable motives; and valuing his shaven crown and his sheepskin cloak, his regular hours of prayer and his implicit obedience to his abbot, more highly than he valued the fear and the love of god. it is so in every creed. with some, even now, the strict observance of the sabbath ; with others, out ward reverence at the holy communion ; with others, the frequent hearing of sermons which suit their own views ; with others, continual reading of 138 hjlarion. pious books (on the lessons of which they do not act), covers, instead of charity, a multitude of sins. but the saint, abbot, or father among these hermits was essentially the man who was not a common-place person ; who was more than an ascetic, and more than a formalist ; who could pierce beyond the letter to the spirit, and see, beyond all forms of doctrine or modes of life, that virtue was the one thing needful. the historia lausiaca and the pratum spirituale have many a story and many a saying as weighty, beautiful, and instructive now as they were fifteen hundred years ago ; stories which show that graces and virtues such as the world had never seen before, save in the persecuted and half-unknown christians of the first three centuries, were cultivated to noble fruitfulness by the monks of the east. for their humility, obedience, and reverence for their superiors it is not wise to praise them just now; for those are qualities which are not at present considered virtues, but rather (save by the soldier) somewhat abject vices; and indeed they often carried them, as they did their abstinence, to an extravagant pitch. but it must be remembered, in fairness, that if they obeyed their sup posed superiors, they had first chosen their superiors themselves ; that as the becoming a monk at all was an assertion of self-will and independence, whether for good or evil, so their reverence for their abbots was a voluntary loyalty to one who they fancied had a right to rule them, because he was wiser and better than they ; a feeling which some have found not de grading, but ennobling ; and the parent, not of servility, words of the elders. 139 but of true freedom. and as for the obsolete virtue of humility, that still remains true which a voice said to antony, when he saw the snares which were spread over the whole earth, and asked, sighing, "who can pass safely over these ? " and the voice answered, " humility alone." for the rest, if the sermon on the mount mean any thing, as a practical rule of life for christian men, then these monks were surely justified in trying to obey it, for to obey it they surely tried. the words of the elders, to which i have already alluded, and the lausiaca of palladius likewise, are full of precious scraps of moral wisdom, sayings, and anecdotes, full of nobleness, purity, pathos, insight into character, and often instinct with a quiet humour, which seems to have been, in the old world, peculiar to the egyptians, as it is, in the new, almost peculiar to the old-fashioned god-fearing scotsman. take these examples, chosen almost at random. serapion the sindonite was so called because he wore nothing but a sindon, or linen shirt. though he could not read, he could say all the scriptures by heart. he could not (says palladius) sit quiet in his cell, but wandered over the world in utter poverty, so that he "attained to perfect impassibility, for with that nature he was born ; for there are differences of natures, not of substances." so says palladius, and goes on to tell how serapion sold himself to certain play-actors for twenty gold pieces, and laboured for them as a slave till he had won them to christ, and made them renounce the theatre ; 140 words of the elders. after which he made his converts give the money to the poor, and went his way. on one of his journeys he came to athens, and, having neither money nor goods, starved there for three days. but on the fourth he went up, seemingly to the areopagus, and cried, " men of athens, help ! " and when the crowd questioned him, he told them that he had, since he left egypt, fallen into the hands of three usurers, two of whom he had satisfied, but the third would not leave him. on being promised assistance, he told them that his three usurers were avarice, sensuality, and hun ger. of the two first he was rid, having neither money nor passions : but, as he had eaten nothing for three days, the third was beginning to be troublesome, and demanded its usual debt, without paying which he could not well live ; whereon certain philosophers, seemly amused by his apologue, gave him a gold coin. he went to a baker's shop, laid down the coin, took up a loaf, and went out of athens for ever. then the philosophers knew that he was endowed with true virtue ; and when they had paid the baker the price of the loaf, got back their gold. when he went into lacedaemon, he heard that a great man there was a manichsean, with all his family, though otherwise a good man. to him serapion sold himself as a slave, and within two years converted him and his wife, who thenceforth treated him not as a slave, but as their own brother. after awhile, this " spiritual adamant," as palladius calls him, bought his freedom of them, and sailed for words of the elders. 141 rome. at sundown first the sailors, and then the passengers, brought out each man his provisions, and ate. serapion sat still. the crew fancied that he was sea-sick ; but when he had passed a second, third, and fourth day fasting, they asked, " man, why do you not eat ? " " because i have nothing to eat." they thought that some one had stolen his baggage : but when they found that the man had absolutely no thing, they began to ask him not only how he would keep alive, but how he would pay his fare. he only answered, " that he had nothing ; that they might cast him out of the ship where they had found him." but they answered, " not for a hundred gold pieces, so favourable was the wind," and fed him all the way to rome, where we lose sight of him and his humour. to go on with almost chance quotations : — some monks were eating at a festival, and one said to the serving man, " i eat nothing cooked ; tell them to bring me salt." the serving man began to talk loudly : " that brother eats no cooked meat ; bring him a little salt." . quoth abbot theodore : " it were more better for thee, brother, to eat meat in thy cell than to hear thyself talked about in the presence of thy brethren." again : a brother came to abbot silvanus, in mount sinai, and found the brethren working, and said, "why labour you for the meat which perisheth ? mary chose the good part." the abbot said, " give him a book to read, and put him in an empty cell." about the ninth hour the brother looked out, to see if he would be called to eat. and at last came to the abbot. 142 words oh the elders. and asked, "do not the brethren eat to-day, abbot ?" "yes." " then why was not i called ?" then quoth abbot silvanus : " thou art a spiritual man : and needest not their food. we are carnal, and must eat, because we work: but thou hast chosen the better part." whereat the monk was ashamed. as was also john the dwarf, who wanted to be "with out care like the angels, doing nothing but praise god." so he threw away his cloak, left his brother the abbot, and went into the desert. but after seven days he came back, and knocked at the door. " who is there?" asked his brother. "john." " nay, john is turned into an angel, and is no more among men." so he left him outside all night ; and in the morning gave him to understand that if he was a man he must work, but that if he was an angel, he had no need to live in a cell. consider again the saying of the great antony, when some brethren were praising another in his presence. but antony tried him, and found that he could not bear an injury. then said the old man, " brother, thou art like a house with an ornamented porch, while the thieves break into it by the back door." or this, of abbot isidore, when the devil tempted him to despair, and told him that he would be lost . after all : " if i do go into torment, i shall still find you below me there." or this, of zeno the syrian, when some egyptian monks came to him and began accusing themselves : "the egyptians hide the virtues which they have, words of the elders. 143 and confess vices which they have not. the syrians and greeks boast of virtues which they have not, and hide vices which they have." or this : one old man said to another, " i am dead to this world." " do not trust yourself," quoth the other, "till you are out of this world. if you are dead, the devil is not." two old men lived in the same cell, and had never disagreed. said one to the other, " let us have just one quarrel, like other men." quoth the other: "i do not know what a quarrel is like." quoth the first : " here — i will put' a brick between us, and say that it is mine : and you shall say it is not mine ; and over that let us have a contention and a squabble." but when they put the brick between them, and one said, " it is mine," the other said, " i hope it is mine." and when the first said, " it is mine, it is not yours," he answered, '' if it is yours, take it." so they could not find out how to have a quarrel. anger, malice, revenge, were accursed things in the eyes of these men. there was enough of them, and too much, among their monks ; but far less, doubt not, than in the world outside. for within the monastery it was preached against, repressed, punished ; and when repented of, forgiven, with loving warnings and wise rules against future transgression. abbot agathon used to say, " i never went to sleep with a quarrel against any man ; nor did i, as far as lay in me, let one who had a quarrel against me sleep till he had made peace." abbot isaac was asked why the devils feared him 144 words of the elders. so much. " since i was made a monk," he said, " i settled with myself that no angry word should come out of my mouth." an old man said, " anger arises from these four things : from the lust of avarice, in giving and receiv ing ; from loving one's own opinion ; from wishing to be honoured ; and from fancying oneself a teacher and hoping to be wiser than everybody. and anger obscures human reason by these four ways : if a man hate his neighbour ; or if he envy him ; or if he look on him as nought ; or if he speak evil of him." a brother being injured by another, came to abbot sidonius, told his story, and said, "i wish to avenge myself, father." the abbot begged him to leave vengeance to god : but when he refused, said, " then let us pray." whereon the old man rose, and said, " god, thou art not necessary to us any longer, that thou shouldest be careful of us : for we, as this brother says, both will and can avenge ourselves." at which that brother fell at his feet, and begged pardon, promising never to strive with his enemy. abbot poemen said often, " let malice never over come thee. if any man do thee harm, repay him with good, that thou mayest conquer evil with good." in a congregation at scetis, when many men's lives and conversation had been talked over, abbot pior held his tongue. after it was over, he went out, and filled a sack with sand, and put it on his back. then he took a little bag, filled it likewise with sand, words of the elders. i/ t $ and carried it before him. and when the brethren asked him what he meant, he said, "the sack behind is my own sins, which are very many : yet i have cast them behind my back, and will not see them, nor weep over them. but i have put these few sins of my brother's before my eyes, and am tormenting myself over them, and con demning my brother." a brother having committed a fault, went to antony, and his brethren followed, upbraiding him, and wanting to bring him back ; while he denied having done the wrong. abbot paphnutius was there, and spoke a parable to them : — " i saw on the river bank a man sunk in the mud up to his knees. and men came to pull him out, and thrust him in up to the neck." then said antony of paphnutius, " behold a man who can indeed save souls." abbot macarius was going up to the mountain of nitria, and sent his disciple on before. the disciple met an idol-priest hurrying on, and carry ing a great beam : to whom he cried, " where art thou running, devil ? " at which he was wroth, and beat him so that he left him half dead, and then ran on, and met macarius, who said, " sal vation to thee, labourer, salvation ! " he answered, wondering, "what good hast thou seen in me that thou salutest me ? " " because i saw thee working and running, though ignorantly." to whom the priest said, " touched by thy salutation, i knew thee to be a great servant of god ; for st.. ti. l 146 words of the elders. another — i know not who — miserable monk met me and insulted me, and i gave him blows for his words." then laying hold of macarius's feet he said, "unless thou make me a monk i will not leave hold of thee." after all, of the best of these men are told (with much honesty) many sayings which show that they felt in their minds and hearts that the spirit was above the letter : sayings which show that they had at least at times glimpses of a simpler and more possible virtue ; foretastes of a perfection more human, and it may be more divine " better," said abbot hyperichius, " to eat flesh and drink wine, than to eat our brethren's flesh with bitter words." a brother asked an elder, "give me, father one thing which i may keep, and be saved thereby." the elder answered, " if thou canst be injured and insulted, and hear and be silent, that is a great thing, and above all the other commandments." one of the elders used to say, "whatever a man shrinks from let him not do to another. dost thou shrink if any man detracts from thee ? speak not ill of another. dost thou shrink if any man slanders thee, or if any man takes aught from thee ? do not that or the like to another man. for he that shall have kept this saying, will find it suffice for his salvation." " the nearer," said abbot muthues, " a man ap proaches god, the more he will see himself to be a sinner." words of the elders. 147 abbot sisois, when he .lay dying, begged to live a little longer, that he might repent ; and when they wondered, he told them that he had not yet even begun repentance. whereby they saw that he was perfect in the fear of the lord. but the most startling confession of all must have been that wrung from the famous macarius the elder. he had been asked once by a brother, to tell him a rule by which he might be saved ; and his answer had been this : — to fly from men, to sit in his cell, and to lament for his sins continually ; and, what was above all virtues, to keep his tongue in order as well as his appetite. but (whether before or after that answer is not said) he gained a deeper insight into true virtue, on the day when (like antony when he was reproved by the example of the tanner in alexandria) he heard a voice telling him that he was inferior to two women who dwelt in the nearest town. catching up his staff, like antony, he went off to see the wonder. the women, when questioned by him as to their works, were astonished. they had been simply good wives for years past, married to two brothers, and living in the same house. but when pressed by him, they confessed that they had never said a foul word to each other, and never quarrelled. at one time they had agreed together to retire into a nunnery, but could not, for all their prayers, obtain the consent of their husbands. on which they had both made an oath, that they would never, to their deaths, speak one worldly word. l 2 148 words of the elders. which when the blessed macarius had heard, he said, "in truth there is neither virgin, nor married woman, nor monk, nor secular; but god only re quires the intention, and ministers the spirit of life to all" arsenius. i shall give one more figure, and that a truly tragical one, from these "lives of the egyptian fathers/' namely, that of the once great and famous arsenius, the father (as he was at one time called) of the emperors. theodosius, the great statesman and warrior, who for some twenty years kept up by his single hand the falling empire of rome, heard how arsenius was at once the most pious and the most learned of his subjects ; and wishing — half barbarian as he was himself — that his sons should be brought up, not only as scholars, but as christians, he sent for arsenius to his court, and made him tutor to his two young sons honorius and arcadius. but the two lads had neither their father's strength nor their father's nobleness. weak and profligate, they fretted arsenius's soul day by day ; and, at last, so goes the story, provoked him so far that, according to the fashion of a roman pedagogue, he took the ferula and administered to one of the princes a caning, which he no doubt deserved. the young prince, in revenge, plotted against his life. among the parasites of the palace it was not difficult to find those who would use 150 arse nws. steel and poison readily enough in the service of an heir-apparent, and arsenius fled for his life : and fled, as men were wont in those days, to egypt and the thebaid. forty years old he was when he left the court, and forty years more he spent among the cells at scetis, weeping day and night. he migrated after wards to a place called troe, and there d^ied at the age of ninety-five, having wept himself, say his ad mirers, almost blind. he avoided, as far as possible, beholding the face of man ; upon the face of woman he would never look. a noble lady, whom he had known probably in the world, came all the way from rome to see him ; but he refused himself to her sternly, almost roughly. he had known too much of the fine ladies of the roman court ; all he cared for was peace. there is a story of him that, changing once his dwelling-place, probably from scetis to troe, he asked, somewhat peevishly, of the monks around him, " what that noise was ? " they told him it was only the wind among the reeds. "alas!" he said, " i have fled everywhere in search of silence, and yet here the very reeds speak." the simple and compa ratively unlearned monks around him looked with a profound respect on the philosopher, courtier, scholar, who had cast away the real pomps and vanities of this life, such as they had never known. there is a story told, plainly concerning arsenius, though his name is not actually mentioned in it, how a certain old monk saw him lying upon a softer mat than his fellows, and indulged with a few more comforts ; and complained indignantly of his luxury, and the abbot's arsen/us. [51 favouritism. then asked the abbot, "what didst thou eat before thou becamest a monk ? " he con fessed he had been glad enough to fill his stomach with a few beans. " how wert thou dressed ? " he was glad enough, again he confessed, to have any clothes at all on his back. "where didst thou sleep?" " often enough on the bare ground in the open air," was the answer. " then," said the abbot, " thou art, by thy own confession, better off as a monk than thou wast as a poor labouring man : and yet thou grudgest a little comfort to one who has given up more luxury than thou hast ever beheld, this man slept beneath silken canopies ; he was carried in gilded litters, by trains of slaves ; he was clothed in purple and fine linen ; he fed upon all the delicacies of the great city : and he has given up all for christ. and what hast thou given up, that thou shouldst grudge him a softer mat, or a little more food each day ? " and so the monk was abashed, and held his peace. as for arsenius's tears, it is easy to call his grief exaggerated or superstitious : but those who look on them with human eyes will pardon them, and watch with sacred pity the grief of a good man, who felt that his life had been an utter failure. he saw his two pupils, between whom, at their father's death, the roman empire was divided into eastern and western, grow more and more incapable of governing. he saw a young barbarian, whom he must have often met at the court in byzantium, as master of the horse, come down from his native forests, and sack the eternal city of rome. he saw evil and woe 152 arsemus. unspeakable fall on that world which he had left behind him, till the earth was filled with blood, and antichrist seemed ready to appear, and the day of judgment to be at hand. and he had been called to do what he could to stave off this ruin, to make those young princes decree justice and rule in judgment by the fear of god. but he had failed ; and there was nothing left to him save self-accusation and regret, and dread lest some, at least, of the blood which had been shed might be required at his hands. therefore, sitting upon his palm-mat there in troe, he wept his life away ; happier, nevertheless, and more honourable in the sight of god and man than if, like a mazarin or a talleyrand, and many another crafty politician, both in church and state, he had hardened his heart against his own mistakes, and, by crafty intrigue and adroit changing of sides at the right moment, had contrived to secure for himself, out of the general ruin, honour and power and wealth, and delicate food, and a luxurious home, and so been one of those of whom the psalmist says, with awful irony, " so long as thou doest well unto thyself, men will speak good of thee." one good deed at least arsenius had seen done — a deed which has lasted to all time, and done, too, to the eternal honour of his order, by a monk — namely, the abolition of gladiator shows. for centuries these wholesale murders had lasted through the roman republic and through the roman empire. human beings in the prime of youth and health, captives or slaves, condemned malefactors, and even free-born arsenius. 153 men, who hired themselves out to death, had been trained to destroy each other in the amphitheatre for the amusement, not merely of the roman mob, but of the roman ladies. thousands sometimes, in a single day, had been "butchered to make a roman holiday." the training of gladiators had become a science. by their weapons and their armour, and their modes of fighting, they had been distinguished into regular classes, of which the antiquaries count up full eighteen : andabatae, who wore helmets without any opening for the eyes, so that they were obliged to fight blind fold, and thus excited the mirth of the spectators ; hoplomachi, who fought in a complete suit of armour; mirmillones, who had the image of a fish upon their helmets, and fought in armour with a short sword, matched usually against the retiarii, who fought with out armour, and whose weapons were a casting-net and a trident. these, and other species of fighters, were drilled and fed in " families " by lanistse, or regular trainers, who let them out to persons wishing to exhibit a show. women, even high-born ladies, had been seized in former times with the madness of fighting, and, as shameless as cruel, had gone down into the arena to delight with their own wounds and their own gore the eyes of the roman people. and these things were done, and done too often, under the auspices of the gods, and at their most sacred . festivals. so deliberate and organized a system of wholesale butchery has never perhaps existed on this earth before or since, not even in the 154 arsenius. worship of those mexican gods whose idols cortez and his soldiers found fed with human hearts, and the walls of their temples crusted with human gore. gradually the spirit of the gospel had been triumph ing over this abomination. ever since the time of tertullian, in the second century, christian preachers and writers had lifted up their voice in the name of humanity. towards the end of the third century, the emperors themselves had so far yielded to the voice of reason, as to forbid by edicts the gladiatorial fights. but the public opinion of the mob in most of the great cities had been too strong both for saints and for emperors. st. augustine himself tells us of the horrible joy which he, in his youth, had seen come over the vast ring of flushed faces at these horrid sights ; and in arsenius's own time, his miserable pupil, the weak honorius, bethought himself of celebrating once more the heathen festival of the secular games, and formally to allow therein an exhibition of gladiators. but in the midst of that show sprang down into the arena of the colosseum of rome an unknown monk, some said from nitria, some from phrygia, and with his own hands parted the combatants in the name of christ and god. the mob, baulked for a moment of their pleasure, sprang on him, and stoned him to death. but the crime was followed by a sudden revulsion of feeling. by an edict of the emperor the gladiatorial sports were forbidden for ever; and the colosseum, thenceforth useless, crumbled slowly away into that vast ruin which remains unto this day, purified, as men well said, from the blood of tens of thousands, by the blood of one true and noble martyr. the hermits of asia. the impulse which, given by antony, had been pro pagated in asia by his great pupil, hilarion, spread rapidly far and wide. hermits took possession of the highest peaks of sinai ; and driven from thence, so tradition tells, by fear of those mysterious noises which still haunt its cliffs, settled at that sheltered spot where now stands the convent of st. catharine. massacred again and again by the wild arab tribes, their places were filled up by fresh hermits, and their spiritual descendants hold the convent to this day. through the rich and luxuriant region of syria, and especially round the richest and most luxurious of its cities, antioch, hermits settled, and bore, by the severity of their lives, a noble . witness against the profligacy of its inhabitants, who had half renounced the paganism of their forefathers without renouncing in the least, it seems, those sins which drew down of old the vengeance of a righteous god upon their fore fathers, whether in canaan or in syria itself. at antioch, about the year 347, was born the famous chrysostom, john of the golden mouth ; and near antioch he became a hermit, and dwelt, so 156 the hermits of asia. legends -say, several years alone in the wilderness : till, nerved by that hard training, he went forth again into the world to become, whether at antioch or at constantinople, the bravest as well as the most elo quent preacher of righteousness and rebuker of sin which the world had seen since the times of st, paul. the labours of chrysostom belong not so much to this book as to a general ecclesiastical history : but it must not be forgotten that he, like all the great men of that age, had been a monk, and kept up his monastic severity, even in the midst of the world, until his dying day. at nisibis, again, upon the very frontier of persia, appeared another very remarkable personage, known as the great jacob or great st. james. taking (says his admiring biographer, theodoret of cyra) to the peaks of the loftiest mountains, he passed his life on them, in spring and summer haunting the woods, with the sky for a roof, but sheltering himself in winter in a cave. his food was wild fruits and mountain herbs. he never used a fire, and, clothed in a goats' hair garment, was perhaps the first of those boscoi, or "browsing hermits/' who lived lite rally like the wild animals in the flesh, while they tried to live like angels in the spirit. some of the stories told of jacob savour of that vindictiveness which giraldus cambrensis, in after years, attributed to the saints in ireland. he was walking one day over the persian frontier, " to visit the plants of true religion" and "bestow on them due care," when he passed at a fountain a troop of the hermits of asia. 157 damsels washing clothes and treading them with their feet. they seem, according to the story, to have stared at the wild man, instead of veiling their faces or letting down their garments. no act or word of rudeness is reported of them : but jacob's modesty or pride was so much scandalized that he cursed both the fountain and the girls. the fountain of course dried up forthwith, and the damsels' hair turned grey. they ran weeping into the town. the townsfolk came out, and compelled jacob, by their prayers, to restore the water to their fountain ; but the grey hair he refused to restore to its original hue unless the damsels would come and beg pardon publicly them selves. the poor girls were ashamed to come, and their hair remained grey ever after. a story like this may raise a smile in some of my readers, in others something like indignation or con tempt. but as long as such legends remain in these hermit lives, told with as much gravity as any other portion of the biography, and eloquently lauded, as this deed is, by bishop theodoret, as proofs of the holiness and humanity of the saint, an honest author is bound to notice some of them at least, and not to give an alluring and really dishonest account of these men and their times, by detailing every anecdote which can elevate them in the mind of the reader, while he carefully omits all that may justly disgust him. yet, after all, we are not bound to believe this legend, any more than we are bound to believe that when jacob saw a persian judge give an unjust sen tence, he forthwith cursed, not him, but a rock close 158 the hermits of asia. by, which instantly crumbled into innumerable frag ments, so terrifying that judge that he at once revoked his sentence, and gave a just decision. neither, again, need we believe that it was by send ing, as men said in his own days, swarms of mosquitos against the persian invaders, that he put to flight their elephants and horses : and yet it may be true that, in the famous siege of nisibis, jacob played the patriot and the valiant man. for when sapor, the persian king, came against nisibis with all his forces, with troops of elephants, and huge machines of war, and towers full of archers wheeled up to the walls, and at last, damming the river itself, turned its current against the fortifications of unburnt brick, until a vast breach was opened in the walls, then jacob, standing in the breach, encouraged by his prayers his fellow townsmen to stop it with stone, brick, timber, and whatsoever came to hand; and sapor, the persian sultan, saw " that divine man," and his goats'-hair tunic and cloak seemed transformed into a purple robe and royal diadem. and, whether he was seized with superstitious fear, or whether the hot sun or the marshy ground had infected his troops with disease, or whether the mosquito swarms actually became intolerable, the great king of persia turned and went away. so nisibis was saved for a while ; to be shamefully surrendered to the persians a few years afterwards by the weak young emperor jovian. old ammianus marcellinus, brave soldier as he was, saw with disgust the whole body of citizens ordered to quit the city the hermits of asia. 159 within three days, and " men appointed to compel obedience to the order, with threats of death to every one who delayed his departure ; and the whole city was a scene of mourning and lamentation, and in every quarter nothing was heard but one universal wail, matrons tearing their hair, and about to be driven from the homes in which they had been born and brought up ; the mother who had lost her children, or the wife who had lost her husband, about to be torn from the place rendered sacred by their shades, clinging to their doorposts, embracing their thresholds, and pouring forth floods of tears. every road was crowded, each person struggling away as he could. many, too, loaded themselves with as much of their property as they thought they could carry, while leaving behind them abundant and costly fur niture, which they could not remove for want of beasts of burden." * one treasure, however, they did remove, of which the old soldier ammianus says nothing, and which, had he seen it pass him on the road, he would have treated with supreme contempt. and that, says theodoret, was the holy body of " their prince and defender," st. james the mountain hermit, round which the emi grants chanted, says theodoret, hymns of regret and praise, " for, had he been alive, that city would have never passed into barbarian hands." there stood with jacob in the breach, during that siege of nisibis, a man of gentler temperament, a disciple of his, who had received baptism at his hands, " ammianus marcellinus, book xxv. cap. 9. 160 the hermits of asia. and who was, like himself, a hermit — ephraim, or ephrem, of edessa, as he is commonly called, for, though born at nisibis, his usual home was at edessa, the metropolis of a syrian-speaking race. into the syrian tongue ephrem translated the doctrines of the christian faith and the gospel history, and spread abroad, among the heathen round, a number of delicate and graceful hymns, which remain to this day, and of which some have lately been translated into english.* soft, sad, and dreamy as they were, they had strength and beauty enough in them to supersede the gnostic hymns of bardesanes and his son harmonius, which had been long popular among the syrians; and for cen turies afterwards, till christianity was swept away by the followers of mahomet, the syrian husbandman beguiled his toil with the pious and plaintive melodies of st. ephrem. but ephrem was not only a hermit and a poet : he was a preacher and a missionary. if he wept, as it was said, day and night for his own sins and the sins of mankind, he did his best at least to cure those sins. he was a demagogue, or leader of the people, for good and not for evil, to whom the simple syrians looked up for many a year as their spiritual father. he died in peace, as he said himself, like the labourer who has finished his day's work, like the wandering merchant who returns to his fatherland, leaving nothing behind him save prayers and counsels, for " ephrem," he added, " had neither wallet nor pilgrim's staff." " his last utterance " (i owe this fact to m. de mon * by dr. burgess. the hermits of asia. talembert's book, "moines d'occident") "was a pro test on behalf of the dignity of man redeemed by the son of god." " the young and pious daughter of the governor oi edessa came weeping to receive his latest breath. he. made her swear never again to be carried in a litter by slaves. ' the neck of man,' he said, 'should bear no yoke save that of christ.' " this anecdote is one among many which go to prove that from the time that st. paul had declared the great truth that in christ jesus was neither bond nor free, and had pro claimed the spiritual brotherhood of all men in christ, slavery, as an institution, was doomed to slow but certain death. but that death was accelerated by the monastic movement, wherever it took root. a class of men who came not to be ministered unto, but to minister to others ; who prided themselves upon need ing fewer luxuries than the meanest slaves; who took rank among each other and among men not on the ground of race, nor of official position, nor of wealth, nor even of intellect, but simply on the ground of virtue, was a perpetual protest against slavery and tyranny of every kind; a perpetual witness to the world that, whether all men were equal or not in the sight of god, the only rank among them of which god would take note, would be their rank in goodness. m basil. on the south shore of the black sea. eastward of sinope, there dwelt in those days, at the mouth of the river iris, a hermit as gentle and as pure as ephrem of edegsa. beside a roaring waterfall, amid deep glens and dark forests, with distant glimpses of the stormy sea beyond, there lived on bread and water a graceful gentleman, young and handsome ; a scholar too, who had drunk deeply at the fountains of pagan philosophy and poetry, and had been educated with care at constantinople and at athens, as well as at his native city of csesaraea, in the heart of asia minor, now dwindled under turkish misrule into a wretched village. he was heir to great estates; the glens and forests round him were his own : and that was the use which he made of them. on the other side of the torrent, his mother and his sister, a maiden of wonderful beauty, lived the hermit life, on a footing of perfect equality with their female slaves, and the pious women who had joined them. basil's austerities — or rather the severe climate of the black sea forests — brought him to an early grave. but his short life was spent well enough. he was a basil. 163 poet, with an eye for the beauty of nature — especially for the beauty of the sea — most rare in those times ; and his works are full of descriptions of scenery as healthy-minded as they are vivid and graceful. in his travels through egypt, palestine, and syria, he had seen the hermits, and longed to emulate them ; but (to do him justice) his ideal of the so-called " religious life " was more practical than those of the solitaries of egypt, who had been his teachers. " it was the life" (says dean milman*) "of the industrious religious community, not of the indolent and solitary anchorite, which to basil was the perfection of chris tianity. . . . the indiscriminate charity of these in stitutions was to receive orphans " (of which there were but too many in those evil days) " of all classes, for education and maintenance: but other children only with the consent or at the request of parents, certified before witnesses ; and vows were by no means to be enforced upon these youthful pupils. slaves who fled to the monasteries were to be admonished and sent back to their owners. there is one reserva tion " (and that one only too necessary then), " that slaves were not bound to obey their master, if he should order what is contrary to the law of god. industry was to be the animating principle of these settlements. prayer and psalmody were to have their stated hours, but by no means to intrude on those devoted to useful labour. these labours were strictly defined ; such as were of real use to the com munity, not those which might contribute to vice or * history of christianity, vol. iii. p. iq9. m 2 i&4 basil. luxury. agriculture was especially recommended. the life was in no respect to be absorbed in a per petual mystic communion with the deity." the ideal which basil set before him was never fulfilled in the east. transported to the west by st. benedict, " the father of all monks," it became that conventual system which did so much during the early middle age, not only for the conversion and civiliza tion, but for the arts and the agriculture of europe. basil, like his bosom friend, gregory of nazianzen, had to go forth from his hermitage into the world, and be a bishop, and fight the battles of the true faith. but, as with gregory, his hermit-training had strength ened his soul, while it weakened his body. the emperor valens, supporting the arians against the orthodox, sent to basil his prefect of the praetorium, an officer of the highest rank. the prefect argued, threatened ; basil was firm. " i never met," said he at last, " such boldness." " because," said basil, " you never met a bishop." the prefect returned to his emperor. " my lord, we are conquered ; this bishop is above threats. we can do nothing but by force." the emperor shrank from that crime, and basil and the orthodoxy of his diocese were saved. the rest of his life and of gregory's belongs, like that of chrysostom, to general history, and we need pursue it no further here. i said that basil's idea of what monks should be was never carried out in the east, and it cannot be denied that, as the years went on, the hermit life took' a form less and less practical, and more and more basil. 165 repulsive also. such men as antony, hilarion, basil, had valued the ascetic training, not so much because it had, as they thought, a merit in itself, but because it enabled the spirit to rise above the flesh ; because it gave them strength to conquer their passions and appetites, and leave their soul free to think and act. but their disciples, especially in syria, seem to have attributed more and more merit to the mere act of inflicting want and suffering on themselves. their souls were darkened, besides, more and more, by a doctrine unknown to the bible, unknown to the early christians, and one which does not seem to have had any strong hold of the mind of antony himself — namely, that sins committed after baptism could only be washed away by tears, and expiated by penance ; that for them the merits of him who died for the sins of the whole world were of little or of no avail. therefore, in perpetual fear of punishment hereafter, they set their whole minds to punish themselves on earth, always tortured by the dread that they were not punishing themselves enough, till they crushed down alike body, mind, and soul into an abject super stition, the details of which are too repulsive to be written here. some of the instances of this self invented misery which are recorded, even as early as the time of theodoret, bishop of cyra, in the middle of the fifth century, make us wonder at the puzzling inconsistencies of the human mind. did these poor creatures really believe that god could be propitiated by the torture of his own creatures ? what sense could theodoret (who was a good man himself) have 166 cyra and marana. put upon the words, " god is good," or " god is love," while he was looking with satisfaction, even with admiration and awe, on practices which were more fit for worshippers of moloch ? those who think these words too strong, may judge for themselves how far they apply to his story of marana and cyra. marana, then, and cyra were two young ladies of berhoea, who had given up all the pleasures of life to settle themselves in a roofless cottage outside the town. they had stopped up the door with stones and clay, and allowed it only to be opened at the feast of pentecost. around them lived certain female slaves who had voluntarily chosen the same life, and who were taught and exhorted through a little window by their mistresses ; or rather, it would seem, by marana alone : for cyra (who was bent double by her " training") was never to speak. theodoret, as a oriest, was allowed to enter the sacred enclosure, and found them shrouded from head to foot in long veils, so that neither their faces or hands could be seen ; and underneath their veils, burdened on every limb, poor wretches, with such a load of iron chains and rings that a strong man, he says, could not have stood under the weight. thus had they endured for two-and-forty years, exposed to sun and wind, to frost and rain, taking no food at times for many days together. i have no mind to finish the picture, and still less to record any of the phrases of rapturous admiration with which bishop theodoret comments upon their pitiable superstition. simeon stylites. of all such anchorites of the far east, the most remarkable, perhaps, was the once famous simeon stylites — a name almost forgotten, save by antiqua ries and ecclesiastics, till mr. tennyson made it once more notorious in a poem as admirable for its savage grandness, as for its deep knowledge of human nature. he has comprehended thoroughly, as it seems to me, that struggle between self-abasement and self-conceit, between the exaggerated sense of sinfulness and the exaggerated ambition of saintly honour, which must have gone on in the minds of these ascetics — the temper which could cry out one moment with perfect honesty — "although i be the basest of mankind, from scalp to sole one slough and crust of sin ; '' and at the next — " i will not cease to grasp the hope i hold of saintdom ; and to clamour, mourn, and sob, battering the gates of heaven with storms of prayer. have mercy, lord, and take away my sin. let this avail, just, dreadful, mighty god, this not be all in vain, that thrice ten years thrice multiplied by superhuman pangs, i6s simeon stylites. a sign between the meadow and the cloud, patient on this tall pillar i have borne rain, wind, frost, heat, hail, damp, and sleet, and snow ; and i had hoped that ere this period closed thou wouldst have caught me up into thy rest, denying not these weather-beaten limbs the meed of saints, the white robe and the palm. o take the meaning, lord : i do not breathe, not whisper any murmur of complaint pain heaped ten hundred-fold to this, were still less burthen, by ten-hundred-fold, to bear than were those lead-like tons of sin, that crush'd my spirit flat before thee." admirably also has mr. tennyson conceived the hermit's secret doubt of the truth of those miracles, which he is so often told that he has worked, that he at last begins to believe that he must have worked them ; and the longing, at the same time, to justify himself to himself, by persuading himself that he has earned miraculous powers. on this whole ques tion of hermit miracles i shall speak at length here after. i have given specimens enough of them already, and shall give as few as possible henceforth. there is a sameness about them which may become wearisome to those who cannot be expected to be lieve them. but what the hermits themselves thought of them, is told (at least, so i suspect) only too truly by mr. tennyson — ' ' o lord, thou knowest what a man i am ; a sinful roan, conceived and born in sin : 'tis their own doing; this is none of mine; lay it not to me. am i to blame for this, that here come those who worship me? ha ! ha ! the silly people take me for a saint, simeon stylites. 169 and bring me offerings of fruit and flowers : and i, in truth (thou wilt bear witness here), have all in all endured as much, and more than many just and holy men, whose names are fegister'd and calendar'd for saints. good people, you do ill to kneel to me. what is it i can have done to merit this? it may be i have wrought some miracles, and cured some halt and maimed : but what of that? it may be, 110 one, even among the saints, can match his pains with mine : but what of that ? yet do not rise ; for you may look on me, and in your looking you may kneel to god. speak, is there any of you halt and maimed? i think you know i have some power with heaven from my long penance ; let him speak his wish. yes, i can heal him. power goes forth from me. they say that they are heal'd. ah, hark ! they shout, ' st. simeon stylites ! ' why, if so, god reaps a harvest in me. o my soul, god reaps a harvest in thee. if this be, can i work miracles, and not be saved ? this is not told of any. they were saints. it cannot be but that i shall be saved ; yea, crowned a saint." i shall not take the liberty of quoting more : but shall advise all who read these pages to study seri ously mr. tennysonvi poem if they wish to understand that darker side of the hermit life which became at last, in the east, the only side of it. for in the east the hermits seem to have degenerated, by the time of the mahomedan conquest, into mere self-torturing fakeers, like those who may be seen to this day in hindostan. the salt lost its savour, and in due time it was trampled under foot; and the armies of the moslem swept out of the east a superstition 170 simeon stylites. which had ended by enervating instead of ennobling humanity. but in justice, not only to myself, but to mr. tenny son (whose details of simeon's asceticism may seem to some exaggerated and impossible), i have thought fit to give his life at length, omitting only many of his miracles, and certain stories of his penances, which can only excite horror and disgust, without edifying the reader. there were, then, three hermits of this name, often confounded ; and all alike famous (as were julian, daniel, and other stylites) for standing for many years on pillars. one of the simeons is said by moschus to have been struck by lightning, and his death to have been miraculously revealed to julian the stylite, who lived twenty-four miles off. more than one stylite, belonging to the monophysitc heresy of severus acephalus, was to be found, according to moschus, in the east at the beginning of the seventh century. this biography is that of the elder simeon, who died (according to cedrenus) about 460, after passing some forty or fifty years upon pillars of different heights. there is much dis crepancy in the accounts, both of his date and of his age; but that such a person really existed, and had his imitators, there can be no doubt. he is honoured as a saint alike by the latin and by the greek churches. his life has been written by a disciple of his named antony, who professes to have been with him when he died ; and also by theodoret, who knew him well simeon styl1tes. 171 in life. both are to be found in rosweyde, and there seems no reason to doubt their authenticity. i have therefore interwoven them both, marking the paragraphs taken from each. theodoret, who says that he was born in the village of gesa, between antioch and cilicia, calls him that " famous simeon — that great miracle of the whole world, whom all who obey the roman rule know; whom the persians also know, and the in dians, and ^ethiopians ; nay, his fame has even spread to the wandering scythians, and taught them his love of toil and love of wisdom ; " and says that he might be compared with jacob the patriarch, joseph the temperate, moses the legislator, david the king and prophet, micaiah the prophet, and the divine men who were like them. he tells how simeon, as a boy, kept his father's sheep, and, being forced by heavy snow to leave them in the fold, went with his parents to the church, and there heard the gospel which blesses those who mourn and weep, and calls those miserable who laugh, and those enviable who have a pure heart. and when he asked a bystander what he would gain who did each of these things, the man propounded to him the solitary life, and pointed out to him the highest philosophy. this, theodoret says, he heard from the saints own tongue. his disciple antony gives the story of his conversion somewhat differently. st. simeon (says antony) was chosen by god from his birth, and used to study how to obey and 1 72 simeon stylites. please him. now his father's name was susocion, and he was brought up by his parents. when he was thirteen years old, he was, feeding his father's sheep ; and seeing a church he left the sheep and went in, and heard an epistle being read. and when he asked an elder, " master, what is that which is read ? " the old man replied, " for the substance (or very being) of the soul, that a man may learn to fear god with his whole heart, and his whole mind." quoth the blessed simeon, " what is to fear god ? " quoth the elder, " wherefore troublest thou me, my son ? " quoth he, " i inquire of thee, as of god. for i wish to learn what i hear from thee, because i am ignorant and a fool." the elder answered, " if any man shall have fasted continually, and offered prayers every moment, and shall have humbled him self to every man, and shall not have loved gold, nor parents, nor garments, nor possessions, and if he honours his father and mother, and follows the priests of god, he shall inherit the eternal kingdom : but he who, on the contrary, does not keep those things, he shall inherit the outer darkness which god hath prepared for the devil and his angels. all these things, my son, are heaped together in a monastery.'' hearing this, the blessed simeon fell at his feet, saying, " thou art my father and my mother, and my teacher of good works, and guide to the kingdom of heaven. for thou hast gained my soul, which was already being sunk in perdition. may the lord repay thee again for it. for these are the things which edify. i will now go into a monastery, where god simeon stylites. 173 shall choose ; and let his will be done on me." the elder said, " my son, before thou enterest, hear me. thou shalt have tribulation ; for thou must watch and serve in nakedness, and sustain ills without ceasing ; and again thou shalt be comforted, thou vessel pre cious to god." and forthwith the blessed simeon, going out of the church, went to the monastery of the holy timotheus, a wonder-working man ; and falling down before the gate of the monastery, he lay five days, neither eating nor drinking. and on the fifth day, the abbot, coming out, asked him, " whence art thou, my son ? and what parents hast thou, that thou art so afflicted ? or what is thy name, lest perchance thou hast done some wrong ? or perchance thou art a slave, and fleest from thy master ? " then the blessed simeon said with tears, " by no means, master ; but i long to be a servant of god, if he so will, because i wish to save my lost soul. bid me, therefore, enter the monastery, and leave all ; and send me away no more." then the abbot, taking his hand, introduced him into the monastery, saying to the brethren, " my sons, behold i deliver you this brother ; teach him the canons of the monastery." now he was in the monastery about four months, serving all without complaint, in which he learnt the whole psalter by heart, receiving every day divine food. but the food which he took with his brethren he gave away secretly to the poor, not caring for the morrow. so the brethren ate at even : but he only on the seventh day. 174 simeon stylites. but one day, having gone to the well to draw water, he took the rope '/rom the bucket with which the brethren drew water, and wound it round his body from his loins to his neck: and going in, said to the brethren, " i went out to draw water, and found no rope on the bucket." and they said, " hold thy peace, brother, lest the abbot know it ; till the thing has passed over." but his body was wounded by the tightness and roughness of the rope, because it cut him to the bone, and sank into his flesh till it was hardly seen. but one day, some of the brethren going out, found him giving his food to the poor ; and when they returned, said to the abbot, " whence hast thou brought us that man ? we cannot abstain like him, for he fasts from lord's day to lord's day, and gives away his food." .... then the abbot, going out, found as was told him, and said, "son, what is it which the brethren tell of thee ? is it not enough for thee to fast as we do ? hast thou not heard the gospel, saying of teachers, that the disciple is not above his master ?".... the blessed simeon stood and answered nought. and the abbot, being angry, bade strip him, and found the rope round him, so that only its outside appeared; and cried with a loud voice, saying, "whence has this man come to us, wanting to destroy the rule of the monastery ? i pray thee depart hence, and go whither thou wiliest.'' and with great trouble they took off the rope, and his flesh with it, and taking care of him, healed him. but after he was healed he went out of the mo nastery, no man knowing of it, and entered a deserted simeon stylites. 175 tank, in which was no water, where unclean spirits dwelt. and that very night it was revealed to the abbot, that a multitude of people surrounded the monastery with clubs and swords, saying, " give us simeon the servant of god, timotheus ; else we will burn thee with thy monastery, because thou hast angered a just man." and when he woke, he told the brethren the vision, and how he was much dis turbed thereby. and another night he saw a mul titude of strong men standing and saying, " give us simeon the servant of god ; for he is beloved by god and the angels : why hast thou vexed him ? he is greater than thou before god ; for all the angels are sorry on his behalf. and god is minded to set him on high in the world, that by him many signs may be done, such as no man has done." then the abbot, rising, said with great fear to the brethren, "seek me that man, and bring him hither, lest perchance we all die on his account. he is truly a saint of god, for i have heard and seen great wonders of him." then all the monks went out and searched, but in vain, and told the abbot how they had sought him everywhere, save in the deserted tank. . . . then the abbot went, with five brethren, to the tank. and making a prayer, he went down into it with the brethren. and the blessed simeon, seeing him, began to entreat, saying, "i beg you, servants of god, let me alone one hour, that i may render up my spirit ; for yet a little, and it will fail. but my soul is very weary, because i have angered the lord." but the abbot said to him, " come, servant of god, that we #76 simeon stylites. may take thee" to the monastery ; for 1 know con cerning thee that thou art a servant of god." but when he would not, they brought him by force to the monastery. and all fell at his feet, weeping, and saying, " we have sinned against thee, servant of god ; forgive us." but the blessed simeon groaned, saying, " wherefore do ye burden an unhappy man and a sinner ? you are the servants of god, and my fathers." and he stayed there about one year. after this (says theodoret) he came to the tela nassus, under the peak of the mountain on which he lived till his death ; and having found there a little house, he remained in it shut up for three years. but eager always to increase the riches of virtue, he longed, in imitation of the divine moses and elias, to fast forty days ; and tried to persuade bassus, who was then set over the priests in the villages, to leave nothing within by him, but to close up the door with clay. he spoke to him of the difficulty, and warned him not to think that a violent death was a virtue. " put by me then, father," he said, " ten loaves, and a cruse of water, and if i find my body need sustenance, i will partake of them." at the end of the days, that wonderful man of god, bassus, removed the clay, and going in, found the food and water untouched, and simeon lying unable to speak or move. getting a sponge, he moistened and opened his lips and then gave him the symbols of the divine mysteries ; and, strengthened by them, he arose, and took some food, simeon stylites. 177 chewing little by little lettuces and succory, and such like. from that time, for twenty-eight years (says theo doret), he had remained fasting continually for forty days at a time. but custom had made it more easy to him. for on the first days he used to stand and praise god ; after that, when through emptiness he could stand no longer, he used to sit and perform the divine office ; and on the last day, even lie down. for when his strength failed slowly, he was forced to lie half dead. but after he stood on the column he could not bear to lie down, but invented another way by which he could stand. he fastened a beam to the column, and tied himself to it by ropes, and so passed the forty days. but afterwards, when he had received greater grace from on high, he did not want even that help : but stood for the forty days, taking no food, but strengthened by alacrity of soul and divine grace. when he had passed three years in that little house, he took possession of the peak which has since been so famous ; and when he had commanded a wall to be made round him, and procured an iron chain, twenty cubits long, he fastened one end of it to a great stone, and the other to his right foot,, so that he could not, if he wished, leave those bounds. there he lived, continually picturing heaven to himself, and forcing himself to contemplate things which are above the heavens ; for the iron bond did not check the flight of his thoughts. but when the wonderful meletius, to whom the care of the episcopate of s.l. it. n r78 simeon stylites. antioch was then commended (a man of sense and prudence, and adorned with shrewdness of intellect), told him that the iron was superfluous, since the will is able enough to impose on the body the chains of reason, he gave way, and obeyed his persuasion. and having sent for a smith, he bade him strike off the chain. [here follow some painful details unnecessary to be translated.] when, therefore, his fame was flying far and wide everywhere, all ran together, not only the neighbours, but those who were many days' journey off, some bringing the palsied, some begging health for the sick, some that they might become fathers, and all wishing to receive from him what they had not received from nature ; and when they had received, and gained their request, they went back joyful, proclaiming the benefits they had obtained, and sending many more to beg the same. so, as all are coming up from every quarter, and the road is like a river, one may see gathered in that place an ocean of men, which receives streams from every side ; not only of those who live in our region, but ishmaelites, and persians, and the armenians who are subject to them, and iberi, and homerites, and those who dwell beyond them. many have come also from the extreme west, spaniards, and britons, and gauls who live between the two. of italy it is super fluous to speak ; for they say that at rome the man has become so celebrated that they have put little images of him in all the porches of the shops, simeon stylites. 179 providing thereby for themselves a sort of safeguard and security. when, therefore, they came innumerable (for all tried to touch him, and receive some blessing from those skin garments of his), thinking it in the first place absurd and unfit that such exceeding honour should be paid him, and next, disliking the labour of the business, devised that station on the pillar, bidding one bebuilt, first of six cubits, then of twelve, next of twenty-two, and now of thirty-six. for he longs to fly up to heaven, and be freed from this earthly conversation. but i believe that this station was made not with out divine counsel. wherefore i exhort fault-finders to bridle their tongue, and not let it rashly loose, but rather consider that the lord has often devised such things, that he might profit those who were too slothful. in proof of which, theodoret quotes the examples of isaiah, hosea, and ezekiel ; and then goes on to say how god in like manner ordained this new and admirable spectacle, by the novelty of it drawing all to look, and exhibiting to those who came, a lesson which they could trust. for the novelty of the spectacle (he says) is a worthy warrant for the teaching; and he who came to see goes away instructed in divine things. and as those whose lot it is to rule over men, after a certain period of time, change the impressions on their coins, sometimes stamping them with images of lions, sometimes of n 2 i8o simeon stylites. stars, sometimes of angels, and trying, by a new mark, to make the gold more precious ; so the king of all, adding to piety and true religion these new and mani fold modes of living, as certain stamps on coin, excites to praise the tongues not only of the children of faith, but of those who are diseased with unbelief. and that so it is, not only words bear witness, but facts proclaim aloud. for many myriads of ishmaelites, who were enslaved in the darkness of impiety, have been illuminated by that station on the column. for this most shining lamp, set as it were upon a candle stick, sent forth all round its rays, like of the sun : and one may see (as i said) iberi coming, and per sians, and armenians, and accepting divine baptism. but the ishmaelites, coming by tribes, 200 and 300 at a time, and sometimes even 1,000, deny, with shouts, the error of their fathers ; and breaking in pieces, before that great illuminator, the images which they had worshipped, and renouncing the orgies of venus (for they had received from ancient times the worship of that daemon), they receive the divine sacraments, and take laws from that holy tongue, bidding farewell to their ancestral rites, and renouncing the eating of wild asses and camels. and this i have seen with my own eyes, and have heard them renouncing the impiety of their fathers, and assenting to the evangelic doctrine. but once i was in the greatest danger : for he himself told them to go to me, and receive priestly benediction, saying that they would thence obtain great advantage. but they, having run together in simeon stylites. 1s1 somewhat too barbarous fashion, some dragged me before, some behind, some sideways ; and those who were further off, scrambling over the others, and stretching out their hands, plucked my beard, or seized my clothes ; and i should have been stifled by their too warm onset, had not he, shouting out, dis persed them all. such usefulness has that column, which is mocked at by scornful men, poured forth ; and so great a ray of the knowledge of god has it sent forth into the minds of barbarians. i know also of his having done another thing of this kind : — one tribe was beseeching the divine man, that he would send forth some prayer and blessing for their chief: but another tribe which was present retorted that he ought not to bless that chief, but theirs ; for the one was a most unjust man, but the other averse to in justice. and when there had been a great contention and barbaric wrangling between them, they attacked each other. but i, using many words, kept exhorting them to be quiet, seeing that the divine man was able enough to give a blessing to both. but the one tribe kept saying, that the first chief ought not to have it ; and the other tribe trying to deprive the second chief of it. then he, by threatening them from above, and calling them dogs, hardly stilled the quarrel. this i have told, wishing to show their great faith. for they would not have thus gone mad against each other, had they not believed that the divine man's blessing possesses some very great power. i saw another miracle, which was verv celebrated. i82 simeon stylites. one coming up (he, too, was a chief of a saracen tribe) besought the divine personage that he would help a man whose limbs had given way in paralysis on the road ; and he said the misfortune had fallen on him in callinicus, which is a very large camp. when he was brought into the midst, the saint bade him renounce the impiety of his forefathers ; and when he willingly obeyed, he asked him if he believed in the father, the only-begotten son, and the holy spirit and when he confessed that he believed — " believing," said he, " in their names, arise." and when the man had risen, he bade him carry away his chief (who was a very large man) on his shoulders to his tent. he took him up, and went away forthwith ; while those who were present raised their voices in praise of god. this he commanded, imitating the lord, who bade the paralytic carry his bed. let no man call this imi tation tyranny. for his saying is, " he who believeth in me, the works which i do, he shall do also, and more than these shall he do." and, indeed, we have seen the fulfilment of this promise. for though the shadow of the lord never worked a miracle, the shadow of the great peter both loosed death, and drove out diseases, and put daemons to flight. but the lord it was who did also these miracles by his servants; and now likewise, using his name, the divine simeon works his innumerable wonders. it befell also that another wonder was worked, by no means inferior to the last. for among those who had believed in the saving name of the lord christ, an ishmaelite, of no humble rank, had made a vow to simeon stylites. 183 god, with simeon as witness. now his promise was this, that he would henceforth to the end abstain from animal food. transgressing this promise once, i know not how, he slew a bird, and dared to eat it. but god being minded to bring him by reproof to conversion, and to honour his servant, who was a witness to the broken vow, the flesh of the bird was changed into the nature of a stone, so that, even if he wished, he could not thenceforth eat it. for how could he, when the body meant for food had turned to stone ? the bar barian, stupffied by this unexpected sight, came with great haste to the holy man, bringing to the light the sin which he had hidden, and proclaimed his trans gression to all, begging pardon from god, and in voking the help of the saint, that by his all-powerful prayers he might loose him from the bonds of his sin. now many saw that miracle, and felt that the part of the bird about the breast consisted of bone and stone. but i was not only an ear-witness of his wonders, but also an ear-witness of his prophecies concerning futurity. for that drought which came, and the great dearth of that year, and the famine and pestilence which followed together, he foretold two years before, saying that he saw a rod which was laid on man, stripes which would be inflicted by it. moreover, he at another time foretold an invasion of locusts, and that it would bring no great harm, because the divine clemency soon follows punishment. but when thirty days were past, an innumerable multitude of them hung aloft, so that they even cut off the sun's rays and j 84 simeon stylites. threw a shadow ; and that we all saw plainly : but it only damaged the cattle pastures, and in no wise hurt the food of man. to me, too, who was attacked by a certain person, he signified that the quarrel would end ere a fortnight was past ; and i learned the truth of the prediction by experience. moreover there were seen by him once two rods, which came down from the skies, and fell on the eastern and western lands. now the divine man said that they signified the rising of the persian and scythian nations against the romans; and told the vision to those who were by, and with many tears and assiduous prayers, warded that disaster, the threat whereof hung over the earth. certainly the persian nation, when already armed and prepared to invade the romans, was kept back (the divine will being against them) from their attempt, and occupied at home with their own troubles. but while i know many other cases of this kind, i shall pass them over to avoid prolixity. these are surely enough to show the spiritual contemplation of his mind. his fame was great, also, with the king of the persians ; for as the ambassadors told, who came to him, he diligently inquired what was his life, and what his miracles. but they say that the king's wife also begged oil honoured by his blessing, and accepted it as the greatest of gifts. moreover, all the king's courtiers, being moved by his fame, and having heard many slanders against him from the magi, inquired diligently, and having learnt the truth, called him a divine man : while the rest of the crowd, coming to simeon stylites. 185 the muleteers and servants and soldiers, both offered money, and begged for a share in the oil of benediction. the queen, too, of the ishmaelites, longing to have a child, sent first some of her most noble subjects to the saint, beseeching him that she might become a mother. and when her prayer had been granted, and she had her heart's desire, she took the son who had been born, and went to the divine old man ; and (because women were not allowed to approach him) sent the babe, entreating his blessing on it. . . . [here theodoret puts into the queen's mouth words which it is unnecessary to quote.] but how long do i strive to measure the depths of the atlantic sea ? for as they are unfathomable by man, so do the things which he does daily surpass narration. i, however, admire above all these things his endurance ; for night and day he stands, so as to be seen by all. for as the doors are taken away, and a large part of the wall around pulled down, he is set forth as a new and wondrous spectacle to all ; now standing long, now bowing himself frequently, and offering adoration to god. many of those who stand by count these adorations ; and once a man with me, when he had counted 1,244, an d then missed, gave up counting : but always, when he bows himself, he touches his feet with his forehead. for as his stomach takes food only once in the week, and that very little — no more than is received in the divine sacraments, — his back admits of being easily bent. .... but nothing which happens to him overpowers his philosophy ; he bears nobly both voluntary and 186 simeon stylites. involuntary pains, and conquers both by readiness of will. there came once from arabena a certain good man, and honoured with the ministry of christ. he, when he had come to that mountain peak, — "tell me," he cried, "by the very truth which converts the human race to itself — art thou a man, or an incorporeal nature?" bat when all there were displeased with the question, the saint bade them all be silent, and said to him, " why hast thou asked me this ? " he answered, " because i hear every one saying publicly, that thou neither eatest nor sleepest ; but both are properties of man, and no one who has a human nature could have lived without food and sleep." then the saint bade them set a ladder to the column, and him to come up ; and first to look at his hands, and then feel inside his cloak of skins; and to see not only his feet, but a severe wound. but when he saw that he was a man, and the size of that wound, and learnt from him how he took nourishment, he came down and told me all. at the public festivals he showed an endurance of another kind. for from the setting of the sun till it had come again to the eastern horizon, he stood all night with hands uplift to heaven, neither soothed with sleep nor conquered by fatigue. but in toils so great, and so great a magnitude of deeds, and multitude of miracles, his self-esteem is as moderate as if he were in dignity the least of all men. beside his modesty, he is easy of access of speech, and gracious, and answers every man who speaks to him, simeon stylites. 187 whether he be handicraftsman, beggar, or rustic. and from the bounteous god he has received also the gift of teaching, and making his exhortations twice a day, he delights the ears of those who hear, discoursing much on grace, and setting forth the instructions of the divine spirit to look up and fly toward heaven, and depart from the earth, and imagine the kingdom which is expected, and fear the threats of gehenna, and despise earthly things, and wait for things to come. he may be seen, too, acting as judge, and giving right and just decisions. this, and the like, is done after the ninth hour. for all night, and through the day to the ninth hour, he prays perpetually. after that, he first sets forth the divine teaching to those who are present ; then having heard each man's petition, after he has performed some cures, he settles the quarrels of those between whom there is any dispute. about sunset he begins the rest of his converse with god. but though he is employed in this way, and does all this, he does not give up the care of the holy churches, sometimes fighting with the impiety of the greeks, sometimes checking the audacity of the jews, some times putting to flight the bands of heretics, and sometimes sending messages concerning these last to the emperor ; sometimes, too, stirring up rulers to zeal for god, and sometimes exhorting the pastors of the churches to bestow more care upon their flocks. i have gone through these facts, trying to show the shower by one drop, and to give those who meet with my writing a taste on the finger of the sweetness of the honey. but there remains (as is to be expected) 1 88 simeon stylites. much more ; and if he should live longer, he will probably add still greater wonders. . . . thus far theodoret. antony gives some other details of simeon's life upon the column. the devil, he says, in envy transformed himself into the likeness of an angel, shining in splendour, with fiery horses, and a fiery chariot, and appeared close to the column on which the blessed simeon stood, and shone with glory like an angel. and the devil said with bland speeches, " simeon, hear my words, which the lord hath commanded thee. he has sent me, his angel, with a chariot and horses of fire, that i may carry thee away, as i carried elias. for thy time is come. do thou, in like wise, ascend now with me into the chariot, be cause the lord of heaven and earth has sent it down. let us ascend together into the heavens, that the angels and archangels may see thee, with mary the mother of the lord, with the apostles and martyrs, the confessors and prophets ; because they rejoice to see thee, that thou mayest pray to the lord, who hast made thee after his own image. verily i have spoken to thee : delay not to ascend." simeon, having ended his prayer, said, "lord, wilt thou carry me, a sinner, into heaven ?" and lifting his right foot that he might step into the chariot, he lifted also his right hand, and made the sign of christ. when he had made the sign of the cross, forthwith the devil ap peared nowhere, but vanished with his device, as dust simeon stylites. before the face of the wind. then understood simeon that it was an art of the devil. having recovered himself, therefore, he said to his foot, " thou shalt not return back hence, but stand here until my death, when the lord shall send for me a sinner." [here follow more painful stories, which had best be omitted.] but after much time, his mother, hearing of his fame, came to see him, but was forbidden, because no woman entered that place. but when the blessed simeon heard the voice of his mother, he said to her, " bear up, my mother, a little while, and we shall see each other, if god will." but she, hearing this, began to weep, and tearing her hair, rebuked him, saying, " son, why hast thou done this ? in return for the body in which i bore thee, thou hast filled me full of grief. for the milk with which i nourished thee, thou hast given me tears. for the kiss with which i kissed thee, thou hast given me bitter pangs of heart. for the grief and labour which i have suffered, thou hast laid on me cruel stripes." and she spoke so much that she made us all weep. the blessed simeon, hearing the voice of her who bore him, put his face in his hands and wept bitterly; and commanded her, saying, " lady mother, be still a little time, and we shall see each other in eternal rest." but she began to say, " by christ, who formed thee, if there is a probability of seeing thee, who hast been so long a stranger to me, let me see thee ; or if not, let me only hear thy voice and die at once ; for thy 190 simeon stylites. father is dead in sorrow because of thee. and now do not destroy me for very bitterness, my son." saying this, for sorrow and weeping she fell asleep ; for during three days and three nights she had not ceased entreating him. then the blessed simeon prayed the lord for her, and she forthwith gave up the ghost. but they took up her body, and brought it where he could see it. and he said, weeping, "the lord receive thee in joy, because thou hast endured tribu lation for me, and borne me, and nursed and nourished me with labour." and as he said that, his mother's countenance perspired, and her body was stirred in the sight of us all. but he, lifting up his eyes to heaven, said, " lord god of virtues, who sittest above the cherubim, and searchest the foundations of the abyss, who knewest adam before he was ; who hast promised the riches of the kingdom of heaven to those who love thee ; who didst speak to moses in the bush of fire ; who blessedst abraham our father ; who bringest into paradise the souls of the just, and sinkest the souls of the impious to perdition ; who didst humble the lions, and mitigate for thy servants the strong fires of the chaldees ; who didst nourish elisha by the ravens which brought him food — receive her soul in peace, and put her in the place of the holy fathers, for thine is the power for ever and ever." antony then goes on to relate the later years of the saint's life. simeon stylites. 191 he tells how simeon, some time after this, ascended the column of forty cubits; how a great dragon (serpent) crawled towards it, and coiled round it, entreating (so it seemed) to be freed from a spike of wood which had entered its eye ; and how, st. simeon took pity on it, he caused the spike (which was a cubit long) to come out. he tells how a woman, drinking water from a jar at night, swallowed a snake unawares, which grew within her, till she was brought to the blessed simeon, who commanded some of the water of the monastery to be given her; on which the serpent crawled out of her mouth, three cubits long, and burst immediately ; and was hung up there seven days, as a testimony to many. he tells how, when there was great want of water, st. simeon prayed till the earth opened on the east of the monastery, and a cave full of water was dis covered, which had never failed them to that day. he tells how men, sitting beneath a tree, on their way to the saint, saw a doe go by, and commanded her to stop, " by the prayers of st. simeon ;" which when she had done, they killed and ate her, and came to st. simeon with the skin. but they were all struck dumb, and hardly cured after two years. and the skin of the doe they hung up, for a testimony to many. he tells of a huge leopard, which slew men and cattle all around ; and how st. simeon bade sprinkle in his haunts soil or water from the monastery ; and when men went again, they found the leopard dead. he tells how, when st. simeon cured any one, he 192 simeon stylites. bade him go home, and honour god who had healed him, and not dare to say that simeon had cured him, lest a worse thing should suddenly come to him ; and not to presume to swear by the name of the lord, for it was a grave sin; but to swear, "whether justly or unjustly, by him, lowly and a sinner. wherefore all the easterns, and barbarous tribes in those regions, swear by simeon." he tells how a robber from antioch, jonathan by name, fled to st simeon, and embraced the column, weeping bitterly, and saying how he had committed every crime, and had come thither to repent. and how the saint said, " of such is the kingdom of heaven: but do not try to tempt me, lest thou be found again in the sins which thou hast cast away." then came the officials from antioch, demanding that he should be given up, to be cast to the wild beasts. . but simeon answered, "my sons, i brought him not hither, but one greater than i ; for he helps such as this man, and of such is the kingdom of heaven. but if you can enter, carry him hence ; i cannot give him up, for i fear him who has sent the man to me." and they, struck with fear, went away. then jonathan lay for seven days embracing the column, and then asked the saint leave to go. the saint asked him if he were going back to sin ? " no, lord," he said ; " but my time is fulfilled," and straightway he gave up the ghost; and when officials came again from antioch, demanding him, simeon replied : " he who brought him came with a multitude of the heavenly host, and is able to send into tartarus your city, and all who simeon stylites. 193, dwell in it, who also has reconciled this man to himself; and i was afraid lest he should slay me suddenly. therefore weary me no more, a humble man and poor." but 'after a few years (says antony) it befell one day that he bowed himself in prayer, and re mained so three days — that is. the friday, the sabbath, and the lord's day. then i was terrified, and went up to him, and stood before his face, and said to him, " master, arise : bless us ; for the people have been waiting three days and three nights for a blessing from thee." and he answered me not ; and i said again to him : " wherefore dost thou grieve me, lord ? or in what have i offended ? i beseech thee, put out thy hand to me ; or, perchance, thou hast already departed from us ? " and seeing that he did not answer, i thought to tell no one ; for i feared to touch him : and, standing about half an hour, i bent down, and put my ear to listen ; and there was no breathing : but a fragrance as of many scents rose from his body. and so i under stood that he rested in the lord ; and, turning faint, i wept most bitterly ; and, bending down, i kissed his eyes, and clasped his beard and hair, and reproaching him, i said : " to whom dost thou leave me, lord ? or where shall i seek thy angelic doctrine ? what answer shall i make for thee ? or whose soul will look at this column, without thee, and not grieve ? what answer shall i make to the sick, when they come here to seek thee, and find thee not ? what shall i say, poor creature that i am ? to-day i see thee ; to-morrow s.l. 11. o 1 94 simeon stylites. i shall look right and left, and not find thee. and what covering shall i put upon thy column ? woe to me, when folk shall come from afar, seeking thee, and shall not find thee ! " and, for much sorrow, i fell asleep. and forthwith he appeared to me, and said : " i will not leave this column, nor this place, and this blessed mountain, where i was illuminated. but go down, satisfy the people, and send word secretly to antioch, lest a tumult arise. for i have gone to rest, as the lord willed : but do thou not cease to minister in this place, and the lord shall repay thee thy wages in heaven." but, rising from sleep, i said, in terror, " master, remember me in thy holy rest." and, lifting up his garments, i fell at his feet, and kissed them ; and, holding his hands, i laid them on my eyes, saying, " bless me, i beseech thee, my lord ! " and again i wept, and said, " what relics shall i carry away from thee as memorials ? " and as i said that his body was moved ; therefore i was afraid to touch him. and, that no one might know, i came down quickly, and sent a faithful brother to the bishop at antioch. he came at once with three bishops, and with them ardaburius, the master of the soldiers, with his people, and stretched curtains round the column, and fastened their clothes around it. for they were cloth of gold. and when they laid him down by the altar before the column, and gathered themselves together, birds flew round the column, crying, and as it were lament simeon stylites. 195 ing, in all men's sight ; and the wailing of the people and of the cattle resounded for seven miles away ; yea, even the hills, and the fields, and the trees were sad around that place ; for everywhere a dark cloud hung about it. and i watched an angel coming to visit him ; and, about the seventh hour, seven old men talked with that angel, whose face was like lightning, and his garments as snow. and i watched his voice, in fear and trembling, as long as i could hear it ; but what he said i cannot tell. but when the holy simeon lay upon the bier, the pope of antioch, wishing to take some of his beard for a blessing, stretched out his hand ; and forthwith it was dried up ; and prayers were made to god for him, and so his hand was restored again. then, laying the corpse on the bier, they took it to antioch, with psalms and hymns. but all the people round that region wept, because the protection of such mighty relics was taken from them, and because the bishop of antioch had sworn that no man should touch his body. but when they came to the fifth milestone from antioch, to the village which is called meroe, no one could move him. then a certain man, deaf and dumb for forty years, who had committed a very great crime, suddenly fell down before the bier, and began to cry, " thou art well come, servant of god ; for thy coming will save me : and if i shall obtain the grace to live, i will serve thee all the days of my life." and, rising, he caught hold of one of the mules which carried the bier, and forthwith moved himself from that o 2 t96 simeon stylites. place. and so the man was made whole from that hour. then all going out of the city of antioch received the body of the holy simeon on gold and silver, with psalms and hymns, and with many lamps brought it into the greater church, and thence to another church, which is called penitence. moreover, many virtues are wrought at his tomb, more than in his life ; and the man who was made whole served there till the day of his death. but many offered treasures to the bishop of antioch for the faith, begging relics from the body : but, on account of his oath, he never gave them. i, antony, lowly and a sinner, have set forth briefly, as far as i could, this lesson. but blessed is he who has this writing in a book, and reads it in the church and house of god ; and when he shall have brought it to his memory, he shall receive a reward from the most high ; to whom is honour, power, and virtue, for ever and ever. amen. after such a fantastic story as this of simeon, it is full time (some readers may have thought that it was full time long since) to give my own opinion of the miracles, visions, daemons, and other portents which occur in the lives of these saints. i have refrained from doing so as yet, because i wished to begin by saying everything on behalf of these old hermits which could honestly be said, and to prejudice my readers' minds in their favour rather than against them ; because i am certain that if we look on them merely with scorn and ridicule, — if we do not acknowledge prodigies. 197 and honour all in them which was noble, virtuous, and honest, — we shall never be able to combat their errors, either in our own hearts or in those of our children : and that we may have need to do so is but too probable. in this age, as in every other age of materialism and practical atheism, a revulsion in favour of superstition is at hand ; i may say is taking place round us now. doctrines are tolerated as possibly true, — persons are regarded with respect and admira tion, who would have been looked on, even fifty years ago, if not with horror, yet with contempt, as beneath the serious notice of educated english people. but it is this very contempt which has brought about the change of opinion concerning them. it has been dis covered that they were not altogether so absurd as they seemed ; that the public mind, in its ignorance, has been unjust to them ; and, in hasty repentance for that injustice, too many are ready to listen to those who will tell them that these things are not absurd at all — that there is no absurdity in believing that the leg-bone of st. simon stock may possess miraculous powers, or that the spirits of the departed communi cate with their friends by rapping on the table. the ugly after-crop of superstition which is growing up among us now is the just and natural punishment of our materialism — i may say, of our practical atheism. for those who will not believe in the real spiritual world, in which each man's soul stands face to face all day long with almighty god, the father, the son, and the holy ghost, are sure at last to crave after some false spiritual world, and seek, like the evil and 198 the natural history profligate generation of the jews, after visible signs and material wonders. and those who will not believe that the one true and living god is above their path and about their bed and spieth out all their ways, and that in him they live and move and have their being, are but too likely at last to people with fancied saints and daemons that void in the imagination and in the heart which their own unbelief has made. are we then to suppose that these old hermits had lost faith in god ? on the contrary, they were the only men in that day who had faith in god. and, if they had faith in any other things or persons beside god, they merely shared in the general popular ignorance and mistakes of their own age ; and we must not judge those who, born in an age of darkness, were struggling earnestly toward the light, as we judge those who, born in an age of scientific light, are retiring of their own will back into the darkness. before i enter upon the credibility of these alleged saints' miracles, i must guard my readers carefully from supposing that i think miracles impossible. heaven forbid. he would be a very rash person who should do that, in a world which swarms with greater wonders than those recorded in the biography of a saint. for, after all, which is more wonderful, that god should be able to restore the dead to life, or that he should be able to give life at all ? again, as for these miracles being contrary to our experience, that is no very valid argument against them; for equally contrary to our experience is every new of prodigies. 199 discovery of science, every strange phenomenon among plants and animals, every new experiment in a chemical lecture. the more we know of science the more we must confess, that nothing is too strange to . be true : and therefore we must not blame or laugh at those who in old times believed in strange things which were not true. they had an honest and rational sense of the infinite and wonderful nature of the universe, and of their own ignorance about it ; and they were ready to believe anything, as the truly wise man will be ready also. only, from ignorance of the laws of the universe, they did not know what was likely to be true and what was not ; and therefore they believed many things which experience has proved to be false ; just as seba or any of the early naturalists were ready to believe in six-legged dragons, or in the fatal power of the basilisk's eye ; fancies which, if they had been facts, would not have been nearly as wonderful as the transformation of the commonest insect, or the fertilization of the meanest weed : but which are rejected now, not because they are too wonderful, but simply because experience has proved them to be untrue. and experience, it must be remembered, is the only sound test of truth. as long as men will settle beforehand for themselves, without experience, what they ought to see, so long will they be per petually fancying that they or others have seen it ; and their faith, as it is falsely called, will delude not only their reason, but their very hearing, sight, and touch. the natural history in this age we see no supernatural prodigies, because there are none to see; and when we are told that the reason why we see no prodigies is because we have no faith, we answer (if we be sensible), just so. as long as people had faith, in plain english believed, that they could be magically cured of a disease, they thought that they or others were so cured. as long as they believed that ghosts could be seen, every silly person saw them. as long as they believed that daemons transformed themselves into an animal's shape, they said, "the devil croaked at me this morning in the shape of a raven ; and therefore my horse fell with me." as long as they believed that witches could curse them, they believed that an old woman in the next parish had overlooked them, their cattle, and their crops ; and that therefore they were poor, diseased, and unfortunate. these dreams, which were common among the peasants in remote districts five-and-twenty years ago, have, vanished, simply from the spread (by the grace of god, as i hold) of an inductive habit of mind ; of the habit of looking coolly, boldly, carefully, at facts ; till now, even among the most ignorant peasantry, the woman whc says that she has seen a ghost is likely not to be complimented on her assertion. but it does not follow that that woman's grandmother, when she said that she saw a ghost, was a consciously dishonest person ; on the contrary, so complex and contradictory is human nature, she would have been, probably, a person of more than average intellect and earnestness; of prodigies. and har instinct of the invisible and the infinite (which is that which raises man above the brutes) would have been, because misinformed, the honourable cause of her error. and thus we may believe of the good hermits, of whom prodigies are recorded. as to the truth of the prodigies themselves, there are several ways of looking at them. first, we may neither believe nor disbelieve them ; but talk of them . as " devout fairy tales," religious romances, and allegories ; and so save ourselves the trouble of judging whether they were true. that is at least an easy and pleasant method ; very fashion able in a careless, unbelieving age like this : but in following it we shall be somewhat cowardly ; for there is hardly any matter a clear judgment on which is more important just now than these same saints' miracles. next, we may believe them utterly and all; and that is also an easy and pleasant method. but if we follow it, we shall be forced to believe, among other facts, that st. paphnutius was carried miraculously across a river, because he was too modest to undress himself and wade; that st. helenus rode a savage crocodile across a river, and then commanded it to die ; and that it died accordingly upon the spot ; and that st. goar, entering the palace of the archbishop of treves, hung his cape on a sunbeam, mistaking it for a peg. and many other like things we shall be forced to believe, with which this book has no concern. or, again, we may believe as much as we can. the natural history because we should like, if we could, to believe all. but as we have not — no man has as yet — any criterion by which we can judge how much of these stories we ought to believe and how much not, which actually happened and which did not, therefore we shall end (as not only the most earnest and pious, but the most clear and logical persons, who have taken up this view, have ended already) by believing all : which is an end not to be desired. or we may believe as few as possible of them, because we should like, if we could, to believe none. and this method, for the reason aforesaid (namely, that there is no criterion by which we can settle what to believe and what not), usually ends in believing none at all. this, of believing none at all, is the last method ; and this, i confess fairly, i am inclined to think is the right one; and that these good hermits worked no real miracles and saw no real visions whatsoever. i confess that this is a very serious assertion. for there is as much evidence in favour of these hermits' miracles and visions as' there is, with most men, of the existence of china ; and much more than there, with most men, is of the earth's going round the sun. but the truth is, that evidence, in most matters of importance, is worth very little. very few people decide a question on its facts, but on their own preju dices as to what they would like to have happened. very few people are judges of evidence ; not even of their own eyes and ears. very few persons, when they see a thing, know what they have seen, and what of prodigies. 203 not. they tell you quite honestly, not what they saw, but what they think they ought to have seen, or should like to have seen. it is a fact too often conveniently forgotten, that in every human crowd the majority will be more or less bad, or at least foolish ; the slaves of anger, spite, conceit, vanity, sordid hope, and sordid fear. but let them be as honest and as virtuous as they may, pleasure, terror, and the desire of seeming to have seen or heard more than their neighbours, and all about it, make them exaggerate. if you take apart five honest men, who all stood by and saw the same man do anything strange, offensive, or even ex citing, no two of them will give you quite the same account of it. if you jeave them together, while excited, an hour before you question them, they will have compared notes and made up one story, which will contain all their mistakes combined ; and it will require the skill of a practised barrister to pick the grain of wheat out of the chaff. moreover, when people are crowded together under any excitement, there is nothing which they will not make each other believe. they will make each other believe in spirit-rapping, table-turning, the mesmeric fluid, electro-biology ; that they saw the lion on northumberland house wagging his tail;* that witches have been seen riding in the air ; that the jews had poisoned the wells ; that — but why go further into the sad catalogue of human absurdities, and the crimes which have followed them ? every one is ashamed of not seeing what every one else sees, and persuades * an authentic fact. 204 the natural history himself against his own eye sight for fear of seeming stupid or ill-conditioned ; and therefore in all evidence, the fewer witnesses, the_ more truth, because the evidence of ten men is worth more than that of a hundred together; and the evidence of a thousand men together is worth still less. now, if people are savage and ignorant, diseased and poverty-stricken ; even if they are merely excited and credulous, and quite sure that some thing wonderful must happen, then they will be also quite certain that something wonderful has happened ; and their evidence will be worth nothing at all. moreover, suppose that something really wonderful has happened ; suppose, for instance, that some ner vous or paralytic person has been suddenly restored to strength by the command of a saint or of some other remarkable man. this is quite possible, i may say common; and it is owing neither to physical nor to so-called spiritual causes, but simply to the power which a strong mind has over a weak one, to make it exert itself, and cure itself by its own will, though but for a time. , when this good news comes to be told, and to pass from mouth to mouth, it ends of quite a different shape from that in which it began. it has been added to, taken from, twisted in every direction according to the fancy or the carelessness of each teller, till what really happened in the first case no one will be able to say ; * and this is, therefore, what actually happened, * if any one doubts this, let him try the game called " russian of prodigies. 205 in the case of these reported wonders. moreover (and this is the most important consideration of all) for men to be fair judges of what really happens, they must have somewhat sound minds in somewhat sound bodies ; which no man can have (however honest and virtuous) who gives himself up, as did these old hermits, to fasting and vigils. that continued sleep lessness produces delusions, and at last actual mad ness, every physician knows ; and they know also, as many a poor sailor has known when starving on a wreck, and many a poor soldier in such a retreat as that of napoleon from moscow, that extreme hunger and thirst produce delusions also, very similar to (and caused much in the same way as) those produced by ardent spirits ; so that many a wretched creature ere now has been taken up for drunkenness, who has been simply starving to death. whence it follows that these good hermits, by con tinual fasts and vigils, must have put themselves (and their histories prove that they did put themselves) into a state of mental disease, in which their evidence was worth nothing ; a state in which the mind cannot distinguish between facts and dreams ; in which life itself is one dream ; in which (as in the case of mad ness, or of a feverish child) the brain cannot distinguish between the objects which are outside it and the imagi nations which are inside it. and it is plain, that the scandal," where a story, passed secretly from mouth to mouth, ends utterly transformed, the original point being lost, a new point sub stituted, original names and facts omitted, and utterly new ones inserted, sec. &c. ; an experiment which is ludicrous, or saddening, according to the temper of the experimenter. 206 the natural history more earnest and pious, and therefore the more ascetic, one of these good men was, the more utterly would his brain be in a state of chronic disease. god forbid that we should scorn them, therefore, or think the worse of them in any way. they were animated by a truly noble purpose, the resolution to be good according to their light ; they carried out that purpose with heroical endurance, and they have their reward : but this we must say, if we be rational people, that on their method of holiness, the more holy any one of them was, the less trustworthy was his account of any matter whatsoever; and that the hermit's peculiar temptations (quite unknown to the hundreds of un married persons who lead quiet and virtuous, because rational and healthy, lives) are to be attributed, not as they thought, to a daemon, but to a more or less unhealthy nervous system. it must be remembered, moreover, in justice to these old hermits, that they did not invent the belief that the air was full of daemons. all the eastern nations had believed in genii (jinns), fairies (peris), and devas, divs, or devils. the devas of the early hindus were beneficent beings : to the eyes of the old persians (in their hatred of idolatry and polytheism), they appeared evil beings, divs, or devils. and even so the genii and daemons of the roman empire became, in the eyes of the early christians, wicked and cruel spirits. and they had their reasons, and on the whole sound ones, for so regarding them. the educated classes had given up any honest and literal worship of the of prodigies. 207 old gods. they were trying to excuse themselves for their lingering half belief in them, by turning them into allegories, powers of nature, metaphysical ab stractions, as did porphyry and iamblichus, plotinus and proclus, and the rest of the neo-platonist school of aristocratic philosophers and fine ladies : but the lower classes still, in every region, kept up their own local beliefs and worships, generally of the most foul and brutal kind. the animal worship of egypt among the lower classes was sufficiently detestable in the time of herodotus. it had certainly not im proved in that of juvenal and persius ; and was still less likely to have improved afterwards. this is a subject so shocking that it can be only hinted at. but as a single instance — what wonder if the early hermits of egypt looked on the crocodile as something diabolic, after seeing it, for generations untold, petted and wor shipped in many a city, simply because it was the incarnate symbol of brute strength, cruelty, and cunning? we must remember, also, that earlier gene rations (the old norsemen and germans just as much as the old egyptians) were wont to look on animals as more miraculous than we do ; as more akin, in many cases, to human beings ; as guided, not by a mere blind instinct, but by an intellect which was allied to, and often surpassed man's intellect. " the bear," said the old norsemen, " had ten men's strength, and eleven men's wit ; " and in some such light must the old hermits have looked on the hysena, " bellua," the monster par excellence; or on the crocodile, the hippo potamus, and the poisonous snakes, which have been 208 the natural history objects of terror and adoration in every country where they have been formidable. whether the hyaenas were daemons, or were merely sent by the daemons, st. antony and st. athanasius do not clearly define, for they did not know. it was enough for them that the beasts prowled at night in those desert cities, which were, according to the opinions, not only of the easterns, but of the romans, the special haunt of ghouls, witches, and all uncanny things. their fiendish laughter — which, when heard even in a modern me nagerie, excites and shakes most person's nerves — rang through hearts and brains which had no help or comfort, save in god alone. the beast tore up the dead from their graves ; devoured alike the belated child and the foulest offal ; and was in all things a type and incarnation of that which man ought not to be. why should not he, so like the worst of men, have some bond or kindred with the evil beings who were not men ? why should not the graceful and deadly cobra, the horrid cerastes, the huge throttling python, and even more, the loathly puff-adder, un distinguishable from the gravel among which he lay coiled, till he leaped furiously and unswerving, as if shot from a bow, upon his prey — why should not they too be kindred to that evil power who had been, in the holiest and most ancient books, personified by the name of the serpent ? before we have a right to say that the hermits' view of these deadly animals was not the most rational, as well as the most natural, which they could possibly have taken up, we must put ourselves in their places; and look at nature as of prodigies. 209 they had learnt to look at it, not from scripture and christianity, so much as from the immemorial tradi tions of their heathen ancestors. if it be argued, that they ought to have been well enough acquainted with these beasts to be aware of their merely animal nature, the answer is — that they were probably not well acquainted with the beasts of the desert. they had never, perhaps, before their " conversion," left the narrow valley, well tilled and well inhabited, which holds the nile. a climb from it into the barren mountains and deserts east and west was a journey out of the world into chaos, and the region of the unknown and the horrible, which de manded high courage from the unarmed and effemi nate egyptian, who knew not what monster he might meet ere sundown. moreover, it is very probable that during these centuries of decadence, in egypt, as in other parts of the roman empire, " the wild beasts of the field had increased" on the population, and were reappearing in the more cultivated grounds. but these old hermits appear perpetually in another, and a more humane, if not more human aspect, as the miraculous tamers of savage beasts. those who wish to know all which can be alleged in favour of their having possessed such a power, should read m. de montalembert's chapter, " les moines et la nature." * all that learning and eloquence can say in favour of the theory is said there ; and with a candour which demands from no man full belief of many beautiful but impossible stories, " travesties of historic verity," * les moines d'occident, vol. ii. pp. 332— 46 7. s.l. 11. p the natural history which have probably grown up from ever-varying tradition in the course of ages. m. de montalembert himself points out a probable explanation of many of them : — an ingenious scholar of our times* (he says) has pointed out their true and legitimate origin — at least in ancient gaul. according to him, after the gradual disappearance of the gallo-roman popula tion, the oxen, the horses, the dogs had returned to the wild state ; and it was in the forest that the breton missionaries had to seek these animals, to employ them anew for domestic use. the miracle was, to restore to man the command and the enjoy ment of those creatures, which god had given him as instruments. this theory is probable enough, and will explain, doubtless, many stories. it may even explain those of tamed wolves, who may have been only feral dogs, i.e. dogs run wild. but it will not explain those in which (in ireland as well as in gaul) the stag appears as obeying the hermit's commands. the twelve huge stags who come out of the forest to draw the ploughs for st. leonor and his monks, or those who drew to his grave the corpse of the irish hermit kellac, or those who came out of the forest to supply the place of st. colodoc's cattle, which the seigneur had carried off in revenge for his having given sanctuary to a hunted deer, must have been wild from the beginning ; and many another tale must remain without any explanation whatsoever — save the simplest of all. * m. la borderie, " discours sur les saints bretons ;'' a work which i have unibrtunatiy not been able to consult of prodigies. neither can any such theory apply to the marvels vouched for by st. athanasius, st. jerome, and other contemporaries, which "show us (to quote m. de montalembert) the most ferocious animals at the feet of such men as antony, pachomius, macarius, and hilarion, and those who copied them. at every page one sees wild asses, crocodiles, hippopotami, hyaenas, and, above all, lions, transformed into re spectful companions and docile servants of these prodigies of sanctity ; and one concludes thence, not that these beasts had reasonable souls, but that god knew how to glorify those who devoted them selves to his glory, and thus show how all nature obeyed man before he was excluded from paradise by his disobedience." this is, on the whole, the cause which the con temporary biographers assign for these wonders. the hermits were believed to have returned, by celibacy and penitence, to "the life of angels ;" to that state of perfect innocence which was attributed to our first parents in eden : and therefore of them our lord's words were true : " he that believeth in me, greater things than these (which i do) shall he do." but those who are of a different opinion will seek for different causes. they will, the more they know of these stories, admire often their gracefulness, often their pathos, often their deep moral significance ; they will feel the general truth of m. de montalem bert's words : " there is not one of them which does not honour and profit human nature, and which does not express a victory of weakness over force, and of p 2 the natural history good over evil." but if they look on physical facts as sacred things, as the voice of god revealed in the phenomena of matter, their first question will be, "are they true ? " some of them must be denied utterly, like that of st. helenus, riding and then slaying the crocodile. it did not happen. abbot amnion* did not make two dragons guard his cell against robbers. st. gera simusf did not set the lion, out of whose foot he had taken a thorn, to guard his ass ; and when the ass was stolen by an arabian camel-driver, he did not (fancying that the lion had eaten the ass) make him carry water in the ass's stead. neither did the lion, when next he met the thief and the ass, bring them up, in his own justification, $ to st. gerasimus. st. costinian did not put a pack-saddle on a bear, and make him carry a great stone, a lioness did not bring her five blind whelps to a hermit, that he might give them sight.§ and, though sulpicius severus says that he saw it with his own eyes, || it is hard to believe the latter part of the graceful story which he tells — of an old hermit whom he found dwelling alone twelve miles from the nile, by a well of vast depth. one ox he had, whose whole work was to raise the water by a wheel. around him was a garden of herbs, kept rich and green amid the burning sand, where neither seed nor root could live. the old man and the ox fed together on the produce of their com mon toil ; but two miles off there was a single * vitae patrum, p. 753. t ibid. p. 893. x ibid. p. 539. § ibid. p. 5-;o. || ibid. p. 532 of prodigies. 213 palm-tree, to which, after supper, the hermit takes his guests. beneath the palm they find a lioness ; but instead of attacking them, she moves " modestly " away at the old man's command, and sits down to wait for her share of dates. she feeds out of his hand, like a household animal, and goes her way, leaving her guests trembling, "and confessing how great was the virtue of the hermit's faith, and how great their own infirmity." this last story, which one would gladly believe, were it possible, i have inserted as one of those which hang on the verge of credibility. in the very next page, sulpicius severus tells a story quite credible, of a she-wolf, which he saw with his own eyes as tame as any dog. there can be no more reason to doubt that fact than to' ascribe it to a miracle. we may even believe that the wolf, having gnawed to pieces the palm basket which the good old man was weaving, went off, knowing that she had done wrong, and after a week came back, begged pardon like a rational soul, and was caressed, and given a double share of bread. many of these stories which tell of the taming of wild beasts may be true, and yet contain no miracle. they are very few in number, after all, in proportion to the number of monks ; they are to be counted at most by tens, while the monks are counted by tens of thousands. and among many great com panies of monks, there may have been one individual, as there is, for instance, in many a country parish a bee-taker or a horse-tamer, of quiet temper and strong nerve, and quick and sympathetic intellect, 2h the natural history whose power over animals is so extraordinary, as to be attributed by the superstitious and uneducated to some hereditary secret, or some fairy gift. very powerful to attract wild animals must have been the good hermits' habit of sitting motionless for hours, till (as with st. guthlac) the swallows sat and sang upon his knee ; and of moving slowly and gently at his work, till (as with st. karilef, while he pruned his vines) the robin came and built in his hood as it hung upon a tree: very powerful his freedom from anger, and, yet more important, from fear, which always calls out rage in wild beasts, while a calm and bold front awes them : and most powerful of all, the kindliness of heart, the love of companionship, which brought the wild bison to feed by st. karilef's side as he prayed upon the lawn ; and the hind to nourish st. giles with her milk in the jungles of the bouches du rhone. there was no miracle ; save the moral miracle that, in ages of cruelty and slaughter, these men had learned (surely by the inspiration of god) how — " he prayeth well who loveth well both man and bird and beast ; he prayeth best who loveth best all things, both great and small ; for the dear god who loveth us, he made and loveth all." after all, let these old lives of the fathers tell their own tale. by their own merits let them stand or fall ; and stand they will in one sense : for whatsoever else they are not, this they are — the histories of good men. their physical science and of prodigies. 215 their daemonology may have been on a par with those of the world around them : but they possessed what the world did not possess, faith in the utterly good and self-sacrificing god, and an ideal of virtue and purity such as had never been seen since the first whitsuntide. and they set themselves to realize that ideal with a simplicity, an energy, an endurance, which were altogether heroic. how far they were right in " giving up the world " depends entirely on what the world was then like, and whether there was any hope of reforming it. it was their opinion that there was no such hope ; and those who know best the facts which surrounded them, its utter frivolity, its utter viciousness, the deadness which had fallen on art, science, philosophy, human life, whether family, social, or political ; the preva lence of slavery, in forms altogether hideous and unmentionable ; the insecurity of life and property, whether from military and fiscal tyranny, or from perpetual inroads of the so-called "barbarians:" those, i say, who know these facts best will be most inclined to believe that the old hermits were wise in their gene ration ; that the world was past salvation ; that it was not a wise or humane thing to marry and bring children into the world ; that in such a state of society, an honest and virtuous man could not exist, and that those who wished to remain honest and virtuous must flee into the desert, and be alone with god and their fellows. the question which had to be settled then and there, at that particular crisis of the human race, was 2i 6 what the hermits not — are certain wonders true or false ? but — is man a mere mortal animal, or an immortal soul ? is his flesh meant to serve his spirit, or his spirit his flesh ? is pleasure, or virtue, the end and aim of his existence ? the hermits set themselves to answer that question, not by arguing or writing about it, but by the only way in which any question can be settled — by experi ment. they resolved to try whether their immortal souls could not grow better and better, while their mortal bodies were utterly neglected ; to make their flesh serve their spirit ; to make virtue their only end and aim ; and utterly to relinquish the very notion of pleasure. to do this one thing, and nothing else, they devoted their lives ; and they succeeded. from their time it has been a received opinion, not merely among a few philosophers or a few pharisees, but among the lowest, the poorest, the most ignorant, who have known aught of christianity, that man is an im mortal soul ; that the spirit, and not the flesh, ought to be master and guide; that virtue is the highest good ; and that purity is a virtue, impurity a sin. these men were, it has been well said, the very fathers of purity. and if, in that and in other matters, they pushed their purpose to an extreme — if, by devoting themselves utterly to it alone, they suffered, not merely in wideness of mind or in power of judging evidence, but even in brain, till they became some of them at times insane from over-wrought nerves — it is not for us to blame the soldier for the wounds which have crippled him, or the physician for the disease which he has caught himself while trying to heal have taught mankind. 217 others. let us not speak ill of the bridge which carries us over, nor mock at those who did the work for us as seemed to them best, and perhaps in the only way in which it could be done in those evil days. as a matter of fact, through these men's teaching and example we have learnt what morality, purity, and christianity we possess ; and if any answer that we have learnt them from the scriptures, who but these men preserved the scriptures to us ? who taught us to look on them as sacred and inspired ? who taught us to apply them to our own daily lives, and find comfort and teaching in every age, in words written ages ago by another race in a foreign land ? the scriptures were the book, generally the only book, which they read and meditated, not merely from morn till night, but, as far as fainting nature would allow, from night to morn again : and their method of interpreting them (as far as i can discover) differed in nothing from that common to all christians now, save that they interpreted literally certain precepts of our lord and of st. paul which we consider to have applied only to the " temporary necessity " of a decayed, dying, and hopeless age such as that in which they lived. and therefore, because they knew the scripture well, and learned in it lessons of true virtue and true philosophy, though unable to save civi lization in the east, they were able at least to save it in the west. the european hermits, and the monastic communities which they originated, were indeed a seed of life, not merely to the conquered roman popula tion of gaul or spain or britain, but to the heathen 2 1 8 wha t hermits ha ve ta ugh t. and arian barbarians who conquered them. among those fierce and armed savages, the unarmed hermits stood, strong only by justice, purity, and faith in god, defying the oppressor, succouring the oppressed, and awing and softening the new aristocracy of the middle age, which was founded on mere brute force and pride of race ; because the monk took his stand upon mere humanity ; because he told the wild conqueror, goth or sueve, frank or burgund, saxon or norseman, that all men were equal in the sight of god ; because he told them (to quote athanasius's own words con cerning antony) that "virtue is not beyond human nature;" that the highest moral excellence was possible to the most low-born and unlettered peasant whom they trampled under their horses' hoofs, if he were only renewed and sanctified by the spirit of god. they accepted the lowest and commonest facts of that peasant's wretched life ; they outdid him in help lessness, loneliness, hunger, dirt, and slavery ; and then said, " among all these i can yet be a man of god, wise, virtuous, pure, free, and noble in the sight of god, though not in the sight of caesars, counts, and knights." they went on, it is true, to glorify the means above the end ; to consecrate childlessness, self torture, dirt, ignorance, as if they were things pleasing to god and holy in themselves. but in spite of those errors they wrought throughout europe a work which, as far as we can judge, could have been done in no other way ; done only by men who gave up all that makes life worth having for the sake of being good themselves and making others good. the hermits of europe. most readers will recollect what an important part in the old ballads and romances is played by the hermit. he stands in strongest contrast to the knight. he fills up, as it were, by his gentleness and self sacrifice, what is wanting in the manhood of the knight, the slave too often of his own fierceness and self-assertion. the hermit rebukes him when he sins, heals him when he is wounded, stays his hand in some mad murderous duel, such as was too common in days when any two armed horsemen meeting on road or lawn ran blindly at each other in the mere lust of fighting, as boars or stags might run. sometimes he interferes to protect the oppressed serf ; sometimes to rescue the hunted deer which has taken sanctuary at his feet. sometimes, again, his influence is that of intellectual superiority ; of worldly experience ; of the travelled man who has seen many lands and many nations. sometimes, again, that of sympathy ; for he has been a knight himself, and fought and 220 the hermits of europe. sinned, and drank of the cup of vanity and vexa tion of spirit, like the fierce warrior who kneels at his feet. all who have read (and all ought to have read) spenser's fairy queen, must recollect his charming description of the hermit with whom prince arthur leaves serena and the squire after they have been wounded by " the blatant beast " of slander ; when — " toward night they came unto a plain by which a little hermitage there lay far from all neighbourhood, the which annoy it may. " and nigh thereto a little chapel stood, which being all with ivy overspread decked all the roof, and shadowing the rood, seemed like a grove fair branched overhead ; therein the hermit which his life'here led in straight observance of religions vow, was wont his hours and holy things to bed ; and therein he likewise was praying now, when as these knights arrived, they wist not where nor how. " they stayed not there, but straightway in did pass : who when the hermit present saw in place, from his devotions straight he troubled was ; which breaking off, he toward them did pace with staid steps and grave beseeming grace : for well it seemed that whilom he had been some goodly person, and of gentle race, that could his good to all, and well did ween how each to entertain with courtesy beseen. '■' he thence them led into his hermitage, letting their steeds to graze upon the green : small was his house, and like a little cage, for his own term, yet inly neat and clean, decked with green boughs, and flowers gay beseen the hermits of europe. therein he them full fair did entertain, not with such forged shews, as fitter been for courting fools that courtesies would feign, but with entire affection and appearance plain. ****** how be that careful hermit did his best with many kinds of medicines meet to tame the poisonous humour that did most infest their reakling wounds, and every day them duly dressed. " for he right well in leech's craft was seen ; and through the long experience of his days, which had in many fortunes tossed been, and passed through many perilous assays : he knew the divers want of mortal ways, and in the minds of men had great insight ; which with sage counsel, when they went astray, he could inform and them reduce aright ; and all the passions heal which wound the weaker sprite. " for whilome he had been a doughty knight, as any one that lived in his days, and proved oft in many a perilous fight, in which he grace and glory won always, and in all battles bore away the bays : but being now attached with timely age, and weary of this world's unquiet ways, he took himself unto this hermitage, in which he lived alone like careless bird in cage." this picture is not poetry alone : it is history. such men actually lived, and such work they actually did, from the southernmost point of italy to the northern most point of scotland, during centuries in which there was no one else to do the work. the regular clergy could not have done it. bishops and priests were entangled in the affairs of this world, striving to be statesmen, striving to be land-owners, striving to the hermits of europe. pass church lands on from father to son, and to establish themselves as an hereditary caste of priests. the chaplain or house-priest who was to be found in every nobleman's, almost every knight's castle, was apt to become a mere upper servant, who said mass every morning in return for the good cheer which he got every evening, and fetched and carried at the bidding of his master and mistress. but the hermit who dwelt alone in the forest glen, occupied, like an old hebrew prophet, a superior and an independent position. he needed nought from any man save the scrap of land which the lord was only too glad to allow him in return for his counsels and his prayers. and to him, as to a mysterious and supernatural personage, the lord went privately for advice in his quarrels with the neighbouring barons, or with his own kin. to him the lady took her children when they were sick, to be healed, as she fancied, by his prayers and blessings ; or poured into his ears a hundred secret sorrows and anxieties which she dare not tell to her fierce lord, who hunted and fought the livelong day, and drank too much liquor every night. this class of men sprang up rapidly, by natural causes, and yet by a divine necessity, as soon as the western empire was conquered by the german tribes ; and those two young officers whom we saw turning monks at treves, in the time of st. augustine, may, if they lived to be old men, have given sage counsel again and again to fierce german knights and kinglets, who had dispossessed the rich and effeminate land owners of their estates, and sold them, their wives, and the hermits of europe. 223 children, in gangs by the side of their own slaves. only the roman who had turned monk would probably escape that fearful ruin ; and he would remain behind, while the rest of his race was enslaved or swept away, as a seed of christianity and of civilization, destined to grow and spread, and bring the wild conquerors in due time into the kingdom of god. for the first century or two after the invasion of the barbarians, the names of the hermits and saints are almost exclusively latin. their biographies repre sent them in almost every case as born of noble roman parents. as time goes on, german names appear, and at last entirely supersede the latin ones ; showing that the conquering race had learned from the conquered to become hermits and monks like them. st. severinus, the apostle of noricum. of all these saintly civilizers, st. severinus of vienna is perhaps the most interesting, and his story the most historically instructive* a common time, the middle of the fifth century, the province of noricum (austria, as we should now call it) was the very highway of invading barbarians, the centre of the human maelstrom in which huns, ale manni, rugi, and a dozen wild tribes more, wrestled up and down and round the starving and beleaguered towns of what had once been a happy and fertile province, each tribe striving to trample the other under foot, and to march southward over their corpses to plunder what was still left of the already plundered wealth of italy and rome. the difference of race, in tongue, and in manners, between the conquered and their conquerors, was made more painful by difference in creed. the conquering germans and huns were * it has been handed down, in most crabbed latin, by his disciple, eugippius ; it may be read at length in pez, scriptores austriacarum renim. s7\ severinus. 225 either arians or heathens. the conquered race (though probably of very mixed blood), who called themselves romans, because they spoke latin and lived under the roman law, were orthodox catholics ; and the miseries of religious persecution were too often added to the usual miseries of invasion. it was about the year 455-60. attila, the great king of the huns, who called himself — and who was — "the scourge of god," was just dead. his empire had broken up. the whole centre of europe was in a state of anarchy and war ; and the hapless romans along the danube were in the last extremity of .terror, not knowing by what fresh invader their crops would be swept off up to the very gates of the walled towers which were their only defence : when there appeared among them, coming out of the east, a man of god. who he was, he would not tell. his speech showed him to be an african roman — a fellow-countryman of st. augustine — probably from the neighbourhood of carthage. he had certainly at one time gone to some desert in the east, zealous to learn " the more perfect life." severinus, he said, was his name ; a name which indicated high rank, as did the manners and the scholarship of him who bore it. but more than his name he would not tell. " if you take me for a runaway slave," he said, smiling, "get ready money to redeem me with when my master demands me back." for he believed that they would have need of him ; that god had sent him into that land that he might be of use to its wretched people. and certainly he could have come into the neighbourhood s.i.. n. q 226 st. severwus. of vienna at that moment for no other purpose than to do gocjd, unless he came to deal in slaves. he settled first at a town called by his biographer casturis ; and, lodging with the warden of the church, lived quietly the hermit life. meanwhile the german tribes were prowling round the town ; and severinus, going one day into the church, began to warn the priests and clergy and all the people that a destruc tion was coming on them which they could only avert by prayer and fasting and the works of mercy. they laughed him to scorn, confiding in their lofty roman walls, which the invaders — wild horsemen, who had no military engines — were unable either to scale or batter down. severinus left the town at once, prophesying, it was said, the very day and hour of its fall. he went on to the next town, which was then closely garrisoned by a barbarian force, and repeated his warning there : but while the people were listening to him, there came an old man to the gate, and told them how casturis had been already sacked, as the man of god had foretold ; and, going into the church, threw himself at the feet of st. severinus, and said that he had been saved by his merits from being destroyed with his fellow-townsmen. then the dwellers in the town hearkened to the man of god, and gave themselves up to fasting and almsgiving and prayer for three whole days. and on the third day, when the solemnity of the evening sacrifice was fulfilled, a sudden earthquake happened, and the barbarians, seized with panic fear, and probably hating and dreading — like all those st. severinus. 227 wild tribes — confinement between four stone walls instead of the free open life of the tent and the stock ade, forced the romans to open their gates to them, rushed out into the night, and in their madness slew each other. in those days a famine fell upon the people of vienna ; and they, as their sole remedy, thought good to send for the man of god from the neighbouring town. he went, and preached to them, too, repent ance and almsgiving. the rich, it seems, had hidden up their stores of corn, and left the poor to starve at least st. severinus discovered (by divine revela tion, it was supposed), that a widow named procula had done as much. he called her out into the midst of the people, and asked her why she, a noble woman and free-born, had made herself a slave to avarice, which is idolatry. if she would not give her corn to christ's poor, let her throw it into the danube to feed the fish, for any gain from it she would not have. procula was abashed, and served out her hoards there upon willingly to the poor; and a little while after wards, to the astonishment of all, vessels came down the danube, laden with every kind of merchandise. they had been frozen up for many days near passau, in the thick ice of the river enns : but the prayers of god's servant (so men believed) had opened the ice-gates, and let them down the stream before the usual time. then the wild german horsemen swept around the walls, and carried off human beings and cattle, as many as they could find. severinus, like some old q2 228 st. severinus. hebrew prophet, did not shrink from advising hard blows, where hard blows could avail. mamertinus, the tribune, or officer in command, told him that he had so few soldiers, and those so ill-armed, that he dare not face the enemy. severinus answered, that they should get weapons from the barbarians them selves ; the lord would fight for them, and they should hold their peace : only if they took any cap tives they should bring them safe to him. at the second milestone from the city they came upon the plunderers, who fled at once, leaving their arms behind. thus was the prophecy of the man of god fulfilled. the romans brought the captives back to him unharmed. he loosed their bonds, gave them food and drink, and let them go. but they were to tell their comrades that, if ever they came near that spot again, celestial vengeance would fall on them, for the god of the christians fought from heaven in his servants' cause. so the barbarians trembled, and went away. and the fear of st. severinus fell on all the goths, heretic arians though they were; and on the rugii, who held the north bank of the danube in those evil days. st. severinus, meanwhile, went out of vienna, and built himself a cell at a place called "at the vineyards." but some benevolent impulse — divine revelation, his biographer calls it — prompted him to return, and build himself a cell on a hill close to vienna, round which other cells soon grew up, tenanted by his disciples. " there," says his biographer, " he longed to escape the crowds of men who were wont st. severinus. 229 to come to him, and cling closer to god in continual prayer : but the more he longed to dwell in solitude, the more often he was warned by revelations not to deny his presence to the afflicted people." he fasted continually; he went barefoot even in the midst of winter, which was so severe, the story continues, in those days around vienna, that wagons crossed the danube on the solid ice : and yet, instead of being puffed-up by his own virtues, he set an example of humility to all, and bade them with tears to pray for him, that the saviour's gifts to him might not heap condemnation on his head. over the wild rugii st. severinus seems to have acquired unbounded influence. their king, flacci theus, used to pour out his sorrows to him, and tell him how the princes of the goths would surely slay him ; for when he had asked leave of him to pass on into italy, he would not let him go. but st. seve rinus prophesied to him that the goths would do him no harm. only one warning he must take : " let it not grieve him to ask peace even for the least of men." the friendship which had thus begun between the barbarian king and the cultivated saint was carried on by his son feva : but his "deadly and noxious wife " gisa, who appears to have been a fierce arian, always, says his biographer, kept him back from clemency. one story of gisa's misdeeds is so cha racteristic both of the manners of the time and of the style in which the original biography is written, that i shall take leave to insert it at length. "the king feletheus (who is also feva), the st. sever fnus. son of the afore-mentioned flaccitheus, following his father's devotion, began, at the commencement of his reign, often to visit the holy man. his deadly and noxious wife, named gisa, always kept him back from the remedies of clemency. for she, among the other plague-spots of her iniquity, even tried to have certain catholics re-baptized : but when her husband did not consent, on account of his reverence for st severinus, she gave up immediately her sacrilegious intention, burdening the romans, nevertheless, with hard conditions, and commanding some of them to be exiled to the danube. for when one day, she, having come to the village next to vienna, had ordered some of them to be sent over the danube, and con demned to the most menial offices of slavery, the man of god sent to her, and begged that they might be let go. but she, blazing up in a flame of fury, ordered the harshest of answers to be returned. ' i pray thee,' she said, ' servant of god, hiding there within thy cell, allow us to settle what we choose about our own slaves.' but the man of god hearing this, 'i trust,' he said, 'in my lord jesus christ, that she will be forced by necessity to fulfil that which in her wicked will she has despised.' and forthwith a swift rebuke followed, and brought low the soul of the arrogant woman. for she had con fined in close custody certain barbarian goldsmiths, that they might make regal ornaments. to them the son of the aforesaid king, frederic by name, still a little boy, had gone in, in childish levity, on the very day on which the queen had despised the st. severinus. 231 servant of god. the goldsmiths put a sword to the child's breast, saying, that if any one attempted to enter without giving them an oath that they should be protected, he should die ; and that they would slay the king's child first, and themselves afterwards, seeing that they had no hope of life left, being worn out with long prison. when she heard that, the cruel and impious queen, rending her garments for grief, cried out, ' o servant of god, severinus, are the injuries which i did thee thus avenged ? hast thou obtained by the earnest prayer thou hast poured out this punishment for my contempt, that thou shouldst avenge it on my own flesh and blood ? ' then, running up and down with manifold contrition and miserable lamentation, she confessed that for the act of contempt which she had committed against the servant of god she was struck by the vengeance of the present blow ; and forthwith she sent knights to ask for forgiveness, and sent across the river the romans his prayers for whom she had despised. the goldsmiths, having received immediately a pro mise of safety, and giving up the child, were in like manner let go. " the most reverend severinus, when he heard this, gave boundless thanks to the creator, who some times puts off the prayers of suppliants for this end, that as faith, hope, and charity grow, while lesser things are sought, he may concede greater things. lastly, this did the mercy of the omnipotent saviour work, that while it brought to slavery a woman free, but cruel overmuch, she was forced to restore to 232 st. sevekinus. liberty those who were enslaved. this having been marvellously gained, the queen hastened with her husband to the servant of god, and showed him her son, who, she confessed, had been freed from the verge of death by his prayers, and promised that she would never go against his commands." to this period of severinus's life belongs the once famous story of his interview with odoacer, the first barbarian king of italy, and brother of the great onulph or wolf, who was the founder of the family of the guelphs, counts of altorf, and the direct an cestors of victoria, queen of england. their father was ^edecon, secretary at one time of attila, and chief of the little tribe of turklings, who, though german,, had clung faithfully to attila's sons, and came to ruin at the great battle of netad, when the empire of the huns broke up once and for ever. then odoacer and his brother started over the alps to seek their fortunes in italy, and take service, after the fashion of young german adventurers, with the romans ; and they came to st. severinus's cell, and went in, heathens as they probably were, to ask a blessing of the holy man ; and odoacer had to stoop and to stand stooping, so huge he was. the saint saw that he was no common lad, and said, " go to italy, clothed though thou be in ragged sheepskins : thou shalt soon give greater gifts to thy friends." so odoacer went on into italy, deposed the last of the caesars, a paltry boy, romulus augustulus by name, and found himself, to his own astonishment, and that of all the world, the first german king of italy ; and, st. severinus. 233 when he was at the height of his power, he remem bered the prophecy of severinus, and sent to him, offering him any boon he chose to ask. but all that the saint asked was, that he should forgive some romans whom he had banished. st. severinus meanwhile fore saw that odoacer's kingdom would not last, as he seems to have foreseen many things, by no miraculous revelation, but simply as a far-sighted man of the world. for when certain german knights were boast ing before him of the power and glory of odoacer, he said that it would last some thirteen, or at most four teen years ; and the prophecy (so all men said in those days) came exactly true. there is no need to follow the details of st. seve rinus's labours through some five-and-twenty years of perpetual self-sacrifice — and, as far as this world was concerned, perpetual disaster. eugippius's chapters are little save a catalogue of towns sacked one after the other, from passau to vienna, till the miserable survivors of the war seemed to have concentrated themselves under st. severinus's guardianship in the latter city. we find, too, tales of famine, of locust swarms, of little victories over the barbarians, which do not arrest wholesale defeat: but we find through all st. severinus labouring like a true man of god, conciliating the invading chiefs, redeeming captives, procuring for the cities which were still standing supplies of clothes for the fugitives, persuading the husbandmen, seemingly through large districts, to give even in time of dearth a tithe of their produce to the poor ; — a tale of noble work which one regrets ^2,^ st. severinus. to see defaced by silly little prodigies, more im portant seemingly in the eyes of the monk eugip pius than the great events which were passing round him. but this is a fault too common with monk chroniclers. the only historians of the early middle age, they have left us a miserably imperfect record of it, because they were looking always rather for the preternatural than for the natural. many of the saints' lives, as they have come down to us, are mere catalogues of wonders which never happened, from among which the antiquary must pick, out of passing hints and obscure allusions, the really important facts of the time, — changes political and social, geography, physical history, the manners, speech, and look of nations now extinct, and even the characters and passions of the actors in the story. how much can be found among such a list of wonders, by an antiquary who has not merely learning but intellectual insight, is proved by the admirable notes which dr. reeves has appended to adamnan's life of st. columba : but one feels, while studying his work, that, had adamnan thought more of facts and less of prodigies, he might have saved dr. reeves the greater part of his labour, and preserved to us a mass of knowledge now lost for ever. and so with eugippius's life of st. severinus. the reader finds how the man who had secretly cele brated a heathen sacrifice was discovered by st. seve rinus, because, while the tapers of the rest of the congregation were lighted miraculously from heaven, his taper alone would not light; and passes on im st. se7erinus. zys patiently, with regret that the biographer omits to mention what the heathen sacrifice was like. he reads how the danube dared not rise above the mark of the cross which st. severinus had cut upon the posts of a timber chapel ; how a poor man, going out to drive the locusts off his little patch of corn instead of stay ing in the church all day to pray, found the next morning that his crop alone had been eaten, while all the fields around remained untouched. even the well-known story, which has a certain awfulness about it, how st. severinus watched all night by the bier of the dead priest silvinus, and ere the morning dawned bade him in the name of god speak to his brethren ; and how the dead man opened his eyes, and severinus asked him whether he wished to return to life, and he answered complainingly, " keep me no longer here ; nor cheat me of that perpetual rest which i had already found," and so, closing his eyes once more, was still for ever : — even such a story as this, were it true, would be of little value in comparison with the wisdom, faith, charity, sympathy, industry, utter self sacrifice, which formed the true greatness of such a man as severinus. at last the noble life wore itself out. for two years severinus had foretold that his end was near ; and foretold, too, that the people for whom he had spent himself should go forth in safety, as israel out of egypt, and find a refuge in some other roman province, leaving behind them so utter a solitude, that the barbarians, in their search for the hidden treasures of the civilization which they had extermi 236 st. severinus. nated, should dig up the very graves of the dead. only, when the lord willed that people to deliver them, they must carry away his bones with them, as the children of israel carried the bones of joseph. then severinus sent for feva, the rugian king, and gisa, his cruel wife ; and when he had warned them how they must render an account to god for the people committed to their charge, he stretched his hand out to the bosom of the king. "gisa," he asked, "dost thou love most the soul within that breast, or gold and silver ? " she answered that she loved her husband above all. " cease then," he said, " to oppress the innocent : lest their affliction be the ruin of your power." severinus' presage was strangely fulfilled. feva had handed over the city of vienna to his brother frederic, — "poor and impious," says eugippius. severinus, who knew him well, sent for him, and warned him that he himself was going to the lord ; and that if, after his death, frederic dared touch aught of the substance of the poor and the captive, the wrath of god would fall on him. in vain the barbarian pretended indignant innocence; severinus sent him away with fresh warnings. "then on the nones of january he was smitten slightly with a pain in the side. and when that had continued for three days, at midnight he bade the brethren come to him." he renewed his talk about the coming emigration, and entreated again that his bones might not be left behind ; and having bidden all in turn come near and kiss him, and st. severinus. 237 having received the sacrament of communion, he for bade them to weep for him, and commanded them to sing a psalm. they hesitated, weeping. he himself gave out the psalm, " praise the lord in his saints, and let all that hath breath praise the lord ; " and so went to rest in the lord. no sooner was he dead than frederic seized on the garments kept in the monastery for the use of the poor, and even commanded his men to carry off the vessels of the altar. then followed a scene characteristic of the time. the steward sent to do the deed shrank from the crime of sacrilege. a knight, anicianus by name, went in his stead, and took the vessels of the altar. but his conscience was too strong for him. trembling and delirium fell on him, and he fled away to a lonely island, and became a hermit there. frederic, impenitent, swept away all in the monastery, leaving nought but the bare walls, "which he could not carry over the danube." but on him, too, vengeance fell. within a month he was slain by his own nephew. then odoacer attacked the rugii, and carried off feva and gisa captive to rome. and then the long-promised emigration came. odoacer, whether from mere policy (for he was trying to establish a half-roman kingdom in italy), or for love of st. severinus himself, sent his brother onulf to fetch away into italy the miserable remnant of the danubian provincials, to be distributed among the wasted and unpeopled farms of italy. and with them went forth the corpse of st. severinus, undecayed, though he had been six 238 s7\ severinus. years dead, and giving forth exceeding fragrance, though (says eugippius) no embalmer's hand had touched it. in a coffin, which had been long pre pared for it, it was laid on a wagon, and went over the alps into italy, working (according to eugippius) the usual miracles on the way, till it found a resting place near naples, in that very villa of lucullus at misenum, to which odoacer had sent the last emperor of rome to dream his ignoble life away in helpless luxury. so ends this tragic story. of its substantial truth there can be no doubt. the miracles recorded in it are fewer and less strange than those of the average legends — as is usually the case when an eye-witness writes. and that eugippius was an eye-witness of much which he tells, no one accustomed to judge of the authenticity of documents can doubt, if he studies the tale as it stands in pez.* as he studies, too, he will perhaps wish with me that some great dramatist may hereafter take eugippius's quaint and rough legend, and shape it into immortal verse. for tragic, in the very nighest sense, the story is throughout. m. ozanam has well said of that death-bed scene between the saint and the barbarian king and queen — "the history of invasions has many a pathetic scene : but i know none more instructive than the dying agony of that old roman expiring between n two barbarians, and less touched with the ruin of the empire than with the peril of their souls." but even more instructive, and more tragic also, is the * scriptores austriacarum rerura. st. martin. 239 strange coincidence that the wonder-working corpse of the starved and barefooted hermit should rest beside the last emperor of rome. it is the symbol of a new era. the kings of this world have been judged and cast out. the empire of the flesh is to perish, and the empire of the spirit to conquer thence forth for evermore. but if st. severinus's labours in austria were in vain, there were other hermits, in gaul and elsewhere, whose work endured and prospered, and developed to a size of which they had never dreamed. the stories of these good men may be read at length in the bollandists and surius : in a more accessible and more graceful form in m. de montalembert's charming pages. i can only sketch, in a few words, the history of a few of the more famous. pushing continually northward and westward from the shores of the medi terranean, fresh hermits settled in the mountains and forests, collected disciples round them, and founded monasteries, which, during the sanguinary and savage era of the merovingian kings, were the only retreats for learning, piety, and civilization. st. martin (the young soldier who may be seen in old pictures cutting his cloak in two with a sword, to share it with a beggar) left, after twenty campaigns, the army into which he had been enrolled against his will, a con script of fifteen years old, to become a hermit, monk, and missionary. in the desert isle of gallinaria, near genoa, he lived on roots, to train himself for the monastic life ; and then went north-west,~tb poitiers, to found liguge (said to be the, most ancient rrionas 240 st. martin. tery in france), to become bishop of tours, and to overthrow throughout his diocese, often at the risk of his life, the sacred oaks and druid stones of the gauls, and the temples and idols of the romans. but he — like many more — longed for the peace of the her mit's cell ; and near tours, between the river loire and lofty cliffs, he hid himself in a hut of branches, while his eighty disciples dwelt in caves of the rocks above, clothed only in skins of camels. he died in a.d. 397, at the age of eighty-one, leaving behind him, not merely that famous monastery of marmontier (martini monasterium), which endured till the revo lution of 1793, but, what is infinitely more to his glory, his solemn and indignant protest against the first persecution by the catholic church — the tor ture and execution of those unhappy priscillianist fanatics, whom the spanish bishops (the spiritual forefathers of the inquisition) had condemned in the name of the god of love. martin wept over the fate of the priscillianists. happily he was no prophet, or his head would have become (like jeremiah's) a fount of tears, could he have foreseen that the isolated atrocity of those spanish bishops would have become the example and the rule, legalized and formulized and commanded by pope after pope, for every country in christendom. sulpicius severus, again (whose lives of the desert fathers i have already quoted), carried the example of these fathers into his own estates in aquitaine. selling his lands, he dweltamong his now manu mitted slaves, sleeping on straw, and feeding on the honoratus. 241 coarsest bread and herbs ; till the hapless neophytes found that life was not so easily sustained in france as in egypt ; and complained to him that it was in vain to try " to make them live like angels, when they were only gauls." another centre of piety and civilization was the rocky isle of lerins, off the port of toulon. covered with the ruins of an ancient roman city, and swarm ingwith serpents, it was colonized again, in a.d. 410, by a young man of rank named honoratus, who gathered round him a crowd of disciples, converted the desert isle into a garden of flowers and herbs, and made the sea-girt sanctuary of lerins one of the most important spots of the then world. "the west," says m. de montalembert, "had thenceforth nothing to envy the east ; and soon that retreat, destined by its founder to renew on the shores of provence the austerities of the thebaid, became a celebrated school of christian theology and philo sophy, a citadel inaccessible to the waves of the barbarian invasion, an asylum for the letters and sciences which were fleeing from italy, then overrun by the goths ; and, lastly, a nursery of bishops and saints, who spread through gaul the knowledge of the gospel and the glory of lerins. we shall soon see the rays of his light flash even into ireland and england, by the blessed hands of patrick and augustine." in the year 425, romanus, a young monk from the neighbourhood of lyons, had gone up into the forests of the jura, carrying with him the "lives 242 romanus. of the hermits," and a few seeds and tools ; and had settled beneath an enormous pine ; shut out from mankind by precipices, torrents, and the tangled trunks of primaeval trees, which had fallen and rotted on each other age after age. his brother lupicinus joined him ; then crowds of disciples ; then his sister, and a multitude of women. the forests were cleared, the slopes planted ; a manufacture of box-wood articles — chairs among the rest — was begun ; and within the next fifty years the abbey of condat, or st. claude, as it was afterwards called, had become, not merely an agricultural colony, or even merely a minster for the perpetual worship of god, but the first school of that part of gaul ; in which the works of greek as well as latin orators were taught, not only to the young monks, but to young laymen likewise. meanwhile the volcanic peaks of the auvergne were hiding from their arian invaders the ruined gentry of central france. effeminate and luxurious slave-holders, as they are painted by sidonius appoli neris, bishop of clermont, in that same auvergne, nothing was left for them when their wealth was gone but to become monks : and monks they became. the lava grottoes held hermits, who saw visions and daemons, as st. antony had seen them in egypt ; while near treves, on the moselle, a young hermit named wolflaich tried to imitate st. simeon stylites' penance on the pillar ; till his bishop, foreseeing that in that severe climate he would only kill himself, wheedled him away from his station, pulled down the st. goar. 243 pillar in his absence, and bade him be a wiser man. another figure, and a more interesting one, is the famous st. goar ; a gaul, seemingly (from the recorded names of his parents) of noble roman blood, who took his station on the rhine, under the cliffs of that lurlei so famous in legend and ballad as haunted by some fair fiend, whose treacherous song lured the boatmen into the whirlpool at their foot. to rescue the shipwrecked boatmen, to lodge, feed, and if need be clothe, the travellers along the rhine bank, was st. goar's especial work ; and wandelbert, the monk of prum, in the eifel, who wrote his life at consider able length, tells us how st. goar was accused to the archbishop of treves as a hypocrite and a glutton, because he ate freely with his guests ; and how his calumniators took him through the forest to treves ; and how he performed divers miracles, both on the road and in the palace of the archbishop, notably the famous one of hanging his cape upon a sunbeam, mistaking it for a peg. and other miracles of his there are, some of them not altogether edifying : but no reader is bound to believe them, as wandelbert is evidently writing in the interests of the abbey of prum as against those of the prince-bishops of treves ; and with a monk's or regular's usual jealousy of the secular or parochial clergy and their bishops. a more important personage than any of these is the famous st. benedict, father of the benedictine order, and " father of all monks," as he was afterwards called, who, beginning himself as a hermit, caused the hermit life to fall, not into disrepute, but into compara r 2 244 st. benedict. tive disuse ; while the coenobitic life — that is, life, not in separate cells, but in corporate bodies, with common property, and under one common rule — was accepted as the general form of the religious life in the west. as the author of this organization, and of the bene dictine order, to whose learning, as well as to whose piety, the world has owed so much, his life belongs rather to a history of the monastic orders than to that of the early hermits. but it must be always re membered that it was as a hermit that his genius was trained ; that in solitude he conceived his vast plans ; in solitude he elaborated the really wise and noble rules of his, which he afterwards carried out as far as he could during his lifetime in the busy world ; and which endured for centuries, a solid piece of prac tical good work. for the existence of monks was an admitted fact ; even an admitted necessity : st. bene dict's work was to tell them, if they chose to be monks, what sort of persons they ought to be, and how they ought to live, in order to fulfil their own ideal. in the solitude of the hills of subiaco, above the ruined palace of nero, above, too, the town of nurscia, of whose lords he was the last remaining scion, he fled to the mountain grotto, to live the outward life of a wild beast, and, as he conceived, the inward life of an angel. how he founded twelve monasteries; how he fled with some of his younger disciples, to withdraw them from the dis gusting persecutions and temptations of the neigh bouring secular clergy ; how he settled himself on the still famous monte cassino, which looks down st. benedict. 245 upon the gulf of gaeta, and founded there the "archi-monasterium of europe," whose abbot was in due time first premier baron of the kingdom of naples, — which counted among its dependencies* four bishoprics, two principalities, twenty earldoms, two hundred and fifty castles, four hundred and forty towns or villages, three hundred and thirty-six manors, twenty-three seaports, three isles, two hundred mills, three hundred territories, sixteen hundred and sixty two churches, and at the end of the sixteenth century an annual revenue of 1,500,000 ducats, — are matters which hardly belong to this volume, which deals merely with the lives of hermits. * haeften, quoted by montalembert, vol. ii. p. 22, in note. the celtic hermits. it is not necessary to enter into the vexed question whether any christianity ever existed in these islands of an earlier and purer type than that which was professed and practised by the saintly disciples of st. antony. it is at least certain that the earliest historic figureswhich emerge from the haze of barbarous annuity in both the britains and in ireland, are those of hermits, who, in celibacy and poverty, gather round them disciples, found a convent, convert and baptize the heathen, and often, like antony and hilarion, escape from the bustle and toil of the world into their beloved desert. they work the same miracles, see the same visions, and live in the same intimacy with the wild animals, as the hermits of egypt, or of roman gaul : but their history, owing to the wild imagination and (as the legends them selves prove) the gross barbarism of the tribes among whom they dwell, are so involved in fable and legend, that it is all but impossible to separate fact from fiction; all but impossible, often, to fix the time at which they lived. .st. patrick and st. ninian. 247 their mode of life, it must always be remembered, is said to be copied from that of the roman hermits of gaul. st. patrick, the apostle of ireland, seems to have been of roman or roman british lineage. in his famous " confession " (which many learned antiquaries consider as genuine) he calls his father, calphurnius a deacon ; his grandfather, potitus a priest — both of these names being roman. he is said to have visited, at some period of his life, the monastery of st. martin at tours ; to have studied with st. germanus at auxerre ; and to have gone to one of the islands of the tuscan sea, probably lerins itself; and, whether or not we believe the story that he was consecrated bishop by pope celestine at rome, we can hardly doubt that he was a member of that great spiritual succession of ascetics who counted st. antony as their father. such another must that palladius have been, who was sent, says prosper of aquitaine, by pope celes tine to convert the irish scots, and who (according to another story) was cast on shore on the north-east coast of scotland, founded the church of fordun, in kincardineshire, and became a great saint among the pictish folk. another primaeval figure, almost as shadowy as st. patrick, is st. ninian, a monk of north wales, who (according to bede) first attempted the con version of the southern picts, and built himself, at whithorn in galloway, the candida casa, or white house, a little church of stone, — a wonder in those days of " creel houses " and wooden stockades. he too, 248 dubricius. according to bede, who lived some 250 years after his time, went to rome ; and he is said to have visited and corresponded with st. martin of tours. dubricius, again, whom legend makes the con temporary both of st. patrick and of king arthur, appears in wales, as bishop and abbot of llandaff. he too is ordained by a roman bishop, st. germanus of auxerre ; and he too ends his career, according to tradition, as a hermit, while his disciples spread away into armorica (brittany) and ireland. we need not, therefore, be surprised to find ireland, wales, cornwall, scotland, and brittany, during the next three centuries, swarming with saints, who kept up, whether in company or alone, the old hermit-life of the thebaid ; or to find them wandering, whether on missionary work, or in search of solitude, or escaping, like st. cadoc the wise, from the saxon invaders. their frequent journeys to rome, and even to jerusalem, may perhaps be set down as a fable, invented in after years by monks who were anxious to prove their complete dependence on the holy see, and their perfect communion with the older and more civilized christianity of the roman empire. it is probable enough, also, that romans from gaul, as well as from britain, often men of rank and education, who had fled before the invading goths and franks, and had devoted themselves (as we have seen that they often did) to the monastic life, should have escaped mto those parts of these islands which had not already fallen into the hands of the saxon inva sl\ 1ltut. 249 ders. ireland, as the most remote situation, would be especially inviting to the fugitives ; and we can thus understand the story which is found in the acts of st. senanus, how fifty monks, " romans born," sailed to ireland to learn the scriptures, and to lead/a stricter life ; and were distributed between st. senan, st. finnian, st. brendan, st. barry, and st. kieran. by such immigrations as this, it may be, ireland became — as she certainly was for a while — the refuge of what ecclesiastical civilization, learning, and art the barbarian invaders had spared; a sanctuary from whence, in after centuries, evangelists and teachers went forth once more, not only to scotland and england, but to france and germany. very fantastic, and often very beautiful, are the stories of these men ; and sometimes tragical enough, like that of the welsh st. iltut, cousin of the mythic arthur, and founder of the great monastery of bangor, on the banks of the dee, which was said — though we are not bound to believe the fact — to have held more than two thousand monks at the time of the saxon invasion. the wild warrior was converted, says this legend, by seeing the earth open and swallow up his comrades, who had extorted bread, beer, and a fat pig from st. cadoc of llancarvan, a princely hermit and abbot, who had persuaded his father and mother to embrace the hermit life as the regular, if not the only, way of saving their souls. in a paroxysm of terror he fled from his fair young wife into the forest ; would not allow her to share with him even his hut of branches ; and devoted himself to the labour of 250 st. david. making an immense dyke of mud and stones to keep out the inundations of a neighbouring river. his poor wife went in search of him once more, and found him in the bottom of a dyke, no longer a gay knight, but poorly dressed, and covered with mud. she went away, and never saw him more; "fearing to displease god and one so beloved by god." iltut dwelt afterwards for four years in a cave, sleeping on the bare rock, and seems at last to have crossed over to brittany, and died at dol. we must not forget — though he is not strictly a hermit — st. david, the popular saint of the welsh, son of a nephew of the mythic arthur, and educated by one paulinus, a disciple, it is said, of st. germanus of auxerre. he is at once monk and bishop: he gathers round him young monks in the wilderness, makes them till the ground, drawing the plough by their own strength, for he allows them not to own even an ox. he does battle against " satraps " and " magicians " — probably heathen chieftains and druids ; he goes to the holy land, and is made archbishop by the patriarch of jerusalem : he introduces, it would seem, into this island the right of sanctuary for criminals in any field consecrated to himself. he restores the church of glastonbury over the tomb of his cousin, king arthur, and dies at ioo years of age, " the head of the whole british nation, and honour of his fatherland." he is buried in one of his own monasteries at st. david's, near the headland whence st patrick had seen, in a vision, all ireland stretched out before him, waiting to be converted to christ ; and the celtic the isle of saints. 251 people go on pilgrimage to his tomb, even from brit tany and ireland : and, canonized in 1 120, he becomes the patron saint of wales. from that same point, in what year is not said, an old monk of st. david's monastery, named modonnoc, set sail for ireland, after a long life of labour and virtue. a swarm of bees settled upon the bow of his boat, and would not be driven away. he took them, whether he would or not, with him into ireland, and introduced there, says the legend, the culture of bees and the use of honey. ireland was then the " isle of saints." three orders of them were counted by later historians : the bishops (who seem not to have had necessarily territorial dioceses), with st. patrick at their head, shining like the sun ; the second, of priests, under st. columba, shining like the moon; and the third, of bishops, priests, and hermits, under colman and aidan, shining like the stars. their legends, full of irish poetry and tenderness, and not without touches here and there of genuine irish humour, lie buried now, to all save antiquaries, in the folios of the bollandists and colgan : but the memory of their virtue and beneficence, as well as of their miracles, shadowy and distorted by the lapse of centuries, is rooted in the heart and brain of the irish peasantry ; and who shall say altogether for evil ? for with the tradition of their miracles has been entwined the tradition of their virtues, as an enduring heir loom for the whole irish race, through the sad centuries which part the era of saints from the 252 croagh pa trick. present time. we see the irish women kneeling beside some well, whose waters were hallowed, ages since, by the fancied miracle of some mythic saint, and hanging gaudy rags (just as do the half savage bud dhists of the himalayas) upon the bushes round. we see them upon holy days crawling on bare and bleeding knees around st. patrick's cell, on the top of croagh patrick, the grandest mountain, perhaps, with the grandest outlook, in these british isles, where stands still, i believe, an ancient wooden image, said to have belonged to st. patrick himself; and where, too, hung till late years (it is now preserved in dublin) an ancient bell ; such a strange little oblong bell as the irish saints carried with them to keep off daemons ; one of those magic bells which appear, so far as i am aware, in no country save ireland and scotland till we come to tartary and the buddhists : such a bell as came down from heaven to st. senan : such a bell as st. fursey sent flying through the air to greet st. cuandy at his devotions when he could not come himself: such a bell as another saint, wandering in the woods, rang till a stag came out of the covert, and carried it for him on his horns. on that peak, so legends tell, st patrick stood once, in the spirit and power of elias — after whom the mountain was long named ; fasting, like elias, forty days and forty nights, and wrestling with the daemons of the storm, and the snakes of the fen, and the peishta-more, the gigantic monster of the lakes, till he smote the evil things with the golden rod of jesus, and they rolled over the cliff in hideous rout, and perished in the atlantic far below st. brendan. 253 we know that these tales are but the dreams of chil dren : but shall we sneer at the devotion of those poor irish? not if we remember (what is an undoubted fact) that the memory of these same saints has kept up in their minds an ideal of nobleness and purity, devotion and beneficence, which, down-trodden slaves as they have been, they would otherwise have in evitably lost ; that it has helped to preserve them from mere brutality, and mere ferocity ; and that the thought that these men were of their own race and their own kin has given them a pride in their own race, a sense of national unity and of national dignity, which has endured — and surely for their benefit, for reverence for ancestors and the self-respect which springs from it is a benefit to every human being — through all the miseries, deserved or undeserved, which have fallen upon the irish since pope adrian iv. (the true author of all the woes of ireland), in the year 1155, commissioned henry ii. to conquer ireland and destroy its primaeval church, on con sideration of receiving his share of the booty in the shape of peter's pence. among these irish saints, two names stand out as especially interesting : that of st. brendan, and that of st. columba — the former as the representative of the sailor monks of the early period, the other as the great missionary who, leaving his monastery at durrow, in ireland, for the famous island of hy, iona, or icolumbkill, off the western point of mull, became the apostle of scotland and the north of england. i shall first speak of st. brendan, and at 254 monk voyagers. some length. his name has become lately familiar to many, through the medium of two very beautiful poems, one by mr. matthew arnold, and the other by mr. sebastian evans ; and it may interest those who have read their versions of the story to see the oldest form in which the story now exists. the celts, it must be remembered, are not, in general, a sea-going folk. they have always neg lected the rich fisheries of their coasts; and in ireland every seaport owes its existence, not to the natives, but to norse colonists. even now, the irishman or western highlander, who emigrates to escape the " saxons," sails in a ship built and manned by those very "saxons," to lands which the saxons have discovered and civilized. but in the seventh and eighth centuries, and perhaps earlier, many celts were voyagers and emigrants, not to discover new worlds, but to flee from the old one. there were deserts in the sea, as well as on land ; in them they hoped to escape from men, and, yet more, from women. they went against their carnal will. they had no liking for the salt water. they were horribly frightened, and often wept bitterly, as they them selves confess. and they had reason for fear; for their vessels were, for the most part, only " curachs '' (coracles) of wattled twigs, covered with tanned hides. they needed continual exhortation and comfort from the holy man who was their captain ; and needed often miracles likewise for their preservation. tempests had to be changed into calm, and contrary winds baitanus. 255 into fair ones, by the prayers of a saint ; and the spirit of prophecy was needed, to predict that a whale would be met between iona and tiree, who appeared accordingly, to the extreme terror of st. berach's crew, swimming with open jaws, and (intent on eating, not monks, but herrings) nearly upsetting them by the swell which he raised. and when st. baithenius met the same whale on the same day, it was necessary for him to rise, and bless, with out spread hands, the sea and the whale, in order to make him sink again, after having risen to breathe, but they sailed forth, nevertheless, not knowing whither they went ; true to their great principle, that the spirit must conquer the flesh : and so showed themselves actually braver men than the norse pirates, who sailed afterwards over the same seas without fear, and without the need of miracles, and who found everywhere on desert islands, on sea-washed stacks and skerries, round orkney, shetland, and the faroes, even to iceland, the cells of these " papas " or popes ; and named them after the old hermits, whose memory still lingers in the names of papa strona and papa westra, in the orkneys, and in that of papey, off" the coast of iceland, where the first norse settlers found irish books, bells, and crosiers, the relics of old hermits who had long since fasted and prayed their last, and migrated to the lord. adanman, in his life of st. columba, tells of more than one such voyage. he tells how one baitanus, with the saint's blessing, sailed forth to find "a desert" in the sea ; and how when he was gone, the saint pro 256 cormac. phesied that he should be buried, not in a desert isle, but where a woman should drive sheep over his grave, the which came true in the oak-wood of calgaich, now londonderry, whither he came back again. he tells, again, of one cormac, " a knight of christ," who three times sailed forth in a coracle to find some desert isle, and three times failed of his purpose ; and how, in his last voyage, he was driven northward by the wind fourteen days' sail, till he came where the summer sea was full of foul little stinging creatures, of the size of frogs, which beat against the sides of the frail boat, till all expected them to be stove in. they clung, moreover, to the oar blades ; * and cormac was in some danger of never seeing land again, had not st. columba, at home in iona far away, seen him in a vision, him and his fellows, pray ing and " watering their cheeks with floods of tears," in the midst of "perturbations monstrous, horrific, never seen before, and almost unspeakable." calling together his monks, he bade them pray for a north wind, which came accordingly, and blew cormac safe back to iona, to tempt the waves no more. " let the reader therefore perpend how great and what manner of man this same blessed personage was, who, having so great prophetic knowledge, could command, by invoking the name of christ, the winds and ocean." even as late as the year 891, says the anglo-saxon chronicle : " three scots came to king alfred, in * dr. reeves supposes these to have been " crustacea : " but their stinging and clinging prove them surely to have been jelly-fish — medusa?. st brendan. 257 a boat without any oars, from ireland, whence they had stolen away, because for the love of god they desired to be on pilgrimage, they recked not where. the boat in which they came was made of two hides and a half; and they took with them provisions for seven days ; and about the seventh day they came on shore in cornwall, and soon after went to king alfred. thus they were named, dubslane, and macbeth, and maelinmun." out of such wild feats as these ; out of dim reports of fairy islands in the west; of the canaries and azores; of that vinland, with its wild corn and wild grapes which leif, the son of eirek rauda, had found beyond the ocean a thousand years and one after the birth of christ ; of icebergs and floes sailing in the far northern sea, upon the edge of the six-months' night ; out of edda stories of the midgard snake, which is coiled round the world ; out of reports, it may be, of indian fakirs and buddhist shamans ; out of scraps of greek and arab myth, from the odyssey or the arabian nights, brought home by " jorsala farar," vikings who had been for pilgrimage and plunder up the straits of gibraltar into the far east ; — out of all these materials were made up, as years rolled on, the famous legend of st. brendan and his seven years' voyage in search of the " land promised to the saints." this tale was so popular in the middle age, that it appears, in different shapes, in almost every early european language.* it was not only the delight of * i have followed the latin prose version of it, which m. achille jubinal attributes to the eleventh century. here and there i have s.l. 11. s :5§ st. brendan. monks, but it stirred up to wild voyages many a secular man in search of st. brendan's isle, " which is not found when it is sought," but was said to be visible at times, from palma in the canaries. the myth must have been well known to columbus, and may have helped to send him forth in search of " cathay." thither (so thespanisn peasants believed) don roderic had retired from the moorish invaders. there (so the portuguese fancied) king sebastian was hidden from men, after his reported death in the battle of alcazar. the west indies, when they were first seen, were surely st. brendan's isle : and the mississippi may have been, in the eyes of such old adventurers as don ferdinando da soto, when he sought for the fountain of perpetual youth, the very river which st. brendan found part ing in two the land of promise. from the year 1526 (says m. jubinal), till as late as 1 72 r, armaments went forth from time to time into the atlantic, and went forth in vain. for the whole tale, from whatever dim reports of fact they may have sprung, is truly (as m. jubinal calls it) a monkish odyssey, and nothing more. it is taken the liberty of using the french prose version, which he attributes to the latter part of the twelfth. i have often condensed the story, where it was prolix or repeated itself : but i have tried to follow faith fully both matter and style, and to give, word for word, as nearly as i could, any notable passages. those who wish to know more of st brendan should consult the learned brochure of m. jubinal, "la legende latine de st. brandaines," and the two english versions of the legend, edited by mr. thomas wright for the percy society, vol. xiv. one is in verse, and of the earlier part of the fourteenth century, and spirited enough : the other, a prose version, was printed bv wynkyn de worde, in his edition of the " golden legend ; " 1527. st. brendan. -259 a dream of the hermit's cell. no woman, no city, nor nation, are ever seen during the seven years' voyage. ideal monasteries and ideal hermits people the "deserts of the ocean." all beings therein (save daemons and cyclops) are christians, even to the very birds, and keep the festivals of the church as eternal laws of nature. the voyage succeeds, not by seaman ship, or geographic knowledge, nor even by chance : but by the miraculous prescience of the saint, or of those whom he meets; and the wanderings of ulysses, or of sinbad, are rational and human in comparison with those of st. brendan. yet there are in them, as was to be expected, ele ments in which the greek or the arab legends are altogether deficient ; perfect innocence, patience, and justice ; utter faith in a god who prospers the inno cent and punishes the guilty; ennobling obedience to the saint, who stands out a truly heroic figure above his trembling crew ; and even more valuable still, the belief in, the craving for, an ideal, even though that ideal be that of a mere earthly paradise ; the "' divine discontent," as it has been well called, which is the root of all true progress ; which leaves (thank god) no man at peace save him who has said, " let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die." and therefore i have written at some length the story of st. brendan ; because, though it be but a monk-ideal, it is an ideal still : and therefore profit able for all who are not content with this world, and its paltry ways. ^ saint brendan, we read, the son of finnloga, and s 2 2 6o st. brendan. great grandson of alta, son of ogaman, of the race of ciar son of fergus, was born at tralee, and founded, in 559, the abbey of clonfert,* and was a man famous for his great abstinence and virtues, and the father of nearly 3,000 monks, t and while he was " in his warfare," there came to him one even ing a holy hermit named " barintus," of the royal race of neill ; and when he was questioned, he did nought but cast himself on the ground, and weep and pray. and when st. brendan asked him to make better cheer for him and his monks, he told him a strange tale. how a nephew of his had fled away to be a solitary, and found a delicious island, and established a monastery therein ; and how he himself had gone to see his nephew, and sailed with him to the eastward to an island, which was called " the land of promise of the saints," wide and grassy, and bear ing all manner of fruits ; wherein was no night, for the lord jesus christ was the light thereof; and how they abode there for a long while without eating and drinking; and when they returned to his nephew's monastery, the brethren knew well where they had been, for the fragrance of paradise lingered on their garments for nearly forty days. so barintus told his story, and went back to his cell. but st. brendan called together his most loving fellow-warriors, as he called them, and told them how he had set his heart on seeking that promised * in the barony of longford, county galway. t 3,000, like 300, seems to be, i am informed, only an irish expression tor any large number. st. brendan. 261 land. and he went up to the top of the hill in kerry, which is still called mount brendan, with fourteen chosen monks ; and there, at the utmost corner of the world, he built him a coracle of wattle, and covered it with hides tanned in oak-bark and softened with butter, and set up in it a mast and a sail, and took forty days' provision, and commanded his monks to enter the boat, in the name of the holy trinity. and as he stood alone, praying on the shore, three more monks from his monastery came up, and fell at his feet, and begged to go too, or they would die in that place of hunger and thirst ; for they were determined to wander with him all the days of their life. so he gave them leave. but two of them, he prophesied, would come to harm and to judgment. so they sailed away toward the summer solstice, with a fair wind, and had no need to row. but after twelve days the wind fell to a calm, and they had only light airs at night, till forty days were past, and all their victual spent. then they saw toward the north a lofty island, walled round with cliffs, and went about it three days ere they could find a harbour. and when they landed, a dog came fawning on them, and they followed it up to a great hall with beds and seats, and water to wash their feet. but st. brendan said, " beware, lest satan bring you into temptation. for i see him busy with one of those three who followed us." now the hall was hung all round with vessels of divers metals, and bits and horns overlaid with silver. then st. brendan told his servant to bring the meal which god had prepared ; and at once 262 st. brendan. a table was laid with napkins, and loaves wondrous white, and fishes. then they blessed god, and ate, and took likewise drink as much as they would, and lay down to sleep. then st. brendan saw the devil's work ; namely, a little black boy holding a silver bit, and calling the brother aforementioned. so they rested three days and three nights. but when they went to the ship, st. brendan charged them with theft, and told what was stolen, and who had stolen it. then the brother cast out of his bosom a silver bit, and prayed for mercy. and when he was forgiven and raised up from the ground, behold, a little black boy flew out of his bosom, howling aloud, and crying, " why, o man of god, dost thou drive me from my habitation, where i have dwelt for seven years?" then the brother received the holy eucharist, and died straightway, and was buried in that isle, and the brethren saw the angels carry his soul aloft, for st. brendan had told him that so it should be : but that the brother who came with him should have his sepulchre in hell. and as they went on board, a youth met them with a basket of loaves and a bottle of water, and told them that it would not fail till pentecost. then they sailed again many days, till they came to an isle full of great streams and fountains swarm ing with fish ; and sheep there all white, as big as oxen, so many that they hid the face of the earth. and they stayed there till easter eve, and took one of the sheep (which followed them as if it had been tame) to eat for the paschal feast. then came st. brendan. 263 a man with loaves baked in the ashes, and other victual, and fell down before st. brendan and cried, " how have i merited this, o pearl of god, that thou shouldest be fed at this holy tide from the labours of my hand ? " and they learned from that man that the sheep grew there so big because they were never milked, nor pinched with winter, but they fed in those pastures all the year round. moreover, he told them that they must keep easter in an isle hard by, opposite a shore to the west, which some called the paradise of birds. so to the nearest island they sailed. it had no harbour, nor sandy shore, and there was no turf on it, and very little wood. now the saint knew what manner of isle it was, but he would not tell the brethren, lest they should be terrified. so he bade them make the boat fast stem and stern, and when morning came he bade those who were priests to celebrate each a mass, and then to take the lamb's fleece on shore and cook it in the caldron with salt, while st. brendan remained in the boat. but when the fire blazed up, and the pot began to boil, that island began to move like water. then the brethren ran to the boat imploring st. brendan's aid ; and he helped them each in by the hand, and cast off. after which the island sank in the ocean. and when they could see their fire burning more than two miles off, st. brendan told them how that god had revealed to hiin that night the mystery ; that this was no isle, but the biggest of all fishes which swam in the ocean, and always it tries to make its head and its tail meet, 264 st. brendan. but cannot, by reason of its. length ; and its name is jasconius. then, across a narrow strait, they saw another isle, very grassy and wooded, and full of flowers. and they found a little stream, and towed the boat up it (for the stream was of the same width as the boat), with st. brendan sitting on board, till they came to the fountain thereof. then said the holy father, " see, brethren, the lord has given us a place wherein to celebrate his holy resurrection. and if we had nought else, this fountain, i think, would serve for food as well as drink.'' for the fountain was too admirable. over it was a huge tree of wonderful breadth, but no great height, covered with snow-white birds, so that its leaves and boughs could scarce be seen. and when the man of god saw that, he was so desirous to know the cause of that assemblage of birds, that he besought god upon his knees, with tears, saying, " god, who knowest the unknown, and revealest the hidden, thou knowest the anxiety of my heart. . . . deign of thy great mercy to reveal to me thy secret. . . . but not for the merit of my own dignity, but regarding thy clemency, do i presume to ask." then one of those birds flew from off the tree, and his wings sounded like bells over the boat. and he sat on the prow, and spread his wings joyfully, and looked quietly on st. brendan. and when the man of god questioned that bird, it told how they were of the spirits which fell in the great ruin of the old st. brendan. 26; enemy ; not by sin or by consent, but predestined by the piety of god to fall with those with whom they were created. but they suffered no punishment ; only they could not, in part, behold the presence of god. they wandered about this world, like other spirits of the air, and firmament, and earth. but on holy days they took those shapes of birds, and praised their creator in that place. then the bird told him, how he and his monks had wandered one year already, and should wander for six more ; and every year should celebrate their easter in that place, and after find the land of promise ; and so flew back to its tree. and when the eventide was come, the birds began all with one voice to sing, and clap their wings, crying, " thou, o god, art praised in zion, and unto thee shall the vow be performed in jerusalem." and always they repeated that verse for an hour, and their melody and the clapping of their wings was like music which drew tears by its sweetness. and when the man of god wakened his monks at the third watch of the night with the verse, " thou shalt open my lips, o lord," all the birds answered, " praise the lord, all his angels; praise him, all his virtues." and when the dawn shone, they sang again, " the splendour of the lord god is over us ; " and at the third hour, " sing psalms to our god, sing ; sing to our king, sing with wisdom." and at the sixth, " the lord hath lifted up the light of his countenance upon us, and had mercy on us." and at the ninth, " behold how good and pleasant it is for brethren to 266 st. brendan. dwell in unity." so day and night those birds gave praise to god. st. brendan, therefore, seeing these things, gave thanks to god for all his marvels, and the brethren were refreshed with that spiritual food till the octave of easter. after which, st. brendan advised to take of the water of the fountain ; for till then they had only used it to wash their feet and hands. but there came to him the same man who had been with them three days before easter, and with his boat full of meat and drink, and said, " my brothers, here you have enough to last till pentecost : but do not drink of that fountain. for its nature is, that whosoever drinks will sleep for four-and-twenty hours." so they stayed till pentecost, and rejoiced in the song of the birds. and after mass at pentecost, the man brought them food again, and bade them take of the water of the fountain and depart. then the birds came again, and sat upon the prow, and told them how they must, every year, celebrate easter in the isle of birds, and easter eve upon the back of the fish jasconius ; and how, after eight months, they should come to the isle called ailbey, and keep their christmas there. after which they were on the ocean for eight months, out of sight of land, and only eating after every two or three days, till they came to an island, along which they sailed for forty days, and found no harbour. then they wept and prayed, for they were almost worn out with weariness ; and after they had fasted and prayed for three days, they saw a narrow harbour, and two fountains, one foul, one clear. but 57: brendan. 267 when the brethren hurried to draw water, st. brendan (as he had done once before) forbade them, saying that they must take nought without leave from the elders who were in that isle. and of the wonders which they saw in that isle it were too long to tell : how there met them an ex ceeding old man, with snow-white hair, who fell at st. brendan's feet three times, and led him in silence up to a monastery of four-and-twenty silent monks, who washed their feet, and fed them with bread and water, and roots of wonderful sweetness; and then at last, opening his mouth, told them how that bread was sent them perpetually, they knew not from whence ; and how they had been there eighty years, since the times of st. patrick, and how their father ailbey and christ had nourished them ; and how they grew no older, nor ever fell sick, nor were overcome by cold or heat; and how brother never spoke to brother, but all things were done by signs ; and how he led them to a square chapel, with three candles before the mid-altar, and two before each of the side altars ; and how they, and the chalices and patens,, and all the other vessels, were of crystal ; and how the candles were lighted always by a fiery arrow, which came in through the window, and returned ; and how st. brendan kept his christmas there, and then sailed away till lent, and came to a fruitful island where he found fish; and how when certain brethren drank too much of the charmed water they slept, some three days, and some one ; and how they sailed north, and then east, till they came back to ?m sr. brendan. the isle of sheep at easter, and found on the shore their caldron, which they had lost on jasconius's back ; and how, sailing away, they were chased by a mighty fish which spouted foam, but was slain by another fish which spouted fire ; and how they took enough of its flesh to last them three months ; and how they came to an island flat as the sea, without trees, or aught that waved in the wind; and how on that island were three troops of monks (as the holy man had foretold), standing a stone's throw from each other: the first of boys, robed in snow white ; the second of young men, dressed in hya cinthme ; the third of old men, in purple dalmatics, singing alternately their psalms, all day and night : and how when they stopped singing, a cloud of wondrous brightness overshadowed the isle ; and how two of the young men, ere they sailed away, brought baskets of grapes, and asked that one of the monks (as had been prophesied) should remain with them, in the isle of strong men ; and how st. brendan let him go, saying, " in a good hour did thy mother conceive thee, because thou hast merited to dwell with such a congregation ;" and how those grapes were so big, that a pound of juice ran out of each of them, and an ounce thereof fed each brother for a whole day, and was as sweet as honey ; and how a magnificent bird dropped into the ship the bough of an unknown tree, with a bunch of grapes thereon ; and how they came to a land where the trees were all bowed down with vines, and their odour as the odour of a house full of pomegranates ; and how they fed forty days on those st. brendan. 269 grapes, and strange herbs and roots ; and how they saw flying against them the bird which is called gryphon ; and how that bird who had brought the bough tore out the gryphon's eyes, and slew him ; and how they looked down into the clear sea, and saw all the fishes sailing round and round, head to tail, innumer able as flocks in the pastures, and were terrified, and would have had the man of god celebrate mass in silence, lest the fish should hear, and attack them ; and how the man of god laughed at their folly ; and how they came to a column of clear crystal in the sea, with a canopy round it of the colour of silver, harder than marble, and sailed in through an opening, and found it all light within ;* and how they found in that hall a chalice of the same stuff as the canopy, and a paten of that of the column, and took them, that they might make many believe ; and how they sailed out again, and past a treeless island, covered with slag and forges ; and how a great hairy man, fiery and smutty, came down and shouted after them ; and how when they made the sign of the cross and sailed away, he and his fellows brought down huge lumps of burning slag in tongs, and hurled them after the ship ; and how they went back, and blew their forges up, till the whole island flared, and the sea boiled, and the howl ing and stench followed them, even when they were out of sight of that evil isle ; and how st. brendan bade them strengthen themselves in faith and spiritual arms, for they were now on the confines of hell, there fore they must watch, and play the man. all this * some dim legend concerning icebergs, and caves therein. 27o st. brendan. must needs be hastened over, that we may come to the famous legend of judas iscariot. they saw a great and high mountain toward the north, with smoke about its peak. and the wind blew them close under the cliffs, which were of im mense height, so that they could hardly see their top, upright as walls, and black as coal.* then he who remained of the three brethren who had followed st. brendan sprang out of the ship, and waded to the cliff foot, groaning, and crying, " woe to me, father, for i am carried away from you ; and cannot turn back." then the brethren backed the ship, and cried to the lord for mercy. but the blessed father brendan saw how that wretch was carried off by a multitude of devils, and all on fire among them. then a fair wind blew them away southward ; and when they looked back they saw the peak of the isle uncovered, and flame spouting from it up to heaven, and sinking back again, till the whole moun tain seemed one burning pile. after that terrible vision they sailed seven days to the south, till father brendan saw a dense cloud ; when they neared it, a form as of a man sitting, and before him a veil, as big as a sack, hanging between two iron tongs, and rocking on the waves like a boat in a whirlwind. which when the brethren saw some thought was a bird, and some a boat ; but the man of god bade them give over arguing, and row thither. and when they got near, the waves were still, as if they had been frozen ; and they found a * probably from reports of the volcanic coast of iceland. st. brendan. 271 man sitting on a rough and shapeless rock, and the waves beating over his head ; and when they fell back, the bare rock appeared on which that wretch was sitting! and the cloth which hung before him the wind moved, and beat him with it on the eyes and brow. but when the blessed man asked him who he was, and how he had earned that doom, he said, " i am that most wretched judas, who made the worst of all bargains. but i hold not this place for any merit of my own, but for the ineffable mercy of christ. i expect no place of repentance : but for the indulgence and mercy of the redeemer of the world, and for the honour of his holy resurrection, i have this refreshment ; for it is the lord's-day now, and as i sit here i seem to myself in a paradise of delight, by reason of the pains which will be mine this evening ; for when i am in my pains i burn day and night like lead melted in a pot. but in the midst of that mountain which you saw, is leviathan with his satellites, and i was there when he swallowed your brother ; and therefore the king of hell rejoiced, and sent forth huge flames, as he doth always when he devours the souls of the impious." then he told them how he had his refreshings there every lord's day from even to even, and from christmas to epiphany, and from easter to pentecost, and from the purification of the blessed virgin to her assump tion : but the rest of his time he was tormented with herod and pilate, annas and caiaphas; and so adjured them to intercede for him with the lord that he might be there at least till sunrise in the 272 st. brendan. morn. to whom the man of god said, " the will of the lord be done. thou shalt not be carried off by the daemons till to-morrow." then he asked him of that clothing, and he told how he had given it to a leper when he was the lord's chamber iain ; " but because it was no more mine than it was the lord's and the other brethren's, therefore it is of no comfort to me, but rather a hurt. and these forks i gave to the priests to hang their caldrons on. and this stone on which i always sit i took off the road, and threw it into a ditch for a stepping-stone, before i was a disciple of the lord."* " but when the evening hour had covered the face of thetis," behold a multitude of daemons shouting in a ring, and bidding the man of god depart, for else they could not approach ; and they dared not behold * this part of the legend has been changed and humanized as time ran on. in the latin and french versions it has little or no point or moral. in the english, judas accounts for the presence of the cloth thus : — " here i may see what it is to give other men's (goods) with harm. as will many rich men with unright all day take, of poor men here and there, and almisse (alms) sithhe (afterwards) make." for the tongs and the stone he accounts by saying that, as he used them for " good ends, each thing should surely find him which he did for god's love." but in the prose version of wynkyn de worde, the tongs have been changed into " ox-tongues," " which i gave some tyme to two preestes to praye for me. i bought them with myne owne money, and therefore they ease me, bycause the fysshes of the sea gnaw on them, and spare me. " this latter story of the ox-tongues has been followed by mr. sebastian evans, in his poem on st brendan. both he and mr. matthew arnold have rendered the moral of the english version very beautifully. st. brendan. 273 their prince's face unless they brought back their prey. but the man of god bade them depart. and in the morning an infinite multitude of devils covered the face of the abyss, and cursed the man of god for coming thither ; for their prince had scourged them cruelly that night for not bringing back the captive. but the man of god returned their curses on their own heads, saying that "cursed was he whom they blest, and blessed he whom they cursed ;" and when they threatened judas with double torments because he had not come back, the man of god rebuked them. " art thou, then, lord of all," they asked, " that we should obey thee ? " " i am the servant," said he, " of the lord of all ; and whatsoever i command in his name is done ; and i have no ministry save what he concedes to me." so they blasphemed him till he left judas, and then returned, and carried off that wretched soul with great rushing and howling. after which they saw a little isle; and the holy man told them that now seven years were nigh past ; and that in that isle they should soon see a hermit, named paul the spiritual, who had lived for sixty years without any corporeal food, but for thirty years before that he had received food from a certain beast. the isle was very small, about a furlong round ; a bare rock, so steep that they could find no landing place. but at last they found a creek, into which they thrust the boat's bow, and then discovered a very difficult ascent. up that the man of god climbed, s.l. ii. t 274 st. brendan bidding them wait for him, for they must not enter the isle without the hermit's leave ; and when he came to the top he saw two caves, with their mouths opposite each other, and a very small round well before the cave mouth, whose waters, as fast as they ran out, were sucked in again by the rock.* as he went to one entrance, the old man came out of the other, saying, "behold how good and pleasant it is, brethren, to dwell together in unity," and bade him call up the brethren from the boat; and when they came, he kissed them, and called them each by his name. whereat they marvelled, not only at his spirit of prophecy, but also at his attire ; for he was all covered with his locks and beard, and with the other hair of his body, down to his feet. his hair was white as snow for age, and none other covering had he. when st. brendan saw that, he sighed again and again, and said within himself, "woe is me, sinner that i am, who wear a monk's habit, and have many monks under me, when i see a man of angelic dignity sitting in a cell, still in the flesh, and unhurt by the vices of the flesh." to whom the man of god answered, " venerable father, what great and many wonders god hath showed thee, which he hath mani fested to none of the fathers, and thou sayest in thy heart that thou art not worthy to wear a monk's habit. i tell thee, father, that thou art greater than a monk ; for a monk is fed and clothed by the work of his own hands : but god has fed and clothed thee and thy family for seven years with his secret things, * copied, surely, from the life of paul the first hermit st. brendan. 275 while wretched i sit here on this rock like a bird, naked save the hair of my body.'' then st. brendan asked him how and whence he came thither ; and he told how he was nourished in st. patrick's monastery for fifty years, and took care of the cemetery ; and how when the dean had bidden him dig a grave, an old man, whom he knew not, appeared to him, and forbade him, for that grave was another man's. and how he revealed to him that he was st. patrick, his own abbot, who had died the day before, and bade him bury that brother elsewhere, and go down to the sea and find a boat, which would take him to the place where he should wait for the day of his death ; and how he landed on that rock, and thrust the boat off with his foot, and it went swiftly back to its own land ; and how, on the very first day, a beast came to him, walking on its hind paws, and between its fore paws a fish, and grass to make a fire, and laid them at his feet ; and so every third day for twenty years ; and every lord's day a little water came out of the rock, so that he could drink and wash his hands ; and how after thirty years he had found these caves and that fountain, and had fed for the last sixty years on nought but the water thereof. for all the years of his life were 150, and henceforth he awaited the day of his judgment in that his flesh. then they took of that water, and received his blessing, and kissed each other in the peace of christ, and sailed southward : but their food was the water from the isle of the man of god. then (as paul the hermit had foretold) they came back t 2 276 st. brendan. on easter eve to the isle of sheep, and to him who used to give them victuals ; and then went on to the fish jasconius, and sang praises on his back all night, and mass at morn. after which the fish carried them on his back to the paradise of birds, and there they stayed till pentecost. then the man who always tended them, bade them fill their skins from the foun tain, and he would lead them to the land promised to the saints. and all the birds wished them a pros perous voyage in god's name ; and they sailed away, with forty days' provision, the man being their guide, till after forty days they came at evening to a great darkness which lay round the promised land. but after they had sailed through it for an hour, a great light shone round them, and the boat stopped at a shore. and when they landed they saw a spacious land, full of trees bearing fruit as in autumn time and they walked about that land for forty days, eating of the fruit and drinking of the fountains, and found no end thereof. and there was no night there, but the light shone tike the light of the sun. at last they came to a great river, which they could not cross, so that they could not find out the extent of that land. and as they were pondering over this, a youth, with shining face and fair to look upon, met them, and kissed them with great joy, calling them each by his name, and said, " brethren, peace be with you, and with all that follow the peace of christ" and after that, "blessed are they who dwell in thy house, o lord ; they shall be for ever praising thee." st. brendan. 277 then he told st. brendan that that was the land which he had been seeking for seven years, and that he must now return to his own country, taking of the fruits of that land, and of its precious gems, as much as his ship could carry ; for the days of his depar ture were at hand, when he should sleep in peace with his holy brethren. but after many days that land should be revealed to his successors, and should be a refuge for christians in persecution. as for the river that they saw, it parted that island ; and the light shone there for ever, because christ was the light thereof. then st. brendan asked if that land would ever be revealed to men : and the youth answered, that when the most high creator should have put all nations under his feet, then that land should be manifested to all his elect. after which st. brendan, when the youth had blessed him, took of the fruits and of the gems, and sailed back through the darkness, and returned to his monastery ; whom when the brethren saw, they glorified god for the miracles which he had heard and seen. after which he ended his life in peace. amen. here ends (says the french version) concerning st. brendan, and the marvels which he found in the sea of ireland. st. malo. intermingled, fantastically and inconsistently, with the story of st. brendan, is that of st. maclovius or machutus, who has given his name to the seaport of st. malo, in brittany. his life, written by sigebert, a monk of gembloux, about the year noo, tells us how he was a breton, who sailed with st. brendan in search of the fairest of all islands, in which the citizens of heaven were said to dwell. with st. brendan st. malo celebrated easter on the whale's back, and with st. brendan he returned. but another old hagiographer, johannes a bosco, tells a different story, making st. malo an irishman brought up by st. brendan, and preserved by his prayers from a wave of the sea. he gives, more over, to the isle of paradise the name of inga, and says that st. brendan and his companions never reached it after all, but came home after sailing round the orkneys and other northern isles. the fact is, that the same saints reappear so often on both sides of the british and the irish channels, that we must take the existence of many of them as mere legend, which has been carried from land to land by st. malo. 279 monks in their migrations, and taken root upon each fresh soil which it has reached. one incident in st. malo's voyage is so fantastic, and so grand like wise, that it must not be omitted. the monks come to an island whereon they find the barrow of some giant of old time. st. malo, seized with pity for the lost soul of the heathen, opens the mound and raises the dead to life. then follows a strange conversation between the giant and the saint. he was slain, he says, by his kinsmen, and ever since has been tor mented in the other world. in that nether pit they know (he says) of the holy trinity : but that know ledge is rather harm than gain to them, because they did not choose to know it when alive on earth. therefore he begs to be baptized, and so delivered from his pain. he is therefore instructed, catechised, and in due time baptized, and admitted to the holy communion. for fifteen days more he remains alive : and then, dying once more, is again placed in his sepulchre, and left in peace. from fragmentary recollections of such tales as these (it may be observed in passing) may have sprung the strange fancy of the modern cornish men, which identifies these very celtic saints of their own race with the giants who, according to geoffrey of monmouth, inhabited the land before brutus and his trojans founded the arthuric dynasty. st. just, for instance, who is one of the guardian saints of the land's end, and st. kevern, one of the guardian saints of the lizard, are both giants ; and cornishmen a few years since would tell how st. just came from 280 st. malo. his hermitage by cape cornwall to visit st. kevern in his cave on the east side of goonhilly downs ; and how they took the holy communion together ; and how st. just, tempted by the beauty of st. kevern's paten and chalice, arose in the night and fled away with the holy vessels, wading first the looe pool, and then mount's bay itself; and how st kevern pursued him, and hurled after him three great boulders of porphyry, two of which lie on the slates and granites to this day; till st. just, terrified at the might of his saintly brother, tossed the stolen vessels ashore opposite st. michael's mount, and, fleeing back to his own hermitage, never appeared again in the neighbourhood of st. kevern. but to return. st. malo, coming home with st. brendan, craves for peace, and solitude, and the hermit's cell, and goes down to the sea-shore, to find a vessel which may carry him out once more into the infinite unknown. then there comes by a boat with no one in it but a little boy, who takes him on board, and carries him to the isle of the hermit aaron, near the town of aletha, which men call st. malo now ; and then the little boy vanishes away, and st. malo knows that he was christ himself. there he lives with aaron, till the bretons of the neighbourhood make him their bishop. he converts the idolaters around, and performs the usual miracles of hermit saints. he changes water into wine, and restores to life not only a dead man, but a dead sow likewise, over whose motherless litter a wretched slave, who has by accident killed the sow with a stone, is st. malo. 281 weeping and wringing his hands in dread of his master's fury. while st. malo is pruning vines, he lays his cape upon the ground, and a redbreast comes and lays an egg on it. he leaves it there, for the bird's sake, till the young are hatched, knowing, says his biographer, that without god the father not a sparrow falls to the ground. hailoch, the prince of brittany, destroys his church, and is struck blind. restored to sight by the saint, he bestows large lands on the church. " the impious generation," who, with their children after them, have lost their pro perty by hailoch's gift, rise against st. malo. they steal his horses, and in mockery leave him only a mare. they beat his baker, tie his feet under the horse's body, and leave him on the sand to be drowned by the rising tide. the sea by a miracle stops a mile off, and the baker is saved. st. malo, weary of the wicked bretons, flees to saintonge in aquitaine, where he performs yet more miracles. meanwhile, a dire famine falls on the bretons, and a thousand horrible diseases. penitent, they send for st. malo, who delivers them and their flocks. but, at the command of an angel, he returns to saintonge and dies there, and saintonge has his relics, and the innumerable miracles which they work, even to the days of sigebert, of gembloux. st. columba. the famous st. columba cannot perhaps be num bered among the hermits : but as the spiritual father of many hermits, as well as many monks, and as'one whose influence upon the christianity of these islands is notorious and extensive, he must needs have some notice in these pages. those who wish to study his life and works at length will of course read dr. reeves's invaluable edition of adamnan. the more general reader will find all that he need know in mr. hill burton's excellent " history of scotland," chap ters vii. and viii. ; and also in mr. maclear's " history of christian missions during the middle ages" — a book which should iie in every sunday library. st. columba, like st. david and st. cadoc of wales, and like many great irish saints, is a prince and a statesman as well as a monk. he is mixed up in quarrels between rival tribes. he is concerned, according to antiquaries, in three great battles, one of which sprang, according to some, from columba's own misdeeds. he copies by stealth the psalter of st. finnian. st. finnian demands the copy, saying it was his as much as the original. the matter is st. columba. 283 referred to king dermod, who pronounces, in high court at tara, the famous decision which has become a proverb in ireland, that " to every cow belongs her own calf."* st. columba, who does not seem at this time to have possessed the dove-like temper which his name, according to his disciples, indicates, threatens to avenge upon the king his unjust decision. the son of the king's steward and the son of the king of connaught, a hostage at dermod's court, are playing hurley on the green before dermod's palace. the young prince strikes the other boy, kills him, and flies for protection to columba. he is nevertheless dragged away, and slain upon the spot. columba leaves the palace in a rage, goes to his native moun tains of donegal, and returns at the head of an army of northern and western irish to fight the great battle of cooldrevny in sligo. but after a while public opinion turns against him ; and at the synod of teltown, in meath, it is proclaimed that columba, the man of blood, shall quit ireland, and win for christ out of heathendom as many souls as have perished in that great fight. then columba, with twelve comrades, sails in a coracle for the coast of argyleshire ; and on the eve of pentecost. a.d. 563, lands upon that island which, it may he, will be famous to all times as iona, hy, or icolumkill, — hy of columb of the cells. * the famous cathach, now in the museum of the royal irish academy, was long popularly believed to be the very psalter in ques tion. as arelicofst. columbait was carried to battle by the o'donnels, even as late as 1497, to insure victory for the clan, 284 st. columba. thus had columba, if the tale be true, undertaken a noble penance ; and he performed it like a noble man. if, according to the fashion of those times, he bewailed his sins with tears, he was no morbid or selfish recluse, but a man of practical power, and of wide humanity. like one of homer's old heroes, st. columba could turn his hand to every kind of work. he could turn the hand-mill, work on the farm, heal the sick, and command as a practised sailor the little fleet of coracles which lay hauled up on the strand of iona, ready to carry him and his monks on their missionary voyages to the mainland or the isles. tall, powerful, handsome, with a face which, as adamnan said, made all who saw him glad, and a voice so stentorian that it could be heard at times a full mile off, and coming too of royal race, it is no wonder if he was regarded as a sort of demigod, not only by his own monks, but by the pictish chiefs to whom he preached the cross. we hear of him at craig phadrick, near inverness; at skye, at tiree, and other islands ; we hear of him receiving visits from his old monks of derry and durrow ; returning to ireland to decide between rival chiefs ; and at last dying at the age of seventy-seven, kneeling before the altar in his little chapel of iona — a death as beautiful as had been the last thirty-four years of his life ; and leaving behind him disciples destined to spread the light of christianity over the whole of scotland and the northern parts of england. st. columba, at one period or other of his life, is said to have visited a missionary hermit, whose name st. serf. 285 still lingers in scotland as st. kentigern, or more commonly st. mungo, the patron saint of glasgow. the two men, it is said (but the story belongs to the twelfth century, and can hardly be depended on), exchanged their crooked staves or crosiers in token of christian brotherhood, and that which st. columba is said to have given to st. kentigern was preserved in ripon cathedral to the beginning of the fifteenth century. but who st. kentigern was, or what he really did, is hard to say ; for all his legends, like most of these early ones, are as tangled as a dream. he dies in the year 601 : and yet he is the disciple of the famous st. servanus or st. serf, who lived in the times of st. palladius and st. patrick, 1 80 years before. this st. serf is a hermit of the true old type ; and even if his story be, as dr. reeves thinks, a fabrication throughout, it is at least a very early one, and true to the ideal which had originated with st. antony. he is brought up in a monastery at culross : he is tempted by the devil in a cave in the parish of dysart (the desert), in fifeshire, which still retains that name. the damon, fleeing from him, enters an unfortunate man, who is forthwith plagued with a wolfish appetite. st. serf cures him by putting his thumb into his mouth. a man is accused of stealing and eating a lamb, and denies the theft. st. serf, however, makes the lamb bleat in the robber's stomach, and so sub stantiates the charge beyond all doubt. he works othei wonders; among them the slaying of a great dragon in the place called " dunyne ;" sails for the orkneys, and converts the people there; and vanishes 286 st. kent1gern. thenceforth into the dream-land from which he sprung. two great disciples he has, st. ternan and st. ken tigern; mystery and miracle hang round the boyhood of the latter. his father is unknown. his mother is condemned to be cast from the rock of " dunpelder," but is saved and absolved by a miracle. before the eyes of the astonished picts, she floats gently down through the air, and arrives at the cliff foot unhurt. st. kentigern is thenceforth believed to be virgin born, and is reverenced as a miraculous being from his infancy. he goes to school to the mythic st. serf, who calls him mungo, or the beloved ; which name he bears in glasgow until this day. his fellow scholars envy his virtue and learning, and try to ruin him with their master. st. serf has a pet robin, which is wont to sit and sing upon his shoulder. the boys pull off its head, and lay the blame upon kentigern. the saint comes in wrathful, tawse in hand, and ken tigern is for the moment in serious danger ; but, equal to the occasion then as afterwards, he puts the robin's head on again, sets it singing, and amply vindicates his innocence. to this day the robin figures in the arms of the good city of glasgow, with the tree which st. kentigern, .when his enemies had put out his fire, brought in from the frozen forest and lighted with his breath, and the salmon in whose mouth a ring which had been cast into the clyde had been found again by st. kentigern's prophetic spirit. the envy of his fellow-scholars, however, is too much for st. kentigern's peace of mind. he wanders st. kentigern. 287 away to the spot where glasgow city now stands, lives in a rock hollowed out into a tomb, is ordained by an irish bishop (according to a celtic custom, of which antiquaries have written learnedly and dubiously likewise), and has ecclesiastical authority over all the picts from the frith of forth to the roman wall. but all these stories, as i said before, are tangled as a dream ; for the twelfth century monks, in their loyal devotion to the see of rome, are apt to introduce again and again ecclesiastical customs which belonged to their own time, and try to represent these primaeval saints as regular and well-disciplined ser vants of the pope. it may be remarked that st. serf is said to have come into a "dysart" or desert. so did many monks of the school of st. columba and his disciples, who wished for a severer and a more meditative life than could be found in the busy society of a convent. " there was a ' disert,' " says dr. reeves, " for such men to retire to, besides the monastery of derry, and another at iona itself, situate near the shore in the low ground, north of the cathedral, as may be inferred from portandisiart, the name of a little bay in this situation." a similar " disert " or collection of hermit cells was endowed at cashel in 1101; and a " disert columkill," with two townland mills and a vegetable garden, was endowed at kells, at a some what earlier period, for the use of " devout pilgrims,'' as those were called who left the society of men to worship god in solitude. the venerable bede speaks of as many as three lindisfarne. personages, saxons by their names, who in the isle of ireland led the " pilgrim " or anchoritic life, to obtain a country in heaven; and tells of a drycthelm of the monastery at melrose, who went into a secret dwelling therein to give himself more utterly to prayer, and who used to stand for hours in the cold waters of the tweed, as st. godric did centuries afterwards in those ofthe wear. solitaries, " recluses,'' are met with again and ag-ain in these old records, who more than once became abbots of iona itself. but there is no need to linger on over instances which are only quoted to show that so me of the noblest spirits of the celtic church kept up wherever they could the hermit's ideal, the longing for solitude, for passive contemplation, for silence and perpetual prayer, which they had inherited from st. antony and the fathers of the egyptian desert. the same ideal was carried by them over the border into england. off its extreme northern coast, for instance, nearly half-way between berwick and bamborough castle, lies, as travellers northward may have seen for themselves, the " holy island," called in old times lindisfarne. a monk's chapel on that island was the mother of all the churches between tyne and tweed, as well as of many between tyne and humber. the northumbrians had been nominally converted, according to bede, a.d. 627, under their king edwin, by paulinus, one of the roman monks who had followed in the steps of st. augustine, the apostle of kent. evil times had fallen on them. penda, at the head of the ido latrous mercians (the people of mid-england), and a wan. ceadwalla, at the head of the western britons, had ravaged the country north of tweed with savage cruelty, slain king edwin, at hatfield, near doncaster, and exterminated christianity ; while paulinus had fled to kent, and become bishop of rochester. the invaders had been driven out, seemingly by oswald, who knew enough of christianity to set up, ere he engaged the enemy, a cross of wood on the " heavenfield," near hexham, that cross stood till the time of bede, some 150 years after; and had become, like moses' brazen serpent, an object of vene ration. for if chips cut off from it were put into water, that water cured men or cattle of their diseases. oswald, believing that it was through the mercy of him whom that cross symbolized he had con quered the mercians and the britons, would needs re convert his people to the true faith. he had been in exile during edwin's lifetime among the scots, and had learned from them something of christianity. so out of iona a monk was sent to him, aidan by name, to be a bishop over the northumbrians ; and he set tled himself upon the isle of lindisfarne, and began to convert it into another iona. "a man he was," says bede, "of singular sweetness, piety, and mode ration; zealous in the cause of god, though not altogether according to knowledge, for he was wont to keep easter after the fashion of his country;" i.e. of the picts and northern scots. ..." from that time forth many scots came daily into britain, and with great devotion preached the word to these provinces of the english over whom king oswald 290 a id an. reigned. . . . churches were built, money and lands were given of the king's bounty to build monasteries ; the english, great and small, were by their scottish masters instructed in the rules and observance of regular discipline; for most of those who came to preach were monks." * so says the venerable bede, the monk of jarrow, and the father (as he has been well called) of english history. he tells us too, how aidan, wishing, it may be supposed, for greater solitude, went away and lived on the rocky isle of fame, some two miles out at sea, off bamborough castle ; and how, when he saw penda and his mercians, in a second invasion of northumbria, trying to burn down the walls of bamborough — which were probably mere stockades of timber — he cried to god, from off his rock, to " behold the mischief : " whereon the wind changed suddenly, and blew the flames back on the besiegers, discomfiting them, and saving the town. bede tells .us, too, how aidan wandered, preaching from place to place, haunting king oswald's court, but owning nothing of his own save his church, and a few fields about it ; and how, when death came upon him, they set up a tent for him close by the wall at the west end of the church, so that it befell that, he gave up the ghost leaning against a post, which stood outside to strengthen the wall. a few years after, penda came again and burned the village, with the church ; and yet neither could that fire, nor one which happened soon after, destroy * bede, book iii. cap. 3. st. cuthbert. 291 that post wherefore the post was put inside the church, as a holy thing, and chips of it, like those of the cross of heaven field, healed many folk of their distempers. ... a tale at which we may look in two different humours. we may pass it by with a sneer, and a hypothesis (which will be probably true) that the post was of old heart-of-oak, which is burnt with extreme difficulty ; or we may pause a moment in reverence before the noble figure of the good old man, ending a life of unselfish toil without a roof beneath which to lay his head ; penniless and comfort less in this world : but sure of his reward in the world to come. a few years after aidan's death another hermit betook him to the rocks of fame, who rose to far higher glory ; who became, in fact, the tutelar saint of the fierce northern men ; who was to them, up to the time even of the tudor monarchs, what pallas athene was to athens, or diana to the ephesians. st. cuthbert's shrine, in durham cathedral (where his biographer bede also lay in honour), was their rallying point, not merely for ecclesiastical juris diction or for miraculous cures, but for political movements. above his shrine rose the noble pile of durham. the bishop, who ruled in his name, was a count palatine, and an almost independent prince. his sacred banner went out to battle before the northern levies, or drove back again and again the flames which consumed the wooden houses of durham. his relics wrought innumerable miracles ; u 2 z92 st. cuthbert. and often he himself appeared with long counte nance, ripened by abstinence, his head sprinkled with grey hairs, his casule of cloth of gold, his mitre of glittering crystal, his face brighter than the sun, his eyes mild as the stars of heaven, the gems upon his hand and robes rattling against his pastoral staff beset with pearls.* thus glorious the demigod of the northern men appeared to his votaries, and steered with his pastoral staff, as with a rudder, the sinking ship in safety to lindisfarne ; received from the hands of st. brendan, as from a saint of inferior powers, the innocent yeoman, laden with fetters, whom he had delivered out of the dungeon of brance peth, and, smiting asunder the massive norman walls, led him into the forest, and bade him flee to sanctuary in durham, and be safe ; or visited the little timber vine-clad chapel of lixtune, on the cheshire shore, to heal the sick who watched all night before his altar, or to forgive the lad who had robbed the nest which his sacred raven had built upon the roof, and, falling with the decayed timber, had broken his bones, and maimed his sacri legious hand. originally, says bede, a monk at melrose, and afterward abbot of the same place, he used to wander * these details, and countless stories of st. cuthbert's miracles, are to be found in reginald of durham, "de admirandis beaticuthberti," published by the surtees society. this curious book is admirably edited by mr. j. raine ; with an english synopsis at the end, which enables the reader for whom the latin is too difficult to enjoy those pictures of life under stephen and henry ii., whether moral, religious, or social, of which the book is a rich museum. st. cuthbert. 293 weeks together out of his monastery, seemingly into ettrick and the lammermuirs, and preach in such villages as " being seated high up among craggy, uncouth mountains, were frightful to others even to-look at, and whose poverty and barbarity rendered them inaccessible to other teachers.'' " so skilful an orator was he, so fond of enforcing his subject, and such a brightness appeared in his angelic face, that no man presumed to conceal from him the most hidden secrets of their hearts, but all openly confessed what they had done." so he laboured for many years, till his old abbot eata, who had become bishop and abbot at lindis farne, sent for him thither, and made him prior of the monks for several years. but at last he longed, like so many before him, for solitude. he considered (so he said afterwards to the brethren) that the life of the disciplined and obedient monk was higher than that of the lonely and independent hermit : but yet he longed to be alone; longed, it may be, to recall at least upon some sea-girt rock thoughts which had come to him in those long wanderings on the heather moors, with no sound to distract him save the hum of the bee and the wail of the curlew ; and so he went away to that same rock of fame, where aidan had taken refuge some ten or fifteen years before, and there, with the deep sea rolling at his feet and the gulls wailing about his head, he built himself one of those " picts' houses," the walls of which remain still in many parts of scotland — a circular hut of turf and rough stone — and dug out the interior to a depth of 294 st. cuthbert. some feet, and thatched it with sticks and grass ; and made, it seems, two rooms within ; one for an oratory, one for a dwelling-place : and so lived alone, and wor shipped god. he grew his scanty crops of barley on the rock (men said, of course, by miracle) : he had tried wheat, but, as was to be expected, it failed. he found (men said, of course, by miracle) a spring upon the rock. now and then brethren came to visit him. and what did man need more, save a clear conscience and the presence of his creator ? certainly not cuthbert. when he asked the brethren to bring him a beam that he might prop up his cabin where the sea had eaten out the floor, and when they forgot the commission, the sea itself washed one up in the very cove where it was needed : when the choughs from the cliff stole his barley and the straw from the roof of his little hospice, he had only to reprove them, and they never offended again ; on one occasion, indeed, they atoned for their offence by bringing him a lump of suet, wherewith he greased his shoes for many a day. we are not bound to believe this story ; it is one of many which hang about the memory of st. cuthbert, and which have sprung out of that love of the wild birds which may have grown up in the good man during his long wanderings through woods and over moors. he bequeathed (so it was believed) as a sacred legacy to the wild-fowl of the fame islands, "st. cuthbert's peace;" above all to the eider-ducks, which swarmed there in his days, but are now, alas ! growing rarer and rarer, from the intrusion of vulgar sportsmen who never heard st. cuthbert's name, or st. cuthbert. 295 learnt from him to spare god's creatures when they need them not. on fame, in reginald's time, they bred under your very bed, got out of your way if you made a sign to them, let you take up them or their young ones, and nestled silently in your bosom, and croaked joyfully with fluttering wings when stroked. " not to nature, but to grace ; not to hereditary tendency, but only to the piety and compassion of the blessed st. cuthbert," says reginald, " is so great a miracle to be ascribed. for the lord who made all things in heaven and earth has subjected them to the nod of his saints, and prostrated them under the feet of obedience." insufficient induction (the cause of end less mistakes, and therefore of endless follies and crimes) kept reginald unaware of the now notorious fact that the female eider, during the breeding season, is just as tame, allowing for a little exaggeration, as st. cuthbert's own ducks are, while the male eider is just as wild and wary as any other sea-bird : a mis take altogether excusable in one who had probably never seen or heard of eider-ducks in any other spot. it may be, nevertheless, that st. cuthbert's special affection for the eider may have been called out by another strange and well-known fact about them of which reginald oddly enough takes no note — namely, that they line their nests with down plucked from their own bosom ; thus realizing the fable which has made the pelican for so many centuries the type of the church. it is a question, indeed, whether the pelican, which is always represented in mediaeval paintings and sculptures with a short bill, instead of the enormous 296 st. cuthbert. bill and pouch which is the especial mark of the " ono crotalus " of the ancients, now miscalled pelican, be not actually the eider-duck itself, confounded with the true pelecanus, which was the mediaeval, and is still the scientific, name of the cormorant. be that as it may, ill befell any one who dare touch one of st. cuthbert's birds, as was proved in the case of liveing, servant to ^elric, who was a hermit in fame after the time of st. cuthbert. for he, tired it may be of barley and dried fish, killed and ate an eider-duck in his master's absence, scattering the bones and feathers over the cliffs. but when the hermit came back, what should he find but those same bones and feathers rolled into a lump and laid inside the door of the little chapel ; the very sea, says reginald, not having dared to swallow them up. whereby the hapless liveing being betrayed, was soundly flogged, and put on bread and water for many a day ; the which story liveing himself told to reginald. not only the eider, but all birds in fame, were pro tected by st. cuthbert's peace. bartholomew, who was a famous hermit there in after years, had a tame ' bird, says the chronicler, who ate from his hand, and hopped about the table among him and his guests, till some thought it a miracle ; and some, finding, no doubt, the rocks of fame weary enough, derived continual amusement from the bird. but when he one day went off to another island, and left his bird to keep the house, a hawk came in and ate it up. cuthbert, who could not save the bird, at least could punish the murderer. the hawk flew round and ^7'. cuthbert. 297 round the island, imprisoned, so it was thought, by some mysterious power, till, terrified and worn out, it flew into the chapel, and lay, cowering and half dead, in a corner by the altar. bartholomew came back, found his bird's feathers, and the tired hawk. but even the hawk must profit by st. cuthbert's peace. he took it up, carried it to the harbour, and there bade it depart in st. cuthbert's name, whereon it flew off free, and was no more seen. such tales as these may be explained, even to their most minute details, by simply natural causes : and yet, jn this age of wanton destruction of wild birds, one is tempted at moments to wish for the return of some such graceful and humane superstition which could keep down, at least in the name of mercy and humanity, the needless cruelty of man. but to return. after st. cuthbert, says bede, had served god in the solitude of fame for many years, the mound which encompassed his habitation being so high that he could see nothing from thence but heaven, to which he so ardently aspired, he was compelled by tears and entreaties — king egfrid him self coming to the island, with bishops and religious and great men — to become himself bishop in holy island. there, as elsewhere, he did his duty. but after two years he went again to fame, knowing that his end was near. for when, in his episcopal labours, he had gone across to lugubalia — old penrith, in cumberland — there came across to him a holy hermit, herebert by name, who dwelt upon an island in derwentwater, and talked with him a long while on 298 s7\ cuthbert. heavenly things; and cuthbert bade him ask him then all the questions which he wished to have re solved, for they should see each other no more in this world. herebert, who seems to have been one of his old friends, fell at cuthbert's feet, and bade him remember that whenever he had done wrong he had submitted himself to him utterly, and always tried to live according to his rules ; and all he wished for now was that, as they had served god together upon earth, they might depart for ever to see his bliss in heaven: the which befell; for a few months after wards, that is, on the 20th of march, their souls quitted their mortal bodies on the same day, and they were re-united in spirit. st. cuthbert wished to have been buried on his rock in fame : but the brethren had persuaded him to allow his corpse to be removed to holy island. he begged them, said bede, should they be forced to leave that place, to carry his bones along with them ; and so they were forced to do at last ; for in the year 875, whilst the danes were struggling with alfred in wessex, an army of them, with halfdene at their head, went up into northumbria, burning towns, destroying churches, tossing children on their pike points, and committing all those horrors which made the norsemen terrible and infamous for so many years. then the monks fled from the monastery, bearing the shrine of st. cuthbert, and all their treasures, and followed by their retainers, men, women, and children, and their sheep and oxen : and behold ! the hoar of their flight was that of an exceedingly high st. cuthbert. 299 spring tide. the danes were landing from their ships in their rear ; in their front was some two miles of sea. escape seemed hopeless ; when, says the legend, the water retreated before the holy relics as they advanced; and became, as to the children of israel of old, a wall on their right hand and on their left; and so st. cuthbert came safe to shore, and wandered in the woods, borne upon his servants' shoulders, and dwelling in tents for seven years, and found rest at last in durham, till at the reform ation his shrine, and that of the venerable bede, were robbed of their gold and jewels ; and no trace of them (as far as i know) is left, save that huge slab, whereon is written the monkish rhyme : — hie jacet in fossa bedse venerabilis ossa.* * "in this hole lie the bones of the venerable bede. 1 ' st. guthlac. hermits dwelling in the wilderness, as far as i am aware, were to be seen only in the northern and western parts of the island, where not only did the forest afford concealment, but the crags and caves shelter. the southern and eastern english seldom possess the vivid imagination of the briton, the northumbrian, and the scot ; while the rich low lands of central, southern, and eastern england, well peopled and well tilled, offered few spots lonely enough for the hermit's cell. one district only was desolate enough to attract those who wished to be free from the world, — namely, the great fens north of cambridge ; and there, accordingly, as early as the seventh century, hermits settled in morasses now so utterly transformed that it is difficult to restore in one's imagination the original scenery. the fens in the seventh century were probably very like the forests at the mouth of the mississippi, or the swampy shores of the carolinas. their vast plain is now, in summer, one sea of golden corn ; in winter, a black dreary fallow, cut into squares by st. guthlac. 301 stagnant dykes, and broken only by unsightly pumping mills and doleful lines of poplar-trees. of old it was a labyrinth of black wandering streams ; broad lagoons ; morasses submerged every spring tide ; vast beds of reed and sedge and fern ; vast copses of willow, alder, and grey poplar, rooted in the floating peat, which was swallowing up slowly, all devouring, yet all-preserving, the forests of fir and oak, ash and poplar, hazel and yew, which had once grown on that low, rank soil, sinking slowly (so geologists assure us) beneath the sea from age to age. trees, torn down by flood and storm, floated and lodged in rafts, damming the waters back upon the land. streams, bewildered in the flats, changed their channels, mingling silt and sand with the peat moss. nature, left to herself, ran into wild riot and chaos more and more, till the whole fen became one " dismal swamp," in which, at the time of the nor man conquest, the " last of the english," like dred in mrs. stowe's tale, took refuge from their tyrants, and lived, like him, a free and joyous life awhile. for there are islands in the sea which have escaped the destroying deluge of peat-moss, — outcrops of firm and fertile land, which in the early middle age were so many natural parks, covered with richest grass and stateliest trees, swarming with deer and roe, goat and boar, as the streams around swarmed with otter and beaver, and with fowl of every feather, and fish of every scale. beautiful after their kind were those far isles in the eyes of the monks who were the first settlers in the 3q2 st. guthlac. wilderness. the author of the " history of ramsey " grows enthusiastic, and somewhat bombastic also, as he describes the lovely isle, which got its name from the solitary ram who had wandered thither, either in extreme drought or over the winter ice, and, never able to return, was found feeding among the wild deer, fat beyond the wont of rams. he tells of the stately ashes, most of them cut in his time, to furnish mighty beams for the church roof; of the rich pastures painted with all gay flowers in spring ; of the " green crown " of reed and alder which encircled the isle ; of the fair wide mere (now drained) with its " sandy beach " along the forest side ; " a delight," he says, " to all who look thereon." in like humour william of malmesbury, writing in the first half of the twelfth century, speaks of thorney abbey and its isle. " it represents," says he, " a very paradise ; for that in pleasure and delight it resembles heaven itself. these marshes abound in trees, whose length, without a knot, doth emulate the stars. the plain there is as level as the sea, alluring the eye with its green grass, and so smooth that there is nought to trip the foot of him who runs through it. neither is there any waste place ; for in some parts are apples, in others vines, which are either spread on the ground, or raised on poles. a mutual strife there is between nature and art ; so that what one produces not the other supplies. what shall i say of those fair buildings, which 'tis so wonderful to see the ground among those fens upbear ? " so wrote william of malmesbury, after the st. guthlac. 303 industry and wisdom of the monks, for more than four centuries, had been at work to civilize and cultivate the wilderness. yet even then there was another side to the picture; and thorney, ramsey, or crowland would have seemed, for nine months every year, sad places enough to us comfortable folk of the nineteenth century. but men lived hard in those days, even the most high-born and luxurious nobles and ladies ; under dark skies, in houses which we should think, from darkness, draught, and want of space, unfit for felons' cells. hardly they lived ; and easily were they pleased ; and thanked god for the least gleam of sunshine, the least patch of green, after the terrible and long winters of the middle ages. and ugly enough those winters must have been, what with snow and darkness, flood and ice, ague and rheumatism ; while through the dreary winter's night the whistle of the wind and the wild cries of the waterfowl were translated into the howls of witches and daemons ; and (as in st. guthlac's case), the delirious fancies of marsh fever made those fiends take hideous shapes before the inner eye, and act fantastic horrors round the fen man's bed of sedge. concerning this st. guthlac full details remain, both in latin and anglo-saxon; the author of the original document professing to be one felix, a monk of ramsey near by, who wrote possibly as early as the eighth century.* * an english translation of the anglo-saxon life has been published by mr. godwin, of cambridge, and is well worth perusal. 304 st. guthlac. there we may read how the young warrior-noble guthlac ("the battle-play," the "sport of war"), tired of slaying and sinning, bethought him to fulfil the prodigies seen at his birth ; how he wandered into the fen, where one tatwin (who after became a saint likewise) took him in his canoe to a spot so lonely as to be almost unknown, buried in reeds and alders, and how he found among the trees nought but an old "law," as the scots still call a mound, which men of old had broken into seeking for treasure, and a little pond; and how he built himself a hermit's cell thereon, and saw visions and wrought miracles ; and how men came to him, as to a fakir or shaman of the east; notably one beccel, who acted as his servant; and how as beccel was shaving the saint one day there fell on him a great temptation : why should he not cut st. guthlac's throat, and instal himself in his cell, that he might have the honour and glory of sainthood ? but st. guthlac perceived the inward temptation (which is told with the naive honesty of those half-savage times), and rebuked the offender into confession, and all went well to the end. there we may read, too, a detailed account of the fauna now happily extinct in the fens ; of the crea tures who used to hale st. guthlac out of his hut, drag him through the bogs, carry him aloft through frost and fire — "develen and luther gostes" — such as tor mented in like wise st. botolph (from whom botulf ston = boston, has its name), and who were supposed to haunt the meres and fens, and to have an especial fondness for old heathen barrows with their fancied s7\ gutrlac. 3o$ treasure-hoards : how they "filled the house with their coming, and poured in on every side, from above, and from beneath, and everywhere. they were in coun tenance horrible, and they had great heads, and a long neck, and a lean visage ; they were filthy and squalid in their beards, and they had rough ears, and crooked ' nebs,' and fierce eyes, and foul mouths ; and their teeth were like horses' tusks ; and their throats were filled with flame, and they were grating in their voice ; they had crooked shanks, and knees big and great behind, and distorted toes, and cried hoarsely with their voices ; and they came with immoderate noise and immense horror, that he thought that all between heaven and earth resounded with their voices. . . . and they tugged and led him out of the cot, and led him to the swart fen, and threw and sunk him in the muddy waters. after that they brought him into the wild places of the wilderness, among the thick beds of brambles, that all his body was torn. . . . after that they took him and beat him with iron whips, and after that they brought him on their creaking wings between the cold regions of the air." but there are gentler and more human touches in that old legend. you may read in it how all the wild birds of the fen came to st. guthlac, and he fed them after their kind ; how the ravens tormented him, stealing letters, gloves, and what not, from his visitors ; and then, seized with compunction at his reproofs, brought them back, or hanged them on the reeds ; and how, as wilfrid, a holy visitant, was sitting s. l. ii. x 3o6 st. gut h lac. with him, discoursing of the contemplative life, two swallows came flying in, and lifted up their song, sitting now on the saint's hand, now on his shoulder, now on his knee ; and how, when wilfrid wondered thereat. guthlac made answer, " know you not that lihe who hath led his life according to god's will, to him the wild beasts and the wild birds draw the more near ? " after fifteen years of such a life, in fever, ague, and starvation, no wonder if st. guthlac died. they buried him in a leaden coffin (a grand and expensive luxury in the seventh century) which had been sent to him during his life by a saxon princess ; and then, over his sacred and wonder-working corpse, as over that of a buddhist saint, there arose a chapel, with a community of monks, companies of pilgrims who came to worship, sick who came to be healed ; till at last, founded on great piles driven into the bog, arose the lofty wooden abbey of crowland ; in " sanc tuary of the four rivers," with its dykes, parks, vine yards, orchards, rich ploughlands, from which, in time of famine, the monks of crowland fed all people of the neighbouring fens ; with its tower with seven bells, which had not their like in england ; its twelve altars rich with the gifts of danish vikings and princes, and even with twelve white bear-skins, the gift of canute's self ; while all around were the cottages of the corrodiers, or folk who, for a corrody, or life pittance from the abbey, had given away their lands, to the wrong and detriment of their heirs. but within those four rivers, at least, were neither st. guthlac. 307 tyranny nor slavery. those who took refuge in st. guthlac's place from cruel lords must keep his peace toward each other, and earn their living like honest men, safe while they so did : for between those four rivers st. guthlac and his abbot were the only lords ; and neither summoner, nor sheriff of the king, nor armed force of knight or earl, could enter — "the inheritance of the lord, the soil of st. mary and st. bartholomew, the most holy sanctuary of st. guthlac and his monks ; the minister free from worldly servitude ; the special almshouse of most illustrious kings ; the sole refuge of any one in worldly tribulation ; the perpetual abode of the saints ; the possession of religious men, specially set apart by the common council of the realm ; by reason of the frequent miracles of the holy confessor st'. guthlac, an ever-fruitful mother of camphire in the vineyards of engedi ; and, by reason of the privileges granted by the kings, a city of grace and safety to all who repent." does not all this sound like a voice from another planet ? it is all gone ; and it was good and right that it should go when it had done its work, and that the civilization of the fen should be taken up and carried out by men like the good knight, richard of rulos, who, two generations after the conquest, marrying hereward's grand-daughter, and becoming lord of deeping (the deep meadow), thought that he could do the same work from the hall of bourne as the monks did from their cloisters ; got permission from the crowland monks, for twenty marks of x 2 3os st. gut h lac. silver, to drain as much as he could of the common marshes ; and then shut out the welland by strong dykes, built cottages, marked out gardens, and tilled fields, till " out of slough and bogs accursed he made a garden of pleasure." yet one lasting work those monks of crowland seem to have done, besides those firm dykes and rich corn-lands of the porsand, which endure unto this day. for within two generations of the norman conquest, while the old wooden abbey, destroyed by fire, was being replaced by that noble pile of stone whose ruins are snil standing, the french abbot of crowland (so runs the legend) sent french monks to open a school under the new french donjon, in the little roman town of grante-brigge ; whereby — so does all earnest work, however mistaken, grow and spread in this world, infinitely and for ever — st. guthlac, by his canoe-voyage into crowland island, became the spiritual father of the university of cambridge in the old world ; and therefore of her noble daughter, the university of cambridge, in the new world which fen-men sailing from boston deeps colonized and christianized 800 years after st. guthlac's death. st. godric of finchale. a personage quite as interesting, though not as famous, as cuthbert or guthlac, is st. godric ; the hermit around whose cell rose the priory of finchale. in a loop of the river wear, near durham, there settled in the days of bishop flambard, between 1099 an d 1 128, a man whose parentage and history was for many years unknown to the good folks of the neigh bourhood. he had come, it seems, from a hermitage in eskdale, in the parish of whitby, whence he had been driven by the percys, lords of the soil. he had gone to durham, become the doorkeeper of st. giles's church, and gradually learnt by heart (he was no scholar) the whole psalter. then he had gone to st. mary's church, where (as was the fashion of the times) there was a children's school; and, listening to the little ones at their lessons, picked up such hymns and prayers as he thought would suffice his spiritual wants. and then, by leave of the bishop, he had gone away into the woods, and devoted himself to the solitary life in finchale. buried in the woods and crags of the " royal park," 3io st. godric of finchale. as it was then called, which swarmed with every kind of game, there was a little flat meadow, rough with sweet-gale and bramble and willow, beside a teeming salmon-pool. great wolves haunted the woods ; but godric cared nought for them ; and the shingles swarmed with snakes, — probably only the harmless collared snakes of wet meadows, but reputed, as all snakes are by the vulgar, venomous : but he did not object to become " the companion of serpents and poisonous asps." he handled them, caressed them, let them lie by the fire in swarms on winter nights, in the little cave which he had hollowed in the ground and thatched with turf. men told soon how the snakes obeyed him ; how two especially huge ones used to lie twined about his legs ; till after many years, annoyed by their importunity, he turned them all gently out of doors, with solemn adjurations never to return, and they, of course, obeyed. his austerities knew no bounds. he lived on roots and berries, flowers and leaves ; and when the good folk found him out, and put gifts of food near his cell, he carried them up to the crags above, and, offering them solemnly up to the god who feeds the ravens when they call on him, left them there for the wild birds. he watched, fasted, and scourged himself, and wore always a hair shirt and an iron cuirass. he sat, night after night, even in mid-winter, in the cold wear, the waters of which had hollowed out a rock near by into a natural bath, and afterwards in a barrel sunk in the floor of a little chapel of wattle, which he built and dedicated to the blessed st. gonii/c of finch a i.e. 311 virgin mary. he tilled a scrap of ground, and ate the grain from it, mingled with ashes. he kept his food till it was decayed before he tasted it ; and led a life the records of which fill the reader with astonish ment, not only at the man's iron strength of will, but at the iron strength of the constitution which could support such hardships, in such a climate, for a single year. a strong and healthy man must godric have been, to judge from the accounts (there are two, both written by eye-witnesses) of his personal appearance — a man of great breadth of chest and strength of arm ; black-haired, hook-nosed, deep-browed, with flashing grey eyes ; altogether a personable and able man, who might have done much work and made his way in many lands. but what his former life had been he would not tell. mother-wit he had in plenty, and showed insight into men and things which the monks of dur ham were ready enough to call the spirit of prophecy. after awhile it was whispered that he wrought mira culous cures : that even a bit of the bread which he was wont to eat had healed a sick woman ; that he fought with daemons in visible shape ; that he had seen (just as one of the old egyptian hermits had seen) a little black boy running about between two monks who had quarrelled and come to hard blows and bleeding faces because one of them had made mis takes in the evening service : and, in short, there were attributed to him, during his lifetime, and by those who knew him well, a host of wonders which would be startling and important were they not exactly 312 st. godric of finchale. the same as those which appear in the life of every hermit since st. antony. it is impossible to read the pages of reginald of durham (for he, the biogra pher of st. cuthbert, is also the biographer of st. godric) without feeling how difficult it is to obtain anything like the truth, even from eye-witnesses, if only men are (as they were in those days) in a state of religious excitement, at a period of spiritual revivals. the ignorant populace were ready to believe, and to report, anything of the fakeer of finchale. the monks of durham were glad enough to have a wonder-working man belonging to them ; for ralph flambard, in honour of godric, had made over to them the hermitage of finchale, with its fields and fisheries. the lad who, in after years, waited on the hermit, would have been ready enough to testify that his master saw daemons and other spiritual beings ; for he began to see them on his own account ; * fell asleep in the forest coming home from durham with some bottles ; was led in a vision by st. john the baptist to the top of a hill, and shown by him wonders unspeakable ; saw, on another occasion, a daemon in st. godric's cell, hung all over with bottles of different liquors, offering them to the saint, who bade the lad drive him out of the little chapel, with a holy water sprinkle, but not go out side it himself. but the lad, in the fury of successful pursuit, overstepped the threshold ; whereon the daemon, turning in self-defence, threw a single drop of one of his liquors into the lad's mouth, and * vita s. godrici, pp. 332, 333. st. godric of finchale. 313 vanished with a laugh of scorn. the boy's face and throat swelled horribly for three days ; and he took care thenceforth to obey the holy man more strictly : a story which i have repeated, like the one before it, only to show the real worth of the evidence on which reginald has composed his book. ailred, abbot of rievaux (for reginald's book, though dedicated to hugh pudsey, his bishop, was prompted by ailred) was capable (as his horrible story of the nun of watton proves) of believing anything and everything which fell in with his fanatical, though pious and gentle, temper. and here a few words must be said to persons with whose difficulties i deeply sympathise, but from whose conclusions i differ utterly : those, namely, who say that if we reject the miracles of these saints' lives, we must reject also the miracles of the new testament. the answer is, as i believe, that the apostles and evangelists were sane men : men in their right minds, wise, calm ; conducting them selves (save in the matter of committing sins) like other human beings, as befitted the disciples of that son of man who came eating and drinking, and was therefore called by the ascetics of his time a gluttonous man, and a wine-bibber : whereas these monks were not (as i have said elsewhere) in their right minds at all. this is, or ought to be, patent to any one who will compare the style of the apostles and evangelists with that of the monkish hagiologists. the calm, the simplicity, the brevity, the true grandeur of the 314 st. g0dr1c of finch a i.e. former is sufficient evidence of their healthy-minded ness and their trustworthiness. the affectation, the self-consciousness, the bombast, the false grandeur of the latter is sufficient evidence that they are neither healthy-minded or trustworthy. let students com pare any passage of st. luke or st. john, however surprising the miracle which it relates, with st. jerome's life of paul the first hermit, or with that famous letter of his to eustochium, which (although historically important) is unfit for the eyes of pure minded readers and does not appear in this volume ; and let them judge for themselves. let them compare, again, the opening sentences of the four gospels, or of the acts of the apostles, with the words with which reginald begins this life of st. godric : " by the touch of the holy spirit's finger the chord of the harmonic human heart resounds melodiously. for when the vein of the heart is touched by the grace of the holy spirit, forthwith, by the permirific sweetness of the harmony, an exceeding operation of sacred virtue is perceived more manifestly to spring forth. with this sweet ness of spirit, godric, the man of god, was filled from the very time of his boyhood, and grew famous for many admirable works of holy work (sic), because the harmonic teaching of the holy spirit fired the secrets of his very bosom with a wondrous contact of spiritual grace :" — and let them say, after the com parison, if the difference between the two styles is not that which exists between one of god's lilies, fresh from the field, and a tawdry bunch of artificial flowers? s't. godric of finch ale.. 315 but to return. godric himself took part in the history of his own miracles and life. it may be that he so overworked his brain that he believed that he was visited by st. peter, and taught a hymn by the blessed virgin mary, and that he had taken part in a hundred other prodigies; but the prologue to the harleian manuscript (which the learned editor, mr. stevenson, believes to be an early edition of reginald's own composition) confesses that reginald, compelled by ailred of rievaux, tried in vain for a long while to get the hermit's story from him. "you wish to write my life?" he said. "know then that godric's life is such as this : — godric, at first a gross rustic, an unclean liver, an usurer, a cheat, a perjurer, a flatterer, a wanderer, pilfering and greedy ; now a dead flea, a decayed dog, a vile worm, not a hermit, but a hypocrite ; not a solitary, but a gad-about in mind ; a devourer of alms, dainty over good things, greedy and negligent, lazy and snoring, ambitious and prodigal, one who is not worthy to serve others, and yet every day beats and scolds those who serve him : this, and worse than this, you may write of godric." " then he was silent as one indignant," says reginald, •' and i went off in some confusion/' and the grand old man was left to himself and to his god. the ecclesiastical boswell dared not mention the subject again to his hero for several years, though he came after from durham to visit him, and celebrate mass for him in his little chapel. after some years, however, he approached the matter again; and 3i6 st. godric of finch ale. whether a pardonable vanity had crept over godric, or whether he had begun at last to believe in his miracles, or whether the old man had that upon his mind of which he longed to unburthen himself, he began to answer questions, and reginald delighted to listen and note down till he had finished, he says, that book of his life and miracles ;* and after a while brought it to the saint, and falling on his knees, begged him to bless, in the name of god, and for the benefit of the faithful, the deeds of a certain religious man, who had suffered much for god in this life which he (reginald) had composed accurately. the old man perceived that he himself was the subject, blessed the book with solemn words (what was written therein he does not seem to have read), and bade reginald conceal it till his death, warning him that a time would come when he should suffer rough and bitter things on account of that book, from those who envied him. that prophecy, says reginald, came to pass ; but how, or why, he does not tell. there may have been, among those shrewd northumbrian heads, even then, incredulous men, who used their common sense. but the story which godric told was wild and beautiful ; and though we must not depend too much on the accuracy of the old man's recollections, or on the honesty of reginald's report, who would naturally omit all incidents which made against his hero's per fection, it is worth listening to, as a vivid sketch of * the earlier one ; that of the ilarleian mss. which (mr. stevenson thinks) was twice afterwards expanded and decorated by him. st. godric of finch ale 317 the doings of a real human being, in that misty distance of the early middle age. he was born, he said, at walpole, in norfolk, on the old roman sea-bank, between the wash and the deep fens. his father's name was ^eilward ; his mother's, ^edwen — " the keeper of blessedness," and "the friend of blessedness," as reginald translates them — poor and pious folk ; and, being a sharp boy, he did not take to field-work, but preferred wandering the fens as a pedlar, first round the villages, then, as he grew older, to castles and to towns, buying and selling — what, reginald does not tell us : but we should be glad to know. one day he had a great deliverance, which regi nald thinks a miracle. wandering along the great tide-flats near spalding and the old well-stream, in search of waifs and strays, of wreck or eatables, he saw three porpoises stranded far out upon the banks. two were alive, and the boy took pity on them (so he said) and let them be : but one was dead, and off it (in those days poor folks ate anything) he cut as much flesh and blubber as he could carry, and toiled back towards the high-tide mark. but whether he lost his way among the banks, or whether he delayed too long, the tide came in on him up to his knees, his waist, his chin, and at last, at times, over his head. the boy made the sign of the cross (as all men in danger did then) and struggled on valiantly a full mile through the sea, like a brave lad never loosening his hold of his precious porpoise-meat till he reached the shore at the very spot from which he had set out. 318 st. godric of finchale. as he grew, his pedlar journeys became longer. repeating to himself, as he walked, the creeds and the lord's prayer — his only lore — he walked for four years through lindsey; then went to st. andrew's in scotland ; after that, for the first time, to rome. then the love of a wandering sea life came on him, and he sailed with his wares round the east coasts ; not merely as a pedlar, but as a sailor himself, he went to denmark and to flanders, buying and selling, till he owned (in what port we are not told, but probably in lynn orwisbeach) half one merchant ship and the quarter of another. a crafty steersman he was, a wise weather-prophet, a shipman stout in body and in heart, probably such a one as chaucer tells us of 350 years after : — " — a dagger hanging by a las hadde hee about his nekke under his arm adoun. the hote summer hadde made his hewe al broun. and certainly he was a good felaw ; full many a draught of wine he hadde draw, from burdeaux ward, while that the chapmen slepe, of nice conscience took he no kepe. if that he fought, and hadde the higher hand, by water he sent hem home to every land. but of his craft to recken wel his tides, his stremes and his strandes him besides, his herberwe, his mone, and his lode manage, there was none swiche, from hull unto cartilage. hardy he was, and wise, i undertake : with many a tempest hadde his berd be shake. he knew wel alle the havens, as they were, from gotland to the cape de finisterre, and every creke in bretagne and in spain." but gradually there grew on the stout merchant man the thought that there was something more to st. godric of finchale. 319 be done in the world than making money. fie became a pious man after the fashion of those days. he worshipped at the famous shrine of st. andrew. he worshipped, too, at st. cuthbert's hermitage at fame, and there, he said afterwards, he longed for the first time for the rest and solitude of the hermitage. he had been sixteen years a seaman now, with a seaman's temptations — it may be (as he told reginald plainly) with some of a seaman's vices. he may have done things which lay heavy on his conscience. but it was getting time to think about his soul. he -took the cross, and went off to jerusalem, as many a man did then, under difficulties incredible, dying, too often, on the way. but godric not only got safe thither, but went out of his way home by spain to visit the sanctuary of st. james of com postella, a see which pope calixtus ii. had just raised to metropolitan dignity. then he appears as steward to a rich man in the fens, whose sons and young retainers, after the lawless fashion of those anglo-norman times, rode out into the country round to steal the peasants' sheep and cattle, skin them on the spot, and pass them off to the master of the house as venison taken in hunt ing. they ate and drank, roystered and rioted, like most other young normans ; and vexed the staid soul of godric, whose nose told him plainly enough, whenever he entered the kitchen, that what was roasting had never come off a deer. in vain he pro tested and warned them, getting only insults for his pains. at last he told his lord. the lord, as was to 320 st. godric of finchale. be expected, cared nought about the matter. let the lads rob the english villains : for tvhat other end had their grandfathers conquered the land ? godric punished himself, as he could not punish them, for the unwilling share which he had had in the wrong. it may be that he, too, had eaten of that stolen food. so away he went into france, and down the rhone, on pilgrimage to the hermitage of st. giles, the patron saint of the wild deer; and then on to rome a second time, and back to his poor parents in the fens. and now follows a strange and beautiful story. all love of seafaring and merchandise had left the deep hearted sailor. the heavenly and the eternal, the salvation of his sinful soul, had become all in all to him ; and yet he could not rest in the little dreary village on the roman bank. he would go on pilgrim age again. then his mother would go likewise, and see st. peter's church, and the pope, and all the wonders of rome, and have her share in all the spiritual blessings which were to be obtained (so men thought then) at rome alone. so off they set on foot ; and when they came to ford or ditch, godric carried his mother on his back, until they came to london town. and there ^edwen took off her shoes, and vowed out of devotion to the holy apostles peter and paul (who, so she thought, would be well pleased at such an act) to walk barefoot to rome and bare foot back again. now just as they went out of london, on the dover road, there met them in the way the loveliest maiden they had ever seen, and asked to bear them st. godric of finch ale. 321 company in their pilgrimage. and when they agreed, she walked with them, sat with them, and talked with them with superhuman courtesy and grace ; and when they turned into an inn, she ministered to them herself, and washed and kissed their feet, and then lay down with them to sleep, after the simple fashion of those days. but a holy awe of her, as of some saint and goddess, fell on the wild seafarer ; and he never, so he used to aver, treated her for a moment save as a sister. never did either ask the other who they were, and ^whence they came ; and godric reported (but this was long after the event) that no one of the company of pilgrims could see that fair maid, save he and his mother alone. so they came safe to rome, and back to london town ; and when they were at the place outside southwark, where the fair maid had met them first, she asked permission to leave them, for she " must go to her own land, where she had a tabernacle of rest, and dwelt in the house of her god." and then, bidding them bless god, who had brought them safe over the alps, and across the sea, and all along that weary road, she went on her way, and they saw her no more. then with this fair mysterious face clinging to his memory, and it may be never leaving it, godric took his mother safe home, and delivered her to his father, and bade them both after awhile farewell, and wan dered across england to penrith, and hung about the churches there, till some kinsmen of his recog nised him, and gave him a psalter (he must have taught himself to read upon his travels), which he 322 st. godric of finch ale. learnt by heart. then, wandering ever in search of solitude, he went into the woods and found a cave, and passed his time therein in prayer, living on green herbs and wild honey, acorns and crabs ; and when he went about to gather food, he fell down on his knees every few yards and said a prayer, and rose and went on. after awhile he wandered on again, until at wol singham, in durham, he met with another holy hermit, who had been a monk at durham, living in a cave in forests in which no man dare dwell, so did they swarm with packs of wolves ; and there the two good men dwelt together till the old hermit fell sick, and was like to die. godric nursed him, and sat by him, to watch for his last breath. for the same longing had come over him which came over marguerite d'angoulsme when she sat by the dying bed of her favourite maid of honour — to see if the spirit, when it left the body, were visible, and what kind of thing it was : whether, for instance, it was really like the little naked babe which is seen in mediaeval illuminations flying out of the mouths of dying men. but, worn out with watching, godric could not keep from sleep. all but despairing of his desire, he turned to the dying man, and spoke, says reginald, some such words as these : — " o spirit ! who art diffused in that body in the likeness of god, and art still inside that breast, i adjure thee by the highest, that thou leave not the prison of this thine habitation while i am overcome by sleep, and know not of it." and so he fell asleep : but when he woke, the old hermit lay st. godric of finch ale. 323 motionless and breathless. poor godric wept, called on the dead man, called on god ; his simple heart was set on seeing this one thing. and, behold, he was consoled in a wondrous fashion. for about the third hour of the day the breath returned. godric hung over him, watching his lips. three heavy sighs he drew, then a shudder, another sigh : * and then (so godric was believed to have said in after years) he saw the spirit flit. what it was like, he did not like to say, for the most obvious reason — that he saw nothing, and was an honest man. a monk teased him much to im part to him this great discovery, which seemed to the simple untaught sailor a great spiritual mystery, and which was, like some other mediaeval mysteries which were miscalled spiritual (transubstantiation above all), altogether material and gross imaginations. godric answered wisely enough, that " no man could perceive the substance of the spiritual soul." but the monk insisting, and giving him no rest, he answered, — whether he wished to answer a fool ac cording to his folly, or whether he tried to fancy (as men will who are somewhat vain — and if a saint was not vain, it was no fault of the monks who beset him) that he had really seen something. he told how it was like a dry, hot wind rolled into a sphere, and shining like the clearest glass, but that what it was really like * reginald wants to make " a wonder incredible in our own times, " of a very common form (thank god) of peaceful death. he makes miracles in the same way of the catching of salmon and of otters, simple enough to one who, like godric, knew the river, and every wild thing which haunted it. v 2 324 st. godric of finch ale. no one could express. thus much, at least, may be gathered from the involved bombast of reginald. another pilgrimage to the holy sepulchre did godric make before he went to the hermitage in eskdale, and settled finally at finchale. and there about the hills of judaea he found, says reginald, hermits dwelling in rock-caves, as they had dwelt since the time of st. jerome. he washed himself, and his hair shirt and little cross, in the sacred waters of the jordan, and returned, after incredible suffering, to become the saint of finchale. his hermitage became, in due time, a stately priory, with its community of monks, who looked up to the memory of their holy father godric as to that of a demigod. the place is all ruinate now; the memory of st. godric gone; and not one in ten thousand, perhaps, who visit those crumbling walls beside the rushing wear, has heard of the sailor-saint, and his mother, and that fair maid who tended them on their pilgrimage. meanwhile there were hermits for many years in that same hermitage in eskdale, from which a percy expelled st. godric, possibly because he interfered with the prior claim of some protfgt of their own ; for they had, a few years before godric's time, granted that hermitage to the monks of whitby, who were not likely to allow a stranger to establish himself on their ground. about that hermitage hung one of those stories so common in the middle ages, in which the hermit appears as the protector of the hunted wild beast ; st. godric of finchale. 325 a story, too, which was probably authentic, as the curious custom which was said to perpetuate its memory lasted at least till the year 1753. i quote it at length from burton's " monasticon eboracense,'' p. 78, knowing no other authority. " in the fifth year of the reign of king henry ii. after the conquest of england by william, duke of normandy, the lord of uglebardby, then called william de bruce, and the lord of sneton, called ralph de perci, with a gentleman and a freeholder called allatson, did on the 16th day of october appoint to meet and hunt the wild boar, in a certain wood or desert place belonging to the abbot of the monastery of whitby ; the place's name is eskdale side; the abbot's name was sedman. then these gentlemen being met, with their hounds and boar staves, in the place before-named, and there having found a great wild boar, the hounds ran him well near about the chapel and hermitage of eskdale-side, where was a monk of whitby, who was a hermit. the boar being very sore, and very hotly pursued, and dead run, took in at the chapel door, and there died : whereupon the hermit shut the hounds out of the chapel, and kept himself within at his meditations and prayers, the hounds standing at bay without. the gentlemen in the thick of the wood, being put behind their game, followed the cry of their hounds, and so came to the hermitage, calling on the hermit, who opened the door and came forth, and within they found the boar lying dead, for which the gentlemen in very great fury (because their hounds were put 326 st. godric of finchale. from their game) did most violently and cruelly run at the hermit with their boar-staves, whereby he died soon after : thereupon the gentlemen, perceiving and knowing that they were in peril of death, took sanc tuary at scarborough. but at that time the abbot, being in very great favour with king henry, removed them out of the sanctuary, whereby they came in danger of the law, and not to be privileged, but likely to have the severity of the law, which was death. but the hermit, being a holy and devout man, at the point of death sent for the abbot, and desired him to send for the gentlemen who had wounded him : the abbot so doing, the gentlemen came, and the hermit, being very sick and weak, said unto them, ' i am sure to die of those wounds you have given me.' the abbot answered, 'they shall as surely die for the same;' but the hermit answered, ' not so, for i will freely forgive them my death, if they will be contented to be enjoined this penance for the safeguard of their souls.' the gentlemen being present, and terrified with the fear of death, bade him enjoin what penance he would, so that he would but save their lives. then said the hermit, ' you and yours shall hold your lands of the abbot of whitby and his successors in this manner : that upon ascension eve, you or some of you shall come to the woods of the strag heads, which is in eskdale-side, the same day at sun rising, and there shall the abbot's officer blow his horn, to the intent that you may know how to find him ; and he shall deliver unto you, william de bruce, ten stakes, eleven strut-towers, and eleven yethers, to be st. g0dr1c of finch ale. 327 cut by you or some for you, with a knife of one penny price ; and you, ralph de perci, shall take twenty and one of each sort, to be cut in the same manner ; and you, allatson, shall take nine of each sort, to be cut as aforesaid, and to be taken on your backs, and carried to the town of whitby, and to be there before nine of the clock the same day before -mentioned ; at the same hour of nine of the clock (if it be full sea) your labour or service shall cease ; but if it be not full sea, each of you shall set your stakes at the brim, each stake one yard from the other, and so yether them on each side of your yethers, and so stake on each side with your strut-towers, that they may stand three tides without removing by the force thereof: each of you shall do, make, and execute the said service at that very hour every year, except it shall be full sea at that hour : but when it shall so fall out, this service shall cease. you shall faithfully do this in remem brance that you did most cruelly slay me ; and that you may the better call to god for mercy, repent unfeignedly for your sins, and do good works, the officers of eskdale-side shall blow, out on you, out on you, out on you, for this heinous crime. if you or your successors shall refuse this service, so long as it shall not be full sea at the aforesaid hour, you or yours shall forfeit your lands to the abbot of whitby, or his successors. this i intreat, and earnestly beg that you may have lives and goods preserved for this service ; and i request of you to promise by your parts in heaven that it shall be done by you and your successors, as it is aforesaid requested, and i will st. godric of finchale. confirm it by the faith of an honest man.' then the hermit said : ' my soul longeth for the lord, and i do as freely forgive these men my death as christ for gave the thieves upon the cross ;' and in the presence of the abbot and the rest he said, moreover, these words : ' into thy hands, o lord, i commend my spirit, for from the bonds of death thou hast re deemed me, o lord of truth. amen.' so he yielded up the ghost the eighth day of december, a.d. u6o, upon whose soul god have mercy. amen." anchorites, strictly so called. the fertile and peaceable lowlands of england, as i have just said, offered few spots sufficiently wild and lonely for the habitation of a hermit ; those, therefore, who wished to retire from the world into a more strict and solitary life than that which the monastery afforded were in the habit of immuring themselves, as anchorites, or in old english " ankers," in little cells of stone, built usually against the wall of a church. there is nothing new under the sun ; and similar anchorites might have been seen in egypt, 500 years before the time of st. antony, immured in cells in the temples of isis or serapis. it is only re cently that antiquaries have discovered how common this practice was in england, and how frequently the traces of these cells are to be found about our parish churches. they were so common in the diocese of lincoln in. the thirteenth century, that in 1233 the archdeacon is ordered to inquire whether any anchorites' cells had been built without the bishop's leave ; and in many of our parish churches may be seen, either on the north or the south side 0} the 33o anchorites. chancel, a narrow slit in the wall, or one of the lights of a window prolonged downwards, the prolongation, if not now walled up, being closed with a shutter. through these apertures the " incluse," or anker, watched the celebration of mass, and partook of the holy communion. similar cells were to be found in ireland, at least in the diocese of ossory; and doubtless in scotland also. ducange, in his glossary, on the word "inclusi," lays down rules for the size of the anker's cell, which must be twelve feet square, with three windows, one opening into the church, one for taking in his food, and one for light ; and the " salisbury manual " as well as the " pontifical " of lacy, bishop of exeter, in the first half of the fifteenth century, contains a regular " service " for the walling in of an anchorite.* there exists too a most singular and painful book, well known to antiquaries, but to them alone, " the ancren riwle," addressed to three young ladies who had immured themselves (seemingly about the beginning of the thirteenth century) at kingston tarrant, in dorsetshire. for women as well as men entered these living tombs ; and there spent their days in dirt and starva tion, and such prayer and meditation doubtless as the stupified and worn-out intellect could compass; their only recreation being the gossip of the neigh bouring women, who came to peep in through the little window— a recreation in which (if we are to * that of the salisbury manual is published in the " ecclesiologist " for august 1848, by the rev. sir w. h. cope, to whom i am in debted for the greater number of these curious facts. anchorites. 33' believe the author of " the ancren eiwle ") they were tempted to indulge only too freely ; till the window of the recluse's cell, he says, became what the smith's forge or the alehouse has become since — the place where all the gossip and scandal of the village passed from one ear to another. but we must not believe such scandals of all. only too much in earnest must those seven young maidens have been, whom st. gilbert of sempringham persuaded to immure themselves, as a sacrifice acceptable to god, in a den along the north wall of his church ; or that st. hutta, or huetta, in the beginning of the thirteenth century, who after ministering to lepers, and longing and even trying to become a leper herself, immured herself for life in a cell against the church of huy near liege. fearful must have been the fate of these incluses if any evil had befallen the building of which (one may say) they had become a part. more than one in the stormy middle age may have suffered the fate of the poor women immured beside st. mary's church at mantes, who, when town and church were burnt by william the conqueror, unable to escape (or, according to william of malmesbury, thinking it unlawful to quit their cells even in that extremity), perished in the flames; and so consummated once and for all their long martyrdom. how long the practice of the hermit life was common in these islands is more than my learning enables me to say. hermits seem, from the old chartularies,* to * i owe these facts to the courtesy of mr. john stuart, of the general register office, edinburgh. 332 anchorites have been not unfrequent in scotland and the north of england during the whole middle age. we have seen that they were frequent in the times of malcolm canmore and the old celtic church ; and the latin church, which was introduced by st. mar garet, seems to have kept up the fashion. in the middle of the thirteenth century, david de haigh conveyed to the monks of cupar the hermitage which gilmichael the hermit once held, with three acres of land. in 1329 the convent of durham made a grant of a hermitage to roger eller at norham on the tweed, in order that he might have a ' " fit place to fight with the old enemy and bewail his sins, apart from the turmoil of men." in 1445 james the second, king of scots, granted to john smith the hermitage in the forest of kilgur, " which formerly belonged in heritage to hugh cominch the hermit, and was tesigned by him, with the croft and the green be longing to it, and three acres of arable land." i have quoted these few instances, to show how long the custom lingered ; and doubtless hermits were to be found in the remoter parts of these realms when the sudden tempest of the reformation swept away alike the palace of the rich abbot and the cell of the poor recluse, and exterminated through out england the ascetic life. the two last hermits whom i have come across in history are both figures which exemplify very well those times of corruption and of change. at loretto (not in italy, but in musselburgh, near edinburgh) there lived a hermit who pretended to work miracles, and who it seems anchorites. 333 had charge of some image of " our lady of loretto." the scandals which ensued from the visits of young folks to this hermit roused the wrath of that terrible scourge of monks, sir david lindsay of the mount : yet as late as 1536, james the fifth of scot land made a pilgrimage from stirling to the shrine, in order to procure a propitious passage to france in search of a wife. but in 1543, lord hertford, during his destructive voyage to the forth, destroyed, with other objects of greater consequence, the chapel of the " lady of lorett," which was not likely in those days to be rebuilt ; and so the hermit of musselburgh vanishes from history. a few years before, in 1537, says mr. froude,* while the harbours, piers, and fortresses were rising in dover, "an ancient hermit tottered night after night from his cell to a chapel on the cliff, and the tapers on the altar before which he knelt in his lonely orisons made a familiar beacon far over the rolling waters. the men of the rising world cared little for the sentiment of the past. the anchorite was told sternly by the workmen that his light was a signal to the king's enemies'' (a spanish invasion from flanders was expected), "and must burn no more; and, when it was next seen, three of them waylaid the old man on his way home, threw him down and beat him cruelly." so ended, in an undignified way, as worn-out institutions are wont to end, the hermit life in the british isles. will it ever reappear ? who can tell ? " " history of england," vol. iii. p. 256, note. 33-4 anchorites. to an age of luxury and unbelief has succeeded, more than once in history, an age of remorse and superstition. gay gentlemen and gay ladies may renounce the world, as they did in the time of st jerome, when the world is ready to renounce them. we have already our nunneries, our monasteries, of more creeds than one ; and the mountains of kerry, or the pine forests of the highlands, may some day once more hold hermits, persuading themselves to believe, and at last succeeding in believing, the teach ing of st. antony, instead of that of our lord jesus christ, and of that father of the spirits of all flesh, who made love, and marriage, and little children, sunshine and flowers, the wings of butterflies and the song of birds ; who rejoices in his own works, and bids all who truly reverence him rejoice in them with him. the fancy may seem impossible. it is not more impossible than many religious phenomena seemed forty years ago, which are now no fancies, but powerful facts. the following books should be consulted by those who wish to follow out this curious subject in detail : — the "vitae patrum eremiticorum." the "acta sanctorum.' 7 the bollandists are, of course, almost exhaustive of any subject on which they treat. but as they are difficult to find, save in a few public libraries, the "acta sanctorum" of surius, or of aloysius lipommasius, may be profit ably consulted. butler's " lives of the saints " is a book common enough, but of no great value. anchorites. 335 m. de montalembert's "moines d'occident," and ozanam's " etudes germaniques," may be read with much profit. dr. reeves' edition of adamnan's " life of st. columba,'' published by the irish archaeological and celtic society, is a treasury of learning, which needs no praise of mine. the lives of st. cuthbert and st. godric may be found among the publications of the surtees society. the end. richard clay and sons, limited, london and bungav works by charles kingsley. the water babies : a fairy tale for a land baby. new edition. with ioo illustrations by linley sambourne ; engraved by j. swain. fcap. 4to. 12s. 6d. the heroes ; or, greek fairy tales for my children. extra cloth, gilt edges. crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. glaucus ; or, the wonders of the shore. with coloured illustrations. extra cloth, gilt edges. crown 8vo. 7 s 6d. selections from some of the writings of charles kingsley. fifth edition. crown 8vo. 6s. out of the deep : words for the sorrowful. from the writings of charles kingsley. globe 8vo. 3s. 6d. daily thoughts. selected from the writings of charles kingsley by his wife. crown 8vo. 6s. from death to life : fragments of teaching to a village congregation, with letters on the life after death. edited by his wife. extra fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. true words for brave men. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. the eversley edition of the novels and poems of charles kingsley. in thirteen vols. globe 8vo. 5s. each. westward ho ! two vols. two years ago. two vols. hypatia. two vols. yeast. one vol. alton locke. two vols. hereward the wake. two vols. poems. two vols. the pocket edition of charles kingsley's works. pott 8vo. is. 6d. per volume. hypatia. one vol. alton locke. one vol. westward ho ! two vols. two years ago. two vols. hereward the wake. one vol. yeast. one vol. water babies. one vol. heroes. one vol. poems. one vol. a sixpenny edition of the novels of charles kingsley. in six vols. medium 8vo. sewed. 6d. each. westward hoi 1 alton locke. hypatia. i two years ago. yeast. i hereward the wake. charles kingsley: his letters and memoirs of his life. edited by his wife. with a portrait. library edition. two vols. crown 8vo. 12s. cheap edition. crown 8vo. 6s. macmillan and co.,london. uniform edition of the collected works of charles kingsley. in crown 8vo, cloth extra. price 3s. 6d. each. westward ho! hypatia ; or, new foes with an old face. yeast. a problem. alton locke ; tailor and poet. two years ago. hereward the wake. poems. complete edition. the heroes ; or, greek fairy tales for my childrgft-"' with illustrations. the water babies : a fairy tale for a land baby. with illustrations by sir noel paton, r.s.a., etc madam how and lady why; or, first lessons in earthlore for children. illustrated. at last: a christmas in the west indies. with numerous illustrations. prose idylls, new and old. with an illustration. plays and puritans ; and other historical essays. the roman and the teuton. lectures before the university of cambridge. with preface by professor max mc'ller. sanitary and social essays. historical essays. scientific lectures and essays. literary and general lectures. the hermits. glaucus; or, the wonders of the sea shore with illustrations. village and town and country sermons. the water of life, and other sermons. sermons on national subjects. sermons for the times. good news of god. the gospel of the pentateuch ; and david. discipline, and other sermons. westminster sermons. with a preface. all saints' day, and other sermons. macmillan and co., london. 530 641.62 l79g good cookery illustrated : schlesinger library 005898083 3 2044 087 463 089 schlesinger library radcliffe college culinary collection from the collection of sophie coe collared ✓ plaves ✓ . 1 1 the first meeting of the hermit and the traveller.. се rachael from her husband good cookery 6. b. neill illustrated. nenvill house.. and recipes communicated by the welsh hermit of the cell of st. gover, 16 lansdowne place various with various remarks on many things past and present. 071 by the right hon. lady llanover. mori e. b. neill non fon. parli si.l qu dean consul cen dir london: richard bentley, new burlington street, publisher in ordinary to her majesty. st. london woldber 26/68. 1867. l74y “tywyned graienyn, ei ran.” the grain of sand has its portion of the beach. f introduction . . the first principles of good cookery. · contents. the traveller's note book. to the editor of a country paper poor laws oatmeal dish of frogs dish of marrow dish of eggs dish of curds · • • # • dish of eggs for a weak stomach luncheon a rainy day 289 295 305 • 307 • • • · · • • • boiled fowl. parsley sauce for boiled fowl page 307 308 308 381 383 fricaseed cold chicken 384 roast leg of mutton jelly from the bones of roast legs of welsh mutton 386 310 311 313 . appendix. 387 page 314 324 holly-mistletoe-ivy 333 roads, hedges, and banks 336 wall-flowers 343 sheep's milk 345 goats 349 351 355 fattening of cattle water fountains . feathers moles bees london • page ix i-288 • • 357 375 stewed beef hashed mutton . 390 simple white soup the white soup of gover. 391 the hermit's gravy soup. 392 hashed mutton (simple) 394 • 395 mutton pie pea-soup (winter)) • 397 • 387 389 vi contents. page green pea-soup (summer) 398 beef-steak to 399 preserve game or poultry, or any sort of meat, when required to be kept long before it is eaten 400 401 402 403 404 405 405 406 the hermit's cold veal pie 407 salt duck 408 408 409 410 baked fillet of veal . tongue boiled . tongue roasted hermit's rabbit fricasee hermit's boiled shoulder of mutton. onion sauce for boiled shoulder of mutton hermit's sausages · • · • • • • • green pea-soup root of tongue soup to clarify fat. bread sauce 412 the hermit's marrow-bones 412 the hermit's soup for poor people. the hermit's sheep's-head broth hermit's chicken boiled in a jug minced veal • . • · • • • • haricot of mutton lobster sauce shrimp sauce south wales salmon preservation of jelly stocks for soups in summer and winter. • · • · welsh mutton chops boiled eggs. baked apple dumplings. granville fish sauce meagre soup. salt beef. tongues, to salt. fresh pork, to dress hams, to cure brawn.. • • . · • · • • • 413 414 415 415 416 418 419 420 421 423 424 424 425 426 427 429 430 432 433 pickle for brawn tapioca pudding for children or invalids rice pudding · 434 · 435 rice pudding without eggs 435 cil gover biscuits 436 the hermit's rock cakes. 437 the hermit's rice bread 437 rice bread (another sort). 438 for st. vitus's dance bees' food 438 439 · paste for apple or other tarts 439 quinces for addition to apple 440 tarts dry herbs 440 raspberry vinegar 442 · duchess of bedford's teacakes rhubarb jam apple bread the hermit's mince-pies a complicated veal pie, but very good, to be eaten cold 444 the welsh hermit's favourite chicken and leek pie 445 the hermit's mutton stew 446 roast hare. 447 449 hare stuffing goose or duck stuffing · • · apple snow. lemon creams. lemon jelly.. . • • • • · • veal cutlets. welsh leek broth or soup shoulder of veal boiled • • • glaze of cow's-heel. mushroom catchup the hermit's bread and butter pudding. 456 • welsh carrot plum pudding 457 another • · 457 family plum pudding . 457 rowley powley pudding bread pudding queen charlotte's orange pudding • · page 434 · • 442 443 443 444 449 449 451 452 453 454 459 460 460 461 461 462 1 1 4 contents. vii turin sticks. pumpkins loss in roasting a welsh leg of mutton • loss in roasting an english leg of mutton the hermit's baked beef for christmas mushrooms · · • page 463 463 467 467 468 470 472 good family bread brown bread . 472 • welsh pan or pot loaves. 473 page oatmeal cakes. 474 thick welsh barley cakes 475 thin welsh barley cakes. 475 cil gover buns. 476 teisen frau gwent and morganwg 476 for harvest. welsh apple or rhubarb cake welsh harvest buns. welsh toasted cheese. caws wedi ei bobi . • . . 477 478 480 481 plate i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix. x. xi. list of illustrations. ffwrn fach. digester double saucepan large double bwch (welsh wheat stack) geifr (welsh barley sheaf) english wheat sheaves • • • • highways and byeways, with banks, hedges, and water . · to face page 24 the dangers of highways and byeways when hedges and banks are not fences bee-hives wooden board used in pickling • • 33 35 77 256 257 257 336 338 358 428 1 1 introduction. gentle reader, as the present work is intended for the especial benefit of those of gentle birth who may not have any very extensive knowledge of economy in domestic practice, and as the hero of the accompanying annals belonged to the last century, the commencement of this introductory epistle is not misplaced; and the author has adopted the present form, including dialogue remarks, annotations, and explanations, from experience of facts, which tend to prove that the multiplication of cookery books on the common plan has very little increased the amount of knowledge of the fundamental principles of the real art of cookery and domestic economy. whether the master of the cell of gover will be more successful than his x introduction. predecessors in awakening the minds of the present generation to the necessity of understanding themselves what ought to be done, and what avoided, to ensure a well-cooked dish, time alone will show!-but if the hermit only convinces a few persons, who desire to benefit their fellow-creatures, that those who want food might be benefited to an enormous extent, were it not for the ignorance of the majority of those who have enough, in matters of practical utility, the knowledge of which would prevent the destruction of millions of tons of the best food, this little book will not have been written in vain. the author has received, for the last few years, numerous inquiries and applications, from friends, for information about certain simple dishes, which they had, in the course of their travels, tasted at the board of her friend the hermit of gover's cell, and these applications have now increased to such an extent, that, finding it impossible to reply to them satisfactorily, a promise was given of "a book," the appearance introduction. xi of which has been hastened by recent urgent demands for a receipt, how to make a cook? the author does not profess to write a tale. the present little volume is for the avowed purpose of instruction in cookery, domestic economy, and other matters involving home comfort, for which the narrative is merely a vehicle. where quantities are mentioned, they have been generally extracted and translated from a day-book, kept in welsh by the hermit's first hand (gwenllian, the senior widow), which day-book was made from original welsh memo randa in white chalk, on the door of the larder, made by marged, the hermit's second hand, as the materials were weighed, and their proceeds afterwards measured. the author feels that no apology is necessary for making public practical instructions which are the result of many years' individual experience, in matters universally admitted to require an entire reform, which are very little understood by the poor, and still less comprehended by the rich. it is, however, fair to the xii introduction. author, that the "gentle readers" should be informed (whether male or female), that, had time and circumstances permitted, this book would have been more complete, but, under the impression that facts will constitute its chief value, the author decided on publishing one volume as quickly as possible, without waiting to rearrange the subjects or to improve the composition, being very certain that, if there is any value to be found in its pages, other persons will be awakened to their own practical responsibilities and to the knowledge of practical possibilities by what the welsh hermit has begun. auga llanover. the first principles of good cookery. once upon a time, not very long ago, there was an aged welshman who lived in a house cut out of a rock adjoining the cell and opposite the well of st. gover.* he was always called the hermit (meudwy) by his cambrian countrymen, and had been remarkable in his youth for acquiring a practical knowledge of whatever art he deemed it useful to understand. he was of ancient lineage, and had been born where he resided. he was one day sitting by the side of the limpid spring which rose out of the ground near the door of his rocky abode, gover, hênwg, and gwarwg; the three primitive saints of gwent. / b 1 2 the first principles when a traveller approached, and asked him if he would allow his horse to graze for a short time upon the tempting herbage which he saw around him, while he himself rested awhile by the well of sparkling water and quenched his thirst. elidr gwyn, with the courtesy which distinguished his race, bade him welcome, and after the steed of the traveller had been tethered at a little distance, entered into conversation with his new friend. "you have ridden far, my son," said he, "and no doubt you can give me tidings of what has been passing in england and wales as well as in the distant quarters of the globe for the last fifty years. i am myself ninetythree years old at least, but my own impression is that i am much older. i have no written record of my birth, and i sometimes think that i might rival in longevity the salmon of llyn llyfon, the ouzel of cilgwri, the toad of mochnant bog, and the owl of cwm cawlwyd, so celebrated in our ancient mss." "who were those illustrious characters of of good cookery. 3 whom you speak?" said the traveller: "i have visited scotland and ireland; i have penetrated into the farthest parts of england; i have crossed the seas, and visited the most celebrated parts of the world; but i do not recollect ever to have heard of the personages you have mentioned." 66 probably not, noble sir," said the hermit, with a humorous smile; "but may i ask whether you have ever been in wales, and have made yourself acquainted with the literature of the ancient britons ?" "never," replied his new friend; “but being now upon welsh ground, and, if i mistake not, having the pleasure of addressing a native of the ancient race of the cymry, i trust you will excuse my freedom in again asking who those remarkable champions were of whom you spoke, for i suppose that they were great warriors, who from some circumstances connected with their history, or perhaps some personal resemblance to a fish, a bird, or a reptile, were designated in the manner you mention." "time," said the venerable hermit, "is b 2 4 the first principles too short, for the sun is already on its downward course, to permit of my relating the remarkable history which has raised your curiosity. i can only say that it is a welsh ms. entitled the ancients of the world,' by which it appears that the owl of cwm cawlwyd was the oldest of all the birds and beasts at that period, and it occurred to my mind, in allusion to my own age, that i bid fair to rival that bird of wisdom, as my health is perfect and my faculties unimpaired." "good father," said the traveller, "do relate to me this history." "" my son," answered the recluse, one of the proofs of my consistent nature is the unabated vigour of my curiosity. it cannot signify nearly so much to you to hear an old welsh tale, as it does to me to know (even at this advanced age) what the world has been about for the last sixty-four years, during which time i have never gone beyond the neighbourhood of this secluded abode, where i have every necessary of life, and a very large collection of books of the last century. my recreations are 66 of good cookery. 5 chiefly confined to the study of the properties of wild plants, and the good people on the mountains seek my advice. i have ample means for myself, but in return for my medical assistance they supply me with many additional rural luxuries. tell me then, i pray you, something of the state of the world." the traveller complied with his request, and some of his assertions were exceedingly strange and apparently contradictory. he said, the improvement was so great in the last sixtyfour years, that the hermit would scarcely believe it possible for human intellect to have achieved the wonderful things that he himself had seen and heard of. he then proceeded to tell him of railroads-sixty miles traversed in an hour; of iron ships; of marvellous guns; of many queer things done with, or rather in, balloons; but on the latter subject he was rather confused, as although he had gone up in one, it had come down on the top of a tree, and he was taken out senseless. after having recounted a succession of these wonders to the attentive hermit, he paused 6 the first principles to take breath, and his companion took advantage of the opportunity to venture upon a simple interrogatory :— "all this surpasses my comprehension. though i cannot doubt the word of so accomplished a gentleman, still you have hitherto confined yourself to the wonders of mechanical invention; but as the human intellect is by an all-wise providence adapted for every exercise which is conducive to the welfare and benefit of mankind, i must ask you to gratify me by mentioning whether the great progress and improvement which you said was so universal, does not equal in other departments the mechanical ingenuity which has wrought such marvels, by which it appears that people travel so fast, they have not the slightest control over their own movements, or those of others who are killed wholesale without their surviving relations knowing the cause; and that they are also enabled to shoot so far, that they may destroy their friends almost as well as their enemies, as their patent guns carry to so great a distance they cannot see who they knock of good cookery. 7 down. but tell me, my good sir, of the arts of life-those arts which mark the difference practically between a cultivated intellect and paralysed or petrified faculties-between the useful and the useless-between defined civilization and uncultured ignorance." "the traveller appeared not to understand the purport of this question, and was at a complete loss to answer it: "what do you mean," said he, "by the arts of life?" 66 'my good friend," said the hermit, "what do you mean by savage life? what are its characteristics?" "i can answer that," said the traveller, "without difficulty. bodies without clothes, and meat and vegetables, either raw or so ill cooked that the preparation bestowed on them can scarcely be called cookery; for truly cooked food fit to eat, and raiment shaped and fit to wear, are undeniable requirements in civilized life." "it rejoices my heart," said the hermit, "to find that we so perfectly agree; and i am now longing to hear of the progress and im8 the first principles provements which have taken place in those most necessary arts of life. doubtless the intellect of the last sixty-four years has caused such advances that there is not a matron or a damsel in any rank of life from the land's end to john o' groat's house, who cannot cut out and make to perfection what our teutonic neighbours used sometimes to call a 'firstdress;' or a master of a family, from the noble to the peasant, who has not his dinner, whether it be one dish or whether it be twenty, dressed in a manner which combines delicacy of flavour with the greatest economy and the utmost attention to health, with such a tempting appearance as does credit to the instructions or execution of the wife, the daughter or the sister presiding over his household.” at these words the traveller turned pale, for he was a man of honour and veracity; he wished much to tell a fib-for the honour of england he wished to tell it but his virtue forbade, and he could only sigh deeply. the hermit gently inquired the cause of his emotion, upon which, with some hesitation, 1 of good cookery. 9 the traveller informed him that he had touched upon a point which made him lowspirited, as he had from childhood been always much annoyed when he could not verify his own assertions by facts, but that he had really been influenced chiefly by the opinions of the newspapers, of which there were now two or three in every village, and that he had used the words "universal progress," and "incredible improvement," in the general sense in which they appeared in print, and were consequently repeated by the reading millions; but that the hermit's last questions had struck home, and that he begged to be excused giving a more definite answer. this, however, was not permitted, and after some earnest but well-bred discussion, a compact was made that the traveller should reply to the hermit's inquiries without the slightest reserve, upon his own personal and individual knowledge, on condition that the hermit in his turn should give him the benefit of his wisdom and experience, to suggest remedies for such existing evils as truth might oblige the traveller to divulge. 10 the first principles the hermit, perceiving that his companion was evidently acutely touched, with the delicacy which was one of his characteristics, said that he would not exact any expression of his sentiments or opinions-he would simply ask for facts. "i will begin," said he, "with an inquiry easily answered. everything in your apparel denotes civilized life. may i ask what dexterous fingers plied the needle which executed the numerous plaits in what used in the last century to be called a shirt, but in my youth. there was far more needlework required than i perceive in the specimen before me?" the traveller again appeared embarrassed and perplexed. "i know not," said he, "whether it is made by man or woman, or by a machine! all i know is, that there is not a single family of my acquaintance, and my connexions are extensive, where there is a single female who can either cut out or make a shirt! i buy them out of shops in london, and every now and then there are subscriptions made for half-starved women, who are never of good cookery. i i seen, but are said to be employed in the formation of shirts. but there is a general complaint that ready-made shirts never fit, and that the male part of the population of all ranks suffer severely from the entire ignorance and utter inability of their wives and daughters to undertake either the execution or the direction of that portion of our dress." "marvellous change!" ejaculated the hermit. "i could understand the possibility of a new-fashioned shirt, or another form of garment, but i never shall be able to comprehend the abandonment of that art denominated plain. needlework, the perfection of which is best demonstrated in all its branches in that one article of apparel. good heavens! is it possible that the heads of families (i mean, of course, the lords of creation) should be so utterly neglected by those who in my time considered it their pride, as well as their duty, to be responsible for every process necessary for the production of a shirt?" the traveller begged that this painful subject might not be continued, but promised to 12 the first principles place in the hermit's hands a letter which had appeared some years ago in the papers of the day, and which he assured him was an exact statement of a general case as felt a few years since; but that it was now far worse, as now the very inquiry for a female who could make a shirt, would render the inquirer an object of ridicule, for supposing that the art was still known and practised.* the hermit, wishing to cheer his friend, changed the subject, and next asked for information with regard to the progress and improvement of cookery. "i suppose," said he, "that since my time the advances in the culinary art have been commensurate with that of machinery, and that no man, in these days of progress and improvement, ever has a bad dinner, or tastes an ill-cooked dish; that the viands of the present century are prepared under the instructions of highly cultivated female intellects, in a manner far superior as to taste, salubrity, and appearance, to those * for this letter, see "traveller's note book." of good cookery. 13 that i remember in (what you probably would call) the dark ages of ignorance.'" scarcely had these words been uttered, when the ashy paleness of the traveller alarmed the inmate of the cell. "good father," said he, "spare me! oh, spare me! the very recollection of what i have suffered from the universal, indeed cherished ignorance of the culinary art in the kingdom of great britain and ireland, occasions a faintness which i cannot overcome." 66 possibly," said the hermit, "it may be that you require sustenance at this very moment. you have ridden far, and no doubt fasted long; allow me to offer you some refreshment, which, if not luxurious, will at all events be innoxious." the traveller looked in dismay at the rough exterior of the stony cell, and his silent reflections were as follows:-" i am sinking from inanition, but with my delicate digestion, what consequences may i not expect to result from partaking of such fare as will probably be offered me by this old man? but i have no alternative, i must eat or starve. too much fatigued to 14 the first principles ride further without food, i must accept his offer, and bear as i can the disgust and subsequent suffering attendant on such a meal." the reader need not be detained with a description of the various courtesies which passed between the aged host and his wandering guest, who was at length persuaded, with timid step, to follow him into the interior of his abode, where it is unnecessary to follow them at present. at the expiration of two hours they reappeared; but what a change had taken place in the countenance of the stranger, who, it may be observed, was remarkably handsome, and, with the independence of a sensible man, was not disfigured by the terrier or monkey-like appendages, which have been the fashion since the hardships of the crimean war necessarily obliged both officers and men to appear both unkempt and unshorn. his eyes were lighted with a vivacious intelligence; his clear complexion was suffused with a roseate tint; his light curly hair, as is always the case with renewed strength, had assumed a crisper curl, of good cookery. 15 while a beaming yet reflective smile indicated the pleasing tenor of his thoughts. the hermit paused when they again reached the well, and said in a mild yet solemn tone"remember our agreement." "i shall not forget it," said his new friend. "i should be the most ungrateful of mortals if i ever forgot the admirable repast for which i am indebted to you; and i consider that what you require of me is very inadequate to what i have received and am still to obtain from you. but lest there should be any misunderstanding between us, allow me to repeat what i believe are the terms of our convention, and correct me if i am in error." the hermit bowed with the air of a man who had never been in the habit of turning his back on leaving a room. the traveller resumed-" i have promised to travel for fourteen days; then to return here and to give you an exact report of my bad dinners, whether at inns or private houses, on condition that you will give me the same dinner each day, cooked in the same perfection of which i have 16 the first principles had a specimen already, and that you will allow me to see each dish executed under your own inspection, always being permitted to dine with. you afterwards; and that you will also inform me of the causes which have produced the faults of which i may have to complain, in my descriptions of the dinners of which i may have partaken, or of any other troubles or inconveniences i may have experienced." the hermit testified his approval, declared the recapitulation to be perfectly correct, assisted the traveller to regain his steed, and with mutual compliments they parted in the hope of another early meeting. at the end of fourteen days the hermit watched for the return of the traveller; but although he spent a longer time than usual on his favourite seat by the well surrounded by ferns and wild flowers, no traveller returned, and he sighed when he retired to rest, from the conviction that the compact made with the traveller would never be fulfilled that he had forgotten the conditions, and cared no longer for the results. day after day, and week after week passed of good cookery. 17 away, until a month having elapsed the hermit had ceased even to expect him; when one sultry afternoon he beheld a figure approaching on the horse which he recognised as that of his friend; but the rider was so unlike the traveller of his former recollection, that he could scarcely persuade himself of his identity until he was close to him, when he dismounted with difficulty, and the hermit was grieved to perceive that one of his formerly well-shaped legs had evidently been broken, and on his glove being withdrawn, that he had lost one finger and a part of his thumb. the bridge of his nose was much depressed, and a scar over the eyebrow proved that he had narrowly escaped loss of sight. the hermit, who was a man of most sensitive feeling, as well as of refined good breeding, was at a loss to know how he could testify his sympathy without demonstrating to the full extent the frightful change he perceived in his companion's outward appearance, when the latter, anticipating the difficulty, first broke silence. c 18 the first principles 66 my venerable friend," said he, " you no doubt believed that i had broken faith, and was unworthy of the kind reception you had bestowed on me; but i think that the wreck of my former self. which you now behold will be sufficient to convince that i have narrowly you escaped with my life, and that it is only wonderful that i have been able to pursue my journey hitherward." the hermit, with kind expressions of sympathy, begged that he would unfold to him the sad circumstances which had led to his injuries. "have you,” said he, “had an encounter with highwaymen or footpads in traversing some bleak moor, or have you been too adventurous in the hunting field, although it is not usual for accidents of this description to entail the loss of fingers and thumbs ?” the traveller assured him that to neither of those causes were his misfortunes to be attributed; but that he had been thus maimed from the railway train in which he was travelling having been run into by another train, which was going still faster. i of good cookery. 19 "why did they not pull up," said the hermit, "when they saw your equipage before them?" "because," replied the traveller, "those wonderful engines which the progress of the human intellect has invented since your retirement from the world move with such velocity it is impossible to see anything in the way in time to pull up, and the whole dependence of the travellers for security from such accidents is on those persons who are placed on the road to make signals-which, if rightly interpreted, enable the driver to stop in time-intelligence being thus conveyed that another train is just before him; but it frequently happens that the signal is not interpreted aright-or, rather that a wrong signal is made.” "how unjustifiable!" exclaimed the hermit. "how thoroughly inexcusable!" "my good friend," said the traveller, " you are too severe. dilapidated as i am, irreparable as the injuries are which i have received, i can not only forgive, but pity the unfortunate man who, by a wrong signal, has been the immec 2 20 the first principles diate cause of the death of six persons, and the mutilation of thirty more, many of whom are far worse off than myself. the wretched man of whom i speak was one of many officials who were obliged to work eighteen and twenty hours at a stretch, by which means his power of vision and his intellects became so completely confused that he could not distinguish right from wrong." the hermit appeared to be astounded, and desired to know "whether he had been in error in believing that great britain was governed by a virtuous and benevolent sovereign, and a liberal and enlightened government; and yet, if such was the case, how could such cruelties be perpetrated?" the traveller had some difficulty in making his host understand that the sovereign and the government had no power to protect the lives of the subjects on these occasions-that the railroads were speculations unconnected with the government, and that either no laws had yet been enacted with sufficient punishments and penalties to compel proper regulations, or of good cookery. 21 else that the houses of parliament contained so many members who were themselves shareholders in railways, or who had constituents upon whose votes they depended for their return, who were also deeply involved in such speculations, that it was quite hopeless to endeavour to get a majority in the house of commons to inflict punishments sufficient to ensure a reform for the preservation of life. 'indeed," added the traveller, "i must confess that the hope of pecuniary gain induced me to take shares in the very railway on which i have now nearly ended my life; and although i know that it must become bankrupt, yet i do not like to hasten the crisis by any public complaint, from the hope that if others don't know as much as i do, i may be enabled to sell my shares for as much as i gave for them." the hermit was unfeignedly shocked at this undisguised avowal of such selfish and mercenary motives; but he confined himself to the remark that railroad speculation appeared to him to be worse than the "south sea bubble," the details of which he was better acquainted with, 66 22 the first principles and that he could not perceive any indication of exalted or improved intellect, although there might be much increased ingenuity, in inventing machinery which outran all control, and that he considered the controlling power ought to be fully equal to the inventive before any great claim could be proved to the real progress of intellectual superiority. he then hospitably inquired what the traveller could eat, and was informed that his health had been so shaken by his late disaster, and subsequent diet in a large railway hotel kept by a company where no one was master, that he could swallow nothing but chicken, and even that he thought of with disgust, from the recollection of the greasy water which had been called chicken broth, and of the nauseous fluid which surrounded the fowl he had last eaten, and which was denominated “parsley and butter." the hermit expressed his satisfaction being provided with a pullet ready for boiling, and to the astonishment of the traveller he introduced him to his kitchen, where there was of good cookery. 23 every convenience for cooking, with four welsh women of advanced age, the eldest being past eighty, and the youngest past fifty, but full of activity, and in costumes that would have made the fortune of an artist. but he informed his friend that as he had promised to teach him to cook the dinner, and as he always liked to superintend, the traveller must be present while that process was carried on, unless he repented his compact, in which case he (the hermit) would remain, and the traveller bear himself company in another apartment cut out of the rock during the period of the performance. the traveller congratulated himself upon the happy opportunity now offered for seeing an exemplification of what the hermit considered one of the most practical proofs of civilized life, and great was his astonishment when he saw his host take a dainty chicken ready trussed, and weigh it-it was very fat, and the weight was three pounds and a half; it was then *see receipt in appendix no. i. 24 the first principles was placed in a tin vessel, and one-fourth of a pint of spring water to every pound, and a sprinkling of salt. the vessel was then placed in an iron vessel, an inch larger in circumference,* which is well known in wales, and called ffwrn fach, in which boiling water poured till it rose within an inch of the top. the inner and outer vessels, having their lids put on firmly, were placed over the slow heat of the hermit's stove, where they remained undisturbed for nearly two hours; which were agreeably passed in visiting the hermit's garden, where herbs and vegetables abounded his goats, his cows, and even his pigs were not forgotten. in the course of these rambles, and others which followed subsequently, many remarks were made, and information given by the recluse of the cell, which the traveller noted down, and which will appear in a condensed form from the "traveller's note-book" in the course of this volume; but every hour tended * see plate no. i. to face pace. ftwrn fach. plate 1 ej.fecit. " 1 t 1 t of good cookery. 25 to strengthen the conviction of the wanderer, that he had at last found a man who practised what he understood, and who was not led away by any theory to give credence to that which was not demonstrated by the results. when they returned, the hermit having ascertained by pricking his chicken with a fork that it was thoroughly done, proceeded to prepare melted butter-for according to his compact he was to give the traveller a dinner of the same materials as those of which he had so much complained. the hermit placed two ounces of fresh butter in a tin saucepan, which fitted into another holding boiling water; he added a teaspoonful of flour, which he mixed with the butter as it melted, adding also by degrees two tablespoonfuls of milk; when well incorporated, he added six tablespoonfuls of water, stirring it round the same way till it attained the thickness of moderate-not too thick-cream. he had previously requested his companion to assist the widows by washing some parsley, and pick it leaf from leaf; this he put into boiling water for a few minutes, 26 the first principles then minced it fine and bruised it to a pulp in a small mortar; after which it was put into his wooden sauce-boat, the work of his own hands, which had been previously heated with hot water, and pouring the melted butter upon the parsley, stirred the whole together rapidly. the frugal board was soon laid; but before they commenced their repast, the venerable host desired his friend to remember that the dinner he was about to eat was strictly in accordance with their compact-which was that the hermit was to display well dressed that which the traveller had particularly complained of as having had ill dressed; but he said that a boiled chicken, with parsley and butter, was the very last choice he himself would have made; as he thought the latter the very worst sauce that he knew; but he believed, as now prepared, it would be neither unpleasant in taste, or unwholesome. the result proved his supposition to be correct; the chicken was tender, juicy, and retained its full natural flavour; while the sauce was of its kind irreproachable but as the hermit observed, with • 1 of good cookery. 27 such materials the most that could be done was to make an unobjectionable medium for parsley." "you did not name any pudding," said he, "and therefore i have given you none; otherwise, my garden, and my kind neighbours, would have enabled me to add another dish.” the traveller, with many apologies, begged to propose another clause in their agreement, for his own advantage. it was, that the hermit should let them have the remains of the fowl the next day, that he might understand his method of making a repast the second time of cooking. "with the greatest pleasure i comply with your request," said the frugal anchorite; "for i not only think it sinful to waste a grain of good food, but i am certain that i shall be able to give you a much more relishing dish than any of those you have yet named to me. there is, however, one slight difficulty: we have both, it appears, good appetites; and, although it was a noble fowl, there is not quite enough dinner for one person left on its bones! but, as my larder is not yet 28 the first principles exhausted, i will add another dish, on one condition, which is, that you tell me how you would fricasée that chicken, if you were obliged to cook it yourself, or to give directions for so doing." "i would," said the traveller, "mix cream and butter together over the fire, and then put in the chicken." "it would be remarkably nasty," said the hermit, "and, moreover, there would be no thickening, and no flavour." "oh, i forgot the flour," said the traveller, " which i suppose is always stirred in to thicken it." "i think, my friend," said the hermit, "you have forgotten a good many other things, or rather you are totally ignorant of cookery, however many lectures on other sciences you may have attended." the traveller appeared a little offended at this remark, and said, he "never pretended to be a cook;" that he had simply stated what he supposed must be done, without knowing anything about it. of good cookery. 29 the hermit smiled at his choler-" you are," said he, "the best demonstration of the justice of my opinions—extremes do indeed meet. you would fain persuade me that the world is wonderfully more intelligent, and better informed, in everything denoting superior civilization, to the world i knew in the last century; but here you have been a sufferer for years from weakness of digestion, according to your own account, from the poisonous preparations of food that you have been doomed to swallow; yet it has never once occurred to you to make out what was the cause of cooked food being very bad or very good; and that very necessary knowledge, it appears, has not been imparted to you by any of the learned lecturers, who you say teach everybody everything without a book.' the reader need not be detained with the dialogue that followed. suffice it to say, that the traveller was slightly acrimonious, from finding himself totally unable to maintain his own original assertions against the cool practical logic of the hermit; but a truce was at last concluded, and the traveller wisely determined, 30 the first principles that if he couldn't teach he would at all events learn; and a plan was arranged for daily culinary instruction, as well as for walks in the neighbouring valleys and mountains; and as the traveller could not but admit to himself that the hermit knew a great many useful things of which he was ignorant, he determined to note down at night those facts which had never before struck him, or of which he had not previously heard, especially relating to objects to which he had been accustomed from his childhood; and he was more particularly glad that he had thus determined, when he found that his host had not only a large garden, but a small farm and a flock of sheep, besides bees, goats, pigs, and two welsh ponies. with pardonable self-conceit, he also determined that everything which he observed in the hermit's management, or which was asserted by him to be good or bad, he would try to disprove, if it was possible; and he had at that time little doubt of its being so in some instances, in which case he intended to write down his own counter-experiences on parallel columns, and he 1 to face page 37 digester. plate 2 ej fecit. of good cookery. 31 thought, with no small delight, of the triumph he would have on the conclusion of his visit, when he should read his mss. to the recluse, if he could produce some refutations of the correctness of the hermit's assertions from results obtained by the traveller's own superior knowledge, through his enlightened education in this much more enlightened age. as many remarks made during the rambles. of the two friends will appear in a concise form (taken from the traveller's note-book), this narrative will pass on to the relation of the hermit's dinners-what they were, and how they were cooked. the afternoon of the chicken dinner, all the remaining meat was carefully taken off the bones of the hermit's fowl; the bones were then weighed, and the weight being one pound and a half, they were afterwards broken small, with an iron hammer, and one pint and a half of spring water being added to it, the whole was put into a digester on the hermit's stove,* stew slowly for two hours. the liquor was * for digester, see plate no. ii. 32 the first principles then poured off, the bones taken out and rebroken, another pint and a quarter of spring water added to them, the vessel replaced on the stove for two hours more; the liquor again poured off into another basin, and the bones then given to the hermit's dog. by this time the traveller had not the slightest doubt that his good host was mad, and he chuckled to himself at the idea of the instructions by which he was to benefit in the fricasee of the following day. his amusement was, however, not unmixed with apprehension about the second dish, as he feared the hermit had been so intent upon making broth out of bones which contained nothing, that he would forget there was not chicken enough left for two. preparations for the next day were as follows: the hermit produced, first, a basin in which there was a pint of thin jelly, at the top of which was a quantity of clear oil, and underneath that a very thin layer of very delicate fat. the hermit first took off the oil and put it into a bottle-he said it was useful for many of gooa cookery. 33 purposes where oil was required—he next took off the small quantity of more solid fat, which he laid upon a plate by his side; he then produced a second basin, in which was a pint of still firmer jelly, which he added to the contents of the first-mentioned basin; he then produced a large cup, in which was more than one-fourth of a pint of as solid but more opaque jelly, nearly white; this he also added to the other jellies, and then poured the whole into the inner part of a double saucepan, the outer vessel being nearly filled with boiling water.* the traveller could no longer contain his curiosity, and inquired whence all those jellies. came, and what they were made of? "the first," said the hermit, "was the jelly produced by simply boiling the chicken in a double vessel, which in itself is the finest preparation of chicken broth for invalids. the * the bones above mentioned then weighed one pound, and had they been again broken and subjected to the same process with one pint of water, instead of being given to the hermit's dog, they would have produced a quarter of a pint more jelly; making in all, from the bones alone, more than one pint of jelly. d 34 the first principles second was the jelly from the first stewing of the bones, which contain a large quantity of gelatine. the third was from the second boiling of those same bones. i have mixed all together, although the quantity will make more sauce than we shall require for our fricasee, because i shall require it to-morrow for another purpose." the hermit added a little salt to the dissolved jelly, and desired his friend to taste it, who admitted that it was the perfection of chicken broth, but how it could ever become anything else he had no conception. the hermit then chopped very finely celery, leek-roots, a small quantity of turnip, still less of carrot, and one small potato, all of which he put into a single saucepan with the surface chicken fat which he had taken from the chicken jellies. he stirred these over a slow heat for about ten minutes, so that the chopped vegetables absorbed the whole of the chicken fat without burning; he then gradually added as much flour as made the whole into a stiff paste, which he stirred about five minutes longer, till the fat, the vegetables, and the flour to face pase 35 plate 3 double saucepan. ej. fecit of good cookery. 35 were thoroughly incorporated; he then turned the whole mass into the melted and hot chicken stock, and, well stirring it, covered it over, and left it to stew slowly in a double saucepan,* (a vessel surrounded by boiling water,) for three-quarters of an hour, at the end of which time he requested his friend to taste and pronounce his opinion. the traveller was so agreeably surprised by the excellence of the taste, that he forgot for the moment what it was intended for, and exclaimed, “what excellent chicken soup!" "if that is your opinion," said his host, "the first stage of my fricasee is well accomplished; but from soup it must become sauce.' upon which he poured the whole through a wire sieve into a basin, by which process the thicker portions of the vegetables were left behind. he then emptied the contents of the basin back into the saucepan, and added two spoonfuls of cream; again it was stirred, and again it was tasted, and the traveller's opinion requested. * see plate iii. d 2 36 the first principles he was evidently a man of acute taste, and the hermit (who was always aiming at perfection) took pleasure in his criticisms. "this condiment," said the traveller, "now disappoints me the first taste was so pure, and yet so relishing, that i expected when further advanced nothing more could be desired; but strange to say, now that it has assumed the usual hue of fricasee sauce, now that it has received the addition of what i should consider its best ingredient, cream, it has much less flavour than before, and, although extremely good, is by former comparison insipid." "you enchant me, my friend, by your remarks," said the good man; " you have the real organ of taste of palate. your observations are as correct as they are acute. when you first tasted my sauce it was redolent of the aroma of the fresh vegetables, judiciously selected, and so finely chopped that their juices were thoroughly extracted. the cream has, as it were, diluted and diminished the flavour, though it has materially enriched the composition; but such a diminution of the poignancy of the flavours of good cookery. 37 you admired was necessary to our present purpose; in so delicate a meat as chicken, the flavour of roots and herbs must not preponderate." the hermit then took the meat of the cold chicken, which was cut or pulled lengthways, in pieces pointed at each end, and put into the sauce, with the addition of a little more salt. he then added boiling water to the outer vessel (which had by long boiling wasted considerably), and he allowed the whole to stewfrequently stirring, 'for half an hour. the traveller was again called upon to taste. is perfection," said he; "never do i remember a fricasee which combined the whole flavour of the chicken with the most perfect consistency; and was thus rich without being nauseating, thus pure without being insipid, thus relishing yet thus delicate." "it the hermit bowed. "it is twelve o'clock, my friend, and as we rose at cock-crow, and breakfasted with the larks, we will, if you have no objection, dine at my usual hour; observe, the sun's rays have just struck the meridian line upon my window." 38 the first principles the traveller expressed his concurrence and satisfaction, but, at the same time, he was too well bred to give utterance to the misgivings which he felt, lest his hospitable provider had forgotten that the only imperfection in his fricasee was, that it was not enough for the dinner of two hungry men! the simple board was soon spread by the welsh widows, but before they sat down the hermit gave an order in "mountain greek ;"* when they disappeared, and going into a side chamber, also cut in the rock, brought from thence a small square of cold meat, delicately garnished with mountain thyme. the fricasee was soon finished, the good man observing that it had been no part of his compact to ornament the dish; that he dealt only with the palate, and with the digestion; that his cookery was as agreeable to the former as it was innoxious, indeed beneficial, to the latter; but, were it necessary, he was not incapable of adding such garnish as would be as pleasing to the eye as to the taste. welsh-the ancient language of britain. of good cookery. 39 the traveller declared he had no wish for any addition to such a dish; the only complaint he had to make was, that he wished to have eaten a great deal more. “i anticipated as much," said the hermit, "and though my practical art will not make the meat of half a chicken suffice for two persons, i think you will not find this cold meat unpalatable, and that you may possibly have tasted worse fare." the traveller cut off a slice of the meat alluded to, which he found was beef, which the knife passed through like cheese, and he was astonished at its tenderness and flavour. he asked the hermit to explain how it had been prepared, but he excused himself, saying that he intended on another occasion to give him a similar piece of beef hot, which he should see prepared himself. the next day was passed in similar rambles to predecessor, and incidents occurred which served to illustrate the hermit's opinions and the results of his practice, which will appear later in the notes of the traveller. 40 the first principles the third day's dinner consisted of a leg of welsh mutton, so small, that an english eye would have believed it to be the leg of a sucking lamb; notwithstanding it was six years old, and consequently in the full perfection of flavour to which that unrivalled animal attains. over the hermit's fire-place was a simple fergy crank with notches, from which he suspended a piece of woollen yarn, doubled several times and twisted. to the end of this string he attached a hook, to which he suspended the leg of mutton, and in the dripping-pan he placed a cake of such ivory fat, that the traveller could scarcely believe that the delicate-looking substance was really that usually nauseous material. the traveller remarked that the mutton was very far from the fire. 66 only twenty-three inches," said his friend. “one of the chief reasons of the rarity of good roasting is the senseless habit of scorching the meat on the outside before it is warmed within. i shall not put the mutton nearer to the fire of good cookery. 41 until it is well warmed; and then i shall only put it two inches nearer, and leave it at twentyone inches till it begins to smoke, and you will then witness the last process." the hermit then made the traveller assist the widows in basting the mutton, before which there was a wooden screen lined with tin, with two shelves on the side next the fire. but, contrary to the usual practice, he showed the traveller that every time he basted the meat he was to empty all the melted fat which poured down into the hollow of the dripping-pan, into an earthen pan, which stood at the bottom of the screen on a level with the dripping-pan, and from which he was instructed to replenish the ladle when there was no longer any supply in the well of the dripping-pan to baste the meat. the traveller could not contain his surprise at the intervention of this pan, and desired to have an explanation, upon which the hermit, who seemed very much to enjoy his astonishment, said that he would give him two guesses; and that if he failed to discover the reason, he would tell him, but that, at the same time, he must expect 1 42 the first principles that the hermit would be justified, in such a case, in having less respect than ever for the effect of the scientific lectures upon chemistry which his friend had so highly valued. the traveller's two guesses were unfortunate. the first time he supposed that, the earthen pan being rather further from the fire than the dripping-pan, the hermit made use of it to avoid burning the eyes. his second idea was, that, for some reason unknown to him, the earthen pan imparted a flavour to the fat and he was much annoyed when the explanation was given, to find that he had exactly hit upon the wrong end of the reason. the hermit, who really wished to instruct him, very kindly determined to make him find out the right reason by a series of questions. "did you ever," said he, "remark that gravy had a very strong, unpleasant taste, which often was found in a still greater degree in the outer part of roast meat?" the traveller declared his clear recollection of those coincidences, but he did not see what they had to do with the questions at issue. of good cookery 43 "did you ever," said the hermit, “smell a very unpleasant odour pervading a house, which is often explained by the supposition that 'fat had fallen into the fire' in the kitchen? but," said he, "it is not so often that fat has fallen into the fire, as that fire has fallen into the fat! from a hot cinder dropping into the well of the dripping-pan, or, what is more frequent, and has exactly the same effect, the dripping-pan becoming almost red hot, from the long exposure too near the fire. a large portion of the fat is thus kept in a perpetual state of frying for the space of some hours; one portion of it becomes the consistency of treacle, and adheres to the dripping-pan, while the more liquid part imbibes the objectionable flavour which is created by this continual frizzling, and the gravy of the meat (the most delicate part of the dish) is a nauseous liquid, redolent with grease, which the action of the fire has rendered unwholesome and rancid, however pure it may have been when first put down to melt. but by emptying it into the earthen pan, this effect is prevented. it is sufficiently near the 44 the first principles fire to retain its liquid state, without any bad effect to the taste; and the gravy which, as the joint proceeds in roasting, is likewise received into the dripping-pan with the fat, is also preserved from injury in the same manner." the traveller, who did not lack intelligence, although (like many theoretical wise men) he was little accustomed to plain practice, saw in a moment the sense and reason of the hermit's system of roasting, but he did not like to say much about it, because he felt that he would not rise in the hermit's estimation if he confessed how especially he had suffered, in more organs than one, from the very cause which the hermit had now so clearly demonstrated, and which, by so simple a process, could be prevented, without ever attempting to understand the cause of his annoyance, or making use of his own intellect to provide a remedy. by this time the leg of mutton, which had been basted every ten minutes, began to smoke. the hermit then put the yarn a few notches nearer the fire, and fetching a small watering-pot, put in about a pint and a half of boiling water, of good cookery. 45 with a little salt, and dexterously sprinkled the whole joint, as it turned round and round, through the rose of the watering-pot. this little vessel," said the good man, "serves two purposes; it waters my flowers and helps to cook my mutton! which, with the hot saline bath i am now giving it, will rain down a double supply of most excellent gravy, which be it your care, my good friend, to take up as fast as it flows down, and to turn it over the meat three or four times. then return the whole into the earthen pan, and it will be the business of one of my widows, when the joint has again browned, to apply the last finishings of fresh basting and frothing with flour, which i do not think you are as yet sufficiently accomplished to practise with dexterity, and which has very little to do with the essential roasting of the joint, upon which its good cooking depends." the traveller smiled to himself, as he thought that, however well the leg of mutton might be roasted, of which indeed he had no doubt, yet that the gravy would be extremely 46 the first principles greasy, and though not burnt or fried, that it would certainly not be pure or clear. the mutton was taken down, and placed by the welsh widow upon its hot dish, and presented a most tempting appearance; it was well done, but not over done. it was browned and frothed, but not burnt; it was juicy, yet cooked to the bone. the widow then removed the earthen pan, with the fat and gravy, from the fire. after pouring round the mutton some clear pure brown gravy, which, the traveller had not before observed, had been warmed in a little double saucepan by the side of the hermit's stove, and which he had seen put on about half an hour before, but had not inquired into the contents"that is not quite fair," said he, “i know not how that gravy was made." "i assure you, my friend," said the hermit, "i do not wish to conceal anything; but i cannot perform impossibilities. no one can have a gravy properly prepared from the same leg of mutton which is just roasted, because there is not time for the fat and gravy—which of good cookery. 47 are necessarily mixed together-to cool, which process must take place before every particle of the fat can be removed from the gravy. the gravy i am now using for our dinner was the produce of my last leg of roast mutton, with the fat taken off, which, being clarified, was, with some addition, the delicate cake that you saw used for basting the present joint; and the next time we have a leg of mutton, you shall have the very gravy that you have assisted in preserving, and which i have now put away to cool." the traveller comprehended this sensible explanation, and participated in the best dressed dish of roast mutton he had ever tasted, to which the hermit added an apple tart. he informed him his welsh widows always made two tarts at a time, as waste was an abomination to him, and they could not divide the yolk and white of an egg with any advantage. "each tart," said he, "only requires half a yolk and half a white, consequently i have two tarts at a time, as the tarts will keep till i can eat them, but not the divided egg." 48 the first principles the traveller really thought his venerable host had lost his memory; but he had ocular demonstration on another day, when he saw the widows make tarts, that he had not exaggerated in the least degree, and that the excellent tarts he tasted were really composed of nothing more than one ounce of fresh butter rubbed in flour, one yolk of an egg, mixed in skim milk, to wet the flour, the white of the egg being used for glazing the top of the crust, with a little white sugar; which ingredients made paste enough for two tarts, each large enough for five or six persons. the traveller did not forget to claim the hermit's promise of explaining to him the reason that certain dishes, especially in england, were generally so extremely bad, and at inns and schools almost uneatable; and that he would begin with soups. the hermit desired he would catechise him regularly, and that, if he failed to account in a rational manner for any bad cookery from which he had suffered, he would pay a forfeit of an extra dinner for every such lapse; of good cookery. 49 although he had never had the advantage of attending scientific lectures, his knowledge was practical, and his experience gained at home. the traveller commenced his questions in the first place by desiring to know why soups and broths were so often greasy? "the cause," said the hermit, "is one, to my understanding, the most easily accounted for; and yet, i suppose, from the general complaint of an evil so very easy to remedy, that it is not self-evident to everybody, or they would hardly voluntarily permit the continuance of an evil which i would undertake that any attentive and obedient welsh child of thirteen years old would never incur after a week's instruction in my kitchen." the traveller eagerly requested that he would impart this most valuable secret, doubly valuable if so easy of execution. the hermit, who had a vein of oldfashioned pleasantry about him, gravely assured his friend, that to impress his lessons more completely on his memory, it was necessary, e 50 the first principles that before he imparted the desired information the traveller should endeavour to guess what the means were, which were so effectual for preventing a general and acknowledged evil. it must, however, be admitted that the good man did not say this with a view to the traveller's improvement, so much as to his own amusement; for nothing diverted him more than to prove the want of reflection, and neglect of reasoning power as applied to practical purposes, of his very scientific friend. he therefore desired to know, what the traveller supposed was the reason, and what he would suggest as a remedy. "the reason," said the traveller, "is perfectly clear. there is no meat without a mixture of greasy matter. broths and soups are made by the extraction of the gravy or the juices of meats, which is effected by their being immersed in water which, when heated to a certain point (unnecessary to particularize), and subjected to the long continued action of the fire, extracts what is called by the cooks 'stock,' on the surface of which floats that of good cookery. 51 nauseous material which, when hot, resembles oil, but which is peculiarly offensive to delicate digestions. i trust i have lucidly explained what you desire to know." the hermit bowed, "you have expressed yourself with a fluency truly admirable. but the remedy you would recommend has not been mentioned." "there is but one," said the traveller with a sigh," that i have ever heard of, and that is of such difficult attainment that it bears a very high price, and consequently there is no hope of its being generally available. it is the possession of a very clever cook, who has an unfailing memory, a quick eye, a light and dexterous hand; and who, by the exercise of all these talents, combined with unceasing activity, can remove every particle of liquid fat, with the utensil invented for that purpose, by repeatedly skimming everything, under the process of boiling or stewing, at the precise moment when that operation can be performed without injury to the dish in progress. hence the immense difference between one cook and e 2 52 the first principles another; hence the enormous wages paid by the rich for persons with this rare combination of qualifications; and hence the reason why no person of moderate means, still less those in very confined circumstances, can ever have a well-cooked dinner." "and do you really think so?" said the hermit, in an accent of well-feigned simplicity; "then how can you believe that a poor anchorite, like myself, can impart to you any plan by which the poorest person need never have an ill-cooked dinner, (if they have food to cook), and still less need ever have a difficulty in obtaining the purest soup and broth, without a particle of fat to disturb his digestion, or to offend his eye?" "i must plainly answer," said the traveller, "that i had great doubts of your being able to suggest any radical cure for this widely extended evil; but yet, as a drowning man catches at straws, i naturally caught at hope, being myself a delicately organized invalid." the hermit then continued his catechism a little further. "you have said a great deal," of good cookery. 53 said he, "about hot fat; what becomes of the unskimmed fat when it is cold?" the traveller was so deceived by the innocent tone in which this question was asked, that he thought, for a moment, that his host really wanted information; and he replied, with some degree of self-sufficiency, that it always remained at the top, where it congealed. "and did it never occur to you," said the hermit, "that if you wanted soup on a wednesday, you had only to make it on tuesday?— by which means you would be able, the morning you require it, to remove every particle of the objectionable ingredient with a sharp knife, when it can be taken off as a solid cake, and that your soup or broth, whether in jelly or liquid, would then be as pure, and as clear of all oily particles, as if it had been skimmed, and re-skimmed again and again, when in a boiling state, by the first cook in europe." the traveller was, according to his custom, when suddenly enlightened by plain practice, very silent; for he saw in a moment, that he had not demonstrated any extraordinary intel54 the first principles ligence in not having discovered so simple a remedy for himself. he therefore only said, "i suppose that this is not generally known." "not generally reflected upon, if observed,” said the hermit, "or you most assuredly would never have to complain of impure soup; but as a practical lesson is worth more than a hundred lectures, i will to-morrow show you how soup ought to be made." "you have, then," said the traveller, "no doubt a stock-pot; for although i see you have no great idea of my culinary knowledge, i am aware, that there can be no good soup without a stock-pot." "i don't possess one," said the hermit; " and if i did, i would not use it." the rest of the day was passed in the usual rambles; but before they went out the hermit showed his friend the bare bone of the leg of mutton they had had for dinner, the meat of which had been all taken off.* "i am going to weigh this," said he; "observe, it weighs three quarters of a pound." * see appendix no. ii. of good cookery. 55 one of the welsh widows then took the hammer before mentioned, and broke the bone as small as she could, and put it into a very strong iron vessel, in the lid of which was a hole into which fitted very loosely an iron stopper. "this," said the hermit, "is called a digester;'* it may almost be considered a work of the last century, in which i believe its inventor (pappin) was born: at all events, i can remember that my good aunt used it fifty years ago, and perhaps it may be well known to you, unless something much more effective has been discovered since that period." the traveller was not anxious to afford any information on this point, for, indeed, he had never heard of any any "digester" made of iron, and did not know the use of it. the hermit added a pint and a quarter of water, and, after shutting it up, put it on his stove, where he allowed it to remain until he retired to rest, being a period of two or three hours, slow stewing, when he poured off the liquor, and, taking out the bones, broke them *see plate no. ii. 56 the first principles again still smaller, put them back in the digester, added a pint of water, and let them stew two hours more in a very slow heat. the next day he produced a small piece of brisket of beef,* which weighed six pounds; to every pound of meat the welsh widows poured a quarter of a pint of water, in all a pint and a half: they then chopped very small, leeks, celery, carrots, and turnips, and having a measure which, when full, held exactly a pound of chopped vegetables, the hermit put in a pound and a quarter. the proportions of vegetables were, four parts leeks to three parts of celery, three parts turnips, and one part carrots. he carefully spread the vegetables over the meat, then sprinkled a little salt over the vegetables, and then placed about a pound and a half of very pure fat on the top of the vegetables. the tin vessel in which the meat was placed was then put into the iron vessel belonging to it, which contained boiling water, as before described; and both lids being put on, it was 本 ​see appendix no. iii. of good cookery. 57 left to stew for twelve hours, the water on the outside being occasionally replenished as it boiled away. the hermit then proceeded to prepare the dinner of the day, which was hashed mutton and white soup,* as the traveller had especially complained of the difficulty of having mutton cooked a second time to be eatable. the hermit assured him there were two ways of hashing mutton, which were both excellent, and he would begin with the most difficult. the welsh widows then produced from an inner repository some firm brown jelly from the mutton bone, which he put into a saucepan (or double), surrounded, as before, by hot water. the widows then chopped, in careful proportions, onion, celery, and turnip; the whole quantity together was about a quarter of a pound. these they fried in a small welltinned iron saucepan (the hermit did not approve of copper), with very fine fat, which he said had been taken off the stock of the stewed beef which the traveller had eaten * see appendix nos. iv. and v. 58 the first principles cold, and of which he had so much approved. they stirred the chopped vegetables and the fat rapidly round and round for ten minutes by the clock; after which they shook in, with a dredger, as much flour as was sufficient to form the whole mass into a moderately stiff paste. they stirred in the flour for five minutes more, and then transferred the whole into the stock, which by this time, from a jelly, had become hot and liquid. they again stirred the whole briskly together, and left it to simmer for a quarter of an hour. he then asked the traveller for his opinion. he pronounced it to be like good brown thickened soup; after which he tasted it, and asked his friend to do the same. they both agreed that a little more celery and sweet herbs would render it a most excellent made gravy. • when finally flavoured, the widows put it through a wire sieve, and the hermit observed that he had a great objection to the use of tammies or horse-hair sieves, when it was possible to avoid it. the welsh widows then returned the gravy of good cookery. 59 into the inside saucepan. the hermit tasted it again, calling upon his friend to observe that it had lost a portion of the flavour which it before possessed. "this," said the hermit, "is always the case with everything that is passed through a sieve. the closer the sieve, the more the flavour is abstracted; and for that reason, a tammy is the most destructive to flavour of all the species of sieves, as it is, in fact, a very fine flannel, the threads of which are so minute that they not only hold back every particle of the vegetables, but it is necessary to work them so hard with a spoon, that all their flavour is absorbed and arrested by the tammy-cloth; and although they have used a coarse wire sieve for our present dish, you will perceive that it is somewhat diminished in flavour by the process of straining, and therefore it is necessary that i should reflavour." for this purpose the hermit selected a small sprig of orange thyme, a little savory and basil, twisting them together with a bit of thread, and then stirred the fragrant nosegay round 60 the first principles two or three times, till it had imparted sufficient flavour to the sauce. the welsh widow (1st hand) then produced the cold mutton, and the hermit requested the traveller to cut it up for the hash, which he immediately began to do in straight long slices; but on being told that that was not right, he cut it in thick dice, for which he was equally censured. the hermit then took it in hand himself, and showed him that, for a hash, cold meat ought to be pointed at each end, the ends being as fine as possible, but the centre of each piece much thicker than the extremities, and all the skin and fat carefully removed. the meat being thus prepared, was placed in the sauce, and after being well stirred was covered and left to simmer in the usual way, surrounded by hot water, for about half-anhour. after which it was declared to be ready, and the traveller again confessed that he had never eaten a better dish; "for," said he, "it has the real flavour of the mutton, without being over done. it has not the slightest greasiness, and yet there is an agreeable comof good cookery. 61 bination of herb and vegetable, which render it, instead of a nauseous and unwholesome preparation of cold meat warmed, a really good and wholesome made dish." that," said the hermit, "is what everything should be, that is dressed a second time. it should be an excellent variety, instead of an unwholesome and disagreeable necessity; but i wish you to observe, that the principle of making good sauces is exactly the same as that of making good soups, and that i equally repudiate the use of butter in both the one and the other. the fat that you saw used to-day for frying the vegetables was produced from the stewed beef, of which you so highly approved, and the preparation of which will be my next lesson. the fat which i recommend for soups and sauces is always better for that purpose fresh and unclarified, just as it comes off the stock when cold; but my widowed handmaids always keep a stock of clarified fat, which is perfectly pure and innoxious, but which of course cannot impart the same flavour of vegetables as the fresh fat which 62 the first principles hours, is produced from meat stewed for many with a large proportion of the latter ingredient unclarified." the traveller having honestly admitted his admiration of the hashed mutton, could not resist an attempt to puzzle the hermit. "my venerable friend," said he, "there was one remark that you made, which i do not think is always borne out by facts, although i admit that it was correct in reference to our culinary experience of to-day. you said that straining through fine sieves always diminished flavour. if this is the case, how do you account for the flavour of sweet jellies?-since even my moderate acquaintance with the culinary art has taught me that jellies are strained through a flannel bag." "your question enables me to confirm my assertion," said the hermit. " first of all, you must remember that a jelly, when hot, is a thin, clear liquid, the flavour of which is imparted by other clear liquids, and not, not, like soup, by substances, reduced to a pulp, which are retained by the sieve or flannel bag; but, if you of good cookery. 63 doubt the correctness of my assertion, that everything that is strained through similar mediums loses a portion of its flavour in the process, you have only to taste a jelly before it is poured into the bag, and afterwards, and you will find that there is a loss of flavour which is abstracted by the bag; although, from the causes i have mentioned, it is so slight as not to be of much importance." the following day's dinner was the longpromised stewed beef, which, it will be remembered, weighed six pounds; it had stewed slowly for some hours; the quantity of water put in was a pint and a half; the quantity of liquid stock taken out was nearly three pints! the meat was put on in the inner saucepan; it was gently warmed with a portion of its own stock, and on the beef the widows put all the remaining fat, which had been taken off the stock when cold, and produced by the original stewing. in another saucepan, the widows prepared a sauce with a portion of the same jelly stock of the beef flavouring it in a similar manner to 64 the first principles the sauce he had made for the hashed mutton, with the exception of putting a larger proportion of carrots in the preparation of the chopped vegetables. he also had carrots and turnips cut into small balls, and put them to stew in broth, in a separate double saucepan. the beef, when thoroughly warmed through (which process required about two hours), was served with the sauce made as described, into which the balls of carrots and turnips, which were tender and fully done, were removed before it was poured over the beef, which, having been taken out of the stock in which it was warmed, was not in the least greasy, although it had a flavour and richness derived from its own unadulterated fat, which had slowly filtered through it in the process of warming. "some persons," said the hermit, “ would place a thick slice of fat bacon on the top of this beef, during the process of warming; but i am a great enemy to marring the flavour of one good thing by the addition of another, which is not required. i have often known a good dish spoilt by the addition of a quantity of good cookery. 65 of rusty or very salt ham or bacon, which was intended to improve its flavour. the only thing i ever use, except what you have seen (viz. its own fat), is a slice of moderately salted boiled pork, laid on the top of the beef when warming." the traveller declared he was so well satisfied with his dish, that he did not desire the slightest alteration or addition. the next day, two basins of soup made their appearance at dinner. the soup was perfectly. clear, and most delicately flavoured. the traveller reproached his friend with not having allowed him to see the preparation of this excellent soup; but he assured him that the only preparation was what he had witnessed when the beef was originally put down to stew, and this soup was the remains of that cookery. he said that all meat put down in a double vessel, with a proper proportion of water and vegetables, ought to produce gravy soup, perfectly well flavoured; which could be called vermicelli, macaroni, or rice soup, merely by the addition of those ingredients. f 66 the first principles the traveller inquired whether there was any particular process observed in making those additions. the hermit requested him to state how he would proceed, if he added macaroni or pearlbarley, &c. to his soup. "of course," replied his friend, with an air of conscious experience, "i should first of all boil the pearl-barley or rice in water. i should then, when fit to eat, put it into the soup." "and do you suppose," said the hermit, "that your soup will then be of the same strength as before?” "and why should it not?" returned the other. "that question will be easily answered," said the hermit, "by reminding you of the quantity of water absorbed by rice or pearlbarley, &c. &c., before they are fit to eat; and therefore, if you wish to preserve the original strength of the soup, you should merely wash them in water, and then put them into a sufficient quantity of the broth, or stock, to swell and to absorb; and when soft, put them of good cookery. 67 into the soup itself, which is destined for the table." "and why not put them into the soup itself at the commencement?" said the traveller. "for the simple reason," answered the hermit, "that it does not improve the flavour of soup to keep it on the fire, after it is made, for two or three hours; and therefore it is better to prepare the rice or pearl-barley in another vessel, with no more stock than is required for the purpose of cooking it." shortly after this conversation, the hashed mutton was eaten, and the traveller reminded the hermit, that as he had now taught him the most difficult way of hashing mutton, he hoped the next day he might learn the most method.* easy the hermit said he must excuse him for making the following day's dinner a repetition, which was generally bad management;' but that the process was so simple, he could not fail to understand it by description. it was merely to cut the mutton in the same manner as he had * see appendix no. vi. 68 the first principles shown him, to lightly flour it on each side, turning it over and over with two forks; then to put it in a double saucepan, with a sufficient quantity of the jelly from the bones of mutton, flavoured with a little onion and herbs, or, if more convenient, the clear gravy from a roast leg of mutton, without any fat, but which had been previously flavoured with onion, herbs, and salt. the meat should remain in this sauce or gravy in a gentle heat, being often well stirred, for about three-quarters of an hour, when it would be ready for the table. it was afterwards agreed that the next day's dinner should be a mutton pie,* which, as it required previous preparation, was commenced that evening. the hermit's welsh widows took a neck of welsh mutton, and, cutting it into thin chops, weighed it, and put in a small double saucepan, with rather less than a quarter of a pint of water to the pound weight; they then chopped celery and onion, a little orange thyme, basil, and savory, and left it to stew, with the water slowly simmering round it, till it was perfectly * see appendix no. vii. of good cookery. 69 tender, but not over-done. they then strained off the stock from the meat, and put it away to cool; and when the fat had formed a hard cake on the top they took it off; and to the surprise of the traveller, he saw underneath a firm jelly. "i never knew," said the traveller, "that mutton made jelly." raw meat. "perhaps you thought," said the hermit, "that mutton pies ought to be made by baking and, before i proceed further, i must ask you to detail to me your experience with regard to mutton pies." "that is soon told," said the traveller. "they are, without exception, one of the worst of the innumerable bad dishes which have contributed to ruin my digestion :-the meat is generally as hard as a stone, the gravy is like melted fat; and either the pastry is burned or the meat is not half done, but if the meat is done the paste is scorched to a chip; and in either case it is greasy and unwholesome. the chops are frequently put in with all the bone and fat, having been previously rolled in pepper and salt until they would excoriate the 70 the first principles throat of a salamander; and the and redolent of burnt butter." the hermit smiled. "you will not have to complain," said he, "of these faults in my pie." he then proceeded to give directions, in mountain greek, to the widows, to cut the meat off the bone, taking off the skin and all the superfluous fat. they then put the mutton jelly, together with the prepared mouthfuls, into a basin, the pieces being about the size of half-a-crown, but of irregular shapes, the meat of each cutlet making about two pieces. they placed the basin over a saucepan of boiling water, covering it with a plate, upon which he put the lid of the saucepan, and in a very short time the jelly melted amongst the meat. when it was hot the hermit tasted it, added a little salt, and had it put away all together, in the basin, in a cold place till the next day, explaining to the traveller that, by leaving the meat and the jelly to cool together, the meat would imbibe the flavour of the stock, instead of becoming hard and dry, as would paste is greasy, of good cookery. 71 otherwise be the case if left exposed in the air all night. the next day the welsh widows, by the hermit's order, took flour, and having placed it upon the board, put water on the fire with some of the cake of fat which had been taken from the surface of the mutton stock, and when boiling hot, added it to the flour by degrees, stirring in with a spoon, and thus made the paste, having previously filled the pie-dish with the mutton and mutton jelly prepared the day before. the widows took care in forming the little ornament which decorated the top of the pie to make a small stem, which fitted into a hole on the top of the pie-crust. they then filled a baking tin with cold water, which the hermit explained was to prevent the meat from being overdone before the paste was baked. in less than three-quarters of an hour the paste was baked to perfection, and the widows placed the pie upon the table, when the hermit, gently screwing out the ornament at the top, poured in with a small jug as much additional liquefied mutton jelly as the pie would hold, which jelly 72 the first principles had been kept back and warmed in a double saucepan for the purpose. the ornament was replaced, and the hermit explained that the heat of the oven produced an absorption of the liquefied stock, although the heat was diminished in some degree by the water in the baking tin, and consequently there was always room (after a pie was baked) for an addition of gravy reserved for the purpose. the traveller said, that of all the good dinners he had yet had in the hermit's cell he thought this was the best; and he knew not which to praise most-the paste, the meat, or the gravy. the hermit then begged to know what other dishes the traveller had the most unpleasant recollection of, under the ordinary mode of cookery; upon which his friend replied, that he had so often felt as if he was poisoned at dinner, it would be almost impossible, amidst the crowd of unpleasant reminiscences, to say which was the worst; but he didn't think anything could exceed a bad beefsteak, which, with mutton chops, appeared to of good cookery. 73 form the whole bill of fare of an english inn ; and that when they again had soup he would be very thankful for some instruction about peasoup, which was generally pea gruel, or a greasy, unpalatable mixture. the hermit said, that with regard to the soup, he should have pleasure in showing him two ways of making it, both of which were equally good in their way, but the one was best suited for the economist, and the other to those whose means permitted extra luxury. the peas for the soup he directed the widows immediately to place in a pan, which he ordered to be sunk in the well. the traveller, who had begun to imbibe some of the hermit's habits of reflection and observation, thought to himself that the peas would float; but he perceived that the hermit's widows took the precaution of pouring water upon them before they sunk the pan in the well; which being done carefully, only a few peas floated on the surface, which he took care to inform the hermit was owing to their light, worthless quality; and his host was too well see appendix nos. viii. and ix. . · 74 the first principles bred to tell him that he had before supposed that all the world was acquainted with the fact that light grain swam. after the peas were put to soak, the remainder of the day was spent in the usual manner; and the next morning the peas were put on in a double vessel, with a little water and a certain quantity of top fat (from the stock of stewed beef). they stewed for some hours, and were then pressed through a colander, and then afterwards through a wire sieve; after which they had a proportion of mutton broth added to them, and a plate of onions and celery chopped fine, they were again put on the fire in a double vessel, and well stirred. after having stewed some time, and the soup being perfectly smooth, the hermit desired the traveller's opinion of the taste, which was that it required more flavour. upon this, powdered mint was added out of a bottle, and, after another tasting, the hermit added some extra pieces of celery and onion, and a bunch of marjory, which were stirred round and round, until the necessary additional flavour was imof good cookery. 75 parted, and the soup was pronounced to be excellent. the hermit remarked that this was winter pea-soup, and then made the following explanation of the reason for some of the proceedings which he thought the traveller might not have understood. he said that he always delayed putting in the mint until the soup was made savoury and palatable without it, as the mint having a strong flavour, it was not so easy afterwards to apportion other ingredients. he also explained that his mint and other herbs were always gathered when in bud, as they should not be in flower or in seed when brought in for culinary preservation. they were never hung up to dry, but, having been cut when in perfection, were put by the welsh widows between two dishes in a moderately warm oven, or hot closet, where they dried quickly, preserving all their aroma as well as their green colour; they then pounded them in a mortar, and bottled them for use, carefully corking them; in which way they were much more convenient and effective for flavouring soups. 76 the first principles the hermit said it was unnecessary to prepare a second portion of peas for the variety of pea-soup that he had promised; and, as the first preparation was the same, that the latter part could be shown on the following day with the soup left on the present occasion. the beef-steak, he promised, would be good; although he did not profess to give him a broiled beef-steak, as he was not able to procure beef which had hung the precise time to be tender, and yet fresh; and that as this was a very common case, he thought it would be more useful to show him a way of preparing a beef-steak which would always insure a good dish, whether the beef was tender or not. he said that the goodness of a plain broiled beefsteak depended entirely upon the goodness of the meat, and the manual dexterity of the broiler, and the state of the fire-three things which he was quite sure his friend, in common with the greater part of the world, would never learn, and consequently could not teach; but he believed that the process his widows were about to show might be learnt by anyplate 4 to face page 17. large double. ej. fecis of good cookery. 77 body, and consequently taught without difficulty. the beef-steak was placed in a saucepan with a little salt, and continually turned and stirred round until it was brown on both sides; it was then put into a "double," with a small quantity of hot water, in which had been previously scalded chopped onions, turnips, celery, and sweet herbs. it was left to stew about an hour, by which time it had become very tender, although it retained the appearance and a good deal of the taste of broiled meat. the whole was then put into a small pan (narrow at the bottom) to cool. the fat was carefully taken off when congealed, and the gravy put back into a double saucepan with the meat, where, as soon as it was reheated, it was ready to eat, and pronounced by the traveller to be wholesome and agreeable. nor must it be forgotten that the hermit's welsh widows added balls cut out of raw potatoes, which, after being delicately fried by * see appendix no. x. +" a double" is used to indicate the cooking utensil which has an inner vessel.-see plate iv. 78 the first principles them in the fat that had been taken off the beef-steak gravy after it had cooled, with a sufficient addition of a similar nature, were put into the gravy with the beef-steak. the traveller pronounced the beef-steak to be an admirable substitute for the generally evil dish of that name, but declared his preference for the plain good old-fashioned broiled beefsteak, of which he had a distinct recollection, though a rare experience. the hermit, with the candour which was so conspicuous a trait in his character, repeated still more strongly what he had before said, viz. that the old genuine beef-steak owed its celebrity to a combination he did not possess, and therefore would not pretend to teach, viz., fresh beef which had been hung to the hour before decomposition commences, and, secondly, upon a degree of practice in the art of broiling which his widows did not possess and could not acquire in his establishment, and which was necessary to avoid three evils—the steak being underdone within and burned outside, or the fat and gravy falling into the fire or on the hot of good cookery. 79 stove during the process, which would produce a most dreadful smell, the fumes of which would give the meat a similar taste (upon the same principle as has formerly been explained in reference to roasting the leg of mutton); but the hermit added that his object was to teach well what he practically understood, and that he did not believe there ever would be any certainty in the production of a good beef-steak unless by cooks who had been practised for months together, all day long, in some place where little else was ever eaten, for that beefsteaks well broiled required as much manual practice as rifle-shooting. in the course of their walk after dinner, the traveller remarked that there were many things relating to cookery without which it could not be good, but which were preliminaries to the art; for instance, the management of game and poultry, the salting of meat, &c. &c. in reference to the latter subject, he amused the hermit with an account of having gone into a larder in a very large establishment, where there was a professed cook, and a house80 the first principles keeper, and innumerable kitchen-maids: but it unfortunately happened that at the moment of his entrance the cook was suffering from the smart of a pin, which had run into her hand in feeling the plumpness of the breast of the chicken, which, having been torn in plucking, the skin had been fastened together with a pin; * and that, on his expressing his horror at so dangerous a proceeding, the cook informed him it was not at all uncommon, when fowls were plucked at home, as the feathers being pulled the wrong way, the rents thereby occasioned were thus partially concealed; and on his representing that death to the eater might be the consequence, he was coolly told that it was " very true;" but she "supposed the pins were generally taken out before the fowl was sent to the table." the hermit could not resist on this occasion an ironical remark. "i suppose," said he, "that this is a proof of the progress and improvement of the present age. i never heard of chickens being used * a fact. of good cookery. 81 as pincushions in the last century, for by your account this is a wilful practice, a risk of murder voluntarily incurred not under the eyes of the mistress, as it appears from your account that mistresses in the nineteenth century have neither eyes or understanding for the practical and most necessary arts of life, but under the eyes of that important functionary called the "professed cook,'—a title which, i believe, has come into use since i left the world. in my time the cook was often called cook-maid,' meaning the handmaiden who cooked, and you will very much oblige me by explaining what it means-because, in my humble opinion, persons calling themselves cooks, and being hired as cooks, thereby profess to be cooks. what is the difference, therefore, between 'a cook' and 'a professed cook?" the traveller was determined to show that he was well able to answer this question; and without any hesitation he said that a professed cook was a cook who understood everything appertaining to the culinary department; but that a cook who did not lay claim to the g 82 the first principles word "professed," only understood part of her business. then," said the hermit, "the professed cooks, of course, are accomplished in salting beef, tongues, pork, making bacon, &c. &c." "by no means," said the traveller. "very few, if any of them, know how to salt a tongue. they are generally entirely ignorant of salting beef, and expect all those things to be done for them; but the plain cooks occasionally can undertake those matters." 66 "i think," said the hermit, "i must take lessons anew in the english language, as from your explanation i am to conclude the professor is the cook who has the most limited knowledge of some of the most important branches appertaining to the art which she professes entirely to understand, while the non-professor is far less ignorant." the traveller was obliged to acknowledge that there was a good deal of truth in this remark, but still he maintained that a professed cook knew a great many things which he could not explain, but among which economy of good cookery. 83 and good management, he believed, were not to be included. the conversation then reverted to the preservation of poultry and game; and on their return to the cell, the hermit took him into his larder in the rock, in which were iron hooks, from whence depended two fine fowls plucked without a scar, and without pins in their hearts! a hare, and two young rabbits. the traveller remarked that the birds were all hung head downwards, and that the last time he had noticed poultry and game in a larder, they had been hung by the head, the hook being forced through the upper and lower mandible of the bill. the hermit said that such a practice could not be defended by any sort of reason—that by wounding the head and throat the bird would sooner decay, the air get in, and flies would be attracted that all birds ought to be hung up by the legs, and have a string tied tightly round the throat, as soon as they were brought in, by which means the weight of the interior pressed upon the neck, which being tightly tied exg 2 84 the first principles cluded the air; and nothing more was needed than a small bit of charcoal to preserve the birds till they had hung long enough to be tender, and that poultry ought never to be drawn till they were cooked. "but what do you do in hot weather," said the traveller, "if you have more than you require to eat at once of poultry or game that will not keep? "i always roast them off while they are good." 66 د. half roast them, i suppose you mean," said the traveller, with a little air of conscious knowledge. "i have heard cooks talk of being obliged to half roast all the meat in hot weather." 66 "a very bad plan," said the hermit, or rather an impracticable attempt. no one can exactly tell when a bird or a joint is half roasted. it may be a quarter roasted, or three parts roasted, but is always believed to be half done; and then (when cold) it is put down again to the fire when required for the table, to receive the other half supposed to be due: but by this of good cookery. 85 process the hardened outside will not imbibe moisture while basting, and becomes still more hard, and by the time it reaches the table, it is a flavourless tough morsel, like leather on greasy the outside, and without any moisture within. and the same with all other things treated in this way; whereas by roasting completely, but not over doing, and when wanted placing the bird or joint thus treated in a double vessel, with a little pure suet over it, and a small quantity of pure broth, sufficient to make a steam under it, and letting the water boil slowly round in the outside vessel, and then serving it with another pure gravy from roast meat (if possible of the same sort), it will be difficult to know that it was not roasted the day before; and i think,” he added, "it would be difficult even for you, whose organ of taste i perceive is very acute, to pronounce whether it had been fresh roasted from the fire or not. at all events, it is the very best method of treating meat or poultry which require to be dressed a day or two beforehand. but i have another way of preserving game, &c. for a longer time, which i will give you in 86 the first principles writing; and for these and other purposes the gravy from roasting should be preserved in separate basins, to have a supply when required. of kind to kind, instead of an abominable concoction of everything mixed together, the colour of treacle, commonly called gravy." the traveller inquired what the contents were of various pans of salt meat, and expressed his surprise at the quantity of provision in the cell of an anchorite. the hermit said, he must remember he was not a monk, and that it was needless to assure him that it could not be intended for his own use; as, although he might be called a hermit, inasmuch as he had no companions to live with him, that he had a comfortable fortune paid by the rents of his industrious welsh tenants; and he had also a rich, aged, and benevolent neighbour, who, having ample means at his disposal, requested him to expend a certain sum every week in various sorts of food, which he was to dispose of according to * see appendix no. xi. of good cookery. 87 his discretion, for the benefit of others, on condition that it was all prepared and cooked either by his own hands, or under his own personal superintendence; as his wealthy neighbour was aware that by this means it would produce much more food, and that the hermit would thus never be unprovided with proper diet for the sick, who so often sought his aid, and, also, that all the assistants occasionally required by the widows would learn good cooking. the traveller said he could not understand how the hermit could have time to attend to both species of cooking, as he had always understood that cookery for the sick was a separate branch altogether, which was scarcely ever professed, much less understood, excepting by nurses; and he had often heard it remarked that it was very little use for doctors to give lists of permissible articles of diet, which were generally called "slops "-a horrible name, the sound of which was enough alone to make people ill, while at the same time there was not one of these medical authorities that could tell, 88 the first principles or did tell, how such "slops" ought to be prepared, or to define the difference between bad and good, wrong and right, although they generally agreed that when the patient was quite unable to take any more physic, his life would depend upon his being able to take properly prepared food. the traveller could not contain his exultation, as the idea struck him that the hermit had never heard of the homœopathic system of medicine. and, as he had greatly benefited by it, and had taken some trouble to understand the principle on which so many cures were effected under that mode of treatment, and as he had visited the hospitals in london, and those on the continent, where homœopathic treatment was pursued, he dilated upon it, and gave the hermit a good deal of information on the subject, and he rather anticipated the pleasure of an argument, in which he thought he should come off victorious. but as there was no battle, so there could be no victory, for the hermit became unfeignedly interested in the history of homœopathy, and only regretted it had not been disof good cookery. 89 covered sooner, for the sake of others; but for himself, he said, he had always had wonderfully natural good health, the preservation of which he attributed very much to abstinence from all fermented liquors, the excellence of the water, and abundance of air and exercise, by which means he had never had recourse to the druggists' shops, and had never administered to his poor patients any compounds, though he was able to do much good by the infusions of herbs given singly, of which the traditions of his countrymen had taught him the use. "but to return," said he, "to the point from which we started-cookery for the sick. do your homœopathic physicians understand the preparation of food better than their antagonists in the old system?" 66 very little, if at all," said the traveller: they know better what is bad, and prohibit deleterious ingredients; but i do not think that they are much more learned than the others with regard to the preparation of food for the sick, to ensure what is good. but again let me 66 90 the first principles ask, how can you attend to both these schools of cookery?" "i maintain there is only one," said the hermit. "wherever there is a chicken boiled properly, in a double vessel, there must necessarily be the best chicken broth; wherever veal is boiled, or stewed, there ought to be the purest veal broth, which is nearly as mild as chicken, and will be in a jelly that may be taken out like lumps of ice. the same with beef, &c. &c. and a boiled turkey will produce one of the most excellent stocks for white soup, without any destruction of the flesh, but it is too rich for an invalid, and not as light as the jelly from a boiled chicken." the traveller here interposed with a question, which was, how stocks which which were always highly flavoured if they were prepared for soup stock, could be fit for invalids. the hermit told him that it was a common, though a great mistake, to suppose that all the flavour necessary for soup must be bestowed upon it in the first stewing, and that all sorts of meats must be stewed together; that, on of good cookery. 91 the contrary, he not only never mixed the meats together when stewing, but he took care with the more delicate, such as veal and chicken, &c., not to put any vegetable to them when stewing besides a small quantity of onion or leek and celery, as other flavours could be added as required, when made into white soup. for beef, he had explained before, he allowed a pound of finely chopped mixed vegetables to every five pounds of meat. "this," said the traveller, "would make a very different stock from beef-tea, which is generally ordered for invalids." 66 experience has taught me," said the hermit, "that of all the so-called 'slops' ordered for invalids, beef-tea is the one which consumes the greatest quantity of meat to produce the smallest results, and is the least liked, and of which the patient soonest becomes tired; and i have never known a case of illness where the stomach could receive beef-tea more readily or with better effects than the pure broth from chicken jelly or veal jelly, which always, in my practice, is administered first; 92 the first principles and when a change is wanted, i have always found that the stock from beef, prepared as we did it the other day, with all the fat removed when cold, agrees perfectly with a convalescent patient, previously restored by the pure stocks of white meats." 66 "i wish," said the traveller, i may be your guest, if i am again doomed to be unwell; for, whether it was the manner of preparation or the kind i know not, but, when last ill, i longed for something different to the brown fluid called beef-tea." the hermit assured him that he would be very glad if he had a slight indisposition, that he might prove the truth of his remarks, when he might have personal demonstration that sick cookery did not require a separate department, either in study or practice, to have proper broths always at hand, as the same principles of cookery which were so conducive to the preservation of health in the ordinary requirements of life were to be applied to the restoration of health during illness. the traveller said, that he was so anxious of good cookery. 93 to test his friend's skill in cookery for an invalid, that he could almost make up his mind to travel from inn to inn for a fortnight, that he might ensure being very unwell when he sought the shelter of his friendly cell again. the hermit said, he believed an additional great cause of indigestion was the confectionary usually eaten; for that, although it was generally admitted, by those who had any pretension to medical knowledge, that a fair proportion of fruit, as well as vegetables and farinaceous food, was requisite for a healthy person, to nourish and support the human frame, yet that, even before he retired from the world, those dishes commonly called "confectionary" were very often most unwholesome, although a goodly list of receipts existed, of excellent and innoxious tarts and puddings; and he inquired of the traveller whether there was any improvement in this particular, or the reverse. the traveller said that he could not suppose there was any improvement, inasmuch as he very seldom met with a good tart; and when he did 94 the first principles x find unobjectionable contents under the crust, the quantity of fruit was so meagre, and the paste itself was so full of butter and so indigestible that he seldom attempted to eat it, and that he had never seen a tart with paste the least like what the hermit had set before him, and of which he had partaken without the slightest subsequent suffering-that puddings were better understood of farinaceous materials, though generally they contained far too many eggs, but that fruit puddings (the best of all) were seldom seen, and that, when they were, the paste was equally objectionable, and redolent of butter. the hermit said that, from all accounts, it appeared there must be a complete mania for butter in the present age, or an utter ignorance of any other substitute, and that, although he allowed the use of butter in moderation in cakes and tarts, yet that he never allowed the use of butter in a boiled fruit pudding, the paste of which ought always to be made of suet; and that he considered wholesome confectionary ought to consist for the most part of of good cookery. 95 puddings and tarts made of fresh fruits in summer, and of bottled fruits in the winter, preserved without sugar, or with as little as possible, so as to retain the greatest amount of their natural flavour when fresh, compatible with their keeping. the traveller said, that almost everything now was turned into syrup, or into sweetmeat, and that, instead of sugar being secondary, it was made the principal ingredient; that jellies, instead of being flavoured by fruit, were seldom anything but vehicles for wine, brandy, liqueurs, or other strong and objectionable cordials. the hermit promised that, on some future occasion, the traveller should have a specimen of his lemon jelly, and should assist in making it. it was arranged that the next day's dinner should be a fillet of veal,* as the traveller complained much of his recollections of that dish, and was anxious to know how the hermit baked it. the fillet having been stuffed by the widows in the usual manner, after the fillet was * see appendix no. xii. 96 the first principles weighed, and a little water added, it was placed in the iron vessel known in wales as the ffwrn fach (see no. i. plate), but without an inner tin; on the top of the veal was placed a certain quantity of fresh mutton suet. the hermit said, if they had had a sufficient quantity of the fat of veal, he would have preferred it; but not having a loin, the widows could not make that material, and that mutton or beefsuet would do exceedingly well. over the suet they placed the rind from a piece of cold boiled pork. the lid was then shut down, and the ffwrn fach put into an iron oven, which, having been heated, had had all the fire taken out, when the veal was put in. it remained there for three hours, and was then taken out, and put upon a hot dish, while the liquor was poured off into a pan, and left till the next day. the veal was served with a pure gravy, which had been preserved from a previous occasion. the fillet of veal was accompanied by a tongue, which had been boiled in a double * see appendix no. xiii. of good cookery. 97 vessel, and was peculiarly tender and well flavoured. the traveller was anxious to know how it was salted; but the hermit declined entering upon that department, until his guest knew more of fresh-meat cookery; but he promised that he would the next day teach him how to make root of tongue soup, as he expected a fresh tongue, the roots of which were very valuable for soup, and very injurious when salted with the tongue, as the roots often prevented the tongue from keeping. this remark reminded the traveller of another of his misfortunes, as he recollected that he had often met with an unpleasant taste in the salted root of a tongue, even when the lean part was good; which the hermit said proceeded from the difficulty of making the kernels (which are the chief part of the root) imbibe salt effectually. the traveller also wished to know why the hermit, who was such an adept in the art of roasting, allowed a fillet of veal to be baked? the hermit said that he should not attempt to give a scientific reason, as he was not a scientific man, but a plain practitioner-that, generally h 98 the first principles speaking, successful results in cooking were easily accounted for by a little common sense and intelligence-but that, on the present occasion, he could only answer him by fact without explanation. that a fillet of veal was an exception to the general rule, which was, that roasting produced superior results to baking; but that a fillet of veal roasted, was generally hard on the outside, and dry within; and that although very great care and incessant basting might obviate or modify these effects, yet that it was never so tender or so juicy as when baked in a slow heat, in the manner he had just witnessed, and that, in that way, it was impossible to detect the common baked taste, or the flavour of fat frizzled in an oven; the inside was juicy, the outside was brown, but not hard or scorched, and the gravy that proceeded from it was a very pure jelly, perfectly clear, and most useful for various purposes, for gravies or sauces, for made dishes, or as an addition to soup, or to eat as a savoury jelly for cold pies.* the traveller said that he thought a fillet *the hermit particularly objected to aspic jelly, which he considered spoiled the flavour of the pie. of good cookery. 99 of veal must be often a very inconvenient dish, as in a small family there might not always. be a tongue to dress at the same time, and a ham had a very awkward and unwieldy appearance. the hermit perfectly agreed in this remark; but said that when he had not a tongue, the widows boiled a small ham in the same manner, in a slow heat, and in a double vessel, which ham would afterwards keep a considerable time, and which he used frequently for fried sandwiches, with veal, chickens, or rabbits. the traveller's countenance indicated that he had never heard of "a fried sandwich; and, therefore, the hermit, without waiting for inquiry, proceeded to tell him how they were made. he first of all said, that he had pieces of bread cut in the form and size of sandwiches, which he placed in pure cold broth, until they had absorbed as much of the liquid as they could well take up without being too soft; he then had chopped herbs sprinkled on each side of the bread, and placing very thin slices of ham between two pieces, covered the "" h 2 100 the first principles whole with batter, and had it fried of a golden brown. these sandwiches were to be served round the meat with which they were to be eaten. the traveller asked the hermit à propos of white meats, what he considered the best method of dressing rabbits? he replied, that tastes were so various, he could only answer for himself; but that he thought a rabbit fricassee an excellent white made dish, and it was arranged to have fricasseed rabbits for the next day;* preparatory to which two rabbits were cut up limb from limb-the heads being left whole-and, having been weighed, water was added, a small quantity of chopped onions, ditto celery, and a little salt, and being put down in the inner tin of the ffwrn fach, both lids were put on, and they were left to stew slowly for some hours, when they were put away in a cold place, meat and gravy altogether. the traveller was surprised, the next day, to find the gravy from the rabbits was firm, clear, * see appendix no. xiv. of good cookery. ioi well flavoured, savoury jelly, a portion of which the widows took, and put on the stove in a double vessel. when melted, and hot, they added such herbs and vegetables as they considered were required for flavouring, after adding some fresh cream; and, when that process was completed, they put in the two rabbits, cut up, and let it stew slowly all together, frequently stirring; and, before it was served, chopped parsley was sprinkled plentifully. this fricassee fully justified the hermit's predilection. he informed his friend that the rabbits might be floured before the pieces were put in, which would make the sauce thicker, but would decidedly diminish the flavour; and therefore, if it was desired to produce a thicker sauce, the object should be effected by frying finely chopped onions, celery, and a little potato, together with some fine top fat, for ten minutes, and then making it into a paste by stirring in a little flour for five more minutes, in the same manner as soup-that this vegetable and farinaceous paste would thicken the rabbit jelly and the milk, or cream, *102 the first principles without diminishing the savoury flavour, but rather adding to it, though, for his own individual taste, he preferred it in the present simpler mode, as preserving in greater perfection the pure flavour of the rabbits. when their dinner was concluded, the traveller expressed his hope that the hermit would let him receive some further instruction in soups, which was promised for the following day-the hermit observing that it was particularly convenient, as the remains of the fricassee would make an excellent white soup. it was also agreed that they were to have in addition, for dinner, a boiled shoulder of welsh mutton with onion sauce. in a the next day, the proceedings were as follows:-the shoulder of mutton was put double vessel, with chopped onions and celery, and some water, and simmered slowly for three hours. the remaining rabbit jelly, which was not used for the fricassee, and the jelly from the fillet of veal, was put on in a double saucepan; and, while heating, the widows chopped (finely) onions, celery, and potatoes, with a small of good cookery. 103 quantity of carrot. this was stirred for ten minutes with fresh top fat; then as much flour shaken in as made a stiff paste, and, by rapid stirring over a steady heat five minutes more, in a single saucepan, the whole of the fat was soon absorbed by the flour, and the entire mass was flavoured by the vegetables, and transferred to the hot rabbit and veal stock in a double saucepan, where, after being well stirred, it was left to stew; after which it was passed through a wire sieve, and returned into the inner saucepan, when two or three tea-spoonfuls of cream were added, a nosegay of sweet herbs was stirred round, and all the rabbit meat left from the fricassee was then put in (but deprived of the bones). the pieces were reduced to the size and form of pulled chicken, which being stirred, and stewed for about a quarter of an hour, were ready for the table. the shoulder of mutton being also ready, onion sauce * was poured over it, the recipe for which the traveller wrote down. the traveller said it would be impossible to * see appendix no. xv. 104 the first principles believe that the hermit's welsh shoulder of mutton came from the same species of animal called "a sheep" in london, or that two rabbits could have produced such a fricassee, and afterwards such a soup. the hermit promised that the next day he should have the mutton-broth, (produced by the process of boiling the shoulder of mutton they had just eaten,) with the cold fillet of veal, which he said, in his opinion, would be much better cold than hot, and would also better demonstrate the tenderness produced by his method of baking the veal; but to make amends for a cold dinner, he promised hot sausages. the traveller had by this time become so convinced of the practical culinary knowledge of the hermit, that he was fearful of asking any question that might seem to be dictated by impertinent curiosity; but as he had not seen or heard of any pork for making sausages, he wondered what his host would do. the following day the hermit called his * see appendix no. xvi. of good cookery. 105 attention to the surface of pure and solid fat on the mutton-broth, round which the senior widow dexterously passed a knife, and taking it up, displayed it entire, like a round cake. he then asked him to taste the broth (cold as it was), and the traveller was surprised to find that it was palatable as well as pure, that he could have taken more with pleasure, even without its being warmed. the second widow then put it on the stove in a double saucepan, and gave a little additional flavour, by stirring round pieces of celery and onion, and a bunch of sweet herbs, which, when the right medium of flavour was obtained, she took out. she then, with a three-pronged fork, mashed some previously boiled carrots, which were added to the broth, and had the appearance of marygold leaves, but not being in season, he could not obtain marygolds, which otherwise he would have preferred. she then cut the lean that remaired on the shoulder of mutton, into rather thick but pointed mouthfuls, and added them to the broth. she also added two or three spoonfuls of pearl-barley, which 106 the first principles had for some time previously been swelling to its utmost limits in broth, in a double saucepan, surrounded by hot water; the last finish being a sprinkling of fresh chopped parsley. the hermit apologized for having a species of cold meat, which was decidedly not light of digestion, but the traveller begged he would not distress himself on that account, as his digestion had been so wonderfully strengthened by a long series of well-cooked dinners, that it would be a feast to him to be enabled again to eat cold veal, which he was sure he could now venture to do without any danger of bad effects. the hermit's sausages were made of some of his stewed beef, chopped very fine, with a little tongue, and then pounded with a certain proportion of beef suet, seasoned with pepper and salt, and flavoured well with powdered sage and onion; they were about half an inch in diameter, and three inches long, rolled in yolk of egg and crumbs, and fried of a golden colour, and, when perfectly dry, served with mashed potatoes. of good cookery. 107 the traveller was particularly well satisfied with the veal, the tenderness of which was remarkable, though he was at a loss to account for its being so juicy, which the hermit attributed to the addition of the suet, which the slow heat had distilled equally through the naturally dry meat, while at the same time its own juices were preserved unimpaired in flavour. the sausages also occasioned various remarks, as the traveller had no idea that sausages could be made of anything but pork. the hermit said, that he considered pork was a meat that ought never to be eaten except by those in perfect health; but that it was very possible, as he had just proved, to have excellent sausages made of beef, which was more digestible; in fact, that veal, mutton, beef, or any meat would make sausages, if properly flavoured with sage, &c., and, well fried, would be as palatable as if made of pork, and lighter of digestion. in addition to which, in a small establishment, not more than one or two pigs were killed in a year, and, con• 108 the first principles sequently, sausages, if only made of pork, would be very seldom tasted. the dinner was declared by the traveller to be so good, that he and the hermit were rather afraid they would not have a sufficient quantity of the fillet of veal left to make a cold veal pie, in the mysteries of which he was very anxious to instruct his friend. but his fears were groundless, and he had the pleasure of displaying one of the most complicated achievements, in which he had instructed the intelligent welsh widows marged and gwenllian.* having taken away all the skin, and any remaining stuffing, they cut up the veal very small, and then pounded it in a mortar, with as much of the jelly stock produced by the baking of the fillet as rendered it moderately moist; they added as much pounded tongue as was required to give it a proper degree of saltness, and then flavoured it with a very little pounded lemon-peel, a little basil, and a very little pepper. he said, it was difficult to give an exact recipe in writing for this pie, because its * see appendix no. xvii. of good cookery. 109 excellence would depend upon the flavouring, as well as the thorough amalgamation and trituration of all the ingredients; and the proportion of those ingredients must depend on the quantity of cold veal left and appropriated to the pie, and that, again, must, of course, depend on the quantity previously eaten, a point to which he should not have thought of referring before dinner. the traveller assured him that if he had had an idea that the remainder of the fillet of veal would form the basis of so interesting a lesson, he would not have indulged himself with eating so much; and that, in truth, any reasonable mortal might have been satisfied with a dinner of such admirable mutton broth, and such excellent sausages. when the veal and the other ingredients had assumed the consistency of damp clay, and the hermit and his friend were satisfied the flavour could not be improved, the hermit's senior widow made a paste with flour and the pure fat which he had removed from the jelly stock of the baked veal. she then took a pie-dish, 110 the first principles and after slightly brushin the inside over with the white of an egg, she put small pieces of vermicelli all over it; she then lined the dish with paste, paste, and put the veal into it, pressing it down with a spoon, so as to form a solid mass without hollows: when quite full and perfectly level, she covered the top with a piece of the same paste reserved for the purpose. she then placed the pie in the baking tin, which she filled with cold water, and as soon as the top crust was done, she pronounced it finished, and put it away in a cold place. the following morning she produced it at breakfast, and turning it upside down, it dropped out of the pie-dish, which was put away, and the bottom formed the top, covered all over with the vermicelli, which had a very pretty appearance. the hermit cut the end straight off, and the meat which adhered to it was one firm solid mass, and was attached to the crust, and cut in slices like cheese. the traveller was delighted with the result, and the hermit then informed him that when he went on long expeditions into the mounof good cookery. iii tains, he often provided himself with sandwiches, made of one of these pies, which in his opinion were far preferable to slices of cold meat, and at all events made an agreeable variety. when not provided with a pie, he isaid he often had the remains of his boiled chicken, pounded, with the cold jelly produced from its broth or bones, and only flavoured with a little salt. "and what do you do," said the traveller, "when you have only the remains of a roast chicken, and you take these peregrinations? " "i am seldom at a loss," said the wise man, "for you must remember, that although roast chicken does not produce broth-which, when cold, is a fine jelly, yet that the bones, after the meat is eaten, will produce very substantial jelly, which is more than enough for my sandwiches, although it has not so much flavour as the jelly produced by the boiling of the chicken. itself." the following day the widowed handmaids. produced a salt duck,* which the traveller had * see appendix no. xviii. i12 the first principles seen in a soup plate, being carefully rubbed night and morning with salt for three days. the duck was put on in a double vessel, in the same manner as a boiled fowl, and was slowly done until it was quite tender. it was then served with onion sauce, made in a similar way to that previously described. the hermit had also pea-soup,* which, being the remains of what they had had on a previous occasion, was varied in the following manner :-the hermit's widows having already heated the pea-soup in a double saucepan, they prepared, under his directions, in another double vessel, a pint of pure veal stock, extracted from the bone of a boiled shoulder of veal, after the meat had been. eaten. this was flavoured with chopped leeks, celery, and sweet herbs, and, when properly flavoured, the hot pea-soup was added to it, and the whole left to stew together for threequarters of an hour, when, the vegetables being strained out, three spoonfuls of cream were added, and, when thoroughly mixed, the diminution of flavour was restored by some addi* see appendix no. xix. of good cookery. 113 tional pieces of fresh onion and celery, being left in as long as was necessary, after which the soup was ready for the table. the hermit said he sometimes added rice, which had been previously boiled in milk. this cream pea-soup was what the hermit considered a luxurious dish, but wholesome, as an occasional variety, for those in health who could afford it. the hermit informed him that, if the cream was added before the soup was strained, there might be no necessity for any additional flavour, the only objection to which was, that the cream was somewhat diminished by adhering to the strained vegetables. "what do you do," said the traveller, "with the strained vegetables?" “they are added," replied his host, "to the broth of the widow cooks' suppers, or to the broth for the poor. they are excellent." the traveller then asked the hermit if he would excuse the liberty he took in asking where he had met with the receipt for this last soup. 1 114 the first principles "i can assure you," said the good man, "i never met with such a receipt, but the natural course of circumstances, in domestic management, has taught me such an immense variety of soups as would, if written down, form a volume in itself; but if you and your friends would only follow my advice, after learning the proper mode of extracting, instead of destroying, the juices of flesh, fowl, and vegetables, you would never require a book of receipts to enable you to have good soups, as the varieties are endless which one's own intelligence daily invents, according to the materials at hand, from the accidental provision of meat boiled or stewed necessary for the maintenance of an establishment more or less numerous." the traveller said, he was not sufficiently advanced in culinary knowledge to comprehend the possibility of the mere possession of materials producing invention without actual receipts. the hermit assured him that he should consider the time spent in his cell as half thrown away, if he did not succeed in making him understand the truth of his assertion, by of good cookery. 115 enabling him individually to exemplify it; and if he was not too proud to submit occasionally to a culinary catechism, he thought it would very much assist his progress in the practical knowledge of the culinary art, as well as impress on his mind what he had seen, with a view to his own information or the instruction of others. the traveller assured him that, although he knew much more since he had had the benefit of the hermit's instructions than he had ever known before, that he was infinitely more humble than he had previously been, because he daily felt how much more he ought to know; and how many years he had been wandering about the world, grumbling and complaining, without calling into action the powers of intellect and observation, which are more or less bestowed upon all mankind, and which must improve by exercise, and tend to increase general as well as individual good. the hermit, finding his friend and pupil in so excellent a frame of mind, thought that he had better begin at once, lest he should change i 2 116 the first principles his opinion, and he announced his intention of continuing the same plan whenever opportunity permitted. the traveller repeated his readiness to do his best; but obtained the hermit's promise to instruct him afresh, wherever he found he was deficient, which he feared would very often be the case. the hermit then commenced with the following question :"from what you have seen since you have resided in my cell, what do you consider the first objects to be attained by cookery? or, rather, what are the principles that every rational being, who has authority over the preparation of food, ought to understand and be able to have carried out? state also the reasons. which ought to induce all persons to promote the practical application of such principles." the traveller looked as if he thought that the examination was likely to be more serious than he had anticipated, but he was ashamed, after all the trouble that his venerable host had taken, to appear to shrink from the ordeal; and, i 1 of good cookery. 117 conquering his natural indolence, he determined to do his best. "i suppose," said he, "that the first object to be obtained is a well-cooked dinner; and the reasons which ought to induce all persons to promote good dinners are, without a doubt, the promotion of health as much as the gratification of the palate; and, in my opinion, a large proportion of those distressing sufferings called dyspepsia,' to which i have been a martyr for years, are to be attributed to the unwholesome food which is given to us poor mortals through the grievous ignorance that prevails in the science of cookery, which renders what ought to be our nourishment our poison, without the satisfaction which some people derive from physic, in the belief that the more nauseous it is, and the more they suffer from it, the better they will be at some future time of unknown date." the hermit could not repress a smile at the characteristic answer of his guest, as he had long perceived that his attendance upon the scientific lectures, of which he was so proud, 118 the first principles had not taught him combination, and in the answers which he now received it appeared that he had lost sight of all objects excepting the gratification of his palate and the benefit of his health; he however thanked him for his reply, but added that his own objects (in the áttention he had given to cookery) had been much more extensive than those just mentioned, and that his own tastes were so very simple that the gratification of the palate alone would never have induced him to make a practical study of cookery, that he could not say with truth that he had ever suffered to any great extent from those dreadful concoctions described by the traveller (the result of the idleness and ignorance of teachers or artificers) so as to be compelled, on the score of health, to devote his time to practical cookery: his own first great object had been to ascertain the best method for prevention of waste, which he considered a very great sin, as everything that was wasted was a robbery of the poor, and that great fact could not be too strongly inculcated upon the minds of all young people from the i 4 of good cookery. 119 first dawn of reason. he knew that in prosecuting his experiments to prevent waste, he had day by day become more enlightened as to the fact that the better the cookery the less the waste-by better he did not mean the common very vulgar notion that by increasing the quantity of expensive materials a dish must necessarily be improved, but he meant that the taste of a dish was not improved, but the contrary, by the utter destruction of any material, and that its reduction (viz. boiling away) in the process of preparation for soup did not improve the taste, and was not only totally unnecessary, but in many cases rendered good food unwholesome and unpalatable. the traveller here interposed, and begged to know if the hermit really meant to assert that if he was obliged to superintend a banquet where he would desire to obtain the very best results, as far as the palate was concerned, that he would not then consider it necessary to destroy a considerable quantity of meat for the production of soups and gravies, as he recollected when a boy being shown in triumph by 120 the first principles a cook an immense lump of solid stuff that looked like a compressed mass of wet brown cotton, or thin pack-thread, which he was informed had once been the best meat, veal and beef, which had been reduced to the state above described to make soup for a great dinner-party; that not being able to believe such a metamorphosis could have taken place, he (school-boy like) asked to taste it, when to his astonishment he found that there was no more resemblance to meat than a bit of soaked paper, and he was informed that even dogs and cats would not touch it, as there was not a particle of nourishment or flavour left, and he asked the hermit whether such an immense sacrifice of food could really have been made without any advantage? the hermit assured him that it was not only without benefit to man or beast, but that the soup would not be at all better, probably not near as good as what he could himself make any day from meat which was only stewed in a double vessel sufficiently to be wholesome food for eating afterwards; that the 1 8 of good cookery. 121 miserable material which he had well described as resembling wet cotton or paper was destroyed, for no one justifiable or desirable result, that the first and best part of the distillation had been entirely injured by boiling away, and that the meat had been destroyed to produce a sufficient quantity for use in consequence of the wilful sacrifice of more than half the produce by continued boiling away in a single vessel. this reply seemed to make the traveller very melancholy, and he afterwards confessed that he could not help thinking how much people had to answer for who thus unnecessarily permitted the wholesale destruction of food, of which so many were in want. 66 the hermit could not resist clapping his hands with delight at this avowal. my dear friend," said he, "have i succeeded in convincing you of the truth of what you have just uttered? but how is it possible you have been so many years without thinking of this before?" 66 because," rejoined the other, “i never was taught to think, and i did not take to it 122 the first principles naturally. i have thought more since i have been in your cell than i ever did before in my whole life. i used to listen to lectures upon abstruse subjects, which to tell you the truth i felt were exceedingly dull, because i did not understand half that was said, and they did not relate to any matter of importance or interest in my own sphere of life; but from seeing so many others similarly circumstanced who appeared satisfied that their hours were very well spent when listening to what would never be of the least use to them in their practical life, i supposed that i must be a much wiser man by thus spending my time, and i plumed myself not a little in recording in my diary, and repeating to my acquaintance, the numbers of lectures on chemistry and electricity i had attended, although i cannot deny that i never had the slightest turn for those studies. i was, therefore, not a more informing companion from having been so patient though inattentive a listener. i now see that i might have done more good in my generation if i had made use of my powers of observation, in connection of good cookery. 123 with the powers of reasoning, which would have assisted me to some practical results beneficial to myself or others." the hermit then reminded his friend that he had not answered the second question of his catechism, for that day, viz., "the reasons which ought to induce all persons to promote the practical application of such principles." the traveller did himself more credit by his answer on this occasion than on the former one, and replied without hesitation, "those reasons are the prevention of waste, on the principle that bad cookery not only robs the poor, but injures the health of all classes." the hermit was well satisfied with this answer, and arrangements were made for the next day's practical instruction, when the dinner was to consist of root of tongue soup,* which the welsh widows immediately began to prepare, and a roast chicken. the roots of tongue having been washed and immersed in spring-water, were placed in the inner tin of the ffwrn fach, which being *see appendix no. xx. 124 the first principles of very thick iron the hermit said he always preferred, to obtain a slower heat. a little salt was added, and chopped herbs-celery and turnip, with a little carrot, was added, and the whole left to stew very slowly for three or four hours; it was then strained off to cool, and the roots of tongue put in a dish in a cold place. the next day the hermit's senior widow emoved, as on former occasions, a cake of fat from the top of the stock (which was a fine clear jelly), and the hermit requested the traveller to remember that in the case of roots of tongue he seldom allowed any water, the reason of which was that they required a great deal of soaking and washing, during which process they imbibed water; consequently, if they had the proportion of water allowed to other meat which was not thus washed and soaked, the product would be broth instead of jelly; and that it was some time before he had discovered the reason that he was so frequently disappointed in the jelly that he expected for his root of tongue soup. after the root of tongue jelly had melted in a double vessel, it was flavoured of good cookery. 125 with the extra celery and herbs required. the chicken was roasted on a hook suspended to the woollen yarn in the usual way, the same system being pursued as that adopted with the leg of mutton. the hermit pointed out that it was particularly necessary to have the most delicate fat for basting fowls and turkeys, as the skin of a well-roasted bird of that description ought (if properly dressed) to be one of the best parts to eat, and an indispensable accompaniment to the white meat. the traveller inquired whether butter would not be better than fat for this purpose; but he was assured that it would not, as there was a peculiar rancid or sickly flavour in butter, when acted on by fire, which could almost always be detected in savoury cookery, if a sufficient quantity was used to saturate the roasting meat, and where a sufficient quantity of fat was not produced by the bird or beast to be roasted—viz. chickens, pheasants, hares, rabbits, &c. &c. -pure suet was the best material to select, next to the fat of veal; but that no one need 126 the first principles complain of a chicken roasted with the fat from the stock of stewed beef, which was what he had used that day. the traveller said that he had frequently been offended with the strong taste of the roasted chicken skin, and he wished to know what the hermit supposed the cause to be. his reply was, that no doubt what was commonly called dripping, (viz. the fat from the gravy produced by roasting brown meat,) being commonly employed for the purpose, which had probably been frying in the dripping-pan for hours, instead of being raised into an earthen each time the meat was basted, pan as might be remembered with his leg of mutton, and which plan he had pursued with everything else; but that he never used the dripping, even thus carefully preserved, for fowls and game, lest it should impart a flavour of roasted butcher's meat; though, if he should ever be so circumstanced as to have nothing else to use, he should order one or more extra clarifications for the purpose. the traveller said the hermit had not of good cookery. 127 given him any instruction yet cation," and begged to be enlightened. he was informed that fat properly clarified was melted over the fire in a double vessel, and, when in a liquid state, poured into a large pan of boiling water, and then well stirred with a large stick, and, being left to cool, the impurities sunk to the bottom, or adhered to the lower surface of the cake, whence they were easily removed with a knife; and this process of clarification* might be repeated two or three times if desirable. the hermit said it was a process indispensable to good management, as there are very few, if any, households, where there is not more fat than is required for the consumption of the family, although its consumption is greatly increased where it is properly used and kept separately, and where butter is entirely repudiated for savoury cookery. the hermit then promised his friend a sight of the clarified stores of this valuable, but generally despised and neglected, material, which could not then be inspected, * see appendix no. xxi. about "clarifi128 the first principles as the senior widow announced that the fowl was beautifully frothed, and the roots of tongue, previously stewed, having been cut into moderate-sized squares, after being deprived of fat, skin, and sinews, were about to be put into the soup made from them. the traveller was again well satisfied with his dinner, especially with the bread sauce, which the hermit allowed him to write down as a regular receipt, where it will no doubt be found with other receipts by the reader in due course of time. the next day the hermit introduced the traveller to a very cool recess in his larder, which had been hollowed out of the rock into the form of a cupboard, with shelves of the same material, on which were arranged little red and yellow pans, which held two and three pounds each. they had each a piece of paper or white calico over the top, with a small piece of flat wood which fitted closely within the rim. the hermit's widows uncovered several of the pans, and each of them appeared to be filled * see appendix no. xxii. of good cookery. 129 with an ivory-like material, of which the only difference was, that some were whiter, and some of a yellower tint than others. the hermit explained that the whitest was from mutton, and clarified dripping; the yellowest was beef fat and marrow, not only the marrow taken out of the tube of the bones of beef called by that name, but was also produced from the bones themselves, broken up and stewed in water, after all the solid marrow had been taken out of the tubes.* the hermit took this opportunity of recounting to the traveller the result of his practical experience with regard to the production of marrow from bones which appeared to be entirely bare and completely hollow, but which, when broken up and subjected to slow heat in a digester, yielded a large proportion of marrow to the weight of bones. the traveller inquired to what use he appropriated these various stores. the hermit informed him that the marrow was equal to butter for tart paste, and superior see appendix no. xxiii. k 130 the first principles to it for the paste of mince-pies, and that the widows always were instructed to keep a good stock of these different sorts of fat in hand, not only for basting, but for other processes which the traveller had, or would witness; but that every month the senior widow disposed of the superfluous stock while it was good, and that none might be kept to be so old as to be deteriorated. he also reminded his friend that he gave a great deal to the poor, but that clarified fat (and none was ever put away unclarified) was not one of those things that he gave away, and that he considered it was of greater benefit to allow them to buy it; but when the demand of his poorer immediate neighbours was not equal to the supplies, he sent it by the senior widow to a small town, some miles distant, with an ass and cart, where she also purchased his groceries, disposing of the fat to be spared at from 3d. and 5d. to 6d. per pound, according to its quality. that fat which had been used for frying ought to be clarified three times over, and this, he believed, was used for candles, and it bore the lowest i of good cookery. 131 price, as it was of inferior quality, and did not recover its natural colour, from having been so often subjected to the fierce action of the fire; whilst the other kinds, from not having been thus exposed to burning heat, were perfectly good for culinary uses. the traveller said he knew that where perquisites were allowed, fat was taken by the cooks, and sold for their own benefit. the hermit simply remarked, that those who permitted this to be done, were guilty of two sins; the first, wilful extravagance in housekeeping, and thereby robbery of the poor; the second, tempting a servant to dishonesty, by allowing a direct advantage to result from the neglecting of the first duty of her office, which was to make the most of everything under her care, for the benefit of her employers, or the good of her fellow-creatures; and having discovered that the traveller was a good arithcian, he gave him a small him a small account to cast up, of the number of pounds of fat, which in the course of twelve months the welsh widow had sold for him; by which his friend disk 2 132 the first principles covered to his surprise, that he had had not merely shillings, but many pounds' value, with which to assist the poor in other ways. the traveller said that it appeared to him that the hermit was practically charitable, and that he evidently himself saved to give; but that as he was also the dispenser of charity for another benevolent individual, and that he would esteem it a favour, as he was now becoming more alive to the requirements of others, if he would let him see the soup made for the poor, about which he had seen him engaged in superintending the widows twice each week, at which times he had purposely withdrawn himself from the recollection that their compact did not entitle him to pry into that department. the hermit expressed his satisfaction that such a desire had been enkindled in his mind, and assured him that he had purposely refrained from inviting his companionship and assistance, from the belief that he would not take any interest in what did not immediately concern himself personally. of good cookery. 133 the traveller coloured, from the consciousness that such would have been the case a short time before, and the next morning he engaged himself to be the hermit's scholar in preparing soup for the for the poor.* it has already been stated that the hermit had a very extensive and well-stored garden; containing vegetables of all descriptions—such a kitchen-garden as is to be met with in the general average of gentlemen's houses. the host and the visitor were followed by the widows, provided with baskets; the hermit filled the baskets with the stalks and leaves of celery, carrots, onions, leeks, parsnips, and a few potatoes, and cabbage-leaves. on their return, these were all washed and chopped very small, while the water which had boiled half a round of beef the day before was being warmed in a large double vessel, the hermit informed his friend that he never kept his halfrounds of beef in salt more than six days, and sometimes not more than five, by which means the flavour of the beef was very superior, and * see appendix no. xxiv. 134 the first principles the water in which it was boiled was not salted like brine, but retained some flavour of the meat, and was consequently more nutritious. the widows then fried several soup-plates full of all the vegetables they had chopped, in a single saucepan, for ten minutes, with clarified fat; they then added oatmeal, and stirred it rapidly for five minutes more, and put the whole mass into the hot beef liquor, which, after stewing for some time in its double vessel, was converted into a very savoury soup; the oatmeal and vegetables having given flavour, and consistency, and counterbalanced any overplus of salt in the beef liquor; moreover, it was not the least greasy, because the fat that had been used had been previously entirely absorbed by the vegetables and oatmeal, and the hermit called his friend's attention to the undeniable amount of additional nourishment, produced by this method of incorporating a certain quantity of pure fat in the manner which had been just exemplified. the traveller inquired what the hermit of good cookery. 135 gave the poor when he did not boil half a round of beef. "on some occasions," said he, "i have peas soaked as you have seen in the well, and then stewed, with as much fat as they would absorb without being greasy; a small quantity of finely-chopped onions are then fried, and stirred round with flour or oatmeal, in the same manner as the other vegetables, which being added to the pea-soup, imparts a savoury flavour, completed by powdered or chopped mint. another broth for the poor is made from two sheep's heads, which are stewed a considerable time in a double vessel, with the proportion of a pint of water to the pound weight. the meat is then taken from the bones, the broth put away till the next day, and the bones broken small, and put down in the digester for some hours. the liquor is then poured off, the bones rebroken, and subjected to the same process, with fresh water; the liquor is again strained off, and when cold, both the first and second extract produces a good jelly; the * see appendix no. xxv. el 136 the first principles sheep's broth having itself an excellent flavour, is not thickened with fried vegetables and oatmeal, but a few chopped leek leaves and roots are put into it, and when served out, the meat from the sheep's head being cold, and cut in mouthfuls, is put into the bottom of each jug before it is filled, which is a better plan than letting it be overdone, by stewing longer in the broth. the third material which i have for for soup the poor," said the hermit, "is the jelly which is produced in considerable quantities by my faithful ancient british widows, with the aid of those valuable iron vessels, the digesters;' they carefully collect every spare bone, and day by day break them small, and stew them down till the goodness is all extracted; there is not any sort of bone that does not produce a first and second jelly, and veal bones will produce jelly after a third time's stewing. these jellies are as nutritious as any delicacy that can be invented; they only require the flavouring of vegetables, and they may be adapted for clear broth or thickened soup, and when there are any bits of dressed meat to spare, they are of · " of good cookery. 137 course put into it. in my secluded life, there is seldom anything left upon plates which is fit for this purpose; but in houses, where many guests are received, it is certain that some of them very improperly take upon their plate a great deal more than they can eat, and it has always been my rule that every substance left in plates, should be put apart on a dish before they are washed, and if in the contents of this dish there are any good pieces of meat, they are neatly cut into dice, and put away to add to the next soup, as i consider one of the precepts most necessary to inculcate, is everything to its proper use, and i do not think that the proper use of meat, any more than milk, is to feed pigs!" the traveller, on hearing this, said that he had been surprised, when in london, at seeing daily a cart come to the opposite house, accompanied by two persons, with a bag and a tub, or vessel of some kind. these individuals used to go down the area, and regularly return with a loaded bag, of such an apparent weight, that it excited his curiosity to know with what it could be filled; and that it had just struck him • 138 the first principles that the contents must have been the remains of bread and meat, given or sold for pigs, which, after being aware of what might be done for the poor by care and economy, now really appeared to him a great sin. the hermit said, that as he had not been in london for more than half a century, he was the last person who could explain what the traveller had observed, but that he might depend upon it, that where food was not preserved for a legitimate or moral use, it would be disposed of for very bad "" i purposes. have," said he, "now given you an outline of the broths that i have most frequently made for the poor; but in large households, where there is a considerable consumption of roast, and boiled, and stewed meat, there is so large a quantity of bones, that quarts of jelly ought to be made every day, and gallons every week; and this ought to be a considerable proportion of the soup given to the poor, together with the boilings of salt beef and pork, which, however, if salted too heavily, or left too long in pickle, are not only deof good cookery. 139 teriorated in flavour, and become hard instead of tender, whilst the water in which they are boiled is mere brine, and it is cruelty, instead of charity, to give it to the poor." the hermit became animated upon this topic, and his eyes sparkled with indignation as he recounted a visit that he had paid to a welsh cottage, where the mother of the family was very ill, and required the best pure jelly broth that could be produced. knowing her condition, he had ordered the welsh widows to send some chicken jelly in the morning. the boy who was sent for it had fallen down and broken the jug when out of sight of the trusty gwenllian, and, being afraid to acknowledge his offence, he had not returned at all. the hermit had also ordered a large supply of fresh made beef broth to be sent for the use of the children, of whom there was a large family, who, from the poverty of their parents, were really often in want of food. when he arrived at the cottage, he was surprised to find that the chicken broth had not been received, and he waited in expectation 140 the first principles until the little girl returned who had been sent for the beef broth, which was always mixed with other ingredients to make it more palatable. by the time it arrived, the poor woman was so exhausted that she begged to have some for herself; but said the good hermit, "where an invalid is concerned, i never miss an opportunity of tasting the food myself, when it is possible," and, to my astonishment, i found that the soup, which, (with the best preparation,) could not have been well adapted for her state, was so salt, that it could only be compared to sea-water, and i dared not give it her, and was shocked to see the poor children devour their dry bread soaked in this dreadful brine, and i must confess, that nothing but my regard for the sick mother's nerves, would have prevented my exploding with violent passion; but i checked myself, and thus i soliloquised, (though not aloud) :-" weak mortal! the erring widows, who are the objects of your wrath, cannot be profited by your anger at two miles' distance! think of the present moment! here is the wretched woman dying for want of sustenance, of good cookery. 141 your duty is to assist her." but my good angel seemed to forsake me. what could i do? there was nothing in the house but a crust of bread, or in the garden but a bed of leeks; and although the leek is a most wonderful herb for nutritive, as well as for medical purposes, it did not suit the present case. suddenly a thought struck me. there was an old woman not a field's distance, who had a hen and chickens. i did not feel the ground under my feet till i arrived at her door, and, quickly explaining my distress, i begged she would sell one of the brood. to this she objected, on the true plea that, for the purpose i required them, they were too young to be of any use; but said she, "i have a troublesome cock of last year, who fights with his uncle, and i should be willing to kill him for the sake of peace in his family; but were he my best fowl, i would kill him at your request, and for the benefit of my neighbour." i begged her to follow me with the cock, while i returned on the wings of the wind, to 142 the first principles discover what utensil i could find to cook the fowl, when i had got it,* without waste. the cottage only produced an iron pot, some jugs, cups and saucers, one or two pans, and some basins. in a few minutes the pot was on the fire, with water to boil, and a jug was selected which would contain the chicken when cut limb from limb, which is always the best way of dressing a chicken, if it is intended solely for an invalid, because it can be frequently stirred, and is not only cooked much quicker, but the flavour is more perfectly extracted, and each part is more thoroughly done; and in three-quarters of an hour, by keeping the water briskly boiling round the jug, with a saucer on the top, i was enabled to administer a cup of chicken broth, which, though weak, was pure and of excellent flavour. i then added more water to the chicken in the jug, as more water may always be allowed when it is cut up. it then stewed an hour and a half longer, very slowly, after which it was poured off for future use; see appendix no. xxvi. of good cookery. 143 but as there was no digester there with which to extract the jelly from the bones, i taught one of the little girls how to take all the meat off, and, putting the bones into a basin, ordered them to be brought down to the widow gwenllian, who, i promised, should perform this office, and send the produce back another day. on my return home, i felt that it was not only a satisfaction, but a duty, most severely to reprimand my hand-matrons; and, after minute investigations, it appeared that gwenllian, (the first in command,) had trusted cattws, the third under her, to fetch the half round of salt beef, and had instructed her how to put it on to boil, without detecting any error; but the fact was, that the piece then boiled had been forgotten the week before, and had lain a fortnight in pickle, the result of which was the brine i have described, and you may be sure that the delinquent did not escape severe censure, although i attributed more blame to the first in command, who ought not, first of all, to have forgotten this beef, or have trusted 144 the first principles the most inexperienced of her assistants to select the meat without supervision, and she ought not to have allowed anything to be given away without herself flavouring and tasting it. "i think," said the traveller, "my good friend, that you have been a little unjust, according to your own narration. why should you have censured severely the inexperienced cattws, when it appears to me that she performed a service in taking that unfortunate meat to be boiled, which had she not done, might have remained a third week in pickle." "i was not unjust," replied the hermit. "cattws has been under instruction so short a time, that her sole duty was implicit obedience. she was told to go to the second pan from the door, instead of which she went to the third; had she gone to the second, the beef would have been exactly in a proper state for boiling, and for broth for the poor, and those poor children would not have been injured by salt water; whilst the forgotten beef in the third pan would not have been much the worse for of good cookery. 145 eating by the next morning, which was the day for my making personal inspection of the salted provisions, when the negligence would have been detected, the beef would have been boiled, and the water would have been thrown away." 66 'as," said the traveller, "you have so kindly recounted to me this little domestic history, allow me to ask how long you consider an intelligent female would be, or ought to be, in learning, under such instruction (as is to be found here), a sufficient knowledge of the real principles of cookery, to enable her to roast, to boil, and to stew well, and to make good and wholesome broth and soups?" the hermit shook his head. "it is impossible for me," said he, "to compute how much sense and activity are required to make 'one intelligent female.' i can, therefore, only say, that in my experience, a sharp and attentive girl of fifteen would learn each of the processes you mention, and be able to make two or three good soups in four months; but unfortunately, at that early age, 'sharpness' and ‘giddiness' l 146 the first principles are more generally combined than sharpness and attention." "i should never dream," said the traveller, "of a cook of fifteen. what could put such an idea into your head? of course, at that age, no girl could be trusted with such a charge as must always devolve upon a cook—i mean, an intelligent female of five or six and twenty, or two or three and thirty.” the hermit again shook his head. "at that age," said he, "if females are really intelligent, they have had some practice in endeavouring to do something for themselves or their families, either in or out of service, by which means they have been long convinced that they know a great deal, and therefore i should reckon an additional year of learning for every additional year of age after twenty, and, before that period, i should give a year or two more to instruct the girl of twenty, than i would to the girl of fifteen or sixteen. no one but those who have tried the experiment, can imagine the difficulty of making any one in the kitchen department unlearn or leave off bad habits once acquired." of good cookery. 147 "am i then to understand,” to understand," said the traveller, "that these well-aged matrons have been in your service since they were fifteen?" "no," said the hermit, "for although i was approaching my grand climacteric when i retired from the world, i had too much regard for the propriety of appearances; and being a bachelor, i selected gwenllian, who was then of a very sedate age, but in addition of a most teachable disposition, with extraordinary activity, and great steadiness, and as she never had been a cook in her life, she knew no more of the culinary art than the ordinary life of a welsh peasant had taught her. she was then a widow, and she did not suppose that she understood anything about cookery. she was cleanliness itself in her habits, as many welsh peasants are, whose houses vie with the dutch in neatness and comfort, but she had no supposititious knowledge of cooking, and her mind was therefore as open to instruction as a child's; whilst her activity, and general habits of cleanliness, rendered her invaluable in that service, where, of all others, cleanliness is most indisl 2 148 the first principles pensable. my second widow, bettws, was much the same sort of person, and sufficiently gwenllian's junior to be under her control. the other widows have been added, and are each of them considerably younger, and will, i hope, by degrees, become props to the elder matrons, who, it must be expected, sooner or later may require more efficient aid, though, i trust, they will never be superseded." the traveller expressed his acknowledgments for the details he had received; but said that he did not see how the information now afforded would assist himself or others, who had not the advantage of living within reach of welsh widows, or, if they did, would not be able to instruct them?" the hermit said that his efforts for some weeks had been directed unceasingly to the instruction of his guest in the first principles of cookery, and that he thought it impossible that his friend would not, within a reasonable period, have attained sufficient knowledge to impart a good deal of it to some intelligent gentlewoman, in his own class of life, who might, 8 of good cookery. 149 perhaps, find somebody who knew nothing. the only difficulty would be, to find one who was not so proud of knowing nothing, that they would disdain to be taught anything, but that of course instructions could be much better given by ladies than by gentlemen, and that he also supposed that there were, in england, old maids as well as widows, who might be found willing to be taught, and capable of learning. "do you not think," said the traveller, "that schools for cookery ought to be very good things? there are places in london that are called schools for this purpose, and friends of mine have taken cooks who have been instructed in them, and have sent cooks to be taught in some establishments of the kind-but i have never heard of any satisfactory result.” "i cannot judge," said the hermit, “of what such schools may be, but i have no faith in schools for teaching any of the practical arts of life. the best school for those arts is home; the best teacher is the mother or mistress of a family, and her first scholars ought to be her own daughters or younger sisters. when once 150 the first principles this principle is again acted upon, there will be no scarcity of good servants, and much more comfort, and abundance of proper liberality and true charity in every class that has anything to give, whilst the number of those who lack charity will be greatly diminished." the traveller replied, that although he believed there was no country in the world where there were so many charitable institutions as great britain, yet that since he had begun to reflect, he recollected many circumstances which convinced him that there was a great want of discretion, as well as practical experience, in the present age; that the hermit had demonstrated clearly how much more ought to be made for the maintenance of the body, by the proper preparation of food, and that he was quite sure that souls would be more benefited, if all those who, with the best intentions, devoted their time to visiting and religious instruction, had more consideration for bodily wants, and rather more discretion as to the time of day which they selected for their readings, as it was impossible to expect a starving of good cookery. 151 penitent to pay attention to religious instruction when very hungry or in the middle of a wash.* this remark led to a long conversation between the hermit and the traveller on the evil effect of the poor laws, as at present constituted, of which the hermit could not be in total ignorance, from his intimate acquaintance with his poor neighbours, although happily, from their primitive habits of domestic industry, and the comparatively small population, he had not known many cases where parish relief was needed; but he had known enough to inquire anxiously whether there was no hope of any philanthropic individuals devoting themselves to the task of collecting and publishing statistics, which would easily prove that the present poor laws were productive of serious evils, that their effects were most undeniably demoralizing, and that their amendment was most necessary. the next day, the hermit reminded his friend that it was time he should put him through his catechism again, and that, with * see anecdote in traveller's note book. 152 the first principles his approbation, the next examination should be upon soups, which was a subject especially interesting. "i will," said the hermit, “ put a few questions to you after dinner; and in the meantime you shall see the preparation for minced veal; * previous to which i will take the liberty of asking you how you would instruct a cook to make it?" the traveller had by this time become sufficiently humble to answer with some diffidence, although he felt great confidence in doing himself credit by his reply—“i should have the veal chopped up," said he. 66 may i ask," said the hermit, "what instrument you would use for 'chopping? "i mean," said the traveller, "reducing the veal into little bits, with a thing called a chopper-a piece of steel in a handle." that," said the hermit, "would make a very inferior dish. observe how gwenllian proceeds." gwenllian, having placed a white board on * see appendix no. xxvii. 66 " of good cookery. 153 the table, cut slices from a cold baked fillet of veal, of the proper thickness. she then cut each slice into small square dice, having carefully removed every particle of fat. the traveller looked on with attention for some time, and then said that he really thought chopping, instead of cutting, would have saved a great deal of time and trouble. "it would," said the hermit, "have saved both; but, unfortunately, it would not have produced the desired result of a good dish of minced veal, and you will allow that there is no economy in being a short time in making a bad thing; but after you have tasted the present preparation, i will explain, as well as i can, why chopping' veal spoils the dish; but whether my explanation is satisfactory or not, is of very little consequence, as such is the practical fact." after the veal had been thus prepared, it was slightly floured and salted, and, after being turned over and over with two forks, was left in a basin for an hour. meantime, some pure veal jelly, made from boiling a shoulder of veal 154 the first principles in a double vessel, was put into the inner tin of the ffwrn fach. when liquefied, it was flavoured with pieces of celery and onion, and a nosegay of sweet herbs, composed of margery, orange thyme, and basil. these were stirred round and round until the proper flavour was obtained, when some cream was added, and stirred with the same ingredient, until the whole had a most agreeable flavour. the vegetables and herbs were then taken out, and the floured veal, cut in dice, was put in, and well stirred for some minutes, after which the whole was covered with two lids, and the veal left to infuse, in a slow heat, for about half an hour, by which time the flour had thickened the sauce, and the veal had communicated its own flavour to the whole, and the traveller pronounced his dinner to be as good as he ever desired to taste. the hermit informed him that this was the simple way of making minced veal, but that a richer dish might be made by frying finelychopped vegetables with the pure top fat from soup stock, and adding it to the veal jelly in of good cookery. 155 the same manner that had been shown from hashed mutton; but that he considered the present plan produced a purer taste, and was more agreeable to his palate. the hermit then commenced his queries. about soups, and informed the traveller what the materials were which were then in the larder-viz. a small quantity of veal jelly stock (not sufficient for soup for two); there was also a small quantity of beef jelly stock, and a small quantity of pease stewed and pulped ready for soup. he asked what soup his friend considered had better be ordered for the morrow, considering the materials at command. the traveller said that it appeared to him, that, although there was a great variety, there was not sufficient of anything for the purpose required; and therefore that the only plan was to mix the veal jelly and the beef jelly together, which he now knew enough to be aware would make a very good soup. the hermit said he was so far correct; but, as they had had gravy soup the day before, 156 the first principles it would prove a great lack of contrivance to have the same sort of soup the day following. the traveller said he did not know what else to suggest, unless the pease could be made available. to this the hermit replied that the pease were insufficient in quantity to do more than make pea broth, which, though a very good thing, was not the best thing that could be devised under present circumstances. in vain the traveller "racked his brains" to invent any other sort of soup; he was fairly puzzled, and the hermit was obliged to come to his assistance, and to inform him that a certain portion of finely-chopped vegetables, prepared as he had before seen, and then mixed with the veal and beef jelly, passed through a wire sieve, and returned into the double, would be the first process he should direct. the next would be the addition of the minced veal left at dinner, with an extra spoonful of cream, previously flavoured with herbs and vegetables; and that the whole mixture would make a of good cookery. 157 most excellent extemporary soup, although the various stocks thus mixed together were not combined from any recipe, but simply from the knowledge which experience had produced from former experiments, with the same materials at hand; and the following day the practical results verified the hermit's prognostications, previous to which the catechism was continued a little further. supposing," said the hermit, "that i had only the pease and some mutton broth, what would you advise?" "i would make pea broth," said the traveller," as you say it is so good, by putting the pease into the mutton broth." that," said the hermit, "could be easily managed, certainly; but how would you make it appear like pea soup, the quantity of pease being insufficient for that purpose?" "i would make a paste with vegetables," said the traveller, "in the same way that i have now so often seen that process performed by gwenllian.' "you are improving," said the hermit. 66 66 158 the first principles "you would not have hit upon that expedient a week ago. but there is a better plan than that for mock pea soup, although yours would not be by any means bad, and indeed your plan is in part what i should do, with the addition of oatmeal* instead of flour to make the vegetable paste, which will assimilate with the pease, and produce a better imitation of the flavour of pea soup; in fact, a very good mock pea soup may be made with oatmeal, without any pease, after being well incorporated with the vegetable paste with which the stock is thickened. i will now ask you," said the hermit, "how you would produce soup or broth, supposing you have no jelly stock in the house, excepting the jelly of mutton bones, and the remains of a mutton pie?" the traveller, who had become much more inventive than on previous occasions, said that he would put the contents of the mutton pie into the jelly of the mutton bones, and thus make broth. the hermit reminded him that the jelly of * see oatmeal in traveller's note book. of good cookery. 159 the mutton bones would have very little, if any, flavour, and that consequently they would diminish the flavour of the contents of the mutton pie, without imparting any additional taste. the traveller then, without much difficulty, discovered that the mutton bone jelly could be flavoured with vegetables and herbs so as to make it very palatable mutton broth, which, when added to the contents of the pie, would produce altogether an excellent mutton broth, the meat of the pie being in the best possible state for being eaten in the broth. the traveller became so much interested with the soup examination, that he desired to prolong it; but the hermit, having a great objection to overloading his pupil, declined to put any further interrogations till a future day. the next day a harrico of mutton was the selected dish, of which the traveller said he had never tasted but one good in his life, and then he had never inquired how it was prepared. the hermit desired that he would state the particular faults of which he had to complain. * see appendix no. xxviii. 160 the first principles he replied that they might be comprised under two heads-being greasy, and having a very strong burnt flavour, very much like the odour of which they had before spoken, of cinders falling into the dripping-pan. gwenllian and her attendant handmaids were hastened by the hermit, and their proceedings were as follows:-the cutlets were taken from a neck of welsh mutton, they were neatly cut (in the form of pears), but none of the fat was taken off the bones, which the hermit said was a very great error in making a harrico. they were then placed in a well-tinned iron saucepan, where they were stirred and turned round and round, the saucepan being on the hottest part of the hot plate, until they were thoroughly heated through without burning, and had begun to brown without being at all dried, when they were immediately transferred into an inner tin saucepan, which stood ready surrounded by boiling water, and a little boiling water poured upon them, in which button onions had just been scalded; the scalded onions were put aside, while some raw onions, of good cookery. 161 finely chopped, with celery, a little turnip and carrot, and a nosegay of orange thyme, basil, and savory, with a sprinkling of salt, the whole being covered with two lids, were left to stew till tender, though not overdone; and their gravy, being extracted to some extent, had produced, with the onion water, and other vegetables, a savoury sauce, which was strained into a basin, while the cutlets were drawn off to a cooler place. the basin of gravy having been plunged in a pan of cold water, the fat soon congealed on the surface; and as soon as it could be taken off, the gravy was poured back upon the cutlets, and they were replaced in the outer saucepan as before. during this time, small pieces of carrots and turnips, neatly cut, had been stewing in another double saucepan, in some beef jelly stock, the attentive widows having taken care to anticipate the hermit's inquiry as to whether the carrots had been put in half an hour previous to the turnips, as otherwise the turnips would be over-done, or the carrots half-cooked. these carrots and turnips, therefore, being quite m 162 the first principles tender at the same time, were added to the cutlets, and in about ten minutes the harrico was ready for the table; and the traveller pronounced that it was well flavoured, without the slightest taste of what he had before complained, and he particularly admired the clearness of the fat of each cutlet, at the same time that the gravy was so completely free from grease; while the vegetables were as savoury as the meat, in consequence of not having been stewed in water. the traveller then claimed the hermit's promise of telling him what in general occasioned harricos to be so very bad. the cause was explained as follows: that the cutlets are generally done in a frying-pan, and are not only burnt, but, from the intense heat and the narrow sides of the frying-pan, the fat often flies into the fire, or on the hot plate, and produces a dreadful odour, the taste of which is, through the vapour, communicated to and absorbed by the cutlets; in addition to this, onions are often cut up and fried with the cutlets, and it is hardly possible to produce i of good cookery. 163 a more unconquerable flavour than that of onions and fat burned together. this once done, the hermit said, no cook in the world could afterwards make a well-flavoured harrico; and that, probably, little, if any, portion of the fat was removed from the gravy, if the same gravy was used, but that it was probable that the best essence of the mutton was thrown out of the frying-pan as useless, and that some nauseous concoction of butter and flour was used for gravy, mixed with bought ready-made sauce, and the whole, well peppered and filled up with carrots and turnips boiled in water, were served with the cutlets, which, having lost all their own essence and flavour, were smothered in a liquid made of other materials. the traveller then requested the hermit to question him, that he might see whether he really improved in culinary knowledge. "i shall confine myself," said the hermit, "on this occasion, especially to matters of general daily economy in domestic management. supposing that we have a small quantity of beef jelly stock, but not enough for the m 2 164 the first principles quantity of soup we require; that we have half a pint of onion sauce, left from a boiled shoulder of mutton or boiled rabbits, and a small quantity of the remains of minced veal, with a pint of chicken jelly stock. having those materials only, what would you propose to do?" the traveller said, that, having seen how each of the above-named sauces and made dishes had been prepared singly, he should not be afraid to mix them all together; but in what order he did not know, or which to begin with. the hermit said, that the first thing was to warm the beef stock in a double saucepan, then to add the chicken stock to it; then to flavour both with celery, onion, and a bunch of sweet herbs, until they obtained the proper flavour for gravy soup; the onion sauce should next be stirred in, and then the remains of the minced veal, with its sauce, and more vegetables to flavour, if needed. "the above mixture will make an excellent soup," said he, “ which incidental circumstances alone taught me to invent, but for which a guest would very proof good cookery. 165 bably request the recipe. and, after all," added the hermit, "it is not so very extraordinary that it should be good; for, if you consider the ingredients of each, you find that they will all assimilate and improve, without counteracting or superseding the flavour of each other. veal, chicken, and beef stock will always go together. onion sauce is made of new milk and flour, flavoured with scalded onions; the sauce of minced veal is made from the jelly of the same meat, flavoured with vegetables and enriched by cream. in this way, by understanding how to combine the materials accidentally in hand, there never ought to be a difficulty in procuring soup where meat is cooked for other purposes; and it is generally a great improvement to soups, for those who are in health, and able to take sufficient exercise to obtain a sharp appetite, occasionally to have solid morsels in their soup, provided those morsels are good. the remains of fricassees are a great improvement to white soup, if there is no butter in the fricassee.” the traveller said, that he should like to 166 the first principles know something about the preparation of fish, of which he had as yet seen and heard nothing. the hermit said, he could not give him much instruction upon that head, as he was too far inland for sea fish to reach him often; and that of fresh-water fish he saw little except salmon, the preparation of which he thoroughly understood, and would give him a specimen of it the following day, if a salmon was brought in, but that a lobster did occasionally find its way to his wealthy neighbour, across the mountains, from the coast, and that he had been particularly successful in teaching the welsh widows to make lobster sauce.* the traveller clapped his hands, declaring that he had once had an illness of three weeks' duration, from lobster sauce, which certainly had not improved in the present century, and that it was, without exception, one of the most dreadful specimens of modern cookery as generally prepared. the hermit said, that although he had never had the opportunity of perfecting his culinary see appendix no. xxix. of good cookery. 167 knowledge by experiments in cooking many sorts of fish, that he had done enough to know that the same principles would be well applied, and he specified shrimp sauce.* "of all things," said the traveller, "it is one of the worst made sauces, next to lobster sauce." "and yet," said the hermit, "it is one of the most easy to prepare, if only done the right way. the shells of the shrimps ought to be pounded slightly, and stewed with a very little water in a double vessel. the essence thus made from them, strained off, should be used instead of plain water, exactly in the same proportion as for the melted butter with which the parsley sauce was made on the day of our first dinner; and when the melted butter is thus made with the shrimp-shell water, nothing more is required than to put in the shrimps, and, after stirring them well, let them stew in a double saucepan for a quarter of an hour. the lobster sauce is on the same principle; the shell ought to be pounded and stewed down with a * see appendix no. xxx. 168 the first principles little water in a digester; and, when cold, it is a lobster jelly, of which as much is taken as is required, instead of water, to add to the melted butter for the sauce. the lobster itself, in my opinion, always requires vinegar; and being pulled into moderate sized pieces, i have it soaked in vinegar for an hour or two before it is wanted. it is then drained from the vinegar, and put into the lobster jelly melted butter." the next day a salmon was brought in, which had been very properly crimped, as soon as it was killed. the hermit ordered it to be put into a stone reservoir, supplied from a famous well, the stream of which ran through his larder, in which the widows, plunged various pans of jelly stocks, in the summer, the moment they were taken off the fire, for the purpose of the quicker congelation of the fat, which the hermit was very particular, in hot weather, in having immediately removed as soon as cold, although, in cold weather, its being left upon the jelly tended to preserve it * see appendix no. xxxi. * of good cookery. 169 longer.* after the salmon had remained in spring water for an hour, it was prepared in the usual manner for boiling, having been previously divided into three or four parts, and placed in a fish kettle of cold spring water with a little salt, and as much vinegar as made the water very slightly acid. the moment the water was scalding hot the strainer was taken up, with the fish upon it, and the water in which it had been scalded was poured into a pan, and removed to a cold place, where the strainer with the fish was placed across the pan, so that the fish and the fish water might gradually cool together; during which process the fish imbibed its own flavour from the steam of the water in which it was scalded. the traveller, who had viewed the abovenamed process with great attention, now looked at his watch, and was alarmed to find that it was half-past twelve o'clock, and the dinner hour was one o'clock. "my excellent friend," said he, "there is only half an hour before dinner,—now, how long do you propose that * see appendix no. xxxii. 170 the first principles this salmon should remain here? for it is not fully boiled i know, and the time is short." "trust me, my good sir," said the hermit, "our dinner will be on the table precisely at one o'clock; but as the proper preparation of a salmon brooks no delay, i gave directions to the widow gwenllian to proceed with the preparations for our frugal meal." the traveller turned pale, and then red; he looked at his host, and then looked at the salmon. "i thought," said he, in a plaintive tone, "that we were to have this salmon for dinner?" "i never promised that," said the hermit. "i promised instruction in the preparation; but i never gave the date for eating it: and although, had it come in earlier, it might, of course, have been cooked and eaten on the same day, it will be infinitely better on the second day." bettws having announced that dinner was on the table, the traveller hastened, impelled by hunger and curiosity, to see what gwenllian had been able to effect with her handmaidens of good cookery. 171 alone. the dinner consisted of delicate welsh mutton chops, broiled upon a gridiron, with their own unadulterated gravy; they were tender, savoury, and neither scorched nor dried. in addition to which were two boiled bantam eggs, and two larger eggs, with baked apple dumplings. the traveller requested the hermit to tell him why he had boiled eggs for dinner,† instead of poached eggs; as he was very well aware that nothing was done in his house without a reason. my reason," said the hermit, " was, to have a text for your catechism of to-day; and if will take a small you i will take a large egg, 66 one, or vice versá. the traveller complied. both the small and the large egg were equally well boiled; and the moment the shells were removed, both disclosed the milk, which is the criterion of a well-dressed egg. when dinner was concluded, the hermit see appendix no. xxxiii. + see appendix no. xxxiv. $ 172 the first principles asked the traveller if he had any fault to find with his egg? he said it could not be better. "and how very odd it is," said he, "that an egg is so seldom boiled properly." "how would you instruct your cook to boil an egg?" said the hermit. "i can reply to that without difficulty," said his friend. "three minutes, by the watch, an egg must boil. if it is a very small egg, like the bantam's, it must not boil more than two minutes, or two and a half." "you must have a priceless cook," said the hermit, "if you can find one that, for two days running, would stand with a watch in her hand. over the saucepan of eggs, or would be able to keep one eye on the clock, and the other on the saucepan to keep exactly to three minutes, or exactly two and a half; besides which, eggs vary as much as the human countenance. is not merely a big egg, and a little egg, but there are all the medium sizes; and the weight and size of eggs differ as much as the hens that lay them, and there is not one of these welsh it of good cookery. 173 widows that would not tell me, by the look of my eggs, to which hen each egg belongs. consequently, if the bantam takes two minutes, and the dorking takes three minutes, there must be other subdivisions for cochin china, and hamburghs, and spanish fowls, &c." the traveller could not deny the justice of this remark, but confessed that he could not suggest any remedy for the difficulty. the hermit said there was a very simple one, which he would teach him; which was, always to put eggs into cold water, instead of boiling water, and the moment the water boiled each egg was done, whether large or small. the traveller could not understand the reason of this; and the hermit, after an innocent joke upon his want of science, said that the reason was very clear to his practical perception-viz. that a gradual advance to the boiling point was the degree of heat required to cook an egg in perfection, and that needed neither clock nor watch. the cook had only to let the fire and water do their work, which would be completed at different periods of 174 the first principles time, according to the thickness and quantity of shells which had to be heated through. the traveller, after this simple explanation, particularly inquired whether the gridiron used by the welsh widows was on the common construction, which he had often seen in ironmongers' shops-viz. iron bars in a square frame, with a handle, and a little iron trough at one end. the hermit showed him a gridiron, which was exactly what he described, and said he was very much surprised to hear that such a gridiron was still in common use; for that, although he did not boast of any mechanical talent, he considered that it was a very awkward utensil for its required purpose, and great practice and much dexterity were necessary to enable a cook to dress mutton chops as well as they had been done that day, from the difficulty, not only of saving the gravy, but of preventing its being spilt upon the hot stove, and producing those intolerable fumes which equally offended and affected the nose and the palate. the traveller said that these remarks brought of good cookery. 175 to his recollection the gridiron that he had seen in the kitchen of the great hotel at turin, when on his travels through italy, the construction of which had only then struck him as being unusual, but which, he was now convinced, was very superior to the gridiron he saw before him for the purpose of preserving the gravy of broiled meat; and the hermit regretted that he had not introduced the improvement into great britain. the apple dumplings were the next topic of inquiry; and the traveller was informed that the paste was made of flour and clarified marrow, baked lightly, glazed with white of egg and white sugar, and served with or without cream, according to taste. the next day the salmon was to be eaten; and it was found, when cold, to be firmly fixed to the strainer by its own jelly. the fish-kettle was put on, with the water in which the fish had been scalded, and over which it had cooled, and in which it was again placed on the strainer; and when again heated through, it was com* see appendix no. xxxv. 176 the first principles pletely done, and of course, by this slow process and double infusion in its own liquor, it had a much greater richness of flavour than it otherwise could have retained. the sauce served with it, in the opinion of the traveller, surpassed anything of the kind that he had ever tasted, and he earnestly requested the recipe; which the hermit told him he really could not give, as it had been hereditary and traditional in his family, and handed from mother to daughter; but that his mother had taught the grandmother of gwenllian, whose mother had taught her, by his particular desire; and that it was a recipe that had never been clearly written down, but that, if, when his friend was further advanced in ordinary knowledge, he chose to learn to make it himself, he should have every opportunity of doing so, and then he might write it down; but that it was one of the few things practised in his primitive establishment which was extremely complicated, and very difficult to make twice alike, and which depended, more than * see appendix no. xxxvi. * of good cookery. 177 anything else which he had ever met with, upon acute taste. he said that gwenllian could not herself ever succeed in having it exactly right as to proportions of flavour, unless she prepared it the day before, when he always tasted it himself before it was finished off. the traveller asked if it would suit every sort of fish? the hermit said that it did so, and that one reason for its being so relishing, and yet so mild, was that there was no addition or admixture of any sort of ready-made bought sauce, which he considered very unnecessary, where such an accompaniment to fish could be made. in the house. after this, the hermit made several remarks upon meagre cookery, such as he recollected it when in the world. the traveller said that it was not the least improved, and that he did not at all wonder that roman catholics were frequently troubled by weak digestions. the hermit said, that he was an oldfashioned protestant, and there were only two n 178 the first principles days in the year that, unless unable to eat meat, he entirely abstained from it-ash wednesday and good friday; but that he firmly believed, at least half the gastric disorders and weak digestions, from which no doubt catholics suffered to a great extent, was more frequently owing to the dreadful concoctions of made dishes with butter, eggs, and ollapodridas of vegetables, stewed in butter, and superstructures of sweetmeats, and luscious confectionery, than it was from excess of abstinence from meat; that there was no doubt that many catholics, with good motives, though weak understandings, seriously injured their health by fasting, and might thereby lay the foundation for many diseases, just as there were many protestants, who, under the idea that the more they could swallow the better they must be, gorged themselves with meat to such a degree, that they could not digest it, and instead of nourishment it became poison, by overtasking and overloading the digestion; but that he really wished, for the sake of humanity, that a rational system of meagre cooking could be taught, for the benefit of good cookery. 179 of roman catholics, on those days when they consider it right, when in perfect health, to abstain from meat. he said that he had most vivid recollections of the dishes that he had seen served upon those occasions, half a century ago, and begged the traveller would tell him what he had beheld in these days, that he might judge whether it was better or worse.* the traveller gave him the following bill of fare, of a meagre dinner of which he had partaken—meagre soup, made with butter and flour, yolks of eggs, and cream, with chopped herbs. the hermit here interrupted, and said he thought nothing further would be required for the rest of the day! the traveller proceeded — salt fish, fried, and fresh fish, swimming in butter, and with melted butter mixed with anchovy sauce over it, buttered eggs, an omelet of eggs and herbs, a mould of jaune mange, jam tart, and cream cheese, with a variety of wines, which are frequently drunk on these occasions, to make the * see traveller's note book. n 2 180 the first principles food more palatable, and which of course are an additional trial to the digestive organs. the hermit said that he supposed the science of meagre cookery in great britain was much as he remembered it, but that in former days. they had fewer dishes, though equally unwholesome compounds. the traveller inquired what he would recommend for an abstinence or fasting dinner. "i should advise," said the hermit, "a plain poached egg, on toast, without butter; a vegetable soup,* made of the jelly of bare boiled bones, without eggs, and with new milk instead of cream, and no butter. meagre soups can be made with well-chopped and fried vegetables, provided they are fried in delicate top fat (which is allowed) instead of butter, so as to be both palatable and wholesome. a plain fruit tart, with skim milk, and a plain rice pudding, needs no contrivance; and those who cannot eat simple stewed fruit alone, will find that it agrees perfectly well if mixed with skim or new milk and eaten with bread; but * see appendix no. xxxvii. of good cookery. 181 plain boiled or fried fish, with anchovy sauce, the melted butter part of which is prepared in the same way as the parsley sauce melted butter, is simple and innocent, for those who can take any sauce at all, but there are many persons with whom melted butter disagrees, however carefully prepared, and they should avoid it, and eat their fish with only a little salt or a little vinegar. plain bread and cheese, bread and cold fresh butter where it agrees, water from the spring, with hard biscuits, would make a far better dinner alone, and be more conducive to health, than any of the compound meagre dishes which you have mentioned, which are positively deleterious; and it surpasses my comprehension how anybody can partake of any one of the compounds of eggs and butter that you have named, far less of three or four of them. the two great obstacles to the preservation of a good digestion are too long intervals between meals, and then a too plentiful or an unwholesome meal; or a continued system of repletion by what is called 'nourishing diet,' which, when taken in excess, 182 the first principles t either drives the patient into an atrophy, from his inability to extract nourishment from the large quantities he takes, or produces that most distressing disorder-a wolf in the stomach ' 6 -a constant craving. and the effect of the ill-usage to which the poor stomach is subjected by its owners may be described by a parody on the curse of kehama : '— "with a pain in thy heart, and a fire in thy brain, while sleep shall desert thee and visit thee never, and the curse of repletion be on thee for ever." the hermit then said that he wished the traveller would give him an idea of the opposite side of the question; and having heard of a meagre dinner, he would be much gratified by knowing something about the diet of a person in his rank in life, in the habit of dining out in london, or pursuing a similar system in the country. the traveller said that there were, unfortunately, so many country houses in england where the excessive luxury of london tables 1 of good cookery. 183 was maintained, that it would be just the same thing if he took an example from one of those establishments, which would give a better idea of the repletion system than it was in his power to afford from london, where he never went out to breakfast: but that in the country he would give him an account of diet, which would include the whole day from morning till night; and he would begin with the ladies, as they had different habits, in some respects, from the gentlemen. at the same time, he begged the hermit to believe that his report, though not the least exaggerated, was not universal, and that there were exceptions to the following routine :-at half-past seven, or, at the latest, eight o'clock in the morning, tea and bread-and-butter was taken to the lady in bed, who, at ten o'clock, breakfasts a second time, downstairs, on coffee, followed by tea and cold meat, in addition to, or instead of, an egg, honey mixed with butter, or raspberry jam, and hot rolls, or dry toast, and sometimes buttered cake; then, at one or two o'clock, they eat roast mutton or chicken, often pre184 the first principles ceded by a made dish, and succeeded by confectionery of various sorts, accompanied by wine. at four or five o'clock, tea, bread-andbutter, cake, &c.; at seven or eight o'clock, fish, soup, made dishes of all sorts, followed by roast, or boiled, or stewed meat, followed again by game and poultry, and all kinds of confectionery, and lobster salads, with varieties of wine, cheese, butter, and dessert. at half-past nine o'clock, tea and coffee, biscuits, and cakes. by this time the hermit groaned aloud, and begged that he would go no further, if he had anything to say, for that (as it was) he feared an attack of nightmare! and with arithmetical precision the venerable man counted on his fingers the number of hours and the number of meals, exclaiming that six meals in little more than thirteen hours would only leave an average of two hours between each meal for the process of digestion, and that he hoped that the gentlemen did not follow the same system. the traveller said he thought their system was quite as bad, though not exactly the same. he did not believe they breakfasted in 1 of good cookery. 185 bed, at least, not many of them, or breakfasted at all before they appeared downstairs; but that, not content with plain cold meat, or no meat at all, they frequently ate a complete hot dinner of dressed meat the first thing in the morning. they also often followed this up with honey and butter, and sweetmeats. that the greater number professed not to eat "luncheon," * although they all declared that it was the "natural and proper time of day to eat," and that they had often an appetite at that time, but that the fear of eating less at seven or eight o'clock, induced them to refrain from food when they required it. gentlemen, the traveller added, did not generally take tea at five o'clock, but they were naturally often glad of it after fasting from half-past nine or ten o'clock; and if they had not had anything, they were ravenous by seven or eight o'clock, and consequently ate a great deal more at one time than was necessary for their sustenance, or good for their health, and laid the foundation for gout and dyspepsia, and all sorts of future miseries, to say nothing of corpulence or * see traveller's note book. 186 the first principles emaciation from defective digestion; and that they generally took tea and coffee afterwards, which was far better avoided when not required as a meal in itself, but superadded after an overplentiful dinner, or, more properly, supper. the hermit inquired what sort of health those persons had who lived in this way systematically? the traveller replied that it was very rare to meet with an instance of a gentleman past fifty, and many much earlier, who had not some ailment connected with the digestive organs, and others who at that age were not martyrs to gout, or rheumatism, or continual invalids in some way or other, scarcely any retaining the clear complexion and colour of health which is so frequently seen even in very advanced life in temperate specimens of the rural population, especially mountaineers, who have spent their lives labouring in the open air, who have only three meals a day at regular intervals, and never eat more than they really require. but that, unless really alarmed by serious illness, the men in the higher classes " of good cookery. 187 would go on without observing that, little by little, they become less and less able to exert long before advanced years rendered repose absolutely necessary. "in fact," said the traveller, "there is no doubt that a large portion of mankind in these islands are premature invalids from over-feeding and unwholesome cookery from infancy to age, and a still larger proportion are in want of food with which they might be amply supplied if the tons of nourishment were bestowed upon them which is wasted from ignorance and carelessness, and by the want of proper domestic management in the culinary department, and which would be to spare, in additionally enormous quantities, if those who now take so much more than is good for them, only ate what nature requires." * although the traveller willingly gave the hermit the above information, and was mightily diverted by the horror and indignation he excited, yet he now thought it time to let his host have a turn in answering questions, by which he hoped he might, in his turn, gain a little advantage over him. * see traveller's note book. 188 the first principles t 'may i ask my venerable friend," said he, "whether the aristocracy of the last century did not indulge in most unwholesome dishes? i have some idea that, in looking over old cookery books, the quantities and the compounds struck me as being particularly unwholesome." "" the hermit replied that he was correct in his impressions; that in the last century they certainly made use of excessive quantities of eggs, butter, and cream; "but," added he, "the bad effects of this error were more than counterbalanced by the superior simplicity of their every-day fare. their roasting was admirable : a joint badly roasted reflected discredit on the mistress of the house, as, although in the higher ranks of life they did not, as in germany, remain in the kitchen to see the meat roasted themselves, servants were then judged by their masters; and although accidents might occur, yet habitual bad cooking, as connected with roasting and boiling, which were then the principal part of every country gentleman's dinner, would have reflected disgrace or dist of good cookery. 189 credit on the mistress of the family. baking, also, was well understood. there was no gentleman's house where good bread and cakes were not the especial pride of the ladies of the family thus two of the principal materials for sustenance were well prepared, and it was only on gala days that the extravagant compounds took place, of which butter and eggs were the principal ingredients; and whatever bad effects might have resulted to those who ate them, they were very light as well as temporary in comparison with the destruction of health consequent upon a daily round of made dishes, which are now only the precursors of what formerly used to be the dinner." the traveller remarked that he believed our ancestors had much better health, on the whole, than is now enjoyed; that they did not often require sofas to recline upon, were much upon their legs, and yet spine complaints were seldom heard of; "and," added he, with a malicious smile, "we all know, my good friend, that gentlemen of the last generation were not remarkable for sobriety, but dyspepsia is not 190 the first principles often alluded to in old memoirs, and yet one might suppose that it was well deserved." the traveller was, however, disappointed at not having succeeded in making the hermit angry. he was too rational, and really too anxious to discover cause and effect, to enter upon an angry argument, or to try to make out that the incontrovertible fact of drinking mentioned was limited to the minority. the hermit, therefore, only mildly replied that he did not think it difficult to account for the superior health and strength of the grandfathers and great-grandfathers of the present generation; that they kept very early hours, and morning and night were a great deal in the open air; they had a much larger proportion of wholesome food, better cooked, and a minor proportion of unwholesome food; and they had three meals a day, instead of six or seven. and although he admitted that the habits of the country gentlemen of that day, in taking wine to excess, was most degrading and reprehensible, yet here again there was not that mixture of all sorts of fermented liquors which of good cookery. 191 were now the fashion; and though not taken in a degree to obscure the intellect, they were yet taken sufficiently, and in such variety as, to interfere constantly with the digestive powers. that our ancestors also took very considerable exercise, which, with the early hours that they kept, counteracted, in a great measure, the illeffects of occasional excess; but that, in the present day, according to the traveller's account, "the candle was lighted at both ends;" and it was, therefore, not wonderful if health was consumed in half the time. the hermit said he could produce other reasons, drawn from the traveller's own communications with respect to nursery management in the present age-as he had favoured him with an account of the system pursued in the families of some of his friends,-which was so very different from his own experience more than eighty years ago, of which he had a perfect recollection, as well as his good mother's and grandmother's conversation on the subject; so that he did not at all wonder that, in the course of two or three generations, there was a 192 the first principles gradual and regular decline of the strength of constitution. "to what do you particularly allude?" said the traveller; "for i have related many things to you." "i allude," said the hermit, "to the description you gave me of the manner in which your nephews and nieces were reared, which certainly was very different to the system pursued with my brothers and sister." "had you any brothers and a sister?" said the traveller. "i always fancied you were the only one of your race.' "i had one sister and two brothers," rejoined the hermit, "all younger than myself; but, unhappily, my two brothers were killed in the wars, about fifty years ago, and my sister was drowned, the ship being lost in a storm at sea, returning from ireland, after the death of her husband.” "which part of the system did you consider so very different, which i related to you,” said the traveller, "from the customs of the last century?" 99 of good cookery. 193 "the especial points," said the hermit, "which i consider would have an increasingly bad influence on the health of each succeeding generation, are as follows:-1st. according to your account, children are now (though supposed to be under the eye and direction of their mother) in reality under the entire management of the nurse, they live the greater part of their time in the nursery, are taken out, at stated hours, for formal walks, but know not what it is to wet their feet, the girls being always in half-boots and hoops, which, in a high wind, must make them as awkward and uncomfortable as a hen in a storm. we, on the contrary, though probably less expensively, were less awkwardly attired, and, deprived of many of the luxuries you describe, were nursed in cottages, which, of course, were selected as belonging to the most cleanly and respectable since these pages were written those dangerous and absurd inventions have nearly disappeared in good society, but are still to be seen on children; and trains have increased, and are perilous to those who wear them and those who tread upon them. 194 the first principles tenants on the estate; in fact, in those days, a great part of the cottage or farm tenants were old servants. in these cottages we had air and exercise, and freedom of limb; and although our parents visited us constantly, and we were also brought to the house to see them, we remained till three or four years old, without a thought or a care beyond the interests of the poultry and other animals that surrounded us, being constantly in the open air, and clad accordingly; by which means a store of health was laid in, instead of a store of ailments, long before we knew there was such a thing in the world as an alphabet. and from the time we returned to be inmates of the paternal roof, our brains were not oppressed by learning, and by very slow degrees we were taught to read, write, and spell, while the habits, acquired in the cottage, of activity and out-door amusement continued ; the great change in our existence being the necessity for learning drawing-room behaviour, and being in full-dress on certain occasions, when we were under very strict drill. but how is it possible for children 1 of good cookery. 195 to be generally healthy, and enjoy vigour in youth, health in middle life, or retain any energy in old age, if their first years are spent chiefly in a nursery upstairs, and their exercise taken in half-boots and hoops?" "what is your objection to boots?" said the traveller. "hoops, and all their kindred crinolines, are universally condemned, though still continued, but i thought boots for females were considered very useful for strengthening the ancles." "what is the proof of strong ancles?" said the hermit. the traveller perfectly well knew what to answer, but he would not commit himself, that he might not hasten his own defeat. the hermit was therefore obliged to reply for himself. "walking," said he, "is the use for which feet and ancles were made. are the ladies of the present day particularly good walkers?" 66 particularly the reverse," said the traveller. "there are, of course, exceptions everywhere, but, on the whole, the women 02 196 the first principles of the present day in great britain walk remarkably ill, which i have attributed to their dreadful iron hoops, or cages, or crinolines, which are now so common, that they have positively become a public offence, and ought, in my opinion, to be put down by act of parliament as nuisances. deaths are constantly occurring by fire, as well as broken legs, from these most senseless articles of apparel, and there is no doubt that the art of walking (if art it be), viz. the power of action and movement by carrying the body onward with convenience and comfort to the individual, and with grace to the beholder, is at present unknown, except in some remote, happy, and secluded corners, where there are peasants who still carry baskets and pails on their heads, and where this most miserable mania has not been adopted; but i do not myself see any objection to children being always in half-boots, which are said to strengthen the ancles." many things are said," replied the hermit, "which a little sensible investigation would prove to be unfounded. only for one 66 1 of good cookery. 197 moment, i pray you, use your own understanding, and you will see that it is impossible that boots can strengthen the ancles, although they may supply the place of bone and muscle, when it is wanting, owing to some natural defect, or unfortunate accident. what would any rational person say to a proposal to enclose the arms of children or young people in a tightly-laced sleeve of hard materials, whenever the hands and arms were required to be in full action? exactly the same principle applies to the ancles, which, to be strong and capable of their work, ought not to be bound up by ligatures, which prevent the supple actions of the muscles, retard circulation, and often occasion habitual cold feet; they also render the footing unsteady, as the ancle is prevented from bearing its proper share in the movement of the body, and you may depend upon it that the bad walking you complain of as being so general, commenced before the cages-hoops-and crinolines, which you say are of comparatively recent date, and the ladies of the last century were remarkable for their graceful 198 the first principles carriage in walking, and their firm and elastic step." 66 "i wish one of them would re-appear," said the traveller, to show the present generation what good walking means; for though i well know what it is, i could not describe it in words." my grandmother's definition of good walking," said the hermit, "and what my sister was always told to aim at, was, that her body should be erect, and move forward like a column on wheels, the feet carrying it on in such a manner, that those who met or followed should not be able to perceive the slightest approach to that waddling gait, which is so exactly exemplified by the duck." 66 it appears to me," said the traveller, "that the ducks are the models of the female walkers of the present day, or vice versâ, excepting that the good duck would be much maligned if she were accused of taking pattern by them, as, however waddling her gait, she never soils her feathers by sweeping the ground; while the majority of females of the nineteenth century 1 } of good cookery. 199 sweep up the dirty ground behind, while they brush the hedges on both sides at once: but let me ask you, whether your grandmother did not wear a hoop?" "she certainly did," said the hermit, "when in full dress, but her active morning avocations were never incommoded by that inconvenient attire; and it was the rule of her house that no female servant should ever wear a hoop, which was considered a dress of ceremony, inconvenient and objectionable, very properly confined to a certain class, and only worn by them at certain times and seasons of formal appearance. it must also be remembered, that petticoats were never in those days lower than the ancle, and consequently neither endangered the safety of the wearer, nor entangled the legs of others." * during the following evening ramble, the traveller expressed his surprise at seeing a woman milking the hermit's welsh ewes, * and when not borne in ceremony by pages on court festivals, were looped up, or drawn through the pocket-hole, or carried over the arm. 200 the first principles which were all black. he asked whether all welsh sheep were black, and was informed that there were many more white than black, but that the mutton of each was equally fine, and the milk equally good for cheese, though, in consequence of the non-encouragement, or rather the discouragement, of the old native welsh cloth, and of hand-knit stockings, black wool was now sold in some places at a lower price than white; whereas, formerly black (very justly) always bore a higher price, in consequence of its superior value for stockings, and home-spun cloth, which, requiring no dye, was much more durable, and the tint of which could be made less intense, where desired, by mixing white wool with it. the traveller had never heard of milking sheep in england, and when the hermit had said, soon after his arrival, that the excellent cheese they had at dinner owed its superiority to a considerable proportion of sheep's milk mixed with that of the cows, his guest did not believe him, and really thought, as he afterwards related, he was playing the same trick f of good cookery. 201 that he recollected had been played by a mischievous young irish lady, who persuaded an old woman that in ireland they milked cats, which, she being credulous enough to believe, was laughed at to the end of her life. away, on the present occasion, the hermit was too well bred to comment on his guest's evidently continued incredulity, with respect to the purpose to which his sheep's milk was applied, although he saw a fine pail of milk carried the produce of the beautiful flock of ewes. it appeared to the traveller very strange, that if the cheese was so superior, a practice so easy of imitation should not be generally known and adopted in england. they afterwards visited a welsh weaver, where the wool of the hermit's flock was woven. this welsh mountain weaver had a water-wheel to work his spinning-jenny and wove with his loom : the manufacture is almost indestructible, and although not of a romantic turn of mind, the traveller could not help saying to himself, he hoped the evils of large manufactories might long be averted from that happy region, where 202 the first principles a troop of thriving merry children repaired to the weaver's, from the neighbouring cottages, to pick wool in a healthy atmosphere, for their daily wages; and, after an agreeable walk, returned in the evening, through pure air and fine scenery, as merry and happy as they went. they afterwards visited the hermit's pigs. the traveller was again much surprised, to find them so thin; not that they appeared at all starved, but had thin figures, such as are occasionally seen in pigs belonging to cottagers that range the high roads. a conversation ensued on this subject. the hermit's ideas were so completely contrary to those of the present day, that his guest did not subscribe to them, and they returned home mutually dissatisfied with each other. in the hermit had a very large yard for his pigs to range in, and never allowed them to be shut up a sty, or regularly fatted for killing; and he actually shuddered when the traveller described the pigs, and other animals, that he had seen blind from fat, which are common at agricultural shows, and said, that to give prizes of good cookery. 203 · for excess of fat, and to produce blindness in pigs, by cramming, and privation of air and exercise, was, in his opinion, a sign of the decline of the human intellect, and a proof of barbarism or insanity, rather than of intelligence. although indignant at the hermit's obstinate refusal to admit that the excessive feeding of animals was a wonderful art, and that the cultivation of any art must prove the progress of the human mind; the traveller, at length, however, admitted that it was to be regretted that agricultural shows afforded every encouragement to cramming, and consequently those who could afford to cram obtained the greater number of premiums. the hermit maintained that the best breeds for symmetry ought to be encouraged, without any artificial fatting, and prizes given to preserve or restore all those races which are specially and variously adapted for different localities, different climates, and, consequently, different pastures. the traveller, at length, admitted to his host, that the flesh of many prize animals was 204 the first principles of a very inferior quality, and actually yellow, from the quantity of oil-cake used to produce unnatural and unwholesome obesity;* and that, although real welsh mutton was admitted by all epicures, and by medical men, to be the very finest for flavour, and the lightest of digestion of all the breeds of sheep known in great britain, very few prizes were ever given for the encouragement and preservation of so invaluable a breed of animals; and that even at welsh inns, during his last absence, he had been sickened by large coarse mutton, though within a mile of mountains, where the best welsh sheep were to be had, and could alone live and flourish. he added that, at private houses, the same complaint may often be made in wales as well as in london, from whence the rich, nevertheless, send abroad for all sorts of foreign luxuries for their table, on which the best welsh mutton is seldom or ever found. these facts furnished the hermit with an additional argument to prove that the agricul* see traveller's note book. of good cookery. 205 tural shows, which his guest maintained were one of the greatest improvements in the last half-century, were, by his own account, not conducted altogether on principles to corroborate the correctness of his allegation; and that some of the best native breeds in great britain, both cattle and sheep, were suffered to exist without notice or encouragement, and in some instances to become almost extinct from the same cause.* the hermit's dairy was visited, and he took great pride in showing some of the best breeds of cows in the principality. there were the *n.b. these pages were written before the outburst of the cattle plague. + the pembroke, or castle-martin breed, is admirable for beef, and they are excellent milkers. the old pembroke breed, white, with black ears, and remarkably handsome, are becoming extinct, and those that remain are wild from want of care. the glamorgan cows are magnificent animals, black, with a white strpie down the tail; excellent milkers. the caermarthen cattle are black, very much like the pembroke; also good for milk. in the counties of brecon and radnor, the landowners have generally introduced herefords and shorthorns, which are inferior, in many respects, to various breeds of the welsh 206 the first principles small and beautifully formed natives of "mona;" the larger but very valuable cow of glamorgan (which is fast becoming extinct); the black cows of pembroke and caermarthen, very different in form, but each having qualities worthy of note. they then visited the hermit's arable land, of which he cultivated the quantity necessary to grow roots to support his cattle, his flocks, and his pigs through the winter, and corn enough for his two mountain ponies, his poultry, and all his wild birds, which he described as a beautiful sight in hard weather, when rooks, and wood pigeons, and quantities of small birds came with confidence to receive cattle. merioneth has a small breed which, if well kept, would prove valuable. in north wales the mona breed (isle of anglesea) is the best, and is equal, if not superior, by various combined excellences, to the larger breeds in wales, and, like other welsh cattle, are very hardy. it is remarkable for its small size, with great symmetry, mild temper, large supply of rich milk, and ability to feed and do well on short pasture, and also to fat with the greatest ease, and for beef it cannot be surpassed. brittany cows are also excellent, and thrive as well in wales as their british kinsmen who are natives of the principality. of good cookery. 207 their expected meal, and all fed together, and repaid him, in summer, by their songs and their destruction of insects. the traveller was surprised to see oxen ploughing, which used to be a very common sight, but is now rare. the hermit said, that he considered oxen by far the best animals for the tillage of land-that when an ox was old it could be killed for food, not so a horse-that their keep was much less expensive, their price much lower, consequently their loss by illness or accident less serious. an argument followed from the traveller, who spoke with ridicule of cows and heifers drawing light carts, in various parts of germany, and often bringing the weekly produce of small farmers to market. his host took the part of the germans vehemently on this point—said there was much practical good sense in the custom, and that he should not be afraid to lay a wager, that a cow, trained from a heifer to draught,—not tasked beyond her strength, but only used to go a moderate distance, with a very light vehicle, walking her natural pace, 208 the first principles and having food taken with her, could perform light tasks for the benefit of her owner, without the slightest detriment to herself, or diminution of her milk, and provided she was not worked when "in milking" above three hours in the day, which he contended would be an immense boon to a poor and industrious man, who could not afford to keep both a horse and a cow. the hermit was much interested with the account given by his guest of the manner in which the german cattle in certain districts drew by the head instead of the neck, as he said, it had often distressed him to watch his own oxen working in their yokes, as it was evident that the strength of an ox was in its head, and that the neck of an ox was ill-adapted for draught; which remark caused the traveller, for the first time, to wonder why that mode of harnessing oxen was not adopted in england? and why the practice of ploughing with oxen was so much disused, as the advantages for those who had limited means to provide animals for draught were so very evident. the traveller could not, however, throw any of good cookery. 209 light upon this subject, but remained convinced that agricultural associations must act solely from experience of practical success, though he could not give any reason for this belief. his host continued of his previous opinion, and repeated that the system of education of the present age must be very defective, as there was scarcely a topic in which the facts mentioned by his friend did not prove that great evils were incurred, and even encouraged, from the want of common reflection-in fact, from the want of observation, with cultivation of the reasoning powers. the traveller, though very much provoked at the pertinacity of his host, and stoutly denying the correctness of many of his opinions, yet did not confute them, nor could he disprove that it was very much the custom to ridicule everything not understood unless introduced by a great name, and as often blindly to extol what was not any better understood, and which, in some instances, was very inferior to what it was allowed to supersede, and he fully admitted that some of the most valuable breeds of cattle and sheep, best suited to the climate mentioned p 210 the first principles by the hermit, and to the short but sweet pastures of many parts of wales and which would also suit various parts of england, are wilfully ignored if not entirely unknown in agricultural exhibitions. the traveller did not defend the unnatural and unwholesome system of fattening cattle for shows, involving farmers in great expense, often deteriorating the meat by rendering the animals diseased, and, in fact, raising a barrier against the exhibition of animals in a natural and wholesome condition; but he did not like to admit that the scotch aristocracy were the only magnates who, as a body, made it a rule to preserve and encourage annually, by a number of very liberal prizes, the preservation and encouragement of the native breeds of great britain, (as far as they were especially identified with scotland,) having an agricultural society in which the above national object is always especially supported.* the highland and agricultural society of scotland give prizes for the pure breeds of ayrshire, galloway, angus, aberdeen, and highland cattle, as well as for highland ponies. of good cookery. 211 on a later occasion, the hermit and his guest visited the hermit's welsh ponies, which were grazing in the shade near a picturesque brake, in the centre of a verdant piece of pasture land, surrounded by a fine hedge, a great part of which was composed of hollies, birch, and hazels, as well as thorns and beautiful bushes of elder, here and there covered with fine clusters of cream-coloured flowers. in each corner of the field, the hermit had planted sycamores and beech, which produced a charming shade, being about forty years old, under which his cows were lying down, protected from the heat of the sun. there were also some other trees of more ancient date, oaks, limes, and horse chestnuts. the traveller was surprised to hear the distances these little ponies were in the habit of going, with and for the hermit, among his poor neighbours in the mountains. he said they never had any corn except when they took a very long journey, and then the quantity was small, but they were never restricted in bran. they were always turned out when not used, p 2 212 the first principles excepting in the very cold and wet weather, when they could not benefit themselves by grazing, but they were allowed a comfortable shed to run into. the hermit was much shocked at the traveller's account of clipping horses, who in vain tried to convince him that it was humane, and that it tended to prevent their catching cold, because they would otherwise have a thick coat saturated with perspiration when standing in the cold air, but his host only became more indignant, and said, that whoever clipped a horse, could never have studied its natural history; that nature had provided a very fine undergrowth of fur, as winter approached, to protect him from the inclemency of the cold season, and that to clip that coat off, close to the skin, was really barbarous. in vain the traveller urged that by depriving the horse of his coat, he was much quicker dried, when coming home in a great heat, but he was unable to refute the hermit's arguments, which were to the effect that those persons who choose to keep horses in the highest state of good cookery. 213 of artificial condition, are only the wealthy, to whom expense is of no consequence, and who, therefore, have certainly no need of clipping; because a horse that is kept up day and night, clothed from the end of august, or the beginning of september, to the following may or june, will never have any winter coat to clip, as nature has so provided that continual warmth brings off the extra hair as fast as it comes on; that, with regard to such horses, there is therefore no question of such an operation, but for the animals which are kept in a more natural, and therefore more healthy manner, it is much more dangerous to cut off their natural winter clothes, and leave them exposed to every blast, when they are out of doors, than to fear the chance of their catching cold in a stable, by the negligence or idleness of those who ought to rub them down well when they come in hot. the hermit moreover declared that he had more pleasure in looking at the soft long hair of a healthy horse, in a good winter coat, well cleaned, than he should have in contemplating the finest and most shining skin of a furless 214 the first principles hunter or racer, artificially produced in midwinter, and that he would undertake, that if statistics were correctly kept, it would be found that unclipped horses had, on an average, much better health than clipped horses, and were much less liable to cold; that, in his day, post-boys, in riding long stages, if violent rain came on, which was likely to continue, always allowed themselves to be wet through, before they put on their great coats, which had the effect of a comfortable steam bath; also that with horses, if they were in a sweat in the under-coat, it was a very long time before it reached the upper-coat, and when it did come in contact with the air, it formed a sort of thick paste, which preserved the warmth underneath, and was a great protection against the inward chill of cold atmosphere, so that, when a horse was brought into a stable in this state, if there was no one at hand, ready or willing to rub him down as they ought to do, yet, by throwing a rug over him, he would be much less likely to take a cold, than the poor creature who, shorn and divested of his natural covering, all — of good cookery. 215 at once, at the very time he most requires it, was obliged to work in the piercing wind, or the chilling rain, whether in a sweat or out of it, without any protection against the effects of the elements.* the conversation then turned upon a very pretty glade in a hollow in the centre of the field, composed of hazels, thorns, and hollies, alders and elders, in the midst of which there was a spring. the hermit could not forbear asking the traveller if he did not think it was a beautiful scene? "i admit," said his friend, "it is beautiful; but the agriculturists of the present day would not, i am afraid, admit that it is beautiful." "why not?" said the hermit. "does agriculture destroy all taste? and is it incompatible for any man with the eye of an artist, or who admires the beauties of nature, to be an agriculturist? " "the question was never propounded to me before," said the traveller. "my experience * see traveller's note book. 216 the first principles peris not very extensive, nor have i studied the subject minutely; but i should certainly say either that agriculture is an antidote to all ception of the beauties of nature, or else that all those to whom providence has denied the power of perceiving what is beautiful become agriculturists, for i have often mourned over the unnecessary destruction of wood which really causes some of the finest parts of england (or, rather, those parts that used to be considered the most picturesque) now to appear quite bare, burnt up in summer, shelterless in winter, without a sprig that a passing horseman could gather from the hedges to put in the bridle of his steed large enough to frighten the flies! without a tree, or only one solitary tree in the centre of a field, mourning for its companions; and whenever a glade like that before us existed in all its verdant beauty, it has been, to use a common expression, grubbed up' by the roots, the hazels of the growth of centuries are chopped up into fire-wood, the beautiful crab trees, the greatest ornament to woodland scenery in spring, the flowers of which are also a feast 6 of good cookery. 217 for the bees, are undermined by the pickaxes employed by remorseless agriculturists, who cannot bear to see anything growing in a field in the shape of a tree, bush, or shrub, whether it is arable, or whether it is pasture. the wearied creatures wander in vain over acres of unvaried grass, or still more cheerless furrows bounded by miles of so-called hedges, which look more like temporary basket-work than the natural and varied growth of native trees and bushes, which are the natural and legitimate charm of the roadsides of the united kingdom wherever they are still to be found." * the hedges at eastbourne in sussex are an honourable exception to the evils above complained of, as well as the banks on which they grow, which are neither pared away nor undermined, so as not to leave any soil from which they can derive sustenance, but are really what banks ought to be, viz., buttresses on each side of the road, a natural and solid foundation of soil and stones, furnishing abundant nourishment for the luxuriant growth of the hedges which surmount them, and which exemplify, in the most undeniable manner, that where good and substantial banks are preserved, hedges will flourish, and form a fence, so thick and close that no quadruped can make its way through it, whether the wood of which it is composed is hawthorn, hazel, beech, or other varieties of indigenous growth; and those persons to whom the care of those highways is consigned, have not only done credit to them 218 the first principles the hermit said he deeply regretted to hear of such frightful innovations, which he thanked heaven had not found their way into his own happy and secluded corner of the island of britain. "it is melancholy indeed," resumed the hermit, "to think that mankind selves, and benefited their district by the discreet preservation of the hedges, but they deserve the thanks of the visitors, as well as the inhabitants of the locality, for the ornament and comfort derived by pedestrians and equestrians, for the shelter thus afforded from the winter winds and from the summer sun. at the same time that the observant public in general must derive advantage from the practical demonstration of a truth. which is, unfortunately, so little regarded in many other parts of the united kingdom, where miles and miles are rendered shelterless and frightful wastes, from the mistaken notion that good roads require the destruction of roadside timber and the levelling of hedges, until they are a mere apology for a fence, and that air cannot pass between leaves, although there is no obstacle to a current overhead, as must always be the case when the lateral branches are clipped to admit of the free passage of vehicles on the queen's highway. such is the case at eastbourne in sussex, where trees by the roadside and hedges properly so called, appear to be really valued as they deserve, and where it is impossible to desire better roads. it is also worthy of note, that even where walls have there recently been built along the side of the road, a circuit has been made, or a gap has been left, to preserve the beautiful trees which grow in the line, and trees are also carefully preserved in the streets, and give the town a most picturesque appearance. of good cookery. 219 can be so led away by want of reflection as to suppose that any sweeping destruction of the beautiful and bountiful provisions of providence can possibly be necessary or desirable, and i should much suspect that many evils are incurred which are as yet unnoticed, in consequence of the strange influence of fashion, from the mania for novelty, the prevalence of imitation without thought, with the still greater absence of observation on many important things which might be injuriously affected by the wholesale devastation which you say is now so prevalent. i am thankful that no duty obliges me to travel and to witness these melancholy changes in the aspect of other parts of great britain. to what do you attribute the origin of this destructive mania?" "i am sorry to say," said the traveller, "as i have a great respect for scotland, and as i am proud of a little scotch blood in my veins, that i believe we owe the barren appea appearances i mention to scotch example,—not that the scotch are to blame, but it is possible that the wholesale imitation of the scotch low-land 220 the first principles farming has been the cause of this great change for the worse in the aspect of some parts of england if not of wales? the scotch, no doubt, are a most painstaking and industrious race; they farm in a manner which suits their soil and their climate. it is the nature of some parts of their country to be woodless, and they have large tracts well suited for corn, where wood does not naturally grow, but the english, not satisfied with adopting their system of agriculture where suitable to the locality, have, in the spirit of close imitation, ploughed up good pastures and destroyed a great deal of valuable wood of native growth, which was, without question, the principal charm of landscape scenery," and which he wished the hermit could find agricultural arguments for retaining. the hermit begged to be excused from any argument on the subject, but he said that, from the information given by the traveller, there was little doubt that, sooner or later, the good people of the nineteenth century would discover that (to quote the old proverb) they had of good cookery. 221 been "robbing peter to pay paul." "it does not become me," said he, "who have not seen the frightful disfigurement of which you complain, to enter particularly upon the evils which must thereby be incurred, but i will, with pleasure, tell you the positive benefits which i derive from the system you see here, which is not only conducive to beauty, but also is productive of various advantages. it is very bad economy, as well as cruelty, not to provide shade for cattle, and especially for sheep, in the summer-time, and shelter is often as much required in heavy summer rains as in autumn's storms; but there is another benefit derived from the preservation of trees and glades of native growth, in pasture as well as arable land, where there are streams, as the roots and the fibres of trees act as conductors for moisture, and are of great service to the contiguous pasture-the roots of even one tree will often run a distance of incredible extent-the tree not only deriving nourishment itself from what it imbibes, but conveying a vast amount of superabundant moisture, tending to the nourishment of the 222 the first principles herbage far and near. on the same principle, alders and every species of brushwood ought to be preserved and encouraged on the sides of all rivulets, and, if not of native growth, they ought to be planted there-in the first place, to act as conduits or feeders to the pasture land; secondly, as a protection to the edges of streams, which would otherwise be more liable to burst their banks, as well as to become slippery and unsightly by the continual treading of cattle along their whole length. in this locality, wherever there is a glade or a wood, there is almost invariably a fine spring; this of itself always creates a stream, and i suppose that water is as precious in other parts of great britain as it is in this, where its value was never more felt than in the last summer, when the absence of rain would have rendered the drought much more serious but for the blessing of our numerous springs, rills, and rivulets, many of which, though low, continued their valuable supply during the whole period." the traveller, in answer to subsequent questions, said he "scarcely knew whether he of good cookery. 223 should be correct in asserting that water was much valued in england or not, that the present conversation called to his recollection many circumstances which were apparently so contradictory, that if he stated in a court of justice that water was very much valued,' and that his cause depended upon the proofs of his veracity, facts might be adduced which would prove exactly the reverse; although, on the other hand, he would state other facts which were equally true, but which certainly went far to prove that there was no country in the world where water was so little valued, so little turned to account, and so constantly made away with without end or aim." the hermit said that he had often thought his friend spoke in riddles, and that he had frequently had great difficulty in comprehending his narrations relative to the present time; but that, of all the riddles he had yet heard, the present was the most difficult to understand or to reconcile with assertions of the "marvellous progress" which had been made in human intelligence in the last fifty years. 224 the first principles * the traveller remarked he had had too many discomfitures to venture upon a defence, but that he would relate to the hermit the facts which appeared so contradictory, and he might then judge for himself. "first of all," said he, "to prove how much water is valued, london is supplied by water companies, and every house pays for every drop that it consumes." the price of water is enormous; and, consequently, he could truly say that water was highly valued, as not only good, but bad water was paid for; but, to judge by the scarcity of fountains, or any visible supply of running water for the passers-by in the streets, it might be supposed that england was a desert, without springs or rivers, and that the only supplies of water the inhabitants could procure must be brought in pipes through the sea from france! so dear, so scarce, and often so bad was that element, (generally supplied by heaven in quantities commensurate with the wants of all created beings,) that, very recently, philanthropic individuals had become painfully aware of the * see traveller's note book. of good cookery. 225 sufferings of a large part of the population of london, and other great towns, from the impossibility of obtaining a cup of cold water to drink, in the course of transit through the streets during the heat and toil of the day, and many thousand pounds had been charitably subscribed towards fountains in some of the most populous parts of london, and that benevolent and wealthy persons had recently erected fountains at their own expense in some other towns; that of course every drop was a boon to men, women, and children dying of thirst, and thousands of whom, without that natural refreshment, had been, and still were, forced into public houses, whilst it was admitted, on all sides, that the curse of great britain was drinking, which was, to a great extent, caused as well as perpetuated by the want of convenient supplies of good water always at hand;—that the lower classes in london hardly knew what good water was, and the charitable free fountains, though better than nothing, were seldom, if ever, of any benefit to the poor cattle and horses, which, instead of being able (as on the contiq 226 the first principles nent) to drink out of large stone basins from running water, to be found in every square and the corner of every street, were entirely dependent on the mercy (or the cruelty) of their drivers, who either did not, or could not, supply them in buckets from pumps, which were frequently far apart, and often shut up because the water was considered absolutely poisonous. the hermit inquired why those humane persons who erected fountains did not also add a basin for passing animals? and the traveller had some difficulty in making him understand that the supply of these (so called) fountains was, in the majority of instances, only a minute stream, the thickness of a quill, under which poor little boys might often be seen patiently holding a cup to be filled by this little dribbling spout, while others were as patiently waiting for their turn to obtain a few drops of that precious, but slow and scanty supply, although large sums are paid by the fountain donors for this meagre boon, which could certainly not afford any share for quadrupeds, unless a stray dog sometimes by chance might benefit by a of good cookery. 227 few spare drops, and thus be prevented from going mad. "so far," said the traveller, "i have proved that water is dearly priced, if not prized sufficiently to arouse such an expression of public opinion as would compel the supply to be equal to the requirements of the population; but,' added he, "i will now proceed to give you an account which will have some difficulty in you believing relates to the same subject. the 'great progress of agriculture' has destroyed so many springs, that various parts of the kingdom suffer seriously for want of water, which formerly were well supplied." 66 destroy springs!" said the hermit. “how can human beings destroy springs? man has no more power to forbid water to flow than he has to create a spring." "i may have used a wrong expression," said the traveller, "by the word 'destroy;' but yet it is destruction, as far as the results are concerned, and the benefit of man or beast is involved. i allude to draining-i know tracts of land which used formerly to be too wet, q 2 228 the first principles but which, notwithstanding, produced a large amount of pasture, and have, from excess of draining, become so parched that, in a dry summer, there is scarcely a blade of grass upon them; and in other places, from overlooking the course which the springs previously took before the land was drained, the greatest distress has been occasioned by the supply of water suddenly ceasing in localities at some distance lower down, where the source of the water had ever been unknown and unnoticed, though enjoyed time out of mind.” the hermit said it appeared to him that the evils now recounted were simply caused by total want of reflection and observation, and, he must add, of intelligence; that, where such a precious necessary of life as water was concerned, no person ought to be permitted totally and entirely to bury it in underground drains, the very courses of which are soon forgotten; that, wherever land is drained, and springs thereby concealed, a pool or reservoir of some kind ought to be a matter of law, and compulsory upon all drainers, whether landlords or of good cookery. 229 tenants, so that access might always at once be had to water; and that no degree of drainage should ever involve the total concealment, and consequent entire loss, of that invaluable element in any locality whether wet or dry. the traveller said, that "the loss sustained by excessive and indiscreet drainage was also much felt by man and beast on the roadside; and that, although it might have been untidy, and sometimes inconvenient in wet weather, to leave little rivulets, so common in past times, to overflow and intrude upon the turnpike, or bye roads, yet that it was infinitely preferable to the total absence of water, which was now the characteristic of the queen's highway, where poor horses, cattle, pigs, sheep, and dogs were obliged to travel miles without a single spout, stone trough, or streamlet, where they could quench their thirst, although beer-houses, on an average of two or three, or six or eight to every mile, were ready to supply their drovers with the perpetual means of intoxication!" the hermit, as was his wont, became sad and silent when he heard facts which ap230 the first principles peared to his mind to indicate the diminution, if not absolute decay, of human intelligence; he, therefore, contented himself with a deep sigh, while he ejaculated,— “is it possible that there can be any common sense left in the world, if men employ their ingenuity in burying water out of sight, because they have a superabundance of that precious fluid, while, at the same time, the very least drop is charged in london as if it was an expensive and artificial production, instead of a free gift to all from heaven?' he then proposed to the traveller to return home by another way, which he selected, for the purpose of showing the comfort as well as picturesque beauty of several spouts of clear water, which filled stone wells, or basins, formed in the banks by the wayside, and equally adapted for the refreshment of man or beast, by each of which were large stones, where one or two laborers were seated under the verdant shade of a spreading hazel. the hermit remarked that one of these rustic figures reminded him of the beautiful در of good cookery. 231 vignettes in bewick's "british birds," the earlier edition of which, he recollected, was printed at alnwick in the last century; and that, in engravings of that date, it was common in rural subjects to see a peasant drinking out of his hand or his hat by the roadside, or kneeling down over a well. "alas!" said the traveller, "the poor wayfarers now would not find sufficient water by the roadside to fill their hand, although they would find intoxicating liquors manufactured enough to drown themselves, and enough to destroy both body and soul. with regard to poor animals coming from fairs and markets, the tortures they now suffer are dreadful to think of; and, instead of these delightful umbrageous hedges, which afford both shade and shelter, everything is cut and shorn for miles, until there is not shade for a snail without a shell, where verdure used to abound." the hermit asked what could be the plea for such wanton destruction, as he did not suppose that it was really an epidemic or a lunacy; 232 the first principles that some reason must be alleged, whether well or ill founded? the traveller said that any idea carried to an excess which produced evil might be denominated a mania, and that one of the manias of the present day was about roads; that he admitted roads should have air enough to dry them after rain, and that the hedges should not be allowed to extend their boughs in such a manner over roads as to impede the progress of passing vehicles, but that the degree of pruning which would answer for one purpose would answer equally well for the other, and that the excessive cutting down and exhaustive laying to which hedges were now subjected in many places was a twofold evil, as, by cutting hedges so low, travellers were cut to pieces by wind, or scorched by sun, and by laying hedges in the way generally practised, viz. cutting the live wood nearly (or quite) to the under bark, the quick (or whatever species of shrub was subjected to this treatment) became exhausted by loss of sap, and was thrown back for two or three years, and often killed. when of good cookery. 233 the system of laying was pursued, each bough ought to be split or notched as little as possible, just enough and no more than would suffice to enable the hedger to bend it to its place; that the tops of hedges ought never to be cut flat like a turnpike road, as was frequently the case, which often caused the quicks to die down several inches, from the snow lying on the top of the hedge and freezing into the young shoots; that hedges ought to be allowed to grow up in single spikes, by which means the snow would slip off on the slightest thaw, instead of freezing and thawing, and re-freezing on the whole flat surface of the top of the hedge; and that by cutting hedges so low, the possessor of the land lost all shade or shelter for his animals on the field side, and animals frequently broke over into the road, or seeing some of their own kind passing, galloped along exciting the horses of travellers to become restive, or run away. * the hermit expressed surprise and pleasure a most unpleasant result of hedges not being fences, and one which often occurs. 234 the first principles at the evident reflection which now accompanied the traveller's recollections before he could have so clearly traced cause to effect, to which his guest replied with great candour, that before he had been led to reflect, he could only have stated what offended his eye; but since he had been in the habit of observing, he had found that he was gradually becoming better able to judge of those things for which he could not previously have assigned any good reason either for censure or for commendation. the hermit asked him to name any other matters connected with the management of hedges which struck him, and the traveller expatiated especially on the barbarous destruction of hollies in hedges, which he said were really treated as if they were the most pernicious weeds, instead of the most valuable of all live fences. the holly produced shade and shelter all the year round, and was, from its prickly leaf, quite impassable when properly treated, as well as one of the most ornamental of evergreens from its berries in winter; and, of good cookery. 235 indeed, profitable on that account in the neighbourhood of large towns, where the custom of decorating with holly at christmas was still universal from the poorest to the richest, and consequently the holly, the mistletoe, and ivy * were sold in towns to an immense extent. but, instead of the holly being carefully preserved in hedges, it was often gashed and laid like the common quick, although, to use the language of the gardener, "hollies would not stand the knife" with impunity, and soon bled to death if laid; and any one who noticed a holly hedge laid, would find that it was not only thrown back for years, but that a great portion of the hollies frequently died down to the root, while the boughs of holly cut off were of all wood the worst for mending hedges, as they the soonest perished; that hollies ought never to be topped, but left to grow up as high as possible, carefully shortening their boughs where they projected over the road, and where they could not be twisted in and worked through the * see traveller's note book. 236 the first principles hedge, which, wherever it could be done, was the best and strongest of fences; and as no holly bore berries except on the ends of the sprays, this was a cogent reason for not topping them. he also said, that, as in the case of all other trees, the snow acted injuriously if it lay and froze on the cut tops of the sprays; that a good holly hedge on the farmer's side was the most valuable shade and shelter for his sheep and cattle, and on the traveller's side was of similar benefit, whilst by keeping it clipped or twisted back, no sort of injury could be inflicted on the highway—that hollies were very slow in growing, but everlasting when once well rooted, if not killed by the extraordinary passion for destruction of the present age, or the entire want of knowledge and reflection so perpetually manifested in its treatment, but he thought want of reflection was even more palpable in the treatment of the banks upon which hedges grew, whether natural or artificial. when artificial, much labour must, of course, be expended in raising the bank on which to plant the hedge which was to form of good cookery. 237 the fence, and yet, in many districts that he had seen, the banks were not only so perseveringly pared on the roadside, that the roots of whatever formed the hedge were often seen to protrude horizontally through the soil, and were consequently dried up, and perished by the summer's sun and the winter's frost, but the banks were often undermined to such an extent that they gave way above; and where this did not occur, instead of being green in summer with a luxuriant abundance of leaves, their sickly, exhausted state was evident from the privation of the nourishment continually abstracted by paring away the bank next the road or excavating under it. the traveller said he recollected that a friend of his had told him he had discovered, in his own locality, the cause of this annual destruction, to the injury of the road as regarded a good fence, and still more to the injury of the farmer, who would be compelled to be at the expense of making a dead hedge if he could not keep up a live one, and that all these evils were entirely occasioned by want of observa238 the first principles tion and reflection on the part of both parties most interested.* the traveller had become so warm on this subject, that he would have gone on longer upon the same topic; but the hermit interrupted him, and, looking at his hour-glass, found it was getting late; he had turned it down at ten o'clock, and now it was past eleven. and he said, that although the principal study in which they were engaged (the culinary art) was agreeably and usefully diversified by "various remarks on many things, past and present," yet the main point must not be forgotten-viz. the progress of his guest in learning how to provide for the pressing requirements of every day's food. "i remember," said the hermit," that you asked me to give some information on the subject of salting meat. i do not profess to preserve meat for voyages, but if you still wish to know how meat ought to be salted for domestic use, where it can be procured fresh every week, i shall be very happy to enter upon the subject, * see traveller's note book. · of good cookery. 239 as i have perceived so many indications of the improvement of your powers of observation and reflection, that i am not afraid of overpowering you by commencing on another branch of domestic economy which ought to be well understood in every house in the united kingdom, where salt meat is ever eaten." the traveller expressed his acknowledgments for being at last permitted to enter upon this new department of knowledge; and the hermit commenced his instructions by a few interrogatories, after taking him into an apartment he had never seen before, in the centre of which was a very large stone table, with a groove all round it, and a small channel cut out at one corner. on this table was a round of beef, weighing fifty pounds;* it was curled up in the usual form of a round of beef, though not skewered. the senior widow was standing by it with a large sharp knife in her hand. 66 now," said the hermit to his friend, "that round of beef is to be salted. it came in this morning, and gwenllian well knows that i see appendix no. xxxviii. 240 the first principles have reason to find fault with the manner in which it is placed upon the table." whether the excellent female to whom he alluded understood the english words he uttered, the traveller did not know, as his host always made a point of speaking welsh to all the widows, and was never addressed by them in any other language, but it did not require words to interpret the angry glance that lighted upon the unfortunate gwenllian, who certainly comprehended its meaning, as she instantly seized the beef, uncoiled it, and laid it out full length, with the outside next the stone. 66 now," said the hermit, "i will take advantage of the unusual forgetfulness of which gwenllian has been guilty, to begin your examination from an earlier stage in the management of beef than i had intended. first of all, can you tell me why i was so much displeased at seeing the beef coiled up and placed in the shape it ought to be when boiled, instead of as it now is laid?" the traveller was very much annoyed by this question, for he had hoped and expected of good cookery. 241 to have distinguished himself by his answers, as he felt a certain degree of confidence, not arising (as formerly) from the conceit of ignorance, but from the consciousness of a certain degree of ability, obtained by the recent practical exercise of his faculties; but he was so completely puzzled by the present query, that he felt he had better confess at once that he could not divine any reason for the hermit's preference for one position to another with respect to the beef. his host next asked him what he would do with the beef, if obliged to direct the salting? "i would mix salt and water together," replied his friend, "in a tub, and put the beef into it." "what proportions of salt to the water?" asked the hermit. "i do not know," said the traveller; "but i suppose i could tell by tasting it, and if it tasted like sea-water, it would be salt enough." "i see," said the hermit, " that you know nothing at all about the matter, and therefore it is no use to ask you any more questions until r 242 the first principles you are a little better informed upon this subject, and i will proceed to explain my own reasons. if the beef had been left curled up long upon the stone, it would have become tainted on the part touching the stone, and the inside, being also so much excluded from any draught of air, and more liable to corrupt, would soon have begun to putrefy. i always have the rounds divided into two parts, as they are much easier to salt, and are quite large enough for any ordinary table. will will you do you would cut me the favour to show me how this round in two?' "with the greatest pleasure," said the traveller; and, seizing the knife from gwenllian, he was about to draw it across the middle of the beef, when the hermit seized his arm in undisguised alarm. you will ruin it," said he, " if you cut it in that way." the traveller was rather offended, and said that it was the hermit's fault, for telling him that he always had the rounds of beef cut in two. but," said the hermit, "i never told you "" of good cookery. 243 you there was but one way of dividing beef into two parts. now give the knife back, if please, to gwenllian; and if she has recovered. her powers of memory, you will see how she proceeds, and i will explain the reasons for each process." gwenllian then made an incision in the centre of the thin end of the beef, and split it the whole way through, thus obtaining two smaller rounds of equal length. she then laid one out, with the fleshy part uppermost, and the skin next the stone, where she left it, while, after having placed the other in the same position, she made sundry gashes across the thickest part, taking care not to cut it through. she then put her knife under the thin end of the inside of the beef, and, going on regularly, took off all sinews and slimy particles, wiping the meat thoroughly dry with a clean cloth as she proceeded, till she had gone from one end to the other. in the course of this process, she found one or two round substances imbedded in the meat, which she cut out and had buried. these, the hermit said, were known by the r 2 244 the first principles name of "kernels;" and if they were not removed, no meat would ever keep, however well salted, but would begin to corrupt in the place where the kernel lay, and would gradually spread, till the whole of the meat became tainted. he believed these kernels were much more numerous in stall-fed and over-fed animals than others, and doubted if any round of beef was entirely free from them, but, not being a surgeon, he could not tell what these kernels were, or of what they were composed; about six pounds of ragged pieces of lean were also cut off for pies. gwenllian having completed this first process, which she finished by cutting the thin end of the flap into a tapering point, she took a soup-plate, which held a pound of finely powdered salt, which had been in an oven or hot closet until quite warm; she first of all carefully sprinkled salt into all the gashes and interstices of the meat, and then rubbed in more salt with her hand, until every bit of the meat had acquired a greyish-blue tint, instead of being blood-red. she then did the same to of good cookery. 245 the other half-round, using half a pound of salt to each half-round. she then so disposed of the beef with reference to the groove in the table, and the channel in the corner, that the liquor which exuded from them should be received in a pan which stood under the corner. a quarter of a pound of hot salt was again rubbed into each round at night, another quarter the following morning, another the following evening, and the third morning another quarter of a pound was bestowed upon each of the halves, making in all a pound and a half to each half-round. on the third afternoon, they were placed in a large pan, with a sufficient quantity of brine to cover them, composed of a gallon of cold water to a pound of salt. in this they were turned about and rubbed in the evening; and the next morning the pickle, being quite bloody, was thrown away; and the rounds were then placed in a fresh pickle of the same strength, the only difference being that it had been previously boiled, and, having stood all night, was quite cold, and ready for use. in this fresh pickle the beef was turned, 246 the first principles night and morning; and whenever it became muddy or bloody, fresh boiled pickle was exchanged for it, until the beef was boiled, at the end of five or six days. the hermit said, that the number of times the pickle required to be changed depended upon the difference of the meat itself containing more or less blood, and the heat of the weather, but that whenever it was bloody or muddy it ought to be changed; and that he found from six to seven days quite long enough for beef to be in salt before it was boiled, and after that time the meat continually lost flavour, and became a mere vehicle for salt, the water in which it was boiled being useless for poor people, as he had before observed. the traveller asked why he put unboiled salt and water the first time, and not afterwards? the hermit replied that he did so to save time, as, whether the pickle was boiled or unboiled, it would become so bloody after the first immersion of the beef as to require changing within twenty-four hours; and that there was, therefore, no advantage in boiling it the of good cookery. 247 first time, as the boiled pickle was intended for longer keeping. gwenllians next proceeding was to attend to two ox tongues, which had also been brought in that morning; and, after cutting off all the roots and well washing the tongues, she rubbed them well with salt, and put them on a dish on the stone table. the further proceedings with the tongues were, day by day, inspected by the traveller, and finally written down.* the traveller, having been rather disconcerted, from his inability to prove that he could devise anything with reference to salting beef, thought that he would venture upon a suggestion with respect to tongues, and he said: "i should think it would save a great deal of time if the tongues, after being well salted, were hung up to dry, instead of the trouble of re-boiling or renewing the pickle until the tongues are eaten." the hermit replied shortly, that as he never bought dried tongues he could not tell whether they ever were equal to those pickled and * see appendix no. xxxix. 248 the first principles undried, but that he never had succeeded in drying a tongue to be at all equal to those eaten fresh out of the pickle, that those dried were generally tainted on the under side, and he had always remarked the same difference and the same effects with regard to dried chines, which invariably became rusty. the traveller then led the conversation to bacon and hams, and commenced by asking what the hermit considered the best food for fattening pigs? 66 if," replied his host, "you could tell me the best food for keeping pigs thin without starving them, i should esteem it very valuable, and i never allow my pigs to be regularly fatted. the porkers are allowed to range in a very large yard, and take a great deal of exercise in the autumn when turned out in the acorn season.' "" "i thought pigs turned up the ground," said the traveller. "not if they have rings in their noses," said his host. "but to proceed with what i was saying, notwithstanding the advantages my of good cookery. 249 porkers enjoy of air and exercise, they are always too fat, though never shut up in a stye to be fatted." "what objection is there to their being fat?" said the traveller. "there are two," replied the hermit. "the first, that if very fat there is often great waste, if the meat is dressed when fresh, as all the fat cannot be consumed with the lean; secondly, if salted, although a larger portion of fat can be eaten thus prepared, it is objectionable to have a great deal more fat than lean, the proper proportion for eating being two parts lean to one part fat." "i am surprised," said the traveller, "that, with your inventive talents, you have not discovered some mode of curing or mitigating this evil." "the cure," said the hermit, "is out of my power; although i know very well that if pigs could only range about in fields like sheep and cattle, eating grass and taking exercise, and having only two very moderate meals a day, and were killed without being put up, they 250 the first principles would not have more than the natural proper accompaniment of fat, and the pork would be much more wholesome as well as better flavoured but as i have no forests or warrens in which to turn them loose, and as, when they have no acorns to engage their attention, they have a peculiar delight in making their way through hedges or under gates into my neighbour's land, and as i find that labour is now too dear for me to afford a man for a swineherd, and my attempts at educating little girls or boys for that office have always ended in the pigs doing everything that they ought not to do, and the children making the holes in the hedges larger by creeping through the apertures the pigs had made, i have been obliged to content myself with abstracting the overplus of fat, and thus preventing waste, as, in spite of all my efforts, and all their running about the yard, my pigs are always fatter than i approve for domestic consumption; but as there is nothing like a practical lesson, you shall see the second widow on duty preparing a porker in the next compartment." of good cookery. 251 the hermit then led the way into his pork larder, where marged had spread before her on another stone table two legs, two loins, two necks, and two shoulders of a porker killed the day before. the head was divided into two parts, and, with the tongue, ears, tail, and pettitoes, were put into a pan of cold salt and water, which had already been changed once. although the joints of pork were not to be compared, as to the thickness of fat, to the pork the traveller had seen in butchers' shops, yet he could easily believe that a great part of it could not be eaten if roasted with the lean, and he quickly understood the sense of the exploit he saw marged perform. she dexterously cut off, in one thick piece, the whole of the rind, leaving only attached to the meat a sufficient quantity of fat for consumption. when roasted. when this had been done to the necks and loins, a considerable quantity of fine lard was thereby saved from waste, which was again cut off from the rind, and, being reduced into small pieces, was thrown into a pan of spring water with sprigs of rosemary. the 252 the first principles rind was placed on a dish by itself, and the hermit informed him that it was very useful to place over beef when stewing, or over a baked fillet of veal; and after it has been used for these purposes, the remains could finally be finished for making glaze. the traveller was very anxious to know what the hermit intended to do with the joints from which a portion of the fat had been taken, and those which had not been touched. the hermit informed him that he did not deprive the shoulders of fat or rind, as they had seldom anything to spare; but that the necks and loins were destined for roasting, for cutlets, for pork pies, and sausages. * the shoulders would be salted on the stone for two or three days, and then put into pickle made in the same way as for the beef; that the hams would be cured with salt and treacle, and dried, and the pig's head and pettitoes were, according to circumstances, either boiled fresh out of pickle (being treated the same as the see appendix no. xl. + see appendix no. xli. of good cookery. 253 beef), or made into brawn.* the hermit impressed upon his guest, that the same principles which he had endeavoured to instil into his mind with respect to the cookery of fresh meat equally applied to salted meat, and that a large quantity of very nutritious jelly, which assisted in making soup for the poor, was produced by boiling the pig's head and pettitoes in a double vessel, and also most savoury jelly stock was obtained by preparing the fresh pork for pies, well flavoured with vegetables, in the same manner. the traveller inquired how long the hermit considered bacon could be kept, if properly cured? his host informed him that he did not believe that any bacon could be kept beyond a year without being rusty, and that it was the very worst economy to keep bacon long; and there could be no necessity for so doing, as those who made their own bacon must kill their pigs once a year, unless they were very bad managers; and, of course, the longer it was kept the less nourishment, and consequently *see appendix no. xlii. 254 the first principles the worse food, it would produce after it had dried sufficiently to be eaten. the traveller said the hermit had not mentioned his treatment of bacon pigs; to which he replied that the principle was exactly the same as the system for porkers, but that the diet of the porkers was rather different, the bacon pigs having more solid food, and having a stye and a yard to sleep in. the traveller inquired why the bacon pigs slept in an apartment by themselves, shut up from the others; and was informed that the porkers had an open, though warm shed, but that it was found from experience that the bacon pigs, being always more or less fat and unwieldy, were liable to be injured by the porkers, who, either in play or ill-temper, often bruised the bacon pigs, and were bitten by them in return, but the bacon pigs had as much liberty during the day as the porkers. after this conversation the days passed rapidly, and the traveller constantly cultivated his recovered powers of observation, and made evident progress in the art of reflection. he of good cookery. 255 and the hermit took a walk one day to some corn-fields. it had been unusually wet for four previous weeks, and the traveller had expressed his fear that all the corn cut, but not carried, when the weather changed, would be saturated with wet, and not fit for use. on the first fine day after these remarks, his host proposed that they should make a personal inspection of the state of the corn. the traveller had never before paid the slightest attention to the different modes of harvesting, but he was now sufficiently advanced in intelligence to reason upon what he then saw, or recollected having seen; and he quickly noticed that there were some fields, which belonged to separate farms, in which the sheaves of corn were quite different to all the others. the exception reminded him of the sheaves he had seen in england, for, although he had never before thought upon the subject, the form was familiar to him, whilst the others were a complete work of art, and so constructed that they formed a point, and the straw attached to the corn was so placed and turned downwards, that the 256 the first principles straw formed a complete protection against the drenching showers which had saturated the grain of the first-mentioned sheaves, but had had no effect whatever upon the others. the traveller made a sketch of these different modes of harvesting, and hardly needed the hermit's explanation to prove the great superiority of the welsh mode to that of the english. the hermit assured him that he had known corn belonging to welsh farmers uninjured, after having been out three weeks in wet weather, and which, after the cessation of rain, had reached the barn in good order. the traveller then examined the grains of some of the ears of wheat which were exposed according to the usual plan of english harvesting. he found that they had begun to sprout, whilst the grains he examined from the welsh stacks were dry and hard, although the outer straw was wet; but that, the hermit informed him, would very soon dry, with a little wind or sun. he said that these small welsh stacks were called by the natives bwch,* and *see plate no. v. to face page 256 plate 5. ang : hanover fuit bwch. welsh wheat stack. 1 plate 6 to face page 257. geifr welsh barley sheaf ang; hanover fuit ~ to face page 267. plate 7 english wheat sheaves. 7234 aug: hanover freit of good cookery. 257 when made of barley, geifr;* and that there was a great deal of practical science, art, ingenuity, and good sense in their construction, and they needed no eulogium from him, as the state of the same grain, cut at the same time, but treated in so different a manner, required no further comment to prove which was the good system, and which was the bad one. the traveller could not at all comprehend why the english did not adopt the welsh plan, as it was practically proved to be so much the best. his host replied that he could not assist him in solving that problem, but he would simply inform him that the owner of the spoiled stacks had come into the country five years before, and had had every opportunity of seeing the benefit of the plan adopted by the natives, but, notwithstanding this, he preferred the continuance of the three sheaves plan placed with all their ears upwards, so that each grain might imbibe the whole benefit of every * see plate no. vi. + see plate no. vii. s 258 the first principles shower, by which means he had already reapea the benefit by having damaged corn three times in five years! the hermit was much diverted by the traveller's credulity, and his sanguine belief that his sketch would produce the slightest alteration in the english plan of arranging the sheaves so that the wheat might be protected from the rain, instead of being so contrived as to receive the descending showers without the loss of a drop of water! and the hermit gave a sketch of the manner in which the sheaves of barley were made (called geifr in wales), and which was also good and adapted for throwing off the rain, though not nearly equal to the bychod.* in the course of conversation, on the way home, the traveller reverted again to the culinary department, in which he took a deeper interest every day, and informed the hermit that, as the time was approaching when business would compel him to go to london, and afterwards to visit some relations in the country, * plural for bwch. of good cookery. 259 he must ask him two more favours-the one, he was afraid, might meet with a refusal, if answered hastily, but it was a matter which he had so much at heart, that, being aware that his proposal would require reflection, he entreated his kind friend not to reply for a week, but to give it his best and most indulgent consideration; that his next request, though second in importance, he would mention first, as he was in hopes of receiving an immediate and favourable reply. "it is," he added, "that you will select an extra assistant for the widows for a day or two, or even for a few hours, and that you will allow me to be a witness of the instruction she receives, that i may have some idea of the method of teaching, as well as of the sort of mistakes which may be expected from a novice." the hermit replied that he would certainly comply with his wishes, but that he was very much afraid that the widows, however cleverly they executed what they had been taught, would not be able to teach without he himself superintended the first lessons. $ 2 260 the first principles the traveller said he could not understand how it was possible for persons to know so well how to execute without being able to teach, and that (without any teaching) if their pupil was allowed to watch them, he believed that she might learn. the hermit smiled significantly, and said he could not compliment his guest with regard to his own memory. "for," said he, "what trouble have i not had to make you understand the reason of anything that you have seen, and for some time it was necessary for me to find outward eyes for you as well as inward understanding, before you could learn to observe and afterwards to reason." the traveller was in rather a contradictory humour on this occasion, and he fell back into his old habit of pertness, and answered rather tartly, that it" was a very different thing to teach cooking to an english gentleman and a welsh kitchen-maid." "indeed it is," said the hermit, "and i would sooner teach the latter than the former, because she would sooner learn!" of good cookery. 261 this speech exasperated the traveller still more, and he exclaimed that he had no doubt that he would have learned much quicker if it had not been for the hermit's obstinacy in always speaking welsh to the widows, although they could understand english enough to obey the few directions that they required, and that indeed he did not believe that they required anything more than a look! the hermit generally became particularly good-tempered when the traveller was very much the reverse; and he replied, with the greatest good-humour, that he considered that every soul had as absolute a right to the use of his own language as the beasts and birds, and that if he had not been the countryman of his servants, he would still be proud to speak as much of their language as he was able to acquire; but that he knew well that the welsh diminished in value (as human beings) in exact proportion as they became indifferent to their own land, which indifference was always produced more or less by the abandonment of their own native tongue, and that 262 the first principles he would never promote the deterioration of intellectual beings any more than the adulteration of food; that it was absurd and barbarous to suppose that different nations on the face of the earth, created by the almighty with various talents and various tongues, could be improved by the extinction of any noble language (also the work of the same creator) which suited the expression of their thoughts and feelings, and the accents of which called forth all the best impulses and sentiments of their nature. it would be as rational to argue that any of the best grains or roots bestowed by providence for the bodily sustenance of man and beast, had for their benefit better be exterminated. the hermit added that he spoke welsh to the welsh as a duty as well as a pleasure, and in so doing he only followed the example of every continental nation. the breton nobility spoke breton to their breton dependants, whether they could speak french or not, the belgians and the dutch did the same, although they were equally fluent in french, and although, in the higher ranks, the russians of good cookery. 263 and the danes, the swedes and the poles, were excellent french scholars, they carefully preserved their own languages. the english language was not, and never could be, so universally spoken by foreigners as the french; any man would be considered insane out of these islands, if he convened meetings to propose that all nations should not only agree to learn one common language, but that each should abandon its own tongue for the purpose of the better cultivation of the human intellect, the preservation and diffusion of literature, and the maintenance of that nationality which is the mainstay of religion and morality, and the of the throne! support but," said he, “you have no reason to complain, for i have never given a direction about cookery in welsh that i have not explained to you much more at length in english." 66 the traveller by this time had repented his little ebullition, and was fully aware that he had been guilty of undeniable ill-breeding and of great ingratitude. he recollected that he had been hospitably entertained, and had 264 the first principles received food, information, and instruction without fee or reward; that he was eating welsh bread in a welsh habitation, that he had a welsh host, and was served by welsh hands, and yet that he (the stranger), whose language was courteously spoken to himself by his host, had virtually questioned the right of that host and of his native servants to the use of the tongue of their own land, which he had first visited uninvited, but where " hospitality had greeted him," and "courtesy had taken him prisoner," although he could not utter a word of the tongue which had been spoken by the ancient britons from time immemorial, whose earliest literature was one of the most interesting in existence, and whose modern literature included every subject most conducive to the interest of religion and the cultivation of the human mind, and which has been kept up entirely, both in prose and poetry, by the genuine sons of cambria, who are the authors, the readers, * translation from the welsh ::"os dieithr lletteugarwch a'th erys os gelyn, addfwynder a'th garchara.” * i of good cookery. 265 the printers, and the publishers of welsh books. having a kind heart and a refined mind, the traveller was really grieved when he thus reflected, and expressed deep sorrow for what he had said; and believing in his sincerity, the hermit was quickly pacified and changed the conversation by promising that he would grant his first request, and begging to know what the other favour was, which he mentioned as being second in order though first in importance. the good man at last extracted from his friend that he wanted him to promise to accompany him to london! the astonishment of the hermit surpassed description, and it would require too much time and space to recount the animated discussion which took place before he yielded. the argument which at last induced him to consent was, that the traveller expressed his apprehension that he should relapse into indolence and indifference if he returned to london without his venerable companion, and if again plunged alone into a world so different to that in which 266 the first principles the hermit existed, that he should forget how to see or how to observe. this was all very true, but nevertheless the traveller was actuated by an additional motive which he dared not name, but he certainly anticipated far more amusement from the effect of modern london upon the hermit than expected improvement to himself by his friend's society. it was, however, finally agreed that they should together shortly proceed to london, where the traveller was obliged to go on account of his own affairs on leaving the cell of his hospitable entertainer, and to exchange the simple but elevating influences of a practically useful life in a secluded corner of the principality of wales, for the tumult and distractions of the metropolis. let not the reader, however, expect that he will find in this volume full details of their journey, or the history of the welsh hermit in london. if the traveller should hereafter be able to prove the acquirement of sufficient industry to have written a journal containing the observations made by his centenarian friend of good cookery. 267 during that period of his life, they will probably be sufficiently numerous to make another book, which may or may not ever be published. the next proceeding in the hermit's cell was teaching a novice. a willing (but previously uninstructed) welsh girl of the age of eighteen having been sent for, the hermit desired the widows to show her how to make a tapioca pudding and a rice pudding fit for an invalid,* premising that he should not give a single direction himself, as they perfectly well knew how to make these puddings, and that the traveller himself should stand by in silence, while they executed the above orders and explained what was necessary to their new pupil. it is unnecessary to detail the particulars of what took place it is sufficient to say that the traveller was well amused by seeing the puddings made; the hermit was more amused by anticipating the probable results on the following day, and the pupil was highly delighted with the idea that on the morrow she would exhibit her new learning in the shape of two * see appendix no. xliii. 268 the first principles more similar puddings, which she had not the slightest doubt she would make to perfection after one lesson. the next day was appointed for the trial of her newly acquired skill. the welsh widows were desired to show the girl everything that they did, and the traveller was inwardly gratified by the belief that, if the new scholar was at fault, he would be able to direct without the hermit's assistance, from having only looked on the day before. the hermit commenced by asking the scholar how much tapioca she required for her pudding. she said "a little bit." the hermit upon this gave her a teaspoonful. she said she "had had it in a teacup before." he then put the teaspoonful into a teacup; she said she thought that it was too little. "was it not weighed or measured?" said the hermit. no," replied the girl; "gwenllian took it out in a teacup." "how much was it?" "it was a teacupful." the teacup she held of good cookery. 269 out was accordingly filled, and she then proceeded to ask for milk. "how much milk?" said the hermit. "a pint," was the answer. a pint was given. in due time the milk and the tapioca were put together to " cree," in a double saucepan. the girl was asked if she wanted anything else for that pudding. she said, no, not then." she then asked for rice to begin her rice "how much?" was the inquiry. tapioca," was the answer. 66 pudding. "the same as the "what! a teacupful?" inquired the hermit. she replied in the affirmative, and received the quantity desired, holding out the same teacup which she had before taken for the tapioca. she then requested another pint of milk, and having received it, a second pudding was put in another double saucepan by the side of its predecessor. after some time she took out the contents, when they appeared soft and well mixed, and put them into two separate basins while she proceeded to break two eggs, yolk and white. these she mixed both 270 the first principles together on one plate, and then taking a spoon disposed of the egg, dividing it by her eye between the two basins of pudding. while these proceedings were going on, the four welsh widows were engaged in other affairs, but the hermit was obviously very uncomfortable, which the traveller might have perceived, had he not been so well amused in watching the new scholar as not to pay much attention to the countenance of his host. when the novice had divided and mixed the two eggs between her two puddings, she proceeded to the oven, and having endeavoured to judge of the heat by putting in her hand (as she had seen gwenllian do the day before), she emptied the tapioca into one baking-dish, and the rice into another, and putting both the dishes on the baking-tin, shut them up in the oven. the hermit then asked the traveller, in a low voice, what he thought of the new pupil. "i think," said he, "that she is most promising, and i have no doubt that the puddings will be excellent. i thought," added he, "that of good cookery. 271 there would not be much difficulty in learning, if she once watched such an expert performer as the widow gwenllian." "we shall see," said the hermit. "i am not so sanguine as you are, but, at all events, i hope that if you had perceived any omissions, you would have mentioned them?" the traveller was discreetly silent. he had not observed any omissions, or noted any differences in the manner in which the pupil had executed on the second day what he had seen the widows do for her instruction the previous morning; but he thought that he had better not make any decided declaration on the subject, lest he should afterwards be proved in the wrong. at length the dinner-hour arrived. the puddings made their appearance, but that appearance was very different to what he had expected. he, however, hoped that the taste would be unexceptionable, and that probably the oven had not been of the right temperature -a point with which he was not supposed to be acquainted. but alas! he was doomed to 272 the first principles disappointment. the rice pudding was stiff, dry, and tasteless. the tapioca pudding was equally tasteless, and so stiff that it was more like gum and flour baked together than the delicate nourishment produced by tapioca and milk properly cooked-in fact, both the puddings were uneatable. 66 now," said the hermit (after the unfortunate failure could no longer be denied), "have you the same confidence you before expressed in your belief as to the facility with which a young female of ordinary capacity may learn, if she is allowed to watch the proper execution of simple cookery performed by expert hands? and do you also think that all those who can cook must also be well able to teach? i am certain that the widows were not only willing but anxious to explain what they thought necessary and to show every process relative to those puddings, and their scholar was equally anxious to learn; but, notwithstanding all this, the first attempt is a total failure, and you yourself, who have now been so long in the habit of observation, and who of good cookery. 273 might be supposed, from your education, to have greater powers of memory, fully expected that these puddings would turn out as well as those of yesterday, and yet, although you watched the process of making them both, you did not discover the difference of treatment." the traveller confessed his error, bewailed his shortcomings, and requested his host to inform him of the cause of the failure. "in the first place," said the hermit, “the quantity required of tapioca was two ounces, but it was not weighed, but measured in a particular teacup, which gwenllian is accustomed to use, and which held exactly two ounces; but the teacup which the girl took for herself held more, a fact which neither she nor yourself noticed. one pint of milk would have been the right quantity for two ounces of tapioca, but the same teacup was used, and held nearly three ounces; consequently here was another fatal error of proportion in the first start. the third mistake was a total oblivion with respect to sugar-no sugar was added to the milk. with regard to the rice pudding, t 274 the first principles she asked for the same quantity' as the tapioca, whereas she ought to have had an ounce and a half-one fourth less than of tapioca. to this she put another pint of milk, instead of which she ought to have asked for a pint and a half, being half a pint more milk, and one fourth less rice, than was required for the tapioca, as rice absorbs much more liquid; but she had forgotten that gwenllian had half filled the pint measure again, after having emptied the full pint upon the rice-here was another mistake of the same nature. when the tapioca and rice were taken off the fire, she put the mixture into two separate basins, instead of spreading each on two large flat dishes, by which means they would have become cool enough to receive the within the time necessary for that for that puregg pose; but, from the thickness of the basin, and the small surface on which the outward air could act, both rice and tapioca were too hot when the egg was added. to complete the list of errors, she beat up two eggs together, instead of separately, and then hastily divided the whole quantity by her eye between the of good cookery. 275 two puddings, by which means the unfortunate tapioca got much less than its neighbour, and the rice pudding (which may taste very good without any egg at all) had the largest quantity of what it least required, whilst the tapioca (which i never succeeded in making palatable without an egg) had not half its proper share! there was no fault in the temperature of the oven, because gwenllian had tested it with her own hand, which, by long experience and practice, serves her as well as a thermometer; also the poor novice had unfortunately not observed or remembered that water was to be poured into the baking tin, which caused the puddings to be burnt at the bottom before they were browned at the top; and therefore, between omissions and commissions, we have had two puddings composed of excellent materials rendered uneatable." the traveller admitted that the experiment had not answered as he had expected, and begged to know how the hermit would have recommended the teaching to be carried on, had he directed the widows? t 2 276 the first principles "i should," replied his host, "have taken care that each act in the progress of the pudding was most carefully explained; the reason being given why such a why such a thing was done, and the consequences which would result if it was omitted, and it is these explanations, at the moment that the process of cooking is proceeding under the eye, which i find are so seldom given, and the ability to give them makes the great difference between one teacher and another, although they may both be equally clever in execution,-but there is a mechanical power, possessed by the majority, of executing a certain routine once learned, which is much more common than ability to instruct by the addition of clear explanations, which are most necessary and important for the pupil; and were the observing and reasoning powers more exercised in the higher classes, they would be less ignorant of the practical arts of domestic management, and better teachers, and those under them would be better able to instruct in their turn; but now, from your account, all is sotto sopra! the of good cookery. 277 servants know very little, and the ladies nothing at all!" the traveller vehemently denied that he had ever uttered such a libel on the accomplished females of the nineteenth century; but the hermit stoutly maintained that if he had not uttered those words, he had by facts clearly demonstrated that such was the rule, although, of course, there was no rule without some exceptions. the time had now arrived for the great event to take place of the hermit's departure to london with his wandering friend; and as the principal object of this work has been to instil some knowledge of "the real principles of good cookery," and to awaken a desire in the higher orders to instruct themselves in domestic management (that most important branch of duty), it will not be inappropriate to conclude with a description of the contents of the hermit's travelling baskets, one of which he insisted upon providing for his friend, the other being intended for himself. the preparation of these wayside provisions were the 278 the first principles last practical lessons in cookery that the traveller received in the cell of st. gover. the consternation of the welsh widows may be imagined when they heard that their master was going from home, the possibility of which they could hardly realize; but when informed that he was going to leave wales for three months, and, above all, that he was going to london, they uttered lamentations, which proved that they considered his life was not only in danger, but his death was certain; and "o anwyl, anwyl! beth a wnawn ni!" "y meudwy bonheddig anwyl fe fydd yn sicr o farw! gwae ninnau!"* was uttered, until the traveller had heard these sentences so often that the night before his departure, he had a terrible dream. it required four-and-twenty hours before their agitation had subsided sufficiently to enable them to remember or execute anything that they were told to do, but, at last, a quiet melancholy succeeded to violent and demon* "oh, dear, dear, what shall we do?" "the dear hermit gentleman will be sure to die. woe to us!" of good cookery. 279 strative grief, and they began the preparations for the roadside refreshments with much the same feelings that they would have had if they had been called upon to cook for the hermit's funeral. two plump fowls were roasted, having been basted with fresh mutton suet, to the last twist of the woollen yarn. they were then enclosed in the inner tin of a ffwrn-fach-the ffwrnfach itself was filled with cold water from the spring and, after the second lid was put on, it was sunk altogether in the well. when the traveller saw this done, he exclaimed: "this is beyond my comprehension. i have seen and heard a great deal of warm water to surround meat; but why hot chickens are to be immersed in a vessel surrounded by cold spring water, and then sunk in a cold well, i cannot imagine." "the principle," said the hermit, "is exactly the same as that upon which some cooks would plunge a ham, as soon as boiled, into a pail of iced water. the object is to chill, as quickly as possible, that which is to be eaten 280 the first principles cold; by which means the juices, which would otherwise run off or evaporate, are staunched up within the flesh; and i am anxious that these chickens, provided for our journey, should be as juicy and retain as much flavour as possible." three hours afterwards, the chickens were taken out. a tongue also was boiled, and placed upon a dish. oranges were then cut across the centre, the core taken out with a sharp penknife, the pulp cut round and separated from the rind without any adhesion of the white skin; the pulp was put into a basin in lumps, and the juice which remained in the halves of the oranges was squeezed upon it; sugar was sprinkled upon them, and boiling water added, in the proportion of two tablespoonfuls to each orange. they were then put aside till the next day, which was to be the morning of departure. in the course of the previous day, the widows were very busily engaged in making biscuits * and the rock cakes (the original recipe for • * see appendix no. xliv. + see appendix no. xlv. of good cookery. 281 which the hermit had received direct from margaret cavendish harley, duchess of portland), and in carefully washing and re-washing old fashioned bottles cased in leather, with glass stoppers, and two little glass preserving pots also with glass stoppers. the loaves of rice bread,* for the sandwiches, were baked the previous night, as they were better for that purpose when they were a day old. the baskets to hold the travelling fare were those always used by the hermit for his mountain expeditions, and were made by his welsh labourers. they were square, like a box, with a lid and loop of basket-work, and divisions in the inside, into which fitted two small tin boxes, two bottles, one glass preserving-pot, two wooden spoons, and a fork (made by the welsh peasants, who have a remarkable talent for carving). all being so far ready, the host and the traveller retired to rest; when the latter had a most distressing dream, which he felt he never could forget, and which, no doubt, was to be * see appendix no. xlvi. 282 the first principles attributed to his emotions on the eve of departure, combined with the exclamations of the widows, above alluded to. he dreamt that he had been handed over by the hermit to the four welsh widows, who were to make him into a "poten"-a word which he perfectly understood to mean "pudding." he thought that he struggled in vain to get out of their hands, and that, in reply to his entreaties, they said nothing but “ paid ag ofni!" "paid ag ofni!" and that, while he was being cut into mincemeat, the hermit, with a most sardonic expression, informed him that if, after being boiled three hours in a basin, he could talk welsh, he would, by his art, restore him to his own proper form; but that he had eaten too long of the best produce of cambria not to make the small return of speaking the language of those who had provided him with so many good things; and that, if he failed to give this small token of his gratitude, he should remain a pudding till he was eaten up by wild dogs. after this frightful dream, he lost all sensation * 66 do not fear." "do not fear." of good cookery. 283 (even in sleep), until, believing he was awake, but the dream still continuing, he uttered so vehemently, "o anwyl, anwyl, beth a wnaf fi?” "beth a wnaf fi?"*at the same moment believing that he was a pudding, and had jumped out of the pot upon the floor of the hermit's kitchen-that he was awakened by the violence with which he really had leaped out of his bed, and he lay upon the floor some time before he could understand that he was not a pudding, that he had not been boiled, and that he was not master of the welsh language,although, in truth, he had been so terrified by the nightmare, that, like sir walter scott's monk, he could not, for some time, repeat anything but the widows' welsh lamentations, which were engraven on his memory. at length, however, he recovered, and was able to dress himself, and go down to breakfast. it was reserved for the last hour before starting to cut or pull the cold chicken meat * "what shall i do?" "what shall i do?" + the monk sings the monastery, vol. 1. p. 84. song of the water kelpie. see the 284 the first principles · into delicate small pointed pieces taken from the breasts, and which were then laid in a tin box, which had previously been lined with white paper, each morsel being slightly sprinkled with salt. in the other tin box were sandwiches made of the pounded chicken meat and tongue, moistened with the cold jelly of a boiled chicken, which had been flavoured with appropriate herbs. the rice bread was cut into thin pieces of the proper size and shape for eight sandwiches, and pounded meat put between them. two packets of four each filled each tin box. the oranges were then (pulp and juice) put into the glass preserving pots, the mouths of which were sufficiently wide to admit of a spoon. one bottle was filled with the water of the ffynon over, and the other was filled with cold tea, which had been made and sweetened the previous night, and the vessel in which it was contained was put to stand in the well till the morning, when it received the proper proportion of cold scalded (not clotted) cream. the centre compartment had also space for narrow strips of rice bread, inof good cookery. 285 tended to eat with the chicken; likewise for the plain biscuits and the rock cakes; also plums and pears. both baskets were provided alike. at length the traveller's steed and the hermit's pony appeared before the cell with four or five welsh mountaineers, all of whom were called bechgyn,* although the youngest had long before seen fifty years, and each of whom insisted upon seeing their beloved master to the end of his ride and the beginning of his perils, and each expecting to have the sole charge of the much-valued pony named cymro, which, next to the hermit himself, was the object of their care. it was thirty-five miles to the nearest station, and although the hermit would not show the slightest fear, having once given his word not only to accompany his guest, but to travel by railroad, that he might see it and judge of it for himself, yet he shuddered inwardly when he thought of a mode of conveyance, which, from description, appeared better boys. * 286 the first principles suited for spirits of the lower regions than for those above ground. slowly and solemnly the steed and the pony were mounted. tears were in the eyes of the widows and the bechgyn; melancholy resolve on the countenance of the hermit; and sorrowful regret in the demeanour of the traveller! they were to stop, at the end of eighteen miles, by the side of a clear stream, under an ash tree, well known to the hermit and his attendants, who carried bags of oatmeal for the horses, and said they could procure vessels in which to mix it for them from a cottage, as well as hay, should there not be sufficient pasturage. here they were to remain three hours, and to refresh themselves with the contents of their baskets, the widows having, by the hermit's orders, provided each of the mountaineers with a costrel of glasdwr,* bread and meat, and bread and cheese, with apples in their pockets. the time has now arrived when the hermit and the traveller must take their leave of the * two parts of milk to three parts of water. of good cookery. 287 "gentle reader," who must imagine them defiling through the wood that leads from the cell of st. gover, with the welsh widows and their handmaidens in mute despair, whilst the hermit's welsh harper, who was seated by the ancient well of gover, struck the triple strings of his noble instrument, and extemporised an accompaniment to the following druidic triad, which he uttered in a plaintive recitative, but with a warning accent, as he watched the departure of his master till he could no longer be seen :"tri pheth a ddylai dyn ystyried: o b'le daeth, b'le mae, i b'le yn myned." which being translated, signifies"three things a man ought to consider : whence he comes, where he is, to what place he is going." for the satisfaction of those who may wish to hear of the safe arrival of the hermit and his friend at the place of greatest danger, it may be added, that the five faithful welsh mountaineers returned the following evening, 288 first principles of good cookery. with the pony cymro, and informed the widows and all others, that they had beheld the " meudwy bonheddig" and his english guest go off in a flame of fire, with a noise which deafened their ears, and a smell that they should never forget, and that no doubt he must come to a fearful end! the traveller's note book. to the editor of a county paper. letter shown by the traveller to the hermit from a gentleman who wanted a shirt. sir, i beg to call your attention to the following distressing facts, for the truth of which i can vouch, having occurred to myself. for many years my respected grandmother was in the habit of presenting me with an annual stock of shirts, which she cut out and made with her own hands, my mother having died when i was an infant. i was thus happily well provided till past the age of thirty-one years, but my excellent grandmother being now defunct, and my shirts in a very dilapidated condition, i applied to the wife of a friend for the direction of any female who followed the u 290 the traveller's note book. occupation of a sempstress, as my wardrobe required renovation. i did not enter into further particulars, because experience had taught me, that although my grandmother (a gentlewoman of noble descent) no more scrupled to name the word shirt than to make a shirt, yet that the great improvements in education had rendered the ladies of the present generation too refined even to know that such a garment was ever worn, far less to name it. the lady to whom i applied gave me the address of a mrs. doolittle, residing in the next country town, about three miles distant. i inquired if there was no one nearer in any village, but i was informed there was not, and i accordingly sent for mrs. doolittle. when she arrived, i mentioned that i required a set of shirts, and that i would give a pattern which did not require alteration. i was rather surprised by the look i received from the very important-looking personage who had answered my summons, as she neither assented nor dissented, but stood staring, as if she had heard something alarming or insulting. i repeated the traveller's note book. 291 66 in other words what i before said, and added, "you understand, i require a set of new shirts. you have been recommended to me, and here is the pattern. i wish you to purchase the linen for me, and to make the shirts as quickly as you can." upon this, she drew up with an air of inexpressible scorn, saying, “i think, sir, there must be some great mistake somewhere; i never made such a thing in my life, sir, and never professed to do so." why, are you not a sempstress? or what do you call yourself?" 66 go out occasionally to assist in trimming, and also take the higher branches at home.' well," rejoined i, "i thought people who did needlework were called sempstresses." "i do not understand that name, sir; i never heard it before; i was educated in a very superior manner, sir." i here recollected having heard my good grandmother say, that "the test of a needlewoman was making a shirt," and that any one who could make a fine shirt properly, was mistress of plain needlework.* i therefore ventured to 66 *if button-holes were included. "" u 2 292 the traveller's note book. "" observe, that i had always understood that shirt-making was the highest branch' of needlework; " upon which mrs. doolittle replied, with a contemptuous gesture, that "that must have been very long ago, before she was born, as her governess, who taught all the modern branches of a first-rate education, never allowed such a garment to be mentioned in her presence. by this time i had come to the conclusion that the longer this elegant professor of the " higher branches remained in my presence, the worse the opinion we should form of each other! i therefore speedily wished her good morning, and applied to another lady to recommend somebody who would not be above undertaking the task of renovating my unfortunate wardrobe, as my requirements were pressing. to prevent trespassing too much on your valuable space, i will shortly narrate that i have had no less than six persons recommended to me as needlewomen, or sempstresses, or whatever their dignity allows them to be called, from three different towns in the same county, and that 66 "" the traveller's note book. 293 there was not one that had ever made a shirt, though all had been brought up at various schools; and the only result of my inquiries has been the disheartening knowledge, that it is impossible for me to obtain the services of any one who would undertake to make a fine shirt, although the population of the abovementioned towns averaged respectively 11,000, 6,000, and 2,000, and i was actually informed that although, five years previously, the smallest and most unimportant of these towns had possessed an admirable shirt-maker, who was also a schoolmistress, that she had been removed from her office, and had left the country, and a successor had been appointed, who could neither execute nor teach any manual arts, employments, or occupations, beyond what the wooden hook would accomplish, called by the french name of crochet, and which (i was told), on account of the great expense of fine-coloured wools, was a much greater tax upon the parents, than any benefit to the scholars! the person who gave me the above information with respect to the departed schoolmistress and 294 the traveller's note book. shirt-maker, lamented, as much as i did, the extinction of the art of making shirts, and added, that the very names of trades and callings were now changed, and that the elegant nonentities of the present day were not to be called schoolmistresses, but " governesses!" under these unhappy circumstances, my only resource is to beg for the benefit of your columns, to make known my present requirements, in the hope, that if any female still exists who can make a shirt, that she will be so obliging as to indicate the fact by advertisement in your paper, addressed to the gentleman in want of a shirt. i am quite prepared to pay very handsomely, if my pattern is exactly followed. i am, sir, your obedient, humble servant, a gentleman in distress. the traveller's note book. 295 poor laws. the hermit recounted an anecdote in reference to the effect of the poor laws as follows: -a poor man living on the side of the mountain about four miles distant died, after painful and lingering illness. he left a wife and two or three young children. it was the depth of winter, and the snow covered the ground. his wife inquired of the proper authority how she was to get a coffin, and was informed that she must go to the relieving officer, who lived nearly eight miles off, during which time she must have left the children in the house, or gone out of her way to reach the dwelling of a neighbour, where she might probably have found protection for them during her absence. fourteen or sixteen miles in the snow, under great distress of mind, would be considered a heavy infliction for a man under such circumstances; but how much more for a woman? who possibly might not have found the relieving officer at home when she got to the end of her journey. in the present instance, the hermit 296 the traveller's note book. said, that the wretched poor woman thought that he might befriend her, and consequently she walked three miles in the snow to his cell (instead of eight), and obtained the poor boon she sought, viz. the hermit's order for a coffin to be made for her husband's remains, with the risk of the parish refusing to pay for it had they been so disposed, because it was not commanded by the relieving officer! several other facts were mentioned by the hermit, as having occurred under his own knowledge and that of his friend, sufficient to cause my exclamation of "are we in a christian country ?" and "are these acts in conformity with the law? or punishable by the law?” the hermit believes that all these things are in conformity with the poor law act, if so, why is such an act suffered to exist without alteration and amendment? it also appears that great cruelty can be legally perpetrated with regard to the removal of poor persons who, notwithstanding a life of industry and an old age of honesty and virtue, are unable from bodily infirmity to gain any longer a sufficiency k the traveller's note book. 297 for their own maintenance. the hermit mentioned one among many pitiful cases which had been recounted to him by his rich and benevolent neighbour. it was that of a brother and sister who had always lived together, and, though the one was partially crippled and the other was weak, they had managed to earn their bread by their own exertions till they were far advanced in years, when they were necessitated to apply for parish relief. upon inquiry, it appeared that they belonged to a parish more than one hundred miles distant, although they had resided for so many years in the locality where they had grown old, that they were completely naturalized to the spot. the parish authorities commenced a correspondence, when, after months of wrangling and delay, the distant parties decided that they would not grant any relief unless the two old people were sent to the workhouse more than a hundred miles off, and they were sent there! it appears that the welsh have such a horror of the workhouse, and are also naturally so very kind-hearted, that numerous instances occur of 298 the traveller's note book. peasants and their wives, who earn their daily bread by hard labour, with children of their own, have brought up other children who have been put out to nurse with them after their parents have died, or have been unable to pay anything for their maintenance, rather than surrender them to the parish to be placed in a workhouse. the hermit has a horror of what is now called centralization. he says that the order of the universe ought to teach mankind that everything is the centre of a small circle, and that it is contrary to reason to suppose that human beings requiring various treatment, if collected together from various quarters in one place in a huge mass, can ever be properly cared for, managed, or attended. on being informed of the enormous buildings now erected in towns for the purpose of receiving the poor from numerous parishes, he shuddered with horror at what he was convinced must necessarily be the dreadful results in various ways; and nothing could persuade him that if each parish, or perhaps two parishes, had a the traveller's note book. 299 building appropriated for the reception of such persons as ought properly to be called “ paupers," and if the remainder of the respectable industrious poor received such out-door relief as was proper under their various circumstances, that it would not only promote virtue and morality, but that it would render the perpetuation of great and long-continued abuses impossible, which must constantly occur in the overgrown communities i described, called "union workhouses," where all were strangers to each other, and where every tie was severed that was calculated to preserve the best characteristics appertaining to human beings, or christians. the hermit described the welsh workhouse that he recollected as existing in his own parish. about half a century ago, which he then frequently visited. it was an old and spacious farm-house, situated on the edge of a wood by the side of a by-road, with a green before the door on which grew two large walnut trees. it was well supplied with running water, and it was selected as the workhouse for two parishes, the locality being convenient for both. it was 300 the traveller's note book. kept by an old farmer and his wife, who were enabled to maintain two or three cows on the adjoining land; and he well remembered the inmates of the establishment, of which he gave the following description:-on one of the hobs of the immense old-fashioned fire-place, which occupied a large portion of the side of the spacious kitchen, sat a man called old harry (yr hên harri), who, from some injury, was unable to stand up, and could only move along the floor with his knees raised by means of his hands and feet. old harry was a most harmless individual, but he had outlived all his family, and was a proper object for admission into what was then a happy home for the innocent and really destitute poor. his pleasure was to be placed on the large stone hob in the recess of the chimney during cold weather, and to sit on the grass under the walnut trees in the warm weather. in the window of this kitchen, a welsh woman of about fifty spun black wool at a large wheel. she had been for some years in a melancholy and half stupified state of mind; she had no one to the traveller's note book. 301 maintain her, and had not sufficient command of intellect to maintain herself, but as long as she was provided with wool she was perfectly happy, and would spin from morning till night at the large wheel, which gave her exercise as well as occupation, and which lightened the expense of her maintenance. a third member of this comfortable family was a crooked-looking, half-witted boy, called billo. he might then have been thirty years of age, but everybody looked upon billo as a child; he was very short, but strong and honest, and he was allowed to go of errands for the neighbours, and carry small burdens, and assist the good man and his wife in the various proceedings of the farm. billo was a proper object for parish maintenance, as he also was deficient in bodily and mental ability to earn his own bread, although he could help those who ministered to his wants in many ways. the hermit added that he also recollected occasional additions, and a woman with little children, whose husband had run away from her, but she was not like a prisoner, she 302 the traveller's note book. might have been supposed to have been a servant of the farm,-cheerful and bustling, she took care of her own children, and was ready to "lend a hand" to anything that was going on; she was not separated forcibly from any of her family, but she was thankful to find a refuge within reach of her former home in the time of need; and being near her friends, she was very soon provided for, and enabled to leave the workhouse for service, her relations assisting in the maintenance of her children. it now strikes me that the friends and relations of persons who are sent to the workhouse would exert themselves, in nine cases out of ten, for the liberation of those within its walls, were all workhouses within easy reach of their former homes and connexions. "out of sight, out of mind," is a true saying. how few relations of those immured in a workhouse would, or could, go and see their friends, if ten, twenty, or thirty miles off! and how few would fail to do so, from the weight of public opinion, (if not from affection), when each person in their own locality would know whether they had the traveller's note book. 303 taken any notice of their distressed friends or relatives, or not! on this subject i am a convert to the hermit's theory of the benefit of small circles, each centre of which ought to govern its own especial native sphere, all being amenable to general laws; and i certainly read in the newspapers * of the present day enough to know that the workhouses are frequently, if not always, a frightful conglomeration of misfortune and misrule, generally accompanied by great cruelty. the management of such establishments can never properly be accomplished by any human beings (however great their talents, and however honest their intentions), without divisions and subdivisions, and the creation and multiplication of expensive departments now *the appalling disclosures in the times of this year (1866), relative to the sufferings occasioned from the treatment of the sick poor in certain workhouses, had not transpired when the traveller made this note; these disclosures have since proved that the hermit did not err in the direful anticipations he entertained of the consequences of the present monster system, the bare outline of which was described to him by his guest. 304 the traveller's note book. unknown! but how much more natural, simple, easier, and better would it be to let each several locality have the care of its own poor, and thus increase the number of responsible individuals, and render available for the general good the natural interests which must be, more or less, awakened in the mind of each resident for the fate and treatment of his own neighbours, and which can only be secured by having workhouses on a very moderate, not a monster scale, calculated for the reception of the paupers of the place who have no moral clain to out-door relief, under the immediate and daily observation of some one or other of the residents of the locality. doubtless the modern fallacy of supposing that the bigger anything is—whether monster buildings, or monster meetings, or monster associations-the better it must be, is one of the great mistakes of the present day, which time is constantly developing, and which the hermit believes will appear more and more palpable as facts are brought to light, to illustrate the study of cause and effect. at present, i could have told him, the aged and honest poor are conthe traveller's note book. 305 tinually forced into distant unions, although they only implore as much relief in money at home as their maintenance would cost when taken to the workhouse, but i did not tell him this, because i could not in any way attempt to defend a practice so totally unjustifiable, and which ought to be illegal. oatmeal. the preparation of oatmeal is particularly well understood in wales, as well as in scotland; but, by an extraordinary perversity, the kilns necessary for its preparation are becoming very scarce in the principality, and in many districts of south wales the people are beginning to suffer very much from the kilns not being kept up, or being appropriated to some other use. next to bread and good water, oatmeal may be considered as one of the first necessaries of life to a rural population; indeed, in some parts of wales it still (as in scotland) takes the place of bread in many instances; and when this is not the case, its valuable and x 306 the traveller's note book. nutritive properties, in sickness and in health, when it is converted into a variety of wholesome and nourishing dishes* by the welsh, render it to them almost a staff of life; and yet, from the prevalent habit among the higher classes of ignoring or disregarding that which is in their power, many wealthy and philanthropic individuals are perfectly unconscious that the art of preparing oatmeal in wales may be lost, and in some districts is almost extinct, in consequence of the kiln buildings being otherwise used, while the proprietor is paying a high price for oatmeal from shops which obtain that necessary article from scotland, the purchaser being totally unconscious that oatmeal could be made to perfection by his own welsh tenants. the following amusing recipes for meagre dishes the hermit allowed me to copy, after a conversation on the unwholesome nature and injurious effects of meagre cookery in general.+ siccan, llymru, uwd, &c. + see p. 179. the traveller's note book. 307 dish of frogs. take the thighs, and fry them in clarified butter; then have slices of salt eel, watered, flayed, boned, boiled, and cold; slice them in thin slices, and season both with pepper, nutmeg, and ginger: lay butter on your paste, and lay a rank of frog and a rank of eel, some currans, gooseberries or grapes, raisins, pineapple seeds, juyce of orange, sugar, and butter; thus do three times, close up your dish, and, being baked, ice it. of almond, milk, flour, butter, make your paste yolks of eggs, and sugar. in the foresaid dish you may add fryed onions, yolks of hard eggs, cheese-curds, almond-paste, and grated cheese. to make a dish of marrow. take the marrow of two or three marrowbones; cut it into pieces like great square dice, and put to it a penny manchet, grated fine, some slic❜t dates, half a quartern of currans, x 2 308 the traveller's note book. a little cream, roasted wardens, pippins, or quinces, slic't, and two or three yolks of raw eggs; season them with cinamon, ginger, and sugar, and mingle all together. dish of eggs. take the yolks of twenty-four eggs, and strain them with cinamon, sugar, and salt; then put melted butter to them, some fine minced pippins, and minced citron: put it on your dish of paste, and put slices of citron round about it; bar it with puff paste, and the bottom also, or short paste in the bottom. to make a dish of curds. take some very tender curds; wring the whey from them very well; then put to them two raw eggs, currans, sweet butter, rose-water, cinamon, sugar, and mingle all together; then make a fine paste with flour, yolks of eggs, rose-water and other water, sugar, saffron, and — 24 m —— the traveller's note book. 309 butter, wrought up cold: bake it either in this paste or in puff-paste; being baked, ice it with rose-water, sugar, and butter.* the above recipes were extracted from a very curious work in the possession of the hermit, by the celebrated robert may, who published his "accomplisht cook; or, the art and mystery of cookery. dedicated to the right honourable my lord mountague, my lord lumley, my lord dormer, and the right worshipful sir kenelme digby, so well known to this nation for their admired hospitalities." and in the preface he says, that he values the discharge of his own conscience in doing good" above all the malice of those who "make it their business to hide their candle under a bushel;" and he makes a solemn protest that he "has not concealed any material secret" of which he became possessed in fiftyfive years' experience. he published his work in the year 1671. 66 * the digestive organs 200 years ago must have been very much stronger than in 1866, and did much credit to early hours, air, and exercise. 310 the traveller's note book. he was succeeded by william rabisha, who published his " cookery dissected" in 1673, and dedicated his book to "her highness the illustrious duchess of richmond and lenox, her highness the duchess of buckingham, her grace the most honourable renowned and singular good lady lady jane lane, the right honourable good and virtuous lady mary tufton, and the hon. virtuous and good lad agnes walker;" and, among many wonderful compounds, both meagre, sweet, and savoury, the following, is entitled "to potch a dish of eggs for a weak stomach," and gives an idea of lighter lenten fare! to potch a dish of eggs for a weak stomach. a handful of good sorrel beaten in a mortar, strained with the juice of a lemon and vinegar; put to it sugar and nutmeg; take sippets, hardened upon upon a gridiron ; on; lay them on the bottom. of your dish, put on them a little strong broth and a spoonful of drawn butter; then pour your sorrel, and set it on a great heap of coals. in 1 the traveller's note book. 311 your eggs, being potched in a little water and salt, take them up, drain from the water, and lay them on your sippets; so cover them, and send them suddenly away. your sauce must never be hotter on the fire than that you may eat it without cooling again; if you do, it will change the colour of your sorrel, and give your lemon a bad taste. the following lines from rabisha's work it ought to be the ambition of every good cook in the present century to deserve :66 to show the nearest way to inform the lowest cook how she may dress and make the meanest meat the highest mess; to please the fancy of the daintiest dame, and suit her palate, that she praise the same." luncheon. i lately maintained a fierce argument with the hermit on the word "luncheon," which i said was often called "lunch." the hermit insisted upon it that no educated person in refined society could possibly talk of " lunch," 312 the traveller's note book. or "lunching," but that they must always say "luncheon." i assured him that i had heard persons who, from their birth and rank in life, might be supposed to belong to refined society, speak of "lunch" instead of "luncheon," and of "lunching" instead of "eating luncheon," and who said, i never lunch," instead of " i never eat luncheon." my good host, however, maintained that the origin of the word was from "clutch" or or "clunch," the meaning of which was a handful, in contradistinction to a full meal—a small quantity—to appease hunger when there was no time to sit down to the table; and whether he is right or wrong, i do not pronounce, but it was impossible to help laughing when he said, "how would it be possible for a refined gentleman when he means to imply that he has eaten a small quantity of food in the forenoon, to exclaim, 'i clutched,' which," (added he,) " he might just as well say as i lunched.' johnson himself quoted gay as authority for the word 'luncheon.' · """ "i sliced the luncheon from the barley loaf; with crumbled bread i thicken'd well the mess." i the traveller's note book. 313 a rainy day. a long conversation upon the waste and mismanagement of the present age. the hermit amused himself with making a calculation, founded upon the account i had given him,* of the number of extra meals and variety of food which it was the fashion to devour in the present day; and, according to this statement, he said that the overplus of food, beyond what was required for health, taken by one individual, would, in one day, be sufficient to maintain one person and a half, giving as much as nature required for health consequently, in each seven days more than ten human beings might be fed with the extra quantity that is now frequently taken by one to the detriment of his own constitution. this calculation was made without reference to the expense of various wines consumed by any one individual in the course of the week; as the hermit drank nothing but water himself, he could not enter upon the latter point, and i was determined not to assist * page 187. 314 the traveller's note book. him, indeed, i half repented having given him the details i had already done with regard to eating; but had i supplied him with data upon which to base a calculation of the numbers that might be fed for the value of the quantity of wines which are drunk to the injury of health and the perpetuation of gout, i feared that he would make out so frighful a balance that it would disturb my mind, and i should not be able to sleep at night. i have hitherto taken care not to mention the modern practice of smoking to the hermit, so very destructive to health; but i hardly suppose my host would believe me, if i gave details on this subject. conversation with the hermit, on the evils of artificial fattening of cattle, to which he was violently opposed.* on referring to the above memorandum, i recollect that the hermit's objections above recorded were expressed long before the outbreak of the cattle plague, since which time * see p. 204. the traveller's note book. 315 i have extracted the following passages from the pen of a gentleman who was qualified, surgically and medically, to pronounce upon the actual consequences, as proved by his professional examination of the wretched animals, which were condemned to suffering and disease, and were in that state pronounced to be firstrate specimens of an art, creditable to science, and to be encouraged for the good of mankind, these poor diseased creatures being afterwards sold for food! a calculation of the money and time wasted to produce the diseased meat of each of the prize specimens described in the following paragraphs, would supply a singular balance! and what is the result? the cattle plague! and who can say that much disease is not produced in human beings (if not the cholera itself) by feeding upon such flesh? certain bodily wants, when ill-suppressed, are soon discovered. the air we breathe may contaminate, but we can often smell, and thereby avoid, an impure atmosphere. our 66 on the evil results of over-feeding cattle. by frederick j. gant, m.r.c.s. &c. &c. 316 the traveller's note book. clothing may be insufficient, but the wintry wind will soon warn us of this deficiency; a bilious head-ache instinctively prompts more active exercise, while fatigue suggests the necessity of repose. air, temperature, exercise, and sleep are positive hygienic requirements, which severally proclaim their own demand when effective, and thus the tide of life flows oothly on, each bodily want being wisely suggested by an appropriate, and almost unerring instinctive feeling. but it is otherwise with food. true it is, that we eat when hungry, but this sensation does not prove an infallible guide in our choice of food, still less a criterion of its nutritive quality. * "when visiting the prize animals and others, lately exhibited at the baker street bazaar, i took notes of my observations. one devon cow looked very ill, and laid her head and neck flat on the ground, like a greyhound. i pointed out these animals to a man who was drawing water, and i asked him if their condition was one of common occurrence. he said, 'i the traveller's note book. 317 knows nothing of them beasties, in p'ticler, but it's the case with many on 'em-i knows that.' "i passed on to the pigs. a pen of three pigs happened to be placed in a favourable light for observation, and i particularly noticed their condition. they lay helplessly on their sides, with their noses propped up against each other's backs, as if endeavouring to breathe more easily; but their respiration was loud, suffocating, and at long intervals. then you heard a short, catching snore, which shook the whole body of the animal, and passed, with the motion of a wave, over its fat surface, which, moreover, felt the cold. i thought how much the heart, under such circumstances, must be labouring to propel the blood through the lungs, and throughout the body! the gold medal pigs were in a similar condition—if anything, worse, for they snored and gasped for breath, their mouths being opened, as well as their nostrils dilated, at each inspiration; yet these animals, only twelve months and ten days old, were marked improved chilton breed.' 318 the traveller's note book. three pigs, of the black breed, were in a similar state at seven months, three weeks, and five days; yet such animals the judges highly commend.' "when i contrasted the enormous bulk of each animal with the small period in which so much fat, or flesh, had been produced, i naturally indulged in a physiological reflection on the high-pressure work against time, which certain vital internal organs, as the stomach, liver, heart, and lungs, must have undergone at a very early age. now, with the best method of rearing cattle, or that which is most conducive to their health, the medical profession are only indirectly concerned; but of the dietetic value of animals so reared for food, the profession are, or should be, the immediate overseers and arbitrators. "these were those to which the judges had awarded the highest prizes, as specimens of healthy rearing and feeding-viz., the gold and silver medal prize bullocks, heifers, pigs, and sheep (which remained in london). the traveller's note book. 319 "this substitution of fat for muscle is proved by the microscope to have ensued. for when thus examined, the muscular fibres no longer presented their characteristic cross markings, but the fibrille within the fibres were entirely broken up, and replaced by bright globules of oily fat. each fibre contains an abundance of fat particles instead of fibrilla within the fibre. the healthy structure of the heart had, therefore, thoroughly degenerated by the substitution of fat for muscle. "fortunately, the thin lining membrane (endocardium) had not been ruptured, or the animal would have died instantly. this might have happened at any moment, on the slightest exertion. "this animal, under three years of age, weighed upwards of two hundred stone, and was eating twenty-one pounds of oil-cake a day, besides other food. "within about a foot of the termination of the large bowel was a putty-like mass, one inch 320 the traveller's note book. and a half thick and about one foot long, and which partially surrounded the intestine. the mass consisted, apparently, of scrofulous matter. "the fat referred to may itself be regarded as the superfluous food with which the animal had been gorged. "the diseased condition thus produced may be termed conversion into fat, as expressive of the apparent change which has ensued; but, on closer examination with the microscope, i would ascribe the change itself to the substitution of fat (in the process of nutrition), for the proper structural elements-fibrilla-of muscle, and not to the actual transformation of those elements into fat. "we should, therefore, expect in vain to replenish our own muscles by the use of such food, nor should animals thus overfed be regarded as prize specimens of rearing and feeding. the heart being converted into fat, no longer retains its contractile power, but beats feebly the traveller's note book. 321 and irregularly. the blood, therefore, now moves onward in a slow and feeble current. hence the panting breathlessness due to stagnation of blood in the lungs, which the heart labours (in vain) to remove, while the skin and extremities are cold: hence the stupid heavyheaded expression of a congested brain, and the blood-stained appearance of meat after death. the slightest exertion of an animal under such circumstances might suddenly prove fatal. were a man in this condition to present himself at an insurance office, it would refuse to insure his life at any premium. yet under similar circumstances a sheep is awarded gold and silver medals, and its feeder a prize of 201.! "under the present system the public have no guarantee, and are not ensured the best if indeed the cheapest food. the bulky withers of a fat bullock are no criterion of health, and its flat tabular back may conceal the revolting ravages of disease. "the flesh of animals which has been produced by organs themselves diseased, is itself y 322 the traveller's note book. also necessarily deteriorated, and ought not to be regarded as prime samples of human food. these facts will be best understood by pathologists, but they also come home to the understandings, and certainly to the stomachs of the people. nor can their feelings fail to respond to the claims of sympathy. the suffocating sighs of those fat pigs are an appeal to humanity. "if offence come out of truth, it were better that the offence come, than that the truth be concealed." mem.-conversation with the hermit about clipping horses, of which he had never heard. he was at a loss for the reasons which could have induced such an extraordinary proceeding. i would not tell him what i believed was the original cause, because it would have furnished him with another argument against the great progress of intellect in the present century, but i do believe that the real origin of clipping in the first instance was that horses might appear to be kept * page 215. the traveller's note book. 323 in what is called "high condition," although belonging to owners who could not afford such expense, but that the practice gained ground from the approval of the majority of those whose duty it was to clean horses, and whose labour was thereby much diminished, and specious arguments were made use of to persuade masters that the animals themselves benefited by such a course of treatment, as the majority of masters possibly do not know how horses ought to be treated any better than the majority of mistresses of families (who have cooks) know how to instruct them to prepare food-but had i said this to the hermit he would have asked me whether i considered that the stable management in great britain generally was more indicative of the improvement of human intelligence than the culinary department in the nineteenth century? which case i must have answered "no," and subjected myself to additional mortification. in y 2 324 the traveller's note book. water-fountains.* mem.-being fearful that i might have exaggerated the destitution of london with respect to water, i have, through a friend (while still in the cell of st. gover) referred to documents belonging to the metropolitan free drinking fountain association, which was established in 1859, and i find that i might have said much more, although i should have only thereby confirmed the hermit's opinion that the progress of science has completely outrun the progress of the cultivation of sense! there were no public drinking fountains in london till april, 1859. the water used in the metropolis amounts to one hundred millions of gallons, and, if formed into one reservoir, would form a lake seventy acres in extent, and six feet deep; yet every drop of this enormous supply must be paid for to water-companies, who, although by mechanical means they force water into the houses, make no provision for the wants of the multitudes who traverse the * see page 224. the traveller's note book. 325 streets, and who are as much in want of a draught of water as the travellers of the desert. the resident poor suffer grievously in consequence of an intermittent supply of water, and the absence of free public street supplies; and, although water-pipes are brought into the houses, it is turned on but once a day, seldom exceeding, and often for less than, half an hour; and if they have any lack of vessels, or an accident occurs in spilling the water supplied during that short period, they must go without water till the next day, as it is illegal even to buy it from any but the companies-persons giving water, or selling it may be prosecuted! and every drop of water caught by the poor during the precious half hour that it is supplied after being kept in the fœtid atmosphere of a crowded dwelling, soon becomes poisonous, and water, which should be a preservative to life and health, is an actual source of fever and death. under such circumstances, the pumps of london were the only places where many of the poor could obtain water to drink, which were few in number, and at great distances from 326 the traveller's note book. each other, and in the investigation made of late years as to the cause of the epidemics which spread death and desolation in so many homes, the mischief was found to arise as frequently from the water drunk as from the air breathed, and the london pump-water was declared to be so impregnated with impure matter from the impurities of foul surrounding soil, that it was almost universally condemned. the medical officer of health for the city of london* stated, that of thirty-six pumps in the city, scarcely one supplied water fit to drink, and the poor were left to choose between the poisonous water in the pumps, and the poisonous water stored up in their own tanks and cisterns. the only remedy was public free drinking fountains, first established in london by mr. samuel gurney, by whom the first drinking fountain was erected on snow hill in 1859, at which as many as five thousand people were known to drink in one day. since 1859, eighty-nine drinking fountains, five cattle troughs, and some dog troughs have been * dr. letheby. the traveller's note book. 327 opened by the society, in addition to which between thirty and forty have been erected in london by private benevolence; and it is estimated in london alone more than three hundred thousand people drink daily at these fountains. but yet there are whole parishes still without a single fountain, and the sufferings that a vast multitude must still experience from thirst, and the horrible results to thousands now ruined in body and soul, occupants of lunatic asylums and prisons, whose state has been caused by being forced into public houses and gin palaces to supply their daily thirst, is dreadful to contemplate in a christian country, whilst the sufferings of the poor cattle, sheep, and dogs, are intolerable from the want of supplies of drinking troughs for animals; and the subscriptions of charitable individuals are not sufficient to do a tithe of the work which is still required to place fresh water within the reach of all the poor in london, to whom, as well as to every other class, the sight of running water is in itself a gratification. running water also serves to clear away any obstruction which 328 the traveller's note book. might otherwise choke up the overflow pipe, and any supply of water which could only be obtained by turning a cock would not answer the purpose required. a force of police is required specially to protect the fountains, for, in the present corrupt and demoralized state of society, constant supervision is necessary to preserve them from injury. drunken men are their determined enemies, cups are stolen and taken away, sticks are thrust into the jet, and stones, pipe, rope, buttons, and orange-peel are also frequently used to render them inconvenient or useless, and thus it has been found that fountains erected in london by private benevolence have been so injured that the charitable donors have found they must submit to the expense of keeping their fountains in order, or see their good intentions defeated. the fountains in the care of the society are alone rendered a permanent blessing by the visits of their own officers of the society, who regularly inspect them, report their condition, and have damages immediately repaired. the traveller's note book. 329 an interesting article by dr. wynter contains the whole history of the water supply of london, from the time when the metropolis was interspersed with meadows, and supplied with water from its bournes, its viaducts, and its wells; and when the thames was a clear river, free from all the impurities that have now converted it into one great sewer, until peter morris, the dutchman, obtained a right from the corporation of london to erect machinery for that purpose in 1580, after which sir hugh middleton proposed to bring a new river into london, from the springs of chadwell and amwell, a distance of forty-two miles, when no forcing apparatus was made use of, which system continued till 1782, when water-pipes were carried underground in every direction, and forced up to the top stories, since which time eight water-companies supply the metropolis, and "water, water, everywhere; but not a drop to drink." when the legislature forced all the watercompanies supplying themselves from the 330 the traveller's note book. thames, higher up the stream, it never anticipated the evils which are now apparent. the towns on the banks of the thames above the highest sources from which any of the water-companies now obtain their supplies, have obtained permission to drain directly into the river, and, instead of going up the stream to get nearer the pure element, they are only meeting the refuse and drainage of these towns half-way. n.b. i dared not tell the hermit that i had heard before i ever saw him, that the favourite and fashionable theory now promulgated, for curing all the evils entailed by want of water in london, is to convey the pure element from the bala lake, in north wales, into the metropolis, of course without the slightest regard to the robbery of the principality, or of the injury (to say nothing of the disfigurement) which would result to the inhabitants of that beautiful locality, and were the scheme not so very wild, were the expense not so very enormous, and were the distance not so very great, there would be a probability that it the traveller's note book. 331 might not be attempted! but as it appears to involve every possible objection, there is cause for the greatest alarm, as the disposition of the present generation is to revel in the excitement of undertakings, which are certain to ruin their projectors, and to materially injure a large portion of the rest of mankind. dr. wynter, however, has committed himself to the opinion, that london may rival glasgow, which is said to have the purest water in the world, without robbing poor wales, or going to the enormous expense of bringing water from a lake in the principality to london, as water may be had of a pure quality, and in abundant supply, from the gathering grounds which supply the town of farnham in surrey. if this is the case, the hermit might justly say, it is another proof of the proneness of the present age of education and science, to go a hundred miles out of the way, and to spend a thousand times more than is necessary to obtain what is, comparatively speaking, to be found close at hand, but which for that reason is not valued, 332 the traveller's note book. the curse of london is certainly want of water, and drunkenness! how has this curse been brought upon london? by the voluntary acts of mankind! by the want of reflection, and the consequent misapplication of mechanical talent, under the name of "improvements," in the nineteenth century. it seems to me, since i have begun to think, that there are several words which have been so long and continually used in the wrong sense, that people are in danger of forgetting their real signification, viz. the destruction of fine old churches, and the construction of modern paltry buildings on their site, is called "restoration;" whilst the words " ignorance" or "barbarism," are now applied to those who have retained the knowledge transmitted by their ancestors, of the useful arts of every-day life. sophistication is called education, and a superior education" implies the wilful neglect of instruction in all useful knowledge. 66 the traveller's note book. 333 holly-mistletoe—ivy.* in a conversation with the hermit, in which i gave him some idea of arboriculture (as at present practised) in many "highways and byways," especially as connected with holly in hedges, i omitted to mention the barbarous and ignorant practice (where a standard holly has been preserved) of cutting all the branches off close to the stem, up to the top, where a few boughs only are permitted to remain, giving that beautiful tree exactly the appearance of a besom set up on end, and which disfigurement is incurable, because the holly-tree never puts out new branches when cut close to the stem. it is very strange that the propagation of the mistletoe is not better understood its beauty, independent of its medical properties,† as well as its traditional and historical interests, ought to cause its natural history to be more studied, and, consequently, better known; but perhaps it is less extraordinary that this see appendix no. xlvii. page 235. 334 the traveller's note book. should have been neglected than that the ivy, which, in all its beautiful varieties, is more or less known in every part of great britain, should be the object of such universal persecution. the hermit mentioned a fact relating to the ivy, with which i was previously unacquainted, and which i do not believe is generally known, although it is in the power of everybody to see and observe, viz., that when it attains a certain age, and is peculiarly ornamental to the tree on which it hangs, it ceases to throw out feelers; consequently, that the outcry that when ivy is old its stem must be cut through, or it will destroy the tree, is one of the most remarkable hallucinations of the present age. when ivy is old, it ceases to be attached to the stem round which it is twisted, excepting by its folds, which are so completely loose from the stem of the tree that a hand may be frequently passed between the ivy and the tree, while the upper boughs are supported by festoons from branch to branch; consequently, if the ivy is merely thinned sufficiently above (when it becomes top-heavy), to prevent too the traveller's note book. 335 great a weight upon the small boughs of the tree, it cannot in any way injure the tree; and yet ivy, in the state above described, appears to be a favourite mark for the axe to sever. the hermit pointed out to me several beautiful evergreen trees in the winter, which at a distance i did not identify to be ivy, and i wondered what bright and shining standard evergreens thus enlivened his wood; but he explained that these verdant objects were simply produced by planting ivy (or preserving it when wild) to grow up dead trees, which, being at length entirely covered, resembled standard evergreens of the most brilliant tint. i agree with the hermit that a series of experiments might be made, with interesting and useful results, to ascertain at what age ivy ceases to adhere to the tree against which it grows, also, the different characteristics of the various sorts of ivy. the hermit is of opinion that the very diminutive wild ivy, which grows especially on walls, the stem of which seldom attains any bulk, and which forms a beautiful network all over the stones, is a great pre336 the traveller's note book. servative to mason-work, and ought to be specially planted and encouraged against parkwalls, in preference to the ivy, generally called irish, which, however, is not believed to be indigenous in that country. roads, hedges, and banks.* i have had a conversation with the hermit, on the present frequent mismanagement, and actual destruction of live fences, on the sides of highways and byways, but he was so anxious that i should return to my lessons in the culinary art, that he did not then give me time to tell him the anecdote i was about to narrate, of the discovery of a friend of mine, as to the immediate cause of the miserable system by which the banks, on the sides of roads, are so maltreated, that the hedges and roadside timber are frequently undermined ; but he afterwards requested me to write it down, and to illustrate it with my pencil,† and expressed his opinion that if i placed the narrative in my note book, with the sketches, it * see page 238. see plate viii. plate viii. or, highways and byeways, with banks, hedges, and safety and comfort, shade and shelter, for bipeds and quadrupeds. water; win 1 | the traveller's note book. 337 might some day be of service to those whose property is annually destroyed, while the public safety is endangered, but who either have not opened their eyes to see the evil done, or their understandings to prevent it. my friend was a landholder, of considerable property, who, having gone abroad for his health, had heard nothing of what had taken place in his own parish for more than twelve months, and on his return he could scarcely recognise the roads around his home. when he went away, there was fine roadside timber, including splendid hollies, and substantial hedges, growing on firm and solid bankswhen he returned, it appeared as if an invading had devastated the whole of the environs. the fine and flourishing hedges were cut down to within a short distance of the top of the bank, so as to remove every impediment to bipeds or quadrupeds going over it with ease. the previous winter had been very severe, and the snow had frozen on the small remnant of growing sprays left, so that few and sickly shoots had been brought forth in the summer, army ꮓ 338 the traveller's note book. which shoots had been quickly disposed of by the cattle and sheep, who, after they had eaten up the few leaves left, amused themselves with looking over into the road, and occasionally making a descent upon it, over the slight obstacles in their way, which an active boy could have cleared with one bound; and which the quadrupeds walked over, or burst through with the greatest ease.* my friend was shocked and distressed by the general disfigurement, and the aspect of barren misery which such a prospect entailed; but being a person of intelligence, he soon discovered that it was not alone by wilful and illjudged cutting down, that such a very rapid decadence of hedges had been produced, but that the banks had been cut away, and pared down, and scooped into, in such a manner, that the natural nourishment of the hedges had been abstracted; and with regard to the hedgetimber, the excavation of the banks had been carried on to such an excess, that the trees had been undermined, and their roots cut through and exposed on the side next the road; whilst plate ix. copper sce plate ix. w. j. allen the dangers of highways and byeways where hedges and banks are not fences; or, a picture of peril and desolation from the destruction of shade and shelter. the traveller's note book. 339 the banks in other places being sliced down perpendicularly, the roots of the hedge-timber, as well as the live hedges, were not only visible to the naked eye, but protruded in some instances, horizontally, three or four inches beyond the surface of the soil. my friend followed up his investigations, until he made out that in his locality, the following causes had led to these most lamentable results, and to injuries, which could not be remedied for many years, so as to restore or renew what had been so wantonly destroyed. the causes were as follows:k the farmers were annoyed by the unusual stir which had followed the appointment of new road surveyors; and though they might not have been totally insensible to the disfigurement of their premises, were certainly more keenly aware of the time that had been occupied in cutting down their fences, according to the orders of the new officers, which officers seemed to have had but one idea, viz. that the more completely the hedges were destroyed, and the roads rendered unsightly, and destitute of shade or z 2 340 the traveller's note book. shelter, the greater would be the appearance of their own activity, and the greater credit they would obtain. of the roads themselves, very little notice was taken, excepting to allow those employed upon them, to excavate gutters under the banks, and to scrape as much of the surface away from the sides of the road, as to render them so convex as to occasion frequent overturns, when vehicles passed each other in the dark,-in short to imitate the shape of a saucer turned upside down. my friend was convinced that some party or parties must have an especial motive for these latter proceedings, which were equally subversive of the interests of the public, and positively injurious to private individuals, and he found that the explanation of the whole was as follows. the roads had long been neglected, but the hedges were excellent, though they might have been in some places a little too redundant, and required the moderate pruning of any sprays which protruded over the road so as to interfere with loaded corn-waggons. an outcry for mending the roads was raised in the traveller's note book. 341 the neighbourhood. the new officials (" highways" and "byways") found the repairs needed (viz. picking up and stoning and making coffer gutters) troublesome, expensive, and tedious, and they thought that if they could produce a rapid transformation by means of cutting down hedges and making brooms of the roadside timber, this startling effect would, by the sudden change, impress the public with the reality of " great improvement." moreover, as they ordered the farmers to be the executioners of their own hedges, their destruction involved no expense, and did not create any extra items in the books,-another advantage so far as the officials were concerned, but the misplaced industry of the race so called "road-menders," was not solely attributable to the supervisors, but also to the blindness of the farmers themselves to their own interests, having forgotten the old adage of "robbing peter to pay paul," as he discovered that the farmers often gave money or beer to the roadmenders (employed by the highway or byway surveyors) for slicing down the banks next 342 the traveller's note book. any the road which their own hedges grew, by upon which they believed they were enriching themselves by means of their enemy's troops, whereas for every cartload of soil thus obtained by the loss of the banks, they entailed upon themselves the expense of incessant mending and repairing hedges until quite dead, and afterwards of keeping up a dead fence without "tenet" "* at hand. it was truly "killing the goose with the golden egg," for between the road-surveyors and road-menders and farmers, the irish notice might have been practically rivalled, and instead of the sign-post in the emerald isle, which announced that "the improvements on market hill rendered the roads impassable,” there might have been a notice, "beware of bulls and other horned animals, as in consequence of the repair of the roads, all live fences have been destroyed and all banks carried away or undermined." this anecdote, i fear, is not a solitary instance, nor is it exaggerated, but the hermit laughed aloud when he heard it, and said, gaily, * a word used for the loppings of brushwood used to repair dead hedges. the traveller's note book. 343 "what can you expect but such improvements as long as a modern education is confined to the various arrangements of the letters of the alphabet, without thought or reflection or any regard to palpable facts under the eye? do you suppose that if any three persons (or perhaps one) in your friend's neighbourhood, had used either their eyes or understandings, and resolutely and perseveringly opposed this destructive mischief while in its course, on its true grounds-that it could not have been stopped? of course it could, but it seems, by your own account, that half the world are blind, and the other half cripples, in mind at all events, if not in body." wall-flowers. i have observed that the top of every wall near the hermit's abode is surmounted by wallflowers, the wild single sort, which are always the most fragrant, and among which an endless variety of tints are observable from the young plants which spring up spontaneously every 344 the traveller's note book. year, self-sown afresh, and the hermit pointed out some of a violet colour, so that had i not examined the flowers, i should have believed they belonged to another species of plant; but my host confessed that although wall-flowers grew wild in the locality of his abode, that he had saved the seeds and sown, not only the tops of all his own walls, but those of all his neighbours, which proceeding, he added, had produced the greatest amount of innocent pleasure to the greatest number of persons at the smallest expense and trouble, of anything that he had ever done. he added that this idea had originated from reflecting upon the bountiful supplies of providence with regard to wild flowers, of which, he was surprised to find from my statements that so little was thought in the present great world, and that many valuable species of plants were almost extinct from being persecuted as weeds, and he thought he would try the above experiment where at all events no one would be injured. its success was beyond his expectations, and not only did he himself revel in the increased beauty and the traveller's note book. 345 fragrance of his wild wall-garden, but he was gratified to find that his poorer neighbours, in fact every one who passed within sight or smell of these delightful flowers, expressed their gratification. a year or two afterwards he added the seeds of the red and yellow antirhinum (or snapdragon), which had succeeded equally well, and added to the beauty of his wild wall garden without requiring any other nourishment than that bestowed by heaven. sheep's milk. i confess that when the hermit first told me that his best cheese owed its superiority to the addition of sheep's milk, i thought he was jesting; and although i saw the ewes being milked, and admired the arcadian scene, i supposed, in my ignorance, that the milk was to feed the calves! but i am now fully aware that the milk of that valuable animal (the welsh sheep), when mingled with that of the cow, produces cheese which is not only 346 the traveller's note book. excellent to eat new, but, when old, is more like parmesan than anything else i ever tasted. the following are memoranda of facts relative to the hermit's flock of welsh sheep: his lambs were sold when i was with him, about the beginning of july, at 17. each, being then from three to four months old. the ewes were then milked for three months. they were twenty-four in number, and they gave on an average twenty-four quarts a day. the proportions for cheese were one quart o ewe's milk to five quarts of cow's milk, and six quarts of ewe's milk to thirty quarts of cow's milk made a cheese, weighing from twelve to fourteen pounds, of a most superior quality, with the sharpness so much admired in parmesan. some of these ewes became so fat after they were dried in october, that when they were killed at christmas, their weight was from fourteen to fifteen pounds a quarter, and the mutton of the very finest flavour. of course there was no stall-feeding, or confinement, or quackery with artificial food, but only ―――― the traveller's note book. 347 pastures, often changed, and a good shed to run into at pleasure. the hermit seldom or ever lost a lamb, but his sheep were supplied with chaff and cut roots in winter, when there was not sufficient grass to support them well. to give an idea of the profit of welsh sheep when properly managed, i have made a note of the profits of ten of the hermit's welsh wethers, which were bought the latter end of march, and sold the beginning of the following may; their price was 17. 10s., and they were sold at 21. off turnips. it is also to be remembered that the welsh wool is a very fine quality, and peculiarly well adapted for cloth as well as flannel, and those native welsh cottagers who are still wise enough to make use of their woolwheels, produce a home-spun cloth which, like the brocades of old, is so durable that they may almost be considered as heir-looms. the home-knit welsh stockings of the black welsh sheep's wool, are also very superior, and do not need any dye. i also observed that the hermit's flock was so tame that they followed the 348 the traveller's note book. shepherd about, and some of them would eat out of his hand, and on remarking that i had always been told the welsh sheep were so wild that it was impossible to keep them within bounds, i was informed that there was not the slightest inconvenience in keeping welsh sheep if they were properly managed, but that if purchasers chose to go to welsh fairs or markets, and bought sheep of different flocks, drove them to a strange place, and then took no precautions to reconcile them to their new locality, they would be very likely to find the next morning that their sheep had all disappeared in different directions; but that if a flock was purchased that had been accustomed to live together, and if they were at first placed in a well-fenced pasturage with plenty to eat, they would soon become reconciled to the change, but when born and brought up on the same spot, they never wished to stray. in short, it appears that welsh sheep exactly resemble the scotch highland cattle-if untamed, untended, uncared for, they are as unmanageable as wild beasts, but when domesticated they are mild, docile, and have no the traveller's note book. 349 inclination to wander. the welsh sheep certainly is one of the most symmetrical animals i ever beheld, and appears to particular advantage when black, their arched necks, slender legs, small, compact, and well-proportioned, bodies, their long graceful tails, and picturesque curling horns, with their soft dark fleeces and brilliant dark eyes, would render them fit studies for rosa bonheur. goats. the hermit's welsh goats were differently managed to those i have seen on the continent, and they are much handsomer animals than the foreign goats, with which i am acquainted. it is surprising that no specimen of the real welsh goat is preserved in the zoological gardens. the welsh goat being an aboriginal of britain, ought to be specially protected, whereas it appears that the breed is likely to become extinct. the gallant regiment of the welsh fusiliers ought to protest against this 350 the traveller's note book. neglect of an animal which has always been associated with welsh regiments and the principality of wales. the welsh goat has a very picturesque appearance, from its long coat and beautifully formed head. there are two species equally aboriginal; one with magnificent horns, and the other without horns. the hermit had both kinds, and he made a point of keeping as many as he could without horns, because they were not dangerous to the numerous peasant children who were continually playing with them. the hermit said that his goats certainly had a predilection for the bark of young trees, and he therefore for many years had adopted the plan of tethering them. each goat was provided with a leather collar and chain, one end of which was attached by a ring to the leather strap which forms the collar, and at the other end there was a ring which was fastened to the ground by a sharp wooden hook. the goats seemed perfectly happy, their chains were very long, and they were moved twice or thrice a day. they were always brought into a large the traveller's note book. 351 yard at night, where they were left at perfect liberty, with an open shed where they had prunings of shrubs or vegetables or anything that was convenient, given them to eat. the she-goat gives when in full milking more than two quarts a day. the value of their milk for children and invalids has been admitted in all ages; their milk makes excellent cheese alone, without the mixture of any other, and the whey is particularly nourishing and wholesome, as well as the curd which is produced a second time from boiling the whey. kids are always marketable, being excellent food, and their skins very valuable. feathers. the hermit had a great horror of a feather bed, which, he said, had been caused by observation of the dreadful consequences to invalids, or those who were bedridden, of lying in a hot hollow, instead of having a flat cool elastic surface to repose upon, and likewise from knowing that feathers caused, absorbed, and retained 352 the traveller's note book. perspiration, and consequently that under any circumstances they were the most objectionable material that could be selected, either for health or convenience, to be lain upon by rich or poor. feathers, however, seemed to be very much valued in his establishment, and they were carefully preserved and cured in the following manner. all the feathers were plucked into empty boxes, kept in an outer building, and it was the business of an aged widow, who had nothing to do with the culinary department, as soon as her box was full, to put them into a large high tub which had previously been filled with limewater, made by putting hot lime into another tub overnight, and filling it up with water, stirring it well, and leaving it to stand for twelve hours, after which, the lime being precipitated to the bottom, the clear lime-water was poured off into the tub in which the feathers were to be immersed, and which being stirred round with a stick, were left to soak for four and twenty hours, at the end of which time the quill of every feather would have the traveller's note book. 353 burst or cracked at the end in which the animal oil is contained, which has so offensive and unhealthy a smell in feathers imperfectly cured. the feathers were then taken out and put into common washing-tubs, where they were washed in warm water with a little soft soap, and then a sheet being spread over a large empty tub, the water with the feathers was ladled out into the sheet, and the water having drained away, the feathers were placed thinly upon a dry sheet, which was put upon a square frame (or cratch) composed of thin strips of wood nailed together, and fixed on the top of four upright sticks in the sun (if in summer), or else suspended to four hooks fastened in the ceiling of the hermit's kitchen in winter. as soon as the feathers were dry, they were taken away by the featherwife, who stripped them, cutting off the hard part of the quill with a pair of scissors, and by practice she was so expert, she almost mechanically placed in their respective heaps the finer and the coarser down, which at the end of the day she put in paper bags and hung along the beam of the ceiling. a a 354 the traveller's note book. this occupation is particularly well adapted for old women, who can sit near a fire, and pursue this employment in the winter, as a means of subsistence. the hermit had a little building on purpose, where there was a good fireplace, and a long beam for the feather-bags; the contents of which were perfectly sweet, and as downy and fluffy, as if they had never been wetted. they were appropriated to making quilts for the winter and pillows. the hermit said that it was not from the custom of his country he had learnt this, as he must admit that the welsh were too fond of feather-beds; but that although he did not wish to introduce the rolling balloons of the germans, called eider-down quilts, he thought that much gratitude was due to that nation, for the sensible idea of putting feathers over instead of under human beings in the winter. the hermit's bedsteads had strips of wood at the bottom (no sacking), on these were placed a very deep, but very soft mattress, filled with oat-straw, or beech-leaves, but not those dreadful inventions, called by the french name of the traveller's note book. 355 "palliasse," although never seen in that country. these mattresses had two openings in the seams, by which means the straw or leaves could be levelled by the hand every day, and the contents could be changed every year, or oftener if necessary, in the course of half an hour. over a mattress of this description, a wool mattress was placed, with a small quantity of horse-hair, mixed with the wool in the centre, to increase the firmness and elasticity. feather pillows completed the equipment of the bedding; and the upper, as well as the lower mattresses, were all made at home, and consequently easily re-made when necessary. moles. these little animals were special favourites of the hermit, who said that they ought to be preserved for their utility, as well as protected for their harmlessness. he considered that their hillocks, of the finest earth, were an excellent top-dressing for grass, and that half the a a 2 356 the traveller's note book. money spent in paying mole-catchers would be much more profitably bestowed in paying for spreading the mole-hills at dawn of day. i suggested that if moles were never destroyed, they might become so numerous as to get into his garden, and throw up their mounds over the young plants. he said, in that case they must be kept under and it would be only necessary to kill them in certain restricted localities, and these would be exceptional, but that the usual way of trapping of trapping them by letting them fall into deep empty boxes, out of which they could not crawl, and leaving them to die of famine, was a disgrace to humanity. the hermit did not like my remark that their fur was as fine, if not finer, than sealskin, as he was afraid it might lead to a still further destruction of his favourite little underground ploughmen, and insect destroyers; and, he added, if the undeniable talent for mechanics which characterised the present age had not yet invented a merciful method of putting these innocent little animals to death when no benefit was derived by their flesh or skins, that the traveller's note book. 357 nothing was to be expected but an increase of cruelty, if any profit was to be obtained from the latter. i informed him of the existence of the excellent society for the "prevention of cruelty to animals," and he asked me, "how it was that all these years it had forgotten the moles?" which question i could not answer. bees. the hermit has a large establishment of bees, to which industrious insects he is not only particularly partial, but he has a sort of respect, i might almost say reverence, for them, which is very general among his countrymen, and which surprised me, although he appeared to be as much surprised at my knowing so little about their habits or their treatment; but still i was able to inform him that there were in england many scientific apiarians, who had made the treatment of bees their especial study. he asked me whether the study had led to a great increase of bee-keepers in england 358 the traveller's note book. generally, but i told him that the houses or boxes recommended for their abode were so very expensive, and required such very neat joiners' or cabinet-makers' work, that it was impossible to expect that any but those in affluent circumstances could keep bees; this unfortunate remark has brought a storm down upon my devoted head, as i unfortunately furnished my host with a new argument in support of his opinion, that everything he hears from me proves that the present age is anything but an age of common sense. there is, however, no doubt that the hermit's bees thrive remarkably well, and that so far from their houses or their management being complicated or expensive, they are neither one nor the other; and for the benefit of my friends, i have made sketches of the hives,* which are all double, a small one at the top, and a large one at the bottom. it appears that the bees fill the top hive for the hermit, and make further provision for themselves in the lower hive. * see plate no. x. no. i. 2. 1 3. 4 plate x. c top hive (on its mat), 6 inches high, and 10 inches diameter. mat, ii inches diameter; hole, 2 inches in circumference. 2 lower hive (without top hive), 11 inches high, 16 inches in diameter, with hoop 3 inches wide. 4. lower and upper hive together, mortared round the hoop. 5. wooden scoop. 6. jug for keeping bees' wiater food, with flat top to be tied total value of the whole over. 45. 1 the traveller's note book. 359 in the month of july, the hermit takes off the top hive, which is generally full of the finest honeycomb. he replaces it with another the same size, leaving the contents of the lower hive undisturbed. the lower hive has a flat top, with an extra round of straw on the outer rim, within which the upper hive fits, and the hole in the centre of the top of the lower hive admits the bees from one to the other. there is a simple hoop of wood at the bottom of each of the lower hives, which the hermit had neatly mortared round outside, so that there could be no egress into the hive, for any insects besides the bees themselves, who entered by one small aperture cut purposely in the hoop. everything else was made of straw, worked in the usual beehive fashion, roll upon roll of straw, fastened together with strips of thin willow. the hermit had fifty double hives. i requested one of the widows to weigh a small top hive empty, and another of the same size full. the empty hive weighed one pound and a half; the full hives six pounds and a half; consequently at the rate of five pounds for the 360 the traveller's note book. owner's share, my host's bees produced an average of two hundred and fifty pounds of honeycomb, all filled with the purest honey, for there never is either bee-bread or young bees in the upper hives. i was informed that there is no absolute necessity for the round mat of straw which i observed under each of the top hives, though it was convenient and useful, as the hive was more easily lifted off without disturbing the bees below, in a manner which would not be the case if the upper hive rested only on the top of the lower hive, without having any independent platform; and as bees carefully fill up every crevice which admits light, or might give admission to insects, the upper hive is generally cemented round the edge to whatever it is placed upon, and therefore to take it off suddenly produces a great wrench and disturbance throughout the establishment, entirely avoided by the little mat, which, having a hole in the middle answering to the hole in the top of the lower hive, admits the bees from one to the other. when the bees swarmed, they were hived in the the traveller's note book. 361 lower hive, and the hole at the top had a cork in it; but the evening after (if they had settled quietly) the cork was withdrawn, and the top hive with its mat put in its proper place, and as soon as the bees were thoroughly at home, the hoop of the lower hive was mortared round with a trowel, after dark, a piece of white paper, pricked full of holes, being placed over the entrance attached by four pins to the hoop (while the above operation was performed), to prevent the bees from coming out. the hermit's bees were always fed from the month of november, till the spring blossoms rendered it no longer necessary. their food was so inexpensive that the hermit never permitted the question of their being sufficiently provided with their own honey to prevent their having the offer of supper every night, during the period above mentioned, as he said that, if they did not require it, they would not eat it, but it very seldom happened that they did not take the whole quantity, except in very hard frosts, when they are in a state of torpor. 362 the traveller's note book. their food consisted of treacle, in the proportion of one teacupful to two of water, boiled together, in a jug plunged in a saucepan of boiling water, with as much salt sprinkled in as gave it the very slightest saline flavour.* this mixture was kept in jugs with narrow spouts and flat tops, over which thick brown paper was tied, to keep out the dust; and every night two of the widows went to each hive, with a candle, the jug of boiled treacle and water, and scoops made of elder or other wood, which they placed in the mouth of each hive, leaving the portion outside which was not hollowed. they filled each scoop with as much of the prepared food as the cavity would hold without overflowing. the first thing in the morning the scoops were withdrawn, and, being well washed, were put to dry in the house, on a shelf, till the following night. if the bees left any of their food in the scoop, it was not washed out, but withdrawn during the day, and replaced the next night in the hive from which it had been taken. * appendix no. xlviii. the traveller's note book. 363 when the spring is sufficiently advanced for the bees no longer to require food in the hive, they will not take it; but as the weather is very uncertain, and the sun and a few flowers may tempt them out for two or three days, after which a change may take place, to prevent their obtaining any food abroad, the hermit's widows were frequently obliged to recommence feeding between the end of february and april. the hermit explained that feeding the bees not only kept them strong and vigorous, but that it saved a great deal of time with regard to their labours in the spring; as, if they had a good stock of honey for their own use, they begun the sooner to work for their master, and in good years the top hive may be changed twice between june and september. the hermit was very indignant at the idea of joiner's work or cabinet-maker's work being necessary to make houses for bees; and he said there was no greater mistake than to suppose that bees could only thrive under one aspect; that a little observation might convince any one interested in the subject that bees will 364 the traveller's note book. thrive in various aspects, provided they are sheltered from wind, and they have easy access to pure but shallow water, where they can drink without danger of being drowned; also that where the locality will not admit of a safe watering-place for the bees, fresh water should be placed twice or thrice a day in shallow in the shade, near the bee-house, which, if possible, should have a projecting roof of stonetile to screen them well from the rays of the sun. pans, a little penthouse of this description, built against the wall, with the ends boarded or bricked up with a shelf from end to end (which shelf ought to be about an inch from the back wall), is quite sufficient for all useful purposes connected with bees. if stone-tile cannot be had, the roof should have double boards as a protection against the sun, and it should be plastered inside, and whitewashed inside and out every year, and frequently swept between the hives and examined, to see that no ants or snails, or other insects or reptiles, have taken up their abode in the bees' dominions, which is often the cause of their deserting their hives. the traveller's note book. 365 while i was with the hermit, the widows were terrified one morning, at seeing a long black tail, and part of a black body, at the entrance hole of one of the hives, and i then had ocular demonstration of what before i never believed, viz. that mice would venture to interfere with bees, as a mouse attracted by the smell of the honey, of which they are particularly fond, and being, no doubt, very hungry, had entered the hole of one of the beehives in the night, or early in the morning. it appeared that the mouse had only been able to squeeze little more than its head and its forefeet into the hive, when it was so violently attacked and stung by the bees, that it died without being able to extricate itself, and, no doubt, had it not been discovered soon, it would have caused the death of all the inhabitants of the hive from suffocation, the body having swelled and filled up the entrance.* the hermit's bees knew the widows that fed them as well as possible, and were not alarmed by the introduction of the scoop in the evening, * a fact. 366 the traveller's note book. or and the evil consequences were explained to me of ever feeding bees in the daytime, putting their food on the outside of the hives at any time, as such a practice not only distracted their attention, and prevented the bees from following their regular routine of daily duties, but attracted their enemies, and subjected them to the continual annoyance of wasps, hornets, and other as troublesome, though less powerful insects. on the approach of winter, a quantity of dried fern was placed between the back of the hives and the back of the bee-house, and over the top of the hives. fern is considered better than straw, less likely to harbour insects and birds, and more tough and lasting. the fern is removed when the bees begin their spring work, and the bee-house is well swept from cobwebs or any other impurities. care was also taken to prevent weeds or flowers from growing underneath the shelf on which the hives are placed, and the hermit preferred paving-stones, or pitching, as not affording any harbour for insects or reptiles. he said that it was remarkthe traveller's note book. 367 rays able, that although few people were ignorant that the bees, in a state of nature, made the hollow of a tree or a rock their chosen residence, and always selected a place impervious to the of the sun, yet that he had repeatedly noticed the bees were often exposed to the fierce heat of the sun, without any reflection as to the torture those valuable little labourers must endure, if the top of the hive became so warm as to affect their honeycombs by partially melting their wax, also that bees required as much protection from the sun over their hives, as from the rain, but in front of their hives wind was their greatest enemy, and they should be so placed as to be able to issue forth and return home, without being blown over, which frequently occurs when the bee-house faces the windy quarter. when they swarm, their new hive should be rubbed with balm-leaves (but not daubed with beer and sugar), and every empty hive should be boiled in a copper of clean water, and well dried, in the month of april, to be ready when wanted, as without boiling it would be impossible to ensure them 368 the traveller's note book. from insects (or their eggs) having a domicile between the straw bands. i find i have myself imperceptibly acquired something like habits of industry, and of interest in objects which before would no more have occupied my mind than a blank wall would have gratified my sight, and time has fled so fast, from the multiplicity of occupations with which i have been diverted, that i look back with surprise to the length of time that has elapsed since i made the last entry in this note book, and with still greater astonishment do i recollect, that very soon after i returned to the hermit's cell, on my culinary apprenticeship, i resolved to commence these memoranda, not so much with a view of recording useful information, as with the intention of turning my host into ridicule, by writing parallel columns of my own counter experiences, which were to be shown in triumph at the conclusion of my visit ; but where are the refutations which i intended to produce, by my own observations and practical knowledge? and echo answers, where! the traveller's note book. 369 i have at last persuaded this venerable welsh hermit to go to london. i expect great amusement, if not improvement, from his remarks upon what he may see and hear there in the nineteenth century, although i do not believe that, in scenes so totally different from those in which he had lived for more than halt a century, he will be able to impart much instruction to myself or my friends. as i perceive the last pages of this notebook have been devoted to the industrious bees, i cannot do better, on leaving wales, than to dedicate the remaining space to the subject of a welsh poem, written by a learned welsh antiquarian,* upon those exemplary and mysterious insects. the contents of this poem in many respects expressed the sentiments of my venerable host, who was enthusiastically devoted to the bees, and in various conversations on this favourite subject he gave me an idea of the meaning of the above-mentioned * gwalltr mechain. b b 370 the traveller's note book. composition, but he was very unwilling to allow me to take any notes, as he had a dread that some attempt might be made to turn the poem into english rhyme, and he said that it was utterly impossible in english to do anything like justice to welsh composition; that english prose might give an inoffensive outline or idea of the sentiments expressed, which (from the different construction of the languages) english rhyme could never do, yet that any man who really comprehended the welsh language as well as the english tongue (or vice versa) would never be guilty of the absurd attempt of translating welsh poetry into english verse, excepting for the purpose of giving an incorrect and erroneous idea of the original. having promised faithfully that i would never assist or encourage such an objectionable proceeding, i was permitted to make the following notes from memory, which give a general notion of the subject:— the welsh bard recounts that the druids knew through a dream or vision that the bees the traveller's note book. 371 were originally inhabitants of heaven,* where they received the blessing of the almighty; but for the sins of man were sent to the earth to teach the human race that diligence was happiness. the model of good government is described as displayed by the bees, who (queen and subjects) each perform their various duties in unison, each executing with regularity, method, and precision, their allotted work, according to the various powers and qualifications bestowed on every member, their system of government being such that the wisest of men might gain instruction from them, and learn many things which would be most conducive to the general welfare of nations. there is also a description of the fine balmy mornings in may, when the ascending sun summons the bees from their homes, and when (light-winged) they start off with the opening day, and disperse themselves over the country, collecting materials of various kinds, from leaves and flowers, with which to form mansions for there is a tradition that the bees were white before the fall of adam in paradise, but afterwards became brown. bb 2 372 the traveller's note book. the young generation and food for their support, collecting that honey which is so much prized in every quarter of the world. in seven days, when the young bees are able to fly, they are not subjected, like mortals, to long and painful tutelage and confinement, but they are taught early to exercise all their powers fully and freely, to observe and recognise every leaf and flower, and to know the difference of forms and colours, yet the greatest wonder relating to this marvellous race is, that however much they may take from the flowers, " nid ydyw y ddeilen meillionen ddim llai" (there is not one single petal of trefoil the less). the bees have various modes of expression, and they thoroughly understand their own language, in which there are many idioms, and which is always harmonious. when the weather changes, and high winds arise, and oblige the bees to return home, they do not return to idleness because they return to safety, and are surrounded by comforts. unlike weak-minded man, the bees have always work ready, and adapted for all circumstances, and they are equally occupied, whether under the the traveller's note book. 373 canopy of heaven or in the shelter of their own homes, where they replace, arrange, and repair everything with the utmost discretion, and such true wisdom, that everything they do promotes stability as well as health and cleanliness. maidens may well be instructed by the bees. fools might learn of them (were fools capable of receiving instruction).—matrons of every rank ought to study the bees, who demonstrate in their daily life the beauty of diligence, as well as the use of industry, and who, in the midst of all their labours, are so neat and comely, that they appear like gems when poised upon the flowers of the garden. yet can it be believed that, by the perversion of human intellect, man wilfully murders these lovely and innocent winged beings, for the sake of eating their stores? yes! senseless man actually destroys the labourers provided by the almighty, who cheerfully work from morn till eve, and, by their unremitting industry, collect honey enough to satisfy the utmost greediness of the human race, as well as to maintain themselves and all their generations, also reared 374 the traveller's note book. to labour, and which are by the hand of man now suffocated in their cradles! man has no right thus to use the arrows of death, and to oppose the ordinance of god.* the poem concludes with concludes with an emphatic aspiration, in which i (the traveller) most heartily concur.—the poet invokes prosperity for all the bees in the world, wishing them the continuance of wisdom and intelligence to maintain their beneficial hosts, with hopes that the ancient britons may ever have means to live, be contented with their lot, and thankful to their god. the words of the original are these: "mawr gynnydd fo'n dilyn holl wenyn y wlad, mawr synwyr i feithrin-mawr fyddin mor fad, fel y caffo yr hên frython fwyn foddion i fyw i'w byd yn foddlonus-yn ddiolchus i dduw." "thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn." how much more unjustifiable to kill thousands and tens of thousands of bees, whose lives are not merely harmless but abundantly useful and profitable, and whose dead bodies do not benefit either man or beast! the traveller's note book. 375 london. we have arrived in london. i am disappointed! i had expected that the welsh hermit would have been more impressed by the grandeur and progress of the human intellect from his first journey on a railway; but alas! he is much more struck by the inconveniences than by the wonders of that mode of conveyance, and says that if he makes the acquaintance of any anatomists in the metropolis, he will entreat them to give lectures to enlighten the railway companies and the builders of their carriages as to the fact that the relief and repose of the human frame cannot be promoted by having a large protuberance, or hump, in the wrong place, in the back of each of their carriages, so that, instead of the neck of a tired traveller being supported, it is thrust forward exactly in the place where it ought to fall back, and, vice versa, a hollow is provided opposite the back, where a projection is most required. the blinds of the railway carriages caused him much astonishment and 376 the traveller's note book. indignation. the sun was hot and glaring. we had to change to other lines three times. the carriages of each line had different sorts of blinds. the first had springs which were all out of order; the next had no springs, but rings on a rod, the consequence of which was, that there might as well have been no blinds at all, as the draught produced by the velocity of the motion blew the unfortunate blinds in every direction, and there was no alternative but to be blinded or to draw up the window and shut out the air. the third change was not an improvement, although it is impossible to say whether it once might have been so, as one window was minus any blind at all, and the other blind was in shreds. on complaining to the guard, he said "they were under repair." i almost repent having induced the hermit to take this journey; he is very intractable; his satirical humour seems to increase, and alas! his sharpness of perception also. our journey was unlucky; there was an accident to a luggage train before us, and the wreck was so great that the broken carriages the traveller's note book. 377 could not be got out of the way in time for us to pass, and we were obliged to walk through the wreck in the dark, to take our places in another train, which had been telegraphed for, and was waiting on the other side of the heap of ruins, by which transit we lost all our luggage, and obtained the trunks of other passengers. i only hope the hermit will not publish all the particulars of his first railway journey, as it might bring down the shares of one of the lines, in which i have a large stake, which would be a cruel addition to the loss i have previously sustained of one finger and part of my thumb, and all my good looks! there is certainly no progress made as yet towards inclining the hermit to the belief that the nineteenth century is an age of remarkable intelligence or special improvement, and he continues to declare obstinately that if the ends produced by the present bad system of education, (so conducive to ignorance, through neglect of observation and reflection,) were printed in parallel columns with the benefits which have 378 the traveller's note book. been derived by the undoubted progress of mechanical talent, that the balance of benefits would be on the wrong side of happiness, morality, general utility, and general intelligence. however, i will try to keep up my spirits, and commence a new note-book, as a record to look back upon of the visit of the hermit of st. gover to london in the nineteenth century. end of traveller's note book of 1866. appendix. containing recipes given by the hermit to the traveller, as cooked in the cell of st. gover. 1 appendix. no. i. boiled fowl. weight of fowl, three and a half lbs. ; a quarter of a pint of cold water to each pound. fill the outer vessel with water, and let it simmer very slowly for two hours and a quarter, unless the meat of the fowl is tender and fit for eating sooner, which can be proved by trying it with a fork. pour off the broth, which ought to be about a pint of strong chicken broth, and when cold will be a jelly. the bones of the chicken, after the meat is eaten (or all taken off), are to be broken up, and stewed in a digester for two or three hours, with a pint of water to every pound of bones; then pour the liquor off, which ought to produce about half a pint of jelly, and the bones are to be rebroken, and put into the digester again, with a pint of water to every pound of bones, which will, of course, weigh less than before the first stewing. they are to remain between one and two hours stewing, then pour off the liquor, which ought to produce more than a quarter of a pint of jelly. the bones to 382 appendix. be broken the third time, and subjected to the same process, with a pint of water to the pound, their weight being again diminished: the liquor ought to produce a quarter of a pint of jelly. thus, a fowl or three pounds and a half weight will, under proper management, on an average, produce, besides the meat, more than a quart of jelly stock, first and last, including the pint produced by the first boiling. n.b.-it must be remembered that slight differences as to produce will be found, according to the sort, the quality, or condition of poultry, as well as butcher's meat: but the receipts given in this work have been written down from actual practical experiments, often repeated, and the variations in the produce are, on an average, trifling, excepting where the meat has been very fat, and when that is the case in butcher's meat, the same quantity of jelly stock must never be expected as when the meat is lean, inasmuch as the fat will not produce gravy; consequently, when there is a great overplus of fat, less water should be allowed to the weight of meat. in the proceeds from the hermit's fowl, the oil on the top of the jelly from the first boiling measured a quarter of a pint, and the fat collected from the surface of all the jellies amounted to a quarter of a pint. appendix. 383 total produce of hermit's fowl (besides the meat) :jelly stock, i quart. oil fat رد >> 1 14 of a pint. of a pint. parsley sauce for boiled fowl. two ounces of fresh butter, cut in little bits, put into a double saucepan, with as much flour as will make it into a stiff paste; then add two tablespoonfuls of milk; stir well, add six tablespoonfuls of water, continue to stir till it is quite hot and the thickness of good cream. the above is now plain melted butter, and ready for parsley sauce, which must be made by previously having had the parsley washed very clean, and picking every leaf off the stems; put a small teaspoonful of salt into half a pint of boiling water, boil the parsley in this for ten minutes, drain it on a sieve, mince it fine, or bruise it to a pulp, and stir it into the melted butter prepared as above described. 384 appendix. fricaseed cold chicken.-(page 33.) chop very fine leek-roots, celery, a small quantity of turnip, and some persons like a little carrot. put the whole into a saucepan with sufficient top fat (if from chicken stock all the better) to form a thick pulp when thoroughly incorporated with the chopped vegetables (the whole of the vegetables together being about two ounces), stir briskly over the fire for ten minutes; then shake in as much flour as will make it a stiff paste, stirring well for five minutes longer, then put the whole into a double saucepan in which is three-quarters of a pint of chicken stock, which has been previously warmed, and after well stirring, again leave it to stew slowly for three-quarters of an hour, then pass the whole through a wire sieve into a basin, and pour what is strained back into the double, adding two tablespoonfuls of cream, after which the flavour must be improved as required, by stirring round a sprig of orange thyme, or any other herb wanted, and, if the flavour of celery and onions is not sufficient, it is now to be increased by stirring round pieces of either of those vegetables, and taking them out as soon as sufficient taste is obtained. the meat of the cold chicken is to be cut or pulled into long pointed pieces, and put into the sauce, where, being well stirred, it is to remain appendix. 385 until thoroughly warmed through, and the chicken flavour imparted to the sauce. this will take a few minutes more or less according to the heat to which the hot water on the outside is exposed, -the slower the better, as, if the water is kept fiercely boiling instead of barely simmering, the chicken will be beat to pieces; whereas having already been once dressed, it ought only to be done the second time sufficiently to have the chicken flavour imparted to the sauce, and the flavour of the sauce absorbed by the chicken. in the hermit's mode of cookery in separate double vessels, any dishes can be kept warm without injury for a long while, should the dinner by any accident be retarded.* *the reader of this recipe, who may possibly be acquainted. with the copper tray called a bain-marie, to hold hot water, which is used by professed cooks to keep their sauces from burning, and may probably suppose that that contrivance was unknown to the hermit, and that his system of double vessels for cookery was only a clumsy substitution for a scientific invention, beyond his knowledge or his reach; it is, therefore, necessary to add, that it was in consequence of the total inefficiency of the copper tray, called a bain-marie, to effect the objects which it was the ambition of the hermit to attain, that he discarded the bain-marie altogether, as an expensive and cumbersome addition to his kitchen, which took up a great deal of room, and did very little work, and was totally inadmissible where there was not a very large stove. c c 386 appendix. no. ii. roast leg of mutton. leg of mutton weighing five lbs. ; put on the hook attached to the yarn, which hangs from a crank (see page 40), 24 inches from the fire, basted with clarified dripping, or suet. keep an earthen pan on the bottom of the screen next the dripping-pan; after basting, ladle all the gravy, or liquid fat, out of the drippingpan into the earthe pan, from which it can be taken as often as needed to baste, and again returned. a leg of mutton of this size will take about three hours; half an hour before it is finished, put it four inches nearer the fire; put half a pint of boiling water in a watering-pot with the rose on, salt to taste, and pour over the joint slowly, which will produce a great increase of gravy, and when browned again after the watering, and well basted, sprinkle flour all over it with a flour dredger, and again baste to froth it. the gravy to be served with the meat should, if possible, have been saved from a previous joint, and warmed in a double saucepan ; but, if not practicable, the gravy should be taken out of the dripping-pan after the watering, and placed in a basin or dish to cool, and when the fat is sufficiently congealed to be appendix. 387 removed, the clear gravy can be rewarmed in a double saucepan, and would be ready to be served with the meat by the time it is frothed and dished. jelly from the bones of roast legs of welsh mutton. the bones of roast welsh legs of mutton, broken small, and put in a digester with three pints of water, produced a pint and a half of jelly after stewing slowly for three hours; the bones being rebroken and put down again with a pint and a half of water, after stewing for two hours produced threequarters of a pint more jelly. the bones being broken the third time, and put down with one pint of water; produced one-quarter pint more jelly. total quantity of jelly from a pound and a half of leg of mutton bones, two pints and a half. no. iii. stewed beef. trimmings of half-rounds of beef cut in pieces for pies, 6 lbs. brisket, stewed same time, 15 lbs. cc 2 388 appendix. beef altogether, 21 lbs. onions, celery, leeks, turnips, and carrots about four soup-plates full, a soup-plate holding about 1 lb. of chopped vegetables. suet, or top fat, 1 lb. n.b. the suet or top fat which is added to stewed beef to make it more mellow, should always be added the last thing over the vegetables, because otherwise it would prevent the juice and flavour of the vegetables from penetrating into the meat. water two quarts and one pint, being a quarter of a pint of water to every pound of beef. stewed in double vessel for twelve hours, produced six quarts of stock, which when cold was a strong jelly; and the fat when cold taken off the top weighed two pounds and a half. it must always be remembered that the fatter the meat the less stock will be produced; nothing is so wasteful or unwholesome for household purposes as over-fat meat, or fat produced by oil-cake and forcing feeding, and such animals are, moreover, scarcely ever free from disease. the sauce for this stewed beef (if eaten hot) is prepared from its own jelly stock in the same manner as hashed mutton, with addition of turnip and carrot balls (or shreds) stewed till tender in broth. (see page 64.) appendix. 389 no. iv. hashed mutton. cut as much mutton as is required from the remainder of a roast leg in pointed pieces.* fry one ounce and a half of onion, and the same of celery chopped fine, and one ounce of turnip, with a sufficient quantity of fresh top fat, cut in small pieces, from soup or broth, stirred round and round over a stove or fire in a clean tin saucepan for ten minutes; then add as much flour as will stiffen it into a paste of the consistency of wet mortar, and stir round and round over the stove for five minutes more; then add a sufficient quantity of the jelly from the bone of the leg of roast mutton, to be of the consistence of thick pea-soup; then pour the whole into a double saucepan, in the outside of which there must be a sufficient quantity of boiling water to fill within an inch of the top of the inner saucepan. let the whole simmer gently for a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes; then pour through a wire sieve and return into a clean double saucepan, which replace on the stove; taste, and if it requires any further flavouring of herbs or vegetables, add them; then put in the pre*see description, page 60. 390 appendix. pared pieces of meat, stir well, and let it remain in a very slow heat for half an hour, when it will be ready for the table. no. v. simple white soup. one pint of veal stock and one pint of brown stock in a large basin; place the basin over a saucepan of boiling water on a stove or fire, add an onion cut in half, three or four pieces of celery slit in various places to let out the juice, a sprig or two of basil and marjory (if in winter these herbs may be used in powder, having been bottled* in the summer); place a plate over the top of the basin, and the lid of the saucepan on the plate to keep in the heat; let all simmer together, the water in the saucepan being kept boiling under the basin for forty minutes; then add four tablespoonfuls of cream and macaroni cut small, after having been previously stewed till tender in mutton broth or veal stock. * see page 75, on preserving and bottling herbs. appendix. 391 the white soup of gover. put one quart of veal stock in a double saucepan to warm, then chop fine six ounces of onion, six of celery, four of leeks, six of pumpkin, four of carrots; stir the whole in a single saucepan over the stove for ten minutes, with as much top fat as will make them into a pulp, without burning or being oily; then shake in with the dredger as much flour as will form the whole into a pulpy paste, stirring briskly for five minutes more; then add the whole mass to the hot veal stock in the double saucepan, and let all stew slowly together surrounded with boiling water for an hour and a half, frequently stirring; then pass through a wire sieve, return into a clean double saucepan, add whatever flavouring is deficient, either in salt or herbs, with six spoonfuls of cream; let the whole be well stirred and thoroughly hot, and it is ready for the table. n.b. more or less cream can be added according to taste, and it is better flavoured if the cream is added before it is put through the wire sieve, to which some persons may object for reasons given by the hermit; but whether before or after, an additional * see page 113. 392 appendix. flavour of herbs is generally required, and sometimes more onion after the cream, which can be done by adding pieces of vegetables or sprigs of herbs until the additional flavour has been obtained, when they can be taken out before it is served. n.b. the stocks used for the above soups are the jelly produced by boiling or stewing in a double vessel either veal or beef, till in perfection for eating (as described by the hermit), in the proportions of a quarter pint of water to one lb. of meat (bone and flesh together); if very fat, less stock will be produced. nothing is worse economy than overplus of fat. when broth only is wanted half a pint of water to the pound may be used. the hermit's gravy soup.* five pounds of lean beef cut in small pieces, (trimmed from the inside of two half-rounds before they were salted,) fifteen pounds of brisket of beef, four pounds of onions, leeks, turnips, and carrots, all finely chopped, in the proportions of one pound of onions, one pound of celery, half a pound of leeks, quarter of a pound of turnips, quarter of a pound of * page 65. appenaix. 393 carrots. suet one pound, water two quarts and one pint, being a quarter of a pint to every pound of meat, stewed in double twelve hours, by which time the meat was not overdone, but very tender and juicy. the produce was five quarts and a pint and a half of stock, which when cold was a clear jelly; fat taken off the jelly when cold weighed two pounds and a half. n.b.-had the meat been fatter the produce of soup would have been much less, and there would have been waste in eating the meat from disproportion of fat to the lean. the arrangement of the meat, &c. in the inside vessel, was as follows:first, brisket; then the trimmings on the top of the brisket; second, vegetables; third, a sprinkling of salt on the vegetables; fourth, suet also on the vegetables. by attention to this order of things, the juices of the vegetables drawn out by slightly salting are distilled through the meat, while the suet is also slowly melted, and enriches the meat as it passes through; the superabundance, after the meat is saturated, is all again collected from the top of the jelly stock when cold. by this process of slow cooking in a double vessel two very important objects are gained; the first being the impossibility of burning or entirely spoiling the meat or the soup; the second, · 394 appendix. that more soup is obtained than the quantity of water which is put to the meat; whereas upon the old system much less soup is produced than the quantity of water put in, because the liquor is boiled away and wasted. the trimmings thus cooked make the best beef family pies, the bottom part of the jelly stock being used for the gravy, which not being so transparent as the upper part is not so well adapted in appearance for gravy soup, but is especially savoury and well-flavoured. the brisket itself is ready to be served next day, with the sauce recommended by the hermit.* no skimming while hot is ever required for any of the recipes in this book. the gravy soup, as well as other soups, will generally require some extra flavouring of herbs and vegetables when warmed for the table, which warming must always be in a double saucepan, or a basin over a saucepan of boiling water: the latter is the most delicate. no. vi. hashed mutton (simple). prepare the cold mutton as directed in no. 4 ; salt it slightly, flour it lightly, turning it well over * see page 64. • 1 appendix. 395 with two forks; put it into a double saucepan, with a sufficient quantity of jelly from the bones of mutton previously flavoured with onion and herbs; let the meat remain in this sauce in a gentle heat, frequently stirred for three quarters of an hour before it is served. if there is no jelly from mutton bones, clear gravy from roast mutton, similarly flavoured, would be very good. no. vii. mutton pie. neck or loin of mutton, five pounds, cut in chops, put in a double saucepan with half a quarter of a pint of water to the pound; add one pound of vegetables chopped fine (onions and celery equal quantities, turnips and carrots half the quantity); a sprinkling of salt. stew for two hours; when the meat is sufficiently tender, take it off, pour the liquor into a basin to cool, and cut the meat off the bones, removing also the superfluous fat. when the liquor is cold take the solid fat off the top, and the stock will then be in a jelly; add this jelly to the meat which has been cut off the bones, and place the whole in a thick crockery basin over a saucepan of boiling water until the jelly has melted amongst the meat, and the whole 396 appendix. is warmed through; then remove till the next day, when the meat will be imbedded in the jelly which will have cooled round it, and of which it will have absorbed a great deal. the meat and jelly can then be placed in layers in the pie-dish, and there ought to be (if done properly) considerably more jelly than is required for gravy for the pie, which overplus is to be kept back; a little fresh parsley chopped small is to be sprinkled between the meat. the paste for the pie is to be made with six ounces of flour, three ounces of the top fat, taken off the mutton jelly, and put on the fire in a saucepan with a quarter of a pint of water; when the water boils make a hole in the middle of the flour and pour in the boiling water and mutton fat by degrees, mixing the fat in with a spoon; when well mixed, knead it till of the proper stiffness, and dredge the board with flour to make it smooth; cover your pie, make a hole in the top, and form a little ornament with a small stem to fit into it. fill your baking tin with water under the pie-dish to prevent too great a heat to the bottom: when the paste is baked the pie is done. screw out the top ornament and pour in as much liquid mutton jelly as the pie can receive, which must be previously warmed in a double saucepan; replace the ornament, and serve the pie. appendix. 397 n.b.--a pie after baking will always take a good deal of extra gravy, but it will not take nearly all that the meat has produced when properly done, and of which there ought to be more to spare, which can be used for soups or sauces, or added to mutton broth. no. viii. pea-soup (winter). one pint of peas soaked in the well for twentyfour hours; stew three hours in a double saucepan with one pint of bone stock, and a quarter of a pound of finely-chopped onions, and a quarter of a pound of celery; rub through a wire sieve, put back again into the double, add one pint and a half of good broth or stock, and stew one hour more, with one onion split in half, and three pieces of split celery, and a little fresh or powdered basil; add salt and powdered or fresh mint, with marjory, and orange thyme to taste. the above soup may be varied by adding a quarter of a pint of cream before the last onion and herbs are put in; and the hermit occasionally had rice stewed in new milk in a double saucepan, and added instead of the cream, on which occasion fried bread was not served, which was done when the pea-soup was made without rice. 398 appendix. no. ix. green pea-soup (summer). chop all together very small, three lettuces, two cucumbers, half a pound of spinach, half a pound of onions, half a pound of leeks. let them be stirred in a single saucepan for ten minutes with a quarter of a pound of fresh top fat from beef stock until in a pulp; meantime, have prepared in another double a pint and a half of veal or beef jelly stock from stewed beef or boiled veal, also one pint of old green peas, which have also been stewed and pulped through a wire sieve; add to the stock the pulp of the peas and other vegetables; flavour according to taste, by stirring round at last pieces of split celery, a little basil and mint to taste, and serve, having a quarter of a pint of young and tender peas ready boiled to throw in before it is served up. the hermit sometimes added pieces of cucumber about an inch long, which had been previously stewed in beef or veal jelly stock. n.b. two pounds of green pea-shells chopped or pounded, will produce excellent pea-soup, treated 1 appendix. 399 in the same manner as the old green peas in the above recipe, and will be found very convenient when peas are scarce. no. x. beef steak. · place beef-steaks in a large single saucepan, or stewpan, over the stove; turn them about until browned on both sides without being burnt, with an ounce of top fat from beef stock; take about two dozen of button onions, and boil till tender, in as much water as will cover them, in a double saucepan; then take the beef-steaks, (about five pounds,) and, when browned, put them with the gravy that has been extracted, into a double, and add to them the water which has boiled. the button onions, two ounces of celery chopped small, one ounce of carrots ditto, two ounces of onions ditto; let the steaks stew with the above from one to two hours, or till tender, then put into a basin, pour all their gravy over them, straining the vegetables out, and leave them till the next day, when the fat, which will have congealed on the top, is to be removed, and the basin with the steaks and gravy placed on a saucepan of boiling water to warm, and if the button onions are liked, they can be added; also a quarter of a pound of 400 appendix. potatoes, cut in little balls or dice, are to be fried in a quarter of a pound of top fat, of a golden yellow, a quarter of an hour before they are wanted. they are to be put on a doubled clean cloth upon a flat dish, and placed in the screen before the kitchen fire, being turned to remove all superfluous fat, and being perfectly hot and dry, are to be put into the gravy with the steaks when served. no. xi. to preserve game or poultry, or any sort of meat, when required to be kept long before it is eaten. roast the poultry or game exactly the same as if it was to be eaten immediately; by the time it is ready have a sufficient quantity of fresh suet (beef is preferred) melted in a double saucepan, put the game or poultry into a pan or vessel sufficiently deep, and pour in hot suet till over the top; keep in a cold place, and when wanted, cut it out of the suet, which will easily be broken off the game, and place the birds in a basin with a very little pure broth under them, put the basin over a saucepan of boiling water, cover with a plate, and as soon as the birds have slowly been warmed through, during which process appendix. 401 they must be turned, they are ready for the table, with the addition of some pure gravy from something similar, or else from roast mutton. the suet which has melted into the broth will congeal on the top when cold, and can be taken off. n.b. it is seldom remembered that dressing meat, after it is tainted, will not remove the taint, though it may render it less offensive and unwholesome; consequently, those who wish to preserve meat, game, or poultry in hot weather, must dress it before it is tainted. no. xii. baked fillet of veal. stuff the fillet with stuffing made of finely chopped suet, lemon-peel, and bread crumbs, leek root finely chopped, a little orange thyme, nutmeg, pepper, and salt, pounded with one egg; after it is filleted and stuffed, put two ounces suet or fresh top fat from stock of soups (veal the best) on the top of the fillet after placing it in the iron (outer) part of ffwrn fach without the inner tin. place over it (if to be had) a piece of the rind from cold boiled pork, with about a quarter of an inch of the fat adhering to d d 402 appendix. it; add one quart of water, put in an oven of steady heat, not sharp, and take out all the fire from under the oven as soon as it is in. a fillet of veal of seven pounds will take about three hours. when done, the gravy must be poured off, and when cold will be in a firm jelly. n.b.-if the veal was baked in the tin double of the ffwrn fach, in addition to the outer vessel itself, it would produce more gravy, but the objection to this mode of cooking is that the veal will not then brown outside; but if the fillet is only wanted for eating cold, for mince veal, &c., or making the hermit's pies, it had better be done in a double vessel to produce more gravy, and the meat will taste equally good or better. if required to be eaten hot, it can be served next day warmed in a double, with some of its own gravy. no. xiii. tongue boiled. one of the hermit's salt* tongues, which weighed two pounds, stewed six hours in a double saucepan, with one quart and one pint of spring water, and six ounces of fresh suet. when done the tongue was *for salting tongues see no. xxxix. appendix. 403 tender but firm, and the water in which it was boiled being kept till cold, all the suet that had not been absorbed by the tongue was taken off from the surface when solid. tongue roasted. a favourite welsh dish, and a very excellent one. wash a fresh tongue well, and when quite clean cut off no more of the roots than will make it stand well on the dish; chop fine equal parts of onions and celery, and half as much of carrots and turnips, and pile them all along the tongue; sprinkle freely with salt, and add half a pound of fresh top fat from soups, or (if not to be had) use chopped suet, but the former is best; then bind up the tongue, with the vegetables and the fat upon it, in two or three folds of thin "whity brown" paper, which must be tied on. the tongue is then ready for roasting, and must be well basted, the paper being previously thoroughly greased. a short time before it is done, cut the string, take off the paper, and brown it before it is taken down. the best gravy is that from roast beef, but roast mutton is also suitable. it is customary to stick in a few cloves round the top before it is sent to table, but this is more ornamental than useful. dd 2 404 appendix. no. xiv. hermit's rabbit fricasee. two rabbits cut up, weighing four pounds and a half; one pint and half a quarter pint of water, stewed for three hours, produced a pint and a half of jelly. put away for the next day, then take the pint and a half of rabbit jelly and put on in a double, with two ounces of onions and the same of celery, chopped very fine, and a pint and a half of milk; let it stew altogether for half an hour; then put in the rabbit, which has been previously cut in moderate sized pieces, and floured, and let all stew together in the double, frequently stirring, for an hour, slow heat. if a richer and more delicate dish is required, the vegetables should be stirred over a stove, in a single saucepan, for ten minutes, and then made into a paste with flour, and stirred for five minutes more, and the whole put into a "double" with the rabbit jelly and a little new milk or cream, and after being stirred half an hour put through a wire sieve, returned to the double, then put in the pieces of rabbit for half an hour before serving, which in this case should not be floured. appendix. 405 no. xv. hermit's boiled shoulder of mutton. weighed three pounds; onions, half a pound; celery, half a pound, chopped fine; marjory and a small sprig of orange thyme. put in a double with one pint and a half of water, and water boiling round for two hours and a half. produced one quart of good broth, the meat being tender and juicy. onion sauce for boiled shoulder of mutton. cut up four onions and stew in a double with a little water till tender; then pour off the water and mix half an ounce of flour with it; then add half a pint of milk, and stir well till of a proper consistency, then pass through the wire sieve and return into the double saucepan; stir well, and when quite hot it is ready to pour over the boiled shoulder of mutton or over boiled rabbits. 406 appendix. no. xvi. hermit's sausages. quarter of a pound of roast or baked pork, quarter of a pound of baked veal, two ounces of cold boiled tongue, an ounce and a half of onions chopped very fine, an ounce and a quarter of sage, flour well, add pepper and salt to taste; pound well in a mortar, and make into very thin, short, round sausages; beat up one egg well, and glaze the sausages with it, then roll them in two ounces of fine bread crumbs, and fry in boiling-hot top fat (from soup stock) until the sausages are a fine golden brown: if they are at all greasy, put them on a soft hot cloth on a flat dish in a screen before the fire, and turn them on the cloth till they are perfectly dry, before serving. n.b.-where pork is used it can be baked in the same manner as directed for the fillet of veal; but if no more is wanting than the quantity to make sausages, it is better to cut up a quarter of a pound of raw pork and a quarter of a pound of raw veal, and half a quarter of a pint of water and a little salt, which can be baked slowly in a double ffwrn fach, or it can be stewed in a double saucepan till the meat is fit for eating. when it is not convenient to proappendix. 407 vide pork or veal, cold stewed beef, or indeed any cold meat, will make very good sausages, if pounded, with the addition of a little finely-chopped suet, and well flavoured with sage. no. xvii. the hermit's cold veal pie. bake (or stew in a double) a pound and a half of veal, with not quite a pint of water, and a little orange thyme, some small bits of fresh lemon-peel, and a very small bit of mace. bake or stew till the veal is in good eating order; it will take more or less time, according to the tenderness of the meat, but, whether baked or stewed, it must be done very slowly. when done pour off the gravy, which will become a jelly, and put the meat away till the next day; then pound the veal very fine in a mortar, with a sufficient quantity of boiled salt tongue to give it sufficient saltness and flavour; moisten while pounding with as much of the jelly stock from the veal as will make it into a stiff paste, the consistency of mortar; rub the inside of the dish well with olive. oil or top fat; then stick small pieces of dry vermicelli all over the bottom of the dish; line the dish 408 appendix. (over the vermicelli) with paste-(the same paste as that in the recipe given for mutton pie)-then put in the pounded meat, press down close and flat to the top of the dish, and cover over with the same paste. bake for an hour in a slow oven with water in the baking-tin under the dish, and when cold it will turn out of the dish topsy-turvy, the vermicelli adhering to the paste: when eaten the end should be cut off straight, and slices taken off from one end to the other. the above pie is also excellent for sandwiches. no. xviii. salt duck. for a common-sized duck, a quarter of a pound of salt, to be well rubbed in and re-rubbed, and turned on a dish every day for three days; then wash all the salt off clean, put it into a double with half a pint of water to the pound, and let it simmer steadily for two hours. salt boiled duck, with white onion sauce, is much better than roast duck. no. xix. green pea-soup. see appendix no. ix. appendix. 409 no. xx. root of tongue soup. cut off the roots of a fresh tongue, wash well in separate waters, and then leave them to soak in a pan sunk in a stone trough or well over which fresh water is constantly running, for half an hour, then take them out and place them in the inner tin of a ffwrn fach, with half a pound of vegetables, viz. celery, onions, leeks, turnips, and carrots chopped fine, equal parts of each excepting carrots, of which there must not be more than one small root chopped small; sprinkle a little salt over the vegetables, and let all stew slowly with water boiling round until the roots are thoroughly done; then strain the soup off into a pan, place the roots on a dish till the next day, and the vegetables will be excellent mixed in broth for family use. the following day the soup will be a jelly, from the face of which the fat must be removed. when the soup is wanted, put the jelly into a large basin or pan over a saucepan of boiling water; when hot, taste, and add any herbs required for flavouring, or any additional vegetables, if wanted, can be put in and stirred round till sufficient flavour is obtained. 410 appendix. the best parts of the roots of tongue are to be cut in neat squares or mouthfuls, and put into the soup warm before it is served. no water need be. added to the roots beyond what they will imbibe in the well. no. xxi. to clarify fat. all fat which is not used fresh should be clarified in the following manner. cut up the fat in very small pieces, and put it into a large double saucepan, which should be kept on purpose; when perfectly liquefied from the heat of the water which has been boiling round it, pour it into a very large pan holding four or five gallons of boiling water, and stir the liquid fat briskly with a stick round and round; let the whole cool, and next morning the fat will be on the surface in a white cake, which can be cut round and across with a knife and taken off in pieces; the under part of each piece should be scraped, if any impurity adheres to it; the cakes of fat can then be broken up and put into little pans, holding from one to three pounds each, which being placed in the screen before the kitchen fire, will melt again, and appendix. 411 on being removed to a cold place will congeal, and, if wanted for keeping long (if the pans are not filled too full), a piece of linen or calico, or even paper, can be placed over the top, and a piece of wood (like a bung) can be pressed down on the fat with the cloth, or calico, under it, by which means the air is excluded, and the fat will keep for some time. n.b. the pan to hold the boiling water into which the fat is to be poured should also have boiling water put into it to stand for half an hour before the fat is ready; this first water being poured off, the pan will have become hot, and the second supply of boiling water will be scalding hot when the liquid fat is poured into it; but otherwise the cold pan would have abstracted so much heat from the boiling water that the water would no longer be hot enough for the purpose of clarifying and purifying the fat properly. the fine fat which is obtained from the boiling and stewing of beef, veal, and mutton, only requires one clarification for keeping, but dripping from roast meat should have two, and, as a general rule, fat should be kept separate according to its sort. dripping should never be mixed with any other fat, and fried fat (which should have two or three clarifications) is always inferior for any other cooking purpose, and should also — 412 appendix be kept by itself, whilst the flavoured fats from beef and veal are best for savoury cooking purposes when unclarified, if used fresh, as they possess all the aroma of the vegetables with which the meat has been stewed. no. xxii. bread sauce. two ounces of fine bread crumbs, half a pint of milk, one small white onion whole, four black peppercorns whole. stew for forty minutes in double saucepan, stirring well; then add two tablespoonfuls of cream; stir again, and take out the onion and the peppercorns before the sauce is served. no. xxiii. the hermit's marrow-bones. ounces. the marrow taken out of the bones weighed five the bones weighed three pounds. the bones were broken small with an iron hammer, and put into the digester with three pints of water, stewed slowly on the stove for four hours. the marrow taken off the top when cold weighed five and a half ounces, under which was one pint of fine jelly; the bones were re-broken and stewed again with two appendix. 413 pints of water the marrow when cold weighed one ounce and a half, and there was three-quarters of a pint of jelly. the bones were broken the third time and stewed with one pint and a half of water for three hours; one ounce and a quarter of marrow was produced and a quarter of a pint of jelly. the marrow altogether weighed thirteen ounces and a quarter. the total of jelly was two pints. the marrow taken out of the bones before they were stewed was put into a double saucepan with a quart of cold water, and simmered till the marrow had melted. but when wanted for mince pie meat, it is not to be clarified. when clarified, it is for mince pie paste, or other pastry. (see mince pies, page 444.) no. xxiv. the hermit's soup for poor people. three pints of peas, soaked in the well all night; then put in the double with three quarts of water, and stew five hours. chop very small, onions, celery, leeks, turnips, and carrots, three pounds altogether; stir in single saucepan over stove with a half pound of top fat for ten minutes, add one pound of oatmeal, and stir again well for five minutes more; then put them into the double, together with twenty quarts of 414 appendix. broth from boiled beef (not oversalted) or bone stock, to stew for an hour. any pieces of dressed meat to spare can be cut up and added at last. no. xxv. the hermit's sheep's-head broth. two sheeps' heads, weighing five pounds and a quarter. put in double with a quart and three quarters of a pint of water, two ounces of onions, three ounces of celery, four ounces of leeks, four ounces of turnips, three ounces of carrots, and a bunch of sweet herbs, all chopped small, stewed slowly for five hours. broth produced three pints and a quarter. the meat taken off the bones after boiling weighed one pound and a half, and the bones two pounds. the bones were then broken small and put into the digester with two pints of water, stewed for five hours. jelly produced, one pint. the bones were then re-broken, and stewed with one pint of water for two hours and a half: jelly produced, three-quarters of a pint. total of good broth produced from two sheeps' heads, two quarts and one pint, to which the meat was added cut up in mouthfuls, and put in at last. appendix. 415 no. xxvi. hermit's chicken boiled in a jug. weight of chicken, three pounds; water, three quarters of a pint. put together in a jug, the jug being placed in a saucepan of boiling water, and covered over with a saucer; boiled two hours and a half; produced one pint and a half of jelly. the meat was then excellent for eating. the bones weighed, after the meat was taken off, three quarters of a pound; broken up and stewed two hours in a digester with three pints of water, produced one pint and a half of jelly; re-broken and stewed the second time in two pints and a half of water, produced a pint and a quarter of jelly. total produce of chicken.-one pint and a half of best chicken broth or jelly; two pints and three-quarters of jelly from the bones: nourishing jelly in all, two quarts and a quarter of a pint. no. xxvii. minced veal. cut (not chop) three-quarters of a pound of veal in small squares thus ; chop fine, onions and 416 appendix. celery one ounce each, add a little thyme * and parsley; put the whole into a single saucepan, with half an ounce of fine top fat from soups (veal to be preferred); stir incessantly on a slow heat for ten minutes; add half an ounce of flour; stir five minutes more; then put the whole into a double saucepan, in which has been previously warmed half a pint of veal stock; let all stew together for a quarter of an hour; then strain through a wire sieve and return it into the double saucepan; add two tablespoonfuls of cream, stir well, and then put in the cold minced veal; stir well again, and let it remain in the double in a slow heat for half an hour before it is served. no. xxviii. haricot of mutton. boil twelve button onions till tender, and having cut up a neck of mutton into cutlets, put them into a single saucepan or stewpan, stir them round and round on the stove over a steady heat until browned, but not burnt, then put them into a double; take half a pint of the water in which the onions have been boiled (while quite hot) and add to the mutton cutlets, *orange thyme. appendix. 417 adding also two ounces of raw onions or leeks, ditto celery cut in pieces, one ounce of turnips, and half an ounce of carrots cut small, a nosegay of orange thyme, basil, and savory, and a sprinkling of salt. let all stew together slowly till the cutlets are tender, then gravy, pour off the and put it away where it will cool as speedily as possible; leave the cutlets and vegetables in the double, taking care that the vegetables are both over them and under them, and leave them on the stove to keep warm, but not in any fierce heat, adding the boiled button onions which had been put aside, that they may warm while the gravy is cooling; as soon as the fat can be removed from the top of the take it off, and gravy, pour the back gravy upon the cutlets and vegetables, and as soon as it is hot it is ready to serve with the gravy and button onions, which must be separated from the chopped onions or leeks. some turnips and carrots must have been stewed till tender in another double saucepan (previously) in beef jelly stock to add to the above: the carrots require to be boiled for half an hour longer than the turnips. e e 418 appendix. no. xxix. lobster sauce. take a fresh hen lobster full of spawn, put the spawn and the red coral into a mortar, add to it half an ounce of cold clarified marrow, pound it quite smooth, and rub it through a hair sieve with a wooden spoon, pull the meat of the lobster to pieces with forks, put it in a basin and pour a small quantity of vinegar over it, just enough to give it sharpness; cut one ounce of fresh butter into little bits, put it into a double with a dessert-spoonful of fine flour, mix the butter and flour together into a paste before you put it on the fire, then stir in two tablespoonfuls of milk over the stove (with the water boiling round the double); when well mixed add six tablespoonfuls of lobster jelly, stir all the same way, and when thoroughly blended, and the consistence of cream, put in the meat of the lobster to which the vinegar was added, but previously drain it well from the vinegar by laying it on a cloth for a minute or two; stir the lobster and the sauce together till the lobster is hot, and then having at hand a small empty double saucepan with boiling water, pour a small quantity of the lobster sauce into the empty double, and mix in the lobster paste made with marrow till appendix. 419 thoroughly blended, then pour the whole back to the lobster, and after well stirring it is ready. the lobster jelly is made from the shell of the lobster, which having been previously broken small and stewed well in a very clean digester, and treated in the same way as bones, will (when cold) produce a jelly highly flavoured with lobster, which adds very much to the flavour of the sauce. n.b. the lobster paste made with the coral and spawn is chiefly valued on account of the scarlet colour it imparts to the sauce, and also for its taste, but its scarlet colour will be destroyed by too long exposure to great heat; it is, therefore, very desirable that it should be put in at the very last, and mixed as quickly as possible. where fish is continually eaten, a digester should be kept solely for stewing fish-shells or bones. no. xxx. shrimp sauce. take the shells of the shrimps, pound them slightly, and stew them with a very little water in a double saucepan for two hours; the shrimp water thus made is then to be strained off, and used instead ee 2 420 appendix. of plain water, exactly in the same manner as ordered in no. 29 for lobster sauce, being added to the butter, flour, and milk. when the sauce is thus made, nothing more is wanted than to put in the shrimps, and, stirring well, let them stew for about a quarter of an hour. n.b. the reason the hermit did not recommend the shells of shrimps to be put into a digester, was because they are in too small a quantity to require it, and sufficient flavouring can be very well extracted in a small double saucepan. no. xxxi. south wales salmon. as soon as a salmon is killed it ought to be crimped, by making incisions between the head and the tail, two inches wide, and one inch deep. it should then be put in cold water (well water is best) for one hour, then put it on in a fish-kettle (if too large cut it in three) with as much cold water as will cover it; one quarter of a pound of salt, and as much vinegar as will make the water slightly acid. as soon as the water is scalding hot, (but not to boil,) take it off and pour appendix. 421 the water into a pan and put it away in a cold place, leaving the fish in the strainer, and placing the strainer with the fish upon it over the pan of hot fish-water to cool together, where it should remain till the next day, when the fish should be placed again in the fish-kettle with the same water in which it was scalded, and when it is again warmed it is done. it must not boil. when there is more dressed salmon than can be eaten, it is particularly good fried in batter. it should be slightly sprinkled with salt before the batter is added, and if there is any granville fish sauce ready, or to spare, a little of it put on the pieces of salmon under the batter is a great improvement. no. xxxii. preservation of jelly stocks for soups in summer and winter. one of the numerous mistakes which are made with respect to the preservation of stocks in summer, is that if a basin or other vessel holding a hot liquor is put in a pan of cold water, it will not only speedily cool the stock, but that if left there it would preserve it longer; whereas the fact is, that unless the vessel containing hot liquid can be left in running water, or 422 appendix. have the cold water surrounding it continually changed, a hot pan or basin, with hot soup, will speedily warm the cold water into which it is plunged, and in warm weather it is thus kept in a tepid bath, and will turn sour sooner, instead of the heat being carried off by the outward air. another mistake is very common with reference to the removal of fat which congeals on the top of stocks. in cold weather the surrounding atmosphere cools the vessel containing the broth or stock as quickly as the fat rises and congeals upon the surface; but in warm weather the stock remains warm underneath the congealed fat, and therefore if the fat is not speedily removed after it is cold, there is great danger of the stock speedily turning sour underneath from being kept for a length of time in a pan which remains warm without any air on the surface; but in cold weather, when the pan is cold, and surrounded by a cold atmosphere, and the stock has from that cause become a cold jelly, there is no danger of the above result; but, on the contrary, the fat being allowed to remain on the top keeps the air from the jelly and tends to its preservation; notwithstanding this a good manager will always have the stocks scalded frequently, by placing the pan over a saucepan of boiling water, taking care to break up the jelly by stirring it up with a wooden spoon from appendix. 423 the bottom, by which means the heat sooner penetrates, and there is less danger of a careless cookmaid removing the pan before the liquor is thoroughly heated through, in which case it is certain to turn sour. no. xxxiii. welsh mutton chops. cut the chops off the neck of welsh mutton; do not remove the fat, and trim as little as possible; broil on a gridiron over a sharp fire; sprinkle with a little pepper and salt; take care not to scorch or to let the gravy fall upon the hot stove; serve in a very hot dish with their own unadulterated gravy; do not add butter or any made sauces: about ten minutes will finish them. the hermit considered that mutton chops never were so good as when served between two hot plates separately to each person. mutton chops cut from a neck or loin, and fried in batter the moment they are taken off the gridiron, make an excellent dish. they should be fried in top fat from veal or beef soups. the batter is one tablespoonful of flour mixed with as much milk as will make it a smooth paste; add one egg beaten up; dip the chops hot into the batter, and fry for about five minutes in 424 appendix. a stewpan a little salt may be added to the batter if liked, and chopped vegetables, but they are not necessary. no. xxxiv. boiled eggs. eggs only require to be put into cold water, whatever their size may be, and when the water boils the eggs are done. no. xxxv. baked apple dumplings. peel and core the apples; then make a thin paste with two ounces of flour and one ounce of fresh butter; rub the butter through the flour, then wet the paste with a quarter of a pint of milk, in which the yolk and white of an egg has been beaten up; when well blended, roll the paste out and cut it into squares; put one apple in the centre of every square of paste, and fill the hollow out of which the core was taken with sugar; wrap the paste neatly round the apple, so as to be quite round. glaze with white of egg and a little white powdered a slow oven for half an hour. sugar, and bake in appendix. 425 no. xxxvi. granville fish sauce. one small anchovy well pounded in a mortar, one shallot chopped fine, two tablespoonfuls of sherry, half a tablespoonful of best vinegar, six whole black peppercorns, a little nutmeg, and a very little mace. simmer the above ingredients altogether in a double saucepan, stirring well all the time, until the shallot is soft; then take an ounce of butter in another double saucepan, with as much flour as will make it into a stiff paste; add the other ingredients which have been stewing, and stir it well till scalding hot for about two minutes, then add six tablespoonfuls of cream stir well, and strain. this sauce was considered by the hermit to be a difficult and complicated recipe to execute.* the only written recipe he possessed was old, very vague, and unsatisfactory; but, nevertheless, the sauce was made in perfection under his directions, and the traveller wrote down as well as he could what he saw executed, and was informed that when properly made it was even better the second day than the first, and only required to be warmed over a saucepan of hot water. it is suitable * see page 176. 426 appendix. for salmon and every other sort of fish; but the hermit drew his attention to the impossibility of any one making it either good or twice alike who was deficient in the organ of taste; as if the anchovy or shallot was larger or smaller, or the butter not the very freshest and best, or if there was too much or too little nutmeg and mace, or if the cream was of a different consistency, the flavour would be altered, and the greatest discretion is necessary in using mace, which, if overdone, the whole is spoiled. the written recipe belonged to the hermit's family papers, but his mother understood how it ought to be made, and had personally taught the grandmother of gwenllian. no. xxxvii. meagre soup. chop fine three turnips, four potatoes, four onions, one carrot and lettuce, four ounces of bread crumbs: put into a single stewpan with four ounces of top fat; stir briskly ten minutes over a hot stove; then add a spoonful or two of flour, sufficient to make it into a stiff pulp; then add two quarts of bone stock, * * roman catholics cannot have the slightest objection to the hermit's bone stock, which is made from bare bones of appendix. 427 and after stirring well all together, pour into a double saucepan, and let it stew slowly for three quarters of an hour; then add a pint of boiling milk, stir well, and pass through a wire sieve; return it into the double; add any seasoning required of salt or herbs, &c., and it is ready to serve: it can be eaten with fried bread like pea-soup, or larger pieces fried and put into the soup at the last. no. xxxviii. to salt beef. round of beef weighing fifty pounds; divide it as evenly as possible through the whole length. lay it with the skin undermost and the fleshy part uppermost; cut gashes across the thickest part from one end to the other, taking care not to cut it through. cut off all the ragged pieces, and reduce the thickness of the inside flesh where necessary, so that it may be cooked meat, after every shred of meat has been taken from them, and is perfectly tasteless, but is a much lighter and more wholesome medium than the quantities of butter with which it is customary to make meagre soups. the one is as much an animal product as the other. fat is always allowed instead of butter, and is much more wholesome in all savoury cookery, when treated in the manner practised in the cell of the hermit. 428 appendix. filleted in a good shape, to secure which object a person salting must roll it round to try what the shape will be, and trim it until it will make a firm and compact round; take out all sinews and slimy particles, and wipe the meat thoroughly dry with a clean cloth, carefully cutting out the kernels; also trim the end of the flap, and cut it into a tapering shape. have a pound of finely-pounded salt ready in the oven or hot closet, and sprinkle the warın salt into all the gashes and interstices of the meat; then rub in the whole of the remainder of the salt with the hand until the meat has acquired a greyish-blue tint, and there is no place left of a bloody red colour; bestow half a pound upon each half-round in this manner, and then putting them full length, with the skinny side next the stone, leave them to drain into a pan, which is to be placed conveniently to receive the brine below the salting table; rub another quarter of a pound of hot salt into each round the same night, ditto the following morning, ditto the following evening, do the same on the third morning, by which time each half-round will have had a pound and a half of hot salt rubbed into it. on the third afternoon place both the half-rounds in a large pan with a sufficient quantity of brine to cover them, composed of a gallon of cold water to a pound of plate xi. no. i. no. 2. i 6.x6. stone. -in inches 2 board diameter 5.x6. stone. -12 board 16 x 10 wooden board and handle, with a square stone fixed in the centre for weight, to keep salt beef and pork under the pickle. ditto ditto for tongues, adapted for a long pan. appendix. 429 salt; turn them about well in the brine the same evening; the next morning the pickle will be quite bloody, and must be thrown away; then cover the rounds with a cold boiled pickle of the same strength, the salt and water of which must be boiled the previous evening that it may be quite cold and ready for use; turn the rounds every night and morning, and whenever the pickle is muddy or bloody it must be exchanged for fresh boiled cold pickle of the same strength. boil the beef at the end of five or six days. if you wish to have the liquor of use for the poor, and the beef not oversalted for eating, it is always better to have a pan for each half-round if it can be managed, as they are easier to turn and better attended to. no. xxxix. tongues to salt. cut off all the roots, wash well and scrape clean, and rub well with hot salt night and morning for two days, until they are no longer slimy; especially rub the salt well into the parts where the roots have been cut off; then put the tongues into a pan and cover with pickle made as follows:-three quarts of water, see no. xx., root of tongue soup. 430 appendix. one pound and three-quarters of common salt, quarter of a pound of saltpetre, quarter of a pound of bay salt, quarter of a pound of brown sugar, an ounce of black peppercorns, a little thyme ;* boil well all together, and put to cool, and when cold cover the tongues. they are ready for use in a fortnight to three weeks; the time differs according to the size and age of the tongues, but a little experience will soon teach a cookmaid by the touch when they are sufficiently hardened. if from any circumstances they are left in pickle until they are too salt, the evil can be remedied by soaking in spring water before they are boiled, and if very much oversalted, the water in which they are boiled should be poured off when they are scalding hot, and fresh boiling water put in to finish cooking them. no. xl. fresh pork to dress. pork for pies should be deprived of all superfluous lard, and then stewed in a double in a quarter of a pint of water to the pound of meat, a little onion and *the above recipe was given to the author by mr. howell (man-cook), 68, park street, grosvenor square, and has been often tested. appendix. 431 celery cut small, and a little salt, till the meat is tender. the gravy should then be strained off and the meat put aside; the pieces of onion and celery can be picked out. the next day, the cold fat being removed from the surface of the gravy, it will be found a finely-flavoured and delicate savoury jelly. the pork meat can then be cut into proper-sized mouthfuls if for large pies; superfluous fat, bone, or sinews being taken off, and a sufficient quantity of the jelly put into the baking dish for gravy. if properly done there will always be more than sufficient, and the overplus can be used to fill up the pie after it is baked, as directed for mutton pie (see page 395), and is very good for soups. for roast pork always take off the rind, leaving only as much lard adhering to the meat as can be eaten with it; scotch it across and across, and sprinkle with sage and onion very finely chopped; baste well; it will soon brown outside, and when brown take it down, put it into a double, and put the greater part of the gravy with it, reserving only enough to dish it with, which put aside; put half a quarter of a pint of boiling water in the double to every pound of pork, and, keeping water boiling round it, finish it off in the double. the gravy that has been put aside after the cold fat has been removed 432 appendix. from the top is to be re-warmed and dished with it. pork can of course be roasted entirely before the fire, but the advantage of cooking it in the above manner is, that it yields a great deal of extra gravy, which, when deprived of the fat, is excellent for family pea-soup. pork sausages are preferred by the hermit when made of the meat of pork previously dressed in a double, or the remains of pork pies, the meat to be pounded in a mortar, as directed in no. xv if pepper is desired for pork pies or sausages, it should be added at the last, as pepper would spoil all the overplus pork jelly stock for soups. no xli. hams to cure. beat or roll the ham well with a rolling-pin on the fleshy side, rub in one ounce of saltpetre and three ounces of salt, well mixed, finely powdered, and warm ; take one pound of pounded common salt, and one pound of treacle, mix together and make thoroughly hot in a double saucepan, then rub into the ham well by degrees (one spoonful at a time) till the whole is absorbed it will take an hour to do it properly; let it lie one night, the next day rub in half a pound more appendix. 433 of common salt pounded fine, rub it in evenly all over the ham, let it lie till brine runs from it; then turn the ham in its own pickle, and rub it well every day till it begins to shrink, and it may then be hung up in an airy place and dried very gradually. three weeks or a month is the ordinary time to cure a ham. n.b.-after the first rubbing with saltpetre the ham must be placed in a long pan, out of which it can be taken, and put upon the stone to rub in the treacle and salt, but it must be kept in the pan or the pickle will be lost. hams cured in this way, as in all others, should be used before they are old and rusty, but when used in the above manner they are particularly good dressed very fresh, and small hams from porkers should be cured in this way when required for eating cold. no. xlii. brawn. soak a fresh pig's head in cold salt and water-one pound of salt to a gallon of water-for twelve hours, changing when bloody; then boil in a double till tender with as much water as will cover it; chop small, sprinkle pepper and salt between each layer of f f 434 appendix. the chopped pig's head until the brawn tin, or mould, is filled, then put on the wooden lid which fits within the mould, but rises above it, and place a weight upon it; the next day it can be turned out. it must be kept in a bran pickle if not eaten immediately. pigs' ears and pettitoes can be done in the same way, and added to the pig's head, unless wanted otherwise. the jelly from boiling the brawn (if it has not been too much salted) is a good addition to soup for the poor. pickle for brawn. take as much water as will more than cover the brawn in a pan, mix in as much bran as will thicken it, add salt in the proportion of one pound to a gallon ; simmer altogether in a double for two hours; strain it, and pour it off to cool. it off to cool. when cold, pour it off gently into another pan, keeping back the sediment; then add in the proportion of one quart of vinegar to the gallon, and then pour over the brawn. no. xliii. tapioca pudding for children or invalids. tapioca two ounces; put in a double with one pint of milk, sugar to taste, and a bit of lemon-peel; appendix. 435 when the tapioca is thoroughly soft and blended with the milk, put it to cool on a flat dish; when cold put it into a basin, and mix in one egg beaten up, white and yolk together; it must be well stirred in through the tapioca to be thoroughly blended; bake with water in the baking-tin, so that the bottom of the pudding may not be burnt before the top is done. rice pudding. rice, one ounce and a half, put in a double with a pint and a half of milk; sweeten to taste. let it stew till thoroughly soft; flavour with lemon-peel if liked; put upon a flat dish to cool; when cold beat up one egg, yolk and white, and mix thoroughly through it; bake with water in the baking-tin, for reasons above given. rice pudding without eggs. two tablespoonfuls of rice, two teaspoonfuls of white sugar, one pint and a half of skim or new milk; put altogether in a baking-dish, fill the bakingtin with cold water, and put in a steady slow oven for two hours; if the oven is very slow, it will take three hours. f f 2 430 appendix. no. xliv. cil gover biscuits. two pounds of flour, half a pint of milk, and half a pint of water; knead well, and roll and beat hard for half an hour with the rolling-pin till the paste is so stiff it will crack; cut out the biscuits of the size marked below, and about a quarter of an inch thick, prick them, and bake in a quick oven. size of biscuit. n.b. a great deal depends on the heat of the oven; it must be as sharp as possible without burning. the biscuits when properly done are slightly browned, or mottled, in patches over the surface. these biscuits are particularly wholesome for invalids appendix. 437 and children. the hermit's patients often recovered upon them when they could not eat any bread; and in fevers these biscuits broken in small bits, and soaked in cold water from the spring, frequently agree when no other nourishment can be taken. no. xlv. the hermit's rock cakes. four ounces fresh butter, six ounces fine sugar, six yolks of eggs, and one pound of flour; beat the butter to a cream, then add the eggs, the sugar, and the flour; mix into a stiff paste, and add four whites of eggs and beat all together well for a whole hour; add previously caraway seeds, or currants well plumped to the flour. drop the mixture on the baking-tin in rough pieces about the size of a large walnut and the shape of little rocks. bake in a quick oven for twenty minutes. n.b.-two persons are required to beat these cakes by turns for an hour. they keep well in tin boxes. no. xlvi. the hermit's rice bread. six pounds of flour and one pound boiled cold rice well mixed through the flour; then add a quarter 438 appendix. of a pint of barm, leave it to rise for half an hour, then knead it with the water in which the rice was boiled, and in half an hour it is ready for baking, if the barm is good. bake for an hour in a moderate oven. rice bread (another sort). boil a quarter of a pound of rice till quite soft, put it on a sieve to drain, when cold mix it well with three-quarters of a pound of flour and a spoonful of barm; let it stand for three hours to rise, then knead it up, and roll it in about a handful of flour so as to make it dry enough to put in the oven; about an hour and a quarter will bake it. it should not be cut till a day or two old, and then looks like a honeycomb. › no. xlvii. for st. vitus's dance. take as much mistletoe (that which grows on the whitethorn) and moss from the bark of the ash-tree as three quarts of water will cover, boil them till they are reduced to three pints; strain it, and, when cold, take a teacupful three times a day. n.b.-this prescription actually cured a welsh boy when all other means had failed. appendix. 439 i no. xlviii. bees' food. one teacupful of treacle and two of water. simmer it for half an hour with a little salt in a jug plunged in a saucepan of boiling water; keep in a cool place, and tie the jug over with paper; feed the bees by pouring a little every night into a wooden scoop, which put into the hole of the hive, and take out the first thing in the morning. paste for apple or other tarts.* take four ounces of fine flour on the board, rub one ounce of fresh butter through the flour, mix the yolk of one egg smooth in a quarter of a pint of skim milk, wet the flour with the mixture to a proper temper, roll it out, then line the edge of two tart dishes, put in the fruit and cover with the paste, which will be sufficient for two tarts; the white of the egg is to be beat with a fork upon a plate till it is in small bubbles, then put it evenly all over the top paste of the tarts with a feather, put the tarts in the baking-tin into which cold water has previously been poured, place them in the oven for a few minutes until the egg froth is sufficiently set to be sugared, the unnumbered recipes are those which are not referred to in hermit's lessons. 440 appendix. take them out, strew sugar over them quickly, and replace them in the oven till baked sufficiently. n.b.-practical experience alone can teach the proper heat of the oven; it is not absolutely necessary to put them in the oven before they are sugared, but some persons succeed better in making the rough glaze by doing so; others produce exactly the same effect by sugaring the white of egg as soon as it is put on, before the tart is placed in the oven. quinces for addition to apple tarts. cut the quinces in quarters. to five pounds of fruit put three pounds of sugar and half and half a quarter of pint of water; put them in pint jars; put plates or saucers over the jars, and let them simmer very gently for three hours placed in boiling water; put the peels in with them, and take them out when done; the overplus of syrup may be bottled, and also used to flavour tarts. it will prevent waste of sugar, if the peels are stewed the first hour without sugar, then take out the peels and add the sugar, and simmer for two hours longer. to dry herbs. cut the herbs on a dry day just before they flower; cut off the hard parts of the stems, and dry appendix. 44i the tender tops and leaves in an oven (or hot closet or screen) between two dishes, as quickly as possible, provided they are not burnt; pick off the leaves while hot, pound them well in a mortar, and put them into well-stoppered bottles; they ought to be green but crisp. the best time for drying herbs is when they are in bud.* basil is in the best state for drying from the middle of august and three weeks after. knotted marjoram, from the beginning of july and during the same. winter savory, the latter end of july and throughout august. summer savory, the latter end of july and throughout august. thyme, lemon-thyme, orange-thyme, during june and july. mint, latter end of june and during july. sage, august and september. tarragon, june, july, and august. chervil, may, june, and july. *all good managers should keep this calendar by them, and take care to gather their herbs when in bud (not blossom); and those who have a gardener should give him a duplicate list, that the herbs may not be sent in for winter preservation when past their prime. 442 appendix. burnet and basil, june, july, and august. parsley, may, june, and july. fennel, may, june, and july. elder flowers, may, june, and july. raspberry vinegar. bruise eight pounds of raspberries and pour on them three pints of good gooseberry or sugar vinegar, let them stand twenty-four hours, frequently stirring them with a wooden spoon; put six pounds of loafsugar, broken in large lumps, into an earthen vessel, and the fruit and vinegar into a jelly-bag, wrung out in boiling water; let it drop upon the sugar till the juice is drained out, pressing it gently now and then ; pour the liquor into a preserving-pan, and let it simmer until it boils up slowly over a moderate fire, and when cold bottle it. when wanted for use, put one or two spoonfuls in a tumbler of spring water, and, if too sweet, add a few drops of vinegar when drunk. a stone jar is the best to boil it in, set in a vessel of boiling water. duchess of bedford's tea-cakes. take two pounds of fine flour, three ounces of pounded sugar, four ounces fresh butter, four eggs appendix. 443 well beaten, one large tablespoonful, or half an ounce, of barm (or german yeast), one pint of new milk; melt the butter in the milk, which must be warmed, mix all together and beat it well; let it stand one hour, then put it in well-buttered small round tins ; let them be well proved. bake in a quick oven twenty minutes. rhubarb jam.* boil an equal quantity of rhubarb cut up, and gooseberries before they are quite ripe, with threequarters of a pound of crystallized moist sugar to one pound of fruit. when boiled, it will make an excellent jam, similar to apricot. it will keep some time in a cool dry place, tied down as usual. apple bread. boil twelve apples till soft; core and peel them, break them up, and pulp through a sieve; put sugar to taste, and mix them with twice its weight of dough, and bake them in a very slow oven. *this receipt was given to the hermit by the venerable mrs. faulkener, of tenby, south wales, aged ninety-three, for many years landlady of the principal hotel there (then the white lion). 444 appendix. the hermit's mince-pies. squeeze the juice out of three large lemons, boil the rind (till a straw will go through) in several waters to extract the bitterness; chop them fine, add half a pound of sweet almonds pounded fine, one pound of currants, one pound lump sugar, one pound raw marrow, cinnamon, nutmeg, and a very little mace; mix it up to a proper consistency. the currants must be very well cleaned and plumped by pouring boiling water on them, and drying in dry cloths before the fire, and picking them well. to be baked in very small tin pattipans, the paste being made with clarified marrow, not butter. a complicated veal pie, but very good, to be eaten cold. quarter of a pound of suet, quarter pound bread crumbs, a tablespoonful of parsley leaves chopped fine, a small quantity of tarragon and basil chopped fine, half a tablespoonful of lemon thyme, ditto sweet marjoram chopped fine and eschalot, all to be chopped fine, and pounded, also one tablespoonful and a half of rind of lemon, cut as thin as possible, and pounded with a lump of sugar that has been well rubbed on the lemon before the peel has been cut off, chop and appendix. 445 pound a small quantity of lean dressed ham or tongue. bake raw lean veal in a ffwrn fach with one-quarter of a pint of water to the pound, and put pure fat over it (its own is the best) in a very slow oven, or stew it in a double saucepan. after it is done pour off the gravy, which will become jelly, cut in very small pieces, and pound it in a mortar with all the above ingredients moistened with the veal-jelly; and after all are thoroughly mixed and pounded together, beat up the yolk and white of an egg, mix it with all the pounded ingredients, then beat it all well together again. put a layer of very thin boiled cold ham at the bottom of the dish, then add the forcemeat till the dish is full. it must be moistened with the jelly stock which came from the veal. the dish is to be first lined with puff paste, and carefully baked with water in the bakingtin, well soaked through in the oven, and yet not dried or burned. when cold, to be turned upside down. the welsh hermit's favourite chicken and leek pie. boil a chicken as directed in no. cut it up into tidy pieces, not too large, flavour the chicken jelly which it will have produced with a little salt and celery, onion, and various herbs to taste; scald some 446 appendix. small leeks by pouring boiling water upon them, then split them, and cut them in pieces about an inch long; lay the pieces of chicken in the pie-dish with slices of cold boiled tongue, the pieces of scalded leeks, finechopped parsley, and the chicken jelly flavoured as above described. the paste to be the same as ordered for mutton-pie, no. vii. fill the baking-tin with water; when the paste is done take off the top ornament, and with a jug pour in through the hole in which it was placed three tablespoonfuls of fresh cream previously heated, by placing the jug containing it in a saucepan of boiling water; replace the ornament, and serve. n.b.-mutton, beef, and veal make excellent pies prepared in the above manner; but the veal also requires tongue or ham intermingled with it, and a very little pepper as well as salt may by some persons be considered an improvement to mutton and beef, though the former is not necessary, and it is more wholesome without spice. the hermit's mutton stew. necks and scrags of mutton, eight pounds, cut up, celery, half a pound, chopped small; onions, half a pound, chopped small; water, two quarts. stew in the double three hours. it will produce two quarts appendix. 447 and one pint of good broth. next day, cut off all superfluous fat and bare bones; put the meat on again in a double, with as much of the clear broth as is. sufficient to moisten the stew, with half a pound more raw chopped onions and four pounds potatoes which have been boiled and cut up; all the fat must be previously removed from the broth when cold. the whole to stew together for one hour. n.b.-there is always more broth produced than is required for the stew, and the overplus can be kept for use as clear, pure mutton broth, as the stronger flavour required for the stew is obtained by the chopped onions added with the potatoes, and any overplus of the sauce which is to spare when the stew is dished will resemble, potato soup, and is an excellent addition to other thickened soups. roast hare. hares in general when roasted have black heads, ears burnt to tinder, and the top of the shoulders, and very often the whole body, scorched and dried up. the proper way to roast a hare is first of all to soak it in several waters for an hour and a half (and having got rid of all the blood from the neck by cutting the neck-string, and pouring warm water over 448 appendix. the incision to effect the above purpose); the hare must then be well dried, and a piece of paper saturated with liquid fat put all over the head and neck, under which there must be as much pure fat as can be tied on under the paper. lay slices of cold boiled pork or bacon all over the back, which should also be covered with oiled paper for the first three quarters of an hour. the paper can afterwards be taken off, and the bacon also, when nearly done, to finish the roasting; brown it and froth it. the hare must also be continually well basted. the art in roasting a hare is to prevent its being dry, and yet to have it brown and well frothed at the last; it will take from one to two hours according to the size; it should be tied upon a spit with skewers and roasted horizontally. spits should never be put through anything that can possibly be avoided. rethe meat remaining from roast hare should be hashed in the jelly made from its bones, treated exactly in the same manner as directed for other bones. they will make more jelly than quired for hashing the meat. if the hash is not all eaten, it will make excellent hare soup with the overplus of the jelly. if more stock is required, the jelly from the bones of other game or poultry can be used also, and the whole flavoured appendix. 449 with herbs and vegetables as required, the remainder of the hash to be added half an hour before it is wanted.* hare stuffing. two ounces of beef suet chopped fine, three ounces of fine bread crumbs, half an ounce of parsley, marjoram, winter savory and grated lemon-peel, half an ounce of shallot, nutmeg, pepper, and salt. mix with the white and yolk of an egg. if not stiff, it is good for nothing; put it in the hare, and sew it up. goose or duck stuffing. two ounces of scalded onion, one ounce of green sage leaves, four ounces of bread crumbs, yolk and white of an egg, pepper and salt, and some minced apple. the flavour is much milder if the onions are scalded previously. veal cutlets. veal cutlets should be half an inch thick, cut round and flattened; the trimmings which come off the veal (by cutting them round) should be put into a double saucepan with two or three spoonfuls of water, * three pounds of hare bones will make three pints of hare jelly. g g 450 appendix. and finely-chopped leek roots, orange thyme, and marjory, and a small piece of lemon-peel. stew them slowly two hours, and then strain off; while the gravy is being made the raw cutlets should have a few drops of lemon-juice squeezed upon them on a dish, and some chopped sweet herbs sprinkled over them ; take all the fat off the veal gravy as soon as cold; chop very fine two ounces of leek roots, one ounce of celery, and a quarter of half an ounce of carrot, and stir in a single saucepan over the fire, with the fat obtained from the veal gravy; if any additional fat is wanted, let it be taken from veal stock or chicken stock. stir the vegetables and fat together briskly for ten minutes, then add as much flour as will make it into a soft paste, and stir five minutes more; then add the whole mass to the veal gravy, which should be ready heated in another double saucepan, and, when it has simmered for three quarters of an hour, add two tablespoonfuls of cream ten minutes before it is strained; return the sauce, without the vegetables, into the double saucepan, and it is ready to dish with the cutlets; but if any additional flavour is wanted it can be previously added. the cutlets are to be rolled in egg and bread crumbs, and fried, in the same way as fish, in clarified top fat. the veal trimmings, after the gravy has been made, will appendix. 45i be useful to make sausages, after being pounded in the mortar with a little veal jelly, and a little boiled ham or tongue, and flavoured with sage. welsh leek broth or soup. blanch five or six fine winter leeks by putting them for five minutes in boiling water, after cutting off part of the head, leaving some of the green leaves attached to the roots; having split each leek in half lengthways, and cutting one half in three or four pieces, then add them to a fowl trussed for boiling, with half a pint of water to the pound weight, in a double stewpan, adding a little celery chopped small, and herbs and salt to taste. let the water boil slowly round in the outer vessel until the chicken is tender and nearly fit to eat, then put in two dozen french plums whole; draw the saucepan aside to keep hot, but not to overboil the fowl. in about half an hour the plums will be plump and fit to eat, before which time take out the fowl, cut it into neat pieces, removing the bones, and put the pieces into the tureen, pouring the leek broth or soup over them, the leeks being then partly in pulp. if too thick, some additional veal or chicken jelly can be added to it. the plums are eaten with the meat and vegetables. gg 2 452 appendix. shoulder of veal boiled. the jelly stock from veal boiled in the following manner was the usual foundation for the hermit's white soups. shoulder weighing ten pounds, celery half a pound chopped fine, onions half a pound chopped fine, water one quart and half a pint; stewed in double till the meat is fit for eating. it produced one quart and a pint and a half of stock, which when cold was a firm jelly. the next day the shoulder being re-warmed in a double in its own stock (which is improved thereby), can be served with the following sauce :-milk, one pint; water, one quarter of a pint; one pint and a quarter of bone stock; half a pound of rice; suet or veal's top fat, two ounces. stir well, and stew in double three hours and a half, with four ounces of pounded ham or cold boiled pork, or else salt to taste, with finely-chopped onion : five minutes before it is served put in two or three ounces of fresh chopped parsley, and again stir well. the above sauce is not only a palatable accompaniment with veal, but an excellent foundation for a family white soup afterwards. fried bacon or sausages can be served as accompaniments. appendix. 453 n.b.-the cruel practice of bleeding calves before they are killed, to make the meat unnaturally white, destroys the flavour of veal, and renders a meat which is not light of digestion really unwholesome.* glaze of cow's-heel. scald a fresh cow's-heel to get the hair off; then, after well scraping, crack it across in several places, and chop up and put it in a digester with four quarts of water, and stew till it is reduced to two quarts; then pour into a pan till the next day. then take all the oil off the top, and bottle it for the use of the stables. (this is pure neat's-foot oil.) the jelly under it will be hard, and is the material to make glaze, which is coloured by stirring quickly over the fire till it becomes a fine yellow bronze, and is thick enough to adhere to the spoon. there is less waste there is less waste if coloured with a little burned sugar, as it requires less boiling down for colouring. n.b. the cow-heel bones ought to be done a second and third time; re-broken with fresh water in digester; and will make stock each time. second time, put two quarts of water and reduce to one — * this cruel practice is not followed abroad, which is the reason that veal often agrees there with those who cannot eat it in england. 454 appendix. quart; third time, one full quart, and reduce to one pint. it it much less wasteful to procure a cow'sheel for glaze than to allow glaze to be made of trimmings of meat, &c. &c. glaze is only for ornament to varnish meat. it is not supposed to be eaten, but, if it is put on food, it ought to be wholesome. the usual custom of making glaze of what is called "anything," but means "everything," otherwise eatable, destroys a large quantity of food for no good purpose. mushroom catchup. full-grown mushrooms are the best for catchup; cut them across and across stems and skins, put a layer at the bottom of an earthen pan and sprinkle with salt, and continue till you have used all the mushrooms you have ready; sprinkle moderately with salt over every layer, let them stand three hours, then pound them up in a mortar, and let them stand two days, stirring them up with wooden spoons twice every day; then pour the whole mass into jars, and to every quart add half an ounce of whole black pepper, ditto allspice; put the jars into an outside double surrounded by boiling water; let the water boil slowly and steadily round them two hours and a half, then take out the jars and pour the juice through appendix. 455 a sieve into a clean double saucepan, and let the water boil around it for one hour more, then pour it into a jug or basin, and let it stand in a cold place till the next day, when very gently pour it off into half or quarter-pint bottles which have been rinsed out with spirits of wine; cork close, and cement. if it is illcorked and not kept dry, it will spoil. the peppercorns and allspice should be bottled with it, and the strainings can be made use of for hashes, &c. &c., if not kept longer than two or three days. the substance of the mushrooms which is left behind after straining, should be pressed down flat on a plate covered over with another plate, and dried in a hot closet, or in a screen before the fire. when dry, pound and put in bottles, and use in the same way as catchup, where mushroom flavour is desired. n.b.-mushroom catchup is generally made with putrefied mushrooms, and, even when mushrooms are fresh, it is customary to keep them so long in a pan mashed, or unmashed, that they are unfit for use, the best flavour being gone and the mushrooms in a very unwholesome state. the mushrooms should be as freshly gathered as possible for catchup, and should never be kept longer than is recommended in the above recipe. 456 appendix. the hermit's bread and butter pudding. cut rice bread (see page 437) of two days old in thin slices, without crust, butter thinly with cold butter, fit them into the tart-dish you intend to use, then take them out and pour three-quarters of an inch of rather thick batter (flavoured with sugar and lemonpeel) into the bottom of the dish. put the dish into the oven for three or four minutes to consolidate the batter, then take it out and lay a layer of slices on the batter, then pour out of a jug a sufficiency of thinner batter (similarly flavoured) to moisten the bread, then sprinkle a layer of currants well plumped, then another layer of slices of bread, pouring in batter in the same manner over each layer until the dish is filled to within half a quarter of an inch of the top; then make your batter thicker, so as to be of the same consistence as the first layer in the bottom of the dish, and with this (thicker) batter fill the dish evenly to the edge, and bake with water in the tin. if properly made it will be firm and yet light, the batter at the bottom will keep the bread from drying up with too fierce a heat, the thicker batter on the top ought to cover the upper layer of currants, and prevent that common but very unpleasant effect of having the slices of bread at the top of the dish scorched and appendix. 457 curled up, and covered with currants burned to a cinder. the object of having thinner batter poured between the layers of bread is to soften the bread, as otherwise the bread would not absorb the batter and be flavoured by it. welsh carrot plum pudding. half a pound of raisins, half-pound of currants, halfpound of suet chopped fine, one ounce lemon-peel, one nutmeg, two large carrots, and two tablespoonfuls of flour; mix all well together, but the carrots must be boiled and pulped previous to mixing with the other ingredients, and the whole must be boiled two hours. another. half-pound of flour, quarter of a pound of suet chopped very fine, quarter-pound bread crumbs, three-quarters of a pound grated carrot, quarter of a pound of raisins stoned, quarter of a pound wellwashed and plumped currants, quarter-pound brown sugar, beat up two whole eggs and the yolks of four in a gill of milk; grate a little nutmeg into it, and add it to the former. boil at least one hour. family plum pudding. flour twenty-six pounds, suet seven pounds, raisins nine pounds, currants four pounds, sugar four and 458 appendix. a half pounds. if not eaten the day boiled, boil half the time the first day and the other half the second, or only warm through the second time, as overboiling makes the plum puddings too soft. cow-heel is an excellent substitute for suet in making plum puddings. it must be well boiled previously, and not chopped too fine. the subjoined pudding casket,* made of tin, was invented by the hermit for boiling plum puddings when made in rolls to be cut in slices, the hermit having observed that when plum puddings were boiled in cloths only the water became a sort of raisin and currant soup, and that the waste of ingredients altogether was considerable. each pudding turned out of these tin caskets can be divided into ten thick slices. the hermit had a wooden gauge for the widows with points at equal distances, and each pudding was thus marked in a * these plum pudding caskets are to be had of richard jones, tinman, abergavenny, south wales. price is. 6d. each, or 1s. 3d. by the dozen. appendix. 459 moment (as soon as turned out) and cut up in the most exact manner. a thin piece of cloth laid under the lid after the tin is filled is all that is required, and the lid, being shut, is tied round with strong packthread passed through the loops in the lid; and when twenty or thirty puddings are boiled at the same time in a boiler, five or six can be tied together, and taken out of the boiler when done with a hook by a loop in the string. rowley powley pudding. skin and chop one pound of beef suet very fine, put it into a mortar and pound it well, moistening with a little sweet-oil until it is the consistency of butter. put one pound of flour upon your pastry slab, make a hole in the centre, in which put a teaspoonful of salt, and mix it with cold water into a softish flexible paste with the right hand; dry it off a little with flour until you have well cleared the paste from the slab, but do not work it more than you can possibly help; let it remain two minutes on the slab, and then lay the prepared suet on the paste; press it out flat with the hand, then fold over the edges of the paste so as to hide the suet, and roll it to the thickness of half an inch; fold over one third, over 460 appendix. which pass the rolling-pin; fold over the other third, thus forming a square; place it with the ends before you; shake a little flour over and under, repeat the rolls and turns twice more; flour a baking sheet, lay it in a cool place for half an hour; then roll twice more, and put in a cool place for a quarter of an hour; give two more rolls (making seven in all), and it is ready for use. roll it out and cover with jam; tie in a loose cloth, and serve up cut in slices. this pudding may also be boiled in a bason and turned out. bread pudding. a pint of bread crumbs in a double saucepan with as much milk as will cover them; the peel of a lemon, a little nutmeg, and a bit of cinnamon; boil about a quarter of an hour, sweeten, take out the cinnamon and add two eggs, beat all well together. if baked, it will require half an hour; if boiled, more than an hour. queen charlotte's orange pudding. take two oranges and one lemon, grate the peel off them and mix with the juice, into which put a quarter of a pound of sugar and the yolks of five appendix. 461 eggs; then make a little paste for the bottom of the dish. it must be baked slowly in a moderate oven, but yet be browned at the top. apple snow. roast four or five apples that look white, work the pulp through a sieve; take the weight of one egg of pulp, the same of powdered sugar; beat up the apple sugar and the white of an egg together until they become as white as snow. when nearly beaten up, put in as much ground alum as will cover a sixpence, and, when quite beaten, put it very lightly piled in a dish. if liked, cream or custard can be eaten with it. preserved raspberries or strawberries can be used as well as apples. lemon creams. rub three lemons with sugar until the aroma is absorbed, squeeze the juice of one upon the sugar, put it in a large china bowl, add a quart of cream, and whisk it continually till the froth arises; take it from the top with a spoon, and place it on a sieve; put it in the glasses a short time before it is sent to table. it will take nearly half a pound of sugar to sweeten a quart of cream with the lemon-juice. 462 appendix. lemon jelly. very eight sheep shanks broken up and put to soak over night in cold water; then put on the fire or stove in a digester with two quarts of water, and stew until it is reduced to one; but if done in a double saucepan, one quart of water will be sufficient, and double time required, but there will not be any danger of waste. pour off to cool, and the next day take off all the oil from the top, and what will not come off with a spoon can be wiped off with a clean soft cloth, or absorbed with soft paper. the jelly ought to be firm, so that it would cut up in pieces: to one quart of jelly put half a pound of lump sugar broken up, the peel of one lemon and the juice of three lemons, three eggs, whites and shells; beat up together, whisk the whole over the stove till ready to boil, then draw it off sufficiently to keep it simmering slowly for a quarter of an hour, putting hot cinders or hot charcoal on the lid of the stewpan; then, having the jelly bag ready and warm, having squeezed it out in scalding water and suspended before the fire with a basin under it, pour the jelly through the jelly bag, return the first strainings back a second time into the bag till all has run through. the jelly is then finished, and may either run into a mould or be allowed to appendix. 463 cool in a basin and cut out as wanted. shank jelly is lighter of digestion than calves'-foot jelly, and quite as good for every other purpose. turin sticks. two pounds of white flour, two ounces of fresh butter. rub the butter well into the flour; add two teaspoonfuls of baking powder, and sufficient pure cold spring water to mix it into a stiff paste; cut into little lumps of equal size, roll out into long thin sticks as quickly as possible; bake in rather a quick oven. pumpkins. few vegetables are so little understood, and, consequently, so much undervalued in great britain, as pumpkins. perhaps gower, in south wales, is the only part of the united kingdom where pumpkins are grown as an article of diet by the rural population from their appreciation of their nutritive qualities; and there they are to be seen as on the continent, hanging from the ceilings for winter store, in cottages and farmhouses, and any little spare corner in the field or garden is made use of to place the small mound in which to sow a few pumpkin seeds. the varieties of this plant are so numerous that it would 464 appendix. be beyond the limit of any cookery book to attempt an enumeration of comparative merits, from the vegetable marrow to the turk's turban and the yellow pumpkin, which grows to such a size as to fill a wheelbarrow, but, as the hermit was fully aware of the merits of this vegetable, it will not be out of place to note shortly from among his recipes a few of the modes in which pumpkins are available, wholesome, and nourishing in cookery. for white soup they can be used alone, with merely the addition of onion, celery, and sweet herbs for flavouring, in the same manner as the numerous vegetables mentioned in the white soup of gover. (see page 391.) they are excellent when boiled, sprinkled with salt and sweet herbs, and fried in egg and crumbs, like soles. also plain, boiled in slices, and served with brown gravy. in gower they are added to hashed meat, made into pies with apples, and put into soup. there is also a dish made by the natives which seems to evince an eastern origin, which is made of pumpkin, mutton, and currants. pumpkins have one peculiar quality in addition to a good deal of natural sweetness, which is, that they will absorb and retain the flavour of whatever they are cooked with; this where fruit is scarce is a the hermit was of opinion that the great scarcity and dearness of fruit in great britain, which is severely felt by the appendix. 465 very important characteristic, as the pumpkin is both wholesome and nourishing in itself, but, not having any flavour, its imbibing the flavour of any fruit if mixed with it is an especial advantage. if stewed with plums, it tastes exactly like them in puddings and tarts; the same with apples, rhubarb, or gooseberries and for savoury cookery it would be difficult to say in what dish it may not be used with advantage as an addition. in america there are an endless variety of puddings of which pumpkins are the principal ingredient; and they are very easily grown. on one occasion they appeared in a field of mangel-wurzel in south wales, poor, arises from the want of attention to hardy sorts of fruit with which the climate of great britain will agree. in many parts of germany, where the climate is much more severe, and where also there is a great deal of rain, there is abundance of fruit; pears, plums, and peaches, and in many places standard apricots. it is very true that the fruit is frequently very inferior in flavour to the fruit from english walled gardens, but it is equally good and wholesome when stewed or preserved. it is very singular that the horticulturists of great britain do not pay more attention to the introduction of those kinds of fruittrees which are hardy and bear abundantly, instead of sacrificing everything to the magnitude of specimens. fruit for the million is much wanted. the purple peach (of bonn), which is hardy and a standard, seems to be unknown in great britain. the pulp as well as the juice is the colour of a mulberry. (traveller's note.) нн 466 appendix. to the great surprise of the owner, as it was not in that part of the principality where pumpkins were grown. the seeds had been accidentally mixed with those of the mangel-wurzel; they were treated in the same manner, and they came to as great perfection as if they had been grown in a garden. this sort was the large orange species, called in some places "turk's turban," around which there is a beautiful strip of narrow network exactly resembling nun's lace: this species is particularly sweet and hardy. there are very few kinds of gourds or pumpkins that are not edible; but some of the ornamental kinds are uneatable, or have medical properties, such as the colocynth, which so closely resembles an orange in appearance. appendix. 467 loss in roasting a welsh leg of mutton. weight before roasting, 5 lbs. at rod. per lb.. loss by weight of bone, 10 oz. at iod. per lb. after roasting . s. d. 4 44 . 0 61 balance 3 10} fat, 4 oz. at 4d. per lb., loss at the rate of 6d. per lb.. 0 1 382 loss in welsh mutton, 7d. in 45. 4 d., or 31 in 210, nearly oneseventh; consequently, more than half the saving in food as compared with english mutton. loss in roasting an english leg of mutton. weight before roasting, 12 lbs. at rod. per lb. . . 10 o loss by weight of bone, 1 lb. at 10d. 1 5 . s. d. balance 8 61 fat melted away, taken from dripping-pan, 3 lbs. 2 oz. at 4d. per lb., loss at the rate of 6d. per lb. . . i 63 611 • loss in english mutton, 3s. old. in 10s., or 361 in 120, nearly one in three; consequently, more than double the loss in english mutton as an article of food. the foregoing table will show that the loss on an english leg of mutton is nearly one in three, while the loss in the welsh leg of mutton is only one in seven! the loss being more than one-half less in welsh mutton than english. it must also be remembered that in the ordinary manner of roasting the fat abovementioned would either be utterly lost, or not worth above 2d. a pound, so that the loss in english mutton would in reality be much greater. in roasting the english leg of mutton no basting fat was needed; in the welsh leg one-quarter of a pound was used, and hh 2 468 appendix. one-quarter of a pound was taken from the drippingpan afterwards. in the ordinary method of cooking, the bone would be a clear loss in both cases; but even the hermit's jelly from the bone would not go very far towards repairing the loss of 35. old. in every ten shillings! and if the hermit's process of basting and clarification of fat was not adopted, the is. 6d. in the above table set down to the credit side must be added to the loss, or at least one-half of it. there are few greater errors than to suppose fat, large animals are either wholesome or economical. the hermit's baked beef for christmas. take half or whole rounds of beef, cut and prepared as described (see page 427), roll them up, and skewer them into rounds, and put each of them into the outer part of a (round) "double" (see plate 4), which is made of iron, or galvanized iron; place on the top of the round of beef, a star of wood the proper size to go within the top of the vessel, then put a stiff paste of appendix. 469 coarse brown flour (or flour mixed with bran) over the star to prevent any evaporation, and pour in as much water with a sprinkling of salt as will rise to about two inches, then put on the lid and bake in a brick oven; the time must, of course, depend upon the size and weight of the rounds. when done the paste at the top will look like gingerbread,* the gravy will be very strong and abundant, and the meat will be juicy and nicely browned. the gravy being poured off, and the fat taken from it when cold, it is re-warmed to dish up. the hermit, when he required a number of these rounds dressed at once for a christmas feast, used to bake them the day before, and the next day re-warmed them in the inner doubles in their own gravy, with hot water in the outer vessel, on a large in this way they were all done punctually to the same time, equally well cooked, and an abundance of extra gravy without grease. where a brick oven is not to be had for baking meat, the iron oven should always have all the fire taken out before the meat is put in. meat should be baked very slowly, and be well covered in a vessel with a close-fitting lid. the ignorant practice of putting meat into open bakingtins not only entirely ruins the flavour of the meat, from the bad taste imbibed from the vapour of the fat stove. * very useful pounded to thicken soup for the poor. 470 appendix. (frizzling in the iron oven), but it is very wasteful, dries up the meat, destroys the gravy, and taints the oven to such an extent that, if bread or cakes are baked in it afterwards before it has undergone a long and laborious purification, they would be flavoured by the same taste as pervades a house from the odour of fat frying upon hot iron. . mushrooms. wild mushrooms are generally brought in, in larger quantities than are required for immediate consumption unless made into catchup, and, as the mushroom season is always very short, the overplus of mushrooms can be preserved for two or three days to be as good as if freshly gathered, if cooked in the following manner :-peel the mushrooms, cut off the stems, sprinkle a little salt in the inside of the flap, and put on each flap a bit of clarified marrow about the size of a very small bean, and place them one over the other in half-pint or pint jars (the outer side down and the flap up), put the jars to stand in vessels of boiling water, and let them simmer slowly, with a bladder over the top of the jar, for an hour or two, according to the number and thickness of the mushrooms; then put them away in a cold place. these mushrooms will be good for several days, and taste as appendix. 47i if fresh gathered. when used, take off the marrow, if it has congealed on the surface, and put the mushrooms on a soup-plate upon squares of toast saturated with their own gravy, which will have exuded from them in the jars, put another soup-plate on the top, and warm the whole over a saucepan of boiling water. the stems and peelings of mushrooms ought to be chopped up as soon as they are taken off, and put into small jars, with a little salt, and simmered with boiling water round them in the same manner as the mushrooms: the liquor distilled from them can be used while fresh for flavouring sauces and hashes. the hermit was very partial to mushrooms, and considered them not only wholesome for persons in ordinary health, but so nutritious that he believed them equal to meat, and questioned me closely as to the improvement of their cultivation in the present age, but i did not distinguish myself by my answers, for i really could give no account of them, excepting that rich persons had mushroom houses, where they were produced by artificial heat in the winter, and that mushroom spawn was generally purchased and was expensive, but i did not know whether naturalists or horticulturists had discovered any means of cultivating them in the open ground, or securing the preservation of mushrooms from one year to another in 472 appendix. places where they spring up spontaneously, though i had often heard surprise expressed at the abundance of mushrooms in some years and the absence of them in others, in the same ground; and this being the sum and substance of my knowledge, i was taunted repeatedly, at the expense of my "scientific friends," who had not turned their attention to a natural production so beneficial to rich and poor, and about the natural history and cultivation of which so little (according to my report) appeared to be known; and i was advised to offer a prize for new discoveries on the subject! good family bread (white). five pounds of fine bran to 28 pounds of flour. good brown bread. two pounds of bran to four pounds of flour. n.b. the brown bread, or household bread of old times, is now hardly to be met with, and is rare even in wales, the reason being that the millers do not grind and prepare the flour in the same way as formerly, when the pure corn, having been sent to be ground, was returned by the miller with the bran and flour altogether; and in every house there was a 1 appendix. 473 good-wife or widow, who sifted the flour required for each baking, removing only the large flake bran. bread thus made is very superior in flavour to the bread now generally used, but where the above plan cannot be followed, it is best to mix fresh sifted bran with the flour. the flavour of bread is in the bran, and in the absence of bran it is flavourless, much less wholesome, and not at all more nourishing. welsh pan or pot bread. take three pounds and a half of brown flour (flour which has only had the coarser bran taken out of it), put it to rise with about two tablespoonfuls of barm, and, when risen, mix it and knead it in the usual manner; then put it into an iron pot or a thick earthen pan, and turn it topsy-turvy on a flat stone, which should be placed on the ground in the middle of a heap of hot embers, made by burning wood, peat, or turf; cover the pot or pan entirely over with hot embers, leave it to bake, and when the ashes are cold take it out. this mode of baking produces most excellent bread, but of course it cannot be practised economically except where such rural operations are carried on as provide the necessary quantity of hot embers for other purposes within a convenient distance of the house. 474 appendix. oatmeal cakes. make a stiff paste with oatmeal and water or skim milk; then form it into balls with the hand about the size of small eggs; then shape with the hand round and round to the size of a small cheese-plate or large saucer; when one oat-cake is formed the right shape and thickness, turn it and shake dry oatmeal all over it ; then take another, put it in the middle of the oat-cake you have made, and form that in the same manner upon the first made; when well tempered, turn it, and shake dry oatmeal all over it, and proceed in the same way until you have got eighteen oat-cakes one on the other, remembering that each must be turned, and that dry oatmeal must be put between every one, and they must be turned and re-turned, and shaped with the hand, until they are all of the same texture, as thin as is possible without breaking. when dry enough to put on the bake-stone (heated to the required point which practice alone can teach), bake them one at a time; have a clean cloth folded to the proper shape, and press the cake down flat on the bake-stone, where it should remain until it is of a nice light brown colour. the upper side of the cake is to be glazed before it is taken off the bake-stone; the glaze is made with egg and milk, and a little sugar is generally added, but that is only a matter of taste; some persons like a appendix. 475 little sugar mixed with the oatmeal of which the cakes are made. as each cake is taken off the bake-stone it is laid across the rolling-pin that it may dry in a hollow shape; and as each cake becomes hard and crisp, they are again put one on the other, and are always served and kept in a pile. the rolling-pin must not be used in making these cakes, all must be done with the hand, and they must be flattened and worked round and round with the hand until they are almost as thin as a wafer. great skill and dexterity, as well as practice, are necessary to make these cakes well, which when once attained, the process is very quickly executed. the thin welsh-oat cake is particularly wholesome, and often agrees with invalids of weak digestion better than bread; they are sometimes eaten with cold butter or cheese, or eaten dry with milk or tea. thick welsh barley cakes. take fine barley meal and make into a stiff dough with skim milk; roll out to the size of a small bakestone, about three-quarters of an inch thick, and bake. it is eaten with cold butter. thin welsh barley cake. mix fine barley meal and milk together to the consistency of batter, and pour slowly on the bake-stone 476 appendix. out of a jug until it has formed a circle the size of a small plate, then let it bake slowly. it ought to be very thin but soft, like a pancake or a pikelate; it is likewise eaten with cold butter. cil gover buns. one pound of flour, two ounces of currants well plumped, quarter of an ounce of sugar, and a tablespoonful of barm. melt an ounce of butter in a quarter of a pint of milk; glaze with the yolk or white of an egg. the above quantity will make twelve buns. mix the barm into the flour with a little warm milk, and leave it to rise for half an hour; then knead, and let the dough rise for one hour before baking. bake twenty minutes in a moderate oven. teisen frau gwent a morganwg.† one pound of flour, three ounces of currants well picked and washed, a little sugar (and spice if liked); mix into a thick batter with one pint of sheep's milkcream, butter the tin of a dutch oven and drop it in and bake before the fire. care must be taken in turnbarm (called yeast in england) is a welsh word, although found in english dictionaries. + short cakes of gwent and morganwg. appendix. 477 ing; it can be cut in any shape. cream of cows'milk may be used, but sheep's-milk cream is best for these cakes. a variety of the teisen frau are made by rubbing six ounces of butter in one pound of flour and two teaspoonfuls of sugar made into a stiff dough with new milk, or sheep's-milk cream; roll it out half an inch thick, and cut to size required; bake on a bake-stone, or before the fire in a dutch oven. for harvest. welsh apple or rhubarb cakes. stew apples or rhubarb till soft, in a basin placed on a saucepan of boiling water. if the former, take off the peel and take out the core when done, and mash with a little brown sugar to taste. if the latter, pour off the overplus of juice for other purposes. to every five pounds of flour rub in two pounds of clarified fat, roll out the paste the size. of a large baking-sheet, spread the apple or rhubarb pulp all over the square sheet of paste, then lay another thin layer of paste on the top and fasten the edges together. bake, and when cold turn it out of the tin and cut it up in squares. another plan of making these cakes is to form the paste the size and shape of a small cheese plate, or large breakfast saucer; put the fruit over one-half of the round and turn the other half 478 appendix. over it, making a half-moon; then glaze and bake in a quick oven. jam of any kind can also be used in this way for welsh harvest cakes. welsh harvest buns. one pound of flour and two ounces of clarified fat rubbed through the flour, one ounce and a half of currants, one ounce of sugar, a tablespoonful of barm (or one teaspoonful of baking powder), wet the above quantity with skim milk. it will make four very large buns or cakes. n.b. the two foregoing recipes were used by the hermit for the supply of his work-people during harvest, and no people ever worked better. the cold glásdwfr (one quart of milk to three quarts of cold spring water) was supplied throughout the day to men, women, and children. if the weather was hot, the milk was always scalded previously to preserve it from acidity. at four o'clock, warm tea ready mixed in jugs with sugar and milk, was taken out to every one at work, with the above harvest buns, also a piece of cheese and part of a loaf of home-made bread for those whose appetites required more than two of the above buns. at eight o'clock or earlier (if they desired it) tea was sent out again in the same manner, with bread and cheese for each person. appendix. 479 the apple, rhubarb, or jam cakes were used as a variety, instead of buns occasionally. it was very rarely that there was any illness during harvest among those engaged in it. mowing commenced at three or four in the morning, and the work (when the weather was favourable) continued as long as they could see in the evening, often till past nine o'clock. the traveller heard it remarked, that the children employed in the hermit's harvest always grew fat" during that period, having good appetites and as much wholesome food as they could eat: no fermented liquors of any sort or kind were ever given ; the usual hour was allowed for dinner at twelve o'clock, and they supplied themselves also with breakfast as on ordinary occasions. the glásdwfr when mixed in the above proportions never disagrees with the digestion; it is cooling, refreshing, and nourishing without being heavy; but if a larger proportion of milk was used it would disagree. in some places in wales "dwfr blawd ceirch" is used instead of milk and water; this is made by putting boiling water on oatmeal, stirring it well, and letting it stand all night, and the clear water is taken off the next day for drinking. in noting down the above particulars, i (the <c 480 appendix. traveller) asked the hermit how he avoided the introduction of intoxicating liquors in harvest time? he replied:" my aim has been to preserve or restore all the good old habits of my country, and utterly to repudiate all immoral introductions which ruin the health as well as imperil the soul. harvest especially is the time when we should do what is good, and not teach and encourage wickedness. many and many a man, woman, and child are taught to drink in harvest time, from the want of other sustenance than intoxicating liquors." welsh toasted cheese. this celebrated national dish of wales will appropriately conclude the present collection of recipes, which were especial favourites in the cell of the welsh hermit, and which, in honour of his principality, is here given in the original language as well as in english. welsh toasted cheese, and the melted cheese of england, called "toasted cheese," are as different in the mode of preparation as is the cheese itself; the one being only adapted to strong digestions, and the other being so easily digested that the hermit frequently gave it to his invalid patients when they were recovering from illness, and found that they could often take it in moderation without inconvenience when the appetite and digestion were not sufficiently restored appendix. 481 to take much, (if any) meat, without suffering. cut a slice of the real welsh cheese made of sheep and cow's milk,† toast it at the fire on both sides, but not so much as to drop; toast a piece of bread, less than a quarter of an inch thick, to be quite crisp, and spread it very thinly with fresh cold butter on one side (it must not be saturated with butter), then lay the toasted cheese upon the bread and serve immediately on a very hot plate; the butter on the toast can, of course, be omitted if not liked, and it is more frequently eaten without butter. caws wedi ei bobi. "torrer darn o gaws cymreig gwneuthuredig o laeth defaid a gwartheg, pober y ddwy ochr o flaen y tân ond nid cymmaint ag i ddiferu; craser tafell o fara (llai na chwarter modfedd o drwch) yn grych, a thaener ymenyn newydd oer yn deneu iawn ar un ochr iddo (rhaid iddo beidio cael ei lenwi o ymenyn), yna rhodder y darn caws pobedig ar y bara, ac anfoner ef i'r bwrdd ar ddysgl boeth yn ddiattreg. gellir peidio * the same observation will apply to the welsh sheep'smilk cheese without toasting, which can often be taken with bread or biscuit and a glass of cold water, with benefit by invalids with weak digestions. + see page 346. i i 482 appendix. rhoddi ymenyn ar y bara crasedig, os dewiser, ac yn amlaf bwytteir ef hebddo." here ends the traveller's book of recipes, obtained from the hermit of the cell of st. gover, though only a portion of those known and practised under the directions of the venerable recluse. the traveller departed, as has already been mentioned, to london with his ancient but active welsh host, regretting that he had not been able to fill another book with a list of the various wild plants yet undestroyed in that part of wales where he had so long resided; the virtues of which were well known to the hermit and his native countrymen, and whose welsh names in many instances indicated either their appearance or their medical and curative properties. december, 1866. finis. london: r. clay, son, and taylor, printers, bread street hill. cooks books t&m.afkirety mmd re anth colibrì cover system made in italy 8 032919 990020 53 i * new-york ; published by samuel wood & sons no. 261, pearl-street; and samuel s. wood & co. no. 212, market-str^t, baltimore, the hermit. t may assert eternal providence, and justify the ways of god to man. milton » fa.r in a wild, unknown to public view, f rom youth to age a rev'rend hermit grew ; the moss his bed — the cave his humble cell, his food the fruits, his drink thecrystral well. remote from man with god he passed his days, prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise* a life so sacred, such serene repose ; seem'd heaven itself, till one suggestion rose : that vice should triumph, virtue vice obey ; this sprung some doubt of providence's sway. his hopes no more a certain prospect boast, and all the tenour of his soul is lost. * little children are desired to consider this plead ing and beautiful poem, not as a real fact, but a beau tiful allegory of the ways of the almighty with his ercatures* ■2 4 so when a smooth expanse receives impresss'd calm nature's image on itswat'ry breast, down bend the banks, the trees impending grow. and skies beneath with answering colours glow but if a stone the gentle sea divide, swift ruffling circles curl on every side ; and glimmering fragments of a broken sun ; banks, trees, and skies in thick disorder run. to clear this doubt, to know the world by sight. to find if books or swains report it right, (for yet by swains alone the world he knew, whose feet came wancl'riog o'er the nightly dew) he quits his cell ; the pilgrim's staff he bore ? and fix'd the scallop in his hat before ; then with the sun a rising journey went, sedate to think, and watching each event. the morn w as wasted in the pathless grass, and long and lonesome was the wild to pass : bui when the southern sun had warm'd the day, a youth came'posting o'er a crossing way ; his raiment decent, his complexion fair, and soft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair* then near approaching, father, hail ! he cry'd | and haii 3 my say \ iwfeev'rend sire reply m : a words followed words, from question answer flow'd, and talk of various kinds deceived the road i till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part, while in their age they differ, join in heart. thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around* but here the youth enjoinm the eager sire. who into hidden truths $kl much inquire* i 6 if he'd in silence each event behold, he would to him some wondrous things unfold. now sunk the sun — the closing hour of day came onward, mantled o'er with sober grey ; nature in silence bid the world repose ; when near the road a stately palace rose : there by the moon, thro' ranks of trees they pass, whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass. itchanc'd, the noble master of the dome still made his house the wand'ring stranger's home. yet still his kindness, from a thirst of praise, prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease. the pair arrive, the livery'd servants wait; their lord receives them at tfie pompous gate ; the table groans with costly piles offgpd, and all is more than hospitably good. then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. at length 'tis morn, -and at the. dawn of day along the wide canals the zephyrs play ; fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, and shake the neighbouring wood to banish sleep. up rise the guests, obedient to the call ; an early banquet deck'd the splendid hall ; 7 rich, luscious wine a goldeo goblet gracm, which the kind master forced his guests to taste : then pleas'd and thankful from the porch they go and, but the landlord, none had cause of wo ; his cup was vanished ; for in secret guise the younger guest purloin'd the glittering prize. now on they pass — when far upon the road, the wealthy spoil the wily partner show'd. as one who spies a serpent in his way, glist'ning and basking in the summer ray. 8 disordered stops, to shun the danger near, then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear so seem'd the sire, he walk'd with trembling heart: and much .he wish'd, but durst not ask to part : murm'ring, he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard, that gen'rous actions meet a base reward. while thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, the changing skies hang out their sable clouds ; a sound in air presag'd approaching rain, and beasts to coverts scud across the plain. warn'd by the signs, the wand'ring pair retreat, to seek for shelter at a neighb'ring seat : ? twas built with turrets on a rising ground, and strong, and large, and unimprov'd around : its owner's temper, titn'rous and severe, unkind and griping, caus'd a desert there. as near the miser's heavy door they drew, fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew ; the nimble light'ning mix'd with showers began, and o'er their heads loud rolling thunder ran. here loug they knock, but knock or call in vain, driv'n by the wind, and batter'd by the rain; at length some pity warm vi the master's breast ('twas then his threshold first receiv'd a guest.) slow, creaking turns the door with jealous care ; and half he welcomes in the shiv'riug pair ; one frugal fagot lights the naked walls, and nature's fervour through their limbs recalls : bread of the coarsest sort, with meager wine, each hardly granted, serv'd them both to dine ; and when the tempest first appear 9 d to cease, a ready warning bid them part in peace. with still remark the pondering hermit view'ds in one so rich, a life so poor and rude ; and why should such, within himself he cry'd. lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside ? but what new marks of wonder soon took place in ev'ry settling feature of his face ! when, from his vest, the young companion bore that cup the generous landlord own'd before ; and paid profusely, with the precious bow". the stinted kindness of this churlish sou! ; just sunk to earth, the miser in surprise, beceiv'd the glittering gift with startled eyes : 2 h mm 10 4 but ere lie could recover from his fright. the generous guests had travelled from his sight* now the brisk clouds in airy tumults fly, the sun emerging opes an azure sky : a fresher green the fragrant leaves display, and glittering as they tremble, cheer the day : the weather courts them from the poor retreat, and the glad master bolts the wary gate. while hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought j i w ith all the travail of uncertain thought ; his partner's acts without their cause appear,* ? twas there a vice, but seem'd a madness here, detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, lost and confounded with the various shows* no w night's dim shades again invoke the sky, \ again the wand'rers want a place to lie, / again they search and find a mansion nigh. ^ the soil improv'd around, the mansion neat, and neither poorly low, nor idly great : it seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind, content, and not for praise but virtue kind. hither the walkers turn their weary feet, then bless the mansion, and the master greet ; their greeting fair, bestow'd with modest guis<\ the courteous master hears, and thus replies : without a vain, without a grudging heart, to him who gives us all, i yield a part : from him you come, from him accept it here, a frank and sober, more than costly cheer. he spoke, and bid the welcome table spread, then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed ; , _ , — —— — — — — — — — — — — — — -i— »i— » i ■! ill—— — — m^^mt * to steal the cup from the generous man, and give it to a wretch that would scarcely admit them within. lm gate. 12 when the grave household round the hall repair, warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with prayer. at length the world, renewm by calm repose, was strong fojr toil, the dappled morn arose : before the pilgrims part, the younger crept near the clos'd cradle, where an infant slept, and writh'd his neck ; the landlord's little pride. o strange return ! grew black, and gasp'd, and died. horror of horrors ! what ! his only son ! how look'd our hermit when the fact was done ! not hell, tho' hell's black jaws in sunder part, and breathe blue fire, could more assail his heart. 13 confus'd and struck with silence at the deed, he flies— but trembling, fails to fly with speed. his steps the youth pursues ; the country lay perplexm with roads, a servant shew 'd the way; a river cross'd the path ; the passage o'er was nice to find, the servant went before ; long arms of oak an open bridge supplied, and deep the waves beneath the branches glide : the youth who seemm to watch a tirue to sin, approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in , plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head 3 then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead; 3 ft 14 wild sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes he bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries, detested wretch ! but scarce his speech began when the strange partner seem'd no longer man his youthful face grew more serenely sweet, his robe turnm white, and flowm about his feet fair rounds of radient points invest his hair ; celestial odours breathe through purpled air; and wings, whose colours glitter'd like the day. wide at his back the dazzling plumes display the form etherial bursts upon his sight, and moves in all the majesty of light. tho' loud at first the pilgrim's passiou grew ; sudden he gaz'd and wist not what to do : surprise in secret chains his avords suspends, and in a calm his settling temper ends. but silence here the beauteous angel broke, the voice of music ravishm as he spoke. " thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice un known, in sweet memorial rise before the throne ; these charms success in our bright region find, and force an angel down to calm thy mind ; for this commissioned i forsook the sky ; 15 nay, cease to kneel — thy fellow servant, l then know the truth of government divine, and let these scruples be no longer thine. the maker justly claims that world he made; in this the right of providence is laid ; its sacred majesty through all depends, on using second means* to work his ends : "tis thus withdrawn in state from human eye. the power exerts his attributes on high : your actions uses, nor controls your will, and bids the doubting sons of men be stilh what strange events can strike with more sur prise than those which lately struck thy wond'ring eyes ? yet taught by these, confess th' almighty just, and, where you can't unriddle, learn to trust ! " the great vain man, who fared on costlyfood, whose life was too luxurious to be good ; * second means — god often appoints wicked and abandoned wretches to be his instruments of justice upon others, r or some ends tending to public good, though un^ perceived by human eyes. who made his iv'ry stands with goblets shine, and forc'd his quests to morning draughts of wine ff has with the cup, the graceless custom lost, and still he welcomes, but with less of cost. " the mean suspicious wretch, whose bolted door ne'er mov'd in pity to the waud'iing poor : with him i left the cup to teach his mind that heav'n can bless, if mortals will be kind ; conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, and feels compassion touch his grateful soul. thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, with heaping coals of fire upon his head ; in the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, and loose from dross the silver runs below. " long had our pious friend in virtue trod, but now the child half vvean'd his soul from god ; child of his age,* for him he livm in pain, and measured back his steps to earth again. to what excesses had his dotage run ! but god, to save the father, took the son, to all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go, and 'twas my ministry to deal the blow* * child of his age. — a child bora to him when in years, on which he doated top fondly. 17 the poor fond parent, humbled in the dust* £fowowns in tears the punishment was just. " but how had all his fortune felt a wrack, had the false servant sped in safety back ! this very night, by secret plot contrivvi, of life and wealth his master he'd deprived, had he in, this conspiracy prevaipd, what funds of charity would then have faipd ! u thus heaven instructs thy mind : this trial o er, depart in peace, resign, and sin no more." on sounding pinions here the youth withdrew, the sage stood wondering as the seraph flew. thus look'd elisha, when to mount on high. his master took the chariot of the sky : the ftery pomp, ascending, left the view ; the prophet gazm and wish'd to follow too. the bending hermit here a prayer begun, " lord ! as in heaven, on earth thy will be done." then gladly turning, sought his ancient place, and pass'd a life of piety and peace." 4 h traveller : or, a prospect of society. remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, or by the lazy scheld, or wand'ring po ; or onward, where the rude carinthiao boor : against the houseless stranger shuts the door ; or %here campania's plain forsaken lies, a weary waste, expanding to the skies ; where'er i roam., whatever realms to see, my heart untravell'd, fondly turns to thee ^ still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, and drags, at each remove, a lengthening chaia 5 h 20 perpetual blessings crown my earliest friend, and round his dwelling guardian saints attend ; blest be that spot where cheerful guests retire, to pause from toil, and trim their evening fire ; blest that abode where want and pain repair, and every stranger finds a ready chair : blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crown'd. where all the ruddy family around laugh at the jests, or pranks* that never fail. or sigh with pity at some mournful tale ; or press the bashful stranger to his food, and learn the luxury of doing good. but me, not destin'd such delights to share, my prime of life in wandering spent and care ; imp' ll'd with steps unceasing to pursue some fleeting good that mocks me w ith the view ; that, like the circle bounding earth and skies. allures from far, yet as i follow, flies ; my fortune le^ds to traverse realms alone,* and find no spot of all the world my own. jests or pranks. it is to be feared, these words rather encourage more than innocent mirth or cheerfulness, and tend to lightness or dissipation. 21 e'en now, where alpine ^ouwdes ascend, i sit me down a pensive hour to spend : and plac'd on high, above the storm's career, look downward where a hundred realms appear ; lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, the pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. when thus creation's charms around combine. amidst the store, should thankless pride repine ? say, should the philosophic mind disdain that good which makes each humbler bosom vain ? a 22 let school taught pride dissemble all it can, these little things are great to little man ; and wiser he, whose sympathetic mind exults in all the good of all mankind. ye glittering towns with wealth and splendour crown'd ; ye fiehs, where summer spreads profusion round; ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale; ye bending swains, that dress the flow'ry vale. for me your tributary stores combine : creation's heir ! the world, the world is mine ! as some lone miser, visiting his store, bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er ; hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill, yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still : thus to my breast alternate passions rise, jpleas'd w illi each good that heav'n to man supplies; yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall to see the hoard of human bliss so small ; and oft i wish, amidst the scene, to find some spot to real happiness consigned; where my worn soul,eac h wand'ring hope at rest may gather bliss to see my fellows blest. 23 but where to find that happiest spot below, who can direct, when all pretend to know ? the shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; extols the treasures of his stormy seas, and his long nights of revelry and ease : the naked negro panting at the line, boasts of his golden sands and palmy wim 6 g 24 basks ia the glare, or stems the tepid wave, ad(1 thanks his gods* for all the good they gave ? such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam ; his first, best country ever is at home. and yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, and estimate the blessings which they share 5 though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find an equal portion dealt to all mankind ; as different good, by art or nature given, to different nations, make their blessings even, nature, a mother kind alike to all, still grants her bliss at labour's earnest call ; with food as well the peasant is supply'd on idra's cliffs, as arno's shelvy side ! and though the rocky crested summits frown 5 these rocks by custom turn to beds of down* from art more various are the blessings sent ; wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content, yet these each other's power so strong contest^ that either seems destructive of the rest. * though there is but one true and living god, yet not only the children of africa, but many others, have been, and some still continue so enveloped in error, as £o believe in a plurality of gods. 25 where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails ; and honour sinks where commerce long prevails*, hence ev'ry state, to one lov'd blessing prone 5 comforts and models life to that alone* each to the fav'rite happiness attends, and spurns the plan that aims at other ends ; till carried to excess in each domain, this favorite good begets peculiar pain. but let us try those truths with closer eyes, aud trace them through the pospect as it lies : here, fore a while, my proper cares resignm here let me sit in sorrow for mankind ; like yon neglected shrub at random cast, that shades the steep, and sighs at evvy blast. far to the right, where appenine ascends, bright as the summer, italy extends ; its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, woods over woo ls in gay theatric pride; while oft some temple's mould 'ring tops betweeq^ with venerable grandeur marks the scene. 26 could nature's bounty satisfy the breast. the sons of italy were surely blest. whatever fruits in different climes are found, that proudly rise, or humbly court the ground whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, whose bright succession decks the varied year; whatever sweets salute the northern sky with vernal leaves, that blossom but to die — these, here disporting, own the kindred soil, nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; while sea-born gales their gelid wings expand. to winnow fragrance round the smiling land* 27 but small the bliss that sense alone bestows and sensual bliss is all the nation knows.* in florid beauty groves and fields appear, man seems the only growth that dwindles here. contrasted faults through all his manners rei<rn ; though poor, luxurious ; though submissive, vain; though grave, yet trifling ; zealous, yet untrue;; and e'en in penance planning sins anew. all evils here contaminate the mind, that opulence departed leaves behind ; for wealth was theirs, not far removed the date* when commerce proudly flourished thro 5 the state 9 at her command the palace learned to rise, again the long fallen column sought the skies ; the canvass glow'd beyond e'en nature warm ; the pregnant quarry teemm with human form; till, more unsteady than the southern gale, commerce on other shores displayed her sail 5 while nought remained of all that riches gave, but towns uoman'cl, and lords without a slave ; * although too true as a nation, yet it is hoped many jtftiliyiduals have a better idea of bliss. 28 and late the nation found, "with fruitless skill, its former strength was but plethoric ill. yet still the loss of wealth is here supply vi by arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride; from these the feeble heart and long fallen mind an easy compensation seem to find. here may be seen in bloodless pomp array'd the pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade ; processions formed for piety and love, a mistress or a saint in ev'ry grove. by sports like these are all their cares beguii'd ; the sports of children satisfy the child : each nobler aim, represt by long control, now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul ; while low delights, succeeding fast behind, in happier meanness occupy the mind : as in those domes, where caesar's once bore sway, defac'd by time, and tott'ring in decay, there in the ruin, heedless of the dead, the shelter seeking peasant builds his shed ; and, wondering man could want the larger pih exults, and owns his cottage with a smile, 29 my soul turn from them — turn we to survey where rougher climes a nobler race display ; where the bleak swiss their stormy mansion tread. and force a churlish soil for scanty bread ; no product here the barren hills afford, but man and steel, the soldier and his sword* no vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, but winter lingering chills the lap of may : no zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast^ but meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest 30 yet still, e'en here content can spread a charity redress the clime, and all its rage disarm tho' poor the peasant's hut, his feast tho' small, ee sees his little lot the lot of all; sees no contigous palace rear its head, to shame the meanness of his humble shed ; no costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal, to \mtke him loathe his vegetable meal ; but calm, and bred in ignorance and toil. each wish contracting, fits him for the soil, cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose, breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes : "with patient angle trolls the finny deep, or drives his vent'rous ploughshare to the steep; or seeks the den where snow tracks mark the way, and drags the struggling savage into day! at night returning, ev'ry labour sped, he sits him down the monarch of a shed ; smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys his children's looks, that brighten in the blaze j w hile his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard. displays her cleanly platter oq the board : 31 aod haply too some pilgrim thither led. with many a tale repays the nightly bed. thus ev'rygood his native wilds impart, imprints the patriot passion ou his hea t ; and e'en those ills that round his mansion rise ? enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, and dear that hill which lifts him to the storms ; and as a child, when scaring sounds molest, clings close and closer to the mother's breast, so the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, but bind him to his native mountains more. such are the charms to barren states assigu'd : their wants but few, their wishes all confln'd. yet let them only share the praises due ; if few their wants, their pleasures are but few : for ev'ry want that stimulates the breist, becomes a source of pleasure when re lrest. when from such lands each pleasing science flies. that first excites desire, and then supplies ; unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, to fill the languid pause with finer joy unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame, 32 catch ev'ry nerve and vibrate thro' the frame* their level life is but a mould'ring fire, unquench'd by want, unfan'd by strong desire ; unfit for raptures ; or, if raptures cheer in some high festival of once a year, in wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. but not their joys alone thus coarsely flow ; their morals like their pleasures, are but low : for, as refinement stops, from sire to son, itnalter'd, unimproved, the manners run ; and love's and friendship's finely pointed dart falls blunted from each indurated heart. some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast may sit, like falcons cowering ou the nest; but all* the gentler morals, such as play through life's more culttir'd walks, and charm the way, these far dispersed, on timorous pinions fly* to sport and flutter in a kinder sky. * doubtless this must be understood comparatively* 33 to kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, i turn — and france displays her bright domain* gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can please, how often have i led thy sportive choir with tuneless pipe, beside the murmring loire : where shading elms along the margin grew, and, freshened from the wave, the zephyr flew ; and haply, tho' my harsh touch, falt'ring still, but mock vi all tune, and mat r'd the dancer's skill, yet would the village praise my wond'i ous power. and dance, forgetful of the noontide hour ! 34 alike all ages. dames of ancient days ' have led their children through the mirthful maze ; and the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, ij^s frisk'd beneath the burden of three-score. so gay a life these thoughtless realms display ? thus idly busy rolls their world away : theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear; for honour forms the social temper here : honour, that praise which real merit gains, or e'en imaginary worth obtains, here passes current ; paid from hand to hand^ it shifts in splendid traffic round the land : from courts to camps, to cottages it strays. and all are taught an avarice of praise : they please, are pleas'd, they give to get esteem, till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem. but while this softer art their bliss supplies, it gives their follies also room to rise, for praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought. enfeebles all internal strength of thought ; and the weak soul, within itself unblest, leans for all pleasure on another's breast/ 35 hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart : here vanity assumes her pert grimace, and trims her robes of frieze with copper lace ; here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, to boast one splendid banquet once a year ; the mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, nor weighs the solid worth of self applause. to men of other minds my fancy flies. embosomed in the deep where holland lies. methinks her patient sons before me stand, where the broad ocean leans against the land ; 86 and, sedulous to stop the coming tide., lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. onward, methinks, and diligently slow, the firm connected bulwark seems to grow; spreads its long arms amidst the wat'ry roar, scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore, while the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile, sees an amphibious world beneath him smile. the slow r canal, the yellow blossem'd vale, the willow tufted bank, the gliding sail, the crowded mart, (he cultivated plain, a new creation rescued from his reign. t us w hile around the w ave subjected soil impels the native to repeated toil, industrious habits in each bosom reign, and industry begets a love of gain. hence all the good from opulence that springs, with all those ills superfluous treasure brings, are here displayed. their much lov'd wealth imparts convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ; but view them closer, craft and fraud appear ; even liberty itself is barter'd here ; 37 at gold's superior charms all freedom flies ; the needy sell it, and the rich man buys ; a laud of tyrants, and a den of slaves ! here wretches seek dishonourable graves, and calmly bent, to servitude conform ; dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. oh ! how unlike their belgic sires of old ! rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold ; war in each breast, and freedom on each brow ; how much unlike the sons of britain now ! fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, and flies where britain courts the western spring; where lawns extend that scorn arcadian pride, and brighter streams than fam'd hydaspes glide: there all around the gentlest breezes stray ; there gentle music melts on ev'ry spray ; creation's mildest charms are there combin'd ; extremes are only in the master's mind ! stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state. with daring aims irregularly great : pride in their port, defiance in their eye, i see the lords of human kind* pass by ; * the writer of this was a british subject ag a parallel, see the little boy's song, page 45, headed ipreju dice taken from original poems, and the wise and hap py conclusion occasioned by the father's observations to his child. 38 intent on his designs, a thoughtful band, by forms unfashion'd, fresh from nature's hand ; fierce in their native hardiness of soul, true to imagined right, above control, while e'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan, and learns to venerate himself as man. thine, freedom, thine the blessings pictured here thine are those charms that dazzle and endear; too blest indeed were such without alloy, but foster'd e'en by freedom ills annoy : that independence briton's prize too high, mm keeps man from man, and breaks the social tic; 39 the self dependent lordliogs stand alone : all claims that bind and sweeten life unknown :• here by the bonds of nature feebly held, minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd. ferments arise, imprisoned factions roar, repressed ambition struggles round her shore. till over wrought, the general system feels its motion stop, or phrenzy fires the wheels. nor this the worst. as nature's ties decay, as duty, love, and honour fail to sway, fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, still gather strength and force unwilling awe. hence all obedience bows to these alone, and talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown ; till time may come, when, stript of all her charms, the land of scholars and the nurse of arms, where noble stems transmit the patriot flame, where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame, one sink of level avarice shall lie, and scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonour'd die. yet think not, thus when freedom's ills i btale, i mean to flatter kings, or court the great ; ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspu<\ far from my bosom drive the low desirs : 40 and thou, fair freedom, taught alike to feel, the rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry steel ; thou transitory flower, alike undone by proud contempt, or favour's fost'ring sun, still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure, i only would repress them to secure; for just experience tells, in ev'ry soil. that those who think must govern those w ho toil ; and all that freedom's highest aims can reach, is but to lay proportion'd loads on each. hence, should one order disproportion'd grow. its double weight must ruin all below. o then, how blind to all that truth requires, who think it freedom when a part aspires. calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, except when fast approaching danger warms : but when contending chiefs blockade the throne, contracting regal power to stretch their own ; when i behold a factious band agree to call it freedom when themselves are free ; each wanton judge new penal statutes draw, laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law ; the wealth of climes, where savage nations roam, pillag'd from slaves to purchase slaves at home, 41 fear, pity, justice, indignation start, tear off reserve and bear my swelling heart j till, half a patriot, half a coward grown, i fly from petty tyrants to the throne. yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour. when first ambition struck at regal power ; and, thus polluted honour in its source, gave wealth to sway the mind with double force. have we not seen, round britain's peopled shore, her useful sons exchansr'd for useless ore ? seen all her triumphs but destruction haste like flaring tapers bright'ning as they w t aste ? seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain, lead stern depopulation in her train, and over fields, where scatter'd hamlets rose,, in barren, solitary pomp repose ? have we not seen, at pleasure's lordly call. the smiling long frequented village fall ? beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd, the modest matron, and the blushing maid ; forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train, to traverse climes beyond the western main ; where wild oswego spreads her swamps around^ and niagara stuns with thund'ring sound s 42 e'en now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays thro 5 tangled forest's* and thro 5 dang 5 rous ways ; where beasts with man divided empire claim, and the brown indian marks with murd'rous aim 5 / there, while above the giddy tempest flies. and all around distressful yells arise, the pensive exile, bending with his wo, to stop too fearful, and too faint to go, * abundantly altered by the hand of industry and american enterprise, a peaceful asylum from european oppression. 43 cast a long look where england's glories* shine, and bids his bosom sympathize with mine. vain, very vain, my weary search, to find that bliss which only centres in the mind ! why have i stray'd from pleasure and repose, to seek a good each government bestows ? in ev'ry government tho' terrors reign, tho' tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain, how small, of all that human hearts endure, that part which laws or kings can cause or cure ! still to ourselves in ev'ry place consign'd, our own felicity we make or find : with secret course, which no loud storms annoy, glides the smooth current of domestic joy. the lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, luke's iron crown, and damien's bed of steel, to men remote from power but rarely known, leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own, * nature has done much ; but the pride and avarice of those in power, have much marred its glory * prejudice. part i. « with england no land can compare; for every thing fine, sweet and rare. so grand, and so rich, and so fair, old england, o nothing like thee ! the frenchmen, they say, feed on frogs, the germans are stupid as dogs, the dutchmen are clumsy as hogs ; hail england ! old england for me j we'll beat them — the cowardly slaves ! for nobly a briton behaves, he rules both the land and the waves, o none but bold britons are free ! thus edward sang, as round the spacious hall, he whip'd his top — a map adorn'd the wall, on which his father look'd, yet list'ning stood, then calpd the boy, but in no angry mood* he lifts him to the map, and says, " look here ; tell me those countries on each hemisphere " here's europe, father, 'twixt this sea and this ; how wonderfully large all europe is ! yet asia's larger, to the right it stands ; f scarce cara cover it with both my hands, 46 then great america, take south and north, what sums of money all this land is worth ! w those heaps of islands in the sea beside, and africa ! how vast ! how long ! how wide t" " butedward," cries the father with a smile 9 " you have not shown me england, all the while ; edward, my boy, look sharp, use well your eyes ; under your little finger england lies." says ned, " ay, this is it ; but, dear, how very small ; i was afraid it was not here at all." ned listens, and his father thus replies : « god formed all things, you know — he's good and wise, and can you think so large a world he'd make, sun, moon, aud stars, for little england's sake ? think of the people by the map or chart, we do not make their hundred thousandth part. if we're the only grain, they chaff and bran, god's work was ill bestow'd in making man ; i)o for your own, what in your power lies, but other countries hate not, nor despise." cries ned, "i'll love all good men that i see ? and where they're born is all alike to me." 47 part ii. .father, since on the map you made me look, geography i ve learn'd — i've read the book ; and history — i've conn'd that very well, and what i've read in both to you i'll tell ; yes, now i know, that on this world around, men great and good, and precious things are found : in africa, gold, rich drugs, and fragrant gums : best wine from france, coffee from turkey comes; dies, cocoa, sugar, silver, white and pure, and bark, in which the sick can find a cure, in vast america, and caribbees, where blacks are slaves, that whites may drink and sneeze ; in asia, diamonds, spices, finest birds, and fruits, lions and elephants, the noblest brutes ; the paradise and eden, where the lord placed man — where moses, god adored, where christ was born, where our redeemer bled. lie all in asia, sir, these things i've read ; 4 48 and first in greece sprang up the arts so fine, wise solon too, and plato calpd divine, and socrates, who drank the hemlock bowl, to save his body, would not kill his soul. 9 greece and the swiss, their patriot heroes hav i in scanderberg, and william tell, the brave : if then so fine, so good, each foreign part, although i love dear england in my heart, although my country's rights i would defend. my prejudice to others here shall end ; may other countries look on me with scorn, when i despise good men, where'er they're born." finis. 341 nedl transfer hn 1pu? h termite or nottingham இ இ abbott m... மு kd 2124 shelf. the boston-library society. organized 1792. incorporated 1794. 48 boylston place. 114, newbury street, added oct. 2. accessions. 35,425 1897. to be returned in five weeks. a fine of one cent will be incurred for each day this volume is detained beyond that time. " cancelled 1940 1 777 1897 +3800.4 чтоб 240 5 oct 19 3520ct 2600 80 27° nov 6 nov 13 ! 766 nov 18 10 29 454 nov 30 410 dec 20, 1898 552 jan 5 jan 12 het 552 led 10 feb 17 192 622 530 278 war 282 apr 51.4 582 27 من هنا norance 24 j mar 12 mar 10 mar 26 ffr 26 362 mat 13 226 174 448 20 424 288 652 de 326 may 28 10 jun 20 186 aug €. 522 aug 279tp 1650 4 لانه 6255645 46 feb,65 3%c aisi ovd -man 362 feb 23 mar 20 8 344 mar 525 ark 20 268 may 22 a sergetar pe ! 4 2 ブ ​つい ​ the hermit of nottingham by charles conrad abbott bird-land echoes profusely illustrated by william everett cram crown 8vo. cloth, gilt top, $2.00 the birds about us illustrated. 12mo. cloth, $2.00 travels in a tree-top 12mo. cloth, $1.25 recent rambles or, in touch with nature illustrated. 12mo. cloth, $2.00 a colonial wooing 12mo. cloth, $1.00 abbott's bird library the birds about us and bird-land echoes two volumes in a box. 12mo. cloth, gilt top, $4.00 "dr. abbott is a kindred spirit with burroughs and maurice thompson and, we might add, thoreau, in his love for wild nature, and with olive thorne miller in his love for the birds. he writes without a trace of affectation, and his simple, compact, yet polished style breathes of out-of-doors in every line."-n. y. churchman maak. the hermit of nottingham a novel by charles conrad abbott j. b. lippincott company philadelphia mdcccxcviii abach kd2124 harvard college (oct. 8, 1941 library copyright, 1897, by j. b. lippincott company. .. yt:1008 80 84 to j. b. a., who for so many years has patiently put up with all my eccentricities and has smoothed many a path that seemed to me irremediably rough, this story of an old man, who was no stranger to us, is affectionately dedicated. three beeches, may 26, 1897. c. c. a. contents chapter i wanted: a pedigree • chapter ii something like superstition chapter iii · • the hermit's home invaded chapter iv pinchbeck, by thunder! chapter v the hermit's soliloquy chapter vi in the rôle of reporter at poverty cross chapter vii • chapter viii atlanta guthrie arrives chapter ix robert atwood meets the hermit chapter x henry ridgeley receives a letter. . · page 24 38 56 66 81 96 105 119 141 7 contents chapter xi page robert atwood meets atlanta guthrie 151 chapter xii alice ridgeley sees the hermit chapter xiii atlanta guthrie calls on henry ridgeley · chapter xiv robert atwood returns. chapter xv the ridgeleys at home chapter xvi · an interrupted breakfast a night in the woods chapter xvii • they met by chance · chapter xviii chapter xix robert atwood goes home • chapter xx alice ridgeley at home chapter xxi the hermit again alone. · · · chapter xxii wherein a decision is reached · · · • • · • • • · 167 184 199 231 253 265 282 305 314 321 324 8 the hermit of nottingham chapter i wanted: a pedigree "say, bob, you've got positively nothing to do, so won't you go up to riverside, i believe it is, and then go back into the country a mile or two and ask for a miss ridgeley, and request her to tell you how grandpa bloomfield was related to the brookses. and say, bob,-that's a good boy,look at the records, or whatever they call them, for the date of great-grandfather's wedding, and put it all down straight, and then come home quick as you can and let me know. now there's a chance to spend a day worth having, and you can skip your club and chestnut street just for once." when his sister stopped and drew in 9 the hermit of nottingham a long breath, her good-natured brother robert walked to the door of the library, and, calling to his mother, whom he knew was within hearing, said,"" 'mother, do come in here. helen has a fit or something, or has gone mad. do come quick." "what do you mean, my son ?" exclaimed mrs. atwood, as she came forward with something more than her usual speed, even when she felt hurried. she found her daughter standing in the middle of the room, apparently in excellent health, but with rather more than her usual color. "i think bob's real mean," helen said, before her mother could repeat her question. "he won't go to riverside and find out what i want to know, and you said yourself it would be so nice for me to join the revolutionary daughters of colonial dames." "oh, oh, oh!" gurgled her brother robert, as he looked steadily into the grate and tried to send the smoke of a cigarette up the chimney. io the hermit of nottingham "i say, mother," he remarked, when his face straightened, "i always knew you had a revolutionary daughter, but are you really a colonial dame and older than grandmother?" "" hush, robert," replied mrs. atwood. "helen, dear, do get things straight and be a little less impulsive. you mean daughters of the revolution or colonial dames. i prefer the latter, for many reasons, though you could be either, i think. did you go to the historical society ?" "of course i did; and miss krosscutt told me lots and gave me a paper with something printed on it-" "she'd not be likely to give you a blank sheet of paper, would she?" asked robert. "now, hush, bob, as mother told you," helen said, impatiently, and continued, "it's to fill out, i believe; and so i asked bob' در "please, helen, say 'robert' 'brother,'" said her mother, quietly. "then he shan't call me hel for or ii the hermit of nottingham nelly, that's all; and i want him to go to riverside. i don't see why people don't live where we can know all about them. how far is it? could i go alone ?" "no, dear, not alone, and it isn't necessary you should go at all. i think brother will look it up for you, if you don't expect everything at a moment's notice." then, turning to her son, mrs. atwood continued, "couldn't you go, robert, and in riverside ask for henry ridgeley, and so find out? any one, i think, could direct you to his office." "office? what sort of a one?" robert asked. "i am not positive. real estate and insurance, i think; but your father can tell." "as he will not be home for a month, that isn't much of a suggestion," replied robert, laughing. "true; well, he is well known there, i am sure, and you will have no trouble." "that's all plain enough; but nell i 12 the hermit of nottingham says it's back in the country i'm to go." "and you can hire a horse and carriage and drive out, i suppose," replied his mother. "and find nobody at home. but i don't mind. let's see. i'll have to go by way of market street ferry. i'll study it out down town, so don't fret, sis; and here's to the torylutionary dames." and brother robert sent a circle of smoke whirling towards the ceiling as he left the room. "i think bob's real mean to make fun of me so," helen said to her mother when the young man had gone. "it is because you are so impulsive, helen, and get things so mixed. you do not take up with a new idea, but let the idea take you up and toss you about. do take matters more quietly." "mother, i can't. all the girls are joining and i want to, too; and i don't care what it's about, only i don't want to be left out in the cold." mother and daughter soon separated, 13 the hermit of nottingham the former to her household cares, the latter idling her time with some impatience until it was late enough to stroll down the street, for helen atwood was very near to those spoiled darlings that do not look seriously upon life, and, as a fact, take hold of the brief creed, "i was born to be happy," with a firmer grip than they do the suggestions of their pastors. all this, of course, would be in time outgrown, but too often lingers longer in a life than is desirable, and years that are well fitted for intellectual advancement are frittered away. while mother and daughter were engaged in-doors robert was on his way down town, and this had been his practice for several years. for eight months in the year he had gone down town at the same time every morning, and returned with almost the same mathematical regularity. think of it! facing the delaware in the a.m., and facing the schuylkill in the p.m., week in and week out, without variation or shadow of turning! a voluntary tread-mill existence, 14 the hermit of nottingham and almost as monotonous. what excellent bricks are in philadelphia pavements! twice daily the same narrow line of sidewalk is tramped over, not only by robert atwood but by a thousand others; and twice daily, but later, the sisters of these young men wend their ways to and fro along the same pathway, yet there is no trace of constant travel. what a deep trail they would make if tramping through the woods or across lots! the exception to the rule may be very slow, but it is absolutely sure. we have mid-day darkness when there is a total eclipse. to-day robert atwood had a new purpose in going down town, and he was meditating on the desirability of novel sensations as he approached his club. this young man was like a leaf on the topmost twig of some tall tree. he had had all his life a commanding outlook upon the social world. from his eminent position-a birthright one-he had looked for years, from the front windows of the exclusive club, up and down 15 the hermit of nottingham walnut street and across exclusive square to the stately mansions behind the trees. he was accustomed to seeing much and surveying little. as the leaf from its grand outlook gazed upon a wide-spread reach of pretty country, and had heard the sweetest songs of many a warbling bird, so, too, had robert, by means of his social eminence, seen the best of his native city, and heard all the best singers not only of the opera but those who charmed the chosen few of private parlors. and as the leaf has never given thought to the tree's trunk or dreamed of the sturdy roots that had firm hold upon the earth, so robert had only a vague knowledge that his family had a stately trunk, and this in turn was merged into the roots that aspired not even to daylight, but labored to keep their place in the soil where nature placed them. as incurious as the leaf, he had never gone below his appointed place to see where the foundations rested. he, like his companions, must in time fall, that he knew, 16 the hermit of nottingham and his bones rest with the ancestral dust, as the leaf falls when the blighting touch of frost shall come; but now it seemed a little like anticipating all this to go back into the country and dig and delve among the musty records that tell of primitive folk who had lived nearer to mother earth than he ever dreamed of. he would have shuddered at the thought of a permanent shelter in the home of his ancestors. still, as he thought the matter over, a sense of novelty took possession of him, and, to his credit, he was devoted to his sister. she, he often thought, must keep up the family's standing, and he believed she could. he was a bachelor, and should remain one; that was settled. she would marry well, he felt, or not at all, he hoped, and so the atwoods would disappear as such, the name dying with his parents and himself. "of course i'll go, if just to please nelly; but it's a good deal like groping in the dark, unless i can get something more in the way of a guide as to this 2 17 the hermit of nottingham business. i'll ask tom procter; he comes from over in jersey, i think." two days later it came to pass that robert atwood went to riverside on nelly's errand. he learned at his club that the town could be reached most readily by taking the cars at broad street station to clifton and crossing the river to the town opposite, and that the walk to the ridgeleys was just long enough for wholesome exercise; but not until he reached clifton did he learn that the ferry was operated at the convenience of the captain, and he must wait a full hour while captain rodno attended to a little business in his office. "a whole hour lost, pish!" and the young man would have articulated his disgust more distinctly had no one been near. his profanity was monosyllabic and only made use of under strong provocation. somehow the hour stolen from him by the pig-headed ferryman, in a sense, must be passed, and clifton hotels were not inviting. after a moment's thought, robert atwood concluded to stroll up 18 the hermit of nottingham river street and back, seeing so much of clifton, and viewing from afar, to his annoyance, the sleeping sands of south jersey. now, he found river street was pretty, particularly so in may, and the few people that he met had a thoroughly self-satisfied air, which circumstance led him to conclude that river street was a spot peculiarly blessed in their estimation, so blessed that all who dwelt beyond its limits were to be pitied. robert felt that, seeing he was a stranger, he was pitied by the folk he met, and he did not like it. could it be possible, he wondered, even in a quiet little village unknown to the outside world, that the people were divided and subdivided,—a few on this shelf and a few on that, and all so stirred by jealousies that the poor pastors of the several churches had hard time of it to prevent open warfare. robert looked up the quiet cross-streets and wondered why as good people could not live there, but he doubted it. the atmosphere of river street whispered the open secret, or he read it in the faces 19 the hermit of nottingham of the airish girls he met, that a backstreeter seeks too much in expecting recognition on clifton's main avenue. a carriage and pair could not secure more than civil treatment from the people who lived on river street. they were a peculiar people,-set apart, in their own estimation,-and woe unto him who forgets it. "yet," robert ventured to say to himself, "they are really like every other community, very much of a mixture, i have no doubt. doubtless, this pretty road along the river-shore has its rich liars and poor truthful folk, and the happy medium who prefer the latter, to the disgust of the mendacious plutocrats." robert atwood imagined all this and much more as he passed house after house. there was nothing strange in it. he was right in all essential particulars, for the simple reason that such a condition everywhere exists. what he had seen of the world elsewhere was true of this small town, and so it is even of the unfashionable, informal 20 the hermit of nottingham back country. he of the newly-painted house snubs his neighbor of the whitewashed cottage. thinking how funny it all was, and finding he had gone far enough not to have to hurry back, he was just turning about when he was somewhat startled by a salutation apparently addressed to him. "hello, bob, where do you hail from ?" robert looked up and saw a club acquaintance whom he had long known, and replied, "hello, ned, what are you doing here?" "loafing at present. came on an errand, and am on my way to the station." "know anybody here?" robert asked. "yes; the maurices." "who?" asked robert, with a tone suggestive of surprise. "the maurices," repeated his friend. "big name for a little place. fresh importation ?" "oh, no. lived here a long time. connected with the railroad, and up and 21 the hermit of nottingham down to the city every day. have a jolly place on the river-bank ?" "seemed to me," robert remarked, "as i walked along, this river-shore was something better than being shut in by the same old evergreens as out our way." "i like it here," replied his friend; "but it's a long way from healthy. chills every year till you get used to 'em." "the deuce!" 'exactly so, deuce or two; chills and fever." "give us a rest, ned; i'm going across when the fellow's ready to paddle his old tub over." 66 "over to riverside ?" "yes, and beyond; i've got an errand over there, and it's lucky these are long days." "sorry i can't keep you company. i'd get algernon maurice to set you across, but he's so awful lazy. you'll save time by waiting for the ferry. it isn't much to row across, but algy turns pale if you mention a row-boat." 22 the hermit of nottingham "due, i suppose," said robert, "to living in a sleepy village. seems to me everybody i met was yawning or wanted to." "you're about right; but i'm pushed for time; good-by." it was so unusual for any one to hurry on river street, that many a face peeped through the blinds as edward anderson strode away, and when he was gone these same faces stared at and wondered who robert atwood might be and what was his errand. had they followed him, they would have learned that he crossed the ferry to riverside, and something more, perhaps,-that he had become quite interested in clifton, and determined to ask ned anderson more about it; and when the ferry-boat was rounding the lower end of matinicunk island, he thought he would like to take a boatride all around it, even if he went with algernon maurice. 23 chapter ii something like superstition 66 “a fork and two spoons, mother, what does it mean ?" "it means, i presume, two spoons and a fork, alice; what else could it mean ?" "but i dropped 'em, and so somebody's coming. it's a sure sign; and thee or aunt martha said so." "not i, surely." "well, somebody's coming, so i'll keep on the lookout. is my hair smooth ?" "alice, what is the matter with thee, to carry on so? it is silly to go on so. does thee expect anybody?" and mrs. ridgeley looked very intently at her lively daughter for a moment. ker-rik-ker-rek-kee-oo! "and there's the old red rooster, right 24 the hermit of nottingham at the kitchen door. what better evidence of prophetic warning, as robert kirby says every first-day morning, and has said for twenty years, with a shout as he sits down, about the "ings of weagles.'' "alice, dear, don't carry on so," said her mother, in a half-amused, half-supplicating way. "carry on? why, mother, it is the simple, sober truth. thee said thyself that friend kirby preached that same sermon at thy wedding, and here am i, a sedate maiden of twenty, who has been brought up on it; but never mind. no, i didn't expect anybody, of course, until all this happened; but now, somebody's coming and i wish i knew who." and alice looked up the long lane and suddenly turned about with a rueful countenance, or else an assumed air of deep disappointment. "it's just my luck. the fish-man is in the lane. want any clams, mother?" and alice imitated cleverly the fishmonger's voice. 25 the hermit of nottingham mrs. ridgeley could not repress a smile, and replied,"no, dear, not to-day. will thee tell him, please?" alice pulled her pet collie's ear with a trace of impatience while she waited for the lumbering old fish-wagon to approach, and then, as suddenly as april clouds make way for sunshine, her face was wreathed in smiles. "there is somebody coming, after all," she called to her mother. "i'll believe in falling forks hereafter, rooster and spoons thrown in. somebody, sure enough, and a stranger." alice said, "no" very curtly to the astonished fish-monger before the man had spoken, but he, not being a fool, saw how preoccupied she was, and significantly grinning, after glancing down the lane, much to her indignation, he went directly to the kitchen door and announced fresh fish in such persuasive way that mrs. ridgeley bought more than she needed, though possibly vaguely impressed by the statements of both her 26 the hermit of nottingham daughter and this man that a visitor was in the lane. when a young woman sees a young man approaching her home, and realizes at a glance that he is not only a stranger but evidently a person of equal social standing, her curiosity is at once aroused. this is one of the laws or rules concerning humanity absolutely without exception. who is he? what does he want? these are the two questions that are invariably asked in the same breath and, of course, never immediately answered. alice ridgeley was not given to idleness, and yet never had had too much to do. in other words, she enjoyed life, and when the merry may days came, it seemed to her that all the world should feel as she did, disposed to laugh, sing, and dance. mere quiet walking and serious meditation could wait till the year was older. the day was perfect and bird-full as a may day in central new jersey only can be, with never a bough but with 27 the hermit of nottingham its warbler, and never a fruit-tree but laden with blossoms. alice ridgeley had not yet met with any setbacks. she knew sorrow only from hearsay or seen its marks on others. she did not hold herself as proof against it when it came, but until it did she must laugh and love the world as she found it, and the stranger now drawing near to where she was standing, by a great sweetbrier near the door, was a source of genuine pleasure, because an unexpected incident of the day. birds and flowers, she had supposed, would occupy pretty much all her time, but here was something new, and she felt a little like the field naturalist when he finds himself face to face with a new species. "he's goodlooking," she said to herself; he's welldressed, she noted at a glance. he's from the city, she assured herself with a positiveness that would do credit to lucretius in his way of laying down the law. by this time passive mental activity had to give way to active thought and 28 the hermit of nottingham action, for the stranger was now at arm's length, and she looked up at the proper moment to see him raising his hat in the most approved manner and to hear him ask, "is miss ridgeley at home?" "i am miss ridgely, or as i should say, i suppose, alice ridgeley. can i be of any service ?" robert atwood handed her his card, and said as he did so, "your resemblance to henry ridgeley of riverside is so marked, i felt sure to whom i was speaking." "well, that is news to me. harry's dark and i am light; or do you mean i look just like a man ?" alice asked, with a bewitching smile that told just a little on robert atwood. how he wanted to look indefinitely at her dark blue eyes, but he looked away as he replied, "oh, i did not mean that, but there is a strong family likeness, do you not think so?" "i suppose there is," replied alice, "but i never thought much about it. will you come in ?" 29 the hermit of nottingham thanks, but really it is delightful "" here." "and you prefer standing to sitting ?" asked alice, giving him again a look that stirred his pulse. "well, i can hardly say that, but the step of the porch will do very well, though i am not tired." "would not the seat on the porch be better than the step?" "really, i did not "notice, i see; you are from the city. are not city men comprehensively observant? you saw the porch and was not aware there was a seat on each side of it. i am not tired of standing, but i think it more comfortable to sit when one has something to say." robert's ears tingled just a little. he had not anticipated such a reception, but rather scanty words from a demure quakeress. after a moment's pause, he recovered himself and said, "please, miss ridgeley, permit me to state my errand and the question of being seated can be settled afterwards. i understand you 99 30 the hermit of nottingham are the keeper of the riverside quaker meeting records, and i desired to consult them for my sister." "yes, it is true that i have the records in charge, but now they are not all here; only the later ones." "that's bad for me," said robert. "i wanted to learn what i could from them of marmaduke bloomfield." "marmaduke bloomfield! are you a descendant of his ?" alice asked, with evident surprise. "i am told by my sister that i am," robert replied. "and i am of his brother, so go back one step and we have a common ancestor. i have the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a new cousin." and alice made a neat little courtesy, such as was known to our grandmothers and is now almost a lost art. robert atwood bowed profoundly, and was struggling hard to find something very nice to say, when alice continued, "but cousins of remote degree are always very plentiful." 31 the hermit of nottingham "and so they do not appeal to you?" he asked. "well, not always," she slowly and thoughtfully replied. "you have probably had some unfortunate experience ?" robert suggested. "not at all; but i can give you such a shock, if you wish it." and alice tried hard not to laugh, although there was really nothing to laugh at, but she could not go about with a grim countenance on a bright may morning. "i cannot say," replied robert, "that i am a candidate for disappointment, and yet i read it in your manner, miss ridgeley." "the riverside records will not aid you much, if at all, as your ancestor was not a friend,—that is, he was once, but not in later life. i am truly sorry, if you have had all this trouble for nothing." "joined some other church, you mean?" suggested robert. "no, not that. he was disowned by the friends." and alice looked at 32 the hermit of nottingham the blooming sweetbrier as she spoke. robert atwood drew in a long breath and then came very near whistling. alice read him like a book, and, with a merry laugh at his puzzled countenance, said, "oh, whistle if you like. that's what all the birds are doing." "and am i a bird ?" asked robert. "i am not prepared to express any opinion; but you are disappointed, and i am awfully sorry you came to me for this information, and what could i do? i mean that i can only tell you what you do not wish to know. our records do not mention his marriage." "but you know about his brother?" robert remarked, scarcely knowing what to say. "yes; he was my great-grandfather, and lived here, and built this house in 1800," alice replied, not looking at robert as she spoke. "and did his father before him live here?" robert asked. "yes; out there in the workshop." and alice pointed to an old frame 3 33 the hermit of nottingham building that had once been a dwelling. "and my ancestor," continued robert, "was born there and moved to where ?" "" about a mile away, where he lived long enough to repent of his folly, so i have heard father say." and alice showed she was quite tired of discussing the matter. 'repent of his folly,'" robert repeated. "oh, i see!" and from that moment he did not need to be further instructed. he knew now that his ancestor had never married, and so he bit his lips and wondered what next to say. alice ridgeley bit hers and was awfully sorry she had said so much. 66 6 there was an embarrassing pause that time would have made worse had not mrs. ridgeley come to the door at the right moment and asked the stranger if he would not be seated, and could her daughter give him the desired informa tion. robert atwood bowed to the mother 34 the hermit of nottingham of his fair companion, and assuring her he had learned what he wished to know -alice interrupted him momentarily by a little gurgle that meant volumes, but he quickly recovered himself and continued that his visit had proved an unexpected pleasure-another gurgle in alice's fair throat-and he would not trespass further upon their time, and he was about to conclude with "goodmorning," when mrs. ridgeley, seeing he was somewhat ill at ease, asked him if he would not be seated and rest himself after his walk from town. robert atwood was not at all disposed to do so under the circumstances. if the unexpected had not happened he could have spent the whole day over old records under miss ridgeley's guidance; but as it was, he had no relish for genealogical research; so, bowing to the ladies, he turned and walked slowly down the lane. mother and daughter stood in the door-way a moment looking at robert's retreating figure and then passed into 35 the hermit of nottingham as they did so, alice said the house. to her mother,"i wish i'd never heard of the riverside records or the bloomfields either." "why, dear, what is the trouble now?" asked her mother. 66 mother, the look on his face when he guessed the truth about old marmaduke bloomfield was horrible. it's enough to haunt me for a week." "was the young man a bloomfield ?" mrs. ridgeley asked. "no; here is his card." robert atwood. 1820 elm avenue. "oh, an atwood. i know of them; well, the atwood part is all right," remarked mrs. ridgeley. 36 the hermit of nottingham "then," said alice, "the bloomfield part is all on the surface in his case, for he was not all right in looks when it dawned upon him and he said, after me, 'repent of his folly.' it sounded like a voice from the tombs." "really, alice, the young man seems to have made an impression on thee." "an exceedingly disagreeable one, mother, i am sorry to say," alice replied, and then she stepped again into the wide hall and turned towards the lane. she saw robert atwood at the roadgate, standing still, and, as she thought, looking towards the house. was he going to return? in a moment the field-glasses that hung by the old clock were brought into use, and she found that she was right, in part; he was looking back; and then she thought he was looking directly into her eyes from the other end of the glasses, and she promptly put them in their case and went to her room. 37 chapter iii the hermit's home invaded n admirably well-dressed woman of some thirty summers,-it might be more or less, no one could tell,—and who was noticeable perhaps more from her manner than any marked characteristic of form or feature, left, with an audible expression of dissatisfaction, or, shall we say, of resignation, her comfortable seat in the pullman car when the train stopped at riverside. she surveyed the surroundings with some slight show of interest, as if she felt that here was to be the scene of some future events wherein she was to figure. she glanced at every passenger that was going away, or, like her, leaving the train, and her manner caused very nearly every one who saw her to look back at her with an expression of curiosity plainly shown 38 the hermit of nottingham on their faces. whether or not this woman was really curious as to those whom she saw, the interest of certain riverside people in her was unquestionable. after a full two minutes of this staring and staring back, the stranger asked a uniformed attendant at the station for a carriage and driver. this good-natured enemy of valise and trunk was somewhat astonished at the woman's imperious manner, but gave her the necessary information as to where her want could be supplied, and she marched off not a little nettled to find that the man was not wholly at her beck and call. but she was too intent upon her errand to spend many moments in fault-finding, and telling the stable-owner what she required, and paying in advance, was soon on her way out the pemberton pike. what was the trend of her thoughts for the first two miles of her journey is not known, but that she was anticipating an exciting meeting somewhere, with some one, was evident. her manner, even as she sat well back in the 39 the hermit of nottingham carriage seat, showed she was preparing for a wordy conflict; or did she carry a deadly stiletto in her bosom, and was she capable of thrusting it unawares into her opponent's heart? such things have happened, and this woman's eyes were suggestive of unlimited grit if her physique did not suggest bodily strength. suddenly her face assumed a gentle and quite self-satisfied expression. whatever the ordeal, she was prepared, and at this moment the carriage stopped and the driver startled his passenger by loudly shouting, "gate !" miss atlanta guthrie, for this was her name, became impatient, closed her eyes until they merely glittered as narrow lines of emerald-tinted glass and the picture of annoyance, looked from the carriage window, to find that progress was barred by the closed turnpike gate. what it meant, for the moment, she did not know, and was about to speak when samantha smedley appeared and as usual, before opening the gate, waited for the toll. 40 the hermit of nottingham "let us pass immediately," miss guthrie demanded in tones that usually forced compliance. "where are you going?" asked samantha, calmly. "open the gate; do you not hear me?" she repeated. "are you going to keep us here all day?” "where are you going? if to pemberton, it is eight cents," replied samantha, smiling in a most irritating way at miss guthrie. "it is of no consequence to you where i am bound," replied miss guthrie, and she threw a small silver coin at the gate-tender and sank back into the cushioned carriage seat. still, the carriage did not move. the delay continued, and, out of all patience, miss gurthrie was about to take more rigorous measures in the matter, when she saw the driver regaining his seat on the carriage and samantha drawing the bolt that the gate might swing open. what miss guthrie was about to remark in passing will never be known. before 41 the hermit of nottingham she had time to utter a word, she was astonished beyond expression to see the cool samantha actually smile and say "good-morning. "this, then, is the sort of people," miss guthrie remarked to herself, when she recovered, "they have in the north, is it? well! i don't wonder the atwoods and others are such sticks. the idea of that wretch holding me there for toll! and why didn't the driver attend to it?" if everybody up north's as good as everybody, then nobody's good for much." and with this bit of philosophy miss atlanta guthrie lapsed into silence, and was comparatively cool and amiable again when the carriage stopped just where a few acres of heavy woodland, remnant of the primeval forest to all appearance, bordered on the road. "another gate-woman?" miss guthrie asked herself, and then saw the form of the driver bending dexterously outward and backward from his seat and heard him say, "this is the place, madam." 42 the hermit of nottingham "then why do you not open the door that i may get out?" she asked. "i thought perhaps you wanted to ride to the house, but i don't think there is a wagon track through them trees." "no, i will walk." and when the driver opened the door, miss guthrie alighted and shook herself in that artistic way that dissipates wrinkles in dress and gives a catching freshness to woman's attire. "that is his house, madam," said the driver, pointing with his whip to a small two-roomed structure that could hardly be seen down the narrow path that led to it. "very well; and now, driver, i will walk there, and you wait until i signal to you by waving my parasol. if i motion to you to go on, take your horses where you choose, but be here again in just one hour. have you got a watch ?" "yes'm." "and you understand my directions?" "yes'm." 1 43 the hermit of nottingham "all right, then; and now i'll see if the hermit is at home." probably miss guthrie was not accustomed to walking along woodland paths. she continually stubbed her pretty toes, and as continually muttered something better left unsaid; at least so in minds of the unco' good, but we can no more safely check mild profanity than perspiration. it is equally dangerous. fortunately for the lady the distance was short, and her ease of manner and surface amiability returned when treading the smooth sod about the quaint old cabin's door. she knocked with the ferrule end of her parasol, and heard immediately a distinct but not very cordial "come in," and with it, to make ill matters worse, was as distinct a growl from an evidently very unamiable dog. miss guthrie became weak at once. all arrogance was laid aside, and as a flash came a vision of her one-time comfortable southern home. the door was not opened for her, and for a moment she was afraid to lift the latch, but she 44 the hermit of nottingham also saw that she had gone so far that this too she must do. lifting it slowly, she opened the door gradually into the room, and as she entered she saw an old man coming towards her. the dog growled again, but was silenced by his master and the "come in" was repeated, but in an even less assuring manner. miss guthrie at this juncture thought of the driver, and retreating, signalled to him to go on, which he did, and then, turning about to re-enter the cabin, was astonished to find the door was closed. she timidly opened it the second time and stepped into the room. as she did so she said, "is this arthur bloomfield ?" "will you be seated, madam ?" said the hermit, pointing to a chair; and when miss guthrie had accepted that invitation he asked, "why, madam, do you wish to know ?" "if you are, then you are dear grandma's brother, and i am so glad to see you," replied miss guthrie, in a soft, purring way that quite covered up the irrelevancy of her words. 45 the hermit of nottingham the hermit looked very intently at his visitor while she was speaking, and when she stopped said, in a very quiet way, "you have no evidence, madam, that i am your great-uncle, nor, necessarily, i any that you are my great-niece; and," after pausing a few seconds, during which miss guthrie was anything but comfortable, he continued, "if it were all true, what does it matter? i do not wish my solitude disturbed nor my several occu pations interrupted." "but, my dear uncle, you surely would not turn me out of doors, when i have come so many miles to see you?" and miss guthrie looked at him in such a wide-eyed innocent surprise that she was positively handsome. the hermit did not notice her at all, but looked in every other direction while he spoke, and was gazing thoughtfully at the floor when he said, "my cabin is only fitted for myself, and you came uninvited. if nothing but curiosity prompted you, please retire; if you have hopes of any information or of46 the hermit of nottingham well, of anything, your visit visit is in vain. good-morning, madam.” "but, uncle" "i am not your uncle"you are, sir. you are arthur bloomfield, and now the only hope of my poor mother, who is old and ill and bade me come to you." "for what?" "for help.” "how can i help you?" "" "by money or jewels." at these words the hermit started and moved one step quickly towards miss guthrie. he turned very red and closed his fists, and, had she been a man, might have struck her, his anger was so great. then, as quickly becoming calm, he asked, "how could she know that i lived here, was living at all, or, living, had means to aid her? it is folly, madam. it is some prank of my inquisitive neighbors that sent you here.' you must leave me. i insist upon it. good-morning." "no, uncle, no; indeed, it is not. i 47 the hermit of nottingham am-oh, i had forgotten to tell you! i am atlanta guthrie, and my grandmother was your sister ada"my sister ada. how strangely that sounds as spoken by another! madam, yes, i had a sister ada. you seem to know something of me. yet others have how did you find sisters of that name. "" me ?" "my people have known of you all along. they were not so witless as to let you be quite lost to them," replied the hermit's niece, for such she really was. "there's not in any city," said the hermit, with a confidence that indicated his sincerity, "any one who has had knowledge of me all these years. i cannot believe you. there's something strange about it, this coming of yours here, but i will ask no questions. oblige me by returning to your home." saying this, the old man moved to the door, and, placing one hand upon it, said, in a low tone, as if meant only for himself, "the latch shall be a lock in time to come." 48 the hermit of nottingham miss guthrie recognized the fact that the critical moment had come and she had her last card to play. her future was at stake, and would that last card prove a winning one? she changed her attitude and assumed one that suggested supplication, but with her inordinate pride still showing. she hoped to attract his attention but could not, and, after a moment's silence, said, in a clear, musical voice that would move an ordinary mortal, "please listen but a moment and i will go. though well she knew your purpose would not change, my grandmother kept track of all your wanderings, and knew the very day you settled in this spot. yes, and knew why you came. she was your guardian angel, and no harm nor hurt could have come to you and she not known it, and when her end drew nigh she confided to my mother all she knew; and at last, feeling how forlorn and lonely you must be, i came, with her consent, to make this known and ask you to reconsider your decision and spend your days with 49 the hermit of nottingham us." and the eager and excited woman drew a long breath, indicative of intense relief. now her part had been performed, her pretty piece, long practised, was now spoken, and she had but to await, as patient as she could, the result of her life's greatest effort. for the second time during the interview the hermit looked directly at miss guthrie, and he smiled even when she was done speaking. then he said, "i did not live in the world for more than fifty years and learn nothing of it; and even now i can detect the difference between some realities and shams, though lack of such skill wrecked my life, as people of the world might say. you have been well drilled, madam. your rehearsals no doubt were frequent, your studies well directed, but you are not an actress, you cannot conceal from all the truth that never leaves those eyes of yours. pardon me, but they hang a warning banner out when you are lying. there is something about your appearance, manner, and voice that makes your 50 the hermit of nottingham story have a semblance of truth, but your plans have not been laid with sufficient cunning. tell your mother, if she is living and you are who you claim to be, that her uncle is content and well. that is my only message." 66 'but, uncle, one word more"not another word. good-morning, madam, good-morning." and the hermit opened wide the cabin door, with an expression of determination miss guthrie realized was not to be gainsaid. there was but the one thing to do, and she did it without so much as muttering a formal good-by. the waiting coachman had heard enough in his day of the hermit to believe that his passenger would not prolong her stay till the hour was up, and he was not at all surprised to see the lady coming. as she approached he thought that, if all women were like her, all men would go crazy. her slender figure,—that seemed positively snakelike, so swift, smooth, and silent her movements, her red-gold hair, and "" 51 the hermit of nottingham green eyes shaded by black lashes, were new to him. he had seen but commonplace humanity heretofore. he certainly had never had such a passenger before in his several years of experience as a livery driver. many strange people, as he thought them, had he taken from point to point, but of them all he could recall no one distinctly. this woman, to-day, was one he should never forget. what now? he wondered, as she came up ; and it was with relief that he heard her orders,— "to the riverside station." "well, pudge," said the hermit to his faithful dog, when his visitor was out of sight, "this part of the world is getting too crowded. it seems we have been run down, like foxes in their holes, and the quiet of old times is to be no longer ours. think of exchanging our birds and squirrels-yes, and even the pretty skunk under the wood-shed-for people !" pudge barked his disapproval of such a change. then the hermit's face became graver, 52 the hermit of nottingham and he softly muttered to himself, “guthrie, miss guthrie, atlanta guthrie. my sister, ada. i wish these words could all be blotted out. this woman has an eye to what i've other use for, and never a jewel falls into her hands or theirs. ada is gone and i am going" then, suddenly, in a totally different and wholly cheerful tone, he broke out with, "say, pudge!" and waited, so it seemed, for the dog's response; for pudge immediately leaped into the air and barked, showing his readiness for further commands. "let's out into the woods," said the hermit, "this merry morning and listen to the birds. their songs will take the sound of that creature's voice out of my ears. what i said is true; it must be a lock now on the door instead of a latch." taking up his polished hickory staff, the hermit and pudge wandered by a narrow path far into the woods, and not a bird they met but seemed glad to see them. they wandered on until they came to where two stunted but very old cedars grew in a wilderness of oaks, 53 the hermit of nottingham making, as it were, a dark green island in a light green sea, and here they rested. pudge curled at the foot of the smaller tree and the hermit sat opposite, resting his back against the other. it was evidently a place familiar to them both; their movements showed that, and not a bird of the backwoods but knew them well. the chewink that nested near came by and chirped a welcome. so, too, the peewee, that found pleasure in these woods. then the mid-day silence of deep woods prevailed, and only at long intervals the note of some distant bird or the call of an over-flying crow was heard. here, and no wonder, the quiet-loving hermit could think best, and if so moved, could speak aloud without fear of others catching at his words. yet he never accepted the apparent conditions. he spoke to the dog, and immediately pudge ranged the woods about his master, silently but sure, and returned soon, announcing with a low bark that the coast was clear. "then, pudge," the hermit said, "if 54 the hermit of nottingham no one is peeping over my shoulder, i will look at the only human face that concerns me still, and will-and will to the end." and then he drew from an inner pocket a small daguerreotype and looked long and lovingly at it. he did not move, nor was there any change of expression. it was as if that instant the hermit had been turned to marble. but pudge was not insensible to the surrounding world. he heard a footstep, and immediately rubbed his nose on the hermit's arm and muttered a warning. in an instant the portrait-case was closed; the hermit took up his staff and stood up. if any person came, he would not be found napping by him. the rustling of dead leaves was now plainly heard, and very soon a neighbor's cow came wandering that way. as was always the case, the hermit was pleased with the dog's intelligence, and said a kindly word. "you're right, pudge. i would not trust even my neighbor's cow. let's back to the cabin." 55 chapter iv pinchbeck, by thunder ! obert atwood did not enjoy his walk down the long lane of ridgeley farm. he had gone up the same feeling excellently well-satisfied with himself, but now the world had a slightly different aspect. no real reason for it, it is true, but the fact remained that now there was a fly in the ointment, and of all petty grievances in this world the aforesaid fly takes the lead. when sure that he was out of hearing, he said to himself, but very audibly, "pinchbeck, by thunder! and she! well, once in a while we do meet with the genuine article." men are always at their best when they are forced to take the world seriously, and without childish fretfulness or a fool's obstinacy, deliberately sit down to think, and robert atwood, finding 56 the hermit of nottingham clean grass and a gently sloping sod at the foot of an old oak at the lane gate, sat down to think. of course there is always some flaw in the most uniform. surface. there is one weak link in the chain, though it may be strong enough to meet ordinary wear and tear, but when the real testing strain comes, that is the link to yield. the young man could not have chosen a more delightful spot for his temporary thinking office, but there was a possibility of his being interrupted in a lane; of that fact he did not think, nor was he aware what the field-glasses had reported of him at the ridgeley house. "let me take account of stock, as a merchant would say," was robert atwood's remark, as he seated himself. "my great-grandfather was marmaduke bloomfield, and her ancestor was a brother of his. now, let's see; their children would be first cousins; these cousins' children would be second cousins, that's mother and her father; and their children, that's the girl up there." 57 the hermit of nottingham and robert, without knowing why, stood up and looked up the lane; then realizing the absurdity of such a move, sat down and continued, "the girl there and myself, we are third cousins. well, it is not very near. hardly enough to be useful, perhaps. what a cussed idiot i am making of myself, talking this way, even if it's only to the wind! my third cousin, or would be, if the fellow hadn't made a thundering old fool of himself, and this is what i came into this blessed back-country settlement to find out. we had better shut up shop and go out of the ancestry business. what the mischief to tell nell i don't know. oh! i see he left the quakers and so isn't down in their books. the 'whys' and 'wherefores' needn't be discussed." robert stood up, when he reached his wise conclusion, and gave his coat a gentle shake and kicked at nothing, first with one foot and then with the other; an ordeal that rearranged his physical self and seemed to have a soothing effect upon his mentality, for he certainly was 58 the hermit of nottingham himself again to the average observer, but his newly assumed equanimity was destined to receive a shock. "say, stranger, any luck up there ?" "what do you mean ?" "bless my stars, stranger, no offence. i see you get up from under that tree and thought you'd been testin' the quality of the feed from up there." and the tramp pointed to the ridgeley house. it was rather hard to be taken for a tramp, and for a moment robert was not quite sure whether he was angry or not. then the funny side of the whole affair struck him rather forcibly, and he was prepared to carry out the joke. "well, no,” he replied, "i didn't get what i went after, that's a fact." "what you givin' us? did you get that toggery up there, with hat and boots thrown in for good measure, and then go back on 'em that way." robert laughed to himself, and then said, "you were talking about food, not clothes. i didn't get anything to wear 59 the hermit of nottingham up there or to eat either, for that matter." "you're about right," said the tramp, looking a little closer at robert, and then added, "you ain't long on the road, that's sure, tricked out in that shape. i was off a little. take it all back. no offence. say, mister, could you spare a nickel ?" robert stepped forward to hand the tramp a coin, when he perceived that the fellow had a companion who had been crouching in the weeds along the bottom of the fence. immediately he drew back and prepared for a vigorous defence. these tramps, he saw, meant mischief. "say, stranger, don't go back on us that way. you meant to give me a tip, and where is it?" and saying this the fellow followed robert's retreating footsteps, and at the same time the other tramp stood up. robert's cane was a poor weapon for such a time and, most unfortunately, he had no pistol. at best, he could but 60 the hermit of nottingham keep the tramps off for a short time only if they really meant robbery, for the chances were, of course, that some wagon would be passing, and they would strike vigorously, if they struck at all. that somebody would pass was his one hope, and all he could now do was to assume a bold front, which has often accomplished more than a weapon. "say, feller, shell out a few 'fore somebody comes, or we'll have to help you a bit. no offence." and the spokesman tramp now showed the villain in his face. the two were ready at a word spoken by either to rush upon him, as he plainly saw, and his safety lay wholly in his pluck. with a motion of drawing a pistol from his pocket, he said, coolly, "come on," and so perfectly was it all acted that the tramps drew back. unarmed themselves, they had hoped he was. a moment was gained, and, as it proved, was all that was needed. a rattle of wheels was heard; and robert 61 the hermit of nottingham looked up and down the road, but saw no vehicle approaching. then, recognizing the direction of the sound, he looked quickly behind him, and to his intense embarrassment saw miss ridgeley in a little pony cart. two on the defensive instead of one, he thought, but his fears were groundless. the mere presence of another person, though a young woman, was sufficient to make cowards of the tramps, and they ran away with all possible speed. "i have an engagement," said miss ridgeley, when she drove up, "and am late now. how fortunate that i came just at this time, for i seem to have frightened those tramps off! had they attacked you?" "they were about to, i believe," replied robert. "but really, are you not alone with such brutes afraid to drive about?" "not to ride about in the daytime, no, along this road; but the fellows are getting to be too numerous for comfort. my brother had some words with one 62 the hermit of nottingham of them yesterday, and now he's afraid the barn will be set on fire.” "i am certainly," said robert, "greatly indebted to you for your timely presence, miss ridgeley, and now, as the coast is clear, think i had better hasten towards riverside. really, to be attacked by highwaymen and rescued by a lady is extremely dramatic for these later days of prose and extreme artificiality. it is like living centuries ago to have such an adventure." "it is like living in the country," replied miss ridgeley, with some show of spirit. "we have the objectionable feature of the tramp, it is true, but that is a product of the city thrust upon us; the timely deliverance from danger is a native product." "goodness gracious! miss ridgeley, you seem to think i'm to be pitied because i came from the city!" exclaimed robert, feeling more hurt than if a tramp had struck him. "i do," she replied, with marked emphasis. "i think the city cramps men's 63 the hermit of nottingham energies more than it expands them. exceptions, of course, are in multifold abundance, but" "but i am not one of them ?" interrupted robert. "no personal applications of general conversation, please. come, now, mr. atwood, to make amends i will give you room in my cart and take you to riverside, if you wish." "you are very kind, but your engagement calls you in another direction, i think you said." "oh, i can get up some excuse, and it is not very important, anyway," miss ridgeley replied, feeling a little confused. "and is that a commendable country characteristic ?" asked robert, with a provoking smile, for it was too good an opportunity to defend what he would call city honesty. "no, it is not commendable, but i do not pose as a perfect specimen of a country girl. you appear not to have been very much marred by a city life. 64 the hermit of nottingham i will keep my engagement, then, as you wish; so, good-morning." and, just touching toby with the whip, she whirled away and left mr. atwood to walk to riverside. 5 65 chapter v the hermit's soliloquy it t is not strange that, after such an experience as his interview with atlanta guthrie, the hermit should have been ill at ease. the quiet of his many years spent in this cabin, the consideration shown him by his landlord and the few educated neighbors, had made his sojourn a pleasant one. by the ignorant element he was not much annoyed because of their fear. only recently he had been heard to say, "there is something better than supernatural knowledge, and that is an abundance of good common sense. the uneducated, superstitious work-people about here think i am in league with the whole host of imps that throng the shadows. in the loft of my cabin is a choice assortment of ghosts, according to their views. 66 the hermit of nottingham there's one good thing about it,—this condition of their minds keeps me well rid of the sight of their bodies." children naturally were afraid to come near, and had a well-established danger-line that encircled the cabin, and this they never passed. the hermit thought it best not to disabuse their minds. so, except upon rare occasions, he had the woods practically to himself, so far as mankind was concerned, and with pudge, and all the wild-life that found shelter there, was happy. here was an instance where man shared nature's bounty with the varied forms of life, and sought nothing that was fatal to another's interest. the hermit often smiled when his eye rested upon the worthless old gun that hung above the mantel-shelf. it was there when he moved into the cabin, and he had never even so much as taken it down. the occasional stranger that had called had sometimes gone away thinking the hermit was a hunter. he truly was, but only in such peaceful fashion 67 the hermit of nottingham his game loved him for the interest he took in their affairs. the immediate vicinity of the cabin was not an uncared-for wilderness of weeds. the thistle and stramonium did not encroach upon the path to the spring, nor dock and knot-weed crowd the tender grass. the choicest of nature's near-by products had been gathered with discrimination and lovingly cared for. from the woods, at various times, specimens of the rarer shrubs had been brought and planted within sight of his door. so far, he had his flower-garden, and there seemed always to be a bird for every bush; and never was ground more cleanly cultivated than where his few vegetables grew. even this spot was not fenced against intruders. the hermit shared his berries with his birds, and there was enough for all. the peewees came in early spring directly to the projecting ledge above his door, and never a summer that the nest was not occupied. they did not 68 the hermit of nottingham hesitate to enter the cabin, and were not disturbed by his passing to and fro. the wrens had their nesting-box nailed to the wood-shed, and these restless midgets had the freedom of all the hermit's belongings. in and out of doors were alike to them. wheresoever they wished to go, they went. let and hinderance were unknown to them. the bluebirds nested in their own home, fastened to the cabin's sentinel oak, and there was never a quarrel between them and the wrens. did they know the hermit would not permit it? the songsparrow nested with like regularity in a rose-bush that grew against the cabin, and they found daily, upon the windowsill near by, food sufficient to their needs. the tall tree, that was long known as the "sentinel oak," was known to many an oriole and restless vireo that often lived among its branches all the summer, and soon learned that the hermit was their friend. the whippoorwill rested during the day within the shadow of the cabin, and sang so constantly at 69 the hermit of nottingham night, one wonders how the hermit ever slept. the chipmunks crossed the threshold, fearless of pudge, and climbed the hermit's table seeking crumbs; and squirrels, red and gray, and their flying cousin that goes forth at night, all, at times, scampered across the roof, or, entering by a window with its single broken pane, rattled the goodly store of nuts that lay upon the loft-floor. as the sun rose, day after day, unless a tempest raged, the hermit left his cabin and walked slowly to the spring. here he bathed; here he caught the first sounds of the returning day; here he greeted the solemn oaks he had learned to love so well; here was his chapel, and at this most fitting hour he was free from earth, earthy, and heartily devout. then was the hermit ready to meet the requirements of the day, and these were the care that he gave to all such guests as happened to be present; not men or women, but the ever-blessed birds, the squirrels, mice, or whatsoever creature crossed his path. he would caress a 70 the hermit of nottingham snake as a mother might her infant, and talked to a turtle or a toad, as if these creatures comprehended all he said and returned an intelligent reply. be this as it may, wild-life certainly understood him, and he it. it may seem to the uninitiated, and probably does, like childish prattle to talk with unreasoning creatures, but the hermit found it as entertaining, as he had been heard to say, "as talking to unreasonable men." but is wild-life unreasoning? have they no abstract idea of liberty? is life with them a mere matter of routine: eating and sleeping? the pemberton forest was sacredly guarded against intrusion by gunner or mischievous, nest-robbing boys. its owner was a crank, and his crankiness was a whim to preserve a tract of primeval forest, at least as long as he lived. only windfall wood was removed, and here wild-life demonstrated that existence, for it, was something more than food, shelter, and perpetuation of species. it has been said, "it may be doubted whether, if the food71 the hermit of nottingham supply were plentiful and constant, animals or birds would ever care to move beyond the circle in which they can find enough for their daily wants ;” and again, "the adventurous life, if it is to be found among wild creatures, belongs to the carnivorous animals; yet most of these are naturally indolent, and active from necessity." wild-life in the pemberton woods contradicts this author. birds are not restless in appearance because forever seeking food, but often because bubbling over with a spirit of fun, for on no other ground can you explain their games of hide-and-seek, and surely swallows, when racing high in mid-air, half a dozen abreast, are not then seeking food or exercising to arouse an appetite. there's not a bird but knows the meaning of fun as well as does any child, and i am half tempted to go further and add, has a sense of humor. and the same may be said of our smaller mammals. there is not one that does not move around far beyond food-getting limits. there was not a 72 the hermit of nottingham squirrel in the hermit's cabin but was too fat for its own good, and were they not ever up to mischief? was there no spirit of adventure, pure and simple, in the chipmunk that leaped from the sill of the open window and sat bolt upright on the table, looking at the hermit, and then with a squeak bounded out of the cabin through the door-way, scampered around the house and repeated the visit? it was no hide-and-seek or tag, in this case, with one of its own. kind, but an offer to play either game with the hermit himself. these creatures all knew that he was their friend. they accepted him as one of them. these little wood-gods well repaid his love and granted him the freedom of their state. no creature can be called a mere machine, living a monotonous routine of food-getting and slumber, that has wit enough to discriminate between a man who becomes sincerely one with them and the brute that takes a fiendish pleasure in their sufferings. because, here in the pemberton woods, every 73 the hermit of nottingham creature had its natural enemy there was no evidence of, no, nor existence of, a constant state of nervous dread. the mice were happy notwithstanding the weasel was lurking in hollow trees or among their roots; but keen-eyed, keennosed healthy mice are armed by the knowledge of their danger, and consider it so carefully that the matter is minimized, and they are wise enough to determine to eat, drink, and be merry until the enemy comes. man does not forever moan that sooner or later he must die, but lives as best he can until death appears. mice know nothing of what we call natural death; it is replaced by fear of an enemy, and while they outwit it, they are happy as the day is long. a beautiful day in may was fast drawing to a close. the sun was well behind the tree-tops, and only narrow bands of golden light streaked the little lawn that extended on all sides of the cabin. the faint evening breeze gently stirred the tree-top, but passed by with74 the hermit of nottingham out stopping to cool the hermit's brow. the day had been warm, and now, seated in his easy-chair upon the grass, he was ready, as the last act of the day, to chirp a few cheery messages to the birds about him; for these came as promptly to his call as a farmer's chickens follow the dairy-maid. he chirped and whistled, and with a hollowed reed made curious sounds that brought every wren and sparrow and the thrushes close about. he spoke to them in their own language, as it were, and they replied to his kindly inquiries by their sweetest songs. the melancholy thrush, the exultant grosbeak, the impetuous cardinal, the chattering wren, and neverresting swallows joined in a chorus that was sweet assurance that with birds, if not elsewhere, he was among his friends. but the light was fading fast. the birds had one by one retired, and still the hermit and his ever-faithful pudge remained. in the swamps the toads were calling lustily; the frogs were ring75 the hermit of nottingham ing their rejoicings by the spring; there was an unbroken hum of insect-life in every tree and among the fresh new blades of grass; all a fitting background for a hermit's retrospective train of thought. the ever-varying volume of these voices of the night accorded well with the manifold character of the old man's emotions. now fear, now hope, now wondering if the foe might not be outwitted, now sinking into the depths of despair. he did not move nor speak until well into the night, when the moon rose above the tree-tops and chased the gloomy shadows from the lawn. then taking up again his homemade flute or whatsoever we may call it, he played a wild, sweet, wandering, whispering tune, as if calling to the shadows to return. then laying the quaint instrument on the grass, the hermit rose partly from his chair, and reseating himself in a new position, said, in a very serious way, that showed how full of meaning was every word, "pudge, the old days are over." 76 the hermit of nottingham pudge raised his head and replied by a slight whimpering sound. "and there's no place to move to that i dare venture upon. i'm growing old. pudge, we're growing old. such a thought hasn't crossed my mind of late, but that woman has made me realize it with a vengeance. go live with her! pudge, when we go live with her there'll be no other shelter for us this side of the moon." pudge rapped his tail upon the grass in approbation of that decision. "what troubles me is that she may come again to talk of jewels and money. it's ill-luck, pudge, but our good old days are over." pudge came to the hermit that he might see him more distinctly, and sitting before him, looked directly in his face. "yes, pudge, i mean it. the good old days are over." pudge barked in a strange, snappy way, clearly expressive of dissent. the dog would not believe it. 77 the hermit of nottingham rising up and stretching his arms and legs, the hermit first picked up the whistle he had made long ago and cherished beyond price, and then lifted. the chair into the cabin. as he seldom did, this night he lit his candle and sat at his table writing for some time. the small sheets of pale-green paper, one after another, were pushed aside, and, after a full half-dozen had been covered with closely written lines, the hermit leaned back in his chair and gave a sigh of intense relief. a pen was never popular with him, and now that his hand trembled it was a good deal less so. after a moment's rest, the sheets were folded and placed in an envelope, and this was carefully directed. then, looking up, he said, "i hate to have an errand, pudge, except deeper into the woods, but we must take this." and holding up the letter, pudge barked and stood up, for, wise dog that he was, he well knew it meant a walk to the nearest farm-house, and pudge, unlike his 78 the hermit of nottingham master, had not outgrown a taste for the peopled world. then all was quiet save the mingled voices of the night, and these do not, when we are weary, always disturb the silence, but intensify it. there in the darkness were the hermit and his dog,— the former indulging in revery, the latter asleep; and it was not long before the half-wakeful revery passed to profound slumber; but it was not wholly undisturbed; an occasional half-uttered word showed that the old man was dreaming; and when the witchery of midnight stirred the owl to livelier hooting, and the toads called and called back in more stentorian tones, the hermit suddenly awoke. looking about the dimly lighted room, and so assuring himself of where he was, he said, in no undertone,"was the woman lying? no; that can scarcely be. but how could i have been followed all these years, and by ada's orders? why did she never seek to open communication if she knew my 79 the hermit of nottingham whereabouts? have i not been always thoroughly disguised? does anybody but one man in town know anything of importance? and he knows only my assumed name. yet, here comes this scheming woman and calls me what for years i have not called myself. if the secret is out, then truly the pleasant days have passed and this visit is the beginning of the end. it is too bad,too bad! but i have been fortunate to live in quiet until now, and the sands of life must be nearly done trickling. i said too much to that keen-witted surveyor when he passed by in the summer. he said people were not only curious about their neighbors,—i learned this years ago, to my sorrow,-but often persistently so, and the world was too small to keep oneself hidden for a lifetime. he was not speaking idly. had he been ferreting out my history? he looked as if he knew it. well, pudge, ill or well the day, i must have some rest before i face to-morrow." and the hermit relit his candle and retired. 80 chapter vi in the rôle of reporter whe hen he reached the city, robert atwood dined at his club and was late in getting home,—all of which was previously planned on his part, and wholly turned out to his satisfaction, for he was thoroughly averse to recounting the adventures of the day so soon after their ending. he felt that he could take a calmer view of the whole affair later, as at the breakfast-table, if there were only his sister and mother present to hear him. certainly there was a good deal he might say that he did not wish the servants to overhear. it is not strange that the unusual incidents should have made a rather deep impression, and all night long robert atwood dreamed in an exasperating way about highwaymen, a pretty girl, a 6 81 the hermit of nottingham lane with an ever-receding gate, and one big cloud that at times swooped down and shut him in from the world. the latter was the discovery of the fly in the ointment. but as the morning drew on apace, the irritating entanglement was made smooth and flawless. everybody and every place was as he would have them, and robert awoke feeling abundantly refreshed and at peace with all mankind. at the close of all his troubles in dream-land he had been cheered by the winsome glances of a charming girl, and, awaking, he could have shaken hands with the tramps who had sought to rob him. it was not strange, therefore, that he felt in a communicative humor when he sat at the breakfast-table, and a little disappointed to find himself alone. the waitress poured his coffee and retired, and being, while he sipped it, in a reminiscential mood, was quite indifferent to the news of the day. the newspaper was but aimlessly glanced over, and cuba might have swallowed spain and 82 the hermit of nottingham congress permanently disappeared and he not noticed even the startling headlines. breakfast was not with him an important meal, and to-day the family seemed to have forgotten that such an event ever occurred at the beginning of the day. his sister, at least, he thought might have put in an appearance to hear his news. but, as it turned out, before robert was ready to leave the table his sister did appear, and instantly commenced a long series of questions, never pausing for a reply to any one of them; and while her impatience was increasing and her replies to the waitress rather confusing, accepting butter and declining bread, mrs. atwood also came and took her place at the head of the table. "as i see you are provided, my son," remarked his mother, in her cold, unsympathetic way, "i will not ask you to be helped; and, while drinking mine, am ready to listen to your account of yesterday; and, helen, please let your brother tell his story in his own. way." 83 the hermit of nottingham "but, mother, he is so slow, and i'm just dying to know all about" "all about what, sis? you monkey, you don't know now what i went after." "i do, too. to find out about greatgrandfather bloomfield," replied helen, with an air of importance and of confidence in her knowledge. "you're right. well, he was at loggerheads with the riverside quakers and got fired; so there's nothing about him." and robert was pleased to find that a great deal of his report could be squeezed into a few words. "oh, how mean !" exclaimed helen. "worse than that, nell, he wasn't anybody to build on. be a revolutionary dame on somebody else's account." and then robert kicked himself, under the table, fearing he had said too much. "whom can i build on, then ?" she asked. "i don't know. wasn't there an atwood in way-back times ?" "i don't know," pouted helen; "and 84 the hermit of nottingham what did that i think it's awful mean. woman tell you?" ""that woman,' as you call her, told me what i've told you already. but don't be so snippy as to 'that woman.' why, nell, she's a trump; and say, mother, do you know the ridgeleys?" "i have met them," mrs. atwood replied, "but it was years ago. your father and i occasionally went over to riverside just after we were married, but somehow we drifted apart. they are quite plain people, you know, and not quite congenial." "plain people! well, mother, that sounds just on a par with nell's 'that woman.' now, let me tell you something; there's a freshness, a piquancy, so to speak, that i found perfectly delightful. don't you know, about a month ago, there were children along the street with little bunches of pink arbutus for sale? now, that's my favorite flower, and i was always bringing fresh bunches home with me, for it always seems like a gift of the gods when 85 the hermit of nottingham it comes into town; and that is just how i feel about miss ridgeley-and her mother, too. they made me positively ashamed of the humdrum, do-nothing, languid women that crowd the shops and even the men off the pavements sometimes. chatter, chatter, chatter, and nothing said! miss ridgeley said a good deal, and not one syllable was nonsense." and robert gave a look of defiance at his audience, expecting to be attacked for this vigorous defence of plain country folk. "goodness me! bobby, what's the matter? what has happened to make you talk just like—well, just as though you knew something?" mrs. atwood laughed at her daughter's uncomplimentary speech, and suggested that robert probably had better continue with his story. doubtless it would all come out in time and needed no interrupting criticism. "mother," said robert, when she ceased speaking, "i couldn't have been more cordially entertained. there was 86 the hermit of nottingham no effort on their part to be polite, entertaining, and appreciative of my errand and its sombre ending. why, that girl wouldn't be flustered if the czar of russia called-' "because you are so much like a tyrant yourself you say this?" asked his sister. "your mother told you not to interrupt." "oh, bother! what's she like ?" "that's what i'm trying to tell. she has brown hair and blue eyes; is a good height, and full-figured without being stout. don't ask about dress; there i'm stuck; only i know she had on collar and cuffs that set off the dark color." "you are not very definite, my son; suppose you skip all reference to dress," isaid mrs. atwood. "well, i've told you all; unless you desire to know that she has tapering fingers, and there's not a freckle on her nose, and such a set of teeth! they glisten like" "diamonds?" asked nelly. * 87 the hermit of nottingham "well, no, not that, but they showed they were white and regular, and such a neck!" "goodness me, bob, you've tumbled head over heels in love with miss ridgeley. now's my chance to pay you back a bit for teasing me." "it's nothing of the kind, nell, and i'm talking to mother" 66 and i'm listening, please. don't forget that," retorted his sister. "i'm not likely to ; and, mother, there was the same snap in her talk that there is in the air when there's been a white frost. i don't know exactly how to explain it, but it was all so clean cut and just the proper thing, and every word spoken with her big blue eyes looking right at you. hang it if i ever met such a girl!" and robert leaned back in his chair, feeling he had acquitted himself admirably as the champion of one, if not all country girls. "he's dead gone; isn't that what they say, mother? bob's dead gone on a country lass. isn't that a pretty pass? 88 the hermit of nottingham goodness me, there's a rhyme! and say, mother, must i be bridesmaid? dear me, just to think of all that's come of bob's going to riverside!" and nell only stopped exclaiming for want of breath. "will you ever be quiet?" fairly shouted robert, getting a little red in the face and seeing no fun in his sister's teasing. before the threatened outbreak resulted seriously mrs. atwood remarked, "you seem, my son, to have been so impressed with those whom you met that the purpose of the visit was overlooked." robert flushed when he resented this unwarranted suggestion; for he had not left anything undone, as he knew. "not at all," he replied; "i learned at the very outset that there was nothing to be ascertained from that source, and there was no other to turn to that i was aware of. what more could i do than ask a question, receive the reply, and take my leave ?" "your visit was long enough, from your own account, to have made a very 89 the hermit of nottingham strong impression," replied mrs. atwood, as she rose to leave the table. "i'm sorry nelly is disappointed." "oh, i don't mind, if i can get in some other way; and i want to hear more about this girl. haven't you more to tell, bob?" "not now, sis; and i don't think mother is quite fair with me. by the bye, she's our third cousin," remarked robert, and then smiled, for the thought restored him to good humor. "third cousin? how does she come in third?" asked helen, with mock or real surprise. "how third, when there's lots of atwoods to count up and that horrid atlanta guthrie down south; she's some sort of cousin, mother says ?" "oh, i didn't mean third in importance"" "you would say first, wouldn't you?" and nell looked up very archly at her brother. "shut up! i mean that's the degree of relationship, and cousins are recognized or not, just as you see fit." 90 the hermit of nottingham "the degree!" exclaimed nell, with a look of despair. "well, it's too deep for me, this relationship business. did she tell you?" "yes," replied robert; "how else could i have found it out, unless mother knows all about it, and i suspect she does ?" "why?" "oh, from her manner more than anything else." while thus engaged in conversation and playing with empty cups, the waitress brought the morning mail, and robert picked from the salver a dainty envelope addressed to himself and postmarked riverside. he was not long in opening it and read with genuine interest,— dear mr. atwood,-about two miles from where we live there is an old man, living alone in a cabin in the woods, who can, my brother thinks, give you some information concerning your ancestor, marmaduke bloomfield. 5th mo. 10, 1896. very truly, alice ridgeley. 91 the hermit of nottingham "where's mother?" asked robert, with much interest indicated by tone and manner. "i'm sure i don't know," replied his sister, looking much surprised. "what's the matter?" "oh, nothing," robert replied, and hastily left the room. "funny," said helen to herself; "i'll follow." robert found his mother in the library, and handed her the note he had just received. mrs. atwood read it attentively, and then said, as she returned it, "miss ridgeley seems very interested in your quest." "mother, you're not fair," exclaimed robert, with some show of impatience. "the girl is a natural, accommodating, sensible one, one entirely too self-respecting and level-headed to make a fool of herself or let me make one of myself. just as i begin to get interested in this matter, for nell, you throw cold water on the whole business." 92 the hermit of nottingham "i hardly think you address your mother in a proper spirit. you certainly do seem extremely well posted as to miss ridgeley's characteristics, seeing you have met her but the once." and mrs. atwood picked up her paper, as if to resume her reading. "oh, pshaw, mother! what's the matter? because i happen to meet, by mere chance, somebody positively new to my experience in way of humanity, you think i'm 'gone,' as nell says. that's rubbish. i don't suppose you've any objection to a son, thirty-odd years old, hunting up this old man in the woods and perhaps finding out what i want to know. so far as i can tell, there's a fly in the ointment,—this old marmaduke wasn't married at all." "did miss ridgeley give you this information ?" asked mrs. atwood, looking up with some interest in her countenance as to her son's reply. "she was forced to leave me to infer it. did you ever hear father say anything about his jersey history?" 93 the hermit of nottingham "nothing of importance," mrs. atwood replied, and again took up her paper. "well," said robert, after a pause, "i've nothing much to do, and as extreme age has an uncertain hold on life, i'll go see this old man without delay." "and write to miss ridgeley with equal promptness ?" asked mrs. atwood, in a very irritating way. "does not the note require acknowledgment?" robert asked. "i suppose it does, briefly," replied his mother, with a trace of emphasis on the last word. "but," she continued, "it hardly calls for continued correspondence on ancestral topics." "oh, i guess not. mother, you're in a strange mood this morning; but do get the notion out of your head that i am in love." "i sincerely wish you were," she replied, without looking up. "sincerely wish that i was. oh, with the pink and white demoiselle from baltimore. no, mother, never that." 94 the hermit of nottingham and robert left the library, and as he went to his own room to dress for a stroll down town, he muttered to himself, "i'd give half my fortune, if i had a big one, if i'd never seen that baltimore party. good gracious! i'm not so citified, as miss ridgeley would call it, as to suppose everything centres in a pile of dollars. there are some things money cannot buy." and robert glanced at himself in the mirror as he said these last words, as though he was the author of that threadbare but very questionable assertion. 95 chapter vii at poverty cross natur ature, of which we hear so much and about which we know so little, had been niggardly of her gifts at poverty cross. there were sand and small pebbles that turned a cold shoulder to every weed, or shrub, or tree that had the hardihood to encroach upon its bounds. the few scattered oaks and a single cedar wore a look of desperation that showed their lives depended upon their pluck, which was well-nigh exhausted; and how mankind had proved equal to the struggle for existence at this woe-begone spot was a knotty problem. yet there were people hereabouts, and they had been known to laugh upon occasion; though this statement is given merely on hearsay evidence. robert atwood did not believe such a thing possible. never before had he 96 the hermit of nottingham seen anything so like a desert, except from the car's window in the far west; but that was desolation he anticipated, and it seemed all right, but here was something worse, for poverty cross was surrounded by land flowing with milk and honey. yet, as he found, people lived here, and lived too, or some of them, to a good old age. here, for example, was joel bostwick, contented if not gleeful, and still sturdy if not youthfully active; almost an octogenarian, with a glib tongue that, when not quickened by fancy rather than memory, proved of value to those historically inclined. robert atwood found the city intolerably dull. nothing that he heard or saw withdrew his thoughts from recent events; so, the day following his rather unsatisfactory discussion with his mother, he started in an early train for riverside by a direct route, having no fancy to be again victimized by that fool of a ferryman. 7 97 the hermit of nottingham not finding mr. ridgeley in his office, he sought information elsewhere, and armed with what directions the clerk gave, he departed, on foot, and quite prepared now for any number of tramps. but he did not immediately find the old man mentioned in miss ridgeley's note. the clerk had directed him to joel bostwick, whom he did find, and to this link between the past and the present robert introduced himself, and then asked, "can you tell me anything of my great-grandfather that lived about here, the late marmaduke bloomfield ?" "like enough i kin, mister. but what do you mean by calling him ‘late'? he was never late when it came to lookin' after his own, as i kin remember," replied joel, with a bewildered look. “oh, i mean, now dead," explained robert. "i see; but, young man, he died a goodish while ago, and not lately. let's see, i'm seventy-four come nex' month, 98 the hermit of nottingham and he's bin dead more'n sixty year, and he was younger when he died a good deal than i am now. i was only a shaver then; figger'n' it out, i was, let's see, about fifteen-" "you were thirteen," said robert, correcting the old man. "thirteen, was it? anyway, i was big enough to be knowin' better, and got many a strappin' fur stayin' too long in uncle marm's orchard. you don't see sech apples as his'n was." "was he your uncle ?" asked robert, with much surprise. "no. uncle marm bloomfield was folks and i'm only common. "oh !" exclaimed robert, with a feeling of decided relief; and then he added, "marmaduke bloomfield wasn't rich, so far as i ever heard." "" "like enough he wasn't, but there was a way about him as good as havin' money. he just held his head up and looked everybody square in the eye. we boys thought he owned the whole country. but, as i remember, he sort 99 the hermit of nottingham o' wilted down, sudden-like, and afore he died used to walk up and down his garden patch back o' the house a-swingin' his cane round as if he'd like to hit somebody. it was a'ter his boys and gal left him fur the city, and only come back now and then on a visit. his wife had been dead some time, and toward the last he lived alone, till the neighbors stepped in when he was took to his bed. my mother was in the room when he died, and all he said fur days was, 'what a fool i was!' i've heard mother tell of it often." "do you remember his wife ?" robert asked, becoming much interested in all he heard. "no; i was too young for that," joel replied. "do you know who she was?" "nor that neither. mother said she wasn't from 'round here, and that she made the racket with his father." "and why did his children leave him?" asked robert, with some hopes that later events could be recalled. 100 the hermit of nottingham "'cause he was so cranky, i've heard. you see, their mother kep' the family together, and a'ter her time there was no peace. leastwise, so i've heard old folks say. they're all gone now from 'round here o' that name.' "didn't any of his children come here when he died?" asked robert, feeling that he was unearthing matters that had far better remain buried, but somehow his curiosity was roused to the highest pitch, though family history had never before interested him a particle, but was a subject for ridicule when mentioned by others, thinking that american aristocracy rests on a rather flimsy foundation. "one of his sons came that lived in the city and took away some things and gave the rest to the neighbors. it's a cur'us thing. about a week after the funeral the house took all ablaze sudden one night and burned to ashes. some say that marm bloomfield came back and did it himself. the land lay idle for years, and then some one bought ioi the hermit of nottingham it, and now it's a part of the farm adjoinin'." "aren't you a bloomfield, somehow, or some of your people ?" asked robert, for he somehow had such an idea from what he had fancied of the old man mentioned in miss ridgeley's note, and so far he had received no very important information. "me a bloomfield ?" exclaimed joel bostwick, in surprise. "not that i know of. mother never said so." "why do some people call you the hermit?" asked robert, trying in that way to lead the conversation in new directions. "call me a varmint? who?" robert had a hard time to keep his face straight while trying to explain. "i say," he repeated, "are you the man they call the hermit, who lives in some woods near here?" 66 oh, i see," replied joel; "i see. no; you've struck the wrong man this time. i'm old, but i live as near like other folks as a poor man can. him 102 the hermit of nottingham you mean lives in the pemberton woods. he's off in his head, they do say, if they don't think he'll hear 'em. i guess you won't find out much from him. he ain't talkin' to nobody but his dog. so you took me for him all along. well, that's a good one!" and the old man laughed heartily at robert's mistake. "all right; and it was a good mistake to make. you've told me a good deal; and how far is it to those pemberton woods?" "go yonder to the cross-roads and turn to your left, and then first turn to your right and you'll see 'em. all big trees. you'll see the house among 'em when you get there. it's near about two miles." with these simple directions to guide him, robert bade the old man goodmorning and started, without the buoyancy of hope to cheer him, on a hot, sunny walk of two miles over jersey sands. just vaguely, at odd moments, he thought of the shady side of chestnut street, and visions of easy-chairs in 103 the hermit of nottingham the lounging-rooms of the exclusive club flitted across him; but he was not without pluck, as he wished miss ridgeley to know, and trudged on without so much as a thought about a noonday lunch. 104 chapter viii atlanta guthrie arrives with 7ith an aigrette and other feathers that made members of the audubon society grieve, and every dainty quality of dress that fashion could devise, helen atwood, at eleven a. m., was about leaving the door-step of her father's house, when her attention was called, she knew not why, to a carriage that seemed to be approaching the spot where she stood; and so, without actually halting, she delayed her steps, wondering if somebody was coming to their house, and, if so, who could it be? the carriage was evidently a hired one,-the horses and driver showed that. helen was right in her supposition. the carriage did stop in front of her father's door, and when the driver opened the door for the occupant, to helen's utter dismay, the distant cousin,-whom she 105 the hermit of nottingham hoped would always remain at a distance,-miss atlanta guthrie, stepped down to the pavement, and, handing the driver his fee, rushed tumultuously upon helen, kissed her effusively, and exclaimed, "oh, i am so delighted to see you! how you have grown! i am nearly dead travelling. did you get my telegram ?" helen felt as if a whirlwind had tossed her about, and was entirely too perturbed mentally and disarranged exteriorly to care whether miss guthrie had a reply or not. one thing was certain, she was no longer in condition to take her morning walk. after a moment's awkward silence, she replied, curtly, "no; i have heard of no telegram. we did not know of your coming. where did you come from?" atlanta guthrie was no fool. she saw, on the moment, that helen atwood was not pleased at such display of affection on her part, and realized that they were really strangers. all this in an instant, and, changing her tactics 106 the hermit of nottingham to others lacking all demonstration, said, with a sweet smile that changed her whole appearance, "oh, from home, -from atlanta; all the way without change of cars, and so tired." "then do come in and rest yourself before you continue on your journey," replied helen, with a wicked look that atlanta did not fail to notice. "rest before i continue on my journey,'" repeated atlanta, somewhat taken aback for the moment. "why, my dear, i've come all this distance to make you a visit, and you don't seem much pleased with the idea." and atlanta pouted just enough to look very sorry and ready to cry. "oh, this is so sudden," remarked the cold-hearted helen, quoting a stock phrase of old-time novelists, and then she laughed, and atlanta looked relieved and laughed, too, as they passed into the house. arm in arm, like loving friends, they went back to the library, and helen sent by the waitress a message to her mother announcing miss atlanta guth107 the hermit of nottingham rie's arrival, and almost immediately mrs. atwood appeared, and, to helen's infinite surprise, she received her cousin with great cordiality,—so much surprised, indeed, that she exclaimed, 'why, mother, you never mentioned cousin atlanta's coming! did you get her telegram ?” "is her coming not the more pleasant because a surprise, dear?" asked her mother, and, without waiting for her daughter's reply, turned to atlanta and said, "you must be tired and hungry; come with me." and they left the room together. 66 helen atwood very visibly stamped her foot upon the thick fringe of a rug beneath it, and then, giving the rug and its fringe a spiteful little kick, turned about, with pouting lips, saying, “i'll not stop to see who's in the next carriage, but keep right on." and so she did, wondering, all the while she was walking down chestnut street and back again what was the real state of affairs 108 the hermit of nottingham as to this half-mysterious atlanta guthrie, and how would her brother like her being tagged on to them all summer long. the last thing she said to herself, on re-entering the house, was, “i hope papa will kick, but i'm afraid he won't." while helen was on her morning rounds her mother and atlanta were sitting in mrs. atwood's room, and that lady was listening with much apparent -and probably real-interest to the visitor's story. "my mother," she said, "has taken lodgings for the summer with some of her old friends in the mountains of georgia, and so i had to be alone or go with her; and then i thought i would come north, as i want to consult a physician as to my greatly impaired nervous system. it is so trying to find that dear mother has not written. i wanted to write, but mother insisted that she should do it, and she wanted so much to hear from you all once more. i supposed, of course, she had, and you had 109 the hermit of nottingham neglected to write right away or were away from home, so i telegraphed, and to think that even this should have gone astray!" and atlanta, after all this, threatened to treat mrs. atwood to an hysterical scene, but the latter avoided it all by telling the polite lie that she was delighted she had come. that she had been on the point of inviting her, and now that she was here, would she please feel entirely at home until next fall at least, and let the doctor have plenty of time to completely renew her nerves? atlanta felt that she was now on firmer ground, but yet moved very cautiously. "indeed, cousin," she said, "this is offering altogether too much. i can only, in good conscience, stay a short time, and ought to have gone to a hotel, but it is so dreary there when one is an invalid; but you don't know how thankful i am for a home-like shelter for a little while. i have never had, you know, a real home. perhaps the doctor will not give me any hopes, and then i'll hurry back to mother and die in her 110 the hermit of nottingham arms." and atlanta choked a very little and tried very hard to force a tear into her eyes, but the long lashes remained dry in spite of her efforts. "you shall do nothing of the kind," replied mrs. atwood, very firmly; "i am greatly in need of a companion, for i am, it seems, too old for my children, or they seem to think so. helen's always on the go, and robert off to his club, and you know mr. atwood's business keeps him out west or in europe so much. so, really, you've come as if by the hand of providence to protect me from the blues. so, now, let's talk about other matters. here you are and here you shall stay, unless there is some young man in the question and he comes and carries you off." "some young man," repeated atlanta. "really, cousin, you're a regular tease. but that reminds me; how is robert? it's years, you know, since i've seen him. he's about my age, i think; and not married yet?" "he is a little older than you, and, iii the hermit of nottingham nothing to do, like all young men with none the better for it. he cares for nothing after the novelty has worn off; and i do wish he would marry and settle down," replied mrs. atwood, with emphasis on every important word. "why, cousin," exclaimed atlanta, "i should think you would want him home; you've said you were so lonely." "but he's not company, i'm sorry to say. we don't agree on any subject. of course he is attentive and all that, but he's a confirmed old bachelor, and that i do seriously object to; or was in that way of thinking, perhaps i should say, for only a day or two ago he went over into jersey for helen and saw a wonder in the way of a country girl; one of our country cousins, the ridgeleys, and i shouldn't be surprised if he was over there now. he heard of an old man living in the woods over there who could tell him wonders, and perhaps he's gone to see him, but more likely the girl wrote only to get him to come there on some pretext or other." 112 the hermit of nottingham atlanta started up as if stung, and barely succeeded in suppressing a cry of pain. she walked to the window and looked out into the street, and then returned to her chair, and making no comment upon what mrs. atwood had said, complained of headache, and asked if she might lie down, for she did not wish any lunch. she hoped her trunks would soon come, that she might put on a wrapper. mrs. atwood noticed that atlanta now looked worried, and attributing it more to excitement of travel than anything she could have said, urged her to take a glass of wine and a biscuit, saying she would rest better than with an empty stomach, and probably her trunks would come very soon now. she had a double purpose in all this, for she had been planning for some time just where to put atlanta, and could not quite determine between two rooms, either of which was available. while atlanta was eating, not one, but half a dozen, biscuits and drinking, not sip8 113 the hermit of nottingham ping, her second glass of wine, with a relish that suggested she had been fasting, the waitress announced the arrival of miss guthrie's luggage, and asked to what room it should be taken. "to the third story front, to the left of the hall," replied mrs. atwood. and it was not long before atlanta entered the room assigned to her, and softly closing the door behind her, sat in an easy-chair by the window, and looking out at the penn statue, which she now noticed for the first time, said, "damn the cub's fancy for going to the ridgeleys! i can only hope he hasn't been visiting my old man, or i'll have my hands more full than they are now. damn!" when helen returned, her mother met her in the hall and said, "nelly dear, our cousin atlanta is not at all well and under the doctor's care, so please be very kind to her. i want her to stay here for a long time as a com114 the hermit of nottingham panion. she can amuse me and be of help, too." "mother, she's no more ill than i am. i wish you'd seen her tumble all over me when she got out of the cab. she's nearly ruined my hat. why, one of the girls said, 'has one of the audubon women been after you? your aigrette's broken.' i don't like her, and you won't either for very long." "helen, dear, you are so impulsive. it was only her generous southern nature that you misconstrue, or has robert been prejudicing you for some reason of his own ?" "why, mother, he never saw her, did he? wasn't he away at school when she was here, years and years ago?" "no, helen, he was at home; but he might have his prejudices without having seen her. young men are so queer." "and so, too, mother, are some young women. as for cousin atlanta, give me northern deliberation and unmussed hats in preference to southern impulsiveness. i'd rather be frozen to 115 the hermit of nottingham death than burnt to death. but, hang atlanta! i mean, mother, i'll treat her properly. but where's bob?" "i think you exceed atlanta in being impulsive, dear," replied mrs. atwood. "robert has gone to riverside again, i think; but really i do not know. he did not say." "well, he needn't bother about the matter," replied helen, with her eyes snapping. "i've been to see miss krosscut at the historical society, and she says i can go in, on the atwood side, through joshua wright, who was some sort of a something over in jersey, and lots have wriggled in on his name. 'it will do,' she said; 'but there's nothing to spare.' and the old thing actually laughed right in my face and said something about going in on a minimum basis, whatever that is. she's a horrid thing. all she cared for was to get her ten dollars. but i don't care. i'm in, and i want to see bob and tell him all about it." and helen started to go up to her room. 116 the hermit of nottingham while this conversation was in progress, in the hall and library, mrs. atwood supposed that her invalid cousin was sound asleep, in the third-story room allotted to her, but it proved that she was not. the tinkle of the lunch-bell had reached her room and she had softly glided down to the second floor, and, finding the dining-room empty, continued noiselessly gliding to the floor below, and was within hearing but not in sight until the right moment, when she resumed gliding, and mrs. atwood and helen saw atlanta standing before them, her face wreathed in smiles, every trace of fatigue vanished, and wearing now a chic white dress that made helen stare, it was so becoming. atlanta did not offer to join in the conversation, but stood near until the atwoods moved towards the dining-room. she followed, and while the three women were being seated both mother and daughter felt convinced that atlanta had heard a great deal that was not intended for her ears. mrs. atwood inwardly vowed to be ex117 the hermit of nottingham tremely careful in the future as to what she said, and helen declared to herself, then and there, that she hated that woman. 118 chapter ix robert atwood meets the hermit obert atwood stopped when he reached the cool shade of the grand old oaks. it had seemed like a very long two miles, and he was now thoroughly hot, tired, and thirsty. he could press no button now and have a waiter bring him water, and he looked in every direction to see if there was a spring or pump where he could help himself. at all events, he would get a little cooler before he started on, and he remembered, to his relief, the hermit must have water. as he sat, comparing his present surroundings with his usual ones in the city, he wondered what his club-men would say should they find him sitting here alone. he certainly did not care what they might think, knowing the character 119 the hermit of nottingham of his errand, and while thus idly engaged he heard a voice, and, looking in the direction of the sound, saw an old man, and a very shaggy-coated dog of no particular breed trotting beside him. knowing at a glance who it must be, he took the opportunity to scrutinize him closely before going forward and addressing him. there was nothing in the man's appearance to enable robert to determine his age. he might not be more than sixty, and might be near a hundred. there was no senile tremor in his step, no trace of palsy in his arms, no effort to hold erect his head, and his white beard alone gave him a somewhat patriarchal look. robert saw that he resembled, in some way, some person that he had seen before, but it was all very vague. his conclusion was that he had not another joel bostwick to deal with, but could not tell why he thought so. the hermit and his dog passed by, and from neither had robert received the slightest notice. they approached the 120 the hermit of nottingham cabin, which he could barely make out from his point of view, by the path that atlanta had taken on her visit, but no projecting tree-root troubled the hermit's foot. robert watched them without moving until he was sure that the old man had reached the cabin door, and then he rose to follow. down the same path he passed quickly and knocked, as atlanta had done, but there was no response. again and louder he knocked, as if despairing of being received, and now the dog growled and the old man swung open the door and stood before his visitor. as he did so he said, in a voice trembling with impatience, if not anger, "what is it? am i to be forever annoyed by strangers ?" "though a stranger, sir, i hope you will recognize me for a moment while i state my errand," replied robert. "recognize you?" said the hermit, with a sneer. "young man, for years i have knocked at the door of recognition, and it was not opened to me; so, 121 the hermit of nottingham long since, i retraced my steps, and am happy now in the courts of obscurity." robert was quite unprepared to hear any such remark when he addressed the hermit, and now opened his eyes in wonder when these strange words were quietly spoken by one whose appearance suggested anything but the use of choice language; not even a word clipped short or two run into one. he had, as we have seen, been in doubt as to his reception, and at one time entertained but feeble hopes of acquiring any information. but fortune favored him. he realized that one secret of success is to recognize the value of particular moments. and now, seeing the hermit was disposed to talk, he forebore to ask questions, but aimed to draw the old man out and let him tell his own story as he would, if he would. his own purpose of visiting the hermit could well wait. "you seem to have had an eventful life and not always to have lived here," finally remarked robert, for the hermit 122 the hermit of nottingham stood as if waiting for him to speak or retire. "your inference is in part correct, but i hardly suppose you would think my later years eventful. the country is probably quite stupid to you." "not at all. i like it. i live in it four months of the year," replied robert, earnestly. "between may and october, i suppose," remarked the hermit, with some show of impatience, "when the sun is too hot at mid-day to tempt you out of doors. asleep at night and drowsy half the day. there are many such people. roused to a mild enthusiasm by a half-acre of color, but never to see the delicate tints of a single wayside flower. you look at the country from your carriage, and perhaps are more mindful of the gloss of your horse and harness than of the brilliancy of a midsummer sky." and the hermit laughed at the look of astonishment on robert's face, for the young man felt that his past life was being critically read and his 123 the hermit of nottingham future likely to be described in no flattering terms. "i really think you are pretty hard on a total stranger" "and are you not equally hard on me? my time that you are taking is my most precious possession," interrupted the hermit with a snap of his bright eyes that showed he was firing a telling shot. "i hope you will pardon the intrusion. i desired to ask but a single question—' "and show no symptoms of asking it," again interrupted the old man, but without trace of impatience. "before i do," said robert, "let me ask, how do you know i am not a botanist or some learned naturalist ?" "if you are, you are an excellent actor also. i saw you coming up the path, and you did not raise your eyes. do botanists never cast a kindly glance at such old oaks as those, or smile—yes, smile-when they see flowers, be they ever so common? or does the naturalist 124 the hermit of nottingham never stop when he hears a bird sing or a squirrel bark at him? or is it that you, know the world only as so many dried specimens?" and the hermit's voice was full of contempt as he spoke the last word. "if this is true," he continued, "then you must think me an odd specimen." and the old man laughed merrily. was there ever such another? wondered robert, when he found the hermit was waiting for a reply; and should he ask now about his ancestor or not? he would delay it, if he could, and said, "you are certainly very entertaining, and if i may venture so far, would say i should be glad to hear more of your life in this retired spot." the hermit looked very searchingly at robert, and was evidently not displeased with his manner or appearance. the young man certainly had, he thought, a legitimate errand, and deserved courteous treatment; and his earnestness was evident in that he had walked, apparently, from riverside, or, was he staying with some of the neigh聚 ​n 125 the hermit of nottingham bors? at all events, i will see, concluded the hermit, if he be another atlanta guthrie or not. "you say you are interested as to what my life here has been; and am i to infer that you suppose my previous life was too ordinary to be mentioned ?" asked the hermit. "not at all," replied robert, quickly. "you never could have been commonplace, under any circumstances." and by saying this he scored a point in his favor with the hermit. "let us be seated, here, in the shade of my sentinel oak, as i call it," said the hermit, and pointing to a rude artistic bench as he did so. "pardon me, sir, but may i have a drink of water ?" asked robert. "yonder is the spring," replied the hermit, pointing to it, and the path that led thereto. robert walked to it and soon satisfied his thirst; and as he did so the hermit watched him closely; and as robert stood up again, having kneeled to reach 126 the hermit of nottingham the water, the old man stared a little wildly and exclaimed, but in a low tone that was not overheard, "is he another of the family, and sent by her ?" when robert returned and had seated himself near the old man, the latter said, in a quiet way, "now, young man, what is the nature of your errand ?" "a gentleman living in the neighborhood informed me that you might possibly give me some information concerning my great-grandfather, marmaduke bloomfield?” "and why," asked the hermit, in reply, "did he suppose that i could do anything of the kind ?" "he did not state. i recently visited the young lady who has in her charge the records of the riverside quakers, and was told his marriage was not recorded there; that he was not in his later years, or from about that time, a member of their church." "i knew him well," replied the hermit, sadly. "you did?" asked robert, excitedly. 127 the hermit of nottingham "then whom did he marry, and when? can you tell me that? my sister wants to know so much." "your sister!" exclaimed the hermit, with some warmth. "was the young woman who was here a day or two ago your sister?" and the old man stood up and resumed his usual forbidding frown and haughty manner. "my sister here? no, never," replied robert, equally surprised and a little excited. "your visitor was probably miss ridgeley." "no, no, i have seen her frequently; but let it go. i have been too little accustomed of late to visitors to conceal my real emotions. let us be seated." and the hermit again sat down; and robert changed his position a little so that he could the better see the old man while he was talking. "you asked about marmaduke bloomfield," said the hermit. "he was not married, according to men's notions." "but he had children, two sons and a daughter." 128 the hermit of nottingham "you are right, and i am one of them." then standing up again, he exclaimed, bitterly, "to think that after all these years i have made a fool of myself at last!" "i do not understand you," said robert, without leaving his seat. the hermit turned and stood directly in front of robert and asked, almost fiercely, "young man, who are you?" "robert atwood, of philadelphia. my mother was lucy bloomfield and is the wife of henry atwood; and i am, it appears your grandnephew." "i "you are," replied the hermit. see that you are speaking the truth, and how true it is that history repeats itself! the young woman that was here was my grandniece, atlanta guthrie." "atlanta guthrie here!" exclaimed robert. "why, i thought she was down south, in georgia." "she has very recently been here," said the hermit, "and i fear intends to repeat her visits. now, young man, i have not much to lose, but that little i 9 129 the hermit of nottingham prefer to retain to the last. can i trust you? it is a foolish question. humanity has never proved to be what it appears, in my experience; but i am forced to admit it, i am too old to fight my own battles." "i should only be too glad to be of any assistance, i assure you," replied robert, earnestly. the hermit again sat down and began laughing heartily, yet in no boisterous fashion. his whole body shook with half-suppressed merriment; and this continued so long that robert was fearing that he had really met with a lunatic instead of a level-headed man. "young man, do you not know, a single word will often conjure up a host of memories? a single sound, even a mere trace of some peculiar odor, may cause the present world to roll away and leave you facing the happy or the horrid past. excuse my laughing, but those very words of yours i have heard. so often in my younger days, yet seldom when they did not fall from lying lips." 130 the hermit of nottingham "i meant all that i said or should not have said it. that is my usual way,' said robert, a good deal puzzled as to what to say or do. "yes, your usual way; but have we not all unusual methods, too, that we are quick to see may fit occasions? whether or not i am deceived matters but little now," said the hermit, rather sadly. "i did not ask you to announce your identity or invite your confidence, sir," replied robert, with a good deal of spirit. “if marmaduke bloomfield never married i am very sorry, for he was mother's grandfather." "she, then, is a daughter of my brother john. he married, so let that suffice. as to my father, i cannot tell the story of his days. i do not know it all. he and my mother lived not far away, from the day they entered their cottage until they died, she first, and he followed her soon. who she was i never knew, but what she was i can speak with confidence. you are fortunate if your mother 131 the hermit of nottingham is such a one to you as was mine to me, to all of us. let that suffice. be gentle to the long-departed dead. say of your great-grandmother, her life was one great mystery, and let the world be content with that. perhaps, through some strange chance, the veil may yet be drawn aside, and if so, i do not believe you would have just cause to blush." what manner of man is this, anyhow? thought robert, and why the mischief is he living here? there's more mystery about him than his father. mother's a bit cranky at times, so it's the bloomfield blood, that's certain. as the hermit seemed disposed to be quiet for the time, robert left him to his thoughts, but remembering that the day was rapidly passing, he remarked, "you are arthur bloomfield, then, my greatuncle ?" "i am, and recent events have loosened my tongue to such an extent that perhaps i have undone myself by telling you; but that woman knows it, and i 132 the hermit of nottingham suspect your informant was the surveyor at riverside, henry ridgeley." "it was he who told me to come here," replied robert. "i felt it; but neither he nor atlanta guthrie are to be made my confidants. what i have to tell, and even a little plan to propose, i'll trust you with." "thank you, i am at your service," said robert. "please do not make me laugh. this, then, is my story and my plan. i'll see once more if i am again to be deceived. i was young once, just seventy years ago. i say young once upon a time, as fairytales run, and how much the phrase means to an old man, and how little to you! and when i was young we had an old doctor living near, who fancied me. he said that i would be a man of mark, and so he helped me on in all my whims, and ruling my young head he ruined it. well, let that go. perhaps it was my fault as much as his. the doctor was a nature-lover in his way and had stored in his mind all that for years had happened 133 the hermit of nottingham in his rounds of every highway in the township. not a beast or bird but he could tell me wondrous things about them, and so too of the flowers on the roadside; every weed, and about all the trees in the woods and of strange growths in far-off swamps; he seemed to know them all. when we rode together he would point out some grassy hollow or high sandy knoll and tell me of the indians that lived there, and often he would tie old dobbin to the fence and we would rake the ashes of their fires and find odd shapes of stone, or pottery, or needles made of bone. to me this man was not of common mould. he did not talk like others, and all he said was not like matter printed in the books. child as i was, to be another doctor, such as he, was my ambition, and i studied hard to find out for myself what he had learned, and hoped in some ways to surpass him, and, of course, surprise him. at times i did so, and then an hour would pass when he was puzzled at what i had found, and giving 134 the hermit of nottingham up, would always say, 'nature provides nothing for mere show,' and bid me solve the problem. "years quickly passed, and then, the matter of my future coming up, it was decided i should go to town and work in a great drug-house, and then, such time as was my own, read medicine, perhaps, the doctor said, in a short time i might go to college. this hope thrown out, i left, without regret, my country home. “oh, what a precious fool i proved to be! "i went willing-handed and not quite empty-headed. i labored faithfully day after day, and not a chance was missed to gather knowledge. to be learned was my sole ambition, and my fellowclerks laughed at me. i was made the butt of all their petty jokes. but it seemed my manner had attracted the employer, and in time i was a little favored, and at last there came an invitation to his house. i went with much doubting clogging my footsteps, but, 135 the hermit of nottingham having passed the threshold, i was made to feel at ease. the merchant questioned me of early days and spoke of the old doctor. i fancy i grew eloquent at times, he gave such close attention; and i saw, too, that his daughter was attracted by my words, and this gave me more courage to speak. it was so strange to me to see her shudder if i spoke of snakes and how she smiled when talking of the birds. that evening was a marked one in my life, and, dating from it, i began a new career,—and, let me add, began to play the fool. "what followed is not strange. i fell in love. a beardless youth in love with sweet sixteen,-well, not quite that; but how my books grew dull and my thoughts ran upon a single theme! "oh, what a precious fool i proved to be! "i saved my little earnings till i had sufficient for a ring that i had seen and proudly bought it. "oh, what a precious fool i proved to be! 136 the hermit of nottingham "one morning my employer called for me, and, closeted with him, the bitter truth came out that for these many months i had been wildly dreaming. he said, in perfect kindliness, ‘arthur, boy, you are so rich in hope that you believe the meanest rags are cloth of gold, and you give no heed to those things the world holds have lasting value. let me call you back from your wild fancies. shut out all thoughts of edith, and, poor boy, remember that your parents are not married, and you must suffer!' "base-born and poor!' i exclaimed, rising from my chair and facing him; and angrily i added, 'then to be rich and well-born, however base, would suit you!' and i left the room abruptly, and that day left town, and for years was a wanderer, but never idle. here and there i worked,-worked like a slave,and fortune smiled on every effort, for i was not one of those workmen who hate seven a.m. and are always listening for the noon-bell. there was enough method ――― 137 the hermit of nottingham in my madness to grow rich, or rich enough for me; and that ring i kept, and then bought others and rare stones; and now, i cannot tell you why, i love to think that i still have them where, at briefest notice, i can bring them out. and then i wearied of the business world, and, wondering where to choose to end my days, i heard of the strange whim, these woods were sacred to their owner, and not one tree had fallen, and i returned, and, bargaining for this cabin while i lived, have spent long, pleasant years among these trees that charmed me when a child, long, long ago. perhaps my mind has weakened, -who shall say?—but this has been my hobby. the merchant's daughter is still living, and, like myself, unmarried. i have dreamed,-day-dreamed, i mean, -when precious quiet rested on these woods, that she would find me yet, in my old age, that i, with lover's tenderness, might greet my only love and offer her these many sparkling jewels. and often, in this merry month of may, when 138 the hermit of nottingham not a warbler but here has his mate, i hear my feathered friends far in the woods, and drawing nearer, with their sweetest songs, until their whole array is marshalled in the trees that face the lawn, and then-then do i fancy they announce her coming, and i look wistfully adown the path. "perhaps, my nephew, now you think me mad; but it's a mild lunacy that has done no harm." and the hermit suddenly stopped speaking and looked sadly at the ground. after robert had recovered from his intense surprise he ventured to remark, “what you have told me is not like any matter of real life, but a wild romance, and i don't know what to say." "say nothing, if that's possible; and now for my plan. come here again at noon day after to-morrow, and i will be ready to unfold it and put upon your young shoulders a heavy task," said the hermit, thoughtfully, in reply. "what's that?" asked robert, much surprised. 139 the hermit of nottingham "to meet, in covered warfare, that woman," replied the hermit. "who ?" "atlanta guthrie. she wants these jewels, and i trust you will prevent her getting them." "how can she get them?" asked robert, much surprised. "how?'" repeated the hermit; "by a dozen ways. robbery, seeking to send me to a hospital as insane; murder, even. she has wit enough, it seems, to have learned i have them, and i am old. has she wit enough to outwit you?" and the hermit gave robert a very searching glance. "i do not think so," robert replied. "do not be over-confident, and— good-by." 140 chapter x henry ridgeley receives a letter all ll that alice could think of concerning the visit of robert atwood to the ridgeleys had been related to her brother, and this had brought again to mind, very vividly, the subject of the hermit's identity, and henry was moved again to go over all the evidence; and he was more and more convinced that the present hermit and his greatuncle, who had disappeared years ago, were one and the same person. but, as he told his sister at the time, as the old man was evidently comfortable and preferred to live unknown to his people, why should he not do so? he was no millionaire, that made him just to that extent of peculiar interest. doubtless the little property he had would be spent with his life, or, if aught 141 the hermit of nottingham i remained over, would be left to those with whom he had occasional business contact, and it was unquestionable that he had the right and the mind to intelligibly will his property, if he had any. still, henry claimed, outside of all such considerations, he was an interesting man, and what he had said to the ship-canal surveyor made him, to henry, even more so. the surveyor had repeated the hermit's words to henry, and since then the latter was the more curious about the old man and desirous of paying him a visit and talking to his supposed greatuncle, but he had no good reason for so doing, and knew from hearsay, which did not lie, how those moved by mere idle curiosity had been met. henry ridgeley's thoughts were all upon this one topic as he drove into riverside from his home to his office, and it was perhaps because of such a train of thought that the letter from atlanta guthrie, that he found upon his table, was the less startling; for do not coming events forever cast their shadows 142 the hermit of nottingham before? are not premonitions simply evidence of a law in nature that we have not yet explained? the letter ran as follows: he dear mr. ridgeley,-though you're a cousin, we have never met, but you certainly have a general idea as to my identity; but it is not to merely claim relationship that i write. as you're well aware, you have living near you the so-called “ hermit of nottingham." is, in fact, your and my great-uncle, arthur bloomfield. possibly you have not interested yourself in the matter of relationships and cannot trace the intricacies of kin beyond your immediate family; it is so with many that i meet, but your interest may be aroused by the fact that you and your sister and myself and the two atwoods are his heirs, next in line after our parents, but the latter are indifferent and the atwoods very wealthy. i am probably right in saying that my mother and myself are the only ones that stand in need, and hoping the fact will not rouse an ambition for wealth easily acquired but a worthy desire to help your needy cousin, let me add in conclusion that our greatuncle has in his possession jewels of much value and probably other property. how can the old man be induced to remember his poor relations, or, if his mind is affected, be pre143 the hermit of nottingham vented from giving them to others, and even leaving no trace of their whereabouts, if they are hidden? how can you assist me, do you suppose, or how can we help ourselves by preventing a catastrophe? i desire to see you and talk the matter over, but concluded to write before coming, and so pave the way for a cousinly acquaintance. very truly yours, atlanta guthrie. henry ridgeley was a mild-mannered man who had his business to look after and attended strictly to it. there were no exciting incidents in what he had to do, but now he was brought face to face with decided novelty that suggested a good deal of shadiness, mystery, and complications of concealed purposes. he looked from his desk out of the window, and the world seemed different. "well, i'll be switched!" he exclaimed, as he put down the letter he had just read. "it's just what i thought, except the jewels. i know he must have money, and i saw his likeness to coltiveunde nba chucriere abrerasinda amst 2 shine 144 the hermit of nottingham my grandfather more than once when i was there, some time ago." "did you speak to me, sir?" asked his clerk, who was well aware that mr. ridgeley did nothing of the kind. "no, no; excuse me!" replied mr. ridgeley, confusedly. "the fact is, i've got a curious letter here that has set me to thinking out loud." "what i thought," remarked the clerk, "and i spoke to prevent your saying aloud more than you wished." "thank you," mr. ridgeley replied, and, folding the letter, was about to place it in its envelope when the office door opened, and his sister alice came in with a lively motion that brought sunshine, summer breezes, and all the best things of life with her. 66 say, al" 66 'say, harry" they exclaimed at the same moment, for both had announcements to make. "what is it?" "what is it?" they asked in the same breath, and then the two stood facing 10 145 the hermit of nottingham each other and, neither having gained any advantage in the wordy meeting, both laughed. "me first!" exclaimed alice, quickly, and then followed up her advantage with, "i'm going over to clifton to see carrie rockwood” "she of the psyche knot, that is one day high church and the next a pagan ?" asked henry. 66 'stop making fun of her" "or do you really mean to halt at the rockwoods, and hope that algernon maurice will slowly saunter by, see you, and stop? how the boy loves to stop and hates to start! he never rows against the tide, i've noticed, when we're out on the river"will you ever stop? but here's my business. will you come after me in a row-boat, for i suppose the ferry won't run after sunset? captain's afraid to go out after dark." and alice looked at her brother in a way that showed she meant him to do exactly as she said. 99 "i suppose it's my orders, sis,' 146 the hermit of nottingham henry meekly replied, "and i'll have to obey. all right; but do read this letter and tell me what you think of it." and he handed his sister the epistle in question, and then sat down again to study her countenance as she read, for he had learned to give that more attention than her words. if word and look agreed, then it was as firmly settled as persian and medean law. in this case it was a bit confusing as a study, for alice frowned, looked puzzled, surprised, indignant, pleased, and then back to the frowning and repeat. no april sky ever exhibited such complete transitions. when she came to the end, she crumpled the letter in her tightly closed fist, and remarked in a low tone so the clerk might not hear, "if i know anything about women, atlanta guthrie's to be watched. she's more devil than saint by a great deal." "see here, al, don't be so hard on a stranger. i don't see that she's said anything to warrant your sweeping condemnation." and henry ridgeley 147 the hermit of nottingham showed he was a good deal disappointed at the stand his sister took. oh, no; of course not. just like a man. you take what every woman tells you at one hundred cents on the dollar, when she doesn't mean to pay you in gold but fifty-three-cent dollars. i read between the lines here and there." and alice straightened herself and posed as a very goddess of wisdom before her brother, and then with an effort subdued her smile and offered in its stead a slightly contemptuous look, as if in her opinion her brother was not equal to such an occasion as the letter presented. but he thought otherwise, and said, perhaps you have too good an opinion of your judgment, sis. i think there's a great deal of common sense in miss guthrie's letter, and she's right about his property. it ought not to be lost." 66 66 "but, you foolish boy, don't you see she wants to use you as her monkey to pull the hot chestnuts out of the fire, and you'll burn your fingers for her 148 the hermit of nottingham benefit and thank her for the opportunity. oh, you men! and suppose your old man is somebody else and not uncle arthur, what a nice mess you would make of it! well, i must go, and be sure to come after me; not too early, it's moonlight; and mind what i tell you about that woman. i don't like her." henry ridgeley was now more disturbed than when he read the letter. he hoped, the moment he saw her come in the office, that alice would be delighted and enter into atlanta guthrie's scheme with eagerness, and, all proving counter to his wishes, he was in somewhat of a quandary, but concluded, after much reflection, to invite his cousin to call upon him at his office for consultation on the subject. whether he went a step further and suggested in a roundabout way, or even directly, that she should call on his mother and sister, could be determined later. certainly he must acknowledge the receipt of the letter, and in so doing follow out her 149 the hermit of nottingham suggestions. she wanted to come to riverside to see him on a matter of business why should she not do so? she must, and indeed proposed to, take the initiative, and all that he proposed to do was not in any sense linking him to her in any shady designs on the hermit. he wrote, and then himself posted the reply, and found, as was very natural, he had no mind for other business during the day. 150 chapter xi robert atwood meets atlanta guthrie his istory is continually repeating itself, and robert atwood found, while at the breakfast table the morning after his visit to the hermit, that he was again to act the part of a reporter, and all the more difficult was his rôle because he had to speak his little piece, not write it. then, too, there was a larger audience than before, the addition being a distant cousin,— now his mother's companion,-atlanta guthrie. before the meal, when he was about to go to the breakfast room on the floor below, there had come a timid little knock at his door, and robert, opening it, found helen standing there, with her big blue eyes, as he said at the time, as big as saucers, and also there was a 151 the hermit of nottingham curious expression on her face that he could not decipher. "what's the matter?" robert asked, moved by a feeling that somehow something had gone wrong. "may i come in ?" helen whispered. "yes; why? what the deuce is up?" asked robert, a good deal worked up over his sister's mysterious manner. "say, bob, what do you think," helen said, solemnly, when she closed the door behind her, "atlanta guthrie's here for good and"what?" exclaimed robert, interrupting helen and staring at her as if he saw a ghost. "she's here for good and-" "evil," again her brother interrupted her by saying, and added, in an undertone, "the devil !" 99 "you're right there; i don't like her. there's something crooked behind every word she says, and when she smiles most and purrs like a pussy cat, she's doing her worst. what mother sees in the nasty, red-headed thing i don't 152 the hermit of nottingham know." and helen showed by her trembling voice that she felt as strongly as her words indicated. "and she means to stay, you say?” asked robert. "yes; mother has coaxed her to stay as companion," replied helen, with a quaver in her voice. "when did she come ?" "yesterday, noon; straight here from georgia." "straight here from georgia,'” repeated robert. "i like that, sis." and then he stopped short and stared out of the window. "what do you mean?" asked helen, surprised at the sudden change in her brother's manner. "oh, nothing. let's go down to breakfast; i'm hungry, for a wonder." at breakfast they met, atlanta and robert, and the latter was all affability and good spirits. all noticed he was talkative beyond his usual self. indeed, he was so persistently loquacious 153 the hermit of nottingham that his mother watched him closely for some time and wondered why, considering his high spirits, he made no mention of alice ridgeley. finally her patience was exhausted, and she remarked, with a good deal of ineffectually concealed sneer in tone and manner, "robert, you must have had a jolly time at the ridgeleys, your spirits are so exalted." "why, mother, i have been nowhere near the ridgeleys, except they live in the same county. i went to see an old man who lives in a deserted region, and such a quaint specimen of antiquated humanity! he was like a chapter in a book." "oh, do tell us!" exclaimed helen. "indeed, it must have been interesting, particularly now that you are so taken up with country connections. may i ask who he was, and how you heard of him?" said mrs. atwood, slowly, and not looking up as she spoke. while this conversation was going on, atlanta looked intently at her plate and 154 the hermit of nottingham scowled; put on her "devil-face," as helen called it. "of course," robert replied, cheerfully, to his mother, "you can know all about it. i had an interview with joel bostwick, and he told me a great deal about my great-grandfather, marmaduke bloomfield." atlanta brightened when she heard these words and the floodgates of her pretty speeches were opened wide. "oh, cousin robert, how intensely interesting! dear mother has often told me so much of the jersey bloomfields and their pretty home and quaint oldfashioned ways, and how she would love to see these people and places." and then stopping to take breath, she opened wide her wonderful eyes, now deeply, darkly, beautifully blue, and the long lashes shaded them to perfection; and the gentle purring sound that helen had mentioned, which seemed to accompany rather than to constitute her voice, was now more marked than it had been, when she added, in what to many would 155 the hermit of nottingham have proved resistless pleading, “and, cousin robert, may i not some time go with you to see this queer old man, if your mother can spare me, and the ridgeleys and where grandfather lived? oh, how i would love to go, just once!" robert hesitated just a moment, but in a small fraction of a second many a hate has been bred. both made resolutions at that same fraction of an instant; yet the time was so short that neither mrs. atwood nor helen noticed anything amiss. robert said, in a very deliberate way, so different from his previous manner that it was noticed, "perhaps, some time, with myself as a guide, mother, nell and you might make up a party to come down on the neighborhood like an avalanche, and perhaps the ridgeleys might condescend to take us in." atlanta's eyes were green in an instant and only glittered as ice in winter sunshine. "condescend !" exclaimed mrs. atwood, indignantly. "well! i must say i am surprised at the way you look at 156 the hermit of nottingham such matters. as if the ridgeleys were our superiors and-" "come, mother, don't take me up so seriously. in one way they are they do not criticise us as we do them. they are contented and happy, i have no doubt, and never bother their heads about us; and in that way they do show to better advantage than those who consider mere wealth and living in a city as necessarily making one superior to another differently situated." "i did not suppose, robert, i was to be lectured by my son." and then seeing all were uncomfortable, she piloted the family out of the difficulty by turning to atlanta and remarking that she must remember that only a few years are needed to bring about many changes. the old people are gone, the old ways discontinued, and very largely the landmarks are removed. those that represented the family at the homestead and its neighborhood were to-day neither wealthy nor culturedrobert looked up with a flushed face 157 the hermit of nottingham on hearing this libel on their culture, but a look from his mother silenced him. so, she continued, such a visit as robert suggests would probably be in most respects as gloomy as going to a country church-yard. robert twisted about in his chair until every joint of that unfortunate piece of furniture threatened to give way, but he said nothing. helen laughed, and suggested that, judging robert from his distress, he evidently thought his mother's picture was too gloomy and not warranted by the facts as he had recently found them. no one replied to her remark, and atlanta, glancing from mrs. atwood to robert and back again, said, "possibly cousin robert is an instance of the reappearance of primitive tastes, and finds the plain folk of the jersey wilderness quite congenial." "and very much more probably," robert now replied, with a deal of emphasis in every word, "you are all talk158 the hermit of nottingham ing about what you know nothing of. if the city was a little more countrified it would not be to its disadvantage. when i am ready to go into details i shall proceed to do so." and robert looked over the letters that had been placed near his plate. "which means when i am not present?" asked atlanta, in tones as sweet as a grosbeak's monologue. instantly robert looked up, attracted by the music more than the meaning of her words, and said, rather pleasantly, "i did not say so, certainly, nor intend to give that impression. "" "have you another letter from alice ridgeley?" asked helen. as his sister spoke robert happened to look up again, and at atlanta, though not intentionally. as he did so, he said "no" rather impatiently, and noticed atlanta's eyes turn from celestial blue to infernal green, and felt that he was forewarned and so forearmed. somehow she must be got rid of; but how carefully must he go about it! here was a 159 the hermit of nottingham task set before him such as he had never imagined and not at all to his liking. "before we leave the table, cousin robert, will you not favor us with some account of this mr. bostwick that you met in the country? it must have been an interesting interview to you, and so why not to us?" and atlanta pleaded with her looks as well as her words. "really, the interview was not of much importance," robert replied. "he remembered a good deal, i don't doubt, but he had a gabby way of telling it that made me feel as if there was a good deal of romance mixed with his facts. 'we met by chance,' as the song runs, for i was not looking for him, but for another old character they call up there the hermit.'" 6 "the hermit!" exclaimed helen. "how romantic! did you see him?" "i am going to see him in a day or two, if he will permit me,” replied robert, not looking from his letters as he spoke. 160 the hermit of nottingham "and is he a survival of colonial times, or one of your relations, or what, that you should spend so much of your time in the backwoods of new jersey?" asked mrs. atwood, with a satirical expression that was extremely irritating. "oh, he's an old man up there that perhaps can tell nelly about her pedigree, if he knows the neighborhood, as i suppose he does. you see, mother, now i've started, i want to know all i can about the bloomfields and then let the subject drop. it may be useful knowledge some day." "and what of the ridgeleys? are they another subject of your laborious investigations ?" asked mrs. atwood, still maintaining a satirical manner that robert affected not to notice, and so the more irritated his mother and set atlanta to thinking. "i would rather not discuss those people at present," he replied. "i presume not," mrs. atwood said, icily, and rose from her chair. helen and atlanta also arose and 161 ii the hermit of nottingham moved towards the door, but the latter did not leave the room, as robert supposed. a moment later, looking up from a letter he was reading, he saw her standing near him, and looking very attractive, too. he put down his letter and met her steady gaze with one equally firm and wreathed in a pleasant smile. for the first time they were alone, and she realized how handsome he was. could she conquer him, she wondered. robert misinterpreted her looks, and, thinking she was troubled-as well she might be—and about to make a confession, said, as pleasantly as he could, "have you something to say to me, miss guthrie ?" "miss guthrie !" atlanta repeated, with a voice filled with vexation. "i am right in my inference, mr. atwood. you do not like me." "i did not know," replied robert, quietly, "that i was given to jumping at conclusions or forming opinions off-hand of people that i meet." and he looked 162 the hermit of nottingham down at his letters and at every point except towards her. "i can give you the family history that nelly wants. i have it all from my grandmother, through mother, and can save you these tiresome trips to riverside and vicinity. you must have missed the comforts of your club terribly these past few days." "thank you, miss guthrie. you are very kind, but i have become quite fond of adventure of late, and take as naturally, now, to going to jersey as a duck to water." "evidently. your similes smack of the farm-yard; and you are 'fond of adventure,'" repeated atlanta, in an irritating way. "your mother would say 'adventure' was a nickname for alice, and i can tell you something of the ridgeleys." "i sincerely wish mother would keep her opinions to herself," exclaimed robert, a good deal out of patience, and was about to say something more on the subject, when, to his intense sur163 the hermit of nottingham prise, he found that atlanta had disappeared. she had glided from the dining-room while he was speaking and he did not know it. "that woman is in league with the devil," he muttered to himself. an hour later, having finished smoking a contemplative pipe in the library, and glanced over the morning's paper, robert atwood, in an unusual frame of mind, put on his hat and started to go out. he saw no one as he passed to the front door, yet, while his hand was upon the knob, he felt moved to tarry a moment and look back. he found atlanta standing immediately behind him, and she, with a winsome smile, said, "are you on your way to jersey?" "no, not to-day;" and then added, "i thought you might want me to do some errand for you from your coming to the door." "nothing, thank you, cousin robert," replied atlanta, with just a trifle of emphasis on the "cousin." 164 the hermit of nottingham robert noticed it and was quick to see its import. "good-morning, miss guthrie," he replied, very ceremoniously, and, when out in the street, said to himself, "damn that woman! i must keep nelly away from her. what was mother thinking about ?" in her own room, with the door locked, helen atwood was sitting at her pretty desk, filling out here and there a blank in her papers, and not a sound but she interpreted at the instant as a tap at the door by atlanta, and she was saying, ever and anon, "confound that woman! i must keep bob away from her. what was mother thinking about?" in her room, mrs. atwood was tapping her eye-glasses against the unfolded morning paper, and, faintly hearing the front door close, she muttered, "dear me! i was so in hopes atlanta would be able to draw robert away from this miserable ridgeley business, but it's too late, too late." 165 the hermit of nottingham in her room, atlanta was pacing, catlike, to and fro, and hissed between her closed teeth, "if that fool sees the hermit i must go back to georgia, i suppose. thank fortune, his mother's a fool, and that fact may help me a little, if the worst comes to the worst. perhaps i can fight, if i am a woman." 166 chapter xii alice ridgeley sees the hermit a lice ridgeley, leaving home for a ride, and saying nothing as to where she was going, dexterously drove her pony to the hermit's door. how she avoided upsets, and why toby, intelligent as he was, did not balk or back, when taking the wood-path, is altogether a matter of speculation. "perhaps the old oaks looked with amazement at my coming and drew back," she playfully suggested, "though i didn't see them move; but toby knows his business thoroughly and seemed to take it as a joke, so, somehow, we wriggled through going and coming." alice left the pony to his own concerns and loosened the reins so he could nibble the unmown grass if so disposed; then, with all the confidence of one call167 the hermit of nottingham ing upon a dear friend, knocked gently on the door of the hermit's cabin. in a moment it was opened, but only for a little way, and the hermit, looking out, said, in an assuring, kindly voice, "what is your errand?" "to ask about orchids, arbutus, and other wild-flowers. my brother, henry ridgeley, said you could tell me what i wish to know; that is, if you would, and i know you will," replied alice, with great animation and show of confidence. "how do you know it?" the hermit asked. "because you can have no reason for withholding what i want to know. i've no wish to exterminate any species by pulling them up root and branch." while she was speaking the door opened very slowly, and by the time she uttered her last word the hermit was wholly revealed to her, and then she added, looking at him with a good deal of astonishment, "and you do look like grandpa did, just as henry said." "and what, pray, has my appearance 168 the hermit of nottingham to do with orchids, arbutus, and wildflowers generally?" asked the hermit, with a forbidding frown, fearing evidently he had been attacked by a chatterbox. "nothing really," replied alice, undismayed by the hermit's manner; "but you know we young people often think aloud"" "too often," interrupted the hermit; "too often. it is one of the curses laid upon your sex." "and don't men ever say too much, i'd like to know?" asked alice, with some show of indignation. "and what has all this to do with orchids and wild-flowers ?" again asked the hermit. "oh, bother the orchids! you put it all out of my head," alice replied, with some impatience. "and may i not say, 'oh, bother' the visitor?" asked the hermit, with a twinkle of the eyes that gave alice abundant confidence. "yes, except to me; i'm an exception"2 169 the hermit of nottingham "why?" asked the hermit, himself surprised. "because the average girl doesn't come here to ask about orchids; indeed, doesn't come here at all." "you are right as to the latter statement," remarked the hermit, as if talking to himself, "the average girl doesn't come here at all.'” "well, however you decide to class me, mr. mr. hermit,-i don't know your right name,-i want to know if i can find the yellow cypripedium about here ?" "i think not, but the purple one is common." "where?" asked alice; "near here ?" "back where the ground is swampy, and where there is no path you could follow, but tangled underbrush, and snakes and lizards, frogs and toads." 66 'oh, jolly!" exclaimed alice, clapping her hands. "i thought the wildlife once about here was now all a matter of yesterday, and now there wasn't anything bigger than a bumble170 the hermit of nottingham snakes and lizards! how i love bee. them!" "madam," said the hermit, looking at the young woman before him in blank astonishment, "did you say you were henry ridgeley's sister ?" "i did." "does he know you came here, or does any one know it ?" asked the hermit, still looking very much puzzled, for now he had met face to face an unfamiliar phase of humanity. "no one knows that i am aware of. i come and go pretty much as i please. i'm a woman, not a child," replied alice, surprised and a bit nettled by the old man's questions and manner. "if your people do not know it, they ought to," he said, very firmly. "why so?" "because young women like you that profess to love snakes cannot have arrived at years of discretion, or discretion has been put forever beyond their reach. i beg you to return home. indeed, i am particularly averse to interruptions 171 the hermit of nottingham this morning; and there have been so many of late,-too many, too many. isn't it true, pudge, that our pleasant days seem to be over ?" and the hermit looked from alice to the dog, which replied to his master with a low bark and a double rap with his tail on the cabin floor. "" "but really, i mean all that i say,' persisted alice, who determined to stand her ground and retire a victor rather than vanquished. "i know the snakes about here are not dangerous, for the rattlesnakes and copperheads are all gone, if they were ever here; and what possible harm can a little gray lizard do? i've tried to be sensible in my view of such matters, and now you throw cold water on the whole thing, besides being positively rude to me.' alice paused a moment, to see if her remarks would be met by any comment, and then added, in a more cheerful tone, "but i thank you for the information given me. i'll explore the back swamp-land in due time." 172 the hermit of nottingham "for what purpose?" asked the hermit, with a look that showed he anticipated no such avowal from miss ridgeley. "why, to get some orchids, of course. i have determined upon having a little private wilderness of my own, a ‘weedery' as i call it, where i can have all the wild-flowers that will bear transplanting at my elbow, so to speak, and it occurred to me you could give me all sorts of help in the matter if you would; and i meant to find out for myself as to the latter point. if i had said at home where i was going, everybody would have shouted and insisted it was of no use, but sometimes everybody is mistaken." "and was this your real errand ?" asked the hermit, and showing by the manner of his putting the question he was still incredulous. "my real errand'? well, i'm not given to downright lying, that i am aware of," replied alice. "intentionally or not, all people are liars upon occasion, and very many con173 the hermit of nottingham sider skilful lying the climax of the fine arts." "goodness, mr. hermit! you remind me of some of the old characters that i hear and read about occasionally,-the philosophers." "i lay no claim to any such character or similarity to one, but i have always called a spade a spade, and hence my unfitness for the world at large; but i will not trouble you with references to myself." "i wish you would," replied alice, earnestly. "a good deal more, perhaps, than tell you of the orchids. it's true, pudge, it's true. we're doomed to endless interruptions." "not from me," replied alice, haughtily. "let us stick to wild-flowers. do you know of any that are rare, growing near, that would bear skilful transplanting? i'm in earnest now." and she looked so directly at the hermit that he was convinced of her sincerity. "there are many flowers in their sea174 the hermit of nottingham sons," he said, "but i cannot tell as to their rarity. i do not even know their names. they are like the birds, friends of mine, and for my own convenience i have to coin names for them. i call every flower 'beauty' and every bird by a nickname that seems, to my mind, to suit it." "and you like birds ?" remarked alice. "extremely," replied the hermit. "then we're on common ground, and i'd like to stay all day and talk about them no, no, no! i didn't mean that, but stay and hear you talk about them." "you are very considerate, surely, but i have not given a day to anybody but myself for many years, and this is a long interview to accord any one." "and a plain hint for me to depart," said alice, laughing at the earnestness of the hermit; "but you'll have to grant me willy-nilly the woman's privilege of the last word. you've made a mistake in living here alone all these years; at least, 175 the hermit of nottingham that is my opinion. at this time of year, too, it must occur to you, when every bird is mated and companionship is as universal as two or twenty birds on the same bush. what a sorry spectacle would a bush be with only one blossom or a bachelor bird or an old-maid jennie wren! no, no; you've made a mistake,—a big mistake." "madam, are you married?" asked the hermit, impatiently. "no, but " "hope to be," interrupted the hermit, with both an audible and a visible sneer. "i did not say so. i live at home, though, not alone," replied alice, apologetically, and for a wonder with a feeling that her footing was gone. "and is it your choice?" asked the hermit, with a look expressive of doubt upon the subject. "" certainly," promptly replied alice. "why?" "and it is mine to be here and, madam, alone." and the old man very strongly emphasized his last word. 176 the hermit of nottingham alice hesitated, not knowing what to say, and recognizing she had said far too much, was struggling for a fitting last word that would set matters aright, but her wit failed her for once. as she lingered, she noticed that the door was slowly closing and the hermit being shut from view. the pause was an awkward one, and when to say merely "goodmorning" was upon her lips, the cabin door again opened slowly and the hermit appeared. his countenance showed no trace of displeasure. stepping out upon the grass, he said, "i will help you to your carriage, and when you are seated, with the understanding that when i cease speaking you will drive away, i will tell you something; though why this sudden impulse on my part i do not understand. your surprise at what you have seen and heard is genuine; your errand was what you stated it to be; this i believe, but to trust in another's words is dangerous. i believe there's a flower called 'love-liesbleeding; there ought to be one called truth-lies-dead, for truth is no conspicu12 177 the hermit of nottingham ous bloom that flowers wherever men and women chance to tread. you say i made a mistake in even coming here. others have said the same thing, but gave no reasons. you feebly attempted to do so, and i was amused at your childish, impetuous way of setting forth ill-considered facts. you recalled myself to myself as you spoke and here's my return." alice walked to the pony cart and sprang in without assistance, and, taking up the lines, said, with a smile that would go a great ways with any but a hermit, and an octogenarian at that, "now i am ready-not to go, but to listen. i am all attention and all secrecy, if you wish it." 66 'secrecy!" exclaimed the hermit, with a sneer. "yes, secrecy," replied alice, "for i can keep a secret so closely that the machinery of an inquisition could not force it from me." "a woman keeps a secret! those catchy words have played about a 178 the hermit of nottingham woman's lips since the dawn of humanity on earth, like a butterfly hovering over a poisonous blossom. your assertion is not unlikely the original lie, the mother of all subsequent deceptions. if an old man may offer a young person advice, let me urge you to rid yourself of such an idea. no woman ever yet kept a secret." "i have nothing to say beyond promising to remember what you have said," replied alice. "if your words are true, the sunshine is dimmed, flowers faded, bird's songs harsh and grating; but i do not believe you." "i do not propose to discuss the matter. i came here to your carriage quite voluntarily, miss ridgeley, to briefly refer to, for your possible benefit, my shattered idols"shattered idols!" exclaimed alice, with a shudder. "yes, my shattered idols; and you will contemplate yours in due time, unless early taken off." "taken off!" " 179 the hermit of nottingham "taken away by that gentle comforter, grim death." and the hermit smiled as he noticed the expression of horror alice had at such a thought. "how generally all old men," the hermit said, "know that people spend the best years of their lives in building, and have but the ruins to contemplate when most they need the comforts of the completed structure, and are brought to muse over shattered idols!" "goodness!" exclaimed alice, with a shudder. "to talk that way on a may morning like this!" the hermit nodded his head approvingly and smiled at her words, and then said, very deliberately, "may is the month for setting up our idols, but what of december's frosty touch? i say 'shattered' idols because of a sad experience. there is not a wild-bird in these noble woods but swears eternal constancy, and not a listening mate but, this bright may day, fully believes that all the happiness that crowds these fresh spring mornings will last until the dawn 180 the hermit of nottingham of eternity. a more brilliant suitor comes; a more lovely mate is seen; the cooing of doves is drowned in the cry of heartless hawks; and behold, my good friend, the earth strewn with shattered idols. but life has other serious themes than love. i was a young man once, and, when the dream of young love had proved a dream, i marched with confidence into the wide world and sought by occupation to drown my initial sorrow. was what i found what it appeared to be?-what, therefore, i expected? by no means. the world is so complex that man's wit intricate as what it finds. to be plainspoken is to call yourself a fool. the honesty that we find may be honest; the truth that we encounter may be truthful; but, if there are two open questions in the world, here they are. i plunged into the wild vortex, scrambling for wealth, and, by crowding many as worthy a man from his place, i gathered more than my share; but of what manner of good is it if, in these resting days that has to be as 181 the hermit of nottingham finally come, we have still to labor and spend it all in vain attempts to rebuild. our shattered idols? will all the wealth you can imagine buy the realization of your cherished dream? gold can never harden the walls of a bubble; and this my dream was as unsubstantial as the rosy bubble before me, which, while it lasted, i never thought of but as of adamant. doubtless you have your idols now in the days of your youth. learn not to love them at the cost of your peace of mind. your most cherished. idols may be shattered by a thought." "but we do not all have such sad experiences," alice replied, scarcely knowing what to say. "i know many old people that do not complain or run down this beautiful world as you do. did you come here from necessity or choice ?" "from choice, you can rest assured of that; and the choice that led me here, to be alone and with my dog and birds, now prompts me to request you to leave me to myself." 182 the hermit of nottingham "but i don't want to go," said alice, pettishly. "that was our bargain. i will see that you get the orchids that you wish. good-morning." and saying this, the hermit turned away, and, re-entering his cabin, closed the door. alice sighed when she found her hour was up and the moment of departure had arrived, and, on her homeward way, she continually repeated to herself much that the hermit had said. and how, she wondered, was she to get the promised orchids ? as to keeping a secret,pshaw of course she could. 183 chapter xiii atlanta guthrie calls on henry ridgeley so far as the world knew, henry ridgeley had never been in love, and the little fraction of the world that knew him had often wondered why. "him and his jill has got scattered, somehow, but they'll come together one of these days," was the prophetic conclusion of euphemia onquè, the old nurse; but henry, when he heard it, remarked, "you're wrong for once, phemie, or i'm mistaken." henry's bachelor notions were something strange in the minds of those who knew him best, for his disposition was that of one fond of society. he was the life of all the gatherings at the neighbors, and usually the first to propose a picnic in early summer or the initial dance in autumn. he was the 184 the hermit of nottingham friend of all and counsellor of many, but he had no preferences, and was, at this time, set down as a confirmed bachelor, much to the regret of those who saw him most frequently; and no wonder, for a bachelor is an unfinished affair, say what you will. nature has provided no place for them, and the places they make for themselves only render their peculiarities the more conspicuous. even sacerdotal celibates are blots on the fair face of creation. what henry ridgeley himself thought of the matter no one seemed to know. he always laughed and turned the conversation into other channels when the subject was broached. this pleasant may day he was sitting at his desk, with work enough before him to keep him busy all the time, and yet his mind wandered from it a good deal, for he had a strong suspicion that his sister might drive to the hermit's before going to clifton, and he wondered what would be her reception. how much better, he thought, to have kept 185 the hermit of nottingham his own counsel and followed up his investigations quietly! if nothing came of it, no one would be the wiser; but now, if the hermit should prove a pauper to be buried by the county, he would be laughed at. of course, atlanta guthrie's letter made all this seem improbable; but, then, might not atlanta be mistaken? henry found relief in whistling, but in such an awkward way the nerves of his clerk were irritated, and this lad—a misshapen machine made of blood and bones-rustled his papers so violently that henry remembered his. presence and ceased struggling to blow a tune through his unruly lips. this clerk could not be seen-so small was he, and so tall the desk-by any one entering the office, but he could both see and hear; first, because of sharp ears, and secondly, because of an eyehole in the desk that enabled him to keep watch when mr. ridgeley happened to be out. the clerk was a hunchback, but, to compensate for his crooked spine, nature had sharpened 186 the hermit of nottingham every other faculty; and he came of quick-witted stock, his mother keeping a toll-gate just out of town. the identity of the hermit, while of no real importance, was so prominent in henry ridgeley's mind that to-day, busy as he ought to have been, it threatened to interfere with the progress of business, and he wondered how he might rid himself of it, and did the worst possible thing he could do,-read over again the letter he had received. do coming events cast their shadows before? or, to put it in more prosaic shape, what are presentiments? have we foreknowledge vouchsafed us? no one appears to speak very positively on the subject, and yet how universal is the experience! daily on our lips are the words, "i felt sure that this would happen" or "that you would come." premonition has given rise to folk-lore sayings, and yet we have no satisfactory solution of the mystery. that people far apart can influence each other's minds is incomprehensible, yet it ap187 the hermit of nottingham pears to be true. many a letter has announced itself. a great mystery that is akin to the dogma of the mind's immortality and leads us to think one fe is not all with which we are to be burdened. henry ridgeley felt unsettled. he was convinced that something was going to happen. could it be possible, he said to himself, the hermit himself is coming into town and to see him? at that moment the office door was slowly opened and a lady entered the room. henry looked up from his desk as she drew near, and then arose and offered the visitor a chair. it is some one calling concerning insurance, he hoped, and the subject of the hermit replaced by a matter of business. "is this mr. ridgeley ?" the lady asked, and while he bowed and said "yes," the visitor removed the little veil that lightly concealed her eyes and forehead. immediately, henry wondered if this could be-and at the same moment read the card the lady presented : 188 the hermit of nottingham miss guthrie. there is no length, from that moment, to which henry ridgeley would not have gone in belief as to the mystical and uncanny. his sluggish blood leaped forward with a bound, scales dropped from his eyes, and the world was moving at a quicker pace. he pushed all his business papers impatiently aside. he did not know it, but he was not a free man, but atlanta guthrie's slave. he did not dare return her gaze, yet it was with an effort that he kept his eyes from her. the while she measured her victim, and the quiet clerk in the rear measured her. all this was the overfull moment that colors many an after-hour. there was no awkward silence, and with proper 189 the hermit of nottingham promptness conversation began. "miss guthrie," remarked henry ridgeley, in an animated voice, not quite natural to him, perhaps,-"miss guthrie, i am delighted to see you. we are cousins of remote degree i believe, and your letter was a most interesting one to me; the more so because i had had for some time suspicions in that direction, and your letter came when i was dwelling a good deal upon them. i am at your service." "thank you, good cousin," sounded softly through the office with all the bewitching sweetness of an eolian harp's whispered note. henry had never heard such a voice before, and the clerk coiled noiselessly into a smaller space than before, intent, not upon his work, but her further words. "and now," atlanta continued, "that you have so thoroughly welcomed me and made me feel at home and not among strangers, let us put our shoulders to the wheel, so to speak, and see if we cannot move the mountain." 190 the hermit of nottingham "that ain't a policy of insurance for me to write out, but it's my policy to listen," thought the clerk, and he smiled at his feeble effort to be funny; and henry quite failed to notice that his visitor's expressions were rather mixed and ill-expressed, besides being cold and business-like; quite failed in all this, because her manner and her great blue eyes wove a spell about him that he could not resist. what henry did not notice, but his clerk did, was that a subtle odor filled the room, and giving way to her words. while it was breathed, certain senses were dulled and others quickened. he, of course, did not realize, what amazed the listening clerk, that his voice lowered almost to a whisper and he purred his replies as she half whispered and purred in his willing ears. he did not see-the clerk did that she drew nearer and nearer to him, and so he did not move back his own chair or change his position. the clerk, now almost uncontrollably overcome with wonder, thought of what 191 the hermit of nottingham he had read, and rightly never believed, that birds and squirrels are sometimes charmed by serpents. was it, after all, only a fable? might it not be true, after what was occurring before him? very still, as if but a stiffened corpse, finally sat henry ridgeley, as atlanta unfolded the story of her life and how now, at last, the day had come for her to assert herself and stand where nature proposed she should stand, only the required wealth had not been forthcoming. that was the task set before her now,—to find the wealth that should be hers. she had succeeded in locating it. its present possessor was a feeble, but obstinate, old man, and of equal importance was her discovery of to-day: she had found the needful, trusty friend who was to aid her to secure the hoarded wealth of a helpless, half-dead man. the clerk had a vision of a generous fee for dropping a word in an old man's ear. for the last few minutes, for atlanta spoke very rapidly, henry listened with192 the hermit of nottingham out interrupting her by so much as a word. he was, in fact, under the spell she had wrought so completely that he did not know until she had done speaking that her hand rested on his, and when he looked down at hers it glided away so swiftly, perhaps, he concluded, he was mistaken, after all. of but one thing he was positive. he would willingly follow her to the ends of the earth. never before had he known how sweet a thing it was to live, and revelling in her smiles, he prayed to her with his eyes to continue forever the sweet delirium. atlanta guthrie was not the fool she had made of henry ridgeley. when she had nothing further to say she resumed the character of an ordinary woman, but left the poison to still work in his veins. she waited, without a trace of impatience, while he slowly gathered himself together mentally and became in some measure a free agent. he was free in a sense, but all his earlier views of the hermit were changed. that 13 193 the hermit of nottingham old man was wholly different from what he supposed. when one looks through red spectacles, the world is on fire; look through green glass, in winter, and you have summer suddenly returned. the hermit's wealth was really not his, but hers. there was being foul injustice done, and yet no legal means of redress. would he help her? yes, and henry ridgeley felt that the world was a blank except when following in her footsteps. why should his sister have spoken so strongly of her? was she not beautiful? was she not fascinating? was she not all that any woman should be, and not all one could fancy of womankind? certainly none that he had ever met had proved to be of such a standard. the view of the matter taken by the clerk, who had curled up like a snail, so fearful was he of discovery by her, was, that if there was but one such a woman in the world every thousand years, the idea of a personal devil would be widespread and take a very strong hold upon average humanity. the hunchback felt 194 the hermit of nottingham that he had seen to-day the devil as near literally as ever happened to mankind. after the lapse of a few fateful moments, during which henry ridgeley forswore his manhood, atlanta again purred, and suggested many plans that might bring the hermit to terms. the all-persuasive purring numbed his senses, yet not to the point of realizing what she said; but he did not notice-she took good care of that-that in all he was the actor in the foreground and she the spectator in the curtained box. she ventured skilfully to suggest at the last that money might be needed, and would be forthcoming at the proper time; and he did not realize that he would be the banker to provide the funds. then, her purpose accomplished, atlanta drew back her chair, gave a distinct sigh of relief, for the strain upon her had been great; but for henry, the cords had been loosened only, not snapped or thrown aside. in all matters, save his view of the hermit and 195 the hermit of nottingham atlanta guthrie, henry was himself again. as to those individuals, his mind was made up unalterably. his added life-work was her defence against probable enemies and the securing to her of the hermit's wealth. of course, he felt now the hermit was incompetent to make a will. of course, had endless buried treasure. that the atwoods, being wealthy, ought not to share it. he and his sister, alice, were not so near akin and could not expect to be benefited. but had he not a recompense for this unfortunate fact? he had this day received at first hands the appointment of champion of atlanta guthrie, and he would prove a trusty knight. there were two people at the same moment reading henry ridgeley's thoughts. the hidden clerk said, quite inaudibly, to himself, what an infernal fool a man can make of himself, at a woman's bidding! atlanta read his thoughts as she might 196 the hermit of nottingham have read his letters, and this time, without speaking at all, warmed him again to intoxication by her charms; with a mere look assured him that his slightest wish would be gratified, all his desires. anticipated; all, everything, only aid her in stealing from a decrepid old man the very prop of his remaining days. mechanically henry ridgeley followed atlanta guthrie to the door, and as lifelessly returned to his desk; scarcely realizing that she was gone until she had passed far down the street. then the languid tinkling of rodno's languid ferry-bell roused him to the fact that she was no longer in riverside. how fortunate that no other callers had happened in that day! henry looked dreamily at his desk, but his head was like a hive of bees. there was no continuity of thought. vague impressions of a hundred sorts rushed tumultuously upon him, and he was mentally unbalanced. he had given his word to be her abject slave in a plan to take advantage of an innocent 197 the hermit of nottingham old man, and yet he felt no twinges of conscience. it seemed right to do as she suggested merely because she suggested it. the thing itself in other hands was wrong. the splendor of her eyes, the music of her voice, the magic thrill that flowed from her finger-tips, these turned the world upside down for him. the clerk was right: what an infernal fool! 198 chapter xiv robert atwood returns for or reasons of his own, which he did not feel called upon to specify, robert atwood announced at breakfast that he was going again to jersey, and probably would be detained until the day was spent, and therefore not home to dinner. "but, bob," nelly remarked, "i'm sure to get in without the bloomfields, so what does it matter? what's the good troubling poor miss ridgeley any more ?" "i do not expect to see miss ridgeley, sis, and it is only for my own satisfaction. if you will curb your patience and keep your mouth closed, when i get back i'll tell you lots-perhaps." "why perhaps? you're awfully aggravating." "am i? well, i volunteered to 199 the hermit of nottingham amuse you, and now you get mad. if i cannot use my own discretion in the matter, i'll tell you nothing, that's very certain ;" then looking towards the head of the table, said, "now, mother, don't be imagining all sorts of absurdities because i'm on the jersey side of the river." "oh, my opinion of such matters counts for little," replied his mother, in a peevish way, "and i depend on atlanta to keep me in good spirits." "i'm glad to know she is a balm to your troubled nerves; as glad as i am sorry you think i am indifferent to your comfort; but really, mother, you are making a mountain out of a mole-hill." "may i be allowed to suggest," remarked atlanta, "that men do not like their affairs too closely looked into? it robs them of the opportunity to afford us pleasant surprises. perhaps your son, cousin lucy, has one in store for you wholly different from what you imagine." "thank you, miss guthrie," said robert, in reply to this suggestion and 200 the hermit of nottingham bowing to her. as the ladies rose from the table, he took up the morning paper and glanced at the column headings; then, throwing the paper down, he exclaimed, "by jove! i was going in an earlier train than t'other time." and he left the table hurriedly, and soon after was in that most democratic public conveyance, a market street car. robert did not care particularly what other people thought as to his movements, but he found just a trifle of satisfaction nevertheless in his thinking that any acquaintance he might chance to meet would conclude that he was going to atlantic city, although it was so very early in the season. to engage rooms for the season would be a natural conclusion, and he laughed heartily to himself at such an idea, for just why anybody, unless for a few days in winter, should go to atlantic city he could not understand. nature there had been so largely thrust into the background and nothing artistic offered as a substitute, the attractions were a problem hard to 201 the hermit of nottingham solve; certainly, for him, an occasional day there had unfolded nothing worthy being sought, and he thought of the immense advantages offered by the quiet farms about riverside, and of one treehidden cabin in particular. his trip to-day, however, was one of business more than pleasure, and that feeling led him to walk to the very end of the train as the cars approached the station, and so leave it near the end of the platform where there were few people; and turning his back to everybody he hurried through a street running parallel to the main thoroughfare, and with a haste that would not attract attention walked eastward towards the pemberton woods and his new-found uncle's home hidden in this remnant of the primeval forest. 66 'what, i wonder, will be the upshot of all this business?" robert asked himself, half aloud, when the village was well behind him; and he fancied many strange outcomes and quite enveloped the hermit in a cloud of rosy mystery, from which he would come forth in 202 the hermit of nottingham due time and make all his neighbors stare in blank astonishment. "the whole affair is more like a dream than reality," again speaking in a half-audible way to himself, "and perhaps i may come out at the little end of the horn. thank fortune, nobody knows what i've been about." turning, at last, from the public road where the path led to the hermit's cabin, robert drew in great lungsful of the fresh, woodsy air that was so sweet to merely breathe it was a luxury. "by jove, that's nice!" he exclaimed, and began walking far less briskly that the pleasure of lingering among the old trees might be prolonged. "the smell of the woods hasn't been caught by the perfumer yet, and, i guess, never will be," was robert's last audible soliloquy, as he gently knocked at the cabin door and listened for the welcoming "come in" that he supposed would follow his announcement of arrival. hearing no response he knocked again, and a little louder, and then the 203 the hermit of nottingham thought came that possibly he was on a fool's errand. could the hermit be hidden in the woods at this very moment, laughing at him? what a joke if he had been victimized by a lunatic, as some of the hermit's neighbors would have said! it was deuced strange. robert began to feel a little worried, and then partly cheered up by thinking he would have some excuse for calling again on miss ridgeley; but all his troubles vanished in an instant, for the sound of footsteps was heard, and looking about, he saw the hermit and pudge approaching him. "have you a watch?" asked the hermit, before robert had a chance to say even "good-morning." and the old man smiled as he asked this unlooked-for question. "i have," replied robert. "the time?" asked the hermit, "twenty minutes of twelve." "and i said meet me here at noon to-day. had you come then, you see, you would have found me waiting for 204 the hermit of nottingham you, not you waiting for me. but, always, better too early than too late. whittier says 'it might have been' are the saddest of all sad words. i wonder he didn't think of 'too late.' too late! as i look back and see the ruined hopes of sixty years,-see, with the clear vision of unimpassioned thought,there is not a year in all the dead past of my life upon the head-stones of which might not appropriately be written, 'too late.' my father's wisdom was all too tardy, and i am marked with the same defect. had i been given the knack of thinking beforehand instead of afterwards, i had not been here. but, come, come, this is folly. i am not complaining. let's go inside; and, pudge, tell me if anybody comes within earshot." the dog straightway trotted to a clump of gooseberry-bushes and an oval bed of luxuriant white-and-green ribbon-grass, that joined the shrubbery, and in them disappeared so effectually that no one passing by, however near, would suspect the dog's presence. the 205 the hermit of nottingham hermit laughed as he saw robert's surprise at the dog's action, and said, "you see, these days, i have to be extra cautious, there are so many tramps about; but i cannot very easily be caught napping. there is a long, narrow passage-way, concealed by the bushes, that leads under the cabin floor, and through it to the room. pudge don't need to bark, but can crawl into the cabin unseen and tell me quietly if there's anybody outside acting suspiciously. i say this because he has done so before, and it's what he will do again if occasion arises. i fixed the passage so he could go in and out at night without my getting up to open the door. but such an arrangement has its disadvantages too, for sometimes when pudge and i are out for a tramp, or he is sleeping on the hearth in winter, wild-life takes a notion to wander in-doors by the same way, and unannounced visits from a skunk, for instance, are not desirable. pudge's protest or even mine might lead to disaster. twice, in autumn, pretty, 206 the hermit of nottingham mottled milk-snakes have come in and coiled themselves in sweet content in front of my andirons, as if they thought that was preferable to subterranean hibernation. now and then, too, pretty white-footed wood-mice come in, and these delight me. why the smell of the dog does not keep them away i cannot understand, for they seem to know i have told pudge not to worry any living thing but inquisitive man. but how could they know it? how is it possible ?" "they don't know it. you must explain it in some other way," replied robert, very positively, as if he were an accomplished naturalist. "how like the average man you meet" remarked the hermit. "you have a series—every one has-of stereotyped ideas that are set forth with confidence, as occasion demands, and expect your hearers to accept them as mathematical demonstrations. i do not propose to in this case. having no other friends, i have tried to gain the 207 the hermit of nottingham confidence of the wild-life about me,and you can rest assured that the average creature of these woods, higher in the scale than a frog or hop-toad, does a good deal of hard thinking during its life. these creatures stop to consider the possible results of a proposed plan of action. now, travel the world over, you'll find few to believe it, but i do. it's one thing to study life by seeing it at odd times, however frequently, and quite another thing to study it by living with it. trying to live like a wild beast has not, in this instance, the meaning ordinarily attached to the expression. it is, very often, living in a more decent manner than some people do,-i had almost said, most people do. when an animal is free to come and go, its life has not only method, but eminently respectable habits characterize it. you will not be convinced by my merely saying so, and you'll not take the trouble to ascertain for yourself the facts, not being interested, and so you'll live and die in ignorance; but of one thing you 208 the hermit of nottingham may rest assured, i never saw even-no, i'll particularize nothing; i never saw any creature that wasn't as much a gentleman, in its way, as any man i ever met; and as to contemptuously calling mice, minks, and musk-rats beasts, and looking down upon them as if their presence was the height of impudence, to my mind it's little better than calling yourself a fool. do you see that chickaree?" and the hermit suddenly changed his tone and manner and pointed to a nearby tree. "i don't," replied robert; "and wouldn't know it if i did. what is a chickadee ?" "a little bird; but i said chick-a-ree, the little red squirrel. there it goes!" and as the hermit spoke, robert saw a flash of brown light twist about the treetrunk, but could not have said whether it was a dead leaf, a snake, or even a shadow. how the hermit recognized it he could not understand. "what of it?" asked robert, when the creature had disappeared. 14 209 the hermit of nottingham "nothing, now it is gone. i was going to point out how intelligent was its attitude while it sat there, watching us. how absurd to say it was not rationally considering us while we stood here talking! the chance for an object lesson is gone; but never mind, we've other business on hand and must go in." robert, on entering the cabin, found that its interior arrangement was slightly altered. there were hooks that would hold the sash securely to the windowframes and a stout chain bolt on the door as well as a lock. in the middle of the room was a small table, and on it a few sheets of foolscap, a small bottle of ink, and two unused quill pens. the hermit pointed to these and remarked, "these are for show, not use, to-day. i want you to take up the pen and appear to be writing, while i will assume the attitude of one dictating. you needn't make a pen-stroke, but when we are through, place the sheets, folded, in your pocket, as if they were so many valuable documents." 210 the hermit of nottingham "but there's nobody looking at us, and the dog's on the watch," remarked robert, with a look of surprise, when the hermit ceased speaking. "you have not studied all the possibilities. a man with a field-glass could see right in here and be out of the range of pudge's nose or ears or eyes, and i've placed you in just the proper position to be seen." "why?" "because i suspect, of late, that i am watched or am likely to be. you know that atlanta guthrie has been here." and the hermit looked both troubled and angry when he mentioned her name. "atlanta fiddlesticks !" exclaimed robert, impatiently. "she's at mother's now, and nowhere near us." "at your mother's ?" said the hermit, much astonished. "yes; and there as a fixture, i'm afraid," replied robert, looking at the hermit, whose look of surprise had not passed off. "it is most fortunate; but remember 211 the hermit of nottingham she is not house-bound," said the hermit. "and how do you know she is not this very day dogging your footsteps? you may have been shadowed from the time you left home. she is capable of doing anything. are you a spiritualist? do you believe in ghosts or in magic?" asked the hermit. "no, of course not," robert replied, impatiently, for somehow he was beginning to feel that perhaps the hermit was a good deal of a crank, and his talk about wealth all moonshine. "well, i don't know what to believe. what you call modern theology offers no satisfaction as to the mysteries we meet with, and psychology doesn't explain everything. one thing is certain : that woman is devilish, if not a devil. she does have a certain power not given to every mortal. i had to struggle against an influence i could not understand all the time she was here; and it seemed to hang about the room long after she left. did you ever see a den of snakes ?" 212 the hermit of nottingham "why, no," replied robert, much surprised at such a question and in such a connection. "i forgot that you are from the city and have seen nothing," said the hermit, smiling as he spoke; "seen almost nothing. there is an odor in a den of snakes that has a peculiar effect on my senses, for one. it was not a merely sickening smell, but one that chained every sense, and i feel now that if the snakes had willed that i should lie down among them, i would have done so." robert remembered at this moment having read that some snake smelled like fresh cucumbers, and he aired this bit of knowledge with some satisfaction. "it's an odor like cucumbers, i believe," he remarked, and was about to extend his description in some way, when the hermit replied, "yes, the rattlesnakes smell so, i have heard; but i mean the common harmless ones about here, the smell of a whole tangled mass of several kinds that have taken refuge in some spot for the winter. now, i do not wish 213 the hermit of nottingham to be disrespectful to the snakes, but atlanta guthrie reminded me of them. her cologne could not keep down the odor of her devilishness, and why not say this? we have heard of the odor of sanctity, but this of atlanta i take to be just the opposite. she may not know it, but either the devil has her in his power, which is the popular way of looking at such things, or she is a case of reversion to our more animal-like ancestry, which is a much more rational view, and the one i take." "do you not contradict yourself?" asked robert, laughing. "you spoke so highly of animal life a moment ago and claimed that every beast was a gentleman, and now you speak of the possible devilishness of our remote ancestors." "i'm no hand to argue, but let my mind run riot, i suppose; but perhaps beasts and the missing link were more brutal in the days before man appeared. the animals may have reached upward in their mental attributes through asso214 the hermit of nottingham ciation with man. certainly the struggle for existence against man's persecution has sharpened their wits. i don't know. it's too deep a subject for the unlearned. what i do feel to be true is, that while we ourselves may be the result of creative fiat, i believe all our devils are of our own making, and we are not the victims of a great personal devil. but i see you are impatient" "no, not at all, but interested," protested robert. "how strong a hold have our habits upon us!" remarked the hermit; "you are impatient. i can read your countenance, and not five minutes ago you concluded, or half concluded, i was a crank and the talk about jewels a matter of moonshine." robert got upon his feet somehow, but he was staggered and sure some one had struck him a severe blow. was not the hermit, rather than atlanta, in league with the devil? the old man began laughing heartily, but quite without that boisterous ex215 the hermit of nottingham plosion of harsh sound that marks the back-country boor all the world over, and is not unknown even in polite society; and how true it is, man can rightfully be estimated by his laugh! "so you think," the hermit said, when his merriment admitted of his speaking, "that this is a case of the pot calling the kettle black, and atlanta's the saint and i'm the sinner. don't let us discuss the question. time will show, and let's to business." robert sat down again, but he was altogether at sea as to what to think. certainly here was a type of old man that is now practically extinct, or a precious old humbug with the garrulity of age and weakened mental power. "i say to business," remarked the hermit again, with a trace of severity in his manner. "i cannot explain to you how it is, but i read every thought of yours, and just now, so to speak, you are turning over very unpleasant pages. close the book; that is, think of what's before us, not of me." 216 the hermit of nottingham "i am ready," robert replied, so meekly that the hermit laughed. "then let me tell you this. much as i would like to keep the jewels that by their sparkling have amused me many an hour, it is dangerous to do so. i would have been robbed long ago and likely murdered, were it not that the tramps about here are mostly cowards, and suppose me to be an object of charity. as yet i have not been molested, but now i am likely to be. atlanta appeared to me in a dream before i knew of her existence; came so vividly and with all the features of a conventional fiend, such as a great artist might paint, and with drawn dagger demanded all my wealth. she told me many things and asked certain questions, which made a vivid impression. it was an intense relief to find it all a dream, but this was only for a moment. i felt that it was to come true. perhaps not in every particular, but essentially so, and the gloom of such a thought has dimmed the brightness of the world 217 the hermit of nottingham even during these may days. this is one of the mysteries that perhaps, after i am gone, i may be permitted to solve or will have solved for me, the mechanism of these premonitions, or visions, or whatever you see fit to call them, for we do have them. i am free from the world, as you know, and have been these many years, but not wholly out of touch with it. i have known of more than one event before the ordinary means of acquiring information, as a letter, reached me. i knew full well the night that my sister ada died. i will not say she came to me; but it was at the very hour she died, as a letter informed me, she came vividly to mind and i fancied i saw her, and said to pudge at the time, 'she is gone.' i looked for the letter, which came days after, for in a roundabout way that i have provided, such information drifts to the cabin at last. but no more of this. it is all greek to your young experience and sounds like the mere empty babbling of a fool. the jewels! 218 the hermit of nottingham your intelligence, your interest, your hopes, come to the fore when i mention them, and, young man, they are real. i have them safely hidden and had a plan concerning them, but a recent event has changed this, and now i've my part to play in a little comedy—' what is he driving at? wondered robert, and the change in his countenance was as much an interruption to the hermit as spoken words would have been. "do not be so impatient, so incredulous, so lacking in a little faith," continued the hermit, after a brief pause. "my plans were changed very suddenly by the unexpected appearance of a bright young woman who quite won my heart, or, more properly, approbation." "thunderation !" exclaimed robert, under his breath. "i do not wonder at your surprise; but do let's to business. she came, she saw, she conquered; but she doesn't know anything about the latter fact. 219 the hermit of nottingham this bright young woman came intent upon orchids." "orchids!" exclaimed robert. "yes, our native orchids, and wished me to direct her to where they grew, for she was anxious to go to the spots and do her own digging. she lives not far away, and proposes to establish a little botanic garden of her own, a 'weedery' as she called it. she has a brother whom i do not like, a weak man really, as it seems to me, so i was suspicious of her errand at the outset, but she proved herself truthful and knows nothing of me really but as the hermit, or she kept all such matters quite in the background. she came, i say, and conquered. she is less near a relation" "a relation ?" remarked robert, not intending to interrupt. "yes, a relation; distant, but still to be traced, and a bloomfield without the besmudged record of marmaduke's descendants." robert did not feel particularly flat220 the hermit of nottingham tered, but made no remark. he was determined to hear the hermit's whole story and not again interrupt him, even by any exclamation of surprise. "this young woman," continued the hermit, "gave me the impression of entire honesty. her eyes seemed widely open to all that is beautiful in this world, and, i thought, had not gazed customarily at the shady, seamy, but very truthful under side of things. i think that i have seen her in my dreams, and in more ways than one she called back from long gone years the one whom i thought my own, by heaven's direction, believing then the silliness that such matters are in heaven's hands. she came, i say, and then i thought that a jewel at her throat would not be out of place; and a thousand times rather would i have them worn by her than flaunted in the eyes of those whom atlanta holds at her beck and nod. have you ever met this woman, for she is a cousin of some degree of yours? do you know alice ridgeley?" 221 the hermit of nottingham "alice" "sh!" interrupted the hermit; "i do not need your reply, as i can read your face, and it was unnecessary to ask any question. i needed but to mention the name. you have met her and have no unfavorable impression. i agree with you. now, let me stroll with pudge in the woods awhile and leave you to your meditations. you are no fool. think the whole thing over. if you have no entanglement, i mean, and i do not think you have. if not heart-whole, it is because of alice ridgeley. think the matter over." and saying this, the hermit rose from his chair and, taking up his hickory staff, walked out of the cabin. robert did not move a muscle while the hermit was speaking, nor after until he finally realized that he was alone in the cabin, and then, slowly turning his face towards the window, he saw the old man standing on the smooth lawn, looking steadily into the woods. pudge was at his feet, staring also in the same direc222 the hermit of nottingham tion. then robert felt that he must do as the hermit requested, think it over. think what over? why, there could be but the one thought in the hermit's mind, -alice. he would give the jewels to the girl, but both to him. so far all was simple enough, but was not the hermit's wish beyond his province? what had he to say or do concerning alice ridgeley? it was evident that he would have him marry alice, but what was the young lady's view of the matter? what strange ideas had hold in the old man's mind! what could it matter how either married or if neither did? robert built and demolished several castles in spain, and then, in calmer trim, began to think that, after all, there might be nothing in all this but the lunacy of an old man that he was dealing with, and would it not be better to forget the whole matter and get back to the safety of the exclusive club? it was all well enough to read romance, but as to figuring in it, that was another matter; and where are these blessed 223 the hermit of nottingham jewels that he talks about so continuously and confidently? alice ridgeley was a delightful girl, as far as his impressions went, but, whatever he might think of her, it did not follow she would think the same of him. not even the hermit's jewels would likely make her change her mind, and her ideas of him were not quite complimentary, judging from what she had said the one time they chanced to meet. to think of this old man— quaint, delightful character as he proved to be-being a match-maker! this termination of his revery made robert laugh and brought him to his every-day level, and he looked about in various directions for the hermit. he could neither see nor hear him, and then began wondering how long he was likely to be left alone. the afternoon was wearing away and robert began to feel hungry and saw no signs of food about; and he remembered, too, that he had to walk to riverside, and likely wait for a train there, or for the uncertain ferry-tub and its consequential captain, and the village 224 the hermit of nottingham of clifton was not to his liking. then robert began doubting the wisdom of his recent actions, and wondered when the mysterious jewels would be in evidence. and as to alice? well, he was a confirmed bachelor, and, under a change of heart, if it came, he could conduct his own courtship. yet all the while robert was in this rebellious mood the ideas set forth by the hermit were encircled by a rosy halo. again this much-discussed young woman came very vividly to mind, and robert could not get rid of the whim by continually changing his position. let him look from either of the cabin's little windows and there was a pretty view before him. the patriarchal oaks were as suggestive as any wide-spread landscape, and the birds were all in full song. how thoroughly peaceful! robert thought; and was he really less alone at this moment than when, for perhaps an hour, he had idly gazed from the club window and seen nothing? and he went further, took now a dangerous step,-and thought how 15 225 the hermit of nottingham full of content might be the love in a cottage that he had heard sung and seen lamely set upon the stage. what a picture was now set before him, or, what a setting for that brighter picture, alice ridgeley, did she but stand before him"ho! help!" and the barking of a dog disturbed robert's fanciful daydream. the real world came rushing in upon him, and, darting out of the cabin, he saw the hermit attacked by two men, whom he was vainly endeavoring to keep at arm's length by the vigorous use of his hickory staff. at this instant one of the assailants closed in upon him and was tugging at some small object the hermit held close to his breast. in an instant robert joined in the mêlée. he seized the smaller of the two assailants, and received a staggering blow between the eyes, but recovered in an instant and drew his pistol. the hermit cried "don't use it!" just in time, for robert's finger was on the trigger, and the two men turned and dashed off through the woods. robert aimed again at the retreating 226 the hermit of nottingham figures, but the hermit exclaimed, beseechingly, "don't fire! don't fire! i have the box!" and he held out a small iron casket, of curious workmanship, and then almost lost his hold upon it, so nearly gone was his strength. "take it, and give me your arm," the hermit said. and, leaning on robert, the two walked slowly to the cabin. they sat in perfect silence for a few moments, and then the old man recovered sufficiently to speak, and said, “let me have a swallow of spirits; there's a bottle in the cupboard." and he indicated to robert by a slight movement of the head where to look. robert found and brought out a small decanter and glass, and pouring out a generous draught of whiskey, and water in another tumbler, handed them to the hermit, who drank the water and then slowly sipped the spirits. soon this restorative procedure was followed by a return to former vigor, and the old man remarked, without any trembling of the voice, "i am all right again, and not 227 the hermit of nottingham hurt. i saw those people when i went out, but they kept well away. i circled about the house and walked back into the woods, knowing, if they meant to rob the cabin, they would find you in it; but, it seems, they had other plans, and followed me. there i was at fault. they must have circumvented pudge's nose even. i do not understand it. when i came near the open ground they suddenly appeared and sprang upon me, but were careful to do me no injury. they struck no blows. their sole purpose was to get this box from me. they tried to prevent my calling, but underestimated my strength. the smaller of the two was the leader, and continually forbade violence. they were cunning would-be thieves. an injury to me or my death might have thwarted their purposes, and they knew it. you were less lucky, for your face is bruised; and what endless mischief would there have been had you effectively used your pistol! did you notice the scoundrels particularly ?" 228 the hermit of nottingham "i thought only of your safety," robert replied. "i should know them again, though both were disguised; and i may say, i guess, to you, i know them." "know them?" asked robert, much surprised at the confidence of the hermit, both in tone and manner. "possibly not; possibly not; but my mind is failing me indeed if i did not see through at least one disguise. no more at present; but this i must ask of you do not leave me to-night." 66 certainly not, if you wish it," replied robert. "i do wish it. if you should go, these determined villains will know the fact and return some time in the night. they know i have unearthed my treasure, and are determined yet to have it; and i tremble for you. you have been the cause of their failure, and they are sore over their defeat. you are armed, and it is well. we can keep ourselves alive as to food, for i've more than enough; and there is an unopened 229 the hermit of nottingham bottle, if we need a stimulant. you need not fear to walk about, if you want to stretch your legs, or you can read some one of these few old books on the high shelf. as for me, i must sleep." "but what about this curious old iron box? it ought not to be left lying here on the table," suggested robert. "no, not there, true enough," said the hermit. "we will hide it now, and open it to-morrow." and saying this, with a look full of meaning that robert did not fail to notice, he drew from the chimney a brick with mortar adhering to its sides and placed the box in a hollow space behind it. then, replacing the brick, he dusted it with soot and ashes, so that no evidence of disturbance could be seen; and when all was to his satisfaction, the hermit said, with a smile, "now for a quiet nap," and settled in his easy-chair. robert sat down by the window and tried to read chapman's homer, but got no further than the title-page. 230 chapter xv the ridgeleys at home as s early as sunset the ridgeleys were all at home on the evening of the day that atlanta guthrie called upon henry. alice had returned from clifton early in the afternoon—a change of plan-and brought caroline rockwood with her; and after the early supper they were all, family and guest, gathered about the evening lamp, which was turned low, for they were all either listening to the many voices of the night or talking in that drowsy, subdued tone that so well suits the gloaming of this time of year. tiring after a while of semi-meditative pleasure, henry turned up the light and began reading the paper he had brought home with him. then he laid it aside, and as no one was talking at the time, he remarked that 231 the hermit of nottingham he had that morning been called upon by atlanta guthrie. "who?" exclaimed henry's father, rousing from a half nap in which he was indulging. "atlanta guthrie; our distant cousin from georgia." samuel ridgeley, henry's father, was a man of few words, unless some topic that particularly interested him was broached. then, like many another, he did not simply talk, but lectured. at his son's remark he was plainly roused to a very wide-awake interest, but for some reason merely whistled in a ventriloquial way, the sound coming apparently from out of doors. mrs. ridgeley looked up with an amused expression, but asked no questions, but alice was not so easily satisfied as to merely form her own conclusions, but said, "father, what is the matter? that whistling always means thee is thinking a good deal." "well, alice, when farming don't pay, and i'm a farmer, i have to think a good 232 the hermit of nottingham deal, whether i want to or not. henry spoke of atlanta guthrie, and a whole. avalanche of recollections, or flood of memories, thee can take thy choice, came down with a bang around my head." "do tell us all about them!" exclaimed alice, coaxingly. "drag the skeletons out of the closets, eh? child! oh, no." "oh, do, do, papa!" persisted alice. "won't it be lovely, carrie?" and alice turned to her friend for acquiescence in her view of the matter. "really, al, i could judge better after seeing the skeletons or hearing their history; but your father probably prefers to use his own discretion and might not want me to know the family secrets." "no, it's not that," replied mr. ridgeley, "but i supposed they would or do interest me only; but, carrie, perhaps you may profit by them, as you are disposed to be literary." "and never does anything worth the 233 the hermit of nottingham doing because she's so headstrong," interrupted henry, with some show of impatience. "i've been at her for years to write a story about clifton instead of translating german mysteries. there's the river street and the island and corkscrew lodge, where some picnic and others can't, but stand enviously on shore and halloo mud-hens!' why, clifton is full of small folks in big houses, and some big folks in smaller dwellings, and-but what's the use in going into particulars? i wish i had half your brains, carrie, and i'd write one novel, at least, before i died." " "but, henry, it doesn't interest me," carrie protested. "i don't care for these people that i only know by sight and hear about, and when people tell the truth only by accident i don't think they would figure well in a story. why not do as i like ?" "and following that whim, accomplish nothing and make no money, as you say you want to," replied henry. "do let carrie alone, henry, and 234 the hermit of nottingham give father a chance to bring out the skeletons. carrie will blossom out an authoress one of these fine days." "i'm afraid her first book will be reminiscences of a centenarian," muttered henry. "do hush!' exclaimed mrs. ridgeley and alice at the same moment. "if i may be permitted," said mr. ridgeley, laying his glasses on the table beside him, "i will merely remark that the mention of atlanta guthrie's name brought back my recollections of her mother and of some of my people of two generations back. when i was a child, and mother here can say the same, i had cousins with whom i was intimate. they came here in summer, and i visited them, in the city, in winter, but now we have drifted so far apart i hardly know them by sight, and you children do not know their children even by name." "why is it?" asked alice. "why? well, i don't know, unless it is the old story of rich city folk and poor country cousins. i don't know 235 the hermit of nottingham any real reason for it, and i'm sure i never tried to fathom the matter through curiosity. personally, i prefer the country life, and, as some may think, that doesn't mean not being in touch with the outside world. we get the same papers and magazines, and the only difference is we are more in the light of spectators than actors in politics, more's the pity. but, for my part, a field crowded with a flock of blackbirds is quite as entertaining as a street crowded with people. your city cousins have given you the go-by, but what of it? we have as many weeks in our year, as many days in our week, and, what is of more importance, we laugh as often and cry far more seldom. we have more time to read and give less to gossip. there is no disputing this, and yet these grand city cousins assume a superiority and affect not to know that they have cousins in the country." "goodness me! papa, what has happened to make you go on so on that subject? neither henry nor i care a 236 the hermit of nottingham bit. is that a specimen 'skeleton' ?" asked alice, somewhat disappointed. "lecture. i'm only saying what is true and known to any one who will look without prejudice. why, there's your aunt matilda. she spends four or five days here in the summer, and then she might as well live in the moon so far as we are concerned." "now, samuel, please do not get on that strain. you don't know anything about matilda's movements, and we were all expecting a ghost-story from you instead of a complaint.” "complaint? sarah, i complain? i'm only laughing, in my way, at these wonderful city folk who affect to look down upon us"and don't, half as much as you imagine," interrupted mrs. ridgeley, impatiently. "do tell us about atlanta guthrie or some other skeleton." "goody, mamma, atlanta isn't a skeleton yet!" exclaimed alice. "i should think not," remarked henry, deliberately. "" 237 the hermit of nottingham "atlanta's mother," said mr. ridgeley, settling into the desired groove at last," atlanta's mother was jeannette maxwell, and her mother ada bloomfield. they are all southern people, as ada, the grandmother, went south when very young. the man, maxwell, who married jeannette was a strange compound of sense and deviltry,-i always thought with the latter predominating; and heard once about atlanta getting into some sort of a scrape with a young fellow, who disappeared for a time. there was a bit of mystery about it, and atlanta was in the north for a while. she cut up some of her monkey-shines here, and was sent back again. she was a devil, like her father, on occasion, even before she put up her hair and let out her skirts. they say that she completely ruled the colored folks, and they were all afraid of her. what do you mean by her calling to see you? what does she want?" "she is on here to look into the 238 the hermit of nottingham question of the identity of the old man. in the pemberton woods." "the hermit, you mean?" "yes; and she claims he is her greatuncle, arthur bloomfield." "great fiddlesticks! don't you suppose your mother would know her own father's cousin ?" asked mr. ridgeley, derisively. "according to your own view of cousins, not necessarily," quietly suggested carrie rockwood, and they all laughed. "why, henry," continued his father, "i've seen your hermit, as you call him, since he came here, thirty years ago, and he's a harmless lunatic, and no more related than the man in the moon. you had the same notion some time ago, but it's all nonsense. how could he have escaped recognition all these years if it were true ?" "easily, it seems to me," chirped alice, "seeing we are the ones to recognize the facts, and we've never taken the trouble." 239 the hermit of nottingham "merely seeing the man, years ago, ought to have put your mother on the track; and what about your own grandfather? wouldn't he have known ?" asked mr. ridgeley, thoroughly out of patience with such wild views of a harmless lunatic that lived alone in the woods, and was not disturbed simply because not sufficiently off his mental balance to demand public attention. "besides all this," continued the young folks' father, "your uncle arthur went to california in '49 and died there. i've heard your grandfather bloomfield mention it time and again. he settled up some business affairs as administrator, i think; and now you expect me to believe this old crank that we've known for years to turn up as a relation? it's absurd." "so it may seem to you, father, because you've given it no special thought, but when the whole matter is studied there are some good grounds for the idea. i told alice what i thought, and she sent word to robert atwood, in 240 the hermit of nottingham philadelphia, and i believe he has had an interview with the old man.” "and what does that signify? did he prove that he was arthur bloomfield? he might like to, and so get some money out of his rich relations. i have two theories concerning him,he is either a fugitive from justice that has escaped the detectives, or has been crossed in love, and so a little off ever since." "no, papa, that can scarcely be," remarked alice, with the air of one that had given the subject thoroughly exhaustive attention. "i saw him recently" "recently?" "when ?" several exclaimed. "yes; i was there but yesterday. i went to solicit his interest in my 'weedery,' and he's to get me some orchids or tell me where they grow, so i can get them; and that's why i wanted carrie this week instead of next. we are going over together and see what his promise amounts to." 16 241 the hermit of nottingham "all of which, it seems to me, is a little rash; but how does that conflict with my views, please to tell me?" asked her father. "indeed, alice, i do not think thee should have gone alone," said her mother. "please take henry when thee goes again." "well, i did go, and the man was a marvel to me; the visit one to be remembered. such language, manners, and information! it was like the university extension lectures—no, it wasn't; for they didn't interest me. it was a case of the unfolding of the beauties of the outdoor world and of humanity at its best. there!" and alice came to a full stop with an air of great satisfaction at the result of her eloquence, although she had overlooked the fact of not having touched upon her father's suggestions. "all of which," quietly replied mr. ridgeley, "might have happened and the man been a murderer. but never mind that; did the old man claim relationship?" 242 the hermit of nottingham "no, indeed. he was very offish until satisfied i came about orchids, and not from idle curiosity, and then told me what i wanted to know and promised his help. i wish you all could have heard him, after i got back into the pony cart. he told me about his shattered idols"" remarked "and "shattered fiddlesticks!" mr. ridgeley, contemptuously. didn't tell you how he was going to help you? isn't that a sign of a light head?" "why didn't you ask how you were to get your plants from him?" asked her brother. "i don't know. i'll go over to-morrow and ask him,-carrie and i." "how do you go? not walk?" asked her father. "oh, no; i make toby drag me through the woods. there's just room enough to squeeze through, and then, -oh, it's lovely, carrie, all around the hermit's cabin !" "i should think so; but somehow, can't i walk behind the cart ?" 243 the hermit of nottingham' "if you want to. oh, i see! you think algy maurice will really come over, and you'll walk all the way with him, and let me play the guide and have toby for my company." "is algernon coming to-morrow?" asked mrs. ridgeley. quickly, and "it's some of "no," replied carrie coloring just a little. alice's nonsense." "well, i for one don't believe he'll row across the river and walk here, if it's hot as to-day has been," said henry. "why not use the ferry and drive over?" asked alice. "if he does that it's different, and is proof he wants to come," henry remarked, looking quizzically at carrie. "he'll do neither," replied carrie, very positively. "i'm not so sure you might not see him, come to think of it," said henry, thoughtfully. "one or two of the shipcanal surveying crew are going over the ground to clear up some disputed point, 244 the hermit of nottingham and he may be one of the party. he is a full-fledged civil engineer now." "i thought he was at college," remarked mr. ridgeley. "he was, but graduated at yale, and now he's ready for any job that may turn up," replied henry. "and not worrying if it is slow in appearing, eh ?" and mr. ridgeley chuckled very inaudibly; still, everybody heard him. "well, i don't propose," remarked alice, "to act the part of a prophet; but now that atlanta guthrie is on the hermit's track, and robert atwood has been to see him, and carrie and i are going, and henry is in the wake of atlanta, and algy maurice may accidentally happen in the neighborhood,— why, i say, it seems to me that the hermit is likely to have a livelier time in the future than he has had in the past. but, henry, you haven't told us why atlanta guthrie is interested." "she believes he is rich," henry replied. 245 the hermit of nottingham "rich!" exclaimed mr. ridgeley; "well, i should say that was rich. why, children, the old man is as poor as joel bostwick and old asa thornbush and the rest of them that live on nothing and run in debt to get it." "but, papa, the hermit is different," persisted alice. "he doesn't use bad grammar and can read and write.” "how do you know?" "because his manner and conversation show it," she replied. "now, carrie," said henry, earnestly, interrupting the conversation, "here's a chance. write up the hermit after seeing him to-morrow and send it to some magazine, or give it to tom jesse for the clifton paper. just please prove that i'm right, and that you can write a real good story." "wouldn't the hermit make up better as a libretto of a light opera ?" asked carrie; "that would be so much nicer." hang your light opera! anything, of course, rather than be guided by older people." 66 246 the hermit of nottingham "henry, henry! do let carrie alone, and let her pursue her own plans; she isn't a child, remember." "i will, mother; only i know she could write if she'd take my advice." "but it seems she won't." "bother the writing, if i may say so!" spoke up mr. ridgeley. "do let us hear what gives atlanta the notion the old hermit's rich. if he's wealthy and we're relations, its about time we knew about it, as well as atlanta." and he laughed heartily at the whole matter. then, quieting down, he added, "now, henry, tell us what atlanta thinks, and why she thinks the old man has money." "she came into my office," henry replied, "as i expected, having had a note from her; but i said nothing of this before, as alice saw the note, and i waited for her coming to tell you all about it. i never saw another like her. she was different in every way. what her words failed to make plain her manner did, and she seemed not so much 247 the hermit of nottingham to talk as to unfold in a series of pictures what had been and will be." "how like her father!'' muttered mr. ridgeley to himself. "how like old nick!" suggested alice, a little louder. "how interesting!" murmured carrie rockwood. "hush, please!" was mrs. ridgeley's remark. "she told how her old grandmother," henry continued, "had always kept track of him, and how she insisted to her daughter-atlanta's mother—that he was alive and living under an assumed name, and that he had no end of jewels." "jewels!" spluttered mr. ridgeley, for he could hold in no longer. "jewels! that's worse than money. riches! jewels! ho! ho! ho!" and everybody but henry felt the effect of mr. ridgeley's hearty laughter and joined in the uproar. "jewels!" again exclaimed henry's father. one mother-of"i know. 248 the hermit of nottingham pearl button, one quartz crystal lost by an indian, and a few red jasper chips. you know, your hermit is always picking up indian relics, and sometimes burying them again with great ceremony. yet you say he isn't crazy. jewels! well, mother, if that old man has any jewels, i'll engage to buy 'em all for your next birthday." "i am not so sure that atlanta is not nearer correct than you, father. when evan macivor was here on ship-canal business, running a line of stakes across the state, he met with the old man some distance from his cabin, and thinks he has valuables of some sort hidden. it happened that macivor planted a stake at a certain point, and before he was out of sight the old man and his dog came along. macivor thought he was pulling up the stake, but saw, with his fieldglass, he was digging near by, and took up something that looked like a small black box. he did this very hurriedly, and seemed very much afraid that he was watched." 249 the hermit of nottingham "see here, henry, if i've been incredulous and all that before, i've about waked up to this business for just one reason. that fuss that atlanta guthrie had when a girl up north here was about evan macivor. she's a sort of cousin of his on her father's side. she's related to us on her mother's, thank fortune. now all this grandmother business is rubbish, i believe, and macivor has put her on the track." "why, he seemed like such a nice fellow when he called here," remarked alice. "and it is not against the idea of his 'niceness,' that i can see, that he should tell atlanta about his adventure with an old man of the woods; but mark my words, there's something behind the appearances in this case. just you look out, henry, for miss atlanta. she'll make a cat's-paw of you or any one else. she'll make believe she's in love with you and pull the wool over your eyes and then, whish! how she'll stab you in the back when she's accomplished 250 the hermit of nottingham her purposes. i haven't seen her since she was a child, but i know something of her father, and look out!" "just what i told him, papa, when i read her letter," said alice, triumphantly. "but i could see he wouldn't believe it." "and, alice, while i think of it, it would be better to let the old man send his orchids than you go for them." "oh, pshaw! it's just delightful to talk to him," replied alice, a little pettishly. "but if atlanta's around, she'll make mischief you had better keep clear of." "if carrie goes with me?" "really, allie, i believe i'd rather not go, if there's so much mystery about it. can't we get this miss atlanta to show herself, though, in some safe way?” asked carrie. "trying to get out of writing up the hermit," said henry. "hush! harry, i know!" exclaimed alice. "you drive me to the woods, and i'll walk to the cabin from the road. 251 the hermit of nottingham if the coast's clear, all right; i'll get my orchids, if he has them, or definite information as to where they grow. if anybody's there, i'll beat a retreat and we can drive off. won't that do, papa ?" "had not henry better go with you?" "no; the hermit don't like men bothering 'round. he'll tolerate me on my errand"" "and merits ?" asked carrie. "bother the merits! my plan is better." "well, then, if you must, carry it out; but on no account, if you happen to encounter atlanta guthrie, invite her here." so the matter was settled, and soon after the family separated for the night. 252 chapter xvi an interrupted breakfast mrs. rs. atwood and helen were breakfasting alone; and how dismal is it to be at a table where there are only unsympathetic persons! the clatter of forks and teaspoons, when they did clatter, was to both an infinite relief. there was no ill feeling, of course, but each had her own thoughts, and was afraid to express herself aloud, fearing an unsympathetic reply. the skill of a cook is lost in such a case, and the servant in waiting was only too glad to be dismissed. it was after nine a.m., and yet the room was as cheerless as a winter daybreak. but, as in early spring, suddenly the sun breaks out from between envious clouds and floods the earth with vivifying light, so mrs. atwood abruptly changed the surroundings by smiling, as she was wont to do in girlhood, and sur253 the hermit of nottingham prised her daughter by asking, in tones of great sweetness, "helen, dear, what do you think of robert?" "in what way?" helen asked, in wide-eyed wonder. "oh, don't look so astonished; about his going so much to the ridgeleys." "but, mother, he said he didn't go there, but to see this mysterious hermit he told us about." "mysterious nonsense, child!" mrs. atwood replied, impatiently. "he is only trying to deceive us for some purpose of his own." "no, mother; indeed, i cannot believe it. why should he?" and helen showed she was determined to stand up for her brother at all hazards. "you don't know men as i do, helen. robert has really lost his heart, i believe, over in jersey; and atlanta says that this hermit is a humbug of the rankest description." "and i think atlanta-but never mind. where is she, did you say?" helen asked, with a look that suggested 254 the hermit of nottingham she would be pleased to hear that the woman was in her grave. "at atlantic city. the doctor ordered her to go for a few days, for sake of the air. it's very lonely without her." and mrs. atwood sighed. the sunshine in the room proved to be short-lived. "and why cannot i take her place for those few days, mother?" helen asked, in a serious way that meant more than her mere words. "you could if you entered at all into my views of things; but you have quite outgrown me of late, and cling to brother robert like ivy to a church wall." "and not," helen replied, "because of his superior intellect at all, but because he takes a genuine interest in me of late in spite of his teasing, or he pretends to." "pretends to! there, helen, is the trouble with young people. they pretend to this and that, but take no solid hold of anything. i wanted robert to 255 the hermit of nottingham settle down a year ago, and when the baltimore people were here he could have done so"not one of them unsettled him, that's certain," helen interrupted her mother by saying, in a rather aggravating way. “and he was very foolish, for" "what, marry a girl he didn't like! oh, mother!" helen exclaimed, in unfeigned surprise. "he could have fallen in love if he'd tried, i guess; but he couldn't dislike them; and one, you know, liked robert, and she's very rich." "" "and he didn't like her," helen replied, with some warmth; "and why sell his happiness for the sake of more money? he's got enough of his own." "i wish he hadn't a penny. of course, my plans go for nothing, and now i suppose we'll find him linked to a farmer's daughter and out of the social world entirely." and mrs. atwood sighed as if chaotic desolation was spread about her. in a sense, it was; for her happi256 the hermit of nottingham ness, if she had any, was in finding fault. "would such a thing put him out of our circle ?" helen asked, with a most serious expression, for her mother's words troubled her not a little. "most certainly," mrs. atwood replied, in her positive way. "why, mother? are farmers' daughters savages, or what?" "it's hard to tell, helen. they're not in our set, and that's enough.” "and, mother, are we the only people in the world ?" helen asked. "we should try to think so, and never step outside the circle in which circumstances have placed us; but really, dear, i do not feel as if i could go into explanations. we are different from the ridgeleys; that's all." "well, one question, please, mamma. i do not quite understand. before you were married you were lucy bloomfield, and wasn't grandpa a farmer?" mrs. atwood rattled the teacups and moved uneasily. "that, helen, was 17 257 the hermit of nottingham years ago," she replied, "and time brings about many changes." helen saw that her mother wished to drop the subject and she respected the feeling, but could not shut up with a snap, like a door with a dead-latch. she hesitated a moment and then remarked, "i've heard that history repeats itself; and why should not robert bring a country wife to town, as papa brought you?" "don't speak of it!" mrs. atwood exclaimed, holding up her hands in horror at the bare mention of such a thing; and at that moment, looking across the table, she saw, to her intense surprise, atlanta glide noiselessly into the room. "speak of what, cousin, may i ask?" she said, taking her place at the table, and then very audibly sighing, like one relieved of a great burden. "helen and i were discussing robert, but, of course, cannot agree. but how pale you look, and your coming at this time such a surprise! i was almost shocked, i might say." 258 the hermit of nottingham instantly there was a rosy flush in atlanta's cheek, and she said, in a quiet, half-languid way, "do i?" "we thought you were still in atlantic city," remarked helen, with an emphasis so properly placed that it was evident she wished it were true, and yet there was no rudeness that could be criticised. the last three or four days had made a woman of helen atwood. "such a place!" atlanta exclaimed. "i was bruised, positively, by the miserable crowd on the boardwalk, and such a jam at the station! if i am pale, it is no wonder. i am positively ill. and such food!" and atlanta guthrie began eating in so hearty a fashion that her assertion of illness was not sustained by her actions. even mrs. atwood was a little puzzled at her words and manner, but ascribed it charitably to the effect of unfortunate surroundings during her childhood. helen watched the woman very closely, and made up her mind to solve the problem of her relative proportions 259 the hermit of nottingham of human and devil nature, but she felt a good deal of care must necessarily be exercised to avoid detection. she was inclined to believe her best card to play was a feigned interest in her recent seaside visit, which, it appears, ended so abruptly. "i cannot see what good to my disordered nerves can come by staying in atlantic city ?" atlanta remarked, sipping a second cup of coffee. "it is not congenial to my quiet tastes; and as to the air, there was a land-breeze all the time. i'm not going again." "you have quite a bruise over one eye, and one hand is so red," helen remarked, sympathetically. "do tell us how it happened ?" "that crowded boardwalk. there was some disturbance, and before i could get free of the crowd some man's cane nearly put my eye out, and my hand was pressed against the railing. but please don't send me into hysterics, helen, by calling attention to my injuries." 260 the hermit of nottingham "certainly not, but i am so sorry for you," said helen, in a way that was susceptible of more than one interpretation. after her coffee, toast, egg, and a chop, atlanta seemed sufficiently recovered to take notice of the world at large; more so, indeed, than the atwoods. she looked for a moment steadily at robert's vacant place, and asked in an indifferent way where he might be, and showed no surprise when informed by mrs. atwood that he was at the ridgeleys. "not at the ridgeleys, mother," helen said, with a deal of confidence born of positive convictions. "he went to see the hermit, as he calls him." "not to stay all night with him, i imagine." helen did not know anything about his movements, and could not have given, if asked, any reason for so doing, but feeling as if she were in telegraphic or telepathic communication with her brother, and that it was the proper reply, 261 the hermit of nottingham said, in a very positive manner, "that is just precisely what he did do and is doing. he went to stay with him until every vestige of mystery concerning the old man was cleared up, at least to his own satisfaction." atlanta turned red and white alternately, and her open blue eyes vanished and green cat-like slits appeared in their place, and for once she was so far off her guard as to tap her foot rapidly against the floor, which action was noticed by both helen and her mother, but differently interpreted. “oh, why did i go to atlantic city!" she exclaimed. "i reached home but a few minutes ago, and there was a servant at the door, so i did not have to ring, but went straight to my room, and, changing my dress, came down. i thought it would be a pleasant surprise to you, cousin, and you are more worried over a few bruises than rejoiced at my return." " i am only too thankful you reached home alive," mrs. atwood replied. 262 the hermit of nottingham "and i must have a little rest and then see the doctor. dear me, i do wish he could come see me !" why can he not come ?" mrs. atwood asked, a good deal surprised at atlanta's remark. 66 "it is too expensive. he lives so far away, and is so busy." "then i'd have a near-by one," helen remarked, impatiently. "there's no great difference among them." "dear mamma would never be satisfied if i didn't consult dr. blank. she knew him when a boy, and has so much confidence in him.” "if he's such a wonderful man, with nerves, why does he live miles away, in an unheard-of corner ?" "i'm sure i never asked him, helen; but there are people living all about him, and he seems always to be busy." and smiling like an ordinary, amiable woman, atlanta left the room. when she was gone, helen rose from her chair, went to the door and closed it, and then, with her hand on the knob, 263 the hermit of nottingham she leaned forward and said in so low a tone she could not be overheard. "mother, i'm sorry to speak so plainly, but that woman is a liar." "helen, what do you mean?" mrs. atwood asked, perfectly astonished at her daughter's words and actions. "sh! just what i say." and then she put a finger to her lips as if commanding silence, as indeed she meant to do. mrs. atwood was completely bewildered, but gave a promise, by her looks, to ask no questions, and with a sorely perplexed expression, or as one thoroughly ill at ease, she left her place at the table and went to her room, for once, at least, helen felt as if she had been able to speak her mind and not be overheard, and yet, she was not over-positive, so sudden and incomprehensibly silent were atlanta's movements from place to place. it was with a feeling of danger passed and no harm done that helen found herself really alone. atlanta had indeed gone to her room. 264 chapter xvii a night in the woods r obert scarcely enjoyed his plain repast, although hungry, but he had abundance to meet all the body's needs, and in a sense was satisfied. the food provided by the hermit had not been set before him in a way to annoy his fastidiousness, and he suffered no shock, as he anticipated; but still the conditions were too novel, too primitive, too far away from the supercivilized world in which he had passed his days. once, indeed, he had camped out, as he loved to tell, but it was with boon companions, a guide, and as much of the city in box and bottle as was practical. he was camping out, indeed, but with no approach to a healthy nearness to nature. it was different now. here he was in a cabin that was plain265 the hermit of nottingham ness itself in every appointment and its owner asleep. had it been winter and the out-door world in a measure shut out, robert could not have stood it, but would have rushed frantically towards town. happily, the world was now at its best: mid-may and moonlight. we have much for which to be thankful, but no blessings are equal to these. robert quietly took up his chair and placed it in the open door-way, and seating himself, lit his last cigar, and his thoughts were dwelling more strongly on that sad fact than all else, when he was startled by a shrill whistling that he did not realize came from a bird's throat. whipper-i-whip, whipper-i-whip ! "what's that?" he asked, and then remembered there was no one to reply. "he'll rouse up in a minute, i guess. it's enough to wake the seven sleepers." but the tiresome call of the bird did not disturb the hermit or pudge, so robert accepted it as a voice of the night. as the light slowly faded from the western sky one by one other sounds 266 the hermit of nottingham became more distinct. the frogs in the marsh, the toads on the lawn, crickets in the grass, and unseen herons passing overhead filled the air with, to robert, a most strange medley. one by one. the stars grew brighter, but darkness deepened in the woods before him; the trees became a long, unbroken cliff, and the cabin at last was shut in by a wall of impenetrable gloom. robert thought of dungeons and of all the horrors of which he had read, and then wondered how for thirty years the hermit, summer and winter, could have lived here and not gone mad. this one night was quite enough for him, and he felt that he should never forget it. hermit, gems, alice; no, not the treasures of golconda's cave could tempt him. soon a pale light played upon the tree-tops, and the stars became less brilliant. the moon was rising, but not one feeble ray as yet had straggled from the topmost twigs of the tall oaks. the wall that hemmed him in was more prison-like than before, and the stranger 267 the hermit of nottingham was this impression as gradually the little space about the cabin became distinctly visible again. if only that wall would resolve itself to trees again, robert thought, he could breathe more freely. "but i mustn't make a fool of myself," he muttered to himself, and felt in all his pockets for a possible stray cigar. then, accepting the deprivation with all possible grace, he said, "if i were a poet or philosopher this might be a rare opportunity for meditation, but, being neither, it's infernally slow. the charm of poverty sounds well in poetry, but i don't like it in the plain prose of my involuntary incarceration. but here i am, and i wouldn't know which way to go if i undertook to have the old man take care of his gems himself. his gems! i do wonder" but his meditation was cut short. the hermit, rousing up, came with a vigorous step to the door and said, "this is my favorite hour. cowper, in a woods, could think hours away that 268 the hermit of nottingham seemed but minutes; but now, for the first time in years, i have an audience. while you were half asleep and dreaming of your proper sphere, i called back the dead years and have their history at my tongue's end. indulge me a little while, and you'll be no more troubled with my senile chatter." "whatever you say interests me," robert replied, in a thoroughly honest manner. "i'll assume it does, at any rate; and when i am fixed in my chair and pipe. lighted, for i always smoke before going to bed, i will tell you what i think." and the hermit returned for these indispensable articles. robert offered assistance, but this was declined. "if i were alone, you see, i would do just what i am now doing. when i detect a lack of strength to take care of myself, i'll go to a hospital." soon they were seated before the cabin and pudge was lying at his master's feet. "now," said the hermit, laughing, as 269 the hermit of nottingham he sent a ring of smoke into the moonlit air that made robert fairly ache for a cigar,—" now let me chatter. at eighty, i find the mistakes of my life are a regiment and the successes but a corporal's guard. my pleasure at recalling the past is always marred by the thought welling up that here, there, and everywhere i was a fool in some way. do you like your way of living?" "why, yes," robert replied, surprised at the question. "well, never make the mistake of supposing that money spells 'brains.' i did once, and it was a sad blunder." "i don't know that i ever did; but money is a wonderfully handy thing to have about you." "of course, of course. i forget that i've been out of the world so long that my thoughts are mere commonplaces with you young people. i can tell you nothing." and the hermit lapsed into silence. robert feared he had offended the old man, though he didn't see how he 270 the hermit of nottingham could have done so, and said, "oh, yes, you can tell me a great deal. tell me of some of your mistakes, and perhaps that will be the means of my avoiding similar ones in the future." "age cannot instruct youth, so youth fondly believes. you have the knowledge of the world in your daily papers and libraries, and your surroundings are so different from what mine were. i've heard it often said there was nothing new under the sun. true, there is nothing new. to-day's harvest of thought is a mere gleaning of ancient history." "why, may i ask, did you happen to choose this spot?" robert asked, hoping to change the topic of conversation to one more wholly autobiographic. if the hermit suspected robert's purpose he did not show it, but, after a brief period of silence, replied, "because it is as near my childhood's home as i could get, yet live in this manner. tiring of mankind, i wanted to go back to nature; and have i not succeeded? thirty years makes many a wonderful change. since 271 the hermit of nottingham living here, i have stood within the shadow of an oak that i had held as an acorn in my hands. i have learned to love these woods, and there is not a tree among these thousands that is not my intimate. i have marked every great change and many a minor one, and, without consulting the landlord, have nipped many an unpromising growth in the bud and planted more wisely. in one way, i have felt, we can improve on nature's method. the purpose of some poisonous growths has not been fathomed. we must all have some foe, i suppose, to avoid fighting with ourselves, and i am the sworn enemy of poison ivy. i do not see that the country about me has improved. the advance seems more in theory than practice, here at least; and the days of goodly crops and goodlier men are dead as the sunshine of last week. i am only a relic myself, gleaning among ruins, and soon to pass on." "then you class yourself with a better generation ?" robert remarked. "in some ways, yes. there was an 272 the hermit of nottingham untitled, landed nobility in the days of my father that has perished from the face of the earth. the word 'farmer' then meant something more than a peddler of garden-truck." "but you spoke of your life's mistakes, and i confess i am curious to hear about them," robert said, quickly, when the hermit ceased speaking for the moment. "my mistakes? boil it all down and you've this simple fact: don't undertake to stem too strong a current. what the world decides upon, that do. i was fool enough once to think i could do as i pleased; but when it's a question of one in a million, you must run with the crowd or be crushed. i tried it and was crushed. the bruised fragments held together until i got to the woods, and here i am." and saying this, the hermit waved his outstretched arms and laughed heartily. "but in what way did you dispute the will of the majority?" robert asked. "in what way? by assuming i was 18 273 the hermit of nottingham a free man instead of a slave. i was given to understand that to make a fool of yourself at the world's bidding was wisdom, but to do that which you considered the true part of wisdom is to make a fool of yourself. for instance, i loved to read byron years ago,-do yet; and for years had a portrait of the poet in my room, showing him with an open-throated, open-collared shirt,—and i fretted when restrained by a stiff stock and pointed standing collar that at times were painful. i rebelled, and slowly began changes that looked towards comfort. here was supreme folly. as i read in a recent paper,— "fashion makes serfs of us all. "we may throw bombs at her and devise deeply-laid nihilistic plots to regain our freedom, but we wear the yoke from generation unto generation. "as one dresses, so all dress. there is one standard, and those who do not follow are exiled.' and how vividly it recalled more than half a century ago! you, robert at274 the hermit of nottingham wood, free man, would not dare to vary by a hair's-breadth from fashion's dictates!" robert made a move as if to speak, yet scarcely knew how to reply, but before he could utter a protesting word the hermit held up his hand and said,— "now, don't try to make it appear you are not a slave. why, my good friend, your soup would be cold, your bread musty, your meat tainted, your vegetables stale, your dessert trash, andnauseating thought!-your champagne corked if you attempted to dine in other than a dress-suit." "oh, no, no; that is putting it too strong," robert earnestly protested; "but, of course, conformity” "conformity! there you have it!" the hermit exclaimed, triumphantly. "and fool that i was to try to be an apostle to unconformity and call it freedom! but this matter of the cut of a coat is tyrannical; and, let me ask, have you yet discovered there was magic in a dress-suit? magic or the working of 275 the hermit of nottingham a potent spell that quickens the brain. and ripens wit unknown to mortals in a comfortable coat? we are all candidates for inspiration, and he is happiest who most frequently says the right thing at the right moment. how often wit is tardy and the opportunity lost to demonstrate our brilliancy! are we more sure of it if our ears are threatened by the guillotine edges of a standing collar? mrs. grundy says 'yes,' and the world echoes her, but is there never a protest? to shout for freedom in a dress-suit is like calling for help when the dungeon door is shut. birds are in full feather now, and every mouse is as sleek as if oiled. their coats have grown on them and fit, and the single one they have proves sufficient for all their needs, social and otherwise. i sometimes think it would be well if men's skins could thicken and ridge up for winter, and unroll and stretch to tissue for summer: then a single robe would be all they needed. sleeping grubs are happy in their ragged cocoons, and the last butterfly of the 276 the hermit of nottingham season is no less happy because the wear and tear of a summer have told upon its wings. it is a butterfly still, and gives as lightsome a touch to the autumn landscape as its more brilliant sisters did to the pastures of june. man must abide by the dictates of custom, not comfort; and black must his broadcloth be, and neither shall it vary in make-up one hair's breadth from the model set before him. he may look the servant in such garb, and servant look the host, but this is trivial. no personal considerations bear any weight. the world wants the coat, and not the wearer. so, be you as gaunt as a bean-pole or round as a pumpkin, there's but one coat for you, and you're damned if you refuse it." "but if men dressed as they pleased they would make such a motley crew that it would be disturbing, and in the social world as in military circles is not a distinctive uniform not only desirable but necessary?" and robert thought he had by this reply acquitted himself very creditably. 277 the hermit of nottingham conformity and uniformity! what a precious pair!" the hermit shouted, in derision. "women can dress as they please or go undressed, which is to be full-dressed and wear all the colors of the rainbow, but always man in sober black. your uniformity strikes beneath the skin; there's the trouble. gathered in your uniforms, how seldom are you really at your best! or so it was when i was young.' "" 66 "i certainly have never found it so," robert replied. "as i remember the evenings of winters gone, the dead level of commonplaceness was not apparent. no acknowledged wit seemed at a disadvantage." "but he gathered his wits before he left his dressing-room, and prepared his best speeches while in undress uniform," the hermit remarked, a little put out at being contradicted. "i have my doubts of that. the present custom is not a sudden freak, but the slow growth of experience and study, too, of all such matters. with278 the hermit of nottingham out social laws there would unavoidably be social confusion and society become a mere rabble. no, i cannot agree with you." "and, my good friend, didn't i tell you that all my life, or early life, i made a fool of myself?" "true, but you were defending your errors of judgment very vigorously." and robert laughed at the hermit's sly effort to crawl out of a hole. "possibly you are right, but i am not altogether convinced. i did not inveigh against dress, but its unsuitableness at times; but good excuse or not, remember i said i made mistakes when young." "you probably magnified your troubles and imagined a great deal more than was good for you," robert remarked in a quiet way that showed no patience with the hermit's tirade. "no, i did not," the old man exclaimed, excitedly, "i did not; but we won't discuss it. the cat licks her fur and is always presentable, why should not i brush my coat and be acceptable 279 the hermit of nottingham to my friends? it's a good coat, neither threadbare nor soiled, and of excellent cloth; but no, it isn't the proper cut; faugh!" and the old man started to walk towards the woods. robert immediately rose to follow him, but had gone but a few steps when he was motioned to to keep back, and wondering what it could mean, he stood perfectly still watching the hermit as he approached the woods or wall, as it now appeared to be. he could see no other figure in the dim light, but fancied he heard voices, or else the hermit was talking to himself. what, he wondered, could it all mean? in a few minutes the hermit returned and seemed indisposed to be communicative, beyond remarking that it was time to retire. "i wished, not to be alone, when i motioned you back, but to see one who called privately," was all the old man had to say. "one who called ?" robert repeated, with some astonishment. "i saw no one but yourself." "no? well, i did, and he brought 280 the hermit of nottingham me strange news; no, not news at all, but what i suspected. let matters rest now until to-morrow." and saying this, the hermit entered the cabin and robert followed. the door and windows were closed, and soon all was quiet. 281 chapter xviii they met by chance "so, you're really going to see that o, old fellow who promised you the wild-flowers ?" mr. ridgeley asked, when the family were at breakfast. "indeed we are, carrie and i. i'll do the talking and all that, and carrie can hold the pony," alice replied, with animation, for she had great expectations as to the result of the visit. "carrie's part will be easy enough, and yours not hard, but i sort of pity the old man." and mr. ridgeley laughed in a quiet way, yet audible to those present. "why, papa?" alice asked, much surprised at what he said. "if he only gives you half a chance you'll talk him to death, and really i don't like landmarks removed." 282 the hermit of nottingham "that isn't fair," alice protested. "i don't talk half as much as carrie when she gets started." "and you do talk a great deal better, alice," carrie remarked. "well, don't expect too much, that's all. i don't want you to be disappointed, but it seems to me dependence on that queer old fellow is like leaning on a broken reed. i'll expect an interesting report on your return; yours, with carrie's observations as an appendix." and mr. ridgeley pushed back his chair as if to leave the table. "that's making carrie a tail to my kite," alice replied. "and she'll not agree to that. will you ?" "i doubt if i shall see anything that escapes you, alice. how i wish i had your eyes!" "well, make it a joint report, when mother reports the joint, at dinner." and mr. ridgeley left the room, followed by a volley of protests at such a lame effort. an hour later the two young women 283 the hermit of nottingham were in the pony cart, and toby, not approving of drawing more than one person at a time, was provokingly deliberate in his movements; but the patient creature did not balk, so the pemberton woods and the hermit's cabin therein were being gradually neared. he who rambles over the wide world, whether in search of treasure or beauty, will meet with nothing nearer to perfection-which the world lacks as absolute-than a wholesome, handsome, clear-headed and warm-hearted country girl, and she is at her best when in quest of flowers. herself, the highest development of humanity, in search of the chief glories of the plant-world. think of it! whether you will or not, robert atwood did when he saw a young woman approaching. robert had rested better than he anticipated, and his primitive toilet and plain breakfast had proved so far successful that he felt fitted to meet the world on even terms. the impulse of 284 the hermit of nottingham the day before, that occasionally almost overcame him, to break away, had not returned, and now all trace of disquieting thought was banished when he saw, coming down the wood-path, alice ridgeley. "that certainly is not the hermit," alice said to herself, as she neared the opening in the woods; "who can possibly have come to see him, and so early in the day, too?" and saying this, she slackened her pace and tried to see and yet remain unseen. should she turn back? then she stood quite still, and first turned a little pale, and then her cheeks flushed to a brighter glow than usual. "i do wonder if he has come to see him on the strength of the note i sent. but no; he could not have come from the city and reached here by this time why, it's hardly nine o'clock. who can it be ?" she patted the moss and dead leaves beneath her feet a little impatiently, and then said, "whoever it is, his presence need not interfere with 285 the hermit of nottingham my errand." and alice moved slowly to the open ground, but without taking her eyes away from the direction of the stranger before her. when the last tier of the pemberton oaks that hemmed in the hermit's glade was passed, she said, far more distinctly than she intended, "it is!" and her face flushed as she heard her own words. but it was too late to turn back, and to call carrie to come with the pony would have been absurd. there was but one thing to do, and she did it,-walked forward towards the cabin. "what under the canopy of heaven brings her here at such a time, or at all ?" robert exclaimed, inaudibly, "and with a basket, too! does she think the hermit is a starving pauper? oh, i remember; she is after orchids. how well she looks! what carriage, what a figure! why are not all women like her? if ever-but never mind discussing her as she approaches; it's time for me to meet her." and robert turned 286 the hermit of nottingham about and walked slowly forward, looking at her all the while, and when within proper distance his face brightened with a welcoming smile, and, raising his hat, he bowed and said, in the winsome manner of the self-possessed, "good-morning, miss ridgeley." alice returned his salutation with a cheerful "good-morning, mr. atwood," and then stopped short. for once she had been at too great a disadvantage. her surprise was too great to be controlled so quickly that robert atwood was here in the pemberton woods and apparently a guest of the hermit's was too startling to be realized in a moment. robert saw at a glance the secret of her embarrassment and said, in a quiet, captivating way, "i fancy our surprise is of equally astonishing proportions, and mutual explanation our most natural topic of conversation." "but i did not come to the hermit's to talk to others, but to him; so let me go on my errand, please. you may 287 the hermit of nottingham come with me, of course." and alice took a step forward. "i do not wish to intrude, miss ridgeley," robert replied, stiffly, and bowed. very naturally, he felt hurt at her words and was about to turn away, when she said, in a half-frightened tone of voice,"oh, i do not wish you to take me so seriously, mr. atwood. i am only so anxious to know if my orchids are ready, and i can talk to you at the same time." "you go, i see, on the principle of business before pleasure. has the hermit orchids for you?" robert asked. "i hope so; he promised them," alice replied. "i did not see any," robert remarked, slowly, as if trying to recall any potted plants in the cabin. "have you been in the cabin ?" alice asked. "oh, yes. yesterday noon.” "here all night?" alice asked, much surprised at robert's words. i have been here since 288 the hermit of nottingham "all night." "and is he our relation ?" alice asked, and then remembering a good deal of family history, she bit her lip and wished she had not asked the question. "he is, but mine more than yours. are you sorry?" "sorry, why?" "he is not," robert replied, "what his neighbors have fancied, some one to be pitied, but wealthy, wise, and altogether charming." "you really think so?" alice asked, and looked up at robert with sparkling eyes, full of intense interest in all she heard. "i most certainly do," robert replied, and he wondered if in the city there were eyes to match hers. "then," replied alice, laughing, "you have me to thank for calling your attention to him." "miss ridgeley, from the bottom of my heart i thank you." and robert placed his hand on his breast and bowed profoundly as he spoke. 19 289 the hermit of nottingham alice felt a good deal like a queen with a loyal subject before her. she took genuine pleasure in seeing robert bow down to her, and said, in a very stately way, quite unnatural to her, "you are very welcome to the information." and then her old and naturally inquisitive self reappeared, and she said, with all the sweet impatience of young womanhood, "but, do tell me, is he really arthur bloomfield ?" "he is," robert replied, without hesitation. "and why here, if wealthy, witty, and charming? wasn't that what you said?" "that, perhaps, i am not privileged to tell. possibly he will tell you himself. you impressed him favorably when here before." and robert looked rather quizzically at miss ridgeley, feeling he was rousing her curiosity to a lofty pitch. "have you two, then, been talking about me? how dare you?" and miss ridgeley stood up and tried to 290 the hermit of nottingham look offended; all of which was horribly poor acting, and, as robert laughed, she probably thought so too. "he took the privilege of an uncle and i of a cousin, we will say, of talking over family affairs. isn't that satisfactory ?" "lacking a better excuse, i accept it. do let me see the hermit." and alice moved on, with quick, impatient steps, towards the cabin. "he is still occupied, i think," robert remarked, and held back a step or two. "he asked me to leave him alone for a while, and to come in when he opened the door. you see it is still closed." "and so i must possess my soul in patience. well, then, i must go back to carrie and wait." and alice sighed in a bewitching way that was another telling thrust at robert's comfort. "carrie ?" he repeated after her. "who? where?" and he looked about in a surprised way, for he had had no glimpse of a third person. 291 the hermit of nottingham "oh, i didn't come alone," replied alice, laughing at him in a slightly aggravating way, "you might be sure. this unseen party calmly waits in my pony cart, out on the road,-the selfsame pony and cart, by the way, that didn't take you to riverside once upon a time. you see, we had warnings of the possible appearance in these woods of men, young and old, and so i kept the cart within easy distance. i can run like a deer, mr. atwood." robert was on the very point of saying, "don't run, that's a dear!" but he choked it off in time, and meekly remarked, "why should you?" "i have no decided inclination to do so at present," alice replied, and was about to remark further, but he anticipated her, saying,— "thanks; but really must you go, right away, to your friend and the pony cart ?" 'ought i not to? politeness is as exacting in the country as in the city, mr. atwood." "" 292 the hermit of nottingham "and i am to be left alone; that is cruel." "that is a compliment that is almost rude, mr. atwood, seeing that we are really strangers." "i beg your pardon; neither compliment nor rudeness were in my mind." and robert bowed, adding, with a smile, "perhaps i deserve punishment for giving utterance to my thoughts at the moment. it's a dangerous thing to do." "i know that perfectly; but i must go. good-by." and alice turned into the wood-path just as the hermit opened the cabin door, and, calling in a quick, nervous manner, said,— — "not quarrelling, i hope." alice and robert turned immediately when they heard the old man calling, and looked first in the direction of the cabin and then at each other. there are moments in our lives when all our future is at stake. robert felt this when he looked at alice, yet why he had looked at her just then he did not know. 293 the hermit of nottingham alice felt this, too, when she looked up at robert; but why? oh, why, she wondered, did she look up at him at that moment? she knew that she blushed, and she saw the red flush come and go on his fine, manly face. hang the orchids! confound the hermit! oh, carrie, carrie, do come and drag me away!-so alice felt. if every gem he boasts of proves to be colored glass, the hermit has been the means of my seeing one jewel worth more than the world's whole stock of gems together!-so robert felt. and each concerned with thoughts they dared not breathe, silently, swiftly, soberly, they came to the cabin door as children might at the call of a parent. "how far has he been making a confidante of you, may i ask?" was the hermit's salutation; and then added, with a merry glitter in his eyes, “i put no time limitation in my promise about orchids, and i have not been after them as yet. but you found something better than wild-flowers by coming,-a cousin." 294 the hermit of nottingham "yes," replied alice, a little timidly; "but i have met him before, and perhaps he is a very wild flower." "'pon honor, that's hard on me. why do you think so?" robert asked, with some show of unfelt indignation. "didn't i say perhaps?" alice asked, in reply, and looked up at him a little shyly. "oh, your explanation explains, for a wonder," robert answered, and showed by his looks he was quite mollified. "am i generally obtuse?" alice asked, with great show of spirit. "i have hardly had an opportunity, as yet, of judging; but sometimes your meaning is very clear," robert replied, and then turned to the hermit, who was waiting for them. whether he thought of their first meeting, when she left him at the lane gate, or of that mutual glance of a moment ago,—just to have this made plain alice would have given worlds. she made no reply to robert's last remark, and the silence would have been gener295 the hermit of nottingham ally embarrassing had not the hermit said, at the right moment,"it is very evident that you would quarrel if alone, and, to prevent this, will you not come in, miss ridgeley? i have something to tell this young man that may interest you, and perhaps, who knows? need a witness in the future." "goodness!" alice exclaimed, at hearing this. "hadn't you better send for my brother or some one? i wouldn't know what to say as a witness." "and is it possible that your curiosity is not sufficient to tempt you?" the hermit asked, and continued, "it isn't a spider asking a fly into his parlor in this case, but a miser into his den; and then, you know, you have been curious about me as a relation ever since the ship-canal craze sent surveyors through here, from which madness dates the downfall of my pleasant isolation." alice was puzzled as to what to do. had she been alone, as before, she would have been eager enough to see 296 the hermit of nottingham more of the hermit and his home, but now she felt so strangely with robert standing at her side and awaiting her decision. could it be possible he had known of her coming for orchids and purposely met her here? absurd as it was, she gave the thought unwilling credence, and was only anxious to return to her companion. too long already she had kept her waiting. "i see you hesitate," the hermit continued, "and i will not press my invitation upon you. you are the only woman that i ever invited to enter my cabin, and you, it seems, decline." and the old man, evidently affected by alice's indecision, turned away. robert, under the circumstances, could but follow, and he was justly annoyed by alice acting as she did. it was so unlike the splendid woman of a moment ago. "i will come," she said, suddenly; "but my friend ought to know why i keep her waiting so long." "go tell her," the hermit said in a 297 the hermit of nottingham commanding voice, quite new to his hearers; but robert understood its purport, and in an instant was on his way to the pony cart and its occupant. alice felt relieved at once when robert left, and so much herself again, she would have begun questioning the hermit about everything and anything she saw had she not noticed that he was too preoccupied to give heed to her. as she entered the room, the little table in the middle of it at once attracted her attention. there were lying upon it several closely-written sheets of foolscap and a curious iron box, that was, in fact, a miniature trunk. it was open, and how she longed to look in! but this she refrained from doing; but to keep quiet any longer was impossible. "how quaint and cosey it all is!" alice said; "but are you never lonely ?" the hermit did not reply. at that moment steps outside were heard, and immediately after robert entered. turning to alice, he said, "your friend was beginning to get impatient or worried, 298 the hermit of nottingham but i assured her of your safety, and she is gracious enough to grant you just ten minutes more." and then he laughed, as if there were some joke about the time he mentioned. "ten minutes," repeated the hermit. "well, i will be very brief; and, as i have so often done before, may make a fool of myself." "how?" alice asked, almost involuntarily. "the ten minutes will show," the hermit replied; and, pointing to the box, he continued, "in it are gems that in my travels i have gathered at various times. they always had for me a great fascination, and i have left unwrittenlet the world be thankful-endless romances about the three kinds, rubies, emeralds, and diamonds"9 "rubies, emer" alice exclaimed, but the hermit unceremoniously cut short her speech. "listen, please: romances of fair women and brave men ; and how i have made them love, fight, be wise and j 299 the hermit of nottingham foolish; and spreading them out before me, every gem seemed a creature full of life, and we would talk together, and sometimes"-here the hermit's voice changed "sometimes, i say, i would have a vision as it were of one more fair to me than all others, and i would look about me, to see if she were coming even now, tottering, wrinkled, wan, and worn, to claim these gems that i had bought for her. it has been a long series of whims that, like buffeting waves playing with a wreck, tossed an old man twixt hope and fear. perhaps i have been, perhaps i am, insane. for years i had no other purpose in life except to struggle for still more money to get some rare gem that i had found in the jeweller's hands; and here, my young friends-my only friends, they are." saying this, the hermit turned the box over, and upon a sheet of paper rolled many a precious stone. alice started from her chair, but was speechless from astonishment. robert stared in a strange, wild way, as if vexed 300 the hermit of nottingham by a nightmare, and he, too, said nothing. the hermit looked at them, first one and then the other, and, with his hand pointing to the gems, remained silent also. it was a strange scene: one plucked from some old fairy-tale, made real. the hermit was the first to speak. "there are," he said, "thirty of these stones, in all, ten of each color, and they vary, as you see, but very little in size. they have lost their charm for me, seeing that now the red ones are in the ascendency and seem actually to threaten me. when they were my playthings, the green stones were life in youth; the red, in manhood; the white, in serene old age. but it is all over now. they mean danger to my declining days. atlanta guthrie " "atlant"" now, "yes, miss ridgeley; don't speak please,-atlanta guthrie has learned of these stones. she has even been here and demanded them, as if i were an infant and since, has tried to rob me." • 301 the hermit of nottingham 'atlanta rob you?" robert asked, speaking for the first time since his eyes fell on the sparkling gems before him. "yes. your young eyes failed to see beyond the thin covering of her fiendish face; but still, you saved me from her clutches." "" "robert-mr. atwood did?" alice asked, for to keep wholly quiet she could not. "yes, miss ridgeley," the hermit replied, smiling. "he saved these jewels for me. think of your cousin as a highway robber." "who? rob-mr. atwood ?" "no, no," exclaimed the hermit, impatiently; "atlanta guthrie." "oh, i see now," alice replied, too confused to know what she was saying. "but there were two of them," robert remarked. "true; but the other was a mere lackey in the hands of this she-devil. one of the ship-canal prospecting gang, i think." alice could no longer remain passive 302 the hermit of nottingham or even comparatively so. speak she must. "ship-canal surveyors! atlanta guthrie! why, i saw a letter, mr. hermit, from her to my brother, urging him to help her and claiming these were hers, or ought to be." and alice pointed to the gems. "and your brother's clerk, the hunchback, keeps me posted; and he very considerately changed your brother's plans," the hermit replied; and after a moment's pause, continued, "i am too old to cope with imps of satan, or even with ill-designing men. i am related to you both, nearer to robert atwood, but not so remotely to you, miss alice, that i cannot feel an interest in your welfare. what else, in this wide world, i possess time will make apparent when i am gone, but i want no quarrelling over these stones that have amused me all these years, that have been, as it were, my family. i leave you to solve the problem. not a stone of them all must be cut in half, and each and all of them i give to you both." 303 the hermit of nottingham alice sat down for a moment in her chair, and then in a quick, nervous way said, "i must go back to carrie." and she suddenly left the cabin. she scarcely saw the path she took, yet did not stumble, and reaching the pony cart could only say, "let's drive home, quick, carrie, i am almost ill." "why, what's the matter, allie dear? do tell me! what has happened ?" "such strange things; but wait till we are home, please. i cannot talk." 304 chapter xix robert atwood goes home r obert and uncle arthur, as he wished now to be called, had several hours of quiet, confidential conversation after alice left them, and then they parted. all seemed so changed now, and every feature of the place had become so full of interest and familiar to robert, that he was in no hurry to leave. to merely sit quietly under the spreading branches of the door-step oak and talk to his new-found uncle was a luxury; but as alice had done, placing the orchids in preference to himself, as business before pleasure, so he must bring to an end his novel outing in the pemberton woods and go now, first to riverside and then to the city. then, too, as he was to carry the jewels with him and place them in safe-keep20 305 the hermit of nottingham ing for a few days, it was desirable to travel in broad daylight. his short experience in that neighborhood had taught him its many dangers from tramps, and, as the hermit said, "who knows but atlanta in person or by proxy has not been shadowing us all day long?" he did not fear to stay alone, but perhaps it might be well if robert left his revolver. it was in the early afternoon when robert started for riverside on foot, and it was not a pleasant walk; but his mind was more at ease than would otherwise have been the case from the fact that wagons were continually passing him, going to and coming from the village. nevertheless he breathed more freely when his feet were upon the pavement, and he had houses along the street instead of trees along the road, for behind these foes might be standing in wait. it might all be very absurd, but so much had happened in the past few days, and so crowded had been the last few hours, that robert's nerves were 306 the hermit of nottingham a little unstrung. he had left the routine of years, which now seemed marvellously like wasted time, and gone into the matter of genealogical research quite unwillingly at the outset, and then felt moved to continue it with some interest because of promised sensational novelty, but throughout those initial days, as for years before, quite heart-whole. how was it now? what part would alice play in the near future? that was the tormenting question of the present, and he forgot all about the danger of being the custodian of the gems. the simple fact of the case was, they were at present involuntary partners, involving thousands of dollars. wondering what of the morrow, as he passed towards the riverside railway station his eye fell upon the sign, on a window, of henry ridgeley, surveyor and real estate; and then, more forcibly than ever, alice ridgeley came to mind, and he recalled, too, what he had heard of atlanta having been there. should he call? he hesitated a mo307 the hermit of nottingham ment and then turned on his heel and knocked at the door. no one responded, and he knocked again, when he heard footsteps that seemed to be shuffling over the floor in a very languid or unwilling way, and presently the door was opened. robert saw before him the bent form and wan face of the hunchback. "is mr. ridgeley in ?" robert asked, in kindly, assuring tones, for the poor clerk before him seemed in need of pity. "no, sir," the hunchback replied, “he has just gone home. his sister is ill, i believe." "sister ill? oh, no, i think not. i saw her this morning." "are you mr. atwood?" the hunchback asked. "i am," robert replied. -?" are"and you "timothy smedley, mr. ridgeley's clerk; and it was i who warned the hermit about miss guthrie. i suppose it's all out now, and mr. ridgeley will 308 the hermit of nottingham discharge me, but i did it for his interest." and the cripple seemed a good deal disturbed in mind. "i think i can save you all trouble in that direction," robert replied. "here is my card. write to me, now, instead of going to the 'hermit,' as you call him. i have charge of his affairs, and i will see mr. ridgeley soon." "you have? oh, i am so glad, for i've been afraid something would happen. mother has been doing his mending and other things for him, and he pays her well, too; and she's said often he seemed a good deal more worried than failing lately. i'm glad he's in your hands. that woman-did you ever see miss guthrie? she's one i'd be afraid of, and think she'd 'a' murdered mr. ridgeley if he had refused to lend her a hand to get the hermit's money." "what! steal it?" robert asked, a good deal surprised. "no, no; not that way, but sort of force him to let her have it. when she 309 the hermit of nottingham was here, she looked like pictures you see of demons and dragons in books." robert smiled at the hunchback's vivid description, and said he thought now all danger was passed, and requesting that mr. ridgeley be informed of his call, robert said "good-by" in a cheery way that was music to the hunchback's ears, and passed down the street. two hours later robert atwood was again at home. finding no one in the library or other down-stairs rooms, he went as far as the floor above, on his way to his own room, when he heard his name called, and looking about, saw his mother standing in the door-way of her own room. the dim light, had she not spoken, would probably have caused her to be passed by unnoticed. "you rather startled me, mother," robert said. "and why do you speak in such a sepulchral tone? are you afraid atlanta will know that you are talking to your son ?" "no, robert, but i'm all upset, and 310 the hermit of nottingham am so glad you are here. where have you been so long?" "i have just come from my uncle's, arthur bloomfield's, and i've got lots to tell, as nell would say. where is she? but i'm not going to tell you in the presence of that infernal imp of satan, atlanta guthrie. fact is, you must choose between us." "she's gone," mrs. atwood said, in a sort of stage whisper. "gone? where?" robert asked, much surprised at the announcement. "i do not know. she said to see her doctor, and only a little while ago an order came for her trunk. i went myself to her room, and found it packed, locked, and strapped, but no address, only her initials on the end, as when it came. the man took it away." "why didn't you ask him where it was to go?" "that is what annoyed me so. i was so surprised i did not think to ask him anything. it was so stupid." "all i hope is only her own things 311 the hermit of nottingham are in it. now, mother, here's that woman's story." and without either sitting down robert told all he knew of her, and in part what he had learned of the hermit, but made no reference to the gems, which he had, at the time, concealed about him, and then asked where helen was. "oh, out, of course. this time to be converted as to feathers in her hat by the audubon society." "and i hope she will be," robert said, very earnestly. "i know what birds are now, after my stay at uncle arthur's." "but are you sure, my son?" mrs. atwood asked, with every evidence visible of the doubt in her own mind. "there is no doubt of the relationship. at any rate, i am one of his heirs, whether he's arthur bloomfield or somebody else," robert replied, very positively. "and who is the other; do you know ?" "why, alice ridgeley, of course." 312 the hermit of nottingham "and why, robert, of course ?" "oh, mother, i haven't told you half yet." "and i'm afraid to hear that other half." "why so ?" "think, my son, of your marrying a country girl." "think, mother, of being linked for life to some city nonentity." "but, robert-" "mother, i have one feeling that overpowers all others concerning my future. i do not believe that miss ridgeley would accept if i proposed to her." "i sincerely hope she will not." "if i propose, mother,—and i don't say, mind, that i intend to,-but if i do, i hope she will say 'yes; and now, please, let us not talk more about it." robert kissed his mother, as he had not done for many a day, and went to his room. 313 chapter xx alice ridgeley at home α' ll was excitement, wondering, and wild misgiving when carrie rockwood was seen driving up the lane with alice by her, but in apparently a helpless condition. "what could have happened?" was on everybody's tongue, and before the stepping-stone was reached the family had gathered, even to the house-servant and stable-boy. "i'm not ill, mother; don't look so distressed," alice said, as she sat up. "and i don't need anybody's help at all. do let me tell my own story in my own time and way. it's only a case of having too much to think of." "do give us some sort of satisfaction, al, after the scare we've had," her father said, half lifting her from the pony cart. 314 the hermit of nottingham "well, i'm neither sick nor hurt, in mind or body, isn't that enough? the hermit is arthur bloomfield, papa, and he's given me, oh! lots; but really, you must wait. i want to sit down for a while and just go over it all, bit by bit. no girl ever did have such a time." it was plainly to be seen by all that alice was a good deal hysterical, in spite of her protesting as to normal conditions, and so carrie was appealed to after alice had gone into the house; but she could give them no particulars, beyond an account of her own brief interview with robert atwood. "i was beginning," carrie said, "to wonder why alice stayed so long, and was really a little worried at last and wondering what to do, when a gentleman came, and introducing himself as alice's cousin, robert atwood, said the hermit had an important communication to make to alice and himself and begged she might keep me waiting just a little longer. i told him if she was waiting for the hermit to dig up orchids, i would 315 the hermit of nottingham allow her a minute apiece until he got ten, and then she must come, for it was hot and dusty on the roadside and the pony was restless. if she didn't come, he would have to see her home on foot. he laughed sort of to himself and promised to deliver my message, and grinning all over his face, he said something i didn't quite hear and rushed off. when alice did come, i was nearly frightened to death. she hadn't her basket with her, and would only say, 'do hurry home,' and i made the pony fairly fly. that's all i know, and i'm just wild to know what's happened. alice said just before we turned into the lane, 'it's like a fairy-tale."" "mother," said mr. ridgeley, "do go to alice's room and see if she wants anything, or find out when this mystery is to be solved. i can't go back to my work with all this on my mind.” "and you needn't, papa," alice said, suddenly making her appearance. "i dashed cold water in my face to make sure i was not dreaming, and now i can 316 the hermit of nottingham tell you. robert atwood was there ahead of me,—been there all night,— and that kept me longer, he's such a talker; and, besides, i had to wait, and when i did see the hermit he said he hadn't any orchids for me yet-" "i told you so," mr. ridgeley said, triumphantly. "but he'd get them; and then we went into his cabin, and there he told some of his history, and said he hadn't any use any more for his gems, and atlanta guthrie had been trying to steal them, and so he gave them to robert and me." "gave them to you and mr. atwood!" exclaimed her father. "oh, allie, how splendid!" carrie exclaimed; "and you are so fond of finery !" "but, mamma"what, dear?" asked her mother, very patiently. "but, mamma, he said no stone was to be cut in half, and robert and i were to-were to own them together, and— "" 317 the hermit of nottingham but i cannot talk about it now. go in the house." "the old fellow's an idiot, and the stones, as you call 'em, are like enough only glass." and mr. ridgeley showed his unbelief in all the hermit had said very plainly. 66 'oh, no, papa; they're real, or robert-i mean mr. atwood-would have known it and said something about it. they're real! and, oh, carrie, such splendid ones!" let us "i'm crazy to see them,-just crazy!" carrie replied. "how will you have them set?" "i'm afraid the hermit has set allie off a little," mr. ridgeley remarked, shaking his head as an expression of his scepticism; "and, daughter, you seem to have made great advances in your acquaintance with mr. atwood. do you call him 'robert' already?" "only by mistake, papa; and please don't tease me." "curious mistake of common occurrence, i suppose." and mr. ridgeley 318 the hermit of nottingham began laughing quite heartily, but checked himself, seeing that alice looked pained; and then he said, "well, i'm glad the scare didn't amount to much, and jake needn't 'a' galloped into riverside for henry." "papa, you're real mean to make fun of me as you do. i should think you'd be glad i'd fallen into a fortune.” "you've more likely fallen in with a crank, i mean the hermit,-and of course you haven't had time to see that all isn't gold that glitters, and red glass isn't pigeon-blood rubies either. i'm glad it's no worse, and i'll get back to my work." when mr. ridgeley was out of hearing, alice said, "now, mamma and carrie, i want to talk to you; men don't understand these things." and, seated in the quiet living-room of the old farm-house, with its books, magazines, and papers in comfort-suggesting, negligent array, the three women talked in low voices, but very earnestly, for fully an hour; and alice, steadied in pur319 the hermit of nottingham pose by their friendly advice, was about bringing the conference to an end, when her brother made his appearance. the strange story of the day had to be told again, and he, accepting his sister's view as to the gems, spent the afternoon talking about the whole subject, except when his eyes met carrie's, and thereupon he made irrelevant remarks; and again, during the long twilight, while out of doors, and, later, around the evening lamp, it was the one subject,-son and daughter having abundant faith in it all; the father doubtful; the mother non-committal. as they were about to separate for the night, carrie remarked, "if i were you, al, i'd meet mr. atwood on a purely business basis when he came." and it was so agreed. 320 chapter xxi the hermit again alone "well, pudge, it is growing dark and cool. the frogs are dropping off to sleep and the crickets are drowsy. it is time for us to go in, and yet i hate to leave the old trees to themselves and turn my back upon the stars. we are drawing near the end. i am no longer the mysterious fool or philosopher of this township,-no longer the hermit of nottingham,-but poor, old, decrepid arthur bloomfield, aged eighty, in spite of being half a fool all my life and all a fool for much of it. and the stones are gone, pudge. do you remember, old dog, how i used to say your eyes were brighter than diamonds and had more fire than the rubies, and tried to prove it by making you blink in the sunshine beside a stone i held in front 321 • 21 the hermit of nottingham of you? what fools we were, and yet how contented! why should nature have interfered? i could have gone on living forever even thinking perhaps she will come before she dies, and yet i never thought of dying. and, pudge, do you think the birds and squirrels and little wood-mice will miss us? will they come for their crumbs when i am gone? will they wonder where i have wandered to that i keep them waiting so long? as we are here but for a little while at best, and then must go, why are our hearts so linked to what we find about us? oh, these mysteries, pudge! they were nothing until now, but even the whippoorwill sings sadly to-night. but it is all changed now. to-morrow's sun will not shine on the hermit's home, but on arthur bloomfield's cabin. no more mystery. it is like a corpse, life having left it. we are in a procession and must keep moving. what a fool i was to think anything could last! the day will come when my diamonds will be dim. my diamonds? no, they are 322 the hermit of nottingham 66 given away; and how long will they remain to others as a reminder of me? pudge, i do not think the old oaks will look the same to-morrow. i shall fancy that they turn away from me, that they refuse their shade. fool again! but if the old ways and the old glories are gone, the new order cannot keep me long. time's ravages have reached the core, and i'll fall like a decaying tree that sooner or later meets too rude a blast! "it is something to know dreams will not disturb me. somnum æternum, mortem est. i don't know whether it is good latin or not, but it is precious comforting philosophy." 323 chapter xxii wherein a decision is reached l ate in the afternoon of the following day alice ridgeley received a brief note from robert atwood to the effect that he had had the gems examined by an expert, and they were all flawless and first in every particular. their value was, of course, very considerable, and now it was incumbent upon him to place her in possession of these objects. to carry out their late owner's wishes literally was, of course, impracticable, seeing that they must be in the possession only of one or the other party. would, then, she kindly appoint a day, as early as convenient, for him to come to her father's, and would she ask her brother, as well as her parents, to be present? never was a letter more discussed 324 the hermit of nottingham than this one. had such a condition of affairs ever risen before in human experience? out of the endless suggestions made a half-dozen were adopted after hours of discussion, and, the day being fixed upon, alice sent her reply. then, by common consent, the subject was dropped. alice, for three days, was ill at ease; and carrie, who was prevailed upon to prolong her visit, on the third day said to mrs. ridgeley,"i think alice is anticipating a disagreeable interview." "she must be guided by her own convictions, carrie. as she does not speak of it herself, i cannot bring it up. but why should she anticipate ill? does misfortune cling to the gems, or does she fear persecution by atlanta guthrie ? i hope she will sell every one of them." "no, it is not the stones, how i want to see them!-but i think she dreads meeting mr. atwood. the hermit evidently wants her to marry him." "does thee think so?" mrs. ridgeley 325 the hermit of nottingham asked, much surprised at the suggestion, though alice herself had vaguely intimated as much the day of her call at the hermit's cabin. "she hasn't said as much outright to me, but, somehow, it seems to me it's that that's on her mind. she thinks perhaps he will propose, as one way out of the difficulty of the question of ownership." "but he has only met her twice," mrs. ridgeley replied. "and the very first time he was impressed, i think, from what alice told me about him, that is, he went away with a very favorable impression of his country cousin." "he seemed a very pleasant, gentlemanly man when he was here," mrs. ridgeley remarked, in a dreamy way. 66 'well, we'll know more about it soon, and how i do want to see these wonderful gems " the all-eventful day came. mr. ridgeley had been to call on the hermit, 326 the hermit of nottingham and had come home convinced and with no prejudices in any direction, which, for him, was like being quite another person. the house was set in order, mrs. ridgeley and carrie looking after that, and no one passed through the hall without looking up the long lane. henry had gone to meet robert at the station, and at the expected moment the carriage was seen turning into the lane. the two men, so the people in the house thought, must have found much to talk about, for the horse appeared to walk every step of the way down the lane, and that robert atwood had really arrived or was coming was only fully realized when the horse's footsteps on the little bridge assured all that the time had come when what had seemed like a dream was about to become a reality. the carriage stopped at the steppingstone, and robert atwood alighted and was cordially greeted by mr. ridgeley, who had never met him before, and by mrs. ridgeley, and then by carrie, 327 the hermit of nottingham whom he instantly recognized and greeted as an old friend, saying, “i believe we have met before." alice was not present. after a few commonplaces were passed, robert was ushered into the south-side living-room,-always so much more cheerful than the stuffy parlor,and on entering he saw alice, who rose and greeted him pleasantly, holding out her hand, which he took. having determined beforehand to rid the occasion of all possible embarrassment, robert began immediately to speak of the purpose of his coming, prefacing his remarks with the expression of a hope that the details of the recent act on the part of their relation, arthur bloomfield, had been fully discussed. "that my great-uncle may be in a slight degree mentally unbalanced, or as we say, eccentric, is more than probable, but when we consider the whole history of the case, his decision is not at all illogical, except in the one whim of joint ownership of each one 328 the hermit of nottingham of these stones." and here robert atwood poured them on the table, letting them roll, one by one, from a little leather bag upon his handkerchief. all present, except alice and robert, stared at the brilliant display of red, white, and green. alice meanwhile kept her eyes directed to the floor, and robert looked only at her. "i see," he continued, "but one way to overcome the difficulty without materially offending my uncle arthur. i cheerfully relinquish all my claim, so that you, miss alice, may have all the pleasure and profit derived from them, without the shadows of my rights clouding your enjoyment." "and i cannot accept such a gift from you, mr. atwood. they are altogether too valuable." "but they are peculiarly a woman's property; and really, i think, uncle arthur will be pleased with my decision. as to their intrinsic value, that is nothing." "nothing? i thought they were 329 the hermit of nottingham valuable," alice remarked, with evident surprise at his assertion. "i mean nothing to me. i do not need it, and it is a genuine pleasure to make a present to my cousin, if you put it in that light." then turning to her father, he said, "what do you think, mr. ridgeley?" "really, it seems so great a sacrifice on your part-but, mother, what does thee think?” "alice should be guided by her own convictions, but i would like to see thee privately, samuel." and mrs. ridgeley withdrew, followed by her husband. carrie rockwood took up a diamond while mrs. ridgeley was speaking, and placed it on the back of her finger, as if to see the effect of a ring, and as she did this, in a dreamy sort of way, she saw that henry ridgeley was looking at her. she felt the blood rush to her cheeks and suddenly left the room, and henry followed, wondering if carrie would like a diamond ring. alice was indignant. to be left alone 330 the hermit of nottingham an instant under such circumstances was the refinement of cruelty. oh, if she could but fly! she was speechless and knew it, and was on the point of leaving her chair, when robert spoke again. "please, miss alice, one moment. i am quite in earnest. i want you to have the jewels. his other property will be mine; but though it was endless wealth, it can never equal the better fortune of my having met with you. the carriage is ready, as i requested of your brother, and in a minute, if you wish, i can be on my way to riverside and home. shall i go? and going, must i take the gems with me and tell uncle arthur you will not have them? you know what i have in mind. i would that you keep them, and i too would like to see them occasionally. you must have seen all this; anticipated every word that i have spoken. your look when we started together for the hermit's cabin door told me, oh, so much! we took a little journey together then; shall we begin another and 331 the hermit of nottingham life-long one now? was i mistaken when i read your heart in the pemberton woods? may i say it,-alice, was i mistaken ?" "no," alice said, in almost a whisper. cousin robert, as they called him now, stayed to dinner. the end. 332 the borrower must return this item on or before the last date stamped below. if another user places a recall for this item, the borrower will be notified of the need for an earlier return. non-receipt of overdue notices does not exempt the borrower from overdue fines. harvard college widener library cambridge, ma 02138 617-495-2413 widener widener apr 2-5 2000 jan 0 5 2000 cancelled book please handle with care. thank you for helping to preserve library collections at harvard. 97 ps 3525 .u93 h4 library of congress iii i nil ml i t, ' « •;t.tfi .^^ ^ov^ vp-t^^ i* "% ^ -js^id^ \ ^ ** 0^ 0°^"^,'^ '^i.c^ '^i^m^n^. ""iturs o ^ov*^ '^o^ jpvn *^ a^ ^ '''^^..^^''.^l!&^^ .n. <^ 1 i>-' 1 ihf if mil of liskiuou. j — or ^iui©e;-0rd j[|)er. a story of the "lost cabin" p'ound, the fountain of perpetual youth revived etc. by l. w^. iviusick:. published from the office of the crescent city news. cres(^ent city, del norte county, california. -1896. <s ^ r--^*_ t6 3s' «c=— >^=:r=y5. entered according to act of congress, in the office of the librarian of congress, washington, d. c, in the year a. d. one thousand eight hundred and ninety-six. by l. w. jviusick, ■^^=^: all kights reskrved. preface. the hermit of siskiyou is designed (aside from tjie presentation of a readable story) to aid in the perpetuation of some of the quaint legends that have become in a degree historical ot the region represented ; and though the narrative is intended to be self-supporting, it is deenjed but fairly con sistent to otier therewith a more detailed >tatement of the accumulated evidences of its groiu)dwork. there is a distinctive grandeur and di versity of scenery within tlie siskiyou range of mountains that affords to the bordering counties— del norte, humboldt and siski you, of northein california, and josephine and jackson, of southern oregon — a back ground of wild and remantic splendor. snow crested and sun-girt, niajestically stands the gray old dome, the sentinel of neigli boring comnionwealtlis and arbiter of their respective jurisdictions. bluffly she casts her iuorning prohle upon the western sea, and with greeting to the rising' sun, her massive form substitute-^ the brief interval between the sierra and cascade ranges, as if to share with thera the gravid burden of the great jakes thus pent of their anxious fiow toward the pacihc and, as well, to as sist in staying the border ot the immense plateau that bears upon the easterly slope of this grand convention of mountain ranges. not alone upon lier cragged exterior is the marvelous wealth of her wonders recog nized and appreciated. her immense cav erns, ot recent discovery, already rival in extent and magnificence the great mam nioth cave of kentucky, and will doubtless alibrd the scene of tiie world's greatest fu ture subterranean exploration and develop ment. in some instances, where otherwise tlie subject uiatter miglit seem occult to any but the iccal reader, reference is made to an appendix, designed to supply such infor mation. the hryt of these embraces a sub stantial claim for some place on mount sis kiyou, or wilhin its immediate burmund ings, as the probable lociation of the world famed ''lost cabin." * * see n(.te two, appeiwlix. if in any degree the "hermit's story" subserves the purpose of directing attention to the many deserving features of the dis trict mainly presented, the patriotic en deavor of the writer will have been fully recompensed and his most extra vegant hope realized. trustful of a generous forbearance, is re spectfully subscribed the authos. index. page, introduction, 5. interlude, (1st) 11. hermit's story, 12. interlide, (2nd) 35. story kesumeo, 40. sequel, 72. appendix, 75, flic lerait of lishiuou. a .story of the "lost cabin" found, the fountain of perpetual youth kevivep, etc. int^roducttion. i. ^^he sotting sun was glint the breast {^ of imonnt siskiyou, from whose crest t vvus rifted on the scene below isefiections of its virgin snow, as cadence from orphean jiarp, keverted from some cranny, sharp, that floats in twilight's gentle glow with measured accent, faint and slow. 6 and on the tops of giant trees, stirred lightly hy the straying breeze, a radiance as of burnished gold was clinging to each branch and fold ; while in the vale and canyon, deep, the shades of night began to creep. ii. keposing in a pleasant glade, beneath the hemlock's ample siiade, a cam])tire's cheerlnl, rudtly ra.y consumed the waning light of day. as if. in in,iniature, to gain theconquest otoid sol's domain. iii. prospectors were they wlio thus hadniade the hre to burn within the glade; and 'round its cheer-inspiiiiig blaze, with story of long by-gone days, discoursed they of each hopeful theme whereof, perchance, might lend a gleam of ligiit ui)on a thing obscure; or, of some charm, the gods allui-e and, peradventure, gain their heed and counsel — then of i;reat need. iv. some busy wero with all the ends of camp ecpiipnient, such as tends to corporeal needs, when are required as ppu or .mori:)heus have inspired. 7 v. yet one, of no such menial zest, deemed quire content himself to rest; save that his cliin, with endless wag, was prone to chat, and even brag of what he knew of things, galore. and what he'd heard long years before of treasure found and lost again — and he, perhaps, the only man witliin the world's profound embrace wlio could divine itshitlingphice. vi. "now, men," s;.id lie, "just hearken to my candid words and counsel true: perhaps you're acquainted with tiie story — some call it a myth — of how. in i)rimal "days of gold," was louud a mine of wealth untold — upon the earth all scattered 'round— and that the party who thus found j'idtake tiiereof their hearts' content and from the place forever went; nor lias it been tlie lot of man to gaze upon that s])ot again. vii. yet wliile sojqurning at the mine, a hut they built, trom logs of pine, that in its fastness and alone as the j^ost cabin still is known. viii. some thiidc it cpiite remote frc>m here, b yet, (though to you it may seem queer,) i'll tell jou or a legend true that claims it for old siskiyou ; as will, i trust, in time he found within the region here around. and 1 would turther say — but, liark ! a footstep! and t)ie watchdog's bark! ix. through mingled light of fire anri sun was ])rotiled on the horiaon a form so grand and marked of age as reverence to at once engage with great surpri5^e and wonderment of wheiice he came— of what intent. x. within decorous distance, he obeisance made, vvith courtesy ; and baring, then, his hoary head. in voice sepulchral thus he said: xi. "friends: if thus to you i may indite m\ counsel, be ware of your plight! seek ye not m my domain augiit oi' repose until you gain of one wiio, of a prior claim, j lath preference and right to nanie the conditions upon which you may prospect on old siskiyou. xii. it is a fact i well divine 9 that 3^ou are seeking here a mine of wondrous wealth and ancient fame; and of that goal seek i, the same. xiii. fn"st, hear my story, then decide 'tvvixt life and death; for woe-betide is he who seeks, without consent, upon these grounds to pitch liis tent. xiv. perhaps you've heard of old i'rench hill — * ol those in past, and even still, who're nuuilercd with the dead or lost— a region not le.note, but crossed by magic line, vvhereuf is bound tne confines of enchanted ground. know yel that of the pastdecade, that from that lonely liill have strayed of luirdy miners quite a score — xor will return for e�rmore. xv. 1 come not, thouuli, with threat' ning rage; ±>ut of true kindness, to presage the evils tiint must fall in train. and eflbrts that must ]>rove quite vain, i'ldess with purpose in accord with charms wit inn my knowledge stored, * sec note two, apj)endix. lo the fates have willed it thus to be; if not observed, doomed, then are ye. xvi. that you, each one, i may impress — i.est of grave laws j^ou should transgress take ye from tliis faltering hand this little stone — a talisman. it will immunity assure and from the fates at once secure the fiafhts that tliey are wont to own inherent m this precious stone. xvii. keceive ye now the charm 'twill lend, and from each one past? to your friend. thus will oar friendship be made whole and thus our efforts for the goal be rendered of account the best; as will my story soon attest — related now, as best i can, the memories of a twice-old man. 11 xg^-a (s^ (ilnterlude,^ m uk red li^ht of the pitch-pine tire isjade ample cheer for all. and around its radiant spire a distant sable wall; beneath whose seemingcanopy was spread iiiion the ground a rude repast, of plenary-, and all were gathered 'round. {£jlthin the circle, by request, an<l at the festal board, the venerable and aged guest — of friendship thus assured — began the story of his lives with all the amplitude of one who in earnest strives to be well understood. ■ a>^x^^gx><« 12 the hermit's story, i. ^^ he wondrous things 1 have in store ^j date from a time long years before f all men, save l, now on the earth had knowledge oi, or even birth. of fact, my youth and native place of consequence haveno embrace; jsor has my humble cognomen of great import that you should ken; ►save, that "old hermit," now applied, jniaj', of uood fortune, soon deride the one who thus denominates. it is a caprice of the fates to change within the briefest time the aged to tiieir youth and prime. ii. then, if to me you deign to call, i answer to the name ol paul; 13 but those wlio would of favor gain address me as ''sir paul de paj'ne." ill, of date mj' nieni'ry server uie poor; though, of event, i am quite sure 'tvvas while there raged most fearful strife with brand and blade and scalping knife yet known as kir.g george's war— ]'"r(.ni whieli i trace tlie titful star thus far my wand'ring stej)s to guide — with clianging !?ceueat every stride — till now i dwell within a cave, which tlireatens to become my grave; tliere, ^^heltered frcmthe winds and rain, to bleach the bones of paul de payne. yet of the future's woe or weal, kor of the pre>ent, shall i deal; until my lite from early date i trace unto its present ;-iate. iv. suitice it that my story tells in briefe^^t w ay, nor even dwells upon that one great theme of life — the gaining of a faithful wife — that briefly of it now' i'll say: she whom i loved was lena k.aj% v. let hard anrl poet rhyme and sing 14: the rapturous tlienie. its cuarni, its ::'ting, and romance make of wondrous fame — vvheieof. included, ours tlie same. vi. i wooed to win, and winning, wed; and by the stars now overhead that radiate ]jerpetuall\', iso judge ye of our constancy. vii. but sadly must i now relate of joys so brief and sorrows great; for scarce one mouth had we been wed wlien terror o'er the land was spread: from (ireat britain and old france — from o'er the seas — did strife advance, that grounded on colonial shore with clash ol arms and cannoji's roar. viii. and savage tribes with glowing braird, with tomahawk and knife in hand — witii javelin and ber^dod bow and painted face of warlike show — did ally of the freiu'h p.-eieiid, thougli, as ol'foe, sraied r.ot the fviend. ix, ofpatietice, and luuiring hand, had i a home in marvland, 15 of rustic style and sculpture rude; hewn from the native forest wcod. x, of changingrule did i then stand an alien, in my uative land ; the subject of a regal crown"— ]sor of its favor had renown. and thus did 1 the more expose myself, than others, friends or toes, to savage warfare and the torch, oi which my flesh was made to scorch. xf. for soon there came upon the fanu, an'ilhin tiie night, the hie's alarm; and as it cast its warning blaze, astonished, and with frenzied daze. was 1 taken irom my bed, and to a woodland nearbj led; and pinioned was i to a tree from whence i could not fail to see the iiames around our cottage burn; xor less the fearful i-ight discern 01 savages, with fiendish laugh, thru.st in the tlames my better-half. xii. and i<indlcd at my feet had they a tire that blazed with scorching ray; yet with their orgies 'round the fiie, that seemed to be a funeral ]>yre. 16 the wretches were rheniore intent, and, of the time, from me they wenr; when on a gh~)wiiig window shiried a form angeiic, pantomimed; and ere the flames had hvpped between, of farewell gesture had i rieen. xiii. tlien praying god to make m.e strong, j surged against ajid broke the thong tliat hound my arras aronrid the tree; then loosed the others, and was free. "bat, oh, the word — what mockery! how undefii";ed is liberty! xn'. beyond the hope of liuman strife a'vas it to save more than my life; nor of avail was it to stay, "jsor less of dread to run away. yet fear oft times the heart beguiles with franticness or groundle; s wiles; xo joy behind nor hoiie ahead. into tlie darkness then i fled. ::v. through copse and ghide and glen i went, v7ith scarce a purpose or intent — throughout the night and tlicn theda}^ — till readied the monongaiieja; where indian boat i found there moored, replete with all eqipments stored 17 for voyage of days, or weeks perhaps, consisting of provisions, traps, bows, arrows, gun and deadly spear; mor owner of did there appear. xvi. of consequence yon well may gness, no scruples had 1 to ])ossess the ready craft, with its cargo. and down the river swiftly row; wlien on its winding way i steered — nor of its course cared i, nor feared; but wildly onward was my theme fleedless of whither went the stream. xvii. not then, as now, was there extant the knowledge of the late savant of books and charts that bear attest of wonders in the great wide-west; nor of the then existing lore had 1 of learning much in store; and of the river's source and trend i knew not whence, nor where 'twould end. grave night its sable cast had spread around, about and overhead; and though from danger more secure, of spectre foes there were full more. xvni. the bravest heart oft dreads the liight is and from its phantoms takes ati'riglitj and of the awe, inspiring show forgets the threat'ning real foe. xix. t!ie dense nocturnal atmospliere jmade gurgling stream with voice appear. and e'en the firefly's tiny spark a lamp light in the distant dark ; and when on liglit of real blaze i\ly eyes were fixed witli wondering gaze, it was witji hope to meet with friend; though fears my longings would attend lest savage hands had made the ttre and savage liearts were iarkins there. xx. day had dawned, and with it came assurance more and scenes more tame; but of account was it to make assurance sure, and thus to take within the day, ensconced, to sjeep, and through the night my wand' rings keep ; and suiting action to tlie thouglit, my boat was then to anchor brought. xxi. through interstice of drooping bough with stealth i shoved mv in-ave canoe. where, sheltered near the wooded bank, into dee]) shtmbcr soon i said^;. 19 and 111 my boat, as also, bed, i slept as sleep the long'-past dead; and when awaked, it yet was day; thongii, of a truth i cannot say — nor ever will be ascertained — if day, or days, liaa intervened, xxii. the clear blue sk,y first met my gaze through emerald sheen of leafy haze, w^ith twig of elm tree interwove; and birds there sang of joy and love. xxiii. all round me seemed a paradise, vvith nauglit remiss of good device; and though aroused to conscii^usness of what had been my grave distress, and round my heart its horors ci'ept, i knew no: if i swooned or slej;>t, xxiv. yet half iicrsiuided to be glad then was i, of a vision had, while as, ])erhai)s, within a trance. that gave to me foretelling glance of things not ol the mind's accord— nor yet so vague as ought discard. xxv, and stirring, then, my visiiin ^eenled 20 as tbongli i had but only dreamed; yet, still, within my secret mind, the hope of something-, undetined, (xave strength ot will and courage, bold. to live the life in dream foretold. xxvi. then came the time wjien sedate owl goes forth from nest, the woods to prowl; and bat lot loose from hanging perch sets forth upon his night's research; and robber, from his secret den, to slaj^ and rob his teliowmen. tiiough not of purpose as with them. my boat i launched into the stream; and once again within its fllovv, sped onward, to the ohio. xxv n. and now suffice it tliat, in brief, i trace that stream to its relief within the mississippi tide, and <3f the then eventful ride state, only, that succeeding daj^'s were fraught with all the stern amaze that e'er adventure served to thrill the song of bard or poet's quill. xlnd there wliere jueer, with one assent, the waters of a continent, rode 1, at the dawn of day. upon its swift and turbid way. 21 "father of waters" was the name that indian tribes gave it, of fame, and of tlie stream — its every branch — of sole dominion claimed the french. xxvlli. then driftnig down with will intent to cross the stream ere far i went, <)f chanct i met a small bateau with frenchmen at the helm and row. xxix. jjeliverance was at once assured, and boat to boat then fast secured, and story briefly told, i fell prostrate, and o'er. me came a spell, a dream or \ ision as before; xvnd seemed there irom the splashing oar to cornea gentle, mellow voice that bade my weary soid rejoice. xxx. the past and future, to my mind. were, with the present, then combined: i saw cliff'-dweliers on the shore, and mound-l)ui}ders-, as of yore; and, on the dark and turbid flow, b'orfns bent o'er the dead de soto; and then, beneath the darkling wave, beheld ue soto's humid grave; wtien, of a sudden changing sheen, i met the maid evangeline who once sought there, with hopeful spell, again to hnd her gabriel. xxxi. and then, anon, i met a boat that seemed a paradise, afloat. with cloud-like vapor streaming back and people crowded on her deck. xxxii. (.treat cities thronged on either shore— and then there came a fearful war, ai:d iron boats were made to float; and many things of wondrous note before me came while m my trance; r>ut great of all, i ween, per ciiance, at least, within my own attest. the voice that counseled me: "(lo west." xxxiil. and when awakened from my dream we nianj" miles were up the stream. and, halting by the wooded shore, our goods ))roceeded to unsture. xxxiv. and on the bank a village stood. where cast the shade of cotton wood with sycamore and poplar tree, and feathered choir of oichestra discoursed from lofty, siiellered hower s3 with melody to charm the hour, xxxv. with cottages, a few, and rude, and wigwams m disorder strewed, the scene appeared distracted of a primal try sting-place of love; though warm of heart were those who gave to me of cheer and i^mdly lave; and indian rivaled with the white of merest wliim to expedite. until decided was i to kemain witli them m friendship true. xxxvi. and pai'ties fortli were sent, afar, to aid their allies in tiie war; and deeds of jiorror to relate were reckoned of the war's estate — when ironi tlie distant orient canip story of grave discontent* that in a region far and strange— and past tlie ailegliany range — had brave choctaws gone forth to tight and stormed a farm-house in the night, and, "deed of valor" to proclaim, a helpless v^'omyn cast in tlame; though ol a man, wliom they had bound, plscape had made, nor yet was found. xxxv 11. then (.'ame the soldiers of king george 24: and, of their vengefulr.ess to gorge, pursued the braves, then in their tiight, isnrprising them within the night when tliey had halted ]iear the shore where left their boat some days before- though when returned no boat appeared, winch of escape then interfeied. xxxviii. then swooped the soldiers of the crown and, without mercy, cut them down, 6ave one w^ho plunged into the tide and crossed it to the other side, and homeward witli the news to tell and dire revenge to stir, as well, f^ped onward as the tieeting roe and fiercely as the buffalo. xxxi x. then burrying scenes of men and boats, and piercing cries of warlike notes were on the earth and in the air and life pervading everywhere; and then the capering �arrior dance of those equipped for its advance. — all painted and of frightful show as if to scare away the foe. xl. and .frenchmen wondered with alarm at signs portentious of great harm : 26 n o longer in the war conclave were they permitted with the "brave;" when day by day the cleft between was wider made and plainer seen. xli. and then with language stern and brief as emissary of the chief — appeared a stoic savage face at front of my abiding place, demanding of the french inmates the stranger then within their gates. xlii. "for well we know," said he, "of fact, 'twas of this man's unfriendl}^ act that our brave comrades, ten in all. of heartless foe were made to fall — bare one escaping, and he, who >sow recognizes their canoe as of identity the same with that in whicli the "pale-face" canie the selfsame man who, once their prize, made safe escape before their eyes. xliii now" mark ye of this grave demand, nor dare attempt to stay the hand that springs the bow its shaft to speed and cause the faithless heart to bleed. s6 xliv. liemember too, thatot our tribe the foiest leaves are made describe our numbers, and of oar prowess the tribes around are made confess; but of the i-i^rench, though valiant too. of warriors have they but a few. xlv. then hasten ye to give consent, or else to scorn our discontent, that, of decision, we may know if to regard you friend or foe." xlxl then spoke the chieftain of his clan : and, cunningl.y, the shrewd frenchman made bold to say in tirm accent: ''of your demand am i content to give this man unto his fate and of his crime to expiaie — wlio of my kindred claimed to be, yet proves our common er.eniy. tlidugh of this life by you required allow me, of the end desired. to arrange in lull detail a novel plan that cannot fail. xirx'ii. for yet three days of vengeance stayed trust to jnv care, nor be afraid 2t le«t he escape, which to secure, 1 pledge my life that he appear at place affixed and at the time to expiate his awful crime. xlviil, within the time will i prepare an ensign, and with colors rare, a faithful likeness make thereon to represent his heart of stone; and to his bear back will 1 bind the effigy, with will designed to mark the place whereat converge the life streams in their constant surge. xlix.' and ten best archers in the land we'll station at a proper stand — one to avenge each wari'ior slain— to pierce the heart of paul depayne; who face toward the setting sun ten paces otf, prepared to run, h:^ha!l thei'c await word of command to save his life, if so he can. l. and archer with his ijow and dart shall aim directly at the heart, and each that strikes the bounds within shall beads and blanket from me win. 28 li. "good. " saith tjie eniissarj' brave: '•if through such ordeal he can save his guilty life, we'll saj' 'tis charnied; for since he ran away unharmed from hre prepared for him a roast, some even now think him a ghost. though, hit or miss, i'm pledged with you this novel plan to carry through liemember, too, my words are deeds — also the blankets and the beads." lir. when gone was he, the sly frenchman kevealed to me his cunning plan — and this the plan to me reveajed: that ensign be, as well; a shield ; and that wheji fastened to my back of streng-th and hrmness would not lack to break the yjointed arrowhead and sta}^ the missile at me sped. liii. a-ud of ttiose archers did he know their great expertness with the bow, and that the heart they'd pierce full well as was the apple pierced by tell. liv. the time arrived, and— "one, two, three!" off went depayne, straight as a bee. 29 l\. ''snap" went ten bows with one accord; and in the heart ten arrows stored; but naught of ditierence to depaynne save impetus, his speed to gain. lvl. tlien safe within designed retreat where, of appointment, was to meet with aid and comfort from my friends gun, ammunition, odds and ends — i waited patientij^ till came the messenger, and of the same i learned that quiet was restored and greatest friendship then assured : ten blankets and the beads, foretold, had settled for ten warriors bold, lvll. lietore me lay the wilderness, and of its wonders to possess' was i an exile from the land whereof against me every hand. as was, of old, with xadam's cain 80 was it then with paul depayne. lviii, with friends reduced to, singly, one, and that my ever trusted gun. on it relied 1 for supplies of commissary, and likewise, for all i»r(itection on my way 30 from indians and from beasts of prey, lix. no purpose iiad 1, well defined, save former scenes to leave behind; and cautiously, foes to avoid, i westward then my course deployed. lx. (3ne scene described, describes a score: it was adventure o'er and o'er with savage beasts and savage men, as past the wigwam or the den my course oft times was wont to stray — sometimes at night, sometimes by day. lxi. but i am dwelling far too long 'pon iu'-ideiits that ever throng the mem'ries of that fearful time and with my story bearing chinie; though pardon me of one that bears upon the subject of our cares: 'twas near a stream now known as platte and ne'er was wilder scene than that. lxii. first came a deep and sullen roai-, iis breakers on a distant shore; and then, aijon, as rushing storm and thunderbolt, of fierce alarm, there crashing came from o'er the plain 31 al rumbling, of stiil wilder strain. lxiii. and, casting far toward the north, a dark cloud moved upon the'earth, and, with my camp direct in course, came with the speed of running horse. lxiv. then closer drawn, and seen quite plain, were heads and horns, ot: furious mien; and straight they came as arrow shoots, a living sea of maddened brutes, from whose escape did hope then seem the phantom of a nightmare dream. lxv. but soon tlie tirst, witli snort and bound, [shied at my camp, to go around; x'ind, as the leader, so the herd: each that followed shied and veered ajid left me fast within the tiow of frantic, bellowing buffalo, as island in a swollen stream that threatens o'er its banks to teem. lxvl. a moment then an age appeared, as onward moved the countless herd. and when the train, at length, had passed, with wonderment, i stood aghast to see near by upon the plain 32 an indian, and the brnte he'd slain; and yet another disengage from out the lierd, with frighiful rage, as, wounded with the spear or bow, he sought the vauquishnient oi' loe. i.xvii. the indian, tliough a stalwart "l)rave," to valor then discretion gave: to run he thought the wiser plan, a:.d, face-about, the race began. at running lie was far from slcnv, though fleeter, still, the butialo, lxviii. 'twixt heels antl liornsthe s]»ace decliised till scarce a perch the liorn.s belimd. theri leveled 1 my gun, with aim. and, hriiig quick, in-oukht down the game. i.xix. the red-man with amazement turn-ed, whereof by him aas i discerned — who then approe.ched me and expressed with si^ns and n otions, suited best, his gratitude for what i'd ckme: then pointed he toward the sun and, of the gestnres that he wrought, betokened ot iiis favor bought. as by that orb, it> warmth, its light. proclaimed he of his lieart aright 33 and, of true kindness more to own, made present of this little stone. whereof is sealed our friendship now- nor e'er was stronger plighted vow, lxx. and then, of gesture aptly made, to iollow him he kindly bade, when o'er the plain, together, we strode onward to his rancheria, where found i, to my great relief, my friend none other than the chief, who of his subjects bade them go and bring in camp the buffalo; when, of the slain and roasted beast, was changed a funeral to a feast, at which attended, with good cheer, the tribe around, from far and near; and of each honored royal guest had 1 of favor more attest. whereof, to me, it was quite plain the chieftain wished me to remaiii with him. and, wearj' of my tramp, decided i there to encamp. and duty, first, myself prescribe to learn the language of the tribe. lxxi. of this decision 1 essaj'ed with sign and grimace and cherade to then make known unto my friend. who seemed at once to understand, and, understanding, gave consent inviting me into his tent. lxxii. he then, of gesture as foretold, me introduced to his household, and thus of duties did assign : his daughter, teacher — pupil, mine. lxxni. here, friends, forgive me of the pause, for language fails me when of squaws 1 would for charms invoke the muse: permit me time my words to choose. lxxiv. the hour is late, tlie fire burns low; now to my cavern shall 1 go. and on the morrow, with (tod's will. return, my promise t<t fulfill. 35 interlude. ^i'' those encamped upon the hill. were pete and mike and jack and bill all crefescent city men — besides a tifth one, called "the squire,"* who busied was to stir the tire, and, ot the meanwhile, then, the others of opinion dared, while yet the squire was unprepared. 'tvvas not kis tactics ever, though, to give opinion tirst; but wlien of others all to know his then he gave — reversed. * see note three, appendix. 36 said pete, "1 thin^ we're being bored; nor ol" the time can we affv»rd to list the niore from paul depayne. "that's my opinion too," said bill; •*1 think he's giving us a till of words entirely vain of our purpose now to hnd the old cabin where they mined in early day, now lost, they say." and mike, with acquiescence, said: ''the old man has wheels in his head." and jack did of opinion join, but said he had more time than coin and, if the man cared to proceed, it was his will to give him heed. again the tire gave forth its glow, that on the curtained branches low, of tamarack and hr and spruce, was, of etfulgence, made produce the scenes with which, of fantacy, the mind regales its imagery. 37 and then the squire, with loaded pipe, and self-prepared wheieof to "swipe".* the laurels tliat of fortune crown the story-teller of renown, he thus began: "why! men," said he, "'tis my surprise to hear you fellows speak thuswise about t!ie man. i've heard of paul depayne before, and of his story am quite sure that 'twill of piiri^ose yet attain to give us knowledge not in vain. you may have heard the story, too, of how, upon mount 8isi?iyou, was seen an ape, or spook, or tramp. in region near to happy camp — * some years gone bj^ — that was of stature taller than the ordinary height of man — wjio fed on berries, roots and brouse, nor, of abode, had tent or house, and from whose eye there gleamed the tierceness of the beast * appropriated from local slaug. t see note four, appendix. 38 that, thwarted of voracious feast, vv'itli sullenness, feigns to retire far in the jungle, to his lair; though loiters near his wanted prey till eiieni}^ hath gone away. the same it is who now appears, divested of all former fears, and seltishness, as well, subdued, lest others ol his rights intrude — tlie same it is, now paul depayne, j-ienascent of liimselt again. then patiently let's bide with him, and, though his story vague and dim may seem to be of our design, let's to the sequel yet incline. though of the fate i most bewail. the hermit's seeming endless tale (iives me no chance to say a word — which, by the way, i think absurd. though of that comfort lll forego, to give the lieriv.it am])le show." "hurrah i" said pill — "that's dealing fair 39 and fete thus said unto ttie squire; "that's better than we did expect, and of its kindness will reflect the honor of your name abroad" — and then the party all hurrahed. 5-)<> c(s ;*> "(© 4:0 story rksuivikd. i. retuknej) am i, though poor, indeed, will be the story of your lieed wherein of romance shall i make the detail of a grave mistake: for lesson hrst, that i then learned, was ot a fact, c^^uite well discerned. that ray fair tutress then installed — lolacondi, her name was called — had of design— to state in brief more than appointed of the chief: seated on one hide, to suit, she studied i^'rench and i, piute; and. aptly studious, 'twas not long. ere i was master of the tongue. 41 ii. companionship, sometimes, eni'orced by reason of all else divorced, remains intact when are reversed the causes that inspired it tirst; and, of the fancy thus betrayed, begets affection, true and staid. iii. god said to adam : '"tis not well to be alone." then who dare tell the soul that pineth for a mate its native longings to abate? as of a stricken, helpless dove, perceived 1 of the artle.ss love that fettered lolacondi's heart, with wound from (aipid's aimless dart. and may have she, as well, observed the secret of m;/ thougiits, reserved. v. her form, at tirst, of comeliness, <)f faultless charm did soon possess. complexion, too, did i forsjet — b'rom duskiness changed to brunette. vi. her smile became as rippling stream 42 with shade thereon and dappled gleam of sunshine peeping thvoiigh the bower, a.nd in her trilling voice the power that cupid knows just how to wield to pierce the heart, with arrow steeled. vii. with sparkling eyes and teeth of pearl, and flowing hair, the indian girl seemed then of rightfulness to claim of royal birth its proudest fame. viii. and vaguely did i have in mind the presence of two loves combined: the hrst none other could displace — tlie seconi, though, of hopeful grace. one, of 1 he brutal savage slain — the other, of that blood whose stain had marked the fearful, heartless deed; nor of such rival could i heed. ix. yet did i learn, to my regret — nor of consent from me to get — that soon should be our wedding day. when chief, resigned, would give me sway. x. and of tlie stone the old chief gave. was i informed its power to save 4:3 from dangers of tlie warrior foe— (though doubtfully of buffalo). that of its charms were treasures found, and friendships made of endless bound: and of its favor more to lend. the chief did then on me depend. xi. and of its hist'ry, far remote, 'twas found where western billows float ; where even yet, 'tis said, are found upon the beach, and scattered round, some pebbles of the rarest sort; the placers now known as del norte.* xii. though, of this one, 'twill change its hue from azure to the darkest blue, and, of its changes, doth portend of fortune, to myself or friend. xiii. i've watched its change for many years, within my cave, with hopes and fears alternate with each change of hue; but now 'tis of a darker blue than of that dreary time gone by, and far more liopeful now am i 4:4 xiv. keturning to the old chiefs lodge, i'll now state of the artful dodge that, of its planning, served me well to make escape, yet not to tell of my unfaithfulness to him, or disapproval of his scheme to wed me to the handsome squaw, xlnd thus make me his son-in-law; and therewith give me of renown the glory of a chieftain's crown. xv. of this arrangement did i feign of all its honors to be vain ; and then, of prowess lair to show, ulaimed i the riglit, alone to go itnto a distant w arring tribe, whereof to me did they describe, and bring as trophy to the bride, from u'hieftain's head the hair and liide. xvi. "that's good enough," the chief rejoined and of the favor thus purloined, mj^ journey soon had i begun — with face toward the setting sun. they told me that ten sleeps away i'd find the chieftain whom to slay. xvii. though, many sleeps have i since had 45 and often times my poor heart sad, and stricken low m;y soul with grief, for lolacondi and the chief. x\11i. yet onward came i, day by ^ay, as course of empire takes its way— across the "rockies," then the plain, till reached a mountain range, again. where meet sierra and cascade; and, as of diherence to evade. there meets iu conclave with tlie two our grand old mountain, siskiyou.* where, of the region, lakes abound. and hsh and game of plenty found; and of tlie place deculed 1 there toreniain — tc live and die. xix. nor of iny cherished talisman did i much heed or take in hand. for since possession i had gained its color changeless had reniained; though friendly were the tribes around, and with them favor 1 iiad found. xx. suthce it now to disengage * see note six, appenrlix. 46 from passing scenes, unto old age: * -s * -)r -x* -h-x of childishness, perhaps, inclined, the little stone then came in nnnd. and tindingit, pei'ceived its blue; a_nd then athwart my mem'ry tlevv the vision that me once impressed, and still olcounsel seemed: "uo west." xxi. then on the mountain's rugged trend 1 groped my w ay unto the end where saw i then, as now behol.j, the waves npon the lieach unfold against the rocky western shore— saw them splash and heard them roar. xxii. and then, of feebleness, 1 paused — old time had claimed, ot rightful cause, ■j'he prize awaiting of his trust: then "earth to earth, and dust to dust" became the question ofthebnur — or else my body wolves devour. xxiii. and then decided i the plan — as did behold my talisman, that of true color did not lack, and of such blue 'twas almost black — 4:7 which gave me courage to proceed with tliis my tinal earthlj^ need. xxiv. my plan was to arrange a pile — and, of convenience, did ismile to tind great logs of tir all heaped and of their resin fully steeped; and this should be my funeral pyre, wherein would kindle i the tire at end remote from where i'd lie when safe became my time to die. xxv. the time arrived, and, ot the while, alighted [ the funeral pile. when, of the thirst that tever gave, of spring, near by, sought 1 to lave. xxvi. ajic1 shambling to its flowing brim, witli aching head and feeble limb, there of my thirst did i then slake, and from its bounty cupful take ; and feeling stronger, when returned, was glad the tire but feebly burned. xxvil. then from my cup again i quaffed. and, of a rashness, almost laughed when reasoned i: "of real truth, 4:8 kequited are from early youth the pail), the anguish and the sigh, now thus, ofecstacy, to die." xxviii. then from the cup quatj'ed i again, thougji naught of feyer or of j^ain disturbed the quiet of my soul. '*01d toper," said i: "fill your bowl — drink, ye, to your heart's content!" then to the spring again 1 went, with steady gait and form erect, when from its depth did there reflect a gleam as of the bright topaz. or !<apphire of its lustre has. and from it spai-ks of azure hue emitted were and flashing through the limpid tide in miniature that of my vision did allure; and clasping it, the more to scarj, 1 foundit was my talisman. which from my custody had sji])i>ed and in the crystal fountain dip))ed. xxix. with feeling, then, so nuich improved, was i of purpose aptly moyed the gruesome task yet to forego as sexton — and as subject, too. 4:9 xxx. xlnd tlien, of bivouac to prepare, of lightness seemed its every care; ^ and 'neatli tlie mantle of the night, with scenes the rarest of delight that e'er in fancy's roundelay in noontide dream of summer's day inspired the finite mind with praise to ^s'atuj-e's god, for all his waj^s, did dreams, elysian, throng my mind vvitii myriad raptures, all combined. xxxi. tlien came the morn, with birds to sing, and, from their dormer branches, gpring to catch the hapless little worm that, "late from lodge," might homeward squirm — and thus, for morsel delicate, rob home of parent, and a mate. yet frcni sncli gormand throats proceed the songs that fairies deign to heed, and so atone, with melody. the evil--that of needs must be. xxxii. and when aroused, and on myfeet, me old-time >vature seemed to greet with radiant smile, as of my youth, and cheering prcnnise that, forsooth, 50 to castle-builder in the air would give the phininiet, line and square. xxxiii. as youth inclines to sportiveness, 't^yas tiien my feeling to ])0ssess, and, lest decorum should forget and strive to turn a summei'set, my bible ()])ened 1, to read. surprise! no sflasses were of need. xxx iv. then to the sjtring went i, again. with bounding step and cheerful mien. and, with ablutions and a sip. returned with hop and bound and skip, kar unbecoming of my age; and of my mind did thoughts enga;:e of liai)|>y days yet far remote, and o'er the fancy did i gloat with boyish trust and contidence, rntil aroused to graver sense. xxxv. succeediiig days had change came o'er me as it had l)rief tinie before. when chanced 1 in the spi-iiig to look: and. as narcissus, ii the brook, was 1 portrayed with kind accent, and oil mv features not a rent 51 of time's disturbing iiand was there; and raven were my locks of fiair as when in youthful age and prime. for once defied, then, was old time, and in the swath his sickle bent, and all his rancor vainly spent. xxxvi. but trying days then came, in turn, and, of a scorching fever's burn, vvas i with hercest torment scourged; and of the pains within me merged, did seem to be, of greatest cause. the soreness of my toothless jaws; and of the virtues of th^ spring as panacea for everything. when of its service would engage, seemed t^nly greater tt) enrage; and, as of fretful teething child, vvas i, of torture, almost wild; till, strange to tell, though of a truth discovery made — i had atootli. and iiling, then, in quick relief. full set had gained in time quite luief. xxx . no fortune further to possess, so came the need of needfulness; and, of the passing hours to wliile, devices of the juvenile did i adopt, and with delight. 5s i sported with the to]) and kite, as inipr-.* vised witli nimble hand it'roiu best resources of conuiiaud. xxxviii. i'd jaugh and skip aud run and jump, and play at "blindman" with astuni]); and other sports attempt to do w'lierein the game requires two. xxxix. tlien of a sudden ha])i)y thought, that ofniy iiealing, overwrought — with all its present seeming siood — i'd soon become ''babe in the wood," i thus decided that 'twas time for me to seek another clime and from the tempting spring refrain to take of pleasing draught again. xl. yet down the rill, of source the same, descended i, in quest of game. when — scene of woiidej' to behold! — i found its bed was strewn with gold ; and of the bounty thus supi)iied, 1 sought of ])ienty to i)rovide. xli. with speed then measured by m> load, my course, still westward, on i strode, 53 i'lie mighty ocean's strand to reach; then southward turned along its beach — with iiiiught of interest on my way, till reached the san l^'rancisco bay, when fortune rare, then to^avail, found vessel ready there to sail, with products of the land well stored, and destined for atlantic board. xljf then of tliree dreary months, or more, when nearing of atlantic shore — and marvel i yet while i speak — we sailed into the cliesapeake: and io that land had 1 returned that of my former self had spurned. xliii. though of m.y purpose, then in way, of greatest kindness to display and, foitune then within command, give needy ones, with liberal hand, il proper seemed that, ere to roam, ought cluirity begin at home. xliv. but, oh ! the thoughts within revived yet of my wand'rings not outlived. the hand of art had monders wrought, and three score years of change had brought 54: new actors on the stage of life — and naught remained of former strife. xlv. of ruin was my birthplace marked, nor from its silence was there harked of voice from out its long decay save screeching of the startled jay within the bushes, rank and tall, with rootlets clinging to the wall, and, as from 'neath some mold' ring log, the croaking of sequestered frog. xlvi. thence to the s[)ring ni}' course did stray when, of the sultry summer's day and ment'ries ol' the past so dear. twice grateful was i of its cheer. of all the scene it was least change<1 from what it was of yore arranged. xl . then stooped 1, of the spring to drink, and then upon the sward to sink, where, casting not too far around, returning childhood seemed profound. xlvill. and, of the spell, did i give way to slumber, as of chiidliood's day; 55 wiien saw i, m the cottage low, m}' mother, rocking to and fro within her rustic easy chair, as toyed she with my flaxen hair; and father, too, of smile to vvin. would coddle me beneath the chin. xlix. witli brotiiers, listers, and playmates, then liiea we forth, to ride the gates, and do of tilings, quite innocent. that bad would be, save the intent. 1,. distinctly then i heard: "oh, paul!" and, answering to my mother's call, [ woke to consciousness again — and sighed the fate of paul depa^^ne. li. then of the schoolhouse, by the lane, sougiit i, but of seeking vain; for naught of school imuse could be found, nor even lane, upon the ground; and of the grove, that once was there. of, even, stunii)s the place was bare; though scenes whereof 1 met that day more sacred were that lena kay had, other vision, known as well, and often times to me would tell og (_)t" those lier pure heart lo�d the best — and such 1 thought were truly blest. lii. .mv i'aiue soon si)read throughout tlie land both of my wealth and liberal hand and of preierineut was 1, there, with everyone, and with the fair was 1 at once a favored beau; and, of my gallantry to show. was courteous, perhaps, to a lauu ; and often times, of sad revolt was i, the stricken heart to see that of requitenietit ne'er could be; and, though regretful of the pain, the pride of conquest made uie \ ain. liu. yet, oft, when vict'ry seems to ciown. is tickle smile changed to a frown : the moth that flutters near the torch <)f pinion rarely fails to scorch. liv. as in due season bird seeks mate, so of myself, regenerate. was i then within tlie toil that gladdens life or makes despoil. lv. through it once my course had led. and of its promptings had i wed; 57 and though its joys so soon were stilled, the mission of a life fultilled. though seemed it, then, the rule of fate of former things to duplicate; and, of occasion opportune, i met with a^daline mccune— than whom, of all the belles around, none were of beauty so renowned — who with grace ot torm combined a pure and highly cultured mind. lvi. our meetings, though at first by chance, were not devoid of artful glance whereof the soul can mutely state to otlier !soal its love or hate. lvii. . and, then, of meetings pre-arranged, were we from others more estranged, till of the presence scarce aware of nu)re tliau two upon this sphere. lvill though rivaled was i, even then: b'or who can tell of where, or when, isince adam courted mother eve, that such rare fortune did relieve, and suitor of the fair assure. without a rival — one or more? 68 l[x. of purpose, now, i've none to state more of this subject, delicate, tlian briefiy to outline the way wheieot deluded fancies stray into the realms ol' fond juirsuit to seek, i)erhai)s, forbidden fruit. lx. call it a conquest, if you will: of faithfulness then to fulfill i sought the iiand of adaline, and trustingly 'twas placnd in mine; when with forebodings gravely mixed the signet ring i then affixed. lxi. \ l)o that hath gained ambition's goal e'er found the solace that, in w hole, relieved t!ie heart from further strain of anxiousness yet to attain some greater joy of its embrace? nay, even triumph brings menace. lxii. then was i of a faltering mind; nor of consolement did i find the time approaching near at hand to take the bendictine staiid. 59 lxiil. and in her presence once so dear, 1 stood abashed as of the fear whereof the conscience, tlius abused, ooiifessioii makes when unaccused. the trutii had drawn upon my mind: to her, and self, was i unkind — in that the love to her i bore was less by far than that before. lxi\'. 80 came the struggle of my life, compared with which all former strife w hereof to vanqish was 1 strong— 1 reckoned not, as with that wrong of my own making; and that, too, a wrong 1 could not then undo. lxv. oft strayed 1 in tlie silent wood to seek within its solitude consolenieiit of my wretched state; but (jli ! the time then seemed too late : no device of the mind could plan to make me less the wretched man that of my rasimess was i made; nor less its sconrgings to evade. lxvl. 60 resolved, at length, the spell to break whatever course events might take— i did of all my heart's design confession make to adaline. lxvil. 1 told her of mj' purpose changed and of afrection.^ disarranged; and thought it better far that we be friends again, in "fancy free." l.wifl. surprise to me ! — fier un&urprise. betokened of her calm, blue eyes, and of demeanor so unchanged, 1 saw at once her love estranged; and thus she meekly answered me: "how well our thoughts always agree. i've thought as you have, sir de payne, though, of my feeling, did restrain the truth as you have promptly told. oh, manly heart, how true, how bold! saved am i now from all regret. that of life's tortunes we had met; p^xcepting that for — well, you know." and well did i — ni\ rival beau. i.xix. then happy was i of success. though chagrined that of worthiness the minor share she gave to me. 31 how sensitive is vanity ! lxx. kebuked thus of my selfishness, i thought iijion the world's distress, whereof to me did fortune -give much of its sorrows to relieve; when in tlie hut, the lane, the street, its haji'gard face i strove to meet; and fain my heart would, of the task, within the boundless duty bask. lxx i. upon the street the hau-clad child i met, and parting, then it smiled. and wlien i met, within the lane. tlie beggar man who with his cane, couhl scarcely trudge liis lonely way. happier was lie of the day wiiercof our meetingto attain; and liappy too was paul depa. e. lxxii. and in the hovel, at the door. the lonely widow, aged and pooi-, with gratitude my ottering took; when, of a wonderirig gaze to look, she startled seemed, and then siie said *'<)h, image of the long past dead i — b'orgive me, sir, yet do i hold your presence dearer than your gold. 62 oh, tell me: have i gone insane? are you the ghost of paul depayne— my husband of so long ago. whose features yet so well 1 know? lxxiii. "oh, lena!" then 1 feebly gasped— as of her bending form 1 clasped — "oh! lena, dear, how can this be?" but answer came not then to ine. lxxiv i'hen followed weeks of patient care. from doctors summoned, far and near, and nurses — best within command — while life and death strove, liand to hand until, at length, the fevered brain once more of health and strength did gain and of her form, ematiate, 'twas much imj^roved from former state. lxxv. and, of her story, tlien i learned why, wiih the house, had she not burned when in the flames so rudely cast, as fuel added to the blast. lxxvi. one of the "braves" — indeed a brave determined of our lives to save; 63 and, counsel tailing to dissuade the party from the fearful raid, he cunningly devised to meet and of their purpose cause defeat, lxxvii. and he it was who fettered me and bound me, slackly, to the tree vvitli thong that, of my strength, would break whereof, my freedom then to take. and then, with seeming ruthless hand, did to my feet apply the brand, that of mute language improvised, with burning words, to make apprised the object of his artful luse, might deftly of my pinions loose, lxxvni. and, in pursuit, all joined the chase, save he, who tarried to embrace his i)urpose, then so opportune, that executed was so soon that scarcely failed he in the race at once to gain the foremost place. lxxix, nor w^as he of the ten who paid the measure of the crime portrayed, but singled from the rest was he. 64: and from the deadly aim was free — whereof his guilty comrades fell — and he the story left to tell. "no trace of me then to obtain, so monrned as dead was paul depayne. lxxx. my wand' rings then to lena told — a.nd of the spring and mine of gold — her smile assumed most rare delight, as thus she said : "oh,, what a plight! you're young and handsome still, but i am. old enough that soon must die; though crowded in the present are the pleasures of a life to share, and restful in the grave i'll sleep that of its care your vigils keep," lxxxii. "dear lena," then i gravely said: "think not to consort with the dead until we've tried a hopeful plan:" then told her of the talismaji and of its charms whereof should try to make her even yuung as i. propitious, still, the little gem — and sparkling as a diadem ! lxxxill. 65 proposal was, from me, command to lena, who, to understand, in brief, the statement of my will, made it her pleasure to fultill. lxxxiv. x d, then, despite extreme old age, of task she did at once engage to journey with me to the west; and of the manner suited best, i deemed 'twould be as tirst i went — direct across the continent — and of equipment did provide ('unvenient means whereof to ride; nor had we troubles on our way. as journeyed on from day to day. lxxxv. of incidents, til not intrude lipon your time, save to allude to one, as sequel now, in brief. of l.olacondi and the (jhief. lxxxv i. we. found their village, and i saw and recognized the aged squaw : 'twas lolacondi, then uiost blind, who of ?n,v presence, though, divined; and then of poise with cane to help, she cuitly said: "but, where' s the scalp?" 66 lxxxvil. the old chief, though, had, long since, died, and lolacondi, ne'er a bride, was waiting stilly for my return — yet, of my faithlessness to learn. persuaded, thougii, she with ns went our journey to the occident. lxxxvil i. again arriving at the :>[)ring, i found unchanged most everytliing, x d straightway, of its n>agi<.' weal. my patients there i .sought to heal; and counsel gave, lest ct excess, they'd drink to childish helplessness. lxxxix. then, with arrangements made for camp my leave i took whereof to iramp in sportive way the re^^ion round, l-"or game, the rarest to be found— nor promise made when would return, save till my presence they discern. xc. and when of days thus gayly spent, to cam}) again my course 1 dent, and, of approach to near the spring". 67 i saw a child thei'e, in a swing, and swinging whom was lena ray, as saw her on our wedding day. xci. as eden, of creation morn, with eve its radiance to adorn, so, of its glor> to renew, was eden then of siskiyou. 'twas paradise indeed regained, nor greater joy could be attained. x(1i. all nature did our purpose suit, nor knew we of forbidden fruit; nor yet came, as did with eve, the wily serpent to deceive with age, tlie world had better grown, and, of its sorrows, had we known the bitterness that savors life — insipid, wholelelj , without strife. xciii. "bur, lena," said i, "whence the child? and where the woman?" then she smiled and answering, said: "the twain are one. and, oh ! — we had the rarest fun at romping, and at everything, till lola tumbled in the spring. i call her "lola," now, tliat she 68 is changed so niiich from used-to-be that of her former selt remain but few the tokens now to gain ; and, as adopted child, i thought to christen her anew we ought. xciv. but now, dear paul, i'm not amazed that of her beauty you so praised: when in transition from old age, did charms adorn that primal sta<^'e, the hrst of blooming womanikiod, and seeing, then i understood why you were baffled, as expressed ; though, of decision, am conl'essed — and, of preferment, am i glad — that doubtful promptings then yon liad. xcv. were heaven on earth 'twould not sutiice to satisfy our craving eyes, nor of the longings would abate of finite mind, insatiate. the more we gain of world's estate the less its import do we rate. xcvi. the eden of the wilderness no longer did the charm possess 69 that of cur restless souls could bind, or hope avert of joys to find in other lands, and far away. that of our cravings might allay. tlien bjithly on our way we went, again toward the orienr. -^ xcvii. with treasure, and with health and prime, we journeyed on, yet of the time, or scenes w^e met upon the way i'll not atte!n])t now to portray. until within the borders of the land of wiience our primal love; vv'lierein we met and recognized friends of the past, who, thus surprised, did scarcely of good faith exy)ress thei"credence of our truthfulness. xcxlll. it was a lime wiien war again iiaged fearfully on land and main — tlie second war twixt old england and heroes of our imtriot i)and. x(tx. of patriotism, and for faiu*^, i sought to gain heroic name; and of the chances to appear. upon the seas, as privateei-, i>id then of purj^ose seem the liest 70 for country and ambitious zest; and, sejf-fominissioiied, ronunodoie, i n.iade equipments irom my store ot l)ouuleou8 wealth, then of command, and vessel well and ably nmnned. v. and when prepared were we to sail, vain were j^ersuasions to prevail with i^ena to remain beliind. said she: "our foi'tune-; are combined, and braver far my heart will be to share witb you. upon the sea, the gi'eatest danger there in store than of your absence to deplore." (t. then thouiibt i of the ma.i^ic stdiie, and, of its gracious povvei' to own, i cast all fear at once aside whereof for lena to i)rovide, within the craft bellig-erent, arrangements aptly of intent, (^11. and then, before the driving breeze, we soon were on the great high seas, where drum and tife, with martial strain resounding on the placid main — and not a foe within our sight — 'twas pleasure thus on sea to tight; 71 and, with all peace and joy and health, vve were a fioatiiig conuuonwealth tliat, of a thriving era bad, \va^ of its being truly gh.d. cm. b'roni day to day we onward sailed, and south winds on our ship prevailed to drive us to the leaward far, with course toward the polar star; when 111 the dreary uiglits that came, tlie flicker of l)oreal flame, as substitute for light of day, did i)oorly of the sun's delay give reconiijense, nor did i)reclnde the gelidness of latitude. civ. and. on the frosty atmosphere, rang forth a warning, loud and clear: "boat, ahoy '."—from matin guard ana fronting, on our ship's starboard, was flashed upon the lurid sea the blazing of artillery. cv. and from that time dates there a blank 'twas said that from a drifting plank had i been rescued far at sea, and lifeless seemed, at flrst, to be. cvi. 7s more of events i never learned, save 'twas of vessel long returned from out the war upon the main, that did my helpless form regain. ca'li. for years a prisoner, close eontiiied, was i — of distracted mind— from whence and when, till now, m vain i've sought to find that siting again, whereof the gladness to recall that eden had before the lall." skquel. 1. hen ceased the henuit to relate, l)escri])tive of his past estate, to his friends a.iiain he showed the little stone, that faiily glowed then with the lustre ofits hue 73 and purple scintillations threw that pointed toward the m'estern sea; then said the hermit: "follow nie." ii. and staiiihtway to tha spring he led, and to his comrades prom])ly said: "someone indeed iias here trespassed. for since, of yore, my visit last. that cabin on the hill v\"as made." "lost cabin found!"'— thou.a:h mnch de cayed. iii. then drank he till no longer old, ar.d two mules laden with the gold — oi;e fastened to tiie other's tail— jle drove them tandem on the trail. iv. though of the party, who yet stayed. they fi'olicked in the pleasant glade and qualfed elixir from the spi'ing. and laughed and joked' 'bout everything; and, next — tlie saddest of regrets — a fondness showed for cigarettes. v. contriving, then, of ball and bat, they played the game, "three-cornered-cat," 74: and climbed the trees, the spring around, robbing birdsnests therein found — till tired, at length, there, of the play, with sticks, tor liorses, rode away. 75 appendix. nol'e 1. referingto that most prolific incent ive of wildly speculative mining excitements, "the lost cabin,'' the del norte record,* dated jan. ihth, 1883, says: "since the year 18n2, various articles have ap peared ill print, not only in this state, but have found their way into the journals of the east, as well, concerning the far-farned stories of the "lost cabin." this much sought-for cabin has been loeateri, according to the different tales coneerniug it, all the way from the gulf stream to the wilds of montana a"d colorado, and the first searching party started from various points along the coast. all those who vvere in crescent city at an ear ly date will recollect distinctly the excitement created by the report in circulation regarding this "lost cabin" and the time and money ex pended in searching for it. as the first person who went in search of it happened to be well known to us, having lived in our family for * the del nortr record is a weekly news paper published at crescent city, r'alifornia, by j. e. eldredge, esq., of whose favor the above facts and data are presented. 76 some time, and whose wife is now a member of the family, and as we consider that we are prob ably better posted in the matter than anyone noav living, except it may v)e one person, who a number of years since was living in a lower coun ty, we propose, briefly, to give our readers a state raent of ttie facts as'they actually occurred. in the year 1849, col. samuel c. hall crossed the plains from missouri to california, and drifting about with the tide of migration to dift'erent parts of the country in seaich of the precious metal, in the sumn'er of 1852, found himself at trinidad. while there, a party of three nien came down from the moii mains, one at whom, vernile thompson, was an old acquaintance of his from missouri. after the usual g reelings, questions were asked and .-.nswered in quick succession, and finally thompson produced a large quantity of g(dd dust and confided to him the secret of where it had been found; saying at the same time that there was plenty left at the place where they had been mining. they had built a cabin wiiich they left, and also their tools. they had three pack-mules pretty well loaded with dust, and with the usutd reckless prodigality of miners in those days, thinking they had suffieenl to last them for the remain der'of their lives, never expected to return. they had left papers in the cabin with full in structions where the mines v.ere located, should they ever wish to direct <ithers to the place.. colonel hall became greatly interestuil and hav ing entire faith in their representations, ob tained from tliem a diagram of the country which was reputed to be so rich, together with written directions how and where to find the cabin they had left but a short time before. they stated that the place was in hearing of the ocean's roar, but, as at that time but little' ex ploring had been done on the northern coast, they could not give him the exact locality. the three men tlien'left for the east. he immedi ately organized a small company and started in search of the rich diggings. they followed the directions as best they could, taking a northerly course and keeping within hearing of the ocean. they spent the summer in fruitless search, and 77 by winter, the story h:iviug aradually leaked out, other parties starced in pursuit of what hao become known as the "lost cabin,'' meet ing, however, with no better success. lu the spring seareli was resumed, and the story hav ing by this time been circulated that enormous avealth awaited the finder of ihe lost cabin, parties were frr. nied and started out from diiter ent parts of rhe country, having but very little id?a w hethe/ it \j;> in caliiornia, oregon or washington territory. col. hall, becoming dis couraged, returned to his n;itive state in 1854. in j 85") he again came to this country, with his family, aud settled in crescent city", where he 1 emained for some years. he finally removed to 1 akeport, and there met thompson who had again come to california and settled in that place, and after a private interview wdth him, the colonel could never again be induced to talk upon the subject of the lost '"abin. it is sup posed to be located somewhere near this place, and year after year it ha.s been sought for. but lio trace of the ( abin ever having i5een discov ered, many have supposed that the men who appeare^i at trinidad with such large quantities j)i dttst, had become possessed of their gold in other wa>-s than by lionest labor. however this nuiy be, the above are the facts as they actually occurred concerning the lost cabin e.\'citement iii early times, a revival of which, has from time to time caused much excitement along the coast, and a great amount of hunting by those in search ol imnieiliate weal'lh," from a long-ago intimate acquaintance of the author of this little volnme with d. v. thomp son , (or vernile thompson, as above designated) it seems but just to ofl'er a few wdrds for the dis engagement of sentiment questionable of the manner in which he and his associates became possessed of their treasure. mr. thompson was for many years, and, probably still is, a highly respected citizen of lake county, califoruia, 78 "where he hns been honored with various of ttce« of avorth and contidence, and where his name was ever .synonymous with that f)f strict integrity. assuminu' that the lost cabin story is not en tirely a myth, it is doubtful if any other region could establish a more saithoritative claim for its location than is presented in the foregoing account, for tlie westerly slope of the siskiyou range, included principally in del nortecounty note '.'. relative to the prolonged and un accounted-for absence of a miner from his cabin on french hil, (subsequently found dead) the crescent city news, dated jan.-.'5th, '!!5 says: "it jy said that of the eighteen disappearances around the french hill counti y only oiic of the bodies has been found.' the preceding quotation would answer as a text upon which to found many speculations with respect to the mysterious disappearances from the region indicated. such occurrences hav:become so common, in fact, as to elicit, locally, only the stereotyped allusion: ''another french hill victim." many strange stories have obtained with reference to the misfortunes that have, or, peradventure, might have, befallen those who were thus seemingly spirited aw^ay, and^et no definite solution of the great prob lem has been reached. they simply become merged in obscurity, but whether of violence, of accident, or of selfvolition, is a matter solely of conjecture; however, a sombre cloud of reproach has settled upon the shaggy brow of old french hill, and, alas! the vaults of her native treasury ro are less inviting to the miner and prospector tlaan if the spectre of the mysterious foe stalked iiot her lonely caverns. note 3. the subject designated as the ''squire, at reference, page 35, is one of the distinguish ing featured of crescent city, without whom the place would greatly decline in its individu ality and become simply eom.monplaee among the towns along the pacific sea-board. the squire is tho essential oracle and weather-proph et of the town, and no one has yet attempted to vanquish him in the relation of extraordinary fis'-h storie.v. note 4. a del nort record correspondent, writing from tiappy camp. siskiyou county, jan.'j , icssfi, discourses as follows: "i do not remember to have seen any refer ence to the 'wild man" which haunts this part of the country, so i shall allude to him briefly. not a great while since, mr. jack dover, one of ourmosttrustworty citizens, while hunting saw an object standing one hundred and fifty yards from him picking berries or tender shoots from the bushes. the thing was of gigantic size about stveu feet high— with a bull-dog head, short ears and long hair; it was also furnished with a beard, and was free from hiar on such parts of its body as is common among men. its voice was shrill", or soprano, and very human, like that oi a woman in great fear. mr. dover could not see its foot-prints as it walked on hard soil. he aimed his gun at the animal, or what ever it is, several times, but because it was so human would not shoot. the range of the <niri osity is between marble montain and the vicini ty of happy camp. a number of people have seen it and all agree in their descriptions except that some make it taller than others. it is ap so parently herbiveroas and makes winter quarters in some of the caves of marble mountain." note 5. one of the many attractive features of the northern california coast is the renowned pebble beach, in del xorte county, near cres cent city. it has been a place of constant re sort since the earliest settlement of the place, and it is known, even, that the aborigines had esteemed of value some of the gems there found long before their pale-faced brother came wiji his trinkets and shekels to barter for the rare and attractive jewels from the rude casket of the guileless red man. but, still, the ebb and flow of the tides continue to leave new and va ried attractions upon the beach, and the fasci nation for the pebbl: -seeker yet remains. the pebbles found are principally agate and mocha stone, of divers colors and varying degrees of brilliancy; though it is claimed that emeralds and other high grade jev,-els have been discov ered there. it is not extremely rare to find a pebble of mutable color— the alterations being, as supposed, influenced by the variations of temperature and other meteorological phenom ena. :note 6the region of country briefly noted at reference, page 45, as the abiding place of the hermit from early manhood till old and decrep it, has since become historic as the seeue of the madoc war and location of the lava beds, where captain jack, in his well-chosen natural fortih eation, for months defied the attack of our gov ernment forces. the region is an exceedingly 81 high plateau, intereuersed with lakes, hiils and dales. the lakes are pure aud limpid and abound with fish and fowl, and the hills and valleys are ela,d with tne peretiuial bunch-grass, where, of the past, sported immense herds of wild animals. in its prestine splendor, it was indeed the indian's paradise, and fairly typical of the happiest h'lntiiig ground that the exu berant fancy of the red man ever conceived.. thet-e, in immediate vicinity, presumably, upon the morning of creation, met the three imposing mountain ranges: the sierra nevada, the cascade and the siskiyou — the latter of which, rectan gular in extent, as compared with the two for mer, constitutes, in h manner, the natural, as well as the political, division of the states of california and oregon, aud approximate of whose easterly summit the klamath river takes its source, from the lakes of that elevated re gion, suddenly precipitating its flow, in a rag ing cataract, to a level with the mountain range and thence girding it, latter^lly, to the sea. • 1 1 <> «» 5 4 13 to ashes, and nothing left but. a cow, two sheep,and a few farming implements, which had escaped the hands of the plunderers : but what affected him most, was the loss of his two children, who were carried he knew not whither. his wife did not live to see this sad disaster, she having died two years before. these misfortunes determined him to take leave of the busy world, and here his voice failed him, he gave a dreadful sigh, and expired. judge what must be the stale of my mind at that moment ? i flew from the monster, and hastened to carlisle, where a com pany of cavalry were in quarters. the commanding officer ordered his men immediately to mount, and penetrate every part of the forest ; but they re turned unsuccessful, and i gave myself uptodespair. i formed hunting patties, with no other view than that i might perhaps one day discover the melan choly sight of their remains; but how 16 pleased to preserve, to close my eyes in death ! " he continued some days in almost a senseless state ; but, by the care and attention of his daughters, he soon re covered, and consented to spend the remainder of his days with them. his daughters informed hint that some of their friends had followed the plunder ers, rescued them, and part of their property, and that the neighbouring gentlemen rebuilt their house and stocked their land, towards which mr. simpson had most liberally contributed. the two children honestas so pro videntially saved from famine in the wood, and restored to their father, were afterwards married to two of his grand children, and are proverbial (or goodness and generosity throughout the surrounding country. the end. the children ii the wood restored, by honestas, the hermit of the forest ; or perfidy detected. 000 they were supposed to have been either murdered or starved to death, by order of their inhuman uncle; — being the sequel to the history of the children in the wood. ooo • banbury : printed by j. g. rusher. 8 you must be hungry, said he; he then set them down, and made a fire, wanned them some milk, and put inlo it some brown bread ; and while they were refreshing themselves, he made them the best bed he was able. it con sisted, at bottom, of straw ; a few leaves of trees over that, and the covet lid was composed of hare-skins sewed together. as soon as they had finished their repast, honestas laid them down on the bed he had made, and they soon 9 fell into a sound sleep, which appeared to him a proof of their having been much fatigued. when they awoke, he endeavoured to learn who, or what accident, had brought them to his hut; but they could give him no other ac count, than that their uncle had sent men with them into the wood, who gave them a piece of gingerbread, and then left them, one of them saying he would come again to them presently; that 12 dear babes. all my inquiries after them proved ineffectual. i was informed, that my brother lay at the point of death, and wished to speak with me. i went to him with all speed, when he made the following confession :" — " you here see an unworthy bro ther, whom heaven will soon justly punish with untimely death. but, ah ! what will be my punishment here after ? forgetful of the ties of blood, i resolved on enjoying your estate at your death, which i could not while your children were living. i sent them into the forest of englewood, by two ruffians, where they now undoubtedly lie dead. on quitting them, at the en trance of the forest, my horse stumbled, threw me, and gave me a mortal bruise. i cannot hope for your forgiveness; and what can i plead, with repentance, when i shall meet your children in a (ew moments before our maker ! " 6 spend the remainder of his days in a cell. he therefore drove his only re maining cow and two sheep into the thickest part of the forest of englewood, taking with him his farming implemen ts. having selected a spot, he cut down some trees, to make an opening for the admission of the air, and to afford pas turage for his cattle. restoration of the children in the wood. in the romantic forest of englewood, which formerly composed a great part of the county of cumberland, lived a celebrated hermit, whose name was honestas. he was once a very con 15 with sheep and oxen. he entered the farm-yard, and had there stood some time, when two young women rushed out of the house, each seizing on one o f his arms. and one of them cried out, " yes, yes, it is our dear father ! " he looked at them with bewildered eyes, and fainted in their arms. it was along time before he could utter a word. at last.he stammered out,—" yes, they are my children, whom heaven has been 14 3 great is the bounty of heaven to me this day, in restoring them alive to my arms! my wife died when we were both dangerously ill, but 1 lived un known to my brother, who took the children to his home, in a distant country. honestas begged earnestly that they would leave him there, to bemoan the loss of his daughters; all his entreaties were to no purpose, they carried him to mr. simpson's, but he refused almost every kind of sustenance; and his friend, fearing he would starve himself to death, permitted him to take his leave, and set out for his hut. on his return, he determined to pay a visit to his former habitation, shed a tear over its ruins, and the loss of his dear children : but the ruins were no where to be found; the ground was covered with a neat building, the lands were in the highest state of cultivation, and crowded siderable farmer; the scots, who fre quently plundered the northern parts of england, very much reduced him. the last excursion they made on his estate, they carried off his children, drove away his cattle, and set fire to his barns and houses, he himself escaping with great difficulty. coming out of his place of conceal ment the next day, he had the melan choly prospect of his premises reduced 6 he then built a hut, and was fortunate enough to meet with a spring, with plenty of sweet water. he passed ten years in this retreat, without seeing a human creature. onesummer morning about the tenth year of his retreat, he was surprised with hearing a voice ; he started tip, and went to the door of his hut, where he saw two sweet infants, lying on the ground, crying. one appeared about 1 i could reach that place ; and they, on their side, w r ere no less surprised. both parties looked at each other for some minutes, without asking a question ; but in the midst of this silence, on a sudden, the two children cried out together, " my dear papa ! mvpapa ! my papa ! " in a moment one of the gentlemen leaped from his horse, and catching the two children in his arms, bedewed their cheeks with his tears, but was incapable of uttering a word. " it is now a year and four days (said mr. simpson) since i missed my 10 they sat down by the side of a brook, and ale what they had, and drank of the stream ; that they wandered all night in the wood, and in the morning, arrived at this hut, and laid themselves down at his door, where he found them. honestas frecptently related stories to amuse them ; and as he was one morning instructing them, he was sur prised with the sound of a horn, the cry of dogs, and the shouts of huntsmen. in short, it was a company of sports men, whom a fox had led through the forest ; and as honestas and the two children were standing at the door of the cottage, a fox, almost spent, rushed between them, and took shelter in the hut. the dogs, following the scent, made up directly to the cottage, which was now shut against them. honestas was at a loss to conceive how horsemen 7 three, and the other four years of age. honestas was struck with surprise, and the children on seeing him ceased to cry, and stood up. he took the child ren in his arms, kissed them, and said they brought to his mind the fate of his own children, and a flood of tears interrupted his saying any more. the two infants then threw their arms around the neck of honestas, put their cheeks to his, and played with his beard. 313 312 thars rince and-theauper w hd widener hw jsяd w mark twain al1059, 60.5 harvard college library ve ri tas bought from the amey richmond sheldon fund 1. } 1 hugh latimer, bishop of worcester, to lord cromwell, on the birth of the prince of wales (afterward edward vi.). from the national manuscripts preserved by the government. british m. pii minor 7832 28h honoratt salon -7, jose del how yo no tisser joyage" of conger for the line of or prome, hoory sher ther was .(j. srow, burst of 5.3. paptyst.. to shops awn maffervame in lift you. bad 80ff to golden de shan of no of lord god gay of jugloud, ffor windy вдо пере be hard show by theft gaf of jugland 800x is all gran. or anthon an mr an now moor guglas good. it me styles of ponder wee alt has promisyungy was feary so to hi hart anderen aff of y ffmiſſe not his wendinge goodffe. so`st moon then repellyed to the zb b ph by si mr glory. promos 475 wund, lyst of alt sibylly to new for vor, we ham sisw for vis, show preoppe of vage trafty, donate any of inqu reptations, lith us and pay for bes-of-nation~ and i for my part my mysh. it has gran always ham of by now from her b¬¬ rigg jednorg. justentory of offering of right jugmang me optity augenind no ophana rdurakonn~ dipimp bust what a guns fowl am jil so. what donosionchoyohy many your he eyſtation. angher the god of gugtong b and w you go all-youproudy. the xx do 6.21 of p youg now ast 2arch soas in sharp. fügunden for. ſo longe ast thr of mor yf you wold mycing stres frow to 2 wllow horryi a y aberſe of ymagzy for hand to dhe dongle zu ungehrt. das pmomпан таун гана ch/mi. bine. of flu 1 hugh latimer, bishop of worcester, to lord cromwell, on the birth of the prince of wales (afterward edward vi.). from the national manuscripts preserved by the british government. ryght honorable, salutem in christo jesu, and syr here ys no lesse joynge and rejossynge in thes partees for the byrth of our prynce, hoom we hungurde for so longe, then ther was (i trow), inter vicinos att the byrth of s. i. baptyste, as thys berer, master erance, can telle you. gode gyffe us alle grace, to yelde dew thankes to our lorde gode, gode of inglonde, for verely he hathe shoyd hym selff gode of inglonde, or rather an inglyssh gode, yf we consydyr and pondyr welle alle hys procedynges with us from tyme to tyme. he hath overcumme alle our yllnesse with hys excedynge goodnesse, so that we ar now moor then compellyd to serve hym, seke hys glory, promott hys wurde, yf the devylle of alle devylles be natt in us. we have now the stooppe of vayne trustes ande the stey of vayne expectations; lett us alle pray for hys preser vatione. ande i for my partt wylle wyssh that hys grace allways have, and evyn now from the begynynge, governares, instructores and offyceres of ryght jugmente, ne optimum ingenium non optimá educatione depravetur. butt whatt a grett fowlle am i! so, whatt devotione shoyth many tymys butt lytelle dyscretione! ande thus the gode of inglonde be ever with you in alle your procedynges. the 19 of october. youres, h. l. b. of wurcestere, now att hartlebury. yf you wolde excytt thys berere to be moore hartye ayen the abuse of ymagry or mor forwarde to promotte the veryte, ytt myght doo goode. natt that ytt came of me, butt of your selffe, &c. (addressed) to the ryght honorable loorde p. sealle hys synguler gode lorde. 66 'let him in!" em i 0 the prince and the pauper a tale for young people of all ages by mark twain illustrated new york charles l. webster & company 1892 al 1059.60.5 harvard college library sheldon fund july 10, 1940 copyright, 1881, by s. l. clemens. (all rights reserved.) press of jenkins & mccowan new york το those good-mannered and agreeable children, susie and clara clemens, this book is affectionately inscribed their father : the quality of mercy is twice bless'd; it blesseth him that gives, and him that takes; 'tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes the throned monarch better than his crown. merchant of venice. } 7 chapter contents i. ii. iii. iv. v. tom as a patrician vi. tom receives instructions vii. tom's first royal dinner viii. the question of the seal the river pageant ix. x. the prince in the toils at guildhall xi. xii. the prince and his deliverer xiii. the disappearance of the prince xiv. "le roi est mort-vive le roi" tom as king xv. xvi. the state dinner xvii. fo0-foo the first xviii. the prince with the tramps xix. the prince with the peasants xx. the prince and the hermit hendon to the rescue xxi. xxii. a victim of treachery the prince a prisoner xxiii. xxiv. the escape xxv. hendon hall xxvi. disowned xxvii. in prison xxviii. xxix. to london xxx. tom's progress xxxi. the recognition procession xxxii. xxxiii. the birth of the prince and the pauper tom's early life. tom's meeting with the prince the prince's troubles begin notes • the sacrifice • • · coronation day edward as king conclusion. justice and retribution • • • · • · · · • • · • • • · · page 19 21 28 36 42 52 61 67 70 74 85 91 106 ii2 126 139 144 158 168 176 184 190 198 203 207 217 222 235 240 243 247 255 270 279 283 xi x i "let him in !" (frontispiece) the birth of the prince and the pauper (half-title) offal court "with any miserable crust" 66 list of illustrations 'brought their perplexities to tom" "set upon by dogs" "a drunken ruffian collared him" 66 · • 46 'next he drew the sword" "the boy was on his knees' "is this man to live forever?" hertford and the princesses "tom ate with his fingers" he gravely took a draught" "tom canty stepped into view' "she bent heedfully and warily over him" "he wasted no time" 66 · "" • "began to lay about him "our friends threaded their way" 'smoothing back the tangled curls" "go on-tell me thy story" 66 'he dropped on one knee" "he dropped asleep" "wilt deign to deliver thy commands?" "the first lord of the bedchamber received the hose" "'tis i that take them" "tom had wandered to a window "" 66 'what is it that these have done?" "a gentleman bearing a rod" "i thank ye my good people" "he seized a billet of wood" "" 'he was soon absorbed in thinking' • page i 17 • • • • 9 ន 88 ន ន ន ន 9 ៦ ៦៦ ៩ ៨៩ ន • 22 23 25 37 39 43 45 49 55 63 64 72 79 83 89 92 • 99 103 . 107 113 115 122 96 127 134 140 141 146 148 xiii xiv list of illustrations. "whilst the flames licked upwards" "thou shalt not" "throne him" "" "he stumbled along ' "took a good satisfying stare "gave him a butcher knife to grind "i will tell you a secret" "the next moment they were bound "sunk upon his knees" "hugo stood no chance 66 "the king sprang to his deliverer's side" gently, good friend" "the pig may cost thy neck, man' "" "jogging eastward on sorry steeds" "a beautiful lady, richly clothed, followed hugh". "hugh was pinned to the wall" 64 "" "chained in a large room" "information delivered in a low voice" "what king?" 66 66 face" "commanded her to go to her closet" "welcome, o king!" my liege, it is an ill time for dreaming" "tom canty appeared" "and fell on his knees before him" · "bethink thee, my king" to crack nuts with " "tom rose and kissed the king's hand” · page 151 154 156 163 170 · . 174 178 • 183 185 the king!" he cried. "two women chained to posts" "while the lash was applied the poor king turned away his · • · 191 196 · • · 199 204 208 214 215 223 226 228 231 237 244 248 253 257 259 265 268 277 i will set down a tale as it was told to me by one who had it of his father, which latter had it of his father, this last having in like manner had it of his father-and so on, back and still back, three hundred years and more, the fathers transmitting it to the sons and so preserving it. it may be history, it may be only a legend, a tradition. it may have happened, it may not have happened: but it could have happened. it may be that the wise and the learned believed it in the old days; it may be that only the unlearned and the simple loved it and credited it. ! aishn the birch of the princes pauper the the prince and the pauper. chapter i. the birth of the prince and the pauper. in the ancient city of london, on a certain autumn day in the second quarter of the sixteenth century, a boy was born to a poor family of the name of canty, who did not want him. on the same day another english child was born to a rich family of the name of tudor, who did want him. all england wanted him too. england had so longed for him, and hoped for him, and prayed god for him, that, now that he was really come the people went nearly mad for joy. mere acquaintances hugged and kissed each other and cried. everybody took a holiday, and high and low, rich and poor, feasted and danced and sang, and got very mellow; and they kept this up for days and nights together. by day, london was a sight to see, with gay banners waving from every balcony and housetop, and splendid pageants marching along. by night, it was again a sight to see, with its great bonfires at every corner, and its troops of revellers making merry around them. there was no talk in all england but of the new baby, edward tudor, prince of wales, who lay lapped in silks and satins, unconscious of all this fuss, and not knowing that great lords 19 20 the birth of the prince and the pauper. and ladies were tending him and watching over him—and not caring, either. but there was no talk about the other baby, tom canty, lapped in his poor rags, except among the family of paupers whom he had just come to trouble with his presence. chapter ii. tom's early life. let us skip a number of years. -some think double as many. london was fifteen hundred years old, and was a great town-for that day. it had a hundred thousand inhabitants the streets were very narrow, and crooked, and dirty, especially in the part where tom canty lived, which was not far from london bridge. the houses were of wood, with the second story projecting over the first, and the third sticking its elbows out beyond the second. the higher the houses grew, the broader they grew. they were skeletons of strong criss-cross beams, with solid material between, coated with plaster. the beams were painted red or blue or black, according to the owner's taste, and this gave the houses a very picturesque look. the windows were small, glazed with little diamond-shaped panes, and they opened outward, on hinges, like doors. the house which tom's father lived in was up a foul little pocket called offal court, out of pudding lane. it was small, decayed, and rickety, but it was packed full of wretchedly poor families. canty's tribe occupied a room on the third floor. the mother and father had a sort of bedstead in the corner; but tom, his grandmother, and his two sisters, bet and nan, were not restricted—they had all the floor to themselves, and might sleep where they chose. there were the remains of a blanket or two, and some bundles of ancient and dirty straw, but these could not rightly be called beds, for they were not organized; they were kicked into a general 21 22 tom's early life. mun e fronth ли offal court. pile, mornings, and selections made from the mass at night, for service. bet and nan were fifteen years old-twins. they were good-hearted girls, unclean, clothed in rags, and profoundly ignorant. their mother was like them. but the father and the grandmother were a couple of fiends. they got drunk whenever they could; then they fought each other or anybody else who came in the way; they cursed and swore always, drunk or sober; john canty was a thief, and his mother a beggar. they made beggars of the children, but failed to make thieves of tom's early life. 23 them. among, but not of, the dreadful rabble that inhabited the house, was a good old priest whom the king had turned out of house and home with a pension of a few farthings, and he used to get the children aside and teach them right ways secretly. father andrew also taught tom a little latin, and how to read and write; and would have done the same with the girls, but they were afraid of the jeers of their friends, who could not have endured such a queer accomplishment in them. harley 64 with any miserable crust." all offal court was just such another hive as canty's house. drunkenness, riot and brawling were the order, there, every night and nearly all night long. broken heads were as common as hunger in that place. yet little tom was not unhappy. he had a hard time of it, but did not know it. it was the sort of time that all the offal court boys had, therefore he supposed it was the correct and comfortable thing. when he came home empty handed at night, he knew his 24 tom's early life. father would curse him and thrash him first, and that when he was done the awful grandmother would do it all over again and improve on it; and that away in the night his starving mother would slip to him stealthily with any miserable scrap or crust she had been able to save for him by going hungry herself, notwithstanding she was often caught in that sort of treason and soundly beaten for it by her husband. mer. no, tom's life went along well enough, especially in sumhe only begged just enough to save himself, for the laws against mendicancy were stringent, and the penalties heavy; so he put in a good deal of his time listening to good father andrew's charming old tales and legends about giants and fairies, dwarfs and genii, and enchanted castles, and gorgeous kings and princes. his head grew to be full of these wonderful things, and many a night as he lay in the dark on his scant and offensive straw, tired, hungry, and smarting from a thrashing, he unleashed his imagination and soon forgot his aches and pains in delicious picturings to himself of the charmed life of a petted prince in a regal palace. one desire came in time to haunt him day and night it was to see a real prince, with his own eyes. he spoke of it once to some of his offal court comrades; but they jeered him and scoffed him so unmercifully that he was glad to keep his dream to himself after that. he often read the priest's old books and got him to explain and enlarge upon them. his dreamings and readings worked certain changes in him, by and by. his dream-people were so fine that he grew to lament his shabby clothing and his dirt, and to wish to be clean and better clad. he went on playing in the mud just the same, and enjoying it, too; but instead of splashing around in the thames solely for the fun of it, he began to find an added value in it because of the washings and cleansings it afforded. tom could always find something going on around the tom's early life. 25 maypole in cheapside, and at the fairs; and now and then he and the rest of london had a chance to see a military parade when some famous unfortunate was carried prisoner to the tower, by land or boat. one summer's day he saw poor anne askew and three men burned at the stake in smithfield, and heard an ex-bishop preach a sermon to them which did not interest him. yes, tom's life was varied and pleasant enough, on the whole. by and by tom's reading and dreaming about princely life wrought such a strong effect upon him that he began to act the prince, unconsciously. his manners speech and became curiously ceremonious and courtly, to the vast admiration and amusement of his intimates. but tom's influence among these young people began to "brought their perplexities to tom." grow, now, day by day; and in time he came to be looked up to, by them, with a sort of wondering awe, as a superior being. he seemed to know so much! and he could do and say such marvellous things! and withal, he was so deep and wise! tom's remarks, and tom's performances, were reported by the boys to their elders; and these, also, presently began to discuss tom canty, and to regard him as a most gifted and extraordinary creature. full grown people brought their perplexities to tom 26 tom's early life. for solution, and were often astonished at the wit and wisdom of his decisions. in fact he was become a hero to all who knew him except his own family-these, only, saw nothing in him. privately, after a while, tom organized a royal court! he was the prince; his special comrades were guards, chamberlains, equerries, lords and ladies in waiting, and the royal family. daily the mock prince was received with elaborate ceremonials borrowed by tom from his romantic readings; daily the great affairs of the mimic kingdom were discussed in the royal council, and daily his mimic highness issued decrees to his imaginary armies, navies, and viceroyalties. after which, he would go forth in his rags and beg a few farthings, eat his poor crust, take his customary cuffs and abuse, and then stretch himself upon his handful of foul straw, and resume his empty grandeurs in his dreams. and still his desire to look just once upon a real prince, in the flesh, grew upon him, day by day, and week by week, until at last it absorbed all other desires, and became the one passion of his life. one january day, on his usual begging tour, he tramped despondently up and down the region round about mincing lane and little east cheap, hour after hour, bare-footed and cold, looking in at cook-shop windows and longing for the dreadful pork-pies and other deadly inventions displayed there for to him these were dainties fit for the angels; that is, judging by the smell, they were-for it had never been his good luck to own and eat one. there was a cold drizzle of rain; the atmosphere was murky; it was a melancholy day. at night tom reached home so wet and tired and hungry that it was not possible for his father and grandmother to observe his forlorn condition and not be moved-after their fashion; wherefore they gave him a brisk cuffing at once and sent him to bed. for a long time his pain and hunger, tom's early life. 27 and the swearing and fighting going on in the building, kept him awake; but at last his thoughts drifted away to far, romantic lands, and he fell asleep in the company of jewelled and gilded princelings who lived in vast palaces, and had servants salaaming before them or flying to execute their orders. and then, as usual, he dreamed that he was a princeling himself. all night long the glories of his royal estate shone upon him; he moved among great lords and ladies, in a blaze of light, breathing perfumes, drinking in delicious music, and answering the reverent obeisances of the glittering throng as it parted to make way for him, with here a smile, and there a nod of his princely head. and when he awoke in the morning and looked upon the wretchedness about him, his dream had had its usual effectit had intensified the sordidness of his surroundings a thousand fold. then came bitterness, and heart-break, and tears. chapter iii. tom's meeting with the prince. toм got up hungry, and sauntered hungry away, but with his thoughts busy with the shadowy splendors of his night's dreams. he wandered here and there in the city, hardly noticing where he was going, or what was happening around him. people jostled him, and some gave him rough speech ; but it was all lost on the musing boy. by and by he found himself at temple bar, the farthest from home he had ever travelled in that direction. he stopped and considered a moment, then fell into his imaginings again, and passed on outside the walls of london. the strand had ceased to be a country-road then, and regarded itself as a street, but by a strained construction; for, though there was a tolerably compact row of houses on one side of it, there were only some scattering great buildings on the other, these being palaces of rich nobles, with ample and beautiful grounds stretching to the river,―grounds that are now closely packed with grim acres of brick and stone. tom discovered charing village presently, and rested himself at the beautiful cross built there by a bereaved king of earlier days; then idled down a quiet, lovely road, past the great cardinal's stately palace, toward a far more mighty and majestic palace beyond,-westminster. tom stared in glad wonder at the vast pile of masonry, the wide-spreading wings, the frowning bastions and turrets, the huge stone gateway, with its gilded bars and its magnificent array of colossal granite lions, and the other signs and symbols of english royalty. 28 tom's meeting with the prince. 29 'was the desire of his soul to be satisfied at last? here, indeed, was a king's palace. might he not hope to see a prince now, -a prince of flesh and blood, if heaven were willing? at each side of the gilded gate stood a living statue, that is to say, an erect and stately and motionless man-at-arms, clad from head to heel in shining steel armor. at a respectful distance were many country folk, and people from the city, waiting for any chance glimpse of royalty that might offer. splendid carriages, with splendid people in them and splendid servants outside, were arriving and departing by several other noble gateways that pierced the royal enclosure. poor little tom, in his rags, approached, and was moving slow and timidly past the sentinels, with a beating heart and a rising hope, when all at once he caught sight through the golden bars of a spectacle that almost made him shout for joy. within was a comely boy, tanned and brown with sturdy out-door sports and exercises, whose clothing was all of lovely silks and satins, shining with jewels; at his hip a little jewelled sword and dagger; dainty buskins on his feet, with red heels; and on his head a jaunty crimson cap, with drooping plumes fastened with a great sparkling gem. several gorgeous gentlemen stood near,—his servants, without a doubt. oh! he was a prince-a prince, a living prince, a real princewithout the shadow of a question; and the prayer of the pauper-boy's heart was answered at last. tom's breath came quick and short with excitement, and his eyes grew big with wonder and delight. every thing gave way in his mind instantly to one desire that was to get close to the prince, and have a good, devouring look at him. before he knew what he was about, he had his face against the gate-bars. the next instant one of the soldiers snatched him rudely away, and sent him spinning among the gaping crowd of country gawks and london idlers. the soldier said,30 tom's meeting with the prince. "mind thy manners, thou young beggar!" the crowd jeered and laughed; but the young prince sprang to the gate with his face flushed, and his eyes flashing with indignation, and cried out,— "how dar'st thou use a poor lad like that! how dar'st thou use the king my father's meanest subject so! open the gates, and let him in!" you should have seen that fickle crowd snatch off their hats then. you should have heard them cheer, and shout, "long live the prince of wales !" the soldiers presented arms with their halberds, opened the gates, and presented again as the little prince of poverty passed in, in his fluttering rags, to join hands with the prince of limitless plenty. edward tudor said,— "thou lookest tired and hungry: thou'st been treated ill. come with me." half a dozen attendants sprang forward to—i don't know what; interfere, no doubt. but they were waved aside with a right royal gesture, and they stopped stock still where they were, like so many statues. edward took tom to a rich apartment in the palace, which he called his cabinet. by his command a repast was brought such as tom had never encountered before except in books. the prince, with princely delicacy and breeding, sent away the servants, so that his humble guest might not be embarrassed by their critical presence; then he sat near by, and asked questions while tom ate. "what is thy name, lad?" "tom canty, an' it please thee, sir." ""tis an odd one. where dost live?" "in the city, please thee, sir. offal court, out of pudding lane." "offal court! truly 'tis another odd one. hast parents?" tom's meeting with the prince. 31 · "parents have i, sir, and a grand-dam likewise that is but indifferently precious to me, god forgive me if it be offence to say it also twin sisters, nan and bet." "then is thy grand-dam not över kind to thee, i take it. "neither to any other is she, so please your worship. she hath a wicked heart, and worketh evil all her days.” "doth she mistreat thee?" "there be times that she stayeth her hand, being asleep or overcome with drink; but when she hath her judgment clear again, she maketh it up to me with goodly beatings." a fierce look came into the little prince's eyes, and he cried out,―― "what! beatings?" "oh, indeed, yes, please you, sir." beatings!—and thou so frail and little. 66 hark ye bethe fore the night come, she shall hie her to the tower. king my father 99 "in sooth, you forget, sir, her low degree. the tower is for the great alone." "true, indeed. i had not thought of that. i will consider of her punishment. is thy father kind to thee?" "not more than gammer canty, sir." per. "fathers be alike, mayhap. mine hath not a doll's temhe smiteth with a heavy hand, yet spareth me: he spareth me not always with his tongue, though, sooth to say. how doth thy mother use thee?" "she is good, sir, and giveth me neither sorrow nor pain of any sort. and nan and bet are like to her in this." "how old be these?" "fifteen, an' it please you, sir." "the lady elizabeth, my sister, is fourteen, and the lady jane grey, my cousin, is of mine own age, and comely and gracious withal; but my sister the lady mary, with her gloomy mien and— look you do thy 32 tom's meeting with the prince. sisters forbid their servants to smile, lest the sin destroy their souls?'" "they? oh, dost think, sir, that they have servants?" the little prince contemplated the little pauper gravely a moment, then said,— "and prithee, why not? who helpeth them undress at night? who attireth them when they rise?" "none, sir. wouldst have them take off their garment, and sleep without,-like the beasts?" "their garment! have they but one?" "ah, good, your worship, what would they do with more ? truly they have not two bodies each." "it is a quaint and marvellous thought! thy pardon, " i had not meant to laugh. but thy good nan and thy bet shall have raiment and lackeys enow, and that soon, too: my cofferer shall look to it. no, thank me not; 'tis nothing. thou speakest well; thou hast an easy grace in it. art learned?" "i know not if i am or not, sir. the good priest that is called father andrew taught me, of his kindness, from his books." "know'st thou the latin ?" "but scantly, sir, i doubt." "learn it, lad: 'tis hard only at first. the greek is harder; but neither these nor any tongues else, i think, are hard to the lady elizabeth and my cousin. thou shouldst hear those damsels at it! but tell me of thy offal court. hast thou a pleasant life there?" "in truth, yes, so please you, sir, save when one is hungry. there be punch-and-judy shows, and monkeys,—oh, such antic creatures! and so bravely dressed !—and there be plays wherein they that play do shout and fight till all are slain, and 'tis so fine to see, and costeth but a farthingalbeit 'tis main hard to get the farthing, please your worship." "tell me more." tom's meeting with the prince. 33 "we lads of offal court do strive against each other with the cudgel, like to the fashion of the 'prentices, sometimes." the prince's eyes flashed. said he,— "marry, that would i not mislike. tell me more." "we strive in races, sir, to see who of us shall be fleetest." "that would i like also. speak on." “in summer, sir, we wade and swim in the canals and in the river, and each doth duck his neighbor, and spatter him with water, and dive and shout and tumble and "twould be worth my father's kingdom but to enjoy it once! prithee go on." "we dance and sing about the maypole in cheapside; we play in the sand, each covering his neighbor up; and times we make mud pastry—oh, the lovely mud, it hath not its like for delightfulness in all the world !—we do fairly wallow in the mud, sir, saving your worship's presence." "oh, prithee, say no more, 'tis glorious! if that i could but clothe me in raiment like to thine, and strip my feet, and revel in the mud once, just once, with none to rebuke me or forbid, meseemeth i could forego the crown!" "and if that i could clothe me once, sweet sir, as thou art clad-just once 99 come to molest." "oho, wouldst like it? then so shall it be. rags, and don these splendors, lad! but will be not less keen for that. may, and change again before any a few minutes later the little prince of wales was garlanded with tom's fluttering odds and ends, and the little prince of pauperdom was tricked out in the gaudy plumage of royalty. the two went and stood side by side before a great mirror, and lo, a miracle: there did not seem to have been any change made! they stared at each other, then at the glass, then at each other again. at last the puzzled princeling said,99 doff thy it is a brief happiness, we will have it while we 34 tom's meeting with the prince. "what dost thou make of this?" 66 'ah, good your worship, require me not to answer. it is not meet that one of my degree should utter the thing.” "then will i utter it. thou hast the same hair, the same eyes, the same voice and manner, the same form and stature, the same face and countenance, that i bear. fared we forth naked, there is none could say which was you, and which the prince of wales. and, now that i am clothed as thou wert clothed, it seemeth i should be able the more nearly to feel as thou didst when the brute soldierhark ye, is not this a bruise upon your hand?" "yes; but it is a slight thing, and your worship knoweth that the poor man-at-arms "peace! it was a shameful thing and a cruel!" cried the little prince, stamping his bare foot. "if the kingstir not a step till i come again! it is a command!" in a moment he had snatched up and put away an article of national importance that lay upon a table, and was out at the door and flying through the palace grounds in his bannered rags, with a hot face and glowing eyes. as soon as he reached the great gate, he seized the bars, and tried to shake them, shouting,— "" "open! unbar the gates!" the soldier that had maltreated tom obeyed promptly; and as the prince burst through the portal, half-smothered with royal wrath, the soldier fetched him a sounding box on the ear that sent him whirling to the roadway, and said,— "take that, thou beggar's spawn, for what thou got❜st me from his highness !" the crowd roared with laughter. the prince picked himself out of the mud, and made fiercely at the sentry, shouting,"i am the prince of wales, my person is sacred; and thou shalt hang for laying thy hand upon me!" tom's meeting with the prince. 35 the soldier brought his halberd to a present-arms and said mockingly,“i salute your gracious highness." then angrily, “be off, thou crazy rubbish!" here the jeering crowd closed around the poor little prince, and hustled him far down the road, hooting him, and shouting, "way for his royal highness! way for the prince of wales!' chapter iv. the prince's troubles begin. after hours of persistent pursuit and persecution, the little prince was at last deserted by the rabble and left to himself. as long as he had been able to rage against the mob, and threaten it royally, and royally utter commands that were good stuff to laugh at, he was very entertaining; but when weariness finally forced him to be silent, he was no longer of use to his tormentors, and they sought amusement elsewhere. he looked about him, now, but could not recognize the locality. he was within the city of london-that was all he knew. he moved on, aimlessly, and in a little while the houses thinned, and the passers-by were infrequent. he bathed his bleeding feet in the brook which flowed then where farringdon street now is; rested a few moments, then passed on, and presently came upon a great space with only a few scattered houses in it, and a prodigious church. he recognized this church. scaffoldings were about, everywhere, and swarms of workmen; for it was undergoing elaborate repairs. the prince took heart at once-he felt that his troubles were at an end, now. he said to himself, "it is the ancient grey friars' church, which the king my father hath taken from the monks and given for a home forever for poor and forsaken children, and new-named it christ's church. right gladly will they serve the son of him who hath done so generously by them-and the more that that son is himself as poor and as forlorn as any that be sheltered here this day, or ever shall be." 36 the prince's troubles begin. 37 he was soon in the midst of a crowd of boys who were running, jumping, playing at ball and leap-frog and otherwise disporting themselves, and right noisily, too. they were all dressed alike, and in the fashion which in that day prevailed among serving-men and 'prentices*-that is to say, set upon by dogs." each had on the crown of his head a flat black cap about the size of a saucer, which was not useful as a covering, it being of such scanty dimensions, neither was it ornamental; from beneath it the hair fell, unparted, to the middle of the forehead, and was cropped straight around; a clerical * see note 1, at end of the volume. 38 the prince's troubles begin. band at the neck; a blue gown that fitted closely and hung as low as the knees or lower; full sleeves; a broad red belt; bright yellow stockings, gartered above the knees; low shoes with large metal buckles. it was a sufficiently ugly costume. the boys stopped their play and flocked about the prince, who said with native dignity"good lads, say to your master that edward prince of wales desireth speech with him.” a great shout went up, at this, and one rude fellow said 66 marry, art thou his grace's messenger, beggar? the prince's face flushed with anger, and his ready hand flew to his hip, but there was nothing there. there was a storm of laughter, and one boy said— "didst mark that? he fancied he had a sword-belike he "" is the prince himself." this sally brought more laughter. poor edward drew himself up proudly and said"i am the prince; and it ill beseemeth you that feed upon the king my father's bounty to use me so." this was vastly enjoyed, as the laughter testified. the youth who had first spoken, shouted to his comrades"ho, swine, slaves, pensioners of his grace's princely father, where be your manners? down on your marrow bones, all of ye, and do reverence to his kingly port and royal rags!" with boisterous mirth they dropped upon their knees in a body and did mock homage to their prey. the prinee spurned the nearest boy with his foot, and said fiercely— "take thou that, till the morrow come and i build thee a gibbet!" ah, but this was not a joke-this was going beyond fun. the laughter ceased on the instant, and fury took its place. a dozen shoutedthe prince's troubles begin. 39 "hale him forth! to the horse-pond, to the horse-pond! where be the dogs? ho, there, lion! ho, fangs!" then followed such a thing as england had never seen before-the sacred person of the heir to the throne rudely buf"a drunken ruffian collared him." feted by plebeian hands, and set upon and torn by dogs. as night drew to a close that day, the prince found himself far down in the close-built portion of the city. his body was bruised, his hands were bleeding, and his rags were all 40 the prince's troubles begin. besmirched with mud. he wandered on and on, and grew more and more bewildered, and so tired and faint he could hardly drag one foot after the other. he had ceased to ask questions of any one, since they brought him only insult instead of information. he kept muttering to himself, "offal court that is the name; if i can but find it before my strength is wholly spent and i drop, then am i saved-for his people will take me to the palace and prove that i am none of theirs, but the true prince, and i shall have mine own again.' and now and then his mind reverted to his treatment by those rude christ's hospital boys, and he said, "when i am king, they shall not have bread and shelter only, but also teachings out of books; for a full belly is little worth where the mind is starved, and the heart. i will keep this diligently in my remembrance, that this day's lesson be not lost upon me, and my people suffer thereby; for learning softeneth the heart and breedeth gentleness and charity.” "9 the lights began to twinkle, it came on to rain, the wind rose, and a raw and gusty night set in. the houseless prince, the homeless heir to the throne of england, still moved on, drifting deeper into the maze of squalid alleys where the swarming hives of poverty and misery were massed together. suddenly a great drunken ruffian collared him and said— "out to this time of night again, and hast not brought a farthing home, i warrant me! if it be so, an' i do not break all the bones in thy lean body, then am i not john canty, but some other." the prince twisted himself loose, unconsciously brushed his profaned shoulder, and eagerly said— "o, art his father, truly? sweet heaven grant it be sothen wilt thou fetch him away and restore me!" "his father? i know not what thou mean'st; i but know i am thy father, as thou shalt soon have cause to ' "" *see note 2, at end of the volume. the prince's troubles begin. 41 "o, jest not, palter not, delay not!-i am worn, i am wounded, i can bear no more. take me to the king my father, and he will make thee rich beyond thy wildest dreams. believe me, man, believe me !-i speak no lie, but only the truth!-put forth thy hand and save me! i am indeed the prince of wales !" the man stared down, stupefied, upon the lad, then shook his head and muttered"gone stark mad as any tom o' bedlam!"—then collared him once more, and said with a coarse laugh and an oath, "but mad or no mad, i and thy gammer canty will soon find where the soft places in thy bones lie, or i'm no true man!" with this he dragged the frantic and struggling prince away, and disappeared up a front court followed by a delighted and noisy swarm of human vermin. th chapter v. tom as a patrician. tom canty, left alone in the prince's cabinet, made good use of his opportunity. he turned himself this way and that before the great mirror, admiring his finery; then walked away, imitating the prince's high-bred carriage, and still observing results in the glass. next he drew the beautiful sword, and bowed, kissing the blade, and laying it across his breast, as he had seen a noble knight do, by way of salute to the lieutenant of the tower, five or six weeks before, when delivering the great lords of norfolk and surrey into his hands. for captivity. tom played with the jewelled dagger that hung upon his thigh; he examined the costly and exquisite ornaments of the room; he tried each of the sumptuous chairs, and thought how proud he would be if the offal court herd could only peep in and see him in his grandeur. he wondered if they would believe the marvellous tale he should tell when he got home, or if they would shake their heads, and say his overtaxed imagination had at last upset his reason. at the end of half an hour it suddenly occurred to him that the prince was gone a long time; then right away he began to feel lonely; very soon he fell to listening and longing, and ceased to toy with the pretty things about him; he grew uneasy, then restless, then distressed. suppose some one should come, and catch him in the prince's clothes, and the prince not there to explain. might they not hang him at once, and inquire into his case afterward? he had heard that the great were prompt about small matters. his fears rose higher and higher; and trembling he softly opened the 42 tom as a patrician. 43 door to the antechamber, resolved to fly and seek the prince, and, through him, protection and release. six gorgeous gentlemen-servants and two young pages of high degree, clothed like butterflies, sprung to their feet, and bowed low before him. he stepped quickly back, and shut the door. he said,46 next he drew the sword. — "" and a sweet young girl, richly clad, bounded toward him. but she stopped suddenly, and said in "oh, they mock at me! they will go and tell. oh! why came i here to cast away my life?" he walked up and down the floor, filled with nameless fears, listening, starting at every trifling sound. presently the door swung open, and a silken page said,— "the lady jane grey." the door closed, a distressed voice,"oh, what aileth thee, my lord?" tom's breath was nearly failing him; but he made shift to stammer out,44 tom as a patrician. "ah, be merciful, thou! in sooth i am no lord, but only poor tom canty of offal court in the city. prithee let me see the prince, and he will of his grace restore to me my rags, and let me hence unhurt. oh, be thou merciful, and save me ! "" by this time the boy was on his knees, and supplicating with his eyes and uplifted hands as well as with his tongue. the young girl seemed horror-stricken. she cried out"o my lord, on thy knees?—and to me !" then she fled away in fright; and tom, smitten with despair, sank down, murmuring"there is no help, there is no hope. now will they come and take me." whilst he lay there benumbed with terror, dreadful tidings were speeding through the palace. the whisper, for it was whispered always, flew from menial to menial, from lord to lady, down all the long corridors, from story to story, from saloon to saloon, "the prince hath gone mad, the prince hath gone mad!" soon every saloon, every marble hall, had its groups of glittering lords and ladies, and other groups of dazzling lesser folk, talking earnestly together in whispers, and every face had in it dismay. presently a splendid official came marching by these groups, making solemn proclamation,― "in the name of the king. let none list to this false and foolish matter, upon pain of death, nor discuss the same, nor carry it abroad. in the name of the king!" the whisperings ceased as suddenly as if the whisperers had been stricken dumb. soon there was a general buzz along the corridors, of “the prince! see, the prince comes !" tom as a patrician. 45 poor tom came slowly walking past the low-bowing groups, trying to bow in return, and meekly gazing upon his strange great nosurroundings with bewildered and pathetic eyes. bles walked upon each side of him, making him lean upon them, and so steady his steps. behind him followed the court-physicians and some servants. presently tom found himself in a noble apartment of the palace, and heard the door close behind him. around him stood those who had come with him. 44 the boy was on his knees. "" ! before him, at a little distance, reclined a very large and very fat man, with a wide, pulpy face, and a stern expression. his large head was very gray; and his whiskers, which he wore only around his face, like a frame, were gray also. his clothing was of rich stuff, but old, and slightly frayed in 46 tom as a patrician. places. one of his swollen legs had a pillow under it, and was wrapped in bandages. there was silence now; and there was no head there but was bent in reverence, except this man's. this stern-countenanced invalid was the dread henry viii. he said, and his face grew gentle as he began to speak,— "how now, my lord edward, my prince? hast been minded to cozen me, the good king thy father, who loveth thee, and kindly useth thee, with a sorry jest?" poor tom was listening, as well as his dazed faculties would let him, to the beginning of this speech; but when the words "me the good king" fell upon his ear, his face blanched, and he dropped as instantly upon his knees as if a shot had brought him there. lifting up his hands, he exclaimed,"thou the king? then am i undone indeed! this speech seemed to stun the king. his eyes wandered from face to face aimlessly, then rested, bewildered, upon the boy before him. then he said in a tone of deep disappointment,"" "alack, i had believed the rumor disproportioned to the truth; but i fear me 'tis not so." he breathed a heavy sigh, and said in a gentle voice, "come to thy father, child: thou art not well." tom was assisted to his feet, and approached the majesty of england, humble and trembling. the king took the frightened face between his hands, and gazed earnestly and lovingly into it awhile, as if seeking some grateful sign of returning reason there, then pressed the curly head against his breast, and patted it tenderly. presently he said,"dost not know thy father, child? break not mine old heart; say thou know'st me. thou dost know me, dost thou not?" tom as a patrician. 47 "yea: thou art my dread lord the king, whom god preserve!" "true, true—that is well-be comforted, tremble not so; there is none here who would hurt thee; there is none here but loves thee. thou art better now; thy ill dream passeth -is't not so? and thou knowest thyself now also-is't not so? thou wilt not miscall thyself again, as they say thou didst a little while agone?" "i pray thee of thy grace believe me, i did but speak the truth, most dread lord; for i am the meanest among thy subjects, being a pauper born, and 'tis by a sore mischance and accident i am here, albeit i was therein nothing blameful. i am but young to die, thou canst save me with one little oh speak it, sir!" word. "die? talk not so, sweet prince-peace, peace, to thy troubled heart-thou shalt not die !" tom dropped upon his knees with a glad cry,— "god requite thy mercy, oh my king, and save thee long to bless thy land!" then springing up, he turned a joyful face toward the two lords in waiting, and exclaimed, "thou heard'st it! i am not to die : the king hath said it! there was no movement, save that all bowed with grave respect; but no one spoke. he hesitated, a little confused, then turned timidly toward the king, saying, "i may go now?" "go? surely, if thou desirest. but why not tarry yet a little? whither wouldst go?" tom dropped his eyes, and answered humbly,"peradventure i mistook; but i did think me free, and so was i moved to seek again the kennel where i was born and bred to misery, yet which harboreth my mother and my sisters, and so is home to me; whereas these pomps and splendors whereunto i am not used-oh, please you, sir, to let me go!' 48 tom as a patrician. the king was silent and thoughtful a while, and his face betrayed a growing distress and uneasiness. presently he said, with something of hope in his voice,— "perchance he is but mad upon this one strain, and hath his wits unmarred as toucheth other matter. god send it may be so! we will make trial." then he asked tom a question in latin, and tom answered him lamely in the same tongue. the king was delighted, and showed it. the lords and doctors manifested their gratification also. the king said,""twas not according to his schooling and ability, but sheweth that his mind is but diseased, not stricken fatally. how say you, sir?" the physician addressed bowed low, and replied,— "it jumpeth with mine own conviction, sire, that thou hast divined aright." the king looked pleased with this encouragement, coming as it did from so excellent authority, and continued with good heart,"now mark ye all: we will try him further." he put a question to tom in french. tom stood silent a moment, embarrassed by having so many eyes centred upon him, then said diffidently,"i have no knowledge of this tongue, so please your majesty." the king fell back upon his couch. the attendants flew to his assistance; but he put them aside, and said,"trouble me not-it is nothing but a scurvy faintness. raise me! there, 'tis sufficient. come hither, child; there, rest thy poor troubled head upon thy father's heart, and be at peace. thou'lt soon be well; 'tis but a passing fantasy. fear thou not; thou'lt soon be well." then he turned toward the company his gentle manner changed, and balefu! lightnings began to play from his eyes. he said,— tom as a patrician. 49 mer "list ye all! this my son is mad; but it is not permanent. over-study hath done this, and somewhat too much of confinement. away with his books and teachers! see ye to pleasure him with sports, beguile him in wholesome ways, so that his health come again." he raised himself higher still, and went on with energy, "he is mad; but he it. "is this man to live forever?" is my son, and england's heir; and, mad or sane, still shall he reign! and hear ye further, and proclaim it: whoso speaketh of this his distemper worketh against the peace and order of these realms, and shall to the gallows! . . . give me to drink-i burn: this sorrow sappeth my strength. there, take away the cup. support me. • there, that 50 tom as a patrician. is well. mad, is he? were he a thousand times mad, yet is he prince of wales, and i the king will confirm it. this very morrow shall he be installed in his princely dignity in due and ancient form. take instant order for it, my lord hertford." one of the nobles knelt at the royal couch, and said,— "the king's majesty knoweth that the hereditary great marshal of england lieth attainted in the tower. it were not meet that one attainted ". is "peace! insult not mine ears with his hated name. this man to live forever? am i to be balked of my will? is the prince to tarry uninstalled, because, forsooth, the realm lacketh an earl marshal free of treasonable taint to invest him with his honors? no, the splendor of god! warn my parliament to bring me norfolk's doom before the sun rise again, else shall they answer for it grievously!"* lord hertford said,"the king's will is law ;" and, rising, returned to his former place. gradually the wrath faded out of the old king's face, and he said,"kiss me, my prince. there . . what fearest thou? am i not thy loving father?" "thou art good to me that am unworthy, o mighty and gracious lord that in truth i know. but-but-it grieveth me to think of him that is to die, and' ― ――― "ah, 'tis like thee, 'tis like thee! i know thy heart is still the same, even though thy mind hath suffered hurt, for thou wert ever of a gentle spirit. but this duke standeth between thee and thine honors: i will have another in his stead that shall bring no taint to his great office. comfort thee, my prince trouble not thy poor head with this matter." "but is it not i that speed him hence, my liege? how long might he not live, but for me?" * see note 3, at end of the volume. tom as a patrician. 51 "take no thought of him, my prince he is not worthy. kiss me once again, and go to thy trifles and amusements; for my malady distresseth me. i am aweary, and would rest. go with thine uncle hertford and thy people, and come again when my body is refreshed." tom, heavy-hearted, was conducted from the presence, for this last sentence was a death-blow to the hope he had cherished that now he would be set free. once more he heard the buzz of low voices exclaiming, "the prince, the prince comes !" 1 his spirits sank lower and lower as he moved between the glittering files of bowing courtiers; for he recognized that he was indeed a captive now, and might remain forever shut up in this gilded cage, a forlorn and friendless prince, except god in his mercy take pity on him and set him free. and, turn where he would, he seemed to see floating in the air the severed head and the remembered face of the great duke of norfolk, the eyes fixed on him reproachfully. his old dreams had been so pleasant; but this reality was so dreary! chapter vi. tom receives instructions tom was conducted to the principal apartment of a noble suite, and made to sit down—a thing which he was loath to do, since there were elderly men and men of high degree about him. he begged them to be seated, also, but they only bowed their thanks or murmured them, and remained standing. he would have insisted, but his "uncle" the earl of hertford whispered in his ear"prithee, insist not, my lord; it is not meet that they sit in thy presence." the lord st. john was announced, and after making obeisance to tom, he said— "i come upon the king's errand, concerning a matter which requireth privacy. will it please your royal highness to dismiss all that attend you here, save my lord the earl of hertford ?" observing that tom did not seem to know how to proceed, hertford whispered him to make a sign with his hand and not trouble himself to speak unless he chose. when the waiting gentlemen had retired, lord st. john said— "his majesty commandeth, that for due and weighty reasons of state, the prince's grace shall hide his infirmity in all ways that be within his power, till it be passed and he be as he was before. to wit, that he shall deny to none that he is the true prince, and heir to england's greatness; that he shall uphold his princely dignity, and shall receive, without word or sign of protest, that reverence and observ52 tom receives instructions. 53 ance which unto it do appertain of right and ancient usage; that he shall cease to speak to any of that lowly birth and life his malady hath conjured out of the unwholesome imaginings of o'erwrought fancy; that he shall strive with diligence to bring unto his memory again those faces which he was wont to know-and where he faileth he shall hold his peace, neither betraying by semblance of surprise, or other sign, that he hath forgot; that upon occasions of state, whensoever any matter shall perplex him as to the thing he should do or the utterance he should make, he shall show nought of unrest to the curious that look on, but take advice in that matter of the lord hertford, or my humble self, which are commanded of the king to be upon this service and close at call, till this commandment be dissolved. thus saith the king's majesty, who sendeth greeting to your royal highness and prayeth that god will of his mercy quickly heal you and have you now and ever in his holy keeping." the lord st. john made reverence and stood aside. tom replied, resignedly"the king hath said it. none may palter with the king's command, or fit it to his ease, where it doth chafe, with deft evasions. the king shall be obeyed." lord hertford said"touching the king's majesty's ordainment concerning books and such like serious matters, it may peradventure please your highness to ease your time with lightsome entertainment, lest you go wearied to the banquet and suffer harm thereby." tom's face showed enquiring surprise; and a blush followed when he saw lord st. john's eyes bent sorrowfully upon him. his lordship said"thy memory still wrongeth thee, and thou hast shown surprise but suffer it not to trouble thee, for 'tis a matter that will not bide, but depart with thy mending malady. my 54 tom receives instructions. lord of hertford speaketh of the city's banquet which the king's majesty did promise two months flown, your highness should attend. thou recallest it now?" "it grieves me to confess it had indeed escaped me," said tom, in a hesitating voice; and blushed again. at that moment the lady elizabeth and the lady jane grey were announced. the two lords exchanged significant glances, and hertford stepped quickly toward the door. as the young girls passed him, he said in a low voice"i pray ye, ladies, seem not to observe his humors, nor show surprise when his memory doth lapse-it will grieve you to note how it doth stick at every trifle." meanwhile lord st. john was saying in tom's ear"please you sir, keep diligently in mind his majesty's desire. remember all thou canst-seem to remember all else. let them not perceive that thou art much changed from thy wont, for thou knowest how tenderly thy old play-fellows bear thee in their hearts and how 'twould grieve them. art willing, sir, that i remain?—and thine uncle?" tom signified assent with a gesture and a murmured word, for he was already learning, and in his simple heart was resolved to acquit himself as best he might, according to the king's command. in spite of every precaution, the conversation among the young people became a little embarrassing, at times. more than once, in truth, tom was near to breaking down and confessing himself unequal to his tremendous part; but the tact of the princess elizabeth saved him, or a word from one or the other of the vigilant lords, thrown in apparently by chance, had the same happy effect. once the little lady jane turned to tom and dismayed him with this question"hast paid thy duty to the queen's majesty to-day, my lord?" tom hesitated, looked distressed, and was about to stamtom receives instructions. 55 mer out something at hazard, when lord st. john took the word and answered for him with the easy grace of a courtier accustomed to encounter delicate difficulties and to be ready for them-"he hath indeed, madam, and she did greatly hearten hertford and the princesses. hmercial isl~~ him, as touching his majesty's condition; is it not so, your highness?" tom mumbled something that stood for assent, but felt that he was getting upon dangerous ground. somewhat later it was mentioned that tom was to study no more at present, whereupon her little ladyship exclaimed56 tom receives instructions. "'tis a pity, 'tis such a pity! thou wert proceeding bravely. but bide thy time in patience; it will not be for long. thou'lt yet be graced with learning like thy father, and make thy tongue master of as many languages as his, good my prince." 'my father!" cried tom, off his guard for the moment. "i trow he cannot speak his own so that any but the swine that wallow in the styes may tell his meaning; and as for learning of any sort soever "he looked up and encountered a solemn warning in my lord st. john's eyes. he stopped, blushed, then continued low and sadly: "ah, my malady persecuteth me again, and my mind wandereth. i meant the king's grace no irreverence." "we know it, sir," said the princess elizabeth, taking her "brother's" hand between her two palms, respectfully but caressingly; " trouble not thyself as to that. the fault is none of thine, but thy distemper's." "thou'rt a gentle comforter, sweet lady," said tom, gratefully, "and my heart moveth me to thank thee for't, an' i may be so bold.” once the giddy little lady jane fired a simple greek phrase at tom. the princess elizabeth's quick eye saw by the serene blankness of the target's front that the shaft was overshot; so she tranquilly delivered a return volley of sounding greek on tom's behalf, and then straightway changed the talk to other matters. time wore on pleasantly, and likewise smoothly, on the whole. snags and sandbars grew less and less frequent, and tom grew more and more at his ease, seeing that all were so lovingly bent upon helping him and overlooking his mistakes. when it came out that the little ladies were to accompany him to the lord mayor's banquet in the evening, his heart gave a bound of relief and delight, for he felt that he should tom receives instructions. 57 not be friendless, now, among that multitude of strangers, whereas, an hour earlier, the idea of their going with him would have been an insupportable terror to him. tom's guardian angels, the two ords, had had less comfort in the interview than the other parties to it. they felt much as if they were piloting a great ship through a dangerous channel; they were on the alert constantly, and found their office no child's play. wherefore, at last, when the ladies' visit was drawing to a close and the lord guilford dudley was announced, they not only felt that their charge had been sufficiently taxed for the present, but also that they themselves were not in the best condition to take their ship back and make their anxious voyage all over again. so they respectfully advised tom to excuse himself, which he was very glad to do, although a slight shade of disappointment might have been observed upon my lady jane's face when she heard the splendid stripling denied admittance. there was a pause, now, a sort of waiting silence which tom could not understand. he glanced at lord hertford, who gave him a sign-but he failed to understand that, also. the ready elizabeth came to the rescue with her usual easy grace. she made reverence and said,— "have we leave of the prince's grace my brother to go?" tom said"indeed your ladyships can have whatsoever of me they will, for the asking; yet would i rather give them any other thing that in my poor power lieth, than leave to take the light and blessing of their presence hence. give ye good den, and god be with ye!" then he smiled inwardly at the thought, "'tis not for nought i have dwelt but among princes in my reading, and taught my tongue some slight trick of their broidered and gracious speech withal ! "" when the illustrious maidens were gone, tom turned wearily to his keepers and said58 tom receives instructions. "may it please your lordships to grant me leave to go into some corner and rést me?" lord hertford said— "so please your highness, it is for you to command, it is for us to obey. that thou shouldst rest, is indeed a needful thing, since thou must journey to the city presently." he touched a bell, and a page appeared, who was ordered to desire the presence of sir william herbert. this gentleman came straightway, and conducted tom to an inner apartment. tom's first movement, there, was to reach for a cup of water; but a silk-and-velvet servitor seized it, dropped upon one knee, and offered it to him on a golden salver. next, the tired captive sat down and was going to take off his buskins, timidly asking leave with his eye, but another silk-and-velvet discomforter went down upon his knees and took the office from him. he made two or three further efforts to help himself, but being promptly forestalled each time, he finally gave up, with a sigh of resignation and a murmured "beshrew me but i marvel they do not require to breathe for me also!" slippered, and wrapped in a sumptuous robe, he laid himself down at last to rest, but not to sleep, for his head was too full of thoughts and the room too full of people. he could not dismiss the former, so they staid; he did not know enough to dismiss the latter, so they staid also, to his vast regret,—and theirs. tom's departure had left his two noble guardians alone. they mused a while, with much head-shaking and walking the floor, then lord st. john said66 plainly, what dost thou think?” 66 plainly, then, this. the king is near his end, my nephew is mad, mad will mount the throne, and mad remain. god protect england, since she will need it!" tom receives instructions. 59 have you no he evidently lord hertford the speaker hesitated, and finally stopped. felt that he was upon delicate ground. stopped before him, looked into his face with a clear, frank eye, and said— misgivings as 66 speak on-there is none to hear but me. to what?" "i am full loath to word the thing that is in my mind, and thou so near to him in blood, my lord. but craving pardon if i do offend, seemeth it not strange that madness could so change his port and manner!—not but that his port and speech are princely still, but that they differ in one unweighty trifle or another, from what his custom was aforetime. seemeth it not strange that madness should filch from his memory his father's very lineaments; the customs and observances that are his due from such as be about him; and, leaving him his latin, strip him of his greek and french? my lord, be not offended, but ease my mind of its disquiet and receive my grateful thanks. it haunteth me, his saying he was not the prince, and so ""peace, my lord, thou utterest treason! hast forgot the king's command ? remember i am party to thy crime, if i but listen." 66 verily it promiseth so, indeed. misgivings as to . . . as to 99 but... st. john paled, and hastened to say— "i was in fault, i do confess it. betray me not, grant me this grace out of thy courtesy, and i will neither think nor speak of this thing more. deal not hardly with me, sir, else am i ruined." "i am content, my lord. so thou offend not again, here or in the ears of others, it shall be as though thou hadst not spoken. but thou needst not have misgivings. he is my sister's son; are not his voice, his face, his form, familiar to me from his cradle? madness can do all the odd conflicting 60 tom receives instructions. things thou seest in him, and more. dost not recall how that the old baron marley, being mad, forgot the favor of his own countenance that he had known for sixty years, and held it was another's; nay, even claimed he was the son of mary magdalene, and that his head was made of spanish glass; and sooth to say, he suffered none to touch it, lest by mischance some heedless hand might shiver it. give thy misgivings easement, good my lord. this is the very prince, i know him well-and soon will be thy king; it may advantage thee to bear this in mind and more dwell upon it than the other." after some further talk, in which the lord st. john covered up his mistake as well as he could by repeated protests that his faith was thoroughly grounded, now, and could not be assailed by doubts again, the lord hertford relieved his fellow keeper, and sat down to keep watch and ward alone. he was soon deep in meditation. and evidently the longer he thought, the more he was bothered. by and by he began to pace the floor and mutter. "tush, he must be the prince! will any he in all the land maintain there can be two, not of one blood and birth, so marvellously twinned? and even were it so, 'twere yet a stranger miracle that chance should cast the one into the other's place. nay, 'tis folly, folly, folly!" presently he said"now were he impostor and called himself prince, look you that would be natural; that would be reasonable. but lived ever an impostor yet, who, being called prince by the king, prince by the court, prince by all, denied his dignity and pleaded against his exaltation? no! by the soul of st. swithin, no! this is the true prince, gone mad!” 1 chapter vii. tom's first royal dinner. somewhat after one in the afternoon, tom resignedly underwent the ordeal of being dressed for dinner. he found himself as finely clothed as before, but every thing different, every thing changed, from his ruff to his stockings. he was presently conducted with much state to a spacious and ornate apartment, where a table was already set for one. its furniture was all of massy gold, and beautified with designs which well-nigh made it priceless, since they were the work of benvenuto. the room was half filled with noble servitors. a chaplain said grace, and tom was about to fall to, for hunger had long been constitutional with him, but was interrupted by my lord the earl of berkeley, who fastened a napkin about his neck; for the great post of diaperers to the princes of wales was hereditary in this nobleman's family. tom's cupbearer was present, and forestalled all his attempts to help himself to wine. the taster to his highness the prince of wales was there also, prepared to taste any suspicious dish upon requirement, and run the risk of being poisoned. he was only an ornamental appendage at this time, and was seldom called upon to exercise his function; but there had been times, not many generations past, when the office of taster had its perils, and was not a grandeur to be desired. why they did not use a dog or a plumber seems strange; but all the ways of royalty are strange. my lord d'arcy, first groom of the chamber, was there, to do goodness knows what; but there he was-let that suffice. the lord chief 61 62 tom's first royal dinner. butler was there, and stood behind tom's chair, overseeing the solemnities, under command of the lord great steward and the lord head cook, who stood near. tom had three hundred and eighty-four servants beside these; but they were not all in that room, of course, nor the quarter of them; neither was tom aware yet that they existed. all those that were present had been well drilled within the hour to remember that the prince was temporarily out of his head, and to be careful to show no surprise at his vagaries. these "vagaries" vagaries" were soon on exhibition before them; but they only moved their compassion and their sorrow, not their mirth. it was a heavy affliction to them to see the beloved prince so stricken. poor tom ate with his fingers mainly; but no one smiled at it, or even seemed to observe it. he inspected his napkin curiously, and with deep interest, for it was of a very dainty and beautiful fabric, then said with simplicity,"prithee take it away, lest in mine unheedfulness it be soiled." the hereditary diaperer took it away with reverent manner, and without word or protest of any sort. tom examined the turnips and the lettuce with interest, and asked what they were, and if they were to be eaten; for it was only recently that men had begun to raise these things in england in place of importing them as luxuries from holland.* * his question was answered with grave respect, and no surprise manifested. when he had finished his dessert, he filled his pockets with nuts; but nobody appeared to be aware of it, or disturbed by it. but the next moment he was himself disturbed by it, and showed discomposure; for this was the only service he had been permitted to do with his own hands during the meal, and he did not doubt that he had done a most improper and unprincely thing. at that * see note 4, at end of volume. tom's first royal dinner. 63 moment the muscles of his nose began to twitch, and the end of that organ to lift and wrinkle. this continued, and tom began to evince a growing distress. he looked appealingly, 66 tom ate with his fingers." first at one and then another of the lords about him, and tears came into his eyes. they sprang forward with dismay in their faces, and begged to know his trouble. tom said with genuine anguish,— 64 tom's first royal dinner. "i crave your indulgence: my nose itcheth cruelly. what is the custom and usage in this emergence? prithee speed, for 'tis but a little time that i can bear it." none smiled; but all were sore perplexed, and looked one to the other in deep tribulation for counsel. but behold, here was a dead wall, and nothing in english history to tell how to get over it. the master of ceremonies was not 66 tom gravely took a draught." present there was no one who felt safe to venture upon this uncharted sea, or risk the attempt to solve this solemn problem. alas! there was no hereditary scratcher. meantime the tears had overflowed their banks, and begun to trickle down tom's cheeks. his twitching nose was pleading more urgently than ever for relief. at last nature broke down the barriers of etiquette: tom lifted up an inward prayer for yaliy tom's first royal dinner. 65 pardon if he was doing wrong, and brought relief to the burdened hearts of his court by scratching his nose himself. his meal being ended, a lord came and held before him a broad, shallow, golden dish with fragrant rose-water in it, to cleanse his mouth and fingers with; and my lord the hereditary diaperer stood by with a napkin for his use. tom gazed at the dish a puzzled moment or two, then raised it to his lips, and gravely took a draught. then he returned it to the waiting lord, and said,――――― "nay, it likes me not, my lord: it hath a pretty flavor, but it wanteth strength." this new eccentricity of the prince's ruined mind made all the hearts about him ache; but the sad sight moved none to merriment. tom's next unconscious blunder was to get up and leave the table just when the chaplain had taken his stand behind his chair and with uplifted hands, and closed, uplifted eyes, was in the act of beginning the blessing. still nobody seemed to perceive that the prince had done a thing unusual. by his own request, our small friend was now conducted to his private cabinet, and left there alone to his own devices. hanging upon hooks in the oaken wainscoting were the several pieces of a suit of shining steel armor, covered all over with beautiful designs exquisitely inlaid in gold. this martial panoply belonged to the true prince,-a recent present from madam parr the queen. tom put on the greaves, the gauntlets, the plumed helmet, and such other pieces as he could don without assistance, and for a while was minded to call for help and complete the matter, but bethought him of the nuts he had brought away from dinner, and the joy it would be to eat them with no crowd to eye him, and no grand hereditaries to pester him with undesired services; so he restored the pretty things to their several places, and soon was cracking nuts, and feeling almost naturally happy for the 66 tom's first royal dinner. first time since god for his sins had made him a prince. when the nuts were all gone, he stumbled upon some inviting books in a closet, among them one about the etiquette of the english court. this was a prize. he lay down upon a sumptuous divan, and proceeded to instruct himself with honest zeal. let us leave him there for the present. chapter viii. the question of the seal. about five o'clock henry viii. awoke out of an unrefreshing nap, and muttered to himself, "troublous dreams, troublous dreams! mine end is now at hand: so say these warnings, and my failing pulses do confirm it." presently a wicked light flamed up in his eye, and he muttered, "yet will not i die till he go before." his attendants perceiving that he was awake, one of them asked his pleasure concerning the lord chancellor, who was waiting without. "admit him, admit him!" exclaimed the king eagerly. the lord chancellor entered, and knelt by the king's couch, saying,— "i have given order, and, according to the king's command, the peers of the realm, in their robes, do now stand at the bar of the house, where, having confirmed the duke of norfolk's doom, they humbly wait his majesty's further pleasure in the matter." the king's face lit up with a fierce joy. said he,— "lift me up! in mine own person will i go before my parliament, and with mine own hand will i seal the warrant that rids me of "— his voice failed; an ashen pallor swept the flush from his cheeks; and the attendants eased him back upon his pillows, and hurriedly assisted him with restoratives. presently he said sorrowfully,— "alack, how have i longed for this sweet hour! and lo, 67 68 the question of the seal. too late it cometh, and i am robbed of this so coveted chance. but speed ye, speed ye! let others do this happy office sith 'tis denied to me. i put my great seal in commission : choose thou the lords that shall compose it, and get ye to your work. speed ye, man! before the sun shall rise and set again, bring me his head that i may see it.” "according to the king's command, so shall it be. will 't please your majesty to order that the seal be now restored to me, so that i may forth upon the business? " "the seal! who keepeth the seal but thou?" "please your majesty, you did take it from me two days since, saying it should no more do its office till your own royal hand should use it upon the duke of norfolk's warrant." "" why, so in sooth i did: i do remember it. . . what did i with it? . . . i am very feeble. . . . so oft these days doth my memory play the traitor with me. 'tis "" • • strange, strange the king dropped into inarticulate mumblings, shaking his gray head weakly from time to time, and gropingly trying to recollect what he had done with the seal. at last my lord hertford ventured to kneel and offer information,— "sire, if that i may be so bold, here be several that do remember with me how that you gave the great seal into the hands of his highness the prince of wales to keep against the day that " "true, most true!" interrupted the king. "fetch it! go time flieth!" lord hertford flew to tom, but returned to the king before very long, troubled and empty-handed. he delivered himself to this effect,— "it grieveth me, my lord the king, to bear so heavy and unwelcome tidings; but it is the will of god that the prince's affliction abideth still, and he cannot recall to mind that he the question of the seal. 69 received the seal. so came i quickly to report, thinking it were waste of precious time, and little worth withal, that any should attempt to search the long array of chambers and saloons that belong unto his royal high". a groan from the king interrupted my lord at this point. after a little while his majesty said, with a deep sadness in his tone,"trouble him no more, poor child. the hand of god lieth heavy upon him, and my heart goeth out in loving compassion for him, and sorrow that i may not bear his burden on mine own old trouble-weighted shoulders, and so bring him peace." he closed his eyes, fell to mumbling, and presently was silent. after a time he opened his eyes again, and gazed vacantly around until his glance rested upon the kneeling lord chancellor. instantly his face flushed with wrath,— what, thou here yet! by the glory of god, an' thou gettest not about that traitor's business, thy mitre shall have holiday the morrow for lack of a head to grace withal ! "" the trembling chancellor answered,"good your majesty, i cry you mercy! i but waited for the seal." "man, hast lost thy wits? the small seal which aforetime i was wont to take with me abroad lieth in my treasury. and, since the great seal hath flown away, shall not it suffice? hast lost thy wits? begone! and hark ye,-come no more till thou do bring his head." the poor chancellor was not long in removing himself from this dangerous vicinity; nor did the commission waste time in giving the royal assent to the work of the slavish parliament, and appointing the morrow for the beheading of the premier peer of england, the luckless duke of norfolk. * * see note 5, at end of volume. chapter ix. the river pageant. at nine in the evening the whole vast river-front of the palace was blazing with light. the river itself, as far as the eye could reach citywards, was so thickly covered with watermen's boats and with pleasure-barges, all fringed with colored lanterns, and gently agitated by the waves, that it resembled a glowing and limitless garden of flowers stirred to soft motion by summer winds. the grand terrace of stone steps leading down to the water, spacious enough to mass the army of a german principality upon, was a picture to see, with its ranks of royal halberdiers in polished armor, and its troops of brilliantly costumed servitors flitting up and down, and to and fro, in the hurry of preparation. presently a command was given, and immediately all living creatures vanished from the steps. now the air was heavy with the hush of suspense and expectancy. as far as one's vision could carry, he might see the myriads of people in the boats rise up, and shade their eyes from the glare of lanterns and torches, and gaze toward the palace. a file of forty or fifty state barges drew up to the steps. they were richly gilt, and their lofty prows and sterns were elaborately carved. some of them were decorated with banners and streamers; some with cloth-of-gold and arras embroidered with coats-of-arms; others with silken flags that had numberless little silver bells fastened to them, which shook out tiny showers of joyous music whenever the breezes fluttered them; others of yet higher pretensions, since they 70 the river pageant. 71 belonged to nobles in the prince's immediate service, had their sides picturesquely fenced with shields gorgeously emblazoned with armorial bearings. each state barge was towed by a tender. besides the rowers, these tenders carried each a number of men-at-arms in glossy helmet and breastplate, and a company of musicians. the advance-guard of the expected procession now appeared in the great gateway, a troop of halberdiers. "they were dressed in striped hose of black and tawny, velvet caps graced at the sides with silver roses, and doublets of murrey and blue cloth, embroidered on the front and back with the three feathers, the prince's blazon, woven in gold. their halberd staves were covered with crimson velvet, fastened with gilt nails, and ornamented with gold tassels. filing off on the right and left, they formed two long lines, extending from the gateway of the palace to the water's edge. a thick, rayed cloth or carpet was then unfolded, and laid down between them by attendants in the gold-and-crimson liveries of the prince. this done, a flourish of trumpets resounded from within. a lively prelude arose from the musicians on the water; and two ushers with white wands marched with a slow and stately pace from the portal. they were followed by an officer bearing the civic mace, after whom came another carrying the city's sword; then several sergeants of the city guard, in their full accoutrements, and with badges on their sleeves; then the garter king-at-arms, in his tabard; then several knights of the bath, each with a white lace on his sleeve; then their esquires; then the judges, in their robes of scarlet and coifs; then the lord high chancellor of england, in a robe of scarlet, open before, and purfled with minever; then a deputation of aldermen, in their scarlet cloaks; and then the heads of the different civic companies, in their robes of state. now came twelve french gentlemen, in splendid habiliments, consisting of pourpoints of white 72 the river pageant. damask barred with gold, short mantles of crimson velvet lined with violet taffeta, and carnation-colored hauts-dechausses, and took their way down the steps. they were of the suite of the french ambassador, and were followed by twelve cavaliers of the suite of the spanish ambassador, clothed in black velvet, unrelieved by any ornament. following these came several great english nobles with their attendants." there was a flourish of trumpets within; and the prince's uncle, the future great duke of somerset, emerged from the gateway, arrayed in a "doublet of black cloth-of-gold, and a cloak of crimson satin flowered with gold, and ribanded with nets of silver." he turned, doffed his plumed cap, bent his body in a low reverence, and began to step backward, bowing at each step. a prolonged trumpet-blast followed, and a proclamation," way for the high and mighty, the lord edward, prince of wales!" high aloft on the palace walls a long line of red tongues of flame leaped forth with a thunder-crash: the massed world on the river burst into a mighty roar of welcome; and tom 66 tom canty stepped into view."" the river pageant. 73 canty, the cause and hero of it all, stepped into view, and slightly bowed his princely head. he was "magnificently habited in a doublet of white satin, with a front-piece of purple cloth-of-tissue, powdered with diamonds, and edged with ermine. over this he wore a mantle of white cloth-of-gold, pounced with the triple-feather crest, lined with blue satin, set with pearls and precious stones, and fastened with a clasp of brilliants. about his neck hung the order of the garter, and several princely foreign orders ;" and wherever light fell upon him jewels responded with a blinding flash. o tom canty, born in a hovel, bred in the gutters of london, familiar with rags and dirt and misery, what a spectacle is this! chapter x. the prince in the toils. we left john canty dragging the rightful prince into offal court, with a noisy and delighted mob at his heels. there was but one person in it who offered a pleading word for the captive, and he was not heeded : he was hardly even heard, so great was the turmoil. the prince continued to struggle for freedom, and to rage against the treatment he was suffering, until john canty lost what little patience was left in him, and raised his oaken cudgel in a sudden fury over the prince's head. the single pleader for the lad sprang to stop the man's arm, and the blow descended upon his own wrist. canty roared out,—— "thou❜lt meddle, wilt thou? then have thy reward." his cudgel crashed down upon the meddler's head: there was a groan, a dim form sank to the ground among the feet of the crowd, and the next moment it lay there in the dark alone. the mob pressed on, their enjoyment nothing disturbed by this episode. presently the prince found himself in john canty's abode, with the door closed against the outsiders. by the vague light of a tallow candle which was thrust into a bottle, he made out the main features of the loathsome den, and also the occupants of it. two frowsy girls and a middle-aged woman cowered against the wall in one corner, with the aspect of animals habituated to harsh usage, and expecting and dreading it now. from another corner stole a withered hag 74 the prince in the toils. 75 with streaming gray hair and malignant eyes. john canty said to this one,— "tarry! there's fine mummeries here. mar them not till thou'st enjoyed them; then let thy hand be heavy as thou wilt. stand forth, lad. now say thy foolery again, an' thou'st not forgot it. name thy name. who art thou?" the insulted blood mounted to the little prince's cheek once more, and he lifted a steady and indignant gaze to the man's face, and said,""tis but ill-breeding in such as thou to command me to speak. i tell thee now, as i told thee before, i am edward, prince of wales, and none other." the stunning surprise of this reply nailed the hag's feet to the floor where she stood, and almost took her breath. she stared at the prince in stupid amazement, which so amused her ruffianly son, that he burst into a roar of laughter. but the effect upon tom canty's mother and sisters was different. their dread of bodily injury gave way at once to distress of a different sort. they ran forward with woe and dismay in their faces, exclaiming,― "o poor tom, poor lad!" the mother fell on her knees before the prince, put her hands upon his shoulders, and gazed yearningly into his face through her rising tears. then she said,"o my poor boy! thy foolish reading hath wrought its woful work at last, and ta'en thy wit away. ah! why didst thou cleave to it when i so warned thee 'gainst it? thou'st broke thy mother's heart." the prince looked into her face, and said gently,— "thy son is well, and hath not lost his wits, good dame. comfort thee: let me to the palace where he is, and straightway will the king my father restore him to thee." "the king thy father! o my child! unsay these words that be freighted with death for thee, and ruin for all that be 76 the prince in the toils. call back am not i near to thee. shake off this grewsome dream. thy poor wandering memory. look upon me. thy mother that bore thee, and loveth thee?” the prince shook his head, and reluctantly said,— "god knoweth i am loath to grieve thy heart; but truly have i never looked upon thy face before." the woman sank back to a sitting posture on the floor, and, covering her eyes with her hands, gave way to heartbroken sobs and wailings. "let the show go on!" shouted canty. “what, nan! what, bet! mannerless wenches! will ye stand in the prince's presence? upon your knees, ye pauper scum, and do him reverence!" he followed this with another horse-laugh. the girls began to plead timidly for their brother; and nan said,— "an' thou wilt but let him to bed, father, rest and sleep will heal his madness: prithee, do." "do, father," said bet: "he is more worn than is his wont. to-morrow will he be himself again, and will beg with diligence, and come not empty home again.” this remark sobered the father's joviality, and brought his mind to business. he turned angrily upon the prince, and said,"the morrow must we pay two pennies to him that owns this hole; two pennies, mark ye,—all this money for a halfyear's rent, else out of this we go. show what thou'st gathered with thy lazy begging." the prince said,i tell thee again "offend me not with thy sordid matters. i am the king's son." a sounding blow upon the prince's shoulder from canty's broad palm sent him staggering into goodwife canty's arms, who clasped him to her breast, and sheltered him from a pelting rain of cuffs and slaps by interposing her own person. the prince in the toils. 77 the frightened girls retreated to their corner; but the grandmother stepped eagerly forward to assist her son. the prince sprang away from mrs. canty, exclaiming,"thou shalt not suffer for me, madam. let these swine do their will upon me alone." this speech infuriated the swine to such a degree that they set about their work without waste of time. between them they belabored the boy right soundly, and then gave the girls and their mother a beating for showing sympathy for the victim. "now," said canty, "to bed, all of ye. the entertainment has tired me." the light was put out, and the family retired. as soon as the snorings of the head of the house and his mother showed that they were asleep, the young girls crept to where the prince lay, and covered him tenderly from the cold with straw and rags; and their mother crept to him also, and stroked his hair, and cried over him, whispering broken words of comfort and compassion in his ear the while. she had saved a morsel for him to eat, also; but the boy's pains had swept away all appetite,-—at least for black and tasteless crusts. he was touched by her brave and costly defence of him, and by her commiseration; and he thanked her in very noble and princely words, and begged her to go to her sleep and try to forget her sorrows. and he added that the king his father would not let her loyal kindness and devotion go unrewarded. this return to his "madness" broke her heart anew, and she strained him to her breast again and again and then went back, drowned in tears, to her bed. as she lay thinking and mourning, the suggestion began to creep into her mind that there was an undefinable something about this boy that was lacking in tom canty, mad or she could not describe it, she could not tell just what it was, and yet her sharp mother-instinct seemed to detect it sane. 78 the prince in the toils. and perceive it. what if the boy were really not her son, after all? o, absurd! she almost smiled at the idea, spite of her griefs and troubles. no matter, she found that it was an idea that would not "down," but persisted in haunting her. it pursued her, it harassed her, it clung to her, and refused to be put away or ignored. at last she perceived that there was not going to be any peace for her until she should devise a test that should prove, clearly and without question, whether this lad was her son or not, and so banish these wearing and worrying doubts. ah yes, this was plainly the right way out of the difficulty; therefore she set her wits to work at once to contrive that test. but it was an easier thing to propose than to accomplish. she turned over in her mind one promising test after another, but was obliged to relinquish them all-none of them were absolutely sure, absolutely perfect; and an imperfect one could not satisfy her. evidently she was racking her head in vain-it seemed manifest that she must give the matter up. while this depressing thought was passing through her mind, her ear caught the regular breathing of the boy, and she knew he had fallen asleep. and while she listened, the measured breathing was broken by a soft, startled cry, such as one utters in a troubled dream. this chance occurrence furnished her instantly with a plan worth all her labored tests combined. she at once set herself feverishly, but noiselessly, to work, to relight her candle, muttering to herself, "had i but seen him then, i should have known! since that day, when he was little, that the powder burst in his face, he hath never been startled of a sudden out of his dreams or out of his thinkings, but he hath cast his hand before his eyes, even as he did that day; and not as others would do it, with the palm inward, but always with the palm turned outward—i have seen it a hur dred times, and it hath never varied nor ever failed. yes, i shall soon know, now!" the prince in the toils. 79 by this time she had crept to the slumbering boy's side, with the candle, shaded, in her hand. she bent heedfully and warily over him, scarcely breathing, in her suppressed excitement, and suddenly flashed the light in his face and struck the floor by his ear with her knuckles. the sleeper's eyes sprung wide open, and he cast a startled stare about him --but he made no special movement with his hands. the poor woman was smitten almost helpless with surprise and grief; but she contrived to hide her emotions, and to uite "she bent heedfully and warily over him." soothe the boy to sleep again; then she crept apart and communed miserably with herself upon the disastrous result of her experiment. she tried to believe that her tom's madness had banished this habitual gesture of his; but she could not do it. "no," she said, "his hands are not mad, they could not unlearn so old a habit in so brief a time. o, this is a heavy day for me!" still, hope was as stubborn, now, as doubt had been before; she could not bring herself to accept the verdict of the test; 80 the prince in the toils. she must try the thing again-the failure must have been only an accident; so she startled the boy out of his sleep a second and a third time, at intervals-with the same result which had marked the first test-then she dragged herself to bed, and fell sorrowfully asleep, saying, “but i cannot give him up-o, no, i cannot, i cannot-he must be my boy!" the poor mother's interruptions having ceased, and the prince's pains having gradually lost their power to disturb him, utter weariness at last sealed his eyes in a profound and restful sleep. hour after hour slipped away, and still he slept like the dead. thus four or five hours passed. then his stupor began to lighten. presently while half asleep and half awake, he murmured"sir william !" after a moment"ho, sir william herbert! hie thee hither, and list to the strangest dream that ever sir william! dost hear? man, i did think me changed to a pauper, and . . . ho there! guards! sir william! what! is there no groom of the chamber in waiting? alack alack it shall go hard with❞— "what aileth thee?" asked a whisper near him. "who art thou calling?" "sir william herbert. who art thou?" "i? who should i be, but thy sister nan? o, tom, i had forgot! thou'rt mad yet-poor lad thou'rt mad yet, would i had never woke to know it again! but prithee master thy tongue, lest we be all beaten till we die !" the startled prince sprang partly up, but a sharp reminder from his stiffened bruises brought him to himself, and he sunk back among his foul straw with a moan and the ejaculation66 ... alas, it was no dream, then !" in a moment all the heavy sorrow and misery which sleep had banished were upon him again, and he realized that he the prince in the toils. 81 was no longer a petted prince in a palace, with the adoring eyes of a nation upon him, but a pauper, an outcast, clothed in rags, prisoner in a den fit only for beasts, and consorting with beggars and thieves. in the midst of his grief he began to be conscious of hilarious noises and shoutings, apparently but a block or two away. the next moment there were several sharp raps at the door; john canty ceased from snoring and said— "who knocketh? what wilt thou?" a voice answered"know'st thou who it was thou laid thy cudgel on?" "no. neither know i, nor care." "belike thou❜lt change thy note eftsoons. an' thou would save thy neck, nothing but flight may stead thee. the man is this moment delivering up the ghost. 'tis the priest, father andrew!" "god-a-mercy!" exclaimed canty. he roused his family, and hoarsely commanded, "up with ye all and fly-or bide where ye are and perish !" scarcely five minutes later the canty household were in the street and flying for their lives. john canty held the prince by the wrist, and hurried him along the dark way, giving him this caution in a low voice"mind thy tongue, thou mad fool, and speak not our name. i will choose me a new name, speedily, to throw the law's dogs off the scent. mind thy tongue, i tell thee !" he growled these words to the rest of the family"if it so chance that we be separated, let each make for london bridge; whoso findeth himself as far as the last linendraper's shop on the bridge, let him tarry there till the others be come, then will we flee into southwark together." at this moment the party burst suddenly out of darkness into light; and not only into light, but into the midst of a multitude of singing, dancing, and shouting people, massed 82 the prince in the toils. together on the river frontage. there was a line of bonfires stretching as far as one could see, up and down the thames ; london bridge was illuminated; southwark bridge likewise; the entire river was aglow with the flash and sheen of colored lights; and constant explosions of fireworks filled the skies with an intricate commingling of shooting splendors and a thick rain of dazzling sparks that almost turned night into day; everywhere were crowds of revellers; all london seemed to be at large. john canty delivered himself of a furious curse and commanded a retreat; but it was too late. he and his tribe were swallowed up in that swarming hive of humanity, and hopelessly separated from each other in an instant. we are not considering that the prince was one of his tribe; canty still kept his grip upon him. the prince's heart was beating high with hopes of escape, now. a burly waterman, considerably exalted with liquor, found himself rudely shoved, by canty, in his efforts to plough through the crowd; he laid his great hand on canty's shoulder and said"nay, whither so fast, friend? dost canker thy soul with sordid business when all that be leal men and true make holiday?' “mine affairs are mine own, they concern thee not," answered canty, roughly; "take away thy hand and let me pass." "sith that is thy humor, thou'lt not pass, till thou'st drunk to the prince of wales, i tell thee that," said the waterman, barring the way resolutely. "give me the cup, then, and make speed, make speed !" other revellers were interested by this time. they cried out"the loving-cup, the loving-cup! make the sour knave drink the loving-cup, else will we feed him to the fishes." so a huge loving-cup was brought; the waterman, graspthe prince in the toils. 83 ing it by one of its handles, and with his other hand bearing up the end of an imaginary napkin, presented it in due and ancient form to canty, who had to grasp the opposite handle with one of his hands and take off the lid with the other, according to ancient custom." this left the prince hand-free * 11for a second, of course. he wasted no time, but dived among the forest of legs about him and disappeared. in another moment he could not have been harder to find, under that tossing sea of life, if its billows had been the atlantic's and he a lost sixpence. he very soon realized this fact, and straightway busied himself about his own affairs without further thought of john canty. he quickly realized another thing, too. to wit, *see note 6, at end of volume. 66 he wasted no time." 84 the prince in the toils. that a spurious prince of wales was being feasted by the city in his stead. he easily concluded that the pauper lad, tom canty, had deliberately taken advantage of his stupendous opportunity and become a usurper. therefore there was but one course to pursue-find his way to the guildhall, make himself known, and denounce the impostor. he also made up his mind that tom should be allowed a reasonable time for spiritual preparation, and then be hanged, drawn and quartered, according to the law and usage of the day, in cases of high treason. chapter xi. at guildhall. ? the royal barge, attended by its gorgeous fleet, took its stately way down the thames through the wilderness of illuminated boats. the air was laden with music; the river banks were beruffled with joy-flames; the distant city lay in a soft luminous glow from its countless invisible bonfires; above it rose many a slender spire into the sky, incrusted with sparkling lights, wherefore in their remoteness they seemed like jewelled lances thrust aloft; as the fleet swept along, it was greeted from the banks with a continuous hoarse roar of cheers and the ceaseless flash and boom of artillery. to tom canty, half buried in his silken cushions, these sounds and this spectacle were a wonder unspeakably sublime and astonishing. to his little friends at his side, the princess elizabeth and the lady jane grey, they were nothing. arrived at the dowgate, the fleet was towed up the limpid walbrook (whose channel has now been for two centuries buried out of sight under acres of buildings,) to bucklersbury, past houses and under bridges populous with merrymakers and brilliantly lighted, and at last came to a halt in a basin where now is barge yard, in the centre of the ancient city of london. tom disembarked, and he and his gallant procession crossed cheapside and made a short march through the old jewry and basinghall street to the guildhall. tom and his little ladies were received with due ceremony 85 86 at guildhall. by the lord mayor and the fathers of the city, in their gold chains and scarlet robes of state, and conducted to a rich canopy of state at the head of the great hall, preceded by heralds making proclamation, and by the mace and the city sword. the lords and ladies who were to attend upon tom and his two small friends took their places behind their chairs. at a lower table the court grandees and other guests of noble degree were seated, with the magnates of the city; the commoners took places at a multitude of tables on the main floor of the hall. from their lofty vantage-ground, the giants gog and magog, the ancient guardians of the city, contemplated the spectacle below them with eyes grown familiar to it in forgotten generations. there was a bugleblast and a proclamation, and a fat butler appeared in a high perch in the leftward wall, followed by his servitors bearing with impressive solemnity a royal baron of beef, smoking hot and ready for the knife. after grace, tom, (being instructed) rose-and the whole house with him-and drank from a portly golden loving-cup with the princess elizabeth; from her it passed to the lady jane, and then traversed the general assemblage. so the banquet began. by midnight the revelry was at its height. now came one of those picturesque spectacles so admired in that old day. a description of it is still extant in the quaint wording of a chronicler who witnessed it: "" 'space being made, presently entered a baron and an earl appareled after the turkish fashion in long robes of bawdkin powdered with gold; hats on their heads of crimson velvet, with great rolls of gold, girded with two swords, called scimitars, hanging by great bawdricks of gold. next came yet another baron and another earl, in two long gowns of yellow at guildhall. 87 satin, traversed with white satin, and in every bend of white was a bend of crimson satin, after the fashion of russia, with furred hats of gray on their heads; either of them having an hatchet in their hands, and boots with pykes" (points a foot long), "turned up. and after them came a knight, then the lord high admiral, and with him five nobles, in doublets of crimson velvet, voyded low on the back and before to the cannell-bone, laced on the breasts with chains of silver; and, over that, short cloaks of crimson satin, and on their heads hats after the dancers' fashion, with pheasants' feathers in them. these were appareled after the fashion of prussia. the torch-bearers, which were about an hundred, were appareled in crimson satin and green, like moors, their faces black. next came in a mommarye. then the minstrels, which were disguised, danced; and the lords and ladies did wildly dance also, that it was a pleasure to behold." and while tom, in his high seat, was gazing upon this "wild" dancing, lost in admiration of the dazzling commingling of kaleidoscopic colors which the whirling turmoil of gaudy figures below him presented, the ragged but real little prince of wales was proclaiming his rights and his wrongs, denouncing the impostor, and clamoring for admission at the gates of guildhall! the crowd enjoyed this episode prodigiously, and pressed forward and craned their necks to see the small rioter. presently they began to taunt him and mock at him, purposely to goad him into a higher and still more entertaining fury. tears of mortification sprung to his eyes, but he stood his ground and defied the mob right royally. other taunts followed, added mockings stung him, and he exclaimed"i tell ye again, you pack of unmannerly curs, i am the prince of wales! and all forlorn and friendless as i be, with none to give me word of grace or help me in my need, yet will not i be driven from my ground, but will maintain it!” 88 at guildhall. "though thou be prince or no prince, 'tis all one, thou be'st a gallant lad, and not friendless neither! here stand i by thy side to prove it; and mind i tell thee thou might'st have a worser friend than miles hendon and yet not tire thy legs with seeking. rest thy small jaw, my child, i talk the language of these base kennel-rats like to a very native." the speaker was a sort of don cæsar de bazan in dress, aspect, and bearing. he was tall, trim-built, muscular. his doublet and trunks were of rich material, but faded and threadbare, and their gold-lace adornments were sadly tarnished; his ruff was rumpled and damaged; the plume in his slouched hat was broken and had a bedraggled and disrep utable look; at his side he wore a long rapier in a rusty iron sheath; his swaggering carriage marked him at once as a ruffler of the camp. the speech of this fantastic figure was received with an explosion of jeers and laughter. some cried, "tis another prince in disguise!" "'ware thy tongue, friend, belike he is dangerous!" "marry, he looketh it-mark his eye!" "pluck the lad from him—to the horse-pond wi' the cub!" instantly a hand was laid upon the prince, under the impulse of this happy thought; as instantly the stranger's long sword was out and the meddler went to the earth under sounding thump with the flat of it. the next moment a score of voices shouted "kill the dog! kill him! kill him!” and the mob closed in on the warrior, who backed himself against a wall and began to lay about him with his long weapon like a madman. his victims sprawled this way and that, but the mob-tide poured over their prostrate forms and dashed itself against the champion with undiminished fury. his moments seemed numbered, his destruction certain, when suddenly a trumpet-blast sounded, a voice shouted, "way for the king's messenger!" and a troop of horsemen came charging down upon the mob, who fled out of harm's at guildhall. 89 reach as fast as their legs could carry them. the bold stranger caught up the prince in his arms, and was soon far away from danger and the multitude. return we within the guildhall. suddenly, high above the jubilant roar and thunder of the revel, broke the clear peal of a bugle-note. there was instant silence, a deep hush; then a single voice rose-that of the messenger from the mome 66 — began to lay about him." palace and began to pipe forth a proclamation, the whole multitude standing, listening. the closing words, solemnly pronounced, were— "the king is dead!" the great assemblage bent their heads upon their breasts with one accord; remained so, in profound silence, a few moments; then all sunk upon their knees in a body, stretched 90 at guildhall. out their hands toward tom, and a mighty shout burst forth that seemed to shake the building"long live the king!" poor tom's dazed eyes wandered abroad over this stupefying spectacle, and finally rested dreamily upon the kneeling princesses beside him, a moment, then upon the earl of hertford. a sudden purpose dawned in his face. he said, in a low tone, at lord hertford's ear— "answer me truly, on thy faith and honor! uttered i here a command, the which none but a king might hold privilege and prerogative to utter, would such commandment be obeyed, and none rise up to say me nay?" 66 none, my liege, in all these realms. in thy person bides the majesty of england. thou art the king-thy word is law." tom responded, in a strong, earnest voice, and with great animation"then shall the king's law be law of mercy, from this day, and never more be law of blood! up from thy knees and away! to the tower and say the king decrees the duke of norfolk shall not die! * the words were caught up and carried eagerly from lip to lip far and wide over the hall, and as hertford hurried from the presence, another prodigious shout burst forth— "the reign of blood is ended! long live edward, king of england!" * see note 7, at end of volume. chapter xii. the prince and his deliverer. as soon as miles hendon and the little prince were clear of the mob, they struck down through back lanes and alleys toward the river. their way was unobstructed until they approached london bridge; then they ploughed into the multitude again, hendon keeping a fast grip upon the prince's-no, the king's-wrist. the tremendous news was already abroad, and the boy learned it from a thousand voices at once-"the king is dead!" the tidings struck a chill to the heart of the poor little waif, and sent a shudder through his frame. he realized the greatness of his loss, and was filled with a bitter grief; for the grim tyrant who had been such a terror to others had always been gentle with him. the tears sprung to his eyes and blurred all objects. for an instant he felt himself the most forlorn, outcast, and forsaken of god's creatures-then another cry shook the night with its far-reaching thunders: "long live king edward the sixth!" and this made his eyes kindle, and thrilled him with pride to his fingers' ends. "ah," he thought, "how grand and strange it seems-i am king!” our friends threaded their way slowly through the throngs upon the bridge. this structure, which had stood for six hundred years, and had been a noisy and populous thoroughfare all that time, was a curious affair, for a closely packed rank of stores and shops, with family quarters overhead, stretched along both sides of it, from one bank of the river to the other. the bridge was a sort of town to itself; it had 91 92 the prince and his deliverer. its inn, its beer houses, its bakeries, its haberdasheries, its food markets, its manufacturing industries, and even its church. it looked upon the two neighbors which it linked 64 our friends threaded their way." together-london and southwark--as being well enough, as suburbs, but not otherwise particularly important. it was a close corporation, so to speak; it was a narrow town, of a the prince and his deliverer. 93 single street a fifth of a mile long, its population was but a village population, and everybody in it knew all his fellow townsmen intimately, and had known their fathers and mothers before them—and all their little family affairs into the bargain. it had its aristocracy, of course-its fine old families of butchers, and bakers, and what-not, who had occupied the same old premises for five or six hundred years, and knew the great history of the bridge from beginning to end, and all its strange legends; and who always talked bridgy talk, and thought bridgy thoughts, and lied in a long, level, direct, substantial bridgy way. it was just the sort of population to be narrow and ignorant and self-conceited. children were born on the bridge, were reared there, grew to old age and finally died without ever having set a foot upon any part of the world but london bridge alone. such people would naturally imagine that the mighty and interminable procession which moved through its street night and day, with its confused roar of shouts and cries, its neighings and bellowings and bleatings and its muffled thunder-tramp, was the one great thing in this world, and themselves somehow the proprietors of it. and so they were in effect—at least they could exhibit it from their windows, and did--for a consideration whenever a returning king or hero gave it a fleeting splendor, for there was no place like it for affording a long, straight, uninterrupted view of marching columns. ― men born and reared upon the bridge found life unendurably dull and inane, elsewhere. history tells of one of these who left the bridge at the age of seventy-one and retired to the country. but he could only fret and toss in his bed; he could not go to sleep, the deep stillness was so painful, so awful, so oppressive. when he was worn out with it, at last, he fled back to his old home, a lean and haggard spectre, and fell peacefully to rest and pleasant dreams under the 94 the prince and his deliverer. lulling music of the lashing waters and the boom and crash and thunder of london bridge. 99 in the times of which we are writing, the bridge furnished "object lessons in english history, for its children-namely, the livid and decaying heads of renowned men impaled upon iron spikes atop of its gateways. but we digress. hendon's lodgings were in the little inn on the bridge. as he neared the door with his small friend, a rough voice said"so, thou'rt come at last! thou'lt not escape again, i warrant thee; and if pounding thy bones to a pudding can teach thee somewhat, thou'lt not keep us waiting another time, mayhap"-and john canty put out his hand to seize the boy. miles hendon stepped in the way, and said"not too fast, friend. thou art needlessly rough, methinks. what is the lad to thee?" "if it be any business of thine to make and meddle in others' affairs, he is my son." ""tis a lie!" cried the little king, hotly. "boldly said, and i believe thee, whether thy small headpiece be sound or cracked, my boy. but whether this scurvy ruffian be thy father or no, 'tis all one, he shall not have thee to beat thee and abuse, according to his threat, so thou prefer to bide with me." "i do, i do—i know him not, i loathe him, and will die before i will go with him." "then 'tis settled, and there is nought more to say." "we will see, as to that!" exclaimed john canty, striding past hendon to get at the boy; "by force shall he ""if thou do but touch him, thou animated offal, i will spit thee like a goose!" said hendon, barring the way and laying his hand upon his sword hilt. canty drew back. "now mark ye," continued hendon, "i took this lad under my the prince and his deliverer. 95 protection when a mob of such as thou would have mishandled him, mayhap killed him; dost imagine i will desert him now to a worser fate?—for whether thou art his father or no, -and sooth to say, i think it is a lie—a decent swift death were better for such a lad than life in such brute hands as thine. so go thy ways, and set quick about it, for i like not much bandying of words, being not over-patient in my nature." john canty moved off, muttering threats and curses, and was swallowed from sight in the crowd. hendon ascended three flights of stairs to his room, with his charge, after ordering a meal to be sent thither. it was a poor apartment, with a shabby bed and some odds and ends of old furniture in it, and was vaguely lighted by a couple of sickly candles. the little king dragged himself to the bed and lay down upon it, almost exhausted with hunger and fatigue. he had been on his feet a good part of a day and a night, for it was now two or three o'clock in the morning, and had eaten nothing meantime. he murmured drowsily"prithee call me when the table is spread," and sunk into a deep sleep immediately. a smile twinkled in hendon's eye, and he said to himself"by the mass, the little beggar takes to one's quarters and usurps one's bed with as natural and easy a grace as if he owned them-with never a by-your-leave or so-please-it-you, or anything of the sort. in his diseased ravings he called himself the prince of wales, and bravely doth he keep up the character. poor little friendless rat, doubtless his mind has been disordered with ill usage. well, i will be his friend; i have saved him, and it draweth me strongly to him; already i love the bold-tongued little rascal. how soldier-like he faced the smutty rabble and flung back his high defiance! and what a comely, sweet and gentle face he hath, now that 96 the prince and his deliverer. sleep hath conjured away its troubles and its griefs. i will teach him, i will cure his malady; yea, i will be his elder brother, and care for him and watch over him; and whoso would shame him or do him hurt, may order his shroud, for though i be burnt for it he shall need it!" he bent over the boy and contemplated him with kind and pitying interest, tapping the young cheek tenderly and smoothing back the tangled curls with his great brown hand. 66 smoothing back the tangled curls." a slight shiver passed over the boy's form. hendon muttered"see, now, how like a man it was to let him lie here uncovered and fill his body with deadly rheums. now what shall i do? 'twill wake him to take him up and put him within the bed, and he sorely needeth sleep." he looked about for extra covering, but finding none, doffed his doublet and wrapped the lad in it, saying, "i am used to nipping air and scant apparel, 'tis little i shall mind the cold" then walked up and down the room to keep his blood in motion, soliloquizing, as before. the prince and his deliverer. 97 "his injured mind persuades him he is prince of wales; 'twill be odd to have a prince of wales still with us, now that he that was the prince is prince no more, but king,—for this poor mind is set upon the one fantasy, and will not reason out that now it should cast by the prince and call itself the king. . . . if my father liveth still, after these seven years that i have heard naught from home in my foreign dungeon, he will welcome the poor lad and give him generous shelter for my sake; so will my good elder brother, arthur; my other brother, hugh-but i will crack his crown, an he interfere, the fox-hearted, ill-conditioned animal! yes, thither will we fare-and straightway, too." a servant entered with a smoking meal, disposed it upon a small deal table, placed the chairs, and took his departure, leaving such cheap lodgers as these to wait upon themselves. the door slammed after him, and the noise woke the boy, who sprung to a sitting posture, and shot a glad glance about him; then a grieved look came into his face and he murmured, to himself, with a deep sigh, "alack, it was but a dream, woe is me." next he noticed miles hendon's doublet-glanced from that to hendon, comprehended the sacrifice that had been made for him, and said, gently— "thou art good to me, yes, thou art very good to me. take it and put it on-i shall not need it more." then he got up and walked to the washstand in the corner, and stood there, waiting. hendon said in a cheery voice— "we'll have a right hearty sup and bite, now, for every thing is savory and smoking hot, and that and thy nap together will make thee a little man again, never fear!" the boy made no answer, but bent a steady look, that was filled with grave surprise, and also somewhat touched with impatience, upon the tall knight of the sword. hendon was puzzled, and said— "what's amiss?" 98 the prince and his deliverer. "good sir, i would wash me." 66 o, is that all! ask no permission of miles hendon for aught thou cravest. make thyself perfectly free here, and welcome, with all that are his belongings." still the boy stood, and moved not; more, he tapped the floor once or twice with his small impatient foot. was wholly perplexed. said hehendon "bless us, what is it?" "prithee pour the water, and make not so many words!" hendon, suppressing a horse-laugh, and saying to himself, "by all the saints, but this is admirable!" stepped briskly forward and did the small insolent's bidding; then stood by, in a sort of stupefaction, until the command, "come-the towel!" woke him sharply up. he took up a towel, from under the boy's nose, and handed it to him, without comment. he now proceeded to comfort his own face with a wash, and while he was at it his adopted child seated himself at the table and prepared to fall to. hendon despatched his ablutions with alacrity, then drew back the other chair and was about to place himself at table, when the boy said, indignantly— "forbear! wouldst sit in the presence of the king?" this blow staggered hendon to his foundations. he muttered to himself, "lo, the poor thing's madness is up with the time! it hath changed with the great change that is come to the realm, and now in fancy is he king! good lack, i must humor the conceit, too—there is no other way—faith, he would order me to the tower, else!" and pleased with this jest, he removed the chair from the table, took his stand behind the king, and proceeded to wait upon him in the courtliest way he was capable of. when the king ate, the rigor of his royal dignity relaxed a little, and with his growing contentment came a desire to talk. he saidthe prince and his deliverer. 99 "i think thou callest thyself miles hendon, if i heard thee aright?" "yes, sire," miles replied; then observed to himself, "if i must humor the poor lad's madness, i must sire him, i must majesty him, i must not go by halves, i must stick at nothing that belongeth to the part i play, else shall i play it ill and work evil to this charitable and kindly cause." the king warmed his heart with a second glass of wine, and said "i would know thee-tell me thy story. thou 66 go on-tell me thy story." hast a gallant way with thee, and a noble art nobly born?" "we are of the tail of the nobility, good your majesty. my father is a baronet-one of the smaller lords, by knight service*-sir richard hendon, of hendon hall, by monk's holm in kent." *he refers to the order of baronets, or baronettes,-the barones minores, as distinct from the parliamentary barons;-not, it need hardly be said, the baronets of later creation. 100 the prince and his deliverer. “the name has escaped my memory. go on-tell me thy story." "'tis not much, your majesty, yet perchance it may beguile a short half hour for want of a better. my father, sir richard, is very rich, and of a most generous nature. my mother died whilst i was yet a boy. i have two brothers: arthur, my elder, with a soul like to his father's; and hugh, younger than i, a mean spirit, covetous, treacherous, vicious, underhanded—a reptile. such was he from the cradle; such was he ten years past, when i last saw him—a ripe rascal at nineteen, i being twenty, then, and arthur twenty-two. there is none other of us but the lady edith, my cousin— she was sixteen, then-beautiful, gentle, good, the daughter of an earl, the last of her race, heiress of a great fortune and a lapsed title. my father was her guardian. i loved her and she loved me; but she was betrothed to arthur from the cradle, and sir richard would not suffer the contract to be broken. arthur loved another maid, and bade us be of good cheer and hold fast to the hope that delay and luck together would some day give success to our several causes. hugh loved the lady edith's fortune, though in truth he said it was herself he loved-but then 'twas his way, alway, to say the one thing and mean the other. but he lost his arts upon the girl: he could deceive my father, but none else. my father loved him best of us all, and trusted and believed him; for he was the youngest child and others hated him— these qualities being in all ages sufficient to win a parent's dearest love; and he had a smooth persuasive tongue, with an admirable gift of lying-and these be qualities which do mightily assist a blind affection to cozen itself. i was wild-in troth i might go yet farther and say very wild, though 'twas a wildness of an innocent sort, since it hurt none but me, brought shame to none, nor loss, nor had in it any taint of crime or baseness, or what might not beseem mine honorable degree. the prince and his deliverer. ioi "yet did my brother hugh turn these faults to good account-he seeing that our brother arthur's health was but indifferent, and hoping the worst might work him profit were i swept out of the path-so,—but 'twere a long tale, good my liege, and little worth the telling. briefly, then, this brother did deftly magnify my faults and make them crimes; ending his base work with finding a silken ladder in mine apartments-conveyed thither by his own means-and did convince my father by this, and suborned evidence of servants and other lying knaves, that i was minded to carry off my edith and marry with her, in rank defiance of his will. "three years of banishment from home and england might make a soldier and a man of me, my father said, and teach me some degree of wisdom. i fought out my long probation in the continental wars, tasting sumptuously of hard knocks, privation and adventure; but in my last battle i was taken captive, and during the seven years that have waxed and waned since then, a foreign dungeon hath harbored me. through wit and courage i won to the free air at last, and fled hither straight; and am but just arrived, right poor in purse and raiment, and poorer still in knowledge of what these dull seven years have wrought at hendon hall, its people and belongings. so please you, sir, my meagre tale is told." "thou hast been shamefully abused!" said the little king, with a flashing eye. "but i will right thee-by the cross will i ! the king hath said it." then, fired by the story of miles's wrongs, he loosed his tongue and poured the history of his own recent misfortunes into the ears of his astonished listener. when he had finished, miles said to himself— "lo, what an imagination he hath! verily this is no common mind; else, crazed or sane, it could not weave so straight and gaudy a tale as this out of the airy nothings wherewith it hath wrought this curious romaunt. poor ruined little 102 the prince and his deliverer. head, it shall not lack friend or shelter whilst i bide with the living. he shall never leave my side; he shall be my pet, my little comrade. and he shall be cured !—aye, made whole and sound-then will he make himself a name—and proud shall i be to say, 'yes, he is mine-i took him, a homeless little ragamuffin, but i saw what was in him, and i said his name would be heard some day-behold him, observe him—was i right ?'"' the king spoke-in a thoughtful, measured voice"thou didst save me injury and shame, perchance my life, and so my crown. such service demandeth rich reward. name thy desire, and so it be within the compass of my royal power, it is thine." this fantastic suggestion startled hendon out of his revery. he was about to thank the king and put the matter aside with saying he had only done his duty and desired no reward, but a wiser thought came into his head, and he asked leave to be silent a few moments and consider the gracious offer an idea which the king gravely approved, remarking that it was best to be not too hasty with a thing of such great import. miles reflected during some moments, then said to himself, "yes, that is the thing to do—by any other means it were impossible to get at it--and certes, this hour's experience has taught me 'twould be most wearing and inconvenient to continue it as it is. yes, i will propose it; 'twas a happy accident that i did not throw the chance away.” then he dropped upon one knee and said— 66 'my poor service went not beyond the limit of a subject's simple duty, and therefore hath no merit; but since your majesty is pleased to hold it worthy some reward, i take heart of grace to make petition to this effect. near four hundred years ago, as your grace knoweth, there being ill blood betwixt john, king of england, and the king of france, it was the prince and his deliverer. 103 decreed that two champions should fight together in the lists, and so settle the dispute by what is called the arbitrament of god. these two kings, and the spanish king, being assembled to witness and judge the conflict, the french champion appeared; but so redoubtable was he, that our english knights refused to measure weapons with him. so the matter, which was a weighty one, was like to go against the english monwww htfund; nt 66 he dropped on one knee. "" arch by default. now in the tower lay the lord de courcy, the mightiest arm in england, stripped of his honors and possessions, and wasting with long captivity. appeal was made to him; he gave assent, and came forth arrayed for battle; but no sooner did the frenchman glimpse his huge frame and hear his famous name but he fled away, and the french king's cause was lost. king john restored de cour104 the prince and his deliverer. cy's titles and possessions, and said, 'name thy wish and thou shalt have it, though it cost me half my kingdom;' whereat de courcy, kneeling, as i do now, made answer, 'this, then, i ask, my liege; that i and my successors may have and hold the privilege of remaining covered in the presence of the kings of england, henceforth while the throne shall last.' the boon was granted, as your majesty knoweth; and there hath been no time, these four hundred years, that that line has failed of an heir; and so, even unto this day, the head of that ancient house still weareth his hat or helm before the king's majesty, without let or hindrance, and this none other may do.* invoking this precedent in aid of my prayer, i beseech the king to grant to me but this one grace and privilege to my more than sufficient reward—and none other, to wit: that i and my heirs, forever, may sit in the presence of the majesty of england!" "rise, sir miles hendon, knight," said the king, gravely-giving the accolade with hendon's sword-" rise, and seat thyself. thy petition is granted. whilst england remains, and the crown continues, the privilege shall not lapse." his majesty walked apart, musing, and hendon dropped into a chair at table, observing to himself, ""twas a brave thought, and hath wrought me a mighty deliverance; my legs are grievously wearied. an' i had not thought of that, i must have had to stand for weeks, till my poor lad's wits are cured." after a little, he went on, "and so i am become a knight of the kingdom of dreams and shadows! a most odd and strange position, truly, for one so matter-of-fact as i. will not laugh-no, god forbid, for this thing which is so substanceless to me is real to him. and to me, also, in one way, it is not a falsity, for it reflects with truth the sweet * the lords of kingsale, descendants of de courcy, still enjoy this curious privilege. the prince and his deliverer. 105 "ah, and generous spirit that is in him." after a pause: what if he should call me by my fine title before folk !— there'd be a merry contrast betwixt my glory and my raiment! but no matter: let him call me what he will, so it please him; i shall be content." chapter xiii. the disappearance of the prince. a heavy drowsiness presently fell upon the two comrades. the king said— "remove these rags "-meaning his clothing. hendon disapparelled the boy without dissent or remark, tucked him up in bed, then glanced about the room, saying to himself, ruefully, "he hath taken my bed again, as before -marry, what shall i do?" the little king observed his perplexity, and dissipated it with a word. he said, sleepily"thou wilt sleep athwart the door, and guard it." in a moment more he was out of his troubles, in a deep slumber. "dear heart, he should have been born a king!" muttered hendon, admiringly; "he playeth the part to a marvel.” then he stretched himself across the door, on the floor, saying contentedly— "i have lodged worse for seven years; 'twould be but ill gratitude to him above to find fault with this." he dropped asleep as the dawn appeared. toward noon he rose, uncovered his unconscious ward-a section at a time —and took his measure with a string. the king awoke, just as he had completed his work, complained of the cold, and asked what he was doing. "'tis done, now, my liege," said hendon; "i have a bit of business outside, but will presently return; sleep thou again -thou needest it. there-let me cover thy head alsothou❜lt be warm the sooner." the king was back in dreamland before this speech was 106 the disappearance of the prince. 107 ended. miles slipped softly out, and slipped as softly in again, in the course of thirty or forty minutes, with a complete second-hand suit of boy's clothing, of cheap material, and showing signs of wear; but tidy, and suited to the season of the year. he seated himself, and began to overhaul his purchase, mumbling to himself"a longer purse would have got a better sort, but when one has not the long purse one must be content with what a short one may do"there was a woman in our town, in our town did dwell'44 he dropped asleep." "he stirred, methinks-i must sing in a less thunderous key; 'tis not good to mar his sleep, with this journey before him and he so wearied out, poor chap. this garment-'tis well enough-a stitch here and another one there will set it aright. this other is better, albeit a stitch or two will not come amiss in it, likewise. these be very good and sound, and will keep his small feet warm and dry -an odd new thing to him, belike, since he has doubtless 108 the disappearance of the prince. been used to foot it bare, winters and summers the same. would thread were bread, seeing one getteth a year's sufficiency for a farthing, and such a brave big needle without cost, for mere love. now shall i have the demon's own time to thread it!" and so he had. he did as men have always done, and probably always will do, to the end of time-held the needle still, and tried to thrust the thread through the eye, which is the opposite of a woman's way. time and time again the thread missed the mark, going sometimes on one side of the needle, sometimes on the other, sometimes doubling up against the shaft; but he was patient, having been through these experiences before, when he was soldiering. he succeeded at last, and took up the garment that had lain waiting, meantime, across his lap, and began his work. "the inn is paid—the breakfast that is to come, included -and there is wherewithal left to buy a couple of donkeys and meet our little costs for the two or three days betwixt this and the plenty that awaits us at hendon hall— "she loved her hus'— body o' me! i have driven the needle under my nail! it matters little-'tis not a novelty-yet 'tis not a convenience, neither. we shall be merry there, little one, never doubt it! thy troubles will vanish, there, and likewise thy sad distemper66 • "she loved her husband dearilee, but another man'"these be noble large stitches!"-holding the garment up and viewing it admiringly—“they have a grandeur and a majesty that do cause these small stingy ones of the tailorman to look mightily paltry and plebeian"she loved her husband dearilee, but another man he loved she,'the disappearance of the prince. 109 "marry, 'tis done-a goodly piece of work, too, and wrought with expedition. now will i wake him, apparel him, pour for him, feed him, and then will we hie us to the mart by the tabard inn in southwark and-be pleased to rise, my liege! -he answereth not-what ho, my liege !—of a truth must i profane his sacred person with a touch, sith his slumber is deaf to speech. what!" he threw back the covers-the boy was gone! he stared about him in speechless astonishment for a moment; noticed for the first time that his ward's ragged raiment was also missing, then he began to rage and storm, and shout for the innkeeper.—at that moment a servant entered with the breakfast. 66 explain, thou limb of satan, or thy time is come!" roared the man of war, and made so savage a spring toward the waiter that this latter could not find his tongue, for the instant, for fright and surprise. "where is the boy?" in disjointed and trembling syllables the man gave the information desired. "you were hardly gone from the place, your worship, when a youth came running and said it was your worship's will that the boy come to you straight, at the bridge-end on the southwark side. i brought him hither; and when he woke the lad and gave his message, the lad did grumble some little for being disturbed so early,' as he called it, but straightway trussed on his rags and went with the youth, only saying it had been better manners that your worship came yourself, not sent a stranger-and so 99 "and so thou'rt a fool!—a fool, and easily cozened— hang all thy breed! yet mayhap no hurt is done. possibly no harm is meant the boy. i will go fetch him. make the table ready. stay! the coverings of the bed were disposed as if one lay beneath them-happened that by accident?" ― 110 the disappearance of the prince. "i know not, good your worship. i saw the youth meddle with them--he that came for the boy." "thousand deaths! 'twas done to deceive me 'tis plain 'twas done to gain time. hark ye! was that youth alone?" "all alone, your worship." "art sure?" "sure, your worship.' "collect thy scattered wits-bethink thee-take time, man." after a moment's thought, the servant said— "when he came, none came with him; but now i remember me that as the two stepped into the throng of the bridge, a ruffian-looking man plunged out from some near place; and just as he was joining them❞— "what then?—out with it!" thundered the impatient hendon, interrupting. "just then the crowd lapped them up and closed them in, and i saw no more, being called by my master, who was in a rage because a joint that the scrivener had ordered was forgot, though i take all the saints to witness that to blame me for that miscarriage were like holding the unborn babe to judgment for sins com 99 "out of my sight, idiot! thy prating drives me mad! hold! whither art flying? canst not bide still an instant? went they toward southwark?” 99 "even so, your worship-for, as i said before, as to that detestable joint, the babe unborn is no whit more blameless than " "art here yet! and prating still? vanish, lest i throttle thee!" the servitor vanished. hendon followed after him, passed him, and plunged down the stairs two steps at a stride, muttering, "'tis that scurvy villain that claimed he was his son. i have lost thee, my poor little mad master—it is a bitter thought—and i had come to love thee so! no! by book the disappearance of the prince. iii and bell, not lost! not lost, for i will ransack the land till i find thee again. poor child, yonder is his breakfast—and mine, but i have no hunger now-so, let the rats have it— speed, speed! that is the word!" as he wormed his swift way through the noisy multitudes upon the bridge, he several times said to himself-clinging to the thought as if it were a particularly pleasing one-" he grumbled, but he went-he went, yes, because he thought miles hendon asked it, sweet lad-he would ne'er have done it for another, i know it well." one— chapter xiv. "le roi est mort-vive le roi." toward daylight of the same morning, tom canty stirred out of a heavy sleep and opened his eyes in the dark. he lay silent a few moments, trying to analyze his confused thoughts and impressions, and get some sort of meaning out of them, then suddenly he burst out in a rapturous but guarded voice"i see it all, i see it all! now god be thanked, i am indeed awake at last! come, joy! vanish, sorrow! ho, nan! bet! kick off your straw and hie ye hither to my side, till i do pour into your unbelieving ears the wildest madcap dream that ever the spirits of night did conjure up to astonish the soul of man withal! . . . ho, nan, i say! bet!" a dim form appeared at his side, and a voice said"wilt deign to deliver thy commands?" "commands? . . . o, woe is me, i know thy voice! speak, thou-who am i?" "thou? in sooth, yesternight wert thou the prince of wales, to-day art thou my most gracious liege, edward, king of england." tom buried his head among his pillows, murmuring plaintively66 'alack, it was no dream! go to thy rest, sweet sir— leave me to my sorrows." tom slept again, and after a time he had this pleasant dream. he thought it was summer and he was playing, all 112 "le roi est mort-vive le roi." 113 alone, in the fair meadow called goodman's fields, when a dwarf only a foot high, with long red whiskers and a humped back appeared to him suddenly and said, "dig, by that stump." he did so, and found twelve bright new pennies-wonderful riches! yet this was not the best of it; for the dwarf said"i know thee. thou art a good lad and deserving; thy distresses shall end, for the day of thy reward is come. dig wilt deign to deliver thy commands?" here every seventh day, and thou shalt find always the same treasure, twelve bright new pennies. tell none-keep the secret." then the dwarf vanished, and tom flew to offal court with his prize, saying to himself, "every night will i give my father a penny; he will think i begged it, it will glad his heart, and i shall no more be beaten. one penny every · 114 "le roi est mort-vive le roi." • week the good priest that teacheth me shall have; mother, nan and bet the other four. we be done with hunger and rags, now, done with fears and frets and savage usage.' in his dream he reached his sordid home all out of breath, but with eyes dancing with grateful enthusiasm; cast four of his pennies into his mother's lap and cried out— 66 'they are for thee !—all of them, every one !—for thee and nan and bet-and honestly come by, not begged nor stolen !" "" the happy and astonished mother strained him to her breast and exclaimed"it waxeth late-may it please your majesty to rise?" ah, that was not the answer he was expecting. the dream had snapped asunder—he was awake. he opened his eyes-the richly clad first lord of the bedchamber was kneeling by his couch. the gladness of the lying dream faded away-the poor boy recognized that he was still a captive and a king. the room was filled with courtiers clothed in purple mantles-the mourning color-and with noble servants of the monarch. tom sat up in bed and gazed out from the heavy silken curtains upon this fine company. the weighty business of dressing began, and one courtier after another knelt and paid his court and offered to the little king his condolences upon his heavy loss, whilst the dressing proceeded. in the beginning, a shirt was taken up by the chief equerry in waiting, who passed it to the first lord of the buckhounds, who passed it to the second gentleman of the bedchamber, who passed it to the head ranger of windsor forest, who passed it to the third groom of the stole, who passed it to the chancellor royal of the duchy of lancaster, who passed it to the master of the wardrobe, who passed it to norroy king-at-arms, who passed it to the constable of the tower, who passed it to the chief steward "le roi est mort-vive le roi." 115 of the household, who passed it to the hereditary grand diaperer, who passed it to the lord high admiral of england, who passed it to the archbishop of canterbury, who passed it to the first lord of the bedchamber, who took what was left of it and put it on tom. poor little wondering chap, it reminded him of passing buckets at a fire. each garment in its turn had to go through this slow and solemn process; consequently tom grew very weary of the ceremony; so weary that he felt an almost gushing gratefulness when he at last saw his long silken hose begin the jour66 'the first lord of the bedchamber received the hose." ney down the line and knew that the end of the matter was drawing near. but he exulted too soon. the first lord of the bedchamber received the hose and was about to encase tom's legs in them, when a sudden flush invaded his face and he hurriedly hustled the things back into the hands of the archbishop of canterbury with an astounded look and a whispered, "see, my lord!"-pointing to a something connected with the hose. the archbishop paled, then flushed, and passed the hose to the lord high admiral, whispering, "see, my lord!" the admiral passed the hose to the hereditary grand diaperer, and had hardly breath enough in his 116 "le roi est mort-vive le roi." body to ejaculate, "see, my lord!" the hose drifted backward along the line, to the chief steward of the household, the constable of the tower, norroy king-at-arms, the master of the wardrobe, the chancellor royal of the duchy of lancaster, the third groom of the stole, the head ranger of windsor forest, the second gentleman of the bedchamber, the first lord of the buckhounds,-accompanied always with that amazed and frightened "see! see!"-till they finally reached the hands of the chief equerry in waiting, who gazed a moment, with a pallid face, upon what had caused all this dismay, then hoarsely whispered, “body of my life, a tag gone from a truss point!-—to the tower with the head keeper of the king's hose!"—after which he leaned upon the shoulder of the first lord of the buckhounds to regather his vanished strength whilst fresh hose, without any damaged strings to them, were brought. but all things must have an end, and so in time tom canty was in a condition to get out of bed. the proper official poured water, the proper official engineered the washing, the proper official stood by with a towel, and by and by tom got safely through the purifying stage and was ready for the services of the hairdresser-royal. when he at length emerged from this master's hands, he was a gracious figure and as pretty as a girl, in his mantle and trunks of purple satin, and purple-plumed cap. he now moved in state toward his breakfast room, through the midst of the courtly assemblage; and as he passed, these fell back, leaving his way free, and dropped upon their knees. after breakfast he was conducted, with regal ceremony, attended by his great officers and his guard of fifty gentlemen pensioners bearing gilt battle-axes, to the throne-room, where he proceeded to transact business of state. his "uncle," lord hertford, took his stand by the throne, to assist the royal mind with wise counsel. "le roi est mort-vive le roi." 117 the body of illustrious men named by the late king as his executors, appeared, to ask tom's approval of certain acts of theirs—rather a form, and yet not wholly a form, since there was no protector as yet. the archbishop of canterbury made report of the decree of the council of executors concerning the obsequies of his late most illustrious majesty, and finished by reading the signatures of the executors, to-wit: the archbishop of canterbury; the lord chancellor of england; william lord st. john; john lord russell; edward earl of hertford; john viscount lisle; cuthbert bishop of durhamtom was not listening—an earlier clause of the document was puzzling him. at this point he turned and whispered to lord hertford"what day did he say the burial hath been appointed for?" "the 16th of the coming month, my liege." "'tis a strange folly. will he keep?" poor chap, he was still new to the customs of royalty; he was used to seeing the forlorn dead of offal court hustled out of the way with a very different sort of expedition. however, the lord hertford set his mind at rest with a word or two. a secretary of state presented an order of the council appointing the morrow at eleven for the reception of the foreign ambassadors, and desired the king's assent. tom turned an inquiring look toward hertford, who whispered"your majesty will signify consent. they come to testify their royal masters' sense of the heavy calamity which hath visited your grace and the realm of england.” tom did as he was bidden. another secretary began to read a preamble concerning the expenses of the late king's household, which had amounted to £28,000 during the preceding six months-a sum so vast that it made tom canty 118 "le roi est mort-vive le roi." gasp; he gasped again when the fact appeared that £20,000 of this money were still owing and unpaid;* and once more when it appeared that the king's coffers were about empty, and his twelve hundred servants much embarrassed for lack of the wages due them. tom spoke out, with lively apprehension"we be going to the dogs, 'tis plain. 'tis meet and necessary that we take a smaller house and set the servants at large, sith they be of no value but to make delay, and trouble one with offices that harass the spirit and shame the soul, they misbecoming any but a doll, that hath nor brains nor hands to help itself withal. i remember me of a small house that standeth over against the fish-market, by billingsgate"a sharp pressure upon tom's arm stopped his foolish tongue and sent a blush to his face; but no countenance there betrayed any sign that this strange speech had been remarked or given concern, a secretary made report that forasmuch as the late king. had provided in his will for conferring the ducal degree upon the earl of hertford and raising his brother, sir thomas seymour, to the peerage, and likewise hertford's son to an carldom, together with similar aggrandizements to other great servants of the crown, the council had resolved to hold a sitting on the 16th of february for the delivering and confirming of these honors; and that meantime, the late king not having granted, in writing, estates suitable to the support of these dignities, the council, knowing his private wishes in that regard, had thought proper to grant to seymour "£500 lands," and to hertford's son “soo pound lands, and 300 pound of the next bishop's lands which should fall vacant,”—his present majesty being willing,* tom was about to blurt out something about the propri* hume. "le roi est mort-vive le roi." 119 ety of paying the late king's debts first, before squandering all this money; but a timely touch upon his arm, from the thoughtful hertford, saved him this indiscretion; wherefore he gave the royal assent, without spoken comment, but with much inward discomfort. while he sat reflecting, a moment, over the ease with which he was doing strange and glittering miracles, a happy thought shot into his mind: why not make his mother duchess of offal court and give her an estate? but a sorrowful thought swept it instantly away: he was only a king in name, these grave veterans and great nobles were his masters; to them his mother was only the creature of a diseased mind; they would simply listen to his project with unbelieving ears, then send for the doctor. the dull work went tediously on. petitions were read, and proclamations, patents, and all manner of wordy, repetitious and wearisome papers relating to the public business; and at last tom sighed pathetically and murmured to himself, "in what have i offended, that the good god should take me away from the fields and the free air and the sunshine, to shut me up here and make me a king and afflict me so?" then his poor muddled head nodded a while, and presently dropped to his shoulder; and the business of the empire came to a stand-still for want of that august factor, the ratifying power. silence ensued, around the slumbering child, and the sages of the realm ceased from their deliberations. during the forenoon, tom had an enjoyable hour, by permission of his keepers, hertford and st. john, with the lady elizabeth and the little lady jane grey; though the spirits of the princesses were rather subdued by the mighty stroke that had fallen upon the royal house; and at the end of the visit his "elder sister "—afterwards the "bloody mary" of history-chilled him with a solemn interview which had but one merit in his eyes, its brevity. he had a few moments 120 "le roi est mort-vive le roi." age to himself, and then a slim lad of about twelve years of was admitted to his presence, whose clothing, except his snowy ruff and the laces about his wrists, was of black,doublet, hose and all. he bore no badge of mourning but a knot of purple ribbon on his shoulder. he advanced hesitatingly, with head bowed and bare, and dropped upon one knee in front of tom. tom sat still and contemplated him soberly a moment. then he said66 rise, lad. who art thou? what wouldst have?" the boy rose, and stood at graceful ease, but with an aspect of concern in his face. he saidi am thy "of a surety thou must remember me, my lord. whipping-boy." 66 my whipping-boy? "the same, your grace. i am humphrey-humphrey marlow." "9 tom perceived that here was some one whom his keepers ought to have posted him about. the situation was delicate. what should he do?-pretend he knew this lad, and then betray by his every utterance, that he had never heard of him before? no, that would not do. an idea came to his relief: accidents like this might be likely to happen with some frequency, now that business urgencies would often call hertford and st. john from his side, they being members of the council of executors; therefore perhaps it would be well to strike out a plan himself to meet the requirements of such emergencies. yes, that would be a wise course—he would practice on this boy, and see what sort of success he might achieve. so he stroked his brow, perplexedly, a moment or two, and presently said— "now i seem to remember thee somewhat-but my wit is clogged and dim with suffering”— "alack, my poor master!" ejaculated the whipping-boy, with feeling; adding, to himself, "in truth 'tis as they said "wala man saja, gan da "le roi est mort-vive le roi." 121 • -his mind is gone-alas, poor soul ! but misfortune catch me, how am i forgetting! they said one must not seem to observe that aught is wrong with him." "'tis strange how my memory doth wanton with me these days," said tom. "but mind it not—i mend apace—a little clew doth often serve to bring me back again the things and names which had escaped me. [and not they, only, forsooth, but e'en such as i ne'er heard before-as this lad shall see.] give thy business speech." "'tis matter of small weight, my liege, yet will i touch upon it an' it please your grace. two days gone by, when your majesty faulted thrice in your greek-in the morning lessons,―dost remember it?" "y-e-s-methinks i do. [it is not much of a lie—an’ i had meddled with the greek at all, i had not faulted simply thrice, but forty times.] yes, i do recall it, now— go on." "the master, being wroth with what he termed such slovenly and doltish work, did promise that he would soundly whip me for it—and ”. "whip thee!" said tom, astonished out of his presence of mind. "why should he whip thee for faults of mine?" "ah, your grace forgetteth again. he always scourgeth me, when thou dost fail in thy lessons." "true, true i had forgot. thou teachest me in private -then if i fail, he argueth that thy office was lamely done, and "_ "o, my liege, what words are these? i, the humblest of thy servants, presume to teach thee?" "then where is thy blame? what riddle is this? am i in truth gone mad, or is it thou? explain-speak out." "but good your majesty, there's nought that needeth simplifying. none may visit the sacred person of the prince of 122 "le roi est mort-vive le roi." wales with blows; wherefore when he faulteth, 'tis i that take them; and meet it is and right, for that it is mine office and my livelihood." "'* tom stared at the tranquil boy, observing to himseif, "lo, it is a wonderful thing,-a most strange and curious trade; i marvel they have not hired a boy to take my combings and ⚫ my dressings for me-would heaven they would!-an' they will do this thing, i will take my lashings in mine own person, giving god thanks for the change." then he said aloud"and hast thou been beaten, poor friend, according to the promise?" "no, good your majesty, my punishment was appointed for this day, and peradventure it may be annulled, as unbefitting the season of mourning that is come upon us; i know not, and so have made bold to come hither and remind your grace about your gracious promise to intercede in my behalf "'tis i that take them." "with the master? to save thee thy whipping?" "ah thou dost remember!" "my memory mendeth, thou seest. set thy mind at ease -thy back shall go unscathed-i will see to it." "o, thanks, my good lord!" cried the boy, dropping upon *see note 8, at end of volume. "le roi est mort-vive le roi." 123 his knee again. "mayhap i have ventured far enow; and yet" seeing master humphrey hesitate, tom encouraged him to go on, saying he was "in the granting mood." "then will i speak it out, for it lieth near my heart. sith thou art no more prince of wales but king, thou canst order matters as thou wilt, with none to say thee nay; wherefore it is not in reason that thou wilt longer vex thyself with dreary studies, but wilt burn thy books and turn thy mind to things less irksome. then am i ruined, and mine orphan sisters with me!" "ruined? prithee how?” "my back is my bread, o my gracious liege! if it go idle, i starve. an' thou cease from study, mine office is gone, thou❜lt need no whipping-boy. do not turn me away!" tom was touched with this pathetic distress. he said, with a right royal burst of generosity— "discomfort thyself no further, lad. thine office shall be permanent in thee and thy line, forever." then he struck the boy a light blow on the shoulder with the flat of his sword, exclaiming, "rise, humphrey marlow, hereditary grand whipping-boy to the royal house of england! banish sorrow-i will betake me to my books again, and study so ill that they must in justice treble thy wage, so mightily shall the business of thine office be augmented." the grateful humphrey responded fervidly"thanks, o most noble master, this princely lavishness. doth far surpass my most distempered dreams of fortune. now shall i be happy all my days, and all the house of marlow after me." tom had wit enough to perceive that here was a lad who could be useful to him. he encouraged humphrey to talk, and he was nothing loath. he was delighted to believe that he was helping in tom's "cure;" for always, as soon as he 124 "le roi est mort-vive le roi." had finished calling back to tom's diseased mind the various particulars of his experiences and adventures in the royal school-room and elsewhere about the palace, he noticed that tom was then able to "recall" the circumstances quite clearly. at the end of an hour tom found himself well freighted with very valuable information concerning personages and matters pertaining to the court; so he resolved to draw instruction from this source daily; and to this end he would give order to admit humphrey to the royal closet whenever he might come, provided the majesty of england was not engaged with other people. humphrey had hardly been dismissed when my lord hertford arrived with more trouble for tom. he said that the lords of the council, fearing that some overwrought report of the king's damaged health might have leaked out and got abroad, they deemed it wise and best that his majesty should begin to dine in public after a day or two -his wholesome complexion and vigorous step, assisted by a carefully guarded repose of manner and ease and grace of demeanor, would more surely quiet the general pulse-in case any evil rumors had gone about-than any other scheme that could be devised. then the earl proceeded, very delicately, to instruct tom as to the observances proper to the stately occasion, under the rather thin disguise of "reminding" him concerning things already known to him; but to his vast gratification it turned out that tom needed very little help in this line-he had been making use of humphrey in that direction, for humphrey had mentioned that within a few days he was to begin to dine in public; having gathered it from the swiftwinged gossip of the court. tom kept these facts to himself however. seeing the royal memory so improved, the earl ventured to apply a few tests to it, in an apparently casual way, to find "le roi est mort-vive le roi." 125 out how far its amendment had progressed. the results were happy, here and there, in spots-spots where humphrey's tracks remained-and on the whole my lord was greatly pleased and encouraged. so encouraged was he, indeed, that he spoke up and said in a quite hopeful voice— "now am i persuaded that if your majesty will but tax your memory yet a little further, it will resolve the puzzle of the great seal—a loss which was of moment yesterday, although of none to-day, since its term of service ended with our late lord's life. may it please your grace to make the trial?” tom was at sea-a great seal was a something which he was totally unacquainted with. after a moment's hesitation he looked up innocently and asked"what was it like, my lord?” 66 the earl started, almost imperceptibly, muttering to himself, alack, his wits are flown again!-it was ill wisdom to lead him on to strain them "—then he deftly turned the talk to other matters, with the purpose of sweeping the unlucky seal out of tom's thoughts-a purpose which easily succeeded. chapter xv. tom as king. the next day the foreign ambassadors came, with their gorgeous trains; and tom, throned in awful state, received them. the splendors of the scene delighted his eye and fired his imagination, at first, but the audience was long and dreary, and so were most of the addresses-wherefore, what began as a pleasure, grew into weariness and homesickness by and by. tom said the words which hertford put into his mouth from time to time, and tried hard to acquit himself satisfactorily, but he was too new to such things, and too ill at ease to accomplish more than a tolerable success. he looked sufficiently like a king, but he was ill able to feel like one. he was cordially glad when the ceremony was ended. the larger part of his day was "wasted"—as he termed it, in his own mind-in labors pertaining to his royal office. even the two hours devoted to certain princely pastimes and recreations were rather a burden to him, than otherwise, they were so fettered by restrictions and ceremonious observances. however he had a private hour with his whipping-boy which he counted clear gain, since he got both entertainment and needful information out of it. the third day of tom canty's kingship came and went much as the others had done, but there was a lifting of his cloud in one way he felt less uncomfortable than at first; he was getting a little used to his circumstances and surroundings; his chains still galled, but not all the time; he found that the presence and homage of the great afflicted and 126 tom as king. 127 embarrassed him less and less sharply with every hour that drifted over his head. but for one single dread, he could have seen the fourth day approach without serious distress-the dining in public; it was to begin that day. there were greater matters in the programme-for on that day he would have to preside at a council which would take his views and commands concerning the policy to be pursued toward various foreign nations scattered far and near over the great globe; on that day, too, hertford would be formally chosen to the grand office of lord protector; other things of note were appointed for that fourth day, also, but to tom they were all insignificant compared with the ordeal of dining all by himself with a multitude of curious eyes fastened upon him and a multitude of mouths whispering comments upon his performance, and upon his mistakes, if he should be so unlucky as to make any. 66 tom had wandered to a window." 128 tom as king. still, nothing could stop that fourth day, and so it came. it found poor tom low-spirited and absent-minded, and this mood continued; he could not shake it off. the ordinary duties of the morning dragged upon his hands, and wearied him. once more he felt the sense of captivity heavy upon him. late in the forenoon he was in a large audience chamber, conversing with the earl of hertford and dully awaiting the striking of the hour appointed for a visit of ceremony from a considerable number of great officials and courtiers. after a little while, tom, who had wandered to a window and become interested in the life and movement of the great highway beyond the palace gates—and not idly interested, but longing with all his heart to take part in person in its stir and freedom-saw the van of a hooting and shouting mob of disorderly men, women and children of the lowest and poorest degree approaching from up the road. "i would i knew what 'tis about!" he exclaimed, with all a boy's curiosity in such happenings. "thou art the king!" solemnly responded the earl, with a reverence. "have i your grace's leave to act?" "o blithely, yes! o gladly yes!" exclaimed tom, excitedly, adding to himself with a lively sense of satisfaction, "in truth, being a king is not all dreariness—it hath its compensations and conveniences." the earl called a page, and sent him to the captain of the guard with the order"let the mob be halted, and inquiry made concerning the occasion of its movement. by the king's command!” a few seconds later a long rank of the royal guards, cased in flashing steel, filed out at the gates and formed across the highway in front of the multitude. a messenger returned, to report that the crowd were following a man, a woman, and a young girl to execution for crimes committed against the peace and dignity of the realm. tom as king. 129 death-and a violent death-for these poor unfortunates! the thought wrung tom's heart-strings. the spirit of compassion took control of him, to the exclusion of all other considerations; he never thought of the offended laws, or of the grief or loss which these three criminals had inflicted upon their victims, he could think of nothing but the scaffold and the grisly fate hanging over the heads of the condemned. his concern made him even forget, for the moment, that he was but the false shadow of a king, not the substance; and before he knew it he had blurted out the command"bring them here!" then he blushed scarlet, and a sort of apology sprung to his lips; but observing that his order had wrought no sort of surprise in the earl or the waiting page, he suppressed the words he was about to utter. the page, in the most matterof-course way, made a profound obeisance and retired backwards out of the room to deliver the command. tom experienced a glow of pride and a renewed sense of the compensating advantages of the kingly office. he said to himself, "truly it is like what i was used to feel when i read the old priest's tales, and did imagine mine own self a prince, giving law and command to all, saying 'do this, do that,' whilst none durst offer let or hindrance to my will." now the doors swung open; one high-sounding title after another was announced, the personages owning them followed, and the place was quickly half filled with noble folk and finery. but tom was hardly conscious of the presence of these people, so wrought up was he and so intensely absorbed in that other and more interesting matter. he seated himself, absently, in his chair of state, and turned his eyes upon the door with manifestations of impatient expectancy; seeing which, the company forebore to trouble him, and fell to chatting a mixture of public business and court gossip one with another. • 130 tom as king. in a little while the measured tread of military men was heard approaching, and the culprits entered the presence in charge of an under-sheriff and escorted by a detail of the king's guard. the civil officer knelt before tom, then stood aside; the three doomed persons knelt, also, and remained so; the guard took position behind tom's chair. tom. scanned the prisoners curiously. something about the dress. or appearance of the man had stirred a vague memory in him. "methinks i have seen this man ere now . . . but the when or the where fail me❞—such was tom's thought. just then the man glanced quickly up, and quickly dropped his face again, not being able to endure the awful port of sovereignty; but the one full glimpse of the face, which tom got, was sufficient. he said to himself: "now is the matter clear; this is the stranger that plucked giles witt out of the thames, and saved his life, that windy, bitter, first day of the new year-a brave good deed-pity he hath been doing baser ones and got himself in this sad case. . . . i have not forgot the day, neither the hour; by reason that an hour after, upon the stroke of eleven, i did get a hiding by the hand of gammer canty which was of so goodly and admired severity that all that went before or followed after it were but fondlings and caresses by comparison." tom now ordered that the woman and the girl be removed from the presence for a little time; then addressed himself to the under-sheriff, saying"good sir, what is this man's offence?" the officer knelt, and answered"so please your majesty, he hath taken the life of a subject by poison." tom's compassion for the prisoner, and admiration of him as the daring rescuer of a drowning boy, experienced a most damaging shock. "the thing was proven upon him?" he asked. tom as king. 131 "most clearly, sire." tom sighed, and said"take him away-he hath earned his death. 'tis a pity, for he was a brave heart-na-na, i mean he hath the look of it!" the prisoner clasped his hands together with sudden energy, and wrung them despairingly, at the same time appealing imploringly to the "king" in broken and terrified phrases― 66 "o my lord the king, an' thou canst pity the lost, have pity upon me! i am innocent-neither hath that wherewith i am charged been more than but lamely proved-yet i speak not of that; the judgment is gone forth against me and may not suffer alteration; yet in mine extremity i beg a boon, for my doom is more than i can bear. a grace, a grace, my lord the king in thy royal compassion grant my prayer—give commandment that i be hanged!" tom was amazed. this was not the outcome he had looked for. "odds my life, a strange boon! was it not the fate intended thee?" "o good my liege, not so! it is ordered that i be boiled alive!" the hideous surprise of these words almost made tom spring from his chair. as soon as he could recover his wits he cried out"have thy wish, poor soul! an' thou had poisoned a hundred men thou shouldst not suffer so miserable a death.” the prisoner bowed his face to the ground and burst into passionate expressions of gratitudeending with— "if ever thou shouldst know misfortune-which god forfend!-may thy goodness to me this day be remembered and requited!" tom turned to the earl of hertford, and said— 132 tom as king. "" my lord, is it believable that there was warrant for this man's ferocious doom?" "it is the law, your grace-for poisoners. in germany coiners be boiled to death in oil-not cast in of a sudden, but by a rope let down into the oil by degrees, and slowly; first the feet, then the legs, then ". "o prithee no more, my lord, i cannot bear it!" cried tom, covering his eyes with his hands to shut out the picture. "i beseech your good lordship that order be taken to change this law-o, let no more poor creatures be visited with its tortures." the earl's face showed profound gratification, for he was a man of merciful and generous impulses-a thing not very common with his class in that fierce age. he said"these your grace's noble words have sealed its doom. history will remember it to the honor of your royal house." the under-sheriff was about to remove his prisoner; tom gave him a sign to wait; then he said"good sir, i would look into this matter further. the man has said his deed was but lamely proved. tell me what thou knowest." "if the king's grace please, it did appear upon the trial, that this man entered into a house in the hamlet of islington where one lay sick-three witnesses say it was at ten of the clock in the morning and two say it was some minutes later— the sick man being alone at the time, and sleeping—and presently the man came forth again, and went his way. the sick man died within the hour, being torn with spasms and retchings." "did any see the poison given? was poison found?" "marry, no, my liege." "then how doth one know there was poison given at all?" "please your majesty, the doctors testified that none die with such symptoms but by poison." tom as king. 133 weighty evidence, this-in that simple age. tom recognized its formidable nature, and said— "the doctor knoweth his trade-belike they were right. the matter hath an ill look for this poor man." "yet was not this all, your majesty; there is more and worse. many testified that a witch, since gone from the village, none know whither, did foretell, and speak it privately in their ears, that the sick man would die by poison-and more, that a stranger would give it—a stranger with brown hair and clothed in a worn and common garb; and surely this prisoner doth answer woundily to the bill. please your majesty to give the circumstance that solemn weight which is its due, seeing it was foretold." this was an argument of tremendous force, in that superstitious day. tom felt that the thing was settled; if evidence was worth anything, this poor fellow's guilt was proved. still he offered the prisoner a chance, saying"if thou canst say aught in thy behalf, speak." 66 nought that will avail, my king. i am innocent, yet cannot i make it appear. i have no friends, else might i how that i was not in islington that day; so also might i show that at that hour they name i was above a league away, seeing i was at wapping old stairs; yea more, my king, for i could show, that whilst they say i was taking life, i was saving it. a drowning boy ""peace! sheriff, name the day the deed was done!" "at ten in the morning, or some minutes later, the first day of the new year, most illustrious". "let the prisoner go free-it is the king's will!" another blush followed this unregal outburst, and he covered his indecorum as well as he could by adding"it enrageth me that a man should be hanged upon such idle, hare-brained evidence!" a low buzz of admiration swept through the assemblage. 134 tom as king. it was not admiration of the decree that had been delivered by tom, for the propriety or expediency of pardoning a convicted poisoner was a thing which few there would have felt justified in either admitting or admiring-no, the admiration was for the intelligence and spirit which tom had displayed. some of the low-voiced remarks were to this effect"this is no mad king-he hath his wits sound." 44 what is it that these have done?" "how sanely he put his questions how like his former natural self was this abrupt,imperious disposal of the matter!" "god be thanked his infirmity is spent! this is no weakling, but a king. he hath borne himself like to his own father." the air being filled with applause, tom's ear necessarily caught a little of it. the effect which this had upon him was to put him greatly at his ease, and also to charge his system with very gratifying sensations. however, his juvenile curiosity soon rose superior to these pleasant thoughts and feelings; he was eager to know what sort of deadly mischief the woman and the little girl could have been about; so, by his command the two terrified and sobbing creatures were brought before him. "what is it that these have done?" he inquired of the sheriff. "please your majesty, a black crime is charged upon them, and clearly proven; wherefore the judges have decreed, according to the law, that they be hanged. they sold themselves to the devil-such is their crime." tom as king. 135 he had been taught to abhor people who still, he was not going to deny himtom shuddered. did this wicked thing. self the pleasure of feeding his curiosity, for all that; so he asked"where was this done?—and when?" "on a midnight, in december-in a ruined church, your majesty." tom shuddered again. "who was there present?" "only these two, your grace—and that other.” "have these confessed?" "nay, not so, sire-they do deny it." "then prithee, how was it known?” "certain witnesses did see them wending thither, good your majesty; this bred the suspicion, and dire effects have since confirmed and justified it. in particular, it is in evidence that through the wicked power so obtained, they did invoke and bring about a storm that wasted all the region round about. above forty witnesses have proved the storm; and sooth one might have had a thousand, for all had reason to remember it, sith all had suffered by it." "certes this is a serious matter." tom turned this dark piece of scoundrelism over in his mind a while, then asked— "suffered the woman, also, by the storm?" several old heads among the assemblage nodded their recognition of the wisdom of this question. the sheriff, however, saw nothing consequential in the inquiry; he answered, with simple directness"indeed, did she, your majesty, and most righteously, as all aver. her habitation was swept away, and herself and child left shelterless." "methinks the power to do herself so ill a turn was dearly bought. she had been cheated, had she paid but a farthing for it; that she paid her soul, and her child's, argueth that 136 tom as king. she is mad; if she is mad she knoweth not what she doth, therefore sinneth not." the elderly heads nodded recognition of tom's wisdom once more, and one individual murmured, “an' the king be mad himself, according to report, then is it a madness of a sort that would improve the sanity of some i wot of, if by the gentle providence of god they could but catch it." "what age hath the child?" asked tom. "nine years, please your majesty.” "by the law of england may a child enter into covenant and sell itself, my lord?" asked tom, turning to a learned judge. "the law doth not permit a child to make or meddle in any weighty matter, good my liege, holding that its callow wit unfitteth it to cope with the riper wit and evil schemings of them that are its elders. the devil may buy a child, if he so choose, and the child agree thereto, but not an englishman-in this latter case the contract would be null and void." "it seemeth a rude unchristian thing, and ill contrived, that english law denieth privileges to englishmen, to waste them on the devil!" cried tom, with honest heat. this novel view of the matter excited many smiles, and was stored away in many heads to be repeated about the court as evidence of tom's originality as well as progress toward mental health. the elder culprit had ceased from sobbing, and was hanging upon tom's words with an excited interest and a growing hope. tom noticed this, and it strongly inclined his sympathies toward her in her perilous and unfriended situation. presently he asked"how wrought they, to bring the storm?" "by pulling off their stockings, sire." this astonished tom, and also fired his curiosity to fever heat. he said, eagerlytom as king. 137 "it is wonderful! hath it always this dread effect?" (( always, my liege—at least if the woman desire it, and utter the needful words, either in her mind or with her tongue." tom turned to the woman, and said with impetuous zeal— "exert thy power-i would see a storm!" there was a sudden paling of cheeks in the superstitious assemblage, and a general, though unexpressed, desire to get out of the place-all of which was lost upon tom, who was dead to everything but the proposed cataclysm. seeing a puzzled and astonished look in the woman's face, he added, excitedly"never fear-thou shalt be blameless. go free-none shall touch thee. "o, my lord the king, i have it not-i have been falsely accused." more-thou shalt exert thy power." "thy fears stay thee. be of good heart, thou shalt suffer no harm. make a storm-it mattereth not how small a one -i require nought great or harmful, but indeed prefer the opposite-do this and thy life is spared-thou shalt go out free, with thy child, bearing the king's pardon, and safe from hurt or malice from any in the realm.” the woman prostrated herself, and protested, with tears, that she had no power to do the miracle, else she would gladly win her child's life, alone, and be content to lose her own, if by obedience to the king's command so precious a grace might be acquired. tom urged-the woman still adhered to her declarations. finally he said— "i think the woman hath said true. an' my mother were in her place and gifted with the devil's functions, she had not stayed a moment to call her storms and lay the whole land in ruins, if the saving of my forfeit life were the price she got! it is argument that other mothers are made in like mould. 138 tom as king. } thou art free, good wife-thou and thy child-for i do think thee innocent. now thou'st nought to fear, being pardoned -pull off thy stockings!-an' thou canst make me a storm, thou shalt be rich!" the redeemed creature was loud in her gratitude, and proceeded to obey, whilst tom looked on with eager expectancy, a little marred by apprehension; the courtiers at the same time manifesting decided discomfort and uneasiness. the woman stripped her own feet and her little girl's also, and plainly did her best to reward the king's generosity with an earthquake, but it was all a failure and a disappointment. tom sighed, and said"there, good soul, trouble thyself no further, thy power is departed out of thee. go thy way in peace; and if it return to thee at any time, forget me not, but fetch me a storm.” * * see notes to chapter xv at the end of the volume. chapter xvi. the state dinner. the dinner hour drew near-yet strangely enough, the thought brought but slight discomfort to tom, and hardly any terror. the morning's experiences had wonderfully built up his confidence; the poor little ash-cat was already more wonted to his strange garret, after four days' habit, than a mature person could have become in a full month. a child's facility in accommodating itself to circumstances was never more strikingly illustrated. let us privileged ones hurry to the great banqueting room and have a glance at matters there whilst tom is being made ready for the imposing occasion. it is a spacious apartment, with gilded pillars and pilasters, and pictured walls and ceilings. at the door stand tall guards, as rigid as statues, dressed in rich and picturesque costumes, and bearing halberds. in a high gallery which runs all around the place is a band of musicians and a packed company of citizens of both sexes, in brilliant attire. in the centre of the room, upon a raised platform, is tom's table. now let the ancient chronicler speak: “a gentleman enters the room bearing a rod, and along with him another bearing a table-cloth, which, after they have both kneeled three times with the utmost veneration, he spreads upon the table, and after kneeling again they both retire; then come two others, one with the rod again, the other with a salt-cellar, a plate, and bread; when they have kneeled as the others had done, and placed what was brought 139 140 the state dinner. upon the table, they too retire with the same ceremonies performed by the first; at last come two nobles, richly clothed, one bearing a tasting-knife, who, after prostrating themselves in the most graceful manner, approach and rub the table with bread and salt, with as much awe as if the king had been presént." * one "a gentleman bearing a rod." so end the solemn preliminaries. now, far down the echoing corridors we hear a bugle-blast, and the indistinct cry, "place for the king! way for the king's most excellent * leigh hunt's "the town," p. 408, quotation from an early tourist. the state dinner. 141 majesty!" these sounds are momently repeated they grow nearer and nearer-and presently, almost in our faces, the martial note peals and the cry rings out, "way for the king!" at this instant the shining pageant appears, and files in at the door, with a measured march. let the chronicler speak again: "first come gentlemen, barons, earls, knights of the garter, all richly dressed and bareheaded; next comes the chancellor, between two, one of which carries the royal sceptre, the other the sword of state in a red scabbard, studded with golden fleurs-de-lis, the point upwards; next comes the king himselfwhom, upon his appearing, twelve trumpets and many drums salute with a great burst of welcome, whilst all in the galleries rise in their places, crying "god save the king!" after him come nobles attached to his person, and on his right and left march his guard of honor, his fifty gentlemen pensioners, with gilt battle-axes." this was all fine and pleasant. tom's pulse beat high and a glad light was in his eye. he bore himself right gracefully, and all the more so because he was not thinking of how he was doing it, his mind being charmed and occupied with the blithe sights and sounds about him--and besides, onsho i thank ye, my good people." 142 the state dinner. nobody can be very ungraceful in nicely-fitting beautiful clothes after he has grown a little used to them—especially if he is for the moment unconscious of them. tom remembered his instructions, and acknowledged his greeting with a slight inclination of his plumed head, and a courteous "i thank ye, my good people." he seated himself at table, without removing his cap; and did it without the least embarrassment; for to eat with one's cap on was the one solitary royal custom upon which the kings and the cantys met upon common ground, neither party having any advantage over the other in the matter of old familiarity with it. the pageant broke up and grouped itself picturesquely, and remained bareheaded. now, to the sound of gay music, the yeomen of the guard entered," the tallest and mightiest men in england, they being selected in this regard”—but we will let the chronicler tell about it: "the yeomen of the guard entered, bareheaded, clothed in scarlet, with golden roses upon their backs; and these went and came, bringing in each turn a course of dishes, served in plate. these dishes were received by a gentleman in the same order they were brought, and placed upon the table, while the taster gave to each guard a mouthful to eat of the particular dish he had brought, for fear of any poison." tom made a good dinner, notwithstanding he was conscious that hundreds of eyes followed each morsel to his mouth and watched him eat it with an interest which could not have been more intense if it had been a deadly explosive and was expected to blow him up and scatter him all over the place. he was careful not to hurry, and equally careful not to do any thing whatever for himself, but wait till the proper official knelt down and did it for him. he got through without a mistake-flawless and precious triumph. when the meal was over at last and he marched away in the state dinner. 143 the midst of his bright pageant, with the happy noises in his ears of blaring bugles, rolling drums and thundering acclamations, he felt that if he had seen the worst of dining in public, it was an ordeal which he would be glad to endure several times.a day if by that means he could but buy himself free from some of the more formidable requirements of his royal office. chapter xvii. foo-foo the first. miles hendon hurried along toward the southwark end of the bridge, keeping a sharp lookout for the persons he sought, and hoping and expecting to overtake them presently. he was disappointed in this, however. by asking questions, he was enabled to track them part of the way through southwark; then all traces ceased, and he was perplexed as to how to proceed. still, he continued his efforts as best he could during the rest of the day. nightfall found him leg-weary, half famished, and his desire as far from accomplishment as ever; so he supped at the tabard inn and went to bed, resolved to make an early start in the morning, and give the town an exhaustive search. as he lay thinking and planning, he presently began to reason thus: the boy would escape from the ruffian, his reputed father, if possible; would he go back to london and seek his former haunts? no, he would not do that, he would avoid recapture. what, then, would he do? never having had a friend in the world, or a protector, until he met miles hendon, he would naturally try to find that friend again, provided the effort did not require him to go toward london and danger. he would strike for hendon hall, that is what he would do, for he knew hendon was homeward bound and there he might expect to find him. yes, the case was plain to hendon-he must lose no more time in southwark, but move at once through kent, toward monk's holm, searching the wood and 144 foo-foo the first. 145 inquiring as he went. let us return to the vanished little king, now. the ruffian whom the waiter at the inn on the bridge saw "about to join" the youth and the king, did not exactly join them, but fell in close behind them and followed their steps. he said nothing. his left arm was in a sling, and he wore a large green patch over his left eye; he limped slightly, and used an oaken staff as a support. the youth led the king a crooked course through southwark, and by and by struck into the high road beyond. the king was irritated, now, and said he would stop here—it was hendon's place to come to him, not his to go to hendon. he would not endure such insolence; he would stop where he was. the youth said"thou'lt tarry here, and thy friend lying wounded in the wood yonder? so be it, then." the king's manner changed at once. he cried out"wounded? and who hath dared to do it? but that is apart; lead on, lead on! faster, sirrah! art shod with lead? wounded, is he? now though the doer of it be a duke's son, he shall rue it!" it was some distance to the wood, but the space was speedily traversed. the youth looked about him, discovered a bough sticking in the ground, with a small bit of rag tied to it, then led the way into the forest, watching for similar boughs and finding them at intervals: they were evidently guides to the point he was aiming at. by and by an open place was reached, where were the charred remains of a farm house, and near them a barn which was falling to ruin and decay. there was no sign of life anywhere, and utter silence prevailed. the youth entered the barn, the king following eagerly upon his heels. no one there! the king shot a surprised and suspicious glance at the youth, and asked— "where is he?" a mocking laugh was his answer. the king was in a rage 146 foo-foo the first. in a moment; he seized a billet of wood and was in the act of charging upon the youth when another mocking laugh fell upon his ear. it was from the lame ruffian, who had k dor 66 he seized a billet of wood." been following at a distance. the king turned and said angrily"who art thou? what is thy business here?" "leave thy foolery," said the man, "and quiet thyself. foo-foo the first. 147 my disguise is none so good that thou canst pretend thou knowest not thy father through it." "thou art not my father. i know thee not. i am the king. if thou hast hid my servant, find him for me, or thou shalt sup sorrow for what thou hast done." john canty replied, in a stern and measured voice"it is plain thou art mad, and i am loth to punish thee; but if thou provoke me, i must. thy prating doth no harm here, where there are no ears that need to mind thy follies, yet is it well to practice thy tongue to wary speech, that it may do no hurt when our quarters change. i have done a murder, and may not tarry at home-neither shalt thou, seeing i need thy service. my name is changed, for wise reasons; it is hobbs-john hobbs; thine is jack—charge thy memory accordingly. now, then, speak. where is thy mother? where are thy sisters? they came not to the place appointed-knowest thou whither they went ?" the king answered, sullenly— "trouble me not with these riddles. my mother is dead; my sisters are in the palace." the youth near by burst into a derisive laugh, and the king would have assaulted him, but canty—or hobbs, as he now called himself-prevented him, and said"peace, hugo, vex him not; his mind is astray, and thy ways fret him. sit thee down, jack, and quiet thyself; thou shalt have a morsel to eat, anon." hobbs and hugo fell to talking together, in low voices, and the king removed himself as far as he could from their disagreeable company. he withdrew into the twilight of the farther end of the barn, where he found the earthen floor bedded a foot deep with straw. he lay down here, drew straw over himself in lieu of blankets, and was soon absorbed in thinking. he had many griefs, but the minor ones were swept almost into forgetfulness by the supreme one, the loss of his fa148 foo-foo the first. ther. to the rest of the world the name of henry viii. brought a shiver, and suggested an ogre whose nostrils breathed destruction and whose hand dealt scourgings and death; but to this boy the name brought only sensations of pleasure, the figure it invoked wore a countenance that was all gentleness and affection. he called to mind a long succession of loving passages between his father and himself, and dwelt fondly upon them, his unstinted tears attesting how deep and real was the grief that possessed his heart. as the afternoon 66 he was soon absorbed in thinking." wasted away, the lad, wearied with his troubles, sunk gradually into a tranquil and healing slumber. after a considerable time--he could not tell how long-his senses struggled to a half-consciousness, and as he lay with closed eyes vaguely wondering where he was and what had been happening, he noted a murmurous sound, the sullen beating of rain upon the roof. a snug sense of comfort stole over him, which was rudely broken, the next moment, by a chorus of piping cackles and coarse laughter. it startled foo-foo the first. 149 him disagreeably, and he unmuffled his head to see whence this interruption proceeded. a grim and unsightly picture met his eye. a bright fire was burning in the middle of the floor, at the other end of the barn; and around it, and lit weirdly up by the red glare, lolled and sprawled the motliest company of tattered gutter-scum and ruffians, of both sexes, he had ever read or dreamed of. there were huge, stalwart men, brown with exposure, long-haired, and clothed in fantastic rags; there were middle-sized youths, of truculent countenance, and similarly clad; there were blind mendicants, with patched or bandaged eyes; crippled ones, with wooden legs and crutches; there was a villain-looking peddler with his pack; a knife-grinder, a tinker, and a barber-surgeon, with the implements of their trades; some of the females were hardly-grown girls, some were at prime, some were old and wrinkled hags, and all were loud, brazen, foul-mouthed; and all soiled and slatternly; there were three sore-faced babies; there were a couple of starveling curs, with strings about their necks, whose office was to lead the blind. the night was come, the gang had just finished feasting, an orgy was beginning, the can of liquor was passing from mouth to mouth. a general cry broke forth"a song! a song from the bat and dick dot-and-goone!" one of the blind men got up, and made ready by casting aside the patches that sheltered his excellent eyes, and the pathetic placard which recited the cause of his calamity. dot-and-go-one disencumbered himself of his timber leg and took his place, upon sound and healthy limbs, beside his fellow-rascal; then they roared out a rollicking ditty, and were re-enforced by the whole crew, at the end of each stanza, in a rousing chorus. by the time the last stanza was reached, the half-drunken enthusiasm had risen to such a pitch, that everybody joined in and sang it clear through from the be150 foo-foo the first. ginning, producing a volume of villainous sound that made the rafters quake. these were the inspiring words: "bien darkmans then, bouse mort and ken, the bien coves bings awast, on chates to trine by rome coves dine for his long lib at last. bing'd out bien morts and toure, and toure, bing out of the rome vile bine, and toure the cove that cloy'd your duds, upon the chates to trine."* conversation followed; not in the thieves' dialect of the song, for that was only used in talk when unfriendly ears might be listening. in the course of it it appeared that "john hobbs" was not altogether a new recruit, but had trained in the gang at some former time. his later history was called for, and when he said he had "accidentally " killed a man, considerable satisfaction was expressed; when he added that the man was a priest, he was roundly applauded, and had to take a drink with everybody. old acquaintances welcomed him joyously, and new ones were proud to shake him by the hand. he was asked why he had "tarried away so many months." he answered-an' "london is better than the country, and safer these late years, the laws be so bitter and so diligently enforced. i had not had that accident, i had staid there. i had resolved to stay, and never more venture country-wards--but the accident has ended that." he inquired how many persons the gang numbered now. the "ruffler," or chief, answered— "five and twenty sturdy budges, bulks, files, clapperdogeons and maunders, counting the dells and doxies and other *from "the english rogue;" london, 1665. foo-foo the first. 151 morts. along the winter lay. we follow at dawn." "i do not see the wen among the honest folk about me. where may he be?" "poor lad, his diet is brimstone, now, and over hot for a delicate taste. he was killed in a brawl, somewhere about midsummer." most are here, the rest are wandering eastward, "i sorrow to hear that; the wen was a capable man, and brave." "that was he, truly. black bess, his dell, is of us yet, but absent on the eastward tramp; a fine lass, of nice ways and orderly conduct, none ever seeing her drunk above four days in the seven." "she was ever strict -i remember it well-a goodly wench and worthy all commendation. her mother was more free and less particular; a troublesome and ugly tempered beldame, but furnished with a wit above the common," "we lost her through it. her gift of palmistry and other د 66 whilst the flames licked upwards." * canting terms for various kinds of thieves, beggars and vagabonds, and their female companions. 152 foo-foo the first. sorts of fortune-telling begot for her at last a witch's name and fame. the law roasted her to death at a slow fire. it did touch me to a sort of tenderness to see the gallant way she met her lot-cursing and reviling all the crowd that gaped and gazed around her, whilst the flames licked upward toward her face and catched her thin locks and crackled about her old gray head-cursing them, said i?—cursing them! why an' thou shouldst live a thousand years thoud'st never hear so masterful a cursing. alack, her art died with her. there be base and weakling imitations left, but no true blasphemy." the ruffler sighed; the listeners sighed in sympathy; a general depression fell upon the company for a moment, for even hardened outcasts like these are not wholly dead to sentiment, but are able to feel a fleeting sense of loss and affliction at wide intervals and under peculiarly favoring circumstances as in cases like to this, for instance, when genius and culture depart and leave no heir. however, a deep drink all round soon restored the spirits of the mourners. -"have any others of our friends fared hardly?" asked hobbs. "some yes. particularly new comers-such as small husbandmen turned shiftless and hungry upon the world because their farms were taken from them to be changed to sheep ranges. they begged, and were whipped at the cart's tail, naked from the girdle up, till the blood ran; then set in the stocks to be pelted; they begged again, were whipped again, and deprived of an ear; they begged a third time— poor devils, what else could they do?—and were branded on the cheek with a red hot iron, then sold for slaves; they ran away, were hunted down, and hanged. 'tis a brief tale, and quickly told. others of us have fared less hardly. stand forth, yokel, burns, and hodge-show your adornments!" these stood up and stripped away some of their rags, exposing their backs, criss-crossed with ropy old welts left by foo-foo the first. 153 · the lash; one turned up his hair and showed the place where a left ear had once been; another showed a brand upon his shoulder-the letter v-and a mutilated ear; the third said— "i am yokel, once a farmer and prosperous, with loving wife and kids-now am i somewhat different in estate and calling; and the wife and kids are gone; mayhap they are in heaven, mayhap in-in the other place-but the kindly god be thanked, they bide no more in england! my good old blameless mother strove to earn bread by nursing the sick; one of these died, the doctors knew not how, so my mother was burnt for a witch, whilst my babes looked on and wailed. english law!-up, all, with your cups!-now altogether and with a cheer!-drink to the merciful english law that delivered her from the english hell! thank you, mates, one and all. i begged, from house to house-i and the wife— bearing with us the hungry kids—but it was crime to be hungry in england-so they stripped us and lashed us through three towns. drink ye all again to the merciful english law! -for its lash drank deep of my mary's blood and its blessed deliverance came quick. she lies there, in the potter's field, safe from all harms. and the kids-well, whilst the law lashed me from town to town, they starved. drink lads-only a drop-a drop to the poor kids, that never did any creature harm. i begged again—begged for a crust, and got the stocks and lost an ear-see, here bides the stump; i begged again, and here is the stump of the other to keep me minded of it. and still i begged again, and was sold for a slavehere on my cheek under this stain, if i washed it off, ye might see the red s the branding-iron left there! a slave! do ye understand that word! an english slave!—that is he that stands before ye. i have run from my master, and when i am found—the heavy curse of heaven fall on the law of the land that hath commanded it!--i shall hang!” * *see note 10, at end of volume. 154 foo-foo the first. a ringing voice came through the murky air"thou shalt not!-and this day the end of that law is come!" all turned, and saw the fantastic figure of the little king approaching hurriedly; as it emerged into the light and was clearly revealed, a general explosion of inquiries broke out: 66 thou shalt not." "who is it? what is it? who art thou, manikin?" the boy stood unconfused in the midst of all those surprised and questioning eyes, and answered with princely dig. nity"i am edward, king of england." foo-foo the first. 155 a wild burst of laughter followed, partly of derision and partly of delight in the excellence of the joke. the king was stung. he said sharply"ye mannerless vagrants, is this your recognition of the royal boon i have promised?" he said more, with angry voice and excited gesture, but it was lost in a whirlwind of laughter and mocking exclamations. "john hobbs" made several attempts to make himself heard above the din, and at last succeeded-saying"mates, he is my son, a dreamer, a fool, and stark mad— mind him not-he thinketh he is the king." "i am the king," said edward, turning toward him, "as thou shalt know to thy cost, in good time. thou hast confessed a murder-thou shalt swing for it." "thou'lt betray me?-thou? an' i get my hands upon thee""tut-tut!" said the burly ruffler, interposing in time to save the king, and emphasizing this service by knocking hobbs down with his fist, "hast respect for neither kings nor rufflers? an' thou insult my presence so again, i'll hang thee up myself." then he said to his majesty, "thou must make no threats against thy mates, lad; and thou must guard thy tongue from saying evil of them elsewhere. be king, if it please thy mad humor, but be not harmful in it. sink the title thou hast uttered,—'tis treason; we be bad men, in some few trifling ways, but none among us is so base as to be traitor to his king; we be loving and loyal hearts, in that regard. note if i speak truth. now-all together: 'long live edward, king of england!'" "long live edward, king of england!" the response came with such a thundergust from the motley crew that the crazy building vibrated to the sound. the little king's face lighted with pleasure for an instant, and he slightly inclined his head and said with grave simplicity156 foo-foo the first. "i thank you, my good people." this unexpected result threw the company into convulsions of merriment. when something like quiet was presently come again, the ruffler said, firmly, but with an accent of good naturehumor thy fancy, "drop it, boy, 'tis not wise, nor well. if thou must, but choose some other title." throne him." a tinker shrieked out a suggestion"foo-foo the first, king of the mooncalves!" the title "took," at once, every throat responded, and a roaring shout went up, of— "long live foo-foo the first, king of the mooncalves!" followed by hootings, cat-calls, and peals of laughter. "hale him forth, and crown him!” "robe him!" foo-foo the first. 157 "sceptre him!" "throne him!" these and twenty other cries broke out at once; and almost before the poor little victim could draw a breath he was crowned with a tin basin, robed in a tattered blanket, throned upon a barrel, and sceptred with the tinker's soldering-iron. then all flung themselves upon their knees about him and sent up a chorus of ironical wailings, and mocking supplications, whilst they swabbed their eyes with their soiled and ragged sleeves and aprons"be gracious to us, o, sweet king!" "trample not upon thy beseeching worms, o noble majesty!" "pity thy slaves, and comfort them with a royal kick!" "cheer us and warm us with thy gracious rays, o flaming sun of sovereignty!" "sanctify the ground with the touch of thy foot, that we may eat the dirt and be ennobled!" 66 deign to spit upon us, o sire, that our children's children may tell of thy princely condescension, and be proud and happy forever!" but the humorous tinker made the "hit" of the evening and carried off the honors. kneeling, he pretended to kiss the king's foot, and was indignantly spurned; whereupon he went about begging for a rag to paste over the place upon his face which had been touched by the foot, saying it must be preserved from contact with the vulgar air, and that he should make his fortune by going on the highway and exposing it to view at the rate of a hundred shillings a sight. he made himself so killingly funny that he was the envy and admiration of the whole mangy rabble. tears of shame and indignation stood in the little monarch's eyes; and the thought in his heart was, "had i offered them a deep wrong they could not be more cruel-yet have i proffered nought but to do them a kindness--and it is thus they use me for it!" chapter xviii. the prince with the tramps. the troop of vagabonds turned out at early dawn, and set forward on their march. there was a lowering sky overhead, sloppy ground under foot, and a winter chill in the air. all gayety was gone from the company; some were sullen and silent, some were irritable and petulant, none were gentlehumored, all were thirsty. the ruffler put "jack" in hugo's charge, with some brief instructions, and commanded john canty to keep away from him and let him alone; he also warned hugo not to be too rough with the lad. after a while the weather grew milder, and the clouds lifted somewhat. the troop ceased to shiver, and their spirits began to improve. they grew more and more cheerful, and finally began to chaff each other and insult passengers along the highway. this showed that they were awaking to an appreciation of life and its joys once more. the dread in which their sort was held was apparent in the fact that everybody gave them the road, and took their ribald insolences meekly, without venturing to talk back. they snatched linen from the hedges, occasionally, in full view of the owners, who made no protest, but only seemed grateful that they did not take the hedges, too. by and by they invaded a small farm house and made themselves at home while the trembling farmer and his people swept the larder clean to furnish a breakfast for them. 158 the prince with the tramps. 159 they chucked the housewife and her daughters under the chin whilst receiving the food from their hands, and made coarse jests about them, accompanied with insulting epithets and bursts of horse-laughter. they threw bones and vegetables at the farmer and his sons, kept them dodging all the time, and applauded uproariously when a good hit was made. they ended by buttering the head of one of the daughters who resented some of their familiarities. when they took their leave they threatened to come back and burn the house over the heads of the family if any report of their doings got to the ears of the authorities. about noon, after a long and weary tramp, the gang came to a halt behind a hedge on the outskirts of a considerable village. an hour was allowed for rest, then the crew scattered themselves abroad to enter the village at different points to ply their various trades.-"jack" was sent with hugo. they wandered hither and thither for some time, hugo watching for opportunities to do a stroke of business but finding none—so he finally said— "i see nought to steal; it is a paltry place. wherefore we will beg." "we, forsooth! follow thy trade-it befits thee. but i will not beg." "thou'lt not beg!" exclaimed hugo, eying the king with surprise. "prithee, since when hast thou reformed?" "what dost thou mean?" "mean? hast thou not begged the streets of london all thy life?" "i? thou idiot!" "spare thy compliments-thy stock will last the longer. thy father says thou hast begged all thy days. mayhap he lied. peradventure you will even make so bold as to say he lied," scoffed hugo. "him you call my father? yes, he lied." 160 the prince with the tramps. madman so far, mate; an' i tell him this, "come, play not thy merry game of use it for thy amusement, not thy hurt. he will scorch thee finely for it." "save thyself the trouble. i will tell him." "i like thy spirit, i do in truth; but i do not admire thy judgment. bone-rackings and bastings be plenty enow in this life, without going out of one's way to invite them. but a truce to these matters; i believe your father. i doubt not he can lie; i doubt not he doth lie, upon occasion, for the best of us do that; but there is no occasion here. a wise man does not waste so good a commodity as lying for nought. but come; sith it is thy humor to give over begging, wherewithal shall we busy ourselves? with robbing kitchens?" the king said, impatiently— "have done with this folly-you weary me!" hugo replied, with temper"now harkee, mate; you will not beg, you will not rob; so be it. but i will tell you what you will do. you will play decoy whilst i beg. refuse, an' you think you may venture!" the king was about to reply contemptuously, when hugo said, interrupting— "peace! here comes one with a kindly face. now will i fall down in a fit. when the stranger runs to me, set you up a wail, and fall upon your knees, seeming to weep; then cry out as all the devils of misery were in your belly, and say, 'o, sir, it is my poor afflicted brother, and we be friendless; o' god's name cast through your merciful eyes one pitiful look upon a sick, forsaken and most miserable wretch; bestow one little penny out of thy riches upon one smitten of god and ready to perish!'—and mind you, keep you on wailing, and abate not till we bilk him of his penny, else shall you rue it." then immediately hugo began to moan, and groan, and the prince with the tramps. 161 roll his eyes, and reel and totter about; and when the stranger was close at hand, down he sprawled before him, with a shriek, and began to writhe and wallow in the dirt, in seeming agony. "o "o dear, o dear!" cried the benevolent stranger. poor soul, poor soul, how he doth suffer! there-let me help thee up." “o, noble sir, forbear, and god love you for a princely gentleman-but it giveth me cruel pain to touch me when i am taken so. my brother there will tell your worship how i am racked with anguish when these fits be upon me. a penny, dear sir, a penny, to buy a little food; then leave me to my sorrows." "a penny! thou shalt have three, thou hapless creature' —and he fumbled in his pocket with nervous haste and got them out. "there, poor lad, take them, and most welcome. now come hither, my boy, and help me carry thy stricken brother to yon house, where "— "i am not his brother," said the king, interrupting. "what! not his brother?" "o hear him!" groaned hugo, then privately ground his teeth. "he denies his own brother-and he with one foot in the grave!" 66 'boy, thou art indeed hard of heart, if this is thy brother. for shame !—and he scarce able to move hand or foot. if he is not thy brother, who is he, then?" "a beggar and a thief! he has got your money and has picked your pocket likewise. an' thou wouldst do a healing miracle, lay thy staff over his shoulders and trust providence for the rest." but hugo did not tarry for the miracle. in a moment he was up and off like the wind, the gentleman following after and raising the hue and cry lustily as he went. the king, breathing deep gratitude to heaven for his own release, fled in the 162 the prince with the tramps. opposite direction and did not slacken his pace until he was out of harm's reach. he took the first road that offered, and soon put the village behind him. he hurried along, as briskly as he could, during several hours, keeping a nervous watch over his shoulder for pursuit; but his fears left him at last, and a grateful sense of security took their place. he recognized, now, that he was hungry; and also very tired. so he halted at a farm house; but when he was about to speak, he was cut short and driven rudely away. his clothes were against him. he wandered on, wounded and indignant, and was resolved to put himself in the way of light treatment no more. but hunger is pride's master; so as the evening drew near, he made an attempt at another farm house; but here he fared worse than before; for he was called hard names and was promised arrest as a vagrant except he moved on promptly. the night came on, chilly and overcast; and still the footsore monarch labored slowly on. he was obliged to keep moving, for every time he sat down to rest he was soon penetrated to the bone with the cold. all his sensations and experiences, as he moved through the solemn gloom and the empty vastness of the night, were new and strange to him. at intervals he heard voices approach, pass by, and fade into silence; and as he saw nothing more of the bodies they belonged to than a sort of formless drifting blur, there was something spectral and uncanny about it all that made him shudder. occasionally he caught the twinkle of a light-always far away, apparently-almost in another world; if he heard the tinkle of a sheep's bell, it was vague, distant, indistinct; the muffled lowing of the herds floated to him on the night wind in vanishing cadences, a mournful sound; now and then came the complaining howl of a dog over viewless expanses of field and forest; all sounds were remote; they made the little king feel that all life and activity were the prince with the tramps. 163 far removed from him, and that he stood solitary, companionless, in the centre of a measureless solitude. he stumbled along, through the grewsome fascinations of this new experience, startled occasionally by the soft rustling of the dry leaves overhead, so like human whispers they seemed to sound; and by and by he came suddenly upon the 66 he stumbled along. "" freckled light of a tin lantern near at hand. he stepped back into the shadows and waited. the lantern stood by the open door of a barn. the king waited some time-there was no sound, and nobody stirring. he got so cold, standing still, and the hospitable barn looked so enticing, that at last 164 the prince with the tramps. he resolved to risk everything and enter. he started swiftly and stealthily, and just as he was crossing the threshold he heard voices behind him. he darted behind a cask, within the barn, and stooped down. two farm laborers came in, bringing the lantern with them, and fell to work, talking meanwhile. whilst they moved about with the light, the king made good use of his eyes and took the bearings of what seemed to be a good sized stall at the further end of the place, purposing to grope his way to it when he should be left to himself. he also noted the position of a pile of horse blankets, midway of the route, with the intent to levy upon them for the service of the crown of england for one night. by and by the men finished and went away, fastening the door behind them and taking the lantern with them. the shivering king made for the blankets, with as good speed as the darkness would allow; gathered them up and then groped his way safely to the stall. of two of the blankets he made a bed, then covered himself with the remaining two. he was a glad monarch, now, though the blankets were old and thin, and not quite warm enough; and besides gave out a pungent horsy odor that was almost suffocatingly powerful. although the king was hungry and chilly, he was also so tired and so drowsy that these latter influences soon began to get the advantage of the former, and he presently dozed off into a state of semi-consciousness. then, just as he was on the point of losing himself wholly, he distinctly felt something touch him! he was broad awake in a moment, and gasping for breath. the cold horror of that mysterious touch in the dark almost made his heart stand still. he lay motionless, and listened, scarcely breathing. but nothing stirred, and there was no sound. he continued to listen, and wait, during what seemed a long time, but still nothing stirred, and there was no sound. so he began to drop into a drowse once more, at last; and all at once he felt that mysterious the prince with the tramps. 165 touch again! it was a grisly thing, this light touch from this noiseless and invisible presence; it made the boy sick with ghostly fears. what should he do? that was the question; but he did not know how to answer it. should he leave these reasonably comfortable quarters and fly from this inscrutable horror? but fly whither? he could not get out of the barn; and the idea of scurrying blindly hither and thither in the dark, within the captivity of the four walls, with this phantom gliding after him, and visiting him with that soft hideous touch upon cheek or shoulder at every turn, was intolerable. but to stay where he was, and endure this living death all night?-was that better? no. what, then, was there left to do? ah, there was but one course; he knew it well-he must put out his hand and find that thing! it was easy to think this; but it was hard to brace himself up to try it. three times he stretched his hand a little way out into the dark, gingerly; and snatched it suddenly back, with a gasp-not because it had encountered any thing, but because he had felt so sure it was just going to. but the fourth time, he groped a little further, and his hand lightly swept against something soft and warm. this petrified him, nearly, with fright—his mind was in such a state that he could imagine the thing to be nothing else than a corpse, newly dead and still warm. he thought he would rather die than touch it again. but he thought this false thought because he did not know the immortal strength of human curiosity. in no long time his hand was tremblingly groping again-against his judgment, and without his consent-but groping persistently on, just the same. it encountered a bunch of long hair; he shuddered, but followed up the hair and found what seemed to be a warm rope; followed up the rope and found an innocent calf!-for the rope was not a rope at all, but the calf's tail. the king was cordially ashamed of himself for having got166 the prince with the tramps. ten all that fright and misery out of so paltry a matter as a slumbering calf; but he need not have felt so about it, for it was not the calf that frightened him but a dreadful non-existent something which the calf stood for; and any other boy, in those old superstitious times, would have acted and suffered just as he had done. the king was not only delighted to find that the creature was only a calf, but delighted to have the calf's company; for he had been feeling so lonesome and friendless that the company and comradeship of even this humble animal was welcome. and he had been so buffeted, so rudely entreated by his own kind, that it was a real comfort to him to feel that he was at last in the society of a fellow creature that had at least a soft heart and a gentle spirit, whatever loftier attributes might be lacking. so he resolved to waive rank and make friends with the calf. while stroking its sleek warm back-for it lay near him and within easy reach-it occurred to him that this calf might be utilized in more ways than one. whereupon he re-arranged his bed, spreading it down close to the calf; then he cuddled himself up to the calf's back, drew the covers up over himself and his friend, and in minute or two was as warm and comfortable as he had ever been in the downy couches of the regal palace of westminster. pleasant thoughts came, at once; life took on a cheerfuller seeming. he was free of the bonds of servitude and crime, free of the companionship of base and brutal outlaws; he was warm, he was sheltered; in a word, he was happy. the night wind was rising; it swept by in fitful gusts that made the old barn quake and rattle, then its forces died down at intervals, and went moaning and wailing around corners and projections ---but it was all music to the king, now that he was snug and comfortable: let it blow and rage, let it batter and bang, let it moan and wail, he minded it not, he only enjoyed it. he the prince with the tramps. 167 merely snuggled the closer to his friend, in a luxury of warm contentment, and drifted blissfully out of consciousness into a deep and dreamless sleep that was full of serenity and peace. the distant dogs howled, the melancholy kine complained, and the winds went on raging, whilst furious sheets of rain drove along the roof; but the majesty of england slept on, undisturbed, and the calf did the same, it being a simple creature and not easily troubled by storms or embarrassed by sleeping with a king. chapter xix. the prince with the peasants. when the king awoke in the early morning, he found that a wet but thoughtful rat had crept into the place during the night and made a cosey bed for itself in his bosom. being disturbed, now, it scampered away. the boy smiled, and said, "poor fool, why so fearful? i am as forlorn as thou. "twould be a shame in me to hurt the helpless, who am myself so helpless. moreover, i owe you thanks for a good omen; for when a king has fallen so low that the very rats do make a bed of him, it surely meaneth that his fortunes be upon the turn, since it is plain he can no lower go." stall, and just then he he got up and stepped out of the heard the sound of children's voices. the barn door opened and a couple of little girls came in. as soon as they saw him their talking and laughing ceased, and they stopped and stood still, gazing at him with strong curiosity; they presently began to whisper together, then they approached nearer, and stopped again to gaze and whisper. by and by they gathered courage and began to discuss him aloud. one said"he hath a comely face." the other added"and pretty hair." "but is ill clothed enow." "and how starved he looketh." they came still nearer, sidling shyly around and about him, examining him minutely from all points, as if he were some 168 the prince with the peasants. 169 strange new kind of animal; but warily and watchfully, the while, as if they half feared he might be a sort of animal that would bite, upon occasion. finally they halted before him, holding each other's hands, for protection, and took a good satisfying stare with their innocent eyes; then one of them plucked up all her courage and inquired with honest directness"who art thou, boy?" "i am the king," was the grave answer. the children gave a little start, and their eyes spread themselves wide open and remained so during a speechless half minute. then curiosity broke the silence— what king?" "the king? "the king of england." the children looked at each other-then at him-then at each other again-wonderingly, perplexedly-then one said"didst hear him, margery?-he saith he is the king. can that be true?" "how can it be else but true, prissy? would he say a lie? for look you, prissy, an' it were not true, it would be a lie. it surely would be. now think on't. that be not true, be lies-thou canst make nought else out of it." for all things it was a good tight argument, without a leak in it anywhere; and it left prissy's half-doubts not a leg to stand on. she considered a moment, then put the king upon his honor with the simple remark— "6 if thou art truly the king, then i believe thee." "i am truly the king." this settled the matter. his majesty's royalty was accepted without further question or discussion, and the two little girls began at once to inquire into how he came to be where he was, and how he came to be so unroyally clad, and whither he was bound, and all about his affairs. it was a 170 the prince with the peasants. mighty relief to him to pour out his troubles where they would not be scoffed at or doubted; so he told his tale with feeling, forgetting even his hunger for the time; and it was received with the deepest and tenderest sympathy by the gentle little maids. but when he got down to his latest experiences and they learned how long he had been without food, they cut him "took a good satisfying stare." short and hurried him away to the farm house to find a breakfast for him. the king was cheerful and happy, now, and said to himself, "when i am come to mine own again, i will always honor little children, remembering how that these trusted me and believed in me in my time of trouble; whilst they that were older, and thought themselves wiser, mocked at me and held me for a liar." the prince with the peasants. 171 the children's mother received the king kindly, and was full of pity; for his forlorn condition and apparently crazed intellect touched her womanly heart. she was a widow, and rather poor; consequently she had seen trouble enough to enable her to feel for the unfortunate. she imagined that the demented boy had wandered away from his friends or keepers; so she tried to find out whence he had come, in order that she might take measures to return him; but all her references to neighboring towns and villages, and all her inquiries in the same line, went for nothing-the boy's face, and his answers, too, showed that the things she was talking of were not familiar to him. he spoke earnestly and simply about court matters; and broke down, more than once, when speaking of the late king "his father;" but whenever the conversation changed to baser topics, he lost interest and became silent. the woman was mightily puzzled; but she did not give up. as she proceeded with her cooking, she set herself to contriving devices to surprise the boy into betraying his real secret. she talked about cattle-he showed no concern; then about sheep the same result-so her guess that he had been a shepherd boy was an error; she talked about mills; and about weavers, tinkers, smiths, trades and tradesmen of all sorts; and about bedlam, and jails, and charitable retreats; but no matter, she was baffled at all points. not altogether, either; for she argued that she had narrowed the thing down to domestic service. yes, she was sure she was on the right track, now he must have been a house servant. so she led up to that. but the result was discouraging. the subject of sweeping appeared to weary him; fire-building failed to stir him; scrubbing and scouring awoke no enthusiasm. then the goodwife touched, with a perishing hope, and rather as a matter of form, upon the subject of cooking. to her surprise, and her vast delight, the king's face lighted at once! 172 the prince with the peasants. ah, she had hunted him down at last, she thought; and she was right proud too, of the devious shrewdness and tact which had accomplished it. her tired tongue got a chance to rest, now; for the king's, inspired by gnawing hunger and the fragrant smells that came from the sputtering pots and pans, turned itself loose and delivered itself up to such an eloquent dissertation upon certain toothsome dishes, that within three minutes the woman said to herself, "of a truth i was right-he hath holpen in a kitchen!" then he broadened his bill of fare, and discussed it with such appreciation and animation, that the goodwife said to herself, "good lack! how can he know so many dishes, and so fine ones withal? for these belong only upon the tables of the rich and great. ah, now i see! ragged outcast as he is, he must have served in the palace before his reason went astray; yes, he must have helped in the very kitchen of the king himself! i will test him." full of eagerness to prove her sagacity, she told the king to mind the cooking a moment—hinting that he might manufacture and add a dish or two, if he chose-then she went out of the room and gave her children a sign to follow after. the king muttered"another english king had a commission like to this, in a bygone time--it is nothing against my dignity to undertake an office which the great alfred stooped to assume. but i will try to better serve my trust than he; for he let the cakes burn." • the intent was good, but the performance was not answerable to it; for this king, like the other one, soon fell into deep thinkings concerning his vast affairs, and the same calamity resulted--the cookery got burned. the woman returned in time to save the breakfast from entire destruction; and she promptly brought the king out of his dreams with a brisk and cordial tongue-lashing. then, seeing how troubled the prince with the peasants. 173 he was, over his violated trust, she softened at once and was all goodness and gentleness toward him. the boy made a hearty and satisfying meal, and was greatly refreshed and gladdened by it. it was a meal which was dis-▾ tinguished by this curious feature, that rank was waived on both sides; yet neither recipient of the favor was aware that it had been extended. the goodwife had intended to feed this young tramp with broken victuals in a corner, like any other tramp, or like a dog; but she was so remorseful for the scolding she had given him, that she did what she could to atone for it by allowing him to sit at the family table and eat with his betters, on ostensible terms of equality with them; and the king, on his side, was so remorseful for having broken his trust, after the family had been so kind to him, that he forced himself to atone for it by humbling himself to the family level, instead of requiring the woman and her children to stand and wait upon him while he occupied their table in the solitary state due his birth and dignity. it does us all good to unbend sometimes. this good woman was made happy all the day long by the applauses she got out of herself for her magnanimous condescension to a tramp; and the king was just as self-complacent over his gracious humility toward a humble peasant woman. when breakfast was over, the housewife told the king to wash up the dishes. this command was a staggerer, for a moment, and the king came near rebelling; but then he said to himself, "alfred the great watched the cakes; doubtless he would have washed the dishes, too-therefore will i essay it." he made a sufficiently poor job of it; and to his surprise, too, for the cleaning of wooden spoons and trenchers had seemed an easy thing to do. it was a tedious and troublesome piece of work, but he finished it at last. he was becoming impatient to get away on his journey now; however, 174 the prince with the peasants. he was not to lose this thrifty dame's society so easily. she furnished him some little odds and ends of employment, which he got through with after a fair fashion and with some credit. then she set him and the little girls to paring some winter apples; but he was so awkward at this service, that she retired him from it and gave him a butcher knife to grind. afterward she kept him carding wool until he began to think he had laid the good king alfred about far enough in the shade. for the present, in the matter of showy menial heroisms that would read picturesquely in story-books and histories, and so he was half minded to resign. and when, just after the noonday dinner, the goodwife gave him a basket of kittens to drown, he did resign. at least he was just going to resignfor he felt that he must draw the line somewhere, and it seemed to him that to draw it at kitten-drowning was about the right thing-when there was an interruption. the interruption was john canty-with a peddler's pack on his backand hugo ! the king discovered these rascals approaching the front 66 gave him a butcher knife to grind." the prince with the peasants. 175 gate before they had had a chance to see him; so he said nothing about drawing the line, but took up his basket of kittens and stepped quietly out the back way, without a word. he left the creatures in an outhouse, and hurried on, into a narrow lane at the rear. : chapter xx. the prince and the hermit. the high hedge hid him from the house, now; and so, under the impulse of a deadly fright, he let out all his forces. and sped toward a wood in the distance. he never looked back until he had almost gained the shelter of the forest; then he turned and descried two figures in the distance. that was sufficient; he did not wait to scan them critically, but hurried on, and never abated his pace till he was far within the twilight depths of the wood. then he stopped; being persuaded that he was now tolerably safe. he listened intently, but the stillness was profound and solemnawful, even, and depressing to the spirits. at wide intervals his straining ear did detect sounds, but they were so remote, and hollow, and mysterious, that they seemed not to be real sounds, but only the moaning and complaining ghosts of departed ones. so the sounds were yet more dreary than the silence which they interrupted. it was his purpose, in the beginning, to stay where he was, the rest of the day; but a chill soon invaded his perspiring body, and he was at last obliged to resume movement in order to get warm. he struck straight through the forest, hoping to pierce to a road presently, but he was disappointed in this. he travelled on and on; but the farther he went, the denser the wood became, apparently. the gloom began to thicken, by and by, and the king realized that the night was coming on. it made him shudder to think of spending it in such an uncanny place; so he tried to hurry faster, but he only made 176 the prince and the hermit. 177 the less speed, for he could not now see well enough to choose his steps judiciously; consequently he kept tripping over roots and tangling himself in vines and briers. and how glad he was when at last he caught the glimmer of a light! he approached it warily, stopping often to look about him and listen. it came from an unglazed windowopening in a little hut. he heard a voice, now, and felt a disposition to run and hide; but he changed his mind at once, for this voice was praying, evidently. he glided to the one window of the hut, raised himself on tip-toe, and stole a glance within. the room was small; its floor was the natural earth, beaten hard by use; in a corner was a bed of rushes and a ragged blanket or two; near it was a pail, a cup, a basin, and two or three pots and pans; there was a short bench and a three-legged stool; on the hearth the remains of a fagot fire were smouldering; before a shrine, which was lighted by a single candle, knelt an aged man, and on an old wooden box at his side, lay an open book and a human skull. the man was of large, bony frame; his hair and whiskers were very long and snowy white; he was clothed in a robe of sheepskins which reached from his neck to his heels. "a holy hermit!" said the king to himself; "now am i indeed fortunate." the hermit rose from his knees; the king knocked. a deep voice responded"enter !-but leave sin behind, for the ground whereon thou shalt stand is holy!" the king entered, and paused. the hermit turned a pair of gleaming, unrestful eyes upon him, and said— "who art thou?" "i am the king," came the answer, with placid simplicity. "welcome, king!" cried the hermit, with enthusiasm. then, bustling about with feverish activity, and constantly 178 the prince and the hermit. saying "welcome, welcome," he arranged his bench, seated the king on it, by the hearth, threw some fagots on the fire, and finally fell to pacing the floor, with a nervous stride. "welcome! many have sought sanctuary here, but they were not worthy, and were turned away. but a king who casts his crown away, and despises the vain splendors of his office, and clothes his body in rags, to devote his life to holiness and the mortification of the flesh-he is worthy, he is welcome! here shall he abide all his days till death come." the king hastened to interrupt and explain, but the hermit paid no attention to him-did not even hear him, apparently, but went right on with his talk, with a raised voice and a growing "and thou energy. shalt be at peace here. none shall find out thy refuge to disquiet thee with supplications to return to that empty and foolish life which god hath moved thee to abandon. thou shalt pray, here; "i will tell you a secret." the prince and the hermit. 179 thou shalt study the book; thou shalt meditate upon the follies and delusions of this world, and upon the sublimities of the world to come; thou shalt feed upon crusts and herbs, and scourge thy body with whips, daily, to the purifying of thy soul. thou shalt wear a hair shirt next thy skin; thou shalt drink water, only; and thou shalt be at peace; yes, wholly at peace; for whoso comes to seek thee shall go his way again, baffled; he shall not find thee, he shall not molest thee." the old man, still pacing back and forth, ceased to speak aloud, and began to mutter. the king seized this opportunity to state his case; and he did it with an eloquence inspired by uneasiness and apprehension. but the hermit went on muttering, and gave no heed. and still muttering, he approached the king and said, impressively"'sh! i will tell you a secret!" he bent down to impart it, but checked himself, and assumed a listening attitude. after a moment or two he went on tiptoe to the windowopening, put his head out and peered around in the gloaming, then came tiptoeing back again, put his face close down to the king's, and whispered-"i am an archangel!" the king started violently, and said to himself, "would god i were with the outlaws again; for lo, now am i the prisoner of a madman!" his apprehensions were heightened, and they showed plainly in his face. in a low, excited voice, the hermit continued-"i see you feel my atmosphere! there's awe in your face! none may be in this atmosphere and not be thus affected; for it is the very atmosphere of heaven. i go thither and return, in the twinkling of an eye. i was made an archangel on this very spot, it is five years ago, by angels sent from heaven to confer that awful dignity. their presence filled this place with an intolerable brightness. and they 180 the prince and the hermit. knelt to me, king! yes, they knelt to me! for i was greater than they. i have walked in the courts of heaven, and held speech with the patriarchs. touch my hand--be not afraidtouch it. there--now thou hast touched a hand which has been clasped by abraham, and isaac and jacob! for i have walked in the golden courts, i have seen the deity face to face!" he paused, to give this speech effect; then his face suddenly changed, and he started to his feet again, saying, with angry energy, "yes, i am an archangel; a mere archangel!-i that might have been pope! it is verily true. i was told it from heaven in a dream, twenty years ago; ah, yes, i was to be pope!—and i should have been pope, for heaven had said it--but the king dissolved my religious house, and i, poor obscure unfriended monk, was cast homeless upon the world, robbed of my mighty destiny!" here he began to mumble again, and beat his forehead in futile rage, with his fist; now and then articulating a venomous curse, and now and then a pathetic "wherefore i am nought but an archangel—i that should have been pope! 99 so he went on, for an hour, whilst the poor little king sat and suffered. then all at once the old man's frenzy departed, and he became all gentleness. his voice softened, he came down out of his clouds, and fell to prattling along so simply and so humanely, that he soon won the king's heart completely. the old devotee moved the boy nearer to the fire and made him comfortable; doctored his small bruises and abrasions with a deft and tender hand; and then set about preparing and cooking a supper-chatting pleasantly all the time, and occasionally stroking the lad's cheek or patting his head, in such a gently caressing way that in a little while all the fear and repulsion inspired by the archangel were changed to reverence and affection for the man. this happy state of things continued while the two ate the supper; then, after a prayer before the shrine, the hermit put the prince and the hermit. 181 the boy to bed, in a small adjoining room, tucking him in as snugly and lovingly as a mother might; and so, with a parting caress, left him and sat down by the fire, and began to poke the brands about in an absent and aimless way. presently he paused; then tapped his forehead several times with his fingers, as if trying to recall some thought which had escaped from his mind. apparently he was unsuccessful. now he started quickly up, and entered his guest's room, and said—– "thou art king?" "yes," was the response, drowsily uttered. "what king?" "of england." "of england! then henry is gone!" "alack, it is so. i am his son." a black frown settled down upon the hermit's face, and he clenched his bony hands with a vindictive energy. he stood a few moments, breathing fast and swallowing repeatedly, then said in a husky voice-"dost know it was he that turned us out into the world houseless and homeless?" there was no response. the old man bent down and scanned the boy's reposeful face and listened to his placid breathing. "he sleeps-sleeps soundly;" and the frown vanished away and gave place to an expression of evil satisfaction. a smile flitted across the dreaming boy's features. the hermit muttered, "so-his heart is happy;" and he turned away. he went stealthily about the place, seeking here and there for something; now and then halting to listen, now and then jerking his head around and casting a quick glance toward the bed; and always muttering, always mumbling to himself.. at last he found what he seemed to want—a rusty old butcher knife and a whetstone. then he crept to his place by the fire, sat himself down, and began to whet the knife softly on the stone, still muttering, mumbling, ejaculat182 the prince and the hermit. ing. the winds sighed around the lonely place, the mysterious voices of the night floated by out of the distances. the shining eyes of venturesome mice and rats peered out at the old man from cracks and coverts, but he went on with his work, rapt absorbed, and noted none of these things. at long intervals he drew his thumb along the edge of his knife, and nodded his head with satisfaction. "it grows sharper," he said; "yes, it grows sharper." he took no note of the flight of time, but worked tranquilly on, entertaining himself with his thoughts, which broke out occasionally in articulate speech: “his father wrought us evil, he destroyed us—and is gone down into the eternal fires! yes, down into the eternal fires! he escaped us-but it was god's will, yes it was god's will, we must not repine. but he hath not escaped the fires! no, he hath not escaped the fires, the consuming, unpitying, remorseless fires-and they are everlasting!" and so he wrought; and still wrought; mumbling--chuckling a low rasping chuckle, at times--and at times breaking again into words: "it was his father that did it all. i am but an archangel -but for him, i should be pope ! " the king stirred. the hermit sprang noiselessly to the bedside, and went down upon his knees, bending over the prostrate form with his knife uplifted. the boy stirred again; his eyes came open for an instant, but there was no speculation in them, they saw nothing; the next moment his tranquil breathing showed that his sleep was sound once more. the hermit watched and listened, for a time, keeping his position and scarcely breathing; then he slowly lowered his arm, and presently crept away, saying,"it is long past midnight—it is not best that he should cry out, lest by accident some one be passing." he glided about his hovel, gathering a rag here, a thong the prince and the hermit. 183 there, and another one yonder; then he returned, and by careful and gentle handling, he managed to tie the king's ankles together without waking him. next he essayed to tie the wrists; he made several attempts to cross them, but the boy always drew one hand or the other away, just as the cord was ready to be applied; but at last, when the archangel was al"the next moment they were bound. "" most ready to despair, the boy crossed his hands himself, and the next moment they were bound. now a bandage was passed under the sleeper's chin and brought up over his head and tied fast-and so softly, so gradually, and so deftly were the knots drawn together and compacted, that the boy slept peacefully through it all without stirring. chapter xxi. hendon to the rescue. the old man glided away, stooping, stealthily, cat-like, and brought the low bench. he seated himself upon it, half his body in the dim and flickering light, and the other half in shadow; and so, with his craving eyes bent upon the slumbering boy, he kept his patient vigil there, heedless of the drift of time, and softly whetted his knife, and mumbled and chuckled; and in aspect and attitude he resembled nothing so much as a grizzly, monstrous spider, gloating over some hapless insect that lay bound and helpless in his web. after a long while, the old man, who was still gazing,— yet not seeing, his mind having settled into a dreamy abstraction, observed on a sudden, that the boy's eyes were open-wide open and staring !-staring up in frozen horror at the knife. the smile of a gratified devil crept over the old man's face, and he said, without changing his attitude or his occupation"son of henry the eighth, hast thou prayed?" the boy struggled helplessly in his bonds; and at the same time forced a smothered sound through his closed jaws, which the hermit chose to interpret as an affirmative answer to his question. "then pray again. pray the prayer for the dying!" a shudder shook the boy's frame, and his face blenched. then he struggled again to free himself--turning and twisting himself this way and that; tugging frantically, fiercely, desperately-but uselessly-to burst his fetters: and all the 184 hendon to the rescue. 185 while the old ogre smiled down upon him, and nodded his head, and placidly whetted his knife; mumbling, from time to time. "the moments are precious, they are few and precious-pray the prayer for the dying!" the boy uttered a despairing groan, and ceased from his struggles, panting. the tears came, then, and trickled, one after the other, down his face; but this piteous sight wrought no softening effect upon the savage old man. the dawn was coming, now; the hermit observed it, and spoke up sharply, with a touch of nervous apprehension in his 1 voice"i may not indulge this ecstasy longer! the night is already gone. it seems but a moment— only a moment; would it had endured a year! "c he sunk upon his knees, his knife in hand." seed of the church's spoiler, close thy perishing eyes, an' thou fearest to look upon the rest was lost in inarticulate mutterings. the old man sunk upon his knees, his knife in his hand, and bent himself over the moaning boyhark! there was a sound of voices near the cabin-the knife dropped from the hermit's hand; he cast a sheepskin over the boy and started up, trembling. the sounds in99 186 hendon to the rescue. creased, and presently the voices became rough and angry; then came blows, and cries for help; then a clatter of swift footsteps, retreating. immediately came a succession of thundering knocks upon the cabin door, followed by— "hullo-o-o! open! and despatch, in the name of all the devils!" o, this was the blessedest sound that had ever made music in the king's ears; for it was miles hendon's voice! the hermit, grinding his teeth in impotent rage, moved swiftly out of the bedchamber, closing the door behind him; and straightway the king heard a talk, to this effect, proceeding from the "chapel:' "" "homage and greeting, reverend sir! where is the boy -my boy?" "what boy, friend?" "what boy! lie me no lies, sir priest, play me no deceptions!-i am not in the humor for it. near to this place i caught the scoundrels who i judged did steal him from me, and i made them confess; they said he was at large again, and they had tracked him to your door. they showed me his very footprints. now palter no more; for look you, holy sir, an' thou produce him notwhere is the boy?" "o, good sir, peradventure you mean the ragged regal vagrant that tarried here the night. if such as you take interest in such as he, know, then, that i have sent him of an errand. he will be back anon." "how soon? how soon? come, waste not the timecannot i overtake him? how soon will he be back?" "thou needst not stir; he will return quickly." "so be it then. i will try to wait. but stop!-you sent him of an errand?-you! verily, this is a lie-he would not go. he would pull thy old beard, an' thou didst offer him such an insolence. thou hast lied, friend; thou hast surely lied! he would not go for thee nor for any man." hendon to the rescue. 187 "" "for any man—no; haply not. but i am not a man." "what! now o' god's name what art thou, then?" "it is a secret-mark thou reveal it not. angel!" i am an archthere was a tremendous ejaculation from miles hendonnot altogether unprofane-followed by"this doth well and truly account for his complaisance! right well i knew he would budge nor hand nor foot in the menial service of any mortal; but lord, even a king must obey when an archangel gives the word o' command! let me-'sh! what noise was that?" 66 all this while the king had been yonder, alternately quaking with terror and trembling with hope; and all the while, too, he had thrown all the strength he could into his anguished moanings, constantly expecting them to reach hendon's ear, but always realizing, with bitterness, that they failed, or at least made no impression. so this last remark of his servant came as comes a reviving breath from fresh fields to the dying; and he exerted himself once more, and with all his energy, just as the hermit was saying— "noise? i heard only the wind." mayhap it was. yes, doubtless that was it. i have been hearing it faintly all the-there it is again! it is not the wind! what an odd sound! come, we will hunt it out!" now the king's joy was nearly insupportable. his tired lungs did their utmost-and hopefully, too—but the sealed jaws and the muffling sheepskin sadly crippled the effort. then the poor fellow's heart sank, to hear the hermit say— "ah, it came from without-i think from the copse yonder. come, i will lead the way." the king heard the two pass out, talking; heard their footsteps die quickly away-then he was alone with a boding, brooding, awful silence. it seemed an age till he heard the steps and voices ap188 hendon to the rescue. proaching again-and this time he heard an added sound-the trampling of hoofs, apparently. then he heard hendon say— "i will not wait longer. i cannot wait longer. he has lost his way in this thick wood. which direction took he? quick-point it out to me." “he—but wait; i will go with thee.” "good-good! why, truly thou art better than thy looks. marry i do think there's not another archangel with so right a heart as thine. wilt ride? wilt take the wee donkey that's for my boy, or wilt thou fork thy holy legs over this ill-conditioned slave of a mule that i have provided for myself? and had been cheated in, too, had he cost but the indifferent sum of a month's usury on a brass farthing let to a tinker out of work." "no-ride thy mule, and lead thine ass; i am surer on mine own feet, and will walk.” “then prithee mind the little beast for me while i take my life in my hands and make what success i may toward mounting the big one." then followed a confusion of kicks, cuffs, tramplings and plungings, accompanied by a thunderous intermingling of volleyed curses, and finally a bitter apostrophe to the mule, which must have broken its spirit, for hostilities seemed to cease from that moment. 66 with unutterable misery the fettered little king heard the voices and footsteps fade away and die out. all hope forsook him, now, for the moment, and a dull despair settled down upon his heart. my only friend is deceived and got rid of," he said; "the hermit will return and ❞— he finished with a gasp; and at once fell to struggling so frantically with his bonds again, that he shook off the smothering sheepskin. and now he heard the door open! the sound chilled him to the marrow-already he seemed to feel the knife at his hendon to the rescue. 189 throat. horror made him close his eyes; horror made him open them again—and before him stood john canty and hugo! he would have said "thank god!" if his jaws had been free. a moment or two later his limbs were at liberty, and his captors each gripping him by an arm, were hurrying him with all speed through the forest. chapter xxii. a victim of treachery. once more 66 king foo-foo the first was roving with the tramps and outlaws, a butt for their coarse jests and dull-witted railleries, and sometimes the victim of small spitefulnesses at the hands of canty and hugo when the ruffler's back was turned. none but canty and hugo really disliked him. some of the others liked him, and all admired his pluck and spirit. during two or three days, hugo, in whose ward and charge the king was, did what he covertly could to make the boy uncomfortable; and at night, during the customary orgies, he amused the company by putting small indignities upon him-always as if by accident. twice he stepped upon the king's toes-accidentally—and the king, as became his royalty, was contemptuously unconscious of it and indifferent to it; but the third time hugo entertained himself in that way, the king felled him to the ground with a cudgel, to the prodigious delight of the tribe. hugo, consumed with anger and shame, sprang up, seized a cudgel, and came at his small adversary in a fury. instantly a ring was formed around the gladiators, and the betting and cheering began. but poor hugo stood no chance whatever. his frantic and lubberly 'prentice-work found but a poor market for itself when pitted against an arm which had been trained by the first masters of europe in single-stick, quarter-staff, and every art and trick of swordsmanship. the little king stood, alert but at graceful ease, and caught and turned aside the thick rain of blows with a facility and precision which set .. 190 a victim of treachery. 191 the motley on-lookers wild with admiration; and every now and then, when his practised eye detected an opening, and a lightning-swift rap upon hugo's head followed as a result, the storm of cheers and laughter that swept the place was "" hugo stood no chance. "" something wonderful to hear. at the end of fifteen minutes, hugo, all battered, bruised, and the target for a pitiless bombardment of ridicule, slunk from the field; and the unscathed hero of the fight was seized and borne aloft upon the shoulders of the joyous rabble to the place of honor beside the 192 a victim of treachery. ruffler, where with vast ceremony he was crowned king of the game-cocks; his meaner title being at the same time solemnly cancelled and annulled, and a decree of banishment from the gang pronounced against any who should henceforth utter it. all attempts to make the king serviceable to the troop had failed. he had stubbornly refused to act; moreover he was always trying to escape. he had been thrust into an unwatched kitchen, the first day of his return; he not only came forth empty handed, but tried to rouse the housemates. he was sent out with a tinker to help him at his work; he would not work; moreover he threatened the tinker with his own soldering-iron; and finally both hugo and the tinker found their hands full with the mere matter of keeping him from getting away. he delivered the thunders of his royalty upon the heads of all who hampered his liberties or tried to force him to service. he was sent out, in hugo's charge, in company with a slatternly woman and a diseased baby, to beg; but the result was not encouraging-he declined to plead for the mendicants, or be a party to their cause in any way. thus several days went by; and the miseries of this tramping life, and the weariness and sordidness and meanness and vulgarity of it, became gradually and steadily so intolerable to the captive that he began at last to feel that his release from the hermit's knife must prove only a temporary respite from death, at best. but at night, in his dreams, these things were forgotten, and he was on his throne, and master again. this, of course, intensified the sufferings of the awakening-so the mortifications of each succeeding morning of the few that passed between his return to bondage and the combat with hugo, grew bitterer and bitterer, and harder and harder to bear. the morning after that combat, hugo got up with a heart filled with vengeful purposes against the king. he had two a victim of treachery. 193 plans, in particular. one was to inflict upon the lad what would be, to his proud spirit and "imagined" royalty, a peculiar humiliation; and if he failed to accomplish this, his other plan was to put a crime of some kind upon the king and then betray him into the implacable clutches of the law. in pursuance of the first plan, he proposed to put a "clime" upon the king's leg; rightly judging that that would mortify him to the last and perfect degree; and as soon as the clime should operate, he meant to get canty's help, and force the king to expose his leg in the highway and beg for alms. "clime" was the cant term for sore, artificially created. to make a clime, the operator made a paste or poultice of unslaked lime, soap, and the rust of old iron, and spread it upon a piece of leather, which was then bound tightly upon the leg. this would presently fret off the skin, and make the flesh raw and angry-looking; blood was then rubbed upon the limb, which, being fully dried, took on a dark and repulsive color. then a bandage of soiled rags. was put on in a cleverly careless way which would allow the hideous ulcer to be seen and move the compassion of the passer-by.* hugo got the help of the tinker whom the king had cowed with the soldering-iron; they took the boy out on a tinkering tramp, and as soon as they were out of sight of the camp they threw him down and the tinker held him while hugo bound the poultice tight and fast upon his leg. the king raged and stormed, and promised to hang the two the moment the sceptre was in his hand again; but they kept a firm grip upon him and enjoyed his impotent struggling and jeered at his threats. this continued until the poultice began to bite; and in no long time its work would have been perfected, if there had been no interruption. but there was; for about this time the "slave" who had made the speech *from "the english rogue;" london, 1665. 194 a victim of treachery. denouncing england's laws, appeared on the scene and put an end to the enterprise, and stripped off the poultice and bandage. the king wanted to borrow his deliverer's cudgel and warm the jackets of the two rascals on the spot; but the man said no, it would bring trouble-leave the matter till night; the whole tribe being together, then, the outside world would not venture to interfere or interrupt. he marched the party back to camp and reported the affair to the ruffler, who listened, pondered, and then decided that the king should not be again detailed to beg, since it was plain he was worthy of something higher and better-wherefore, on the spot he promoted him from the mendicant rank and appointed him to steal! hugo was overjoyed. he had already tried to make the king steal, and failed; but there would be no more trouble of that sort, now, for of course the king would not dream of defying a distinct command delivered directly from headquarters. so he planned a raid for that very afternoon, purposing to get the king in the law's grip in the course of it; and to do it, too, with such ingenious strategy, that it should seem to be accidental and unintentional; for the king of the gamecocks was popular, now, and the gang might not deal overgently with an unpopular member who played so serious a treachery upon him as the delivering him over to the common enemy, the law. very well. all in good time hugo strolled off to a neighboring village with his prey; and the two drifted slowly up and down one street after another, the one watching sharply for a sure chance to achieve his evil purpose, and the other watching as sharply for a chance to dart away and get free of his infamous captivity forever. both threw away some tolerably fair-looking opportunities; for both, in their secret hearts, were resolved to make absoa victim of treachery. 195 lutely sure work this time, and neither meant to allow his fevered desires to seduce him into any venture that had much uncertainty about it. hugo's chance came first. for at last a woman approached who carried a fat package of some sort in a basket. hugo's eyes sparkled with sinful pleasure as he said to himself, "breath o' my life, an' i can but put that upon him, 'tis good-den and god keep thee, king of the game-cocks!" he waited and watched-outwardly patient, but inwardly consuming with excitement-till the woman had passed by, and the time was ripe; then said, in a low voice—“ tarry here till i come again," and darted stealthily after the prey. the king's heart was filled with joy-he could make his escape, now, if hugo's quest only carried him far enough away. but he was to have no such luck. hugo crept behind the woman, snatched the package, and came running back, wrapping it in an old piece of blanket which he carried on his arm. the hue and cry was raised in a moment, by the woman, who knew her loss by the lightening of her burden, although she had not seen the pilfering done. hugo thrust the bundle into the king's hands without halting, saying,— "now speed ye after me with the rest, and cry stop thief!' but mind ye lead them astray !" the next moment hugo turned a corner and darted down a crooked alley,—and in another moment or two he lounged into view again, looking innocent and indifferent, and took up a position behind a post to watch results. the insulted king threw the bundle on the ground; and the blanket fell away from it just as the woman arrived, with an augmenting crowd at her heels; she seized the king's wrist with one hand, snatched up her bundle with the other, and began to pour out a tirade of abuse upon the boy while he struggled, without success, to free himself from her grip. 6 196 a victim of treachery. hugo had seen enough-his enemy was captured and the law would get him, now-so he slipped away, jubilant and chuckling, and wended campwards, framing a judicious version of the matter to give to the ruffler's crew as he strode along. the king continued to struggle in the woman's grasp, and now and then cried out, in vexation" "the king sprang to his deliverer's side." "unhand me, thou foolish creature; it was not i that bereaved thee of thy paltry goods." the crowd closed around, threatening the king and calling a victim of treachery. 197 66 him names; a brawny blacksmith in leather apron, and sleeves rolled to his elbows, made a reach for him, saying he would trounce him well, for a lesson; but just then a long sword flashed in the air and fell with convincing force upon the man's arm, flat-side down, the fantastic owner of it remarking pleasantly at the same timemarry, good souls, let us proceed gently, not with ill blood and uncharitable words. this is matter for the law's consideration, not private and unofficial handling. loose thy hold from the boy, good-wife." the blacksmith averaged the stalwart soldier with a glance, then went muttering away, rubbing his arm; the woman released the boy's wrist reluctantly; the crowd eyed the stranger unlovingly, but prudently closed their mouths. the king sprang to his deliverer's side, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, exclaiming"thou hast lagged sorely, but thou comest in good season, now, sir miles; carve me this rabble to rags!" chapter xxiii. the prince a prisoner. hendon forced back a smile, and bent down and whispered in the king's ear— "softly, softly, my prince, wag thy tongue warily-nay, suffer it not to wag at all. trust in me-all shall go well in the end." then he added, to himself: "sir miles! bless me, i had totally forgot i was a knight! lord how marvellous a thing it is, the grip his memory doth take upon his quaint and crazy fancies! . . . an empty and foolish title is mine, and yet it is something to have deserved it, for i think it is more honor to be held worthy to be a spectreknight in his kingdom of dreams and shadows, than to be held base enough to be an earl in some of the real kingdoms of this world." the crowd fell apart to admit a constable, who approached and was about to lay his hand upon the king's shoulder, when hendon said"gently, good friend, withhold your hand-he shall go peaceably; i am responsible for that. lead on, we will follow." the officer led, with the woman and her bundle; miles and the king followed after, with the crowd at their heels. the king was inclined to rebel; but hendon said to him in a low voice"reflect, sire-your laws are the wholesome breath of your own royalty; shall their source resist them, yet require the branches to respect them? apparently one of these laws 198 the prince a prisoner. 199 has been broken; when the king is on his throne again, can it ever grieve him to remember that when he was seemingly 66 awow gently, good friend." a private person he loyally sunk the king in the citizen and submitted to its authority?" "thou art right; say no more; thou shalt see that whatsoever the king of england requires a subject to suffer under 200 the prince a prisoner. the law, he will himself suffer while he holdeth the station of a subject." when the woman was called upon to testify before the justice of the peace, she swore that the small prisoner at the bar was the person who had committed the theft; there was none able to show the contrary, so the king stood convicted. the bundle was now unrolled, and when the contents proved to be a plump little dressed pig, the judge looked troubled, whilst hendon turned pale, and his body was thrilled with an electric shiver of dismay; but the king remained unmoved, protected by his ignorance. the judge meditated, during an ominous pause, then turned to the woman, with the question"what dost thou hold this property to be worth?” the woman courtesied and replied-"three shillings and eightpence, your worship—i could not abate a penny and set forth the value honestly." the justice glanced around uncomfortably upon the crowd, then nodded to the constable and said— "clear the court and close the doors." it was done. none remained but the two officials, the accused, the accuser, and miles hendon. this latter was rigid and colorless, and on his forehead big drops of cold sweat gathered, broke and blended together, and trickled down his face. the judge turned to the woman again, and said, in a compassionate voice"'tis a poor ignorant lad, and mayhap was driven hard by hunger, for these be grievous times for the unfortunate; mark you, he hath not an evil face-but when hunger driveth -good woman! dost know that when one steals a thing above the value of thirteen pence ha'penny the law saith he shall hang for it?" the little king started, wide-eyed with consternation, but controlled himself and held his peace; but not so the the prince a prisoner. 201 woman. she sprang to her feet, shaking with fright, and cried out"o, good lack, what have i done! god-a-mercy, i would not hang the poor thing for the whole world! ah, save me from this, your worship-what shall i do, what can i do?" the justice maintained his judicial composure, and simply said"doubtless it is allowable to revise the value, since it is not yet writ upon the record." "then in god's name call the pig eightpence, and heaven bless the day that freed my conscience of this awesome thing!" miles hendon forgot all decorum in his delight; and surprised the king and wounded his dignity, by throwing his arms around him and hugging him. the woman made her grateful adieux and started away with her pig; and when the constable opened the door for her, he followed her out into the narrow hall. the justice proceeded to write in his record book. hendon, always alert, thought he would like to know why the officer followed the woman out; so he slipped softly into the dusky hall and listened. he heard a conversation to this effect"it is a fat pig, and promises good eating; i will buy it of thee; here is the eightpence." "eightpence, indeed! thou'lt do no such thing. it cost me three shillings and eightpence, good honest coin of the last reign, that old harry that's just dead ne'er touched nor tampered with. a fig for thy eightpence!" "stands the wind in that quarter? thou wast under oath, and so swore falsely when thou saidst the value was but eightpence. come straightway back with me before his worship, and answer for the crime !—and then the lad will hang." "there, there, dear heart, say no more, i am content. give me the eightpence, and hold thy peace about the matter." 202 the prince a prisoner. the woman went off crying; hendon slipped back into the court room, and the constable presently followed, after hiding his prize in some convenient place. the justice wrote a while longer, then read the king a wise and kindly lecture, and sentenced him to a short imprisonment in the common jail, to be followed by a public flogging. the astounded king opened his mouth and was probably going to order the good judge to be beheaded on the spot; but he caught a warning sign from hendon, and succeeded in closing his mouth again before he lost any thing out of it. hendon took him by the hand, now made reverence to the justice, and the two departed in the wake of the constable toward the jail. the moment the street was reached, the inflamed monarch halted, snatched away his hand, and exclaimed"idiot,dost imagine i will enter a common jail alive?" hendon bent down and said, somewhat sharply— "will you trust in me? peace and forbear to worsen our chances with dangerous speech. what god wills, will happen; thou canst not hurry it, thou canst not alter it; therefore wait, and be patient-'twill be time enow to rail or rejoice when what is to happen has happened."* see notes to chapter 23, at end of volume. chapter xxiv. the escape. the short winter day was nearly ended. the streets were deserted, save for a few random stragglers, and these hurried straight along, with the intent look of people who were only anxious to accomplish their errands as quickly as possible and then snugly house themselves from the rising wind and the gathering twilight. they looked neither to the right nor to the left; they paid no attention to our party, they did not even seem to see them. edward the sixth wondered if the spectacle of a king on his way to jail had ever encountered such marvellous indifference before. by and by the constable arrived at a deserted market-square and proceeded to cross it. when he had reached the middle of it, hendon laid his hand upon his arm, and said in a low voice— "bide a moment, good sir, there is none in hearing, and i would say a word to thee." "my duty forbids it, sir; prithee hinder me not, the night comes on." "stay, nevertheless, for the matter concerns thee nearly. turn thy back a moment and seem not to see; let this poor lad escape." "this to me, sir! i arrest thee in ". "nay, be not too hasty. see thou be careful and commit no foolish error "-then he shut his voice down to a whisper, and said in the man's ear—" the pig thou hast purchased for eightpence may cost thee thy neck, man!" the poor constable, taken by surprise, was speechless, at 203 204 the escape. first, then found his tongue and feil to blustering and threatening; but hendon was tranquil, and waited with patience till his breath was spent; then said— “i have a liking to thee, friend, and would not willingly see thee come to harm. observe, i heard it all—every word. i will prove it to thee." then he repeated the conversation "" the pig may cost thy neck, man." which the officer and the woman had had together in the hali, word for word, and ended with"there have i set it forth correctly? should not i be able to set it forth correctly before the judge, if occasion required?" the man was dumb with fear and distress, for a moment; then he rallied and said with forced lightness"'tis making a mighty matter indeed, out of a jest; i but plagued the woman for mine amusement." the escape. 205 66 kept you the woman's pig for amusement?" the man answered sharply— "nought else, good sir-i tell thee 'twas but a jest." "i do begin to believe thee," said hendon, with a perplexing mixture of mockery and half-conviction in his tone; "but tarry thou here a moment whilst i run and ask his worship for nathless, he being a man experienced in law, in jests, in "_ he was moving away, still talking; the constable hesitated, fidgetted, spat out an oath or two, then cried out— "hold, hold, good sir-prithee wait a little-the judge! why man, he hath no more sympathy with a jest than hath a dead corpse !-come, and we will speak further. ods body! i seem to be in evil case-and all for an innocent and thoughtless pleasantry. i am a man of family; and my wife and little ones— list to reason, good your worship; what wouldst thou of me?" "only that thou be blind and dumb and paralytic whilst one may count a hundred thousand-counting slowly," said hendon, with the expression of a man who asks but a reasonable favor, and that a very little one. "it is my destruction!" said the constable despairingly. "ah, be reasonable, good sir; only look at this matter, on all its sides, and see how mere a jest it is—how manifestly and how plainly it is so. and even if one granted it were not a jest, it is a fault so small that e'en the grimmest penalty it could call forth would be but a rebuke and warning from the judge's lips." hendon replied with a solemnity which chilled the air about him"this jest of thine hath a name, in law,-wot you what it is?" "i knew it not! peradventure i have been unwise. i never dreamed it had a name-ah, sweet heaven, i thought it was original." 206 the escape. "yes, it hath a name. in the law this crime is called non compos mentis lex talionis sic transit gloria mundi." ah, my god!” 66 "and the penalty is death !" "god be merciful to me, a sinner!' (( by advantage taken of one in fault, in dire peril, and at thy mercy, thou hast seized goods worth above thirteen pence ha'penny, paying but a trifle for the same; and this, in the eye of the law, is constructive barratry, misprision of treason, malfeasance in office, ad hominem expurgatis in statu quo-and the penalty is death by the halter, without ransom, commutation, or benefit of clergy." "bear me up, bear me up, sweet sir, my legs do fail me! be thou merciful-spare me this doom, and i will turn my back and see nought that shall happen." "good! now thou'rt wise and reasonable. and thou'lt restore the pig?" "i will, i will indeed-nor ever touch another, though heaven send it and an archangel fetch it. go-i am blind for thy sake-i see nothing. i will say thou didst break in and wrest the prisoner from my hands by force. it is but a crazy, ancient door-i will batter it down myself betwixt midnight and the morning." "do it, good soul, no harm will come of it; the judge hath a loving charity for this poor lad, and will shed no tears and break no jailer's bones for his escape." 1 " chapter xxv. hendon hall. as soon as hendon and the king were out of sight of the constable, his majesty was instructed to hurry to a certain place outside the town, and wait there, whilst hendon should go to the inn and settle his account. half an hour later the two friends were blithely jogging eastward on hendon's sorry steeds. the king was warm and comfortable, now, for he had cast his rags and clothed himself in the second-hand suit which hendon had bought on london bridge. hendon wished to guard against over-fatiguing the boy; he judged that hard journeys, irregular meals, and illiberal measures of sleep would be bad for his crazed mind; whilst rest, regularity, and moderate exercise would be pretty sure to hasten its cure; he longed to see the stricken intellect made well again and its diseased visions driven out of the tormented little head; therefore he resolved to move by easy stages toward the home whence he had so long been banished, instead of obeying the impulse of his impatience and hurrying along night and day. when he and the king had journeyed about ten miles, they reached a considerable village, and halted there for the night, at a good inn. the former relations were resumed; hendon stood behind the king's chair, while he dined, and waited upon him; undressed him when he was ready for bed; then took the floor for his own quarters, and slept athwart the door, rolled up in a blanket. 207 208 hendon hall. the next day, and the next day after, they jogged lazily along talking over the adventures they had met since their separation, and mightily enjoying each other's narratives. hendon detailed all his wide wanderings in search of the king, and described how the archangel had led him a fool's 66 461 'jogging eastward on sorry steeds." journey all over the forest, and taken him back to the hut, finally, when he found he could not get rid of him. thenhe said the old man went into the bedchamber and came staggering back looking broken-hearted, and saying he had expected to find that the boy had returned and lain down in there to rest, but it was not so. hendon had waited at the --hendon hall. 209 hut all day; hope of the king's return died out, then, and he departed upon the quest again. "and old sanctum sanctorum was truly sorry your highness came not back," said hendon; "i saw it in his face." marry i will never doubt that!" said the king-and then told his own story; after which, hendon was sorry he had not destroyed the archangel. 66 during the last day of the trip, hendon's spirits were soaring. his tongue ran constantly. he talked about his old father, and his brother arthur, and told of many things which illustrated their high and generous characters; he went into loving frenzies over his edith, and was so gladhearted that he was even able to say some gentle and brotherly things about hugh. he dwelt a deal on the coming meeting at hendon hall; what a surprise it would be to everybody, and what an outburst of thanksgiving and delight there would be. it was a fair region, dotted with cottages and orchards, and the road led through broad pasture lands whose receding expanses, marked with gentle elevations and depressions, suggested the swelling and subsiding undulations of the sea. in the afternoon the returning prodigal made constant deflections from his course to see if by ascending some hillock he might not pierce the distance and catch a glimpse of his home. at last he was successful, and cried out excitedly"there is the village, my prince, and there is the hall close by! you may see the towers from here; and that wood there that is my father's park. ah, now thou'lt know what state and grandeur be! a house with seventy rooms-think of that!—and seven and twenty servants! a brave lodging for such as we, is it not so? come, let us speed-my impatience will not brook further delay." all possible hurry was made; still, it was after three o'clock before the village was reached. the travellers scampered through it, hendon's tongue going all the time. "here is 210 hendon hall. the church-covered with the same ivy-none gone, none added." "yonder is the inn, the old red lion,-and yonder is the marketplace." "here is the maypole, and here the pump—nothing is altered; nothing but the people, at any rate; ten years make a change in people; some of these i seem to know, but none know me." so his chat ran on. the end of the village was soon reached; then the travellers struck into a crooked, narrow road, walled in with tall hedges, and hurried briskly along it for a half mile, then passed into a vast flower garden through an imposing gateway whose huge stone pillars bore sculptured armorial devices. a noble mansion was before them. "welcome to hendon hall, my king!" exclaimed miles. "ah, 'tis a great day! my father and my brother, and the lady edith will be so mad with joy that they will have eyes and tongue for none but me in the first transports of the meeting, and so thou'lt seem but coldly welcomed—but mind it not; 'twill soon seem otherwise; for when i say thou art my ward, and tell them how costly is my love for thee, thou'lt see them take thee to their breasts for miles hendon's sake, and make their house and hearts thy home forever after !" the next moment hendon sprang to the ground before the great door, helped the king down, then took him by the hand and rushed within. a few steps brought him to a spacious apartment; he entered, seated the king with more hurry than ceremony, then ran toward a young man who sat at a writing table in front of a generous fire of logs. “embrace me, hugh," he cried, "and say thou'rt glad i am come again! and call our father, for home is not home till i shall touch his hand, and see his face, and hear his voice once more!" but hugh only drew back, after betraying a momentary surprise, and bent a grave stare upon the intruder—a stare which indicated somewhat of offended dignity, at first, then hendon hall. 211 changed, in response to some inward, thought or purpose, to an expression of marvelling curiosity, mixed with a real or assumed compassion. presently he said, in a mild voice"" thy wits seem touched, poor stranger; doubtless thou hast suffered privations and rude buffetings at the world's hands; thy looks and dress betoken it. whom dost thou take me to be?" "take thee? prithee for whom else than whom thou art? i take thee to be hugh hendon," said miles, sharply. the other continued, in the same soft tone— "and whom dost thou imagine thyself to be?" "imagination hath nought to do with it! dost thou pretend thou knowest me not for thy brother miles hendon?" an expression of pleased surprise' flitted across hugh's face, and he exclaimed"what! thou art not jesting? can the dead come to life? god be praised if it be so ! our poor lost boy restored to our arms after all these cruel years! ah, it seems too good to be true, it is too good to be true-i charge thee, have pity, do not trifle with me! quick-come to the light—let me scan thee well!" he seized miles by the arm, dragged him to the window, and began to devour him from head to foot with his eyes, turning him this way and that, and stepping briskly around. him and about him to prove him from all points of view; whilst the returned prodigal, all aglow with gladness, smiled, laughed, and kept nodding his head and saying— "go on, brother, go on, and fear not; thou'lt find nor limb nor feature that cannot bide the test. scour and scan me to thy content, my dear old hugh-i am indeed thy old miles, thy same old miles, thy lost brother, is't not so? ah, 'tis a great day--i said 'twas a great day! give me thy hand, give me thy cheek-lord, i am like to die of very joy!" he was about to throw himself upon his brother; but hugh 212 hendon hall. put up his hand in dissent, then dropped his chin mournfully upon his breast, saying with emotion"ah, god of his mercy give me strength to bear this grievous disappointment!" miles, amazed, could not speak, for a moment; then he found his tongue, and cried out— "what disappointment? am i not thy brother?" hugh shook his head sadly, and said— "i pray heaven it may prove so, and that other eyes may find the resemblances that are hid from mine. alack, i fear me the letter spoke but too truly." "what letter?" "one that came from over sea, some six or seven years ago. it said my brother died in battle." "it was a lie! call thy father-he will know me." "one may not call the dead." "dead?" miles's voice was subdued, and his lips trembled. "my father dead !—o, this is heavy news. half my new joy is withered now. prithee let me see my brother arthur-he will know me; he will know me and console me." "he, also, is dead." "god be merciful to me, a stricken man! gone,-both gone the worthy taken and the worthless spared, in me! ah! i crave your mercy!-do not say the lady edith ""is dead? no, she lives." "then, god be praised, my joy is whole again! speed thee, brother-let her come to me! an' she say i am not myself, but she will not; no, no, she will know me, i were a fool to doubt it. bring her-bring the old servants; they, too, will know me." "all are gone but five-peter, halsey, david, bernard and margaret." so saying, hugh left the room. miles stood musing, a while, then began to walk the floor, mutteringhendon hall. 213 "the five arch villains have survived the two-and-twenty leal and honest-'tis an odd thing." he continued walking back and forth, muttering to himself; he had forgotten the king entirely. by and by his majesty said gravely, and with a touch of genuine compassion, though the words themselves were capable of being interpreted ironically— "mind not thy mischance, good man; there be others in the world whose identity is denied, and whose claims are derided. thou hast company." 66 ah, my king," cried hendon, coloring slightly, "do not thou condemn me—wait, and thou shalt see. i am no impostor-she will say it; you shall hear it from the sweetest lips in england. i an impostor? why i know this old hall, these pictures of my ancestors, and all these things that are about us, as a child knoweth its own nursery. here was i born and bred, my lord; i speak the truth; i would not deceive thee; and should none else believe, i pray thee do not thou doubt me-i could not bear it." "i do not doubt thee," said the king, with a childlike simplicity and faith. "i thank thee out of my heart!" exclaimed hendon, with a fervency which showed that he was touched. the king added, with the same gentle simplicity"dost thou doubt me?" a guilty confusion seized upon hendon, and he was grateful that the door opened to admit hugh, at that moment, and saved him the necessity of replying. a beautiful lady, richly clothed, followed hugh, and after her came several liveried servants. the lady walked slowly, with her head bowed and her eyes fixed upon the floor. the face was unspeakably sad. miles hendon sprang forward, crying out-"o, my edith, my darling❞— 214 hendon hall. but hugh waved him back, gravely, and said to the ladydo you know him?" "look upon him. at the sound of miles's voice the woman had started, slightly, and her cheeks had flushed; she was trembling, now. she stood still, during an impressive pause of several moments; then slowly lifted up her head and looked into hendon's eyes with a stony and frightened gaze; the blood sank out of her face, drop by drop, till nothing remained but the "a beautiful lady, richly clothed, followed hugh.' "" gray pallor of death; then she said, in a voice as dead as the face, "i know him not!" and turned, with a moan and a stifled sob, and tottered out of the room. miles hendon sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. after a pause, his brother said to the servants"you have observed him. do you know him?" they shook their heads; then the master said-hendon hall. 215 "the servants know you not, sir. i fear there is some mistake. you have seen that my wife knew you not." "thy wife!" in an instant hugh was pinned to the wall, with an iron grip about his throat. "o, thou fox-hearted 66 hugh was pinned to the wall. "" 630166 mesto slave, i see it all! thou'st writ the lying letter thyself, and my stolen bride and goods are its fruit. there now get thee gone, lest i shame mine honorable soldiership with the slaying of so pitiful a manikin !" hugh, red-faced, and almost suffocated, reeled to the near216 hendon hall. est chair, and commanded the servants to seize and bind the murderous stranger. they hesitated, and one of them said--"he is armed, sir hugh, and we are weaponless." "armed? what of it, and ye so many? upon him, i say!" but miles warned them to be careful what they did, and added"ye know me of old-i have not changed; come on, an' it like you." this reminder did not hearten the servants much; they still held back. "then go, ye paltry cowards, and arm yourselves and guard the doors, whilst i send one to fetch the watch;" said hugh. he turned, at the threshold, and said to miles, "you'll find it to your advantage to offend not with useless endeavors at escape.” "escape? spare thyself discomfort, an' that is all that troubles thee. for miles hendon is master of hendon hall and all its belongings. he will remain-doubt it not." ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ chapter xxvi. disowned. the king sat musing a few moments, then looked up and said"tis strange-most strange. i cannot account for it." "no, it is not strange, my liege. i know him, and this conduct is but natural. he was a rascal from his birth." "o, i spake not of him, sir miles." "not of him? then of what? what is it that is strange?" "that the king is not missed." "how? which? i doubt i do not understand." "indeed! doth it not strike you as being passing strange that the land is not filled with couriers and proclamations describing my person and making search for me? is it no matter for commotion and distress that the head of the state is gone?—that i am vanished away and lost?" "most true, my king, i had forgot." then hendon sighed, and muttered to himself, "poor ruined mind-still busy with its pathetic dream." "but i have a plan that shall right us both. i will write a paper, in three tongues-latin, greek and english-and thou shalt haste away with it to london in the morning. give it to none but my uncle, the lord hertford; when he shall see it, he will know and say i wrote it. then he will send for me." "might it not be best, my prince, that we wait, here, until 217 218 disowned. i prove myself and make my rights secure to my domains? i should be so much the better able then to "" the king interrupted him imperiously"peace! what are thy paltry domains, thy trivial interests, contrasted with matters which concern the weal of a nation and the integrity of a throne!" then he added, in a gentle voice, as if he were sorry for his severity, "obey and have no fear; i will right thee, i will make thee whole-yes, more than whole. i shall remember, and requite." so saying, he took the pen, and set himself to work. hendon contemplated him lovingly, a while, then said to himself"an' it were dark, i should think it was a king that spoke; there's no denying it, when the humor's upon him he doth thunder and lighten like your true king-now where got he that trick? see him scribble and scratch away contentedly at his meaningless pot-hooks, fancying them to be latin and greek and except my wit shall serve me with a lucky device for diverting him from his purpose, i shall be forced to pretend to post away to-morrow on this wild errand he hath invented for me." the next moment sir miles's thoughts had gone back to the recent episode. so absorbed was he in his musings, that when the king presently handed him the paper which he had been writing, he received it and pocketed it without being conscious of the act. "how marvellous strange she acted," he muttered. "i think she knew me and i think she did not know me. these opinions do conflict, i perceive it plainly; i cannot reconcile them, neither can i, by argument, dismiss either of the two, or even persuade one to outweigh the other. the matter standeth simply thus: she must have known my face, my figure, my voice, for how could it be otherwise? yet she said she knew me not, and that is proof perfect, for she cannot lie. but stop-i think i begin to see. disowned. 219 peradventure he hath influenced her-commanded her-compelled her, to lie. that is the solution! the riddle is unriddled. she seemed dead with fear-yes, she was under his compulsion. i will seek her; i will find her; now that he is away, she will speak her true mind. she will remember the old times when we were little playfellows together, and this will soften her heart, and she will no more betray me, but will confess me. there is no treacherous blood in herno, she was always honest and true. she has loved me in those old days-this is my security; for whom one has loved, one cannot betray." he stepped eagerly toward the door; at that moment it opened, and the lady edith entered. she was very pale, but she walked with a firm step, and her carriage was full of grace and gentle dignity. her face was as sad as before. miles sprang forward, with a happy confidence, to meet her, but she checked him with a hardly perceptible gesture, and he stopped where he was. she seated herself, and asked him to do likewise. thus simply did she take the sense of oldcomradeship out of him, and transform him into a stranger and a guest. the surprise of it, the bewildering unexpectedness of it, made him begin to question, for a moment, if he was the person he was pretending to be, after all. the lady edith said66 sir, i have come to warn you. the mad cannot be persuaded out of their delusions, perchance; but doubtless they may be persuaded to avoid perils. i think this dream of yours hath the seeming of honest truth to you, and therefore is not criminal-but do not tarry here with it; for here it dangerous." she looked steadily into miles's face, a moment, then added, impressively, "it is the more dangerous for that you are much like what our lost lad must have grown to be, if he had lived." "heavens, madame, but i am he!" 220 disowned. "i truly think you think it, sir. i question not your honesty in that i but warn you, that is all. my husband is master in this region; his power hath hardly any limit; the people prosper or starve, as he wills. if you resembled not the man whom you profess to be, my husband might bid you pleasure yourself with your dream in peace; but trust me, i know him well, i know what he will do; he will say to all, that you are but a mad impostor, and straightway all will echo him." she bent upon miles that same steady look once more, and added: "if you were miles hendon, and he knew it and all the region knew it-consider what i am saying, weigh it well-you would stand in the same peril, your punishment would be no less sure; he would deny you and denounce you, and none would be bold enough to give you countenance." "most truly i believe it," said miles, bitterly. "the power that can command one life-long friend to betray and disown another, and be obeyed, may well look to be obeyed in quarters where bread and life are on the stake and no cobweb ties of loyalty and honor are concerned." a faint tinge appeared for a moment in the lady's cheek, and she dropped her eyes to the floor; but her voice betrayed no emotion when she proceeded"i have warned you, i must still warn you, to go hence. this man will destroy you, else. he is a tyrant who knows no pity. i, who am his fettered slave, know this. poor miles, and arthur, and my dear guardian, sir richard, are free of him, and at rest-better that you were with them than that you bide here in the clutches of this miscreant. your pretensions are a menace to his title and possessions; you have assaulted him in his own house—you are ruined if you stay. go-do not hesitate. if you lack money, take this purse, i beg of you, and bribe the servants to let you pass. o be warned, poor soul, and escape while you may." disowned. 221 miles declined the purse with a gesture, and rose up and stood before her. "grant me one thing," he said. "let your eyes rest upon mine, so that i may see if they be steady. there—now anam i miles hendon ?" swer me. "no. i know you not." "swear it!" the answer was low, but distinct"i swear." “o, this passes belief! "fly! why will you waste the precious time? fly and save yourself." at that moment the officers burst into the room and a violent struggle began; but hendon was soon overpowered and dragged away. the king was taken, also, and both were bound, and led to prison. 99 chapter xxvii. in prison. the cells were all crowded; so the two friends were chained in a large room where persons charged with trifling offenses were commonly kept. they had company, for there were some twenty manacled and fettered prisoners here, of both sexes and of varying ages,—an obscene and noisy gang. the king chafed bitterly over the stupendous indignity thus put upon his royalty, but hendon was moody and taciturn. he was pretty thoroughly bewildered. he had come home, a jubilant prodigal, expecting to find everybody wild with joy over his return; and instead had got the cold shoulder and a jail. the promise and the fulfilment differed so widely, that the effect was stunning; he could not decide whether it was most tragic or most grotesque. he felt much as a man might who had danced blithely out to enjoy a rainbow, and got struck by lightning. but gradually his confused and tormenting thoughts settled down into some sort of order, and then his mind centred itself upon edith. he turned her conduct over, and examined it in all lights, but he could not make any thing satisfactory out of it. did she know him?-or didn't she know him? it was a perplexing puzzle, and occupied him a long time; but he ended, finally, with the conviction that she did know him, and had repudiated him for interested reasons. he wanted to load her name with curses now; but this name had so long been sacred to him that he found he could not bring his tongue to profane it. 222 in prison. 223 wrapped in prison blankets of a soiled and tattered condition, hendon and the king passed a troubled night. for a bribe the jailer had furnished liquor to some of the prisoners; singing of ribald songs, fighting, shouting, and carousing, was the natural consequence. at last, a while after midnight, a man attacked a woman and nearly killed her by beating her tal 66 chained in a large room." la over the head with his manacles before the jailer could come to the rescue. the jailer restored peace by giving the man a sound clubbing about the head and shoulders-then the carousing ceased; and after that, all had an opportunity to sleep who did not mind the annoyance of the moanings and groanings of the two wounded people. 224 in prison. during the ensuing week, the days and nights were of a monotonous sameness, as to events; men whose faces hendon remembered more or less distinctly, came, by day, to gaze at the "impostor" and repudiate and insult him; and by night the carousing and brawling went on, with symmetrical regularity. however, there was a change of incident at last. the jailer brought in an old man, and said to him"the villain is in this room-cast thy old eyes about and see if thou canst say which is he." hendon glanced up, and experienced a pleasant sensation for the first time since he had been in the jail. he said to himself, "this is blake andrews, a servant all his life in my father's family—a good honest soul, with a right heart in his breast. that is, formerly. but none are true, now; all are liars. this man will know me-and will deny me, too, like the rest." the old man gazed around the room, glanced at each face in turn, and finally said— "i see none here but paltry knaves, scum o' the streets. which is he? "" the jailer laughed. "here," he said; "scan this big animal, and grant me an opinion." the old man approached, and looked hendon over, long and earnestly, then shook his head and said"marry, this is no hendon-nor ever was!" "right! thy old eyes are sound yet. an' i were sir hugh, i would take the shabby carle and "— the jailer finished by lifting himself a-tip-toe with an imaginary halter, at the same time making a gurgling noise in his throat suggestive of suffocation. the old man said, vindictively"let him bless god an' he fare no worse. an' i had the handling o' the villain, he should roast, or i am no true man!" in prison. 225 the jailer laughed a pleasant hyena laugh, and said"give him a piece of thy mind, old man-they all do it. thou'lt find it good diversion." then he sauntered toward his ante-room and disappeared. the old man dropped upon his knees and whispered— "god be thanked, thou'rt come again, my master! i believed thou wert dead these seven years, and lo, here thou art alive! i knew thee the moment i saw thee; and main hard work it was to keep a stony countenance and seem to see none here but tuppenny knaves and rubbish o' the streets. i am old and poor, sir miles; but say the word and i will go forth and proclaim the truth though i be strangled for it." "no," said hendon; "thou shalt not. it would ruin thee, and yet help but little in my cause. but i thank thee; for thou hast given me back somewhat of my lost faith in my kind." the old servant became very valuable to hendon and the king; for he dropped in several times a day to "abuse" the former, and always smuggled in a few delicacies to help out the prison bill of fare; he also furnished the current news. hendon reserved the dainties for the king; without the his majesty might not have survived, for he was not able to eat the coarse and wretched food provided by the jailer. andrews was obliged to confine himself to brief visits, in order to avoid suspicion; but he managed to impart a fair degree of information each time-information delivered in a low voice, for hendon's benefit, and interlarded with insulting epithets delivered in a louder voice, for the benefit of other hearers. so, little by little, the story of the family came out. arthur had been dead six years. this loss, with the absence of news from hendon, impaired the father's health; he believed he was going to die, and he wished to see hugh and edith settled in life before he passed away; but edith begged hard 226 in prison. for delay, hoping for miles's return; then the letter came which brought the news of miles's death; the shock prostrated sir richard; he believed his end was very near, and he and hugh insisted upon the marriage; edith begged for and obtained a month's respite; then another, and finally a third; the marriage then took place, by the death-bed of sir richard. it had not proved a happy one. it was whispered ww "" information delivered in a low voice." about the country that shortly after the nuptials the bride found among her husband's papers several rough and incomplete drafts of the fatal letter, and had accused him of precipitating the marriage-and sir richard's death, too-by a wicked forgery. tales of cruelty to the lady edith and the servants were to be heard on all hands; and since the father's death sir hugh had thrown off all soft disguises and become in prison. 227 a pitiless master toward all who in any way depended upon him and his domains for bread. there was a bit of andrews's gossip which the king listened to with a lively interest"there is rumor that the king is mad. but in charity forbear to say i mentioned it, for 'tis death to speak of it, they say." his majesty glared at the old man and said— "the king is not mad, good man—and thou’lt find it to thy advantage to busy thyself with matters that nearer concern thee than this seditious prattle." "what doth the lad mean?" said andrews, surprised at this brisk assault from such an unexpected quarter. hendon gave him a sign, and he did not pursue his question, but went on with his budget"the late king is to be buried at windsor in a day or two -the 16th of the month,-and the new king will be crowned at westminster the 20th." "methinks they must needs find him first," muttered his majesty; then added, confidently, "but they will look to that -and so also shall i." "in the name of ". but the old man got no further—a warning sign from hendon checked his remark. he resumed the thread of his gossip"sir hugh goeth to the coronation—and with grand hopes. he confidently looketh to come back a peer, for he is high in favor with the lord protector." "what lord protector?" asked his majesty. "his grace the duke of somerset." "what duke of somerset ? " "marry, there is but one-seymour, earl of hertford." the king asked, sharply— "since when is he a duke, and lord protector?" 228 in prison. "since the last day of january." "and prithee who made him so?" "himself and the great council-with help of the king." his majesty started violently. "the king!" he cried. "what king, good sir? "the king!" he cried. 66 what king?" "what king, indeed! (god-a-mercy, what aileth the boy?) sith we have but one, 'tis not difficult to answer-his most sacred majesty king edward the sixth-whom god preserve! yea, and a dear and gracious little urchin is he, too; and whether he be mad or no-and they say he mendeth daily his praises are on all men's lips; and all bless him, likewise, and offer prayers that he may be spared to reign long in england; for he began humanely, with saving the old in prison. 229 duke of norfolk's life, and now is he bent on destroying the cruelest of the laws that harry and oppress the people.” this news struck his majesty dumb with amazement, and plunged him into so deep and dismal a revery that he heard no more of the old man's gossip. he wondered if the "little urchin" was the beggar-boy whom he left dressed in his own garments in the palace. it did not seem possible that this could be, for surely his manners and speech would betray him if he pretended to be the prince of wales-then he would be driven out, and search made for the true prince. could it be that the court had set up some sprig of the nobility in his place? no, for his uncle would not allow that he was allpowerful and could and would crush such a movement, of. course. the boy's musings profited him nothing; the more he tried to unriddle the mystery the more perplexed he became, the more his head ached, and the worse he slept. his impatience to get to london grew hourly, and his captivity became almost unendurable. hendon's arts all failed with the king-he could not be comforted, but a couple of women who were chained near him, succeeded better. under their gentle ministrations he found peace and learned a degree of patience. he was very grateful, and came to love them dearly and to delight in the sweet and soothing influence of their presence. he asked them why they were in prison, and when they said they were baptists, he smiled, and inquired— "is that a crime to be shut up for, in a prison? now i grieve, for i shall lose ye-they will not keep ye long for such a little thing." they did not answer; and something in their faces made him uneasy. he said, eagerly"you do not speak-be good to me, and tell me there will be no other punishment? prithee tell me there is no fear of that." 230 in prison. they tried to change the topic, but his fears were aroused, and he pursued it"will they scourge thee? no, no, they would not be so cruel! say they would not. come, they will not, will they?" the women betrayed confusion and distress, but there was no avoiding an answer, so one of them said, in a voice choked with emotion— "o, thou❜lt break our hearts, thou gentle spirit! god will help us to bear our 99 "then they will "it is a confession!" the king broke in. scourge thee, the stonyhearted wretches! but o, thou must not weep, i cannot bear it. keep up thy courage-i shall come to my own in time to save thee from this bitter thing, and i will do it!" when the king awoke in the morning, the women were gone. "they are saved!" he said, joyfully; then added, despondently, "but woe is me !—for they were my comforters." each of them had left a shred of ribbon pinned to his clothing, in token of remembrance. he said he would keep these things always; and that soon he would seek out these dear good friends of his and take them under his protection. just then the jailer came in with some subordinates and commanded that the prisoners be conducted to the jail-yard. the king was overjoyed-it would be a blessed thing to see the blue sky and breathe the fresh air once more. he fretted and chafed at the slowness of the officers, but his turn came at last and he was released from his staple and ordered to follow the other prisoners, with hendon. the court or quadrangle, was stone-paved, and open to the sky. the prisoners entered it through a massive archway of masonry, and were placed in file, standing, with their backs against the wall. a rope was stretched in front of them, and in prison. 231 they were also guarded by their officers. it was a chill and lowering morning, and a light snow which had fallen during the night whitened the great empty space and added to the general dismalness of its aspect. now and then a wintry wind shivered through the place and sent the snow eddying hither and thither. in the centre of the court stood two women, chained to posts. a glance showed the king that these were his good friends. he shuddered, and said to himself, "alack, they are not gone free, as i had thought. to think that such as these should know the lash-in england! ay there's the shame of it not in heathenesse, but christian england! they will be scourged; and i, whom they have comforted and kindly entreated, must look on and see the great wrong done; it is strange, so strange! that i, the very source of power in this broad realm, am helpless to protect them. but let these 66 two women chained to posts." 232 in prison. miscreants look well to themselves, for there is a day coming when i will require of them a heavy reckoning for this work. for every blow they strike now, they shall feel a hundred, then." a great gate swung open and a crowd of citizens poured in. they flocked around the two women, and hid them from the king's view. a clergyman entered and passed through the crowd, and he also was hidden. the king now heard talking, back and forth, as if questions were being asked and answered, but he could not make out what was said. next there was a deal of bustle and preparation, and much passing and repassing of officials through that part of the crowd that stood on the further side of the women; and whilst this proceeded a deep hush gradually fell upon the people. now, by command, the masses parted and fell aside, and the king saw a spectacle that froze the marrow in his bones. fagots had been piled about the two women, and a kneeling man was lighting them! the women bowed their heads, and covered their faces with their hands; the yellow flames began to climb upward among the snapping and crackling fagots, and wreaths of blue smoke to stream away on the wind; the clergyman lifted his hands and began a prayer—just then two young girls came flying through the great gate, uttering piercing screams, and threw themselves upon the women at the stake. instantly they were torn away by the officers, and one of them was kept in a tight grip, but the other broke loose, saying she would die with her mother; and before she could be stopped she had flung her arms about her mother's neck again. she was torn away once more, and with her gown on fire. two or three men held her, and the burning portion of her gown was snatched off and thrown flaming aside, she struggling all the while to free herself, and saying she would be alone in the world, now, and begging to be allowed to die with her in prison. 233 mother. both the girls screamed continually, and fought for freedom; but suddenly this tumult was drowned under a volley of heart-piercing shrieks of mortal agony,—the king glanced from the frantic girls to the stake, then turned away and leaned his ashen face against the wall, and looked no more. he said, "that which i have seen, in that one little moment, will never go out from my memory, but will abide there; and i shall see it all the days, and dream of it all the nights, till i die. would god i had been blind!" hendon was watching the king. he said to himself, with satisfaction, "his disorder mendeth; he hath changed, and groweth gentler. if he had followed his wont, he would have stormed at these varlets, and said he was king, and commanded that the women be turned loose unscathed. soon his delusion will pass away and be forgotten, and his poor mind will be whole again. god speed the day!" that same day several prisoners were brought in to remain over night, who were being conveyed, under guard, to various places in the kingdom, to undergo punishment for crimes committed. the king conversed with these, he had made it a point, from the beginning, to instruct himself for the kingly office by questioning prisoners whenever the opportunity offered—and the tale of their woes wrung his heart. one of them was a poor half-witted woman who had stolen a yard or two of cloth from a weaver—she was to be hanged for it. another was a man who had been accused of stealing a horse; he said the proof had failed, and he had imagined that he was safe from the halter; but no-he was hardly free before he was arraigned for killing a deer in the king's park; this was proved against him, and now he was on his way to the gallows. there was a tradesman's apprentice whose case particularly distressed the king; this youth said he found at hawk, one evening, that had escaped from its owner, and he took it home with him, imagining himself entitled to it; but 234 in prison. the court convicted him of stealing it, and sentenced him to death. the king was furious over these inhumanities, and wanted hendon to break jail and fly with him to westminster, so that he could mount his throne and hold out his sceptre in mercy over these unfortunate people and save their lives. "poor child," sighed hendon, "these woful tales have brought his malady upon him again—alack, but for this evil hap, he would have been well in a little time." among these prisoners was an old lawyer-a man with a strong face and a dauntless mien. three years past, he had written a pamphlet against the lord chancellor, accusing him of injustice, and had been punished for it by the loss of his ears in the pillory, and degradation from the bar, and in addition had been fined £3000 and sentenced to imprisonment for life. lately he had repeated his offence; and in consequence was now under sentence to lose what remained of his ears, pay a fine of £5000 pounds, be branded on both cheeks, and remain in prison for life. "these be honorable scars," he said, and turned back his gray hair and showed the mutilated stubs of what had once been his ears. the king's eye burned with passion. he said"none believe in me-neither wilt thou. but no matter--within the compass of a month thou shalt be free; and more, the laws that have dishonored thee, and shamed the english name, shall be swept from the statute books. the world is made wrong, kings should go to school to their own laws, at times, and so learn mercy." ""* * see notes to chapter 27, at end of volume. chapter xxviii. the sacrifice. meantime miles was growing sufficiently tired of confinement and inaction. but now his trial came on, to his great gratification, and he thought he could welcome any sentence provided a further imprisonment should not be a part of it. but he was mistaken about that. he was in a fine fury when he found himself described as a "sturdy vagabond" and sentenced to sit two hours in the pillory for bearing that character and for assaulting the master of hendon hall. his pretensions as to brothership with his prosecutor, and rightful heirship to the hendon honors and estates, were left contemptuously unnoticed, as being not even worth examination. he raged and threatened, on his way to punishment, but it did no good; he was snatched roughly along, by the officers, and got an occasional cuff, besides, for his unreverent conduct. the king could not pierce through the rabble that swarmed behind; so he was obliged to follow in the rear, remote from his good friend and servant. the king had been nearly condemned to the stocks, himself, for being in such bad company, but had been let off with a lecture and a warning, in consideration of his youth. when the crowd at last halted, he flitted feverishly from point to point around its outer rim, hunting a place to get through; and at last, after a deal of difficulty and delay, succeeded. there sat his poor henchman in the degrading stocks, the sport and butt of a dirty 235 236 the sacrifice. mob-he, the body servant of the king of england! edward had heard the sentence pronounced, but he had not realized the half that it meant. his anger began to rise as the sense of this new indignity which had been put upon him sank home; it jumped to summer heat, the next moment, when he saw an egg sail through the air and crush itself against hendon's cheek, and heard the crowd roar its enjoyment of the episode. he sprang across the open circle and confronted the officer in charge, crying— "for shame! this is my servant-set him free! i am the " "o, peace!" exclaimed hendon, in a panic, "thou'lt destroy thyself. mind him not, officer, he is mad.” "give thyself no trouble as to the matter of minding him, good man, i have small mind to mind him; but as to teaching him somewhat, to that i am well inclined." he turned to a subordinate and said, "give the little fool a taste or two of the lash, to mend his manners." "half a dozen will better serve his turn,'' suggested sir hugh, who had ridden up, a moment before, to take a passing glance at the proceedings. the king was seized. he did not even struggle, so paralyzed was he with the mere thought of the monstrous outrage that was proposed to be inflicted upon his sacred person. history was already defiled with the record of the scourging of an english king with whips-it was an intolerable reflection that he must furnish a duplicate of that shameful page. he was in the toils, there was no help for him: he must either take this punishment or beg for its remission. hard conditions; he would take the stripes—a king might do that, but a king could not beg. but meantime, miles hendon was resolving the difficulty. "let the child go," said he; " ye heartless dogs, do ye not see how young and frail he is? let him go-i will take his lashes." the sacrifice. 237 "marry, a good thought,-and thanks for it," said sir hugh, his face lighting with a sardonic satisfaction. "let the little beggar go, and give this fellow a dozen in his place fin whi mettma 66 while the lash was applied, the poor king turned away his face. "" -an honest dozen, well laid on." the king was in the act of entering a fierce protest, but sir hugh silenced him with the potent remark, "yes, speak up, do, and free thy mind238 the sacrifice. only, mark ye, that for each word you utter he shall get six strokes the more.' 99 hendon was removed from the stocks, and his back laid bare; and whilst the lash was applied the poor little king turned away his face and allowed unroyal tears to channel his cheeks unchecked. "ah, brave good heart," he said to himself, "this loyal deed shall never perish out of my memory. i will not forget it-and neither shall they!" he added, with passion. whilst he mused, his appreciation of hendon's magnanimous conduct grew to greater and still greater dimensions in his mind, and so also did his gratefulness for it. presently he said to himself, "who saves his prince from wounds and possible death-and this he did for me-performs high service; but it is little-it is nothing!--o, less than nothing-when 'tis weighed against the act of him who saves his prince from shame!" hendon made no outcry, under the scourge, but bore the heavy blows with soldierly fortitude. this, together with his redeeming the boy by taking his stripes for him, compelled the respect of even that forlorn and degraded mob that was gathered there; and its gibes and hootings died away, and no sound remained but the sound of the falling blows. the stillness that pervaded the place, when hendon found himself once more in the stocks, was in strong contrast with the insulting clamor which had prevailed there so little a while before. the king came softly to hendon's side, and whispered in his ear66 kings cannot ennoble thee, thou good, great soul, for one who is higher than kings hath done that for thee; but a king can confirm thy nobility to men." he picked up the scourge from the ground, touched hendon's bleeding shoulders lightly with it, and whispered, "edward of england dubs thee earl !" hendon was touched. the water welled to his eyes, yet the sacrifice. 239 at the same time the grisly humor of the situation and circumstances so undermined his gravity that it was all he could do to keep some sign of his inward mirth from showing outside. to be suddenly hoisted, naked and gory, from the common stocks to the alpine altitude and splendor of an earldom, seemed to him the last possibility in the line of the grotesque. he said to himself, "now am i finely tinselled, indeed! the spectre-knight of the kingdom of dreams and shadows is become a spectre-earl!-a dizzy flight for a callow wing! an' this go on, i shall presently be hung like a very may-pole with fantastic gauds and make-believe honors. but i shall value them, all valueless as they are, for the love that doth bestow them. better these poor mock dignities of mine, that come unasked, from a clean hand and a right spirit, than real ones bought by servility from grudging and interested power." the dreaded sir hugh wheeled his horse about, and as he spurred away, the living wall divided silently to let him pass, and as silently closed together again. and so remained; nobody went so far as to venture a remark in favor of the prisoner, or in compliment to him; but no matter, the absence of abuse was a sufficient homage in itself. a late comer who was not posted as to the present circumstances, and who delivered a sneer at the "impostor" and was in the act of following it with a dead cat, was promptly knocked down and kicked out, without any words, and then the deep quiet resumed sway once more. e chapter xxix. to london when hendon's term of service in the stocks was finished, he was released and ordered to quit the region and come back no more. his sword was restored to him, and also his mule and his donkey. he mounted and rode off, followed by the king, the crowd opening with quiet respectfulness to let them pass, and then dispersing when they were gone. hendon was soon absorbed in thought. there were questions of high import to be answered. what should he do? whither should he go? powerful help must be found, somewhere, or he must relinquish his inheritance and remain under the imputation of being an impostor besides. where could he hope to find this powerful help? where, indeed! it was a knotty question. by and by a thought occurred to him which pointed to a possibility-the slenderest of slender possibilities, certainly, but still worth considering, for lack of any other that promised any thing at all. he remembered what old andrews had said about the young king's goodness and his generous championship of the wronged and unfortunate. why not go and try to get speech of him and beg for justice? ah, yes, but could so fantastic a pauper get admission to the august presence of a monarch? never mind— let that matter take care of itself; it was a bridge that would not need to be crossed till he should come to it. he was an old campaigner, and used to inventing shifts and expedients; no doubt he would be able to find a way. yes, he would 240 to london. 241 strike for the capital. maybe his father's old friend sir humphrey marlow would help him-"good old sir humphrey, head lieutenant of the late king's kitchen, or stables, or something "-miles could not remember just what or which. now that he had something to turn his energies to, a distinctly defined object to accomplish, the fog of humiliation and depression which had settled down upon his spirits lifted and blew away, and he raised his head and looked about him. he was surprised to see how far he had come; the village was away behind him. the king was jogging along in his wake, with his head bowed; for he, too, was deep in plans and thinkings. a sorrowful misgiving clouded hendon's newborn cheerfulness: would the boy be willing to go again to a city where, during all his brief life, he had never known any thing but ill usage and pinching want? but the question must be asked; it could not be avoided; so hendon reined up, and called out— "i had forgotten to inquire whither we are bound. thy commands, my liege ! " "to london !" hendon moved on again, mightily contented with the answer-but astounded at it, too. the whole journey was made without an adventure of importance. but it ended with one. about ten o'clock on the night of the 19th of february, they stepped upon london bridge, in the midst of a writhing, struggling jam of howling and hurrahing people, whose beer-jolly faces stood out strongly in the glare from manifold torches--and at that instant the decaying head of some former duke or other grandee tumbled down between them, striking hendon on the elbow and then bounding off among the hurrying confusion of feet. so evanescent and unstable are men's works, in this world!—the late good king is but three weeks dead and three days in his grave, and already the adornments which he took such pains 242 to london. to select from prominent people for his noble bridge are falling. a citizen stumbled over that head, and drove his own head into the back of somebody in front of him, who turned and knocked down the first person that came handy, and was promptly laid out himself by that person's friend. it was the right ripe time for a free fight, for the festivities of the morrow-coronation day-were already beginning; everybody was full of strong drink and patriotism; within five minutes the free fight was occupying a good deal of ground; within ten or twelve it covered an acre or so, and was become a riot. by this time hendon and the king were hopelessly separated from each other and lost in the rush and turmoil of the roaring masses of humanity. and so we leave them. chapter xxx. tom's progress. whilst the true king wandered about the land poorly. clad, poorly fed, cuffed and derided by tramps one while, herding with thieves and murderers in a jail another, and called idiot and impostor by all impartially, the mock king tom canty enjoyed a quite different experience. when we saw him last, royalty was just beginning to have a bright side for him. this bright side went on brightening more and more every day: in a very little while it was become almost all sunshine and delightfulness. he lost his fears; his misgivings faded out and died; his embarrassments departed, and gave place to an easy and confident bearing. he worked the whipping-boy mine to ever-increasing profit. he ordered my lady elizabeth and my lady jane grey into his presence when he wanted to play or talk, and dismissed them when he was done with them, with the air of one familiarly accustomed to such performances. it no longer confused him to have these lofty personages kiss his hand at parting. he came to enjoy being conducted to bed in state at night, and dressed with intricate and solemn ceremony in the morning. it came to be a proud pleasure to march to dinner attended by a glittering procession of officers of state and gentlemen-at-arms; insomuch, indeed, that he doubled his guard of gentlemen-at-arms, and made them a hundred. he liked to hear the bugles sounding down the long corridors, and the distant voices responding, "way for the king!" 243 244 tom's progress. he even learned to enjoy sitting in throned state in council, and seeming to be something more than the lord protector's mouth-piece. he liked to receive great ambassadors and their gorgeous trains, and listen to the affectionate messages they brought from illustrious monarchs who called him "brother." o happy tom canty, late of offal court! he enjoyed his splendid clothes, and ordered more: he 66 commanded her to go to her closet." found his four hundred servants too few for his proper grandeur, and trebled them. the adulation of salaaming courtiers came to be sweet music to his ears. he remained kind and gentle, and a sturdy and determined champion of all that were oppressed, and he made tireless war upon unjust laws: yet upon occasion, being offended, he could turn upon an earl, or even a duke, and give him a look that would make tom's progress. 245 him tremble. once, when his royal "sister," the grimly, holy lady mary, set herself to reason with him against the wisdom of his course in pardoning so many people who would otherwise be jailed, or hanged, or burned, and reminded him that their august late father's prisons had sometimes contained as high as sixty thousand convicts at one time, and that during his admirable reign he had delivered seventy-two thousand thieves and robbers over to death by the executioner,* the boy was filled with generous indignation, and commanded her to go to her closet, and beseech god to take away the stone that was in her breast, and give her a human heart. did tom canty never feel troubled about the poor little rightful prince who had treated him so kindly, and flown out with such hot zeal to avenge him upon the insolent sentinel at the palace-gate? yes; his first royal days and nights were pretty well sprinkled with painful thoughts about the lost prince, and with sincere longings for his return, and happy restoration to his native rights and splendors. but as time wore on, and the prince did not come, tom's mind became more and more occupied with his new and enchanting experiences, and by little and little the vanished monarch faded almost out of his thoughts; and finally, when he did intrude upon them at intervals, he was become an unwelcome spectre, for he made tom feel guilty and ashamed. tom's poor mother and sisters travelled the same road out of his mind. at first he pined for them, sorrowed for them, longed to see them, but later, the thought of their coming some day in their rags and dirt, and betraying him with their kisses, and pulling him down from his lofty place, and dragging him back to penury and degradation and the slums, made him shudder. at last they ceased to trouble his thoughts almost wholly. and he was content, even glad; for, * hume's england. 246 tom's progress. whenever their mournful and accusing faces did rise before him now, they made him feel more despicable than the worms that crawl. at midnight of the 19th of february, tom canty was sinking to sleep in his rich bed in the palace, guarded by his loyal vassals, and surrounded by the pomps of royalty, a happy boy; for to-morrow was the day appointed for his solemn crowning as king of england. at that same hour, edward, the true king, hungry and thirsty, soiled and draggled, worn with travel, and clothed in rags and shreds,—his share of the results of the riot,-was wedged in among a crowd of people who were watching with deep interest certain hurrying gangs of workmen who streamed in and out of westminster abbey, busy as ants: they were making the last preparation for the royal coronation. chapter xxxi. the recognition procession. when tom canty awoke the next morning, the air was heavy with a thunderous murmur: all the distances were charged with it. it was music to him; for it meant that the english world was out in its strength to give loyal welcome to the great day. presently tom found himself once more the chief figure in a wonderful floating pageant on the thames; for by ancient custom the "recognition procession" through london must start from the tower, and he was bound thither. when he arrived there, the sides of the venerable fortress seemed suddenly rent in a thousand places, and from every rent leaped a red tongue of flame and a white gush of smoke; a deafening explosion followed, which drowned the shoutings. of the multitude, and made the ground tremble; the flamejets, the smoke, and the explosions, were repeated over and over again with marvellous celerity, so that in a few moments the old tower disappeared in the vast fog of its own smoke, all but the very top of the tall pile called the white tower: this, with its banners, stood out above the dense bank of vapor as a mountain-peak projects above a cloud-rack. tom canty, splendidly arrayed, mounted a prancing warsteed, whose rich trappings almost reached to the ground; his "uncle," the lord protector somerset, similarly mounted, took place in his rear; the king's guard formed in single ranks on either side, clad in burnished armor; after the protector followed a seemingly interminable procession of re247 248 the recognition procession. splendent nobles attended by their vassals; after these came the lord mayor and the aldermanic body, in crimson velvet robes, and with their gold chains across their breasts; and after these the officers and members of all the guilds of london, in rich raiment, and bearing the showy banners of the several corporations. also in the procession, as a special guard of honor through the city, was the ancient and honorable artillery company, an organization already three hundred years old at that time, and the only military body in england possessing the privilege. (which it still possesses in our day) of holding itself independent of the commands of parliament. it was a brilliant spectacle, and was hailed with acclamations all along the line, as it took its stately way through the packed. multitudes of citizens. the chronicler says, "the king, as he entered the city, was received by the people with prayers, welcomings, cries, and tender words, and all signs which argue an earnest love of subjects toward their sovereign; and the king, by holding up his glad countenance to such as stood afar off, and most tender language to those that stood nigh his grace, showed himself no less. thankful to receive the people's good will than they to offer "" welcome, o king!" the recognition procession. 249 66 it. to all that wished him well, he gave thanks. to such as bade 'god save his grace,' he said in return, 'god save you all!' and added that 'he thanked them with all his heart.' wonderfully transported were the people with the loving answers and gestures of their king." in fenchurch street a "fair child, in costly apparel," stood on a stage to welcome his majesty to the city. the last verse of his greeting was in these words: welcome, o king! as much as hearts can think; welcome again, as much as tongue can tell,— welcome to joyous tongues, and hearts that will not shrink: god thee preserve, we pray, and wish thee ever well." the people burst forth in a glad shout, repeating with one voice what the child had said. tom canty gazed abroad over the surging sea of eager faces, and his heart swelled with exultation; and he felt that the one thing worth living for in this world was to be a king, and a nation's idol. presently he caught sight, at a distance, of a couple of his ragged offal court comrades,—one of them the lord high admiral in his late mimic court, the other the first lord of the bedchamber in the same pretentious fiction; and his pride swelled higher than ever. oh, if they could only recognize him now! what unspeakable glory it would be, if they could recognize him, and realize that the derided mock king of the slums and back alleys was become a real king, with illustrious dukes and princes for his humble menials, and the english world at his feet! but he had to deny himself, and choke down his desire, for such a recognition might cost more than it would come to: so he turned away his head, and left the two soiled lads to go on with their shoutings and glad adulations, unsuspicious of whom it was they were lavishing them upon. every now and then rose the cry, "a largess! a largess!" 250 the recognition procession. and tom responded by scattering a handful of bright new coins abroad for the multitude to scramble for. the chronicler says, "at the upper end of gracechurch street, before the sign of the eagle, the city had erected a gorgeous arch, beneath which was a stage, which stretched from one side of the street to the other. this was a historical pageant, representing the king's immediate progenitors. there sat elizabeth of york in the midst of an immense white rose, whose petals formed elaborate furbelows around her; by her side was henry vii., issuing out of a vast red rose, disposed in the same manner: the hands of the royal pair were locked together, and the wedding-ring ostentatiously displayed. from the red and white roses proceeded a stem, which reached up to a second stage, occupied by henry viii., issuing from a red-and-white rose, with the effigy of the new king's mother, jane seymour, represented by his side. one branch sprang from this pair, which mounted to a third stage, where sat the effigy of edward vi. himself, enthroned in royal majesty; and the whole pageant was framed with wreaths of roses, red and white." this quaint and gaudy spectacle so wrought upon the rejoicing people, that their acclamations utterly smothered the small voice of the child whose business it was to explain the thing in eulogistic rhymes. but tom canty was not sorry; for this loyal uproar was sweeter music to him than any poetry, no matter what its quality might be. whithersoever tom turned his happy young face, the people recognized the exactness of his effigy's likeness to himself, the flesh and blood counterpart; and new whirlwinds of applause burst forth. the great pageant moved on, and still on, under one triumphal arch after another, and past a bewildering succession of spectacular and symbolical tableaux, each of which typified and exalted some virtue, or talent, or merit, of the little king's. "throughout the whole of cheapside, from evthe recognition procession. 251 ery penthouse and window, hung banners and streamers; and the richest carpets, stuffs, and cloth-of-gold tapestried the streets, specimens of the great wealth of the stores within; and the splendor of this thoroughfare was equalled in the other streets, and in some even surpassed." "and all these wonders and these marvels are to welcome me—me !” murmured tom canty. the mock king's cheeks were flushed with excitement, his eyes were flashing, his senses swam in a delirium of pleasure. at this point, just as he was raising his hand to fling another rich largess, he caught sight of a pale, astounded face which was strained forward out of the second rank of the crowd, its intense eyes riveted upon him. a sickening consternation struck through him; he recognized his mother and up flew his hand, palm outward, before his eyes,-that old involuntary gesture, born of a forgotten episode, and perpetuated by habit. in an instant more she had torn her way out of the press, and past the guards, and was at his side. she embraced his leg, she covered it with kisses, she cried, "o my child, my darling!" lifting toward him a face that was transfigured with joy and love. the same instant an officer of the king's guard snatched her away with a curse, and sent her reeling back whence she came with a vigorous impulse from his strong arm. the words "i do not know you, woman! were falling from tom canty's lips when this piteous thing occurred; but it smote him to the heart to see her treated so; and as she turned for a last glimpse of him, whilst the crowd was swallowing her from his sight, she seemed so wounded, so broken-hearted, that a shame fell upon him which consumed his pride to ashes, and withered his stolen royalty. his grandeurs were stricken valueless: they seemed to fall away from him like rotten rags. 99 the procession moved on, and still on, through ever augmenting splendors and ever augmenting tempests of welcome; 252 the recognition procession. but to tom canty they were as if they had not been. he neither saw nor heard. royalty had lost its grace and sweetness; its pomps were become a reproach. remorse was eating his heart out. he said, "would god i were free of my captivity!" he had unconsciously dropped back into the phraseology of the first days of his compulsory greatness. the shining pageant still went winding like a radiant and interminable serpent down the crooked lanes of the quaint old city, and through the huzzaing hosts; but still the king rode with bowed head and vacant eyes, seeing only his mother's face and that wounded look in it. "largess, largess!" the cry fell upon an unheeding ear. "long live edward of england!" it seemed as if the earth shook with the explosion; but there was no response from the king. he heard it only as one hears the thunder of the surf when it is blown to the ear out of a great distance, for it was smothered under another sound which was still nearer, in his own breast, in his accusing conscience, a voice which kept repeating those shameful words, "i do not know you, woman ! " the words smote upon the king's soul as the strokes of a funeral bell smite upon the soul of a surviving friend when they remind him of secret treacheries suffered at his hands by him that is gone. new glories were unfolded at every turning; new wonders, new marvels, sprung into view; the pent clamors of waiting batteries were released; new raptures poured from the throats of the waiting multitudes: but the king gave no sign, and the accusing voice that went moaning through his comfortless breast was all the sound he heard. by and by the gladness in the faces of the populace changed a little, and became touched with a something like solicitude or anxiety: an abatement in the volume of applause the recognition procession. 253 was observable too. the lord protector was quick to notice these things: he was as quick to detect the cause. he spurred to the king's side, bent low in his saddle, uncovered, and said,"my liege, it is an ill time for dreaming. the people observe thy downcast head, thy clouded mien, and they take it for an omen. be advised: unveil the sun of royalty, and let it shine upon these boding vapors, and disperse them. lift up thy face, and smile upon the people." 66 my liege, it is an ill time for dreaming." so saying, the duke scattered a handful of coins to right and left, then retired to his place. the mock king did mechanically as he had been bidden. his smile had no heart in it, but few eyes were near enough or sharp enough to detect that. the noddings of his plumed head as he saluted his subjects were full of grace and graciousness; the largess which he delivered from his hand was royally liberal: so the people's anxiety vanished, and the acclamations burst forth again in as mighty a volume as before. 254 the recognition procession. still once more, a little before the progress was ended, the duke was obliged to ride forward, and make remonstrance. he whispered,"o dread sovereign! shake off these fatal humors: the eyes of the world are upon thee." then he added with sharp annoyance, "perdition catch that crazy pauper! 'twas she that hath disturbed your highness." the gorgeous figure turned a lustreless eye upon the duke, and said in a dead voice,"she was my mother! "my god!" groaned the protector as he reined his horse backward to his post," the omen was pregnant with prophecy. he is gone mad again! "9 chapter xxxii. coronation day. let us go backward a few hours, and place ourselves in westminster abbey, at four o'clock in the morning of this memorable coronation day. we are not without company; for although it is still night, we find the torch-lighted galleries already filling up with people who are well content to sit still and wait seven or eight hours till the time shall come for them to see what they may not hope to see twice in their lives the coronation of a king. yes, london and westminster have been astir ever since the warning guns boomed at three o'clock, and already crowds of untitled rich folk who have bought the privilege of trying to find sitting-room in the galleries are flocking in at the entrances reserved for their sort. the hours drag along, tediously enough. all stir has ceased for some time, for every gallery has long ago been packed. we may sit, now, and look and think at our leisure. we have glimpses, here and there and yonder, through the dim cathedral twilight, of portions of many galleries and balconies, wedged full with people, the other portions of these galleries and balconies being cut off from sight by intervening pillars and architectural projections. we have in view the whole of the great north transept-empty, and waiting for england's privileged ones. we see also the ample area or platform, carpeted with rich stuffs, whereon the throne stands. the throne occupies the centre of the platform, and is raised above it upon an elevation of four steps. within the seat of the throne is enclosed a rough flat rock-the stone of scone -which many generations of scottish kings sat on to be 255 256 coronation day. crowned, and so it in time became holy enough to answer a like purpose for english monarchs. both the throne and its footstool are covered with cloth of gold. stillness reigns, the torches blink dully, the time drags heavily. but at last the lagging daylight asserts itself, the torches are extinguished, and a mellow radiance suffuses the great spaces. all features of the noble building are distinct, now, but soft and dreamy, for the sun is lightly veiled with clouds. at seven o'clock the first break in the drowsy monotony occurs; for on the stroke of this hour the first peeress enters the transept, clothed like solomon for splendor, and is conducted to her appointed place by an official clad in satins and velvets, whilst a duplicate of him gathers up the lady's long train, follows after, and, when the lady is seated, arranges the train across her lap for her. he then places her footstool according to her desire, after which he puts her coronet where it will be convenient to her hand when the time for the simultaneous coronetting of the nobles shall arrive. by this time the peeresses are flowing in in a glittering stream, and the satin-clad officials are flitting and glinting everywhere, seating them and making them comfortable. the scene is animated enough, now. there is stir and life, and shifting color everywhere. after a time, quiet reigns again; for the peeresses are all come, and are all in their places a solid acre, or such a matter, of human flowers, resplendent in variegated colors, and frosted like a milky way with diamonds. there are all ages, here: brown, wrinkled, whitehaired dowagers who are able to go back, and still back, down the stream of time, and recall the crowning of richard iii. and the troublous days of that old forgotten age; and there are handsome middle-aged dames; and lovely and gracious young matrons; and gentle and beautiful young girls, with beaming eyes and fresh complexions, who may possibly coronation day. 257 put on their jewelled coronets awkwardly when the great time comes; for the matter will be new to them, and their excitement will be a sore hindrance. still, this may not happen, for the hair of all these ladies has been arranged with a special view to the swift and successful lodging of the crown in its place when the signal comes. we have seen that this massed array of peeresses is sown thick with diamonds, and we also see that it is a marvellous spectacle but now we are about to be astonished in earnest. about nine, the clouds suddenly break away and a shaft of sunshine cleaves the mellow atmosphere, and drifts slowly along the ranks of ladies; and every rank it touches flames into a dazzling splendor of many-colored fires, and we tingle to our finger-tips with the electric thrill that is shot through us by the surprise and the beauty of the spectacle ! presently a special envoy from some distant corner of the orient, marching with the general body of foreign ambassadors, crosses this bar of sunshine, and we catch our breath, the glory that streams and flashes and palpitates about him is so "tom canty appeared." eva 1-mant 258 coronation day. overpowering; for he is crusted from head to heel with gems, and his slightest movement showers a dancing radiance all around him. let us change the tense for convenience. the time drifted along,-one hour-two hours-two hours and a half; then the deep booming of artillery told that the king and his grand procession had arrived at last; so the waiting multitude rejoiced. all knew that a further delay must follow, for the king must be prepared and robed for the solemn ceremony; but this delay would be pleasantly occupied by the assembling of the peers of the realm in their stately robes. these were conducted ceremoniously to their seats, and their coronets placed conveniently at hand; and meanwhile the multitude in the galleries were alive with interest, for most of them were beholding for the first time, dukes, earls and barons, whose names had been historical for five hundred years. when all were finally seated, the spectacle from the galleries and all coigns of vantage was complete; a gorgeous one to look upon and to remember. now the robed and mitred great heads of the church, and their attendants, filed in upon the platform and took their appointed places; these were followed by the lord protector and other great officials, and these again by a steel-clad detachment of the guard. there was a waiting pause; then, at a signal, a triumphant peal of music burst forth, and tom canty, clothed in a long robe of cloth of gold, appeared at a door, and stepped upon the platform. the entire multitude rose, and the ceremony of the recognition ensued. then a noble anthem swept the abbey with its rich waves of sound; and thus heralded and welcomed, tom canty was conducted to the throne. the ancient ceremonies went on, with impressive solemnity, whilst the audience gazed; and as they drew nearer and nearer to completion, tom canty grew coronation day. 259 pale, and still paler, and a deep and steadily deepening woe and despondency settled down upon his spirits and upon his remorseful heart. at last the final act was at hand. the archbishop of canterbury lifted up the crown of england from its cushion and held it out over the trembling mock-king's head. in the same instant a rainbow-radiance flashed along the spacious transept; for with one impulse every individual in the great dellipo 66 and fell on his knees before him." concourse of nobles lifted a coronet and poised it over his or her head, and paused in that attitude. a deep hush pervaded the abbey. at this impressive moment, a startling apparition intruded upon the scene-an apparition observed by none in the absorbed multitude, until it suddenly appeared, moving up the great central aisle. it was a boy, bare-headed, ill shod, and clothed in coarse ple260 coronation day. beian garments that were falling to rags. he raised his hand with a solemnity which ill comported with his soiled and sorry aspect, and delivered this note of warning"i forbid you to set the crown of england upon that forfeited head. i am the king!" in an instant several indignant hands were laid upon the boy; but in the same instant tom canty, in his regal vestments, made a swift step forward and cried out in a ringing voice"loose him and forbear! he is the king!" a sort of panic of astonishment swept the assemblage, and they partly rose in their places and stared in a bewildered way at one another and at the chief figures in this scene, like persons who wondered whether they were awake and in their senses, or asleep and dreaming. the lord protector was as amazed as the rest, but quickly recovered himself and exclaimed in a voice of authority"mind not his majesty, his malady is upon him againseize the vagabond!" he would have been obeyed, but the mock-king stamped his foot and cried out"on your peril! touch him not, he is the king!" the hands were withheld; paralysis fell upon the house; no one moved, no one spoke; indeed no one knew how to act or what to say, in so strange and surprising an emergency. while all minds were struggling to right themselves, the boy still moved steadily forward, with high port and confident mien; he had never halted from the beginning; and while the tangled minds still floundered helplessly, he stepped upon the platform, and the mock-king ran with a glad face to meet him; and fell on his knees before him and said"o, my lord the king, let poor tom canty be first to swear fealty to thee, and say 'put on thy crown and enter into thine own again!'' 199 coronation day. 261 "" the lord protector's eye fell sternly upon the new-comer's face; but straightway the sternness vanished away, and gave place to an expression of wondering surprise. this thing happened also to the other great officers. they glanced at each other, and retreated a step by a common and unconscious impulse. the thought in each mind was the same: “what a strange resemblance !” the lord protector reflected a moment or two, in perplexity, then he said, with grave respectfulness"by your favor, sir, i desire to ask certain questions which' "i will answer them, my lord." the duke asked him many questions about the court, the late king, the prince, the princesses, -the boy answered them correctly and without hesitating. he described the rooms of state in the palace, the late king's apartments, and those of the prince of wales. ―― it was strange; it was wonderful; yes, it was unaccountable-so all said that heard it. the tide was beginning to turn, and tom canty's hopes to run high, when the lord protector shook his head and said"it is true it is most wonderful-but it is no more than our lord the king likewise can do." this remark, and this reference to himself as still the king, saddened tom canty, and he felt his hopes crumbling from under him. are not proofs," added the protector. "these the tide was turning very fast, now, very fast indeed-but in the wrong direction; it was leaving poor tom canty stranded on the throne, and sweeping the other out to sea. the lord protector communed with himself shook his head-the thought forced itself upon him, "it is perilous to the state and to us all, to entertain so fateful a riddle as this ; it could divide the nation and undermine the throne." he turned and said262 coronation day. "sir thomas, arrest this-no, hold!" his face lighted, and he confronted the ragged candidate with this question"where lieth the great seal? answer me this truly, and the riddle is unriddled; for only he that was prince of wales can so answer! on so trivial a thing hang a throne and a dynasty!" it was a lucky thought, a happy thought. that it was so considered by the great officials was manifested by the silent applause that shot from eye to eye around their circle in the form of bright approving glances. yes, none but the true prince could dissolve the stubborn mystery of the vanished great seal-this forlorn little impostor had been taught his lesson well, but here his teachings must fail, for his teacher himself could not answer that question-ah, very good, very good indeed; now we shall be rid of this troublesome and perilous business in short order! and so they nodded invisibly and smiled inwardly with satisfaction, and looked to see this foolish lad stricken with a palsy of guilty confusion. how surprised they were, then, to see nothing of the sort happen-how they marvelled to hear him answer up promptly, in a confident and untroubled voice, and say"there is nought in this riddle that is difficult." then, without so much as a by-your-leave to anybody, he turned and gave this command, with the easy manner of one accustomed to doing such things: "my lord st. john, go you to my private cabinet in the palace-for none knoweth the place better than you-and, close down to the floor, in the left corner remotest from the door that opens from the antechamber, you shall find in the wall a brazen nail-head; press upon it and a little jewel-closet will fly open which not even you do know of-no, nor any soul else, in all the world but me and the trusty artisan that did contrive it for me. the first thing that falleth under your eye will be the great seal -fetch it hither." coronation day. 263 all the company wondered at this speech, and wondered still more to see the little mendicant pick out this peer without hesitancy or apparent fear of mistake, and call him by name with such a placidly convincing air of having known him all his life. the peer was almost surprised into obeying. he even made a movement as if to go, but quickly recovered his tranquil attitude and confessed his blunder with a blush. tom canty turned upon him and said, sharply"why dost thou hesitate? hast not heard the king's command? go!" the lord st. john made a deep obeisance-and it was observed that it was a significantly cautious and non-committal one, it not being delivered at either of the kings, but at the neutral ground about half way between the two-and took his leave. now began a movement of the gorgeous particles of that official group which was slow, scarcely perceptible, and yet steady and persistent—a movement such as is observed in a kaleidoscope that is turned slowly, whereby the components of one splendid cluster fall away and join themselves to another-a movement which little by little, in the present case, dissolved the glittering crowd that stood about tom canty and clustered it together again in the neighborhood of the new-comer. tom canty stood almost alone. now ensued a brief season of deep suspense and waiting—during which even the few faint-hearts still remaining near tom canty gradually scraped together courage enough to glide, one by one, over to the majority. so at last tom canty, in his royal robes and jewels, stood wholly alone and isolated from the world, a conspicuous figure, occupying an eloquent vacancy. now the lord st. john was seen returning. as he advanced up the mid-aisle the interest was so intense that the low murmur of conversation in the great assemblage died out and was succeeded by a profound hush, a breathless stillness, 264 coronation day. through which his footfalls pulsed with a dull and distant sound. every eye was fastened upon him as he moved along. he reached the platform, paused a moment, then moved toward tom canty with a deep obeisance, and said— 66 sire, the seal is not there!" a mob does not melt away from the presence of a plaguepatient with more haste than the band of pallid and terrified courtiers melted away from the presence of the shabby little claimant of the crown. in a moment he stood all alone, without friend or supporter, a target upon which was concentrated a bitter fire of scornful and angry looks. the lord protector called out fiercely"cast the beggar into the street, and scourge him through the town-the paltry knave is worth no more consideration!" officers of the guard sprang forward to obey, but tom canty waved them off and said— "back! whoso touches him perils his life!" the lord protector was perplexed, in the last degree. he said to the lord st. john"searched you well?-but it boots not to ask that. it doth seem passing strange. little things, trifles, slip out of one's ken, and one does not think it matter for surprise; but how a so bulky thing as the seal of england can vanish away and no man be able to get track of it again—a massy golden disk" tom canty, with beaming eyes, sprang forward and shouted"hold, that is enough! was it round?-and thick?--and had it letters and devices graved upon it?-yes? o, now i know what this great seal is that there's been such worry and pother about! an' ye had described it to me, ye could have had it three weeks ago. right well i know where it lies; but it was not i that put it there-first." "who, then, my liege?" asked the lord protector. coronation day. 265 "he that stands there-the rightful king of england. and he shall tell you himself where it lies-then you will believe he knew it of his own knowledge. bethink thee, my king-spur thy memory-it was the last, the very last thing thou didst that day before thou didst rush forth from the palace, clothed in my rags, to punish the soldier that insulted me." a silence ensued, undisturbed by a movement or a whisper, and all eyes were fixed upon the new-comer, who stood, 66 stolovos bethink thee, my king." with bent head and corrugated brow, groping in his memory among a thronging multitude of valueless recollections for one single little elusive fact, which, found, would seat him. upon a throne-unfound, would leave him as he was, for good and all-a pauper and an outcast. moment after moment passed-the moments built themselves into minutes-still the boy struggled silently on, and gave no sign. but at last he heaved a sigh, shook his head slowly, and said, with a trembling lip and in a despondent voice266 coronation day. "i call the scene back-all of it—but the seal hath no place in it." he paused, then looked up, and said with gentle dignity, "my lords and gentlemen, if ye will rob your rightful sovereign of his own for lack of this evidence which he is not able to furnish, i may not stay ye, being powerless. but❞— "o, folly, o, madness, my king!" cried tom canty, in a panic, "wait !—think! do not give up!—the cause is not lost! nor shall be, neither! list to what i say-follow every word-i am going to bring that morning back again, every hap just as it happened. we talked-i told you of my sisters, nan and bet—ah, yes, you remember that; and about mine old grandam-and the rough games of the lads of offal court-yes, you remember these things also; very well, follow me still, you shall recall every thing. you gave me food and drink, and did with princely courtesy send away the servants, so that my low breeding might not shame me before them—ah, yes, this also you remember." as tom checked off his details, and the other boy nodded his head in recognition of them, the great audience and the officials stared in puzzled wonderment; the tale sounded like true history, yet how could this impossible conjunction between a prince and a beggar boy have come about? never was a company of people so perplexed, so interested, and so stupefied, before. "for a jest, my prince, we did exchange garments. then we stood before a mirror; and so alike were we that both said it seemed as if there had been no change made—yes, you remember that. then you noticed that the soldier had hurt my hand—look! here it is, i cannot yet even write with it, the fingers are so stiff. at this your highness sprang up, vowing vengeance upon that soldier, and ran toward the door -you passed a table-that thing you call the seal lay on that table-you snatched it up and looked eagerly about, as if for a place to hide it—your eye caught sight of "— coronation day. 267 "there, 'tis sufficient !—and the dear god be thanked! exclaimed the ragged claimant, in a mighty excitement. "go, my good st. john,—in an arm-piece of the milanese armor that hangs on the wall, thou'lt find the seal!" "right, my king! right!" cried tom canty; "now the sceptre of england is thine own; and it were better for him that would dispute it that he had been born dumb! go, my lord st. john, give thy feet wings!" the whole assemblage was on its feet, now, and well nigh out of its mind with uneasiness, apprehension, and consuming excitement. on the floor and on the platform a deafening buzz of frantic conversation burst forth, and for some time nobody knew any thing or heard any thing or was interested in any thing but what his neighbor was shouting into his ear, or he was shouting into his neighbor's ear. timenobody knew how much of it-swept by unheeded and unnoted.—at last a sudden hush fell upon the house, and in the same moment st. john appeared upon the platform and held the great seal aloft in his hand. then such a shout went up! 66 "" long live the true king!" for five minutes the air quaked with shouts and the crash of musical instruments, and was white with a storm of waying handkerchiefs; and through it all a ragged lad, the most conspicuous figure in england, stood, flushed and happy and proud, in the centre of the spacious platform, with the great vassals of the kingdom kneeling around him. then all rose, and tom canty cried out— "now, o, my king, take these regal garments back, and give poor tom, thy servant, his shreds and remnants again." the lord protector spoke up— "let the small varlet be stripped and flung into the tower." but the new king, the true king, said— 268 coronation day. "i will not have it so. but for him i had not got my crown again-none shall lay a hand upon him to harm him. and as for thee, my good uncle, my lord protector, this conduct of thine is not grateful toward this poor lad, for i hear he hath made thee a duke"-the protector blushed"yet he was not a king; wherefore, what is thy fine title worth, now? to-morrow you shall sue to me, through him, for its confirmation, else no duke, but a simple earl, shalt thou remain." under this rebuke, his grace the duke of somerset retired d "to crack nuts with." by the king turned to a little from the front for the moment. tom, and said, kindly"my poor boy, how was it that you could remember where i hid the seal when i could not remember it myself?" "ah, my king, that was easy, since i used it divers days." "used it, yet could not explain where it was?" they did not "i did not know it was that they wanted. describe it, your majesty." "then how used you it?" the red blood began to steal up into tom's cheeks, and he dropped his eyes and was silent. "speak up, good lad, and fear nothing," said the king. "how used you the great seal of england?" coronation day. 269 tom stammered a moment, in a pathetic confusion, then got it out"9 "to crack nuts with ! poor child, the avalanche of laughter that greeted this, nearly swept him off his feet. but if a doubt remained in any mind that tom canty was not the king of england and familiar with the august appurtenances of royalty, this reply disposed of it utterly. meantime the sumptuous robe of state had been removed from tom's shoulders to the king's, whose rags were effectually hidden from sight under it. then the coronation ceremonies were resumed; the true king was anointed and the crown set upon his head, whilst cannon thundered the news to the city, and all london seemed to rock with applause. chapter xxxiii. edward as king. miles hendon was picturesque enough before he got into the riot on london bridge—he was more so when he got out of it. he had but little money when he got in, none at all when he got out. the pickpockets had stripped him of his last farthing. but no matter, so he found his boy. did not go at his task in a random way, of all, to arrange his campaign. where would he natwhat would the boy naturally do? urally go? well-argued miles-he would naturally go to his former haunts, for that is the instinct of unsound minds, when homeless and forsaken, as well as of sound ones. whereabouts were his former haunts? his rags, taken together with the low villain who seemed to know him and who even claimed to be his father, indicated that his home was in one or another of the poorest and meanest districts of london. would the search for him be difficult, or long? no, it was likely to be easy and brief. he would not hunt for the boy, he would hunt for a crowd; in the centre of a big crowd or a little one, sooner or later, he should find his poor little friend, sure; and the mangy mob would be entertaining itself with pestering and aggravating the boy, who would be proclaiming himself king, as usual. then miles hendon would cripple some of those people, and carry off his little ward, and comfort and cheer him with loving words, and the two would never be separated any more. being a soldier, he but set to work, first · 270 edward as king. 271 so miles started on his quest. hour after hour he tramped through back alleys and squalid streets, seeking groups and crowds, and finding no end of them, but never any sign of the boy. this greatly surprised him, but did not discourage him. to his notion, there was nothing the matter with his plan of campaign; the only miscalculation about it was that the campaign was becoming a lengthy one, whereas he had expected it to be short. when daylight arrived, at last, he had made many a mile, and canvassed many a crowd, but the only result was that he was tolerably tired, rather hungry, and very sleepy. he wanted some breakfast, but there was no way to get it. το beg for it did not occur to him; as to pawning his sword, he would as soon have thought of parting with his honor; he could spare some of his clothes-yes, but one could as easily find a customer for a disease as for such clothes. at noon he was still tramping-among the rabble which followed after the royal procession, now; for he argued that this regal display would attract his little lunatic powerfully. he followed the pageant through all its devious windings about london, and all the way to westminster and the abbey. he drifted here and there amongst the multitudes that were massed in the vicinity for a weary long time, baffled and perplexed, and finally wandered off, thinking, and trying to contrive some way to better his plan of campaign. by and by, when he came to himself out of his musings, he discovered that the town was far behind him and that the day was growing old. he was near the river, and in the country; it was a region of fine rural seats-not the sort of district to welcome clothes like his. it was not at all cold; so he stretched himself on the ground in the lee of a hedge to rest and think. drowsiness presently began to settle upon his senses; the faint and faroff boom of cannon was wafted to his ear, and he said to him272 edward as king. self "the new king is crowned," and straightway fell asleep. he had not slept or rested, before, for more than thirty hours. he did not wake again until near the middle of the next morning. he got up, lame, stiff, and half famished, washed himself in the river, stayed his stomach with a pint or two of water, and trudged off toward westminster grumbling at himself for having wasted so much time. hunger helped him to a new plan, now; he would try to get speech with old sir humphrey marlow and borrow a few marks, and—but that was enough of a plan for the present; it would be time enough to enlarge it when this first stage should be accomplished. toward eleven o'clock he approached the palace; and although a host of showy people were about him, moving in the same direction, he was not inconspicuous-his costume took care of that. he watched these people's faces narrowly, hoping to find a charitable one whose possessor might be willing to carry his name to the old lieutenant-as to trying to get into the palace himself, that was simply out of the question. presently our whipping-boy passed him, then wheeled about and scanned his figure well, saying to himself, "an' that is not the very vagabond his majesty is in such a worry about, then am i an ass-though belike i was that before. he answereth the description to a rag—that god should make two such, would be to cheapen miracles, by wasteful repetition. i would i could contrive an excuse to speak with him." miles hendon saved him the trouble; for he turned about, then, as a man generally will when somebody mesmerizes him by gazing hard at him from behind; and observing a strong interest in the boy's eyes, he stepped toward him and said— "you have just come out from the palace; do you belong there?" "yes, your worship." edward as king. 273 this of the imsel water self for the a new hum at was ; ugh to and ing stume owly, ht be rying of the about hat is bout, he make peti him." bout, shim trong aidelong "know you sir humphrey marlow?" the boy started, and said to himself, "lord! mine old departed father!" then he answered, aloud, "right well, your worship." "good-is he within?" "yes," said the boy; and added, to himself, "within his grave." 66 might i crave your favor to carry my name to him, and say i beg to say a word in his ear?” "i will despatch the business right willingly, fair sir." "then say miles hendon, son of sir richard, is here without—i shall be greatly bounden to you, my good lad.” the boy looked disappointed-"the king did not name him so," he said to himself—" but it mattereth not, this is his twin brother, and can give his majesty news of 'tother sir-oddsand-ends, i warrant." so he said to miles, "step in there a moment, good sir, and wait till i bring you word." hendon retired to the place indicated—it was a recess sunk in the palace wall, with a stone bench in it—a shelter for sentinels in bad weather. he had hardly seated himself when some halberdiers, in charge of an officer, passed by. the officer saw him, halted his men, and commanded hendon to come forth. he obeyed, and was promptly arrested as a suspicious character prowling within the precincts of the palace. things began to look ugly. poor miles was going to explain, but the officer roughly silenced him, and ordered his men to disarm him and search him. "god of his mercy grant that they find somewhat," said poor miles; "i have searched enow, and failed, yet is my need greater than theirs.' "" nothing was found but a document. the officer tore it open, and hendon smiled when he recognized the "pothooks" made by his lost little friend that black day at hendon hall. the officer's face grew dark as he read the eng274 edward as king. lish paragraph, and miles blenched to the opposite color as he listened. "another new claimant of the crown!" cried the officer. "verily they breed like rabbits, to-day. seize the rascal, men, and see ye keep him fast whilst i convey this precious paper within and send it to the king." he hurried away, leaving the prisoner in the grip of the halberdiers. "now is my evil luck ended at last," muttered hendon, "for i shall dangle at a rope's end for a certainty, by reason of that bit of writing. and what will become of my poor lad! -ah, only the good god knoweth." by and by he saw the officer coming again, in a great hurry; so he plucked his courage together, purposing to meet his trouble as became a man. the officer ordered the men to loose the prisoner and return his sword to him; then bowed respectfully, and said"please you sir, to follow me." hendon followed, saying to himself, " an' i were not travelling to death and judgment, and so must needs economize in sin, i would throttle this knave for his mock courtesy." the two traversed a populous court, and arrived at the grand entrance of the palace, where the officer, with another bow, delivered hendon into the hands of a gorgeous official, who received him with profound respect and led him forward through a great hall, lined on both sides with rows of splendid flunkies (who made reverential obeisance as the two passed along, but fell into death-throes of silent laughter at our stately scare-crow the moment his back was turned,) and up a broad staircase, among flocks of fine folk, and finally conducted him into a vast room, clove a passage for him through the assembled nobility of england, then made a bow, reminded him to take his hat off, and left him standing in the middle of the room, a mark for all eyes, for plenty of indigedward as king. 275 color a he cit precat wwwww of the ba hendon by reas poorla great her meet h e men to en bored not tray conomize test." ed at the another is official forward of sple the t ughter at ned) and and finally for hir de a ber ng in the of indiy nant frowns, and for a sufficiency of amused and derisive smiles. miles hendon was entirely bewildered. there sat the young king, under a canopy of state, five steps away, with his head bent down and aside, speaking with a sort of human bird of paradise-a duke, maybe; hendon observed to himself that it was hard enough to be sentenced to death in the full vigor of life, without having this peculiarly public humiliation added. he wished the king would hurry about it—some of the gaudy people near by were becoming pretty offensive. at this moment the king raised his head slightly and hendon caught a good view of his face. the sight nearly took his breath away! he stood gazing at the fair young face like one transfixed; then presently ejaculated"lo, the lord of the kingdom of dreams and shadows on his throne!” he muttered some broken sentences, still gazing and marvelling; then turned his eyes around and about, scanning the gorgeous throng and the splendid saloon, murmuring “but these are real—verily these are real-surely it is not a dream." he stared at the king again—and thought, "is it a dream? or is he the veritable sovereign of england, and not the friendless poor tom o' bedlam i took him for—who shall solve me this riddle?" a sudden idea flashed in his eye, and he strode to the wall, gathered up a chair, brought it back, planted it on the floor, and sat down in it! a buzz of indignation broke out, a rough hand was laid upon him, and a voice exclaimed,up, thou mannerless clown!—wouldst sit in the presence of the king?" 66 the disturbance attracted his majesty's attention, who stretched forth his hand and cried out"touch him not, it is his right!" 276 edward as king. the throng fell back, stupefied. the king went on— "learn ye all, ladies, lords and gentlemen, that this is my trusty and well beloved servant, miles hendon, who interposed his good sword and saved his prince from bodily harm and possible death—and for this he is a knight, by the king's voice. also learn, that for a higher service, in that he saved his sovereign stripes and shame, taking these upon himself, he is a peer of england, earl of kent, and shall have gold and lands meet for the dignity. more-the privilege which he hath just exercised is his by royal grant; for we have ordained that the chiefs of his line shall have and hold the right to sit in the presence of the majesty of england henceforth, age after age, so long as the crown shall endure. molest him not." two persons, who, through delay, had only arrived from the country during this morning, and had now been in this room only five minutes, stood listening to these words and looking at the king, then at the scare-crow, then at the king again, in a sort of torpid bewilderment. these were sir hugh and the lady edith. but the new earl did not see them. he was still staring at the monarch, in a dazed way, and muttering"o, body o' me! this my pauper! this my lunatic ! this is he whom i would show what grandeur was, in my house of seventy rooms and seven and twenty servants! this is he who had never known aught but rags for raiment, kicks for comfort, and offal for diet! this is he whom i adopted and would make respectable! would god i had a bag to hide my head in!" then his manners suddenly came back to him, and he dropped upon his knees, with his hands between the king's, and swore allegiance and did homage for his lands and titles. then he rose and stood respectfully aside, a mark still for all eyes and much envy, too edward as king. 277 now the king discovered sir hugh, and spoke out, with wrathful voice and kindling eye"strip this robber of his false show and stolen estates, and put him under lock and key till i have need of him." the late sir hugh was led away. there was a stir at the other end of the room, now; the asnava 66 tom rose and kissed the king's hand." semblage fell apart, and tom canty, quaintly but richly clothed, marched down, between these living walls, preceded by an usher. he knelt before the king, who said"i have learned the story of these past few weeks, and am well pleased with thee. thou hast governed the realm with 278 edward as king. right royal gentleness and mercy. thou hast found thy mother and thy sisters again? good; they shall be cared for-and thy father shall hang, if thou desire it and the law consent. know, all ye that hear my voice, that from this day, they that abide in the shelter of christ's hospital and share the king's bounty, shall have their minds and hearts fed, as well as their baser parts; and this boy shall dwell there, and hold the chief place in its honorable body of governors, during life. and for that he hath been a king, it is meet that other than common observance shall be his due; wherefore, note this his dress of state, for by it he shall be known, and none shall copy it; and wheresoever he shall come, it shall remind the people that he hath been royal, in his time, and none shall deny him his due of reverence or fail to give him salutation. he hath the throne's protection, he hath the crown's support, he shall be known and called by the honorable title of the king's ward." the proud and happy tom canty rose and kissed the king's hand, and was conducted from the presence. he did not waste any time, but flew to his mother, to tell her and nan and bet all about it and get them to help him enjoy the great * news. *see notes to chapter 33 at end of the volume. புரமம் forconse lay, they share the 1, as we and h s, during hat other ore, not and re il reming one sha utation المال . suppor e of the e king's did not d na e great 1 conclusion. justice and retribution. when the mysteries were all cleared up, it came out, by confession of hugh hendon, that his wife had repudiated miles by his command, that day at hendon hall—a command assisted and supported by the perfectly trustworthy promise that if she did not deny that he was miles hendon, and stand firmly to it, he would have her life; whereupon she said take it, she did not value it—and she would not repudiate miles; then the husband said he would spare her life but have miles assassinated! this was a different matter; so she gave her word and kept it. hugh was not prosecuted for his threats or for stealing his brother's estates and title, because the wife and brother would not testify against him—and the former would not have been allowed to do it, even if she had wanted to. hugh deserted his wife and went over to the continent, where he presently died; and by and by the earl of kent married his relict. there were grand times and rejoicings at hendon village when the couple paid their first visit to the hall. tom canty's father was never heard of again. the king sought out the farmer who had been branded and sold as a slave, and reclaimed him from his evil life with the ruffler's gang, and put him in the way of a comfortable livelihood. he also took that old lawyer out of prison and remitted his fine. he provided good homes for the daughters of the two baptist women whom he saw burned at the stake, and roundly 279 280 justice and retribution. punished the official who laid the undeserved stripes upon miles hendon's back. he saved from the gallows the boy who had captured the stray falcon, and also the woman who had stolen a remnant of cloth from a weaver; but he was too late to save the man who had been convicted of killing a deer in the royal forest. he showed favor to the justice who had pitied him when he was supposed to have stolen a pig, and he had the gratification of seeing him grow in the public esteem and become a great and honored man. as long as the king lived he was fond of telling the story of his adventures, all through, from the hour that the sentinel cuffed him away from the palace gate till the final midnight when he deftly mixed himself into a gang of hurrying workmen and so slipped into the abbey and climbed up and hid himself in the confessor's tomb, and then slept so long, next day, that he came within one of missing the coronation altogether. he said that the frequent rehearsing of the precious lesson kept him strong in his purpose to make its teachings yield benefits to his people; and so, whilst his life was spared he should continue to tell the story, and thus keep its sorrowful spectacles fresh in his memory and the springs of pity replenished in his heart. miles hendon and tom canty were favorites of the king, all through his brief reign, and his sincere mourners when he died. the good earl of kent had too much good sense to abuse his peculiar privilege; but he exercised it twice after the instance we have seen of it before he was called from the world; once at the accession of queen mary, and once at the accession of queen elizabeth. a descendant of his exercised it at the accession of james i. before this one's son chose to use the privilege, near a quarter of a century had elapsed, and the "privilege of the kents" had faded out of most people's memories; so, when the kent of that day ap12 justice and retribution. 281 peared before charles i. and his court and sat down in the sovereign's presence to assert and perpetuate the right of his house, there was a fine stir, indeed! but the matter was soon explained and the right confirmed. the last earl of the line fell in the wars of the commonwealth fighting for the king, and the odd privilege ended with him. tom canty lived to be a very old man, a handsome, white-haired old fellow, of grave and benignant aspect. as long as he lasted he was honored; and he was also reverenced, for his striking and peculiar costume kept the people reminded that "in his time he had been royal;" so, wherever he appeared the crowd fell apart, making way for him, and whispering, one to another, "doff thy hat, it is the king's ward!"-and so they saluted, and got his kindly smile in return-and they valued it, too, for his was an honorable history. yes, king edward vi. lived only a few years, poor boy, but he lived them worthily. more than once, when some great dignitary, some gilded vassal of the crown, made argument against his leniency, and urged that some law which he was bent upon amending was gentle enough for its purpose, and wrought no suffering or oppression which any one need mightily mind, the young king turned the mournful eloquence of his great compassionate eyes upon him and answered"what dost thou know of suffering and oppression? i and my people know, but not thou." the reign of edward vi. was a singularly merciful one for those harsh times. now that we are taking leave of him let us try to keep this in our minds, to his credit. notes. note 1.-page 37. christ's hospital costume. it is most reasonable to regard the dress as copied from the costume of the citizens of london of that period, when long blue coats were the common habit of apprentices and serving-men, and yellow stockings were generally worn; the coat fits closely to the body, but has loose sleeves, and beneath is worn a sleeveless yellow under-coat; around the waist is a red leathern girdle; a clerical band around the neck, and a small flat black cap, about the size of a saucer, completes the costume.-timbs' " curiosities of london." note 2.-page 40. it appears that christ's hospital was not originally founded as a school; its object was to rescue children from the streets, to shelter, feed, clothe them, etc.-timbs' "curiosities of london." note 3.-page 50. the duke of norfolk's condemnation commanded. the king was now approaching fast towards his end; and fearing lest norfolk should escape him, he sent a message to the commons, by which he desired them to hasten the bill, on pretence that norfolk enjoyed the dignity of earl marshal, and it was necessary to appoint another, who might officiate at the ensuing ceremony of installing his son prince of wales.-hume, vol. iii. p. 307. note 4.-page 62. it was not till the end of this reign [henry viii] that any salads, carrots, turnips, or other edible roots were produced in england. the little of these vegetables that was used, was formerly imported 283 284 notes. from holland and flanders. queen catherine, when she wanted a salad, was obliged to despatch a messenger thither on purpose.hume's history of england, vol. iii. p. 314. note 5.-page 69. attainder of norfolk. the house of peers, without examining the prisoner, without trial or evidence, passed a bill of attainder against him and sent it down to the commons. . the obsequious commons obeyed his [the king's] directions; and the king, having affixed the royal assent to the bill by commissioners, issued orders for the execution of norfolk on the morning of the twenty-ninth of january, [the next day.] -hume's england, vol. iii. p. 306. note 6.-page 83. the loving-cup. the loving-cup, and the peculiar ceremonies observed in drinking from it, are older than english history. it is thought that both are danish importations. as far back as knowledge goes, the loving-cup has always been drunk at english banquets. tradition explains the ceremonies in this way: in the rude ancient times it was deemed a wise precaution to have both hands of both drinkers employed, lest while the pledger pledged his love and fidelity to the pledgee the pledgee take that opportunity to slip a dirk into him! note 7.-page 90. the duke of norfolk's narrow escape. had henry viii survived a few hours longer, his order for the duke's execution would have been carried into effect. "but news being carried to the tower that the king himself had expired that night, the lieutenant deferred obeying the warrant; and it was not thought advisable by the council to begin a new reign by the death of the greatest nobleman in the kingdom, who had been condemned by a sentence so unjust and tyrannical."-hume's england, vol. iii. p. 307. notes. 285 wanted a urposeout trial down to his [the sseat c of nor t day. inking oth are g-cup ns the med a , lest 제회 ​e the the news that not ath ned note 8.-page 122. the whipping-boy. james i and charles ii had whipping-boys when they were little fellows, to take their punishment for them when they fell short in their lessons; so i have ventured to furnish my small prince with one, for my own purposes. notes to chapter xv.-page 138. character of hertford. the young king discovered an extreme attachment to his uncle, who was, in the main, a man of moderation and probity.—hume's england, vol. iii. p. 324. but if he [the protector] gave offence by assuming too much state, he deserves great praise on account of the laws passed this session, by which the rigor of former statutes was much mitigated, and some security given to the freedom of the constitution. all laws were repealed which extended the crime of treason beyond the statute of the twenty-fifth of edward iii; all laws enacted during the late reign extending the crime of felony; all the former laws against lollardy or heresy, together with the statute of the six articles. none were to be accused for words, but within a month after they were spoken. by these repeals several of the most rigorous laws that ever had passed in england were annulled; and some dawn, both of civil and religious liberty, began to appear to the people. a repeal also passed of that law, the destruction of all laws, by which the king's proclamation was made of equal force with a statute.—ibid., vol. iii. p. 339. boiling to death. in the reign of henry viii, poisoners were, by act of parliament, condemned to be boiled to death. this act was repealed in the following reign. in germany, even in the 17th century, this horrible punishment was inflicted on coiners and counterfeiters. taylor, the water poet, describes an execution he witnessed in hamburg, in 1616. the judgment pronounced against a coiner of false money was that he should "be boiled to death in oil: not thrown into the vessel at once, but with 286 notes. a pulley or rope to be hanged under the armpits, and then let down into the oil by degrees; first the feet, and next the legs, and so to boil his flesh from his bones alive."-dr. j. hammond trumbull's “blue laws, true and false," p. 13. the famous stocking case. a woman and her daughter nine years old, were hanged in huntingdon for selling their souls to the devil, and raising a storm by pulling off their stockings !-ibid., p. 20. note 10. page 153. enslaving. so young a king, and so ignorant a peasant were likely to make mistakes-and this is an instance in point. this peasant was suffering from this law by anticipation; the king was venting his indignation against a law which was not yet in existence: for this hideous statute was to have birth in this little king's own reign. however, we know, from the humanity of his character, that it could never have been suggested by him. notes to chapter xxiii.-page 202. death for trifling larcenies. when connecticut and new haven were framing their first codes, larceny above the value of twelve pence was a capital crime in england—as it had been since the time of henry i.—dr. j. hammond trumbull's "blue laws, true and false," p. 17. the curious old book called "the english rogue" makes the limit thirteen pence ha'penny; death being the portion of any who steal a thing "above the value of thirteen pence ha'penny." notes to chapter xxvii.-page 234. from many descriptions of larceny, the law expressly took away the benefit of clergy; to steal a horse, or a hawk, or woolen cloth from the weaver, was a hanging matter. so it was, to kill a deer from the king's forest, or to export sheep from the kingdom.—dr. j. hammond trumbull's "blue laws, true and false," p. 13. william prynne, a learned barrister, was sentenced-[long after notes. 287 let down so to boil i's "blue in hunt storm by to make suffering dignation us statute we know, ave been st codes in eng hammon makes the any who 1 ook away loth from from the j. haw ong after edward the sixth's time]-to lose both his ears in the pillory; to degradation from the bar; a fine of £3,000, and imprisonment for life. three years afterwards, he gave new offence to laud, by publishing a pamphlet against the hierarchy. he was again prosecuted, and was sentenced to lose what remained of his ears; to pay a fine of £5,000; to be branded on both his cheeks with the letters s. l. (for seditious libeller,) and to remain in prison for life. the severity of this sentence was equalled by the savage rigor of its execution.ibid., p. 12. notes to chapter xxxiii.-page 278. christ's hospital, or blue coat school, "the noblest institution in the world." the ground on which the priory of the grey friars stood was conferred by henry the eighth on the corporation of london, [who caused the institution there of a home for poor boys and girls.] subsequently, edward the sixth caused the old priory to be properly repaired, and founded within it that noble establishment called the blue coat school, or christ's hospital, for the education and maintenance of orphans and the children of indigent persons. edward would not let him [bishop ridley] depart till the letter was written, [to the lord mayor,] and then charged him to deliver it himself, and signify his special request and commandment that no time might be lost in proposing what was convenient, and apprising him of the proceedings. the work was zealously undertaken, ridley himself engaging in it; and the result was, the founding of christ's hospital for the education of poor children. [the king endowed several other charities at the same time.] "lord god," said he, "i yield thee most hearty thanks that thou hast given me life thus long, to finish this work to the glory of thy name!" that innocent and most exemplary life was drawing rapidly to its close, and in a few days he rendered up his spirit to his creator, praying god to defend the realm from papistry.-j. heneage jesse's" london, its celebrated characters and places." in the great hall hangs a large picture of king edward vi seated on his throne, in a scarlet and ermined robe, holding the sceptre in his left hand, and presenting with the other the charter to the kneeling lord mayor. by his side stands the chancellor, holding the seals, and next to him are other officers of state. bishop ridley kneels before him with uplifted hands, as if supplicating a blessing on the 288 notes. event; whilst the aldermen, etc., with the lord mayor, kneel on both sides, occupying the middle ground of the picture; and lastly, in front, are a double row of boys on one side, and girls on the other, from the master and matron down to the boy and girl who have stepped forward from their respective rows, and kneel with raised hands before the king.-timbs' "curiosities of london,” p. 98. christ's hospital, by ancient custom, possesses the privilege of addressing the sovereign on the occasion of his or her coming into the city to partake of the hospitality of the corporation of london. -ibid. the dining-hall, with its lobby and organ-gallery, occupies the entire story, which is 187 feet long, 51 feet wide, and 47 feet high; it is lit by nine large windows, filled with stained glass on the south side; and is, next to westminster hall, the noblest room in the metropolis. here the boys, now about 800 in number, dine; and here are held the "suppings in public,” to which visitors are admitted by tickets, issued by the treasurer and by the governors of christ's hospital. the tables are laid with cheese in wooden bowls; beer in wooden piggins, poured from leathern jacks; and bread brought in large baskets. the official company enter; the lord mayor, or president, takes his seat in a state chair, made of oak from st. catherine's church by the tower; a hymn is sung, accompanied by the organ; a "grecian," or head boy, reads the prayers from the pulpit, silence being enforced by three drops of a wooden hammer. after prayer the supper commences, and the visitors walk between the tables. at its close, the trade-boys" take up the baskets, bowls, jacks, piggins, and candlesticks, and pass in procession, the bowing to the governors being curiously formal. this spectacle was witnessed by queen victoria and prince albert in 1845. among the more eminent blue coat boys are joshua barnes, editor of anacreon and euripides; jeremiah markland, the eminent critic, particularly in greek literature; camden, the antiquary; bishop stillingfleet; samuel richardson the novelist; thomas mitchell, the translator of aristophanes; thomas barnes, many years editor of the london times; coleridge, charles lamb, and leigh hunt. no boy is admitted before he is seven years old, or after he is nine; and no boy can remain in the school after he is fifteen, king's boys and "grecians" alone excepted. there are about 500 governors, at the head of whom are the sovereign and the prince of wales. the qualification for a governor is payment of £500.—ibid. i notes. 289 or, kneel and last on the ho have step raised as privilege a coming i of lon occupies the feet high on the s n in the me le; and her admitter of chests wis: beer brought or, or pres t catherine the organ ipit, silen fter praye tables & jacks, pôto the gor tnessed by ja barnes e eminer antiquary das min cars edir huct fter he is en, king's overnors ales. the general note. one hears much about the "hideous blue-laws of connecticut," and is accustomed to shudder piously when they are mentioned. there are people in america-and even in england!—who imagine that they were a very monument of malignity, pitilessness, and inhumanity; whereas, in reality they were about the first sweeping departure from judicial atrocity which the "civilized" world had seen. this humane and kindly blue-law code, of two hundred and forty years ago, stands all by itself, with ages of bloody law on the further side of it, and a century and three-quarters of bloody english law on this side of it. there has never been a time-under the blue-laws or any otherwhen above fourteen crimes were punishable by death in connecticut. but in england, within the memory of men who are still hale in body and mind, two hundred and twenty-three crimes were punishable by death!* these facts are worth knowing—and worth thinking about, too. *see dr. j. hammond trumbull's "blue laws, true and false," p. 11. finis. 1 · • · · select reading. popular new books for light reading and for the library, -issued bycharles l. webster & co., 67 fifth ave., new york. fiction. the american claimant. (just ready.) mark twain. 66 by mark twain. the most widely known character in american fiction, col. mulberry sellers, is again introduced to readers in an original and delightful romance, replete with mark twain's whimsical humor. fully illustrated by dan beard. cloth, 8vo, $1.50. don finimondone: calabrian sketches. by elisabeth cavazza. though a native and resident of port land, me., and belonging to an old new england family, mrs. cavazza early became interested in italian matters. few american authors have so completely captured the italian spirit as she has done in these pictures of italian life among the lowly. ("fiction, fact, and fancy series.") frontispiece by dan beard. cloth, 12mo, 75 cents. racy of the calabrian soil."-cleveland plaindealer. "this little book is something new and rare."-atlanta constitution. "each one of these sketches shows the sure touch and the constructive instinct of a born artist in letters."-the literary world (boston). 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(in preparation.) by richard malcolm johnston, author of "dukesborough tales," etc. colonel johnston has selected a number of his most characteristic and entertaining stories, now first published in book form, for a volume of the new "fiction, fact, and fancy series." colonel johnston is easily the dean of southern men of letters, and the announcement of a new volume from his pen calls for no further comment. cloth, 12mo, 75 cents. moonblight, and six feet of romance. by dan beard. in “moonblight" the artist-author has brought into play all those resources of humor, imagination, and sarcasm for which he is so well known, to teach under the guise of a romance the lesson of the wrongs inflicted by capital on labor. in the light of recent events at the homestead mills, this book seems to have been prophetic. illustrated by the author. cloth, 8vo, $1.00. "a strange but powerful book."-philadelphia bulletin. 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"the present selection contains those of whitman's poems that most fully illustrate his genius, his wonderful appreciation of the soul of nature, his hearty and wholesome spirit of physical and mental joyousness, his serene tranquillity in old age, and his wide and generous conception of american life.”— providence journal. flower o' the vine: romantic ballads and sospiri di roma. by william sharp, author of "a fellowe and his wife" (with miss howard), "life and letters of joseph severn," etc. with an introduction by thomas a. janvier, and a portrait of the author. as one of the most popular of the younger english poets, equal success is anticipated for this first american edition of mr. sharp's poems. its welcome in the american press has been most hearty. tastefully bound, with appropriate decorative design. cloth, 8vo, $1.50. 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"the poems combine a gracefulness of rhythm and a subtle sweetness." -baltimore american. "the author makes good the claim of his friends as a new poet, both in originality of thought and a unique grace of expression.”—san francisco bulletin. "the impression he makes is that of a strong and musical singer, who can sing in many keys. his themes, in the present volume, are limited to two general fields; one, in which he sings in the ballad form, dealing with the old myths and legends of the land of his ancestors-scotland-and its rugged hills and wild scenery blend with the narrative of yet wilder, more witchlike imaginings; while the other, in fine contrast, breathes only italian airs. they are the breezes from the mediterranean, and from the apennines-airs that breathe over the campagna and the roman hills."-hartford times. ¿ equal succes sharp's p y. tasteful $1.50 c like that of skeen and salt ern fields"transfused ni of the norths them voice were 8. of love and fr di roma "tot creative face caress, he e al discovers the btle sweetness w poet, both san francis singer, who ca ited to two g g with the oil its rugged his witchlike imag airs. they are ines-airs that times. travel, biography, and essays. the german emperor and his eastern neighbors. by poultney bigelow. cable despatches state that mr. bigelow has been expelled from russia for writing this volume. interesting personal notes of his old playmate's boyhood and education are given, together with a description of the emperor's army, his course and policy since accession, and the condition of affairs on the russian and roumanian frontiers. with fine portrait of william ii. ("fiction, fact, and fancy series.") cloth, 12mo, 75 cents. william ii. "a book to attract immediate and close attention."-chicago times. "an interesting contribution to evidence concerning russia."-springfield republican. "a much-needed correction to the avalanche of abuse heaped upon the german emperor."-philadelphia inquirer. "the book should have a place in the library of every student of politics." -boston pilot. paddles and politics down the danube. by poultney bigelow. companion volume to "the german emperor." a highly interesting journal of a canoe-voyage down "the mississippi of europe" from its source to the black sea, with descriptions of the resident nations, and casual discussions of the political situation. illustrated with numerous offhand sketches made on the spot by mr. bigelow. ("fiction, fact, and fancy series.") cloth, 12mo, 75 cents. writings of christopher columbus. (in press.) edited, with an introduction, by paul leicester ford. mr. ford has for the first time collected in one handy volume translations of those letters, etc., of columbus which describe his experiences in the discovery and occupation of the new world. with frontispiece portrait. ("fiction, fact, and fancy series.") cloth, 12mo, 75 cents. under summer skies. (in preparation.) by clinton scollard. a poet's itinerary. professor scollard relates, in his charming literary style, the episodes of a rambling tour through egypt, palestine, italy, and the alps. the text is interspersed with poetical interludes, suggested by passing events and scenes. coming nearer home, to arizona and the bermudas are described in separate chapters. the volume is attractively illustrated by margaret landers randolph, and is most suitable as a traveling companion or as a picture of lands beyond the reach of the reader. cloth, 8vo, $1.00. autobiographia. (in press.) by walt whitman. edited by arthur stedman. the story of whitman's life, told in his own words. these selected passages from whitman's prose works, chosen with his approbation, are so arranged as to give a consecutive account of the old poet's career in his own picturesque language. uniform with the new edition of walt whitman's "selected poems." ("fiction, fact, and fancy series.") cloth, 12mo, 75 cents. life of jane welsh carlyle. by mrs. alexander ireland. a remarkable biography of a wonderful woman, written and compiled by one in thorough sympathy with her subject, from material made public for the first time. the powerful side-light it throws upon the life and character of thomas carlyle will make the volume indispensable to all who venerate the genius, or are interested in the personality, of the sage of chelsea. vellum, cloth (half bound), 8vo, $1.75. essays in miniature. (in press.) by agnes repplier, author of "points of view," etc. a new volume of this brilliant essayist's writings, in which she discourses wittily and wisely on a number of pertinent topics. no new essayist of recent years has been received with such hearty commendation in this country or england. ("fiction, fact, and fancy series.") cloth, 12mo, 75 cents. and 북 ​cer 7es 心 ​tel ling _der. ory plus 280 erin valt es.") y of mpa ime. er of ener cheldew urses ayist in s7 data, nonton l this book should be returned to the library on or before the last date stamped below. a fine of five cents a day is incurred by retaining it beyond the specified time. please return promptly. apr 1 3 1951 30 828 b655m a 50653 5 828 b655m the miller's maid * artes 1837 scientia library veritas of the university of michigan pluribus ununta tuebor si-queris peninsulam-amenam circumspice the gift of prof. f. n. scott the 828 b655ma miller's maid, by robert bloomfield. to which is added the hermit, by oliver goldsmith. beautifully illustrated. on london: darton & co., holborn hill. 1855. list of illustrations. the water mill phoebe seeking shelter from the storm. george and phoebe phoebe at the farm-yard page. 5 3 8 13 the soldier returned from war 14 the recognition the happy home 16 18 the miller's maid. gc.leichton near the high road, upon a winding stream, an honest miller rose to wealth and fame the noblest virtues cheer'd his lengthen'd days, and all the country echo'd with his praise: his wife, the doctress of the neighb'ring poor, drew constant pray'rs and blessings + round his door. one summer's night, (the hour of rest was come,) darkness unusual overspread their home; the miller's maid. a chilling blast was felt: the foremost cloud sprinkled the bubbling pool; and thunder loud, though distant yet, menac'd the country round, and fill'd the heavens with its solemn sound. who can retire to rest when tempests lour? nor wait the issue of the coming hour? meekly resign'd she sat, in anxious pain; he fill'd his pipe, and listen'd to the rain that batter'd furiously their strong abode, roar'd in the dam, and lash'd the pebbled road; when, mingling with the storm, confus'd and wild, they heard, or thought they heard, a screaming child; the voice approach'd; and, 'midst the thunder's roar, now loudly begg'd for mercy at the door. mercy was there: the miller heard the call; his door he open'd; when a sudden squall drove in a wretched girl; who weeping stood, whilst the cold rain dripp'd from her in a flood. with kind officiousness the tender dame rous'd up the dying embers to a flame; dry clothes procur'd, and cheer'd her shiv'ring guest and sooth'd the sorrows of her infant breast. but as she stript her shoulders, lily-white, what marks of cruel usage shock'd their sight! weals, and blue wounds, most piteous to behold upon a child yet scarcely ten years old. the miller felt his indignation rise, yet, as the weary stranger clos'd her eyes, and seem'd fatigu'd beyond her strength and years, "sleep, child, (he said,) and wipe away your tears." they watch'd her slumbers till the storm was done, when thus the generous man again begun. 'see, flutt'ring sighs that rise against her will, 'and agitating dreams disturb her still! the miller's maid. 5 'dame, we should know before we go to rest, 'whence comes this girl, and how she came distrest. "wake her, and ask; for she is sorely bruis'd; 'i long to know by whom she's thus misus'd'child, what's your name? how came you in the storm ? 'have you no home to keep you dry and warm? 'who gave you all those wounds your shoulders show? 'where are your parents? whither would you go?' the stranger bursting into tears, look'd pale, and this the purport of her artless tale: 6 the miller's maid. · 'i have no parents; and no friends beside: 'i well remember when my mother died: my brother cried; and so did i that day: 'we had no father; he was gone away; 'that night we left our homes new clothes to wear, 'the workhouse found them; we were carried there. 'we lov'd each other dearly; when we met 'we always shar'd what trifles we could get. 'but george was older by a year than me :'he parted from me, and was sent to sea. "good-bye, dear phoebe," the poor fellow said: 'perhaps he'll come again; perhaps he's dead. 'when i grew strong enough i went to place : 'my mistress had a sour, ill-natur'd face; ‘and though i've been so often beat and chid, 'i strove to please her, sir; indeed i did. 'weary and spiritless to bed i crept, 'and always cried at night before i slept. this morning i offended, and i bore 'a cruel beating, worse than all before. • unknown to all the house, i ran away; and thus far travelled through the sultry day; 'and, o don't send me back! i dare not go-' 'i send you back!' the miller cried, 'no, no.' the appeals of wretchedness had weight with him, and sympathy would warm him every limb; he muttered, glorying in the work begun, well done, my little wench, 'twas nobly done!' then said, with looks more cheering than the fire, and feelings such as pity can inspire, 'my house has childless been this many a year; 'while you deserve it you shall tarry here.' the orphan mark'd the ardour of his eye, blest his kind words and thank'd him with a sigh. the miller's maid. ས thus was the sacred compact doubly seal'd; thus were her spirits rais'd, her bruises heal'd. thankful and cheerful too, no more afraid, thus little phoebe was the miller's maid. grateful they found her; patient of controul; a most bewitching gentleness of soul, made pleasure of what work she had to do: she grew in stature and in beauty too. five years she pass'd in this delightful home; five happy years: but when the sixth was come, the miller, from a market-town hard by, brought home a sturdy youth, his strength to try, to raise the sluice-gates early every morn, to heave his powdered sacks, and grind his corn: and meeting phoebe, whom he lov'd so dear, 'i've brought you home a husband, girl; d'ye hear. 'he begg'd for work; his money seem'd but scant: 'those that will work, 'tis pity they should want. 'so use him well, and we shall shortly see whether he merits what i've done, like thee.' now throbb'd her heart,—a new sensation quite,whene'er the comely stranger was in sight: for he at once assiduously strove to please so sweet a maid, and win her love: at every corner stopp'd her in her way, and saw fresh beauties opening every day. he took delight in tracing in her face the mantling blush, and every native grace that sensibility would bring to view, when love he mention'd:-love and honour true, but phoebe still was shy, and wish'd to know more of the honest youth, whose manly brow, she verily believ'd was truth's own throne, and all his words as artless as her own: 8 the miller's maid. ama most true she judg'd: yet long the youth forbore divulging where, and how, he liv'd before; and seem'd to strive his history to hide, till fair esteem enlisted on his side. the miller saw, and mention'd in his praise, the prompt fidelity of all his ways: till in a vacant hour, the dinner done, one day he joking cried,' come here, my son! 'tis pity that so good a lad as you beneath my roof should bring disorders new! the miller's maid. 9 'but here's my phoebe,-once so light and airy 'she'd trip along the passage like a fairyhas lost her swiftness quite, since here you came'and yet i can't perceive the girl is lame! "the obstacles she meets with still fall thicker: ´ old as i am, i'd turn the corner quicker.' the youth blush'd deep, and phoebe hung her head, the good man smiled, and thus again he said: not that i deem it matter of surprise, that you should love to gaze at phoebe's eyes; "but be explicit, boy; and deal with honour: 'i feel my happiness depend upon her. " when here you came you'd sorrow on your and i've forborn to question you till now, brow 'first, then, say what thou art.' he instant bow'd, and thus, in phoebe's hearing, spoke aloud. thus far experienc'd, sir, in you i find all that is generous, fatherly, and kind; and while you look for proofs of real worth, 'you'll not regard the meanness of my birth. when, pennyless and sad, you met with me, 'i'd just escap'd the dangers of the sea; 'resolv'd to try my fortune on the shore, " 'to get my bread; and trust the waves no more : 'having no home, nor parents, left behind, 'i'd all my fortune, all my friends, to find. 'keen disappointment wounded me that morn: 'for, trav❜lling near the spot where i was born, 'i at the well-known door where i was bred, 'inquir'd who still was living, who was dead: 'but first, and most, i sought with anxious fear, 'tidings to gain of her who once was dear; 'a girl, with all the meekness of the dove, 'the constant sharer of my childhood's love; 10 the miller's maid. 'she call'd me, brother:—which i heard with pride, 'though now suspect we are not so allied. 'thus much i learnt; (no more the churls would say ;) 'she went to service, and she ran away, 'and scandal added.'-' hold!' the miller cried, and, in an instant, stood at phoebe's side; for he observ'd, while list'ning to the tale, her spirits faulter'd, and her cheeks turn'd pale; whilst her clasp'd hands descended to her knee, she sinking, whisper'd forth, " o god, 'tis he!" the good man, though he guess'd the pleasing truth, was far too busy to inform the youth; but stir'd himself amain to aid his wife, who soon restor'd the trembler back to life. awhile insensible she still appear'd; but, "oh, my brother," was distinctly heard: th' astonish'd youth now held her to his breast. and tears and kisses soon explain'd the rest. past deeds now from each tongue alternate fell for news of dearest import both could tell. fondly from childhood's tears to youth's full prime, they match'd the incidents of jogging time; and prov'd that, when with tyranny opprest, poor phoebe groan'd with wounds and broken rest, george felt no less: was harass'd and forlorn; a rope's end follow'd him from night to morn. and in that very storm when phoebe fled, when the rain drench'd her yet unshelter'd head; that very storm he on the ocean brav'd, the vessel founder'd, and the boy was sav'd! mysterious heaven! and o with what delight she told the happy issue of her flight: to his charm'd heart a living picture drew; and gave to hospitality its due! the miller's maid. 11 the list'ning host observ'd the gentle pair, and ponder'd on the means that brought them there : convinc'd, while unimpeach'd their virtue stood, 'twas heav'n's high will that he should do them good. but now the anxious dame, impatient grown, demanded what the youth had heard or known, whereon to ground those doubts but just exprest; doubts which must interest the feeling breast; her brother wert thou, george? how; prithee say canst thou forgo, or cast that name away ?' 'no living proofs have i,' the youth replied, "that we by closest ties are not allied; 'but in my memory live, and ever will, 'a mother's dying words-i hear them still: 'she said, to one who watch'd her parting breath, "don't separate the children at my death, "they're not both mine; but"-here the scene was clos'd; she died; and left us helpless and expos'd: nor time hath thrown, nor reason's opening power, "one friendly ray on that benighted hour.' ne'er did the chieftains of a warring state hear from the oracle their half-told fate with more religious fear, or more suspense than phoebe now endur'd:-for every sense became absorb'd in this unwelcome theme; nay, every meditation, every dream, th' inexplicable sentence held to view, "they're not both mine," was every morning new for, till this hour, the maid had never prov'd how far she was enthrall'd, how much she lov'd: in that fond character he first appear'd; his kindness charm'd her, and his smiles endear'd : this dubious mystery the passion crost; her peace was wounded, and her lover lost. 12 the miller's maid. for george, with all his resolution strove to check the progress of his growing love; or, if he e'er indulg'd a tender kiss, th' unravell'd secret robb'd him of his bliss. health's foe, suspense, so irksome to be borne, an ever-piercing and retreating thorn hung on their hearts, when nature bade them rise, and stole content's bright ensign from their eyes. the good folks saw the change, and griev'd to find these troubles labouring in phoebe's mind; they lov'd them both; and with one voice propos'd, the only means whence truth might be disclos'd; that, when the summer months should shrink the rill, and scarce its languid stream would turn the mill, when the spring broods, and pigs and lambs were rear'd, (a time when george and phoebe might be spar'd,) their birth-place they should visit once again, to try with joint endeavours to obtain from record, or tradition, what might be to chain, or set their chain'd affections free: affinity beyond all doubts to prove ; or clear the road for nature and for love. never, till now, did phœbe count the hours, or think may long, or wish away its flowers; with mutual sighs both fann'd the wings of time as we climb hills and gladden as we climb, and reach at last the distant promis'd seat, casting the glowing landscape at our feet. oft had the morning rose with dew been wet, and oft the journeying sun in glory set, beyond the willow'd meads of vigorous grass, the steep green hill, and woods they were to pass; when now the day arriv'd: impatience reign'd; and george,-by trifling obstacles detain'd, the miller's maid. 13 his bending blackthorn on the threshold prest, survey'd the windward clouds, and hop'd the best. ccleighton phoebe, attir'd with every modest grace, while health and beauty revell'd in her face came forth; but soon evinc'd an absent mind, for, back she turn'd for something left behind; again the same, till george grew tir'd of home, and peevishly exclaim'd "come phoebe, come." another hindrance yet he had to feel : as from the door they tripp'd with nimble heel, a poor old man, foot-founder'd and alone, thus urgent spoke, in trouble's genuine tone; 'my pretty maid, if happiness you seek, 'may disappointment never fade your cheek!'your's be the joy ;-yet feel another's woe: 'o leave some little gifts before you go.' 14 the miller's maid. leighton bros. his words struck home; and back she turn'd again, (the ready friend of indigence and pain,) to banish hunger from his shatter'd frame; and close behind her, lo, the miller came, with jug in hand, and cried, " george, why such haste? “here take a draught, and let that soldier taste." "thanks for your bounty, sir;" the veteran said; threw down his wallet, and made bare his head; and straight began, tho' mix'd with doubts and fears, th' unprefac'd history of his latter years. "i cross'd th' atlantic with my comrades brave, "where sickness sweeps whole regiments to the grave, "yet i've escap'd; and bear my arms no more; 66 'my age discharg'd me when i came on shore. the miller's maid. 15 66 my wife, i've heard,"—and here he wip'd his eyes,— "in the cold corner of the church-yard lies. "by her consent it was i left my home; "employment fail'd, and poverty was come; "the bounty tempted me ;-she had it all: "we parted; and i've seen my betters fall. "yet, as i'm spar'd, though in this piteous case, "i'm trav'lling homeward to my native place; "though should i reach that dear remember'd spot "perhaps old granger will be quite forgot." all eyes beheld young george with wonder start: strong were the secret bodings of his heart; yet not indulg'd: for he with doubts survey'd by turns the stranger and the lovely maid. "had you no children ?" "yes, young man, i'd two: "a boy, if still he lives, as old as you; "yet not my own; but likely so to prove; "though but the pledge of an unlawful love : "i cherish'd him to hide a sister's shame: "he shar'd my best affections, and my name. "but why, young folks, should i detain you here? "go: and may blessings wait upon your cheer, "i too will travel on;-perhaps to find "the only treasure that i left behind. "such kindly thoughts my fainting hopes revive,— "phoebe, my cherub, art thou still alive ?" could nature hold!-could youthful love forbear! george clasp'd the wond'ring maid, and whisper'd 'there! 'you're mine for ever!-o, sustain the rest; and hush the tumult of your throbbing breast.' then to the soldier turn'd, with manly pride, and fondly led his long-intended bride. 'here, see your child; nor wish a sweeter flower ''tis george that speaks; thou'lt bless the happy hour!16 the miller's maid. leightor.skus 'nay, be compos'd; for all will yet be well though here our history's too long to tell.' a long-lost father found, the mystery clear'd, what mingled transports in her face appear'd the gazing veteran stood with hands uprais'd'art thou indeed my child! then, god be prais'd,' o'er his rough cheeks the tears profusely spread: such as fools say become not men to shed; past hours of bliss, regenerated charms, rose, when he felt his daughter in his arms: the miller's maid. 17 so tender was the scene, the generous dame wept, as she told of phoebe's virtuous fame, and the good host, with gestures passing strange, abstracted seem'd through fields of joy to range; rejoicing that his favour'd roof should prove virtue's asylum, and the nurse to love; rejoicing that to him the task was given, while his full soul was mounting up to heav'n. but now, as from a dream his reason sprung, and heartiest greetings dwelt upon his tongue : the sounding kitchen floor at once receiv'd the happy group, with all their fears reliev'd; "soldier," he cried, "you've found your girl 'tis true: "but suffer me to be a father too; "for, never child that blest a parent's knee, "could show more duty than she has to me. 65 strangely she came; affliction chas'd her hard: "i pitied her; and this is my reward! "here sit you down; recount your perils o'er. "henceforth be this your home; and grieve no more : 66 plenty hath shower'd her dewdrops on my head; "care visits not my table, nor my bed. "my heart's warm wishes thus then i fulfil: cc my dame and i can live without the mill. "george, take the whole; i'll near you still remain, "to guide your judgment in the choice of grain: "in virtue's path commence your prosperous life: "and from my hand receive your worthy wife. "rise, phœbe; rise, my girl!-kneel not to me; "but to that pow'r who interpos'd for thee. "integrity hath mark'd your favourite youth; "fair budding honour, constancy, and truth: "go to his arms;-and may unsullied joys "bring smiling round me, rosy girls and boys! 18 the miller's maid. "i'll love them for thy sake. and may your day's "glide on, as glides the stream that never stays : "bright as whose shingled bed, till life's decline, may all your worth, and all your virtues shine!" 66 end of the miller's maid. the hermit. turn gentle hermit of the dale, and guide my lonely way, to where yon taper cheers the vale with hospitable ray. c for here forlorn and lost i tread, with fainting steps and slow; where wilds, immeasurably spread, seem length'ning as i go.' forbear, my son!' the hermit cries, to tempt the dangerous gloom; for yonder faithless phantom flies to lure thee to thy doom. 'here to the houseless child of want my door is open still; and though my portion is but scant, i give it with good will. then turn to-night, and freely share whate'er my cell bestows; my rushy couch and frugal fare, my blessing and repose. 'no flocks that range the valley free, to slaughter i condemn : taught by that power that pities me, i learn to pity them: 20 the hermit. • but from the mountain's grassy side, a guiltless feast i bring; a scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, and water from the spring. 6 then, pilgrim, turn; thy cares forego; all earth-born cares are wrong: man wants but little here below, nor wants that little long.' soft as the dew from heaven descends, his gentle accents fell: the modest stranger lowly bends, and follows to the cell. far in a wilderness obscure, the lonely mansion lay; a refuge to the neighb'ring poor, and strangers led astray. no stores beneath its humble thatch requir❜d a master's care; the wicket op'ning with a latch, receiv'd the harmless pair. and now when busy crowds retire to take their evening rest, the hermit trimm'd his little fire, and cheer'd his pensive guest: and spread his vegetable store, and gaily press'd and smil'd; and, skill'd in legendary lore, the ling'ring hours bequil'd. the hermit. 21 around in sympathetic mirth its tricks the kitten tries ; the cricket chirrips in the hearth; the crackling faggot flies. but nothing could a charm impart, to soothe the stranger's woe; for grief was heavy at his heart, and tears began to flow. his rising care the hermit spied, with answering care opprest: and, 'whence, unhappy youth,' he cried, 'the sorrows of thy breast? from better habitations spurn'd, reluctant dost thou rove; or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, or unregarded love? 'alas! the joys that fortune brings are trifling and decay; and those who prize the paltry things, more trifling still than they. and what is friendship but a name, a charm that lulls to sleep; a shade that follows wealth or fame, and leaves the wretch to weep. and love is still an emptier sound, the modern fair-one's jest ; on earth unseen, or only found to warm the turtle's nest. 22 the hermit. 'for shame, fond youth! thy sorrows hush, and spurn the sex,' he said: but while he spoke, a rising blush his love-lorn guest betray'd. surpris'd he sees new beauties rise, swift mantling to the view; like colours o'er the morning skies, as bright, as transient too. the bashful look, the rising breast, alternate spread alarms: the lovely stranger stands confest, a maid in all her charms. and, ah, forgive a stranger rude, a wretch forlorn,' she cried; "whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude where heaven and you reside. "but let a maid thy pity share, whom love has taught to stray; who seeks for rest, but finds despair companion of her way. 'my father liv'd beside the tyne, a wealthy lord was he; and all his wealth was mark'd as mine, he had but only me. 'to win me from his tender arms, unnumber'd suitors came: who prais'd me for imputed charms, and felt or feign'd a flame. the hermit. 23 each hour a mercenary crowd with richest proffers strove; among the rest young edwin bow'd, but never talk'd of love. 'in humble, simplest habit clad, no wealth or power had he; wisdom and worth were all he had, but these were all to me. the blossoms opening to the day, the dews of heaven refin❜d, could nought of purity display, to emulate his mind. 'the dew, the blossoms of the tree, with charms inconstant shine; their charms were his, but, woe to me, their constancy was mine. 'for still i tried each fickle heart, importunate and vain ; and, while his passion touch'd my heart, i triumph'd in his pain. till, quite dejected with my scorn, he left me to my pride; and sought a solitude forlorn, in secret where he died. but mine the sorrow, mine the fault, and well my life shall pay; i'll seek the solitude he sought, and stretch me where he lay. 24 the hermit. and there forlorn, despairing hid, i'll lay me down and die ; 'twas so for me that edwin did, and so for him will i.' 'forbid it heaven!' the hermit cried, and clasp'd her to his breast: the wondering fair-one turn'd to chide: 'twas edwin's self that prest! turn, angelena, ever dear, my charmer, turn to see thy own, thy long-lost edwin here, restor❜d to love and thee. 6 thus let me hold thee to my heart, and every care resign: and shall we never, never part, my life my all that's mine ? 'no, never from this hour to part, we'll live and love so true; the sigh that rends thy constant heart, shall break thy edwin's too.' the end. printed by george, c leighton, 4. red lion square. university of michigan bound oct 19191 3 9015 06352 4121 univ. of mich 天天 ​the miller's maid 38 --4-----{ f l t §"gół5"čič%"'65%" | 2. t * ! $. a w w 4 * •, -. . . *. * • : :x § & $ * --> -: w --> -, 4 3. v., ** .” (3; " 3. r r * ** r * * , * 3. .*.* -** v. :* º & * *: ...wº3. .* ..w. * * a r 4. •. #, * * * *** • *.* & “ . . #. w r * 2. t *. * * : w t * . * * . , * *** * r | ... 2. * : : * , .*.*, * * 4. * h --> e * -t * *, 3. **. t *a. : v.º. 7. • , .”x. w “, 1. * * * w t ,' ' . ; , * * * * +, iv. x a’’ ‘, ** t * f 2. * : j s * “..." 's' g r : ... * * s a *.. as v. k * *~ 2. º -?r z a "... * * * * y ** * -* * t º r w 4 .# * .** * rr w + º t # 3. * r º (ſ sº !}}{{ \ :|ſae \ \ }{ § 1} ņ * ''№ !\№ }}}}} ， $2"? robert the hermit. wo f. life and adventures. 444 • w , y'ſ \ of ' 3 robert, . the 4. hermit of massachusetts, who has lived 14 years in a cave, secluded from human society. compris ing, an account of his birth, parentage, sufferings, and . . providential escape from unjust and cruel bond. . . age in early iife—and his reasons for be. . . . coming a recluse. taken from his own mouth, and published for his benefit. mºsºm providence: printed for h. trunnvil-1829. price 12 1-2 cents. district of rhode island, to wit; be it remembered, that on the thirty.first day of january, one thousand eight hundred and twenty mine, and in the fifty third year of the independence of the united states of america, henry trumbull of said district, deposited in this office the title of a book, the right whereof he claims as author, in the following words, to wit.—“ life and adventures of robert the hermit of massachusets, who has lived fourteen years in a cave secluded from human society, comprising an account of his birth, parentage, sufferings and providential eecape from unjust and eruel bondage in early life : and his reasons for becoming a recluse. taken from his own mouth and published for his. benefit in conformity to an act of congress of the unitcd states, entitled “ an act for the encouragement of learning by securing the copies of maps, charts and books to the authors and proprietors of such copies during the time therein mentioned, and also to an act entitled “an act supplementary to an act entitled an act for the encouragement of learning by securing the copies of maps, charts and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies during the time therein mentioned, and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing,engraving and etching historical and other prints. witness, benjamin cowell, clerk of the rhode island district. £kſ . g. if 7&seats fºod, º 1 3 3 — i ? 32life and adventures * of robert the hermit, # it is a fact well known to almost every inhabitant of rhode island, that on the summit of a hill, a few rods east of seekonk river, (within the state of massachusetts) and about two miles from providence bridge, has dwelt for many years, a solitary hermit, bearing the name of robert— and, although familiarly known to many of the inhabitants of providence, and its vicinity, for his tº s peaceable and agreeable disposition, yet, his history, º as regards his birth, the cause of his seclusion, &c. > has until very recently remained a profound se. sº cret! having carefully avoided answering any ques<\ tions relative thereto, of hundreds, who, prompted by curiosity, have been from time to time induced to visit his cave, or cell—and although very peaceable and civil in his deportment, he has (with the exception of his occasional excursions to providence, and the adjacent villages, to obtain food and necessaries) remained almost impervious in his retreat. many and various have been the conjectures of 6 life and adventures of the most curious and inquisitive of the rhode islanders, (in the neighborhood of whose state he lives,) respecting this “ strange and mysterious being,” and while some few have unjustly harboured an opinion that he had perpetrated crimes of a henious nature, for which he was doing penance—others, have avowed in opposition to this, that his whole deportment was so perfectly calm, and his countenance so serene, that it was impossible that so fair a tenant, could harbour a soul of darkness and criminality. the first information which the writer ever received of this extraordinary character, was through the medium of one of the providence prints, centaining some well written remarks relating to him, and which we have thought proper here to republish in confirmation of the fact stated, that, until very recently “robert the hermit” has uniformly refused to gratify the curiosity of any of his visitors, as pegarded his nativity, history, &c. from the literary cadet of june 1826. " “beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote and inaccessible by shepherds,trod, in a deep cave, dug by no mortals hands an hermit lived,—a melancholy man who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains: austere and lonely-cruel to himself they did report him—the cold earth his bed, water his drink, his food the shepherd’s alms. i went to see him, and my heart was touched with reverence and with pity. mild he spake, and entering on discourse, such stories told, as made me oft re-visit his sad cell.” homes' nouglas. “on the declivity of a hill, which overlooks the pellucid waters of the seekonk river, in a rude cell, resides a hermit, whose history is as inexplicable as his affected account of himself is mysterious. his name is robert, but to what country he belongs, or what are the inducements which have led him to robert the hermit. 7 lead the solitary life of a hermit, no one knows, and the fact puts conjecture at a hazard. certain it is, however, that he is not a native of new-england; and that he is not by education or by principle attached to our habits or our institutions the whole course of his life, since he has been with us, has abundantly proven. it is now about eighteen years, since he first visited us, and took up his abode in a thick pine grove, which threw its luxurious foliage over the brow of arnold’s hill, and from that day to this, he has carefully avoided answeriug any questions, which might lead to a discovery of his history—or gratify the curiosity of the inquirer. months, years and days pass by him unnoticed and unregårded, and it is only on extraordinary oceasions, that he emerges from the confines of his solatary hermitage. in the spring he sometimes occupies himself in laborious employment—such as attending gardens for the neighborhood; but so regardless is he of the things of this world, that he cares not whether his labors are rewarded or not, by those who receive the benefits of them. unused to the luxuries or extravagancies of life, he contents himself with the simplest food and such as the bountiful hand of nature supplies. the meats and intemperate liquids of social life, are unknown to him. “but from the mountain's grassy side a guiltless feast he brings i a scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, and water from the springs.” in summer, he cultivates a small lot of land, which he is kindly allowed to possess, by the hon. mr. burges, the owner of the estate on which the hermitage is located ; but he rarely allows the plºnts tº 'arrive at maturity, before he plucks them from the 8 i,ife and adventures of earth, and throws them to the cattle that feed around his lonely mansion. what should induce him to thus destroy what he has often been at great labor to cultivate, he assigns no reason, nor can any one form a reasonable conjecture. his cell is decorated with various shells and bones, and is scarcely capable of accommodating himself alone; and the furniture with which it is supplied, consists of a stool, an oaken bench, on which he reposes, and two or three pieces of broken delf ware. it is as gloomy, as darkness and solitude can make it, and appears to be admirably fitted for a misanthrope and a recluse. in winter he seldom emerges from his solitary mansion, but silently and patiently waits for time te introduce the vernal spring, and to bring about that joyful season, when once more he can rove around the adjacent woodlands and meads. the rays of the sun never enter the portals of his domicil, and at mid-day it assumes all the darkness of midnight. content with his situation, and at peace with all, he quietly looks forward for the arrival of that day, when he shall “bid the waking world good night,” and find in countries unexplored, that happiness which life has denied him. his cell is surrounded by a thick set hedge, wrought of wild briars and hemlock, and displays much ingenuity and taste lt is in a most romantic situation, some distance from any human habitation, and not often annoyed by the gaze of the curious, or the mischievous visits of the hoys, for they all love poor robert. it is well worth the trouble of those who are fond of the curious, and are pleased with noticing the excentricities of frail mortality to visit the abode of “robert the hermit.” [6<=the preceding are the remarks alluded to, contained in the cadet of 1826, and which we doubt not were from the able pen of the editor of that paper, at the date mentioned. } robert the hermit. 9 it was not until within a few weeks that the writer was induced to visit the lonely and solitary retreat of “poor robert,”—by the urgent solicitations of a few who had long known him, and not without hopes that he might possibly be prevailed upon to disclose some of the most extraordinary incidents of his life, for publication, if assured that he was to reap a benefit thereby (for great indeed are his present wants,) the writer was induced to visit him for this purpose. it was about 11 o'clock in the forenoon when i reached his habitation, and on removing a small rough board supported by a leathern hinge, and which closed the only passage to his dark and gloomy cell, i discovered him in about the centre, seated on a wooden block, in an apparent rev€il 8. i accosted him in a friendly manner, and he with much civility, bid me welcome ; and as if willing to permit me to satisfy that curiosity which he no doubt supposed had alone prompted me (as it had hundreds of others) to visit him, he with much apparent good humour invited me to enter, and accept of his seat, when, as he observed, i would have a better opportunity to inspect the internal part of his lonely habitation—an invitation of which i accepted—and, af. ter making known to him the true object of my visit, and with assurances that it was produced by the most urgent solicitations of one or more of his friends, who had expressed, and i believed sincerely felt an interest in his welfare, so far at least as to render his situation more comfortable—i begged that he would gratify me with a brief narration of his life, and inform me what powerful cause had arose to induce him to quit the pleasures of society, and consign his days to voluntary seclusions —to which, after a considerable pause, and with his eyes fixed steadfast upon me, as if to º himself that what i had stated 10 life and adventures of was spoken in sincerity, he made the following reply—“that is a relation with which i have declined indulging any one, as the enquiry seemed merely made to gratify idle curiosity ; but, as you speak as if you could feel sympathy for distress, i will briefly gratify your request:“i was born in princeton (new jersey) in the year 1769 or ’70, and was born, as was my mother (who was of african descent,) in bondage ; although my father, as has been represented to me, was not only a pure white blooded englishman, but a gentleman of considerable eminence—i had no brothers and but one sister, who was three years older than myself; but of her, as of my mother, i have but a faint recollection, as i in my infancy was included in the patrimonial portion of my master's oldest daughter, on her marriage to a mr. john voor.his, by birth a german. when but four years of age i was conveyed by my master to georgetown (district of columbia,) to which place he removed with his family, and never have i since been enabled to learn the fate of my poor mother or sister, whom, it is not very improbable, death has long since removed from their unjust servitude. at the age of 14 or 15, my master apprenticed me to a shoemaker, to obtain if possible a knowledge of the art; but making but little proficiency, he again took me upon his plantation, where my time was mostly employed in gardening until about the age of nineteen. it was at that age, that i beoame first acquainted with an agreeable young female (an orphan) by the name of alley pennington, a native of cecil county, (maryland)—she first expressed her attachment for me, and a willingness to become my partner for life, provided i could obtain my freedom, nor can i say that i felt less attachmaent for one with whom i was confident . * robert the hermit. 11 i could spend my life agreeably—she was indeed the object of my first love, a love which can only be extinguished with my existence; and never at any period previous was the yoke of bondage more goarding, or did i feel so sensibly the want of that freedom, the deprivation of which, was now the only barrier to my much wished for union with one i so sincerely and tenderly loved. as my master had uniformly expressed an unwillingness to grant toe my freedom, on any other terms than receiving a suitable compensation therefor, my only alternative now to obtain it, was to apply to one with whom i was most intimately acquainted, and to whom i thought i could safely communicate my desires, as he had in more than one instance, expressed much regard for me, and a willingness to serve me—to him i proposed that he should pay to my master the stipulated sum (fifty pounds.) demanded for my freedom, and that the bill of sale should remain in his hands, until such time as i should be enabled by the fruits of my industry to repay him, principal and interest, and allow him a suitable compensation therefor for his trouble—to this proposal he very readily assented, and not only expressed his willingness but his approbation of my much desired union with my beloved alley. my request was immediately complied with, the fifty pounds were paid by my good friend (as i then supposed him.) to whom i was by bond transfered as his lawful property, and by whom i was given to understand that i might then seek business for myself, and turn my attention to any that i should conceive the most profitable, and consider myself under no other bondage than as a debtor, to the amount paid for my freedom. the name of one who had manifested so much what i supposed real and disintërested friendship for nee, but who finally proved 12 life and adventures of the author of almost all the wretchedness, which £ have since endured, ought not to be concealed—it was james bevens. * feeling myself now almost a free man, i did not, as may be supposed, suffer many hours to elapse before i hastened to bear the joyful tidings of my good fortune, to one, who, as i had anticipated, received it with unfeigned demonstrations of joy ; and who, so far from exhibiting an unwillingness to fullfill her promise, yielded her hand without reluctance or distrust—we were married, lawfully married, and more than three years of domestic felicity passed away, without a misfortune to ruffle our repose—in the course of which the almighty had not only been pleased to bless us with two children, but myself with so great a share of good health, as to have enabled me by my industry. to earn and refund a very considerable portion of the fifty pounds paid by bevins for my freedom—of these sums i had neither made any charge, or teok any receipts—in this i was brought to see my error, but, alas ! too late. x bevins, as i have stated, was a man in whom p had placed implicit confidence, and indeed until the period mentioned, supposed him, as regarded myself, incapable of any thing dishonorable, much less of being the author of as great an act of cruelty and injustice, as ever was recorded in the catalogue of human depravity . it was late one evening, an evening never to be forgotten by me, while sitting in the midst of my innocent and beloved family, amused with the prattle of my eldest child, and enjoying all the felicity which conjugal love and parental affection are productive of, that this monster in human shape (bevins) accompanied by another, entered, seized and pinioned me ! and gave me to understand that i was intendrobert the hermit. 13 ed for a southern market !! it is impossible for me to describe my feelings or those of my poor distracted wife, at that moment it was in vain that i intreated, in vain that i represented to bevins that he had already received a very great proportion of the sum paid for my freedom—to which the ruffian made no other reply, than pronouncing me a liar, dragged me like a felon from my peaceable domicil--from my beloved family—whose shrieks would have pierced the heart of any one but a wretch like himself! in the most secret manner, at eleven at night, i was hurried on board of a schooner, where additional miseries awaited me!—for fear of an escape, i found that irons were to be substituted for the ropes with which they had bound me ! and white a person was employed in riveting them, i improved the opportunity, which i thought probably would be the last, to address the author of my miseries, in words nearly as follows:– “are these the proofs, master bevins, of the friendship which you have professed for me! tell me i pray you, what have i done to merit such barbarous treatment from your hands 2 nothing, no nothing! i have nothing wherewith to reproach myself but my own credulity p —to this he made no reply ; shackled and handcuffed, i was precipitated into the hold of the schooner, by the motion of which i perceived was soon under way, and 'bearing me i knew not whither so far from feeling an inclination to sleep, it was “to me a night of inconceivable wretchedness i could here nothing but the 'shrieks of my poor disconsolate wife, and the moans of her helpless children indeed such was my imagination—alas ! he alone can have a just gonception of my feelings who may have been plaged in a similar situation, if such a person can be found on earth a in three days (during which no other food was 14 life an id adventures of allowed me but a few pounds of mouldy bread) the schooner reached the port of her destination— charleston, s. c.—and from which, without being relieved of my irons, i was conveyed to and lodged in prison, where i was suffered to remain in solitude five days—from thence i was conducted to a place expressly appropriated to the sale of human beings where, like the meanest animal of the brute creation, i was disposed of at public auction to the highest bidder w. * resolved on my liberty, and that i would not let pass unimproved the first opportunity that should present, to regain it, i did not remain with my purchaser long enough to learn his name or the price paid for the ; who, to win my affections, and the better to reconcile me to my situation, professed much regard for mé and made many fair promises, (not one of which it is probable he ever intended to perform,) and the better to deceive me, voluntarily granted me the indulgence to walk a few hours unguarded and unattended about the city ; supposing, no doubt, that it would be impossible for me to regain my liberty, as no coloured person was allºwed to proceed beyond the limits of the city, without a well authenticated pass—of this l was not ignorant, and ther fore sought other and less dangerous means to escape, for i felt that death in its worst forms would be far preferable to slavery. i carlessly strolled about the wharves among the shipping, where i at length was so fortunate as to find a slomp bound direct to philadelphia—she had completed her lading, her sails were oosed and every preparation made to haul immediately into the stream-watching a favourable opportunity, while the hands were employed forward, i unperceived ascended and secreted myselſ between two casks in the hold—all beneath was soon well secured by the robert the hermit. 15 hatches, and i had the satisfaction to find myself in łe is than three hours, frt in the time hat i was purchased like a bale of goods at auction, stowed strugly away, and with fur prospects of regaining my liberty it was at that monent that a sect et joy diffused itself through my soul—l out.d unºxpected consolation and fortitude, produced by a firm persuasion that by the assistance of a divine providence, i should accomplish my delive rance. early in the morning of the fourth day frºm that of our departure, we were safely moored along side of one of the philadelphia wharves. during the passage of three days and one night, my only nourishment had been about one gill of spirits, contained in a small viol, with which i occasionally moistened my lips, for on the third day my thirst had become intolerable. i was as fortunate in leaving the sloop unsuspected or undiscovered, as i had been in secreting myself on board of her, and as soon as 'safely on shore, my first object was to procure lodgings and something to satisfy the cravings of nature, at a boarding house for seamen. representing myself as belonging to a coaster, i was not suspected as any other than a free man. as i had heard much of the hospitality of the quakers (or friends,) and as a class who were the zealous advocates for the emancipation of their fellow beings in bondage, to one of them, on the very day of my arrival, i made my situation known, concealing nothing ; and begged that he would interest himself so far in my behalf as to advise me what i had best do, to secure my person from further arrest by unjust claimants, and to restore to me my bereaved and afflicted family. the good man listened with much apparent attention to my story, and seemed somewhat affected thereby, and so far from exhibiting any disposition 16 life and adventures-of to discredit any part of it, presented me with half a crown, and requested me to call on him in the forenoon of the next day, by which time (as he said) he would have an opportunity to consult some of his brethren, by whom he thought steps would be taken to redress my wrongs—nor have i any reason to be iieve that he promised more than he intended to perform, and i believe that by these good people i should have been effectually freed from the shackles of slavery, had not another melancholly instance of adverse fortune, placed me in a situation not to comply with his request. returning to my lodgings in the evening, i was accused (jocosly, as i at first supposed) by the intmates of the house, of being a runaway slave still however persisting in my former story, that i was free and belonged to a coaster, but being unable to reply satisfactorily to their enquiries, as to the name and place of destination of the vessel, i was committed to prison and advertized as a suspected runaway. . . " by what means my pretended master obtained information of my situation, i could never learn, for after nine days close confinement in prison (during which i was not permitted to communicate with any one but the goaler), i was once more strongly ironed and delivered over to the charge of the captain of a charleston packet—to which port as it proved she was bound direct. it will not be necessary, to inform you, that my treatment was no better than what i had received on my late passage from maryland -nor do i know that i could have reasonably expected any better, from those who probably considered coloured people as free from feelings as understandings. as soon as we reached charleston, i was conducted to and delivered over to my reputed master, who had however in my absence, as it appeared, become somewhat sick of his purchase, for the robert the hermit. 17 next day i was with two or three others similarly situated, exposed to sale at public auction. the person by whom i was next purchased, was a dr. peter fersue, a man of considerable wealth, and who, had it not been obtained by the toils of his fellow creatures in bondage, might have passed for one not entirely devoid of humanity ; for i must say, in jnstice to him, that it was remarked that those who were held in bondage by him, were treated with less severity than those possessed by some of his neighbors. perceiving that i was not a little dissatisfied with my situation, and that i possessed a partial knowledge of letters (which i had acquired previous to my marriage) through fear probably that i might instill into the minds of some of my fellow slaves, principles, which might ultimately prove to his disadvantage, i was selected as a house servant, and consequently exempted from many of the privations to which the other slaves were exposed—yet, i became no more reconciled to bay situation, nor felt any degree of attachment for him, as i could never harbour a belief but that humwn beings, whatever might be their complexion, were all ereated equally free ; and that it was in direct contradiction to the will of the supreme being, that one portion of his creatures should be held in bondage by another, for no other fault than a difference of complexion —and, i must confess, that my bosom could not but swell with indignation, when placed in a situation to witness the severity with which many of my fellow companions in bondage, at the south, were treated—worn out by constant fatigue, clad in rags, branded with lashes, and otherways treated more like brutes than human beings freedom, the gift of heaven, was too highly prized by me, to permit any thing of less import tance to occupy my mind—but, great as were my ! 18 life and adventures of desires to enjoy it, with him by whom i was wrongfully claimed, i spent eighteen months in servitude, before an opportunity presented to obtain it. the means by which i was finally enabled to effect my escape, were very similar to those which i had practiced in my last attempt—i succeeded in secreting myself in the hold of a brig ready laden, and bound direct to boston (massachusetts,) and without an opportunity to provide myself with a drop of water, or a morsel of food of any kind; on which to subsist during the passage. } although the place of my concealment afforded nothing better on which to repose than a water cask, yet i found my birth not so uncomfortable as one would naturally imagine, and i was enabled to endure the calls of hunger and thirst, until the close of the fifth day from that of our departure, when the latter became too oppressive to be longer endured—had i then possessed the wealth of the indias, it appeared to me, that i should have made. a willing exchange for a draught of sweet water not however until nearly deprived of my senses, did i feel willing to make my situation known to those on board—on the reflection, that should it even cost me my life, that an instantanious death would be preferable to a lingering one, i seized a fragment of a hoop, with which i crawled to and commenced thumping upon a beam near the hatchway, at the same time hallooing as loud as the strength of my lungs would admit of soon l was heard by the hands on deck, and while some broke out in exclamations of wonder and surprize, others ran affrighted to the cabin, to proclaim to the captain the fact that “the brig was most certainly haunted, and had become the habitation of bodiless spirits, as one or more were at that moment crying out lamentably in the hold !” --bodiless spirits they no doubt concluded they must # robert the hermit. 19 for the hatches being so well secured with a tarpolin, none other, as they supposed, could have obtained access. the captain less superstitiously inclined, ordered the hatches to be immediately raised, but so great was the terrour of the sailors, that it was sometime before any could be found of sufficient courage to ebey. º the hatches were no sooner removed than i presented myself to their view, trembling through fear, pale as death, and with hardly strength sufficient to support myself!—my appearance was indeed such as almost to confirm the superstitious opinion of the sailors, that the brig must certainly be haunted, for in me they beheld, as they supposed, nought but an apparition : the ghost, probably, of some unfortunate shipmate, who on a former voyage for some trifling offence, had been privately and wickedly preeipitated from the brig's deck into the ocean l—such indeed is the weakness and superstition peculiar to many of that class of people, who follow the seas for a livelihood. . those on board became however a little less intimidated, when i assured them that i intended them mo harm, and was ro other than one of the most unfortuaate and miserable of human beings, who had sought that means to escape from unjust and cruel bondage and then briefly related to them, at what time and in what manner l succeeded in secreting myself unnoticed in the brig's hold ; where it was my intention to have remained, if possible, until her arrival at the port of her destination—and concluded with begging them for mercy's sake, to grant me a bucket of fresh water for, indeed, such was my thirst, that a less quantity it appeared to me would have proved insufficient to have allayed it. the captain (who very fortunately for me, prov: 20 life and adventures of ed to be a quaker, and with all the tender feeling peguliar to that excellent class of people) gave oidºrs to his men to treat me with kindness, and to assist me on deck, for i had now become so weak and emaciated by long fasting, that i was scarcely able to help myself. “ thy wants shall be supplied (said the good captain, addressing himself to me) but such is thy present weakness, that thee must eat and diluk spºil ingly, or it may be worse for thee l’”—-this man was ruly in practice, as well as by profession, a ch. 1stian—for had he been my father he could not have treated me with more tenderness and comp;ission—he would allow me but a single gill of water at a draugh, and that quantity but twice in an hour, although five times that quantity would not have satisfied me—and the food allowed me was apportioned accordingly. in two days after we reached boston, where was landed, with permission of the captain to proceed whither i pleased ; not however until he had imparted to me some friendly advice, to be cautious with whom i associated on shore, and as i valued my liberty, not to frequent such parts of the town as was inhabited by the most vicious and abandoned of the human race—with which he presented me with some change, and bid me farewell, and never to my knowledge have i since had the happiness to meet with this good man ; who, long 'ere this has probably been numbered with the just, and if so, is now i trust reaping the reward of his good deeds in another and better world unacquainted then with the laws of new-england, and fearful that it might not be safe to tarry a long while in a place so populous as boston before sunset of the same dav i crossed the bridge leading to charlestown, with an intention of proceeding as far east as portland—l tarried that night at lynn, and & robert the hermit, 2í ſº at about 10 o'clock the next morning reached salem, where 1 concluded to remain until the morning ensuing. i applied to a boarding house for seamen for some refreshment, and bespoke lodgings for the night, and in the course of the day met with a gentleman who was in quest of hands for a voyage to 1ndia. as my small funds were now nearly exhausted, i thought this not only a favourable opportunity to replenish them, but to place myself beyond the reach of my pretended masters of the south, should they extend their pursuit of me as far east as massachusetts— to him i therefore offered myself for the voyage, and was accepted. . it cannot be expected that i can recollect, or is it necessary for me to state every minute circumstance that attended me on this voyage, and i will only remark, that although a fresh hand, and totally unacquainted with seamanship, i succeeded in the performance of my duty beyond my expectations, and i believe not only to the satisfaction of my officers, but gained the esteem and good will of my shipmates on board—in proof of this, there is one circumstance that h ought not fail to mention—when about to cross the line, where sailors generally calculate to receive a formal visit from neptune, the aged monarch of the deep made his appearance as usual, and with little ceremony introduced himself on board, and while others (who had never before been honored with an interview with his majesty) were compelled to yield to the unpleasant severities of a custom prescribed by him, i was, by the intercession of my shipmates, so fortunate as to escaſ) e. . . "ier an absence of about fourteen months, the ship returned in safety to salem, and with the loss i believe of but one man—when discharged, my wages were punctually º me, which amounted to a 22 life and adventures of sum not only much greater than what i had ever before been in possession of, but a sum much more considerable than what ſ once ever expected to possess —there was indeed as i then thought, but one thing wanting to complete my happiness (to wit.) the presence of my poor unfortunate family —with this money, thought i, how comfortable could i render the situation of my beloved alley, and my not less beloved children , who, while i at this moment have enough and to spare, it is not improbable, if living, are enduring all the miseries that poverty and oppression are productive of —reflections like these were sufficient to depress my spirits, and to deprive me of that enjoyment, which sailors so abundantly participate in on their return fºpm a long voyage to their favorite port. i remained on shore but a short time when i shipped for a second voyage to lndia—and, would here briefly state, without entering into particulars, that from this period for nine years, i continued to sail as a common hand from the ports of boston and sas lem, to different ports in europe and india—in which time i never once suffered shipwreck, or met with any very serious disaster -—it is not improbable that there are at the present day, some of my old commanders and shipmates still living in or about boston' and salem, who, may have some recollection of “ robert.” after my return from my first voyage, i became acquainted with and commenced board in the family of a respectable elderly widow woman, who afforded decent fare, although in very moderate circumstances-—the family was composed of the old lady and three daughters, of the ages of eighteen, twenty-one and twenty-five--it was their house that i continued to “ hail” as my home, whenever i returned, to port, and so long as i remained on shore ; l & robert the hermit. , 23 and, almost destitute as i was at this time of other friends, it is not, as i deem it, very extraordinary that i should feel more than a common degree of regard and attachment for the family, and that that attachment should finally lead to a greater intimacy —-this was indeed the case, and on my return from my second voyage, i entered into the bands of matrimony with one of the daughters-—the marriage ceremonies were performed by a justice putnam, of danvers. here, in justification of myself, for having consented to become the husband of another, when there was a possibility of my first wife being alive, i must state that there were two great inducements—one, that i was strongly urged so to do by those who undoubtedly had authority to use compulsory means had i declined---and the other, that i had now given up all hopes and expectations of ever meeting again in this world, her, who was the first object of my pledged love. * the day after my marriage i rented a small tenament, which i gave my mother and her daughters liberty to occupy with my wife in my absence, for in three days after i was once more on my favorite element, bound to india—previous to my departure however i made ample provision for the support of my family, and left a request with the gentleman in, whose employ i sailed, to allow them a portion of my wages, in my absence, which was strictly complied with. the voyage proved as usual, prosperous, and on my rettin was received by my friends, not only with the most lively demonstrations of joy, but with the tidings that i had in my absence, for the third time, become a father. i remained on shore about three months, and such was the harmony that prevailed between us, and such the kind treatment that i received from my companion, that, it would have been cruel to 24, life and adventures of have doubted her love and affection for me. at the expiration of the three months, i once more with considerable reluctance bid her adieu, and shipped on board the herald, capt. derby, bound from boston to canton ;-on this voyage i was absent but about eighteen months, from the time that we left boston, which was our port of entry on our return. as soon as discharged i hastened to salem with the fruits of my toil, and with fond expectations of being welcomed once more to my peaceful home, by one who had so repeatedly expressed her love and regard for me—but, alas, sadly was i disappointed —for true it is, that she who i had supposed almost an angel in disposition, had in my absence been transformed to a demon cold indeed was the reception that i met with---so far from expressing or manifesting the least degree of joy or satisfaction on the occasion (although i had been between one and two years absent) i was insultingly told by her tſat “if i had never returned she would have been the last to lament it !” the cause of this surprizing and unexpected alteration in one, whom, from the moment she became my wife, l had treated with so much regard and affection, i was never able to learn—although i did not and could not feel that ardent affection for her, as for one who was the object of my first love, yet my affection for my child was as great as that for " imy first born—for this i felt willing to make almost any sacrifice, could a reconciliation have been thereby effected ; but it could not, and a final seperation was the consequence. i continued in salem eight or ten months longer, supporting myself with the fruits of what i obtained by labour on board vessels, on the wharves, &c. and then, with light feet but with a heavy heart, started in quest of new friends and a new home, bending my course southerly. robert the hermit. 25 i made no longer tarry on the road than to obtain refreshments, until i reached providence (rhode island) where i made application for, and obtained employment for a few days; at the conclusion of which, i obtained a birth on board of one of the packets plying between providence and new-york, in which business i continued (with the exception of a part of the time that i was occasionally employed on shore,) eight or nine years—some few of the packet masters with whom i have sailed, and some for whom i occasionally wrought on shore, are still liv|ilgſ. ar • , feeling a strong inclination once more to visit the shores of the south, where i had not only been unjustly deprived of my liberty, but where i was inhumanly forced from a beloved wife and two darling children, i took passage (about fifteen years since) on board a sloop for baltimore, and from thence proceeded direct to georgetown. as twenty years had elapsed since 1 there left all that i held most dear in infe —and so great a change had time effected in my personal appearance, i felt little or no apprehension that i should be recognized or molested by any, if living, who once professed a claim to me. in this i was not mistaken, for indeed as regarded the town, inhabitants, &c. so great a change had the twenty years produced, that i walked the streets at mid-day unnoti ed and unknown. my old master (voorhis, and his wife had been some years dead, and the survivors of the family had removed to parts unknown— bevins, the wretch by whom i was unjustly deprived of my liberty, and thereby forever seperated from my unfortunate family, had a few years previous emigrated to the west—but, the principle object of my visit was not answered—of my wife and children i could obtain no satisfactory information—all that i could leara, was, º soon after my disappearance 26 life and adventures of their sufferings and deprivations became so great, tha' my poor wife in a fit of desparation, as was supposed, put an end to her existence, and that her helpless children did not long survive her l—this was enough yea more than enough, to fill to the brim the bitter cup of my afflictions !—afflictions which had more or less attended me through life —i then felt but little desire to live, as there was nothing then remaining to attach me to this world—and it was at that moment that i formed the determination to retire from it—to become a recluse, and mingle thereafter as little as possible with human society. t with this determination i returned direct to rhode island, and soon after selected a retired spot well suited to my purpose, being an extreme point of uninhabited land (fox point) situated about one mile south of providence bridge—there i built me a hut and dwelt peaceably therein for several years, and until annoyed and discommoded by the youth of the town, and by labourers employed in levelling the hill in the neighborhood of my dwelling—-i then applied to and obtained the consent of the gentleman (hon. tristam burgiss) to whom the land belongs, to build this hut, and permission to improve the spot of ground enclosed during my life—here in solitude i have dwelt more than six years once or twice a week (and sometimes oftener. i leave my recess, cross over the bridge into providence, converse a little with those with whom i have become acquainted, obtain a few necessaries, and return again well satisfied to my peaceable dwelling.” here robert concluded his narrative, and which the writer, with very little variation, recorded as he received it from his own lips—in dates, kobert may not have been perfectly correct, as he does not profess to be very positive as to his exact age—but, in robert the hermit. 2? every other particular, not a doubt remains on the mind of the writer but that robert (according to his best recollection) undeviatingly related facts as they occurred—the writer thinks that he may safely draw this conclusion, from the circumstance of having visited him three days successively, and that his replies to the most strict enquiries on the third day, agreed perfectly with the particulars of his narration on the first and second—and as he has heretofore manifested an unwillingness to disclose to any one the secret of his adventures, it is not probable that he formed and committed to memory a story with which to deceive the public, and in which there is not a word of truth—no, those who are best acquainted with “poor artless robert” know him incapable of such a piece of deception. rober t, is apparently about 60 years of age, a little short of six feet in height, inclined to corpulency, his features perfectly regular, and of a complexion but a shade or two darker than that of many who profess to be and pass for whites—in his early years he states that it was much more fair, but of late years having been so much exposed to the smoke of his cell, has become mnch changed—the lower part of his face is covered with a thick and curly beard, of a jet black, and of uncommon length—his garments (or many of them) are of his own manufacture, and whenever a breach appears in any one article, it is either closed by him in a bungling manner, with needle and twine, or a patch is applied without regard to the quality or colour of the cloth. the tattered surtout coat commonly worn by him, in his excursions abroad in winter, in imitation of the military, he has fancifully faced with red, in which (with a cap of the same cloth and with his long beard) it would not be very surprizing if he should sometimes be viewed by strangers, as some 2s life and adventures of distinguished embassador from the court of tombuctoo, or one of the loyal subjects of the grand seniour, clad in the military costume of his country.—[0: see frontispiece.] robert is remarkaby abstemious and otherwise correct in his habits—never known to be guilty of profanity—is cuvil and agreeable in his manners, polite and condescending to all who visit him, and alway willing to gratify the curiosity of such as feel disposed to inspect the internal part of his cell— and ever grateful for presents made him. he appears perfectly reconciled to and satisfied with his retired situation, and on the writer's expressing some surprize that he should prefer a secluded life, to that of the enjoyment of society, he observed that he had been too long the subject of the flowns and persecutions of a portion of his fellow beings, to derive that pleasure and satisfaction from their society which the less unfortunate might naturally enjoy. the walls of his cave or cell, are constructed principally of round stones, of inconsiderable size rudely thrown together, and externally have as much the appearance of being the produce of nature as of art; and although they form a square of thirty or forty feet in circumference, yet are so thick and massy, as to enclose only a single apartment of not sufficient size to contain more than two or three persons at a time, and so low as not to admit of their standing erect, and indeed is in every respect of much less comfortable construction than many of our pig pens !—about the centre there is a fire place rudely formed, from which proceeds a flue in form of a chimney—and at the extreme end of his cell robert has constructed a birth or bunk, in which, filled with rags and straw, he reposes at night— beside the fire-place stands a block, detached from the butt of an oak, which not only serves him for robert the h prmit, 29 a seat and table, but being partly hollow, inverted, for a morter, in which he occasionally pounds his corn, and of which when sufficiently refined, he manufactures his bread—in cooking utensils robert is quite deficient– the one half of an iron pot is the only article made use of by him, in which he prepares his food — a small piece of iron hoop serves him for a knife, and a few articles of damaged delf ware, and an oſd sea bucket, for the conveyance of water from a neighboring spring are nearly the whole contents of his wretched hovel !--the materials of which the roof is constructed, are similar to those which compose the walls of his cell ; and although of many tons in weight, is aliogether supported by a few slender half decayed props, on the strength of which depends the life of poor robert, should they fail, without the possibility of an escape, his hut would instantaniously become his grave — it is to obtain for him a more safe and convenient habitation, that has induced the author to issue this work, a great proportion of the profits of which will be devoted to that purpose. to his gloomy cell there are but one or two apertures or loopholes, for the admission of light, which in winter are completely closed (as is every crack and crevice) with seaweed—this renders the apartment still more dark and gloomy than it otherwise. would be, as when the door is closed to expel the cold, robert remains within, day and night, in almost total darkness. in summer robert employs a considerable portion of his time in the cultivation of a small spot of ground, contiguous to his hut, of 7 or 8 rods square, which he has inclosed in an ingenious manner with small twigs and interwoven branches of hemlock and juniper—the soil is so extremely barren and unproductive, that it seldom produces annually more than three or four bushels of potatoes, 30 life and adv fntures of a peck or two of corn, and a few quarts of beans !— yet with this small crop, robert is apparently better satisfied and more thankful than many, whose insatiabie thirst for worldly gain, leads them, not to an acknowledgment of gratitude due the supreme author of all good gifts, but rather (in imitation of the one of whom we read) to most bitter complaints, that their barns are not of sufficient size to contain their abundant crops having been told that robert devoted a portion of his time to reading, i offered to present him with a bible, and some religious tracts, for which he appeared grateful, but informed me that he was already in possession of both—the gift of a pious lady of providence—which led me to make some enquiries as regarded his religious sentiments—his opinion of the existence of a supreme being—of the immortality of the soul—of future rewards and punishments, &c. —to which he unhesitatingly replied, that he never doubted the existence of a supreme being, from whom, although invisible to us, nothing could be concealed and to whom he believed we were all accountable beings, and would hereafter receive rewards or punishments according to the deeds of the body—from this belief he said he derived great consolation——for, although great had been his trials and troubles in this world, he was not without a hope, that by complying with the terms of the gospel of a blessed redeemer, he might be permitted in another to participate in those eternal enjoyments which were the promised rewards of the faithful. humble and, retired as may be the situation of robert, if such truly are his sentiments, and such his well grounded hopes, altho' his bed may be straw, and his table a block—he must be acknowledged a happy man—and, indeed, infinitely more so than when unjustly held in bondage, and compelled to yield to .the commands of a tyrannical task-master—and forrobert the hermit. 31 tunate no doubt would thousands of his enslaved fellow beings at the south, conceive themselves, if they were priviledged like him, to breathe the pure air of freedom, even in an hovel more gloomy and wretched, if possible, than the one which he now claims as his own. . as the narrator has imputed a great portion of his sufferings in early life, to the exercise of what the “ republicans” at the south, denominate a “constitutional right” (to wit.) that of enslaving a portion of their fellow beings of that persecuted race, who are so unfortunate as to differ with them in the complexion of their skins—the writer begs liberty to make this the subject of his closing remarks. our forefathers, persecuted and hunted from their native land, committed themselves to the bosom of the deep, choosing to associate with the monsters of the ocean, and to wander at large amid storms and tempests ; rather than sacrifice their religion and liberties to the inquisition of an inexorable tyrant. guided by heaven to these solitary shores, nature received them with open arms and joyfully pressed them to her rugged breast. by their toils and perseverance, by that virtue derived from pure religion, and that industry inspired by liberty, they rapidly increased to a degree of population and opulence which commanded national respectability—and happy should we be could we here add, that such were the principles that continued not only to govern them to the last, but the generation that succeeded them— but, alas ! it is truth too firmly established, that they, ’ere the elapse of many years, as if forgetful of their own persecutions, became in their turn the perseoutors and oppressors of a portion of their unoffending fellow beings . . kidnapping and consigning to slavery the free-born sons of africa soon became a traffic, in which some of almost every state in the union were engaged—and which was attended in 32 life and adventures of many instances with acts of the most cruel barbarity. —for no other fault or crime than that of being born black, in an unsuspecting moment they were seized, forced from their own country, conveyed to this, where husbands and wives, parents and children, were seperated with as much unconcern as sheep and lambs by the butcher, and with the same indifference disposed of to the highest hidders 1—and in bondage were for the most trivial ºffences made the subj, cºs of torture and punishments to a degree that would canse humanity to recoil at a bear recital. but to the great honour of the sons of new-england, be it mentioned, that they soon became sensible of the wicked, ess of this abominatole traffic, and a strict prohibition was the consequence—an ex. imple of humanity, which was soon followed by the middle states, and in which at the present day we believe slavery has become totally extinct. but, not so with those who inhabit the southern sectio of our country, who, governed more by principles of self-interest, than of humanity, at the present day feast upon the fruits of the toils of thousands of their enslaved fellow beings—and by whom in some instances, they are treated with less humanity than what the beasts of the field receive . these (or a portion of them) are those who profess to be the zealous advocates of the “rights of man ('' and the professed admirers of that admirable production ‘ef human wisdom, the declaration of independence, wherein it is proclaimed that “all men are born rree and equal ' ' * “i would not have a slave to till my ground, to carry me, to fan me while i sleep, and tremble when i wake, for all the wealth that sinews, bought and sold, have ever earn'd, no –dear as freedom is, and in my heart's §ust estimation prized above all price, i had much rather be nº self a slave, | $nd wear the bonds, than fasten them on him.” robert the hermit. 33 the heart would sicken at the recital of the punishments inflicted upon and the extreme sufferings of the unhappy slaves of the south—indeed so goarding is the yoke of bondage, that while some are driven to the desperate act of not only destroying their own lives, but that of their wretched offspring——others seek to obtain their freedom by secreting themselves in thick swamps and marshes ; where they remain concealed until they either fall victims to, or are compelled by hunger to return again to their masters, and submit to the punishment which those unfeeling wretches deem the merited reward of their disobedience a remarkable instance of the latter, occurred in the state of north carolina about 14 years ago, and although the particulars appeared in many of our public prints, at that time, yet as they may have escaped the notice of many of our readers, we have thought that it would not be improper to republish them—they are from the pen of a respectable gentleman of petersburgh, communicated to his friend in new-york.-they follow : . . w “while i resided in newbern, n.c. in 1814, being informed that a negro woman and two small children, had been that day brought in, who had been runaways for several years, i felt a wish to go and see them particularly as there was something curious connected with their history. my friend accompained me to the jail, for they had been lodged there for safe keeping.—we there learned the particulars of the life which they lived, or rather the miserable existence which they dragged out, during the seven years which they had spent in the swamps, in the neighborhood of newbern. the owner of this woman, about seven years previously, removed to the western country, and carried with him aſ his slaves except this woman and an infant sººn in the arms of its mother, t 34 life and adventures of who, rather than be separated from her husband, who was owned by another person, timely eloped with her child, and completely avoided the vigilance of her pursuers. . those who are acquainted with the lower section of that state, well know that it abounds in marshes and fens over grown with weeds, and interspersed, in some places, with clumps of pine trees. in one of those dreary retreats this woman found means to conceal herself for the space o seven years: and to find means also for her subsistence, partly by her own exertions and the assistance of her husband, who would occasionally make her a visit, living in this situation, she soon had an additional burthen upon her hands by the birth of another child. the manner in which she concealed herself . as well as her children from the discovery, was truly singular. by the strictest discipline, she prevented them ever crying aloud ; she compelled them to stifle their little cries and complaints, though urged to it by pinching hunger, or the severest cold. she prohibited them from speaking louder than a whisper. this may appear strange to relate, but it is certainly true ; and as a proof that no deception was used in this case it was satisfactorily ascertained, that after they had remained in town for more than a month, in the company of children who were noisy and clamorous, they were not known in a single instance to raise their voices. higher than a soft whisper. at first, it was with great difficulty that they could stand or walk erect, and when they did attempt to walk, it was with a low stoop, the bust inclining forward, and with a hasty step like a patridge. but their favorite position was that of squatting upon their hams. in this posture, they could remain for hours withrobert the hermit. 35. out any apparent weariness, and at a given signal would move one after the other with great facility, and at the same time with so much caution, that not the least noise could be heard by their footsteps. their method for subsistence was the most extraordinary ; sometimes the husband, according to the woman’s account would fail to bring them supplies; and whether the fear of detection prevented her from intruding on the rights of others, or whether she was prevented by conscientious motives, is not for me, to determine—but in this dreadful exigence, she would, for the support of herself and children, have recourse to expedients which nothing but the most pressing necessity could ever suggest. frogs, and terrapins were considered as rare dainties, and even snakes would be taken as a lawfuk prize to satisfy the calls of hunger.—it was the custom, said the woman in the little family, when they made up a fire in the night, and this was done only in the cold nights of winter, for one to sit up, while the others slept. the one who watched had a double duty to perform—not only to do the ordinary duty of a centinel, but to watch for mice; which they contrived in the following manner. the person watching, would spread a little meat on the ground, or a few grains of corn or peas, or for want of these, a crust of bread when they had it; over which an old handkerchief or piece of cloth, was spread, then, observing a profound and deathlike silence, the mice would creep from their retreats in order to possess themselves of the bait. -the centinel, true to his post, as soon as the cloth was moved by the vagrant mouse, would very dexteriously smack down a pair of hands upon him, and secure him for purposes yet to be mentioned. the flesh, as may be supposed, was used for food, which they devoured with as little # 36. life and adventures of ceremony as a boy would eat a snow bird; but even the skin was not thrown away : for they being carefully preserved, the hair or fur was picked off, and mixed with wool or cotton for the purpose of making gloves and stockings—and they managed to spin up the materials they could procure, by means of a stick, about six or , eight inches in length. ——this was held in the left hand, while, with the right, they held the materials to be spun, they gave us a specimen of their adroitness in this art; and the little boy, who was not above five years old, could manage his stick with surprising dexterity. —several pair of stockings and gloves were shown, which had been knit by these singular beings, during their voluntary banishment.—they were grotesque enough in their appearance, and were made up of a greater medly of materials than are generally used in the civilized world. how much longer this deluded african, with her two wretched children, would have remained in the comfortless savannahs of north carolina, is not known, had not the woman been deserted by her husband:—being deprived of the solace, she derived from his transient visits, and the scanty subsistence she received from his hand, her situation became miserable beyond description. at length emaciated with hunger she crept to the road, gave herself up, with her equally meagre looking charge, to the first person she saw, who happened very fortunately to be a man, with his cart going towards town—the sight, indeed, to the citizen, was a novel one, if we may judge from the number who crowded to see and determine for themselves.” 93 o^e hermit . . of . . minnehaha falls class vs'j7 book laaa ^ ^ souvenir ^ .^ life and deeds of . william herrick, ..hermit of minnehaha falls v^ v^ v^ a tale of the wild west in early days a true story sj§ s^ v^ edited by samuel a. hatch the. librahy of conokess, two copies rocalved jul 2 1903 \ cohyiignt hntiy cjiass c<^ xxc no. copy b .1 copyright, 1903 by samuel athertos hatch william herrick. the herniil of miniu-haha falls. why i became a her.m1t t am often asked why i became a licrmit. i liave never answered this before for reasons best known to myself. but fechngtliat i owe some thing to the reading pnbhc i will try to answer that question truthfully. in the first place i suppose that the love of sol itude, the desire for one's own company is in herent in some men's systems, just as the desire for company is inherent in others. i always loved solitude. i loved the forest with its lonely grand eur, i loved the great prairie with its solemn still ness. but this was not my only reason for shun ning human society. there was in my case what there has been in many like cases — a woman. two words, yet how much they mean. later in mv storv i shall give you a small account of my marriage and its bitter results. it is enough for me to say that the woman i married ruined my life and sent me to wander on the face of the earth. graduall}' i drew away from my fellow men until during the ])ast twenty years of my life i have lived nearly a])art from them. still i cannot hut lielieve that there are many g-ood women but as for me i want none of them. i have no trouble to unload upon any one else, let them keep their troubles away from me. i have lived with nature and she has dealt kindly with me after her fashion, but even she cannot remove me from all touch of human kind. thus in my old age i must go to some retreat for old soldiers and there end my days. two men have kindly aided me in placing this true story of my life before the pul)lic and have given me the money to go to the milwaukee soldiers' home. these two men, c. c. patten and s. a. hatch are to liave full charge of the book which shall recount the life and deeds of w'm. herrick. hermit of minnehaha falls. so sitting here in my little vine covered shack, in the hearing of the laughing waters of ^lin nehaha i look l)ack over my life and n'coimt for your benefit the stirring scenes through which i passed. chapter i. my boyhood i was born in the city of new york, march 22, 1848. my parents were poor but honest and related to men who afterward became renowned. thus i can honestly sa\that i am a nephew of dr. livingstone, the g-reat african explorer. another relation with the same name now has a ereat cattle ranch in western nebraska. mv father was step brother to isaac singer of sew ing" machine fame. so much for my relations. at the age of six i came to watoma. wiscon sin, with my parents. here m}' father died when 1 was but seven years old, leaving my mother with the care of two bo}s, the oldest ten years of age. one vear later my mother married a widower with three girls. (jur family now consisted of seven persons in all, and tlnnking they cotdd do [letter for their family farther west my mother 3 the hermit and step father moved to ^minnesota in the spring of 1857. we settled on a claim on greenwood prairie, wabasha county, and well do i remember the dug-out home and general surroundings. our daily fare was not calculated to give us indiges tion. it consisted principally of potatoes, a slice of bread twice a week, no tea, coffee, or milk, but plenty of good spring water. meat and but ter were rarities and not to be thought of. during the second year of minnesota life my step father bought a small herd of cattle, mak ing me herd boy, without a mount. being bare foot and having a herd ground that comprised any amount of raw prairie land, my feet became very sore looking after my unruly charges. so i conceived the idea of using a pet steer for a mount and after a few lessons he took the matter very philosophically. but t was doomed to a sudden downfall. the riding wore out my pants and my mother setting out to mend ihcm after i had gone to bed dis covered sticking lo the legs a thick coating of hair. the consequence wathat 1 received first a vig orous questioning and then a terrible whipping 4 of minnehaha. fnun ni\^tep father. as this was not the first heatingi had received from him for trivial of fences, for whenever i was at hand he used to take exercise on me two and three times a day, and seeing we could never hope to agree, i v.'as always lookingfor some chance to get away from home. many a time i was sent supperless to bed and so while he grew richer i grew poor er both in body and spirit. the old round tower at fort snelling. built in 1820. was the point of land allack by the indians in their warfare against the soldiers sta tioned there. the piece of wall to the right shows a part of the old wall that entirely surrounded the whole foi't. another ran from the left side of the tower, thus completely shutting in the point of land between the juncture of the minnesota and missis sippi rivers. it was in these walls that many indians were hung, among them being the terrible chief medicine bottle who had taken the scalps of 37 white men. ciiaptkr it. off to war. luii my turn was to come at last. the civil war was on and i asked the privileg'e of enlist inj:;-. lie not consenting", i threatened to rtin away and go south to johnnie reh. as he was a rank abolitionist this had the effect of bringing him to terms, though i could see that it cut him deep. so i left home feeling as free as the eagle that soars aloft and marched away with the boys in blue. i never saw my step father again. he died before i returned and i verilv l)elieve in do ing so he saved me the crime of murder. at first i tried to enlist in a minnesota regi ment but was rejected because they said. "i was too small to stop a bullet." nothing daunted i went to wisconsin, where after several trials i succeeded in joining co. h. 48th rgiment, wis consin infantry. on my seventeenth birthday we took the cars for st. louis. from there the regimen.t went into kansas and was l)roken up and scattered the shetland pony track hjcated in the park just above the falls, has been the means of affording more pleasure to children than any other amusement in the xortlnvest. the ponies arc pure shetland, the stock having been brought from the shetland isles in 1891 bj' ^ir. hartzell, the proprietor. the herd, has been largely increased since by breeding. they range in height from thirty-four to forly-four incites and are strong and gentle so that children and adults can either ride or drive them. the hermit over the southern part of the state. h co. was stationed near the bhie cut coimtry where the famous younger and j'lnies hrothers hehl forth. on our march to our camping grounds we were put on short rations, one hardtack a day for two weeks. added to this i had the nusfortune to have my allowance stolen and my hmikey, a quarter blood negro, shared his hardtack with me for the entire two weeks. let me say here that that negro was father, brother and friend to me, boy that i was. he shielded me from the cold night winds, he lugged my knapsack when i l)ecame fatigued from the long marches, cared for me when i was sick and protected me from rough usage at the hands of others. may he still live and may he have the fruits that are his just dues, for under his black skin beat a white heart. in the fall the regiment assembled at law rence, kansas, to take the trail over the smokey hill route on the staked plains. one who has never been on the plains in those early days can not conceive of the great pleasure which this trip afforded me. the mighty mystery and sol emn stillness of the e'reat wastes and stretches of of minnehaha. uii])oi>])lc(l land filled niv }'ouni;' heart to over tlowin^ with rc\-ercncc and awe. and then the animals boundingin freedom across the plain. luififalos o^razinij in .s^reat majestic herds, thous ands u])()n thousands, lumberingaway with a heav\-. rollingrun at the ajiproach of uncle sam's white coa'ered wag-ons. many a night in those days did i awake to see sitting arcjund in the cold moonlight a pack of wolves, making tlie night hideous with their howling. the antelope skipped by us with light and flying feet, the prairie dogs barked at us from millions of their towns and the rattle snakes and owls glided and flew past us and followed the prairie dog down into' his hole. occasionally we saw a mountain sheep. one night i awoke paralyzed with horror. a rattlesnake in search of warmth lay coiled on my breast. for two' hours of terrible agony i la}as one dead. p^inally it crawled away only to sink its fangs in the leg of a comrade in the next tent. at times we saw indians, but always m too small numbers to cope with us. however the fear of them ke])t us from hunting the .plentiful game all around us. so we ate our wormy hard 9 the he km it tack and maggcjty meat with many a wry face, l)ut without a murmur. as we came to the dititerent posts two com panies were stationed at each, to be increased a few days later by two companies of cavalry. companies h and a were stationed on pawnee creek at fort leonard, afterwards sherman's headquarters, and where bill cody earned his spurs. it was there i met with an adventure that came near costing me dear. taking my gun one day i strode out of camp in search of adventure. xot knowing the danger i was in i forgot myself in the picturesque surroundings and wandered on till near sundown. making for a small clump of trees in which to camp. i walked directly into the midst of a band of six indians. with terrible yells the\threw themselves upon me. in a twink ling i was bound to a tree and the dry fagots piled high about me. kneeling down one struck his hint and steel and was soon blowing a piece of punk to a blaze. did you ever see a cat play with a mouse? that is the way those red devils played with me. 10 the hermit at home. this shows the hermit sitting at his cabin door amongthe ivy and flowers. the place was a wilder ness of blootningand beautiful flowers during the summer time and many avere tlie liouquets given to visitors who came from far and wide to visit the hermit in his liomo. 'i'he hermi. i can still sec them in ni_\fancy dancing around me with savat^e joy. but i was not to die thus. just as i had given up all hope, the reports of two rifle shots rang out on the air and two of my tormentors bit the dust. the other four took tn their heels and get ting safely on their ponies made their escape. a white man now came b lunding to my side, kicked away the fagots and cut me loose from my uncomfortable position. i sank to the ground unconscious for my nerves had been given too hard a strain. with a dash of water he brought me to and seeing that my rescuer, wore the ep aulettes of a colonel, i weakl\brought my hand to a salute and stood at attention. "may i ask your name. colonel," i said. "cer tainly," he replied. "my name is christopher carson." i cam])ed that night with thai most iuii(|ue and wonderful man. he told nie to go to sleep as his horse would apprise him of any danger. be fore retiring he told me some of his wonderful experiences, which same experiences came \<r good account to me later in the seventies, wik n [ was in the had lands of the dakotas. 11 of minnehaha. the next niorniiii;�c parted, each to go liis own �a\-, never to meet again, for he died of a cancer two years later at taho. new mexico. but his memory is ever fresh in my heart and will remain so till we meet on the n])per trail. i returned to the post keeping my adventure to myself. as my companion of the night be fore was on his way to denver, none of my com rades were the wiser. our quarters were small dugouts sheltering from two to six men. a blanket served for a door. one night a skunk got through this open ing and took the liberty to spice our fifteen days' rations. as we must eat them or die you may judge the predicament we were in. rj minnehaha falls in its primeval beauty before man came to mar it with artificial adornments. chapter iii. home again on december the tenth we started on our lionieward march of four hundred miles. the snow was two feet deep and we were only half clothed. the suffering on that march was ter rible and some of us were pitiful sights when we got back. i had received no letters from home and was about to go to ^mexico as a soldier of fortune, when at last our mail was delivered. i had in it a letter from ni}' widowed mother asking me to come home. this i did in the year 1868. we now moved on the extreme frontier of minnesota in what is at present lyon county. there were only eleven families west of red wood at that time. i worked on the homestead during summer and trapped during winter. it was during one of my trapping expeditions in the fall that i had my first fight with an in dian. singularly enough it occurred in the mid dle of a lake. i came upon him in a boat in ]3 the tiekmjt rush lake. we had holh l)een setting traps. when quite clo.se to nie he fired upon me with his rifle and only missed hy a hair's breadth. i did not wait for him to reload, but with a few strokes of my jiaddle shortened the di.stance be tween us and l)rought my oar down edgewise on his head, splilling it to his e}'es. tie toppled over and �ent to the bottom, a good indian. it was in the spring of '70 that the grasshop pers came. i left home and went to wisconsin, wdiere i spent the next winter in the woods. the spring following occurred the one and onl\ro mance of my life. i met a beautiful girl and af ter a few months' courtship, married her. she was young, too young for the hardships of a frontier life, and looking back now over my eventful life since i first met her, i realize it. for two happy years we lived together. i earned a fairly good living by cutting and haul ing wood. but grasshoppers again came and i was forced to go farther east. my young wife could not stand poverty and one night on coming home [ foiuid the house deserted. too j^roud to follow her up. i determ ined to cut loose frt)ni civilization. 14 cilai'tl^r iv. off for the black hills i joined a pari)of ])r()s]x'ctors i^oiiii;to the t>lack hills, lieinqturned ixick b\the soldiers. t joined a tra])])ingoutfit, makingup a trio of ha])])y, reekless, devil-may-care fellows. \'e started up ihe missouri, well knowingour f;ite if catight by the indians. yet hundreds of white nien were every day taking their chances for the rich furs that might lie taken l)ack. ihit danger and nature sharpens one's wits. if a deer bounded from a thicket or a squirrel barked excitedly, we took to cover, for that meant that some one was near. ( )ne learned to avoid sticks under the feet and to use his nose. the .^mell of kinakinic or redwillow bark is ])eculiarly strong. the indians use this wood fo pipes and a few whitfs of tobacco through it leaves a scent that will drive awa_\mosquitos, hies or woodticks. as i have said there were many white men trappingin and around the alissouri and some 1.') the excursion steamer gracie mower will make regular trips between fort snelling, minnehaha and soldiers' home, connecting a\ith street cars fit ff)rt snelling for st. paul, and at minnehaha for minne apolis. time table. leave st. paul, foot of jackson street, 9: 30 daily. leave fort snelling for minnehaha 10:30, 11:30, 12: 30, 1: 30. 2: 30, 3: 30, 4: 30. leave minnehaha for fort snelling 11: 1.5, 12: 1.5, 1:15, 2:15, 3:15, 4:15. leave minnehaha for st. paul 5:15: leave fort snelling for st. paul 5:30. children not over twelve years of age, to fort snel ling and return, five cents. steamer to charter for evening excursions, ?10.00. take a trip on the gracie mower and see the high lands of the tjpper mississippi river. j. c. smith, manager. 'j" he hermit of ilu'in met sonic terrible fates at the hands of the red skins. tlie torture tliat an tn(han cm devise is past belief. i have found a skeleton tied to a stake that was driven into a red ant hill. the sequel of this hellish act was only too ])lain. the ants had eaten the man alive. again we found the skeleton of a man and that of a rattle snake tied to the same stake, the man with a rope, tlie snake with a buekskin. a rain would shrink the rope and stretch the buckskin. ijut to resume our journey. we crossed the river and bore to the cast to get l)y pine ridge and staufhng rock agencies. we then recrossed the muddy, making for the u])per camion ]'>all. one evening hve horsemen joined our p'lrty while we were cooking our supper. their hors es looked jaded and worn, and upon our asking them to 'light and eat, they quickly got down, unsaddled and made themselves at home in west ern stvle. we were glad to welcome tliis addi tion to (jur ranks that night, bul bitterly did we regret next morning. scarcely had daybreak ar rived when we heard the cry. "hands up," and you can bet that hands u]) it was, for we were ig of minnkhaha. surrounded 1)\t�cul\ while men on liorses with winchester ritles at nim. "what is the meaning of this outrage," i asked. ■"shut \<iur mouth, you damned horse thief," said their spokesman. "gentkmien," said i, "there is a mistake h.ere as far as myself and two companions arc con cerned. these tive men came to us last night and we never saw them before." but there being some doubt as to the truth of my assertion, the}' decided to make us go back to the camp of two plainsmen whom our captors knew and whom one of my companions claimed to know. this done, our identity was easily pro\'en, tho" we had lost two days on account of the misha]). the live horse thieves w^ere treated in th;.' true western style, a necktie party of five ijeing in order. we afterwards learned that they belonged to the famous doc ^liddleton gang, one of the worst set of cut-throats that ever infested the west. once more we started, this time for the white river. here we met with an adventure, the likes 17 the hermit of wliich can never occur again. it was a buf falo stampede. we were preparing for our dav's trap-setting when a dull, rumbling noise attracted our attention. jack colby was the first to notice this and recognized the sound. he told us to bring our horses close up under the edge of a steep bluff of the river where a shallow cave had been hollowed out. we did so, and had not more time than we needed to arrange ourselves, when a black mass of the animals began pouring over oitr heads, h^or seven hours we were held pris oners. then when we did at last get out a fear ful and w^onderful sight was revealed to us. many of the animals had been killed and piled up in front of our cave. over these those in the rear had passed, trampling and driving the dead ones into the ground. over the route which they had come was a strip of ground, a (juarter of a mile wide entirely bare of grass. how they had start ed no one will ever know. perhaps by a hawk swooping down, perhaps by some wandering hunters. at any rate they furnished us with some good l)uft'alo steaks, for some had rolled back against us to the terrible fright of our hors 18 of minnehaha. es and were nnt liadk irani])u-(l. \' remained there over night. in camping' we always left one man doing" picket dnty while the rest of ns slept. each man served two hours and then called u]) anuther and went to bed. the next morning we started for the head waters of the wdiite river. we were looking for beaver princii)ally. there was large g'ame in plenty l)ut their hides were not as prec ious as at present. h t. ii4.^j fokt the old block house — famous for the strong pi'o teetion it afforded the garrison from attacks by the indians on the minnesota river. its fire range swept both up and down the minnesota. wm. herrick at twenty-six years of age. this shows him as he was at the time he roamed in the wild and unsettled west, clad in the buckskin suit and heavy boots of the frontier trapper and hunter. (.iiai'-n-.r \". we make camp for. winter. \'ll u]^ idwards the head waters of the \miite ri�r we fotmd what we wanted a good, habit al)le cave and a sprinq' of fine water close at hand. we set to work to render our new quarters habit able for ourselves and stock for the longwinter which was at hand. w'e cut ha}' and stacked it near the cave and we got together a large quan tity of dry wood. now and then we shot a buf falo and one of us cut and dried the meat while the others tended the traps. beaver were plenty and we had plenty to do dressing, ctiring and packing the skins for shipment. the winter passed pleasantlx' and profitably to us. the early spring found us with a large catch. but there was trouble ahead. we were not "out of the woods" with our game yet. so to speak. one day will (7urtis, "curt," we called him for short, came in from the traps with the in formation that we were discovered by crazy horse with fiftv red skins at his back. to prove 21 the hermft his assertion he showed us a inillet wound in his shoulder. we dressed the wound as best we could and made ready for an attack from the indians. w'e might be good for a six weeks' seige, then (jod help us. we had not long to wait. we could see them skulking up to us among the bushes, then all at once they bounded into the clearing and came for us pell-mell. "let them come close up, boys," i said, "then give it to "em." i took the center. curt the right and jack colby the left. when the indians had come within twenty feet of the shack i gave the word and together our three winchesters poured a stream of lead into them. when the smoke raiser there were nine "good" indians in sight. several that got away we knew to be wounded. after a while we saw an indian approaching holding up a white feather. l'])on our calling out to him lusignified that they wanted their dead. w'e motioned him to take them luit to leave all guns behind, which they did. six weeks passed slowly away and still they watched and waited for us. our only diversion was to dail} shove a cap out on a stick and hear 22 or mixxehaiia. ilic zip oi a inillcl as il ])l()�c(l into our hravy log cabin front. but one dav al:)out tlufirst of june we were brought to our feet l)y the never-to-l)e-forgotten sounds of a bugle call. a scouting expedition of the i'. s. arniv were soon standing' where crazy hok^e and his l)and had stood a few mimites be fore. thev were headed for mandan and so glad were we to accompany them tliat we did not wait to gather in our traps, init merely packed up our furs and went along. arriving at ]\iandan we pushed on to bismark where we disposed of our winter's catch, clearing up $600 apiece. we now came to tlie twin cities. here we purchased an other outfit and shipped it to moorhead. once more we were ready for adventure in the wild west. 23 the headquarters buildingat i-^)rt snellinj?. on this building are the bronze tablets in honor of cap tain melville c. wilkinson of the 3rd u. s infantry who was killed at sugar point. minn., oct. 5, 1898, in action with hostile indians and (.'aptain joseph hale, a hero of the civil, spanish and indian wars. the avilkinson tablet is erected by the members of the grand army of the republic of st. paul and minne ai)()lis and the ifale tablet by the sons of the revolu tion in the state of minnesota. directly across from the headquarters building is the beautiful drill ground. chai'tkr \'r. we winter. on knife river. we now look llic train for detroit wliere our stock awaited us and then left for motirhead. here we found our outfit awaitingus and we were soon ready for the traik once more we are off for the wild west, to battle with hardship and pain. for the wealth that lies in the mountains, or perhaps like others be slain, for no one knows better than hunters of dano;-ers that fall in his way, p^rom indians lurkingin ambush. watchinghis victii-n to slay. but still we will laugh at all danger. we will learn like the sly fox to hide from the foe when he follows the war path^ that our scalp may not hang at his side. ]hu when at last he is sleeping i pon him we cree|) sure and swift. a knife (juick we plunge in his bosoiu, 'fhen set hiiu in the river advift. the hermit as we rode out of muorhcad we heard the crack of a revolver and looking back we saw two gamblers takingeach other for a target. being extra good marksmen, they had only killed two bystanders and wounded one of themselves slight ly. such was moorhead's early history. we now started for knife river and its tributaries. three davs of traveling brought us to a suitable place for a camp. here we built a log shack and surrounded it with a stockade. inside this we sunk a well and brought in a supply of ha}' for our beasts. again we pro-cured buffalo meat and busied ourselves with our traps. the fall and winter passed away quietly. \'e had three little engagements with grizzily bears. these animals are greatly feared by the in dians and the indian who kills one is ever after looked upon as a mighty warrior and is allowed to i wear the claws of the bear in a necklace. the trapping became better than ever towards , spring and in our greed for more furs we lost all and i lost two comrades tried and true. one afternoon we saw smoke signals telling o.t our whereabouts and calling ever}indian within a radius of fifty miles to the war dance. 26 of minnehaha. -\s many of my readers do not know how these smoke signals of the indians are made i will ex plain. the}select the highest hill or mountain they can find and here upon the highest point they build their fire of green boughs so as to make a heavy black smoke. now they let the smoke ascend until they sec answering smokes from other hill tops. then they take a blanket which has been wet for the occasion and hold it over the fire making an open space for the colunm of smoke to lodge in. then with a quick move ment they remove the blanket and in a second's time replace it. they are adepts at it and can make the smoke take dififerent shapes. rings of smoke rising one above the other means that an enemy is near. spiral columns designate the number. direct lines of ascending smoke call in the hunters from the game trail. others dealt with camping groimds, etc. burning arrows at night time were often used for signaling. when we knew we were discovered we decid ed to tr\and slip out away from them. our on ly avenue to freedom was by way of great falls, by crossing the big muddy and then swing back to the south or possibly be driven to the western 27 the hekmit part of montana wlu-rc wc nii^ht find a mining camp. packinoour horses wo prepared for a move at ' dark for the nortli. i^nteringknife river to hide the trail we rode as (|uiet as spectres all night long. at daybreak we halted to let onr horses crop the luxuriant grass with packs and saddles still on. ag-ain we started, hopingthat we had escaped, but keepingour eyes o]:)en for snioke signals. late in the day we saw what we were fearing for. snioke signals to our left calling the red skins to be on the lookout. soon after dark we rode into an ambush and curtiss was killed. jack and i made a run for it losingour ]m-ecious furs and one of our horses. in the darkness we ])ushe(l (jn for the "^'ellow stone, well knowing they would follow us at day break. arrivingat the yellowstone we decided to cross and make a stand. a\'e ])ut our stock under cover and made read\for the enemv. by .so doing we gave our horses rest and food for the onward journey if we came out alive. it was not longbefore they appeared on the other side of the river and going farther up crossed over 28 of mixnkhaiia. so as to take us unawares. 'i'licn ihev charged us yelling' as onl\indians ean yell. we let tliem come to close ranj^e and then ^"a\-e them nnr l)est. there must ha\-e heen fortxin the i)art\though they were not all arnieil. \' drnjjped six of them in the ri\-er for the fishes and the rest with drew to tlie other sluire. thex' did not trv to rout us out again that da_\'. that night we again took the trail for the north until we were some three miles from the river. \'e then turned to the west for two miles. and recrossed the river. we now turned to the southwest for we could not doul^le on our tracks again. at eleven o'clock we took a two hours' rest for our horses and then took to the saddle again. we alxuuloned all hut two horses, the others having gone lame, and struck out. we again recrossed the yellowstone making north west all the next dav until ahout ti\'e in tlie after noon. "do you know." said jack as we dismounted. "i feel that i shall never get out of thi> alive. my time has come." "xonsense. old hov." said i, "never say die." "i feel it in mv 1)one-^." lie rej)lied, "hut i'll die game." rah-rah-rah-rcc-ree-rcc, who are — who arc — who arc we, we arc the br-wers, don't you see. going to snelling — cliee-chcc-chec. a pretty picture showing one of the many loads of liappy tourists that take the trip to fort snelhng on one of the rigs belonging to the c. c. patten bus line. thousands of visitors to the falls take this ride, the charge for the entire round trip of six miles being only twenty-five cents a passenger. the busses leave ^minnehaha falls every half hour. the drive through the beautiful and historic govern ment reservation takes one by the new fort and parade ground, past the famous old round tower and block house and near the fortifications of the old fort just above the point of juncture of the imississippi and alin nesota rivers. from here the drive passes out onto the great government steel bridge, one hundred and sixteen feet above the water of the mississippi river, where one may get a \'ievv of river, forest and fort, unsurpassed in the united states for beauty and grandeur. from here one may also see mendota, the famous old indian village and oldest town in the state. when visiting minnehaha falls no one should miss this beautiful drive. the hermit his prophetic words were too true. . six o'clock or thereal)outs the indians came ii]) and as^ain attacked ns. we waited till they had come (|uite close and then our ritles spoke together, 'idien a strange thing happened. two horses came tearing from the ranks of the indians, their dead riders falling as they came. i understood it in a miioment's time. they were horses cap tm^ed from white men and the;.' now ran for us. trust a horse brought up by a white man to know the difference between a white and a red skin. it was l)ut a second's time to mount these fresher horses. then we made a lireak for lil)er tv. a perfect hell of shots and yells surrounded and came after us. gradually our fresh horses drew awa\-. but too late to save jack. i turned to see him pkdi forward in his saddle and with a "goodbye liill," pitch to the earth. i stopjied long enough to see that he was dead and then taking his horse pushed on. it was well that i did so for before morning my horse had stej^ped in a hole and broken his leg and after ])uttting a bullet in his brain for pity's sake i took the other horse and rode away. 30 of minnehaha. luu i was ikit yd out of daiii^cr. i was l)oii\q; followed in a mo?t k'isurcl) fasliiim for the in dians thought 1 could umi ])()ssihly esca])e and my capture was only a matter of time. ]5esidcs, thev did not wish to come too close to the heavy hrace of revolvers and the winchester i still car ried. i managed to elude them long enough to give my horse a nuich needed rest, however, and then took to the saddle once more hoping this time to get awa\'. i'ut i made the mistake of my life in one re spect, in another way j^erhaps i saved myself. before i knew it 1 was in a tra]). they were surrounding me and i knew now it was a race for life. but my spued availed nothing for they were heading me toward a dee]) fissure with high hanks on either side. they now commenced to taunt me with "took ta neah puckchee waucon," meaning. "where are yott going, devil." but the gully now widened out and t wondered at their confidence for i was graduall\drawing away from them. but i soon saw the reason for it. 'hie .gully came to' an almost ahrupt end in a gorge or creek al:)out twelve feet wide. checking my horse in time i rode hack toward the red 31 government bridge from the st. paul side to the minneapolis side of the mississippi, and view of the main part of old fort snelling-. from this bridge a view of mendota, the oldest town in minnesota, may be had. mendota is an indian village and a tribe of indians still live there. mendota at one time came near to being the capital of the state. the iikkmit devils l)ack of me dctcniiined to risk all in one terril)le leap for life. to their crv of "where are you s'*m'i,u'' devil." 1 suddenly .crif:d, "tahon," meaning, "over there." and wlieeling my animal made for the gorge. ?\1\nolile horse. he rose like a deer and to my hysterical relief landed clear and iwv on the other side of the awful chasm. luillcts now whistled after me for it was their last chance of gttting me. for to get over the gorge they had prol)al)ly to go down or up the stream many miles. that night a heav\' r;iin set in and though very uncoiufortahle to me in the saddle was really a great hlessing for it hroke all signs of mv trail. in the morning 1 crossed the \'ellowstone again and had the good luck to kill a deer. believing 1 was in a strange country i made a fire and was isoon feasting on the fat of the land. 1 then covered my tire and lay close u]) to' it to get some warmth into m\chilled body. overcome with fatigue 1 fell asleep. i must have slept until ahoul four in the afternoon for 1 was suddenly awakened 1)\ the strong smell of the kinakinic. i did not open r.iy eves as yet. one learns to be careful. of minnehaha. i kiu'w tlial i was surrounded and in ;ui in stant had made up ni\' mind to ])lay off for crazw indians arc ']"iie hermit next morning they were still there. init as soon as we had eaten they prepared to move. they asked me to go with them. l)ut t jjointed to the sky and then to the ground signifying that the great spirit wished me to remain there. thev left me strong in the conviction that i was crazv and i sometimes think i was and that 1 have never gotten over it yet. i now once more restim.ed my saddle and for three days and nights saw not a sign of indians. on the third night as i was traveling along about nine o'clock i heard a voice singing in a rich irish l)rogue "nora o'xeall." xever in my life have i heard sound one-ha.lf so sweet to my ears as the voice of that irish bush-whacker. as i came nearer i saw a canvas topped wa gon in the firelight and knew it was a freighting outtit going to bismarck. i cried, "hello friends." and was told to "'light" and "come in." 1 found later it was one of "broad waters' " outfits. i avent with this party to liismarck and from there left for minnesota, hi minnesota i sold my horse, having discovered that he was qjeedy and later 1 learned that he made some remarkable fast time running. 34 charxer \"ii. up the big muddy in august, 1874, i once more started for the west. v\'itli the money received from the sale of m\horse 1 l^ought my outfit and another horse. in malting these purchases 1 feu in with two men b}' the names of charley brown and ole oleson, the latter a true scandinavian. both were good brave fellows, good shots and good trappers. brown was of english parentage as evidenced by his use of his "hs" and his favorite ''bloody blooming." etc. their horses were in pasture at jamestown, while mine was at inioor head, so we shipped our ^supplies to bismarck. at jamestown, where i went first v>itli th.e boys ole got into troul^le. \'hile taking a drink in a saloon a crowd of rowdies tried to make sport with him l:)ecause he was a swede, ^^'ith one blow of his fist ole had downed his first in sulter and then the crowd flashed knives and revolvers on him. it was at this imicture that brown, app.er.red on th.e scene to h.ear cries of of minnehaha. "down with the swede." "blast my blooniin' l)l()(.(lv 'art if yon do," cries brown and steps in alongside of ole. tt was thns that i fonnd them facingthe tonghs a few minntes later. with the hntt of my revolver i laid ont two of the rowdies and hred a conple of shots aronnd the ears of the others and snddenly we fonnd onrsclves alone with the barkeeper who was slowly emerging from behind the connter. "it's my treat fel lows." said he, "name yonr poison." ^^'e left town that afternoon and at the end of three days were in camp on the big mnddy near bismarck. arriving at bismarck we found we did not have enough pack horses and as t had purchased one more at moorhead it was th.eir turn to get another. after awhile they came back with two good looking ponies, but mean — while thev had filled uj) on enough rot-gut to float a canoe. both thought that they were as good men as john l. sullivan, and there was notliing to do l)ut let them have it otu. "aye tank i vas better man as \ou scharley." says olc. "blast mv bloody, blooming 'art if you are," savs. brown. "come on sweden an' i'll knock 3g the hermit the bloody nose off'n ye." so i made them give me their arms and let them set to. it was a good honest man's fight and a draw. both were bleed ing at the nose while one of ole's eyes wa^ closed. while i split my sides with laughter they sat grinning alt one another trying to re cover their breath. at last i said, '"well you are both yankees now so shake hands to the new nationality/' which they did. the next morning we were in the saddle bright and early headed for the upper yellowstone. as we got farther west we saw indian signs at every hand to keep us on the alert. on green river we had a brush with five cheyenne braves and proved too nnich for them. we learned then that sitting bull had been in that country at war with the crow and man dan tribes, so we changed our plans somewhat, and crossing the yellowstone, made for the lit tle muddy. up near its head waters we found good pro spects and proceeded to arrange our camp and make it strong and secure. we built under ground stables and ishack and then got in ha}for our stock and provisions for ourselves. \'t then commenced our trapping. 37 of minnehaha. we took in beaver, otter, mink, fisher and mar tin seemingly without end. along in december the snow became so deep that we had to suspend operations until the following march. during the interval we anmsed ourselves playing cards, throwing knives, wrestling and sparring. oc casionally we killed a black-tail deer for food. ole had a fight with a g^rizzly to cap the climax and got pretty badly chewed up. along towards the first of february while out hunting for deer i came to an indian lying be side a big grizzly's carcass with a leg and an arm broken. it had been a great fight. the bear had broken the guu and with it the indian's arm. ^^'itll his good arm and a knife he had killed the bear and in its death struggle it had struck his leg, breaking it like a pipe stem. the poor devil was nearly dead from cold and loss of blood. i swung him over my shoulder and carried him to the shack. placing him on a bed of furs we set the broken limbs and soon had him as comfortable as could be expected. he drank our coffee and became our guest for two months and he never answered us with more than a grunt. he was our star boarder. when he got 38 the hermit so he could walk he siuldenly came up missing without a word of thanks or sign of gratitude. i thought i had seen the last of him hut i had not. meanwhile in our talks charley had told of his home in old england, of the death of his wife at sheffield and of the little daughter left with her grandparents. on one occasion he had said, "boys i feel as though i shall never see the set tlements again and if anything should happen to mc write my little girl and if you get out with the winter's catch send her mv share."' ole seemed to have the same feeling. he gave me the address of his old father and mother in stockholm requesting whichever of us came out alive to forward his share to them. 1 laughed at their fears hut could not cheer them up. i alone was to come hack from that trip. the end of the iseason drew to a close. we cached our tra])s in case we should need them again, packed oinhorses and turned our faces toward the east and civilization. charley and ole were down hearted and one not knowing them would tliink tliey were show ing the white feather. luu it was the result of 39 of minnehaha. lionest convicliiin tvr nn ijrawr iiu-n iravi'lcd llie wc-t. w'c travckd nights diwii the l.ittk' missouri, koepin;:; out of sig'lit in daytinu'. one ni,giit we can-.ped in a sink h')k> where we were surprised 1>\a hand of siiaix inchans. we had l)ecoine s:)nie\hat careless, haxdng-een u) sig-ns of inchans. so this {'uv.v we were at their mercy. p-or a whik' we storid thcmolt and tlien resolved to make a hreak throu,gh their ranks for hlierty. i'oor ( )k^ never o-qt through and charhe v.-as hatuv wnun(k>d. another buhet sent after him tuml)kd him from his beast, (kad. as for myself i was struck v.dth a hying hatch et which luckily for me struck ;i twig turning it self over so that the heavy head came full on my tem])le instead of the sharp edge. i was knocked from m\horse and fell as one dead. amien 1 came to i was bound from head to foot and tliey were tying" me to a saddle. shortly after we started for their camp about ten miles distant. arriving at the village i v/as surprised to see our "'star boarder" of the ])ast winter, the indian i had l)efriended. me greeted 40 the hermit nie with "honkc^la," nieaniri<;-, "how are vou, friend?" he cut my thoiii^s and set me free and led me to liis teepee. after i liad gone in he and mv captors held a very animated conversation outside. i cotild make out enouoh to know that i was safe and that he was the great chief "black eagle." ^ty property was carefully put away untouched and i spent the night comfortably in the village. the next morning black eagle himself escorted me to the scene of the last night's fight. there i found the hones of both charlie and ole picked clean by the wolves. these i buried decently and marked the grave with a few stones. i could not but rellect on the fate of these two poor fellows, who had been born and raised in dilterent parts of the world, who had crossed the waters to meet and die in a strange land far from their loved ones. . but according to the good book our trail shall cross in the lumtiug ground above. black luigle and his band accompanied me for a number of days. they had many tights with the crovv's and afandans and took many scalps. at the end of three weeks we were nearing civili zation. ( )ne morning i i'ound m\horses all sad 41 of minnehaha. (lk(l ami ])acklcl standingready tor me. black luigie tokl me to nidunt and then pointed to the sontli. saying: '"white man, go' find wagon road, go mandan. ride like hell. yott save r)lack i^agle. r>laek l^agle save you. xext time r.ieet kill. \'e even now. go." i started my horses on a walk, disdainingto look hack. i rode in the direction indicated un til i came to the wagon road ahotit thirty miles from mandan. i reached there in the evening and went into camp. the next day i sold my furs to a traveling fur agent receiving twenty four hundred dollars for the lot. as agreed i sent eight hundred dollars apiece to charlie's lit tle girl and ole's parents and kept eight hundred m}-self. i now took my stock to jamestown where i found pasture for it and went on to' st. paul. after a trip to my hoyhood's home where i saw my mother for the last time i started on another trip for ^^lontana. 42 the new paviliion at minnehaha. just coiiipletcd at a cost of $7,500. located directly in front of tlie falls on the point of land overlooking the beautiful minnehaha glen. the pavilion is occupied hy jacob barnett who carries a full line of refreshments at popular prices. everything is clean and neat and a well trained corps of assistants wait upon the customers. the pavilion is proving ver>' popular under the able management of mr. barnett and is already the center of attraction for all hungry and thirsty pleasure seekers. chapti-.r nil. a trip to the big horn country i now went to i'^argo and wliilc there l)ec;une ac(|uainted witli a middle ag-ed, quiet sort of man who modestly represented himself as a frontier tra])])er. we 'soon struck up a partnershi]) and i ]iroposed a trij) up the little missouri where m\ traps were cached. luit he thouo-ht the danger from the indians was too g-reat and ])roposcml the bighorn country. so it was agreed that we were to go to the bighorn country for the win ter. my new ])artner, thomas ( ireason 1)\name, said he could be read}' in three da\-.-" time. lun ing our outfit we shi])])ed it on to l^ismarck and once more i left for jamestown to get m\stock. t found one of my most vcduahle horses dead, having" been struck h\' lightning. it was a big' loss to me, for aside frcnii his actual cash value. i feared nothingin the saddle with him. i still had eig-ht to spare and i threw the saddle on one after another trying to decide which i should use for a saddle horse. i tinally decided on two and the hermit set out. but when i finall}' met tom i was in need of a pillow to sit on for my new mounts were western horses from the range and my sad dle had met me about half way at ever\' jump for the last twenty-four hours. the journey tobismarck was very painful to me and when we g"ot there 1 liad to take a couple of days off to rest up and get some of the sore ness out of me. on the third day we started on what was to be one of the most eventful trapping expeditions i ever made. again i was ordained to come back alone, ^^'e moved through the bad lands slow ly. this land, 55 miles wide and 125 miles long looks more as one would expect the infernal regions to look than anytliing else i can think of. chasms run into canyons, hills into mountains and the whole thing is serrated and gorged with jagged rocks. soft coal is found in some places, but of a very soft quality. the climate seems to have a ])etrifying influence upon things, as we fovmd at different times snakes and other small er animals perfectly petrified. by the way, this country can produce more 44 of minnehaha. rattlesnakes to the square iiicli than anv other known land. after crossingthis belt of country we pui^hcd on. traveling' nights and hiding daytimes. striking the little big horn we were not long in locating our winter residence. \'c found a cave under an overhanging bank, that with a little digging exactly fitted our needs, ^^'e now walled up the front with a solid stone wall and fixed a large stone so that we could use it for a door ijy rolling it back and forth and fastened it with a key stone. wc cut a quantity of hay from the big supply below us in the valley and brought that into our camp. next we brought in wood and set about curing meat for the winter's use. in a few w'eeks we were well fixed for a siege. a spring bubbled up at one end of the cave and ran out under our stone wall to the river below. we could stand a siege of six months if we had to. our traps ran up and down thelittle big horn for a distance of ten miles. later in the year we set them on some of the smaller stream^ running into that river. fur was very plentiful and we 4. j no one visitinji' llic f"alls should fail to visit the sold iers' home. a foot bridge over the beautiful iminnehaha glen leads from the park to the home. the site of the min nesota soldiers' plome comprises fifty-one acres of wooded land beginning at the juncture of the minneha ha creek and running one mile north. it lies one-hun dred feet above the level of ihe water's edge. for beauty and convenience of situation, picturesque ness of view and perfect adaptability to the purpose it cannot be excelled: and it has withal a historic and ro mantic interest which will ever prove of increasing in terest to visitors. within the city limits of minneapolis, divided only by the river from st. paul, only three miles from fort snclling, around which so many military memories cluster, amd in summer literally cooled by the spray oi the laughing cascade immortalized in longfellow's clas sic, the ideal of a soldier's heaven would seem to have been found. the buildings are about fifteen in numl)er built of red brick. they comprise five cottages, a new dining hall, hosi)ital. administration building, pavilion, two steam plants and other outbu'ildings such as barns, etc. one feature of the home is its beautiful lawns dotted with flowers. the inmates of the home care for these, cut ting the grass and trimming the flowers. the pavilion is used for entertainments which are giv en the old soldiers under the auspices of the woman's relief corps. the dining hall is under the charge of soldiers de tailed for the work. each man works one week, wait ing on table, washing dishes, etc. the hospital employs five lady and six male nurses, all outsiders. the laun dry has five outside people and three members of the home assist these in the work. the ofticers in charge are commandant james comp ton. adjutant mckusic, quartermaster straub, surgeon bissel and chaplain smith. visitors to the grounds are made to feel at home at oncc' as every old soldi?r on the place has constituted himself a committee of one to show strangers the points o'f interest and no one ever leaves the grounds without a thrill of gratitude for the courteous and kintl treatment shown by the old bovs of '6i. the hermit worked hard taking cmt the httle animals and curing their skins. for the benefit of the small boy who would go trapping — let me tell some of the hardships we underwent. we rose long before daylight and while one got the breakfast the other did die chores around the stock. then each man took his gun, revolvers, knife and hatchet, seventy-five rounds of ammunition and struck out across the country to the farthest traps, sometimes being five or six miles on the way when the sun rose. he began his day's: work of tal-cing the catch from the trap, skinning it and resetting the trap. thus he worked along toward camp. sometimes he was compelled to go into water to his hips to free his traps. \'e usually arrived in camp long after dark and our work was even then idv no means fin ished. .vfter getting supper and caring for the stock we must stretch the skins, remove all the fat from them and hang them up to dry. those that were dry we must pack in bales for shipping. day after day we followed this routine, sleep ing at night in wet clotlies perhaps, and eating the coursest thdugli most nourishing food. so 40 of minnehaha. von sec a trajjper cannot l)e a lazy man. do not believe all the romantic things yon hear boys abont the life of tiie trapper. he did not lie around in his moinitain retreat before a blazing tire of logs and tell stories. on the contrary he worked long and hard for every cent he made. besides this his life was in danger at all times from animals or {jrowling red skin. (jften our packs coming in at night would weigh nearer to one hundred pounds than fifty. w'e always saved all the tails of the beaver as every trapper thinks them a great delicacy being more tender and appetizing than frogs' legs even. as winter came on our traps were taken from the frozen streams and set on land and when the heavy snows came they had to be taken into camp altogether. it was then that we got a much needed rest. we had only to eat and sleep now and occasionally sally forth for fresh meat. this consisted princii)all}of elk or 1)lack tailed deer. in the spring we commenced our trapping again and worked day and night to fill our packs. we had seen no signs of red skins and often felt like leaving our guns in camp. the last clay in .\])ril we starled as usual fo-our traps with the 47 the hermit intcntidn of pullino" them in as the season was about oa'er. little did we (h'eam that we should never ai^ain see each other on this earth. arriv ingat my traps i made a discovery that sent me scurrying to cover. indians had discovered my traps and i knew that they were waiting to am bush me. i fell l)ack about two miles and was hurrying noiselessly through the woods with ev ery sense on the alert when suddenl}my prog ress was arrested by a soft crooning voice of a woman. i soon discovered the singer. it was an indian girl about twelve years old. i stood stock still admiring the forest beautx" of the little maid en, when suddenly my ear took in another sound. i lifted my eyes to the nearest large tree above the girl and was horrified to see outstretched upon a limb one of the largest moinitain lions i have ever seen. jt was crouched antl read\' to spring upon the unconscious girl. i raised my gun instinctively, but reflected in. stantly that to shoot would bring u])(in me the whole tribe, init i could not see th.e girl perish in such a way and so i fired. that shot probably saved my life from the indians afterward. 1 caught the lio , or its fatal 48 of minnehaha. sj)rini;". but u^o late to save the indian t;-iii entirely from harm. the heavy body hurling forward knocked her down and broke her leg besides la cerating her llesli badly. the child had on a dress of cheap and gaudy cloth probably obtained from a trader. this t tore in strips and bound up the little one's wounds. then when she had sufficiently revived i asked her the way to her village. evidently she understood what i meant for she pointed out the direction and picking her up i carried her along. in a few minutes we arrived at the village. no one offered to stop me and i carried her past crowds of wondering braves and astonished squaws. she finally pointed out a teepee before which stood an indian of very stately appearance. i looked up at him and he pointed into the tent. in i went and deposited my btirden on 'some fur robes. he entered after me and to my surprise said in very good english, "wil ithe white man tell me how he conies to be carrying the child of sitting bull in this manner?" i explained, telling liim all. he again said, "white nuui is brave. not many white men would do what he had done." 49 the iiekmit he tlien asked me where m_\comrades were and i told him of tom. he shook his head and i knew what he was thinkingabout. the indians had found my friend. sitting bull, for it was the great indian chief tain himself, would not let me go until the next morning. so i set the broken limb of the little girl and put on cloths wet in cold water to keep down the inflammation. at intervals during the day i changed these. ]\ieanwhile runners had been sent out to call in all wandering bands of indians. in the morning i was asked to leave. sitting bull gave me a fine belt and told me to leave the country as soon as i could get out for he could not answer for my safety from other bands of indians who were even now making for that point. i bade the child goodbye, little thinking that she would remember and return life for life at some future day. neither did i think that in a few short weeks the country was to ring with the death of the brave custer together with all his brave men at the hands of this same band of savages. of minnehaha. i went directly to the cave and not finding tom there strnck ont upon his trail i found him as i had expected, dead at the first trap. he had been shot in the back and httle was left beside his bones. sadly i hollowed out a shallow grave and laid him to rest. back to camp i went again, alone now and far from civilization, not knowing what sort of fate i might meet. night found me in the saddle with my pack horses loaded and provisioned. all night i pushed on at a stiff trot. in the morning i stopped in a diick forest. back a little way i found an open glade where i turned my horses to graze after watering them. as for myself i dared not sleep or build a fire. as night came on i searched out a sheltered place, built a fire and broiled some bufifalo meat and made a cup of coffee. i then stamped out the fire and ate my supper. once more i took the north star for my guide and pushed rapidly on. tn this way i traveled for five days and nights. i knew that i was some where' near civilization, but how near i did not know. i was going insane for lack of sleep and on the sixth night t lost all sense of reason. when ')'he ukrmit i came to i was in a friendly indian's camp. only himself and squaw lived there on the outskirts of civilization. i had hwii ravins^' for two weeks with brain fever. he had foiuid my horses lying down and exhausted. i stayed witli him two weeks longer, slowly recovering". this indian was one of god's noblemen and his name was well known as a friend of the white man. he was afterwards g-iven the land where his caljin stood by the government. when i became well enough to go i said, "well, hauka, i nmst go to bismarck. come and go with me and when i sell my furs t will give you and your s(|uaw a ])resent. he an swered, ''me go." at the end of my journey i sold my furs get ting three thousand dollars in easli. i gave hauka two hundred dollars and after making arrange ments for ])asturing my stock i took the train for fargo, where i hunted up tom's widow. i di vided equally with her after telling her the sad news of her brave husband's death. i next took the train for tlie twin cities and was thunderstruck to read in a few days of the custer massacre. 52 chapter ix. in the powderhor.n country after speiulint;" tlie summer visiting' in the state i once more got the fever to go trapping again. i once more found myself in bismarck looking for a partner. but i found that the trappers looked on me with superstition. every one of my form er comrades had found a grave in the west, and i alone had returned. trappers) are probably more superstitious than others. i am to a certain degree myself. i can refer my readers to a certain chair that sits at the corner of one of the dining tables in the min nesota soldiers' home. inside of two years while i was an inmate of that home nine dilterent men were given that seat at table. three died of heart failure, three died in bed and three were sent to the insane asylum. but this shows that there is at least some foun dation for superstition. after remaining in bismarck about a week i had about given up all hopes, of finding a ])artncr 'j" he hermit when i chanced to nin onto a half-breed cree indian fighting for his hfe with a gangof toughs and tin horn gamblers. stepping to his side. i laid out three of the party with the butts of my revolvers. the rest fell back trj the outskirts of the town to plan a revenge of some sort. i was a bad looking man in those days being above or dinary stature and hardened by my outdoor life into a splendid specimen of physical manhood, and thus i established a wholesome fear in such cowards' minds. the plan which these rascals thought up cost them dear a few hours later. while the half breed and i w-ere getting our supper over in mv camp a perfect fusilade of bullets whistled over our heads, one coming close enough to cut the rim of my hat, another g^oing through the half breed's shirt. in the next minute we had kicked out the fire and were behind some trees giving as good as was sent. suddcnlv a band of trajjpers and hunters camped near us bore down on the fellows and took three of the hoodlums prisoners. they were found to l)e bad fellows and a lynching party vv'as in order. :iiskn the hermit well, the half hrecd and i formed a partnership and left town that ni_o-ht. he told me his name was louis reill and he was a fine specimen of manhood. later he went to canada, headed a rebellion, became the sitting bull of the great northwest, was captured and died on the scaffold. we went up the powder horn trail to the pow der horn river. we kept clear of indians for thev were very warlike. in the spring of '']'] crazy horse came tearing through that part of the country and we had to get out until general miles gave him a severe battle and beat him. during this time louis had a brush with in dians and killed six in an ambush fight. we got back to civilization without a dollar. in the next few years louis and i knocked around all over the great northwest, sometimes striking it rich and sometimes poor. we trapped, hunted and fished and bore all kinds of hardships un complainingly. i was among the stirring scenes that laid the foundation for the new west. i 'saw civilization slowlv rooting out savagry and making wa}for a great and free people. i tram])e(l across the richest portion of this great lofc. 55 the hekmit united states many times and fully realized iis great wealth longbefore it was developed. i think now of the great cities that have risen up where once only the indian and buffalo roamed and where i trapped among them both, and i am content. ;my health broke down under the privations i endured in the great \'est and i came to the ]\iin nesota soldiers' home in 1890. 15ut the life tliere did not suit my tastes as i had been alone or near ly alone so much that i did not care for company. so i built the sod house known to thousands of visitors of the wonderful ahnncliaha b\ills and since 1 89 1 i have lived there in solitude on the pension allowed me by uncle sam. i have come to be identified with the place and no visitor thinks a trip to the falls complete without seeing the vine covered cottage of "the hermit of min nehaha falls." the monarch of the ivilnnehaha glen. 14 gr 10 .46 885 a 906,361 of university of michigan libraries 1817 artes scientia veritas hermits tales of some wisconsin hermits and misers the slab of gold, old bottles, junk collecting, iystery man, black river, hermit sage, hermit hoard, buried treasure, cats, woman hermit, inventor recluse 004 dedicated to earl s. holman earl sugden mrs. robert e. friend charles e, brown wisconsin folklore society madison, wisconsin 1945 1 1 1 > gr fac klone driech 10.3.45 48579 110 . we b85 . hermits 10-20-49 mfp “old dutch” frank-he was a mixture of white and indian. he had been a mail carrier on the military road route from green bay to lake superior. when he retired he went to thunder lake in marinette county and there built a log cabin home. here he lived by hunting and fishing. his only companion was a large black tomcat. the white settlers of the nearby regions thought him cracked. one night he dreamed that there was a big thick slab of pure gold in thunder lake. it was sunk in the water right near the shore. the spirit told to raise it from the water. he must get it before the fourth of july, if not, it would sink from sight. if he got it, he would be the “richest man in the whole world. he would be elected president of the united states and could share his wealth with all poor people." he explored the lake bank and found some pyrites which he thought precious mineral. he procured a shovel and dug industriously in the sand and water for weeks. he struck quicksand and nearly lost his life. he rigged a rude derrick with a bucket and grappling hook and continued to excavate in likely places. the big slab of gold continued to lure him. but the fourth finally came and he had failed to get the treasure. frank disappeared and was never seen again. “old bottles” was a character known to many people residing in the west side downtown district in milwaukee in the 1890's to the early 1900's. attired in very shabby clothes, with a burlap bag carried over one shoulder, he roamed the alleys hunting for discarded bottles in ash-cans and junk heaps. his continual cry was, “bottles, bottles, bottles!” he would talk with no one. his only reply to any question was his familiar cry. he was partly or wholly insane, but harmless. his origin and history was a mystery. his bottles of every kind he sold to an east side east water street old bottle firm. the few pennies he thus obtained kept him alive. he received no help from any city charity, so far as known. “old bottles” lived alone in a shack built of old boards and bottles and with sheets of rusty sheetiron for a roof. this was located on the edge of a big rubbish dumping ground at the western limits of the city. its furnishings consisted of a small square of rush matting on the floor, a small rusty iron stove, several small wooden boxes, which served as a table and cupboard, and a discarded wooden chair without a back. his bed, in one corner, consisted of several dirty blankets and other rags. he had an iron kettle, tin pans and cans and an earthenware water jug. when anyone came to see him he just closed his door. he wanted no company. when “old bottles” was found dead in his shack one morning, the coroner turned his body over to the local medical college. horicon marsh hermits—in. a ramshackle log cabin on the edge of the big horicon marsh near mayville lived two brother hermits, herman stroede, 77 years of age, and julius, aged 74. after their parents died these men lived on a small piece of land once a part of their father's farm. the farmer owner permitted them to live here. these men were quaint characters, everyone knew them. they were collectors of junk, going to the village together and bringing their spoil home in a child's wagon. nothing escaped their hunting. around their cabin, rotting in the rain and sun, were piled hundreds of old shoes, pails, umbrellas, old clothes, tools, old papers and tin cans and pans. none of this junk was ever sold. the brothers had a passion for attending fairs and had walked to many of them. herman hiked to the chicago (1893) and st. louis (1904) world's fairs. both men attended picnics and band concerts at mayville. on such occasions they wore their world's fair medals. herman did most of the work about the place while julius "brought things home." “bagley john”-a mysterious man, spoken of by this name, some years ago, lived the life of a hermit in the mississippi river bottomlands, near bagley, in grant county. there he had built among the tall weeds and brush a rude shack of boards and brush. he was a real "mystery man.” he would never talk to anyone. he came to town now and then with a basket or bag to buy groceries. he made his wants known by signs or by presenting a written slip of paper to the storekeeper. for his purchases he often paid with a gold coin. thinking that he might possess more money of this kind some town roughs tried to trail him but he always gave them the slip. he was supposed to have a gun in his shack and no one cared to approach it. he was a powerful man. he was thought to be in hiding for some law-breaking offense in a down-river state. "black river”-this recluse lived in a shelter built of stray boards, sticks and stumps in the large sandy, once pine woods region, between the lake michigan shore and the black river, south of sheboygan. he had "little of anything." he was on friendly terms with the fishermen and surrounding farmers, but he avoided other people. he was happy in his retreat. he just wanted to be left alone. it was said that he had left the comforts of civilization because of a troublemaking wife and relatives. he subsisted on turtle eggs and turtle meat, on fish which he caught in the river, rabbits which he trapped and on vegetable food which the german farmers gave him. he had a deck of grimy cards with which he played solitaire and several old magazines which he read again and again. now and then he got hold of an old newspaper or two. after living for a number of years on the black river sands he drifted away to some other port. hermit sage-years ago, with state senator george w. wolff of rhine, we visited john l. sexton, noted sheboygan county hermitsage, in his neat home on the edge of the extensive sheboygan marsh north of elkhart lake. his bedroom in which we were received was piled on the bed and all around the four walls with bundles of newspapers. there was no chair or place where we could sit. we conversed with this fine old pioneer on subjects of early indian and county history. he had a fine old face, long white hair and a long white beard. sexton had a fine record of public service. he taught the first school in the county in a log school. in 1861 he was the postmaster at russell. he had held other public positions. he was well educated and frequently wrote articles for the newspapers. he had a good garden at the time of our visit. on the night of june 28, 1911, he was murdered by tony umbrello, an italian, who thought that the old hermit had money. “wild cat” wilson-several years before the civil war he came to la pointe on the lake superior shore. he could not get on with local officials and chose hermit island as his place of retreat. he hired indians to remove the brush and timber. he paid them with mexican money. he had money and spent it freely. he was a drinker. somewhere on the island he was thought to have a hidden treasure of gold and mexican dollars. he was handy with a gun and no one dared to try to search for it. he was found dead on his island and was buried near the old mission on madeline island. since then treasure hunters have dug everywhere for his gold and silver hoard but it has not been found. other hermits-a swiss hermit lived on the outskirts of sauk city. he had a number of cats and stray cats which he adopted. holes were cut in the bottom of his house door for little and big cats. living on his farm near cross plains was a hermit-miser. here he lived for 35 years by himself. he spent very little for food or clothing. when he was persuaded to leave the farm his relatives found that geniges had stowed away about $6,000 in tin cans, boxes and old clothes. near albion, on a small farm in a dilapidated cowshed lived an 84-year-old inventor-hermit. he was at work on a model of a "boltless and screwless" bridge. this he hoped to patent. when he was in bed and it rained he put a washtub on his stomach. he wanted to be alone “in order to think.” sarah hardwick, a woman hermit, lived for 25 years in a board shanty in the wilderness near the junction of the yellow river with the mississippi. she had a small vegetable garden and a ginseng patch. newspapers she got from a clam fisherman. these she read through and through. she wanted to "keep up with the world.” north of neillsville a college and university trained recluse named killips lived in peace and contentment in a small tarpaper covered hut. he had many books which he read. many other interesting hermits living in every part of wisconsin might be described. 470 mar 21 university of michigan photomount pamphlet binder pat, no. 877188 manufaclured by igaylord bros. inc. 1 sucnen.y. 3 9015 03146 8112 do not remove or ~rd muilles 358 nedl transfer hn 1uc3 o kd4184 shelf r 34th the boston-library society. organized 1792. incorporated 1794. 114, newbury street. accessions 48,835 added oct.!!., 1920. to be returned in five weeks. a fine of one cent will be charged for each day this volume is kept beyond that time. cancelled 1940 1920 660 oct 13 oct 15 560 mar 15 mar 21 404 cut 15 oct 2 570 oct 2 3ct 30 3 204 oct 3 onov 6= 236 nov 6 nov 11 140 nov 2 5nov 29 618 mar 25 apr 44 06 apr 7apr 912-apr 1 1 apr 13 560 apr 15 apr 21 622 apr 29 may 13 120 nov 29 dec 7=452 may 14 may 19 86 dec 8 dec 11 36 dec 11dec 23 24 may 19may 21 538 may 21 may 27 46 jun 10 jun 15 274 dec 23dec 27 1921 606 dec 27 jan 440 jul 5-jul 2.6 566 jan 492 10 64 jul 29 sep 3630 jan 10jan 1 5600 sep 10 sep 14 228 jan 15 jan 19 654 sep 15 oct 13 136jan 19 464 uut 13 oct 27 1923 333 feb 2 feb 27 310 mar 10 mar 15 308 mar 21 mar 30 592 jan 22 jan 22 284 jan 27 feb 4 22 feb 4 feb 152 feb 17feb 25 578 feb 25mar 8545 apr 3126 mar 9 mar 14422apr 30 may 15 apr 10 g kd4184 shelf r34 accessions 48,835 the boston-library society. organized 1792. incorporated 1794. 114, newbury street. added oct. 11 ., 1920. to be returned in five weeks. a fine of one cent will be charged for each day this volume is kept beyond that time. cancelled 1940 1920 236 nov 6 nov 11 140 nov 2 51dy 29 120 nov 29 dec 7 86 dec 8 fec 11 36 dec 1 idec 23 274 dec 23dec 27 660 oct 13 oct 15 560 mar 15 mar 21 404 cut 15 oct 2 3 618 mar 25 apr 4570 oct 23 ct 30 4 06 apr 7apr 9204 oct 3 onov 6/2-apr 1 1 apr 13 560 apr 15 apr 21 622 apr 29 may 13 452 may 14 may 19 124 may 19may 21 538 may 21 may 27 46 jun 10 jun 15 san 1 0 606 dec 27 jan 440 jul 5-jul 2.6 566 jan 4 1921 64 jul 29 sep 3630 jan 10jan 1 5600 sep 10 sep 14 228 jan 15 jan 19 654 sep 15 oct 13 136jan 19 464 oct 13 oct 27 1923 333 feb 2fe3 37 592 jan 22 man 22 284 jan 27 feb 4 22 feb 4 feb 16 152 feb 17 eb 25 578 feb 25 mar 8-545 126 mar 9 mar 14422apr 30 may 15 1 310 308 mar 21 mat 90 3 7 1 til 644 the hermit of far end by margaret pedler author of the house of dreams-come-true," 46 the splendid folly," etc. " new gdh york george h. doran company penth kd 4184 harvard university library sep 81941 copyright, 1920, by george h. doran company · 30 printed in the united states of america chapter contents prologue i a morning adventure ii the passing of patrick lovell iii a sheaf of memories iv elisabeth-and her son . v the man in the train vi the skeleton in selwyn's cupboard vii trespass viii the unwilling host ix the hermit's shell . x a meeting at rose cottage xi two on an island xii a revoke xiii xiv xv the name of durward xvi the flight xvii they who pursued xviii the revelation of the night. xix the journey's end xx the second best xxi the pitiless altar xxii love's sacrament xxiii a summer idyll . disillusion elisabeth intervenes • • • • · · · · • page 9 17 29 36 48 64 75 84 92 102 112 124 139 146 151 160 170 180 187 189 196 199 204 213 vi contents chapter xxiv xxv the cut direct xxvi a midnight visitor xxvii j'accuse! xxviii red ruin xxix xxx xxxi the furnace xxxii on crabtree moor xxxiii over the mountains xxxiv the triumph of love xxxv out of the night xxxvi "from sudden deathxxxvii the reckoning xxxviii patches of blue . divers opinions defeat vindication xxxix harvest • · • · "" · · · • • · · · · · · page 219 224 231 242 249 256 268 281 287 299 309 318 325 331 334 343 the hermit of far end the hermit of far end prologue i t was very quiet within the little room perched high up under the roof of wallater's buildings. even the glowing logs in the grate burned tranquilly, without any of those brisk cracklings and sputterings which make such cheerful company of a fire, while the distant roar of london's traffic came murmuringly, dulled to a gentle monotone by the honeycomb of narrow side streets that intervened between the gaunt, red-brick buildings and the bustling highways of the city. it seemed almost as though the little room were waiting for something some one, just as the woman seated in the low chair at the hearthside was waiting. she sat very still, looking towards the door, her folded hands lying quietly on her knees in an attitude of patient expectancy. it was as if, although she found the waiting long and wearisome, she were yet quite sure she would not have to wait in vain. once she bent forward and touched the little finger of her left hand, which bore, at its base, a slight circular depression such as comes from the constant wearing of a ring. she rubbed it softly with the forefinger of the other hand. "he will come," she muttered. "he promised he would come if ever i sent the little pearl ring." then she leaned back once more, resuming her former attitude of patient waiting, and the insistent silence, mo9 10 the hermit of far end mentarily broken by her movement, settled down again upon the room. presently the long rays of the westering sun crept round the edge of some projecting eaves and, slanting in suddenly through the window, rested upon the quiet figure in the chair. even in their clear, revealing light it would have been difficult to decide the woman's age, so worn and lined was the mask-like face outlined against the shabby cushion. she looked forty, yet there was something still girlish in the pose of her black-clad figure which seemed to suggest a shorter tale of years. raven dark hair, lustreless and dull, framed a pale, emaciated face from which ill-health had stripped almost all that had once been beautiful. only the immense dark eyes, feverishly bright beneath the sunken temples, and the still lovely line from jaw to pointed chin, remained unmarred, their beauty mocked by the pinched nostrils and drawn mouth, and by the scraggy, almost fleshless throat. it might have been the face of a dead woman, so still, so waxen was it, were it not for the eager brilliance of the eyes. in them, fixed watchfully upon the closed door, was concentrated the whole vitality of the failing body. beyond that door, flight upon flight of stone steps dropped seemingly endlessly one below the other, leading at last to a cement-floored vestibule, cheerless and uninviting, which opened on to the street. perhaps there was no particular reason why the vestibule should have been other than it was, seeing that wallater's buildings had not been designed for the habitual loiterer. for such as he there remains always the "luxurious entrancehall" of hotel advertisement. as far as the inhabitants of "wallater's " were concerned, they clattered over the cement flooring of the vestibule in the mornings, on their way to work, without pausing to cast an eye of criticism upon its general aspect of uncomeliness, and prologue 11 dragged tired feet across it in an evening with no other thought but that of how many weary steps there were to climb before the room which served as "home" should be attained. but to the well-dressed, middle-aged man who now paused, half in doubt, on the threshold of the buildings, the sordidlooking vestibule, with its bare floor and drab-coloured walls, presented an epitome of desolation. his keen blue eyes, in one of which was stuck a monocle attached to a broad black ribbon, rested appraisingly upon the ascending spiral of the stone stairway that vanished into the gloomy upper reaches of the building. against this chill background there suddenly took shape in his mind the picture of a spacious room, fragrant with the scent of roses-a room full of mellow tints of brown and gold, athwart which the afternoon sunlight lingered tenderly, picking out here the limpid blue of a bit of old chinese "blue-and-white," there the warm gleam of polished copper, or here again the bizarre, gem-encrusted image of an eastern god. all that was rare and beautiful had gone to the making of the room, and rarer and more beautiful than all, in the eyes of the man whose memory now recalled it, had been the woman to whom it had belonged, whose loveliness had glowed within it like a jewel in a rich setting. with a mental jolt his thoughts came back to the present, to the bare, commonplace ugliness of wallater's buildings. "my god!" he muttered. "pauline-here!" then with swift steps he began the ascent of the stone steps, gradually slackening in pace until, when he reached the summit and stood facing that door behind which a woman watched and waited, he had perforce to pause to regain his breath, whilst certain twinges in his right knee reminded him that he was no longer as young as he had been.` in answer to his knock a low voice bade him enter, and a minute later he was standing in the quiet little room, his eyes gazing levelly into the feverish dark ones of the woman who had risen at his entrance. 12 the hermit of far end "so!" she said, while an odd smile twisted her bloodless lips. "you have come, after all. sometimes-i began to doubt if you would. it is days-an eternity since i sent for you." "i have been away," he replied simply. "and my mail was not forwarded. i came directly i received the ring-at once, as i told you i should." "well, sit down and let us talk "-impatiently. "it doesn't matter-nothing matters since you have come in time." "in time? what do you mean? in time for what? pauline, tell me "-advancing a step-" tell me, in god's name, what are you doing in this place?" he glanced significantly round the shabby room with its threadbare carpet and distempered walls. "i'm living here"living here? you?" "yes. why not? soon "-indifferently-"i shall be dying here. it is, at least, as good a place to die in as any other." "" "dying?" the man's pleasant baritone voice suddenly shook. "dying? oh, no, no! you've been ill-i can see that--but with care and good nursing"" "don't deceive yourself, my friend," she interrupted him remorselessly. "see, come to the window. now look at me —and then don't talk any more twaddle about care and good nursing!" she had drawn him towards the window, till they were standing together in the full blaze of the setting sun. then she turned and faced him-a gaunt wreck of splendid womanhood, her fingers working nervously, whilst her too brilliant eyes, burning in their grey, sunken sockets, searched his face curiously. "you've worn better than i have," she observed at last, breaking the silence with a short laugh. "you must belet me see fifty. while i'm barely thirty-one-and i look forty-and the rest.” prologue 13 suddenly he reached out and gathered her thin, restless hands into his, holding them in a kind, firm clasp. "oh, my dear!" he said sadly. "is there nothing i can do?" "" "yes," she answered steadily. "there is. and it's to ask if you will do it that i sent for you. do you suppose she swallowed, battling with the tremor in her voice—“ that i wanted you to see me as i am now? it was months— months before i could bring myself to send you the little pearl ring." he stooped and kissed one of the hands he held. "dear, foolish woman! you would always be-just pauline to me." her eyes softened suddenly. 66 so you never married, after all? " he straightened his shoulders, meeting her glance squarely -almost sternly. "what a "did you imagine that i should?" he asked quietly. "no-no, i suppose not." she looked away. mess i made of things, didn't i? however, it's all past now; the game's nearly over, thank heaven! life, since that day"-the eyes of the man and woman met again in swift understanding" has been one long hell." "he-the man you married"made that hell. i left him after six years of it, taking the child with me." "the child?" a curious expression came into his eyes, resentful, yet tinged at the same time with an oddly tender interest. "was there a child?" "" a pause. "he never tried to "-grimly. "yes i have a little daughter." "and did your husband never trace you?" he asked, after "afterwards-well, it was downhill all the way. i didn't know how to work, and by the time i had learned my health was going. since then, i've lived on the proceeds of the pawnshop-i had my jewels, 14 the hermit of far end you know-and on the odd bits of money i could scrape together by taking in sewing." a groan burst from the man's dry lips. "oh, my god!" he cried. "pauline, pauline, it was cruel of you to keep me in ignorance! i could at least have helped." she shook her head. "i couldn't take your money," she said quietly. "i was too proud for that. but, dear friend "—as she saw him wince "i'm not proud any longer. i think death very soon shows us how little-pride-matters; it falls into its right perspective when one is nearing the end of things. i'm so little proud now that i've sent for you to ask your help." anything anything!" he said eagerly. 66 "it's rather a big thing that i'm going to ask, i'm afraid. i want you," she spoke slowly, as though to focus his attention, "to take care of my child-when i am gone." he stared at her doubtfully. "but her father? will he consent?" he asked. "" "he is dead. i received the news of his death six months ago. there is no one-no one who has any claim upon her. and no one upon whom she has any claim, poor little atom! -smiling rather bitterly. "ah! don't deny me!"-her thin, eager hands clung to his-" don't deny me say that you'll take her!" 66 deny you? but, of course, i shan't deny you. i'm only thankful that you have turned to me at last—that you have not quite forgotten! "" "forgotten?" her voice vibrated. "believe me or not, as you will, there has never been a day for nine long years when i have not remembered-never a night when i have not prayed god to bless youshe broke off, her mouth working uncontrollably. 99 very quietly, very tenderly, he drew her into his arms. there was no passion in the caress-for was it not eventide, and the lengthening shadows of night already fallen across ! 4 prologue 15 her path-but there was infinite love, and forgiveness, and understanding. · "and now, may i see her the little daughter?" the twilight had gathered about them during that quiet hour of reunion, wherein old hurts had been healed, old sins forgiven, and now at last they had come back together out of the past to the recognition of all that yet remained to do. there came a sound of running footsteps on the stairs outside-light, eager steps, buoyant with youth, that evidently found no hardship in the long ascent from the street level. "hark!" the woman paused, her head a little turned to listen. "here she comes. no one else on this floor ". with a whimsical smile" could take the last flight of those awful stairs at a run." • the door flew open, and the man received an impressionist picture of which the salient features were a mop of black hair, a scarlet jersey, and a pair of abnormally long black legs. then the door closed with a bang, and the blur of black and scarlet resolved itself into a thin, eager-faced child of eight, who paused irresolutely upon perceiving a stranger in the room. "come here, kiddy," the woman held out her hand. "this "-and her eyes sought those of the man as though beseeching confirmation" is your uncle." the child advanced and shook hands politely, then stood still, staring at this unexpectedly acquired relative. her sharp-pointed face was so thin and small that her eyes, beneath their straight, dark brows, seemed to be enormous-black, sombre eyes, having no kinship with the intense, opaque brown so frequently miscalled black, but suggestive of the vibrating darkness of night itself. instinctively the man's glance wandered to the face of the child's mother. "you think her like me?" she hazarded. "she is very like you," he assented gravely. 16 the hermit of far end a wry smile wrung her mouth. "let us hope that the likeness is only skin-deep, then!" she said bitterly. "i don't want her life to be as mine has been." "if," he said gently, "if you will trust her to me, pauline, i swear to you that i will do all in my power to save her from-what you've suffered." the woman shrugged her shoulders. "it's all a matter of character," she said nonchalantly. "yes," he agreed simply. then he turned to the child, who was still standing a little distance away from him, eyeing him a thought distrustfully. "what do you say, child? you wouldn't be afraid to come and live with me, would you?" "i am never afraid of people," she answered promptly. "except the man who comes for the rent; he is fat, and red, and a beast. but i'd rather go on living with mumsy, thank you-uncle." the designation came after a brief hesitation. "you see," she added politely, as though fearful that she might have hurt his feelings, "we've always lived together." she flung a glance of almost passionate adoration at her mother, who turned towards the man, smiling a little wistfully. "you see how it is with her?" she said. "she lives by her affections-conversely from her mother, her heart rules her head. you will be gentle with her, won't you, when the wrench comes? "" "my dear," he said, taking her hand in his and speaking with the quiet solemnity of a man who vows himself before some holy altar, "i shall never forget that she is your child -the child of the woman i love." chapter i a morning adventure the he dewy softness of early morning still hung about the woods, veiling their autumn tints in broken, drifting swathes of pearly mist, while towards the east, where the rising sun pushed long, dim fingers of light into the murky greyness of the sky, a tremulous golden haze grew and deepened. little, delicate twitterings vibrated on the air-the sleepy chirrup of awakening birds, the rustle of a fallen leaf beneath the pad of some belated cat stealing back to the domestic hearth, the stir of a rabbit in its burrow. presently these sank into insignificance beside a more definite sound-the crackle of dry leaves and the snapping of twigs beneath a heavier footfall than that of any marauding tom, and through a clearing in the woods slouched the figure of a man, gun on shoulder, the secret of his bulging sidepockets betrayed by the protruding tail feathers of a cockpheasant. he was not an attractive specimen of mankind. beneath the peaked cap, crammed well down on to his head, gleamed a pair of surly, watchful eyes, and, beneath these again, the unshaven, brutal, out-thrust jaw offered little promise of better things. nor did his appearance in any way belie his reputation, which was unsavoury in the extreme. indeed, if report spoke truly, "black brady," as he was commonly called, had on one occasion only escaped the gallows thanks to the evidence of a village girl-one who had loved him recklessly, to her own undoing. every one had believed her evidence to be false, but, as she had stuck to what she said through thick and 17 18 the hermit of far end thin, and as no amount of cross-examination had been able to shake her, brady had contrived to slip through the hands of the police. conceiving, however, that, after this episode, the air of his native place might prove somewhat insalubrious for a time, he had migrated thence to fallowdene, establishing himself in a cottage on the outskirts of the village and finding the major portion of his sustenance by skilfully poaching the preserves of the principal landowners of the surrounding district. on this particular morning he was well content with his night's work. he had raided the covers of one patrick lovell, the owner of barrow court, who, although himself a confirmed invalid and debarred from all manner of sport, employed two or three objectionably lynx-eyed keepers to safeguard his preserves for the benefit of his heirs and assigns. no covers were better stocked than those of barrow court, but brady rarely risked replenishing his larder from them, owing to the extreme wideawakeness of the head gamekeeper. it was therefore not without a warm glow of satisfaction about the region of his heart that he made his way homeward through the early morning, reflecting on the ease with which last night's marauding expedition had been conducted. he even pursed his lips together and whistled softly-a low, flutelike sound that might almost have been mistaken for the note of a blackbird. but it is unwise to whistle before you are out of the wood, and brady's triumph was short-lived. swift as a shadow, a lithe figure darted out from among the trees and planted itself directly in his path. with equal swiftness, brady brought his gunstock to his shoulder. then he hesitated, finger on trigger, for the lion in his path was no burly gamekeeper, as, for the first moment, he had supposed. it was a woman who faced hima mere girl of twenty, whose slender figure looked somehow a morning adventure 19 boyish in its knitted sports coat and very short, workmanlike skirt. the suggestion of boyishness was emphasised by her attitude, as she stood squarely planted in front of black brady, her hands thrust deep into her pockets, her straight young back very flat, and her head a little tilted, so that her eyes might search the surly face beneath the peaked cap. they were arresting eyes-amazingly dark, "like two patches o' the sky be night," as brady described them long afterwards to a crony of his, and they gazed up at the astonished poacher from a small, sharply angled face, as delicately cut as a cameo. "put that gun down!" commanded an imperious young voice, a voice that held something indescribably sweet and thrilling in its vibrant quality. "what are you doing in these woods?" brady, recovering from his first surprise, lowered his gun, but answered truculently— "never you mind w'at i'm doin'." the girl pointed significantly to his distended pockets. "i don't need to ask. empty out your pockets and take yourself off. do you hear?" she added sharply, as the man made no movement to obey. "i shan't do nothin' o' the sort," he growled. "you go your ways and leave me to go mine or it'll be the worse for "ee." he raised his gun threateningly. the girl smiled. "i'm not in the least afraid of that gun," she said tranquilly. "but you are afraid to use it," she added. "am i?" he wheeled suddenly, and, on the instant, a deafening report shattered the quiet of the woods. then the smoke drifted slowly aside, revealing the man and the girl face to face once more. but although she still held her ground, dark shadows had suddenly painted themselves beneath her eyes, and the slight young breast beneath the jaunty sports coat rose and fell 20 the hermit of far end unevenly. within the shelter of her coat-pockets her hands were clenched tightly. "that was a waste of a good cartridge," she observed quietly. "you only fired in the air." black brady glared at her. "if i'd liked, i could 'ave killed 'ee as easy as knockin' a bird off a bough," he said sullenly. "you could," she agreed. "and then i should have been dead and you would have been waiting for a hanging. of the two, i think my position would have been the more comfortable." a look of unwilling admiration spread itself slowly over the man's face. "you be a cool 'and, and no mistake," he acknowledged. "i thought to frighten you off by firin"." the girl nodded. "well, as you haven't, suppose you allow that i've won and that it's up to me to dictate terms. if my uncle were to see you"" "i'm not comin' up to the house don't you think it, win or no win," broke in brady hastily. the girl regarded him judicially. "i don't think we particularly want you up at the house," she remarked. "if you'll do as i say-empty your pockets -you may go." the man reluctantly made as though to obey, but even while he hesitated, he saw the girl's eyes suddenly look past him, over his shoulder, and, turning suspiciously, he swung straight into the brawny grip of the head keeper, who, hearing a shot fired, had deserted his breakfast and hurried in the direction of the sound and now came up close behind him. "caught this time, brady, my man," chuckled the keeper triumphantly. "it's gaol for you this journey, as sure's my name's clegg. has the fellow been annoying you, miss sara?" he added, touching his hat respectfully as he turned a morning adventure 21 towards the girl, whilst with his other hand he still retained his grip of brady's arm. she laughed as though suddenly amused. "nothing to speak of, clegg," she replied. afraid you mustn't send him to prison this time. if he would empty his pockets he might go. that still holds good," she added, looking towards brady, who flashed her a quick look of gratitude from beneath his heavy brows and proceeded to turn out the contents of his pockets with commendable celerity. but the keeper protested against the idea of releasing his prisoner. ngn "it's a fair cop, miss," he urged entreatingly. "can't help it, clegg. i promised. so you must let him go." "and i'm i told him the man obeyed with obvious reluctance. then, when brady had hastened to make himself scarce, he turned and scrutinised the girl curiously. "you all right, miss sara? shall i see you up to the house?" "no, thanks, clegg," she said. "i'm-i'm quite all right. you can go back to your breakfast." "very good, miss." he touched his hat and plunged back again into the woods. the girl stood still, looking after him. she was rather white, but she remained very erect and taut until the keeper had disappeared from view. then the tense rigidity of her figure slackened, as a stretched wire slackens when the pull on it suddenly ceases, and she leaned helplessly against the trunk of a tree, limp and shaking, every fine-strung nerve ajar with the strain of her recent encounter with black brady. as she felt her knees giving way weakly beneath her, a dogged little smile twisted her lips. "you are a cool 'and, and no mistake," she whispered shakily, an ironical gleam flickering in her eyes. she propped herself up against the friendly tree, and, 22 the hermit of far end after a few minutes, the quick throbbing of her heart steadied down and the colour began to steal back into her lips. at length she stooped, and, picking up her hat, which had fallen off and lay on the ground at her feet, she proceeded to make her way through the woods in the direction of the house. barrow court, as its name implied, was situated on the brow of a hill, sheltered from the north and easterly winds by a thick belt of pines which half-encircled it, for ever murmuring and whispering together as pine-trees will. to sara tennant, the soft, sibilant noise was a beloved and familiar sound. from the first moment when, as a child, she had come to live at barrow, the insistent murmur of the pines had held an extraordinary fascination for her. that, and their pungent scent, seemed to be interwoven with her whole life there, like the thread of some single colour that persists throughout the length of a woven fabric. she had been desperately miserable and lonely at the time of her advent at the court; and all through the long, wakeful vigil of her first night, it had seemed to her vivid, childish imagination as though the big, swaying trees, bleakly etched against the moonlit sky, had understood her desolation and had whispered and crooned consolingly outside her window. since then, she had learned that the voice of the pines, like the voice of the sea, is always pitched in a key that responds to the mood of the listener. if you chance to be glad, then the pines will whisper of sunshine and summer, little love idylls that one tree tells to another, but if your heart is heavy within you, you will hear only a dirge in the hush of their waving tops. as sara emerged from the shelter of the woods, her eyes instinctively sought the great belt of trees that crowned the opposite hill, with the grey bulk of the house standing out in sharp relief against their eternal green. a little smile of pure pleasure flitted across her face; to her there was something lovable and rather charming about the very architeca morning adventure 23 tural inconsistencies which prevented barrow court from being, in any sense of the word, a show place. the central portion of the house was comparatively modern, built of stone in solid georgian fashion, but quaintly flanked at either end by a massive, medieval tower, survival of the good old days when the lovells of fallowdene had held their own against all comers, not even excepting, in the case of one roderic, his liege lord and master the king, the latter having conceived a not entirely unprovoked desire to deprive him of his lands and liberty-a desire destined, however, to be frustrated by the solid masonry of barrow. a flagged terrace ran the whole length of the long, twostoried house, broadening out into wide wings at the base of either tower, and, below the terrace, green, shaven lawns, dotted with old yew, sloped down to the edge of a natural lake which lay in the hollow of the valley, gleaming like a sheet of silver in the morning sunlight. prim walks, bordered by high box hedges, intersected the carefully tended gardens, and along one of these sara took her way, quickening her steps to a run as the booming summons of a gong suddenly reverberated on the air. she reached the house, flushed and a little breathless, and, tossing aside her hat as she sped through the big, oak-beamed hall, hurried into a pleasant, sunshiny room, where a couple of menservants were moving quietly about, putting the finishing touches to the breakfast table. an invalid's wheeled chair stood close to the open window, and in it, with a rug tucked about his knees, was seated an elderly man of some sixty-two or three years of age. he was leaning forward, giving animated instructions to a gardener who listened attentively from the terrace outside, and his alert, eager manner contrasted oddly with the helplessness of limb indicated by the necessity for the wheeled chair. "that's all, digby," he said briskly. "i'll go through the hot-houses myself some time to-day." 24 the hermit of far end as he spoke, he signed to one of the footmen in the room to close the window, and then propelled his chair with amazing rapidity to the table. the instant and careful attention accorded to his commands by both gardener and servant was characteristic of every one in patrick lovell's employment. although he had been a more or less helpless invalid for seven years, he had never lost his grip of things. he was exactly as much master of barrow court, the dominant factor there, as he had been in the good times that were gone, when no day's shooting had been too long for him, no run with hounds too fast. he sat very erect in his wheeled chair, a handsome, wellgroomed old aristocrat. clean-shaven, except for a short, carefully trimmed moustache, grizzled like his hair, his skin exhibited the waxen pallor which so often accompanies chronic ill-health, and his face was furrowed by deep lines, making him look older than his sixty-odd years. his vivid blue eyes were extraordinarily keen and penetrating; possibly they, and the determined, squarish jaw, were answerable for that unquestioning obedience which was invariably accorded him. "good-morning, uncle mine!" sara bent to kiss him as the door closed quietly behind the retreating servants. patrick lovell screwed his monocle into his eye and regarded her dispassionately. "you look somewhat ruffled," he observed, "both literally and figuratively." she laughed, putting up a careless hand to brush back the heavy tress of dark hair that had fallen forward over her forehead. "i've had an adventure," she answered, and proceeded to recount her experience with black brady. when she reached the point where the man had fired off his gun, patrick interrupted explosively. "the infernal scoundrel! that fellow will dangle at the a morning adventure 25 end of a rope one of these days—and deserve it, too. he's a murderous ruffian-a menace to the countryside." "he only fired into the air-to frighten me," explained sara. her uncle looked at her curiously. "and did he succeed?" he asked. 66 she bestowed a little grin of understanding upon him. he did," she averred gravely. then, as patrick's bushy eyebrows came together in a bristling frown, she added: "but he remained in ignorance of the fact." the frown was replaced by a twinkle. "that's all right, then," came the contented answer. "all the same, i really was frightened," she persisted. "it gave me quite a nasty turn, as the servants say. i don't think "-meditatively-" that i enjoy being shot at. am i a funk, my uncle? " "no, my niece "—with some amusement. "on the contrary, i should define the highest type of courage as selfcontrol in the presence of danger-not necessarily absence of fear. the latter is really no more credit to you than eating your dinner when you're hungry." "mine, then, i perceive to be the highest type of courage," chuckled sara. "it's a comforting reflection." it was, when propounded by patrick lovell, to whom physical fear was an unknown quantity. had he lived in the days of the terror, he would assuredly have taken his way to the guillotine with the same gay, debonair courage which enabled the nobles of france to throw down their cards and go to the scaffold with a smiling promise to the other players that they would continue their interrupted game in the next world. and when sara had come to live with patrick, a dozen years ago, he had rigorously inculcated in her youthful mind a contempt for every form of cowardice, moral and physical. it had not been all plain sailing, for sara was a highly strung child, with the vivid imagination that is the primary 26 the hermit of far end cause of so much that is carelessly designated cowardice. but patrick had been very wise in his methods. he had never rebuked her for lack of courage; he had simply taken it for granted that she would keep her grip of herself. sara's thoughts slid back to an incident which had occurred during their early days together. she had been very much alarmed by the appearance of a huge mastiff who was permitted the run of the house, and her uncle, noticing her shrinking avoidance of the rather formidable looking beast, had composedly bidden her take him to the stables and chain him up. for an instant the child had hesitated. then, something in the man's quiet confidence that she would obey had made its claim on her childish pride, and, although white to the lips, she had walked straight up to the great creature, hooked her small fingers into his collar, and marched him off to his kennel. courage under physical pain she had learned from seeing patrick contend with his own infirmity. he suffered intensely at times, but neither groan nor word of complaint was ever allowed to escape his set lips. only sara would see, after what he described as "one of my damn bad days, m'dear," new lines added to the deepening network that had so aged his appearance latterly. at these times she herself endured agonies of reflex suffering and apprehension, since her attachment to patrick lovell was the moving factor of her existence. other girls had parents, brothers and sisters, and still more distant relatives upon whom their capacity for loving might severally expend itself. sara had none of these, and the whole devotion of her intensely ardent nature lavished itself upon the man whom she called uncle. their mutual attitude was something more than the accepted relationship implied. they were friends-these two -intimate friends, comrades on an equal footing, respecting each other's reserves and staunchly loyal to one another. perhaps this was accounted for in a measure by the very fact a morning adventure 27 that they were united by no actual bond of blood. that sara was patrick's niece by adoption was all the explanation of her presence at barrow court that he had ever vouchsafed to the world in general, and it practically amounted to the sum total of sara's own knowledge of the matter. hers had been a life of few relationships. she had no recollection of any one who had ever stood towards her in the position of a father, and though she realised that the onetime existence of such a personage must be assumed, she had never felt much curiosity concerning him. the horizon of her earliest childhood had held but one figure, that of an adored mother, and "home" had been represented by a couple of meagre rooms at the top of a big warren of a place known as wallater's buildings, tenanted principally by families of the artisan class. thus debarred by circumstances from the companionship of other children, sara's whole affections had centred round her mother, and she had never forgotten the sheer, desolating anguish of that moment when the dreadful, unresponsive silence of the shected figure, lying in the shabby little bedroom they had shared together, brought home to her the significance of death. she had not cried, as most children of eight would have done, but she had suffered in a kind of frozen silence, incapable of any outward expression of grief. “unfeclin', i call it!" declared the woman who lived on the same floor as the tennants, and who had attended at the doctor's behest, to a friend and neighbour who was occupied in boiling a kettle over a gas-ring. "must be a cold-'carted child as can see 'er own mother lyin' dead without so much as a tear." she sniffed. "aven't you got that cup o' tea ready yet? i can allus drink a cup o' tea after a layin'-out." sara had watched the two women drinking their tea with brooding eyes, her small breast heaving with the intensity of her resentment. without being in any way able to define her emotions, she felt that there was something horrible in their 28 the hermit of far end frank enjoyment of the steaming liquid, gulped down to the cheerful accompaniment of a running stream of intimate gossip, while all the time that quiet figure lay on the narrow bed-motionless, silent, wrapped in the strange and immense aloofness of the dead. presently one of the women poured out a third cup of tea and pushed it towards the child, slopping in the thin, bluish-looking milk with a generous hand. "'ave a cup, child. it's as good a drop o' tea as ever i tasted." for a moment sara stared at her speechlessly; then, with a sudden passionate gesture, she swept the cup on to the floor. the clash of breaking china seemed to ring through the chamber of death, the women's voices rose shrilly in reproof, and sara, fleeing into the adjoining room, cast herself face downwards upon the floor, horror-stricken. it was not the raucous anger of the women which she heeded; that passed her by. but she had outraged some fine, instinctive sense of reverence that lay deep within her own small soul. still she did not cry. only, as she lay on the ground with her face hidden, she kept repeating in a tense whisper"you know i didn't mean it, god! you know i didn't mean it!" it was then that patrick lovell had appeared, coming in response to she knew not what summons, and had taken her away with him. and the tendrils of her affection, wrenched from their accustomed hold, had twined themselves about this grey-haired, blue-eyed man, set so apart by every soigné detail of his person from the shabby, slip-shod world which sara had known, but who had yet stood beside the bed on which her mother lay, with a wrung mouth beneath his clipped moustache and a mist of tears dimming his keen eyes. sara had loved him for those tears. chapter ii the passing of patrick lovell au utumn had given place to winter, and a bitter northeast wind was tearing through the pines, shrieking, as it fled, like the cry of a lost soul. the eerie sound of it served in some indefinable way to emphasise the cosy warmth and security of the room where sara and her uncle were sitting, their chairs drawn close up to the log fire which burned on the wide, old-fashioned hearth. sara was engrossed in a book, her head bent low above its pages, unconscious of the keen blue eyes that had been regarding her reflectively for some minutes. with the passage of the last two months, patrick's face seemed to have grown more waxen, worn a little finer, and now, as he sat quietly watching the slender figure on the opposite side of the hearth, it wore a curious, inscrutable expression, as though he were mentally balancing the pros and cons of some knotty point. at last he apparently came to a decision, for he laid aside the newspaper he had been reading a few moments before, muttering half audibly: "must take your fences as you come to 'em." sara looked up abstractedly. "did you say anything?" she asked doubtfully. patrick gave his shoulders a grim shake. "i'm going to," replied. "it's something that must be said, and, as i've never been in favour of postponing a thing just because it's disagreeable, we may as well get it over." he had focussed sara's attention unmistakably now. "what is it?" she asked quickly. "you haven't had bad news?" 29 30 the hermit of far end an odd smile crossed his face. "on the contrary." he hesitated a moment, then continued: "i had a longish talk with dr. mcpherson yesterday, and the upshot of it is that i may be required to hand in my checks any day now. i wanted you to know," he added simply. it was characteristic of the understanding between these two that patrick made no effort to "break the news," or soften it in any way. he had always been prepared to face facts himself, and he had trained sara in the same stern creed. so that now, when he quietly stated in plain language the thing which she had been inwardly dreading for some weeks -for, though silent on the matter, she had not failed to observe his appearance of increasing frailty-she took it like a thorough-bred. her eyes dilated a little, but her voice was quite steady as she said: "you mean"" "i mean that before very long i shall put off this vile body." he glanced down whimsically at his useless legs, cloaked beneath the inevitable rug. "after all," he continued, "life and death-are both fearfully interesting if one only goes to meet them instead of running away from them. then they become bogies." "and what shall i do without you?" she said very "aye." he nodded. "it's worse for those who are left behind. i've been one of them, and i know. i remember"he broke off short, his blue eyes dreaming. presently he gave his shoulders the characteristic little shake which presaged the dismissal of some recalcitrant secret thought, and went on in quick, practical tones. "i don't want to go out leaving a lot of loose ends behind me-a tangle for you to unravel. so, since the fiat has gone forth-mcpherson's a sound man and knows his job-let's face it together, little old pal. it will mean your leaving barrow, you know," he added tentatively. low. • · the passing of patrick lovell 31 sara nodded, her face rather white. "yes, i know. i shan't care-then." "oh yes, you will "-with shrewd wisdom. "it will be an extra drop in the bucket, you'll find, when the time comes. unfortunately, however, there's no getting round the entail, and when i go, my cousin, major durward, will reign in my stead." "why does the court go to a durward?" asked sara listlessly. "aren't there any lovells to inherit?" "he is a lovell. his father and mine were brothers, but his godfather, old timothy durward, left him his property on condition that he adopted the name. geoffrey durward has a son called timothy-after the old man.” "the durwards have never been here since i came to live with you," observed sara thoughtfully. "don't you care for him-your cousin, i mean?" 66 geoffrey? yes, he's a charming fellow, and he's been a rattling good soldier-got his d.s.o. in the south african campaign. but he and his wife she was a miss edenwere stationed in india so many years, i rather lost touch with them. they came home when the durward property fell in to them about seven or eight years ago. she, i think " -reminiscently-" was one of the most beautiful women i've ever seen.' "" the shadow in sara's eyes lifted for a moment. "is that the reason you've always remained a bachelor?" she asked, twinkling. "god bless my soul, no! i never wanted to marry elisabeth eden-though there were plenty of men who did." he regarded sara with an odd smile. some day, you'll know -why i never wanted to marry elisabeth." 66 "tell me now." he shook his head. "no. you'll know soon enough-soon enough." he was silent, fallen a-dreaming once again; and again he seemed to pull himself up short, foreing himself back 32 the hermit of far end to the consideration of the practical needs of the moment. 66 as i was saying, sara, sooner or later you'll have to turn out of the old court. it's entailed, and the income with it. but i've a clear four hundred a year, altogether apart from the barrow moneys, and that, at my death, will be yours." "i don't want to hear about it!" burst out sara passionately. "it's hateful even talking of such things." patrick smiled, amused and a little touched by youth's lack of worldly wisdom. "don't be a fool, my dear. i shan't die a day sooner for having made my will-and i shall die a deal more comfortably, knowing that you are provided for. i promised your mother that, as far as lay in my power, i would shield you from wrecking your life as she wrecked hers. and money— a secure little income of her own-is a very good sort of shield for a woman. four hundred's not enough to satisfy a mercenary individual, but it's enough to enable a woman to marry for love-and not for a home!" he spoke with a kind of repressed bitterness, as though memory had stirred into fresh flame the embers of some burnt-out passion of regret, and sara looked at him with suddenly aroused interest. but apparently patrick did not sense the question that trembled on her lips, or, if he did, had no mind to answer it, for he went on in lighter tones: "there, that's enough about business for the present. i only wanted you to know that, whatever happens, you will be all right as far as bread-and-cheese are concerned." "i believe you think that's all i should care about!" exclaimed sara stormily. patrick smiled. he had not been a citizen of the world for over sixty years without acquiring the grim knowledge that neither intense happiness nor deep grief suffice to deaden for very long the pinpricks of material discomfort. but the worldly-wise old man possessed a broad tolerance for the frailties of human nature, and his smile held nothing of the passing of patrick lovell 33 contempt, but only a whimsical humour touched with kindly understanding. "i know you better than that, my dear," he answered quietly. "but i often think of what i once heard an old working-woman, down in the village, say. she had just lost her husband, and the rector's wife was handing out the usual platitudes, and holding forth on the example of christian fortitude exhibited by a very wealthy lady in the neighbourhood, who had also been recently widowed. that's all very well, ma'am,' said my old woman drily, but fat sorrow's a deal easier to bear than lean sorrow.' and though it may sound unromantic, it's the raw truth-only very few people are sincere enough to acknowledge it." in the weeks that followed, patrick seemed to recover a large measure of his accustomed vigour. he was extraordinarily alert and cheerful—so alive that sara began to hope dr. mcpherson had been mistaken in his opinion, and that there might yet remain many more good years of the happy comradeship that existed between herself and her guardian. such buoyancy appeared incompatible with the imminence of death, and one day, driven by the very human instinct to hear her optimism endorsed, she scoffed a little, tentatively, at the doctor's verdict. patrick shook his head. "no, my dear, he's right," he said decisively. "but i'm not going to whine about it. taken all round, i've found life a very good sort of thing-although "-reflectively—“ i've missed the best it has to offer a man. and probably i'll find death a very good sort of thing, too, when it comes." and so patrick lovell went forward, his spirit erect, to meet death with the same cheerful, half-humorous courage he had opposed to the emergencies of life. it was a few days after this, on christmas eve, that sara, coming into his special den with a gay little joke on her lips and a great bunch of mistletoe in her arms, was arrested by the sudden, chill quiet of the little room. 34 the hermit of far end the familiar wheeled chair was drawn up to the window, and she could see the back of patrick's head with its thick crop of grizzled hair, but he did not turn or speak at the sound of her entrance. 66 uncle, didn't you hear me? are you asleep? uncle!" her voice shrilled on to a sharp staccato note, then cracked and broke suddenly. there came no movement from the chair. the silence remained unbroken save for the ticking of a clock and the loud beating of her own heart. the two seemed to merge into one gigantic pulse deafening. overwhelming . . like the surge of some immense, implacable sea. she swayed a little, clutching at the door for support. then the throbbing ceased, and she was only conscious of solitude so intense that it seemed to press about her like a tangible thing. swiftly, on feet of terror, she crossed the room and stood looking down at the motionless figure of her uncle. his face was turned towards the sun, and wore an expression of complete happiness and content, as though he had just found something for which he had been searching. he had looked like that a thousand times, when, seeking for her, he had come upon her, at last, hidden in some shady nook in the garden or swinging in her hammock. she could almost hear the familiar “oh, there you are, little old pal!" with which he would joyously acclaim her discovery. she lifted the hand that was resting quietly on his knee. it lay in hers, flaccid and inert, its dreadful passivity stinging her into realisation of the truth. patrick was dead. and, judging from his expression, he had found death "a very good sort of thing," just as he had expected. for a little while sara remained standing quietly beside the still figure in the chair. they would never be alone together any more-not quite like this, patrick sitting in his accustomed place, wearing his beloved old tweeds, with an immaculate tie and with his single eyeglass-about which she • • • · • 1 the passing of patrick lovell 35 had so often chaffed him-dangling across his chest on its broad black ribbon. her mouth quivered. "stand up to it!" voice-patrick's voice-seemed to sound in her ear "stand up to it, little old pal!" she bit back the sob that climbed to her throat, and stood silently facing the enemy, as it were. this was the end, then, of one chapter of her existencethe chapter of sheltered, happy life at barrow, and in these quiet moments, alone for the last time with patrick lovell, sara tried to gather strength and courage from her memories of his cheery optimism to face gamely whatever might befall her in the big world into which she must so soon adventure. · • · the chapter iii a sheaf of memories it t was over. the master of barrow had been carried shoulder-high to the great vault where countless lovells slept their last sleep, the blinds had been drawn up, letting in the wintry sunlight once again, and the mourners had gone their ways. only the new owner of the court still lingered, and even he would be leaving very soon now. sara, her slim, boyish build, with its long line of slender hip, accentuated by the clinging black of her gown, moved listlessly across the hall to where major durward was standing smoking by the big, open fire, waiting for the car which was to take him to the station. he made as though to throw his cigarette away at her approach, but she gestured a hasty negative. "no, don't," she said. "i like it. it seems to make things a little more natural. uncle pat "-with a wan smile -"was always smoking." her sombre eyes were shadowed and sad, and there was a pinched, drawn look about her nostrils. major durward regarded her with a concerned expression on his kindly face. "you will miss him badly," he said. 66 yes, i shall miss him," simply. she returned his glance frankly. "you are very like him, you know," she added suddenly. it was true. the big, soldierly man beside her, with his jolly blue eyes, grey hair, and short-clipped military moustache, bore a striking resemblance to the patrick lovell of ten years ago, before ill-health had laid its finger upon him, and during the difficult days that succeeded her uncle's death sara had unconsciously found a strange kind of comfort in 36 a sheaf of memories 37 the likeness. she had dreaded inexpressibly the advent of the future owner of barrow, but, when he had arrived, his resemblance to his dead cousin, and a certain similarity of gesture and of voice, common enough in families, had at once established a sense of kinship, which had deepened with her recognition of durward's genuine kind-heartedness and solicitude for her comfort. he had immediately assumed control of affairs, taking all the inevitable detail of arrangement off her shoulders, yet deferring to her as though she were still just as much mistress of the court as she had been before her uncle's death. in every way he had tried to ease and smooth matters for her, and she felt proportionately grateful to him. "then, if you think i'm like him," said durward gently, "will you let me try to take his place a little? i mean," he explained hastily, fearing she might misunderstand him, "that you will miss his guardianship and care of you, as well as the good pal you found in him. will you let me try to fill in the gaps, if—if you should want advice, or service anything over which a male man can be a bit useful? oh-" breaking off with a short, embarrassed laugh -"it is so difficult to explain what i do mean!" "i think i know," said sara, smiling faintly. "you mean that now uncle pat has gone, you don't want me to feel quite adrift in the world." the big man, hampered by his masculine shyness of a difficult situation, smiled back at her, relieved. "yes, that's it, that's it!" he agreed eagerly. “i want you to regard me as a-a sort of sheet-anchor upon which you can pull in a storm." "thank you," said sara. "i will. but i hope there won't be storms of such magnitude that i shall need to pull very hard." durward smoked furiously for a moment. then he burst forth"you can't imagine what a brute i feel for turning you 38 the hermit of far end out of the court. i wish it need not be. but the lovells have always lived at the old place, and my wife 99 "naturally." she interrupted him gently. "naturally, she wishes to live here. i owe you no grudge for that," smiling. "when-how soon do you think of coming? i will make my arrangements accordingly." 66 we should like to come as soon as possible, really," he admitted reluctantly. "i have the chance of leasing durward park, if the tenant can have what practically amounts to immediate possession. and of course, in the circumstances, i should be glad to get the durward property off my hands." "of course you would." sara nodded understandingly. "if you could let me have a few days in which to find some 99 rooms"no, no," he broke in eagerly. "i want you still to regard barrow as your headquarters-to stay on here with us until you have fixed up some permanent arrangement that suits you." she was touched by the kindly suggestion; nevertheless, she shook her head with decision. "it is more than kind of you to think of such a thing," she said gratefully. "but it is quite out of the question. why, i am not even a cousin several times removed! i have no claim at all. mrs. durward99 "will be delighted. she asked me to be sure and tell you so. please, miss tennant, don't refuse me. don't ". persuasively—“ oblige us to feel more brutal interlopers than we need." still she hesitated. "if i were sure-" she began doubtfully. "you may be absolutely sure. there!"-with a sigh of relief-" that's settled. but, as i can see you're the kind of person whose conscientious scruples will begin to worry you the moment i'm gone "-he smiled-" my wife will write to you. promise not to run away in the meantime?" a sheaf of memories 39 * "and "i promise," said sara. she held out her hand. -thank you." her eyes, suddenly misty, supplemented the baldness of the words. he took the outstretched hand in a close, friendly grip. "good. that's the car, i think," as the even purring of a motor sounded from outside. utside. "i must be off. but it's only au revoir, remember." she walked with him to the door, and stood watching until the car was lost to sight round a bend of the drive. then, as she turned back into the hall, the emptiness of the house seemed to close down about her all at once, like a pall. amid the manifold duties and emergencies of the last few days she had hardly had time to realise the immensity of her loss. practical matters had forcibly obtruded themselves upon her consideration-the necessity of providing accommodation for the various relatives who had attended the funeral, the frequent consultations that major durward, to all intents and purposes a stranger to the ways of barrow, had been obliged to hold with her, the reading of the will-all these had combined to keep her in a state of mental and physical alertness which had mercifully precluded retrospective thought. but now the necessity for doing anything was past; there were no longer any claims upon her time, nothing to distract her, and she had leisure to visualise the full significance of patrick's death and all that it entailed. rather languidly she mounted the stairs to her own room, and, drawing up a low chair to the fire, sat staring absently into its glowing heart. virtually, she was alone in the world. even major durward, who had been so infinitely kind, was not bound to her by any ties other than those forged of his own friendly feelings. true, he had been patrick's cousin, but patrick, although he had made up sara's whole world, had been entirely unrelated to her. her heart throbbed with a sudden rush of intense grati40 the hermit of far end tude towards the man who had so amply fulfilled his trust as guardian, and she glanced up wistfully at the big photograph of him which stood upon the chimney-piece. propped against the photo-frame was a square white envelope on which was written: to be given to my ward, sara tennant, after my death. the family solicitor had handed it to her the previous day, after the reading of the will, but the demands upon her time and attention had been so many, owing to the number of relatives who temporarily filled the house, that she had laid it on one side for perusal when she should be alone once more. the sight of the familiar handwriting brought a swift mist of tears to her eyes, and she hesitated a little before opening the sealed envelope. it was strange to realise that here was some message for her from patrick himself, but that no matter what the envelope might contain, she would be able to give back no answer, make no reply. the knowledge seemed to set him. very far away from her, and for a few moments she sobbed quietly, feeling utterly solitary and alone. presently she brushed the tears from her eyes and slit open the flap of the envelope. inside was a half-sheet of notepaper wrapped about a small old-fashioned key, and on the outer fold was written: "the key of the chippendale bureau." that was all. for an instant sara was puzzled. then she remembered that amongst patrick's personal bequests to her had been that of the small mahogany bureau which stood near the window of his bedroom. it had not occurred to her at the time that its contents might have any interest for her; in fact, she had supposed it to be empty. but now she realised that there was evidently something within it which patrick must have valued, seeing he had guarded the key so carefully and directed its delivery to her through the reliable hands of his solicitor. rather glad of anything that might help to occupy her a sheaf of memories 41 thoughts, she decided to investigate the bureau at once, and accordingly made her way to patrick's bedroom. on the threshold she paused, her heart contracting painfully as the spick and span aspect of the room, its ordered absence of any trace of occupation, reminded her that its one-time owner would never again have any further need of it. everything in the house seemed to present her grief to her anew, from some fresh angle, forcing comparison of what had been with what was-the wheeled chair standing vacant in one of the lobbies, the tobacco jar perched upon the chimney-piece, the pot of heliotrope-patrick's favourite blossom -scenting the library with its fragrance. and now his room-empty, swept, and garnished like any one of the score or so of spare bedrooms in the house! with an effort, sara forced herself to enter it. crossing to the window, she pulled a chair up to the chippendale bureau and unlocked it. then she drew out the sliding desk supports and laid back the flap of polished mahogany that served as a writing-table. she was conscious of a fleeting sense of admiration for the fine-grained wood and for the smooth "feel" of the old brass handles, worn by long usage, then her whole attention was riveted by the three things which were all the contents of the desk-a packet of letters, stained and yellowing with age and tied together with a broad, black ribbon, a jeweller's velvet case stamped with faded gilt lettering, and an envelope addressed to herself in patrick's handwriting. very gently, with that tender reverence we accord to the sad little possessions of our dead, sara gathered them up and carried them to her own sitting-room. she felt she could not stay to examine them in that strangely empty, lifeless room that had been patrick's; the terrible, chill silence of it seemed to beat against the very heart of her. laying aside the jeweller's case and the package of letters, she opened the envelope which bore her name and drew out 42 the hermit of far end a folded sheet of paper, covered with patrick's small, characteristic writing. impulsively she brushed it with her lips, then, leaning back in her chair, began to read, her expression growing curiously intent as she absorbed the contents of the letter. once she smiled, and more than once a sudden rush of unbidden tears blurred the closely written lines in front of her. "when you receive this, little pal sara "-ran the letter "i shall have done with this world. except that it means leaving you, my dear, i shall be glad to go, for i'm a very tired man. so, when it comes, you must try not to grudge me my 'long leave.' but there are several things you ought to know, and which i want you to know, yet i have never been able to bring myself to speak of them to you. to tell you about them meant digging into the past—and very often there is a hot coal lingering in the heart of a dead fire that is apt to burn the fingers of whoever rakes out the ashes. frankly, then, i funked it. but now the time has come when i can't put it off any longer. "little old pal, have you ever wondered why i loved you so much-why you stood so close to my heart? i used to tease you and say it was because we were no relation to each other, didn't i? if you had been really my niece, proper respect (on your part, of course, for your aged uncle!) and the barrier of a generation would have set us the usual miles apart. but there was never anything of that with us, was there? i bullied you, i know, when you needed it, but we were always comrades. and to me, you were something more than a comrade, something almost sacred and always adorable the child of the woman i loved. "for we should have been married, sara, your mother and i, had i not been a poor man. we were engaged, but at that time, i was only a younger son, with a younger son's meagre portion, and the prospect of my falling heir to barrow seemed of all things the most improbable. and pauline malincourt, a sheaf of memories 43 your mother, had been taught to abhor the idea of living on small means—trained to regard her beauty and breeding as marketable assets, to go to the highest bidder. for, although her parents came of fine old stock-there's no better blood in england than the malincourt strain, my dear-they were deadly hard-up. so hard-up, that when they died-as the result of a carriage accident which occurred a week after pauline's marriage-they left nothing behind them but debts which your father liquidated. "of your father, caleb tennant, the millionaire, i will not write, seeing that, after all, you are his child. it is enough to say that he was a hard man, and that he and your mother led a very unhappy life together, so unhappy that at last she left him, choosing rather to live in utter poverty than remain with him. he never forgave her for leaving him, and when he died, he willed every penny he possessed to some scoundrelly cousin of his-who is presumably enjoying the inheritance which should have been yours. "that is your family history, my dear, and it is right that you should know it-and know what you have to fight against. to be a malincourt is at once to have a curse and a blessing hung round your neck. the malincourts were originally of french extraction-descendants of the haute noblesse of old france-cursed with the devil's own pride and passionate self-will, and blessed with looks and brains and charm above the average. they never bend; they break sooner. and i think you've got the lot, sarathe full inheritance. "your mother was a true malincourt. she could not bend, and when things went awry, she broke. "you must never think hardly of her, for she had been brought up in that atmosphere of almost desperate pride which is too frequently the curse of the poverty-stricken aristocrat. she made a ghastly mistake, and paid for it afterwards every day of her life. and she was urged into 44 the hermit of far end it by her father, who declined to recognise me in any way, and by her mother, who made her life at home a simple hell-as a clever society woman can make of any young girl's life if she chooses. "just before she died, she sent for me and gave you into my care, begging me to shield you from spoiling your life as she had spoiled hers. "i've done what i could. you are at least independent. no one can drive you with the spur of poverty into selling yourself, as she was driven. but there are a hundred other rocks in life against which you may wreck your happiness, and remember, in the long run, you sink or swim by your own force of character. "and when love comes to you, as it will come,—for no woman with your eyes and your mouth ever yet lived a loveless life!-never forget that it is the biggest thing in the world, the one altogether good and perfect gift. don't let any twopenny-halfpenny considerations of worldly advantage influence you, nor the tittle-tattle of other folks, and even if it seems that something insurmountable lies between you and the fulfilment of love, go over it, or round it, or through it! if it's a real love, your faith must be big enough to remove the mountains in the way-or to go over them. "the package of letters you will find in the bureau were those your mother wrote to me during the few short weeks we belonged to each other. i'm a sentimental old fool, and i've never been able to bring myself to burn them. will you do this for me? "in the little velvet case you will find her miniature, which i give to you. it is very like her—and like you, too, for you resemble her wonderfully in appearance. often, to look at you has made my heart ache; sometimes it almost seemed as if the years had rolled back and pauline herself stood before me. "and now that the order for release is on its way to me, 5 a sheaf of memories 45 it is rather wonderful to reflect that in a few weeks a few days, perhaps i shall be seeing her again. · "good-bye, little pal of mine. we've had some good times together, haven't we? "your devoted patrick." sara sat very still, the letter clasped in her hand. she had always secretly believed that some long-dead romance lay behind patrick's bachelorhood, but she had never suspected that her own mother had been the woman he had loved. the knowledge illumined all the past with fresh light, investing it with a tender, reminiscent sentiment. it was easy now to understand the almost idyllic atmosphere patrick had infused into their life together. sara recognised it as the outcome of a love and fidelity as beautiful and devoted as it is rare. patrick's love for her mother had partaken of the enduring qualities of the great passions of history. paolo and francesca, abelard and héloïse-even they could have known no deeper, no more lasting love than that of patrick lovell for pauline. the love-letters of the dead woman lay on sara's lap, still tied together with the black ribbon which patrick's fingers must have knotted round them. there were only six of them-half-a-dozen memories of a love that had come hopelessly to grief-tangible memories which her lover had never had the heart to destroy. sara handled them caressingly, these few, pathetic records of a bygone passion, and at length, with hands that shook a little, she removed the ribbon that bound them together. where it had lain, preserving the strip of paper beneath it from ontact with the dust, bands of white traversed the faint discoloration which time had worked upon the outermost envelopes-mutely witnessing to the long years that had passed away since the letters had been penned in the first rapturous glow of hot young love. 46 the hermit of far end slowly, with a rather wistful sense of regret that it must needs be done, sara dropped them one by one, unread, into the fire, and watched them flare up with a sudden spurt of flame, then curl and shrivel into dead, grey ash-those last links with the romance of his youth which patrick had treasured so long and faithfully. she wondered what manner of woman her mother could have been to inspire so great a love that even her own unfaith had failed to sour it. her childish recollection, blurred by the passage of years, was of a white-faced, rather haggard-looking woman with deep-set, haunted eyes and a bitter mouth, but whose rare smile, when it came, was so enchanting that it wiped out, for the moment, all remembrance of the harsh lines which hardened her face when in repose. with eager hands the girl picked up the little velvet case that held the miniature, and snapped open the lid. the painting within, rimmed in old paste, was of a girl in her early twenties. the face was oval, with a small, pointed chin and a vivid red mouth, curling up at the corners. there was little colour in the cheeks, and the black hair and extraordinarily dark eyes served to enhance the creamy pallor of the skin. it was not altogether an english face; the cheek-bones were too high, and there was a definiteness of colouring, a decisive sharpness of outline in the piquant features, not often found in a purely english type. seen thus, the face looked strangely familiar to sara, and yet no memory of hers could recall her mother as she must have been at the time this portrait was painted. the miniature still in her hand, she moved hesitatingly to a mirror, so placed that the light from the window fell full upon her as she faced it. in a moment the odd sense of familiarity was explained. there, looking back at her from the mirror, was the same sharply angled face, the same warm ivory pallor of complexion, accentuated by raven hair and black, sombre eyes. what was it patrick had written? a sheaf of memories 47 "no woman with your eyes and your mouth ever yet lived a loveless life." with a curious deliberation, sara examined the features in question. the eyes were long, and the lids, opaquely white and fringed with jet-black lashes, slanted downwards a little at the outer corners, bestowing a curiously intense expression, such as one sometimes sees in the eyes of an actor, and the mouth was the same vividly scarlet mouth of the face in the miniature, at once passionate and sensitive. the french strain in the malincourt family had reproduced itself indubitably, both in the appearance of pauline and of pauline's daughter. would the mother's tragedy, fruit of her singular charm and of a pride which had accorded love but a secondary place in her scheme of life, also be re-enacted in the case of the daughter? it seemed almost as though patrick must have had pre-vision of some like fiery ordeal through which his "little old pal” might have to pass, so urgent had been the warning he had uttered. sara shivered, as if she, too, felt a prescience of coming disaster. it was as though a shadow had fallen across her path, a shadow of which the substance lay hidden, shrouded in the mists which veil the future. chapter iv elisabeth-and her son th he entrance to barrow court was somewhat forbidding. a flight of shallow granite steps, flanked by balustrades of the same austere substance, terminating in huge, rough-hewn pillars, led up to an enormous door of ancient oak, studded with nails-destined, it would seem, to resist the onslaught of an armed multitude. the sternness of its aspect, when the great door was closed, seemed to add an increased warmth to the suggestion of welcome it conveyed when, as now, it was swung hospitably open, emitting a ruddy glow of firelight from the hall beyond. sara was standing at the top of the granite steps, waiting to greet the durwards, whose approach was already heralded by the humming of a motor far down the avenue. a faint regret disquieted her. this was the last-the very last-time she would stand at the head of those stairs in the capacity of a hostess welcoming her guests; and even now her position there was merely an honorary one! in a few minutes, when mrs. durward should step across the threshold, it was she who would be transformed into the hostess, while sara would have to take her place as a simple guest in the house which for twelve years had been her home. thrusting the thought determinedly aside, she watched the big limousine swing smoothly round the curve of the drive and pull up in front of the house, and there was no trace of reluctance in the smile of greeting which she summoned up for major durward's benefit as he alighted and came towards her with outstretched hand. "but where are the others?" asked sara, seeing that the chauffeur immediately headed the car for the garage. 48 elisabeth-and her son 49 they're coming along on foot," explained durward. "elisabeth declared they could see nothing of the place, cooped up in the car, so they got out at the lodge and are walking across the park." sara preceded him into the hall, and they stood chatting together by the tea-table until the sound of voices announced the arrival of the rest of the party. "here they are!" exclaimed durward, hurrying forward to meet them, while sara followed a trifle hesitatingly, conscious of a sudden accession of shyness. (l notwithstanding the charming letter she had received from mrs. durward, begging her to remain at barrow court exactly as long as it suited her, now that the moment had come which would actually install the new mistress of the court, she began to feel as though her continued presence there might be regarded rather in the light of an intrusion. mrs. durward's letter might very well have been dictated only by a certain superficial politeness, or, even, solely at the instance of her husband, and it was conceivable that the writer would be none too pleased that her invitation had been so literally interpreted. in the course of a few seconds of time sara contrived to work herself up into a condition bordering upon panic. and then a very low contralto voice, indescribably sweet, and with an audacious ripple of laughter running through it, swept all her scruples into the rubbish heap. there was no doubting the sincerity of the speaker. "it was so nice of you not to run away, miss tennant." as she spoke, mrs. durward shook hands cordially. "poor geoffrey couldn't help being the heir, you know, and if you'd refused to stay, he'd have felt just like the villain in a cinema film. you've saved us from becoming crawling, selfreproachful wretches." then she turned and beckoned to her "this is tim," she said simply, but the quality of her voice was very much as though she had announced: "this is the sun, and moon, and stars." son. 50 the hermit of far end as mother and son stood side by side, sara's first impression was that she had never seen two more beautiful people. they were both tall, and a kind of radiance seemed to envelop them—a glory imparted by the sheer force of perfect symmetry and health-and, in the case of the former of the two, there was an added charm in a certain little air of stateliness and distinction which characterised her movements. patrick's reminiscent comment on elisabeth durward recalled itself to sara's mind: "i think she was one of the most beautiful women i have ever seen," and she recognised that almost any one might have truthfully subscribed to the same opinion. mrs. durward must have been at least forty years of agearguing from the presence of the six foot of young manhood whom she called son-but her appearance was still that of a woman who had not long passed her thirtieth milestone. the supple lines of her figure held the merest suggestion of maturity in their gracious curves, and the rich chestnut hair, swathed round her small, fine head, gleamed with the sheen which only youth or immense vitality bestows. her skin was of that almost dazzling purity which is so often found in conjunction with reddish hair, and the defect of over-light brows and lashes, which not infrequently mars the type, was conspicuously absent. her eyes were arresting. they were of a deep, hyacinth blue, very luminous and soft, and quite beautiful. but they held a curiously veiled expression—a something guarded and inscrutable-as though they hid some secret inner knowledge sentinelled from the world at large. sara, meeting their still, enigmatic gaze, was subtly conscious of an odd sense of repulsion, almost amounting to dread, and then elisabeth, making some trivial observation as she moved nearer to the fire, smiled across at her, and, in the extraordinary charm of her smile, the momentary sensation of fear was forgotten. elisabeth-and her son 51 nevertheless, it was with a feeling of relief that sara encountered the gay, frank glance of the son. tim durward, though dowered to the full with his mother's beauty, had yet been effectually preserved from the misfortune of being an effeminate repetition of her. in him, elisabeth's glowing auburn colouring had sobered to a steady brown-evidenced in the crisp, curly hair and sun-tanned skin; and the misty hyacinth-blue of her eyes had hardened in the eyes of her son into the clear, bright azure of the sea, whilst the beautiful contours of her face, repeated in his, had strengthened into a fine young virility. "i can't cure mother of introducing me as if i were the lord mayor," he murmured plaintively to sara as they sat down to tea. "i suppose it's the penalty of being an only son." "nothing of the sort," asserted elisabeth composedly. naturally i'm pleased with you—you're so absurdly like me. i always look upon you in the light of a perpetual compliment, because you've elected to grow up like me instead of like geoffrey "-nodding towards her husband. "after all, you had us both to choose from." tim shouted with delight. "listen to her, miss tennant! and for years i've been mistaking mere vulgar female vanity for maternal solicitude." 66 66 anyway, you're a very poor compliment," threw in major durward, with an expressive glance at his wife's beautiful face. it was obvious that he worshipped her, and she smiled across at him, blushing adorably, just like a girl of sixteen. tim turned to sara with a grimace. "it's a great trial, miss tennant, to be blessed with two parents" "it's quite usual," interpolated geoffrey mildly. "two parents," continued tim, firmly ignoring him, "who are hopelessly, besottedly in love with each other. 52 the hermit of far end instead of being as i ought to be the apple of their eyeof both their eyes-i'm merely the shadowy third.".. sara surveyed his goodly proportions consideringly. "no one would have suspected it," she assured him; and tim grinned appreciatively. "if you stay with us for long," he replied, "as i hope -impressively-" you will, you'll soon perceive how utterly i am neglected. perhaps "-his face brightening" you may be moved to take pity on my solitude quite frequently." 66 tim, stop being an idiot," interposed his mother placidly, holding out her cup, "and ask miss tennant to give me another lump of sugar." "" the advent of the durwards, breaking in upon her enforced solitude, helped very considerably to arouse sara from the natural depression into which she had fallen after patrick's death. with their absurdly large share of good looks, their charmingly obvious attachment to each other, and their enthusiastic, unconventional hospitality towards such an utter stranger as herself, devoid of any real claim upon them, she found the trio unexpectedly interesting and delightful. they had hailed her as a friend, and her frank, warmhearted nature responded instantly, speedily according each of them a special niche in her regard. she felt as though providence had suddenly endowed her with a whole family -"all complete and ready for use," as tim cheerfully observed-and the reaction from the oppressive consciousness of being entirely alone in the world acted like a tonic. the first brief sentiment of aversion which she had experienced towards elisabeth melted like snow in sunshine under the daily charm of her companionship; and though the hyacinth eyes held always in their depths that strange suggestion of mystery, sara grew to believe it must be merely some curious effect incidental to the colour and shape of the eyes themselves, rather than an indication of the soul that looked out of them. elisabeth-and her son 53 there was something perennially captivating about elisabeth. an atmosphere of romance enveloped her, engendering continuous interest and surmise, and sara found it wholly impossible to view her from an ordinary prosaic standpoint. occasionally she would recall the fact that mrs. durward was in reality a woman of over forty, mother of a grown-up son who, according to all the usages of custom, should be settling down into the drab and placid backwater of middle age, but she realised that the description went ludicrously wide of the mark. there was nothing in the least drab about elisabeth, nor would there ever be. she was full of colour and brilliance, reminding one of a great glowing-hearted rose in its prime. part of her charm, undoubtedly, lay in her attitude towards husband and son. she was still as romantically in love with major durward as any girl in her teens, and she adored tim quite openly. inevitably, perhaps, there was a touch of the spoilt woman about her, since both men combined to indulge her in every whim. nevertheless, there was nothing either small or petty in her wilfulness. it was rather the superb, stately arrogance of a queen, and she was kindness itself to sara. but the largest share of credit in restoring the latter to a more normal and less highly strung condition was due to tim, who gravitated towards her with the facility common to natural man when he finds himself for any length of time under the same roof with an attractive young person of the opposite sex. he had an engaging habit of appearing at the door of sara's sitting-room with an ingratiating: "i say, may i come in for a yarn?" and, upon receiving permission, he would establish himself on the hearth-rug at her feet and proceed to prattle to her about his own affairs, much as a brother might have done to a favourite sister, and with an equal assurance that his confidences would be met with sympathetic interest. 54 the hermit of far end "what are you going to do with yourself, tim?" asked sara one day, as he sprawled in blissful indolence on the great bearskin in front of her fire, puffing happily at a beloved old pipe. 66 do with myself?" he repeated. what do you mean? i'm doing very comfortably just at present "-glancing round him appreciatively. “i mean—what are you going to be? aren't you going to enter any profession?" tim sat up suddenly, removing his pipe from his mouth. "no," he said shortly. 66 "but why not? you can't slack about here for ever, doing nothing. i should have thought you would have gone into the army, like your father." his blue eyes hardened. "that's what i wanted to do," he said gruffly. "but the mother wouldn't hear of it.” sara could sense the pain in his suddenly roughened tones. "but why? you'd make a splendid soldier, tim" eyeing his long length affectionately. "i should have loved it," he said wistfully. "i wanted it more than anything. but mother worried so frightfully whenever i suggested the idea that i had to give it up. i'm to learn to be a landowner and squire and all that sort of tosh instead." 66 but that could come later." tim shrugged his shoulders. "of course it could. but mother refused point-blank to let me go to sandhurst. so now, unless a war crops upand it doesn't look as though there's much chance of that! -i'm out of the running. but if it ever does, sara "—he laid his hand eagerly on her knee-" i swear i'll be one of the first to volunteer. i was a fool to give in to the mother over the matter, only she was simply making herself ill about it, and, of course, i couldn't stand that." elisabeth-and her son 55 sara wondered why mrs. durward should have interfered to prevent her son from following what was obviously his natural bent. it would have seemed almost inevitable that, as a soldier's son, he should enter one or other of the services, and instead, here he was, stranded in a little country backwater, simply eating his heart out. mentally she determined to broach the subject to elisabeth as soon as an opportunity presented itself; but for the moment she skilfully drew the conversation away from what was evidently a sore subject, and suggested that tim should accompany her into fallowdene, where she had an errand at the post office. he assented eagerly, with a shake of his broad shoulders as though to rid himself of the disagreeable burden of his thoughts. from the window of his wife's sitting-room major durward watched the two as they started on their way to the village, evidently on the best of terms with one another, a placid smile spreading beneficently over his face as they vanished round the corner of the shrubbery. "anything in it, do you think?" he asked, seeing that elisabeth's gaze had pursued the same course. "it's impossible to say," she answered quietly. "tim imagines himself to be falling in love, i don't doubt; but at twenty-two a boy imagines himself in love with half the girls he meets." "i didn't," declared geoffrey promptly. "i fell in love with you at the mature age of nineteen-and i never fell out again." elisabeth flashed him a charming smile. "perhaps tim may follow in your footsteps, then," she suggested serenely. 66 well, would you be pleased?" persisted her husband, jerking his head explanatorily in the direction in which sara and tim had disappeared. "i shall always be pleased with the woman who makes tim happy," she answered simply. 56 the hermit of far end durward was silent a moment; then he returned to the attack. "she's a very pretty young woman, don't you think?" "sara? no, i shouldn't call her exactly pretty. her face is too thin, and strong, and eager. but she is a very uncommon type—like a black and white etching, and immensely attractive." it was several days before sara was able to introduce the topic of tim's profession, but she contrived it one afternoon when she and elisabeth were sitting together awaiting the return of the two men for tea. "it will be profession enough for tim to look after the property," elisabeth made answer. "he can act as agent for his father to some extent, and relieve him of a great deal of the necessary business that has to be transacted." she spoke with a certain finality which made it difficult to pursue the subject, but sara, remembering tim's suddenly hard young eyes, persisted. "it's a pity he cannot go into the army-he's so keen on it," she suggested tentatively. a curious change came over elisabeth's face. it seemed to sara as though a veil had descended, from behind which the inscrutable eyes were watching her warily. but the response was given lightly enough. "oh, one of the family in the service is enough. i should see so little of my beautiful tim if he became a soldier-only an occasional 'leave.' 999 "he would make a very good soldier," said sara. "to my mind, it's the finest profession in the world for any man." "do you think so?" elisabeth spoke coldly. "there are many risks attached to it." sara experienced a revulsion of feeling; she had not expected elisabeth to be of the fearful type of woman. women of splendid physique and abounding vitality are rarely obsessed by craven apprehensions. elisabeth-and her son 57 "i don't think the risks would count with tim," she said warmly. "he has any amount of pluck." and then she stared at elisabeth in amazement. a sudden haggardness had overspread the elder woman's face, the faint shellpink that usually flushed her cheeks draining away and leaving them milk-white. "yes," she replied in stifled tones. "i don't suppose tim's a coward. but "-more lightly-"i think i am. i don't think i care for the army as a profession. tim is my only child," she added self-excusingly. "i can't let him run risks of any kind." as she spoke, an odd foreboding seized hold of sara. it was as though the secret dread of something-she could not tell what-which held the mother had communicated itself to her. she shivered. then, the impression fading as quickly as it had come, she spoke defiantly, as if trying to reassure herself. "there aren't many risks in these piping times of peace. soldiers don't die in battle nowadays; they retire on a pension." "die in battle! did you think i was afraid of that?" there was a sudden fierce contempt in elisabeth's voice. sara looked at her with astonishment. "weren't you?" she said hesitatingly. elisabeth seemed about to make some passionate rejoinder. then, all at once, she checked herself, and again sara was conscious of that curiously secretive expression in her eyes, as though she were on guard. "there are many worse things than death," she said evasively, and deliberately turned the conversation into other channels. during the days that followed, sara became aware of a faintly perceptible difference in her relations with elisabeth. the latter was still just as charming as ever, but she seemed, in some inexplicable way, to have set a limit to their intimacy 58 the hermit of far end -defined a boundary line which she never intended to be overstepped. it was as though she felt that she had allowed sara to approach too nearly some inner sanctum which she had hitherto guarded securely from all intrusion, and now hastened to erect a barricade against a repetition of the offence. more than once, lately, sara had broached the subject of her impending departure from barrow, only to have the suggestion incontinently brushed aside by major durward, who declared that he declined to discuss any such disagreeable topic. but now, sensitively conscious that she had troubled elisabeth's peace in some way, she decided to make definite arrangements regarding her immediate future. she was agreeably surprised, when she propounded her idea, to find that mrs. durward seemed quite as unwilling to part with her as were both her husband and son. apparently the alteration in her manner, with its curiously augmented reticence, was no indication of any personal antipathy, and sara felt proportionately relieved, although somewhat mystified. "we shall all miss you," averred elisabeth, and there was absolute sincerity in her tones. "i don't see why you need be in such a hurry to run away from us.' and geoffrey and tim chorused approval. "" sara beamed upon them all with humid eyes. "it's dear of you to want me to stay with you," she declared. "but, don't you see, i must live my own lifehave a roof-tree of my own? i can't just sit down comfortably in the shade of yours." "pushful young woman!" chaffed geoffrey. "well, i can see your mind is made up. so what are your plans? let's hear them." "i thought of taking rooms for a while with some really nice people gentlefolk who wanted to take a paying guest"" "poor but honest, in fact," supplemented geoffrey. elisabeth-and her son 59 sara nodded. "yes. you see "-smiling-" you people have spoiled me for living alone, and as i'm really rather a solitary individual, i must find a little niche for myself somewhere." she unfolded a letter she was holding. "i thought i should like to go near the sea-to some quite tiny country place at the back of beyond. and i think i've found just the thing. i saw an advertisement for a paying guest-of the female persuasion so i replied to it, and i've just had an answer to my letter. it's from a doctor man-a dr. selwyn, at monkshaven-who has an invalid wife and one daughter, and he writes such an original kind of epistle that i'm sure i should like him." geoffrey held out his hand for the letter, running his eyes down its contents, while his wife, receiving an assenting nod from sara in response to her "may i?" looked over his shoulder. only tim appeared to take no interest in the matter, but remained standing rather aloof, staring out of the window, his back to the trio grouped around the hearth. "household . myself, wife, one daughter,' " muttered geoffrey. "um-um-quarter of a mile from the sea '-umas you will have guessed from the fact of my advertising'"-here he began to read aloud-"we are not too lavishly blessed with this world's goods. our house is roomy and comfortable, though abominably furnished. but i can guarantee the climate, and there are plenty of nicer people than ourselves in the neighbourhood. it wouldn't be fitting for me to blow our own particular household trumpet -nor, to tell the truth, is it always calculated to give forth melodious sounds; but if the other considerations i have mentioned commend themselves to you, i suggest that you come down and make trial of us.' 999 "don't you think he sounds just delightful?" queried sara. manlike, geoffrey shook his head disapprovingly. · 60 the hermit of far end "no, i don't," he said decisively. "that's the most unbusinesslike letter i've ever read." "i like it very much," announced elisabeth with equal decision. "the man writes just as he thinks-perfectly frankly and naturally. i should go and give them a trial as he suggests, sara, if i were you." "that's what i feel inclined to do," replied sara. "i thought it a delicious letter." geoffrey shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "then, of course, if you two women have made up your minds that the man's a natural saint, i may as well hold my peace. what's the fellow's address?-i'll look him up in the medical directory. richard selwyn, sunnyside, monkshaven-that right?" he departed to the library in search of dr. selwyn's credentials, presently returning with a somewhat rueful grin on his face. "he seems all right-rather a clever man, judging by his degrees and the appointments he has held," he acknowledged grudgingly. "i'm sure he's all right," asserted sara firmly. "although i don't understand why such a good man at his job should be practising in a little one-horse place like monkshaven," retorted geoffrey maliciously. "probably he went there on account of his wife's health," suggested elisabeth. "he says she is an invalid." 66 oh, well "-geoffrey yielded unwillingly-"i suppose you'll go, sara. but if the experiment isn't a success, you must come back to us at once. is that a bargain?" sara hesitated. 66 or "-firmly"or". promise," commanded geoffrey. "i'm hanged if we let you go at all.” "very well," agreed sara meekly. "i'll promise." "i hope the experiment will be an utter failure," observed tim, later on, when he and sara were alone together. he elisabeth-and her son 61 spoke with an oddly curt-almost inimical-inflection in his voice. "now that's unkind of you, tim," she protested smilingly. "i thought you were a good enough pal not to want to chortle over me as i know geoffrey will-should the thing turn out a frost!" "well, i'm not, then," he returned roughly. the churlish tones were so unlike tim that sara looked up at him in some amazement. he was staring down at her with a strange, awakened expression in his eyes; his face was very white and his mouth working. with a sudden apprehension of what was impending, she sprang up, stretching out her hand as though to ward it off. "no-no, tim. it isn't-don't say it's that—” he caught her hand and held it between both his. "but it is that," he said, speaking very fast, the serenity of his face all broken up by the surge of emotion that had gripped him. "it is that. i love you. i didn't know it till you spoke of going away. sara"" "oh, i'm sorry, i'm sorry!' she broke in hastily. "don't say any more, tim-please don't!" in the silence that followed the two young faces peered at each other-the one desperate with love, the other full of infinite regret and pleading. at last"you don't care? i thought we were "" "it's no use, then?" said tim dully. "i'm afraid i don't-not like that. friends—just friends, tim," she urged. tim lifted his head, and she saw that somehow, in the last few minutes, he had grown suddenly older. his gay, smiling mouth had set itself sternly; the beautiful boyish face had become a man's. "i thought so, too," he said gently. "but i know now that what i feel for you isn't friendship. it's "—with a short, grim laugh-" something much more than that. tell me, sara-will there ever be any chance for me?" 62 the hermit of far end she hesitated. she was so genuinely fond of him that she hated to give him pain. looking at him, standing before her in his splendid young manhood, she wondered irritably why she didn't love him. he was pre-eminently lovable. he caught eagerly at her hesitation. "" "don't answer me now!" he said swiftly. "i'll wait— give me a chance. i can't take no i can't take no . . . i won't take it! he went on masterfully. "i love you!" impetuously he slipped his strong young arms about her and kissed her on the mouth. the previous moment she had been all softness and regret, but now, at the sudden passion in his voice, something within her recoiled violently, repudiating the claim his love had made upon her. sara was the last woman in the world to be taken by storm. she was too individual, her sense of personal independence too strongly developed, for her ever to be swept off her feet by a passion to which her own heart offered no response. instead, it roused her to a definite consciousness of opposition, and she drew herself away from tim's eager arms with a decision there was no mistaking. "i'm sorry, tim," she said quietly. "but it's no good pretending i'm in love with you. i'm not." he looked at her with moody, dissatisfied eyes. "i've spoken too soon," he said. "i should have waited. only i was afraid.” "afraid?" "yes." he spoke uncertainly. i let you go, you'll meet some man haven, who'll want to marry you you! .. oh, sara! i don't ask you to -yet. say that you'll marry me . . . rest-you'd learn to love me." but that fierce, unpremeditated kiss-the first lover's kiss that she had known-had endowed her with a sudden clarity of vision. • "i've a feeling that if down there, at monksand i shall lose · • • say you love me i'd teach you the elisabeth-and her son 63 "no," she answered steadily. "i don't know much about love, tim, but i'm very sure it's no use trying to manufacture it to order. and-listen, tim, dear," the pain in his face making her suddenly all tenderness again—" if i married you, and afterwards you couldn't teach me as you think you could, we should only be wretched together." "i could never be wretched if you were my wife," he answered doggedly. "i've love enough for two.” she shook her head. "no, tim. don't let's spoil a good friendship by turning it into a one-sided love-affair." he smiled rather grimly. "i'm afraid it's too late to prevent that," he said drily. "but i won't worry you any more now, dear. only-i'm not going to accept your answer as final." "i wish you would," she urged. he looked at her curiously. "no man who loves you, sara, is going to give you up very easily," he averred. then, after a moment: "you'll let me write to you sometimes? she nodded soberly. "" "yes-but not love-letters, tim.” "no-not love-letters." he lifted her hands and kissed first one and then the other. then, with his head well up and his shoulders squared, he went away. but the sea-blue eyes that had been wont to look out on the world so gaily had suddenly lost their care-free bravery. they were the eyes of a man who has looked for the first time into the radiant, sorrowful face of love, and read therein all the possibilities—the glory and the pain and the supreme happiness-which love holds. and sara, standing alone and regretful that the friend had been lost in the lover, never guessed that tim's love was a thread which was destined to cross and re-cross those other threads held by the fingers of fate until it had tangled the whole fabric of her life. 86 chapter v the man in the train o ldhampton! oldhampton! change here for motchley and monkshaven!" it was with a sigh of relief that sara, in obedience to the warning raucously intoned by a hurrying porter, vacated her seat in the railway compartment in which she had travelled from fallowdene. her companions on the journey had been an elderly spinster and her maid, and as the former had insisted upon the exclusion of every breath of outside air, sara felt half-suffocated by the time they ran into oldhampton junction. the monkshaven train was already standing in the station, and, commissioning a porter to transfer her luggage, she sauntered leisurely along the platform, searching vainly for an empty compartment, where the regulation of the supply of oxygen would not depend upon the caprice of an old maid. the train appeared to be very full, but at last she espied a first-class smoking carriage which boasted but a single occupant a man in the far corner, half-hidden behind the newspaper he was holding—and, tipping her porter, she stepped into the compartment and busied herself bestowing her hand-baggage in the rack. the man in the corner abruptly lowered his newspaper. 66 this is a smoker," he remarked significantly. sara turned at the sound of his voice. the unwelcoming tones made it abundantly clear that the remainder of his thought ran: "and you've no business to get into it." 'a spark of amusement lit itself in her eyes. "the railway company indicate as much on the window," 64 the man in the train 65 she replied placidly, with a glance towards the smoking car riage label pasted against the pane. there came no response, unless an irritated crackling of newspaper could be regarded as such-and the next moment, to the accompaniment of much banging of doors and a final shout of: "stand away there!" the train began to move slowly out of the station. sara sat down with a sigh of relief that she had escaped her former travelling companions, with their unpleasant predilection for a vitiated atmosphere, and her thoughts wandered idly to the consideration of the man in the corner, to whom she was obviously an equally unwelcome fellowpassenger. he had retired once more behind his newspaper, and practically all that was offered for her contemplation consisted of a pair of knee-breeches and well-cut leather leggings and two strong-looking, sun-tanned hands. these latter intrigued sara considerably-their long, sensitive fingers and short, well-kept nails according curiously with their sunburnt suggestion of great physical strength and an outdoor life. she wished their owner would see fit to lower his newspaper once more, since her momentary glimpse of his face had supplied her with but little idea of his personality. and the hands, so full of contradictory suggestion, aroused her interest. as though in response to her thoughts, the newspaper suddenly crackled down on to its owner's knees. "i have every intention of smoking," he announced aggressively. "this is a smoking carriage." sara, supported by the recollection of a dainty little gold and enamel affair in her hand-bag, filled with some very special russian cigarettes, smiled amiably. "that's "i know it is," she replied in unruffled tones. why i got in. i, too, have every intention of smoking." he stared at her in silence for a moment, then, without further comment, produced a pipe and tobacco pouch from the depths of a pocket, and proceeded to fill the former, 66 the hermit of far end carefully pressing down the tobacco with the tip of one of those slender, capable-looking fingers. sara observed him quietly. as he lounged there indolently in his corner, she was aware of a subtle combination of strength and fine tempering in the long, supple lines of his limbs—something that suggested the quality of steel, hard yet pliant. he had a lean, hard-bitten face, tanned by exposure to the sun and wind, and the clean-shaven lips met with a curious suggestion of bitter reticence in their firm closing. his hair was brown-" plain brown" as sara mentally characterised it—but it had a redeeming kink in it and the crispness of splendid vitality. the eyes beneath the straight, rather frowning brows were hazel, and, even in the brief space of time occupied by the inimical colloquy of a few moments ago, sara had been struck by the peculiar intensity of their regard—an odd depth and brilliance only occasionally to be met with, and then preferably in those eyes which are a somewhat light grey in colour and ringed round the outer edge of the iris with a deeper tint. the flare of a match roused her from her half-idle, halfinterested contemplation of her fellow-passenger, and, as he lit his pipe, she was sharply conscious that his oddly luminous eyes were regarding her with a glint of irony in their depths. instantly she recalled his hostile reception of her entrance into the compartment, and the defiantly given explanation she had tendered in return. very deliberately she extracted her cigarette-case from her bag and selected a cigarette, only to discover that she had not supplied herself with a matchbox. she hunted assiduously amongst the assortment of odds and ends the bag contained, but in vain, and finally, a little nettled that her companion made no attempt to supply the obvious deficiency, she looked up to find that he was once more, to all appearances, completely absorbed in his newspaper. sara regarded him with indignation; in her own mind the man in the train 67 evidently he she was perfectly convinced that he was aware of her quandary and had no mind to help her out of it. had not forgiven her intrusion into his solitude. "boor!" she ejaculated mentally. with considerable acerbity: then, aloud, and "could you oblige me with a match? " with no show of alacrity, and with complete indifference of manner, he produced a matchbox and handed it to her, immediately reverting to his newspaper as though considerably bored by the interruption. sara flushed, and, having lit her cigarette, tendered him his matchbox with an icy little word of thanks. apparently, however, he was quite unashamed of his churlishness, for he accepted the box without troubling to raise his eyes from the page he was reading, and the remainder of the journey to monkshaven was accomplished in an atmosphere that bristled with hostility. as the train slowed up into the station, it became evident to sara that monkshaven was also the destination of her travelling companion, for he proceeded with great deliberation to fold up his newspaper and to hoist his suit-case down from the rack. it did not seem to occur to him to proffer his services to sara, who was struggling with her own handbaggage, and the instant the train came to a standstill he opened the door of the compartment, stepped out on to the platform, and marched away. a gleam of amusement crossed her face. "i wonder who he is?" she reflected, as the wake of a porter in search of her trunks. needs a lesson in manners." she followed in “he certainly within herself she registered a vindictive vow that, should the circumstances of her residence in monkshaven afford the opportunity, she would endeavour to give him one. monkshaven was but a tiny little station, and it was soon apparent that no conveyance of any kind had been sent to meet her. 68 the hermit of far end "no, there would be none," opined the porter of whom she inquired. "dr. selwyn keeps naught but a little ponytrap, and he's most times using it himself. but there's a 'bus from the cliff hotel meets all trains, miss, and' -with pride" there's a station keb." 99 in a few minutes sara was the proud-and thankfuloccupant of the "station keb," and, after bumping over the cobbles with which the station yard was paved, she found herself being driven in leisurely fashion through the high street of the little town, whilst her driver, sitting sideways on his box, indicated the points of interest with his whip as they went along. presently the cab turned out of the town and began the ascent of a steep hill, and as they climbed the winding road, sara found that she could glimpse the sea, rippling greyly beyond the town, and tufted with little bunches of spume whipped into being by the keen march wind. the town itself spread out before her, an assemblage of red and grey tiled roofs sloping downwards to the curve of the bay, while, on the right, a bold promontory thrust itself into the sea, grimly resisting the perpetual onslaught of the waves. through the waning light of the winter's afternoon, sara could discern the outline of a house limned against the dark background of woods that crowned it. linked to the jutting headland, a long range of sea-washed cliffs stretched as far as eye could reach. "that be monk's cliff," vouchsafed the driver conversationally. "bit of a lonesome place for folks to choose to live at, ain't it?" "who lives there?" asked sara with interest. "gentleman of the name of trent-queer kind of bloke he must be, too, if all's true they say of 'im. he's lived there a matter o' ten years or more-lives by 'imself with just a man and his wife to do for 'im. far end, they calls the 'ouse." "far end," repeated sara. the name conveyed an odd the man in the train 69 sense of remoteness and inaccessibility. it seemed pecu liarly appropriate to a house built thus on the very edge of the mainland. her eyes rested musingly on the bleak promontory. it would be a fit abode, she thought, for some recluse, determined to eschew the society of his fellow-men; here he could dwell, solitary and apart, surrounded on three sides by the grey, dividing sea, and protected on the fourth by the steep untempting climb that lay betwixt the town and the lonely house on the cliff. "'ere you are, miss. this is dr. selwyn's." the voice of her jehu roused her from her reflections to find that the cab had stopped in front of a white-painted wooden gate bearing the legend, "sunnyside," painted in black letters across its topmost bar. "i'll take the keb round to the stable-yard, miss; it'll be more convenient-like for the luggage," added the man, with a mildly disapproving glance towards the narrow tiled path leading from the gate to the house-door. sara nodded, and, having paid him his fare, made her way through the white gateway and along the path. there seemed a curious absence of life about the place. no sound of voices broke the silence, and, although the front door stood invitingly open, there was no sign of any one hovering in the background ready to receive her. vaguely chilled-since, of course, they must be expecting her-she rang the bell. it clanged noisily through the house, but failed to produce any more important result than the dislodging of some dust from a ledge above which the bellwire ran. sara watched it fall and lie on the floor in a little patch of fine, greyish powder. the hall, of which the open door gave view, though of considerable dimensions, was poorly furnished. the wide expanse of colour-washed wall was broken only by a hatstand, on which hung a large assortment of masculine hats. and coats, all of them looking considerably the worse for 70 the hermit of far end wear, and by two straight-backed chairs placed with praiseworthy exactitude at equal distances apart from the aforesaid rather overburdened piece of furniture. the floor was covered with linoleum of which the black and white chess-board pattern had long since retrogressed with usage into an uninspiring blur. a couple of threadbare rugs completed a somewhat depressing "interior." sara rang the bell a second time, on this occasion with an irritable force that produced clangour enough, one would have thought, to awaken the dead. it served, at all events, to arouse the living, for presently heavy footsteps could be heard descending the stairs, and, finally, a middle-aged maidservant, whose cap had obviously been assumed in haste, appeared, confronting sara with an air of suspicion that seemed rather to suggest that she might have come after the spoons. "the doctor's out," she announced somewhat truculently. then, before sara had time to formulate any reply, she added, a thought more graciously: "maybe you're a stranger to these parts. surgery hour's not till six o'clock." she was evidently fully prepared for sara to accept this as a dismissal, and looked considerably astonished when the latter queried meekly: "then can i see miss selwyn, please? i understand mrs. selwyn is an invalid." "you're right there. the mistress isn't up for seeing visitors. and miss molly, she's not home-she's away to oldhampton." "but-but-" stammered sara. "they're expecting me, surely? i'm miss tennant," she added by way of explanation. "miss tennant! sakes alive!" the woman threw up her hands, staring at sara with an almost comic expression, halting midway between bewilderment and horror. "if that isn't just the way of them," she went on indignantly, "never mentioning that 'twas to-day you were comingthe man in the train 71 and no sheets aired to your bed and all! the master, he never so much as named it to me, nor miss molly neither. but please to come in, miss-" her outraged sense of hospitality infusing a certain limited cordiality into her tones. the woman led the way into a sitting-room that opened off the hall, standing aside for sara to pass in, then, muttering half-inaudibly, "you'll be liking a cup of tea, i expect," she disappeared into the back regions of the house, whence a distant clattering of china shortly gave indication that the proffered refreshment was in course of preparation. sara seated herself in a somewhat battered armchair and proceeded to take stock of the room in which she found herself. it tallied accurately with what the hall had led her to expect. most of the furniture had been good of its kind at one time, but it was now all reduced to a drab level of shabbiness. there were a few genuine antiques amongst it -a couple of camel-backed chippendale chairs, a grandfather's clock, and some fine old bits of silver-which sara's eye, accustomed to the rare and beautiful furnishings of barrow court, singled out at once from the olla podrida of incongruous modern stuff. these alone had survived the general condition of disrepair; but, even so, the silver had a neglected appearance and stood badly in need of cleaning. this latter criticism might have been levelled with equal justice at almost everything in the room, and sara, mindful of her reception, reflected that in such an oddly conducted household, where the advent of an expected, and obviously much-needed, paying guest could be completely overlooked, it was hardly probable that smaller details of house-management would receive their meed of attention. instead of depressing her, however, the forlorn aspect of the room assisted to raise her spirits. it looked as though there might very well be a niche in such a household that she could fill. mentally she proceeded to make a tour of the room, duster in hand, and she had just reached the point where, in imagination, she was about to place a great bowl 72 the hermit of far end of flowers in the middle desert of the table, when the elderly abigail re-appeared and dumped a tea-tray down in front of her. sara made a wry face over the tea. it tasted flat, and she could well imagine the long-boiling kettle from which the water with which it had been made was poured. "i'm sure that tea's beastly!" a masculine voice sounded abruptly from the doorway, and, looking up, sara beheld a tall, eager-faced man, wearing a loose, shabby coat and carrying in one hand a professionallooking doctor's bag. the bag, however, was the only professional-looking thing about him. for the rest, he might have been taken to be either an impoverished country squire and sportsman, or a roman catholic dignitary, according to whether you assessed him by his broad, well-knit figure and weather-beaten complexion, puckered with wrinkles born of jolly laughter, or by the somewhat austere and controlled set of his mouth and by the ardent, luminous grey eyes, with their touch of the visionary and fanatic. sara set down her cup hastily. "and i'm sure you're dr. selwyn," she said, a flicker of amusement at his unconventional greeting in her voice. "how are you, "right!" he answered, shaking hands. miss tennant? it was plucky of you to decide to risk us after all, and i hope-" with a slight grimace-" you won't find we are any worse than i depicted. i was very sorry i had to be out when you came," he went on genially, “but i expect molly has looked after you all right? by the way glancing round him in some perplexity-" where is molly?" "i understood," replied sara tranquilly, "that she had gone in to oldhampton." "" dr. selwyn's expression was not unlike that of a puppy caught in the unlawful possession of his master's slipper. "what did i warn you?" he exclaimed with a rueful laugh. "we're a quite hopeless household, i'm afraid. and molly's the most absent-minded of beings. i expect the man in the train 73 she's she has clean forgotten that you were coming to-day. by way of being an artist-art-student, rather "-correcting himself with a smile. "you know the kind of thing-black carpets and futurist colour schemes in dress. so you must try and forgive her. she's only seventeen. but jane-i hope jane did the honours properly? she is our stand-by in all emergencies.” sara's eyes danced. "i'm afraid i came upon jane entirely in the light of an unpleasant surprise," she responded mildly. "what! do you mean to say she wasn't prepared for you? oh, but this is scandalous! what must you think of us all?" he strode across the room and pealed the bell, and, when jane appeared in answer to the summons, demanded wrathfully why nothing was in readiness for miss tennant's arrival. jane surveyed him with the immovable calm of the old family servant, her arms akimbo. "and how should it be?" she wanted to know. seeing that neither you nor miss molly named it to me that the young lady was coming to-day?" "but i asked miss molly to make arrangements," protested selwyn feebly. 66 "and did you expect her to do so, sir, may i ask?" inquired jane with withering scorn. "do you mean to tell me that miss molly gave you no orders about preparing a room?" countered the doctor, skilfully avoiding the point raised. "no, sir, she didn't. and if i'm kep' here talking much longer, there won't be one prepared, neither! 'tis no use crying out over spilt milk. let me get on with the airing of my sheets, and do you talk to the young lady whiles i see to it." and jane departed forthwith about her business. "jane crab," observed selwyn, twinkling, "has been with us five-and-twenty years. i had better do as she tells 74 the hermit of far end "" me. he threw a doleful glance at the unappetising tea in sara's cup. "i positively dare not order you fresh teain the circumstances. jane would probably retaliate with an ultimatum involving a rigid choice between tea and the preparation of your room, accompanied by a pithy summary of the capabilities of one pair of hands." "wouldn't you like some tea yourself?" hazarded sara. "i should-very much. but i see no prospect of getting any while jane maintains her present attitude of mind." "then-if you will show me the kitchen-i'll make some," announced sara valiantly. selwyn regarded her with a pitying smile. "you don't know jane," he said. kitchen are not-welcomed." "and jane doesn't know me," replied sara firmly. "on your own head be it, then," retorted the doctor, and led the way to the sacrosanct domain presided over by jane crab. "trespassers in the how sara managed it selwyn never knew, but she contrived to invade jane's kitchen and perform the office of tea-making without offending her in the very least. nay, more, by some occult process known only to herself, she succeeded in winning jane's capacious heart, and from that moment onwards, the autocrat of the kitchen became her devoted satellite; and later, when sara started to make drastic changes in the slip-shod arrangements of the house, her most willing ally. "miss tennant's the only body in the place as has got some sense in her head," she was heard to observe on more than one occasion. chapter vi the skeleton in selwyn's cupboard af fter tea, selwyn escorted sara upstairs and introduced her to his wife. mrs. selwyn was a slender, colourless woman, possessing the remnants of what must at one time have been an ineffective kind of prettiness. she was a determinedly chronic invalid, and rarely left the rooms which had been set aside for her use to join the other members of the family downstairs. "the stairs try my heart, you see," she told sara, with the martyred air peculiar to the hypochondriac-the genuine sufferer rarely has it. "it is, of course, a great deprivation to me, and i don't think either dick "-with an inimical glance at her husband—“ or molly come up to see me as often as they might. stairs are no difficulty to them." selwyn, who invariably ran up to see his wife immediately on his return from no matter how long or how tiring a round of professional visits, bit his lip. "i come as often as i can, minnie," he said patiently. "you must remember my time is not my own." "no, dear, of course not. and i expect that outside patients are much more interesting to visit than one's own wife," with a disagreeable little laugh. "they mean bread-and-butter, anyway," said selwyn bluntly. "of course they do." she turned to sara. “dick always thinks in terms of bread-and-butter, miss tennant," she said sneeringly. "but money means little enough to any one with my poor health. beyond procuring me a few alleviations, there is nothing it can do for me.” sara was privately of the opinion that it had done a good 75 76 the hermit of far end deal for her. looking round the luxuriously furnished room with its blazing fire, and then at mrs. selwyn herself, elegantly clad in a rest-gown of rich silk, she could better understand the poverty-stricken appearance of the rest of the house, dick's shabby clothes, and his willingness to receive a paying guest whose contribution towards the housekeeping might augment his slender income. here, then, was where his hard-earned guineas wentto keep in luxury this petulant, complaining woman whose entire thoughts were centred about her own bodily comfort, and whom patrick lovell, with his lucid recognition of values, would have contemptuously described as "a parasite woman, m'dear-the kind of female i've no use for." "oh, dick "-mrs. selwyn had been turning over the pages of a price-list that was lying on her knee-"i see the world's stores have just brought out a new kind of adjustable reading-table. it's a much lighter make than the one i have. i think i should find it easier to use." selwyn's face clouded. "how much does it cost, dear?" he asked nervously. "these mechanical contrivances are very expensive, you know." “oh, this one isn't. it's only five guineas." "five guineas is rather a lot of money, minnie," he said gravely. "couldn't you manage with the table you have for a bit longer?" mrs. selwyn tossed the price-list pettishly on to the floor. "oh, of course!" she declared. "that's always the way. 'can't i manage with what i have? can't i make do with this, that, and the other?' i believe you grudge every penny you spend on me!" she wound up acrimoniously. a dull red crept into selwyn's face. "you know it's not that, minnie," he replied in a painfully controlled voice. "it's simply that i can't afford these things. i give you everything i can. if i were only a rich man, you should have everything you want." the skeleton in selwyn's cupboard 77 "perhaps if you were to work a little more intelligently you'd make more money" she retorted. "if only you'd keep your brains for the use of people who can pay-and pay well-i shouldn't be deprived of every little comfort i ask for! instead of that, you've got half the poor of monkshaven on your books-and if you think they can't afford to pay, you simply don't send in a bill. oh, i know!"-sitting up excitedly in her chair, a patch of angry scarlet staining each cheek-"i hear what goes on-even shut away from the world as i am. it's just to curry popularity-you get all the praise, and i suffer for it! i have to go without what i want"" "oh, hush! hush!" selwyn tried ineffectually to stem the torrent of complaint. "no, i won't hush! it's 'doctor dick this,' and 'doctor dick that'-oh, yes! you see, i know their name for you, these slum patients of yours!--but it's doctor dick's wife who really foots the bills-by going without what she needs!" "minnie, be quiet!" selwyn broke in sternly. "remember miss tennant is present." but she had got beyond the stage when the presence of a third person, even that of an absolute stranger, could be depended upon to exercise any restraining effect. "well, since miss tennant's going to live here, the sooner she knows how things stand the better! she won't be here long without seeing how i'm treated ”—her voice rising hysterically-"set on one side, and denied even the few small pleasures my health permits__” she broke off in a storm of angry weeping, and sara retreated hastily from the room, leaving husband and wife alone together. she had barely regained the shabby sitting-room when the front door opened and closed with a bang, and a gay voice could be heard calling"jane! jane! come here, my pretty jane! i've brought home some shrimps for tea!" 78 the hermit of far end "hold your noise, miss molly, now do!" sara could hear jane's admonitory whisper, and there followed a murmured colloquy, punctuated by exclamations and gusts of young laughter, calling forth renewed remonstrance from jane, and then the door of the room was flung open, and molly selwyn sailed in and overwhelmed sara with apologies for her reception, or rather, for the lack of it. she was quite charming in her penitence, waving dimpled, deprecating hands, and appealing to sara with a pair of liquid, disarming, golden-brown eyes that earned her forgiveness on the spot. she was a statuesque young creature, compact of large, soft, gracious curves and swaying movements—with her nimbus of pale golden hair, and curiously floating, undulating walk, rather reminding one of a stray goddess. always untidy, with hooks lacking at important junctures, and the trimmings of her hats usually pinned on with a casualness that occasionally resulted in their deserting the hat altogether, she could still never be other than delightful and irresistibly desirable to look upon. her red, curving mouth of a child, cleft chin, and dimpled, tapering hands all premised a certain yieldingness of disposition—a tendency to take always the line of least resistance-but it was a charming, appealing kind of frailty which most people—the sterner sex, certainly would be very ready to condone. it is a wonderful thing to be young. molly poured herself out a cup of hideously stewed tea and drank it joyously to an accompaniment of shrimps and bread-and-butter, and when sara uttered a mild protest, she only laughed and declared that it was a wholesome and digestible diet compared with some of the "studio teas" perpetrated by the artists' colony at oldhampton, of which she was a member. she chattered away gaily to sara, giving her vivacious thumb-nail portraits of her future neighbours-the people selwyn had described as being "much nicer than ourselves." the skeleton in selwyn's cupboard 79 "the herricks and audrey maynard are our most intimate friends—i'm sure you'll adore them. mrs. maynard is a widow, and if she weren't so frightfully rich, monkshaven would be perennially shocked at her. she is ultrafashionable, and smokes whenever she chooses, and swears when ordinary language fails her—all of which things, of course, are anathema to the select circles of monkshaven. but then she's a millionaire's widow, so instead of giving her the cold shoulder, every one gushes round her and declares 'mrs. maynard is such a thoroughly modern type, you know!'"-molly mimicked the sugar-and-vinegar accents of the critics to perfection-" and privately audrey shouts with laughter at them, while publicly she continues to shock them for the sheer joy of the thing." "and who are the herricks?" asked sara, smiling. "married people?" "no." molly shook her head. "miles is a bachelor who lives with a maiden aunt-miss lavinia. or, rather, she lives with him and housekeeps for him. 'the lavender lady,' i always call her, because she's one of those delightful old-fashioned people who remind one of dimity curtains, and pot-pourri, and little muslin bags of lavender. miles is a perfect pet, but he's lame, poor dear." sara waited with a curious eagerness for any description which might seem to fit her recent fellow-traveller, but none came, and at last she threw out a question in the hope of eliciting his name. "he was horribly ungracious and rude," she added, "and yet he didn't look in the least the sort of man who would be like that. there was no lack of breeding about him. he was just deliberately snubby-as though i had no right to exist on the same planet with him-anyway "-laughing-" not in the same railway compartment." molly nodded sagely. "i believe i know whom you mean. was he a lean, brown, grim-looking individual, with the kind of eyes that 80 the hermit of far end almost make you jump when they look at you suddenly?" "that certainly describes them," admitted sara, smiling faintly. "then it was the hermit of far end," announced molly. "the hermit of far end?" "yes. he's a queer, silent man who lives all by himself at a house built almost on the edge of monk's cliff-you must have seen it as you drove up?" "oh!" exclaimed sara, with sudden enlightenment. "then his name is trent. the cabman presented me with that information," she added, in answer to molly's look of surprise. 66 "yes-garth trent. it's rather an odd name-sounds like a railway collision, doesn't it? but it suits him somehow "-reflectively. "have you met him?" prompted sara. it was odd how definite an interest her brief encounter with him had aroused in her. "yes-once. he treated me"-giggling delightedly"rather as if i wasn't there! at least "-reminiscently"he tried to." "it doesn't sound as though he had succeeded?" suggested sara, amused. molly looked at her solemnly. 66 he told some one afterwards-miles herrick, the only man he ever speaks to, i think, without compulsion—that i was 'the delilah type of woman, and ought to have been strangled at birth." " 66 he must be a charming person," commented sara ironi cally. "oh, he's a woman-hater-in fact, i believe he has a grudge against the world in general, but women in particular. i expect "-shrewdly-" he's been crossed in love." at this moment selwyn re-entered the room, his grave face clearing a little as he caught sight of his daughter. "hullo, molly mine! got back, then?" he said, smiling. the skeleton in selwyn's cupboard 81 "have you made your peace with miss tennant, you scatterbrained young woman?" "it's a hereditary taint, dad-don't blame me!" retorted molly with lazy impudence, pulling his head down and kissing him on the top of his ruffled hair. selwyn grinned. "i pass," he submitted. and who is it that's been 66 crossed in love?" "the hermit of far end." “oh "-turning to sara-" so you have been discussing our local enigma?" "yes. i fancy i must have travelled down with him from oldhampton. he seemed rather a boorish individual." "he would be. he doesn't like women." 66 monk's cliff would appear to be an appropriate habitation for him, then," commented sara tartly. they all laughed, and presently selwyn suggested that his daughter should run up and see her mother. "she'll be hurt if you don't go up, kiddy," he said. "and try and be very nice to her-she's a little tired and upset to-day." when she had left the room he turned to sara, a curious blending of proud reluctance and regret in his eyes. "i'm so sorry, miss tennant," he said simply, “that you should have seen our worst side so soon after your arrival. you-you must try and pardon it————” "oh, please, please don't apologise," broke in sara hastily. "i'm so sorry i happened to be there just then. it was horrible for you." 99 he smiled at her wistfully. "it's very kind of you to take it like that," he said. "after all "-frankly-" you could not have remained with us very long without finding out our particular skeleton in the cupboard. my wife's state of health-or, rather, what she believes to be her state of health-is a great grief to me. 82 the hermit of far end i've tried in every way to convince her that she is not really so delicate as she imagines, but i've failed utterly." now that the ice was broken, he seemed to find relief in pouring out the pitiful little tragedy of his home life. "she is comparatively young, you know, miss tennant only thirty-seven, and she wilfully leads the life of a confirmed invalid. it has grown upon her gradually, this absorption in her health, and now, practically speaking, molly has no mother and i no wife." "oh, doctor dick "—the little nickname, that had its origin in his slum patients' simple affection for the man who tended them, came instinctively from her lips. it seemed, somehow, to fit itself to the big, kindly man with the sternly rugged face and eyes of a saint. "oh, doctor dick, i'm so sorry-so very sorry!" perhaps something in the dainty, well-groomed air of the woman beside him helped to accentuate the neglected appearance of the room, for he looked round in an irritated kind of way, as though all at once conscious of its deficiencies. "and this-this, too," he muttered. there's no one at the helm. . the truth is, i ought never to have let you come here." · • sara shook her head. "i'm very glad i came," she said simply. "i think i'm going to be very happy here." "you've got grit," he replied quietly. "you'd make a success of your life anywhere. i wish "-thoughtfully"molly had a little of that same quality. sometimes" a worried frown gathered on his face "i get afraid for molly. she's such a child and no mother to hold the reins." • 66 • • "doctor dick"-sara looked at him very straightly"would you consider it impertinent if—if i laid my hands on the reins-just now and then?" he whirled round, his eyes shining with gratitude. the skeleton in selwyn's cupboard 83 1 "impertinent! i should be illimitably thankful! you see how things are-i am compelled to be out all my time, my wife hardly ever leaves her own rooms, and molly and the house affairs just get along as best they can.” "then," said sara, smiling, "i shall put my finger in the pie. i've i've no one to look after now, since uncle patrick died," she added. "i think, doctor dick, i've found my job." "it's absurd!" he exclaimed, regarding her with unfeigned delight. "here you come along, prepared, no doubt, to be treated as a 'guest,' and the first thing i do is to shovel half my troubles on to your shoulders. it's absurd-disgraceful! . . . but it's amazingly good!" he held out his hand, and as sara's slim fingers slid into his big palm, he muttered a trifle huskily: "god bless you for it, my dear!" chapter vii trespass sa ara stood on the great headland known as monk's cliff, watching with delight the white-topped billows hurling themselves against its mighty base, only to break in a baulked fury of thunder and upflung spray. she had climbed the steep ascent thither on more than one day of storm and bluster, revelling in the buffeting of the gale and in the pungent tang of brine from the spray-drenched air. the cry of the wind, shrieking along the face of the sea-bitten cliff, reminded her of the scream of the hurricane as it tore through the pinewoods at barrow-shaking their giant tops hither and thither as easily as a child's finger might shake a canterbury bell. something wild and untamed within her responded to the savage movement of the scene, and she stood for a long time watching the expanse of restless, wind-tossed waters, before turning reluctantly in the direction of home. if for nothing else than for this gift of glorious sea and cliff, she felt she could be content to pitch her tent in monkshaven indefinitely. her way led past far end, the solitary house perched on the sloping side of the headland, and, as she approached, she became aware of a curious change of character in the sound of the wind. she was sheltered now from its fiercest onslaught, and it seemed to her that it rose and fell, moaning in strange, broken cadences, almost like the singing of a violin. she paused a moment, thinking at first that this was due to the wind's whining through some narrow passage betwixt the outbuildings of the house, then, as the chromatic wailing 84 trespass 85 broke suddenly into vibrating harmonies, she realised that some one actually was playing the violin, and playing it remarkably well, too. instinctively she yielded to the fascination of it, and, drawing nearer to the house, leaned against a sheltered wall, all her senses subordinate to that of hearing. whoever the musician might be, he was a thorough master of his instrument, and sara listened with delight, recognising some of the haunting melodies of the wild russian music which he was playing-music that even in its moments of delirious joy seems to hold always an underlying bourdon of tragedy and despair. "hi, there! she started violently. entirely absorbed in the music, she had failed to observe a man, dressed in the style of an indoor servant, who had appeared in the doorway of one of the outbuildings and who now addressed her in peremptory tones. "hi, there! don't you know you're trespassing?" jerked suddenly out of her dreamy enjoyment, sara looked round vaguely. "i didn't know that monk's cliff was private property," she said after a pause. "nor is it, that i know of. but you're on the far end estate now-this is a private road," replied the man disagreeably. "you'll please to take yourself off." a faint flush of indignation crept up under the warm pallor of sara's skin. then, a sudden thought striking her, she asked"who is that playing the violin?" mentally she envisioned a pair of sensitive, virile hands, lean and brown, with the short, well-kept nails that any violinist needs must have the contradictory hands which had aroused her interest on the journey to monkshaven. "i don't hear no one playing," replied the man stolidly. 86 the hermit of far end she felt certain he was lying, but he gave her no opportunity for further interrogation, for he continued briskly"come now, miss, please to move off from here. trespassers aren't allowed." sara spoke with a quiet air of dignity. "certainly i'll go," she said. "i'm sorry. i had no idea that i was trespassing." the man's truculent manner softened, as, with the intuition of his kind, he recognised in the composed little apology the utterance of one of his "betters." "beggin' your pardon, miss," he said, with a considerable accession of civility, "but it's as much as my place is worth to allow a trespasser here on far end." sara nodded. "you're perfectly right to obey orders," she said, and, bending her steps towards the public road from which she had strayed to listen to the unseen musician, she made her way homewards. " "your mysterious hermit' is nothing if not thorough," she told doctor dick and molly on her return. "i trespassed on to the far end property to-day, and was ignominiously ordered off by a rather aggressive person, who, i suppose, is mr. trent's servant." "that would be judson," nodded selwyn. "i've attended him once or twice professionally. the fellow's all right, but he's under very strict orders, i believe, to allow no trespassers." "so it seems," returned sara. "by the way "-curiously "who is the violinist at far end? is it the 'hermit' himself?" "it's rumoured that he does play," said molly. "but no one has ever been privileged to hear him." "their loss, then," commented sara shortly. "i should say he is a magnificent performer." molly nodded, an expression of impish amusement in her eyes. trespass 87 "on the sole occasion i met him, i asked him why no one was ever allowed to hear him play," she said, chuckling. “i even suggested that he might contribute a solo to the charity concert we were getting up at the time!" "and what did he say?" asked sara, smiling. "told me that there was no need for a man to exhibit his soul to the public! so i asked him what he meant, and he said that if i understood anything about music i would know, and that if i didn't, it was waste of his time trying to explain. do you know what he meant?" "yes," said sara slowly. "i think i do." and recalling the passionate appeal and sadness of the music she had heard that afternoon, she was conscious of a sudden quick sense of pity for the solitary hermit of far end. he was afraid— afraid to play to any one, lest he should reveal some inward bitterness of his soul to those who listened! the following day, molly carried sara off to rose cottage to make the acquaintance of "the lavender lady" and her nephew. miss herrick or miss lavinia, as she was invariably addressed-looked exactly as though she had just stepped out of the early part of last century. she wore a gown of some soft, silky material, sprigged with heliotrope, and round her neck a fichu of cobwebby lace, fastened at the breast with a cameo brooch of old italian workmanship. a coquettish little lace cap adorned the silver-grey hair, and the face beneath the cap was just what you would have expected to find itsoft and very gentle, its porcelain pink and white a little faded, the pretty old eyes a misty, lavender blue. she was alone when the two girls arrived, and greeted sara with a humorous little smile. "how kind of you to come, miss tennant! we've been all agog to meet you, miles and i. in a tiny place like monkshaven, you see, every one knows every one else's business, so of course we have been hearing of you constantly." 88 the hermit of far end "then i think you might have come to sunnyside to investigate me personally," replied sara, smiling back. miss lavinia's face sobered suddenly, a shadow falling across her kind old eyes. "miles is rather difficult about calling," she said hesitatingly. "you will understand-his lameness makes him a little self-conscious with strangers," she explained. sara looked distressed. "oh! perhaps it would have been better if i had not come?" she suggested hastily. "shall i run away and leave molly here?" miss lavinia flushed rose-pink. "my dear, i hope miles knows how to welcome a guest in his own house as befits a herrick," she said, with a delicious little air of old-world dignity. "indeed, it is an excellent thing for him to be dragged out of his shell. only, please will you remember?-treat him exactly as though he were not lame-never try to help him in any way. it is that which hurts him so badly-when people make allowances for his lameness. just ignore it." sara nodded. she could understand that instinctive man's pride which recoiled from any tolerant recognition of a physical handicap. "was his lameness caused by an accident?" she asked. "it came through a very splendid deed." little miss lavinia's eyes glowed as she spoke. "he stopped a pair of runaway carriage-horses. they had taken fright at a motorlorry, and, when they bolted, the coachman was thrown from the box, so that it looked as if nothing could save the occupants of the carriage. miles flung himself at the horses' heads, and although, of course, he could not actually stop them single-handed, he so impeded their progress that a second man, who sprang forward to help, was able to bring them to a standstill." "you "how plucky of him!" exclaimed sara warmly. must be very proud of your nephew, miss lavinia!" "" trespass 89 "she is," interpolated molly affectionately. you, dear lavender lady?" miss lavinia smiled a trifle wistfully. "ah! my dear," she said sadly, "splendid things are done at such a cost, and when they are over we are apt to forget the splendour and remember only the heavy price. my poor miles was horribly injured-he had been dragged for yards, clinging to the horses' bridles-and for weeks we were not even sure if he would live. he has lived-but he will walk lame to the end of his life." "aren't · the little instinctive silence which followed was broken by the sound of voices in the hall outside, and, a minute later, miles herrick himself came into the room, escorting a very fashionably attired and distinctly attractive woman, whom sara guessed at once to be audrey maynard. she was not in the least pretty, but the narrowest of narrow skirts in vogue in the spring of 1914 made no secret of the fact that her figure was almost perfect. her face was small and thin and inclined to be sallow, and beneath upward-slanting brows, to which art had undoubtedly added something, glimmered a pair of greenish-grey eyes, clear like rain. nor was there any mistaking the fact that the rich copper-colour of the hair swathed beneath the smart little hat had come out of a bottle, and was in no way to be accredited to nature. it was small wonder that primitive monkshaven stood aghast at such flagrant tampering with the obvious intentions of providence. but notwithstanding her up-to-date air of artificiality, there was something immensely likeable about audrey maynard. behind it all, sara sensed the real woman-clever, tactful, and generously warm-hearted. woman, when all is said and done, is frankly primitive in her instincts, and the desire to attract-with all its odd manifestations—is really but the outcome of her innate desire for home and a mate. it is this which lies at the root of most of her little vanities and weaknesses-and of all the 90 the hermit of far end big sacrifices of which she is capable as well. so she so she may be forgiven the former, and trusted to fall short but rarely of the latter when the crucial test comes. (6 "miles and i have been-as usual-squabbling violently," announced mrs. maynard. sugar, please lots of it," she added, as herrick handed her her tea. "it was about the man who lives at far end," she continued in reply to the lavender lady's smiling query. "miles has been very irritating, and tried to smash all my suggested theories to bits. he insists that the hermit is quite a commonplace, harmless young man66 "" he must be at least forty," interposed herrick mildly. audrey frowned him into silence and continued— "now that's so dull, when half monkshaven believes him to be a villain of the deepest dye, hiding from justice-or, possibly, a bluebeard with an unhappy wife imprisoned somewhere in that weird old house of his." sara listened with undisguised interest. it was strange how the enigmatical personality of the owner of far end kept cropping up across her path. “and what is your own opinion, mrs. maynard?" she asked. audrey flashed her a keen glance from her rain-clear eyes. "i think he's a-sphinx," she said slowly. "the sphinx was a lady," objected herrick pertinently. "mr. trent's a masculine re-incarnation of her, then," retorted mrs. maynard, undefeated. herrick smiled tolerantly. he was a tall, slenderly built man, with whimsical brown eyes and the half-stern, half-sweet mouth of one who has been through the mill of physical pain. "homme incompris," he suggested lightly. "give the fellow his due he at least supplies the feminine half of monkshaven with a topic of perennial interest." audrey took up the implied challenge with enthusiasm, and the two of them wrangled comfortably together till tea trespass 91 was over. then she demanded a cigarette-and another cushion-and finally sent miles in search of some snapshots they had taken together and which he had developed since last they had met. she treated him exactly as though he suffered no handicap, demanding from him all the little services she would have asked from a man who was physically perfect. sara herself, accustomed to anticipating every need of patrick lovell's, would have been inclined to feel somewhat compunctious over allowing a lame man to wait upon her, yet, as she watched the eager way in which miles responded to the visitor's behests, she realised that in reality audrey was behaving with supreme tact. she let miles feel himself a man as other men, not a mere lame duck" to whom indulgence must needs be granted. 66 and once, when her hair just brushed his cheek, as he stooped over her to indicate some special point in one of the recently developed photos, sara surprised a sudden ardent light in his quiet brown eyes that set her wondering whether, possibly, the incessant sparring between herrick and the lively, impulsive woman who shocked half monkshaven, did not conceal something deeper than mere friendship. chapter viii the unwilling host t was one of those surprisingly warm days, holding a foretaste of june's smiles, which march occasionally vouchsafes. it the sun blazed down out of a windless, cloudless sky, and sara, making her way leisurely through the straggling woods that intervened betwixt the selwyns' house and monk's cliff, felt the salt-laden air wafted against her face, as warmly mellow as though summer were already come. molly had gone in to oldhampton-since the artists' colony there would be certain to take advantage of this gift of a summer's day to arrange a sketching party, and, as the morning's post had brought sara a letter from elisabeth durward which had occasioned her considerable turmoil of spirit, she had followed her natural bent by seeking the solitude of a lonely tramp in order to think the matter out. from her earliest days at barrow she had always carried the small tangles of childhood to a remote corner of the pine-woods for solution, and the habit had grown with her growth, so that now, when a rather bigger tangle presented itself, she turned instinctively to the solitude of the cliffs at monkshaven, where the murmur of the sea was borne to her ears, plaintively reminiscent of the sound of the wind in her beloved pine trees. spring comes early in the sheltered, southern bay of monkshaven, and already the bracken was sending up pushful little shoots of young green, curled like a baby's fist, while the primroses, bunched together in clusters, thrust peering faces impertinently above the green carpet of the woods. sara stopped to pick a handful, tucking them into her belt. then, 92 the unwilling host 93 emerging from the woods, she breasted the steep incline that led to the brow of the cliff. a big boulder, half overgrown with moss and lichen, offered a tempting resting-place, and flinging herself down on the yielding turf beside it, she leaned back and drew out elisabeth's letter. she had sometimes wondered whether elisabeth had any suspicion of the fact that, before leaving barrow, she had refused to marry tim. the friendship and understanding between mother and son was so deep that it was very possible tim had taken her into his confidence. and even if he had not, the eyesight of love is extraordinarily keen, and elisabeth would almost inevitably have divined that something was amiss with his happiness. if this were so, as sara admitted to herself with a wry smile, there was little doubt that she would look askance at the woman who had had the temerity to refuse her beautiful tim! and now, although her letter contained no definite allusion to the matter, reading between the lines, the conviction was borne in upon sara that elisabeth knew all that there was to know, and had ranged herself, heart and soul, on the side of her son. it was obvious that she thought of the whole world in terms of tim, and, had she been a different type of woman, the simile of a hen with one chick would have occurred to sara's mind. but there was nothing in the least hen-like about elisabeth. durward. only, whenever tim came near her, her face, with its strangely inscrutable eyes, would irradiate with a sudden warmth and tenderness of emotion that was akin to the exquisite rapture of a lover when the beloved is near. to sara, there seemed something a little frightening—almost terrible-in her intense devotion to tim. the letter itself was charmingly written-expressing the hope that sara was happy and comfortable at monkshaven, 94 the hermit of far end recalling their pleasant time at barrow together, and looking forward to other future visits from her-" which would be a fulfilment of happiness to us all.” it was this last sentence, combined with one or two other phrases into which much or little meaning might equally as easily be read, which had aroused in sara a certain uneasy instinct of apprehension. dimly she sensed a vague influence at work to strengthen the ties that bound her to barrow, and to all that barrow signified. she faced the question with characteristic frankness. tim had his own place in her heart-secure and unassailable. but it was not a place in that sacred inner temple which is reserved for the one man, and she recognised this with a limpid clearness of perception rather uncommon in a girl of twenty. she also recognised that it was within the bounds of possibility that the one man might never come to claim that place, and that, if she gave tim the answer he so ardently desired, they would quite probably rub along together as well as most married folk-better, perhaps, than a good many. but she was very sure that she never intended to desecrate that inner temple by any lesser substitute for love. thus she reasoned, with the untried confidence of youth, which is so pathetically certain of itself and of its ultimate power to hold to its ideals, ignorant of the overpowering influences which may develop to push a man or woman this way and that, or of the pain that may turn clear, definite thought into a welter of blind anguish, when the soul in its agony snatches at any anodyne, true or false, which may seem to promise relief. a little irritably she folded up elisabeth's letter. it was disquieting in some ways—she could not quite explain whyand just now she felt averse to wrestling with disturbing ideas. she only wanted to lie still, basking in the tranquil peace of the afternoon, and listen to the murmuring voice of the sea. she closed her eyes indolently, and presently, lulled by the unwilling host 95 the drowsy rhythm of the waves breaking at the foot of the cliff, she fell asleep. she woke with a start. an ominous drop of rain had splashed down on to her cheek, and she sat up, broad awake in an instant and shivering a little. it had turned much colder, and a wind had risen which whispered round her of coming storm, while the blue sky of an hour ago was hidden by heavy, platinum-coloured clouds massing up from the south. another and another raindrop fell, and, obeying their warning, sara sprang up and bent her steps in the direction of home. but she was too late to avoid the storm which had been brewing, and before she had gone a hundred yards it had begun to break in drifting scurries of rain, driven before the wind. she hurried on, hoping to gain the shelter of the woods before the threatened deluge, but within ten minutes of the first heralding drops it was upon her-a torrent of blinding rain, sweeping across the upland like a wet sheet. she looked about her desperately, in search of cover, and perceiving, on the further side of a low stone wall, what she took to be a wooden shelter for cattle, she quickened her steps to a run, and, nimbly vaulting the wall, fled headlong into it. it was not, however, the cattle shed she had supposed it, but a roughly constructed summer-house, open on one side to the four winds of heaven and with a wooden seat running round the remaining three. sara guessed immediately that she must have trespassed again on the far end property, but reflecting that neither its owner nor his lynx-eyed servant was likely to be abroad in such a downpour as this, and that, even if they were, and chanced to discover her, they could hardly object to her taking refuge in this outlying shelter, she shook the rain from her skirts and sat down to await the lifting of the storm. as always in such circumstances, the time seemed to pass 96 the hermit of far end inordinately slowly, but in reality she had not been there more than a quarter of an hour before she observed the figure of a man emerge from some trees, a few hundred yards distant, and come towards her, and despite the fact that he was wearing a raincoat, with the collar turned up to his ears, and a tweed cap pulled well down over his head, she had no difficulty in recognising in the approaching figure her fellow-traveller of the journey to monkshaven. evidently he had not seen her, for she could hear him whistling softly to himself as he approached, while with the fingers of one hand he drummed on his chest as though beating out the rhythm of the melody he was whistling-a wild, passionate refrain from wieniawski's exquisite légende. it sounded curiously in harmony with the tempest that raged about him. for himself, he appeared to regard the storm with indifference almost to welcome it, for more than once sara saw him raise his head as though he were glad to feel the wind and rain beating against his face. she drew back a little into the shadows of the summerhouse, hoping he might turn aside without observing her, since, from all accounts, garth trent was hardly the type of man to welcome a trespasser upon his property. but he came straight on towards her, and an instant later she knew that her presence was discovered, for he stopped abruptly and peered through the driving rain in the direction of the summer-house. then, quickening his steps, he rapidly covered the intervening space and halted on the threshold of the shelter. "what the devil" he began, then paused and stared down at her with an odd glint of amusement in his eyes. "so it's you, is it?" he said at last, with a short laugh. once again sara was conscious of the extraordinary tensity of his regard, and now, as a sudden ragged gleam of sunlight pierced the clouds, falling athwart his face, she realised the unwilling host 97 what it was that induced it. in both eyes the clear hazel of the iris was broken by a tiny, irregularly shaped patch. of vivid blue, close to the pupil, and its effect was to give that curious depth and intentness of expression which molly had tried to describe when she had said that garth trent's were the kind of eyes which "made you jump if he looked at you suddenly." sara almost jumped now; then, supported by her indignant recollection of the man's churlishness on a former occasion, she bowed silently. he continued to regard her with that lurking suggestion of amusement at the back of his eyes, and she was annoyed to feel herself flushing uncomfortably beneath his scrutiny. at last he spoke again. "you seem to have a faculty for intrusion," he remarked drily. sara's eyes flashed. "and you, a fancy for solitude," she retorted. "exactly." he bowed ironically. "perhaps you would oblige me by considering it?" and he drew politely aside as though to let her pass out in front of him. sara cast a dismayed glance at the rain, which was still descending in torrents. then she turned to him indig nantly. "do you mean that you're going to insist on my starting out in this storm?" she demanded. "don't you know that you've no right to be here at all— that you're trespassing?" he parried coolly. "of course i know it! but i didn't expect that any one in the world would object to my trespassing in the circumstances!" "you must not judge me by other people," he replied composedly. "i am not-like them." "you're not, indeed," agreed sara warmly. "and your tone implies thanks be," he supplemented with a faint smile. "oh, well," he went on ungraciously, 98 the hermit of far end "stay if you like so long as you don't expect me to stay with you.' 99 sara hastily disclaimed any such desire, and, lifting his cap, he turned and strode away into the rain. another ten minutes crawled by, and still the rain came down as persistently as though it intended never to cease again. sara fidgeted, and walked across impatiently to the open front of the summer-house, staring up moodily at the heavy clouds. they showed no signs of breaking, and she was just about to resume her weary waiting on the seat within the shelter, when quick steps sounded to her left, and garth trent reappeared, carrying an umbrella and with a man's overcoat thrown over his arm. "it's going to rain for a good two hours yet," he said abruptly. "you'd better come up to the house." sara gazed at him in silent amazement; the invitation was so totally unexpected that for a moment she had no answer ready. 66 unless," he added sneeringly, misinterpreting her silence, "you're afraid of the proprieties?" "i'm far more afraid of taking cold," she replied promptly, preparing to evacuate the summer-house. "here, put this on," he said gruffly, holding out the coat he had brought with him. "there's no object in getting any wetter than you must." he helped her into the coat, buttoning it carefully under her chin, his dexterous movements and quiet solicitude contrasting curiously with the detachment of his manner whilst performing these small services. he was so altogether business-like and unconcerned that sara felt not unlike a child being dressed by a conscientious but entirely disinterested nurse. when he had fastened the last button of the long coat, which came down to her heels, he unfurled the umbrella and held it over her. "keep close to me, please," he said briefly, nor did he volunteer any further remark until they had accomplished the unwilling host 99 the journey to the house, and were standing together in the old-fashioned hall which evidently served him as a living room. here trent relieved her of the coat, and while she stood warming her feet at the huge log-fire, blazing half-way up the chimney, he rang for his servant and issued ord for tea to be brought, as composedly as though visitors of the feminine persuasion were a matter of everyday occurrence. sara, catching a glimpse of judson's almost petrified face of astonishment as he retreated to carry out his master's instructions, and with a vivid recollection of her last encounter with him, almost laughed out loud. "please sit down," said trent. “and”—with a glance towards her feet-" you had better take off those wet shoes." there was something in his curt method of giving orders —rather as though he were a drill-sergeant, sara reflectedthat roused her to opposition. she held out her feet towards the blaze of the fire. "no, thank you," she replied airily. "they'll dry like this." as she spoke, she glanced up and encountered a sudden flash in his eyes like the keen flicker of a sword-blade. without vouchsafing any answer, he knelt down beside her and began to unlace her shoes, finally drawing them off and laying them sole upwards, in front of the fire to dry. then he passed his hand lightly over her stockinged feet. "wringing wet!" he remarked curtly. "those silk absurdities must come off as well." sara sprang up. "no!" she said firmly. "they shall not!" he looked at her, again with that glint of mocking amusement with which he had first greeted her presence in his summer-house. "you'd rather have a bad cold?" he suggested. "ever so much rather!" retorted sara hardily. he gave a short laugh, almost as though he could not 100 the hermit of far end help himself, and, with a shrug of his shoulders, turned and marched out of the room. left alone, sara glanced about her in some surprise at the evidences of a cultivated taste and love of beauty which the room supplied. it was not quite the sort of abode she would have associated with the grim, misanthropic type of man she judged her host to be. the old-fashioned note, struck by the huge oaken beams supporting the ceiling and by the open hearth, had been retained throughout, and every detail the blue willow-pattern china on the old oak dresser, the dimly lustrous pewter perched upon the chimney-piece, the silver candle-sconces thrusting out curved, gleaming arms from the panelled walls -was exquisite of its kind. it reminded her of the old hall at barrow, where she and patrick had been wont to sit and yarn together on winter evenings. the place had a well-tended air, too, and sara, who waged daily war against the slovenly shabbiness prevalent at sunnyside, was all at once sensible of how desperately she had missed the quiet perfection of the service at barrow. the nostalgia for her old home-the unquenchable, homesick longing for the place that has held one's happiness-rushed over her in an overwhelming flood. wishing she had never come to this house, which had so stirred old memories, she got up restlessly, driven by a sudden impulse to escape, just as the door opened to re-admit garth trent. he gave her a swift, searching glance. "there"-gravely "sit down again," he commanded. depositing a towel and a pair of men's woollen socks on the floor beside her" dry your feet and put those socks on." he moved quickly away towards the window and remained there, with his back turned studiously towards her, while she obeyed his instructions. when she had hung two very damp black silk stockings on the fire-dogs to dry, she flung a somewhat irritated glance at him over her shoulder. the unwilling host 101 "you can come back," she said in a small voice. he came, and stood staring down at the two woolly socks protruding from beneath the short, tweed skirt. the suspicion of a smile curved his lips. "they're several sizes too large," he observed. "odd creatures you women are," he went on suddenly, after a brief silence. "you shy wildly at the idea of letting a man see the feet god gave you, but you've no scruples at all about letting any one see the selfishness that the devil's put into your hearts." he spoke with a kind of savage contempt; it was as though the speech were tinged with some bitter personal memory. sara's eyes surveyed him calmly. "i've no intention of making an exhibit of my heart," she observed mildly. "it's wiser not, probably," he retorted disagreeably, and at that moment judson came into the room and began to arrange the tea-table beside his master's chair. "put it over there," directed trent sharply, indicating with a gesture that the table should be placed near his guest, and judson, his face manifesting rather more surprise than is compatible with the wooden mask demanded of the welltrained servant, hastened to comply. when he had readjusted the position of the tea-table, he moved quietly about the room, drawing the curtains and lighting the candles in their silver sconces, so that little pools of yellow light splashed down on to the smooth surface of the oak floor-waxed and polished till it gleamed like black ivory. as he withdrew unobtrusively towards the door, trent tossed him a further order. "i shall want the car round in a couple of hours-at six," he said, and smiled straight into sara's startled eyes. chapter ix the hermit's shell s ara paused with the sugar-tongs poised above the queen anne bowl. "sugar?" she queried. trent regarded her seriously. "one lump, please." she handed him his cup and poured out another for herself. then she said lightly: is this quite a suitable "i heard you order your car. afternoon for joy-riding?" "more so than for walking," he retaliated. "i'm going to drive you home." "at six o'clock?" "at six o'clock." "and suppose i wish to leave before then?" he cast an expressive glance towards the windows, where the rain could be heard beating relentlessly against the panes. "it's quite open to you. sara made a small grimace of disgust. "otherwise," she said tentatively, "i am to stay here, whether i will or no?" he nodded. to walk home." "yes. it's my birthday, and i'm proposing to make myself a present of an hour or two of your society," he replied composedly. sara regarded him with curiosity. he had been openly displeased to find her trespassing on his estate-which was only what current report would have led her to expectyet now he was evincing a desire for her company, and, in 102 the hermit's shell 103 addition, a very determined intention to secure it. the man was an enigma! "i'm surprised," she said lightly. "i gathered from a recent remark of yours that you didn't think too highly of women." "i don't," he replied with uncompromising directness. "then why-why"" "perhaps i have a fancy to drop back for a brief space into the life i have renounced," he suggested mockingly. "then you really are what they call you-a hermit?" "i really am." "and feminine society is taboo?" "entirely as a rule." if, for an instant, the faintest of smiles modified the grim closing of his lips, sara failed to notice it. the cold detachment of his answer irritated her. it was as though he intended to remain, hermit-like, within his shell, and she had a suspicion that behind this barricade he was laughing at her for her ineffectual attempts to dig him out of it with a pin. "i suppose some woman didn't fall into your arms just when you wanted her to?" she hazarded. she had not calculated on the result of this thrust. his eyes blazed for a moment. then, a shade of contempt blending with the former cool insouciance of his tone, he said quietly: "you don't expect an answer to that question, do you?" the snub was unmistakable, and sara's cheeks burned. she felt heartily ashamed of herself, and yet, incongruously, she was half inclined to lay the blame for her impertinent speech on his shoulders. he had almost challenged her to deal a blow that should crack that impervious shell of his. she glanced across at him beneath her lashes, and in an instant all thought of personal dignity was wiped out by the look of profound pain that she surprised in his face. her 104 the hermit of far end shrewd question, uttered almost unthinkingly in the cut-andthrust of repartee, had got home somewhere on an old wound. "oh, i'm sorry!" she exclaimed contritely. 1 she could only assume that he had not heard her lowvoiced apology, for, when he turned to her again, he addressed her exactly as though she had not spoken. "try some of these little hot cakes," he said, tendering a plateful. "they are quite one of mrs. judson's specialties." with amazing swiftness he had reassumed his mask. the bright, hazel eyes were entirely free from any hint of pain, and his voice held nothing more than conventional politeness. sara meekly accepted one of the cakes in question, and for a little while the conversation ran on stereotyped lines. presently, when tea was over, he offered her a cigarette. "i have not forgotten your tastes, you see," he said, smiling. "i do smoke," she admitted. "but "-the confession came with a rush, and she did not quite know what impelled her to make it-" i smoked-that day in the train-out of sheer defiance." "i was sure of it," he responded in amused tones. "but now "-striking a match and holding it for her to light her cigarette-"you will smoke because you really like it, and because it would be a friendly action and condone the fact that you are being held a prisoner against your will." sara smiled. "it is a very charming prison," she said, contemplating the harmony of the room with satisfied eyes. "you like it?" he asked eagerly. she looked at him in surprise. what could it matter to him whether she liked it or not? "who wouldn't? "why, of course, i like it," she replied. you see," she added a little wistfully, "i have no home of my own now, so i have to enjoy other people's." "i have no home, either," he said shortly. the hermit's shell 105 "but-but this" "is the house in which i live. one wants more than a few sticks of furniture to make a home." sara was struck by the intense bitterness in his tone. truly this man, with his lightning changes from boorish incivility to whole-hearted hospitality, from apparently impenetrable reserve to an almost desperate outspokenness, was as incomprehensible as any sphinx. she hastily steered the conversation towards a less dangerous channel, and gradually they drifted into the discussion of art and music; and sara, not without some inward trepidation-remembering molly's experience-touched on his own musicianship. "it was surely you i heard?" she queried a trifle hesitatingly. "you were playing some russian music that i knew. your man ordered me off the premises "-smiling a little" so i didn't hear as much as i should have liked." "is that a hint?" he asked whimsically. "a broad one. please take it." he hesitated a moment. then"very well," he said abruptly. he rose and led the way into an adjoining room. like the hall they had just quitted, it was pleasantly illumined by candles in silver sconces, and had evidently been arranged to serve exclusively as a music-room, for it contained practically no furniture beyond a couple of chairs, and a beautiful mahogany cabinet, of which the doors stood open, revealing sliding shelves crammed full of musical scores. a grand piano was so placed that the light from either window or candles would fall comfortably upon the music-desk; and on a stool beside it rested a violin case. trent opened the case, and, lifting the violin from its cushiony bed of padded satin, fingered it caressingly. 106 the hermit of far end "can you read accompaniments?" he asked, flashing the question at her with his usual abruptness. "yes." sara's answer came simply, minus the mockmodest tag: "a little," or "i'll do my best," which most people seem to think it incumbent on them to add, in like circumstances. it is one of the mysteries of convention why, when you are perfectly aware that you can do a thing, and do it well, you are expected to depreciate your capability under penalty of being accounted overburdened with conceit should you fail to do so. "good." trent pulled out an armful of music from the cabinet and looked through it rapidly. "we'll have some of these." ("these" being several suites for violin and piano.) sara's lips twitched. he was testing her rather highly, since the pianoforte score of the suites in question was by no means easy. but, thanks to the wisdom of patrick lovell, who had seen to it that she studied under one of the finest masters of the day, she was not a musician by temperament alone, but had also a surprisingly good technique. at the close of the second suite, trent turned to her enthusiastically, his face aglow. for the moment he was no longer the hermit, aloof and enigmatical, but an eager comrade, spontaneously appealing to a congenial spirit. "that went splendidly, didn't it?" he exclaimed. "the pianoforte score is a pretty stiff one, but i was sure ”—smilingly-" from the downright way you answered my question about accompaniments, that you'd prove equal to it." sara smiled back at him. "i didn't think it necessary to make any conventional professions of modesty-to you," she said. "you don'twrap things up much-yourself." he leaned against the piano, looking down at her. "no. nothing i say can make things either better or the hermit's shell 107 worse for me, so i have at least gained freedom from the conventions. that is one of that is one of my few compensations." "compensations for what?" the question escaped her almost before she was aware, and she waited for the snub which she felt would inevitably follow her second indiscretion that afternoon. but it did not come. instead, he fenced adroitly. 66 compensation for the limitations of a hermit's life," he said lightly. "the life is your own choice," she flashed back at him. "oh, no "-he shook his head-"we're not always given a choice, you know. this world isn't a kind of sublimated children's party." she regarded him thoughtfully. "i think," she said gravely, "we always get back out of life just what we put into it." his mouth twisted ironically. "that's a charming doctrine, but i'm afraid i can't subscribe to it. i put in-all my capital. and i've drawn a blank." his tone indicated a kind of strange, numb acceptance of an inimical destiny, and sara was conscious of a rush of intense pity towards this man whose implacably cynical outlook manifested itself in almost every word he uttered. was no mere pose on his part of that she felt assured-but something ingrained, grafted on to his very nature by the happenings of life. it rather girlishly she essayed to combat it. "you're not at the end of life yet." he smiled at her a sudden, rare smile of extraordinary sweetness. her intention was so unmistakable-so touchingly ingenious, as are all youth's attempts to heal a bitterness that lies beyond its ken. (6 there are no more lucky dips left in life's tub for me, i'm afraid," he said gently. sara seized upon the opening afforded. 108 the hermit of far end "of course not-if you persist in keeping to the rôle of looker-on," she retorted. he regarded her gravely. "unfortunately, i've no longer any right to dip my head into the tub. even if i chanced to draw a prize-i should only have to put it back again." the quiet irrevocableness of his answer shook her optimism. "i don't understand," she said hesitatingly. "no?"-his tones hardened suddenly. "it's just as well you shouldn't, perhaps." the abrupt alteration in his manner took her by surprise. all at once, he seemed to have retreated into his shell, to have become again the curt, ironic individual of their first meeting. "i think," he went on, tranquilly ignoring the mixture of chagrin and amazement in her face, "i think i hear the car coming round. you had better put on your shoes and stockings again-they'll be dry now-and then we can start. it's no longer raining.” sara felt as though she had been suddenly relegated to a position of utter unimportance. he was showing her that, as far as he was concerned, she was a person of not the slightest consequence, treating her like an inquisitive child. their recent conversation, during which his mantle of reserve had slipped a little aside, the music they had shared, when for a brief time they had walked together in the pleasant paths of mutual understanding, all seemed to have receded an immense distance away. as she took her place in the car, she could almost have believed that the incidents of the afternoon were a dream, and nothing more. trent sat silently beside her, his attention apparently concentrated on the driving of the car. once he asked her if she were warm enough, and, upon her replying in the affirmative, lapsed again into silence. gaining security from his abstraction, sara ventured to steal a side-glance at his face. it was a curiously contrathe hermit's shell 109 dictory face, hard and bitter-looking, yet the reckless mouth curved sensitively at the corners, and the tolerant, humorous lines about the eyes seemed to combat the impression of almost brutal force conveyed by the frowning brows and square, dominant chin. always acutely sensible of temperament, sara felt as though the man beside her might be capable of any extreme of action. whatever decision he might adopt over any given matter, he would hold by it, come what may, and she was aware of an odd reflex consciousness of feminine inadequacy. to influence garth trent against his convictions would be like trying to deflect the course of a river by laying a straw across its track. the primitive woman in her thrilled a little, responsively, and she wondered whether or no her sex had played much part in his life. he was a woman-hater-so molly had told her yet sara could imagine him in a very different rôle. of one thing she was sure that the woman who was loved by garth trent would anchor in no placid back-water. life, for her, would hold something breathless, vital, exultant "well, have you decided yet?" the ironical voice broke sharply into the midst of her fugitive thoughts, and sara jumped violently, flushing scarlet as she found trent's eyes surveying her with a quietly quizzical expression. "decided what?" she asked defensively. "where to place me-whether among the sheep or the goats. you were dissecting my character, weren't you?" he waited for an answer, but sara maintained an embar rassed silence. he had divined the subject of her thoughts too nearly. he laughed. "the decision has gone against me, i see. well, i'm not surprised. i've certainly treated you with a rather 110 the hermit of far end rough-and-ready kind of courtesy. you must try to pardon me. a hermit "smiling gravely—" gets little practice at entertaining angels unawares." 66 sara, recovering her composure, regarded him placidly. 'you might find many opportunities for practice in monkshaven," she suggested. "in monkshaven? are you trying to suggest that i should ingratiate myself with the leading lights of local society?" she nodded. "why not?" he laughed as though genuinely amused. "perhaps you've not been here long enough yet to discover that the amiable inhabitants of monkshaven look upon me as a sort of cross between a madman and a criminal who has eluded justice." "whose fault is that?" "oh, mine, i suppose "-quickly. "but it doesn't matter-since i regard them as a set of harmless, conventional fools. no, thank you, i've no intention of making friends with the people of monkshaven.” "they're not all conventional. some of them are rather interesting mrs. maynard, for instance, and the herricks." he gave her a keen glance. "do you know the herricks?" "yes. why don't you go to see them sometimes? miles" 66 oh, miles herrick's all right. i know that," he interrupted. "it's very bad for you to cut yourself off from the rest of the world, as you do," persisted sara sagely. he was silent for a while, his eyes intent on the strip of road that stretched in front of him, and when he spoke again it was to draw her attention to the effect of the cloud shadows moving across the sea, exactly as though nothing of greater interest had been under discussion. the hermit's shell 111 c she began to recognise as a trick of his this abrupt method of terminating a conversation that for some reason did not please him. it was as conclusive as when the man at the other end of the 'phone suddenly "rings off" without any preliminary warning. by this time they had reached the steep hill that approached directly to the selwyns' house, and a couple of minutes later, trent brought the car to a standstill at the gate. "you have nothing to thank me for," he said, curtly dismissing her expression of thanks as they stood together on the path. "it is i who should be grateful to you. my opportunities of social intercourse "-drily—" are somewhat limited." "extend them, then, as i advised," retorted sara. "do you wish me to?" he asked swiftly, and his intent eyes sought her face with a sudden hawk-like glance. her own eyes fell. she was conscious, all at once, of an inexplicable agitation, a tremulous confusion that made it seem a physical impossibility to reply. but he still waited for his answer, and, at last, with an effort she mastered the nervousness that had seized her. “i—i—yes, i do wish it," she said faintly. chapter x a meeting at rose cottage it t had not taken sara very long to cut a niche for herself in the household at sunnyside. in a dwelling where the master of the house was away the greater part of the day, the mistress a chronic invalid, and the daughter a beautiful young thing whose mind was intent upon "colour" and "atmosphere," and altogether hazy concerning the practical necessities of housekeeping, the advent of any one possessing even half sara's intelligent efficiency would have been provocative of many reforms. dick selwyn, pushed to the uttermost limits of his strength by the demands of his wide practice and by the nervous strain of combating his wife's incessant fretfulness, quickly learned to turn to sara for that sympathetic understanding which had hitherto been denied him in his homelife. he had, of course, never again discussed with her his wife's incurable self-absorption, as on the day of her arrival, when the painful scene created by mrs. selwyn had practically forced him into some sort of explanation, but sara's quick grasp of the situation had infinitely simplified matters, and by devoting a considerable amount of her own time to the entertainment of the captious invalid, and thus keeping her in a good humour, she contrived to save selwyn many a bad half-hour of recrimination and complaint. sara was essentially a good "comrade," as patrick lovell had recognised in the old days at barrow court, and instinctively selwyn came to share with her the pin-prick worries that dog a man's footsteps in this vale of woe, learning to laugh at them; and even his apprehensions concerning + 112 'a meeting at rose cottage 113 molly's ultimate development and welfare were lessened by the knowledge that sara was at hand. molly herself seemed to float through life like a big, beautiful moth, sailing serenely along, and now and then blundering into things, but never learning by experience the dangers of such blunders. one day, in the course of her inconsequent path through life, she would probably flutter too near the attractive blaze of some perilous fire, just as a moth flies against the flame of a candle and singes its frail, soft wings in the process. it was of this that sara was inwardly afraid, realising, perhaps more clearly than the girl's overworked and some times absent-minded father, the risks attaching to her temperament. of late, molly had manifested a certain moodiness and irritability very unlike her usual facile sweetness of disposition, and sara was somewhat nonplussed to account for it. finally, she approached the matter by way of a direct inquiry. "what's wrong, molly?" molly was hunched up in the biggest and shabbiest armchair by the fire, smoking innumerable cigarettes and flinging them away half-finished. half-finished. at sara's question, she looked up with a shade of defiance in her eyes. why should anything be wrong?" she countered, obviously on the defensive. "i don't know, i'm sure," responded sara good-humouredly. "but i'm pretty certain there is something. come, out with it, you great baby!" molly sighed, smoked furiously for a moment, and then tossed her cigarette into the fire. "well, yes," she admitted at last. "there is-something wrong." she rose and stood looking across at sara like a big, perplexed child. "i-i owe some money." sara was conscious of a distinct shock. "how much?" she asked sharply. 114 the hermit of far end "it's-it's rather a lot-twenty pounds!" "twenty pounds!" this was certainly a large sum for molly-whose annual dress allowance totalled very little more to be in debt. "what on earth have you been up to? buying a new trousseau? where do you owe it-carr & bishop's?"-mentioning the principal draper's shop in oldhampton. "no. i don't owe it to a shop at all. it's it's a bridge debt!" the confession came out rather hurriedly. sara's face grew grave. but, molly, you little fool, you've no business to be playing bridge. where have you been playing?' 66 oh, we play sometimes at the studios—when the light's too bad to go on painting, you know "—airily. "you mean," said sara, "the artists' club people play?" "yes." 66 sara frowned. she knew that molly was one of the youngest members of this club of rather irresponsible and happy-go-lucky folk, and privately considered that selwyn had made a great mistake in ever allowing her to join it. it embodied, as she had discovered by inquiry, some of the most rapid elements of oldhampton's society, and was, moreover, open to receive as temporary members artists who came from other parts of the country to paint in the neighbourhood. more than one well-known name had figured in the temporary membership list, and, in addition, the names of certain dilettanti to whom the freedom from convention of the artistic life signified far more than art itself. "i don't understand," said sara slowly, "how they let you go on playing until you owed twenty pounds. don't you square up at the end of the afternoon's play?" "yes. but i'd-i'd been losing badly, and-and some one lent me the money." molly flushed a bewitching rose-colour and appealed with big, pathetic eyes. it was difficult to be righteously wroth with her, but sara steeled her heart. a meeting at rose cottage 115 "you'd no right to borrow," she said shortly. "no. i know i hadn't. but, don't you see, i thought i should be sure to win it all back? i couldn't ask dad for it. every penny he can spare goes on something that mother can't possibly do without," added the girl with unwonted bitterness. the latter fact was incontrovertible, and sara remained silent. in her own mind she regarded mrs. selwyn as a species of vampire, sucking out all that was good, and sweet, and wholesome from the lives of those about her-even that of her own daughter. did the woman realise, she wondered, that, instead of being the help all mothers were sent into the world to be, she was nothing but a hindrance and a stumblingblock? "i don't know what to do, sally, i simply don't." molly's humble, dejected tones broke through the current of sara's thoughts. "you see, the worst of it is "-she blushed even more bewitchingly than before-"that i owe it to a man. it's detestable owing money to a man!"-with suppressed irritation. two fine lines drew themselves between sara's level brows. this was worse than she had imagined. "who is it?" she asked, at last, quietly. "lester kent." "and who or what-is lester kent?" "he's-he's an artist-by choice. i mean," stumbled molly, "that he's quite well off-he only paints for pleasure. he often runs down from town for a month or two at a time and takes out a temporary membership for our club." "and he has lent you this money?" "yes"-rather shamefacedly. "well, he must be paid back at once. at once, do you understand? i will give you the twenty pounds-you're not to bother your father about it" "oh, sara! you are a blessed duck!" in an instant molly's cares had slipped from her shoulders, 14 116 the hermit of far end and she beamed across at her deliverer with the most disarming gratitude. "wait a moment," continued sara firmly. "you must never borrow from mr. kent-or any one else—again." "" "oh, i won't! indeed, i wont!" molly was fervent in her assurances. "i've been wretched over this. although -brightening" lester kent was really most awfully nice about it. he said it didn't matter one bit." "did he indeed?" sara spoke rather grimly. "and how old is this lester kent?" "how old? oh "-vaguely-" thirty-five-forty, perhaps. i really don't know. somehow he's not the sort of person whose age one thinks about." "anyway, he's old enough to know better than to be lending you money to play bridge with," commented sara. "i wish you'd give up playing, molly." "oh, i couldn't!"-coaxingly. "we play for very small stakes as a rule. but it is amusing, sara. and, you know, this place is as dull as ditchwater unless one does something. but i won't get into debt again-i really won't." molly had all the caressing charm of a nice kitten, and now that the pressing matter of her indebtedness to lester kent was settled, she relapsed into her usual tranquil, happygo-lucky self. she rubbed her cheek confidingly against sara's. "you are a pet angel, sally, my own," she said. "i'm so glad you adopted us. now i can go to the herricks' tea-party this afternoon without having that twenty pounds nagging at the back of my mind all the time. i suppose -glancing at the clock-" it's time we put on our glad rags. the lavender lady said she expected us at four." "" half-an-hour later, molly reappeared, looking quite impossibly lovely in a frock of the cheapest kind of material, 66 run up" by the local dressmaker, and very evidently with no other thought "at the back of her mind " than of the afternoon's entertainment. a meeting at rose cottage 117 the tea-party was a small one, commensurate with the size of the rooms at rose cottage, and included only sara and molly, mrs. maynard, and, to sara's surprise, garth trent. as she entered the room, he turned quietly from the window where he had been standing looking out at the herricks' charming garden. "mr. trent"-miss lavinia fluttered forward-"let me introduce you to miss tennant.” the lavender lady's pretty, faded blue eyes beamed benevolently on him. she was so very glad that "that poor, lonely fellow at far end" had at last been induced to desert the solitary fastnesses of monk's cliff, but as she was simply terrified at the prospect of entertaining him herself— and audrey maynard seemed already fully occupied, chatting with miles-she was only too thankful to turn him across to sara's competent hands. "we've met before, miss lavinia," said trent, and over her head his hazel eyes met sara's with a gamin amusement dancing in them. "miss tennant kindly called on me at far end." "oh, i didn't know." little miss lavinia gazed in a puzzled fashion from one to the other of her guests. "sara, my dear, you never told me that you and dr. selwyn had called on mr. trent." sara laughed outright. "dear lavender lady-we didn't. neither of us would have dared to insult mr. trent by doing anything so conventional." the black eyes flashed back defiance at the hazel ones. "i got caught in a storm on the monk's cliff, and mr. trent-much against his will, i'm certain "-maliciously-" offered me shelter." "now that was kind of him. i'm sure sara must have been most grateful to you." and the kind old face smiled up into trent's dark, bitter one so simply and sincerely that it seemed as though, for the moment, some of the bitterness melted away. not even so confirmed a misanthrope as the 118 the hermit of far end hermit of far end could have entirely resisted the lavender lady, with her serene aroma of an old-world courtesy and grace long since departed from these hurrying twentiethcentury days. she moved away to the tea-table, leaving trent and sara standing together in the bay of the window. "so you are overcoming your distaste for visiting," said sara a little nervously. "i didn't expect to meet you here." his glance held hers. "you wished it," he answered gravely. a sudden colour flamed up into the warm pallor of her skin. "are you suggesting i invited you to meet me here?" she responded, wilfully misinterpreting him. she shook her head regretfully. "you must have misunderstood me. i should never have imposed such a strain on your politeness." his eyes glinted. "do you know," he said quietly, "that i should very much like to shake you?" "i'm glad," she answered heartily. "it's a devastating feeling! you made me feel just the same the day i travelled with you. so now we're quits." 66 won't you-please-try to forget that day in the train?" he said quickly. "i behaved like a boor. i'm afraid i've no real excuse to offer, except that i'd been reminded of something which happened long ago-and i wanted to be alone." "to enjoy the memory in solitude?" hazarded sara flippantly. she was still nervous and talking rather at random, scarcely heeding what she said. a look of bitter irony crossed his face. "hardly that," he said shortly, and sara knew that somehow she had again inadvertently laid her hand upon an old hurt. she spoke with a sudden change of voice. a meeting at rose cottage 119 "then, as the train doesn't hold pleasant memories for either of us, let's forget it," she suggested gently. "do you know what that implies?" he asked. "it implies that you are willing to be friends. do you mean that?"-incisively. she nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak. "thank you," he said curtly, and then audrey maynard's gay voice broke across the tension of the moment. "mr. trent, i simply cannot allow sara to monopolise you any longer. now that we have succeeded in dragging the hermit out of his shell, we all want a share of his society, please." trent turned instantly, and sara slipped across the room and took the place audrey had vacated by miles's couch. he greeted her coming with a smile, but there were shadows of fatigue beneath his eyes, and his lips were rather white and drawn-looking. "this is a lazy way to receive visitors, isn't it?" he said apologetically. "but my game leg's given out to-day, so you must forgive me." sara's glance swept his face with quick sympathy. "you oughtn't to be at the 'party' at all," she said. "you look far too tired to be bothered with a parcel of chattering women." he smiled. "do you know," he whispered humorously, "that, although you're quite the four nicest women i know, the shameful truth is that i'm really here on behalf of the one man! i met him yesterday in the town and booked him for this afternoon, and, having at last dislodged him from his lone pinnacle, i hadn't the heart to leave him unsupported." 66 no. i'm glad you dug him out, miles. it was clever of you." 66 it will give monkshaven something to talk about, anyway "-whimsically. "i suppose "-the toe of sara's narrow foot was busily 120 the hermit of far end tracing a pattern on the carpet-"i suppose you don't know why he shuts himself up like that at far end?” “no, i don't," he answered. “but i'd wager it's for some better reason than people give him credit for. or it may be merely a preference for his own society. anyway, it no business of ours." then, swiftly softening the suggestion of reproof contained in his last sentence, he added: "don't encourage me to gossip, sara. when a man's tied by the leg, as i am, it's all he can do to curb a tendency towards tattling village scandal like some garrulous old woman." it was evident that the presence of visitors was inflicting a considerable strain on herrick's endurance, and, as though by common consent, the little party broke up shortly after tea. molly expressed her intention of accompanying mrs. maynard back to greenacres-the beautiful house which the latter had had built to her own design, overlooking the bay-in order to inspect the pretty widow's recent purchase of a new motor-car. trent turned to sara with a smile. "then it devolves on me to see you safely home, miss tennant. may i?" she nodded permission, and they set off through the high-hedged lane, sara hurrying along at top speed. for a few minutes trent strode beside her in silence. then: "are you catching a train?" he inquired mildly. "or is it only that you want to be rid of my company in the shortest possible time?" she coloured, moderating her pace with an effort. once again the odd nervousness engendered by his presence had descended on her. it was as though something in the man's dominating personality strung all her nerves to a high tension of consciousness, and she felt herself overwhelmingly sensible of his proximity. he smiled down at her. a meeting at rose cottage 121 "then-if you're not in any hurry to get home-will you let me take you round by crabtree moor? it's part of a small farm of mine, and i want a word with my tenant." sara acquiesced, and, trent having speedily transacted the little matter of business with his tenant, they made their way across a stretch of wild moorland which intersected the cultivated fields lying on either hand. in the dusk of the evening, with the wan light of the early moon deepening the shadows and transforming the clumps of furze into strange, unrecognizable shapes of darkness, it was an eerie enough place. sara shivered a little, instinctively moving closer to her companion. and then, as they rounded a furze-crowned hummock, out of the hazy twilight, loping along on swift, padding feet, emerged the figure of a man. with a muttered curse he swerved aside, but trent's arm shot out, and, catching him by the shoulder, he swung him round so that he faced them. the man's grip tightened on the stock of the gun that lay across his shoulder. 66 leggo!" he muttered, twisting in trent's iron grasp. "leggo, can't you?" "i can, but i'm not going to," said trent coolly. "at least, not till you've explained your presence here. this is private property. what are you doing on it?" "i'm doing no harm," growled the man sullenly. 66 no?" trent passed his free hand swiftly down the fellow's body, feeling the bulge of his coat. "then what's the meaning of those rabbits sticking out under your coat? now, look here, my man, i know you. you're jim brady, and it's not the first, nor the second, time i've caught you poaching on my land. but it's the last. understand that? this time the bench shall deal with you." the man was silent for a moment. then suddenly he burst out: 66 look here, sir, pass it over this time. my missus is ill. 122 the hermit of far end she's mortal bad, god's truth she is, and haven't eaten nothing this three days past. an' i thought mebbe a bit o' stewed rabbit 'ud tempt 'er." "pshaw!" trent was beginning contemptuously, when sara leaned forward, peering into the poacher's face. "why," she exclaimed. "it's brady-black brady from fallowdene." ne'er-do-well as he was, the mere fact that he came from fallowdene warmed her heart towards him. "yes, miss, that's so," he answered readily. "and you're the young lady what used to live at barrow court." "do you know this man?" trent asked her. "'bout as well as you do, sir," volunteered brady with an impudent grin. "catched me poachin' one morning. fired me gun at 'er, too, i did, to frighten 'er," he continued reminiscently. "and she never blinked. you're a goodplucked 'un, miss,"-with frank admiration. sara looked at the man doubtfully. "i didn't know you lived here," she said. "it's my native village, miss, monks'aven is. but i didn't think 'twas too 'ealthy for me down here, back along "— grinning" so i shifted to fallowdene, where me grandmother lives. i came back here to marry bessie windrake; she've stuck to me like a straight 'un. but i didn't mean to get collared poachin' again. me and bess was goin' to live respectable. 'twas her bein' ill and me out of work w'at did it." "let him go," said sara, appealing to trent. but he shook his head. "i can't do that," he answered with decision. "not 'im, miss, 'e won't," broke in brady. soft-'earted kind, isn't mr. trent." trent's brows drew together ominously. "'e's not the "you won't mend matters by impudence, brady," he said sharply. "get along now "-releasing his hold of the man's arm-" but you'll hear of this again." a meeting at rose cottage 123 brady shot away into the darkness like an arrow, probably chortling to himself that his captor had omitted to relieve him of the brace of rabbits he had poached; and sara, turning again to trent, renewed her plea for clemency. but trent remained adamant. 66 why shouldn't he stand his punishment like any other man?" he said. "well, if it's true that his wife is ill, and that he has been out of work—” "are you offering those facts as an excuse for dishonesty?" asked trent drily. sara smiled. "yes, i believe i am," she acknowledged. he shrugged his shoulders. 66 like nine-tenths of your sex, you are fiercely tory in theory and a rank socialist in practice," he grumbled. "well, i'm not sure that that isn't a very good working basis to go on," she retorted. as they stood in the porch at sunnyside, she made yet one more effort to smooth matters over for the evil-doer, but trent's face still showed unrelenting in the light that streamed out through the open doorway. "ask me something else," he said. "i would do anything to please you, sara, except "-with a sudden tense decision-" except interfere with the course of justice. let every man pay the penalty for his own sin." "that's a hard creed," objected sara. "hard?" he shrugged his shoulders. "perhaps it is. but "-grimly-"it's the only creed i believe in. goodnight "—he held out his hand abruptly. "i'm sorry i can't do as you ask about jim brady." before sara could reply, he was striding away down the path, and a minute later the darkness had hidden him from view. chapter xi two on an island s4 ara's conviction that garth trent would not be easily turned from any decision that he might take had been confirmed very emphatically over the matter of black brady. notwithstanding the fact that the man's story of his wife's illness proved to be perfectly genuine, trent persisted that he must take his punishment, and all that sara could do by way of mitigation was to promise brady that she would pay the amount of any fine which might be impos brady, however, was not optimistic. there'll be no opshun of a fine, miss," he told her. "i've a-been up before the gen'lemen too many times "-grinning. "but if so be you'd give an eye to bessie here, whiles i'm in quod, i'd take it very kind of you.' 99 his forecast summed up the situation with lamentable accuracy. no option of a fine was given, and during the brief space that the prison doors closed upon him, sara saw to the welfare of his invalid wife, thereby winning the undying devotion of black brady's curiously composite soul. when he again found himself at liberty, she induced the frankly unwilling proprietor of the cliff hotel-the only hotel of any pretensions to which monkshaven could lay claim to take him into his employment as an odd-job man. how she accomplished this feat it is impossible to say, but the fact remains that she did accomplish it, and perhaps jane crab delved to the root of the matter in the terse comment which the circumstances elicited from her: "miss tennant has a way with her that 'ud make they stone sp'inxes gallop round the desert if so be she'd a mind they should." 124 two on an island 125 apparently, however, the sphinx of far end was compounded of even more adamantine substance than his feminine prototype, for he exhibited a mulish aversion to budging an inch-much less galloping-in the direction sara had indicated as desirable. the two quarrelled vehemently over the matter, and a glacial atmosphere of hostility prevailed between them during the period of black brady's incarceration. garth, undeniably the victor, was the first to open peace negotiations, and a few days subsequent to brady's release from prison, he waylaid sara in the town. she was preoccupied with numerous small, unnecessary commissions to be executed for mrs. selwyn at half-a-dozen different shops, and she would have passed him by with a frosty little bow had he not halted in front of her and deliberately held out his hand. "good-morning!" he said, blithely disregarding the coolness of his reception. "am i still in disgrace? brady's been restored to the bosom of his family for at least five days now, you know." overhead, the sun was shining gloriously in an azure sky flecked with little bunchy white clouds like floating pieces of cotton-wool, while an april breeze, fragrant of budding leaf and blossom, rollicked up the street. it seemed almost as though the frolicsome atmosphere of spring had permeated even the shell of the hermit and got into his system, for there was something incorrigibly boyish and youthful about him this morning. his cheerful smile was infectious. 66 can't i be restored, too?" he asked. 66 restored to what?" asked sara, trying to resist the contagion of his good humour. "oh, well "-a faint shadow dimmed the sparkle in his eyes" to the same old place i held before our squabble over brady-just friends, sara." for a moment she hesitated. he had pitted his will against hers and won, hands down, and she felt distinctly 126 the hermit of far end resentful. but she knew that in a strange, unforeseen way their quarrel had hurt her inexplicably. she had hated meeting the cool, aloof expression of his eyes, and now, urged by some emotion of which she was, as yet, only dimly conscious, she capitulated. "you're a bully." "that's good," he said contentedly. "and you might just as well give in now as later," he added, smiling. "all the same," she protested, "i know i am-i glory in it! but now, just to show that you really do mean to be friends again, will you let me row you across to devil's hood island this afternoon? you told me once that you wanted to go there.' sara considered the proposition for a moment, then nodded consent. "yes, i'll come," she said, "i should like to." devil's hood island was a chip off the mainland which had managed to keep its head above water when the gradually encroaching sea had stolen yet another mile from the coast. sandy dunes, patched here and there with clumps of coarse, straggling rushes, sloped upward from the rock-strewn shore to a big crag that crowned its further side—a curious natural formation which had given the island its name. it was shaped like a great overhanging hood, out of which, crudely suggested by the configuration of the rock, peered a diabolical face, weather-worn to the smoothness of polished marble. april was still doing her best to please, with blue skies and soft fragrant airs, when garth gave a final push-off to the betsy anne, and bent to his oars as she skimmed out over the top of the waves with her nose towards devil's hood island. sara, comfortably ensconced amid a nest of cushions in the stern of the boat, pointed to a square-shaped basket of quite considerable dimensions, tucked away beneath one of the seats. "" what's that?" she asked curiously. two on an island 127 trent's eyes followed the direction of her glance. "that? oh, that's our tea. you didn't imagine i was. going to starve you, did you? i think we shall find that mrs. judson has provided all we want." sara laughed across at him. "what a thoughtful man you are!" she said gaily. "fancy a hermit remembering a woman's crucial need tea." "don't credit me with too much self-effacement!" he grinned. "i enjoyed the last occasion when you were my guest, so i'm repeating the prescription." (6 still, even deducting for the selfish motive, you're progressing," she answered. "i see you developing into quite an ornament to society in course of time." "god forbid!" he ejaculated piously. sara looked entertained. (6 apparently your ambitions don't lie in that direction?" she rallied him. "there is no question of such a catastrophe occurring. i've told you that society-as such-and i have finished with each other." his face had clouded over, and for a while he sculled in silence, driving the betsy anne through the blue water with strong, steady strokes. sara was vividly conscious of the suggestion of supple strength conveyed by the rippling play of muscle beneath the white skin of his arms, bared to the elbow, and by the pliant swing of his body to each sure, rhythmical stroke. she recollected that one of her earliest impressions concerning him had been of the sheer force of the man-the lithe, flexible strength like that of tempered steel—and she wondered whether this were entirely due to his magnificent physique or owed its impulse, in part, to some mental quality in him. her eyes travelled reflectively to the lean, squarejawed face, with its sensitive, bitter-looking mouth and its fine modelling of brow and temple, as though seeking there 128 the hermit of far end the answer to her questionings, and with a sudden, intuitive instinct of reliance, she felt that behind all his cynicism and surface hardness, there lay a quiet, sure strength of soul that would not fail whoever trusted it. yet he always spoke as though in some way his life had been a failure-as though he had met, and been defeated, by a shrewd blow of fate. & sara found it difficult to associate the words failure and defeat with her knowledge of his dominating personality and force of will, and the natural curiosity which had been aroused in her mind by his strange mode of life, with its deliberate isolation, and by the aroma of mystery which seemed to cling about him, deepened. her brows drew together in a puzzled frown, as she inwardly sought for some explanation of the many inconsistencies she had encountered even in the short time that she had known him. his abrupt alterations from reticence to unreserve; his avowed dislike of women and the contradictory enjoyment which he seemed to find in her society; his love of music and of beautiful surroundings-alike indicative of a cultivated appreciation and experience of the good things of this world—and the solitary, hermit-like existence which he yet chose to lead-all these incongruities of temperament and habit wove themselves into an enigma which she found impossible to solve. "here we are!" garth's voice recalled her abruptly from her musings to find that the betsy anne was swaying gently alongside a little wooden landing-stage. "but how civilised!" she exclaimed. "one does not expect to find a jetty on a desert-island." trent laughed grimly. "devil's hood is far from being a desert island in the summer, when the tourists come this way. they swarm over it." two on an island 129 whilst he was speaking, he had made fast the painter, and he now stepped out on to the landing-stage. sara prepared to follow him. for a moment she stood poised with one foot on the gunwale of the boat, then, as an incoming wave drove the little skiff suddenly against the wooden supports of the jetty, she staggered, lost her balance, and toppled helplessly backward. but even as she fell, garth's arms closed round her like steel bars, and she felt herself lifted clean up from the rocking boat on to the landing-stage. for an instant she knew that she rested a dead weight against his breast; then he placed her very gently on her feet. "all right?" he queried, steadying her with his hand beneath her arm. "that was a near shave." his queer hazel eyes were curiously bright, and sara, meeting their gaze, felt her face flame scarlet. 66 quite, thanks," she said a little breathlessly, adding: "you must be very strong." she moved her arm as though trying to free it from his clasp, and he released it instantly. but his face was rather white as he knelt down to lift out the tea-basket, and he, too, was breathing quickly. somewhat silently they made their way up the sandy slope that stretched ahead of them, and presently, as they mounted the last rise, the malignant, distorted face beneath the devil's hood leaped into view, granite-grey and menacing against the young blue of the april sky. "what a perfectly horrible head!" exclaimed sara, gazing at it aghast. "it's like a nightmare of some kind." 66 yes, it's not pretty," admitted garth. "the mouth has a sort of malevolent leer, hasn't it?" "it has, indeed. one can hardly believe that it is just a natural formation." "it's always a hotly debated point whether the devil and his hood are purely the work of nature or not. my own impression is that to a certain extent they are, but that some130 the hermit of far end one centuries ago-being struck by the resemblance of the rock to a human face, added a few touches to complete the picture." "well, whoever did it must have had a bizarre imagination to perpetuate such a thing.” "the handiwork-if handiwork it is-is attributed to friar anselmo-the spanish monk who broke his vows and escaped to monkshaven, you know." sara looked interested. "no, i don't know," she said. "tell me about him. he sounds quite exciting." "you don't mean to say no one has enlightened you as to the gentleman whose exploit gave the town its name of monkshaven?" 66 no. i'm afraid my education as far as local history is concerned has been shamefully neglected. do make good the deficiencies "-smiling. garth laughed a little. "very well, i will. i always have a kind of fellow-feeling for friar anselmo. but i propose we investigate the teabasket first." they established themselves beneath the shelter of a big boulder, garth first spreading a rug which he had brought from the boat for sara to sit on. then he unstrapped the teabasket, and it became evident either that mrs. judson had a genius for assembling together the most fascinating little cakes and savoury sandwiches, accompanied by fragrant tea, hot from a thermos flask, or else that she had acted under instructions from some one to whom the cult of afternoon tea as sublimated by rumpelmayer was not an unknown quantity. sara, sipping her tea luxuriously, decided in favour of the latter explanation. "for a confirmed misogynist," she observed later on, when, the feast over, he was repacking the basket, " you have a very complete understanding of a woman's weakness for tea." two on an island 131 "it's a case of cause and effect. a misogynist "-caustically" is the product of a very complete understanding of most feminine weaknesses." sara's slender figure tautened a little. “do you think,” she said, speaking a little indignantly, "that it is quite nice of you to invite me out to a picnic and then to launch remarks of that description at my head?" "no, i don't," he acknowledged bluntly. "it's making you pay some one else's bill." his lean brown hand closed suddenly over hers. "forgive me, sara!" the abrupt intensity of his manner was out of all proportion to the merely surface friction of the moment; and sara, sensing something deeper and of more significance behind it, hurriedly switched the conversation into a less personal channel. "very well," she said lightly, disengaging her hand. "i'll forgive you, and you shall tell me about friar anselmo." she lifted her eyes to the leering, sinister face that protruded from the devil's hood. 66 as, presumably, from his choice of a profession, he, too, had no love for women, you ought to enjoy telling his story," she added maliciously. garth's eyes twinkled. "as a matter of fact, it was love o' women that was anselmo's undoing," he said. "in spite of his vows, he fell in love with a very beautiful spanish lady, and to make matters worse, if that were possible, the lady was possessed of a typically jealous spanish husband, who, on discovering how the land lay, killed his wife, and would have killed anselmo as well, but that he escaped to england. the vessel on which he sailed was wrecked at the foot of what has been called, ever since, the monk's cliff; but anselmo himself succeeded in swimming ashore, and spent the remainder of his life at monkshaven, doing penance for the mistakes of his earlier days." "he chose a charming place to repent in," said sara, her 132 the hermit of far end eyes wandering to the distant bay, where the quaint little town straggled picturesquely up the hill that sloped away from the coast. "yes," responded garth slowly, "it's not a bad place to repent in. it would be a better place still-to love and be happy in." there was a brooding melancholy in his tones, and sara, hearing it, spoke very gently. "i hope you will find it-like that," she said. "i?" he laughed hardly. "no! those gifts of the gods are not for such as i. the husks are my portion. if it were not so "-his voice deepened to a sudden urgent note that moved her strangely—" if it were not so as though in spite of himself, his arms moved gropingly towards her. then, with a muttered exclamation, he turned away and sprang hastily to his feet. "let us go back," he said abruptly, and sara, shaken by his vehemence, rose obediently, and they began to retrace their steps. · · • 99 it had grown much colder. the sun hung low in the horizon, and the deceptive warmth of mid-afternoon had given place to a chill dampness in the atmosphere. half unconsciously, feeling that the time must have slipped away more rapidly than she had suspected, sara quickened her steps, garth striding silently at her side. presently the little wooden jetty came into view once more. it bore a curiously bare, deserted aspect, the waves rising and falling sluggishly on either side of its black, tarred planking. sara stared at it incredulously, then an exclamation of sheer dismay burst from her lips. "the boat! look! it's gone!" "gone?" garth's eyes sought the landing-stage, then swept the vista of grey water ahead of them. "damn!" he ejaculated forcibly. "she's got adrift!” a brown speck, bobbing maddeningly up and down in the distance and momentarily drifting further and further out " two on an island 133 to sea on the ebbing tide, was all that could be seen of the betsy anne. an involuntary chuckle broke from sara. "marooned!" she exclaimed. "how amusing!" "amusing?" trent looked at her with a concerned expression. "it might be, if it were eleven o'clock in the morning. but it's the wrong end of the day. it will be dark before long." he paused, then asked swiftly: "does any one at sunnyside know where you are this afternoon?" "no. the doctor and molly were both out to lunch— and you know we only planned this trip this morning. i haven't seen them since. why do you ask?" "because, if they knew, they'd send over in search of us if we didn't turn up in the course of the next hour or so. but if they don't know where you are, we stand an excellent chance of spending the night here." the gravity of what had first struck her as merely an amusing contretemps suddenly presented itself to sara. "oh!!" she drew her breath in sharply. "whatwhat on earth shall we do?" "do?" garth spoke with grim force. "why, you must be got off the island somehow. if not, you're fair game for every venomous tongue in the town." 66 would any one hear us from the shore if we shouted?" she suggested. he shook his head. "no. the sound would carry in the opposite direction to-day." "then what can we do?" by this time the manifest anxiety in trent's face was reflected in her own. the possibility that they might be compelled to spend the night on devil's hood island was not one that could be contemplated with equanimity, for sara had no illusions whatever as to the charitableness of the view the world at large would take of such an episode -however accidental its occurrence. unfortunately, essen134 the hermit of far end tial innocence is frequently but a poor tool wherewith to scotch a scandal. "there is only one thing to be done," said garth at last, after fruitlessly scanning the waters for any stray fishing-boat that might be passing. "i must swim across, and then row back and take you off." "swim across?" sara regarded the distance between the island and the shore with consternation. "you couldn't possibly do it. it's too far." "just under a mile." "but you would have the tide against you," she urged. the current off the coast ran with dangerous rapidity between the mainland and the island, and more than one strong swimmer, as sara knew, had lost his life struggling against it. she looked across to the further shore again, and all at once it seemed impossible to let garth make the attempt. "no! no! you can't go!" she exclaimed. "you wouldn't be nervous at being alone here?" he asked doubtfully. she stamped her foot. "no! of course not! but-oh! don't you see? it's madness to think of swimming across with the tide against you! you could never do it. you might get cramp-oh! anything might happen! you shan't go!" she caught his arm impetuously, her eyes dilating with the sudden terror that had laid hold of her. but he was obdurate. "look there," he said, pointing to a faint haze thickening the atmosphere. "do you see the mist coming up? very soon it will be all over us, like a blanket, and there'd be no possibility of swimming across at all. i must go at once." "but that only adds to the danger," she argued desperately. "the fog may come down sooner than you expect, and then you'd lose your bearings altogether." "i must risk that," he answered grimly. "don't you realise that it's impossible impossible for us to remain here?" " two on an island 135 "no, i don't," she returned stubbornly. "it isn't worth such a frightful risk. some one is sure to look for us eventually." 66 6 eventually' might mean to-morrow morning"-drily -" and that would be just twelve hours too late. it's worth the risk fifty times over." "it's not!"-passionately. "do you suppose i care two straws for the gossip of a parcel of spiteful old women?" "not at the moment, perhaps, but later you wouldn't be able to help it. what people think of you, what they say of you, can make all the difference between heaven and hell." he spoke heavily, as though his words were weighted with some deadening memory. "and do you think i could bear to feel that i—i had given people a handle for gossiping about you? i'd cut their tongues out first!" he added savagely. he stripped off his coat, and, sitting down on a rock, began removing his boots, while sara stood watching him in silence with big, sombre eyes. presently he stood up, bareheaded and barefooted. below the lean, tanned face the column of his throat showed white as a woman's, while the thin silk of his vest revealed the powerful line of shoulder at its base. his keen eyes were gazing steadily across to the opposite shore, as though measuring the distance he must traverse, and as a chance shaft from the westering sun rested upon him, investing him momentarily in its radiance, there seemed something rather splendid about him—something very sure and steadfast and utterly without fear. a sharp cry broke from sara. "garth! garth!"—his name sprang to her lips spontaneously. "you mustn't go! you mustn't go!. "" he wheeled round, and at the sight of her white, strained face a sudden light leapt into his eyes-the light of a great incredulity with, back of it, an unutterable hope and longing. 136 the hermit of far end in two strides he was at her side, his hands gripping her shoulders. "why, sara!-god in heaven!"-the words came hurrying from him, hoarse and uneven—“ i believe you care!" for an instant he hesitated, seeming to hold himself in check, then he caught her in his arms, kissing her fiercely on eyes and lips and throat. "my dear! . . . oh! my dear! . . ." she could hear the broken words stammered through his hurried breathing as she lay unresistingly in his arms; then she felt him put her from him, gently, decisively, and she stood alone, swaying slightly. a long shuddering sigh ran through her body. "garth!" she never knew whether the word really passed her lips or whether it was only the cry of her inmost being, so importunate, so urgent that it seemed to take on actual sound. there came no answer. he was gone, and through the light veil of the encroaching mists she could see him shearing his way through the leaden-coloured sea. she remained motionless, her eyes straining after him. he was swimming easily, with a powerful overhand stroke that carried him swiftly away from the shore. a little sigh of relaxed tension fluttered between her lips. at least, he was a magnificent swimmer-he had that much in his favour. then her glance spanned the channel to the further shore, and it seemed as though an interminable waste of water stretched between. and all the time, at every stroke, that mad, racing current was pulling against him, fighting for possession of the strong, sinewy body battling against it. she beat her hands together in an agony of fear. why had she let him go? what did it matter if people talked— what was a tarnished reputation to set against a man's life? oh! she had been mad to let him go! the fog grew denser. strain as she might, she could no longer see the dark head above the water, the rise and fall two on an island 137 of his arm like a white flail in the murky light, and she realised that should exhaustion overtake him, or the swiftrunning current beat him, drawing him under-she would not even know! a sickening sense of bitter impotence assailed her. there was nothing she could do but wait-wait helplessly until either his return, or endless hours of solitude, told her whether he had won or lost the fight against that grey, hungry waste of water. a strangled sob burst from her throat. "oh, god! let him come back to me! let him come back!" the creak of straining rowlocks and the even plash of dripping oars, muffled by the numbing curtain of the fog, broke through the silence. then followed the gentle thudding noise of a boat as it bumped against the jetty and a voice— garth's voice-calling. she rose from the ground where she had flung herself and came to him, peering at him with eyes that looked like two dark stains in the whiteness of her face. "i thought you were dead," she said dully. "drowned, i mean-oh, of course, it's the same thing, isn't it?" and she laughed, the shrill, choking laughter of overwrought nerves. garth observed her narrowly. 66 "no, i'm very much alive, thanks," he said, speaking in deliberately cheerful and commonplace accents. but you look half frozen. why on earth didn't you put the rug round you? get into the boat and let me tuck you up." she obeyed passively, and in a few minutes they were slipping over the water as rapidly as the mist permitted. sara was very silent throughout the return journey. for hours, for an eternity it seemed, she had been in the grip of a consuming terror, culminating at last in the conviction that garth had failed to make the further shore. and now, with the knowledge of his safety, the reaction from the ten138 the hermit of far end sion of acute anxiety left her utterly flaccid and exhausted, incapable of anything more than a half-stunned acceptance of the miracle. when at last the selwyns' house was reached, it was with a manifest effort that she roused herself sufficiently to answer garth's quiet apology for the misadventure of the afternoon. "if it was your fault that we got stranded on the island," she said, summoning up rather a wan smile, "it is, at all events, thanks to you that i shall be sleeping under a respectable roof, instead of scandalising half the neighbourhood! " she paused, then went on uncertainly: "thank you' seems ludicrously inadequate for all you've done" "i've done nothing," he interrupted brusquely. "you risked your life an impatient exclamation broke from him. "and if i did? i risked something of no value, i assure you-to myself, or any one else." then he added practically"" "get jane crab to give you some hot soup and go to bed. you look absolutely done." sara nodded, smiling more naturally. "i will," she said. "good-night, then." she held out her hand a little nervously. he took it, holding it closely in his, and looking down at her with a strange expression in his eyes—almost, it seemed, the expression of a man who strives to impress upon his mind the picture of a face he may not see again, so that in a lonely future he shall find comfort in remembering. 66 good-bye!" he said, at last, very gravely. then a queer little smile, half-bitter, half-tender, curving his lips, he added: "i shall always have this one day for which to thank whatever gods there be." chapter xii a revoke s ara lay long awake that night. under jane crab's bluff and kindly ministrations, her feeling of utter bodily exhaustion had given place to an exquisite sense of mental and physical well-being, and, freed from the shackles of material discomfort, her thoughts flew backward over the events of the day. all was well-gloriously, blessedly well! there could be no misunderstanding that brief, passionate moment when garth had held her in his arms; and the blinding anguish of those hours which had followed, when she had not known whether he were alive or dead, had shown her her own heart. love had come to her-the love which patrick lovell had called the one altogether good and perfect gift—and with it came a tremulous unrest, a shy sweetness of desire that crept through all her veins like the burning of a swift flame. she felt no fear or shame of love. sara would never be afraid of life and its demands, and it seemed to her a matter of little moment that garth had made no conventional avowal of his love. she did not, on that account, pretend, even to herself, as many women would have done, that her own heart was untouched, but recognised and accepted the fact that love had come to her with absolute simplicity. nor did she doubt or question garth's feeling for her. she knew, in every fibre of her being, that he loved her, and she was ready to wait quite patiently and happily the few hours that must elapse before he could come to her and tell her so. yet she longed, with a woman's natural longing, to hear him say in actual words all that his whole attitude towards 139 140 the hermit of far end her had implied, craved for the moment when the beloved voice should ask for that surrender which in spirit she had already made. she rose early, with a ridiculous feeling that it would bring the time a little nearer, and jane crab stared in amazement when she appeared downstairs while yet the preparations for breakfast were hardly in progress. "you're no worse for your outing, then, miss tennant," she observed, adding shrewdly: "i'd as lief think you were the better for it." sara laughed, flushing a little. somehow she did not mind the humorous suspicion of the truth that twinkled in jane's small, boot-button eyes, but she sincerely hoped that the rest of the household would not prove equally discerning. she need have had no fears on that score. dr. selwyn had barely time to swallow a cup of coffee and a slice of toast before rushing off in response to an urgent summons from a patient, whilst molly seemed entirely preoccupied with the contents of a letter, in an unmistakably masculine handwriting, which had come for her by the morning's post. as for mrs. selwyn, she was always too much engrossed in analysing the symptoms of some fresh ailment she believed she had acquired to be sensible of the emotional atmosphere of those around her. her own sensations-whether she were too hot, or not quite hot enough, whether her new tabloids were suiting her or whether she had not slept as well as usual -occupied her entire horizon. this morning she was distressed because the hairpins sara had purchased for her the previous day differed slightly in shape from those she was in the habit of using. sara explained that they were the only ones obtainable. "at bloxham's, you mean, dear. oh, well, of course, you couldn't get any others, then. perhaps if you had tried another shop"mrs. selwyn paused, to let this suggestion sink in, then added brightly: "but, naturally, i couldn't a revoke 141 expect you to spend your whole morning going from shop to shop looking for my particular kind of hairpin, could i?" sara, who had expended a solid hour over that very occupation, was perfectly conscious of the reproach implied. she ignored it, however. like every one else in close contact with mrs. selwyn, she had learned to accept the fact that the poor lady seriously believed that her whole life was spent in bearing with admirable patience the total absence of consideration accorded her. when she descended from mrs. selwyn's room sara was amazed to find that the hands of the clock only indicated halfpast ten. surely no morning had ever dragged itself away so slowly! at two o'clock she and molly were both due to lunch with mrs. maynard at greenacres, and she was radiantly aware that garth trent would be included among the guests. between them, audrey, and the herricks, and sara had succeeded in enticing the hermit within the charmed circle of their friendship, and he could now be depended upon to join their little gatherings-" provided," as he had bluntly told audrey," that you can put up with my manners and morals." mrs. maynard had only laughed. 66 "i'm not in the least likely to find fault with your manners," she said cheerfully. they're really quite normal, and as for your morals, they are your own affair, my dear man. anyway, there is at least one bond between usmonkshaven heartily disapproves of both of us." greenacres was a delightful place, built rather on the lines of a french country house, with the sitting-rooms leading one into the other and each opening in its turn on to a broad wooden verandah. the latter ran round three sides of the house, and in summer the delicate pink of dorothy perkins fought for supremacy with the deeper red of the crimson rambler, converting it into a literal bower of roses. audrey was on the steps to greet the two girls when 142 the hermit of far end they arrived, looking, as usual, as though she had just quitted the hands of an expert french maid. it was in a great measure to the ultra-perfection of her toilette that she owed the critical attitude accorded her by the feminine half of monkshaven. to the provincial mind, the fact that she dyed her hair, ordered her frocks from paris, and kept a french chef to cook her food, were all so many indications of an altogether worldly and abandoned character—and of a wealth that was secretly to be envied and the more venomous among audrey's detractors lived in the perennial hope of some day unveiling the scandal which they were convinced lay hidden in her past. audrey was perfectly aware of the gossip of which she was the subject—and completely indifferent to it. "it amuses them," she would say blithely," and it doesn't hurt me in the least. if mr. trent and i both left the neighbourhood, monkshaven would be at a loss for a topic of conversation-unless they decided, as they probably would, that we had eloped together!" she herself was quite above the petty meanness of envying another woman's looks or clothes, and she beamed frank admiration over molly's appearance as she led the way into the house. (6 molly, you're too beautiful to be true," she declared, pausing in the hall to inspect the girl's young loveliness in its setting of shady hat and embroidered muslin frock. big golden poppies on the hat, and a girdle at her waist of the same tawny hue, emphasised the rare colour of her eyesin shadow, brown like an autumn leaf, gold like amber when the sunlight lay in them—and the whole effect was deliciously arresting. "you've been spending your substance in riotous purple and fine linen," pursued audrey relentlessly. "that frock was never evolved in oldhampton, i'm positive.' 99 molly blushed-not the dull, unbecoming red most women achieve, but a delicate pink like the inside of a shell that a revoke 143 66 made her look even more irresistibly distracting than before. no," she admitted reluctantly, "i sent for this from town." sara glanced at her with quick surprise. entirely absorbed in her own thoughts, she had failed to observe the expensive charm of molly's toilette and now regarded it attentively. where had she obtained the money to pay for it? only a very little while ago she had been in debt, and now here she was launching out into expenditure which common sense would suggest must be quite beyond her means. sara frowned a little, but, recognising the impossibility of probing into the matter at the moment, she dismissed it from her mind, resolving to elucidate the mystery later on. meanwhile, it was impossible to do other than acknowledge the results obtained. molly looked more like a stately young empress than an impecunious doctor's daughter as she floated into the room, to be embraced and complimented by the lavender lady and to receive a generous meed of admiration, seasoned with a little gentle banter, from miles herrick. sara experienced a sensation of relief on discovering miss lavinia and herrick to be the only occupants of the room. garth trent had not yet come. despite her longing to see him again, she was conscious of a certain diffidence, a reluctance at meeting him in the presence of others, and she wished fervently that their first meeting after the events of the previous day could have taken place anywhere rather than at this gay little lunch party of audrey's. as it fell out, however, she chanced to be entirely alone in the room when trent was at length ushered in by a trim maidservant, the rest of the party having gradually drifted out on to the verandah, while she had lingered behind, glad of a moment's solitude in which to try and steady herself. she had never conceived it possible that so commonplace an emotion as mere nervousness could find place beside the immensities of love itself, yet, during the interminable moment when garth crossed the room to her side, she was 144 the hermit of far end supremely aware of an absurd desire to turn and flee, and it was only by a sheer effort of will that she held her ground. the next moment he had shaken hands with her and was making some tranquil observation upon the lateness of his arrival. his manner was quite detached, every vestige of anything beyond mere conventional politeness banished from it. the coolly neutral inflections of his voice struck upon sara's keyed-up consciousness as an indifferent finger may twang the stretched strings of a violin, producing a shuddering violation of their harmony. she hardly knew how she answered him. she only knew, with a sudden overwhelming certainty, that the garth who stood beside her now was a different man, altered out of all kinship with the man who had held her in his arms on devil's hood island. the lover was gone; only the acquaintance remained. she stammered a few halting words by way of response, and—was she mistaken, or did a sudden look of understanding, almost, it seemed, of compunction, leap for a moment into his eyes, only to be replaced by the brooding, bitter indifference habitual to them? the opportune return of audrey and her other guests, heralded by a gust of cheerful laughter, tided over the difficult moment, and garth turned away to make his apologies to his hostess, blaming some slight mishap to his car for the tardiness of his appearance. throughout lunch sara conversed mechanically, responding like an automaton when any one put a penny in the slot by asking her a question. she felt utterly bewildered, stunned by garth's behaviour. had their greeting been exchanged under the observant eyes of the rest of the party, it would have been intelligible to her, for he was the last man in the world to wear his heart upon his sleeve. but they had been quite alone for the moment, and yet he had permitted no acknowledgment a revoke 145 of the new relations between them to appear either in word or look. he had greeted her precisely as though they were no more to each other than the merest acquaintances—as though the happenings of the previous day had been wiped out of his mind. it was incomprehensible! sara felt almost as if some one had dealt her a physical blow, and it required all her pluck and poise to enable her to take her share of the general conversation without betraying herself. she was thankful when at last the moment for departure arrived, and the members of the party congregated on the steps, exchanging last words and tags of conversation before wending their several ways homeward. 66 and we'll picnic on devil's hood island." audrey's high, clear voice, as she chattered to molly, characteristically propounding half-a-dozen plans for the immediate future, floated across to sara where she stood waiting on the lowest step, impatient to be gone. as though drawn by some invisible magnet, her eyes encountered garth's, and the swift colour rushed into her cheeks, staining them scarlet. his expression was enigmatical. the next moment he bent forward and spoke, in a low voice that reached her ear alone. "much maligned place where i tasted my one little bit of heaven!" then, after a pause, he added deliberately: "but a black sheep has no business with heaven. he'd be turned away from the doors-and quite rightly, too! that's why i shall never ask for admittance." he regarded her steadily for a moment, then quietly averted his eyes. and sara realised that in those few words he had revoked -repudiating all that he had claimed, all that he had given, the day before. :> chapter xiii disillusion "let etters are unsatisfactory things at the best of times, and what we all want is to have you with us again for a little while. i am sure you must have had a surfeit of the simple life by this time, so come to us and be luxurious and exotic in london for a change. don't disappoint us, sara! "yours ever affectionately, "elisabeth." sara, seated at the open window of her room, re-read the last paragraph of the letter which the morning's post had brought her, and then let it fall again on to her lap, whilst she stared with sombre eyes across the bay to where the monk's cliff reared itself, stark and menacing, against the sky. april had slipped into may, and the blue waters of the channel flickered with a myriad dancing points of light reflected from an unclouded sun. the trees had clothed themselves anew in pale young green, and the whole atmosphere was redolent of spring-spring as she reaches her maturity before she steps aside to let the summer in. sara frowned a little. she was out of tune with the harmony of things. you need happiness in your heart to be at one with the eager pulsing of new life, the reaching out towards fulfilment that is the essential quality of spring. whereas sara's heart was empty of happiness and hope, and of all the joyous beginnings that are the glorious appanage of youth. there could be no beginnings for her, because she had already reached the end-reached it with such a stupefying suddenness that for a time she had been hardly 146 disillusion 147 conscious of pain, but only of a fierce, intolerable resentment and of a pride that "devil's own pride" which patrick had told her was the tennant heritage-which had been wounded to the quick. garth had taken that pride of hers and ground it under his heel. he had played at love, and she had been fool enough to mistake love's simulacrum for the real thing. or, if there had been any genuine spark of love kindling the fire of passion that had blazed about her for one brief moment, then he had since chosen deliberately to disavow it. he had indicated his intention unmistakably. since the day of the luncheon party at greenacres he had shunned meeting her whenever possible, and, on the one or two occasions when an encounter had been unavoidable, his manner had been frigidly indifferent and impersonal. outwardly she had repaid him in full measure-indifference for indifference, ice for icc, gallantly matching her woman's pride against his deliberate apathy, but inwardly she writhed at the remembrance of that day on the island, when, in the stress of her terror for his safety, she had let him see into the very heart of her. well, it was over now, and done with. the brief vision of love which had given a new, transcendent significance to the whole of life, had faded swiftly into bleak darkness, its memory marred by that bitterest of all knowledge to a woman—the knowledge that she had been willing to give her love, to make the great surrender, and that it had not been required of her. all that remained was to draw a veil as decently as might be over the forgettable humiliation. the strain of the last fortnight had left its mark on her. the angles of her face seemed to have become more sharply defined, and her eyes were too brilliant and held a look of restlessness. but her lips closed as firmly as ever, a courageous scarlet line, denying the power of fate to thrust her under. the book of garth-the book of love-was closed, but 148 the hermit of far end there were many other volumes in life's library, and sara did not propose to go through the probable remaining fifty or sixty years of her existence uselessly bewailing a dead past. she would face life, gamely, whatever it might bring, and as she had already sustained one of the hardest blows ever likely to befall her, she would probably make a success of it. but, unquestionably, she would be glad to get away from monkshaven for a time, to have leisure to readjust her outlook on life, free from the ceaseless reminders that the place held for her. here in monkshaven, it seemed as though garth's personality informed the very air she breathed. the great cliff where he had his dwelling frowned at her from across the bay whenever she looked out of her window, his name was constantly on the lips of those who made up her little circle of friends, and every day she was haunted by the fear of meeting him. or, worse than all else, should that fear materialise, the torment of the almost hostile relationship which had replaced their former friendship had to be endured. the invitation to join the durwards in london had come at an opportune moment, offering, as it did, a way of escape from the embarrassments inseparable from the situation. moreover, amid the distractions and bustle of the great city it would be easier to forget for a little her burden of pain and humiliation. there is so much time for thinking-and for remembering-in the leisurely tranquillity of country life. sara would have accepted the invitation without hesitating, but that there seemed to her certain reasons why her absence from sunnyside just now was inadvisable-reasons based on her loyalty to doctor dick and the trust he had reposed in her. for the last few weeks she had been perplexed and not a little worried concerning molly's apparent accession to comparative wealth. certain small extravagances in which disillusion 149 the latter had recently indulged must have been, sara knew, beyond the narrow limits of her purse, and inquiry had elicited from selwyn the fact that she had received no addition to her usual allowance. molly herself had light-heartedly evaded all efforts to gain her confidence, and sara had refrained from putting any direct question, since, after all, she was not the girl's guardian, and her interference might very well be resented. she was uneasily conscious that for some reason or other molly was in a state of tension, alternating between abnormally high spirits and the depths of depression, and the recollection of that unpleasant little episode of her indebtedness to lester kent lingered disagreeably in sara's mind. she had seen the man once, in oldhampton high street— molly, at that time still clothed in penitence, had pointed him out to her and she had received an unpleasing impression of a lean, hatchet face with deep-set, dense-brown eyes, and of a mouth like that of a bird of prey. she felt reluctant to go away and leave things altogether to chance, and finally, unable to come to any decision, she carried elisabeth's letter down to selwyn's study and explained the position. his face clouded over at the prospect of her departure. "we shall miss you abominably," he declared. "but of course "—ruefully—“i can quite understand mrs. durward's wanting you to go back to them for a time, and i suppose we must resign ourselves to being unselfish. only you must promise to come back again-you mustn't desert us altogether." sara laughed. "you needn't be afraid of that. i shall turn up again like the proverbial bad penny." "all the same, make it a promise," he urged. "i promise, then, you distrustful man! but about molly?" "i don't think you need worry about her." selwyn 150 the hermit of far end laughed a little. "the sudden accession to wealth is ac counted for. it seems that she has sold a picture." "oh! so that's the explanation, is it?" sara felt unaccountably relieved. "yes--though goodness knows how she has beguiled any one into buying one of her daubs!" "oh, they're quite good, really, doctor dick. it's only that futurist art doesn't appeal to you." "not exactly! she showed me one of her paintings the other day. it looked like a bad motor-bus accident in a crowded street, and she told me that it represented the physical atmosphere of a woman who had just been jilted." sara laughed suddenly and hysterically. "how-how awfully funny!" she said in an odd, choked voice. then, fearful of losing her self-command, she added hastily: "i'll write and tell elisabeth that i'll come, then." and fled out of the room. chapter xiv elisabeth intervenes as s sara stepped out of the train at paddington, the first person upon whom her eyes alighted was tim durward. he hastened up to her. "tim!" she exclaimed delightedly. "how dear of you to come and meet me!" "didn't you expect i should?" he was holding her hand and joyfully pump-handling it up and down as though he would never let it go, whilst the glad light in his eyes. would indubitably have betrayed him to any passer-by who had chanced to glance in his direction. sara coloured faintly and withdrew her hands from his eager clasp. 66 oh, well, you might conceivably have had something else to do," she returned evasively. for an instant the blue eyes clouded. "i never have anything to do," he said shortly. know that." "you she laughed up at him. 66 now, tim, i won't be growled at the first minute of my arrival. you can pour out your grumbles another day. just now, i want to hear all the news. remember, i've been vegetating in the country since the beginning of march!" she drew him tactfully away from the old sore subject of his enforced idleness, and, while the car bore them swiftly towards the durwards' house in green street, she entertained him with a description of the selwyn trio. 6 "i should think your doctor dick' considers himself damned lucky in having got you there-seeing that his house seems all at sixes and sevens," commented tim rather glumly. 151 152 the hermit of far end 99 "he does. oh! i'm quite appreciated, i assure you.' tim made no reply, but stared out of the window. the car rounded the corner into park lane; in another moment they would reach their destination. suddenly he turned to her, his face rather strained-looking. "and the other man? have you met him yet-at monkshaven ? " there was no mistaking his meaning. sara's eyes met his unflinchingly. "if you mean has any one asked me to marry him—no, tim. no one has done me that honour," she answered lightly. "thank god!" he muttered below his breath. sara looked troubled. "haven't you-got over that, yet?" she said, hesitatingly. "i-i hoped you would, tim.” "i shall never get over it," he asserted doggedly. "and i shall never give you up till you are another man's wife." the quiet intensity of his tones sounded strangely in her ears. this was a new tim, not the boyish tim of former times, but a man with all a man's steadfast purpose and determination. she was spared the necessity of reply by the fact that they had reached their journey's end. the car slid smoothly to a standstill, and almost simultaneously the house-door opened, and behind the immaculate figure of the durwards' butler sara descried the welcoming faces of geoffrey and elisabeth. it was good to see them both again-geoffrey, big and debonair as ever, his jolly blue eyes beaming at her delightedly, and elisabeth, still with that same elusive atmosphere of charm which always seemed to cling about her like the fragrance of a flower. they were eager to hear sara's news, plying her with questions, so that before the end of her first evening with them they had gleaned a fairly accurate description of her elisabeth intervenes 153 life at sunnyside and of the new circle of friends she had acquired. but there was one name she refrained from mentioningthat of garth trent, and none of elisabeth's quietly uttered comments or inquiries sufficed to break through the guard of her reticence concerning the hermit of far end. "it sounds rather a manless eden-except for the nice, lame herrick person," said elisabeth at last, and her hyacinth eyes, with their curiously veiled expression, rested consideringly on sara's face, alight with interest as she had vividly sketched the picture of her life at monkshaven. "yes, i suppose it is rather," she admitted. her tone was carelessly indifferent, but the eager light died suddenly out of her face, and elisabeth, smiling faintly, adroitly turned the conversation. sara speedily discovered that she would have even less time for the fruitless occupation of remembering than she had anticipated. the durwards owned a host of friends in town with whom they were immensely popular, and sara found herself caught up in a perpetual whirl of entertainment that left her but little leisure for brooding over the past. she felt sometimes as though the london season had opened and swallowed her up, as the whale swallowed jonah, and when she declared herself breathless with so much rushing about, tim would coolly throw over any engagement that chanced to have been made and carry her off for a day up the river, where a quiet little lunch, in the tranquil shade of overhanging trees, and the cosy, intimate talk that was its invariable concomitant, seemed like an oasis of familiar, homely pleasantness in the midst of the gay turmoil of london in may. tim had developed amazingly. he seemed instinctively to recognise her moods, adapting himself accordingly, and in his thought and care for her there was a half-playful, halftender element of possessiveness that sometimes brought a 154 the hermit of far end smile to her lips-and sometimes a sigh, as the inevitable comparison asserted itself between tim's gentle ruling and the brusque, forceful mastery that had been garth's. but, on the whole, the visit to the durwards was productive of more smiles than sighs, and sara found tim's young, chivalrous devotion very soothing to the wound her pride had suffered at garth's hands. she overflowed in gratitude to elisabeth. "you're giving me a perfectly lovely time," she told her. “and tim is such a good playfellow!" elisabeth's face seemed suddenly to glow with that inner radiance which praise of her beloved tim alone was able to inspire. 66 only that, sara?" she said very quietly. yet somehow sara knew that she meant to have an answer to her question. "why-why-" she stammered a little. "isn't that enough? "trying to speak lightly. elisabeth shook her head. "tim wants more than a playfellow. can't you give him what he wants, sara?" sara was silent a moment. "i didn't know he had told you," she said, at last, rather lamely. "nor has he. tim is loyal to the core. but a mother doesn't need telling these things." elisabeth's beautiful voice deepened. "tim is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh-and he's soul of my soul as well. do you think, then, that i shouldn't know when he is hurt?" sara was strangely moved. there was something impressive in the restrained passion of elisabeth's speech, a certain primitive grandeur in her envisagement of the relationship of mother and son. "i expect," pursued elisabeth calmly, "that you think i'm going too far-farther than i have any right to. it's any mother's right to fight for her son's happiness, and but elisabeth intervenes 155 i'm fighting for tim's. why won't you marry him, sara?" the question flashed out suddenly. "because-why-oh, because i'm not in love with him." a gleam of rather sardonic mirth showed in elisabeth's face. "i wish," she observed, "that we lived in the good old days when you could have been carried off by sheer force and compelled to marry him." sara laughed outright. "i really believe you mean it!" she said with some amusement. elisabeth nodded. "i do. i shouldn't have hesitated." "and what about me? you wouldn't have considered my feelings at all in the matter, i suppose?" sara was still smiling, yet she had a dim consciousness that, preposterous as it sounded, elisabeth would have had no scruples whatever about putting such a plan into effect had it been in any way feasible. "no." elisabeth replied with the utmost composure. "tim comes first. but "-and suddenly her voice melted to an indescribable sweetness-" you would be almost one with him in my heart, because you had brought him happiness.' she paused, then launched her question with a delicate hesitancy that skilfully concealed all semblance of the probe. "tell me is there any one else who has asked of you what tim asks? perhaps i have come too late with my plea?" 99 sara shook her head. "no," she said flatly, "there is no one else." with a sudden bitter self-mockery she added: "tim's is the only proposal of marriage i have to my credit." the repressed anxiety with which elizabeth had been regarding her relaxed, and a curious look of content took birth in the hyacinth eyes. it was as though the bitterness 156 the hermit of far end of sara's answer in some way reassured her, serving her purpose. "then can't you give tim what he wants? you will be robbing no one. sara "-her low voice vibrated with the urgency of her desire-" promise me at least that you will think it over-that you will not dismiss the idea as though it were impossible?" sara half rose; her eyes, wide and questioning, were fixed upon elisabeth's. "but why-why do you ask me this?" she faltered. "because i think "—very softly—" that tim himself will ask you the same thing before very long. and i can't face what it will mean to him if you send him away. you would be happy with him, sara. no woman could live with tim and not grow to love him-certainly no woman whom tim loved." the depth of her conviction imbued her words with a strange force of suggestion. for the first time the idea of marriage with tim presented itself to sara as a remotely conceivable happening. hitherto she had looked upon his love for her as something which only touched the outer fringe of her life-a temporary disturbance of the good-comradely relations that had existed between them. with the easy optimism of a woman whose heart has always been her own exclusive property she had hoped he would “get over it.” but now elisabeth's appeal, and the knowledge of the pain of love, which love itself had taught her, quickened her mind to a new understanding. perhaps elisabeth felt her yield to the impression she had been endevouring to create, for she rose and came and stood quite close to her, looking down at her with shining eyes. "give my son his happiness!" she said. and the eternal supplication of all motherhood was in her voice. sara made no answer. she sat very still, with bent head. elisabeth intervenes 157 presently there came the sound of light footsteps as elisabeth crossed the room, and, a moment later, the door closed softly behind her. she had thrust a new responsibility on sara's shoulders— the responsibility of tim's happiness. "give my son his happiness!" the poignant appeal of the words rang in sara's ears. after all, why not? as elisabeth had said, she would be robbing no one by so doing. the man for whom had been reserved the place in the sacred inner temple of her heart had signified very clearly that he had no intention of claiming it. no other would ever enter in his stead; the doors of that innermost sanctuary would be kept closed, shutting in only the dead ashes of remembrance. but if entrance to the outer courts of the temple meant so much to tim, why should she not make him free of them? that other had come and gone again, having no need of her, while tim's need was great. life, at the moment, stretched in front of her very vague and purposeless, and she knew that by marrying tim she could make three people whom she loved, and who mattered most to her in the whole world-tim, and elisabeth, and geoffrey-supremely happy. no one need suffer except herself-and for her there was no escape from suffering either way. so it came about that when, as her visit drew towards its close, tim came to her and asked her once again to be his wife, she gave him an answer which by no stretch of imagination could she have conceived as possible a short three weeks before. she was very frank with him. she was determined that if he married her, it must be open-eyed, recognising that she could only give him honest liking in return for love. upon a foundation of sincerity some mutual happiness might ulti158 the hermit of far end mately be established, but there should be no submerged rock of ignorance and misunderstanding on which their frail barque of matrimonial happiness might later founder in a sea of infinite regret. "are you willing to take me-like that?" she asked him. knowing that i can only give you friendship? i wishi wish i could give you what you ask-but i can't." tim's eyes searched hers for a long moment. "is there some one else?" he asked at last. 66 a wave of painful colour flooded her face, then ebbed away, leaving it curiously white and pinched-looking, but her eyes still met his bravely. "there is no one who will ever want your place, tim," she said with an effort. the sight of her evident distress hurt him intolerably. (6 forgive me!" he exclaimed quickly. "i had no right to ask that question." "yes, you had," she replied steadily, "since you have asked me to be your wife." "well, you've answered it-and it doesn't make a bit of difference. i want you. i'll take what you can give me, sara. perhaps, some day, you'll be able to give me love as well." she shook her head. "don't count on that, tim. friendship, understanding, the comradeship which, after all, can mean a good deal between a man and woman-all these i can give you. and if you think those things are worth while, i'll marry you. but i'm not in love with you." "you will be-i'm sure it's catching," he declared with the gay, buoyant confidence which was one of his most endearing qualities. sara smiled a little wistfully. "i wish it were," she said. but please be serious, tim dear99 "how can i be?" he interrupted joyfully. "when the 66 elisabeth intervenes 159 woman i love tells me that she'll marry me, do you suppose i'm going to pull a long face about it? "" he caught her in his arms and kissed her with all the impetuous fervour of his two-and-twenty years. at the touch of his warm young lips, her own lips whitened. for an instant, as she rested in his arms, she was stabbed through and through by the memory of those other arms that had held her as in a vice of steel, and of stormy, passionate kisses in comparison with which tim's impulsive caress, half-shy, half-reverent, seemed like clear water beside the glowing fire of red wine. she drew herself sharply out of his embrace. would she never forget-would she be for ever remembering, comparing? if so, god help her! "no," she said quietly. "you needn't pull a long face over it. but-but marriage is a serious thing, tim, after all.” "my dear "-he spoke with a sudden gentle gravity"don't misunderstand me. marriage with you is the most serious and wonderful and glorious thing that could ever happen to a man. when you're my wife, i shall be thanking god on my knees every day of my life. all the jokes and nonsense are only so many little waves of happiness breaking on the shore. but behind them there is always the big sea of my love for you the still waters, sara." sara remained silent. the realisation of the tender, chivalrous, worshipping love this boy was pouring out at her feet made her feel very humble-very ashamed and sorry that she could give so little in return. presently she turned and held out her hands to him. "tim-my tim," she said, and her voice shook a little. "i'll try not to disappoint you." chapter xv the name of durward t he durwards received the news of their son's engagement to sara with unfeigned delight. geoffrey was bluffly gratified at the materialisation of his private hopes, and elisabeth had never appeared more captivating than during the few days that immediately followed. she went about as softly radiant and content as a pleased child, and even the strange, watchful reticence that dwelt habitually in her eyes was temporarily submerged by the shining happiness that welled up within them. she urged that an early date should be fixed for the wedding, and sara, with a dreary feeling that nothing really mattered very much, listlessly acquiesced. driven by conflicting influences she had burned her boats, and the sooner all signs of the conflagration were obliterated the better. but she opposed a quiet negative to the further suggestion that she should accompany the durwards to barrow court instead of returning to monkshaven. "no, i can't do that," she said with decision. "i promised doctor dick i would go back." elisabeth smiled airily. apparently she had no scruples about the keeping of promises. "that's easily arranged," she affirmed. "i'll write to your precious doctor man and tell him that we can't spare you.' "" as far as personal inclination was concerned, sara would gladly have adopted elisabeth's suggestion. she shrank inexpressibly from returning to monkshaven, shrouded, as it was, in brief but poignant memories, but she had given selwyn her word that she would go back, and, even in a com160 the name of durward 161 paratively unimportant matter such as this appeared, she had a predilection in favour of abiding by a promise. elisabeth demurred. "you're putting dr. selwyn before us," she declared, candidly amazed. "in my position, "i promised him first," replied sara. you'd do the same." elisabeth shook her head. "i shouldn't," she replied with energy. love come first-all the rest nowhere." "the people i "then i'm glad i'm one of the people you love," retorted sara, laughing. "and, let me tell you, i think you're a most. unmoral person.” "" elisabeth looked at her reflectively. "perhaps i am," she acknowledged. "at least, from a conventional point of view. certainly i shouldn't let any so-called moral scruples spoil the happiness of any one i cared about. however, i suppose you would, and so we're all to be offered up on the altar of this twopenny-halfpenny promise you've made to dr. selwyn?" sara laughed and kissed her. "i'm afraid you are," she said. if anything could have reconciled her to the sacrifice of inclination she had made in returning to monkshaven, it would have been the warmth of the welcome extended to her on her arrival. selwyn and molly met her at the station, and jane crab, resplendent in a new cap and apron donned for the occasion, was at the gate when at last the pony brought the governess-cart to a standstill outside. even mrs. selwyn had exerted herself to come downstairs, and was waiting in the hall to greet the wanderer back. "it will be a great comfort to have you back, my dear," she said with unwonted feeling in her voice, and quite suddenly sara felt abundantly rewarded for the many weary hours upstairs, trying to win mrs. selwyn's interest to anything exterior to herself. 162 the hermit of far end "you're looking thinner," was selwyn's blunt comment, as sara threw off her hat and coat. "what have you been doing with yourself?" she flushed a little. "oh, racketing about, i suppose. i've been living in a perfect whirl. never mind, doctor dick, you shall fatten me up now with your good country food and your good country air. good gracious!"-as he closed a big thumb and finger around her too slender wrist and shook his head disparagingly-"don't look so solemn! i was always one of the lean kine, you know." "i don't think that london has agreed with you," rumbled selwyn discontentedly. "your pulse is as jerky as a primitive cinema film. you'd better not be in such a hurry to run away from us again. besides, we can't do without you, my dear." with a mental jolt sara recollected the fact of her approaching marriage. how on earth should she break it to these good friends of hers, who counted so much on her remaining with them, that within three months-the longest period elisabeth would consent to wait-she would be leaving them permanently? it was manifestly impossible to pour such a douche of cold water into the midst of the joyful warmth of their welcome; and she decided to wait, at least until the next day, before acquainting them with the fact of her engagement. when morning came, the same arguments held good in favour of a further postponement, and, as the days slipped by, it became increasingly difficult to introduce the subject. moreover, amid the change of environment and influence, sara experienced a certain almost inevitable reaction of feeling. it was not that she actually regretted her engagement, but none the less she found herself supersensitively conscious of it, and she chafed against the thought of the congratulations and all the kindly, well-meant "fussation" which its announcement would entail. the name of durward 163 she told herself irritably that this was only because she had not yet had time to get used to the idea of regarding herself as tim's future wife; that, later on, when she had grown more accustomed to it, the prospect of her friends' felicitations would appear less repugnant. she had to face the ultimate fact that marriage, for her, did not mean the crowning fulfilment of life; marriage with tim would never be anything more than a substitute, a next best thing. with these thoughts in her mind, she finally decided to say nothing about her engagement for the present, but to pick up the threads of life at sunnyside as though that crowded month in london, with its unexpected culmination, had never been. once taken, the decision afforded her a curious sense of respite and relief. it was very pleasant to drop back into the old habits of managing the sunnyside ménage-making herself indispensable to selwyn, humouring his wife, and keeping a watchful eye on molly. the latter, sara found, was by far the most difficult part of her task, and the vague apprehensions she had formed, and to some extent shared with selwyn before her visit to london, increased. from an essentially lovable, inconsequent creature, with the temper of an angel and the frankness of a child, molly had become oddly nervous and irritable, flushing and paling suddenly for no apparent cause, and guardedly uncommunicative as to her comings and goings. she was oddly resentful of any manifestation of interest in her affairs, and snubbed sara roundly when the latter ventured an injudicious inquiry as to whether lester kent were still in the neighbourhood. "how on earth should i know?" the golden-brown eyes met sara's with a look of nervous defiance. "i'm not his keeper." then, as though slightly ashamed of her outburst, she added more amiably: "i haven't been down to the club for weeks. it's been so hot-and i suppose i've been lazy. 164 the hermit of far end 66 66 but i'm going to-morrow. i shall be able to gratify your curiosity concerning lester kent when i come home." to-morrow?" sara looked surprised. but we promised to go to tea with audrey to-morrow." molly flushed and looked away. "did we?" she said vaguely. "can't you arrange to go to oldhampton the next day instead?" continued sara. "i'd forgotten." molly frowned a little. at last— "i tell you what i'll do," she said agreeably. "i'll come back by the afternoon train and meet you at greenacres." and with this concession sara had to be content. tea at greenacres resolved itself into a kind of rarefied picnic, and, as sara crossed the cool green lawns in the wake of a smart parlourmaid, she found that quite a considerable number of audrey's friends-and enemies were gathered together under the shade of the trees, partaking of tea and strawberries and cream. the élite of the neighbourhood might find many disagreeable things to say concerning mrs. maynard, but they were not in the least averse to accepting her hospitality whenever the opportunity presented itself. sara's heart leapt suddenly as she descried trent's lean, well-knit figure amongst those dotted about on the lawn. she had tried very hard to accustom herself to meet him with composure, but at each encounter, although outwardly quite cool, her pulses raced, and to-day, the first time she had seen him since her return from london, she felt as though all her nerves were outside her skin instead of underneath it. he was talking to miles herrick. the latter, lying back luxuriously in a deck-chair, proceeded to wave and beckon an enthusiastic greeting as soon as he caught sight of sara, and rather reluctantly she responded to his signals and made her way towards the two men. "i feel like a bloated sultan summoning one of the ladies of the harem to his presence," confessed miles apologetithe name of durward 165 cally when he had shaken hands. "i've added a sprained ankle to my other disabilities," he continued cheerfully. "hence my apparent laziness." sara commiserated appropriately. "how did you manage to get here?" she asked. miles gestured towards trent. "this man maintained that it was bad for my mental and moral health to brood alone at home while lavinia went skipping off into society unchaperoned. so he fetched me along in his car." sara's eyes rested thoughtfully on trent's face a moment. it was odd how kindly and considerate he always showed himself towards miles herrick. perhaps somewhere within him a responsive chord was touched by the evidence of the other man's broken life. "miss tennant is thinking that it's a case of the blind leading the blind for me to act as a cicerone into society," remarked trent curtly. sara winced at the repellent hardness of his tone, but she declined to take up the challenge. "i am very glad you persuaded miles to come over," was all she said. trent's lips closed in a straight line. it seemed as though he were trying to resist the appeal of her gently given answer; and miles, conscious of the antagonism in the atmosphere, interposed with some commonplace question concerning her visit to london. "you're looking thinner than you were, sara," he added critically. she flushed a little as she felt trent's hawk-like glance sweep over her. "oh, i've been leading too gay a life," she said hastily. "the durwards seem to know half london, so that we crowded about a dozen engagements into each day—and a few more into the night." 166 the hermit of far end "durward?" the word sprang violently from trent's lips, almost as though jerked out of him, and sara, glancing towards him in some astonishment, surprised a strange, suddenly vigilant expression in his face. it was immediately succeeded by a blank look of indifference, yet beneath the assumption of indifference his eyes seemed to burn with a kind of slumbering hostility. "yes-the people i have been staying with," she explained. "do you know them, by any chance?" "i really can't say," he replied carelessly. "durward is not a very uncommon name, is it?" "their name was originally lovell-they only acquired the durward with some property. mrs. durward is an extraordinarily beautiful woman. i believe in her younger days she had half london in love with her." sara hardly knew why she felt impelled to supply so many particulars concerning the durwards. after that first brief exclamation, trent seemed to have lost interest, and appeared to be rather bored by the recital than otherwise. he made no comment when she had finished. "then you don't know them?" she asked at last. "i?" he started slightly, as though recalled to the present by her question. "no. i haven't the pleasure to be numbered amongst mrs. durward's friends," he said quietly. "i have seen her, however." "she is very beautiful, don't you think?" persisted sara. "very," he replied indifferently. and then, quite deliberately, he directed the conversation into another channel, leaving sara feeling exactly as though a door had been slammed in her face. it was his old method of putting an end to a discussion that failed to please him—this arrogantly abrupt transition to another subject-and, though it served its immediate purpose, it was a method that had its weaknesses. if you deliberately hide behind a hedge, any one who catches you in the act naturally wonders why you are doing it. the name of durward 167 even miles looked a trifle astonished at trent's curt dismissal of the durward topic, and sara, who had observed the strange expression that leaped into his eyes-half guarded, half inimical-felt convinced that he knew more about the durwards than he had chosen to acknowledge. she could not imagine in what way they were connected with his life, nor why he should have been so averse to admitting his knowledge of them. but there were many inexplicable circumstances associated with the man who had chosen to live more or less the life of a recluse at far end; and sara, and the little circle of intimates who had at last succeeded in drawing him into their midst, had accustomed themselves to the atmosphere of secrecy that seemed to envelop him. from his obvious desire to eschew the society of his fellow men and women, and from the acid cynicism of his outlook on things in general, it had been gradually assumed amongst them that some happening in the past had marred his life, poisoning the springs of faith, and hope, and charity at their very fount, and with the tact of real friendship they never sought to discover what he so evidently wished concealed. "where is molly to-day?" miles's pleasant voice broke across the awkward moment, giving yet a fresh trend to the conversation that was languishing uncomfortably. sara's gaze ranged searchingly over the little groups of people sprinkled about the lawn. "she was "isn't she here yet?" she asked, startled. coming back from oldhampton by the afternoon train, and promised to meet me here." miles glanced at his watch. "the attractions of oldhampton have evidently proved too strong for her," he said a little drily. "if she had come by the afternoon train, she would have been here an hour ago." sara looked troubled. 168 the hermit of far end "( oh, but she must be here somewhere," she insisted rather anxiously. "shall i see if i can find her for you?" suggested trent stiffly. sara, sensing his wish to be gone and genuinely disturbed at molly's non-appearance, acquiesced. "i should be very glad if you would," she answered. then, turning to miles, she went on: "i can't think where she can be. somehow, molly has become rather difficult, lately." herrick smiled. "don't look so distressed. it is only a little ebullition of la jeunesse. 22 sara turned to him swiftly. "then you've noticed it, too-that she is different?" he nodded. "lookers-on see most of the game, you know. and i'm essentially a looker-on." he bit back a quick sigh, and went on hastily: "but i don't think you need worry about our molly's vagaries. she's too sound au fond to get into real mischief." "but she "she wouldn't mean to," conceded sara. is" she hesitated. "youthfully irresponsible," suggested miles. "let it go at that." sara looked at him affectionately, reflecting that trent's black cynicism made a striking foil to the serene and constant charity of herrick's outlook. "you always look for the best in people, miles," she said appreciatively. "i have to. don't you see, people are my whole world. i'm cut off from everything else. if i didn't look for the best in them, i should want to kill myself. and i'm pretty lucky," he added, smiling humorously. "i generally find what i'm looking for." at this moment trent returned with the news that molly the name of durward 169 was nowhere to be found. it was evident she had not come to greenacres at all. sara rose, feeling oddly apprehensive. “then i think i shall go home and see if she has arrived there yet," she said. she smiled down at miles. "even irresponsibility needs checking-if carried too far." chapter xvi the flight he first person sara encountered on her return to sunnyside jane unmistakably bursting impart some news. "the doctor's going away, miss," she announced, flinging her bombshell without preliminary. going away?" sara's surprise was entirely gratifying, and jane continued volubly"yes, miss. a telegram came for him early in the afternoon, while he was out on his rounds, asking him to go to a friend who is lying at death's door, as you may say. and, please, miss, dr. selwyn said he would be glad to see you as soon as you came in." "very well, i'll go to him at once. where is miss molly? has she come back yet?" "come and gone again, miss. the doctor asked her to send off a wire for him." "i see." sara nodded somewhat abstractedly. she was still wondering confusedly why molly had failed to put in any appearance at greenacres. "what time did she come in?" "about a quarter of an hour ago, miss. she missed the early train back from oldhampton.' "" sara's instant feeling of relief was tempered by a mild element of self-reproach. she had been agitating herself about nothing-allowing her uneasiness about molly to become a perfect obsession, leading her into the wildest imaginings. here had she been disquieting herself the entire afternoon because molly had not turned up as arranged, and after all, the simple, commonplace explanation of the matter was that she had missed her train! 170 the flight 171 smiling over the groundlessness of her fears, sara hastened away to selwyn's study, and found him, seated at his desk, scribbling some hurried notes concerning various cases among his patients for the enlightenment of the medical man who was taking charge of the practice during his absence. oh, there there you are, sara!" he exclaimed, laying down his pen as she entered. "i'm glad you have come back before i go. i'm off in half-an-hour. did jane tell you?" 66 "yes. i'm very sorry your friend is so ill." selwyn's face clouded over. "we "i'd like to see him again," he answered simply. haven't met for some years-not since my wife's health brought me to monkshaven-but we were good pals at one time, he and i. luckily, i've been able to arrange with dr. mitchell to include my patients in his round, and if you'll take charge of everything here at home, sara, i shall have nothing to worry about while i'm away." "of course i will. it's very nice of you to entrust your family to my care so confidently "—smiling. "quite confidently," he replied. "i'm not afraid of anything going wrong if you're at the helm." "how long do you expect to be away?" asked sara presently. "a couple of days at the outside. i hope to get back the day after to-morrow." denuded of selwyn's big, kindly presence, the house seemed curiously silent. even jane crab appeared to feel the effect of his absence, and strove less forcefully with her pots and pans-which undoubtedly made for an increase of peace and quiet-while molly was frankly depressed, stealing restlessly in and out of the rooms like some haunting shadow. "what on earth's the matter with you?" sara asked her laughingly. "hasn't your father ever been away from home before? you're wandering about like an uneasy spirit!" "i am an uneasy spirit," responded molly bluntly. "i 172 the hermit of far end feel as though i'd a cold coming on, and i always like dad to doctor me when i'm ill." "i can doctor a cold," affirmed sara briskly. "put your feet in hot water and mustard to-night and stay in bed tomorrow." molly considered the proposed remedies in silence. "perhaps i will stay in bed to-morrow," she said, at last, reluctantly. "should you mind? we were going down to see the lavender lady, you remember." "i'll go alone. anyway "-smiling-"if you're safely tucked up in bed, i shall know you're not getting into any mischief while doctor dick's away! but very likely the hot water and mustard will put you all right. "perhaps it will," agreed molly hopefully. the next morning, however, found her in bed, snuffling and complaining of headache, and pathetically resigned to the idea of spending the day between the sheets. obviously she was in no fit state to inflict her company on other people, so, in the afternoon, after settling her comfortably with a new novel and a box of cigarettes at her bedside, sara took her solitary way to rose cottage. there she found garth trent, sitting beside herrick's couch and deep in an enthusiastic discussion of amateur photography. but, immediately on her entrance, the eager, interested expression died out of his face, and very shortly after tea he made his farewells, nor could any soft blandishments on the part of the lavender lady prevail upon him to remain longer. sara felt hurt and resentful. since the day of the expedition to devil's hood island, trent had punctiliously avoided being in her company whenever circumstances would permit him to do so, and she was perfectly aware that it was her presence at rose cottage which was responsible for his early departure this afternoon. a gleam of anger flickered in the black depths of her eyes as he shook hands. the flight 173 "i'm sorry i've driven you away," she flashed at him beneath her breath, with a bitterness akin to his own. he made no answer, merely releasing her hand rather quickly, as though something in her words had flicked him on the raw. "what a pity mr. trent had to leave so soon," remarked miss lavinia, with innocent regret, when he had gone. "i'm afraid we shall never persuade him to be really sociable, poor dear man! he seems a little moody to-day, don't you think?"-hesitating delicately. "he's a boor!" burst out sara succinctly. miles shook his head. "no, i don't think that," he said. "but he's a very sick man. in my opinion, trent's had his soul badly mauled at some time or other." "he needn't advertise the fact, then," retorted sara, unappeased. "we all get our share of ill-luck. garth behaves as if he had the monopoly." "there are some scars which can't be hidden," replied miles quietly. sara smiled a little. there was never any evading herrick's broad tolerance of human nature. it was nearly an hour later when at last she took her way homewards, carrying in her heart, in spite of herself, something of the gentle serenity that seemed to be a part of the very atmosphere at rose cottage. outside, the calm and fragrance of a june evening awaited her. little, delicate, sweet-smelling airs floated over the tops of the hedges from the fields beyond, and now and then a few stray notes of a blackbird's song stole out from a plantation near at hand, breaking off suddenly and dying down into drowsy, contented little cluckings and twitterings. across the bay the sun was dipping towards the horizon, flinging along the face of the waters great shafts of lambent gold and orange, that split into a thousand particles of shim174 the hermit of far end mering light as the ripples caught them up and played with them, and finally tossed them back again to the sun from the shining curve of a wave's sleek side. it was all very tranquil and pleasant, and sara strolled leisurely along, soothed into a half-waking dream by the peaceful influences of the moment. even the manifold perplexities and tangles of life seemed to recede and diminish in importance at the touch of old mother nature's comforting hand. after all, there was much, very much, that was beautiful and pleasant still left to enjoy. it is generally at moments like these, when we are sinking into a placid quiescence of endurance, that fate sees fit to prod us into a more active frame of mind. in this particular instance destiny manifested itself in the unassuming form of black brady, who slid suddenly down from the roadside hedge, amid a crackling of branches and rattle of rubble, and appeared in front of sara's astonished eyes just as she was nearing home. "beg pardon, miss "-brady tugged at a forelock of curly black hair-" i was just on me way to your place." "to sunnyside? why, is mrs. brady ill again?" asked sara kindly. "no, miss, thank you, she's doing nicely." he paused a moment as though at a loss how to continue. then he burst out: "it's about miss molly-the doctor bein' away and all." 66 about miss molly?" sara felt a sudden clutch at her "what do you mean? quick, brady, what is heart. it?" "well, miss, i've just seed 'er go off 'long o' mr. kent in his big motor-car. they took the london road, and " -here brady shuffled his feet with much embarrassment"seein' as mr. kent's a married man, i'll be bound he's up to no good wi' miss molly.” sara could have stamped with vexation. the little fooloh! the utter little fool-to go off joy-riding in an evening the flight 175 like that! a break-down of any kind, with a consequent delay in returning, and all monkshaven would be buzzing with the tale! for the moment, however, there was nothing to be done. except to put black brady in his place and pray for molly's speedy return. "well, brady," she said coldly, "i imagine mr. kent's a good enough driver to bring miss selwyn back safely. i don't think there's anything to worry about." brady stared at her out of his sullen eyes. "you haven't understood, miss," he said doggedly. "mr. kent isn't for bringing miss molly back again. they'd their luggage along wi' 'em in the car, and mr. kent, he stopped at the 'cliff' to have the tank filled up and took a matter of another half-dozen cans o' petrol with 'im." in an instant the whole dreadful significance of the thing leaped into sara's mind. molly had bolted-run away with lester kent! it was easy enough now, in the flashlight kindled by brady's slow, inexorable summing up of detail, to see the drift of recent happenings, the meaning of each small, disconcerting fact that added a fresh link to the chain of probability. molly's unwonted secretiveness; her strange, uncertain moods; her embarrassment at finding she was expected at greenacres when she had presumably agreed to meet lester kent in oldhampton; and, last of all, the sudden "cold" which had developed coincidently with her father's absence from home, and which had secured her freedom from any kind of supervision for the afternoon. and the opportunity of clinching arrangements-probably already planned and dependent only on a convenient moment-had been provided by her errand to the post office to send off her father's telegram -it being as easy to send two telegrams as one. the colour ebbed slowly from sara's face as full realisation dawned upon her, and she swayed a little where she stood. 176 the hermit of far end with rough kindliness brady stretched out a grimy hand and steadied her. "'ere, don't take on, miss. they won't get very far. i didn't, so to speak, fill the petrol tank "—with a grin—“ and there ain't more than two o' they cans i slipped aboard the car as 'olds more'n air. the rest was empties "—the grin widened enjoyably-" which i shoved in well to the back. mr. kent won't travel eighty miles afore 'e calls a 'alt, i reckon." sara looked at brady's cunning, kindly face almost with affection. "why did you do that?" she asked swiftly. "i've owed mr. lester kent summat these three years,' he answered complacently. "and i never forgits to pay back. i owed you summat, too, miss tennant. i haven't forgot how you spoke up for me when i was catched poachin'." sara held out her hand to him impulsively, and brady sheepishly extended his own grubby paw to meet it. "you've more than paid me back, brady," she said warmly. "thank you." turning away, she hurried up the road, leaving brady staring alternately at his right hand and at her receding figure. "she's rale gentry, is miss tennant," he remarked with conviction, and then slouched off to drink himself blind at "the jolly sailorman." black brady was, after all, only an inexplicable bundle of good and bad impulses-very much like his betters. 99 arrived at the house, sara fled breathlessly upstairs to molly's room. jane crab was standing in the middle of it, staring dazedly at all the evidences of a hasty departure which surrounded her-an overturned chair here, an empty hat-box there, drawers pulled out, and clothes tossed heedlessly about in every direction. in her hand she held a chemist's parcel, neatly sealed and labelled; she was twisting it round and round in her trembling, gnarled old fingers. the flight 177 at the sound of sara's entrance, she turned with an exclamation of relief. "oh, miss sara! i'm main glad you've come! whatever's happened? miss molly was here in bed not three parts of an hour ago!" then, her boot-button eyes still roving round the room, she made a sudden dart towards the dressingtable. here, miss, 'tis a note she's left for you!" she exclaimed, snatching it up and thrusting it into sara's hands. written in molly's big, sprawling, childish hand, the note was a pathetic mixture of confession and apology— 66 "i feel a perfect pig, sally mine, leaving you behind to face father, but it was my only chance of getting away, as i know dad would have refused to let me marry for years and years. he never will realise that i'm grown-up. and lester and i couldn't wait all that time. "i felt an awful fraud last night, letting you fuss over my supposed 'cold,' you dear thing. do forgive me. and you must come and stay with us the minute we get back from our honeymoon. we are to be married to-morrow morning. -molly. "p.s.-don't worry-it's all quite proper and respectable. i'm to go straight to the house of one of lester's sisters in london. "p.p.s.-i'm frantically happy." sara's eyes were wet when she finished the perusal of the hastily scribbled letter. "we are to be married to-morrow morning!" the blind, pathetic confidence of it! and if black brady had spoken the truth, if lester kent were already a married man, to-morrow morning would convert the trusting, wayward baby of a woman, with her adorable inconsistencies and her big, generous heart, into something sara dared not contemplate. the thought of the look in those brown-gold eyes, when molly should know the truth, brought a lump into her throat. 178 the hermit of far end she turned to jane crab. "listen to me, jane," she said tersely. "miss molly's run away with mr. lester kent. she thinks he's going to marry her. but he can't-he's married already"" "sakes alive!" just that one brief exclamation, and then suddenly jane's lower lip began to work convulsively, and two tears squeezed themselves out of her little eyes, and her whole face puckered up like a baby's. sara caught her by the arm and shook her. "don't cry!" she said vehemently. "you haven't time! we've got to save her-we've got to get her back before any one knows. do you understand? stop crying at once!" jane reacted promptly to the fierce imperative, and sniffingly choked back her tears. suddenly her eyes fell on the little package from the chemist which she still held clutched in her hand. "the artfulness of her!" she ejaculated indignantly. asking me to go along to the chemist's and bring her back some aspirin for her headache! and me, like a fool, suspecting nothing, off i goes! there's the stuff!"-viciously flinging the chemist's parcel on to the floor. "eh! miss molly'll have more than a headache to face, i'm thinking! "but she mustn't, jane! we've got to get her back, somehow." 99 66 though sara spoke with such assured conviction, she was inwardly racked with anxiety. what could they do two forlorn women? and to whom could they turn for help? miles? he was lame. he was no abler to help than they themselves. and selwyn was away, out of reach! "we must get her back," she repeated doggedly. "and how, may i ask, miss sara?" inquired jane bit"be you goin' to run after the motor-car, mayhap? " for a moment sara was silent. the sarcastic query had set the spark to tinder, and now she was thinking rapidly, some semblance of a plan emerging at last from the chaotic turmoil of her mind. the flight 179 garth trent! he could help her! he had a car-sara did not know its pace, but she was certain trent could be trusted to get every ounce out of it that was possible. between them-he and she-they would bring molly back to safety! she turned swiftly to jane crab. "come to the stable and help me put in the doctor's pony, jane. you know how, don't you?" "yes, miss, i've helped the master many a time. but you ain't going to catch no motor with old toby, miss sara." "no, i don't expect to. i'm going to drive across to far end. mr. trent will help us. don't worry, jane "-as the two made their way to the stable and jane strangled a sob "we'll bring miss molly back. and, listen! mrs. selwyn isn't to hear a word of this. do you understand? if she asks you anything, tell her that miss molly and i are dining out. that'll be true enough, too," added sara grimly, "if we dine at all!" jane sniffed, and swallowed loudly. "yes, miss," she said submissively. "you and miss molly are dining out. i won't forget." 1 chapter xvii they who pursued s elwyn's pony had rarely before found himself hustled along at the pace at which sara drove him. she let him take his time up the hills, knowing, as every good horsewoman knows, that if you press your horse against the hill, he will only flag the sooner and that you will lose more than you gain. but down the hills and along the flat, sara, with hands and whip, kept toby going at an amazing pace. perhaps something of her own urgency communicated itself to the good-hearted little beast, for he certainly made a game effort and brought her to far end in a shorter time than she had deemed possible. exactly as she pulled him to a standstill, the front door opened and garth himself appeared. he had heard the unwonted sound of wheels on the drive, and now, as he recognised his late visitor, an expression of extreme surprise crossed his face. "miss tennant!" he exclaimed in astonished tones. "yes. can can your man take my pony? and, please, may i come in? i-i must see you alone for a few minutes." trent glanced at her searchingly as his ear caught the note of strain in her voice. summoning judson to take charge of the pony and trap, he led the way into the comfortable, old-fashioned hall and wheeled forward an armchair. "sit down," he said composedly. "now "-as she obeyed "tell me what is the matter." his manner held a quiet friendliness. the chill indifference he had accorded her of late even earlier that same day 180 they who pursued 181 at rose cottage—had vanished, and his curiously bright eyes regarded her with sympathetic interest. to the man as he appeared at the moment, it was no difficult matter for sara to unburden her heart, and a few minutes later he was in possession of all the facts concerning molly's flight. "i don't know whether mr. kent is really a married man or not," she added in conclusion. "brady declares that he is." "he is," replied trent curtly. "very much married. his first wife divorced him, and, since then, he has married again." "oh!" sara half-rose from her seat, her face blanching. not till that moment did she realise how much in her inmost heart she had been relying on the hope that garth might be able to contradict black brady's statement. "don't worry." garth laid his hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently back into her chair again. "don't worry. thanks to brady's stroke of genius about the petrol -i've evidently underestimated that man's good points-i think i can promise you that you shall have miss molly safely back at sunnyside in the course of a few hours. that is, if you are willing to trust me in the matter." 66 of course i will trust you," she answered simply. somehow it seemed as though a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders since she had confided her trouble to garth. "thank you," he said quietly. "now, while judson gets the car round, you must have a glass of wine." "no-oh, no!”—hastily-" i don't want anything." allow me to know better than you do in this case," he replied, smiling. he left the room, presently returning with a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses. 66 oh, please i'd so much rather start at once," she protested. "i really don't want anything. do let us hurry!" 66 182 the hermit of far end "i'm sorry, but i've no intention of starting until you have drunk this "—filling and handing one of the glasses to her. rather than waste time in further argument, she accepted it, only to find that her hand was shaking uncontrollably, so that the edge of the glass chattered against her teeth. "i—i can't!" she gasped helplessly. now that she had shared her burden of responsibility, the demands of the last half-hour's anxiety and strain were making themselves felt. with a swift movement garth took the glass from her, and, supporting her with his other arm, held it to her lips. "drink it down," he said authoritatively. then, as she paused: "all of it! "" in a few minutes the wine had brought the colour back to her face, and she felt more like herself again. "i'm all right, now," she said. "i'm sorry i was such a fool. but-but this business about molly has given me rather a shock, i suppose." "naturally. now, if you're ready, we'll make a start.” she rose, and he surveyed her slight figure in its thin muslin gown with some amusement. "not quite a suitable costume for motoring by night," he remarked. he picked up one of two big fur coats mrs. judson had brought into the room. "here, put this on." then, when he had fastened it round her and turned the collar up about her neck, he stood looking at her for a moment in silence. the whole of her slender form was hidden beneath the voluminous folds of the big coat, which had been originally designed to fit garth's own proportions, and against the high fur collar her delicate cameo face, with its white skin and scarlet lips and its sombre, night-black eyes, emerged like some vivid flower from its sheath. trent laughed shortly. "beauty-in the garment of the beast," he commented. then, briskly: "come along. judson will have the car ready by now." they who pursued 183 sara stepped into the car and he tucked the rugs carefully round her. then, directing judson to drive the selwyn pony and trap back to sunnyside, he took his place at the wheel and the car slid noiselessly away down the broad drive. 66 the surprising discovery of the doctor's pony and trap at far end to-morrow morning would require explanation," he observed grimly to sara. she blessed his thoughtfulness. 66 what about judson?" she asked. "is he reliable? or do you think he will-talk?" ،، judson," replied garth, "has been in my service long enough to know the meaning of the word 'discretion." " trent drove the car steadily enough through the town, but, as soon as they emerged on to the great london main road, he let her out and they swept rapidly along through the lingering summer twilight. "are you nervous?" he asked. "do you mind forty or fifty miles an hour when we've a clear stretch ahead of us?" "" "eighty, if you like," she replied succinctly. she felt the car leap forward like a living thing beneath them as it gathered speed. "do you think-is it possible that we can overtake them?" she asked anxiously. "it's got to be done," he answered, and she was conscious of the quiet driving-force that lay behind the speech-the stubborn resolution of the man which she had begun to recognise as his most dominant characteristic. she wondered, as she had so often wondered before, whether any one had ever yet succeeded in turning garth trent aside from his set purpose, whatever it might chance to be. she could not imagine his yielding to either threats or persuasions. however much it might cost him, he would carry out his intention to the bitter end, even though its fulfilment might involve the shattering of the whole significance of life. 66 besides "-his voice cut across the familiar tenor of 184 the hermit of far end her thoughts" kent will probably stop to dine at some hotel en route. we shan't. we'll feed as we go." "oh-h!" a gasp of horrified recollection escaped her. "i never thought of it! of course you've had no dinner!" he laughed. "have you?" he asked amusedly. "no, but that's different." "well, we'll even matters up by having some sandwiches together presently. mrs. judson has packed some in." sara was silent, inwardly dwelling on the fact that no least detail ever seemed to escape garth's attention. even in the hurry of their departure, and with the whole scheme of molly's rescue to envisage, he had yet found time to order due provision for the journey. an hour later they pulled up at the principal hotel of the first big town on the route, and garth elicited the fact that a car answering to the description of lester kent's had stopped there, but only for a bare ten minutes which had enabled its occupants to snatch a hasty meal. "they've been here and gone straight on," he reported to sara. "evidently kent's taking no chances "-grimly. and a moment later they were on their way once more. dusk deepened into dark, and the car's great headlights cut out a blazing track of gold in front of them as they rushed along the pale ribbon of road that stretched ahead—mile after interminable mile. on either side, dark woods merged into the deeper darkness of the encroaching night, seeming to slip past them like some ghostly marching army as the car tore its way between the ranks of shadowy trunks. overhead, a few stars crept out, puncturing the expanse of darkening sky-pale, tremulous sparks of light in contrast with the steady, warmly golden glow that streamed from the lights of the car. presently garth slackened speed. "why are you stopping?" sara's voice, shrilling a little with anxiety, came to him out of the darkness. "i'm not stopping. i'm only slowing down a bit, bethey who pursued 185 cause i think it's quite feeding time. do you mind opening those two leather attachments fixed in front of you? such nectar and ambrosia as mrs. judson has provided is in there." sara leaned forward, and unbuckling the lid of a flattish leather case which, together with another containing a flask, was slung just opposite her, withdrew from within it a silver sandwich-box. she snapped open the lid and proffered the box to garth. "help yourself. and do you mind "-he spoke a little uncertainly and the darkness hid the expression of his face from her " handing me my share in pieces suitable for human consumption? this is a bad bit of road, and i want both hands for driving the car." in silence sara broke the sandwiches and fed him, piece by piece, while he bent over the wheel, driving steadily onward. the little, intimate action sent a curious thrill through her. it seemed in some way to draw them together, effacing the memory of those weeks of bitter indifference which lay behind them. such a thing would have been grotesquely impossible of performance in the atmosphere of studied formality supplied by their estrangement, and sara smiled a little to herself under cover of the darkness. 66 one more mouthful!" she announced as she halved the last sandwich. an instant later she felt his lips brush her fingers in a sudden, burning kiss, and she withdrew her hand as though stung. she was tingling from head to foot, every nerve of her a-thrill, and for a moment she felt as though she hated him. he had been so kind, so friendly, so essentially the good comrade in this crisis occasioned by molly's flight, and now he had spoilt it all-playing the lover once more when he had shown her clearly that he meant nothing by it. apparently he sensed her attitude the quick withdrawal of spirit which had accompanied the mere physical retreat. 186 the hermit of far end "forgive me!" he said, rather low. "i won't offend again." she made no answer, and presently she felt the car sliding slowly to a standstill. a sudden panic assailed her. 66 what is it? what are you doing?" she asked, quick fear in her sharply spoken question. he laughed shortly. "you needn't be afraid-" he began. "i'm not!" she interpolated hastily. "excuse me," he said drily, "but you are. you don't trust me in the slightest degree. well "-she could guess, rather than see, the shrug which accompanied the words"i can't blame you. it's my own fault, i suppose.' "" he braked the car, and she quivered to a dead stop, throbbing like a live thing in the darkness. “you must forgive me for being so material," he went on composedly, "but i want a drink, and i'm not acrobat enough to manage that, even with your help, while we're doing thirty miles an hour." he lifted out the flask, and, when they had both drunk, sara meekly took it from him and proceeded to adjust the screw cap and fit the silver cup back into its place over the lower half of the flask. simultaneously she felt the car begin to move forward, and then, quite how it happened she never knew, but, fumbling in the darkness, she contrived to knock the cup sharply against the flask, and it flew out of her hand and over the side of the car. impulsively she leaned out, trying to snatch it back as it fell, and, in the same instant, something seemed to give way, and she felt herself hurled forward into space. the earth rushed up to meet her, a sound as of many waters roared in her ears, and then the blank darkness of unconsciousness swallowed her up. chapter xviii the revelation of the night hank god, she's only stunned!" "t the words, percolating slowly through the thick, blankety mist that seemed to have closed about her, impressed themselves on sara's mind with a vague, confused suggestion of their pertinence. it was as though some one -she wasn't quite sure who-had suddenly given voice to her own immediate sensation of relief. at first she could not imagine for what reason she should feel so specially grateful and relieved. gradually, however, the mists began to clear away and recollection of a kind returned to her. she remembered dropping something she couldn't recall precisely what it was that she had dropped, but she knew she had made a wild clutch at it and tried to save it as it fell. then she was remembering more distinctly now-something against which she had been leaning-she couldn't recall what that was, either-gave way suddenly, and for the fraction of a second she had known she was going to fall and be killed, or, at the least, horribly hurt and mutilated. and now, it seemed, she had not been hurt at all! she was in no pain; only her head felt unaccountably heavy. but for that, she was really very comfortable. some one was holding her it was almost like lying back in a chair-and against her cheek she could feel the soft warmth of fur. "sara-beloved!" he was it was garth's voice, quite close to her ear. holding her in his arms. ah! she knew now! they were on the island together, and he had just asked her if she cared. of course she cared! 187 188 the hermit of far end it was sheer happiness to lie in his arms, with closed eyes, and hear his voice that deep, unhappy voice of his-grow suddenly so incredibly soft and tender. "you're mine, now, sweet! mine to hold just for this once, dear of my heart!" no, that couldn't be right, after all, because it wasn't garth who loved her. he had only pretended to care for her by way of amusing himself. it must be tim who was talking to her-tim, whom she was going to marry. then, suddenly, the mists cleared quite away, and sara came back to full consciousness and to the knowledge of where she was and of what had happened. her first instinct, to open her eyes and speak, was checked by a swift, unexpected movement on the part of garth. all at once, he had gathered her up into his arms, and, holding her face pressed close against his own, was pouring into her ears a torrent of burning, passionate words of love—love triumphant, worshipping, agonising, and last of all, brokenly, desperately abandoning all right or claim. you "and i've got to live without my god, it's hard!" in the darkness and solitude of the night—as he believed, alone with the unconscious form of the woman he loved in his arms-garth bared his very soul. there was nothing hidden any longer, and sara knew at last that even as she herself loved, so was she loved again. • • die without you · chapter xix the journey's end s ara stirred a little and opened her eyes. deep within herself she was ashamed of those brief moments of assumed unconsciousness-those moments which had shown her a strong man's soul stripped naked of all pride and subterfuge his heart and soul as he alone knew them. but, none the less, she felt gloriously happy. nothing could ever hurt her badly again. garth loved her! since, for some reason, he himself would never have drawn aside the veil and let her know the truth, she was glad-glad that she had peered unbidden through the rent which the stress of the moment had torn in his iron self-command and reticence. just as she had revealed herself to him on the island, in a moment of equal strain, so he had now revealed himself to her, and they were quits. "i'm all right,” she announced, struggling into a sitting position. "i'm not hurt." 66 sit still a minute, while i fetch you some brandy from the car." garth spoke in a curiously controlled voice. he was back again in a moment, and the raw spirit made her catch her breath as it trickled down her throat. "thank god we had only just begun to move," he said. "otherwise you must have been half-killed." "what happened?" she asked curiously. "how did i fall out?" "the door came open. that damned fool, judson, didn't shut it properly. are you sure you're not hurt? " "quite sure. my head aches rather." "that's very probable. you were stunned for a minute or two." 189 190 the hermit of far end suddenly the recollection of their errand returned to her. molly! good heavens, how much time have we wasted? how long has this silly business taken?" she demanded, in a frenzy of apprehension. garth surveyed her oddly in the glow of one of the car's side-lights, which he had carried back with him when he fetched the brandy. 66 "five minutes, i should think," he said, adding under his breath: "or half eternity!" 66 five minutes! is that all? then do let's hurry on." she took a few steps in the direction of the car, then stopped and wavered. she felt curiously shaky, and her legs seemed as though they did not belong to her. in a moment garth was at her side and had lifted her up in his arms. he carried her swiftly across the few yards that intervened between them and the car, and settled her gently into her seat. "do you feel fit to go on?" he asked. "of course i do. we must-bring molly back." even her voice refused to obey the dictates of her brain, and quavered weakly. "well, try to rest a little. don't talk, and perhaps you'll go to sleep," he restarted the car, and, taking his seat once more at the wheel, drove on at a smooth and easy pace. sara leaned back in silence at his side, conscious of a feeling of utter lassitude. in spite of her anxiety about molly, a curious contentment had stolen over her. the long strain of the past weeks had ended-ended in the knowledge that garth loved her, and nothing else seemed to matter very much. moreover, she was physically exhausted. her fall had shaken her badly, and she wanted nothing better than to lie back quietly against the padded cushions of the car, lulled by the rhythmic throb of the engine, and glide on through the night indefinitely, knowing that garth was there, close to her, all the time. the journey's end 191 presently her quiet, even breathing told that she slept, and garth, stooping over her to make sure, accelerated the speed, and soon the car shot forward through the darkness at a pace which none but a driver very certain of his skill would have dared to attempt. when, an hour later, sara awoke, she felt amazingly refreshed. only a slight headache remained to remind her of her recent accident. "where are we?" she asked eagerly. "how long have i been asleep?" "feeling better? " queried garth, reassured by the stronger note in her voice. "quite all right, thanks. but tell me where we are?" "nearly at our journey's end, i take it," he replied grimly, suddenly slackening speed. "there's a stationary car ahead there on the left, do you see? that will be our friends, i expect, held up by petrol shortage, thanks to jim brady." sara peered ahead, and on the edge of the broad ribbon of light that stretched in front of them she could discern a big car, drawn up to one side of the road, its headlights shut off, its side-lights glimmering warningly against its dark bulk. exactly as they drew level with it, garth pulled up to a standstill. then a muttered curse escaped him, and simultaneously sara gave vent to an exclamation of dismay. the car was empty. garth sprang out and flashed a lamp over the derelict. "yes," he said, "that's kent's car right enough." sara's heart sank. "what can have become of them?" she exclaimed. she glanced round her as though she half suspected that kent and molly might be hiding by the roadside. meanwhile garth had peered into the tank and was examining the petrol cans stowed away in the back of the deserted car. 192 the hermit of far end "run dry!" he announced, coming back to his own car. "that's what has happened." "and what can we do now?" asked sara despondently. he laughed a little. "faint heart!" he chided. "6 what can we do now ? why, ask ourselves what kent would naturally have done when he found himself landed high and dry?" "i don't know what he could do-in the middle of nowhere?" she answered doubtfully. 66 only we don't happen to be in the middle of nowhere! we're just about a couple of miles from a market town where abides a nice little inn whence petrol can be obtained. kent and miss molly have doubtless trudged there on foot, and wakened up mine host, and they'll hire a trap and drive back with a fresh supply of oil. by jove!"-with a grim laugh "how kent must have cursed when he discovered the trick brady played on him!" ten minutes later, leaving their car outside, garth and sara walked boldly up to the inn of which he had spoken. the door stood open, and a light was burning in the coffeeroom. evidently some one had just arrived. garth glanced into the room, then, standing back, he motioned sara to enter. sara stepped quickly over the threshold and then paused, swept by an infinite compassion and tenderness almost maternal in its solicitude. molly was sitting hunched up in a chair, her face half hidden against her arm, every drooping line of her slight young figure bespeaking weariness. she had taken off her hat and tossed it on to the table, and now she had dropped into a brief, uneasy slumber born of sheer fatigue and excitement. "molly!" at the sound of sara's voice she opened big, startled eyes and stared incredulously. sara moved swiftly across to her. the journey's end 193 molly dear," she said, "i've come to take you home." at that molly started up, broad awake in an instant. "you? how did you come here?" she stammered. then, realisation waking in her eyes: "but i'm not coming back with you. we've only stopped for petrol. lester's outside, somewhere, seeing about it now. we're driving back to the car." "yes, i know. but you're not going on with mr. kent" -very gently-" you're coming home with us." molly drew herself up, flaring passionate young defiance, talking glibly of love, and marriage, and living her own life -all the beautiful, romantic nonsense that comes so readily to the soft lips of youth, the beckoning rose and gold of sunrise-and of mirage-which is all youth's untrained eyes can see. sara was getting desperate. moment kent might return. the doorway. the time was flying. at any garth signalled to her from "you must tell her," he said gruffly. "if kent returns before we go, we shall have a scene. get her away quick." sara nodded. then she came back to molly's side. "my dear," she said pitifully. "you can never marry lester kent, because because he has a wife already." "i don't believe it!" the swift denial leaped from molly's lips. but she did believe it, nevertheless. no one who knew sara could have looked into her eyes at that moment and doubted that she was speaking not only what she believed to be, but what she knew to be, the ugly truth. suddenly molly crumpled up. as, between them, garth and sara hurried her away to the car, there was no longer anything of the regal young goddess about her. she was just a child—a tired, frightened child whose eyes had been suddenly opened to the quicksands whereon her feet were set, and, like a child, she turned instinctively and clung to the dear, familiar people from home, who were mercifully at 194 the hermit of far end hand to shield her when her whole world had suddenly grown new and strange and very terrible. · on, on through the night roared the big car, with garth bending low over the wheel in front, while, in the back-seat, molly huddled forlornly into the curve of sara's arm. a few questions had elicited the whole foolish story of lester kent's infatuation, and of the steps he had taken to enmesh poor simple-hearted molly in the toils-first, by lending her money, then, when he found that the loan had scared her, by buying her pictures and surrounding her with an atmosphere of adulation which momentarily blinded her from forming any genuine estimate either of the value of his criticism or of the sincerity of his desire to purchase. once the head resting against sara's shoulder was lifted, and a wistfully incredulous voice asked, very low— "you are sure he is married, sara-quite sure?" 66 quite sure, molly," came the answer. and later, as they were nearing home, molly's hardlybought philosophy of life revealed itself in the brief comment: "it's very easy to make a fool of oneself." 66 probably mr. kent has found that out-by this time," replied sara with a grim flash of humour. a faint, involuntary chuckle in response premised that ultimately molly might be able to take a less despondent view of the night's proceedings. it was between two and three in the morning when at length the travellers climbed stiffly out of the car at the gateway of sunnyside and made their way up the little tiled path that led to the front door. the latter opened noiselessly at their approach, and jane, who had evidently been watching for them, stood on the threshold. her small, beady eyes were red-rimmed with sleeplessness -and with the slow, difficult tears that now and again had overflowed as hour after hour crawled by, bringing no sign of the wanderers' return--and the shadows of fatigue that the journey's end 195 had hollowed her weather-beaten cheeks wrung a sympathetic pang from sara's heart as she realised what those long, inactive hours of helpless anxiety must have meant to the faithful soul. jane's glance flew to the drooping, willowy figure clinging to garth's arm. "my lamb!. . . oh! miss molly dear, they've brought 'ee back!" impulsively she caught hold of garth's coatsleeve. "thank god you've brought them back, sir, and now there's none as need ever know aught but that they've been in their beds all the blessed night!" her lips were shaking, drawn down at the corners like those of a distressed child, but her harsh old voice quivered triumphantly. a very kindly gleam showed itself in garth's dark face as he patted the rough, red hand that clutched his coatsleeve. "yes, i've brought them back safely," he said. "put them both to bed, jane. miss sara's fallen out of the car and miss molly has tumbled out of heaven, so they're both feeling pretty sore." but sara's soreness was far the easier to bear, since it was purely physical. as she lay in bed, at last, utterly weary and exhausted, the recollection of all the horror and anxiety that had followed upon the discovery of molly's flight fell away from her, and she was only conscious that had it not been for that wild night-ride which molly's danger had compelled, she would never have known that garth loved her. so, out of evil, had come good; out of black darkness had been born the exquisite clear shining of the dawn. ! chapter xx the second best s ara laid down her pen and very soberly re-read the letter she had just written. it was to tim durward, telling him the engagement between them must be at an end, and its accomplishment had been a matter of sore embarrassment and mental struggle. sara hated giving pain, and she knew that this letter, taking from tim all—and it was so pitifully little that she had ever given him, must bring very bitter pain to the man to whom, as friend and comrade, she was deeply attached. it was barely a month since she had promised to marry him, and it was a difficult, ungracious task, and very open to misapprehension, to write and rescind that promise. yet it was characteristic of sara that no other alternative presented itself to her. now that she was sure garth cared for her whether their mutual love must remain for ever unfulfilled, unconsummated, or not-she knew that she could never give herself to any other man. she folded and sealed the letter, and then sat quietly contemplating the consequences that it might entail. almost inevitably it would mean a complete estrangement from the durwards. elisabeth would be very unlikely ever to forgive her for her treatment of tim; even kindly hearted major durward could not but feel sore about it; and since garth had not asked her to marry him—and showed no disposition to do any such thing-they would almost certainly fail to understand or sympathise with her point of view. sara sighed as she dropped her missive into the letter-box. it meant an end to the pleasant and delightful friendship which had come into her life just at the time 196 the second best 197 when patrick lovell's death had left it very empty and desolate. two days of suspense ensued while she restlessly awaited tim's reply. then, on the third day, he came himself, his eyes incredulous, his face showing traces of the white night her letter had cost him. he was very gentle with her. there was no bitterness of upbraiding, and he suffered her explanation with a grave patience that hurt her more than any reproaches he could have uttered. "i believed it was only i who cared, tim," she told him. “and so i felt free to give you what you wanted—to be your wife, if you cared to take me, knowing i had no love to give. i thought "—she faltered a little―" that i might as well make someone happy! but now that i know he loves me as i love him, i couldn't marry any one else, could i?" "and are you going to marry him—this man you love?" "i don't know. he has not asked me to marry him." "perhaps he is married already?"—swiftly. sara met his eyes frankly. "i don't even know that." tim made a fierce gesture of impatience. “is it playing fair—to keep you in ignorance like that?” he demanded. sara laughed suddenly. 66 perhaps not. but somehow i don't mind. i am sure he must have a good reason-or else "—with a flash of humour "some silly man's reason that won't be any obstacle at all!" "supposing "-tim bent over her, his face rather white supposing you find-later on-that there is some real obstacle that he can't marry you, would you come to methen, sara?" she shook her head. 66 66 no, tim, not now. don't you see, now that i know he cares for me—everything is altered. i'm not free, now. in 198 the hermit of far end a way, i belong to him. oh! how can i explain? even though we may never marry, there is a faithfulness of the spirit, tim. it's-it's the biggest part of love, really99 she broke off, and presently she felt tim's hands on her shoulders. "i think i understand, dear," he said gently. "it's just what i should expect of you. it means the end of everything -everything that matters for me. but somehow i would not have you otherwise." he did not stay very long after that. they talked together a little, promising each other that their friendship should still remain unbroken and unspoilt. 66 for," as tim said, "if i cannot have the best that the world can give your love, sara, i need not lose the second best-which is your friendship." and sara, watching him from the window as he strode away down the little tiled path, wondered why love comes so often bearing roses in one hand and a sharp goad in the other. chapter xxi the pitiless altar e lisabeth was pacing restlessly up and down the broad, flagged terrace at barrow, impatiently awaiting tim's return from monkshaven. she knew his errand there. he had scarcely needed to tell her the contents of sara's letter, so swiftly had she summed up the immediate connection between the glimpse she had caught of sara's handwriting and the shadow on the beloved face. she moved eagerly to meet him as she heard the soft purr of the motor coming up the drive. "well?" she queried, slipping her arm through his and drawing him towards the terrace. tim looked at her with troubled eyes. he could guess so exactly what her attitude would be, and he was not going to allow even elisabeth to say unkind things about the woman he loved. if he could prevent it, she should not think them. very gently, and with infinite tact, he told her the result of his interview with sara, concealing so far as might be his own incalculable hurt. to his relief, his mother accepted the facts with unexpected tolerance. he could not see her expression, since her eyes veiled themselves with down-dropped lids, but she spoke quite quietly and as though trying to be fair in her judgment. there was no outward sign by which her son might guess the seething torrent of anger and resentment which had been aroused within her. "but if, as you tell me, sara doesn't expect to marry this man she cares for, surely she has been unduly hasty? if he 199 200 the hermit of far end can never be anything to her, need she set aside all thought of matrimony?" tim stared at his mother in some surprise. there was a superficial worldly wisdom in the speech which he would not have anticipated. ( "it seems to me rather absurd," she continued placidly. "quixotic-the sort of romantic live and die unwed' idea that is quite exploded. girls nowadays don't wither on their virgin stems if the man they want doesn't happen to be in a position to marry them. they marry some one else." tim felt almost shocked. from his childhood he had invested his mother with a kind of rarefied grace of mental and moral qualities commensurate with her physical beauty, and her enunciation of the cynical creed of modern times staggered him. it never occurred to him that elisabeth was probing round in order to extract a clear idea of sara's attitude in the whole matter, and he forthwith proceeded innocently to give her precisely the information she was seeking. "sara isn't like that, mother," he said rather shortly. "it's just the the crystal purity of her outlook which makes her what she is so absolutely straight and fearless. she sees love, and holds by what she believes its demands to be. i wouldn't wish her any different," he added loyally. "perhaps not. but if supposing the man proves to have a wife already? he might be separated from her; sara doesn't seem to know much about him. or he may have a wife in a lunatic asylum who is likely to live for the next forty years. what then? will sara never marry if—if there were a circumstance like that a really insurmountable obstacle?" 66 no, i don't believe she will. i don't think she would wish to. if he loves her and she him, spiritually they would be bound to one another-lovers. and just the circumstance of his being tied to another woman would make no difference to sara's point of view. she goes beyond material thingsor the mere physical side of love." the pitiless altar 201 "then there is no chance for you unless sara learns to unlove this man?" tim regarded her with faint amusement. 66 mother, do you think you could learn to unlove meor my father?" 99 she laughed a little. "you have me there, tim," she acknowledged. "but" -hesitating a little" sara knows so little of the man, apparently, that she may have formed a mistaken estimate of his character. perhaps he is not really the the ideal individual she has pictured him." tim smiled. "you are a very transparent person, mother mine,” he said indulgently. "but i'm afraid your hopes of finding that the idol has feet of clay are predestined to disappointment." "have you met the man?" asked elisabeth sharply. "i do not even know his name. but i should imagine him a man of big, fine qualities.' "since you don't know him, you can hardly pronounce an opinion." a whimsical smile, touched with sadness, flitted across tim's face. "i know sara," was all he said. "sara is given to idealising the people she cares for," rejoined elisabeth. she spoke quietly, but her expression was curiously intent. it was as though she were gathering together her forces, concentrating them towards some definite purpose, veiled in the inscrutable depths of those strange eyes of hers. "i find it difficult to forgive her," she said at last. "that's not like you, mother." "it is just like me," she responded, a tone of half-tender mockery in her voice. "naturally i find it difficult to forgive the woman who has hurt my son." tim answered her out of the fullness of the queer new wisdom with which love had endowed him. 202 the hermit of far end "a man would rather be hurt by the woman he loves than humoured by the woman he doesn't love," he said quietly. and elisabeth, understanding, held her peace. she had been very controlled, very wise and circumspect in her dealing with tim, conscious of raw-edged nerves that would bear but the lightest of handling. but it was another woman altogether who, half-an-hour later, faced geoffrey durward in the seclusion of his study. the two moving factors in elisabeth's life had been, primarily, her love for her husband, and, later on, her love for tim, and into this later love was woven all the passionately protective instinct of the maternal element. she was the type of woman who would have plucked the feathers from an archangel's wing if she thought they would contribute to her son's happiness; and now, realising that the latter was threatened by the fact that his love for sara had failed to elicit a responsive fire, she felt bitterly resentful and indignant. "i tell you, geoffrey," she declared in low, forceful tones, "she shall marry tim-she shall! i will not have his beautiful young life marred and spoilt by the caprices of any woman." major durward looked disturbed. "my dear, i shouldn't call sara in the least a capricious she knows her own heart"" woman. "so does tim!" broke in elisabeth. " and, if i can compass it, he shall have his heart's desire." her husband shook his head. "you cannot force the issue, my dear." "can i not? there's little a woman cannot do for husband or child! i tell you, geoffrey-for you, or for tim, to give you pleasure, to buy you happiness, i would sacrifice anybody in the world!" she stood in front of him, her beautiful eyes glowing, and her voice was all shaken and a-thrill with the tumult of emothe pitiless altar 203 tion that had gripped her. there was something about her which suggested a tigress on the defensive—at bay, shielding her young. durward looked at her with kind, adoring eyes. "that's beautiful of you, darling," he replied gently. "but it's a dangerous doctrine. and i know that, really, you're far too tender-hearted to sacrifice a fly." elisabeth regarded him oddly. "you don't know me, geoffrey," she said very slowly. "no man knows a woman, really—not all her thoughts." and had major durward, honest fellow, realised the volcanic force of passion hidden behind the tense inscrutability of his wife's lovely face, he would have been utterly confounded. we do not plumb the deepest depths even of those who are closest to us. civilisation had indeed forced the turgid river to run within the narrow channels hewn by established custom, but, released from the bondage of convention, the soul of elisabeth durward was that of sheer primitive woman, and the pivot of all her actions her love for her mate and for the man-child she had borne him. once, years ago, she had sacrificed justice, and honour, and a man's faith in womanhood on that same pitiless altar of love. but the story of that sacrifice was known only to herself and one other-and that other was not durward. i chapter xxii love's sacrament a full week had elapsed since the night of that eventful journey in pursuit of molly, and from the moment when garth had given sara into the safe keeping of jane crab till the moment when he came upon her by the pergola at rose cottage, perched on the top of a ladder, engaged in tying back the exuberance of a crimson rambler, they had not met. and now, as he halted at the foot of the ladder, sara was conscious that her spirits had suddenly bounded up to impossible heights at the sight of the lean, dark face upturned to her. "the lavender lady and miles are pottering about in the greenhouse," she announced explanatorily, waving her hand in the direction of a distant glimmer of glass beyond the high box hedge which flanked the rose-garden. "are they?" trent, thus arrested in the progress of his search for his host and hostess, seemed entirely indifferent as to whether it were ever completed or not. he leaned against one of the rose-wreathed pillars of the pergola and gazed negligently in the direction sara indicated. "how is miss molly?" he asked. sara twinkled. "she is just beginning to discard sackcloth and ashes for something more becoming," she informed him gravely. "that's good. are you-are you all right after your tumble? i'm making these kind inquiries because, since it was my car out of which you elected to fall, i feel a sense of responsibility." 204 love's sacrament 205 sara descended from the ladder before she replied. then she remarked composedly"it has taken precisely seven days, apparently, for that sense of responsibility to develop." "on the contrary, for seven days my thirst for knowledge has been only restrained by the pointings of conscience." "then "-she spoke rather low-" was it conscience pointing you-away from sunnyside? "" his hazel eyes flashed over her face. "perhaps it was-discretion," he suggested. looking in at shop windows when one has an empty purse is a poor occupation-and one to be avoided." 66 "did you want to come?" she persisted gently. half absently he had cut off a piece of dead wood from the rose-bush next him and was twisting it idly to and fro between his fingers. at her words, the dead wood stem snapped suddenly in his clenched hand. for an instant he seemed about to make some passionate rejoinder. then he slowly unclenched his hand and the broken twig fell to the ground. "haven't i made it clear to you-yet," he said slowly, "that what i want doesn't enter into the scheme of things at all?" the brief speech held a sense of impending finality, and, in the silence which followed, the eyes of the man and woman met, questioned each other desperately, and answered. there are moments when modesty is a false quantity, and when the big happinesses of life depend on a woman's capacity to realise this and her courage to act upon it. to sara, it seemed that such a moment had come to her, and the absolute sincerity of her nature met it unafraid. "no," she said quietly. "you have only made clear to me-what you want, garth. need we pretend to each other any longer?" "i don't understand," he muttered. "don't you?" she drew a little nearer him, and the face 206 the hermit of far end i she lifted to his was very white. but her eyes were shining. "that night-when i fell from the car-i-i wasn't unconscious." for an instant he stared at her, incredulous. then he swung aside a little, his hand gripping the pillar against which he had been leaning till his knuckles showed white beneath the straining skin. "you-weren't unconscious?" he repeated blankly. "no-not all the time. i-heard-what you said." he seemed to pull himself together. 66 oh, heaven only knows what i may have said at a moment like that," he answered carelessly, but his voice was rough and hoarse. "a man talks wild when the woman he's with only misses death by a hair's-breath.” sara's lips upturned at the corners in a slow smile-a smile that was neither mocking, nor tender, nor chiding, but an exquisite blending of all three. she caught her breath quickly-trent could hear its soft sibilance. then she spoke. "will you marry me, please, garth?" he drew back from her, violently, his underlip hard bitten. at last, after a long silence"no!" he burst out harshly. "no! i can't!" for an instant she was shaken. then, buoyed up by the memory of that night when she had lain in his arms and when the agony of the moment had stripped him of all power to hide his love, she challenged his denial. "why not?" her voice was vibrant. her voice was vibrant. "yes. . . i "you love me!" love you." the words seemed torn from him. "then why won't you marry me?" it did not seem to her that she was doing anything unusual or unwomanly. the man she loved had carried his burden single-handed long enough. the time had come when, for his own sake as well as for hers, she must wring the truth from him, make him break through the silence which had so love's sacrament 207 long been torturing them both. whatever might be the outcome, whether pain or happiness, they must share it. "why won't you marry me, garth?" the little question, almost voiceless in its tensity, clamoured loudly at his heart. "don't tempt me!" he cried out hoarsely. "my god! i wonder if you know how you are tempting me?" she came a little closer to him, laying her hand on his arm, while her great, sombre eyes silently entreated him. as though the touch of her were more than he could bear, his hard-held passion crashed suddenly through the bars his will had set about it. he caught her in his arms, lifting her sheer off her feet against his breast, whilst his lips crushed down upon her mouth and threat, burned against her white, closed lids, and the hard clasp of his arms about her was a physical painan exquisite agony that it was a fierce joy to suffer. "then-then you do love me?" she leaned against him, breathless, her voice unsteady, her whole slender body shaken with an answering passion. "" "love you?" the grip of his arms about her made response. "love you? i love you with my soul and my body, here and through whatever comes hereafter. you are my earth and heaven-the whole meaning of thingshe broke off abruptly, and she felt his arms slacken their hold and slowly unclasp as though impelled to it by some invisible force. "what was i saying?" the heat of passion had gone out of his voice, leaving it suddenly flat and toneless. "the whole meaning of things?"" he gave a curious little laugh. it had a strangled sound, almost like the cry of some tortured thing. "then things have no meaning"" sara stood staring at him, bewildered and a little frightened. "garth, what is it?" she whispered. "what has happened? "" 208 the hermit of far end he turned, and, walking away from her a few paces, stood very still with his head bent and one hand covering his eyes. overhead, the sunshine, filtering in through the green trellis of leafy twigs, flaunted gay little dancing patches of gold on the path below, as the leaves moved flickeringly in the breeze, and where the twisted growth of a branch had left a leafless aperture, it flung a single shaft of quivering light athwart the pergola. it gleamed like a shining sword between the man and woman, as though dividing them one from the other and thrusting each into the shadows that lay on either hand. "garthat the sound of her voice he dropped his hand to his side and came slowly back and stood beside her. his face was almost grey, and the tortured expression of his eyes seemed to hurt her like the stab of a knife. 99 "you must try to forgive me," he said, speaking very low and rapidly. "i had no earthly right to tell you that i cared, because-because i can't ask you to marry me. i told you once that i had forfeited my claim to the good things in life. that was true. and, having that knowledge, i ought to have kept away from you-for i knew how it was going to be with me from the first moment i saw you. i fought against it in the beginning-tried not to love you. afterwards, i gave in. but i never dreamed that—youwould come to care, too. that seemed something quite beyond the bounds of human possibility." "did it? i can't see why it should." "can't you?" he smiled a little. "if you were a man who has lived under a cloud for over twenty years, who has nothing in the world to recommend him, and only a tarnished reputation as his life-work, you, too, would have thought it inconceivable. anyway, i did, and, thinking that, i dared to give myself the pleasure of seeing you-of being sometimes in your company. perhaps "—grimly—“it was as much a torture as a joy on occasion. but still, i was · love's sacrament 209 near you. i could see you-touch your hand—serve you, perhaps, in any little way that offered. that was all something something very wonderful to come into a life. that, to all intents and purposes, was over. and i thought i could keep myself in hand-never let you know that i cared-" "you certainly tried hard enough to convince me that you didn't," she interrupted ruefully. "yes, i tried "-simply. "and i failed. and now, all that remains is for me to go away. i shall never forgive myself for having brought pain into your life—i, who would so gladly have brought only happiness. god in heaven!" -he whispered to himself as though the thought were almost blinding in the promise of ecstasy it held-" to have been the one to bring you happiness! . . .” he fell silent, his mouth wrung and twisted with pain. 99 presently her voice came to him again, softly supplicating. "i shall never forgive you-if you go away and leave me,' she added. "i can't do without you now-now that i know you care." "but i must go! i can't marry you-you haven't understood"" • · "haven't i?" she smiled a small, wise, wonderful smile that began somewhere deep in her heart and touched her lips and lingered in her eyes. "tell me," she said. "are you married, garth?" he started. "married! god forbid!" "and if you married me, would you be wronging any one?" "only you yourself," he answered grimly. 66 then nothing else matters. you are free-and i'm free. and i love you!" she leaned towards him, her hands outheld, her mouth still touched with that little, mystic smile. "please tell me all over again how much you love me." 210 the hermit of far end but no answering hands met hers. instead, he drew away from her and faced her, stern-lipped. "i must make you understand," he said. "you don't know what it is that you are asking. i've made shipwreck of my life, and i must pay the penalty. but, by god, i'm not going to let you pay it, too! and if you married me, you would have to pay. you would be joining your life to that of an outcast. i can never go out into the world as other men may. if i did "-slowly-" if i did, sooner or later i should be driven away-thrust back into my solitude. i have nothing to offer-nothing to give-only a life that has been cursed from the outset. don't misunderstand me," he went on quickly. "i'm not complaining, bidding for your sympathy. if a man's a fool, he must be prepared to pay for his folly-even though it means a lifepenalty for a moment's madness. and i shall have to payto the uttermost farthing. mine's the kind of debt which destiny never remits." he paused; then added defiantly: "the woman who married me would have to share in that payment to go out with me into the desert in which i live, and she would have to do this without knowing what she was paying for, or why the door of the world is locked against me. my lips are sealed, nor shall i ever be able to break the seal. now do you understand why i can never ask you, or any other woman, to be my wife?" sara looked at him curiously; he could not read the expression of her face. "have you finished?" she asked. "is that all?" "all? isn't it enough?"-with a grim laugh. “and you are letting this—this folly of your youth stand between us?" "the world applies a harder word than folly to it." "i don't care anything at all about the world. what do you call it?" he shrugged his shoulders. "i call it folly to ask the criminal in the dock whether love's sacrament 211 he approves the judge's verdict. he's hardly likely to!" for a moment she was silent. then she seemed to gather herself together. "garth, do you love me?" the words fell clearly on the still, summer air. "yes"-doggedly-" i love you. what then?" "what then? why-this! i don't care what you've done. it doesn't matter to me whether you are an outcast or not. if you are, then i'm willing to be an outcast with you. oh, garth!-my garth! i've been begging you to marry me all the afternoon, and—andwith a broken little laugh-" you can't keep on refusing me!" before her passionate faith and trust the barriers he had raised between them came crashing down. his arms went round her, and for a few moments they clung together and love wiped out all bitter memories of the past and all the menace of the future. 99 but presently he came back to his senses. very gently he put her from him. "it's not right," he stammered unsteadily. "i can't accept this from you. dear, you must let me go away. i can't spoil your beautiful life by joining it to mine!" she drew his arm about her shoulders again. · "you will spoil it if you go away. oh! garth, you dear, foolish man! when will you understand that love is the only thing that matters? if you had committed all the sins in the decalogue, i shouldn't care! you're mine now "— jealously—“ my lover. and i'm not going to be thrust out of your life for some stupid scruple. let the past take care of itself. the present is ours. and-and i love you, garth!" it was difficult to reason coolly with her arms about him, her lips so near his own, and his great love for her pulling at his heart. but he made oue further effort. "if you should ever regret it, sara?" he whispered. "i don't think i could bear that." 212 the hermit of far end she looked at him with steady eyes. 66 you will not have it to bear," she said. regret it." "i shall never still he hesitated. but the dawn of a great hope grew and deepened in his face. "if you could be content to live here at far end it is just possible!" he spoke reflectively, as though debating the matter with himself. "the curse has not followed me to this quiet little corner of the earth. perhaps―-after all sara, could you stand such a life? or would you always be longing to get out into the great world? as i've there's that in my past have you the faith· • told you, the world is shut to me. which blocks the way to any future. the courage to face that?" · her eyes, steadfast and serene, met his. 66 i have courage to face anything-with you, garth. but -i haven't courage to face living without you." he bent his head and kissed her on the mouth-a slow, lingering kiss that held something far deeper and more enduring than mere passion. and sara, as she kissed him back, her soul upon her lips, felt as though together they had partaken of love's holy sacrament. "beloved "-garth's voice, unspeakably tender, came to her through the exquisite silence of the moment-“ beloved, it shall be as you wish. whether i am right or wrong in taking this great gift you offer me-god knows! if i am wrong—then, please heaven, whatever punishment there be fall on me alone." may chapter xxiii a summer idyll th he summer, of all seasons of the year, is very surely the perfect time for lovers, and to sara the days that followed immediately upon her engagement to garth trent were days of unalloyed happiness. those were wonderful hours which they passed together, strolling through the summer-foliaged woods, or lazing on the sun-baked sands, or, perhaps, roaming the range of undulating cliffs that stretched away to the west from the headland where far end stood guard. during those hours of intimate companionship, sara began to learn the hidden deeps of garth's nature, discovering the almost romantic delicacy of thought that underlay his harsh exterior. "you're more than half a poet, my garth!" she told him one day. "a transcendental fool, in other words," he amended, smiling. "well "-looking at her oddly-" perhaps you're right. but it's too late to improve me any. as the twig is bent, so the tree grows, you know." "i don't want to improve you," sara assured him promptly. "i shouldn't like you to be in the least bit different from what you are. it wouldn't be my garth, then, at all." so they would sit together and talk the foolish, charming nonsense that all lovers have talked since the days of adam and eve, whilst from above, the sun shone down and blessed them, and the waves, lapping peacefully on the shore, murmured an obbligato to their love-making. looking backward, in the bitter months that followed 213 214 the hermit of far end when her individual happiness had been caught away from her in a whirlwind of calamity, and when the whole world was reeling under the red storm of war, sara could always remember the utter, satisfying peace of those golden days of early july an innocent, unthinking peace that neither she nor the world would ever quite regain. afterwards, memory would always have her scarred and bitter place at the back of things. sara found no hardship now in receiving the congratulations of her friends-and they fell about her like rain-while in the long, intimate talks she had with garth the fact that he would never speak of the past weighed with her not at all. she guessed that long ago he had been guilty of some mad, boyish escapade which, with his exaggerated sense of honour and the delicate idealism that she had learned to know as an intrinsic part of his temperamental make-up, he had magnified into a cardinal sin. and she was content to leave it at that and to accept the present, gathering up with both hands the happiness it held. she had written to elisabeth, telling her of her engagement, and, to her surprise, had received the most charming and friendly letter in return. "of course," wrote elisabeth in her impulsive, flowing hand with its heavy dashes and fly-away dots, "we cannot but wish that it had been otherwise-that you could have learned to care for tim-but you know better than any one of us where your happiness lies, and you are right to take it. and never think, sara, that this is going to make any dif ference to our friendship. i could read between the lines of your letter that you had some such foolish thought in your mind. so little do i mean this to make any break between us that as i can quite realise it would be too much to barrow just now-i proi want to meet the lucky i have not been too well ask that you should come to us at pose coming down to monkshaven. individual who has won my sara. — a summer idyll 215 lately-the heat has tried me—and geoffrey is anxious that i should go away to the sea for a little. so that all things seem to point to my coming to monkshaven. does your primitive little village boast a hotel? or, if not, can you engage some decent rooms for me?" the remainder of the letter dealt with the practical details concerning the proposed visit, and sara, in a little flurry of joyous excitement, had hurried off to the cliff hotel and booked the best suite of rooms it contained for elisabeth. on her way home she encountered garth in the high street, and forthwith proceeded to acquaint him with her news. 6 "i've just been fixing up rooms at the cliff' for a friend of mine who is coming down here," she said, as he turned and fell into step beside her. "a woman friend," she added hastily, seeing his brows knit darkly. "so much the better! but i could have done without the importation of any friends of yours-male or female-just now. they're entirely superfluous "-smiling. "well, i'm glad mrs. durward is coming, because"who did you say?" broke in garth, pausing in his stride. "mrs. durward-tim's mother, you know," she explained. she had confided to him the history of her brief engagement to tim. trent resumed his walk, but more slowly; the buoyancy seemed to have suddenly gone out of his step. "don't you think," he said, speaking in curiously measured tones, 66 'that, in the circumstances, it will be a little awkward mrs. durward's coming here just now?" sara disclaimed the idea, pointing out that it was the very completeness of elisabeth's conception of friendship which was bringing her to monkshaven. "when does she come?" asked trent. "" "on thursday. i'm very anxious for you to meet her, garth. she is so thoroughly charming. i think it is splendid 216 the hermit of far end of her not to let my broken engagement with tim make any difference between us. most mothers would have borne a grudge for that!" "and you think mrs. durward has overlooked it?"with a curious smile. sara enthusiastically assured him that this was the case. "i wonder!" he said meditatively. "it would be very unlike elis-unlike any woman "-he corrected himself hastily" to give up a fixed idea so easily." "well "-sara laughed gaily. "nowadays you can't compel a person to marry the man she doesn't want nor prevent her from marrying the man she does." "i don't know. a determined woman can do a good deal." "but elisabeth isn't a bit the determined type of female you're evidently imagining," protested sara, amused. "she is very beautiful and essentially feminine-rather a wonderful kind of person, i think. wait till you see her!" "i'm afraid," said trent slowly," that i shall not see your charming friend. i have to run up to town next week onon business." "oh!" sara's disappointment showed itself in her voice. "can't you put it off?" he halted outside a tobacconist's shop. "do you mind waiting a moment while i go in here and get some baccy?" he disappeared into the shop, and sara stood gazing idly across the street, watching a jolly little fox-terrier enjoying a small but meaty bone he had filched from the floor of a neighbouring butcher's shop. his placid enjoyment of the stolen feast was short-lived. a minute later a lean and truculent irish terrier came swaggering round the corner, spotted the succulent morsel, and, making one leap, landed fairly on top of the smaller dog. in an instant pandemonium arose, and the quiet street re-echoed to the noise of canine combat. the little fox-terrier put up a plucky fight in defence of a summer idyll 21 his prior claim to the bone of contention, but soon superior weight began to tell, and it was evident that the irishman was getting the better of the fray. the fox-terrier's owner, very elegantly dressed, watched the battle from a safe distance, wringing her hands and calling upon all and sundry of the small crowd which had speedily collected to save her darling from the lions. no one, however, seemed disposed to relieve her of this office for the irishman was an ugly-looking customer-when suddenly, like a streak of light, a slim figure flashed across the road, and flung itself into the mêlée, whilst a vibrating voice broke across the uproar with an imperative: "let go, you brute!" it was all over in a moment. somehow sara's small, strong hands had separated the twisting, growling, biting heap of dog into its component parts of fox and irish, and she was standing with the little fox-terrier, panting and bleeding profusely, in her arms, while one or two of the bystanders —now that all danger was past-drove off the irishman. "oh! but how brave of you!" the owner of the fox terrier rustled forward. "i can't ever thank you suf ficiently." sara turned to her, her black eyes blazing. "is this your dog?" she asked. "yes. and i'm sure "-volubly-" he would have been torn to pieces by that great hulking brute if you hadn't separated them. i should never have dared!". garth, coming out of the tobacconist's shop across the way, joined the little knot of people just in time to hear sara answer cuttingly, as she put the terrier into its owner's arms"you've no business to have a dog if you've not got the pluck to look after him!” as she and trent bent their steps homeward, sara regaled him with a full, true, and particular account of the dogfight, winding up indignantly218 the hermit of far end "fool women like that ought not to be allowed to take out a dog licence. i hate people who shirk their responsibilities." "you despise cowards?" he asked. "more than anything on earth," she answered heartily. he was silent a moment. then he said reflectively"and yet, i suppose, a certain amount of allowance must be made for nerves." "it seems to me it depends on what your duty demands of you at the moment," she rejoined. "nerves are a luxury. you can afford them when it makes no difference to other people whether you're afraid or not-but not when it does." and from what deeps did you draw such profound wisdom?" he asked quizzically. 66 sara laughed a little. "i had it well rubbed into me by my uncle patrick," she replied. "it was his credo." "and yet, i can understand any one's nerves cracking suddenly—after a prolonged strain." "i don't think yours would," responded sara contentedly, with a vivid recollection of their expedition to the island and its aftermath. 66 possibly not. but i suppose no man can be dead sure of himself—always." "will you come in?" asked sara as they paused at sunnyside gate. "not to-day, i think. i had better begin to accustom myself to doing without you, as i am going away so soon -smiling. "" "i wish you were not going," she rejoined discontentedly. "i so wanted you and elisabeth to meet. must you go?" 66 i'm afraid i must. and it's better that i should go, on the whole. i should only be raging up and down like an untied devil because mrs. durward was taking up so much of your time! let her have you to herself for a few days -and then, when i come back, i shall have you to myself again." chapter xxiv patches of blue e lisabeth frowned a little as she perused the letter which she had that morning received from sara. it contained the information that rooms in her name had been booked at the cliff hotel, and further, that sara was much disappointed that it would be impossible to arrange for her to meet garth trent, as he was leaving home on the wednesday prior to her arrival. trent's departure was the last thing elisabeth desired. above all things, she wanted to meet the man whom she regarded as the stumbling-block in the path of her son, for if it were possible that anything might yet be done to further the desire of tim's heart, it could only be if elisabeth, as the dea ex machina, were acquainted with all the pieces in the game. she must know what manner of man it was who had succeeded in winning sara's heart before she could hope to combat his influence, and, if the feet of clay were there, she must see them herself before she could point them out to sara's love-illusioned eyes. should she fail of making trent's acquaintance, she would be fighting in the dark. elisabeth pondered the matter for some time. finally, she despatched a telegram, prepaying a reply, to the proprietor of the cliff hotel, and a few hours later she announced to her husband that she proposed antedating her visit to monkshaven by three days. "i shall go down the day after to-morrow-on monday," she said. "then i'd better send a wire to sara," suggested geoffrey. “no, don't do that. i intend taking her by surprise." 219 220 the hermit of far end elisabeth smiled and dimpled like a child in the possession of a secret. "i shall get down there just in time for dinner, and write to sara the same evening." major durward laughed with indulgent amusement. "what an absurd baby you are still, beth!" he exclaimed, his honest face beaming adoration. "no one would take you to be the mother of a grown-up son!" "wouldn't they?" for a moment elisabeth's eyesveiled, enigmatical as ever-rested on tim's distant figure, where he stood deep in the discussion of some knotty point with the head gardener. then they came back to her husband's face, and she laughed lightly. "everybody doesn't see me through the rose-coloured spectacles that you do, dearest." "there are no rose-coloured spectacles' about it," protested geoffrey energetically. "no one on earth would take you for a day more than thirty-if it weren't for the solid fact of tim's six feet of bone and muscle!" elisabeth jumped up and kissed her husband impulsively. "geoffrey, you're a great dear," she declared warmly. "now i must run off and tell fanchette to pack my things." so it came about that on the following tuesday, sara, to her astonishment and delight, received a letter from elisabeth announcing her arrival at the cliff hotel. 66 why, elisabeth is already here!" she exclaimed, addressing the family at sunnyside collectively. "she came last night." selwyn looked up from his correspondence with a kindly mile. "that's good. you will be able, after all, to bring off the projected meeting between mrs. durward and your hermit— who, by the way, seems to have deserted his shell nowadays," he added, twinkling. and sara, blissfully unaware that in this instance elisabeth had abrogated to herself the rights of destiny, responded smilinglypatches of blue 221 "yes. fate has actually arranged things quite satisfactorily for once." half an hour later she presented herself at the cliff hotel, and was conducted upstairs to mrs. durward's sitting-room on the first floor. elisabeth welcomed her with all her wonted charm and sweetness. there was a shade of gravity in her manner as she spoke of sara's engagement, but no hint of annoyance. she dwelt solely on tim's disappointment and her own, exhibiting no bitterness, but only a rather wistful regret that another had succeeded where tim had failed. "and now," she said, drawing sara out on to the balcony, where she had been sitting prior to the latter's arrival, “and now, tell me about the lucky man." sara found it a little difficult to describe the man she loved to the mother of the man she didn't love, but finally, by dint of skilful questioning, elisabeth elicited the information she sought. 66 age. forty-three!" she exclaimed, as sara vouchsafed his "but that's much too old for you, my dear!" sara shook her head. "not a bit," she smiled back. "it seems so to me," persisted elisabeth, regarding her with judicial eyes. "somehow you convey such an impression of youth. you always remind me of spring. you are so slim and straight and vital-like a young sapling. however, perhaps mr. trent also has the faculty of youth. youth isn't a matter of years, after all," she added contemplatively. "now go on," she commanded, after a moment. "tell me what he looks like." sara laughed and plunged into a description of garth's personal appearance. "and he's got queer eyes-tawny-coloured like a dog's," she wound up, "with a quaint little patch of blue close to each of the pupils." elisabeth leaned forward, and beneath the soft laces of her 222 the hermit of far end gown the rise and fall of her breast quickened perceptibly. "patches of blue?" she repeated. "yes-it sounds as though the colours had run, doesn't it?" pursued sara, laughing a little. "but it's really rather effective." "and did you say his name was trent-garth trent?" asked elisabeth. she had gone a little grey about the mouth, and she moistened her lips with her tongue before speaking. there was a tone of incredulity in her voice. "yes. it's not a beautiful name, is it?" smiled sara. "it's rather a curious one," agreed elisabeth with an effort. "i'm really quite longing to meet this odd man with the patchwork eyes and the funny name." "audrey "you shall see him to-day," sara promised. maynard is giving a picnic in haven woods, and garth will be there. you will come with us, won't you?" "although "-neg"i think i must," replied elisabeth. ligently-" picnics are not much in my line." "oh, audrey's picnics aren't like other people's," rejoined sara reassuringly. "she runs them just as she runs everything else, on lines of combined perfection and informality! the lunch will be the production of a french chef, and the company a few carefully selected intimates." "very well, i'll come-if you're sure mrs. maynard won't object to the introduction of a complete stranger." sara regarded her affectionately. "have you ever met any one who 'objected' to you yet?" she asked with some amusement. elisabeth made no answer. instead, she pointed to the monk's cliff, where the grey stone of far end gleamed in the sunlight against its dark background of trees. "who lives there?" she asked. sara's eyes followed the direction of her hand, and she smiled. "i'm going to live there," she answered. "that's garth's home." "oh-h!" elisabeth drew a quick breath. "it's a grimpatches of blue 223 looking place," she added, after a moment. "rather lonely, i should imagine." 66 garth is fond of solitude," replied sara simply, and she missed the swift, searching glance instantly levelled at her by the hyacinth eyes. when at length she took her departure, it was with a promise to return later on with molly and dr. selwyn, so that they could all four walk out to haven woods together -since the doctor had undertaken to get through his morning's round in time to join the picnicking party. elisabeth accompanied her visitor to the head of the stairs, and then, returning to her room, stepped out on to the balcony once more. for a long time she stood leaning against the balustrade, gazing thoughtfully across the bay to that lonely house on the slope of the cliff. garth trent!" she murmured. "trent! . . . and eyes with patches of blue in them! . . . heavens! can it possibly be he? can it be?" 66 there was a curious quality in her voice, a blending of incredulity and distaste, and yet something that savoured of satisfaction-almost of triumph. across her mental vision flitted the memory of just such eyes-gay, laughing, love-lit eyes, out of which the laughter had been suddenly dashed. chapter xxv the cut direct t was a merry party which had gathered together in the shady heart of haven woods. the selwyns, sara and elisabeth, miles herrick and the lavender lady were all there, and, in addition, there was a large and light-hearted contingent from greenacres, where audrey was entertaining a houseful of friends. only garth had not yet arrived. two young subalterns on leave and a couple of pretty american sisters, all of them staying at greenacres, were making things hum, nobly seconded in their efforts by miles herrick, who had practically recovered from his sprained ankle and one of whose "good days" it chanced to be. every one seemed bubbling over with good-humour and high spirits, so that the dell re-echoed to the shouts of jolly laughter, while the birds, flitting nervously hither and thither, wondered what manner of creatures these were who had invaded their quiet sanctuary of the woods. and presently, when the whole party gathered round the white cloth, spread with every dainty that the inspired mind of audrey's chef had been able to devise, and the popping corks began to punctuate the babble of chattering voices, they took wing and fled incontinently. they had heard similar sharp, explosive sounds before, and had noted them as being generally the harbingers of sudden death. "where's that wretched hermit of yours, sara?" demanded audrey gaily. "i told him we should lunch at one, and it's already a quarter-past. ah!"-catching sight of a lean, supple figure advancing between the trees-"here he is at last!" a shout greeted garth's approach, and the uproarious quarhaldaketamolga kekarmacao todt take a me **vetilkachute retelaeco marileurlatopang kuiltin futu 224 the cut direct 225 tette composed of the two subalterns and the girls from new york city pounded joyously with their forks upon their plates, creating a perfect pandemonium of noise, miles recklessly participating in the clamorous welcome, while the lavender lady fluttered her handkerchief, and sara and andrey both hurried forward to meet the late comer. in the general excitement nobody chanced to observe the effect which trent's appearance had had upon one of the party. elisabeth had half-risen from the grassy bank on which she had been sitting, and her face was suddenly milk-white. even her lips had lost their soft rose-colour, and were parted as if an exclamation of some kind had been only checked from passing them by sheer force of will. out of her white face, her eyes, seeming so dark that they were almost violet, stared fixedly at garth as he approached. their expression was as masked, as enigmatical as ever, yet back of it there gleamed an odd light, and it was as though some curious menace lay hidden in its quiet, slumbrous fire. the little group composed of audrey, sara, and garth had joined the main party now, and garth was shaking eager, outstretched hands and laughingly tossing back the shower of chaff which greeted his tardy arrival. then sara, laying her hand on his arm, steered him towards elisabeth. some one who had been standing a little in front of the latter, screening her from trent's view, moved aside as they approached. "garth, let me introduce you to mrs. durward." the smile that would naturally have accompanied the words was arrested ere it dawned, and involuntarily sara drew back before the instant, startling change in garth's face. it had grown suddenly ashen, and his eyes were like those of a man who, walking in some pleasant place, finds, all at once, that a bottomless abyss has opened at his feet. for a full moment he and elisabeth stared at each other in a silence so vital, so pregnant with some terrible signifi226 the hermit of far end 1 cance, that it impacted upon the whole prevailing atmosphere of care-free jollity. a sudden muteness descended on the party, the laughing voices trailing off into affrighted silence, and in the dumb stillness that followed sara was vibrantly conscious of the hostile clash of wills between the man and woman who had, in a single instant, become the central figures of the little group. then elisabeth's voice-that amazingly sweet voice of hers -broke the profound quiet. "mr.-trent "—she hesitated delicately before the name " and i have met before." and quite deliberately, with a proud, inflexible dignity, she turned her back upon him and moved away. sara never forgot the few moments that followed. she felt as though she were on the brink of some crisis in her life which had been slowly drawing nearer and nearer to her and was now acutely imminent, and instinctively she sought to gather all her energies together to meet it. what it might be she could not guess, but she was sure that this declared enmity between the man she loved and the woman who was her friend preluded some menace to her happiness. her eyes sought garth's in horror-stricken interrogation. "what is it? what does she mean?" she demanded swiftly, in a breathless undertone, instinctively drawing aside from the rest of the party. he laughed shortly. "she means mischief, probably," he replied. "mrs. durward is no friend of mine." sara's eyes blazed. she shall explain," she exclaimed impetuously, and she swung aside, meaning to follow elisabeth and der instant explanation of the insult. but garth checked her. "no," he said decidedly. "please do nothing-say nothing. for audrey's sake we can't have a scene-here." "" "but it's unpardonablethe cut direct 227 "do as i say," he insisted. "believe me, you will only make things worse if you interfere. i will make my apologies to audrey and go. for my sake, sara "—he looked at her intently-" go back and face it out. behave as if nothing had happened." compelled, in spite of herself, by his insistence, sara reluctantly assented and, leaving him, made her way slowly back to the others. a disjointed buzz of talk sprayed up against her ears. every one rushed into conversation, making valiant, if quite fruitless efforts to behave as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, while, a little apart from the main group, elisabeth stood alone. meanwhile trent sought out his hostess, and together they moyed away, pausing at last beneath the canopy of trees. "no words can quite meet what has just occurred," he said formally. "i can only express my regret that my presence here should have occasioned such a contretemps." although the whole brief scene had been utterly incomprehensible to her, audrey intuitively sensed the bitter hurt underlying the harshly spoken words, and the outraged hostess was instantly submerged in the friend. "i am so sorry about it, garth," she said gently, "although, of course, i don't understand mrs. durward's behaviour." "that is very kind of you!" he replied, his voice softening. "but please do not visit your very natural indignation upon mrs. durward. i alone am to blame. i ought never to have renounced my rôle of hermit. unfortunately "with a brief smile of such sadness that audrey felt her heart go out to him in a sudden rush of sympathy-" my mere presence is an abuse of my friends' hospitality." "no, no!" she exclaimed quickly. "we are all glad to have you with us-we were so pleased when-when at last you came out of your shell, garth "—with a faint smile. 66 "still the fact remains that i am outside the social pale. 228 the hermit of far end i had no business to thrust myself in amongst you. however-after this-you may rest assured that i shan't offend again." "i decline to rest assured of anything of the kind," asserted audrey with determination. "don't be such a fool, garth-or so unfair to your friends. just because you chance to have met a woman who, for some reason, chooses to cut you, doesn't alter our friendship for you in the very least. what mrs. durward may have against you i don't know-and i don't care either. i have nothing against you, and i don't propose to give any pal of mine the go-by because some one else happens to have quarrelled with him." trent's eyes were curiously soft as he answered her. "thank you for that," he said earnestly. "all the same, i think you will have to make up your mind to allow your -friend, as you are good enough to call me, to go to the wall. you, and others like you, dragged him out, but, believe me, his place is not in the centre of the room. there are others besides mrs. durward who could give you the reason why, if you care to know it." "i don't care to know it," responded audrey firmly. "in fact, i should decline to recognise any reason against my calling you friend. i don't intend to let you go, nor will miles, you'll find.” "ah! herrick! he's a good chap, isn't he?" said trent a little wistfully. "< we all are once you get to know us," retorted audrey, persistently cheerful. "and sara-sara won't let you go either, garth." his sensitive, bitter mouth twisted suddenly. 66 "if you don't mind," he said quickly, we won't talk about sara. and i won't keep you any longer from your guests. it was-just like you to take it as you have done, audrey. and if, later on, you find yourself obliged to revise your opinion of me-i shall understand. and i shall not resent it." the cut direct 229 "i'm not very likely to do what you suggest." he looked at her with a curious expression on his face. "i'm afraid it is only too probable," he rejoined simply. he wrung her hand, and, turning, walked swiftly away through the wood, while audrey retraced her footsteps in the direction of the dell. she was feeling extremely annoyed at what she considered to be mrs. durward's hasty and inconsiderate action. it was unpardonable of any one thus to spoil the harmony of the day, she reflected indignantly, and then she looked up and met elisabeth's misty, hyacinth eyes, full of a gentle, appealing regret. "mrs. maynard, i must beg you to try and pardon me," she said, approaching with a charming gesture of apology. “i have no excuse to offer except that mr. trent is a man i -i cannot possibly meet." she paused and seemed to swallow with some difficulty, and of a sudden audrey was conscious of a thrill of totally unexpected compassion. there was so evidently genuine pain and emotion behind the hesitating apology. "i am sorry you should have been distressed," she replied kindly. "it has been a most unfortunate affair all round." elisabeth bestowed a grateful little smile upon her. "if you will forgive me," she said, "i will say good-bye now. i am sure you will understand my withdrawing." "oh no, you mustn't think of such a thing," cried audrey hospitably, though within herself she could not but acknowledge that the suggestion was a timely one. "please don't run away from us like that." "it is very kind of you, but really-if you will excuse me —i think i would prefer not to remain. i feel somewhat bouleversée. and i am so distressed to have been the unwitting cause of spoiling your charming party." audrey hesitated. "she began. "of course, if you would really rather go"i would rather," persisted elisabeth with a gentle in230 the hermit of far end flexibility of purpose. "will you give a message to sara for me?" audrey nodded. "ask her to come and see me to-morrow, and tell her that-that i will explain." suddenly she stretched out an impulsive hand. "oh, mrs. maynard! if you knew how much i dread explaining this matter to sara! perhaps, however "-her eyes took on a thoughtful expression-"perhaps, however, it may not be necessaryperhaps it can be avoided." "" a sense of foreboding seemed to close round audrey's heart, as she met the gaze of the beautiful, enigmatic eyes. what was it that elisabeth intended to "explain' to sara? something connected with garth trent, of course, and it was impossible, in view of the attitude elisabeth had assumed, to hope that it could be aught else than something to his detriment. "if an explanation can be avoided, mrs. durward," she said rather coldly, "i think it would be much better. the least said, the soonest mended, you know," she added, looking straight into the baffling eyes. the two women, all at once antagonistic and suspicious of each other, shook hands formally, and elisabeth took her way through the woods, while audrey rejoined her neglected guests and used her best endeavours to convert an entertainment that threatened to become a failure into, at least, a qualified success. by dint of infinite tact, and the loyal cooperation of miles herrick, she somehow achieved it, and the majority of the picnickers enjoyed themselves immensely. only sara felt as though a shadow had crept out from some hidden place and cast its grey length across the path whereon she walked, while miles and audrey, discerning the shadow with the clear-sighted vision of friendship, were filled with apprehension for the woman whom they had both learned to love. ! chapter xxvi a midnight visitor j udson crossed the hall at far end and, opening the front door, peered anxiously out into the moonlit night for the third time that evening. neither he nor his wife could surmise what had become of their master. he had gone away, as they knew, with the intention of joining a picnic party in haven woods, but he had given no instructions that he wished the dinner-hour postponed, and now the beautiful little dinner which mrs. judson had prepared and cooked for her somewhat exigeant employer had been entirely robbed of its pristine delicacy of flavour, since it had been "keeping hot" in the oven for at least two hours. "coming yet?" queried mrs. judson, as her husband returned to the kitchen. the latter shook his head. "not a sign of 'im," he replied briefly. ten minutes later, the house door opened and closed with a bang, and judson hastened upstairs to ascertain his master's wishes. when he again rejoined the wife of his bosom, his face wore a look of genuine concern. "something's happened," he announced solemnly. "ten years have i been in mr. trent's service, and never, maria, never have i seen him look as he do now." "what's he looking like, then?" demanded mrs. judson, pausing with a saucepan in her hand. "like a man what's been in hell," replied her husband dramatically. "he's as white as that piece of paper "— pointing to the sheet of cooking paper with which mrs. judson had been conscientiously removing the grease from the 231 232 the hermit of far end chipped potatoes. "and his eyes look wild. he's been walking, too-must have walked twenty miles or thereabouts, i should think, for he seems dead beat and his boots are just a mask of mud. his coat's torn and splashed, as well—as if he'd pushed his way through bushes and all, without ever stopping to see where he was going." "then he'll be wanting his dinner," observed mrs. judson practically. "i'll dish it up-'tisn't what you might call actually spoiled as yet." "he won't have any. judson,' he says to me, 'bring me a whisky-and-soda and some sandwiches. i don't want nothing else. and then you can lock up and go to bed." " "well, then, bless the man, look alive and get the whiskyand-soda and a tray ready whiles i cut the sandwiches," exclaimed the excellent mrs. judson promptly, giving her bemused spouse a push in the direction of the pantry and herself bustling away to fetch a loaf of bread. "right you are. but i was so took aback at the master's appearance, maria, you could have knocked me down with a feather. i wonder if his young lady's given him his congy?" he added reflectively. " mrs. judson did not stay to discuss the question, but set about preparing the sandwiches, and a few minutes later judson carried into trent's own particular snuggery an attractive-looking little tray and placed it on a table at his master's elbow. the man had not been far out in his reckoning when he opined that his master had walked "twenty miles or thereabouts." when he had quitted haven woods, garth had started off, heedless of the direction he took, and, since then, he had been tramping, almost blindly, up hill and down dale, over hedges, through woods, along the shore, stumbling across the rocks, anywhere, anywhere in the world to get away from the maddening, devil-ridden thoughts which had pursued him since the brief meeting with a woman whose hyacinth eyes recalled the immeasurable anguish of years a midnight visitor 233 ago and threatened the joy which the future seemed to promise. his face was haggard. heavy lines had graved themselves about his mouth, and beneath drawn brows his eyes glowed like sombre fires. judson paused irresolutely beside him. "shall i pour you out a whisky, sir?" he inquired. trent started. he had been oblivious of the man's entrance. "no. i'll do it myself-presently. lock up and go to bed," he answered brusquely. but judson still hesitated. there was an expression of affectionate solicitude on his usually wooden face. "better have one at once, sir," he said persuasively. "and i think you'll find the chicken sandwiches very good, sir, if you'll excuse my mentioning it." for a moment a faint, kindly smile chased away the look of intense weariness in garth's eyes. "you transparent old fool, judson!" he said indulgently. "you're like an old hen clucking round. very well, make me a whisky, if you will, and give me one of those superlative sandwiches." judson waited on him contentedly. "anything more to-night, sir? shall i close the window?" with a gesture towards the wide-open doors of the french window near which his master sat. garth shook his head, and, when at last the manservant had reluctantly taken his departure, he remained for a long time sitting very still, staring out across the moon-washed garden. presently he stirred restlessly. glancing round the room, his eyes fell on his violin, lying upon the table with the bow beside it just as he had laid it down that morning after he had been improvising, in a fit of mad spirits, some variations on the theme of mendelssohn's wedding march. he took up the instrument and struck a few desultory 234 the hermit of far end chords. then, tucking it more closely beneath his chin, he began to play—a broken, fitful melody of haunting sadness, tormented by despairing chords, swept hither and thither by rushing minor cadences-the very spirit of pain itself, wandering, ghost-like, in desert places. upstairs judson turned heavily in his bed. "just hark to 'im, maria," he muttered uneasily. "he fair makes my flesh creep with that doggoned fiddle of his. 'tis like a child crying in the dark. i wish he'd stop." but the sad strains still went on, rising and falling, while garth paced back and forth the length of the room and the candles flickered palely in the moonlight that poured in through the open window. suddenly, across the lawn a figure flitted, noiseless as a shadow. it paused once, as though listening, then glided forward again, slowly drawing nearer and nearer until at last it halted on the threshold of the room. garth, for the moment standing with his back towards the window, continued playing, oblivious of the quiet listener. then, all at once, the feeling that he was no longer alone, that some one was sharing with him the solitude of the night, invaded his consciousness. he turned swiftly, and as his glance fell upon the silent figure standing at the open window, he slowly drew his violin from beneath his chin and remained staring at the apparition as though transfixed. it was a woman who had thus intruded on his privacy. a scarf of black lace was twisted, hood-like, about her head, and beneath its fragile drapery was revealed the beautiful face and haunting, mysterious eyes of elisabeth durward. she had flung a long black cloak over her evening gown, and where it had fallen a little open at the throat her neck gleamed privet-white against its shadowy darkness. the mystical, transfiguring touch of the moon's soft light had eliminated all signs of maturity, investing her with an amazing look of youth, so that for an instant it seemed to a midnight visitor 235 trent as though the years had rolled back and elisabeth eden, in all the incomparable beauty of her girlhood, stood before him. he gazed at her in utter silence, and the brooding eyes returned his gaze unflinchingly. "good god!". the words burst from him at last in a low, tense whisper, and, as if the sound broke some spell that had been holding both the man and woman motionless, elisabeth stepped across the threshold and came towards him. trent made a swift gesture-almost, it seemed, a gesture of aversion. why have you come here?" he demanded hoarsely. she drew a little nearer, then paused, her hand resting on the table, and looked at him with a strange, questioning expression in her eyes. 66 this is a poor welcome, maurice," she observed at last. he winced sharply at the sound of the name by which she had addressed him, then, recovering himself, faced her with apparent composure. "i have no welcome for you," he said in measured tones. "why should i have? all that was between us two half a life-time ago." ended 66 • • • · "no!" she cried out. "no! not all! there is still my son's happiness to be reckoned." "your son's happiness?" he stared at her amazedly. "what has your son's happiness to do with me?" "everything!" she answered. "everything! sara tennant is the woman he loves." "and have you come here to blame me for the fact that she does not return his love?"-with an accent of ironical amusement. "no, i don't blame you. but if it had not been for you she would have married him. they were engaged, and then " -her voice shook a little-"you came! you came-and robbed tim of his happiness." 236 the hermit of far end trent smiled sarcastically. "an instance of the grinding of the mills of god," he said lightly. "you robbed me-you'll agree?-of something i valued. and now-inadvertently-i have robbed you in return of your son's happiness. it appears "-consideringly an unusually just dispensation of providence. and the sins of the parents are visited on the child, as is the usual inscrutable custom of such dispensations." 66 elisabeth seemed to disregard the bitter gibe his speech contained. she looked at him with steady eyes. "i want you-out of the way," she said deliberately. "indeed?" the indifferent, drawling tone was contradicted by the sudden dangerous light that gleamed in the hazel eyes. "you mean you want me―to pay-once more? she looked away uneasily, flushing a little. "i'm afraid it does amount to that," she admitted. "" "and how would you suggest it should be done?" he inquired composedly. her eyes came back to his face. there was an eager light in them, and when she spoke the words hurried from her lips in imperative demand. 66 oh, it would be so easy, maurice! you have only to convince sara that you are not fit to marry her-or any woman, for that matter! tell her what your reputation is -tell her why you can never show yourself amongst your fellow men, why you live here under an assumed name. she won't want to marry you when she knows these things, and tim would have his chance to win her back again." "you mean-let me quite understand you, elisabeth "— trent spoke with curious precision-" that i am to blacken myself in sara's eyes, so that, discovering what a wolf in sheep's clothing i am, she will break off our engagement. that, i take it, is your suggestion?" beneath his searching glance she faltered a moment. then"" yes," she answered boldly. "that is it.” a midnight visitor 237 "it's a charming programme," he commented. "but it doesn't seem to me that you have considered sara at all in the matter. it will hardly add to her happiness to find that she has given her heart to-what shall we say?"-smiling disagreeably-" to the wrong kind of man?" 66 of, of course, she will be upset, désillusionnée, for a time. she will suffer. but then "-with a quick sigh-" we all have our share of suffering. sara cannot hope to be exempt. and afterwards—afterwards "—her eyes shining -"she will be happy. she and tim will be happy together.' "and so you are prepared to cause all this suffering, sara's, and mine-though i suppose "-with a bitter inflection" that last hardly counts with you!-in order to secure tim's happiness?" "yes," significantly, "i am prepared-to do anything to secure that." trent stared at her in blank amazement. 66 have you no conscience?" he asked at last. never had any?" she looked at him a little piteously. 66 you don't understand," she muttered. you don't understand. i'm his mother. and i want him to be happy." he shrugged his shoulders. "i am sorry," he said, "that i cannot help you. but i'm afraid tim's happiness isn't going to be purchased at my expense. i haven't the least intention of blackening myself in the eyes of the woman i love for the sake of tim -or of twenty tims. please understand that, once and for all." "" "have you 66 he gestured as though to indicate that she should precede him to the window by which she had entered. but she made no movement to go. instead she flung back her cloak as though it were stifling her, and caught him impetuously by the arm. "maurice! maurice! for god's sake, listen to me!" her voice was suddenly shaken with passionate entreaty. 238 the hermit of far end "use some other method, then! break with her some other way! if you only knew how i hate to ask you this-i who have already brought only sorrow and trouble into your life! but tim-my son-he must come first!" she pressed a little closer to him, lifting her face imploringly. maurice, you loved me once-for the sake of that love, grant me my boy's happiness!" quietly, inexorably, he disengaged himself from the eager clasp of her hand. her beautiful, agonised face, the vehement supplication of her voice, moved him not a jot. "you are using a poor argument," he said coldly. "you are making your request in the name of a love that died threeand-twenty years ago." 66 "do you mean "-she stared at him-" that you have not cared at all-since?" she spoke incredulously. then, suddenly, she laughed. "and i-what a fool i was!-i used to grieve often-thinking how you must be suffering!" he smiled wryly as at some bitter memory. "6 perhaps i did," he responded shortly. "death has its pains-even the death of first love. my love for you died hard, elisabeth-but it died. you killed it." "and you will not do what i ask for the sake of the love you-once-gave me?" there was a desperate appeal in her low voice. he shook his head. "no," he said, "i will not." she made a gesture of despair. "then you drive me into doing what i hate to do!" she exclaimed fiercely. she was silent for a moment, standing with bowed head, her mouth working painfully. then, drawing herself up, she faced him again. there was something in the lithe, swift movement that recalled a panther gathering itself together for its spring. "listen!" she said. "if you will not find some means of breaking off your engagement with sara, then i shall tell her the whole story-tell her what manner of man it is she proposes to make her husband !" a midnight visitor 239 there was a supreme challenge in her tones, and she waited for his answer defiantly-her head flung back, her whole body braced, as it were, to resistance. in the silence that followed, trent drew away from herslowly, repugnantly, as though from something monstrous and unclean. "you wouldn't—you couldn't do such a thing!" he exclaimed in low, appalled tones of unbelief. "i could!" she asserted, though her face whitened and her eyes flinched beneath his contemptuous gaze. "but it would be a vile thing to do," he pursued, still with that accent of incredulous abhorrence. "doubly vile for you to do this thing." "do you think i don't know that-don't realise it?" she answered desperately. "you can say nothing that could make me think it worse than i do already. it would be the basest action of which any woman could be guilty. i recognise that. and yet "-she thrust her face, pinched and strained-looking, into his-" and yet i shall do it. i'd take that sin-or any other-on my conscience for the sake of tim." trent turned away from her with a gesture of defeat, and for a moment or two he paced silently backwards and forwards, while she watched him with burning eyes. "do you realise what it means?" she went on urgently. "you have no way out. you can't deny the truth of what i have to tell." "no," he acknowledged harshly. "as you say, i cannot deny it. no one knows that better than yourself. "" suddenly he turned to her, and his face was that of a man in uttermost anguish of soul. beads of moisture rimmed his drawn mouth, and when he spoke his voice was husky and uneven. "haven't i suffered enough-paid enough?" he burst out passionately. "you've had your pound of flesh. for god's sake, be satisfied with that! leave garth trent-to build up what is left of his life in peace! " 240 the hermit of far end the roughened, tortured tones seemed to unnerve her. for a moment she hid her face in her hands, shuddering, and when she raised it again the tears were running down her cheeks. "i can't could . • i can't!" she whispered brokenly. "i wish i you were good to me once. oh! maurice, i'm . but i've my not a bad woman, not a wicked woman son to think of his happiness." she paused, mastering, with an effort, the emotion that threatened to engulf her. nothing else counts-nothing! if "-slowly-" you go to the wall, tim wins.' 66 "" . . "so i'm to pay-first, for your happiness, and now, more than twenty years later, for your son's. you don't askvery much of a man, elisabeth." he had himself in hand now. the momentary weakness which had wrenched that brief, anguished appeal from his lips was past, and the dry scorn of his voice cut like a lash, stinging her into hostility once more. "i have given you the chance to break with sara yourself-on any pretext you choose to invent," she said hardly. "you've refused"" she hesitated. "you do-still refuse, maurice?" again the note of pleading, of appeal in her voice. it was as though she begged of him to spare them both the consequences of that refusal. he bowed. "absolutely." she sighed impatiently. "then i must take the only other way that remains. you know what that will be." he stooped, and, picking up her cloak which had fallen to the floor, held it for her to put on. he had completely regained his customary indifference of manner. "i think we need not prolong this interview, then,” he said composedly. elisabeth drew the cloak around her and moved slowly towards the window. outside, the tranquil moonlight still flooded the garden, the peaceful quiet of the night remained a midnight visitor 241 all undisturbed by the fierce conflict of human wills and passions that had spent itself so uselessly. "one thing more "-she paused on the threshold as trent spoke again-"you will not blacken the name of " "no!" it was as though she had struck the unuttered word from his lips. "did you think i should? those who bear it have suffered enough. there's no need to drag it through the mire a second time." with a quick movement she drew her cloak more closely about her, and stepped out into the garden. for a moment garth watched her crossing the lawns, a slender, upright, swiftly moving shadow. then a clump of bushes, thrusting its wall of darkness into the silver sea of moonlight, hid her from his sight, and he turned back into the room. stumblingly he made his way to the chimney-piece, and, resting his arms upon it, hid his face. for a long time he remained thus, motionless, while the grandfather clock in the corner ticked away indifferently, and one by one the candles guttered down and went out in little pools of grease. when at last he raised his face, it looked almost ghastly in the moonlight, so lined and haggard was it, and its sternly set expression was that of a man who has schooled himself to endure the supreme ill that destiny may hold in store. chapter xxvii j'accuse! f course, there could be but one ending to it all. the man to whom you have promised yourselfgarth trent-was court-martialled and cashiered." 66 "o as she finished speaking, elisabeth's hands, which had been tightly locked together upon her knee, relaxed and fell stiffly apart, cramped with the tensity of their convulsive pressure. sara sat silent, staring with unseeing eyes across the familiar bay to that house on the cliff where lived the man whose past history-that history he had guarded so strenuously and completely from the ears of their little world— had just been revealed to her. mentally she was envisioning the whole scene of the story which hesitatingly-almost unwillingly, it seemed-elisabeth had poured out. she could see the lonely fort on the indian frontier, sparsely held by its indomitable little band of british soldiers, and ringed about on every side by the hill tribes who had so suddenly and unexpectedly risen in open rebellion. in imagination she could sense the hideous tension as day succeeded day and each dawning brought no sign of the longed-for relief force. indeed, it was not even known if the messengers sent by the officer in command had got safely through to the distant garrison to deliver his urgent message asking succour. and each evening found those who were besieged within the fort with diminished rations, and diminished hope, and with one or more dead to mark the enemy's unceasing vigilance. and then had come the mysterious apparent withdrawal of the tribesmen. for hours no sign of the enemy had been 242 j'accuse! 243 seen, nor a single fugitive shot fired when one or other of the besieged had risked themselves at an unguarded aperture, whereas, until that morning, for a man to show himself, even for a moment, had been to court almost certain death. could the rebels have received word of the approach of a relieving force, whispers of a punitive expedition on its way, and so stolen stealthily, discreetly away in the silence of the night? the hearts of the little beleaguered force rose high with hope, but again morning drew to evening without bringing sight or sound of succour. only the enemy persisted in that strange, unbroken silence, and, at last, a hasty council of war was held within the fort, and garth trent, together with a handful of men, had been detailed to make a reconnaissance. sara could picture the little party stealing out on their dangerous errand-dangerous, indeed, if the withdrawal of the tribesmen were but a bluff, a scheme devised to lull the besieged into a false sense of security in order to attack them later at a greater disadvantage. and then-the sudden spit of a rifle, a ringing fusillade of shots in the dense darkness! the reconnaissance party had run into an ambuscade! sara could guess well the frayed nerves, the low vitality of men who were short of food, short of sleep, and worn with incessant watching night and day. but could it be possible that englishmen had flinched at the crucial moment -lost their nerve and fled in wild disorder? englishmen -who held the sacred trust of empire in their hands-to show the white feather to a horde of rebel natives! it was inconceivable! sara, reared in the great tradition by that gallant gentleman, patrick lovell, refused to credit it. she drew a long, shuddering breath. "i don't believe it," she said. elisabeth looked at her with a pitying comprehension of the blow she had just dealt her. 244 the hermit of far end "i'm afraid," she said gently, almost deprecatingly, "that there is no questioning the finding of the court-martial. garth must have lost his head at the unexpectedness of the attack. and panic is a curious, unaccountable kind of thing, you know." "i don't believe it," reiterated sara stubbornly. elisabeth bent forward. "my dear," she said, "there is no possibility of doubt. garth was wounded; they brought him in afterwards-shot in the back! . . . oh! it was all a horrible business! and the most wretched part of it all was that in reality they were only a few stray tribesmen whom our men had encountered. perhaps garth thought they were outnumbered -i don't know. but anyway, coming on the top of all that had gone before, the surprise attack in the darkness broke his nerve completely. he didn't even attempt to make a stand. he simply gave way. what followed was just a headlong scramble as to who could save his skin first! i shall never forget garth's return after-after the court-martial." she shuddered a little at the memory. "i-i was engaged to him at the time, sara, and i had no choice but to break it off. garth was cashiered-disgraced-done for.” sara's drooping figure suddenly straightened. "you-you-were engaged to garth?" she said in a queer, high voice. "yes"-simply. "i had promised to marry him." sara was silent for a long moment. then"he never told me," she muttered. "he never told me." "no? it was hardly likely he would, was it? he couldn't tell you that without telling you-the rest." sara made no answer. she felt stunned-beaten into helpless silence by the quiet, inexorable voice that, bit by bit, minute by minute, had drawn aside the veil of ignorance and revealed the dry bones and rottenness that lay hidden behind it. j'accuse! 245 "i don't believe it!" she had cried in a futile effort to convince herself by the sheer reiteration of denial. but she did believe it, nevertheless. the whole miserable story tallied too accurately with the bitterly significant remarks that garth himself had let fall from time to time. that day of the dog-fight, for instance. what was it he had said? "a certain amount of allowance must be made for nerves." and again: "i suppose no man can be dead sure of himself-always." the implication was too horribly clear to be evaded. he had told her, moreover, that he was a man who had made shipwreck of his life, that in a moment of folly-a moment of funk she knew now to be the veridical description!-he had flung away the whole chances of his life. the man whom she had loved, and, in her love, idealised, had proved himself, when the test came, that most despicable of things, a coward! the pain of realisation was almost unbearable. suddenly, across the utter desolation of the moment there shot a single ray of hope. she turned triumphantly to elisabeth. "but if it were true that garth-had shown cowardice, why was he not shot? they shoot men for cowardice "— grimly. 66 there were many excuses to be made for him, sara," replied elisabeth gently. "excuses! for cowardice!" the low-spoken words were icy with a biting contempt. "i'm afraid i could not find them." 66 the court-martial did, nevertheless. at the trial, the 'prisoner's friend'—in this instance, garth's colonel, who was very fond of him and had always thought very highly of him-pleaded extenuating circumstances. garth's youth, his previous good record, the conditions of the moment—the continuous mental and physical strain of the days preceding 246 the hermit of far end his sudden loss of nerve-all these things were urged by the 'prisoner's friend,' and the sentence was commuted to one of cashiering." "it would have been better if he had been shot," said sara dully. then suddenly she clapped both hands to her mouth. "ah-h! what am i saying? garth! . "" garth! she stumbled to her feet, her white, ravaged face turned for a moment yearningly towards far end, where it stood bathed in the mocking morning sunlight. then she spun half-round, groping for support, and fell in a crumpled heap on the floor. when sara came to herself again, she was lying on the bed in elisabeth's room at the hotel. some one had drawn the blinds, shutting out the crude glare of the sunlight, and in the semi-darkness she could feel soft hands about her, bathing her face with something fragrantly cool and refreshing. she opened her eyes and looked up to find elisabeth's face bent over her unspeakably kind and tender, like that of some madonna brooding above her child. "are you feeling better?" the sweet, familiar voice roused her to the realisation of what had happened. it was the same voice that, before unconsciousness had wrapped her in its merciful oblivion, had been pouring into her ears an unbelievably hideous story-a nightmare tale of what had happened at some far distant indian outpost. the details of the story seemed to be all jumbled confusedly together in sara's mind, but, as gradually full consciousness returned, they began to sort themselves and fall into their rightful places, and all at once, with a swift and horrible contraction of her heart, the truth knocked at the door of memory. she struggled up on to her elbow, her eyes frantically appealing. "elisabeth, was it true? was it-all true?" j'accuse! 247 in an instant elisabeth's hand closed round hers. "my dear, you must try and face it. and "—her voice shook a little "you must try and forgive me for telling you. but i couldn't let you marry garth trent in ignorance, could i?" "then it is true? garth was court-martialled and-and cashiered?" sara sank back against her pillows. still, deep within her, there flickered a faint spark of hope. against all reason, against all common sense, the faith that was within her fought against accepting the bitter knowledge that garth was guilty of what was in her eyes the one unpardonable sin. unpardonable! the word started a new and overwhelming train of thought. she remembered that she had told garth she did not care what sin he had been guilty of, had forced him to believe that nothing could make any difference to her love for him, to her willingness to become his wife and share his burden. yet now, now that the hidden thing in his life had been revealed to her, she found herself shrinking from it in utter loathing! her promises of faith and loyalty were already crumbling under the strain of her knowledge of the truth. she flinched from the recognition of the fact, seeking miserably to palliate and excuse it. when she had given garth that impetuous assurance of her confidence, she had not, in her crudest imaginings, dreamed of anything so hideous and ignoble as the actual truth had proved to be. vaguely, she had deemed him outcast for some big, reckless sin that by the splendour of its recklessness almost earned its own forgiveness. and instead-this! this drab-hued, pitiful weakness for which she could find no pardon in her heart. through the turmoil of her thoughts she became conscious that elisabeth was stooping over her, answering her wild, incredulous questioning. "yes, it is true," she was saying steadily. "he was 248 the hermit of far end court-martialled and cashiered. but, if you still doubt it, ask him yourself, sara." sara's hands clenched themselves. her eyes were feverishly brilliant in her white, shrunken face. "yes, i'll ask him myself." she panted a little. "you must be wrong—there must be some horrible mistake somewhere. i've been mad-mad to believe it for a single moment." she slipped from the bed to her feet, and stood confronting elisabeth with a kind of desperate defiance. 'do you hear what i say?" she said loudly. "i don't believe it. i will never believe it till garth himself tells me that it is true." 66 "oh, my dear "—elisabeth shrank away a little, but her eyes were kind and infinitely pitying. sara felt frightened of the pitying kindness in those eyes-its rejection of garth's innocence was so much stronger than any asseveration of mere words. vaguely she heard elisabeth's patient voice: "i think you are right. ask him yourself-but, sara, he will not be able to deny it." "you chapter xxviii red ruin ou sent for me, and i am here." the brusque, curt speech sounded a knell to the faint hope which sara had been tending whilst she waited for garth's coming. his voice, the dogged expression of his face, the chill, brief manner, each held its grievous message for the woman who had learned to recognise the signs of mental stress in the man she loved. 66 yes, i sent for you," she said. "i-i-garth, i have seen elisabeth." "yes?" just the one brief monosyllable in response, uttered with a slightly questioning inflection. nothing more. sara twisted her hands together. there was something unapproachable about garth as he stood there-quiet, inflexible, waiting to hear what she had to say to him. with an effort she began again. "she has told me of something-something that happened to you, in the past.' "" "yes? quite a great deal happened-in my past. what was it, in particular, that she told you?" the mocking quality in his tones stung her into open accusation. "she told me that you had been court-martialled and cashiered from the army-for cowardice." the words came slowly, succinctly. "ah-h!" he drew his breath sharply, and a grey shadow seemed to spread itself over his face. sara waited-waited with an intensity of longing that was well-nigh unendurable for either the indignant denial 249 250 the hermit of far end or the easy, mirthful scorn wherewith an innocent man might be expected to answer such a charge. but there came neither of these. only silence an endless, agonising silence, while garth stood utterly motionless, looking at her, his face slowly greying. it was impossible to interpret the expression of his eyes. there was neither anger, nor horror, nor pleading in their cool indomitable stare, but only a hard, bright impenetrability, shuttering the soul behind it from the aching gaze of the woman who waited. in that silence, sara's flickering hope that the accusation might prove false went out in blinding darkness. she knew. now-knew it as certainly as though garth had answered her-that he was unable to deny it. still, she would bract herself to hear it-to endure the ultimate anguish cf words. 19 "is it true?" she questioned him. "is it true that you were cashiered for cowardice?" at last he spoke. "yes," he said. "it is true." his voice was altogether passionless, but something had come into his face, into his whole attitude, which denied the calm passivity of his reply. the soul of the man-a soul in ineffable extremity of suffering-was struggling for expression, striving against the rigid bonds of the motionless body in which his iron will constrained it. sara could sense it-a tormented flame shut in a casing of steel-and she was swept by a torrent of uttermost pity and compassion. 66 garth! garth! but there must have been some explanation! . you weren't in your right senses at the moment. ah! tell meshe broke off, her voice failing her, her arms outflung in a passion of entreaty. 99 as she leaned towards him, a tremor seemed to run through his entire body-the tremor of leaping muscles straining against the leash. his hands clenched slowly, the • red ruin 251' nails biting into the bruised flesh. then he spoke, and his voice was ringing and assured-arrogantly so. the tortured sold within him had been beaten back once more into its prison-house. "i was quite in my right senses-that night on the frontier-never more so, believe me”—and his lips twisted in a curious, enigmatical smile. "and as far as explanations-excuses-are concerned, the court-martial made all that were possible. i-i was not shot, you see!" there was something outrageous in the open derision of the last words. he flung them at her-as though taunting, gibing at the impulse to compassion which had swayed her, sending her tremulously towards him with imploring, outstretched hands. "the quality of mercy was not strained in the least," he continued. "it fell around me like the proverbial gentle rain. i've quite a lot to be thankful for, don't you think?" -brutally. "that "i-i don't know what to think!" she burst out. you you should fall so low-so shamefully low." "a man will do a good deal to preserve a whole skin, you know," he suggested hardily. "why do you speak like that?" she demanded in sharpened tones. "do you want me to think worse of you than i do already?" he took a step towards her and stood looking down at her with those bright, hard eyes. "yes, i do," he said decidedly. "i want you to think as badly of me as you possibly can. i want you to realise just what sort of a blackguard you had promised to marry, and when you've got that really clear in your mind, you'll be able to forget all about me and marry some cheerful young fool who hasn't been kicked out of the army." "as long as i live i shall never-be able to forget that i loved a coward." the words came haltingly from her lips. then suddenly her shaking hands went up to her 252 the hermit of far end face, as though it shut him from her sight, and a dry, choking sob tore its way through her throat. he made a swift stride towards her, then checked himself and stood motionless once more, in the utter quiescence of deliberately arrested movement. only his hands, hanging stiffly at his sides, opened and shut convulsively, and his eyes should have been hidden. god never meant any man's eyes to wear that look of unspeakable torment. when at last sara withdrew her hands and looked at him again, his face was set like a mask, the lips drawn back a little from the teeth in a way that suggested a dumb animal in pain. but she was so hurt herself that she failed to recognise his infinitely greater hurt. "i think i think i hate you," she whispered. his taut muscles seemed to relax. "i hope you do," he said steadily. "it will be better 80." something in the quiet acceptance of his tone moved her to a softer, more wistful emotion. "if it had been anything-anything but that, garth, i think i could have borne it." there was a depth of appeal in the low-spoken words. but he ignored it, opposing a reckless indifference to her softened mood. "then it's just as well it wasn't anything but that.' otherwise "-sardonically-" you might have felt constrained to abide by your rash promise to marry me." his eyes flashed over her face, mocking, deriding. he had struck where she was most vulnerable, accusing where her innate honesty of soul admitted she had no defence, and she winced away from the speech almost as though it had been a blow upon her body. it was true she had given her promise blindly, in ignorance of the facts, but that could not absolve her. it was not garth who had forced the promise from her. it was she who had impetuously offered it, never conceiving such a pos6 > i red ruin 253 sibility as that he might be guilty of the one sin for which, in her eyes, there could be no palliation. "i know," she said unevenly. "i know. you have the right to remind me of my promise. i-i blame myself. it's horrible to break one's word." she was silent a moment, standing with bent head, her instinct to be fair, to play the game, combating the revulsion of feeling with which the knowledge of garth's act of cowardice had filled her. when she looked up again there was a curious tensity in her expression, wanly decisive. "marriage for us-now-could never mean anything but misery." the effort in her voice was palpable. it was as though she were forcing herself to utter words from which her inmost being recoiled. "but i gave you my promise, and if—if you choose to hold me to it"" you are free—as "i don't choose!" he broke in harshly. "you may spare yourself any anxiety on that score. free as though we had never met. i'm quite ready to bow to your decision that i'm not fit to marry you." a little caught breath of unutterable relief fluttered between the lips. if he heard it, he made no sign. "and now "-he turned as though to leave her—“ i think that's all that need be said between us." "it is not all "-in a low voice. "what? is there more still?" again his voice held an insolent irony that lashed her like a whip. yet plumbed the full depths of my iniquity?" "haven't you "no. there is still one further thing. you said "steadily-" you loved me?" "i did i do still, if such as i may aspire to so lofty an emotion." "it was a lie. even "-her voice broke "even in that you deceived me." it seemed as though the tremulously uttered words pierced through his armour of sneering cynicism. "no, in that, at least, i was honest with you." the 254 the hermit of far end bitter note of mockery that had rung through all his former speech was suddenly absent-muted, crushed out, and the quiet, steadfast utterance carried conviction even to sara's reeling faith, shaking her to the very soul. elisabeth? you loved her once. and "but love can't die, garth.” "no," he said gravely. "love can't die. but what i felt for elisabeth was not love-not love as you and i understand it. it was the mad passion of a boy for an extraordinarily beautiful woman. she was an ideal-i invested her with all the qualities and spiritual graces that her beauty seemed to promise. but the elisabeth i loved-didn't exist." he drew nearer her and, laying his hands on her shoulders, looked down at her with eyes that seemed to burn their way into the inmost depths of her being. "whatever you may think of me, however low i may have fallen in your sight, believe me in this—that i have loved you and shall always love you, utterly and entirely, with my whole soul and body. it has not been an easy love-i fought against it with all my strength, knowing that it could only carry pain and suffering in its train for both of us. but it conquered me. and when you came to me that day, so courageously, holding out your hands, claiming the love that was unalterably yours-when you came to me like that, a little hurt and wounded because i had been so slow to speak my love-i yielded! before god, sara! i had been either more or less than a man had i resisted!" • • · · • • the grip of his hands upon her shoulders tightened until it was actual pain, and she winced under it, shrinking away from him. he released her instantly, and she stood silently beside him, battling against the longing to respond to that deep, abiding love which neither now, nor ever again in life, would she be able to doubt. that garth loved her, wholly and completely, was an incontrovertible fact. she no longer felt the least lingering mistrust, nor even any prick of jealousy that he had once red ruin 255 loved before. that boyish passion of the senses for elisabeth was not comparable with this love which was the maturer growth of his manhood-a love that could only know fulfilment in the mystic union of body, soul, and spirit. but this merely served to deepen the poignancy of the impending parting-for that she and garth must part she recognised as inevitable. loving each other as men and women love but once in a lifetime, their love was destined to be for ever unconsummated. they were as irrevocably divided as though the seas of the entire world ran between them. wearily, in the flat, level tones of one who realises that all hope is at an end, she stumbled through the few broken phrases which cancelled the whole happiness of life. "it all seems so useless, doesn't it-your love and mine? . . you've killed something that i felt for you—i don't quite know what to call it-respect, i suppose, only that sounds silly, because it was much more than that. i wishi wish i didn't love you still. but perhaps that, too, will die in time. you see, you're not the man i thought i cared for. you're you're something i'm ashamed to love" "that's enough!" he interrupted unsteadily. "leave it at that. you won't beat it if you try till doomsday." the pain in his voice pierced her to the heart, and she made an impulsive step towards him, shocked into quick remorse. "" i didn't mean it! · "garth "oh yes, you meant it," he said. "don't imagine that i'm blaming you. i'm not. you've found me out, that's all. and having discovered exactly how contemptible a person i am, you-very properly-send me away." he turned on his heel, giving her no time to reply, and a moment later she was alone. then came the clang of the house door as it closed behind him. to sara, it sounded like the closing of a door between two worlds-between the glowing past and the grey and empty future. · • chapter xxix divers opinions th he consternation created at sunnyside by the breaking off of sara's engagement had spent itself at last. selwyn had said but little, only his saint's eyes held the wondering, hurt look that the inexplicable sins of humanity always had the power to bring into them. characteristically, he hated the sin but overflowed in sympathy for the sinner. "poor devil!" he said, when the whole story of trent's transgression and its consequences had been revealed to him. "what a ghastly stone to hang round a man's neck for the term of his natural life! if they'd shot him, it would have been more merciful! that would at least have limited the suffering," he went on, taking sara's hand and holding it in his strong, kindly one a moment. "poor little comrade! oh, my dear"-as she shrank instinctively—" i'm not going to talk about it-i know you'd rather not. condolence platitudes were never in my line. but my pal's troubles are mine-just as she once made mine hers." jane crab's opinions were enunciated without fear or favour, and, in defiance of public opinion, she took her stand on the side of the sinner and maintained it unwaveringly. "well, miss sara," she affirmed, "unless you've proof as strong as 'oly writ, as they say, i'd believe naught against mr. trent. bluff and 'ard he may be in 'is manner, but after the way he conducted himself the night miss molly ran away, i'll never think no ill of 'im, not if it was ever so!" sara smiled drearily. "i wish i could feel as you do, jane dear. but-mrs. durward knows." 256 divers opinions 257 ،، mrs. durward! huh! one of them tigris women i calls 'er," retorted jane, who had formed her opinion with lightning rapidity when elisabeth made a farewell visit to sunnyside before leaving monkshaven. "not but what you can't help liking her, neither," went on jane judicially. "there's something good in the woman, for all she looks at you like a cat who thinks you're after stealing her kittens. but there! as the doctor-bless the man!-always says, there's good in everybody if so be you'll look for it. only i'd as lief think that mrs. durward was somehow scared-like -too almighty scared to be her natchral self, savin' now and again when she forgits." to mrs. selwyn, the breaking-off of sara's engagement, and the manner of it, signified very little. she watched the panorama of other people's lives unfold with considerably less sympathetic concern that that with which one follows the ups and downs that befall the characters in a cinema drama, since they were altogether outside the radius of that central topic of unfailing interest-herself. the only way in which recent events impinged upon her life was in so far as the rupture of sara's engagement would probably mean the indefinite prolongation of her stay at sunnyside, which would otherwise have ended with her marriage. and this, from mrs. selwyn's egotistical point of view, was all to the good, since sara had acquired a pleasant habit of making herself both useful and entertaining to the invalid. molly's emotions carried her to the other extreme of the compass. since the night when she had realised that she had narrowly missed making entire shipwreck of her life, thanks to the evil genius of lester kent, her character seemed to have undergone a change-to have deepened and expanded. she was no longer so buoyantly superficial in her envisagement of life, and the big things reacted on her in a way which would previously have been impossible. formerly, their significance would have passed her by, and she 258 the hermit of far end would have floated airily along, unconscious of their piercing reality. side by side with this increase of vision, there had de veloped a very deep and sincere affection for both garth and sara based, probably, in its inception, on her realisation that whatever of good, whatever of happiness, life might hold for her, she would owe it fundamentally to the two who had so determinedly kept her heedless feet from straying into that desert from which there is no returning to the pleasant paths of righteousness. a censorious world sees carefully to that, for ever barring out the sinner-of the weaker sexfrom inheriting the earth. so that to this new and awakened molly the abrupt termination of sara's engagement came as something almost too overwhelming to be borne. she did not see how sara could bear it, and to her youthful mind, mercifully unwitting that grief is one of the world's commonplaces, sara was henceforth haloed with sorrow, set specially apart by the tragic circumstances which had enveloped her. unconsciously she lowered her voice when speaking to her, infusing a certain specific sympathy into every small action she performed for her, shrank from troubling her in any way, and altogether, in her youth and inexperience, behaved rather as though she were in a house of mourning, where the candles yet burned in the chamber of death and the blinds shut out the light of day. at last sara rebelled, although compassionately aware of molly's excellent intentions. "molly, my angel, if you persist in treating me as though i had just lost the whole of my relatives in an earthquake or a wreck at sea, i shall explode. i've had a bad knock, but i don't want it continually rubbing into me. the world will go on-even although my engagement is broken off. and i'm going on." it was bravely spoken, and though sara was inwardly conscious that in the last words the spirit, for the moment, divers opinions 259 outdistanced the flesh, it served to dissipate the rather strained atmosphere which had prevailed at sunnyside since the rupture of her engagement had become common knowledge. so, figuratively speaking, the blinds were drawn up and life resumed its normal aspect once again. it had fallen to the lot of audrey maynard to carry the ill-tidings to rose cottage. sara had asked her to acquaint their little circle with the altered condition of affairs, and audrey had readily undertaken to perform this service, eager to do anything that might spare sara some of the inevitable pinpricks which attend even the big tragedies of life. 66 the whole affair is incomprehensible to me," said audrey at last, as she rose preparatory to taking her departure. there seemed no object in lingering to discuss so painful a topic. "it's-oh! it's heart-breaking." miss lavinia departed hastily to do a little weep in the seclusion of her room upstairs. she hardly concerned herself with the enormity of garth's offence. she was old, and she saw only romance shattered into fragments, youth despoiled of its heritage, love crucified. moreover, the lavender lady had never been censorious. "what is your opinion, miles?" asked audrey, when she had left the room. herrick had been rather silent, his brown eyes meditative. now he looked up quickly. "about the funking part of it? as i wasn't on the spot when the affair took place, i haven't the least right to venture an opinion." audrey looked puzzled. "i don't see why not. you can't get behind the verdict of the court-martial." "trials have been known where justice went awry," said miles quietly. there was a trial where pilate was judge." (6 "do you mean to say you doubt the verdict?"-eagerly. 260 the hermit of far end "no, i was not meaning quite that in this case. but, because the law says a man is a blackguard, when i'd stake my life he's nothing of the kind, it doesn't alter my opinion one hair's-breadth. the verdict may have been-probably, almost certainly, was the only verdict that could be given to meet the facts of the case. but still, it is possible that it was not a just verdict-labelling as a coward for all time a man who may have had one bad moment when his nerves played him false. there are other men who have had their moment of funk, but, as the matter never came under the official eye, they have made good since ended up as v.c.'s, some of 'em. facts are often very foolish things, to my mind. motives, and circumstances, even conditions of physical health, are bound to play as big a part as facts, if you're going to administer pure justice. but the army can't consider the super-administration of justice "—smiling. discipline must be maintained and examples made. only -sometimes-it's damn bad luck on the example." it was an unusually long speech for miles to have been guilty of, and audrey stood looking at him in some surprise. "miles, you're rather a dear, you know. i believe you're almost as strongly on garth's side as jane crab." "is jane?" and herrick smiled. "she's a good old sport then. anyhow, i don't propose to add my quota to the bill trent's got to pay, poor devil!" audrey's face softened as she turned to go. "one can't help feeling pitifully sorry for him,” she admitted. "to have had sara—and then to have lost her!" there was a whimsical light in herrick's eyes as he answered her. "but, at least," he said, "he has had her, if only for a few days." audrey paused with her hand upon the latch of the door. "i imagine garth-asked for what he wanted!" she observed, and vanished precipitately through the doorway. "audrey!" miles started up, but, by the time he had 66 divers opinions 261 reached the house door, she was already disappearing through the gateway into the road and beyond pursuit. "she must have run!" he commented ruefully to himself as he returned to the sitting-room. this discovery seemed to afford him food for reflection. for a long time he sat very quietly in his chair, apparently arguing out with himself some knotty point. nor had his thoughts, at the moment, any connection with the recent discussion of garth trent's affairs. it was only after the lavender lady had returned, a little pink about the eyelids, that the recollection of the original object of mrs. maynard's visit recurred to him. simultaneously, his brows drew together in a sudden concentration of thought, and an inarticulate exclamation escaped him. miss lavinia looked up from the delicate piece of cobwebby lace she was fashioning. "what did you say, dear?" she asked absently. "i didn't say anything," he smiled back at her. "i was thinking rather hard, that's all, and just remembered something i had forgotten." the lavender lady looked a trifle mystified. "i don't think i quite understand, miles dear." herrick, on his way to the door, stooped to kiss her. "neither do i, lavender lady. that's just the devil of it," he answered cryptically. he passed out of the room and upstairs, presently returning with a couple of letters, held together by an elastic band, in his hand. they smelt musty as he unfolded them; evidently they had not seen the light of day for a good many years. but miles seemed to find them of extraordinary interest, for he subjected the closely written sheets to a first, and second, and even to a third perusal. then he replaced the elastic band round them and shut them away in a drawer, locking the latter carefully. 262 the hermit of far end a couple of days later, garth trent received a note from herrick, asking him to come and see him. "you haven't been near us for days," it ran. "remember mahomet and the mountain, and as i can't come to you, look me up." the letter, in its quiet avoidance of any reference to recent events, was like cooling rain falling upon a parched and thirsty earth. since the history of the court-martial had become common property, garth had been through hell. it was extraordinary how quickly the story had leaked out, passing from mouth to mouth until there was hardly a cottage in monkshaven that was not in possession of it, with lurid and fictitious detail added thereto. the chambermaid at the cliff hotel had been the primary source of information. from the further side of the connecting-door of an adjoining room, she had listened with interest to the conversation which had taken place between elisabeth and sara on the day following the haven woods picnic, and had proceeded to circulate the news with the avidity of her class. nor had certain gossipy members of the picnic party refrained from canvassing threadbare the significance of the unfortunate scene which had taken place on that occasion-contributory evidence to the truth of the chambermaid's account of what she had overheard. the whole town hummed with the tale, and garth had not long been allowed to remain in ignorance of the fact. anonymous letters reached him almost daily-for it must be remembered that ten years of an aloof existence at monkshaven had not endeared him to his neighbours. they had resented what they chose to consider his exclusiveness, and, now that it was so humiliatingly explained, the meaner spirits amongst them took this way of paying off old scores. it was suggested by one of the anonymous writers that trent's continued presence in the district was felt to be a blot on the fair fame of monkshaven; and, by another, that divers opinions 263 should the rumours now flying hither and thither concerning the imminence of a european war materialise into fact, the french foreign legion offered opportunities for such as he. garth tore the letters into fragments, pitching them contemptuously into the waste-paper basket; but, nevertheless, they were like so many gnats buzzing about an open wound, adding to its torture. black brady, with a lively recollection of the few days in gaol which trent had procured him in recompense for his poaching proclivities, was loud in his denunciation. 66 retreated, they calls it," he observed, with fine scorn. "runned away's the plain english of it." and with this pronouncement all the loafers round the hotel garage cordially agreed, and, subsequently, black looks and muttered comments followed garth's appearance in the streets. to all of which garth opposed a stony indifference—since, after all, these lesser things were of infinitely small moment to a man whose whole life was lying in ruins about him. "it was good of you to ask me over," he told herrick, asthey shook hands. sure you're not afraid of contamination?" "quite sure," replied miles, smiling serenely. "besides, i had a particular reason for wishing to see you." "" "what was that?' miles unlocked the drawer where he had laid aside the papers he had perused with so much interest two days ago, and, slipping them out of the elastic bands that held them, handed them to trent. "i'd like you to read those documents, if you will," he said. there was a short silence while trent's eyes travelled swiftly down the closely written sheets. when he looked up from their perusal his expression was perfectly blank. miles could glean nothing from it. "well?" he said tentatively. 264 the hermit of far end garth quietly tendered him back the letters. "you shouldn't believe everything you hear, herrick," was all he vouchsafed. "then it isn't true?" asked miles searchingly. 66 it sounds improbable," replied trent composedly. miles reflected a moment. then, slowly replacing the papers within the elastic band, he remarked"i think i'll take sara's opinion." if he had desired to break down the other's guard of indifference, he succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. trent sprang to his feet, his hand outstretched as though to snatch the letters back again. his eyes blazed excitedly. "no! no! you mustn't do that-you can't do that! it's oh! you won't understand-but those papers must be destroyed." herrick's fingers closed firmly round the papers in question, and he slipped them into the inside pocket of his coat. 66 they certainly will not be destroyed," he replied. "i hold them in trust. but, tell me, why should i not show them to sara? it seems to me the one obvious thing to do.” trent shook his head. "no. believe me, it could do no good, and it might do an infinity of harm." herrick looked incredulous. "i can't see that," he objected. "it is so, nevertheless." a silence fell between them. "then you mean," said herrick, breaking it at last, "that i'm to hold my tongue?" "just that." "it is very unfair." "and if you published that information abroad, it's unfair to tim. have you thought of that? he, at least, is perfectly innocent." "but, man, it's inconceivable-grotesque!" divers opinions 265 "not at all. i gave elisabeth durward my promise, and she has married and borne a son, trusting to that promise. my lips are closed-now and always." but mine are not "—grimly. 66 "they will be, miles, if i ask it. don't you see, there's no going back for me now? i can't wipe out the past. i made a bad mistake a mistake many a youngster similarly circumstanced might have made. and i've been paying for it ever since. i must go on paying to the end-it's my honour that's involved. that's why i ask you not to show those letters." miles looked unconvinced. "i forged my own fetters, herrick," continued trent. "in a way, i'm responsible for tim durward's existence" -smiling rather grimly-" and i can't damn his chances at the outset. after all, he's at the beginning of things. i'm getting towards the end. at least "—wearily—“ i hope so." herrick's quick glance took in the immense alteration the last few days had wrought in trent's appearance. the man had aged visibly, and his face was worn and lined, the eyes burning feverishly in their sockets. 66 "you're good for another thirty or forty years, bar accidents," said herrick at last, deliberately. "are you going to make those years worse than worthless to you by this crazy decision?" 66 i've no alternative. good lord, man!"-with savage irritability-" you don't suppose i'm enjoying it, do you? but i've no way out. i took a certain responsibility on myself and i must see it through. i can't shirk it now, just because pay-day's come. i can do nothing except stick it out." "and what about sara?" said herrick quietly. "has she no claim to be considered?" he almost flinched from the look of measureless anguish that leapt into the other man's eyes in response. 266 the hermit of far end "for god's sake, man, leave sara out of it!" garth exclaimed thickly. "i've cursed myself enough for the suffering i've brought on her. i was a mad fool to let her know i cared. but i thought, as garth trent, that i had shut the door on the past. i ought to have known that the door of the past remains eternally ajar." miles nodded understandingly. "i don't think you were to blame," he said. durward who has pulled that door wide open. your new life from you—the life you had built up. trent, you owe that woman nothing! let me show this letter, and the other that goes with it, to sara!" trent shook his head in mute refusal. "it's mrs. she's stolen "i can't," he said at last. "elisabeth must be forgiven. the best woman in the world may lose all sense of right and wrong when it's a question of her child. but, even so, i can't consent to the making public of that letter." he rose and paced the room restlessly. "man! man!" he cried at last, coming to a halt in front of herrick. "can't you see that woman trusted me with her whole life, and with the life of any child that she might bear, when she married on the strength of my promise. and i must keep faith with her. it's the one poor rag of honour left me, herrick!"-with intense bitterness. there was a long silence. then, at last, miles held out his hand. "you've beaten me," he said, sadly. "i won't destroy the letters. as i said, they are a trust. but the secret is safe with me, after this. you've tied my hands." trent smiled grimly. "you'll get used to it," he commented. "mine have been tied for three-and-twenty years-though even yet i don't wear my bonds with grace, precisely." he had become once more the hermit of old acquaintance -sardonic, harsh, his emotions hidden beneath that curt divers opinions 267 indifference of manner with which those who knew him were painfully familiar. the two men shook hands in silence, and a few minutes later, herrick, left alone, replaced the letters in the drawer whence he had taken them, and, turning the key upon them, slipped it into his pocket. chapter xxx defeat n remote country districts that memorable fourth of august, when england declared war on germany, came and went unostentatiously. in people read the news a trifle breathlessly, reflected with a sigh of contentment on the invincible british navy, and with a little gust of prideful triumph upon the expeditionary force-ready to the last burnished button of each man's tunic and proceeded quietly with their usual avocations. then came the soaring bank rate, and business men on holiday raced back to london to contend with the new financial conditions and assure their credit. that was all that happened at first. few foresaw that the gaunt, grim spectre of war had come to dwell in their very midst, nor that soon he would pass from house to house, palace and cottage alike, touching first this man, then that, on the shoulder, with the single word "come!" on his lips, until gradually the nations, one by one, left their tasks of peace and rose and followed him. monkshaven, in common with other seaside towns, witnessed the sudden exodus of city men when the climbing bank rate sounded its alarm. beyond that, the war, for the moment, reacted very little on its daily processes of life. there was no disorganisation of amusements-tennis, boating, and bathing went on much as usual, and clever people, proud of their ability to add two and two together and make four of them, announced that it was all explained now why certain young officers in the neighbourhood had been hurriedly recalled a few days previously, and their leave cancelled. then came the black news of that long, desperate retreat 268 defeat 269 from mons, shaking the nation to its very soul, and in the wave of high courage and endeavour that swept responsively across the country, the smaller things began to fall into their little place. to sara, stricken by her own individual sorrow, the war came like a rushing, mighty wind, rousing her from the brooding, introspective habit which had laid hold of her and bracing her to take a fresh grip upon life. its immense demands, the illimitable suffering it carried in its train, lifted her out of the contemplation of her own personal grief into a veritable passion of pity for the world agony beating up around her. and, with sara, to compassionate meant to succour. nor did it require more than the first few weeks of war to demonstrate where such help as she was capable of giving was most sorely needed. she had been through a course of first aid and held her certificate, and, thanks to a year in france when she was seventeen-a much-grudged year, at the time, since it had separated her from her beloved patrick-and to a natural facility for the language, inherited from her french forbears, she spoke french almost as fluently as she did english. in france they were crying out for nurses, for at that period of the war there was work for any woman who had even a little knowledge plus the grit to face the horrors of those early days, and it was to france that sara forthwith determined to go. she had heard that an old friend of patrick lovell's, lady arronby by name, proposed equipping and taking over to france a party of nurses, and she promptly wrote to her, begging that she might be included in the little company. lady arronby, who had been a sister at a london hospital before her marriage, recollected her old friend's ward very clearly. sara rarely failed to make a definite impression, even upon people who only knew her slightly, and 270 the hermit of far end lady arronby, who had known her from her earliest days at barrow, answered her letter without hesitation. "i shall be delighted to have you with me," she had written. "even though you are not a trained nurse, there's work out there for women of your calibre, my dear. so come. it will be a week or two yet before we have all our equipment, but i am pushing things on as fast as i can, so hold yourself in readiness to come at a day's notice." meanwhile, sara's earliest personal encounter with the reality of the war came in a few hurried lines from elisabeth telling her that major durward had rejoined the army and would be going out to france almost immediately. sara thrilled, and with the thrill came the answering stab of the sword that was to pierce her again and again through the long months ahead. garth trent-the man she lovedcould have no part nor lot in this splendid service of england's sons for england! the country wanted brave men now-not men who faltered when faltering meant failure and defeat. she had not seen garth since that day-a million years ago it seemed when she had sent him from her, and he had gone, admitting the justice of her decision. there was no getting behind that. she would have defied elisabeth, defied a whole world of slanderous tongues, had they accused him, if he himself had denied the charge. but he had not been able to deny it. it was true-a deadly, official truth, tabulated somewhere in the records of her country, that the man she loved had been cashiered for cowardice. the knowledge almost crushed her, and she sometimes wondered if there could be a keener suffering, in the whole gamut of human pain, than that which a woman bears whose high pride in her lover has been laid utterly in the dust. the dread of danger, separation-even death itself—were not comparable with it. sara envied the women whose men defeat 271 were killed in action. at least, they had a splendid memory to hold which nothing could ever soil or take away. sometimes her thoughts wandered fugitively to tim. surely here was his chance to break from the bondage his mother had imposed upon him! he had not written to her of late, but she felt convinced that she would have heard from elisabeth had he volunteered. she was a little puzzled over his silence and inaction. he had seemed so keen last winter at barrow, when together they had discussed this very subject of soldiering. could it be that now, when the opportunity offered, tim was-evading it? but the thought was dismissed almost as swiftly as it had arisen, and sara blushed scarlet with shame that the bare suspicion should have crossed her mind, even for an instant, recognising it as the outcrop of that bitter knowledge which had cut at the very roots of her belief in men's courage. and there were men around her whose readiness to make the great sacrifice combated the poison of one man's failure. daily she heard of this or that man whom she knew, either personally or by name, having volunteered and been accepted, and very often she had to listen to miles herrick's fierce rebellion against the fact that he was ineligible, and endeavour to console him. but it was audrey maynard who plumbed the full depths of bitterness in herrick's heart. she had been teaching him to knit, and he was floundering through the intricacies of turning his first heel when one day he surprised her by hurling the sock, needles and all, to the other end of the room. "there's work for a man when his country's at war! my god! audrey, i don't know how i'm going to bear it-to lie here on my couch, knitting-knitting!—when men are out there dying! why won't they take a lame man? can't a lame man fire a gun-and then die like the rest of 'em?" audrey looked at him pitifully. 66 my dear, war takes always the best-the youngest and 272 the hermit of far end the fittest. but there's plenty of work for the women and men at home." "for the women and crocks?" countered miles bitterly. she smiled at him suddenly. "yes-for the crocks, too." he shook his head. "no, audrey, i'm an utterly useless person-a cumberer of the ground." "not in my eyes, miles," she answered quietly. he met her glance, and read, at last, what-as she told him later he might have read there any time during the last six months, had he chosen to look for it. “do you mean that, audrey?" he asked, suddenly gripping her hands hard. "all of it-all that it implies?" she slipped to her knees beside his couch. "oh, my dear!" she said, between laughing and crying. 66 i've been meaning it—' all of it '—for ever so long. only -only you won't ask me to marry you!" "how can i? a lame man, and not even a rich one? " — "i believe," said audrey composedly, "we've argued both those points before-from a strictly impersonal point of view! couldn't you-couldn't you get over your objection to coming to live with me at greenacres, dear?" audrey always declared, afterwards, that it had required the most blatant encouragement on her part to induce miles to propose to her, and that, but for the war-which convinced him that he was of no use to any one else he never would have done so. presumably she was able to supply the requisite stimulus, for when the lavender lady joined them later on in the afternoon, she found herself called upon to perform that function of sheer delight to every old maid of the right sort—namely, to bestow her blessing on a pair of newly betrothed lovers. sara received the news the next morning, and though naturally, by contrast, it seemed to add a keener edge to her own grief, she was still able to rejoice whole-heartedly over defeat 273 this little harvesting of joy which her two friends had snatched from amid the world's dreadful harvesting of pain and sorrow. by the same post as the radiant letters from miles and audrey came one from elisabeth durward. she wrote distractedly. "tim is determined to volunteer," ran her letter. "i can't let him go, sara. he is my only son, and i don't see why he should be claimed from me by this horrible war. i have persuaded him to wait until he has seen you. that is all he will consent to. so will you come and do what you can to dissuade him? there is a cord by which you could hold him if you would." a transient smile crossed sara's face as she pictured tim gravely consenting to await her opinion on the matter. he knew-none better!-what it would be, and, without doubt, he had merely agreed to the suggestion in the hope that her presence might ease the strain and serve to comfort his mother a little. sara telegraphed that she would come to barrow court the following day, and, on her arrival, found tim waiting for her at the station with his two-seater. "well," he said with a grin, as the little car slid away along the familiar road. "have you come to persuade me to be a good boy and stay at home, sara?" "you know i've not," she replied, smiling. "i'm going to talk sense to elisabeth. oh! tim boy, how i envy you! it's splendid to be a man these days." he nodded silently, but she could read in his expression the tranquil satisfaction that his decision had brought. she had seen the same look on other men's faces, when, after a long struggle with the woman-love that could not help but long to hold them back, the final decision had been taken. arrived at the lodge gates, tim handed over the car to the chauffeur who met them there, evidently by arrangement. "i thought we'd walk across the park," he suggested. 274 the hermit of far end sara acquiesced delightedly. there was a tender, reminiscent pleasure in strolling along the winding paths that had once been so happily familiar, and, hardly conscious of the sudden silence which had fallen upon her companion, her thoughts slipped back to the old days at barrow when she had wandered, with patrick beside her in his wheeled chair, along these selfsame paths. with a little thrill, half pain, half pleasure, she noted each well-remembered landmark. there was the arbour where they used to shelter from a shower, built with sloped boards at its entrance so that patrick's chair could easily be wheeled into it; now they were passing the horse-chestnut tree which she herself had planted years ago—with the head gardener's assistance!-in place of one that had been struck by lightning. it had grown into a sturdy young sapling by this time. here was the queen's bench-an old stone seat where queen elisabeth was supposed to have once sat and rested for a few minutes when paying a visit to barrow court. sara reflected, with a smile, that if history speaks truly, the virgin queen must have spent quite a considerable portion of her time in visiting the houses of her subjects! and here“sara!” tim's voice broke suddenly across the recollections that were thronging into her mind. there was a curious intent quality in his tone that arrested her attention, filling her with a nervous foreboding of what he had to say. "sara, you know, of course, as well as i do, that i am going to volunteer. i let mother send for you, because—well, because i thought you would make it a little easier for her, for one thing. but i had another reason." "had you?" sara spoke mecha sara spoke mechanically. they had paused beside the queen's bench, and half-unconsciously she laid her ungloved hand caressingly on the seat's high back. the stone struck cold against the warmth of her flesh. "yes." tim was speaking again, still in that oddly direct defeat 275 manner. "i want to ask you-now, before i go to francewhether there will ever be any chance for me?" sara turned her eyes to his face. "you mean"" “i mean that i'm asking you once again if you will marry me? if you will-if i can go away leaving my wife in england, i shall have so much the more to fight for. but if you can't give me the answer i wish-well "-with a curious little smile" it will make death easier, should it come-that's all." the quiet, grave directness of the speech was very unlike the old, impetuous tim of former days. it brought with it to sara's mind a definite recognition of the fact that the man had replaced the boy. "no, tim," she responded quietly. "i made one mistake—in promising to marry you when i loved another man. i won't repeat it." "but "-tim's face expressed sheer wonder and amazement-" you don't still care for garth trent-for that blackguard? oh!"-remorsefully, as he saw her wince—“ forgive me, sara, but this war makes one feel even more bitterly about such a thing than one would in normal times." “i know—i understand," she replied quietly. “i'mashamed of loving him." she turned her head restlessly aside. "but, don't you see, love can't be made and unmade to order. it just happens. and it's happened to me. in the circumstances "-drily-"i can't say i like it. but there it is. i do love garth-and i can't unlove him. at least, not yet." "but some day, sara, some day?" he urged. she shook her head. " "i shall never marry anybody now, tim. if—if ever i get over'”—with a short laugh-" this fool feeling for garth, i know how it will leave me. i shall be quite cold and hard inside-like that stone "-pointing to the queen's bench. "i wish-i wish i had reached that stage now." 276 the hermit of far end silently tim held out his hand, and she laid hers within it, meeting his grave eyes. "i won't ever bother you again," he said, at last, quietly. "i think i understand, sara, and-and, old girl, i'm awfully i wish i could have saved you-that." sorry. he stooped his head and kissed her-frankly, as a big brother might, and sara, recognising that henceforth she would find in him only the good comrade of earlier days, kissed him back. "thank you, tim," she said. "i knew you would understand. and, please, we won't ever speak of it again." "no, we won't speak of it again," he answered. he tucked his arm under hers, and they walked on together in the direction of the house. "and now," she said, "let's go to elisabeth and break it to her that we are both-going out to france as soon as we can get there." he turned to look at her. "you?" he exclaimed. "you going out? what do you mean?" 99 "i'm going with lady arronby. i want to go-badly. i want to be in the heart of things. you don't suppose with a rather shaky little laugh—" that i can stay quietly at home in england—and knit, do you?" “no”—slowly—"i suppose you couldn't. but i don't half like it. the women who go-out there-have got to face things. i shan't like to think of you running risks" she laughed outright. "tim, if you talk nonsense of that kind, i'll revenge myself by urging elisabeth to keep you at home," she declared. "oh! tim boy, can't you see that just now i must have something to do something that will fill up every momentand keep me from thinking!" tim heard the cry that underlay the words. there was no misunderstanding it. he squeezed her arm and nodded. defeat 277 "all right, old thing, i won't try to dissuade you. i can guess "-grimly—“ a little of how you're feeling." sara's interview with elisabeth was very different from anything she had expected. she had anticipated passionate reproaches, tears even, for an attractive woman who has been consistently spoiled by her menkind is, of all her sex, the least prepared to bow to the force of circumstances. but there was none of these things. it almost seemed as though in that first searching glance of hers, which flashed from sara's face to the well-beloved one of her son, elisabeth had recognised and accepted that, in the short space of time since these two had met, the decision concerning tim's future had been taken out of her hands. it was only when, in the course of their long, intimate talk together, she had drawn from sara the acknowledgment that she had once again refused to be tim's wife, that her control wavered. "but, sara, surely-surely you can't still have any thought of marrying garth trent?" there was a hint of something like terror in her voice. "no," sara responded wearily. "no, i shall never marry -garth trent." "then why won't you-why can't you"marry tim?"-quietly. "because, although i shall never marry garth now, i haven't stopped loving him." "" "do you mean "-looking at her curiously-" that you can still care for him-now that you know what kind of man he is?" "oh! good heavens, elisabeth!"-the irritation born of frayed nerves harshened sara's voice so that it was almost unrecognisable "you can't turn love on and off as you. would a tap! i shall never marry anybody now. tim understands that, and—you must understand it, too." there was no mistaking her passionate sincerity. the truth-that sara would never, as long as she lived, put 278 the hermit of far end another in the place garth trent had held-seemed borne in upon elisabeth that moment. with a strangled cry she sank back into her chair, and her eyes, fixed on sara's small, stern-set face, held a strange, beaten look. as she sat there, her hands gripping the chairarms, there was something about her whole attitude that suggested defeat. "so it's all been useless-quite useless!" she muttered in a queer, whispering voice. she was not looking at sara now. her vision was turned inward, and she seemed to be utterly oblivious of the other's presence. "useless!" she repeated, still in that strange, whispering tone. "what has been useless?" asked sara curiously. elisabeth started, and stared at her for a moment in a vacant fashion. then, all at once, her mind seemed to come back to the present, and simultaneously the familiar watchful look sprang into her eyes. sara was oddly conscious of being reminded of a sentry who has momentarily slept at his post, and then, awakening suddenly, feverishly resumed his vigilance. "what was i saying?" elisabeth brushed her hand distressfully across her forehead. "you said that it had all been useless," repeated sara. "what did you mean?' elisabeth paused a moment before replying. "i meant that all my hopes were useless," she explained at last. "the hopes i had that some day you would be tim's wife." 66 yes, they're quite useless-if that is what you meant," replied sara. but there was a perplexed expression in her eyes. she had a feeling that elisabeth was not being quite frank with her-that that whispered confession of failure signified something other than the simple interpretation vouchsafed. the thing worried her a little, nagging at the back of her defeat 279 mind with the pertinacity common to any little unexplained incident that has caught one's attention. but, in the course of a few days, the manifald happenings of daily life drove it out of her thoughts, not to recur until many months had passed and other issues paved the way for its resurgence. sara remained at barrow until tim had volunteered and been accepted, and the settlement of her own immediate plans synchronising with this last event, it came about that it was only two hours after tim's departure that she, too, bade farewell to elisabeth, in order to join up in london with lady arronby's party. elisabeth stood at the head of the great flight of granite steps at barrow and waved her hand as the car bore sara swiftly away, and across the latter's mind flashed the memory of that day, nearly a year ago, when she herself had stood in the same place, waiting to welcome elisabeth to her new home. the contrast between then and now struck her poignantly. she recalled elisabeth as she had been that day-gracious, smiling, queening it delightfully over her two big men, husband and son, who openly worshipped her. now, there remained only a great empty house, and that solitary figure on the doorstep, standing there with white face and lips that smiled perfunctorily. elisabeth turned slowly back into the house as the car disappeared round the curve of the drive. for her, the moment was doubly bitter. one by one, husband, son, and the woman whom she had ardently longed to see that son's wife, had been claimed from her by the pitiless demands of the madness men call war. but there was still more for her to face. there was the utter downfall of all her hopes, the defeat of all her purposes. she had striven with the whole force that was in her to assure tim's happiness. to compass this, she had torn down the curtain of the past, proclaiming a man's shame and hurling headlong into the dust the new life he had built up 280 the hermit of far end for himself, and with it had gone a woman's faith, and trust, and happiness. and it had all been so futile! two lives ruined, and the purchase price paid in tears of blood; and, after all, tim's happiness was as utterly remote and beyond attainment as though no torrent of disaster had been let loose to further it! elisabeth had bartered her soul in vain. in the solitude which was all the war had left her, she recognised this, and, since she was normally a woman of kind and generous impulses, she suffered in the realisation of the spoiled and mutilated lives for which she was responsible. not that she would have acted differently were the same choice presented to her again. she did not want to hurt people, but the primitive maternal instinct, which was the pivot of her being, blinded her to the claims of others if those claims reacted adversely on her son. only now, in the bitterness of defeat, as she looked back upon her midnight interview with garth trent, she was conscious of a sick repugnance. it had not been a pleasant thing, that thrusting of a knife into an old wound. this, too, she had done for tim's sake. the pity of it was that garth had suffered needlessly-uselessly! she had thought the issue of events hung solely betwixt him and her son, and, with her mind concentrated on this idea, she had overlooked the possibility of any other outcome. but the acceptance of an unexpected sequence had been forced upon her-sara would never marry any one now! elisabeth recognised that all her efforts had been in vain. and the supreme bitterness, from which all that was honest and upright within her shrank with inward shame and selfloathing, lay in the fact that she, above all others, owed garth trent-that which he had begged of her in vain—the tribute of silence concerning the past. chapter xxxi the furnace as s sara took her seat on board the train for monkshaven, she was conscious of that strange little thrill of the wanderer returned which is the common possession of the explorer and of the school-girl at their first sight of the old familiar scenes from which they have been exiled. she could hardly believe that barely a year had elapsed since she had quitted monkshaven. so many things had happened so many changes taken place. audrey had been transformed into mrs. herrick; tim had been given a commission; and molly, the one-time butterfly, was now become a working-bee-a member of the v.a.d. and working daily at oldhampton hospital. sara could scarcely picture such a metamorphosis! the worst news had been that of major durward's death -he had been killed in action, gallantly leading his men, in the early part of the year. elisabeth had written to sara at the time a wonderfully brave, simple letter, facing her loss with a fortitude which sara, remembering her adoration for her husband and her curious antipathy to soldiering as a profession, had not dared to anticipate. there was something rather splendid about her quiet acceptance of it. it was elisabeth at her best-humanly hurt and broken, but almost heroic in her endurance now that the blow had actually fallen. and sara prayed that no further sacrifice might be demanded from her-prayed that tim might come through safely. for herself, she mourned geoffrey durward as one good comrade does another. she knew that his death would leave a big gap in the ranks of those she counted friends. it had been a wonderful year-that year which she had 281 282 the hermit of far end passed in france-wonderful in its histories of tragedy and self-sacrifice, and in its revelation both of the brutality and of the infinite fineness of humanity. few could have passed through such an experience and remained unchanged, certainly no one as acutely sentient and receptive as sara. she felt as though she had been pitchforked into a vast melting-pot, where the cast-iron generalisations and traditions which most people consider their opinions grew flexible and fluid in the scorching heat of the furnace, assimilating so much of the other ingredients in the cauldron that they could never reassume their former unqualified and rigid state. and now that year of crowded life and ardent service was over, and she was side-tracked by medical orders for an indefinite period. "go back to england," the doctor had told her, "to the quietest corner in the country you can find-and try to forget that there is a war!" this thin, eager-faced young woman, of whom every one on the hospital staff spoke in such glowing terms, interested him enormously. he could see that her year's work had taken out of her about double what it would have taken out of any one less sensitively alive, and he made a shrewd guess that something over and above the mere hard work accounted for that curiously fine-drawn look which he had observed in her. during a hastily snatched meal, before the advent of another batch of casualties, he had sounded lady arronby on the subject. the latter shook her head. "i can tell you very little. i believe there was a bad love-affair just before the war. all i know is that she was engaged and that the engagement was broken off very suddenly." "humph! and she's been living on her reserves ever since. pack her off to england—and do it quick." so october found sara back in england once again, and as the train steamed into monkshaven station, and her eager the furnace 283 8 gaze fell on the little group of people on the platform, waiting to welcome her return, she felt a sudden rush of tears to her eyes. she winked them away, and leaned out of the window. they were all there-big dick selwyn, and molly, looking like a masquerading venus in her v.a.d. uniform, the lavender lady and miles, and-radiant and well turned-out as ever-miles's wife. the herricks' wedding had taken place very unobtrusively. about a month after sara had crossed to france, miles and audrey had walked quietly into church one morning at nine o'clock and got married. monkshaven had been frankly disappointed. the gossips, who had so frequently partaken of audrey's hospitality and then discussed her acrimoniously, had counted upon the lavish entertainment with which, even in war-time, the wedding of a millionaire's widow might be expected to be celebrated. instead of which, there had been this "hole-and-corner " sort of marriage, as the disappointed femininity of monkshaven chose to call it, and, after a very brief honeymoon, miles and audrey had returned and thrown themselves heart and soul into the work of organising and equipping a convalescent hospital for officers, of which audrey had undertaken to bear the entire cost. henceforth the mouths of audrey's detractors were closed. she was no longer "that shocking little widow with the dyed hair," but a woman who had married into a branch of one of the oldest families in the county, and whose immense private fortune had enabled her to give substantial help to her country in its need. "i think it's simply splendid of you, audrey," declared sara warmly, as they were all partaking of tea at greenacres, whither audrey's car had borne them from the station. audrey laughed. "my dear, what else could i do with my money? i've got such a sickening lot of it, you see! besides "-with a 284 the hermit of far end bantering glance at her husband-"i think it was only the prospect of being of some use at my hospital which induced miles to marry me! he's my private secretary, you know, and boss of the commissariat department." miles saluted. "quartermaster, at your service, miss," he said cheerfully, adding with a chuckle: "i saw my chance of getting a job if i married audrey, so of course i took it." he was looking amazingly well. the fact of being of some use in the world had acted upon him like a tonic, and there was no misinterpreting the glance of complete and happy understanding that passed between him and his wife. glad as she was to see it, it served to remind sara painfully of all that she had missed, to stir anew the aching longing for garth trent, which, though struggled against, and beaten down, and sometimes temporarily crowded out by the thousand claims of each day's labour, had been with her all through the long months of her absence from monkshaven. it was this which had worn her so fine, not the hard physical work that she had been doing. always slender, and built on racing lines, there was something almost ethereal about her now, and her sombre eyes looked nearly double their size in her small face of which the contour was so painfully distinct. yet she was as vivid and alive as ever; she seemed to diffuse, as it were, a kind of spiritual brilliance. "she makes one think of a flame," audrey told her husband when they were alone once more. "there is something so vital about her, in spite of that curiously frail look she has." miles nodded. "she's burning herself out," he said briefly. audrey looked startled. "what do you mean, miles?" "good heavens! i should think it's self-evident. she's exactly as much in love with trent as she was a year ago, the furnace 285 and she's fighting against it every hour of her life. and the strain's breaking her." "can't we do something to help?" audrey put her question with a helpless consciousness of its futility. herrick's eyes kindled. "every "nothing," he answered with quiet decision. one must work out his own salvation-if it's to be a salvation worth having." herrick had delved to the root of the matter when he had declared that sara was exactly as much in love as she had been a year ago. she had realised this for herself, and it had converted life into an endless conflict between her love for garth and her shamed sense of his unworthiness. and now, her return to monkshaven, to its familiar, memory-haunted scenes, had quickened the struggle into new vitality. with the broadened outlook born of her recent experiences, she began to ask herself whether a man need be condemned, utterly and for ever, for a momentary loss of nerve—even elisabeth had admitted that it was probably no more than that! and then, conversely, her fierce detestation of that particular form of weakness, inculcated in her from her childhood by patrick lovell, would spring up protestingly, and she would shrink with loathing from the thought that she had given her love to a man who had been convicted of that very thing. nor was the attitude he had assumed in regard to the war calculated to placate her. she had learned from molly that he had abstained from taking up any form of war-work whatsoever. he appeared to be utterly indifferent to the need of the moment, and the whole of monkshaven buzzed with patriotic disapprobation of his conduct. there were few idle hands there now. a big munitions factory had been established at oldhampton, and its demands, added to the necessities of the hospital, left no loophole of excuse for slackers. 286 the hermit of far end sara reflected bitterly that the sole courage of which garth seemed possessed was a kind of cold, moral courage—brazenfacedness, the townspeople termed it-which enabled him to refuse doggedly to be driven out of monkshaven, even though the whole weight of public opinion was dead against him. and then the recollection of that day on devil's hood island, when he had deliberately risked his life to save her reputation, would return to her with overwhelming forcemocking the verdict of the court-martial, repudiating the condemnation which had made her thrust him out of her life. so the pendulum swung, this way and that, lacerating her heart each time it swept forward or back. but the blind agony of her recoil, when she had first learned the story of that tragic happening on the indian frontier, was passed. then, overmastered by the horror of the thing, she had flung violently away from garth, feeling herself soiled and dishonoured by the mere fact of her love for him, too revolted to contemplate anything other than the severance of the tie between them as swiftly as possible. now, with the widened sympathies and understanding which the past year of intimacy with human nature at its strongest, and at its weakest, had brought her, new thoughts and new possibilities were awaking within her. the furnace that fiercely burning furnace of life at its intensest had done its work. chapter xxxii '66 on crabtree moor th im is wounded, and has been recommended for the military cross." sara made the double announcement quite calmly. the two things so often went together-it was the grey and gold warp and weft of war with which people had long since grown pathetically familiar. "how splendid!" molly enthused with sparkling eyes, adding quickly, "i hope he's not very badly wounded?" "elisabeth doesn't give any particulars in her letter. i can't understand her," sara continued, her brows contracting in a puzzled fashion. "she seems so calm about it. she has always hated the idea of tim's soldiering, yet now, although she's lost her husband and her son is wounded, she's taking it finely." selwyn looked up from filling his pipe. "she's answering to the call-like every one else," he observed quietly. "no." sara shook her head. "i don't feel as though it were that. it's something more individual. perhaps "thoughtfully-" it's pride of a kind. the sort of impression i have is that she's so proud-so proud of geoffrey's fine death, and of tim's winning the military cross, that it has compensated in some way." "the war's full of surprises," remarked molly reflectively. “i never was so astonished in my life as when i found that lester kent's wife believed him to be a model of all the virtues! i wrote and told you-didn't i, sally?—that he was sent to oldhampton hospital? he got smashed up, driving a motor ambulance, you know." 287 288 the hermit of far end "yes, you wrote and said that he died in hospital." "well, his wife came to see him, with her little boy. she was the sweetest thing, and so plucky. 'my dear,' she said to me, after it was all over, 'i hope you'll find a husband as dear and good. he was so loyal and true—and now that he's gone, i shall always have that to remember!"" molly's eyes had grown very big and bright. "oh! sara," she went on, catching her breath a little, "supposing you hadn't brought me home—that night, she would have had no beautiful memory to help her now." "and yet the memory is an utterly false one-though i suppose it will help her just the same! it's knowing the truth that hurts, sometimes." and sara's lips twisted a little. "what a droll world it is of shams and truth all mixed up-the ugly and the beautiful all lumped together!" “and just now,” put in selwyn quietly, "it's so full of beauty." "beauty?" exclaimed both girls blankly. selwyn nodded, his eyes luminous. "isn't heroism beautiful-and self-sacrifice?" he said. "and this war's full of it. sometimes, when i read the newspapers, i think god himself must be surprised at the splendid things the men he made have done." sara turned away, swept by the recollection of one man she knew who had nothing splendid, nothing glorious, to his credit. almost invariably, any discussion of the war ended by hurting her horribly. "i'll take that basket of flowers across to the 'convalescent' now, i think," she said, rising abruptly from her seat by the fire. selwyn nodded, mentally anathematising himself for having driven her thoughts inward, and molly, who had developed amazingly of late, tactfully refrained from offering to accompany her. the convalescent hospital, situated on the crest of a hill above the town, was a huge mansion which had been origion crabtree moor 289 nally built by a millionaire named rattray, who, coming afterwards to financial grief, had found himself too poor to live in it when it was completed. it had been frankly impossible as a dwelling for any one less richly dowered with this world's goods, and, in consequence, when the place was thrown on the market, no purchaser could be found for it— since monkshaven offered no attraction to millionaires in general. since then it had been known as rattray's folly, and it was not until audrey cast covetous eyes upon it for her convalescent soldiers that the "folly" had served any purpose other than that of a warning to people not to purchase boots too big for them. a short cut from sunnyside to the hospital lay through crabtree moor, and as sara took her way across the rough strip of moorland, dotted with clumps of gorse and heather, her thoughts flew back to that day when she and garth had encountered black brady there, and to the ridiculous quarrel which had ensued in consequence of garth's refusal to condone the man's offence. for days they had not spoken to each other. looking backward, how utterly insignificant seemed that petty disagreement now! had she but known the bitter separation that must come, she would have let no trifling difference, such as this had been, rob her of a single precious moment of their friendship. she wondered if she and garth would ever meet again. she had been back in monkshaven for some weeks now, but he had studiously avoided meeting her, shutting himself up within the solitude of far end. and then, with her thoughts still centred round the man she loved, she lifted her eyes and saw him standing quite close to her. he was leaning against a gate which gave egress from the moor into an adjacent pasture field towards which her steps were bent. his arms, loosely folded, rested upon the top of the gate, and he was looking away from 290 the hermit of far end 1 her towards the distant vista of sea and cliff. evidently he had not heard her light footsteps on the springy turf, for he made no movement, but remained absorbed in his thoughts, unconscious of her presence. sara halted as though transfixed. for an instant the whole world seemed to rock, and a black mist rose up in front of her, blotting out that solitary figure at the gateway. her heart beat in great, suffocating throbs, and her throat ached unbearably, as if a hand had closed upon it and were gripping it so tightly that she could not breathe. then her senses steadied, and her gaze leapt to the face outlined in profile against the cold background of the winter sky. her searching eyes, poignantly observant, sensed a subtle difference in it—or, perhaps, less actually a difference than a certain emphasising of what had been before only latent and foreshadowed. the lean face was still leaner than she had known it, and there were deep lines about the mouthlines which only acute mental or physical suffering could have graven. and the mouth itself held something sternly sweet and austere about the manner of its closing-a severity of self-discipline which one might look to see on the lips of a man who has made the supreme sacrifice of his own will, bludgeoning his desires into submission in response to some finely conceived impulse. the recognition of this, of the something fine and splendid that had stamped itself on garth's features, came to sara in a sudden blazoning flash of recognition. this was notcould not be the face of a weak man or a coward! and for one transcendent moment of glorious belief sheer happiness overwhelmed her. but, in the same instant, the damning facts stormed up at her the verdict of the court-martial, the details elisabeth had supplied, above all, garth's own inability to deny the charge and the light of momentary ecstasy flared and went out in darkness. an inarticulate sound escaped her, forced from her lips on crabtree moor 291 by the pang of that sudden frustration of leaping hope, and, hearing it, garth turned and saw her. "sara!" the name rushed from his lips, shaken with a tumult of emotion. and then he was silent, staring at her across the little space that separated them, his hand gripping the topmost bar of the gate as though for actual physical support. the calm of his face, that lofty serenity which had been impressed upon it, was suddenly all broken up. "sara!" he repeated, a ring of incredulity in his tones. "yes," she said flatly. "i've come back." she moved towards him, trying to control the trembling that had seized her limbs. "i-i've just come back from france," she added, making a lame attempt to speak conventionally. it was an effort to hold out her hand, and, when his closed around it, she felt her whole body thrill at his touch, just as it had been wont to thrill in those few, short, golden days. when their mutual happiness had been undarkened by any shadow from the past. swiftly, as though all at once afraid, she snatched her hand from his clasp. "what have you been doing in france?" he asked. "nursing," she answered briefly. "did you think i could stay here and do-nothing, at such a time as this?" there was accusation in her tone, but if he felt that her speech reflected in any way upon himself, he showed no sign of it. his eyes were roving over her, marking the changes wrought in the year that had passed since they had met— the sharpened contour of her face, the too slender body, the white fragility of the bare hand which grasped the handle of the basket she was carrying. "you are looking very ill," he said, at last, abruptly. "i'm not ill," she replied indifferently. "only a bit overtired. as soon as i have had a thorough rest i am going back to france." 292 the hermit of far end "you won't go back there again?" he exclaimed sharply. "you're not fit for such work!" "certainly i shall go back-as soon as ever dr. selwyn will let me. it's little enough to do for the men who are giving everything!" suddenly, the pent-up indignation within her broke bounds. "garth, how can you stay here when men are fighting, dying-out there?" her voice vibrated with the sense of personal shame which his apathy inspired in her. "oh!"-as though she feared he might wound her yet further by advancing the obvious excuse— "i know you're past military age. but other men—older men than you-have gone. i know a man of fifty who bluffed and got in! there are heaps of back doors into the army these days." "and there's a back door out of it-the one through which i was kicked out!" he retorted, his mouth setting itself in the familiar bitter lines. the scoffing defiance of his attitude baffled her. "don't you want to help your country?" she pleaded. it was horrible to her that he should stand aside-inexplicable except in terms of that wretched business on the indian frontier, in the hideous truth of which only his own acknowledgment had compelled her to believe. he looked at her with hard, indifferent eyes. "my country made me an outcast," he replied. "i'll remain such." somehow, even in her shamed bewilderment and anger, she sensed the hurt that lay behind the curt speech. "men who have been cashiered, men who are too oldthey're all going back," she urged tremulously, snatching at any weapon that suggested itself. he shrugged his shoulders. "let them!" she stared at him in silence. she felt exactly as though she had been beating against a closed door. with a gesture on crabtree moor 293 of hopelessness she turned away, recognising the futility of pleading with him further. "one moment "-he stepped in front of her, barring her path. “i want an answer to a question before you go.” there was something of his old arrogance in the demand -the familiar, dominating quality which had always swayed her. despite herself, she yielded to it now. "well?" she said unwillingly. "what is it you wish to know?" "i want to know if you are engaged to tim durward." for an instant the colour rushed into sara's white face; then it ebbed away, leaving it paler than before. “no,” she said quietly. "i am not." she lifted her eyes, accusing, passionately reproachful, to his. "how could you —even ask me that? did you ever believe i loved you?" she went on fiercely. "and if i did could i care for any one else?" a look of triumph leapt into his eyes. "you care still, then?" he asked, and in his voice was blent all the exultation, and the wonder, and the piercing torment of love itself. sara felt herself slipping, knew that she was losing her hold of herself. soon she would be a-wash in a sea of love, helpless to resist as a bit of driftwood, and then the waters would close over her head and she would be drawn down into the depths of shame which yielding to her love for garth involved. she must go—leave him while she had the power. summoning up her strength, she faced him. "i do," she answered steadily. "but i pray god every night of my life that i may soon cease to care." and with those few words, limitless in their scorn-for him, and for herself because she still loved him—she turned to go. but their contempt seemed to pass him by. his eyes burned. 294 the hermit of far end "so elisabeth has played her stake and lost!" he muttered to himself. "ah! pardon!" he drew aside as she almost brushed past him in her sudden haste to escape-to get away-and stood, with bared head, his eyes fixed on her receding figure. soon a bend in the path through the fields hid her from his sight. but, long after she had disappeared, he remained leaning, motionless, against the gateway through which she had passed, his face immobile, twisted and drawn so that it resembled some sculptured mask of pain, his eyes staring straight in front of him, blank and unseeing. "hullo, trent!" miles herrick, returning from the town to the hospital and taking, like every one else, the short cut across the fields, waved a friendly arm as he caught sight of garth's figure silhouetted against the sky-line. then he drew nearer, and the set, still face of the other filled him with a sudden sense of dismay. there was a new look in it, a kind of dogged hopelessness. it entirely lacked that suggestion of austere sweetness which had made it so difficult to reconcile his smirched reputation with the man himself. "what is it, garth?" instinctively miles slipped into the more familiar appellation. trent looked at him blankly. it seemed as though he had not heard the question, or, at any rate, had not taken in its meaning. "what did you say?" he muttered, his brows contracting painfully. miles slung the various packages with which he was burdened on to the ground, and leaned up leisurely against the gatepost. it was characteristic of him that, although the day was never long enough for the work he crowded into it, he could always find time to give a helping hand to a pal with his back against the wall. on crabtree moor 295 "out with it, man!" he said. "what's up?" slowly recognition came back in the other's eyes. "what i might have anticipated," he answered, at last, in a curious flat voice, devoid of expression. “i've sunk a degree or two lower in sara's estimation since the war broke out." miles regarded him quietly for a moment, a queer, halfhumorous glint in his eyes. "i suppose she doesn't know you've half-beggared yourself, helping on the financial side?" "a man could hardly do less, could he?" he returned awkwardly. "but if she did know-which she doesn't-it would make no earthly difference." "then-it's because you're not soldiering?" "exactly. i've not volunteered." "well "-composedly-" why don't you?" trent laughed shortly. "that's my affair." "with your physique you could wangle the age limit," pursued miles imperturbably. "i should have to 'wangle' a good deal more than that,” -harshly. "have you forgotten that i was chucked from the army?" "there's such a thing as enlisting under another name." "there is—and then of running up against one of the old crowd and being recognised! it isn't so easy to lose your identity. i've had my lesson on that.' 99 miles looked away quickly. the hard, implacable stare of the other man's eyes, with its blazing defiance, hurt him. it spoke too poignantly of a bitterness that had eaten into the heart. but he had put his hand to the plough, and he refused to turn back. "wouldn't it "-he spoke with a sudden gentleness, the gentleness of the surgeon handling a torn limb-" wouldn't it help to straighten things out with sara?" 66 if it did, it would only make matters worse. no. take 296 the hermit of far end it from me, herrick, that soldiering is the one thing of all others i can't do.” he turned away as though to signify that the discussion was at an end. "i don't see it," persisted miles. "on the contrary, it's the one thing that might make her believe in you. in spite -quickly-" of that indian frontier business." "" garth swung suddenly round, a dull, dangerous gleam in his eyes. but miles bore the savage glance serenely. he had applied the spur with intention. the other was suffering-suffering intolerably-in a dumb silence that shut him in alone with his agony. that silence must be broken, no matter what the means. "you'd wipe out the stigma of cowardice, if you volunteered," he went on deliberately. garth laughed derisively. "cut it out, herrick," he flung back. "i'm not a damned story-book hero, out for whitewash and the v.c." but miles continued undeterred. "and you'd convince sara," he finished quietly. a stifled exclamation broke from garth. "can't you "to what end?" he burst out violently. realise that's just the one thing in the world forbidden me? sara is-oh, well, it's impossible to say what she is, but i suppose most good women are half angel. and if i gave her the smallest chance, she'd begin to believe in me again -to ask questions i cannot answer. . . what's the use? i can't get away from the court-martial and all that followed. i can't clear myself. and i could never offer sara anything more than a name that has been disgraced—a miserable half-life with a man who can't hold up his head amongst his fellows! yes "-answering the unspoken question in herrick's eyes-"i know what you're thinking-that i was willing to marry her once. but i believed, then, that garth trent had cut himself free from the past. now i know ". more quietly" that there is no such thing as getting away · on crabtree moor 297 . i'm tied hand and from the mistakes one has made. foot-every way! and it's better sara should continue to think the worst of me. then, in the future, she may find some sort of happiness-with durward, perhaps." his lips greyed a little, but he went on. "the worse she thinks me, the easier it will be for her to cut me out of her life." 66 "then do you mean "-miles spoke very slowly—" that you are deliberately-holding back from soldiering?" quite deliberately!" it was like the snap of a tormented animal, baited beyond bearing. "if i could go with a clean name, as other men cangood god, man! do think you i haven't thought it out-knocked my head against every stone wall in the whole damned business?" · · miles was silent. there was so much of truth in all garth said, so much of warped vision, biased by the man's profound bitterness of soul, that he could find no answer. after a moment garth spoke again, jerkily, as though under pressure. "there's my promise to elisabeth, as well. that binds me if i were recognised and taxed with my identity. i should have to hold my peace-and stick it all over again! there's a limit to a man's endurance. then, after a pause: "if i could go and be sure of not returning "grimly-" i'd go to-morrow-the foreign legion, anyway. but sometimes a man hasn't even the right to get himself neatly killed out of the way." 66 what are you driving at now?” "i should think it's plain enough! don't you see what it would mean to sara if-that-happened? she'd never believe afterwards-that i'm as black as i'm painted, and i should saddle her with an intolerable burden of selfreproach. no, the army is a closed door for me. damn it, herrick!"—with the sudden nervous violence of a man goaded past endurance. "can't you understand? i ought never to have come into her life at all. i've only messed things up for her-damnably. the least i can do is d · 298 the hermit of far end to clear out of it so that she'll never regret my going. i've gone under, and a man who's gone under had better stay there." both men were silent-trent with the bitter, brooding silence of a man who has battered uselessly against the bars that hem him in, and who at last recognises that they can never be forced asunder, herrick trying to focus his vision to that of the man beside him. 66 no "-garth spoke with a finality there was no disputing "i've been buried three-and-twenty years, and my resurrection hasn't been exactly a success. there's no place in the world for me unless some one else pays the price. it's better for every one concerned that i should-stay buried." chapter xxxiii over the mountains "" didn't do "we suddenly, sara found herself saying the words aloud in the darkness and solitude of the night. since her meeting with garth, on her way to the hospital, every hour had been an hour of conflict. that brief, strained interview had shaken her to the depths of her being, and, unable to sleep when night came, she had lain, staring wideeyed into the dark, struggling against its influence. little enough had been said. it had been the silences, the dumb, passion-filled silences, vibrant with all that must not be spoken, which had tried her endurance to the utmost, and she had fled, at last, incontinently, because she had felt her resolution weakening each moment she and garth remained together-because, with him beside her, the love against which she had been fighting for twelve long months had wakened into fierce life again, beating down her puny efforts to withstand it. the mere sound of his voice, the lightest touch of his hand, had power to thrill her from head to foot, to rock those barriers which his own act had forced her to build up be tween them. the recollection of that one perfect moment, when the serene austerity of his face had given the lie to that of which he was accused, lingered with her, a faint elusive thread of hope which would not leave her, urging, suggesting, combating the hard facts to which he himself had given ruthless confirmation. almost without her cognisance, sara's characteristic, vehement belief in whomsoever she loved-stunned at the first 299 300 the hermit of far end moment of elisabeth's revelation-had been gradually creeping back to feeble, halting life, weakened at times by the mass of evidence arrayed against it, yet still alive-growing and strengthening secretly within her as an unborn babe grows and strengthens. and since that moment on the moor, when her eyes had searched garth's face-his face with the mask off-the dormant belief within her had sprung into conscious knowledge. throughout the long hours of the night she had fought against it, deeming it but the passionate outcome of her love for the man himself. she wanted to believe him innocent; it was only her love for him which had raised this phantom doubt of the charges brought against him; the wish had been father to the thought. so she told herself, struggling conscientiously against that to which she longed to yield. and then, making a mockery of the hateful thing of which he had been accused, her individual knowledge of garth himself rose up and confronted her accusingly. nothing that she had ever known of him had pointed to any lack of courage. it had been on no sudden, splendid impulse of a moment that he had plunged into the sea and fought that treacherous, racing tide off devil's hood island. quite composedly, deliberately, he had calculated the risks -and taken them! once more, she recalled the vision of his face as she had seen it yesterday, in that instant before he had perceived her nearness to him-strong and steadfast, imprint with a disciplined nobility—and the repudiation of his dishonour leapt spontaneously from her lips. "he didn't do it!" she had spoken involuntarily, the thought rushing into words before she was aware, and the sound of her own voice in the darkness startled her. it seemed almost like a voice from some otherwhere, authoritatively assuring her of all she had ached to believe. over the mountains 301 she lay back on her pillows, smiling a little at the illusion. but the sense of peace, of blessed assuredness, remained with her. she had struggled through the darkness of those bitter months of unbelief, and now she had come out into the light on the other side. she felt dreamily contented and at rest, and presently she fell asleep, trustfully, as a little child may sleep, the smile still on her lips. with morning came reaction-blank, sordid reaction, depressing her unutterably. amid the score of trifling details incidental to the day's arrangements, with the usual uninspiring conversation prevalent at the breakfast-table going on around her, the mood of the previous night, informed, as it had been, with that triumphant sense of exaltation, slipped from her like a garment. supposing she were to tell them-to tell selwyn and molly -that, without any further evidence, she was convinced of garth's innocence? why, they would think she had gone mad! regretfully, with infinite pain it might be, but still none the less conclusively, they had accepted the fact of his guilt. and indeed, what else could be expected of them, seeing that he had himself acknowledged it? and yet that inner feeling of belief which had stirred into new life refused to be repressed. mechanically she went about the small daily duties which made up life at sunnyside-interviewed jane crab, read the newspapers to mrs. selwyn, accomplished the necessary shopping in the town, each and all with a mind that was only superficially concerned with the matter in hand, while, behind this screen of commonplace routine, she felt as though her soul were struggling impotently to release itself from the bonds which had bound it in a tyranny of anguish for twelve long months. in the afternoon, she paid a visit to the convalescent hospital. she made a practice of going there at least once a 302 the hermit of far end a day and giving what assistance she could. frequently she relieved miles of part of his secretarial work, or checked through with him the invoices of goods received. there were always plenty of odd jobs to be done, and, after her strenuous work in france, she found it utterly impossible to settle down to the life of masterly inactivity which selwyn had prescribed for her. audrey greeted her with a little flurry of excitement. "do you know that there was a zepp over oldhampton last night?" she asked, as they went upstairs together. "did you hear it?" sara shook her head. the memory of the previous night surged over her like the memory of a vivid dream-the absolute assurance it had brought her of garth's innocence, an assurance which had grown vague and doubtful with the daylight, just as the happenings of a dream grow blurred and indistinct. 66 'no, i didn't hear anything," she replied absently. "did they do much damage? i suppose they were after the munitions factory?' "" "yes. they dropped one bomb, that's all. it fell in a field, luckily. but goodness knows how they got over without any one's spotting them! everybody's asking where our search-lights were. as for our anti-aircraft guns, they've never had the opportunity yet to do anything more than try our nerves by practising! and last night a golden opportunity came and went unobserved." "the milkman was babbling to jane about zeppelins this morning, but i thought it was probably only the result of overnight potations at the jolly sailorman.' " 999 "no, it was the real thing-made in germany,'" smiled audrey. "i begin to feel as if we were quite the hub of the universe, now that the zepps have acknowledged our existence." they paused outside the door of the room allotted to her husband's activities. over the mountains 303 "miles will be glad to see you to-day," she pursued. "he's bemoaning a new manifestation of war-fever among the feminine population of monkshaven. go in to him, will you? i must run off-i've got a million things to see to. you're not looking very fit to-day "-suddenly observing the other's white face and shadowed eyes. "are you feeling up to work?" sara nodded indifferently. "quite," she said. "i shouldn't have come otherwise." miles welcomed her joyfully. 6 "bless you, my dear!" he exclaimed. "you're the very woman i wanted to see. i'm snowed under with fool letters from females anxious to entertain our poor, brave, wounded officers.' head 'em off, will you?" he thrust a bundle of letters into her hands. then, as she moved towards the window, and the cold, searching light of the wintry sunshine fell full on her face, his voice altered. "what is it? what has happened, sara?" he asked quickly. she looked at him dumbly. her lips moved, but no sound came. the sudden question, accompanied by the swift, penetrating glance of miles's brown eyes, had taken her off her guard. he limped across to her. "not a stroke of work for you to-day," he said decisively, taking the bundle of letters out of her hands. "now tell me what's wrong?"? she looked away from him, a slow, shamed red creeping into her face. at last"i've seen garth," she said very low. herrick nodded. he knew what that meeting had meant to one of these two friends of his. now he was to see the reverse of the medal. he waited, his silence sympathetic and far more helpful than any eager, probing question, however well-intentioned. miles," she burst out suddenly, "i'm-i'm wretched!" "how's that?" he did not make the mistake of attribut66 304 the hermit of far end ing her outburst to a transient mood of depression. something deeper lay behind it. "since i saw garth yesterday i've been asking myself whether—whether i've been doing him a ghastly injustice" --she moistened her dry lips-" whether he was really guilty of-running away." "ah!" miles stuffed his hands in his pockets and limped the length of the room and back. in that moment, he realised something of the maddening, galling restraint of the bondage under which garth trent had lived for years-the bondage of silence, and, within his pockets, his hands were clenched when he halted again at sara's side. "why?" he shot at her. she hesitated. then she caught her breath a little hysterically. "why-because-because i just can't believe it! . . i've seen a lot since i went away. i've seen brave menand i've seen men who were afraid." she turned her head aside. "they-the ones who were afraid-didn't look as garth looks.” • • · herrick made no comment. he put a question. "what are you going to do?" "i don't know. i expect you think i'm a fool? i've nothing to go on on the contrary, i've garth's own admission that-that he was cashiered. and yet oh! miles, if he were only doing anything-now-it would be easier to believe in him! but he holds absolutely aloof. it's as though he were afraid-still." "have you ever thought "-herrick spoke slowly, without looking at her-" what this year of war must have meant to a man who has been a soldier-and is one no longer?" his eyes came back to her face meditatively. "how-what do you mean?" she whispered. "you've only got to look at the man to know what i mean. i think-since the war broke out-that trent has been through the bitterness of death." over the mountains 305 "but-but he could have enlisted-got in somehowunder another name, had he wanted to fight. or he might have gone out and driven an ambulance car-as lester kent did." sara was putting to herrick the very arguments which had arisen in her own mind to confound the intuitive belief of which she had been conscious since that moment of inward revelation on crabtree moor-putting them forward in all their repulsive ugliness of fact, in the desperate hope that herrick might find some way to refute them. "some men might have done, perhaps," answered miles quietly. "but not a man of trent's temperament. some trees bend in a storm-and when the worst of it is past, they spring erect again. some can't; they break." the words recalled to sara's mind with sudden vividness the last letter patrick lovell had ever written her-the one which he had left in the chippendale bureau for her to receive after his death. he had applied almost those identical words to the malincourt temperament, of which he had recognised the share she had inherited. and she realised that her guardian and miles herrick had been equally discerning. though differing in its effect upon each of them, consequent upon individual idiosyncrasy, the fact remained that she and garth were both "breaking" beneath the strain which destiny had imposed on them. with the memory of patrick's letter came an inexpressible longing for the man himself-for the kindly, helping hand which he would have stretched out to her in this crisis of her life. she felt sure that, had he been beside her now, his shrewd counsel would have cleared away the mists of doubt and indecision which had closed about her. but since he was no longer there to be appealed to, she had turned instinctively to herrick, and, somehow, he had failed her. he had not given her a definite expression of his own belief. she had been humanly craving to hear that he, 306 the hermit of far end too, believed in garth, notwithstanding the evidence against him-that he had some explanation to offer of that ghastly tragedy of the court-martial episode. and instead, he had only hazarded some tolerant suggestions-sympathetic to garth, it is true, but not carrying with them the vital, unqualified assurance she had longed to hear. in spite of this, she knew that herrick's friendship with garth had remained unbroken by the knowledge of the indian frontier story. the personal relations of the two men were unchanged, and she felt as though miles were withholding something from her, observing a reticence for which she could find no explanation. he had been very kind and understanding-it would not have been miles had he been otherwise but he had not helped her much. in some curious way she felt as though he had thrown the whole onus of coming to a decision, unaided by advice, upon her shoulders. she returned to sunnyside oppressed with a homesick longing for patrick. the two years which had elapsed since his death had blunted the edge of her sorrow-as time inevitably must-but she still missed the shrewd, kindly, worldly-wise old man unspeakably, and just now, thrown back upon herself in some indefinable way by miles's attitude, her whole heart cried out for that other who was gone. she wondered if he knew how much she needed him. she almost believed that he must know-wherever he might be now, she felt that patrick would never have forgotten the child of the woman whom, in this world, he had loved so long and faithfully. with an instinctive craving for some tangible memory of him, she unlocked the leather case which held her mother's miniature, together with the last letter which patrick had ever written; and, unfolding the letter, began to read it once again. somehow, there seemed comfort in the very wording of it, in every little characteristic phrase that had been patrick's, over the mountains 307 . in the familiar appellation, "little old pal," which he had kept for her alone. all at once her fingers gripped the letter more tightly, her attention riveted by a certain passage towards the end. . and when loves comes to you, never forget that it is the biggest thing in the world, the one altogether good and perfect gift. don't let any twopenny-halfpenny considerations of worldly advantage influence you, nor the tittle-tattle of other folks, and even if it seems that something unsurmountable lies between you and the fulfilment of love, go over it, or round it, or through it! if it's real love, your faith must be big enough to remove the mountains in the way-or to go over them." 66 had patrick foreseen the exact circumstances in which his "little old pal" would one day find herself, he could not have written anything more strangely applicable. sara sat still, every nerve of her taut and strung. she felt as though she had laid bare the whole of her trouble, revealed her inmost soul in all its anguished perplexity, to those shrewd blue eyes which had been wont to see so clearly through externals, piercing infallibly to the very heart of things. patrick had always possessed that supreme gift of being able to separate the grain from the chaff-to distinguish unerringly between essentials and non-essentials, and now, in the quiet, wise counsel of an old letter, sara found an answer to all the questionings that had made so bitter a thing of life. it was almost as if some one had torn down a curtain from before her eyes, rent asunder a veil which had been distorting and obscuring the values of things. mountains! there were mountains indeed betwixt her and garth-and there was no way round them or through them! but now-now she would go over them-go straight ahead, 308 the hermit of far end unregarding of the mountains between, to where garth and love awaited her. no man is all angel-or all devil. supposing garth had been guilty of cowardice, had had his one moment of weakness? she no longer cared! he was hers, her lover, alike in his weakness and in his strength. she had known men in france shrink in terror at the evil droning of a shell, and then die selflessly that others might live. "your faith must be big enough to remove the mountains in the way-or to go over them," patrick had written. and sara, hiding her face in her hands, thanked god that now, at last, her faith was big enough, and that love" the one altogether good and perfect gift "—was still hers if she would only go over the mountains. chapter xxxiv the triumph of love arth trent, coward." g the words, in staring white capital letters, had been chalked up by some one on the big wooden double-doors that shut the world out from far end. sara stood quite still, gazing at them fixedly, and a tense white-heat of anger flared up within her. within her. who had dared to put such an insult upon the man she loved? "coward!" no one had ever actually applied that term to garth in her hearing. they had skirted delicately round it, or wrapped up its meaning in some less harsh-sounding tangle of phrases, and although she had bitterly used the word herself, now that the opprobrious expression publicly confronted her, writ large by some unfriendly hand, she was swept by a sheer fury of indignant denial. it roused in her the immediate instinct to defend, to range herself unmistakably on garth's side against a world of traducers. with a faint smile of self-mockery, she realised that had this flagrant insult been levelled at him in the beginning, had her first knowledge of the black shadow which hung over him been thus brutally flung at her, instead of diffidently, reluctantly broken to her by elisabeth, she would probably, with the instinctive partisanship of woman for her mate, have utterly refused to credit it—against all reason and all proof. she wondered who could have done this thing, nailed this insult to garth's very door. the illiterate characters stamped it as the work of some one in the lower walks of life, and, with a frown of annoyance, sara promptly-and quite correctly—ascribed it to black brady. "i never forgits to pay back," he had told her once, bel309 310 the hermit of far end ligerently. probably this was his notion of getting even with the man who had prosecuted him for poaching. but had brady realised that, in retaliating upon trent, he would be giving pain to his beloved sara, whom he had grown to regard with a humble, dog-like devotion, he would certainly have refrained from recording his vengeance upon garth's gateway. surmising that garth could not have seen the offending legend-or it would scarcely have been left for all who ran to read-sara whipped out her handkerchief and set to work to rub it off. he should not see it if she could help it! but black brady had done his work very thoroughly, and she was still diligently scrubbing at it with an inadequate piece of cambric when she heard steps behind her, and wheeling round, found herself confronted by garth himself. his eyes rested indifferently and without surprise upon the chalked-up words, then turned to sara's face inquiringly. "why are you doing that?" he asked. "is-cleaning gates the latest form of war-work?" sara, her face scarlet, answered reluctantly. "i didn't want you to see it.” a curious expression flashed into his eyes. "i saw it-two hours ago." "and you left it there?"-with amazement. "why not?"—grimly. "it's true, isn't it?" and in that moment the long struggle in sara's heart ended, and she answered out of the fullness of the faith that was in her. "no! it is not true! i've been a fool to believe it for an instant. but i'm one no longer. i don't believe it." she paused, then, very deliberately and steadily, she put her question. "garth-tell me, were you ever guilty of cowardice? " "the court-martial thought so." sara's foot tapped impatiently on the ground. "please answer my question," she said quickly. the triumph of love 311 but he remained unmoved. "elisabeth durward has surely supplied you with all the information on that subject which you require," he said in expressionless tones, and sara was conscious anew of the maddening feeling of impotence with which a contest of wills between herself and garth never failed to imbue her. "garth "—there was appeal in her voice, yet it was still very steady and determined-"i want to know what you say about it. what elisabeth-or any one else may say, doesn't matter any longer." something in the quiet depth of emotion in her voice momentarily broke through his guard. he made an involuntary movement towards her, then checked himself, and, with an effort, resumed his former detached manner: "more important than anything either i, or elisabeth, can say, is the verdict of the court," he answered. the deadly calm of his voice ripped away her last remnant of composure. "the verdict of the court!" she burst out. "damn the verdict of the court!" "i have done many a time!"-bitterly. "garth," she came a step nearer to him and her sombre eyes blazed into his. "i will have an answer! for god's sake, don't fence with me any longer! . . . there have been misunderstandings enough, reticences enough, between us. for this once, let us be honest with each other. i pretended i didn't care-i pretended i could go on living, believing you to be what-what they have called you. and i can't! . . i can't go on. i can't bear it any longer. you must answer me! were you guilty?" he was white to the lips by the time she had finished, and his eyes held a look of dumb torture. twice he essayed to answer her, but no sound came. at last he turned away, as though the passionate question in her face the eager, hungry longing to hear her faith confirmed-were more than he could bear. • • 312 the hermit of far end "i cannot deny it." the words came hoarsely, almost whispered. her eyes never left his face. "i didn't ask you to deny it," she persisted doggedly. "i asked you—were you guilty?" again there fell a heavy silence. then, reluctantly, as if the admission were dragged from him, he spoke. "i'm afraid i can give you no other answer to that question." a light like the tender, tremulous shining of dawn broke across sara's face. "then you weren't guilty!" she exclaimed, and there was a deep, surpassing joy in her shaken tones. "i knew it! i was sure of it. oh! garth, garth, what a fool i've been! and oh! my dear, why did you do it? why did you let me go on thinking you-what it almost killed me to think?" he stared down at her with wondering, uncertain eyes. "but i've just told you that i can't deny it!" she smiled at him-a smile of absolute content, with a gleam of humour at the back of it. "i didn't ask you to deny it. i tried to make you every way. "but99 i asked you to own to it; and you can't!" she laid her hand across his mouth-laughing the tender, triumphant laughter of a woman who has won, and knows that she has. "you needn't blacken yourself any longer on my account, garth. i shall never again believe anything that you may say against-the man i love." she stood leaning a little towards him, surrender in every line of her slender body, and her face was like a white flametransfigured, radiant with some secret, mystic glory of love's imparting. with an inarticulate cry he opened wide his arms and she went to him-swiftly, unerringly, like a homing bird—and, as he folded her close against his breast and laid his lips to the triumph of love 313 hers, all the hunger and the longing of the empty past was in his kiss. for the moment, pain and bitterness and regret were swept away in that ecstasy of reunion. presently, with a little sigh of spent rapture, she leaned away from him. 66 to think we've wasted a whole year," she said regretfully. "garth, i wish i had trusted you better!" there was a sweet humility of repentance in her tones. "i don't see why you should trust me now," he rejoined quietly. "the facts remain as before." "only that the verdict of the court-martial was wrong," she said swiftly. "there was some horrible mistake. i am sure of it-i know it! garth "-after a moment's pauseare you going to tell me everything? i have the right to know-haven't i?-now that i'm going to be your wife." 66 she felt the clasp of his arms relax, and, looking up quickly, she saw his face suddenly revert to its old lines of weariness. slowly, reluctantly, he drew away from her. "garth!" there was a shrilling note of apprehension in her voice. "garth! what is it? why do you look like that?" it was a full minute before he answered. when he did, he spoke heavily, as one who knows that his next words will dash all the joy out of life. "because," he said quietly, "i can no more tell you anything now than i could before. i can't clear myself, sara!" her eyes were fixed on his. "do you mean-you will never be able to?" she asked incredulously. "yes, i mean that." "answer me one more question, garth. is it that you cannot or will not clear yourself?" "i must not," he replied steadily. "i am not the only one concerned in the matter. there is some one to whom i owe it to be silent. honour forbids that i should even try 314 the hermit of far end to clear myself. now you know all-all that i can ever tell you." "who is it?" the question leaped from her, and garth's answer came with an irrevocability of refusal there was no combating. 99 "that i cannot tell you-or any one. sara's mouth twitched. her face was very white, but her eyes were shining. "and you have borne this-all these years?" she said. "you have known that you could clear yourself and have refrained?" "there was no choice," he answered quietly. "i took on a certain liability-years ago, and because it has turned out to be a much heavier liability than i anticipated gives me no excuse for repudiating it now." for a moment sara hid her face in her hands. when she uncovered it again there was something almost akin to awe in her eyes. "will you ever forgive me, garth, for doubting you?" she whispered. "forgive you?" he smiled. "what else could you have done, sweetheart? i don't know, even now, why you believe in me," he added wonderingly. "just because-" she began, and fell silent, realising that her belief had no reason, but was founded on the intuitive knowledge of a love that has suffered and won out on the other side. when next she spoke it was with the simple, frank directness characteristic of her. "thank god that i can prove that i do trust you-absolutely. when will you marry me, garth?" "when will i marry you?" he repeated the words slowly, as though they conveyed no meaning to him. "yes. i want every one to know, to see that i believe in you. i want to stand at your side-go shares. do you remember, once, how we settled that married life meant going the triumph of love. 315 shares in everything-good and bad?" she smiled a little at the remembrance drawn from the small store of memories that was all her few days of unclouded love had given her. "i want my share, garth." for a moment he was silent. then he spoke, and the quiet finality of his tones struck her like a blow. "we can never marry, sara." "never-marry!" she repeated, dazedly. quick fear seized her, and she rushed on impetuously: "then you haven't forgiven me, after all—you don't believe that i trust you! oh! how can i make you know that i do? garth" "oh, my dear," he interrupted swiftly. "don't misunderstand me. i know that you believe in me now-and i thank god for it! and as for forgiveness, as i told you, i have nothing to forgive. you'd have had need of the faith that removes mountains "-sara started at the repetition of patrick's very words" to have believed in me under the circumstances." he paused a moment, and when he spoke again there was something triumphant in his tones—a serene gladness and contentment. "you and i, beloved, are right with each other-now and always. nothing can ever again come between us to divide us as we have been divided this last year. but, none the less," and his voice took on a steadfast note of resolve, "i cannot marry you. i thought i could -i thought the past had sunk into oblivion, and that i might take the gift of love you offered me. . . but i was wrong.' "" · "no! no! you were not wrong!" she was clinging to him in a sudden terror that even now their happiness was slipping from them. "the past has nothing to say to you you have only to me, and me. it can't come between us. take garth "-tremulously. "let me show that my love is stronger than ill repute. let me come to you and stand by you as your wife. the past can't hurt us, then!" he shook his head. · • 316 the hermit of far end "the past never loses its power to hurt," he answered. "i've learned that. as far as the world you belong to is concerned, i'm finished, and i won't drag the woman i love through the same hell i've been through. that's what it would mean, you know. you would be singled out, pointed at, as the wife of a man who was chucked out of the service. there would be no place in the world for you. you would be ostracised-because you were my wife." "i shouldn't care," she urged. "surely i can bear-what you have borne? . i shouldn't mind-anything-so long as we were together." he drew her closer to him, his lips against her hair. "belovedest!" he said, a great wonder in his voice. oh! little brave thing! what have i ever done that you should love me like that?" · • sara winked away a tear, and a rather tremulous smile hovered round her mouth. · 66 "i don't know, i'm sure," she acknowledged a little shakily. "but i do. garth, you will marry me?" he lifted his bent head, his eyes gazing straight ahead of him, as though envisioning the lonely future and defying it. "no," he said resolutely. "no. god helping me, i will never marry you, sara. i have no right to marry. it could only bring you misery. dear, i must shield you, even from yourself from your own big, generous impulses which would let you join your life to mine. . . . love is denied to us-denied through my own act of long ago. but if you'll give me friendship. ." she could sense the sudden passionate entreaty behind the words. "sara! friendship is worth while such friendship as ours would be! are you brave enough, strong enough, to give me that—since i may not ask for more?" · there was a long silence, while sara lay very still against his breast, her face hidden. in that silence, her spirit met and faced the ultimate issue -for there was that in garth's voice which told her that his the triumph of love 317 decision not to marry her was immutable. could she-oh god!-could she give him what he asked? give only part to the man to whom she longed to give all that a woman has to give? it would be far easier to go away-to put him out of her life for ever. and yet he asked this of her! he needed something that she could still give the comradeship which was all that they two might ever know of love. • when at last she raised her face to his, it was ashen, but her small chin was out-thrust, her eyes were like stars, and the grip of her slim hands on his shoulders was as iron. "i'm strong enough to give you anything that you want," she said quietly. she had made the supreme sacrifice; she was ready to be his friend. a sad and wistful gravity hung about their parting. their lips met and clung together, but it was in a kiss of renunciation, not of passion. he held her in his arms a moment longer. "never forget i'm loving you-always," he said steadily. "call me your friend-but remember, in my heart i shall always be your lover." her eyes met his, unflinching, infinitely faithful. "and i-i, too, shall be loving you," she answered, simply. always, garth-always." "( chapter xxxv out of the night t im was home on sick leave, and, after two perfect weeks of reunion, elisabeth had written to ask if he might come down to sunnyside, suggesting that the sea-breezes might advance his convalescence. "i wonder mrs. durward cares to spare him," commented selwyn in some surprise. "it seems out of keeping with her general attitude. however, we shall be delighted to have him here. write and say so, will you, sara?" sara acquiesced briefly, flushing a little. she thought she could read the motive at the back of elisabeth's proposal-the spirit which, putting up a gallant fight even in the very face of defeat, could make yet a final effort to secure success by throwing tim and the woman he loved together in the dangerously seductive intimacy of the same household. but sara had no fear that tim would avail himself of the opportunity thus provided in the way elisabeth doubtless hoped he might. that matter had been finally settled between herself and him before he went to france, and she knew that he would never again ask her to be his wife. so she wrote to him serenely, telling him to come down to monkshaven as soon as he liked; and a few days later found him installed at sunnyside, nominally under dr. selwyn's care. he was the same unaffected, spontaneous tim as of yore, and hugely embarrassed by any reference to his winning of the military cross, firmly refusing to discuss the manner of it, even with sara. 4 "i just got on with my job-like dozens of other fellows," was all he would say. it was from a brother officer that sara learned, later, that a 318 out of the night 319 tim had "got on with his job" under a hellish enemy fire, in spite of being twice wounded; and had thus saved the immediate situation in his vicinity—and, incidentally, the lives of many of his comrades. he seemed to sara to have become at once both older and younger than in former days. he had all the hilarious good spirits evinced by nine out of ten of the boys who came home on leave the cheery capacity to laugh at the hardships and dangers of the front, to poke good-natured fun at "old fritz and to make a jest of the german shells and the flanders mud, treating the whole great adventure of war as though it were the finest game invented. "" yet back of the mirth and laughter in the blue eyes lurked something new and strange and grave-inexpressibly touch ing—that indefinable something which one senses shrinkingly in the young eyes of the boys who have come back. it hurt sara somehow-that look of which she caught glimpses now and then, in quiet moments, and she set herself to drive it away, or, at least, to keep it at bay as much as possible, by filling every available moment with occupation or amusement. "i don't want him to think about what it was like-out there," she told molly. "his eyes make my heart ache, sometimes. they're too young to have seen-such things. suggest something we can play at to-day!" so they threw themselves, heart and soul, into the task of entertaining tim, and, since he was very willing to be entertained, the weeks at sunnyside slipped by in a little whirl of gaiety, winding up with a badminton tournament, at which tim-whose right arm had not yet quite recovered from the effects of the german bullet it had stopped-played a lefthanded game, and triumphantly manœuvred himself and his partner into the semi-finals. probably-leniently handicapped, as they were, in the circumstances they would have won the tournament, but that, unluckily, in leaping to reach a shuttle soaring high above his 320 the hermit of far end head, tim somehow missed his footing and came down heavily, with his leg twisted underneath him. "broken ankle," announced selwyn briefly, when he had made his examination. tim opened his eyes he had lost consciousness, momentarily, from the pain. "damn!" he observed succinctly. "that'll make it the very devil of a time before i can get back to france!" then, to sara, who could be heard murmuring something about wiring to elisabeth: "not much, old thing, you don't! she'd fuss herself, no end. just write-and say-it's a sprain." and he promptly fainted again. they got him back to sunnyside while he was still unconscious, and when he returned to an intelligent understanding of material matters, he found himself in bed, with a humplike excrescence in front of him keeping the weight of the bedclothes from the injured limb. "did i faint?" he asked morosely. "yes. lucky you did, too," responded sara cheerfully. "doctor dick rigged your ankle up all nice and comfy without your being any the wiser." "fainted-like a girl-over a broken ankle, my hat!" -with immense scorn. sara was hard put to it not to laugh outright at his face of disgust. "you might remember that you're not strong yet," she suggested soothingly. they talked for a little, and presently tim, whose eyelids had been blinking somnolently for some time, gave vent to an unmistakable yawn. "i'm-i'm confoundedly sleepy," he murmured apologetically. "then go to sleep," came promptly from sara. "it's quite the best thing you can do. i'll run off and write a judicious letter to elisabeth-about your sprain "-smiling with a glance round to see that he had candle, matches, out of the night 321 and a hand-bell within reach, she turned out the lamp and slipped quietly away. tim was asleep almost before she had quitted the room. it was several hours later when sara sat up in bed, broad awake, in response to the vigorous shaking that some one was administering to her. she opened her eyes to the yellow glare of a candle. behind the glare materialised a vision of jane crab, attired in a red flannel dressing-gown, and with her hair tightly strained into four skimpy plaits which stuck out horizontally from her head like the surviving rays of a badly damaged halo. 66 miss sara! miss sara!" she apostrophised the rudely awakened sleeper in a sibilant whisper, as though afraid of being overheard. "get up, quick! they 'uns is 'ere!" "who is here?" exclaimed sara, somewhat startled. 66 the zepps, miss the zepps! the guns are firing off every minute or two. there!"-as the blurred thunder of anti-aircraft guns boomed in the distance. "there they go again!" sara leaped out of bed in an instant, hastily pulling on a fascinating silk kimono and thrusting her bare feet into a pair of scarlet turkish slippers. "one may as well die tidy," she reflected philosophically. then, turning to jane"where's the doctor?" she demanded, trying to get the mistress downstairs. she's that scared she won't budge from her bed." sara giggled jane's face was very expressive. "well, i'm going into mr. durward's room," she announced. "we shall see better there." jane's little beady eyes glittered. × aye, i'd like to see them at their devil's work," she allowed fondly, with a threatening "just-let-me-catch-themat-it!" intonation in her voice. sara laughed, and they both repaired to tim's room, en322 the hermit of far end countering molly on the way and sweeping her along in their train. they found tim volubly cursing his inability to get up and "watch the fun." "look out and tell me if you can see the blighters," he commanded. as sara threw open the window, a dull, thudding sound came up to them from the direction of oldhampton. there was a sullen menace in the distance-dulled reverberation. molly gurgled with the nervous excitement of a first experience under fire. "that's a bomb!" she whispered breathlessly. she, and sara, and jane crab wedged themselves together in the open window and leaned far out, peering into the moonless dark. as they watched, a search-light leapt into being, and a pencil of light moved flickeringly across the sky. then another and another-sweeping hither and thither like the blind feelers of some hidden octopus seeking its prey. there was something horribly uncanny in those long, straight shafts of light wavering uncertainly across the dense darkness of the night sky. "can you see the zepp?" demanded tim, with lively interest, from his bed. "no, it's pitch black-too dark to see a thing," replied sara. exactly as she spoke, a brilliant light hung for a moment suspended in the dark arch of the sky, then shivered into a blaze of garish effulgence, girdling the countryside and illuminating every road and building, every field, and tree, and ditch, as brightly as though it were broad daylight. "a star-shell!" gasped molly. "what a beastly thing! positively "-giggling nervously-"i believe they can see right inside this room!" ""tisn't decent!" fulminated jane indignantly, clutching with modest fingers at her scanty dressing-gown and straining it tightly across her chest whilst she backed hastily from the vicinity of the window. "lightin' up sudden like out of the night 323 that in the middle of the night! i feel for all the world as though i hadn't got a stitch on me! come away from the window, do, miss99 the light failed as suddenly as it had flared, and a warning crash, throbbing up against their ears, startled her into silence. "that's a trifle too near to be pleasant," exclaimed tim sharply. "go downstairs, you three! do you hear?" simultaneously, selwyn shouted from below"come downstairs! come down at once! quick, sara! i'm coming up to carry tim down-and minnie won't stay alone. come on!" obedient to something urgent and imperative in the voices of both men—something that breathed of danger—the three women hastened from the room. jane's candle flared and went out in the draught from the suddenly opened door, and in the smothering darkness they stumbled pell-mell down the stairs. a dim light burning in the hall showed them mrs. selwyn cowering against her husband, her face hidden, sobbing hysterically, and in a moment sara had taken dick's place, wrapping her strong arms about the shuddering woman. "go on!" she whispered to him. "go and get tim down!" he nodded, releasing himself with gentle force from his wife's clinging fingers, which had closed upon his arm like a vice. immediately she lifted up her voice in a thin, querulous shriek― "no! dick, dick-don't leave me! dick"and then it came-sped from that hovering hate which hung above-dropping soundlessly, implacable through the utter darkness of the night and crashing into devilish life against a corner of the house. followed a terrific flash and roar-a chaos of unimagi324 the hermit of far end nable sound. it seemed as though the whole world had split into fragments and were rocketing off into space; and, in quick succession, came the rumble of falling beams and masonry, and the dense dust of disintegrated plaster mingling with the fumes of high explosive. sara was conscious of being shot violently across the hall, and then everything went out in illimitable black darkness. 66 chapter xxxvi from sudden deathara! sara! for god's sake, open your eyes!" "s the anguished tones pierced through the black curtain which had suddenly cut away the outer world from sara's consciousness, and she opened her eyes obediently, to find herself looking straight into garth's face bent above her a sickly white in the yellow glare of the hurricane lamp he was holding. "are you hurt?" his voice came again insistently, sharp with hideous fear. 99 she sat up, breathing rather fast. "no," she said, as though surprised. "i'm not hurt-not the least bit." with garth's help she struggled to her feet and stood upright—rather shakily, it is true, but still able to accomplish the feat without much difficulty. she began to laugh weakly a little helplessly. "i think-i think i've only had my wind knocked out," she said. then, as gradually the comprehension of events returned to her: "the others? who's hurt? oh, garth! is any one-killed?" "no, no one, thank god!" he reassured her hastily. his arm went round her, and for a moment their lips met in a silent passion of thanksgiving. 66 · "but you-how did you come here?" she asked, as they drew apart once more. you weren't . here?" -her brows contracting in a puzzled frown as she endeavoured to recall the incidents immediately preceding the bombing of the house. "we'd-we'd just gone to bed." "i was dining with the herricks. the raid began just · · · • 325 326 the hermit of far end as i was leaving them, so judson and i drove straight on here instead of going home." sara pressed his hand. "bless you, dear!" she whispered quickly. then, recollection returning more completely: "tim? is tim safe?" "tim?"-sharply. "he was upstairs. where is doctor dick? did he " "i'm not far off," came selwyn's voice, from the mouth of a dark cavity that had once been the study doorway. come over here but step carefully. the floor's strewn with stuff." 66 garth piloted sara skilfully across the débris that littered the floor, and they joined the group of shadowy figures huddled together in the doorless study. "ware my arm!" warned selwyn, as they approached. "it's broken, confound it!" he seemed, for the moment, oblivious of the pain. meanwhile, mrs. selwyn, finding herself physically intact, was keeping up an irritating moaning, interspersed with pettish diatribes against a government that could be so culpably careless as to permit her to be bombed out of house and home; whilst jane crab, who had found and lit a candle, and recklessly stuck it to the table in its own grease, was bluffly endeavouring to console her. for once selwyn's saint-like patience failed him. (6 oh, shut up whining, minnie!" he exclaimed forcefully. "it would be more to the point if you got down on your knees and said thank you to some one or something instead of grousing like that!" he turned hurriedly to garth, who was flashing his lantern hither and thither, locating the damage done. "look here," he said. "young durward's upstairs. we must get him down." "where does he sleep? one side of the house "—grimly "" 'is staved in." "he's not that side, thank heaven! but the odds are "from sudden death99 327 he's badly hurt. and, anyway, he's helpless. i was just going up to carry him down when that damned bomb got us." garth swung out into the hall and sent a ringing shout up through the house. an instant later tim's answer floated down to them. "all serene! can't move!" again garth sent his voice pealing upwards"hold on! we'll be with you in a minute." he turned to selwyn. "i'll go up," he said. "you can't do anything with that arm of yours." "i can help," maintained dick stoutly. garth shook his head. "no. if you slipped amongst the mess there'll be up there, i'd have two cripples on my hands instead of one. you stay here and look after the women-and get one of them to fix you up a temporary splint." the two men moved forward, the women pressing eagerly behind them; then, as the light from garth's lantern streamed ahead, there came an instantaneous outcry of dismay. the whole stairway was twisted and askew. it had a ludicrously drunken look, as though it were lolling up against the wall-like a staircase in a picture of which the perspective is all wrong. "it isn't safe!" exclaimed selwyn quickly. "you can't go up. we shall have to wait till help comes." "i'm going up-now," said garth quietly. 66 but it isn't safe, man! those stairs won't bear you!" 66 they'll have to "-laconically. "that top story may go at any minute. it would collapse like a pack of cards if another bomb fell near enough for us to feel the concussion. and young durward would have about as much chance as a rat in a trap." a silence descended on the little group of anxious people 328 the hermit of far end as he finished speaking. the gravity of tim's position suddenly revealed itself—and the danger involved by an attempt at rescue. sara drew close to garth's side. 66 must you go, garth?" she asked. "wouldn't it be safe to wait till help comes?" "tim isn't safe there, actually, five minutes. the floors may hold or they mayn't! i must go, sweet." she caught his hand and held it an instant against her cheek. then"go, dear," she whispered. "go quickly. and oh!— god keep you!" he was gone, picking his way gingerly, treading as lightly as a cat, so that the wrenched stairway hardly creaked beneath his swift, lithe steps. once there came the sudden rattle of some falling scrap of broken plaster, and sara, leaning with closed eyes and white, set face, against the framework of a doorway, shivered soundlessly. soon he had disappeared round the distorted bend of the staircase, and those who were watching could only discern the bobbing glimmer of the light he carried mounting higher and higher. then-after an interminable time, it seemed-there came the sound of voices he had found tim • • a pause then again a short, quick speech and the word right?" drifted faintly down to the strained ears below. unconsciously sara's hands had clenched themselves, and the nails were biting into the flesh of her palms. but she felt no pain. her whole being seemed concentrated into the single sense of hearing as she waited there in the candle-lit gloom, listening for every tiny sound, each creak of a board, each scattering of loosened plaster, which might herald danger. another eternity crawled by before, at length, garth reappeared once more round the last bend of the staircase. tim was lying across his shoulder, his injured leg hanging stiffly · . · · "from sudden death" 329 down, and in his hand he grasped the lantern, while both garth's arms supported him. sara's eyes had opened now and fixed themselves intently on the burdened figure of the man she loved, as, with infinite caution, he began the descent of the last flight of stairs. there was a double strain now upon the dislocated boards and joists—the weight of two men where one had climbed before with lithe, light, unimpeded limbs-and it seemed to sara's tense, set vision as if a slight tremor ran throughout the whole stairway. in an agony of terror she watched garth's steady, downward progress. she felt as though she must scream out to him to hurry-hurry! yet she bit back the scream lest it should startle him, every muscle of her body rigid with the effort that her silence cost her. seven stairs more! six! sara's lips were moving voicelessly. she was whispering rapidly over and over again— "god! god! god! keep him safe! . . you can do "2 don't let him fall. . it. • five! only five steps more! "hold up the stairs! way! . . . don't—” • god! don't let them give again there came the familiar thudding sound of an explosion. somewhere another bomb, hurled from the cavernous dark that hid the enemy, had fallen, and almost simultaneously, it seemed, a warning thunder rumbled overhead like the menacing growl of a wild beast suddenly let loose. at the first low mutter of that threat of imminent disaster, garth sprang. · • • gripping tim firmly in his arms, he leaped from the quaking staircase, falling awkwardly, prone beneath the burden of the other's helpless body, as he landed. and even as he reached the ground, the upper story of the house, with a roar that shook the whole remaining fabric of the building, crashed to earth in an avalanche of stone 330 the hermit of far end and brick and flying slates, whilst the stairway upon which he had been standing gave a sickening lurch, rocked, and fell out sideways into the hall in a smother of dust and plaster. stumblingly, those who had been watching groped their way through the powdery cloud, as it swirled and eddied, towards the dark blotch at the foot of the stairs which was all that could be distinguished of trent and his burden. to sara, the momentary silence that ensued was an infinity of nameless dread. then"we're all right," gasped trent reassuringly, and choked violently as he inhaled a mouthful of grit-laden air. in the same instant, across the murk shot a broad beam of light from the open doorway. behind it sara could discern white faces peering anxiously-audrey's and miles's, and, behind them again, loomed the heads and shoulders of others who had hurried to the scene of the catastrophe. then herrick's voice rang out, high-pitched with gathering apprehension. "are you all safe?" and when the reassuring answer reached the little throng upon the threshold, a murmur of relief went up, culminating in a ringing cheer as the news percolated through to the crowd which had collected in the roadway. in an amazingly short time, so it seemed to sara, she found herself comfortably tucked into the back seat of garth's car, between him and molly. judson, with jane beside him, took the wheel, and they were soon speeding swiftly away towards greenacres, where audrey had insisted that the homeless household must take refuge-the remainder of the party following in the herricks' limousine. it had been a night of adventure, but it was over at last, and, as jane crab remarked with stolid conviction— "the doctor-blessed saint!-was never intended to be killed by one of they 'uns, so they might as well have saved theirselves the trouble of trying it—and we'd all have slept the easier in our beds!" chapter xxxvii the reckoning e lisabeth came slowly out of the room where her son was lying. she had reached greenacres-in response to sara's letter, posted on the eve of the raid-late in the afternoon of the following day, and audrey had at once taken her upstairs to see tim and left them together. and now, as she closed the door of his room behind her, she leaned helplessly against the wall and her lips moved in a whispered cry of poignant misery. "maurice! . . . maurice saved him!... oh, my god!" her eyes the beautiful, hyacinth eyes—stared strickenly in front of her, wide and horrified like the eyes of a hunted thing, and her hands were twisted and wrung beneath the stress of the overwhelming knowledge which tim had so joyously prattled out to her. she could hear him now, boyishly enthusiastic, extolling garth with the eager, unstinted heroworship of youth, and every word he said had pierced her like the stab of a knife. “if ever a chap deserved the v.c., trent does, by jove! it was the bravest thing i've ever known, mother mine, for he told me, afterwards, he never expected that the top story would hold out till he got me away. he'd seen it from the outside first, you know! and there was i, held up with this confounded ankle, and with a whole heap of plaster and a a brick or two sitting on my chest. i thought i'd gone west that time, for a certainty! "" and tim chuckled delightedly, blissfully unconscious that with each word he spoke he was binding upon his mother's shoulders an insuperable burden of remorse. 331 332 the hermit of far end it was garth trent who had saved her son-garth trent, to whom she owed all the garnered happiness of her married life, yet whose own life's fabric she had pulled down about his ears! and now, to the already overwhelming magnitude of her debt to him, he had added this-this final act of sacrifice. with an almost superhuman effort, elisabeth had forced herself to listen quietly to tim's account of his rescue from the shattered upper story of the selwyns' house-to listen precisely as though garth's share in the matter held no particular significance for her beyond the splendid one it must inevitably hold for any mother. but now, safe from the clear-sighted glance of tim's blue eyes, she let the mask slip from her and crouched against his door in uncontrollable agony of spirit. the sin which she had sinned in secret—which, sometimes, she had almost come to believe was not a sin, so beautiful had been its fruit-revealed itself to her now in all its naked ugliness. looking backward, down the vista of years, the whole structure of her happiness appeared in its true perspective, reared upon a lie upon that same lie which had blasted garth trent's career and sent him out, dishonoured, from the company of his fellows. and this man from whom she had taken faith, and hope, and good repute everything, in fact, that makes a man's life worth having had given her the life of her son! she dropped her face between her hands with a low moan. it was horrible-horrible. then, afraid that tim might hear her, she passed stumblingly into her own room at the end of the corridor, and there, in solitude. and darkness, she fought out the battle between her desire still to preserve the secret she had guarded three-and-twenty years, and the impulse toward atonement which was struggling into life within her. like a scourge the knowledge of her debt to garth drove the reckoning 333 her before it, beating her into the very depths of self-abasement, but, even so, her pride of name, and the mother-love which yearned to shield her son from all that it must involve if she should now confess the sin of her youth, urged her to let the present still keep the secrets of the past. the habit of years, the very purpose for which she had worked, and lied, and fought, must be renounced if she were to make atonement. a tale that was unbelievably shameful must be revealed-and tim would have to know all that there was to be known. to elisabeth, this was the most bitter thing she had to face the fact that tim, for whose sake she had so strenuously guarded her secret, must learn, not only what was written on that turned-down page of life, but also what kind of woman his mother had proved herself-how totally unlike the beautiful conception which his ardent boyish faith in her had formed. would he understand? would he ever understand-and forgive? chapter xxxviii vindication eanwhile, the herricks and their me.4 audrey's refugees," as molly elected to describe the latter, herself included-had gathered round the fire in the library, and were chatting desultorily while they awaited elisabeth's return from her visit to tim's sick-room. the casualties of the previous evening had been found to be augmented by two, since mrs. selwyn had remained in bed throughout the day, under the impression that she was suffering from shock, whilst garth trent was discovered to have dislocated his shoulder, and had been compelled to keep his room by medical orders. in endeavouring to shield tim, as they crashed to the ground together from the tottering staircase, trent had fallen undermost, receiving the full brunt of the fall; and a dislocated shoulder and a severe shaking, which had left him bruised and sore from head foot, were the consequences. characteristically, he had maintained complete silence about his injury, composedly accompanying sara back to greenacres in his car, and he had just been making his way out of the house when he had quietly fainted away on to the floor. after which, the herricks had taken over command. "i think," remarked molly pertinently, "you might as well turn greenacres into an annexe to the convalescent,' audrey. you've got four cases already." 6 the lavender lady glanced up smilingly from one of the khaki socks which, in these days, dangled perpetually from her shining needles, and into which she knitted all the love, and pity, and tender prayers of her simple old heart. 334 vindication 335 "mr. trent is better," she announced with satisfaction. "i had tea upstairs with him this afternoon." "yes," supplemented selwyn, "i fancy one of your patients has struck, audrey. trent intends coming down this evening. judson has just come back from far end with some fresh clothes for him." audrey turned hastily to her husband. "good heavens, miles! we can't let him come down! mrs. durward will be here with us." “well? "—placidly from herrick. "well! it will be anything but well!" retorted audrey significantly. "have you forgotten what happened that day in haven woods? i'm not going to have garth hurt like that again! he may have been cashiered a hundred times-i don't care whether he has or not!-he's a man!" a very charming smile broke over miles's face. "i've always known it," he said quietly. "and—i should think mrs. durward knows it now." "yes. i know it now." the low, contralto tones that answered were elisabeth's. unnoticed, she had entered the room and was standing just outside the little group of people clustered round the hearthher slim, black-robed figure, with its characteristic little air of stateliness, sharply defined in the ruddy glow of the firelight. room. a sudden tremor of emotion seemed to ripple through the the atmosphere grew tense, electric-alert as with some premonition of coming storm. the two men had risen to their feet, but no one spoke, and the brief rustle of movement, as every one turned instinctively towards that slender, sable figure, whispered into blank silence. to miles, infinitely compassionate, there seemed something symbolical in the figure of the woman standing there-isolated, outside the friendly circle of the fireside group, stand336 the hermit of far end ing solitary at the table as a prisoner stands at the bar of judgment. the firelight, flickering across her face, revealed its pallor and the burning fever of her eyes, and drew strange lights from the heavy chestnut hair that swathed her head like a folded banner of flame. for a long moment she stood silently regarding the ring of startled faces turned towards her. then at last she spoke. "i have something to tell you," she said, addressing herself primarily, it seemed, to miles. perhaps she recognised the compassionate spirit of understanding which was his in so great a measure and appealed to it unconsciously. selwyn, with sensitive perception turned as though to leave the room, but she stopped him. "no, don't go," she said quickly. "please stay-all of you. i-i wish you all to hear what i have to say." she spoke very composedly, with a curious submissive dignity, as though she had schooled herself to meet this moment. "it concerns garth trent-at least, that is the name by which you know him. his real name is maurice-maurice kennedy, and he is my cousin, lord grisdale's younger son. he has lived here under an assumed name because-because "her voice trembled a little, then steadied again to its accustomed even quality-" because i ruined his life. . . . the only way in which i can make amends is by telling you the true facts of the indian frontier episode which led to maurice's dismissal from the army. he ought never to have been-cashiered for cowardice.' she paused, and with a sudden instinctive movement sara grasped selwyn's arm, while the sharp sibilance of her quickdrawn breath cut across the momentary silence. "no," elisabeth repeated. "maurice ought never to have been cashiered. he was absolutely innocent of the charge against him. the real offender was geoffrey my husband. it was he-geoffrey, not maurice-who was sent out · vindication 337 in charge of the reconnaissance party from the fort—and it was he whose nerve gave way when surprised by the enemy. maurice kept his head and tried to steady him, but, at the time, geoffrey must have been mad-caught by sudden panic, together with his men. don't judge him too hardly "-her voice took on a note of pleading" you must remember that he had been enduring days and nights of frightful strain, and that the attack came without any warning . . in the darkness. he had no time to think-to pull himself together. and he lost his head. . . maurice did his best to save the situation. realising that for the moment geoffrey was hardly accountable, he deliberately shot him in the leg, to incapacitate him, and took command himself, trying to rally the men. but they stampeded past him, panic-stricken, and it was while he was storming at them to turn round and put up a fight that-that he was shot in the back." she faltered, meeting the measureless reproach in sara's eyes, and strickenly aware of the hateful interpretation she had put upon that same incident when describing it to her on a former occasion. • for the first time, she seemed to lose her composure, rockng a little where she stood and supporting herself by gripping the edge of the table with straining fingers. but no one stirred. in poignant silence they awaited the continuance of the tale which each one sensed to be developing towards a climax of inevitable calamity. "afterwards," pursued elisabeth at last, "at the courtnartial, two of the men gave evidence that they had seen geoffrey fall wounded at the beginning of the skirmishthey did not know that it was maurice who had disabled him intentionally-so that he was completely exonerated from all lame, and the court came to the conclusion that, the comaand having thus fallen to maurice, he had lost his nerve nd been guilty of cowardice in face of the enemy. geofrey himself knew nothing of the actual facts-either then or later. he had gone down like a log when maurice shot him, 338 the hermit of far end striking his head as he fell, and concussion of the brain wiped out of his mind all recollection of what had occurred in the fight prior to his fall. the last thing he remembered was mustering his men together in readiness to leave the fort. everything else was a blank." out of the shadows of the fire-lit room came a muttered question. "there was "yes." elisabeth bent her head in answer. -other evidence forthcoming. but not then, not at the time of the trial. then maurice was dismissed from the army." she seemed to speak with ever-increasing difficulty, and her hand went up suddenly to her throat. it was obvious that this self-imposed disclosure of the truth was tasking her strength to its uttermost limit. "i had better tell you the whole story-from the beginning," she said, at last, haltingly, and, after a moment's hesitation, she resumed in the hard, expressionless voice of intense effort. "before maurice went out to india, he and i were engaged to be married. on my part, it would have been only a marriage of convenience, for i was not in love with him, although i had always been fond of him in a cousinly way. there was another man whom i loved-the man i afterwards married, geoffrey lövell-" for an instant her eyes glowed with a sudden radiance of remembrance" and he and i became secretly engaged, in spite of the fact that i had already promised to marry maurice. i expect you think that was unforgivable of me," she seemed to search the intent faces of her little audience as though challenging the verdict she might read therein; "but there was some excuse. i was very young, and at the time i promised myself to maurice i did not know that geoffrey cared for me. and then-when i knew i hadn't the courage to break with maurice. he and geoffrey were both going out to india-they were in the same regiment-and i kept hoping that something might happen which would make it easier for me. maurice might vindication 339. meet and be attracted by some other woman. he would." · i hoped (6 she fell silent for a moment, then, gathering her remaining strength together, as it seemed, she went on relentlessly— something did happen. maurice was cashiered from the army, and i had a legitimate reason for terminating the engagement between us. . . . then, just as i thought i was free, he came to tell me his case could be reopened; there was an eye-witness who could prove his innocence, a private in his own regiment. i never knew who the man was "—she turned slightly at the sound of a sudden brusque movement from miles herrick, then, as he volunteered no remark, continued—" but it appeared he had been badly wounded and had only learned the verdict of the court-martial after his recovery. he had then written to maurice, telling him that he was in a position to prove that it was not he, but geoffrey lovell who had been guilty of cowardice. when i understood this, and realised what it must mean, i confessed to maurice that geoffrey was the man i loved, and i begged and implored him to take the blame to let the verdict of the court-martial stand. it was a horrible thing to do-i know that. . . . but think what it meant to me! it meant the honour and welfare of the man i loved, as opposed to the honour and welfare of a man for whom i cared comparatively little. maurice was not easy to move, but i made him understand that,, whatever happened now, i should never marry him that i should sink or swim with geoffrey, and at last he consented to do the thing i asked. he accepted the blame and went away-to the colonies, i believe. afterwards, as you all know, he returned to england and lived at far end under the name of garth trent." such was the tale elisabeth unfolded, and the hushed listeners, keyed up by its tragic drama, could visualise for themselves the scene of that last piteous interview between elisabeth and the man who had loved her to his own utter undoing. 840 the hermit of far end she was still a very lovely woman, and it was easy to realise how well-nigh bewilderingly beautiful she must have been in her youth, easy to imagine how garth-or maurice kennedy, as he must henceforth be recognised-worshipping her with a boy's headlong passion, had agreed to let the judg ment of the court remain unchallenged and to shoulder the burden of another man's sin. probably he felt that, since he had lost her, nothing else mattered, and, with the reckless chivalry of youth, he never stopped to count the cost. he only knew that the woman he loved, whose beauty pierced him to the very soul, so that his vision was blurred by the sheer loveliness of her, demanded her happiness at his hands and that he must give it to her. · "i suppose you think there was no excuse for what i did," elisabeth concluded, with something of appeal in her voice. "but i did not realise, then, quite all that i was taking from maurice. i think that much must be granted me. but i make no excuse for what i did afterwards. there is none. i did it deliberately. maurice had won the woman tim wanted, and i hoped that if he were utterly discredited, sara would refuse to marry him, and thus the way would be open to tim. so i made public the story of the court-martial which had sentenced maurice. had it not been for that, i should have held my peace for ever about his having been cashiered. i-i owed him that much." she was silent a moment. presently she raised her head and spoke in harsh, wrung accents. "but i've been punished! god saw to that. what do you think it has meant to me to know that my husband-the man i worshipped-had been once a coward? it's true the world never knew it but i knew it.” the agony of pride wounded in its most sacred place, the suffering of love that despises what it loves, yet cannot cease from loving, rang in her voice, and her haunted eyes-the eyes which had guarded their secret so invincibly-seemed to plead for comfort, for understanding. it was miles who answered that unspoken supplication. · · · · vindication 341 "i think you need never feel shame again," he said very gently. "major durward's splendid death has more than wiped out that one mistake of his youth. thank god he never knew it needed wiping out." a momentary tranquillity came into elisabeth's face. "no," she answered simply. "no, he never knew." then the tide of bitter recollection surged over her once more, and she continued passionately: "oh yes, i've been punished! day and night, day and night since the war began, i've lived in terror that the fear-his father's fear-might suddenly grip tim out there in flanders. i kept him out of the army-because i was afraid. and then the war came, and he had to go. thank god-oh, thank god!—he never failed!... . i suppose i am a bad woman-i don't know i fought for my own love and happiness first, and, afterwards for my son's. but, at least, i'm not bad enough to let maurice go on bearing what he has borne. now that he has saved tim's life. left to me thing in return, i can give him the one thing that matters to him -his good name. henceforth maurice is a free man.” "what are you saying?" • • • • • . • he has given me the only of value in the whole world. the sharp, staccato question cut across elisabeth's quiet, concentrated speech like a rapier thrust, snapping the strained attention of her listeners, who turned, with one accord, to see kennedy himself standing at the threshold of the room, his eyes fastened on elisabeth's face. she met his glance composedly; on her lips a queer little smile which held an indefinable pathos and appeal. "i am telling them the truth-at last, maurice,” she said calmly. "i have told them the true story of the courtmartial." he "you-you have told them that?" he stammered. was very pale. the sudden realisation of all that her words implied seemed to overwhelm him. "yes." she rose and moved quietly to the door, then, face 342 the hermit of far end to face with kennedy, she halted. her eyes rested level on his; in her bearing there was something aloofly proudan undiminished stateliness, almost regal in its calm in violability. "they know-now-all that i took from you i shall not ask your forgiveness, maurice . . i don't e pect it. i sinned for my husband and my son-that is my only justification. i would do the same again." • instinctively maurice stood aside as she swept past hir her head unbowed, splendid even in her moment of surrender —almost, it seemed, unbeaten to the last. for a moment there was a silence-palpitant, packed with conflicting emotion. then, with a little choking sob, sara ran across the room to maurice and caught his hands in hers, smiling whilst the tears streamed down her cheeks. "oh, my dear!" she cried brokenly. "oh, my dear!" الا úd j5 chapter xxxix harvest "there shall never be one lost good! what was, shall live as before; the evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound; what was good, shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more . . ." browning. 66 "h ow can you prove it, garth-maurice, i mean?”— selwyn corrected himself with a smile. "you'll need more than mrs. durward's confession to secure official reinstatement by the powers that be." the clamour of joyful excitement and wonder and congratulation had spent itself at last, the lavender lady had shed a few legitimate tears, and now selwyn voiced the more serious aspect of the matter. it was herrick who made answer. "i have the necessary proofs," he said quietly. he had crossed to a bureau in the corner of the room, and now returned with a packet of papers in his hand. "these," he pursued, "are from my brother colin, who is farming in australia. he was a good many years my senior-and i've always understood that he was a bit of a ne'er-do-well in his younger days. ultimately, he enlisted in the army as a tommy, and in that scrap on the indian frontier he was close behind maurice and saw the whole thing. he got badly wounded then, and was dangerously ill for some time afterwards, so it happened that he knew nothing about the court-martial till it was all over. when he recovered, he wrote to maurice, offering his evidence, and "-smiling whimsically across at kennedy-" received a haughty letter in reply, assuring him that he was mistaken 343 344 the hermit of far end in the facts and that the writer did not dispute the verdict of the court. my brother rather suspected some wild-cat business, so before he went to australia, some years later, he placed in my hands properly witnessed documents containing the true facts of the matter, and it was only when, through mrs. durward, we learned that maurice had been cashiered from the army, that the connection between that and the frontier incident flashed into my mind as a possibility. i had heard that the durwards' name had been originally lovell—and i began to wonder if garth trent's name had not been originally "—with a glint of humour in his eyes" maurice kennedy! here's my brother's letter" -passing it to sara, who was standing next him-" and here's the document which he left in my care. i've had 'em both locked away since i was seventeen.' 99 sara's eyes flew down the few brief lines of the letter. 66 evidently the young fool wishes to be thought guilty," colin herrick had written. "shielding his pal lovell, i suppose. well, it's his funeral, not mine! but one never knows how things may pan out, and some day it might mean all the difference between heaven and hell to kennedy to be able to prove his innocence-so i am enclosing herewith a properly attested record of the facts, miles, in case i should send in my checks while i'm at the other side of the world." as a matter of fact, however, colin still lived and prospered in australia, so that there would be no difficulty in proving maurice's innocence down to the last detail. "do you mean," sara appealed to miles incredulously, "do you mean-that there were these proofs-all the time? and you you knew?" "herrick wasn't to blame," interposed maurice hastily, sensing the horrified accusation in her tones. "i forbade him to use those papers.' "but why-why"" 99 miles looked at her and a light kindled in his eyes. 66 'my dear, you're marrying a chivalrous, quixotic fool. harvest 345 maurice refused to let me show these proofs because, on the strength of his promise to shield geoffrey lovell, elisabeth 1 married and borne a son. not even though it meant ashing up his whole life would he go back on his y rd." "garth! garth!" the name by which she had always k own him sprang spontaneously from sara's lips. her voice was shaking, but her eyes, like herrick's, held a glory of quiet shining. "how could you, dear? what madness! what idiotic, glorious madness!" "i don't see how i could have done anything else," said maurice simply. "elisabeth's whole scheme of existence was f shioned on her trust in my promise. i couldn't-afterards, after her marriage and tim's birth-suddenly pull ay the very foundations on which she had built up her 1. e." & 3 impulsively sara slipped her hand into his. "i'm glad―glad that you couldn't, dear," she whispered. it would not have been my garth if you could have (ae." he pressed her hand in silence. a curious lassitude was stealing over him. he had borne the heat and burden of the day, and now that the work was done and there was nothing further to fight for, nothing left to struggle and contend against, he was conscious of a strange feeling of frustration. it seemed almost as though the long agony of those years of self-immolation had been in vain—a useless sacrifice, made meaningless and of no account by the destined march of events. he felt vaguely baulked and disillusioned-bewildered that a man's aim and purpose, which in its accomplishing had cost so immeasurable a price-crushing the whole beauty and savour out of life-should suddenly be destroyed and nullified. in the light of the present, the past seemed futile years that the locust had eaten. it was a relief when presently some one broke in upon the 346 the hermit of far end confused turmoil of his thoughts with a message from tim. he was asking to see both sara and maurice-would they go to him? together they went up to his room-maurice still with that look of grave perplexity upon his face which his somewhat bitter reflections had engendered. the eager, boyish face on the pillow flushed a little as they entered. "mother has told me everything," he said simply, going straight to the point. "it's-it's been rather a facer." maurice pointed to the narrow ribbon-the white, purple, white of the military cross-upon the breast of the khaki tunic flung across a chair-back-a rather dishevelled tunic, rescued with other odds and ends from the wreckage of tim's room at sunnyside. "it needn't be, tim," he said, "with that to your credit." tim's eyes glowed. "that's just it-that's what i wanted to see you for," he said. "i hope you won't think it cheek," he went on rather shyly, "but i wanted you to know that—that what you did for my mother-assuming the disgrace, i mean, that wasn't yours-hasn't been all wasted. what little i've done—well, it would never have been done had i known what i know now." "i think it would," maurice dissented quietly. tim shook his head. "no. had my father been cashiered-for cowardice "— he stumbled a little over the words-" the knowledge of it would have knocked all the initiative out of me. i should have been afraid of showing the white feather. . the fear of being afraid would have been always at the back of me." he paused, then went on quickly: "and i think it would have been the same with the dad. it-it would have broken him. he could never have fought as he did with that you've behind him. country... you've given two men to the 99 • • · • • harvest 347 he broke off, boyishly embarrassed, a little overwhelmed by his own big thoughts. and suddenly to maurice, all that had been dark and ob scure grew clear in the white shining of the light that gleamed down the track of those lost years. a beautiful and ordered issue was revealed. out of the ruin and bleak suffering of the past had sprung the flaming splendour of heroic life and death-a glory of achievement that, but for those arid years of silence, had been thwarted and frustrated by the deadening knowledge of the truth. kindling to the recognition of new and wonderful significances, his eyes sought those of the woman who loved him, and in their quiet radiance he read that she, too, had understood. for her, as for him, the dark places had been made light, and with quickened vision she perceived, in all that had befallen, the fulfilling of the divine law. "" "saraher hands went out to him, and the grave happiness deepened in her eyes. "oh, my dear, no love-no sacrifice is ever wasted!" she spoke very simply, very confidently. the end 12. f f 1 the borrower must return this item on or before the last date stamped below. if another user places a recall for this item, the borrower will be notified of the need for an earlier return. non-receipt of overdue notices does not exempt the borrower from overdue fines. harvard college widener library cambridge, ma 02138 617-495-2413 widener w jan 05.2000 book due please handle with care. thank you for helping to preserve library collections at harvard. 365 heroic lives harvard college library (84) the mdccclviiiymcmxix theodore roosevelt collection presented by the roosevelt memorial association 1943 +40 1.00 pp. 69-76. maxwell. anecdotal portrait et col. roosevelt 130 t76 copyright, 1899, by frances benjamin johnston. admiral george dewey [see page 9.] ------i true stories of heroic lives sti-ho an w alatam lin, oln max zo gomez geor dewfy vyje zola leodore roc ifo to oy slliam od garri-! n an, old for the m bak and potom of yen **l f ts cls and antonio machò bookek t. washington joseph damien elt carl schurz any others 7 florence nightinggale garnet j. wolseley joseph e wheeler personal acquain1 nespes enka wacnales company" new york and london 1890 *5* ** * * ય true stories of heroic lives stirring tales of courage and devotion of men and women of the nineteenth century abraham lincoln maximo gomez george dewey leo tolstoy william lloyd garrison emile zola theodore roosevelt antonio maceo booker t. washington joseph damien florence nightinggale garnet j. wolseley joseph e. wheeler carl schurz and many others told for the most part by personal acquaintances and eye witnesses funk & wagnalls company new york and london 1899 copyright, 1899, by funk & wagnalls company registered at stationers' hall london [printed in the united states] harvard college libhany (1811) 10/9/22 langue state ri chop $100 c table of contents. 1. the genesis of admiral dewey, by william e. johnson, 2. a double rescue, by julian hawthorne. 3. "the bravest man in the english army," by edward page gaston. 5. aunt judie, by l. p. bowen. 4. an intimate view of william lloyd garrison, . 51 by william lloyd garrison, jr. 6. "big james," by david k. miller. page . 9 7. an anecdotal portrait of colonel roosevelt, by perriton maxwell. • 8. a woman of wonderful nerve, by rev. h. d. fisher. • 9. prospecting for daylight on the yukon, by joaquin miller. 30 47 63 66 69 77 81 3 table of contents page 10. did he save the american republic? 88 by richard j. hinton. 11. the brave children of cuba libre, 91 by mary c. francis. 12. aground on the great rip, by rev. w. c. martin. 13. the story of a heroic family (gen. joseph e. wheeler and his children), · by mary c. francis. hood, 14. a hero of the plague, by edward page gaston. 15. leo tolstoy, the apostle of brotherby ernest h. crosby. • · 17. how he won the miners' votes, by richard j. hinton. 16. tolstoy as seen by a russian peasant, . by j. montgomery m'govern. · 97 . 117 19. general porter's recollections of grant and lincoln, by edward page gaston. 20. a character sketch of gen. maximo gomez, by george reno. 99 114 127 18. how a great artist found himself, 141 by julian hawthorne. 137 156 165 4 table of contents 21. old father walsh, by henry irving dodge. 22. one of cuba's heroic women, by mary c. francis. apostle 23. the hawaii, 26. a • το the lepers of · by dr. g. w. woods, u. s. n. 25. the career of antonio maceo, . by major miguel a. varona. 24. the man who could not be bought, 202 by l. grace ferguson. character sketch of maceo, by george reno. 27. a battle with an eagle, by rev. george t. lemmon. 28. the story of a noble woman, by julian hawthorne. 29. facing death at rorke's drift, by arthur vizetelly. 30. zola and the dreyfus drama, . by ernest alfred vizetelly. 31. "all hands bury the dead!" by rev. george t. lemmon. . 185 33. the man who bore the stigma, by l. grace ferguson. · page 182 • 192 . 215 · 205 220 224 . 238 244 252 32. slave boy and leader of his race, 255 by gilson willets. 263 5 table of contents 34. carl schurz as a revolutionist, by william e. johnson. 35. one of the busiest women of new york, by carrie d. mccomber. 36. winning back the sudan, by edward page gaston. 37. the hermit of mount alto, by j. montgomery m'govern. 38. the lady of the lamp, . by richard j. hinton. 39. jose marti, "the master," by george reno. page 268 · 279 284 . 299 303 . 311 6 list of illustrations. admiral george dewey, frontispiece george dewey-—a group of early portraits, facing page 16 66 66 william lloyd garrison, . 52 roosevelt, the rough rider, 70 100 maj.-gen. joseph e. wheeler, . miss annie early wheeler, 108 count leo tolstoy, 118 president lincoln's visit to general mc· • clernand at antietam, gen. u. s. grant and staff in camp, gen. maximo gomez, father damien-two portraits, saving the patients, . medal in honor of émile zola, booker t. washington and his family, . carl schurz the civilian,. florence nightingale, "( 66 66 19 66 66 66 (( "( 66 66 (6 ،، "6 66 66 19 པ 66 35 35 66 66 པ 66 11 156 160 168 192 238 244 256 268 304 ну true stories of heroic lives: the genesis of admiral dewey. by william e. johnson. but ut three times in the history of this nation has the title "admiral" been conferred by the government. the office is the creation of congress, and expires with the death of the one for whom it has been created. david g. farragut opened mobile bay, and congress made him an admiral. david d. porter reduced fort fisher, and the title was conferred upon him. george dewey destroyed the spanish fleet in manila bay, and congress has elevated him to the head of the naval profession in this country. while the whole nation stands uncovered before the exhibition of mingled daring, skill, and sagacity of this vermonter, in montpelier is found the stormcenter of enthusiasm for the popular hero. it was in montpelier that he first saw the light. it was there he spent the seventeen years of his boyhood. there stands the old schoolhouse, there live 9 true stories of heroic lives his two brothers and his only sister, and there rest the ashes of his father and mother. half a century ago it was "dod" dewey in schoolboy lingo. afterward it became "george," and so it will always be in montpelier. genealogists dispute concerning the origin of the deweys. some trace their pedigree back through two kings of italy to charlemagne, while most of them agree that the family came over to england with william of normandy. the coat of arms now recognized by the family is that given to simeon dewey, baron of stow hill, in 1629. but as thomas dewey, the founder of the american house, came to massachusetts in 1630, they have been here long enough to become acclimated, naturalized, and americanized. from the beginning, the deweys have been a fighting brood. josiah, a son of thomas, was a sergeant of the famous "train bands" of northampton, a sort of king's militia to look after hostile indians. william dewey, the admiral's great-grandfather, was a corporal in the continental army, and fought at the battle of lexington. william was a grandson of capt. george dennison, who fought under oliver cromwell and later came to america to fight indians. rev. jedediah dewey, another of the strain, was the famous fighting parson of bennington, vt., associated with col. ethan allen, and was indicted along with allen during the tem10 the genesis of admiral dewey pestuous times at the outbreak of the revolution. his son, capt. elijah dewey, raised a company of green mountain boys, and fought under general stark at the battle of bennington, while his wife served in the commissary department, she cooked dinner for the soldiers. edward dewey, uncle of the admiral, was a captain in the civil war. edward's son, theodore g. dewey, is now a lieutenant of the navy in service on the battle-ship massachusetts. the admiral's father, dr. julius y. dewey, was a distant relative of admiral david d. porter. the admiral's nephew, william t. dewey, is an officer in the vermont milita. the admiral's sister mary married dr. george p. greeley, who served as surgeon in a new hampshire regiment during the rebellion. the admiral's wife was a daughter of ichabod goodwin, the famous "war governor" of new hampshire. these are samples of the ten thousand deweys recorded in the family genealogy recently published by a. m. dewey in new york, all of whom are descendants of the original thomas who landed in boston in 1630. the rev. jedediah dewey, the "fighting parson" of bennington, and col. ethan allen were the backbone of the rugged green mountain spirit in those wild days. both lived in bennington. their homes were but a stone's throw apart, and between the two buildings was the parson's church. 11 true stories of heroic lives parson dewey was a rugged new england character. when his salary was not forthcoming he resorted to his trade of carpentering to keep the wolf from the door. when aaron l. hubbell had his "raising bee," the parson was present to superintend the job. joe rudd and his betrothed, sarah wichwire, were also present at the function. "joe, if you will lead sarah over here i will marry you for nothing," remarked the parson as the men sat on the timbers at lunch. "it's a bargain," said joe, and forthwith he went after the blushing girl. some planks were arranged for a platform, under the parson's direction, and the ceremony was performed. it was during the famous new hampshire grant troubles that the friendship of dewey and ethan allen first developed, and this friendship is really a part of the history of the dewey family. the bennington district was claimed by both new hampshire and new york; in fact, the place was owned by both, because the royal grants overlapped. in the conflict of authority that followed, the green mountain boys were driven to take care of themselves, and to defy the powers of both new york and new hampshire, being squatters by right of conquest and possession. the interest in those stormy times was divided between the old catamount tavern near by, kept by dave fay, and dewey's church. the committees of safety would 12 the genesis of admiral dewey meet at the tavern, headed by allen and dewey; and on sundays the parson's war sermons would fling defiance to the authorities at albany under governor tryon. in january, 1770, the grand jury at albany returned indictments against both allen and parson dewey. allen went to albany to contest the case; but he was in the enemy's country, and had no success. the attorney-general advised him to "go home and be good," declaring that "might often prevails against right." "the gods of the valleys are not the gods of the hills," retorted allen. the official asked what he meant by this. "if you will come back to bennington with me you will find out what it means," was the response. soon the angry governor issued a reward of £20 each for the capture of allen, dewey, and seven others. later he increased the reward to £100 for the apprehension of allen, and £50 for each of five others, including seth warner, remember baker, and parson dewey. allen retorted by offering a reward of £5 for the capture of the attorney-general. 66 the new york assembly thereupon outlawed allen, baker, warner, and others, and another reward was offered for their lives. the outlaws" promptly issued a counter-proclamation, in which they declared: "printed sentences of death will not kill us; and if the executioners 13 true stories of heroic lives approach us, they will as likely fall victims to death as we. "" 66 in spite of this hostile feeling, these same outlaws” were among the first to seize their muskets for the common defense when the echo of the bunker hill cannon reached their ears. while sam fay was running his catamount tavern, elijah dewey, the parson's son, had opened the old dewey inn just across the street. inspired by another" war sermon " of parson dewey's, the famous expedition against ticonderoga was planned there. allen led the expedition, and the parson's son, elijah, went along as right-hand man. these "outlaws" captured the place "in the name of the great jehovah and the continental congress." the parson held a thanksgiving service in honor of the triumph, and opened the proceedings with a prayer of great length, in which he recounted the exploits of the boys, among whom was his son elijah. it began to look as tho allen was not going to be mentioned by name; so he arose in his seat. "parson dewey! parson dewey!! parson dewey!!!" he shouted. as the good man slightly opened his eyes, allen exclaimed: "please mention to the lord that i was there, won't you? the parson continued his prayer without noticing the interruption. in the mean time the state of vermont had been organized, and the land-grant troubles had been 14 the genesis of admiral dewey forgotten. the first general assembly met at bennington, and on one of its first sessions, june 5, 1778, the journal contains this entry: "voted, that the rev. mr. dewey be presented with the compliments of this house, to desire him to pray with the. assembly at their opening in the morning for this session." the members of this legislature mostly stopped at the tavern kept by mrs. dewey while her husband was away in the war. they were so delighted with the table that they voted the captain a "gore of land" in recognition of his wife's cookery. matron dewey was famed far and wide for her neatness. she prided herself on this fact, and had no mercy for untidy people. the war had left general allen's financial affairs in an inextricable tangle. the rugged honesty of the man is reflected in one of his various lawsuits. silas goodrich sued the general on a £60 note, and allen employed a lawyer to secure a continuance, with the idea of being able to pay it before it should come up for trial. the lawyer began his plea by denying the validity of the note. allen, who was in the rear of the room at the time, strode haughtily through the crowd at hearing this, and angrily upbraided his attorney in open court. "i did not hire you to come here and lie," he declared. "that note is a true note; i signed it; i'll swear to it; and i'll pay it. i want no shuffling, but i 15 true stories of heroic lives want time. what i employed you for was to get this business put over into the next court, and not come here and lie and juggle about it.” allen got his continuance, but he was never able to pay the note. judgment was taken, and given to david robinson to collect. in order to arrange for a "turn," allen gave robinson a note indorsed by dave fay, which was deposited with captain dewey, as the full document explains: "i promise for value recd. to pay david robinson sixty pounds l. m. with interest. witness my hand this 17th day of february, 1786. "david fay. ethan allen." "the above note is left with capt. dewey to be delivered back to general allen in case that s1 silas goodrich shall make a turn of an exesution david robinson has to collect of the general in favor of that silas with his brother william goodrich on that robinson has to save-otherwise the note is to be given back to that david robinson or if that david robinson is harmed in the affair, he is to be saved harmless by that note." this ancient note was returned to robinson by dewey, according to the agreement, and is still treasured by the robinson family at bennington. the hero of manila, as a boy, was "a regular game-cock," so his brother charles tells me. he was too small to be a bully, if so inclined. while not quarrelsome, he rather enjoyed a fight. he has the record of having thrashed every other boy 16 commander dewey of the "pensacola" 1885 the bridegroom 1867 lieutenant dewey 1861 the genesis of admiral dewey in town. (6 the solar plexus had not been discovered in those days, so young george-or " dod," as he was called-struck straight for the nose. every boy in town dreaded george's famous nose blow." it was not safe to fight him without a baseball mask. charles remembers seeing him bristle up to a lad twice his size, and hearing this conversation : "i want you to understand that i can lick you." "i know it, george, but don't do it." george's favorite pastime was pounding some big bully who "picked on" a small boy. this fighting trait followed him into the naval academy at annapolis, where a member of his class (1854), a southerner, called him a "dough face," and got thrashed for it. at another time a cadet in a rage threw an inkstand at his head. george whipped him till his teeth chattered, which so mortified the cadet that he challenged his antagonist to a duel with pistols. the future admiral accepted cheerfully. the seconds were chosen and the ground marked off, when some of the cadets, fearing the outcome, notified the instructors, and the affair was summarily stopped. in the early montpelier days it was the custom of the schoolboys to throw the master out in the snow-bank. if the attempt failed, there was no more trouble during the term of school. if it suc66 ceeded, it was accepted as a vote of lack of confi2 17 true stories of heroic lives dence" on the part of all concerned, and was followed by the teacher's resignation. young dewey was usually the leader of the "opposition" in these cases, and the assault on the dominie was generally successful. one winter when old george reed was the "school committeeman," three different teachers were thrown out into the snow-pile, and no more teachers were to be found to attempt the job. finally reed himself, who was something of an athlete, opened the school in person. his opening address was short, but pointed. he said: "boys, you have thrown out three of my teachers this winter, and now i am going to see if you will throw me out. whenever you get ready, just come along and we will have it out." the "opposition" was a little dismayed at first, but in a few days under george's leadership it rallied for the assault. reed straightway proceeded to "slam the boys around" in the most approved fashion. after the defeated lads had retreated to their seats, reed seized a few of the leaders by the coat-collar, jerked them out on the floor, and "snapped their heels in the air just to keep his hand in," he said. the boys hung to their desks, but the teacher would tear desk and all from its fastenings. reed was not much on "book larnin'," but he finished that term of school with the profound respect of the boys. z. k. pangborn, for thirty years editor of the jersey city journal, was another teacher of the 18 the genesis of admiral dewey montpelier school who was not thrown out in the snow. at that time george dewey was but eleven years old, and his father was school committeeman. after the first day's experience, pangborn went to the doctor and reported that his son was already getting obstreperous. "if you can't manage that eleven-year-old boy, you had better resign your position," replied the doctor grimly. pangborn provided himself with a rawhide and awaited developments, resolved to give a good account of himself. the second day the first skirmish was fought. next door to the schoolhouse was an old church where the boys were wont to ring the bell at unseemly hours. after school, "dod," as captain, formed the boys into two brigades. one he ranged in ambush behind a fence. the other, which he led in person, was hidden in the church belfry. all the "troops" were armed with well-frozen snowballs. as the teacher came out the battery in the belfry opened the engagement with a volley. at a signal from young dewey the reserves from behind the fence opened up, surrounded the enemy, and the engagement became general. the battle was close and sharp. at one time "dod" was astraddle the teacher's neck. some of the boys were roughly handled, but the schoolmaster was soon forced to beat a hasty retreat. pangborn was mortified at his defeat, and determined to make one more at19 true stories of heroic lives tempt. instead of leaving town, he appeared at the school the next day. it was not long before trouble was renewed. the insurgent leader, dewey, stood up and made this address to the teacher: "we now propose to give you the best licking that you ever had in your life." with these words dewey led the attack, striking out with his fist. the teacher replied with his rawhide, which staggered the leader a bit. the reserves, consisting of the big boys, then came up, and were confronted with the teacher's rapid-fire battery, with hickory cordwood as ammunition. one boy was knocked insensible; others were cut and bruised; while dewey was so savagely pounded that he had to be helped home with one hand in a sling. the wounded leader, assisted by the boys, went down the street flinging defiance at pangborn, who walked down the other side to present his case. dr. dewey heard both sides, tied up his wounded son's bruises, and thanked the teacher for the job. there was no more trouble at that term of school. skating the rag" was another favorite pastime of the montpelier boys. this sport consisted in making a big hole in the ice on the onion river, which ran in the rear of the dewey homestead. the boy who skated nearest the hole was "it." george dewey was generally "it." oftentimes he 66 20 the genesis of admiral dewey plunged into the hole and came home soaking wet. colds and fever which followed caused the old doctor much trouble. 66 "old one day the old man brought home a big pair of coarse high boots reaching above his knees, so that " george would not get his feet wet." as a boy george was proud, and wearing those big coarse boots was a dire punishment. "i don't want to wear those boots, pa," pleaded george, almost in tears; but he had to put them on, whereupon the town boys began to call him boots." this made the lad's distress unbearable. l. b. cross, a playmate of dewey's, who was an eyewitness to the affair, tells me how the future hero of manila disposed of the obnoxious boots. man appleton used to have a potash factory on the river-bank. there we boys used to go to warm our feet by the hot brick cone in the middle of the one night while we were warming our feet, and incidentally tormenting george about his boots, he coolly took them off and tossed them into the middle of the cone. 'i smell something burning!' exclaimed the old potash-maker, rushing up; but he was too late. the boots were wholly destroyed, and george went home through the snow in his stocking feet." room. the affection of old dr. dewey for his wild boy is among the legends of montpelier. the doctor founded the episcopal church there, and the first 21 true stories of heroic lives christening that took place in this church was that of young george. the first funeral was that of the lad's mother. "pa, sing me that 'poor little child of a tar,'" george would say as he clambered on his father's knee; and the old man would sing over and over again the old song his boy loved so well. the first two verses ran: "in a little blue garment, all ragged and torn, with scarce any shoes to his feet; his head all uncovered, a look quite forlorn, and a cold stony step for his seat, "a boy cheerless sat, and as travelers passed, with a look that might avarice bar, 'have pity,' he cried,' let your bounty be cast on a poor little child of a tar.'" tears would run down young george's face while the song recited the boy's troubles; but he would brighten up as the verses told how the father "tar came home and how the child's woes ceased. 99 young dewey's first naval exploit was on dog creek, near the town. accompanied by will redfield and other boys, he went out with a horse and wagon after some of his father's cattle. dog creek ford was swollen by the spring freshet, and none of the boys would venture across except the two lads mentioned. they were successful in crossing, but on the return trip the current upset the wagon, and the boys saved themselves by holding to the horse's tail while the animal swam ashore. • 22 the genesis of admiral dewey george went home and straight to bed without his supper. his father came into the room and began to upbraid the boy for his recklessness. "what does this mean?" said the father, trying to look angry. "pa, you ought to be thankful that i wasn't drowned," sobbed the urchin from under the bedclothes; and the doctor could say no more. the river-bend at the head of main street was used by the town boys as a swimming-pool. on one occasion george saved one of his swimming companions from drowning. at another time the boys were diving into the water, and trying to see who could remain under the longest. one of the boys made a good record, and george determined to break it. he remained under so long that the lads raised a cry-"george is drowned!" several men rushed to the pool and fished him out. his face was purple. the first thing that he said after getting his breath was, "did i beat the other fellow?" doctor dewey's office was in the old building opposite the state house. almost adjoining this was the old schoolhouse, which still stands, tho used as a private dwelling. the state-house grounds were the playgounds for the whole town. some one gave george a book telling about hannibal's crossing the alps, and the boy was so taken up with the narrative that he organized companies of boy 23 true stories of heroic lives troops to scale the mountain back of the state house in imitation of that famous general. another of young dewey's freaks was to run blindfolded at breakneck speed down the long stone steps in front of the capitol building. the steps are steep and about one hundred feet long, and no other boy would attempt the feat. as the doctor's office faced these grounds, his hair would stand on end at these performances of his son. the affection between george and his only sister mary is touching. they are about the same age-only some eighteen months apart-and were constant playmates during their whole childhood. when george got up a "show" in his father's barn, with a buffalo-robe for a drop-curtain, mary was the leading lady, whose duty it was to fall on her knees and weep when george shot off the pistol. it was mary who gloried when george was victor in a fist fight. it was mary who went along to bait the hook when george went fishing in onion river or dog creek. this same sister, now mrs. greeley, a cultured widow, is living in montpelier at the "vermont," a quiet family boarding-house. she has not until recently known much of newspaper mon, and is not yet reconciled to some of their ways. "they will actually go away and print the things that i tell them," she said," and also some things that i don't say," she added. she expressed deep 24 the genesis of admiral dewey satisfaction at the praise bestowed on her brother, and declared that her ambition for him was fully satisfied, and that she knew of nothing that could add to it. "let me show you a sweet picture-one that very few people ever see," she said softly, as she drew from its hiding-place a small photograph. it was a copy of another picture, and a bit dim, but it revealed a madonna face of peculiar loveliness. “that,” she said, her eyes swimming with tears, -"that is susie, george's wife. there are some things that are sacred, you know. this is one of them." i had not the heart to press her with questions about the matter. i knew the story of the picture already. the family seldom mention it outside the home circle. thirty-two years ago, lieutenant dewey was stationed at portsmouth, and there met susie goodwin, daughter of new hampshire's "war governor "-a democrat who fitted out troops for the war at his own expense. lieutenant dewey and commander rhind, of the narragansett, for a time alternated in their calls at the goodwin home, but the commander sailed away, leaving the coast clear for the young lieutenant. the wedding took place in the old mansion on october 24, 1867. shortly afterward, george was ordered away for a two-years' cruise in european waters, leaving his young bride at portsmouth, but carrying in his bosom her daguerreotype. at 25 true stories of heroic lives rome a celebrated italian artist made from this likeness two miniatures on ivory. one of these was afterward lost at sea. later events made the other too precious to carry on any voyage. it is among the goodwin family treasures at the portsmouth home. the faded photograph which mrs. greeley showed me is one of the two or three copies of this ivory miniature now in existence. it is the last portrait made of the admiral's wife. dewey came back from europe a commander, and was stationed at newport in command of the narragansett, relieving his old rival, commander rhind. there his bride joined him; but less than three more years of wedded life ended the union. in 1872 a child was born-george goodwin, they called him. but within a week the young mother's spirit had departed. this son and this picture remain to remind admiral dewey of his life's sweetest dream that ended in such sorrow-his first and only love. in 1897 george goodwin dewey graduated at princeton. after his own graduation in 1864, admiral dewey was stationed at key west for a time, and then went on his first cruise. it was on the wabash, commanded by captain barron-who afterward espoused the confederate cause. the first ship to salute the flag of the wabash on this trip was a spanish war-ship. and young dewey, who was keeping the ship's log, made a note of the occur26 the genesis of admiral dewey rence. this log is now in the possession of william t. dewey, of montpelier, the admiral's nephew. while the deweys are proud, none of them are haughty. they are well-to-do vermonters and belong to the aristocracy of manhood. one family characteristic is a remarkable memory. on his visits to montpelier, admiral dewey never forgets an old friend or an old playmate, no matter how lowly his station. t. c. phinney, for forty years sergeant-at-arms of the vermont legislature, tells me a story of this family trait. for some years, at its beginning, the national life insurance company of vermont was carried around in one or two of the officers' pockets. finally dr. dewey was made its president and breathed into its nostrils the breath of life—a little dewey energy. he was its president until his death, and then his oldest son charles succeeded to his position in the now great institution, and still holds it. mr. phinney tells me that when he was married he thought a little life insurance would be a good thing, and called on the doctor to talk the matter over. in making out the application, dr. dewey asked his age. was not exactly certain how old i was," phinney told me, "but i got it into my head that i was born in 1828, and said so." "i "no, you were not," retorted the doctor. were born in 1820. there." "you i know it because i was 27 true stories of heroic lives a curious romance enters into the dewey family history. the doctor was married three times. the first wife, who died young, was the mother of all his children. the second wife was a widow lady with one daughter, and charles, the doctor's eldest son, married the daughter. the third wife was also a widow lady with one daughter, and edward, the next son, married this daughter. one of the closest friends of the dewey family for half a century was the late senator morrill. it was through the latter's influence that the admiral secured his appointment to annapolis. the gallantry of admiral dewey extends to all conditions in life. stories of his friendship and consideration for the man before the mast would fill a book; but none illustrates his character better than an incident that took place when farragut's fleet forced its way past fort hudson on the mississippi river, during the civil war. the mississippi was commanded by melanchthon smith, with lieutenant dewey as first officer. the river was narrow at the point where the forts were located, and the land batteries flashed in the very faces of the ship's crew. in the hurricane of shell and flame the mississippi caught fire and was sinking with three hundred and eighty men. captain smith gave the order, "every man save himself," and dewey added the command to spike the guns, after which the three hundred and eighty 28 the genesis of admiral dewey men plunged into the river, where they were picked off from every direction by confederate sharpshooters who lined both banks of the stream. one common seaman had been hit in the shoulder and was struggling to keep his face above the water. dewey saw him. disregarding his own safety, disregarding the low rank of the man, the first officer of the sinking ship plunged to the rescue, helped the wounded tar to a broken plank and towed him to safety through a hail of flying bullets. 29 a double rescue. by julian hawthorne. he white cliffs of the south of england coasts nel, by the chalk precipices of normandy. the latter keep an average height of about three hundred feet, and are quite vertical, in some places even overhanging their base. the beach below is of flint shingle, lying at a rather steep incline, and narrow. the waves break upon it with great power, raking the loose stones back and forth with a rasping noise. in some places the shingle is diversified by low ledges of rock, on which grows a species of seaweed which is valued by the norman farmers as a fertilizer. an obvious hindrance in the way of using this weed is the difficulty of getting it to the land. the breaks in the cliffs are few, and at wide intervals. to make the journey down to the beach, gather the weed, and return to the field above, would take up the better part of a day. but the peasants have invented a simple and effective device for overcoming this trouble. 30 a double rescue distances of a mile or so along the summit of the cliffs they had fixed wooden cylinders or drums, on which a rope was bent; one end hung down to the beach, the other was made fast to a donkey or horse. to the loose end was attached a large basket. two peasants worked this primitive machine, one filling the basket with seaweed, the other, by leading the horse inland at right angles to the line of the cliffs, hauling the basket, when filled, to the summit. the signal for hauling up was a shake of the rope by the operator below; for the man above seldom troubled himself to look over the edge, but passed the time, while the basket was filling, lying on his back and smoking his pipe. he generally lay with his head on the rope, so that its vibration might apprise him that all was ready. these seemingly trivial particulars are dwelt upon at such length because they are in fact of the last importance in the extraordinary circumstance which i am going to describe. of course, when the horse was started on his course inland, the basket rose steadily from the beach to the lip of the cliff three hundred feet aloft, and was dragged over it. it was then emptied of its load, and lowered down again for more. in this manner perhaps as many as twenty-five basketfuls could be taken up in a day. i had often watched the process with a sort of lazy fascination, and speculated as to how it would feel to get into 31 true stories of heroic lives the basket and take a ride up that awful precipice. i need hardly say that i never got beyond the speculation. one other feature, essential to an understanding of what is to be told, i must mention. the coast at this point had at some past time-probably during the napoleonic wars-been a resort of smugglers. many legends of them were current among the people; but the only visible trace of their presence that remained was a remarkable staircase in the face of the cliff. whether it were natural or artificial, i do not know; probably it was partly both. it was a sort of rude spiral stairway tunneled within the chalk itself, mounting upward in irregular windings from the beach to the summit. it was lighted at intervals by windows or doors— openings of unsymmetrical form and of different size, cut through the front of the precipice. i had made the ascent once or twice; but it was arduous climbing in the warm summer weather, and i was always glad to pause at the openings and sit down, sometimes with my legs hanging over the steep, enjoying the outlook over the blue channel, and marking the smoke-trail of steamers passing in the distance, or the sails of fishing-smacks. now it happened that one of the windlasses i have spoken of was fixed directly over this stairway, and the rope, consequently, hung down in front of it. as the brow of the cliff impended 32 a double rescue somewhat at this point, the drop of the rope was at a distance from the openings of (as i estimated) some ten feet. now to my story. i was spending the summer at the little watering-place of fecamp, a small norman village, inhabited by fishermen and farmers, and visited in the season by a few folks from paris or england. it was by no means fashionable, but the bathing was good, the scenery fine, and, if one wanted society, one could get abundance of it by repairing to etretat, a few miles to the west, down the coast. like most of the other summer boarders, my objects were rest and seclusion, and i got plenty of both. nevertheless, i made two acquaintances during my sojourn. one was a marvelously pretty child, about three years of age, the daughter of a fisherman who cultivated a patch of land above when not engaged in his normal business. the little thing was a brunette, with fine norman features, black hair, and superb black eyes, brilliant and soft. her ways were as pretty as herself; she was animated, spirited, merry, and sweet-tempered, and of an intelligence rare among the norman peasantry of any age. i fell in love with her at first sight. our meeting was on the beach; her mother was engaged filling the basket with seaweed for her 3 33 true stories of heroic lives husband with the horse above, and nannette was scrambling over the flat rocks, sticking her little fingers into the mouths of sea-anemones, making free with the small crabs which harbored in the clefts, and adorning herself with strips of red and green weed which had been tossed up by the surf. she was dressed in a shirt of blue linen coming down to her knees; her brown feet and legs and her curly head were bare. she received my advances with the affability of a little mermaid. i presented her with some small silver coins, which she handed over to her smiling and toothless mother-most of these norman peasant women lose their teeth before they are thirtyand round her soft black hair i bound a blue silk handkerchief which by good chance was in my pocket. we became comrades thenceforth, and my strolls along the beach, from that day forward, were chiefly motived by a craving for nannette. she was really a beautiful child-too beautiful for her condition. for to what an existence was she born! i used to fancy what she would be fifteen years hence, and lamented that she could not always remain three years old, and never know the burdens of poverty and the perils of beauty. life is a riddle! my other friend at fecamp was of a very different ilk. he was a rugby boy of sixteen, a fine, manly looking chap, of good english type, blue34 a double rescue eyed and fair-haired. he was lovable in nature, also frank as daylight, modest, and well bred. but his history was tragic, and somewhat singular. his father and mother were both dead; his mother had been a dipsomaniac. he had inherited plenty of money, but also the fatal hereditary tendency to drink. this frailty or vice had suddenly and unexpectedly discovered itself to him about two years before. an acquaintance, older than himself, meeting him at a cricket match, had half in jest offered him a drink from his whisky-flask; the boy seized it and emptied it. from that time his existence was a horror to himself and a grief to his friends. it is not necessary to go into details; the affliction is not an uncommon one. at periodical intervals the boy was overcome by the insane longing, and nothing short of actual incarceration could keep him from gratifying it. his guardians tried all the remedies known, but with little avail. he had come to fecamp under the care of his paternal aunt, a charming woman of fifty, of strong and tranquil character, who had great influence over him. it was hoped that the pure air and the unfamiliar surroundings might help him. in his normal state he was earnest in cooperating with all efforts toward his cure; but when the dark hour came, he seemed another creature. i had won his confidence, and i felt a hearty 35 true stories of heroic lives affection for him. we were much together, and i tried, by cheerful and stimulating suggestions, to build up in him the power of resistance. i had even succeeded in bringing him safely through one of his bad periods; but we both knew that the evil demon was only checked, not put to flight. the boy had religious instincts, and i know he used to pray to be preserved from temptation; but the truth is, the poor lad was terrorized by his own craving, and could not be got to believe that there was any hope of his overcoming it by his personal determination. "i believe in god, you know," he would say to me, in his pathetic, boyish way; "but when i need. him most, he doesn't seem to be there. i can't think of the things that help when the time comes. i get to slipping down and down, and there's nothing to stop me." "you must try harder," i said. "tell yourself that you will sooner die than give up. conquer for the sake of the friends that love you." "i fancy it would be better for my friends if i were to drop," said he, with a grim little laugh. "nonsense!" i replied. "you can make this trouble of yours the means of not only making your friends happy, but of doing good to thousands of people you never knew or heard of. for if you overcome this devil, all those who are in the same plight as you, hearing of your victory, will know 36 a double rescue that they can overcome too. isn't that worth living for?" "ah! that's a good idea," said he, evidently impressed. "what i need is to do something for some other chap. thinking and wishing and praying don't seem to be much use: but to do something! if, when the time comes, i could pitch in to help other fellows, and forget myself, i might pull through. but what can a chap like me do?" "when there's the will, the opportunity comes," i returned. 99 a few days after this talk, he and i were strolling down the beach, on the way to an interview with nannette, whose society he liked as much as i did. presently i noticed that he was becoming taciturn, and wore a gloomy look. he was preoccupied, and now and then would glance furtively over his shoulder. i recognized these symptoms: the dark fit was coming on. we were over a mile from the village, and i knew that i had physical mastery over him; i could keep him from indulgence by main force. but i wanted to awaken in him that in ward resolve which alone is of real value. god helps those who help themselves. i began to tell him anecdotes of acts of heroism and self-sacrifice: of men who had lost consciousness of themselves in their devotion to others. he made an evident effort to pay attention, but ever and anon i perceived that his mind was slip37 true stories of heroic lives ping away into some dark abyss. sometimes he lifted his head like a swimmer breasting the waves; at other times he would give me a glance full of fear and despair. we were approaching nannette and her mother. the former paused in her occupation of filling the dangling basket to give us a grin of welcome; the latter trotted stumblingly up to us, and put her little hand in my companion's. he stooped down, and kissed the child's face repeatedly. but suddenly he straightened up again. "i'm not fit to touch her," he said. 66 don't be an ass!" returned i sharply. "look here," i added, an idea coming into my mind. like an inspiration, "did you ever try how quick you could go up the smuggler's staircase? i'll wager you can't get to the top in ten minutes. come-let's see what you can do for the honor of rugby! off you go, now! i'll hold the watch on you. one minute to three: you have a minute to reach the foot of the steps, and start on the even hour. lively!" anything to make him forget himself; and violent physical exertion is sometimes as good a means to that end as anything else. he probably understood my motive; at all events, after only an instant's hesitation, he fetched a long breath, braced himself, and set off for the cliff. good!" said i to myself. "by the time he's at the top of that 66 38 a double rescue cliff, there won't be enough of him left to think of whisky. he's safe for this time." i sat down, leaned my back against a ledge of rock, and prepared to observe his ascent. he would come into view as often as he passed one of the openings. it was christian racing against apollyon. my prayers went with him. nannette, upon his abrupt departure, gazed after him in surprise until he disappeared within the beetling cliff, and then turned philosophically away and resumed her avocation of "helping mother." she would pick up a minute scrap of seaweed between her tiny thumb and forefinger, carry it to the basket as it lay upon the beach at the end of its long rope, and drop it in. the basket was about two-thirds full. the mother was now at some distance, collecting a big armful of the brown, glistening stuff which had been rolled up by the surf. the sea was blue and calm, yet a heavy surf broke along the shore, making a softly thunderous sound in the ears. the afternoon sun shone from an almost clear sky against the white face of the mighty cliff. in the heart of that cliff was a young soul, toiling upward for freedom. god bless him and give him deliverance! i saw him pass the first opening, about sixty feet from the base; he did not turn to look at me, but passed immediately onward. was over a hundred feet above. the next one sitting with my 39 true stories of heroic lives watch open in my hand, i fell into a fit of abstraction. life was a riddle, indeed! why should this boy suffer for the evil of others? can it be that a burden is ever laid upon us greater than we can bear? i was aroused by a loud scream. so piercing and agonizing was it, that it brought me to my feet. what i saw froze me with horror. the mother of nannette had given the scream, and she was running frantically toward the basket. the basket was no longer on the beach; it had begun its journey upward, and was already ten feet from the ground. and nannette was in it! i comprehended at once what had happened. the child had managed, while unobserved, to clamber into the basket; in doing so she had shaken the rope in such a way that her father, above, had taken it for the customary signal, and had started up his horse. he did not, of course, know that his daughter was in the basket; he would not know it until too late. she would probably fall out before reaching the top; if not, it was practically certain that she would do so when it tipped to pass over the lip of the precipice. there was no means of getting at her, or of arresting the basket's ascent. it was impossible to notify her father of what was happening. there was nothing to be done except to stand there helpless and await the issue. 40 a double rescue as i ran up, i stripped off my coat, and made the distracted mother understand that she and i must hold it below, in order, if possible, to catch the child in it when she fell, and perhaps save her life. but it was a forlorn chance. the basket swung to and fro as it went steadily up, in an irregular orbit. it was a hundred to one that we would not be able to intercept poor nannette's fall, when she fell; and it was still greater odds against our being able to save her life, even if we caught her. my coat was of thin summer material, and the impact even of her little body would doubtless tear it asunder, or wrench it out of our hands. but it was the only thing we could do. meanwhile i looked upward, and could see nannette's face appear and disappear over the edge of the basket. i hesitated whether or not to motion to her to jump; it would be a terrible responsibility to take, but, on the other hand, every additional yard that she ascended made the likelihood of her coming down alive, when she did come, smaller. if she waited until, at the summit of the cliff, she was pitched out by the turning over of the basket, she would be lost to a certainty. three hundred feet was too awful a fall to admit of any hope of her surviving it. while i hesitated, an unexpected thing happened. the immediate deadly peril of nannette had driven all thought of my boy friend out of my 41 true stories of heroic lives mind. his race against his evil angel was quite forgotten for the time being. his case might wait; but nannette's was trembling in the balance. he nevertheless had been toiling upward at the best speed that his legs and lungs would allow; and he had now reached the second opening, which, as i said, was upward of a hundred feet aloft. it was one of the larger openings, and a tall man could stand erect in it. and as i looked up, i saw, with a thrill i shall never forget, the boy standing there. he was without his cap, and his flaxen hair fluttered about his forehead in the light breeze blowing in from the sea. his chest was heaving from the exertions he had made; but i saw him steady himself on his feet as he stood, and measure with his eyes the approach of the basket. it was then about a dozen feet below him. its average distance from the face of the cliff was, as i mentioned, some ten feet; occasionally it swung in a foot or two nearer, and again it would swing outward. the basket was two and a half feet in diameter, and strongly made; the rope by which it was suspended divided some three feet above it, and the two ends were made fast through the rim. the boy stood measuring the distance, with his right foot a little advanced, and his hands braced against the sides of the opening. he meant to jump for it-that was plain. but 42 a double rescue there were several things which he had to take into consideration. he must not jump directly into the basket, for that would be apt to tip it, and throw nannette out: there was scarcely room for him and her in the thing at best. he must aim to catch the rope a little above the point where it divided, and let himself down. but he must wait, before jumping, until the basket was nearly on a level with him; that would lengthen the distance horizontally through which his body must pass; but it would diminish the sudden shock of his weight, which might have disastrous effects. but could he leap ten feet horizontally, from a standing take-off, and catch that rope-under such appalling circumstances? and just after having tried his strength and wind to the utmost in racing up those steps, too! these reflections, and probably a thousand others, less apposite to the matter in hand, went through my mind during the short interval while the basket was ascending through those few feet. it seemed long enough to me; and it was long enough for the boy to have made himself ready. he never flinched; there was no instant of a divided mind in him. his heart did not falter. to me, the suspense of that last moment seemed to shrivel me up; the blood sang in my ears, and dark blots seemed to float before my eyes. the basket swung upward in its slow spiral. 43 true stories of heroic lives then, as the boy's body left the awful threshold on which it stood, and was launched forward into the empty air, my breathing choked in my throat. he leaped lightly and boldly, with his arms outstretched. it seemed to me that he was for a long while hanging in space, tho the deed was done in the fraction of a second. he caught the rope; and then, hand under hand, lowered himself gently into the basket, and got his arm round nannette's waist. at the same moment i was almost thrown from my feet by the unlooked-for behavior of nannette's mother. with a wild cry of joy she flung herself upon my neck, and covered my face with kisses. i knew, of course, that i was serving her merely as a chopping-block, so to speak, for nannette and the boy, who were as yet out of her reach; but i believe i returned her embraces with an enthusiasm almost equal to her own. it was a thing i should certainly not have thought of doing under normal circumstances; but we both needed some outlet for our emotions after that ghastly suspense, and we instinctively wreaked ourselves upon what first came to hand. the basket, meanwhile, had ceased to ascend; doubtless the sudden accession of the boy's weight had conveyed a jerk to the contrivance above which had admonished nannette's father that something unusual must have taken place. in fact, after a 44 a double rescue few moments, his head and shoulders appeared over the brink of the abyss. what he thought of the sight that met his gaze, or how he explained it to himself, i know not; he vanished, and soon afterward the basket, with its precious contents, began slowly to descend. in a few minutes more, nannette was in her mother's arms; and the boy and i, in the true anglo-saxon style, were shaking hands. he was very quiet, but he looked very happy. the moody and sinister shadow which had hung about him a few minutes before had entirely departed. i have thought over this affair for many years, and it has lost none of its merit under examination. it showed presence of mind and courage of the finest sort. as for the boy, he always regarded it simply as a piece of extraordinary good fortune for himself. it happened, he remarked, just in the nick of time for him. he had been under the terror and despair of his dark hour, with all his thoughts and emotions centered upon himself. the sudden presentation of the opportunity to hazard his life for the sake of another had proceeded, he felt convinced, straight from heaven. he was enabled to forget himself precisely at the moment when the demon of selfhood had its strongest hold upon him. breaking loose from it at that moment, he freed himself from its tyranny forever. when 45 true stories of heroic lives he leaped from the threshold of that doorway in the great precipice, he left the demon behind him, and angels of grace bore him up in their arms. such was his belief, then and afterward; and it is not for me to question it. perhaps all evil habits, even what we call hereditary ones, are but forms of selfishness, more or less subtle and potent. their dominion can best be overthrown by a mighty effort of self-sacrifice. if this be a truth, it is one well worth remembering, and the knowledge of it may be of benefit to many. the boy had his struggles, after that; but he was never again in any real peril of succumbing to them. he had become master of his fate. he entered the army, and is now, i believe, an officer of distinction in india. he has done several heroic deeds in his official capacity; but aside from this he is loved by his men to a degree seldom known. he cares for their souls as well as for their bodies; and he leads them upward with the same energy and pure resolve with which, in battle, he leads them onward. 46 44 the bravest man in the english army." by edward page gaston. two wo men were racing up a footpath just wide enough for two, while a savage fire snarled out at them from the burmese fort they were leading their troops to take. the chief, myatt-loon, was in his impregnable stronghold, and his natives howled with delight when the two brave lads went down. lieutenant taylor was killed, but ensign wolseley pressed his fingers upon his spurting arteries, while he lay upon his back, and waved his sword with his free hand, and cheered his men on until the fort had been taken. this was the baptism of fire of one afterward called "the bravest man in the english army," and whose clean life and moral heroism have always been as notable as his unfearing patriotism; so that to-day lord wolseley as commander-in-chief of the british army is a continual inspiration to temperance and purity among all the soldiers of her majesty's widely flung forces. after recovering from his burma wounds, he was made a lieutenant, and went to the crimean 47 true stories of heroic lives war, where for ten months his work was of the most trying character, twelve out of fourteen engineers being killed at wolseley's post. he seemed to bear a charmed life, for his coat was pierced by a russian ball; a round shot struck an embrasure at which he was working, the splinters tearing his clothes; a cannon-ball knocked off his cap; twice he was slightly wounded; but nothing could daunt him, for when he heard the shriek of an approaching shell he calmly turned to face it. so tremendously did he work that at one time, overcome by exhaustion, he flung himself to sleep among the dead and dying, where he was found so covered with blood and dirt as to be hardly recognizable. yet next morning he was refreshed, and at work again, to have his closest call for death by battle. leading his men as usual, they were making an advanced "flying sap" under cover of the early morning darkness, when the russians discovered the sortie, and in their defense they terribly wounded captain wolseley. his face and head were so shockingly mutilated that they had lost all human semblance. his eyes were closed by wounds, one leg was badly torn, and his body covered with gashes. the surgeon at the hospital tent gave but one look at the horribly mutilated form, and then turned away to his other cases, saying, "he's a dead un." but the doctor was surprised to hear the blood-smothered figure defi48 "bravest man in english army" "' antly mutter, "you're wrong-i'm worth a good many dead men yet!" then he was attended to. in the indian mutiny in 1857, captain wolseley was so insanely brave that he was roundly rebuked by his superior officer-and then promoted. one of his acts was to dash out into a road swept with musketry and canister, to rescue his bodyservant, who was lying wounded within six yards. of the enemy, and who recovered to give his master many years of faithful service. when the united states and england were on the verge of war over the trent affair, during the civil war, colonel wolseley was sent to canada to command the projected invasion of the united states from the northern frontier; but, after the incident was amicably settled, he remained to suppress the half-breed indian riel and his followers in the northwest. like the late sudan campaign of lord kitchener, the avenger of gordon, this was a campaign won on tea instead of whisky. colonel wolseley was the same practical advocate of total abstinence then that commander-in-chief wolseley is now, and on the entire journey of two thousand four hundred miles through the hard wilderness he would allow his soldiers no liquor except under strict medical orders. this principle has ruled throughout his entire personal administration, and thousands of the british soldiery are to-day members of the army temperance associa4 49 true stories of heroic lives tion, fostered by lord wolseley and other leading military men. from canada, assistant adjutant-general wolseley went to ashantee, and entered king coffee's capital on the very day he said he would, after putting the savage hordes to rout. being sent, as the ablest general in the army, to suppress the egyptian army revolt under arabi pasha, he displayed the most brilliant strategy. arriving on the scene fever-stricken and almost blind, he carried out his plans, struck the rebellious forces where he had planned to, and followed up his consequent victory with a rapidity that astonished the world. the starlight march of the army on telel-kebir and the brilliant victory of the dawn will never be forgotten in english military annals. general wolseley's only military failure was in reaching khartum too late to save gordon from his cruel death by the arabs; but the terrific odds against him made this well-nigh impossible. now he is lord wolseley, full of honors, and great in the hearts of his countrymen. 50 an intimate view of william lloyd garrison. by william lloyd garrison, jr. it t is a delicate and difficult task for one whose affection and natural sympathies are involved to discourse of a parent with that impartial perspective desirable. yet only those intimately related can appreciate the reverse side of a public character. what the world sees most clearly and what most impresses it often conveys an erroneous idea of the individual and his true nature. a moral reformer who is convinced that principles are all-important, unvarying, and inflexible, is obliged to deal in plain and faithful language concerning persons and actions. as reforms invariably disturb existing conditions, interfering with personal interests and convenience, reformers must incur unpopularity. as herbert spencer has pointed out, "there are people who hate anything in the way of exact conclusions. according to such, the right is never in either extreme, but always half way between the extremes." when the reformer declares that "ethical truth is as exact and peremptory as physical truth," he is consequently derided and maligned. 51 true stories of heroic lives as william lloyd garrison resolved to be "as harsh as truth and as uncompromising as justice," the abettors of slavery-and they were then in an enormous majority-were forced to resort to violent measures to suppress such dangerous utterances. not only were his sentiments fiercely combated, but it was generally inferred that a man who could use such scathing language toward an institution legalized and protected by the constitution, and toward the highly respectable slaveholders and their apologists, must be a depraved and dangerous character. as such he was denounced. he used to describe how cautiously people peered into the halls where he was advertised to speak, evidently expecting to see a creature with hoofs and horns, and behaving as if they were doing a disreputable act in being present. to find instead of a monster a mild and gentle person, a face beaming with benevolence and sensibility, a tender and sweet voice, an utter forgetfulness of self, and a thought only for the downcast and suffering slave, was to experience a sudden revulsion. when the prejudice had subsided, the ears were opened for the reception of truth. if it was harsh and uncompromising, it never was able to match in harshness the wrong to which it applied. to be born, as was my fortune, into the family of such a misunderstood man, was to conceive an 52 william lloyd garrison william lloyd garrison estimate of him that made it incomprehensible how any one else could help loving him and believing everything he said. imagine a comfortable home, a mother whose features her children would repeat in their madonnas if they were artists, a father whose atmosphere was cheerfulness and love, a circle of friends, unlike conventional acquaintances, united with ties of unselfish sympathy in a noble cause, and you have a faint idea of the joy which the children of this "fanatic" experienced. in those days "abolitionist" and "fanatic" were convertible terms. phrenologically speaking, benevolence and firmness were my father's most conspicuous "bumps," "his bump of firmness rising up like a rye tea-cake from its cup," to quote lowell in his rimed letter to miller mckim. without that undeviating persistence how impossible it would have been to lead the great anti-slavery struggle! equally, without benevolence his heart and soul would never have been enlisted in the great work. both his firmness and benevolence were dominated by a conscience sensitive to all injustice. mirthfulness was given him in large measure, never failing in times of discouragement and depression. the ulimate triumph of his principles he never questioned. however few his adherents, however gloomy the outlook, his serenity was undisturbed and his faith unbroken. his temperament was singularly well 53 true stories of heroic lives balanced, his self-control absolute, his temper sunny and unspoiled. his affections were warm, and his love of children especially marked. if a baby were in the room, it must find its way to his arms. he loved to sing, and his happy voice echoed through the house. whatever the family hardships or disappointments, they were all forgotten with the cheering entrance of the husband and father. his instincts were domestic, his helpfulness about the house exceptional, and whether reading or writing he was always on the alert to serve the general need, interrupting any task to save his helpmeet's steps or comfort a child. he could cook or nurse or serve a guest in a manner to make one forget the paucity of help in the household, but he could not grumble or envy or regret or lose his temper, however criss-cross or perplexing things went. "it will be all the same a thousand years hence," was his cheery consolation, a thousand times repeated. this was the side the family of this reformer saw daily. in public, on the platform, gravity, earnestness, and severity marked his impressive utterance. his clients were the oppressed and hunted slaves, with no voice of their own to tell their woes, only here and there a sympathizer who advocated their cause at the cost of personal peril and certain unpopularity. my father, remembering them in bonds as bound with them, spoke always as if his own com54 william lloyd garrison plexion was dark, his wife and children suffering under the lash and sold upon the auction-block. naturally his language was strong and his arraignment of the wrongdoers made with apostolic fervor. he held with the poet, "passion is reason, transport temper here." hearers whose hearts were touched with the same pity for the negro felt the magnetism of the speaker; but those whose interest and prejudices dominated were angered at the arguments and appeals it was impossible for them to answer. bitterness resulted. the press was hostile, and delighted to misrepresent the abolitionists and misreport their speeches. it also helped to fan the mob spirit, and to excite persecution of the offenders, especially of the abolition leader. as heroism is generally rated, perhaps calmness in the face of a mob would be considered the supreme test, ac in the case of the famous riot in boston, october 21, 1835. with every reason to believe that the respectable rioters intended to compass his destruction, the young editor of the liberator, assaulted and disheveled, was the least excited of the multitude. from the beginning of his anti-slavery career he had counted the cost, and was ready for the sacrifice if it was to be. bodily fear never disturbed him, and the martyr spirit shone serenely in his face. he was a nonresistant, believing with jesus that violence could 55 true stories of heroic lives never overcome evil, and assured that any injury done to him personally must redound to the benefit of the slave. admirable as is physical bravery nobly exerted, i am inclined to think that my father showed a higher order of courage in his willingness to face a frowning world. many a man goes to death in bodily conflict who dares not stand alone against family, friends, and all the allurements that the world rates most important. as a boy i felt keenly the neighborhood feeling reflected in my playmates. while it was impossible for those parents who could not avoid meeting their unpopular neighbor to resist the gentleness of his presence or not to increase their respect for his character, the current disapproval of the agitator was manifest to his children. society, in the ordinary sense, meaning the exchange of social civilities in the circle where the circumstances of living were on a parity, was not for my father or his family. how much that common recognition might have been missed by one with worldly ambitions it is easy to imagine, but to a reformer whose aims were quite different the loss was trifling. besides, he attracted a new and widely contrasted friendship which was nourishment to the soul compared with the conventional acquaintance denied him. all the same, the sweet wife and mother, striving on narrow means to keep her 56 william lloyd garrison increasing flock in garments which comported with those of their associates, had her cross to bear in the consciousness of a social contrast ever present. the way of the world has not changed, and most of my readers would have felt the same repugnance to an abolitionist injected into their environment had they lived in those days. i am often impressed with the conviction that many people who are anxious to hear all about william lloyd garrison and revere him as a benefactor, would have been among his opponents had they been contemporaries. the touchstone is their attitude toward present reforms and reformers. the men who mobbed the abolitionists professed a devout reverence for washington and the other heroes of the american revolution. i remember how well my father discerned their true spirit, and would say that had they lived in "the days that tried men's souls" they must by their very nature have sided with the tories. it is so easy to stone the prophets, and garnish the sepulchers of the prophets stoned in the previous generation! the liberator was the ever-present household work, the editor's lecturing being incidental. but every friday the paper must appear, the exchanges must be read and clipped, the editorials written, and the proof read. except on wednesdays and saturdays, when the forms were made up at the office, my father was at home a great deal; and, 57 true stories of heroic lives when not occupied in family service, could be seen reading his exchanges, clipping copiously, and throwing the finished papers on the floor, later to be gathered by the armful and carried down cellar to the paper-barrel. it was a happy time for the children, who loved to stretch upon the floor and pick out the story papers, or browse upon other attractive matter, or cut out pictures for amusement. then, it was always pleasant to listen to my father, who read aloud whatever he thought would interest us, especially jokes or other humorous things, though often stories of cruelty to the slaves, appealing to our moral sense and stimulating our benevolence and pity. these were hours of joy, full of cheerfulness and affection, and it was happiness enough to dwell in such an atmosphere. 66 come, boys, who wants to get the liberator in advance of the mail?" was the oft-repeated call for volunteers to help read the proof. sometimes it seemed like a task, especially when there were long-winded and dry communications; but so much else was stirring and interesting that we rarely shirked. when it was not the baby in his lap, my father was wont to have a kitten, for he dearly loved the feline race—and his regard was reciprocated. the creatures were drawn to him as to a magnet. as we grew older, and, gaining some literary sense, would criticize the contributed 58 william lloyd garrison poetry as we read the proof, the paternal response would be, apologetically, "well, i know it isn't very good poetry; but the sentiment is good, and it will please the writer." humanity atoned for much bad verse, to the regret of the scholarly abolitionists, who in self-defense gave their literary love to the anti-slavery standard, which, under edmund quincy, lydia maria child, or sidney howard gay, was not allowed to fall below the level of approved writing. as that was an organ of the society, it could be controlled; but the liberator was a personal expression, and its editor supreme. yet he was a born editor, and the bound volumes of thirty-five years, in spite of poetry that will not scan and correspondence of wearisome length, are a matchless history of the long struggle and a record of masterly editorship. the anti-slavery conventions were seasons of great enjoyment to the younger members of the family. the house was open to all comers, the table long, and the conversation lively in the extreme. united upon the question of slavery, the abolitionists were most independent and individual thinkers. on extraneous subjects they often differed widely, and the discussion raged in the social gatherings, albeit with a spirit void of offense, and with a frankness that only a spirit of truth-seeking could abide. my father was so calm and judicial that he usually smoothed the troubled waters, 59 true stories of heroic lives pointing out the true relations of things, and restoring the conversational equilibrium. in such discussions personality was sunk, and the subject absorbed the debaters. sometimes, when a question of moral gravity was under consideration, the exaltation of the utterances was impressive in the extreme to our young minds, and we shared the general intellectual and ethical elevation. "i hope my children will grow up to be reformers," was a frequently expressed wish of my father. he felt that a life lived except to make the world better was wasted. he was particular to impress upon us the necessity of doing our own thinking and not resting on inherited opinions, saying that there was no reason his children should believe as he did unless thought and conscience made such belief their own. "if i give my children no other precept," he wrote, "if i leave them no other example, it shall be a fearless, impartial, thorough investigation of every subject to which their attention may be called, and a hearty adoption of the principles which to them may seem true, whether those principles agree or conflict with my own, or with those of any other person. "i never yet "" took counsel with flesh and blood as to what i should think," he once remarked to me concerning certain principles on which friends differed from him. his conviction was that unless one followed implicitly the inward light, he would be sure to c ܟ ܣܩܩܪܐ ܡܝ 60 william lloyd garrison weaken his moral perception and lose his true guide. he never would have gone west to find out what the majority of the people thought about giving up the ten commandments and the declaration of independence. on matters of expediency, however, where no principle was involved, he was eager to get the views of others and ready to surrender his own plan for a better. but principle and expediency were never to be confused. his leadership sprang naturally from this position, his moral vision never allowing itself to be deflected; and his willingness to accept the best methods proposed, regardless of the proposer, induced confidence in his clear-sightedness and absolute unselfishness. my father had no respect for law because it was upon the statute-book. it was only worthy of respect provided it was in accordaance with right and justice, that "higher law" to which he always appealed. i should have mentioned that with firmness and benevolence, reverence competed, but it was reverence for divine laws and irreverence for human enactments when the two conflicted. neither unions, nor governments, nor churches, nor scriptures had any claim upon his obedience unless they squared with the golden rule and the sermon on the mount. a very unfashionable doctrine in our day, as in the day he lived; yet devotion to it in time turns infidels into prophets. it 61 true stories of heroic lives has been given to few reformers to witness their own apotheosis, but that fortunate fate was reserved to my father. "and then he heard the hisses change to cheers, the taunts to tribute, the abuse to praise, and took both with the same unwavering mood." 1 62 aunt judie. by l. b. bowen. a confederate captain passed within the union lines and was visiting his mother at night on the home farm in western missouri. he had made himself very obnoxious to the federal forces, and if captured was liable to be shot down at once or to be executed as a spy. his presence became suspected, and in the morning the house was suddenly surrounded by united states soldiers. upstairs a plank was movable, affording a cramped hiding-place between the ceiling of the porch and its roof. the plank replaced, no one would ever suspect the secret. into this contracted space the captain crawled and effectually concealed himself. nobody knew except the mother and aunt judie, the cook. the house was thoroughly searched and no clew was found. still the soldiers felt sure that the captain had come home and was near. they knew that it would be vain to threaten the mother or try to secure information from her. they decided to move upon aunt judie. they took her apart and questioned her shrewdly, endeavoring to entrap her to reveal his hiding63 true stories of heroic lives place, but in vain. they offered her bribesgreenbacks, a gold watch, freedom-but she never wavered. then they assumed a different rôle. they led her out into the yard in apparent anger, placed her in a chair, and declared that they would take her life if she did not tell. pistols and rifles were put against her head, turbaned in its blue handkerchief, and they loudly threatened her. these intimidations continued in various forms for an hour. she was within twenty steps of the concealed "mas jim," and he saw and heard it all. the captain said to me afterward: "i never read anything equal to it. and i have been in hot places on the battle-field, but never have i seen aunt judie's peer. of course i knew they would not kill her or i would have come out of there. but she fully expected to die for me. i knew they would not hurt her, for they were admiring her too." she shuddered all through that hour of intimidation, and refused to give one hint. "honey," she said afterward, "i was skairt almost to death. dey pushed dem devilish guns right up agin my wool. i could feel de top of my hade tearin' off and de brains flyin' clear out yonder to de barn. i was sayin' my prayers and a-lyin'—all mixed up. dem horrid guns might go off any minute, you see— skairt was no name for it. but hadn't i carried dat boy in my arms when a baby? hadn't i 64 matyta vélilari biljlmtha meus bu i kad aunt judie nussed him through de measles? hadn't i kissed him when we thought he was dyin' wid de scarlet fever? wouldn't he spread out his little hands to come to me from his own mammie? and when he got big, did he ever speak one hard word to aunt judie? when he'd come from town, who was it dat always brought me somethin' good from de store? no, no, honey-i wasn't goin' to see mas jimmie kilt. no, no; dat boy loved his aunt judie. niggers are mighty little account, but dey ain't dat sort! seemed to me i could feel myself tumblin' off dat chair, blowed all to piecesand dare's no fun in dat!--but i jest got a clinch on my old mouf, took de lockjaw, honey, and trimbled it out. i knowed mas jim was right up dare and a-lovin' of me. when i got through all dat dyin'-time and de soldiers quit, one of 'em said: 'boys, dare's enough grit in dat ole darky to build a turnpike.' no grit about it, honey. judie didn't git over her cowardly shakin' for a month. dem ole yanks never onderstood niggers nohow! "" 5 65 "big james." by david k. miller. ja ames patterson is the name that stands upon his tombstone, but he was better known in life as "big james." he was a scottish fisherman, a magnificent titan of a man, with the gigantic bulk, the waving hair and streaming beard of the old vikings, an old man, and one of the grandest christians i ever knew. he sailed in the fishing-boat pilgrim fathers. among the crew was the very antithesis of big james a young man of thirty years of age, and one of the most blasphemous daredevils in the whole fleet-"black jock." and it was known all along the coast how for many years big james had been seeking "to save the soul" of "black jock." on the evening of the 16th of april, 1889, the old fishing-boat pilgrim fathers struck a reef on the scottish coast and immediately went down. but the crew of seven men climbed out upon a neighboring rock. their position was one of the utmost peril. the rock was only thirty yards from the shore, but a deep, impassable channel lay 66 "big james" between. it was impossible from the situation for any boat to approach to their rescue. darkness was falling, and a wild gale was rapidly rising. in addition to all this, although at the time of the accident the tide was at the ebb and the rock was exposed for several feet above water, the tide was now rising, and unless they were rescued within the hour every man would be swept to a watery grave. a great crowd of people had gathered on the beach at the first news of the accident. but the gale defeated for a while all attempts at rescue. the life-boat was launched, but it was useless. strong arms heaved life-lines, but the wind hurled them back in the men's faces. at last a rocket was fired with a line attached to it, and, amid loud cheering, the line fell across the rock, and one man was hauled through the surf. another rocket was fired and another man was rescued, and this was repeated until of the whole crew only two remained. those two were 66 black jock" and "big james." but time had been lost. the waves were washing across the surface of the rock. the men were on their faces, clutching the sharp edges with bleeding fingers. it was at this moment that the crowd saw the rope shoot into the air behind the screaming rocket once again and fall straight into the hands of the old man "big james." what a cheer went aloft! but it died away in dismay, for a large wave had smothered both the prostrate, 67 true stories of heroic lives (6 clinging figures in a mass of foam. in a few seconds it had passed again. then the grand old christian rose; holding the rope with one hand, he raised his companion to his feet with the other, and tak' the rope," said the old man, “and meet me up yonder-guid-by!" so saying, he thrust the rope into his companion's hands; and in another moment "black jock," a pale, changed man, was safe on shore. "big james" watched him until he landed. several waves struck him; but by a miracle he recovered himself—until his companion was safe. then he turned to face the wide sea. he clasped his hands above his head. a wave struck him. he staggered. "come quickly, lord jesus!" he cried in a loud voice. there was a rush of white water, and "big james" had gone to his savior! + 68 an anecdotal portrait of colonel roosevelt. by perriton maxwell. ggressive fighting for the right is the greatest sport the world knows." that is the formula after which theodore roosevelt has patterned every important act of his remarkable career. he is a born fighter; and whether the battle is in politics, literature, or on the actual field of conflict, he knows no yielding until the last shot is fired. his personal courage is equaled only by his tenacity in pursuing an enemy. 66 a theodore roosevelt's popular nickname of "teddy" was first applied to him while a student at harvard. he had been in college less than a year when he did a thing which won for him the admiration and respect of juniors and seniors alike. this was the administering of a thorough and scientific drubbing to a fellow student, larger and more muscular than himself, but contemned as a bully of the worst type. the big fellow had singled out roosevelt as the special object of his displeasure, and finally one day was challenged openly 69 true stories of heroic lives to fistic combat in the big gymnasium at cambridge. the challenge was accepted, and the two youths met on the day fixed for the bout. teddy's opponent was so anxious to beat his rival that while the two were in the act of shaking hands he sought to gain the advantage by landing a sharp blow on one of roosevelt's ears with his free left hand. the blow was so obviously a foul one that the students who gathered en masse to witness the affair greeted the assault with cries of "shame!” teddy, however, merely stood still and smiled. he made no move to strike, and did not speak a word for fully a minute. then, to the astonishment and discomfiture of his opponent, young roosevelt bowed politely and extended his hand. the big fellow hesitated, but finally decided to grasp the extended hand in the true preliminary form. the bystanders greeted his action with such jeers as only college boys can voice. this time the bully took no advantage of his opponent and the boxing-match began in proper style. it ended in just as proper style, too, for the thrashing the larger man received was severe enough to keep him a-bed for a week afterward. "the highest type of success in life is the result of strife," once remarked governor roosevelt; and that he is a good fighter and a fair one he has demonstrated throughout his career. another and even more exciting fistic affair befell him while t 70 u.s.v roosevelt, the rough rider wwur portrait of colonel roosevelt "roughing it" in the west. it was out in montana, and during a big round-up of cattle. the "bad man "who is always present on such occasions was a local character known as "long ike." this man had the reputation of being quick with his "shooting-irons" and able to whip his weight in catamounts. he was tall, broad-chested, and extravagantly muscular. he had imposed upon people for so long a time that he gradually came to believe in his own courage, tho he was a miserable coward. at this particular round-up roosevelt chanced to be one of a party in the only place of shelter on the prairie--the saloon. long ike sized up his man with a furtive glance, and made his usual effort to impose upon the stranger. so sure was he that roosevelt would submit that he did not take the precaution to make his usual "bluff" with his revolver. but long ike had reckoned without his host. roosevelt was on him like a wildcat. he gave the insulting giant a "half nelson," and showed his practical knowledge of wrestling gained at college by throwing the big fellow heavily to the floor. then he turned him over like a cat playing with a mouse, stood him up, and ran him out of doors, taking the bully's revolver away in the brief trip from the bar to the doorway. long ike returned to the fray, glowing white with rage. roosevelt tackled him again, and threw him out with more 71 true stories of heroic lives vigor than before. the man did not rise from the ground for five minutes, and when he did he was too dazed to continue the fight. roosevelt's style of attack was so entirely novel and so beautifully convincing that ike made no attempt to resent it in the "bad-man "" way. he sneaked away from camp, never to return. the cowboys of that section referred to roosevelt from that day forward as "that holy terror with the eye-glasses." as every one knows, governor roosevelt did not write his breezy books about big-game hunting in the far west from material furnished at second hand. he was as fearless in the pursuit of the grizzly bear as he was at a more recent date in the pursuit of law-breakers in new york, or still more recently of the spanish enemy on san juan hill. his greatest achievement in the wild chase for dangerous quarry was in 1884, when he brought to earth a mountain bear that weighed twelve hundred pounds. this happened in the dakota wilderness, and the story of the killing is of interest. at the time of the episode roosevelt was established in dakota as a rancher, but, being a millionaire, he was not looked upon by his cowboy neighbors as a sportsman of any considerable skill or prowess. his killing of the biggest bear in the state, however, made him at once an object of pride and envy in the community. with a trusted cowboy companion, roosevelt 72 portrait of colonel roosevelt • sallied forth one morning in quest of game. it came sooner than the two lone huntsmen had expected. they were riding a narrow trail when the cowboy called roosevelt's attention to a curious formation of rocks directly ahead of them. they drew rein, and were gazing at the natural wonder when a ferocious growl came from behind it. a moment later a bear, black as crime, thrust his ugly snout over the shoulder of the rock. the rifles of both men were leveled at the monster in the same instant, but just as the cowboy was about to fire roosevelt yelled at him: "here, don't shoot that bear! that's my bear. i'll shoot you if you shoot him!" the cowboy employee stood between roosevelt and the advancing bear. while he had never before seen anything in the manner of his employer that had led him to believe roosevelt would kill a human being, the look in the latter's eyes and the tone of his voice made the cowboy lower his gun; the fact, too, that roosevelt's rifle wa aimed directly at his head had something to do with his decision not to fire at the bear. meanwhile bruin had approached, and was dangerously near the pair. the animal was in a killing rage, his eyes dilated and his teeth gleaming wickedly. fortunately for both men, roosevelt's aim was accurate, and an hour later the bear's hide was stretched in the sun. the cowboy then explained to his em73 true stories of heroic lives ployer that he had been in haste to shoot simply because he feared the bear would kill both of them; that his thought was for roosevelt's safety rather than the desire to deprive him of the fame of bagging big game. this explanation made roosevelt. feel penitent for his harshness, and to make amends he presented the cowboy with a silver-mounted winchester and a pair of the finest corduroy breeches ever seen in dakota. long before the blowing up of the maine in havana harbor mr. roosevelt made the prediction that " "we shall be compelled to fight spain within a year." no one knew better than himself the chances of success in a war between this country and the dons. as assistant secretary of the navy he had done everything in his power to keep uncle sam's protectors afloat in a state of preparedness for war. his foresight was not always appreciated by those in higher official positions. soon after he was appointed to his post in the navy department at washington, in 1897, he asked for an appropriation of $800,000 for ammu nition for the use of the navy. this appropriation was made, and a few months later he made another application for funds. he was asked what had been done with the first $800,000 worth of powder and shot. looking through his spectacles with flashing eyes, roosevelt blandly replied: "every cent of it has been spent in sharpening the tools 74 portrait of colonel roosevelt of our sailors, and every bit of the powder and shot has been fired in practise." he was then asked what he was going to do with the half-million dollars he had recently requested, and he said with the same vigor of expression: "going to use every ounce of that, too, within the next thirty days in practise shooting." to what extent the superb marksmanship in the war with spain was due to this costly but necessary practise it is impossible to say precisely; but that it had much to do with the smashing of cervera's fleet and the defeat of montojo no one can gainsay. senator cushman k. davis is on record as saying: “if it had not been for roosevelt, we should not have been able to strike the blow that we did at manila, and admiral dewey's victory would not have gone into history as one of the most splendid achievements of modern warfare.” theodore roosevelt's philosophy of life is brief but sound. "there are two things everybody should cultivate," he says. "first, the determination that you are going to have a good time as long as you live-i have no use for a sour-faced man; and next, make up your mind that you are going to do something worth while, that you will work hard and do the things you set out to do." it is characteristic of roosevelt that he never preaches what he does not himself practise. he is neither an aristocrat nor an ana narchist, but a 75 true stories of heroic lives plain, wide-awake american who understands human nature and has a genuine sympathy with every sort and condition of mankind. he does not think that the governor of the state of new york or of any state, should be addressed with the title "your excellency." a state ruler, in governor roosevelt's opinion, is not entitled to any such high-sounding form of address. "governor" is his official designation, and expresses all there is to the office. he believes that the same rule applies to the president of the united states. and yet theodore roosevelt is not an iconoclast. a stranger once asked him, "are you a republican or a democrat?" "my friend," he replied, "i am a jeffersonian republican and a non-partizan democrat, and i am not averse to new ideas in politics." 76 a woman of wonderful nerve. by rev. h. d. fisher. on n the beautiful morning of august 21, 1863, the long-delayed storm of pro-slavery hatred broke in fire and vengeance upon lawrence, kans., leaving the city in ashes, with nearly two hundred citizens murdered-with eighty widows and two hundred and fifty orphans. i was living in lawrence, was a methodist preacher and an intimate friend of general lane's, and having helped hundreds of slaves to freedom, quantrell's guerrillas had determined to kill me. they knew i was at home, and that the town was unprotected. just as twilight streaked the horizon, mrs. fisher had risen, and, looking eastward, saw the murderous band, three hundred strong, stealing like death into town, with quantrell's black flag in the lead. she called: "pa, there is a company of soldiers coming; i believe it is quantrell's murderous band." i opened the door in time to see them kill rev. snider. i left the house with our two older boys, leaving joseph and the baby with their mother. after running a little way, i returned to hide on a 7777 true stories of heroic lives 66 bank of earth in the cellar. my wife, hearing me, came and said: "i fear they will find you and kill you; but pray, and i'll try to save you." returning to the room, she was met by a posse led by the afterward notorious bank and train robber jesse james, who asked: "madam, is your husband about the house?" she answered calmly: "he left with the boys when you came into town." he swore that he knew i was in the cellar. wife replied: "it is not genteel to doubt a lady's word; go look for yourselves." he ordered a light. she gave him a lamp; but he failed to light it, and ordered another. she gave the babe to one to hold while she lighted another lamp. the leader ordered the others to follow him and to kill at sight. entering the cellar ready to shoot, they had to stoop, while the leader held the lamp down and close to the bank on which i lay. the shadow of the bank covered me, so they did not see me. they looted the house, searching every closet for me, and then fired it in five places, and left it burning furiously. my wife extinguished the fire and came to me, saying: "i fear others will find and kill you. are you prepared?" i replied: "yes." she encouraged me to pray and to trust god for deliverance. another posse, drunk and more desperate, came and demanded: "madam, are you a widow?" 78 a woman of wonderful nerve she replied: "not unless your men have found my husband outside. a party of your men were here and hunted everywhere, but did not find him." they swore the house should burn, and fired it in a dozen places. she prepared again to fight the fire. the woodwork, burning, fell into the cellar and burned above and close to me. the kitchen roof caught fire, and if it were not extinguished my escape would be impossible. placing a table by the wall, and a stand upon it, she climbed to the roof and extinguished the fire, thus preserving a way for my escape. single-handed and alone, her struggle became desperate. fire in front, above, and around her and creeping toward me, with murderers laughing her to scorn, the little woman fought the fire with a desperation born of hope to save her husband. finally she came and said: "pa, come out; but i fear they will see and kill you after all, for they are watching for you. you crawl under this carpet, i'll drag it to a bush; you hide under that, and i'll cover it." just then mrs. sugaran, a neighbor, came, and the women dragged me and the carpet to the bush. i crawled under it, and they threw the carpet over it, and threw chairs, saved from the house on top of the carpet, while the murderers stood near, gun in hand, watching for the hated chaplain. this unparalleled contest with noted guerrillas 79 true stories of heroic lives and fire, with a babe in arms and a husband to save, lasting five dreadful hours, exhibits self-possession and moral heroism equal in sublimity to anything recorded of revolutionary or savage encounter. the home and its contents were burned, but quantrell's noted guerrillas were foiled, and the husband of the heroine of the lawrence massacre was saved. 80 prospecting for daylight on the yukon. by joaquin miller. the he scenery of the yukon river is one of sustained and stately splendor from its source, under the chilkoot pass, to its conflux with the bering sea. in this respect it surpasses all rivers of the globe. the yukon is nearly three thousand miles long. it throws a volume of water nearly equal to that of the mississippi. it is made up of lakes-extinct craters-linked together by gorges, cañons, cataracts, that are impassable most of the time, that are perilous always. the death record of the yukon is terrible. the very name yukon means trouble-the river of trouble. but you search maps of the world in vain for any mention of the name prior to 1856. this is a new world; as new as it is magnificent. as you descend the river you see on either side, for thousands of miles, a seam of white, only a few inches under the earth's surface, similar to that to be seen in the rim of railroad cuts as you approach naples. so that we know that however cold this 6 81 true stories of heroic lives vast region of ice may be to-day, it was once a sea of cinders and ashes. in places, as you dash on and on down and through this world of wonders, you see bones, tusks, molars of mighty antediluvian and tropical monsters half hidden in the icy alluvial banks, such as have been found along the lena and are now to be seen at st. petersburg. the changes have been fearful along this new and mighty river of the remote north. the ice-locked soil is of the richest. what tropical forests of old! the indians of the yukon-not numerous-are as new and strange as are all other things in this strange new land. you must dissociate them entirely from all other primitive peoples of the continent. they are much like the japanese in skill, gentleness, general appearance, and sweet simplicity. they are a sad, silent people, very industrious. they are good miners, having been the first discoverers of all the great gold-mines in north alaska as well as the klondike. last year, midwinter, when the last bit of daylight was blown out in the arctic circle as you might blow out a candle, a yukon indian volunteered to guide two men out of the arctic darkness to daylight. it was not all for money, but mainly for love, pity, duty. two or three of the hundreds caught in this ice-trap in the arctic circle, at fort yukon, while trying to escape down the great river to the bering sea, had killed themselves in 82 prospecting for daylight their desire. some lay down to die, and died. some became insane. but these two men who appealed to this indian did not despair. they believed they could turn back, up the river, the way they had come. it was nearly two thousand miles down the river of ice and snow to the bering sea. it was about one thousand miles back up the river to the chilkoot pass. another way was to the south; that way, if any way, they could hope to see the sun, if they could only go far enough to find it. one of these men had despatches, also hundreds of letters, of the utmost importance. the other was the head of a great company that waited, waited, and waited to hear. others might go into winter quarters, make the best of a bad situation, and wait for spring. these two men were so fretted and wrought up by their responsibilities that they felt they should go mad there; better die on the trail! this yukon, indian, placid, silent, saw and understood all. they had to go far up the porcupine river, still deeper into the arctic circle, for dogs. the dogs are very small, woolly, puny little things, weighing about sixty pounds. they are hitched to a toboggan, tandem, and will work as long as a man can keep on his feet. they are fed once a day, when camp is pitched. they are more afraid of water than a cat, and their drink is snow. if by chance 83 true stories of heroic lives there is an air-hole or an overflow on the ice, either they must be carried over, or you must go around, up on the mountain-side. this continuous midnight is not so dark, but to a sensitive native it is worse than darkness. the moon looms up fuller all the time, mightily magnified. the stars are at times like flaming campfires. this is when the northern lights flash up through fissures in the ice, and sweep all about, and feed and glorify the stars till the fire-horns flame upward and flash with blinding beauty. then suddenly the lights leap into heaven with a rustling, hissing sound, and there is only a ghostly, graveyard light-a light on the snow that is unearthly, black, green, hideous! the soul becomes terrified. you can hear the silence. the indian kept on before without a word; breaking the snow with his snow-shoes, chopping the upheaved broken blocks of ice so that the dogs at his heels and the toboggan could come on after. one of the white men pulled on the toboggan before, one pushed behind. it was hard work. the load would turn over every few rods in the snow, on the sloping, broken blocks of ice. when the party could wallow along no farther, the indian would dig a hole for the sled. then while he unharnessed and fed the four little dogs, the white men would put brush on everything but the robes, to make sure nothing could get at the food. then 84 prospecting for daylight they would light a few handfuls of birch-bark in the little tin box-stove, boil tea, fry three slices of bacon and three handfuls of frozen beans prepared before starting. then the three men would get in the robes spread on the brush over the sled, and eat and sleep; while the great lights flashed and seethed and hissed; blew out, then came again. brighter than before, till you had to hide your eyes from the glittering cathedral stars-cathedrals of gold that gleamed on the beetling rim of the palisades. no horizon, no softening of the cobalt blue of the burnished sky; burnished and made hard and steely by that sweeping, seething northern light. your prayer is that you might not go mad. then up, and on, and on. two weeks! three! by this time there was little to eat. and the best dog had cut his feet on the ice and laid down to die. it was hoped he would follow when rested. but only his cry, wild and lone and piteous, as if he had lost his way and followed the dying, silent men for help-that was all. then, as they turned a sudden point in the palisades, the wind struck them hard. the ice had been blown lower here. they held on by hanging bush and points of ice for a time, but then the wind caught them all of a heap and blew them like a heap of feathers. there was an air-hole back of them. the indian got in between with his ax, and cut a hold for his feet; but he fell. 85 true stories of heroic lives they got out of this; but all along now were little blotches of blood as they kept on and on. the indian was bleeding from the lungs, but he said never a word. soon now a great mountain-peak arising to the south was seen. it was so sublime it seemed to be a part of another world; to prop the very porch of heaven and to companion with the stars. they kept their faces lifted to that gleaming peak-their cloud, their pillar of fire. suddenly the indian threw a hand high in the air. there was a tint of light-a tint, a halo. they sat down on the sled, silent. and the three little dogs sat down and lifted high their little black noses and pushed them all about. then as if god's finger reached down to that mountain-peak, a crimson flame was planted there. then his angel, god's first-born, swept down, sword in hand, and up and down, right and left, hip and thigh he smote the darkness that had so long encompassed them, till the whole world round about blazed with the glory of battle between light and darkness, and it was at last morning on the yukon. they had found daylight at last! but that was the end of one giant soul's aching search for light. the day was short; scarce a span long was this little first day. but the indian did not survive it. when he tried to rise from the sled, he fell. the blood flowed from his mouth, and he ever spoke. but that hand of his went 86 prospecting for daylight high in the air once more-as if he again saw light. they made a grave in the ice with his ax; but they had not much strength left; and the dogs could scarcely move any more. one after another they were turned loose: the toboggan was left in the men took their sales-papers, and you do not speak of such times. you its tracks. pushed on. are dull, stupid, almost witless. one of the two survivors was a rather old man. he should have died first. that indian had chosen to die first. and now the younger assumed to be very strong and carried all the load. he carried it to the last day. the old man was on ahead-entered town first. when they went back the young man lay dead on the snow. oh, the hearts, the great, warm hearts, on the icy yukon! 87 did he save the american republic? by richard j. hinton. e arly in the year 1899 there passed to his long rest the eminent englishman, thomas bayley potter. the papers duly chronicled many of the events of his life-his service in the house of commons, his work in founding the cobden club, his activity in support of the corn-law league. but americans have special reasons for gratitude to mr. potter that have for the most part escaped recent notice. the london trades union council started in 1862 a weekly paper under the title of the beehive. it soon fell into pecuniary arrears, and barker, an agent of the south, appeared with an offer of southern money to lift a mortgage. the london artisan feelings about american conditions were not as clearly expressed as were those of the north of england. it became evident that the beehive management was disposed to fall in with barker's offer. members of its directorate, however, heard of the private negotiations. george ogden, mr. creamer (since known in 88 did he save the republic? america as the secretary of the arbitration league), and others went to thomas bayley potter at westminster. before the beehive board again met, ogden was the virtual owner of the mortgage; and when macdonald, the business manager, developed the plan to borrow from the southern agents, he quietly produced the documents and took possession. this action of mr. potter's cost him $30,000; but it created a center for union agitation in london which shortly after culminated in the arrival in england of henry ward beecher, and in the holding of the famous st. james's hall meeting on the night before the laird resolution for english intervention was defeated in the house of commons. the salvation of the american republic may be said, with some show of reason, to have rested at that time upon the helpful courage of mr. potter and the self-sacrificing devotion of a halfdozen london workmen, who pawned their watches and spent their small savings to pay the expenses of the meeting at st. james's hall. at this time also, thomas bayley potter put the whole of his fortune and great credit at the absolute disposal of the united states government. in the mersey, ships to be used as confederate cruisers were lying, all ready to start for sea. the british government it was hostile in spirit, yet demands of charles francis if the atlantic cable had would take no risks. could not ignore the adams, our minister. 89 true stories of heroic lives then been working, his demand for the stoppage of the reputed cruisers on grounds of neutral obligations would have been at once sustained by the telegraphic transfer from washington to london of the credit necessary to secure what the british foreign office and treasury demanded, the deposit of the reported value of the suspected ships, $6,000,000 in gold. the american treasury was straining every effort to get ready and ship bonds to the amount of $10,000,000 by the next steamer. but that would take ten days, and there were only forty-eight hours left for protective action. charles francis adams knew only one man in great britain to rely upon in such a crisis, and that was thomas bayley potter. nor did the rockdale man fail him. mr. adams, as american minister, gave the englishman a note for the $6,000,000 in gold that was needed. the great sum was obtained and deposited by mr. potter in the bank of england. the ships were libeled, and vast complications cleared away. within twelve days the american funds arrived, mr. potter was protected, and soon after the laird confederate vessels which had been seized were condemned. · 90 the brave children of cuba libre. by mary c. francis. n all cuba one can find nothing more interesting study by themselves, and in contemplating them and considering that the future of cuba belongs to them even more than to the present generation they become important as well as pathetic. many hundreds of these children i saw in those hopeless, starving, deathlike processions which i met going about the country in search of food, slowly crawling into the cities and then out again, sometimes asking alms in words, more often merely standing aside in the road to let our horses pass while their great, hollow eyes stared wonderingly at us. the youngest soldier i heard of in the cuban army was varonita. it was in june of 1895 when one fine day a boy rode into the camp of president cisneros and without delay asked to be conducted to the chief executive. the marquis, always accessible to any one, had the lad sent to him immediately. as he entered and saluted it could be seen that he was a bright-eyed, manly little fellow, and in response to the request of the marquis to 91 true stories of heroic lives know what he could do for him he said: "señor marquis, the spaniards have killed my father and all my family. there is no one left but me to fight. if you will give me a gun i will help to free cuba." the marquis looked at him carefully. "how old are you?" "twelve, señor marquis." "twelve years old, and talk of fighting the spaniards! you do not know what you are saying. you are only a boy. go home." "i have no home, señor marquis. you might as well let me fight." and he did. the spirit of the boy captured the heart of the marquis, and he ordered a light rifle from the united states especially for him and permitted him to accompany the escort, with orders to his men to carefully protect him. the boy was a fine young fellow, and the marquis not long after sent him to new york to be educated. in all the island the traveler will not hear a more thrilling tale of heroism than that of the girl of twelve who rode twelve miles through rain and storm to take to col. braulio peña the word from general gomez that he was needed at once to assist in the battle of saratoga. it was in 1896, and castellanos with some twenty-five hundred men was on his way to cascorro. general gomez with a small escort was en route to meet general garcia 92 brave children of cuba libre in eastern cuba, and he wished to get enough men together to stop castellanos. a young lieutenant was ordered to ride at once to colonel peña about seventy miles away and tell him to come without delay, bringing the four hundred men under his command, and join gomez, the old general believing that with one thousand men he could stop the spaniards. the lad—for he was only a boy in his teens-rode all day as hard and as fast as his horse would carry him, and just at dusk it was his fortune to run into a company of spaniards putting their horses out to grass. they fired on him and wounded him severely, but he managed to escape and rode nine miles to his home. arrived there, altho faint from fatigue and covered with blood, he insisted that he would stop for but a few moments for some refreshment, and while his mother and elder sister bound up his wounds and stanched the flow of blood, he ordered another horse to be saddled, saying: "i must go on at general gomez needs colonel peña. get my horse, quick!” once. "you must not go," said the distracted mother. "i will," replied the boy. "there is no one else to go. hurry; there is no time to be lost." a half-witted negro boy, a servant, ran out for the horse, and returned in a moment, saying: "the horse is gone." "my god, what shall i do!" cried the boy. 93 true stories of heroic lives at that very instant the sound of a horse's hoofs carefully stepping over the low fence-rails was heard, and as he cleared the last one he suddenly flashed by them like a shot and away into the gloom of the cuban twilight. as horse and rider vanished in the gathering darkness they recognized conchita, the younger sister. the child had hovered around her brother from the moment he had entered the house and had gathered the import of the message, and then, without saying a word to any one, she had quietly slipped out and saddled the horse and started for colonel peña's camp, twelve miles distant. a storm was rising, and the mother and sister called frantically to her to stop, but the girl gave no reply. she dashed out and was off before any one even dreamed of her intention. it was impossible to send any one to bring her back, and the mother said, "it is for cuba, and turned her attention again to her wounded son. on like the wind sped the child through the darkshe knew the road, and the animal was fresh. she put the spurs to him and rode as tho riding for life or death. in a few moments the tropical storm that had been gathering broke, and in the terrific downpour she was drenched, beaten down in her saddle by the rain and gusts of wind, blinded by the sheets of water that dashed into her face. her hair hung in soaked masses about her shoulders, rivulets of water trickled from every ness. " 94 brave children of cuba libre point; but not for one instant did she falter or think of turning back. fortunately the horse she rode was a fine animal, and he covered the distance in record-breaking time. she reached the camp; and just as peña was about to turn in for the night a slender little figure, soaked, drenched, panting, slipped from her horse almost into his hammock, and said: "please, colonel peña, general gomez wants you and and your men at saratoga." after the startled colonel had assured himself that this apparition was a real live girl and not a wraith born of the storm, he ordered out his men. unfortunately all but an escort of thirty had been sent into the holguin district; but peña took this small number and started immediately for the scene of action. the courage of this young heroine had won his heart, and, taking the half-drowned little figure in his arms, he gathered up his blanket out of his hammock, wrapped her closely in it, and setting her before him on his own saddle, carried her thus all the way back to her home. the storm had ended and the stars were shining brightly in an unclouded sky when the colonel rode up about midnight to the humble palm hut, tenderly supporting the child in his strong arms. with simple and unconscious eloquence she had told her unvarnished tale, and then, warm and dry and safe, she had fallen quietly asleep and was deep in the land of dreams before the clatter of 95 true stories of heroic lives hoofs on the midnight air aroused the family. the gallant colonel's eyes were wet as he lifted her down. 66 señora," he said, "both your son and your daughter are worthy of cuba." then saluting he rode away to battle, altho he had but thirty men instead of four hundred; and it was at the ensuing battle of saratoga that he won from gomez the title of "the fighting colonel of camaguey." this tale i heard under the velvety stars of a tropic night in cuba told by one who was himself in the battle. 96 aground on the great rip. by rev. w. c. martin. ne morning in may, 1879, capt. wallace one brown, of noank, conn., was cruising in the osprey in a gale near "the shoals," about thirteen miles out from nantucket island. there had been fog and rain and high wind all night, but in the morning the fog had lifted, tho the wind had increased. toward noon a schooner was sighted aground on the great rip "rose and crown," which proved later to be the city of gloucester from gloucester, mass. her colors were down, she was full of water, and her crew were all gesticulating wildly for help. the osprey approached as near as possible, but could not come within a mile of the wreck, which it was seen must soon go to pieces. the mate, robert machette, of noank, and another brave man started in a thirteen-foot dory to rescue the imperiled crew, but soon returned, convinced that their boat could not live in the choppy sea of the rip, where the water was dashing frequently halfmast high. the men on the city of gloucester had made by this time a death-trap of a raft of some "fish-pens" 17 97 true stories of heroic lives they had aboard, and, seeing the dory return, had committed themselves to that. machette again undertook to reach them, but, brave man and experienced seaman tho he was, he returned and declared that no boat could possibly live in that terrible sea. captain brown himself then called for a volunteer to go with him, and young joseph machette, one of the crew, immediately stepped forward, and these two clambered into the dory and started. they never expected to return to the osprey, but declared it was more than they could do to remain safely aboard and see those sailors go down right before their eyes. braver or more skilful battling with the elements was never done, but their courage and skill won the day, and after an exhausting struggle they reached the miserable raft, which had already broken a leg of one of the men on it, took the whole crew of eight into their thirteen-foot dory, and started back. in a minute the little vessel had nearly filled with water, but the rescued men worked furiously bailing out. again and again the waves broke over them and filled the struggling craft, but thanks to the calmness and intrepid courage of captain brown the overladen dory was engineered through the gigantic, seething caldron to the lee of the osprey, and eight men were saved from a grave in the deep. 98 the story of a heroic family. (gen. joseph e. wheeler and his children.) by mary c. francis. "figh ighting joe" wheeler needs no introduction to the public. neither does his daughter, miss annie wheeler, who accompanied the army to cuba as a nurse and saw service in the hospitals there during the fever-stricken days that followed the fall of santiago. yet the reading public does not perhaps fully realize that, out of this family, four served their country during the late one son, joseph early wheeler, jr., second lieutenant fourth artillery, was reported for bravery at the battle of san juan. lieutenant wheeler is now instructor in mathematics at west point, and is a universal favorite with his brother officers. another son, thomas harrison, saw service in puerto rico. war. during the washington season the general and his family may be found at the arlington, but with the close of the social round they seek more quiet and secluded quarters on capitol hill, and here it was that recently i spent a delightful evening with them. the unassuming hero of two wars i found even 99 true stories of heroic lives more shy and reticent than he had been represented; in fact, he is painfully so to the ambitious interviewer. absolutely nothing can be drawn out of him about himself. the instant he scents the personal note he retreats to impenetrable jungles of silence, and there he stays until the conversational wind blows to general quarters again. "you are a peaceful-looking warrior," i ventured. "how do you manage to stand the strain and excitement of campaigns and battles?" "easily enough. i can stand anything if i get enough sleep. that is the chief thing for me. if i can go to bed at ten o'clock i can endure anything the next day may bring forth. i got enough sleep even in cuba; not that i always went to bed at ten o'clock then, but if i didn't i generally managed to snatch a nap the next day that would even things up. then i would be all right again. my experience has taught me that nothing can so well fit a man for active duty as temperate habits, abstinence from intoxicating liquors, and plenty of sleep. with these to fortify a man he can stand great hardships, arduous duty, and extremes of climate without suffering greatly." "you must be a perfect reservoir of stories and anecdotes about brave acts, deeds of heroism, by the men of both the civil war and the spanishamerican war," i said. "tell me some of them, will you not?" 100 maj.-gen. joseph e. wheeler the story of a heroic family "i am sure that somewhere in my mind i must have a good many memories," replied the general, smiling, "but i am not good at remembering stories. to attempt to give any individual account of bravery and personal courage would be to go into a minute. detail of the conduct of almost every man engaged in battle, for i consider the general personnel of the men who were in the cuban campaign deserving of the highest and most unqualified praise. "in the first place, the men who went to cuba had much to fear from the climate and the diseases endemic there. yellow-fever experts at tampa had lectured to the officers and had said that ninety per cent. of the men might expect to have yellow fever. the men under me in the las guasimas fight were dismounted cavalrymen, and therefore not used to walking, yet after we landed the first thing they had to do was to march fourteen miles to siboney and cook and eat their supper in a drenching rain. this was on the 23d of june. on the next morning these men, nine hundred and sixty-four in number, marched three miles to meet the enemy and then defeated more than two thousand men under general linares. there was a splendid, chivalric courage displayed by the men in this las guasimas fight, and the dash and impetuous energy exhibited by the men were so great that the spaniards fully believed that an immense force was arrayed against them. the official re101 true stories of heroic lives port of the spanish commander stated that they were attacked by five full regiments of infantry and sixteen dismounted squadrons of cavalry, or more than ten times the actual number which defeated them. "after las guasimas i reconnoitered san juan and el caney, and reported to general shafter the forces and defenses of the enemy and the topography of the country. on the first of july the great victory of san juan hill was won by less than seven thousand men, and in the charge on the formidable entrenchments of san juan every man who went up the hill proved himself a hero, for it looked like certain death to advance in the face of that fire. in passing from el pozo to the river it was impossible to see the enemy, as they had the correct range of the road, and the men suffered severely there. out of the cavalry division eighteen per cent., or about one man in five, were either killed or wounded. "the significance of these figures is only fully understood when compared with the records of some other battles. waterloo is regarded as one of the bloodiest battles in history, but wellington's casualties did not reach twelve per cent.; at hohenlinden general moreau lost but four per cent.; the troops of henry of navarre were said to be 'cut to pieces' at contras, and yet his loss was less than ten per cent.; at valmy frederick wil102 the story of a heroic family liam lost three per cent.; napoleon at marengo and austerlitz lost fourteen and one-half per cent. in the civil war the losses were very heavy; at perryville, murfreesboro, chickamauga, gettysburg, mission ridge, the battles of the wilderness and spottsylvania, the losses frequently reached or even exceeded forty per cent., and the average of killed or wounded on one side or the other was over thirty per cent. i recall that of the young men who were in west point while i was there fifty-six have been killed in battle, and from 1492 to 1861 the killed and wounded upon american soil in all our wars, as shown by official reports, were not many more in the aggregate than fell in any one of the great battles of the civil war. i mention this because i think that such figures are far more impressive than anything that i could say in token of the courage of the men in battle-the men in the rank and file who go in solid battalions into the face of death. it is only when the men of a nation have invincible and unquestioned courage, moral as well as physical courage, that such casualties are possible. it means that the country which can lead the world in times of peace can in war meet any foe and display a heroism which can successfully challenge the world's history for finer examples. the story of the courage of the private soldier must forever remain an untold story -untold in detail; for were that attempted the li103 true stories of heroic lives braries of the world could not contain the books that would record the unvarnished tales of heroism." at this point miss wheeler, who was tumbling over a lot of letters looking for some memoranda, smiled and passed one to me, saying, “isn't that the funniest nickname you ever heard of?" i looked at the letter; "dear point," it began, and i repeated it vaguely. "that was papa's old nickname at west point. they called him that because he has neither length, breadth, nor thickness. his chums and old-time friends call him that to this day." just then lucy wheeler, who had gone to look for some other photographs, came back and said that she could not find a certain one. "i'm sure i know where it is," said the general, vanishing out of the doorway-and he never came back! i'm afraid he didn't find it right away. "little boy blue never does stay up late," said annie wheeler in explanation. "yes, we always call him that." this gallant old hero of two wars is "little boy blue" in the family circle. annie wheeler's story. no literary art could add anything to the interest of annie wheeler's naïve, simple story of how she came to go to cuba and give her services to our sick and wounded men. as she sat 1 104 the story of a heroic family there in the dusk, luminous-eyed and serene, and with unconscious eloquence told her narrative, the fires of patriotism and enthusiasm burned their way through the unaffected recital. hers was no spurious devotion. she was inspired by a genuine and lasting motive. she would gladly do it again. all the horrors of the fever hospitals in the gruesome days that accompanied the fall of santiago did not dim her ardor nor change her attitude, and when she said, her voice vibrating with sincerity, "the happiest moments of my life were spent there," there was a mist before my eyes. a little later something in the conversation suggested the lack of food that prevailed part of the time, and i asked: "what did you have to eat?" "i'm sure i don't know," she replied, with a characteristic little upward movement of the head. "i don't remember eating anything. all i remember about those days is that i was so happy to be there and to see the almost doglike gratitude in the eyes of our men for the smallest favor. i never saw one, even the roughest, most unkempt, without knowing that somewhere some woman loved him, and for her sake i loved him too." miss wheeler found many obstacles in the way of going, and nothing but her own undaunted spirit succeeded in overcoming them and accomplishing her purpose. "there was papa down at tampa," she said, 105 true stories of heroic lives "and the boys too, and here i was shut up at home and fairly pining to go. "i talked to my friends and in fact to everybody i knew about going to cuba as a nurse. for my pains i got laughed at, discouraged, advised, and warned. not a soul would take my point of view. every one immediately told me what folly it was for a girl who was not trained for nursing, who had always been delicate, to think of such a thing. also they told me that no matter how much i wanted to go i would never find a way, for the government did not look kindly on the proffered services of untrained volunteers, and that no woman would be allowed to go on a transport. i made application to the war department. they paid no attention to it. i went to all the washington officials whom i knew to be papa's friends, and tried to get them to interest themselves in assisting me to go; but they talked to me in a paternal sort of way, and said that as friends of my father they felt the greatest service they could render me was not to help me. then they told me about the climate and what terrible sights i would see, and said it would be no place for women to be, anyhow. "i tried every avenue, but i was refused until i got used to it. there was a while when i should not have been surprised to have the door of any house where i had visited shut in my face. i never knew before how much like enemies people whom i 106 the story of a heroic family " had thought friends could be. one of the greatest objections urged against me was that i had no training for a nurse. the work is very hard,' they said, and you are not strong. then the requirements of the life are such that experience or especial qualifications are necessary, and you have neither. then the climate alone will kill you, and you will have nothing but hardtack to eat. do you not see what folly it is?'" "no, i don't,' i replied. very likely i'm not as delicate as you seem to imagine, and even if i am not trained for a nurse, i know that the chief duty of one is to obey orders, and i have sense enough to do that. i don't believe the climate will kill me any more than it will kill papa, and nobody thinks it will murder him; and as for the hardtack, i can eat what anybody else can.' "if you had only seen them look at me when i talked that way! i'm sure some of them thought i was crazy. 6 "time went on and there seemed to be no chance for me to go, so i packed my trunk, and after it was packed i telegraphed papa at tampa asking him if i might come down and see him, and then i took the next train, because i was afraid he would send me word not to come. you see, i knew he would know that i really meant to go to cuba. when i got to tampa i talked to papa about it, and he didn't actually forbid me to go, but he said 107 true stories of heroic lives he didn't see how i could. then he and my brothers sailed and i was left there, and there was no way for me to go until i got off on the lampasas, which was carrying a lot of red cross nurses. forgot to tell you that before that, in washington, i had gone to clara barton and had told her i wanted to go to cuba, and she looked at me and said, 'what for? to be nursed?' but afterward, on the island, she was very kind and considerate to me. "i got to cuba just after the fall of santiago, and was immediately put to work in the improvised hospital in the nautical club." 6 the girl paused, as tho filled with a flood of memories, and then said with a rapt expression on her face: "the happiest moments of my life were spent there. never can i forget what that experience was like. we had not many wounded, for of course the worst cases were sent to the surgical hospital; but still many who were brought in were covered with blood and had what the doctors called an ugly scratch.' most of our cases were the fever patients, and as they raved and tossed in their delirium it was a pleasure to do what could be done for them. with their returning convalescence they were, if possible, still more pathetic. many of them had a horror of possibly dying in a strange country, and for numbers of them i wrote home to loved ones what were the most tragic epistles that could be penned. they were heart-breaking in i 108 aaaaa aaaaaαλλα αμυλα «ο λαλλα a miss annie early wheeler the story of a heroic family their simplicity. the only request most of them made was that if they died in cuba they might be brought home to be buried. "they were most pitiful sights as they were brought in, gaunt, dusty, blood-stained, exhausted, fainting, yet every one who was conscious was generous and uncomplaining, and many of them would ask the doctor or surgeon to attend to some one else first who was worse injured. it was the nobility of true men at death's door. their gratitude was the most touching thing i ever saw. they seemed to be surprised to see women there ministering to them, and many a poor fellow as i bent over him said the first thing, 'how nice it is to see a woman here;' and then perhaps would faint away. "when they began to recover, the doglike gratitude in their eyes was most appealing. they were thankful for the merest trifle-to have a pillow smoothed, to be given a drink of water, to be told the time of day, to be asked how they were. i would feel their eyes follow me as i moved down the tent, and those toward whom i was walking seemed to be gladly awaiting my coming. oh, how happy it made me to do anything for them! i could never do anything in the world which would give me more real pleasure." i felt uncomfortably selfish and useless. had i not admired her so much i should have envied her. "and what do you suppose was the first compli109 true stories of heroic lives ment-the first real compliment, i mean-that i got?" she continued. "why, one day one of the doctors turned to me and said, 'i'm glad to find a trained nurse here.' think of it! when all of my friends had said that i would be of no account because i was not trained, here i was actually taken for a regularly educated nurse! my head was up in the air and i walked on clouds after that, and went around telling it to everybody i could find to listen to me. no, i don't know any reason for it. i suppose it was just because i always did exactly what i was told, and that i learned something every day by experience. before i left the island i had the pleasure of hearing all the doctors say that my work in the hospitals was as good as that of any trained nurse. "i came back on the olivette. on board i helped nurse a good many. one case i had was that of a man who had his neck cut very badly all around the throat, nearly from ear to ear, and i held it while the doctors dressed it. i remember that i was afraid it would break off before they could get it fixed, and the man kept looking at me as much as to say: 'please hold it on.' "nobody can say i haven't experience now, and as for my health it was never so good in my life. i am much stronger than before went to cuba. it has been the great episode of my life. i would gladly live it over." 110 the story of a heroic family naval cadet thomas harrison wheeler. probably not another incident of the entire war combines more of fate and pathos than the story of the tragic end of general wheeler's youngest son, naval cadet thomas harrison wheeler, who was drowned at montauk point on september 7, 1898. of him it is true that he gave his life for his friend, for he perished in the attempt to rescue his drowning companion. it was not until after our first conversation that miss annie wheeler told me the pathetic story. "tom" wheeler was the youngest of the family, their pride and pet. he was especially noted for his chivalry to his sisters. "he never either met or parted from one of his sisters," said miss wheeler, "without kissing her, no matter if the separation was for but a few hours. his attentions to every member of the family were always thoughtful and unremitting. no attraction could draw him away from the home circle, and so accustomed were we to his constant presence that no one of us could be missed as much as he. after he came back from puerto rico he went to montauk, and altho not on papa's staff he made himself invaluable about the camp by attending to the thousand and one small matters always coming up 111 true stories of heroic lives which no one felt especially called upon to care for. in him we realized all our hopes, and papa so idolized him that when writing or busy in his tent he would stop for an instant and smile with atisfaction if he heard tom's voice outside. two of my sisters came down to the camp, and we were all so happy together. "it was too good to last. tom was drowned on wednesday. on monday my sister carrie felt that something would happen to him, and said to me, 'tom is too perfect; he will be taken away from us soon. i feel it.' on that fatal afternoon tom wanted to go in bathing with his friend, and coaxed papa to go along. they started together, and just as papa was leaving his tent the same thing happened which has happened all our lives-somebody wanted to see papa, and he turned to tom and said, 'go on. i'll join you very soon.' oh, if it only hadn't been for that! . . ." she composed herself bravely and went on: "after a while papa went down, but didn't see anything of the boys, and he noticed that the undertow was very strong; but he thought they must have gone in at some other point and was not anxious. when dinner-time came and tom was not on hand we all felt vaguely troubled, yet it seemed foolish in a camp like that, where everybody might be more or less uncertain, only it wasn't like tom. we tried to eat, and then papa said, 'well, i'm 112 the story of a heroic family going to wait for tom,' and of course when he spoke that way none of us could think of eating. "it was not long after that when somebody found tom's clothes lying on the beach. half a dozen men refused to come to tell papa, knowing the awful blow it would be. finally two officers came together and told him the awful news. he would not believe it until he went down and saw for himself--then he gave up all hope at once; but the rest of us couldn't. it was too terrible to be believed. of course the search was on at once. it was now night and a terrible storm came up. shall never forget those hours of agony; the elements themselves added to our agony. still we clung to a vain hope for our dear tom. about two o'clock that morning both bodies were washed ashore on the rocks. there was not one mark on his friend's body, but on tom's shoulders and arms were black and blue bruises where the drowning man in his fear had clutched him." i after we had been silent for a little while she added: "the only thing that makes me feel hard is that when i was so glad to do for others i could do nothing for my own. our dearest one had to be taken away in that awful way." thomas harrison wheeler was not yet eighteen. he died at the very threshold of what promised to be a glorious career, and it was heroic, tho brief. • 8 113 a hero of the plague. by edward page gaston. the `he plague had laid its scourge across the land, and south india lay prostrate under the curse. there was panic among the whites who were fleeing by swift trains to the hills, and among the natives a hopeless indifference. some pale-faced sahibs, cunning in the mixing of the white man's medicine, braved it all and wandered among the wilting multitudes as tho they had the measles only, instead of the deadliest contagion on earth. in paris the other day i met one of these heroes of the plague—a young austrian, with quiet eyes and a firm-looking mouth, whom i tempted to tell me about his exploits for the cause of medical science. dr. rudolf pöch would not of himself hint to you that he has at home the medal of the order of franz joseph, as conferred by the emperor of austria, and he talked in a very matter-of-fact way about his dangerous missions. "there is not much to tell," he said. "several of us medical men went to india for the austrian and german governments in 1897 to study the bubonic plague then sweeping away the people by the 114 a hero of the plague thousands. in the ten weeks we were there we examined and treated two hundred of the plagueinfected patients to observe the workings of the disease, and continued the study by fifty post-mortem cases. what did we do to keep from being infected? nothing at all; and we were so busy and interested in our work that i remember we did not even change the sun-clothes we wore. "as a result of our investigations we secured much new data on the little-known nature of the plague, and brought back with us some of the bacilli. in our laboratories at vienna we began a series of experiments by inoculating rats and rabbits with the disease germs, and carried on these studies with success for more than a year. then occurred the event last october which excited all countries in the spread of the plague among our staff. the servant who had the animals in charge was a good man, but given to drink sometimes. i warned him against the danger, but he got to drinking more and more, and his carelessness resulted in his death from the disease. dr. müller went down to death in turn, and the nurse who attended him. i served these patients until their death, and i believe the emperor did give me a decoration for it. so that is all the story." but that is not all the story; for the interest of the civilized world hung about the young physician at forrest hospital, who fought night and day to 115 true stories of heroic lives keep the dread disease from breaking its bonds to go ramping up and down vienna, and perhaps to leap the seas to carry death to many nations. when one looks into the quiet face of dr. pöch, he can read a bit of the dogged determination secn there last fall. for ten days and nights he fought the foe in desperate parryings, as he saw one after another of the three go out from life. his heroism saved the people; and, worn out by the terrific fight, but triumphant, he was at last able to announce that there was no more danger of the plague's spreading. the young hero was acclaimed on all sides, and the king called him to take his own order as a mark of the approval of the austrian nation, with such assurances of esteem as few viennese have ever received. for fear of further dangers the government has declined to permit continued experiments of the plague treatment in vienna; but dr. pöch intends to continue elsewhere his investigations. he is assured that he is on the right track for finding the cure by inoculation with serum, which he secures from the pasteur institute in paris, but which needs to be made of greater strength. on this he is now working, and there is every promise that herr pöch will add to his present large fame by bequeathing to humanity a permanent cure for the historic scourge which has taken millions of lives. 116 leo tolstoy, the apostle of brotherhood. by ernest h. crosby. ount leo tolstoy was born on september 9, 1828, at yasnaia poliana, the estate of his family, situated about one hundred and twenty miles south of moscow. in his story called "boyhood, adolescence, youth," he gives an account of his own early years under the character of the little nicholas. he passed his childhood in the country amid the strange, old-fashioned customs and manners of the russian landed aristocracy. the life must have resembled in many respects that of our rich southern planters before the war. there was the same profusion, the same easygoing shiftlessness, the same mingling of patriarchal habits with democratic familiarity, resulting probably from slavery and serfdom. the boy was brought up in the orthodox russian church with his brothers and sisters under the care of a german tutor, but he learned most from the simple peasantry and from direct contact with nature in forest and field. he was a bright, lively, sympa117 true stories of heroic lives thetic lad, but by no means good-looking, and one fine morning he made the discovery in his lookingglass that he looked for all the world like a typical russian peasant, and indeed throughout his life he has preserved this resemblance. when the time came for his older brothers to go to school, the family removed to moscow. there, when leo was only eleven years old, one of their playmates informed them of the latest discovery at school, namely, that there is no god, and that all that they were taught on the subject was pure invention. "i remember well," tolstoy says, "how interested my older brothers were in the news; i was admitted to their deliberations, and we all eagerly accepted the theory as something particularly attractive and possibly quite true." it was scarcely to be expected that under such influences the boy would long retain his religious beliefs, and, as a matter of fact, when he left the university of kazan at eighteen years of age, he was practically without religion of any kind. he soon found himself at home in the gay world of moscow, and entered upon the dissipated life of drinking, cardplaying, and dueling which was considered the proper career for a young nobleman. he succeeded after a time in securing a commission in the russian army, and saw active service in the caucasus and in the crimean war, taking 118 count leo tolstoy leo tolstoy part in the defense of sebastopol. he had now begun to write stories and short novels, and was rapidly gaining a reputation as an author of promise. at the end of the war he made his home at st. petersburg, and was received in the literary circles of the capital as one of its ornaments. he traveled abroad, and made the acquaintance of many of the leading thinkers of england and the continent, and in common with many of them he tried to content himself with a general belief in the progress of the world and in civilization instead of religion. still, with all his worldly advantages his mind was not completely at rest. at times he saw that "progress " and "civilization " were poor substitutes for a more substantial faith. "thus," he writes, "during my stay in paris, the sight of a public execution revealed to me the weakness of my superstitious belief in progress. when i saw the head divided from the body and heard the sound with which they fell separately into the box, i understood, not with my reason, but with my whole being, that no theory of the wisdom of all established things, nor of progress, could justify such an act; and that if all the men in the world from the day of creation, by whatever theory, had found this thing necessary, it was not so; it was a bad thing, and that therefore i must judge of what was right and necessary, not by what men said and 119 true stories of heroic lives did, not by progress, but by what i felt to be true in my heart." returning to his country home in russia at about the time of the emancipation of the serfs, he applied himself to the education of the newly freed peasants, taught in the village school, and edited an educational journal. but he did not succeed in stifling the desire of his soul for some more spiritual nourishment, and he actually fell ill from his mental unrest. it was at this period that he met his future wife, and his marriage, at the age of thirty-five, the increasing cares of a large family, the necessity of working at his great novels to provide for them,—all these things kept him so busied for fifteen years that he had no time to spend upon the deeper needs of his nature. he lived quietly in the country, devoting his spare moments to the pursuit of agriculture. but at last it was impossible for tolstoy to quiet his doubts any longer. what was the meaning of life? what difference did it make if he became as famous as shakespeare, if death ends all? he could find no answers to these questions, and, altho he was rich, honored, celebrated, and surrounded by a loving family, yet he grew so despondent that he was at times tempted by suggestions of suicide, and stopped going shooting for fear he might be led to point his gun at his own head, and hid a piece of rope which offered itself 120 leo tolstoy too readily to his hand, so that he might not see it. it is out of the question in the space at my disposal to follow out the mental process by which count tolstoy was enabled to rise triumphant above these perplexities. it called for a tremendous struggle on his part—a struggle which lasted for five years. like so many great leaders of men, he was led into the wilderness before he found peace. he turned successively to the philosophers and the men of the world of his own class, but they could give him no help. he then had recourse to the peasants, and in them he thought he saw the germs of a solution of the problem. they at least lived a natural life, and accepted severe toil, illness, and death without a murmur. for a time he attended the village church again, the church of his childhood,—but its superstitions demanded too much from him, and when, in 1878, prayers were offered for the success of the russian arms in turkey, his heart revolted. a church which in the name of the prince of peace gave its blessing to the slaughter of our fellow men could not, he was convinced, be the true church. he must separate for himself the true from the false, and discover the kernel of truth in the simple faith of the peasants. he now began an exhaustive examination of the gospels, again studying the greek language for that purpose. 121 true stories of heroic lives to make a long story short, he came to the conclusion, after reading the records of the evangelists many times, that the sermon on the mount contained the secret of the gospel, and that love for god and neighbor, showing itself in turning the other cheek and in loving even one's enemies, is the essential part of true religion. little did he think at that time that in accepting the plain and literal meaning of the words of jesus, he was making necessary a complete change in his own manner of living. he tried to interest himself in ordinary charitable work among the poor of moscow, but it did not satisfy him. how could he, in his fine carriage and dressed in the height of the fashion, pretend that he loved as himself these ragged, miserable neighbors? how could he feast on the fat of the land while they went hungry? the whole thing seemed arrant hypocrisy, and he was unable to take part in it. he began to loathe the elegant style of life in which he had been living, and he determined to come as close as he could to the life of the great, hard-working, impoverished mass of the nation, whose labor had supported him in luxury all these years. "i am sitting on the back of a man whom i am crushing," he said. "i insist on his carrying me, and without setting him free, i tell him that i pity him a great deal, and that i have only one desire-that of improving his condition by all possible means. and 122 leo tolstoy yet i never get off his back. if i wish to help the poor i must not be the cause of their poverty." with unusual consistency tolstoy has acted in conformity to these convictions. he has retired. to his country home, he has stripped it of every orrnament and luxury, he has clad himself in the rough clothes of the peasants, he has given up all animal food, tea, sugar, and delicacies of all kinds, and of course all alcoholic drinks and tobacco. he works in the fields when his health permits, and has also learned how to make boots. he continues to write, but only such books and articles as he believes will help the world onward in the direction of a real christianity. he was living thus when i visited him in 1894. i saw him, just as he has been so often pictured, in his blouse and leather belt, indistinguishable from the poorest laborer in the land; but a more kindly, more straightforward, frank, sincere, and hospitable, nay, a saner and more serious and reasonable man, i have never seen in any circle of society. he spends all that portion of the year in which farm labor is possible, from april to december, at his country home. i spent two days there, and i did not see a rug or carpet on the bare floors, nor any ornament whatever. his ideal (in accordance with which he lived there until his increasing age made it impossible) was to devote four hours a day to farm labor, four to some handicraft (in his 123 true stories of heroic lives own case, bootmaking), and four hours to literary work. only a very strong man could have conceived of such a strenuous plan of life, and it is not likely that he lived up to it very long; but the minimum which he exacts from himself is to be worth his "keep" as far as manual labor is concerned, and to allow others to work for him as little as possible. his own study and workroom is absolutely plain and austere, and he will not allow any domestic to enter it or his bedroom. he does all the sweeping, cleaning, making of fires, and emptying of slops himself. he always does such farm work as he can, and he told me that he preferred plowing to any other rural exercise. in winter he finds that he can be of more service at moscow, as in the country the cold and snow and excessively short days make work out of doors almost out of the question. at moscow he keeps up his literary work and exerts his influence quietly, seeing those of his sympathizers who call. at one time he was in the habit of sawing wood with the regular wood-sawyers in one of the suburbs, but i do not know that he has kept this up. his advanced age and a chronic trouble in his digestive organs have doubtless curtailed his activity of late. in assuming a peasant's garb he has to a great extent cut himself off from the social pleasures of his class. he no longer frequents clubs, theaters, entertainments, and so forth, as was his habit dur124 leo tolstoy ing the earlier part of his life. his abstemious diet has shut him out from the artificial joys of the table; his consideration for animals prevents him from shooting, of which sport he was very fond; his antipathy to stimulants deprives him of his tea, the very elixir of life to all russians (their samovar, or tea-urn, is their hearthstone, and the center of family life). his work, namely, the dissemination of his ideas and such manual labor as he can do, his correspondence, and such social intercourse as he has with his family and those of his friends who agree with him, these are the joys of a life singularly lacking in the external marks of ease and comfort, but well supplied with all that tends to spiritual happiness. recently his wife wished to give him a bicycle, but he refused to accept it, thinking the money could be better spent, and that it would separate him too much from the peasants who do not ride wheels. but he is very fond of riding his son's wheel. what tolstoy has done he has done because the love of god and man has overpoweringly constrained him to do it. he has given up rank, wealth, ease, and the approval and esteem of his class. he has been now for years quite ready to go to siberia, if necessary, or even to yield up his life for the cause which he has espoused-the cause of suffering humanity. but what is it to die, after all? it is not so hard to die. men have often 125 true stories of heroic lives died for bad motives as well as good,for a whim, from vanity, from bravado. but to live on from day to day in accordance with the dictates of conscience and of love, in the face of all the obstacles which a selfish and self-satisfied society can throw in your way, to be considered a fool and a lunatic, a heretic and a traitor, to act thus, as count tolstoy has now done for twenty years, -is there on earth greater heroism than this? he has indeed sacrificed all that most people find of value in life; but, as christ with his wonderful insight into the mysteries of existence foretold, in losing his life he has found it. in giving up his riches. he has attained a wealth of gratitude and affection from those whom he has helped and guided in all parts of the world, which no gold and silver could buy; and while he has absolutely foresworn all physical force, and would not for any cause lift his arm against his fellow, yet he has greater influence in the world to-day than those who direct the armies and navies of the russian empire. it is this kind of meekness,—the meekness that is the mark of the highest courage,—which is one day to inherit the earth. we may even now note the faint signs of the coming of such a time, and predict that when the names of the generals and millionaires of the present time are almost, if not quite, forgotten, that of tolstoy, the apostle of brotherhood, will still be cherished. 126 tolstoy as seen by a russian peasant. by j. montgomery m'govern. much uch has been written in regard to tolstoy from the standpoint of every class except the one whose cause he espouses: the peasant himself alone has been silent. in russia the muzhik knows too well the punishment that would be meted out to him were he openly to express admiration for the man whose life has been devoted to the effort of making the condition of the lower classes in that country a little more endurable. probably no other living writer has been represented in more widely varying and contradictory lights-both by the press of his own country and by that of every other country-than tolstoy has been. but however the novelist may be regarded by the foreign literary world and even by the upper and middle classes in russia, by the peasants he is secretly idolized. "he is a god-the great tolstoy-a god to us peasants, and more than that. it is wicked to say so, maybe, but can you blame us if we love this man, who has done so much for us, more than we love the god our priests tell us about, who has 127 true stories of heroic lives done nothing for us except to send the plague and to let our crops fail, so that we die of hunger and cold; and who does not keep from our door the cruel tax-collector, who robs us of the last penny we have to buy bread for our starving children?" so spoke brum nelsonelka (as nearly as her name can be spelled in english), a peasant woman who has recently come to america from tolstoy's estate, yasnaia poliana, on the lower volga. it was her "master"-as she affectionately terms. tolstoy-who, recognizing the woman's intellectual superiority to that of the average muzhik, encouraged her in her plans to emigrate to america, and furnished the funds-as a loan-which enabled her to set up her little establishment as newspaper and magazine dealer at the foot of one of the elevated stations in new york. the eyes of brum nelsonelka filled with tears and her usually shy, reticent manner became unwontedly enthusiastic as she spoke to me of tolstoy. it is impossible to transcribe exactly the woman's quaint, broken english, intermingled here and there with russian words and phrases, but her general phraseology has been retained as nearly as possible. in reply to my question as to why the great novelist is held in such esteem by the peasantry of his own country she replied: "ah, you can not understand-no american' can understand what the name of tolstoy means to a ————————— 128 tolstoy as seen by a peasant muzhik, because you have no idea of the social conditions in russia. here everybody is good. in russia there is greater difference between the nobleman and the peasant on his estate than there is between the american and his dog. if a peasant on any estate in russia, except tolstoy's, complains to his master that he is starivng or that his children are freezing from lack of fuel because the nobleman has cut down the trees of his estate that he may have better hunting-grounds, the peasant is laughed at for his pains or cursed for his impertinence. 'what matters it one muzhik more or less?' says the lord. "tolstoy alone remembers that we are human and knows that a muzhik suffers pain and cold and hunger as any one else would. he alone is willing to help us. more than that, he has made himself one of us, and is like a father to us all to the peasants on his own estates and to those on the neighboring estates as far as the lords of those estates will let him be. "tolstoy recognizes no distinction between noble and peasant. the shoemaker in the little village of tula on his estate is a chosen comrade of his. often this great man goes to the little shop and sits there talking with the shoemaker by the hour; frequently he takes up one of the shoes that the man is making and finishes it with his own hands. fancy that a russian nobleman making shoes for ―――――――― 9 129 true stories of heroic lives a peasant. to you it does not seem so wonderful as it does to a russian. tolstoy talks to the shoemaker and to the other peasants who are intelligent enough to understand him about the-how do do you say it?' universal brotherhood of man;’ about the time that is coming when there will be neither noble nor peasant-when all will be equal and everybody will have a like share of land and money-when there will be no rich and no poor. "as yet these things seem a long way off-in russia especially; but tolstoy bids us not to despair. he knows how unjustly the muzhiks are taxed for the advantage of the nobles, and knows. that it is impossible for them during the few months each year that they are able to work the land to cultivate it so that it will yield any more than enough to pay their taxes-sometimes not that much. he knows how the peasants are flogged and their bare little sticks of furniture are broken up by the tax-collector-who, it is said among the muzhiks, is selected by the government for his heartlessness-if they do not yield up to him the last kopeck the government demands of them, whether they own that amount or not. tolstoy intercedes for the muzhik; he will not allow his peasants to be beaten, and when their crops have failed he himself frequently pays their taxes. "but do not think that tolstoy is an idle trouble-maker, like some of the nihilists who come se130 tolstoy as seen by a peasant cretly among us. he tells us that we must be patient, we must wait that the time is not yet ripe for us to assert ourselves; that we must first learn to leave vodka [a cheap, intoxicating russian beverage] alone and to educate ourselves. tolstoy does more than merely talk to us of education and of better things for our minds and bodies; he has sacrificed his life for the peasants of his country. he has given up every luxury, and lives and dresses as simply as a peasant himself, that he may devote his money not only to giving the muzhiks food and clothing, but that he may help them socially as well. he founded a school and a library for them where-for the first time in the history of russia-the muzhik might have a chance to learn something besides the amount of physical labor he could accomplish in a day. "no one except those who have been in russia can appreciate the ignorance of the russian peasants. tho their intellects are naturally strong, they have never been roused to ambition or study, and but few of them can either read or write. myself know but little compared with even a school-child in this country, but compared with most muzhiks i know much-oh, very much! i "if it had not been for tolstoy's school i would have never known even my letters. tolstoy's daughter, countess marie, taught in this school, and next to her great father countess marie was, 131 true stories of heroic lives and still is, the idol of every muzhik. she is thoroughly in sympathy with her father in all his plans and his efforts for the betterment of the peasants' condition. she it is who had charge of the library which tolstoy built some time ago in the little village of tula on his estate. here were many of the best books-good stories, essays, and histories written by men in all different parts of the world. all the foreign books were russian translations, of course. some of them tolstoy himself translated into the russian that is spoken by the peasants on his estate that we might better understand them. l "it is impossible for any one who has never been in russia to understand the amount of good that this library and this school did the peasants. but just as they were beginning to thoroughly appreciate and take advantage of their opportunities the government stepped in and forbade any further circulation of books from the library, and also closed the reading-room which tolstoy had established in connection with the library, and where he kept us supplied with the best russian magazines and newspapers. shortly afterward-just before i left russia-the peasants' school, which had done even more good than the library, was also closed by the police. "progress and education for the peasants are opposed by the government, and those few fair-minded 132 tolstoy as seen by a peasant aristocrats who try to do anything to better the condition of the muzhik-physically or sociallyare usually forced to leave the country, or else are imprisoned or sometimes sent to siberia. this is what happened to tolstoy's brother, who is now a slave in the mines of siberia because he too loved the peasants. our tolstoy-lyoff tolstoy—knows that at any day this fate may be his also, but his devotion to us does not grow less, and he still continues, as far as the government will allow him, in his efforts to help us. he has established soupkitchens at different points all over his own estate and on a few of the neighboring estates. here every peasant may go and get at least one full comfortable meal a day-which is something that otherwise he would not have for months at a time. "the countess tolstoy, our master's wife, sometimes serves us at these soup-kitchens, but she does not love the peasants as her husband does nor as her daughter, the countess marie, loves us. countess tolstoy thinks her husband foolish to have given up his wealth and his social position and to have sacrificed his life for the peasants. his wealthy friends-all those of the upper classes, even those who most admire the books he has written think so too. they laugh at him. and call him 'crank.' ah, these people do not know him for the man he is! we peasants are too ignorant to judge his books, but we know tol133 true stories of heroic lives stoy the man, and we could not help ourselves loving and appreciating him. "kind as tolstoy is to us always, it is when the plague the horrible black cholera of russia— strikes the peasants of his estates that we realize the full extent of our master's goodness. when cholera attacks the peasants on other estates, the lords of these estates flee to petersburg or moscow -or out of russia altogether-lest they too be taken with it, leaving the peasants to die like sheep; for what doctor in russia would attend a plague-stricken muzhik who had no money to pay him? but when tolstoy hears that one of his peasants has the plague, he goes to the muzhik and takes him medicine, which he gives him with his own hand, and sees that he has proper food and is cared for as he should be, and that his hut is kept clean and that the other peasants are not exposed to it. "i can see him now-my dear master-just as he used to enter a plague-stricken muzhik's hut: his fur cap drawn down over his eyes, a case of medicine in one hand, and in the other a roll of clean linen for the patient. then how gently he tended the sick one-this great bearded man!— more gently than many women could have done; with one hand feeling the patient's pulse, the other hand holding medicine to his lips; at the same time alternately cheering the patient and giving 134 tolstoy as seen by a peasant directions to the members of the sick man's family-or scolding them if the things were not done as he ordered. his very presence and the knowledge of his love used to help the sick ones even more than his medicines. the peasants-in times of plague particularly-used to kneel as he passed and try to kiss the hem of his long fur coat, but this he would never allow, saying that a peasant was as good as he—as if that could be possible. "tolstoy is kind to every one, but it is to women he is especially kind. he is as polite to the plainest old peasant woman on his estate as he would be to the greatest lady in petersburg. "the last time i saw tolstoy he looked more like a man of fifty than an old man of nearly seventy, as he was in reality. in appearance he is striking, and tho he dresses like a peasant, one could see at a glance that he was no muzhik. he has piercing, sparkling blue eyes-eyes that seem to look you through and know all about you at the first glance. his features are large, and his face would be rather stern-looking if it were not for his tender, indulgent-looking mouth, partly concealed by his gray mustache and beard. "his religion? ah, tolstoy does not talk religion to us! he is good to all alike-jew and gentile-those that belong to the russian church [that is, of course, the greek church] and those that do 'be peaceful,' he says, ' do not fight or get not. 135 true stories of heroic lives drunk, follow the example of the christ-man, and the rest will take care of itself.' "ah," brum nelsonelka concluded, "if there were only more men to-day like tolstoy this would be a better world-and," she added with a shrug characteristically russian, "there would be no russia." 136 how he won the miners' votes. by richard j. hinton. it was an election day in nevada, back in the the reelection or defeat of john p. jones, then and now united states senator from that state. a witty irishman was asked why he, a democrat, should be so fast a friend of a rigid republican such as the senator then was. "sure," said the miner in reply, "why shouldn't i work for the man who saved my life? there's never a mining man in nevada old enough to remember but what votes for john p. just as long as he wants a vote. it's not politics, sir, it's pure love of the man. how was it? well, he came here first as superintendent of the crown point and kaintuck [kentucky] mines. he was liked from the first. it was him that originated eight-hour shifts three tricks for the men in each twentyfour. but that's not what did it. one day the alarm was raised of fire in the kaintuck, on the ten-hundred-foot level. you know, sir, how cuts, drifts, and levels are shored-up. there's wood 137 true stories of heroic lives enough down in the comstock to build another place like 'frisco. now, a fire is a serious thing, especially if it gets into the metals-the ore-veins, i mean. the flame decomposes them very rapidly, and the galleries fill with poisonous gases. it was soon seen that this fire meant business. "the first man to enter the cage was superintendent jones. other men went down with him. the cage works by hydraulic pressure, and there was the danger, soon seen, that the flames might reach the pipes and prevent its working. the senator is a big, broad-shouldered, and deepchested man. he has the clear head sure, and no better miner is there alive than he. there was a lot of men down below when the alarm came, but they soon got up-all but nineteen; and i was one of them, foreman of the gang furdest away from the shaft, nearest to the fire. it got hold of the timbers, and in the dryest of the levels. we fought our way to air. with several others, i was soon overcome. then the timbers behind us began to fall in, and the roof caved, increasing the gas. the last i remember distinctly was jones's cheery voice shouting to keep up our courage. "it was a long day and a night. the cage was fortunately able to run. man after man among the rescuers became affected by the fumes, but the superintendent remained active and untiring. he helped to drag out and send up the men who were 138 how he won the miners' votes overcome and the men also that were rescued. timbers were cut away, jones at the front always— every man swears to that. air was pumped in; water used to flood, and, step by step, the rescue party got eighteen out of the most dangerous places. i was one of the last. "it came about that the fire took fresh hold. there was only one man left, and it was declared that life would be sacrificed in any effort to rescue him. jones stepped on the cage. the man who run it had keeled over with the gas, work. a volunteer was called for. men responded. at last a boy of sixteen (jim hudson was his name, i think) got in. the senator hesitated; but as there was no one else, down they went. at the mouth of the shaft there was agony; but at last the bell was heard, and up shot the cage, the gas fumes behind it, and smell of fire close to the works. it came swiftly; and when eager hands clutched at the door the boy lay huddled up; and the superintendent, scorched by the flame and gasping for breath, holding the limp figure of a man by one arm as he worked the elevator cable by the other hand, stumbled out and fell prone on the shaft-house floor. the boy was pulled out quickly, and only just in time, for the cage fell quite a distance. a few moments later all three would have died. "the man recovered, and the boy was soon and could not none of the 139 true stories of heroic lives about. but the senator long after felt the effects. don't you think we are all right in being willing to give him a senatorship, if we have the chance, for every one of them nineteen lives he saved?" thus it comes about that john p. jones has sat in the united states senate for over twenty-six years, and will be there for thirty if he lives to fill his term. 140 how a great artist found himself. by julian hawthorne. νε either courage nor success is rare in our days-the courage that risks life or persists against difficulties, the success that means money and popular applause. but there is and has always been a rarer and finer kind of courage, and a nobler sort of success, which we meet occasionally only; and it is of an example of these that i am now to write. edward kemeys was born about five-and-fifty years ago, a shy and silent boy, with his own thoughts; but sweet-tempered, generous, and affectionate, and with a mind of an original and profound cast. his nature was reverential, and he was religious from the first in his own simple and incommunicable way. he loved an outdoor life, was exquisitely observant of all natural things, and of men and animals-noting their traits and characters with a sympathy and humor which were a revelation to his few intimates. in the fields, in the woods, along the shore, it was his delight to be; he was familiar with the ways and voices of the 141 true stories of heroic lives wind; he knew things about rain and sunshine that others had not discovered; and the silent drama of moon and stars filled him with a strange pleasure. but animals, with their naturalness, their inevitable sincerity, attracted him most of all. he understood them, and they him; there were secrets between him and them. he entered into their life, their thoughts and desires, until his imagination became almost incarnate in them. their forms and movements lived in his memory, and he knew the how and the why of all they did and were. before the boy was twenty the civil war broke out; he enlisted as a private, and after serving through the conflict with invariable courage and ability he left the service with the well-earned rank of captain. but of that epoch of his life we shall have nothing further to say in this place. thousands did as good service as he. with the education and instincts of a gentleman, with the simplicity of a child, and with the unsettled habits of a soldier, he found himself facing the world. he had strength and health, but little or no money; he was offered opportunities to "go into business," but found in himself no aptitude for such pursuits. he was conscious of powers and endowments, but did not know how to bring them to effect. he was modest, and quite destitute of the cheerful brass that asserts merit 142 how a great artist found himself and overbears resistance. his soul was full of imaginings, of aspirations and secret workings, which he could not interpret, and which of course no one else could interpret for him. here was a force certainly—perhaps a great force; but how to apply it! he must wait and find out. but why not, in the mean while, turn to and make a living in one way or another? no; for he vaguely felt that this something in him was something sacred, which must not be tampered with or set aside. he owed it to something higher and holier than himself to hold himself in reserve until his true vocation should be revealed to him. nothing in kemeys was more remarkable than this spiritual self-respect coexisting with entire humility. less vanity or self-consciousness i never saw in a man; but along with it was the sturdiest resolve never to belittle or slight what was best and purest in him; for this he felt to be not himself, but something entrusted to his keeping, of which he was bound in honor to render a strict accourt. he was the consequence was that he became apparently an idler; he was non-productive. the world went on about its business, and left him out. like a giant under enchantment; all his strength was useless. he was keenly conscious of this, and it made him unhappy. oh, if the revelation would but be vouchsafed! in his lonely musings, in his prayers, he sought for light, for guidance; but 143 true stories of heroic lives they were still delayed. year succeeded year, with no visible change. the temptation would whisper in his heart, "are you not a fool? you wait for what will never come. but deeper yet in his heart was the faith that overcame temptation. god had bade him be patient, and he obeyed the command as best he might. no one save god and himself knows what he suffered in the long waiting. 99 partly by accident, partly by inclination, he wandered toward the west, and lived with the indians and the wild animals; he was a hunter and a naturalist; he made his home in the mountains and on the prairies; his soul expanded in the vast solitudes. he listened to the coyotes howling by night beside the drinking-pool; he saw the triangular head of the grizzly bear define itself gradually amidst the dense foliage of a ravine in the hills; gripping the lean sides of his mustang with his knees, he swept across the thundering plain after the flying buffalo; by his camp-fire at night he heard the childlike whimpering of the panther, and saw the green fire of its terrible eyes glare out of the darkness; climbing among the naked sides of the higher mountains, he beheld at last the mountain-sheep poised airily far above him, with the mighty curving of its horns gleaming against the sky. he sat in the wigwams of the indians, and marked the laconic effectiveness— 144 how a great artist found himself the stern economy-of their speech and action; the wild contours of their features sank into his mind; the mystery of their origin and meaning fascinated his imagination. no seed that fell upon the rich soil of his youth's perception was lost; those voiceless years in the western wilderness brought forth harvest in his soul a hundredand a thousandfold. and yet he did not know wherefore he came into the world, or what should be his function there. was he to be a perception, a love, and nothing more? it is of the essence of love to create; could he create nothing? oh, if he might but create something which would enlighten and purify the world! if he might but make some visible return to god for the gifts which he had bestowed upon him! it would be hard to have lived and died and have made no sign. in the midst of this imaginative melancholy a stinging mishap befell him. after riding across the prairie all one day he camped toward evening beside a stream; and as usual his first care was for his horse. while rubbing the animal down his hand passed over its hind leg, and at the same instant he received a kick in the face which knocked him senseless. upon recovering, he found that there was a raw spot on the leg which he had unwittingly touched, and the ordinarily gentle animal had struck out, with terrible results to his own face. he first finished rubbing down the 10 145 true stories of heroic lives horse, and then bound up his wound as best he might; but it was many days before he could get surgical help, and for years his features were disfigured. here was another burden for a man so finely sensitive to comeliness of form to bear. but we must make an end of these preliminary experiences. one day he found himself in a town, and he fell in there with a queer frenchman, who invited him to his shop. he was a modeler in wax, and among his work were many groups and figures of animals, spiritedly and deftly done. these kemeys studied with inexhaustible interest. the artist was pleased, and remarked that no living man could produce their match. kemeys said that he would like to attempt a portrait in wax of his dog, which had been for years the companion of his journeyings. the artist, with a supercilious grimace, handed him a lump of wax and bade him fall to work. kemeys returned to his lodgings with the wax and the dog, and fell to work heartily, experiencing in the labor a new and quite extraordinary pleasure. he had no tools but his fingers and his jackknife, and knew no more of the science of modeling than he did of the alphabet of the ancient akkadians; but "love will find out a way," and the next morning he took his frenchman a finished portrait of the dog. the frenchman regarded it with seriousness and evident surprise, and finally proposed that kemeys should 146 how a great artist found himself enter his employ. he would give instruction, and would accept as recompense therefor whatever models his apprentice might produce that were usable. but kemeys thanked him, and declined. he had made the greatest of discoveries he had discovered himself! god had revealed to him during that night what he was born to do; and with all the mighty reserve force accumulated through those long years of waiting he was ready to begin. now at last he understood himself; he saw the purpose of that boyhood spent among the woods and fields, of that young manhood lost in the tremendous spaces of the west, and of the intense, loving interest with which he had everywhere and at all times studied the life and forms of animals. he recognized the hand of god throughout; for had his vocation been earlier revealed to him, he would have lacked an experience of nature and her creatures which he now saw to be unique and invaluable; he would have shut himself up in a studio and become a mere academic, conventional trifler, or echoer of other men. but he had seen and studied his subject as had no other man; he had surprised secrets and attained insights unsuspected by any save himself; he knew animals as the indians know them, as they know themselves -knew them body, bones, and spirit, knew them from their minds to their hides, and from their 147 true stories of heroic lives until now, hides back to their minds. all this curious knowledge had seemed barren and objectless; but now its end was manifest. he had the power to re-create all these dumb friends and companions of his in enduring forms of art; he could show them as they could not show themselves; he could concentrate their characters in a pose, could disclose the drama of their existence in a group. here was a whole unknown world to be revealed to mankind, for there is no subject of which mankind civilized knows so little as of wild animals. but here was a hunter and a naturalist who had discovered that he was also and above all a sculptor and an artist. he could tell what had never before been told. he could make a genuine and precious addition to human knowledge; and instead of conveying the information by labored descriptions or lifeless diagrams, he could set it forth in the living harmony and beauty that are art, and so endow them with art's immortality. no wonder that there was joy in kemeys's heart as this vision passed before him. his place and his work were found; he had a right to live in the world, and his fellow men would not be sorry that he had lived. he thanked god that his intuition against "going into business" had prevailed, that his patience had not given out. he was overflowing with thankfulness and rejoicing; for a chaste and temperate life had left his youthful sanctities un148 how a great artist found himself polluted, and beneath an exterior of indian stoicism, acquired in the great solitudes of the wilderness and of the soul, he had kept the naive freshness and spontaneity of boyhood. and should he tie. his chariot of the skies to the door-post of the little french modeler in wax? assuredly not! he would gladly have given some splendid largess to the self-complacent old artisan who had unawares taught him the open sesame to his own treasurehouse of art. but he had nothing to bestow, and the frenchman expected nothing, and there was nothing for it but to say farewell and part. they never met again, and whether his instructor of a day ever saw any of his pupil's later work can not be known. and so from that time forward kemeys won fame and fortune, and that is the end of the story? by no means! the story is but in its beginning; it can not be told here save in the lightest outline. a worthy biography of this great artist would be one of the most captivating and enduring books of the age. it will be written one day, but not now; happily, the man himself is still living, in the prime of his power. but for twenty years he worked almost without recognition. almost from the first his figures and groups showed marvelous faculty, knowledge, and truth, and the purest feeling for art. sculpture, with those who have native genius for it, does not require the same sort of ap149 true stories of heroic lives prenticeship that painting does. a perception and feeling for form, and the high nervous organization which enables the hand to perform what the mind directs, these, and the nameless gift which sets the born artist apart from other men, are almost sufficient. all these kemeys had, and withal a scientific anatomical familiarity with the structure and dynamics of animals which enabled him to reproduce the very spirit and poignancy of their life. looking at one of his productions, you seem to feel the supple play of the joints, the smooth sliding of the muscles, underneath the skin. they are not lumps of clay molded into the forms of animals, but they are animals all through, and with the animal's spirit animating them. never, for the sake of sensational effect, or to display the knowledge of their maker, do kemeys's figures or groups transcend the modesty of their nature; he never shows them doing anything which is not strictly within the compass of their habits. never, either, do they present the forlorn suggestion that they are sitting for their portraits. no, they are wholly unconscious of an observer; thus do they behave in the depths of their forests, in the clear expanse of their prairies, with only the sun or the stars and one another to behold them. they are sufficient unto themselves; they need no adventitious support or enhancement. there has been one famous animal sculptor before kemeys; 150 how a great artist found himself but he, with all his surprising knowledge of animal anatomy and perception of animal character, was lacking in this reverence which kemeys always displays for the severe and simple truth of animal manifestation. the "walking lion" of barye to take one of the best-known examples of his genius-shows every muscle of the body standing out tense and strung. but when the real lion walks, no muscles are seen; they are smooth and relaxed; his surface is sleek as a kitten's. as kemeys himself has said, animals never make a needless effort; and every effort they make is exactly adequate to its object-not a hair's breadth more or less. i have dwelt upon this point (in a paper which attempts no critical estimate of kemeys's work) because of its pertinence to the essential theme which i aim to develop. this theme is the heroism with which he resisted every inducement to degrade the character of his work, or to be false to what he knew to be the truth of animal nature, in order to achieve a pecuniary and popular success. "make a monkey riding on a bear; make a dog and a cat waltzing together; make a panther or a wolf serenading a sheep on a guitar; make anything that will cause people to laugh and exclaim, 'how cunning!' or 6 how clever!' that is the way to make a selling success. never mind if animals don't do those things in real life; nobody cares what they do in c 151 true stories of heroic lives real life; what people do care about, and what you must represent if you mean to succeed, is animals pretending to be men and women. don't talk to us about art, and sincerity! you will never be heard of unless you make a noise; and the only way to make a noise with animals is to make them cut up pranks; and the less resemblance those pranks bear to their natural behavior, the greater will be the hit you will make. that is the business side of your profession; after you have made your fortune, you can amuse yourself and the handful of your friends who are of your way of thinking by modeling animals as they are. but until you can afford it, avoid amusing yourself in that foolish way." that is what practical men and dealers said to kemeys, and they showed him the most substantial reasons for accepting their suggestions. he was poor-it is needless to tell how poor he was. he longed for appreciation as only an artist can long for it. he had a keen sense of fun, and, with his knowledge to boot, nothing would have been easier than for him to make such figures and groups as were recommended, without violating a single anatomical possibility. but he declined every offer of the kind, and he went hungry, and wore clothes that were more than threadbare, for twenty years, rather than accept them. it was not enough for him to make groups that were an152 how a great artist found himself atomically possible; that must also be true to animal nature and habit; and from this nothing would move him. such true groups and figures did he continue to produce all those years; and every once in a while he would contrive to sell one for some nominal price, just enough to keep him from starving. he made a colossal "crouching panther" (or "still-hunt"), and offered it to the central park of new york for the bare cost of material which it had put him to; and the park board were many months in deigning to accept this magnificent work on those terms, because they could find no political "pull" or profit in the transaction; and as to the statue itself, whether it had value as art or not, they neither knew nor cared. fortunately, it was "admitted" at last, and many a horse has shied at the sight of that grim presence peering from the brink of its shrub-grown rock above the drive. but of the hundreds of thousands of human beings who have seen it there, hardly one has known who made it, and consequently it brought kemeys neither fame nor fortune. a cat and a puppy waltzing would have enabled him to build a house and keep a stable. but he made no complaint. he smiled his shy, stoical smile, and created a group of a "fighting deer and panther" which is beyond comparison the most superb work of animal sculpture ever modeled. some day that group 153 true stories of heroic lives will occupy the most conspicuous position in the pleasure-ground of the greatest american city; but at present it remains in its plaster dress, except, i believe, for one miniature copy in bronze, such as one could carry in his arms. the truth is, kemeys was not only a great artist, but a great innovator; and he had to wait while a public capable of understanding and loving what he was doing was growing up. while he was awaiting this consummation, he modeled every wild animal of this country, as well as many others; and these figures, regarded simply as records, are invaluable, and will yearly become more so. but as works of the purest art they are a ktema es ai-a possession and a treasure forever. the animals themselves will vanish ere long, with the march of what we are pleased to consider civilization; but in these sculptures they will enjoy a safe immortality. and all because edward kemeys had an inviolate conscience, and the courage to hold out twenty years against the most plausible and respectable of base temptations. for twenty years! ah, that is a very long time to keep one's courage screwed to the sticking-place. but the turning-point came at last, and with the advent of the chicago exposition, kemeys began to come into his own. there his work was seen by people who could comprehend something of what it meant; and from that time he had work 154 how a great artist found himself enough, and work that brought some reasonable measure of compensation. yet kemeys's full fame is still far off; it can not be looked for till long after he has gone to the world where we are known as we are. it is enough for us to know that he is busy, happy, and at ease; and that what little he possesses he has earned and deserved a thousand times over. 155 general porter's recollections of grant and lincoln. by edward page gaston. a lmost under the shadow of the mighty arc de triomphe, which stands as a sentinel to the champs elysées, is the " ambassade des etatsunis." a line of famous men have represented the united states at the tuileries from the days of benjamin franklin down to those of horace porter, but rarely has our government sent to paris an ambassador whose distinguished services in the past have better fitted him for that post than have those of general porter. as chief of staff he knew general grant as perhaps no one else did through the civil war, and his recollections of president lincoln and the leaders of the union cause are fresh and full of new views of their every-day heroics. general porter has much to say on the quiet grandeur he found in the life of his admired chief as they moved through the racking trials of the great rebellion, and he gave me many incidents from the every-day life of grant showing his stedfast pur156 president lincoln major "allan" pinkerton gen. john a. m'clernand president lincoln's visit to general m'clernand at antietam, september 20, 1862 [from a photograph loaned by james e. taylor] porter on grant and lincoln poses. these general porter put into writing as they occurred day by day, so that his notes have added largely to the intimate knowledge of those times. "the idea of keeping a full journal of each day's doings occurred to me one night when i was lying awake in camp during the wilderness campaign," he said. "i had been reading of napoleon's campaigns, and was struck by the lack of personality in the narratives of those great events. i thought the future might like to know just what general grant and his associates did in their every-day lives, and so from that time on i wrote copious notes on the day's doings, and sent them to my mother for the double purpose of preserving them and of keeping the information they contained from falling into the enemy's hands. at the close of the war my mother had a chestful of these letters, and they have supplied the most of the material for my recollections. i am often gratified at the letters i receive from old soldiers who saw the events i have described, saying that they are related exactly as they occurred. i remember that an officer once wrote to me regarding one of my descriptions of general grant's personal appearance at the time of the lee surrender. exact, he said, except that i had failed to mention a piece of mud on the general's left boot! it was 66 general grant's life was great because at every 157 true stories of heroic lives view-point it satisfied, and in my telling these happenings from camp and field there is nothing to conceal. his life is an open book, which can be freely given to the world in its entirety. while grant was negligent of his personal appearance on a campaign, he was scrupulously careful about the cleanliness of his linen and person. he usually bathed in a barrel sawed in half, but he afterward secured a portable bath to replace this primitive system of 'tubbing.' while he was always ready to 'rough it' in any way needed, he was particularly modest in performing his toilet, and carefully guarded his privacy when washing or making a change of clothing. "grant was always good company in camp, and among his many stories there were none that had better point than those he directed against the evil of lying and the inclination of many people to exaggeration. it was often said that the general hated only two persons, the coward and the liar, and some of his officers used to say that grant was 'tediously truthful.' when he became president an usher brought him a card one day when he was in a private room writing a message to congress. 'shall i tell the gentleman you are not in?' asked the usher. no,' answered the president, you will say nothing of the kind. i don't lie myself, and i won't have any one lie for me.' "general grant rarely spoke of his religious 158 porter on grant and lincoln convictions, but had a deep regard for the christian religion and its institutions. he was a regular attendant upon the methodist episcopal church at home, and a liberal supporter of the enterprises of all denominations. he expressed regret that so many of the decisive passages in the war must be fought out on sunday, and tried to avoid this. nothing was more offensive to him than an attempt to make light of serious matters or to show a disrespect for sacred things. “in all of his military history grant is known to have lost his temper but twice. hearing that a straggler of his army had assaulted a woman, he clubbed a musket and knocked the brute down. the general had a peculiar horror of such crimes. they were rare in the war, but when brought to his attention he had no mercy on the culprit. he could not bear to see animals mistreated, and often expressed his disgust at a bull-fight he once witnessed as a young man in the city of mexico. in the richmond campaign he came upon teamster who was beating his horses in the face with the butt of his whip, and cursing loudly. all the ire in the general's nature was aroused by this brutality, and spurring his horse' egypt' forward he dashed up, and raising his clenched fist called out: what does this mean, you scoundrel? stop beating those horses!' the teamster looked at him insolently, not recognizing the commander, and " 159 true stories of heroic lives said coolly, as he laid on another blow: well, who's drivin' this team anyhow!-you or me?' 'i'll show you-you infernal villain!' cried the general, now thoroughly angered, as he shook his fist in the driver's face. then calling an officer of his escort, he said: 'take this man in charge and tie him up to a tree for six hours.' at the dinner-table that evening he referred to the subject, saying: 'if people knew how much more they could get out of a horse by gentleness than by harshness, they would save a great deal of trouble, both to the horse and the man. a horse is a particularly intelligent animal; he can be made to do almost anything if his master has intelligence enough to let him know what is required.' " “three tiny kittens whose mother had died were crawling about the floor of the telegrapher's tent and mewing piteously during mr. lincoln's last visit to grant's camp at city point. it was the most critical period in all the war, when the operations were being pushed day and night for the fall of richmond, yet mr. lincoln's tender heart was touched by the helpless state of the little felines. he took them upon his lap, stroked their fur, and murmured: 'poor little creatures! don't cry, you'll be taken good care of.' then he said to one of the officers: colonel, i hope you will give these poor little motherless waifs plenty of milk, and treat them kindly.' several times during his 160 standing: col. fred dent, lieut.-col. w. f. duff, lieut.-gen. u. s. grant, col. t. s. bowers, capt. p. t. hudson, col. eli parker, lieut. willy dunn, muenther. seated brig-gen. john a. rawlings, maj. adam badeau, cap. cyrus comstock, gen. john g. barnard, col. orville babcock. gen. u. s. grant and staff in camp. group taken in july, 1864 porter on grant and lincoln stay mr. lincoln was found fondling these kittens and wiping out their eyes with his pocket-handkerchief, as he listened to them purring out their gratitude to the man who had said 'treat them kindly' when his pen had written human slavery away in the same simple spirit of his grand nature. "after the federal forces had hammered their way on to the petersburg front, general grant and president lincoln took a ride among the troops, and those visited included the colored soldiers of the eighteenth corps. always impressionable, the enthusiasm of the blacks knew no bounds when they beheld the emancipator of their race, and general porter says the scene defied description. they cheered, laughed, cried, sang hymns of praise, and shouted: 'god bress massa linkum!' 'de lawd sabe fader abraham!' 'de day ob jubilee am come, suah! "they crowded about the president and fondled even his horse; some of them pressed up to kiss his sacred hands, while others ran away crying in triumph to their comrades that they had touched his virtue-bearing garments. mr. lincoln rode with bared head, the tears swam in his eyes, and his voice was so broken by emotion that he could hardly speak the words of thanks to these humble and devoted ones whose love was more precious to him than all the praise of kings. turn the leaves of storied heroics and you will find no surpassing 11 161 true stories of heroic lives incident to the pathos and the love of redeemed man over that shown in the camps before petersburg. general grant was notably affected, and in speaking to him of the tenderly dramatic event mr. lincoln said: 'i was opposed on nearly every side when i first favored the raising of colored regiments; but they have proved their efficiency in taking six out of the sixteen guns captured the other day. i told my opposers that it is well to be a little color-blind, and these boys are now showing what the negro can do.'' general porter says that while sitting at the camp-fire alone with grant one night he said: "general, it seems singular that you have gone through all the rough and tumble of army service and have never been provoked into swearing. i have never heard you utter an oath or use an imprecation." "well, somehow or other, i never learned to swear," grant replied. "when a boy i seemed to have an aversion to it, and when i became a man i saw the folly of it. i have always noticed, too, that swearing helps to rouse a man's anger; and when a man flies into a passion his adversary who keeps cool always gets the better of him. in fact, i could never see the use of swearing. to say the least, it is a great waste of time." grant was great in his friendships, and his unselfishness reacted from those who had contact 162 porter on grant and lincoln with that side of his singular nature. nowhere was this rare quality better shown than in his relations with general sherman, and these two large figures illustrated at a trying time what a true friendship means between possible rivals. after sherman's splendid march "from atlanta to the sea "there was a proposal for congress to elevate him to the rank of lieutenant-general, which would have made him eligible to grant's place at the head of the armies; but sherman promptly wrote to ex-senator john sherman in washington, saying that he would emphatically decline any commission calculated to bring them into rivalry. "i would rather have you in command than anybody else," he wrote to grant. "i believe you to be as brave, patriotic, and just as the great prototype, washington; as unselfish, kind-hearted, and honest as a man should be; but the chief characteristic is the simple faith in success you have always manifested, which i can liken to nothing else than the faith a christian has in the savior." in his letters general grant showed the same manly spirit of unselfishness, and said to sherman: "no one would be more pleased at your advancement than i, and if you should be placed in my position, and i put subordinate, it would not change our relations in the least. i would make the same exertions to support you that you have ever done to support me, and i would do all in my 163 true stories of heroic lives power to make our cause win. how far your execution of whatever has been given you to do entitles you to the reward i am receiving you can not know as well as i do. i feel all the gratitude this letter would express, giving it the most flattering construction." general buckner, who surrendered to grant at donelson, was making a speech in new york city on april 27, 1889, at a grant birthday banquet, and paid a touching tribute to the great commander's generosity. "i had at a previous time befriended general grant," he remarked in describing the surrender, "and it has been justly said that he never forgot an act of kindness. i met him on the boat, and he followed me when i went to my quarters, leaving his own officers, and with that modest manner peculiar to himself he there tendered me his purse. it seemed to me that in the modesty of his nature he was afraid the light would witness that act of generosity, and sought to hide it from the world." 164 a character sketch of general maximo gomez, by george reno. with th the dawn of peace on the island of cuba, and the passing of the spaniard from political and ecclesiastical power, one stern, solitary figure alone remained of all cuba's great leaders in the late revolution. of that group of heroes who took the field in february of 1895 to engage in what proved to be the last struggle of a long-oppressed people for their liberty, there was at the beginning of the year 1899 but one survivor. josé marti, antonio maceo, serafin sanchez, and calixto garcia had been gathered to the silent host of the dead who live forever in the memories of men; and maximo gomez, rugged, uncompromising, and unbending, was the only member of that famous little band who lived to observe the new order of things. the sight of this old warrior left without one of his former companions is in itself a pathetic one; and if the different angles of his character present some aspects of eccentricity, they no less serve to 165 true stories of heroic lives reflect qualities which are intrinsically noble, altho tinged with some bitterness by the experiences of a life of singular hardship. it is in reality difficult to form an unbiased judgment of any man, no matter how well rounded his character, how complete his attributes, how symmetrical his life; it is doubly so when the subject to be considered is one so peculiarly endowed that he has the warmest of adherents and the bitterest of enemies. neither friends nor enemies will hesitate on one point: maximo gomez is a great man; great because his life is founded on integrity, because no suspicion of self-aggrandizement clings to his skirts; great because the keynote of his whole career has been the noblest that has ever brought blessings to the human race-liberty for oppressed humanity. a checkered career, hardships, vicissitudes, the power lodged in his hands under that semi-despotism known as military authority,-all these have had their influence in shaping the character of a man predisposed by temperament to rule. yet, in analyzing the secret springs of some lines of action which appear severe, possibly unjust, the unprejudiced will find neither mere arrogancce nor the intent to become a dictator, but an unfortunate acidity resulting from long rebellion against a dominion hated and despised. it is but fair to say that many misrepresentations made about gomez, 166 sketch of general maximo gomez much of the false light in which he has time and again been held up to the public, are due simply to the fact that he has not been understood. perhaps never in all his life has any one understood him, with the sole exception of antonio maceo. between these two there was the affection of brothers; no jealousies ever arose between them. gomez relied on maceo more than on any other leader in the beginning of the late revolution, and maceo's death was a blow that unnerved him for the time being, for maceo was literally his right hand. in estimating a man like the old leader, it is necessary, before forming a final judgment, to distinguish in causes for action between character and temperament. in gomez the former is absolutely unassailable, but in the latter one may find remarkable deviation exhibited in conduct which at first seems to condemn a high estimate. an erratic individuality has thus resulted; yet, in deciding between nobility and eccentricity, there is fortunately a happy medium where gomez the military commander and gomez the man may be adjusted on an impartial plane. it is astonishing that at this day any one of sufficient ignorance could be found to assert that gomez has colored blood in his veins; yet this statement was made to me but a few days since by a man supposed to be well informed, moving in literary circles, and one of the proprietors of a 167 true stories of heroic lives publication in this city which has printed much about cuba and the cubans. "well, he was born in san domingo anyhow, wasn't he?" demanded my questioner. "now, they are niggers there, so of course he must be one." the cold and pitiless sarcasm that this unfortunate mortal will encounter if he ever ventures to express this opinion to gomez himself is something to contemplate with secret relish. general maximo gomez was born on the island of san domingo, but he is spanish by ancestry, having entered the scene of action in the era before the spaniards were driven out of the island. in the revolution which finally freed that portion of the world, gomez was a captain in the spanish army, and fought against the people who were striving to obtain their liberty. this was but natural, for he was young, he had castilian blood in his veins, and he had not yet learned the great lesson which converted him. no more striking illustration of his character could be given than that, after this war in san domingo, gomez renounced spain and her methods forever. his apprenticeship in the peninsular forces had opened his eyes to the nature of spain's policy, and, his integrity rising in revolt against it, he threw off the yoke forever. it was during his term of service in the spanish army in san domingo that gomez imbibed a bitter and uncompromising hatred of three things 168 general maximo gomez sketch of general maximo gomez given any -corruption, cowardice, and laziness. one of this trio, and to this hour the one who falls under his displeasure may well tremble when brought before the stern eye of his commander for rebuke, for gomez can use words that bite and sting like a lash. the complete rottenness of spain's policy with regard to her colonies being fully unveiled to gomez, he turned against the mother country more completely than could an alien, and from that hour to this he has had but one object in life-to relieve his adopted people from a dominion loathsome to every moral fiber he possessed. entering the field at an early age, his education is not what may be termed a comprehensive one, altho a quick and assimilative mind has absorbed much information, and made him intelligent on all leading questions of the day. he is now about sixty-nine years of age, and, unlike most military leaders, he does not pose as a statesman nor aspire to a political career. a rugged common sense concerning himself never fails him. not long since he was approached by one who asked him if he would accept the nomination for the presidency of the island when the first election for that office is held by the cubans. his reply was eminently characteristic: "in the first place i would refuse it, and in the second place i would say that the cubans displayed 169 true stories of heroic lives i am a very bad judgment in nominating me. military man, not a politician." knowing general gomez as i do, i take this opportunity to set at rest as far as may be certain unjust rumors diligently circulated-whether through ignorance or intention it is hard to decide. one of these i have indicated in speaking of his ancestry; another is the assertion that he wishes to found a military dictatorship, or, if not that, to have the honor of being the first president of cuba when she is really free; for affairs are so entirely in transitu just now that it is not strange there are those who ask if it be not merely a change of masters. a clause was long ago inserted in the constitution by the cuban assembly, the distinct intent of which was to make general gomez eligible to the highest office within the gift of the people should he ever be their choice; but gomez is entirely too sensible to accept it. did he see fit to do so, there is little doubt that the gratitude of the people would cause him to receive an overwhelming vote; nor can i recall any of the younger aspirants for political honors who would be likely to take the field against him. the value of this voluntary renunciation of a position that might well tempt any man to enter the lists should be given due consideration in forming an estimate of gomez, for if there be one glittering bait above another which 170 sketch of general maximo gomez the average man can not resist, it is the tenure of office. in his attitude on this question there appear a certain simplicity and unselfishness well deserving of emulation. maximo gomez has made cuba his home ever since he left san domingo at the close of the revolution which drove the spaniards out, and he is a cuban of the cubans in his patriotism, devotion, self-sacrifice, and heroic efforts to free her people. to spaniards, he is an object of hatred; to cubans, a figure deserving of admiration and respect; to the world at large, he is an enigma. history alone will present him in his proper light and assign him to the niche which only he could fill. on the disaffection of some of his officers it is not necessary to dwell here, for such incidents would inevitably be part of a career dominated by such a personality as gomez possesses, and they are unfortunate chiefly in alienating from him those who might be his supporters and friends. for josé marti, gomez had a high admiration, and when the tocsin of the last revolution sounded, gomez was the first in the field. the exceedingly aggressive campaign he carried on is a matter of history, nor is it possible to go into details here; but it may be well to explain that at least part of the reason for the drastic measures he adopted lay in the fact that early in the war he found in some portions of santa clara province and in other parts 171 true stories of heroic lives of the island a disposition to let the revolution drag. many of the people were neutral, non-combative, inclined to take a safe middle ground, and, while reaping the fruits of the uprising if successful, escape by a policy of inaction the immediate dangers of the insurgents. gomez' stern methods quickly dissipated much of this; and while his burning of the cane-fields and destruction of sugarmills belonging to cubans as well as spaniards did not tend to make him beloved by some, it was undoubtedly a measure justified by the necessities of the rebellion. just such sternness was needed. otherwise a weaker policy would have argued uncertainty, and this the undaunted heart of the old warrior never knew. another thing he demanded of his men was that they must not only be willing to fight, but anxious to hunt up a fight, make a fight, to do anything so that a war against the spaniard was kept always in progress. a few days of quiet made him restless, and did not tend to increase his equanimity. "are all the spaniards on the island killed off?" he would inquire of his officers. "do you think we shall gain independence by sitting still like old women?" general gomez was one of the heroes of the tenyears' war, but it was his campaign of the occident in this last revolution upon which rests his fame as a military commander. studied in detail, 172 sketch of general maximo gomez it presents such features as have won from the great military critics of foreign nations their unqualified admiration and the unanimous decision that it was one of the most famous campaigns in strategy and singularly effective tactics that the world has ever known. landing in santiago de cuba province in april of 1895, gomez met there bartolome maso with his forces, and they were soon joined by antonio maceo with his troops. gomez, marti, and maceo then started westward, intending to cross into the province of puerto principe. at the battle of dos rios on the 19th of may, josé marti was killed. maceo kept on fighting, and made a feint to cross the line into puerto principe on the north, and martinez campos immediately concentrated his forces to meet maceo, turn him back, and stop the onward movement of the insurgent forces. under cover of maceo's movement, gomez marched to the south, crossed the jobo river into puerto principe, thus outwitting campos. in camaguey he was met by salvador cisneros, whose undaunted soul was always ready for revolution, together with a large body of young men, the flower of puerto principe. reenforced in the najassa mountains by these troops, council was held, and gomez presently executed a series of brilliant maneuvers; he encircled the city of puerto principe and captured the towns of altagracia, mulate, 173 true stories of heroic lives and san jeronomio, thereby reenforcing his ammunition. it was at this time that i was endeavoring to reach general gomez from the city of puerto principe; but owing to over-anxiety on the part of the cuban forces to aid me in getting through the spanish lines, the plan failed, and i was unable to meet him. my arrest and deportation soon followed, but i was nevertheless able to bring to the united states a report on the number of men under his command, their arms, ammunition, and equipment, and also general gomez' plan for the campaign of the occident, soon to be inaugurated. at this time gomez had with him about twenty-two hundred men, with an average of four rounds of ammunition to each man, an outfit which did not in the least disconcert him. all summer he lay in the najassa mountains, organizing his men and preparing for the winter foray. in september of that year the assembly met, and salvador cisneros was made president and gomez commander-in-chief. word had been sent to antonio maceo to hurry his forces forward in order to unite with those of gomez near the jucaro-moron trocha just ahead of them, where martinez campos had marshaled thirty thousand men to prevent their further advance. before gomez was reenforced by maceo, however, he succeeded in executing one of his most daring feats. on the 174 sketch of general maximo gomez other side of the trocha lay pelayo, a town defended by three forts. the insurgents had no cannon, but they took a very large iron tubing from a sugar estate. this tubing was about six feet in length and about five inches in diameter, and drilling a touch-hole near the breech, they mounted it on a wheeled carriage and loaded it with scraps of old brass, pieces of telegraph and barbed-fence wire, nails, and other bric-a-brac of a like nature, and thus laid siege to pelayo. approaching the first fort, general gomez demanded surrender. the garrison had nothing but rifles, but they refused to yield, whereupon without more ado the cannon was fired, creating such havoc that this fort at once surrendered. unfortunately in the discharge of the cannon it cracked, but the artillerymen wound it tightly with strands of wire, and gomez then ordered the second fort attacked. here the demand for surrender also met with refusal, and, since there was no help for it, the one field-piece of the cubans was again fired, the men in charge of it not being quite certain whether it would blow them or the fort into atoms. once more a hail of missiles the like of which the spaniards had never seen was poured into the fort, killing several of the garrison, and the fort was given up instantly. this time the cannon was all but shattered; but it was necessary to take the third fort, and, under gomez' orders, it was once more 175 true stories of heroic lives loaded, altho all knew that it would never stand another shot. the third fort had learned wisdom from the fate of the other two. the demand for surrender was met half way, and general gomez entered the city, and took forty thousand rounds of ammunition, a most fortunate reenforcement for his men, besides capturing rifles, clothing, food, and various incidentals greatly needed. gomez then made a forced march, penetrated the spanish lines, and regained the other side of the trocha with but a few wounded. this in defiance of the declaration of campos that he would turn him back at the trocha and end the revolution. on the eastern side of the line he was met by antonio maceo with his men, where they divided up their ammunition, recrossed the trocha, and started westward on that justly famous and brilliant campaign of the occident. the sole object of this campaign was to carry the revolution into the provinces of matanzas, havana, and pinar del rio, where it had never been known, and also to demonstrate to the owners of sugar estates that gomez could, if necessary, enforce his orders in regard to the making of sugar, for there were many districts where no attention had been paid to them, and the grinding season had now begun. the cuban army had no base of supplies; no ammunition save what they could capture 176 sketch of general maximo gomez as they went along, and no food except that furnished by the country. under these conditions the march across the island was begun. the cuban army was divided into three columns: antonio maceo being at the head of the central division, gomez at the south, and quintin bandera on the north. these three columns were preceded by what was known as the flying squadrons, bodies of picked cavalry of from fifty to two hundred men each, selected to ride ahead, and confuse and deceive the spaniards as to the real direction of the column behind them. in addition to this, the insurgents never marched in a straight line, but always zigzagged. the constant skirmishes kept up by the advancing cavalry would seem to indicate the approach of the insurgents from perhaps the south. thus misled, the spaniards would start to head off the cubans in the direction where they were supposed to be, swift couriers would ride back to the main column, and while the spanish were headed pell-mell toward the southward, the insurgents would safely pass by to the north. all the way across the island these tactics were kept up; and so successful were they that nothing checked them, the cubans also possessing the advantage of knowing the country thoroughly, and always fighting from ambush when possible. altogether, campos had about fifty thousand men in the field to stop gomez, who in the three 12 177 true stories of heroic lives columns had but six thousand. campos took the field himself, and made his first headquarters at santa clara; but, on hearing that gomez intended to attack cienfuegos, he hurriedly left to reenforce that place, whereupon gomez, having accomplished his purpose of drawing campos out of santa clara, marched to the west. at mal tiempo the cubans had their hardest fight with the spaniards, but were successful. campos, finding that he was in the rear of the cubans, again went ahead; but every time he established a base of operations it was only to discover that the cubans had outflanked him, and were again between him and havana. in this way he was forced back successfully from colon, jovellanos, limonar, and matanzas, whence he retired to havana and admitted that it was impossible for him to stop the westward progress of the insurgents. in this movement toward the capital the distance as the bird flies is about five hundred miles, but with the zigzagging of the cubans they marched over seven hundred, successfully outwitting a force more than eight times as great as theirs. this remarkable campaign or raid deservedly ranks as one of the greatest military operations of the age. during all this time, no arms or ammunition from expeditions reached the cubans, for the simple reason that gomez traveled too fast for him to be located, not to mention that the direction he would take from day to day was known only to 178 sketch of general maximo gomez himself. the couriers who rode constantly from one column to another were able to bring information which enabled the three generals to work in harmony, but it was never at any time the policy to give a pitched battle in the open; but, if attacked, to fall back, make a flank movement, and then by a detour go forward. gomez was determined to reach havana, and this he did, thereby fulfilling his famous prophecy that he would camp within range of morro castle light by christmas. safely within havana, campos concentrated all his efforts to prevent gomez from entering pinar del rio by fortifying the railroad between havana and batabano, and keeping trains constantly moving with forces in iron-clad coaches. the insurgents rewarded these precautions by crossing the line and tearing up part of the track-merely to prove by this demonstration that they were not materially impeded. gomez accompanied maceo across the trocha into pinar del rio, and then, recrossing, camped during the entire winter of 1895-96 in havana province, where, strange to say, he was never taken. nor did it seem as tho any particular attempts were made to capture him. the truth is that gomez by this march had made a name that was feared. behind him he had left ruined fields and sugar plantations; where once telegraph lines had permitted communication there were now but scraps 179 true stories of heroic lives of wire and broken poles; entire sections of railroad had been torn up; he had enforced every order that he had issued, and had taught both spaniards and cubans that the revolution was a grim reality. besides this, he had been largely reenforced during the entire march, drawing to his standard many who had before hesitated, and the strength of the revolt had reached its high-water mark. gomez' near presence to havana was regarded as a menace, and at no time were the spaniards absolutely certain that he would not attack the city. it is manifestly impossible to follow gomez' movements throughout the war in a brief sketch like this, for it would inevitably include a history of the entire revolution. that he has become the greatest living master of ambush and guerrilla warfare and of strategic tactics, is admitted by every competent critic, he having been the subject of the admiration of all the military critics of continental europe. deeply hidden from public view lies a heart as tender and loving as a woman's for those who appeal to his affections. an almost pathetic love for his son francisco-"panchito," as his father always called him-was a prominent characteristic. whenever i met him in the camp his first inquiries were about his son, his education, whether he was well and enjoying himself. 180 sketch of general maximo gomez francisco's death, occurring at the same time as that of antonio maceo, was a terrible shock. the boy lost his life in attempting to raise maceo, who had just fallen wounded from his horse, upon his own. maceo's legs were paralyzed by the bullet which had entered his spinal column, and as "panchito" was assisting him into the saddle, a volley from the spaniards killed maceo, panchito, and maceo's horse, all falling together in a lifeless heap. 181 old father walsh. by henry irving dodge. g en. thomas l. james, president of the lincoln national bank, of new york, regards the following as one of the greatest cases of heroism that has ever come to his knowledge: "it was during the time that i was postmaster of new york," said he, "that one of the most fatal yellow-fever epidemics that ever cursed a community swept over the south. the dread disease made its appearance at a very early day, and the news of its horrible and devastating progress was read with alarm and sorrow by all the people in the north. "the clerks and carriers of the post-office, always quick to respond to the cry of distress, put their hands in their pockets and raised $1,200, which a committee of their number brought to me with the request that i see that proper disposition was made of it. "i took the money down to the office of mr. j. pierpont morgan, who was then treasurer of all funds raised for this purpose in new york, and sent in my card. when mr. morgan came out i 182 old father walsh told him the nature of my visit. 'how shall we dispose of this?' he asked as he took the money. i told him that i would leave the whole matter in his hands. "finally mr. morgan asked me how many of the donors of the money were catholics. i told him about half. "then,' he exclaimed, 'we'll divide this in two, and send one half to some committees of protestants, and the other to some of catholics. now how would you like the catholic half to be disposed of?' "i told him that i would like $300 sent to new orleans and the other $300 to the six sisters of charity at memphis, whose noble work in behalf of the fever sufferers had attracted world-wide attention. this band of heroic workers was led and assisted by a priest whom i had heard spoken of as' old father walsh.' "well, the plague waxed hotter and hotter and still more deadly. nothing was talked of in the north but its awful work, and all possible means were devised to send succor to the victims. 6 "presently our boys' at the post-office raised another $1,200 and sent me with it to mr. morgan as before. "mr. morgan sent the $300 to new orleans, and then, one day, wrote me asking for the address. of some one in memphis to whom to send the re183 true stories of heroic lives mainder. i was somewhat surprised at the letter, as i imagined mr. morgan already knew to whom to send the money. however, i went to a certain prominent catholic in the city to again refresh my memory as to the whereabouts of the six sisters, and he told me that they had all died of the fever and that almost no one was left in memphis to carry on their work. when i told this to mr. morgan i don't think i ever saw a man so moved by anything before. the news seemed to daze him. he remained silent for a moment, and then murmured half to himself: that's heroism, 6 that's heroism!' "some time afterward one of my clerks brought a young priest into my office and introduced him to me. his hair was prematurely white, but he seemed to be not more than thirty-five years old. i was amazed to find that he was 'old father walsh,' the hero of memphis, and the only survivor of that band of seven heroic workers." 184 one of cuba's heroic women. by mary c. francis. t has been customary whenever cuban women i undeveloped creatures, incapable of the spirit and independence of what is termed advanced womanhood, and as being but a small and insignificant factor in the warp and woof of cuba's history. not so. cuba's heroes have been women as well as men, and there are some names as widely known throughout the island to-day for their record of courage as is that of any military leader, living or dead. it was during my visit in cuba that i gathered in different places and from various sources much of the material of these sketches; and to hear them as i heard them, under the stars of a tropic night, with the royal palms vaguely outlined in stately beauty against the velvety sky, is to feel a thrill, that warm quickening of the blood that comes but from the inspiration of noble deeds. mrs. sanchez' husband, francisco sanchez y betancourt, was one of the heroes of the tenyears' war. when that began and he went into 185 true stories of heroic lives the field for his country, mrs. sanchez came to new york with her family of small children. there were but few cuban families here at that time, and there was no junta to provide funds for the support of the families of men fighting in cuba as there was in the late war, so mrs. sanchez was obliged to depend upon her own resources. she placed the children in a charity school, and worked with her needle to support them, toiling far into the night in order that she might be able to pay for their modest maintenance rather than depend upon assistance, no matter how friendly. the home of the sanchez has for generations been in puerto principe. mrs. sanchez and her family were living there in peace when the late war broke out, her husband having died in 1894, honored throughout cuba. her sons, educated in the united states, were among the first to go into the field, for the men of that family were always fighting for cuba when there was any fighting to be done. in 1895 an american on his way to join general gomez had commented on the patriotism of her family. drawing herself up to her full height, she replied: "i have five sons, whom god knows i love as much as a mother can. four of them are now insurrectos, fighting for the independence of cuba; the other is here with me, an invalid and a cripple, as you can see; but if cuba needs him she may have him also." 186 one of cuba's heroic women cuba did need him, and he became well and joined his brothers. all five fought through the entire war, and survived. in the spring of 1897 mrs. sanchez was arrested. mrs. sanchez had known that she was regarded with suspicion for the crime of being the mother of five insurrectos, and she was prepared. she immediately accompanied the officers without question. she was first confined for several weeks in the common jail of puerto principe, and was then ordered to be deported to havana. this beautiful and aristocratic woman, accustomed to the refinements of wealth and the regard of adoring friends, was marched bareheaded and manacled and under a heavy guard, through the streets of the city of puerto principe to the railroad station, where she was sent to nuevitas, and thence by boat to havana. being a woman of wealth and social position, it was thought well to make an example of her, and she was treated with marked disrespect. at havana, as in puerto principe, there were no charge, no trial, no hearing, no legal proceedings of any kind. she was hurried to the recojidas, that infamous bastile for dissolute women, and thrown in with one hundred and twenty of the lowest and most degraded of her sex, nearly all of them being negresses. here she met evangelina 187 true stories of heroic lives cisneros, who had then been a prisoner for over a year. they instantly assumed the relation of mother and daughter, and each strove to lighten the trials of the other. i might relate many incidents illustrating the humiliations to which they were subjected. a few days after mrs. sanchez had been imprisoned she was talking in a low tone with evangelina cisneros, when a repulsive negress came up with a threatening air, and, holding out a strong, coarse cigar, shoved it almost in miss cisneros's mouth, saying: "smoke this, and stop putting on airs. you're no better than the rest of us. smoke it quick!" there was no alternative. miss cisneros smoked it. had she not done so, other and worse indignities were in the power of the depraved creatures with whom they were thrown in contact. a thousand and one cruelties for women of a refined nature were thrust upon them, nor was it prudent to do otherwise than conciliate them, for an appeal to the prison guards brought only a laugh and a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders. mrs. sanchez had been in prison but a short time when she was set to scrubbing floors. her devoted daughter, who had followed her from puerto principe to do what she could for her, was almost distracted. she appealed to weyler to see if her mother could not be relieved from this me188 one of cuba's heroic women nial task. weyler sent her to the prison officials. emalia sought the chief of the guard, and made a pathetic appeal, saying: "my mother is old, and moreover she has been accustomed to her own servants all her life, and it is impossible for her to do a task fit only for servwhat can be done about it?" ants. "well,” replied the official, "i think it can be fixed if you pay for it." "willingly," responded emalia. much, that i may see to it at once. cost?" 66 "tell me how what will it well, i think it can be done for $6 a day," was the reply. nothing daunted, the daughter went her way. fortunately the resources of the agramonte estate were such that it was not a difficult matter to arrange for the necessary sum. in a short time she returned to the prison. "i will pay the amount you require in order to save my mother from scrubbing the floors," she said. "come in, "all right," replied the keeper. and we'll see about it now." they went into the prison together, and the one hundred and twenty dissolute creatures were lined up in response to a demand. "there's a woman here," said the keeper, "who's going to pay so that she won't have to scrub. now, if any one is 189 true stories of heroic lives willing to do her work for her, i'll pay her fifty cents a day." there were half a dozen volunteers. the official selected one. "that's all right," he said, turning to emalia. "your mother won't have to scrub." "but you are charging me $6—and only paying fifty cents," said the astonished girl. "that's no difference," was the rough response. "i have to come in on this deal. you pay $6 every day, or your mother scrubs just the same as the rest." mrs. sanchez did no more scrubbing, but emalia paid $6 every day during the rest of her imprisonment. but this was not all. emalia also tried to get some small toilet articles to her mother. she sent a tooth-brush, but she did not receive it. then that experience was repeated with soap, a comb and brush, and other things. once more emalia appealed to the chief of the prison officials. "why is it," she asked, "that my mother does not get the small articles i have sent her lately?" "you do not send enough of them." "not send enough! why, she only needs one." "yes; but do you see that man there, and that man there? they are my assistants. and do you see me? there are three of us; and we can use these things as well as your mother. if you 190 one of cuba's heroic women want her to get these articles, send four every time you send any, and she will get her share.' "" amid surroundings and under conditions like these, mrs. sanchez remained in the recojidas until the pressure brought to bear by consul-general lee secured her release, with the proviso that she leave the island at once. arrived in new york, she immediately set about to aid the cause of independence for cuba. taking a valuable diamond necklace, an heirloom that had been in the agramonte family for many years, she went to mr. benjamin guerra, treasurer of the cuban delegation, and said: "mr. guerra, at one time i intended this for my daughter's wedding-gift when she should marry; but for a long while i have thought that some time it would have to be used as a ransom either for myself or some member of my family. now i am safe in the united states, i wish you to take this necklace and turn it into money to use for the cause." mr. guerra took the jewels she laid in his hand, then, handing them back to her, he said: "no, mrs. sanchez. you have given five sons to the cause of cuba's independence, and that is quite enough. it may happen that none of them may be left to you by the time this war is over; and if so, these jewels would always stand between you and want. i will not accept them." 191 the apostle to the lepers of hawaii. by dr. g. w. woods, u. s. n. jose oseph damien de veuster, the socalled "apostle to the lepers," was born in the little village of iremeloo, a suburb of louvain, belgium, january 3, 1841. he was the youngest of seven children, and the family were in humble circumstances; but the father seems to have striven hard to give them every possible advantage, and the mother was a woman of more than usual gifts and virtues. it seems to have been the wish of the youthful joseph to lead a religious life; but his elder brother preceded him in taking orders, and it was not until his nineteenth birthday that he took formal steps himself. on a visit to his brother, joseph had begged his father to let him remain, his first intention being to enter the monastery as a simple lay brother. he did not aspire to the higher position of the priesthood until his brother and their superiors, observing his remarkable scholarly attainments and godly life, urged him to take the higher step. 192 father damien [from the best photograph of him in existence] father damien in hawaii from a reproduction of mr. clifford's picture, painted molokai at the time of his visit to the priest in 1888] the apostle to the lepers the day of action for damien, as he was now called, came sooner than he anticipated. his brother's studies were finished and he was to go to a mission in the south seas; but when the time came he was dangerously ill with a fever, and damien, who instantly volunteered, was allowed to go in his place. he worked for several years on different islands in the pacific and at last in the hawaiian group; but it was not until 1873 that, to use his own words, "by special providence our divine lord, who during his public life showed such particular sympathy for lepers, traced' my way toward molokai." " he was attending the dedication of a chapel on the island of maui when he heard the bishop of olba expressing his grief at the impossibility of caring properly for the lepers, especially of sending them a resident pastor, for which position no priest had expressed his desire or willingness to be delegated. such an appointment fulfilled completely the long-pent-up aspiration of the youthful, ambitious missionary, and père damien at once volunteered. "i will go to molokai,” he said; and on the evening of that very day he left on a cattle steamer, accompanying a body of lepers condemned to expatriation. the molokai of to-day is so utterly changed by the hand of heroic charity and the generous help of the hawaiian government under king kalakaua 13 193 true stories of heroic lives and his successors that it is hard to realize its frightful condition when father damien landed there in 1873. the awful motto of the place"aole kanawai ma kea wahi” (“in this place there is no law")—is terribly suggestive of the absence of protection under civilized rule, and the bravehearted priest saw before him not only a struggle with possible anarchy, sickness, poverty, and filth, but a still harder fight for morality and religion. the settlement consisted of a chapel, a protestant house of worship, a store, and a few rude houses; but many lepers slept upon the ground, and our young priest made his lodging for this night under the protection of a wide-spreading hautree, which was eventually to be the location of his grave. his welcome was not an enthusiastic one. he turned his attention first to the renovation of the little chapel and his own diminutive house, that he might transform the former into a worthy place for christian worship, in which work he found no willing hand but his own. gradually, however, his godly life won all hearts, and soon the chapel and priest's house assumed a respectable appearance. soon with materials furnished by the "board of health" and private benevolence, guided by the good priest, a hospital was completed, and neat wooden houses began to take the places of the old native thatched huts. 194 the apostle to the lepers · in this work father damien was architect, builder, carpenter, and painter, yet finding time to attend the sick and the dying, to dress the wounds of the poor, mutilated beings who came to him begging for help, besides administering the holy offices of the church. "he also inculcated temperance, sexual morals, family life, the avoidance of gambling, cleanliness of person and attire, and instructed the people in gardening, cooking, and many little household arts, adding greatly to their comfort. it is a wonderful recital of the work of an energetic man performing the work of fifty by example and precept, and the inspiring of others with his own marvelous energy, so that all who came under his influence became 'helping hands.' such zeal inspired the government to every proper effort. all that was asked for was freely and lavishly given, and in 1876 no community, leprous or otherwise, under government support in any country was better housed, fed, or clothed." the good priest was at first unpopular, and his attempts at reform were angrily or sullenly resented-particularly his crusade against the manufacture of a terrible intoxicating liquor which they made from the kava-root, a plant growing on the island, and which literally turned men into beasts. the suppression of this vice was his first triumph. he soon became the ever-present and indispensable friend of the lepers-dressing their wounds, making 195 true stories of heroic lives their clothing, building their houses, teaching their children, ministering to their spiritual wants, and digging their graves for them when they died. gradually the appreciation of this heroic self-sacrifice grew upon them; and when, after ten years of his life with them, the inevitable was manifest, and he knew himself to be a leper, the most reluctant were won over and they felt themselves to be indeed his children. i first met father damien in 1876. i was attached to the united states steamship lackawanna at this time, and with the object of making a report on the subject of leprosy i secured letters from the hawaiian board of health, with permission to make a prolonged stay and have every facility afforded me for an investigation of the dread disease on the island of molokai. i landed on an october evening at the village of kaluapapa, the chief northern landing-place of the island, where i was met by a cortège of lepers, mostly on horseback, the procession headed by governor ragsdale, himself a self-exiled leper. with him rode father damien, who impressed me profoundly. he was then in the perfection of youthful health and vigor, about thirty-three years of age, with a smooth, thin face, and features constantly irradiated by a beautiful smile. he had a fine head, covered with black, curly hair. "this is my work in this world," he said to me. "sooner or later i shall become a • 196 the apostle to the lepers leper, but god grant it may not be until i have exhausted my capabilities for good to these, my unfortunate, afflicted children. i have endeavored to help them not only morally and materially, but as a healer of physical wounds." what a contrast to him whom i saw some years later-a physical wreck with disfigured, swollen head, pendulous ear-lobes, a lion's countenance, and distorted fingers; shorn of all physical beauty, but still at work conscientiously for the good of his afflicted parishioners! i was conducted to the governor's house, where i was to be the guest of the government, and in apartments devoted to the "board of health" was comfortably lodged, my meals being cooked and served by a non-leper. in the evening father damien came to the house accompanied by his molokai band of leper boys, who made really good music with drums and flageolets-the latter fashioned by father damien himself out of old tin coal-oil cans. he spoke excellent english, and told me the story of his life and advent at molokai, as well as his later life, which had now been so smoothed by the board of health that it had become an easy path for him, only later to be roughened by the attacks of disease and cruel slander. his conversation was charming and his experiences graphically told, which governor ragsdale 197 true stories of heroic lives supplemented by an account of his own remarkable life, including his self-denunciation as a leper, and some charming recitations from the poets, especially byron and moore-for the governor was highly educated, and had been a practising lawyer at hilo before coming to molokai. during my stay i made an earnest study of leprosy, and with father damien visited the afflicted fellows daily in the hospital and at their homes, watching the patient care bestowed on them by the good father, and the scientific treatment of their wounds and deformities-for no surgeon at that time was attached to the settlement. our work over, we went to mass perhaps or to vespers, and then to dinner or supper, where a frugal meal was partaken of, the only luxury being a beer brewed from pineapple-parings by the good father himself. he was always cheerful, indefatigable in his performance of the duties of his church, and tireless in helping in the village work of construction and repair; and yet much of it was revolting, especially the atmosphere of the little church crowded with worshipers, where the odors from the leprous sores were offensive beyond belief, often nauseating the priest at the altar, compelling him to seek the open window. my stay was short at molokai, but it was long enough to impress me with the wonderful energy of this noble man in good works. and tho no cure has yet been 198 the apostle to the lepers found for leprosy, his work and example brought to him without question, through the board of health, everything demanded, and made an ideal settlement, far in advance of those provided by other nations for the care of those similarly afflicted. but his fearless exposure in attending to the sick and dying, without any precaution against contracting the disease-which was intentional, so that the lepers might not feel, by any manifestation of delicacy and fear, that he was repelling them-could have but one result, and he became a leper, succumbing to the disease in 1889. in a letter which i received from him the year before, he told of a terrible storm which had done much damage on the island, especially to the church, the tower of which he had built with his own hands the year of my visit. of himself there was only slight mention. he said: "the disease is progressing. my face and hands are undergoing a transformation. there is much misery here, but almighty god knows what is best for us, and we are resigned to his holy will. i should have liked to see the bishop again, but the bon dieu is calling me to keep easter with himself!" on the 15th of april, 1889, he died. there have beeen critics of father damien's life and his intercourse with the lepers. but the mouths of these critics, and especially that of the originator of the slander about "the comfortable 199 true stories of heroic lives honolulu manse," have been shut forever by a great defender-robert louis stevenson. one letter of this great man is alone sufficient to satisfy any lingering doubts of damien's greatness. 99 when stevenson visited the "lazaretto " the martyred priest was already sleeping his last sleep under the tree which had sheltered him on the night of his arrival. his memory was fresh, and no halo of time or imagination yet encircled it. the novelist heard plain facts about a plain man, a peasant, therefore not always kingly in his ways. the conclusion, however, is inevitable: he was not only a good man, he was a great man. "what," says stevenson, "is a little personal neatness, more or less, in the face of an heroic death? i tell you,' he continues to the "reverend gossipers," "all the reforms of the lazaretto are properly the work of damien-damien crowned with glories and horrors, toiling and rotting in that pig-sty of his under the cliffs of kalawao. at a blow and with the price of his life he made the place illustrious and public; and that, if you will consider largely, was the one reform needful, pregnant of all that should succeed. it brought money, it brought (best individual addition of all) the sisters, it brought supervision, for public opinion and public interest landed with the man at kalawao. if ever a man brought reforms, and died to bring them, it was he; there is not a clean cup or towel in the bishop's home but dirty 200 the apostle to the lepers. damien washed it. the man who tried to do what damien did is my father, and the father of all who love goodness; and he was your father too, if god had given you grace to see it." 201 the man who could not be bought. by l. grace ferguson. α' fter the collapse of the mexican empire that louis napoleon tried to establish, the “emperor," the archduke maximilian, francis joseph's unfortunate brother, was held as a prisoner at queretaro, while the french and austrian governments were using all possible influence at washington and with the mexican government to save him from execution. among the officers who were confined with him were mejia and miramon, who were afterward his companions in death, and col. salm salm, called prince salm salm, since he was the son of a petty german ruler. he was a young man who had served with some distinction in the union army in the american civil war, and at its close had come to mexico, looking for new fields for military exploits. the wife of col. salm salm, an american woman-who made a visit to this country in the summer of 1899,-had accompanied him to mexico, and was living in queretaro, and was allowed to visit her husband and the other prisoners at will. this gave to them the means of communicating with other friends outside the prison, and, using 202 the man who could not be bought her as an agent, they set on foot a plot to escape. there were many friends of the empire in the city, while the mexican soldiers and officers were in a pitiable condition of poverty, which made it possible to use the considerable money that maximilian still had at his command to bribe the aid of some of them who were not statesmen enough to see what perils would come to the republic if the defeated pretender should escape. so the plot flourished, and a strong party of mounted men was prepared to ride with the fugitives on a certain night, and guard them to one of the seaports, where a vessel was ready to carry them to europe. the only obstacle to carrying out the plan was now the officer who had the immediate charge of the royal prisoner, col. miguel palacios. the attempt to win him over was entrusted to the princess salm salm. this clever woman invited him to call at her hotel, and manifested the deepest concern for his family, who, she told him, she knew to be deprived of even the necessities of life by his long and unpaid services for his country. she talked to him of his destitute, almost starving children, and of his sick wife with her new-born babe, and besought him to accept for them a considerable sum of money that she offered him, saying that it was in his power to repay her a thousandfold by a simple act of kindness. almost overcome by this seeming kindness from 203 true stories of heroic lives one who belonged to the enemy, colonel palacios asked her what the favor she mentioned was; and she, believing that he was ready to accept, told him that it was simply to go to sleep the following night instead of commanding the guard as it was his custom to do. she then hastened to show him a draft, signed by maximilian himself, and drawn in favor of colonel palacios upon the imperial house of hapsburg for £40,000 sterling. this she assured him the emperor francis joseph would gladly pay, making the poor soldier rich for life; while she showed him as well that the plot was so laid that no suspicion could attach to him. she intimated, too, that he would be really serving his country in helping maximilian to escape, as the republican government did not know what to do with him, fearing to let him go and fearing still more to execute him. it does not often fall to the lot of a man to be tempted under more trying circumstances; but the simple story, as told in the military record of the mexican army, is that colonel palacios promptly reported the whole plot to the general commanding, and that the intriguing princess was at once banished from the city. her husband was released, and died at the head of a prussian regiment at gravelotte; but the unfortunate archduke and his two generals were shot, just outside queretaro, on the sun-burned slope of the "hill of the bells." 204 the career of antonio maceo. by major miguel a. varona, lately aide-de-camp to general maceo. a war so extraordinary in the inequality of the combatants as that which cuba maintained for three and a half years must, of necessity, have such exceptional warriors as maceo. the terrible struggle between a colony which had nothing on its side except the right, and a european nation possessing every military resource, aided by the criminal indifference of the world, could reach a successful termination only by the possession of characters like that great soldier who was born in majaguabo, an obscure corner of the province of santiago de cuba, in the year 1840-antonio maceo. there, in majaguabo, he passed his early years, engaged in farm labor until the revolutionary movement inaugurated by carlos manuel de cespedes, on aug. 10, 1860, came suddenly into his life. he could carry nothing into the rising revolution save his person, for, besides being of most humble 205 true stories of heroic lives origin, he had to fight against race prejudices in a country where slavery at that time existed in all its rigor. maceo was a mulatto. without cultivation, without preparation of any kind, barely knowing how to read and write, from a simple private soldier he rose to the highest rank in the army wholly by his marvelous military abilities. from the very first moment he showed his great qualities; and, always ascending, he crowned his military history with the famous campaign of pinar del rio. his rapid promotion during the ten-years' war was always at the cost of his life's blood, and in the course of his military career more than twenty hostile bullets pierced his body. in the year 1870 he took part, with the grade of captain, in the invasion of the difficult zone of guantanamo, under the command of gen. maximo gomez. there was in that campaign a beautiful episode that shows how great a place brotherly affection had in maceo's heart. at the entrance of the valley of guantanamo there was situated a coffee plantation, "la indiana," defended by the most valiant "frenchmen" of the province. frenchmen is the name given in santiago de cuba to the descendants of the french who immigrated to cuba in the beginning of the century. they gave many good soldiers to the revolution of 1868, but the greater part of them were loyal to spain. it was necessary to take this position, and general 206 the career of antonio maceo gomez determined to accomplish it at any price. already, in fruitless attacks, excellent cuban officers had fallen, when general gomez ordered lieutenant josé maceo, brother of antonio, to lead the assault. "general," cried antonio, "send me, send me! i know they will kill my brother." "captain maceo," said gomez, "i have given the order that lieutenant maceo go; if he falls, you may go; if you fall, i will go myself." the assault was made. as lieutenant maceo mounted the parapet of the fort a bullet full in the breast hurled him backward; but not to the earth. the arms of his brother antonio received him. as if destiny had wished to temper the character of that man, this was the eighth of his brothers who had fallen on the field of battle. in the year 1871, already a colonel, he assumed command of the forces of the orient upon the removal of general gomez by president carlos manuel de cespedes. in the year 1874 he was named ichief of the division which the orient was under obligations to furnish for the invasion of the western provinces, a plan which general gomez long cherished. the invasion never took place, for the division was needed in the battles of las guasimas, la sacra, and el naranjo, which, tho they were victories over the spaniards, still forbade the realization of general gomez' plans. in all these actions maceo notably distinguished himself. re207 true stories of heroic lives turning to the orient, he continued the struggle without cessation till, like a thunderbolt, the peace of zanjon" fell upon him, at the very time that he was winning successes in the field. up to this point of his life maceo had been distinguished only as a soldier; from this time began his political influence, and he became an indispensable factor in the future movements of the cuban revolutionists. the man had undergone a complete transformation. the terrible school of war -such a war as that in cuba-had prepared his spirit for grand undertakings. a man of keen intelligence, he had improved the opportunity of constant intercourse with the prominent men of the revolution for self-education and refinement. as a soldier maceo had all the virtues of a great captain extraordinary valor, audacity, energy, and tenacity. added to these, a blind faith in the triumph of the cause of cuba and a great love of glory made him a man for whom no undertaking was impossible. his whole life is adorned with instances, any one of which would be enough to build a soldier's reputation. the most remarkable act in this period of his life was the "protest of baragua." the revolution of the ten years was terminated by the treaty of zanjon. but maceo refused to accept the conditions which had been agreed to there without his knowledge, and, rejecting the brilliant propositions which 208 the career of antonio maceo were personally made to him by the spanish general, martinez campos, continued the war almost unsupported for three months. during this time, while he alone was in arms, spain sent to him by one of her army chiefs a definite offer of honors and money if he would make peace. maceo, in a beautiful letter which is preserved, refused the offer in such terms as give the highest proof of both his patriotism and his self-respect. after three months maceo was sent abroad by the provisional government to seek aid for continuing the combat. his mission failed on account of the extreme poverty of the cubans who had emigrated to the united states. the war having thus been ended in 1878, he was not willing to return to cuba under spanish domination. the government of the republic of honduras recognized his military rank, and together with general gomez he obtained various employments in that country. but never for a single moment did he cease to think of a renewal of the war in cuba. he took a leading part in the conspiracy of 1885. this having failed, maceo obtained from the government of the republic of costa rica a grant to colonize certain lands upon its pacific coast. there he remained until, in 1890, he returned to cuba. the government of spain suspecting that his return to cuba had as an object the rekindling of the revolution, he was 14 209 true stories of heroic lives expelled from the city of santiago by the spanish general, camilo polavieja. he returned again to costa rica, and there remained until the outbreak of 1895, prepared by marti, when he went again to cuba. here began the third and most brilliant stage of the career of the great cuban. from the time of his landing until his death there was not a single act that was not worthy of commemoration. with twenty-one followers, in a little sail-boat, with only eleven firearms in the party, he landed on the coast of baracoa in the month of march, 1895, and within the first hour had fought his first engagement at duaba. until that time spain had hoped to stifle the movement, but as soon as she learned of his landing she comprehended that she had war upon her hands, and prepared for a long and hard campaign; for no one better than she, from past experiences, knew the meaning of the presence of this chieftain in the revolutionary field. for this reason she made every effort to intercept the march of maceo toward the center of the province of santiago, where the nuclei of the movement were strongest. her hope was dashed to pieces by the strategy and the physical endurance of maceo. fifteen days' march across mountains and through virgin forests, without food save sour oranges, and pursued by the terrible guerrilleros of guantanamo, could not dis210 the career of antonio maceo may him. in those few days, with only a third of his companions left, he reached the jurisdiction of santiago, where he began his campaign. comprehending that the result of the movement depended upon its not being localized, he centered his forces and made his march through the territory of holguin, where he set on foot the revolution. a little time afterward he fell upon the spanish general martinez campos and routed him in peralejos, and upon colonel canella in sao del india, driving him in retreat thirty miles until he took refuge in the city of guantanamo. by this time maximo gomez had arrived in camaguey, and the provisional government of jimaguayu had been established. consequently maceo was ordered to form a division to invade the western provinces, and was named lieutenant-general of the army of liberation. on the 22d of october, 1895, he set out from the historic spot, baragua, situated in the center of the province of santiago, and began his famous military march which is known by the name of "la invasion," and was to terminate at cape san antonio, traversing the whole length of the island of cuba, in spite of the efforts of spain's best generals with seventy thousand soldiers and all the railroads and towns in their possession to stop him. the spanish, sharply on the watch, attempted to arrest his progress at the borders of las tunas. 211 true stories of heroic lives one clever march left them waiting behind him, and maceo entered without resistance the territory of camaguey. on the 29th of november, joining general gomez in the territory of las villas, the invading column was reenforced with the forces of that locality, and maceo was named their chief. maceo had already demonstrated that the cuban warfare had no secrets for him, and that as a cuban guerrillero no one was his superior. in the campaign of the invasion he revealed his abilities in the highest grades of military science. the 7th of january, 1896, the invading army arrived at the gates of havana. there generals gomez and maceo separated, and maceo continued the march through the length of the province of pinar del rio. from combat to combat, winning town after town, he advanced, and on the 22d of january maceo occupied the town of mantua, the most western place in the island of cuba, and the strategy of the invasion had been accomplished. having organized the forces of that region, maceo began his return march toward the center of the island, reaching the province of matanzas, whence on the 10th of march the general-in-chief, maximo gomez, ordered him to return to the province of pinar del rio, where he arrived on the 15th of march. during these movements, between october 22 and march 15, general maceo found 212 the career of antonio maceo himself obliged to give battle more than thirty times. general weyler determined to crush maceo in the province of pinar del rio, and for that purpose planned to imprison him there, and ordered the construction of the trocha from mariel to majana, and garrisoned it with sixteen thousand soldiers. then, massing forty thousand men in the narrow limits of the province, he hurled them upon maceo. thus began the last campaign that maceo fought. the military history of the human race records in all its pages no instance parallel to the conflict between maceo's handful of half-armed followers and spain's trained army of forty thousand men; yet maceo held his own in the province of pinar del rio until he was ordered by the general-in-chief to recross the trocha, since his presence was indispensable in other parts of the island. in the early part of december, 1896, accompanied by some of his aids, at the bay of mariel he crossed the trocha which the spaniards held to be impregnable. once more maceo laughed at all the plans of the enemy. but already it had been written that he should close his eventful life. at the gates of havana, in an encounter with an insignificant spanish leader, the most notable of cuban warriors met his death. the savage joy with which the spanish nation received the news of his death was the highest 213 true stories of heroic lives tribute to his glory. even the most cultivated classes in spain celebrated the fall of this chieftain with drunken orgies. his death was a great loss and a heavy grief to the army of liberation; but it came as a surprise to none of his comrades in arms. always foremost in battle, there never was an encounter in which he did not expose his life time after time, being often carried by his impetuosity where retreat was attended with the greatest difficulty. an instance of his headlong daring and a characteristic picture of cuban warfare will linger long in the memory of some of his followers. on the day following the battle of mal tiempo he was marching, at daybreak, with the invading column, when he was informed that something was occurring in the van-guard. spurring his horse forward, and followed by a few of his aids, he hastened to the place indicated. on coming out into the road he saw a body of the enemy's cavalry which had killed a cuban private soldier and were carrying his body hoisted as a trophy. maceo, without an instant's hesitation, dashed forward. before his impetuous attack the spaniards fled in panic. to those who followed the sight was at once both beautiful and terrible. maceo, mounted upon a magnificent white horse, rode in advance of his followers at the very heels of the enemy. just then the sun burst through the morning mist, and 214 a character sketch of maceo what seemed a flash like lightning shone upon the head of one of the fleeing spaniards, who fellnever to rise again. the flash was the machete of maceo. a character sketch of maceo. by george reno. g en. martinez campos, when informed of the uprising of '95, asked for the names of the leaders in the revolt. not until maceo's name was mentioned did he show concern. then with a startled look he sprang from his chair, exclaiming: "carramba! this means serious trouble for spain." afterward, when captain-general of cuba, campos frequently stated that it was maceo whom he feared more than any other leader in the insurgent cause. the greatest disappointment which martinez campos suffered in the ten-years' war was his failure to induce maceo to sign the treaty of zanjon, which was intended to end cuban troubles for all time to come. all the prominent leaders, including maximo gomez, had attached their signatures to the document all save two, t. estrada palma, who was imprisoned in madrid, and antonio maceo, who, placing no reliance in the sincerity of spain's promises of reform, had with a few faithful 215 true stories of heroic lives followers remained in the field, and had drawn up a proclamation known as the protest of baragua, which declared the intention of fighting spain until independence was assured or the bitter end came. they even elected a provisional government. martinez campos, who always entertained the greatest respect for maceo, visited him in his camp at baragua, and with his staff officers dined with the cuban general. the entire situation was discussed in detail. campos argued earnestly and at great length, but to no purpose. maceo frankly said that in him personally he had the greatest confidence; "but spain will repudiate the promises she has authorized you to make to the cubans, and after inducing us to lay down our arms she will ignore every clause in that treaty you wish me to sign. i would not trust her in anything, for she has proven herself unworthy of it." from maceo's decision there was no appeal, and there were tears in the eyes of the old spanish warrior, who, realizing that his mission of peace was fruitless, slowly took his departure and prepared to continue the fight against men who wanted only independence. whence came that marvelous magnetism which seemed to draw toward maceo people of all classes; that courtesy and charm of manner which held them spellbound; that ability to rise above the trivial and grasp the secret of true greatness-none 216 a character sketch of maceo 66 can tell. maceo was born of mulatto parents, humble tillers of the soil, and in early life became an arriero," or kind of cuban rough rider. in youth he was a favorite with his companions because of his genial temper and absolute unselfishness. at the outbreak of the ten-years' war he immediately tendered his services to the insurgents; and when, a few months later, for courage and ability, he was made a captain, maceo accepted the honor with the remark: "no man has the right to be a captain in the cuban army and be unable to read and write." whereupon he procured a book and set himself diligently to work. in a few months' time he had mastered the first steps necessary to an education, and ever after spent most of his leisure hours in improving his mind. by this time maximo gomez' attention had been called to the young officer, who soon became his protégé, and from this past grand master of strategy maceo learned the tactics of cuban warfare which afterward proved so effective in that and subsequent revolutions. a singular impediment of speech afflicted nearly every member of maceo's family, and antonio was no exception. they were all unable to talk without stammering fearfully. it was a source of great annoyance to the young captain. when, some time after, he was promoted to the rank of colonel 217 true stories of heroic lives for signal bravery and ability to direct and encourage others on the battle-field, maceo made an heroic resolve. "no colonel in the army of cuba should stutter," he said, and by pure force of will he conquered the habit forthwith. in order to accomplish this he was compelled to speak very slowly and distinctly, which gave him the reputation of being very deliberate. maceo's thoughts came quickly enough, but their utterance was with a peculiar calmness and precision of manner which was afterward of great benefit to him as an orator. no more just or magnanimous man ever lived than maceo. he would make excuses for any failing but duplicity; even physical cowardice he looked upon as an unfortunate disease of the nerves, and encouraged many a poor fellow when under fire for the first time by some word of kindness or gentle reproof. as a natural result maceo was simply idolized by his men. they followed him through love, and not because of fear. the fact that he never hesitated to expose himself where the bullets were thickest, and that he had been wounded twenty-eight times without suffering serious injury, led the superstitious to believe that he bore a charmed life, which indeed at times seemed to be the case. when, during the famous invasion of the occident, many negroes from the cane-fields of matanzas joined the insurgents and were exposed to fire 218 a character sketch of maceo for the first time, there was a natural disposition on their part to dodge bullets which whistled close to their heads. observing this, one old colored veteran rebuked the raw recruits by saying: "what for do you try to dodge those bullets? if you are afraid, get right behind general maceo, and you will be safe, 'cause there ain't no bullet made what can kill him. they dodge his vitals and pass right through him, and i'm sure they wouldn't stop to fool with any cheap nigger after leaving the body of that hero." 219 a battle with an eagle. by rev. george t. lemmon. brave deeds are not alw rave deeds are not always done by men. it knows no sex. could man or woman be more brave than this fair daughter of pennsylvania? two years ago, anna mcdowell, of quakake valley, while walking a short distance from her home, was startled by the frightened cries of a child. answering the voice, miss mcdowell climbed the fence and ran toward a little trout stream which purled through the valley. near this stream the hinckles had their home, and nettie, their three-year-old daughter, loved to play "fishing" in its waters. it was this child who now cried for help, and as miss mcdowell burst through the bush and ran toward the stream she realized that there was cause for the little one's outcries. a great bald-head eagle was fiercely clawing at the little girl. while busy paddling in the water, nettie had been surprised with a whirr of wings, and before she could rise and run, the great bird 220 a battle with an eagle had pounced upon her and dug his beak and talons in her flesh. screeching with terror, the little one sought to run toward home, but the bird fought her back, and it was thus miss mcdowell found her. the brave young woman-for anna was but nineteen -did not hesitate an instant. rushing forward, she grasped the child, tore her from the eagle, and cried for help. but help did not come, and the eagle, rendered furious by the intrusion of a third party, turned with a screech to fly at anna. before she could pick up the wounded child and run with her, the great bird had made the circular sweep which gave him impetus, and, with all the fierceness of his tribe, threw himself on the young woman. deep into her neck he drove his beak, while his talons dug out great chunks of flesh from her arms and shoulders; but bravely anna covered the child as best she could, and fought off with her hands the terrifying onslaughts of the aroused monarch of the air. more and more ferocious grew the eagle, and more fierce became his swoops upon the heroic girl. she was now too weak from the intense excitement, loss of blood, and the pain of her wounds to fly. she continued to call for help, but none came. she must fight the battle alone, and she realized that it was really for her own as well as for the child's life that she fought. in the struggle her hat, torn from her head, 221 true stories of heroic lives dropped at her feet. her eyes caught sight of her hat-pin, and as eagerly as ever a knight reached for his sword she put forth her hand for this truly feminine weapon. it was just an ordinary steel pin, but with it she pluckily defended herself, and plunged the sharp point many times into the feathered body of her foe. but her hope of winning victory by this tiny weapon soon fled, for the pinthrusts appeared only to still further enrage the savage bird. anna felt her strength failing. she prayed for help, and wondered why none came, and realized that she could not much longer continue the desperate battle. she had a moment's respite as the eagle soared above her head. he seemed preparing for a fiercer swoop upon her. then down he came. anna longed to close her eyes and shut out the hideous sight, for his bloody beak was open, and the cruel talons from which shreds of flesh dangled were poised for deadly digging. but she dare not shut her eyes. she must master him now or never. down he came. as his beak plunged into her head and his talons dug into her shoulders, she caught his neck in one hand, and gripping him with all the strength left her, held him while she plunged the pin again and again through his head. it was a sickening task, but it was performed. the great wings flapped in death about her, and releasing her hold, the dead bird dropped to the ground— 222 a battle with an eagle and anna, completely overcome, fell senseless upon him. nettie hinckles, protected by this living shield, was safe, and ran screaming to call the neighbors. unconscious they found the eagle fighter, her face and head and body torn by the battle. some of her wounds were terrible to behold, and the doctor, when he dressed them, said: "she will bear the marks of this fight as long as she lives.” the eagle, stuffed and mounted, anna mcdowell keeps as a memento of this deed which tells of the heroism of the common daily round. 223 the story of a noble woman. by julian hawthorne. here will always remain in my memory a years ago in a country village in new england. i had been spending an hour in a little farmhouse there, and when i took my departure my entertainer came out on the veranda, and, as i turned at the garden gate, threw up an arm, and exclaimed, in pursuance of our conversation, "i am the champion of the indians!" who was this person? was it a man in the prime of life, full of power and purpose, rejoicing in his strength, confident in his masculine ability to struggle with men and overcome them, independent, rich, armed at all points for a life-and-death wrestling-match with entrenched and rooted wrong? no, it was very far from being such a person. it was an old woman of sixty-five, infirm in body, poor as a church mouse, almost utterly helpless so far as material means were concerned; she had no "pull," no backing, and hardly any one to even believe in the value of her self-imposed mission. i 224 the story of a noble woman am free to admit i did not believe in it myself. i was of the opinion that the red man was destined to go, and that the best thing to do with him was to let him die out as soon as possible. and i certainly could not bring myself to believe that this poor old woman could effect anything. yet there she stood, with a smile on her homely old face, and with tears in her old eyes, tossing up her frail arm with a heroic gesture, and exclaiming, "i am the champion of the indians! the afternoon breeze of summer blew upon her bowed and fragile figure, and a strand of her white hair got out from under her cap and fluttered in the air. the spectacle was at once ridiculous and poignantly pathetic. i felt like laughing; but i am glad to say i felt much more like weeping. i could find no words in which to respond to her; i smiled and waved my hand and walked away. and as i passed down the pretty country road, under the great elms, along the stone walls that bordered the apple-orchards, i thought over this old woman's life, and i felt humiliated. what amazing unselfishness and devotion! what pure love, inexhaustible, fresh, boundless as the sea, for her fellow creatures! what dauntless resolve to do them all the good in her power in the face of whatever obstacles, sneers, discouragements! how many hundred times had she been deceived by impostors, robbed by sleek thieves, imposed upon 99 15 225 true stories of heroic lives by sturdy beggars, exploited by every species of rascal and selfish humbug; and yet, at the end of her life, she was as full as ever of faith and energy, happy in doing all she could, never satisfied that she was doing enough, accepting every one on their own recommendation, serving them hand and foot from morning till night, all for love-love of man and love of right and truth! what a heart and what a soul in that venerable body, raying out through those dim eyes! what crusader of old times was braver than she? what martyr more stedfast? what an intense, living faith she had in the infinite power of the divine goodness! i, too, wished well to my race, and flattered myself that i had once in a while done something, or avoided doing something, with an eye to their advantage as well as to my own! but i had the grace to feel humiliated before this old woman as i recalled some of the events of her career. i can not write her name here, for, tho she is dead, she was during her lifetime so mortified and pained if any one ascribed merit to her-so indignant, almost, if any one said, "you did this," instead of giving all the glory to god-that it is impossible to put this embarrassment even upon her memory. a few who knew her, reading this, will know of whom i speak, and will silently add their eulogy to my own. but to the public, who knew her not, she must be nameless. mankind 226 the story of a noble woman can not reward her except by becoming better and happier for her sake. she was one of the most learned women of her time: able to prepare boys for college, and to examine them as to their proficiency after they were graduated; competent to converse on equal terms with all the scholars of her generation. she knew greek, latin, and hebrew critically; she was a profound historian, an ardent and deep-seeing sociologist; she was familiar with the philosophies and religions; she was widely read in general literature. her knowledge was prodigious, and so finely welded together and inter-related that she could not discuss any subject without a tendency, as she went on, to connect it with all other subjects to exhibit it in all its relative bearings. thus to converse with her was always vividly interesting, and yet the conversation was never finished; when you left her, after an hour or many hours, she was still in the midst of her exposition. she wrote delightful letters, overflowing with spiritual beauty and insight; but neither were the letters ever finished-she must needs break off at last in what seemed the most entrancing passage. of course she was the friend of all the "best people" of her generation; the better they were the more they valued her intercourse; but she was far from confining her attention to them; she would lavish every gift of her mind and heart upon a child, or a 227 true stories of heroic lives laborer, or any poor waif of the world, in the effort to be of use to them, without a single afterthought, or misgiving that she was throwing away her time. she never seemed to think of time: she seemed to have the idea that eternity was at her disposal: she probably believed that god would give her all the opportunity to do his work in this world that was expedient, and when he had used her to the end here he would' open the next world to her for further and never-ending industries. and yet she was a woman who was always busy, as if this day were her last, and all the labor of her lifetime must be concentrated in it. never have i seen her idle; i can not imagine her idle. but she was as generous, as prodigal of herself as only the busiest people (whose business is not selfish) can be. when she was quite a young woman she fell in love with a man who was worthy of her love; he was one of the eminent men of his day, a noble character, a man whom the world knows, beautiful in person as in nature. she loved him, and he admired her, and their intellectual friendship was full of fine sympathies and mutual insights; but he did not love her, never thought of loving her in the way that a man loves a woman; nor did he for a moment suspect that she had given him her heart. she had a sister, however; and before long she realized, with the intuition of the heart, 228 the story of a noble woman that the man of her choice loved this sister, and that the love was returned. i will not presume to attempt to analyze her feelings upon this discovery. upon a nature of such exquisite tenderness and susceptibility not a pang could have been lost. but no word betraying this pain ever escaped her, no act indicated it. perhaps a dark hour passed over her; the cup of sorrow and self-sacrifice was held to her lips, and she drank it. then, from that valley of the death of all her woman's hopes, she came forth cheerful and resolute. she devoted herself to smoothing away the obstacles which lay between the lovers; to bringing them together, to foreseeing and averting perils, to inspiring them with faith in their future, and to affirming, with a divine radiance in her homely face, that this was a marriage truly made in heaven. it was some years before the marriage took place; the wedded couple were poor, and she had no money to give them; but she was able to give them help that was worth money, and much more; she lived in and through them, tho she never intruded upon their loving privacy; she aided the man in unseen ways to obtain channels for the development of his genius; she rejoiced with a full heart in his happiness and his success; and when children came, she loved them with a holy love. i have sometimes wondered whether those children ever understood why their old aunt loved them so 229 true stories of heroic lives much, and was always anxious to add to their felicity and welfare. let it be remembered that there was never in her aspect or bearing any trace of the melancholy, self-denying saint who confers benefits with a heart-broken air, and says sweet things with a sigh and a heavenward glance. she was cheerful, full of the good-natured bustle of the world, humorous, sympathetic, unpretending, self-effacing, simple and homely in all things; a woman to take hold of things practically and produce concrete results. nobody ever thought of pitying her; of saying, how nobly she has overcome the world! her brightness and good cheer seemed a merely temperamental matter; she was so because that was her nature. wherever she went, sunshine went with her; but no one thought of thanking her for it, any more than we think of offering thanks to the sun in the sky; it was a matter of course. and if there were any unwelcome or irksome thing to be done, it seemed perfectly natural that she should be called on to do it; nay, it was not often that she waited to be asked. the need could hardly come that she was not at hand to supply it; you would have said that there was for her a magnetism, an attraction in human extremity, which had the effect of always drawing her to it to relieve it. some people who seem most amiable and well-intentioned have the fortune always to be 230 the story of a noble woman somewhere else when their help would be useful. it was just the other way with this woman. whenever fate aimed a blow at any one of her acquaintance, she generally chanced to get between. and catch it on her own shoulders. there was little physical substance to her-a child could have knocked her down; but these blows aimed at others which she intercepted never staggered her or banished the smile from her kindly face; one would have said, rather, that they contained some lifegiving quality, which reenforced her spiritual vitality. but this is one of the mysteries of love. how she supported herself it would be difficult to say. she had no property of her own, and no one ever gave her any. indeed, it would have been vain to give her anything, because she always had a hundred persons at hand who, in her opinion, needed it more than she did; and they would have got it. she was an enthusiast on education; and at different times she kept schools, or had private pupils, or read papers on education before learned bodies, or wrote articles for magazines, or published them in the form of pamphlets. i believe she wrote one or two school-books which may have brought her a few dollars. at all events, she was never obliged to ask help of others; she never had more than a few dollars at her disposal, but she always seemed to have those few dollars: enough to get a meal with, to pay a fare on a railway, to 231 true stories of heroic lives defray the rent of a lodging. and it was a perplexing fact that, altho she was always thus straitened (but seldom wholly destitute) in the matter of her private expenses, she was continually being supplied with money or its value in an apparently miraculous manner for the expenses of her beneficiaries. i have met with one or two other instances of this quasi-miraculous kind; but they can not be common. this woman had at various times houses in one or another part of the country, and if you went there you would always find them full of helpless creatures, or creatures who were willing to live on charity, for whom this woman i write of was working and planning, whom she fed and clothed, and whom she regarded and spoke of as the flower of the human race, victims of wrong, misfortune, or oppression. the aspect of these persons was anything but attractive: as a rule, to the unimpassioned observer, they were either voluntary ne'er-do-weels of the most obvious stamp; or they were feeble and useless wrecks, who could do the world no other service so valuable as to leave it; or they were wild-eyed and impecunious fanatics, victims of some insane delusion of the moral or social description; or they had invented some absurdity out of which they expected to make a fortune. for the most part, as a matter of course, they were wholly ungrateful for her care and protection; 232 the story of a noble woman they took all she gave as if they deserved much more, and grumbled stoutly at being deprived of luxuries. if she procured for one of her fanatics an opportunity to deliver a lecture on his hobby before an audience resigned (at her urgent recommendation) to listen to his nonsense, and to pay him something for doing so, the lecturer would declare himself foully ill used at being subjected to such a strain. she never resented this ingratitude, she never regarded it as being ingratitude; she cordially agreed with the grumblers that they were not getting nearly such good treatment as they ought to have; and she apologized to them for not possessing the means to treat them better. i am not exaggerating facts in the slightest degree. her humbleness, her inability to do justice to herself, was occasionally almost preposterous, and made one angry; and it would not have been wholly admirable had it not been accompanied by a spirit as free and indomitable as i have ever known in a woman—a spirit which would fight to the last gasp for the right, and would suffer not the smallest compromise with injustice when it concerned any but herself. but she was actually incapable of seeing where she came in at all, and no eloquence of exposition on your part could remedy this blindness. what business had she to exist (she would ask) if not to do what she could to help people? what else was there for her to 233 true stories of heroic lives do? it was a privilege, in her opinion, to perform such trifles as she might for persons so worthy and so unhappy as her eleemosynary lodgers and boarders; and when, as constantly happened, they were ultimately proved to have been wholly unworthy of her care, if not actual thieves and scoundrels, she would be sorry and thoughtful for a moment, and the next moment she would be full of life and cheer once more, planning to relieve the wants of such new dependents as had taken the place of the first. she was quite incorrigible, and one could only conclude that god makes such people to bring down the average of the world's selfishness. what they do may often seem to us quixotic and foolish; but the spirit in which it is done is what tells, and since that spirit is divine, we can never set any bounds to its possible value. but the smallest fraction of what she did can be indicated in an article like this. it is to be wished that some knowing and seeing person would write her biography. meanwhile i will say a word about one other little incident in her career. the daughter of a dear friend of hers, who was dead, married a man who was in no sense a proper match for her. he was a selfish, sluggish, talented rascal, possessed by the notion that everybody owed him a living, and that his wife, in particular, was designed to be his slave and beast of burden. she, on the other hand, was of a fine and generous na234 the story of a noble woman ture, but quick-tempered and passionate; willing to devote herself, and ready to put the best construction on things, but resentful of manifest injury and gifted with a wit which could, upon occasion, cut like a knife. her relatives deeply regretted her marriage, and were inclined to take measures to secure a divorce for her, if she would permit it. here, then, were the materials for as thorough a life-shipwreck as could be desired. but my heroine had thought deeply on marriage, as well as on other things; and she did not believe that divorce was the true way out of a scrape like this. at the same time she fully recognized the almost insuperable difficulties of the situation. how could two beings so incompatible and inharmonious as these be brought into practical accord? the enterprise would be little short of making them over again. any one else would have given it up at the start; but she never faltered for a moment. she believed that marriage happiness. was not impossible for these two, and she set herself, with the whole force of her soul, to bring it about. and she kept the struggle up for nearly twenty years. the principle upon which she worked was that there is good in every one; and her aim was to develop and keep in the foreground the good in these two, and to keep the evil back and out of sight. as i have said, she had a gift for letter235 true stories of heroic lives writing; and she set on foot and maintained a correspondence with the husband and wife, some part of which i have, since then, been permitted to see. taking up whatever topic happened at the moment to be suggested by the situation, she would proceed to discuss it in the light of the highest and purest motives and conceptions; if the faces of her correspondents were turning toward darkness, she would win them by beautiful picturings of light and wholesomeness-not creations of fancy, but true records of what men and women had done and been of good, drawn from the immense reservoir of her knowledge and experience. for every weed of hell that sprang up in their pathway she showed them a flower of heaven. for every temptation to evil that beset them she wooed them with a story of self-conquest and magnanimity. if one or other of them complained of this or that that had happened as intolerable, she would answer with noble examples of human strength and constancy in the face of difficulties far more trying. in a word, she arrayed the whole great world of good against their petty private world of ill, and with its splendor and hope shamed away their dreary despairs. she kept the heavenly possibilities that are in man constantly in their sight, and prevented them from declaring "we can not!" by adducing the grand instances of those who had said "we can!" and what of her championship of the indians? 236 the story of a noble woman she fought their battle valiantly; and if there has been any amelioration in our treatment of them, it may be ascribed in great measure to her efforts and representations. but the indian problem is not to be solved by any individual, no matter how gifted and devoted. my friend died not very long after undertaking the crusade. she died obscurely and humbly and cheerfully, as she had lived. she was not saddened by any notion that she was taken away in the midst of her usefulness, and that the world would miss her. she was confident that god could raise up numberless good folks to carry on all she had striven for, with better faculties and stronger abilities than she possessed. she looked for no reward hereafter, for she could not understand that she merited any; but she departed with joy and peace because she was sure that god is love. 237 facing death at rorke's drift. by arthur vizetelly. serg erg. henry hook, v. c., of the first royal fusileer volunteers, is one of the survivors of the gallant little band of english soldiers that during the zulu war held rorke's drift after the disaster of isandhlwana against overwhelming odds, and prevented the irruption of hordes of savage zulus into natal. eleven victoria crosses were awarded for the deeds of valor performed during that memorable and heroic defense, but not one of the recipients was more worthy of the distinction than henry hook. rorke's drift, where henry hook and his comrades were outnumbered by the zulus twenty-five to one, was the name of a homestead situated about three quarters of a mile from the drift, itself a ford across the winding buffalo river. when the zulu war broke out the post was used as a depot for the commissary as well as a base-hospital. the homestead formed the hospital, and contained about forty patients, and the building that 238 mu saving the patients [from a drawing by w. h. worrall after harry payne] facing death at rorke's drift. had once been used as a church, about thirty yards away, was turned into a storehouse and stable. just as two wagons from helpmakaar were being unloaded about three o'clock on wednesday afternoon, january 22, 1879, two horsemen were seen approaching at a gallop. soon they drew up in the center of the mission bearing the news that the zulus were advancing in heavy numbers on the post, and told of the awful disaster at isandhlwana, where the flower of the british army in africa had been annihilated. one of the messengers galloped off with all speed to helpmakaar to warn the garrison there, and the other remained to assist in defending the station against the victorious zulus. as for the missionary in charge, no sooner did he hear the news that the zulus were coming than he mounted his mule and trotted off. immediately the little garrison prepared for attack. all the patients in the hospital were dressed, and those that could bear arms took their rifles to join the defenders. but there were twenty-three of them who were helpless, and to protect them six men were told off, of whom hook was one. in the fight that followed three of these six men were killed. as to means for defense, there were few: the windows and doors of the hospital were blocked up with mattresses, and the walls loopholed; and as a breastwork a bank was built of 239 true stories of heroic lives bags of mealies to a height of not more than four feet, while two wagons and a number of packingcases were utilized as a barricade connecting the hospital with the storehouse. less than two hours later the zulus, over three thousand strong, crossed the buffalo river about four miles below rorke's drift and came to a small green hill, where they rested. after taking snuff they advanced, led by two mounted chiefs, who were preceded by an advanced guard in open order. at 4:30 p.m. they were sighted, and five or six hundred of them at once charged the breastwork, and, when they were within fifty yards of it, drew so hot a fire that they swerved. then they attempted to rush the hospital, but being repulsed, dispersed, and retiring to take up a position on a rocky ledge that overlooked the buildings, kept up a continuous fire. on the approach of the main body the zulus, advancing under cover of the bush that the british garrison had not had time to cut down, crept up to within a few feet of the breastwork, frequently even holding one side of it until beaten off by the defenders who held the other. a series of desperate charges followed one after the other rapidly, but every one was brilliantly repulsed by that mere handful of defenders. every time the zulus withdrew out of range they held war-dances as if to brace their nerves for a renewed effort, and 240 facing death at rorke's drift. then again they rushed headlong to meet death from bayonet or ball. the order to save ammunition was given out, so that each bullet fired might find its billet, and during one of the zulu onslaughts a private of the twenty-fourth shot one of the mounted chiefs and eight of his followers. throughout the fiercest of these attacks hook and his brave comrades held the hospital. "during the space of four hours," the gallant sergeant said, as he told me the story, "i held my ward with two other men, both of whom were slain. then our ammunition ran short, and things became so frightfully hot that i felt we should not be able to stand it much longer. for a while i defended the threshold with my bayonet, husbanding the few cartridges left me, and at every lull in the enemy's attack i built a barricade in the doorway before me with the bodies of the dead and anything else on which i could lay my hands, until i had formed a breastwork reaching to my shoulders. this at least afforded me some protection and relief." just at this time hook narrowly escaped death from an assagai which pierced his helmet and grazed the top of his head, while several more stuck in the wall at the end of the room behind him. finding they could not carry the hospital by assault, the zulus determined on setting it on fire. then it was that the true heroism of the 16 241 true stories of heroic lives man came out. hook got a pick, made a small hole in the dry brick wall, dragged several of his sick and wounded comrades through it into the next ward, and repeated the operation until he had a clear passage through two more party-walls and had brought his patients after him. then he met lance-corporal williams, and with his assistance succeeded in bringing eight invalids into the last room, where they managed to get them out of a window, and finally, despite the heavy fire they had to pass through, gained an inner defense that had been hastily formed near the church. by this time three of hook's comrades had been slain at their posts. not till the little garrison of the hospital had defended it room by room, bringing out all the sick that could be moved, did the survivors retire. blood-curdling as was this scene—the hospital in flames with some of its inmates dying-the garrison owed its salvation to it. once the hospital flared up, the glare of the burning building revealed the tactics of the zulus; and every time they got to within six hundred yards of the defenses they were met by a well-directed fire that plowed great gaps in their ranks. throughout the night their charges continued, and the fire had no sooner burned itself out than the savages made another desperate charge, which was successfully repelled. toward three in the morning the zulus ceased 242 facing death at rorke's drift. firing, and slowly withdrew after twelve hours of almost incessant fighting. with the dawn of the next day a terrible sight met the eyes of the survivors. a few yards away were the smoldering ruins of the hospital, with the charred remains of slaughtered comrades amid the heap of smoking rubbish; hard by lay the bodies of other brave fellows, all assagaied and mutilated, while for hundreds of yards around the ground was strewn with the dusky corpses of the fierce assailants. hook and some others went to ascertain if there were any of their fallen comrades still alive, and he came upon the body of a giant zulu stretched on the ground. just as he was passing him the savage, who was merely feigning death, and who, tho wounded in the leg, was still full of life, suddenly stretched out his arm and clutched the stock of hook's rifle; then, springing to his knees, he made a terrific effort to wrest it from his grasp. then they struggled for it, but finally hook wrenched the gun away. a few months later sergeant hook received his cross from the hands of lord wolseley at fort melville, about eight hundred yards from the very spot where he had borne himself so bravely. 243 zola and the dreyfus drama. by ernest alfred vizetelly. people eople often ask me how it happened that émile zola, at the height of his fame and popularity, earning $40,000 a year by his pen, with town house and country house replete with works of art and perfect in all their appointments, having, moreover, no cares to plague him and no political ambition to satisfy, should have plunged neck and crop into the dreyfus case, and thereby have imperiled popularity, fortune, comfort, personal liberty, and even life itself for the sake of one whom some people call a "mere jew," and who was shut off from the world on a strip of sand and rock known as "devil's island." those who ask this question have never read zola's books, and most certainly they have never read the one entitled, "paris.” this man émile zola has had but two passions throughout his life-truth and justice. on many points, no doubt, his views are not those of certain parties and sects paramount in one or another country. he regards christianity as a failure because, according to his lights, 244 em zola laverite esten marche etrien nelarretera lnile zola 15 janvier 1888 medal in honor of zola, struck in france [the inscriptions read: homage to emile zola. the truth is on the march and nothing will impede it] jovanor zola and the dreyfus drama there are nowadays quite as much vice, hypocrisy, and crime in the world as there were in the pagan days of the cæsars; and he has said, and says still, that concealment fosters vice, hypocrisy, and crime. therefore let all be revealed so that all may be cured or remedied. if, as some say, he has wallowed in the gutter, it has been solely for the purpose here enunciated. it is too late to preach to men, he says; they must be shocked, made to look with horror on themselves. and when the world, or a great part of it, protests that the pictures of human life given in his novels are merely atrocious libels, he quietly shrugs his shoulders and adds: "no, they are truth. there was never greater iniquity in the world than there is at this hour. our generation will not admit it, but another will; and our children's children will witness and participate in the great purging." there, then, is zola's theory in a nutshell. and, such being his views, his plunge into the dreyfus case was only natural. he has simply made his actions consistent with his writings. in this said dreyfus case there were error, injustice, and concealment-three abominations which, according to his views of the world, he, zola, had been fighting for thirty years. and so he dived into the vortex, risking everything, daring everything, for the principles of his whole life. by doing so he rendered himself liable, alto245 true stories of heroic lives gether, to sixteen months' imprisonment; he forfeited at least half a year's income-say $20,000; and he expended out of his own pocket another $30,000. at least his disbursements for the cause stood almost at that figure in november, 1898. for of course there has never been any jewish financial syndicate, and zola has not only paid his own fines, costs, and damages, but the fines, costs, and damages of many others, such as the newspapers that he dragged into the affair, as well as the poorer dreyfusites-those whose few sticks of furniture would have been sold by the officers of the law had not zola's purse been opened for their relief. zola knows what poverty is. he is ever and ever reverting in his books to the cruel hardships of the poor. he was poor himself once; his father died almost penniless; and for years he slaved in a garret to provide his mother with bread. virtually his first employment was at hachette'sthe paris publishers—where he tied up parcels and addressed catalogs for a pittance of $4 a week. and when he began to write it was years before an editor or a publisher would deal with him. ah! the dreary days, the cold bleak nights, the fireless stove, the curtainless window, the rush-light burning on the little deal table, the snow out of doors, the frost both without and within, the youthful aspirant for literary renown penning his first effusions with red, numbed fingers-these things, of 246 zola and the dreyfus drama which we often read in novels, are not fiction: émile zola knew them all. could he count the days when he had neither breakfast nor dinner? i doubt it. i know that in that toilsome, desperate period of his youth he went at times for twoand-sixty hours without food! and when a man has passed through such an ordeal as that, must he not be compassionate? can he be otherwise, unless, indeed, his heart contain nothing but spite and rancor? to those who have real grit in them, there is, quite apart from zola's doctrines, a glorious promise in his career. given talent and will, even bitter poverty and semi-starvation may end in renown and affluence. but it may be asked if zola had to begin his dreyfus campaign afresh, would he do so? has not exile, has not moral, mental suffering, severance from old habits, from prized friendships and affections, in some measure blunted his will? not a bit of it! if the dreyfus agitation were to begin afresh, zola would be in it. perhaps he might not act in every circumstance as he has acted, for experience brings its lessons with it. but substantially he would do as he has done. as he has often told me, he has nothing to repent of, nothing to regret, nothing to ask excuse for. the agitation in favor of alfred dreyfus had no sooner started than, like all frenchmen, zola began to take a keen interest in it. this interest 247 true stories of heroic lives was the greater by reason of his principles. still, it was only after the facsimiles of the famous "bordereau" had been published, and when they were being generally talked about, that zola was moved to take action. worried already by the rumors of a possible miscarriage of justice, he was struck by the similarity of the handwriting appearing on this "bordereau " with that of count walsin esterhazy. he spoke out, at first dubiously, and then in a tone of growing conviction, in the columns of le figaro. day by day this conviction of his gathered strength; it was virtual inspiration, for he was far from knowing all the facts; a form indeed of prophetic intuition such as genius grants to those few great men that she favors. and meantime the readers of le figaro murmured and grumbled; the editor even had to resign his post, for the paper is one much read by french army men, to whom its views and theories on dreyfus's trial were not palatable reading. then zola-le figaro having been closed against him— tried appeal by pamphlet; he addressed stirring words to france, to her students, her young men of intellect; and, still proceeding on his course, he at last hurled upon the country his famous thunderbolt, that letter addressed to the president of the republic beginning with the words: "i accuse." ah! his medium was a poor little radical paper, called l'aurore, edited by one ernest vaughan, 248 zola and the dreyfus drama who for long years had been the right-hand man of henri rochefort, but who had quarreled with his patron, left him, and founded this poor little struggling print. perhaps fifteen thousand copies of it were then sold each day; but it published zola's thunderbolt, and now nearly half a million copies of each number issue from its presses. newspapers, like books, have their destinies. financially, those of l'aurore would seem to be of the brightest. but zola's letter "j'accuse" led to his prosecution; how he was tried and retried; how, advised by his friends, he left france—not to escape imprisonment, but purely and simply to keep the affair "open" and thwart all attempts to stifle it in the interests of the french general staff: all these matters belong to history. the case has not been stifled; it has steadily gone on and on. "truth," as zola put it, "was "—and is—" on the march." as for himself, he knew to whom to come when he quitted his native land. for years he has never had but stanch men and true around him. thus he disappeared, in the interests of his cause, and the world asked: where is zola?" 66 just a few people knew the precise spot-i among them. but all the wealth of all the american millionaires put together could not draw the secret from any one of us. we were happy in this: we numbered a dozen, and we counted no 249 true stories of heroic lives judas iscariot in our midst. for many months zola's enemies wished to serve on him personally the judgment pronounced against him by default by the court of versailles, and this virtually meant that he would be forced to do a year's imprisonment without chance of appeal. we were all determined that he should do no such thing. we learned from eminent english counsel that it was legally possible for a french process-server to hand zola a copy of the french judgment against him even in england, provided that no breach of the queen's peace were committed; and that in this event he would have to put in an appearance in france within five days, under penalty of finding his conviction definitive, beyond question of appeal. so we hid him; and what friend of truth and justice will blame us? many as are zola's admirers in this dreyfus business, especially in english-speaking lands, there are some, superficial readers and so forth, who misconstrue his motives, think him a paid agent of the jews-he who more than any other novelist of his time has attacked jew capitalistsand blame him for attacking the army, which is france's right arm. but he does not attack the army. he simply attacks those officers who have perpetrated or hushed up fraud and crime. he undoubtedly hates, loathes, abhors an overbearing military spirit. he does not wish to see his coun250 zola and the dreyfus drama try ruled by the saber. but in france the army is the nation. all frenchmen serve in it, or should do so. and germany is ever there, ever ready, ever watchful, at strasburg and at metz, within five days' march of paris! of this zola certainly needs no reminder. i know that some of his friends, some of dreyfus's partizans, go further than the great novelist does. i have occasionally witnessed their discussions, their altercations together, and i have even parted and pacified them. as zola says, france, ever open to invasion, needs a powerful army, but an army imbued with a true democratic spirit. alas! that brings to the front another problem: militarism and democracy are they compatible one with the other? to plunge into that question would be futile. time ever and ever upsets the most attractive theories; and time alone can show whether, in peace, a nation in arms can really prove to be a democratic nation. 251 "all hands bury the dead!” by rev. george t. lemmon. the he fredonia, seven years on the sea, and one of the best-known fisher-craft of our north coast, had never lost a spar until december, 1896, when she was caught off cape sable in a terrific hurricane. it was far from sunrise when the storm broke on the ship, and captain morgan hove to at once, and under a double-reefed foresail thought to ride it out. but suddenly, with a rush that was terrible, a great whirling monster swept over the ship. it was a stroke of the wind which would have staggered the kaiser wilhelm der grosse and swept the smokestacks from the oceanic. it cleaned the deck of the fredonia. every mast, dory, sail, chair, and unplanked thing above deck was cut away in a moment. even the rudder went, and the wreck of a hull lay at the mercy of the waves and storm. one man went to his death with the masts, and olaf olson was so crushed and torn that in six hours he died. the pumps remained, and at them the men set 252 "all hands bury the dead!" diligently to work. there was great need of this muscular labor, for the deck was nearly flush with the sea. thus for twenty-four hours the twentyone living men battled. hope of life was wellnigh dead when, just before the dawn of the 18th, the colorado bore down to the rescue. the sea was still rough, and it took stout hearts to face it in the little boats; but such hearts were found, and sixteen of the fredonia's men were soon safe in the colorado. five remained on the wreck, captain morgan one of them, and on the sinking ship they pondered what to do with their dead mate. burial at sea, so terrible to the mind of landfolks, is an honor to the tar who has spent his life on the brine; but it must be burial, not abandonment. the brotherhood of the sea will not suffer a mate to sink without a shroud beneath the waves. when olson died his body had been lashed to prevent its being washed away. now it lay on the deck of the sinking ship in the light of the rising morning sun, and morgan exclaimed: "lads, we mustn't leave him behind! it's too foul a way to treat the mate we've ate with.” "but, skipper, we'll all go down if we stay," answered one of the men. "it's a wonder the old hulk stands up as it is." "you're right, tom, but let's do our duty. we can't take him away, but we can give him to the 253 true stories of heroic lives sea proper-like. i'll not leave the ship till he's had decent burial or i'll go down with him and it.” "all right, skipper, we'll stand by." and they did. morgan hailed the colorado's boat to stand off until they were called. swiftly the body of olson was unlashed, and then wrapped, and tied in a blanket for the grave in the deep. the winds were still howling and the waves beating over the deck, so that the men could scarcely stand, and the ship with staggering lurches was steadily settling. at last the body was ready for the sea. "boys, we mustn't slide him over like a log. we must have a prayer, but-i can't pray. diggins, you talk it." "i'll do my best, skipper," answered bob diggins, and with heads bare to the winter's storm the five men stood about the silent bundle, while diggins prayed to the god who holdeth the sea in his hands. ay, there they stood in the calm, holy grandeur of the truest heroism to pay friendship's last tribute to a messmate, tho they knew not whether his dead body or their live ones should be first to drop into the sea. the prayer ended, the body was pushed over the side, and while the gale sang its requiem sank beneath the tossing waves. then the colorado's boat was hailed. 254 slave boy and leader of his race. by gilson willets. this his is a chapter from the true story of the heroic struggles of one who was born a slave and who to-day is the leader of a race of 10,000,000 people, the successor of frederick douglas and the most respected negro in the united states. up to the day on which he first entered a schoolhouse he was quite content with the name of booker taliaferro. "but all these other little colored boys have three or four names," said the teacher. the lad scratched his head a while, then said: "well, put me down-washington." thus the future founder and head of the foremost institution for the education of negroes, at tuskegee, ala., came to be known as booker t. washington. he knows that he was born on the plantation of james burroughs at hale's ford in "ole virginny; "but the date of the event he knows not. in those days the birth of a slave baby was of no consequence than the arrival of a litter of more 255 true stories of heroic lives kittens. hence no record. meeting mr. washington recently, i remarked that "i had expected to see an older man." "i think," he replied, "that i entered this world in 1857 or 1858. anyway, i feel that i have passed the fortieth milestone on my life-road. and as every man is expected to have a birthday, i usually celebrate mine on easter sunday." his father was a white man, but his mother was as ebony. his recollections go back to a one-room log cabin with one door and no windows. "i hardly think i can get a photograph of that cabin," said he, "for i would not recognize it to-day were i to see it." in that cabin he was lying one day on the clay floor, swathed in rags, when, as he says, "my now sainted mother bent over me praying for the success of marsa linkun' and for our freedom." 6 even then, tho only about six years old, he felt a boyish shame in the knowledge that he was simply a bit of property belonging to "marsa" burroughs. a year later he was sitting on the clay floor eating his dinner of "cone-pone" when an old aunty poked her head into the cabin, shouting, "halleluiah!" and announcing that all the "niggers" had been ordered to assemble on the porch of the mansion. that day the lad learned that the war had ended, that he and his mother and all his kind were free, that he was no longer 256 the washington family slave boy and leader of his race a piece of property, but a little man. and the determination-probably mere instinct at that time-came to him to make the best use of his new estate. for a year or two he remained on the plantation, helping his mother in the kitchen of the mansion. then came the day when he first made up his mind to get an education. "my thirst for knowledge," he says, "came to me while watching a young colored man who was reading a newspaper to a group of colored people. the mouths of the bystanders yawned and their eyes grew big, not at the news, but at the fact that one of their own color could read. to them the reader was a sort of god. now this accomplishment, this knowing how to read, seemed to me a power, and i resolved to acquire it. "then it was that i went to school for the first time, and gave myself the family name of washington. the young woman who taught the colored children knew how to read and write, but that was all. i soon knew as much as she did, and then i stayed home. thus i graduated from my first school." now came a great change. his mother died, and he and his brother, john washington, now a teacher of the tuskegee institute, started across the mountains, on mules given them by their old "marsa" burroughs, to the coal-mines of west 17 257 true stories of heroic lives virginia. it was a dangerous journey, for the hills were still infested by guerrillas. deep down in the black earth the lad hauled coal by day; in a miner's hut at night he continued his studies. he borrowed book after book from the country school-teachers, and mastered their contents. again his studies came to a standstill. again he knew as much as the teachers, and no more books were to be had. "oftentimes," he says, "i would hear that a new school-teacher had arrived, five, ten, fifteen miles away. i would walk and walk till i found the teacher-only to go back disappointed. for i myself could teach the teachers." again the instinct to better his condition made the lad uneasy. realizing that there was no chance in the mines for advancement, he sought other employment. he had tramped only a few leagues from the mines to a town-charleston, w. va.when his good angel materialized in the person of mrs. viola ruffner, a new england lady who had married a southerner. she engaged the ambitious boy to work in the kitchen and run errands at a few cents a month and "found." here booker continued his plan of "getting on" by studying at night. mrs. ruffner lent him books and devoted an hour or two every day to teaching him. he came to her knowing two of the three r's. now she taught him the third-'rithmetic. 258 slave boy and leader of his race "i used to sit up nearly all night," says mr. washington, "burning dear old mrs. ruffner's oil. to her i owe more than to any of my early teachers. from her i received my first training in thrift and industry, from her i learned that the difference in social conditions is principally the result of intelligent energy. her truck farm was about eight miles from the town, and i tell you i made that farm pay. i was off in the market wagon daily before daylight; and among the competing neighbors our energy caused consternation and our profits amazement." at last, when sixteen years of age, he overheard a man in the charleston market-place telling about the hampton institute-that it was a place where negro boys could get an education by working for it. young washington immediately decided that hampton was the place for him. here was his great opportunity. he had saved $12 from his earnings, and with this and a stout pair of legs he started for hampton, three hundred miles away. he recrossed the blue ridge mountains back into virginia, begging a ride when he could, reaching richmond at last, footsore, lame, weary, penniless. here he decided to earn enough money to pay his way over the remaining hundred-odd miles to hampton. the stevedores on the wharves hired. him, but they made him work as hard as a grown man, loading and unloading fruit-steamers. in 259 true stories of heroic lives order to hoard each day's earnings he went to bed under a board sidewalk. "that couch was as down to me," he says now, "for every night i fell asleep remembering that i had that day added forty or fifty cents more to my hampton fund.” after a long, long tramp, after a protracted hand-to-hand encounter with poverty, after hunger and even homesickness-for he often thought of dear old mrs. ruffner-he reached his mecca. presenting himself, rags, dust, and all, a stranger, a tramp, to general armstrong, he related his struggles and his aspirations. "well," said the head of the institute, "if you are worth educating we will give you the chance." his entrance examination, mr. washington tells me, was rather unique. "they hardly knew," he says, "whether to admit me, a seeming ragamuffin, or not. while they were making up their minds they handed me a broom and a duster and told me to do' a certain room. well, i did it. i swept that room as i never swept a room before. i think i swept and dusted it ten times over. eventually a teacher came in and drew her handkerchief along the wall; but not a speck of dust could she find. she took me back to general armstrong, who said: 'you are admitted on trial.' whereupon tears of joy began raining down my face and the teacher hurried me out of the principal's room." thus, at last, booker t. washington was in his 260 slave boy and leader of his race element. in 1875 he graduated from hampton and was given charge of the village school at malden, w. va. in 1878 he took a course of study at wayland seminary, in washington, d. c. in 1879, by invitation, he stumped the state of west virginia-such had been his success as a public speaker-pleading for the removal of the state capital to charleston. then, urged by the judge of a district court, he began studying law and just concluded to enter the legal profession, when general armstrong sent for him to take charge of a class at hampton. back to hampton he went, and it was there, in 1881, that he resolved henceforth to devote himself to the elevation of his own race. a call for a teacher came from tuskegee, ala. washington was given the post, and there, in a shanty, on the fourth of july, 1881, with thirty pupils and one teacher, he founded the tuskegee institute. even while he addressed his pupils the condition of the "institute" building was such that he had to hold an umbrella over his head as a protection against the inpouring rain. the next day he mailed a letter to general armstrong asking a loan of $500 for a new building. eral responded with a check, and washington and his pupils determined to build the building themselves. they even made their own bricks. but when it came to burning the bricks they had to the gen261 true stories of heroic lives stop-no one knew how to fire a kiln. they could not spare a penny of their $500 for labor and they had to burn the bricks. washington owned a gold watch, a prize won at hampton. this watch he pawned, and with the money thus obtained hired an experienced workman to fire the kiln. the principal of tuskegee carries to-day a cheap waterbury, for he has never redeemed that gold watch, -tho the property of the institute now includes 2,500 acres of land and thirty-eight buildings,holdings valued at $250,000, where one thousand colored young men and women are receiving an education under the direction of nearly one hundred teachers. 262 the man who bore the stigma. by l. grace ferguson. the he revival of interest that has been shown during the last few months in the history of the austrian archduke maximilian's ill-starred mexican empire gives a measure of timeliness to otherwise overtardy effort, and to the publication-for the first time, i believe, in the english language of the real facts in vindication of one of the most unfortunate of the victims of that tragedy. i refer to col. miguel lopez, who commanded the body-guard of the unfortunate " emperor," and who, all accepted histories unite in telling us, received a bribe from the mexican republican leaders and treacherously admitted their army to the city of queretaro, where maximilian was captured. almost immediately after the capture of the city -may 14, 1867-the story of his alleged betrayal gained currency there, and was industriously circulated by the friends of the archduke, who charged that lopez in return for this service had received three thousand "ounces." 263 true stories of heroic lives a reference to semi-official mexican records in my possession fails to discover any proof of this charge, but does show that on the night of the capture of the city colonel lopez did visit the camp of the republican general, escobedo, as the bearer of a proposition from the besieged "emperor." maximilian, it appears, had become discouraged to the extent of total despair. with a force of only about five thousand men he had for seventy days been withstanding a siege by an army of thirty thousand. that very day his leading generals had united in a representation to him that their only hope, forlorn enough, lay in a general sortie, staking everything upon the issue of one battle against overwhelming odds. but he recognized the uselessness of this, and was willing to surrender if only his honor, of which he had most romantic ideas, could be saved. so lopez came that night to escobedo, says the record, with the offer of the surrender of the city and the army if the "emperor" would be allowed to "escape" to some gulf port with a single squadron of cavalry, giving his word that he would at once sail for europe and never return. this offer was promptly refused. lopez then inquired if escobedo would give a guaranty of personal safety to maximilian if he would surrender. this was also refused, and the disappointed messenger returned to the doomed city. 264 the man who bore the stigma scarce had he gone when escobedo ordered a general advance; and upon all sides the republican troops came silently closing in through the darkness. a strong advance party surprising the guards at the la cruz convent gardens, on the borders of the city, captured colonel lopez himself, and with him as prisoner forced their way into the convent proper and the church, where maximilian's headquarters were. maximilian escaped them for a few hours, but was soon captured with the remnants of his army at a little fort on the hill of the bells, where he was afterward executed. all these circumstances lent color to the charge of treason, and lopez was soon the most despised and hated man in the republic. imperialist and republican alike scorned him. for years men spit upon him in the streets, women held back their skirts lest they should touch him, and the children hooted as he passed. by and by a few of his old friends began to talk about his case, and it was asserted that maximilian before his death had said things to those who were with him totally inconsistent with the theory that lopez was a traitor. a letter also had been seen by a few people-a personal friend of my own among the number-written by the emperor to lopez after the surrender, in which this sentence appeared: "forever remember that you are the guardian of our imperial honor." 265 true stories of heroic lives from these things the friends of lopez argued that a third proposition had been committed to lopez by maximilian on that fatal night and had been accepted by escobedo, who had sent forward his troops with the understanding that lopez, acting under the emperor's orders, would open the gates for them. this was wholly in keeping with the character of maximilian, who, recognizing the utter hopelessness of his position, was anxious to avoid further battle, but felt an almost insane fear of compromising his honor by a voluntary surrender. man. but no word could be wrung from the accused year after year he bore the stigma without a murmur. with quiet dignity he received, but never resented nor replied to, the insults heaped upon him. the foolish "emperor's " honor could not have been committed to safer keeping. a worthless bauble, it was guarded like a crown jewel. at length, when his head had long been white under the burden of years and shame, one morning the people of mexico city were startled by the publication of an open letter in the columns of a daily newspaper. it was addressed to general mariano escobedo, and was signed by the almostforgotten "traitor" col. miguel lopez. "i have borne," said the disgraced old soldier, "a burden of shame for a quarter of a century. for myself 266 the man who bore the stigma i would carry it to the grave, whither i soon go; but since those for whom i have borne it are long dead and well-nigh forgotten, for my children's sake i appeal to you to tell the mexican people whether i did or did not in return for a bribe betray the trust imposed in me by maximilian." escobedo responded to the touching appeal, and over his own signature published a full denial of the story of the bribe, and stated that he had placed a complete history of the event in the hands of president diaz, for use as he should see fit. so far as i know the president has never published the document, but no well-informed person in mexico any longer believes lopez to have been anything else than a victim to his devotion to his emperor. still, all the histories tell us and perhaps will always tell of the "treason" of lopez, and when he died, some two years ago, it was cabled over the world as "the death of the man who betrayed maximilian." many sovereigns have had servants who have died for them; for poor maximilian was reserved the honor of such devotion that for him a man would live long years under a cloud of infamy. 267 carl schurz as a revolutionist. by william e. johnson. in n the spring of 1899, four hundred men, comprising many representatives of the best brain and blood of american citizenship, sat down to a dinner at delmonico's to celebrate the seventieth anniversary of the birth of carl schurz. these four hundred men rejoiced that their guest is an american. a week later, representative germans of the new world celebrated the same event at the new york liederkranz, rejoicing that their guest of honor is a german. an address proclaiming the civic virtues of the man, bearing the indorsement of five hundred societies and the signatures of seventy thousand individuals, was laid at his feet. forty members of the german reichstag cabled greetings of the teutonic race. ex-president grover cleveland wrote, lauding the "disinterested public service" of the same honored guest, and count herbert bismarck cabled the good will of the court of germany, which but a few years ago sought his life. the life of carl schurz is both consistent and 268 copyright by r. wilhelm, new york. carl schurz the civilian carl schurz as a revolutionist contradictory. in germany, schurz was a revolutionist of the revolutionists. monarchical emissaries pursued him all over europe as an anarchist who would upset the divine right of kings. the german penitentiary yawned for him as one "dangerous to society." in america, this man, a conservative of the conservatives, is berated as the chief prophet of the "mugwumps." and yet the carl schurz of germany and the carl schurz of america stand for exactly the same thing: a government good enough to extend to the citizen his fullest liberty, and strong enough to defend the liberties so extended. a matte of fact, the present constitutional government of germany is far more liberal and democratic than that which was demanded by schurz and his fellow revolutionists fifty years ago. during the first half of this century the german confederation dominated central europe-a bedlam of thirty-nine german states in constant tumult, a combination of predatory princes, backed by the holy alliance, which had the liberties of the people by the throat. again and again did the monarchs, large and small, pledge a constitutional government, and as many times were the promises forgotten. the people were taxed unto starvation, plundered by petty exactions, driven into unwilling wars, browbeaten, robbed, and murdered. under the holy alliance, french armies 269 true stories of heroic lives suppressed uprisings in spain; austrian troops quelled a revolution in italy. thunders muttered around every throne in europe. in these dark hours the german universities were shrines where the flame of liberty perpetually burned. they were always under the ban of ecclesiastical and monarchical suspicion. at jena, at göttingen, at bonn, at heidelberg, at berlin, at vienna, at leipsic, and at frankfort the youth of the continent had breathed into their ears the gospel of human rights, the whisperings of discontent. it was in this atmosphere that carl schurz was born, at libar, cologne, on march 2, 1829. his father was a college 66 teacher." from the hour of his birth carl absorbed the doctrines of these centers of revolutionary ideas. ten years before, charles sands, a student of jena, entered the home of an autocratic oppressor and stabbed him to death. sands was duly beheaded. a delegation from heidelberg attended the execution, and dipped their handkerchiefs in his blood. from that hour the memory of charles sands was the altar at which every student in central europe worshiped. persecution by the princes was but the scourge with which they lashed their own backs. whenever a professor or "teacher" of one of these universities was driven into exile, scores were added to the ranks of the revolutionists. bonn was the storm-center of the revolutionary 270 carl schurz as a revolutionist idea, and johann gottfried kinkel, the poet, theologian, philosopher, author, and lecturer, was its high priest. never did a man have such a hold on the undergraduate heart. among those who sat at his feet was young carl schurz, a curlyheaded chap in his teens, but ten years in advance of his age. between the boy and his teacher there grew up an affection that lasted until the latter's death. in 1848, at wartburg, a patriotic students' congress was held, at which delegates were in attendance from all the german universities. schurz was the delegate from bonn, and his fiery eloquence made him a leader at once. upon his return, under the instruction of kinkel, the with others made missionary pilgrimages up and down the rhine, addressing assemblages of students and laborers. in february, 1848, the storm broke out in france. the people drove louis philippe off his throne and beyond the border. the echo of the strife sounded throughout the continent. king lewis was ousted from the bavarian throne. prince metternich, the backbone of the holy alliance, fled from vienna. würtemberg, darmstadt, nassau, and hesse, one after another succumbed to the people's demands. saxony, hanover, and berlin were in an uproar. revolutionary armies began gathering in the southern states. meanwhile the eyes of bonn were on kinkel, 271 true stories of heroic lives who was even then editing a revolutionary paper called spartacus. he asked from his wife permission to go to the front. he kissed her and the three little ones good-by that very night. with young schurz as a companion, he gathered together a few lads and laborers, and attempted to seize the arsenal at siegburg. the attempt was a failure, but schurz and kinkel escaped to the south, where they joined the revolutionary army. a few bold dashes made young carl an adjutant to the commander of all the forces. the revolution was short, sharp, and decisive. most of the revolutionists were caught in a trap at rastadt, where they were killed or captured; but at the same time most of the demands of the revolutionists were acceded to. at the forefront of the siege of rastadt were kinkel and his pupil schurz. kinkel was wounded and captured, but the lad crawled through a sewer from the interior of the fortress and escaped. tramping by night and sleeping by day, the young refugee with others succeeded in reaching switzerland. from there he made his way to paris. the other leaders bagged at rastadt were either shot or sent to the penitentiary for life. among the latter was the wounded kinkel, upon whom was visited especial vengeance. for three months he was confined within the walls of naugard on the baltic, and compelled to scrub floors. then he 272 all coule raharborns falkendalian (gssages see carl schurz as a revolutionist was sent to the great penitentiary of spandau. he head was shaved. he was refused communiication with the outside world. he was dressed in coarse sackcloth. he slept on a bed of straw and was forced to spin thirteen hours a day. such were the stories that came to the student refugees at paris, and stirred their young blood to the boiling-point. schurz yearned for his master's liberty. one night, in a paris café, a plot was hatched to rescue their imprisoned teacher. a wealthy student was found to furnish the necessary funds, and carl schurz was commissioned to undertake the execution of the desperate plot. at different points two or three fugitive lads made their way across the german border, all headed for berlin. for five months schurz hovered around the great penitentiary of spandau, worming his way into the confidence of different officials, all the time knowing that the discovery of his identity meant almost certain death. the least that he could hope for, in such an event, would be to join his teacher inside the walls for life. at the end of five months the rescue was effected-in november, 1850. accompanied by young schurz, the master fled to the baltic coast, spent a few hours for rest in mecklenberg, and took a craft provided for them at cox haven. most of the refugees made their escape via switzerland, and officials were on the lookout in that direction; but schurz fooled the pursuers 18 273 true stories of heroic lives by taking the most direct route to the british shores. for half a century german bards have sung of the daring escapade of this curly-headed, lionhearted youth. to this day the details of the rescue have never been fully cleared up, as men implicated in the plot are still high in german official life. enough facts leaked out, however, to send to prison for three years one of the wardens who played into schurz's hands. this mystery has given the romantic teuton opportunity to invent tales to suit his fancy. schurz is pictured as an organ-grinder playing under the great gray walls the favorite tunes of the master, thus making himself known to the imprisoned one. in song he is described as wooing the guards to sleep and boldly snatching his eurydice from the bowels of the living tomb. others, more superstitious, aver that he was assisted by the gods, and that the master was spirited away through the air to be materialized by the magic wand of the hero youth in a mecklenberg forest. dr. abraham jacobi, of new york city, who was then a hidden revolutionist near bonn, tells me a story which illustrates the difficulties surrounding this famous feat. "during the summer of 1850," says the doctor, "a barefooted tramp entered my apartments on the top floor near bonn, without knocking. he had 274 carl schurz as a revolutionist 6 on his back a kit of tools like a traveling mechanic. he wore big whiskers. he was begrimed and dirty. have you heard from schurz?' was the first question he asked. i said: 'no.' 'you will hear soon,' was the reply. but who are you?' i asked. 'schimmelpfenning,' was all that i heard; but that was enough, i knew him. i fed and hid the famished one for several days, but no word came from schurz. it became dangerous for the tramp to stay longer, and he fled one night. a few days later word came to me that 'some one wanted to see me outside the town after the moon went down.' i made my way to an out-of-theway summer-place, the appointed spot, outside the town, when whom should i meet but schurz. he was working his way by night journeys to spandau to rescue the imprisoned master. he wanted food and directions." 6 gen. franz sigel tells me of the first glimpse that he had of young schurz. sigel was an officer in the revolutionary army, and escaped to the south after the fall of rastadt. in switzerland he was safe if he behaved himself; but that he did not do. he began writing articles regarding german affairs that made things so hot that prussian representatives demanded his expulsion. swiss officers thereupon took him in charge and conducted him to the french frontier. that night he was taken to paris on his way to england. at 275 true stories of heroic lives paris he was paroled for twenty-four hours, and at once started in search of fellow refugees. "i succeeded in finding a bunch of them in an out ofthe-way place," says the general, "but where it was i could not tell for the life of me; but among them was carl schurz, a young, easy-going beardless fellow with a piercing eye. i saw him but a few moments; but we afterward met in london, and were together considerably before we came to this country." gottfried kinkel, after his rescue, taught school for a time in england, and later went to switzerland, where he was professor of belles-lettres in the university of zurich till his death, november 15, 1882. a few months after the rescue of kinkel, schurz landed in new york, ignorant of our language and of our ways. the next day he was sitting on a bench in union square, wondering what to do, when a policeman came near arresting him as a suspicious character. schurz had difficulty in making the officer believe that he was a respectable man, and not a burglar. within ten years this same "suspicious character" was sent to spain by abraham lincoln as the american minister to the court at madrid. he had scarcely arrived when our civil war broke out, and schurz resigned his post to command a brigade in the federal ar his return trip took him 276 carl schurz as a revolutionist through his old german haunts. german law still demanded his life for his part in the uprising of 1848. german law also wanted him for his rescue of professor kinkel in 1850. he had not yet been pardoned for his various "crimes," but it would not do to arrest and imprison a minister of the united states. accordingly an official notice was printed in the german newspapers, notifying the authorities that "one carl schurz, a minister of the united states," was about to make a journey through the german empire, and warning the police to let him alone. that barefooted tramp who knocked at the upper door of dr. jacobi's den near bonn, afterward led a brigade under general sherman on his immortal march to the sea. it was general schimmelpfenning. in personal appearance, carl schurz is tall and slender. his curly hair and beard are slightly tinged with gray. he more nearly resembles a man of fifty than of seventy years. he has a nervous manner, is courteous and approachable, but he has an uncontrollable aversion to talking about himself or of his exploits. he treated me kindly, even cordially, until i began asking questions about professor kinkel and how he was rescued from spandau. mr. schurz then began backing away in a crab-like fashion out of the room. he suddenly remembered that he was "busy at 277 true stories of heroic lives work on a paper for the american academy of political science" and must sit at his desk every minute. it is a characteristic that every newspaper man has encountered who has ever attempted to induce him to discuss his own exploits. 278 one of the busiest women of new york. by carrie d. mccomber. or more than twenty-five years, on the days a sight has been witnessed on second avenue, new york city, in one of the tenement districts. on each of those days about two hundred women and children, each equipped with a capacious basket, have thronged the neighboring street, and filed through the narrow hallway of the front house, through the unattractive back yard, to a rear tenement house, where each has been given materials for a holiday dinner. each "dinner" has always consisted of a fowl, and groceries and vegetables enough to last an ordinary family a week, and is the result of the loving thought and effort of mrs. bella cook, who has not been out of that house for forty-three years nor off her bed for forty-three years. during all that time, altho never rising to a sitting posture, and in constant pain, shut away from the world and all that we are accustomed to 279 true stories of heroic lives 66 think makes life attractivo, with never a sight of tree or shrub or blade of grass, with only a narrow strip of blue sky showing between the ugly skylines of the buildings and above the pulley-lines with their unsightly array, mrs. cook has spent an active and joyous life. i said to her once: what weary days you must have spent here, mrs. cook! she replied in her bright, emphatic manner: "weary! not one. when ministers and other people pray with me, and tell the lord what a dreadful time i have had, and how he has afflicted me, i tell them that i had rather they would not pray for me at all than to do so in that way. i have not been so afflicted. my years have been happy." "talk about heroism," said one recently. "i can see how one can be brave in the face of danger to himself or others when nerved to it by excitement, or can sacrifice his life for a noble purpose when stimulated by enthusiasm; but to lie on a bed of pain in that forlorn place for almost half a century, and overlook one's own suffering, and control tortured nerves, all for the sake of the rank and file of unfortunate humanity,-well, in my mind, mrs. cook has out-heroed heroism!" a first visit to this remarkable woman must always be a surprise, however familiar with the facts one may be. as one climbs the staircase to the second floor and knocks at the door, a brisk, 280 the busiest woman of new york cheery voice, very unlike that of an invalid, says, "come in." except the bed, the room lacks all the characteristics of a sick-room. the face on the pillow may quiver with a paroxysm of pain, but a bright smile always greets one, and there is a welcome in the very air. the little room is exquisitely clean, the tiny cook-stove shines like a mirror, pictures and friendly tokens are about the room, and there are always flowers. a maid does the work, and cares for her. her bedstead was made especially for her, and was given to her in 1871. she has never been off it since that time. by an arrangement of straps and pulleys, head or feet or knees may be raised or lowered, or she can be raised on a canvas to allow her bed to be made and the mattress to be turned and changed. a large broad shelf swings back and forth on a level with her hands, encircling her body. this mr. john stephenson, the street-car manufacturer, had made for her. it holds her work, writing materials, and all that she needs for her day's work. everything is done that it is possible to do in that place to make her comfortable and her surroundings attractive. among other things, a telephone was once tried connecting her bed with the • pulpit of the rose hill methodist church, of which she has been a member for more than fifty years. the effort to listen through it, however, wearied her, and it was removed. during the years many 281 true stories of heroic lives physicians have been consulted with reference to moving her from the house, and every expedient has been discussed; but all have agreed that the attempt would result in her death, and that she could not live to reach the street. her "office hours," as she laughingly calls her day, are from nine to six, and between those hours she is seldom alone. she has a keen sense of humor, and understands human nature intuitively. men and women with all sorts of needs come to her. well-known society people find their way to her humble home, seeking comfort in bereavement and trouble. erring ones, those in search of work, the needy-all come to this apparently most helpless woman for council and aid. there is a continual coming for a dime for a night's lodging, for food, for the wherewithal with which to redeem things from the laundry or from pawn, ablebodied men who can "get work to-morrow, ma'am, if i can only get a shave and a clean shirt,"—and so her busy days go by. and all get all that that noble soul can give them. many a one has received there the first upward impulse to a new life, and found a before unknown hope and joy and peace. every one who comes gets a hearing, and all who appeal to her credulity go down in her little book and are "looked up" by her helpers. i once asked her if she never reached the end of her "but then i resources. "oh, yes!" she said. 282 the busiest woman of new york write to some of my rich people, and tell them that i am in a hole, and that it is not my work, but the lord's; and they respond." mrs. cook was born in hull, england, in 1821. she and her husband started for this country with their three little children in 1847. the baby was one of the twenty-five persons to die on the ship during the tedious seven weeks' voyage. mrs. cook had not learned patience in those days, and her grief for her child was immoderate and uncontrollable. her husband died of cholera two years after their arrival. to support herself and her two little ones, she took in fine sewing. in that way she made some very rich and influential friends, the ladies for whom she worked becoming interested in the intelligent and philanthropic little seamstress. during that time she devoted two hours of each day to visiting the sick and suffering, making up for the time thus spent by working early mornings and late nights. in bellevue hospital, where she was to be seen almost daily, she became known as the "little sunbeam." she was never strong. when two years old she fell and received injuries from which she never recovered. later in life she fell on the ice; and it is to those falls that she owes her long invalidism. 283 winning back the sudan. by edward page gaston. ere he comes-hurrah for the sirdar!" long files of expectant people stood along the victoria embankment, patiently awaiting a sight of england's most popular hero of the day, lord herbert h. kitchener, conqueror of khartum. he was on the way to the lord mayor's mansion to be given the freedom of the city of london and to receive the city's sword of honor, the first to be thus doubly honored in nearly twenty years. when his carriage swung by i saw an erect form and a strong face ruddied by the sun of the african deserts. 66 h rarely has the united kingdom been so stirred as by the news that came up from the sudan in september of 1898 that mahdism was dead, khartum regained, and gordon avenged. her majesty conferred a peerage on general kitchener, many decorations for valor were given, and the queen visited the wounded soldiers on their return. the chain of events having their successful climax in the battle of omdurman, the stronghold 284 winning back the sudan of the rebellious sudanese, make up a striking romance of modern times. in 1881 the english and egyptian governments sent the late "chinese " gordon to the sudan, fifteen hundred miles up the nile, as governor-general of that vast region. as soon as he left khartum at the end of his term, the egyptian and other officials began again to rob and persecute the natives. the deliverer of the sudan then appeared in the person of el mahdi el muntazar, who claimed that he was a descendant of the prophet mohammed, and therefore the long-expected mussulman messiah. rallying his forces, he began to sweep the land free from the hated intruders, and defeated force after force of their troops. as there was little profit in holding the arid sudan, england and egypt decided to withdraw from that territory, and to accomplish this general gordon was sent back up the nile on as forlorn and desperate a mission as man ever undertook. the home government promised to keep open his communications with lower egypt, a promise which was not fulfilled. gordon reached khartum in safety, but the war of extermination against the hated christians was pressed by the mad mahdi with greater vigor. berber, down the nile, was taken, and with its fall gordon's touch with the outside world was broken, and he prepared for a siege against him285 true stories of heroic lives self and his nine thousand soldiers and their families quartered at khartum. month after month dragged along, and death cut down his fighting forces nearly one half in nine months. still the queen's and khedive's troops did not come to the rescue, although tardy efforts were made to relieve the garrison, which was in desperate straits. sunday, the 25th of january, 1885, was a sad day in the beleaguered camp at khartum. general gordon was feeling unwell, and as he heard the continual firing of the enemy on his troops he seemed to realize that the end was near. "i have done my best for the honor of my country. good-by. c. g. gordon." these were the last words found in his journal, and after writing them he went and prayed long and earnestly, as was his custom. during the night the fire of the attacking arabs diminished, but at half past three o'clock in the morning of monday there was a stealthy rush for a part of the walls destroyed by the river floods, and then a swarm of fifty thousand dervishes came howling through the break. "to the palace! to the church! was the cry. the palace guards heard the alarm and aroused their master, who attempted to escape with his body-servants to the arsenal. as the general appeared at the top of the stone steps descending to the ground from the government house, a howl of 99 286 winning back the sudan savage delight went up. an arab came bounding up the steps where general gordon stood, saying, "take me to your master, the mahdi." without heeding the words the dervish lunged at his victim with a huge spear, and gordon fell forward on the steps without another word. his head was severed from the body to gain its captor the reward promised by the mahdi, while thousands of the yelling fiends mangled the remains with sword and spear thrusts, that they might say gordon's blood was on their weapons, after which the body was thrown into the river. the head was carried in triumph through omdurman, and then was displayed for three days upon a high pole in sight of khartum. the success of mahdism was complete, and the defeat of england was held by many to leave the stain of the brave gordon's blood upon the nation's honor. savagery drove out nearly every trace of civilization, and the slave-hunter succeeded the missionary. postal communication was cut off, the railroad which was reaching southward to the sudan was torn up and destroyed, and the dervishes used the wreck of the telegraph wires for spear-points. history tells of no such lapse from modern civilization to the worst kind of barbarism. the mahdi who had accomplished all this died in the year of his triumph over gordon, and his devoted followers erected to his holy memory a 287 true stories of heroic lives high-domed tomb in omdurman, which was wrecked by the explosive lyddite shells fired by the english gun-boats during the last campaign. the khalifa, who succeeded the dead ruler, was a worthy leader of such a cause, and among his barbarities was the division of a large number of the followers of the dead mahdi, whom he hated, into three groups. the members of one were hanged to a man, those of the second were decapitated, and the remainder had their right hands and left feet cut off. among the english officers who in 1884-5 attempted to rescue gordon was col. herbert h. kitchener, noted as one of the most determined of the younger men in the egyptian service. he never forgot for an hour the stigma on his country from the delay in moving to the relief of khartum, and as the following years brought him advancement he begged only to avenge the death of his old general. in 1896 his ambition was rewarded when he was given command of the campaign aiming at the reconquest of the sudan. his military and engineering genius had long been quietly at work on the problem, learning lessons from the previous failures, and adding new designs of his own. the difficulty to surmount was not alone the devastating dervishes, but the murderous desert. the cataracts of the nile prevent the passage of upwardbound steamers except in the brief flood seasons, and clearly the advance against omdurman must 288 winning back the sudan be made in part overland across the hundreds of miles of the nubian desert. camel trains had been used before, but general kitchener asked that he might build a railway to carry his troops and supplies, and for use later in the reopening of commerce. in the face of much opposition he built this road through to atbara in little more than two years, and at a fourth of the usual expense, by employing his native black soldiery and convicts on its construction. skirmishes with the dervishes were frequent, but the first battle was fought at atbara in april of 1898, when sixteen thousand of the khalifa's forces were found strongly defended by entrenchments and a zereba, or stockade, of thorny mimosa brush. they were attacked by twelve thousand of the anglo-egyptian troops, who rushed through the barriers of thorns after their field-guns and longrange rifles had done effective preliminary work. the sudanese were found to have burrowed into the earth like rabbits. the slaughter was tremendous, and many of the depressions were entirely filled by the dead and dying. shortly a rout of the arabs began before the overwhelming onrush of the highlanders and other troops; but many remained in the blood-sodden trenches, praying to allah that they might kill a christian dog before dying. the wounded asked no quarter, and had to be killed to prevent their killing, many instances 19 289 true stories of heroic lives being shown of the ferocious heroism-which was later evidenced in a larger degree in the splendid courage of the dervish forces at omdurman. one little arab boy of but ten years seized a heavy elephant gun to defend his wounded father, and fired at the english soldiers as they rushed by. he missed his aim, and his dying parent kicked him viciously for his awkwardness; but the lad had done what he could. the commanding mahmud was found sitting on a rug in his tent, saying his dying prayers and surrounded by his weapons, as befitted a defeated war chief who expected soon to die. he was brought before the sirdar, and to the english commander's question, answered: "yes; i am mahmud, and i am the same as you-commander-inchief." early in august the definite movement on omdurman, one hundred and fifty miles up the river from atbara, was begun, heavy reenforcements being made to the sirdar's troops until a total of twenty-three thousand was numbered in his infantry, cavalry, and camelry, reenforced by seven river boats, three of which had been brought up in sections by rail. the last day of august gave the advancing army its first view, through the clear atmosphere, of omdurman, twenty miles away, and the angloegyptian army encamped the night before the 290 winning back the sudan great battle at a small village on the nile five miles from the city. a force of thousands of the enemy afoot and mounted had been seen the day before, and there was a sharp watch kept against a night surprise, the english troops building up a thorny zereba before them, and the blacks making trenches. the morning of the 2d of september opened in cloudy weather, and at shortly after six o'clock the battle to the death began. i have talked with numbers of the men who were in the fight, and they say that a strange, dense silence fell upon the invading forces when the plain in front of the camp was dimly seen to move as fully fifty thousand arab troops advanced upon them in five great divisions. it was an imposing and brilliant spectacle, their battle-front being nearly four miles in length, and showing the glinting shields and banners of the one hundred and fifty emirs leading their tribesmon. as they approached to the attack the english heard an ominous hum of myriad oices, and as distance lessened the sound rose to a raucous wave of fury, like the surf of an angered sea, as they hoarsely shouted their battle-cry, "allah rasul-allah el mahdi!" the khalifa and his mollah priests had wrought up their followers to a fanatical frenzy, and the khalifa had told the priests at the mosque that he would annihilate the infidels and be back in omdurman in time for noonday prayers. 291 true stories of heroic lives the jar of the british field-guns startled the mass into more definite life, for at the first fire the dervishes surged forward in a white-garmented wave, coming straight at their foes at a running speed. then the british guns began to speak in section volleys at two thousand yards, and so exact was the firing that it all seemed a single report of a mighty gun. yet on the khalifa and his followers came, in the face of such a ripping fire as perhaps no civilized troops would endure. they were mowed down in whole battalions by the murderous shells and bullets. the ragged lines gathered closer together, and still rushed on in mad fury against the wicked rut! rut! rut! of the quick-firing maxims and the thudding of the gun-boats stationed on the flanks resting on the river. in this first rush of that mad day there was shown that complete defiance of death which has always been so admired in the fighters of the sudan. one old man whose eyes blazed in fanatical fury raced ahead of his people, carrying one of the white flags. while others faltered, he rushed straight at the enemy's rifles. on he came, a splendid specimen of bravery, until he was within two hundred yards of the english line, when a bullet hit his breast. then he folded his arms across his chest, his limbs loosened, and he sank, still trying to support his flag. the dervishes did not retreat, 292 winning back the sudan but the section of the omdurman horde which flung itself against the british front was simply annihilated, and the desert was littered with bloody, white-robed figures of the dusky warriors, some of the wounded continuing their fire until death shook them in its final paroxysm. a few dropped only a few paces from the english lines, over which they cast their spears. during the mad forward rush the sinister wh-t! wh-t-wh-t! of the bullets from the dervish guns sang their requiem among the invading forces; but the execution was light, as only four hundred of the sirdar's men were lost during the day. it was nearly ten o'clock in the morning, and the english troops were turned toward omdurman, to which it was thought the main mahdist forces had retreated, when a buzzing fire suddenly broke out again from behind the hills on three sides of the advancing and exultant army. it was then discovered that the khalifa had divided his warriors into three companies, and the dervishes who had just been repulsed were only one of the three. another came near to capturing the camelry and cavalry of one of the british divisions, sixty of the egyptian camelmen being killed and wounded. most glorious of all the day's deeds was the charge of the twenty-first lancers, numbering three hundred and twenty men. during the sec293 true stories of heroic lives ond engagement these horsemen, who were in their first fight, saw a detached body of about three hundred dervishes, upon whom the lancers boldly charged. "knee to knee they swept on," one of the men tells me, "until they were but two hundred yards from the enemy. then suddenly they saw the trap. between them and the three hundred there yawned a hidden water-course; out of this ravine. there sprang instantly a cloud of dark heads amid brandished swords and a thunder of savage voices. three thousand dervishes were hidden in that ravine." but the lancers swept on splendidly. they leaped their horses boldly into the breach, each man aiming his lance or saber at one of the dervishes, who were crouching ready for the hamstring cut to disable the horses. of the lancers who were unhorsed, but one escaped alive. it was a wild mêlée through a foe outnumbering them thirty to one; but on the brave men fought, until they came out on the other side of the kohr which had threatened to overwhelm them. the lancers were war-wild, and all with one accord re-formed to again lunge into the bloody masses they had left behind them in the pit; but their officers would not permit this second rash onset, and ordered the men to dismount for carbine fire. they pressed the arabs back until they came under an english bat294 winning back the sudan tery, and the three thousand cunning savages were shortly dead. twenty-five of the lancers were killed, fifty were wounded, and nearly one hundred and fifty horses felt the blade and spear; but the feat was one which stands alone in all the triumphs of british arms for nearly half a century. the battle crashed and swirled in its shifting track, when finally the arabs made their last great stand around the black banner of the kingly khalifa, which was planted at the front in the sand, where it flapped, raven-like, in the storms of lead and smoky flame. the khalifa, his brother, the emir yakub, and his son, the sheikh el din, all joined forces in the last dramatic and desperate rally of the royal family to regain their failing fortunes. from there they charged and charged again, the footmen being led by the baggara horse, the rough riders of the sudan, and their bravery was simply superb as they followed the emir yakub. it was the remnant of the greatest army that mahdism ever raised, and it died worthily for the mighty empire for which it battled. there was not one rush nor several, but dash on dash in quick-succeeding waves of frenzy, each attack being made over the slippery slaughter-floor of the preceding ones. the most of those remaining around the black flag, as also about the other green one which still floated, became simply death-loving maniacs, as they wandered toward the enemy as 295 true stories of heroic lives calmly as if on a saunter, and without a twinge of fear. on some of these the english soldiers would not fire, as a tribute to their bravery. under the shell-torn black flag at last stood only three of the living, facing as many thousands of the english, but still unconquered. they calmly folded their arms about its bullet-splintered shaft, and gazed steadily forward. two sank before the fire that centered upon them. the last dervish to surrender stood taller, and filled his chest proudly; he shouted the name of allah, and hurled his spear. after this he waited for the bullet, which took him in the heart. he quivered, and fell forward in an involuntary salaam of death to his conquerors. under the black flag, mahdism died at midday after a six hours' contest. after the battle the northern soldiers saw how calmly an arab may die. some had removed their slippers and placed them under their heads before expiring, to pillow their last sleep; a few were kneeling with hands clasped to pray, their dead faces turned toward mecca, while others were literally torn to pieces by the gusts of leaden death. now and again a form seemingly lifeless sprang to its feet, showing grievous wounds, and with a snarl of imprecation flung a spear or fired a rifle at the nearest soldiers before being bayoneted. of the three leaders of the mahdists, the emir osman azrak was dead under the white banner, 296 winning back the sudan and yakub, the brother of the khalifa, was dying under the black flag, with fifty of his comrades heaped about him. while death-gasping, he recognized his old british captive, slatin pasha, formerly a governor of the sudan, but who escaped and returned with general kitchener to see mahdism die. the khalifa's banner was supported by dead arms, so that it still fluttered its rent folds of defiance when christian hands were laid upon it. when i saw this famous standard, its bulletslitted fabric and splintered bamboo staff bore a silent testimony to the fearful ordeal which it had stood to inspire, and where it had only dipped in surrender when its defenders had died. seeing that his cause was lost, the khalifa fled into the deserts toward kordufan; but such numbers of his camels were captured that he had to abandon many of his wives. eleven thousand killed, sixteen thousand wounded, and four thousand prisoners-this was the dervish loss on that day of long-delayed reckoning. the destruction was such as has hardly befallen any great army in a like space of time in all the known history of war. when the sirdar's forces approached omdurman an old man came out on a donkey with a white flag to surrender the city; but it was not until the following day that desultory firing upon the invading soldiery was stopped. then the late 297 true stories of heroic lives mussulman warriors came in hundreds to enlist in the anglo-egyptian armies. on sunday general kitchener and a company of officers and troops crossed the river to khartum, where a gordon memorial service was held at the wrecked palace of the governor-general, upon which the english and egyptian flags were then raised and saluted. it was the burial ceremony for the brave christian after nearly fourteen years' delay. four of the army chaplains led the service; the bands played the "dead march in saul," "a few more years shall roll," and the favorite evening hymn of the dead soldier, "abide with me." there were twitching lips and tear-dewed faces among the war-bronzed men in that pathetic service, which finally wiped away the stain from england's name, if such there ever had been. 298 the hermit of mount alto. by j. montgomery m'govern. near tear the summit of mount alto, one of the spurs of the blue ridge mountains in the extreme northern part of georgia, one is startled to find in the midst of the surrounding wilderness a high stone wall surrounding a beautiful garden, with an orchard adjoining. at the extreme end of the garden is a tiny stone house-merely a one-room hut; but it contains a veritable curiosity-shop of treasures. the walls are lined from floor to ceiling with shelves containing books, nearly all valuable, and all handsomely bound. a large medicine-cabinet filled with vials and boxes is in the room, and on the table, beside a violin-case, is a pair of medicine-scales, one pan of which still contains a small quantity of white powder, as if the owner had been interrupted before he could finish weighing out the medicine. everything, however, is now thickly covered with dust. from the "crackers," whose primitive cabins stand at intervals in small "clearings" in the 299 true stories of heroic lives woods farther down the mountain-side, and from the wealthier planters living in the valley, one learns the story of the "hermit of mount alto," as he was called. dr. berkman was a belgian who came to this country a comparatively young man. letters of introduction from some of the most distinguished men in his own country and other european countries would have given him entrée into any society in america; but before definitely deciding upon any place of permanent abode in this country he chanced to spend a few days in the mountain district of northwest georgia. realizing the degraded condition of the rural "mountain population," the belgian doctor determined to devote the remainder of his life to ameliorating their condition. with his own hands he built the little stone hut from stones collected on the mountain-side and laboriously carried to the spot he had chosen for his home, and under his care the garden on that bleak and stony mountain-top soon blossomed literally "as the rose.' in his isolation from all refined and congenial surroundings, dr. berkman's flowers and the music he was able to draw from his treasured violin were his sole recreations. "" the mountain crackers, naturally shy and suspicious, at first refused to meet the advances of the kindly spoken foreigner, with his broken eng300 the hermit of mount alto lish accent; but when several members of one family living in a cabin near the doctor's home were taken sick at one time, and dr. berkman not only went to them, giving them medicine and a physician's treatment gratuitously, but remained with them day and night, nursing the sick with the gentleness of a woman and the skill of a trained physician, they grew to appreciate his worth. after that dr. berkman's ministrations among the crackers were constant. he taught them habits of order and cleanliness, and showed them more wholesome methods of preparing food. no matter how great the distance or how inclement the weather, the doctor would come to them if they were in trouble. but it was not for the improvement of their physical condition alone that dr. berkman spent his life among these mountain crackers. many of them he taught to read and write; he lent them. books, papers, and magazines, and encouraged them to discuss current topics of interest. he did much to improve their social and moral condition. as a rule, there is scarcely a greater social distance between the russian autocrat and the muzhik on his estate than there is between the aristocratic southern planter and the cracker of the southern mountains; yet by the example of his own earnest work, and by force of his eloquent persuasion, dr. berkman succeeded in interesting many of the 301 true stories of heroic lives planters in the welfare of their unfortunate mountain neighbors. one morning when a mountaineer came in haste to summon the doctor to the bedside of an ill woman he received no answer to his knock; and, pushing open the door, he found dr. berkman lying on his couch, unconscious, with one hand resting near the little medicine-scales by his bedside. directions were found for the shipping of dr. berkman's body to relatives in a distant city; but he left no directions or request for the disposition of his books and other personal belongings, and they remain in his little stone hut to-day just as he left them. " 302 true stories of heroic lives lea hurst, the charming derbyshire home of the nightingales. when miss nightingale left england, on the 21st of october, 1854, no one knew publicly as to the time of her going. she took with her fourteen sisters of an anglican community, and was joined at paris by ten of the roman catholic sisters of mercy. there were ten other english ladies who had volunteered. at boulogne the fishermen found out who the ladies were, and in spite of objections insisted on carrying their luggage and respectfully performing other services. on arrival at scutari, turkey, november 5, the "deliverer," as miss nightingale has been termed, found thirteen thousand sick and wounded awaiting her care. with a death-rate of forty-two, when her task was done it was found that the mortality had been reduced to two per cent. so fearful had been the surgical mismanagement, that before her arrival in four out of every five cases of amputation, death from gangrene ensued. a fund of $5,000,000 was raised and placed at her disposal through the london times. to say that it was wisely and beneficently expended would be a truism unnecessary to utter. in all probability the only living american who had the opportunity, however brief, of seeing miss nightingale in the midst of the great work she accomplished is richard c. mccormick, ex-member of congress, first secretary and second governor of 304 1 florence nightingale "the lady of the lamp "" the territory of arizona, and first accepted war correspondent of an american newspaper. he represented the new york evening post at balaklava and in the english crimean camp around sebastopol during the fall and winter of 1854-55. i had a pleasant little talk with him recently. my special interest was, of course, centered upon the descriptions of camps and hospitals of that date, and more particularly upon the fact that he visited the great scutari hospital which florence nightingale so splendidly transformed from an abode of almost brutal indifference and squalid incompetency into a monumental example of organized and humanizing beneficence. mr. mccormick's recollections are still vivid and exact. "the camp life and conditions," said the excongressman, "of the allied armies were quite different. those of the turks were simply unendurable. the english camp was incomplete, exposed, badly managed; the men were overworked, badly fed, improperly clothed, and exposed, as the world now knows, to the worst maladies and sickness incidental to neglected camps, bad sanitary conditions, poor commissariat, and worse medical care. the french were well provisioned, well clad and cared for, and as free from sickness as could be expected under the circumstances. they had good wagon-trains; the english had none. with every french regiment were good cooks and a regular 20 305 true stories of heroic lives baker, portable ovens, and other conveniences. the french-field hospitals were clean and well equipped, able to accommodate a considerable number, while the one maintained by the british at balaklava was small and ill equipped, even dirty, when i first saw it. as for the turks, it was but 'kismet' for them. after dr. russell and mr. macdonald, the correspondent and business manager of the london times, arrived, the medical staff improved vastly. there soon was one doctor to each one hundred men, and of the most competent men england could find. the balaklava hospital at least became clean and fairly well supplied. but it was a long time before they ceased letting goods rot at varna or remain worse than useless in transport holds. sick and wounded, men with amputated limbs-gangrened, oftenfever-worn, and weak to pitifulness were sent to scutari across the disagreeable cold and choppy black sea. to me, the english army organization of that period remains in memory as the worst i have seen or heard of. "you want to know something of the scutari hospital and of miss nightingale? i only saw her but a few moments, but her face and figure remain fixed in my mind. "when miss nightingale and her small staff came from england, backed with the utmost power of the war department, whose new secretary, sid| 306 "the lady of the lamp." ney herbert, appreciated the tremendous failure of his predecessor and the overmastering needs in the crimea, whose exposure by its correspondent, dr. russell, almost made the london times leader of an english revolution, the barracks hospital was nearly destitute of beds even. it was filthy in the extreme. confusion reigned, and red tape alone held command. ill ventilated, cold, filthy, badly located, and thus more than badly adapted, it was indeed a wretched state of affairs which that wonderful english lady so soon transformed into comparative decency and cleanliness, making it fit by untiring skill in direction and by the unyielding personal supervision she gave to its details. i met sydney godolphin osborne, an english clergyman of a well-known aristocratic family, who had been at scutari for a considerable period, voluntarily aiding with his son in the care of the suffering. he was coolly told, after arrival, that they had everything-nothing was wanting.' but he found the transport service to be infamously unfit; there were no nurses except a few invalid soldiers; in many other ways there was no adequate medical service, the food was hardly fit for well men and wholly unfit for sick ones, and the water on shipboard was usually out of reach of sick men, and often undrinkable when obtained. when i first saw the scutari hospital the floor was still covered with pallets, and nearly ten thousand men were in 307 true stories of heroic lives the building. macdonald, agent of the london times, was miss nightingale's efficient aid. he had all the money needed, and like the 'lady of the lamp' was able, ready, and willing to break rules and cut all bonds of red tape and officialism in order to help those who needed. yes, i heard about the incident of miss nightingale having the locked door of a medical storeroom broken in when the medical official declared it could not be opened without some absent person's order. the supplies were needed. a man and an ax appeared, a low-voiced order was given, and then the door was opened. officialism learned its lesson. as to deaths, i have no positive-that is, personal— knowledge, but here are figures that were given at the time. the total loss was put at 44,000, only 10,000 of whom could be in any way accounted for as lost in battle and fields. the remainder, 34,000, were accounted for as follows: dysentery, 9,860; diarrhea, 9,180; fever, 4,760; exposure, insufficient and bad food, rheumatism, insufficient clothing, etc., 10,200—all being preventable causes of death. "when passing through the outer room of the great barracks i saw for a few moments only—it was my first visit the famous lady whose name was to become immortal. she was busily engaged in directing the preparation of some dishes, and seemed wholly concentrated in the task. i recall 308 "the lady of the lamp" her quite plainly: a slender, tall, graceful figure, draped in some cool, soft gray fabric. she looked fragile indeed. her face, lifted for a moment, was small, pallid, but very fine. reticence and refinement were instantly impressed on me, yet i noticed as some one spoke to her a curious luminousness of concentration. the eyes were dark, clear, steely almost in their earnestness, and tho i was not near enough to hear the few low-voiced words, i caught the clear, distinct intonation, and was struck by it as by the quick look of the brooding eyes." miss nightingale has expressed her own conception of the work to which her life has thus been devoted in these words: (6 "nursing is an art, and if it is to be made an art it requires as exclusive a devotion, as hard a preparation, as any painter or sculptor's work; for what is having to do with dead canvas or cold marble compared with having to do with the living body-the temple of god's spirit? it is one of the fine arts-i had almost said the finest of fine arts." the gratitude of the british people was as a pillar of light. they raised a testimonial fund of £72,000, or $360,000, for the "lady of the lamp," who accepted it only on the understanding that it was to be expended in the great work of training nurses and creating the effective hospi309 true stories of heroic lives tal service, public and private, with which her name will always remain associated. how effectually this has been done, the world now knows. its results remain both as an object-lesson and as a constant means of emergent benefit. tho an invalid ever since her return to england, she is in the seventy-eighth year of her remarkably active and beneficent life; and never having ceased to help mankind, is even now from her sofa and library table at her home in mayfair, london, and the country place in bucks county nearby, between which her days are divided, still the intellectual director of the great hospital and training service which she organized and has always shaped and managed. her training-schools alone have sent to the public service at least twenty-five thousand graduates, and there are half as many more engaged in private service whose training has come from the nightingale or related schools. florence nightingale really founded, then, as kinglake, the historian of the crimean war, has declared: "a gracious dynasty that reigns supreme in wards where sufferers lie." her life has lifted the race. as she slowly passes, her gentle face, silver-crowned, blesses the days she lived, and endows those which the world will remember with an enduring sense of holiness. 310 josé martí, "the master." by george reno. occasi ccasionally, perhaps once in a century, unheralded and unannounced, there comes from some unexpected quarter of the horizon an intellectual meteor which illumines the world for a brief period, and then sinks back into the great unknowable. such was josé marti, a genius born of the people, to whom all who came within the radius of his influence willingly doffed the cap and bowed in reverence. had not marti sacrificed everything — time, money, energy, health, life itself to the one great purpose of his existence, the freedom of cuba, he would have won for himself in the world of art and letters a place which might have been envied by any writer of the present century. marti was born in havana on the 28th of january, 1853. his father, don mariano marti, was a retired military officer of spain, who married doña leonor perez, a cuban, josé's mother. his father never gave evidence of other merit than 311 true stories of heroic lives good citizenship. his mother's face indicated great strength of character, but this was not made manifest save in the works of her son. neither parent gave promise of that sublime genius which made josé marti the greatest man of latin blood produced in this hemisphere, and one of the most gifted men of any race who lived in the nineteenth century. at a very early age he began to display not only an aptitude for learning, but the possession of original thought as well. from childhood to the grave, marti seemed to imbibe, to actually drink in, knowledge from myriad sources. human nature, learned from the faces of men and women, was his favorite study. marti read and digested everything worth reading. books and papers were his constant companions, but he did not learn their contents as others are compelled to do. one glance at a page seemed sufficient. through a strange kind of intellectual or spiritual telepathy, thoughts of writers long dead seemed to be instantaneously conveyed from the printed page to his receptive brain. draper's "history of the intellectual development of europe" he devoured and digested within an hour. it was as natural for him to write in verse or prose as it was to read. at the age of fourteen he contributed to one of the more liberal papers of havana a poem, some stanzas of which reflected 312 jose marti, "the master" upon the wisdom and justice of spanish rule in cuba. for this he spent his fifteenth birthday behind bars, where he was closely interrogated in regard to his loyalty and support of the crown. for many months, under a burning tropical sun, he was compelled to carry heavy blocks of stone to the top of a scaffolding, dragging behind him a ball and chain which at every step threatened to trip and hurl him down to the rocks below. "to simply drop and end it all would have been so easy," he afterward said; "but that would have pleased spain, and encouraged her in making slaves of a people who had to be free." not dying within the time hoped for, and fearing that his sufferings might produce a dangerous sympathy in havana, marti was transferred a prisoner to spain, where, removed from the scene of danger, he was permitted some degree of liberty. in a short time his sweetness of disposition and wonderfully clever conversational powers had gained for him so many friends that he was given the freedom of the city of zaragoza, and soon afterward was permitted to attend the university, from which he was graduated in 1873, the degree of bachelor of arts and letters being conferred upon him in spite of the powerful opposition of the carlist influence prevailing at that time. when only seventeen he published a pamphlet in madrid, "the political prisons of cuba," de313 true stories of heroic lives scribing the horrors which he had witnessed while confined therein, and appealing for a reform of the evils. before his twentieth birthday marti assumed a very prominent rôle in the political discussions which took place in the academy of jurisprudence, and was the acknowledged leader of the cuban element of madrid, where he founded the "logia de cubanos," establishing and teaching in a free night school for poor spanish children. his eloquence soon became so popular and his influence so great that señor sagasta ordered the logia closed, whereupon marti departed for the republic of mexico. there he was received with every mark of appreciation and esteem, and soon won for himself among men of law and letters a name and reputation which remained permanent. shortly after the treaty of zanjon in 1878, which terminated the ten-years' war, marti returned to havana, whence general blanco, convinced that he was connected with the threatened uprising of 1879, exiled him to spain. but during his short stay in havana his intellectual accomplishments, his wonderful oratory and brilliant essays, took the capital by storm. marti had friends in madrid who helped him to escape across the frontier of france, whence he embarked for new york, in the early part of 1880. here he soon became known as leader of the great body of anglo and latin-american cubans 314 josé marti, "the master " whom oppression had driven into exile, and from that time on he worked unceasingly to bring them into one great political union whose object was the freedom of cuba. their views upon the most effectual means and the most opportune time for bringing this about were widely at variance. petty jealousies and sectional strife existed in all quarters; false social lines were drawn in every direction, many cuban societies absolutely refusing to cooperate with others. in the face of these serious obstacles to success, marti heroically went to work. he wrote, lectured, and traveled in the cause of liberty, and in carrying on this campaign of diplomacy and education he visited every place where cubans could be found. the work was a stupendous one, but the genius and untiring industry of marti were equal to it. with rare tact and foresight he applied himself to the education of the masses, the great body of poor and unlettered cubans, the cigar-makers and laborers, black, white, and yellow, who had never before taken active part in any revolution in cuba. to these men he taught for the first time the true meaning and possibilities of liberty, and also that fine discrimination between liberty and license which they had never before heard. he appealed to them in person, and for this purpose established a system of night schools, 315 true stories of heroic lives where the poor assembled after working hours to listen to his discourses, not alone on politics, but on every possible subject that would tend to enlighten their minds and improve their condition. to aid him in this work, marti surrounded himself with an able corps of assistants, who lectured nightly upon subjects calculated to enlarge the horizon of their thought. in new york city his four devoted companions and colaborers were mr. benjamin guerra, afterward treasurer of the cuban delegation; señor gonzalo quesada, chargé d'affaires at washington; mr. horatio rubens, advisory counsel; and mr. t. estrada palma, chief delegate. the results of this system of education were marvelous; an actual hunger for knowledge soon prevailed even among the most ignorant. all hailed him as the great teacher, "el maestro." the brighter pupils became coinstructors to their companions; the most intelligent, when sufficiently prepared, were sent to cuba, there to sow the seeds of liberty and education, to spread the gospel of independence. in this way the poor "guajiro," or countryman of the interior, learned for the first time the meaning of the word liberty, and was consequently prepared to fight for it. thus it came to pass that the last revolution in cuba was not, like the previous one, a war of the aristocracy, but was an uprising of all classes of 316 josé marti, "the master" the people. during all this time, marti was working with untiring energy through a hundred different channels. a voluminous correspondence was kept up with influential men in all quarters of the globe. plans were being laid and matured for desperate work to come. the agents of spain did all in their power to foster and maintain the petty jealousy and sectional feeling among the cubans in america; but the magnetic eloquence and unanswerable logic of "el maestro" finally prevailed, and on the tenth day of april, 1892, the two hundred clubs of the western hemisphere were for the first time consolidated, and became the "partido revolucionario cubano," or cuban revolutionary party. no other man lived who could have accomplished this end, and it was absolutely necessary in order to secure the freedom of cuba. for the first time, all refugees from the island put their shoulders to the wheel to raise the necessary funds to inaugurate the revolution and carry on the war for independence, and they elected marti chief delegate with supreme executive authority. during all of these busy days, marti performed an amount of labor which would have crushed any ordinary man. in addition to the work done in the schools which he had established, two hours were devoted every evening to teaching in the 317 true stories of heroic lives night schools of new york. he wrote an editorial letter for a prominent newspaper in the city of mexico six days in the week, and contributed a number of articles upon various subjects to the columns of the new york sun; in fact, charles a. dana's unsv swerving faith in the cause of cuban independence may be attributed largely to the personal influence of josé marti. at the time of the latter's death, mr. dana wrote: "he was a man of genius, of imagination, of hope, and of courage; he died as such a man might wish to die, battling for liberty and democracy." during this period marti held the positions of consul-general in new york of the argentine republic, of the republic of paraguay, of bolivia, and was also minister plenipotentiary from uruguay. on october 10, 1894, marti resigned his various consulships (one of which paid him $6,000 a year) in order to speak at a meeting which was held to commemorate the anniversary of the beginning of the ten-years' war, announcing himself to be in the future "only a cuban patriot." the time was rapidly approaching when the initial blow of the revolution would be struck. the 25th of december, 1894, was determined upon as the day when the signal-gun of revolt would be fired in the oriente. a large everything seemed to be in readiness. 318 josé marti, "the master” amount of ammunition and rifles had been purchased and shipped to fernandina, fla. three fast steam yachts had been chartered to convey them, together with several bands of cuban leaders, from the united states, costa rica, and san domingo to the island, where they were to be met by the insurgents, who had been previously notified of the day of the uprising. marti himself was to accompany one of the expeditions, the one led by gomez. on the day previous to the sailing as planned, four of marti's companions and colaborers waited to bid him goodby and god-speed in a little office at no. 111 broadway. they were benjamin guerra, gonzalo quesada, t. estrada palma, and horatio rubens. the latter, as he entered the room, carried in his hands a copy of an evening newspaper which gave them news of betrayal. when marti a few moments later entered the apartment, the paper was handed him without a word. his face paled as he read it, but he gave no other sign of emotion; then, turning to his companions, he asked: "do you wish to abandon the project, or will you stand by me?" with one voice they answered: "we will stand by you to the end.” "then," said marti, "in spite of this delay, i will be at the head of an army in cuba within ninety days." 319 true stories of heroic lives and he was the 24th of february being selected as the date for the uprising. on that day gen. bartolome maso struck the first blow for cuban independence in the late revolution. on the 31st of march, gen. antonio maceo, with thirty companions, landed near baracoa, and on april 6, josé marti, with general gomez and five companions, landed near guantanamo, on the south coast. with the arrival of these leaders the revolution rapidly spread; all classes, from the aristocracy to the humblest half-breed, taking part. they swept everything before them in the oriente, until their first defeat at the battle of dos rios, on may 19, when josé marti, the founder of the revolution, and the most distinguished of all cubans, was killed. upon approaching the enemy, which greatly outnumbered the insurgents, general gomez requested marti to remain at a designated spot while he with a small party of men reconnoitered on the right. during the sharp firing that soon after followed, marti found it impossible to remain out of action, and against the protest of his staff he charged in the face of the enemy, and was mortally wounded, his horse falling dead and pinning him to the ground. 320 does not circulate roosevelt 130.t76 true stories of heroic lives : widener library 006757636 3 2044 086 960 085 137 library of congress. shelf. _...ll--5' ..united states of america. the hermit's tale and other poems by g aleigh new york jobisr b. alden, publishek 1891 copyright, 1891, by john b. alden, table of contents. i'ags preface, -----5 introduction. the chase, -9 the hermit's tale. part i., 21 partn., 34 miscellaneous poems. cupid's arms, ----59 a vision, 61 the art of kissing, ... 64 a change, 66 to , -----68 anacreontic, 69 to m}^ mother, ----71 a night tempest, 73 lines, -----75 to — , 78 star of bethlehem, 79 lines, 83 ode on the death of jefferson davis, 84 'tis folly tlius to seek to drown, 85 the scar remains still tender, • 85 the city of the dead, 86 the fairest face of all, 87 table of contents. page the strength and power of will, 88 beware! 89 a dream, 91 o if i could but kiss those lips ! 93 the suicide, 93 enough he knew, 94 the church organ, 95 tostelhi, -----97 to , • 98 they seek to read the mysteries, 99 to , 100 "a spanish cavalier," 101 to a violet, 103 " the pen is mightier than the sword," 103 our baby, 104 to , 106 resistance doth become so dull and stupid, 106 the violet and sunbeam, 107 the postal card, 110 to phyllis, ill to the same, 111 the opera, " patience," 113 o woman is the curse of man, 117 though dazzling is the bright black eye, 118 the banquet, 119 farewell, to the days, 123 preface. in presenting to the public this little book of poems, the author feels that sin gular trepidation and uneasiness, com mon to the amateur on his first appear ance before an audience. the works of an author are regarded by himself, as others regard their chil dren. they are the concentration of all his powers of pathos, avit, love and science ; a combination of the beautiful and instructive, together with all the erudition of which he is master. truly they are his children ; springing, minerva like, from the richest sources of his mind. less capable than others, of seeing the defects of these children of his im preface. agination, with whom his heart-strings are entwined ; whose composition is the very essence of his soul — he regards them as perfect, where a less partial critic would only find faults innumer able. history and common sense prove con clusively to my mind, there is no best but what some day, soon or late, must give place to a better. in the world of letters, shakspeare, i believe, is the single exception to this rule. i am neither so vain nor egotistical, as to think for a moment that this crude outgrowth of my fancy, may ever dare to rank higher among the brilliant stars in the poetical sky, than a mere candle com pared to the dazzling brilliancy of the electric light. and yet the insignificant candle may not be too rashly spurned ; its dim and glimmering rays, have been the bright beacons to guide man to the accomplishment of some of his greatest masterpieces — literary, mechanical, etc. preface. 7 let this volume be the candle, and if from its tiny flame, warmth to the heart, or lio;ht to the mind of the reader be im parted, no greater boon will be asked by— the author. introduction. the chase. count rupert, with a gallant train, arose at morn to chase the deer; and loud the bugles blew amain, the noble companie to cheer. the prancing steeds, with trappings impatient of restrammg rem, seemed waiting for the, hark ! ^ away ! nor had they long to wait in vain. with merry song, in joyous mood, they pass the time as on they ride, until they come unto the wood wherein the timid game might hide. and then uncoupled was each hound, — the horns were blown with might and main ; from hill and cliff the notes rebound, and echo sends them back again. i o jntr od uc tloy. at length, from out a tangled brake, the noble chase is seen to start, and madly for the river make, while high beats every huntsman's heart. man, horse and hound, then swift pur sued the flying buck, that closely pressed, tried turns and windino-s to elude the baying pack that gave no rest. he came unto the river's brink, nor pausing for a moment there, he straightway plunged, and did not shrink that broad and rao-inoflood to dare. o o on, on, the fierce pursuers come — the foremost hounds close in his wake ; but some of them are drowned, and some will not e'en to the water take. of all that gay and gallant train, that started out at morn so soon, but six or seven now remain, the chase not o'er ; the time, but noon. intr od uc tioiv. 1 1 these stood upon the river's verge, the torrent filled them with dismay ; and then they saw count rupert urge his coal-black steed iiito the spray. and as they stood upon the shore and watched him, as he sunk and rose, full nobly then the charger bore his rider, — swift the water flows, for now he's in the current's strength. now near, and nearer to the land, until the tide doth shoal at length, and now, upon the bank they stand. among the rest, was none who dared that angry, sullen flood to brave. for though count rupert had been spared, each felt assured 'twould prove his grave. a single dog the trail pursued, a single horseman cheered him on; throueh thorny woods, and brambles rude, they sped till evening near was gone. 1 2 intr od uc tton, now nearer draws the close pursuit, the tired stag ahnost is spent, one moment more — the noble brute. the hound hath seized, — the shaft is sent! count rupert, weary from the chase, doth now beside his victim stand ; a desolate and dreary place — • alone, and in an unknown land. the sky, meantime, had grown o'er-cast, and distant thunders muttered low ; the evening shadows gathered fast. the rising wind began to blow. the knight mounts on his horse again, and seeks the way he late had traced. until he reached a barren plain, with naught in sight but desert waste. and then the truth burst on his mind. that he had surely missed his way ; his course he could no longer find, at least, until the bright'ning day. he gave the bridle to his steed to take whatever way he chose. intr od uc tion 1 3 and some blind instinct seemed to lead him, where, the knight nor cares nor knows. on through a mountain pass they go, until they find a narrow path ; but fiercer still the wind doth blow, in presage of the tempest's wrath. the lightnings flash from cloud to cloud. which by its glitter are revealed ; and heaven's vaults reechoed loud the thunder's voice, as high it pealed ! the rain in torrents seemed to pour, and drenched the knight ail through and through ; his body chilled unto the core, as wilder still the tempest grew. but yon, what seems a glimmering star, shines dimly through the stygian night; but whether it be near or far,^ he may not yet determine quite. he turns his course where gleams that ray. and soon unto his gladdened eye appeared a firm and open way. and then what seemed a hovel nigh. 14 intk on uc tion. his heart is lightened at the sight, his charger now he onward urged, till at the door he doth alight, from whence that guiding beam emerged. he loudly at the door doth knock, and asks to be admitted soon ; the inmate doth the door unlock, as willingly he grants his boon. a small apartment, bare and rude, count rupert finds himself within ; it seemed to match the solitude. but no fastidious eye could win. all, everything, was scant and plain. no ornament adorned the place ; no emblem of a fancy vain, could anywhere be found a trace. a simple cross hung on the wall, and on the cross the churchman's beads; cot, chair, and table, that was all that seemed sufficient for his needs. but who was he, apart from men, far from the world's gay multitude. who sought his home in that wild glen surrounded but by solitude } intr on uc tion. 1 5 a hermit he appeared to be, whose hfe was given unto god. — have patience yet, and you shall see how he had bowed beneath the rod. from out a shelf within the wall, he brought the knight both food and drink. and bade him welcome to his all. then in reflection seemed to sink. the knight ate heartily and long, ^ and felt his strength restored again, then joyous would have sung a song. but courtesy bade him refrain. the hermit seemed in deepest thought, a strange light came into his eyes ; absorbed, he took no note of aught, nor tried abstraction to disguise. and still as louder shrieked the gale. as o'er the mountain crest it swept — a moment cowering he did quail, and then unto his feet he leaped ! his face, by strong convulsions worked. portrayed the picture of despair, 1 6 in trod uction. as though within his soul there lurked a horror more than man might bear. sudden, the tempest ceased to roar, the wind was stilled, the storm was hushed about them, as it onward bore, carrying destruction where it rushed. then spoke the hermit, " marvel not, sir knight, that i was sore dismayed ; this night has things i thought forgot, brought back to mind, — myself be trayed." " to be confessor, 'tis not mine," count rupert cried, " but by the rood ! first, father, take this glass of wine. then tell your tale — 'twill do you good." with trembling hand he took the glass, and placed it to his pallid lips, [pass then from his brow there seemed to the shadows dark, while slow he sips. it seemed he wished to speak, but still the silence deep remained unbroke ; at last, as though against his will, he raised his head, and thus he spoke, — intr gd uc tion. 1 7 " sir knight, didst mark as here you rode, high perched upon the mountain's crest — (a fitting place for the abode of outcast souls that find no rest — ) didst mark i say, in that lone spot, that emblem of our faith — a cross. of iron strong that ne'er shall rot, protected by wild vines and moss? and didst thou mark how bent the arms. the body twisted, torn and riven ? that cross has stood the fiercest storms, and with the fires of heaven striven ! if speak it could, a tale 'twould tell would shake thy reason on its throne ; a story dark as midnight hell, and it i know, and i alone. 'tis on such fearful nights as this, that cross holds converse with my soul; i hear its spirit burn and hiss, — i see the molten river roll, 1 8 intr od uc rion. wherein, that spirit evermore must suffer torture of the damned, nor tread the cool, refreshing shore, by od'rous breezes ever fanned. release from pain is close at hand, yet distant as eternity ; and chained to life, that iron band denies the luxury — to die. forbear this dreadful thing to learn ; seek not this horror to unveil ; 'twill make thy inmost spirit burn, — thy living heart to shrink and quail ! '"' broke forth the knight, " nay, father, nay. there's naught can daunt count rupert's heart ; tell what you will, say what you may. my courage lives, till life depart ! so, father, do not hesitate thy marv'lous tale to tell, — but still, if you refuse it to relate. why—" said th' recluse, " my son, i will. intkod uc tion. i ^^ list thou, and mark well what i say, with all thy courage be thou fenced ; shouldst fail, the penalty thou'lt pay." this said, his tale he thus commenced. the hermits tale. part i. full two score years have passed away, since high upon yon mountain gray, a noble castle once did rise, where now, but ruins greet the eyes. o, once it rose in splendor grand ! with battlements and barbacan, watchtower, moat with drawbridge spread, o'er which full oft, with martial tread, a many a gallant knight had crossed — ■ their names now e'en to story lost. to roderick* of the " bloody hand," the terror of the whole broad land, that ancient castle then had passed. and he was of his race the last. rough and untamed, from childhood's days battle and forage had been his plays ; * pronounce rode-rick 2 2 the hermit's tale. and as he older grew, he worse became, until his name a curse drew down from peasant and from peer, throughout the country far and near. his vassals scattered o'er the plain, his mercy had implored in vain ; while all his peers, disdained to lend to such a fiend, the name of "friend." at length within his rocky nest, high perched upon the mountain crest, he shut himself, the drawbridge raised, and quiet staid for many days. tired of rapine, and of war, within himself he seemed to draw, new inspiration there to find, that might his soul the firmer bind to hell, and to that demon dread. to whom he owed that hand so red. but o'er him sudden came a change. and other climes he wished to range, and his own blood he sought to shed in expiation for the dead : resolved to fight in palestine, until his soul was purged and clean. but new perplexities arose to keep him from the course he chose ; the hermit's tale. 23 the means required are not at hand to take him to that distant land; so loud he stormed and long he swore, but grew no richer than before. at last, reluctant, he agrees his vassals from their fealties he will release, and no more tax, if they will raise the means he lacks. his terms all joyfully accept. and true and well their word was kept ; they set to work without delay. and paid the sum in merry may. soon was he ready to depart. and any day might see him start ; at length, when close of spring had neared, lord and retainers disappeared. great was the joy in hut and village that often had bewailed his pillage ; once more their life they can enjoy, and freedom's bliss, without alloy ! throufjhout the land v^^alks smiling peace, the clash of arms once more doth cease ; the maids no longer fear to roam amid the delis away from home. 24 the hermit's tale. no fleshless bones hunor to a tree, are seen again. the land is free ! short-lived, alas, that joyous time, he seeks again his native clime ; more fierce and wicked now is lie, more cruel still — if that might be — than when he left for holy lands, to wrest christ's tomb from pagan hands. trampled are the vineyards fair, and by the burning houses' glare, murder and rapine, hand in hand. are seen portrayed by that fell band. full humble is the peasant's prayer. that he in mercy will forbear ; but messengers for clemency, he hangs upon the nearest tree. their prayers, they find, are all in vain, and treated but with wild disdain. as e'en the veriest worm doth feel, when it is crushed beneath the heel, — as we from ancient proverb learn, — the worm, aye, e'en the worm will turn. loud o'er the land now vengeance cries, the echoing vault of heaven replies ; revenge! for murdered old and young; the hermit's tale. 25 vengeance ! for the maid undone,— for our homes in ashes lying, vengeance, for the dead and dying ! rung o'er the land red vv^ar s alarms, and loud the cry. to arms ! to arms ! now close in battle's stern array, they make them ready for the fray, and march against that fortress' strength, with hopes to right their wrongs at length. full soon the fortalice they reach, and fiercely strive to make a breach into the thick and solid wall, around the baron's feudal hall. but strongly was it manned and well. by those who fought like fiends of hell yet nobly did the yeomen fight, 'till closed the sable robes of night, upon our mother earth's fair breast. where each one laid him down to rest. from day to day, the fight renewed, still left the castle unsubdued ; the weary soldiers 'gan despair to drag the lion from his lair. and though they cannot forward go, to backward turn would add but woe ; 26 the hermit's tale. torture, and death, would be the fate that each and all would then await. full oft where boldness naught avails, 'tis strategy that turns the scales. 'twas thus it happed : one stormy night, that followed uneventful fight, when lightning flash and thunder burst, proclaimed the tempest at its worst ; and heaven's windows, broke in twain, poured down on earth its floods of rain. while wild and loud, strong boreas wailed, — the castle's outer wall was scaled. a thrust, — all's still ; and none may tell how died the lonely sentinel. one moment since, with measured tread he marched, — and now 'he's with the dead. the banquet hall presents a sight in contrast to the dismal night, as seated round the wassail board, the sparkling wine so oft they poured into the goblets large and high, and full as oft then drained them dry. the hermit's tale. 27 all there seemed mirth and merriment, with every one on pleasure bent ; and when some reveler raised a song, loud rang the hall their praise and long." " sir knieht," the hermit turned and said, " i fain that song to you would sing, although full many a year has fied,^ still in my head the numbers ring." " then, father, let me hear thy song, i would learn all concerns thy tale ; and whether it be short or long, to list to all i will not fail." " my voice is cracked and feeble now, thougli once, it loud and boldly rung e'en clear as doth thy own i trow." , he drained his dass, and thus he sung : wine song. hail, bacchus ! god of rosy wine, we gladly worship at thy shrine, for care doth never with thee stay, but at thy presence flies away; and, o, it gives us joy divine, to steep our souls in rosy wine ! 28 the hermit's tale. nothinsf dost thou know of sorrow. — nothing carest for the morrov/ ; always merry, gay and free, nothing ever troubles thee ! [mind, when painful thoughts possess our we drown them all in rosy wine. spring or summer, winter, fall, — to thee are one both each and all, for they all pass merrily to the god of mirth and glee ; so here we pledge us truly thine, and steep our souls in rosy wine. when thy brimming cup we sip, slow we take it from our lip: — ah, would that we could sip forever, and from thy cup be parted never. for, o, it gives us joy divine. to steep our souls in rosy wine ! "he sang that song and sang it well. but, ah, it was his funeral knell ; as through his lips the last word passed, above the tempest rose a blast so shrill and loud, the clarion notes o'er hill and glen resounds and floats ; and e'er the latest sound is lost, the hermit's tale. 29 the foe into the hall has burst! dire the panic, short the strife, where man to man they fight for life. the baron taken unaware, had no time given to prepare, but from the nearest soldier's hand, he quickly snatched a gleaming brand, and fierce and wild he havoc played amid their ranks. but undismayed, the yeomen fight for liberty ; revenge ! revenge ! is still the cry. but few of roderick's men remain. some of them fled, but most are slain; and though the blood from many a wound, doth pour upon the slippery ground. still roderick fights, he will not yield while he a trenchant blade can wield: he seems a demon in the fight, a giant's power is in his might, — but ah, that blow hath made him reel. and his heart's blood hath dyed the steel 1 the fray is o'er, the vict'ry won. but war's dread work not yet is done; they seized the baron's lifeless form, 30 the hermit's tale, while yet the blood was ebbing warm, and placed him in his armor black, scarred o'er with many a battle hack, nor casque and floating plume forget, which on his head they mocking set; and there, within his banquet hall, where late the chief and soldiers all were floating on wine's lethean stream. they hang him from the highest beam, as though to show contempt and hate, for him who awed them all but late. then quickly was the torch applied to hall and tower, that long defied to yield their strength to crumbling age; but yield they must, unto the rage of fierce and uncontrolled fire, whose flames were rising fast and higher. far o'er the land, that ruddy light illumed the gloomy face of night, as bright it shone for many a mile. o'er level plain and mountain wild, and where it on the water gleams, reflection multiplies its beams. at last, o'er all the castle spread, its ashes mingle with the dead. and naught but mouldering ruins now, remain upon the mountain brow. the hermit's tale. 31 but still dark swinging in mid-air, shown by the dying ember's glare, suspended by an iron chain, that clanks and groans, as if in pain, when by the wind's tempestuous force is blown about that fearful corse; — the yeomen see before their eyes. what fills their hearts with dread sur prise. on every side the solid wall that rose about the banquet hall had fallen down, except the place that hangman's beam had served to brace ! with fear they gazed most anxiously upon that fatal gallows tree, which seemed an omen to them all, that some dire evil would befall. but no one present, dared go near and move from sight their cause of fear; so there they left the corse to swing, the chain to clank, the armor ring. the years rolled on, and peace once more took dwelling in the cottage door. joy and prosperity now reign, they mourn no more the trampled grain; 22 the hermits tale. no more their flaming homes give light to show their miseries to sight. the old give up to calm content, the young, to mirth and merriment. upon that ancient castle's site, there seemed to rest a curse and blight; no ivy clambered o'er the wall that still remained of tower and hall ; no wild flower bloomed about the court, but baleful vapors from the moat rose in the air, — their odors foul, in harmony with bat and owl. that there had built their nests to brood their dark day-time in solitude. still hung that fearful thing in air; — the peasant's quickly muttered prayer, as after dark he passed perchance near by, and threw a backward glance, and crossed himself, — was due i wot, to fear of that unhallowed spot. and then perhaps he'd hasten home. where o'er the ale-pot's creamy foam. he'd tell some tale of goblin grim, that followed in pursuit of him. sudden, that armor disappears from where it hung for ten long years, the hermit's tale. 7^-^ and in the lead of desp'rate men, that coat of mail is seen as^ain ! ah, woe were they, when fresh torment broke in on peace and sweet content. again with fire and with sword, new foes unknown, the people goad; with bated breath the word is passed, "dark roderick has returned at last! and to the fiend with full control. for lease of life, has given his soul." some said, that satan thus had shaped, that in fierce roderick's armor draped. he would harass, and do his worst. for which the baron would be cursed. but one thing's sure, for all their evil, they blamed roderick, — and not the devil." 3 34 the hermit's tale. part ii. the hermit paused, then on the brink of speaking out, his lips he closed ; from further speech he seemed to shrink, as though his utterance were froze. a hectic flush spread o'er his face. his head sank low as if with shame ; he sudden rose, and one might trace where passions left their mark of flame. abrupt he spoke; "sir knight, behold before you one, whom fickle fate left to his will, free, uncontrolled. which brought him to his present state. of noble lineage i came. possessing wealth and pedigree, but nothing could my wildness tame, i longed a lawless life and free. the hermit's tale, 35 i left my father's honored hall, for forests wild, and heather bare ; i left friends and companions, all, to join brigands and robbers there. we often fled from justice stern, but left destruction in our path ; e'en as the flame doth fiercer burn, blown by the whirlwind's awful wrath ! at lencrth the outrao^ed law arose in all its majesty and might. and all mankind became our foes, with purpose fixed, their wrongs to right. at last, surrounded, starved and worn, outnumbered far, — we could but die ; one resource left, one hope forlorn. and this, we were resolved to try : we boldly charged upon the foe, determined to escape or fall. and when the stormy rush was o'er, but twelve remained, myself and all. still raised against us every hand — no place of rest where'er we turned, 36 the hermit's tale. we 'scaped unto this foreign land, and justice' power disdainful spurned. unknown, we mingled with the crowd, and learned each superstitious tale of bloody roderick, fierce and proud, 'gainst whom they never ceased to rail. our band, assembled at that place, (in council met, to form some plan that now might mend our altered case), staid till the eve to midnioht ran. all was arranged, our plans were laid. each thiuq^ that mio^ht advantaoe lend was there discussed, and wisely weighed, to prove its fitness for our end. one question only, now remained, — to choose a leader for our band ; some three or four arose and claimed . pre-eminence for that command ; and as discussion louder grew, while sharp and higher rose their words, we each and all our pistols drew, and laid our hands upon our swords. the hermit's tale. zl just then, unto our gaze appeared a knight in armor dressed complete, and as he to our circle neared, his presence all with horror greet; no sound betrayed him as he stepped, his visor closed, his features hid, made him appear like those who slept beneath the narrow coffin's lid. in stature, he was broad and tall, his armor black as midnight gloom ; and when he spoke, his voice did fall like sounds emerging from the tomb. in hollow tones his accents rang, as o'er us all he seemed to tower, and dashed his sword with mighty clang upon the ground, while all did cower, — " why stand ye here," — 'twas thus he spoke, " with arms against each other drawn ; why bend ye to dissension's yoke, and make yourselves the laugh of scorn ? there lies my sword, let him who can, strong wield it as a man of might ; 38 the hermit's tale. and he whose arm doth suit the brand, shall be your leader in the fight." we tried, but all unequal proved for such a herculean task ; the knight looked on as though un moved, until the test of him we ask. he seized and waved on high the blade, amazement shone in every eye, as o'er his head it circles made of flaming light, while swift did fly from off the steel the sparkles bright, as on it quick and changing sped, — flashed like a meteor through the night. then paled like corpse-light o'er the dead. with loud acclaim we hailed him chief, unanimous was every voice; both wise, and strong beyond belief, he proved full worthy of our choice. always the foremost in the fight, no power could his strength oppose ; he seemed a demon in his might. and terror spread among our foes. the itermir's tale. 39 no one e'er saw him eat or drink, none ever saw his visor raised ; so strano^e this was, we could but thinl 'twas not on mortal man we gazed! silent he was, and never spoke, save when occasion did demand the self-imposed restraint be broke. and no one dared his will withstand. mis manner, somber, cold and stern, chano^ed to a fiendish orlee in fio-ht ; to see the peasant's cottage burn, filled all his soul with fierce delight; to hear the dying's parting groan, the stricken widow's frenzied wail ; the murdered son, the parents mourn, and list the ruined maiden's tale, — ne'er failed to rouse his horrid mirth, and diabolic laughter loud ; he seemed like satan loosed on earth. with all the arch fiend's power endowed. unequal force, had equal proved now long upon the battle field, at once, the people it behooved to conquer, — for they could not yield. 40 the hermit's tale. they called religion to their cause, to aid them in the dubious strife; the church arrayed to join the wars ' with which the land had lonobeen rife. o now for th' attempt the priests prepare, to exorcise the fiend of hell, with bell and book, with song and prayer, they armed themselves, with purpose fell. it chanced upon a summer's eve, both forces met within a glade ; their spells the churchmen 'gan to weave, each peasant bared his gleaming blade, and with a shout the foemen close, resolved to conquer or to die ; the w^ood re-echoed to the blows. but soon we were compelled to fly. our leader turned the last, to meet the swords that now retreat oppose ; the churchmen's exorcisms greet his ears, as loud and wild they rose. as by enchantment, at that sound his nerveless hand relaxed the steel, and down it fell upon the ground. as powerless he 'gan to reel. the hermit's tale. 41 the yeomen seize on him, and bhid his hands and arms, resistless now, and as they cords about him twined, most fearful tortures they did vow. they take him to the market square, an ignominious death to die ; to hang him there in public, where his bones might swing 'twixt earth and sky. " remove his armor," now they cry, " nor hang him in his knightly gear." the knight deigned not to make reply, nor showed he any signs of fear. their shouts loud and exultant rang, as rudely on the knight they seize ; then down ^v fell with thunderous clang, revealinor what their blood doth freeze! o no living man, before their eyes. no thing of flesh and blood they see ; the empty armor, broken lies upon the ground, — but where is he? he disappeared, but none can tell who, what he was, or where he went : 42 the hermit's tale. they thought 'twas roderick, 'scaped from hell, or by his master satan sent. the days passed by, their courage came back to their frightened hearts once more, they cast the mall into the flame, and melt it into gleaming ore ; tills fashioned they into a cross, the same that stands on yonder hill, its wounded arms bound o'er with moss, and at its feet a tinkling rill. the church's prayers first gained the steel. unto the church it yet belongs; before it doth the pilgrim kneel. reminded of the peasant's wrongs. but little more remains to tell. yet tjiat lies nearest to my heart ; my mind doth ever on it dwell. the memory may ne'er depart. each day yon weary hill i climb. each day i kneel 'neath yonder cross; the hermit's tale, 43 yet not for me, hath dulling time the power to soothe my pain and loss. 'twill ease my soul, to thus confess the pain ive borne, the wrongs i've done ; would to god i could redress those wrongs ! but oh, redress there's none. didst ever love ? — nay, answer not. thou couldst not love as i have loved ; 1 loved the purest maid i wot, most beautiful, that ever moved. — it chanced one day, in idle mood, i from my comrades stole away, and hied me to the shady wood. and on a mossy hillock lay ; the song of birds, the hum of bees, the laughing brook as on it swept. the sighing wind among the trees'. all lulled, — and slumber o'er me crept. how long i slept, i cannot say, a piercing scream smote on my ear, i instant sprung from where i lay. and heard again that cry of fear. 44 the hermit's tale. i turned ; . clasped in the rude embrace of one, most desp'rate of our band, i thought i saw an angel's face gaze tovv'rds me, and an outstretched hand. the villain loosed his hold and turned — the maiden fell like one that's dead; my very soul with fury burned — our bared swords spoke all to be said. i smote at him with all my strength and struck his blade — mine snapped in twain ; unequal strife, his twice the length of mine, which still i did retain ; bleeding and faint from many a wound, i still fought on, though almost sped ; god gave me strength to bring him down with one last blow upon his head, i fell, and then i knew no more ; — when i awoke, to my surprise i saw a maiden bendincy o'er me, tear-drops glist'ning in her eyes. the hermit's tale. 45 she was the same whom i liacl saved, and she in turn had saved me too ; her image on my heart engraved as then it was, e en now is new. i would have spoke, she gently placed one lily hand upon my lips. in token that i should not waste my breath, — i kissed her finger tips. the blushes deepened on her cheeks, and then she sweetly told me how near unto death fd lain for weeks, with fevered wound and burning brow ; how glad she was to be my nurse,-— how hope and fear alternate swayed as i grew better, or grew worse, and how for my recovery prayed. ah, still the music of her voice comes ringing in the wake of time ; its merry tones seem to rejoice like to the church bells' merr)^ chime. no need to tell her that i loved, nor asked she of my former life ; 46 the hermit's tale. we knew but this, our souls were moved to be as one, as man and wife. 'twas when long summer days w^ere past, and rainbow autumn closely neared, as herald to the boreal blast that in the distance dim appeared, — 'twas when the peasant did rejoice to see the land with plenty rife, 'twas then the maiden of my choice, became my true and loving wife. how swift those halcyon days sped by! months flew as quickly as a thought, until at length, another tie unto our happy home was brought. our stella was indeed a star, — " "what! "said the knight, " why that is strange, — excuse me, father, i but mar your tale, your story disarrange." " i said she was a star indeed, to guide me to a higher life, the hermit's tale. 47 her pure bright face, could only lead one to avoid all thouo-hts of strife. •id 'twas thus that i withdrew from those, whose evil deeds had been my own ; withdrew from curses, wine and blows, th' associates 1 lone had known. i3 as day by day, i longer staid away from those dark cruel men. it was reported that i strayed in search of herbs amid the glen. sometimes for da3^s, for weeks i staid, o, happy days of joy and bliss ! when i returned, my herbs displayed, helped the illusion to assist. the day before that last dread fight. when god that demon crushed to earth. the sun arose a baleful light. omening that dire day's dark birth. that day alas, at early morn, loud rincfinor over hill and dale, i heard the sound of huntsman's horn borne to me on the favoring gale ; 4« the hermit's tale, a stag flew by me like the wind, — the horn rung nearer and more near. 'till soon the hunters, close behind, to my foreboding sight appear. o, god ! it was that awful shape, a score of followers at his back; for me i knew was no escape, from him, the knight in armor black. they pause, and look at me amazed, — my wife stood by me with our child ; their looks grew cruel as they gazed ; the chief said nauq^ht, but q-riinly smiled. then: "is it thus thou wouldst betray thy chief, thy comrades, and thy cause .? is't thus thou'dst throw thy life away, — rememberest not the bandit s laws .? " his hollow voice rung like a knell. the funeral of departed joys : i shudder even now to tell this tale, my mind it near destroys. the hermit's tale, 40 " some seize and bind that traitor there."— i struggled, but 'twas all in vain ; resistance was but useless, where 'gainst numbers, one might nothing gain. my gentle wife about me clung, and held our babe in close embrace; he rudely seized, and harshly flung ' her aside — she fell upon her face. en with more than human strength dowed, i burst my bonds, and i was free ; quick, o'er my prostrate love i bowed and raised her head upon my knee. o, god, her life was fleeting fast — the pallor deepened on her cheeks, where death's dark wings their shad ows cast, while hovering o'er the prey he seeks. my burning lips to hers i pressed, and sought to bring her back to life ; '4 50 the hermit's tale. one fervent prayer to heaven ad dressed — o give me back my love, my wife ! and heaven heard my earnest prayer ; slie slowly oped her dimming eyes and gazed in mine, then murmuring, " there," she raised her hand towards the skies. she spoke no more, but softly sighed, still gazing at me, sweetly smiled; thus in my arms my darling died as calmly as a sleeping child. o, who may know the pain i felt, o, who my torture then may know ; as by my sainted dead i knelt, o qrflowing was my cup of woe. not long i knelt, rude hands were laid upon me, then with fury burned my soul, i wrenched from one his blade and slew him, then his body spurned. her murderer next i saw, and sprung to slay him., in my fury blind. the hermit's tale. 51 just as my sword aloft i swung, a villain stabbed me from behind. they left me lying there for dead. — dead to the world i was, for crazed, i knew naught 'till two years had sped, and when they told me was amazed. they told me all that i have told, my darling's death, her murderer's fate. but there they stopped ; my blood ran cold, why did they pause, why hesitate ? tell me, i cried, with anguish wild, where is my stella, — quickly give unto the father's arms the child. thou darest not say she doth not live. they silent stood, nor answer gave, but looked at me with pitying eyes; o speak! i cried, where is her grave? speak, tell me where my darling lies. an old m.an then the silence broke ,' — silvered his hair and bent his form, 52 the hermit's tale. his voice still trembled as he spoke, as shaken by emotion's storm, — •'we know not that your child is dead, we know but this; she disappeared that dreadful day," — the old man said. all was not lost as i had feared. what need to tell how day by day, i searched in vain long weary years : what need to tell how i did pray upon my knees to god, in tears. alas, alas, 'twas all in vain, i could not find the slightest trace to lead me on and end my pain, by gazing on my darling's face. full many a year has fled since then, and all these years i've lived alone, afar removed from haunts of men, unsought by all, and seeking none. my child, my child, my stella dear, — ■ o alice, love, soul of my life, a little while i linger here, and then i'll meet my child and wife : the hermit's tale. 53 a few more days" — '' hold," said the knight, forgive me, father, i must know if i have heard those names aright, stella and alice ? " " even so." " and did the child a locket wear of gold, engraved with queer device, within, a curl of sunny hair, tied with a golden chain so nice ? '* " say quick, sir knight, where saw you this? oh can it be that this is true ! ah, if it is, then all my bliss » i owe to you, i owe to you." upon that ne'er forgotten day, my child just such a locket wore. — " " now father, calm thyself i pray, i can thy long lost child restore ! within my father's castle strong. beloved by all, there dwells the maid; as happy as in days long gone. when we as little children played. 54 the hermit's tale. too long the story now to tell, of how my father chanced that day to roam alone within that dell, and found the little child at play; how straying on he found your dead, and you upon the cold earth lying, alone, for everyone had fled and left you there, — the dead and dying. he tried, but naught of aid could give, then took the child in his own arms, to his own home, with him to live, secure from any future harms. with aid, he came back to the spot to 2:ive whate'er relief he could, but when, he reached it found you not, although he searched through all the wood. but come ; we only linger here and let the passing moments fly, which should reveal a daughter dear, unto a father's longing eye." the knight and hermit, side by side, now journey o'er a narrow road; the hermit's tale. 55 the knight doth walk, the hermit ride, and thus they leave his late abode. on, on they go, nor stop until the road unto the castle brought them both. count rupert wondered still. the hermit seemed so deep in thought. a single blast upon his horn the knight blew loud, and soon the gate. by his liege men was open thrown to welcome him, with joy elate. they thought him lost, had scoured the wood, had searched all places — everywhere ; looked for his body in the flood, till all at last 'gan to despair: they say his father's wild with grief ; his stella, his affianced bride, had hoped 'gainst hope beyond belief, thouo-h seekino; not her fears to hide. by this, they reach the portals strong, at his approach they open fly, 56 the hermit's tale. and straight, into his arms there sprung a maiden, with a joyful cry ; " o rupert ! once again restored, no more from stella thou shalt flee ; soul of my soul, my own adored, what had i been, if robbed of thee ! " " nay, weep not, sweet, nor let these tears rebellious flow and stain thy cheek ; nay, calm these fond and foolish fears, to leave thee ne'er again i'll seek. but see! instead of robbing me from thee, kind fate hath brought an other who smiled upon thy infancy. behold, my sweet, behold — thy father ! " " my father ? " " yes, i see thee, child, come to my arms, one close embrace ; — i thank thee, god, to one defiled like i, thou'st given such lieavenly grace. all praise be to god! my penance is done, — the bright gates of heaven are opened at last; the hermit's tale. 57 and now from this earth to the reahns of the sun, my soul in a transport of glory has passed. though dark was the morning, and darker the day, my evening of hfe, amid glories shall end ; and god's brow, of brilliancy casts such a ray, the shadow of death melts away as they blend. no more o'er this bleak, barren earth shall i wander. nor ever be troubled with sorrows nor sins ; i go to my father, — on earth there's none fonder ; i go where pain ends, and where pleasure begins. oh alice, my darling ! i'm coming to greet you. and bring our child with me to gladden your heart, — 58 the hermit's tale. our stella i'm bringing, she's coming to meet you, where those who have met there may nevermore part. bright angels are round me, their wings are uplifting my purified soul from its casement of clay ; the clouds from the pathway to heaven are drifting, — and now, — we are coming, — we're away, — we're away." he sank into count rupert's arms, — he laid him gently on the bed, and closed his eyes ; — from earth's alarms the gentle hermit's soul had fled ! cupid's arms. 59 miscellaneous poems. cupid's arms. o fair is the race of my beauteous one, and spotless her soul as the new fallen snow ; while her heart, like the snow, 'neath the warmth of the sun, dissolves into tear-drops for others in woe. in the soft liquid depths of her dark beaming eyes, that sparkle and glisten like crystals of dew at morn, when sol first appears in the skies, revealing the beauties of nature to view, — 6o miscellaneous poems, are hidden the quivers of loves cruel darts, that flash to their aim, and true to their mark. where they rankle and burn in the core of our hearts, and burst into flame, like the tinder and spark. young cupid himself, took her lips for his bow, and strunothem with teeth like a neck lace of pearls ; the glance of her eyes used for arrovv^s — and so he was armed cap-a-pie, fit to conquer whole worlds! a vision; or, the old ac ad em v, 6r a vision; or, the old academy. and recollection brings to view the days of long ago. 'tis night, and still. o'er luna's modest face, a passing cloud has cast a silv'ry veil, as 'lone i stand before this hallowed place, sunk deep in thought. stay, what's this i trace } a rising mass — all indistinct and pale ; higher it rises — plainer to my view — takes shape and form — ah, now revealed i see what my prophetic soul divined so true, and hails with joy, — thou old academy ! 62 miscellaneous poems. yes, as of old ; the fountain and the trees that laughed and sported with each pass ing breeze; thy high square columns, double porches, ells all these entrance me with their potent spells ; thy dun gray walls that many a storm had felt, and lo, the spirits that within them once had dwelt! see how yon casement glows with ghost ly light ! look, see that figure clothed in spotless white ! and now it close, and closer to the win dow nears, with hands outstretched,— as though it would entreat ; its lips more softly, but unto my ears no sound is wafted. — suddenly,complete, all vanishes away and disappears. as some rude clown comes whistling down the street. a vision; or, the old academy. 63 the phantom building, white-robed fig ure, hght, — all, all are gone, and luna's shining bright! 64 miscellaneous poems, the art of kissing. with her head upon your shoulder, and your arm around her waist; — with your hands fast clasped together, gazing tenderly in her face, — 'tis a moment of such rapture as but seldom comes in life, when soul looks into soul again, forgetting pain and strife. and the trem'lous lips an instant, move in efforts vain to speak of the wild, yet sweet emotion that crimsons brow and cheek. the art of kissing. 65 and then — no longer pausing — in warm ecstatic bliss, earth, heaven and all's forgotten, in a fond and clinorinor kiss. in after life, when tempest tossed, your barque is fiercely driven upon the reefs of dark despair, then like a star in heaven, that kiss will shine resplendently upon the troubled wave, and point the harbor distantly, that may your vessel save. o joy of joys ! most heavenly a woman's kiss doth prove, but though her kiss' celestial, elysian is her love ! 5 66 miscellaneous poems. a change. a change from the old to the new, a change from the past to the present ; with far different objects in view, than ever before — and more pleasant. the mists of the night are dispersed, 'neath the bright warming glow of the sun; and the dark baleful vapors that cursed my existence, are gone one by one. my storm-beaten barque on the foam of life's rough tempestuous main, now safely rides anchored at home, ne'er to risk the fierce maelstrom agam. a change. 67 o'er valley and mountain, the beams of luna, the pale queen of night, in mellowed radiance o^leams, revealing contentment to sight: her sweet calming influence steals oer my soul, 'till at last its at rest; and my innermost being now feels, that all has turned out for the best. then hail to the swift com in q: li^ht ! farewell, to the valley of gloom: the day god advancing so bright. sends the ghosts of the past to the tomb. a change from the night to the day, a chanore from the darkness to lis^ht ; the past is all blotted away. and the future's an eden to sioht ! 68 miscellaneous poems. to like these withered, faded blossoms, so from life, has brightness fled ; like them, in this lonely bosom hope and happiness lie dead. yet if thou shouldst smile on either, — speak one word — thy quick'ning breath would the flowers bloom restore them — bring back hope and joy from death. see ! as now thou smilest on them, bud and blossom laugh and blush ; blush and laugh, as tho' they'd tell thee nay, ye tell-tale roses, hush. anacreontic. 69 anacreontic. mars, desp'rate, and angry with venus one day, sought cupid, and when he had found him, he seized on the boy in an insolent way, and with locks and with fetters he bound him. the poor infant cried and entreated in vain. the stern god of war was obdurate ; when he left, cupid broke all his fetters in twain. and laughed, — for he knew he could do it. at length mars returned and no captive found. then raging, he stormed in his wrath, but soon became quiet, for fast he was bound in the nets love had cast in his path. 70 miscellaneous poems. " ah, ha! " cried the boy, coming boldly in view, " love ne'er can be bound in your fetters ; that much you should know, if you only but knew the first a b c of love's letters.'* and now my lord, you're in love's nets, — love's, who never, ne'er for^^ets ! to 31 y mother. to my mother, who sent the author a bouquet late in autumn. thoucyh winter's chillinof frosts are near when all the flowers must die, and leave the landscape dark and drear beneath a sullen sky, — e'er yet that sad'ning time has come, you've pkicked these dainty flowers, and sent to glad my heart like some fair elf from fairie bowers. a message too, they bring to me, and whisper in my ear, *' thy mother ever thinks of thee. to her, thou still art dear." " though lonely thou, without one friend, care not for smiles of others, let joy and sweet contentment blend. no friendship's like thy mother's." 72 miscellaneous poems. yes mother, blessed be thy name, one ties to me jj/^/ bound; and if my footsteps lead to fame, through thee it will be found. a night tempest. 73 a night tempest. down falls the rain ! the earth with dew is drenched, distilled in torrents from the vaults of heaven. the dazzling lightning pierces through the clouds, that loudly roar with anger or in pain. strong boreas shrieks in ecstacy of mirth. and twists the tall oaks till they snap in twain, — then hurrying onward, seeking for more prey, he dashes on the strong and solid walls of firm built dwellings, that resist his might, till in his baffled fury, fierce with rage, he howls and yells like horrid demon mad ; when gathering all his forces for th' assault, 74 miscellaneous poems. he hurls them on the object of his spleen with such strong effort, and such match less might, that groaning, to the earth it crumbling falls. against the solid rock, jove hurls his dart while smoking from the fiery furnace still. and rends the close wrought q-ranite mto dust, while starting all the castle into flames. that seek to rival their promethean source, the horrors of the fearful nioht are o seen in all their grandeur and majestic power. * * * * * morn breaks ; and yon arising in the east, aurora, goddess of the dawn appears ; and sol, in chariot drawn by fiery steeds. dispels the mists and terrors of the night. lines, 75 lines. as fresh as aurora she rises at morning, when nature's perfumed with the clear tears of night, which sol quickly dries, while the young day adorn ing in garments of beauty, of joy, and of light. and bright as the goddess of dawn is the vision, which often i see as i pass by her bower ; to gaze on her fills me with feelings elysian. enraptures my soul with the bliss of the hour. her close clinging garment, instead of concealing the soft rounded figure of beautiful mold. perfection of symmetry aids in revealing. as lovingly doth it her fair form enfold. 76 miscellaneous poems, those dark glist'ning tresses, their soft waves entwining o'er head that is shapely and set hke a queen's ; — her neck's pearly vv^hiteness, cold marble outshining, while the low flowing dress, the warm bosom just screens. o beautiful eyes ! how electric the light ning that darts from its cover of lono: silken lash ; a glance and a smile, thrill throughout me, while brightning, a glimpse into heaven 's revealed by the flash ! that mouth i'd describe, but i only would miss it if i should attempt to, poor words are too cold ; so i only will say, that he who might kiss it, his " reason" would lose, gain " a feast of the soul." lines. 'j 'j the rose on her cheek, is much fairer than ever hath blossomed 'neath florist's assidu ous care ; may nothing e'er cause it to fade or to wither, but always to bloom as at present's my prayer. bright beacon of joy! though to thee i'm a stranger, and may always, forever to thee be un known, my muse is an index of self, — naught can change her, we'll cherish thy mem'ry long after thou'rt flown. 78 miscellaneous poems, to though dazzling is thy dark, bright eye, yet with'ring is its scorching fire, — as lightnings that from heaven fly, we fear them when we most admire. yet if a pitying tear should steal to dim thine eyes' too brilliant beams, — to prove thy tender heart can feel, compassionate, the poet's dreams, — then in his dreams — though years had flown. and wide life's pathways lay apart — he'll see thine eyes as then they shone, the tear, enshrine within his heart ! star of bethlehem. 79 star of bethlehem. extract from "the nashville american. to the editor of the american: i read in to-day's american an article which placed the star of bethlehem in an auogether conjectural light, either scientific or miraculous. the latter opinion, i think, is accepted with out hesitation bv all christians the world over. that star was but the flame that guided the "wise men" to the place where the child lay, enwrapped in an unquenchable blaze of glory, whose glorious effulgence, emanating from himself, should rise higher and higher, until, like a blazing castle at night, valley and hill, meadow and stream, from darkest cave to lofti est mountain top,— the entire universe should be lighted by the splendor and power of his name' as lons^ as time endures. _ the enclosed lines will i think, voice the sentiment of the general pubhc, in their views regarding the star of bethlehem. hio-h o-littering in the bright ethereal "" dome [hng lights of heaven, 'mongst the myriad spark 8o miscellaneous poems. that 'luminate the trackless sea of space, ike diamo of night, like diamonds gleaming o'er the robe once shone a star. resplendent in its glory o'er the rest. as midday's sun compared to the pale moon, when hanging like a crescent in the sky. she only shows the darkness of the night by her soft light. low lying in a manger, 'mongst the beasts, the royal son of god, an infant lay; that burning star, — like beacon through the mist — moved tow'rds him, leading wise men from the east to where he slept. there pausing, like a jewel in a crown. it hunoabove and showed the kino: below; star of be thlehem. 8 1 in countless numbers, swarmed an anp-el throng on fiery wings, their choral voices raised in praise of him. the humble shepherds wakened by the sound, uprose, and gazed in terror and amaze at that strange siglit, then on tow'rds bethlehem they haste their way, and as they go they tell their wondrous tale. and when the city they had entered in, faint rumors reached their ears of what they long had been foretold — a saviour born to men ! they searched, and found the virgin and the child, and worshipped him. 82 miscellaneous poems, loud ringing in the air, was heard the sound of joyful angels singing to th' adored, *' glory to god in the highest, on earth peace, good will tow'rd men ;'* and thus awoke the first glad christmas morn. near nineteen hundred years have passed since then, and yet, to-day, as brightly as of old, that star doth shine within the minds of men, and all its glowing warmth doth still enfold them with a rapture that can ne'er grow cold tongue may not speak it, neither hand may pen. lines. 83 lines. it seems as if but 3/esterclay, that thou wert by my side, and all the world was fair and gay, my dear beloved bride ; but cruel death claimed thee his prey, and took thee from this earth away, — oh, could i then have died ! thy life was in its youth and bloom, the bud was just full blown, and like the rose's soft perfume, its sweets o'er all were thrown ; thy presence always banished gloom, and now thou'rt in the silent tomb, my loved, my lost, my own. within the tomb and lost ! ah, no ! tho' there thy ashes lie, thy soul has found its home, i know, with god who reigns on high; and in the future i may go to join thee, and we'll part no more. — o were that moment nish ! 84 miscellaneous poems. ode on the death of jef ferson davis. a nation is whelmed beneath sorrow and grief ! a nation is mourning the loss of her chief. he peacefully sleeps — hfe's battle is o'er, — vexation and conflict shall trouble no more. when over our southland the war cloud had burst, and cannon w^ere belching forth light ning and flam.e, — ' twas then he was chosen our chieftain, the first. and the last, that our soutliland has oiven that name. o " when men's souls were tried," aye, tried to the end, wliere the end of their trials was found in the grave, not death's fiercest forms could his spirit unbend, — a fear to the coward a joy to the brave ! ode on the death oe jeff. davis. 85 forever thy name — both in history and story — jeff davis, shall live, nor ever can die ; resplendently shining 'mid halos of glory, [the sky. among the bright stars it will mount to then peacefully sleep, life's battle is o'er, vexation and conflict shall trouble no more. 'tis folly thus to seek to drown. 'tis folly thus to seek to drown all thoughts of care and pain, — all sorrow, in the brimming cup which we must quaff again. for still, 'mid anguish we'd avoid, the pleasures we would gain, — e'en when the bowl is emptied dry, despair, doth still remain. the scar remalns still tender. the scar remains still tender, even though the wound that caused it, healed some time ao-o. 86 miscellaneous poems. the city of the dead. a fragment : written in a cemetery at midnight. alone amidst the slumbering dead: the pale moonbeams above my head, o er all the silent city shed a pale and sickly light. the white snow lay beneath my feet, so pure and spotless, it were meet to be the spirit's winding-sheet, a weird yet lovely sight ! around me rose the lofty column, towering o'er me, dark and solemn, emblem grim of death : while 'graved in letters deep and bold, name, date of birth and death were told upon the marble, hard and cold, by those who were bereft. surmounting stately shaft, there rose an angel weeping, full of woes, with head downcast and wings all closed, thence ne'er to take its flioht : on others still, the w^oeful urn. placed by the sorrowing hearts that burn to have the lost once more return, and glad them with the sight. the fairest face of all. 87 the fairest face of all. you may sing of your fairies that dance in the hollows, and tell of the mermaids that sing 'neath the sea ; apollo may tune his sweet lyre till it follows, it melts with the praise of the fair lorelei. you may tell of the nymphs in the forest of arden, and rave o'er the graces of helen of troy ; of the maids that disported in babylon's garden. and she who gave birth to the love-light ing boy. your numbers may ring with the soul stirring glances that dart from the eyes of v^enetian ladies ; or throb till they burst, when they tell of the lances cast forth from one eye by the beauties of cadiz. the muse cannot stir me with tales quick, and thrilling, 88 miscellaneous poems. of languid enchantments, of eastern houris ; unmoved i can listen— though perfectly v/illing — when told of the loveliness of the peris. but yet, there's a face that doth fill me with gladness, a likeness sometimes in my hand i may hold ; possession gives joy that approximates madness. and ecstatic rapture possesses the soul. o fairer than helen, and other named ladies. nymphs, loreleis, mermaids or fays of the hollow ; more beautiful far the face of this maid is, tis hers that shines briofht on the al o mighty dollar ! the strength and power of will. the strength and power of \a' ill's indomit able ; [flee. before its face, e'en death doth fearful bewaee. s9 beware ! like the rushing torrent's course, that seeks its level on the plain, a man may downward dash till lost, but never may ascend again ; unless with patient toil and care, kind hearts should woo him back onc( more unto the heights, the place from where the world's esteem he held of yore. but, oh ! if all from him should turn, and say " much better i than he," — his promise of reforming spurn, and mock him in his misery ; — then what is left for him to do, no hope on earth, no faith in heaven ? he can but man's injustice rue. by whom no hope of aught is given. 90 miscellaneous poems. beware, beware, before you say one word to break a sinkinoheart, for it may be your lot some day, with him to change and take his part. to be cast down as low as he. without one sympathetic friend to mark thy great calamity, nor care how soon may be thy end ! a dream, 91 a dream. a kiss, a dream; but o'er my darkened soul, transcendent in its purity from heaven, tliere fell a flood of light, fresh, warm and glowing. it searched the inmost recess of my heart, and brought to light what e'er was good therein, — which like the diamond hidden in the mine. its fires smothered 'neath the sodden clay, none knows that there a priceless treasure lies ; but when exposed unto the living light, it sparkles with a lustre pot its own, but pure itself, it but reflects the beams of that bright sun that makes it what it seems. 92 miscellaneous poems. and so, whate'er of good is left in me, was brought unto the surface by that touch of thy soft hps upon my sulhed cheek, sunken and wan, by my past wild careen that fresh, sweet contact, like electric coils, that when together placed doth swift produce the vivid lightning flash, that penetrates into those places most obscure, remote, — so flashed thy spirit o'er this soul of mine. to give it life and hope and strength to live. a kiss, a dream ; the bless it brought to me, doth thrill me yet when e'er i think of thee! o if i could but kiss those lips. o if i could but kiss those lips ! — now sweet — good-night — god bless you the suicide, 93 the suicide. with face upturned, the suicide lay, his lips were ashen and cold ; he had taken his life in a desperate way, to seek the grave, where never a ray of the sun's brio-ht beams could evermore o stray, or its o-jorious lio^ht unfold. did he long life's mystery to unseal, that he sought death's gloomy shore ? thought he oblivion would reveal a balm that his spirit still might heal' of all the pangs that his soul could feel, — be troubled nevermore ? it may be, that his mind was racked with torture beyond control ; it may be, that he sought what he lacked on earth, in the grave, but the truth of this fact will certainly never be told. 94 m/scella.veous poems. 'twas whispered, by some transaction done, (if right the story i trace,) the chance of a felon's cell he'd run, and the thought of such end his brain did stun. till he felt deserted by everyone, and died to avoid disgrace. no friend was near to hold his hand, or whisper a word of love : but alone amid crowds, at his own command, he left this world for another land, — embarked for the future's distant strand, let us hope he's at peace, — above. enough he knew. enough he knew, to ne'er know peace again, while aught that he knew not, should yet remain. the church organ. 95 the church organ. written on hearing some very fine music at the episcopal church at clarksville, tenn. through the deep-toned organ's voice, hear the words of god outspoken : bidding mankind to rejoice, and from their lethargy awaken. listen to the heav'nly strains ! to the throne of grace ascending; where the lord in glory reigns, with a splendor never ending. tender melody, divine ! tremulous, so soft and low, which the muses unconfine to fill us with a holy glow. then again ; with rapt'rous swell, harmonious still, the notes resound ; as though they would to all men tell of joys beyond the grave profound. 96 ^miscellaneous poems. and now, as if an angel choir, were singing praises at the throne;— or hke the soft ^ohan lyre, that makes sweet music all alone — the organ speaks in tones so low. like summer zephyrs, gently sighing, that stop a moment as they go, then onward softly flying, dying. a peaceful calm steals o'er our mind a calm that gives the spirit rest, and one brief moment, we may find the joy that fills a sinless breast. to stella. 97 to stella. thou shinest o'er my path, and thy bright rays dispels the gloom that gathers there so black, that midnight darkness, when compared thereto. doth seem like noontide brightness. o er my life. like to a meteor darting through the heavens. that momentarily lights the earth be neath, revealing things that hitherto had been hid from the sight of man — so did thy beams show unto me, that which might once have been. 98 miscellaneous poems. to may the perfume of these flowers, o'er thy couch their fragrance throwing, help reheve the tedious hours, swiftly haste their onward going, till bright rosy health appearing, puts the spectre pain to flight ; while her q-ladsome train close nearino.^ shows but hopes and pleasures bright. and when thou art well and merry, this will all seem but a dream, from which thou hast wakened, cheery, bright and gay, with morn's first beam. as when clouds, chaste dian's glances, envious, seek to hide and chain, this her beauty but enhances, when she doth appear again ; — so thou too, when illness fleeing from the face of strength returned, then wilt feel through all thy being, fairer joys than e'er discerned. to99 then the sun will shine more brightly, then the birds will sweeter sing ; then thy heart will beat more tightly, and thy voice more blithesome ring. then—but stay, ye babbling muses, too audacious you have been ; she perhaps e'en now abuses you, and my obtrusive pen. still miy muses, (softly whisper) tell her that we're not to blame, that we but return (so lisp her) inspiration whence it came. they seek to read the mysteries. they seek to read the mysteries of the stars, ^vho cannot spell the smallest words of nature. loo miscellaneous poems. to oh, lady, could it be my fate, from those dark liquid eyes of thine, to catch the beams that scintillate as bright as stars in heaven shine, — ■ i'd turn to them from eden's gate ; no other heaven i'd ask as mine, save but to worship at thy shrine! a spanish ca valier, '■ i q i "a spanish cavalier." as i pensive walked, and lonely, dreaming dreams none e'er may know, like a murmur in the gloaming, rose a so noof lone aeo. clearly through the gath 'ring twilight— softly on the evening air, rang the words of some old ballad, sung by merry maidens fair. and i paused awhile to listen, as their voices rose and fell; paused to listen, what the lover would unto the lady tell. borne upon the wings of zephyrs. came the vow, " i will be true ;" sank unto a sigh, a whisper. and i faintly heard, " to you." then, like sweetest seraphs singing, " sunny days will fade away ;" and the heavenly music ringing in my ears, then seemed to say : 102 miscellaneous i'oems. " forever remember, and ever be true, tho' time swiftly flies, and the present doth vanish ; yet still recollection presents to the view fond dreams of the past, every sorrow to banish. " bright moments of happiness, shrined in your heart, will ripen to hours of pleasure hereafter; when pain and distress, cause the fond tears to start, gaze into that shrine, and t'will change them to laughter." the song was ended, and the last low notes of the guitar, died tremblingly away; but round me still, tlie soft refrain yet floats, and seems to sigh, " remember what i say." iv a violet. lo to a violet. modest little violet ! peeping through the wintry storm, pure and innocent but yet, firm and beautiful thy form. — like the christian, through the shadows, bold emerging from the gloom of earth, to walk the heavenly meadows, when arisen from the tomb. ''the pen is mightier than the sword." " the pen is mightier than the sword," guided by woman's hand, as swift it moves, scattering gems of thought, that smile and glisten like dewdrops on the blushing rose at morn ! 104 miscellaneous poems. our baby. little sunbeam ! laughing sprite ! like a day-dream sweet and bright ; gaily singing, while the ringing of her voice, its passage winging to our hearts, — fills with delight our souls, to see the gladsome sight through her hair, — so soft and fair, everywhere, the gentle air of zephyrs playing, onward straying, only for a moment staying, — soft caresses golden tresses, and our httle angel blesses. our baby, ic5 from her eyes, like lightning flies darting glances, which enhances all the beauty of her face ; while she tries to look quite wise, the merry twinkle of her eyes, all her sober look denies. and the mirth within we trace. may all your life be free from strife ; always light, and never night. but still, if sorrow come to you. then with it come the heav'nly dew, which god above doth keep in store, upon the wounded heart to pour. i06 miscellaneous poems. to oh, why just before the sad moment of parting, did you wish to break friendship's affec tionate spell ? when pride only held back the tear that was starting, which would have betrayed what the tono'ue could not tell. you listened, and heard all that others had spoken to tarnish and sully my name in your sight ; you heeded their words, and the sweet chain was broken, and scattered its links — nevermore to unite. resistance doth become so dull and stupid. resistance doth become so dull and stupid. when 'saulted by that little demon, cupid ! the violet and sunbeam. 107 the violet and sunbeam. a violet opened her velvety eyes,^ and gazed on a sunbeam with joy and surprise ! she had been fast asleep, in a cool, quiet nook, her cover, night's mantle, her couch, the soft moss ; and to soothe her to slumber, a musi cal brook with his murmuring minstrelsy, was at no loss. the sunbeam — a gay, dashing fellow — had strayed in chase of a shadow, but now in the glade it was lost. and while he was search ing in vain to find it, by chance his inquisitive eyes glanced over the spot where the violet had lain all the night, and awoke her to joy and surprise. lo8 miscellaneous poems. the violet coquettlshly nodded her head, he beamingly smiled, but ne'er a word said; the brook softly laughed, and upward he threw a shower of crystals ; the gay zephyrs caught them, and swift on their light, airy pinions they flew, and soon to the sweet modest violet brought them and scattered them all in her face ! then fled as they gaily whispered, " you'll wed, you'll wed!" the color came into the violet's face. as the sunbeam yet nearer and nearer advances, till at leno^th she's enclosed in his ardent embrace, and quivers and burns, 'neath his fiery glances. ah ! woe am i ! for this true loving pair — the sunbeam bright, and the violet fair! the violet and sunbeam. 109 she witliered and died with his burning kiss; he faded away and his brightness fled, for he knew that the ending of all liis bliss, [bed. with his love lay there on her mossy a dark, cruel cloud that was passing by, with a lance of flame and a roaring cry. then bore down upon him and quenched his life. the wild wind wails and their story tells— the dark cloud weeps and repents the strife ; [knells. while the bluebell rings their untimely the brook a low mournful dirge now sings. and heavy with sighs, the sad zephyr wino's his sorrowful flight to some radiant star-land, [grow where strange, sweet, wonderful flowers with his lightest breath, to so bright a garland, it rivals the ones that in paradise blow. no miscellaneous poems. the postal card. oh, acting and writing 's a strange contradiction, as late by experience shown ; for actions are facts, and letters are fiction, — at least, such of late are your own. you told me that you would ta.ke pleasure in writing, and naught should your letters retard ; dear girl, does it take a whole week for inditing just one little brief postal card ? "o phyllis. ill to phyllis. thoulovest me ! renounce the ihouo-ht ! ah, sooner might to earth, by far, from its liigh reahms of hght be brought, yon orhtterino: and radiant star — than thou to link thy fate with mine, so dark, so cheerless and forlorn, that 't would but crush that heart of thine, and cloud thy life's bright, happy morn. to the same. black-eyed phyllis ! why should she dream, or have one thought of me .f* though my love for her is true, all the world doth love her too, — love from all 's to phyllis due ! 113 miscellaneous pojims. the opera " patience." this poem was written upon witnessing the charming little opera of "patience," as played by home dramatic tal ent, of clarksville, tenn. to understand the following verses, one should be familiar with the above-mentioned opera. invocation. awake my muse ! and plume thy wing for flights beyond thy wonted sphere ; of clarksville's youth and beauty sing, but oh ! thou art too weak, i fear, to render justice to the theme which i in verses fain would tell ; but still, arise, proclaim thy dream. and let the rapturous numbers swell ! if i should fail to soar 'mid clouds, with famous bards of high renown, oblivion still provides the shrouds aspiring rhymers oft have found. the opera patience. n^ your attention pray give, if you please, every one, for now is the opera of "patience" begun, witli notes on the flute, the talented wrio-ht='= o the liearts of the audience will fill with delight; while 'midst the changes and throughout the play, [forte ; sweet music's discoursed on the piano and clearly above the harmonious din, are heard the pure tones of the sweet violin. the scenes are all shifted, the curtain is lifted, and now will be heard the sweet songs of the gifted young singers and players, who soon will appear on the stage, to the audience assembled to hear their rendition of " patience," — that popular play, 'mongst people of clarksville, the talk of the day. * a well known m. d. of clarksville, who is well versed in music, and who plays the flute with no small degree of skill. 8 114 miscellaneous poems. oh see ! the bright vision that now greets our eyes, makes us think for a moment we're in paradise ! are they syrens, or angels, or spirits of air? or only earth's maidens enchantingly fair, resemblinsf the houris that dwell in the o skies, or heaven's fall'n angels, lovely peris, who gladden this world till their penance is done, and then wing their flight to the realms of the sun. charming fairies, lightly dancing, bright eyes swiftly at us glanc hig, with their smiles our souls entrancing ! but who is it comes now amongst them arrayed in costume proclaiming the gentle milk maid ? 'tis patience ! 'tis patience! the queen of the play — bright star 'midst the stars of this bright milky way the opera ''patiences 115 of beautiful maidens, more lovely by far then venus herself, or her namesake the star that alternately reigneth at morn and at even, o'er all the bright spheres that are spark lino: in heaven! '^ alas ! but naught of love knows she, (as her song doth tell), and cupid, love's divinity, the god of love, not even he within her heart may dwell 1 and now boldly marching, the heavy dragoons, — who ne er saw a battle and nauq^ht know of wounds, — to the scene of their triumphs in love's court returned, by their sweethearts of yore are now scornfully spurned. for the gay military, they no longer care. but prefer the dark man with short pants, and long hair, bunthorne, by name, an aesthetic sham, whiom they garland with roses and lead like a lamb il6 miscellaneous poems. to the altar — no, no, i mean to be raffled, when patience appears: — tableaux, they're baffled, for instantly doth she the matter decide, by promising bunthorne, that shell be his bride. alas for poor patience ! the sweet little beauty — she loves not in truth, but loves as a duty! he v^ho first won her babv affection, and above all men 7iow would be her selection, is debarred of the prize by his very per fection ! than narcissus, adonis, more beautiful far,— oh, fatal the beauty, and evil the star under which he was born, alas, poor grosvenor ! the first act is over, the curtain is dropped, [stopped, the deaf'ning applause for a moment is and presently now, there comes into view [the dew a maiden more fair than the rose with the opera '' patience: 117 of the morning upon it,* and bursts into song, which ending, the rapt'rous applause loud and long, continues, and eagerly calls for encore. till at lenotli the sweet sono^stress appears as before. and now a rich melody from her lips trills in silvery tones that awaken the thrills of exquisite pleasure, with every sweet measure, — like the streamlet's orentle rill. swiftly gliding down the hill, flashing, splashing, onward dashing, our cup of happiness to fill ! o woman is the curse of mak o woman is the curse of man. as also she's the blessino• could e'en the god of war withstand sweet venus' caressing? * a young lady who has since studied, and developed a naturally charminfr voice to a hi;yh de^rree of excellence. she is at present a rising star on the operatic horizon. 1 1 8 m isc el l a ne o us poems. no, no, her smiles and blandishments doth make the wisest fools ; and naught there is, her soul contents, like seeing slaves she rules. her smile can give the greatest joy, her frown the greatest sorrow ; but from life's worries the alloy, from her alone we borrow. though dazzling is the bright black eye. thouqfh dazzlino: is the bri^'ht black eye. yet withering is its scorching fire ; as lightnings that from heaven fly, we fear them when wc would admire. not so the ones of melting blue. so soft, so pure their azure hue, they charm us as we nearer move, and when we meet them, then we love ! the banquet. 119 the banquet. the banquet hall with youths was filled, and bright the lights were shining there, the while they sought slow time to kill, and banish from their hearts dull care. " a toast ! a toast ! " they cry amain, " come reginald, give us a toast ; let not our pleading be in vain. remember that thou art our host." and then arose a youth whose brow the stamp of noble manhood bore. and thus commenced (with courteous bow,) a toast they ne'er had heard before. the grape. hail ! most luscious fruit of earth, and list while i thy praises sing; tho' others there may be of worth, yet o'er them all, thou art the king ! i20 misckllankous poems. the clusters that adorn lliy vine, willi sweetest nectar over-flowinp;, when pressed, yield u}) the sparklinij wine, in richest ruby coloi's glowing. 'i'hen merrily fill up the bowl. and in this wine the gra})e we'll pledge for it doth warm our inmost soul, and to our words, gives wit and edge. o russet grape and ruby wine, the body one the soul the other, the soul is jit for gods divine ; for maii^ the body altogether, '^' but still, we'd quaff this heav'nly drink which hebe to the thunderer carried, \l'<iw tho' it brought us to the brink of the river styx, soon to be ferried across its dark and dismal wave, unto the land of far beyond ; whose shore its murky waters lave, and where from thence there's no return. *thc grape (body) in its natural form nourislies, but docs not harm mankind. but the soul, tlic essence, in short, the wine steals away his senses and is therefore only fit io: the gods-who have none. the banquet. 121 lia, ha, away with thoughts like tliesc ! in joyolisncss we'll pass the hours ; the while reclining at our ease within the vineyard's trellised bowers, we'll think of hope, and love, and bliss, while life's bright sun is still on high ; and w^hen the goblet's lip we kiss. with wine we'll drown the rising sigh. but hark! what voice is that i hear that solemn falls upon my ear ? *' wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging ; who hath sorrow ? who hath woe ? he whotarrieth at the wine cup, — waging his soul for pleasures here below." on with the revel ! and quickly fill each goblet till it holds no more, and soon its warming glow will kill that voice so often heard before ; nor shall it here again intrude. to cast on us its blighting gloom. with words repulsive, harsh and rude. that rob life of its youth and bloom. 122 miscellaneous poems. great bacchus ! we will sing to thee, and wreathe thy brow with grape leaves green ; and v/hile we dance in merry glee, we'll drive away dull care i ween. but stay, that voice i hear once more, in deep toned accents as before 1 *' oh youth, that fatal cup forbear, tis full of misery for thee ! although it lightens now thy care, // later on will heavier be ; the rapture which it lends thee now, upon the morrow will be vanished ; and manhood's stamp upon thy brow. the demon wine will soon have banished. remember, too, that it can never from out thy heart drive vain regret ; when all is hushed, the revel over. still conscience' voice remaineth yet ! oh youth ! forswear the wine cup then, and pledge thee to the temperance cause ; the ba nq uet. 123 to be a shining light 'mongst men obeying god's most holy laws," the banquet hall's deserted now ; the youths, o where are they ? some there were, who took the vow, and never more did stray, — but others, too far gone to save, disdained to turn aside; so now they fill a drunkard's grave, unmourned, unwept, they died! farewell, to the days. farewell, to the days that once flitted so sweetlv, and quickly away to be joined to the past: alas ! from my life they have vanished completely, and those that were brightest, were those that were last. 124 miscellaxeous poems. though few was their number, i ne'er shall forget them, but oiten recall them in meniory's dream ; and i wake with a sigh, when i think how i let them swift vanish away, like the sun's dying beam. 41 ad-a271 435 pl-tr-92-2325 convergence of the hermite wavelet expansion g. v. h. sandri boston university college of engineering and center for space physics boston, ma 02215 november 1992 final report 1 november 1988 31 october 1992 phillips $ boratory approved for public release; distribution unlimited dtic electe oct 2 2 1993 phillips laboratory directorate of geophysics 93 10 21 air force systems command hanscom air force base, ma 01731-5000 93-25482 d university of michigan 3 9015 10495 5862 38115 "this technical report has been reviewed and is approved for publication" arad robert r. beland contract manager beland donald & bedo donald e. bedo branch chief roger aiken sacul roger van tassel division director ناست this report has been reviewed by the esd public affairs office (pa) and is releasable to the national technical information service (ntis). qualified requestors may obtain additional copies from the defense technical information center. all others should apply to the national technical information service. if your address has changed, or if you wish to be removed from the mailing list, or if the addressee is no longer employed by your organization, please notify pl/tsi, hanscom afb, ma 01731-5000. this will assist us in maintaining a current mailing list. do not return copies of this report unless contractual obligations or notices on a specific document requires that it be returned. report documentation page public reporting burden for this collection of information is estimated to average 1 hour per response, including the time for reviewing instructions, searching existing data sources. gathering and maintaining the data needed and completing and reviewing the collection of information send comments regarding this burden estimate or any other aspect of this collection of information, including suggestions for reducing this burden to washington headquarters services. directorate for information operations and reports, 1415 jetterson davis highway, suite 1204, arlington, va 22202-4302, and to the office of management and budget. paperwork reduction project (0704-0188), washington, dc 20503 1. agency use only (leave blank) 2. report date 3. report type and dates covered final. nov. november 1992 4. title and subtitle convergence of the hermite wavelet expansion 6. author(s) g. v. h. sandri 7. performing organization name(s) and address(es) boston university college of engineering and center for space physics boston, ma 02215 9. sponsoring/monitoring agency name(s) and address(es) phillips laboratory hanscom afb, ma 01731-5000 contract manager: robert beland/gpoa 11. supplementary notes 12a. distribution/availability statement approved for public release; distribution unlimited. 13. abstract (maximum 200 words) 14. subject terms unclassified nsn 7540-01-280-5500 form approved omb no. 0704-0188 of abstract unclassified 1, 1988 to oct. 31, 1992 5. funding numbers trail pe 61101f pr 7670 ta 15 wu ar contract f19628-88-kin this report we summarize the research carried out under this contract on the chaos dynamics anlysis of the free sheared atmosphere. our approach is to expand the fluid equations into finite energy modes rather then in the conventional fourier analysis. we prove rigorously that our expansion method has the required convergence properties to ensure a satisfactory physical interpretation of the results. for the taylor-dyson atmosphere, our analysis, like the fourier analysis yields no unstable modes. 8. performing organization report number taylor-dyson atmosphere, hermite wavelet expansion. 17. security classification 18. security classification 19. security classification of report of this page unclassified 10. sponsoring/monitoring agency report number pl-tr-92-2325 12b. distribution code 0017 15. number of pages 38 16. frice code 20. limitation of abstract sar standard form 298 (rev 2-89) prescribed by ali std 259-18 240 2 introduction 2. mathematical framework 1. ત 3. 4. 5. definitions and notation characterization of hyperdistributions classes d({m}) and the diffusion group 6. summary and conclusions references iii accesion for ntis crasi dtic tas chama ced j by caton distributor! cist avarieti |a-11 contents 500 dedes avid and or special 1 2 ~ ~ 7 11 21 22 332323 31 3 כי 1 introduction in this contract we have first investigated a phenomenological approach to a chaos dynamical analysis at the free sheered atmosphere. we have then turned to a theoretical phase in which we have developed a novel expansion of the equations for the free sheared atmosphere which hinge on properties of hermite polynomials and the gaussian function. in this final scientific report we give the conditions for the basic expansions used during our analysis to converge. more specifically, the necessary and sufficient conditions are given for the quasianalytic function classes d({m}) and the corresponding classes of distributions d'({m}) to be invariant with respect to the complex-time diffusion group ∞ zk 82k u₁ = σ uz k=0 x k! əx²k' ≈ є r¹, z є c. in addition, the properties of hyperdistributions moments r = σ ακδία) (4) k=0 are studied. it is shown that hyperdistributions are characterized by the behavior of their µk(t) = г(x*). we conclude that expansions based on hermite polynomials multipied by a gaussian have a proper limiting behaviour. the objective to give complete mathematical foundations for our analysis has been accomplished. 1 1 2 mathematical framework many physical processes have diffusive character: the spreading of smoke in air, the behavior of the temperature in a material body, and the vorticity in a fluid flow are examples illustrating this feature. the engineer's notion of blurring and filtering have similar nature. the one-dimensional diffusion processes are governed by the heat equation jv(x,t) _ 0²¥(x,t) at 8x2 in order to determine the behavior of the physical quantity v under consideration, provided its initial value y(x, 0) = x(x), x є r¹, is given, we have to solve the cauchy problem (1) (2) for the heat equation. it is well-known that the solution of the cauchy problem (1) (2) with appropriately chosen initial condition is given by poisson's formula 4(x,t) = √√a= √1. p(3) e(=x)" dy, 1 4πt jv(x,t) at ≈ є r',t > 0. g²y(x,t), მუ2 (3) the following interpretation of formula (3) is possible. we get the solution (x, t) as a result of filtering the given data y through a gassian filter of width √t. suppose we would like to reverse the process of filtering. this is important, for example, when we are concerned with the problem of reconstructing sharp images from degraded pictures. it is clear that the inverse filtering is described by the inverse heat equation (1) ≈ € r¹,t > 0. ≈ € r¹, t > 0. (2) (4) 2 it is possible to incorporate the heat equation (1), the inverse heat equation (4), and the schrödinger equation ov (z, t), 0² v (z, t), = at მე2 which describes the one-dimensional motion of a free particle in quantum mechanics, into the so-called complex-time diffusion equation jy(x, z) __ ə²y(x, z) əz მუ2 consider now the following formal semi-group of operators u₁ = ∞ tk 82k σ k=0 u₁ = e', (the diffusion semi-group). it can be easily seen [6] that the formula ¥(x,t) = u₁y(x), ≈ є r¹‚t > 0 defines the formal solution of the cauchy problem (1) – (2). using the taylor expansion of the function etu, u € r¹ in (6), we can represent {u₁} as a semi-group of differential operators of infinite order k! ox²k' , = σ k=0 x є r¹‚t є r¹. მ2k k! jx²k' ≈ є r¹, z є c. t>0 t> 0. (5) if we put a complex number z ec instead of t in (7), we obtain the complex-time diffusion group of operators (6) zє c. (7) (8) the group {u₂} provides a formal solution of the complex-time diffusion equation (5). moreover, it is a formal analytic continuation of the semi-group (7). we use the word "formal” in 3 considerations above, because we have not yet defined the domain of the operators u, given by (8). suppose {m} is a sequence of positive numbers. define a function class d({m}) on r¹ by the following formula d({m₁}) = {y € c∞(r¹) : |p(*) (x)| ≤ ah*mk, k ≥ 0, ≈ € r¹}, where positive constants a and h depend on y. these classes are important in making the formal considerations above precise. perhaps, hadamard [4], [5] was one of the first who understood the importance of classes, defined by given upper bounds for the successive derivatives of functions, in dealing with the cauchy problem for the heat equation. hadamard posed in [4] the problem of characterizing those classes d({m}), for which every function ↳ € d({m}) can be uniquely determined by the sequence (*)(xo), k ≥ 0 for any given a € r¹. such classes d({m}) are called the quasianalytic classes. hadamard's problem has been solved by denjoy and carleman (see section 2 below, where we formulate the denjoy-carleman theorem). the classes d({m}) have become useful tools in complex analysis [8], [10] – [11], in the theory of distributions [2], [13], and in the theory of differential operators of infinite order [1]. the simple example of their usefulness in the cauchy problem for the heat equation is given by the following. for an appropriately chosen class d({m}), the functions ∞0 tk 82k p(x) u₁y(x) = σ k! 8x2k k=0 are defined for every function y є d({m₁}) and u₁y(x) = v(x,t), t> 0 x є r¹, t > 0, 4 where is given by (3). an important contribution to the application of the quasianalytic classes in the theory of partial differential equations is due to gelfand and shilov [2], [3]. they contributed substantially to the theory of distributions over quasianalytic classes and to the uniqueness and well-posedness problems for the heat equation with complex diffusion coefficient a, namely jy(x,t) ə²y(x,t) at მუ2 =a ≈ € r¹, a є c. gelfland and shilov found in [2] the classes of generalized distributions which provide solutions to these problems. they wrote in [2]: "applications of these spaces to the cauchy problem in vol. 3 will illustrate the well-known statement of hadamard's on the relation between uniqueness theorems in the cauchy problem on the one hand, and the theory of quasianalytic functions and the general theory of functions of a complex variable, on the other." one of the problems we consider in this work is to characterize those classes d({mk}), which are invariant with respect to the complex-time diffusion group (8), which means that u₂(d({m₁})) c d({mk}), we answer this question in section 5. the u-invariance of d({m}) implies that we can diffuse, anti-diffuse, disperse, and anti-disperse¹, staying in the same class. it is easy to see that the operator u, in (8) is a convolution operator, defined by the formula zє c. u₂y = y *г₂, ¹dispersion and anti-dispersion correspond to the schrödinger equation for the free particle. 5 where t, is the green's function for equation (5), namely σ = 8 (2k) k=0 r₁ = the symbol do in (9) denotes the dirac's delta function at 0. the formal series, invloving all the derivatives of the delta-function, namely r = σax(*), k=0 r₁ = i' are called hyperdistributions. they are highly singular objects and schwartz's theory of distributions (see [9], [14], [2]) does not include them. the most appropriate theory, which involves hyperdistributions, is that of the distributions over the classes d({m}) (see [2], [3], [13]). in this theory the functions y € d({m}) are considered as test functions and the distributions are defined as bounded linear functionals on the class d({m₁}), equipped with appropriate topology. in [13] the formal series (10) were considered as distributions over non-quasianalysitc classes d({mk}) (see [13], p. 51). hyperdistributions are of much use in image processing (see [6], [7]). they have been used for deblurring and compressing of images. this is easy to understand if we recall that a hyperdistribution (9) =(-1)* (24), (−t)k (11) k! k=0 is the green's function for the inverse heat equation and thus we may reconstruct sharp images from damaged ones by convolving them with hyperdistributions (11). this paper is organized as follows: in section 3 the necessary definitions and known results are gathered. section 4 is concerned with the structure of hyperdistributions. we prove (see theorems 3 and 4) that, roughly speaking, the hyperdistributions are distributions over classes d({m}), which have moments of all orders, and their moments should satisfy special (10) t> 0 6 conditions. in section 5 we give a characterization of the u₂-invariant classes d({m}) and the u, invariant classes of distributions d'({m}) (see theorems 5 and 6). as the corollary of theorem 5 we get the following result. the quasianalytic classes d({k}), 0 ≤ y < 1, are u-invariant, while the class d({**/2}) is not (see corollaries 2 and 3). 3 definitions and notation definition 1 (see [8],[11],[12]). suppose {m} is a sequence of positive numbers. we say that an infinitely differentiable function & on the real line belongs to the class d({mx}) if there exist positive constants a, and ho, depending on 4, such that the following estimates hold for the successive derivatives (*) of the function 4, |ø(k) (x)| ≤ a¢h*mk, x є r¹. definition 2 (see [8],[11],[12]). the class d({m}) is called quasianalytic if $ € d({mx}), $(k) (x0) = 0 for some xo € r¹ and all k ≥ 0 ⇒ ☀ = 0, while all the classes d({m}), which does not satisfy the quasianalyticity condition (12) are called non-quasianalytic. (12) it is easy to see that classes d({m}) are linear and dilation-invariant. the quasianalytic classes d({m}) cannot contain functions with compact support. definition 3 (see [13]). in this definition we equip the class d({m}) with the locally conver topology. first we consider linear subclasses, dm({mx}) = {$ € d({mx}) : |ø(*)(x)| ≤ аøm*μk, k≥ 0}, m ≥ 1 7 of d({mk}). each of the classes d({m₁}) is a banach space with the norm defined by 10(*)(x)| pm (4) = sup sup зer¹ k≥⁰ m⭑m* it is clear that d({i} = udm({mx}). we equip d({m}) with the inductivet topology with respect to the family of its subspaces dm({mx}), m ≥ 1 (see [12] for the definition of the inductive limit). definition 4 (see [13]). the space d'({m}) of all bounded linear functionals on the locally compact space d({m}), equipped with the strong topology (see [12]), will be called the space of distributions over the class d({m₁}). it is not difficult to prove that every band-limited function & є l²(r¹) belongs to the class d({m}) with m = 1, k ≥ 0. the tand-limitedness means that the support of the fourier transform of 4 is bounded. one more example is given by the gaussian ☀(x) = e−r² which belongs to the class d({k*/2}). in the book by mandelbrojt [11] (see p. 89) there are examples of functions & € d({m}), which do not belong to any proper subclass d({m}) of d({m}). our next goal is to introduce new classes ď({m}), which contain d({m}) and all the polynomials. definition 5 for given sequence {m} consider a class ď{{x}} of infinitely differentiable functions on the real line such that there exists a constant ho, depending only on 4, and for every finite interval ic r¹ there exists a constant a1,, depending on! and 4, for which |ø(k) (x)| ≤ a1,øht, m½, ≈ € i, k ≥ 0. 8 definition 6 we introduce the locally convex topology of the class ď({m}) in the following way. consider linear subspaces ďm({mx}) = {þ € ď({mk}) : p1,m(4) = sup sup <∞, icr¹}. (13) the family of semi-norms p1,m generates the frechet space topology on d({m}). it is clear that 10(*)(x)| el k>0 mk mk ď({mk}) = ||ďm({mk}). m we equip d({mk}) with the inductive limit topology with respect to the family of its linear subspaces {ďm({m})}, m ≥ 1 (see [12] for the definition of the inductive limit). are called the moments of г. suppose i is a bounded linear functional on the space ď({m}). the next definition introduces the moments of such functionals. definition 7 for the functional г as above, the numbers µk(t) = t(x^), k≥0 (14) it is clear that d({mx}) ℃ ď({mx}). thus, every bounded linear functional г on ď({m}) belongs to the space d'({mk}). definition 8 the space ď'({m}) of all bounded linear functionals on the locally conver space d({m}), equipped with the strong topology (see [12]), will be called the space of distributions over the class d{{m}), which have moments. 9 the quasianalyticity property of the class d({m}) depends on the behavior of the ostrovski function k≥0 mk (see [8]). for every sequence {m}, the new sequence {m}, defined by t(r) = sup (15) is called the convex logarithmic regularization of the sequence {m}. the sequence {ln mx} is the largest convex sequence, minorizing the sequence {ln m}. if the initial sequence {mk} is logarithmically convex, namely if m² ≤ mk−1 mk+1, k ≥ 1, 2. then m = mk, k≥ 0. the main result in the theory of quasianalytic classes is called the denjoy-carleman theorem (see [8]). 3. theorem 1 (denjoy-carleman) the following conditions are equivalent: 1. the class d({m}) is quasianalytic. 4. in m = sup(k ln r — ln t(r)), r>0 ∞ ln t(r) 1+2 %°° ! m8 r>0 k=0 k=0 m mkti σ(mk)−¹/* dr = ∞. ∞. = ∞. 10 the following theorem reduces the case of the general classes d({m}) to the case of classes with logarithmically convex defining sequences. theorem 2 (cartan-gorny) (see [8]) for every positive sequence {m} we have d({m}) = d({m}). as we have already mentioned in the introduction, the formal infinite series, f = σ αιδία) ž k=0 will be called hyperdistributions. we have (formally) the following formula for the moments (14) of г: µk(t) = (−1)^k!ak, k≥0 and the following moment representation for r: r = √ (− 1)^ k! k=0 4 in section 4 formulas (16) and (17) will be given exact meaning. -ha(t)s(a) characterization of hyperdistributions the first result in this section provides conditions for a hyperdistribution r = σ a₁d (*) k=0 to be a distribution, belonging to the class ď'({mâ}). (16) (17) (18) 11 theorem 3 suppose a hyperdistribution (18) and a sequence {m} are given. if σ|ax|mxh* < ∞ for every h > 0, then г € ď'({mx}) and is true for г. k=0 (20) remark 1 theorem 1 shows that for a given sequence {m} all hyperdistributions (18), satisfying condition (19), have moments µ(г) of all orders. moreover, ak = (−1)*µk(t)(k!)−¹, k≥0. 1. for every h> 0 and the moment representation formula r = √ (−1) ^ k=0 2. k=0 lux(i) minh cao k! then the following result holds. k! hk (i)ε(*) we now formulate the main result of this section. it will be shown that for some sequences {m} the inverse to theorem 3 holds. the restriction for sequences {m} will be as follows: there exists a positive function p(h), h≥ 0 and a positive sequence {} such that σμπτη 200 n=0 mn+mh" <p(h)m+(n!)tnmm,,m>0, n > 0, h> họ. (19) (21) (22) 12 theorem 4 suppose a sequence {m} satisfies the conditions above. then every distribution г € ď¹({mx}) is a hyperdistribution (18), for which (20), (21), and (22) hold. remark 2 the conditions 1)-2) above and the similar conditions in section 4 are useful in problems, which we consider in this paper. the conditions 1)-2) imply, on the one hand, the differentiability condition for the classes d({mk}), namely mk+1 ≤ c* mk with some c > 0. this condition is necessary and sufficient for the differentiation invariance of the class d({m}) (see [13], p. 57). on the other hand, conditions 1)-2) above imply h* mk(k!)−¹ → 0 as k → ∞ for each h>0. condition (23) guarantees the convergence of taylor series = = 6)(0) = , φ(2) = σ ¿(³) (0)µ³¸ þ€ ď{{mk}) j! j=0 everywhere on the real line. remainder of the series in (24). similarly, all the taylor series this can be shown by estimating the lagrange form of the 85 (k) (x) = £ ¤(³+k) (0) µ³, k ≥0, ¢ € ď({mk}) j! j=0 converge uniformly on all subintervals of r¹. (23) г(ø) = (-1)*a*(*)(0). k=0 (24) proof of theorem 3. if a hyperdistribution (18) is given and if a function belongs to the class ď({m}), then (19) implies the absolute convergence of the series (25) 13 moreover, if i is any interval, for which 0 € i, we have |t(0)| ≤ p1,m(4) σ|ax|m* mk, m≥1, k=0 where the semi-norms pi,m are defined in (13). it follows from (26) that the functional i is bounded on the space ďm({m}), m ≥ 1. hence, it is bounded on the inductive limit ď({m}) of the spaces ďm({mk}),m ≥ 1 (see [12] for the properties of the inductive limits). formula (20) follows easily from the definition of the moments. theorem 3 is proved. proof of theorem 4. we will need the following lemma. lemma 1 suppose conditions 1)-2) hold for a sequence {m}. then the taylor series (24) of a function & € ď({m}) converges to & in the topology of the space ď({mx}). proof. consider a sequence of remainders of the taylor series of p, namely $(m)(0) m! φ;(x) = σ m=j x", j≥0. by remark 2, the sequence ; tends to 0 as j→ ∞ uniformly on every interval. moreover, we may differentiate k-times under the summation sign (see (25) in remark 2). differentiating k times, we get (514) (2) = { m ¿(m+k) (0) x² σm=0+)(0) σm-j-k (26) m! otherwise if kj (27) it follows from the properties of inductive limits (see [12]) that lemma 1 will be proved if we show that there exists p > 1 such that þ; € ďp({mx}) for j ≥ jo and pl,p(øj) → 0 (28) 14 as j→ ∞o for every interval i. from (13) and (27) we get for ≈ € i, k ≥ j/2 bm |ø(*) (z)| ≤ σ [ø(m+k)(0)| |x|″ < alights ||=| ≤ aight mm+kh™ b™ m! m=0 using 1) and 2), we obtain |ø(*)(x)| ≤ a1‚¢h*p(ho)*+¹ mk σ tmbm ≤ ã1,h™ mx,, k≥ j/2, ≈ € i. (29) m=0 in the case k<j/2, x € i we get |0(*)(z)| ≤ a1,øh*p(ho)*+¹ mk σ tm bt ≤ alo(h)* mk σ tmbt. m:m>j/2 m:m>j/2 it follows from the previous inequality and from (29) that there exists a constant h¿, depending only on ø, and for every interval ic r¹ there exists a constant a,, depending on i and o, for which 3=0 p1,p($;) = supmax{ sup_[\¿(*)(x)|(p*mx)¯¹], sup_[|ø(*)(x)|(p*mk)¯¹] ≤ τε! hence, k:k>j/2 k:k≤j/2 -k a1, max sup [hp-*], sup [hp σ tmbm]}. k:k>j/2 k<j/2 m:m>j/2 using (30), we show that for p > he condition (28) is satisfied. this proves lemma 1. let us proceed with the proof of theorem 4. suppose г € ď'({m}). by lemma 1, we get for every $ € ď({mk}) i(ø) = _ **)(0) r(2*) = _ ø(^)(0) k! k=0 k=0 r = σ(−1)* h*(t) ¿(k) με k! k=0 ∞ lk (i) g(k) ($). ·µk(t) = σ(−1)*! * ( k! k=0 (30) (31) 15 and i is a hyperdistribution. to complete the proof of theorem 4 we need only to show that our goal is to prove that fix h > 0 and consider a function oh, given by the following infinite series: ‡n(≈) = † sign(µ;(t)) m;h³z³, ≈ € r¹. j! j=0 if (32) is proved, then σ k=0 \µk(i)\ mμxh* <∞, h>0. k! and (34) gives t(n): = j=0 and theorem 4 will follow from (31) and (33). we have oh € ď({mk}). from conditions 1)-2) we obtain |µ,(t)|m;h³ j! |øn(x)| ≤ ĉ h³ \x\¿m; j=0 j! ∞> m; ≤ c(j!)t;mo, j≥0 |4n(z)| ≤ cmoσh³|z|³t;. j=0 therefore, the series, defining oh, is uniformly convergent on intervals. similarly, the k-times differentiated series, namely zi ik(2) = σ = sign(µ;+k(t))mj+khi+k j=0 is uniformly convergent on intervals. this can be shown as follows. (32) (33) (34) (35) (36) i 16 by conditions 1)-2) and by (36), we get \ik(2)| ≤ h*c*mk σ h³z³tj, j=0 which shows that the series in (36) converges uniformly. hence, 4(*)(x) = ik(x), xɛ r¹. moreover, from (36), (37), and (38) we get -k |0(*) (x)| ≤ ahh* mx, k ≥ 0, x є i denote mk = k*(k), k ≥ 0, where κ(u), u ≥ 0 is a smooth increasing function on [0,∞), for which k'(u) ≤ 1−ɛ,, u > 0 for some ε, 0 < ε < 1. then conditions 1)-2) hold for {mk}· proof. it is clear that (40) implies for every interval i. this shows that on € ɖ({mx}), and hence the proof of theorem 4 is completed. the next lemma allows us to construct examples of sequences {m}, satisfying conditions 1)-2). lemma 2 suppose lim sup 811 k(u) น ≤ 1 − ɛ. m(u) = u*(u), u ≥ 0. (37) (38) (39) (40) (41) (42) 17 then, by (39) and (42), we have m₂ = m(n), n ≥ 0. now suppose where 8 < ε/2 (43) is fixed. then condition 1) with t₂ = t(n), n ≥ 0 is satisfied. as for condition 2), it is easy to see that it follows from the inequality where ≥ 1, μ≥ 1, h > ho, and m is defined in (42). our goal will be to prove (44). by (40), we get т(u) = u-bu, u≥ 0, น m(µλ)¹/¹h" ≤ p(h)\(µ−1)(1−6) (µ − 1)(µ−1)(1−5) m (a)¹/^, it follows from (41) that since (45) and denoting the left-hand side of (45) by §¡(λ,µ) and the right-hand side by §2(λ,µ), we obtain there exists μo, satisfying for which *(aµ) ≤ (1 − e)(µ − 1) — *(1), : d®1 (1,µ) ≤ d $2 (^‚µ). k(u) น lim 848 <1-ε, u≥ uo. (µ − 1) ln(µ − 1) uln houo, (µ − 1) ln(µ − 1) > ln = 1, > 1-v, µ> ho(44) (46) (47) (48) (49) 18 here v is a positive number such that suppose the number v, satisfying (50), always exists, because, by (43), we have then where for h>hi, ≥ 1 we have thus, by (47), (52), and (53), it follows from (51) that ! 1-ε+8 (1-6)(1v). 1-ε+8<1 – 8. μ <h. where p is some positive function. now suppose h“ µ ® 1 (µ,x) <h® (h,x), $(h, λ) = h¹³ + {} { × (¿¹º λ). ah! > uo §(h, λ) ≤ h¹/5 + 1/8h¹. h"µ1 (h,\) ≤p(h), h> h₁, h≤μs. (50) (51) (52) (53) (54) (55) 19 then oh implies μo <μ and since we have by (49), moreover, (50) and (57) give from (54) and (58) we get μο < λμ. (µ − 1)μ−1 = µ µ(1−6) (1−v)µ ≤ (µ − 1)(1−6)(µ−1), now it follows from (55), (48), (56), and (47) that h"µ®1 (μ,x) < µ(6+1−c)µ¸ corollary 1 suppose (4-1)in(μ-1) ا ما then theorem 4 is true for {mx}. " h"µ* (μ₁λ) ≤ (μ1)(1−6)(µ−1)¸ (4,x) (µ − h"µ ® (1,λ) ≤ p(h)(µ − 1)(1-6) (μ-1), h> max(h₁,h). µ> ho. mk = k™k, k≥ 0, 0 < y < 1. now it is sufficient to multiply the inequalities (46) and (59) and remember the definition of §1, §2, and m. it is easy to see that we get (44) as the result. hence, inequality (44) holds and lemma 2 is proved. corollary 1 follows easily from lemma 2 and theorem 4. (56) (57) (58) (59) 20 classes d({m}) and the diffusion group in this section we consider classes d({m}), satisfying the following condition: ln mk lim k 5 818 it is easy to see that if condition (60) holds then lim 814 and the inequality in mx k where {m} is the logarithmic regularization of {m}, defined in (15). the following theorem characterizes classes d({m}), which are invariant with respect to the complex-time diffusion group ∞. ∞ zk u₂¢(x) x € r¹, z ɛ c. =σ = = =10 (24) (2 k=0 theorem 5 let {m} be a sequence, satisfying (60). then the following assertions are equivalent. a) u₂(d({mx})) cd({m}), z e c. b) there exists a positive function p(h), h ≥ 0 such that m2n+mh" <p(h)m+1 "mm, m>0, n ≥ 0, h> họ. η c) there exist two positive functions m and p on [0,∞) such that m(k) = mk, k≥0 holds for all > 1, μ ≥ 1, and h> ho. h“m(µλ)¹¹ ≤ p(h)(µ − 1)am(a)¹ (60) (61) (62) 21 proof. we begin by showing that if there exists a positive function p such that man+mh" <p(h)m+¹n"mm, m≥0, n ≥ 0, h > ho, then assertion a) holds. suppose (63) is true and let € d({m}). then 121k 2 + |ø (2k+j) ( x) | ≤ ash³ k=0 applying (63) with h = 2h2|z|, we get and it follows from (64) and (65) that [u₁6(x)]() = m2k+i h2* |z|* < 2−*p(2h3|z|)i+¹mj. 2k k! σ — + k=0 k=0 121* 2k k! -h2 m2k+j⋅ $(2k+j) (x), (63) (64) (65) [[u₂6(x)](i)| ≤ c₂‚øh²¿mj, z€ c, j≥ 0, which proves that (63) implies a). using cartan-gorny theorem (see theorem 2 in section 3, we conclude that a) follows from b). remark 3 analyzing the previous part ot the proof of theorem 3, we see that condition (63) implies not only the validity of inclusion a), but also the continuity of the operators u,, z> 0 on d({m}). since the topologies of the classes d({m}) and d({m}) coincide (see the proof of cartan-gorny theorem in [8]), the validity of condition b) in theorem 3 implies the continuity of u, on the class d({mx}). 22 the next step consists in proving that a) implies b). appealing again to cartan-gorny theorem, we see that condition a) is equivalent to the condition u₂(d({m})) cd({m}), z e c. therefore, we should prove that b) follows from (66). the sequence {m} is logarithmically convex and hence convex. without loss of generality we may suppose that m increases and that m₁ = 1. it is easy to see that for such {m} there always exists a smooth logarithmically convex increasing function m on [0,∞), for which and m(k) = mk, k≥0 denote lim 818 (68) now consider the following continuous version of the ostrovski function (see section 3) (69) in m(u) น t₁(r) = sup w,(u) = ru m(u)' you m(u)' since v(0) = 1 and equality (68) is true, we have ∞. t > 0. u > 0, r > 1. w,(0) = 1, lim.—∞ w‚(u) = 0. therefore, the continuous function w, attains its maximum on [0,∞). denote (66) p(u) = ln m(u) น since m is logarithmically convex, the function p increases. (67) 23 it is easy to see that the point u。 = u。(r), at which the maximal value of w, is attained, satisfies thus it is clear that where u。(r) = p−¹(lnr). p(u。(t)) = ln r. t₁(r) = go40 (r) m(uo(t))' (71) after these prelimimary considerations we proceed with the proof of the implication a) ⇒ b). suppose (66) holds. define a function by φ(z) = σ σ k=1 differentiating formally, we obtain cos(t(k)x) k² t₁(t(k))' from (67) and (69) it is clear that r > 1. t(k) = ep(k), k ≥ 1. (73) let us show that the series in (72) and all the m-times termwise differentiated series converge absolutely. |ø(m) (x)| ≤ σ k²t₁(7(k))* t(k)m x є r¹, t₁(t(k)) > t(k)n m for every k and n. applying (75) with n = m to (74), we get (70) |ø(m) (x)| ≤ mmσk-², m≥0, k=1 (72) (74) (75) 24 which means that $ € d({m₁}). using (66), we obtain u_h(4) € d({m}), and recalling the definition of the class d({m}), we get k=0 with some positive function p. it is clear that (−h)* $(2k+j) (0)| ≤ chp(h)³m,, j≥0 k! $(2k+m) (0) = 0 for every odd integer m. in the case of the even integer m = 2j we get from (70), (71), and (73) that t(m)2k+2j ø (2k+2;) (0) = (− 1)k+; † t(m) 2k+2; m²t₁(t(m)) σ m=1 it follows from (76) that 242 k= mmt(m) 2k+2j m²τ(m)m =1 =(−1)k+immt (m)²k+2j m²r(m)m m=1 <chp(h)¹³ m₂j. taking into account only the term with m = 2k + 2j in the infinite sum on the left-hand side of (78), we get (76) k=0 (77) h* m2k+2j k! e4k+4j hk m2k+2j chp(h)²; m2; ≥ σk! (2k + 2j)² > (79) k=0 it is seen from (79) that assertion b) follows from (66) in the case of an even integer m. the case of odd m's can be treated similarly with only one difference that we take sines instead of cosines in the definition (72) of the function . we complete the proof of theorem 3 by showing that b) is equivalent to c). (78) the kap 25 let us first prove that b) is equivalent to the existence of positive functions m and p such that and the inequality m(k) = mk, k≥0 m(2€ +v)he ≤ p(h)+¹¤ m(v) where [a] denotes the integer part of a. it follows from (82) that m(2§ +v)h€ ≤ p(h)~+¹§¤ m[v]+1• is true for all ≥ 0, v ≥ 0, and h > họ. it is clear that this assertion implies b). now suppose b) holds. consider the function m, defined above in the previous part of the proof. then inequality (80) holds and, using (80) and (81), we get for h > ho m(2€ + v)h€ ≤ m(2([e] + 1) + [v] + 1)hl€)+¹ ≤ p(h)[~]+²([e] + 1)[€]+¹ m{v}+1 taking n = 1, h = 1 in (61), we obtain (80) show that (81) is equivalent to assertion c). theorem 5 is proved. f (81) (82) mm+2 ≤ cm+¹ mm, m≥0. now it is clear that (81) follows from (83) and (84). therefore, (81) is equivalent to b). taking = kv, 2k + 1 = µ, and v = & µ, and v = λ in (81) and making simple transformations, we (83) (84) 26 remark 4 in the first part of the proof of theorem 5 we showed that condition (63) implies the u,invariance of the class d({m}). moreover, we did not use condition (60) in this part of the proof. if we apply theorem 3, we see that condition (63) for the sequence {m}, satisfying (60), implies the similar condition (61) for the sequence {m}. the inverse assertion does not hold, as it can be easily shown by simple examples. hence, condition (61) is only suffisient but not necessary for the u,-invariance of the class d({m}). corollary 2 suppose mk = k*(k), k ≥ 0, where κ is a smooth increasing function on (0,∞) such that 1. 2. lim sup 818 it follows that k(u) น < 1/2. κ'(u) ≤ 1/2, u ¿ 0. then the class d({m}) is u₂-invariant. proof. it is sufficient to check that inequality (62) with m(u) = u(u) instead of m(u) holds. then (63) will hold and the class d({m}) will be u₂-invariant by remark 4. condition 2) of corollary 2 gives k(hλ) ≤ p − 1 + k(a) 32. d^(μλ)2/x < 14-1+x(a)2/λ¸ (85) 27 from condition 1) we get thus, there exists t> 0 such that there exists fix any such that 2 ≤7. since for which suppose then where k(u)<u/2, u≥ uo. for h> ho, ≥ 1 we have thus, by (86) and (90), 2k(u) น lim 818 +t <1, u≥ u。. (µ − 1) ln(µ − 1) uln ho uo, (µ − 1) ln(µ − 1) > 1 − §, µ> ho. μη μ µ¤ < h. þ(h,d) = h¹/e h" µ*(hd)2/^ <h® (h,a), + = 1, dh¹le > 40. = 1 2 supx(h),v/x {{^(21/6x). ≤1. (86) (87) (88) (89) (90) (91) 28 it follows from (89) and (91) that and where p is some positive function. now suppose then h> implies μ > μo and since §(h, λ) ≤ h¹/ + 1/§h¹/ h"µ^(μx)2/1 ≤p(h), h>ho, we have h σμ. λμ > μο· (µ − 1)μ−¹ (4-1) in(μ-1) in μ = μ (µ − 1)μ-¹ ≥ µ(¹−ε)µ, µ> μo. it follows from (93), (94), (88), and (95) that h^h^(hx)2/^ huμ^(μλ)2/1 < heμta (w+)?/> < µh({+1-7) ≤ μ(1-e)μ < (μ 1)“–¹. < ≤ (µ − from (92) and (96) we get h"µ^(μλ)2/1 ≤ p(h) (µ − 1)μ−¹ (92) (93) (94) (95) (96) (97) for h > max(ho, he). multiplying inequalities (85) and (97), taking the square roots of the products and recalling the definition of the function m in corollary 2, we see that inequality (62) with m 29 instead of m holds for all h > max(ho, µ¶). as we have already mentioned above, this implies the u₂-invariance of the class d({mk}). corollary 2 is established. the next assertion follows from corollary 2. corollary 3 suppose mk = k*, k ≥ 0, where 0 < 1. then the class d({m}) is u₂-invariant. corollary 4 if mk mx = kk/², k ≥ 0, then the class d({m}) is not u₂-invariant. proof. assume d({m₁}) is u₂-invariant. then, by theorem 5, the inequality (80) should be true. we get in this case (2n + m)n+m/2 n! for all h > ho, n ≥ 0, and m ≥ 0. since n">n! and n < 2n +m, we get from (98) (2n + m)m/2h" ≤ p(h)m+1 mm/2. ·h" ≤ p(h)m+¹mm/2 (98) fixing m and allowing n to tend to infinity, we get a contradiction. hence, the class d({m}) is not u-invariant. corollary 4 is proved. the next theorem is analogous to theorem 5. it concerns the u₂-invariance of classes d'({m}). the action of {u₂} on d'({m}) is defined by u.(t)($) = г(u₂()), t€ d'({mk}), ¢ € d({m⭑}). 30 theorem 6 let {m} be a sequence, satisfying (60). then the validity of inclusion u₂(d'({m})) c d'({mk}) is equivalent to condition b) or condition c) in theorem 5. theorem 6 follows easily from theorem 5 and remark 3. 6 summary and conclusions the purpose of the research carried out under this contract is that of develop、 g the "chaos dynamics" approach to the free sheared atmosphere which parallels the successful analysis carried out by ed lorenz on the benard flow (which is a physical model of the troposphere). the basic idea of the chaos dynamical analysis is that of (1) expanding the fluid equations in terms of basis functions suited to the geometry and physics of the problem, (2) truncate the expansion to the "lowest" post-linear terms (quadratic in lorenz' work), (3) deduce an iterative map appropriate to the (strange) attractor given by the truncated postlinear dynamics (the lorenz "mask" in the case of the benard problem), and (4) calculate the critical value of the parameter(s) that correspond to both the onset of instability (this critical value can usually be reached by the linear theory) and, most important, to the onset of chaos, which is interpreted as the onset of turbulence. in the case of the free sheared atmosphere the relevant parameter is the richardson number. its critical values are at the present not understood. the major portion of our calculations have been carried out for the taylordyson atmosphere in which both the pressure and the density decrease exponentially with height above the ground and the horizontal shear is given by a couette flow. this model has been analyzed with fourier analasis which fails to yield unstable ! 31 modes even in the most refined forms.since the standard method fails to give insight into the critical richardson number, we study an alternative that utilizes modes with finite energy from the start. our methodology uses hermite polynomials for the infinite interval (tapered by a gaussian) and laguerre polynomials for the semiinfinite interval (tapered by an exponential). our expansion method also fails to reveal unstable modes, just like the conventional method. a question of fundamental significance that arises is wether the parameter (scale height) that tapers the polynomials requires such fine adjustment that only a very special choice would correspond to the physical conditions envisioned. we have established that this is not the case and we prove this fact below by showing that taking the scale height to arbitrarily small values does not destroy the convergence of the expansion. in fact the analysis given below establishes with mathematical rigor the validity of our expansion method. 7 aknowledgements it is a pleasure to acknowledge deep and fruitful discussions with prof. robert hohlfeld, the great help given in many of the calculations by a. gulisashvili. special thanks are due to dr. robert beland and to peter thomas for introducing us to the problems and for much support. 32 1 8 references 1. j. a. dubinskij, "sobolev spaces of infinte order and differential equations," reidel, dordrecht et al, 1986. 2. i. m. gelfand and g. e. shilov, "generalized functions," academic press, new york, 1964. 3. i. m. gelfand and g. e. shilov, quelques applications de la théorie des fonctions généralisées, j. math. pures et appl. 35 (1956), 383-413. 4. j. hadamard, sur la généralisation de la notion de fonction analytique, bull. de la societe math. fr. 40 (1912), 28. 5. j. hadamard, "lectures on cauchy's problem in linear partial differential equations," dover, new york, 1952. 6. c. konstantopoulos, inverse problems and anti-diffision, ph.d. thesis, boston university, 1992. 7. c. konstantopoulos, l. mittag and g. sandri, deconvolution of gaussian filters and antidiffusion, j. appl. phys., 68 (1990), 1415-1420. 8. p. koosis, "the logarithmic integral," cambridge university press, cambridge, 1988. 9. m. lighthill, "introduction to fourier analysis and generalized functions," cambridge university press, cambridge, 1970. 10. s. mandelbrojt, "séries adhérentes, régularization des suites," applications, gauthiervillars, paris, 1952. 33 11. s. mandelbrojt, "s'eries de fourier et classes quasianalytiques de fonctions," gauthiervillars, paris, 1935. 12. a. p. robertson and w. robertson, "topological vector spaces," cambridge university press, cambridge, 1964. 13. c. roumieu, sur quelques extensions de la rotion de distribution, ann. sci. ec. norm. sup. 77 (1960), 41-121. 14. l. schwartz, "theorie des distributions," hermann et cie., paris, 1951. 34 end filmed 11-93 dtic date: 298 widener library te t hx di78 a al 3525.20 harvard college library christo cademiae harvardianae ל פורד?" from the innovang george b. sohier prize fund "the surplus each year over and above what shall be required for the prize shall be expended for books for the library" the supper abtrost [page 37 suffer 7111 1 the associate hermits ut by firear oh w frank r. stockton author of "the great stone of sardis " with illustrations by a. b. frost ammania exontex διαδωσουσιν μήλοις new york and london harper & brothers publishers 1899 al 3525, 20 solver find by the same author. the great stone of sardis. a novel. illustrated by peter newell. post 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1 50. "the great stone of sardis" is as queer and preposterous as can be imagined, yet as plausible and realseeming as a legal document. there is a treat in the book.-independent, n. y. ... a new and worthy example of stockton's kindly, wholesome, original, and inexhaustible humor. syracuse post. narrated with a seriousness that gives the adventures a semblance of matters of fact. through the narrative runs a love interest which mr. stockton manages with great skill.-washington post. new york and london: harper & brothers, publishers. copyright, 1898, by harper & brothers. all rights reserved. chapter. contents i. the dawn of a wedding-journey ii. enter margery iii. sadler's. iv. a cataract of information v. camp rob vi. camp roy vii. a stranger viii. the bishop's tale. ix. matlack's three troubles • • • x. a ladies' day in camp xi. margery takes the oars. xii. the bishop engages the attention of the • 100 guides xiii. the world goes wrong with mr. raybold 105 xiv. the assertion of individuality. 113 123 135 xv. a net of cobwebs to cage a lion xvi. a man who feels himself a man. xvii. mrs. perkenpine asserts her individuality 143 + xviii. the hermits associate . xix. margery's breakfast. xx. martin asserts his individuality. page i 7 15 23 35 42 52 63 74 82 90 · · • 153 161 . 173 . contents chapter xxi. the individuality of peter sadler xxii. a tranquillizing breeze and a hot wind 194 xxiii. mrs. perkenpine finds out things about tion page € 185 herself xxiv. a dissolving audience xxv. a moonlight interview xxvi. an elopement xxvii. mrs. perkenpine delights the bishop. xxviii. the hermits continue to favor associa· . . 205 212 220 229 239 248 the supper 664 illustrations can this be sadler's?'" they throw the other things back "a lesson in fly-fishing 64 6 "" "but the bishop knew better "with a great heave sent him out into "9 the water 19 "where are all our friends?' "'haven't tried it'". ''if they ain't the camp robbers!'" • 119 "p frontispiece facing p "" 66 44 ::: 66 16 54 so 98 102 150 202 232 the associate hermits chapter i the dawn of a wedding-journey mr. and mrs. hector archibald were prosperous and happy dwellers in a suburb of one of our large towns. fortune had favored them in many ways-in health and in a good average happiness. they had reached early middle age, and their daughter kate, their only child, had grown up to be a beautiful and good young woman, and was on the point of marrying a young lawyer-rodney bringhurst by name-in every way worthy of her. hector archibald was a little man, with small bright eyes, and hair slightly touched with gray and very much inclined to curl. his disposition was lively. he had a strong liking for cheerful occurrences, and was always willing to do his part in the bringing about of such events. novelty had a charm for him. he was not bound by precedence and tradition, and if he had found himself at a dinner which began with coffee and a i the associate hermits ended with oysters on the half-shell, he would have given the unusual meal a most animated consideration, although he might have utterly withheld any subsequent approbation. as a general thing, he revolved in an orbit where one might always be able to find him, were the proper calculations made. but if any one drew a tangent for him, and its direction seemed suitable and interesting, he was perfectly willing to fly off on it. the disposition of mrs. hector archibald was different. she was born to be guided by customs, fashions, and forms. she believed it was the duty of a married woman to make her home happy, and she did it. but she also believed that in the best domestic circles there were rules and usages for domestic happiness which would apply to every domestic condition and contingency. it frequently troubled her, however, to find that certain customs, forms, or usages of domestic society had changed, and being of a conservative turn of mind, it was difficult for her to adapt herself to these changes. but, thoroughly loyal to the idea that what was done by people she loved and people she respected ought also to be done by her, she earnestly strove to fit herself to new conditions, especially when she saw that by not doing so she would be out of touch with her family and her friends. now of course the wedding of their daughter was the only thing in the world that seemed of real importance to mr. and mrs. archibald, and for this all preparations and plans had been agreed upon and made with great good-will and 1 2 dawn of a wedding-journey harmony, excepting one thing, and that was the wedding-trip. strange to say, the young people did not wish to take a wedding-trip. they believed that this old-fashioned custom was unnecessary, troublesome, commonplace, and stupid. in the gardens and grounds of the archibald mansion, and in the beautiful surrounding country, they had loved each other as lovers, and among these scenes they wished to begin to love each other as a married couple. why should such distasteful and unpleasant ingredients as railroad cars, steamboats, and hotels be dashed into the pleasing mixture of their new lives? it had been arranged that for a year or two, at least, they should live in kate's dear old home, and why should they not immediately begin that life there? mr. archibald did not favor this plan, and his wife was strongly opposed to it. a wedding without a wedding-trip ought not to be thought of. "during the honey-moon a young couple should live for each other, with each other, apart from the rest of the world. it is a beautiful custom, which should not be rudely trampled upon," said mrs. archibald. but although mrs. archibald cherished a belief that she ought to conform her ideas to the domestic customs of the day, her daughter kate cherished the belief that the domestic customs of the day ought to conform themselves to her ideas. "of course we should like to be alone in the honey-moon," she exclaimed. "we don't object 3 the associate hermits to that; and if there must be a wedding-journey, you and father can take it and we will stay here. here are servants, books, things to eat, and everything our hearts can desire, and here we would really feel as if we were beginning life as man and wife. as for you two, you both need a vacation, and nothing could be more perfectly appropriate and more delightful to everybody than that you should take our wedding-trip. we don't want it; we will make it a present to you. take it and be happy, and leave us here to be happy. people have done this sort of thing before, so that it is not absolutely wild and unheard of." mr. archibald welcomed this plan with open arms, and hugged it and his daughter to his breast. it suited him admirably, and he declared that all business and engagements of every kind should be set aside, and that he would be ready to start on the wedding-journey with mrs. archibald the moment the ceremony should be completed. "you will wait until the reception is over, father?" said kate, laughing. "yes," said he, "i will wait for that." this novel proposition sent a chill through every fibre of mrs. archibald's physical organism. at first she did not exactly comprehend it, but when she did, the chills increased. when she had recovered herself a little she began to make objections. this was easy enough, for they crowded into her mind like sheep into a pen; but every objection, as she brought it forth, was ruthlessly set aside or crushed to earth by her 4 dawn of a wedding-journey daughter or her husband, assisted by her expectant son-in-law, of whom she declared she never would have believed such a thing had she been told it. the discussion ended, of course, by mrs. archibald agreeing to go on this absurd weddingjourney. but the good lady's mental troubles were not over when she had given her consent. as this scheme had been devised by those dearest to her on earth, and as it was certain, these dearest persons assured her, to meet with the approbation of all people of advanced thought—at least of those whose thought had advanced far enough to make it worthy of their consideration-she felt that in doing her part she ought to do it honestly and with her whole heart; and at her time of life, to act as a proxy for a young bride by taking a wedding-journey in that young bride's place was a very difficult thing for mrs. archibald to do honestly and with her whole heart. but she would try to do it. whatever else happened, her family must be kept happy, and it should never be said of her that she hung like a millstone around the combined neck of that family when it was unitedly climbing towards altitudes of felicity, which, although she was not able to discern them, must exist, since that fact had been so earnestly insisted upon by mr. archibald, kate, and rodney bringhurst. thus was this exceptional hymeneal performance decided upon, and at eleven o'clock on wednesday, the 6th of june, the marriage service was performed. at noon the guests sat down 5 the associate hermits to breakfast, and at two o'clock that afternoon mr. and mrs. hector archibald departed on the wedding-trip, leaving behind mr. and mrs. bringhurst at home with each other, and "not at home" to the world. " 1 * & chapter ii enter margery ar four o'clock on the afternoon of june 6th mr. and mrs. hector archibald arrived at a family hotel in the capital of their state. where they should go from there had not been decided upon. nothing in regard to their wedding-journey had been decided upon except that they were to return to their home on the 6th of july of that year, and not before. it would have been impossible, with their minds filled with bridal arrangements, for them to make plans for their journey. but at this first stopping-place, where they were free from all responsibility and interruptions, they could, at their leisure, decide where they should go, how they should go, and what they should do when they got there. after the unrest and turmoil of their own home during the past few weeks, the quiet and repose of this city hotel were delightful. that evening they went to the theatre, and after the performance they had a little supper at a restaurant. "people may not think we are a newly married pair," said mr. archibald, as he poured out a glass of wine for his wife, "but it is not impossible that they may see we know how to enjoy ourselves quite as much as if we were." 7 the associate hermits the next morning mr. archibald procured a number of railroad maps, time-tables, circulars of steamboat excursions, advertisements of mountain retreats and sea-side resorts, and he and his wife sat down to study these, and to decide upon a destination and a route. after an hour or two of indeterminate examination mr. archibald declared himself a little tired, and proposed that they should take a recess from their labors and go and call upon their old friends, the stanley dearborns. "people on wedding-tours do not make calls," said mrs. archibald, "that may be true," said her husband, "in ordinary cases, and although i do not care to announce to everybody the peculiarities of the expedition which we have undertaken, i do not mind in the least telling the stanley dearborns all about it. stanley himself would not appreciate it; he would consider it absurd; but then he is not at home at this time of day, and mrs. dearborn is just the woman to enjoy a reform movement of this sort. besides, she is full of ideas about everything, and she may propose some good place for us to go to." mrs. dearborn was at home, and very glad to see the archibalds. she was a woman whose soul was in touch with the higher education of women-with female suffrage, the emancipation of the enslaved mind wherever it might be found, and with progress generally. she was a member of many societies, belonged to committees without end, wrote reports and minutes by day and by night, and was one of that ever-increasing class 8 enter margery of good people who continually walk forward in order that their weight may help the world to turn over. in spite of her principles and the advanced position of her thought, mrs. dearborn actually leaned back in her chair and laughed heartily when she learned what sort of a journey the archibalds were taking. in this merriment mr. archibald joined with great glee. "ever since i left home," he said, "i have wanted to have a chance for a good laugh at this trip we are taking. it is the most delightful joke i have ever known." mrs. archibald could not help smiling, but her brow was clouded. "if this expedition is merely a joke,” she said, "i do not think we should have undertaken it; but if it is an earnest assertion of our belief that there should be a change in the customs of society, then i think we should take it seriously, and i see nothing to laugh at." "my dear harriet," said mrs. dearborn, "we can be good and glad at the same time; and that is what i am, i am sure. what you are doing is the initiation of one of the most worthy reforms of the day, and if it should have an effect in breaking up that wretched custom of the bridal tramp, which is considered so necessary in this country, society should rise up and call you blessed. but it is funny, for all that. i am sure that the first woman who dared to go without crinoline was very funny, and when i heard of a hospital for cats i could not help laughing; but i believed in it, and worked for it. and now where are you going?" 9 the associate hermits "that is what we want to talk to you about," said mr. archibald; and for half an hour they talked about it. at the end of that time it was decided that the mountains were better than the sea or than a quiet lowland nook; and mrs. dearborn strongly recommended sadler's, where she and her husband had spent a part of a summer a few years before. "we camped out," said she, "and had a fine. time. you can camp out at sadler's more easily and satisfactorily than anywhere else in the world." camping suited mr. archibald admirably, and, to his surprise, his wife said she might like it very well. "if people are going to laugh at us," she said, "when they find out we are on a wedding-journey -and they will be sure to find it out in some way or other-i think the fewer people we mingle with the better. i do not think i shall like camping altogether, but i know it is healthful, and i suppose i ought to get used to it. it would be dreadfully lonely for just mr. archibald and me, but i suppose we can take some one with us to guide and cook." 66 my dear harriet," said mrs. dearborn, "if you are at sadler's, you can go into any sort of camp you please. i will tell you all about sadler's. sadler is a man of progress. his hotel or inn is on the very edge of the forest country, and away from all the centres of resort. he calls his place the terminal link of public travel in that direction. when you leave him you travel privately in any 10 enter margery way you like. he has established what he has named a bureau of camping, and he furnishes his patrons with any sort of a camp they may desire. if the party is few in number and of a timid disposition, they can have a camp within shouting distance of his house. if they are brave and adventurous, he will send them out into the depths of the forest. if they like water, he locates them by the shores of a lake. if climbing is their passion, he puts them at the foot of a mountain. those who want to hunt can do so, and those who dislike fire-arms are placed in a camp where the popping of guns is never heard. he provides tents, guides, provisions, and even dangers and sensations." "safety is what i want," interrupted mrs. archibald, "and that he furnishes," said the other, "for those who desire it." "sadler is the man for me!" cried mr. archibald. "we will go to him, look over his list of camps, and select one to suit us." "by-the-way," said mrs. dearborn, "a thought has struck me. how would you like to take margery with you?" 66 margery!" exclaimed mr. archibald. "that delightful little girl whom i taught to ride a tricycle when you were visiting us? i would like it ever so much." it struck mrs. archibald that people on bridal trips did not generally take children or young girls with them, but it also struck her that if they were going into camp it might be pleasant and in many ways advantageous to have some one of ii the associate hermits her own sex with her; but she had no time to formulate these advantages in her mind before mrs. dearborn explained in full. "since mr. dearborn and i came home from sadler's," she said, "margery has been perfectly wild to go there, and as soon as the leaves began to bud in the parks she began to talk about it. we saw no possible chance of her going there, for her father is too busy to leave home for any length of time this season, and i cannot go to the mountains this year, for i must visit my sister, who is not well, and there are three summer conventions that i am obliged to attend. but if you could take her with you, i do not believe she would trouble you in the least, and you would give her great pleasure. moreover, to speak practically, which i think we always ought to do, it would not be a bad thing on the score of economy, for things are always proportionately cheaper for three people in a camp than for two." a great many advantages of female companionship now began to creep into mrs. archibald's mind: if her husband should take it into his head to go out and hunt at night by the light of a torch; if there should be thunder-storms, and he away with the guide; if he should want to go off and talk to indians or trappers, and he always did want to go off and talk to people of every classit would be very pleasant to have even margery dearborn with her. so she consented with great good will to her friend's proposition, and mrs. dearborn was much pleased and thankful. "margery is a true creature of impulse," she said; "that is really her predominating charac12 enter margery teristic, and she will want to bound to the ceiling when she hears she is to go to sadler's. she is not at home now, but she will be in very soon. you must take luncheon with us." about a quarter of an hour after that margery dearborn came home. she was very glad indeed to see the archibalds, whom she remembered as the kindest of people; and when she heard they were going to take her to sadler's, she gave a scream of delight and threw herself upon mrs. archibald's neck. "you are an angel," she cried, “an angel of blessedness, my dear aunt harriet! don't you remember, i used to call you that? won't you let me call you so still?" and without waiting for an answer, she rushed to mr. archibald, with outstretched hands. "dear uncle archibald, you are just as good as ever, i see. you know, i wouldn't call you uncle hector, because hectoring meant scolding, which never had anything to do with you. sadler's! oh, when do we start ?" "to-morrow is saturday," replied mr. archibald; "we must get together some things we will need for camp-life, and we can start on monday." 66 when the visitors were left to themselves for a few moments, mr. archibald said to his wife, harriet, i am astounded. this girl, who used to ride bareback and jump over fences, is a young lady now, and a handsome one, too. she is quite a different person from the girl i agreed to take with us." "mr. archibald," said his wife," you never can 13 the associate hermits remember that in this world people of all ages grow older. she was fourteen when she was visiting us, and that was four years ago, so of course she is a young lady." "no," he answered, "i don't feel that i am growing any older, and i don't see that you are, and so i totally forget that proclivity in other people. but what do you think now? can we take this young woman with us to camp? will she not be a dreadful drag?" "my dear," said mrs. archibald, "i much prefer the young lady to the girl. i don't want to be the only woman in camp, and the nearer the other woman is to my age the better." "all right," said mr. archibald; "if you are satisfied, i am; and, if she will agree to it, we will add our ages for the time being, and divide by three, and then we will all stand on a level." chapter iii sadler's it was in the afternoon of monday, the 11th of june, when mr. and mrs. archibald, accompanied by miss margery dearborn, arrived at sadler's, and with feelings of relief alighted from the cramped stage-coach which had brought them eight miles from the railroad station. "can this be sadler's?" said mr. archibald, in a tone of surprise. "of course it must be," said his wife, “since they brought us here." "it certainly is the place," said margery, "for there is the name over that door." 66 how do you feel about it?" said mr. archibald to his wife. "i feel very well about it," said she. "why shouldn't i?" "how do you feel about it?" he asked of the younger lady. "well,” she answered, “i don't exactly understand it. i had visions of forests and wilds and tumbling mountain streams and a general air of primevalism, and i am surprised to see this fine hotel with piazzas, and croquet-grounds, and tennis-courts, and gravelled walks, and babies in their carriages, and elderly ladies carrying sun-shades." 15 the associate hermits 66 but it seems to me that there is a forest behind it," said mr. archibald. "yes," replied margery, a little dolefully, "it has that to back it up." "don't let us stand here at the bottom of the steps talking," said mrs. archibald. "i must say i am very agreeably surprised." in the wide hall which ran through the middle of the hotel, and not far from the clerk's desk, there sat a large, handsome man, a little past middle age, who, in a hearty voice, greeted the visitors as they entered, but without rising from his chair. this was peter sadler, the owner of the hotel, the legal owner of a great deal of the neighboring country, and the actual ruler of more of said country than could be easily marked out upon a map or stated in surveyors' terms. in fact, peter sadler, was king of that portion of the vast district of mountain and forest which could be reached in a day's journey in any direction. if he had wished to extend his domain to points at a greater distance than this he would have done so, but so far he was satisfied with the rights he had asserted. he ruled supreme in that region because he had lived longer in the vicinity than any other white man, because he had a powerful will which did not brook opposition, and because there was no one to oppose him. on the arable land which lay outside of the forest, and which really belonged to him, there were the houses of the men who farmed his fields, and on the outskirts of the woods were scattered here and there the cabins of the hunt1 1 | 1 1 t 16 "can this be sadler's?'" sadler's ers and guides he employed, and these men knew no law but his will. of course the laws of the state covered the district, but such promulgation and enforcement of these as he might consider necessary were generally left to peter sadler, and as to his own laws, he was always there to see that these were observed. his guests submitted themselves to his will, or they left his hotel very soon. to people of discernment and judgment it was not difficult to submit to the will of this full-bearded, broadchested man, who knew so much better than they did what they ought to do if they wanted to get all the good out of sadler's which they were capable of assimilating. this man, who sat all day in a big rolling-chair, and who knew everything that was going on in the hotel, the farm, and the forest about him, had been a hunter and a guide in his youth, an indian-fighter in later years, and when he had been wounded in both legs, so that it was impossible for him ever to walk again, he came back to the scenes of his youth and established an inn for sportsmen a poor little house at first, which grew and grew and grew, until it was the large, well-kept hotel so widely known by his name. after dinner, at which meal they were waited upon by women, and not by men in evening-dress as margery had begun to fear, mr. archibald sought peter sadler and made known to him the surprise of his party at finding themselves in this fine hotel. 66 ――――――――______ what did you expect?" asked peter, eying him from head to foot. h b 17 the associate hermits (6 "from what we had heard," replied the other, we supposed we should find some sort of a preparatory camping ground in the woods, from which we could go out and have a camp of our own." "that's just what you have found," said sadler. "in this house you prepare to camp, if you need preparation. if any man, woman, or child comes here and wants to go out to camp, and i see that they are sickly or weak or in any way not fit to live in the woods, i don't let them go one step until they are fit for it. the air and the food and the water they get here will make them fit, if anything will do it, and if these three things don't set them up they simply have to go back where they came from. they can't go into camp from this house. but if they fancy this hotel and there isn't any reason why anybody shouldn't fancy it-they can stay here as long as they like, and i'll take care of them. now, sir, if you want to go into camp, the first thing for you to do is to bring your family here and let me take a look at them. i've seen them, of course, but i haven't made up my mind yet whether they are the right sort for camp life. as for you, i think you will do. there isn't much of you, but you look tough." mr. archibald laughed. "that's good rough talk," he said, “and smacks more of camp life than anything i have noticed here. i will go and bring my wife and miss dearborn." "there is another reason why i want to see them," said the bluff peter. "as you are bent on camping, you'll like to choose a camp, and when 18 sadler's anything of that kind is on hand i want to talk to the whole party. i don't care to settle the business with one of them, and then have him come back and say that what has been agreed upon don't suit the others. i want a full meeting or no session." when mr. archibald returned with his wife and margery, he found peter sadler had rolled his chair up to a large circular table at the back of the hall, on which was spread a map of the forest. he greeted the ladies in a loud voice and with a cheery smile. 66 "and so you want to go camping, do you?" said he. sit down and let us talk it over. i think the young lady is all right. she looks spry enough, and i expect she could eat pine-cones like a squirrel if she was hungry and had nothing else. as for you, madam, you don't appear as if anything in particular was the matter with you, and i should think you could stand a number three camp well enough, and be all the better for a week or two of it." 66 what is a number three camp?" asked margery, before the astonished mrs. archibald could speak. "well," said sadler, "it is a camp with a good deal of comfort in it. our number one camps are pretty rough. they are for hunters and scientific people. we give them game enough in season, and some bare places where they can make fires and stretch a bit of canvas. that is all they want, to have a truly good time. that is the best camp of all, i think. number two camps are generally for fishermen. they always 19 the associate hermits want a chance for pretty good living when they are out in the woods. they stay in camp in the evenings, and like to sit around and have a good time. number threes are the best camps we put families into, so you see, madam, i'm rating you pretty high. there's always a log-cabin in these camps, with cots and straw mattresses and plenty of traps for cooking. and, more than that, there is a chance for people who don't tramp or fish to do things, such as walking or boating, according to circumstances. there's one of our camps has a croquet-ground." "oh, we don't want that!" cried margery, "it would simply ruin every illusion that is left to me." "glad to hear that,” said peter. “if you want to play croquet, stay at the hotel; that's what i say. now, then, here are the camps, and there's plenty of them to choose from. you've come in a good time, for the season isn't fairly begun yet. next month every camp will be full, with the hotel crowded with people waiting for their turns." "what we want," said margery, rising and looking over the map, "is the wildest number three you have." "oh, ho!" said peter. "not so fast, miss; perhaps we'll wait and see what this lady has to say first. if i'm not mistaken, madam, i think you're inclined the other way, and i don't put people into camps that they will be wanting to leave after the first rainy day. now let me show you what i've got. here is one, four hours' walk, horses for women, with a rocky stream through the middle of it." 20 sadler's "that is grand!" cried margery. "is it really in the woods?" "now let me do the talking," said peter. "they are all in the woods; we don't make camps in pasture-fields. even the number sevens, where the meals are sent to the campers from the hotel, and they have bath-tubs, are in the woods. now here is another one, about three miles west from the one i just showed you, but the same distance from here. this, you see, is on the shore of a lake, with fishing, boating, and bathing, if you can stand cold water." "glorious!" cried margery. "that is exactly what we want. a lake will be simply heavenly!" "everything seems to suit you, miss," said peter, "just as soon as you hear of it. but suppose we consider more of them before you choose. some two miles north of here, in the thickest of the forest, in a clearing that i made, there is a small camp that strikes the fancy of some people. there is a little stream there and it has fish in it too, and it runs through one corner of the log-cabin, so there are seven or eight feet of the stream inside the house, and on rainy days. you can sit there and fish; and some people like to go to sleep with the running water gurgling close to them where they can hear it when they are in bed. then there's an owl to this camp. the men heard him there when they were making the clearing, and he's never left the spot. some people who were out there said they never felt as much away from the world as they did listening to that little stream gurgling and that owl hooting." 21 the associate hermits "i believe," exclaimed margery, "that in a place like that i could write poetry!" 66 it would give me the rheumatism and the blues," said mrs. archibald, upon which peter sadler exclaimed, 66 that settles that. now then, here is another." several other camps were considered, but it was the general conclusion that the one by the lake was the most desirable. it had a good cabin with three rooms, with plenty of open space, near by, for the tents of the guides; there was a boat which belonged to the camp, and in every way it seemed so suitable that mr. archibald secured it. he thought the price was rather high, but as it included guides, provisions, fishing-tackle, and in fact everything needed, he considered that although it might cost as much as lodgings in a city hotel, they would get more good out of it. "has this camp any name?" asked the enthusiastic margery, in the course of the conference. "that's about your twenty-seventh question, miss," said peter, "but it's one i can answer. yes, it's got a name. it's called camp rob." oh!" ejaculated margery, in a disappointed what a name !" 66 66 "yes," said peter, "it isn't much of a name. the first people who went out there named it that, and it stuck to it, and it's all it's got. camps are like horseswe've got to tell them apart, and so we give them names, and that's camp rob." tone. "" ――――― chapter iv a cataract of information } peter sadler would have been glad to have the archibald party stay at his hotel for a few days, and mrs. archibald would have been perfectly satisfied to remain there until they were ready to return to their own house, but her husband and margery were impatient to be in the woods, and it was therefore decided to start for the camp the next day. peter sadler was a man of system, and his arrangements were made promptly and rapidly. "you've got to have a guide," said he, “and another man to help him, and i think i'll give you phil matlack. phil is an old hand at the business, and if you don't know what you want, he'll tell you. if you are in phil's hands, you needn't be afraid anything will happen to you. whatever you want, ask him for it, and ten to one he'll have it, whether it's information or fishhooks. i tell you again, you're lucky to be here. early and get the best of everything. camp rob with phil matlack will stand at a premium in three or four weeks from now." that evening after supper mr. archibald lighted a cigar and went out into the grounds in front of the hotel, where he was presently joined by his wife. 23 the associate hermits "where is margery?" asked he. she is in her room," replied mrs. archibald, “but she called to me that she would be down directly." in about ten minutes down came margery and floated out upon the lawn. she was dressed in white, with flowers in her hair, and she was more charming, mr. archibald said, as she approached, than even the sunset sky. "you should not speak in that way of works of nature," said his wife. "isn't she a work of nature?" he asked. "" 66 not altogether," was the wise reply. "why did you dress yourself in that fashion?" she asked margery. "i did not suppose you would bring such a fine gown, as we started out to go into camp. and even in this hotel a travelling-suit is good enough for any one." "oh, i tucked this into one of my bags," replied margery. "i always like to have something nice. to fall back upon. don't you want to take a little stroll, aunt harriet ?" mr. archibald leaned back in his garden-chair and slowly puffed his cigar, and as he puffed he took his eyes from the sunset sky and watched his wife and margery. a little beyond them, as they walked, sat two elderly ladies on a bench, wearing shawls, and near by stood a girl in a short dress, with no hat on, and a long plait down her back. a little farther on was a tennis-court, and four people, apparently young, were playing tennis. there were two men, and neither of them wore a tennissuit. one was attired as a bicyclist, and the other 24 a cataract of information wore ordinary summer clothes. the young women were dressed in dark blue flannel and little round hats, which suggested to mr. archibald the deck of a yacht. near the hotel was an elderly gentleman walking up and down by himself, and on the piazza were the rest of the guests he had seen at the table; not very many of them, for it was early in the season. mr. archibald now turned his eyes again to the sky. it was still beautiful, although its colors were fading, and after a time he looked back towards his wife. she was now talking to the two elderly ladies on the bench, and margery was engaged in conversation with the girl with the plait down her back. 66 when i finish my cigar," thought mr. archibald, "i will go myself and take a stroll." and it struck him that he might talk to the old gentleman, who was still walking up and down in front of the hotel. after contemplating the tops of some forest trees against the greenish-yellow of the middle sky, he turned his eyes again towards his wife, and found that the two elderly ladies had made room for her on the bench, that the tennis-game had ceased, and that one of the girls in blue flannel had joined this group and was talking to margery. in a few moments all the ladies on the bench rose, and mrs. archibald and one of them walked slowly towards an opening in the woods. the other lady followed with the little girl, and margery and the young woman in blue walked in the same direction, but not in company with the rest 25 the associate hermits of the party. the two young men, with the other tennis-player between them, walked over from the tennis-court and joined the first group, and they all stopped just as they reached the woods. there they stood and began talking to each other, after which one of the young men and the young woman approached a large tree, and he poked with a stick into what was probably a hole near its roots, and mr. archibald supposed that the discussion concerned a snake-hole or a hornets' nest. then margery and the other young woman came up, and they looked at the hole. now the whole company walked into the woods and disappeared. in about ten minutes mr. archibald finished his cigar and was thinking of following his wife and margery, when the two elderly ladies and mrs. archibald came out into the open and walked towards the hotel. then came the little girl, running very fast as she passed the tree with the hole near its roots. in a few minutes mrs. archibald stopped and looked back towards the woods; then she walked a little way in that direction, leaving her companions to go to the hotel. now the young man in the bicycle suit emerged from the woods, with a girl in dark-blue flannel on each side of him. "upon my word!" exclaimed mr. archibald, and rising to his feet, advanced towards his wife; but before he reached her, margery emerged from the wood road, escorted by the young man in the summer suit. "upon my word," mr. archibald remarked, this time to his wife, "that ward of ours is not given to wasting time." 26 a cataract of information "it seems so, truly," said she, "and i think her mother was right when she called her a creature of impulse. let us wait here until they come up. we must all go in; it is getting chilly." in a few minutes margery and the young man had reached them. "thank you very much," said this creature of impulse to her escort. "my uncle and aunt will take care of me now. aunt harriet and uncle archibald, this is mr. clyde. he saw a great snake go into a hole over there just before supper-time, and i think we ought all to be very careful how we pass that way.” "i don't think there is very much danger after nightfall," said mr. clyde, who was a pleasant youth with brown hair, "and to-morrow i'll see if i can kill him. it's a bad place for a snake to have a hole, just where ladies would be apt to take their walks." "i don't think the snake will trouble us much," said mrs. archibald, "for we leave to-morrow. still, it would be a good thing to kill it." after this there were a few remarks made about snakes, and then mr. clyde bade them good-evening. how in the world, margery," said mrs. archibald, "did you get acquainted so quickly with that young man—and who is he?" "oh, it all happened quite naturally," said she. "as we turned to go out of the woods he was the gentleman nearest to me, and so of course he came with me. those two girls are sisters, and their name is dodworth. they introduced mr. clyde and the other gentleman, mr. raybold, to 66 27 the associate hermits me. but that was after you had been talking to mrs. dodworth, their mother, who is mr. raybold's aunt. the other lady, with the shawl on, is mrs. henderson, and-would you believe it?she's grandmother to that girl in the short dress! she doesn't begin to look old enough. the dodworths don't go into camp at all, but expect to stay here for two weeks longer, and then they go to the sea-shore. mrs. henderson leaves day after to-morrow. "mr. clyde and his friend live in boston. they are both just beginning to practise law, though mr. clyde says that mr. raybold would rather be an actor, but his family objects. the old gentleman who is walking up and down in front of the hotel has heart-disease, some people say-but that is not certain. he stayed here all last summer, and perhaps he will this year. in two weeks hardly any of the people now in this hotel will be here. one family is going into camp when the father and two sons come on to join them, and the rest are going to the sea-shore, except one lady. you may have noticed her— the one with a dark-purple dress and a little purple cap. she's a school-teacher, and she will spend the rest of the summer with her sister in pennsylvania. "that man phil matlack, who is going with us to-morrow, is quite a character, and i expect i shall like him awfully. they say that about five years ago he killed a man who made an attack on him in the woods, but he was never tried for it, nor was anything whatever done to him, because mr. sadler said he was right, and he would not have 28 a cataract of information any nonsense about it. there are people about here who believe that phil matlack would fight a bear single-handed if it happened to be necessary. mr. sadler would do it himself if he could walk. nobody knows how many men he killed when he was fighting indians; and, would you believe it? his wife is a plain, little, quiet woman, who lives in some part of the hotel where nobody ever sees her, because she is rather bashful and dislikes company. "the other person who is going with us is not very much more than a boy, though they say he is very strong and a good hunter. his name is martin sanders, and i forgot to say that the old gentleman with the heart-disease is named parker. "it's generally thought that phil matlack would rather have some one else than martin sanders to go with him, because he says martin knows too much. the fact is that martin is well educated, and could have gone into some good business, but he was so fond of the woods that he gave up everything to come out here and learn guiding. you know we were told that our camp in the woods has three rooms in it? well, it really has four, for there was an artist there last year who built a little room for a studio for rainy days. i expect mr. sadler forgot that, or didn't think it worth counting. there are no snakes at all where we are going to camp, but two miles farther on there are lots of them." "over the brink of niagara," interjected mr. archibald, "they say eighteen million cubic feet of water pour every minute. where on earth, 29 the associate hermits margery, did you fill your mind with all that information ?" "i got it from those two dodworth girls and mr. clyde," said she. "mr. raybold told me some things, too, but mostly about his bicycle. he feels badly about it, because he brought it here, and now he finds there is no place to use it. i should think he ought to have known that the primeval forest isn't any place for a bicycle." "mr. archibald," said mrs. archibald, when they had retired to their room, “i did not agree with you when you wished we could have started for camp to-day, but now i am quite of your mind.” tuesday was fine, and preparations were made for the archibald party to start for their camp after an early luncheon. the bluff and hearty peter took such an interest in everything that was being done for their comfort, giving special heed to all the possible requirements of mrs. archibald, that the heart of mr. archibald was touched. "i wish," said he to his good-natured host, "that you were going with us. i do not know any one i would rather camp with than you." "if i could do it," replied peter, "i'd like it ever so well. so far as i have been able to make you out, you are the sort of a man i'd be willing to run a camp for. what i like about you is that you haven't any mind of your own. there is nothing i hate worse than to run against a man with a mind of his own. of course there have to be such fellows, but let them keep away from me. there is no room here for more than one mind, and i have pre-empted the whole section." 30 a cataract of information mr. archibald laughed. "your opinion of me does not sound very complimentary," he said. "it is complimentary!" roared peter sadler, striking the table with his fist. "why, i tell you, sir, i couldn't say anything more commendable of you if i tried! it shows that you are a man of common-sense, and that's pretty high praise. everything i've told you to do you've done. everything i've proposed you've agreed to. you see for yourself that i know what is better for you and your party than you do, and you stand up like a man and say so. yes, sir; if a rollingchair wasn't as bad for the woods as the bicycle that boston chap brought down here, i'd go along with you." mr. archibald had a very sharp sense of the humorous, and in his enjoyment of a comical situation he liked company. his heart was stirred to put his expedition in its true light before this man who was so honest and plain-spoken. mr. sadler," said he, "if you will take it as a piece of confidential information, and not intended for the general ear, i will tell you what sort of a holiday my wife and i are taking. we are on a weddingjourney." and then he told the story of the proxy bridal tour. peter sadler threw himself back in his chair and laughed with such great roars that two hunting-dogs, who were asleep in the hall, sprang to their feet and dashed out of the back door, their tails between their legs. 66 "by the lord harry!" cried peter sadler, you and your wife are a pair of giants. i don't say anything about that young woman, for i 66 31 the associate hermits don't believe it would have made any difference to her whether you were on a wedding-trip or travelling into the woods to bury a child. i tell you, sir, you mayn't have a mind that can give out much, but you've got a mind that can take in the biggest kind of thing, and that is what i call grand. it is the difference between a canyon and a mountain. there are lots of good mountains in this world, and mighty few good canyons. tom, you tom, come here!" in answer to the loud call a boy came running up. "go into my room," said peter sadler, "and bring out a barrel bottle, large size, and one of the stone jars with a red seal on it. now, sir," said he to mr. archibald, "i am going to give you a bottle of the very best whiskey that ever a human being took into the woods, and a jar of smoking-tobacco a great deal too good for any king on any throne. they belong to my private stock, and i am proud to make them a present to a man who will take a wedding-trip to save his grown-up daughter the trouble. as for your wife, there'll be a basket that will go to her with my compliments, that will show her what i think of her. by-the-way, sir, have you met phil matlack ?" "no. i have not!" exclaimed mr. archibald, with animation. "i have heard something about him, and before we start i should like to see the man who is going to take charge of us in camp.” “well, there he is, just passing the back door. hello, phil! come in here." when the eminent guide, phil matlack, entered t i ปี 32 a cataract of information the hall, mr. archibald looked at him with some surprise, for he was not the conventional tall, gaunt, wiry, keen-eyed backwoodsman who had naturally appeared to his mental vision. this man was of medium height, a little round-shouldered, dressed in a gray shirt, faded brown trousers very baggy at the knees, a pair of conspicuous blue woollen socks, and slippers made of carpet. his short beard and his hair were touched with gray, and he wore a small jockey cap. with the exception of his eyes, mr. matlack's facial features were large, and the expression upon them was that of a mild and generally good-natured tolerance of the world and all that is in it. it may be stated that this expression, combined with his manner, indicated also a desire on his part that the world and all that is in it should tolerate him. mr. archibald's first impressions of the man did not formulate themselves in these terms; he simply thought that the guide was a slipshod sort of a fellow. "phil," said mr. sadler, "here is the gentleman you are going to take into camp." 66 glad to see him," said matlack; "hope he'll like it." "and i want to say to you, phil," continued sadler," right before him, that he is a first-class man for you to have in charge. i don't believe you ever had a better one. he's a city man, and it's my opinion he don't know one thing about hunting, fishing, making a camp-fire, or even digging bait. i don't suppose he ever spent a night outside of a house, and doesn't know any more about the weather than he does about planting cabс 33 the associate hermits bages. he's just clean, bright, and empty, like a new peach-basket. what you tell him he'll know, and what you ask him to do he'll do, and if you want a better man than that to take into camp, you want too much. that's all i've got to say." matlack looked at peter sadler and then at mr. archibald, who was leaning back in his chair, his bright eyes twinkling. "how did you find out all that about him?" he asked. "humph!" exclaimed peter sadler. "don't you suppose i can read a man's character when i've had a good chance at him? now how about the stores have they all gone on?" "they were sent out early this mornin'," said matlack, "and we can start as soon as the folks are ready." chapter v camp rob it was early in the afternoon when the archibald party took up the line of march for camp rob. the two ladies, supplied by mrs. sadler with coarse riding-skirts, sat each upon a farmhorse, and mr. archibald held the bridle of the one that carried his wife. matlack and martin sanders, the young man who was to assist him, led the way, while a led horse, loaded with the personal baggage of the travellers, brought up the rear. their way wound through a forest over a wood road, very rough and barely wide enough for the passage of a cart. the road was solemn and still, except where, here and there, an open space allowed the sunlight to play upon a few scattered wild flowers and brighten the sombre tints of the undergrowth. after a ride which seemed a long one to the ladies, who wished they had attired themselves in walking-costume, the road and the forest suddenly came to an end, and before them stretched out the waters of a small lake. camp rob was not far from the head of the lake, and for some distance above and below the forest stood back from the water's edge. in the shade of a great oak35 the associate hermits tree there stood a small log-house, rude enough to look at, but moderately comfortable within, and from this house to the shore a wide space was cleared of bushes and undergrowth. the lake was narrow in proportion to its length, which was about two miles, and on the other side the forest looked like a solid wall of green reflected in the water beneath. even mrs. archibald, whose aching back began to have an effect upon her disposition, was delighted with the beauty of the scene, which delight endured until she had descended from her horse and entered the log-cabin in which she was to dwell for a time. it is not necessary to describe the house, nor is it necessary to dive into the depths of mrs. archibald's mind as she gazed about her, passing silently from room to room of the little house. she was a good woman, and she had made up her mind that she would not be a millstone around the necks of her companions. many people have been happy in camps, and, indeed, camp-life has become one of the features of our higher civilization, and this, from what she had heard, must be a camp above the common. so, think what she might, she determined to make no open complaint. if it were possible for her to be happy here, she would be happy. as for margery, no determination was needed in her case. everything was better than she had expected to find it. the cabin, with the bark on almost everything, even the furniture, was just what a house the woods ought to be; and when she entered the little studio, which was i 36 camp rob nearer allied to the original forest than any other part of the house, she declared that that must be her room, and that living there she would feel almost like a dryad in an oak. "you've camped out before?" said phil matlack to mr. archibald, as he was taking a survey of the scene. "oh yes," said the other, "i've been out a few days at a time with fishing-parties, but we never had such a fine camp as this-so well located and such good accommodations." "you are a fisherman, then?" said the guide. "yes. i am very fond of it. i've fished ever since i was a boy, and know a good deal about bait, in spite of what mr. sadler said." "i had an idea of that sort," remarked phil, "but it ain't no use to contradict peter. it helps keep up his spirits for him to think he can read. the characters of people just as quick as he can aim a rifle. and it's a mighty important thing to keep peter's spirits up. if peter's spirits was to go down, things round here would flatten out worse than a rotten punkin when it's dropped." it did not take long to establish the new-comers in their woodland quarters. the tent for the two men, which had arrived in the morning, was pitched not far from the cabin, and then matlack and martin went to work to prepare supper. the dining-room in pleasant weather was the small space in front of the house, where there was a table made of a wide board supported by stakes, with a low and narrow board on each side, also resting on stakes, and forming seats. the supper was a better one and better served 37 the associate hermits than any of the party had expected. the camp outfit included table-cloths, and even napkins. "to-morrow," said matlack, as he brought a dish of hot and savory broiled ham, "after mr. archibald gets to work, we'll have some fish." mrs. archibald had been a little fearful that under these primitive conditions the two men might expect to sit at the table with them, but she need have had no such fears. matlack and martin cooked and waited with a skill and deftness which would have surprised any one who did not reflect that this was as much their business as hunting or woodcraft. after supper a camp-fire was built at a safe distance from the house, for although the evening air was but slightly cool, a camp without a campfire would not be a camp. the party ranged themselves around it, mrs. archibald on a rug brought from the cabin, and her husband and margery on the ground. mr. archibald lighted his pipe, the fire lighted the trees and the lake, and joy inexpressible lighted the heart of margery. "if i could smoke a pipe," said she, "and get mr. matlack to come here and tell me how he killed a man, i should be perfectly happy." that night mrs. archibald lay awake on her straw mattress. absolute darkness was about her, but through the open window she could see, over the tops of the trees on the other side of the lake, one little star. "if i could get any comfort out of that little star," thought the good lady, "i would do it; but i can't do it, and there is nothing else to comfort me." 38 camp rob on the other side of the room, on another straw mattress, she could hear her husband breathing steadily. then, upon the bare boards of the floor, which were but a few inches below her little cotbed, she thought she heard the patter of small feet. a squirrel, perhaps, or, horrible to think of, it might be a rat. she was sure rats would eat straw beds, and her first impulse was to wake mr. archibald; but she hesitated, he was sleeping so soundly. still she listened, and now she became almost certain that what she heard was not the patter of small feet; it sounded more like something soft which was dragging itself over the floor-possibly a snake. this idea was simply wful, and she sat up in bed. still she did not call mr. archibald, for should he suddenly spring on the floor, he would be in more danger from the snake than she was. she listened and she listened, but she heard nothing more, and then her reason began to assure her that a snake's movements on a bare floor would be absolutely noiseless; but in a moment all thoughts of serpents were driven from her head. outside of the cabin she heard a sound that could be nothing less than the footsteps of some living creature-a wild beast, perhaps a panther. the door was shut and fastened, but the window was open. to call mr. archibald and tell him a wild beast was walking outside the house would be positively wicked. half-awakened, he would probably rush out of the door to see what it was. what could she do? for an instant she thought of lighting a candle and standing it in the window. she knew that wild 39 the associate hermits beasts were afraid of fire, and she did not believe that even a panther would dare jump over a lighted candle. but if she struck a match and got up, she would waken her husband; and, besides, if the wind, of which she could feel a puff every now and then, did not blow out the candle, it might blow it over and set fire to the cabin. she heard the footsteps no more, and lay down again, but not to sleep. the wind seemed to be rising, and made a wild, unearthly sound as it surged through the trees which surrounded and imprisoned her, and shut her out from the world. in which she was born and in which she ought to live. there was a far-away sound which came to her ears once, twice, thrice, and which might have been the call of some ghostly bird or the war-whoop of an indian. at last she drew the covering over her head, determined that, so long as she could not see, she would not hear. "a wedding-journey!" she said to herself, and the idea, coupled with the sense of her present grewsome and doleful condition, was so truly absurd and ridiculous that she could not restrain a melancholy laugh. “what is the matter, my dear?" exclaimed mr. archibald, suddenly turning over in his bed. "are you choking? is the room too close? shall i open the door?" 66 no, indeed," she said, "for that was a laugh you heard. i couldn't help laughing at the thought that there should be two such idiots in the world as you and myself." "it is idiotic, isn't it?" said mr. archibald. “it is gloriously idiotic, and it will do us both a world 40 --camp rob of good. it is such a complete and perfect change that i don't wonder you laugh." then he laughed himself, clearly and loudly, and turned over on his side and went to sleep. mrs. archibald felt certain that she would not sleep another wink that night, but she did sleep seven hours and a half, and was awakened by margery singing outside her window. chapter vi camp roy no thoughts of idiocy crossed the minds of any of the camping party during their first breakfast under the great oak-tree. the air, the sunlight, the rippling waters of the lake, the white clouds in the blue sky, the great trunks of the trees, the rustling of the leaves, the songs of the birds, the hum of insects, the brightness of everything, their wonderful appetites-the sense of all these things more than filled their minds. for the greater part of that day mr. archibald fished, sometimes in a stream which ran into the head of the lake about a quarter of a mile above the camp, and sometimes on the shores of the lake itself. margery sketched; her night in the studio had filled her with dreams of art, and she had discovered in a corner a portable easel made of hickory sticks with the bark on, and she had tucked some drawing materials into one of her bags. mrs. archibald was a little tired with her journey of the day before, and contented herself with sitting in the shade in pleasant places, occupied with some needle-work she had brought with her, and trying to discipline her mind to habits of happiness in camp. this was not very difficult during the first part of this beautiful day, 42 camp roy but towards the end of the afternoon she began to think less of the joys of a free life in the heart of nature and more of the pleasure of putting on her bonnet and going out to make some calls upon her friends. in this state of mind it pleased her to see phil matlack coming towards her. 66 "would you like a cup of tea, ma'am ?" said he. 'no, thank you," she answered. "it would seem rather odd to have afternoon tea in the woods, and i really don't care for it." “we can have 'most anything in the woods, ma'am," said matlack, "that we can have anywhere else, providin' you don't mind what sort of fashion you have it in. i thought it might be sort of comfortin' to you to have a cup of tea. i've noticed that in most campin' parties of the family order there's generally one or two of them that's lonesome the first day; and the fact is i don't count on anything particular bein' done on the first day in camp, except when the party is regular hunters or fishermen. it's just as well for some of them to sit round on the first day and let things soak into them, provided it isn't rain, and the next day they will have a more natural feelin' about what they really want to do. now i expect you will be off on some sort of a tramp to-morrow, ma'am, or else be out in the boat; and as for that young lady, she's not goin' to sketch. no more after to-day. she's got young martin out in the boat, restin' on his oars, while she's puttin' him into her picture. she's rubbed him out so often that i expect he'll fall asleep and tumble overboard, or else drop one of his oars." "mr. matlack," said mrs. archibald, "will you 43 the associate hermits please sit down a moment? i want to ask you something." "certainly, ma'am," said he, and forthwith seated himself on a log near by, picking up a stick as he did so, and beginning to shave the bark from it with his pocket-knife. "do you know," said she, "if there are panthers in these woods?" matlack looked up at her quickly. "i expect you heard them walkin' about your cabin last night," said he; "and not only panthers, but most likely a bear or two, and snakes rustlin' in the leaves; and, for all i know, coons or 'possums climbin' in and out of the window." "oh, nothing so bad as that," she replied. “i only thought-" 66 excuse me, ma'am," he interrupted. "i didn't mean that you heard all those things, but most likely a part of them. hardly any family parties goes into camp that some of them don't hear wild beasts the first night. but they never come no more. them kind of wild beasts i call first-nighters, and they're about the worst kind we've got, because they really do hurt people by scratchin' and clawin' at their nerves, whereas the real wild beasts in these parts-and they're mighty scarce, and never come near camp-don't hurt nobody." "i am glad to hear it," said she. "but what on earth can be keeping mr. archibald? when he started out after dinner he said he would be back very soon." "oh, he's got the fever, ma'am," said matlack. "fever!" exclaimed mrs. archibald, dropping her work in her lap. 44 camp roy "oh, don't be frightened," said he; "it is only the fishin' fever. it don't hurt anybody; it only keeps the meals waitin'. you see, we are pretty nigh the first people out this year, and the fish bite lively. are you fond of fishin', ma'am?" "no, indeed," said she; "i dislike it. i think it is cruel and slimy and generally unpleasant." "i expect you'll spend most of your time in the boat," suggested matlack. "your husband rows, don't he?" "he doesn't row me," said mrs. archibald, with earnestness. "i never go out in a boat except with a regular boatman. i suppose you have a larger boat than the one that young man is in? i can see it from here, and it looks very small." "no, ma'am," said matlack; "that's the only one we've got. and now i guess i'll go see about supper. this has been a lazy day for us, but we always do calc'late on a lazy day to begin with." "it strikes me," said matlack to himself, as he walked away, "that this here camp will come to an end pretty soon. the man and the young woman could stand it for a couple of weeks, but there's nothing here for the old lady, and it can't be long before she'll have us all out of the woods again." 66 'you can come in," called margery, about ten minutes after this conversation; and young martin, who had not the least idea of going to sleep in the boat, dipped his oars in the water and rowed ashore, pulled the boat up on the beach, and then advanced to the spot where 45 the associate hermits margery was preparing to put away her drawing materials, "would you mind letting me see your sketch?" said he. "oh no," said she; "but you'll see it isn't very much like the scene itself. when i make a drawing from nature i never copy everything i see just as if i were making a photograph. i suppose you think i ought to draw the boat just as it is, but i always put something of my own. in my pictures. and that, you see, is a different kind of a boat from the one you were in. it is something like venetian boats." "it isn't like anything in this part of the world, that is true," said the young man, as he held the drawing in his hand; "and if it had been more like a gondola it would not have suited the scene. i think you have caught the spirit of the landscape very well; but if you don't object to a little criticism, i should say that the shore over there is too near the foreground. it seems to me that the picture wants atmosphere; that would help the distance very much." "do you draw ?" asked margery, in surprise. "i used to be very fond of sketching,” said he. "i stayed at sadler's a good part of the last winter, and when i wasn't out hunting i made a good many drawings of winter scenes. i would be glad to show them to you when we go back." "well," said she, "if i had known you were an artist i would not have asked you to go out there and sit as a model." "oh, i am not an artist," replied martin; "i only draw, that's all. but if you make any more 46 camp roy water sketches and would like me to put some ducks or any other kind of wild-fowl in the foreground i will be glad to do it for you. i have made a specialty of natural history drawings. don't bother yourself about that easel; i'll carry up your things for you.” about half-way to the cabin margery suddenly stopped and turned round towards the young man, who was following her. "how did you come to be a guide?" she asked. he smiled. "that's because i was born a naturalist and a sportsman. i went into business when. i finished my education, but i couldn't stand that, and as i couldn't afford to become a gentleman sportsman, i came here as a guide. i'm getting a lot of experience in this sort of life, and when i've saved money enough i'm going on an exploring expedition, most likely to central america. that's the kind of life that will suit me." "and write a book about it ?" asked margery. "most likely," said he. that night, after supper, margery remarked: "our two guides are american citizens, and i don't see why they can't eat at the table with us instead of waiting until we have finished. we are all free and equal in the woods." 66 margery dearborn !" exclaimed mrs. archibald. what are you talking about?" 66 she was going to say that if there were one straw more needed to break her back, that straw would be the sight of the two guides sitting at the table with them, but she restrained herself. she did not wa mr. archibald to know anything about the condition of her back. 47 the associate hermits "so long as they don't want to do it, and don't do it," said she, "pray don't let us say anything about it. let's try to make things as pleasant as we can." mr. archibald was lighting his pipe, and when he was sure the tobacco was sufficiently ignited he took the pipe from his mouth and turned towards his wife. "harriet," said he, "you have been too much alone to-day. i don't know what i shall do tomorrow; but whatever it is, i am going to take you with me." "of course that depends on what it is you do," she answered. "but i will try to do everything can." mr. archibald heaved a little sigh, which was not noticed by any one, because it sounded like a puff. "i am afraid," he thought, " that this camping business is not going to last very much longer, and we shall be obliged to make the rest of our wedding-journey in a different style." the next morning, when mr. archibald went out of his cabin door, he looked over the lake and saw a bird suddenly swoop down upon the water, breaking the smooth surface into sparkles of silver, and then rise again, a little silvery fish glittering in its claws. "beautifully done!" said he. "a splendid stroke!" and then turning, he looked up the lake, and not far from the water's edge he saw margery walking with mr. clyde, while mr. raybold followed a little in the rear. 66 harriet," he cried, quickly stepping into the 48 camp roy cabin again, "look out here! what is the meaning of this?" mrs. archibald was dressed, and came out. when she saw the trio approaching them, she was not so much surprised as was her husband. "i don't know the meaning of anything that happens in these woods," she said; "but if a lot of people have come from the hotel with those young men i cannot say i am sorry." "come," said her husband, " we must look into this." in two minutes the archibalds had met the new-comers, who advanced with outstretched hands, as if they had been old friends. mr. archibald, not without some mental disquietude at this intrusion upon the woodland privacy of his party, was about to begin a series of questions, when he was forestalled by margery. "oh, uncle archibald and aunt harriet!" she exclaimed, "mr. clyde and mr. raybold have come out here to camp. their camp is right next to ours, and it is called camp roy. you see, some years ago there was a large camping party came here, and they called the place camp rob roy, but it was afterwards divided, and one part called camp rob and the other camp roy." "indeed!" interrupted mr. archibald. "mr. sadler did not tell us that ours was only half a camp with only half a name." "i don't suppose he thought of it," said margery. "and the line between the two camps is just three hundred feet above our cabin. i don't suppose anybody ever measures it off, but there it is; and mr. clyde and mr. raybold have d 49 the associate hermits taken camp roy, which hasn't any house on it. they started before daybreak this morning, and brought a tent along with them, which they have pitched just back of that little peninsula; and they haven't any guide, because they want to attend to their own cooking and everything, and the man who brought the tent and other things has gone back. they are going to live there just like real backwoodsmen, and they have a boat of their own, which is to be brought up from the bottom of the lake somewhere-i mean from the lower end of the lake. and, aunt harriet, may i speak to you a moment ?" with this the young woman drew mrs. archibald aside, and in a low voice asked if she thought it would be out of the way to invite the two young men to take breakfast with them, as it was not likely they had all their cooking things in order so early. five people sat down to breakfast under the great oak tree, and it was a lively meal. mr. archibald's mental disquiet, in which were now apparent some elements of resentment, had not subsided, but the state of his mind did not show itself in his demeanor, and he could not help feeling pleased to see that his wife was in better spirits. he had always known that she liked company. after breakfast he took matlack aside. “i don't understand this business," said he. "when i hired this camp i supposed we were to have it to ourselves; but if there are other camps jammed close against it we may be in the midst of a great public picnic before a week is out." 50 camp roy "oh, that camp over there isn't much of a camp," replied the guide. "the fact is, it is only the tail end of a camp, and i don't suppose peter sadler thought anybody would be likely to take it just now, and so didn't think it worth while to speak of it. of course it's jammed up against this one, as you say; but then the people in one camp haven't the right to cross the line into another camp if the people in the other camp don't want them to." "line!" said mr. archibald. “it is absurd to think of lines in a place like this. and i have no intention of making myself disagreeable by ordering people off my premises. but i would like to know if there is another camp three hundred feet on this side of our cabin, or three hundred feet back of it." "no, sir," said matlack, speaking promptly; "there isn't another camp between this and the lower end of the lake. there's a big one there, and it's taken; but the people aren't coming until next month." "if a larger party had taken camp roy," said mr. archibald to his wife a little later, "i should not mind it so much. but two young men! i do not like it." a chapter vii stranger it was at the close of a pleasant afternoon four days after the arrival of the young men at camp roy, and mrs. archibald was seated on a campstool near the edge of the lake intently fishing. by her side stood phil matlack, who had volunteered to interpose himself between her and all the disagreeable adjuncts of angling. he put the bait upon her hook, he told her when her cork was bobbing sufficiently to justify a jerk, and when she caught a little fish he took it off the hook. fishing in this pleasant wise had become very agreeable to the good lady, and she found pleasures in camp life which she had not anticipated. her husband was in a boat some distance out on the lake, and he was also fishing, but she did not care for that style of sport; the fish were too big and the boat too small. a little farther down the lake martin sanders sat busily engaged in putting some water-fowl into the foreground of margery's sketch. a critical observer might have noticed that he had also made a number of changes in said sketch, all of which added greatly to its merits as a picture of woodland scenery. at a little distance margery was sitting at her easel making a sketch of 52 a stranger martin as an artist at work in the woods. the two young men had gone off with their guns, not perhaps because they expected to find any legitimate game at that season, but hoping to secure some ornithological specimens, or to get a shot at some minor quadrupeds unprotected by law. another reason for their expedition could probably have been found in some strong hints given by mr. archibald that it was unwise for them to be hanging around the camps and taking no advantage of the opportunities for sport offered by the beautiful weather and the forest. it was not long before margery became convinced that the sketch on which she was working did not resemble her model, nor did it very much resemble an artist at work in the woods. "it looks a good deal more like a cobbler mending shoes," she said to herself, "and i'll keep it for that. some day i will put a bench under him and a shoe in his hand instead of a sketch." with that she rose, and went to see how martin was getting on. "i think," she said, "those dark ducks improve the picture very much. they throw the other things back." then she stopped, went to one side, and gazed out over the lake. "i wonder," she said, "if there is really any fun in fishing. uncle archibald has been out in that boat for more than two hours, and he has fished almost every day since he's been here. i should think he would get tired of it." "oh no," said martin, looking up with animation. "if you know how to fish, and there is good sport, you never get tired of it.” 53 the associate hermits "i know how to fish," said margery, "and i do not care about it at all." "can "you know how to fish?" said martin. you make a cast with a fly?" "i never tried that," said she. "but i have fished as aunt harriet does, and it is easy as can be." “oh," said he, "you don't know anything about fishing unless you have fished with a fly. that is the only real sport. it is as exciting as a battle. if you would let me teach you how to throw a fly, i am sure you would never find fishing tiresome, and these woods would be like a new world to you." "why don't you do it yourself, then?" she asked. 66 66 because i am paid to do other things," he replied. 'we are not sent here simply to enjoy ourselves, though i must say that i-" and then he suddenly stopped. "i wish you would let me teach you fly-fishing. i know you would like it." 66 margery looked at the eager face turned towards her, and then she gazed out over the water. "perhaps i might like it," she said. but it wouldn't be necessary for you to take that trouble. uncle archibald has two or three times asked me to go out with him, and of course he would teach me how to fish as he does. isn't that somebody calling you?" "yes," said martin, rising; "it's phil. i suppose it's nearly supper-time." as they walked towards the camp, margery in front, and martin behind her carrying the draw54 they throw the other things back 99 a.b.trost a stranger ing materials and the easel, margery suddenly turned. "it was very good of you to offer to teach me to fish with flies,” she said, “and perhaps, if uncle archibald doesn't want to be bothered, i may get you to show me how to do it." the young man's face brightened, and he was about to express his pleasure with considerable warmth; but he checked himself, and merely remarked that whenever she was ready he would provide a rod and flies and show her how to use them. mrs. archibald had gone into the cabin, and margery went up to matlack, who was on his way to the little tent in which the camp cooking was done. “did mrs. archibald tell you," said she, "that we have invited mr. clyde and mr. raybold to supper to-night?” the guide stopped and smiled. "she told me," said he, "but i don't know that it was altogether necessary." "i suppose you mean," said margery, "that they are here so much; but i don't wonder; they must do awfully poor cooking for themselves. i don't suppose they will bring anything back that is good to eat." (6 not at this time of year," said he, "but i shall be satisfied if they bring themselves home." "what do you mean by that?" asked margery, quickly. "well," said matlack, "i don't doubt the bicycle fellow will always come back all right, but i'm afeard about the other one. that bicycle di as, va monolīti un cituj 55 the associate hermits chap don't know no more about a gun than he does about makin' bread, and i wouldn't go out huntin' with him for a hundred dollars. he's just as likely to take a crack at his pardner's head as at anything else that's movin' in the woods." "that is dreadful !" exclaimed margery. "yes, it is," returned the guide; "and if i had charge of their camp he wouldn't go out with a gun again. but it will be all right in a day or two. peter will settle that." "mr. sadler, do you mean?" asked margery. what's he got to do with it?" "he's got everything to do with it," said matlack. "he's got everything to do with everything in this part of the country. he's got his laws, and he sees to it that people stand by them. one of his rules is that people who don't know how to use guns sha'n't shoot in his camps." "but how can he know about the people out here in the woods?" asked margery. (6 66 "i tell you, miss," said matlack, speaking slowly and decisively, "peter sadler's ways of knowing things is like gas-the kind you burn, i mean. i was a-visitin' once in a city house, and slept in a room on the top floor, and there was a leak in the pipe in the cellar, and that gas just went over the whole house, into every room and closet, and even under the beds, and i've often thought that that was just like peter's way of doin' things and knowin' things. you take my word for it, that bicycle-man won't go out huntin' many more days, even if he don't shoot his pardner fust." "he won't go to-morrow," thought margery; f 56 a stranger and then she said to matlack: "i think we ought to know mr. sadler's rules. has he any more of them ?" "oh, they ain't very many," said matlack. "but there's one i think of now, and that is that no woman shall go out in a boat by herself on this lake." "that is simply horrid !" exclaimed margery. "women can row as well as men." "i don't say they can't," said matlack. "i'm only tellin' you what peter's rules are, and that's one of them.” margery made no reply, but walked away, her head thrown back a little more than was usual with her. "i've got to keep my eye on her," said matlack to himself, as he went to the cabin; "she's never been broke to no harness." mr. raybold did not shoot mr. clyde, nor did he shoot anything else. mr. clyde did shoot a bird, but it fell into the water at a place where the shore was very marshy, and it was impossible for him to get it. he thought it was a heron, or a bittern, or perhaps a fish-hawk, but whatever it was, both ladies said that it was a great pity to kill it, as it was not good to eat, and must have been very happy in its life in the beautiful forest. "it is very cruel to shoot them when they are not strictly game," said mr. clyde, “and i don't believe i will do it. if i had the things to stuff them with, that would be different, but i haven't. i believe fishing is just as much fun, and more sensible." 57 the associate hermits "i do not!" exclaimed mr. raybold. "i hold that hunting is a manly art, and that a forester's life is as bold and free to him as it is to the birds in the air. i believe i have the blood of a hunter in me. my voice is for the woods." "i expect you will change your voice," thought margery, "when mr. sadler takes your gun away from you." but she did not say so. mr. archibald stood with his hands in his pockets reflecting. he had hoped that these two young men were inveterate hunters, and that they would spend their days in long tramps. he did not at all approve of their fishing. fishing could be done anywhere here, for instance, right at this very door. supper was over, and the five inhabitants of camps rob and roy had seated themselves around the fire which martin had carefully built, keeping in view a cheery blaze without too much. heat. pipes had been filled and preparations made for the usual evening smoke and talk, when a man was seen emerging from the woods at the point where the road opened into the clearing about the camp. it was still light, for these hungry campers supped early, and the man could be distinctly seen as he approached, and it was plain that he was not a messenger from sadler's. he was rather a large man, dressed in black, and wearing a felt hat with a wide, straight brim. hanging by a strap from his shoulder was a small leather bag, and in his hand he carried a closed umbrella. advancing towards the fire, he took off his hat, bowed, and smiled. he wore no beard, 58 a stranger 1 his face was round and plump, and his smile was pleasant. 66 good-evening, ladies and gentlemen," said he, and his voice was as pleasant as his smile. 66 good-evening," said mr. archibald, and then for a moment there was a pause. "i presume," said the new-comer, looking about him, "that this is a camp." "it is a camp," said mr. archibald. "the fact is so obvious," said the man in black, "that it was really unnecessary for me to allude to it. may i ask to be allowed to sit down for a few moments? i am fatigued." at this juncture phil matlack arrived on the scene. "well, sir," said he, "have you any business with anybody here? who do you wish to see?" "i have no business," said the other, "and—” “and you are a stranger to everybody here?" interrupted matlack. "yes, but i hope-" "now then," said the guide, quickly, "i've got to ask you to move on. this is one of peter sadler's camps, and he has strict rules against strangers stoppin' in any of them. if you've lost your way, i'll tell you that this road, if you don't turn to the right or the left, will take you straight to sadler's, and there's time enough for you to get there before dark." "mr. matlack," exclaimed mrs. archibald, who had risen to her feet, "i want to speak to you! it's a shame," she said, when the guide had approached 'to send that man away without even giving him a chance to rest himself. 66 he 59 the associate hermits may be a very respectable person on a walking tour." "i guess he is on a walkin' tour," said matlack, "and i guess he's a regular tramp, and there's no orders we've got that's stricter than them against tramps. 99 "well, i don't care who he is," said mrs. archibald, "or what your rules are, but when a perfectly good-mannered man comes to us and asks simply to be allowed to rest, i don't want him to be driven away as if he were a stray pig on a lawn. mr. archibald, shouldn't he be allowed to rest a while?" her husband rose and approached the stranger. "where are you going, sir?" said he. the man looked at matlack, at martin, who stood behind him, and then at the rest of the company, and after this comprehensive glance he smiled. "from present appearances," he said, "i think i am going to go.” mr. archibald laughed. "when do you expect to get there?" he asked. "it seems to me," said the other, reflectively, "that i am always going there, and i suppose i shall have to keep on doing it." "look here," said mr. archibald, turning to matlack, "give him some supper, and let him rest. there will be time enough for him to get to sadler's after that. if sadler has anything to say against it, refer him to me." “all right, sir," said matlack, "if you say so. i'm no harder on my fellow bein's than other people, but rules is rules, and it isn't for me to break them." 60 a stranger "my dear sir," said the stranger to mr. archibald, "your words are more grateful to me than the promise of food. i see that you consider me a tramp, but it is a mistake. i am not a tramp. if you will allow me, after i have eaten a little supper -a meal which i must admit i greatly need-i will explain to you how i happen to be here." and with a bow he walked towards the table where matlack and martin had been eating their supper. 66 'do you know what i think he is?" said mr. clyde, when mr. archibald had resumed his seat and his pipe. "i believe he is a wandering actor. actors always have smoothly shaven faces, and he loo like one." actor!" exclaimed arthur raybold. "that's nonsense. he's not in the least like an actor. anybody could see by his tread and his air that he's never been on the stage. he's more like a travelling salesman. the next thing he'll do will be to pull out of that bag some samples of spool thread or patent thimbles." "you are both wrong," said margery-"entirely wrong. i have been looking at him, and i believe he is a methodist minister with a dead horse. they ride circuits, and of course when their horses die they walk. just wait a little, and see if i am not right." they waited a little, and then they waited a little longer, and they had begun to be tired of waiting before the stranger finished his meal and approached the fire. his face was brighter, his smile was more pleasant, and his step had a certain jauntiness in it. 61 the associate hermits "i thank you all," he said, "for the very good meal i have just enjoyed. i am now going to go, but before i start i would like very much— indeed, i crave it as a favor-to place myself before you in my proper light. may i have permission to do so, madam and sir?" he said, addressing mrs. and mr. archibald, but with a respectful glance at the others, as if he would not ignore any one of them. "certainly," said mrs. archibald. "sit down. and tell us about yourself." the stranger seated himself with alacrity a little back from the circle, and nearer to the young men than to the archibald party. chapter viii the bishop's tale the stranger placed his broad-brimmed hat on the ground beside him, exposing a large round head somewhat bald in front, but not from age, and the rest of it covered with close-cut brown hair. his black clothes fitted him very closely, their extreme tightness suggesting that they had shrunken in the course of wearing, or that he had grown much plumper since he had come into possession of them; and their general worn and dull appearance gave considerable distance to the period of their first possession. but there was nothing worn or dull about the countenance of the man, upon which was an expression of mellow geniality which would have been suitably consequent upon a good dinner with plenty of wine. but his only beverage had been coffee, and in his clear bright eye there was no trace of any exhilaration, except that caused by the action of a hearty meal upon a good digestion and an optimistic disposition. "i am very glad," he said, looking about him. at the company, and then glancing with a friendly air towards the two guides, who stood a little back of mr. archibald, "to have this opportunity to explain my appearance here. in the first place, 63 the associate hermits i must tell you that i am a bishop whose diocese has been inundated, and who consequently has been obliged to leave it." "oh!" exclaimed mr. archibald; and margery looked at mr. clyde, with the remark: "there! you see i was very near to it." "i presume this statement will require some explanation," continued the man in black, "and i will make it presently. i am going to be exceedingly frank and open in all that i say to you, and as frankness and openness are so extremely rare in this world, it may be that i shall obtain favor in your eyes from the fact of my possessing those unusual qualities. originally i was a teacher, and for a year or two i had a very good country school; but my employment at last became so repugnant to me that i could no longer endure it, and this repugnance was due entirely to my intense dislike for children." "that is not at all to your credit," observed mrs. archibald; "and i do not see how you became a bishop, or why you should have been made one." "was your diocese entirely meadow-land?" inquired mr. archibald. "i am coming to all that," said the stranger, with a smile of polite consideration towards mrs. archibald. "i know very well that it is not at all to my credit to dislike children, but i said i would be honest, and i am. i do dislike themnot their bodies, but their minds. children, considered physically, are often pleasant to the view, and even interesting as companions, providing their innate juvenility is undisturbed; but when 64 the bishop's tale their personalities are rudely thrown open by a teacher, and the innate juvenility prematurely exposed to the air, it is something so clammy, so chilly to the mental marrow, that i shrink from it as i would shrink from the touch of any cold, clammy thing." "horrible!" exclaimed mrs. archibald, "i am not sure," observed margery, "that there is not some truth in that. i had a sunday-school class for a little while, and although i can't say there was a clamminess, there was-well, i don't know what there was, but i gave it up." "i am glad," said the man in black, "that my candor is not sinking me in the estimation of every one present; but even if it did, i am obliged to tell the truth. i do not know what would have become of me if i had not had the good-fortune to catch the measles from a family with whom i was spending sunday in another town. as soon as the disease plainly showed itself upon me my school was broken up, and it was never gathered together again, at least under me. "i must make my story brief, and can only say that not long after this i found myself in another town, where it became necessary for me to do something to support myself. this was difficult, for i am an indefinite man, and definiteness seems necessary to success in any line. happening one day to pass a house with open lower windows, i heard the sound of children's voices speaking in unison, and knowing that this must be a school, i looked in, compelled entirely by that curiosity which often urges us to gaze upon human suffering. i found, however, that this was a kindere 65 the associate hermits garten conducted by a young woman. unobserved by scholars or teacher, i watched the proceedings with great interest, and soon became convinced that kindergartening was a much less. repellent system of tuition than any i had known; but i also perceived that the methods of the young woman could be greatly improved. i thought a good deal upon this subject after leaving the open window. soon afterwards, becoming acquainted with the young person in charge of the children, i offered to teach her a much better system of kindergartening than she was using. my terms were very low, and she became my scholar. i soon learned that there were other kindergartens in the town, and some of the teachers of these joined my class. moreover, there were young women in the place who were not kindergartners, but who would like to become such, and these i also taught, sometimes visiting them at their houses, and sometimes giving my lessons in a room loaned by one of my patrons. my system became very popular, because it was founded upon common-sense." "what was your system?" asked mrs. archibald. "i am interested in kindergartens myself." "my object," he answered, "was to make the operation of teaching interesting to the teacher. it struck me very forcibly that a continuance of a few years in the present inane performances called kindergartening would infallibly send to our lunatic asylums a number of women, more or less young, with more or less depleted intellects. the various games and exercises i devised were very interesting, and i am sure i had scholars 66 the bishop's tale who never intended to become kindergartners, and who studied with me solely for their own advantage. it was at this time that i adopted the clerical dress as being more suitable to my vocation than any other costume, and some one having called me the bishop, the name soon became popular, and i was generally known by it." 66 but what is your real name?" asked mrs. archibald. "madam," said the man, "you must excuse me if i ask you to recall your question. i have a good name, and i belong to a very good family, but there are reasons why i do not at present wish to avow that name. some of these reasons are connected with the report that i purposely visited the family with the measles in order to get rid of my school; others are connected with the inundation of my diocese, of which i shall speak; others refer to my present indefinite method of life. there is reason to suppose that the time is not far distant when my resumption of my family name will throw no discredit upon it, but that period has not yet arrived. do you press your question, madam ?" "oh no," said mrs. archibald; "it really makes no difference; and out here in the woods a man may call himself a bishop or a cardinal or anything he likes." 66 thank you very much," said he, "and i will continue to speak in figures, and call myself a bishop." "where i was brought up," interpolated phil matlack, still standing behind mr. archibald, “i was taught that figures don't lie." 67 the associate hermits "my good sir," said the speaker, with a smile, "in mathematics they don't, in poetry and literature they often do. well, as i was saying, my diocese extended itself, my revenues were satisfactory, and i had begun to believe that i had found my true work in life, when suddenly there was a misfortune. there arrived in our town three apostles of kindergartening-two of them were women, and one was a man. they had heard of my system, and had come to investigate it. they did so, with the result that in an astonishingly short time my diocese was inundated with a flood of froebelism which absolutely swept me away. with this bag, this umbrella, and this costume, which has now become my wardrobe, i was cast out in all my indefiniteness upon a definite world." "and how did you get here ?" asked mrs. archibald. "i had heard of sadler and his camps," said he; "and in this beautiful month and in this beautiful weather i thought it would be well to investigate them. i accordingly went to mr. sadler's, where i arrived yesterday afternoon. i found mr. sadler a very definite man, and, i am sorry to say, that as he immediately defined me as a tramp, he would listen to no other definition. 'you have no money to pay for food and lodgings,' said he, 'and you come under my tramp laws. i don't harbor tramps, but i don't kick them out into the woods to starve. for labor on this place i pay one dollar and a half a day of ten hours. for meals to day-laborers i charge fifteen cents each. if you want your supper, you 68 the bishop's tale can go out to that wood-shed and split wood for one hour.' i was very hungry; i went out into the wood-shed; i split wood for one hour, and at the end of that time i had a sufficient meal. when i had finished, mr. sadler sent for me. 'do you want to stay here all night?' he said. 'i do,' i answered. 'go, then, and split wood for another hour.' i did so, and it was almost dark when i had finished. in the morning i split wood for my breakfast, and when i had finished i went to mr. sadler and asked him how much he would charge for a luncheon wrapped in a piece of paper. 'seven and a half cents,' he said. i split wood for half an hour, and left sadler's ostensibly to return to the station by the way i had come; but while i had been at work, i found from the conversation of some of the people that one of the camps was occupied, and i also discovered in what direction it lay. consequently, after i had passed out of the sight of the definite peter sadler, i changed my course, and took a path through the woods which i was told would lead to this road, and i came here because i might just as well pass this way as any other, and because, having set out to investigate camp life, i wished to do so, and i hope i may be allowed to say that although i have seen but little of it, i like it very much.' "now, then," said phil matlack, walking around the circle and approaching the stranger, “you said, when you first came here, that you were going to go, and the time has come when you've got to go. 99 99 “very well,” said the other, looking up with a smile; "if i've got there i'd better stop." 69 the associate hermits mr. archibald and the young men laughed, but matlack and martin, who had now joined him, did not laugh. "you've barely time enough," said the former, "to get to sadler's before it is pitch-dark, and—” excuse me," said the other, "but i am not going back to sadler's to-night. i would rather have no bed than split wood for an hour after dark in order to procure one. i would prefer a couch of dried leaves." "you come along into the road with this young man and me; i want to talk to you," said matlack. "now, matlack," said mr. archibald, "don't be cruel." "i am not," said the guide. "i am the tenderest-hearted person in the world'; but even if you say so, sir, i can't let a stranger stay all night in a camp that i've got charge of." (6 "look here, matlack," exclaimed mr. clyde, you haven't got charge of our camp!" "no, i haven't," said the other. well, then, this person can come over and stay with us. we have a little tent that we brought to put over the cooking-stove, and he can sleep in that.” 66 "very well," said matlack; "if you take him out of this camp i haven't anything to say-that is, to-night." "my dear sir," said the stranger, rising, and approaching mr. clyde, “i accept your offer with pleasure, and thank you most heartily for it. if you had proffered me the hospitality of a palace, i could not be more grateful.” 70 the bishop's tale "all right," said clyde; "and i suppose it is time for us to be off, so i will bid you all goodnight. come along, arthur. come along, bishop." the face of the last-named individual beamed with delight as he heard this appellation, and bidding everybody good-night, and thanking them. for the kindness with which he had been treated, he followed the two young men. the three walked some little distance towards camp roy, and then clyde came running back to speak to margery, who was now standing by herself watching the young moon descend among the trees. then mr. raybold also stopped and came back to margery, upon which the bishop stopped and waited for them. in about ten minutes he was joined by the two young men, and the three proceeded to camp roy. "there is one thing, harriet," said mr. archibald, "which i wish you would speak to margery about. i don't want her to get up so early and go out for a morning walk. i find that those young men are also early risers." "i will speak to her," said mrs. archibald ; "where is she?" 66 "over there, talking to young martin," said her husband.it isn't quite dark yet, but i think it is time we were all in bed." 66 quite time," said she. margery tells me that that young guide, who is a handsome fellow, is going to teach her how to fish with flies. i wish you would sometimes take her out in the boat with you, mr. archibald; i am sure that you could teach her how to fish." he smiled. "i suppose i could," he said; "and 71 the associate hermits i also suppose i could pull her out of the water the first time she hooked a big fish. it would be like resting a boat on a pivot to put her into it." "then you don't take her," said mrs. archibald, decisively. "and you can't take her with you up the stream, because, of course, she can't wade. i don't want her to get tired of camp-life, but—” "don't be afraid of the young men," interrupted her husband, with a laugh; "so long as there are three of them there is no danger." "of course i will not, if you don't wish it, aunt harriet," said margery, when mrs. archibald had spoken to her about the early morning walks; "and i will stay in my room until you call me.” the next morning, when mrs. archibald was ready to leave the cabin, she did call margery, but received no answer. then she went to the little studio-room, and when she opened the door she found its occupant leaning out of the window talking to mr. clyde and mr. raybold, who stood outside. "good morning, aunt harriet!" exclaimed margery, gayly. "mr. clyde has brought me nearly an armful of birch bark, all thin and smooth. i am going to make a birch-bark bedspread out of it. i'll cover a sheet with these pieces, you see, and sew them on. then i can have autographs on them, and mottoes, and when i cover myself up with it i shall really feel like a dryad." "and here is what i have brought," said mr. raybold, holding up an armful of bark. 66 'oh, thank you very much," said margery, taking the mass, but not without dropping a good · · 72 the bishop's tale many of the pieces. "of course it was kind of him to bring it," she said to mrs. archibald, as they left the room together, "but he needn't have bothered himself: i don't want to sleep under a wood-pile." chapter ix matlack's three troubles “have you asked those two young men to breakfast again?" inquired mr. archibald, after examining, with a moderate interest, the specimen of birch-bark which margery had shown him. "oh no, indeed," said she, "they have had their breakfast. they have been telling me about it. the bishop got up very early in the morning and cooked it for them. he's a splendid cook, and he found things in their hampers that they didn't know they had. they said his coffee was delicious, and they have left him there in their camp now, washing the dishes and putting everything in order. and do you think, uncle archibald, that it is going to rain ?" "i do," said he, "for it is sprinkling already." this proved to be the first bad day since the archibald party had gone into camp, and the rain soon began to come down in a steady, practised way, as if the clouds above were used to that sort of thing and could easily keep it up all day. as there was no place under roof to which company could be conveniently invited, margery retired to her room and set herself diligently to work on her birch-bark quilt. mrs. archibald established herself in the divis74 matlack's three troubles ion of the cabin which was intended to be used as a sitting and dining room in bad weather, and applied herself to some sewing and darning, which had been reserved for just such a day as this. mr. archibald, in a water-proof suit, tried fishing for half an hour or so, but finding it both unpleasant and unprofitable, he joined his wife, made himself as comfortable as possible on two chairs, and began to read aloud one of the novels they had brought with them. mr. clyde and mr. raybold had considerately gone to their own camp when it began to rain, hoping, however, that the shower would be over in a short time. but the rain was not a shower, and they spent the morning on their backs in their tent, talking and smoking. of course they could not expect the bishop to depart in the rain, so they had told him to make himself as comfortable as he could in the little kitchen tent, and offered him a pipe and a book. the first he declined, as he never smoked, but the latter he accepted with delight. after the midday dinner phil matlack, in a pair of high hunting-boots and an oil-skin coat, came to mr. archibald and said that as there was nothing he could do that afternoon, he would walk over to sadler's and attend to some business he had there. "about the bishop?" asked mr. archibald. 'partly," said matlack. "i understand the fellow is still over there with those two young men. i don't suppose they'll send him off in the rain, and as he isn't my camp, i can't interfere. but it may rain for two or three days." 66 75 the associate hermits "all right," said mr. archibald, "and if we want anything we'll ask martin.” "just so," said matlack. "if there's anything to do that you don't want to do yourself, you can get him to do it; but if you want to know anything you don't know yourself, you'd better wait until i come back." when matlack presented himself before peter sadler he found that ponderous individual seated in his rolling-chair near the open door, enjoying the smell of the rain. "hello, phil!" he cried. "what's wrong at the camp?" the guide left his wet coat and cap on the little piazza outside, and after carefully wiping his feet, seated himself on a chair near the door. "there's three things wrong," said he. "in the first place, there's a tramp out there, and it looks to me as if he was a-goin' to stick, if he can get allowed to do it." 66 'is he too big for you to bounce?" roared peter. "that's a pretty story to come tell me !” "no, he ain't," said the other; "but i haven't got the bouncin' of him. he's not in my camp. the young men have took him in; but i expect he'll come over with them as soon as it's done rainin', for when that happens they're bound to come themselves." "look here, phil," said peter, "is he dressed in black?" "yes, he is," said the guide. mr. sadler slapped his hand on the arm of his chair. "phil matlack," he shouted, "that's my favorite tramp. i never had a man here who 76 matlack's three troubles paid his bill in work as he did. it was cash down, and good money. not a minute of wood-splitting more or less than the market-price for meals and bed. i'd like to have a tramp like that come along about twice a week. but i tell you, phil, he ain't no tramp. couldn't you see that? none of them loafers ever worked as he did." "he may not be a tramp," said matlack, "but he's trampin'. what are you goin' to do about him? let him stay there?" "what's he doin' now?" asked sadler. "he's cookin' for those two young men." "well, they need some one to do it for them, and they didn't want to go to the expense of a guide. let the parson alone for a day or two, and if he does anything out of the way just you take him by one ear and martin take him by the other and bring him to me. i'll attend to him. what's the next trouble?" 66 that's out of my camp, too," said matlack, "but i'm bound to report it. the bicycle fellow that you hired a gun to don't know the fust thing about usin' it, and the next thing you'll hear will be that he's shot his pardner, who's worth six of him." mr. sadler sat up very straight in his chair and stared at the guide. "phil matlack," he shouted, "what do you take me for? i hired that gun to that young man. don't you suppose i know what i'm about?" "that's all right," said matlack, "but the trouble is he don't know what he's about." "get away man," said peter, with a contemptuous sniff, "he'll never hurt anybody. what 1 77 the associate hermits do you take me for? when he came to me and wanted a gun, i handed him two or three, so that he might choose one that suited him, and by the way he handled them i could see that most likely he'd never handled one before, and so i set him up all right. he's got a good gun, and all the cartridges he'll be likely to want; and the cartridges are all like this. they're a new kind i heard of last winter, and i got a case from boston last week. i don't see how i ever managed to run my camps without them. do you see that shot?" said he, opening one end of a cartridge. "well, take one in your hand and pinch it." phil did so, and it crumbled to dust in his hand. "when that load's fired," said peter, "all the shot will crumble into dust. it wouldn't do to give raw hands blank-cartridges, because they'd find that out; but with this kind they might sit all day and fire at a baby asleep in its cradle and never disturb it, provided the baby was deaf. and he can't use his pardner's cartridges, for i gave that fellow a twelve-bore gun and his is a ten-bore." phil grinned. "well, then," said he, "i suppose i might as well make my mind easy, but if that bicycle man hunts much he'll get the conviction borne in on him that he's a dreadful bad shot." "then he'll give up shooting, which is what is wanted," said sadler. "what's your third bother?" "that young woman has made up her mind to go out in the boat by herself the very fust time 78 matlack's three troubles she feels like it," said matlack; "she didn't say so with her mouth, but she said it with the back of her head and her shoulders, and i want to know if that rule of yours is going to hold good this summer. women is gettin' to do so many things they didn't use to that i didn't know but what you'd consider they'd got far enough to take themselves out on the lake, and if you do think so, i don't want to get myself in hot water with those people and then find you don't back me up." "if you don't want to get yourself into hot water with me, phil matlack, you'd better get it into your head just as soon as you can that when i make a rule it's a rule, and i don't want people comin' to me and talkin' about changes. women in my camp don't go out in boats by themselves, and it's easy enough to have that rule kept if you've got backbone enough to do it. keep the boat locked to the shore when it ain't in use, and put the key in your pocket, and if anybody gets it that 'ain't any right to it, that's your lookout. now that's the end of your troubles, i hope. how's things goin' on generally in the camp?" "oh, well enough," said matlack. "i thought at fust the old lady'd give out in a day or two, but i've taught her parlor fishin', which she's took to quite lively, and she's got used to the woods. the boss, he sticks to fishin', as if it was office-work, and as for the rest of them, i guess they're all gettin' more and more willin' to stay." "why?" asked peter. "well, one of them is a gal and the others isn't," replied matlack, "that's about the p'int of it." during matlack's walk back the skies cleared, 79 the associate hermits and when he reached the camp he found mrs. archibald seated in her chair near the edge of the lake, a dry board under her feet, and the bishop standing by her, putting bait on her hook, and taking the fish off of it when any happened to be there. out in the boat sat mr. archibald, trusting that some fish might approach the surface in search of insects disabled by the rain. farther on, at a place by the water's edge that was clear of bushes and undergrowth, martin was giving miss dearborn a lesson in fly-fishing. "he's a mighty good fisherman," thought matlack, looking at the young fellow as he brought his rod back from the water with a long graceful sweep, and then, with another sweep and an easy inclination of his body forward, sending the fly far out on the smooth surface of the lake, “although there ain't no need to tell him so; and i don't wonder she'd rather stand and watch him than try to do it herself." walking up and down near the edge of the wood were messrs. clyde and raybold. 66 phil smiled. they don't seem to be happy," he said to himself. "i guess they're hankerin' to take a share in her edication; but if you don't. know nothin' yourself, you can't edicate other people." matlack directed his steps towards mrs. archibald; but before he reached her he was met by the bishop, who hurried towards him. "i shall be obliged to surrender my post to you," he said, "which will be greatly to the lady's satisfaction, i imagine, for i must appear a poor attendant after you." 80 a.bros. "" a lesson in fly fishing } matlack's three troubles "goin' to leave us?" said matlack. "you look quite spruced up." the bishop smiled. "you allude, i suppose," said he, “to the fact that my hat and clothes are brushed, and that i am freshly shaved and have on a clean collar. i like to be as neat as i can. this is a gutta-percha collar, and i can wash it whenever i please with a bit of damp rag, and it is my custom to shave every day, if i possibly can. but as to leaving you, i shall not do so this evening. i have promised those young gentlemen who so kindly invited me to their camp that i would prepare their supper for them, and i must now go to make the fire and get things in readiness." "have they engaged you as cook and general help?" asked matlack. "oh no," said the bishop, with a smile, "they are kind and i am grateful, that is all." chapter x a ladies' day in camp two days after the rainy day in camp mr. archibald determined to take the direction of affairs into his own hands, so far as he should be able. having no authority over the two young men at camp roy, he had hitherto contented himself with a disapproval of their methods of employing their time, which he communicated only to his wife. but now he considered that, as they were spending so much of their time in his camp and so little in their own, he would takecharge of them exactly as if they belonged to his party. he would put an end, if possible, to the aimless strolls up and down the beach with margery, and the long conversations of which that young woman had grown to be so fond, held sometimes with both young men, though more frequently with one. if clyde and raybold came into the woods to lounge in the shade and talk to a girl, they must go to some other camp to do it. but if they really cared to range the forest, either as sportsmen or lovers of nature, he would do his best to help them; so this day he organized an expedition to a low mountain about two miles away, taking matlack with him as guide, and inviting the two young men to join him. they 82 a ladies' day in camp had assented because no good reason for declining had presented itself, and because phil matlack earnestly urged them to come along and let him show them what a real forest tramp was like. before his recent talk with peter sadler, phil would not have dared to go out into the woods in company with the bicycle man. the two ladies were perfectly willing to remain in camp under the charge of martin, who was capable of defending them against any possible danger; and as the bishop had agreed to take charge of camp roy during the absence of its occupants, mr. archibald planned for a whole day's tramp, the first he had taken since they went into camp. when martin's morning work was done he approached the shady spot where the two ladies had established themselves, and offered to continue his lessons in fish-flying if miss dearborn so desired. but miss dearborn did not wish to take any lessons to-day. she would rest and stay with mrs. archibald. even the elder lady did not care to fish that morning. the day was hot and the shade was grateful. martin walked away dissatisfied. in his opinion, there had never been a day more suitable for angling; this was a day which would be free from interruptions, either from two young fellows who knew nothing about real game-fishing, or from matlack, who always called him away to do something when he was most interested in his piscatorial pedagogics. this was a day when he could stand by that lovely girl, give her the rod, show her how to raise it, wave it, and throw it, 83 the associate hermits and sometimes even touch her hand as he took it from her or gave it back, watching her all the time with an admiration and delight which no speckled trout or gamy black bass had ever yet aroused in him, and all this without fear that a gentleman out on the lake might possibly be observing them with the idea that he was more interested in his work than the ordinary guide might be supposed to be. but luck was against him, and martin, who did not in the least consider himself an ordinary guide, walked up and down in moody reflection, or grimly threw himself upon the ground, gazing upward at the skynot half so blue as he was—but never walking or resting so far away that he could not hear the first cry from her should snake, bear, dragon-fly, or danger of any kind approach her. to the ladies, about half an hour later, came the bishop, who, newly shaved and brushed, wished them good-morning, and offered his services in any manner which might be desired. if mrs. archibald wished to fish by the side of the lake, he was at her service; but mrs. archibald did not care to "this is a most charming day," said the bishop, removing his hat, "but i suppose it is more charming to me because it is my last day here." "and so you are really going to go?" said mrs. archibald, smiling. "i suppose you think i am not likely to get there," said he, "but really i have stayed here long enough, and for several reasons." "sit down," said margery, "and tell us what 84 a ladies' day in camp they are. there is a nice little rock with some moss on it." the bishop promptly accepted the invitation and seated himself. as he did so, martin, at a little distance, scowled, folded his arms, and slightly increased the length of his sentinel-like walk. "yes," said the bishop, brushing some pine leaves from his threadbare trousers, "during the time that i have accepted the hospitality of those young gentlemen i feel that i have in a great measure repaid them for their kindness, but now i see that i shall become a burden and an expense to them. in the first place, i eat a great deal more than both of them put together, so that the provisions they brought with them will be exhausted much sooner than they expected. i am also of the opinion that they are getting tired of eating in their own camp, but as i make a point of preparing the meals at stated hours, of course they feel obliged to partake of them." "by which you mean, i suppose," said mrs. archibald, "that if they had not you to cook for them they would be apt to take a good many meals with us, as they did when they first came, and which would be cheaper and pleasanter." "i beg, madam," said the bishop, quickly, "that you will not think that they have said anything of the sort. i simply inferred, from remarks i have heard, that one of them, at least, is very much of the opinion you have just stated; therefore i feel that i cannot be welcome much longer in camp roy. there is also another reason why i should go now. i have a business prospect before me." 85 the associate hermits "i am glad to hear that," said mrs. archibald. "is it a good one?" "i think it is," said the bishop. "i have been considering it earnestly, and the more i fix my mind upon it the greater appear its advantages. i don't mind in the least telling you what it is. a gentleman who is acquainted with my family and whom i have met two or three times, but not recently, possesses a very fine estate some thirty miles south of this place. he has been in europe for some time, but is expected to return to his country mansion about the end of this week. it is my purpose to offer myself to him in the capacity of private librarian. i do not think it will be difficult to convince him that i have many qualifications for the situation." " "has he so many books that he needs a librarian?" asked margery. "no," said the bishop, "i have no reason to suppose that he has any more books than the ordinary country gentleman possesses, but he ought to have. he has a very large income, and is now engaged in establishing for his family what is intended to become, in time, an ancestral mansion. it is obvious to any one of intelligence that such a grand mansion would not be complete without a well-selected library, and that such a library could not be selected or arranged by an ordinary man of affairs. consequently, unless he has a competent person to perform this duty for him, his library, for a long time, will be insignificant. when i shall put the question before him, i have no doubt that he will see and appreciate the force and value of my statements. such a position 86 a ladies' day in camp will suit me admirably. i shall ask but little salary, but it will give me something far better than money-an opportunity to select from the book marts of the whole world the literature in which i delight. consequently, you will see that it is highly desirable that i should be on hand when this gentleman arrives upon his estate." with a look of gentle pity mrs. archibald gazed at the smooth round face of the bishop, flushed with the delights of anticipation and brightened by the cheery smile which nearly always accompanied his remarks. "and is that your only prospect?" she said. "i don't want to discourage you, but it seems to me that if you had some regular business-and you are not oo old to learn something of the sort-it would be far better for you than trying to obtain the mythical position you speak of. i see that you are a man of intelligence and education, and i believe that you would succeed in almost any calling to which you would apply yourself with earnestness and industry. you must excuse me for speaking so plainly, but i am much older than you are and i do it for your good." "madam," exclaimed the bishop, radiant with grateful emotion, "i thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you have said. i thank you for your appreciation of me and for the generous motive of your words, but, to be frank with you, i am not suited to a calling such as you have mentioned. i have many qualities which i well know would promote my fortunes were they properly applied, but that application is difficult, for the reason that my principal mental character87 the associate hermits istic is indefiniteness. when but a little child i was indefinite. nobody knew what i was going to do, or how i would turn out; no one has since known, and no one knows now. in whatever way i have turned my attention in my endeavors to support myself, i have been obstructed and even appalled by the definiteness of the ordinary pursuits of life. now the making of a private library is in itself an indefinite occupation. it has not its lines, its rules, its limitations. but do not think, kind lady, that i shall always depend upon. such employment. should i obtain it, i should hold it only so long as it would be necessary, and it may be necessary for but a little while. do you care to hear of my permanent prospects?" said he, looking from one lady to the other. "certainly," said margery, "we would like to hear all you have to tell." "well then," said the bishop, folding his arms and smiling effusively, but with a gentle curbing of his ordinary cheerfulness, "i will inform you that i have an uncle who is a man of wealth and well on in years. unfortunately, or fortunately it may be, this uncle greatly dislikes me. he objects so strongly to my methods of thought and action, and even to my physical presence, that he cannot bear to hear me speak or even to look at me, and the last time i was in his company, about four years ago, he told me that he would leave me a legacy on condition that he should never hear from me or see me again. he promised to make the proper provision in his will immediately, but declared, and i know he will keep his word, that if he ever received a letter 88 a ladies' day in camp from me or even saw me or heard my voice he would instantly strike out that clause. i appreciated and respected his feelings, and accepted the condition. from that moment i have not written to him, nor shall i ever write to him, and i shall never go near him so long as he is alive. as i said, he is of advanced age, and it is impossible that he can long survive. when his demise takes place my circumstances will, i believe, be satisfactory." "did your uncle say how much he would leave you?" asked mrs. archibald. "no, madam," returned the other, "he did not, but i feel sure that the sum will be measured by his satisfaction in knowing that his existence is entirely freed from me." "really," said mrs. archibald, "there is nothing about you so indefinite as your prospects." 66 66 and it seems horrible to me," said margery, to be hoping that some one may die in order that you may be better off, for, as you want money so much, you must hope that your uncle will die." the bishop smiled and rose. "and now," said he, “i suppose i must go to prepare the dinner at camp roy. there is nobody but myself to eat it, but i have assumed the duty, and it must be performed. good-morning. by your leave, i shall look in upon you again." mrs. archibald had a mind to ask him to stay and dine with them, but having noticed an unfriendly expression on the face of martin when his gloomy walk brought him in her direction, she thought it would not be wise to do so. 89 chapter xi margery takes the oars after dinner mrs. archibald prepared herself for a nap, the most delightful thing she could. think of during the warm hours of such a day. margery, after seeing the elder lady comfortably disposed in the shady sitting-room of the cabin, went out-of-doors with no doubt in her mind as to what would be for her the most delightful thing to do. she would take a row on the lake all by herself. she went down to the boat, which was partly drawn up on the beach and fastened to a heavy stake. but when she reached it she was disgusted to find that the chain was secured to the stake by a padlock. the oars were in the boat, and she could easily have pushed it into the water, but she could not set it free without the key to the padlock. "i do believe," she exclaimed, "that the will of that horrid mr. sadler is like gas. it goes everywhere, even to the tops of the houses and under the beds." but she did not give up her intention. she tried to detach the chain from the boat, but finding this impossible, she thought of going for martin. perhaps he might have a key. this idea, however, she quickly put aside. if he 90 " margery takes the oars had a key, and gave it to her, she might get him into trouble, and, besides, she did not believe that he would let her go alone, and in any other way she did not wish to go. standing with her pretty brows knit, and one heel deep in the soft ground into which she had stamped it, she heard approaching footsteps, and turning, saw the bishop. he came forward with a buoyant step. "is there anything i can do for you, miss dearborn?" he said. "do you wish to go out on the lake? do you want some one to row you?" "yes and no," said margery. "i want to go out in the boat, and i don't want anybody to row me. but that chain is fastened with an abominable padlock, and i cannot launch the boat." "one of your guides is here," said he. "perhaps i can get a key from him." "no, no," said margery, quickly; "he must not know about it. there is a sadler law against it, and he is employed by sadler." "it is very securely fastened," said the bishop, examining the lock and chain. "it is the work of the guide matlack, i have no doubt. but, miss dearborn," said he, with a bright smile, "there is a boat at camp roy. that is not locked, and i can bring it here in twenty minutes." "no," said margery; "i don't want that boat. i've seen it. it is a clumsy old thing, and, besides, it leaks. i want this one. this is just the kind of boat i want to row. it is too bad! if i could get off now there would be nobody to hinder me, for martin is washing the dinner dishes, or doing something of that kind, and whenever 91 the associate hermits he does house-work he always keeps himself out of sight." the bishop examined the stake. it was a stout little tree trunk driven deep into the ground and projecting about five feet above the surface, with the chain so wrapped around it that it was impossible to force it up or down. seizing the stake near the top, the bishop began to push it backward and forward, and being a man of great strength, he soon loosened it so much that, stooping, he was able to pull it from the ground. "hurrah!" exclaimed margery. "it came up just like pulling a tooth." "yes," said the radiant bishop, "the good matlack may be very careful about fastening a boat, but i think i have got the better of him this time; and now i will put the stake, chain and all, in the bow. that is the best way of disposing of them. are you sure that you prefer going alone? i shall be delighted to row you if you wish me 'to." "oh no," said margery; "i am just wild to row myself, and i want to hurry and get off for fear martin will be coming down here." 66 are you sure you understand rowing and the management of a boat?" he asked. 66 oh yes," she replied, “i can row; of course i can. i will get in, and then you can push off the boat." "allow me," said the bishop. but before he could reach her to help her, margery stepped quickly into the boat and was about to seat herself. "if you will take the seat next to the stern," 92 margery takes the oars said the bishop, holding the boat so that it would be steady, "i think that will be better. then the weight of the stake in the bow will put the boat on an even keel." "all right," said margery, accepting his suggestion and seating herself. "now just wait until i get the oars into the rowlocks, and then you can push me off." 66 which way do you bishop. intend to row?" asked the oh, i shall go down towards the lower end of the lake, because that way there are more bushes along the banks and martin will be less apt to see me. if i go the other way i will be in plain sight of the camp, and he may think he ought to do something-fire a gun across my bows to bring me to, maybe, as they do at sea." "hardly," said the bishop, "but let me advise you not to go very far from the shore, so that if you feel tired you can come in easily, and if you will allow me i will walk down the shore in the direction in which you intend to row." “oh, i am not going to get tired," said she. "i could row all day. it is splendid to be in a boat all by myself and have the whole management of it. now please push me off." with some reluctance, but with a sincere desire to make the young girl happy, which could not be overcome by prudence—at least by such prudence as he possessed-the bishop, with a strong, steady push, sent the boat well out on the surface of the water. "that was beautifully done," margery called 93 the associate hermits back to him. "now i have room enough to turn around without any trouble at all." she turned the boat about with its bow towards the lower end of the lake, but it was not done without trouble. "i have not rowed for a good while," she said, "but i am getting used to the oars already. now then, i'm off," and she began to pull with a strength which, had it been suitably paired with skill, would have made her an excellent amateur oarswoman. but the place of skill was supplied by enthusiasm and determination. once or twice an oar slipped from the rowlock and she nearly went over backward, and several times one of the blades got under the water with the flat side up, so that she had difficulty in getting it out. she raised her oars much too high in the air, but she counterbalanced this by sinking them very deep into the water. but she got on, and although her course was somewhat irregular, its general trend was in the direction desired. the bishop walked along the bank, keeping as near to the water as he could. sometimes masses of shrubbery shut off all view of the lake, and then there would be an open space where he would stop and watch the boat. "please keep near the shore, miss dearborn," he called, "that will be better, i think, and it is certainly more shady and pleasant than farther out." "i know what you mean," cried margery, pulling away in high good-humor, "you think it is safer near the shore; but i am not going to row very far this time, and after a little while i may 94 margery takes the oars pull the boat in and rest for a time before starting back," and then she rowed on with renewed energy. the next time the bishop was able to hail the boat, it was at a point where he was obliged to push his way through the bushes in order to see out upon the lake. "miss dearborn," he called, "i think you are a great deal too far from shore, and you must be getting very tired and hot. your face is greatly flushed. i will hurry along and see if i can find a good place for you to stop and cool yourself." "i am all right,” cried margery, resting on her oars. "i get along very well, only the boat doesn't steer properly. i think it is because of the weight of that stick in the bow. i suppose i cannot get rid of it?" "oh no!" cried the bishop, in alarm; "please don't think of it! but if you touch shore at the first open space, i think i can arrange it better for you." (6 << 'very good," said she ; you go ahead and find such a place, and i will come in." "if you touch shore," said the bishop to himself, "you don't go out again in that boat alone! you don't know how to row at all." the bishop ran a hundred yards or more before he found a place at which a boat could be beached. it was not a very good place, but if he could reach out and seize the bow, that would be enough for him. he was strong enough to pull that boat over a paved street. as he looked out over the water he saw that margery had progressed considerably since he 95 the associate hermits had seen her last, but she was still farther from shore than before. "row straight towards me!" he shouted. "here is a fine landing-place, cool and shady." she looked around and managed to turn the boat's head in his direction. then she rowed hard, pulling and splashing, and evidently a little tired. she was strong, but this unusual exercise was a trial to her muscles. perhaps, too, she felt that the bishop was watching her, and that made her a little nervous, for she could not help being aware that she was not handling the oars as well as when she started out. with a strong pull at her right oar to turn the boat inland, she got her left oar tangled between the water and the boat, so it seemed to her, and lost her hold of it. in a moment it was overboard and floating on the lake. leaning over the side of the boat, she made a grasp at the oar, but it was too far for her to reach it; and then, by a spasmodic movement of the other oar, the distance was increased. the bishop's face grew pale. as he looked at her he saw that she was moving away from the floating oar, and now he understood why she had progressed so well. there was a considerable current in the lake which had carried her along, and was now moving the heavy boat much faster than it moved the oar. what should he tell her to do? if she could put her single oar out at the stern, she might scull the boat; but he was sure she did not understand sculling, and to try it she would have to stand up, and this would be madness. 96 margery takes the oars she now took the other oar from the rowlock, and was about to rise, when the bishop shouted to her. "what are you going to do?" he cried. "i am going to the stern," she said, "to see if i cannot reach that oar with this one. perhaps i can pull it in.” "for heaven's sake, don't do that!" he cried. "don't stand up, or the boat will tip, and you will fall overboard." "but what can i do?" she called back. "i can't row with one oar." "try rowing a little on one side, and then on the other," said he. "perhaps you can bring in the boat in that way." she followed his suggestion, but very awkwardly, and he saw plainly that she was tired. instead of approaching the shore, the boat continued to float down the lake. margery turned again. "bishop," she cried, "what shall i do? i must do something, or i can't get ashore at all." she did not look frightened; there was more of annoyance in her expression, as if she thought it impertinent in fate to treat her in this way, and she would not stand it. "if i had thought of the current," said the bishop to himself, "i would never have let her go out alone, and she can't be trusted in that boat another minute longer. she will do something desperate." so saying, the bishop took off his hat and threw it on the ground. then he unbuttoned his coat and began to take it off, but he suddenly changed his mind. even in that g 97 the associate hermits wilderness and under these circumstances he must appear respectable, so he buttoned his coat again, hastily took off his shoes, and, without hesitating, walked into the water until it was above his waist, and then calling to margery that he was coming to her, he began to swim out into the lake. he did not strike out immediately for the boat, but directed his course towards the floating oar. turning his head frequently towards margery, he could see that she was sitting perfectly still, watching him, and so he kept on with a good heart. the bishop was a powerful swimmer, but he found great difficulty in making his way through the water, on account of the extreme tightness of his clothes. it seemed to him that his arms and legs were bandaged in splints, as if he had been under a surgeon's care; but still he struck out as well as he could, and in time reached the oar. pushing this before him to the boat, margery took hold of it. "you swim splendidly," said she. "you can climb in right here." but the bishop knew better than that, and worked his way round to the stern, and after holding on a little while to get his breath, he managed to clamber into the boat. "was the water very cold?" said she. on his replying that it was, she said she thought so because he seemed stiff. "now, miss dearborn," said he, "i have made the stern seat very wet, but i don't believe you will mind that, and if you will sit here i will take the oars and row you in." f 1 1 98 b. "but the bishop knew better margery takes the oars (c 'oh, i think i can do that myself," said margery. "i am rested now, and i am ever so much obliged to you for getting my oar for me." under almost any circumstances the bishop could smile, and now he smiled at the ridiculousness of the idea of margery's rowing that boat back against the current, and with him in it. "indeed," said he, "i must insist. i shall freeze to death if i don't warm myself by exercise." so, reaching out his hand, he assisted margery to the stern, and seating himself in her place, he took the oars, which she had drawn in. "i don't see why i could not make the boat go along that way," said she, as they began to move steadily towards the camp. "i believe i could do it if people would only let me practise by myself; but they always want to show me how, and i hate to have anybody show me how. it is funny," she continued, "that you seem so very wet all but your collar. that looks as smooth and nice as if it had just come from the laundry." the bishop laughed. "that is because it is gutta-percha," he said, "intended for rough use in camp; but the rest of my habiliments were not intended for wet weather." "and you have no hat," said she. "doesn't the sun hurt your head ?" "my head does feel a little warm," said he, "but i didn't want to row back to the place where i left my hat. it was not a good landingplace, after all. besides," he said to himself, "i never thought of my hat or my shoes." 99 chapter xii the bishop engages the attention of the guides when the boat touched the shore margery ran to the cabin to assure mrs. archibald of her safety, if she had been missed. the bishop was sticking the stake in the hole from which he had pulled it, when martin came running to him. "that's a pretty piece of business!" cried the young man. "if you wanted to go out in the boat, why didn't you come to me for the key? you've got no right to pull up the stakes we've driven down. that's the same thing as stealing the boat. what's the matter? did you tumble overboard? you must be a pretty sort of an oarsman! if the ladies want to go out in the boat, i am here to take them. i'd like you to understand that." as has been said before, the bishop could smile under almost any circumstances, and he smiled now, but at the same time his brow wrinkled, which was not common when he smiled. "i am going down to the shore to get my hat and shoes," he said, "and i would like you to come along with me. i can't stand here and talk to you." ioo the bishop and the guides what do you want?" said martin. "come along and see," said the bishop; "that is, if you are not afraid.” that was enough, and the young man walked behind him until they reached the spot where the bishop had taken to the water. then he stopped, and explained to martin all that had happened. "now," said he, "what have you got to say?" martin, now that he knew that the bishop had plunged into the water for the sake of the beautiful margery, was more jealously angry than when he had supposed he had merely taken her out to 66 row. "i haven't anything to say," he answered, shortly, "except that parsons had better attend to their own business, if they have any, and let young ladies and boats alone." "oh, that's all, is it?" said the bishop, and with a quick step forward he clutched the young man's arm with his right hand, while he seized his belt with the other, and then with a great heave sent him out into the water fully ten feet from the shore. with a splash like a dropped anchor martin disappeared from view, but soon arose, his head and shoulders above the surface, where he stood for a moment, spluttering and winking and almost dazed. the bishop stood on the bank and smiled. "did you fall overboard?" said he. "you must be a pretty sort of a boatman !" without replying, martin began to wade ashore. "come on," said the bishop; "if you can't get up the bank, i'll help you." but martin needed no help; he scrambled to ioi the associate hermits the bank, shook himself, and then advanced upon. the bishop, fire in his eye and his fist clinched. "stop, young man," said the other. "it would not be fair to you if i did not tell you that i am a boxer and a heavy-weight, and that i threw you into the water because i didn't want to damage your face and eyes. you were impertinent, but i am satisfied, and the best thing you can do is to go and change your clothes before any one sees you in that plight. you are better off than i am, because i have no clothes with which to make a change." so saying, he sat down and began to put on his shoes. martin stood for a moment and looked at the bishop, he thought of margery and a possible black eye, and then he walked as fast as he could to his tent to get some dry clothes. he was very wet, he was very hot, he was very angry, and what made him more angry than anything else was a respect for the bishop which was rising in him in spite of all his efforts to keep it down. when mr. archibald and his party came back to camp late in the afternoon, margery, who had already told her story to mrs. archibald, told it to each of the others. mr. archibald was greatly moved by the account of the bishop's bravery. he thoroughly appreciated the danger to which margery had been exposed. there were doubtless persons who could be trusted so sit quietly in a little boat with only one oar, and to float upon a lake out of sight and sound of human beings until another boat could be secured and brought to the rescue, but margery was not one of these persons. her greatest danger had been 102 the bishop and the guides that she was a child of impulse. he went immediately to camp roy to see the bishop and express his gratitude, for no matter how great the foolish good-nature of the man had been, his brave rescue of the girl was all that could be thought of now. he found the bishop in bed, mr. clyde preparing the supper, and mr. raybold in a very bad humor. "it's the best place for me," said the bishop, gayly, from under a heavy army blanket. "my bed is something like the carpets in queen elizabeth's time, and this shelter-tent is not one which can be called commodious, but i shall stay here until morning, and then i am sure i shall be none the worse for my dip into the cold lake." as mr. archibald had seen the black garments of the bishop hanging on a bush as he approached the tent, he was not surprised to find their owner in bed. "no," said the bishop, when mr. archibald had finished what he had to say, "there is nothing to thank me for. it was a stupid thing to launch a young girl out upon what, by some very natural bit of carelessness, might have become to her the waters of eternity, and it was my very commonplace duty to get her out of the danger into which i had placed her; so this, my dear sir, is really all there is to say about the matter." mr. archibald differed with him for about ten minutes, and then returned to his camp. phil matlack was also affected by the account of the rescue, and he expressed his feelings to martin. "he pulled up the stake, did he?" said phil. 103 the associate hermits "well, i'll make him pull up his stakes, and before he goes i've a mind to teach him not to meddle with other people's affairs." "if i were you," said martin, "i wouldn't try to teach him anything." "you think he is too stupid to learn?" said matlack, getting more and more angry at the bishop's impertinent and inexcusable conduct. "well, i've taught stupid people before this." "he's a bigger man than you are," said martin. matlack withdrew the knife from the loaf of bread he was cutting, and looked at the young man. "bigger?" said he, scornfully. "what's that got to do with it? a load of hay is bigger than a crow-bar, but i guess the crow-bar would get through the hay without much trouble." "you'd better talk about a load of rocks," said martin. "i don't think you'd find it easy to get a crow-bar through them." matlack looked up inquiringly. "has he been thrashing you?" he asked. "no, he hasn't," said martin, sharply. “you didn't fight him, then ?” "no, i didn't," was the answer. (6 why didn't you? you were here to take charge of this camp and keep things in order. why didn't you fight him?" "i don't fight that sort of a man,” said martin, with an air which, if it were not disdainful, was intended to be. matlack gazed at him a moment in silence, and then went on cutting the bread. "i don't understand this thing," he said to himself. "i must look into it." 104 chapter xiii the world goes wrong with mr. raybold the next morning mr. archibald started out, very early, on a fishing expedition by himself. he was an enthusiastic angler, and had not greatly enjoyed the experience of the day before. he did not object to shooting if there were any legitimate game to shoot, and he liked to tramp through the mountain wilds under the guidance of such a man as matlack; but to keep company all day with raybold, who, in the very heart of nature, talked only of the gossip of the town, and who punctuated his small talk by intermittent firing at everything which looked like a bird or suggested the movements of an animal, was not agreeable to him. clyde was a better fellow, and mr. archibald liked him, but he was young and abstracted, and the interest which clings around an abstracted person who is young is often inconsiderable, so he determined for one day at least to leave sir cupid to his own devices, for he could not spend all his time defending margery from amatory dawdle. for this one day he would leave the task to his wife. that day mr. raybold was in a moody mood. early in the morning he had walked to sadler's, his object being to secure from the trunk which 105 the associate hermits he had left there a suit of ordinary summer clothes. he had come to think that perhaps his bicycle attire, although very suitable for this sort of life, failed to make him as attractive in the eyes of youth and beauty as he might be if clothed in more becoming garments. it was the middle of the afternoon before he returned, and as he carried a large package, he went directly to his own camp, and in about half an hour afterwards he came over to camp rob dressed in a light suit, which improved his general appearance very much. in his countenance, however, there was no improvement whatever, for he looked more out of humor than when he had set out, and when he saw that mrs. archibald was sitting alone in the shade, reading, and that at a considerable distance harrison clyde was seated by margery, giving her a lesson in drawing upon birch bark, or else taking a lesson from her, his ill-humor increased. 66 "it is too bad," said he, taking a seat by mrs. archibald without being asked; everything seems to go wrong out here in these woods. it is an unnatural way to live, anyhow, and i suppose it serves us right. when i went to sadler's i found a letter from my sister corona, who says she would like me to make arrangements for her to come here and camp with us for a time. now that suits me very well indeed. my sister corona is a very fine young woman, and i think it would be an excellent thing to have two young ladies here instead of one." "yes," said mrs. archibald, "that might be 106 it goes wrong with raybold very pleasant. i should be glad for margery to have a companion of her own sex." "i understand precisely," said raybold, nodding his head sagaciously; "of her own sex. yes, i see your drift, and i agree with you absolutely. there is a little too much of that thing over there, and i don't wonder you are annoyed." "i did not say i was annoyed," said mrs. archibald, rather surprised. "no," he answered, "you did not say so, but i can read between the lines, even spoken lines. now when i heard that my sister wanted to come out here," he continued, "at first i did not like it, for i thought she might be some sort of a restraint upon me; but when i considered the matter further, i became very much in favor of it, and i sent a telegram by the stage telling her to come immediately, and that everything would be ready for her. my sister has a sufficient income of her own, and she likes to have everything suited to her needs. i am different. i am a man of the world, and although i do not always care to conform to circumstances, i can generally make circumstances conform to me. as shakespeare says, 'the world is my pottle, and i stir my spoon.' you must excuse my quoting, but i cannot help it. my life work is to be upon the stage, and where one's mind is, there will his words be also." mr. raybold was now in a much more pleasant mood than when he came to sit in the shade with mrs. archibald. he was talking; he had found some one who listened and who had very little to say for herself. 107 the associate hermits "consequently," he remarked, "i ordered from mr. sadler the very best tent that he had. it has two compartments in it, and it is really as comfortable as a house, and as my sister wrote that she wished a female attendant, not caring to have her meals cooked by boys-a very flippant expression, by-the-way-i have engaged for her a she-guide." “a what?” asked mrs. archibald. "a person," said he, "who is a guide of the female gender. she was the wife of a hunter who was accidentally shot, sadler told me, by a young man who was with him on a gunning expedition. i told sadler that it was reprehensible to allow such fellows to have guns, but he said that they are not as dangerous now as they used to be. this is because the guides have learned to beware of them, i suppose. this woman has lived in the woods and knows all about camp life, and sadler says there could not be a better person found to attend a young lady in camp. so i engaged her, and i must say she charged just as much as if she were a man." "why shouldn't she," said mrs. archibald, "if she is just as good?" to this remark raybold paid no attention. "i will tell you," he said, “confidentially, of course, and i think you have as much reason to be interested in it as i have, why i came to view with so much favor my sister's coming here. she is a very attractive young woman, and i think she cannot fail to interest clyde, and that, of course, will be of advantage to your niece." "she is not my niece, you know," said mrs. archibald. 108 it goes wrong with raybold "well," said he, "it is all the same. 'let it be a bird wing or a flower, so it pleases'-a quotation which is also avonian—and if clyde likes corona he will let miss dearborn alone. that's the sort of man he is." "and in that case," said mrs. archibald, "i suppose you would not be unwilling to provide margery with company." "madam," said the young man, leaning forward and fixing his eyes upon the ground, and then turning them upon her without moving his face towards her, "with me all that is a different matter. i may have occasion later to speak to you and your husband upon the subject of miss dearborn." "in which case,” said mrs. archibald, quickly, "i am sure that my husband will be very glad to speak to you. but why, may i ask, were you so disturbed when you came here, just now? you said the world was going wrong." "i declare," said he, knitting his brows and clapping one hand on his knee, "i actually forgot! the world wrong? i should say it was wrong! my sister can't come, and i don't know what to do about it." 66 can't come?" asked mrs. archibald. "of course not," said he, all his ill-humor having returned. "that fellow, the bishop, is in our camp and in clyde's bed. clyde foolishly gave him his bed because he said the cook-tent was too cramped for a man to stay in it all day." "why need he stay?" asked mrs. archibald. "has he taken cold? is he sick?" “no indeed,” said raybold. "if he were sick 109 the associate hermits 1 we might send for a cart and have him taken to sadler's, but the trouble is worse than that. his clothes, in which he foolishly jumped into the water, have shrunken so much that he cannot get them on, and as he has no others, he is obliged to stay in bed." "but surely something can be done," said mrs. archibald. "no," he interrupted, "nothing can be done. the clothes have dried, and if you could see them as they hang up on the bushes, you would understand why that man can never get into them again. the material is entirely unsuitable for out-door life. clyde proposes that we shall lend him something, but there are no clothes in this party into which such a sausage of a man could get himself. so there he is, and there, i suppose, he will remain indefinitely; and i don't want to bring my sister to a camp with a permanently occupied hospital bed in it. as soon as i agreed to corona's coming i determined to bounce that man, but now-" so saying, mr. raybold rose, folded his arms, and knit his brows, and as he did so he glanced towards the spot where margery and clyde had been sitting, and perceived that the latter had departed, probably to get some more birch bark; and so, with a nod to mrs. archibald, he sauntered away, bending his steps, as it were accidentally, in the direction of the young lady left alone. when mr. archibald heard, that evening, of the bishop's plight and raybold's discomfiture, he was amused, but also glad to know there was an opportunity for doing something practical for the iio it goes wrong with raybold bishop. he was beginning to like the man, in spite of his indefiniteness, so he went to see the bedridden prelate who was neither sick nor clerical, and with very little trouble induced him to take a few general measurements of his figure. "it is so good of you," said the delighted recumbent," that i shall not say a word, but step aside in deference to your conscience, whose encomiums will far transcend anything i can say. you will pardon me, i am sure, if i make my measurements liberal. the cost will not be increased, and to live, move, and breathe in a suit of clothes which is large enough for me is a joy which i have not known for a long time. shoes, did you say, sir? truly this is generosity supereminent." 66 "yes," said mr. archibald, laughing, "and you also shall have a new hat. i will fit you out completely, and if this helps you to make a new and a good start in life, i shall be greatly gratified.” sir," said the bishop, the moisture of genuine gratitude in his eyes, "you are doing, i think, far more good than you can imagine, and pardon me if i suggest, since you are going to get me a hat, that it be not of clerical fashion. if everything is to be new, i should like everything different, and i am certain the cost will be less." 66 all right," said mr. archibald. "i will now make a list of what you need, and i will write to one of my clerks, who will procure everything." when mr. archibald went back to his camp he met raybold, stalking moodily. having been told what had been done for the bishop's relief, the young man was astonished. iii the associate hermits "a complete outfit, and for him? i would not have dreamed of it; and besides, it is of no use; it must be days before the clothes arrive, and my sister wishes to come immediately." "do you suppose," exclaimed mr. archibald, "that i am doing this for the sake of your sister? i am doing it for the man himself." when mr. archibald told his wife of this little interview they both laughed heartily. "if mr. raybold's sister," said she, "is like him, i do not think we shall care to have her here; but sisters are often very different from their brothers. however, the bishop need not prevent her coming. if his clothes do not arrive before she does, i am sure there could be no objection to her tent being set up for a time in some of the open space in our camp, and then we shall become sooner acquainted with her; if she is a suitable person, i shall be very glad indeed for margery to have a companion.' "" "all right," said mr. archibald; "let her pitch her tent where she pleases. i am satisfied.” chapter xiv the assertion of individuality it was a week after her brother had sent her his telegram before miss corona raybold arrived at camp rob, with her tent, her outfit, and her female guide. mrs. archibald had been surprised that she did not appear sooner, for, considering mr. raybold's state of mind, she had supposed that his sister had wished to come at the earliest possible moment. "but," said raybold, in explaining the delay, "corona is very different from me. in my actions 'the thunder's roar doth crowd upon the lightning's heels,' as william has told us." "where in shakespeare is that?" asked mrs. archibald. mr. raybold bent his brow. "for the nonce,' said he, "i do not recall the exact position of the lines." and after that he made no more avonian quotations to mrs. archibald. the arrival of the young lady was, of course, a very important event, and even mr. archibald rowed in from the lake when he saw her caravan approaching, herself walking in the lead. proved to be a young person of medium height, slight, and dressed in a becoming suit of dark blue. her hair and eyes were dark, her features "" h 113 the associate hermits regular and of a classic cut, and she wore eyeglasses. her manner was quiet, and at first she appeared reserved, but she soon showed that if she wished to speak she could talk very freely. she wore an air of dignified composure, but was affable, and very attentive to what was said to her. altogether she made in a short time an extremely favorable impression upon mr. and mrs. archibald, and in a very much less time an extremely unfavorable impression upon margery. miss raybold greeted everybody pleasantly, even informing matlack that she had heard of him as a famous guide, and after thanking mr. and mrs. archibald for their permission to set up her tent on the outskirts of their camp, she proceeded to said tent, which was speedily made ready for her. mrs. perkenpine, her guide, was an energetic woman, and under her orders the men who brought the baggage bestirred themselves wonderfully. just before supper, to which meal the raybolds and mr. clyde had been invited, the latter came to mr. archibald, evidently much troubled and annoyed. "i am positively ashamed to mention it to you, sir," he said, "but i must tell you that raybold has ordered the men who brought his sister's tent to bring our tent over here and put it up near her's. i was away when this was done, and i wish to assure you most earnestly that i had nothing to do with it. the men have gone, and i don't suppose we can get it back to-night." mr. archibald opened his eyes very wide. 114 assertion of individuality "your friend is certainly a remarkable young man,” said he, "but we must not have any bad feeling in camp, so let everything remain as it is for to-night. i suppose he wished to be near his sister, but at least he might have asked permission." "i think," said clyde, "that he did not so much care to be near his sister as he did to be away from the bishop, who is now left alone in our little shelter-tent." mr. archibald laughed. "well," said he, "he will come to no harm, and we must see that he has some supper." "oh, i shall attend to that," said clyde, "and to his breakfast also. and, now i come to think of it, i believe that one reason raybold moved our tent over here was to get the benefit of his sister's cook. the bishop did our cooking, you know, before he took to his bed." that evening miss raybold joined the party around the camp-fire. she declared that in the open air she did not in the least object to the use of tobacco, and then she asked mr. archibald if his two guides came to the camp-fire after their work was done. "they do just as they please," was the answer. "sometimes they come over here and smoke their pipes a little in the background, and sometimes. they go off by themselves. we are very democratic here in camp, you know." "i like that," said miss raybold, "and i will have mrs. perkenpine come over when she has arranged the tent for the night. arthur, will you go and tell her?" 115 the associate hermits her brother did not immediately rise to execute this commission. he hoped that mr. clyde would offer to do the service, but the latter did not improve the opportunity to make himself agreeable to the new-comer, and raybold did the errand. harrison clyde was sitting by margery, and margery was giving a little attention to what he said to her and a great deal of attention to corona raybold. "more self-conceit and a better-fitting dress i never saw," thought margery; "it's loose and easy, and yet it seems to fit perfectly, and i do believe she thinks she is some sort of an upper angel who has condescended to come down here just to see what common people are like." corona talked to mr. archibald. it was her custom always to talk to the principal personage of a party. "it gives me pleasure, sir," said she, "to meet with you and your wife. it is so seldom that we find any one-" she was interrupted by mrs. perkenpine, who stood behind her. the she-guide was a large woman, apparently taller than matlack. her sunburnt face was partly shaded by a man's straw hat, secured on her head by strings tied under her chin. she wore a very plain gown, coarse in texture, and of a light-blue color, which showed that it had been washed very often. her voice and her shoes, the latter well displayed by her short skirt, creaked, but her gray eyes were bright, and moved about after the manner of searchlights. 116 assertion of individuality "well," said she to miss raybold, "what do you want?" corona turned her head and placidly gazed up at her. "i simply wished to let you know that you might join this company here if you liked. the two men guides are coming, you see." mrs. perkenpine glanced around the group. "is there any hunting stories to be told?" she asked. mr. archibald laughed. “i don't know," he said, "but perhaps we may have some. i am sure that matlack here has hunting stories to tell.” mrs. perkenpine shook her head. "no, sir," said she; "i don't want none of his stories. i've heard them all mostly two or three times over." "i dare say you have," said phil, seating himself on a fallen trunk, a little back from the fire; "but you see, mrs. perkenpine, you are so obstinate about keepin' on livin'. if you'd died when you was younger, you wouldn't have heard so many of those stories.” "there's been times," said she, "when you was tellin' the story of the bear cubs and the condensed milk, when i wished i had died when i was younger, or else you had." 66 perhaps," said miss raybold, in a clear, decisive voice, "mr. matlack may know hunting stories that will be new to all of us, but before he begins them i have something which i would like to say." "all right,” said mrs. perkenpine, seating herself promptly upon the ground; "if you're goin' to talk, i'll stay. i'd like to know what kind of things you do talk about when you talk." 117 the associate hermits “i was just now remarking," said miss corona, that i am very glad indeed to meet with those who, like mr. and mrs. archibald, are willing to set their feet upon the modern usages of society (which would crowd us together in a common herd) and assert their individuality.", mr. archibald looked at the speaker inquiringly. "of course," said she, "i refer to the fact that you and mrs. archibald are on a wedding-journey." at this remark phil matlack rose suddenly from the tree-trunk and martin dropped his pipe. mr. clyde turned his gaze upon margery, who thereupon burst out laughing, and then he looked in amazement from mr. archibald to mrs. archibald and back again. mrs. perkenpine sat up very straight and leaned forward, her hands upon her knees. "is it them two sittin' over there?" she said, pointing to margery and clyde. "are they on a honey-moon?" "no!" exclaimed arthur raybold, in a loud, sharp voice. "what an absurdity! corona, what are you talking about?" to this his sister paid no attention whatever. "i think," she said, "it was a noble thing to do. an assertion of one's inner self is always noble, and when i heard of this assertion i wished very much to know the man and the woman who had so asserted themselves, and this was my principal reason for determining to come to this camp.” but where on earth," asked mr. archibald, did you hear that we were on a weddingjourney ?" 66 66 66 118 assertion of individuality "i read it in a newspaper," said corona. "i do declare," exclaimed mrs. archibald, "everything is in the newspapers! i did think that we might settle down here and enjoy ourselves without people talking about our reason for coming!" 66 'you don't mean to say," cried mrs. perkenpine, now on her feet, "that you two elderly ones is the honey-mooners?" "yes," said mr. archibald, looking with amusement on the astonished faces about him, “we truly are." "well," said the she-guide, seating herself, "if i'd stayed an old maid as long as that, i think i'd stuck it out. but perhaps you was a widow, mum ?" "no, indeed," cried mr. archibald; "she was a charming girl when i married her. but just let me tell you how the matter stands," and he proceeded to relate the facts of the case. "i thought," he said, in conclusion, turning to matlack, "that perhaps you knew about it, for i told mr. sadler, and i supposed he might have menioned it to you." “no, sir,” said matlack, relighting his pipe, "he knows me better than that. if he'd called me and said, 'phil, i want you to take charge of a couple that's goin' honey-moonin' about twentyfive years after they married, and a-doin' it for somebody else and not for themselves,' i'd said to him, 'they're lunatics, and i won't take charge of them.' and peter he knows i would have thought that and would have said it, and so he did not mention the particulars to me. he knows 119 the associate hermits that the only things that i'm afraid of in this world is lunatics. 'tisn't only what they might do to me, but what they might do to themselves, and i won't touch 'em." "i hope," said mrs. archibald, "that you don't consider us lunatics now that you have heard why we are here." "oh no," said the guide; "i've found that you're regular common-sense people, and i don't change my opinions even when i've heard particulars; but if i'd heard particulars first, it would have been all up with my takin' charge of you." and you knew it all the time?" said clyde to margery, speaking so that she only could hear. "i knew it," she said, "but i didn't think it worth talking about. do you know mr. raybold's sister? do you like her ?" "i have met her," said clyde; "but she is too lofty for me." "what is there lofty about her?" said margery. "well," said he, "she is lofty because she has elevated ideas. she goes in for reform; and for pretty much all kinds, from what i have heard." "i think she is lofty," remarked margery, "because she is stuck-up. i don't like her." "it is so seldom," corona now continued, "that we find people who are willing to assert their individuality, and when they are found i always want to talk to them. i suppose, mr. matlack, that your life is one long assertion of individuality ?" "what, ma'am?" asked the guide. "i mean," said she, "that when you are out alone in the wild forest, holding in your hand 120 assertion of individuality the weapon which decides the question of life or death for any living creature over whom you may choose to exercise your jurisdiction, absolutely independent of every social trammel, every bond of conventionalism, you must feel that you are a predominant whole and not a mere integral part." • "well," said matlack, speaking slowly, "i may have had them feelin's, but if i did they must have struck in, and not come out on the skin, like measles, where i could see 'em." "corona," said her brother, in a peevish undertone, "what is the good of all that? you're wasting your words on such a man." his sister turned a mild steady gaze upon him. "i don't know any man but you," she said, "on whom i waste my words." "is assertin' like persistin'?" inquired mrs. perkenpine at this point. "the two actions are somewhat alike," said corona. "well, then," said the she-guide, "i'm in for assertin'. when my husband was alive there was a good many things i wanted to do, and when i wanted to do a thing or get a thing i kept on sayin' so; and one day, after i'd been keepin' on sayin' so a good while, he says to me, 'jane,' says he, 'it seems to me that you're persistin'.' 'yes,' says i, 'i am, and i intend to be.' 'then you are goin' to keep on insistin' on persistin'?' says he. 'yes,' says i; and then says he, 'if you keep on insistin' on persistin' i'll be thinkin' of 'listin'.' by which he meant goin' into the army as a regular, and gettin' rid of me; and as i didn't want 121 the associate hermits to be rid of him, i stopped persistin'; but now i wish i had persisted, for then he'd 'listed, and most likely would be alive now, through not bein' shot in the back by a city fool with a gun." "i do not believe," said mrs. archibald to her husband, when they had retired to their cabin, "that that young woman is going to be much of a companion for margery. i think she will prefer your society to that of any of the rest of us. it is very plain that she thinks it is your individuality which has been asserted." "well," said he, rubbing his spectacles with his handkerchief before putting them away for the night, "don't let her project her individuality into my sport. that's all i have to say." chapter xv a net of cobwebs to cage a lion "i think there's something besides a lunatic that you are afraid of," said martin to matlack the next morning, as they were preparing breakfast. "what's that?" inquired the guide, sharply. "it's that fellow they call the bishop," said martin. "he put a pretty heavy slur on you. you drove down a stake, and you locked your boat to it, and you walked away as big as if you were the sheriff of the county, and here he comes along, and snaps his fingers at you and your locks, and, as cool as a cucumber, he pulls up the stake and shoves out on the lake, all alone by herself, a young lady that you are paid to take care of and protect from danger." "i want you to know, martin sanders," said matlack, "that i don't pitch into a man when he's in his bed, no matter what it is that made him take to his bed or stay there. but i'll just say to you now, that when he gets up and shows himself, there'll be the biggest case of bounce in these parts that you ever saw." 66 bounce!" said martin to himself, as he turned away. "i have heard so much of it lately that i'd like to see a little." 123 the associate hermits matlack also communed with himself. "he's awful anxious to get up a quarrel between me and the parson," he thought. "i wonder if he was too free with his tongue and did get thrashed. he don't show no signs of it, except he's so concerned in his mind to see somebody do for the parson what he ain't able to do himself. but i'll find out about it! i'll thrash that fellow in black, and before i let him up i'll make him tell me what he did to martin. i'd do a good deal to get hold of something that would take the conceit out of that fellow." mr. arthur raybold was a deep-minded person, and sometimes it was difficult for him, with the fathoming apparatus he had on hand, to discover the very bottom of his mind. now, far below the surface, his thoughts revolved. he had come to the conclusion that he would marry margery. in the first place, he was greatly attracted by her, and again he considered it would be a most advantageous union. she was charming to look upon, and her mind was so uncramped by conventionalities that it could adapt itself to almost any sphere to which she might direct it. he expected his life-work to be upon the stage, and what an actress miss dearborn would make if properly educated -as he could educate her! with this most important purpose in view, why should he waste his time? the archibalds could not much longer remain in camp. they had limited their holiday to a month, and that was more than half gone. he must strike now. the first thing to do was to get clyde out of the way; then he would speak to mr. archibald 124 cobwebs to cage a lion and ask for authority to press his suit, and he would press that suit as few men on earth, he said to himself, would be able to press it. what girl could deny herself to him when he came to her clad not only with his own personal attributes, but with the fervor of a romeo, the intellectuality of a hamlet, and the force of an othello? the clyde part of the affair seemed very simple; as his party would of course have their own table clyde would see his sister at every meal, and as corona did not care to talk to him, and must talk to somebody, she would be compelled to talk to clyde, and if she talked to clyde and looked at him as she always did when she talked to people, he did not see how he could help being attracted by her, and when once that sort of thing began the margery-field would be open to him. he excused himself that morning for hurriedly leaving the breakfast-table by saying that he wished to see mr. archibald before he started out fishing. he found that gentleman talking to matlack. "can i see you alone, sir?" said raybold. “i have something of importance i wish to say to you." "very good," said the other, " for i have something i wish to say to you," and they retired towards the lake. "what is it?" inquired mr. archibald. "it is this," said raybold, folding his arms as he spoke. "i am a man of but few words. when i have formed a purpose i call upon my actions 125 the associate hermits to express it rather than my speech. i will not delay, therefore, to say to you that i love your ward, and my sole object in seeking this interview is to ask your permission to pay my addresses to her. that permission given, i will attend to the rest." "after you have dropped your penny in the slot," remarked mr. archibald. "i must say," he continued, "that i am rather surprised at the nature of your communication. i supposed you were going to explain your somewhat remarkable conduct in bringing your tent into my camp without asking my permission or even speaking to me about it; but as what you have said is of so much more importance than that breach of good manners i will let the latter drop. but why did you ask my permission to address miss dearborn? why didn't you go and do it just as you brought your tent here? did you think that if you had a permit from me for that sort of sport you could warn off trespassers?" "it was something of that kind," said raybold, "although i should not have put it in that trifling way." "then i will remark," said mr. archibald," that i know nothing of your matrimonial availability, and i do not want to know anything about it. my wife and i brought miss dearborn here to enjoy herself in the woods, not to be sought in marriage by strangers. for the present i am her guardian, and as such i say to you that i forbid you to make her a proposal of marriage, or, indeed, to pay her any attentions which she may consider serious. if i see that you do not respect 126 cobwebs to cage a lion my wishes in this regard, i shall ask you to consider our acquaintance at an end, and shall dispense with your visits to this camp. have i spoken plainly?" the knitted brows of raybold were directed towards the ground. "you have spoken plainly," he said, “and i have heard," and with a bow he walked away. as he approached his tent a smile, intended to be bitter, played about his features. "a net of cobwebs," he muttered, "to cage a lion !" the weather had now grown sultry, the afternoon was very hot, and there was a general desire to lie in the shade and doze. margery's plans for a siesta were a little more complicated than those of the others. she longed to lie in a hammock under great trees, surrounded by the leafy screens of the woodlands; to gaze at the blue sky through the loop-holes in the towering branches above her, and to dream of the mysteries of the forest. 66 'martin," said she, to the young guide, “is there a hammock among the things we brought with us?" his face brightened. "of course there are hammocks," he said. "i wonder none of you. asked about them before." "i never thought of it," said margery. "i haven't had time for lounging, and as for aunt harriet, she would not get into one for five dollars." "where shall i hang it?" he asked. "not anywhere about here. couldn't you find some nice place in the woods, not far away, but 127 the associate hermits where i would not be seen, and might have a little time to myself? if you can, come and tell me quietly where it is." "i know what she means," said martin to himself. "it's a shame that she should be annoyed. i can find you just such a place," he said to margery. "i will hang the hammock there, and i will take care that nobody else shall know where it is." and away he went, bounding heart and foot. in less than a quarter of an hour he returned. "it's all ready, miss dearborn," he said. "i think i have found a place you will like. it's generally very close in the woods on a day like this, but there is a little bluff back of us, and at the end of it the woods are open, so that there is a good deal of air there." "that is charming," said margery, and with a book in her hand she accompanied martin. they were each so interested in the hammock business that they walked side by side, instead of one following the other, as had been their custom heretofore. "oh, this is a delightful place!" cried margery. "i can lie here and look down into the very heart of the woods; it is a solitude like robinson crusoe's island." "i am glad you like it," said martin. "i thought you would. i have put up the hammock strongly, so that you need not be afraid of it; but if there is any other way you want it i can change it. there is not a thing here that can hurt you, and if a little snake should happen along it would be glad to get away from you if you give it a chance. 128 cobwebs to cage a lion but if you should be frightened or should want anything you have only to call for me. i shall hear you, for i shall be out in the open just at the edge of the woods." "thank you very much," said margery; "nothing could be nicer than this, and you did it so quickly." he smiled with pleasure as he answered that he could have done it more quickly if it had been necessary; and then he retired slowly, that she might call him back if she thought of anything she wanted. margery lay in the hammock, gazing out over the edge of the bluff into the heart of the woods; her closed book was in her hand, and the gentle breeze that shook the leaves around her and disturbed the loose curls about her face was laden with a moist spiciness which made her believe it had been wandering through some fragrant foliage of a kind unknown to her, far away in the depths of the forest, where she could not walk on account of the rocks, the great bushes, and the tall ferns. it was lovely to lie and watch the leafy boughs, which seemed as if they were waving their handkerchiefs to the breeze as it passed. "i don't believe," she said to herself, as she cast her eyes upward towards an open space above her, "that if i were that little white cloud and could float over the whole world and drop down on any spot i chose that i could drop into a lovelier place than this." then she brought her gaze again to earth, and her mind went out between the shadowy trunks which stretched i 129 the associate hermits away and away and away towards the mysteries of the forest, which must always be mysteries to her because it was impossible for her to get to them and solve them—that is, if she remained awake. but if master morpheus should happen by, she might yet know everything—for there are no mysteries which cannot be solved in dreams. master morpheus came, but with him came also arthur raybold; not by the little pathway that approached from the direction of the lake, but parting the bushes as if he had been exploring. when she heard footsteps behind her, margery looked up quickly. "mr. raybold!" she exclaimed. "how on earth did you happen here?" "i did not happen," said he, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. "i have been looking for you, and i have had tough work of it. i saw you go into the woods, and i went in also, although some distance below here, and i have had a hard and tiresome job working my way up to you; but i have found you. i knew i should, for i had bent my mind to the undertaking." "well, i wish you hadn't," said margery, in a vexed tone. "i came here to be alone and take a nap, and i wish you would find some other nice place and go and take a nap yourself." ! 66 he smiled deeply. that would not answer my purpose at all," said he. "napping is far from my desires." "but i don't care anything about your desires," said margery, in a tone which showed she was truly vexed, "i have pre-empted this place, and 130 cobwebs to cage a lion i want it to myself. i was just falling into a most delightful doze when you came, and i don't think you have any right to come here and disturb me." "the sense of right, miss dearborn," said he, comes from the heart, and we do not have to ask other people what it is. my heart has given me the right to come here, and here i am." "and what in the name of common-sense are you here for?" said margery. "speaking about your heart makes me think you came here to make love to me. is that it?" "6 66 it is," said he, "and i wish you to hear me.” "mr. raybold," said she, her eyes as bright, he thought, as if they had belonged to his sister when she was urging some of her favorite views upon a company, "i won't listen to one word of such stuff. this is no place for love-making, and i won't have it. if you want to make love to me you can wait until i go home, and then you can come and speak to my mother about it, and when you have spoken to her you can speak to me, but i won't listen to it here. not one word!" thus did the indignant craftiness of margery express itself. "it's a good deal better," she thought, "than telling him no, and having him keep on begging and begging." "miss dearborn," said raybold, "what i have to say cannot be postponed. the words within me must be spoken, and i came here to speak them." with a sudden supple twist margery turned herself, hammock and all, and stood on her feet 131 the associate hermits on the ground. "martin !" she cried, at the top of her voice. raybold stepped back astonished. "what is this?" he exclaimed. "am i to understand-" before he had time to complete his sentence martin sanders sprang into the scene. "what is it?" he exclaimed, with a glare at raybold, as if he suspected why he had been called. "martin," said margery, with a good deal of sharpness in her voice, "i want you to take down this hammock and carry it away. i can't stay here any longer. i thought that at least one quiet place out-of-doors could be found where i would not be disturbed, but it seems there is no such place. perhaps you can hang the hammock somewhere near our cabin." martin's face grew very red. "i think," said he, "that you ought not to be obliged to go away because you have been disturbed. whoever disturbed you should go away, and not you." now mr. raybold's face also grew red. "there has been enough of this!" he exclaimed. "guide, you can go where you came from. you are not wanted here. if miss dearborn wishes her hammock taken down, i will do it." then turning to margery, he continued: "you do not know what it is i have to say to you. if you do not hear me now, you will regret it all your life. send this man away." "i would very much like to send a man away if i knew how to do it," said margery. "do it?" cried martin. "oh, miss dearborn, if you want it done, ask me to do it for you!" 132 cobwebs to cage a lion "you!" shouted raybold, making two steps towards the young guide; then he stopped, for margery stood in front of him. "i have never seen two men fight," said she, "and i don't say i wouldn't like it, just once; but you would have to have on boxing-gloves; i couldn't stand a fight with plain hands, so you needn't think of it. martin, take down the hammock just as quickly as you can. and if you want to stay here, mr. raybold, you can stay, but if you want to talk, you can talk to the trees." martin heaved a sigh of disappointment, and proceeded to unfasten the hammock from the trees to which it had been tied. for a moment raybold looked as if he were about to interfere, but there was something in the feverish agility of the young guide which made his close proximity as undesirable as that of a package of dynamite. margery turned to leave the place, but suddenly stopped. she would wait until martin was ready to go with her. she would not leave those two young men alone. raybold was very angry. he knew well that such a chance for a private interview was not likely to occur again, and he would not give up. he approached the young girl. (6 margery," he said, "if you—” 66 martin," she cried to the guide, who was now ready to go, put down that hammock and come here. now, sir," she said, turning to raybold, "let me hear you call me margery again!" she waited for about a half a minute, but she (6 133 the associate hermits was not called by name. then she and martin went away. she had nearly reached the cabin before she spoke, and then she turned to the young man and said: "martin, you needn't trouble yourself about putting up that hammock now; i don't want to lie in it. i'm going into the house. i am very much obliged to you for the way you stood by me." "stood by you!" he exclaimed, in a low voice, which seemed struggling in the grasp of something which might or might not be stronger than itself. "you don't know how glad i am to stand by you, and how i would always—" "thank you," said margery; "thank you very much," and she walked away towards the cabin. “oh, dear!" she sighed, as she opened the door and went in. chapter xvi a man who feels himself a man towards the end of the afternoon, when the air had grown cooler, mr. archibald proposed a boating expedition to the lower end of the lake. his boat was large enough for matlack, the three ladies, and himself, and if the two young men wished to follow, they had a boat of their own. when first asked to join the boating party miss corona raybold hesitated; she did not care very much about boating; but when she found that if she stayed in camp she would have no one to talk to, she accepted the invitation. mr. archibald took the oars nearest the stern, while matlack seated himself forward, and this arrangement suited miss corona exactly. the boat kept down the middle of the lake, greatly aided by the current, and corona talked steadily to mr. archibald. mrs. archibald, who always wanted to do what was right, and who did not like to be left out of any conversation on important subjects, made now and then a remark, and whenever she spoke corona turned to her and listened with the kindest attention, but the moment the elder lady had finished, the other resumed her own thread of observation 135 the associate hermits without the slightest allusion to what she had just heard. as for mr. archibald, he seldom said a word. he listened, sometimes his eyes twinkled, and he pulled easily and steadily. doubtless he had a good many ideas, but none of them was expressed. as for margery, she leaned back in the stern, and thought that, after all, she liked miss raybold better than she did her brother, for the young lady did not speak one word to her, nor did she appear to regard her in any way. "but how on earth," thought margery, "she can float over this beautiful water and under this lovely sky, with the grandeur of the forest all about her, and yet pay not the slightest attention to anything she sees, but keep steadily talking about her own affairs and the society she belongs to, i cannot imagine. she might as well live in a cellar and have pamphlets and reformers shoved down to her through the coal-hole." messrs. clyde and raybold accompanied the larger boat in their own skiff. it was an unwieldy craft, with but one pair of oars, and as the two young men were not accustomed to rowing together, and as mr. raybold was not accustomed to rowing at all and did not like it, mr. clyde pulled the boat. but, do what he could, it was impossible for him to get near the other boat. matlack, who was not obliged to listen to miss corona, kept his eye upon the following skiff, and seemed to fear a collision if the two boats came close together, for if clyde pulled hard he pulled harder. arthur raybold was not satisfied. "i thought you were a better oarsman," he 136 a man feels himself a man said to the other; "but now i suppose we shall not come near them until we land." but the archibald party did not land. under the guidance of matlack they swept slowly. around the lower end of the lake; they looked over the big untenanted camp-ground there; they stopped for a moment to gaze into the rift in the forest through which ran the stream which connected this lake with another beyond it, and then they rowed homeward, keeping close to the farther shore, so as to avoid the strength of the current. clyde, who had not reached the end of the lake, now turned and determined to follow the tactics of the other boat and keep close to the shore, but on the side nearest to the camp. this exasperated raybold. 66 what are you trying to do?" he said. "if you keep in the middle we may get near them, and why should we be on one side of the lake and they on the other ?" "i want to get back as soon as they do," said clyde, "and i don't want to pull against the current." "stop!" said raybold. "if you are tired, let me have the oars." harrison clyde looked for a minute at his companion, and then deliberately changed the course of the boat and rowed straight towards the shore, paying no attention whatever to the excited remonstrances of raybold. he beached the boat at a rather poor landing-place among some bushes, and then, jumping out, he made her fast. "what do you mean?" cried raybold, as he 137 the associate hermits scrambled on shore. "is she leaking more than she did? what is the matter?" "she is not leaking more than usual," said the other, "but i am not going to pull against that current with you growling in the stern. i am going to walk back to camp." in consequence of this resolution the two young men reached camp rob about the same time that the archibald boat touched shore, and at least an hour before they would have arrived had they remained in their boat. the party was met by mrs. perkenpine, bearing letters and newspapers. a man had arrived from sadler's in their absence, and he had brought the mail. nearly every one had letters; there was even something for martin. standing where they had landed, seated on bits of rock, on the grass, or on camp-chairs, all read their letters. while thus engaged a gentleman approached the party from the direction of camp roy. he was tall, well built, handsomely dressed in a suit of light-brown tweed, and carried himself with a buoyant uprightness. a neat straw hat with a broad ribbon shaded his smooth-shaven face, which sparkled with cordial good-humor. a blue cravat was tied tastefully under a broad white collar, and in his hand he carried a hickory walking-stick, cut in the woods, but good enough for a city sidewalk. margery was the first to raise her eyes at the sound of the quickly approaching footsteps. "goodness gracious!" she exclaimed, and then everybody looked up. for a moment the new-comer was gazed upon 138 a man feels himself a man in silence. from what gigantic bandbox could this well-dressed stranger have dropped? then, with a loud laugh, mr. archibald cried, “the bishop!" no wonder there had not been instant recognition. the loose, easy-fitting clothes gave no hint of redundant plumpness; no soiled shovelhat cast a shadow over the smiling face, and a glittering shirt front banished all thought of gutta-percha. "madam," exclaimed the bishop, raising his hat and stepping quickly towards mrs. archibald, "i cannot express the pleasure i feel in meeting you again. and as for you, sir," holding out his hand to mr. archibald, "i have no words in which to convey my feelings. look upon a man, sir, who feels himself a man, and then remember from what you raised him. i can say no more now, but i can never forget what you have done," and as he spoke he pressed mr. archibald's hand with an honest fervor, which distorted for a moment the features of that gentleman. from one to the other of the party the bishop glanced, as he said, "how glad, how unutterably glad, i am to be again among you!" turning his eyes towards miss raybold, he stopped. that young lady had put down the letter she was reading, and was gazing at him through her spectacles with calm intensity. "this lady," said the bishop, turning towards raybold, "is your sister, i presume? may i have the honor ?" raybold looked at him without speaking. here was an example of the silly absurdity of throwing pearls before swine. he had never wanted to 139 the associate hermits have anything to do with the fellow when he was in the gutter, and he wanted nothing to do with him now. with a little flush on her face mrs. archibald rose. "miss raybold," she said, "let me present to you" and she hesitated for a moment—“ the gentleman we call the bishop. i think you have heard us speak of him." "yes," said miss raybold, rising, with a charming smile on her handsome face, and extending her hand, “i have heard of him, and i am very glad to meet him." "i have also heard of you," said the bishop, as he stood smiling beside corona's camp-chair, “and i have regretted that i have been the innocent means of preventing you for a time from occupying your brother's camp." "oh, do not mention that," said corona, sweetly. "i walked over there yesterday, and i think it is a great deal pleasanter here, so you have really done me a favor. i am particularly glad to see you, because, from the little i have heard said about you, i think you must agree with some of my cherished opinions. for one thing, i am quite certain you favor the assertion of individuality; your actions prove that." 66 'really," said the bishop, seating himself near her, "i have not given much thought to the subject; but i suppose i have asserted my individuality. if i have, however, i have done it indefinitely. everybody about me having some definite purpose in life, and i having none, i am, in a negative way, a distinctive individual. it 140 a man feels himself a man is a pity i am so different from other people, but-" "no, it is not a pity," interrupted corona, the color coming into her cheeks and a brighter light into her eyes. “our individuality is a sacred responsibility. it is given to us for us to protect and encourage—i may say, to revere. it is a trust for which we should be called to account by ourselves, and we shall be false and disloyal to ourselves if we cannot show that we have done everything in our power for the establishment and recognition of our individuality." 66 "it delights me to hear you speak in that way," exclaimed the bishop. it encourages and cheers me. we are what we are; and if we can be more fully what we are than we have been, then we are more truly ourselves than before." “and what can be nobler," cried corona, "than to be, in the most distinctive sense of the term, ourselves?" mr. and mrs. archibald walked together towards their cabin. "i want to be neighborly and hospitable," said he, "but it seems to me that, now that the way is clear for miss raybold to move her tent to her own camp and set up house keeping there, we should not be called upon to entertain her, and, if we want to enjoy ourselves in our own way, we can do it without thinking of her." "we shall certainly not do it," said his wife, "if we do think of her. i am very much disappointed in her. she is not a companion at all for margery; she never speaks to her; and, on the 141 the associate hermits other hand, i should think you would wish she would never speak to you." "well," said her husband, "that feeling did grow upon me somewhat this afternoon. up to a certain point she is amusing." here he was interrupted by mrs. perkenpine, who planted herself before him. "i s'pose you think i didn't do right," she said, ''cause, when that big bundle came it had your name on it; but i knew it was clothes, and that they was for that man in our camp, and so i took them to him myself. i heard phil say that the sooner that man was up and dressed, the better it would be for all parties; and as martin had gone off, and there wasn't nobody to take his clothes to him, i took them to him, and that's the long and short of it." 669 "i wondered how he got them," said mr. archibald, "but i am glad you carried them to him." then, speaking to his wife, he added, "it may be a good thing that i gave him a chance to assert his individuality." chapter xvii mrs. perkenpine asserts her individuality about half an hour after the beginning of the conversation between the bishop and miss corona, mrs. perkenpine came to the latter and informed her that supper was ready, and three times after that first announcement did she repeat the information. at last the bishop rose an said he would not keep miss raybold from her meal. "will you not join us?" she asked. "i shall be glad to have you do so." the bishop hesitated for a moment, and then he accompanied corona. as mrs. perkeņpine turned from the camp cooking-stove, a long-handled pan, well filled with slices of hot meat, in her hand, she stood for a moment amazed. slowly approaching the little table outside of the tent were the bishop and miss raybold, and glancing beyond them towards the lake, she saw clyde and raybold, to whom she had yelled that supper was ready, the one with his arms folded, gazing out over the water, and the other strolling backward and forward, as if he had thought of going to his supper, but had not quite made up his mind to it. mrs. perkenpine's face grew red. "they are waitin' for a chance to speak to that archibald 143 the associate hermits gal," she thought. "well, let them wait. and she's bringing him! she needn't s'pose i don't know him. i've seen him splittin' wood at sadler's, and i don't cook for sech." so saying, she strode to some bushes a little back of the stove, and dashed the panful of meat behind them. then she returned, and seizing the steaming coffee-pot, she poured its contents on the ground. then she took up a smaller pan, containing some fried potatoes, hot and savory, and these she threw after the meat. the bishop and corona now reached the table and seated themselves. mrs. perkenpine, her face as hard and immovable as the trunk of an oak, approached, and placed before them some slices of cold bread, some butter, and two glasses of water. still earnestly talking, her eyes sometimes dimmed with tears of excitement as she descanted upon her favorite theories, corona began to eat what was before her. she buttered a slice of bread, and if the bishop chanced to say anything she ate some of it. she drank some water, and she talked and talked and talked. she did not know what she was eating. it might have been a lord mayor's dinner or a beggar's crust; her mind took no cognizance of such an unimportant matter. as for her companion, he knew very well what he was eating, and as he gazed about him, and saw that there were no signs of anything more, his heart sank lower and lower; but he ate slice after slice of bread, for he was hungry, and he hoped that when the two young men came to the table they would call for more substantial food. 144 asserts her individuality but long before they arrived corona finished her meal and rose. "now that we have had our supper," she said, "let us go where we shall not be annoyed by the smell of food, and continue our conversation." "is it possible," thought the bishop, "that she can be annoyed by the smell of hot meat, potatoes, and coffee? i suppose the delicious odor comes from the other supper-table. heavens ! why wasn't i asked there?" there was a dreadful storm when raybold and clyde came to the table; but mrs. perkenpine remained hard and immovable through it all. "your sister and that tramp has been here," said she, "and this is all there is left. if you keep your hogs in your house, you can't expect to count on your victuals." some more coffee was made, and that, with bread, composed the young men's supper. when arthur raybold had finished his meal, he walked to the spot where corona and the bishop were conversing, and stood there silently. he was afraid to interrupt his sister by speaking to her, but he thought that his presence might have an effect upon her companion. it did have an effect, for the bishop seized the opportunity created by the arrival of a third party, excused himself, and departed at the first break in corona's flow of words. "i wish, arthur," she said, "that when you see i am engaged in a conversation, you would wait at least a reasonable time before interrupting it." a reasonable time!" said raybold, with a laugh. “i like that! but i came here to inter66 4 k 145 the associate hermits rupt your conversation. do you know who that fellow is you were talking to? he's a common, good-for-nothing tramp. he goes round splitting wood for his meals. clyde and i kept him here to cook our meals because we had no servant, and he's been in bed for days because he had no clothes to wear. now you are treating him as if he were a gentleman, and you actually brought him to our table, where, like the halfstarved cur that he is, he has eaten up everything fit to eat that we were to have for our supper." "he did not eat all of it," said corona, "for i ate some myself; and if he is the good-fornothing tramp and the other things you call him, i wish i could meet with more such tramps. i tell you, arthur, that if you were to spend the next five years in reading and studying, you could not get into your mind one-tenth of the serious information, the power to reason intelligently upon your perceptions, the ability to collate, compare, and refer to their individual causes the impressions-" "oh, bosh!" said her brother. "what i want to know is, are you going to make friends with that man and invite him to our table?" "i shall invite him if i see fit," said she. "he is an extremely intelligent person." "well," answered he, "if you do i shall have a separate table," and he walked away. as soon as he had left corona, the bishop repaired to the archibalds' cooking-tent, where he saw matlack at work. "i have come," he said, with a pleasant smile, 146 asserts her individuality "to ask a very great favor. would it be convenient for you to give me something to eat? anything in the way of meat, hot or cold, and some tea or coffee, as i see there is a pot still steaming on your stove. i have had an unlucky experience. you know i have been preparing my own meals at the other camp, but to-day, when mrs. perkenpine brought me my clothes, she carried. away with her all the provisions that had been left there. i supped, it is true, with miss raybold, but her appetite is so delicate and her fare so extremely simple that i confidentially acknowledge that i am half starved." during these remarks matlack had stood quietly gazing at the bishop. "do you see that pile of logs and branches there?" said he; "that's the firewood that's got to be cut for to-morrow, which is sunday, when we don't want to be cuttin' wood; and if you'll go to work and cut it into pieces to fit this stove, i'll give you your supper. you can go to the other camp and sleep where you have been sleepin', if you want to, and in the mornin' i'll give you your breakfast. i'ain't got no right to give you mr. archibald's victuals, but what you eat i'll pay for out of my own pocket, considerin' that you'll do my work. then tomorrow i'll give you just one hour after you've finished your breakfast to get out of this camp altogether, entirely out of my sight. i tried to have you sent away before, but other people took you up, and so i said no more; but now things are different. when a man pulls up what i've drove down, and sets loose what i've locked up, and the same as snaps his fingers in my face when 147 the associate hermits i'm attendin' to my business, then i don't let that man stay in my camp." "excuse me," said the bishop, "but in case i should not go away within the time specified, what would be your course?" in a few brief remarks, inelegant but expressive, the guide outlined his intentions of taking measures which would utterly eliminate the physical energy of the other. "i haven't taken no advantage of you," he said, "i haven't come down on you when you hadn't no clothes to go away in; and now that you've got good clothes, i don't want to spile them if i can help it; but they're not goin' to save you-mind my words. what i've said i'll stick to." "mr. matlack," said the bishop, "i consider that you are entirely correct in all your positions. as to that unfortunate affair of the boat, i had intended coming to you and apologizing most sincerely for my share in it. it was an act of great foolishness, but that does not in the least excuse me. i apologize now, and beg that you will believe that i truly regret having interfered with your arrangements. "that won't do!" exclaimed the guide. "when a man as much as snaps his fingers in my face, it's no use for him to come and apologize. that's not what i want." "nevertheless," said the bishop, "you will pardon me if i insist upon expressing my regrets. i do that for my own sake as well as yours; but we will drop that subject. when you ask me to cut wood to pay for my meals, you are entirely 148 asserts her individuality right, and i honor your sound opinion upon this subject. i will cut the wood and earn my meals, but there is one amendment to your plan which i would like to propose. to-morrow is sunday; for that reason we should endeavor to make the day as quiet and peaceable as possible, and we should avoid everything which may be difficult of explanation or calculated to bring about an unpleasant difference of opinion among other members of the party. therefore, will you postpone the time at which you will definitely urge my departure until monday morning?" "well," said matlack, "now i come to think of it, it might be well not to kick up a row on sunday, and i will put it off until monday morning; but mind, there's no nonsense about me. what i say i mean, and on monday morning you march of your own accord, or i'll attend to the matter myself." "very good," said the bishop; "thank you very much. to-morrow i will consider your invitation to leave this place, and if you will come to camp roy about half-past six on monday morning i will then give you my decision. will that hour suit you?" "all right," said matlack, "you might as well make it a business matter. it's going to be business on my side, i'd have you know." "good-very good," said the bishop, "and now let me get at that wood." so saying, he put down his cane, took off his hat, his coat, his waistcoat, his collar, and his cravat and his cuffs; he rolled up his sleeves, he turned up the bottoms of his trousers, and then taking an axe, he set to work. 149 the associate hermits in a few minutes martin arrived on the scene. "what's up now?" said he. "he's cuttin' wood for his meals," replied matlack. "i thought you were going to bounce him as soon as he got up?" "that's put off until monday morning," said matlack. "then he marches. i've settled that." " "did he agree?" asked martin. 66 'tain't necessary for him to agree; he'll find that out monday morning." martin stood and looked at the bishop as he worked. "i wish you would get him to cut wood every day," said he. "by george, how he makes that axe fly!" when the bishop finished his work he drove his axe-head deep into a stump, washed his hands and his face, resumed the clothing he had laid aside, and then sat down to supper. there was nothing stingy about matlack, and the woodchopper made a meal which amply compensated him for the deficiencies of the perkenpine repast. when he had finished he hurried to the spot where the party was in the habit of assembling around the camp-fire. he found there some feebly burning logs, and mr. clyde, who sat alone, smoking his pipe. "what is the matter?" asked the bishop. "where are all our friends?" "i suppose they are all in bed," said clyde, "with the bedclothes pulled over their heads150 666 where are all our friends?'" asserts her individuality that is, except one, and i suspect she is talking in her sleep. they were all here as usual, and mr. archibald thought he would break the spell by telling a fishing story. he told me he was going to try to speak against time; but it wasn't of any use. she just slid into the middle of his remarks as a duck slides into the water, and then she began an oration. i really believe she did not know that any one else was talking." "that may have been the case," said the bishop; "she has a wonderful power of self-concentration." "very true," said clyde, " and this time she concentrated herself so much upon herself that the rest of us got away, one by one, and when all the others had gone she went. then, when i found she really had gone, i came back. by-the-way, bishop," he continued, "there is something i would like to do, and i want you to help me." "name it," said the other. "i am getting tired of the way the raybolds are trespassing on the good-nature of the archibalds, and, whatever they do, i don't intend to let them make me trespass any longer. i haven't anything to do with miss raybold, but the other tent belongs as much to me as it does to her brother, and i am going to take it back to our own camp. and what is more, i am going to have my meals there. i don't want that woodenheaded mrs. perkenpine to cook for me." "how would you like me to do it?" asked the bishop, quickly. "that would be fine," said clyde. "i will help, and we will set up house-keeping there again, and 151 the associate hermits if raybold doesn't choose to come and live in his own camp he can go wherever he pleases. i am not going to have him manage things for me. don't you think that you and i can carry that tent over?" "with ease!" exclaimed the bishop. “when do you want to move-monday morning?" "yes," said clyde, "after breakfast.' chapter xviii the hermits associate during the next day no one in camp had reason to complain of corona raybold. she did not. seem inclined to talk to anybody, but spent the most of her time alone. she wrote a little and reflected a great deal, sometimes walking, sometimes seated in the shade, gazing far beyond the sky. when the evening fire was lighted, her mood changed so that one might have supposed that another fire had been lighted somewhere in the interior of her mental organism. her fine eyes glistened, her cheeks gently reddened, and her whole body became animated with an energy created by warm emotions. 66 "i have something i wish to say to you all," she exclaimed, as she reached the fire. where is arthur? will somebody please call him? and i would like to see both the guides. it is something very important that i have to say. mrs. perkenpine will be here in a moment; i asked her to come. if mr. matlack is not quite ready, can he not postpone what he is doing? i am sure you will all be interested in what i have to say, and i do not want to begin until every one is here." 153 the associate hermits mr. archibald saw that she was very much in earnest, and so he sent for the guides, and clyde went to call raybold. in a few minutes clyde returned and told corona that her brother had said he did not care to attend services that evening. "where is he?" asked miss raybold. "he is sitting over there looking out upon the lake," replied clyde. "i will be back almost immediately," said she to mr. archibald, "and in the mean time please let everybody assemble." arthur raybold was in no mood to attend services of any sort. he had spent nearly the whole day trying to get a chance to speak to margery, but never could he find her alone. "if i can once put the matter plainly to her," he said to himself, "she will quickly perceive what it is that i offer her; and when she clearly sees that, i will undertake to make her accept it. she is only a woman, and can no more withstand me than a mound of sand built by a baby's hand could withstand the rolling wave." at this moment co na arrived and told him that she wanted him at the camp-fire. he was only a man, and could no more withstand her than a mound of sand built by a baby's hand could withstand the rolling wave. when everybody in the camp had gathered around the fire, corona, her eye-glasses illumined by the light of her soul, gazed around the circle and began to speak. "my dear friends," she said, "i have been thinking a great deal to-day upon a very impor154 the hermits associate tant subject, and i have come to the conclusion that we who form this little company have before us one of the grandest opportunities ever afforded a group of human beings. we are here, apart from our ordinary circumstances and avocations, free from all the trammels and demands of society, alone with nature and ourselves. in our ordinary lives, surrounded by our ordinary circumstances, we cannot be truly ourselves; each of us is but part of a whole, and very often an entirely unharmonious part. it is very seldom that we are able to do the things we wish to do in the manner and at times and places when it would best suit our natures. try as we may to be true to ourselves, it is seldom possible; we are swept away in a current of conventionality. it may be one kind of conventionality for some of us and another kind for others, but we are borne on by it all the same. sometimes a person like myself or mr. archibald clings to some rock or point upon the bank, and for a little while is free from the coercion of circumstances, but this cannot be for long, and we are soon swept with the rest into the ocean of conglomerate commonplace." "that's when we die !" remarked mrs. perkenpine, who sat reverently listening. 66 "no," said the speaker, "it happens while we are alive. but now," she continued, we have a chance, as i said before, to shake ourselves free from our enthralment. for a little while each one of us may assert his or her individuality. we are a varied and representative party; we come from different walks of life; we are men, women, 155 the associate hermits and-" looking at margery, she was about to say children, but she changed her expression to "young people." "i think you will all understand what i mean. when we are at our homes we do things because other people want us to do them, and not because we want to do them. a family sits down to a meal, and some of them like what is on the table, some do not; some of them would have preferred to eat an hour before, some of them would prefer to eat an hour later; but they all take their meals at the same time and eat the same things because it is the custom to do so. "i mention a meal simply as an instance, but the slavery of custom extends into every branch of our lives. we get up, we go to bed, we read, we work, we play, just as other people do these things, and not as we ourselves would do them if we planned our own lives. now we have a chance, all of us, to be ourselves! each of us may say, 'i am myself, one!' think of that, my friends, each one! each of us a unit, responsible only to his or her unity, if i may so express it." "do you mean that i am that?" inquired mrs. perkenpine. "oh yes," replied corona. 66 "is phil matlack one?" "yes." "all right," said the female guide; “if he is one, i don't mind." "now what i propose is this," said corona: "i understand that the stay in this camp will continue for about a week longer, and i earnestly urge upon you that for this time we shall each 156 the hermits associate one of us assert our individuality. let us be what we are, show ourselves what we are, and let each other see what we are." it would not be safe nor pleasant to allow everybody to do that," said mr. archibald. he was more interested in miss raybold's present discourse than he had been in any other he had heard her deliver. "of course," said she, “it would not do to propose such a thing to the criminal classes or to people of evil inclinations, but i have carefully considered the whole subject as it relates to us, and i think we are a party singularly well calculated to become the exponent of the distinctiveness of our several existences." "that gits me," said matlack. "i am afraid," said the speaker, gazing kindly at him, "that i do not always express myself plainly to the general comprehension, but what i mean is this: that during the time we stay here, let each one of us do exactly what he or she wants to do, without considering other people at all, except, of course, that we must not do anything which would interfere with any of the others doing what they please. for instance-and i assure you i have thought over this matter in all its details—if any of us were inclined to swear or behave disorderly, which i am sure could not be the case, he or she would not do so because he or she would feel that, being responsible to himself or herself, that responsibility would prevent him or her from doing that which would interfere with the pleasure or comfort of his or her associates." "i think," said mrs. archibald, somewhat se157 the associate hermits verely, "that our duty to our fellow-beings is far more important than our selfish consideration of ourselves." "but reflect," cried corona, "how much consideration we give to our fellow-beings, and how little to ourselves as ourselves, each one. can we not, for the sake of knowing ourselves and honoring ourselves, give ourselves to ourselves for a little while? the rest of our lives may then be given to others and the world." "i hardly believe," said mr. archibald, "that all of us clearly understand your meaning, but it seems to me that you would like each one of us to become, for a time, a hermit. i do not know of any other class of persons who so thoroughly assert their individuality." "you are right!" exclaimed corona. "a hermit does it. a hermit is more truly himself than any other man. he may dwell in a cave and eat water-cresses, he may live on top of a tall pillar, or he may make his habitation in a barrel! if a hermit should so choose, he might furnish a cave with eastern rugs and bric-à-brac. if he liked that sort of thing, he would be himself. yes, i would have all of us, in the truest sense of the word, hermits, each a hermit; but we need not dwell apart. some of us would certainly wish to assert our individuality by not dwelling apart from others." "we might, then," said mr. archibald, "become a company of associate hermits." 66 "exactly!" cried corona, stretching out her hands. that is the very word-associate hermits. my dear friends, from to-morrow morn158 the hermits associate ing, until we leave here, let us be associate hermits. let us live for ourselves, be true to ourselves. after all, if we think of it seriously, ourselves are all that we have in this world. everything else may be taken from us, but no one can take from me, myself, or from any one of you, yourself." the bishop now rose. he as well as the others had listened attentively to everything that had been said; even arthur raybold had shown a great deal of interest in his sister's remarks. "you mean," said the bishop, "that while we stay here each one of us shall act exactly as we think we ought to act if we were not influenced by the opinions and examples of others around us, and thus we shall have an opportunity to find out for ourselves and show others exactly what we are." "that is it," said corona, “you have stated it very well." "well, then," said the bishop, "i move that for the time stated we individually assert our individuality." "second the motion,” said mr. archibald. "all in favor of this motion please say 'aye,'" said corona. "now, let everybody vote, and i hope you will all say 'aye,' and if any one does not understand, i will be happy to explain.' "i want to know," said phil matlack, rising, "if one man asserts what you call his individ'ality in such a way that it runs up agin another man's, and that second man ain't inclined to stand it, if that-" "oh, i assure you," interrupted the bishop, 159 the associate hermits "that that will be all right. i understand you perfectly, and the individualities will all run along together without interfering with each other, and if one happens to get in the way of another it will be gently moved aside." "gently!" said matlack, somewhat satirically. "well, all right, it will be moved aside. i am satisfied, if the rest are." "now all in favor say 'aye,'" said corona. they all said "aye," except mrs. perkenpine, who said "me." chapter xix margery's breakfast very early the next morning margery pushed wide open the window of her studio chamber. the sash was a large one, and opened outward on hinges. she looked out upon the dewy foliage, she inhaled the fragrance of the moist morning air, she listened to the song of some early birds, and then, being dressed for the day, she got on a chair, stepped on the window-sill, and jumped out. she walked quietly round the cabin and went out towards the lake. she had never seen the woods so early in the day. all the space between the earth and the sky seemed filled with an intoxicating coolness. she took off her hat and carried it in her hand; the sun was not yet high enough to make it necessary to put anything between him and her. "this is what i am," said margery to herself as she stepped blithely on. "i never knew before what i am. i am really a dryad under difficulties." presently, to her amazement and his amazement, she saw martin. she went towards him. "oh, martin," she said, "are you up so early ?" he smiled. "this is not early for me," he answered. l 161 the associate hermits 66 'and mr. matlack, is he up?" “oh yes, he is up, and gone off to attend to some business." "well, really!" exclaimed margery. "i thought i was the first one out in the world to-day. and now, martin, don't you want to do something for me? i did not think it would happen, but i am really dreadfully hungry, and couldn't you give me my breakfast now, by myself, before anybody else? i am not particular what i have—anything that is easy to get ready will do-and i would like it down at the very edge of the lake." "you shall have it !" exclaimed martin, eagerly. "i will get it ready for you very soon, and will bring it to you. i know you like bread and butter and jam, and there is some cold meat, and i will boil you an egg and make some coffee." "that will be lovely," said margery, "and i will go down by the lake and wait. i do believe," she said to herself as she hurried away," that this hermit business is the only sensible thing that ever came into the head of that classic statue with the glass fronts." very soon martin appeared with a rug, which he said she would want if she were going to sit on the ground; and then he ran away, but soon came back with the breakfast. margery was surprised to see how tastefully it was served. “you could not have done it better," she said, "if you had been a❞—she was about to say waiter, but as she gazed at the bright, handsome face of the young man she felt that it would hurt his feelings to use such a word, so she suddenly changed it to woman. 162 margery's breakfast "if it is done well," he said, "it is not because i am like a woman, but because you are one." "what does that mean?" thought margery; but she did not stop to consider. "thank you very much," she said. "here is where i am going to eat, and nobody will disturb me." "do you wish anything else?" he asked. "no," said she. "i have everything i want; you know i take only one cup of coffee." he did know it; he knew everything she took, and as he felt that there was no excuse for him to stay there any longer, he slowly walked away. the place margery had chosen was a nice little nook for a nice little hermit. it was a bit of low beach, very narrow, and flanked on the shore side by a row of bushes, which soon turned and grew down to the water's edge, thus completely cutting off one end of the beach. at the other end the distance between the shrubbery and the water was but a few feet, so that margery could eat her breakfast without being disturbed by the rest of the world. reclining on the rug with the little tray on the ground before her, and some green leaves and a few pale wild flowers peeping over the edge of it to see what she had for breakfast, margery gave herself up to the enjoyment of life. 66 each, one," she said aloud; "i am one, and beautiful nature is another. just two of us, and each, one. go away, sir," she said to a big buzzing creature with transparent wings," you are another, but you don't count." arthur raybold was perhaps the member of the party who was the best satisfied to be himself. 163 the associate hermits he had vowed, as he left the camp-fire the night before, that his sister had at last evolved an idea which had some value. be himself? he should think so! he firmly believed that he was the only person in the camp capable of truly acting his own part in life. clyde had told him that on this morning he was going to move the tent over to their own camp, and though he had objected very forcibly, he found that clyde was not to be moved, and that the tent would be. in an angry mood he had been the first one of the associated hermits to assert his individuality. he made up his mind that he would not leave the immediate atmosphere of margery. he would revolve about her in his waking hours and in his dreams, and in the latter case he would revolve in a hammock hung between two trees not far from his sister's tent; and as he was not one who delayed the execution of his plans, he had put up the hammock that night, although his tent was still in camp rob. he had not slept very well, because he was not used to repose in a hammock; and he had risen early, for, though wrapped in a blanket, he had had found himself a little chilly. starting out for a brisk walk to warm himself, he had not gone far before he thought he heard something which sounded like the clicking of knife and fork and dish. he stopped, listened, and then approached the source of the sounds, and soon stood at the open end of margery's little beach. for a few moments she did not know he was there, so engrossed was her mind with the far-away shadows on the lake, and with 164 2 130 margerys breakfast the piece of bread and jam she held in her hand. "oh, happy fates !" he exclaimed. "how have ye befriended me! could i have believed such rare fortune was in store for me?" at the sound of his voice margery turned her head and started, and in the same instant she was on her feet. "margery," he said, without approaching her, but extending his arms so that one hand touched the bushes and the other reached over the water, “i have you a gentle prisoner. i consider this the most fortunate hour of my whole existence. all i ask of you is to listen to me for ten minutes, and then i will cease to stand guard at the entrance to your little haven, and although you will be free to go where you please, i know you will not go away from me." margery's face was on fire. she was so angry she could scarcely speak, but she managed to bring some words to her lips to express her condition of mind. "mr. raybold," she cried, "if i ever hear any more of that horrid trash from you i will speak to mr. archibald, and have him drive you out of this camp. i haven't spoken to him before because i thought it would make trouble and interfere with people who have not done anything but what is perfectly right, but this is the last time i am going to let you off, and i would like you to remember that. now go away this instant, or else step aside and let me pass." raybold did not change his position, but with a smile of indulgent condescension he remarked: 165 the associate hermits now, then, you are angry; but i don't mind that, and i am quite sure you do not mean it. you see, you have never heard all that i have to say to you. when i have fully spoken to you, then i have no fear-" 66 he had not finished his sentence, when margery dashed into the water, utterly regardless of her clothes, and before the astonished intruder could advance towards her she had rushed past him, and had run up on dry land a yard or two behind him. the water on the shelving beach was not more than a foot deep, but her mad bounds made a splashing and a spattering of spray as if a live shark had been dropped into the shallow water. in a moment she had left the beach and was face to face with martin, pale with fright. "i thought you had tumbled in!" he cried. "what on earth is the matter?” she had no breath to answer, but she turned her head towards the lake, and as martin looked that way he saw raybold advancing from behind the bushes. it required no appreciable time for the young guide to understand the situation. his whole form quivered, his hands involuntarily clinched, his brows knitted, and he made one quick step forward; but only one, for margery seized him by the wrist. without knowing what he was doing, he struggled to free himself from her, but she was strong and held him fast. "i must go to my tent," she gasped. "i am all wet. now promise me that you will not say a thing or do a thing until i see you again. promise!" for a moment he seemed undecided, and then 166 margery's breakfast he ceased his efforts to get away, and said, “i promise." margery dropped his arm and hurried towards the cabin, hoping earnestly that the archibalds were not yet up. 66 this is a gay and lively beginning for a hermit," she thought, as she made her way around the house, "and i don't see how on earth i am ever going to get through that window again. there is nothing to stand on. i did not expect to go back until they were all up." but when she reached the window there was a stout wooden stool placed below it. 66 martin did that," she thought, “while i was at my breakfast. he knew i must have come through the window, and might want to go back that way. oh dear !" she sighed. "but i am sure i can't help it." and so, mounting from the stool to the window-sill, she entered her room. having given his promise, martin turned his back upon the sombre young man, who, with folded arms and clouded brow, was stalking towards the tents at the other end of the camp. "if look at him," said martin, "it may be that i could not keep my promise." it was about half an hour afterwards, when martin, still excited and still pale, was getting ready for the general breakfast, forgetting entirely that he was a hermit, and that some of the other hermits might have peculiar ideas about their morning meal, that phil matlack arrived on the scene. martin was very much engrossed in his own thoughts, but he could not repress an inquiring interest in his companion. 167 the associate hermits "well," said he, "did you bounce him ?" matlack made no answer, but began to cut out the top of a tin can. "i say," repeated martin, "did you bounce him, or did he go without it?" without turning towards the younger man, matlack remarked: “i was mistaken. that ain't fat; it's muscle." "you don't mean to say," exclaimed martin, in astonishment, "that he bounced you out of that camp!" "i don't mean to say nothin'," was the reply, except what i do say; and what i say is that that ain't fat; it's muscle. when i make a mistake i don't mind standin' up and sayin' so." 66 martin could not understand the situation. he knew matlack to be a man of great courage and strength, and one who, if he should engage in a personal conflict, would not give up until he had done his very best. but the guide's appearance gave no signs of any struggle. his clothes were in their usual order, and his countenance was quiet and composed. "look here," cried martin, "how did you find out all that about the bishop?" matlack turned on him with a grim smile. "didn't you tell me that day you was talkin' to me about the boat that he was a tough sort of a fellow ?" "yes, i did," said the other. 'well," said matlack, "how did you find that out ?" martin laughed. "i shouldn't wonder," he said, “if we were about square. well, if you will tell (6 168 margery's breakfast me how you found it out, i will tell you how i did." "go ahead," said the other. 66 'the long and short of my business with him,” said martin, "was this: i went with him down to the lake, and there i gave him a piece of my mind; and when i had finished, he turned on me and grabbed me with his two hands and chucked me out into the water, just as if i had been a bag of bad meal that he wanted to get rid of. when i got out i was going to fight him, but he advised me not to, and when i took a look at him and remembered the feel of the swing he gave me, i took his advice. now what did he do to you?" "he didn't do nothin'," said matlack. "when i got to the little tent he sleeps in, there he was sittin' in front of it, as smilin' as a basket of chips, and he bade me good-mornin' as if i had been a tenant comin' to pay him his rent; and then he said that before we went on with the business between us, there was some things he would like to show me, and he had 'em all ready. so he steps off to a place a little behind the tent, and there was three great bowlders, whopping big stones, which he said he had brought out of the woods. i could hardly believe him, but there they was. 'you don't mean,' says i, 'that you are goin' to fight with stones; because, if you are, you ought to give me a chance to get some,' and i thought to myself that i would pick up rocks that could be heaved. 'oh no,' says he, with one of them smiles of his 'oh no; i just want to open our conference with a little gymnastic exhibition.' and so sayin', he rolled up his shirt-sleeves-he 169 the associate hermits hadn't no coat on-and he picked up one of them rocks with both hands, and then he gave it a swing with one hand, like you swing a ten-pin ball, and he sent that rock about thirty feet. "it nearly took my breath away, for if i had to move such a stone i'd want a wheelbarrow. then he took another of the rocks and hurled it right on top of the first one, and it came down so hard that it split itself in half. and then he took up the third one, which was the biggest, and threw it nearly as far, but it didn't hit the others. 'now, mr. matlack,' says he, 'this is the first part of my little programme. i have only one or two more things, and i don't want to keep you long.' then he went and got a hickory sapling that he'd cut down. it was just the trunk part of it, and must have been at least three inches thick. he put the middle of it at the back of his neck, and then he took hold of the two ends with his hands and pulled forward, and, by george! he broke that stick right in half! "then says he, 'would you mind steppin' down to the lake?' i didn't mind, and went with him, and when we got down to the water there was their boat drawed up on the shore and pretty nigh full of water. mr. clyde brought this boat back the other day,' says he, 'from a place where he left it some distance down the lake, and i wonder he didn't sink before he got here. we must try and calk up some of the open seams; but first we've got to get the water out of her.' so sayin', he squatted down on the ground in front of the boat and took hold of it, one hand on one side of the bow and one on the 170 margery's breakfast other, and then he gave a big twist, and just turned the boat clean over, water and all, so that it lay with its bottom up, and the water running down into the lake like a little deluge. "that ought to have been done long ago,' says he, and i'll come down after a while and calk it before the sun gets on it.' then he walked back to camp as spry as a robin, and then says he, 'mr. matlack, my little exhibition is over, and so we'll go ahead with the business you proposed.' i looked around, and says i: 'do you find that little tent you sleep in comfortable? it seems to me as if your feet must stick out of it.' 'they do,' says he, 'and i sometimes throw a blanket over them to keep them dry. but we are goin' to make different arrangements here. mr. clyde and i will bring down his tent after breakfast, and if mr. raybold doesn't choose to occupy it, mr. clyde says i may share it with him. at any rate, i've engaged to attend to the cookin' and to things in general in this camp durin' the rest of the time we stay here.' "and so mr. clyde is tired of trespassin', is he?' says i. 'yes, he is,' says he; 'he's a highminded young fellow, and doesn't fancy that sort of thing. mr. raybold slept last night in a hammock, and if that suits him, he may keep it up.' 'if i was you,' says i, 'if he does come back to the camp, i'd make him sleep in that little tent. it would fit him better than it does you.' 'oh no,' says he, 'i don't want to make no trouble. i'm willin' to sleep anywhere. i'm used to roughin' it, and i could make myself comfortable in any tent i ever saw.' 'well,' says i, 'that was a very 171 the associate hermits 6 pretty exhibition you gave me, and i am much obliged to you, but i must be goin' over to my camp to help get breakfast.' if you see mr. clyde,' says he, 'will you kindly tell him that i will come over and help him with his tent in about an hour?' to which i said i would, and i left. now then, hurry up. them hermits will want their breakfasts." chapter xx martin asserts his individuality "good morning," said mr. clyde, as he approached mr. and mrs. archibald, seated opposite each other at their breakfast-table. "so you still eat together? don't ask me to join you; i have had my breakfast." "yes," said mr. archibald, "we did think that, as we were hermits, we ought to eat in some separate, out-of-the-way fashion; but we could not think of any, and as we were both hungry and liked the same things, we concluded to postpone the assertion of our individualities." "and miss dearborn?" asked clyde. "oh, she had her breakfast long ago, so she told us," said mrs. archibald. "i suppose she took some bread and jam, for i do not know what else she could have had." "as for me," said clyde, “i thought i would do something of the sort. i like an early breakfast, and so i turned out, more than an hour ago and went to look up mrs. perkenpine; and i might as well say, sir, that i am now looking for the bishop to come and help me carry our tent back to our own camp, where he is going to cook for us. i never wanted to be a trespasser on your premises, and i don't intend to be such any longer." 173 the associate hermits "that's the right feeling," said mr. archibald; 'although, in fact, it doesn't make any difference to us whether your party camps here or not. at first i thought it would, but i find it does not." "by which he means," said mrs. archibald, "that if you want to go away he is perfectly willing to have you stay, but if you don't want to go away he doesn't like it, and would have you move." (6 for clyde laughed. "i haven't anything to say the others," he answered, "but as long as i have a camp of my own i think i ought to live there." "but how about mrs. perkenpine?" asked mrs. archibald. “did you find her willing to wait on you, one at a time?" "not exactly," said clyde. "i discovered her, by her kitchen tent, hard at work eating her own breakfast. i must have looked surprised, for she lost no time in telling me that she was a hermit, and was living for one person at a time-herself first-and that she was mighty glad to get a chance to have her breakfast before anybody else, for she was always hungry and hated waiting. i looked at the table, and saw hat she had the breakfast ready for the whole party; so i said, 'i am a hermit too, and i am living for myself, and so i am going to sit down and eat.' 'squat,' said she, and down i sat; and i had the best meal of her cooking that i have yet tasted. i told her so, and she said 'she shouldn't wonder. 'because,' said she, 'i cooked this breakfast for myself―me, one-and as i wasn't thinkin' what other people 'd like, i got things a little more tasty than common, i guess.' 999 174 asserts his individuality "and what does she expect miss raybold and her brother to do ?" asked mrs. archibald. "when she had finished she got up," clyde answered, "and went away, merely remarking that the victuals were there, and when the others were ready for them they might come and get them." "i hope," said mr. archibald, "that matlack will not fancy that sort of a hermit life. but as for me, i am greatly taken with the scheme. i think i shall like it. is miss raybold about yet?" "i see nothing of her," said clyde, looking over towards her tent. (6 'good," said mr. archibald, rising. "harriet, if you want me, i shall be in my cave." 66 and where is that ?" she asked. "oh, i can't say exactly where it will be," he answered, “but if you will go down to the shore of the lake and blow four times on the dinnerhorn i'll come to you, cave and all. i can easily pull it over the water." "you forget," said mrs. archibald, with a smile, “that we are associate hermits." "no, i do not," said her husband, "i remember it, and that is the reason i am off before miss raybold emerges upon the scene." "i do not know," said mrs. archibald to clyde, exactly how i am going to assert myself to-day, but i shall do it one way or the other; i am not going to be left out in the cold." clyde smiled, but he had no suggestion to offer; his mind was filled with the conjecture as to what sort of a hermit life margery was going to lead, and if she had already begun it. but just then (( 175 the associate hermits the bishop came up, and together they went to carry the tent back to camp roy. it was at least an hour afterwards, and mrs. archibald was comfortably seated in the shade darning stockings, with an open book in her lap. sometimes she would read a little in the ook, and then she would make some long and careful stitches in the stocking, and then she would look about her as if she greatly enjoyed combining her work and her recreation in such a lovely place on such a lovely summer morning. during one of these periods of observation she perceived corona raybold approaching. "good-morning," said the elder lady. "is this your first appearance ?" "yes," said corona, with a gentle smile. "when i woke this morning i found myself to be an individual who liked to lie in bed and gaze out through an open fold in my tent upon the world beyond, and so i lay and dozed and gazed, until i felt like getting up, and then i got up, and you cannot imagine how bright and happy i felt as i thought of what i had been doing. for one morning at least i had been true to myself, without regard to other people or what they might think about it. to-morrow, if i feel like it, i shall rise at dawn, and go out and look at the stars struggling with aurora. whatever my personal instincts happen to be, i shall be loyal to them. now how do you propose to assert your individuality ?" "unfortunately," said mrs. archibald, "i cannot do that exactly as i would like to. if we had not promised my daughter and her husband that 1 176 asserts his individuality we would stay away for a month, i should go directly home and superintend my jelly-making and fruit-preserving; but as i cannot do that, i have determined to act out my own self here. i shall darn stockings and sew or read, and try to make myself comfortable and happy, just as i would if i were sitting on my broad piazza at home." "good!" said corona. "i think it likely that you will be more true to yourself than any of us. doubtless you were born to be the head of a domestic household, and if you followed your own inclination you would be that if you were adrift with your family on a raft in the middle of the ocean. now i am going away to see what further suggestions my nature has to offer me. what is mr. archibald doing?" mrs. archibald smiled. she knew what corona's nature would suggest if she met a man who could talk, or rather, listen. "oh, his nature has prompted him to hie away to the haunts of game, and to stay there until he is half starved." miss raybold heaved a little sigh. “i see very few persons about here," she said "only the two guides, in fact." "yes," said mrs. archibald, "the bishop has gone to help mr. clyde with his tent." corona moved slowly away, and as she walked her nature suggested that she would better eat something, so she repaired to the scene of mrs. perkenpine's ordinary operations. there she found that good woman stretched flat on her back on the ground, fast asleep. her face and m 177 the associate hermits body were shaded by some overhanging branches, but her great feet were illumined and gilded by the blazing sun. on a camp table near by were the remains of the breakfast. it had been there for two or three hours. arthur raybold had taken what he wanted and had gone, and before composing herself for her nap mrs. perkenpine had thrown over it a piece of mosquito-netting. corona smiled. "their natures are coming out beautifully," she said. "it really does me good to see how admirably the scheme is unfolding itself." she sat down and ate what she could find to her taste, but it was not much. “i shall send for some fruit and some biscuit and some other little things," she thought, "that i can keep in my tent and eat when i please. that will suit me much better than the ordinary meals." then, without awakening mrs. perkenpine, she strolled away, directing her steps towards camp roy. when margery had gone to her room, and had changed her wet clothes, she was thoroughly miserable. for some time she sat on the side of her little cot, unwilling to go out, on account of a nervous fear that she might meet mr. raybold. of course, if he should again speak to her as he had done, she would immediately appeal to mr. archibald, but she did not want to do this, for she had a very strong desire not to make any trouble or divisions in the camp; so she lay down to think over the matter, and in less than two minutes she was asleep. mrs. archibald had come to call her to breakfast, but upon being told that she had 178 asserts his individuality been up ever so long, and had had her breakfast, she left the girl to her nap. "i shall sleep here," thought margery, "until they have all gone to do whatever it is they want to do, and then perhaps i may have a little peace." 99 when she awoke it was nearly eleven o'clock, and she went immediately to her little side window, from which she could see the lake and a good deal of the camp-ground. the first thing which met her reconnoitring gaze was a small boat some distance out on the lake. its oars were revolving slowly, something like a pair of wheels with one paddle each, and it was occupied by one person. this person was arthur raybold, who had found the bishop calking the boat, and as soon as this work was finished, had moodily declared that he would take a row in her. he had not yet had a chance to row a boat which was in a decent condition. he wanted to be alone with his aspirations. he thought it would be scarcely wise to attempt to speak to margery again that morning; he would give her time for her ånger to cool. she was only a woman, and he knew women! "it's that raybold," said margery. "he knows no more about rowing than a cat, and he's floating sideways down the lake. good! now i can go out and hope to be let alone. i don't know when he will ever get that boat back again. perhaps never." she was not a wicked girl, and she did not desire that the awkward rower might never get back; but still she did not have that dread of an 179 the associate hermits accident which might have come over her had the occupant of the boat been a brother or any one she cared very much about. she took a novel, of which, during her whole stay in camp, she had read perhaps ten pages, and left the cabin, this time by the door. "how does your individuality treat you?" asked mrs. archibald, as margery approached her. 66 oh, horribly, so far," was the answer; "but i think it is going to do better. i shall find some nice place where i can read and be undisturbed. i can think of nothing pleasanter such a morning as this." "i am very much mistaken in your nature," thought mrs. archibald, "if that is the sort of thing that suits you." 66 martin," said margery, not in the least surprised that she should meet the young guide within the next three minutes, "do you know of some really nice secluded spot where i can sit and read, and not be bothered? i don't mean that place where you hung the hammock. i don't want to go there again." martin was pale, and his voice trembled as he spoke. "miss dearborn," said he, "i think it is a wicked and a burning shame that you should be forced to look for a hiding-place where you may hope to rest undisturbed if that scoundrel in the boat out there should happen to fancy to come ashore. but you needn't do it. there is no necessity for it. go where you please, sit where you please, and do what you please, and i will see to it that you are not disturbed." 180 asserts his individuality "oh, no, no!" exclaimed margery. that would never do. i know very well that you could keep him away from me, and i am quite sure that you would be glad to do it, but there mustn't be anything of that kind. he is miss raybold's brother and—and in a way one of our camping party, and i don't want any disturbances or quarrels." "" martin's breast heaved, and he breathed heavily. “i have no doubt you are right," he said— of course you are. but i can tell you this: if i see that fellow troubling you again i'll kill him, 66 or-" "martin! martin !" exclaimed margery. "what do you mean? what makes you talk in this way ?" แ "what makes me?" he exclaimed, as if it were impossible to restrain his words. "my heart makes me, my soul makes me. "your heart? your soul?" interrupted margery. "i don't understand." i-" for a moment he looked at the astonished girl in silence, and then he said: "miss dearborn, it's of no use for me to try to hide what i feel. if i hadn't got so angry i might have been able to keep quiet, but i can't do it now. if that man thinks he loves you, his love is like a grain of sand compared to mine." "yours?" cried margery. "yes," said martin, his face pallid and his eyes sparkling, "mine. you may think it is an insult for me to talk this way, but love is love, and it will spring up where it pleases; and besides, i am not the common sort of a fellow you may think i 181 the associate hermits am. after saying what i have said, i am bound to say more. i belong to a good family, and am college bred. i am poor, and i love nature. i am working to make money to travel and become a naturalist. i prefer this sort of work because it takes me into the heart of nature. i am not ashamed of what i am, i am not ashamed of my work, and my object in life is a nobler one, i think, than the practice of the law, or a great many other things like it." margery stood and looked at him with wideopen eyes. “do you mean to say," she said, “that you want to marry me? it would take years and years for you to become naturalist enough to support a wife.” "i have made no plans," he said, quickly, “i have no purpose. i did not intend to tell you now that i love you, but since i have said that, i will say also that with you to fight for there could be no doubt about my success. i should be bound to succeed. it would be impossible for me to fail. as for the years, i would wait, no matter how many they should be." he spoke with such hot earnestness that margery involuntarily drew herself a little away from him. at this the flush went out of his face. "oh, miss dearborn," he exclaimed, "don't think that i am like that man out there! don't think that i will persecute you if you don't wish to hear me; that i will follow you about and make your life miserable. if you say to me that you do not wish to see me again, you will never see me again. say what you please, and you find that i am a gentleman." will 182 asserts his individuality she could see that now. she felt sure that if she told him she did not wish ever to see him again he would never appear before her. but what would he do? she was not in the least afraid of him, but his fierce earnestness frightened her, not for herself, but for him. suddenly a thought struck her. "martin," said she, "i don't doubt in the least that what you have said to me about yourself is true. you are as good as other people, although you do happen now to be a guide, and perhaps after a while you may be very well off; but for all that you are a guide, and you are in mr. sadler's employment, and mr. sadler's rights and powers are just like gas escaping from a pipe: they are everywhere from cellar to garret, so to speak, and you couldn't escape them. it would be a bad, bad thing for you, martin, if he were to hear that you make propositions of the kind you have made to the ladies that he pays you to take out into the woods to guide and to protect." martin was on the point of a violent expostulation, but she stopped him. "now i know what you are going to say," she exclaimed, "but it isn't of any use. you are in his employment, and you are bound to honor and to respect him; that is the way a guide can show himself to be a gentleman." 66 but suppose," said martin, quickly, "that he, knowing my family as he does, should think i had done wisely in speaking to you." a cloud came over her brow. it annoyed her that he should thus parry her thrust. "well, you can ask him," she said, abruptly; 183 the associate hermits "and if he doesn't object, you can go to see my mother, when she gets home, and ask her. and here comes mr. matlack. i think he has been calling you. now don't say another word, unless it is about fish." but matlack did not come; he stopped and called, and martin went to him. margery walked languidly towards the woods and sat down on the projecting root of a large tree. then leaning back against the trunk, she sighed. "it is a perfectly dreadful thing to be a girl," she said; "but i am glad i did not speak to him as i did to mr. raybold. i believe he would have jumped into the lake." chapter xxi the individuality of peter sadler "martin," said matlack, sharply, before the young man had reached him, "it seems to me that you think that you have been engaged here as lady's-maid, but there's other things to do besides teaching young women about trees and fishes. if you think," continued matlack, when the two had reached the woodland kitchen, "that your bein' a hermit is goin' to let you throw all the work on me, you're mistaken. there's a lot of potatoes that's got to be peeled for dinner." without a word martin sat down on the ground with a pan of potatoes in front of him and began to work. had he been a proud crusader setting forth to fight the saracens his blood could not have coursed with greater warmth and force, his soul could not have more truly spurned the earth and all the common things upon it. what he had said to margery had made him feel ennobled. if raybold had that instant appeared before him with some jeering insult, martin would have pardoned him with lofty scorn; and yet he peeled potatoes, and did it well. but his thoughts were not upon his work; they were upon the future which, if he proved himself to be the man he thought himself to be, might open before him. 185 the associate hermits when he had finished the potatoes he put the pan upon a table and stood near by, deep in thought. "yes," said he to himself, "i should go now. after what i have said to her i cannot stay here and live this life before her. i would wait on her with bended knee at every step, but with love for her in my soul i cannot wash dishes for other people. i have spoken, and now i must act ; and the quicker the better. if all goes well i may be here again, but i shall not come back as a guide." then a thought of raybold crossed his mind, but he put it aside. even if he stayed here he could not protect her, for she had shown that she did not wish him to do it in the only way he could do it, and he felt sure, too, that any further annoyance would result in an appeal to mr. archibald. “well," said matlack, sharply, "what's the matter with you? don't you intend to move?" "yes," said martin, turning quickly, "i do intend to move. i am going to leave this camp just as soon as i can pack my things." "and where in the name of thunder are you goin' to?" "i'm going to sadler's," said martin. "what for?" "on my own business," was the reply. matlack looked at him for a moment suspiciously. "have you got any complaints to make of me?" he said. "no," said martin, promptly, "not one; but i have affairs on hand which will take me off immediately." "before dinner?" asked matlack. 186 individuality of sadler "yes," said the other, "before dinner; now." "go ahead then," said matlack, putting some sticks of wood into the stove; and tell sadler that if he don't send me somebody before suppertime to help about this camp, he'll see me. i'll be hanged," he said to himself, as he closed the door of the stove, "if this isn't hermitism with a vengeance. i wonder who'll be the next one to cut and run; most likely it will be mrs. perkenpine." 66 early in the afternoon, warm and dusty, martin presented himself before peter sadler, who was smoking his pipe on the little shaded piazza at the back of the house. “oh, ho!" said peter. "how in the name of common-sense did you happen to turn up at this minute? this is about as queer a thing as i've known of lately. what did you come for? sit down." "mr. sadler," said martin, "i have come here on most important business." "lake dry?" asked peter. "it is a matter," said martin, "which concerns myself; and if all the lakes in the world were dry, i would not be able to think about them, so full is my soul of one thing." "by the lord harry," said peter, "let's have it, quick!" in a straightforward manner, but with an ardent vehemence which he could not repress, martin stated his business with peter sadler. he told him how he loved margery, what he had said to her, and what she had said to him. 66 and now," said the young man, "i have 187 the associate hermits come to ask your permission to address her; but whether you give it or not i shall go to her mother and speak to her. i know her address, and i intend to do everything in an honorable way." peter sadler put down his pipe and looked steadfastly at the young man. “i wish to heaven,” said he, “that there was a war goin' on! i'd write a letter to the commander-in-chief and let you take it to him, and i'd tell him you was the bravest man between hudson bay and patagonia. by george! i can't understand it! i can't understand how you could have the cheek, the unutterable brass, to come here and ask me— me, peter sadlerto let you court one of the ladies in a campin'-party of mine. and, what's more, i can't understand how i can sit here and hear you tell me that tale without picking up a chair and knocking you down with it." "mr. sadler," said martin, rising, "i have spoken to you fairly and squarely, and if that's all you've got to say, i will go." "sit down!" roared peter, bringing his hand upon the table as if he would drive it's legs through the floor. "sit down, and listen to what i have to say to you. it's the strangest thing that ever happened to me that i am not more angry with you than i am; but i can't understand it, and i pass it by. now that you are seated again, i will make some remarks on my side. do you see that?" said he, picking up a letter on the table. "do you see who it is addressed to?" "to me!" exclaimed martin, in surprise. — 188 individuality of sadler "yes, it's to you," said peter, "and i wrote it, and i intended to send it by bill hammond this afternoon. that's the reason i was surprised when i saw you here. but i'm not goin' to give it to you; i'd rather tell you what's in it, now you are here. before i knew you were the abject ninnyhammer that you have just told me you are i had a good opinion of you, and thought that you were cut out to make a first-class traveller and explorer-the sort of a fellow who could lead a surveying expedition through the wilderness, or work up new countries and find out what they are made of and what's in them. only yesterday i heard of a chance that ought to make you jump, and this morning i wrote to you about it. a friend of mine, who's roughed it with me for many a day, is goin' to take an expedition down into new mexico in the interests of a railroad and minin' company. they want to know everything about the country-the game, fish, trees, and plants, as well as the minerals-and it struck me that if you are not just the kind of man they want you could make yourself so in a very short time. they'd pay you well enough, and you'd have a chance to dip into natural history, and all that sort of thing, that you had no reason to expect for a dozen years to come, if it ever came. if such a chance had been offered to me at your age i wouldn't have changed lots with a king. all you've got to do is to pack up and be off. the party starts from new york in just three days; i'll give you a letter to joe hendricks, and that 'll be all you want. he knows me well enough to take you without a 189 the associate hermits word. if you haven't got money enough saved to fit yourself out for the trip i'll lend you some, and you can pay me back when they pay you. you can take the train this afternoon and maybe you can see hendricks to-night. so pack up what you want and leave what you don't want, and i'll take care of it. i'll write to hendricks now." many times did the face of martin flush and pale as he listened. a vision of paradise had been opened before him, but he felt that he must shut his eyes. "mr. sadler,” he said, “you are very kind. you offer me a great thing-a thing which two weeks. ago i should have accepted in the twinkling of an eye, and would have thanked you for all the rest of my life; but i cannot take it now. with all my heart i love a woman; i have told her so, and i am now going on the path she told me to take. i cannot turn aside from that for any prospects in the world." peter sadler's face grew red, and then it grew black, and then it turned red again, and finally resumed its ordinary brown. "martin sanders," said he, speaking quietly, but with one hand fastened upon the arm of his chair with a grasp which a horse could not have loosened, "if you are cowardly enough and small enough and paltry enough to go to a girl who is living in peace and comfort and ask her to marry you, when you know perfectly well that for years to come you could not give her a decent roof over her head, and that if her family wanted her to live like a christian they would have to give her 190 individuality of sadler the money to do it with; and if you are fool enough not to know that when she sent you first to me and then to her mother she was tryin' to get rid of you without hurtin' your feelin's, why, then, i want you to get out of my sight, and the quicker the better. but if you are not so low down as that, go to your room and pack up your bag. the coach will start for the train at three o'clock, and it is now nearly half-past two; that will just give me time to write to hendricks. go!" martin rose. whatever happened afterwards, he must go now. it seemed to him as if the whole world had suddenly grown colder; as if he had been floating in a fog and had neared an iceberg. could it be possible that she had spoken, as she had spoken, simply to get rid of him? he could not believe it. no one with such honest eyes could speak in that way; and yet he did not know what to believe. in any case, he would go away in the coach. he had spoken to sadler, and now, whether he spoke to any one else or not, the sooner he left the better. when he came to take the coach, peter sadler, who had rolled himself to the front of the house, handed him the letter he had written. "i believe you are made of the right kind of stuff," he said, "although you've got a little mouldy by bein' lazy out there in the woods, but you're all right now; and what you've got to do is to go ahead with a will, and, take my word for it, you'll come out on top. do you want any money? no? very well, then, good191 the associate hermits bye. you needn't trouble yourself to write to me, i'll hear about you from hendricks; and i'd rather know what he thinks about you than what you think about yourself." "how little you know," thought martin, as he entered the coach, "what i am or what i think about myself. as if my purpose could be changed by words of yours!" and he smiled a smile which would have done justice to arthur raybold. the chill had gone out of him; he was warm again. on the train he read the letter to hendricks which peter sadler had given to him unsealed. it was a long letter, and he read it twice. then he sat and gazed out of the window at the flying scenery for nearly half an hour, after which he read the letter again. then he folded it up and put it into his pocket. "if she had given me the slightest reason to hope," he said to himself, "how easy it would be to tear this letter into scraps." now an idea came into his mind. if he could see her mother quickly, and if she should ignore his honorable intentions and refuse to give him the opportunity to prove that he was worthy of a thought from her and her daughter, then it might not be too late to fall back on peter sadler's letter. but he shook his head; that would be dishonorable and unworthy of him. he shut his eyes; he could not bear to look at the brightness of the world outside the window. of the car. under his closed lids there came to him visions, sometimes of margery and sometimes of the forests of new mexico. sometimes 192 individuality of sadler the visions were wavering, uncertain, and transitory, and again they were strong and vividso plain to him that he could almost hear the leaves rustle as some wild creature turned a startled look upon him. that night he delivered his letter to mr. hendricks. chapter xxii a tranquillizing breeze and a hot wind after martin had left her, margery sat on the root of the tree until mr. clyde came up and said he had been wondering what had become of her. "i have been wondering that, myself," she said. "at least, i have been wondering what is going to become of me." 66 don't you intend to be a hermit ?" said he. she shook her head. “i don't think it is possible," she answered. "there is no one who is better satisfied to be alone, and who can make herself happier all by herself, and who, in all sorts of ways, can get along better without other people than i can, and yet other people are continually interfering with me, and i cannot get away from them." clyde smiled. "that is a pretty plain hint," he said. "i suppose i might as well take it, and go off to some hermitage of my own." “oh, nonsense!" said margery. "don't be so awfully quick in coming to conclusions. i do feel worried and troubled and bothered, and i want some one to talk to; not about things which worry me, of course, but about common, ordinary things, that will make me forget." a slight shade came over the face of mr. clyde, 194 a breeze and a wind and he seated himself on the ground near margery. "it is a shame," said he, "that you should be worried. what is it in this peaceable, beautiful forest troubles you?" "did you ever hear of a paradise without snakes?" she asked. "the very beauty of it makes them come here." "i have never yet known any paradise at all," he replied. "but can't you tell me what it is that troubles you?" margery looked at him with her clear, large eyes. "i'll tell you," she said, "if you will promise not to do a single thing without my permission." i promise that," said clyde, eagerly.' 66 “i am troubled by people making love to me." "people!" exclaimed clyde, with a puzzled air. "yes," said she. "your cousin is one of them." "i might have supposed that; but who on earth can be the other one?" "that is martin," said margery. for a moment mr. clyde did not seem to understand, and then he exclaimed: "you don't mean the young man who cuts wood and helps matlack?" "yes, i do," she answered. and you need not shut your jaw hard and grit your teeth that way. that is exactly what he did when he found out about mr. raybold. it is of no use to get angry, for you can't do anything without my permission; and, besides, i tell you that if i were condemned by a court to be made love to, i would much rather have martin make it than mr. raybold. martin is a good deal more than a guide; he has a good education, and would not be here 66 195 the associate hermits if it were not for his love of nature. he is going to make nature his object in life, and there is something noble in that; a great deal better than trying to strut about on the stage." "and those two have really been making love to you?" asked clyde. 66 yes, really," she answered. "you never saw people more in earnest in all your life. as for mr. raybold, he was as earnest as a cat after a bird. he made me furiously angry. martin was different. he is just as earnest, but he is more of a gentleman; and when i told him what i wanted him to do, he said he would do it. but there is no use in telling your cousin what i want him to do. he is determined to persecute me and make me miserable, and there is no way of stopping it, except by making a quarrel between him and uncle archibald. it is a shame!" she went on. who could have thought that two people would have turned up to disturb me in this way." 66 66 "margery," said mr. clyde, and although he called her by her christian name she took no notice of it, you think you have too many lovers but you are mistaken. you have not enough; you ought to have three." she looked at him inquiringly. "yes," he said, quickly, “and i want to be the third." "and so make matters three times as bad as they were at first?" she asked. 66 not at all," said he. "when you have chosen one of them, he could easily keep away the two others." 196 a breeze and a wind "do you mean," said margery, "that if i were to agree to have three, and then, if i were to ask you to do it, you would go away quietly with one of the others and leave me in peace with the third one?" mr. clyde half smiled, but instantly grew serious again, and a flush came on his face. "margery," said he, "i cannot bear trifling any more about this. no matter what anybody has said to you, whether it is any one in this camp or any one out of it, there is not a man in this world who-" "oh, mr. clyde," interrupted margery, "you must not sit there and speak to me in such an excited way. if any one should see us they would think we were quarrelling. let us go down to the lake; the air from the water is cool and soothing." together they walked from under the shade of the tree, and so wended their way that it brought them to a mass of shrubbery which edged the water a little distance down the lake. on the other side of this shrubbery was a pretty bank, which they had seen before. "it always tranquillizes me," said margery, as they stood side by side on the bank, "to look out over the water. doesn't it have that effect on you?" "no!" exclaimed clyde. "it does not tranquillize me a bit. nothing could tranquillize me at a moment like this. margery, i want you to know that i love you. i did not intend to tell you so soon, but what you have said makes it necessary. i have loved you ever since i met 197 the associate hermits you at peter sadler's, and, no matter what you say about it, i shall love you to the end of my life." "even if i should send you away with one of the others?" "yes; no matter what you did.” "that would be wrong," she said. "it doesn't matter. right or wrong, i'd do it." margery gave him a glance from which it would have been impossible to eliminate all signs of admiration. "and if i were to arrange it otherwise," she said, "would you undertake to keep the others away?" there was no answer to this question, but in a minute afterwards clyde exclaimed: "do you think any one would dare to come near you if they saw you now?" 66 "hardly," said margery, raising her head from his shoulder and looking up into his sparkling eyes. really, harrison, you ought not to speak in such a loud voice. if aunt harriet were to hear you she might dare to come." margery was late to dinner, although the horn was blown three times. much to the surprise of his wife, mr. archibald returned to camp about an hour before dinner. "how is this?" she exclaimed. "wasn't the fishing good?" "i have had a disagreeable experience," he said, "and i will tell you about it. i was fishing in a little cove some distance down the lake and having good sport, when i heard a thumping, and looking around i saw raybold in a boat rowing 198 a breeze and a wind towards me. i suppose he thought he was rowing, but he was really floating with the current; but as he neared me he suddenly pulled his boat towards me with such recklessness that i was afraid he would run into me. i considered his rowing into the cove to be a piece of bad manners, for of course it would spoil my fishing, but i had no idea he actually intended to lay alongside of me. this he did, however, and so awkwardly that his boat struck mine with such force that it half tipped it over. then he lay hold of my gunwale, and said he had something to say to me. "i was as angry as if a man in the street had knocked my hat down over my eyes and said that he did so in order to call my attention to a subscription paper. but this indignation was nothing to what i felt when the fellow began to speak. i cannot repeat his words, but he stated his object at once, and said that as this was a good opportunity to speak to me alone, he wished to ask me to remove what he called the utterly useless embargo which i had placed upon him in regard to margery. he said it was useless because he could not be expected to give up his hopes and his plans simply because i objected to them; and he went on to say that if i understood him fully, and if margery understood him, he did not believe that either of us would object. and then he actually asked me to use my influence with her to make her listen to him. from what he said, i am sure he has been speaking to her. i did not let him finish, but turned and blazed at him in words as strong as would come 199 the associate hermits to me. i ordered him never to speak to me again or show himself in my camp, and told him that if he did either of these things he would do them at his peril; and then, for fear he might say something which would make me lose control of myself, i jerked up my anchor and rowed away from him. i didn't feel like fishing any more, and so i came back." "his behavior is shameful," said mrs. archibald. "and what is more, it is ridiculous, for, margery would not look at him. what sort of a man does he think you are, to suppose that you would give your permission to any one, no matter who he might be, to offer marriage to a young lady in your charge? but what are you going to do about it? i think it very likely he will come to this camp, and he may speak to you." "in that case i shall have him driven out," said mr. archibald, "as if he were a drunken vagabond. personally i shall have nothing to do with him, but i shall order my guides to eject him." "i hope that may not be necessary," said his wife. "it would make bad feeling, and deeply wound his sister, for it would be the same thing as putting her out. she talks too much, to be sure, but she is a lady, and has treated us all very courteously. i wish we could get through the rest of our stay here without any disturbance or bad feeling." "i wish so too, with all my heart," said her husband. "and the only thing necessary to that end is that that ass raybold shall keep out of my sight." 200 a breeze and a wind it was about two o'clock that afternoon, and mrs. archibald, under her tree, her basket of stockings all darned and her novel at its culminating point of interest, was the only visible occupant of camp rob, when corona raybold came walking towards her, an obvious purpose in her handsome face, which was somewhat flushed by exercise. "i do not think," she said, as soon as she was near enough for mrs. archibald to hear her, "that the true purpose and intention of our plan is properly understood by all of the party. i think, after some explanation, everything will go well, but i have been endeavoring for the last halfhour to find mrs. perkenpine, and have utterly failed. i am very hungry, but i can discover nothing to eat. all our stores appear to be absolutely raw, or in some intermediate state of crudity. i intend to order some provisions in cans or boxes which will be at all times available, but i have not done so yet, and so i have come over to speak to you about the matter. did your guides prepare your dinner as usual?" 66 oh yes," said mrs. archibald. "a hermit life seems to make no difference with mr. matlack. we become associates at meal-times, but, as you see, we have separated again." "i must instil into mrs. perkenpine's mind," said corona, "that, in order thoroughly to act out her own nature, she must cook and do other things of a domestic character. of course she will do those things in her own way; that is to be expected; but she must do them. it is impossible to imagine a woman of her class whose 201 the associate hermits soul is not set more or less upon domestic affairs. i will instance mr. matlack. his nature belongs to the woods and the out-of-door world, and that nature prompts him to cook what he shoots." mrs. archibald laughed. “i think his nature is a very good one," she said, "and i will go with you to find him and see if he cannot give you a luncheon, if not a dinner." “thank you very much," said corona; "but indeed i do not wish to trouble you. i will go to him myself. you are very kind, but it is not in the least degree necessary for you to accompany me. a cup of tea and some little trifle is all i shall ask him for." for a moment mrs. archibald hesitated, and then she said, “as we are hermits, i suppose we must not keep together any more than we can help, and so i will let you go alone." corona found phil matlack by his kitchen tent, busily engaged in rubbing the inside of a large kettle. he was not in a good humor. the departure of martin had thrown all the work of his camp upon him, and now the appearance of a person from another camp requesting to be fed aroused him to absolute anger. he did not scold, for it would have been impossible to look at that beautiful and imperturbable face and say hard words to it. he did not refuse the cup of tea or the bread-and-butter for which he was asked, and he even added some cold meat; but he indignantly made up his mind that he would stand no more of this nonsense, and that if necessary he would go to sadler and throw up the job. he had not engaged to cook for three camps. 202 646 haven't tried it'" a.b.frust 203 of for [, he 22.35 to tiol to 3 g daa q y 1 a breeze and a wind miss raybold did not appear to notice his state of mind, and ate heartily. she thought it was fortunate that he happened to have the kettle on the stove, and she asked him how he liked the hermit life the living for himself alone. "haven't tried it," he answered, curtly. "i understand," said corona, "you have had to live too much for other people; but it is too soon to expect our plan to run smoothly. in a short time, however, we shall be better able to know our own natures and show them to others." “oh, i can do that," said he; "and i am goin' to, precious soon." "and "i have no doubt of it," she answered. now can you tell me where mr. archibald has gone? i did not see him this morning, and there are some matters i wish to speak to him about." "no, miss," said matlack, promptly, "i don't know where he is. he's a real hermit. he's off by himself, most likely miles away." corona reflected. "mr. the bishop? have you seen him? he may be able to—" the guide grinned grimly. he had seen the man of muscle—not fat-conversing that norning with corona, and an hour afterwards he had seen him, not in the same place, but in the same companionship, and it gave him a certain pleasure to know that the man who could heave rocks and break young trees could not relieve himself from the thralls of the lady of the flowing speech. "don't you know because he was ―――― "the bishop?" said he. where he went to ?" "he left me," she answered, 66 203 the associate hermits obliged to go to prepare dinner for my brother and mr. clyde ; but he is not in camp roy now, for i went there to look for mrs. perkenpine." "well," said the wicked matlack, pointing to the spot where, not long before, margery had found a tranquillizing breeze, "i saw him going along with a book a little while ago, and i think he went down to the shore, just beyond that clump of bushes over there. he seems to be a man who likes readin', which isn't a bad thing for a hermit." "thank you," said miss raybold, rising. "i do not care for anything more. you are very kind, and i am quite sure i shall not have to trouble you again. to-morrow everything will be running smoothly." 66 matlack looked at her as she quietly walked away. she's a pretty sort of a hermit,” he said to himself. "if she really had to live by herself she'd cut out a wooden man and talk to it all day. it won't be long before she accidentally stumbles over that big fellow with his book." chapter xxiii mrs. perkenpine finds out things about herself. the mind of the guide was comforted and relieved that he had got the better of the bishop in one way, although he could not do it in another. but he did not relinquish his purpose of putting an end to the nonsense which made him do the work of other people, and as soon as he had set his kitchen in order he started out to find mrs. perkenpine. a certain amount of nonsense from the people in camp might have to be endured, but nonsense from mrs. perkenpine was something about which peter sadler would have a word to say. matlack was a good hunter. he could follow all sorts of tracks rabbit tracks, bird tracks, deer tracks, and the tracks of big ungainly shoes -and in less than half an hour he had reached a cluster of moss-covered rocks lying some distance back in the woods, and approached by the bed of a now dry stream. sitting on one of these rocks, her back against a tree, her straw hat lying beside her, and her dishevelled hair hanging about her shoulders, was mrs. perkenpine, reading a newspaper. at the sound of his footsteps she looked up. 205 the associate hermits "well, i'll be bound !" she said. “if i'd crawl into a fox-hole i expect you'd come and sniff in after me." matlack stood and looked at her for a moment. he could not help smiling at the uncomfortable manner in which she was trying to make herself comfortable on those rough rocks. "i'll tell you what it is, mrs. perkenpine," he said, "you'll get yourself into the worst kind of a hole if you go off this way, leavin' everything at sixes and sevens behind you." "it's my nater," said she. "i'm findin' it out and gittin' it ready to show to you're the fust one that's seed it. like it ?" other people. how do you "i don't like it at all," said the guide, "and i have just come to tell you that if you don't go back to your tent and cook supper to-night and attend to your business, i'll walk over to sadler's, and tell peter to send some one in your place. i'm goin' over there anyway, if he don't send a man to take martin's place.' "peter sadler !" ejaculated mrs. perkenpine, letting her tumbled newspaper fall into her lap. "he's a man that knows his own nater, and lets other people see it. he lives his own life, if anybody does. he's individdle down to the heels, and just look at him! he's the same as a king. i tell you, phil matlack, that the more i knows myself, just me, the more i'm tickled. it seems like scootin' round in the woods, findin' all sorts of funny hoppin' things and flowers that you never seed before. why, it 'ain't been a whole day since i begun knowin' myself, and i've found 99 206 mrs. perkenpine out lots. i used to think that i liked to cook and clean up, but i don't; i hate it." matlack smiled, and taking out his pipe, he lighted it and sat down on a rock. 66 "i do believe," he said, that you are the most out and out hermit of the whole lot; but it won't do, and if you don't get over your objections to cookin' you'll have to walk out of these woods tomorrow." mrs. perkenpine sat and looked at her companion a few moments without giving any apparent heed to his remarks. "of course," said she, "it isn't only findin' out what you be yourself, but it's lettin' other people see what you be. if you didn't do that it would be like a pot a-b'ilin' out in the middle of a prairie, with nobody nearer nor a hundred miles." "it would be the same as if it hadn't b'iled," remarked matlack. "that's jest it," said she, "and so i ain't sorry you come along, phil, so's i can tell you some things i've found out about myself. one of them is that i like to lie flat on my back and look up at the leaves of the trees and think about them." 66 what do you think?" asked matlack. "i don't think nothin'," said she. "just as soon as i begin to look at them wrigglin' in the wind, and i am beginnin' to wonder what it is i think about them, i go slam bang to sleep, and when i wake up and try to think again what it is i think, off i go again. but i like it. if i don't know what it is i think, i ought to know that i don't know it. that's what i call bein' really and truly a hermick." 207 the associate hermits what else did you find out?" inquired matlack. "i found out," she answered, with animation, "that i admire to read anecdotes. i didn't know i cared a pin for anecdotes until i took to hermickin'. now here's this paper; it came 'round the cheese, and it's got a good many anecdotes scattered about in it. let me read one of them to you. it's about a man who made his will and afterwards was a-drivin' a horse along a road, and the horse got skeered and ran over his executor, who was takin' a walk. then he sung out, ‘oh, bless my soul!' says he. but i'll read you the rest if i can find it." 66 66 "never mind about the anecdote," said matlack, who knew very well that it would take mrs. perkenpine half an hour to spell out twenty lines in a newspaper. 'what i want to know is if you found out anything about yourself that's likely to give you a boost in the direction of that cookin'stove of yourn." mrs. perkenpine was a woman whose remarks did not depend upon the remarks of others. "phil matlack," said she, gazing fixedly at his pipe, "if i had a man i'd let him smoke just as much as he pleased and just where he pleased. he could smoke afore he got up, and he could smoke at his meals, and he could smoke after he went to bed, and, if he fancied that sort of thing, he could smoke at family prayers; it wouldn't make no difference to me, and i wouldn't say a word to him agin' it. if that was his individdlety, i'd say viddle." "and how about everything else?" asked mat208 mrs. perkenpine lack. would you tell him to cook his own victuals and mend his clothes accordin' to his own nater ?" (6 “no, sir,” said she, striking with her expansive hand the newspaper in her lap-"no, sir. i'd get up early in the mornin', and cook and wash and bake and scour. i'd skin the things he shot, and clean his fish, and dig bait if he wanted it. i'd tramp into the woods after him, and carry the gun and the victuals and fishin'-poles, and i'd set traps and row a boat and build fires, and let him go along and work out his own nater smokin' or in any other way he was born to. that's the biggest thing i've found out about myself. i never knowed, until i began, this mornin', explorin' of my own nater, what a powerful hard thing it is, when i'm thinkin' of my own individdlety, to keep somebody else's individdlety from poppin' up in front of it, and so says i to myself, ‘if i can think of both them individdleties at the same time it will suit me fust-rate.' and when you come along i thought i'd let you know what sort of a nater i've got, for it ain't likely you'd ever find it out for yourself. and now that we're in that business-" "hello!" cried matlack, springing to his feet. "there is somebody callin' me. who's there?" he shouted, stepping out into the bed of the stream. a call was now heard, and in a few moments the bishop appeared some distance below. "mr. matlack," he said, "there's a man at your camp inquiring for you. he came from sadler's, and i've been looking high and low for you." 0 209 the associate hermits "a man from sadler's," said matlack, turning to mrs. perkenpine, “and i must be off to see him. remember what i told you about the supper." and so saying, he walked rapidly away. out in the open matlack found the bishop. obliged to you for lookin' me up," he said, "it's a pity to give you so much trouble." "oh, don't mention it !" exclaimed the bishop. "you cannot understand, perhaps, not knowing the circumstances, but i assure you i never was more obliged to any one than to that man who wants to see you and couldn't find you. there was no one else to look for you, and i simply had to go." (6 66 you are not goin' to walk back to camp?" inquired matlack. "no," replied the bishop, "now that i am here, i think i will go up the lake and try to find a very secluded spot in the shade and take a nap.” the guide smiled as he walked away. "don't understand!" said he. "you've got the boot on the wrong leg." arrived at his tent, matlack found bill hammond, a young man in sadler's service, who informed him that that burly individual had sent martin away in the stage-coach, and had ordered him to come and take his place. "all right," said matlack. "i guess you're as good as he was, and so you can settle down to work. by-the-way, do you know that we are all hermits here ?" "hermits?" said the other. "what's that?" "why, hermits," said matlack, "is individ❜als who get up early in the mornin' and attend to 210 mrs. perkenpine their own business just as hard as they can, without lookin' to the right or left, until it's time to go to bed." the young man looked at him in some surprise. "there's nothing so very uncommon in that," said he. "no," replied the guide, "perhaps there ain't. but as you might hear them talkin' about hermits here, i thought i'd tell you just what sort of things they are." chapter xxiv a dissolving audience when a strange young man assisted matlack at the supper-table that evening, mr. archibald asked what had become of martin. "peter sadler has sent him away," answered the guide. "i don't know where he sent him or what he sent him for. but he's a young man who's above this sort of business, and so i suppose he's gone off to take up something that's more elevated." "i am sorry," said mrs. archibald, "for i liked. him." 66 mr. archibald smiled. "this business of insisting upon our own individualities," he said, seems to have worked very promptly in his case. i suppose he found out he was fitted for something better than a guide, and immediately went off to get that better thing." "that's about the size of it," said matlack. margery said nothing. her heart sank. she could not help feeling that what she had said to the young man had been the cause of his sudden departure. could he have done such a thing, she thought, as really to go and ask mr. sadler, and, having found he did not mind, could he have gone to see her mother? her appetite for her supper 212 a dissolving audience departed, and she soon rose and strolled away, and as she strolled the thought came again to her that it was a truly dreadful thing to be a girl. having received no orders to the contrary, matlack, with his new assistant, built and lighted the camp-fire. some of the hermits took this as a matter of course, and some were a little surprised, but one by one they approached; the evening air was beginning to be cool, and the vicinity of the fire was undoubtedly the pleasantest place in camp. soon they were all assembled but one, and mrs. archibald breathed freer when she found that arthur raybold was not there. "i am delighted," said corona, as soon as she took her usual seat, which was a camp-chair, "to see you all gather about the fire. i was afraid that some of you might think that because we are hermits we must keep away from each other all the time. but we must remember that we are associate hermits, and so should come together occasionally. i was going to say something to the effect that some of us may have misunderstood the true manner and intent of the assertions of our individualities, but i do not now believe that this is necessary." "do you mean by all that," said mrs. perkenpine, "that i cooked the supper?" "yes," said miss raybold, turning upon her guide with a pleasant smile, "that is what i referred to." "well," said mrs. perkenpine, " i was told that if i didn't cook i'd be bounced. it isn't my individdlety to cook for outsiders, but it isn't my 213 the associate hermits • individdlety to be bounced, nuther, so i cooked. is that bein' a hermick ?" "you have it," cried mr. archibald, "you've not only found out what you are, but what you have to be. your knowledge of yourself is perfect. and now," he continued, “isn't there somebody who can tell us a story? when we are sitting around a camp-fire, there is nothing better than stories. bishop, i dare say you have heard a good many in the course of your life. don't you feel like giving us one?" "i think," said corona, "that by the aid of stories it is possible to get a very good idea of ourselves. for instance, if some one were to tell a good historical story, and any one of us should find himself or herself greatly interested in it, then that person might discover, on subsequent reflection, some phase of his or her intellect which he or she might not have before noticed. on the other hand, if it should be a love story, and some of us could not bear to hear it, then we might also find out something about ourselves of which we had been ignorant. but i really think that, before making any tests of this sort, we should continue the discussion of what is at present the main object of our lives-selfknowledge and self-assertion. in other words, the emancipation of the individual. as i have said before, and as we all know, there never was a better opportunity offered a group of people of mature minds to subject themselves, free of outside influences, to a thorough mental inquisition, and then to exhibit the results of their self-examinations to appreciative companions. this last 214 a dissolving audience is very important. if we do not announce to others what we are, it is of scarcely any use to be anything. i mean this, of course, in a limited. sense." 66 'harriet," said mr. archibald, abruptly, “do you remember where i left my pipe? i do not like this cigar." "on the shelf by the door of the cabin," she replied. "i saw it as i came out." her husband immediately rose and left the fire. corona paused in her discourse to wait until mr. archibald came back; but then, as if she did not wish to lose the floor, she turned towards the bishop, who sat at a little distance from her, and addressed herself to him, with the idea of making some collateral remarks on what she had already said, in order to fill up the time until mr. archibald should return. mrs. archibald thought that her husband had been a little uncivil; but almost immediately after he had gone, she, too, jumped up, and, without making any excuse whatever, hurried after him the reason for this sudden movement was that mrs. archibald had seen some one approaching from the direction of camp roy. she instantly recognized this person as arthur raybold, and felt sure that, unwilling to stay longer by himself, he was coming to the camp-fire, and if her husband should see him, she knew there would be trouble. what sort of trouble or how far it might extend she did not try to imagine. 66 hector," she said, as soon as she was near enough for him to hear her, "don't go after the 215 the associate hermits pipe; let us take a moonlight walk along the shore. i believe it is full moon to-night, and we have not had a walk of that sort for ever so long." "very good," said her husband, turning to her. "i shall be delighted. i don't care for the pipe, and the cigar would have been good enough if it had not been for the sermon. that would spoil any pleasure. i can't stand that young woman, harriet; i positively cannot." "well, then, let us walk away and forget her," said his wife. "i don't wonder she annoys you." "if it were only the young woman," thought mrs. archibald, as the two strolled away beneath the light of the moon, "we might manage it. but her brother!" at the next indication of a pause in corona's discourse the bishop suddenly stood on his feet. “i wonder," he said, "if there is anything the matter with mrs. archibald? i will step over to her cabin to see." "indeed!" said corona, rising with great promptness, "i hope it is nothing serious. i will go with you.' margery was not a rude girl, but she could not help a little laugh, which she subdued as much as possible; mr. clyde, who was sitting near her, laughed also. 66 there is nothing on earth the matter with aunt harriet," said margery. "they didn't go into the cabin; i saw them walking away down the shore." "how would you like to walk that way?" he asked. "i think their example is a very good one." 216 a dissolving audience "it is capital," said margery, jumping up, "and let's get away quickly before she comes back." they hurried away, but they did not extend their walk down the lake shore even as far as mr. and mrs. archibald had already gone. when they came to the bit of beach behind the clump of trees where the bishop had retired that afternoon to read, they stopped and sat down to watch the moonlight on the water. matlack and mrs. perkenpine were now the only persons at the camp-fire, for bill hammond, as was his custom, had promptly gone to bed as soon as his work was done. if arthur raybold had intended to come to the camp-fire, he had changed his mind, for he now stood near his sister's tent, apparently awaiting the approach of corona and the bishop, who had not found the archibalds, and who were now walking together in what might have been supposed, by people who did not know the lady, to be an earnest dialogue. mr. matlack was seated on his log, and he smoked, while mrs. perkenpine sat on the ground, her head thrown back and her arms hugging her knees. “phil,” said she, “that there moon looks to me like an oyster with a candle behind it, and as smooth and slippery as if i could jest swallow it down. you may think it is queer for me to think such things as that, phil, but since i've come to know myself jest as i am, me, i've found out feelin's-" "mrs. perkenpine," said matlack, knocking the 217 the associate hermits ashes out of his pipe, "there's a good many things besides moons that i can't swallow, and if it's all the same to you, i'll go to bed." "well," she exclaimed, looking after him, "his individdlety is the snapshortest i ever did see! i don't believe he wants to know hisself. if he did, i'm dead sure i could help him. he never goes out to run a camp without somebody to help him, and yet he's so everlastin' blind he can't see the very best person there is to help him, and she a-plumpin' herself square in front of him every time she gits a chance." with that reflection she rose and walked away. "i tell you, harriet," said mr. archibald, when he and his wife had returned from their walk and were about to enter the cabin, "something must be done to enable us to spend the rest of our time here in peace. this is our camp, and we want it for ourselves. if a good companionable fellow like the bishop or that young clyde happens along, it is all very well, but we do not want all sorts of people forcing themselves upon us, and i will not submit to it." "of course we ought not to do that," said she, "but i hope that whatever you do, it will be something as pleasant as possible." "i will try to avoid any unpleasantness," said he, "and i hope i may do so, butby-the-way, where is margery?" 66 i think she must be in bed," said mrs. archibald; then stepping inside, she called, " margery, are you there?" (6 'yes, aunt harriet," replied margery, "i am here." 218 a dissolving audience "she must have found it dreadfully stupid, poor girl!" said mr. archibald. the lights were all out in the archibalds' cabin, and still miss raybold and the bishop walked up and down the open space at the farther end of the camp. 66 corona !" exclaimed her brother, suddenly appearing before them, “i have told you over and over again that i wish to speak to you. are you never going to stop that everlasting preaching and give me a chance to talk to you?" "arthur!" she exclaimed, sharply, "i wish you would not interrupt me in this way. i had just begun to say-" 66 oh, my dear miss raybold," cried the bishop, "do not let me prevent you from speaking to your brother. indeed, it is growing late, and i will not trespass longer on your time. goodnight," and with a bow he was gone. 66 now just see what you have done !" said corona, her eye-glasses brighter than the moon. "well, it is time he was going," said her brother. "i have something very important to say to you. i want your good offices in an affair more worthy of your thoughts than anything else at this moment." "whatever it is," she said, turning away from him, "i do not want to hear it now-not a word of it. you have displeased me, arthur, and i am going to my tent." chapter xxv a moonlight interview mrs. archibald retired to her cabin, but she did not feel in the least like going to bed. her husband had long been asleep in his cot, and she still sat by the side of the little window looking out upon the moon-lighted scene; but the beauty of the night, if she noticed it at all, gave her no pleasure. her mind was harassed and troubled by many things, chief among which was her husband's unfinished sentence in which he had said that he would try to avoid any unpleasantness, but at the same time had intimated that if the unpleasant thing were forced upon him he was ready to meet it. now, reason as she would, mrs. archibald could not banish from her mind the belief that arthur raybold would come to their camp some time during the next day. in fact, not having heard otherwise, she supposed he had come to the campfire that night. she was filled with anger and contempt for the young man who was determined to force himself on their party in this outrageous manner, and considered it shameful that their peaceful life in these woods had been so wickedly disturbed. no wonder she did not want to sleep; no wonder she sat at the window thinking and thinking. 220 a moonlight interview presently she saw some one walking over the open space towards the cabin, and she could not fail to recognize the figure with the long stride, the folded arms, and the bowed head. he passed the window and then he turned and repassed it, then he turned and walked by again, this time a little nearer than before. "this is too much!" said mrs. archibald. "the next thing he will be tapping at her window. i will go out and speak my mind to him." opening the door very softly, and without even stopping to throw a shawl over her head and shoulders, mrs. archibald stepped outside into the night. raybold was now at a little distance from the cabin, in the direction of camp roy, and was just about to turn when she hurried up to him. "mr. raybold," she said, speaking low and rapidly, "if you possessed a spark of gentlemanly feeling you would be ashamed to come into this camp when you have been ordered out of it. my husband has told you he does not want you here, and now i tell you that i do not want you here. it pains me to be obliged to speak to any one in this manner, but it is plain that no other sort of speech will affect you. now, sir, i know your object, and i will not have you wandering up and down here in front of our cabin. i wish you to go to your own camp, and that immediately." raybold stood and listened to her without a word until she had finished, and then he said: "madam, there has been a good deal of talk about knowing ourselves and showing ourselves to others. now i know myself very well indeed, 1 1 221 the associate hermits and i will show myself to you by saying that when my heart is interested i obey no orders, i pay no attention to mandates of any sort. until i can say what i have to say i will watch and i will wait, but i shall not draw back." for the first time in fifteen years mrs. archibald lost her temper. she turned pale with anger. you contemptible scoundrel! go! leave this camp instantly!" 66 he stood with arms folded and smiled at her, saying nothing. she trembled, she was so angry. but what could she do? if she called mr. archibald, or if he should be awakened by any outcry, she feared there would be bloodshed, and if she went to call matlack, mr. archibald would be sure to be awakened. but at this moment some one stepped up quickly behind raybold, and with a hand upon his shoulder, partly turned him around. "i think," said the bishop, "that i heard this lady tell you to go. if so, go." "i did say it," said mrs. archibald, hurriedly. "please be as quiet as you can, but make him go." "do you hear what mrs. archibald says?" asked the bishop, sternly. "depart, or-" 66 do you mean to threaten me?" asked raybold. the bishop stepped close to him. "will you go of your own accord," he asked, "or do you wish me to take you away?" he spoke quietly, but with an earnestness that impressed itself upon raybold, who made a quick step backward. he felt a natural repugnance, 222 a moonlight interview especially in the presence of a lady, to be taken. away by this big man, who, in the moonlight, seemed to be bigger than ever. "i will speak to you," said he, "when there are no ladies present." and with this he retired. "i am so much obliged to you," said mrs. archibald. "it was a wonderful piece of good fortune that you should have come at this minute." the bishop smiled. "i am delighted that i happened here," he said. "i heard so much talking this evening that i thought i would tranquillize my mind by a quiet walk by myself before i went to bed, and so i happened to see you and raybold. of course i had no idea of intruding upon you, but when i saw you stretch out your arm and say 'go!' i thought it was time for me to come." "i feel bound to say to you," said mrs. archibald, "that that impertinent fellow is persisting in his attentions to miss dearborn, and that mr. archibald and i will not have it." "i imagined that the discussion was on that subject," said the bishop, “for mr. clyde has intimated to me that raybold has been making himself disagreeable to the young lady." "i do not know what we are going to do," said mrs. archibald, reflectively; "there seems to be no way of making an impression upon him. he is like his sister-he will have his own way." "yes," said the bishop, with a sigh, "he is like his sister. but then, one might thrash him, but what can be done with her? i tell you, mrs. archibald," he said, turning to her, earnestly, "it is getting to be unbearable. the whole evening, 223 the associate hermits ever since you left the camp-fire, she has been. talking to me on the subject of mental assimilationthat is, the treatment of our ideas and thoughts as if they were articles of food-intellectual soda biscuit, or plum pudding, for instance-in order to find out whether our minds can digest these things and produce from them the mental chyme and chyle necessary to our intellectual development. the discourse was fortunately broken off for to-night, but there is more of it for to-morrow. i really cannot stand it." "i wouldn't stand it," said mrs. archibald. "can't you simply go away and leave her when she begins in that way?" the bishop shook his head. "no," he said, "that is impossible. when those beautiful eyes are fixed upon me i cannot go away. they charm me and they hold me. unless there is an interruption, i must stay and listen. the only safety for me is to fly from this camp. at last," he said, smiling a little sadly, "i am going to go. i did not want to do this until your camp broke up, but i must.” "and you are really going to-morrow?" she asked. "yes," he said. "i have positively decided upon that." "good"i am sorry to hear it," she said. night." when mrs. archibald entered her cabin she found her husband sleeping soundly, and she again sat down by the window. there was no such thing as sleep for her; her mind was more tossed and troubled than it had been before she 224 a moonlight interview went out. the fact that the bishop was going away made the matter worse, for just as she had found out that he was willing to help her, and that he might be able to keep raybold away from them without actual violence-for she saw that the young boaster was afraid of him — he had told her he must leave, and in her heart she did not blame him. with great fear and anxiety she looked forward to the morrow. it was about two o'clock when mrs. archibald suddenly arose from her seat by the window and lighted a candle. then she pulled down the shades of the windows, front and back, after which she went to her husband's cot and put her hand upon his shoulder. "hector," said she, "wake up." 66 in a moment mr. archibald was staring at her. what is the matter ?" he exclaimed. are you 66 sick?" 66 no," said she, "but i have something very important to say to you. i want you to get up and go away with me, and take margery." mr. archibald sat up in bed. he was now in full possession of his senses. "what!" said he, 66 elope? and where to?" "yes," said she, "that is exactly what i mean, and we will go to sadler's first, and then home." 66 do you mean now?" said he. "yes—that is, as soon as it is light," she replied. "are you positively sure you are awake, harriet?" asked mr. archibald. "awake!" she said. "i have not been asleep to-night. don't you see i am dressed?" and p 225 the associate hermits she drew a chair to the bedside and sat down. "i know more about what is going on than you do, hector," she said, "and i tell you if we stay any longer in this camp, there is going to be great trouble. that young raybold pays no attention to what you said about keeping away from us. he comes here when he pleases, and he says he intends to come. i asked you to take a walk with me this evening because i saw him coming to the camp-fire and i knew that you would resent it. to-night i saw him walking up and down in front of our cabin, and i believe he intended to try to speak to margery. i went out to him myself, and he was positively insulting. if the bishop had not happened to come up, i believe he would have stayed here and defied me. but he made him go. "now that you know this, hector, it is very certain that there will be trouble between you and that young man, and i do not want that. and, besides that, there is his sister; she is as determined to preach as he is to speak to margery. the bishop says he can't stand her any longer, and he is going away to-morrow, and that will make it all the worse for us-especially for you, hector. i cannot endure this state of things; it has made me so nervous i cannot get to sleep, and, besides, it is not right for us to keep margery where she must be continually guarded from such a man. 'now it may seem foolish to run away, but i have thought over the matter for hours and hours, and it is the only thing to do; and what is more, it is very easy to do. if we announce that we are going, we will 226 a moonlight interview p ge at if e [h all go, and the chief cause of quarrels and danger will go with us. i know you, hector; you will not stand his impertinence. "it will be daylight between three and four o'clock, and we three can start out quietly and have a pleasant walk to sadler's. it is only four miles, and we can take our time. we need not carry anything with us but what we choose to put in our pockets. we can pack our bags and leave them here, and mr. sadler will send for them. when we get there we can go to bed if we like, and have time enough for a good sleep before breakfast, and then we can take the morning stage and leave this place and everybody in it. now please don't be hasty and tell me all this is foolish. remember, if you stay here you have a quarrel on your hands, and i shall have hours of misery until that quarrel is settled; and no matter how it is settled, things will be disagreeable afterwards." 66 "harriet," said mr. archibald, suddenly twisting himself so that he sat on the side of the bed, your idea is a most admirable one. it suits me exactly. let us run away. it is impossible for us to do anything better than that. have you told margery ?" "no," she answered, "but i will go to her at once." "be quick and quiet, then," said her husband, who had now entered fully into the spirit of the adventure; "nobody must hear us. i will dress, and then we will pack." "margery," said mrs. archibald, after three times shaking the sleeping girl," you must get up. 227 the associate hermits your uncle and i are going away, and you must go with us." margery turned her great eyes on mrs. archibald, but asked no questions. "yes," said mrs. archibald, "we cannot stay in this camp any longer, on account of mr. raybold and various other things. matters have come to a crisis, and we must go, and more than that, we must slip away so that the others may not go with us." "when?" asked margery, now speaking for the first time. "as soon as it is daylight." "so soon as that?" said the girl, a shadow on her brow which was very plain in the light of the candle which mrs. archibald had brought with her. "surely not before breakfast ?". "margery," said mrs. archibald, a little sharply, "you do not seem to understand-you are not awake; we must start as soon as it is light. but we cannot discuss it now. we are going, and you must go with us. you must get up and pack your things in your bag, which we shall send for." suddenly a light came into margery's eyes and she sat up. "all right," said she, "i will be ready as soon as you are. it will be jolly to run away, especially so early in the morning," and with that she jumped out of bed. chapter xxvi an elopement a little more than an hour after mrs. archibald had made known her project to her husband the three inhabitants of the cabin stole softly out into the delicate light of the early dawn. mr. archibald had thought of leaving a note for matlack, but his wife had dissuaded him. she was afraid that the wrong person might get hold of it. "when we are safely at sadler's," she said, "we can send for our bags, with a note to matlack. it will not matter then who knows." she had a firm belief in the power of the burly keeper of the inn to prevent trouble on his premises. with careful but rapid steps the little party passed along the open portion of the camp, keeping as far as possible from the tent wherein reposed corona and mrs. perkenpine, and soon reached the entrance of the wood road. here it was not quite so light as in the open, but still they could make their way without much trouble, and after a few minutes' walking they felt perfectly safe from observation, and slackening their pace, they sauntered along at their ease. the experience was a novel one to all of them; even mr. archibald had never been in the woods 229 the associate hermits so early in the morning. in fact, under these great trees it could scarcely be said to be morning. the young light which made its uncertain way through the foliage was barely strong enough to cast a shadow, and although these woodland wanderers knew that it was a roadway in which they were walking, that great trees stood on each side of them, with branches reaching out over their heads, and that there were bushes and vines and here and there a moss-covered rock or a fallen tree, they saw these things not clearly and distinctly, but as through a veil. but there was nothing uncertain about the air they breathed; full of the moist aroma of the woods, it was altogether different from the noonday odors of the forest. stronger and stronger grew the morning light, and more and more clearly perceptible became the greens, the browns, and the grays about them. now the birds began to chatter and chirp, and squirrels ran along the branches of the trees, while a young rabbit bounced out from some bushes and went bounding along the road. this early morning life was something they had not seen in their camp, for it was all over before they began their day. there was a spring by the roadside, which they had noticed when they had come that way before, and when they reached it they sat down and ate some biscuit which mrs. archibald had brought with her, and drank cool water from mr. archibald's folding pocket-cup. the loveliness of the scene, the novelty of the experience, the feeling that they were getting away from unpleasant circumstances, and in a 230 an elopement perfectly original and independent fashion, gave them all high spirits. even mrs. archibald, whose sleepless night might have been supposed to interfere with this morning walk, declared herself as fresh as a lark, and stated that she knew now why a lark or any other thing that got up early in the morning should be fresh. they had not left the spring far behind them when they heard a rustling in the woods to the right of the road, and the next moment there sprang out into the open, not fifty feet in front of them, a full-grown red deer. they were so startled by this apparition that they all stopped as if the beautiful creature had been a lion in their path. for an instant it turned its great brown eyes upon them, and then with two bounds it plunged into the underbrush on the other side of the road. mrs. archibald and margery had never before seen a deer in the woods. the young girl clapped her hands. "it all reminds me of my first night at the opera!" she cried. two or three times they rested, and they never walked rapidly, so it was after five o'clock when the little party emerged into the open country and approached the inn. not a soul was visible. about the premises, but as they knew that some one soon would be stirring, they seated themselves in three arm-chairs on the wide piazza to rest and wait. peter sadler was an early riser, and when the front hall door was open he appeared thereat, rolling his wheeled chair out upon the piazza with a bump-though not with very much of a bump, 231 the associate hermits for the house was built to suit him and his chair. but he did not take his usual morning roll upon the piazza, for, turning his head, he beheld a gentleman and two ladies fast asleep in three great wicker chairs. "upon my soul !" he exclaimed. "if they ain't the camp robbers!" at this exclamation they all awoke. ten minutes after that the tale had been told, and if the right arm of mr. sadler's chair had not been strong and heavy it would have been shivered into splinters. "as usual," cried the stalwart peter, "the wrong people ran away. if i had seen that bicycle man and his party come running out of the woods, i should have been much better satisfied, and i should have thought you had more spirit in you, sir, than i gave you credit for." "oh, you mistake my husband altogether!" cried mrs. archibald. "the trouble with him is that he has too much spirit, and that is the reason i brought him away." "and there is another thing," exclaimed margery. "you should not say mr. raybold and his party. he was the only one of them who behaved badly." 66 66 that is true," said mrs. archibald. 'his sister is somewhat obtrusive, but she is a lady, gentle and polite, and it would have been very painful to her and as painful to us had it been necessary forcibly to eject her brother from our camp. it was to avoid all this that we-" "eloped," interjected mr. archibald. the good peter laughed. "perhaps you are 232 if they ain't the camp robbers!'" an elopement right," said he. "but i shall have a word with that bicycle fellow when he comes this way. you are an original party, if there ever was one. first you go on somebody else's wedding-journey, and then you elope in the middle of the night, and now the best thing you can do is to go to bed. you can have a good sleep and a nine-o'clock breakfast, and i do not see why you should leave here for two or three days." 66 'oh, we must go this morning," said mrs. archibald, quickly. "we must go. we really cannot wait until any of those people come here. it makes me nervous to think about it." "very good, then," said peter. "the coach starts for the train at eleven." mrs. archibald was a systematic woman, and was in the habit of rising at half-past seven, and when that hour arrived she awoke as if she had been asleep all night. going to the window to see what sort of a day it was, which was also her custom, she looked out upon the lawn in front of the house, and her jaw dropped and her eyes opened. there she beheld margery and mr. clyde strolling along in close converse. moment she was utterly stupefied. for a "how "what can this mean?" she thought. could they have missed us so soon? we are seldom out of our cabin before eight o'clock. i cannot comprehend it!" and then a thought came to her which made her face grow pale. "is it possible," she said to herself, "that any of the others have come? i must go immediately and find out." in ten minutes she had dressed and quietly left the room. 233 the associate hermits when margery saw mrs. archibald descending the piazza steps, she left mr. clyde and came running to meet her. 66 i "i expect you are surprised to see me here," she said, but i intended to tell you and uncle archibald as soon as you came down. you see, did not at all want to go away and not let mr. clyde know what had become of me, and so, after i had packed my bag, i wrote a little note to him and put it in a biscuit-box under a stone not far from my window, which we had arranged for a post-office, just the day before." "a post-office !" cried mrs. archibald. "yes," said margery. "of course there wasn't any need for one at least we did not suppose there would be-but we thought it would be nice; for, you must know, we are engaged." "what!" cried mrs. archibald. 'engaged? impossible! what are you talking about?" "yes," said margery, "we are really engaged, and it was absolutely necessary. under ordinary. circumstances this would not have happened so soon, but as things were it could not be delayed. mr. clyde thought the matter over very carefully, and he decided that the only way to keep me from being annoyed and frightened by mr. raybold was for him to have the right to defend me. if he told mr. raybold i was engaged to him, that of course would put an end to the young man's attentions. we were engaged only yesterday, so we haven't had any time to tell anybody, but we intended to do it to-day, beginning with you and uncle archibald. harrison came over early to the post-office, hoping to find some sort of a note, 66 1 234 an elopement + and he was wonderfully astonished when he read what was in the one i put there. i told him not to say anything to anybody, and he didn't, but he started off for sadler's immediately, and came almost on a run, he says, he was so afraid i might go away before he saw me." 66 margery," exclaimed the elder lady, tears coming into her eyes as she spoke, "i am grieved and shocked beyond expression. what can i say to my husband? what can i' say to your mother? from the bottom of my heart i wish we had not brought you with us; but how could i dream that all this trouble would come of it?" "it is indeed a very great pity," said margery, "that mr. clyde and i could not have been engaged before we went into camp; then mr. raybold would have had no reason to bother me, and i should have had no trouble with martin." 66 martin!" cried mrs. archibald. what of 66 him?" 66 "oh, he was in love with me too," replied the young girl, and we had talks about it, and i sent him away. he was really a young man far above his station, and was doing the things he did simply because he wanted to study nature; but of course i could not consider him at all." "and that was the reason he left us!" exclaimed mrs. archibald. "upon my word, it is amazing!" "yes," said margery; "and don't you see, aunt harriet, how many reasons there were why mr. clyde and i should settle things definitely and become engaged? now there need be no further trouble with anybody." 235 the associate hermits distressed as she was, mrs. archibald could not refrain from smiling. "no further trouble!" she said. "i think you would better wait until mr. archibald and your mother have heard this story before you say that." mr. archibald was dressing for breakfast when his wife told him of margery's engagement, and the announcement caused him to twirl around so suddenly that he came very near breaking a looking-glass with his hair-brush. he made a dash for his coat. "i will see him," he said, and his eyes sparkled in a way which indicated that they could discover a malefactor without the aid of spectacles. 'stop!" said his wife, standing in his way. "don't go to them when you are angry. we have just got out of trouble, and don't let us jump into it again. if they are really and truly engaged—and i am sure they are-we have no authority to break it off, and the less you say the better. what we must do is to take her immediately to her mother, and let her settle the matter as best she can. if she knows her daughter as well as i do, i am sure she will acquit us of all blame." 66 mr. archibald was very indignant and said a great deal, but his wife was firm in her counsel to avoid any hard words or bad feeling in a matter over which they had now no control. 66 'well," said he, at last, "i will pass over the whole affair to mrs. dearborn, but i hope i may eat my breakfast without seeing them. whatever happens, i need a good meal." when mr. archibald came out of the breakfast236 an elopement room, his mind considerably composed by hot rolls and coffee, he met margery in the hall. "dear uncle archibald," she exclaimed, "i have been waiting and waiting for you. i hope you are not angry. please be as kind to us as you can, and remember, it was just the same with us as it was with you and aunt harriet. you would not have run away from the camp in the middle of the night if you could have helped it, and we should not have been engaged so suddenly if we could have helped it. but we all had to do what we did on account of the conduct of others, and as it is settled now, i think we ought all to try to be as happy as we can, and forget our troubles. here is harrison, and he and i both pray from the bottom of our hearts that you will shake hands with him. i know you always liked him, for you have said so. and now we are both going to mother to tell her all about it." "both?" said mr. archibald. "yes," said margery; "we must go together, otherwise mother would know nothing about him, and i should be talking to no purpose. but we are going to do everything frankly and openly and go straight to her, and put our happiness in her hands." mr. archibald looked at her steadfastly. "such ingenuousness," he said, presently," is overpowering. mr. clyde, how do you do? do you think it is going to be a fine day?" the young man smiled. "i think it is going to be a fine lifetime," said he. the party was gathered together on the piazza, ready to take the coach. the baggage had ar237 the associate hermits rived from the camp in a cart; but phil matlack had not come with it, as he remained to take down his tent and settle affairs generally. they were all sorry not to see him again, for he had proved himself a good man and a good guide; but when grown-up married people elope before daybreak something must be expected to go wrong. hearty and substantial remembrances were left for him, and kind words of farewell for the bishop, and even for miss corona when she should appear. peter sadler was loath to part with his guests. "you are more interesting now than ever you were," he said, "and i want to hear all about that hermit business; you've just barely mentioned it." 66 "my dear sir," said mr. archibald, with a solemn visage, sooner or later miss corona raybold will present herself at this inn on her way home. if you want to know anything about her plan to assist human beings to assert their individualities, it will only be necessary to mention the fact to her." "good-bye, then," said peter, shaking hands with mr. and mrs. archibald. "i don't know what out-of-the-way thing you two will do next, but, whatever it is, i hope it will bring you here." chapter xxvii mrs. perkenpine delights the bishop it was the bishop who first appreciated the fact that a certain air of loneliness had descended upon the shore of the lake. he had prepared breakfast at his camp, but as mr. clyde did not make his appearance he went to camp rob to look for him. there he saw matlack and his assistant busy in their kitchen tent, and mrs. perkenpine was also engaged in culinary matters. he had left arthur raybold asleep at camp roy, but of the ladies and gentleman who were usually visible at the breakfast-hour at camp rob he saw no signs, and he approached mrs. perkenpine to inquire for clyde. at his question the sturdy woman turned and smiled. it was a queer smile, reminding the bishop of the opening and shutting of a farm gate. "he's a one-er," said she. "do you suppose he could ketch a rabbit, no matter how fast he ran ?" 66 come, now," said the bishop, "he wasn't trying to do that?" "he was either doin' that, or else he was runnin' away. i seed him early this mornin'-i wasn't up, but i was lookin' round—and i thought from the way he was actin' that he'd set a rabbit239 the associate hermits trap and was goin' to see if he'd caught anything, and pretty soon i seed him runnin' like sam hill, as if his rabbit had got away from him. but perhaps it wasn't that, and maybe somebody skeered him. anyway, he's clean gone." the bishop stood and reflected; the affair looked serious. clyde was a practical, sensible fellow-and he was gone. why did he go? "have you seen any of the archibalds yet?" he asked. "no," said she; "i guess they're not up yet, though it's late for them. my young woman ain't up nuther, but it ain't late for her." the bishop walked slowly towards the cabin and regarded it earnestly. after a few minutes inspection he stepped up to the door and knocked. then he knocked again and again, and hearing nothing from within he became alarmed, and ran to matlack. "hello!" he cried. "something has happened to your people, or they have gone away. come to the cabin, quick!" in less than a minute matlack, the bishop, and bill hammond were at the cabin, and the unfastened door was opened wide. no one was in the house, that was plain enough, but on the floor were four bags packed for transportation. 66 matlack looked about him, and then he laughed. 'all right," said he; "there ain't no need of worryin' ourselves. they haven't left a thing of theirs about, everything 's packed up and ready to be sent for. when people do that, you may be sure nothing's happened to them. they've gone off, and i bet it's to get rid of that young wom240 7 the bishop delighted an's preachin'. but i don't blame them; i don't wonder they couldn't stand it." the bishop made no reply. remembering his recent conversation with mrs. archibald, he believed that, if they had quietly gone away, there was a better reason for it than miss raybold's fluency of expression. it was possible that something might have happened after he had retired from the scene the night before, for when he went to sleep raybold was still walking up and down in the moonlight. his mind was greatly disturbed. they were gone, and he was left. what are you going to do?" he asked matlack. "nothin' just now," said the guide. "if they don't send for their things pretty soon, i'll go over to sadler's and find out what's the matter. but they're all right. look how careful them bags is strapped up!" the bishop left the cabin and walked thoughtfully away in the direction of camp roy. in two minutes he had made up his mind: he would eat his breakfast-he could not travel upon an empty stomach-and then he would depart. that was imperative. when he reached the camp he found that raybold had risen and was pouring out for himself a bowl of coffee. seeing the bishop approach, the young man's face grew dark, as might have been expected from the events of the night before, and he hurriedly placed some articles of food upon a plate, and was about leaving the stove when the bishop reached him. raybold turned with a frown, and what was meant to be a glare. 66 q 241 the associate hermits "i shall bide my time," said he, and with his coffee and his plate he retired to a distance. the bishop smiled but made no answer, and sat down and ate his meal in peace; then he prepared to depart. he had nothing but a little bag, and it did not take long to put in order the simple culinary department of the camp. when all was done he stood for some minutes thinking. there was a path through the woods which led to the road, so that he might go on to sadler's without the knowledge of any one at camp rob, but he felt that he ought to see matlack and tell him that he was going. if anything went wrong at camp roy he did not wish to be held responsible for it mr. archibald could afford to go away without saying anything about it, but he could not, and, besides, if he should happen to see miss raybold it would be far more gentlemanly to tell her that he was going and to bid her goodbye, than to slip off through the woods like a tramp. he would go, that he was determined upon; but he would go like a man. when he reached camp rob the first person he saw was miss raybold, standing near her tent with a roll of paper in her hand. the moment she perceived him she walked rapidly towards him. "good-morning," she said. "did you know that the archibalds had gone? i never was so amazed in all my life. i was eating my breakfast when a man and a cart drove up to their cabin, and mrs. perkenpine, running to see what this meant, soon came back and told me that the family of three had departed in the night, and had sent this cart 242 the bishop delighted for their baggage. i think this was a very uncivil proceeding, and i do not in the least understand it. can you imagine any reason for this extremely uncourteous action ?" the bishop could imagine reasons, but he did not care to state them. "it may be," he said, with a smile, "that they discovered that their natures demanded hotel beds instead of camp cots, and that they immediately departed in obedience to the mandates of their individualities." ous "but in so doing," said miss raybold, "they violated the principles of association. our scheme included mutual confidence as well as self-investigation and assertion. i must admit that mr. archibald disappointed me. i think he misunderstood my project. by holding one's self entirely aloof from humanity one encourages self-ignorance. but perhaps our party was somewhat too large the elements too many and inharmoniand i see no reason why we who remain should relinquish our purpose. i believe it will be easier for us to become truly ourselves than when our number was greater, and so i propose that we make no change whatever in our plans; that we live on, for the time agreed upon, exactly as if the archibalds were here. and now, if you have a few minutes to spare, i would like to read you something i wrote this morning before i left my tent. i was awake during the night, and thought for a long time upon the subject of mental assimilation, the discussion of which we did not finish last evening, and this morning, while my thoughts were fresh, i put ―――――― ―――― 243 the associate hermits them upon paper, and now i would like to read them to you. isn't there some shady place where we might sit down? there are two camp-chairs; will you kindly place them under this tree?" the bishop sighed, but he went for the chairs. it would be too hard for him to tell her he was going to leave the camp, and he would not try to do it. he would slip off as soon as he had a chance, and leave a note for her. she would not perhaps like that, but it was the best he could do. the reading of the paper occupied at least half an hour, and when it was finished, and corona had begun to make some remarks on a portion of it which she had not fully elaborated, mrs. perkenpine approached, and stood before her. "well, miss," said she, "i'm off." miss raybold fixed her eye-glasses upon her. what do you mean?" she asked. "i'm goin' back to sadler's," she replied. "phil's goin', and i'm goin'. he's jest told me that the cart 's comin' back for the kitchen fixin's and his things, and him and bill hammond is goin' to sadler's with it; and if he goes, i goes." this speech had a very different effect upon its two hearers. corona was as nearly angry as her self-contained nature would permit; but, although he did not allow his feelings to betray him, the bishop was delighted. now they must all go, and that suited him exactly. 66 'it is a positive and absolute breach of contract!" exclaimed miss raybold. "you agreed to remain in my service during my stay in camp, and you have no right to go away now, no matter who else may depart." 66 1 244 the bishop delighted mrs. perkenpine grinned. "that sort of thing. was all very well a week ago," said she, "but it won't work now. i've been goin' to school to myself pretty steady, and i've kept myself in a good deal, too, for not knowin' my lessons, and i've drummed into me a pretty good idea of what i be, and i can tell you i'm not a woman as stays here when phil matlack's gone. i'm not a bit scary, but i never stayed in camp yet with all greenhorns but me. when i find myself in that sort of a mess, it's my nater to get out of it. phil says he's goin' to start the fust thing this afternoon, and that's the time i'm goin', and so, if you would like to go, you can send word by that man in the cart to have you and your things sent for, and we can all clear out together." 66 positively," exclaimed corona, turning to the bishop, "this is the most high-handed proceeding i ever heard of!" "that's 'xactly what i think," said mrs. perkenpine; "it most takes my breath away to think how high-handed i am. before i knowed myself i couldn't have been that way to save my skin. there didn't use to be any individdlety about me. you might take a quart of huckleberries and ask yourself what it was particular 'bout any one of them huckleberries-'xceptin' it might be green, and it's a long time since i was that way -and you'd know jest as much about that huckleberry as i knowed about myself. now it's different. it's just the same as if there was only one huckleberry in a quart box, and it ain't no trouble to see all around that." "i think, miss raybold," said the bishop, "that 245 the associate hermits this good woman has prosecuted her psychical researches with more effect than any of us." "bosh!" exclaimed miss raybold. "do you really think i must leave this camp at the dictation of that person?" "'scuse me," said mrs. perkenpine, "but i'm goin' to scratch things together for movin'. we'll have dinner here, and then we'll pack up and be off as soon as the carts come. that's what phil says he's goin' to do." with a satisfied mind and internal gratitude to mrs. perkenpine, who had made everything easy for him, the bishop endeavored to make corona feel that, as her departure from the camp was inevitable, it would be well not to disturb her mind too much about it. but it was of no use trying to console the lady. "it is too bad," she said; "it is humiliating. here i believed that i was truly myself; that i was an independent entity; that i was free to assert my individual nature and to obey its impulses, and now i find that i am nothing but the slave of a female guide. actually i must obey her, and i must conform to her!" "it is true," said the bishop, musingly, "that although we may discover ourselves, and be greatly pleased with the prospect of what we see, we may not be permitted to enter into its enjoyment, and must content ourselves with looking over the fence and longing for what we see." corona faintly smiled. "when we have climbed high enough to see over that fence," she said, "it becomes our duty to break it down." "when i was in england," said the bishop, "i 246 the bishop delighted saw a fence—an oak fence-which they told me had stood for four hundred years. it looked awfully tough, and it now reminds me of some of the manners and customs of civilization." "when you were in england," said corona, "did you visit newnham college ?" 66 he never had. but she told him that she had been there for two years. and now," she continued, "there may be time enough before i must pack up my effects to finish what i was going to say to you about approximate assimilations." chapter xxviii the hermits continue to favor association when the archibald party reached the capital city of their state, the four of them took a carriage and drove immediately to the dearborn residence. margery had insisted that mr. clyde should go with them, so that he and she should present themselves together before her parents. in no other way did she believe that the subject could be properly presented. the archibalds did not object to this plan; in fact, under the circumstances, they were in favor of it. during the journey young clyde had produced a very favorable impression upon them. they had always liked him well enough, and now that they examined his character more critically, they could not fail to see that he was a kind-hearted, gentlemanly young man, intelligent and well educated, and, according to private information from margery, his family was of the best. arrived at the dearborn door, they found the house in the possession of one female servant, who informed them that mr. dearborn was in canada, on a fishing expedition; that mrs. dearborn had gone to attend some sort of a congress at saratoga, and that she did not expect to be at home until the following friday, three days after, which 248 " 1 continued association was the day on which she had expected her daughter to be brought back to her. this was disheartening, and the four stood upon the steps irresolute. margery ought to go to her mother, but neither of the archibalds wished to go to saratoga, nor could they despatch thither the prematurely betrothed couple. "i know what we must do," said mrs. archibald, "we must go home." "but, my dear," said her husband, "we agreed to stay away for a month, and the month is not yet up." 66 "it doesn't matter," said she. "kate and her husband will take us in for the few days left. when we explain all that we have gone through, she will not be hard-hearted enough to make us go to a hotel until friday; margery can come with us." margery turned upon mrs. archibald a pair of eyes filled with earnest inquiry. 66 'i know what you want," said mrs. archibald. “no, he can go to a hotel in the town; and i shall write to your mother to come to us as soon as she returns; then you two can present yourselves together according to your plans. there is no use talking about it, hector; it is the only thing we can do." "we shall break our word to the newly married," said her husband. 66 isn't there a state law against that?" "when we made that arrangement," said his wife, going down the steps, "we did not know our individual selves; now we do, and the case is different. kate will understand all that when i explain it to her." 249 the associate hermits they drove back to the station, and took a train for home. mr. and mrs. bringhurst were sitting in the cool library about nine o'clock that evening; he was reading while she was listening, and they were greatly astonished when they heard a carriage drive up to the front door. during their domestic honey-moon they had received no visitors, and they looked at each other and wondered. "it is a mistake," said he; "but don't trouble yourself. mary has not gone to bed, and she will hear the bell." but there was no bell; the door was opened, and in came father and mother, followed by a strange young couple. "it is wonderful!" exclaimed kate, when at last everybody had been embraced or introduced. "a dozen times during the last week have we talked about the delight it would give us if our father and mother could be here to be entertained a little while as our guests in our own house-for you gave it to us for a month, you know. but we refrained from sending you an invitation because we did not want to cut off your holiday. and now you are here! the good fairies could not have arranged the matter better." when all the tales had been told; when the assertion of individuality and the plans of hermit association had been described and discussed, and the young bringhursts had told how they, too, without knowing it, had been associate hermits, devoting their time not to the discovery of their own natures, but of the nature of each other, and how perfectly satisfied they had been with the re250 continued association sults, it was very late, and young clyde was not allowed to go out into the darkness to find a hotel. it was on thursday afternoon that mrs. dearborn arrived at the archibalds' house. the letter she had received had made her feel that she could not wait until the end of the congress. "now, mother," said margery, when the two were alone together, "you have seen him and you have talked to him, and uncle hector has told you how he went to the office of glassborough & clyde and found he was really their nephew, and all about him and his family; and you have been told precisely why it was necessary that we should engage ourselves so abruptly on account of the violent nature of mr. raybold and the trouble he might cause, not only to us, but to dear aunt harriet and uncle archibald. and now we come just like two of your own children and put the whole matter entirely into your hands and leave you to decide, out of your own heart, exactly when and where we shall be married, and all about it. then, when father comes home, you can tell him just what you have decided to do. you are our parents, and we leave it to you.” "what in the world," said mrs. dearborn, an hour later, when she was talking to the two married ladies of the household, "can one do with a girl like that? i do not believe dynamite would blow them apart; and if i thought it would i should not know how to manage it." "no," said mrs. archibald, "i am afraid the explosion would be as bad for you as it would be for them." 251 the associate hermits moon. "don't try it," said mrs. kate. "i take a great interest in that budding bit of felicity; i consider it an outgrowth of our own marriage and honeywhen we sent out that wild couple, my father and mother, on a wedding-tour, we did not dream that they would bring back to us a pair of lovers, who never would have been lovers if it had not been for us, and who are now ready for a wedding-tour on their own account, as soon as circumstances may permit. and so, feeling a little right and privilege in the matter, i am going to ask you, mrs. dearborn, to let them be married here whenever the wedding day shall come, and let them start out from this house on their marriage career. now don't you think that would be a fine plan? i am sure your daughter will like it, when she remembers what she owes us; and if mr. clyde objects i will undertake to make him change his mind." cil when the plan was proposed in full counsel, it was found that there would be no need for the exercise of mrs. kate's powers of persuasion. about ten days after mrs. dearborn and margery had returned to their home, and clyde had followed, to move like a satellite in an orbit determined by mrs. dearborn, mr. archibald was surprised, but also very much pleased, to receive a visit from the bishop. "i could not refrain," said that expansive individual, "from coming to you as soon as circumstances would allow, and, while expressing to you the great obligations under which you have placed me, to confide to you my plans and my prospects. 252 continued association you have been so good to me that i believe you will be pleased to know of the life work to which i have determined to devote myself." "i am glad to hear," said the other, "that you have made plans, but you owe nothing to me." "excuse me," said the bishop, "but i do. this suit of clothes, sir, is the foundation of my fortunes." "and well earned," said mr. archibald. “but we will say no more about that. have you secured a position? tell me about yourself." "i have a position," said the bishop. "but would you prefer that i tell you of that first, or begin at the beginning and briefly relate to you what has happened since i saw you last?" 66 oh, begin at the beginning, by all means,” said mr. archibald. "i was sorry to be obliged to leave you all so unceremoniously, and i greatly desire to know what happened after we left." "very good, then," said the bishop, "i will give you our history in as few words as i can. on the afternoon after your departure we all went to sadler's-that is, miss raybold and myself and the three guides; for raybold, when he heard that miss dearborn and mr. clyde had gone, immediately left for sadler's, hoping, i think, to find you all there. from what i heard, i think he and peter sadler must have had words. at any rate, he discovered that his case was hopeless, and he had himself driven to the station in a carriage, not choosing to wait until our arrival. i have since heard that he has determined to relinquish the law and devote himself to the dramatic arts. 253 the associate hermits "for some reason or other, peter sadler was very glad to see me, and congratulated me heartily on the favorable change in my appearance. he called me his favorite tramp, and invited me to stop at his hotel for a time, but i consented to stay a few days only, for i felt i must go to see the gentleman to whom i wished to engage myself as librarian before my new clothes had lost their freshness. miss raybold arranged to stay at sadler's for a week. she liked the place, and as she had planned to remain away from home for a fortnight, she did not wish to return before the time fixed upon. there were a good many people at sadler's, but none of them seemed to interest her. she decidedly preferred to talk to sadler or to me; but although peter is a jolly fellow, and had some lively conversations with her, he does not seem to care for protracted mental intercourse, and it became so plain to me that she depended upon me, in so large a degree, for companionship and intellectual stimulus, that i did not leave as soon as i intended. it was on wednesday, in fact, that i steeled my heart and told her that i must positively depart early the following morning, or i could not expect to reach my destination before the end of the week. it was that evening, however, that we became engaged to be married." "what?" cried mr. archibald. "did you dare to propose yourself to that classic being?" 66 'no," replied the other, "i cannot, with exactness, say that i did. it would be difficult, indeed, for me to describe the manner in which we arrived at this most satisfactory conclusion. miss 254 continued association raybold is a mistress of expression, and, without moving a hair's-breadth beyond the lines of maidenly reserve which always environ her, she made me aware, not only that i desired to propose marriage to her, but that it would be well for me to do so. there were objections to this course, which, as an honest man, i could not refrain from laying before her, and with my proposition i stated these objections, but they were overruled to my entire satisfaction, and she consented to become mrs. bishop." "mrs. bishop?" said the other, inquiringly. "oh yes; bishop is my name-henry c. bishop. it was this name which suggested the title which was playfully given to me. before our compact was made i had told miss raybold all about my family. she did not ask me to do so, but i knew she desired the information, for i had learned to read those beautiful eyes." "but," said mr. archibald, "how about your position? did you get the place as librarian ?" "no," said the other, "i did not ask for it. the question of my vocation has been settled most admirably. there never was a human being more frank, more straightforward and pertinent than miss raybold. she knows what she wants, and she makes her plans to get it. with regard to means she is sufficiently endowed, but the life work to which she has devoted herself is far more than she can ever accomplish alone. she needs the constant assistance of a sympathetic and appreciative nature, and that, i am happy to say, i am able to give to her; and were i to devote myself to any other calling which 255 the associate hermits would interfere with that assistance, i should be doing her a positive wrong. therefore, should i state it in definite words, i should say that i am to become my wife's private secretary. that is my position, and it suits me admirably; and i may add that corona assures me that she is thoroughly well pleased. we are to be married in the fall, and i hope it will not be long before we shall have the pleasure of meeting again our former companions of the hermit camp." "by-the-way," said mr. archibald, as his visitor was about to leave, "tell me something of matlack. i had a great liking for our guide." "all that i can tell you is this," said mr. bishop, smiling: "not long after we arrived at sadler's, he went to peter and asked him if he intended to send out a camping party to any considerable distance. it so happened that a couple of gentlemen were going to a point on the very limits of sadler's jurisdiction, and with them matlack petitioned to go, although another guide had been appointed. i made inquiries, and found that, for some reason, probably connected with the persistencies of the female sex, matlack had become a sort of daniel boone and wanted to go away as far as possible from his kind." "i hope," said mr. archibald, " that our example has not made a real hermit of him. good-bye. i am very sorry that mrs. archibald is not at home; but in both our names i wish you and your future wife the best of good fortunes." "father," exclaimed mrs. kate, when she heard of this interview, "now you must grant me one more favor! here is another pair of lovers who " 256 continued association owe everything to our honey-moon and your wedding-tour. we ought to know them, for we made them what they are. so let us invite them here, and let them be married from this house. i do not believe miss raybold has a proper home of her own; and, in any case, the only way they can pay us what they owe us is to give us the pleasure of seeing them wedded here." mr. archibald rose to his feet. "no, madam!" said he. "i am willing, to a certain extent, to make this house a source of hymeneal felicity, but i draw the line at the bishop. i do not intend that my home shall become a matrimonial factory!" the end c 12 1 1 ඉපු 447 88 hubbard imaginary voyages pr 3541 .l83 h6 182laura bart 18216 artes library 1837 veritas splurious unum university of michigan tuebor scientia of the ninjava inyook si-queris peninsulam amcenam circumspice gift of regent llhubbard emir brent poon hen pro ther john emili hubbard imag. voy. pr 3541 .l.83 h6 182frontispiece. where he went with a hatchet to cut down what stopped the working of it' page 25 the english hermit; or, the adventures of philip quarll, who was discovered by mr. dorrington, a bristol merchant, upon an uninhabited is land, where he has lived above fifty years without any human assistance, still continues to reside, and will not come away. a new edition. london: printed and published by r. harrild, 20, great eastcheap. " 6-8-27 [min. rea. regent 2.1 # 11-7-1924 the english hermit. 4l. l. huthard extract from the journal of mr. dorrington, the bristol merchant, on a voyage from england to the south sea, where he discovered philip quarll. having concluded the mercantile affairs which i undertook by this voyage to negociate, and being on my return for england, and wind-bound, i daily walked about the seashore, during my stay. very early one mor ning, as 1 was taking my usual turn, i acci dentally fell into discourse with a spanish mexican inhabitant named alvarado; and, as we were viewing the rocks which abound in those seas, he desired me to take notice of a vast long one, about seven leagues from shore, which, he said, was supposed to inclose some land by its great extent; but the access to it was very dangerous by the reason of the rocks, which reach so far under water, being in some places too shallow for boats and in others too deep to ford over; and the sea, commonly rough in that place, hitherto prevented farther research for that he and some friends had the curiosity to go as near as they could with safety, but were forced to return as unsa tsfied as they went; only, that he had the pleasure of catching some delicious fish. the 1. j 4 account he gave me of them excited my curiosity to go and catch some; so having equipped ourselves with all things necessary for the sport, we agreed with a young fellow to row us thither for the value of a shilling; and being come to the place we fished out of the boat. whilst we were fishing the young man that rowed us thither espying a cleft in the rock, through which he saw a light, had a mind to go and see what was at the other side; so he put off his clothes in order to wade it : thus, having taken the hitcher of the boat, he gropes along for sure footing. being come to the cleft, he creeps through, and in a short time returns, calling to us: "gentlemen, " said he, "i have inade a discovery of a new land, and the finest that the sun ever shone on. leave off your fishing you will find here much better business." having by that time caught a very handsome dish of fish, we put up our tackling, fastened the boat to the rock, and went to see the new-foundland. being come on the other side of the rock, we saw, as he said, "a most delightful country, but despaired to get to it, there being a lake about a mile long at the bottom of the rock, which entirely parted it from the land; for neither alvarado nor myself could swim ; but the young fellow, who could, having leaped into the water finding all the way but breast high, we went in also, and waded to the other side, which ascended gently about five or six feet from the lake to a most pleasant land, flat and level, covered with a curious grass: it bore also abundance of fine lofty trees. being come near enough, we discerned some arbours apparently made of trees: then in deed i began to fancy some wild people inhabited them, and doubted whether it were safe to go nearer; but concealed my doubt lest i should intimidate alvarado so that he should run away, to which he seemed much inclined. by this time we was come near a spot of ground pretty clear of trees, on which some animals were feeding; these i took to be goats; but alvarado fancied them to be deer;" however, i thought, by their shyness, we were out of our judgment concerning the arbours. being come within the reach of plain discerument we were surprized. "if these," said i," be the works of savages, they far exceed our expertest artists. their regularity appeared unconfined to the rules of art, and complete architecture without the craft of the artist; nature aud time only being capable of that perfection. they were neither houses, huts, nor arbours; yet had all the usefulness and agreement of each. being near the middlemost, we examined that first. it was about nine feet high, and as much square; the walls were straight and smooth, covered with b 3 6 green leaves something like those of a mulberrytree, lying as close and regular as slates on a slated house. the top went up rounding like a cupola, covered in the same manner at the sides; from each corner issued a straight stem, about twelve feet high, bare of branches to the top, which were very full of leaves and spread over, making a most pleasant canopy to the mansion beneath, being full of admiration at the wonderful structure and nature of the place, we came to a door which was made of green twigs neatly woven, and fastened with a small stick, through a loop made of the same. the door being fastened without gave us courage to venture in, it be ing evident that the host was absent; so we opened it, and the first thing we saw, being opposite to the door, was a bed lying on the ground, which was a hard dry earth, very smooth and clean: we had the curiosity to examine what it was made of, and found it another subject of admiration. the covering was a mat about three inches thick, made of a sort of grass, which, though as dry as the oldest hay, was as green as a leek, felt as soft as cotton, and as warm as wool; the bed was made of the same, and in the same manner, but three times as thick; which made it as easy as a down bed: under that lay another, but somewhat harder. at one side of the room stood a table made of oak boards, about three feet long, fastened upon four sticks, driven into the ground, and by it a chair made of green twigs, the 7 same as the door; at the other side of the room lay a chest on the ground; over it, against the wall, hung a linen jacket and breeches, such as seamen wear on board; on another pin hung a large coat or gown, made of the same sort of grass, and after the same manner as the bed covering, but not above half an inch thick; and a cap by it of the same; these we supposed to be a winter garb for somebody. having viewed the furniture of the dwelling-place, we examined its fabrick, which we could not find out by the outside, it being so closely covered with leaves; but the inside being bare, we found it to be several trees, whose bodies met close, and made a solid wall, which, by the breadth of every stem, we judged to be about six inches thick; their bark being very smooth, and of a pleasant olive colour, made a mighty agreeable wainscoting; the roof, which was hung very thick with leaves, was branches, which reached from end to end, and were crossed over by side ones that were woven between, which made a very even and smooth ceiling, so thick of leaves and branches that no rain could penetrate. going out, we saw at the corner of the room, behind the door, a couple of firelocks, the sight of which much alarmed my company, and, i confess, startled me; for, till then, i was inclinable to believe some hermit dwelt in the place; having taken the pieces in my hands, which for rust appeared not to have 8 been fit for use many years, i renewed my former opinion, supposing them to be the remains of some shipwreck which the hermit found upon the rocks. the next we came to was covered all over with the same sort of grass as grew on the ground, which lay as even as if it had been rolled or mowed; behind it were lodges for some dogs but we neither saw nor heard any. having viewed the place all round, we posted the young fellow with us at the outside, to give notice when any body appeared, lest we should be surprized while we saw the inside: so we went in, expecting to find another dwelting place, but it proved a kitchen; there being no bed, but a parcel of shells of different sizes, which we supposed only to be applied for utensils some being scorched on the outside as having been on the fire, but exceedingly clean within; the rest were both inside and outside, as fine as nakes of pearl. at one end of the room was a hole cut in the ground like a stew stove; about three or four feet from that was another fire-place made of three stones fit to roast at ; in both which places appeared to have been a fire made; this confirmed my opinion that it was an hermitage. having looked about more leisurely, and seeing seve ral shells that were covered, on a shelf which lay across two sticks that were stuck in the wall, and was made of turf, we had the curiosity to see what was in them, and found in one pickled anchovies, in another mushrooms capers, and other sorts of pickles. "let 9 them," said i, "be who they will that dwell here, i am sure they know good eating; and therefore, probably, may be no strangers to good manners." upon another shelf behind the door laid divers sorts of dried fish; and upon the ground stood, uncovered, two chests, with fish and flesh in salt. these provisions being somewhat too volup tuous for a hermit, gave us room for speculation. "i have lived," said alvarado," at mexico these six years, and yet never heard talk of this island; the access to it is so diffi cult and dangerous, that i dare say we are the first who have been on these sides of the rocks. i am very apt to believe that a company of buccaneers, that are said to frequent those seas, shelter here, and these habitations belong to their captain, and that the company resort in caves up and down these rocks." having viewed this place, we fastened the door as we found it, and went to the next, made of quite different stuff to the preceding; being an arbour composed of trees, planted within a foot of another, whose branches were woven together in such a regular manner, that they made several agreeable compartments, and so close that nothing but air could enter: it was the same height and bigness with the kitchen, which stood at the other end of the dwelling place, and made a very uniform wing to it. having sufficiently viewed the outside, we went in, and found several boards, like dressers or tables, in a pantry, on which lay divers broad and deep shells, as 10 beautiful as those in the kitchen; in some of which was butter, in others cream and milk. on one shelf lay several small cheeses, and on another a parcel of roots, like jerusalem artichokes, which seemed to have been roasted. all this did but confirm the opinion we were in, that it was no hermitage, there being sufficient to gratify the appetite, as well as to support nature. therefore not knowing what to think of the master of the house, we made no longer stay, but concluded to haste and get our fish dressed. walking along, a phlegm sticking in my throat, i happened to hem pretty loud: the noise was answered, i believe, from twenty places of the rock, and in as many different sounds, which alarmed alvarado, who took it to be a signal from men concealed up and down the rock, not considering the difficulties of their coming at us, there being a lake at the foot of it. i did all i could to make him sensible they were but echoes: and to convince him thereof, i gave a loud hem, which was answered in like manner; but by being a second time repeated, and by a louder voice, i was certain the last did not proceed from me; my companion, whose countenance turned as pale as death, expressed his fears, and would have run away, had not the voice come from the very way we were to go. we were scarcely got forty paces farther before we perceived, at a considerable distance, something like a man, with another creature, but presently lost them among the trees, before we could 11 have a full view of them, which made every one of us conceive a different idea of what we had seen. alvarado would have it to be a giant, and a man of common size with him, and both armed cap-a-pee. the poor lad, who was as much frightened, took what he saw for a she-bear and one of her cubs with her to make her yet more dreadful. but i, who was somewhat more composed, could com pare it to nothing but a man of common size, and somewhat like a dog with him, being gone about a hundred yards farther, we saw the same again, but nearer hand and without interruption; the place being pretty clear of trees, we had all the satisfaction of seeing what we took for a monstrous giant, and a terrible she-bear was but an ordinary man; but that which was with him running up a tree, as soon as it perceived us, prevented our discerning what animal it was; the other appeared to be a venerable old man, with a white beard, and a long head of hair of the same colour, his presence, which inspired more respect than fear, soon recalled our scattered senses, the old man, who by this time was come near enough to discern our speaking english, lets fall a bundle of sticks he had upon his shoulder, and a hatchet he carried in his hand, and run to me saying, "my dear countrymen, for i hear ye are englishmen, by what accident are you come hither? are ye shipwrecked?" no, thank god,"said 1, "reverend father; it was mere curiosity brought us here; but if i 12 66 may ask, pray how came you hither?" «) "by the help of providence," replied the good old man; i want for no clothes, i have a change for every season of the year: i am not confined to fashions, but suit my own conveniences. now this is my summer dress; i put on a warmer as the weather grows colder; and for meat, i have, fish, flesh, and fowl; and as choice as a man can wish for. come, you shall dine with me, and ten to one but i may give you vension, and, perhaps a dish of wild fowls too; let's go and see what providence hath sent us." so we went to a wood about a mile farther, where he had fastened several low nets in different gaps of the thicket; in one of which happened to be an animal something like a fawn, twice as big as a hare, the colour of a fox, and faced and footed like a goat. "did not i tell you," said the good old man, "i might chance to give you vension? now let us look after the fowls." so we went a little farther to a place where he had hung a long net between two high trees, with a bag at the bottom to receive the fowls; which in the night being stopped by the net, fluttered to the bottom. there also happened to be game. a couple of fowls made like woodcocks, but of the bigness and colour of a pheasant, were taken at the bottom of the bag. "well," said the old man, 66 now 1 may give you a dish of fish also, it is but going half-a-mile, or thereabouts." "there's no need, sir," said i, "for any more, there are but four of us, and here is provision for half-a-score." "well then," 13 said the old man, "it is now past noon, let us loose no time, but haste home to get our dinher ready." so we went back to the place where the bundle of sticks lay, which we made the young fellow with us carry, and went directly to the kitchen, where whilst he made a fire, one cast the animal, and the other two pulled the fowls. "i am very sorry," said the old man, you must take that trouble, but your presence has frightened away my servant, who used to do that for me." 66 1. "have you a servant then, sir?" said i. "yes," said he "and a native of this island.' "" 36 then i find this island is inhabited," said i, "yes," auswered the old man, "with monkeys and myself." "then, sir," said i, "that was it we saw run up the tree." "yes," said be, my monkey, like myself, loves not much company.""pray," returned i, "how do you bring him so well under your command as to keep him with you, when he has liberty to run away ? i wonder the wild ones do not entice hem from you." "i had him very young," replied the old man, "and made much of him, which those creatures dearly love; besides, when he was grown up, the wild ones would not suffer him amongst them; so that he was forced to remain with me: i had another before this; but he, i may say, was sent by providence, both to be an help and diversion to me; for he was so knowing that he took a deal 14 deal of labour off my hands, and dispersed many anxious hours, which the irksomeness of my solitude had at first created. it is now about twelve years since, for i keep a memorial, which indeed i designed to have been a journal, but i unfortunately let the regular orders of the days slip out of my memory; however, i observed a seventh day, and reckoned the years, from winter to winter, so i cannot well mistake. one day when i had roasted a quantity of roots, which i eat instead of bread, having spread them on a table and chest to cool, in order to lay them by for use, i went out, leaving my door open to let the air in. having walked an hour or two, i returned home, where i found a monkey, whom the smell of the roots had brought, who, during my absence had been eating. my presence very much surprized him, yet he still kept his place, only discontinued eating, staring me in the face: this unexpected guest at once startled me, and filled me with admiration; for, certainly, no creature of its kind could be compared with it for beauty. his back was a lively green, his face and belly of a very bright yellow, his coat all over shining like burnished gold. the extraordinary beauty of the creature raised in me an ardent desire to keep it; but i despaired of ever making it tame, being come to its full growth: therefore having resolved to keep him tied, i went in and shut the door. the beast which till then had not offered to make his escape, appeared very much disturbed, and stared about him for some place to get out at; per• 15 ceiving his disorder, i did not advance, but turned my back, to give him time to compose himself, which he in a short time did, as appeared by his falling to eat again; which made me conceive hopes that i should in time make him familiar. having about me stale roasted roots, which eat much pleasanter and less stuffing, i threw some to him, at which he seemed displeased, and stood still awhile, staring me in the face; but my looking well pleased, which i believe the animal was sensible of, made him pick them up, and fall to eating with a fresh appetite. i was overjoyed at his easy composure, so reached him water in a shell, that the want of nothing might induce him to retreat. i sat down as near him as i could, without disturbing him he came to it very orderly, and having drunk his fill, he laid down and looked me in the face: seeing be had done, i advanced and took away the shell, at which he never stirred. i "heaven be praised!" said i, in a transport of joy, "which though it separates me from the rest of my species, and from all the assistance they might have afforded me, yet has it in some measure compensated for the loss, by the possession of this beautiful and useful creature, that seems to be endued with every quality, but speech, to make him a rational being. "the forward disposition of the beast towards a perfect familiarity, made me resolve c 2 16. so to stay within the remander of the day. i made a shift to sup upon a few roots i had about me, and went pretty early to bed, where i was no sooner laid down, than the creature got across the feet thereof, and cotinued very quiet till the time i got up; at which time he was also watching my actions. i made much of him which he took very composedly, standing still to be stroked; and when i sat down at one side of my table, he would immediately place himself on the other. "then, indeed, i thought myselfin a manner secure of him, and gave him is belly full as i had done the day before; but, having a pressing occasion to go out, i went to the door, thinking to shut him in till my return; but he followed me so close, that i could not open it without endangering his getting out; which though he appeared pretty tame, i did not care to venture, our acquaintance being so very new; yet, as i was obliged to go, i did run the hazard, so opened the door by degrees that in case the beast should offer to run, i might slip out and keep himin; but the creature never offering to go any farther than i went, i trusted him to go with me, hoping that, if he went away, the kind usage he met with might, one day or other, induce him to come back again: but to my great surprise, as well as satisfaction, he readily returned with me, having waited my time; yet as i had occasion to go out a second time, wanting sticks to make a fire, for which i was obliged to go near the place where most of this kind 17 resorted, i was afraid to trust him with me, lest he should be decoyed by others; therefore having taken up a bundle of cord, with which i tie up my faggots, i watched an opportunity to get out and leave him behind; but the beast was certainly apprehensive of my design; for he always kept near the door, looking stedfastly at my bundle of cords, as desirous of such another; which i not having for him, cut a piece off mine, and gave it him; and seeing i could not leave him behind, i ventured to let him go with me, which he did very orderly, never offering to go one step out of the way, though others of his kind came to look at him as he went by. "being come to the place where i used to cut dry sticks, having cut down a sufficient quantity, i began to lay some across my cord. the creature having taken notice of it, did the same to his, and with so much dexterity and agility, that his faggot was larger and sooner made than mine; which by that time, being large enough, as much as i could well carry, i bound up, which set him to do the same with his, but it was abundantly too large a load far him. our faggots being made, i took up that which i had made, to see how he would go about taking up his; which being much too heavy for him, he could not lift, so running round it i believe twenty times, he looked me in the face, as craving help. having been sufficiently diverted with the out of-the-way shifts he made, i gave him mine, c 3 18 and took up his: the poor animal appeared overjoyed at the exchange; therefore cheerfully took up the bundle and followed me home." "pray, sir," said i, "what became of that wonderful creature?" "alas!" said he, "it was killed by monkeys of the other kind, which fell upon him one day as he was going for water by himself; for the poor dear creature was grown so knowing, that if at any time either firing or water was wanted, i had nothing to do but give him the bundle of cord or the empty vessel, and he would straight go and fetch either: in short, he wanted nothing but speech to complete him for human society, this that i have now goes about with me, and will carry a faggot, or a vessel of water, pick a fowl, turn a spit or string, when the meat is roasting; yet he is nothing like my late dear beaufidelle: besides, this is unlucky, for in imitating me, he often does me a mischief. it was but the other day i had been writing for five or six hours; i had occasion to go out, and happening to leave my pen an ink upon the table, and the parchment i had been writing on close by it, i was no sooner gone, but the mischievous beast falls to work, scribbling over every word i had been writing, and when he had done, he lays it by in the chest, as he saw me do what i had written, and takes out another, which he does the same to, and so to half-a-score more: my return prevented his doing any further mischief; however, in a quarter of an hour m salt ms the poor animal appeared overjoyed at the exchange; therefore cheerfully took up the bundle and followed me home." page 18. ク ​" 19 that i was absent he blotted out as much as i had been full six months writing." "pray, sir," said e, "how did you come by him : did he also give himself to you ?" "no,” replied the old man, "i had him young, and by mere accident, and unsought for; having lost both time and labour about getting one in the room of him i had so unfortunately lost. about eight years ago, which is the time i have had this beast, i was walking under one of the clusters of trees where the greener sort of monkeys harbour, which being the largest and most shady in the island, i took most delight therein. as i was a walking, at a small distance from me, this creature dropt off a tree, and laid for dead; which being of the grey kind, made me wonder less at the accident. i went, and took him up; and accidentally handling his throat, i opened his windpipe, which was almost squeezed close by that which took him, my sudden coming having prevented him from being strangled quite. i was extremely well pleased at the event, by which i got what my past cares and diligence never could procure me. having pretty well recovered its breath, and seeing no visible burt about it, iimagined that i soon might recover it quite, so hastened home with it, and gave it warm milk, and laid it on my bed; so that with careful nursing, i quite recovered him, and, with good keeping, made the rogue thrive to that degree that he has outgrown the rest of his kind. being extremely fond of me. he very seldom would be from me, but followed me, everywhere and 20 as he used to go with me when i examined my nets, seeing me now and then take out game he would of his own accord, when he saw me busy at writing, go and fetch what happened to be taken. one day finding a fowl in the net-bag, he pulled it alive as he brought it home; so that i could not see any thing whereby to discern its kind. another morning early, whilst i was busily employed, he went out unperceived by me, and having been a considerable time absent, i feared that such another accident had befallen him as that which happened to his predecessor, so i went to see after him. as he would often go and visit the nets in the woods, i went there first, where i found him very busy with such an animal as this we have here, which he found in one of the gap nets, and, being as big as himself, kept him a great while struggling for mastership; sometimes he would take it by the ears, and now and then by one leg, next by the tail, but could not get him along; at last he laid hold of one of his hind legs, and with the other hand smote him on the back in order to drive him, not being able to pull him along; but the beast being too strong, still made towards the thicket, where he certainly would have hauled the driver had i not come up to help him." thus the old gentleman entertained us with the tricks of his monkey whilst dinner was dressing. the dinner being ready, we went to the dwelling place to eat it, leaving the young fellow that came with us to attend the roast 21 66 66 meat, while we eat, the first dish. the old gentleman having laidthe cloth, which though, something coarse, being made out of part of a ship's sail, was very clean, he land three shells on it about the bigness of a middle; sized plate, but as beautiful as any nakes of pearl i ever saw. gentlemen," says he, "if you can eat out of shells you are welcome; have no better plates to give you." sir," said 1," i very much question whether any prince in europe can produce so curious a service.” the first dish he served was soup in a large deep shell, as fine as the first, and one spoon made of shell, which, he said, was all his stock. however, he fetched a couple of muscle-shells, which he washed very clean; then gave alvarado one, and took the other himself, obliging me to make use of the spoon. so we sat down, alvarado and i upon the chest, which we drew near the table, and the old gentleman, much against his will, upon the chair. having eaten sufficiently of the soup, he himself would carry in the remains to the young man in the kitchen, and fetch in the boiled meat and oyster sauce, which he brought in another shell, much like that which the soup was served in, and it eat as delicious as house lamb. having done with. that, he fetches in the other half of the beast roasted, and several sorts of delicious pickles: this dish being done with, loffered to take it away, but he in no wise would permit me, so went away with it himself, and brought the fowls, of which we eat heartily. this the old man likewise took away, and fetched out of 18 22 his dairy a small cheese of his own making, which being set down, he related to us the unaccountable manner he came by the antelopes. but, having not as then mentioned any thing about his own history, which i exceedingly longed to enquire into, i begged him to inform us by what accident he came hither, and how he had so long maintained so good a state of health. to which he answered, "time would not permit him to relate his own history, being very long, and the remainder of the day too short, but that he would, before we parted, give it me in writing; having, for want of other occupation, made a memorial." the day being pretty far spent, i was ob liged to think of going, which grieved me much; for i was so taken with his i hardly knew how to leave him. company, talking, we walked under several of the before mentioned clusters of trees, which proceeded from one single plant. being come to one larger than the rest, and which, he said he frequented most, being the largest in the island, "this," said he, "covers with its own branches, a whole acre of land;" so made several remarks on the wonderful works of nature. the old gentleman showed us several natural curiosities, as a parcel of rocks that appeared at a distance like houses and churches, which altogether represented a handsome city, and many others; but as they are sufficiently treated of byhim in his memorial 28 hereafter, it will be needless to say any thing more on that head. the day being far spent, the old gentleman takes me by the hand: "come," said he, "i will keep you no longer night comes on apace, and the retreat from this island is dangerous; therefore i would have you improve the short remains of the day, to avoid the danger the darkness of the night might carry you into. let us go home that i may give you the memorial i have promised you, and then my blessing and hearty prayers for your departure and happy arrival." so we went to his habitation, where he gave me a roll of parchment. 697 the good man then takes me in his open arms, and embraces me over and over, with all the tenderness that words audactions could express. he attended me to the lake side, and when i came there would have waded over with me, that he might have the satisfaction of seeing us safe from the dangerous rock; but i would not in any wise permit him. thus having prevailed upon him to stay behind, we prepared for to wade over: so after a few more embraces, we crossed the lake, and got to our boat. i took one of the oars, and by the help of our sail, in a short time got safe to shore: where being arrived very much fatigued we put up at the first cottage, dressed our fish, and went to supper; which was scarce over, but i was hurried on board, the wind being tacked about, and fair for our departure. at my arrival in england, i communicated a 24 the contents of my journal to a friend; as also the meiroirs given me by mr. quarll, in order to be printed. edward dorrington. རྩ་“རྐརྨཱ་ཞེས་༄་ in account of the life of phillip quarll, from his infancy to his being cast away. taken from the memoirs he gave to mr. dorrington, the person who found him on the island. 1 **** til phillip quarle was born in the parish of st. giles, london. his father formerly a master-builder, having unfortunately ruined himself in building, was at last reduced to work at the mean business of brick-making; his poor wife, also, was obliged to lay her hand to the labouring our. one day a neighbour, who had the care of the child in his mother's 'absence, having contracted a particular love for him, took him by the hand, and led him to his mother, then at work at an old lady's house in another street. the housekeeper, who was naturally fond of children, seeing the pretty behaviour of this child, takes him in her arms, and runs up to her good old lady. the child, whom the poor woman kept very clean, was very handsome and good-tempered, with other qualifications, which rendered him completely amiable, and made the old lady conceive an inclination for him, un25 common for a stranger's child, especially of so mean a birth, thus having often kissed him, she wished he had been her own. "but why," said she, "can't i do for him, though no kin to me by birth? now i'll give him education, the principal and most necessary care by which real love can be expressed to a child.” so having given orders that a good school might be inquired after, she put him to board to a master, whose commendable character of instructing his scholars, in their duty to god and man, as well as in literature, had procured him a great number of children of the best families. there she intended to have kept him, till he was by years and learning qualified for some genteel trade; intending to leave him something in her will, to set him up when out of his time, but now ill-fate began to show its averseness to poor phill's happiness; the worthy lady died suddenly, and was interred three days after, to his unspeakable prejudice and threatening ruin. the master having conceived a particular love for the boy, whose uncommon docility, and extraordinary aptness in learning had overtakenthe rest of his school-fellows(though of much longer standing), was very much vexed at the thought of his going away to his 26 his parents, they being no longer able to continue his schooling. at length the old man concluded to give him his learning, if his relations would find him in board and other necessaries. this being concluded on by all parties, phil continued to go to school for the the space of four years longer; at the expiration of that time, he had made such a progress in his learning, that he was, in some respects, qualified to attend the school in the place of an usher, had his age permitted it. but as he was yet too young to keep the scholars in that awe which is necessary in a school, the master only gave him his board, till the older scholars left off, and he was grown bigger, intending then to allow him as he did the others in that station. but adverse fortune still attends the poor boy: the good old man died in less than a twelvemonth; so that phil was was obliged to return to his mother (his father being dead), who, not being in a capacity to do for him, as his education and talents really deserved, proposed to him to learn some trade, in order to get his bread honestly; having by her hard working, and frugal living made shift to lay up five pounds, and which she dedicated to that purpose. and as there lived in the neighbourhood a locksmith ever since he was born, who being great with his father, would often play with him when a child, and now and then give him halfpence to buy fruit, he chose to be bound to him,' which was done in about a month's time. they both agreed wonderfully well, the master being very kind and good-natured, and 27 the boy as diligent and careful. but this happiness, though slight was but of a short continuance; for the poor man, having been bound for a relation who failed, had all his effects seized upon, and himself thrown into a gaol, so poor phil was again obliged to come to his mother. one day as phil, for want of employment, was wandering by the thames' side, a captain of a ship bound for the east indies, taking a particular fancy to him, asked him whether he would go to sea? and that, if he was so disposed, he would take him to look after his cabin, and provide very well for him. the gentle manner in which he spoke to the boy, and his mild countenance, made a vast progress in his affection; so having accepted his offer, he desired that he might run home, and acquaint his mother of it.-the captain having taken his name, and place of abode, gave him half-a-crown to spend with his mother, then come to him, and he need bring no clothes with him, for he would provide every thing necessary for the voyage. the overjoyed boy, having told his mother of the event, gave her the money, being in great haste to return to his master; so having embraced his tender mother, and she her dear son, weeping over each other some time he left her at her work, and hastened to his new master, who, not expecting that he would return, was so glad to see him, that he went that moment and bought him clothes and li nen fit for the sea. d 2 28 1 in a few days after they set sail for a three years voyage. during their sailing, phil, whose agreeable temper had gained him all the crew's love, being often with a man at the helin, sooned learned the compass, and by the instructions every body on board strove to give him, in a little time he was qualified for a sailor; which his master being made sensible of, allowed him sailor's pay the fol lowing voyage; atthe expiration of which time, the men, on their return to england, were paid off, the ship being laid up for repairs. quarll hearing of a ship bound to the south seas, the captain of her having been first mate of the ship to which quarll had formerly belonged, encouraged him to venture that voyage. in the third month of their voyage nothing material occurred: but on the first day of the fourth month the wind veered to the south west, and blew a violent gale; and there being a great sea the ship took a deal of water; the wind continuing two days, was productive of a very great storm, which held for one day and two nights more ; during which time they. perceived themselves near some rocks. the storm rather increasing, and it growing dark they despaired of saving the ship, as the main-yard could not lower, the ship's tackling being disordered by the violence of the storm; at length there came a sea which dashed the ship to shatters against the rock, and with the violence of the shock, flung quarll, who was f 29 astride on the main-yard, where he went with a hatchet to cut down what stopt the working of it, on the top of the rock, where having the good fortune to fall in the cleft, he was hindered from being washed back again into the sea, and drowned, as every body else was that belonged to the ship. when day-light came, he looked about him; but, alas! could see nothing but the dreadful effects of the late tempest, dead corpses, broken planks, and battered chests floating. turning from these objects, which presented to his eyes the dreadful death he so lately escaped, he returned thanks for his late deliverance and resigned himself to pro vidence, on whom he fully relied; climbed up the rock, and being come to the top, saw land at the inside, bearing both trees and grass. "heaven be praised !" said he, "i shall not perish upon these barren rocks;" so made a shift to go down to it, the weather then being calm. being come to the other side of the rock, he found at the bottom of it a narrow lake, which separated it from the land; therefore pulling of his clothes the water being but shallow, he waded over with them in his and dressing himself, he walked up a considerable way in the island; and being weary, he sat down under a cluster of trees, that made an agreeable arbour, and being very much fatigued, lay down and slept. arms; d. 3 30 : being awaked, he was led by curiosity to go to the same side of the rock he had been cast upon, where hearing a sudden noise which issued from a creek in the rock, he had the curiosity to go and see what occasioned it. being come to the place he saw a fine large cod-fish dabbling in a hole in the rock, where the late storm had cast it. so having taken off his stockings, he got into the hole where the fish lay, and running his garters through the gills, he dragged it out. going along, he found several oysters and cockles in the way, which the sea had cast upon the rock, and having a knife about him, he sat down and eat a few having refreshed himself, his spirits being quite exhausted for want of food, he filled his pocket with salt, that was congealed by the sun, which he found in the cavities of the rock, and cheerfully dragged the fish after him to the place where he lay the night before. being come to it, he picked up a parcel of dry leaves, and with his knife and flint struck fire, and kindled them; then getting together a few sticks, made a fire presently, and broiled a slice of fish ; and night drawing on, he laid himself down to sleep. having slept comfortably that night, he awoke in the morning pretty fresh and hearty; but as he had no covering, and winter was approaching, he began to think of making himself a house, but having nothing to make it of, nor any instrument but a knife, he resolved to go to that part of the rock where he was shipwrecked, to see if he could discover any thing among the wreck that might be serviceable to him; 91 } and coming to the place, waded in, but could find nothing. thus despairing, fretting and teazing himself, he calls to mind that he had a hatchet in his hand when he was cast away, and thought probably it might lie in the cleft of the rock into which he was thrown; thither he went, and, to his great joy, discovered the handle of it just above the surface of the water. having got his tool, he dressed himself, and went on the island again, intending to cut down some trees to make him a hut, which was full business for him that day. next morning he walked out again to look for a convenient place to make his hut on he walked several hours, and could find none more sheltered from the cold winds than that where he already lay, being in the middle of the island, well fenced with trees, which stood very thick. the place being fixed upon, he cut down some trees that grew in the way, and cleared a spot of ground about twelve feet square, leaving one tree standing at each corner, and with the young plants he provided the day before, filled the distance between quite round, setting them about six inches asunder, leaving a vacancy for the door. his inclosure being made, he bends the branches at the top from both sides, and weaved them across one another, making a cover to it; which being something too thin, he laid other branches over, till they were grown thicker. having finished the top, he went about the sides, for which purpose, taking large brauches, he stript them of their small twigs, and wove them between the plants; then made a 32 door after the same manner. thus, after fifteen days hard labour, he finished his barrack. as he was walking one day, he observed some monkeys scratching something out of the ground, some of which they eat upon the spot, and carried the rest to their home. his hopes that the roots might be for his use, those creatures eating nothing but what men may, made him hasten to the place. having by the leaves (which they tore off') found some of the same, he dug them up, and carried them to his barrack, where he broiled a slice of his fish, and in the ashes roasted them, which eat something like chesnuts done in the same manner. as soon as he had dined, he went out to dig up a good quantity. in his way he saw a tortoise of about a foot over, crawling before him. "heaven be praised!" said he, "here is what will supply me both with victuals and an utensil to dress them in ;" he ran, therefore, and turned it on its back, to keep it from getting away, whilst he went for his hatchet, to separate the bottom shell from the top, in order to make a kettle of the deepest, and a dish of the flat part. being provided with a boiling utensil, he often had a change, by means of those admirable roots; some of which he roasted for bread, others he boiled with salt cod. being provided with the most necessary furniture, he thought on more conveniences, resolving to make himself a table to eat his victuals upon, and a chair to sit on; these, after two or three days hard labour, he completed; and as winter was col 33 1 ming on, he made another longer but thinner mat to cover himself. that care being over, another succeeds, but of far greater moment. "here is a dwelling," said he, "to rest this poor body of mine; but where is the food to support it?" at last, he resolved to make provision of those excellent roots, and with his hatchet cut a piece of a tree, wherewith he made a shovel, in order to dig them up with more ease. with this instrument he went to the place, which being near the monkeys' quarters, they came down off the trees in great numbers, grinning as if they would have flown at him. having stood a considerable time, those animals seeing he did not go forward, each went and snatched enough for itself, giving him an opportunity of digging a few for him self: and as he was not come to the place where they grew thick, he laid them in small heaps, as he dug them up: whilst those sly creatures would, whilst he was digging up more, come down from the trees and steal them away. this obliged him to be contented for that time with as many as his pockets would hold; and fearing those animals, which are naturally very cunning, should dig them up and hide them, he came early the morning following to make his provision; and for want of a sack to put them in, he took off his jacket .which he buttoned up, and tied at the sleeves; and as he had observed that every root had abundance of off-sets hanging at it by small fibres, he pulled off his shirt also of which he 34 made another sack to put them in; and finding, when his shirt and jacket were off, the animals were less shy of him, he resolved to go so, till the weather obliged him to put them on again. having picked up a sufficient quantity of off-sets to stock about two acres of land, he returned home, then fixed upon a spot of ground near his habitation, and dug it up as well as he could with his wooden instrument, in order to sow his seed; which having completed in about twenty days, he implored a blessing upon his labour, and left it to time to bring forth. thus having finished the work about his barrack, he resolved to take a more particular view of the island; and taking a long staff in his hand, he walked to the lake which parts the land from the rock, and goes along the side of it quite round the island, finding all the way new objects of admiration; some parts of the rocks resembling ramparts of an old fortification, other parts challenging the likeness to a city, and clusters of houses, with here and there a high steeple standing above the other buildings. as he was walking, admiring all the wonderful works of nature, he happened to sneeze opposite to a place in the rock, which hollowed in after the manner of the inside of some church, and was answered from a multitude of different voices issuing from that place; immediately he sang several psalms and hymns, with as much devotion as if he had been in the company of a number of skilful and celebrated choristers. having spent a considerable time there with much pleasure, 35 he proceeded in his walk, being resolved to make that his place of worship for the future, and attend it twice a-day constantly. having been round the island, which, to the best of his judgement, was eleven miles in circumference, he resolved to employ the next day in viewing the inside, so went to bed pretty early. in his sleep he fancied himself in the inside of a temple, at the upper end of which on a magnificent throne, sat two ladies; one he thought represented peace, by the olive branch which she held in her hand, and the other plenty, having rested on her arm a cornucopia or horn filled with corn, and the choicest fruits, as fresh as if they had been just gathered. the next morning he walked along the land, which he found very level, covered with a delightful green grass, and adorned with trees of various sorts, shapes and heights, and in some places clusters of trees. crossing the island in several places, he came to a most delightful pond, where he saw many different sorts of fish of various sizes, shapes and colours. going farther, he came to a noble and spacious wood, whose shades seem to have been made for the abode of peace and bliss ; here he found several pleasant walks, some straight edged with lofty trees, as if planted for pleasure; others crooked and winding, bordered with a thick edge of pimentoes, which cast a most fragrant smell; here and 36 there several bushes and dwarf trees, wherein sheltered many different kinds of wild beasts and fowls. "heaven make me thankful," said he, "that i am the inhabitant of so bles sed a land!" being hungry and tired with walking, he went home in order to get some victuals, and in his way picked a sample of every different herb he thought might be eatable. having made a fire, he boiled a slice of his salt-fish with some roots, and then the herbs he brought with him, which proved of divers tastes, and all excellent; some eating like artichokes, and others like asparagus and spinage. thus thoroughly easy in his mind, he pro, posed to spend the afternoon at the outside of the rock in viewing the sea, and looking for oysters; so took in his hand his long staff to grapple in holes, and his breeches, which he tied at the knees, to bring them in. being come to a place in the rock he had never been at before, he sees at a distance something like linen hanging upon it, which he found by certain marks was the mainsail of his ship, with the piece of the yard fastened to it; so ripping the sail in pieces, he rolled it up in such bundles as he could conveniently carry away, and laid them down till he got a few oysters, proceeding to grope in holes with his stick as he went ou. about forty paces further, he found a chest in a cleft, but going to lift it, could not, therefore was obliged to fetch his hatchet and break it open, from which he took a suit of clothes, and some linen; the 37 v next thing was a roll of several sheets of parchment, quite clean; at the bottom of the chest lay a runlet of brandy, a cheshire cheese, a leather bottle full of ink, with a parcel of pens and a pen knife. so by degress he took home the chest, and what was in it; and now having materials to begin a journal, he immediately fell to work; thus he began from his being eight years old (as well as he can remember he heard an old aunt of his say) to the day of his being cast away, being twenty-eight years of age, resolving to continue it to his death. the business of the day had so engrossed his thoughts that it filled his mind at night with suitable ideas. he thought at the other end of his bridge, instead of rocks there was a beautiful garden; and the avenue, which led to an elegant summer-house, was lined with trees and flowerpots in various forms. he had just reached the other side of the bridge, with intent to take his fill of pleasure in that delightful spot, when, to his utter confusion it vanished, and a monster came out of the rock, and roaring, scared him out of his sleep. and so it was, for a terrible storm had arisen in the night; it thundering extremely had made that noise which seemed to proceed from the monster, the storm being over, quarll got up to go and see if he could discover any effects of the late tempest. being come to the rock, he saw a quantity e 38 a quantity of fish, with a great number of shells, of different shapes and sizes lying on the shore. taking up as many fish and shells as he could carry, he went home, and bringing his shirt, which he used instead of a sack, at several times brought away all the fish, and as many shells as he had occasion for; of some he made boilers and stew-pans, of others dishes and plates; some he kept water in, and others fish and pickle. being very weary, he sat down to rest himself; and the runlet of brandy lying by, he was tempted to take a sup; but that which at first was intended for a cordial, turns to a nectar; so the intended dram becomes a hearty draught; and poor quarll, who, for the space of three months before, had drank nothing but water, fell asleep in his chair, with the runlet in his lap, from whence it fell to the ground, and being unstopped ran all out. being awaked with hunger, after having slept from evening till almost noon of another day, which he knew not whether the succeeding or the next to it, he was soon reconciled with the loss of his brandy, that having occasioned the mischief, but could not with the right order of the days, which he having forgot, hindered the going on of his journal; so he was obliged only to make a memorial. the sabbath-day being lost too, he resolved to observe every seventh from that day; so went to h 39 1 the place where the echoes in melodious sounds repeated his thanksgivings to the almighty. the next morning he went about salting his fish. having laid by as many as he thought he could eat whilst fresh, he improves the fair weather to dry one part of the remainder and keep the rest in pickle. the winter being near at hand, and the weather being cold, confined him within doors; he employed his idle hours in beautifying his utensils, some as fine as if they had been lakes of pearl; which made them not only more fit for their intended uses, but also a great ornament to his barrack, which he shelved round with plated twigs after the manner of his table, and set them upon it. pet thus he spent the best part of the winter, making no further remarks, but that it was very sharp, attended with high winds, and abundance of hail and snow, which obliged him to make a broom to sweep it away from about his hut, that otherwise would have been damaged by it. 7.76 quarll, whom bad weather had confined within doors a considerable time, at the first appearance of spring found himself quite revived. his stomach growing qualmish with eating fish, he wished he might have little flesh, which he could easily get, there being 2 40 being animals enongh in the wood apparently fit for food. taking some of the cords which he found with the sail at the outside of the rock he went to work, and made several snares, which he fastened at divers gaps in the thicket of the wood, through which he thought that sort of beast he had a mind for went. impatient to know the succes of his snares, he got up be times the next morning, and went to examine them; in one of which he found a certain animal, something like a fawn, the colour of a deer, but feet and ears like a fox, and as big as a well-grown hare. he was much rejoiced at his game, whose mouth he opened, and finding by the greens in its mouth it was not a beast of prey, he took it home in order to dress part of it for his dinner. then having stuck a long stick at both ends in the ground, making half a circle, he hung one quarter of the animal upon a string before a good fire and roasted it. having dined both plentifully and deliciously, he went about making nets, in order to take his game alive for the future; and as he had no small twine to make them with, he was obliged to unravel the sail which he luckily had by him, and with the thread twisted some the bigness he judged proper for that use. having made a sufficient quantity, he formed a couple of nets about four feet square, which he fastened in the room of the killing snares. several days passed without taking any thing, so " a 41 that he wanted flesh a whole week, which began to disorder his stomach; when one afternoon (which was not his customary time of the day to examine the nets), chancing to pass them in the wood, he found, in one, two animals taken as big as a kid, of a bright dun, their horns upright and straight, their shape like a stag, with a small tuft of hair on each shoulder and hip: the animals he found were antelopes (calling to mind he had seen them in his travels), so with cords he fastened them to the outside of his lodge, and, with constant feeding them, in two months' time made them so tame that they followed him up and down, and eat out of his hand. this added much to the pleasure he took in his habitation, which by this time was covered with green leaves both top and sides, the stakes it was made of having struck root and shot out young branches. his former hut being now become a pleasant arbour, he contrived to make it as commodious as beautiful. thus having fixed upon a place by the side of his lodge for a kitchen, twelve feet in length, and eight in breadth, which he inclosed with the turfs that covered the outside of his harbour, before it was thick enough of itself to keep out the cold; then having laid sticks across the top of the walls, which were about eight feet high, he laid the turf thereon, leaving an open place for the smoke to go out at. the outside being done, he went about the inside necessaries. 7 $ 3 42 having finished that piece of work, he visi ted his plantations, which he found in a thriving condition, the roots being grown from the size of a pea to that of an egg. having resolved as the summer approached, to thin his clothing by degrees, he fell to ripping his jacket, in the lining of which he found seven peas and three beans, which got in at a hole in the corner of the pocket. those few made him wish for more, but he thought they might by time and industry be improved to a quantity large enough to serve him for a meal; so laid them up against a proper time to set them. one day as he was walking near the fishpond, a large fowl flew out, with a fish in its bill, being too big for it to swallow. this discovered the cause why the young fish did not increase, they being devoured by that bird; which to prevent for the future, he studied means to kill the destroyer, which he effected by means of a bow, which he made from the branch of a tree that had the resemblance of yew. thus equipped for an archer, he daily practised shooting at a mark for the space of a fortnight. being sufficiently skilled, he laid wait for his desired game. the fowl being pitched upon the bank, never stood still, but kept running round, watching for a sizeable fish fit to swallow, so that he had no opportunity to shoot; till having at last spied out one, it launched itself 45 k into the pond, but raised more easily, which gave him time to take his aim, nevertheless he missed it, being in motion; but, when come to the top, he struck it through the body as it opened its wings, and laid it flat on the other side of the pond. he took it up wonderfully pleased at his great success the first time of his practising his new acquired art; the inexpressible beauty of its feathers, which were after the nature of a drake, every one distinguished from another by a rim round the edge thereof, and of a changeable colour, from red to yellow and green; the ribs of a delightful blue; the bill like burnished gold; eyes like a ruby, with a rim of gold round them; the feet the same as the bill. having carefully taken out the flesh, which spoiling would corrupt the outside, he then filled the skin with sweet herbs which he dried for that 'use; and having sewn up the place he had cut open to take the flesh out of, he set it up in the lodge. the weather growing something cold, and the wind pretty sharp, he began to think of providing for his antelopes against the approaching winter, so made a lodge for them at the back of his kitchen, with sticks, which he drove into the ground, and smaller branches he interwove between them; he shut the front and covered the top, leaving both ends open for the antelopes to go in at ; then laid dry grass for them to lie on. thus having laid up a considerable quantity of roots, and being stocked with salt-fish, both dried and pickled, he was pretty well provided for his cattle and himself against the ensuing winter. • 44 the succeeding spring having awakened slumbering nature, and revived what the preceding hard season had caused to droop, he first went to view his small stock of peas and beans, which he found very promising, so whilst the weather was fair he began to clear a spot of ground to set them in, as they in creased. turning up the ground he found several sorts of roots that looked to be eatable, some whereof was as big as a large carrot. having manured his ground, he took a sample of eve ry root and boiled them. most of them proved good; some eating like parsnips, others almost like carrots; some like beets and turnips; every one in their kind as good, if not better, than ever he eat in england. seven peas having produced one thousand, and three beans one hundred, he returned thanks to providence for that vast increase, and laid them by, in order to set them in a proper season, as he had done before: by this time his antelopes had kidded, one of them having brought four young ones, and the other three. this vast addition to his provision very much rejoiced him, being sure now not to want flesh at his need. the old ones being well fed, as he always took care to do, the young ones throve a-pace, and grew very fat, so that in three weeks time they were large and fit to eat. he killed one, which being roasted, proved to be more delicious than any house lamb. this he lived upon as long as he could keep it palatable, having reserved one of the females; 45 and the other for time he should be scanty, and in want of flesh; but was unluckily disappointed by a parcel of eagles, which flying one morning over the place where the antelopes were playing, being of a gay as well as active disposition, pitched down with precipitation upon the male he reserved for time of need, and one of the females which he kept for breeding. seeing his diverters taken by those birds of prey he ran for his bow, but came too late with it, the eagles being gone. lamenting the loss of his dear antelopes, he thought on means to prevent the like evil for time to come. the winter being now very wet, he took a walk to his plantations, on which he implored a continuation of the pros perous conditition they appeared to be in; next he went to examine his nets, in which he found a brace of fowls like ducks, but twice as large, and exceedingly beautiful; these he cut the wings of, put them into the pond, and made baskets for them to shelter in, which he placed in the branches of those trees that hung closest to the water, taking particular care to feed them daily with roots roasted and boiled. the five antelopes had by this time kidded and brought sixteen young ones; his peas and beans were also wonderfully improved, having that season enough to stock the ground the year following. thus he returned kind providence thanks for the vast increase, and concluded to live upon young antelopes as long as they lasted, reserving only one for sucking the old ones, to keep them in milk, of which he had observed they had plen 46 ty, designing to draw it daily for his own use, so that in a little time he had enough to skim for cream, which he used for sauce instead of butter. now having a pretty store of dairy ware, he resolved to make a place to keep it in; the kitchen where he was obliged to lay his salt fish, not being a proper place for cream and milk; for which end he made a dairy-house, at the other side of his dwelling, with branches of trees, after the manner of a close arbour, and thatched it over with grass, which answering the kitchen in form and situation made uniform wings, that added as much to the beauty as conveniency of the habitation. having completed the dairy, he proceeded in his resolution of making cheese, and to turn his milk he took some seed, which being of a hot nature, had the desired effect, he having made some hoops of the pliable branches of some of the trees, he filled them with the paste, and laid by till fit to eat. the next morning being awakened by an tincommon noise, he got up and hastened to the place. being come to it, he perceived a number of monkeys, one sort squaling and fighting against the other, for a considerable quantity of wild pomegranates, which the wind had shook of the trees in the night. his coming having caused a truce, every one of those creatures keeping still and quiet during his stay, he resolved to use his endea yours to make a solid peace. therefore, dividing the fruit into two parcels, those ani47 mals came quietly to that share next them, and carried it away to their quarters. taking his walks to visit his nets, in that he had set for the eagles, he found a fowl as big as a turkey, and having had no fresh meat for above a week, he dressed it and eat part of it for his dinner. though he was well pleased with the bird he had taken, he had rather had one of the eagles which kept his young antelopes in jeopardy; but as he could not de stroy them with his net, which had hung a considerable time without the intended suc cess, he projected a plan to prevent their increase by destroying their eggs, leaving his nets wholly for the use they had been successful in, and searched the cleft of the rock next to the sea, where those birds commonly built; having found several nests, he took away the eggs that were in them, and carried them home, in order to empty the shells, and hang them up and down among the green leaves that covered the ceiling; but having acciden tally broke one, and the yolk and white thereof being like that of a turkey, he had the cu riosity to boil one and taste it, which eat much after the manner of a swan's. the rest he saved to eat now and then by way of a change, in this prosperous way he lived fifteen years, finding no alteration in the season, during which time he made himself a winter garb of the soft grass, which reached to his heels, and a cap of the same. · 48 being one day upon the rocks, he saw something like an indian canoe; fearing there might be some of these people on the island, he hastened home to secure what he had, but was too late, they had been there already, and had taken away the clothes he found in the chest, which being too little for him, hung on a pin behind the door. had they been content with that he would not have regarded it; but they carried away some of his curious shells, and what grieved him most, the fine bird he had taken such pains to stuff, as also his bow and arrows. having missed these things, which he much valued, he hastened to the outside of the rock, with his long staff in his hand, but happened to go too late, the canoe being out of sight. he then walked to the other side of the rock to discover what damage the high wind had done the night before. as he was looking about him, he saw two men come down from the rock, with each a bundle on his arm, and going to something he took to be a chest, and having put their load into it, pushed it away, and rowed to a long-boat that lay at some distance, behind a jetting part of the rock, which screened it from his sight, as also the ship it belonged to. being come home, he suspected those villains had most sacrilegiously rifled and ransacked his habitation, not leaving him so much as one of the mats to keep his poor body from 49 the ground. his winter garb also was gone, and what else they could find for their use. the loss of these things, which he could not do without, filled him with sorrow; but having walked about a mile, he perceived the same men coming towards the pond. by the time he had come up to them, they had caught the two old ducks, which being pinioned, could not fly away as the rest did. then they proceeded towards the house where they had seen the antelopes. the young ones not being used to see any men in clothes, presently fled; but the two old ones were so tame that they stood still, which gave the men time and opportunity to jay hold of them, when, notwithstanding quarll's entreaties, they tied a halter about their horns and barbarously led them away. the villains, whose design was to bind, and so carry him away, did not judge it safe to come within reach of his weapon, but kept at some distance, considering how to seize him. quarll guessed at their design, and struck at the nearest, who immediately took to his heels, and then at the next, who did the same, the wretches being gone, and as his bridge had favoured their coming, he pulled it off, and only laid it over when he had a mind to view the sea, and went home to eat a bit, having not as yet broken his fast. having therefore 50 therefore, eaten some of his roots and cheese, and being wearied with huntingthese wretch es, he consulted how to lie, his bed and bedding being gone, as also his winter gown. however, after a little consideration, he concluded to lie in the lodge, which was left vacant by the antelopes' absence, whose littér being made of the same sort of grass as his mats were, he lay both soft and warm. there happening nothing the remainder of the year worthy of record, he employed it in his customary occupations, as pruning and watering his lodge and dairy, making his mats to lie on, as also his winter garb; every day inilking his antelopes and goats, making now and then butter and cheese, attending his nets and such-like necessary employments. in the mean time the french mariners returned, it being much about the same season; and being resolved to take him away, and all they could make any thing of, out of the island, were provided with implements to accomplish their design; as ropes to bind what they could not get alive, and saws and hatchets to cut down logwood and brazil; likewise flat-bottomed boats to tow in shallow water, and thus by degrees to load their ship with booty; but ever-watchful providence blasted their evil projects, and confounded their devices at the very instant they thought themselves sure of success. the impléments in a flat-bottomed boat were towed to the very foot of the rock by a young fellow, who being 51 lighter than a man, was thought fittest to ge with the tools, which pretty well loaded the boat. their materials being landed to their great satisfaction, the men on board embarked in two more of the same sort of boats; but were no sooner in them but a storm arose, which dashed their slender vessel to pieces, and washed them into the sea, in which they perished, oversetting the boat on shore, with the load and the lad underneath it, quarll hearing a voice behind a part of the rock, cried out, "heaven be praised, there is somebody whom i am luckily come to save, and he is most fortunately come to be my companion!" hastening to the place where he thought the cries came from, which he could discern to be too shrill for a man's voice certainly," said he, "this must be some woman, by the noise: providence has now completed my happiness, i shall have companion and a help-mate." having ar rived where he judged the person to be, and seeing nothing but what he took to be a chest, began to be disheartened; but the creature underneath ceased crying to listen; but finding nobody came, cried out again louder than before. this quite revived him; "it is a woman," said he, "and in that chest:" at which words he endeavoured to break that which he took to be the lid, but proved the bottom; and as he was striking, the boy unf 2 derneath, 52 derneath, calling to him to turn it up, thrust his hand under the side, which he perceiving, stood still. "this," said he, "is a flat bottomed boat, such as the frenchmen used when they came and plundered me.” the lad still continuing his thoan, and having considered the boat could not hold any great number of people, he ventured to turn it up, putting the end of the staff where he had seen the hand, and raising it about a foot from the ground, from which the boy immediately crept, who fell on his knees 'weeping, expecting death every moment, as the punishment for the evil purpose he came about. quarll, who expected there was a woman besides, and fearing the gap would be too small for her to come through, made motions. for the boy to assist him in setting the boat on its bottom. quarll seeing the implements instead of the woman, was vexed and disappointed, sometimes looking at the things, and then at the boy, who again fell on his knees, begging for mercy in such a moving manner, that quarlt raised him up by the hand; and the night coming on apace, took one of the hatchets, and gave another to the boy, in or der to knock the boat to pieces, which they accordingly did, carrying the boards higher on the rocks, as also the rest of the things, lest some storm should arise and wash them away. the young frenchman, finding a kinder treatment than he expected, was very submissive and tractable, which made quarl 53 the more kind; and instead of condemning his evil attempt, he commiserated his misfor` tune. having given him of what he had to eat, he put him to bed, wherein he lay till he had got his mats made up, then went to bed himself, but could not sleep for thinking of his late disappointment, which intercepted those pleasures he so much depended on, thinking himself sure of a female partner, which would have added much to his bliss. being awaked, "what is man," said he, "without that part of himself, out of which god made him a mate!" in this melancholy disposition he again fell asleep, and dreamt afresh; in which his imagination gluts his inclination with those pleasures it so much desired: excessive love is but short lived; what is violent is not lasting: time with pleasure runs fast away, but dwells long with sorrow; cares weaken love, and indif ferences breed discontent; the jarrings follow, which introduce division, the mother of poverty. starting out of his sleep at the approach of those sad troubles, he returns heaven thanks it was but a dream; and begged pardon for having given so much way to the concupiscence of flesh; getting up sooner than ordinary, lest he should fall asleep, aud dream again of women, having walked about till he thought it time for the boy to rise, he called him up, and f3 54 and took him to the place he usually went to psalms; where the youth being come, and hearing so many different voices, and seeing no body, took to his heels, making towards the rock: quarll overtook him before he could get to the sea-side, into which he certainly would have cast himself at the fright; but quarll, who, by the boy's staring, guessed his disorder, not knowing the language, endeavoured to calm him by his pleasing countenance, and prevent his drowning himself. he and the boy took away the remains of the boat, and of what was in it, which they could not carry home the day before: then taking up two guns, took them to his lodge, and sets them at each side of the door. it being dinner time, he set the boy to make a fire, whilst he made some fish fit to fry, taking some dripping he saved when he roasted any flesh to fry them with. the boy, who had lived some time in holland, where they used much butter, seeing dripping employed in the room thereof, thought to please his master in making some; and as he had seen milk and cream in the dairy arbour, wanting a churn only, there being a small rundlet lying by empty, he takes out one of the ends of it, in which, the next day, he beat butter. the lad, being acute and ingenious, was soon made to understand english, and in six months capable to speak it sufficiently, so as to give his master a relation of his late 55 coming, and to what intent. the men," said he, "who about one year since carried away from hence some antelopes, and seve ral rarities, which they said belonged to an english hermit, having got a great deal of money by shewing them, encouraged others' to come; whereupon, they hired a ship to fetch away the hermit, and what else they could find therefore brought with them tools, and guns to shoot what they could not take alive "pray what did they intend to do with me:" "why," said the boy," make a shew of you." sordid wretches! is a christian then such a rarity amongst them? 66 well, and what were the saws and hatches for?""to cut down your house, which they intended to make a drinking booth of." oh, monstrous! well, thanks to providence, their evil design is averted. "pray, what is become of those sacrilegious persons ?" "they are all drowned," said the boy. "then" replies he, "the heavens are satis fied, and i am avenged: but how camest thou to escape?" "i was upon the rock when their boat was dashed against it, and was overset with the same sea, under the flat bottomed boat, where you found me." "that was a happy overset for thee. well, is there no gratitude due to providence for thy escape?" "due to providence!" said he, "why, i am sure you let me out." "yes" replied quarll ; but i was sent by providence for that purpose." kindly done too," said the boy: well, when i see him i will thank him: doth he "that was 66 56 live hereabout? "poor ignorant creature!" replied quarll; "why, providence is every where; what! didst thou never hear of pro vidence? what religion art thou of !" "religion?" answered the youth; "i don't know what you mean: i am a fisherman hy trade, which my father lived by." "well," said quarll, did he teach thee nothing else? no prayers!" "prayers," replied the lad; "why, fishermen have no time to pray; that is for them who have nothing else to do: poor folks must work, and get money; that is the way of our town. "covetous wretches! well," said he, i grudge them not what they possess, since it is all the happiness they aspire at; but thou shalt learn to pray, which will be of far more advantage to thee than work, both here and hereafter:" from which time he began to teach him the lord's prayer, and the ten commandments; as also the principles of the christian religion; all which instructions the youth took readily he also taught him to sing psalms, which farther qualified him to be his companion in spiritual exercises, as well as in temporal occupations. i in this happy state they lived in peace and concord the space of ten years, unanimously doing what was to be done, as it lay in each of their way, without relying on one another. quarll, who before, thought himself bless ed, now cannot express his happiness, heartily praying he might find no alteration a 57 until death: but the young man, not having met with so many disappointments in the world, had not quite drawn his affection from it; his mind sometimes will run upon his native country, and where he could not belp wishing to be himself; thus, an opportu➡ › nity offering itself one day, as he went to get oysters, he saw, at a distance, a ship; at which his heart fell a panting; his blood grew warmer and warmer, till at last, in flamed with the desire of getting at it, he laid down the bag he brought to put the oysters in, as also the instrument to dredge them up with, and took to swimming. the men on board having espied him out, sent their boat to take him up; so he went away without taking his leave of him he had received so much good from; who'; feared some accident had befallen him; and being come at the place where he was to get the oysters, he saw the bag and instruments lie, and nobody with them. having called several times without being answered, various racking fears tortured his mind: he there fore with his staff, at the other side of the rock grabbled in every one round the place; and feeling nothing, concluded some sea monster had stolen him away, and con demned himself as the cause of this fatal accident. having given up hopes of getting bim again, he returned home in the greatest affliction, but, happening to look eastward, in which was the point the wind stood, he perceived something like a boat at a great distance: looking stedfastly, he discovered a 58 sail beyond it, which quite altered the motive of his former fear; "no monster," said he, "hath devoured him; 'tis too plain a case, that he has villainously left me. having recommended himself to providence, he resumed his usual recreatious, resolving that no cares shall mar his happiness for the future. fourteen years more being past, there happened nothing extraordinary, each succeeding year renewing the pleasures the preceding had produced: thunders and high winds being frequent, though not equally violent, he thought it not material to record them; as blowing and throwing fishes, shells, &c. upon the rock; only transactions and events wonderful and uncommon and there happened a most surprising one a few days after, which is as worthy of record as any of far greater concern; being a wonderful effect of providence, manifested in a miraculous. manner. one morning, when he had roasted a par cel of those roots which, he used to eat instead of bread: having spread them on his table and chest to cool, be went out to walk, leaving his door open to let the air in. his walk, though graced with all the agreeables nature could adorn it with to make it delightful; a grass carpet, embroidered with flowers of different colours and smells, under his feet; before, and on 59 each side of him, fine lofty trees, clothed with pleasant green leaves, trimmed with rich blos soms, to divert the eye; a number of various sorts of singing birds perching in their most lovely shades, as though nature had studied to excel man's brightest imagination, and exquisiteness of art: yet all these profuse nesses of nature's wonders, are not sufficient to expel anxious thoughts from his mind. it run upon his two dear antelopes, which he took such care to bring up, and were become so engaging, always attending him in those fine walks; adding, by their swift races, active leapings, and other uncommon diver, sions, to the natural pleasantness of the place, which now is become a dull memorandum of the barbarous manner in they were ravished away from him. 1 in these melancholy thoughts, he returned home, where providence had left a remedy for his grievance: a companion, far exceeding any he had ever had, waited his return; which was, a beautiful monkey of the finest kind, as though made to manifest the unparalleled skill of nature, is sent him by provi dence, to dissipate his inelancholy. being come to his lodge, and beholding that wonderful creature, at the far end of it, and him at the entrance of it, to oppose its fight, he was at once filled with joy and admiration. long, said he, i endeavoured in vain to get one, though of the worst kind; 60 and here kind providence has sent one of an unparalleled beauty. having a considerable time admired the beast, which stood unconcerned, now and then eating of the roots that lay before him, he went in and shut the door, in order to tame him; which having found out by the creature's surprising docility, he returned his benefactor most hearty thanks for that miraculous gift. this most wonderful animal having gained its master's love, he thought himself doubly recompensed for all his former losses, especially for that of his late ungrateful companion, who, basely left him at a time he might be most helpful: and, as he fancied his dear beaufidelle (for so he called that admirable creature) had so much resemblance of the picture he framed for him, he took it down, thinking it unjust to bear in bis sight that vile object, which could not in anywise claim a likeness to so worthy a creature as his beloved monkey. 劈 ​one day, as this lovely animal was officiating the charge it had of its own accord taken, being gone for wood, he found in his way a wild pomegranate; he took it home, and then returned for his faggot; in which time quarll cut it open, and finding it of a dull lusciousness, imagined it might be used with things of an acid and sharpe taste: having therefore boiled some water, he put it into a 61 vessel, with a sort of an herb which is of the taste and nature of cresses, and some of the pomegranate, letting them infuse some time, now and then stirring it; which the monkey having taken notice of, did the same: but one very hot day, happening to lay the vessel in the sun, made it turn sour. t quarll, who very much wanted vinegar in his sauces, was well pleased with the acci dent, and so continued the souring of the liquor, which proving excellent, he made a five gallon vessel of it, having several which he found upon the rock. having now a store of vinegar, and being a great lover of pickles, calling to mind he had often in his walks seen something like mushrooms, he made it his business to look for some thus he picked up a few, of which beaufidelle having taken notice, immedi ately ranges about; and being nimbler footed than his master, picked double the quantity in the same space of time; so that he soon had enough to serve him for the next " season. his good success in making that sort of pickle, encouraged him to try another; and, having taken notice of a plant in the wood that bears a green flower, gathered a few; and, their taste and flavour being no way disagreeable, he tried them, which according to his mind were full as good as the real ones, and gathered g • 62 gathered a sufficient quantity, with the help of his attendant; but there was another he admired above all: none to his mind like cucumber; and the island producing none, left him no room to hope for any; yet if he could but find any thing which resembled them, it would please his fancy: he therefore examined every kind of buds and seeds; having at last found that of a wild parsnip, almost the bigness of a pickling cucumber, green and crisp, and not unlike that he sought for, he pickled some of them; which being nearly of the same colour and make, he fancied them quite of the taste, his beans being at this time large enough for the first crop, he gathered some for his dinner, cutting the shells into narrow slips, and pickling them. having nothing to crave or wish for, he lay down with a peaceable mind; no care or fear disturbing his thoughts, his sleep was not interrupted with frightful fancies, nor startled at thunder or storms, his trust being in providence, who in various manners has rescued him from death; being above thirty years miraculously protected and maintained in a place remote from all human help and assistance, notwithstanding his firmness, he was obliged to give way to the weakness of his nature: a strange noise was heard at a distance in the air, which, having reached the 63 place where he stood, covered it with dark ness for some minutes; at which he was so alarmed, that he thought himself past all hopes. the noise having ceased, and that which intercepted the light dispersed, he opened the door, and steped out to see if he could discover the cause of so surprising and sudden a darkness; which having found out by a number of dead birds of several kinds, lying on the ground, he was seized with no small amazement, from which he inferred there had been a battle of those creatures in the air, the number of which had occasioned the late decrease. having made reflections upon that aston ishing transaction, he drew from thence no other inference but a prognostication of dreadful wars in europe; and lest the dead birds should infect the island, he and his monkey carried them to the other side of the rock, and threw them into the sea. having cleared the place, and being tired with going up and down the rugged rock, he stayed at home the remainder of the day, and at night went to bed; but, as the late omen of approaching evil had pre-occupied his thoughts with cares concerning his country, his mind ran upon it in the night; dreaming he sees wives weeping taking leave of their indulgent husbands; hanging about their necks, whose grief weighed them to the ground. turning from that object, he sees another as shocking; the old father, bathed in tears, 2 64 embracing his only son, and all the comforts of this life and support of his age. thus every face expressing grief for a relation or a friend, not being able any longer to behold those terrifying objects; he betook himself to the country. ; having quitted the town, he found himself in a place as full of terrors, where he saw streams of reeking blood; loose horses kicking and prancing; e dragging their late riders by the stirrups, others wounded; at a distance, crowds of men in flames and smoke, leaving behind them vast numbers of men and horses, both dead and dying. at a distance from thence, some in pursuit of their enemies, cutting them down before them, like wood for fuel; others flying from being slain, cast themselves into rapid rivers, where they perish by thousands. as he was looking at these terrible objects, he found himself on a sudden surrounded by soldiers, holding their bayonets to his breast and asking who he was for? not knowing what to answer, he told them he was an eng fishman; but they seizing him in a violent manner, said, he might be english, and yet an enemy to the country. awaking, and concluding that his dream proceeded from his late surprize, he went to make the bed for his monkey, and with some sail cloth made a case, stuffing it with feathers he had saved for the purpose. 65 night being come, he laid the couch by his own bed, which the monkey readily went to, being soft and easy; and as cares for his country had in the day occupied his thoughts, his mind in the night was impressed with the subject; and having since been diverted with such objects as removed the terrifying objects which before presented themselves, his imagination was taken up with being in st. james's park, which he fancied had lost many of its former agreeablenesses. as he was walking, a report was raised that a certain great person (who had gained a title to the palace) was just deceased, having entailed the same upon a foreign prince of great renown. this news occasioned a sudden alteration in every body's countenance; every thing in nature seemed to express a feeling for the loss; the trees shed half their virtues, and the grass withered. after a short time, however, they recovered their former verdure; the lofty oaks, which he fancied bordered the mall, bore roses in vast numbers. having admired the surprising improvement of the oaks, he walked on northward, where he saw abundance of thistles, wondering they were permitted to grow where every thing ought to contribute to its pleasantness. walking back, he met several noblemen with gardening tools, going to till the ground between where the thistles and the oaks stood. having stood some time admirg 3 66 ing their dexterity, he walked on to the mall, which he found thronged with people of all nations, each having a rose in his hand. after some time he returned to see how the noble gardeners got on with their work, where he found that the oaks and thistles, having grown together, had produced a plant that bore both roses and thistles; which made the thistles so valued ever since, that there are but few gar dens which have not more or less of them. his monkey, being startled in a nightly fright, ran behind his back, which awoke him in the midst of his amazement; and rising earlier than usual took a walk before break fast. the day having passed without any extraordinary occurrence, they lay down and slept quietly till the dawning of the morning, when the monkey started up again as the night before. quarll, being a second time awoke in the same manner, and concluding the cause must proceed from the pillow, resolved to try himself the next night; when crowds of terrifying objects appeared to his imagination; his eyes were taken up with frightful objects, and his ears filled with a terrible noise. having awoke, and finding himself inclined to believe that the pillow had some influence on his imagination, resolved to try it several nights successively; during which, his monkey slept very quiet, and he much disturbed; yet, to be better satisfied of its reality, he laid by the pillow for three or four nights, during which time, they both slept very quietly. 67 it being his opinion, that the evil effluvia issued out of those feathers the pillow was stuffed with; he once more tried it, but was terrified with more shocking objects than the preceding; which, though they represented fierce and bloody battles, yet they were less terrible to him. having fatigued himself with the afflicting effects of war, he lifts up his eyes to heaven, imploring an end to that execrable devourer of mankind. whilst his eyes were still fixed on the heavens, he saw victory approaching flourishing her colours, and pointing at approaching peace; but on a sudden there árose an infectious mist, which cramping the englishmen's hands, they could no more use their conquering arms; when the enemy fell on the unfortunate remains of the army, who were most cruelly cut to pieces; at which most dismal and afflicting object he awoke: resolving to try his monkey once more the night following but the beast, who had not yet forgot the uneasiness the bed had caused him, chose to lie on the ground; which convinced quarll that there was a malignant quality in those feathers: wherefore he throws them into the sea, and fills the case with a soft moss, on which the creature lay very quiet ever after. and as yearly stripping the eagles of their eggs had prevented their increase, it also favoured and advanced that of the creatures in the island, on whose yonng they fed; so 68 2.4 that the number of the wild monkeys being considerably augmented, made their food scanty, which caused them now and then to come and steal somewhat out of quarll's ground. beaufidelle, whose good keeping and warm lying had made him thrive in bigness and strength exceeding his kind, finding some of them stealing his master's roots, beat them away; which obliged those subtle creatures to come several together, the better to be able to encounter him; which quarll having taken notice of, and being willing to add a new sport to his usual diversions, cut a stick of the length and bigness that the creature could manage, which he gave him; and, taking his own staff, exercises it before him, while he did the same with his; and, apprehending what use it was given him for, he had it often in his hands, and with it drove away the others, when they came, though ten or a dozen together; so that the roots were very well guarded, by his continual watching; which made those sly and spiteful creatures watch an opportunity to take him at a disadvantage: thus finding him one morning, as he was going for water by himself, as he was wont to do, and being then without his staff, of which they stood in great fear, a considerable number fell upon him, and so bit and beat him, that he lay as dead; but his master appearing, who, being uneasy at his extraor dinary stay, was gone to see what was the occasion thereof, put them to flight; and they left the poor creature with just breath enough 69 to keep its life in, and scarce strength sufficie ent to draw it! ". quarll, being come to the place where his beloved beaufidelle lay in a most dismal bloody condition, could not forbear shedding tears to see him thus miserably dying; but, finding still breath in him, it gives him hopes of his recovery: and taking him up in his arms, with all the care he could, he hastens home, and gives him a little of the liquor he had made, which by that time had got both body and spirit; then having laid him upon his bed and covered him with his winter wrapper, he makes a fire and warms some of the said liquor and fresh butter, wherewith he washes his sores; so lays him down again, giving him all the careful attendance he could during his illness, which held but one week at the end of which he died, to his unspeakable grief; and from that time, grew so melan choly, that he had not the courage to go on with his memorial: till having a most remark able dream about twelve months after, he changed his resolution, and proceeded in his memoirs; and as he set down his dream, hè also did the death of his beloved beast, it happening near the same time. having spent the year but dully, for want of his diverting company at home; to put this as much out of his mind as he could, he walked the spare hours he had left from his usual occupation. thus being one day somewhat fatigued, having lost his wonted alacrity, he sat down under the next cluster 70 of trees he came to; and being in a dull disposition, was soon lulled to sleep, at a lonesome note of a certain sort of melancholy bird, which shuns other company (though of its own kind) at all times but in breeding times which, having placed itself in the thickest and shadiest part of the grove, where quarll had made choice to lie, falls a singing his melancholy notes; which being suitable to his disposition of both body and mind, soon lulled him to sleep; during which he dreamed that he saw an old man sitting in a large circle, around which all the signs of the zodiac were, and the old gentleman appeared extremely busy, stringing of small beads, some white, and some black; and, when he had strung a certain number, he began another string, and so on. he had the curiosity to tell how many he put in a string, so keeps an account of the next he did begin, and tells just sixty: having made as many of those strings as there were beads in each, he put them together, and begins again to string, mixing white and black as they came to his hand, twisting every sixtieth string in parcels till he had made sixty of them, which he neatly plaits together, proceeding as from the beginning, and makes twenty-four of those praits, which he weaves together, making a flat piece of bead-work, changeable upon black, which, when looked upon one way, seemed pleasant; and, being seen from another, as disagreeable. he worked on till he had made three hundred and sixty-four such pieces, then laid them 71 up in a bundle, and went to work again, beginning to string it as at first. having looked himself weary with seeing still the same, of which he could make no thing, he went away leaving the old gentleman stringing his beads; who, seeing him go, laid by his work, and followed him, and having overtaken him, asked him, what he had been looking at all that time? he being surprised at the surly question, modestly replied, he had been admiring his werk; in doing which he hoped there was no offence. no, said the old man, provided thou learnest something by what thou hast seen. to which he answered, "it was impossible for him to learn such a mysterious business, with once seeing it done; so much less, being entirely a stranger to it." "a stranger to it art thou?" replied the old man, in a surly mauner; "and hast wasted so much of my work! i am time, whom thou hast often ill used; and whose white and black beads, that thou hast seen me string, are good and bad moments i crowd into minutes, which i link into hours; thus weave days, wherewith years are composed. thou hast seen me complete the present year. i tell thee, before the ensuing is ended, i will grace the british throne with an illustrious race to the end of kings reigns;" so vanished. then he awoke in a great surprise, and went home, pondering on his dream; of which he infer red, that if there be any signification in the roving conceptions of the mind, this must 72 prognosticate the speedy accession of some great monarch upon the english throne: so set down in his memorial his dream, heartily wishing the accomplishment thereof, for the quiet and prosperity of his dear country. there happened nothing after for the space of four years, by which means, for want of employment, he had several sullen and idle hours in the day time, which his late beloved animal's diverting company made slip away with pleasure, and for want of which they crept slowly on, one day as he was walking, being extraordinary hot, he went to shelter himself in one of his natural groves; a young monkey of the grey kind dropped off the tree, and lay for dead, but being only strangled, he opened his windpipe by squeezing it the contrary way, and by careful nursing soon recovered it; but as the rest is related by himself to mr. dorrington in the former part of this history, it will be superfluous to say any thing farther on that subject here. this accident made quarll' in some measure resume his former cheerfulness, and nothing more happened be tween this and the time he was found on the island by mr. dorrington. finis. harrild, printer, great east-cheap, london. 周 ​ sat 16 from from july here suf 5144 #627 249 the hermit of •carmel· and other poems. george santayana. ala 6167.47 b 34 sqm.1 cademial harvardia vero tas tidis ony harvard university library of english a nov ex demo proceeds of english allaunal dono transferred to college ary 1 a hermit of carmel a hermit of carmel and other poems by george santayana new york charles scribner's sons 1901 ala 6167.47 b harvard university library feb 6 1957 copyright, 1901 by charles scribner's sons published october, 1901 university press john wilson and son . cambridge, u.s.a. a hermit of carmel . contents the knight's return. a sequel to a hermit of carmel • · · elegiac and lyric poems premonition solipsism sybaris avila • king's college chapel on an unfinished statue midnight. odi et amo . cathedrals by the sea • in grantchester meadows. futility before a statue of achilles • mont brévent the rustic at the play resurrection • • • · • · • • • page 3 45 83 85 87 89 94 99 107 112 114 116 117 120 122 123 124 125 vi contents translations from michael angelo from alfred de musset: souvenir from théophile gautier : l'art convivial and occasional verses prosit neujahr fair harvard college drinking song six wise fools athletic ode the bottles and the wine the poetic medium . young sammy's first wild oats spain in america . youth's immortality • · . · page 139 141 144 156 161 163 164 167 170 185 192 198 204 216 232 a hermit of carmel ! a hermit of carmel scene. a ravine amid the slopes of mount carmel. on one side a hermitage, on the other a rustic cross. the sun is about to set in the sea, which fills the background. hermit. thou who wast tempted in the wilderness, guard me this night, for there are snares in sleep that baffle watching. o poisoned, bitter life of doubt and longing! were death possible, who would not choose it? but that dim estate might plunge my witless ghost in grosser matter and in still closer meshes choke my life. yet thus to live is grievous agony, when sleep and thirst, hunger and weariness, 3 4 a hermit of carmel and the sharp goads of thought-awakened lust torture the flesh, and inward doubt of all embitters with its lurking mockery virtue's sad victories. this wilderness whither i fly from the approach of men keeps not the devil out. the treacherous glens are full of imps, and ghosts in moonlit vesture startle the watches of the lidless night. the giant forest, in my youth so fair, is now a den of demons; the hoarse sea is foul with monsters hungry for my soul; the dark and pregnant soil, once innocent mother of flowers, reeks with venomous worms, and sore temptation is in all the world. but hist! a sound, as if of clanking hoofs. saint anthony protect me from the fiend, whether he come in guise of hornèd beast or of pernicious man! if i must die be it upon this hallowed ground, o lord! [hides in the hut. a hermit of carmel 5 enter a young knight. knight [reining in his horse]. rest, albus, rest. doth the sun sink in glory ― because he sinks to rise? breathe here a space; here bends the promontory, there acra's haven lies. ―――― those specks are galleys waiting for the gale to make for christian shores. to-morrow they will fly with bellying sail and plash of swinging oars, bearing us both to where the freeman tills the plot where he was born, and belfry answers belfry from the hills above the fields of corn. thence one less sea to traverse ere we come where all our hopes abide, one truant journey less to end in home, thy mistress, and my bride. good albus, 't is enough for one day's riding. here shall our bivouac be. [he dismounts. 6 a hermit of carmel surely by that green sward some brook is hiding to welcome thee and me. yes, hark! its laugh betrays it. graze thou there, nor fear the camp's alarms. [lets the horse go and turns, perceiving the cross on the hillside. see where a cross, inviting me to prayer, outspreads its sacred arms. o first of many that mine eyes shall see on altar, tomb, and tower, art thou the last of crosses come to me before my guerdon's hour? or first or last, and by whatever hands here planted in the wild, hail to thee, cross, that blessest in far lands thy champion and thy child. [goes up to the cross and kneels before it. the angel of the lord appeared to mary and she conceived of the holy ghost. [continues silently. 1 a hermit of carmel 7 hermit [from within]. all's quiet. god hath made the danger pass. nay, hold! a horse without a rider here? perchance a devil, come, if i should mount him, to gallop with me into yawning hell. yet he looks gentle, munching the young grass, the tempting bridle looped about his neck. i will go catch him. when the traders pass and they pass after christmas i will barter the beast for a good cloak. the winter's blasts are on us. [comes out. knight. behold the handmaid of the lord. be't done to me according to thy word [continues silently. hermit. a voice! a christian voice! some wingèd angel floats through the ether, magnifying god. merciful heaven! there, ay, there he kneels before the cross i planted. 'tis the cross 8 a hermit of carmel that to earth brings down heaven. michael, for he is clad in arms, and his casque fringed with the bright nimbus of his golden hair. yet he seems wingless; if he stirs a limb the heavy armour clangs. no angel, surely; rather saint george, with steed and magic lance returned to fight against the infidel. knight. and the word was made flesh and dwelt among us. [continues silently. hermit. listen! they speak my native tongue in heaven. those are the words my sainted mother spake nightly she crooned them, teaching palmerin his orisons. [the knight rises. yes, saint come, shall i challenge him? no: i am foul. i will hide crouching here and spy him as he goes. knight. what stirreth there? [pushes a branch aside. a hermit of carmel 9 hermit [falling on his knees]. have mercy, glorious saint! a sinful man lives in this hovel; no man's enemy except his own. sir, spare an anchorite. knight. fear nothing, holy man. i am a christian although no saint, but sinful more than thou who in the desert livest near to god. my sword is stained with blood, my heart is rash, and if my youth is free from foul dishonour 'tis god's good mercies hedge my wayward days and marvellously guide me through the world. but thou art surely wise. in solitude the mind of the most high possesseth men, and they whom sorrow chaseth from the world learn in their grief the purposes of heaven. god's hand appears in this, that here i find thee to shrive me, father. many months i roam through heathen wilds in sorry need of shrift. who knows if in some luckless fray to-morrow i bite the dust, or in that golden sea io a hermit of carmel perish unknelled and far from christendom? a soldier's soul should be like his bright blade ready to unsheathe. hermit. o music of high thoughts! o harmony of long-forgotten words! fair visitation! in her youth the soul, gathering the heavy heritage of adam, looks with strange horror on her own abyss and on the stars, and her increasing knowledge ever increaseth sorrow; yet with years, touching the depths and wholly mortified, she sees her desert bloom with mystic flowers and sweeter smiles of god. o mortal bosom both in foreboding and in hope beguiled! not where i fancied in my night of trouble dawns comfort on mine eyes, but wondrously. whence camest thou? tell me what princely house and fruitful country bred and nurtured thee. knight. "t is not a fruitful land. on heathered hills my father fed his flocks. we gazed not down a hermit of carmel ii on vineyard slopes and waters blue as these but there a sea of swaying tree-tops spread boundless beneath us, without path or tower, save where beside the river's bend the monks had built their cells and cleared the wood away. we called it milking time when we could hear the distant music of their matin chimes. hermit. be your monks rich? knight. their fields are ploughed and brown, but the poor upland shepherd has no corn; his flock must feed him with its milk and flesh, unless he snare a partridge in the wood as i did oft, or standing in the brook where the green water eddies in the pool enmesh the foolish fishes. hermit. never shepherd could bear these arms or show this courtesy. where wast thou bred, if thou wast born a hind, that thou art gentle? who hath knighted thee? knight. the baron of the marches is my liege; 12 a hermít of carmel to him i owe my nurture and my sword, and the sweet hope that leads me. hermit. ah, the faith? knight. nay, that my mother gave me with her prayers, saintliest of women. hermit. were then alike. hast thou another hope sweeter than faith to thank thy master for? knight. he hath a daughter for whose hand i serve, having her love; and on the happy night when i kept vigil o'er the virgin arms in which i should be knighted at the dawn he promised me her hand, if i proved worthy in five years' service. at the morrow's mass when we had both partaken of the lord, i knelt before him, and while all his vassals stood in a ring about us, up he rose and with his flat sword struck my shoulder thus, speaking these words, now graven on my heart: thy mother and my own a hermit of carmel 13 66 arise, sir knight, to battle with the world for god and honour. if in youth thou fall, may thy bright soul take instant wing to heaven, but if thou blazon on this argent shield valorous deeds, and come in safety back, thy worth shall stand in lieu of ancient blood, for valour was the first nobility, and with the blessing of a hapless man whom three brave sons, reversing nature's sentence, condemned to mourn them, i will then deliver my daughter to thy hands. she and her honour, my lands, my castle, and my name be thine." love is the hope, sweeter than faith in heaven, for which i toil in arms. enough of that. methinks thou art a priest, and ere i leave thee i fain would make confession of what sins lie on my soul. hermit. god knoweth what they are, and hath, methinks, forgiven them already, l14 a hermit of carmel for by the candour of thy looks i know thou livest in his grace. but tell them o'er, for by the speaking of a word the heart is lightened of its burden: and the lord commissioned us to listen in his name to all men's woes, and counsel and forgive. therefore say on. knight. alas, where all is frail i know not with what sorrow to begin. if i could keep the thought of god alive i might live better; but my wit is loose and wanders into silly dreams awake, all to no purpose. everything that stirs sets me athinking of its life and ways and i forget my own. if a frog jump, or busy squirrel run across my path, or three sad crows fly cawing through the wood, or if i spy a fox's trail, or print of deer's foot in the mould off go my thoughts and i am many leagues in fairy land a hermit of carmel 15 before i shake away the lethargy and say to my weak soul, thou art a knight, what hast thou done to-day? hermit. be these thy sins? knight. nay, not the chief. for in all exercise, or when in any test or feat of arms i meet another, not the worthy cause, the thought of god, my liege, or beauteous mistress strengthens my arm, but the mere rage and pride of the encounter sweeps my soul along, and win i must, whatever goal it be, when i am once engaged. that's in the blood. so were our heathen fathers wont to fight merciless battles. but glory is the lord's who metes with measure. still i stumble there. and envy, too, i often sin in that, for from my childhood up i never brooked a swifter runner, or a quicker eye to hit the mark, and what another does better than i, that still i strive to do 16 a hermit of carmel till he be worsted. else i cannot sleep. hermit. thou knowest, child, that victory is god's to give and to deny. he gives it thee: 'tis proof of thy deserving. use it well, which if thou do, to crave the victory in thee, a soldier, is no grievous sin. but hast thou not more special sins than these, no wrong, no murder? knight. if murder be to kill a man by stealth or in a private quarrel, but in war i oft have slain my man. i wear a sword murder have i none, though nature gave me not a butcher's hand that loves to use it. oh, 't is marvellous how men will slaughter for the sake of blood, and christians too. before i crossed the sea, the margrave fought a battle in the north against the heathen. i then followed him, and when the fight was over and the foe, routed, had fled into a deep morass ― a hermit of carmel 17 black 'neath the splendours of a fiery sky, the bugle called us back and back i rode, my shield slung on my back, my visor up, saying the angelus, such peace there was beneath the twilight heavens, when a groan that seemed the ending of a soul in pain made me look down; there lay a heathen knight, and on his wounded breast a christian crouched, stabbing him still; i snatched the villain's sword, but just in time, and seized him by the throat amazed, and loud with oaths; "thou slave," quoth i, "why wilt thou send a valiant soul to hell, that might be saved for heaven? the man is mine. take thou his armour, if some happy chance have made thee victor. but outrage not the cause which thou wouldst well defend." we stripped the man, whose gaping wounds were deep and hard to staunch with the few strips remaining of my tunic torn in the fight; and as he could not sit, 2 18 a hermit of carmel we needs must lift and bear him in our arms back to the camp. he was a knight indeed, and when, his fever passing, i explained our holy faith (our chaplains spoke not well his northern tongue) — he listened open-eyed as a child might, and when i stopped and asked, "dost thou believe?" he gazed and said: "i do. as thou believest, so in life and death will i believe." so humble was his soul ―― and open to the sudden grace of heaven. yet him my christian ruffian would have slain to see the red blood ooze. 'tis pitiful! and yet i do him wrong. the fellow came the morning after, shy, with heavy looks, and said he begged to bring the armour back. it was not his, he had not fèlled the knight but found him on the ground; and when i bade him retain the proffered sword, to use it better, he sobbed aloud, and bathed my hands in tears, so hearty was his grief. but i confess ―――― a hermit of carmel 19 another's sins, good father, and forget my own, which i should tell of. hermit. trouble not to tell them over, for i know them now. they are the same which seen in other men the world calls virtues. but one vice there is which noblest natures in their youth are prone to. hast thou offended against chastity? knight. ah, father, i am guilty too in that, if whosoever looketh on a woman unholily, already hath committed adultery in his heart. 'tis in my thoughts, perhaps, that i have sinned; but i am young, and have from childhood loved one noble maid. all other faces are but mirrors to me of what she is in truth. when others smile and seem to say that haply they could love me, my heart yearns to them, yet its yearning goes like incense past a picture, to her spirit. they are memorials of her i review " 20 a hermit of carmel nay, but that's not all. i know not whether to make me constant. a heavy season comes, at waxing or at waning of the moon, when but the babble of a girlish voice heard from a window, or a hand stretched forth, or a chance motion, stops the beating heart here in my breast, and melts my very soul, and i stand there bewitched, my brain benumbed, ―――― and nothing in me but the fell desire to do i know not what. 'tis dreams, dreams, dreams, and they are evil, treacherous, and base when they come so. one day on every side they girt me round. i cried to them "for shame!" they would not go nor quit tormenting me till i put spurs into my steed, and rode, rode with clenched teeth, hacking all branches off within my axe's compass. when i stopped my soul was free: "we have outridden them, a hermit of carmel 21 albus," i cried, "the demons of that place of foul enchantment! here's the blue again smiling upon us, god, and all his saints." father, methinks the agony of death may happen so. a stifling darkness comes upon the feeble soul, and doubtfully she keeps her strength alive on far-off hopes in that great stress of anguish. but it passes and slowly we awake in paradise. hermit. in paradise, my son, when thou awakest if i still suffer in the lake of fire make me some prayerful alms, who in the name of god, the father, son, and holy ghost absolve thee now. knight. what lay you on? hermit. and for my penance, father, three aves for three days say for the soul of one unlike thyself though of thy country. into their kingdoms. robbers bore him thence hast thou never heard 22 a hermit of carmel tell of the hordes that ravaged christendom ere thou wast born, belike. knight. nay, i remember. 'twas then my mother brought me from the hills to dwell beside the castle, for the huns had slain my father and my elder brother and driven the sheep away. the huns? the huns? hermit. knight. ay, when they ravaged all the land about upon their western march. hermit. thou sawest his body? knight. they slew thy brother? nay, we saw it not. we fled, and many fearful weeks were past ere we returned to search. hermit. thy brother's name was — knight. hermit. what shall become of us! the lord is great. damian. god of mercies, a hermit of carmel 23 knight. what ails thee? rest thee there. hermit. i faint. since dawn i have not tasted food. thy gaze is fixed. i cannot speak. a draught! a morsel! ah, my end is near. knight. i have a panier by my saddle-bow with food. albus has wandered down the glade. [exit. i shall be here anon. hermit. what bodes this portent? my practised soul well knows the things of earth, and there is none like this. impossible. this is some essence metaphysical, and not the thing it seems. so much is sure; but whether fiend or minister of grace how shall i know? is he a subtle demon and wins my ear? i am the devil's pawn. is he an angel and i put him by? then i am damned for that. all other sins shall be forgiven, save such blasphemy against the holy ghost. and being dead 24 a hermit of carmel might not my brother's spirit come from heaven? and though i be unworthy in my sins of saintly visitation, i believe this vision is from god. 'tis beautiful and clothed in christian speech and charity. was not mount carmel, lord, thy haunt of old where men went up to meet thee? show thy face. the apostles at emmaus knew the lord when he broke bread. blind heart, an angel comes misknow him not. to sup with thee to-night. the ravens of elijah, who were black, came from the lord, and raphael himself who led the lost tobias by the hand was black beside this vision's loveliness. yea, by its glory pale the three bright strangers that from the desert came to abraham's tent in figure of the blessed trinity. — what am i raving? am i abraham, tobias, or elijah, that the gods should visit me? did not the artful devil a hermit of carmel 25 come to saint anthony in beauteous form? --when first this ghost approached i dreaded him, — a certain sign. yet by his subtle wiles, flattering my earthly hopes, he vanquished me as if beelzebub and quieted my doubts could not feign piety to murder souls! what, my young brother, whom i counted dead, found in this shape, a knight, a paladin, a vision such as minstrels sing about? palpable lie, abominable snare the demon mocks me with! let me but cry, "i am thy brother, i am damian," let me but clasp his knees and with a flood of joyful penitential childish tears water his feet, and then look up again to drink the grace of his benignant eyes and by his kiss be healed in soul and body, and i shall see the grinning demon's self and feel that icy manacle, his claw, clasping my wrist for ever. "thou art damned, 26 a hermit of carmel damned," shrieks the fiend, "damned in believing lies, damned in renouncing for a dreamful joy thy solitude and penance. thou art damned." yes, 't is a hellish plot confronts me here. a knight, my brother, come to comfort me! 'tis madness and wild dreams. — again he comes. his gesture says, here 's food. pitiful heaven, assist me now. let me not now be lost. suffer my vigils and perpetual fasts to strengthen my resolve. to be so happy were rash, and ah, how vain! to drown their sorrow fools barter heaven for a drunkard's joy. re-enter knight. knight. drink this. 'tis water from the virgin springs of carmel, pure and cold. stains of the world that leave the heavens clean leave earth's own heart immaculate. 'tis but her outer garment that man and roving beast avail to smear. a hermit of carmel 27 the curse of adam stops at living things and nature sleeps untainted. there is healing in such a fountain draught. taste of this bread. acorns i also bring and well-dried figs. take freely there is plenteous store for both. for often as i ride a village through or tighten as i start from hostelries my horse's girth, the hospitable dame or her young daughter brings me something forth from the rich larder, now a loaf or fowl and now a goat-skin full of seasoned wine. god prompts their kindly hearts and makes them bounteous lest my strength fail me ere my journey's end, who knows how distant yet. come, break thy fast. remember, father, this is christmas eve when angels, joining in the songs of earth, make mortals joyful, knowing their painful flesh allied to deity. hermit. ―― i crave no food. ho 28 a hermit of carmel knight. nay, nay, thy faintness called for it but now. hermit. not hunger gave that cry but wonderment. knight. at my poor brother's name? hermit. thy brother lives. knight. where? dost thou know him? in this holy land? hermit. poor damian of the marches! verily his sins are scarlet. pray for him, fair knight, but seek not to discover his abode. if thou shouldst find him he would die of shame for bringing shame upon thee. hast thou seen him knight. or is it slander of a gossip's mouth that now usurps thy tongue? if he be fallen he hath the greater need of charity and some late succour. hermit. through long wanderings we never once were parted. in his youth i deemed him honest, loved him as myself, nor doubted he should richly thrive and prosper a hermit of carmel 29 but day by day amongst the sons of men. the hand of opportunity unmasked the sleeping guilt within. envy and greed, pitiless malice, pride, and wantonness started like lion's cubs that scent their prey and roared increasingly. time drew aside veil after veil that cloaked his villainy, till looking on his stark and naked soul i stood aghast and trembled. knight. god, that made us, engraved his sacred image in our hearts deeper than cruel eyes may boast to pierce. has not my brother too a priceless soul for which christ died? did god not ransom it? yes, i will find him, lift him to my breast and say, "forget the past. thy home is here." hermit. beware! didst thou embrace him he would die, and he hath grievous penance yet to do ere he be ripe for heaven. in purgatory 30 a hermit of carmel the pains are doubly sharp and manifold. with which our guilt is cleansed. forbear to search. knight. this ministration is a task that heaven now lays upon me. hinder not his weal. what better battle could approve my courage than in a brother's soul to fight despair? if i could bring that brother back to life long dead to me, and dead, it seems, to god, were 't not a deed of christian chivalry to win my lady by? father, i pray thee, where is my brother now? hermit. a mystery enshrouds his penance. vain to question more. a secret vow on which salvation hangs lies between him and all men. knight. marvellous! where hath he roamed, what nameless sin committed that i may not embrace him? hermit. listen, knight, for i may tell thee that; and when thou knowest a hermit of carmel 31 the sins he shrives and what his penance is, assist him with thy charitable prayers to bear his cross, but lift it not away, for with it goes his hope of paradise. knight. there is indeed some mystery in this. the pain of it doth weigh upon thy soul even in the telling. hermit. did his own pale lips read from the branded tablets of his heart the record of his sorrows, they could never more truly speak than i, for all his woes i knew, and inly felt them as my own. would that some ruffian knife had gashed his throat on that foul day of slaughter, when thy mother bore thee afar to safety. ah, how near salvation hung that day above his head! but wondrously, as isaac once was spared, some voice he heard not stayed the murderous hand, then dealing death abroad; and from that mercy the dreadful brood of all his torments sprang. 32 a hermit of carmel they bound his wrists with painful twisted thongs and drove him with the flocks and captive women into their camp, across the smouldering heaps of burning rubbish and through sulphurous fumes. that night he found him tied behind a cart the crawling palace of that savage chief whose greed had saved him. shivering he stood, for they had stripped him, through the starlight hours, and found no piteous orb less bright above him for looking on his grief. alas, his soul entered that night into the maze of hell. for gazing on those stars and on the corpses of all he loved and knew, mangled and bare, upbraiding heaven with their lidless eyes, and heaven's eyes still smiling back at them, he said to his cold heart, "there is no god." and when the rosy dawn with jocund seeming gilded the valley as if naught had chanced, he, like the morning, banished grief and love, a hermit of carmel 333 and in his vain and cruel heart repeating "there is no god," arose to greet the sun. they took him to a village by a stream, and in the market sold him to a jew, a long-robed man, who stroked thy brother's hair 't was flaxen then and silken as thy own and chuckled as he hurried him away into a galley, by the margin moored. they voyaged long, until they reached a vast and splendid city. egypt's sunken shore stretches behind it, and before its walls pharos, by day a pillar and by night a flaming beacon, greets the mariner. 'tis satan's capital. if holy men have dwelt within it, teaching all the church, that was of old. now saracens and jews possess it wholly. there no christian thrives, but every monstrous and lascivious crime findeth a palace or a den to hide it. there did thy brother waste his youth, a slave, 3 34 a hermit of carmel and no unwilling service did he render to every base command. his shepherd's skin, ruddy with mountain suns, they smoothed with unguents, and bleached in pillared courts; they shaved his hair, forbade him labour, save to hold a torch while his young masters read, or at the banquet to mix the lucent sherbets with the snows of sinai's deepest gorge, or in the censer to drop large incense-grains. he learned to sing what songs of wine their ribald poets penned, and all the witch of lesbos raved of love. the lute and timbrel in his skilful hands they loved to place; oft in their languid souls his wild chant roused some savage memory and their hearts leapt like leopards in the night that prowl through broad sahara. his delight was henceforth the choice morsel, the fat fee, the subtle theft. he brought the gossip home from the loud market, lest his lord should yawn a hermit of carmel 35 the morning long beneath the barber's hands, nor praise his wit and to the tittering group repeat his story. in the brothel streets he ran sly errands, nor escaped in fear if as he passed some wife of potiphar plucked at his tunic. his best art it was to know the cunning mixture of good wines and poisons too, if some adulterous slave or long-lived uncle or importunate brother needed a poison.close about his soul this bitter flood of luxury crept up until it choked him. he forgot the past and blushed to be a christian. their vain prayers he learned to mutter, and was circumcised. thrice in the day, and dawn and noon and eve, he washed his feet and hands, a foolish rite that left the soul still foul. twice seven devils lodged in his body and tormented him, and lust pursued him when all ways of lust were stale and sickened. 36 a hermit of carmel but there came an end. for by the flesh as he had chiefly sinned, so in the flesh he had his punishment. ulcers and boils, to make another job, thickened upon him, and his beauty gone, they drove him like a pest from all their gates among the lepers. then he called on god. then he remembered all he once had heard but understood not touching calvary ; and rising up, all naked as he was, he plucked the stout stem of a bramble-bush to be his palmer's staff, and with a rag that once had been the blanket of a mule girded his loins, and stalked into the wild. knight. and whither, father, whither did he go? hermit. mount sinai first received him, on whose crests the lord in the beginning reared his throne, and from whose spurs and watered crevices the children of saint anthony for ever a hermit of carmel 37 pour praise and supplication. there he dwelt, recalling to his troubled memory the precepts of the faith; but from those haunts he journeyed soon to deeper solitudes. knight. then he repented and is surely saved? hermit. god grant it, son, god grant it for thy sake. 'tis not a day can change the heart of man, though grace doth much. the ancient demons lurk still in their dark recesses, and at night, or in the idle moments when the soul breathes 'mid her travail, suddenly assail. in the vast wilderness the starving eye spies many shapes that feed its lust. to me the buzz of bees, the lizard's sunny sleep, the snake's lithe coils are full of languishment. oh, how the base blood then assaults the heart crying, "fool, fool, what were the life of heaven unless in heaven too the sun were warm and the blood rose and all the passions flared, 38 a hermit of carmel even as in worms compact of earth and fire that lecherously writhe? their goads and stings are in thy flesh, why not their ravishment? " they are strange shapes the devil sometimes takes. there was a vine that crept along this wall, ancient and knotted; far its branches spread and with their leafy greenness made a bower over my cell. the juicy clusters hung not far above me, and the little birds chirped in the sun-flecked tangle all day long, hopping from twig to twig and carolling. i sat and listened, and methought they said: "bad hairy man, thou only in this world repinest, hater of thyself and us, thou art all nature's single enemy." and with a doubt that cleft my heart in twain i sat and pondered what they sang to me. then i looked up into the sunlit maze of that old vine, i breathed its subtle scent, i watched its spotted shadows shift and change a hermit of carmel 39 with gusty murmurous tremblings of its leaves and eager tendrils, curling through the air, until it seemed as if the thing had life and was a devil stooping over me with the obsession of his purring breath wooing me to perdition. but i laughed, for i had dealt with imps of hell before. i searched the stubble till i found two flints, sharp and with something like a cross upon them, and straight about the vine's outspreading roots began to dig. a week, methinks, i dug with secret joy, well knowing that in vain the demon thought to ripen all his grapes. his filthy roots, now dangling in the air, dried in the sun. in august fell the leaves, and the dead branches with the autumn's flaw rotted and broke; now, see, they feed my fire. and when the spring returns no silly birds will fret me with their singing. god be praise that i could balk that devil: long he mocked 40 a hermit of carmel x my lonely penance with his evil eye. but others come anon; and what i suffer 't is very like thy brother suffers too. knight. i cannot think so, father. thou art weak and long hast laid the hopes of youth aside. thou canst not love. my brother still is young hermit. alas, if grief had multiplied his years! knight. he yet can love, and any natural voice of wood or mountain, or perchance my own, might wake in him another better life of peace and happy hopes. we love the forest, we who were nurtured in its magic depths. oft has it seemed as if god spoke to us in the low voices of the prayerful boughs that whisper nighest heaven. hermit. this false world is naught, my son, but what we make of it. knight. then i must think my brother loves the woods and hears god's message in their murmuring. a hermit of carmel 41 had he dwelt here, a hermit like thyself, he would have suffered that old vine to grow and those blithe birds to sing. 'tis positive, else other blood than mine must fill his veins. ―――― i leave thee, father. oh, i will find him yet. thou hast with heavy tidings and great hope now i must journey on. burdened my soul. i pray, thy blessing. hermit. kneel, thou happy stranger, kneel, for a vision comes into my heart and i must prophesy. thus saith the lord: "thou shalt not know thy brother upon earth; my will forbids. but thou shalt pass him by, and as saint peter's shadow healed a man, the passing of thee, by my grace and mercy, shall save thy brother's soul." this comfort take and go thy ways. knight. the will of god be done. if not on earth, we yet may meet in heaven. hermit. god grant it. 42 a hermit of carmel may god keep thee. knight. hermit. knight [sings as he goes]. fare thee well. the star stood still o'er bethlehem that showed the wise the way, and where the shepherds sleeping lay the angels sang to them: glory be to god on high and peace on earth to men. hermit. lord of mount carmel, hearken to my prayer. god of the hills, accept my sacrifice. the knight's return the knight's return a sequel to a hermit of carmel scene. a wooded lawn before the gate of a castle. in an arbour lady flerida and nurse at their handiwork. nurse. the dews will soon be falling, flerida. come in, sweet lady. flerida. hush! 'tis early yet. nurse. 'tis time, methinks, to say the rosary. flerida. see the sun hanging o'er the darkened hills bright as the host above the multitude of bending worshippers! tell thy beads here, the congregation of these rustling leaves will answer all thy aves patiently. 45 46 a hermit of carmel nurse. i've dropped a stitch. i cannot see to work 'neath trellises. these gentlefolk are mad. the mistress of a castle sits without, like a poor homeless beggar! flerida. nay, go in and burn thy rush-light while the sun is shining, or, by the casement squinting, knit thy hose while in these gilded clouds the seraphim are singing glory. go, i follow thee. nurse [getting up to go]. alack, this rheum. young bones will brave the cold till the twitch comes. — trust me, 't is hazardous, sweet child, to tarry here beyond the moat alone, when evening falls. once at thy age my mother sent me on a night like this to good old prior bennet, at saint giles. he was her uncle and a saintly man how well do i remember his grey beard! she went to him for shrift, and on that day she had a fainting turn: she had them oft the knight's return 47 till in the last, poor sainted soul, she died. i needs must run and fetch him, for to die unreconciled was all my mother feared, and but for that, she had so hard a life she would have changed it any day for heaven, and on the way ('t was scarce a rood from home) an idle foul young lout that sauntered by griped at my frocki tremble at it still thank god, the virgin willed that at the trice friar peter (he was porter all that month) opened the gate to let two pilgrims out, bound, as they told us, for jerusalem. else heaven knows what had become of me, or whether i had ever had the face ―――――――― to cheat my husband, as most wenches do, without confessing aught: for i am honest if ever woman was. flerida. go in, go in. nurse. seest thou not i go? haste can i make 48 a hermit of carmel with these poor aching joints? thou think'st thee safe? remember ulric in his dungeon plans vengeance upon you, and his friends abroad hatch plans for his deliverance. thou a maid, an orphan, friendless, with these ill-paid men guarding thy walls, what dost thou fading here? who knows but he is dead, thy pretty knight? his time is up. were he alive and true he had spurred home, hearing thy father's death, to claim thee and make good his heritage. fie on this fondness, girl! it had been wiser to yield to ulric. was it not his place to guard thee? led he not thy father's men? ah, better be his wife, rich, safe, and loved, than wait for ever among enemies for what will never come. flerida. poor soul, go in. the five years are not passed, and if they were and i had ocular proof that he was dead, the knight's return 49 ulric should not be master in these walls. but i should open arches in the tower for bells to swing in, and the grass should grow upon the buried hinges of the draw. veiled we should walk within the garden-close, and in the dimmed hall chant our psalmodies with the frail voice of nuns. so get thee gone, and summon better counsel to thy heart than quavers on thy lips. go light thy taper, and pray for the safe-coming of thy liege. nurse. i go. but thou, sweet lady, linger not. the victuals will grow cold, as many a night they have, since summer makes the twilight long and thou com'st late to supper. ah, poor bones ! [exit. flerida. day wanes full summer's hanging in the air. oh, tarry not, my own. see the first withered leaf is fallen there and i am here alone. 4 50 a hermit of carmel hath not my sorrow magic o'er thy breast? hath not my weary plight the wings of love to fly into thy nest and reach thee in the night? come to me, palmerin. thy trial 's o'er, thy knightly vow fulfilled. come before winter chokes the ways, before my inmost soul is chilled. where dost thou wander? dost thou salute this sun? forget'st thou in gay courts what i endure? lov'st thou some happier one? from what lonely moor weak woman! can my doubting heart not wait while his true heart can fight? why should i falter while he fronts his fate, or mourn while he doth right? keep him, great world, till the white shield he bore be blazoned rich in pride. fear not to echo, deserts, he 's no more, if he have nobly died. the knight's return 51 re-enter nurse; later hugh, a page. nurse. run hither quickly, mistress. hasten in and bid them raise the bridge. some horsemen climb the western hill. make haste, or all is lost. young hugh espied them from the northern tower, and gave us warning. flerida. heaven hears my prayer. nurse. madness. come in. i prithee hasten, hugh. she 'll take thy word, though she mistrusts my oath who never lied to her in all these years that i have served her, and her mother, too, long before she was thought of. speak, boy, speak. assure thy mistress that a host arrives. hugh. a single knight, my lady, clad in arms. flerida. young, with fair locks? hugh. flerida. saw'st thou his shield? hugh. but what i know not. he had his helmet on. it bore a rich device, 52 a hermit of carmel flerida. came he mounted well? hugh. right well, on a white steed. but at the turn dismounted, and now leads the charger up. nurse. o god, 't is he! i know him by that sign. he always did so. [a bugle is heard in the distance. flerida. god be my strength! answer the bugle, hugh. thy master's call. it is sir palmerin. again, again. summon the men-at-arms and fetch my father's sword, his helm and shield, that, with the great keys, i deliver them to him whose right they are. [exit hugh. the day is come, merciful god, the day is come at last. nurse. runnest thou not to meet him? flyest thou not? oh, if i could, i'd rush to kiss his hands full half-way down the steep. alas! these bones. flerida. i, who have waited for him five long years, ( the knight's return 53 may well be patient now. here let him find me where last we parted, at the castle gate. re-enter hugh, men-at-arms, and attendant, bearing some pieces of armour. nurse. oh, i must weep for joy! see, where he comes, not so much changed but i should know him still among a thousand. such a pretty child as the knight was, and such a roguish boy! can this be palmerin? who could have fancied that he should ever be this stalwart man? enter sir palmerin, who, seeing the lady flerida, who remains motionless, goes to kneel before her. palmerin. lady, hast thou forgotten palmerin? flerida. were memory dead, that voice would waken it. palmerin. what mean these weeds, these arms? that thou, my liege, flerida. art master in this castle. 54 a hermit of carmel palmerin. ah, thy fatherhow long have we been orphaned, flerida? flerida. ten moons have shed their light upon his grave. palmerin. oh, more than fatherflerida. and thou more than son wast ever to him. he remembered thee with his last breath, and bade me, when thou camest, render his arms, his vassals, and his towers into thy hand. my lord, receive the keys. [kneels. palmerin [raising her]. how gladly, if these keys unlock thy heart, dear lady. for my prize is not these walls, nor these stout men and honourable arms. 't was not for them i served the emperor in many a battle waged in heathen lands. 't was in the hope of what no strength of arm nor kingly favour, without grace of thine, could win for any man. if thou canst love me, i take all else to do thee homage with; the knight's return 55 but if thy heart, in my long absence won by some more worthy suitor, would withdraw, keep the rest too, for to be wretched in i have this whole vast world for heritage. flerida. my hand and heart my father plighted thee upon the morning when he dubbed thee knight. both shall be true. if other ground were lacking, my father's choice were ground enough for love. palmerin. nay, let not duty and thy father's will force thee to wed me. bid thy heart pronounce. flerida. a holy love is not the fancy's choice. a mother cherishes the child she bore, nature's dear gift, bestowed with many a pang and weary vigil and sweet fluttering joy that flies over a sea of brooding care. a father is not chosen but revered, for god appointed him. 'tis destiny, and no man's wayward will, binds brothers, kindred, and childhood's friends in everlasting bonds. our native land we chose not, nor our king, 56 a hermit of carmel nor our first sovereign, god. all sacred ties are woven round us by the hand of heaven and therefore bear us up. let homeless traitors reject their lot, like fallen lucifer wretched 'neath every sky; let the false rabble change with the moon its despicable chiefs; let the vain fop and goaded libertine pick their poor pleasures, and adulterous spirits pursue a phantom down the drifts of hell. but we will breathe the air that quickened us and see by this same light that gave us eyes, here rooted where god sowed us, flowering here where we have grown, making our constancy a pivot for this wheeling universe. ah! 't is a fickle and unholy fondness springs from caprice of will. who doteth once may dote again, for who shall fetter fancy? as thou couldst bare thy breast to fortune's arrows undaunted, for thy hope was all in god and life or death must crown it, so my bosom, the knight's return 57 enshrining his good gifts, is satisfied and cannot speak again. him heaven gave me shall be my lord and my unchangeable love. palmerin. o constant lady! let me then thank heaven, that graced me with the treasure of thy troth. rejoice with me, my comrades. say no more that time has parted us, and devious chances governed our lives. how now, is this good carl? and little hugh, so grown? and thou, old gossip, goes thy rheum better now the season warms? but where is ulric? flerida. thou shalt know anon. first bid the people give us leave awhile. palmerin. make ready, then; we follow you. [exeunt all save palmerin and flerida. dear saint, is this a vision or a waking truth in which i see thee, smiling on my hopes, as only visions smile on jack-a-dreams? 58 a hermit of carmel how often have i dreamt between two battles thou stoodest thus above me in the dusk half joy, half courage! flerida. haply 't was my prayer, for prayer hath wings to travel in the night. palmerin. didst thou remember flerida. not as others pray. what need of blessings to protest i loved thee, when benediction rose with every breath from my dumb heart to thee? awake, adream, in woodland rambles or in household tasks, i moved in thy love's presence as in god's, one deity to me. palmerin. how undeserving, fair angel, are my merits of thy love! how could i win it! flerida. ah, if god can love thee, why should a mortal give a cause for love? palmerin. they say god loves us all. flerida. such pitying love 1 the knight's return 59 is his alone who knows the unsullied spirit shrouded at birth beneath this fleshly coil, and can divine the stature of that virtue each yet might climb to. but in thee declared shine, palmerin, the hopes of all the world. what god beheld and destined when he called thee out of the void, he granted me to see first through the haze of maiden dreams and now with the deep glance of woman. palmerin. then in sooth 't was no vain fancy, as the learned say, that made thy silent presence cross my path where'er i turned, for if i slept my dream painted thy smile, and when the vision fled the sunlit fountain met me with thy gaze. if the birds chirruped, it was flerida, and flerida if any minstrel sang. thy mien was in the lilies, the thin clouds contrived thy garments' fashion, and thy courage breathed from the mountains to renew my soul. бо a hermit of carmel nor was there need, for in these tables here thy name, thy looks, thy words, thy noble ways were graven deep, and, as the gaudy shadows stalked by me which men take for beauteous things, i laughed to scorn each feeble counterfeit, and cried to the sweet image in my soul how much more bright thou wast and beautiful. little i thought the love that brought me blessing brought sorrow here to thee. flerida. if it brought sorrow, that grief was consecrate and offered up to aid thy noble venture. 'twas my hope that thy young sinews in a dreamless sleep might knit them for the battle, while my vigils kept trimmed thy spirit's lamp; so might thy valour, fed on my sorrow's riches, greet the morn with more unsullied and resplendent rays than her own shining, and the wondering world should praise thy happy courage, little knowing the hidden might of love that nerved thy arm the knight's return 61 and taught thy blithe soul singing. palmerin. flerida, though i should give thee all my life and blood, my honour and immortal soul, 't were nothing but what thou gavest first, and rendering all i yet should owe thee this sweet privilege of having lived and loved thee. re-enter nurse. loitering still? jewel, till thou be mine. nurse. come, come, the supper 's spoiling. flerida [pointing to the castle]. possession of thy poor inheritance? palmerin. 'tis poor indeed, a case without its wilt thou take flerida. thou hast my plighted troth. palmerin. ah, pay the debt! my heart has waited long. flerida. no priest is in attendance, palmerin. till one be duly summoned and arrive 62 a hermit of carmel i am my father's hostage in thy hands entrusted to thy love and chivalry. palmerin. i long have bivouacked, lady, 'neath the stars, and i shall better rest beneath their light while i am still an exile from thy bosom. let me not change the canopy of heaven except for heaven's self. before this shrine i watched my virgin arms on the proud eve of my first knighting. on this prouder vigil let me hold silent session with my heart again before this altar, keeping watch over this sweeter boon, my virgin bride to be to-morrow mine. flerida [to the nurse]. bid them bring hither some wine and morsels for sir palmerin, and torches, and their lutes and dulcimers. [exit nurse. palmerin. we sup to-night beneath a lovers' moon not quite at full. the knight's return 63 flerida. we sup beneath the stars that never wane, though nether storms obscure their revolutions to the wistful eyes of mortals. so our love shall never wane but when its fame on earth is heard no more, translated to the language of the skies, it yet shall be a parcel of that joy which saves the world from baseness. 1 attendants with torches and musical instruments enter, while others bring in supper. song. come make thy dwelling here where all sweet pleasures are. for many a weary year from mates and lady dear thou wanderest afar. come make thy dwelling here beneath love's golden star. 64 a hermit of carmel the battles' stress is o'er that should thy worth approve. oh, follow now no more the ruby star of war that onward still must move. fixed shines above thy door the golden star of love. palmerin. flerida, what solace had thy orphaned life for thee was not ulric here in this fair desert? to lend thee succour? flerida. palmerin. alas? flerida. palmerin. i marvel. speak. flerida. ah me! a sorry tale. he said the castle he was here, alas! that he proved false. as to my father's second came to him; that i within it, as the world would think, must be his also. doubtless thou wast dead, the knight's return 65 else tidings would have come. to save my honour i must not wait, but bend to be his wife. palmerin. said ulric so, that brave and trusty man? only some madness could transform his soul so utterly. flerida. i question not the cause, i mark the deed and brand the infamy. when he had spoken and beheld me firm, the coward threatened force. we were alone and he unar narmed; it was a woman's body, not a man's soul, he thought to cope withal. my father's sword was hanging by the wall: i drew the blade, and as he rushed to snatch it transfixed his body; at my feet he fell writhing; i cried for help. then gunther came and the young hugh. i published his offence, and when the torment and the fever passed, for my poor strength had left some breath in him, fettered and manacled they brought him forth into the hall, before my men-at-arms 5 66 a hermit of carmel and the red witness of his own foul blood staining the hearthstone; and i spoke and said: "unhappy ulric, traitor to thy liege, whom on the cross thou tookest oath to serve, thou shalt await his sentence. when he comes he shall know all and will decree thy forfeit. but if he come not, thou shalt live in chains till god and death restore thy liberty." palmerin. is he still captive? flerida. whence hugh but now, whom christian charity prompts oft to visit our sad prisoner, saw thee approach. ulric has heard the news. palmerin. let him be brought. flerida [to the men-at-arms]. you hear my lord's command. in the northern tower, ah, palmerin, when christ returns to earth only the good shall welcome him; thy coming will bring thy faithless servant also joy, for i foresee thy sentence. } the knight's return 67 palmerin. to be merciful is to be truly just. has he not mended or purged his sin in his captivity? flerida. indeed, it seems he has. hugh and the c friar who daily visits him both bring report of many pious and profound discourses with which he charms away his solitude. god grant his wisdom may outlive its cause and not forsake him now. for, see, he comes. re-enter the men-at-arms, leading in ulric, bound. palmerin. ulric, it wounds my soul to see thee thus. undo the fetters. [ulric is freed. what has chanced i know. 't were idle to rehearse that history. only one matter, past my understanding, i ask thee to confess: how came thy soul to harbour thoughts so opposite to thine and do thy nobleness this injury? ulric. alas! the saddest sorrow of the world 68 a hermit of carmel is not foul sin, but that resplendent virtue that yet brings evil on. hideous, ignoble, or contemptible that led me to my ruin, but the might of perfect sweetness, joy unthinkable, and infinite deserts; it was the hunger for what most truly merits to be loved. 't was love, my lord, the love of flerida which, in thy bosom waking heaven's choirs, brought hell into my breast. was not her face as fair for me as thee to look upon? was not her silver voice and high discourse potent with reason on my listening ears? why was it criminal in me to love and in thee lawful? for we both were men, and i the elder and the better born, who might have wooed and won her worthily. yet with no other crime than lucklessness, because her father and her constant soul lit first on thee, the tempest of my love 'twas nothing base, the knight's return 69 wrecked honour, faith, fame, life, and hope of heaven, which, had the winds blown gently on my fortunes, the self-same love had blessed and glorified. palmerin. i pity thee; but summon not thy love to shield thy shame. hadst thou been fortunate, should i with cunning and outrageous hand have moved against thy peace? nay, by god's mercy, i should have gone my way, and patiently in other worlds have justified my soul; for sorrow more religiously than love counselleth mortals. ulric. ah, i loved too much. palmerin. thou sayest well, too much. not that thy love in sweetness or in silent potency of grief surpassed or mine or any man's. but finding in thy spirit no defence, love fattened on thy reason, drank thy will, and quite consumed thy being; growing great, 70 a hermit of carmel it left thee little, as, when a fiery wind devours the stubble, both together perish and all goes out in shame. water these ashes, ulric, with warm and consecrated tears, that haply some new sweetness thence arise beneath another heaven. though thou leave us, our hearts will not forget thee. in thy prayers remember us, and use thy freedom well. ulric. i thank thee for thy counsel and thy mercy, generous knight. not comfortless i go, for not thy lips alone, well catechised, forgive me, palmerin: thy heart forgives. i would not use my freedom now to rove but to ascend. a cloister's little earth is covered by the whole wide firmament. being changed within, there let me live and die an anchorite, that i may outwardly become a breathing symbol and a hand pointing to heaven, become a lamp of love and keep my spirit's sacrificial flame the knight's return 71 burning before the altar, till my blood, its living oil, to light refine its fire and rise, by prayer transmuted, from this world. and at this parting let me bless thee, lady, angel god chose to save me from my sin even by tempting me. for in the storm and fury of my madness thy calm eyes that unaware had called me, as the moon summons the leaping sea to follow her, soon with quick bolt and soul-transfixing ire awaked me from my dream. for who was i, that i should lift me to so pure a being except in adoration, as the wave that mirrors in its slimy breast the glory of some clear star, soon, grateful for that light, sinks, moaning, to its restless element. so moaned i, in my dungeon's loneliness and in that larger solitude, the world, where now no joy remained to beckon me. i cried to nature, questioned sun and moon, 72 a hermit of carmel at my cell's bars celestial visitants; yes, i importuned my own soul to tell me whether a man be born to look on good and straightway perish. long i questioned fate. no answer came from heaven to my doubts; but with the spring and the reviving note of thrush and swallow, and the ploughman's song heard from the fields, i somewhat calmed my griefs, and my heart took new counsel. though a wave mirror a star and sink into the sea, it cannot suffer; though the summer fade it shivers not at autumn; though the spheres crash back to chaos they lament it not. never the blasted deserts of the moon mourned their lost verdure or implored reprieve. but my loud heart-beats, self-contemplative, note their own weariness, and death foreknown makes life a grim and halting agony. yet something in me rides on circumstance and swims the tide of change. how should that die the knight's return 73 1333 which knows its dying, or that pine and fade which marks the shrivelled leafage of the year? can ashes choke that voice to lying silence which once has said: i love? that truth must live though unremembered, and that splendour shine though all eyes close in sleep. when first i loved thee incense, nations and worlds unceasing hecatombs. there, growing one with all that ravished me, i also burn and never cease from love. farewell, sweet lady. for thy pity thanks, something immortal darted through my flesh and made me godlike. henceforth all of me that loved thee, all of thee my puissant love hedging with worship rescued from the void lives in eternity, a part of god, who feeds with earth's unquenchable desire the skies' ethereal altar, to whose flame passions are brands, thoughts smoke and frank74 a hermit of carmel more thanks for thy disdain, but for thy beauty infinite thanks, for it was infinite and, while it blinded most, unsealed mine eyes. flerida. go in god's peace, and may he grant thee grace to see him always. [exit ulric. palmerin, this night brings me a surfeit and a cloud of joys. i cannot seize them all. but many days will suck their drop of sweetness from this store, and many silent nights and absences feed on its garnered bliss. what, prattling still? nurse. you'll catch the ague and the chill of the fens, and lolling in the moonlight, talking love, you'll die before the wedding. come along. palmerin. sleep, flerida, falls sweetly on a heart freed from long doubt and anguish. take thy rest. palmerin watches at thy castle gates and all is well. sleep, sleep, my flerida. the knight's return 75 flerida. let me gaze long upon thee ere i go, lest, waking, i believe that i have dreamt and weep anew and be disconsolate. palmerin. ah, were i only lying by thy side at the first checking of thy peaceful breath, to chase away that doubt before it grieved thee and with two kisses close thy dreamful eyes! alas that we should meet to part, and love only to be divided! flerida. palmerin, though thou hast faced the world and conquered it, thy noble heart is young. my briefer years and lonely life have farther traced the thread by which fate guides us through this labyrinth. to learn to part, to learn to be divided, we meet and love on earth; to learn to die is the one triumph of the life of prayer. shall love be but to hug the mother's breast, or else run wailing? to prolong for ever the lovers' kiss, or pine for blandishments? 76 a hermit of carmel is the lord's body but unleavened bread weighed with a baker's measure, or his blood wine to be drunk in bumpers? and shall love be reckoned in embraces, and its grace die with the taking of its sacrament? these be but symbols to the eye of time of secrets written in eternity. the love that fed must wean the nourished soul, and through the dark and narrow vale of death send forth the lover lone but panoplied. else life were vain and love a moment's trouble that, passing, left untenanted the void, as summer winds a-tremble in this bower might waft some fragrance from a rifled rose through yonder gulf of night and nothingness. hadst thou in battle fallen, were my soul bereft of palmerin? or had i languished, would flerida have mocked thy constancy? banish such thoughts, dear master of my being, from thy immortal soul. these fond enchantments the knight's return 77 make the sweet holiday and youth of love; they are a largess and bright boon of heaven. to sweeten our resolves. but youth will fade, and death, not mowing with a two-edged scythe, will cut down one and leave the other bowing before the wintry wind. arm not with terror that swift, unheralded, insidious foe, but let him find our love invulnerable and our heart's treasure in eternal hands. my lord, good-night. to-day my joy is full, to god i leave to-morrow. fare thee well. palmerin [kneeling to kiss the hand she gives him]. good-night, my own. may angels guard thy slumber―――――――――――― flerida. and share thy vigil palmerin. till my angel come. [exit flerida, followed by her household. as they go, some voices repeat snatches of the previous song: "come make thy dwelling here," etc. 78 a hermit of carmel palmerin [alone]. no, palmerin, unbuckle not thy arms, guard well thy lady's sleep. haply the wizards of the wood have charms to make a virgin weep. all goblin sprites and fairies of the trees that lead their impish dance will spy thy mantle's cross; their blood will freeze to see a christian lance. hark! the old croaking frogs, and the far din of crickets in the field. they bid me welcome home. hie, palmerin, once of the argent shield, 66 "what's this device? is flerida this flower, and these five pearls her tears, shed for thy love in her disconsolate bower these five unhappy years? the knight's return 79 "those sable bars athwart a field of gules, are they thy nights and days spent mid bluff captains and rash drunken fools in marches, bouts, and frays?" ay, ye chirp well, if i divine your note, ye civil, croaking elves! a foolish master have your fields and moat and your so learned selves. nothing he knows of wit or bookish lore and nothing of the fair, only to break the brutal front of war and half repeat a prayer. yet this sad wight is he, as fairies know, whom flerida hath blest, soon locked within her arms. was locked within his breast, she long ago 80 a hermit of carmel celestial flerida, whom all the hours adorning from her birth have crowned the queen of stars, the queen of flowers, the queen of maids on earth. her peerless heart hath chosen him her lord, the rare intrepid maid, whose tender hand incarnadined a sword lest he should be betrayed. out of his nothingness her bounteous love bred all his poor desert as god lent to the void he made us of his image for a heart. like to the dateless dark before our birth are those five winters past, this vigil like the twilight life of earth, then paradise at last the knight's return 81 and changeless love. how in the paling skies the star of morning burns! open, heaven's gates! eternal sun, arise! sir palmerin returns. 6 elegiac and lyric poems premonition the muffled syllables that nature speaks fill us with deeper longing for her word; she hides a meaning that the spirit seeks, she makes a sweeter music than is heard. a hidden light illumines all our seeing, an unknown love enchants our solitude. we feel and know that from the depths of being exhales an infinite, a perfect good. though the heart wear the garment of its sorrow and be not happy like a naked star, yet from the thought of peace some peace we borrow, some rapture from the rapture felt afar. 85 86 premonition our heart strings are too coarse for nature's fingers to wake her purest melodies upon, and the harsh tremor that among them lingers will into sweeter silence die anon. we catch the broken prelude and suggestion of things unuttered, needing to be sung; we know the burden of them, and their question lies heavy on the heart, nor finds a tongue. till haply, lightning through the storm of ages, our sullen secret flash from sky to sky, glowing in some diviner poet's pages and swelling into rapture from this sigh. solipsism i could believe that i am here alone, and all the world my dream; the passion of the scene is all my own, and things that seem but seem. perchance an exhalation of my sorrow hath raised this vaporous show, for whence but from my soul should all things borrow so deep a tinge of woe? i keep the secret doubt within to be the gods' defence, to ease the heart by too much ruth oppressed and drive the horror hence. my breast 87 88 solipsism o sorrow that the patient brute should cower and die, not having sinned! o pity that the wild and fragile flower should shiver in the wind! then were i dreaming dreams i know not of, for that is part of me that feels the piercing pang of grief and love and doubts eternally. but whether all to me the vision come or break in many beams, the pageant ever shifts, and being's sum is but the sum of dreams. sybaris lap, ripple, lap, icarian wave, the sand along the ruins of this piteous land; murmur the praises of a lost delight, and soothe the aching of my starvèd sight with sheen of mirrored beauties, caught aright. here stood enchanted palaces of old, all veinèd porphyry and burnished gold; here matrons and slight maidens sat aloof beneath cool porches, rich with tyrian woof hung from the carven rafters of the roof. here in the mart a swarthy turbaned brave showed the wrought blade or praised the naked slave. 89 90 sybaris "touch with your finger-tips this edge of steel," quoth he," and see this lad, from head to heel like a bronze cupid. feel, my masters, feel." here aphrodite filled with frenzied love the dark recesses of her murmurous grove. the doves that haunted it, the winds that sighed, were souls of youths that in her coverts died, and hopes of heroes strewed her garden wide. under her shades a narrow brazen gate led to the courts of ares and of fate. who entered breathed the unutterable prayer of cruel hearts, and death was worshipped there, and men went thence enfranchised by despair. here the proud athlete in the baths delayed, while a cool fountain on his shoulders played, then in fine linen swathed his breast and thighs, and silent, myrtle-crowned, with serious eyes, stepped forth to list the wranglings of the wise. sybaris 91 a sage stalked by, his ragged mantle bound about his brows; his eyes perused the ground; he conned the number of the cube and square of the moon's orb; his horny feet and bare trampled the lilies carpeting the stair. a jasper terrace hung above the sea where the king supped with his beloved three: the libyan chanted of her native land in raucous melody, the indian fanned, and the huge mastiff licked his master's hand. below, alone, despairing of the gale, a crouching sailor furled the saffron sail; then rose, breathed deep, and plunged in the lagoon. a mermaid spied his glistening limbs: her croon enticed him down; her cold arms choked him soon. and the king laughed, filled full his jewelled bowl, and drinking cried: "what know we of the soul? 92 sybaris what number addeth to her harmony these drops of vintage that attune her key, or those of brine that set the wretched free? "if death should change me, as old fables feign, into some slave or beast, to purge with pain my lordly pleasures, let my torment be still to behold thee, sybaris, and see the sacred horror of thy loves and thee. "be thou my hell, my dumb eternal grief, but spare thy king the madness of belief, the brutish faith of ignorant desire that strives and wanders. let the visible fire that doom is higher. of beauty torture me. "i wear the crown of life. the rose and gem twine with the pale gold of my diadem. nature, long secret, hath unveiled to me and proved her vile. her wanton bosoms be my pillow now. i know her, i am free.” sybaris 93 3335 he spoke, and smiling stretched a languid hand, and music burst in mighty chords and bland of harp and flute and cymbal. — when between two cypresses the large moon rose, her sheen silvered the nymphs' feet, tripping o'er the green. avila again my feet are on the fragrant moor amid the purple uplands of castile, realm proudly desolate and nobly poor, scorched by the sky's inexorable zeal. wide desert where a diadem of towers above adajar hems a silent town, and locks, unmindful of the mocking hours, her twenty temples in a granite crown. the shafts of fervid light are in the sky, and in my heart the mysteries of yore. here the sad trophies of my spirit lie: these dead fulfilled my destiny before. 94 1 ) avila 95 like huge primeval stones that strew this plain, their nameless sorrows sink upon my breast, and like this ardent sky their cancelled pain smiles at my grief and quiets my unrest. for here hath mortal life from age to age endured the silent hand that makes and mars, and, sighing, taken up its heritage beneath the smiling and inhuman stars. still o'er this town the crested castle stands, a nest for storks, as once for haughty souls; still from the abbey, where the vale expands, the curfew for the long departed tolls, wafting some ghostly blessing to the heart from prayer of nun or silent capuchin, to heal with balm of golgotha the smart of weary labour and distracted sin. 96 avila what fate has cast me on a tide of time careless of joy and covetous of gold, what force compelled to weave the pensive rhyme when loves are mean, and faith and honour old, when riches crown in vain men's sordid lives, and learning chokes a mind of base degree? what winged spirit rises from their hives? what heart, revolting, ventures to be free? their pride will sink and more ignobly fade without memorial of its hectic fire. what altars shall survive them, where they prayed? what lovely deities? what riven lyre? tarry not, pilgrim, but with inward gaze pass daily, musing, where their prisons are, and o'er the ocean of their babble raise thy voice in greeting to thy changeless star. " 1 avila 97 abroad a tumult, and a ruin here ; nor world nor desert hath a home for thee. out of the sorrows of the barren year build thou thy dwelling in eternity. let patience, faith's wise sister, be thy heaven, and with high thoughts necessity alloy. love is enough, and love is ever given, while fleeting days bring gift of fleeting joy. the little pleasures that to catch the sun bubble a moment up from being's deep, the glittering sands of passion as they run, the merry laughter and the happy sleep,— these are the gems that, like the stars on fire, encrust with glory all our heaven's zones; each shining atom, in itself entire, brightens the galaxy of sister stones, 7 98 avila dust of a world that crumbled when god's dream to throbbing pulses broke the life of things, and mingled with the void the scattered gleam of many orbs that move in many rings, perchance at last into the parent sun to fall again and reunite their rays, when god awakes and gathers into one the light of all his loves and all his days. } king's college chapel the buttress frowns, the gorgeous windows blaze, the vault hangs wonderful with woven fans, the four stone sentinels to heaven raise their heads, in a more constant faith than man's. the college gathers, and the courtly prayer is answered still by hymn and organ-groan ; the beauty and the mystery are there, the virgin and saint nicholas are gone. not one ora pro nobis bids them pause in their far flight, to hear this anthem roll; no heart, of all that the king's relic awes, sings requiescat to his mournful soul. 99 100 king's college chapel no grain of incense thrown upon the embers of their cold hearth, no lamp in witness hung before their image. one alone remembers; only the stranger knows their mother tongue. long rows of tapers light the people's places; the little choristers may read, and mark the rhythmic fall; i see their wondering faces; only the altar-like the soul — is dark. ye floating voices through these arches ringing with measured music, subtle, sweet, and strong, feel ye the inmost reason of your singing? know ye the ancient burden of your song? the twilight deepens, and the blood-dyed glories of all these fiery blazonings are dim. oh, they are jumbled, sad, forgotten stories! why should ye read them, children? chant your hymn. king's college chapel ioi but i must con them while the rays of even kindle aloft some fading jewel-gleam and the vast windows glow a peopled heaven, rich with the gathering pageant of my dream. eden i see, where from the leafy cover the green-eyed snake begins to uncoil his length and whispers to the woman and her lover, as they lie musing, large, in peaceful strength. i see their children, bent with toil and terror, lurking in caves, or heaping madly on the stones of babel, or the endless error of sodom, nineveh, and babylon. here the egyptian, wedding life with death, flies from the sun into his painted tomb, and winds the secret of his antique faith tight in his shroud, and seals in sterile gloom. 102 king's college chapel there the bold prophets of the heart's desire hail the new zion god shall build for them, and rapt isaiah strikes the heavenly lyre, and jeremiah mourns jerusalem. here david's daughter, full of grace and truth, kneels in the temple, waiting for the lord; with the first ave comes the winged youth, bringing the lily ere he bring the sword. there, to behold the mother and the child, the sturdy shepherds down the mountain plod, and angels sing, with voices sweet and wild and wide lips parted: "glory be to god." here, mounted on an ass, the twain depart to hallowed egypt, safe from herod's wrong; and mary ponders all things in her heart, and pensive joseph sadly walks along. king's college chapel 103 there with the twelve, before his blood is shed, christ blesses bread and breaks it with his hands, "this is my body." thomas shakes his head, they marvel all, and no one understands, save john, whom jesus loved above the rest. he marvels too, but, seeking naught beside, leans, as his wont is, on his master's breast. ah! the lord's body also should abide. there golgotha is dark against the blue in the broad east, above the painted crowd, and many look upon the sign, but few read the hard lesson of the cross aloud. and from this altar, now an empty tomb, the lord is risen. lo! he is not here. no shining angel sitteth in the gloom, no magdalen in anguish draweth near. budars 104 king's college chapel all pure in heart, or all in aspect pure, the seemly christians, kneeling, line the choir, and drop their eyelids, tender and demure, as the low lingering harmonies expire. in that amen are the last echoes blended of all the ghostly world. the shades depart into the sacred night. in peace is ended the long delirious fever of the heart. then i go forth into the open wold and breathe the vigour of the freshening wind, and with the piling drift of cloud i hold a worship sweeter to the homeless mind, where the squat willows with their osiers crowned border the humble reaches of the cam, and the deep meadows stretching far around make me forget the exile that i am, king's college chapel 105 exile not only from the wind-swept moor where guadarrama lifts his purple crest, but from the spirit's realm, celestial, sure goal of all hope and vision of the best. they also will go forth, these gentle youths, strong in the virtues of their manful isle, till one the pathway of the forest smooths, and one the ganges rules, and one the nile; and to whatever wilderness they choose their hearts will bear the sanctities of home, the perfect ardours of the grecian muse, the mighty labour of the arms of rome; but, ah! how little of these storied walls beneath whose shadow all their nurture was! no, not one passing memory recalls the blessed mary and saint nicholas. 106 king's college chapel unhappy king, look not upon these towers, remember not thine only work that grew. the moving world that feeds thy gift devours, and the same hand that finished overthrew. on an unfinished statue by michael angelo in the bargello, called an apollo or a david what beauteous form beneath a marble veil awaited in this block the master's hand? could not the magic of his art avail to unseal that beauty's tomb and bid it stand? alas! the torpid and unwilling mass misknew the sweetness of the mind's control, and the quick shifting of the winds, alas! denied a body to that flickering soul. fair homeless spirit, harbinger of bliss, it wooed dead matter that they both might live, but dreamful earth still slumbered through the kiss and missed the blessing heaven stooped to give, 107 108 on an unfinished statue as when endymion, locked in dullard sleep, endured the gaze of dian, till she turned stung with immortal wrath and doomed to weep her maiden passion ignorantly spurned. how should the vision stay to guide the hand, how should the holy thought and ardour stay, when the false deeps of all the soul are sand and the loose rivets of the spirit clay? what chisel shaking in the pulse of lust shall find the perfect line, immortal, pure? what fancy blown by every random gust shall mount the breathless heavens and endure? vain was the trance through which a thrill of joy passed for the nonce, when a vague hand, unled, half shaped the image of this lovely boy and caught the angel's garment as he fled. 1 1 1 t i 1 on an unfinished statue 109 leave, leave, distracted hand, the baffling stone, and on that clay, thy fickle heart, begin. mould first some steadfast virtue of thine own out of the sodden substance of thy sin. they who wrought wonders by the nile of old, bequeathing their immortal part to us, cast their own spirit first into the mould and were themselves the rock they fashioned thus. ever their docile and unwearied eye traced the same ancient pageant to the grave, and awe made rich their spirit's husbandry with the perpetual refluence of its wave, till 'twixt the desert and the constant nile sphinx, pyramid, and awful temple grew, and the vast gods, self-knowing, learned to smile beneath the sky's unalterable blue. 110 on an unfinished statue long, long ere first the rapt arcadian swain heard pan's wild music pulsing through the grove, his people's shepherds held paternal reign beneath the large benignity of jove. long mused the delphic sibyl in her cave ere mid his laurels she beheld the god, and beauty rose a virgin from the wave in lands the foot of heracles had trod. athena reared her consecrated wall, poseidon laid its rocky basement sure, when theseus had the monstrous race in thrall and made the worship of his people pure. long had the stripling stood in silence, veiled, hearing the heroes' legend o'er and o'er, long in the keen palæstra striven, nor quailed to tame the body to the task it bore, 1 4 1 } on an unfinished statue iii ere soul and body, shaped by patient art, walked linked with the gods, like friend with friend, and reason, mirrored in the sage's heart, beheld her purpose and confessed her end. mould, then, thyself and let the marble be. look not to frailty for immortal themes, nor mock the travail of mortality with barren husks and harvesting of dreams. midnight the dank earth reeks with three days' rain, the phantom trees are dark and still, above the darkness and the hill the tardy moon shines out again. o heavy lethargy of pain! o shadows of forgotten ill! my parrot lips, when i was young, to prove and to disprove were bold. the mighty world has tied my tongue, and in dull custom growing old i leave the burning truth untold and the heart's anguish all unsung. 112 midnight 113 youth dies in man's benumbèd soul, maid bows to woman's broken life, a thousand leagues of silence roll between the husband and the wife. the spirit faints with inward strife and lonely gazing at the pole. but how should reptiles pine for wings or a parched desert know its dearth? immortal is the soul that sings the sorrow of her mortal birth. o cruel beauty of the earth! o love's unutterable stings! 8 in grantchester meadows on first hearing a skylark sing too late, thou tender songster of the sky trilling unseen, by things unseen inspired, i list thy far-heard cry that poets oft to kindred song hath fired, as floating through the purple veils of air thy soul is poured on high, a little joy in an immense despair. too late thou biddest me escape the earth, in ignorance of wrong to spin a little slender thread of song; on yet unwearied wing to rise and soar and sing, not knowing death or birth or any true unhappy human thing. 114 in grantchester meadows 115 to dwell 'twixt field and cloud, by river-willow and the murmurous sedge, be thy sweet privilege, to thee and to thy happy lords allowed. my native valley higher mountains hedge 'neath starlit skies and proud, and sadder music in my soul is loud. yet have i loved thy voice, frail echo of some ancient sacred joy. ah, who might not rejoice here to have wandered, a fair english boy, and breathed with life thy rapture and thy rest where woven meadow-grasses fold thy nest? but whose life is his choice? and he who chooseth not hath chosen best. futility fair nature, has thy wisdom naught to say to cheer thy child in a disconsolate hour? why do thy subtle hands betray their power and but half-fashioned leave thy finer clay? upon what journeys doth thy fancy stray that weeds in thy broad garden choke the flower, and many a pilgrim harboured in thy bower. a stranger came, a stranger went away? ah, mother, little can the soul avail unchristened at some font of ancient love. what boots the vision if the meaning fail, when all the marvels of the skies above march to the passions they are mirrors of? if the heart pine, the very stars will pale. į 1 1 116 before a statue of achilles i behold pelides with his yellow hair, proud child of thetis, hero loved of jove; above the frowning of his brows it wove a crown of gold, well combed, with spartan care. who might have seen him, sullen, great, and fair, as with the wrongful world he proudly strove, and by high deeds his wilder passion shrove, mastering love, resentment, and despair. he knew his end, and phoebus' arrow sure he braved for fame immortal and a friend, despising life; and we, who know our end, know that in our decay he shall endure and all our children's hearts to grief inure, with whose first bitter battles his shall blend. 117 118 before a statue of achilles ii who brought thee forth, immortal vision, who in phthia or in tempe brought thee forth? out of the sunlight and the sapful earth what god the simples of thy spirit drew? a goddess rose from the green waves, and threw her arms about a king, to give thee birth; a centaur, patron of thy boyish mirth, over the meadows in thy footsteps flew. now thessaly forgets thee, and the deep thy keeled bark furrowed answers not thy prayer; but far away new generations keep thy laurels fresh, where branching isis hems the lawns of oxford round about, or where enchanted eton sits by pleasant thames. before a statue of achilles 119 iii i gaze on thee as phidias of old or polyclitus gazed, when first he saw these hard and shining limbs, without a flaw, and cast his wonder in heroic mould. unhappy me who only may behold, nor make immutable and fix in awe a fair immortal form no worm shall gnaw, a tempered mind whose faith was never told! the godlike mien, the lion's lock and eye, the well-knit sinew, utter a brave heart better than many words that part by part spell in strange symbols what serene and whole in nature lives, nor can in marble die. the perfect body is itself the soul. x odi et amo i love and hate. alas, the why i know not: but i love, and die. catullus. a wreathèd altar was this pagan heart, in sad denial dressed and high intent, and amid ruins fed its flame apart, heedless of shadows as they came and went. till the poor soul, enticed by what she saw, forsook her grief's eternal element, filled with her tears a well from which to draw, and flooded heaven with a light she lent. a thousand times that mirrored glory fled, by ravished eyes a thousand times pursued ; yet loving hope outlived all beauties dead, 120 odi et amo 121 and hunger turned the very stones to food. insensate love, wilt thou then never tire, breeding the fuel of thy proper fire? ii what gleaming cross rebukes this infidel? what lion groans, awakened in his lair? angel or demon, what unearthly spell returns, divinely false like all things fair, to mock this desolation? fleeting vision, frail as a smoke-wreath in the sunlit air, indomitable hope or vain derision, madness or revelation, sin or prayer, what art thou? is man's sum of wisdom this, that he believe denying, and blaspheme worshipping still, and drink eternal bliss out of the maddening chalice of a dream? strange sweetness that embitterest content, art thou a poison or a sacrament? cathedrals by the sea reply to a sonnet beginning "cathedrals are not built along the sea” for æons had the self-responsive tide risen to ebb, and tempests blown to clear, and the belated moon refilled her sphere to wane anew for, æons since, she died when to the deeps that called her earth replied (lest year should cancel unavailing year) and took from her dead heart the stones to rear a cross-shaped temple to the crucified. then the wild winds through organ-pipes descended to utter what they meant eternally, and not in vain the moon devoutly mended her wasted taper, lighting calvary, while with a psalmody of angels blended the sullen diapason of the sea. 122 mont brévent o dweller in the valley, lift thine eyes to where, above the drift of cloud, the stone endures in silence, and to god alone upturns its furrowed visage, and is wise. there yet is being, far from all that dies, and beauty where no mortal maketh moan, where larger planets swim the liquid zone, and wider spaces stretch to calmer skies. only a little way above the plain is snow eternal. round the mountain's knees hovers the fury of the wind and rain. look up, and teach thy noble heart to cease from endless labour. there is perfect peace only a little way above thy pain. 123 the rustic at the play our youth is like a rustic at the play that cries aloud in simple-hearted fear, curses the villain, shudders at the fray, and weeps before the maiden's wreathèd bier. yet once familiar with the changeful show, he starts no longer at a brandished knife, but, his heart chastened at the sight of woe, ponders the mirrored sorrows of his life. so tutored too, i watch the moving art of all this magic and impassioned pain that tells the story of the human heart in a false instance, such as poets feign; i smile, and keep within the parchment furled that prompts the passions of this strutting world. 124 resurrection the soul of a buried body methought that i was dead, felt my large heart, a tomb within the tomb, cold, hope-untenanted, not thankless for this gloom. for all i loved on earth had fled before me. i was the last to die. i heard what my soul hated tramping o'er me, and knew that trouble stalked beneath the sky. but now is loosed the mailèd hand of death clapped on my mouth. i seem to draw a breath and something like a sigh. 125 126 resurrection i feel the blood again coursing within my body's quickened house, feel hands and throat and brain, and dim thoughts growing plain, or dreams of thoughts. so spring might thaw the boughs and from its winter's lethargy arouse an oak's numb spirit. but hark! i seem to hear a sound, like distant thunder. above the quaking earth it breaks, or under, and cracks the riven sphere. this vault is widened, i may lift my head, behold a ray! the sun! ― i was not dead. ――― the angel of eternity yes, dead. be not affrighted. ages have passed. this world is not the same. thy lamp of life, relighted, burns with a purer flame. resurrection 127 the soul what lovely form art thou? what spirit, voice, or face known and unknown? i cannot name thee now nor the long-vanished place where first i pledged thee some forgotten vow. dear mother or sweet son or young love dead or lost familiar friend, which of these all art thou, or all, or none, bright stranger, that dost bend thy glorious golden head, a kindlier sun, above the wakened dead? the angel we are not strangers. "t is the world was strange, that rude antique parade of earth and sky, that foolish pageant of mortality and weary round of change. till this glad moment thou hast lived in dreams, 128 resurrection nursed in a fable, catechised to croon the empty science of a sun and moon that with their dubious beams light the huge dusky stage of all that seems. believe it not, my own. awake, depart out of the shades of hell, trusting the sacred spell that falls upon thy strong perplexed heart, the joy ineffable, the nameless premonition and dire pang of love. be free at last, free as the hopes that from thy sorrow sprang. forget the horror of the tyrant past, forget the gods, forget the baleful shadow on the present cast by all that is not yet. arise and follow me. say not i seem a shadow among shades, a dryad's laugh amid the windy glades, a swimmer's body guessed beneath the stream. resurrection 129 this is the dawn of day, thy dream-oppressed vision breaking through its icy hood of clay and plunging deep into the balmy blue. bid thy vain cares adieu and say farewell to earth, thy foster-mother. she hath befooled thee long, and fondly thought to smother the sweet and cruel laughter of my song which the stars sing together, and the throng of seraphs ever shout to one another. come, heaven-chosen brother, dear kinsman, come along. the soul to what fields beside what rivers dost thou beckon me, fair love? with no sprinkled stars above is high heaven seen? or quivers, 9 130 resurrection with no changes of the moon, her bright path athwart the pool? is thy strange world beautiful? tell me true, before i shake from my sense this heavy swoon. tell me true, lest i awake into deeper dreams, poor fool, and rejoice for nothing's sake. the angel for mortals life and truth are things apart, nor when the first is done know they the other; for their lusty youth is madness, and their age oblivion. but henceforth thou art one with the supernal mind, not born in labour nor in death resigned, the life of all that live, the light by whose eclipse the world is blind, resurrection 131 the truth of all that know, the joy for which we grieve, and the untasted sweet that makes our woe. now thou hast drained the wine shatter the glass. the music was divine, let the voice pass. linger not in the host of the long lost bidding the dying bring meal-cakes and fruit, and sing to cheer thy ghost. but be the living joy that tunes all song, the loves of girl and boy, the hopes that throng the unconquerable heart, defying wrong. seek for thine immortality of bliss not other brighter skies or later worlds than this, 132 resurrection but all that in this struggle is the prize, the love that wings the kiss, the truth the visions miss. the soul my heaven lives, bright angel, in thine eyes. as when, beside the lake of galilee, john, o'er his meshes bent, looked up, and saw another firmament when god said, follow me ; so is my world transfigured, seeing thee, and, looking in thine eyes, i am content, and with thy sweet voice for all argument i leave my tangled nets beside the sea. done is my feigned task, fallen the mask that made me other, o my soul, than thee. i have fulfilled my pain and borne my cross, and my great gain 1 ( resurrection 133 is to have known my loss. keep, blessed vision, keep the sacred beauty that entranced my soul. i have read; seal the scroll. i have lived; let me sleep. the angel behold, i close thine eyes with the first touch of my benignant hands. with consecrated brands i light thy pyre and loose thy spirit's bands. the eternal gods receive thy sacrifice, the changeless bless thy embers. may there arise from thence no wailing ghost that shivers and remembers the haunts he loved, where he hath suffered most. the life that lived by change is dead, nor changeth more. no eager, dull, oblivious senses pore on portents dark and strange. 134 resurrection thy first life was not life, nor was thy first death death. thy children took thy heritage of strife, and thy transmutable breath passed to another heart that travaileth. now thou hast truly died; escaped, renounced, defied the insensate fervour and the fret of being; and thy own master, freed from shame of murderous need, pure, just, all-seeing, now thou shalt live indeed. the soul i pay the price of birth, my earth returns to earth. hurry my ashes, thou avenging wind, into the vortex of the whirling spheres ! i die, for i have sinned, yea, i have loved, and drained my heart of tears. resurrection 135 and thou within whose womb, mother of nations, labouring universe, my life grew, be its tomb. thou brought'st me forth, take now my vital seed. receive thy wage, thou iron-hearted nurse, thy blessing i requite thee and thy curse. now shall my ashes breed within thy flesh for every thought a thought, for every deed a deed, for every pang i bore an everlasting need, for every wrong a wrong, and endless war. all earthly hopes resigned and all thy battle's spoils i lay upon thine altar and restore; but the inviolate mind is loosened from thy toils by thy own fatal fires. i mount, i soar, glad phoenix, from the flame into the placid heaven whence i came, 136 resurrection floating upon the smoke's slow lurid wings into my native sky to bear report of all this vanity and sad offence of things, where with knowledge i may lie, veiled in the shadow of eternal wings. the angel if in the secret sessions of our love above the heavenly spheres, some stain upon the page of wisdom prove her earthly price of tears, cling closer, my beloved, that the beat of my unruffled heart may tune thy own, its tenderer counterpart, to noble courage, and from this high seat of our divine repose large consolation flow to mortal woes. for 'neath the sun's fierce heat, in midst of madness and inscrutable throes, resurrection 137 his heart is strong who knows that o'er the mountains come the silent feet of patience, leading peace, and his complainings cease to see the starlight shining on the snows. translations from michael angelo i "non so se s'è la desiata luce" i know not if from uncreated spheres some longed-for ray it be that warms my breast, or lesser light, in memory expressed, of some once lovely face, that reappears, or passing rumour ringing in my ears, or dreamy vision, once my bosom's guest, that left behind i know not what unrest, haply the reason of these wayward tears. but what i feel and seek, what leads me on, comes not of me; nor can i tell aright where shines the hidden star that sheds this light. since i beheld thee, sweet and bitter fight within me. resolution have i none. can this be, master, what thine eyes have done? 141 142 from michael angelo ii "il mio refugio" the haven and last refuge of my pain (a strong and safe defence) are tears and supplications, but in vain. love sets upon me banded with disdain, one armed with pity and one armed with death, and as death smites me, pity lends me breath. else had my soul long since departed thence. she pineth to remove whither her hopes of endless peace abide and beauty dwelleth without beauty's pride, there her last bliss to prove. but still the living fountain of my tears wells in the heart when all thy truth appears, lest death should vanquish love. from michael angelo 143 iii "gli occhi miei vaghi delle cose belle" ravished by all that to the eyes is fair, yet hungry for the joys that truly bless, my soul can find no stair to mount to heaven, save earth's loveliness. for from the stars above descends a glorious light that lifts our longing to their highest height and bears the name of love. nor is there aught can move a gentle heart, or purge or make it wise, but beauty and the starlight of her eyes. from alfred de musset souvenir i weep, but with no bitterness i weep, to look again upon thee, hallowed spot, o dearest grave, and most of men forgot, where buried love doth sleep. what witchcraft think you that this desert hath, dear friends, who take my hand and bid me stay, now that the gentle wont of many a day would lead me down this path? here are the wooded slopes, the flowering heath, the silver footprints on the silent sand, the loitering lanes, alive with lovers' breath, where first i kissed her hand. 144 from alfred de musset 145 i know these fir-trees, and this mossy stone, and this deep gorge, and all its winding ways; these friendly giants, whose primeval moan hath rocked my happy days. my footsteps' echo in this tangled tree gives back youth's music, like a singing bird; dear haunts, fair wilderness her presence stirred, did you not watch for me? i will not dry these tear-drops: let them flow, and soothe a bitterness that yet might last, and o'er my waking-weary eyelids throw the shadow of the past. my useless plainings shall not make to cease the happy echoes of the vows we vowed: proud is this forest in its noble peace, and my heart too is proud. io 146 from alfred de musset give o'er to hopeless grief the bitter hours you kneel to pray upon a brother's tomb : here blows the breath of love, and graveyard flowers not in this garden bloom. see! the moon rides athwart a bank of cloud. thy veils, fair queen of night, still cling to thee, but soon thou loosenest thy virgin shroud and smilest to be free. as the rich earth, still dank with april rain, beneath thy rays exhales day's captive balm, so from my purgèd soul, as pure, as calm, the old love breathes again. where are they gone, those ghosts of sorrow pale, where fled the passion that my heart defiled? once in the bosom of this friendly vale i am again a child. from alfred de musset 147 o might of time, o changes of the year, ye undo sorrow and the tears we shed, but, touched with pity, on our blossoms sere your light feet never tread. heavenly solace, be for ever blest! i had not thought a sword could pierce so far into the heart, and leave upon the breast so sweet and dear a scar. far from me the sharp word, the thankless mind, of vulgar sorrow customary weed, shroud that about the corse of love they wind who never loved indeed. why, dante, dost thou say the saddest curse is joy remembered in unhappy days? what grief compelled thee to this bitter verse in sorrow's harsh dispraise? 148 from alfred de musset o'er all the worlds is light bereft of gladness when sad eclipses cast their blight on us? did thy great soul, in its immortal sadness, speak to thee, dante, thus? no, by this sacred light upon me cast! not in thy heart this blasphemy had birth. it is the truest happiness on earth to have a happy past. what! when the soul forlorn finds yet a spark mid the hot ashes of her stifled sighs, and doth that flame, her only treasure, mark with captivated eyes, bathing her wounds in the delicious past that mirrors brokenly her loves again, thy cruel word her feeble joy would blast and turn to bitter pain? from alfred de musset 149 and couldst thou wrong thine own francesca so, wrong thy bright angel with a word like this, her whose lips, parting to rehearse her woe, broke an eternal kiss? what, righteous heaven, is our human thought, and to the love of truth who yet will cling, if every pain or joy e'er shunned or sought turns to a doubtful thing? how can you live, strange souls that nothing awes? in midst of haste and passion, song and mirth, nor all the stars of heaven give you pause, nor all the sins of earth; but when upon your fated way you meet some dumb memorial of a passion dead, that little pebble stops you, and you dread to bruise your tender feet. 150 from alfred de musset you cry aloud that life is but a dream, and, to the truth awaking, wring your hands, and grieve your bubble but a moment stands upon time's foaming stream. poor fools! that moment when your soul could shake the numbing fetters off that it enthrall, that fleeting moment was your all in all oh, mourn not for its sake! but rather mourn your weight of earthly dross, your joyless toil, your stains of blood and mire, your sunless days, your nights without desire; in these was utter loss. what profit have you of your late lament, and what from heaven do your murmurs crave, the plaints you sow upon the barren grave of every pleasure spent? from alfred de musset 151 life is a dream, and all things pass, i know: if some fair splendour we be charmed withal, we pluck the flower, and at the breath we blow its withered petals fall. ay, the first kiss and the first virgin vow that ever mortals upon earth did swear, that whirlwind caught which strips the frozen bough and stones to sand doth wear. a witness to the lovers' troth was night, with changeful skies, o'ercast with mystery, and stars unnumbered, that an inward light devours unceasingly. they saw death hush the song bird in the glade, blast the pale flower, and freeze the torpid worm, and choke the fountain where the image played of their forgotten form. 152 from alfred de musset yet they joined hands above the mouldering clod, blind with love's light that flashed across the sky, nor felt the cold eye of the changeless god who watches all things die. fools! says the sage: thrice blest! the poet says. what wretched joy is to the faint heart dear whom noise of torrents fills with weak amaze and the wind fills with fear? i have seen beneath the sun more beauties fail than white sea foam or leaves of forest sere; more than the swallows and the roses frail desert the widowed year. mine eyes have gazed on sights of deeper woe than juliet dead within the gorgèd tomb, and deadlier than the cup that romeo drank to his love and doom. from alfred de musset 153 & i have seen my love, when all i loved had perished, who to a whited sepulchre is turned; seen the thin dust of all i ever cherished in her cold heart inurned,dust of that faith which, in our bosoms furled, the gentle night had warded well from doubt. more than a single life, alas! a world was that day blotted out. still young i found her, and, men said, more fair; in heaven's light her eyes could still rejoice, and her lips opened, and a smile was there, and sound as of a voice. but not that gentle voice, that tender grace, those eyes i worshipped when they looked their prayer: my heart, still full of her, searched, searched her face and could not find her there. 154 from alfred de musset and still i could have gone to her, and cast my arms about that chill and lifeless stone, and cried, where hast thou left it, faithless one, where hast thou left the past? but no: it rather seemed as if by chance some unknown woman had that voice and eye; i looked up into heaven; with cold glance i passed that statue by. not without pangs of shame and bitterness i watched her smiling shadow glide away; but what of that? immortal nature, say, have i loved therefore less? on me the gods may now their lightnings fling, they cannot undo truth, nor kill the past. like a wrecked sailor to a broken mast to my dead love i cling. from alfred de musset 155 i make no question of what flowers may bloom, what virtue from the seasons man may borrow, what heavenly lamp may flood with light to-morrow the vault of this great tomb. i only say: here at this hour, one day, i loved, and i was loved, and she was fair. this treasure which no death can filch away my soul to god shall bear. from théophile gautier art all things are doubly fair if patience fashion them and care verse, enamel, marble, gem. no idle chains endure: yet, muse, to walk aright, lace tight thy buskin proud and sure. fie on a facile measure, a shoe where every lout at pleasure slips his foot in and out! 156 from théophile gautier 157 sculptor, lay by the clay on which thy nerveless finger may linger, thy thoughts flown far away. keep to carrara rare, struggle with paros cold, that hold the subtle line and fair. lest haply nature lose that proud, that perfect line, make thine the bronze of syracuse. and with a tender dread upon an agate's face retrace apollo's golden head. 158 from théophile gautier despise a watery hue and tints that soon expire. with fire burn thine enamel true. twine, twine in artful wise the blue-green mermaid's arms, mid charms of thousand heraldries. show in their triple lobe virgin and child, that hold their globe, cross-crowned and aureoled. all things return to dust save beauties fashioned well. the bust outlasts the citadel. 3 1 from théophile gautier 159 oft doth the ploughman's heel, breaking an ancient clod, reveal a cæsar or a god. the gods, too, die, alas! but deathless and more strong than brass remains the sovereign song. chisel and carve and file, till thy vague dream imprint its smile on the unyielding flint. 1 convivial and occasional verses prosit neujahr be the new year sweet and short as the days of girl and boy are, full of friendship, full of sport — prosit neujahr ! be it beautiful and great as the days of grief and joy are, full of wonder and of fate prosit neujahr! 163 fair harvard fair harvard, the winter of puritan snows that enshrouded thy tremulous birth melts slowly to spring, now the south wind blows o'er the face of this generous earth. thy elms are outspreading their flexible arms over meadows more fruitful and broad, and soft ivy is veiling with negligent charms the gaunt walls of the castle of god. with freedom for heritage, reason for star, and friendship for sojourner here, shall music long tremblingly sound from afar or genius be smothered in fear? 1 ; + 1 1 1 i 164 fair harvard 165 where the ages may meet and the spirit may climb to a truth that is builded on doubt, the eternal may dwell mid the currents of time and peace above barbarous rout, and the just voice unlearn to be strident and sharp, and, attuned to life's happier choir, join the stress of all david might shout to his harp with all lysis might lisp to his lyre, and olympia again call the strong and the fleet to glory and art and control, and a deathless academy build a retreat to ponder the things of the soul. if to glory, young mother, thy destiny tend, if thy labours have honour in store, our loves shall not die, though their chronicle end nor mortals remember us more. 166 fair harvard for once from their dreaming the man and the boy, fair harvard, awoke at thy name, and our happiest years were a part of thy joy, and our light was a spark of thy flame. college drinking song as we say good-bye at the parting ways, let us sing together a song of praise, let us drink a toast to our college days, to the walks through a world made for you and me, to the boisterous farce and the echoing glee, to the wonderful a and the dreadful e, drink, boys, drink! to the games we won and the games we lost, for we could n't tell which before we tossed, and who cares now who paid the cost? to the woman's love that came and went, to the good wine drunk and the money spent, to the night-long foolish argument, drink, boys, drink! 167 168 college drinking song to the times when men were men indeed, to our fathers' youth and our mothers' creed, and to every faith that may succeed, to the after age and the later tongue that will ring the changes we have rung and sing the songs we have left unsung, drink, boys, drink! when the eye is dull and the hand is cold, then should the pocket be full of gold, for no one will love us when we're old. so to vulgar gold and what it gets and an honest end to all our debts, for an old wine softens old regrets, drink, boys, drink! when we are asleep beneath grey stone, our children's lives shall repeat our own, for the light remains though the days be flown. college drinking song 169 to the opening buds of this ended may, and to all sweet things that will not stay, and to every dog that has had his day, drink, boys, drink! six wise fools twelve had struck. our talk subsided. we were comrades in the schools by the world awhile divided — six sententious merry fools. and i said, "we've talked of college, resurrecting callow youth. but you since have lived; what knowledge have you gathered of the truth? and you first, most learned scholar, whom i'm proud to sit beside, speak does wisdom sans a dollar leave you wholly satisfied? you have walked, and never wavered, in the paths the sages took 170 six wise fools 171 and three publishers have favoured with a yet unpublished book. the soul's garden you have weeded which we mortals trample through, you love much we leave unheeded. speak, and let us learn of you." and the student thus proceeded, as a gentle sigh he drew: the scholar i'm thankful that as matters go i neither toil nor spin, but read the good old wits, heigh ho! and live with elder kin; that i need neither reap nor sow nor gather into barns, but dwell among my books, heigh ho! repeating ancient yarns. 172 six wise fools dead things are not my science, no, nor fossil parts of speech, but the great human heart, heigh ho! that pedants never reach. the record of man's joy and woe upon his sculptured face i read by my heart's light, heigh ho! and vanquish time and space. i find no vice so foul and low but nature lurks therein, nor any thought so high, heigh ho! but pays the price of sin. i feel the pity and the glow of truth's sublime communion, and learn to smile at fate, heigh ho! in friendship's happy union. let this but last till death's wind blow and till my bones are rotten, six wise fools 173 then let the world sail on, heigh ho! and be my name forgotten. "now you, votary of pleasure," turning to the next, i said, "count the profit of your leisure and the cost of unearned bread. tell us what civilisation merits your impartial praise, in what climate, in what nation you have spent most joyous days." quoth he, as if in admiration that such questions i should raise : the sport all things are nice when they are new, when they are old, all things are horrid. after the storm i like the blue, after the arctic zone the torrid. 174 six wise fools my loves are many, brief, and true, by mutual jealousy unworried. i like to leave my house and home and cross the mountains and the sea; with one small bag on earth to roam, that is the height of bliss for me. to roam on earth without my bag, that is the depth of misery. that freedom cheats us with a word which sets up knaves and murders kings. what soul is free that never stirred? go cut your mother's apron-strings, and putting money in your purse, fly off on the express-train's wings. i'll stay at home when i am lame, and build a church when stuffed with gold, i will be grave when known to fame, i will be chaste when i am old. six wise fools 175 then all the angels will rejoice that i, lost lamb, regain the fold. "without some evil, nothing good," your subtle theologians say. i glorify their rectitude by straying in my artless way. my needful sins make possible the higher morals of the day. this is our only chance to taste the sweet and bitter fruits of earth. to pluck them all, we' ve need of haste; we cannot ask what each is worth. up, up, wise virgin; do not waste the little time 'twixt death and birth. come feel the joy of changing skies, of rushing streams and windy weather. though we be bound by fortune's ties, we'll to the utmost stretch the tether, 176 six wise fools and be they gay or be they sad, we'll go and see the sights together. the critic "shall men agree?" the next man said, "each mind is shut within some head (pace the minds of all the dead) with two eyes, seldom of a size, and spectacles before the eyes. then, if men differ, what surprise? "see the wight who wrapped in sadness grieves how soon this life is done, and, disgusted with the madness of the way the world is run, scorns the hollowness of gladness and the idiocy of fun : why, the spots upon the sun can be seen, when the ray passes blue eye-glasses. six wise fools 177 "and what makes the moonlight shimmer with the dancing of the sea and the little stars cold glimmer twinkle with an inward glee while this working-world grows dimmer if my mary looks with me? not the moon or stars or sea, but the fickle cause, alas, is love's eye-glasses. "oh, how sad a world to cough in is a world once warm and fair, and how many fallings off in old men's world of falling hair, till they think within the coffin that there's no world anywhere. for i fancy dead men wear (take your look now, lads and lasses !) no eye-glasses." 12 178 six wise fools he stopped, and with a civil look said to his neighbour, "you come next," who had been looking at a book and seemed a trifle bored and vexed. he laid the book down, stretched his legs and yawned, and, emptying his glass, made a grimace as if the dregs were bitter, and replied, "i pass." when pressed, he shook his languid head until at last he hemmed and said: the pessimist i set my heart on being good, believed the bible to the letter, yes, joined a christian brotherhood when i was young and knew no better; and, if i sometimes sinned, i wept that god's commandments were not kept. 1 1 1 six wise fools 179 as time went on, i understood that it was wrong to be so good. my heart i set on being wise and passing for a clever fellow : reading o' nights i spoilt my eyes, and lack of fresh air turned me yellow. each book i read said t' other lied, i saw the less the more i pried, and so i found, to my surprise, i was a fool to be so wise. i set my heart on making friends pleasant and clever, kind and witty; they now are at the earth's four ends, two only have n't left the city. the one is given up to trade, the other in the churchyard laid. and when youth's gone and leisure ends, it is too late for making friends. 180 six wise fools i set my heart upon a girl who chose at my approach to smile. did she but pat some frizzled curl, i knew the angel free from guile. but now a rich man owns my belle, i find the others smile as well, and my moustache no more i twirl, nor set my heart upon a girl. i set my heart on seeing things, and wished through every land to travel, see troja's ruins, nilus' springs, and culture's history unravel. when many a sea had made me sick, men still were bipeds, houses brick. since nearer truth no journey brings i make an end of seeing things. i set my heart on politics; i glowed for honesty and freedom. six wise fools 181 my earnest thoughts i tried to fix upon the poor, and how to feed 'em. but the reformer cheats himself, he serves his prejudice or pelf, and no man's will but inward fate governs the fortunes of the state. i set my heart on nothing now, but bless the gifts of every hour, holding my hand beneath life's bough to catch the fruit or falling flower. with the world breathing at my feet, i find the sunset stillness sweet, and with the night wind on my brow i set my heart on nothing now. he scarce had done, when the last man, who'd listened hard to every word, thus, rising in his place, began as if impatient to be heard: 182 six wise fools the lover oh, you men who are not married have n't known the joy of living, on the margin you have tarried, never putting out to sea; all your musing, all your grieving, is a childish thing to me. i have done with idle moping and have seen my manly duty. there is no more doubt and groping, since i took a woman's hand, and the loadstar of her beauty led me to the promised land. for her sake my work is pleasure and i thrive in my devotion, though i seek repute and treasure but to have the gifts to give, for my love, like river ocean, rounds the world in which i live. six wise fools 183 when i feel, in softest slumber, her fair head upon my pillow, i think how the misty humber and the ganges' holy stream send their treasures o'er the billow to embalm my lady's dream. rightly did my father rear me close beside the village steeple, rightly shall my sons revere me when they come to take my place, for i serve my land and people and maintain my sturdy race. fill your glasses up with liquor, drink it down while yet it bubbles. when the heart beats quick and quicker love is knocking. drink with me: here is death to all your troubles, and long life, fair love, to thee! 184 six wise fools "yes, fill your glasses up, i pray you," said i," and make it bumpers now, for whatsoever passion sway you some noble love we all avow. "we bear a mark, an inward token, that parts us from the common herd. to each of us some muse has spoken a holy, unforgotten word. "our stars, conjoined in youth's first season, whether to musing moved or strife, obedient to one touch of reason together make the round of life. "drink to the loves we knitted here, a bond by distance not undone. high thoughts outlive the wasted year; i drink to that which makes us one." athletic ode i hear a rumour and a shout, a louder heart-throb pulses in the air. fling, muse, thy lattice open, and beware to keep the morning out. beckon into the chamber of thy care the bird of healing wing that trilleth there blithe happy passion of the strong and fair. their wild heart singeth. do thou also sing. how vain, how vain the feeble croaking of a reasoning tongue that heals no pain and prompts no bright deed worthy to be sung! too soon cold earth refuses flowers. oh, greet their lovely birth! 185 186 athletic ode too soon dull death quiets the heaving of our doubtful breath. deem not its worth too high for honouring mirth; sing while the lyre is strung, and let the heart beat, while the heart is young. when the dank earth begins to thaw and yield the early clover, didst thou never pass some balmy noon from field to sunny field and press thy feet against the tufted grass? so hadst thou seen a spring palæstra on the tender green. here a tall stripling, with a woman's face, draws the spiked sandal on his upturned heel, sure-footed for the race; another hurls the quoit of heavy steel and glories to be strong; while yet another, lightest of the throng, athletic ode 187 crouching on tiptoe for the sudden bound, flies o'er the level race-course, like the hound, and soon is lost afar ; another jumps the bar, for some god taught him easily to spring, the legs drawn under, as a bird takes wing, till, tempting fortune farther than is meet, at last he fails, and fails, and vainly tries, and blushing, and ashamed to lift his eyes, shakes the light earth from his feet. him friendly plaudits greet and pleasing to the unaccustomed ear. come then afield, come with the sporting year and watch the youth at play, for gentle is the strengthening sun, and sweet the soul of boyhood and the breath of may. and with the milder ray of the declining sun, when sky and shore, in purple drest and misty silver-grey, 188 athletic ode hang curtains round the day, come list the beating of the plashing oar, for grief in rhythmic labour glides away. — the glancing blades make circles where they dip, now flash and drip cool wind-blown drops into the glassy river, now sink and cleave, while the lithe rowers heave and feel the boat beneath them leap and quiver. the supple oars in time, shattering the mirror of the rippled water, fly, fly as poets climb, borne by the pliant promise of their rhyme, or as bewitched by nereus' loveliest daughter the painted dolphins, following along, leap to the measure of her liquid song. but the blasts of late october, tempering summer's paling grief with a russet glow and sober, athletic ode 189 bring of these sports the latest and the chief. then bursts the flame from many a smouldering ember, and many an ardent boy woos harsher pleasures sweeter to remember, hugged with a sterner and a tenser joy. look where the rivals come: each little phalanx on its chosen ground strains for the sudden shock, and all around the multitude is dumb. come, watch the stubborn fight and doubtful, in the sight of wide-eyed beauty and unstinted love ay, the wise gods above, attentive to this hot and generous fray, smile on its fortunes and its end prepare, for play is also life, and far from care their own glad life is play. ye nymphs and fauns, to bacchus dear, that woke citharon with your midnight rout, 190 athletic ode arise, arise and shout ! your day returns, your haunt is here. shake off dull sleep and long despair; there is intoxication in this air, and frenzy in this yelping cheer. how oft of old the enraptured muses sung olympian victors' praise. lo! even in these days the world is young. life like a torrent flung for ever down for ever wears a rainbow for a crown. o idle sigh for loveliness outworn, when the red flush of each unfailing morn floods every field and grove, and no moon wanes but some one is in love. o wasted tear, a new soul wakes with each awakened year. beneath these rags, these blood-clots on the face, the valiant soul is still the same, the same athletic ode 191 the strength, the art, the inevitable grace, the thirst unquenched for fame quenching base passion, the high will severe, the long obedience, and the knightly flame of loyalty to honour and a name. give o'er, ye chords, your music ere ye tire, be sweetly mute, o lyre. words soon are cold, and life is warm for ever. one half of honour is the strong endeavour, success the other, but when both conspire youth has her perfect crown, and age her old desire. the bottles and the wine lines read at the reunion of a college club would you have an illustration of the thing we fellows are? liken every generation to the bottles in the bar: vessels full of precious liquor standing in their brave array, never bosom friends were thicker or of franker heart than they, there congenially hobnobbing, always ready for a bout, as half laughing and half sobbing the fine spirits bubble out. 192 the bottles and the wine 193 we buy, break, drink, waste, decant them bottles come and bottles goyet there always, when you want them, stand the bottles in a row: port and sherry, rum and brandy, irish, bourbon, scotch, and rye, always smiling, always handy when the heart 's a trifle dry. though the bottles change their label and tag on another name, they're as welcome at the table, for the liquor's still the same. days gone by saw jugs in plenty, now less frequently on view. every year some ten or twenty pass to fields and pastures new. there, replenished, they grow fatter and their bellies bulge amain, but though full as yet of matter, 13 194 the bottles and the wine you may mark a certain drain, for the busy world's contention brings the liquid down a bit, and a small god i won't mention sometimes takes a pull at it. yet apart from some mischances, though not standing where they stood, for big dinners and small dances our old bottles still are good. but when once the dregs are emptied, we throw bottles in a heap, not one favourite exempted, were its spirit fine or cheap. they 're doled out in the back alley by the scrawny hands of hags when gaunt death comes shilly-shally crying, "bottles and old rags ! " what of that? while face and feature, manners, minds, and pleasures pass, nature breeds a younger creature, the bottles and the wine 195 mate to what the other was, and the sports we had forsaken, and the fancies blown away in the brighter souls they waken live for ever and a day. the proud glories that entice us no more fail because we pass than the founts of dionysus for the quaffing of a glass. but what happens to the liquor? the old bottles' fate to share, only that its flight is quicker up the vortices of air? is it lost as soon as tasted, rising upon moth-like wings to be caught and scorched and wasted in this foolish flame of things? ah, the blood of nature's spilling trickles back into her veins, 196 the bottles and the wine and her cup is ever filling with the vintage that she strains. for a moment she befriends us with unsealing of our eyes, but the light of life she lends us floods her everlasting skies. the sweet wine that makes our passion linking heart to mortal heart is her ancient fire to fashion all the marvels of her art. it has painted woman's beauty, it is parent to the flowers, it has wedded joy to duty, portioned loves among the hours, built us palaces and churches, plucked its music from the lyre, lighted all the spirit's searches through the mazes of desire, yes, and scorning earthly places and our human loves and wars the bottles and the wine 197 it has peopled heaven's spaces and has gilded heaven's stars. drink, then, of this cup and drain it. let the wine renew the soul, and all vessels that contain it, may they long be sound and whole to receive the boon and give it that makes mortal joys divine. here's to life and all who live it, to the bottles and the wine. the poetic medium in chelsea dwells a sibyl known to fame called mrs. fakirnecromantic name ! past, present, future, open to her view she (for ten dollars) will reveal to you. i for less sums the discount to the trade ―――――――― quaff at her fount and seek her undismayed. i found the priestess in her wonted lair up three steep flights of narrow dirty stair. chill was the darkened chamber. a thick fume of kerosene lent odour to the gloom. clothed in black weeds, pale, with delirious hair, rocked mrs. fakir in her rocking-chair. i told my errand; with some hushed complaint about the fee, she fell into a faint, 198 the poetic medium 199 thrice rolled her eyes, thrice snorted through her nose, thrice wrung her hands, and wriggled thrice her toes, then spoke. (i versify: she uttered vulgar prose.) "you want some verse: not every poet's soul whose aid you crave is still in my control. whom would you summon? you must ask the boon of some frail wight that floats below the moon. the spirits that have risen to the stars reck not the echoes of our earthly jars. their troubles past, they have forgotten ours, and move unmoved by even magic powers. only weak souls entangled in the mesh of passion, dying, still are bond to flesh, and hover o'er the battle-field of life to smell their kindred blood and pine for strife. such i may summon, for they have no choice who crave to live again and find a voice." "'t is well," i answered. "if the gods so please, we will not call on aristophanes, 200 the poetic medium horace shall slumber, juvenal be dumb. they rest in peace. but haply swift will come." "not swift," she said, "not swift. i cannot tell whether he flew to heaven or to hell, but he is gone far from this mild, low-born, and canting age, incapable of scorn." "well, summon byron, then," i said and sighed. "byron is also safe," the witch replied. "the first sin punished and the first forgiven is love's, the slip of climbers into heaven. the petted passion and the shallow dream he purged at last; the heart survived supreme." "byron gone too," thought i," what wit remains? all younger sprites have water in their veins. but, ah! might not the living help me out? don't phantoms of the living flit about?" "they do, they do," quoth chelsea's pythoness. "here in my telepathic cave's recess all that they say or think or wish or feel i read aloud, but most what they conceal. the poetic medium 201 66 whom would you plagiarise? you're silent? why, have you forgot the ages galaxy-" i trembled as she named them one by one, from willy frilly down to spider spun. spare me," i cried. "shall some prolific bard reel off bright lyrics at a cent a yard, all about april rain, december snow, the brook, the sunset, and the squawking crow? shall little swinburnes turn a verse with ease and sing the flaccid pleasures of disease? shall mimics, drunk with each castalian rill, be any poet but themselves at will, luscious when keats, when spenser quaint and dull, when browning turgid, and noodles null? shall weaklings, in thick verse and tortured prose, strike affectation's quintessential pose, sniffing the odours of a perfumed brain where melts a wordsworth plus a paul verlaine? when, with no art, were precious fabrics wrought, when metaphysics with no mastering thought? 202 the poetic medium no, mrs. fakir, none of this small fry. catch me some ghost of sense, or else good-bye. not at my bidding shall this choir prolong the cloying drivel of unmeaning song, enrich the echo, maul the note and tease, miauling nothing in a hundred keys. better pope's squirrel eye and polished sneer than idiot mouthings, false without veneer. better boileau's 'monotony in wire,' dressing good wit in periwigged attire ; for in a garden's alleys or a wood hung all in green, monotony is good, and a frail stem may need a bit of wire to keep the rose from trailing in the mire. never will they dig deep or build for time who of unreason weave a maze of rhyme, worship a weakness, nurse a whim, and bind wreaths about temples tenantless of mind, forsake the path the seeing muses trod, and shatter nature to discover god. the poetic medium 203 he only climbs the skies and proudly sings whose heart, attentive, feels the pulse of things, masters the fact, and hails the changeless goal that beckons, purges, and fulfils the soul." i ceased: no ghost was willing to befriend, and all the living useless to my end. meantime the hag awoke with vacant stare, and passed her bony fingers through her hair. i left her den and hastened back to town, writing the while my sad experience down. this you have heard. 'tis little that i give, but it makes sense. long, masters, may you live. young sammy's first wild oats lines written before the presidential election of 1900 mid uncle sam's expanded acres there's an old, secluded glade where grey puritans and quakers still grow fervid in the shade; and the same great elms and beeches that once graced the ancestral farm, bending to the old men's speeches, lend their words an echo's charm. laurel, clematis, and vine weave green trellises about, and three maples and a pine shut the mucker-village out. yet the smoke of trade and battle 204 young sammy's first wild oats 205 cannot quite be banished hence, and the air-line to seattle whizzes just behind the fence. as one day old deacon plaster hobbled to the wonted nook, there was doctor wise, the pastor, meekly sitting with his book. "what has happened, brother deacon, that you look so hot and vexed? is it something i might speak on when i preach on sabbath next? "doctor wise," replied the other, as he wiped the sweat away, "'tis a wicked sin, my brother, you should preach on every day. cousin sammy's gone a-tooting to the creole county fair, where the very sun's polluting and there's fever in the air 19 206 young sammy's first wild oats he has picked up three young lasses, three mulattoes on the mart, who have offered him free passes to their fortune and their heart. one young woman he respected, vowed he only came to woo. but his word may be neglected since he ravished the other two. in the porto rican billing and carousing, i allow that the little minx was willing, though she may be sorry now. but what came of those embraces and that taint of nigger blood? now he looks on outraged faces and can laugh, defying god: he can stretch his hand, relieving, and strike down a cheated slave. oh, if uncle sam were living, this would bring him to his grave יי ! young sammy's first wild oats 207 deacon plaster ceased and, sighing, mopped the reeking of his brain. doctor wise, before replying, put his goggles on again. "brother plaster, to be candid, were i managing the farm, i should do as the old man did lying low and safe from harm, shoot at poachers from the hedges, if they ventured within range, just round out my acre's edges, grow and grow, but never change. i am old, and you are old, sir : old the thoughts we live among. if the truth were to be told, sir, none of us was ever young. in the towns of sombre britain merry england turned aboutwe were marked at birth and smitten whom the lord had chosen out; 208 young sammy's first wild oats picked to found a pilgrim nation, far from men, estranged, remote, with the desert for a station and the ocean for a moat; to rebuke by sober living, in the dread of wrath to come, of the joys of this world's giving the abominable sum. yet all passion's seeds came smuggled in our narrow pilgrim ark, and, unwatered, grew and struggled, pushed for ages through the dark, and, when summer granted pardon, burst into the upper air, till that desert was a garden and that sea a thoroughfare. thus the virtue we rely on melted 'neath the heathen sun, and what should have been a zion came to be this babylon. young sammy's first wild oats 209 ignorant of ancient sorrow, with hot young blood in their veins, now the prophets of the morrow ply the spur and hold the reins. can we blame them? rather blame us, us, who uttered idle things. our false prophecies shall shame us, and our weak imaginings. liberty delicious sound! the world loved it, and is free. but what's freedom? to be bound by a chance majority. few are rich and many poor, though all minds show one dull hue. equality we don't secure, mediocrity we do. ah! what dreams beguiled our youth! brothers we had hoped to be; but competition is the truth of what we called fraternity. -14 210 young sammy's first wild oats can we blame them we mistaught if now they seek another guide and, since our wisdom comes to naught, take counsel of their proper pride? nature beckons them, inviting to a deeper draught of fate, and, the heart's desire inciting, can we stop and bid them wait? "if old uncle sam were living, this, you say, should never be: ah! if uncle sam were living, he might weep, but he must see. yet he died in time, believing in the gods that ruled his days. we, alas! survive him, grieving under gods we will not praise. the keen pleasures of december mean the joys of april lost; and shall rising suns remember young sammy's first wild oats 211 all the dream worlds they have crossed? all things mortal have their season: nothing lives, for ever young, but renews its life by treason to the thing from which it sprung, and when man has reached immortal mansions, after toiling long, life deserts him at the portal, and he only lives in song. "as for sam, the son, i wonder if you know the fellow's heart : there may yet be something under nobler than the outer part. when he told that señorita that he kissed and hugged her close like a brother, did he cheat her? did he cheat himself? who knows? that he liked her, that is certain ; that he wronged her is n't true. 212 young sammy's first wild oats on his thoughts i draw the curtain : i don't know them, nor do you. in her maid, the facile rica, we have quite another case. hardly did he go to seek her, when she rushed to his embrace. i confess it was improper, but all flesh, alas! is flesh. things had gone too far to drop her; each was in the other's mesh. but with that poor filipina, when she shrank from his caress, his contemptible demeanour is n't easy to express. first he bought her, then he kicked her; but the truth is, he was drunk, for that day had crowned him victor, and a spanish fleet was sunk. young sammy's first wild oats 213 "you perceive i do not spare him, nor am blinded to his motes by the christian love i bear him ; • yes; he 's sowing his wild oats. but you can't deny him talent; once his instinct is awake, he can play the part of gallant and of soldier and of rake. and it's something to have spirit though in rashness first expressed. give me good blood to inherit : time and trial do the rest. he's not uncle sam, the father, that prim, pompous, pious man, yankee, or virginian, rather: sammy's an american lavish, clever, loud, and pushing, loving bargains, loving strife, kindly, fearless-eyed, unblushing, not yet settled down in life. 214 young sammy's first wild oats send him forth; the world will mellow his bluff youth, or nothing can. nature made the hearty fellow, life will make the gentleman. and if cousin sam is callow, it was we who did the harm, letting his young soul lie fallowthe one waste spot in the farm trained by sordid inventories to scorn all he could n't buy, puffed with miserable glories shouted at an empty sky, fooled with cant of a past era, droned 'twixt dreamy lid and lid, till his god was a chimera and the living god was hid. let him look up from his standard to the older stars of heaven, seaward by whose might, and landward, all the tribes of men are driven; young sammy's first wild oats 215 by whom ancient hopes were blasted, ancient labours turned to dust; whence the little that has lasted borrows patience to be just : and beholding tribulation, seeing whither states are hurled, let him sign his declaration of dependence on the world." thus the doctor's sermon ended; the old deacon shook his head, for his conscience was offended and his wits had lost the thread. so have mine, but there 's my fable: now, and when you cast your votes, be as lenient as you're able on "young sammy's first wild oats." spain in america when scarce the echoes of manila bay, circling each slumbering billowy hemisphere, had met where spain's forlorn armada lay locked amid hostile hills, and whispered near the double omen of that groan and cheer— haste to do now what must be done anon or some mad hope of selling triumph dear drove the ships forth soon was teresa gone, furór, plutón, vizcaya, oquendo, and colón. and when the second morning dawned serene o'er vivid waves and foam-fringed mountains, dressed like nessus in their robe's envenomed sheen, scarce by some fiery fleck the place was guessed where each hulk smouldered; while from crest to crest 216 spain in america 217 leapt through the north the news of victory, victory tarnished by a boorish jest yet touched with pity, lest the unkindly sea should too much aid the strong and leave no enemy. as the anguished soul, that gasped for difficult breath, passes to silence from its house of pain, so from those wrecks, in fumes of lurid death, passed into peace the heavy pride of spain, passed from that aching tenement, half fain, back to her castled hills and windy moors, no longer tossed upon the treacherous main once boasted hers, which with its watery lures too long enticed her sons to unhallowed sepultures. why went columbus to that highland race, frugal and pensive, prone to love and ire, despising kingdoms for a woman's face, for honour riches and for faith desire? 218 spain in america on spain's own breast was snow, within it fire; in her own eyes and subtle tongue was mirth; the eternal brooded in her skies, whence nigher the trebled starry host admonished earth to shame away her grief and mock her baubles' worth. ah! when the crafty tyrian came to spain to barter for her gold his motley wares, treading her beaches he forgot his gain. the semite became noble unawares. her passion breathed hamilcar's cruel prayers; her fiery winds taught hannibal his vows; out of her tribulations and despairs they wove a sterile garland for their brows. to her sad ports they fled before the roman prows. and the greek coming too forgot his art, and that large temperance which made him wise. the wonder of her mountains choked his heart, the languor of her gardens veiled his eyes; spain in america 219 he dreamed, he doubted; in her deeper skies he read unfathomed oracles of woe, and stubborn to the onward destinies, like some dumb brute before a human foe, sank in saguntum's flames and deemed them brighter so. the mighty roman also when he came, bringing his gods, his justice, and his tongue, put off his greatness for a sadder fame, and what a cæsar wrought a lucan sung. nor was the pomp of his proud music, wrung from latin numbers, half so stern and dire, nor the sad majesties he moved among half so divine, as her unbreathed desire. shall longing break the heart and not untune the lyre? when after many conquerors came christ, the only conqueror of spain indeed, not bethlehem nor golgotha sufficed to show him forth, but every shrine must bleed 220 spain in america and every shepherd in his watches heed the angels' matins sung at heaven's gate. nor seemed the virgin mother wholly freed from taint of ill if born in frail estate, but shone the seraphs' queen and soared immaculate. and when the arab from his burning sands swept o'er the waters like a heavenly flail, he took her lute into his conquering hands, and in her midnight turned to nightingale. with woven lattices and pillars frail he screened the pleasant secrets of his bower, yet little could his subtler arts avail against the brutal onset of the giaour. the rose passed from his courts, the muezzin from his tower. only one image of his wisdom stayed, one only relic of his magic lore, -allah the great, whom silent fate obeyed, more than jehovah calm and hidden more, spain in america 221 allah remained in her heart's kindred core high witness of these terrene shifts of wrong. into his ancient silence she could pour her passions' frailty he alone is strongand chant with lingering wail the burden of her song. seizing at covadonga the rude cross pelayo raised amid his mountaineers, she bore it to granada, one day's loss ransomed with battles of a thousand years. a nation born in harness, fed on tears, christened in blood, and schooled in sacrifice, all for a sweeter music in the spheres, all for a painted heaven at a price should she forsake her loves and sail to ind for spice? had genoa in her merchant palaces no welcome for a heaven-guided son? had venice, mistress of the inland seas, no ships for bolder venture? pisa none? 222 spain in america was sated rome content? her mission done? saw lusitania in her seaward dreams no floating premonition, beckoning on to vast horizons, gilded yet with gleams of old atlantis, whelmed beneath the bubbling streams? or if some torpor lay upon the south, tranced by the might of memories divine, dwelt no shrewd princeling by the marshy mouth of scheldt, or by the many mouths of rhine? rode albion not at anchor in the brine whose throne but now the thrifty tudor stole changing a noble for a crafty line? swarmed not the norsemen yet about the pole, seeking through endless mists new havens for the soul? these should have been thy mates, columbus, these patrons and partners of thy enterprise, spain in america 223 sad lovers of immeasurable seas, bound to no hallowed earth, no peopled skies. no ray should reach them of their ladies' eyes in western deserts: no pure minstrel's rhyme, echoing in forest solitudes, surprise their heart with longing for a sweeter clime. these, these should found a world who drag no chains of time. in sooth it had seemed folly, to reveal to stubborn aragon and evil-eyed these perilous hopes, folly to dull castile moated in jealous faith and walled in pride, save that those thoughts, to spain's fresh deeds allied, painted new christian conquests, and her hand itched for that sword, now dangling at her side, which drove the moslem forth and purged the land. and then she dreamed a dream her heart could understand. 224 spain in america three caravels, a cross upon the prow, a broad cross on the banner and the sail, the liquid fields of hesperus should plough borne by the leaping waters and the gale. before that sign all hellish powers should quail troubling the deep: no dragon's obscene crest, no serpent's slimy coils should aught avail, till ivory cities looming in the west should gleam from high cathay or araby the blest. then, as with noble mien and debonair the captains from the galleys leapt to land, or down the temple's alabaster stair or by the river's marge of silvery sand, proud sultans should descend with outstretched hand greeting the strangers, and by them apprised of christ's redemption and the queen's command, spain in america 225 being with joy and gratitude baptised, should lavish gifts of price by rarest art devised. or if (since churls there be) they should demur to some least point of fealty or faith, a champion, clad in arms from crest to spur, should challenge the proud caitiffs to their death and, singly felling them, from their last breath extort confession that the lord is lord, and india's catholic queen, elizabeth. whereat yon turbaned tribes, with one accord, should beat their heathen breasts and ope their treasures' horde. or, if the worst should chance and high debates should end in insult and outrageous deed, and, many christians rudely slain, their mates should summon heaven to their direful need, suddenly from the clouds a snow-white steed bearing a dazzling rider clad in flames should plunge into the fray: with instant speed 15 226 spain in america rout all the foe at once, while mid acclaims the slaughtered braves should rise, crying, saint james! saint james! then, the day won, and its bright arbiter vanished, save for peace he left behind, each in his private bosom should bestir his dearest dream: as that perchance there pined some lovely maiden of angelic mind in those dark towers, awaiting out of spain two saviours that her horoscope divined should thence arrive. she (womanlike) were fain not to be wholly free, but wear a chosen chain. that should be youth's adventure. riper days would crave the guerdon of a prouder power and pluck their nuggets from an earthly maze for rule and dignity and children's dower. and age that thought to near the fatal hour should to a magic fount descend instead, whose waters with the fruit revive the flower spain in america 227 and deck in all its bloom the ashen head, where a green heaven spreads, not peopled of the dead. by such false meteors did those helmsmen steer, such phantoms filled their vain and vaulting souls with divers ardours, while this brooding sphere swung yet ungirdled on her silent poles. all journeys took them farther from their goals, all battles won defeated their desire, barred from one india by the other's shoals, each sighted star extinguishing its fire, cape doubled after cape, and never haven nigher. how many galleons sailed to sail no more, how many battles and how many slain, since first columbus touched the cuban shore, till aurocania felt the yoke of spain ! what mounting miseries! what dwindling gain! to till those solitudes, soon swept of gold, 228 spain in america and bear that ardent sun, across the main slaves must come writhing in the festering hold of galleys. poison works, though men be brave and bold. that slothful planter, once the buccaneer, lord of his bastards and his mongrel clan, ignorant, harsh, what could he list or hear of europe and the heritage of man? no petty schemer sees the larger plan, no privy tyrant brooks the mightier law, but lash in hand rides forth a partisan of freedom base, without the touch of awe, he poisoned first the blood his poniard was to draw. by sloth and lust and mindlessness and pelf spain sank in sadness and dishonour down, each in her service serving but himself, each in his passion striking at her crown. not that these treasons blotted her renown emblazoned higher than such hands can reach : spain in america 229 there where she reaped but sorrow she has sown the balm of sorrow; all she had to teach she taught the younger world-her faith and heart and speech. and now within her sea-girt walls withdrawn she waits in silence for the healing years, while where her sun has set a second dawn comes from the north, with other hopes and fears. spain's daughters stand, half ceasing from their tears, and watch the skies from cuba to the horn. "what is this dove or eagle that appears," "what herald of what morn they seem to cry, hovers o'er andes' peaks in love or guile or scorn?" "o brooding spirit, fledgling of the north, winged for the levels of its shifting light, child of a labouring ocean and an earth 230 spain in america shrouded in vapours, fear the southward flight, dread waveless waters and their warm delight, beware of peaks that cleave the cloudless blue and hold communion with the naked night. the souls went never back that hither flew, but sighing fell to earth or broke the heavens through. "haunt still thy storm-swept islands, and endure the shimmering forest where thy visions live. then if we love thee for thy heart is pure thou shalt have something worthy love to give. thrust not thy prophets on us, nor believe thy sorry riches in our eyes are fair. thy unctuous sophists never will deceive a mortal pang, or charm away despair. not for the stranger's fee we plait our lustrous hair. ―――――――― "but of thy lingering twilight bring some gleam, memorial of the immaterial fire lighting thy heart, and to a wider dream waken the music of our plaintive lyre. spain in america 231 check our rash word, hush, hush our base desire. hang paler clouds of reverence about our garish skies: laborious hope inspire that uncomplaining walks the paths of doubt, a wistful heart within, a mailèd breast without. "gold found is dross, but long promethean art transmutes to gold the unprofitable ore. bring labour's joy, yet spare that better part our mother, spain, bequeathed to all she bore, for who shall covet if he once adore? leave in our skies, strange spirit passing there, no less of vision but of courage more, and of our worship take thy equal share, thou who wouldst teach us hope, with her who taught us prayer." youth's immortality what, when hearts have met, shall sever heart from heart, though heaven fall? they alone are dead for ever who have never lived at all. roses that have bloomed to sweetness never can untimely fade, blessed by death in their completeness and on beauty's bosom laid, garnered in the breast eternal where all noble joys are one, sweet elysium, fair and vernal, where they mount who face the sun. happy he whom men call lonely, whose companion is the truth, 232 youth's immortality 233 and whose heart is ravished only by the world's immortal youth. happy he whose single treasure is the infinite unfurled, and whose voice has caught the measure of the music of the world. when death gathers up our ashes and our sorry shades depart, lo, life's flame, rekindled, flashes from another mortal heart, and death turns about, derided by the life he would deride. vainly space and time divided what eternity allied. one great hope guides all our seeing, one pure heaven lends us light. love is still the crown of being, faith the better part of sight. the same wisdom's ancient pages stir again the generous soul 234 youth's immortality to the mighty task of ages crawling still to reason's goal. the prophetic muse of story sings her ancient legend o'er, and the sea, still young and hoary, chants along the beaten shore. spring yet yields her flowery treasures to the guiltless hands of boys, chastening their noisy pleasures to the depth of human joys. one eternal passion drives us, zealots of the stars above, and our better part survives us, living in the things we love. i this book should be returned to the library on or before the last date stamped below. a fine of five cents a day is incurred by retaining it beyond the specified time. please return promptly. 944071 oct 6-161 h canostled p 37 nov & 1972 h nov 27 3856012 mor 1373 h 1973 mar 1 widener library 3 2044 090 091 828 337 fi h harvard college library preservation facsimile printed on alkaline/buffered paper and bound by acme bookbinding charlestown, massachusetts 2003 ―― herbert lloyd presented το marshall harvard college library northern new york and the adirondack wilderness. 1 samuel de champlain. cuptor 552 at th historical sketches of northern new york and the adirondack wilderness: including traditions of the indians, early explorers, pioneer settlers, hermit hunters, &c. by nathaniel bartlett sylvester, of the troy bak. ye who love the haunts of nature, love the sunshine of the meadow, love the shadow of the love the wind among the branches, and the rain-shower and the snow-storm, and the rushing of great rivers, through their palisades of pine trees, listen to these wild traditions. -song of hi-a-wat-ha. troy, n. y.: william h. young. 1877. us 15299.30.5 harvard university library entered according to act of congress in the year 1877, by nathaniel bartlett sylvester, in the office of the librarian of congress at washington. edward green, printer, troy. to the memory of my only brothers, an elder and a younger, who, in their early manhood, both died the same year, this volume is affectionately dedicated. preface. a few years ago i published in the troy times, at the solicitation of its editor, an article entitled "john brown's tract, or the great wilderness of northern new york.” since then, my attention, in leisure hours, has been drawn irresistibly to the subject, and that meagre and cursory article has grown into the book now presented to the reading public. but if the newspaper article was unsatisfactory, i fear the book will be deemed scarcely less so when the wealth of historic incident and legendary lore which clusters about the territory of which it treats is considered, upon which, in this volume, i have, as it were, but opened the door. in the olden time, northern new york was disputed ground. it was claimed by the iroquois of central new york and by the algonquins of canada; by the french colonists of the st. lawrence, and by the dutch and english settlers of the hudson. it was surrounded by the wartrails of the indian, and by the war-paths of the armies of colonial times. hence from its first discovery and exploration by samuel de champlain in the summer of 1609 to the close of the war of 1812 with great britain, it was the iv. preface. theater of continuous strife between rival powers contending for its mastery. of the history of this long period much has been written, but more of it still lies buried in our colonial archives. in the following pages i have attempted hardly more than to awaken the attention of the historical student to this most interesting field of research. to several friends who have kindly assisted me in this task in the use of books of reference and otherwise, and who have aided me with many valuable and practical suggestions my thanks are due. among them i desire to mention messrs. john m. francis, benjamin h. hall, james forsyth, alexander g. johnson, jerome b. parmenter, william h. young, edward green, and cha's c. giles, of troy; messrs. joel munsell and henry a. holmes, state librarian, of albany; messrs. p. porter wiggins, a. s. pease, d. f. ritchie, e. j. huling, and j. p. butler, of saratoga springs; mr. charles d. adams, of utica; the late nelson j. beach, of watson; dr. franklin b. hough, and mr. w. hudson stephens, of lowville; and mr. john e. pound, of lockport. troy, n. y., 9th april, 1877. chapter i.-northern new york. its attractiveness-its ancient names-it is an island— the highways of nations. contents. chapter ii.-ho-de-no-sau-nee-ga. the five nations-their government-their festivals and religious belief-their social life. chapter iii.-early explorers. jacques cartier-samuel de champlain-henry hudson. chapter iv. -the great wilderness. couch-sach-ra-ge-its aspects and uses-the adirondack park-its belts. chapter v.-mountains of the wilderness. the laurentides-oldest system of rocks-the five mountain ranges-view from the mountain topstable of mountain heights. chapter vi.-mountain passes. the indian pass-other mountain passes. chapter vii.-mountain meadows. the softer aspects of the wilderness. death. page. · · chapter viii.-the discovery of lake george. isaac jogues-his capture-his escape-his mission-his 14 26 39 45 58 62 66 vi. contents. chapter ix.-lakes of the wilderness. their rocky beds-the lake belt-table of altitudes of lakes and forest stations. chapter x.-the naming of the chazy river. the death of young chazy-tracy's expedition to the mohawk country in 1666. chapter xi.-rivers of the wilderness. the hudson and its forest branches-other rivers. chapter xii.-la famine and the lesser wilderness. chapter xiii.-tryon county. · the original birth place of the iroquois—council of de barre-visit and letter of father charlevoix. sir william johnson-the palatines. · french seigneuries—william gilliland. chapter xiv.-the manor of willsboro. · chapter xv.-north elba. an indian village-the plains of abraham-john brown of ossawottamie. chapter xviii.-castorland. chapter xvi.-the adirondack village. its situation-the indian sabelle-david henderson. chapter xvii.—viscount de chateaubriand. his boyhood's dreams.-his journeyings-his works-his ideal. 80 88 94 102 116 128 135 141 145 the railroad station-ancient castorland-scheme of settlement-organization-desjardines and pharoux. 152 contents. vii. chapter xix.-sistersfield. saint michel and his daughter-their flight from paris. 166 chapter xx.-john brown's tract. john brown of providence-the herreshoff manor-arnold's. chapter xxi.-the hunter foster and the indian drid. nathaniel foster-drid-killing of drid and trial of foster. david smith-his hermitage. chapter xxii.-smith's lake. chapter xxiii.-number four. beaver lake-early settlement-orrin fenton, chapter xxiv.-james o'kane. stillwater-hermitage-death and burial of o'kane. chase. chapter xxv.-james t. watson. macomb's purchase-william constable-watson's purparte. chapter xxvi.-lake bonaparte. its situation -count de chaumont-diana-joseph bonachapter xxvii.-the legend of the diamond rock. lansingburgh-the diamond rock-the tears of the dying deer-the old indian's story of moneta. chapter xxviii.-the two water wheels. lowville-joseph dunklee, the dreamer-the city of troy-burden, the worker. . 171 177 183 187 192 196 200 206 221 viii. contents. chapter xxix.-the story of tom garnet's dream. the thousand isles-tom garnet's narrative. chapter xxx.-the st. lawrence of the olden time. the river of the thousand isles-the birth night of montreal-carleton island-la presentation. chapter xxxi.-the county of charlotte. fort edward-skenesborough-the new argyleshire. · chapter xxxii.-oswego and the western war-path. swa-geh-forts along the western war-trail. index. war-path. indian saratoga-kay-ad-ros-se-ra-the war of 1686-the war of 1690-the war of 1755-burgoyne's campaign of 1777-small beginnings of modern saratoga. 237 250 chapter xxxiii.-saratoga and the northern 263 275 282 313 northern new york and its great wilderness. chapter i. northern new york, land of the forest and the rock; of dark blue lake and mighty river; of mountains rear'd aloft to mock the storm's career, the lightning's shockmy own green land forever. i. —whittier. its attractiveness. northern new york, although it has within it, and along its borders, ten populous cities,* and villages without number, is still mostly covered by its primeval forests. of a truth, it may be said to be a vast wilderness, surrounded by a narrow fringe of settlements. and although in great part a gloomy solitude which is seldom trodden by the foot of man, yet it is completely surrounded by the world's great routes of travel, over which the business and the pleasure of half the continent yearly pass under the very shadows of its aboriginal woods. northern new york not only has a great wilderness within its borders, but it has also within it a lesser wilder* albany, troy, cohoes, schenectady, utica, rome, syracuse, oswego, watertown, ogdensburgh. 2 10 northern new york. ness.* the lesser wilderness would itself be a famous one, were it not lost sight of in the overshadowing grandeur of the greater. northern new york abounds in grand, beautiful and picturesque scenery, unsurpassed anywhere. it teems with undeveloped mineral wealth and forest products. it has been for centuries the theatre of stirring events-the pathway of contending armies-the battle-ground of nations. it is therefore rich in historic incident and legendary lore. in a word, it is one of the most attractive and interesting parts of our country. ii. its ancient names. as long ago as the year 1570, abraham van ortelius was the distinguished geographer of philip ii. of spain. in that year ortelius published his "universal geography." it was a work of such rare merit that it won for him the title of "the ptolemy of his age." in this work was a map of new france. as then known to europeans, new france comprised almost all that had been discovered of north america. in this map new france was divided into nine provinces. what is now known as labrador was called terra corterealis. the district which lies between labrador and the saguenay river was named saguenai. the country along the st. lawrence between the saguenay and the ottawa * the lesser wilderness lies at the head waters of the mohawk river, on the highlands that rise northerly of oneida lake, and between the eastern shore of lake ontario and the upper valley of the black river. northern new york. 11 river was called canada.* the region above the ottawa, and in the angle between it and the st. lawrence, was called chilaga (hochelaga). the territory south of the st. lawrence which now embraces maine and nova scotia was named norumbega. the country which lies to the south. of the st. lawrence and east of the river richelieu was called moscosa. the region lying south and west of moscoŝa, embracing what is now northern new york, was called avacal. the territory out of which virginia and the great middle states have since been formed was named apalachen, while the whole great region from which the gulf states were formed was called florida, "the land of flowers." by this it seems that the earliest name applied by europeans to the region now known as northern new york was avacal. on later maps the country lying on both sides of lake champlain is called ir-o-coi-sia, "the hereditary country of the iroquois." this last name, it seems, was also given to this region at a very early day, as it appears on a map of the new netherlands of the year 1616, lately found in the royal archives at the hague. iii. it is an island. the region which is covered by the great wilderness of northern new york is a vast elevated plateau that rises into lofty mountain peaks in the interior, but which slopes canada is an indian name signifying a mass of huts. see chateaubriand's travels. 12 northern new york. gradually down on every side into deep depressions or valleys. in these deep valleys run the natural water-courses which almost entirely surround northern new york, making of it an island, as will appear upon an examination of its boundaries. on the north of it flows the great river st. lawrence. το the east of it is the hudson river, running southerly into the atlantic ocean, and the waters of lake champlain and its tributaries flowing northerly through the river richelieu into the st. lawrence. on the south of it the mohawk river runs easterly into the hudson; while the waters of the oneida lake run westerly through the oswego river into lake ontario. on the west is lake ontario, from which runs the st. lawrence, completing the encircling chain of almost a thousand miles of living waters. the indian could paddle his canoe around it finding but two short carrying places. one was from the hudson at fort edward to the wood creek that runs into lake champlain; another was from the mohawk at fort stanwix to the other wood creek that runs into the oneida lake. these obstacles were long since overcome by artificial means, and northern new york is now entirely surrounded by navigable waters. iv. the highways of nations. the remarkable depressions or valleys which surround northern new york, and through which run its natural and artificial watercourses, have always been great routes of travel. northern new york. 13 through them first ran the old indian trails.* after the white man came, for more than two hundred years they formed the pathways of armies. when the long wars were ended, these routes were thronged with hardy pioneers on their way to the great west; and now the products of the west, the commerce of the world, come back through these thoroughfares. and after sixty years of smiling peace other armies travel through them, armies of summer tourists, in search of health or pleasure on their way to saratoga, the adirondacks, lake george, the thousand islands, the gloomy saguenay, sharon, richfield, trenton falls, clifton, avon, massena, niagara, the great lakes, and the prairies beyond. in a word, to the thousand attractions which lie in and around northern new york. *the indian trails were well-worn paths of a foot or more in width, and sometimes a foot in depth. see morgan's league of the iroquois. chapter ii. ho-de-no-sau-nee-ga. "or shall we cross yon mountains blue, whose streams my kindred nation quaff 'd? and by my side, in battle true, a thousand warriors drew the shaft? ah! there in desolation cold, the desert serpent dwells alone, where grass o'ergrows each mould'ring bone, and stones themselves to ruin grown like me, are death-like old. then seek we not their camp,-for therethe silence dwells of my despair!" i. —ćampbell's gertrude of wyoming. the ho-de-no-sau-nee. at the time of its first exploration by europeans in the early years of the seventeenth century, northern new york formed a part of the territory and hunting grounds of the great indian league or confederacy, called by the english the "five nations," by the french the "iroquois," and by themselves the "ho-de-no-sau-nee," or the "people of the long house." their country, called by them ho-de-no-sau-nee-ga,* and extending from the hudson to lake erie, from the st. lawrence to the valleys of the delaware, the susquehanna and the alleghany, embraced the whole of central, of northern, and large parts of southern and western new york. it was divided between the several nations by well defined boundary lines running north and south, which they called "lines of property." * see morgan's league of the iroquois. ho-de-no-sau-nee-ga. 15 the territory of northern new york belonged principally to the mohawks and the oneidas, the onondagas owning a narrow strip along the eastern shore of lake ontario. the line of property between the mohawks and the oneidas began on the st. lawrence river, at the present town of waddington, and running south, nearly coincident with the line between lewis and herkimer counties, struck the mohawk river at utica. the country lying to the east of this line of property, embracing what is now the greater part of the wilderness, formed a part of ga-ne-a-ga-o-no-ga-the land of the mohawks. the territory lying westerly of this line, including the fertile valley of the black river, and the highlands of the lesser wilderness, which lies between the upper valley of the black river and lake ontario, belonged to o-na-yoteka-o-no-ga, the country of the oneidas. it was the custom of the indians, whenever the hunting grounds of a nation bordered on a lake, to include the whole of it if possible, so the line of property between the oneidas and onondagas bent westerly around the oneida lake, giving the whole of that to the oneidas, and deflected easterly again around lake ontario in favor of the onondagas. these three nations claimed the whole of the territory of northern new york. but the northern part of the great wilderness was also claimed by the adirondacks, a canadian nation of algonquin lineage, and, being disputed territory, was the "dark and bloody ground" of the old indian traditions, as it afterward became in the french and english colonial history. 16 northern new york. ii. two families of nations. the indians who inhabited the atlantic slope and the basin of the great lakes were divided into two great families of nations. these two great families were known as the iroquois and the algonquin families. they differed radically both in language and in lineage, as well as in many of their manners and customs. the principal nations of the iroquois family were grouped around the lower lakes. the five nations of central new york-the iroquois proper-were the leading people of this family. to the south of the five nations, on the banks of the susquehanna, were the andastes, and to the westward, along the southern shore of lake erie, were the eries. to the north of lake erie lay the neutral nation and the tobacco nation, while the hurons dwelt along the eastern shore of the lake that still bears their name. there was also a branch of the iroquois family in the carolinasthe tuscaroras-who united with the five nations in 1715, after which the confederacy was known as the six nations.† surrounding these few kindred bands of the iroquois were the much more numerous tribes of the great algonquin family. to the people of algonquin speech and lineage belonged the horicons, the mohicans and other tribes of river indians who dwelt along the hudson, and the pequots, * parkman's pioneers of france in the new world. see colden's five nations. i ho-de-no-sau-nee-ga. 17 wampanoags, narragansetts, and all the other new england tribes.* northward of the iroquois were the nipissings, la petite nation, and la nation de l'isle, and the other tribes of the ottawa. along the valley of the st. lawrence were the algonquins proper-called adirondacks by the iroquois, the abenaquis, the montagnais, and other roving bands around and beyond the saguenay. thus were the indian nations situated with respect to each other when samuel de champlain, in the early summer of 1609, entered the territory of northern new york from the north, and henry hudson, in the beginning of the coming autumn, approached it from the south. iii. the "people of the long house." among all the indians of the new world, there were none so politic and intelligent, none so fierce and brave, none with so many germs of heroic virtues mingled with their savage vices, as the true iroquois-the people of the five nations. they were a terror to all the surrounding tribes, whether of their own or of algonquin speech. in 1650 they overran the country of the hurons; in 1651 they destroyed the neutral nation; in 1652 they exterminated the eries; in 1672 they conquered the andastes and reduced them to the most abject submission. they followed the * after the defeat of king philip of pocanokett in 1675-6, a part of the wampanoags and narragansetts fled from their ancient hunting grounds, and settled at schaghticoke, on the hudson, and were afterward known as the schaghticoke indians. see paper by john fitch in his. mag. for june, 1870. 3 18 northern new york. war-path, and their war-cry was heard westward to the mississippi, and southward to the great gulf. the new england nations, as well as the river tribes along the hudson, whose warriors trembled at the name of mohawk, all paid them tribute. the poor montagnais on the far-off saguenay would start from their midnight sleep, and run terror-stricken from their wigwams into the forest when dreaming of the dreadful iroquois. they were truly the conquerors of the new world, and were justly styled "the romans of the west." "my pen," wrote the jesuit father ragueneau in 1650, in his relations des hurons, "my pen has no ink black enough to describe the fury of the iroquois." they dwelt in palisaded villages upon the fertile banks of the lakes and streams that watered their country. their villages were surrounded with rudely cultivated fields, in which they raised an abundance of corn, beans, squashes and tobacco. their houses were built within the protecting circle of palisades, and, like all the tribes of the iroquois family, were made long and narrow. they were not more than twelve or fifteen feet in width, but often exceeded a hundred and fifty feet in length. they were made of two parallel rows of poles stuck upright in the ground sufficiently wide apart at the bottom to form the floor, and bent together at the top to form the roof, the whole being nicely covered with strips of peeled bark. at each end of the wigwam was a strip of bark, or a bear skin, hung loosely for a door. within, they built their fires at intervals along the center of the floor, the smoke passing out through openings in the top, which served as well to let in the light. in every ho-de-no-sau-nee-ga. 19 house were many fires and many families, every family having its own fire within the space allotted to it. from this custom of having many fires and many families strung through a long and narrow house comes the signification of their name for the league, "the people of the long house." they likened their confederacy of five nations, stretched along a narrow valley for more than two hundred miles through central new york, to one of their long wigwams. the mohawks guarded the eastern door of this long house, while the senecas kept watch at the western door. between these doors of their country dwelt the oneidas, onondagas and cayugas, each nation around its own fire, while the great central council fire was always kept brightly burning in the country of the onopdagas. thus they were in fact as well as in name the people of the long house. below are given in the order of their rank therein, the indian names of the several nations of the league.* mohawks-ga-ne-a-ga-o-no. "people possessors of the flint." onondagas-o-nun-do-ga-o-no. "people on the hills." senecas-nun-da-wa-o-no. great hill people." oneidas-o-na-yote-ka-o-no. "granite people." cayugas-gwe-u-gweh-o-no. land." "people at the mucky tuscaroras-dus-ga-o-weh-o-no. “shirt wearing people." * see morgan's league of the iroquois. 20 northern new york. iv. their government. it may of a truth be said that this wild indian league of the old savage wilderness, if it did not suggest, in many respects it formed the model after which was fashioned our more perfect union of many states in one republic. the government of this "league of the iroquois" was vested in a general council composed of fifty hereditary sachems, but the order of succession was always in the female and never in the male line. that is to say, when a sachem died his successor was chosen from his mother's descendants, and never from his own children. the new sachem must be either the brother of the old one or a son of his sister-so in all cases the status of the children followed the mother and never the father. each nation was divided into eight clans or tribes, which bore the following names: beaver, turtle, heron, hawk. wolf, deer, bear, snipe, the spirit of the animal or bird after which the clan was named, called its to-tem, was the guardian spirit of the clan, and every member used its figure in his signature as his device. it was the rule among them that no two of the same clan could intermarry. if the husband belonged to the clan of the wolf, the wife must belong to the clan of the bear, the deer, and so on, while the children belonged to the clan of the mother, and never to the father's clan. in this manner their relationship always interlocked, and the people of the whole league were forever joined in the closest ties of consanguinity. ho-de-no-sau-nee-ga. 21 the name of each sachemship was permanent. it was the name of the office, and descended with it to each successor. when a sachem died the people of the league selected the most competent brave from among those of his family who by right inherited the title, and the one so chosen, was raised in solemn council to the high honor, and dropping his own received the name of the sachemship. there were two sachemships, however, that after the death of the first sachems of the name, forever remained vacant. these sachemships were da-ga-no-we-da of the onondagas and ha-yo-went-ha (hi-a-wat-ha) of the mohawks. daga-no-we-da was the founder of the league. his head was represented as covered with tangled serpents, and hi-awat-ha (meaning "he who combs") straightened them out, and assisted in forming the league. in honor of their great services their sachemships were afterward held vacant. there was another class of chiefs of inferior rank to the sachems, among whom were the war chiefs whose title was not hereditary, but who were chosen on account of their bravery and personal prowess, their achievements on the war-path, or their eloquence in council. among this latter class were found the most renowned warriors and orators of the league, such as king hendrick and red jacket, but they could never rise to the rank of sachem. the whole body of sachems formed the council league. their authority was entirely civil, and confined to the affairs of peace. but after all, the power of the sachems and chiefs was advisory rather than mandatory. every savage to a great extent followed the dictates of his own wild will, controlled only by the customs of his people and a public 22 northern new york. sentiment that ran through their whole system of affairs, which was as inflexible as iron. v. their festivals and religious belief. the indian was a believer in spirits. every object in nature was spiritualized by him, while over all things in dim and shadowy majesty, ruled the one great spirit, the supreme object of his fear and adoration, whom he called ha-wen-ne-ya. there was likewise an evil spirit, born at the same time with the great spirit, which he called ha-nego-ate-ga-"the evil-minded." there was also he-no, "the thunderer," and ga-oh, the "spirit of the winds." every mountain, lake, stream, tree, shrub, flower, stone and fountain had its own spirit. among his objects of worship were the three sister spirits the spirit of corn, the spirit of beans, and the spirit of squashes.* this triad was called de-oha-ko, meaning "our life," "our supporters." upon the festal days sacred to the three sisters they were represented by three beautiful maidens, each one gaily dressed in the leaves of the plant whose spirit she represented. the ho-de-no-sau-nee observed five great feasts every year. there was the new year's festival, or the "sacrifice of the white dog," which was celebrated with great pomp for seven days early in february. then as soon as the snow began to melt, and the sap to flow from the maple trees, and the sugar boiling began in earnest, came the maple feast. the next great festival was the a-yent-wa-ta or * see morgan's league of the iroquois. ho-de-no-sau-nee-ga. 23 planting festival, which came on as soon as the leaves on the butter-nut trees were as big as squirrels' ears, indicat ing the time for planting corn. the third feast was hanan-da-yo, the feast of strawberries, which came in the moon of roses. the fourth was ah-dake-wa-o, the feast of the green corn moon, and the last was the harvest festival, observed at the gathering of the crops in autumn. dwelling forever among the wildest scenes of nature, himself nature's own wildest child, believing in an unseen world of spirits, in perpetual play around him on every hand, his soul was filled with unutterable awe. the flight or cry of a bird, the humming of a bee, the crawling of an insect, the turning of a leaf, the whisper of a breeze, were to him mystic signals of good or evil import, by which he was guided in the most important affairs of life. the mysterious realm about him he did not attempt to unravel, but bowed submissively before it with what crude ideas he had of religion and worship. to his mind everything, whether animate or inanimate, in the whole domain of nature, is immortal. in the happy hunting grounds of the dead, the shades of hunters will follow the shades of animals with the shades of bows and arrows, among the shades of trees and rocks, in the shades of immortal forests, or glide in the shades of bark canoes over shadowy lakes and streams, and carry them around the shades of dashing waterfalls.* in dreams he placed the most implicit confidence. they were to him revelations from the spirit world, guiding him to the places where his game lurked and to the haunts of his enemies. he invoked their aid upon all occasions. * see charlevoix's voyage to north america. 24 northern new york. they taught him how to cure the sick and revealed to him his guardian spirit, as well as all the secrets of his good or evil destiny. vi. their social life. the iroquois were extremely social in their daily intercourse. when not engaged in their almost continual public feasting and dancing, they spent the most of their time in their neighbors' wigwams, playing games of chance, of which they were extremely fond, or in chatting, joking and rudely bantering each other. on such occasions their witticisms and jokes were often more sharp than delicate, as they were "echoed by the shrill laugh of young squaws untaught to blush."* in times of distress and danger they were always prompt to aid each other. were a family without shelter, the men of the village at once built them a wigwam. when a young squaw was married, the older ones, each gathering a load of sticks in the forest, carried her wood enough for a year. in their intercourse with each other, as well as with strangers, their code of courtesy was exact and rigid to the last degree. but the indian is still the untamed child of nature. "he will not," says parkman, "learn the arts of civilization, and he and his forest must perish together. the stern unchanging features of his mind excite our admiration from their very immutability; and we look with deep interest on the fate of this irreclaimable son of the wilderfrancis parkman. ho-de-no-sau-nee-ga. 25 ness, the child who will not be weaned from the breast of his rugged mother. the imprisoned lion in the showman's cage differs not more widely from the lord of the desert than the beggarly frequenter of frontier garrisons and dramshops differs from the proud denizens of the woods. it is in his native wilds alone that the indian must be seen and studied." " *parkman's conspiracy of pontiac, vol. i, p. 44. consult also schoolcraft's works, clark's history of onondaga, heckewelder's history of indian nations, the iroquois, by miss anna c. johnson, documentary history of new york, cusick's history of the five nations, charlevoix's letters to the duchess de lesdiguières, and jesuit relations of 1656-57, and 1659-60. chapter iii. early explorers. westward the course of empire takes its way; the four first acts already past, a fifth shall close the drama with the day; time's noblest offspring is the last. i. -bishop berkeley. jacques cartier. the great river st. lawrence, which serves to drain the larger part of the waters of northern new york into the ocean, was discovered and first explored by jacques cartier, an eminent mariner of st. malo. st. malo is a quaint medieval seaport town of the ancient province of brittany, on the northern coast of france. the city is built on a huge rock that seems to rise like a wall out of the sea, it being separated from the mainland by a salt marsh, which is covered by the waters at high tide. st. malo has long being celebrated as the nursery of a race of daring and hardy navigators, and among the most famous of them all is jacques cartier. he was born at st. malo in the year 1494, and passed his boyhood there in watching the waves come in from the awful unknown atlantic, whose mysteries had then but just been solved by columbus, and of which he was destined to become one of the most eminent explorers. in the year 1535, cartier was sent on a voyage to the new world by francis i, king of france, at the instigation of philippe de chabot, his grand admiral, in quest of gold and empire. the little fleet with which cartier sailed early explorers. 27 consisted of three ships only, ranging from forty to one hundred and twenty tons burden. this fleet was under the command of cartier, who was styled the "captain and pilot of the king." in his ship's company were several of the young nobility of france, among whom were claudias de ponte briand, cup-bearer to the lord dauphin, charles de pomeraces, john powlet and other gentlemen. before venturing upon their long and perilous voyages to the dreary, cheerless solitudes of an almost unknown and unexplored ocean, the daring but devout navigators of those days were accustomed to attend upon the solemn offices of religion as if they were departing to "the undiscovered country, from whose bourne no traveler returns." so, just before setting sail, this company of adventurers all went, on whitsunday, in solemn procession to the cathedral church of st. malo, where each was absolved and received the sacrament. then, all entering the choir of the church, they presented themselves in a body to the lord bishop of st. malo, and received his blessing. they embarked on the 19th of may, and, after a stormy passage, arrived off the coast of newfoundland on the 7th of july. on the 10th day of august in that year, which day was the festival of saint lawrence, they discovered and entered the broad bay which forms the mouth of the great river, and named it in honor of the saint. proceeding on their voyage up the wild stream, they passed the dark gorge of the saguenai, and arrived at the island of orleans, that lies a short distance below the city of quebec. on account of the abundance of wild grapes found upon this island, which hung in clusters from all the 28 northern new york. trees along its shores, cartier named it the isle of bacchus. continuing his voyage, cartier soon reached the narrows in the river opposite the rocky cliffs of quebec. this stronghold was then occupied by a little cluster of indian wigwams, and was called by the savages sta-da-co-ne. its chief, whose name was don-na-co-na, met cartier and his strange band at the landing, made a speech to them, and gave them some bread and some wine pressed from the wild grapes that grew so abundantly along the shores of the river and upon all its islands. these indians told cartier that many days' journey up the river, there was another indian town that gave its name to the river and to the country around it. taking on board some indian guides, cartier proceeded up the river in quest of this wonderful city of the great forest state. upon arriving at some dangerous rapids in the now narrowing river, cartier left his ships, and launching his small boats, went up the stream with but two white companions and his indian guides. in a few days they led him to the spot where now stands the beautiful city of montreal. on the island of montreal cartier found an old palisaded indian town, containing many wigwams, built long and narrow after the fashion of the iroquois. in this village were more than a thousand savage inhabitants of iroquois lineage. it was the famous indian ho-che-la-ga, the capital of the great forest state that lay along the st. lawrence above the ottawa. like sta-da-co-ne at quebec, it was one of the centers of indian population on the great river. cartier landed at ho-che-la-ga on the second day of october, amid the crimson and golden hues of the lovely canaearly explorers. 29 dian autumn. so glorious, so wild, so fair, so savage a scene these wondering mariners of the old world had never seen before. when cartier and his two bearded white men, clad in glittering armor and gorgeous attire, landed at the indian village ho-che-la-ga, on the wild island of montreal, the half-nude savages crowded around them in speechless wonder, regarding them more as demi-gods than men. they even brought their chief, whose name was ag-ou-han-na, who "was full of palsy" says an old narrative, "and his members shrunk together," and who was clad in rich furs and wore upon his head a wreath or crown of red feathers, and laid him upon a mat before the captain that he might give the useless limbs a healing touch-such was their simple faith in the power of the strange pale faces. "then did ag-ou-han-na," continues the old chronicler, "take the wreath or crown he had about his head, and gave it unto our captain. that done, they brought before him divers diseased men, some blind, some cripple, some lame and impotent, and some so old that the hair of their eye-lids came down and covered their cheeks, and laid them all along before our captain, to the end that they might of him be touched, for it seemed unto them that god was descended and come down to heal them."* then the indians led cartier to the top of the mountain at whose foot their village nestled. planting a large cross of cedar wood upon the summit of the mountain, cartier solemnly took possession of the great forest state of ho-chela-ga in the name of the french king, and named the * pinkerton's voyages, vol. xii, p. 653. 30 northern new york. mountain on which he stood mount royal, from whence comes the modern montreal. on the 5th of october, cartier left ho-che-la-ga, and regaining his ships, passed a long and gloomy winter in that part of the river called lake st. peters. in the spring cartier returned to france. in 1541 he made another voyage to ho-che-la-ga. after his return to his native city of st. malo from his last voyage to the new world his name passes out of history. it is supposed that he lived in retirement and died at a good old age. when champlain, upon his first voyage in 1603, sixtyeight years after cartier's visit, landed upon the still wild and savage island of montreal, scarcely a vestige of ho-chela-ga, the ancient indian metropolis on the great river, remained to be seen. all its savage glory had departed forever. its iroquois race of house-builders had been driven to their new hunting-grounds in the rich valleys of central new york. champlain found the site of the village occupied only by a few families of a roving tribe of algonquin lineage, who lived in some temporary huts built of the decaying remnants of the ancient village. such was the fate of the old forest state ho-che-la-ga, and its metropolis at montreal. but its people found a more congenial home among their sister iroquois tribes of the five nations, with whom doubtless they united in the great confederacy. ii. samuel de champlain. samuel de champlain, the discoverer of the beautiful lake of northern new york that bears his name, was the early explorers. 31 founder of new france, and its first governor general. no name in canadian annals is more illustrious than his. he was born in brouage saintonge, about the year 1570, of a noble family. in his youth he served in the french navy, was pensioned and attached to the person of henry iv of france. in 1603, m. de chastes, governor of dieppe, obtained permission from the king to found a settlement in north america. de chastes appointed champlain as his substitute, and henry gave him the title of general lieutenant of canada. on the 15th of march champlain set sail for america in a ship commanded by pont-gravé, an enterprising mariner of st. malo. they sailed up the st. lawrence to the sault st. louis, being as far as jacques cartier had proceeded with his ships in 1535, and after carefully examining its banks, returned to france. upon his return, champlain published his first work, entitled des sauvages. in the meantime de chastes had died, and his concessions had been transferred to sieur de monts. de monts was made vice-admiral and lieutenant general of his majesty in that part of acadia called norumbega, with full powers to make war and peace, and to trade in peltries from lat. 40 to 46 n., in exclusion of all others. armed with these plenary powers, de monts and champlain sailed for acadia, and attempted a settlement at port royal, but returned to france in 1607. champlain's third voyage to america was undertaken at the solicitation of de monts in the year 1608. in this year he founded his colony of quebec, in the heart of the old, wild, savage wilderness, upon the site of the old indian 32 northern new york. hamlet sta-da-cone, found by jacques cartier seventy years before, under the sway of the royal chief don-na-co-na. in the beginning of the summer of the next year, (1609) months before henry hudson sailed up the north river, and eleven years before the pilgrims landed at plymouth, champlain discovered and explored the lake which still bears his name, and planted on its shores the cross and the lilies of france. at quebec, during his hunting excursions with the indians, while sitting around their wild camp fires, they had told him marvelous stories of a great inland sea filled with wonderful islands, lying far to the southward of the st. lawrence, in the land of the terrible iroquois. his curiosity was excited, and as soon as the melting snows of the next spring would permit, he set out upon a voyage for its discovery. he was accompanied by two companions only besides his savage allies, who numbered sixty warriors, with twentyfour canoes. they were hurons, algonquins and montagnais. the montagnais were a roving tribe of the algonquin family who inhabited the country of the saguenay, called by the french the paupers of the wilderness. after a toilsome passage up the rapids of the richelieu, champlain entered the lake-the far-famed "wilderness sea of the iroquois." it was studded with islands that were clothed in the rich verdure of the early summer; its tranquil waters spreading southward beyond the horizon. from the thickly wooded shores on either side rose ranges of mountains, the highest peaks still white with patches of snow. over all was flung the soft blue haze, sometimes called mountain smoke, that seemed to temper the sunlight early explorers. 33 and shade off the landscape into spectral-like forms of shadowy beauty. who does not envy the stern old forest ranger his first view of the lake that was destined to bear his name to the latest posterity? champlain and his allies proceeded cautiously up the lake, traveling only by night and resting on the shore by day, for they were in the land of the much dreaded iroquois, the hereditary enemies of the algonquin nations. on the morning of the 29th of july, after paddling, as usual, all night, they retired to the western shore of the lake to take their daily rest. the savages were soon stretched along the ground in their slumbers, and champlain, after a short walk in the woods, laid himself down to sleep upon his bed of fragrant hemlock boughs. he dreamed that he saw a band of iroquois warriors drowning in the lake. upon attempting to save them, his algonquin friends told him that "they were good for nothing, and had better be left to die like dogs." upon awakening, the indians, as usual, beset him for his dreams. this was the first dream he had remembered since setting out upon the voyage, and it was considered by his superstitious allies as an auspicious vision. its relation filled them with joy, and at early nightfall they re-embarked flushed with the hope of an easy victory. their anticipations were soon to be realized. about ten o'clock in the evening, near what is now crown point, they saw dark moving objects upon the lake before them. it was a flotilla of iroquois canoes. moment more each party of savages saw the other, and their hideous war cries, mingling, pealed along the lonely shores. in a the iroquois landed at once, and barricaded themselves 5 34 northern new york. the upon the shore with fallen trees and brush-wood. algonquins lashed their canoes together with long poles within a bow-shot of the iroquois barricade, and danced in them all night their hideous war dances. it was mutually agreed between the hostile bands that the battle should not come off till the morning. at the dawn of day the algonquins landed, and the iroquois marched, in single file, from their barricade to meet them, full two hundred strong. they were the boldest, fiercest warriors of the new world, and their tall, lithe forms and noble bearing elicited the warmest admiration of champlain and his white companions. the chiefs were made conspicuous by their tall plumes. champlain, who, in the meantime, had been concealed, now advanced to the front, with arquebuse in hand, clad in the metallic armor of the times. the iroquois warriors, seeing for the first time such a warlike apparition in their path, halted, and stood gazing upon champlain in mute astonishment. champlain levelled his arquebuse and fired. one iroquois chief fell dead, and another rolled lifeless into the bushes at his feet. then there rose an exulting yell from the algonquin allies, and clouds of feathery arrows whizzed through the air. but the bold iroquois, panic-stricken at the strange appearance of a white man clad in glittering armor, and sending forth from his weapons fire, smoke, thunderings and leaden hail, soon broke and fled in uncontrollable terror toward their homes on the mohawk, leaving everything behind them. the iroquois afterward became the friends and allies of the english, and this first forest encounter was the forerunner of a long and bloody warfare between the french and the english, and their respective indian allies, of early explorers. 35 which the soil of northern new york often formed the battle ground. four years afterward champlain made a long journey up the ottawa river to the country of the hurons. on his return he discovered lake ontario, the name meaning in the indian tongue, the "beautiful lake." he fought another battle with the iroquois to the south of the lake in western new york. he explored its shores along the western border of northern new york, in the vicinity of what was afterward known to the french as la famine. on his return he passed down the st. lawrence to his colony at quebec, thus becoming the first explorer of the lake of the thousand isles. in 1620 champlain was made governor-general of canada, and died at quebec in 1635. in 1620 his wife accompanied him to quebec. madame de champlain, as she was married to him when she was only twelve years of age, was still very young. the indians, struck with her frail and gentle beauty, paid homage to her as a goddess. "champlain," says parkman, "was enamored of the new world, whose rugged charms had seized his fancy and his heart, and as explorers of the arctic seas have pined in their repose for polar ice and snow, so did he, with restless longing, revert to the fog-wrapped coast, the piney odors of forests, the noise of waters, the sharp, piercing sun-light, so dear to his remembrance. fain would he unveil the mystery of that boundless wilderness, and plant the catholic * madam de champlain was hélène bouté, daughter of nicholas bouté, secretary of the royal household at paris. she remained four years in america, returned to france, founded a convent of ursulines at meaux, entered it as sister helen of st. augustine, and died there in 1654. 36 northern new york. faith and the power of france amid its ancient barbarism.”* iii. henry hudson. at the beginning of the seventeenth century, the little republic of holland had already become one of the first commercial and maritime powers of the world. in those days hardy navigators and bold explorers were flocking from every nation in europe to sail under the dutch standard in search of fame and fortune. among the most noted of these was henry hudson, a mariner of england, who was the discoverer and first' explorer of the river that now bears his name. henry hudson was born about the middle of the sixteenth century, but of his early life little is known. his first voyage was in 1607, in the employ of a company of london merchants, to the east coast of greenland, in the search for a northwest passage to india. • on the 6th of april, 1609, he began a voyage in the service of the dutch east india company, to the northern coast of asia. for some reason or other he turned his ships toward north america, and on the twelfth day of september in that year, discovered and entered the mouth of the beautiful river now called by his name that serves to drain the waters of the mountain belt of the great wilderness of northern new york. it is believed that hudson explored the stream as far up * see parkman's pioneers of france, palmer's history of lake champlain, champlain's voyages de la nouv. france, and documentary history of new york. early explorers. 37 as the old indian hunting ground called nach-te-nak, which lies around and upon the islands that cluster among the "sprouts or mouths of the mohawk. 11* in his voyage up the stream he had numerous adventures and two or three battles with the indians, who were jealous of the strange intruders. the staunch little ship in which he sailed up the river was named the half-moon. he named the stream the river the mountains, which is a literal translation of the algonquin name of it, ca-ho-ta-te-a. it was reserved for his countrymen, who took the province from the dutch in 1664, first to call it in honor of its immortal discoverer. hudson, a year or two afterward discovered the great northern bay, which was also named in his honor. his ship's crew then mutinied; he was sent adrift with eight men in a small boat upon the wild northern ocean, and was never heard of more. from these explorations and discoveries by navigators sailing in the interests of rival powers, there sprang up conflicting claims to the territory of northern new york. out of these claims arose a long series of bloody conflicts between the french and the english and their respective indian allies, of which the soil of northern new york formed the battle ground, until the brave montcalm yielded to the chivalrous wolfe, one hundred and fifty years afterward, on the plains of abraham. since these discoveries and explorations, two centuries * the mohawk, just before it flows into the hudson, separates into four spreading branches, which the early dutch settlers significantly called spruytes, which is from the danish spruiten or saxon spryttan, from which comes our english word sprouts.-vide annals of albany, vol. 2, page 226. 38 northern new york. and a half have passed away, and how manifold and vast are now the human interests that lie stretched along the lakes and rivers which are still linked with the names of those three kindred spirits of the olden time, "romanceloving explorers," each immortalized by his discoveriesjacques cartier, henry hudson, and samuel de champlain. chapter iv. the great wilderness. where the red deer leaps and the panther creeps, and the eagles scream over cliff and stream; where the lilies bow their heads of snow, and the hemlocks tall throw a shade o'er all. -judson. i. couch-sach-ra-ge. the gloomy solitudes of a great wilderness still cover the larger part of the territory of northern new york. on governor pownal's map of the northern british colonies of 1776, across the region that comprises the wilderness, is written the following inscription: this vast tract of land, which is the antient couchsachrage, one of the four beaver hunting countries of the six nations, is not yet surveyed. so this great wilderness was the old indian hunting ground, couch-sach-ra-ge of the iroquois, which, like the ocean and the desert, refuses to be subdued by man. but a more euphonious indian name for the great wilderness, or rather for the mountainous or eastern part of it, has long usurped the place of its ancient but more significant title couch-sach-ra-ge. this name is adirondack. the montagnais, those wild rovers of the country of the saguenay, who subsisted entirely by the chase, were often during the long canadian winters, when their game grew 40 northern new york. scarce, driven by hunger to live for many weeks together upon the buds and bark, and sometimes even upon the wood of forest trees. this led their hereditary enemies, the more favored mohawks, to call them, in mockery of their condition, ad-i-ron-daks or tree-eaters.* this iroquois name of an algonquin tribe, thus born in derision, was first given, it is said, by prof. emmons to the principal mountain chain of the wilderness, but it is now by common consent applied to the whole mountainous region of it. in the year 1798, john brown of providence, rhode island, bought a tract of two hundred and ten thousand acres, lying in the western part of the wilderness, and made upon it a fruitless attempt at settlement. the name john brown's tract, so often applied to the whole region, comes from this purchase. can we not have some more appropriate name than either for the great wilderness, and is there one more full of wild significance than the old indian couch-sach-ra-ge? ii. its general aspects and its important uses. a line beginning at saratoga springs, and running westerly across the country to trenton falls, near utica, on the mohawk; thence northerly to potsdam, near ogdensburgh, on the st. lawrence; thence easterly to dannemora, near plattsburgh, on lake champlain, and thence southerly to the place of beginning, will nearly coincide with the boundaries of the wilderness. *on trouve aussi adirondaks c'est-à-dire mangeurs d'arbres. ce nom leur a été donné par les iroquois pour se moquer de leur jeûne à la chasse. il a été transformé plus tard en celui d'algonquins.—jesuit relations. the great wilderness. 41 a few small settlements confined to the fertile valleys of the streams, lie within these boundaries, while in many places the ancient woods stretch down beyond them to the very shores of the surrounding lakes and rivers, and cast their shadows over the great routes of travel. the wilderness comprises greater or lesser parts of eleven counties of the state, and is quite the size of the whole state of new jersey, or the state of vermont or new hampshire. to compare it with european countries, it is three-fourths as large as the kingdom of holland or belgium, or the republic of switzerland, whose alpine character it so much resembles. the great wilderness of northern new york is an upland region of a mean height of almost two thousand feet above the level of the sea. it is traversed by five distinct ranges of mountains, with well-defined intervening valleys. it contains within its borders more than a thousand lakes, and from its heights run numberless rivers and streams in every direction. over it all is spread a primeval forest, "covering the land as the grass covers a garden lawn, sweeping over hill and hollow in endless undulation, burying mountains in verdure, and mantling brooks and rivers from the light of day." in this forest there is only here and there a feeble settlement to break the monotony of its almost interminable sweep. this region has always been and will always be under the dominion of nature. its altitude renders its climate cold and forbidding, while its rugged surface and light soil render it in a great measure unfit for cultivation. while the tide of emigration has rushed around it for almost a century, and filled the west with people for thousands of miles 6 42 northern new york. beyond it, this region, although lying along the borders of some of the oldest settlements in the new world, may still be said to be * "a waste land where no one comes, or has come since the making of the world." waters. but it is not without its important uses in the economies of the civilization that surrounds it, and which has tried in vain to subdue it. it is a vast reservoir of pure living the state and city of new york, and the cities and villages that throng the borders of northern new york, are all indebted to the superabundant waters of this wilderness reservoir for their canals and water courses, which are the perennial sources of their growth and prosperity. and doubtless in the not distant future the cities of the mohawk and the hudson even down to the sea will need these waters for their daily use, and will extend their aqueducts into the wilderness, to draw them from the living springs among the mountains. iii. the adirondak park. in this wilderness lies a natural park or pleasure ground, the grandest in the world. nowhere else do five thousand square miles of such grand old woods lie all unbroken so near the most busy haunts of men. the city of new york has lately rescued a part of her territory from the tyranny of pavements-from the rule of brick and mortar, and placed it under the milder dominion of shaded walks and flower-covered lawns, and central park is the city's pride and crowning glory. the great wilderness. 43 nature herself has here formed a park that only needs preserving to be to the state all that central park is to the city. let the state preserve that which nature has so kindly bestowed with a lavish hand, as a breathing place for the sick and weary of her swarming population, and the ad-i-ron-dak park of couch-sach-ra-ge will be her pride and glory. iv. grand divisions of the wilderness. the wilderness of northern new york may properly be divided into three natural grand divisions or belts, which extend across it diagonally from north-east to south-west. these natural divisions may be called the mountain belt, the lake belt, and the level belt. each of these great belts comprises about one-third part of the wilderness, and each is strongly marked by the distinguishing characteristics which suggest its name. the mountain belt, whose greatest width is about forty miles, extends across the south-eastern part of the wilderness, from the southern half of lake champlain and lake george to the middle valley of the mohawk river. it is a wild, weird region, crowded to fullness with mountains and mountain masses of hypersthene and other of the upper laurentian system of rocks. these stupendous mountain masses are surmounted with towering rocky peaks almost numberless and nameless. a bright lake or a fair mountain meadow sleeps in every valley between them, and a wild torrent dashes and foains through every gorge. this mountain belt of the wilderness is the switzerland of the new world. 44 northern new york. the lake belt is about thirty miles wide, and stretches centrally through the wilderness from the northern half of lake champlain one hundred and fifty miles to the head waters of the black river in the northern part of oneida county. this belt is a rugged region, by no means free from mountain masses and lofty peaks, but mainly consists of a depression in the rocky groundwork of the wilderness, forming a sort of valley, which runs parallel with the ranges of the mountain belt. it is dotted all over with a thousand lakes, each in its own wild way a gem of beauty, and it is navigable, with the exception of a few short carrying places, by canoes from one end to the other. the lake belt of the wilderness is a belt spangled with jewels. the level belt comprises the remaining north-western part of the wilderness, which slopes gradually off from the lake belt to the great plains that border the st. lawrence. this belt is not altogether level, as its name indicates, but is only comparatively so when contrasted with the more rugged lake and mountain belts. its whole surface is covered with low, rolling, forest crowned hills, and studded with immense bare boulders, all composed of the granite and gneiss of the lower laurentian system of rocks. around these hills and huge bare rocks, countless streams wind through interminable woods. like the other great belts, this is also filled with lakes and mountain meadows, some of which are of great size and beauty. the level belt of the wilderness is a complete forest arcadia-a hunter's paradise. chapter v. mountains of the wilderness. why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky? why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear, more sweet than all the landscape smiling near? -campbell's pleasures of hope. i. the laurentides. the underlying rocky strata of the highlands of the wilderness belong to the laurentian system of canada. the great canadian laurentian mountain chain extends from the coast of labrador along the northern shore of the st. lawrence river to a point near the city of quebec. from this point it recedes from the river inland for some thirty miles or more, until it crosses the ottawa river above montreal. after crossing the ottawa, the chain again bends southerly toward the st. lawrence, and a spur of it crosses the great river at the thousand islands into northern new york. after thus, by its rugged broken character, forming the thousand islands in crossing the st. lawrence, this great spur of the laurentides spreads easterly to lake champlain and the upper hudson, southerly to the valley of the mohawk, and westerly to the black river, forming the whole rocky groundwork of the great upland region of the wilderness. 46 northern new york. ii. the oldest system of rocks. the laurentian system of rocks constitutes the oldest known strata of the earth's crust. these rocks were doubtless the first dry land that appeared above the primeval ocean, which, before they rose above its surface, enveloped the whole earth with one wide limitless waste of waters. out of the dreary steaming depths of this boundless ocean, there came, in the course of the creation, these laurentian rocks peering into the misty sunshine of the new world, ages upon ages before the softer rocks of the apalachian chain of what is now the atlantic slope were deposited in their ocean beds. then doubtless there were ages of slow upheaval into the wear and tear of the fierce war of the elements of the still heated but slowly cooling surface of the young world. then followed ages of slow depression, until the small laurentian continent was again submerged, and the waves of the boundless sea again beat over the low sinking rounded rocks. as the surface of the new earth gradually cooled and contracted, once more the laurentian continent rose above the waters. this time it lifted into the sunshine the broken and corrugated mountain masses of the upper laurentian rocks that now constitute the ranges of the mountain belt of the wilderness. then the crumbling pulverized materials of the old wornout rocks began to settle in the warm muddy bed of the ocean that washed the shores of this slowly-rising laurentian continent, and the sandstones, limestones, slates and shales of the less ancient geologic systems were formed. mountains of the wilderness. 47 after this came the upheaval of these newly deposited strata into the great apalachian chain; the ocean receded to its present coast line, and the continent became vastly enlarged, leaving the old laurentian region far inland. in the days of the laurentian continent the region of the wilderness was a peninsula, joined to the mainland by a narrow isthmus at the thousand islands. but this peninsula, although left by the final great upheaval far inland, was left by it surrounded by the remarkable depressions or valleys through which the water-courses now run that make it an island-the island of northern new york. iii. mountain chains. there are no less than five separate mountain chains or ranges which run through the whole length of the mountain belt of the wilderness. these ranges are about eight miles apart, and run parallel with each other. they are not always quite distinct, but sometimes their lateral spurs interlock, and sometimes single mountains are so vast that they occupy the whole space between the ranges and choke up the valleys. they are not regularly serrated, but consist of groups of peaks, joined together by immense ridges, which rise continually higher and higher toward the north until they culminate in the highest peaks of the adirondack range. the mountain belt of the wilderness presents on every hand an alpine landscape, with its towering mountain peaks, deep yawning abysses, rough granite blocks, sweeping torrents, fresh fountains, and green meadows. 48 northern new york. iv. the luzerne range. the most easterly of these five mountain ranges in the mountain belt is the palmertown or luzerne range. it begins at ticonderoga, on lake champlain, runs down on both sides of lake george, forming the beautiful highlands that surround that lake, and stretching southward across the upper hudson, which breaks through it just above glens falls, terminates in the rocky forest-covered that bound the village of saratoga springs on the north. mount defiance, of historic fame, stands guard over the ruins of old fort carrillon at ticonderoga, rising seven hundred and fifty feet above the lake. the indian name of this place was che-on-de-ro-ga-" sounding waters." the french translated this to carrillon, a chime. it was suggested by the chiming sound of the falls on the outlet of lake george, near by. french mountain, of this range, more than two thousand five hundred feet above tide water, overlooks with frowning brow the old battle-ground at the head of lake george, rich in historic memories. a spur of this range to the westward forms the luzerne mountains, whose highest peak is se-non-ge-non-the great up-turned pot-now called mt. kettle bottom. v. the kayadrossera range. the next range is the kay-ad-ros-se-ra. they extend from near crown point, which is the old indian tek-ya-dough-nigar-i-gee-" two points,"-on lake champlain, down mountains of the wilderness. 49 through warren into saratoga county, and running along a little to the westward of saratoga springs, in plain sight of the village, terminate in the highlands of galway and charlton. they derive their name from the old indian hunting ground of which they form so conspicuous a feature. lake scarron (corrupted into schroon) lies in the valley to the west of this range. the hudson winds along for many miles in a deep gorge between its mountain masses. the sacondaga breaks through from the west, and enters the hudson in this gorge. mount pharaoh, whose indian name is on-de-wa, is its highest peak, being four thousand feet above the sea. vi. the scarron range. the third chain of mountains in the great wilderness is the scarron (schroon) range. this range begins in the promontory of split rock on lake champlain, in essex county, and running through warren into the south-east corner of hamilton, ends in the rounded drift hills that rise from the valley of the mohawk in the eastern part of fulton county. scarron (schroon) lake lies at the foot of this range, and scarron (schroon) river winds through its deep valleys. from this lake and river the range derives its name. this name was given to this lake and river by the early french settlers at crown point, on lake champlain, in honor of madame scarron, the widow of the celebrated french dramatist and novelist, paul scarron, who was styled in his day "the emperor of the burlesque." 7 50 northern new york. the maiden name of madame scarron, who afterward became the famous madame de maintenon, was françoise d'aubigné. her grandfather was the celebrated agrippa d'aubigné, the soldier, prose writer and poet, the friend of henry iv of france. her father, constant d'aubigné, the baron of surimeau, was a profligate and libertine, and was thrown into prison at niort for killing his wife and her lover, whom he had taken in adultery. while in prison he married jeanne de cardilhac, the daughter of the governor of the prison. before his release, several children were born to him, among whom was françoise, our heroine. after his release, her father went to martinique with his little family, where he soon after died in the most abject poverty. shortly after her father's death, françoise returned to france with her mother, and after much suffering and many trials, found an asylum in an almost menial position in the house of her godmother, the countess de neuillant. she was in fact a mere drudge in the service of the countess, minding poultry in the farmyard, in peasant's garb and wooden shoes. in the same street with françoise lived the poet scarron, who was a paralytic and a cripple. becoming interested in the sad story of the young girl, he offered to furnish the money to complete her education in a convent. calling to thank her benefactor, the young, beautiful and intelligent girl captivated him at once, and he offered her his hand in marriage. she was seventeen, and he more than twice her age, but she accepted his offer. she brought the poor cripple the wealth of her youth, grace and beauty, and he conferred upon her in return an immortal name. the house of scarron soon became the resort of the most gifted intelmountains of the wilderness. 51 lects of paris. among its frequent guests were the great racine and the brilliant madame de sévigné, but a more brilliant chapter opened in the life of the poor prison-born françoise. her poet husband died, and the still beautiful and fascinating woman this time captivated royalty itself by her wondrous charms. by some means she became the secret governess of the natural children of louis xiv, by madame de montespan, and soon became the rival of the latter in the affections of the voluptuous king. at length the queen, maria theresa of austria, died, and louis, unable to make her his mistress, secretly married the fascinating widow scarron. the ceremony was performed at midnight, in june, 1684, in the palace of versailles, the archbishop of paris and father la chaise officiating, only two or three others being present besides the king and his bride. thus madame scarron became the queen of france in fact but not in name. the king settled a large estate upon her, named maintenon, and made her marquise de maintenon. as madame de maintenon, for nearly thirty years she exercised a remarkable influence over the destinies of france and of europe. like blanche of castile, agnes sorel, madame de pompadour and marie antoinette, madame de maintenon is one of the high historical characters of france. but unlike theirs, there is an air of mystery about her career that renders it all the more fascinating. by some she was regarded as a person full of crafty intrigue, who, with a subtlety scarcely human, bewitched an aged monarch by her fascinating charms into humiliating subjection to her will. by others she was regarded as a divinely appointed messenger, 52 northern new york. with almost miraculous powers, to win a lascivious king from his immoral ways. but the mountain chain, the lake, and the river, bear her more humble name-the name of her poor, poet husband, scarron. doubtless some former frequenter of the brilliant salon of the poor poet cripple, in sunny france, who had often been charmed by the exquisite grace and tact of his young and beautiful wife, had, in his lonely wanderings in the northern wilds of the new world, while indulging in the pleasing memories of the past, in the enthusiasm of his admiration for her, named the beautiful lake and stream in her honor. how full of meaning, then, is the name scarron for this lake and river, and mountain chain, as it is written in all the old maps. vii. the boquet range. the fourth chain is the boquet range, named from the river that waters its base in essex county. it begins in the high bluffs that border on perou bay, on lake champlain, and extends through the center of essex, past the northwest corner of warren into hamilton, and through the south-east corner of hamilton into the west end of fulton county, and ends in the rocky bluffs that border east canada creek above where it enters the mohawk. the highest mountain in this range is dix peak, in north hudson, essex county, which rises 4,916 feet above the sea level. mountains of the wilderness. 53 viii. the adirondak range. the fifth range of mountains in the mountain belt of the great wilderness, is the adirondak chain proper. this name, the origin of which is given in chapter iv, was originally applied by prof. emmons, while making his geological survey of this region, to the remarkable group of high peaks of which mount marcy, the highest peak in the chain, forms the towering central figure. this fifth and last great range extends from point trembleau, near port kent, on lake champlain, in nearly a straight line through essex, hamilton and herkimer counties, and ends on the mohawk river in the rocky barrier through which that river has worn its channel at little falls. this chain is more than a hundred miles in length, and is the backbone of the highlands of the wilderness. it divides the waters that flow northerly into the st. lawrence from those that run southerly into the hudson. mount marcy, the old indian ta-ha-was-" he splits the sky," was found by verplanck colvin to be 5,402 feet above the level of the sea. it is the highest land east of the mississippi, save the white mountains of new hampshire, and the black mountains of north carolina. mount mcintyre, of this range, the indian he-no-ga-"the home of the thunderer," is 5,201 feet, mount haystack is 5,006 feet, and mount skylight 5,000 feet above tide water. upon the south side of mount marcy is a little pond or pool, called by the old guides summit water, and named by verplanck colvin "tear of the clouds." it is 4,326 feet above tide. a mile or two south of it is its twin pool, named 54 northern new york. moss lake, which is 4,312 feet above tide. these sister lakelets are the highest pond sources of the hudson. moss lake is margined and embanked with luxuriant sphagnous mosses, and is more of a mountain meadow than a lake. hence its name. in it colvin found numbers of beautiful minute white bivalve shells, but three-sixteenths of an inch in diameter. near the summit of these high mountains are found many rare arctic plants. among them are the mountain golden-rod, the arenaria groenlandica, (greenland sand root), and the potentilla tridentata, (white cinquefoil). ix. mountains of the lake belt. the mountain belt terminates as well as culminates in the adirondack range. westerly and northerly of it in the lake belt the mountains are more scattered and broken, and are arranged in vast groups or clusters around some high peak that overlooks the wilderness of lakes. one such group lies around mount seward, which is ten miles south of the saranac lakes. mount seward, whose indian name is ou-kor-la-the "great eye"-is 4,332 feet above tide. another group lies around mount whiteface, whose indian name is wa-ho-par-ten-ie, and at whose base sleeps. lake placid. whiteface is 4,956 feet above tide. upon its bare, storm-beaten summit some enthusiastic lover of the grand in nature has cut with reverent chisel, deep and clear into its everlasting rock, these words: thanks be to god for the mountains. mountains of the wilderness. 55 a third group surrounds blue mountain, in the raquette lake region. blue mountain is 3,824 feet above tide. its old indian name is to-war-loon-da-" hill of storms." still another group is gathered around mount lyon, which rises to the height of about 4,000 feet between the chateaugay and chazy lakes. this group consists of the spurs and broken ranges that cover the northerly half of clinton county with their wild grandeur. the chains and groups above named constitute the mountains of the great wilderness which were called by the early french explorers the "mountains of st. marthe." x. the view from the mountain tops. from the summit of any of the high mountains of the great wilderness, the scene presented to the eye of the beholder is one of the most striking and sublime in the whole domain of nature. it is at once awfully grand and wildly beautiful beyond the power of language to describe. on every side peak after peak towers up into the clear, cold atmosphere above the clouds, their outlines growing softer and more shadowy in the distance, until the earth and sky commingle in the vast encircling horizon. in all the nearer valleys, full in view, sleep numberless mountain meadows and quiet lakes and lakelets, "pools of liquid crystal turned emerald in the reflected green of impending woods." wonderful also are the hues and tints and shades of color which these mountains assume with the varying seasons of the year and with the daily changes of the weather, as the sky becomes bright and clear or dark 56 northern new york. and overcast. now we see them clothed in the crimson and golden tints of the evening-now in the cold, leaden grey of the morning; now silvery mists creep up their shaggy sides and linger languidly in their valleys-then purple shadows flit across them and play upon their summits. sometimes the air is so pure and clear after a storm breaks away, that all the mountains stand out with outlines so sharply defined, and their giant forms seemingly appear so near, that we fancy human voices might be heard from the farthest of them. then again they are all mantled with the matchless soft blue haze, often called mountain smoke, which is that dim, impalpable but lovely illusion and semblance of a color, that indescribable appearance of the fleeting, the vanishing and the spiritual, seen nowhere else in nature's realm but among the mountains, that makes the bristling crags and towering peaks, and solid mountain masses seem for all the world like softly sleeping clouds, hanging low down in a far-off shadowy sky, or floating over the sleeping bosom of some distant mountain lake. thus the scene forever changes, every day in the year, and every hour in the day presenting some new feature in the mountain landscape. but more striking and more wonderful than all else is the corrugated, wave-like, billowy appearance of the whole mountain region, that so forcibly reminds one of the wide, rolling sea. it seems as though the ocean, in one of its wildest, maddest storms, had suddenly "stood still with all its rounded billows fixed and motionless forever." mountains of the wilderness. 57 xi. name. 1888 mount marcy,..... mount mcintyre,.. mount haystack,. mount skylight,... mount grey peak,. 1888 mount white face, mount clinton,... mount south mcintyre,.. mount dix,.... mount little haystack,.. mount colden,. mount gothic,. mount redfield,.. mount nipple top,.. mount santanoni, saddle mountain,. giant of the valley,. mount seward,... macomb's mountain,.. ragged mountain,. mount colvin,. mount lyon,.. mount pharoah,. mount seymour,. mount bald face,.. mount devil's ear,.. 1891 snowy mountain,.. 1888 mount wall face,.. blue mountain,. north river mountain,.. mount hurricane,.. mount hoffman,. bartlett mountain,.. 8 altitude of mountain peaks. below is a table showing the height of some of the principal mountains of the wilderness, mostly as measured by verplanck colvin in his adirondack survey: 1882 panther mountain 1899 praeco mountain 1891 fish mountain 1896t lake mountain height in feet above tide. • .... • 5,4025.201 5,006 5,000 4,984 4,955 4,937 4,937 4,916 4,854 4,753 4,744 4,688 4,684 4,644 4,536 4,530 4,384 4,371 4,163 4,142 4,000 4,000 3,928 3,903 3,903 3,903 3,893 3,824 3,758 3,763 3,727 3,715 chapter vi. mountain passes. i climbed the dark brow of the mighty hellvellyn, lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide; all was still, save by fits when the eagle was yelling, and starting around me the echoes replied. on the right striden-edge round the red-tarn was bending, and catchedicam its left verge was defending, one huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, when i marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died. -sir walter scott. i. the indian pass. among the stern and rugged features of the grim wilderness, none are more awfully grand and imposing than the mountain passes over the highest ranges, and the dreadni gorges that so often furrow the mountain sides. the most celebrated of these mountain passes is the indian pass over the adirondack range in the town of north elba, in essex county. this pass was called by the indians otne-yar-heh-"stonish giants," ga-nos-gwah"giants clothed with stone," da-yoh-je-ga-go-"the place where the storm clouds meet in battle with the great serpent," and he-no-do-aw-da-"the path of the thunderer." through this pass ran the old indian trail which led from the head waters of the rivers that flow into lake champlain to the head waters of the forest branches of the hudson, and through it now runs the trail of the tourist and modern hunter. the old indian pass is an appalling chasm of more than a mile in length, and more than a thousand feet in depth, cut through the solid rock between mounts mcin tyre and wall face. the bottom of this awful gorge is a mountain passes. 59 narrow ravine strewn with huge fragments of rock that some titanic force has hurled from the towering mountain walls on either side. on its westerly or wall face side, a perpendicular precipice or wall of rocks towers up to the giddy height of thirteen hundred feet; while on its easterly side is a steep acclivity which rises at an angle of forty-five degrees, more than fifteen hundred feet towards the lofty summit of mount mcintyre. near the center of this wondrous chasm, high upon the shaggy side of mount mcintyre, two little springs issue from the rocks so near to each other that their waters almost mingle. from each spring flows a tiny stream. these streams at first interlock, but soon separating, run down the mountain side into the bottom of the chasm, which is here 2,937 feet above tide. after reaching the bottom, one runs southerly into the head waters of the hudson, and the other northerly into the waters that flow into the st. lawrence. only a little while at mid-day does the sunshine chase away the gloomy shadows of the perpetual twilight of this awful chasm, and the snow and ice linger all summer in its deep fissures. the towering precipice on the side of mount wall face is the most striking feature of the old indian pass. it seems as if mount mcintyre, suddenly, in some great convulsion of nature, or by slow degrees, had sunk more than a thousand feet below its former level, leaving this grand perpendicular wall of solid rock on the side of wall face to mark the extent of the great depression. the scenc presented by this stupendous yawning chasm and awful precipice is sublimely grand beyond description. "in 60 northern new york. viewing this great precipice," says prof. emmons, "no feeling of disappointment is felt in consequence of the expectation having exceeded the reality." "what a sight," says alfred b. street, "horrible, and yet sublimely beautifulno, not beautiful, scarce an element of beauty there-all grandeur and terror." ii. other mountain passes. between mounts dix and nipple top, another gloomy gorge extends across the boquet range, called the hunter's pass. it is second in wild grandeur only to the famous indian pass. the height of the center of the hunter's pass is 3,247 feet above tide. in this pass also, two rivers take their rise whose waters seek the sea in contrary directions the boquet running northerly to lake champlain, and the schroon southerly into the hudson. in the gorge next west of nipple top is the elk pass. this pass leads from the head of an easterly branch of the schroon to a branch of the au sable, and opens upon the head of keene valley. its summit is 3,302 feet above the level of the sea. between russagonia or sawtooth mountain and mount colvin is the au sable pass. it leads from the lower au sable lake to the head waters of the boreas river, a branch of the hudson. it is a water-gap, forming a natural gateway through the mountains. the opalescent-head pass and the avalanche lake pass are elevated mountain passes whose centers are more than four thousand feet above tide. mountain passes. 61 then there is the ou-luska pass, "the place of shadows," between mount seward and ragged mountain. the caraboo pass runs around the peak of mount mcintyre, connecting the head of the opalescent river with the head waters of the au sable. the great elba pass, extends as a broad valley along the west side of mount white face, and the ampersand valley pass lies between ragged mountain and mount seymour. then there is the panther gorge on mount marcy, whose very name makes one shudder, and the gorge of the dial -gloomy mountain gorges that impress the beholder with feelings of unutterable awe and terror.* the reader's attention has so far been called to the more rugged features of the mountain belt of the great wilderness. in the following chapters i shall attempt to sketch some of its softer and more gentle aspects—its lakes and streams and mountain meadows. * see report of the topographical survey of the adirondack wilderness of new york for the year 1873, by verplanck colvin ; natural history of new york, part iv; the indian pass, by alfred b. street, notes to poems of charles fenno hoffman, and hough's gazetteer of new york of 1872. chapter vii. mountain meadows. the spring has passed this way. look! where she trod the daring crocus sprang up through the sod, to greet her coming with glad heedlessness, scarce waiting to put on its leafy dress, but bright and bold in its brave nakedness. and further on-mark-on this gentle rise she must have passed, for frail anemones are trembling to the wind couched low among these fresh green grasses that so lush have sprung o'er the hid runnel, that with tinkling tongue babbles its secret troubles. here she stopped a longer while, and on this grassy sweep, while pensively she lingered, see! she dropped this knot of love-sick violets from her breast, which as she threw them down she must have kissed, for still the fragrance of her breath they keep. -w, w. s., in blackwood's magazine. the wilderness is mostly characterized by the rugged grandeur of its mountain scenery, yet it is not wholly without its softer aspects and more gentle features. among these none are more wildly beautiful than its mountain meadows. in all the valleys between the mountain ranges, and scattered thickly about all through the lake and level belts of the wilderness, are numberless mountain meadows, sleeping in their quiet beauty, veiled in the dreamy haze, the lovely mountain smoke of the short adirondack summers. in these wild mountain meadows nature, in her playful moments, seems to have dressed the fairy scene in sharp contrast with the frowning grandeur of the mountain gorges. some of these wild meadows are broad expanses of waving grass-miniature prairies-often of miles in extent. through the most of them a brooklet winds with sluggish mountain meadows. 63 current, filled with speckled trout,-its banks covered with the bloom of the crocus, the anemone, violets, grass pinks, wild roses and azaleas. others are wide marshes or peat bogs, carpeted with deep many colored sphagnous mosses, and covered with clumps of low, bushy shrubs, among which the modest kalmia blooms beside the blue gentian and the flaming cardinal flower, and the curious side-saddle flower or pitcher plant alternates with the rare yellow iris. among the largest and most famous of these mountain meadows is the sacondaga vlaie in the northern part of fulton county, near which sir william johnston built his hunting lodges, called the fish house and the cottage on the summer house point, (built in 1772,) at which he spent several months in the summer. this vlaie is five or six miles in length, and in many places more than a mile in width. through it runs the ken-ny-et-to creek; and the mayfield creek runs into the sacondaga at the fish house. another of these natural meadows or miniature prairies of equal size, also called the vlaie, lies along the west bank of the black river, in lewis county, between lowville and castorland. many of these wild meadows cover extensive beds of peat. it seems that a large share of the vegetable matter of the soil of the wilderness has been washed into these peaty beds. a beautiful feature of these beds is the rich carpet of sphagnous mosses with which they are covered. these mosses, late in the summer, sometimes drop their delicate shades of green, and rival the autumn leaves in the soft beauty of their hues and tints. these carpets of the wilderness are then more beautiful than the fairest pro64 northern new york. ducts of the persian looms. at number four, near fenton's, is one of these charming mountain meadows carpeted with brilliant mosses. around all these wild mountain meadows of the great wilderness, and along the borders of the brooks that wander through them, is always to be seen a wavy line of alders and shining willows. along this line the shad bush hangs out in earliest spring its flag of truce, and the trailing arbutus peeps with bright eyes as it creeps forth beside the lingering snow-banks. later in the season, the clematis-virgin's bower-twines, with its clusters of purple blossoms, and the sweet azaleas and wild roses mingle their fragrance with the violets and lilies that bloom among the grasses. often in the sumptuous summer these meadows are all ablaze with the scarlet and purple flowers of the early autumn of warmer regions. in many of these natural meadows of the wilderness may still be seen the remains of old beaver dams, and sometimes the decaying stumps of old trees once gnawed by beavers' teeth. these wild meadows were the beaver's favorite home when the old wilderness was the indian couch-sachra-ge, or "beaver hunting country," and are now called by the hunters "beaver meadows." it is supposed that the beaver long since ceased to exist within the boundaries of the wilderness. the last one was seen in the vicinity of bog lake, by charles fenton, more than twenty years ago. yet it is said that there are unexplored regions which lie at some distance from the frequented forest trails where a few colonies yet linger in their ancient home, unmolested by man. around all the wild meadows may be seen many a quiet mountain meadows. 65 nook, where the deer comes in to crop his morning meal from off the juicy grasses, and the black bear to gather his supper of sweet wild berries. and here and there among them, "dells smile, fit haunts for fairies, where the thrasher pipes, the scampering squirrel barks, and the gliding rabbit jerks its long ears at every sound, and the ancient path of the whirlwind is seen, with the wrenched trees long since melted into the grass of a vista like an old settler-road, so that the eye looks in vain for the faint wheel track." such are some of the smiling and softer aspects of the grim old wilderness. 9 chapter viii. the discovery of lake george. "the very echoes round this shore have caught a strange and gibbering tone for they have told the war whoop o'er, till the wild chorus is their own.' -goodrich. i. the gem of the old wilderness. in the olden time, when the whole north continent was a vast howling wilderness from the frozen ocean to the flowery gulf land, many bright, fair lakes lay sleeping in its awful solitudes, their waters flashing in the sunshine, like gleaming mirrors, and lighting up the somber desolation like jewels in an iron crown; but the fairest and the brightest of them all was lake george. it was the gem of the old wilderness. of the thousand lakes that adorn the surface of northern new york, there is none among them all to-day so fair, none among them all so like "a diadem of beauty," as lake george-its deepest waters as bright and as pure as the dew drops that linger on its lilies. its authentic history runs back for two hundred and forty years. its forest traditions extend into the dim, mythical, mysterious and unknown romance of the new world. but its waters have not always been as pure as they are to-day, and we would all grow weary of its story, for it is a story of blood. in the following pages, therefore, i shall attempt to sketch a few only of the most noted incidents connected with its discovery by white men. the discovery of lake george. 67 ii. isaac jogues. the first white men who saw lake george were the jesuit father isaac jogues, and his companions rené goupil and guillame couture. they were taken over its waters as prisoners-tortured, maimed and bleeding,-by the mohawks, in the month of august, 1642. isaac jogues, the discoverer of lake george, was born at orleans, in france, on the 10th of january, 1607, and received there the rudiments of his education. in october, 1624, he entered the jesuit society at rouen, and removed to the college of la fletche in 1627. he completed his divinity studies at clermont college, paris, and was ordained priest in february, 1636. in the spring of that year he embarked as a missionary for canada, arriving at quebec early in july. at the time of his first visit to lake george, jogues was but thirty-five years of age. "his oval face and the delicate mould of his features," says parkman, "indicated a modest, thoughtful, and refined nature. he was constitutionally timid, with a sensitive conscience and great religious susceptibilities. he was a finished scholar, and might have gained a literary reputation; but he had chosen another career, and one for which he seemed but ill-fitted." his companions were young laymen who, from religious motives, had attached themselves without pay to the service of the jesuit missions. 68 northern new york. iii. war in the wilderness. thirty-three years before jogues' first visit to lake george, samuel de champlain, while on his voyage of discovery, had attacked the iroquois on the shores of the lake that bears his name, and they had fled in terror from his murderous fire-arms to their homes on the mohawk. since then they had ceased to make war upon their hereditary enemies, the canadian algonquins, or the french colonists. but the iroquois had by no means forgotten their humiliating defeat. in the meantime they had themselves been supplied with fire-arms by the dutch traders at fort orange, on the hudson, in exchange for beaver skins and wampum, and now their hour of sweet revenge had come. the war with the eries, the hurons, and the other western tribes, had been undertaken by the senecas, the cayugas and onondagas. it was left to the mohawks and the oneidas to attempt the extermination of the canadian algonquins and their french allies. they came near accomplishing their bloody purpose. but for the timely arrival of a few troops from france, the banks of the st. lawrence would soon have become as desolate as the country of the lost eries or that of the hurons. the savages hung the war-kettle upon the fire and danced the war-dance in all the mohawk castles. in bands of tens and hundreds they took the war-path, and passing through lakes george and champlain, and down the river richelieu, went prowling about the french settlements at montreal, three rivers and quebec, and the indian villages on the ottawa. the iroquois were everywhere. from the huron country to the discovery of lake george. 69 the saguenay they infested the forests like so many ravening wolves. they hung about the french forts, killing stragglers and luring armed parties into fatal ambuscades. they followed like hounds upon the trail of travellers, and hunted through the forests, and lay in wait along the banks of streams to attack the passing canoes. it was one of these hostile bands of mohawks that attacked and captured isaac jogues and his companions. iv. capture of jogues. father jogues had come down the savage ottawa river a thousand miles, in his bark canoes, the spring before, from his far-off huron mission to quebec, for much needed supplies. he was now on his return voyage to the huron country. in the dewy freshness of the early morning of the second day of august, with his party of four frenchmen and thirty-six hurons, in twelve heavily laden canoes, father jogues reached the westerly end of the expansion of the st. lawrence called lake st. peters. it is there filled with islands that lie opposite the mouth of the river richelieu. it was not long before they heard the terrible war-whoop upon the canadian shore. in a moment more jogues and his white companions and a part of his hurons, were captives in the hands of the yelling, exulting mohawks, and the remainder of the hurons killed or dispersed. goupil was seized at once. jogues might have escaped, but seeing goupil and his huron neophytes in the hands of their savage captors, he had no heart to desert them, 70 northern new york. and gave himself up. couture at first eluded his pursuers, but, like jogues, relented, and returned to his companions. five iroquois ran to meet couture as he approached, one of whom snapped his gun at his breast. it missed fire, but couture in turn fired his own gun at the savage, and laid him dead at his feet. the others sprang upon him like panthers, stripped him naked, tore out his fingernails with their teeth, gnawed his fingers like hungry dogs, and thrust sword through one of his hands. jogues, touched by the sufferings of his friend, broke from his guards, and threw his arms around couture's neck. the savages dragged him away, and knocked him senseless. when he revived they gnawed his fingers with their teeth, and tore out his nails as they had done those of couture. turning fiercely upon goupil they treated him in the same way. with their captives they then crossed to the mouth of the richelieu, and encamped where the town of sorel now stands.* the savages returned, by the way which they came, to the mohawk with their suffering captives. on the eighth day, upon an island near the south end of lake champlain, they arrived at the camp of two hundred iroquois, who were on their way to the st. lawrence. at the sight of the captives, these fierce warriors, armed with clubs and thorny sticks, quickly ranged themselves in two long lines, between which the captives were each in turn made to run the gauntlet up a rocky hill-side. on their way they were beaten with such frenzy that jogues fell senseless, half dead, and covered with blood. after passing this or*parkman's jesuits in north america, p. 217. the discovery of lake george. 71 deal again, the captives were mangled as before, and this time tortured with fire. at night, when they tried to rest, the young warriors tore open their wounds, and pulled out their hair and beards. v. the discovery of lake george. in the morning they resumed their journey, and soon reached a rocky promontory, near which rose a forest covered mountain, beyond which the lake narrowed into a river. it was more than a hundred years before that promontory became the famous ticonderoga of later times. between the promontory and the mountain a stream issued from the woods and fell into the lake. they landed at the mouth of the stream, and taking their canoes upon their shoulders, followed it up around the noisy waters of the falls. it was the indian che-non-de-ro-ga, “the chiming waters." they soon reached the shores of a beautiful lake that there lay sleeping in the depths of the limitless forest, all undiscovered and unseen by white men until then. it was the fairest gem of the old wilderness, now called lake george. but then it bore only its old indian name caniaderi-oit," the tail of the lake." champlain, thirty-three years before, had come no further than its outlet. he heard the "chiming waters" of the falls, and was told that a great lake lay beyond them. but he turned back without seeing it, and so our bruised and bleeding prisoners, isaac jogues, and his companions goupil and couture, were the first of white men to gaze upon its waters. 72 northern new york. "like a fair naiad of the wilderness," says parkman, "it slumbered between the guardian mountains that breathe between crag and forest the stern poetry of war. again they launched their frail canoes, and amid the dreamy splendors of an august day glided on their noiseless course across the charming waters. on they passed, under the dusky mountain shadows, now over some wide expanse, now through the narrow channels and among the woody islands, redolent with balsamy odors. at last they reached the landing place, at the head of the lake, afterward the site of fort william henry, now caldwell, famous as a summer resort. here they left their boats and took the old indian trail that led from lake george, across indian kay-ad-ros-se-ra, a distance of forty miles, to the lower castles on the mohawk. it was the same trail afterward followed by the marquis de tracy, in october, 1666, on his way to the mohawk castles, with his army and train of french noblemen, to avenge the death of the youthful chazy. this indian trail, so often the war-path, led from the south end of lake george on a southerly course to the great bend of the hudson, about ten miles westerly of glens falls. from the bend it led southerly through the towns of wilton and greenfield, along in plain sight of, and but four or five miles distant from, saratoga springs, and through galway to the lower castles on the mohawk, four or five miles westerly of what is now amsterdam, on the new york central railroad. * jesuits in north america, p. 219. *.. the discovery of lake george. 73 vi. the captivity of jogues. after their arrival at the mohawk towns, father jogues and his companions were again subjected to the most inhuman tortures, with the horrid details of which i will not weary the reader. among the mohawks jogues remained for nearly a year, a captive slave, performing the most menial duties. soon after his arrival, more huron prisoners were brought in, and put to death with cruel tortures. in the midst of his own sufferings, jogues lost no opportunity to convert them to christianity, sometimes even baptizing them with a few rain-drops which he found clinging to the husks of an ear of corn that was thrown to him for food. couture had won their admiration by his bravery, and after inflicting upon him the most savage torture, they adopted him into one of their families in the place of a dead relation. but in october they murdered poor goupil, and after dragging his body through the village, threw it into a deep ravine. jogues sought it and gave it partial burial. he sought it again and it was gone. had the torrent washed it away, or had it been taken off by the savages? he searched the forest and the waters in vain. "then crouched by the pitiless stream he mingled his tears with its waters, and in a voice broken with groans, chanted the service for the dead."* in the spring, while the snows were melting, some children told him where the body of poor goupil was lying further down the stream. the indians, and not the torrent had taken it away. he found the bones scattered around, stripped by the foxes and birds. * jesuits in north america, p. 225. 10 74 northern new york. he tenderly gathered them, and hid them in a hollow tree, in the hope that he might some day be able to lay them in consecrated ground. late in the autumn after his arrival he was ordered to go to some distant forest with a party of braves on their annual deer hunt. all the game they took they first offered to their god ar-rok-oui, and then ate it in his honor. jogues came near starving in the midst of plenty, for he would not taste the food offered to what he believed to be a demon. in a lonely spot in the forest he cut the bark in the form of a cross from the trunk of a large tree. then half clad in shaggy furs, in the chill wintry air, he knelt before it upon the frozen ground in prayer. he was a living martyr to the faith before whose emblem he bowed in adorationa faith in which was now his only hope and consolation. vii. the escape. at length in the month of july, 1643, father jogues went with a fishing party to a place on the hudson about twenty miles below fort orange. some of the iroquois soon returned, bringing jogues with them. on their way they stopped at fort orange, and he made his escape. fort orange was then a small octagonal palisaded fort, situated on the flats near what is now the steamboat landing in albany, and was surrounded by twenty or thirty plain wooden houses. albany was then a small fur trading station at the lower end of the great carrying place between the mohawk and the hudson which avoided the cohoes falls. the discovery of lake george. 75 jogues was secreted by the dutch, and the savages made diligent search for him. fearing his discovery and recapture by them, the kind-hearted dutch paid a large ransom for the captive, and gave him a free passage to his home in france. he arrived in brittany on christmas day, and was received by his friends, who had heard of his captivity, as one risen from the dead. he was treated everywhere with mingled curiosity and reverence, and was summoned to paris. the ladies of the court thronged around to do him homage. when he was presented to the queen, anne of austria, she kissed his mutilated hands-the hands of the poor slave of the mohawk squaws. in the spring of 1644, jogues returned to canada, soon to become a martyr to his faith in the valley of the mohawk. viii. the lake of the blessed sacrament. for still another year the iroquois war raged with unabated violence. early in the spring of 1645, a famous algonquin chief named piskaret, with a band of braves, went out upon the war-path toward the country of the mohawks. upon an island in lake champlain they met a war-party of thirteen iroquois. they killed eleven of the number, made prisoners of the other two, and returned in triumph to the st. lawrence. at sillery, a small settlement on the st. lawrence, near quebec, piskaret, in a speech, delivered his captives to montmagny, the governor general, who replied with compliments and gifts. 76 northern new york. the wondering captives, when they fairly comprehended that they were saved from cruel torture and death, were surprised and delighted beyond measure. then one of the captive mohawks, of great size and of matchless symmetry of form, who was evidently a war chief, arose and said to the governor montmagny : my body is degiven me my life. "onnontio, i am saved from the fire. livered from death. onnontio, you have i thank you for it. i will never forget it. all my country will be grateful to you. the earth will be bright, the river calm and smooth; there will be peace and friendship be.tween us. the shadow is before my eyes no longer. the spirits of my ancestors slain by the algonquins have disappeared. onnontio, you are good; we are bad. but our anger is gone. i have no heart but for peace and rejoicing." as he said this he began to dance, holding his hands upraised as if apostrophizing the sun. suddenly he snatched a hatchet, brandished it for a moment like a mad man, then flung it into the fire saying as he did so : "thus i throw down my anger; thus i cast away the weapons of blood. farewell war. now, onnontio, i am your friend forever." onnontio means in the indian tongue "great mountain." it is a literal translation of montmagny's name. it was ever after the iroquois name for the governors of canada, as corlear was for the governors of new york. corlear was the indian name for arendt van curler, first superintendent of the "colonie of rensselaerswick," who was a great favorite of the mohawks. the captive iroquois were well treated by the french the discovery of lake george. 77 and one of them sent home to their country on the mohawk, under a promise of making negotiations for peace with his people, and the other kept as a hostage. the efforts of the captive chief who returned to the mohawks were successful. in a short time he reappeared at three rivers with ambassadors of peace from the mohawk cantons. to the great joy of the french he brought with him couture, who had become a savage in dress and appearance. after a great deal of feasting, speech-making and belt-giving, peace was concluded, and order and quiet once more reigned for a brief period in the wilderness. but ambassadors from the french and algonquins must be sent from canada to the mohawk towns, with gifts and presents to ratify the treaty. no one among the french was so well suited for this office as isaac jogues. his, too, was a double errand, for he had already been ordered by his superior to found a new mission among the mohawks. it was named prophetically, in advance, "the mission of the martyrs." at the first thought of returning to the mohawks, jogues recoiled with horror. but it was only a momentary pang. the path of duty seemed clear to him, and, thankful that he was found worthy to suffer for the saving of souls, he prepared to depart. on the 16th of may, 1646, father jogues set out from three rivers with sieur bourdon, engineer to the governor, two algonquin ambassadors, and four mohawks as guides. on his way he passed over the well remembered scenes of his former sufferings upon the river richelieu and lake champlain. he reached the foot of lake george on the eve of corpus christi, which is the feast of the blessed body of jesus. he named the lake, in honor of the day, "the 78 northern new york. lake of the blessed sacrament." for more than a hundred years afterward this lake bore no other name. when he visited the lake before, as a poor, suffering, bleeding prisoner, it was clad in the dreamy splendors of the early autumn. now its banks were robed in the wild exuberance of leafy june. when sir william johnson began his military operations at the head of the lake in the summer of 1755, he changed its name to lake george in honor of england's hanoverian king. "better," says an eminent historian, "had it been called lake jogues in honor of its gentle discoverer." from lake st. sacrament, jogues proceeded on his way to the mohawk country, and having accomplished his political mission, returned to canada. thus ended the first french and indian war, which i shall call the war of 1642. ix. the mission of the martyrs. but the work of father jogues was only half done. again, in month of september he set out for the mohawk country. on his way he again passed over the shining waters of lake st. sacrament. now it had doffed its summer dress, aud donned again the gold and crimson glories of the autumn forests. this time he went in his true character, a minister of the gospel. but he had a strong presentiment that his life was near its end. he wrote to a friend "i shall go and shall not return." his forebodings were verified. while there in july he had left a small box containing a few necessary articles in anticipation of an the discovery of lake george. 79 early return. the superstitious savages were confident that famine, pestilence, or some evil spirit or other was shut up in the box, which would in time come forth and devastate their country. to confirm their suspicions, that very summer there was much sickness in their castles, and when the harvest came in the autumn they found that the caterpillars had eaten their corn. the christian missionary was held responsible for all this, and was therefore doomed to die. he arrived at their village of cach-na-wa-ga, on the bank of the mohawk, on the 17th of october, and was saluted with blows. on the evening of the 18th, he was invited to sup in the wigwam of a chief. he accepted the invitation, and on entering the hut he was struck on the head with a tomahawk by a savage who was concealed within the door. they cut off his head, and in the morning displayed it upon one of the palisades that surrounded the village. his body they threw into the mohawk. thus died father isaac jogues, the discoverer of lake george, at his mission of the martyrs, st. mary of the mohawks, in the fortieth year of his age.* he was but an humble, self-sacrificing missionary of the cross, yet his was "one of the few, the immortal names, that were not born to die." • for a full account of the martyrdom of father jogues, see parkman's jesuits in north america, to which work i am indebted for many of the incidents above related. also see abridged relations of father bressany, published in montreal in 1852, which contains a portrait of father jogues. chapter ix. lakes of the wilderness. a mirror, where the veteran rocks, may glass their seams and scars; a nether sky where breezes break the sunshine into stars. -houghton. i. among the softer and more gentle aspects of the wilderness, are its numberless lakes, which, like its mountain meadows, are scattered all over its surface, sleeping in quiet beauty in all its valleys. a boundless stretch of forest is grand, but when its somber shades are broken by the silver waters of a lake, its grandeur at once softens into the beautiful. in the old world, the associations of centuries of human experience cluster around each lake and river, and they are linked to the past by a thousand pleasing or painful memories. but here in this primeval wilderness, many of them are as new and fresh creations, so far as civilized man is concerned, as they were when left by the receding waters of the primeval ocean. no human blood or tears have ever been mingled with their waters. the wild fowl builds her nest near them, and there hatches her young brood; the grey wolf comes tripping down the banks to drink; the timid deer steps in to crop his juicy food; the eagle rears her young on some steep jutting crag, or towering topblasted tree; the sleek otter slides in for his daily store of fish, and the panther's scream echoes around their lonely lakes of the wilderness. 81 shores to-day, just as they all did when abraham of old was receiving the promises, and homer was tuning his immortal lyre. ii. their rocky beds. the lakes of the wilderness, like its mountains, owe their existence to the extremely rugged, broken and corrugated strata of its old laurentian system of underlying rocks. the extreme hardness of these primitive rocks prevents their being worn away by the action of running water, while their rough and broken surface presents many barriers, which no time can crumble, to the free passage of the rivers and streams. meeting these obstructions, which no washing can wear away, sometimes, in many places along their channels, the rivers spread out into many lakes, and chains of lakes, in their winding courses as they run down the slopes of the wilderness. and now lake and lakelet sleep in their granite beds that were shaped for them when the rocky ground work of the wilderness plateau was folded into ranges and tumbled together into mountain masses, in "the making of the world." lake ontario doubtless owes its great depth to the solid laurentian barrier that crosses the bed of the st. lawrence at the thousand islands. were it not for this bar of flinty rocks, the ocean tide, instead of ceasing to be felt near montreal, would ebb and flow up to the very foot of niagara. ii 82 northern new york. iii. the lake belt. nearly all the larger and by far the greater number of the smaller lakes of the wilderness are found in its lake belt. this great belt, as stated in a previous chapter, is about thirty miles in width, and extends diagonally across the center of the wilderness from north-east to south-west, between the level belt on the north, and the mountain belt on the south. in the lake belt we have at the north-east the chazy and upper chateaugay lakes, the upper and lower saranac, the st. regis lakes and lake placid. centrally, we have the raquette, the largest of all the lakes, forked lake, beach's lake, smith's and albany lakes, little and big tupper's. to the south-west there are the eight lakes of the fulton chain, moose lake, and the red horse chain, and the woodhull lakes. cranberry lake, beaver lake and lake francis at number four, brantingham lake, bonaparte lake, chases lake, and the oswegatchie chain of lakes and ponds, all lie in the level belt of the wilderness. the lake belt seems to be a depression in or a downward fold of the rocky strata of the wilderness, which runs parallel with the great mountain ranges. through the whole length of this depression there is a continuous succession of lakes and streams that render its navigation possible from one end to the other. should the hunter launch his skiff upon the waters of the saranac river, which flow into lake champlain, he could pass up through the lower and upper saranac lakes, and out of their head lakes of the wilderness. 83 waters into the head waters of stoney creek, a stream that runs into the raquette river, by going overland only across the old indian carry, which is but a mile in length. once afloat upon the waters of the raquette, he would find little difficulty in going up it into long lake, forked lake and raquette lake. from the raquette he could pass up into its brown's tract inlet, and then overland across another carry of only a mile and a quarter into the fulton chain of eight lakes, whose waters flow through the moose river into the black river. thus could he float his frail boat through the very heart of the wilderness, and under the shadows of its highest mountain chain, without scarcely taking it from the water. iv. lakes of the mountain belt. in the eastern part of the mountain belt are the beautiful lakes scarron (schroon) and luzerne, which are already so much frequented by summer tourists, and in the northern part are piseco and pleasant lakes of the sacondaga waters. three miles above lake scarron, and in the same valley, is the curious lake paradox. the outlet of lake paradox flows into scarron river, which in times of freshet is higher than the lake. at such times the water flows from the .1 river into the lake, instead of from the lake into the river. this apparent running up stream of these waters, one of nature's paradoxes, gave rise to the name. similar to this is paradox pond, near lake placid. into this pond the waters of the lake ebb and flow through its outlet, which is also its inlet, with continuous throbbing, like the ocean tide. 84 northern new york. lake luzerne was named in honor of the chevalier de la luzerne, who was the first french minister to the united states. he was sent over by his government in 1779, and remained until 1783. he had great influence, and discharged the delicate and onerous duties of his important office with singular ability. this beautiful lake and mountain chain to which it gives its name are among the enduring monuments of our nation's gratitude to france for her priceless services in the war of the revolution. in the very heart's core of the wilderness, at the foot of the old giants of the mountain belt, mounts marcy, mcintyre, colden, haystack, skylight and santanoni, are located the singular lakes colden and avalanche, and the lakes sanford and henderson, of sad memories. lakes colden and avalanche lie near each other, between mounts colden, marcy and mcintyre, and are the highest lakes of any considerable size in the wilderness. lake avalanche is 2,856 feet, and lake colden is 2,770 feet above tide. at such heights, and shut in by such mountain barriers, their still, clear, ice-cold waters glitter like mirrors in a land of shadows. in their chilly depths no living thing can exist except a species of small green lizard. into lake avalanche, from time to time, vast land slides have rushed down from mount colden, half filling it with earth and rocks. one such avalanche came down as late as 1869, ploughing a deep gorge in the mountain's side, and nearly divided the lake into two parts. near the foot of these weird lakes runs the wonderful opalescent river, the highest easterly branch of the hudson. the opalescent, a branch of which takes its rise in the high mountain pools summit water and moss lake, lakes of the wilderness. 85 upon the sides of old ta-ha-was, runs through one of the most wild and picturesque regions that can be found in the great woods. at one place it shoots through a narrow fissure in the rocks, or mountain gorge, of more than a mile in length. this gorge is called by the old hunters the "flume of the opalescent." the bed of the stream, which is formed of the hypersthene rock of the region, is full of crystals of opalescent feldspar. this is the exquisitely beautiful mineral labradorite, which was first discovered by the moravian missionaries in the laurentian rocks in labrador, and that when first taken by them to england brought such fabulous prices. in this wild mountain stream this brilliant gem is found in great profusion, shining through its clear waters with a marvellous play of colors. but this is not the only gem that flashes in the dark rocks of this region. garnets, carnelians, sapphires, agates, amethysts, jasper, chalcedony, celestine and calcite light up the old rocks with their brilliant iridescence. the lakes of the wilderness, mentioned in this chapter, comprise only a few of those which are the most widely known and celebrated. the whole territory of the wilderness is literally crowded with lakes unnumbered, and many of them still unnamed and unexplored, upon whose shores, says colvin, there is no mark of axe nor sign of man anywhere." colvin, in his adirondack survey in 1873 and in 1874, found more than two hundred and fifty lakes and ponds, that had never been laid down upon any maps, in a small part of the wilderness, 66 86 northern new york. altitude of lakes and forest stations. a table showing the height in feet above tide water of some of the lakes, summer resorts and forest stations in and near the wilderness, mostly as computed by verplanck colvin in his adirondack survey: name. ampersand pond, albany lake,.... adirondack village,. aiden lair,... au sable pond, (upper)... *arnold's, on brown's tract,.. ..... \ beach's lake, (brandreth,). beaver meadow pond, (source oswegatchie). blue mountain lake,.. v. *ballston spa, (r. r. track).... *beaver lake, (at fenton's, number four) *chase's lake, (watson). . caraboo pass,. graves's pond,. . . . grasse river ford, great plains,. harrington pond, bog lake,. boquet river, (at elizabethtown). boquet river, (upland valley,. *black river, (at watertown,).. *carthage, (black river, above dam). calamity pond,. cedar lake, cedar river settlement,. charley pond, (beaver river). .... dyke falls, (crossing)... elizabethtown, (river level). elk pass,.... fairy ladder falls,. *fuller summit, galway,. fish house, on sacondaga,. height. 1,836 1,700 2,004 1,674 2,078 1,688 1,913 2,193 1,821 277 1,409 1,755 496 2,425 454 715 2,712 2,529 1,706 1,232 3,662 1,720 2,788 496 3,302 3,iii 1,032 720 1,795 1,452 1,637 1,779 lakes of the wilderness. 87 *hudson river, mouth cedar river,. indian lake,... iron works, (lower,)... jackson's hotel, cedar river,. *lake ontario,.. lake placid,... long lake, lake pleasant,. lake colden,. lake avalanche, lost lake, (oswegatchie). .... +lake george,. . . . +lake champlain,. moose lake,.. panther gorge,. raquette lake, moss lake,.. north elba bridge,. +oneida lake,... *piseco lake,. red horse chain,.... *spruce lake summit, hamilton county,.... saranac lake, (upper).. saranac lake, (lower). . silver lake,.. smith's lake, beaver river,. summit water pond,... stillwater, beaver river,. saratoga springs, (r. r. track). tupper's lake,. tupper's lake, (little). wells town,.... wilmington village,. • 1,454 1,705 1,805 1,706 234 1,615 1,620 1,615 2,770 2,856 1,761 243 69 2,239 4,312 1,671 369 1,648 3,378 1,766 1,756 2,392 1,605 1,556 1,983 1,774 4,326 1,656 306 1,554 1,737 1,016 1,058 * by a. f. edwards, chief engineer sackett's harbor and saratoga railroad. from hough's gazetteer. chapter x. the naming of the chazy river. and dar'st thou then to beard the lion in his den, the douglass in his hall? -sir walter scott. i. the chazy river flows from the beautiful lake of the same name, northerly and easterly, and falls into the northerly end of lake champlain, nearly opposite the isle la motte, of historic fame. the chazy lake sleeps at the foot of mount lyon, one of the central peaks of a mountain group of the lake belt of the wilderness, on the rugged eastern border of clinton county. this beautiful stream was named in memory of sieur chazy, a young french nobleman who was murdered on its banks, near its mouth, by the indians, in the year 1666. m. chazy was a nephew of the marquis de tracy, lieutenant general of canada, and was a captain in the famous french regiment carignan-salières. this regiment was the first body of regular troops that was sent to canada by the french king. it was raised by prince carignan, in savoy, during the year 1644. eight years after, it was conspicuous in the service of the french king, in the battles with prince condé in the revolt of the fronde. but the prince of carignan was unable to support the regiment and gave it to the king, who attached it to the armies of france. in 1664 it took a distinguished part with the allied forces of france in the austrian war with the turks. the next year the naming of the chazy river. 89 it went with tracy to canada. among its captains, besides chazy, were sorel, chambly, la motte and others, whose names are so familiar in canadian annals. the regiment was commanded by colonel de salières-hence its double name.* in 1665 tracy landed at quebec in great pomp and splendor. the chevalier de chaumont was at his side, and a long line of young noblesse, gorgeous in lace, ribbons, and majestic leoline wigs, followed in his train. as this splendid array of noblemen marched through the narrow streets of the young city to the tap of drum, escorted by the carignan-salières, "the bronzed veterans of the turkish wars," each soldier with slouched hat, nodding plume, bandolier and shouldered fire-lock, they formed a glittering pageant such as the new world had never seen before. in the same year, the captain sieur la motte built fort st. anne upon the isle la motte, at the north end of lake champlain, opposite the mouth of the chazy river. young chazy was stationed at this fort in the spring of 1666, and while hunting in the woods near the mouth of the river with a party of officers, was surprised and attacked by a roving band of iroquois. chazy, with two or three others, was killed upon the spot, and the survivors captured and carried off prisoners to the valley of the mohawk. for months the war raged with unabated violence, and the old wilderness was again drenched in blood, as it had been in the time of father jogues twenty years before. but in the august following a grand council of peace was held with the iroquois at quebec. during the council, tracy invited some mohawk chiefs to dine with him. at * parkman's old regimé, page 181. 12 90 northern new york. the table some allusion was made to the murder of chazy. a chief named ag-ari-ata at once held out his arm, and boastingly said: "this is the hand that split the head of that young man." "you shall never kill anybody else," exclaimed the horror stricken tracy, and ordered the insolent savage to be taken out and hanged upon the spot in sight of his comrades.* of course, peace was no longer thought of. tracy made haste to mar against the mohawks with all the forces at his command. during the month of september, quebec on the st. lawrence, and fort st. anne on the isle la motte, on lake champlain, were the scenes of busy preparation. at length tracy and the governor, courcelle, set out from quebec on the day of the exaltation of the cross, "for whose glory," says the relations, "this expedition is undertaken." they had with them a force of thirteen hundred men and two pieces of cannon. it was the beginning of october, and the forests were putting on the gorgeous hues of an american autumn. they went up lake champlain, and into lake st. sacrament, now lake george. as their flotilla swept gracefully over the crystal waters of this gem of the old wilderness, it formed the first of the military pageants that in after years made that fair scene famous in history. leaving their canoes where fort william henry was afterward built, they plunged boldly on foot into the southern wilderness that lay before them toward the mohawk country. they took the old indian trail so often trodden by the weary feet of father jogues, and by the war-parties *parkman's old regimé, page 192. the naming of the chazy river. 91 of savages, which led across the hudson at the main bend above glens falls, and passed across the old indian hunting ground kay-ad-ros-se-ra, through what are now the towns of wilton, greenfield and galway, in saratoga county, to the lower castles on the mohawk river, near the mouth of the schoharie creek. it was more than forty miles of forests, filled with swamps, rivers, and mountains, that lay before them. their path was a narrow, rugged trail, filled with rocks and gullies, pitfalls and streams. their forces consisted of six hundred regulars of the regiment carignansalières, six hundred canadian militia, and a hundred christian indians, from the missions. "it seems to them," writes mother marie de l'incarnation, in her letter of the sixteenth of october, 1666, "that they are going to lay seige to paradise, and win it, and enter in, because they are fighting for religion and the faith." on they went through the tangled woods, officers as well as men carrying heavy loads upon their backs, and dragging their cannon "over slippery logs, tangled roots and oozy mosses." before long, in the vicinity of what is now known as lake desolation, their provisions gave out, and they were almost starved. but soon the trail led through a thick wood of chestnut trees, full of nuts, which they eagerly devoured, and thus stayed their hunger. at length, after many weary days, they reached the lower mohawk cantons. the names of the two lower mohawk castles were then te-hon-de-lo-ga, which was at fort hunter, at the mouth of the schoharie creek, and ga-no-wa-ga, now cach-na-wa-ga, which was near tribes hill. the upper castles, which were further up the mohawk, were the ca92 northern new york. na-jo-ha-ie, near fort plain, and ga-ne-ga-ha-ga, opposite the mouth of east canada creek. they marched through the fertile valley of the mohawk, the indians fleeing into the forest at their approach. thus the brilliant pageant of the summer that had glittered across the somber rock of quebec, was twice repeated by this warlike band of noblemen and soldiers, amid the crimson glories of the autumn woods in the wild valley of the mohawk. they did not need the cannon which they had brought with so much toil across the country from lake st. st. sacrament. the savages were frightened almost out of their wits by the noise of their twenty drums. "let us save ourselves, brothers," said one of the mohawk chiefs, as he ran away, "the whole world is coming against us." after destroying all the cornfields in the valley, and the last palisaded mohawk village, they planted a cross on its ashes, and by the side of the cross the royal arms of france. then an officer, by order of tracy, advanced to the front, and, with sword in hand, proclaimed, in a loud voice, that he took possession in the name of the king of france of all the country of the mohawks. having thus happily accomplished their object without the loss of a man, they returned to canada over the route by which they came. the death of young chazy was avenged. the insolent iroquois were for the first time chastised and humbled in their own country. for twenty years afterward there was peace in the old wilderness-peace bought by the blood of young chazy. surely was the river, on whose banks his bones still rest, christened with his name amid a baptism of fire at an altar upon which the villages, the wig-wams the naming of the chazy river. 93 and the cornfields of his murderers were the sacrificial offerings. and so ended the second french and indian war, known in colonial annals as the war of 1666. chapter xi. rivers of the wilderness. ah, beautiful river, flow onward forever! thou art grander than avon, and sweeter than ayr; if a tree has been shaken, if a star has been taken, in thy bosom we look-bud and pleiad are there! -benjamin f. taylor. i. characteristic features. a singular characteristic seems to mark all the rivers that flow in and around northern new york. all of them with one exception-the mohawk-flow from and through great chains or systems of lakes. the great river st. lawrence, flowing from its own vast continental system of lakes, seems to be the prototype and pattern of all the others. the oswego river runs from and drains the oneida, the cayuga, and the others of the system of lakes so famous in western new york. the river richelieu drains lakes george and champlain. the hudson and its sister streams that take their rise among its mountain masses, serve to drain the waters of the numberless lakes that lie within the shades of the great wilderness. ii. the hudson. "the broadest, brightest river of the world." -frances anne kemble. the hudson is fed by a system of forest branches that spread over the whole of the mountain belt of the wilderness. its main forest branches are the opalescent, the rivers of the wilderness. 95 boreas, the scarron (schroon), the jessups, the indian, the cedar, and the sacondaga. the mohawks called the hudson ska-nen-ta-de, "the river beyond the open woods." between the mohawk river at schenectady and the hudson at albany was the great indian carrying place which led through the open pine woods. the hudson was therefore "the river beyond the openings," to the iroquois. its algonquin name, however, was ca-ho-ta-te-a, "the river that comes from the mountains." henry hudson, its discoverer, translating its algonquin name, also called it the "river of the mountains." the early dutch settlers on its banks called it "the nassau," after the reigning family of holland, and sometimes "the mauritius," from the stadtholder prince maurice. it was first called the hudson, in honor of its immortal explorer, by his english countrymen after they had conquered the country and wrested it from the dutch, in 1664. but of all its names, none is more significant than its old algonquin one, "the river of the mountains." the hudson is born among the clouds on the shaggy side of mount mcintyre, and in the mountain meadows and lakelets near the top of tahawas, almost five thousand feet above the level of the sea. it is cradled in the awful chasms of the indian pass, the panther gorge, and the gorge of the dial. after thus rising upon its highest mountain peaks, it crosses in its wild course down the southern slope of the wilderness no less than four immense mountain chains that all seem to give way at its approach, as it were some wayward, favorite child of their own. after bursting through the luzerne or palmertown range, its last forest mountain barrier, it encounters in its course 96 northern new york. to the sea the great apalachian system of mountains, and seems to rend them in twain from top to bottom. or rather, old ocean reaches up one of his throbbing arms through this apalachian chain for a distance of one hundred and fifty miles to the city of troy, to meet there this river, his wild forest mountain child. thus from troy, the head of tidewater, the mountain-born hudson is virtually an estuary or arm of the sea, floating the navies and the commerce of the world upon its peaceful bosom. iii. the rivers that fall into lake champlain. among the rivers that fall into lake champlain along the eastern border of the wilderness, are the boquet, the au sable, the saranac and the chazy. the boquet river rises in the deep gorge of the hunter's pass, which lies across the boquet mountain range, between mouns dix and nipple top. the bottom of this mountain gorge is 3,247 feet above the level of the sea, and in it also rises the scarron river, that flows in a contrary direction into the hudson. the boquet, which like the scarron, gives its name to one of the five mountain ranges of the wilderness, it is said derives its name from the french word baquet, a trough. this was suggested by the fancied resemblance of the contour of its bed and banks to a trough in the estuary at its mouth it was in this estuary of the boquet river that gen. burgoyne rested his army for some days, in the month of july, 1777, and made his celebrated treaty with his indian allies. it is also said that this river was first called rivers of the wilderness. 97 the bouquet river by william gilliland, on account of the wonderful profusion of bright wild flowers which he found adorning its banks. gilliland attempted to found a baronial manor on the banks of the boquet during the last century, an account of which is given further on in these pages. the au sable, the twin sister of the hudson in the awful abyss of the indian pass, was named by the french in allusion to its sandy bed near its mouth, from sable, the french word, as the reader knows, for sand, gravel, &c. how significant the old indian names were of the twin sister streams, which rise together on some mountain height and separating, flow off in opposite directions to their common mother the sea, is shown in another part of the state, where we find as an example, the chit-te-nan-go, meaning "the river flowing north," and the che-nan-go, "the water going south." on the head waters of the au sable, under the shadows of the old giants of the adirondack range, lies the little mountain hamlet of north elba, now so famous as the forest home of john brown, of ossawottamie memory. on this river, three miles from port kent, is the celebrated au sable chasm, that is so much frequented by tourists. the saranac flows from the chain of lakes of that name, which are already so famous as a summer resort. the name on all the old french maps, without exception, is written, sa-la-sa-nac. the chazy river owes its name to a tragic incident which occurred on its banks, in early colonial times, that led to important events in the history of the country.* * see chapter x. 13 98 northern new york. iv. the rivers that flow into the st. lawrence. among the rivers that flow through the level belt of the wilderness and down its northern slope into the st. lawrence, the principal are the chateaugay, the salmon, the st. regis, the raquette, the grasse, the oswegatchie, and the indian river. the chateaugay, whose old indian name was o-sar-hehon, a narrow gorge, and which rises in the lake of the same name, runs into the st. lawrence near montreal. it was named from a chateau called the gay chateau, or château-gai, that stood on the bank of the st. lawrence, at its mouth. the indian name of the salmon river was gan-je-ah-gona-ne, "sturgeon river." the st. regis river, which also rises in a lake of its name, was called by the indians ah-qua-sus-ne, "the place where the partridge drums," in allusion to the rumbling sound heard under the ice upon some parts of this stream during the winter. the name raquette is a french word, meaning snowshoe. this name was suggested, says dr. hough, by the shape of a morass or wild meadow at its mouth, and was first applied to the river by a frenchman named parisein in the early days of the french occupancy. the indian name of the raquette was ta-na-wa-deh, “swift water." the grasse river was so named by the french from the numerous wild meadows found near its mouth. it was called by the indians ni-kent-si-a-ke, "the place where many fishes live." it was among the upper branches of the rivers of the wilderness. 99 grasse river that the tract of wild land lay which was bought on speculation at the beginning of this century, by madame de staël, the celebrated french author. her tract was purchased for her in trust by her friend and agent, gouverneur morris. it was located in township no. six, or clare, which is now in the northerly part of the town of pierrepont, st. lawrence county. in 1846 it was sold by direction of her only heir, ada holstein de staël, wife of the duc de broglie, to s. pratt and john l. russell.* the oswegatchie, in the indian tongue o-swa-gatch, means "the river that runs around the hills." this has reference to the great bends, or ox-bows," it forms in its 66 course. the indian river is called on morgan's map the o-jequack, "the river of nuts." it runs through black lake into the oswegatchie. v. the black river and its tributaries. the black river, whose iroquois name was ka-hu-ah-go, bounds the great wilderness plateau of laurentian rocks, on the west, and its valley bounds the lesser wilderness on the east. the principal confluents that enter the black river from the great wilderness, are the moose, the otter creek, the independence, and the beaver. the moose river, whose indian name was te-ka-hun-dian-do, “clearing an opening," rises near the raquette lake in the centre of the wilderness, and winds through and • hough's hist. st. lawrence and franklin counties, p. 429. 100 northern new york. forms the celebrated eight lakes of the fulton chain. the moose passes in its course the hunting station known to all frequenters of the woods as arnold's, or the old forge, on brown's tract. this secluded spot has long been famous in forest story as the scene of john brown's fruitless attempt at settlement, of the failure and tragic death of his son-in-law herreshoff, of the exploits of the hunter foster and his victim the indian drid, and of the life-long home of otis arnold, the hunter and guide. the independence river rises near the eight lakes of the fulton chain and runs into black river in the town of watson, lewis county, between the moose river and the beaver river. in its course, this river crosses the tract of wild land known to land speculators as watson's west triangle. the independence river was so named in honor of our national holiday by pierre pharoux, the engineer and surveyor of castorland. near the south bank of the independence, not far from the old watson house, is chase's lake. this lake has long been a favorite resort, and is one of the most accessible in the wilderness for the invalid or pleasure seeker. the indian name of otter creek is dawan-net-"the otter." it runs into the black river between the moose and the independence. the indian name for beaver river is ne-ha-sa-ne, “crossing on a log." it rises in the heart of the wilderness to the north of raquette lake, and running in its course through smith's lake, albany lake, and beaver lake, waters the territory of ancient castorland, the seat of french influence on the black river. beaver lake, an expansion of this river at number four, a famous summer resort, is one of the most charming lakes in the wilderness. rivers of the wilderness. ioi ness. vi. wilderness tributaries of the mohawk. the mohawk river, whose indian name was te-uge-ga, runs along the whole southern border of the great wilderness, but rises in the lesser wilderness, to the north of oneida lake. its principal tributaries from the north, however, take their rise in the heart of the great wilderness, in the region of the raquette lake. they are the east and west canada creeks. upon the west canada creek are the famous trenton falls, one of the principal attractions of northern new york, so often visited by summer tourists. the indian name for trenton falls was date-wa-sunt-ha-go -"great falls," and for canada creek was kan-a-ta, meaning "amber river," in allusion to the color of its waters. this completes the list of the principal rivers which flow in and around northern new york and its great wilderchapter xii. la famine and the lesser wilderness. by la riviere de la famine, ocean tried and travel sore, they upreared a rustic altar tapestried with mosses o'er, crucifix they set upon it where the oak tree's shadow fell lightly o'er the lighted taper, 'mid the sweet te deum's swell. never dominus vobiscum falling upon human ears made so many heart-strings quiver, filled so many eyes with tears, the good shepherd gave his blessing-even red men gathered there, felt the sacrifice of jesus in his first thanksgiving prayer. -caleb lyon of lyonsdale. i. its location. among the problematical places of the olden time in northern new york, whose names were once familiar in european circles but are seldom heard in modern story, no one was once more famous than la famine. two hundred years ago, la famine was a well-known stopping-place upon the eastern shore of lake ontario for the weary hunter and the bold explorer, and the spot where even armies encamped, and the ambassadors of hostile nations met in solemn council. to-day its name can only be found on the historic page, and in old maps and musty records, while its locality is often a matter of controversy. the ancient indian landing-place and camping-ground known to the french as la famine, was situated on the shore of famine bay, now called mexico bay, in the southeast corner of lake ontario, at the mouth of la famine river, now known as salmon river. the salmon river, the ancient french la famine and the indian ga-hen-wa-ga, rises in the central part of the plateau of the lesser wilderness, in the south-west corner la famine and the lesser wilderness. 103 of lewis county, and runs westerly through the northern part of oswego county into lake ontario. the lesser wilderness, like couch-sach-ra-ge, the greater wilderness, was one of the beaver hunting countries of the iroquois. the key to this hunting ground of the lesser wilderness from the west was the salmon river. on their way to the hunting ground through lake ontario, the western indians landed at the mouth of this river, and their trail then led up its banks. la famine then was the ancient seaport of this famous hunting ground of the lesser wilderness, and was situated near what is now the village of mexico. the indian name for this entre-pot of theirs was ga-hen-wa-ga. hence we find on a map of new france, published by marco vincenzo coronelli, in 1688, this place put down at the mouth of what is now known as the salmon river, but in his map it is called la famine rivere. it bears the following inscription "cah-ihon-oiia-ghe ou la famine, lieu ou la plus part des iroquois des barquent pour aller en traitte du castor," which may be translated thus: ga-hen-wa-ga, or la famine, the place where the greater part of the iroquois embarked to go upon the trail of the beaver. ii. the lesser wilderness. the lesser wilderness of northern new york is situated upon the long narrow plateau which stretches first westerly and then northerly from the upper mohawk valley and the oneida lake almost to the city of watertown. it lies between lake ontario on the west and the valley of the 104 northern new york. black river on the east. the rocky ground work of this plateau is composed of level strata of limestone and slate which rise in a series of terraces of a mile or two in width from its borders into a high level table land. upon the central part of this table land, which has an elevation of near two thousand feet above the level of the sea, are situated the forests, swamps, marshes and wild meadows of the lesser wilderness. numerous streams take their rise in the swamps nd wild meadows of this region. down the southern slope of this ridge of highlands the mohawk, which rises in the lesser wilderness, flows first southerly and then easterly toward the hudson. the fish creek and other streams run into oneida lake. on its western border, the salmon river, once la famine, the sandy creek, once the au sable, and other streams, run into lake ontario. down the more regular terraces of its western slope, locally called tug hill, the streams which rise in the swamps of the lesser wilderness hurry in a series of falls and cascades into the black river, wearing deep chasms in the yielding rocks along their courses. among these streams are the deer river, which is the indian ga-ne-gato-da, (pounding corn) the silvermine, the martins, the whetstone and other creeks. this lesser wilderness was one of the most famous hunting grounds of the indian. its woods were literally filled with game, and its streams with fish. la hontan says that there were so many salmon in la famine river that they often brought up a hundred at one cast of the net. the deer came across the valley of the black river from la famine and the lesser wilderness. 105 the great wilderness, every spring, in droves to feed upon the luxuriant summer herbage, and returned every autumn to escape the deep snows of the lesser wilderness. their runways were along the valleys of the deer river, the sugar river and other streams, which as before stated run down the eastern slope of the lesser wilderness into the black river. the deer were caught in great numbers by the early settlers of the black river valley, during this half-yearly migration. the forests of the lesser wilderness have always been favorite nesting places for the wild pigeons. even now-adays these birds often build their nests in these woods, in countless myriads, over miles in extent. the lesser wilderness has always been celebrated for its deep snows. the snow in march and april is almost always six or seven feet in depth. the present season, 1876, the snow was three feet in depth over the lesser wilderness on the first day of may. iii. original birth place of the iroquois. it is an old tradition of the iroquois that the lesser wilderness was the original birth place or eden of their race. it is a well known mythical story of the iroquois that their race once dwelt in a subterranean world, which was at first a vast chaos, but which by degrees came to be a solid area of sea and land, like the upper earth. in the course of time their great sachem hi-a-wat-ha came to their relief, and enabled them to crawl up out of their dark abode into the bright sunshine and pleasant 14 106 northern new york. hunting grounds of the world in which we now live. after coming into their new abode, hi-a-wat-ha made for them bows and arrows and taught them how to hunt their game. he gave them corn, squashes, beans and tobacco, and showed them how to raise their crops. according to their traditions, the place of their people's birth, or where they came out of the ground, was in the lesser wilderness, somewhere between the head waters of the salmon river-la famine, and those of sandy creek -au sable. the french author pouchot, in his memoirs, after minutely describing the shores of lake ontario and its tributaries, coming to sandy creek, makes the following curious statement in regard to its head waters. "between the river au sable and la famine is a little stream called by the indians canogatiron. the river au sable, in indian eteataragarence, is remarkable in this that at the head of its south branch, called tecanononouaronesi, is the place where the traditions of the iroquois fix as the spot from whence they all issued, or rather according to their ideas, where they were born." his remarks confirm the existence of this old tradition. iv. the council of de la barre and the iroquois. but la famine derives its chief historical importance from its having been the scene of the celebrated council held in the month of september, 1684, by le febru de la barre, the governor general of canada, with the embassadors of the five nations. la famine and the lesser wilderness. 107 the senecas had been lately attacking and pillaging the french canoes in the far western waters, and to obtain redress de la barre raised an army and set out from quebec on the 9th day of july in that year, by way of the st. lawrence river and lake ontario, to make war upon the offending savages. his forces consisted of five hundred forest rangers and three hundred christian iroquois. he reached montreal on the 16th of july, and after a toilsome journey by land around the rapids, he arrived at la galette, which was at the rapid and portage on the st. lawrence next below ogdensburgh, on the 15th of august. on the 21st he proceeded on his voyage. in his report he says: "finally on the 21st my canoes arrived with what i sent them for. i set to work immediately with all possible diligence to have bread and biscuit baked, and sent off forthwith the king's troops, d'orvillier's and dugués' two brigades and two hundred christian savages to encamp at la famine, a port favorable for fishing and hunting, four leagues from onontagué, so as to be nearer the enemy and to be able to refresh ourselves by fishing and the chase." further on in his report he continues: "after having been beaten by bad weather and high wind, we arrived in two days at la famine. i found there tertian and double tertian fever, which broke out among our people, so that more than one hundred and fifty men were attacked by it. i had also left some of them at the fort,* which caused me to despatch, on arriving, a christian savage to onontagué to m. lemoine, to request him to cause the instant departure of those who were to come to meet me, which he did with so much diligence, though he and his children were sick, * fort frontenac, at catarocuoi, now kingston. 108 northern new york. that he arrived as early as the 3d of september, with fourteen deputies, nine from onontagué, three from oneida, and two cayugas, who paid me their respects, and whom i entertained the best manner i was able, postponing until to-morrow the talk about business, at which matters were fully discussed and peace concluded after six hour's deliberation, three in the morning and as many after dinner, father brias speaking for us and ha-ta-wa-te and garagon-kier for the iroquois; te-gan-cout, a seneca, was present, the other senecas not daring to come, in order not to displease col. dongan, (the english governor,) who sent to promise them a reinforcement of four hundred horse and four hundred foot if we attacked. the treaty was concluded in the evening, on the conditions annexed, and i promised to decamp the next day, and withdraw my troops from this vicinity, which i was indeed obliged to do by the number of sick which had augmented to such a degree that it was with difficulty i found enough of persons in health to remove the sick to the canoes, besides the scarcity of provisions, having no more than the trifle of bread that i brought them."* but to continue my narrative: two days after the arrival of the iroquois at la famine they gave notice to m. de la barre that they were ready for the council. de la barre sat in his chair of state, with his officers on either hand. to the eastward of him sat ha-ta-wa-te, the grangula, the orator of the indians, clad in his rich robes of beaver and otter furs, at the head of his men. his pipe was in his mouth and the great calumet of peace lay before him. the grangula was very attentive to the interpreter as he * doc. hist. of new york, vol. i, p. 114. la famine and the lesser wilderness. 109 delivered the speech of m. de la barre. in his speech, m. de la barre, in a haughty way, told the iroquois that his king had sent him to smoke with them the pipe of peace, but on the condition that they make reparation for past offences, and give assurance of future good conduct; otherwise war was positively proclaimed. after the french speech was finished, the grangula arose, walked slowly five or six times around the ring formed by the council, and returned to his place. then standing erect, he looked up to the sun for a moment, as if by way of invocation. he then spoke to the governor-general as follows: "onnontio, i honor you, and all the warriors that are with me do the same. your interpreter has made an end of his discourse, and now i come to begin mine. my voice glides to your ear; pray listen to my words. "onnontio, in setting out from quebec. you must needs have fancied that the scorching beams of the sun had burnt down the forests which render our country unaccessible to the french, or else that the inundations of the lake had surrounded our castles and confined us as prisoners. this certainly was your thought; and it could be nothing else but the curiosity of seeing a burnt or drowned country that moved you to undertake a journey hither. but now you have an opportunity of being undeceived, for i and my warlike retinue come to assure you that the senecas, cayugas, onondagas, oneidas and mohawks are not yet destroyed. i return you thanks in their name for bringing into their country the calumet of peace that your predecessor received from their hands. at the same time, i congratulate your happiness in having left underground the 110 northern new york. bloody axe that has so often been dyed with the blood of the french. "i must tell you, onnontio, i am not asleep; my eyes are open, and the sun that vouchsafes the light gives me a clear view of a great captain at the head of a troop of soldiers who speaks as if he were asleep. he pretends that he does not approach to this lake with any other view than to smoke with the onondagas in the great calumet; but the grangula knows better things; he sees plainly that the onnontio meant to knock them on the head if the french arms had not been so much weakened. "i perceive that the onnontio raves in a camp of sick people, whose lives the great spirit has saved by visiting them with infirmities. do you hear, onnontio, our women had taken up their clubs, and the children and the old men had visited your camp with their bows and arrows, if our warriors had not stopped and disarmed them when akoues-san, your messenger, appeared before our village? but i have done; i will talk no more of that. "this belt comprehends my words. "we have conducted the english to our lakes in order to traffic with the ottawas, just as the algonquins conducted the french to our five cantons to carry on a commerce that the english lay claim to as their right. we are born freemen, and have no dependence either upon the onnontio or the corlear. we have a power to go where we please, to conduct who we will to the places we resort to, and to buy and sell where we think fit. if your allies are your slaves or children, you may even treat them as such. "this belt comprehends my words. "we fell upon the illinois and the miamis because they la famine and the lesser wilderness. iii cut down the trees of peace that served for limits or boundaries to our frontiers. they came to hunt beavers upon our lands, and contrary to the custom of all the indians, have carried off whole stocks both male and female. we have done less than the english and the french, who without any right have usurped the grounds they are now possessed of. "this belt contains my words. "i give you to know, onnontio, that my voice is the voice of the five iroquois cantons. this is their answer; pray incline your ear and listen to what they present. the senecas, cayugas, onondagas, oneidas and mohawks declare that they buried the axe at catarocoui, in the presence of your predecessor, in the very centre of the fort, and planted the tree of peace in the same place that it might be carefully preserved; that it was then stipulated that the fort should be used as a place of retreat for merchants and not a refuge for soldiers; and that instead of arms and ammunition it should be made a receptacle of only beaver skins and merchandise goods. be it known to you, onnontio, that for the future you ought to take care that so great a number of martial men as i now see, being shut up in so small a fort, do not stifle and choke the tree of peace. since it took root so easily it must needs be of pernicious consequence to stop its growth, and hinder it to shade both your country and ours with its leaves. "i do assure you in the name of the five nations, that our warriors shall dance the calumet dance under its branches; that they shall rest in tranquility upon their mats, and will never dig up the axe to cut down the tree of peace until such time as onnontio or corlear do either jointly or 112 northern new york. separately offer to invade the country that the great spirit has disposed of in the favor of our ancestors. "this belt contains my word, and the other comprehends the power granted to me by the five nations."* the treaty of peace being concluded, m. de la barre reembarked in haste, and returned with his sick and famished army to quebec. the feathered and painted iroquois jumped into their canoes, and soon appeared like mere specks on the bounding waves of lake ontario, as they sped on their way to the mouth of the oswego river that led to their castles on the shores of the beautiful lakes of western new york. v. visit of charlevoix. in the year 1720, pierre françois xavier de charlevoix, the celebrated french traveller, and historian of new france, while on a voyage through the great lakes was storm-bound for several days at la famine. from this place he dates one of his letters to madame de lesdiguières, from which i make an extract below. the reader must bear in mind that from fort frontenac at catarocoui, now kingston, as the old explorers dare not venture in their frail canoes far out into the open lake, father. charlevoix's route was along the coast, first down the british channel and around wolfe island and then up the american channel to the isle aux chevreuils, now carleton island. from carleton island he went around stony point in hen*letter of baron la hontan, of the 2d nov., 1684, in pinkerton, vol. xiii, page 271. la famine and the lesser wilderness. 113 derson, called by him point de la traverse, to famine bay, now mexico bay. "famine bay, 16th may, 1720. "madame : i have the misfortune to be detained here by a contrary wind which in appearance will last a long time and keep me in one of the worst places in the world. i shall amuse myself with writing to you. whole armies of those pigeons they call tourtes pass by here continually. if one of them could carry my letter you would perhaps have news of me before i leave this place. but the indians never thought of bringing up pigeons for this purpose, as they say the arabs and many other nations formerly did. i embarked the 14th, exactly at the same hour i arrived at catarocoui [kingston] the evening before. i had but six leagues to go to the isle aux chevreuils [roe-bucks, now carleton island,] where there is a pretty port that can receive large barques, but my canadians had not examined their canoe, and the sun had melted the gum of it in many places. it took water everywhere, and i was forced to lose two whole hours to repair it in one of the islands at the entrance of lake ontario. after that we sailed till ten o'clock at night without being able to reach the isle aux chevreuils, and we were obliged to pass the rest of the night in the corner of the forest. "this was the first time i perceived some vines in the wood. there were almost as many as trees, to the top of which they rise. i had not yet made this remark because i had always till then stopped in open places, but they assure me it is the same everywhere, quite to mexico. the stocks of these vines are very large, and they bear many bunches of grapes, but the grapes are scarcely so big as a pea; and 15 114 northern new york. this must be so, as the vines are not cut nor cultivated. when they are ripe it is a good manna for the bears, who seek them at the top of the highest trees. they have, nevertheless, but the leavings of the birds, who have soon gathered the vintage of whole forests. i set out early the next morning, and at eleven o'clock i stopped at the isle aux gallots [now gallop island,] three leagues beyond the isle aux chevres [now grenadier island] in latitude 43° 30'. "i re-embarked about noon, and made a traverse of a league and a half to gain the point de la traverse [now stony point]. if to come hither from the place where i passed the night i had been obliged to coast the continent, i should have had above forty leagues to make; and we must do this when the lake is very calm, for if it is the least agitated the waves are as high as in the open sea. it is not even possible to sail under the coast when the wind blows hard from the lake. "from the point of the isle aux gallots we see to the west the river chouguen [oswego], otherwise called the river d'onnontague which is fourteen leagues off. as the lake was calm and there was no appearance of bad weather, and we had a little wind at east, which was but just enough to carry a sail, i resolved to make directly for this river, [the oswego,] that i might save fifteen or twenty leagues in going round. my conductors, who had more experience than myself, judged it a dangerous attempt, but out of complaisance they yielded to my opinion. "the beauty of the country which i quitted on the left hand did not tempt me any more than the salmon and numbers of other excellent fish which they take in six fine rivers, la famine and the lesser wilderness. 115 which are two or three leagues distant one from the other.* we took to the open lake, and till four o'clock we had no cause to repent of it, but then the wind rose suddenly, and we would willingly have been nearer shore. we made toward the nearest, from which we were then three leagues off, and we had much trouble to make it. "at length, at seven at night, we landed at famine bay, thus named since the m. de la barre, governor general of new france, had like to have lost all his army here by hunger and disease, going to make war with the iroquois."t almost two hundred years have passed away since m. de la barre and father charlevoix enlivened the then savage scene by their presence. the summer tourist of to-day, as he passes by steamer near the site of the ancient la famine (now port ontario), on his way from niagara to the thousand islands will perhaps read with interest these reminiscences of the olden time relating to the st. lawrence river, the ancient ho-che-la-ga, and to the shores of lake ontario, the "beautiful lake" of the iroquois. * note to original : "the river of the assumtion [now stony creek in henderson] a league from the point of traverse; that of sables [now sandy creek], three leagues further; that of la planche [now little sandy creek], two leagues further; that of la grand famine [now salmon river,] two leagues more." charlevoix's voyage to north america, vol. i, p. 173, dublin edition of 1756. chapter xiii. tryon county. "still in your prostrate land there shall be some proud hearts, the shrines of freedom's vestal flame. long trains of ill may pass unheeded dumb, but vengeance is behind and justice is to come." i. boundaries. in the crowded annals of the state of new york there floats another almost mythical name which, like la famine, for nearly a century has had no "local habitation." that name is tryon county, whose story during the long and weary twelve years of its actual existence, is a story that is written in characters of blood. for a long period previous to the year 1772, which was the birth year of tryon county, the whole northern and western part of what is now the state of new york, that lay to the north and west of the county of ulster, was included in the county of albany. in the spring of that year the county of albany was divided by the colonial government. in the first place they set off the county of tryon, naming it in honor of william tryon, who was then governor of the province. they then set off the county of charlotte, which was named in honor of the princess charlotte, the eldest daughter of george iii. the bounds of tryon county were fixed as follows: the easterly line began at a point on the canadian border, near the indian mission of st. regis, and ran due south through the upper saranac lake, and along the westerly 9 gm. johnson tryon county. 117 bounds of what are now essex, warren and saratoga counties, until it struck the mohawk river about ten miles west of the city of schenectady. from the mohawk it turned south-westerly around what is now schenectady county, and then again southerly through the center of what is now schoharie county to the mohawk branch of the delaware river. thence down that stream to the north-east corner of pennsylvania. tryon county included the whole of the province of new york that lay to the west of this line. it was two hundred miles wide along this eastern border, and stretched out westward three hundred miles to lake erie. better had it been called an empire. the county of charlotte included all the northern part of the state of new york that lies easterly of the tryon county line, and northerly of what are now saratoga and rensselaer counties. charlotte county also included the westerly half of the disputed territory which is now in the state of vermont, then known as the new hampshire grants. ii. sir william johnson. the shire-town of this immense county of tryon was johnstown, near the mohawk, the residence of sir william johnson, bart. sir william was then living in baronial splendor at johnson hall, with the mohawk princess, molly brandt, who was his indian wife, and their eight dusky children. he was then his brittanic majesty's superintendent general of indian affairs in north america, colonel of the six nations, and a major general in the british service. 118 northern new york. thirty-five years before this, he had come over from ireland a poor young man, and settled in the mohawk valley, then a wilderness, to take care of a large tract of land that was located there and owned by his uncle, sir peter warren. sir peter warren was an admiral of the british navy, who while a commodore distinguished himself by the capture of louisburgh from the french in 1745. sir peter married a daughter of etienne de lancey of new york, and with her received as a dowry this large tract of land in the mohawk valley. it was situated in the eastern angle between the mohawk river and the schoharie creek. sir william johnson, upon his first taking up his residence in the mohawk valley became a fur trader with the indians, and kept for many years a country store for the accommodation of the scattered settlers of the region. rising by degrees, through dint of industry and fair dealing, and by the faithful performance of the public trusts imposed upon him, he had become the proprietor of immense landed estates, the acknowledged lord of a princely manor, and high in the confidence of his sovereign. his victory over the french and indians under baron dieskau, at lake george in 1755, had won for him his title of nobility. his wonderful influence, the most remarkable on record, over the indian tribes, had given him an importance in the affairs of state second to no american then living. he was surrounded by a numerous tenantry and by followers that were loyal to him and his family even unto death. sir william married in the more humble days of his early life a poor, modest gentle-hearted german girl, whom he found living with her parents in the mohawk valley, whose maiden name was catherine weisenberg. she died young, tryon county. 119 leaving three children, a son, sir john johnson, and two daughters who married respectively col. claus and col. guy johnson. sir william's indian wife was molly brandt a sister of the celebrated mohawk war-chief, ta-en-da-ne-ga, or joseph brandt, who was afterward so long the terror of the border. after the death of his first wife he became enamored of molly at a general muster of the mohawk valley militia held at or near johnstown. among the spectators at the training was a beautiful indian maiden. one of the mounted officers, in sport, dared the maiden to ride on the bare-back of his horse behind his saddle three times around the parade ground, little thinking she would accept the challenge. bounding from the ground, like a deer, upon his horse behind him, she encircled his waist with her arms, and over the ground they flew like the wind, her red mantle and luxuriant raven tresses streaming behind her, her beautiful face lighted up with the pleasurable excitement of the novel adventure. sir william was an admiring witness of the scene, and was smitten with the charms of the dusky forest maiden. he inquired her name, and was told that she was the indian princess, molly brandt. he sought her at once, and made her his indian bride. he married her after the true indian style, by them considered binding, but never acknowledged her as his lawful wife. in his will he remembered her, calling her his "housekeeper, molly brandt," and left a large tract of land to his children by her, which lay in herkimer county, between the east and west canada creeks, and was long known to the early settlers as the royal grants. i 20 northern new york. in the height of his power, sir william johnson at his seat near the mohawk, on the border of a howling wilderness that stretched away to the pacific, dispensed a right royal hospitality. many a scion of the english nobility sat at his generous board, or, like the lady susan o'brien, wandered through the woods with sir william's accomplished indian wife, in search of the strange wild flowers of the new world. the lady susan passed considerable time at johnson hall. she was a neice of the first lord holland, and the sister of lady harriet ackland, who as well as the baroness riedesel, the wife of the hessian general, accompanied her husband, under general burgoyne, to the battle-field of saratoga. in the summer, sir william spent much of his time at the fish house, his hunting lodge on the sacondaga river, and at his cottage on summer house point, on the great vlaie, which is one of the mountain meadows of the wilderness. once every year the sachems of the six nations renewed their council fire at the manor house, to talk with sir william, the agent of their white father, who lived across the big water. on such occasions sir william was himself painted and plumed and dressed like an indian chief. such was sir william johnson, at the time of the forma tion of tryon county, and such was he two years later at the time of his death in 1774. he seems to have been mercifully taken away just before the slumbering fires of the revolution were to burst forth, which were so soon destined to stain the fair valley of his home with blood, to send his family and followers fugitives across the canadian border, tryon county. 121 and to scatter his princely possessions like chaff before the wind.* ii. the dutch settlers of the mohawk valley. among sir william's nearer neighbors were several dutch families whose descendants still live in the valley. they had left their less adventurous friends on the hudson to become themselves the pioneers in the settlement of the wilderness of the mohawk valley. they carried with them to their new homes that love of liberty which they had inherited from their ancestors of the glorious little republic of holland, at the mouth of the rhine, the birth-place of civil and religious freedom. they had not forgotten their national humiliation at the british conquest of new amsterdam, at the mouth of the hudson in 1664. in short, in a war for independence, there was but one side for the dutch settlers of the mohawk valley to take the side of freedom. iii. the palatines. a few miles further up the valley of the mohawk, at german flats, now herkimer, were other neighbors of william. they were the palatines, who were emigrants from the lower palatinate of the rhine, one of the states of ancient germany, adjoining alsace and lorraine. connected with the french court under the merovingian kings, the first frankish dynasty in gaul, who reigned from see life and times of sir william johnson, by wm. l. stone; trappers of new york, by jeptha r. simms. 16 122 northern new york. the fifth to the eighth centuries, was a high judicial officer called the comes palatii. this officer was a master of the royal household, and had supreme authority in a large class of causes that came before the king for decision. whenever the king wished to confer a particular favor upon the ruler of a province, he granted to him the same powers within his province as the comes palatii exercised in the royal palace. with the power also went the title comes palatinus, or count palatine. from this ruler the province was called a palatinate. the lower palatinate was situated upon both sides of the rhine, its area being about sixteen hundred square miles. its chief cities were mannheim and heidelberg. for long centuries this little state and its neighboring provinces of the rhine were in the pathway and formed the battle-ground of the devastating armies of europe. in the beginning of the last century, queen anne of england took under her protection a large number of its homeless, war-stricken people. in the year 1709 she sent over three thousand palatines to america to help settle the virgin wilderness. for a dozen years or more they were quartered at the expense of the british crown upon the livingston manor, on the banks of the hudson. but robert, the first lord of the livingston manor, it is said, was grasping and avaricious, and while he laid broad and deep the foundations of his house, since rendered so illustrious by his gentle descendants, the palatines murmured and became discontented under his rule. so in the year 1722 a number of families of these palatines pushed their way from the livingston manor up the wild valley of the mohawk, tryon county. 123 and began a settlement at german flats, while others settled in cherry valley and on the schoharie kill. the palatines had left their vineyards of the dear old rhineland, so often laid waste by cruel war, for a still more savage home in the american wilds of a hundred and fifty years ago. at the formation of tryon county, just fifty years after its early settlement, german flats had grown into a large and flourishing settlement, under the hands of these industrious, frugal, painstaking germans. with the dutch settlers, they formed an important element in the politics of the new county. like them, too, there was but one side for the palatines to take in the coming contest. iv. the iroquois. but there was another element in the heated, seething politics of tryon county, of more importance than all the others. chief among the powers of tryon county, previous to the war of the revolution, was the remarkable indian league or confederacy, known as the six nations. during all the long and bloody french and indian wars, from their first encounter with champlain and his algonquin allies, in the summer of 1609, to the final conquest of canada, in 1763, these people of the iroquois family of nations had been the firm friends and allies of the english. throughout the whole length of tryon county, from the manor house of sir william johnson, at johnstown, to the falls of niagara, lay the castles of these fierce savages like so many dens of ravening wolves. 124 northern new york. they were, as i have before stated, the most powerful, the most crafty, the most cruel, the most savage, the most politic, the most enlightened, of all the indian tribes of north america. they were subject to no power on earth but their own fierce wills, yet were under the almost complete control of sir william johnson. in a war with great britain, it could not have been expected that the people of the six nations would desert their ancient ally. such were the slumbering elements of discord that lay contiguous to each other, in seeming peace, within the limits of tryon county at the date of its formation, on the eve of the revolution. ས. the conflict. in the spring of 1774, sir william held his last grand council with his iroquois neighbors, the people of the six nations, at his manor house in johnstown. it was an occasion of more than ordinary pomp and ceremony. delegations of sachems, chiefs, warriors and women, from all the castles of the six nations, were entertained for days at sir william's expense. on the last day of the council sir william made a speech of more than usual eloquence and power. but the terrors of the impending conflict which he knew must soon come, seemed to cast an unwonted gloom over his spirit. exhausted by his effort, he was carried to his bed to die, before the smoke had ceased to rise from the council fires. in less than two years after sir william's death the warcloud, which had been so long gathering, burst like a whirlwind over the valley of the mohawk. tryon county betryon county. 125 came a scene of desolation and blood, such as even the old wilderness, with all its savage horrors, had never seen fore. it would weary us all to follow the fortunes of the beseveral peoples who made up the inhabitants of tryon county through those terrible seven years of war. history of the twelve years of the existence of tryon counthe ty would fill a volume. a mere glance at what occurred during the war must suffice for these pages. in pursuing this history, we should listen to the story of the first vigorous uprising, and the flight of sir john johnson and his father's numerous tenantry and loyal adherents, together with his ever faithful allies, the mohawks, to canada, in the summer of 1775. our blood would curdle at the relation of the cruel butchery of cherry valley, on the 11th of october, 1778, which is second only in tragic interest to that of the far-famed valley of wyoming, which occurred a few months earlier in the same year. narrative would reveal the sickening horrors of the several the raids made by sir john johnson's men and their savage allies, as they from time to time swooped down from their secure retreat beyond the st. lawrence, upon the homes of their former neighbors in the valley of the mohawk, leaving in their track nothing but blackened corpses and the ashes of ruined firesides. we should stand in imagination by the side of the gallant herkimer, the palatine general, in the bloody ambuscade at oriskany on the 5th day of august, 1777, when brandt and his mohawks, and butler with his tory rangers met their old neighbors, with whom they had been reared as children together on the banks of the mohawk, in a 126 northern new york. hand-to-hand conflict, each dying in the other's arms in the terrible rage of battle. in the long recital of stirring events, perhaps nothing would interest us more than the details of gen. sullivan's avenging march with his army, in august, 1779, into the country of the far-off senecas, in the genesee valley, leaving nothing on his return but the ashes of villages and cornfields, and the scattered remnants of the once powerful confederacy. and when the glad tidings of peace once more should come, we should see in tryon county nothing but a desolate blood-stained wilderness. we should learn that when the war broke out in 1775, gov. tryon reported ten thousand whites and two thousand indian warriors as comprising the population of tryon county. two years before the end of the war, the indian tribes were broken and scattered. of the ten thousand white inhabitants, one-third had espoused the royal cause and fled to canada, one-third had been driven from their homes or slain in battle, and of the remaining third, three hundred were widows and two thousand were orphan children.* then, when peace was declared, we should see the old dutch settlers of the valley and their neighbors, the palatines, coming back to find the places of their old hearthstones overgrown with bushes, and fast reverting to the original forests. but they were now the masters of the valley, the true lords of tryon county. and smiling through their tears, in 1784, they dropped the now odious name of tryon, and called their county in honor of the lamented montgomery. * see campbell's annals of tryon county. tryon county. 127 the name of the county of charlotte was at the same time changed to washington, and the two names, tryon and charlotte, have long since fallen out of human speech, and can now only be found in musty records or on the historian's page. to-day the traveller, as he whirls along through the fertile valley of the mohawk, in the palatial cars of the modern railroad which is built over the old indian trail, perchance gets a glimpse of the old mansion called fort johnson, on the north bank of the river, which is one of the few remaining historical landmarks connected with the memory of sir william, while tribes hill, canajoharie, and other indian names still suggest the old mohawk occupancy, and palatine bridge connects the present with the long chain of historic circumstances which run back in unbroken course to the old homes of a people in the rhineland of two hundred years ago. but he will hear nothing in all his journeyings of tryon county. chapter xiv. the manor of willsboro. "life hath its harvest moons, its tasselled corn and purple weighted vine, its gathered sheaves of grain, the blessed sign of plenteous reaping, bread, and pure rich wine, full hearts for harvest tunes. "life hath its barren years when blossoms fall untimely down; when ripened fruitage fails to crown the summer toil; when nature's frown looks only on our tears. " i. seigneuries. of the many attempts in colonial times to follow in the new world the old order of things, the dutch and english baronial manors founded upon the hudson, and the french seigneuries on the st. lawrence, were in a measure successful ones, but in the rugged soil of the wilderness, all such efforts proved abortive. among such unsuccessful efforts there is none which possesses a more melancholy interest than the now forgotten manor of willsboro, which was located near the mouth of the boquet river, on lake champlain. during the french occupancy of the champlain valley, the governor-general of canada granted large tracts of land lying on both sides of the lake to several persons holding office under the french king. these grants were seigneuries over which the proprietors could exercise certain minor executive and judicial powers, after the manner of the feudal lords of the old world. on two only of their seigneuries lying within the territory of northern new york were settlements made by the french proprietors. the manor of willsboro. 129 one settlement was commenced on the seigneurie of sieur pean, major of the castle and town of quebec, at the mouth of the chazy, granted in 1733, and another on the seigneurie of alainville, granted to michael chartier de lotbiniere by the marquis de vaudreuil, governor-general, in november, 1758. the seigneurie of alainville lay partly on lake george, and partly on lake champlain, between the outlet of lake george and crown point. it was four leagues front by five in depth. after the conquest of canada in 1763 the title to all the french seigneuries became vested in the british crown. ii. william gilliland. soon after the conquest, william gilliland, then a rich and prosperous merchant of new york, purchased several large tracts of these lands that lay along the western border of lake champlain and near the mouth of the boquet river. the tracts first purchased by gilliland were parts of the seigneurie of sieur robart, king's storekeeper at montreal. sieur robart's tract embraced "three leagues front by two leagues in depth on the west side of lake champlain, taking in going down one league below the river boquet, and in going up two and a half above said river," as described in the grant. sieur robart's seigneurie was granted in 1737. it was surveyed, but he failed to effect a settlement upon it. upon these tracts gilliland made an unsuccessful attempt to found a magnificent baronial manor in imitation of the van rensselaers, the livingstons, the phillipses, and the van cortlandts on the 17 130 northern new york. hudson. his first tract extended about six miles in front on the lake, and from three to four miles in depth, and contained 3,500 acres. about one-half mile of the front lay north of the boquet, and the remainder south of the river. he afterwards located another tract of 4,500 acres in the modern town of westport, which he called bessboro, after his daughter, and several thousand acres more on the salmon river, which he called jamesboro, after his brother; and still another tract at cumberland head, which he called charlottesboro, from another daughter. the town of willsboro commemorates his own name. william gilliland was born near the city of armagh, in ireland, about the year 1734. at the schools of armagh he received a liberal education. his culture, his intelligence, his polished manners and fine person soon made him a favorite in its best society. a mutual and warm attachment followed his acquaintance with a young lady of noble birth and great fortune, the lady betsey eckles. but the disparity of their birth and fortune was an insuperable barrier to their marriage. her family, interposing its powerful arm, secluded her and banished her lover from his country. he enlisted in the thirty-fifth regiment of the line, and after four years' service was discharged alone and friendless in the city of philadelphia. he soon after went to the city of new york, and entered a mercantile house, in which he shortly became a partner. before a year elapsed he won the affections of elizabeth phagan, the beautiful and accomplished daughter of his wealthy partner. they were married on the eighth day of february, 1759. he received with her hand the large sum, for the time, of fifteen hundred pounds, as her dowry. the manor of willsboro. 131 but the ambition of young gilliland was not satisfied by his brilliant and successful career as a merchant. he was charmed by the baronial estates on the lower hudson, and resolved to be himself the founder of a manor of equal magnificence. in his dreams of the future he saw himself in the exalted station of a great landholder, ruling over a subservient tenantry with the power of the old feudal authority that had once so effectually spurned his presence in his native country. would not his triumph in the new world make amends for his too severe rebuke in the old? so in 1764, he purchased his tract on the boquet river, and began the settlement of his manor under the most auspicous circumstances. a little flourishing settlement soon sprang up around him in the wilderness, and his wildest dreams seemed likely to be realized. his plan of settlement was similar to that of the manors on the hudson. he held the land in fee, and leased to settlers at a small annual rent. but after twelve short prosperous years had passed by, the war of the revolution broke out, and his growing manorial estate lying in the great northern valley, through which ran the old war-trail of the indian, and being in the long-trodden pathway of devastating armies, it was doomed to destruction. the americans under arnold in 1776 commenced, and the british under burgoyne in 1777 completed the ruin of his possessions. he fled to new york, and did not visit his property for seven long years. after the war he returned to find his tenantry scattered, his buildings in ashes, and the wild forest fast encroaching upon the once fair fields of his now desolate domain. but hope still gilded the scene, and he made fruitless attempts to retrieve his shattered fortunes. he petitioned 132 northern new york. congress for redress on account of the damage sustained in the war, but congress, although willing, had no money to repay him his losses. at length, being unable to surmount his financial difficulties, and heavy judgments having been filed against him, in september, 1786, he was placed upon the jail limits of new york for debt, at the suit of his creditors, he having already disposed of all his interest in his landed estates. he was not released until 1791. after this six years involuntary exile, he again returned to his former home on the banks of the boquet. but his accumulated misfortunes were too much for even his strong intellect, and his mind partially gave way beneath the constant strain. no longer able to make further effort to retrieve his fallen fortunes, he was employed, on account of his intimate acquaintance with such matters, by an association in which he had some interest, formed for the purchase and location of wild lands, in looking up the corners of their lots, and in tracing the lines of their lands through the forest. finally, in the year 1796, in the month of february, while travelling in the woods on foot and alone, for the purpose of locating some lots of wild land, he wandered from his path, and perished from cold and exposure. he had evidently been stricken by some sudden attack that deprived him of the power of walking. his bleeding hands and knees, worn to the muscles and nerves, showed his unavailing struggles. "found dead! dead and alone! nobody near with love to greet, nobody heard his last faint groan, or knew when his sad heart ceased to beat; no mourner lingered with tears or sighs, but the stars looked down with pitying eyes, the manor of willsboro. 133 and the chill winds passed with a wailing sound o'er the lonely spot where his form was found. "found dead! dead and alone! there was somebody near, somebody near, to claim the wanderer as his own, and find a home for the homeless here; one, when every human door is closed to his children scorned and poor, who opens the heavenly portals wide; ah! god was near when the wanderer died." "such," says winslow c. watson, "was the last sad and tragic scene in a singularly variegated drama of a remarkable life. the career of gilliland was a romance. its strange vicissitudes not only invoke sympathy and compassion, but are calculated to impart solemn and salutary admonition. the pioneer of the champlain valley thus piteously perished in what should have been the ripeness of his years and the plenitude of his powers and usefulnessfor his age was scarcely three-score. the former lord of a vast domain, the generous patron and tender father, the dispenser of magnificent hospitalities, the associate and counsellor of vice-royalty, died, far away from human care, of cold and famine, with no voice of love to soothe his sufferings, and no kind hand to close his dying eyes." gilliland for several years kept a diary of the transactions relating to the settlement of his manor. in this diary he carefully noted many of the details and the more important incidents of his attempts to settle his lands. it is an interesting story of energetic effort and fruitless endeavor. it has been published by joel munsell, of albany, with a memoir by winslow c. watson, under the title of "the pioneer history of the champlain valley." a touching account is given in mr. gilliland's diary of 134 northern new york. the drowning of his little daughter jane, aged six years, near half moon, now waterford, on the 10th of may, 1776. with his mother and brothers, his wife and family, he was going up the river in batteaux, on his way from albany to his manor on the boquet. the batteau in which his daughter was sitting was carelessly run upon a fallen tree top that lay extended from the bank into the stream, and capsized. her body was found the next day near the spot where she fell into the water, and was buried on the shore of the river in the burial place of a mr. coleman at stillwater, not far from the battle ground made famous the year after, called bemis heights. some of gilliland's numerous descendants still own and occupy parts of his patrimonial estate in northern new york, while others are scattered in various parts of the united states and canada, all occupying the highest social positions. elizabethtown, the shire-town of essex county, was named in honor of his accomplished wife. and now the old seigneuries and the manor of willsboro on lake champlain, like tryon county, and like the ancient la famine on lake ontario, have long been forgotten. chapter xv. north elba. the tomb of him who would have made the world too glad and free. -hervey. i. its situation. the little mountain hamlet of north elba, now of worldwide fame, was for ten years the forest home of john brown of ossawottamie memory. it is situated in the township of the same name, on the western border of essex county, in the very heart of the great wilderness, it is about forty miles west of lake champlain, and seven miles north of the indian pass. it is surrounded on all sides save its western by an ampitheatre of mountain ranges. to the westward it stretches off into the great wilderness plateau that lies beyond, filled to the brim with gleaming lakes, towering mountain peaks, and numberless wild meadows. at different points near this wild hamlet, the forms of the giant mountains which surround it, their gorges and landslides, are brought clearly into view, as they tower in their sublime and awful grandeur above an unseen world of woods and waters. ii. an indian village. north elba has had a checkered history. before and during the colonial period it was the summer home of the adirondack hunting bands. in all the old maps an indian 136 northern new york. village is located near the spot. according to a tradition still lingering in this region, the bold partizan capt. robert rogers, with his rangers, once attacked and destroyed this indian village in the absence of the warriors. upon their return, the infuriated braves pursued him, and gave him battle when he reached, upon his retreat, the banks of the boquet river. there was also another indian village not far away, near the indian carry between the waters of the saranac and the raquette. the remains of this last-named village, with its burying ground, may still be traced. iii. the plains of abraham. about the beginning of the present century, a little band of pioneer settlers strayed off into this secluded valley, made small clearings, and built their rude cabins. these pioneers, being separated from the outer world by impassible mountain barriers, except by a long and circuitous trail up the valley of the au sable, subsisted mostly by hunting and fishing. in time they became almost as wild as the indians that preceded them in the occupancy of their forest home. the place was then known as the "plains of abraham." at length in the year 1810, archibald mcintyre, of albany, and his associates founded the north elba iron works, on the au sable, near the plains of abraham, and broke in with their new industry upon the seclusion of these pioneers. new life was thus infused into this little half-wild community. but mcintyre's enterprise was finally abandonnorth elba. 137 ed about the year 1826, and nothing soon remained of it but a few decaying buildings and broken water-wheels. at length, in that year the old indian sabelle led david henderson, the son-in-law and associate of mcintyre, from the abandoned works at north elba, through the indian pass to the iron dam on the hudson. the adirondack iron works springing up in consequence of this discovery, cast another gleam of ruddy light across the mountain shadows of the plains of abraham. then, with the decay of the adirondack village, new and strange characters appeared upon the scene. the careless pioneer settlers of the plains of abraham had squatted upon their lands, and had never acquired the title to them from the state. about the year 1840, a land speculator swooped down upon their possessions, and they were in their turn, like the indians, driven from their homes. it was about this time that gerrit smith bought the plains of abraham, with miles of the land contiguous to them, and made his attempt to colonize the grim old northern wilderness with the free colored people of the state. he made to each family a gift of forty acres of land on condition of settlement. he hoped thereby to found in that secluded spot, among their own people, a secure asylum for the many fugitive slaves who were then fleeing toward canada from the southern plantations. iv. john brown of ossa wottamie. in the year 1849, smith deeded to john brown, as a free gift, a farm of three hundred and fifty acres, situate on the western slope of the valley of the au sable, at north elba, 18 138 northern new york. and he at once became the leading spirit in the enterprise. john brown had but just before made a journey to europe. while there he admired the superb stock upon the english estates, and his martial spirit was aroused by the splendid equipments and elaborate evolutions of the vast armies of continental europe. he moved his family of stalwart sons into his forest home, and with the aid of his colored brethren he cleared his fields. he stocked his mountain pastures with imported british cattle, and under his management the little hamlet among the mountains, for a while, seemed to prosper. but the mutterings of the "irrepressible conflict" reached him in his secluded retreat. his spirit was as turbulent and wild as the torrents that dashed around his home. his stormy soul was filled with prophetic visions of the vast armies that were destined then so soon to march on throughout the length and breadth of our land to their fratricidal struggle. when the troubles about slavery broke out in kansas they at once attracted his attention, and, with his sons, he hastened into the thickest of the fight. conspicuous in almost every contest therein, his name is intimately associated with this stormy period in our country's annals. while engaged in this anti-slavery controversy, for ten years he was seldom seen at his home in north elba, but he made it his head-quarters, and paid it an occasional visit, until, in the year 1859, his life was ended upon the scaffold, in virginia, in consequence of his insane attempt to liberate the southern slaves by force of arms, an act which seemed to precipitate the great rebellion. after his death, his body was brought by the remaining members north elba. 139 of his family, and buried in front of the house in which he had lived at north elba. "the house," says a writer in old and new for september, 1870, "is unpainted and plain, though equal to the ordinary farm houses of the region. it stands well up the hills, separated from the wilderness by a few cleared fields, commanding a majestic view of the mountain world. a few rods in front, a huge boulder, surrounded by a plain board fence, is the fit monument of the fierce old apostle of liberty. at its foot is the grave. the headstone was brought from an old grave yard in new england, where it stood over the grave of his father, capt. john brown, who died in new york in 1776. the whole stone is covered with the family inscriptions: john brown, executed at charlestown, va., dec. 2, 1859. oliver and watson, his sons, both killed at harper's ferry, the same year; and his son frederick, murdered in kansas by border ruffians in 1856. above the little grassy enclosure, towers the mighty rock, almost as high as the house, and on its summit is cut in massive granite characters the inscription 'john brown, 1859. standing on the top of this monumental rock, for the first time i felt that i comprehended the character of the man whose name it commemorates. i could well understand how such a man, formed in the mould of the old scotch covenanters and english puritans, brooding over the horrors of slavery, foreseeing the impending struggle for liberty, maddened by the murder of his son and friends in kansas, with the mighty northern hills looking down upon him, the rush of strong rivers, and the songs of resounding tempests, and the mystery of the illimitable wilderness all about him, should easily come to think himself inspired to 140 northern new york. descend like a mountain torrent, and sweep the black curse from out the land. i reverently raised my hat, and sung 'john brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave; his soul is marching on.' 999 ness. the attempt of gerrit smith to found a colony of colored people at north elba, proved an utter failure. the children of the sunny south could not tame the old north wilderthe surviving members of john brown's family sought elsewhere more congenial homes, and now the little forest hamlet, after its eventful career, sits almost deserted among its sheltering mountains, inhabited by a few families only, and affording a transient stopping place for the curious summer tourist, and the wandering hunter. chapter xvi. the adirondack village. from the ground comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn of sabbath worshippers. the low of herds blends with the rustling of the heavy grain over the dark brown furrows. all at once a fresher wind sweeps by and breaks my dream, and i am in the wilderness alone. -bryant. 1. in the depths of the limitless forest, and surrounded by the towering peaks of the old giants of the mountain belt, now sleeps, like a strong man after his labors are ended, the little decaying and deserted hamlet known as adirondack village, or the upper iron works. its story is a tale of almost superhuman effort, crowned with partial success, but finally ending in fruitless endeavor, disaster and death. six or seven miles below, and to the south of the old indian pass in the valley of the infant hudson, and fed by its waters, which there run through them, are the lakes sanford and henderson, lying about a mile apart. between these two lakes, upon the right bank of the hudson, the connecting river, this famous village is situated. to the west of it rises santanoni, to the north yawns the awful gorge of the indian pass, and to the east of it old tahawas towers up above the clouds. ii. about the year 1826, archibald mcintyre, of albany, david henderson, his son-in-law, of jersey city, and duncan mcmartin, with others, were or had been proprietors of 142 northern new york. iron works at north elba, on the au sable. one day in that year, mr. henderson, while standing near his works, was approached by an old indian, of the st. francis tribe, named sabelle, who often hunted near that wild region. the indian took from under his blanket a lump of rich iron ore, and showing it to mr. henderson, said to him: "you want to see 'um ore? me find plenty all same." "where?" said mr. henderson, eagerly. "me hunt beaver all 'lone," replied old sabelle, "and find 'um where water run pom, pom, pom, over iron dam, 'way off there," pointing toward the southern woods beyond the indian pass. the next day an exploring party, guided by old sabelle, set out in search of this wonderful bed of iron ore, and boldly plunged into the then unknown wilderness. they spent the first night within the gorge of the indian pass, at the fountain head of the infant hudson. the day after, following the course of the stream, they reached lakes sanford and henderson, and found the iron dam across the bed of the hudson between the 'two lakes. the old indian had not misled them. there was "plenty" of ore-there were mountains of ore all around them. there was ore enough there apparently to supply the world with iron for ages. mr. henderson and his associates hastened to albany, purchased of the state a large tract of land, and formed a company to be called the "adirondack iron and steel company," with a capital of one million dollars, to operate these inexhaustible mines. a clearing was soon made near the "iron dam" of old sabelle. a road was cut into it with great labor, winding around the mountain masses a distance the adirondack village. 143 of fifty miles from crown point, on lake champlain. then a little mountain hamlet sprung up, as if by magic, in the wild, secluded valley. forges, boarding houses, store houses, cottages, mills, and a school house were built. the mountain shadows were soon lighted up with the ruddy glow of furnace fires, and the howling wilderness was made vocal with the roar of ponderous machinery, with the hum of many industries, and the songs of labor. the busy housewives spun and wove, and plied their daily toil; the children laughed, and frolicked, and loitered on their way to and from their school, and from many a stumpy pasture round about came the drowsy tinkle of the cow bells. iii. but a sad calamity awaited mr. henderson, the man whose tireless energy helped so much to build up this little oasis in the wilderness. in the month of september, 1845, he was one day exploring the woods near the foot of mount marcy. he was accompanied only by his little son, ten years old, and the famous hunter john cheney as their guide. they stopped to rest upon a rock that lay on the border of a little mountain pond, since known as calamity pond. mr. henderson, thinking their guide had laid his knapsack, in which was a loaded pistol, in a damp place, took it up to remove it to a dryer one. when putting it down again the hammer of the pistol struck, in some way, the solid rock. the pistol exploded, its ball entering mr. henderson's heart. "to die in such an awful place as this," moaned the fallen man. "take care, my son, of your mother when i am gone," were his last words. 144 northern new york. upon the wild spot where he fell his children afterward erected a beautiful monument of nova scotia freestone, carved with exquisite taste, in the highest style of art. it was brought in pieces to the spot by the hands of the sorrowing workmen of the forge. upon it is this touching inscription: "erected by filial affection to the memory of our dear father, who accidentally lost his life on this spot 3d september, 1845." "how often," says street, "has the wild wolf made his lair beside it; how often the savage panther glared at its beautiful proportions, and wondered what object met his blazing eye-balls." after the death of mr. henderson, the industries of the little village flagged. its distance from market over almost impassable roads proved to be an insuperable hindrance to its further progress. in a few years the adirondack village, as a business enterprise, was entirely abandoned. for nearly a quarter of a century it has been left to decay, and has been the abode of solitary fishermen and hunters. nature, always aggressive, is fast re-asserting her stern dominion. over the once busy scene-once busy, but now desolate and forsaken"where the owl still hooting sits, where the bat incessant flits." chapter xvii. viscount de chateaubriand. "i planted in my heart one seed of love watered with tears and watched with tenderest care, it grew, but when i look'd that it might prove a glorious tree, and precious fruit might bear, blossoms nor fruit were there to crown my pain, tears, care, and labor had been all in vain, yet now i dare not pluck it from my heart, lest with the deep-struck root, my life depart." -quoted from memory. i. 66 his among the many distinguished european travelers who, like peter kalm, tom. moore, the duc de la rochefoucauld, and the prince de talleyrand, visited northern new york while it was still nearly all clothed in the wild splendor of its primeval forests, was châteaubriand, the eminent author and statesman of france. seventy years ago his works were read and admired by every one. they were dramatized and acted upon the stage, and translated into other tongues. they were then the best interpreters of the spirit of the age-the spirit of reviving christianity. today he is almost forgotten. françois auguste, viscount de châteaubriand, was born of a noble family on the 14th of september, 1768, at st. malo, the birthplace of the old mariner jacques cartier, the discoverer of the river st. lawrence. st. malo, as before stated in these pages, is a quaint old seaport town of brittany, built in medieval times upon a rock then forming a part of the mainland. in 1709 an earthquake turned it into an island, and it is now a huge rock standing in the 19 sylphide." 146 northern new york. middle of a salt marsh, which is covered by the sea at high tide. many a strange old superstition still flourishes among its simple people. its quaint medieval customs were carried to the new world by its old mariners, and the songs heard in its streets found a wild echo among the thousand islands of the st. lawrence and along the mountain shores of lake champlain. thus, too, in the wilds of the new world were introduced by these mariners the stories of the dwarfs and giants of the fairy mythology which the northmen of the tenth century brought from their ancient home when they invaded brittany. the family of châteaubriand, like many of the old noblesse, had, in his youth, fallen into decay. his early days were passed in squalid poverty, his father saving all his income to buy back the family possessions. with shirt in rags, his stockings full of holes, and his slippers down at the heel, the proud, sensitive, romantic boy would shrink from his better dressed companions, and wander for days on the shore of some lonely bay among the rocks, watching the waves of the storm-beaten atlantic, as they came in, freighted with wild tales of the wonderful land beyond it in the new world. it was here in his moody, brooding boyhood, while studying rousseau, that he conceived the idea of a romance founded upon savage life, and pictured to his imagination a beautiful creature, clothed with every virtue and girlish charm, whom he called his sylphide. this fairy creature of his boyish fancy, this "vision beautiful," haunted his dreams until after he had become familiar with the dusky maidens of the american forests, it grew at length into his "atala," the heroine of his most famous story. viscount de chateaubriand. 147 finally he was sent to school, and growing up to manhood, wandered to paris just as the delirium of the french revolution was at its height. in paris he found every one living in the wildest excitement at balls, theatres, clubs, political meetings, gaming houses, and the old order of things in state, in religious and in social life, completely reversed. ii. his journeyings. • we now come to the second phase of his life. out of the turmoil of the revolution, châteaubriand, in the year 1791, sailed for america. after visiting philadelphia, and being presented to gen. washington, to whom he had letters of introduction, he went to new york, and then to albany. westward of albany even, in those days, the whole country lay spreading out in its aboriginal wildness, save a few feeble settlements up the hudson and along the valley of the mohawk. châteaubriand now dressed himself in the garb of an indian hunter, and plunged at once into the wilderness. sometimes alone, sometimes in company with an indian band of hunters, he wandered through the sublime scenes of primeval nature that he afterward painted so glowingly in his romances. sometimes he would spend weeks together at an indian village, studying the strange characters around him, and witnessing the wild gambols of the indian children, saw in the perfect forms of the dusky forest maidens the physical ideal of his beauteous sylphide. sometimes in his travels he found the friendly shelter of a hut and a bed of bear skins. oftener his bed was made "upon the dead leaves of a thousand years," under the 148 northern new york. shelter of some mighty tree, beside a lonely camp-fire, "locked in the arms of a limitless moon-lit silence, broken only by the cries of wild animals, or the stir of the windswept leaves, or the distant roar of eternal niagara." after he had thus wandered for more than a year in these northern wilds, he found in a canadian cabin an english newspaper, in which was an account of the arrest of louis xvi. he hastened back to france to find his family in dungeons and his estates confiscated. the next eight years he spent in poverty and exile, composing in the meantime his immortal romances, that upon his return to france under the consulate and the first empire, were destined to create so deep and wide spread a sensation. iii. his "atala.” during the french revolution the voltaire school of thought accomplished its mission and reduced all its wild theories to practice. liberty, equality, fraternity and atheism were established, and failed to satisfy the wants of the people. upon the establishment of the consulate and the first empire, when society began to move in its old channels, the people began to tire of the hopeless world of scepticism, and to long for the old belief. men who had considered christianity an absurd and noxious thing, were now longing ardently for its re-establishment. châteaubriand was the first one to put these longings after the old belief into language, and his christian romances struck the popular heart of france with wonderful power, and made it thrill with joy. the sons of the viscount de chateaubriand. 149 in 1801 he published his "atala, a christian romance." in september of that year napoleon re-established the right of public worship, and the christian religion. in 1803, châteaubriand published his "génie du christianisme," the object of which was to show forth the beauties of the christian faith in the garb of romance. thus he struck the spirit of his age, the "spirit of reviving christianity," and he shone like a meteor, under the consulate, the empire, and the restoration. he made christianity lovely by associating it with poetry and music, with majesty and peace. he brought back to the mind of the people the solemn chant of the processional, the glorious roofs of grand cathedrals, the tenderness of charity, the valor of the crusaders, the devotion of the missionary. he illustrated it all by the charms of the wild exuberance of nature among which he had wandered in the forest wilds of the new world. his romances were filled with dazzling descriptions of the glory of the autumn woods, the odor of the violet and the rose, the music of running brooks, the awful majesty of mountain ranges and the thunder of the cataract. the heroine of his best romance was "atala," an indian maiden who had become a christian, and who took upon herself a vow of perpetual virginity. she falls passionately in love, however, with an indian brave named rené, who is a captive in her tribe, and whose escape she contrives. she follows him alone through the forest, and finding her love for him overcoming her, kills herself rather than break her christian vows. around this simple plot he weaves a story full of christian fervor, hope and love. 150 northern new york. iv. his ideal. but i can not take leave of châteaubriand without saying something of his friendship, his love in his declining years for madame julie récamier. like abelard and his heloise, like petrarch and his laura, like dante and his beatrice, like tasso and his eleonora, like goethe and his minna, we find châteaubriand and his julie bound together by the links of a spiritual chain, and joined by that mysterious sympathy which seems in some measure to satisfy the infinite longings of us poor mortals, which helps somehow to compensate us for our small acquirings, and to give us here on earth some slight foretaste of the eternal joy of heaven. in the inviting salon of madame récamier were daily congregated the wit, the intellect, and the beauty that were left of the old régime, and what was best of the new, all attracted by her matchless beauty and wonderful goodness. of this fascinating woman, châteaubriand was also, during all the last years of his life, a constant daily visitor. thus at length, after all his wanderings, he found in her loving presence a haven of sweet rest, and there at her feet he sat in perpetual adoration of her charms. in her at last did he not find, when it was all too late, the spiritual ideal of his beautiful "sylphide," the "vision beautiful" of his boyish fancy? is not this the old, old story with us all? "do we ever find our ideals before it is too late?" do we ever find them at all except in our waking or in our sleeping dreams? in 1848 châteaubriand died, and was buried on a little island near his birth-place, st. malo. i said that to-day he viscount de chateaubriand. 151 was almost forgotten, yet on the 14th of september, 1875, which was the one hundred and seventeenth anniversary of his birth, the best men and women of france made a pilgrimage to his tomb, and as they gathered around it, a statue was raised to his memory on the old sea-girt rock of st. malo. thus at last a somewhat tardy justice has been done to the memory of him whom sainte-beuve has called the "poetical advocate of christianity." castorland. on an hundred thousand acres, never trod by foot of men, he had mapped out farms and vineyards, roads o'er precipice and glen, and like scenes of an enchanter rose a city wondrous fair. with its colleges, its churches, and its castles in the air. then was struck a classic medal by this visionary band, cybele was on the silver, and beneath was castorland, the reverse a tree of maple, yielding forth its precious store, salve magna parens frugum was the legend that it bore. -caleb lyon of lyonsdale. i. gnie chapter xviii. de way from the summer tourist, on his trenton falls to the thousand islands, may pass through the beautiful and flourishing valley of the black river, over the utica and black river railroad. as the train draws near to the first station north of the village of lowville, he will hear the sharp voice of the brakeman crying out "cas-tor-land." he will look out of the car window and see a wide level clearing of pasture land and meadow, skirted by forests, one side of which is bounded by the river. in the middle of this clearing he will see only the small station house, and three or four scattered buildings surrounding it, and will doubtless wonder whence comes the high-sounding name for such meagre 'surroundings. new-york castor land castorland station. the story of castorland is the often repeated tale of frustrated settlements in the old wilderness. it is the story castorland. 153 of an attempt of the exiled nobility and clergy of the old régime in france to found a settlement in the wilds of the the new world, where they could find a secure retreat from the horrors of revolution in the old. this attempt was made at the close of the last century in the valley of the black river, on the western slope of the great wilderness. but, like the settlement of the first catholics on the patuxent, the jacobites with flora mcdonald at cape fear, the huguenots with jean ribault at port royal; like new amsterdam on the hudson, new sweden on the delaware; like acadie in nova scotia, castorland on the black river lives now only in poetry and history. its story is one of brilliant promises all unfulfilled, of hopes deferred, of man's tireless but fruitless endeavor, of woman's tears. to rescue this name so fraught with historical associations from oblivion, it was applied to the railroad station which is nearest to the site of the largest projected city of ancient castorland. that city was laid out on the beaver river, which flows into the black river from the wilderness nearly opposite this station. ii. ancient castorland. for the purpose of effecting the settlement of castorland a company was formed in paris, under the laws of france, in the month of august, 1792, and styled la compagnie de new york. on the 31st day of the same month the company, by its agent, pierre chassanis, bought a large tract of land lying in the valley of the black river, of william 20 154 northern new york. constable, who was the owner of macomb's purchase. this tract lay along both sides of the black river below the high falls, and extended westerly through the counties of lewis and jefferson to lake ontario, and easterly into the heart of the great wilderness. the castorland purchase at first comprised the whole of great lot no. 5 of macomb's purchase, and contained six hundred and ten thousand acres. but subsequently all south and west of the black river, being the part which now constitutes the richest towns of lewis and jefferson counties, was given up, and only that lying to the north and east of the river retained. the portion so retained contained only two hundred and ten thousand acres. this was the castorland of the olden time. the name castorland, that is to say, the land of beavers, is doubtless a literal translation of the old indian couch-sach-ra-ge, which means in the iroquois tongue, the "beaver hunting country," castorland being taken out of the western half of this old indian hunting ground. during the negotiations between constable and chassanis for this tract, the revolution that had been so long smouldering, burst forth in all its savage fury, and the streets of paris were slippery with human gore. constable locked the door of the apartment in which they met, with the remark that, "if they parted before the purchase was completed they might never meet again." the palace of the tuilleries was already surrounded by the bloodthirsty mob. the attendants of the royal family were butchered, and the feeble king cast into a dungeon. in comparison with such awful scenes as these in the very heart of the highest civilization the world had ever seen, the savage wildness of the old american forests was a scene of peacecastorland. 155 ful rest. to the fugitive noblesse of france, the former possessors of titles, rank, wealth and culture, the quiet shades of castorland afforded a secure asylum from the horrors of the reign of terror. iii. scheme of settlement. a romantic scheme was at once conceived and perfected by the company in paris for the settlement of castorland. in pursuance of this scheme a pamphlet was printed in paris and issued by the company, containing a programme of colonization under its auspices. this pamphlet was entitled "association for the purchase and settlement of six hundred thousand acres of land, granted by the state of new york, and situated within that state, between the 43d and 44th degrees of latitude, upon lake ontario, and thirtyfive leagues from the city and port of albany where vessels land from europe." it set forth, among other things, in glowing colors, the wealth of agriculture presented by its fertile soil, the fine distribution of its waters, its facilities for an extended commerce on account of its location in the vicinity of a dense population, and above all the security afforded to its inhabitants by the laws of a people who were independent and rich with their own capital, thus extending to the immigrant all the benefits of liberty with none of its drawbacks. it was stated that the object of the proprietors was to form of the colony a sort of family, in some way united by common interests and common wants, and that to maintain this union of interests a plan had been devised that rendered each member directly interested in the 156 northern new york. whole property. it was all to be done by and in the name of sieur chassanis, in whose name they had purchased the estate, and who alone had power to issue certificates of ownership. there were six thousand certificates to be issued, each entitling the holder thereof to ownership in manner following: the whole tract at that time consisted of six hundred and thirty thousand acres. of this, six hundred thousand acres were divided into twelve thousand lots of fifty acres each, and the price of each share fixed at eight hundred livres ($152.38.) in the beginning six thousand lots were set apart for individual properties, and the other six thousand lots were to belong to a common stock which was to be divided at some future time, after improvements had been made thereon by the company. each holder of a certificate was to receive at once a deed for a separate lot of fifty acres, to be drawn by lot, and also a lot of fifty acres in the common undivided stock. of the thirty thousand remaining acres, two thousand were set apart for a city to be formed on the great river in the interior, and two thousand more for another city on lake ontario, at the mouth of the river, which was to form a port and entre-pot of commerce. among artizans six thousand acres were to be divided, and rented to them at twelve sous per acre. the proceeds of the twenty thousand acres remaining were to be expended by the company in the construction of roads, bridges and other improvements. the two cities were divided into fourteen thousand lots each. of these lots, two thousand were set apart for churches, schools, markets, &c. the remaining twelve thousand lots were to be divided among the six thousand holders of cercastorland. 157 tificates in the same manner as the large tract. each holding one separate lot and one in common. the affairs of the company were to be managed by five trustees, three to remain in paris and two upon the tract. such was the scheme matured in the salons of paris for the settlement of castorland. beautiful and promising beyond measure upon paper, as an ideal, but utterly impracticable and bitterly disappointing as a reality. yet many shares were eagerly taken. iv. organization. on the 28th of june, 1793, it being the second year of the french republic, the actual holders of certificates convertible into shares of la compagnie de new york met in the rooms of citizen chassanis, in paris, to organize their society upon the basis already established, and to regulate the division, survey and settlement of their lands. there were present at that meeting forty-one shareholders in all, who represented one thousand eight hundred and eight shares. they perfected and completed their organization; they adopted a long and elaborate constitution; they chose a seal for their corporation, and appointed five commissaries to manage its affairs, three for paris and two for castorland. in the meantime the tract had been re-conveyed, and the large part lying west and south of the black river given up, the part retained being that lying east and north of the river, and containing only two hundred and ten thousand acres, as before stated. to accord with this fact the number of shares was reduced from six thousand to two thou158 northern new york. sand. it was at this meeting that a silver piece was order. ed to be struck, termed a jetton de presence, one of which was to be given at every meeting to each commissary as an attendance fee.* the commissaries appointed for america were simon desjardines and pierre pharoux, who lost no time in proceeding to america to execute their important trust. desjardines had been a chamberlain of louis xvi. he was of middle age, an accomplished scholar and gentleman, but knew not a word of english when he arrived. he had with him his wife and three children, and his younger brother, geoffrey desjardines, who shared his labors and ameri castorla 1796 colon reverse. parens "salve magna parens frugum, saturnia tellus magna virum kugu obverse. *these pieces occur in coin cabinets, and have been erroneously called "castorland half-dollars." a jetton is a piece of metal struck with a device, and distributed to be kept in commemoration of some event, or to be used as a counter in games of chance. the one here noticed was termed a jetton de presence, or piece "given in certain societies or companies to each of the members at a session or meeting." (dic. de l'acad. francaise.) it was engraved by one of the duvivier brothers, eminent coin and metal artists of paris. the design represents on the obverse the head of cybele, who personified the earth as inhabited or cultivated, while on the reverse ceres has just tapped a maple tree. the latin legend on the reverse is a quotation from virgil, which, with its context,' reads: geor. ii, 173. -hough's history of lewis county. castorland. 159 trials. he also brought with him his library of two thousand volumes. pierre pharoux, as before mentioned in these pages, was a distinguished young architect and engineer of paris, of high scientific attainments and marked ability. he was earnestly and faithfully devoted to his duties; and his love of science, his honesty, his good sense, and genial and ardent friendship were manifested in all his doings. he left behind him in france an aged father to mourn his untimely death. they sailed from havre on the fourth day of july, 1793, in the american ship liberty, but did not arrive in new york until the 7th of september following. there came over in the same vessel with them a young french refugee named mark isambart brunel, who afterward filled the world with his fame as an engineer in england. brunel had been in the french navy, and as driven from home on account of his royalistic proclivities. he went with them. in all their journeys through the wilderness, and shared in all their hardships during the first year, but does not seem to have been employed by them in castorland. one of their duties was to keep a daily journal and record of all their doings for the information of the company in paris. this journal was lately discovered, by some one who appreciated its value, among a lot of old rags exposed for sale upon the seine in paris, and was brought to this country. it is now in the possession of dr. f. b. hough, the learned historian. this journal throws a flood of light upon the settlement of castorland. "this journal," says dr. hough, "gives, with the greatest minuteness, the facts and incidents of their operations, their plans and failures, hopes and fears, gains and losses, with the most scrupulous 160 northern new york. exactness, while there runs through the whole a vein of humor that proves the authors to have been men who keenly enjoyed the ludicrous, and who closely observed both men and things." but i fear i shall weary the patience of the reader if i go much into detail upon the subject, and shall therefore endeavor to be brief. v. their first explorations. soon after their arrival in this country, desjardines and pharoux, with their friend brunel, set out on a voyage of exploration to their "promised land" in the wild valley of the black river. to realize the difficulties of the undertaking, the reader must bear in mind that the country they were in quest of lay far away from albany in the depths of a howling wilderness, which had then never been visited by white men, except around its border, or when carried across it as prisoners in savage hands; that the only route to it was up the mohawk, in batteaux, to fort stanwix, now the city of rome; thence by the way of wood creek, the oneida lake, and the oswego river to lake ontario, and from lake ontario up the unexplored route of the black river. it was over the old indian trail, the savage warpath of the french and indian and of the revolutionary wars, and even then there was threatened a general indian war by all the tribes around our borders. but in the face of all these difficulties our explorers, in the autumn of 1793, set out for castorland. in describing their passage over the carrying place from fort stanwix to wood creek, near where the four busy castorland. 161 tracks of the new york central railroad now run, they write in their journal, under date of october 10th: "upon taking a walk into the woods a short distance we saw on every hand it was a fearful solitude. you are stopped sometimes by impassable swamps, and at other times by heaps of trees that have fallen from age or have been overthrown by storms, and among which an infinite number of insects and many squirrels find a retreat. on every hand we see the skeletons of trees overgrown with moss and in every stage of decay. the capillaire and other plants and shrubs spring out of these trunks, presenting at once the images of life and death." the fort at oswego was still held by a british garrison. jealous of frenchmen, the commander at first refused to allow them to pass into lake ontario, but it was finally arranged that brunel should remain as a hostage for the good conduct and safe return of the others. brunel, however, was refused access to the fort, and was ordered to encamp alone in the woods on the opposite side of the river. considering that such treatment invalidated his parole, he escaped from oswego disguised as a common sailor and proceeded with his friends on their expedition. they proceeded cautiously along the shore of the lake over the route that had become historic by the presence of m. de la barre and his army in their visit to la famine in 1684, and of father charlevoix in 1720, and which had so often been traversed by their countrymen in the palmy days of the old french occupancy, until their arrival at niaoure bay, now called black river bay. here after a long search they discovered the mouth of the black river, the great river that watered castorland. but it was already so late in the sea21 162 northern new york. son that they only explored the river up to a point some five or six miles above the falls at watertown, and then returned to albany to complete their preparations for the next year's journey. vi. the settlement of castorland. the next spring, being in the year 1794, the desjardines brothers and pharoux, with a large company of men, with their surveyors and assistants, took up their toilsome journey from schenectady to their forest possessions, being this time fully equipped to begin their settlement. their route this year was up the mohawk in batteaux to fort schuyler, now utica, thence overland across the deerfield hills sixteen miles, to the log house of baron steuben, who had then just commenced his improvements upon his tract of sixteen thousand acres given him by the state. from steuben's it was twenty-four miles further through the trackless forest to the high falls on the black river in castorland. at fort schuyler they found a small tavern surrounded by a few other buildings, then constituting the whole of what is now the city of utica. in one of these buildings there lived peter smith, the father of gerrit smith. this tavern, which occupied the site of bagg's hotel of to-day, was kept by john post. our refined and sensitive frenchmen do not speak in their journal in very complimentary terms of the entertaiment they found there. but by baron steuben they were received with all the gentlemanly courtesy which so distinguished him, and by all the marks of favor to which their rank and accomplishments entitled them. 1 castorland. 163 upon the heights near steuben's they obtained the first grand view of the level belt of the northern wilderness, that lay stretched out from their feet to the dimly distant border of the st. lawrence. "like moses from pisgah's summit," says dr. hough, "so they from the highest crest of the steuben hills could see the level blue horizon of the distant castorland, while the dusky lines of deeper shadows and brighter spots basking in the sunlight, spoke of happy valleys and sunny slopes in their future homes."* the difficulties of the journey then still before them can scarcely be imagined by the reader of to-day. at length they reached their tract on the welcome banks of the black river, and began their labors. but there is no space in these pages to follow them in all their operations, in their sore trials and their bitter disappointments, their final discomfiture and utter failure. suffice it to say that they began a little settlement on the banks of the black river, at the place now called lyons falls. that they surveyed their lands and laid out one of their cities, castorville, on the beaver river, at a place now called beaverton, opposite the little station now called castorland, in memory of their enterprise. that they laid out their other city, the lake port, which they named "city of basle," at what is now dexter, below watertown, and in 1795 they founded the present village of carthage. that pharoux was accidentally drowned in the river at watertown in the fall of 1795. that desjardines gave up the agency in despair in 1797, and was succeeded by rodolphe tillier, "member of the sovereign council of berne," who in turn gave place to gouverneur morris in 1800, and that * lecture at lowville academy, 1868. 164 northern new york. the lands finally became the property of james donatien, le ray de chaumont, his associates and grantees. "after toils and many troubles, self-exile for many years, long delays and sad misfortunes, man's regrets and woman's tears, unfulfilled the brilliant outset, broken as a chain of sand, were the golden expectations by grande rapides' promised land." vii. death of pierre pharoux. one of the saddest incidents in the story of castorland is the death of pharoux at the falls of watertown, in 1795. in september of that year, after the river had been swollen by heavy rains, pharoux set out with brodhead, tassart and others, on a journey to kingston, on the st. lawrence. in passing down the river upon a raft, they were drawn over the falls. mr. brodhead and thre men were saved, but pharoux and all the others were drowned. the survivors made unremitting search for pharoux's body, but it was not found until the following spring. it was washed ashore upon an island at the mouth of the black river, where it was found by benjamin wright, the surveyor, and by him decently buried there. m. le ray de chaumont many years afterward caused a marble tablet to be set in the rock near his grave, bearing this inscription: to the memory of peter pharoux, this island is consecrated. the reader will remember that the year before his death, pharoux had discovered and named the river independence in castorland, and had selected a beautiful spot at its mouth on the black river, near a large flat granite rock, for castorland. 165 his residence. this spot, called by the desjardines brothers independence rock, was ever afterward regarded by them with melancholy interest. they could not pass it without shedding tears to the memory of their long-tried and trusted friend. under date of may 28th, 1796, simon desjardines, the elder brother, recorded in his journal: "landed at half-past two at independence rock, and visited once more this charming spot which had been so beautifully chosen by our friend pharoux as the site for his house. the azaleas in full bloom loaded the air with their perfume, and the wild birds sang sweetly around their nests, but nature has no longer any pleasant sights, nor fragrance, nor music, for me." and now ancient castorland may be added to the long list of names once famous in the cities of europe, and long celebrated in the forest annals of northern new york, but now forgotten, and found only in history and song. chapter xix. sistersfield. that best portion of a good man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love. -wordsworth. in ancient castorland, about six miles above the village of carthage, and on the easterly side of the black river, there has long been a small deserted clearing, that is now, or but lately was, mostly overgrown with low scrubby pines, sweet ferns, and wild blackberry briars. this little clearing is situated directly opposite the mouth of the deer river, a western branch of the black river, which there enters it after tumbling down in a series of beautiful falls and cascades the limestone and slaty terraced hills of the eastern slope of the plateau of the lesser wilderness, in whose swamps and wild meadows it takes its rise. of the falls on the deer river, the high falls, about five miles above its mouth, near the village of copenhagen, in the town of denmark, are of exceptional height and beauty. the stream there plunges over a perpendicular precipice of one hundred and sixty-six feet in height into a deep, yawning chasm of more than a mile in length, whose perpendicular walls rise, upon one side, to the giddy height of two hundred and twenty-five feet. two miles below the high falls are the celebrated king's falls, so named from the visit of joseph bonaparte, the ex-king of spain, by whom they were much admired. the king's falls are only about sistersfield. 167 fifty feet in height, but they excel even the high falls in their wild picturesque beauty. like many a similar place in the old wilderness and around its borders, this little old deserted clearing has a long-forgotten history. it was once known as sistersfield, and was for many years, at the beginning of the present century, the home of a french nobleman who was a refugee from the reign of terror in france, and whose name was louis françois de saint-michel. saint-michel had been forester to louis xvi. he was a tall, spare man of noble presence and courtly bearing, his dress, his manner, his whole appearance, indicating that he had been bred in the most polished society of europe. his eye flashed a keen intelligence, but his french vivacity was tempered and softened down by a most fervent piety and a deep thoughtfulness. but his manners, though elegant, were not disdainful, and among his neighbors of the black river valley, of new england lineage, he had many warm friends. among them he never exhibited the ostentatious bearing and haughty speech, so often among the characteristics of the old nobility of france. of those who represented that ancient but dissolving order, saint-michel, in an eminent degree, like le ray de chaumont, displayed their virtues and graces unalloyed by their vices. born and bred among the dazzling splendors of the french court of the old régime, himself a participator in its most gorgeous pageants and imposing ceremonies, at the palace of the tuilleries, in paris, in the forests of fontainebleau, and at the castles of blois, the favorite homes of french royalty, it was the strange fortune of saint-michel to pass his declining years in the deep seclusion of this little clearing of sis168 northern new york. tersfield, in castorland, that has been so long forgotten, on the borders of the old wilderness. he was accompanied in his exile by an only daughter, sophie de saint-michel, who had been tenderly reared in the schools of paris. his wife had died in early womanhood, leaving this daughter an only child. after the death of his wife, saint-michel placed his daughter at a convent school in paris. when the revolution broke out he was obliged to flee from france to save his life. on the eve of his flight he called at the convent gate for his daughter. she was brought to him in disguise, and with her he made his escape from france and came to castorland. in their secluded forest home she applied herself to the duties of her father's household with a self-sacrificing spirit that did much to enliven the gloom of their solitude and to lighten the sorrows of their situation. saint-michel arrived in new york in 1798, and undertook the management of sistersfield, which was a tract of twelve hundred acres belonging to three sisters, one named renée jeane louise, another reine marguerite, and the third a mrs. blake, who were the daughters of sieur lambot of paris. on this tract of land called sisterfield saintmichel built an humble log cabin, on the bank of the black river, where he and his daughter lived for several years in the greatest seclusion. his lonely hut was often the temporary resting place for the hunters and trappers of the region, who were charmed with the exquisite grace and beauty of his daughter, who, in spite of the tenderness with which she had been reared, performed the menial duties of her exiled father's household with a cheerfulness and resignation remarkable for one of her years. after awhile his sistersfield. 169 daughter married a frenchman named louis marsile. upon the marriage of his daughter, saint-michel accompanied her to her new home, which was a little south of the present village of deer river, where he died about the year 1830. but sieur saint-michel found near him in his exile many congenial spirits, and many of the friends of his better days. among his near neighbors in castorland were several retired french army officers, and a few miles below carthage, at le rayville, on the black river, was the elegant château of james donatien, le ray de chaumont, another french nobleman, who was, as it before appears in these pages, largely identified with the landed interests of northern new york. at champion, a village five miles west of carthage, lived samuel a. tallcott, who was afterward the eminent lawyer, and the attorney general of the state for several years. at le rayville was moss kent, the brother of the chancellor, and father pierre joulin, the cure of chaumont in france, who refused to take the constitutional oath, and was sent to america by m. de chaumont, to save him from the guillotine. at the hospitable board of sieur de chaumont, saint-michel was always a most welcome guest, and there he often met many of the old noblesse of france, who were the cherished friends of his early years, and whom fickle fortune had, like himself, thrown in exile. i have said that saint-michel was a man of fervent piety. he was so devout that he passed much of his time on his knees in prayer. after he was dead, the skin upon his knees was found to be callous-it was hardened to the bone by almost constant kneeling. but just before his death, he forgot his latin, the language in which all his prayers 22 170 northern new york. were said, and he mournfully told his attendants that he could no longer pray. and now, reader, as you pass on northerly from castorland station, on the utica and black river railroad, you will soon come to the little station called deer river. when you arrive there, look to the eastward across the wide interval meadows, and across the black river, and about half a mile from you, you will see the gently rising slope of the old clearing in sistersfield that was so long the forest home of the noble frenchman, the exiled louis françois de saint-michel, one of the early settlers of castorland. chapter xx. john brown's tract. the sounding cataract haunted me like a passion; the tall rock, the mountain and the deep and gloomy wood, their colors and their forms, were then to me an appetite, a feeling and a love. -wordsworth. i. john brown of providence. "john brown's tract" has long been a familiar generic name for the whole of the great wilderness, but john brown's tract proper comprises only a small part of the wilderness, lying on its western slope, near the head waters of the streams that flow into the black river. john brown was one of the richest merchants and belonged to one of the oldest and most noted families of providence, rhode island. he was born in the year 1736, and was a descendant of rev. chadd brown, who was driven into providence with roger williams in 1636. in 1772, john brown led the party that destroyed the british schooner gaspee in narragansett bay. for twenty years he was the treasurer of brown university, named in honor of his family, and he laid the corner-stone of its edifice. in 1779 he was elected to the continental congress, and served therein two years. he is described as a man of magnificent projects, and extraordinary enterprise." he was the first merchant in providence who traded with china and the east. but even he failed to subdue the old wilderness. 66 in november, 1794, james greenleaf, of new york 172 northern new york. bought of samuel ward, then with william constable, the owner of the greater part of macomb's purchase, the tract of land containing two hundred and ten thousand acres, since known as john brown's tract. it stretched entirely across the northern part of herkimer county into hamilton on the east and into lewis on the west. the year after his purchase, greenleaf mortgaged the tract to philip livingston, for the sum of $38,000. he also gave a second mortgage to john brown and others, for large sums of money. aaron burr and john julius angerstein, the famous russian merchant and patron of the fine arts, of london, also had some interest in this tract. but greenleaf failed to keep up the payments, and in 1798 livingston was obliged to foreclose his mortgage. the whole tract was bid in at the sale by john brown for the sum of $33,000. the next year, 1799, john brown visited his tract, and remained a part of the summer. he caused it to be surveyed, and divided it into eight townships. number 1 he called industry; no. 2, enterprise; no. 3, perseverance; no. 4, unanimity; no. 5, frugality; no. 6, sobriety; no. 7, economy; no. 8, regularity. he made a clearing on no. 7, cut a road into it, built a grist-mill, saw-mill, and several log houses. in that year also, his agent, james sheldon, moved with his family on to the tract. for two or three years after, john brown made toilsome journeys to his forest possessions, but he died in 1803, leaving his tract a wilderness. in the expressive language of thomas sheldon, a son of james, who was giving his testimony in open court, in lewis county, justice bacon presiding, in relation to this tract, in a suit recently pending in the supreme court, in john brown's tract. 173 which it was the subject in dispute:* "the tract was then a wilderness, and is now." these few words tell the whole. story of brown's tract. ii. the herreshoff manor. charles frederick herreshoff was a son-in-law of john brown. he married a daughter of john brown, the widow francis, the mother of john brown francis, afterward governor of rhode island. about the year 1812 herreshoff went on to this tract. he cleared over two thousand acres, built thirty or forty new buildings, drove in cattle and a flock of three hundred merino sheep. he built a forge and opened and worked a mine of iron ore. he spent his own fortune there and all the money that he could borrow from his friends. but the rugged old wilderness would not be subdued. when he entered the forest he made this declaration to a friend: "i will settle the tract or settle myself." he settled himself. in december, 1819, his money was all gone and his friends had deserted him. one day, in a fit of utter despondency, he went out of his dwelling to a lonely spot on the tract that had been so long the scene of his fruitless endeavors, and ended his life by a pistol shot. herreshoff was a prussian by birth. he was over six feet in height, well-formed, and of commanding presence. he was a man of great energy and perseverance, of high culture, and the most engaging manners, but extremely *john brown francis vs. marshal shedd, jr., and others. edward a. brown, of counsel for plaintiff: charles d. adams, of counsel for defendants. 174 northern new york. proud and aristocratic. he was somewhat visionary in his schemes, and not so well adapted to the settlement of a new country as many men of less enterprise. after all his efforts he made but one ton of iron at his forge. every pound of it cost him more than a dollar in gold. his wife did not approve of his forest undertaking, and never went on to the tract. herreshoff was fond of calling his settlement "the manor." like gilliland, he had dreams of a magnificent baronial estate rising in feudal grandeur in the wild american forest, like those more favored ones along the hudson-himself its princely lord. at his grave in boonville, oneida county, is a modest marble slab, bearing this inscription: charles frederick herreshoff. obiit dec. 19, 1819, ætat 50. iii. arnold's. after the failure and death of herreshoff, his little settlement was soon deserted by his tenantry, and went swiftly into decay and ruin. the deserted dwellings were sometimes the temporary resting places of the wandering hunter or trapper, and sometimes the homes of the wild beasts and birds of the forest. it was not until about the year 1832 that the premises were again more permanently occupied. in that year the old herreshoff manor was leased to the famous hunter and trapper, nathaniel foster, who moved john brown's tract. 175 on with his family, and took possession of the wild forest retreat. but foster's unfortunate affair with the indian drid rendered it unsafe, in his opinion, for him to remain thus exposed to the vengeful rifles of drid's relatives, and so he removed from the tract, after remaining but three or four years. the tourist is now shown the grave of drid, not far from the old forge, and the point at the bend of the river where he was shot by foster is known as indian point. after foster had retired from the scene another hunter went in with his family, to reside there, whose name was otis arnold. arnold moved in about the year 1837, with his wife and one child, and took possession of the old herreshoff house. here he lived and raised a large family of children, keeping a sort of forest hostelry, until his death in 1868. in the autumn of 1855, the hon. amelia m. murray, maid of honor to queen victoria, while making a tour of the united states and canada, went through the lake belt of the wilderness, over the route described in a former chapter. her companions were gov. horatio seymour, the governor's neice, and other friends. on their way they stopped, of course, at arnold's. but i will let the lady amelia tell the story in her own words, as written in her diary, under date of september 20th, 1855: "mr. seymour remained to make arrangements with the guides, while his neice and i walked on to arnold's farm. there we found mrs. arnold and six daughters. these girls, aged from twelve to twenty, were placed in a row against one wall of the shanty, with looks so expressive of astonishment, that i felt puzzled to account for their manner, till their mother informed us they had never before seen any other woman than herself! i 176 northern new york. could not elicit a word from them, but, at last, when i begged for a little milk, the eldest went and brought me a glass. i then remembered that we had met a single hunter rowing himself on the moose river, who called out, 'where on 'arth do they women come from?' and our after experience fully explained why ladies are such rare birds in that locality." but arnold's life went out in a dark tragedy that stained the old wilderness with human blood once more. in september, 1868, in a fit of uncontrollable anger, occasioned by a quarrel with him about a dog collar, he shot and killed a guide named james short, of warrensburgh, essex co., who was resting at the forge. but instant remorse succeeded his anger. proceeding to nick's lake, a favorite resort of his near by, he filled his pockets with stones, and tied a large one to his neck. he then stepped into his hunting boat, and paddling out into the middle of the lake, plunged into its clear, cold waters to rise no more. in view of otis arnold's long and blameless life, and of his thousand acts of kindness to many a wanderer in the forest, who can help but wish it were possible to throw, in some way, the mantle of charity over his dreadful crime. and now, after writing all this of the famous john brown's tract, in this our country's centennial year, all that can be said of it may still be summed up in the expressive words of sheldon on the witness stand: "the tract was then a wilderness, and is now." chapter xxi. the hunter foster and the indian drid. the hunting tribes of air and earth respect the brethren of their birth; nature, who loves the claim of kind less cruel chase to each assigned. the falcon poised on soaring wing watches the wild-duck by the spring; the slow-hound wakes the fox's lair, the greyhound presses on the hare; the eagle pounces on the lamb, the wolf devours the fleecy dam; e'en tiger fell, and sullen bear their likeness and their lineage spare. man, only, mars kind nature's plan, and turns the fierce pursuit on man. -sir walter scott. i. nathaniel foster. nathaniel foster has long been known in forest story as one of the most famous hunters and trappers of the great wilderness. like nicholas stoner and jonathan wright, foster belonged to a race of hunters and trappers that has long since passed away. they were men of iron mould who had survived the savage indian warfare of the revolution with bitter remembrance of its cruel massacres and burning dwellings. they frequented the forest partly to obtain a subsistence, but more from that wild love of it which is the sure out-come of a familiarity with its trials and dangers in its savage state. the indians left their famous beaver hunting country, their old couch-sach-ra-ge, with the greatest reluctance. long after the revolution, and for many of the early years of the present century, they made, singly or in bands, annual visits to their ancient hunting grounds. although not always hostile, they disputed the favorite haunts of the beaver, the moose and the deer 23 178 northern new york. inch by inch with the white hunters. and in the secluded depths of the old forest there was many a desperate encounter between the single white hunter and the lone indian, in which only one lived to tell the tale, or more often to die afterward with the awful secret in his bosom. like the forest ranger of the canadian woods and waters, the hunter of the olden time, by his years of "bush-ranging," had become spoiled for civilization, and, like him, had become in a great measure the adopted child of nature. for him the voice of nature, as she has for us all, had a wild, sweet charm that drew him irresistibly into her savage haunts. "rude as he was," says parkman, of the canadian forest ranger-the coureur de bois-" her voice [nature's,] may not always have been meaningless for one who knew her haunts so well; deep recesses where, veiled in foliage, some wild shy rivulet steals with timid music through breathless caves of verdure, or the stern depths of immemorial forests, dim and silent as a cavern columned with innumerable trunks, each like an atlas, upholding its world of leaves and sweating perpetual moisture down its dark and channelled rind; some strong in youth, some grisly with decrepit age, nightmares of strange distortion, gnarled and knotted with wens and goitres; roots intertwined beneath, like serpents petrified in an agony of distorted strife; green and glistening mosses carpeting the rough ground mantling the rocks, turning pulpy stumps to mounds of verdure, and swathing fallen trunks, as bent in the impotence of rottenness they lie outstretched over knoll and hollow, like mouldering reptiles of the primeval world, while around and on and through them springs the young growth that fattens on their decay, the forest devouring * hunter foster and indian drid. 179 its own dead." such were the forest scenes with which the old hunters were the most familiar in their daily vocation. nathaniel foster was born in what is now vernon, windham county, vt., in 1767. at the age of twenty-four he married miss jemima, the daughter of amos streeter, of new hampshire, and emigrated to salisbury, herkimer county, then nearly surrounded by the old wilderness. wild game was exceedingly plentiful there at that time, and being eager in the pursuit of it, he soon became a famous hunter and trapper. volumes almost have been written of his daring exploits in the forest. he was nearly six feet in height, his frame was well-knit, large and muscular. his features were strongly marked, his eyes dark, his hair a sandy brown, and his countenance sallow. from the days of his boyhood foster had nursed a deadly hatred of the indian, and marvelous stories are told of the numbers slain by him during his long career in the forest. in the year 1832, game becoming scarce around his home in the mohawk valley, foster removed with his family to the long deserted herreshoff manor, where he could be nearer his congenial haunts. ii. drid. foster's only neighbors on the tract were three bachelor hunters, named william s. wood, david chase and willard johnson, and a st. regis indian, whose real name was peter waters, but who always, in the forest, went by the name of drid. drid was a morose, quarrelsome indian, who often threatened foster's life, although foster and his family had 180 northern new york. done him many acts of kindness. upon one occasion, when they had been debating about something, drid said to foster: "there is no law here. if i kill you, i kill you, and if you kill me, you kill me." "i will not make any such bargain as that," replied foster. "i do not wish to harm you, and you have no reason to feel like that toward me." on another occasion drid was heard to say, "me got a bad heart. me put a bullet through old foster." at length, on the morning of the 17th day of september, 1833, foster and drid had another encounter, in which drid attempted to take foster's life. they were separated by the hunters present, but not until drid had severely cut foster's arm with his knife in attempting to stab him to the heart. in the course of an hour after this, drid started up the river in his canoe, bound for the lakes, in the company of two white hunters, who were in their own boat. after drid had left, foster took down his trusty rifle, and taking an overland course on foot across a bend in the river, reached a point on the stream about two miles above the forge, before drid arrived there. stepping down to the edge of the bank, and pointing his rifle through the bushes that thickly lined the shore, foster shot drid through the heart as drid was paddling his canoe past the spot where foster stood. in killing drid, foster shot between the two white hunters as they passed along between him and the indian, one sitting in each end of their boat. but foster made no mistakes with his unerring rifle. foster then hastened homeward by the way he came. the two hunters also returned hunter foster and indian drid. 181 at once in their boat to the forge, and when they arrived at foster's home they found foster lying quietly in his bed as if nothing had happened. but foster was arrested, indicted, and tried for the murder of drid. his trial came on at the herkimer oyer and terminer in september, 1834, justice hiram denio of the circuit court, presiding, and jonas cleland, john b. dygert, abijah osborn, and richard herendeen, judges of the common pleas, sitting to form the court. james b. hunt, the district attorney, and simeon ford, were for the people, and e. p. hurlbut, joshua a. spencer, a. hackley, and lauren ford of counsel for the defence. the trial excited unusual interest, and the court room was crowded from day to day as it progressed. the prosecution proved to the jury the facts of the killing as above set forth, and rested the case. the counsel for the prisoner offered in evidence the several previous threats made by drid against the life of foster. his honor the presiding judge and judge dygert were of the opinion that the threats made previous to the homicide were not admissable. but, for the first time in his life, judge denio found himself over-ruled by the judges of the common pleas. the other three judges, being a majority of the court, admitted the evidence, and the case was given to the jury. after but two hours' deliberation, the jury returned into court with a verdict of not guilty. foster, overcome by the excitement, when the jury came in, was almost insensible. but when the words not guilty fairly struck his senses, he rose to his full height, and stretching out his arms wide over the heads of the silent spectators, exclaimed "god bless you all! god bless the 182 northern new york. people!" then rushing out of the court room, he bestrode his well-known hunter's pony, and rode away to his home in the forest. but foster dare not remain long on brown's tract, lest the relatives of drid should seek to revenge his death. yet the friends of drid never troubled foster. they came down from st. regis and took drid's widow and children back with them to their home on the st. lawrence. as for drid, they said "he was a bad indian. let him go." foster removed with his family to boonville, oneida co., and from there to the forest wilds of northern pennsylvania, where he again for a time followed his favorite pursuits. but his mind never seemed quite at rest after killing drid. he at length returned from pennsylvania to boonville, but he dare not venture out of doors in the dark. foster died in boonville, in march, 1841, aged 74 years.* * trappers of new york, by jeptha r. simms. chapter xxii. smith's lake. since in each scheme of life i've failed, and disappointment seems entail'd; since all on earth i valu'd most, my guide, my stay, my friend is lost. o solitude, now give me rest, and hush the tempest in my breast; o gently deign to guide my feet to your hermit-trodden seat; where i may live at last my own, where i may die at last unknown. -grainger. in most countries, and in all ages of the world there have been men who, actuated by some motive or other, have lived apart from the society of their fellows, and led lonely lives in desert places. in tracing from memory and tradition what little is known of the solitary lives of the hermit hunters of the great wilderness, it will be seen that our own country is no exception to this rule. of some of these hermit hunters, traditions still remain along the borders of their exploits in the chase, of the motives which incited them to abandon the world, of their manner of life, of their sufferings and death. one of the most charming lakes in the lake belt of the wilderness is smith's lake. it lies at the head waters of the beaver river, in the county of hamilton, about ten miles as the crow flies north of raquette lake, and four miles to the west of little tupper's lake. ten miles to the north of it, lies cranberry lake, on the oswegatchie, in st. lawrence county, and ten miles westerly are the lakes of the red horse chain, while between it and the raquette is beach's lake. smith's lake is now frequented mostly 184 northern new york. by hunting parties that approach it from lowville, a station on the utica and black river railroad, on the western side of the wilderness. on the borders of this lake are several hunting lodges. deer are still abundant in its vicinity, and brook trout abound in all the waters near it. there is no place in the whole wilderness more secluded than this, and none where more game can be found. some time about the year 1830, a hunter named david smith took up his abode on the shore of this lake in what was then and for many years afterward an unfrequented and pathless forest. smith was one of those brooding "problematic characters," whom we sometimes meet and who we often think belong to that land which borders on the realms of insanity. this border land is, i fear, broader than we think for, and is more thickly peopled than many of us will readily admit. it is said that in early life smith married a wife whom he tenderly loved and cared for, but who died shortly after their marriage. her untimely death sent him a hermit into the depths of this forest, where he could brood in solitude and silence over his great grief. about the year 1820, while the first settlers at number four were beginning their little clearings near beaver lake, smith pushed on up the river twelve miles further and built his first rude shanty at stillwater, which became long afterward the hermitage of james o'kane. at stillwater, for some ten years, smith lived a solitary life, being its first inhabitant, and followed his occupation as a hunter and trapper. at length, about 1830, stillwater became too much frequented by hunting and fishing parties, and smith again went further up the river, and settled at the lake which has since borne his name. stillwater was then without a persmith's lake. 185 manent occupant until james o'kane took up his abode there. smith made on the border of this wild lake a little clearing, wherein he raised a few potatoes, and in which he built a rude log shanty for his habitation. in this secluded spot he spent much of his time in hunting and fishing, and in fitting up a sort of rude museum of the stuffed skins of the wild animals and birds which he had contrived to catch. in the summer he would sometimes take his little collection into the back settlements for exhibition. on such occasions his appearance was wild and grotesque in the extreme. clad in skins with the fur outward, and hardly to be distinguished from a wild animal himself, he often exhibited with much skill, on a sort of revolving framework which he had made, his well preserved specimens of moose, deer, bears, foxes, wolves, wildcats and birds. during the extreme cold of winter, when game was scarce and it was difficult to reach the settlements through the deep snows, he sometimes suffered from the want of provisions and other necessaries. on one occasion he accidentally choked himself while eating a piece of moose meat, and being unable to remove the obstruction, went out, with infinite pain and labor, a distance of forty miles, to fenton's at number four, before he found relief. he could breathe, but could not swallow, and nearly perished from hunger. for fifteen years he lived this wild hermit life, pursuing his favorite vocation as a hunter and trapper, unmolested in his far away forest home. but when the fishing and hunting parties from the outer world began to find their way in to his lake, smith left his no longer secluded hiding place in disgust at what he considered their intrusion upon his solitude. it is said that he sought another congenial 24 186 northern new york. home in the far west, and has never since been heard of. his little clearing is now thickly covered with a luxuriant growth of young forest trees, among which his lonely deserted hearthstone is crumbling into ruins. but the beautiful lake on whose shores he spent so many years, still commemorates his name. if the heart-history of this brooding lover of solitude, this hermit hunter of the wilderness, could be written, it would doubtless move us to pity his sorrows and to drop the mantle of charity over his eccentricities. chapter xxiii. number four. how the sacred calm that breathes around bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease, in still small accents whispering from the ground a grateful earnest of eternal peace. there scattered oft, the earliest of the year, by hands unseen, are showers of violets found, the red-breast loves to build and warble there, and little footsteps lightly print the ground, -rejected verses of gray's elegy. i. one of the oldest and most frequented places of forest resort in the great wilderness, on its western border, is number four, in brown's tract. the beaver river, which flows from smith's lake, near the raquette, passes in its course through brown's tract, and on township number four spreads out into beaver lake, which lies within a mile of lake francis. lake francis was so called in honor of gov. john brown francis, a proprietor of the tract. there is not a lake in the whole wilderness more beautiful than beaver lake, as seen from fenton's, near by, in the soft hazy light of a sultry august day. surrounded by its deeply indented, thickly wooded shores, it then appears like a pool of liquid amber, sleeping in an emerald basin. it is a sweet picture of repose, typifying that sense of perfect rest which steals over us nowhere else but in the deep stillness of the woods and fields, far away from the ceaseless din of crowded cities. since the settlement of the black river valley, at the beginning of the present century, number four at beaver 188 northern new york. lake has been one of the favorite resorts of hunters and fishermen and summer pleasure-seekers. in the month of june, 1818, the first fishing party visited beaver lake. this party consisted of charles dayan, cornelius low, russell parish, heman stickney, otis whipple and samuel rogers, with thomas puffer as guide. some of these men afterward became distinguished in the councils of the state and nation. they encamped for eight days at the "fish hole," near the inlet of the lake at the mouth of a little stream which they named sunday brook, in memory of the first day of their encampment there. the next year ziba knox, alexander w. stow and james t. watson encamped for a week at beaver lake. these were the pioneers of the long succession of visitors, who, for nearly fifty years have every summer sought relief from cankering care in the innocent abandon of this wild forest retreat. but number four, like many another place in the old wilderness, has been the scene of a fruitless attempt at settlement. the first settler at number four was ephraim craft, who followed in the trail of the first fishing parties in the year 1820, and began his clearing on the west side of beaver river beyond fenton's, on what is now called the champlain road. no signs of this early clearing now remain. in the year 1822, gov. john brown francis, of rhode island, had succeeded his grandfather, john brown, in the ownership of township number four. for the purpose of effecting a settlement of his lands, gov. francis offered a deed of one hundred acres each as a gift to the first ten settlers on township number four near beaver lake. attracted by this inducement, ten men accepted his offer, and number four. 189 ten families soon moved in, began their clearings, built their log houses, planted their first crops, and commenced in earnest the life of pioneers in the wilderness. saw-mills were soon built, various improvements were made, and in a few years more than a thousand acres were cleared and fenced off into farms and gardens. a schoolhouse was built, and a little school of more than sixty scholars gathered in. within ten years after the first clearing was made some seventy-five settlers were trying their fortunes at number four. but it is the old sad story of the wilderness that will not be tamed by man. the soil was none of the best; the climate was cold, the summers were short, and the winters were long; the markets were distant, and the roads to them through the forest were almost impassible during much of the year. one by one the settlers, growing weary of the undertaking, sold out their improvements or abandoned them, and with their families left the forest hamlet, to seek other homes, until within twenty-five years after the first house was built, only three families were left at number four. these three remaining families were those of isaac wetmore, chauncey smith and orrin fenton. chauncey smith has long been a famous hunter and trapper, and is still living there at an advanced age. isaac wetmore died there in 1853, and was buried in the little burial place now overgrown with bushes and brambles near his former home. and now the old dwellings, with two or three exceptions, have all disappeared, the schoolhouse and its children are no longer to be seen there. the fences are gone, and the once cleared fields are fast reverting to their original forest state. 190 northern new york. ii. no one of the many settlers of number four became so identified with its history as orrin fenton. fenton moved to number four with his family in the year 1826, and lived there nearly forty years. for many years fenton's house became, from necessity, there being few other accommodations, a forest hostelry, open for the entertainment of the hunters and pleasure seekers who so often visited the region. many a tired and half famished traveller remembers with gratitude how, after a day's tramp in the woods, he received the kindly attentions of fenton's welcome fireside, presided over so gracefully by his busy wife. should this page meet the eye of any who visited "fenton's" in days gone by, many a pleasing reminiscence will be called up, and many a savory repast of delicious trout and venison, cooked and served as no one but mrs. fenton could cook and serve them, will be remembered. but fenton at length, like the other settlers at number four, sold out his forest home and reluctantly left it to reside there no more. the person to whom he sold it, however, kept the place but a few years, and now it is owned by mr. fenton's son charles, who, as his father did, now keeps there a famous forest hostelry, overlooking beaver lake in its wild enchanting beauty. "fenton-who shall or can," says w. hudson stephens in his historical notes, "chronicle the experiences of his heart-life of forty years in the wilderness. in the memory of how many a laborer and wanderer is his cheerful, tidy home treasured, and the kindly attention of his forest resort recalled with grateful recollections. amid such scenes number four. 191 of wild beauty the genius of a wordsworth was roused into active utterance of the melody of 'a heart grown holier as it traced the beauty of the world below.' the silence and solitude of the northern forest has had its charms for him. who will say his heart's earlier aspirations have not been as effectually satisfied in the solitudes of the uncultivated forest as if he had moved amid the busy haunts of the crowded city? this sportsman by land and stream, this forest farmer, looks back upon woodland scene and experience with sighs. how true that while hope writes the poetry of the boy, memory writes that of the man," chapter xxiv. james o'kane. o solitude, romantic maid! whether by nodding towers you tread, or haunt the desert's trackless gloom, or hover o'er the yawning tomb; or climb the andes' clifted side, or by the nile's coy source abide; or, starting from your half-year's sleep, from hecla view the thawing deep; or at the purple dawn of day, tadmor's marble waste survey; you, recluse again i woo, and again your steps pursue. -grainger. on the beaver river, in the depths of the forest, twelve miles above number four, is a hunter's shantying ground, long known as stillwater, but sometimes now called wardwell's. the first occupant of this old hunting station was david smith, afterward known as the hermit of smith's lake, many miles further up the river. the first ten years of smith's hermit life were passed in this spot, but the early fishing parties coming in, disturbed his seclusion, and he went further up the river, where he could find a still deeper solitude. ten years or more after smith left stillwater, about the year 1844, another hermit of the woods took up his abode there, named james, or as he was always familiarly called jimmy o'kane. for twelve years his shanty stood on the banks of twitchell creek, a confluent of the beaver river at stillwater, near the old champlain road that leads from number four past raquette lake. in solitude and alone lived jimmy all these weary years amid the dreary scene. james o'kane. 193 jimmy lived mostly by hunting and fishing, but as he grew old and feeble he was too clumsy a hunter to take many deer, although they were numerous on his hunting-ground, and so he depended mostly on smaller game and fish. his method of preserving game and laying in supplies was a model one, in its way, for convenience and economy. he kept in his shanty what he called his "poultry barrel." in this he salted down indiscriminately all the small animals and birds he could catch. in times of scarcity his poultry barrel was his never-failing resource. he was, however, generally well supplied with better food, and was always hospitably inclined to all the passing hunters. why jimmy thus absented himself from "the haunts and the converse of men" and voluntarily chose this mode of life, still remains a mystery. whether he became disgusted with the trials and vexations always incident to this poor life of ours, with the perfidy of man or the frailty of woman, or whether he sought in the retirement and seclusion of the wilderness the opportunity for that meditation on things spiritual and eternal which he deemed necessary for his soul's repose, or whether he was an ardent student of nature, and loved to gaze upon the brightness of silver waters, the loveliness of the wild flower, or upon the grandeur of forest scenery, rocks, hills, mountains, lakes and streams stretching afar off from his solitary home, or whether the sports of the chase were his only solace, must be left to the conjecture of the curious observer of the changing vagaries of the human heart. a worn copy of "the gospels" and a work on the "piscatory art" constituted his scanty library. his only constant companions were his dog and gun. he was the owner of several small boats that he 25 194 northern new york. would sometimes let to passing hunters on their way to smith's lake, and many a frequenter of the wilderness remembers with pleasure the night spent under jimmy's protecting roof. but at length he grew so old and feeble that he was no longer able to hunt and fish, and he depended for his subsistence mostly upon the generosity of passing sportsmen, who always kept him well supplied with food. in the month of may, 1857, i passed his hermitage on my way to the lakes beyond. he was then quite feeble from disease and exposure. it was the first day of the spring in which he had been able to crawl out to the bridge across the creek, and set his poles for fish. in december following he grew worse, and on the first day of the new year he died, aged about seventy years. his body was found lying on his rude bed, near the fire-place, his head and shoulders somewhat elevated, his cap drawn over his eyes, and his hands crossed upon his breast. "he passed from earth, breathing a prayer, far from the world's rude voices, far away; oh! hear and judge him gently; 't was his last. "i come alone, and faint i come, to nature's arms i flee; the green woods take their wanderer home, but thou, o father! may i turn to thee?" 66 while the busy throngs of crowded cities were reveling in the gay festivities which ushered in the 'glad new year," jimmy, sick and alone upon his couch in the far-off forest wilds heard a footstep upon the threshold of his shanty door, and the "king of terrors" stood before him. he pulled his cap down over his face, and was softly carried across the dark waters. james o'kane. 195 the incoming of the new year was followed by one of those terriffic storms of wind and snow so common in the wilderness. when the storm cleared away, some passing hunters, seeing no smoke issuing from jimmy's chimney, opened his shanty door and found him "dead, dead and alone." on the 5th day of the month a party of men waded through the deep snow from watson, near thirty miles away, to bury the dead hunter. they laid him to rest upon a bluff near his cabin which he had himself selected, the year before, for his burial place. to mark the spot they erected a rude wooden monument at the head and a boat paddle at the foot of his solitary grave. for this kindly deed, their names are worthy of remembrance. the men who thus buried him were elder elihu robinson, ex-sheriff peter kirley, joseph garmon, william glenn, e. harvey, thomas kirley, f. robinson and aretas wetmore. thus lived, died, and was buried one of the hermit hunters of the great wilderness. chapter xxv. james t. watson. it suffices. what suffices? all suffices reckoned rightly; spring shall bloom where now the ice is, roses make the bramble sightly, and the quickened sun shine brightly, and the latter wind blow lightly, and my garden teem with spices. -christina rossetti. i. at the close of the last century and the beginning of the present, large grants of land, from time to time, were made by the state to speculators in wild lands. the largest of these grants in northern new york was macomb's purchase. this vast tract lay in the angle between the st. lawrence river and lake ontario. it embraced almost the whole of franklin, st. lawrence, jefferson and lewis counties, with a part of herkimer. it contained 3,816,660 acres. the purchase was made on the 10th of january, 1792, and the price was eight pence an acre. alexander macomb, daniel mccormick and william constable were equally interested in this purchase. but soon after the purchase macomb became insolvent, and constable became the principal owner of the tract. william constable served honorably in the war of the revolution as the aid-de-camp of gen. la fayette. after the war he was extensively engaged in commercial pursuits in new york, london and paris. since macomb's purchase fell into his hands, he and his family have been largely identified with the landed interests of northern new york. james t. watson. 197 of these grants, another of the largest and best known is totten and crossfield's purchase. this great purchase was made before the revolution, and comprises a large part of the mountain and lake belts of the wilderness. among the numerous ones that lie between the borders of totten and crossfield's purchase and the settlements, but still mostly in the virgin wilderness, are two tracts of land lying on its western border, known as watson's east and west triangles, which were a part of macomb's purchase. these two large tracts of land lie on the western slope of the level belt of the wilderness, in the counties of lewis and herkimer. the east triangle lies in the extreme northern part of herkimer county, near the oswegatchie ponds, and borders on the totten and crossfield purchase. it is one of the wildest and most unfrequented regions of the whole wilderness. the west triangle lies in the eastern part of lewis county, on the border of the settlement, and westerly of township number four of brown's tract. the two tracts are not contiguous, but are connected by a narrow tongue of land that extends between them. the westerly corner of the west triangle has much of it been cleared and settled, and lies not far from the black river. ii. no sadder story is to be found in forest annals than that of james talcott watson, the owner of these tracts. his father, james watson, who was a rich merchant of new york at the time of and after the revolution, purchased of william constable, the owner of macomb's purchase, in the year 1796, the tracts above described, containing sixty-one 198 northern new york. thousand four hundred and thirty-three acres. it was the west triangle which is mostly watered by the independence river and its branches, that his only son, the james t. watson above named, made an attempt to settle. his father dying in 1809, left him the sole heir to these large tracts of land in the old wilderness. like gilliland on the boquet river, like herreshoff on the moose river, like arthur noble on the head waters of the east canada creek, young watson attempted to found a great landed estate on the river independence, in what is now the town of watson, where he could live in something like the old baronial splendor, surrounded by numerous dependents, and dispensing in his mansion house a generous hospitality. like his father, in early life, watson was a wealthy merchant of new york, being a member of the firm of thomas l. smith & co., east india traders, in which capacity he once made a voyage to china. he was a man of high culture, of poetic fancy, and of wonderful conversational powers. to these were added a playful wit, the most engaging manners, and a kind and tender heart. but over all this was cast a deep shadow that blasted at once his hopes and his life. "the death of a miss livingston," says dr. hough, "with whom he was engaged to be married, induced a mental aberration which continued through life, being more aggravated at certain seasons of the year, while at others it was scarcely perceptiin after life, the image of the loved and lost often came back to his memory, like the sunbeam from a broken mirror, and in his waking reveries he was heard to speak of her as present in the spirit, and a confidant of his inmost thoughts." laboring thus under this mild type of insanity, james t. watson. 199 in his social life and business transactions he often evinced strange caprices. at one time he planted a large vegetable garden at his mansion house, not far from the banks of the independence, so late in the season that no mature crop could be expected from it. his remark was "that if the seeds sprouted well he should be satisfied, as that would prove the capacity of his land." he sometimes gave the most brilliant entertainments at his country seat above referred to, and was always a most welcome guest in the cultivated and refined social circles of the neighboring villages of the valley of the black river. but the memory of the loved and lost haunted him continually like a wild sweet passion, and his life was spent in violent fluctuations between the most lively and pleasurable excitement and the deepest despair. at length, in the year 1839, in a fit of the deepest melancholy, in which his gentle spirit seemed utterly beyond relief from any human sympathy, he ended his own life at the age of fifty years. let us hope that he found his soul's idol on the other side of the river he so rashly crossed. his large tracts of land are still mostly covered by their original woods. chapter xxvi. lake bonaparte. by sinuous shore the baying hound tells the stag seeks on silver sands diana's mirror; here is found one of endymion's haunted lands. the lilies that on thy glowing breast loll languidly in crowns of gold, were pure evangels speaking rest unto an exile's heart of old. -caleb lyon of lyonsdale. i. its situation. upon the north-western border of the level belt of the wilderness in the town of diana, lewis county, and near the st. lawrence county line is the beautiful lake bonaparte. it covers about twelve hundred acres of surface; its shores are rugged and picturesque; it is studded with wild rocky islands, and its waters are as clear and bright as those of the loch lomond or the loch katrine so famous in scottish story. this lake was named in honor of joseph bonaparte, ex-king of naples and of spain, the brother of the great napoleon. in the year 1815, joseph, under the assumed name of count de survilliers, purchased a large tract of wild land of his friend le ray de chaumont, for a summer hunting park, lying around and including this lake. the tract so purchased contained 150,260 acres. it is said that napoleon at the time of the purchase intended to accompany his brother joseph in his flight to america, and to settle upon these lands. the scheme of the bonapartes was to found large manufacturing establishments in the valley of lake bonaparte. 201 the black river, and thus become england's rival in her most important interests. this subject was once discussed at a dinner given by m. de chaumont, at his château near the black river, in honor of a son of marshal murat, then m. de chaumont's guest. but napoleon concluded to remain, and the valley of the black river lost the honor of receiving an imperial visitor. ii. count de chaumont. no man in its annals is more intimately associated with the settlement and development of northern new york, except perhaps william constable, than james donatien le ray, comte de chaumont, of whom joseph bonaparte made this purchase. le ray de chaumont belonged to the old nobility of france. when the war of the american revolution broke out his father espoused the cause of the colonists with such ardor that he devoted the most of his large fortune to their interests. it was at the elegant château of the elder count de chaumont in his park at passy that franklin so long resided while he was our commissioner at the french court. soon after the war james d. le ray de chamount came to america to settle his father's accounts. while here he was induced by his friend, gouverneur morris, to purchase large tracts of land in northern new york. m. de chamount also bought, with his associate, the count de la forest, the consul general of france, a smaller tract in otsego county, to which they sent judge cooper, the father of j. fennimore cooper, the novelist, to be their agent. 26 202 northern new york. at one time m. de chamount owned thirty thousand seven hundred and fifty-eight acres of land in franklin county, seventy-three thousand nine hundred and forty seven in st. lawrence, one hundred and forty-three thousand five hundred in jefferson, and one hundred thousand in lewis county. about the year 1808 he came with his family to reside at his château at le rayville, near the black river, some ten miles easterly of watertown. this château, which may still be seen standing, was for many years the seat of a most refined and elegant hospitality. kings, princes, courtiers and noblemen were his frequent guests. thus a ray of sunshine from the most polished court in europe had fallen suddenly among the shadowy pines of the old american forest. it was while traveling in france in the year 1815, that m. de chamount heard that joseph bonaparte had arrived in his flight at the city of blois. m. de chaumont, who had known him intimately in his better days hastened to pay his respects to the fugitive king. he was invited by joseph to dine with him. while at the table joseph said. suddenly to m. de chaumont : "well i remember you spoke to me formerly of your great possessions in the united states. if you have them still, i should like very much to have some in exchange for a part of that silver i have there in those wagons, and which may be pillaged at any moment. take four or five hundred thousand francs and give me the equivalent in land." "i can not do so," replied m. de chaumont. "it is impossible to make a bargain when only one party knows what he is about." “oh," said the prince, "i know you well, and i rely more on your word than my own judgment." lake bonaparte. 203 this conversation led to the conditional purchase of a large tract of wild land. the tract so purchased lay much of it in the town of diana, and included the lake within its boundaries. in december, 1818, a deed of this tract was executed to pierre s. duponceau, his confidential agent, in trust for joseph. iii. diana. the name of diana, the goddess of huntsmen, was conferred upon the town at joseph's request. in roman mythology, the diana venatrix, or goddess of the chase, is represented in painting and statuary as a huntress, tall and nimble, with hair partly tied up and partly flowing, with light flowing robe, legs bare to the knees, and feet in buskins, such as were worn by the huntresses of old. sometimes she rode in a chariot drawn by two white stags with golden antlers, and sometimes upon a stag cross-legged. her attributes were the spear, the bow, the quiver and arrows. her attendants were dryads, the nymphs of the woods and hunting hounds. she had a three-fold divinity, being styled diana on earth, luna, or the moon, in heaven, and hecate, or proserpine, in hell. she is the same as the artemis of the greeks, the daughter of zeus and leto, and twin sister of apollo. the arcadian artemis was a goddess of the nymphs who hunted on the taygetan mountains, and was drawn in a chariot by four stags with golden antlers. the favorite pastime of the ex-king was hunting. with poetic fancy he imagined the goddess diana herself might 204 northern new york. covet this sylvan retreat in the wilds of the american forest as her favorite home, and he so named it in her honor. iv. joseph bonaparte. in 1828, joseph bonaparte, under the assumed name of count de survilliers, built a hunting lodge on the bank of the lake. the same year he made a small clearing and built a summer house on the outlet where the village of alpina now stands. he also built a summer house, with bullet-proof sleeping rooms, at natural bridge on the indian river, seven miles south of the lake, which is still standing. for several summers in succession he visited his forest possessions. joseph was living during this time in great splendor at point breeze, near bordentown, new jersey. in going from bordentown up the banks of the hudson, and through the mohawk valley, to his summer retreat in the forest wilds of the black river country he went in great state, accompanied by a large retinue of friends and attendants. his journeys on such occasions were not unlike those made by the french kings from fontainebleau to blois during the last century under the old régime. when on his way, he cut a road through the forest and often went in to his lake in his coach drawn by six horses, with great pomp and ceremony. dressed in his elegant green velvet hunting suit with gilded trappings to match, he seemed indeed a prince among the hunters. • upon these excursions he was often accompanied by the lake bonaparte. 205 friends of his better days, who, like himself, were then in exile. sometimes in going and returning, he would stop by the wayside to dine under the shade of the primeval pines, and his sumptuous repasts were served on golden、 dishes with regal splendor. in his journeys joseph often stopped at carthage, on the black river, where a long reach of still water extends up the river for forty miles, which is navigable for small steamers. on this part of the stream joseph would launch an elegant six-oared gondola, such as he had been accustomed to use on the waters of italy when he was king of naples. this gondola he transported overland and also launched it upon his beautiful lake of the wilderness, where, with liveried gondoliers and gay trappings it floated gracefully upon its waters. joseph was the favorite brother of napoleon, and resembled him in person more than the others. by his courtly but pleasing manners he won the esteem and respect of all the neighboring hunters and settlers, and became endeared to many of them by his uniform kindness and timely generosity. in 1835 he sold his wild lands to john la farge, the rich merchant of new york. as the forest home of exiled royalty in the new world a romantic interest now attaches to this enchanting lake. "brother of him whose charmed sword clove or created kingdoms fair, whose faith in him was as the word writ in the memlook's scimeter. here he forgot la granja's glades, escurial's dark and gloomy dome, and sweet sorrento's deathless shades, in his far-off secluded home." chapter xxvii. the legend of the diamond rock. "he that sounds them has pierced the heart's hollows, the place where tears are and sleep, for the foam flakes that dance in life's shallows are wrung from life's deep.' i. -fugitive poem. the village of lansingburgh is pleasantly situated upon the east bank of the hudson directly opposite the point where the mohawk, coming in from the westward and striking the valley of the hudson, separates into three or four "sprouts," and soon mingling its troubled waters with the more placid tide of the larger river, rests from its labors the valley of the hudson at this point, along its easterly bank, is not more than half a mile in width, and terminates in a range of hills running parallel with the river, which rise somewhat abruptly to the height of two or three hundred feet. between this range of high hills and the river our village nestles in a complete forest of shade trees. troy, its younger sister, but three miles below it, swelling into the pomp and pride of a city, long since absorbed the business growth of our village, and left it a retreat for quiet homes. the city has drawn away from the village its counting-houses, its warehouses,-in a word its more sordid interests, but has left to the village its schools, its churches, its firesides, around which cluster, after all, life's dearest hopes and most enduring joys. legend of the diamond rock. 207 ii. high up on the brow of the hill overlooking the village, a huge mass of calciferous sand rock of the quebec group crops out near the bordering strata of hudson river slate and shale, and terminates in a peak rising some sixty feet above the surrounding surface, with jagged, sloping sides, extending over an area of half an acre or more of ground. this rock, throughout its whole structure, is filled with beautiful shining quartzose crystals, and its surface glitters in the sunlight as if it were covered all over with sparkling gems. hence it is known far and near as the diamond rock. this rock can be seen from every part of the village, rising up against the eastern sky like a miniature mountain peak, and is often pointed out by the villagers to the tourist and stranger as an object of interest well worthy of a visit. from its summit can be seen the whole upper valley of the hudson, from the catskills on the south to the adirondacks on the north-a sweep of view extending more than a hundred miles along the river. no fairer scene anywhere on earth greets the human vision. while this valley was under the dominion of the red man, so prominent a natural object as this rock was, of course, regarded as a land-mark. situated as it was, overlooking the confluence of two important rivers, which then, as well as now, marked out the great highways of travel westward to the great lakes, and northward to the great river leading from them to the ocean, this rock was a beacon to the wanderer. from its top could be seen far off in the 208 northern new york. distance the camp-fire of the northern invader, as well as the welcome signal of the western ally coming to the rescue. iii. in the summer of 1858, while spending a few weeks in the great northern wilderness of new york, in company with some friends,* i heard from the lips of an old indian, a legend of this diamond rock. we were encamped upon a little island on the northern shore of the raquette lake, opposite the mouth of the marian river. from this point it was our practice to make excursions to the different points of interest around the lake. upon a sultry day in august we all started upon a trip to the summit of the blue mountain, which lies twenty miles to the eastward, and can be seen from all parts of the lake, looming grandly up against the sky. our course was up the marian river, and through the eckford chain of lakes, the last one of which, its waters clear as crystal, sleeps at the mountain's base. we expected to be absent from our camp two or three days, so we proceeded leisurely upon our journey. in the skiff with myself were two others of the party, and our little craft, for some reason or other, was far in advance of all the rest. toward night-fall we entered a small lake, and while pad*prof. samuel w. johnson, of new haven, rev. william h. lockwood of eau claire, wis., leonard c. davenport and w. hudson stephens of lowville, were of this party, with amos spofford and al. higby as guides. while at the raquette we encamped on osprey island, since then the camping ground of rev. mr. murray, of adirondack fame. while we were there, prof. agassiz, prof. benedict, mr. longfellow, and mr. thoreau were occupying the "philosopher's camp," on the saranac. legend of the diamond rock. 209 dling slowly along so that the others might the more readily overtake us, we saw a deer at the distance of a mile ahead of us, standing in the edge of the water, quietly feeding among the lily-pads. bright visions of venison steaks steaming hot from the embers of our camp-fire for supper and breakfast instantly arose before us, and we at once determined to secure the game if it were possible, and thus be able to realize our ideal in that particular. my companions soon landed me upon the shore, which was covered with a dense mass of evergreens reaching almost down to the water's edge. with rifle in hand i walked noiselessly along the bank to the point directly opposite the place where we had seen the deer standing. carefully separating the overhanging boughs so as to obtain a view of the lake, much to my disappointment i discovered that the deer was no longer visible. those visions of venison steaks began to appear wonderfully like dissolving views. determined, however, to investigate the matter further, i stepped down the bank into the lake, and waded out a little distance in the shallow water. turning toward the shore, i saw the deer skulking just above the water's edge, partially hidden by the foliage, not ten rods distant from where i stood. in another instant the sharp crack of my rifle reverberated round the shores of the peaceful lake, and a splendid doe lay sprawling before me upon the bright sandy beach. as i approached the dying deer, she raised her head with a piteous, pleading look, that stung me with remorse for the ruin i had wrought. the dying deer sheds tears. soon those pleading eyes began to fill with tears, and the bright drops to trickle down 27 210 northern new york. upon the sand. they seemed to me like human eyes, like those deep spiritual eyes sometimes seen in woman that haunt our dreams forever after. iv. while i stood half entranced by those tearful eyes, i was startled from my reverie by a slight movement of the bushes on the bank. in a moment they parted, and an aged indian emerged from the forest. giving me a grunt of recognition, he stopped short, and stood for a moment gazing at the dying deer. then shrugging his shoulders, he broke the silence, saying in broken english: "white man, you good shot. deer very much plenty round here. me indian kill two yesterday. deer always cry so like squaw when me kill um.”* as the tears were falling fast upon the beach, the old indian stooped down and gathered a handful of the coarse sand wet with their flow. pointing out to me some crystals that were brightened by the moisture of the tears, he again spoke : "pale face, look here. see how tears make pretty stones * hark! the hunter's piercing cry! see the shafts unerring fly! ah! the dappled fool is strickensee him tremble-see him sicken. all his worldly comrades flying, see him bleeding, panting, dying; from his eye-lids wan and hollow, how the big tears follow-follow down his face in piteous chase : how they follow-follow, follow without stop, drop by drop, how they follow drop by drop. gen. john burgoyne. legend of the diamond rock. 211 to shine very much. white man, come to indian's wigwam to-night. me tell white man good story." our whole party soon came up to where we stood, and as it was already time to look out for a camping ground for the night, we concluded to accept the indian's kindly proffered hospitality. he said his wigwam was half a mile further up the lake, and we took our deer into the skiff, and proceeded thither. as we paddled quietly along, the sun was setting behind us. we saw before us the departing sunlight, followed by the evening shadows, crawl gradually up the mountain side, and disappear on its summit. then the soft blue haze that all day long had lingered round the mountain, soon assumed purple and golden hues, until the whole atmosphere in which we moved seemed saturated with a thousand nameless tints of wondrous beauty. not a breath of wind ruffled the surface of the lake. all the glowing splendors of the firmament above the waters were reflected in the firmament beneath the waters. it seemed as if we had at last found the charmed spot where the rainbow touches the earth. but the shadows of evening soon obscured the radiant picture. in a short time we reached the indian's shanty. it was situated at the head of a small bay or cove that indented the shore, and in the valley of a little brook that there runs into the lake. it was a rude, frail structure, made after the fashion of the wilderness. there were two upright posts, some six feet in height and ten apart, with crotches at the top, across which a pole was laid. from this pole others extended, upon one side only, in a slanting direction to the ground, some eight feet distant. this frame-work was covered with large pieces of spruce bark, peeled from 212 northern new york. some neighboring trees, upon the slanting roof and ends only, leaving the front side open to the weather. the earth under the shanty was thickly strewn with freshly-cut hemlock boughs to the depth of a foot or more. these fragrant boughs, with a couple of bear-skins for a covering, served for a bed. directly in front of the shanty a cheerful fire was burning when we arrived. over the fire a steaming pot was hanging, sustained by a small pole resting upon two upright crotched sticks. the indian was cooking a venison stew for his supper, and while thus engaged had heard the report of my rifle. with our hatchets we soon added to his scanty supply of wood sufficient for the night, and, dressing the deer, soon had our own savory steaks smoking over the bright coals of the fire. one of our party had shot a pair of young black ducks, and these, whizzing away in a frying-pan, promised no mean addition to our fare. to these we added some brook trout, cooked in true backwoods style-a fish that is so exquisitely delicate, that, like the ripe strawberry, it will bear neither keeping nor transportation, but, to be enjoyed in its perfection, must be cooked and eaten when but just dripping from its native element. the old indian's mess of pottage and some potatoes roasted in the ashes, completed our sumptuous repast. after supper we piled brush and huge logs upon the fire, and, lighting our pipes, reclined upon the fragrant bed of boughs to rest our limbs, weary with the day's tramp and excitement. the flames lit up the forest around us, the nearer trees standing out in bright relief against the somber shadows legend of the diamond rock. 213 beyond. above the trees, the stars looked down from out their awful depths. the night winds sighing through the pines filled the air with gentle murmurs, the brook answering with its prattle, gurgling over its stony bed. we were within the great heart of nature. her pulses were throbbing all around us. we could hear the perpetual hum of her myriad voices. we could feel the magnetism of her all-pervading presence. v. thus engaged, and with such surroundings, we were in just the mood to hear and enjoy the old indian's tale. i will not trouble the reader with his broken english, but give the substance of it in my own words. taking three or four strong whiffs from his pipe, he began: you must know that i belong to the mohawks, one of the five nations. our tribe, in ancient days, built its lodges along the valley of the mohawk, and upon both sides of the hudson, near the junction of the two rivers. it is a tradition of our fathers that the five nations first came out of the ground from their subterranean home at some place south-easterly of the oswego river, in the lesser wilderness, and from thence spread out into the different parts of the country they afterward inhabited. the five nations called themselves ho-de-no-sau-nee, which means, in the. indian tongue, "the people of the long house." the mohawks guarded the eastern door of the long house, and the senecas the western door; while the oneidas, onondagas and cayugas took care of the interior, the great central council fire being always kept brightly burning in the country of the onondagas. 214 northern new york. before the union of the nations was accomplished by the exertions of the great sachem hi-a-wat-ha, the mohawks wandered away up the hudson into the valley of the st. lawrence, and built their lodges and planted their cornfields, near where montreal now stands. to the north and west of them dwelt a powerful nation called by our people adirondacks, and afterward named by the french algonquins. the adirondacks soon became jealous of our growing strength, and seeking a pretence for war, drove our people back again to the valley of the mohawk. our tribe not long after united their fortunes with their sister tribes, and became a part of the mighty people called by the english the five nations, by the french the iroquois, and by themselves the ho-de-no-sau-nee. while our people were in the land of the adirondacks they were governed by an old sachem named ho-ha-do-ra. his wife, mo-ne-ta, was young, and one of the most beautiful women of her tribe. she bore him two sons, whom he called ta-en-da-ra and o-nos-qua. it so happened that in an attack upon their village, before our people were overpowered and driven from the st. lawrence, a band of adirondack warriors took o-nos-qua, the sachem's youngest son, captive and hurried him off into their own country, where he was saved from torture by being adopted by an adirondack woman who had lost her own son upon the war-path. ho-ha-do-ra made many attempts to recapture o-nos-qua, but they all proved unavailing. with a heavy heart the old sachem, with his wife and remaining son, led his people back to their former home upon the mohawk and hudson, leaving his darling boy in hopeless captivity in the land of his enemies. the old sachem legend of the diamond rock. 215 soon sank beneath the heavy blow, and when near his end, called his son ta-en-da-ra to his side and said: "ta-en-da-ra, my son, your father will soon go to the happy hunting grounds, while your brother o-nos-qua is still a slave in the land of the adirondacks. swear by the great spirit that o-nos-qua's bones shall rest by the side of ho-ha-do-ra's, mo-ne-ta's and ta-en-da-ra's on the banks of the mohawk." "i swear!" said ta-en-da-ra, "but who will take care of mo-ne-ta, my mother, while i am gone for my brother?" 66 'my people shall do it," replied the dying sachem, “mone-ta shall be their queen until her sons come back." in a little while the old sachem died, and mo-ne-ta, after the custom of her people, sat up four nights by a fire lighted upon the river bank to guide his soul into the spirit world. as she sat and mourned by the fire through the dismal nights, she sang a low, sweet dirge for the dead, and the soft cadences of her melodious voice rose and fell through the recesses of the tangled forest like the wail of some wild bird mourning for its lost mate. after the days of her mourning were ended she called her son to her. “ta-en-da-ra," she said, "your father's bones cannot rest alone. his soul cannot be happy while o-nos-qua is a slave. go and find your brother in the land of the adirondacks. mo-ne-ta will kindle a fire upon the beacon rock and watch until her sons come to her. when you are coming back with your brother from toward the setting sun, or from under the moveless star, you will see the light of my beacon fire from afar, and will know that mo-ne-ta is still waiting for her children. go." ta-en-da-ra then went to a lonely spot in the forest and 216 northern new york. fasted seven days to invoke his guardian spirit. he then painted his face, struck his tomahawk into the war-post, and put on his plumes for the war-path. with his quiver full of arrows and his trusty bow, he set out in his bark canoe up the hudson. when he came to the end of his first day's journey, he looked back toward his home and saw the faint glimmer of mo-ne-ta's beacon light appearing like a rising star upon the horizon. it was long, weary years before he saw it again. he went away a youthful, valiant brave. he came back after many sufferings had bowed his frame, an old man, tottering beneath the weight of his brother's bones, which he bore with him in solemn triumph, as his life's great trophy. of his journeys, of his bold exploits, of his captivity, of his adoption by the adirondacks, his meeting with his long lost brother, his brother's death, of his escape at last and his journey home from the st. lawrence, i shall not now speak. my story is of mo-ne-ta. the clan to which mo-ne-ta belonged had its lodges on the plain which lies on the east bank of the hudson, directly opposite the mouths of the mohawk. in the rear of the plain was a tangled swamp. beyond the swamp was a high hill, upon the top of which was the beacon rock, overlooking a vast country up and down the river. from the wigwams near the river a trail led through the swamp and up the hill to the beacon rock. when the shades of night were falling, upon the day of ta-en-da-ra's departure, mo-ne-ta wended her way through the swamp and up the hill to the beacon rock. she gathered some sticks, and rubbing two dry ones together, kindled a fire upon the highest point of the rock and sat down beside legend of the diamond rock. 217 it. she was then just in the first sweet prime of womanhood, and scarcely forty summers had passed over her faultless form and features. her raven tresses hung loosely down her shoulders and rested on the rock around her. thus she sat and mourned. her heart was far away in the wilderness with her wandering son and his captive brother, -in the great wilderness that lies beneath the moveless star. not. moon after moon waxed and waned, and still they came then summer after summer tipped the fir trees with fresh green, and called back the birds, but ta-en-da-ra and o-nos-qua, where were they? still she lighted the fire upon the beacon rock, and sat and mourned. her people did not forget the words of their dying chief. they filled her wigwam with venison and corn. as the seasons glided by she grew old, and was no longer able to find sticks sufficient for her beacon fire, and the young women of her clan gathered them for her, and kept her signal fire brightly burning. it is said that the indian never weeps. this is true of him while upon the war-path-while enduring torture and while in the presence of the stranger. but by the side of his dying kindred and his own fire, his tears come out of their pent-up fountains like those of other men. each night, just before mo-ne-ta left the rock to return to sleep in her wigwam, she would repeat her low sweet funeral dirge, and then tears would come to her relief, and save her heart from breaking. thus tears, blessed tears, dropped upon the beacon rock night after night for year after year. at length mo-ne-ta's mind began to wanderbegan to give way beneath the constant strain. her people 28 218 northern new york. then had to lead her up to her place upon the rock and light her fire for her. yet each night the dirge was sung and the rock watered with her tears. thus passed five hundred moons and ta-en-da-ra had not come. at last, upon a sultry evening of the green corn moon, mo-ne-ta had been led to the rock and her fire lighted. there she sat just as she did forty years before, but now she was old and gray, and crazed with ceaseless watching. as the sun went down, long banks of heavy clouds in the south-west betokened a coming storm. as the evening advanced, the sky became overcast, the wind came up in sudden gusts, and the lightning began to play vividly with that incessant glare that sometimes accompanies such storms in the valley of the hudson. from the lodges near the river, the beacon light could be seen faintly glowing in the darkness between the flashes. when the flashes came, the beacon rock, with mo-ne-ta sitting on its summit, stood out in sharp relief against the dark clouds beyond. moved by some strange impulse, mo-ne-ta struck up an indian song, wild and sweet, that floated out upon the troubled elements, and while the wind would lull, filled the valley with its strange melodies. had the wild tokens of the coming tempest stirred up the latent fires in mo-ne-ta's bosom and brought back her wandering reason? or had some spirit-bird fanned her face with its wings and warned the mother's heart of the coming of her returning son? it was the spirit-bird. weary and worn with travel, ta-en-da-ra was even then going up the trail to the beacon rock. he catches the wild snatches of his mother's song, and in an instant the vigor legend of the diamond rock. 219 of youth returns to his limbs. in a moment more he is standing by her side. a wild shriek of tumultous joy from mo-ne-ta rings through the valley high above the voices of the storm, and awakens the very echoes of the forest. the people rushed out from their wigwams. in the bright glare of the lightning they beheld in tableau vivant upon the beacon rock, ta-en-da-ra standing upon its summit, with mo-ne-ta bowing her head upon his bosom-mother and son in loving embrace. but such unutterable rapture is not for mortals. in an instant more a bolt came down from heaven jarring the earth with its violence, and shaking the beacon rock to its very foundations. the people, trembling, saw in the lightning the manifest presence of the great spirit. they heard his terrible voice in the thunder, and struck with unutterable awe they shrank back to their wigwams. in the morning the people gathered again around the beacon rock. its surface was riven and shattered by the bolt. o-nos-qua's scattered bones were there, but no trace of mo-ne-ta nor of ta-en-da-ra was to be seen. then it was that the people believed that that mother and her son had so consecrated their souls by a life-long sacrifice upon the altar of true affection that in the moment of their supreme felicity they had become too pure for earth and were absorbed translated into the presence of the great spirit by the power of his lightnings, which they thought were but sparks struck with awful thunderings from the eternal fire of his glory. and while they stood gazing upon this strange scene in awe and wonder, the sun came up over the eastern hills and shed his beams upon it, when lo! they for 220 northern new york. the first time saw that the rock was glittering all over with sparkling gems. "see, see!" they cried with one accord, "see mo-ne-ta's tears," "mo-ne-ta's tears." so free from earthly dross had been that mother's tears shed for her children, that the great spirit, by the refining fire of his glory, had changed them into crystals—into glittering immortelles such as cover forever the shining trees in the hunting grounds of the blessed, and to this day those crystalized tears are still to be seen imbedded in the solid rock, there to remain while the earth shall last as bright mementoes of a mother's changeless love. when the pale-face came across the big water and saw them he exclaimed, "see! see! a diamond rock! a diamond rock!" the tears of the dying deer falling upon the bright sands of the beach had suggested the old indian's story. chapter xxviii. the two water wheels. "be good, my friend, and let who will be clever; do noble things, not dream them all day long; so making life, death, and that vast forever, one grand, sweet song." "9 i. the dreamer. "thou hast me a dreamer styled, i have gazed on thy wakefulness and smiled." twenty years ago this morning, that is to say, on the 23d day of september, 18-, i left the old homestead farm and went to the village of lowville, to enter upon the untried field of another vocation. and now it seems to me but yesterday since i arose early on that bright autumn morning twenty years ago, took a last look at the sheep and lambs, the pigs and chickens, and saw the cows driven away to the river pasture. it seems but yesterday since i bade the oxen and horses, my fellow-workers in many a hard day's toil, good-bye, and laid away the pitchfork and plough to take them up no more. since then i have often said, and now i say, alas the day! there is a world of drudgery upon the farm, but there is nowhere else such sweet rest. these personal reminiscences may not interest the reader, but at the thought of those old familiar fields on this, to me, an anniversary morning, they rush into consciousness all unbidden from the chambers of memory, and my pen records them against the promptings of my better judgment. 222 northern new york. the village of lowville is situated upon a little stream at the foot of the terraced hills which skirt the western limits of the valley of the black river in northern new york. the village is surrounded on every side save that which faces the river with high hills, and nestles in groves of sugar maples and stately elms, which serve, when clothed with the exuberance of june, or decked in the more brilliant hues of october, to render it one of the earth's fairest bowers of beauty. in this quiet, unpretending, lovely village, thus situated about midway between the rush of traffic and travel that surges along the valley of the mohawk on the one hand, and the st. lawrence upon the other, yet far removed from the influence of either, i took up my abode. but twenty years have wrought great changes in the village of lowville. its elms have grown taller and its maples cast a wider breadth of shade. stately blocks of stores and elegant mansions now adorn its streets, taking the places of the more humble structures of earlier days. but more than this. the telegraph and railroad have recently invaded the secluded valley of the black river, bringing in their train the spirit of modern progress. the quiet village of twenty years ago has become a busy mart of trade, and now rivals in importance its more favored sisters upon the mohawk and the st. lawrence. the little stream above mentioned is formed by the junction of three branches near the village. these three branches come tumbling down the terraced slope of the plateau of the lesser wilderness from the westward in a series of beautiful rapids and cascades, and have worn deep gorges for their beds through the soft limestone rock that forms the foundation of the lower terraces of the hills. the two water wheels. 223 one day shortly after my arrival in the village, and while the indian summer was pouring its glories over the land, i wandered up one of these gorges to the foot of a splendid cascade, there known as the silvermine falls, and sat down upon a rock under the shadow of an elm, to enjoy the scene before me. the water came rushing over the jagged limestone ledge in a beautiful shower of spray and foam. it had nothing to do there but to sputter and foam, and laugh and dance along, as wild and free as any mountain stream is wont to be before the hand of man turns it into the channels of labor. while i sat thus engaged, an old man came walking slowly up the gorge, aiding his uncertain steps with a huge hickory cane. he was tall, with stooping shoulders. his nose and his cheek-bones were prominent; his forehead protruding, his chin somewhat receding; his hair was long and scanty and as white as the driven snow. his garments were tattered and torn, and had been often patched with cloth of different colors. as he came along he was muttering incoherently to himself, and was so intent upon his thoughts that he did not see me as he passed the spot where i sat. he proceeded a few paces further and sat down upon a log of drift-wood. removing his hat, which had long before seen better days, he wiped the beaded drops of sweat from his brow, and then gazed at the waterfall. as the old man sat thus, with his eyes intently fixed upon the foaming waters, he raised his voice above his mutterings into a distinct soliloquy. "they say it can't be done," said he, "but i say it can. 224 northern new york. i say there is water enough running over these falls to turn an overshot wheel of sixty feet in diameter. run the machinery for the whole village. i some day, too, and it will be my water wheel. never can, but i will. eunice, too, says i'll never do it, but she never comi say it will will build it they say i i shall. she has been a good wife to me. plains much, but i do think she ought to have more faith in my water wheel. she says i'm always going to do it, but never get about it. she says she hates people that are always going to do something but never do it. she thinks it is about time, too, that she should have the new silk dress i promised her better than twenty years ago, when she signed the mortgage on the old farm. but i can't get it for her till my water wheel is done. little alice-oh! how i wish she had lived to see my water wheel. there! there! see, see, alice! it is going now. see how it works! see how the water drips and dashes about it! there is power in it! i tell you there is power in it!" as the old man began to see the vision of the wheel before him, seeming to him so like something real, he arose from his seat, extended his arms convulsively upward, and raised his voice into a shrill tenor. then as the vision vanished and the blank reality came back, he sank down exhausted to the earth. i hurried to his side, and dipping some of the cool water of the creek in the hollow of my hand, dashed it into his face. as he partially recovered he began to give utterance to the struggling fancies of his returning consciousness. "i thought," said he, "i was showing little alice my water wheel. poor thing, she died years and years ago, the two water wheels. 225 but it seemed to me that i had her in my arms again, and that the wheel was going, and she was looking at it." opening his eyes and seeing a stranger thus bending over him, he started at once to his feet with a look of mingled surprise and alarm. while i was endeavoring to make some sort of apology for my involuntary intrusion, he turned upon his heel, and without saying another word, slowly retraced his steps down the gorge. in a few moments he passed around a bend of the stream out of my sight. after the old man had gone, the laughing waters again entranced me with their pearly splendor. the sun sank slowly down behind the western hills, shedding his bloodred effulgence over the smoky drapery of the landscape, which was now putting on its garb of sadness-its robes of mourning for the dead and dying beauties of the summer. but sadder than all things else was the heart of that old man, now mourning over his buried hopes. the next morning i learned upon inquiry that the old man's name was joseph dunklee. he was living in a lonely house in the upper part of the village, his aged wife sharing his extreme poverty. they had seen better days. his father had been a thrifty and prosperous miller in a quiet new england village. in due time, being an only child, joseph inherited his father's property, and was looked upon as one of the most promising young men of the village. his wife was then the comely daughter of a neighboring farmer, who sometimes went with her father to the mill in the bright summer mornings. joseph, the miller's son was lithe and tall, with ruddy cheeks and dark brown hair, with a merry twinkle in his eye, with a pleasant word and a winning smile that stole her heart. they were soon . 29 226 northern new york. married and nicely settled in a pleasant home. in a year or two a smiling cherub winged its way into their household-their little alice. then the farmer died, and the broad acres of the farm were added to the mill lot. thus things went on with the young miller joseph dunklee, and his happy wife. this was the golden glow of their life's morning. we shall see how deep were the shadows of its evening. it is the old story of the unsuccessful. young dunklee had inherited his father's property, but not his thrift. his father would go into the mill in the morning, satisfied with the machinery as the millwright had left it, so long as it ran smoothly, and was anxious only to leave it at night with a heavier stock of grain in his toll bin. the young man had that genius for mechanics which places its possessor in the ranks of the inventors. he could comprehend at a glance all the intricacies of the most complicated machinery, and new combinations of motive power were constantly arising in his mind all unbidden, seeking application to the various wants of human industry. in short, he soon began to spend more time in experimenting with the running gear of his mill than in grinding corn, and the swelling fatness of his father's toll bin dwindled gradually away. joseph at length conceived the idea of building an immense water wheel that would furnish not only power for his own mill, but sufficient also for all the mills and factories in the village. the idea of such a wheel became indelibly pictured upon his brain. it haunted him day and night. he soon began to see it as distinctly in his waking as in his sleeping dreams, perpetually towering up before him in all its stately proportions. he could no the two water wheels. 227 longer resist the temptation to attempt its construction. to raise the necessary funds the mill lot and farm were mortgaged. the services of all the wheelwrights and carpenters for miles and miles around were put in requisition from the opening of spring until the close of an august day, when the different parts were pronounced complete, and were lying scattered along the bank of the mill-stream, awaiting the morrow for the commencement of the raising. a sudden tempest came up before midnight, and the rain fell in sheets till morning. at early dawn the stream was higher than it had ever been known to rise before, and the timbers of the unfinished water wheel were all floating down the wide waste of angry waters into the sea. dunklee was ruined. his neighbors had all laughed at him, had called him an enthusiast a dreamer, and had sometimes indulged in still harsher epithets. it now seemed as if the hand of providence even was against him, and had thwarted his endeavors. the farm and the mill lot were soon to be sold by the sheriff, and dunklee, his wife, and little alice were to be sent forth wanderers from their once happy home. but not together. before the day of sale came little alice took sick and died. the cherub, it seemed, was but a loan for their life's fair morning. they must return it before the evening shadows came on. then joseph dunklee and his wife eunice left behind them the old homestead, his mill and her farm, the peaceful new england village and the grave of little alice, to bend their steps westward in search of better fortunes. of all his former possessions he took nothing with him. 228 northern new york. save the haunting vision of the water wheel. but the fickle goddess fortune forever eluded his grasp. by the labor of his hands he had been able to acquire a scanty subsistence for himself and wife until old age and failing strength had brought them to extreme poverty. such was their condition when first i saw him. a short time after the occurrence at the cascade, i was attracted one afternoon by some unusual noise in the street. looking out of the window, i saw the old man walking along as fast as his feeble legs could carry him. he was followed by a troop of rude boys, who were all screaming after him at the top of their voices, "water wheel! water wheel! water wheel!" occasionally he would turn and address the boys a few words of angry expostulation, but they continued to tease him until some kind neighbor took pity upon the poor old man, and drove them away. a few days after this, a man came into the village from the country, who had heard of dunklee's water wheel. supposing there was such a thing in existence, the man inquired of some one concerning its locality. the person inquired of referred him to dunklee himself, who, it so happened, was passing near them at the moment. the stranger accosted the old man. "mr. dunklee," said he, "i have often heard of your water wheel, but never saw it. will you tell me where" "heigh!" yelled the old man, interrupting him, as soon as he began to comprehend the subject of the inquiry. "i say," continued the stranger, somewhat abashed by the old man's warmth of manner, but raising his voice so that he could be plainly heard by him, "i say," continued he, "that i never saw your water wheel99 the two water wheels. 229 but he got no further. it was too much for the old man. his cane went down upon the unsuspecting stranger's head with a crash that sent him reeling to the earth. the next morning the old man was taken before the village justice, esquire knox, upon a charge of assault and battery. he plead the story of his wrongs in extenuation of his offense. the kind-hearted justice imposed a light fine upon him, and paid it himself, rather than to send the poor old man to jail. the stranger from that time forward ceased to indulge his curiosity in the direction of large water wheels. during all these years of hopeless poverty, eunice dunklee lived with her husband without upbraiding him. it seemed to her to be her destined lot in life, so ordered for some wise purpose, and she accepted it with uncomplaining resignation. she had hoped to lean upon him and find support as the vine does upon the oak. but he, too, was but a vine-to her a vine of bitter-sweet. kind hands at last smoothed her dying pillow, and carried her to the grave. then there was but one door left open for the old manthe door held open by public charity-the poor house door. through this door he entered, his pride humbled by necessity. at last they laid him in the village burying ground by her side, and but for this idle tale of mine, dunklee and the life-long vision that haunted him would soon have passed from the memory of men. 230 northern new york. 44 ii. the worker. 'say! brothers of the dusky brow, what forge ye now?" the city of troy adorns the valley of the hudson. its builders have wedged it in between the river and a range of high hills to the eastward. upon the south the hills crowd down to the river's bank and ba the city's further progress. toward the north the valley widens and the city breathes more freely as it stretches with rapid strides up the stream. tall masted vessels and splendid steamers following the swell of the tidal wave until it breaks upon our city's docks a hundred and fifty miles from the sea, fill its warehouses with the riches of the world's commerce. from our city's center radiate toward the north, the south, the east and the west, long lines of railways over which rush a hundred trains of cars each day. its traffic and trade extend to every country, and the names of its merchants and manufacturers are known in all lands. in the spring of 18i left the quiet of the village for the hurry and bustle of the city. the excitement of the city's more intense life intoxicates and bewilders. we forget the pure air and blessed sunshine of the country in the whirl of business and pleasure that is forever surging through the streets of the city. but through it all there will sometimes come unbidden the old love for green fields and babbling brooks-for flowers and trees and growing things. as the soldier in the fight looks through the smoke of the battle-field upon the green hills far away with longing eyes, the two water wheels. 231 and hopes to escape the dreadful dangers which surround him, that he may again roam over them in quietness and peace, so the dweller in the city looks through the ceaseless toil, the turmoil and strife of his life's battle, into the distant future upon some enchanting spot, some paradise of earth, where he may find peace at last. but oftener than otherwise he finds no rest until his body lies in some oakwood, greenwood or mount auburn, surrounded at last in death by nature's charms, the pleasures to be derived from which he denied himself while living. there is a world of witchery about a city life, but there is nowhere else such terrible unrest. but what has all this to do with water wheels? a short time after my arrival, i set out one fine spring morning to view the various iron works in the lower part of the city. looking through the bell foundries, rolling mills, bessemer steel works and nail works on the route, i at last arrived at burden's iron works upon the wynantskill. stepping into the office, i registered my humble name among the long list of visitors who had been there before me. the obliging clerk gave me a ticket of admission, and informed me that i would find some one at the gate who would show me around the works. before going within i ascended the hill to the southward to view the scene. the wynantskill has here worn a deep and wide gorge through the slaty rock, and runs down in a series of irregular rapids and cascades into the hudson. from my point of view the whole valley of the stream was covered with the dusky roofs of the works for acres in extent. from these roofs more than fifty chimneys towered, continually belching forth the flames of as many furnaces. 232 northern new york. upon entering the works the visitor is bewildered at the sight of a mazy labyrinth of ponderous machinery, and deafened by its ceaseless roar. fiery furnaces, day and night, convert the ore brought from far-off mountain mines into streams of molten metal. this is again changed by another process into lumps of malleable iron, so heated to whiteness that they resemble masses of glittering snow. heavy rollers soon change these lumps into red-hot iron bars, that seem to wind their way like fiery serpents through the works. from these red-hot bars, wonderfully constructed machines are forging horseshoes and railroad spikes, day and night, with marvellous facility. six of these machines make horseshoes. two strong-armed men at the old-fashioned anvil and forge can fashion some seventy horseshoes only in a day. these machines will each of them turn off sixty every minute, and twelve tons of them every twentyfour hours. these machines at burden's works, forging horseshoes continually, day and night, with such wonderful rapidity, serve to render the speedy equipment of the vast armies of modern times possible. these machines thus forging spikes, render it possible to lay the iron rails athwart the continent with the rapidity that accords with our american notions of progress. from this maze of cunningly constructed machinery, which does the work of so many hundred human hands as skillfully as if endowed with human reason, i turned to my guide and desired him to show me the power that put it all in motion. he then led me in among the hissing iron bars, past the fiery furnaces, and up a flight of stairs into the heights of the vast building. up in those dizzy heights we reached a the two water wheels. 233 platform there constructed. standing upon this platform i saw before me a vast water wheel. there before me was an over-shot water wheel sixty-four feet in diameter, over two hundred feet in circumference, and twenty-four feet in width. through an immense conduit in which a tall man could walk upright with ease, the waters of the 'kill were drawn from a reservoir upon the hill side, and dashed upon its top with irresistible force. its arms reached high above the platform where we stood, and revolving sank deep into an excavation in the ground below. here then the tireless energy that seemed to pervade the whole works like some all-controlling spirit of power was explained. revolving before me was the largest water wheel in the world. as i stood gazing at the ponderous wheel, a vague impression arose in my mind that i had seen it before. when or where, or whether i had not dreamed it all, i could not at first conceive. in another moment, however, scenes that had lain dormant in the memory for years flashed into consciousness. then the busy scene in which i stood faded away. i was again in the gorge of the little stream that runs through the village of lowville, and the waters were dashing and foaming over the silvermine falls. i saw the old man dunklee, with white locks streaming in the wind, with extended arms holding up his little alice to see his water wheel. but the vision of the past vanished as quickly as it came, and i was again conscious of the sharp reality. "no! no!" i cried, "this is not dunklee's water wheel, it is burden's." dunklee never saw his own wheel save in dreams. here was burden's wheel, a tangible reality. burden had never seen dunklee-had never heard of him or his wheel-neither had dunklee ever seen 30 234 northern new york. or heard of burden. yet both had conceived the same idea, and both could comprehend alike the magical mysteries of mechanism and of motion. but one was a dreamer and the other was a worker. how vast the difference in the results of their lives. dunklee's dreams never found expression in outward works, never lifted an arm in useful labor, never filled a single mouth with bread. burden has embodied his conceptions, and they have become tangible shapes, working out wonderful results. his horseshoes ring over the pavements of a thousand cities in the old world and in the new. at shiloh, at antietam, at gettysburg, at malvern hill, in the wilderness and before richmond, in sheridan's ride and sherman's march, each fiery hoof that pranced along "the perilous edge of battle," was shod with shoes from burden's works. each iron rail that forms a link in the almost endless chain of railway that stretches from the atlantic to the pacific, helping "to bind the silken chain of commerce round the world," is fastened in its bed with spikes from burden's mills. thus has burden lightened labor of her drudgery, and relieved civilization of her wants. thus has he given employment to a thousand willing hands, and filled a thousand homes with daily bread. but can nothing be said for poor dunklee? are not the world's inventors, after all, the superiors of the world's workers? is not invention itself the highest kind of work? without the inventors, the world's mere workers would be but senseless plodders. burden possessed in a high degree the gift of inventive genius, coupled with rare executive ability. but nature is the two water wheels. 235 seldom thus prodigal of her favors, and poor dunklee was gifted with as high constructive powers as burden, but like nine-tenths of his class, dunklee lacked the faculty of getting on in the world. but constructive power is one of the highest faculties of the human soul. to possess the constructive faculty in a high degree is the distinctive mark of genius. without it the poet could never weave his undying songs; the sculptor could never fashion his faultless figures, nor the musical composer unfold his immortal symphonies. it is in vain to attempt to belittle constructive power by pointing to the bee, the bird, and the beaver as examples of its existence in a high degree in beings inferior to man. rather let us stand in awe before their matchless works, for their creations are but the handiwork of the supreme architect, who through them and by them manifests his ceaseless care, his changeless love, for his creatures. call the world in which those persons live who possess high constructive powers, if you please, a world of dreams, yet out of it come all the useful and beautiful things of life. all the wonderful appliances for the aid and comfort of man which mark our era of civilization as the highest the world has ever seen, are the fruits of the world's inventors. all the marvelous works of art which seem to give to life its highest pleasures, come from the glowing ideals of the world's dreamers. the teeming brains of the world's great inventors give them no peace, no rest, until their ideals find outward expression in tangible forms of use and beauty. the world's inventors are the world's great teachers. yet oftener than otherwise the world shows little favor to such men. "hunger and nakedness," says carlyle, "perils and reviling, the prison, 236 northern new york. the cross, the poison-chalice, have, in most times and countries, been the market-price it has offered for wisdom, the welcome with which it has greeted those who have come to enlighten and purify it." but the world's treasures do not satisfy the longings of such men. and what matters it if they do suffer from hunger, and thirst, and nakedness? they live in a world of their own creation, whose sky is blue in eternal beauty, and in which the nectar of the gods is not sweeter than their daily food. they have a deeper insight into the hidden things and beauties of the world around them, in which we all live, than most men have, and they are, in consequence of it, poets, painters and inventors-in a word, the world's great teachers. but the world has been dreaming too much, and working too little until now. the ages of the past have been ages of darkness, of superstition, of error, of dreams. the philosophers and sages of antiquity spent their lives in dreaming, scorning to do anything useful. the school-men were dreamers, the crusaders were dreamers. the age of chivalry was an age of romance and of dreams. yet out of this chaos of dreams a new order of things has arisen. this new order is presided over by the genius of useful labor. henceforth useful labor, guided by science, by art, by inventive genius, rules the world. chapter xxix. the story of tom garnet's dream. with a slow and noiseless footstep, comes that messenger divine, takes the vacant chair beside me, lays her gentle hand in mine. -longfellow. take, o boatman, thrice thy fee, take, i give it willingly, for, invisible to thee, spirits twain have crossed with me. -john louis uhland. i. the thousand islands of the st. lawrence present a scene of the most enchanting beauty. they occur where the river crosses a depression of the laurentian chain of mountains, that there extend into northern new york from their canadian home. there these mountains seem kindly to stoop, as it were, in crossing, to allow the great river to flow on unobstructed to the ocean, their highest points only rising above the surface of the water to form these islands. from the thousand islands the laurentides extend easterly to the shores of lake champlain, southerly to the valley of the mohawk, westerly to the black river, and, rising into a vast system of highlands, form the rocky groundwork of the great wilderness, with its thousand mountain peaks and its thousand lakes in the intervening valleys. here, its current partially obstructed by this mountain chain, the stream spreads into a broad, placid lake, with these thousand islands in fairy-like forms studding its surface. sometimes they appear only as projecting rocks, 238 northern new york. with but room for a single dwarfish tree, or perhaps a seabird's nest-at others as high, rounded forms, forest crowned, and then again as a broad land of miles in extent, covered with cultivated farms. such a one is wellesley's island, already becoming famous as a camp meeting ground, and whose indian name, ta-ni-ha-ta, which it derives from an old village of that name on the canadian shore, should now be restored. in the soft, hazy light of the short canadian summer, this "lake of the thousand isles" seems more like the fabled oceans of the old fairy tales out of which arose the islands of the blessed, than it does like anything that belongs to this work-a-day world of ours. in the month of june, not many years ago, it was my good fortune to visit the thousand islands upon a short pleasure excursion. i was accompanied by some friends, and our little party arrived at the village of alexandria bay on the american shore late in the afternoon of a sultry day. we were wearied by a long and dusty ride across the flat country that there skirts the great river, but soon forgot our troubles in viewing the glorious sunset that we were just in time for. it was so early that we were greeted at our hotel as the first guests of the season, and in the morning had our choice of boats and fishermen. · we had planned a trip of a dozen miles or more up the river, with the intention of passing the night upon one of the islands there, and of returning on the morrow. as our boatmen rowed us slowly along up the broad river, around and among the islands, with our trolling lines all out, many a fine pike and pickerel was tempted to take the enticing bait, and was safely landed in our boats. tom garnet's dream. 239 in the course of the day one of our fair companions caught two mas-quin-on-ges. this was an exploit that she well might be proud of, for the true mas-quin-on-ge is quite a rare fish even in these waters, his native home. he is one of the most excellent as well as one of the most gamey fishes in our northern waters, and should not be confounded, as he too often is, with his near relative, although greatly inferior fish, the great northern pickerel. the mas-quinon-ge, i give the old indian name from charlevoix, often weighs more than fifty pounds, and is as sprightly and rapid of movement as the brook trout. he affords the most exciting sport to the fishermen, and his firm but delicate, light salmon-colored flesh is prized by the epicure. so our fair friend suddenly found herself quite celebrated among the fishermen, for many an old frequenter of these waters can scarcely boast of having taken a single one of them. late in the afternoon we came to the little island upon which we had thought to pass the night. there was a single cottage upon it, built for the accommodation of transient summer guests, containing a half dozen rooms or more, and an ample ice-house in which we secured our store of fish. the only guest upon the island when we arrived there was a retired officer of the united states navy, who, when in active service, had often cruised in these waters, and had now come to spend a few days in quiet meditation among the familiar scenes of former hardships and dangers. strangers meeting in the wilderness, or in lonely places like this, quickly learn to waive all mere formalities; so at our coming the old officer gave us at once a kindly greet240 northern new york. í ing, and we were soon on as familiar a footing as though we had known one another for long intimate years. after supper we all sat out upon the cottage porch that faced the broad, open stretch of the river, called kingston bay, watching the coming on of the evening shadows and listening to the soothing, monotonous cry of the whipporwill upon the canadian shore. as the sun went down in splendor beneath the western rim of shining waters, the report of the evening gun at the distant british fort at kingston came booming across the bay. the sound of the gun seemed to awaken tender memories in the mind of the old officer, and we thought, as he turned musingly away, we saw a tear trickle down his weather-beaten cheek. after we had retired for the night, and the sense of intense quiet and repose that seemed to brood over the little island like the spirit of rest had lulled us into slumber, we were suddenly awakened by strange noises and rude voices in the adjoining rooms. we soon learned the nature of our retreat. the position of the little island, in respect to the boundary line, was not well defined, and being under doubtful jurisdiction, it was occasionally resorted to by gamblers, who could there ply their avocation without fear of arrest from either shore. all night long was heard the rattling of cards and dice, making night hideous. it was not until the dawn of the morning that the new comers ceased their horrible din, and we got a little sleep. when we awoke there was no one with us on the island but the old officer, who had been as much disturbed as we. before the sun rose the gamblers had departed. just as the sun was gloriously rising out of the gleaming sea of islands to the eastward, i went out upon the porch. tom garnet's dream. 241 the old officer was already there to bid me good morning. in another moment the sound of the british morning gun boomed across the bay. "i never hear," said he, "that single gun at kingston, but i think of poor tom garnet, an old mess-mate of mine, who was killed there in the last war with great britain. but sit down," continued he, "and let me tell you his story." and there in the dewy freshness of that early hour of the summer's morning, we gathered around the old man to hear his story in the very scene of its enactment. ii. "during the war with great britain of 1812," said he, "there were stirring times in these waters. each nation strove for the mastery of the lakes, and ships and fleets were built and fitted out on both sides with marvelous celerity. it was not an uncommon thing in those days for a sloop of war to be launched all ready for active service from our ship yards, whose timbers forty days before were growing greenly in the forest. "in november, 1812, i was a young sailor on board the staunch brig oneida, that was commanded by lieutenant woolsey, and was attached to the american fleet then cruising under commodore chauncey. for a day or two our fleet had been chasing the british sloop of war the royal george, among the thousand islands, and in the early hours of a bleak morning had driven her into kingston harbor. then occurred the daring assault upon the royal george by our little fleet, under the very guns of the 31 242 northern new york. frowning fort, that reflected so much honor upon our gallant seamen. "tom garnet was a sailor on board our brig. he had been for many years in the british service, but had lately enlisted into our navy, and was ordered on board our vessel. tom had not been long on board before he became the favorite of all the officers and men, and being a most thorough seaman, was made captain of the forecastle. tom was brave to a fault, unfaltering in the performance of every duty, and always at his post. but he was as gentle as a woman, and at times an irrepressible sadness seemed to weigh down his spirits, and to cast a settled gloom over his life. some great and abiding sorrow was weighing heavily upon the heart of poor tom, but none of us knew what it was. what was our surprise then, on the morning of the battle, to see tom's face beaming with smiles. a great change had suddenly come over his brooding spirits, and tom was as light-hearted as a child. his comrades quickly noticed the change, and wonderingly inquired the cause. "oh! i shall be with them to-day," said tom, "i shall see them to-day." "with whom?" said his comrades. "with mary, my wife, and our child in heaven," said he, with great earnestness. "last night i thought, in my dream, i saw her disembodied spirit among the angels, and a little one was by her side whom i had never seen, and they beckoned me to come. i am sure i shall go to-day, and be with them at last. but you cannot understand me," continued tom, "until i tell you all about how it has been with me. in the first place let me divide between you, my comrades, what few things i have when i am gone they tom garnet's dream. 243 will remind you of poor tom. as soon as the morning breaks we shall go into action and i shall be killed. they seemed to tell me so." the sailors were at first disposed to laugh at what they supposed were tom's disordered fancies, but his great earnestness of manner indicated his firm belief in the truthfulness of his presentiment, and having a high appreciation of his character, they checked their hilarity, and each in turn received from his hand some little trinket, or a part of his wardrobe as a keepsake. and after the distribution was made, the sailors of poor tom's mess gathered round him in the forecastle, in the gloomy dawn of that wild canadian autumn morning, while the fleet was putting on sail to engage the enemy, and listened to poor tom's story. iii. "my father," said tom, "was a well-to-do english farmer, who lived in the days of our childhood, in the country about forty miles back from liverpool. i was his first-born and heir, and when i was of age i married the daughter of our nearest neighbor. we were to settle down upon the farm and take care of the old folks, who were already well along in years. a few short, happy weeks flew quickly by, and our honeymoon was over. then my father loaded his cart with corn, and sent me off to the distant city to exchange it for some things for our housekeeping. "when i left the old home farm that morning, with my cart and oxen and load of freight, mary, my wife, kissed me good-bye again and again. 244 northern new york. "'you will not be gone long, will you, dear tom?' said she. "it was our first and last parting. but twenty years of toil and hardship have not wasted the sweetness of her last kiss from my lips. and her image-how bright and beautiful her image appears to me this morning, as in my memory i see her standing at the old farm gate, bidding me good-bye as i drove the oxen down the lane out of her sight toward the great citw. "i had never before been in town, and it was to me full of wonders. "after i had sold my corn, i bought some things for our housekeeping, and had loaded them on my cart, all ready to start on my homeward journey, when i was roughly seized by one of the king's press-gangs, that were the terror of every seaport town in those days, and of which i in my simplicity had never before heard. in spite of my tears and my entreaties, i was rudely bound, hand and foot, and dragged, more dead than alive, on board of one of his majesty's ships that was on the eve of setting sail upon a long east indian voyage. "on the morrow the ship sailed. my oxen were left to wander uncared for through the streets of the city, with my precious load of what was to have been our household goods, and before i had the least opportunity to send a single word home to my wife and family to relieve the dreadful anxiety that my long and unaccountable absence must have occasioned them, we were far out upon the broad ocean. in the course of a few months we entered the indian ocean, and it was seven long years before our ship again cast anchor, upon her return voyage, in the hartom garnet's dream. 245 bor of liverpool. during this long time i had never heard one word from home or friends. "after our arrival at the home port i was paid my hardearned wages and received my discharge. i soon reached the welcome shore, and at once hurried out of the now dreaded city toward my old home in the country. i was so changed in appearance by years of exposure under a burning sun, that i was sure no one would know me. but haggard and worn as i was, my heart was light at the thought of soon meeting my dear wife and friends once more, and so i pressed eagerly onward until night overtook me. i was afraid to call at an inn, lest from my dress and appearance i should excite suspicion and be arrested as a deserter from the navy. finding a stack of straw in a lonely nook, i crept under it and slept through the night. in the morning a dense fog enveloped everything, and i groped my way on without knowing whither i was going. it so happened that i wandered into the king's broad highway just in time to fall in with another press gang who were passing by. they seized me, and utterly regardless of my entreaties, and in spite of my situation, hurried me on board another vessel that was soon under weigh for the distant western coast of south america. "after we had been cruising about for several years in the southern pacific, i managed to escape from my captivity, and crossing the andes alone and on foot, arrived, after many wanderings and hairbreadth escapes, weary and worn, at an atlantic port. there the first opportunity that offered for sailing was on board of an american man-ofwar that was homeward bound. impatient to leave, i enlisted in the american navy as a common sailor for the 246 northern new york. term of one year. a few months ago. chauncey's fleet, as you now see me. "i have never heard one word from home since my wife bid me good-bye at the old farm gate, and that is now twenty long years ago. but last evening, as i swung in my hammock, i fell asleep, and i saw her in my dreams, as i have told you already. she and our little one must have died in my absence, and i shall be with them to-day." our ship arrived in new york harbor i was soon transferred to commodore iv. "when tom had concluded his story," continued the old officer, "there was not a dry eye in that circle of hardfaced men, and in a moment after the command came harsh and loud to clear the decks for action. and then our little ship rode gallantly up under the guns of the fort and poured a broadside into the royal george. soon we saw a light puff of smoke curl upward from one of the batteries on the shore, and a nine pound cannon shot went crashing across our deck. "it struck poor tom, and he fell dead at our feet. as his body lay upon the deck with face upturned, there was a smile playing upon his stiffening features that will haunt me to my dying day. death had to him no terrors. he welcomed its coming. it opened to him the door of heaven, to show him those he loved. the smile upon his face was a smile of recognition." as the old man concluded his story, he arose from his seat and bade us good-bye. and now the strangest thing about this story of tom tom garnet's dream. 247 garnet is its truth, for it is not all romance, but veritable history. dr. hough, in his "history of jefferson county, n. y.," on page 471, places upon record an account of tom garnet's singular presentiment and death, which is substantially the same as the one i have woven into the warp of my story. says the learned historian, in concluding his narrative, and i use his very words: "chauncey's fleet sailed and engaged the enemy's batteries in the harbor of kingston, as above related; the first shot from which was a nine pound ball, that crossed the deck of the oneida and passed through the body of tom garnet, at his post. he fell instantly dead, with the same smile upon his countenance that habit had impressed. this singular coincidence and verification of presentiment is so well attested by authentic witnesses that it merits the attention of the curious." i cannot explain these things, dear reader, can you? we know not how or why they are so, but this we do know, that the images that fancy-paints upon the walls of our memory, of our dear friends long absent or long dead, are beautiful beyond the power of language to describe. we have hanging on the walls of our habitations the likenesses of our lost or long absent loved ones, that were taken of their frail bodies when they were with us or were with the living but how different they all are from the magical pictures of them that hang on memory's walls! their portraits taken by human hands, once so lovely to us, as time wears on begin to appear is if there was something too gross and earthly about them to be the true images of the absent ones whom they represent, and we at length begin to turn our eyes from them as unsatisfactory, and to 248 northern new york. gaze inwardly upon the more enchanting pictures of memory. then it is that the pictures of memory rise up before us so transcendently beautiful. then it is that it seems to our mind's eye that that which was sown in dishonor is already arisen in glory. childish innocence, womanly grace and manly power may be to us attractive beyond measure in the living forms of those we love, but transfigured in the half-remembered features of the dead, these blessed attributes of our poor earthly humanity seem to betray to us mortals some faint foretaste of the glories of the hereafter. again, we know that sleep, the gentle queen of rest, is the twin sister of death, the awful king of terrors. between their dominions there is but a narrow boundary, and across it may not their subjects sometimes, in some mysterious way, hold converse? do not kindred spirits in either realm sometimes burst through the frail barriers, and half concealing, half reveal their awful secrets to each other, that are remembered by the living, when awakened, as but dreams? did the image of his long absent bride haunt the memory of tom garnet, until it became to him as it were a real presence; or did she really whisper to him in his dream through the prison bars? as the morning sun rose gloriously in the heavens, we left the little island, and it soon grew dim and shadowy in the distance; but the story of poor tom garnet was impressed indelibly upon our memories. the wind arose, and the dancing waves soon entranced us with their splendor. as our little skiffs rode over their crested tops among the shining islands on our homeward tom garnet's dream. 249 way, the story of tom garnet's dream as well as the incidents of our night's visit to the little island we had left behind us faded from my thoughts, and in their places the words of the poet came into my mind, and i fancied i could hear him singing his song: "the thousand isles, the thousand isles, dimpled, the wave around them smiles, kissed by a thousand red-lipped flowers, gemmed by a thousand emerald bowers, a thousand birds their praises wake, by rocky glade and plumy brake, a thousand cedars' fragrant shade, fall where the indians' children played, and fancy's dream my heart beguiles, while singing thee, the thousand isles. "no vestal virgin guards their groves, no cupid breathes of cyprian loves, no satyr's form at eve is seen, no dryad peeps the trees between, no venus rises from their shore, no loved adonis red with gore, no pale endymion wooed to sleep, no brave leander breasts their deep, no ganymede, no pleiades, their's are a new world's memories. "there st. lawrence gentlest flows, there the south wind softest blows, there the lilies whitest bloom, there the birch has leafiest gloom, there the red deer feed in spring, there doth glitter wood duck's wing, there leaps the mas-quin-on-ge at morn, there the loon's night song is borne, there is the fisherman's paradise, with trolling skiff at red sunrise." 32 chapter xxx. the st. lawrence of the olden time. faintly as tolls the evening chime our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time; soon as the woods on the shores look dim, we'll sing at st. ann's our parting hymn. row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, the rapids are near and the daylight's past. why should we yet our sail unfurl? there is not a breath the blue wave to curl ; but when the wind blows off the shore, oh! sweetly we'll rest on our weary oar. blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, the rapids are near and the daylight's past. tom moore. i. the river of the thousand isles. the old indian ho-che-la-ga ga-hun-da, the great river of the ancient forest state of that name, now called the river st. lawrence, still rolls its tide through its mountain barriers and among its wonderful islands as in the days of yore, but in its valley a new race of people have sprung up, who find few traces of the savage warriors and bold explorers who for more than two hundred years after its first discovery by white men, frequented its shores, and sped their bark canoes over its waters. the first white man who gazed upon the enchanting beauty of the lake of the thousand isles, it is probable, was samuel de champlain, the founder of new france. the reader will remember that champlain, in the autumn of the year 1615, while on a voyage of exploration to lake huron, united with a war party of huron braves in a hostile expedition against the iroquois of western new york. the trail this expedition took led from the huron the st. lawrence of the olden time. 251 country south-easterly to the river trent, and down that river to its mouth, at catarocoui, now the city of kingston, on lake ontario, at the head of the great river. from kingston the indian trail led down the river around wolfe island, and thence up the american channel past carleton island, and along the coast of the lake to the mouth of the oswego river. in pleasant weather they sometimes avoided this circuitous route, and struck boldly across the lake to the westward of wolfe island. this last-named route champlain took on his way to the iroquois cantons. but this route was a dangerous one for light canoes, and was seldom taken. so champlain, in following the old trail of the war-path in returning, must have entered the westerly end of the lake of the thousand isles. after champlain, the first visitor of note to the upper lawrence and the thousand islands was the jesuit father, simon le moyne, on his journey to the country of the onondagas in the summer of 1654. it was while on this visit to the onondagas that father le moyne became the discoverer of the famous salt springs of syracuse. the indians knew of the salt springs, but believed their waters were possessed of a demon or evil spirit, and dare not touch them. father le moyne boiled some of the water, and made a quantity of salt, which he says, in his diary, was equal to that made from the water of the sea. after le moyne came la salle and frontenac, de la barre, la hontan, hennepin and charlevoix, and a long line of names illustrious in canadian annals. 252 northern new york. ii. the birth-night of montreal. the story of the founding of the city of montreal is more like a religious romance of the middle ages than veritable history. the reader will not forget that the island of montreal was the site of the ancient iroquois village, ho-che-la-ga, the capital of the old forest state of that name discovered by jacques cartier in the year 1535, and that when champlain first visited the island in 1603, the old state and its capital had alike disappeared, and its site was occupied only by a few algonquin fishing huts. but a newer and more brilliant destiny awaited the site of ancient ho-che-la-ga, the then wild island of montreal. about the year 1636, there dwelt at la flèche, in anjou, a religious enthusiast deeply imbued with the mysticism of the times, whose name was jérôme le royer de la dauversière. it is related of dauversière by the pious historians of the period that one day while at his devotions he heard an inward voice, which he deemed a voice from heaven, commanding him to become the founder of a new order of hospital nuns, and to establish for such nuns, to be conducted by them, a hospital, or hôtel-dieu, on the then wild island of montreal. it is further related that while dauversière was beholding his ecstatic visions at la flèche, a young priest of similar mystical tendencies, whose name was jean jacques olier, while praying in the ancient church of st. germain des prés at paris, also heard a voice from heaven commanding him to form a society of priests, and establish the st. lawrence of the olden time. 253 them on an island called montreal in canada for the propagation of the true faith. 66 full of his new idea, dauversière set out for paris to find some means of accomplishing his object. while at paris he visited the château of meudon near by, and on entering the gallery of the old castle saw a young priest approaching him. it was olier. neither of these two men," says the old chronicler, "had ever seen or heard of the other, yet impelled by a kind of inspiration, they knew each other at once even to the depths of their hearts; saluted each other by name as we read of st. paul, the hermit, and st. anthony, of st. dominic and st. francis; and ran to embrace each other like two friends who had met after a long separation." after performing their devotions in the chapel, the two devotees walked for three hours in the park, discussing and forming their plans. before they parted, they had resolved to found at montreal three religious communities—one of secular priests, one of nuns to nurse the sick, and one of nuns to teach the white and red children. by the united efforts, of olier and dauversière, an association was formed called the society of notre dame de montreal, and a colony projected. the island was purchased of its owners, the successors of the hundred associates of quebec, and erected into a seigneurie by the king, henceforth to be called villemarie de montreal, and consecrated to the holy family. but it was necessary to have a soldier-governor to place in charge of the colony, and for this purpose the associates of montreal selected paul de. chomedey, sieur de maisonneuve, a devout and valiant gentleman, who had already seen much military service. 254 northern new york. it was thought necessary also that some discreet woman should embark with them as their nurse and housekeeper. for this purpose they selected mademoiselle jeanne mance, a religious devotee, who was born of a noble family of nogent-le-roi. she was filled with zeal for the new mission. in it she thought she had found her destiny. the ocean, the solitude, the wilderness, the iroquois, did not deter her from her high purpose, and this delicate and refined woman at once, with enthusiastic devotion, cast her frail life upon the rock of desolation to christianize a strange land, and to soothe with her gentle influence the wildness of barbarous men. at length in the summer of 1641, the ships set sail with maisonneuve and his forty men, with mademoiselle mance and three other women on board. but they reached quebec too late in the autumn to think of ascending to montreal that season. while passing the long tedious winter at quebec, the members of this new company were treated with much coldness by governor montmagny, who saw a rival governor in maisonneuve. early in may, 1642, they embarked for their new home, having gained an unexpected recruit in the person of madame de la peltrie, another pious lady, who had also cast her fortunes in the wilderness, but it was not until 1653 that the gentle marguerite of bourgeoys came to bless the young colony with her presence. all was seeming peace as they paddled their canoes along near the banks of the stream, decked in the budding beauties of the opening spring-tide; but behind every leafy thicket and rocky island lurked a danger and a terror-the fierce iroquois on the war-path. the st. lawrence of the olden time. 255 on the eighteenth of may they arrived at the wild island of montreal, and landed on the very site chosen for a city by champlain thirty-one years before. montmagny was with them to deliver the island in behalf of the company of the hundred associates to maisonneuve, the agent of the associates of montreal, and father vimont, the superior of the jesuit missions in canada, was there in spiritual charge of the young colony. maisonneuve and his followers sprang ashore, and falling on their knees, all devoutly joined their voices in songs of thanksgiving. near by, where they landed, was a rivulet bordered by a meadow, beyond which rose the ancient forest like a band of iron. the early flowers of spring were blooming in the young grass of the meadow, and the woods were filled with singing birds. a simple altar was raised on a pleasant spot not far from the shore. the ladies decorated it with flowers. then the whole band gathered before the shrine. father vimont stood before the altar clad in the rich vestments of his office. the host was raised aloft while they all kneeled in reverent silence. when the solemn rite was over, the priest turned to the little band, and said: "you are a grain of mustard-seed that shall rise and grow till its branches overshadow the earth: you are few but your work is the work of god. his smile is on you and your children shall fill the land." as the day waned and twilight came on, the darkened meadow, bereft of its flowers, became radiant with twinkling fire-flies. mademoiselle mance, madame de la peltrie aided by her servant, charlotte barré, caught the fire-flies, and tying them with threads into shining festoons, hung them before the altar where the host remained exposed. 256 northern new york. then the men lighted their camp-fires, posted their sentries, and pitched their tents, and all lay down to rest. "it was the birth-night of montreal."* old indian ho-che-la-ga was no more. a new race had come to people the wilderness and unfurl the banner of the cross on the great river of the thousand isles. iii. carleton island. "uttawa's tide; this trembling moon shall see us float over thy surges soon, saint of this green isle! hear our prayers, oh! grant us cool heavens and favoring airs." in the broad channel of the st. lawrence, as its waters leave lake ontario and run between kingston on the canadian and cape vincent on the american shore, are several islands. one of the most noted of these is carleton island, which is situate in the american channel, four or five miles northerly of cape vincent. carleton island was known to the old french explorers as the isle aux chevreuils, or isle of roe bucks. it lay in the line of the old indian trail, which ran from the canadian shore of lake ontario to the iroquois cantons on its southern border, which trail avoided by its coast line the rough and dangerous waves of the open lake, and it lay also in the line of the great western trail. there being at the head of this island what father charlevoix, who, as the reader has already seen, visited it in 1720, calls "a pretty port that can receive large barques," it was a favorite stopping place and camping ground in all the long colonial period. * parkman's jesuits in north america, p. 209, and charlevoix's history of new france, translated by john g. shea. the st. lawrence of the olden time. 257 but what render this little island of more historical interest than the many other islands of the group, are the remains of a strong military work, which was constructed upon it in the latter part of the last century, crowning the brink of the bluff at the head of the island, overlooking the "pretty port" and commanding the american channel of the great river. this fortification is now known as fort carleton, but in regard to its origin and the date of its construction there has been a great deal of conjecture and not a little controversy among historical inquirers. it has been supposed by some that this fort was begun by the french during the last years of the french and indian wars before the english conquest of canada, but pouchot, in his memoirs, while minutely describing every other fort and station along the whole northern frontier, says nothing of this work, and we must believe that had so important a station as this been then fortified, it would not have been overlooked by so careful and accurate an observer as m. pouchot. again it has been alleged that these works were begun by sir guy carleton, governor general of canada during the war of the revolution, and the island and the fort at that time named in his honor. but the histories of those times are silent on this subject, and the celebrated french traveler, the duc de la rochefoucauld-liancourt, in an account of his journey along the st. lawrence, in the year 1795, says of this island: "during the american war the british troops were constantly in motion, and in later times they were quartered in an island which the french called isle aux chevreuils, and which the english have named carleton, after lord dorchester." then again, in a full and complete canadian gazetteer, 33 258 northern new york. published by david w. smyth, the able and careful surveyor general of the upper province, in 1799, no mention is made of any fort carleton, but it is said therein of carleton island: "kingston garrison furnishes a detachment to this place." it is therefore more than probable that this fortification was never known to the british as "fort carleton," but was merely considered by them as an advance work connected with the defence of kingston. kingston was not founded until the year 1784, and this island was not known as carleton island until the year 1792, when by the royal proclamation of the 2d of july of that year, the old french and indian names of several islands of the st. lawrence, including this, were changed, and called in honor of british generals distinguished in the american wars. hence we have howe island, gage island, wolfe island, amherst island, as well as carleton island, all of whose present names date from the proclamation of 1792. kingston was built upon the site of the old indian catarocoui, and of the old french fort frontenac. fort frontenac was begun by gov. daniel de remi, seiur de courcelle, in the year 1671, and finished the next year by the chivalrous louis de buade, comte de frontenac, whose name it bore. it was utterly destroyed by the english under gen. bradstreet in 1758, and was never rebuilt. cove. the work on carleton island is a bastioned half-front of a hexagonal fort of some eight hundred feet diameter, open at the rear toward the brink of the bluff overlooking the the ditch, twenty-two feet wide and four feet deep, is excavated in the solid rock. the covered way was twenty-four feet wide, and the parapet four feet high. the front of the fort commands the approach from the island, the st. lawrence of the olden time. 259 while a heavy sea-wall, forty feet in height, is built along the bluff that borders the cove. several chimneys are still standing within the fort and near it, built of stone in a permanent and massive manner, while the remains of guard houses, rifle-pits and wells are still plainly visible. not far from the fort is an old burying-ground, in which many graves were found, and on the south side of the island was a large clearing of some thirty acres, called the king's garden. along the western shore of the little cove are still to be seen the remains of a sunken dock. many relics have from time to time been found near the fort, all bearing marks of british origin. in 1796 the surveyors of macomb's purchase found a british corporal and three men in charge of carleton island, and four long twelve and two six-pound cannon mounted on the work this island was occupied by the british until the war of 1812, when its little garrison was surprised and taken by the americans, by whom it has ever since been occupied. after the war the right to carleton island became the subject of much diplomatic correspondence between the two governments. this controversy was carried on during the presidency of mr. monroe by john q. adams, secretary of state, on our part. it resulted in the boundary line being drawn to the north of the island, leaving it in american waters. and now this little island, so fraught with historic memories, is the summer resort of the carleton island club, an association of gentlemen who have built their summer cottage and pitch their tents on the meadow that borders the banks of the "pretty port" of the old chronicler, and in sight 260 northern new york. of the decaying walls of the old fort. here in this enchanting spot, among the thousand isles, made classic in american story by the presence long ago of a champlain, a la hontan, a la salle, a courcelle, a frontenac, a de la barre, a charlevoix, they take a yearly respite from busy toil, and while away the fleeting hours of the short canadian summer in careless repose, dispensing a right royal hospitality. iv. la presentation. the city of ogdensburgh is in all respects a modern city. nothing along her streets, or in her surroundings, indicates a day's existence earlier than the beginning of the nineteenth century. yet she is built upon the site of a city of the dead, and her modern dwellings rest upon the ruins of ancient hearth-stones. the mission of la presentation was founded in the year 1749, on the banks of the st. lawrence, at the mouth of the oswegatchie river, by the celebrated sulspician missionary father picquet, upon the site of the old indian village named swa-gatch. in colonial times, the st. lawrence was one of the great highways of the continent. in the olden time an indian trail led from the mohawk valley to the st. lawrence. this trail from the mohawk ran up the west canada creek, and a branch of it from fort stanwix up the valley of the lansing kill to the waters of the black river; thence down the valley of the black river to the great bend below carthage; thence over a short carry to the indian river; thence down the indian river and through black lake into the river o-swa-gatch, and down that stream to the st. the st. lawrence of the olden time. 261 lawrence. it was at the northern termination of this old indian trail at the mouth of the o-swa-gatch that the abbé picquet founded, in the year 1749, his mission and settlement of la presentation, so often afterward the terror of the settlers in the mohawk valley. as early as the 20th of october of that year father picquet had completed at his mission a palisaded fort, a house, a barn, a stable, and an oven. he commenced a clearing, and the first year had but six heads of families, but in 1751 there were three hundred and ninety-six families of christian iroquois, comprising in all about three thousand people, in the little colony. the object of this mission was to attach, if possible, the iroquois cantons to the french. in all the battles and massacres of the french and indian wars in the mohawk valley, at lake george and along the hudson, up to montcalm's defeat in 1759, the o-swa-gatch indians played a conspicuous part. but in 1760, at the conquest of canada, the post of la presentation fell into the hands of the english, and the fort was for many years afterward occupied by a british garrison. françois picquet, doctor of the sorbonne, king's missionary and prefect apostolic to canada, was born at bourg in bresse, on the 6th of december, 1708. at the early age of seventeen he became a missionary, and at twenty entered the congregation of saint sulspice. in 1733 he was led to the missions of north america, where, as we have seen, he labored with such zeal for thirty years that he obtained the title of "the apostle of the iroquois." he returned to france, and died at verjon on the 15th of july, 1781. to-day two important railroad lines follow the old indian 262 northern new york. trails between the mohawk and the st. lawrence, and as the mission of la presentation took the place of the old indian village swa-gatch at the northern end of the old wartrail, so, to-day, the modern city of ogdensburgh, situate at the northern terminus of the railroad lines, takes the place of la presentation. of this mission scarce a relic now remains, save the corner-stone of the main building, which is still preserved, bearing the inscription : in nomine + dei omnipotentis huic habitationi initia dedit frans. picquet, 1749. chapter xxxi. the county of charlotte. it is finished. what is finished? much is finished, known or unknown; lives are finished; time diminished; was the fallow field left unsown? will these buds be always unblown? -christina rossetti, i. like tryon county, its twin sister, the county of charlotte is now almost a mythical name in the annals of new york. the county of charlotte, as the reader has already seen, was set off from the county of albany and formed on the 24th day of march, 1772. it was so named in honor of the princess charlotte, daughter of george iii, or as some say, of the queen consort, charlotte of mecklenburghstrelitz. it included all that part of the state which lay to the east of the tryon county line, and to the north of the present counties of saratoga and rensselaer, embracing the present counties of washington, warren, essex and clinton, the eastern part of franklin county, and the western half of the state of vermont. fort edward was made the county-seat of charlotte county, and the first court was held at the house of patrick smith in that village, on the 19th of october, 1773, by judges william duer and philip schuyler. the first clerk of the court was daniel mccrea, the brother of jeanie mccrea, whose tragic death soon after occured near where the court then sat. among the important land grants made in colonial times was the singular one made by gov. fletcher on the 3d of 264 northern new york. september, 1696, to his favorite, godfrey dellius, the minister of the dutch church of albany. this grant was a large tract of land lying in this county, as will be seen by the following description, copied literally from the grant, viz: "a certaine tract of land lying upon the east side of hudson's river, between the northermost bounds of saraggtoga and the rock retsio, containing about seventy miles in length, and goes backwards into the woods from the said hudson's river twelve miles until it comes unto the wood creeke, and so far as it goes be it twelve miles more or lesse from hudson's river on the east side, and from said creek by a line twelve miles distant from river, to our loving subject the reverend godfredius dellius, minister of the gospell att our city of albany, he yielding rendering and paying therefore yearly and every year unto us our heirs and successours on the first day of the annunciation of our blessed virgin mary, at our city of new yorke the annuall rent of one raccoon skinn in lieu and steade of all other rents services dues dutyes and demands whatsoever for the said tract of land and islands and premises." but in may, 1699, the assembly vacated this grant and suspended mr. dellius from the ministry on account of his complicity in land speculations. it has been said that dellius, after his return to holland, sold his interest in this tract to his successor in the ministry, the rev. johannes lydius. but john henry lydius, son of johannes, who settled at the great carrying place, now fort edward, on the hudson, in 1732, claimed the land by virtue of certain grants made directly to himself by the indians, and not from dellius. when the name of tryon county was changed to montthe county of charlotte. 265 gomery, in 1784, the name of the county of charlotte was changed to washington. ii. fort edward. two hundred years ago the site of what is now the villlage of fort edward was known in forest annals as 'the great carrying place." it was the landing place on the hudson from which the old indian trail ran overland for twelve miles through the pine forest to the falls on wood creek that runs into lake champlain. from these falls the wood creek was navigable to the head of the lake. in those days, however, it was called wood creek as far down as crown point. in the days of the early expeditions planned by the english colonies for the conquest of canada in the old french and indian wars, the great carrying place lying in the direct route of the old northern warpath, became the scene of stirring events. the first of those famous expeditions that passed over it was the one fitted out for gen. fitz-john winthrop in july, 1690. but it was not until the year 1709 that a permanent fort was built there. in that year, col. peter schuyler built a stockaded work there, which he named fort nicholson, in honor of the commanding general. on the return of another expedition in the year 1711, fort nicholson was burned, and the great carrying place was abandoned to its savage tenants until the year 1721. in that year gov. burnet repaired the old fort, built a small block-house there, and stationed in it a detachment of soldiers to protect the interests of the english fur trade in the wilderness. 34 266 northern new york. and now one of those prominent characters that so often flit across the dim and shadowy stage of our almost forgotten colonial history, appears upon the scene at the great carrying place. john henry lydius was a son of the rev. johannes lydius, a minister of the old dutch church at albany. he was six feet and three inches in height, wellformed, and a man of much influence in the colony. for some time he was a successful rival of sir william johnson in his influence over the mohawks, but in the end the indians became so suspicious of him that they would not allow his presence at their councils. in 1732 he purchased of the indians a large tract of land, covering the great carrying place. lydius began a settlement on the ruins of old fort nicholson, built a block house known as fort lydius, erected a saw-mill, and made various other improvements. for a dozen years he lived there, mostly engaged in the fur trade, and his little colony flourished in its lone forest position until the war of 1745 broke out. then the french and indians on their way to the massacre at saratoga of that year scattered his tenants, burnt his buildings, and sent lydius a wanderer from his forest possessions never to return. lydius afterward went to england, where he died in 1791, in the ninety-ninth year of his age. in a biographical notice of him, published in the london gentleman's magazine of that year, he is styled the "baron de quade, governor of fort edward." in the year 1749, the ruins of his settlement, and of old fort nicholson, were visited by the famous swedish botanist, peter kalm, while on his tour through the american wilds in the interest of science. of these ruins he gives a graphic description in the story of his journeyings. the county of charlotte. 267 again, in the last french war, which began in 1755 and ended with the final conquest of canada in 1759, and the peace of 1763, the great carrying place became the scene of important military operations. in 1755 fort lyman was built on the site of old fort nicholson. the next year its name was changed to fort edward, in honor of prince edward, duke of york. again, in the war of the revolution, fort edward becomes an important military station, but at the close of that war the military prestige of the great carrying place leaves it forever. yet no event in its long military history possesses half the tragic interest which attaches to the murder of poor jeanie mccrea there by the indians under burgoyne, in the early morning of sunday, the 27th of july, 1777. but her story has been so often told that i need not repeat it here. to-day the modern village of fort edward stands on this classic ground, made famous by a century of forest warfare, and almost a hundred years of smiling peace have passed over the old carrying place of the wilderness. the old fort at the mouth of the creek, the barracks on the island in the mid-river, the royal block-house upon the south bank of the river, have crumbled into ruins, and for a hundred summers save one the sweet wild flowers have bloomed over the grave of jeanie mccrea, the one maiden martyr of the american cause, whose innocent blood, crying from the ground, aroused her almost despairing countrymen to renewed effort, to vengeance; and to final victory over the invader at whose hands her young life was ended. 268 northern new york. iii. skenesborough. major philip skene, the founder of skenesborough, now whitehall, at the head of lake champlain, was of noble lineage, and some of the best blood of scotland coursed through his veins. his fraternal grandmother was the lady elizabeth, daughter of sir thomas wallace, a descendant of the unfortunate william wallace, of patriot and soldier memory. philip skene entered the british army in 1739, and remained in the service until the year 1782. during these forty-three years of soldier life, he was a participator in many a scene of carnage, both in the old world and in the new. his regiment accompanied the british expedition against the spanish-american province of new granada, and he was at the taking of puerto bello in 1739, and engaged in the unsuccessful seige of carthagena in 1741. returning to the battle-fields of europe, he was one of the fourteen thousand who made the daring but disastrous charge led by the duke of cumberland through the bloody ravine of fontenoy in belgium, on the 11th of may, 1745, and the following year, with his regiment, met successfully the terrible onslaught of the infuriated highlanders upon the bloody field of drummossie moor, near culloden house, on the 16th of april, in the rebellion of 1746. in 1747 he was at the battle of lafeldt, where the duke of cumberland was again beaten by marshal saxe. in the year 1756 he came to america, and on the 2d of february in that year was promoted, by lord loudon, to the command of a company in the 27th, or inniskillen, regiment of the county of charlotte. 269 foot. he was engaged in the bloody assault by gen. abercrombie upon fort carrillon, at ticonderoga, in july, 1758, where he was wounded, and on the 31st of july, 1759, was raised to the rank of brigade major by gen. amherst. in october following he was left in command of the british garrison at crown point and ticonderoga, and was induced by gen. amherst, in 1761, to project a settlement in the wilderness at what is now whitehall. but his soldier life was not yet ended, for in 1762 he was ordered on the expedition, under lord albemarle, against martinique and havana, and at the storming of moro castle was the first man to enter the breach made in its walls by the british guns. returning once more to northern new york, philip skene found his infant settlement of skenesborough reduced to fifteen souls, and, retiring from the army under halfpay, at once began its re-establishment. he first went to england, and obtained from the crown, in 1765, the grant of a large tract of land, containing some twenty-five thousand acres, lying on both sides of wood creek. upon this tract he began his improvements. he built for himself, in 1770, a stone mansion house and a large stone building one hundred and thirty feet long, which was used for military purposes. he also erected a stone forge, and began the manufacture of iron. he owned a sloop on the lake, with which in summer he kept up a regular communication with montreal. he cut a road through the forest at his own expense, a distance of thirty miles, to salem, for use in the winter. in 1773 there were seventy families in the settlement of skenesborough, and a population of 379 persons, including forty or more negro slaves brought by skene from 270 northern new york. havana. but skene had a still more ambitious project in view. this was no less than the founding of a new royal province out of the then disputed territory of vermont and of northern new york, of which he was to be the governor. but the war of the revolution soon coming on put an end both to his flourishing settlement and to his ambitious scheme of founding a new royal province in the old wilderness. skenesborough was in the line of the old war-path that ran through the great northern valley. skene espoused the royal cause, and, in may, 1775, the americans took possession of his house, and he became a fugitive from his settlement, never to return. in 1776 an american garrison was stationed there, and upon the retreat of the americans in 1777 before burgoyne, its fort was blown up, its buildings all burned, and the place was left in utter ruins. major skene rejoined the british service, served under lord howe in new york, joined the expedition of burgoyne, took part in all the battles of the campaign, and became a prisoner of war at the surrender of saratoga. after the war his estates in america were all confiscated, and returning to scutland, his native country, he died there in the year 1810, at an advanced age. such are the main incidents in the eventful career of philip skene, who was styled in an obituary notice "lieut.governor of crown point and ticonderoga, and surveyor of his majesty's woods and forests bordering on lake champlain," and who was one of the most famous pioneers of the champlain valley, and the founder of another of the frustrated settlements of the old wilderness. to-day, the modern village of whitehall, disputing with her rival sisters the county of charlotte. 271 the supremacy of the beautiful valley of the "lake of the iroquois," occupies the site of the ruined colony of skene. iv. the new argyleshire. the isle of islay was in ancient times famous as the home of the lords of the isles. it is the most southerly of the hebrides, and is situate fifteen miles off the coast of argyleshire, scotland. to the clan campbell, to which the duke of argyle belongs, also belonged, about the year 1737, a highland chieftain whose name was laughlin campbell. like the duke, he was a descendant of the lords of the isles, and was the owner of large landed possessions in the isle of islay. about this time, a proclamation was issued by the governor of the province of new york, and circulated in scotland, offering liberal inducements to and inviting "loyal protestant highlanders" to come and settle on the wild lands bordering the easterly side of the upper hudson, between saratoga and lake champlain. attracted by this proclamation, capt. laughlin campbell, in the year 1737, visited this country. he traversed the lands, and was pleased with the soil and situation. the indians whom he met, admiring his athletic form, and delighted with the gay colors of his tartan costume, invited him to settle in their country. lieut.-governor clarke, the acting governor of the province, also urged him to come, and, as an inducement, offered him a grant of thirty thousand acres free from all charges save those of the survey and the king's quitrents. thus allured, capt. campbell returned to scotland, 272 northern new york. sold his lands in the isle of islay, and gathering a company of eighty-three families of protestant highlanders, comprising in all, of adults and children, more than five hundred souls, set sail for america to settle the howling wilderness. on the eve of their departure, capt. campbell and the principal heads of families were met by the duke of argyle in council, and a plan of settlement was agreed upon in conformity to the advice of the duke. but these adventurers from the hebrides were destined to long delays, bitter disappointments, and many sad calamities before they reached the goal for which they aimed. upon the arrival of capt. campbell and his band of immigrants in new york, the governor and surveyor-general, incited by the love of gain, refused to make out to him the promised conveyance of the thirty thousand acres, except upon payment of their usual exorbitant fees therefor, and then only on condition that campbell would allow them a share in the grant. laughlin campbell was a man of too much spirit to be thus dishonestly imposed upon, and utterly refused to accept the grant upon such unexpected conditions. the governor then pathetically appealed to the assembly to grant "these poor strangers," as he styled them, the gift of seven pounds to each family to enable them to settle their lands. but the assembly, justly suspicious that this money would all find its way into the pockets of the avaricious governor for his fees, refused the grant. thus all hopes of building up a new argyleshire on the banks of the hudson by these people, were cruelly dispelled, and they hardly knew where their wives and little ones could find daily bread, unless the ravens fed them. some the county of charlotte. 273 of them enlisted in the expedition then fitting out in the harbor of new york against the spanish west indies, and died of the pestilence in the harbor of carthagena. the others separated themselves, and wandering from the city found homes among the dutch settlers of the river counties above new york. in a few years, capt. campbell, failing to obtain his grant upon any reasonable terms, died brokenhearted, leaving a widow and six children almost penniless. at length, in 1763, after twenty-five years of tedious waiting, the heirs of capt. campbell received a grant of ten thousand acres, which embraced nearly a third of the present town of greenwich, washington county. the next year, 1764, a grant was also made of 47,450 acres to the colonists who came over with campbell, and had been so cruelly disappointed as to their possessions in the new world. by the instrument of conveyance the tract was also erected into the township of argyle. thus were the long-deferred hopes of these settlers about to be realized, and dazzling visions of the future importance of their township and of their own wealth as land-owners arose at once before them. they at once proceeded to devise on paper a plan of their township like the one projected for them by the duke of argyle on the eve of their departure from old argyleshire. an avenue seven miles long and twenty-four rods wide was laid out, passing through the center of the town, entirely across it, from east to west. this magnificent avenue was called "the street," a name by which it is still well known. along this avenue a village lot was laid out for each inhabitant, twenty-two rods front, and reaching back one hundred and seventy-five rods, while in the rear the remainder of the town was divided into large "farm lots" of several 35 274 northern new york. hundred acres each for every inhabitant. in strict accordance with this plan, which appeared so well on paper, the survey was made, and the "darling street" was laid out. yet in the actual survey it crossed many a craggy bluff and steep hillside, that never could be worked, or used for travelling purposes. in a short time many of them moved upon their lands, and commenced their little clearings in the grim old forest. such is the origin of the modern town of argyle. like the children of israel wandering with moses in the desert, seeking palestine for forty years, these children of the hebrides, after wandering for twenty-five years in the wilderness, also found their promised land, and their leader, laughlin campbell, like moses, never reached it, but only saw its sunny slopes from some far-off mountain peak. chapter xxxii. oswego and the western war-path. it is over. what is over? nay how much is over truly? harvest days we toiled to sow for; now the sheaves are gathered newlynow the wheat is garnered duly, i. swa-geh. the city of oswego sits at the mouth of the river of the same name on the south-eastern shore of lake ontario, the "beautiful lake" of the iroquois, the long silent guns of her protecting fort overlooking its peaceful waters. her harbor is filled with the teeming commerce of the great lakes, which seeks through her ports an outlet overland to the atlantic seaboard, and her shipping and railroad interests are among the most important in the land. this is the oswego of to-day. but her authentic history runs back for more than two hundred years, into the legendary lore of the oswego, the indian swa-geh, of the olden time, the famous lake-port of the populous iroquois cantons of western new york. the indians, in all their journeyings through the wilderness, made their trails along the water courses. they threaded the winding streams with their frail bark canoes for hundreds of miles, carrying them on their backs around the numerous falls and rapids. to each end of these carrying places, and to all the points where they reached some large stream or some lake, they gave significant names. many of these ancient names are still retained, and among them is os-we-go, the lake port of the iroquois. • -christina rossetti. 276 northern new york. ii. the western war-trail. in colonial times, between albany on the hudson and the canadian cities in the valley of the st. lawrence, there were two great routes of travel over which the old wartrails ran. one of these was the great northern route, running up the hudson and down the champlain valley, and the other was the western trail, which ran up the mohawk valley, through oneida lake, and down the oswego river to lake ontario. the first carrying place on the great western route was from the hudson at albany through the pine woods to the mohawk at schenectady. this carrying place avoided the ga-ha-oose falls. at the terminus of the old indian carrying place on the hudson, now called albany, the dutch, under hendrick christiensen, in 1614, built fort nassau on castle island. this island was situate on the east side of the river, a little below the city, and after 1630 was known as patroon's island. it has long since been joined with the mainland, and lost in the improvements made on that side of the river. in 1617 they built another fort at the mouth of the normanskill, at the old indian ta-wa-sent-ha -"the place of the many dead." in 1623 fort orange was built by adriaen joris, and eighteen families built their bark huts and spent there the coming winter. in 1630 kilian van rensselaer, a rich diamond merchant of holland, the original patroon, sent over his colonists, the manor of rensselaerwyck was founded, and a little fur trading station grew up under the guns of fort orange, which has since developed into the modern city of albany. the mohawk oswego and the western war-path. 277 name for albany was ska-neh-ta-de, meaning "the place beyond the pine openings." in the year 1662, arendt van curler, and other inhabitants of fort orange, "went west" across the old carry through the pines to the rich mohawk flats and founded a settlement. to this settlement they applied the old indian name of albany, calling it schenectady. from albany it was the new settlement on the mohawk beyond the pines. the true indian name for schenectady was o-no-a-la-gonena, meaning "pained in the head." from schenectady the western trail ran up the mohawk to what is now the city of rome, where there was another carry of a mile in length, to the wood creek which flows into oneida lake. this carrying place, afterward the site of fort stanwix, was called by the indians da-ya-hoo-waquat. from it the old trail ran through the oneida lake, and down the oswego river to lake ontario. at the mouth of the oswego river, on lake ontario, was the old indian village called swa-geh, the lake-port of the iroquois. from swa-geh westward the navigation was unobstructed for almost a thousand miles through the great lakes to the old indian chik-ah-go, (chicago) which was situate at the eastern end of the trail which led from the great lakes westward to the indian me-che-se-pa "the mysterious river, the father of waters toward the setting sun." 278 northern new york. iii. oswego. for a period of one hundred and eighty years, from its earliest settlement in 1614 up to the end of the last french war, the chief business of albany was dealing in furs and peltries with the indians of the north and west. but the french at montreal and quebec at length began to divert the western fur trade, and it became necessary for the merchants of albany to adopt measures to retain it. so, in 1720, the citizens of albany pushed boldly out on the old western trail to swa-geh, on lake ontario, and established a fur trading station there upon what the french claimed was their territory. the importance of this measure will be readily seen, for swa-geh commanded the fur trade of the great west. swa-geh thus became the lake-port for albany as well as for the cantons of the iroquois. as early as the year 1700 col. romer, after making a careful exploration of the country of the five nations, mentioned swa-geh as an important station on lake ontario for the prosecution of the fur trade with the indians of the great west. but it was not until 1721 that swa-geh was occupied by the english, and not till 1727 that gov. burnet built a fort there and it was called oswego. in a letter to the board of trade by gov. burnet, dated may 9th, 1727, he says: "i have this spring sent up workmen to build a stone house of strength at a place called oswego, at the mouth of the onnondaga river, where our principal trade with the five nations is carried on." this building was eighty feet square, and of great strength. in 1744, at the beginning of the french and indian war of that date, it oswego and the western war-path. 279 was mounted with cannon transported with much toil from albany up the wild valley of the mohawk. in 1756 oswego was the northern rendezvous of gen. shirley, with fifteen hundred men, on his expedition against the french forts frontenac and niagara. from this period oswego became an important military post on the northern frontier, and an object of jealousy to the french. at length it was attacked in 1757 by five thousand men under gen. montcalm, and captured after a gallant resistance on the part of its garrison. on retiring from oswego, montcalm left it a heap of ruins, but in 1758 gen. bradstreet appeared upon the scene with his army of three thousand three hundred and forty men, on his march against fort frontenac, and soon rebuilt the decaying fort. after the close of the last french and indian war, oswego was occupied by an english garrison until the year 1798, when it was abandoned to the americans. iv. old forts on the western war-path. up to the end of the last french and indian war, albany and schenectady were strongly fortified and surrounded by palisades. they were as much walled cities as those of mediæval times in europe. in albany a huge frowning fort called fort frederick, bristling with cannon, filled up state street a little below where the capitol now stands, its northeast bastion resting on the ground now occupied by st. peter's church. at schenectady was a wooden fort in the line of palisades which surrounded the village, with four block-houses as flankers. between schenectady and swa280 northern new york. geh was a line of forts built for the protection of the traveling fur-traders, and as barriers to french and indian invasion from the valley of the st. lawrence. the first of these was at the mouth of the schohariekill, and was called fort hunter. it was built on the site of old indian tehon-de-lo-ga, the lower castle of the mohawks. above fort hunter, near the indian ga-no-jo-hi-e-"washing the basin" -the middle mohawk castle, was fort plain. the indian name of fonda was ga-na-wa-da-meaning "over the rapids." of little falls, it was ta-la-que-ga—“small bushes," and of herkimer the indian name was te-uge-ga, the same as the river. at herkimer was hendrick's castle and fort herkimer, near ga-ne-ga-ha-ga, the upper mohawk castle. the indian name for utica was nun-da-da-sis-meaning around the hill." at utica, the indian trail from the west crossed the river. to defend this ford of the mohawk at utica, a small earth-work was built in 1756, and named fort schuyler. from the little settlement began at this old fort utica has become the queen city of the mohawk valley. the territory upon which the city of utica has been built was granted in 1734 to gov. cosby, and was long known in colonial annals as "cosby's manor." a little above utica was a small indian station called 66 ole-hisk-"the place of nettles." this is now oriskany, one of the famous battle-grounds of the revolution. the carrying place between the mohawk river and wood creek was the indian da-ya-hoo-wa-quat, meaning "the carrying place." here fort williams was built in 1732, and on its site, in 1758, was built fort stanwix. during the revolutionary war the name fort stanwix was changed to oswego and the western war-path. 281 fort schuyler, and should not be mistaken for the little fort at utica of that name. at wood creek, a mile from fort stanwix, fort bull was built in 1737. at the mouth of wood creek, on the oneida lake, a royal block-house was built, and at the west end of oneida lake, in 1758, fort brewerton was built. the indian name for wood creek was ka-ne-go-dick; for oneida lake was ga-no-a-lo-hole-" head on a pole." for syracuse the indian name was na-ta-dunk, meaning "pine-tree broken with top hanging down," and the indian name of fort brewerton was ga-do-quat. fort brewerton, the remains of which may still be seen from the railroad track, was an octagonal palisaded fort of about three hundred and fifty feet in diameter. after the close of the french war, and during pontiac's war, fort brewerton was commanded by capt. mungo campbell, of the 55th highlanders. mrs. grant, of laggan, in her memoirs of an american lady, gives an interesting description of this fort, which she visited while on her way to oswego about the year 1763. at the falls on the oswego river, (now fulton) gen. bradstreet built a small stockaded fort in 1758, and garrisoned it with one hundred men. in 1755, a new fort was built at oswego by col. mercer. this fort is now known as fort ontario. such was the line of defences bristling along the old western war-path between albany and oswego at the close of the last french and indian war. for a hundred years this old western trail was the pathway of contending armies, its streams were often crimsoned with blood, and its wild meadows filled with nameless graves. 36 chapter xxxiii. saratoga and the northern war-path. she stood beside the well her god had given to gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed the forehead of her child until he laughed in his reviving happiness. -willis. i. indian saratoga. among the earliest dates in which the name saratoga appears in history is the year 1684. it was then not the name of a town, nor of a county, nor of a great watering place, but it was the name of an old indian hunting ground situated along both sides of the hudson river. the hudson, after it breaks through its last mountain barrier above glens falls, for many miles of its course runs through a wider valley. after winding for a while through this wider valley, it reaches the first series of its bordering hills, and this old hunting ground was situate where the outlying hills begin to crowd down to the river banks. in the indian tongue it was significantly called se-rach-ta-gue, meaning "the hillside country of the great river.* it also has been said saratoga, in the indian language, means the "place of the swift water," in allusion to the rapids and falls that break the stillness of the stream where this hillside country begins on the river.t an indian whose name was o-ron-hia-tek-ha of caugh*steele's analysis, p. 13. + vide judge scott's historical address at ballston spa, july 4th, 1876, also, reminiscences of saratoga, by wm. l. stone, p. 5. saratoga and the northern war-path. 283 na-wa-ga on the st. lawrence, who was well acquainted with the mohawk dialect, informed dr. hough, the historian, that saratoga was from sa-ra-ta-ke, meaning "a place where the track of the heel may be seen," in allusion to a spot near by, where depressions like foot-prints may be seen in the rocks. yet morgan, in his league of the iroquois, says the signification of saratoga is lost. but whether its meaning be this, that, or the other, i am sure that it is gratifying to us all that this famous summer resort, situate as it is on american soil, bears an american name. as early as 1684, this hillside country of the hudson, the ancient indian se-rach-ta-gue, was sold by the mohawk sachems to peter philip schuyler and six other eminent citizens of albany, and the indian grant confirmed by the english government. this old hunting ground then became known in history as the saratoga patent. as set forth in the indian deed and described in the letters patent, it was a territory of fifteen miles in length along the river and six miles in width on both sides. it reached from the di-on-on-da-ho-wa, now the battenkill, near fort miller, on the north, to the ta-nen-da-ho-wa, now the anthony's kill, near mechanicville, on the south. the towns of old saratoga and stillwater on the west side of the river, and the town of easton (the east town) on the east side of the river, are within the bounds of this ancient patent. this was saratoga of the olden time, called on some old maps so-roe-to-gos land. in the year 1687, three years after the mohawks had sold this hunting ground, and the patent had been granted, gov. dongan of new york attempted to induce a band of 284 northern new york. christian iroquois that the french missionaries had led to cach-na-oua-ga on the st. lawrence, to return and settle in ancient se-rach-ta-gue. this was done to form a barrier between the then frontier town of albany and the hostile french and indians on the north. some of the descendants of these indians still make an annual pilgrimage to the springs, and encamping in the groves near by, form an interesting part of the great concourse of summer visitors. it will be seen, however, that the ground on which the village of saratoga springs is built, and the region in which the famous mineral springs were found, formed no part of the old hunting ground and patent of saratoga. the soroe-to-gos land of the olden time lay along both sides of the hudson, and extended no further west than saratoga lake. ii. kay-ad-ros-se-ra. the indian name for the territory in which the famous mineral springs were found was kay-ad-ros-se-ra.* like saratoga, it was one of the favorite hunting grounds of the iroquois. it lay in the angle between the two great rivers, to the south of a line drawn from glens falls on the hudson westerly to near amsterdam on the mohawk. kay-ad-ros-se-ra means in the indian tongue, the "lake country." its principal lake, now lake saratoga, was the lake kay-ad-ros-se-ra of the mohawks, and its largest stream the kay-ad-ros-se-ra river. on the old french maps saratoga lake is called cap-i-a-qui. the indian name for round lake, now famous as a camp-meeting ground, was ta-nen-da-ho-wa. * so written in claude joseph sauthier's map of 1779. saratoga and the northern war-path. 285 the forests of ancient kay-ad-ros-se-ra were full of game, and its lakes and streams swarmed with fish. the herring ran up the west side of the hudson, and through fish creek, giving rise to its name, into lake saratoga in immense numbers. the shad ran up the east side of the river, and lay in vast schools in the falls and rapids above and below fort edward. the sturgeon frequented the "sprouts" of the mohawk, and sunned themselves in the basin below cohoes falls. the wild animals of kay-ad-ros-se-ra were attracted in immense numbers by the saline properties of the mineral springs that bubbled up in its deepest shades, all unknown save to them and its indian owners. in this "paradise of sportsmen" the mohawks and their nearer sister tribes of the iroquois, the oneidas and onondagas, and sometimes the further off cayugas and senecas, every summer built their hunting lodges around its springs, and on the banks of its lakes and rivers. it will be seen that ancient wild kay-ad-ros-se-ra was as famous in the old time to the red man as modern saratoga is to-day to the white man. the first grant made by the mohawks of any part of kay-ad-ros-se-ra bears date the 26th of august, 1702. in this deed the indians sold to david schuyler and robert livingston, jr., a tract of land lying on the west bank of the hudson, above the saratoga patent, running up as far as the great carrying place, (fort edward) "and westward into the woods as far as their property belongs." in the spring following, samson shelton broughton, attorney general of the province, obtained a license from the governor in behalf of himself and company to purchase from the indians a tract of land known by the indian name of 286 northern new york. kay-ad-ros-se-ra. this license is dated april 22, 1703. in pursuance of this license, a purchase was effected of kayad-ros-se-ra, and an indian deed given the 6th of october, 1704, signed by the sachems of the tribe. at length a release was obtained from david schuyler and robert livingston, jr., of their title acquired by the deed of the 26th of august, 1702, and on the 2d day of november, 1708, a patent was granted by queen anne to "her loving subjects nanning hermance, johannes beekman, rip van dam," and ten others, of the whole of kay-ad-ros-se-ra. yet it was not until the year 1768 that the deed given by the indian sachems in 1704 was confirmed by the tribe, and then only through the powerful influence of sir william johnson. the sachems said they were told by the agents of the purchasers that the description in the deed covered only "land enough for a good sized farm," and that they never intended by it to convey to the whites " for a few baubles," their great hunting ground containing half a million acres. after more than sixty years of fruitless quarrels over this old title, the indians had grown weak and the whites had grown strong, and it is the old story, the weaker gave up to the stronger. on the 24th day of march, 1772, three years before the war of the revolution broke out, and about the time the first white settler was building his rude cabin at the springs, these two patents of kay-ad-ros-se-ra and saratoga were united by the colonial government into a district. the name kay-ad-ros-se-ra was dropped, and the district was named after the smaller patent, and called the district of saratoga. the old hunting ground, the beautiful lake and saratoga and the northern war-path. 287 the famous springs of kay-ad-ros-se-ra have, since the act of the 24th of march, 1772, all borne the name of saratoga. since then the grand old indian name kay-ad-ros-se-ra, so far as territory is concerned, has fallen out of human speech, and is only heard in connection with the principal stream and mountain chain of the great hunting ground so famous in indian story. iii. the northern warpath. the territory which now comprises the county of saratoga lay in the angle between two great pathways, one from the north, the other from the west. and lying as it did in the angle of the war trails, it became the battle ground of nations. whoever possessed it was master of the situation and held the door of the country. for the hundred and seventy years in which its authentic history runs back, before the close of the war of the revolution, there was carcely an hour of peaceful rest unbroken by the fear of the savage invader in this battle ground of saratoga, in this angle between the great northern and western war trails. scar in previous chapters the reader has already been apprised of some of the main incidents in this long warfare down to the return of the marquis de tracy's expedition to the mohawk country in the war of 1666, after which there was a comparative peace for twenty years. again in 1686, after these twenty years of peace were ended, the french and indian war broke out afresh, and lasted through nine weary years to the peace of 1695. during this period of nine years, numerous war parties passed through kay-ad-ros-se-ra and saratoga on their way to and 288 northern new york. from the hostile settlements on the st. lawrence and the mohawk and lower hudson. in the month of august, 1689, nine hundred mohawk warriors passed over the old trail that led across the greenfield hills, which twenty-three years before had been trodden by the victorious tracy with his veteran soldiers and train of french noblemen. during the twenty years' peace these wild savages had been nursing their wrath, and now their hour of sweet revenge had come. launching their bark canoes, they swept down though lakes george and champlain, and landing on the island of montreal, like so many ravening wolves, carried the war to the very gates of the french forts on the st. lawrence. six months later, in february, 1690, lieut. le moyne de st. helene passed up lake champlain and down the hudson on snow shoes, and traversing lake saratoga upon the ice, and winding up the kay-ad-ros-se-ra river and the mourningkill to the little hamlet, now below ballston, called east line, passed over ballston lake, and in the dead of the night of the 9th of february, swept down upon the sleeping inhabitants of schenectady with indiscriminate slaughter. on his hasty return, lieut. de st. helene was followed by major peter schuyler, at the head of a company of two hundred whites and a band of mohawks, as far as lake champlain, and fifteen french prisoners were taken and brought back to the mohawk castles. and now we come during these nine years of war to the first of those military expeditions that were undertaken upon a large scale by the english colonies for the conquest of canada, which passing through old saratoga, made it a place of note in the annals of savage warfare. saratoga and the northern war-path. 289 on the 1st day of may, 1690, the first american congress met at the old fort in the city of new york. in pursuance of its recommendations, a joint expedition of the colonies was planned and fitted out for the conquest of canada, the command of which was given to general fitz john winthrop of connecticut. on the 14th day of july, 1690, gen. winthrop, with the new england troops, left hartford, and passing through a virgin wilderness, whose interminable shades were broken only by the little settlements at and near albany, arrived at stillwater on the first of august. 66 stillwater was so named," says the old chronicler, "because the water passes so slowly as not to be discovered, while above and below it is disturbed, and rageth as in a great sea occasioned by rocks and falls therein." on the day after, he arrived at sar-agh-to-ga, near where schuylerville now is. here at saratoga he found a blockhouse and some dutch troops under major peter schuyler, mayor of albany, who had preceded him with the new york forces. from this date, the second day of august, 1690, six years after the old patent was granted, and almost two centuries ago, saratoga takes its place among the long list of our country's geographical names. major schuyler had already pushed up to the second carrying place, now fort miller falls, where he had stopped to build some bark canoes. the next and third carrying place above was from the hudson at fort edward to what is now fort ann, on wood creek. this portage ran through a magnificent grove of pines for twelve miles, and was known in old forest annals as the "great carrying place." 37 290 northern new york. this expedition proved an utter failure. before its return, however, capt. john schuyler, brother of the mayor, and grandfather of gen. philip schuyler of revolutionary memory, pressed on down lake champlain, and made his famous raid upon the canadian settlement of la prairie. in the next year, 1691, major peter schuyler, at the head of two hundred and sixty whites and eighty mohawks from their camp at saratoga lake, following in the track of his brother, made another descent upon the doomed settlement of la prairie. to retaliate these injuries, comt de frontenac, governor general of canada resolved to strike a blow upon the mohawk settlements. accordingly, in january, 1693, he sent a force of six hundred and twenty-five men, including indians, who passed down over the old trail that led from lake george to the bend of the hudson above glens falls, and from thence through wilton, greenfield, and along the brow of the kay-ad-ros-se-ra range to the mohawk castles. on its return march over this old trail, this war party was followed by major peter schuyler and his forces, who overtook it in the town of greenfield or wilton, saratoga county. near the old indian pass over the palmerstown range on the border of wilton, almost if not quite in sight of saratoga springs, in the month of february, 1693, a battle was fought, or rather a series of engagements took place, in which the french loss amounted in all to thirty-three killed and twenty-six wounded. at the conclusion of the fight the french retreated towards the hudson. it had been thawing, and the ice was floating in the river. when the french arrived on its banks a large cake of ice had lodged saratoga and the northern war-path. 291 in the bend of the stream. the french crossed over on this cake of ice in safety, but before their pursuers came up it had floated away, leaving them no means of crossing, and the chase was relinquished. this closes the record of the nine years' war from 1686 to 1695. from the year 1695 until the year 1709, a period of fourteen years, peace again spread her white wings over the grim old wilderness along the great northern war-path. iv. the war of 1709. in the year 1709 the war known as queen anne's war broke out between england and france, and the warfare of the wilderness again began its savage butchery. in this war we come to the founding and construction of the military works in old saratoga and along the great northern valley, which lasted unto comparatively modern times, and with whose names we have been so long familiar. in 1709 a joint expedition like that led by gen. winthrop in 1690, was planned for the conquest of canada. in that year, major richard ingoldesby, who had come over in command of the queen's four companies of regulars, was lieutenant-governor of the province. peter philip schuyler was now a colonel in the service, as well as one of the governor's council and a commissioner of indian affairs, while his brother john had been advanced to the rank of lieutenant-colonel. the command of the expedition was given by ingoldesby in may to gen. nicholson. about the 1st of june, col. schuyler, in command of the vanguard of the english forces, comprising three hundred 292 northern new york. men, including pioneers and artificers, moved out of albany upon his northward march. at stillwater, colonel schuyler halted his command, and built a small stockaded fort for provisions, which he named fort ingoldesby, in honor of the lieutenant-governor. halting again at old saratoga, where he had built a block house in 1690, and which in the meantime had become a little hamlet in the wilderness, col. schuyler built another stockaded fort. this fort was built on the east side of the hudson, below the mouth of the battenkill, on the hill nearly opposite the mouth of fish creek, and was known as fort saratoga. proceeding up the river, col. schuyler built another fort at the second carrying place of fort miller falls. from fort miller falls col. schuyler built a military road along the east bank of the hudson up to the great carrying place. at the beginning of the great carrying place on the hudson, now fort edward, col. schuyler built another stockaded fort, which he named fort nicholson, in honor of the commanding general. proceeding across the great carrying place to the forks of wood creek, which runs into lake champlain, he built another stockaded fort, which was first called fort schuyler, but which two years later was named fort anne, in honor of the queen. i need not follow the fortunes of this expedition to its failure and return. two years later, in the year 1711, another expedition in command of gen. nicholson left albany on the 24th of august, and proceeding up the northern valley of the hudson, crossed the great carrying place to fort anne. while there, gen. nicholson learned that her majesty's fleet in the st. lawrence, which was to co-operate with him in the consaratoga and the northern war-path. 293 quest of quebec, had been shattered by storms with the loss of a thousand men. so he returned to albany with all his forces, and the third expedition fitted out for the conquest of canada proved, like the other two, a most mortifying failure. in 1713, peace was again declared between england and france, which lasted until 1744, and for a period of thirty-one years there was peace along the great northern war-path. during this period of thirty-one years of quiet in the old wilderness, the french were not idle on lake champlain, neither were the schuylers idle at their little settlement of old saratoga. in 1731, during this period of profound peace, the french built fort st. frederick, at crown point, on lake champlain. this fort soon became a menace and a terror to the people of the valley of the upper hudson. there grew up under its protecting guns a little french village of near fifteen hundred inhabitants, and the valley of lake champlain became as much a province of new france as was the valley of the st. lawrence. during this period of thirty-one years of peace, the landing place of old saratoga grew into a little forest hamlet containing some thirty houses and over one hundred inhabitants. v. the war of 1744. the war of 1744 found saratoga, with its little tumbledown stockaded fort on the hill near by, the extreme northern outpost of the english settlements. there was but a single step, as it were, between it and the frowning walls of the french fort st. frederick at crown point, from which 294 northern new york. a deadly blow might be expected at any moment. in november, 1745, the blow came. at midnight on the 15th of november the sleeping inhabitants of old saratoga were awakened by the terrible war-whoop. the place was attacked by a force of three hundred french and indians under the command of m. marin. the fort and houses of the village were all burned to the ground. of the inhabitants, thirty were killed and scalped, and sixty made prisoners. the celebrated french missionary, father picquet, the founder, in 1749, of the mission and settlement la presentation, at the mouth of the oswegatchie, now ogdensburgh, on the st. lawrence, accompanied this expedition. during this short war no less than twenty-seven marauding parties swept down from fort st. frederick at crown point upon the settlers of what are now saratoga and rensselaer counties. it was the midnight war-whoop, the uplifted tomahawk, the scalping knife, the burning dwelling, the ruined home, that made the whole country a scene of desolation and blood. in the spring of 1746 the english rebuilt and enlarged the fort at saratoga, and named it fort clinton, in honor of the governor of the province. during the night of the 17th of june, 1747, fort clinton at old saratoga, was approached by a band of french and indians under the command of la corne st. luc. while the main body of the french were lying in concealment near by, la corne sent forward six scouts with orders to lie in ambush within eight paces of the fort, to fire upon those who should first come out of the fort the next morning, and if attacked, to retreat pretending to be wounded. at daybreak in the morning saratoga and the northern war-path. 295 two englishmen came out of the fort, and they were at once fired upon by the french scouts, who thereupon fled. soon after the firing began, a hundred and twenty englishmen came out of the fort, headed by their officers, and started in hot pursuit of the french scouts. the english soon fell in with the main body of the french, who, rising from their ambuscade, poured a galling fire into the english ranks. the english at first bravely stood their ground and sharply returned the fire. the guns of the fort also opened upon the french with grape and cannon shot. but the indians soon rushed upon the english with terrible yells, and with tomahawk in hand drove them into the fort, giving them scarcely time to shut the gates behind them. many of the english soldiers, being unable to reach the fort, ran down the hill into the river, and were drowned or killed with the tomahawk. the indians killed and scalped twenty-eight of the english, and took forty-five prisoners, besides those drowned in the river. in the autumn following this disaster, fort clinton of saratoga was dismantled and burnt by the english, and albany once more became the extreme northern outpost of the english colonies, with nothing but her palisaded walls between her and the uplifted tomahawks of the ever-frowning north. in may, 1748, peace was again proclaimed, which lasted for the brief period of seven years, until the beginning of the last french and indian war of 1755, which ended in the conquest of canada. during this short peace of seven years, the settler's axe was again heard upon many a hillside, as he widened his little clearing, and the smoke went curling gracefully up296 northern new york. ward from his lonely cabin in many a valley along the upper hudson. it was in the summer of 1749, during this short peace, that peter kalm,* the swedish botanist, traveled, in the interests of science, through this great northern war-path. he gives, in his account of the journey, a graphic description of the ruins of the old forts at saratoga, at fort nicholson and fort ann, which were then still remaining in the centres of small deserted clearings in the great wilderness through which he passed. he made many discoveries of rare and beautiful plants before unknown to europeans, and in our swamps and lowlands a modest flower, the kalmia glauca, swamp-laurel, blooms in perpetual remembrance of his visit. but there were no mineral springs in the saratoga visited by peter kalm. vi. the war of 1755. we now come to the stirring events of the last french and indian war. this short war lasted only four years, from 1755 to 1759, but during its continuance great armies marched through the old northern war-path, dyeing its streams with blood, and filling its wild meadows with thousands of nameless new-made graves, and at its close the sceptre of the french kings over the valleys of lake champlain and the st. lawrence dropped from their hands forin this war the tide of battle moved northward, and settling around lakes george and champlain, passed beyond the limits of saratoga. ever. * vide kalm's travels, in pinkerton, vol. 13. saratoga and the northern war-path. 297 space will hardly permit me to give more than the names of the vast armies-vast armies for those times and for those northern wilds-whose movements then made that fair scene the classic ground of our country's history. the first expedition was that under sir william johnson, who in the summer of 1755 took his position at the head of lake st. sacrament, changed its name to lake george,* in honor of the english king and in token of his empire over it, and successfully defended it in the three bloody battles of the 8th of september with the french and indians, in command of the veteran french general, the baron dieskau. it was while on his way to lake george, in the month of august, 1755, that gen. lyman halted his troops and built a fort in old saratoga, at the mouth of fish creek, now schuylerville, on the hudson, and named it fort hardy, in honor of sir charles hardy, the governor of new york. after the battle of the 8th of september, 1755, sir william johnson built fort william henry, at the head of lake george, naming it in honor of the duke of cumberland. of gen. winslow's fruitless expedition of 1756, during which he built port winslow, at stillwater, in the place of fort ingoldesby, built by col. schuyler in 1709; of the campaign of 1757, in which gen. montcalm invested and destroyed fort william henry, at lake george, whose surrender was followed by the dreadful massacre of a part of its garrison by the indians; of the magnificent army led * doc. his. of new york, vol. i, p. 429: "i am building a fort at this lake, which the french call lake st. sacrament, but i have given it the name of lake george, not only in honor of his majesty, but to ascertain his undoubted dominion here."-sir william johnson to board of trade, september 3d, 1775. 38 298 northern new york. by gen. abercrombie, in 1758, against fort carillon, at ticonderoga, into the jaws of slaughter and defeat, and of the final triumph of the english forces, under gen. amherst, on lake champlain, and under gen. wolfe, at quebec, in 1759, i shall make but this passing mention.* the peace of 1763, between england and france, brought joy to the war worn inhabitants of the great northern valley. the hardy settlers, now that all fear of the northern invader was gone, left the banks of the rivers and the protection of the forts, and began to push their way into the heart of the old wilderness, and with them came dirk schouten, the first white settler among the indian wigwams near the high rock spring, in the summer of 1773. before we briefly trace the history of schouten's little clearing, with its rude cabin, through its slow development into our modern village of saratoga springs, we must glance at some of the important events that occurred during the war of the american revolution, and also notice the important battles of that war, which, taking place on the soil of old saratoga, have shed such lustre on her name. vii. campaign of 1777. in the campaign of 1777, saratoga again became the battle ground of the great northern valley. in the early summer of that year, gen. burgoyne, with the british army under his command, swept down from the north through the old war-path, driving everything before * see silliman's tour, pouchot's memoirs, butler's lake george and lake champlain, history of queensbury, by dr. a. w. holden, and narrative of father roubaud in kip's early jesuit missions. saratoga and the northern war-path. 299 him. on the 30th of june, at crown point, burgoyne uses this striking language in his general orders to his army: "the army embarks to-morrow to approach the enemy. the services required of this particular expedition are critical and conspicuous. during our progress occasions may occur in which nor difficulty, nor labor, nor life, are to be regarded. this army must not retreat." on the 29th of july the british army arrived on the banks of the hudson at fort edward. about the same time the american forces under general schuyler retreated down the hudson, and made a stand on the islands at the mouth of the mohawk, where the rude earthworks then thrown up by them can still be seen by the curious traveler as he rides near them and even over them in the cars of the delaware and hudson canal company's railroad. before the middle of august, burgoyne passed down the east side of the river to the fort miller falls and the mouth of the battenkill, where he remained for over a month, until he crossed the hudson on the 13th and 14th of september, and encamped on the heights of saratoga, on his way to bemis' heights. on the 19th of august, gen. gates superseded gen. schuyler in the command of the northern army, and on the 23d, col. morgan's regiment of riflemen arrived in the american camp from virginia. it has always seemed to me that the removal of general philip schuyler from the command of our northern army, although at the time so loudly called for by the disaffected, and perhaps necessary to appease their clamor, was really an act of injustice to that distinguished son of new york, and that much of the brilliant success of that army in the 300 northern new york. end was due to the prudent plans and wise forethought of gen. schuyler. on the 8th of september, gen. gates marched his army up to stillwater, and a day or two after went two miles further up the river and took up his position at bemis' heights. at bemis' heights the hills crowd down to the river bank, and leave only a narrow defile through which the great northern road runs up and down the valley. at the foot of the hill by the roadside near the bank of the river, stood a little tavern kept by one j. bemis. his farm ran up over the hills back into the woods to the west of his tavern stand, and the hills were called after him bemis' heights. gen. gates took possession of this narrow defile on the river bank, and extending his left wing back from the river over the heights to the westward, threw up intrenchments, and awaited the approach of burgoyne. he did not wait long. on the 13th, burgoyne moved down on the west side of the river to coveville. on the 17th he encamped near sword's house, within four miles of the american army. between him and the american camp, along the hills back from the river, there were several deep ravines to cross, and burgoyne spent the 18th in making roads and bridges over these ravines. at ten o'clock on the morning of the 19th of september, burgoyne broke up the camp at sword's house, and dividing his army into three divisions, took up his march to attack the americans in their intrenchments. general burgoyne, in command of the center column, followed the road which he had cut the day before through the woods and across the saratoga and the northern war-path. 301 ravines about a mile back from the river. gen. fraser, in command of the right wing, took a circuitous route about a mile further back from the river than burgoyne, while gen. phillips and gen. riedesel, with the left wing proceeded down the road along the river's bank. the country was then all covered with its primeval forests, in which was here and there a small clearing with its lonely, deserted log cabin. on the road which burgoyne took with his center column, there was one of those little clearings, which lay about a mile north of the american camp, and a mile back from the river. this clearing contained some twelve acres of ground. it was about the size of two city blocks, and was called freeman's farm. in that little clearing in the old wilderness, on that 19th day of september, 1777, was fought one of the few decisive battles of the world.* i will not weary the reader with its details. the battle began about noon, at the log house, where a company of morgan's riflemen was stationed when the pickets of the center division of the british army reached the clearing. the british pickets, who were commanded by major forbes, were soon driven back to the main column, and the pursuing american riflemen routed in turn. reinforcements soon coming up from the american camp, henry hallam, author of the celebrated work, the "view of the state of europe during the middle ages," defines decisive battles as "those battles of which a contrary event would have essentially varied the drama of the world in all its subsequent scenes." e. s. creasy, professor of history in the university col. of london, has selected fifteen battles, beginning with marathon, which took place 2366 years ago, and ending with waterloo, in 1815, as the only ones coming within this definition. among the fifteen he names saratoga.-vide gen. bullard's historical address at schuylerville, july 4th, 1876. 302 northern new york. and the main central british column under burgoyne advancing into the clearing, at three o'clock the battle became general. like the waves of a stormy sea the combatants drove each other back and forth across that little clearing all the afternoon for four weary, bloody hours, until night closed the scene. when the shadows of that night passed over that bloody field, the cause of american independence was won! at the conclusion of the fight, the americans returned to their camp on the heights. they had scarcely a single round of ammunition left in their magazines. had the british renewed the attack on the morrow, they would have achieved a bloodless victory, but they were too much crippled by the fight to renew it again so soon. upon how slender a thread does the fate of nations sometimes hang. gen. gates alone knew the terrible secret, and a large supply coming up from albany the next day, the danger was averted.* the british encamped on the field of battle, and occupying the plain to the east of it, down to the river's bank at what is now called wilbur's basin, threw up a line of intrenchments from the river to the freeman farm, corresponding with the american works at bemis' heights. the two armies remained in this position for eighteen days. again on the afternoon of the 7th of october, the british marched out of their encampment to make another attempt to turn the left wing of the american army. the americans marched out of their intrenchments to meet them, bearing down upon them with such fury that in less than *neilson's burgoyne's campaign. saratoga and the northern war-path. 303 · an hour the british were driven into their camp with great slaughter. then around the british camp at freeman's farm the battle raged furiously till nightfall, the americans carrying the british out-posts at the point of the bayonet as the darkness set in. once more on freeman's farm, and on the hill to the west of it where the first attack was that day made, the dead bodies of the slain lay upon the ground "as thick as sheaves in a fruitful harvest field." on the morning of the eighth the british were all huddled down around the smith house at wilbur's basin, and the victorious americans had advanced to the plain just below them. at sunset on the evening of the eighth the british buried gen. fraser in the great redoubt on the bluff overlooking the river near the smith house, and soon after took up their midnight retreat toward the plains and heights of saratoga. then on the morning of the 17th of october, amid the crimson and golden glories of our american autumn forests, the like of which they had never seen before, the british marched out of their perilous camp "to the verge of the river where the old fort stood "-fort hardy-and laid down their arms as prisoners of war to the victorious gates.* the americans were now masters of the great northern valley. these old hunting grounds in the angle of the war *the duc de la rochefoucauld-liancourt, who in the year 1795, while on his tour through this country, visited this old battle-ground, and had all the points of interest pointed out to him by eye-witnesses of the scenes, says that the spot where burgoyne surrendered his sword to gates was in one corner of the grounds in front of the schuyler mansion. 304 northern new york. trails were theirs. the country itself was from that day theirs. it is proposed to build a monument on the heights of old saratoga in honor of the surrender. it is well to do something worthy of a grateful people to keep in remembrance so important an event in their history as the surrender of burgoyne and his army. if the ground on which the final surrender of the already beaten and conquered british army took place is worthy of such honor, should there not also be something done to mark the spot where the terrible wrench of the battle came and was so bravely met in the field of that little clearing in the old wilderness, on the 19th of september, and the 7th of october, 1777? it has been objected that what was then called freeman's farm, where those battles occurred, is an out of the way place, where few would ever see a monument. every man, woman and child in our country should make a pilgrimage to that old battle ground, and a monument be built upon it so high that all the people in the land can see the spot where their country was saved. viii. the small beginnings of modern saratoga. the village of saratoga springs lies on the south-eastern corner of the great highland region of the wilderness, and on the very edge of the system of old laurentian rocks. along in the valley which runs through the village, the hard laurentian rocks terminate, and the softer rocks of the trenton limestone and hudson river slates begin. in the geologic fault or fissure which here occurs between these ' two systems of rocks, the mineral springs burst forth. the saratoga and the northern war-path. 305 most easterly of the five great mountain chains of the wilderness, the palmertown range, ends in the northern part of the village, while the next chain westerly, the kay-ad-rosse-ra range, fills up its western horizon. thus this village of saratoga springs sits at the foot of the adirondacks, and while it sips its mineral waters, it breathes the pure invigorating air of the mountains. the first white man who visited saratoga springs, says sir william johnson, was a sick french officer whom an indian chief brought from fort carillon for the benefit of the waters. the next, it is believed, was sir william johnson himself, who came here in august, 1767. his faithful mohawks brought him through the woods from schenectady by the way of ballston lake to the high rock spring. the high rock of saratoga, with its wonderful spring, is too familiar to need a description here. it was doubtless formed by slow accretions from the mineral substances deposited by the flowing waters, until it assumed its present shape, with the water flowing over the top and down the sides. for a long time, however, before sir william's visit, *“an indian, it is said (of those no doubt whom french intrigues had from this country drawn) in earlier wars a sick french captain led to these rare fountains to regain his health." -mineral waters, by reuben sears, 1819 sir william johnson made this observation when he sold this tract of land to private individuals: "in tracing the history of these mineral springs, i could only learn that an indian chief discovered them to a sick french officer in the early part of their wars with the english, but whether they were these very springs in this basin, or those at ten miles distance properly called saratoga springs, i know not.”—vide morse's gazetteer, article ballston. 39 306 northern new york. it had ceased to flow over the top, and had found some other outlet. according to an old indian legend, while it was still flowing over the top, some squaws once bathed in it their sooty faces against the will of the water's spirit, and the offended waters, shrinking from their polluting touch, sank down in shame into the bosom of the rock, and never afterward were seen to flow over its surface.* in the partition and division of the patent of kay-ad-rosse-ra among its owners, which occurred on the 22d of february, 1771, lot 12 of the 16th allotment fell to the share of rip van dam. this lot 12 was about three miles long and one and three-fourths wide. it contained over three thousand acres, and in it were all the mineral springs of saratoga. rip van dam having died many years before the division, his executors sold lot 12 to jacob walton, anthony van dam and isaac low. after the war the state took possession of low's interest in lot 12, and sold it to henry livingston and his brothers. in 1793 walton purchased anthony van dam's interest, and from that time the original title to most of the lands in the village can be traced to the waltons and the livingstons. in the year 1773, dirk schouten, the pioneer settler of saratoga springs, came up to chop his small clearing, to plant a few potatoes, and build his humble cabin on the bluff a little west of the high rock spring. schouten's route to the springs was from the hudson to the east side of saratoga lake, thence across the lake in a bark canoe to the mouth of the kay-ad-ros-se-ra river, thence up the river two miles to an indian trail that led to the springs. * chancellor walworth's speech at saratoga springs, august 23, 1866. saratoga and the northern war-path. 307 the way to the spring's is much plainer now-a-days than it was a hundred years ago. before schouten's cabin was completed, he quarrelled with the indians, and they drove him away. in the next summer, that of 1774, john arnold, from rhode island, with his young family, tried his fortunes at saratoga springs. he took possession of schouten's deserted cabin, and, making some improvements, opened a kind of rude tavern for the visitors of the springs. this pioneer hotel had but a room or two on the ground floor, with a chamber overhead. in sight of it were sixteen indian cabins, filled with their savage occupants. in the rocky ledges near by were numerous dens of rattlesnakes. there were so many of these reptiles then at the springs, that the early visitors often had to hang their beds from the limbs of the trees to avoid them. nightly, the wolves howled and the panthers screamed; daily, the black bears picked berries in the little clearings, and the wild deer and the moose drank from the brook, while the eagles yearly built their nests on the tops of the towering pines. such was the style, and such were the surroundings of the first rough hotels of the wilderness springs of a hundred years ago, that led the way in the long line of magnificent structures that have since adorned the modern village. arnold kept his little forest tavern for two summers, and was succeeded by samuel norton, who was driven away by the war of the revolution, and for six years the springs were again left to their savage occupants. in the spring of 1783, a son of norton returned to his father's deserted cabin, and remained until 1787, when alexander bryant became the owner of the schouten house. 308 northern new york. bryant built a blacksmith shop, and another log tavern near by. it was in 1783, also, that gen. schuyler cut a road from old saratoga, now schuylerville, on the hudson, into the springs, and in the following year built his rude frame summer-house near the high rock spring. in 1789 gideon putnam and dr. clement blakesley settled at the springs. dr. blakesley occupied the schouten house, and putnam located on his farm a mile west of the village. it is to the enterprise of gideon putnam that the village is indebted for much of its early prosperity. in 1790, benjamin risley, from vermont, bought the schouten house, and opened a hotel which was for ten years the rival of bryant's house on the opposite corner of the little clearing near the high rock spring. it was in the month of august, 1792, that governor john taylor gilman, of new hampshire, who had been a delegate in the continental congress, was staying at the schouten house. upon a sunny afternoon he took his gun and wandered up the creek into the deep woods in search of game. coming to a little waterfall he found at the foot of it a small jet of sparkling water issuing from the rocky bank of the stream. stooping down to taste it, he found the little sparkling jet, no bigger than a pipe-stem, to be mineral water. hastening back to his boarding place, gilman made known his discovery.* every person in the settlement was soon at the foot of *in may, 1875, i published an article entitled "saratoga" in the troy times. in the summer following, the messrs. taintor, of new york, published their guide book entitled "saratoga, and how to see it." in their guide book the messrs. taintor inserted large portions of my article on saratoga without giving me credit for it. some of the matter so taken i have reclaimed. saratoga and the northern war-path. 309 that cascade in the deep, wild woods, wondering at the curious spectacle. you could almost count them all upon your fingers' ends. there were risley and his family of the schouten house. there was alexander bryant, the patriot scout of the revolution, who kept the only rival tavern. there were gen. schuyler, and dr. blakesley, and gideon putnam, and gilman's brother, and a few more guests who were at the little log tavern were all doubtless there. there too, were indian joe from his clearing on the hill, near where the clarendon now is, and some of his swarthy brethren from their huts near the high rock, wondering at the strange commotion among the pale faces at the little waterfall in the brook. all, gathering around it, each in turn tasted the water of the newly-found fountain, and pronouncing it of superior quality, they named it then and there the congress spring, out of compliment to its distinguished discoverer, and in honor of the old continental congress of which he had been a member. for many years afterward the water was caught in glasses as it ran from the rock. in attempting to increase its capacity by removing a part of the rock the spring was lost. but bubbles of gas were noticed in the bed of the creek near by, and turning the creek one side, excavations were made in its bed. the spring was found and tubed, and has long since been world renowned. in the year 1794 john and ziba taylor opened a small store in one of the rooms of the schouten house, and became the pioneer merchants of the springs. in the year 1800 a new era dawned upon saratoga springs. in that year gideon putnam bought of henry walton an acre of land on what is now the site of the grand union, 310 northern new york. then in the depths of the old forest, and clearing off the heavy growth of pines, built the first of the large, commodious and elegant hotels for which saratoga has since become so famous. of the large hotels the congress hall was first opened in 1815, and the united states in 1824. such were the small beginnings of the first quarter of a century of this great watering place up to a period within the memory of living men. during these, the centennial years of the first rude openings of the springs in the northern wilds, this whole village is crowded with hotels, the largest, grandest, best appointed in the world, within a stone's throw of each other, and glittering with more than oriental splendor. when all lighted up of a summer evening, the streets filled with gay promenaders—the wit, the wealth, the fashion and the beauty of half the world all there, the scene presented is like that of some fairy land. surely has some enchanter touched with magic wand those rude hotels of a century ago, and transformed them into palaces like those famous in eastern story. in reviewing these historical memories we have seen how the old indian trails that surrounded northern new york; how the valleys of the st. lawrence, the hudson, and the mohawk, how the shores of lake ontario, lakes george and champlain, as well as the old hunting-grounds of kayad-ros-se-ra and sa-ragh-to-ga were for a hundred and seventy years the scenes of sanguinary warfare. to-day we look around us upon a brighter scene, and see how ninety years of smiling peace have made the fair borders of the grim old wilderness to "bud and blossom even as doth the rose." we have seen how a hundred years ago no one saratoga and the northern war-path. 311 came to these old springs of the forest kay-ad-ros-se-ra, now modern saratoga, but serpents and wild beasts, and still wilder men. to-day we see how many steps from all the nations of the earth, in the pomp of modern travel, still following the routes of the old war-paths,* are turned toward this great watering place—this mecca of our country's highest civilization; we see how all eyes are gazing at its sparkling, bubbling fountains, and how all lips are tasting of their healing waters.t * in the first chapter i give the names of ten populous cities that now lie along the great modern thoroughfares which have taken the places of the old indian and colonial war-paths that surrounded northern new york. below i give their indian names, with the signification of each: albany,.......ska-neh-ta-de-beyond the open pines. troy,. pa-an-pa-ak—the field of standing corn. cohoes,... .......ga-ha-oose-the shipwrecked canoe. schenectady,..o-no-a-la-gone-na-pained in the head. nun-da-da-sis-going around the hill. utica, rome,.. ........ .da-ya-hoo-wa-quat-place for carrying boats. .na-ta-dunk-pine tree broken with top hanging down. .swa-geh-flowing out. watertown,...ka-hu-ah-go—big river. .... syracuse,.. oswego,... ogdensburgh,. o-swa-gatch-flowing around the hills. + see saratoga and kay-ad-ros-se-ra, an historical address, delivered by the author at saratoga springs, july 4th, 1876. abenaquis, the... abraham, plains of.. adirondack, origin of name.. mountain chain,. 66 44 90 park, village, agariata, the indian... agouhanna, the indian chief. 29 albany, first settlement of... 276 algonquin family,..... altitude of mountains,. 66 44 forest resorts, . . andastes, the. apalachen, district of. index. wilderness. ....... argyle, arctic plants found in the arnold, otis. 44 john.. au sable river,.. "6 chasm avacal, district of. beaver lake, beaver meadows,. beaver river,. .... belts of the wilderness, bemis' heights,. black river,.. blue mountain. 17 136 40 53 43 141 huhungelua .... 16 ii 271 54 បន្ត ធំ 3ទ្ឋ ខេត្ត 8គខ្លី ៖ 307 97 97 187 100 43 300 64 couture, guillame.. 99 55 bonaparte, joseph bonaparte, lake. boquet mountain range, boquet river, 52 64 brown, john, of providence,. 171 john, of ossawottamie 137 brown's tract, brunel, mark isambart bryant, alexander. burden iron works,.. burgoyne's campaign,.. 171 159 307 231 289 campbell, laughlin,.. canada, origin of name carignan-salieres, regiment of.. 52 88 carleton island,. 256 carthage, village of, founded. 163 cartier, jacques. castorland,. 27 152 280 council of de la barre coureur de bois, the... .... 64 castles of the mohawks, champlain, samuel de.. madame de charlotte county, chase's lake chassinis, pierre chateaubriand, viscount de.. 145 chateaugay river... 98 153 charlevoix, father, letter of.. 113 chaumont, le ray de.. 204 chazy river, naming of...... 88 coronelli, his map couchsachrage, the hunting grounds of.. 103 271 ii ... .. 30 35 263 82 39 106 178 67 104, 166 dauversiere, j. le r. de la... 252 deer river.. de la barre,.. dellius, godfrey.. desjardines, simon. de stael, madame. diana.... diamond rock, legend of. donnacona.. drid, the indian.. dunklee, joseph. dutch settlers of the mohawk valley east canada creek.. 107 264 158 99 203 206 28 179 223 121 ioi 314 index. eckles, lady betsey.. elba, north. eries, the..... families of nations. famine bay 46 river la. fenton, orrin... five nations, the... 44 64 14 04 46 44 44 fort anne.. 44 46 44 brewerton, bull.... carleton.. carillon. clinton. 44 edward. 44 frederick 44 frontenac 46 hardy.... herkimer.. 44 44 64 44 44 46 44 44 44 44 ་་ 44 44 64 44 64 44 -44 lief of.... hunter.... ingoldsby,. indian names of festivals of... social life of... 24 religious belydius. miller.. nassau. nicholson. ontario. orange. plain.. saratoga.. schuyler. st. anne st. frederick. 44 stanwix.. 44 williams william henry foster, nathaniel. gahenwaga. gems found in the old wilderness.. gilliland, william. gilman, john taylor goupil, kene... grangula, speech of the grasse river... 130 135 16 16 113 102 190 14 19 22 23 292 281 281 257 298 294 265 279 258 297 280 279 292 266 292 276 292 281 276 280 292 281 89 293 280 280 297 177 103 85 129 308 67 109 98 henderson, david.... 143 herreshoff, charles frederick, 173 hiawatha.. high rock spring. hochelaga. hodenosauneega. horicons, the. hudson, henry. hudson river.. hurons, the... indian tribes.. 44 44 44 independence river. irocoisia... jogues, isaac johnson, sir wm. 64 trails... pass, the.. river. • 64 44 44 iron works, upper. ii 141 16 iroquois, family of. houses of. 18 original birth place 105 sachemships... islay, isle of... .. 21 271 lake avalanche.. 44 44 " kalm, peter. 296 kayadrossera, ancient indian 284 mountain chain 49 patent of..... 285 "" chazy. colden. paradox. saranac.. .21, 105 305 .ii, 28 44 " 64 la famine, river of.... lakes of the wilderness lake belt,.. mountain belt,. lake champlain, discovery of george, discovery of.. st. sacrament.. lansingburgh, village of... la presentation,. laurentian mountain system, 66 la motte, isle of.. le moyne, simon. 44 ២៨៦ ៩ ន ម ៩នម៖ទី 14 .... 36 lesser wilderness,.. lines of property, indian... lowville, village of.. luzerne mountains. lydius, john henry. macomb's purchase..... పొట్టి 99 100 67 117 ឧ 84 82 84 83 82 75 206 260 45 89 251 .10, 103 15 221 102 80 82 83 32 66 48 266 196 index. 315 maintenon, madame de .... maisoneuve, sieur de... marie de l'incarnation,. martyrs, mission of the mccrea, jeanie.. mcintyre, archibald. molly brandt.... mohawk river.. mohawk, castles of the.. mohicans, the... montagnais, the.. montreal, birth-night of moose river. morris, gouverneur... moscosa, district of.. mosses, sphagnous. moss lake.. mount dix. 44 66 44 44 44 44 44 46 64 marcy. mcintyre. 44 lyon pharoah. 46 senongenon. seward. skylight. whiteface. mountains of the wilderness, 45 mountain passes... 58 46 meadows. 62 nachtenak.... narragansets, the. neutral nation,.. new france,. nipissings, the. north elba.... norumbega.. number four.. .... chains.. peaks.. 50 table of heights,.. 57 murray, lady amelia………. 175 o'brien, lady susan. ogdensburgh.. o'kane, james. olier, jean j. onnontio.. opalescent river. oriskany. oswego... palatines, palmertown mountains.. 51 253 91 78 267 136 119 ioi 280 16 .17,32 252 99 163 ii 63 54 52 53 53 55 49 48 hfw juniou . 47 37 17 16 10 17 135 .ii, 31 187 120 260 192 252 .76, 109 84 125, 280 275 121 48 people of the long house. pharoux, pierre.... picquet, francois. piskaret, the indian.. putnam, gideon.... .... quebec...... raquette river..... recamier, madame.. rivers of the wilderness,. 44 17 ៖ ៖ ៖ នវីឌ ៖ នឹម និង tario.... saranac river. saratoga, indian. saratoga springs, early history of. 44 scarron mountain. madame. schaghticoke indians schenectady.. schouten, dirk, first settler at saratoga springs.. schroon-see scarron. 159 .. 28 ....... 261 309 falling into lake champlain.... rivers falling into the hudson 95 44 44 44 64 st.law• rence... rivers falling into the black river,.... 99 rivers falling into the mohawk 101 in the lesser wilderness,..... 44 rogers, capt. robt. 150 137 10 sabelle, the indian saguenai, district of. saint-michel, louis f. de. .. 167 salmon river, of the north.. of lake on98 44 104 136 102 97 282 304 49 53 94 277 306 288 299 128 166 268 268 schuyler, peter.. philip. seigneuries, french. sistersfield.. skene, philip.. skenesborough. smith, david.. smith's lake.. stadacone.... st. helene, lieut. de st. attacks schenectady in 1690 288 st. lawrence of the olden time.. st. malo.... 184 183 28 250 .31, 145 50 ~6 or 3 2044 036 968 287 tiemp 141 image evaluation test target (mt-3) // /y a^ 1.0 m 12.5 i^ 1^ 12.2 ba '^ i.i us lao 11.25 6" 2.0 ijil 1.4 11 1.6 m //, ^ % s 7 "4'v'^ /a '/ photographic sderces corporation 23 west main street webster, n.y. 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' publisher, new • i^k' 1 .r the hermit of the cliffs by mrs. may agnes fleming. chapter i. the two fkibnds. "and i*6j hanie, hatne, hanie, 1 fain wad be— jbiame, hanie, hiime, „ in my ain countrie." ".•-'_.". —allen cunningham. •rmorning on the oceani gradually k>/ie the sun in the red east, sailing slow ly arnd majestically toward the meridian —a burning jewel of fire set in the deep-, blue sky. light, fleecy clouds dotted the azure firniament here ahd there, looking as pure and as stainless as snowillkes or the white wings of angels. the balmy «iputh breezie scarcely rippled the surface of the deep, or filled the canvas of the. good ship mermaid, as she glided gracefully onward, bound for the bright shores of amiferica. the day was intensely hot. the crew fay in groups, idly, about the deck. the captain— a stately-looking man or forty or thereabouts— paced up and down the quarter-deck— now letting his eyes wan der over his men, or giving them some order; now looking aloft with a sailor's pride in his handsome craft; and now raising his glass tp sweep the horizon, on which no living thing was to be seen save themselves. ; i;*eanihg over the tafcrail, stood two young men. the elder appeared to be dbout twenty-five" years of ^e— tall and finely proportioned, with an eye like an eagle and liair that "to_ shame might bring. the plumage bt the raven's wing he stopd leaning over the side, his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the spray flash ing in the sunlight as the ship cut her way through the rippling waves. his hat was off, and the cool breeze lifted lightly tjie jetty locks off his high, white brow. his companion was a youth some three or faui'' 'years 'his junior, with a frank, haridsotfte face, and laughing hazel eyes. hid look of careless ease was very dil ereprit from the iproud reserve of his cqtnp&nioii, bilt some secret bond of/ sj^mpath]; tioundi ttio^e two together. . v?* j "well, fred," said the younger of the two, continuing their conversation, "since, as you say, you neither have a lady-love in america nor expect a leg acy there, t confess it puzzles me to know what inducement could have been strong enough to make you quit paris." "very easily told, my dear fellow; i have started for america at the exprews command of my worthy fatiier." "whew! what a dutiful son you are, fred. and, pray, what has brought sir william to that rebellious land?" "to assist in subduing the rebellious yankees, of course!" replied the young man, with a slight sneer on his well-cut hp ' "and he wishes his son and heir to aid him in that laudable design, instead of spending his time making love in paris?" "yes; he has obtained for me the |x)st of lieutenant in the british army, he says." "which you will, of course, accept?" said the younger of the two, with a pe culiar smiie, as he lit. a cigar, and blew a whiff of smoke from the corner of his •mouth. "which i most decidedly will not!" i'epiied fred, coolly. "and why, may 1 ask?" "why? what a question for you to ask, gus! am i not an american by birth— an american in heart and soul — a thousand times prouder of. the glori ous land in which i was born than • of iny father's broad acres in merrle eng land? why? i tell you, gus elliott, 1 will join the ranks of my countrymen, and fight and conquer or die with them in defense of their cause!" he stood erect, while his eagle eye flashed, and his dark oheek glowed with the enthusiasm with which he spoke. -. gus stood regarding him with some thing like admiration struggling through his usual look of careless indifference. "weii,'« he said, after a pause, "i cail that pretty strong language for the son of such a stanch royalist as sir.w;iltiam stanley. what do you suppose your hon ored father will say when he seea his son turn rebel?" 'doubtless." said fred, quietly, .r the ht: if at it of tijic clu'th. will be in a towering passion, and rather nmazpfl that any one should presume to disobey hlh commands. i have long known it must, sooner «)r later, come to this. when this wai t:rst eommenced bow often has my blood boiled with im potent rage, listening to the insults and sneers of him and his tory friends on the 'revel yankees,' as they contemptu ously called them. how i did long, then, to leave england and fly to my native land, to aid her sons in their brave struggles for independence! i would have done so. but i shrank from the htorm of passion which i knew must follow it. when my father left eng land to join his britannic majesty's army in america, i left for paris, lest he should desire me to follow him. and thus hasten a disclosure of our oppo site sentiments. three weeks ago i re ceived his command to join him instant ly. it seems some rumor of my true sentiments has reached him; and, in dignant that any one should presume to question the loyalty of a son of his, he desires me to vindicate my allegiance to his gracious majesty, and wipe off such a stain on his name by immediately ac cepting the post he has obtained for me in the army. any further conceal jnent is, of course, out of the question, and i thank heaven it is so; for it seems to me a craven act in any one to remain an idle spectator while his native land, in her struggles for freedom, calls all her sons to her aid." he leaned his 'ead on his hand, and gazed thoughtfully on the bright waves below. 'for inyrelf," said gus, who had been deeply impressed by fred's earnestness, "i always sympathized with the col onies, but it was merely the natural feeling which all must experience when they see a band of brave pien struggling for freedom. as in your case, america is the land of my birth; but. up to the present. 1 have been absent from it so long that i had almost ceased to regard it as such. now, however, my feelings are changed. together, fred, we will fight the battles of our native land; ev ery arm that will lift itself in her de fense is needed now." "your sentiments do you honor, my dear gus; but, as you asked me before, what will your friends say?" "oh! i have no friends worth men tioning," replied gus, resuming his for mer indifferent tone. '1 am an orphan, you know, with a bank-stock sufficient for all my wants, with no relations that i know of except an uncle in america, whom i have not seen these ten years. and i tell you what," he added, with a sudden animation, "he has two con foundedly pretty daughters— especially younger. i used to be desperately iove with nell, as a boy." "indeed." said fred, smiling, "and who is this uncle of yours?— a tory, no doubt." "you had better »)elleve it!" said gus. "major perclval hates the rebels as h* hates old harry. of course, i'll be dis owned when he hears what i've done. every one has his own peculiar hobby: and pride of birth is major percival's. if you were only to hear him, fred. he dates his descent back to the days of noah, and a good deal further; lor some of his ancestors, i believe, were drowned in the flood. his lady, too, mrs. perclval. is the granddaughter of a lord: so you see the major has some founda tion for his family pride. he's as rich as croesus, too." "and miss nell, i suppose. is heiress to his wealth?" "not she, faith. major perclval has a son and daughter beside; nell's the youngest. you ought to know nugent perclval; he's a glorious fellow, and nn mistake— about your age, too, i should think." "i may see them all yet — who knows?" said fred. "i wish this voyage were over.. i long to see my father and tell him all. and join the patriot army of washing ton." "you told me you were born in amer ica," said gus, after a pause. "i thought lady stanley was an englishwoman, and had never crossed the atlantic ocean in her life. "the lady stanley you knew was not my mother," said fred, coldly. * "she was not! that's something i never heard before,'' exclaimed gus, in unbounded surprise. "it's none the less true on that ae> count," replied fred, while a slight flush crimsoned his dark cheek. "my mother was an american born; she lived, died, and was bvwled in .that land." "well, now, that's odd." said gus. puffing meditatively on his cigar. "come, fred, make a clean breast of it; i made an open confession to you; and one good turn, you imow, deserves another." the young man smiled slightly, and then his face grew serious — almost sad. "very few know my history," he said, with a half sigh, "but avith you, my dear gus, i know i may speak freely. many years ago, when my father was a young man, business or pleasure — i know not which — called him to america. while there he made the acquaintance of a young girl far beneath him in wealth and rank, but his equal in education, and his superior in moral worth. bewil dered by her beauty, he forgot their dif ferent degrees of rank, and the young girl became his wife. his marriage was kept a secret from his proud friends in england, and sir william knew that there was little fear of their ever dik covering it, for prudence had not be^n vvh€ was g^ ing but! bac 1x1 the hermit of tub cliffs. frngotti-n by love, and he had wooed and won jitr under an assumed name. my mother never dreamed her husband was aught but one of her own station, and it was my father's aim not to undeceive her." "it was a confoundedly mean trick!" interrupted gus, indignantly. "when i was about nine years old," continued fred, unmindful of his words, 'my father started for england, as he said, on business. as he was frequently in the habit of doing so, my mother was not surprised; but her husband had by this time outgrown his love for her, and when, five months after, he returned, it was as the husband of another." gus was again about to make a pass ing remark on sir william's conduct, but suddenly i becking himself, he sank back in silence. "he told her all," went on fred, with stern briefness; "his rank, his title; told her he was the husband of another, and that she must no longer consider herself his wife. he said he had come for me, to take me with him to england; that i was his son, <end should be educated as became a stanley. my poor mother shrieked and clung to me, but i was forcibly torn from iier arms. they said she fell to the ground like one dead, and from that hour never spoke again. one week after, she was laid in her grave." . f-ed paused, while the veins in his forehead grew dark, and his voice choked with suppressed emotion. "but she was avenged," he continued, lifting his head, while his eyes flashed; "she had a brother, absent at the time, but who, on his return, heard the story from the sexton who had buried my mother. his oath of vengeance was fearful, and fearfully kept. five years passed away. sir william and lady stanley had but one child, a daughter, whom they idolized. leila was the gen tlest and most beautiful creature i ever saw. words cannot tell you, gus, how i loved that child. one day, as the nurse was walking with her through the grounds of stanley park, a man. dressed in the rough garb of a sailor, sprang from behind the trees, and. in spite of the shrieks and struggles of the at tendants, bore her off. "the nurse, wild with terror, fled back to the house, and, meeting sir william on the piazza, fell, fainting, at his feet. when she recovered, she related what had happened, and the consternation and horror her recital produced may be better imagined than described. there was no doubt in sir william's mind as to who had done the deed. the abduc tor had left a message: 'tell sir will stanley.' said he, 'that my sister is avenges!' search was made in every direction, enormous rewards were of fered, the police were put on the track. but all in vain. not the slightest clue to leila could be obtained, it was the belief cif every one that the sailor had destroyed the child to escape detection." "it is more than probable" said gus. "poor lady stanli-y! i can now under* stand the cause of the strange melan choly that used to puzzle me so much." "she never smiled from that day," said fled. "had the child died she would have grieved, but such grief is as noth ing. it was the terrible uncertainty as to its fa'.o that weighed on her heart. it was well shf did not survive it long." "and sir william, how did he bear the loss?" inquired hus. "he became a changed r^an from that day. he gr«� stern, mor jse, and harsh to all. i have no doubt he felt it to be a ju.st retribution for his conduct to his first wife, and this rejiection rendered his remorse more bitter. poor leila! dear little angel! gus, i cannot tell you how i loved that child!" he paced excitedly upon and down, and gus saw there were tears in the deep, dark eyes of his friend. "yes, that's just the way i feel about nell," said gus, who really was in a desperate strait for something to say. and the deep sigh that accompanied his words seemed inexpressibly ludicrous. in spite of himself, fred laughed out right at his melancholy look, much to the disgust of gus. "on my honor, my dear fellow, you are smitten. i shouldn't wonder if you would be rash enough to take a wife next," said fred. "rash! i think it's the most sensible thing a fellow could do. don't you ever intend to marry, fred?" "not i," said the other, carelessly, "as i said before, liberty or death for me. why, gus, the tyranny of king george is nothing to that of a wife. don't you know what the french poet. mauvause, says: 'i would arlxise a man to pause before httakes a wife. indeed, i ov n. i see no cause he should . ot pause for life.' " "he must have been a crusty old bachelor who wrote that," remarked gus; "as for me, i intend to make fierce love to nell the moment i land. 'pon my honor, i'd give a diamond ring to see that flinty heart of yours lying at the feet of some graceful little yankee — metaphorically speaking, of course. they say, fred, the american ladies are all pretty!" "i doubt it." "you're a stoic, a cynic, an unbeliever —an old diogenes in his tub. you de .eserve to die an old bachelor. it's my ,**" firm and never-to-be-shaken belief thatx <-' you have been jilted by some heartlear^c^' ^ u iv* i a. the i'krmit of riih vliffh. \. m coquette, and for spite, now rail at the whole bex." "i cry you mercy!" said fred, as he jaukhinkly ran his hnrits through his luxuriant dark hicks. "i am now, as i ever was, and always shall be, 'heart whole, and fancy-free. but 1 see," he added, drawing out his watch, "it is the hour 'when lapdogs give themselves the rousing and sleepy lovers just at twelve awake.' so let us go below; the sable goddess of the cabin will presently announce din ner is ready." and together the two young men strolled into the cabin. • ■ ^ chapter ii. \ -■''■■! •'■ the wreck. "alone, alone, all, all alone. alone on the wide, wide sea." "i say, jack, old fellow, it'll be dooms day before we reach boston, at this rate," remarked gus, some three hours after the conversation related above — as he, together with his friend, stood once more on the deck. the pleasant breeze of the morning had passed away, and was succeeded by a dead calm. not a breath of air rip pled the surface of the deep; the sails lay flapping idly against the masts; the crew lay, gasping for breath, over the side of the ship. the sun, with its fiery, brassy glow, glared in the cloudless sky, loosening the very seams of the ship with the scorching heat, until every thing looked parched and burning. the vessel lay motionless on the glittering sea, her masts and ropes reflected on the polished surface, as in a mirror. one could almost imagine her to be a painted phip on a painted ocean — so still, so life less, so sluggish was the calm. the old tar addressed gave his trou sers a hitch, turned an enormous quid of tobacco into the other cheek, and re plied only by a dissatisfied growl. "i'm fairly choking for breath," went on gus, leaning over the bulwarks in a vain endeavor to catch a mouthful of air; "i wish to heaven a breeze would spring up." "humph!" grunted the old tar, as he dlscharfe-ed an enormous stream of to bacco juice over the aide, "you'll have your wish before you sleep, youngster, or i'rn nr.?staken." "well, i confess you're a better judge of the weather than i am, if you can see any sign of a breeze," said gus. "by the look of things at present, i should conclude we might 'ie sweltering here [or a month of sundays." v'tve been on the ocean, man and boy, for thirty odd years, sir, and oughi to know something of weather signs. if it doesn't blow great guns before the sun sets to-night, then you may call old jack a good-for-nothing lubl)er — that's all." "i vow i hope it may. this dog-trot late of going is enough to provoke a quaker to kick his grandmother. a stiff breeze will give us new life, and set things all right again." said gus. "maybe so," said the old salt, rather doubtlngly; "but. if i'm not mistaken, you'll wish yourself safe on land before you see the sun rise again." "faith! 1 wish i was there now." said gus, with a yawn, "i never was born for a sailor, and never were the children of israel more tired of their quarters in the desert than i am of this rascally old ark. look out for your storm. jack: and if you see it coming just let me know." and gus seated himself on the quarter rail, and leisurely lit a cigar. an hour or two passed away in silence. the sun was setting, but the heat was still intense. fred lay gazing idly into the ship's wake. gus puffed away, and thought of nell; but the heat had ren dered both too languid to talk. sud denly a hand was laid on his arm; and, looking up, gus beheld old jack. "look now, sir," said the old man, pointing to the sky. absorbed in his own reflections, the young man had to tally forgotten the prediction of the old sailor. as he glanced up at the sky, he involuntarily uttered an exclamation of surprise at the sight which met his eye. as far as he could see, in every di rection, a huge black pall of intense darkness covered the face of the heav ens. a lurid, crimson line of fire in the w^est showed where the sun had sunk below the horizon, and was re flected like a thin stream of blood on the sea. faint puffs of wind, from what quarter of the heavens no man could tell, at intervals sighed through the rig ging, only to be followed by an ominous calm, more profound than before. the ship lay rolling heavily on the black, glassy billows, rising and falling like a dull, heavy log. a gloom like that of midnight was gathering over sea and sky — the dismal, ominous silence invol untarily made the boldest catch his breath quick and short, and filled each heart with a nameless awe, as they stood in silent expectation of what was to follow this dead calm of nature, as she paused to take breath before the hurricane of her wrath burst in its full force. at this moment the clear, commanding voice of captain harden was heard giv ing orders to his men to reef the sails. "we'll have a rousing gale to-night," said he, a few moments afterward, "or r/i/i' liehml'l (tf the cut'fh. and ouklii i<!r hikhb. ir ^ before th« )u may call ngr lubber 'bjs dog-trot • provoke a imother. a ufe, and set gu8. «alt. rather 't mibtaken, land before now." baid vas born foi children of quarters in lis rascallv torm. jack; ust let me the quarter f in silence. e heat was k idly into away, and t had ren alk. sud arm; and. lek. old man. ijed in his in had to of the old he sky, he imation of et his eye. every di of intense the heav of fire in sun had was re blood on rom what lan could ti the rig i ominous ore. the he black. ng like a a that of sea and ce invol atch his lied each as they 'hat was lture, as fore the i its full manding: ard g:iv i sails, -night," ard. "or 111) muhtaken. 1 knew this dead calm • lidn't come for nothing. ha! here it is! down, men, down, and hold fast for your lives! the squall is upon us!" even as he s^oke the bluck pall that hung over the sky seemed visibly lifted up, and a ghahtly, whitish light lit up the heaving sea. a vivid flash of light ning blazed in the sky, followed by a crash of thunder that seemed to rend the very heavens in twain, accompan ied by a flood ot rain and a terrific gale .if wind— and the hurricane bur upon ihem with tremendous force. for a mo ment the good ship tottered and quiv led in every timber, as if trembling be fore her gigantic foe; then plunging suddenly downward like a maddened steed, she flew before the hurricane with the speed of the wind. on, on, on, with the spray dashing over the decks, and drenching to the skin the affrighted ( rew, she sped like a flash. the lightning blazed as though the whole heavens were one /ast sheet of mame; the thunder crashed peal upon ijeal, as though the earth were rending asunder; the rain fell in vast floods of water; the wind shrieked and howled like a demon with impotent fury, and the bark plunged madly on, quivering, • reaklng, groaning and straining in ev ry timber. the huge billows rose black and terrific, yawning as though to en gulf them, the white foam gleaming dis mal and ghastly in the spectral dark ness, now and then shown in their ap palling hugeness by the blinding glare of, the lightning. the whole scene was inexpressibly grand and terrific — the most cowardly soul lost all sense of fear in the awful sublimity, the unspeakable grandeur of the elemental uproar. fortunately, the hurricane was not one of long duration. ere an hour had passed the violence of the squall had greatly abated, but not before it had nearly dismantled the ship. fred stanley stood clinging to a rope, gazing at the troubled sea and sky with a feeling of unspeakable awe that swal lowed up every other feeling. his hat had blown off; his long, dark locks streamed wildly in the gale— his eyes were fixed, as if fascinated, on the gi gantic billows, rising like huge moun tains as if to. over whelm them. his meditations were suddenly cut short by a hand being laid on his shoul der. with a start, he looked up, and beheld by the light of the binnacle-lamp the pale features of gus elliott. "a wild night, my friend," said the youth; and although he spoke loudly, his voice sounded almost like a whisper amid the roar of wind and sea. "a fearful storm, truly," v/as the re ply, as il*red's eyes strove to pierce through the thick darkness. "would to heaven it were morning! this intense darkness is appalling. could we see our danger i would not care, hut in this fearful gloom the imagination pic tures a thousand horrors, far worse than the nj( st dreadful reality." "it can be scarcely midnight yet," said gus; "i see the clouds are breaking away in that d'.rei(i<.n. it will be light enough presently." "well, messmate, have my words c(»me true?" said a voice at gus' elbow, and. turning, both beheld old jack. "that they have," replied gus; "and though i must ghe you credit for being a true prophet, upon my honor i wish to hear no more such predictions while £ am on board the mermaid." "that won't be long, sir, or i'm mis taken." replied jack, gloomily. "what! croaking again '^ i thought all danger was past." said the youth. jack shook his liead despondlngly. "come, niy honest son of neptune, out with it. what's in the wind, now'.'" at this moment one of the crew shout ed, in a voice of horror: "the ship has sprung a leak! there's five feet of water in the hold." "all hands to the pumps!" called the calm, trumpet-like tones of the captain. the eyes of gus and the old sailor met. "i knew how it would be," said the old tar, shaking his head mournfully, "i had a presentiment last night that not a soul on board the mermaid would live to see the sun rise again." as he spoke he hurried forward; but not until gus had fairly started back at sight of the ghastly look on his face, as it was revealed by the dim light of the binnacle-lamp. the youth turned uneasily away, and encountered the dark, earnest eyes of his friend. "pooh! nonsnse! what an old prophet of evil that is," said gus, striving to shake off the feeling for which he could not account; "a raven could not croak more dismally than he." "and yet i fear he is right," said fred. "we are far from being out of danger. how this old dismantled hulk la plunging and staggering. hark! what is that?" it was the voice of one of the men who had been sent below, and who now came to announce that the water was rapidly rising. the crew redoubled their efforts. fred and gus sprang to their aid and worked for their lives. but all was in vain; in apite of all their exertions, the hold was filling fast. suddenly a voice full of horror was heard shouting: "the ship is sinking!" in an instant every arm dropped as if palsied, and every face blanched to the hue of death, and the silence of the «♦** grave reigned. then the spell was brokrx ,-•► %-t' /' ,^v' tuk tltuimlt of tim cliffh. en, and with a wild ery they k>rang to ;\vqrd tlie tiuats. , "are you mad, men?" chout«»d captain • harden, a« the crew rui^hed i>ttll-niell to the bide of the vesbel, hut hl8 wordh were in vain; the fright ened wretches heard not, heeded not. maddened by their seiflbh fears, they sprang into the boath, pushing one an other fiercely aalde in their cowardly harte. "thope crowded boatb will never live in this burf!" exclaimed fred, in a vol(;e that intenfle excitement had almost sunk to a whisper. even as he spoke, the nearest boat was lifted on the giant crest of a mon ster wave. for a moment it paused on its fearful height, quivering like a reed; "the next, a wild shriek arose from the doomed crew and every soul was strug gling in the hissing seas. the next mo ment to their inexpressible horror the other boat shared the same fate! one wild, agonized shriek of mortal horror arose high above the storm, and then all grew still. engulfed beneath the hissing billows, they had sunk to rise no more. of all the numerous crew of the good fhip mermaid, those three stood alone now. above, frowned the angry sky, black and ominous; beneath, raged the angrier ocean— the tops of the white bil lows gleaming like snow against the murky background. around, was spread the dense, dark pall of night— an aim <st itppenetrable wall of thick blackness. boats and crew were alike gone. alone they stood on the wide sea, in a sinking ship, with death staring them in every direction in the face. ' the ominous woi'ds of the old sailor rushed to the mind of gus: "not a soul on board the mermaid would live to see the sun rise again!" how true his words seemed likely to prove! ' "we will soon follow them," said gus, turning to the captain. "god uvoth!" was the solemn answer. 'he holdeth the ocean in the hollow of his hand. trust in him!" chapter iii. : ; saved. "rise! for the day is breaking, . though the dull night be long! rise! god is not forsaking thy heart— be strong— be strong." — c. h. j. ; for a few moments the survivors of the wreck stood silent. with death star ing them in the tace, men are not in clined to be loquaqious. each one, in iwardly commended his soul to his 'maker, and strove .to nerve himself to .niieet his doom fearlessly. "and can we not even make an effort to save our uvea?" said fred, at last. "must we die without one attempt to escape the doom which threatens us?" "while there is life there is hope," said the captain. "ha!" he exclaimed, as if suddenly struck by a new thought, "here arc plenty of loose spars and ropes; why not make a raft?" "this old hulk will go to the bottom before it is half constructed," said gus. "it is worth a trial, however," said his friend, springing up with new hope. "let us not lose time. every second is precious." men working for their lives need lit tle urging. in less than an hour a sufll cient number of spars were lashed to gether to make a tolerably safe raft; captain harden went below to dis cover how much longer they might stay on the wreck in safety. turning to his friend, gus said, as he touched the raft with hlg foot: "a desperate venture, fred, to titjst our lives on these few crazy planks, on the wide atlantic. i fear, my dear friend, the patriot army of washington will be deprived of two recruits this time." "desperate, certainly," said fred, thoughtfully, "yet i feel a sort of pre sentiment that our end is not so near." "would i could think so, too," said gus, striving to discover some sign of hope in the threatening scene around. "i cannot but recall the ominous words of that old sailor. they are continually recurring to my mind." "to the raft! to the raft, for our lives!" shouted captain harden, as he rushed on deck, "the ship is sinking!" even as he spoke, she began plunging to and fro like a frightened steed. in a moment they had flung their raft over the side, and had leaped from the deck. they were not a moment too soon. the doomed ship, after a few mad strug gles, began rapidly to settle in the water. the waves seemed lashed into fury, and the giant crest of each huge billow swept the dismantled deck. suddenly she was whirled round and round by some impetuous force, then, rising al most perpendicularly, she plunged down, ??tern foremost. in the enormous whirl pool thus formed, they almost imag ined they could see the bottom, so great was it.s force, that although they were at some distance, they held their breath for a moment in involuntary terror as they were rapidly swept toward the hiss ing vortex. but the waves again closed over her, and every sign of life van ished from the horizon. "there perished as noble a bark as ever braved the blue atlantic!" said captain harden, dashing the spray from his eyes. .\ thk htjhmir of tht) vllt't'h. ^•7 there wan no ifply. for hln cdnipan loiis were loht in thought. how intic i.ifhblbly dreary and dcholate was all iiound.' alone on the wide ocean, on a frail raft, that thieiittmied earh inoin«'nt til go to pteceh under them l»y the vlo l.-nee of the waves. the cold alpray, irenehlnr them to the bkin, l)enunihed th.-m with cold: a dull lethargy was < reejilng over them when captain har den, who noticed with alarm how frail i lie raft was, huddenly aald: let ub try to make this raft of ours 1 little tighter. it threatetm now to go lo nieces every moment. work will k..ep us warm, too; this cold spray is . iiuukl'. to freeze a man." the exertion produced the desired ef i,( t and they soon had the pleasure of tliiding thfir lloat much more secure ihan before. how long the hours seemed ihat must intervene until morning! as ilie night slowly wore on, the storm steined to die away, the waves subsid ■d and the wind sank to a light breeze. tlie clouds of night sullenly rolled away hefore the white wand of morning. far in the east, the sky and sea were blush ing scarlet before the coming of the sun. up he rose in fiery radiance, glow ing and golden, in a canopy of purple, ( rimson and blue. not a cloud obscured the clear blue vault of heaven, thai, a few hours before had shot forth forked lightning and deafening peals of thun der. their frail raft rose and fell gaily i'n the sparkling waves, that the night i.k^fore had loomed up so dark and fright lul. calm and peaceful the blue sea looked, as though hundreds of brave hearts, that fearful night, had not per* ished forever beneath. •'what a change a few hours has made!" said fred, as the light, cool breeze lifted gently the dark hair off his feverish brow; "iast night, all was wild and dark, and tempestuous; this morn ing, everything breathes peace and iieautv. sunrise on the ocean! was there ever anything more glorious?" "a sailor's luck, mr. stanley," said rnptain harden, shaking the spray from his hair: "a short time ago we were shivering with the cold, and in two hours hence we will be sweltering in the rays of a sun hot enough to roast an afri can.'' "do you think there is any chance of our being picked up before night, cap tain?" inquired gus. "can't say. sir. i trust so, however. there are always ships cruising about in these latitudes." the day wore on: and, as the sun ap proached the meridian, the heat grew almost intolerable. without shelter to ward off the burning rays of an almost tropical sun. they sank down overpov*' f^red and utterly exhausted. thirst, too. began to torment them, and the con friends to bodily lnt<i hclousness that they wer^' without means to allay it added to their suffering. t<io languid even to conveitie. they sat in dreary silence, their eyes hxed on the boundless exi)anhe of sky and oc-ean. slowly the sun began to sink in tlie west, and the conviction timt they must pass another night where they were. added anything but comfort to their sit uation wiien the glorious suiiight of the fol lowing morning fell on them. it f«)und them parched with thirst, and lying ut terly exhausted on the mlseiable fwmt, fred and caotaln harden still bore up; but the fiery flush on tlie cheek ot (iuh. and the wild light in his eye, showed the fever that was burning witliin. ah the morning passed, and noon ai» jtroached. he grew delirious. he reved wildly, and more than once it rtjquired the united strength of his prevent him from plunging the deep. "would to heaven aid would come!" said captain harden, with deep anx iety, as his eye fell on the delirious youth. "poor boy! i do not wonder he has sunk beneath this tritti. he is little inured to the hardships and privations of a sailor's life." "wha; is that?" said fred, who had an eye like a hawk; "there is a vessel healing down directly toward us. look! look!" "by heev( n, yes!" exclaimed the cap tain; "let us display our flag. ha! they see us i there goes their signal!" "saved. gus! saved, my dear fellow!" exclaimed fred, seizing his hand, hot and burning, in both his. "saved! saved! i knew we would be! hurrah!" he shouted, with wild inco herence, as he endeavored to spring to his feet— but, weak and exhausted, he fell back in the arms of his friend. the vessel proved to be an americf vi privateer. in half an hour the friend.^ were on board, where every kindness that could be required was generously bestowed upon them; and poor gus was resigned to the care of an experienced surgeon— who, to the great joy of fred, affirmed that in a few days he would be out of danger. chapter iv. the bttrnino ship. "great god! the sights that i have seen when far upon the main. i'd rather that my death had been than see those sights again." — landon. "yoi'rs was a narrow escape, mr.i stanley." said captain dale, the com-., mander of the privateer, as, about a. week after their deliverance, fred mad? his appearance on deck. ,« gus was there, too, looking rather r r'i 8 the ^ejimtt of tub vlift's. pale, but perfectly restored both to health and spirrts. ': , ^t. -u "yes, sir," replied fred; "and, thotrgh i have beeh as near death in t»any shapes before, i never felt it so horrible as when, wild with thirst, i stood ex pecting it on that frail raft on the broad "and your friend," said the captain, smiling "was in still worse condition when we providentially came across ■ "figad!" exclaimed gus. "it came near doing for me. i'll never undertake to sail across the atlantic on a raft agam, if i can help it; at least, not without a beaker of fresh water on board/' "what is your destination now, cap tain?" inquired fied. "boston; but i mean to capture, it possible, a few britishers first, to makei time pass pleasantly." , „ ^„ . "boston? we're in luck, fred, ' obn served gus. "so," he added to the cap tain "you sometimes have a skirmish v/ith the british, do you?" . , ^ "yes," replied dale; "it's only last wt'ek i sent a sloop-of-war to davy jones; and, with the help of the lord, ah«^ that long tom there, i trust speed ily to send some more of their brethren to look after them." "sail ho!" called tlie shrill tones of the lookout at this moment; "where away?" demanded captain dale, as he seized a glass, and sprang into the rigging. ' "due east, sir." •'•"and an englishman, by jupiter!" ex claimed the captain, as he again leaped on the deck. "there's something wrong on board of her, too," he continued, "for the crew are running wildly about the deck, sometimes rushing in a oody be low, and again reappearing. can the crew have mutinied?" again he gazed long and steadfastly tit the vessel. "heavens!" he exclaimed, "the ship's on fire." r"by jove, so it is," said fred; and, even as he spoke, a sudden jet of flame shot up the hatchway of the ship. "and there goes a signal of distress," shouted gus, as a white pennant sud denly streamed out in the breeze from the masthead. "see how the poor wretches are crowd ing together," exclaimed the captain; "we must not let them perish before our eyes. who will volunteer to go to the rescue?" as if by one impulse, men and officers all sprang forward to offer -their ser vices. ^■■ . "no, no," said captain dale, gpod hnmoredly, "i cannot let you all go. ikefe, mr. stewart," addressing his first lieutenant, "you will take conima.nd of one boat, and— ah! mr. stanley, i see by your eager look how ahxibtid^ you are t«) lend assistance. well, ybu can take -charge of the other bpat; and," he added, lowering his voice, "look out for the magazine. now, be off, . t^nd god speed you." "ay, ay, sir," came cheerily from a score of lips, as the hardy seamen bem to their oars. "give way, my lads!" cried fred, as he sprang into the stem-sheets and waved his cap in the a4r. the men bent to their oars with a, will, and the boat. cut like a sea-gull through the waters. fred still stood with his eyes fixed on the burning ship— his hand some face all aglow with excitement. the scene was inexpressibly grand and terrific. the flanries were now bursting out from every part of the ship; while a dark, dense cloud of sulphurous smoke clouded the blue sky above. the fiery monster ra*/ up the shrouds and rigging, twining its derce tongue around , the masts; while occasionally the siiilen booming of a gun would float over the waters, as her armament, heated by the flames, went off. the affrighted crew were huddled together — by their frantic gestures and wild signs striving to urge the boats still faster on, as they beheld the flames rapidly approaching the spot where they stood. "give way, my men! give way! will you see them perish miserably before your eyes?" shouted fred, his dark eyes blazing with excitement as he beheld the fiery-tongued monster almost within a few feet of the unhappy wretches, whose shrieks of terror came piercingly to their ears. the sailors bent their brawny arms, to the task, until, in less than ten minutes more, they were within a few yards; of the burning ship. "leap into the water and we will p|ck you up!" shouted fred^ fearing lei^f,; if they approached too near, the boftts might swamp from the numbers crowd ing in. . without a moment's hesitatioq,. ,^he command was obeyed; and the crews of both boats were soon busily enri pipy ed in rescuing. , v ,' "is that all?" asked fre<^, as,the last were picked up. , .. ' ..-, "no, sir; it's not all!" said a fcoy— a mere lad of fourteen — springing from his seat, "there's a lady aboard yet; 8|he is in the cabin and we, fprgot her." .' .■ "great heaven ! " exdainied fred ; quickly turning to his ay/n men, he siaid: "my brave lads» i cannot leave a wo man to perish in that biirnjng, ship. i am going on board to rescue her. "ton will, in the me^an tlnae, keep at some dis tance . off, arid when t appear on deck, return for me. .shpuld you not e,ee me again'! (he paused, fox.a^riioaient) ",you win return to ,thejp|rivat;eer a^^ t«ih joip the hbmmitof tffe cuffs, as. the last tain dale i have striven to do my duty. that will do stand off, and wait for me."' he caught a rope that hung over the vess i's side, and sprang to the burn ing deck. to his inexpressible joy he saw that the flames had liot yet reached the eabin. he dashed down ihe stairs, and paused for a moment to blance around. the walls were a dark, polished oak, the floor covered with a rleh turkey car pet, whose brilliant, hues were bright as the gorgeous plumage of a humming bird. the chairs and lounges, profusely scattered around, were of dark, carved wood— old and quainc in appearance, and cushioned with dark blue velvet. a guitar lay in a corner, and carelessly scattered by it were seveial sheets of music. a bookcase, filled with a choice selection of books, stood in one corner, -chid, lying half open on the table, as if ft had just been dropped, was a small, elegantly, bound volume of milton, by it lay a tiny gold locket, ccataining a miniature. not doubting that this be longed to the occupant of the cabin, fred snatched it up, thinking she might value it, and turned to look for its owner. the door of an adjoining stateroom was half open. it was no time for idle ceremony. without a moment's hesi tation he dashed it open and entered. a young girl, transcendently lovely, was kneeling in the middle of the floor. her snowy robes fell in spotless folds ground her exquisite form; the long, silken tresses fell like a shower of rip pling isunbeams over her pearly shoiil c*ers. tlje small white hands wei-e clbsped over the stainless bosom, that rose and fell with her soft breathing. j^very trace of color had faded from that fkir face, leaving cheek and brow aa white as monumental marble. the large bine eyes, calm and cloudless as moun tain lakes, looked irom beneath the £:olden lashes, calm and serene. stepping before her, he . said, hur riedly: "madam, everything is in flames ar&unts you! come with me, or you will bejci^t ' ,at the sound of his voice she sprang to her feet, and, with a wild cry of ^•saved! saved!" she threw up both snowy amis, and would have fallen fainting to the floor, had he not caught her in his embrace. thatching a quilt from the bed, he wrapped it tound her slight form and rushed from the cabin. to his unspeak i^bie horror, as he sprang with one bound x^ the stairway, he found the whole d(»<dlc hiad niow become one vast sheet of naide. there ,5va^ no,, time fo lose.. spflqaing like, a wqunded panther,, he cleared f||e ' debk wtth two bounds, and] leai>m clean over tfie iiicie into the i^a.] a wild cheer arose from the crew of the boat at the sight. propelled by , strong arms and willing hearts, in a mo/nent it was by his side and in an other he stood among them, with his still insensible burden in hlia arms.-* "pull, men! pull, for the love of goid!" he shouted, waving his hand in thit^ iair. "you work for your lives." like straws the strong oars bent in the brawny hands of the rowers, and like «in arrow sped from a bow, the boat shot out from the burning ship. one moment more, and it. would have been too late. with a roar that seemed to rend heaven and earth, thie magazine exploded, and the ill-fjeited ship v/as blown to atoms. like a shower of riail, the burning spars and timbers fell all around them. but they were almost miraculously saved; the boat escaped uninjured, and in ten minutes was en tirely out of danger. every one drew a deep breath, and from the most callous and hardened heart present went up a prayer., of thanksgiving for their unexpected deliv erance from deaths fred seated himself, and,""throwlng off the liuilt in which he bad wrapped, the yourg girl, began to chafe her cold ha.itis and temples. "had this young lady no friends on board, that she was thus forgotten?'/, he asked, turning to one of the crew of the fiuglishman. "no, sir; not when the vessel caught flre. she was retur^iing from england with her uncle, and one stormy night, about a week ago, he was washed, over board and lost. she never came. up. to the deck after that, and in the hurry and fright, when the ship was found to; be on flre, we forgot all about her." "is she an american?" asked fred, looking, with a feeling for which he could not account, on the fair face and graceful form lying so still and lifeless in his arms. "don't know, i'm sure," replied the man. all fred's efforts to restore her to con sciousness were' in vain. she lay. in her snowy drapery, so still, that he almost feared life was extinct. a snow-wreath was not more white than the cplorless face, off which the bright hair. fell over the young man's arm, on which the bead reclined. the tiny hands imprisoned in his were cold and lifeless as marble* with a feeling of intense joy, fred sprang once more upon the deck of the ^ privateer, and resigned th^ fainting girl to the hands of the surgeon, and then hastened to exchange his wet clothes for dry ones. gus, who had arrived in the other boat a few momenti» foefoire, li8te:ned with envy and amazement to ills fi4end'fii:stbry; ■ •/' ^y-'"''-, .■■•--^-v ;/:.;':n?,'" "well; luck uf everything-r" he seacr.f' r if 10 the hermit of' tuk vuffli. i claimed, with a sigh, when his friend had concluded; "if every ship in the british navy were to take fire i don't be lieve i'd have the good fortune to save a single young lady from a scorching, while you're not well out, when you re turn with an angel in your arms, wring ing, wet, and never look any more elated by it than if you were a man of stone. oh, fortune! fortune! thou fickle god dess, if you would only throw such chances in my way as is th iwn in the path of this stony-hearted cnl*, believe me, i would be far from proving so un grateful." "a very good speech for an extempore one." observed fred, as he coolly lighted a cigar. "and, by the way, here is the doctor: i must ask him how his fair patient is." "hech! mon, dinna fash yerael' aboot her, the young leddy is doin' verra weel," observed sawney; "an*, fegs, ye ne'er seen sic'n beautiful roses in a' yer life as cam in her cheek when i tauld her aboot the canny chlel that plucked her, as it were, a brand fra> the burnin*. hoot! mr. stanley, ne'er try to look sae dignified, d'ye think i dlnna see the smile in yer black e'e? if ye're no proud o' savin' the life o' sic a handsome leddy, ye dinna deserve to hear the message she has sent ye." "a message for me!" exclaimed fred, with an impetuosity that brought a sud den crimson to his dark cheek. "aye, mon! a message to ye, dell a less. and what for wudna she? did ye no save her life?" "but the message! the message!" ex claimed fred, impatiently. "ool ay! the message! jist sae! 'tell him,' says she, an', soul o' me! she look it sae bonnle wi' her blue e'e and her kowden locks as she said it, that i'd gi'en a hunder' pounds to hae been ye at the time." "but the message! the message! the message!" cried fred, losing all patience. "and she looked handsome, did she?" inquired gus. as he noticed the impa tience of his friend. "hech! ye may say that, laddie. de'il a bonnier lass ivir i clapt my ain twa een on. an' a doot if she winna load him wi' compliments when he ca's to see her, judgin' frae the message. i'm malr nor half sartln that"— "but," shouted f.rid, in his irritation seizing the doctor by the shoulder and wheeling him round like a top. "what was the message, you old son of galen?" "hech, sirs! laird protect us! who ivir heerd malr nor that?" gasped the little doctor, panting for breath, which his extempore walte had nearly shaken out of his body, "splnnin' a respectable auld body lek me roun' as if i was a tap. •"twad na be every laddie jyvad dae sic a dirty trick. hech! i'm fairly oot o' ))reath." "it's excessively aggrravating, no doubt," said gus, soothingly; "but you must pardon my unhappy young friend here; he is a little flighty at times, but perfectly harmless"— fred groaned. . ;. "but when very impatient," continued gus, secretly enjoying his friend's de spair, he is rather violent. therefore, my dear doctor, you had better tell him the young lady's message — when, i have no doubt, these alarming symptoms will vanish." "oo ay!. just so!" said the doctor, re treating a few paces from fred, and eyeing him as one might a half -tamed tiger, "she said that ony time this after noon that wad be convenient she wad be maist happy to see ye in the kebbin be low. that's a'." and the little doctor went off mutter ing, "gude purtect us! wha wad think sic a douce young laddie as that was nae richt aboot the upper warks? weel. weel. laird save us!" "an interview!" exclaimed gus, with delight; "by jove! fred, you. are in luck. i can foresee it all — private intervlewr-r lady all blushes and gratitude — gentler man all admiration and compliments see each other every day while on board —grow as thick as pickpockets — moon* light interview — gentleman grows tender —lady refers him to papa-^papa informs him she's not his daughter at all, but a princess in disguise, with large estates in a land yet undiscovered — matrimony —champagne, ice-creams, wax lights, roses, pretty girls' kisses — bride, aii am gel without wings — bridegroom in the seventh heaven — whew! there's the whole thing in a nutshell. a novel con^ densed." ■ .. w fred bit the end of his cigar to cpn-f real a smile. . ,:! "i'd give a trifle to know her name,"i continued gus; "it's a wonder none of the crew of the vessel knew it. • heigho! i suppose i must restrain my lmpatienc<e until after the interview she has prontt ised you." fred, though appearing outwa,rdly -i different, felt little less anxiety for the interview than his friend. ,{ having made himself very unnecessa'^ rlly handsome by a moat careful toilet, he desired the little doctor to inform the lady he was ready to wait upon her. "walk doon! walk doon, laddie." tuud galen, presently reappearing; ' "and for the love o' heaven!" he added, suddenly, remembering fred's conduct in the morning, "dlnna be ony way ylplent. laird save me! what wad the pulr lassie do if ye took ane o' : thaim tantrums, in. her presence?" • ,, ,,. fred, having pledged his word to con • duct himself, \'hile before the iady,. with. the bbrmit of the cliffs. jl mrly oot a' due decorum, the doctor bowed htm into the cabin, whichk the captain had gener ously given up fo his fair captive, and, having announced him ad being "the lad die that had ta'en her oot o' the burnln' ship/' made his best salute and retired. the lady, who was seated by the table, arose as fred entered, and, advancing toward him, extended her hand^ the youth imagined she looked even fairer now than when he had first seen her. the brlight, golden tresses were pushed oft her fa-h* brow and gathered into a burnished knot behind, thus displaying the exquisite symmetry of the superb little head. she was «tlll pale from the effects of her recent fright; but fred thought he had never beheld a fairer face in all his life. "my preserver! how can i ever thank you for saving me from such a fearful death?" said the softest, sweetest voice in the world. and, raising the hand she held in hers, she bent her graceful head and pressed it to her lips. the act, simple and natural as it was, brought a sudden flush to fred's face. "1 need no thanks, fairest lady, for performing a common act of humanity," he said, bowing, "he would, indeed, be a monster who would not endeavor to rescue a fellow-creature from death." "oh! it was fearful!" exclaimed the lady, "to stay there alone, expecting mo mentary death. it seemed to me impos sible i could be saved, with everything in flames^ around me!" she shuddered it the remembrance, and her face grew a shade paler, "it seems wonderful to me how you could have been forgotten by all," said fred. "so it seemed to me at first, but not now. i never went on deck after the death of my dear uncle" — she paused and her eyes filled with tears — "he was lost in a dreadful storm, a week before you r'»scued me, alas! this seems doomed to e a luckless voyage," "i fear you will not l{k3 your quar ters here," said fred, glancing around the harrow and poorly furnished cabin, "it is hardly in a fit condition for the reception of a lady." "oh, if that were all," she said, with a half sigh, "but i am afraid it will be such a long time before i can reach home." "i. too, have 1 nged for the end of this voyage," said fred, "but now thie time will appear all too short." she looked up suddenly, to find the deep, dark eyes of the speaker fixed upon her with a look of profound admiration. for a moment the golden lashes dropped over the blue eyes, and a vivid crimson, whether of anger or embarrassment, he knew not, mantled her pale cheeks. her manner during the remainder of the interview was so cold and con strained that, he felt sure he had offend ed, and, with a feeling, of vexathun, he arose and took his leave, fred's dreams that, night were haunt ed by a pair of blue eyes that one mo ment smiled upon him— the next were turned coldly away. once again, in fan cy, he was rescuing their owner from the flames and bearing her off in tri umph in. his arms, when he awoke to the dull reality that he was clasping, most affectionately, the pillow! as he dressed before going on deck he suddenly remembered he had neglected to ask the young lady her name. was there ever such stupidity ? then it oc curred to him that he had a locket be longing to her, and, opening it, he dis covered that it contained the miniature of the fair unknown herself. now, mr. stanley, though by no means given in general to retaining other peo ple's property, immediately experienced a most felonious desire to keep the lock et. accordingly, placing it as near his heart as was convenient, he hastily add ed a few finishing touches to his cos tume and went on deck. and when he had reached it a sight met his eyes that transfixed him with amazement. for there, promenading the deck and leaning most affectionately on the arm of gus, was the fair unknown. the morning breeze had brought a deep rose hue to the pearly cheeks; her eyes were bright with pleasure, and smiles were chasing the dimples over her fair, sunshine face. and there was gus, bend ing over her in a way for which fred could have shot him without remorse and calling up her smiles and blushes at his own magnetic will. no wonder fred was amazed, angry, mortified. he had saved her life almost at the risk of his own, and because he had uttered a few gallant words she had 'grown as distantly reserved and digni fied as a queen on her throne. and here was gus elliott, whom she had never seen before, now her elected champion, and, to judge by appearances, something more than a friend. as they passed, both looked up and recognized him, she by a formal bow and gus by a smile of triumph. with the air of an insulted prince, fred turned aside and strolled in an opposite direc tion, with the firm conviction that ^ere was nothing in the world but ingrrati tude. while he still stood absorbed in gloomy thought he was suddenly aroused by a hearty slap on the shoulder. he looked up haughtily and gus , met the full light of his fiery eye, "fred!" he exclaimed, without heeding his evident anger, "you're the luckiest dog in creation! guess .whom you've saved?" "whom?" was the eager inquiry, r l^ 12 tub hermit of the gliffti. "my cousin edith, the eldest daughter of my uncle. major perclval!" chapter v. thbs home of bdith. "where is the heart that hath not bowed a slave, eternal love, to thee7 look on the cold, the gay, the proud— and is there one among them free?" — landon. tt was a dark, unpleasant night— nearly a fortnight after the adventure of the burning ship. the privateer was still cruising about in quest of "brit ishers," whom the captain was particu larly anxious to "send to thunder!"— as he himself elegantly expressed it. dur ing this time fred's acquaintance with miss perclval hardly progressed as rap idly as gus had propht led it would. there was a sort of embarrassment, a coldness, a reserve. in her manner to ward him that offended his sensitive pride, and their intercourse now gener ally consisted of a bow, when they met, and a formal "good day." though she spent the greater part of each day with gus on deck, she seemed to shrink from meeting fred, and fred, seeing this, studiously avoided her. yet sometimes, suddenly raising his head, he would find those soft blue ayes wandering wist fully ever to where he stood, yet always dropping before his, while her rising color and averted head betokened emo tions she would fain have concealed. wrapped in his cloak, with his hat .drawn down over his brows, fred paced up and down the deck in no very amia ble frame of mind. it was a dense, gloomy night. the storm clouds' were drifting, dark and threatening, over the leaden sky: a chill, raw wind was blow ing piercingly cold — sighing, dirge-like, through the rigging, while the creaking of the cordage seemed to chant back a sort of dismal refrain; a thick rain was falling, making everything wet and un comfortable. it was indeed suicidal weather, but perfectly congenial to the thoughts passing through the mind of the tall, cloaked figure pacing so rest lessly to and fro. at times sounds of song and peals of laughter would come floating up from the cabin, where old doctor kirk, cap tain harden, gus and miss perclval were assembled. these sounds were to fred's feelings like "vinegar upon nitre," and his lip curled scornfully and bitterly whenever he passed. suddenly the men tion of his own name arrested his steps. some secret power held him, as it were, forcibly to the spot, to listen. "where's stanley?" inquired captain harden. 'keeping sentry on deck, no doubt," ^.^swered gus, "according to his usual custom. i'll wager a guinea that quick, excited tread we heard a moment ago was fred walking up and dov/n." "malster stanley's a queer sort o' lad," observed the doctor. "i ne'er cam across ane .sae proud in a' my days. t'lther day he was stannin' lookin', sae dooei and sulky, by himsel', that i didna think hem well, and i recommended a doze o' peells. well, instead o' thankin' me, as a body ought, he glowered at me a min ute, as if he thought me mad. and walked off wi' himsel' without sayin' a word. hech. sirs! dell a more thanks i got!" gus couldn't help laughing, but he ob served : "oh, you must excuse him, doctor! fred has some queer notions; but in general he's a capital fellow — brave as a lion, but proud as lucifer." "what is your opinion. miss perclval, of the gentleman now under discussion?" inquired captain harden. oh. what would not fred have given to hear the reply! miss percival's low. musical voice had hitherto possessed an unspeakable charm for him; but now he would not have objected had it been as loud as the boatswsfin's, so that he might have heard the answer; but, though he strained every nerve to listen, he could not catch her words. "that's just like edith,*' observed gus. "hasn't 'formed an opinion,' indeed! as if any young lady could meet such a good-looking fellow as fred without forming an opinion about him. he re minds me wonderfully of the old woman in the song." and gus drawled, in a sing-song tone: "there was an old woman— and what do you think? she lived upon nothing but victuals and . drink victuals and drink was the whole of her diet— and yet this old woman could never be quiet." if gus had seen the fiery flash of fred's eye. at that moment he might have hesitated a little about the com parison. "i dinna see how maister stanley's like that auld wumman." said the doc tor, solemnly. "why. my dear doctor, it's as clear as mud," said gus. "fred, like the old lady in the rhyme, 'never is quiet.* it's a per fect martyrdom to a serious person like myself to be with one as restless as an uneasy conscience, and as fiery as one of your own scotch douglases." fred had not waited to hear this ex planation; but, wrapping himself more closely in his cloak, resumed his solitary march up and down — the loud mirth and laughter from the cabin, amid which at times he could recognise the silvery tbe hermit of the cliffs. 13 but he ob volce of edith— giving added bitterness to his thoughts. poor fred! like the country swain in love, he felt "hot and dry-like, with a pain in his side like;" and, like every other young gentleman when he first falls in love, tormenting himself with a thousand imaginary evils — until, as gus phrased it, there was "no standing him." upon their arrival in boston fred would have started immediately to see his father, but gus, who was to accom pany edith home, urged him to go with them. and edith pleaded, too — more with her eager, blushing face and elo quent eyes than with words. "do, mr. stanley," she urged, laying her little white hand on his own — "do come i papa will be so anxious to see one who has saved his daughter's life." every nerve thrilled at that magnetic touch; but still he stood irresolute. "please, mr. stanley," continued that low, musical voice — to his ear the sweet est he had ever heard, and the starry eyes were raised to the face above her. fred looked down, to encounter those pleading, blue eyes raised so earnestly to his, and just as you would have done, my dear sir, had you been in his place, he surrendered. the residence of major percival was. several miles from the city, and after spending one night at a hotel the trio started next morning. the drive to percival hall was always remembered by fr?d among the happiest moments of his life. the cold reserve which edith had always maintained on shipboard had entirely vanished. an al most childish glee at being once more at home had taken its place, and she chatted and laughed with a freedom and vivacity that completely finished poor fred. a sudden turn in the road brought them, at length, in sight of percival hall. an avenue of stately horse-chestnuts led up to the hall itself — an imposing look ing structure of red brick. behind the house was an extensive orchard, and, nearer still, a pretty flower garden. "there's papa — there's papa!" ex claimed edith, springing up and clap ping her hands, and before fred, who had risen, could assist her, she had leaped out, and flown into the arms of an elderly gentleman, who came hum ming carelessly down the steps in front of the mansion. while the major, with many an ex clamation of surprise and delight, em braced his daughter. fred scrutinized him from head to foot. in stature he was of about middle size, stout and squarely built, with prominent features and high cheek bones. there was an air of sternness and command about him, while the firmly closed mouth betrayed unusual obstinacy in following his own opinions. the high, broad fore head and massive head displayed a lofty intellect; and there was a piercing keen ness in the gaze of his sharp, gray eyes that gave an observer the uncomfortable sensation that he was reading his in most thoughts. he now advanced toward the young man, who had alighted, and, holding out his hand to fred said, with grateful courtesy: "my daughter tells me, sir, that you have saved her life. i am not in the habit of making fine speeches, but be lieve me, sir, the heartfelt gratitude of an old man will ever follow you." fred bowed in silence. "and don't you know this young gen tleman, papa?" said edith, with an arch glance toward gus. "i have not that hon— eh?" he added, suddenly— "can it be? bless my soul! gus elliott, is this yourself?" and the major seized ^hls hand with a grip of iron. "well, sir," replied gus. with a gri mace, "if ever i had any doubts on the subject, the aching of my fingers at present has convinced me i am myself, and no mistake." "well, well, well!" exclaimed the ma jor, surveying him from head to foot with sharp eyes, "how you have shot up since i saw you last! and you're gus elliott. v7ell. who'd have thought it? edith! ah! she has gone, i see. walk up. gentlemen — walk up. mrs. percival will be delighted to see you." so saying. major percival ran up the steps, followed by the two young men. the long hall was flanked by doors on either side, and, opening one of these, he ushered the twain into the family sitting-room. here they found edith clasped in the arms of a handsome mid dle-aged lady, while a young girl stood by her side, alternately laughing and crying. "my wife and daughter ellen, m". stanley. i suppose," he added, smiling ly, to his wife. "edith has told you all about the achievements of this promis ing young gentleman. there, there — don't overwhelm him with thanks. i see by his countenance he doesn't like it! come. nell — why don't you thank your sister's deliverer?" "mamma won't give me a chance," re plied nell — a lively, dark-eyed girl, with pretty, restless features. "she has mo nopolized mr. stanley all to herself." "well, there; i'u resign him to you, saucebox," said mrs. percival, smiling, "though i imagine mr. stanley will soon tire of your everlasting chattering." "here is some one else you have not seen yet, nell," said her sister, glancing i at gus, who now advanced. i "why, can it— no. it— yes, it— why, ? ,<3eclare it's gus!" exclaimed nell, as i*d. m the hermit of the cliffs. 1 darted forward and without ceremony flung her arms around his neck. "dear me! ellen, that's shockingly improper conduct!" said the highly scan daliaed mrs. percival. "oh, ain't it nice!" exclaimed nell, as she came dancing back, with cheeks and eyes all aglow. "we'll have such good times, now you and 'dlth have come back!" "where is nugent mamma?" inquired edith. "he went away with ralph de lisle, about a week ago, my clear," replied her mother. "we expect them both home again in a few days." the name seemed to act like a galvanic shock on edith, who gave a sudden start and flushed to the temples. "and, oh, edith!" exclaimed her vol uble sister, "you ought to see ralph since you left him to wear the willow. poor fellow! he was such a victim to "green find yellow melancholy" for a week after that i couldn'f bear to look at him. my! won't he be glad to hear you've come back — and so will i. too. for i do long for a wedding dreadfully." "ellen!" said her mother, reprovingly. "oh, well, mamma, there's nobody here that doesn't know all about it," said the chatterbox. "but. dear me! mr. stan ley, ain't you well?— you look like a ghost!" edith, who had been gazing steadfast ly out of the window, now turned sud denly round, and fred started at seeing the .deadly paleness of her face. "ring the bell, edith, for a glass of water," said nell. "why, i declare you're as bad yourself," she added, suddenly confronting her. "just look, mamma, how pale they both are! i'm afraid it's catching. do i look pale?" and the se rious expression of nell, as she glanced at her own blooming face in the glass, was truly laughable. but the color that had faded from the face of both speedily returned. the eyes of fred and edith met, and before that penetrating glance hers fell, while a vivid crimson mantled cheek and brow. during the remainder of the evening the name of ralph de lisle was fre quently mentioned by all save edith, who seemed to shrink painfully from the subject. from what he heard, fred judged de lisle was a suitor for the hand of edith— and what was more, a favored one. when fred retired that night it was with no very pleasant feelings. who and what was this de lisle? he asked him self the question repeatedly, without mueh hope of obtaining an answer. his resolution was to see gus alone, and, if possible, obtain from him a discovery without exciting suspicion as to the state ^-isf his own feelings. if, as he feared, he ^jb indeed beloved by her, then he him self would immediately depart and see her no more. ' ' the next day an opportunity occurred. fred and gus found themselves sepa rated from the others and straying arm in arm through the garden. "who is this ralph de lisle, about whom they all appear to be so anxious?" inquired fred, with affected carelessness, unconscious that he was rooting up the violets with his cane. "a suitor of edith's, i believe," replied gus, indifferently. "ah! and a favored one, if i may judge." "hum! i should think so — they're to be married in a few weeks." there was no response from his com panion, and gus went on: "the father of this de lisle was a frenchman, and the intimate friend of major percival. when dying he commit ted his son to his care, with a request that edith and ralph, who had always been firm friends, should be united, if thpy were willing, when his son attained his majority. major percival promised him that his request shovild be fulfllled. {ind his word with him is law unalter able. the young couple love each other, it seems, so their 'course of true love' runs smoothly enough. edith wished to visit some friends of hers in england be fore she became mrs. de lisle, and she was returning home when you rescued her from the burning ship." "better, far better, i had left her to perish there!" was the bitter thought that passed through fred's mind. "de lisle is an immense favorite with the major," continued gus; "some say he appears fonder of him even than of his own son. he is the leader of a gang of tories, and a tory himself to the core of his heart. but here comes nell — breezy and airy as ever." "oh, mr. stanley!" she exclaimed, as she came flying to him, "we are going to have a sailing party to-morrow, and you must be sure -to come. so, if you have any engagement for that day, you may just break it at once." "i regret it is impossible for me to comply," said fred, gravely. "i must depart to-morrow." "depart for where?" demanded gus, surprised at this sudden announcement. "to see my father. i should have gone before, could i have broken the spell that bound me here!" and he bowed to nell. "oh, nonsense, mr. stanley!" exclaimed that young lady. "you sha'n't go, and that's the end of it. tour father can wait a day or two very well. sister, come here and persuade mr. stanley to stay. he's going away," he says. "going away!" echoed edith, growing pale as she spoke. "but we positively won't allow it, un tbe hermit of the cliffs. 16 til after to-morrow, at leftst— shall we. sister? coax him. like a good girl, while i have a race with carlo—he's pulling the dress off my back. you're such a good hand to persuade people, you know. i remember, when de lisle used to be leaving, how you would coax him to stay. come. carlo!" again edith started at the abrupt mention of that name, and the subdued light that had filled fred's eye as he watched her changing face gave place to a look of cold determination. gus urged him presslngly to remain, and edith's eyes were raised pleadingly to his face as she faltered out a similar request. but their entreaties were in vain. fred de clined politely but firmly, and entered the house to announce his determina tion to major percival and his lady. here, as he expected, he was again over whelmed with entreaties to remain; but having resisted those of edith, he found little dlfllculty in remaining firm in his determination. "at least, then you will soon visit us again?" urged mrs. percival, when she found all her entreaties of no avail. to rid himself of their importunities, fred promised, and early the next morning he was off. the family were all assembled on the front piazza, to say good-by— all but edith. "where's edith?" inquired the major, as he, too, missed her. "she had a bad headache this morn ing, and couldn't leave her room," replied nell, to whom the question was ad dressed. "it's strange, too! i never knew her to have the headache before." she glanced demurely at fred, who was shaking hands with hec father, and there was a world of meaning in her bright eyes. "well, good-by. miss ellen," he said, approaching her, "until we meet again. remember me to your sister." he bowed, sprang in the carriage and drove off, quite unconscious that from her chamber window the eyes of edith were watching him until he disappeared. ' •* chapter vi. ■ ' > '.i ■■: . ■'■ ^ ■ father and son. "fathers have flinty hearts, no prayers can move them " —shakespeare. it was drawing toward the close of a pleasant summer day. the sun was just sinking behind the western hilltops, when a carriage rattled along the dusty streets and stopped before a plain but commo dious looking dwelling. a young man. tall and handsome, sprang out, and, turning to the sen nt, whom the wheels had brought out e manded : "does sir william stanley live here?" "yes. sir," was the reply. "is he at home now?" inquired the young man. "ye.s. sir." "alone?" "yes. sir." "then show me to his room. i wish to see him immediately." "but, sir, really," stammered the man. "sir william dislikes to be intruded upon. if you will give me your name, i will announce you." "my good fellow. i'll not put you to so much trouble. just show me to his room and i'll take the consequences." hurried away by the impatient and commanding manner of the young man, the domestic, sorely against his will, was forced to obey. preceding the impudent stranger (as he considered him), to the library, he opened the door and ushered him into the "presence," and immediate ly beat a precipitate retreat. a tall, stately man, of middle age and military bearing, sat writing at a desk. there was a striking resemblance be tween the two— the same tall, command ing figure — the same haughty, aristo cratic air, the same fiery, dark eye. but the winning smile that sometimes gave such a look of inexpressible sweetness to the face of the younger, never appeared on the thin, firmly compressed lips of the other. the noise made by the openlng-of the door aroused him. he looked up quickly with an air of anger at the interruption, but as his eye fell on the young man's face, he sprang from his seat and caught him impetuously by the hand. "fred! by all that's lucky!" he ex claimed. in a tone of delight, "when did you arrive? i was just wishing this mo ment that you were here." "i only reached here a day or two ago," replied fred, returning his cordial grasp. "and how are our friends in paris?" inquired sir william. "they are well, sir. i had several let ters for you from them, but it was my fate to be shipwrecked, and they were, unfortunately, lost." "shipwrecked?" said the father, in quiringly. "yes. sir," replied fred, as he related their adventures on sea, omitting, how ever, that part concerning edith. "so, gus elliott accompanied you, did he?" inquired sir william, when he had concluded. "where is he now?" "at his uncle's. major percivarb," re plied fred, beginning to trace the pat tern of the carpet with the end of his riding whip. "ah! indeed? i know his son, young percival. fine fellow, too— fine fellow! and there's a friend of his, too — de lisle, i think they call him," contlnuea> .-* ,^r.^ /• 16 the hermit of the guffs. , 1] 'i| i sir william, without noticing his son s sudden start, "an example for half the young men in this rebclllouh land. you saw, of course, the appointment i've pro cured for you in the army." "t did, sir," said fred, preparing him self for the storm that was coming. "well. i must say." said sir william, surveying him with a look of calm sur prlfe. not to say displeasure, "that for such good news you seem wonderfully little elated. why. sir, at your age i would have been wild with delight at such an offer." ^ . . ^\.,. \ fred still sat silent, and his father, af ter regarding him for a moment with a look of increasing astonishment, went on: ... "there are sundry reports in circula tion not at all to your credit, j'rederlc, and though i have always refused to be lieve them, yet they have given me a great deal of mortification. it is now \ your power to prove these reports false, and enable me to hear my son's name once more without blushing for him. you will go immediately, and re port yourself fl.t headquarters." the last sentence was spoken with an air of stern command terribly galling to fred, even though coming from the lips of a father. his calm, truth-beaming eye met that of his father unflinchingly, as he rpse to his feet and stood confronting him. ' "pardon me. sir," he said, repectfully, but firmly; "i cannot go." "gannot?" repeated sir william, start ing back in mingled anger and amaze ment. "good heaven! is it possible these reports were really true— can it be that my son is a coward?" "i am no coward, sir!" replied fred, proudly, an indignant flush passing over his face. "then, sir, you are a traitor— a rebel!" exclaimed sir william, fiercely, as he involuntarily half drew his sword. "neither, sir!" replied fred, with per fect calmness. "then, in the name of heaven, what are you?" cried his father, passionately, goadm beyond all bounds by the young man's cool, though respectful demeianor. ft'ed stood erect, while his eye lit nip and encountered, fearlessly, the angry orbs glaring upon him. "sir!" he said, proudly, "i am an american by birth and by feeling. i cannbt take up arms,^ even at the com mand of a father, against my country men!" isir wilmam grew absolutely livid with passion. '" . "tjngratfeful, undutiftil wretch!" he ex clafnied, in a, voice tha;t sounded hoarse and unnatural with rage; "do you dat-e to reply to yt>ur father thus? i cctm m'a:hd yftu. sir, on your peril, nefver to 'ipealc siich words again. i tell you,^ mad-headed, disobedient youth, that you will— you shall— you must obey me!" fred stood silent, with his hrms fold ed and a look of unmlstakablo determi nation in his eye. "have you heard me?" exclaimed his father, striding toward and glaring upon him with fiery eyes. "i say you shall obey me!" "i hear you, sir," replied fred, calm ly, meeting his gaze with an unflinching eye. .v ■■.:■•■••■ "and you shall heed me, too. oo im mediately. instantly, and report yourself, and by your bravery strive to atone for your hot-headed presumption. d'ye hear me, sir?" , i-> '^a v :>^:'i^ t ■•, "yes, sir." .-\.: ^^■;.••". .:!^. --:>■, -v. "and you will obey?" -^ 'v.-,. "most decidedly no. sir!" "you will not?" exclaimed sir william, with a glance that might have annihi lated him. it was so intensely, scorch ingly angry. 'w^r*' ' "no, sir!" "base, degenerate scoundrel! do you not dread a father's curse?" "not when my conscience tells me i have done no wrong, to deserve it." "conscience!" repeated his father with a bitter, sneer; "methinks that is an ar ticle you are but little acquainted with. pray. sir parson, have you ever heard the command. 'honor thy father?' " "yes, and i have heard another, 'hus bands, love and cherish your wives!' which in your estimation, sir, has the greater force?" he spoke, almost without knowing it, in a tone of such concentrated bitterness that his father quailed before him. "i am not in the humor for fooling.'' he said, angrily. "will you or will you not obey me?" "you have my answer already." 'f<-.:.v "and you still persist in disobeyltisr me?" "i must, sir, in this matter," "and may i ask, inost patriotic young man. what you intend doing?" inquired sir william, with a sneer of withering sarcasm. •'-' "i intend joining the american army,'',' said fred, calmly. •'•: "you do!" exclaimed his father, with flashing eyes. "do you really mean to say you are going to take sides against me — your father, sir?" ' sir william bit his lip and began to pace rapidly up and down. he saw he had injured his own interest by getting into a passion; his son wad not one to toe intimidated. gentle language, he f^lt, would have produced a. much greater ina-' pression, and all unused as his lips were to it, he determined to try its efficacy. it was not that h(f» really loved his son so much, 'although he did ■feel more, af fection for him than for any one else^ but it was not in his selfish nature td the heumit gf the oliffh. 17 aisobeyirig in army/ love any one much. the opinion of the world was what he feared; he felt it would be a terrible humiliation to be pointed at hereafter as a man whose son was a rebel!" full of this idea, he advanced toward fred, who stood watching his varying countenance, and reading, with his searching eyes, his very inmost thoughts. "frederic " he said, in a subdued tone, "i feel i h. e been wrong in speaking as i have done, but consider the provoca tion. you are my only child— the last descendant of an ancient house; without you to perpetuate it our family will be come extinct. you are my only hope, frederic; you will not desert me in my old age?" what was begun in policy ended in real pathos. his«anger and reproaches had fallen unheeded, but his last words went to the heart of fred. "father," he said, "i cannot alter my determination. therefore, cease to urge me to do what duty forbids." "duty, frederic! do not pervert the word. your duty is by the side of your father. where else should a son be? this cant about 'freeing your country' is all very well for those hare-brained raga muffins who follow the rebel washing ton, but does not become you. remain with me, and you will be heir to one of the noblest estates in old england. per sist in this mad scheme, and i shall be compelled to disinherit you." he commenced to speak calmly, but as he proceeded; his anger overmastered every other feeling, and he assumed his former threatening tone of command to ward the close. "that last argument, father, was the mbst ineffectual one you could have used," said his son, quietly. "wealth i have never coveted." "don't dare to call tne father!" said the now thoroughly incensed parent. "you are henceforth no son of mine. i cast you off; i disown you, and if you are cz^ught fighting for the rebels, i will have you huftg as a traitor. mark my words —it is no idle threat. and now, sir, be gone instantly! never darken these doors again! away, thou ingrate!" he paused, choked with rage. fred's fajce was deadly pale; the words sounded terribly unnatural and fearful, coming from a parent's lips. ''father! you do not — you cannot mean"— "away, sir!" repeated sir william, waving his hand. "i have spoken no hasty words, to be repented of after ward! i never threaten what i do not intettd to perform, and if ever you are taken prisoner, i repeat it, you shall hang as high as hftma»! yes, sir, i will keef» my word, though. king g«orfe him self pleaded for you, and if none other could be found, i would be yt)tir execu tioner myself! you have heard me! be gone!" i..ittle did either dream how soon that threat was to be fulfilled. he held the door open, and signed for him to go. without a word, fred took his hat and quitted the house. ; . ... chapter vii. the hp5rmit of thb cllipfd. "it whh a lonely spot id which he dwelt; man mhunned his roof, few cared to ask us shelter. not that the old man bore an evil name. but that his house wiis lonely." -old play. thrke days later fred sat in the par lor of an unpretending looking hotel, carelessly glancing .over a new^papet", when a waiter entered and finnounped that "a gemman was 'qulrin* for hin» downstairs." "for me?" repeated fred. "who can it be?" "dunno, sah," replied the darky, fan cying the question was addressed to him self; "i 'spect"— . "show him up," said fred, cutting short the darky's exclamation. in a few moments a tall, handsome fel low, with a good-humored look and a frank, off-hand air. entered. advancing to fred, he held out his hand, with a smile: "mr. stanley, i believe," he said, courteously. "yes, sir," replied fred, bowing; "but i regret to say lam quite ignorant of the name of'* — "ah! beg pardon!" interrupted the newcomer. "my name is nugent percl val. i wish i could thank you suffi ciently for the inestimable service you have rendered us all in saving my sis ter's life." fred strov-"> to affect a genteel indiffer ence, though he felt the blood rushing , to his face. "pray do not mention it," he replied "i am only too happy to have had the opportunity, of saving her. i trust she is well?" . -: "yes, edith is quite well, an€ joins most urgently with the rest of the fam ily in inviting you to return with me home. do not refuse. mr. stanley," he continued, seeing the almost haughty ex pression of fred's face; "you have no idea how disappointed they will all be. gus would have accompanied me here, but my sister nell positively refused to let him go — for fear, as she'expressed it, he might get shipwrecked again." fred smiled and walked irresolutely to the window. edith urged him to return: his heart leaped at the words, but a moment's thought convinced iiini that percival had merely used the words al8 18 the hermit of the guffs. a matter of form. still, he felt an in ward wish to ko. something made him fancy fmith was not wholly indifferent to him, and he lonrcd to hear her say ho with htr own lips. but, then, her af rtanced do lisle? what if he were there? well, even wo it would be a comfprt to see what manner of man his rival was. still, then there was an undefined hope that he was not at perclvnl hall. "1 hardly know," he said, hesitating, "whether to intrude a second time or not. there may be strangers"— he paused. "only the family." said perclval, in hla frank way. "so if meeting strangers is your only objection, you aee you can no longer refuse. come, stanley (excuse my famlilarlty), you must rome back whh me. i have been threatened with all manner of calamities by nell (who, by the way, pronounces you 'a love of a man') if t did not bring you." there was something fred could not resist in the courteous, winning manner of young perclval. he resembled edith, too, faimore than did her sister, and this, perhaps, was the secret cause that drew fred toward him. "well, since a lady commands it, i must obey." he said, gayly, as he ran bis fingers through his dark elf-locks. "when do you start?" "my orders are to wait lor you, sir." replied perclval. and i shall most assur edly do so, not having courage to brave the storm i should meet with did i ven ture to return without you. therefore, until you are ready, i remain your ver;' bumble servant." "then you are not likely to be de tained," said fred, "as i am like the sol dier's wife— ready to march on a mo ment's warning." "very good!" said perclval: "what say you to starting to-morrow?" "t have no objection," replied ffed. "i am only spending a day or two here, to kill time." the matter being thus arranged. per clval. after conversing for a short time on ordinary topics, took his leave. the next morning found them en route. : there was. we must confess it. an un usual throbbing at fred's heart when he again encountered edith. she was look ing better— more cheerful than he had ever seen her, he fancied — and the cold reserve with which she had formerly treated him. seemed entirely forgotten in the unfeigned pleasure with which she welcomed him back. fred fancied, or, rather, hoped, this might be caused by the prolonged absence of de lisle (who had not yet made his appearance), and noticing the eager, happy look with which she met him. his heart leaped with the wild hope that perhaps she loved him, after all. the greeting of the rest of the family was most cordial, especially that of nell. that young lady declared "she hadn t had a bit of fun since he left; she never was at a loss for something to laugh at when he was present; it was so funny to see him sitting so stiff and dlgnlfled. looking more like a banished prince than an every-day christian," a week passed rapidly away at petcl val hall. rides, drives and walks fol lowed each other. in all of which fred unaccountably found himself the com panion of edith. gus. who was general ly at his wits' end by the caprices of nell, found enough to do in taking care of that eccentric young damsel. and perclval usually started off by himself, leaving the well-satisfied couples behind him to their own devices. there was a dangerous fascination for fred in these interviews. sometimes, "feeling half ashamed of loitering here in idleness, when duty called elsewhere, he would resolve to depart immediately; but days passed on. and he found it impossible to tear himself away. he strove to stifle the twinges of conscience by specious ar guments: but reflection would not be stlfl'?d, do as he would. "w^ll. stanley, have my sisters intro duced you to all the celebrities of the place?" asked perclval, one warm, sunny afternoon, as the whole party, after a longer ramble than usual, strolled to ward the house. "no," said nell; "we haven't visited the hermit yet!" "and why have you not brought him there. puss?" inquired her brother. "because the hermit was absent, off on one of his crazy rambles." replied nell. "he only returned this morning. old mat, the gardener, told me." "then suppose we go in a party and pay the old gentleman a visit?" said perclval. "pray." inquired fred, "who is the her mit?" "oh! a most singular and eccenttic old man," replied perclval; "one alike feared and shunned and beloved by the vil lagers. he resides a few miles from here, near the seashore, and is a lunatic, but perfectly harmless. there is a ran'ge of rocks in that direction, which has been known from time immemorial by the name of 'the cliffs,' and from his fondness for strolling about there he has received the singular and somewhat ro mantic name of the hermit of the cliffs. he first made his appearance here a few years ago. and from his skill in herbs and medicine, became a favorite. he has built a sort of cabin up among the cliffs, and here he has since resided, spending his time in cultivating a little garden or wandering among the rocks. his name is unknown, but he is, no doubt, some unfortunate whom, the cares of the world have made an idiot." "i feel rather curious to see this sin "she hadn t ft; 8he never : to lau^h nt 'as bo funny md dignified, 1 prince than ay at petcl d walks fol whlch fred ?lf the coin was keneral caprlcea of taking: care amsel. and by himself, uplea behind rhere was a 'red in these eeling half in idleness. e, he woum y; but days t impossible rove to stifle specious ar )uld not be isters intro •ities of the varm, sunny rty, after a strolled to en't visited rought hlni rother. absent, off bs," replied s morning. me." party and islt?" said i is the her centric old ilike feared y the vll tilles from 3 a lunatic, is a ran:ge which has ^morial by from his lere he has lewhat ro the cliffs. here a few 1 in herbs orite. he imong the e resided, ng a little the rocks. he is, no the cares iot." ■ this sln tue hermit of tub gjaffs. 19 'liet us gular porsonage." said fred, visit him by all means." "is it not too far. brother?" said edith, anxlouily. "the sun will have set be fore we return." "what odds?" interrupted the impetu ous nell. "we can return by moon light, which will be twice as pleasant." and nell hummed: "moonlight hours were made for love." "let us start, then." said gus, "if we are to visit the wizard. there is no time to lose." ,. ; * for a while the party walked on to gether, chatting gayly; but the usual phenomenon took place before they had proceeded far. gus and nell saw some thing very interesting on ahead that caused them to quicken their steps, while fred and edith found it quite conven ient to walk slowly. there was a scarcely repressed smile hovering about voung perclval's lips. as. undev the plea of acting as guide, he walked on by him self in advance of the rest. two hours' slow walking brought them to the cliffs, a high, steep, craggy range of rocks. as a matter of course, each party sought the cottage .of the hermit by a different path. fred and his fair companion, absorbed in conversation, had nearly forgotten the object of their visit when, turning an abrupt angle in the path, he raised his head, shook back his dark locks, and his eye fell on the most singular looking personage he had ever beheld. it was an old man of grave and ma jestic aspect, who stood leaning on a staff. his long, white hair and beard flowed over his robes and gave to his pale but benign countenance a venerable look that immediately commanded re spect a small skull-cap of black velvet was on his head, forming a strong con trast to the hoary whiteness of his aged locks. his dress was most singular, con sisting of a long, flowing robe of some dark stuff, that swept the ground as he walked, and was confined at the waist by a girdle of black velvet. altogether, his appearance was so odd. so singular, that fred stood staring at him, trans fixed with astonishment. the hermit himself stood gazing upon them for a moment; then, raising his cap. he said, in a grave, impressive voice, laying his hand on his heart: "peace be between us, my children." "amen, father!" responded edith, who was familiar with the singular appear ance and address of the hermit, while fred still stood lost in wonder. "why hast thou visited me this even ing, my daughter?" said the old man, turning to edith. "my friend"— and she glanced toward fred— "has hsard no muoh of the hermit of the cliffs that he was anxlouh to visit you. therefore i took the liberty of bringing him." the old man turned slowly and fixed his mild, dark eye on the face of the young man. "what is thy name, my son?" he in quired. "i am called frederic stanley, good father." said prod, raising his hat and bowing with deep reverence. the eyes of the hermit were fixed on him long and steadily, as if striving to read his inmost thoughts. as if still un certain, he approache<l. and, pushing back the thick curls that fell darkly over the young man's brow, gazed earnestly into the calm, dark eyea that fearlessly met his own. edith looked up in fred'a face with a smile. "yes." said the hermit at last, speak ing more to himself than to the listeners, "he has his father's proud beartng and haughty eyes. the same impetuous bravery, but a nobler and more gener ous heart." "do you know my father?" inquired the young man. in surprise. "yes. better, perhaps, than he does himself. i know him for a rash, self willed, obstinate, hard-hearted man." "sir. he is my father!" said fred, flushing angrily. the penetrating eye of the hermit was fixed steadily on his face. "and can you defend him. he said, "af ter parting from him as you did last?" fred stood aghast. the meeting be tween the father and son had been stj'lctly private, and yet this mysterious being seemed to know all that had oc curred. "how came you to know of our last meeting?" he demanded. imperiously. "perhaps i know more than you are aware of. my son." said the hermit, while something like a faint smile passed over his face. "pshaw!" exclaimed fred. impetuous ly, "you have merely made a clever guess. since you know we are both fiery-tempered, it required no great skill to predict that we might differ." "shall i convince you, most noble doubter, that i know of what i speak?'' said the hermit, quietly. "if you can," replied fred, with an in credulous smile. "then name the way." "tell me of the past." said fred, glancing meaningly at edith. "be it so. we will begin with your age. you will be t\yenty-flve years old the third of next november." fred bowed, with a look of surprise. "your mother died alone and in sor row: the hands of strangers placed her in the grave." fred grew deadly pale and drew back. i l*' ik) tiik hkkxil'i' nt' tilt: cukf'b. "you havp porforntied gome kreat serv wc for the lady by your hide." continued the hermit, quietly. "and at present lin irer with her h«>re. nt'klertlur the duty for which your father haw disowned ^""enoukh. sir." interrupted fred, haughtily. "be you man or demon. i will llbtcn to no impututlonh on my conduct. how you have obtained thib information concerning me i know not; neither do i care. come. miph perclval. let us go; the evening air is too damp for you, anj i see our friends are on their way home. i wish you good evening, sir sage." and, ralfing his hat, fred turned coldly away. "stay one moment," said the hermit, laying his hand on the young man's arm and speaking with such deep sol emnity that it awed him in spite of him self. "stay, rash youth, and be warned. beware of false friends. there is dan ger at hand; you will soon meet one who can work you much evil. i am your friend, though you may not believe it go, and be warned! despise not the words of one to whom age has brought wisdom. farewell, my children, and heaven bless you!" he bowed, and. turning slowly round, disappeared among the rocks. "let us go," said edith, who clung, pale and trembling, to frod'?< arm; "his words frighten me." "fear not. fairest edith; those oml notis words were not meant for you." said fred, gently, as he wrapped her shawl close around her and hurried down the rocks. "it may be wrong— it may be supersti tious," said edith, "but i feel the stran gest presentiment of coming danger stealing over me. something terrible and undefined, from which i shrink in fear and horror." "i thought your nerves were too strong to be thus shaken by the idle raving of a moonstruck man," said fred, gravely. "i am not nervous," said edith, earn estly. "it is a feeling for which i can not account. strange, is it not, that the old man could tell you of the past so truly?" "it is, indeed!" said fred, thoughtful ly. "i cannot account for it." during the remainder of the journey home both were silent and thoughtful. it might be fancy, but fred thought there was something more confiding than usual in the way edith clung to his arm. the moonlight fell softly around ere they reached perclval hall, subduing with its lights and shadows the irregu lar outline of the building. as they walked slowly up the avenue in front, nell came flying down the steps all in a flutter of surprise "edith! edith!" she cried, as she caught right of her sister, "guess who'« come'" "who?" said edith. "why. nobody less than ralph dc lisle!" what meant edith's convulsive start.' she lift»'d her eyes to i\.^ jark, handsom< face above her, and fred was struck by her deadly paleness. their eyes met, and that one glan<e told what tlh'lr lips had never spoken. chapter viil the rivals. "it is a dreadful ijuestlon. wh«'n we love, to ask is lovf returned." -the hunchh.nck "come along, edith; here is a friend of yours!" called the cheerful voice of young perclval. as they entered the hall. still leaning on the arm of fred— for she trembled with inward omotlon- edith entered the parlor. a gentleman arose, and advanced toward her with extended hand. fred ran his eye over his rival from head to foot. he was tall, considerably above middle height, elegant in person and easy in address. his features, taken separately, were decidedly handsome: but there was a sinister look in the ever restless glances of his keen, black eyes. his complexion was dark — almost swar thy—with hair, mustache and whiskers of shining. jetty blackness. there was an expression about the well-cut mouth fred could not tolerate, and the fore head, though high, was narrow and re treating. he was dressed in the height of fashion, and everything about him. even to the carefully modulated tones of his voice, bespoke the perfect gentleman "mr. stanley— mr. de lisle,' said edith, making a faint attempt at an in troduction. ^ fred bowed coldly and haughtily, and fiis salute was with equal haughtiness acknowledged. there was something so contemptuous in the supercilious air with which de lisle regarded him, that fred's eyes flashed and his cheek crim soned with anger. "this is an unexpected pleasure, eh. edith?" said her father. "you did not expect to see your intended so soon, did you?" edith suddenly discovered there was an interesting view from the window, and couldn't possibly hear her father's words. "i say, ralph," said nell, leaning over his chair with a short laugh, "you had better look out for edith! mr. stanley's better looking than you are, and" — the rest of the sentence was lost in a whisper. an angry flush passed over de lisle's face, as he bit his lip till it grew blood less. fred sat talking to mrs. perclval with great empressement, though he the hermit of the vuffh. n ralph i)e ht-flvd every word of npiiio'h remark, nnd h«> awaited the reiiponiie with deep inter t'ht. oh. there !■ no danger! i am not jifrnld of him." replied de lisle, with a -ik »m' of intenhe tontempt. "don't be too certain." said nell. don't you remember the proverb. 'noth iiik is certain in this uncertain world?' well. it'n an true aa preanhink; so you h.ul better look out. if 'dlth gives you the sack some fine morning, don't say i iiuin't give you fair warning." "i have a better opinion of your hib ttmm taste, my pretty black eyes. if i am to be a discarded lover, i trust it will tint be for an unknown adventurer and ivbel." said de hale. in the samt> sneer ing tone. it may be imagined with what feelings fred listened to this dialogue. his nery spirit was roused beyond endurance by the last insult, nnd, forgetting his posi tion as guest, he was about to make some (ieroe retort, when gus strolled leisurely in and asked nell what she was talking about. "repeating poetry, ain't we. ralph?" said nell, with an arch glance. "that's a good child. hay some more," said gus. lounging on a couch. nell, always prepared for an emergen cy, stood with clasped hands in the mid dle of the floor and repeated solemnly: "my mother she tells me nature has given the lips— lips to apeak with, my daughter, my own. and so thou must use them for speaking alone. but why are they red. then? white lips would answer for speaking as well ; and why has she said, then— onlv for speaking? oh! who can tell a poor little innocent girl like me. i-'or what but to speak with can my mouth be?' "phall i tell you?" said gus, taking a step toward her: but. gliding through his nands as if she had been a sunbeam, she vanished through the open doors. "shall we take a stroll in the gar den?" said perclval, advancing toward him. "the night is too fine to be spent within doors," fred, glad to escape from the stream of small talk with which mrs. perclval was overwhelming him. arose, and, pass ing his arm through that of his friend, quitted the house. 'i heard the remarks of that thought lesf! sister of mine." remarked perclval, in a tone of slight embarrassment, "and, feeling you must be annoyed, took the liberty of inviting you out. i trust you have too mur'r good sense to feel hurt at anything nell may say." "did you hear what he said?" de manded fred, almost fiercely. "i did. and i felt as much annoyed by it myself as you could pomlbly b«. it was too bad of de llsle~too bad, poal tively. rut we must make allowances for these lovers, mr. htanley," he said, pmlling. "jealousy will make the best -n thetn slightly impertinent. he was vex^/j with kdlth, too. her welcome, as you doubtless perceived, was a cold one." "that he should dart> to call me an ad venturer!" exclaimed fred, with flashing eyes. "i, who have descended from 'me of the proudest fanjllles in england! and that i should be obliged to bit tamely tlown and bear with the insult!" he ground his teeih and clenched hlil li;inds with huppressed passion. "oh, never mind, my dear fellow!" said perclval. soothingly. "ralph is a hot headed youth, and when angry is not very choice in the words he uses. i beg you'll think no more a,bout it. nell's re innrks were very tantalizing to a lover, you must allow. i shall caution her iiralnst speaking so again." "i tell you, perclval!" exclaimed fred, vehemently. "were he not your father's guest, as i am. i would call him out and make hlni retract his words or shoot him like a dog. 'rebel and adventurer!' " he repeated, still more flrvcely. "is it from .1 hound like that mustached puppy i i'lust bear such an insult?" "my dear stanley," said perclval, lay ing his hand on the young man's shoul der, "i beg there may be no quarreling on this subject. consider my bister's name will be involved, and as you are a man of honor, you will submit to this taunt rather than that the breath of slander should be affixed to her." "for your sister's sake i would do any thing—submit to anything!" exclaimed fred, impetuously. then, seeing the other's look of surprise, he added, almost fiercely: "do you think i am blind— do you think i have the heart of a stone? do you think it possible that i could be con tinually in your sister's society and not become interested in her? i tell you, nugent perclval. i love your sister, though she be betrothed to the man i , hate, ralph de lisle." there was something appalling in the unsubdued fierceness with which he spoke. his eyes seemed actually to emit flashes of fire, and his steps resounded. aa he paced up and down, as though he was shod with iron. there was a cloud on the handsome features of nugent per clval. as he again placed his hand on his .«ihoulder and said: "my dear stanley, my dear fellow, i nm sorry for you. i never dreamed that this was the case. i would to heaven edith's choice had fallen upon you first, instead of de lisle. but it is too late now. and for the sake of peace— for the happiness of all— i beg you will endeavor to avoid a quarrel with him while he re mains here. he is a perfect flend when i 22 tbb hermit op the guffb. rousedf and i greatly fear the happiness of our whole household will be destroyed should anything pceur." , vporglv* me, my dear percivalf i have h«en mad. tormorrbw i will depart. i have loitered here too long, neglecting the duty which caus me away. de lisle's taunt shall be borne this time, but should we meet again,"— he paused, but his eyes finished the sentence. "oh, come, stanley: you mustn't think of going to-morrow/' interposed percl val. "do you not know to-morrow' is nellie's seventeenth birthday, and she is to celebrate it by a paity in the evening? come, my good friend, be reasonable! you cannot depart to-morrow. the thing is impossible!" fred knit his brow and paced moodily up and down. "be side, if you leave us so suddenly," con tinued perclval, in his frank, cheerful way, "i will think that my words have driven you off. that would he a poor requital for saving my sister's life." "for that i need no thanks," said fred, huskily. then, .seeing the anxious expression on percival's face, he said, nftore composedly: "my dear friend, i will remain, as you request, but i cer tainly must depart on the day following. duty to my country imperatively calls me away." "ah! edith told me something of this!" said perclval, while a flush tinged his cheek. "stanley, i envy you." "envy me!" exclaimed fred, bttterly. •^yes, for i have no doubt a brilliant career is in store for you. for me, it is out of the question." "and why, may i ask?" "oh! the reason is simple enough. i will not accept a commission in the eng lish army, and there would be the deuce to pay did i enlist in any other. i have not courage to face my father's anger, bo i choose to remain neutral. rather cowardly, is it not?" he laughed carelessly as he spoke, but there was a bitterness in his tone that .did not escape fred. "there's de lisle now," he continued. "he's a red-hot tory, and is considered both by my father and yours as the beau ideal of what a young man in these troublous times should be. there's some thing almost fiendish in the hate with which he pursues the 'rebel yankees.* i always considered mercy a necessary vir tue in a soldier, but he looks upon it as quite superfluous, not to say childish. he is the leader of a gang of savage looking cutthroats, more like spanish bandits, to my mind, than christian sol diers. with these he goes hovering about, never bringing about any particu lar result, but harassing the enemy and cutting off straggling parties. heigho!" h^ aidaed, suddenly changing his tone, *4>e does soraet)tlng after all, and that is more than i can say." "but why," demanded fred, "do you not declai'e your real sentiments to your father, and follow the dictates of your own conscience? it seems to me (pardon my plain speakingx that there is some thing unmanly in acting this way." perclval turned away his head for a moment, and when he again spoke his voice was low and husky. "i would do so, stanley; heaven knows it is from no unworthy motive that t shrink from it, but my mother. it would kill her." "my dear percival>" said fred, grasp ing his hand, "say no more; i honor you for your sentiments. you will pardon my words, i feel assured." "that is already done," replied percl val, smiling, "and now, since we have both talked ourselves into a proper de gree of coolness, suppose we return to the house." e^ith was seated at the piano, singing, when they entered, with de lisle stand ing by her side to turn over the leaves. as may be supposed, this sight did not tend to add to fred's composure; but with the determination of avoiding all outward sign of annoyance, he seated himself by the window, and listened quietly to the sweet voice of the singer, as she warbled the words of an old scotch ballad. later in the evening, when edith bow ed her good night to him, he encountered the eyes of de lisle flxed upon him, with a look of such undying hate, that he absolutely started. the next moment he recovered his presence of mind, and regarding him for a moment with a cou' temptuous smile, fair more stinging than any words could have been, he passed from the room. alone in the solitude of his own cham ber he strove to think calmly over th« events of the day. calmly! it was hard indeed to do so with such a fire burning in his heart and brain. the memory of the hermit's strange prediction kept constantly recurring to his mind, but though he thought until his head grew giddy, he could not imagine who that strange being was. then as the other events of the evening passed one by one before him, he came in due course of time to the insulting words of de lisle, and once again his eye flashed, and his chesk burned, as he trod fiercely up and down the room. and edith! did she love him? that expressive glance, as they entered the house, had seemed to say so! if so, would she still fulfil her engagement with de lisle? he dwelt upon this prob lem until his brain was in a whirl, and when he at last threw himself on the bed, it was with the intention of seeking a solution from herself the foiiowing day. " as every member of the family, bow tflt: vekiin of tifh vufi'tf. 'anrily, how ever, was busy all day in preparing for the festivities of the evening, no oppor tunities occurred for him to see edith alone. accordingly, accepting percival's invitation, he went out with him to take a stroll, only returning in time to dress for the evening. when fred entered the drawing-room, he found it crowded to excess. owing to the warmth of the weather, the doors and windows were all left open, and the cool night-breeze came drifting in. laden with the perfume of flowers, the glare of the lighted rooms contrasting pleas antly with the calm, full moonlight. edith, robed in snowy white, was there, looking lovelier than ever. she stood by the open window, partly in the shadow, her head leaning on her hand, a sad, dreamy look on her fair face. as fred approached, she raised her cloudless blue eyes to his face, and he started to see her look exactly as she did the day he rescued her from the burning ship. the rose-tint on her cheek deepened to crimson beneath his gaze, and with an inclination of her head, she glided away, and disappeared amid the crowd. while he stood looking after her, nell approached, leaning on the arm of de lisle. nell looked absolutely beautiful, there was such a d<iep. living glow on her cheeks, and such a bright, streaming light in her eyes. dt lisle, most ele gantly dressed, was also looking kllllngly handsome, and had evidently prepared himself to make a deeper impression than ever upon edith. "o mr. stanley!" exclaimed nell, "what have you done with edith? she was here a moment ago, with you." there was a wicked emphasis on the pronoun. "where is she now? i want her dreadfully." at sight of de lisle, fred's face grew cold, almost haughty. "i am sorry i cannot inform you," he answered stiffly, "miss perclval did not remain here a momci.t." "dear me! i hope she did not leave you on our account," said the wicked nell, noticing with delight that de lisle was pale with anger and jealousy. "come, ralph, we must look for her. perhaps you'll join us, mr. stanley." "excuse me!" said fred, bowing cold ly, as he turned on his heel and left them. nell clapped her hands with delight. "what a creature!" she exclaimed, "as stiff and haughty as papa himself. did you ever see such an iron face as he puts on when angry, and the freezing tone in which that 'axcuse me' was said." and nell imitated his tone so exactly, that anybody but de lisle would have laughed. "conceited; insufferalale puppy!" mut tered the young man between his clench' ed teeth. as fred strolled into the dancing room, he saw edith and gus standing at the head of one of the quadrilles, and laugh' ing and chatting gayly during the rests. feeling in no humor for dancing htmself, he wandered into the music-room, where he could catch glimpses of the gay danc ers, and listen to the merry strains of the music. there was a deep bay window in the music-room, screened by heavy curtains. in this recess there was a lounge. fred threw himself on it, and drc«the cur tains to screen himself from the ob servation of any stragglers who might enter. suddenly the sound of a familiar voice met his ear. raising himself on his el bow, he glanced from his hiding-place; and beheld the well known features of de lisle apparently absorbed in earnest conversation with another man. his companion, from soioe strange, unaccountable cause, immediately rivet* ed the attention of fred, as no other stranger had ever done before. not that there was anything remarkable about him. he was a man of middle age, robust and sinewy, but not stout, and dressed in the plain garb of a civilian at the day. his features were bronzed by the sun, and seamed with more wrinkles than his age might seem to warrant. his hair was grizzled, and »?treaked alter nately with black and gray. his eyes, small, sharp, bright and piercing, were set in two deep caverns, overhung by thick, busy eyebrows, and were ever wandering around, with a quick, restless look that seemed to take everything in at once. it was impossible for fred to leavei the room without being observed, conse quently he was forced to remain. "i tell your' exclaimed de lisle, "he has supplanted me, any fool can see that tl)e girl is in love with him. even that confounded little wlll-o'-the-wisp, her sister, can jibe and mock me about it. i tell you, paul, the infernal upstart shall repent it in dust and ashes. no' man can cross my path and live." "why do you not tell major perclval he is a rebel?" said his companion, "such a stanch royalist would not harbor rebels, surely." "yes, he would," said de lisle, vehe mently, "the very demons themselves seem to conspire against me." "oh, welk you cannot always expect them to stand your friends." said the' man paul, with something like a sneer; "they have been true to you a grood long while. but were i you, i would' tell the major, anyway." "tell the major! have i not done so?' and w*hat was his answer? 'mr. stanley has saved my daughter's life and is nrtw^ 34 tee sbrmit 0¥ the cliffs. my.gue^t; and. therefore, no one shall presunie to |n»ult him while he i« in this house.' i menti^^ned his growing in timacy with edith, and giving me one) of ws stern joolcs,. he. replied, ,'.mr. stah iey is a gentleman, and as such, it will b0. enough itor him to know her hand is already engaged.' so that was all the jmitisfactlon i gpt from him. perdition seize them all!" and he gnashed his teeth with impotent rage. r ■ ,, "take it coolly, my dear captain, said his companion, quietly; "no one ever ^qe^ business by getting into a passion, j you hate this fellow, that's plain enough; and now, what: do you propose to da?" ( i "listen!" said de lisle, in a tone of concentrated hatred, "and tell me if it \ is pot a glorious plan. hal liere comes, a cri>wd of fools from the drawingrroom. come elsewhere and i will tell you." and passing bis arm through that of his companion, .the twain quitted the music-room. . when they were gone, fred arose on his feet. what his feelings were while listening to the above dialogue may be imagined. a profound contempt for de lisle mastered every other feeling. he had seen intuitively from the first that i^e was not a man to hf, trusted, but he had never believed him capable of such villainy. and this was the man edith ^percival was., to mj,arry. the thought was maddening! fred trod up and down like a caged tiger, unconscious that the eyes of. many were regarding him with wonder. becoming aware at last of this, he seized, his hat, and wandered out to the garden. ,the calm, holy stillness of the night soothed his excited feelings. the cool, pitying breeze. fanned his fever ish brow as he shook back the dark locks that fell heavily over his temples. th^ mo<jnlight lay sleeping on the earth, the trees waved and mourned softly to gether; and, at times, the shrill cry ^f the whip-poor-will and katydid would conme floating to his ear, mingling with the gay strains of music that reached htn>, softened and subdued by the dis tance. all breathed of peaee and repose, aad. unc^nsoiously the calm of the scene stoleinto his heart, subduing its tuniul iuous throbbings, e^ scarcely, knawing whither he went, he atrolled toward a little arbor at the foot of the garden, a favorite retreat of ]^fth. he expected to find it untenant ed,but to his surprise he beheld the 4sllght figure of a young girl, robed in white, kneeling on the ground, her face hidden in her hands, her long, golden hnir falling in a bright &hower over her shoulders. one might almost fancy her 90tne pitying angel weeping over a fallen gwul as she knelt there in the clesr kioonlight. in her snowy dress, as still and niotl<m,ies8. as , thowgh t«rped to marble.-' ■ic-f^'■-■'•'•v-:: "edith!" said the voice of him she. was then thinking of, whose very tone seem ed able to recall her from death, to life. with a suppressed, cry she started to her feet^ and seemed, for a moment, about to fly; but something in the eye of fred restrained her, and she stood silent, her bosom rising and falling with powerful emotion. ■ "edith," he said, taking her hand, which she did not attempt to withdraw, "why are you here alone, exposed to the damp night air?" • "because i would be alpne: because 1 am weary of all this empty gayety; be cause i am wretched. tl^at is," she added, coloring painfully, and check ing herself. "i — i am"— she paused, abruptly. . , "edith," he began, hurriedly; "i have something to say to you — something you must hear." the words were intended to be spoken in a tone of entreaty, but it partook largely of command. "oh! let me return, mr. stanley," said edith, evidently much agritated; "we will be missed." "edith, you must hear me now!" he exclaimed, vehemently, a« she attempted to withdraw her hand. "i cannot suffer this opportunity to pass unimproved, and you must listen to me. edith, i love you — since the first moment i saw you i have loved you, and even though you be the betrothed of another, i cannot but love you still. you are the first to whom these lips ever made such an avowal, and though you may think me bold and presumptuous, i can no longer remain silent. tell me, dearest, have i loved in vain? if so, we will never meet more. edith! edith! dearer than life, answer me!" there was no reply. with her face hidden in her hands, she was sobbing convulsively, "i am answered," said fred, huskily. "edith, farewell! may you be as happy with the husband of your choice as' i would have striven to render you." he turned to go. edith raised wer head, and saw in the wan moonlight the deadly paleness of his face. "mr. stanley^frederlc!" she said, faintly. tn a moment he was again by her side, looking down into the fair face, veiled by the long, golden hair." i "dearest edith," he said, eagerly, "may i hope"— i "no! no! hope for nothing!" she iriter : rupted, "but i feared you ^ere offended. , mr. stanley, you do not jrnow how j utterly, miserable i am!" ' i "and why, fairest lady?" he said, al most coldly; "since ymi lovfe mr. pe 'liifile. methinks ybu should be hajapy.^v i "i do not love htm— i donot 6are lor the bbruit of tbb oliffb. 35 hjtn!" >she said, earnestly; "it is not that." ! ' " ' ' ■ . "and what, then,, is it?" conftde in me, dearest. is it even as i have been rash enau^h to hope? dearest bdith, ■ *lo . you indeed iqve me?"_ ■ : *'i do!" she aald. faintly, as her head dropped on his shoulder. "but why do i say so?" she exclaimed, starting: up — "i, who am to be the wife of another!" "edith! edith! will you marry a man you do not love?" "i must!" she replied, dejectedly; "t dare not refuse — my father has set hia heart on this union. o b'rederie! would we had never met!" "it would, indeed, have been better, edith. blit would it not be wiser to brave the anger of a parent than to be made miserable for life by marrying •one you dislike?" "oh! i" know not what to do!" said edithi wringing her hands. "let me advise you, dearest edith," said predj earnestly. "refuse, firmly, to marry de lisle; your father will not compel you to do so, believ me, it is from no selfish motive i uvy,i you tc do this. you and i, dear edith, are doomed to part. but it would be a crime— a per jury, .to go before god's holy altar and vow to love, honor, and obey a man you detest." , "but my father? o, mr. stanley, you do not know how terrible his wrath is!" said edltb, wildly. "better to brave his wrath, edith, than bender yourself forever wretched. de liisle is ot worthy of you; ?et me advise you as a brother, to rejeoc him!" edith dropped her head, and for a moment seemed lost in thought. then raising it, she said, firmly: "with heaven's blessing, frederic, i .,wilt do so. i feel it would be wrong to marry him; but his anger and my fath er's will be fearful. and you!' — she addied, looking anxiously up into the face bending over her. ' ■ "i shall leave to-morrow," he replied, speaking calmly, by an effort, "happy inknowing i am beloved, though we niay never meet again." she looked down with a shudder. "rt'is so cold," she said, absently, "let us' return. he drew her a.rm within bis, and turned slowly toward the house. when they disappeared . the figure of a man arose from where it had been prouehing behirnd some lo^ tushes, hearing every worcj..^ «j ■ "^ , . ■ . • it tfra«.ji>e lie^lel.and as the rnqonllkht fell upon it, his face, were th^ took of ^ ,a .•dscnoii*.^,;,-:^-, . : .:,:rr;.■■'■ '■■'••.■ .■:,■-••.. ' • gh after ix. doombd. ', . ■ ■ ■ ' * ' ' i "go, some of you, crv a reprieve." —beggar's opera. niqht had settled ovor the earth, fiarlt, chilly and starless. a thick, drlzallhg rain was falling, while the storm-clouds chased oneanother over the sky. in a narrow, gloomy cell, cold and flre less, sat fred stanley. it was a poor place for such an occupant-runfurnished save by a wooden bench and a rude cot on which lay a mattress, covered by .'a (roarse blanket, so filthy that he shrank from it in disgust. *•,.'. when fred quitted the residence of major percival he joined the american army, where his bravery soon won for him promotion. being caught hovering around the english outposts with a number of his men, he was imprisoned, tried by court martial, and condemned tobe shot as a traitor and a spy. it was not death that could subdue the proud spirit of fred stanley, but, oh! fearful to think of, his father had been his judge; it was his lips that had pronounced his death-war rant. ?ie sat on the rude bench, his arms folded across his breast, his lips com pressed, his neglected locks fallen dark ly over his face. it was his last night on earth. ere the sun rose again he avonld be in eternity. he thought of edith, and wondered vaguely if she would grieve to leairn his fate; then of her stern father, compell ing her to be the wife of de lisle— un til, almost maddened, he sp>rang to his feet, and paced up and down, with clenched hands and flashing eyes. it avas hard to die, too, so young, with such a glorious career opening before him, to leave the beautiful \yorld that had never seemed half so fair to him before. he thought of his father's hit ter words at their stormy interview, with ^ vague feeling of wonder that they had come true so soortj and then fol lowed a feeling of utter desalatlon-^^he was deserted by all. without, a friend -qn earth, doomed to die an ignominious death in the flower of his youth. he strove to pray, but his brain was like a seething cauldron, through which mad dening thoughts leaped in wild chaos. even "god have mercy" seemed glued to his lips. ' ; : suddenly the grating npiise of the key turning in the rjisty lock arrested i^is attention. the jailer entered, bearlns a lantern, foljowed by a tall fl$iire wmpped in a clpak.^. setting down the light tlie man departed, and fred was alone with ,t||e "tftranger. ."'":"j.. ..l*stanley, , my. dear fiellow!" h^ eit i 96 the h^rsttt of thb ollffh. r-iehmed, in a choking voice, as the cloak fell off, disclosing the pale fea;tures of nugent p"^rcival. "pek;lvfel, is it you? this is indeed kind!" said fred, grasping his hand. 'i only learned about an hour ago of this," said percival, "and came here im mediately. i had considerable dlfflculty in persuading them to allow me to see you. they seem particularly afraid lest vou should escape." "escape?" repeated fred, bitterly, •thev need not alarm themselves. there la nothing further from my thoughts at present." "would to heaven, my dear friend, i could aid you!" exclaimed percival, in a voice husky from deep emotion. "this affair is terrible, monstrous, unnatural. thev tell me sir william sat as judge?" •he did," replied fred, with stern fierceness, "and most coolly and deliber ately condemned me to death. he told me before he would do so, but; 1 little dreamed how soon his words were to come true. the only thing he seemed to hesitate in was, whether his rebel son should die by the rope or the musket. some of my former friends (the words were pronounced with a withering sneer) persuaded him to let me suffer by the latter, as the more honorable. have i not reason to be grateful for such con descension?" he laughed mockingly. it sounded bo wild, so strange, so unnatural, that per cival shuddered. "it is terrible!" he said, in a low voice. "has he the heart of a man, to condemn his own son to death? it cannot be, it must not be. fr^d, he will relent— you will be pardoned; you need not fear ■ death." fred started, raised his head, and, flinging back his dark hair, exclaimed tiercely: 'fear, did you say? i do not fear death! i can walk to the muzzles of their muskets without my heart beating one throb faster. fear!" his lip curled scornfully "but you do not wish to die such a disgraceful death. it would be an honor to fall hghting for one's country; but this, the doom of a traitor! who could think of such a fate calmly? it might well make the bravest heart quail." "poor comfort, my dear percival!" said fred, one of those rare smiles, that his face seldom wore of late, lighting up his handsome countenance. "surprising as it may seem, your words do not tend to cheer me in the least." "fred, you shall not perish now, if i have to intercede for your pardon on my knees!" exclaimed percival, hurried a\^•ay by his impetuous feelings. "i will go to sir william and plead for your life!" "percival. if you wish me to regard ydu as my friend, never utter such words again!" said fred, sternly. "do you think i would accept the poor boon of life on such degradinig terms? no, my deaf friend. i thank you for ypur zeal in my behalf; but think no more of par don for me. my hours are numbered. i shall never live to see the sun rise again." percival strove to speak; but a chok ing sensation rose in his throat, and kept him silent. fred paced up and down, after his custom when excited. at last, stopping suddenly before perci val, who sat with his face shaded by his hand, he dashed his heavy locks back from his temples, and said, in a voice quick and excited: ' "there is one thing you can do foi me— it is the last favor i will ask oi» earth from any one. tell your sister tell edith, i loved her to the last, and ask her to think of me sometimes wh< n 1 am dead. tell her to think of what we spoke of last. she will understand what i mean, and will then believe no selfish motive prompted me; for by that time i shall be beyond feeling any earth ly pain." "time's vd, sir," said the jailer, sharp ly, shoving his head through tlie half opened doov, "good-by, then, my dear percival." said fred, grasping his hand — "we part for the last time! god bless you!" a convulsive pressure of his hand was the only reply, as percival turned asidt his head to hide the emotion he could not suppress. not trusting his voice to speak, he pulled his hat down over his eyes and quitted the cell, followed by the turnkey. striding through the streets as though shod with the famous seven-league boots, nugent percival stopped not until he reached the hotel where he and his father resided during their temporary, stay from home. major percival was seated in stately dignity, looking over a formidable pile of letters and accounts. he started back in surprise and consternation as his son*, pale, wild and excited, burst into the room and stood before him. "father!" he exclaimed, impetuously. —"fred stanley saved your daughter's life. it is now in your power to return; the obligation by saving his." "save his life! what do you mean, sir?" demanded his father, amazed and, angry at this abrupt address. , "i mean that fred stanley is in prisoa; condemned to be shot to-morrow, and it is in your power to save him!" ex claimed his son with still increasing ex citement. "shot to-morrow!" exclaimed major. percival. "good heavens! what has he ►done?" "he joined the american cause, as you pa* lej in{ foi it i*ei th€ soi cr£ xni nw5 bmrmtt of tse ollffb. 27 use, as you know, and has b<en arrested and con demned as a spy," was the reply. "sorry to hear it— sorry to hear it!" said the major, shaking his head. "stan ley wj^s a, fine fellow, but i can do noth ing for him. he deserves his fate!" "and is this your gratitude to him for saving edith's life?" said percival, with flasrhink eyes. "but what can i do, sir? i told you it was not in my power to help him," i-oplied his father, iii rising anger. "you can help hirn, sir. are you not the intimate friend of his father?" "well, and if i am?" "then go to him and plead for his son's life." "plead for his son's life! are you crazy. nugent? doubtless all the in iluence sir william possessed has been tried for, his pardon before this." "i tell you, father, it is sir william him-s^l* who has condemned fred to death!", exclaimed percival, vehemently. "what!" gasped major percival, start ing, back in horror— "condemned his own pon? impossible!" "he has done so, horrible as it seems. father, you will go to him and plead for a reprieve?" "in. such a case 1 certainly will. i'll go instantly! who ever heard of such a thing? it absolutely makes one's blood run cold! he must pardon him!" sir william stanley sat by the open window of his room, his head leaning on his hand, his brows knit as though in pain. .the raw wind and chill rain beat unheeded on his bare head — a few hours seemed to have turned him into an old man. he was thinking of his son, alone in his cold, gloomy cell — the last heir of his proud house condemned to die a traitor's ignominious death on the mor row! it was his own lips that had pro nounced his doom, and though his sor row and anguish were intense, those words should never be recalled, . sir william was neither hgird-hearted nor unnatural. that his son was a spy, and as such deserved death, was his conviction. he would not have con demned him unjustly; but having once found him guilty nothing could save him. duty was the ruling principle of sir william stanley's life. it amounted almost to a monomania with him. once convinced of what he considered his duty, no human consideration could in duce him to swerve from it. .therefore, he sat by the window, a hoioaved, broken-hearted old man, be reaved by h,is own act. his affection for frederic had never been very strong, but be was his son, after all; and now that he was about to lose hina, he had n^ver seemed bo dear before, a thou fjand renjcmbranoes of himi, that he had long forgotten, again ru0h«d to his mind. he remembered him a wild, imp«ti»oub. handsome boy, ever rash, sometimes wayward^ often fiery and head«trong, l/ut always generous. then,, too, with him would perish the last scion of his ancient family— the disgrace of his shameful death would ever cling to him self; and sir william bowed his face in his hands and groaned aloud. suddenly, a servant entered, and an. nounced that major percival was below and desired to see him. _ sir william was in no humor to see visitors, but he could not refuse his old friend; so. composing his face until it assumed an expression of rigid firmness, he bade the servant show him up. when the major "ntered the room, sir willipm advanc ..o meet him with ex tended hand, his factlooking as if it were made of cast iron, so stern and •hard was it. "to what am i indebted for the honor of this visit, major?" was his very un usual mode of addressing his friend, "to a very unhappy circumstance, sir william!" was the reply. "i allude to that affair of your son's." sir william's brow grew dark. "proceed!" he said, stiffly. "i hear that you have condemned him to be shot as a spy!" said the major, nettled at the baronet's tone;. "it is im possible, sir, you can have done so mon strous an act." "not at all impossible, major perci val!" said sir william, coldly. "i have condemned him to death." "but you cannot mean to execute such a sentence. good heavens, sir, you will not become the murderer of. your own son!" exclaimed major percival, in a tone of horror. "major percival, the young man is guilty' his is a double crime— he is a spy and a traitor. sir, he deserves death!" said sir w^illiam, with stately dignity. "he is none the less your son!" "were he my father, sir, he should die!" "sir william stanley, have you^ the heart of a fiend? will you be barbarous, inhuman enough to conden^n your only son to a disgraceful death? zounds! sir! the very brutes of the forest would not be guilty of such a deed!" "sir, i trust i know my duty!" "duty!" exclaimed the passionate old man, "i tell you. sir william stanley, that sort of cant is ridiculous! duty, forsooth! as if it were a. man's duty to commit a civil murder — for it is murder, say what yoii will— because you fancy him a spj{. i tell you, sir, if you slay you own son, his blood will cry out from the earth for vengeance on his mur derer!" major percival sprang froni hfs seat, 28 the hermit of the cliffs. ii i ail f and stood gesticulating, flushed, excited, flery. »iefore sir william. the baronet's face seemed to be made of marble, for, though he rose to his feet, it was as oalm and immovable as iron. there was something in that stem, still look that awed and subdued the fiery wrath of his more excitable companion. "major percival," he said, and his voice sounded strangely impressive in its deep calmness, "i have listened to your words, and i forgive your insults, though, should they be repeated, my ser vants shall show you out. and now, sii:, hear me: as well might you talk to this table, with the hope of winning it to answer you, as to plead for forgiveness for him. to-morrow, by dawn, he dies, and no power under heaven can save his life. you have my answer, sir." he paused. his cold, impressive voice had stilled the excited feelings of the major. he felt his words were 111 chosen, and, with the determination of being more careful, he resolved to try again. "sir william," he began, "we are old friends, and i feel you will pardon words uttered in the heat of anger. i feel an interest, nay, an affection for your son; he saved my daughter's life at the risk of his own, and it is but natural i should plead for him." a stiff bow and cold silence were his sole reply. "once again, then," continued the major, "i implore you to . retract this sentence. think of the long, cheerless old age before you, without the strong arm of a son to lean upon, without a relativb on earth to close your eyes. for his dead mother's sake, sir, spare your son's life!" a sudden start followed the abrupt words, and a spasm of intense agony passed over the face of the baronet. the major noticed it, and continued: "you will pardon him, i am sure; your heart is not made of iron. for your own sake, my old friend, grant me this boon." "enough, sir!" interrupted the bar onet, around whose mouth a look of im movable sternness had settled; "i will hear no more; you plead in vain. i know my duty, major percival. frederic stan ley has been tried, and found guilty; and ere the sun rises to-morrow he shall die!" there was an almost passionate sol enmity in his tone. he looked as some spartan hero of old might have d"one when about to sacrifice what was dear est to him on earth. "then, sir william stanley," said ma jor percival. growing absolutely white with anger, "our friendship is forever at an end." "as you please, sir," replied the bar onet, with a stiff bow. "now*, mark my words, unfeeling man!" said the major, with a solemnity almost equal to his own, "if you slay your own son you will repent it in dust and ashes. a miserable old age will be yours — shunned by men, and accursed by god4<' "go'" said the baronet, white and choked with rage, as he held the door open and pointed out. and, without a word, major percival took his hat and left the house. the chill, gray dawn of the morning looked with its pale, wan face on many scenes. it beheld edith percival, after a rest less night, kneeling with clasped hands by the window, praying for strength, and thinking of one now dearer than life itself. it saw sir william stanley, cow ering in his room, white and ghastly, with an awful look of fixed, settled de spair in his stony eyes, shrinking in horror as the moments flew hy, bring ing the dreaded hour nearer and nearer. it looked through the little grating, with its sad, pitiful eyes, into the lonely cell in which fred stanley was confined. he lay on the rude cot in a deep sleep — .so still, so dreamless, that but for the deep, regular breathing, one might mistake it for death. his long, luxuriant locks fell darkly over his white brow, saddening the still, marble-like face. his was the profound slumber that follows strong excitement of any kind, and he looked so calm, so tranquil, that even the jailer shrank from awakening him, with a feeling akin to pity for his youth and sad fate. but the noise of the creaking door aroused him. starting up, he looked around him with a bewildered air. the narrow cell, that grated window, the hard-looking jailer, too soon brought memory back. he had slept for the last time. for a moment his face flushed deep crimson, then the blood retreated to his heart, leaving him paler than be fore. "why do you wait?" he demanded, turning to the jailer; "i am ready." he rose to his feet as he spoke. sev eral men entered the cell; but he scarce ly noticed them, as, murmuring a silent prayer for mercy, he proceeded to the courtyard. several soldiers with fixed muskets stood ready. at a little distance was sir william stanley; and no one, to look at his pale, but rigidly calm face, could dream of the intense anguish he en dured. a man advanced with a handkerchief, but, waving him back with an air of oalm command, fred said: "stand aside! i will not have my eyes bound." "it matters not!" said sir william, seeing the man hesitated. then, turning the hermit of the cliffs. 39 to the soldiere, he said: "when i give the word you will"— he paused. with all his firm self rommand, he could not finish the sen tonc-e. "kneel!" he said, turning sternly to fred, but his face was like that of a forkse. "now," he added, turning to the oth ers, and raising his arm, "fi"— "hold!" cried a voice, so deep, so sep ulchral, that every one started; and the n^xt moment the hermit of the cliffs stood before them. lave my eyes chapter x. major percival in a "state of mind." ah me! for aught that i could ever read, could ever hear by tale or history. the course of true love never did run smooth." —shakespeare. there was a moment's profound sl ifnce. and the group standing in the rourtyard. in the gray dawn of the morning, might have formed asubject for a painter. the soldiers. in a row, with gleaming muskets, presented, now motionless in i^urprise. fred, still kneeling in momen tary expectation of death— sir william stanley, transfixed with amazement, staring at the newcomer— and the her mit himself looking exactly the same as when fred and edith had met him on the cliffs. "who are you, sirrah?" demanded sir william, who was the first to recover his presence of mind. "no friend of yours. sir william stan ley," replied the deep tones of the her mit. "and how dare you venture here, man or madman, or whatever you may be?** cried the baronet, fiercely. "away with you, or you shall repent this intrusion." "not at thy command will i go," re plied the hermit, loftily. "no man on earth can make me do otherwise than as i please." "then, by all the fiends in flames, i will make you do otherwise," shouted the enraged baronet. "here, some of you arrest this hoary dotard, until we teach him that our commands are not to be disobeyed with impunity." "back!" cried the hermit, waving his hand majestically. "touch me not at your peril." "who is this old fool?" asked sir will iam, angrily. "one you have reason to fear, proud man," replied the calm voice of the her mit. "now, by heaven! this is too much!" exclaimed the baronet, fiercely. "what! have you all turned cowards, that no one dares raise a finger against this gray lunatic? be off, old man; i do not v'lsh to harm you. do you hear?" "on one condition, only, will i go," re plied the hermit, folding his arms, and gazing steadily into the eyes of the an gry baronet. "must i, then, make conditions with you?" said sir william, sarcastically. "pray, name it, most venerable father!" "that you allow yonder kneeling youth to go forth free," was the calm reply. for a moment sir william's face grew absolutely black with rage. he stood quivering, speechless with suppressed passion. "nay, sir william," said the old man, in a tone of conscious power. "there is no need to look so enraged. i can make you do it." he walked over, as he spoke, to where the baronet stood, and whispered a few words in his ear. the effect was ap palling. sir william staggered back, with ghastly face and straining eyeballs, then, with one wlid cry: "oh, great heaven!" the strong man fell stricken to the ground. all were bewildered, amazed, terrified! several rushed forward to raise the prostrate man, while the others sur rounded fred who had risen to his feet, under the vague impression that he was in some way about to escape. the her mit, as he passed him, whispered: "fear not, you are safe!" and a moment after he was gone. fred was reconducted back to prison like one in a dream. what strange, mys terious power did this singular old man possess? he knew all the events of fred's past life, seemingly, as well as he did himself; and in a few words had produced an effect upon sir william stanley such as no human being had ever done before. he could not account for it. it seemed to fred that that day would never come to an end. he paced up and down his narrow precincts until he was tired, and then threw himself on the wooden bench, forced to resign himself to the prospect of remaining another night in his dreary cell. he shortly afterward heard the key turning in the lock; and the next moment a tall, muf fled figure stood in the doorway. "come with me," said a deep voice, that fred easily recognized as his father's. the young man arose and followed him through a long, dark corridor, uniil they reached the courtyard. fred glanced around at it with a shudder. "go, you are free, said his conductor. and fred noticed now for the first time how hoarse and unnatural was his voice. "beware how you fall into my hands again! go!" mechanically the young man obeyed; ii 30 the hermit of the cliffs ' "%m i and he found himself in the street like one who walks in his sleep, half tempt ed to !>ehftve the events of the past tew days were nothing tout a dream. his first thought was whither he should direct his steps. he did not icnow where nugent pereival was stop ping, or he might have sought him out. and by ^ very natural transition, while thlnklr.g of the brother, the thoughts wandered to the sister, and he was just falling into a delightful day-dream of going to housekeeping with edith, when a slap on the shoulder startled him, and, looking up, he saw a man by his side wrapped in a long, dark cloak. "whither now, frederic stanley?" said the well-known voice of the hermit. "oh, is it you?" said fred, a little surprised by his sudden appearance. "this meeting is most fortunate. sir, i owe you my lifb." "i am aware of that," said the her mit, quietly. "iiow can i siiow you my gratitude for what you have done? believe me, i am . not insensible to the great obligation under which you have laid me." "cease your thanks, young man," in terrupted the hermit, in a tone of slight impatience. "the only return i ask is, that you will in all things be guided by my counsels. nay,'' he added, seeing an irresolute expression on fred's face, "believe me, i will ask you to do nothing inconsistent with your duty, or even your overweening pride " there was a slight sarcasm in the last words, fred felt half ashamed of his momentary hesitation. . "you may command me," he said. "i owe you more than i can ever repay, i do need some one," he added, sorrow fully, "to stand between me and my own headstrong passions. if you are, indeed, ray friend— and i have every reason to believe it — i promise to be guided by your counsels." something like a look of pleasure shone in the eyes of the hermit. it quickly passed away, however, and when he again spoke his voice had re sumed his usual quiet one. , "come with me, then," said the her mit,, passing his arm through that of the young man. "i have a friend resid ing here, with whom you can remain until you wish to depart." both walked rapidly and in silence for a short distance. reaching, at length, a small but comfortable-looking inn, the hermit, who seemed familiar withthe place, ordered a private room to be pre pated, whither he repaired with hia young companion. "well, vslr," he began, seating himself, "may i ask what you intend doing with yourself?" . the, qi^estion was. so abrupt that fred couid not resist a smile. "keally; sir," he replied, "i scarcely know how to answer you. in the first place, i intend to return to my regi ment." "before you visit pereival hall?" in quired the hermit, fixing his eyes with a peculiar expression on his companion's face. fred started and flushed. his first emotion was one of anger; but, quickly repressing it, he answered, somewhat coldly: "i have no intention of going therp. may i beg to know why you ask?" "come, come, my young friend," said the hermit, "no concealments from me. if you wish me to befriend you. you love kdlth pereival?" "i cannot deny it," replied fred, half irritated by the abrupt question. "and she is engaged to be married t(t another?" "yes," replied fred, sternly. "you have seen your rival?" continued the hermit. fred l)owed. "are you aware he is your deadliest enemy ?" said his strange questioner. "rivals are not usually very good friends," said the young man, scorn fully. "it would be something , new if we were not enemies." "young man, beware of him!" said the hermit, solenmly. "you have reason to fear his machinations." fred sprang to his feet, and dashed back his long, dark hair, as he ex t "aimed, impetuously: "fear! i fear no man living! let lilm dare to meet me in open warfare, and i will tfach him i am not to be insulted with impunity." "sir, sir, de lisle is no honorable en emy. he will not meet you in open warfare. he is subtle and treacherous as a serpent — his vengeance will not be open, but it will be none the less deadly. you cannot guard against a foe who comes by stealth." "let him come," said fred, scornfully. "i fear him not." "rash youth!" said the hermit, in a tone of mingled sorrow and anger, "you despise my warning." "no, sir," replied fred, resuming hia seat. "i thank you for your warning, which, however, was scarcely needed. i am already aware that de lisle is my bitterest foe, and i can assure you his dislike is returned with compound in terest. i neither intend to seek him nor to avoid him; but should we meet in honorable combat, one or other of us shall fall." there was a moment's silence, diiring which the hermit sat with his eyes cast down like one lost in thought. "does major pereival know you love his daughter?" asked he, abruptly, look ing up. ^ rue hislfmit of tlik t'uffh. 31 d, scornfully, •no," said fred, shrinking sensitively, .ib he always did, from discussing such a hubjeot. "do you intend telling him?" con tinued his unwearying interlocutor. ■i do not know, sir. 1 must beg you will drop this subject," said fred, with slorn impatience. ••my young friend, do not be angry. i have the power, and, let me add, the will, to asbist you. with the natural fiery imi'atlence of youth you cannot brook jiny interference in this matter now, but, l.clieve me, the day will come when you �ill not be ho sensitive. ' do you know major perclval'b present address!" "no!" said fred, eagerly. "and i am very anxious to see his son, too." ■this is it, then, ' said the 'hermit, writing as he spoke, on a card. 'and now, farewell for the present. make this your home v.hile you stay here." •going so soon?" said fred, rising, scarcely knowing whether he felt pleased or otherwise by his absence. •'yes, i cannot now remain longer, but 1 shall watch over you— not as a spy on vour actions, but as a friend who takes a' deep interest in your welfare. some day it will need no argument to convince you of this. good night, my son." he folded his cloak around him, bowed [ki'avely, and was gone. "well, i must say," he observed, [throwing himself in a seat, "of all the in itomprehensible old gentlemen ever i jinet, this half-crazed, wonderfully wise [hermit of the cliffs beats them all. ihere he gives me a lecture as long as it he moral law, and orders me about as it hough i were of no consequence at all; ihnd t. who was always headstrong and [rebellious, obey as meekly as though i were not old enough to judge for myself. that man is a mystery. i would give a trifle^ to know by what wonderful spell he saved my life. telling me he will watch over me, too, as though i were a child. i am afraid if he watches over mf too much i ^ill be inclined to resist. there's major percival's address — i'll liay my respects there to-night: it is early yet " so saying, he arose, took his hat, and quitted the house. becoming absorbed in his own thoughts again, he was quite .uncon scious how rapidly he was striding along tmtil he struck against some one who was passing, so violently as nearly to knock him down. "better not try that again," said the angry voice of the person he ran against, ap by seizing hold of a lamp-post he re covered his equilibrium. "nugent percival!" exclaimed fred, laughing; "don't you know me?" "wti at! "exclaimed percival. drawing back a&rhast, "fred stanley, by all that's wonderful! can this be you. or is it only your ghost?" "myself, my dear nugent, my verltni^u' self," said fred, passing his arm through bis, and drawing him along, for perrlval seemed too much astonished to move. "i have not the least hesitation in assur ing you, i am myself— as good as a score of ghosts yet." "well, wonders will never cease!" said percival, drawing a deep breath, and surveying his companion, as though still in doubt. "here i was going along, be wailing your untimely end, when, lo! you start up as safe and sound as ever. my dear fred, have compassion on me, and tell me how it all occurred. did your father relent, as i told you he would?" in as few words as possible, fred re lated what had occurred. percival lis tened with a look of the utmost wonder. •'phew!" was his comment when fred ceased, with a long whistle of most "sublime perplexity. "if the hermit is not old nick himself, he must be a near relation. what a providential escape* my father called to see sir william, and came home in a towering passion be cause all his entreaties failed; and here this unknown, moonstruck lunatic, with a few words, has succeeded in what jio other earthly being could have done." fred's mouth grew stern. "i am sorry," he said, "your father degraded himself so much for m.e. i should not have valued a pardon thus extorted from him." "oh! well! never mind; it's all right now," said percival, who seemed the very soul of good-nature. "my father will be rejoiced to hear of your escape. and those at home, too, thank heaven! we will not have to carry them such direful news." "i wish, percival," said fred, looking slightly annoyed, "that you would not mention this affair to them when you re turn. it is all over now, and it might give— some of them pain. promise me you will say nothing about it." "oh. certainly!" replied nugent, "but they will be sure to hear it. de lisle, of course, will find out all about it, and re tail it to them with the greatest gusto." "his only regret will be that i did es cape." said fred, biting his lip. "i have no doubt; but, of course, you're too sensible a fellow to care. you'll re turn home with me, will you not?" "no," said fred, coldly. "i shall not trespass on your hospitality so soon again. my path of duty lies in another direction." "well, i wish you luck. and now we must part for an hour or so: for my path of duty at present lies up the next street. you know where to find my father; i will see you there when i re turn." "until then, adieu," said fred, raising !l nltj m :i:! ,1'r ! ■ .-'i 89 the aermir of the cliffs. hl8 hat, and turning leisurely in the dl reotloti of the hotel. a few momentfl brought him to it, and inquiring for major perolval, he was shown at once to hie room. the major chanced to be thinking of him at the time— thinking of his relent less father, and the sad fate of the son in dying so young, when, hearing the door open, he. suddenly looked up, and iteh«id the object of his thoughts stand ing in the doorway, so tall, and dark, and pale, that he might easily have mis taken him for a ghost. starting to his feet, the major stood staring at him as though he doubted the evidence of his menses. "yoti seem surprised, major perclval," said fred, advancing toward him. "i presutne you expected ere this that i was numbered among the things that were." "what!" he exclaimed, "do i really see alive before me frederic stanley?" and the major's face assumed a look' of amazement most wonderful to behold. fred smiled at his perplexity, and once again repeated the tale of his nar row escape. the major listened with a look of utter bewilderment, now and then ejaculating: "well, well!" "jupi ter!*' "wonderful!" and sundry other expressions of astonishment. "and have you no idea who this her mit of the glifcs, as they call him, is?" he inquired, when fred paused. "none, sir. the man is a mystery to every one, and i believe is generally looked upon as a harmless madman." "there seems to be method in his mad ness, however!'' said the major, "it is in deed most wonderful what influence he can possess over your father! sir william stanley and i were schoolmates once, and iiltiinate friends in after life. i saved his life once, and in his gratitude, he prom ffied that the first favor h. would ever be c ir. -his power to grant to me should be given. the first i ever asked of him was to grant his owp son his life— and it was angrily refused. yet here at the last liioment, a moonstruck maniac comes along, and at his first word your life is spared. strange! strange!" '•i' fear it will always remain strange," said fred, "neither my. father nor the hermit is likely to reveal it. i fear there may be some crime connected with this mysteryi" "well, it is useless for us to perplex ourselves trying to find it out!" said the major. "and now, to change the subject. w^ return te perclval hall to-morrow, and i beg you will accompany us." "i thank you^ majbr perclval; but i must dechne your invitation!" replied fred. "ohi poie>hl pooh! i'll take no refusal, you must come!" interrupted the mftjor, heartily. >. '^ .^ :....■. he looked up in the young man^s face as he spoke, and was almost startleu uy ito cold, proud expression. "come, my dear stanley, do not it fuae! you will spend a few dayh with us at least!" he said, courteounly. "i regret, sir, that i must refuse!" was the frigid reply. "well, if you will not come now," con tinued the major, who seemed in an un usually hospitable mood, "promise tt) do so in a few weeks. my daughter edith is to be married about that time, and we should all like you to be present at the ceremony." fred had arisen as the other dpoko; and now major perclval looked up in bewilderment to see him looming up above him so high, so dark, so passion ate-looking. he ceased speaking abrupt ly, and stood staring at him in wonder. "major perclval," said fred, in a voice so deep and stern as quite to startle that worthy man, "i cannot return to perclval hall, because i love your daughter. wait one moment, sir, and hear me out!" he added, as the major sprang .fiercely to his feet. "miss perclval will, you say, in a few weeks be a bride; in that case we shall never meet again, so that i can speak without fear of misrepresen tation. since the first moment i saw your daughter, i loved her — loved her, too, knowing it to be hopeless, tor she was then the betrothed bride of an other." ' : j . "sir, you're a villain, sir; yes, sir, a scoundrel, sir!" shouted the angry and deeply horrified m&jor. "one moment, sir," said fred, with su'^h frigid haughtin«i«s as quite to over awe his excited companion; "my inten tion was never to mention this to any one, but the pressing, invitations of both .v'ourself and your son render it neces sary. sir, i am a man of honor, and as much could not again become a member of your family, knowing that your daughter loves me"— "do you dare to tell me this!" cri6d the major, growing absolutely purple with passion. '.;'. "knowing that she loves me," con tinued fred, with the same stern cold ness as though the major had not spoken, "i could not return; and my continual refusal of your invitation might lead to misrepresentation. therefore, sir, i have told you all; and now, to what ever you have to say i am ready to listen." he folded his arms, and stood like a statue before him. "my daughter love you, indeed! sir, your ci iduct has been treacherous and dishonorable, sir, unworthy of a soldier and a man of honor, sir; yes; sir, even from a rebel i expected better conduct, sir!" exclakned the enraged jnajor; fred did not reply, but stood erect, calm artd 4f t the heumit of the vliffh. m e now," con »ed in an un jrotnlse to d(» ugrhter edith at time, and je present at itood like a [htern. "what buslnees hafl you, sir," continued the major, still more vehem lently, "to worm yourself into her affec tlonh? you knew she was betrothed" to another; you knew 1 would soonvr see her dead at my feet than the wife of a rebel, sir. ijellevlnr you to be an hon orable young man, sir, although false to your king and country, 1 interceded with your father for your life as i never hum bled myself to plead for any one before; and in return you coolly come here and l>oast that you have treacherously won the affections of my daughter, an inex perienced girl. sir, i repeat it, you're a villain, sir." the major seemed to have forgotten, in his rage, that though he liad inter ceded in vain for fred's life, that young man had saved the life of his daughter. still fred, j:)y a mighty effort, listened to his insults without speaking, or be traying even that he heard his words save by the intensely scornful light in his eyes. "and now, sir," again began the major, absolutely maddened by the contemptu ous silence of hi.s listener, "i never wish to see your face again! never presume, sir, to see my daughter, more; begone, sir! there is the door! i expected some thing different from you, but 1 have been disappointed." he flung himself into a chair as he spoke, and began wiping the perspiration from his heated and inflamed face. fred took his hat, and turning toward the door, , jsatd : "your kind and gentlemanly words. major fercival, will not soon be forgot ten. with many thanks for past cour tesies, which i regret should have been lavished on so unworthy an object, i have the honor to bid you good night." he bowed with most ceremonious po liteness, and was gone. despite all his outward calmness, his brain was throb bing and burning as though on fire, and his passionate heart was seething with fiery scorn and the bitter sense of wrong and insult, which must be tamely borne. as he stepped out into the moonlight, a hand was laid upon his shoulder. something of what was pa.ssing in his mind must have displayed itself on his face, for nugent percival exclaimed, in a voice of alarm: "stanley, my dear fellow, whgre are you going?" "to perdition!" was the passionate re ply. "for heaven's sake, fred, dorr't look so wild," said nugent, "tell me what has •happened; have you told my father?'' "yes," interrupted fred, fiercely, "i have told him all, and been loaded with abuse and insult stich as no other man, under heaven would have dared to heap uponme. and all because i loved his daughter. am. i not her equal? answer me that. am i not as worthy of her as that cutthroat. de lisle? tell me, for 1 have a right to know!" he clutched ferclval's arm with the grip of a madman, and glared upon him with his excited eyes. "my dear stanley, do not talk so! you look as though you were erased. com« with me for a walk— the cool air will restore you to yourself," said nugent. soothingly. he passed his arm through fred's, and drew him with him down the street. the cool night air did indeed soothe him; and after walking a short way in silence, fred rnld, mere calmly: "forgive me, percival, i knew not what 1 was saying. but to be obliged to •stand there, and listen to his insultr— i, who never imre a taunt from any man* —was maddening. i spoke to him a* coolly, percival, as you could have done.' even though every word he uttfered stiing me to the very soul." hlfl eyes blazed, and his face grew livid at the remembrance. "do not think of hia words; they were uttered in a moment of passion. liellevo me, no one will regret them more than himseh\ when he reflects upon what ho has said. there, my dear fellow, do not excite yourself; you look as though you were delirious." "my head aches as though red-hot wires were passing through it," said' fred, removing his hat, and shaking back his hair off ills burning brow, while the fierce light slowly died out in his eyes, as ho listened to the soothing voice of his friend % "hasten to your lodgings, then; yoii require rest and repose," said nugent/ "gome, i will accompany you. to-night you are wild and excited; to-tnorrow you will le a different man." .•>>* "to-^morrow i truet i shall be far from here," said fred. ''we leave to-morpow, llkewtue," said p^^rclval; "sowe will probably not meet" again. for a while. here we are at your stopping-place. so, wishing the world may go well with you until we meet aga^n, i will wd you good-by." "farewell, my dear friend," said fred, wringing his hand. and the two friends parted '■--' chapter xi. thi: adduction. "she stands as stands the stricken deer. checked midway in the fearless chase; • when bursts upon her eye and. ear the-gaunt, gray robber, baying jiear between her and her hiding-place;. while, still behind, with yell and blow. sweeps like a stotm the coining foe." ' —whittlet. meai*time, how was it with bdrth and our frie»ds^at percival hau? m thk ukhmit (if tllh t'llffh. ! ip p • from the day of the departure of fred, de hnle wab mobt devoted in his att«'iulonb »<» hlb betrothed. never be ft»re had he appeared so deeply in love — never had he been so devoted— never !iad he been ho urkfnt that ahe nhould name an etirly day for their inarrlake. the fact of his havink a rival had made bim more resolved than ever to eompel lodlth to fulfil her enkakement— an en h'lkenienl from which he haw. with fierce ankcr. hhe shrank with lll-conccaled loathing. the caufle was to him only too plain, and he inwaidly vowed that once hhe wan hlb wife, and her fortune his, he would make her repent this visible ('ihllke. the other members of the family were too much abhorbed by themselves to pay much attention to edith. and her lover, uus, who seemed suddenly to have for gotten his patriotism, was continually tied to the apron-string of nell— happy, or jealous, or irritated, according to the whim of that capricious young lady. mrs. perclval, who was nearly always .jbsorbed in the mysteries of cp.nvas and ijerlln wool, left the young people to their own devices. and so edith was forced to submit to the hateful atten tions of de lisle. edith had never been so deeply uis tressed before. there was no one in whom she could confide. she dared not even mention the secret of her attach ment to her mother or sister. her father was soon to return; and then she felt sure de lisle would so influence him with his specious reasoning that he would insist upon her marrying him im mediately. but gentle and yielding as edith naturally was, and much as she feared her father, she had a fund of natural firmness — an unbending deter mination, vy-hich few gave her credit for. she might never see fred again; but hhe was firmly resolved to die sooner than marry de lisle. but in the meantime she shunnej? and detested her suitor as much as pos sible. she could catch, at times, the fierce gleam of his eye as her voice would involuntarily become cold when he addressed her, or she would shrink from taking his proffered arm. and so, troubled by the present and dreading the future, edith grew silent, and pale, and restlese, passing her nights in tears and sighs instead of slumber. seating herself at her chamber window one night, her head leaning on her hand, edith was lost in thought, when the door opened, and nell, in dressing-gown and slippers, entered, "why, edith! what have you done to de lisle?" exclaimed nell. "i saw him go off, looking as cross as a bear, a few moments ago. seems to me you and he don't agree so well as you used to. what did you say to him?" "nothlng/'tepued edith. "well. i'd advise you to say aomethlnp next time," said nell, "and not drive tht poor fellow to dlsti'actlon. i declnrf. edith, i never knew the like <»f you iiinl ualph— you're forever making him an yrry. now. there's ous and j, vve jjit along swimmingly together. love ub! if you quarrel in this manner after you' if married. i don't know what sort of ii life you'll lead." edith's face was hidden by her fallen hair, and nell could not see the expres blon of her face. after a pause, thai young lady returned. "i heard mamma and de lisle talklnv about the wedding to-night. papa ha sent word that he will be at home in n day or two, and has got some new crotchet into his head; for he bays h»' wishes the marriage to talje place im mediately. de lisle is wonderfully pleased about it, too; he was awfull.v jeal«^us when mr. stanley was here. o. edith! wasn't he a splendid-looking fel low ?" but to noll's surprise, edith only bul led her face in her hands, and wept con vulsively. "why, bless me! what's the matter? have i said anything to hurt your feel ings? tell me. what is it, edith?" said nell, winding her arms around her sis ter's neck. "what are you crying for? ' "ellen, i'm so wretched," sobbed edith. "wretched! what about? "don't you want to marry de lisle?" asked nell. "no, no; no,' no! o nell! i hate even to think of it," said edith, wringing her hands. "well, now that's odd," said nell, meditatively. "why, i thought you liked him!" "like him! heaven forgive me — i al most hate him!" said edith, with a shudder. "la!" ejaculated nell, "whom do you like then? edith, edith! is what ralph says true?— do you love fred stanley?" edith hid her face in her falling hair, and answered only by a shivering sob. nell's gay face wore a half-puzzled, half troubled, half-pleased look. "well, edith," she said, after a little thoughtful pause, "do you icnow i'm more than half glad you don't care for de ^.isle? he's a jealous, suspicious fel low, anij not half good enough for you. my! just see him alongside mr. stan ley; why, he looks a mere puppy, com pared with him, reallyfif it wasn't for poor dear gus. i'd be desperately in love with him myself," edith tipped her head, and gave her sister such a radiant look of gratitude, that tlie latter was quite startled. "but, o nell! what shall i do?" said edith, in distress, "do?" said nell, with a look of sur prise. "why, refuse him, of course!" "^ la! mai hel yovi i*eol olu tom ukrmit of tuk vllhyh. 86 'm.v hornethliip not drive the f deolarr. <»' of you iiihl t'nk hfm an n<j ;. �»(f, i love ub? if ■ after ynui. at hort nf ;i by her fall, i, p the expre.s pause. tlihi lisle talklnr. papa has t home in ti some new he hays he fe place im wonderfullv 'vas awfully as here. d. -looklnk fel th only hui d wept oon the matteiv t your feei 2dlth?" sahi ind her sls •rylng for?" hbed edith don't you jked nell. i hate even ringlngr hei said nell, 't you liked me— i al ii, with ff )m do you hat ralph stanley?" lllng hair, ering sob. zled, half 2r a little tnow i'm t care for iclous fel ' for you. ^r. stan >py. com ■'asn't for ly in love gave her rratltude, ?d. o?" said of sur irse!" 'v "but papa— he will be so angry!" •'yfcb. i know, oh! he'll be awful. but, ia! that'h no reason why yuu should marry de i^lble, if you don't like him. he can't kill you. you know; and »o you'll get off. yuu needn't care for a scolding." "o nell! i dare not; i am bfraid." "afraid!" repeated nell, contemptu ously. "edith, 1 wouldn't i)e such a coward as y<tu for all the world. afraid, indeed! oh! don't i wish it was me they wanted to marry! wouldn't i tell them a piece of my mind, and just let them storm as much hh they liked. i'd walk up to the altar and marry a fellow i detested, because papa and the gentle man himself desired it? oh! wouldn't i, though?" and nell whirled round in an ironical pirouette. "but you know, nell, papa is bo vio lent." "violent? fiddlesticks! you l)e vio lent, too; that's the way to do it. put your arms akimbo, and tell them all up and down you won't have him; and if de lisle gets mad, and tears would tell him you are sorry for him— but he's too late for supper." "o nell, you know i couldn't do that!" said edith. "no!" said nell, sarcastically, "no; but you could go and marry one man while you love another. well, do as you please; and the first time i see fred stanley i'll tell him he ha^ had a lucky escape. such a timid thing as you are would be the last a high-spirited fellow like him should marry." "sister, how can you be so cruel?" said edith, weeping, "bother! you'd provoke a saint. thank the stars fm able to defend my self. come, edith." she added, more gently, "be a man! dry your eyes, and don't niake a goose of yourself. tell de lisle to-morrow you won't have him; tell him you can't bear him, and tlmt you wouldn't marry him if he was the last man in the world. he'll be mad, and make a fuss, of course— there wouldn't be any fun in it if he didn't. tlien, when papa comes home, tell him the same, and stick to it. of course, they'll all tear round, and be in a great way at first; but, after a while things will settle down again — 'after a storm there cometh a calm,' you know. lor, edith, 1 wish i was in your place, for the time being; t wouldn't avant bettei fun." the energetic and vigorous spirit of the little black-eyed amazon seemed gradu ally to communicate itself to her more timid sister. as she ceased, edith sat erect, pale, but collected. "you are right, ellen!" she said, slow ly, as she gathered up her disordered tresses. "would to heaven i had your fearless spirit ! but since i have not, i must nerve my own to bear the trial." "bravo. edith, my dear!" exclaimed nell, delightedly. "yeh," continued ejdlth. like one think ing aloud, "there is no other way oc avoiding the dele8te<i marriage. beside, j promised him i would!" "promised whom?" said nell, opening her eyes. "never mind, my dear," said edith. smil'mc and blushing; "leave me now. (jood nigbf. to-morrow you will find i hwve taken your advue." nell laughed, and, after kissing editli, left the room. edith passed an almost sleepless night. nutuially tlnild, she shrank from the disclosure she felt heiself obliged to make, kncnvlng well the violent scene that would ushuredly follow. but since there was no alternative, she determined to brave the worst at once, und seek an interview with de lisle the next morn ing. an opportunity was nut long wanting'. entering the library in search of a i>ook, after breakfast the following day, she beheld de lisle seated at the window, his head leaning on his hand, gazing moodily out. he started to his feet h« he b«^held her. while poor edith, \wv heart throbbing like a frightened l>ird, turned hrst red and then pale, and then red ago in, feeling tljat the dreaded nno ment had at length come. "this is an unexpected pleasure, mlsm edith," said de lisle, placing a chair for her. she acknowledged his greeting i>y a slight inclination of the head, and stood with one hand resting on the buck of the chair, scarcely knowing how to begin. "is it not a pity to spend such a lovely morning in the house?" said de llali. "what do you say to a ride?" "excuse me," said edith, feeling more and more embarrassed; "i do not feel inclined for riding this rooming." "you are not ill, i hope?" observed de lisle, somewhat anxiously. "you are looking very pale!" "i am quite well, thank you," answered edith, shrinking still more from the task before her. "i am rejoiced to hear it," said de lisle. then, after a pause, he added, abruptly : "i presume you have heard your father and nugent are coming home to-morrow?" "to-morrow?" echoed edith. "so soon?" * "so it seems. your mother received a letter from the major last night." "mr. de lisle," began edith, desper ately. "i have— that is, i wii^— to"— edith paused, while her heart throbbed so loudly she grew almost frightened. de lisle bowed respectfully, and stood waiting with calm attention for what was; to fouaws "in a word. mr. de lisle," she re 36 tbe hermit ot the chlftti. 'i:' h pm sumed, rapidly, thinking it best to be brief, "it is impossible for me to fulfil my engagement. sir, i cannot marry you!" her voice trembled a little, but. she looked boldly into his face, which was rapidly darkening. "what!" he said, slowly, "break your engagement? have 1 understood you aright. miss percival?" "you have, sir," she answered, growing calm and fearless, now that the worst vas over. "and for what cause, may i ask?" he said, with outward calmness, though his face was absolutely white with sup pressed passion. "because i do not love you," was the answer. "and because you do love that hand some rebel. master fred stanley. is it not so, fair lady," he asked, with a bitter sneer. the blood flushed hotly to edith's face, and for a moment her eye fell before that dark, scathing glance. it was only for a moment, and then she looked al most defiantly up into his face. "you are at liberty to assert what you please, sir. 1 will not contradict you. but i repeat it: 1 cannot— will not be your wife." "that remains to be seen, miss edith," he answered, with a mocking smile. "how do you suppose your father will listen to such an independent assertion?" "he will be very angry, doubtless." said edith; "but. in this case, even his anger cannot move me. i cannot vow to* love and honor one for whom i cherish no affection, nor ardent emotion. it would be doing injustice to you, to myself, and to"— "fred stanley— why do you hesitate, my dear young lady?" said de lisle, with his evil sneer. "sir, i will not remain here to be in sulted!" exclaimed edith, indignantly, turning toward the door. "ah! so you do consider it an insult to have your name coupled with that of that rebel, stanley? i am glad to hear you have so much sense left, at least," said de lisle. edith, whose hand was already on the handle of the door, turned at his -vords. and confronted him with glowing cheeks and flashing eyes, while she exclaimed, vehemently: "no! ralph de lisle. i do not con .««lder it an insult to be named with him. and now i tell you, since you have dhven rne to it. that i do love him. and him alone. yes; i am proud to own 't, and i never will marry any one save him!" "we shall see," said de lisle, with the same cold sneer with wh<ch bp ^pd spoken throughout. "i have very seri ous doubts as to whether the young gen tleman alluded to is not by this time in a better world. as for this little scent', it is very well done indeed; meantime, you had better prepare for your wed ding. pass on, fair lady." he held the door open, and bowed her out with most ceremonious politeness. without deigning to notice him, edith hurried away to her room, and, burying her face in her hands, burst into a pas sion ot tears. and three hours after, making some plausible excuse, de lisle left percival hall to join the major. the following day '■he twain arrived (major percival and de lisle), busine^ still retaining nugent in the city. it was evident to edith that de lisl* must have prejudiced her fatiier againsi her, for her greeting was returned with cold sternness, vjry unlike his wonted manner. but even this coldness aided edith, for had he met her with aflfet tionate caresses, her resolution might have faltered. as <t was, her pride and a sense of injustice sustained her. and with the determination of dying sooner than marrying de lisle, she awaited the scene that was yet to come. not long had she to wait. the following evening, edith, who had absented herself from the supper-table, was summoned to the parlor, where, seated in state, were major percival and his lady, de lisle, and nell. "be seated. miss percival," said the major, with overwhelming dignity. the color deepened on edith's cheek as she obeyed. "hem!" began the major; "you ere aware, i presume, that in a few weeks you are to become the»bride of de lisle, here?" . "i was to have been his bride, papa," murmured edith. "was, miss percival, was?" said the major, •severely. "you are tc be, you mean!" "i cannot, sir!" said edith, though her voice faltered a little. "you cannot!" repeated major perci val, with an ominous frown gathering on his brow. "no, sir!" "but i say yes!" exclaimed the major, vehemently, springing to his feet. "you shall be his wife. i command you!" "then, sir, it will be m^ painful duty to disobey you*^" said li^dith, witli 8 heightened color, as she also rose. "my dear." said mrs. percival, laying her hand gently on her husband's arm. "do not be violent. we can wait; give edith time— do not be angry with her now." the words so softly spoken subdued the fiery wrath of the major. the fear less demeanor of edith, so different from all he had ever known of her, also had the hermit of the cliffs. 87 some effect, upon him seatingr himself, therefore. in his chair, he grrowled: "time! the minx may have as much time as she likes, if it will only bring her to a reasonable frame of mind." "oh! thank you, papa," said edith; •■l»ut i can never"— "major percival," interrupted de lisle, who had listened in angry astonishment, •am i to understand our marriage will nut take place at the appointed time?" "why, de lisle, you hear what that vixen says!" "but, sir, you should insist," said de liisle, rising angrily. "i protest against this deci^on!" ^ "protest and be hanged!" said the major, growing angry in his turn. "am i to be ordered by you, sir? edith per cival shall wait as long as she pleases; and you may consider yourself fortunate u) get her in the end!" and the major, happy ta find some one to vent his wrath on, turned furiously on de lisle. "sir i will not wait!" exclaimed de lisle, passion and disappointment for the time overcoming prudence. "your daughter was to have been my wife at the expiration of three weeks, and i now insist on it as my right!" " 'insist,' do you?" thundered the niajor. "you impertinent scoundrel: if you say another word i'll cancel the en gagement altogether, and you may go whistle for a wife!" and he brought his clenched fist down with such a thump in the table that every one jumped. de lisle bit his lip and was silent. convinced by this time how unwisely he had acted, he resolved to adopt a difcer »^nt course. assuming, therefore, a peni tent tone, he said: "pardon me, sir; my feelings have car ried me beyond the bounds of modera tion. i bow to your superior judgment and willbear my disappoiatmeiit as best i may." the major rather stiffly acknowledged his a.'701ogy — while edith, pleading a headache, hurried from the room. in a few moments she was joined by nell. "well. 'dlth, what did i tell you?" ex claimed that young lady. "you see the trial's over, and you're in the land and living yet, my! did you see how morti fied de lisle looked, though? it's my iipinion his penitence was all a sham. i never saw angrier eyes in any one's head, than his were all the time he was speak ing so respectfully and humbly. oh! there's gus in the garden; i'm going down to tea,?e him. bon soir!" and nell bounded froin the apartment. all the next day de lisle maintained a respectfully reserved manner toward edith and the major. this evidently produced a deep impression on the mind of the latter, though edith plainly per ceived it was assumed. the following evening, as edith stood on the piazza, gazing out into the still moonlight, de lisle approached and, touching his hat, said: "good evening. miss edith, you are looking charming in the paie moonlight. what do you say to a drive this lovely night? my carriage is at the door." "thank you," said edith, coldly, "i prefer remaining �here i am." "w.iat's that?" said the major, who' now appeared. "i ordered my carriage, sir, thinking miss percival might feel inclined for a drive this fine night. she, however, re fuses," said de lisle. "nonsense, edith," said the major, an grily, "you are growing as obstinate as a mule. away with you and get ready; and don't let the grass grow under your feet." edith could no longer disobey. she accordingly entered the house, and soon reappeared in carriage costume. de lisle handed her, with the most respect ful gallantry, into the carriage and they dashed off behind a splendid pair of bays. for upward of an hour they drove on, almost in silence, edith replying to all de llsle's observations only in monosyl lables. still, he showed no sign of re turning. "let us go back, mr. de lisle," said edith, at length; "the air is very cold." "wrap this shawl around you," said de lisle; "i am anxious to show you something a little farther on?" he tolded the shawl carefully around her, while she submitted in silence; and again they dashed forward more swiftly than before. half an hour passed, and still he showed no symptoms of return ing. "mr. de lisle." said ed!'.h, impatient ly, "i wish to go home. will it please you to return?" "in one moment," said de lisle, as he suddenly reined in the horses, and gave a loud, peculiar whistle. "sir! what does this mean?" asked edith, in alarm. he turned and gazed upon her for a moment with an evil smile, but said nothing. an instant after, two men stood holding the bridle-reins of the horses. "ralph de lisle," said edith, in in creasing terror, "what means this?" "it means, fairest edith, that fred stanley, when he comes to woo, will have to select another wife than miss per cival!" "sir, sir! i do not comprehend you," said edith, growing sick and faint with terror. "do you not? listen then, edith; you must come with me. when next you see percival hall, it shall be as the wife of ralph de lisle!" in the clear moonlight his face re tbti mitmif of the (fllpfs. ■iiln i ill !.■ betnbleb that ot % derhort: the truth burst at once upon edith with stunning force, ahd with one wild, shrill cry of terror, she sank back in her seat arid the dark nigrht of insensibility closed around hier. , ,^ ckapter xii. . in captivity. . "when first, with all a lover's pride, i woo'd and won thee for my bride, i little thought that thou wouldst be estranged as now thou art from me. —anon. when edith again opened her eyes she found herself lying on a couch with some one bending over her, chafing her cold hands and temples. her eyes wan ctered wildly around until they rested upon the detested form of de lisle, who stood leaning lightly against the mantel piece. pushing a\»'ay the hands that rested on her foreb^ad, she raised her self on her elbow and gazed with a oe wildered air around. "leave the room, elva," said de lisle, carelessly, without moving. , edith heard the door open, but before she could look around it closed again and she was alone with de lisle. "where am i? what means this, sir?" exclaimed edith, springing to her feet with an overpowering but undefined sense of terror. "that you must favor us with your presence in this old building for a*" week or so, miss edith," said de lisle, care lessly. "do you mean, sir, that i am a pris oner?" desmanded edith, growing very pale. r'exactly so, my dear," replied the young man. , "you cannot— you will not— you dare not!" exclaimed edith, vehement-;. "dare not!" he repeated, w4th a sinis ter smile. ■"yes, sir. i repeat it, you would not v-enture to detain me here a prisoner." ' "we shall, see,", he said,, carelessly. ."-mr. de lisle, i command you to re lease me." ■ , "command away, then; i like to hear you," said de lisle, with the utmost nonchalance. "sir, if you are a man of honor, you will restore me to my father!" exclaimed edith, still jnore vehemently. "that i will do with pleasure when you are my wife." "i will never be your wife, sir; i would die first!" she said, indignantly, "indeed, fairest edith," he ssaid, with a sneer, "perhaps you will not find it so ea«y to die as you imagine. most young i&dies of yout age would infinitely pre fer marriage to death." • "ralph de lisle, are you lost to all sense of hohor?— forcing a /tiri to rnarry you against her will! oh. shame!*' "flonor!" said de liisle, bitteiriy^; "that word sounds well on your lips, fair lady. it was, doubtless, vt.ry hono'rable in you to break your plighted faith and sur render your heart to the n^xt who asked i you for it. tiake care, pretty edith; f those who live in glass houses should ij not throw stones." ' edith sank back iii her seat and, cov ering her face with her hands, wept with mingled fear and indignation. de lisle stood watching her for a moment with a mo.st sinister smile — then, turning io the door, he said: "farewell for the present. miss perci val; i shall send a girl to attend to you by and by. i shall have the happines,s of seeing you again during the course of the day." . he closed the door and was gone. edith heard the sounds of bolts draw ing without and felt she was indeed a prisoner in the hands of the man she deteste^d. oh! where was nugent?— avhere was fred then? she sobbed in a perfect passion of grief until her over charged heart had had its way and sne gradually grew calm. "i will die sooner than marry him," she exclaimed, vehemently. "he will find i am not to be intimidated by his threats— that i have spirit enough, when roused, to resist injustice." her cheeks flushed and the sparkling light in her eyes bespoke her determina tion. feeling more composed, she glanced around the apartment with some curiosity. it was a long, square room, with a very low ceiling,festooned elegantly with cobwebs. in one corner stood a bed, without curtains, covered with a coarse but clean quilt. opposite this stood a table, a wooden chest and a chair. this, together with the couch on which she eat, comprised the furniture of the room. the floor was uncarpeted and the one solitary window uncui'tained. edith walked to the window and looked out. the iron grating outside destroyed the faint hope of escape whicb had begun to spring up in her ineaat. the room was in the second or third story, judging by its distance from the yard below. the prospect on which she gazed was dreary beyond description. the dull-gray dawn of morning was creeping sluggishly over the hills with it'spectral feet. a thick, drizzling rain wati falling; and the wind, as it sighed around the old hous^, sounded inex pressibly dismal. the view from the window was not very extensive — being bounded by tall trees, from which she judged it was situated in the forest; a high wall surrounded the wet, littered yard below; and, altogether, a more uncomfortable place—both within and the hermit of the clwm. 39 i itirl to rnarry i* shame.'" bitterijr; "that "ps, fair ladjr ;n?*?ble in yoir r^^hn and suf >ext who asked pretty edith; nouses should seat and, cov nds, wept with hon. de lisle moment with sn, turning to id was gone. i bolts draw was indeed a the man she is nugent ?— he sobbed in ntll her over way and ame 3oni, with a -<1 elegantly ner stood a 2red with a pposlte this •nest and a he couch on furniture of arpeted and eui'tained. indow and "iff outside joape t>/hich her bieast. »d or third e from the which she description, rning was hills with zzling rain 3 it sighed ided inex from the jive— being which she forest; a t> littered ' a more tthin and hvlthout— could scarcely have beei> found ithan the prison of edith. prawing her chair close to the window, [edith ."at down and tried to think. it iwas a difficult matter; for her head i throbbed and ached until her brain was fin a perfect chaps. while she slat, she was startled to hear the bolts clumsily ! withdrawn; and, raising her eyes, edith f beheld an object that made her spring to her feet in terror. it was a short, stooping, shriveled, toothless, blear-eyed old woman, palsy stricken and frightfully ugly. in her long, claw-like hands sne held a tea tray containing edith's breakfast. this, after closing the door, she deposited on the table, and then turned slowly round until she fixed her little, sharp, red eyes •^n the shrinking edith. a cap with an enormous frill, that kept cont4nually flapping about her face, considerably heightened her, charms; and this, to gether with a voolen gown, reaching barely to her ankles and so remarkably narrow that she evidently found some difficulty in v. alking in it, completed her costume. "here's your breakwis, ma'am," said this singular old crone, in a voice un commonly like the shrill screech of a parrot; "there's coffee and toast— too good, a great sight, for such a chalk faced whipper-snapper as you are. ugh! whatever he wanted a-bringing of you here i can't tell." "who are you?" asked edit|j, begin ning to recover from her fright. "what?" "who— are— you?" said edith, speak ing as loudly as possible, and fully con vinced the old woman must be deaf. "me! oh! um!— yes! why, i'm miss crow, housekeeper and superintendent for master ralph. yes! um!— take your breakwis, ma'am, will yer?" "i don't feel hungry," said edith; "you may take it away again." "hungry!" screeched miss crow, who had the faculty of only catching one word at a time; "well, if yer hungry why don't you eat — eh?" "i am — not hungry," said edith, ex erting herself to speak loud, until she turned quite red in the face. "oh, you're not?" cried the amiable old lady. "why couldn't you say so at once, and not keep me 'a-waltln', a-wastln' of my precious time and spilin' of good vlttiis? pugh! i's disgusted. wait till miss crow trots herself off her j'^gs a-bringing of your breakwis ag'in — that's all!" and. with a grimace that made her look positively hideous, miss crow gath ered up the untested "breakwis" and hobbler] out of the room. left to herself, edith resumed her seat by the wmdow, inwardly wondering if this pleasing attendant was the youngr girl promised her by de lis! •. she felt she was surrounded by his creatures, whose hearts were steeled against heiv then, by a , natural transition, her thoughts wandered home to her friends. she felt sure they were even then look ing for her. but would she ever be dis covered in this isolated old house? or, even if discovered, would not de lisle force her into a marriage with him be forehand ? absorbed in such thoughts, the fore noon wore away; and, ^as noon ap proached, she was once more honored bf. a visit from miss crow, who came with the tray again. "here's your dinner, ma'am," said the little old woman, with her customary screech. "i hopes as how you'll eat it, and not go bringing of me up-stairs for nothin' again, which is what i ain't noways used to. pity if such a big lazy thing as you are can't wait on herself, and not go bringing ageable old women like i is up two or three flights of stairs, with the rheumatiz in the small of my back." and here the screech subsided into a groan. "i am sorry to be. a trouble to you," said edith, seating herself at the table. "trouble!" cried miss crow, spitefully; "so you think it's no trouble, do you? but i'll let you know it is. and master ralph may wait on you hisself ; though i s'pose you'd sooner have a fine young fellow like that to 'tend to you than an old woman like miss crow." edith, not being inclined to shout a reply, ate her dinner in silence, while miss crow stood watching her with her red, inflamed eyes, strangely reminding edith of the witches in macbeth. "mr. fulph told me he was coming to see you in the course of half an hour," said the old wdnan, after a pause; 'though what he can wan . with such a baby-faced thing as yru are. i don't know." here miss crow paused, as though she expected to be told, but edith made no reply. "whafll i tell him?" inquired the old lady, sharpl3'. "nothing," said edith. "what?" "you may tell him i don't want to see him," said sdlth, raising her voice. "want to see him!— hum! hum!— want to see him! ye,., i'll tell him so," replied miss crow, rather complacently. "i don't want to see him— do you hear? i don't want to see him!" said edith, still more loudly. sundry unearthly sounds, which the old woman took to be a laugh, followed this reply: and, still chuckling to her self, she gathered up the things and left the room. scarcely had she departed, when de llfle entered. advancing into the room,' 40 the b^rmit of the clipf^. he threw himself indolently on the iouch and, turning to edith, he renidrked, "i'm afraid old nan crow is not the most pleasant attendant in the world. you won't be troubled with her long, however; to-morrow, elva snowe will take her place." ^ ,^ . edith made no reply, but sat listen ing, in haughty silence. • "the day after to-morrow, fairest edith will make me the happiest of men. i have made every arrangement for our marriage, 'which will take place on that day. my only regret is that it must be delayed so long." "sir, must i tell you again i will never be your bride?" said edith— a sudden crimson staining her fair face, and th^n retreating, leaving her paler than be fore. "no!" said de lisle, with a quiet smile. "never is a long time, my dear edith." "you cannot force me to marry you. even though i am your prisoner," said edith; . "can i not? there a,re ways of com pelling you that you dream not of, per haps," was the cool reply. -"sir, your conduct has been most base and unmanly — most evil andtreacherous. if you have one spark of honor remain ing in your heart, you will release me!" pjcclaimed edith, rising, with flushed cheeks aiid flashing eyes. "never, edith!" he said, fiercely, "aever shall you cross this threshold un less as my wife. you talk about honor, fotsooth! did i not love you, as i never cared for mortal before, on this side of heaven? were you not my betrothed bride? was not our wedding-day fixed?— iw^hen lo! a dashing stranger comes along, and i am coolly told to stand aside, for i am loved no longer!— told to fitand aside and wait— wait until my rival shall have wormed himself into the ;good graces ojc the family, and become •your accepted lover! one consolation is, that long before this he must have been iiung as a traitor." edith essayed to speak, but her voice failed; and, sinking into a seat, she bur ied her face in her hands and wept pas sionately. "after that interview with yoiir father," went on de lisle, with increas ing bitterness, "i urged him repeatedly to: revoke his decision, and insist on the marriage, but in yain. and, at length, he commanded me to drop the subject altogether, and told me i .should wait until it pleased him to appoint the time. tou see, fairest edith, i have done so." and he laughed sarcastically. "your worthy father, may search until he is tii:ed; but i doubt if he will discover you i>ere. once my wife, and he will not <7&|se to proclaim the deeds of his son-inv jaw to the ; world. . your fortune will be mine. i will not attempt to disguise from you. miss perclval, that this forms no unimportant item in my calculations. your fortune once mine, you may return to your father's house as soon as you please." "release me now," said edith, looking up; "and, since it is only my money you want, i will persuade m^father to give it all to you." "nay, mifs edith, i must decline your kind offer. i am inclined to think your good father would prefer handing me over to the civil authorities rather «than to his banker. and a still more weighty consideration remains; you love the man i hate — yes, hate!" and his face grew livid with passion. "the beet revenge i can take is, by marrying you — whether avith or without your consent, matters not. thus i will raise an insuperable barrier between you and gratify my re venge." edith shuddered involuntarily. he stood watching her, with h*8 habitual sinister smile. » "i thought that would touch you," he said, with a sneer. "remember, the day after to-morrow is your wedding-morn ing. the girl i spoke of will assist you to dress for your bridal. au revoir." and, turning on his heel, de lisle quitted the room. chapter xiii. bi..va snowb. "i see a little merry maiden. with laughing eye and sunny hair— with foot as free as mountain fairy. and heart and spirit iight as air." —anon. the gray daylight was fading out of the dull sky. the wind sounded inex pressibly dreary as it moaned through the dark, fragrant pines. far in th^ west, a red, fiery streak glowed among che dark, leaden clouds, like a burning line dividing heaven and earth. dreary and sad was the scene without; but more dreary and sad were the thoughts of edith as she sat watching the ap proach of night. the gloom around and above was congenial to her feelings; and, lost in thought, she heeded not the wan ing hours, until all within and without was wrapped in a mantle of pitchy dark ness. the entrance of nan crow,, with her supper and a light, rouaed her at last; the old woman seemed unusually cross and out of humor; and, after essaying in vain to make her answer her quesr tions, edith relapsed into silence. with a sharp command not to "sit moping there like a ghost, a-buming of candles, but to go to bed," she went out, slam mimir 4he door violently after. her. hen command v/as unheeded ; for, aeated at tbe bbrmit x>f the gllffh. 41 the wihdow— her burning forehead pressed against the cold panes, edith remained till morning. it was a strange stjene — that long, shadowy room, so poor ly furnished, and that you«g_glrl seateu at the window, her face whiter than the robe she wore. the candle fluttered and burned dimly, with a long black wtck, capped by a flery crest, until it went out altogether, leaving the room enveloped in the deepest gloom. so passed the second night oi kdith's captivity. morning fouml her pale, spirilfess, and utterlj' despairing. she knew tvell de lisle would keep his word. and what could she— a weak, powerless girl— do to prevent him? naturally timid and accustomed to magnify dangers, she could see nothing but despair, look which way she would. to rebiel would be use less; and, without an effort, she yielded t<) titter dejection. at times she could be brave enough, when laboring under excitement of any kind; or when, after listening to her vehement sister, she would imbibe part of her spirit; but these rare intervals were always followed by a listlessness and timidity greater than before. the sun arose in unclouded splendor. every trace of the former day's dullness had passed away, and nature once more looked bright and beautiful. the chirp of the birds in the pine-woods reached her ear, but for the first time she lis tened without pleasure. all was sad and desolate within her heart, and the joy ous splendor of that summer sunrise waa to her feelings like "vinegar upon nitre." suddenly, the sound of a gay voice caroling reached her ear. it was such an tinusual sound that she looked out, alto gether startled from her dreamy lethargy of sorrow. what was her surprise to be hold, emerging from the woods, a young girl on horseback. from the distance at which she sat she could not very easily discern her features, but she saw her sit on her horse like a practised rider. her jong hair hung in braids over her shoul ders, tied with streamers of bright rib bon. in one hand she held a white sun bonnet, swinging it carelessly by the strings as she shouted, rather than sang, some wild mountain chorus, or talked at intervals tb her horse. edith could plainly hear her, as her words cams borne on the air: "come, timon, my boy," she said, pat ting her horse on the neck, "hurry up, or 'old nan crow will give you and me flits, too bad, ain^'t it, you and i have to go and live in that dismal old barn of a house? but orders must be obeyed, you know, timon. dreary me! as that queer • old maid used to say: 'wonders never will ceascn i believe!' who in the workj would ever think of taking a bride xsy that horrid eld hole? and' so ,d^ ltiste is really going to be married! weel, i never! father says she isn't dying about him, either— which i don't wonder at, i'm sure, for i can't bear him. i'd like to' see her, and know what ray fu ture mistress looks like. come, gee up, timon, my son; i'm anxious to catch a glimpse of old nan crbw's beautiful face, and hear her musical, screeching voice. who knows but we'll soon — see my lady herself, and i'm dying to have a peep at her, so get along, my boy, elva's. in a hurry." and. urging her horse into a quick canter, the girl rode off, singing at the top of her voice. "who can she be?" thought edith— "elva, elva! the name is familiar. yes, now i remember, de lisle spoke of send ing me a girl of that name, elva snowe, i think he called her. she spoke of com ing here, too, so it must be the same. i hope it is; she will at least prove a more pleasant companion than that cross old woman." "■■' • l'^-^ for nearly an hour edith sat expect ing to see her enter, but in vain. at length, just as she was about to desisair of .seeing her, the outer bolts were with drawn, the door was unceremoniously opened, and the young gtrl ^tood before her. edith fixed her eyes on the other arid scrutinized her from head to foot. the newcomer was small, below middle height, round and plunip in figure, and looking to the best advantage iii the crimson silk basque which she wore. a short black skirt, which conveniently displayed a pretty little foot and ankle, completed her costume— which, though looking rather odd to the eyes of edith, had the merit of being very becoming. her face was decidedly pretty, though browned a little by exposure to sun arid wind. a low, smooth forehead, bloom ing cheeks and lips, merry, gray eyes, a piquant little nose that turned up with saucy independence, and little, white teeth, made up the tout ensemble of the little lady. "good morning," she said, pleasantly, evidently rather favorably impressed with the outward appearance of edith. "i have brought you your breakfast." "so i perceive," said edith. "i was afraid i was about to be favored with another visit from that deaf old lady who has hitherto attended me." "yes, old nan crow," said the girl, laughing. "isn't she a horrid old case? i have the greatest fun with her tbom6 times. did you ever h ar such a voice? like a penny whistle, for all the world." then changing her tone to a sharp screech, painful to listen to. she began: "i'm miss crow .jtiouse keeper arid super intendent for master ralph. yes/ urn? i laid awake ail last ni«:ht with the rh^u niaiis in the small of my back!" 42 tub hurmit of tmt! 4jurf8. m. u "that is she exactly," said edith, with something lilte a smile passing over her pale face, "though it's quite abom inable of you to take her off in that manner " "she alway»3 scolds me from the time i comehere until i leave," said the other, "and, indeed, i rather deserve it sometimes, and it does one good to get a blowing up once in a while. my! if she can't scold, it's a wonder— it's really a comfort to hear her, for every word comes from the bottom of her heart. the only pity is, that i'm not here very often to listen to her." "do you not live here?" inquired edith "live here! bless you, no! i wouldn't live in this lonesome old place for any amount of money, at least any amount i'd be likely to get for doing so. no, indeed, i live in the village, eight or nine miles from here, and splendid times we have, i can tell you— at least we had until this detestable war commenced, and all the young men were provoking enough to go off and be killed. heigho! isn't everything still here? one can't hear a thing but the swaying pines and tlhe birds, tt's a splendid day, too. i'd love to have a good gallop over the hills this morning." "pray, don't let me keep you here," said edith. "i wouldn't deprive you of the pleasure on any account. i will not need any attendance during the day, miss snowe — isn't that your name?" "yes, elvena snowe, but everybody calls me elva, for short; you needn't mind calling me miss, i ain't used to it, and elva sounds better." "then, elva, do not let me deprive you of that coveted ride. go, by all means." "you're very good, but i guess i won't mind it to-day. i'll stay with you if you have no objection. de lisle will be here by-and-by, and until he« cornea i will remain." "how long are you to remain here?" inquired edith. "dear knows," said elva, suppressing a yawn, "not long, i hope, for i'd blue mold, rust, or something else equally dreadful, if i had to stay in this dull old tomb. why, everything's as still here as if we were in our graves." "it is still," said edith; "what is the oaus " does no one live here but misa crow?" "oh, dear, yes!' said elva.'but this is a wing of the building off by itself. it*^ a sort of double house, with two front doors, and connected together by a long hall. in the other end, de lisle and' some of his men stayt.when they are here, and you have this part all tc your self. old nan is their only servant, ex cept sometimes when de lisle brings pome of his friends hervj, big-bugs, you know, english officers; then i have to come here and help her." "then this place is not hidden in the woods?" said edith, "and is visited by others besides de lisle and his men?" "la! yes. generals, and colonels, and captains, not to speak of lieutenants and alde-de-camps, come here in drove.s, sometimes, and spend whole night;^ in a carouse. they generally stay in the other wing of the building; this part hfisn't been much used for years." "and so forms a safer prison for me," sighed edith. "why, yes, i suppose so," said elva. "but i guess you won't be here long, i heard de lisle telling my father thai after he was married he intended get ting your money and sending you home." "your father!" echoed edith, "who is he?" "oh, he's only de lisie's lieutenant, paul snowe's his name; but he has a good deal of influence over the men, and over de lisle himself for that matter. only for him, you may be sure, 1 wouldn't be here; for i hate de lisle as i do sin, and wouldn't care a straw for his orders. but i'm a little afraid of father, and have to mind what he says, you know; though i'd much rather fol low my own sweet will, and stay in the village, and have fun, than come here and wait on de lisle and those dashing officers he brings here." "and your mother, where is she?" asked edith. "dead," said elva. sadly, "she died when i was a child. i have only a faint recollection of her, as a pale, stately woman, who used to come to my bedside and kiss me every night. so you see i grew up the best way i could, with out any one to look after me or nr.ake me a good girl; and so i've got to be a wild, sunburnt, good-for-nothing romp. oh, dear, if mother had lived i'd have been a different creature from what i am. she loved me, i know; but father never seems to care for me, but rather to dislike me than otherwise. i'm like the miller of the dee: 'i care for no body, and nobt)dy cares for me;' so i lon't mind a pin what i do or say, since there's no one to be grieved by it. it makes me feel sad and lonely, too, some times." and she sighed involuntarily. ■'oh, elva, i feel that i can love you, if you will let me!" said edith, gently, taking her hand. "thank you, dear miss pereival." said elva, looking up with glistening eyes; •'i love you already. but hark, there's a step on the stairs. that's de lisle, i know, for he always takes half the staircase at a bound. qood-by now, i'll be back after a while," and elva quit ted the room as de lisle entered. jiff-bugs, you in i have to ildden in tiie is visited l)y d his men?" colonels, ana utenants and in droves, e nightt^ in a stay in the g; this part years." son for me," said elva. here long. i father that ntended get ? you home." ith, "who is j lieutenant, it he has a he men, and that matter. be sure, 1 de lisle as a straw for le afraid of hat he says, i rather fol stay in the i come here lose dashing re is she?" , "she died only a faint >ale, stately my bedside so you see ?ould, with ne or nr.ake got to be a :hing romp. id i'd have om what i but father but rather e. i'm like are for no me;' so i r say, since i by it. it , too, some untarily. n love you, ith, gently, elval," said ning eyes; k, there's a de lisle, i i half the •y now, i'll elva quit sred. tub b-bkmlt 0>' tffe olirfb. 48 <./.-. chapter xiv. an .unlookbd-por intebrtjption. ' '*know, then, that i have supported tay pretensions to your hand in the wdy that best suited my character." —ivan hoe. , mgood morning, fairest edith," was de lisle's salutation, as he entered. "you are looking very pale, "i fear you did not sleep w^ll last night." "not very well," sam edith, coldly; "a .captive seldom sleeps verj' soundly dur ing the first nights in prison." "you have no one to blame for being in prison but yourself, eklith. had you to'een less obstinate and self-willed you might now have been at home with your father." "sir, these reproaches sit not well upon your lips," said edith, bitterly. "i am neither obstinate nor self-willed", as you well know, but i oould not consent to marry one whom i no longer loved." ^'no longer loved," repeated de lisle, fixing his eyes upon her: "then you did lovfni^ once?" "1 may have done so," replied edith, her face suddenly crimsoning, "but you forfeited my good opinion; and where i cannot esteem, i cannot love." "and how, i pray you, fair saint,' did i forfeit your esteem?" said de lisle, with a sneer. •*by your base, unmanly conduct, sir, unworthy a man or a soldier," replied edith, her gentle spirit roused to anger by his taunting words. "i had heard of the merciless cruelty of you and your men; the relentless fury with which you destroyed houses and villages, and shed the blood of unoffending fellow crea tures, whose only crime was in defend ing their homes. and could i, could any womanthtnk of you otherwise than with' fear and loathing after such acts, more fitted foi" savages than for civilized men?" "you seem particularly well informed about what i have done," said de lisle, sarcastically. "pray, fair lady, how •much of this raw-head-and-bloody-bone story have you heard from master fred stanley?" "mr. de lisle," said edith, her fair face flushing, "i must beg of you to ceasereferring to him. if you do not, i must decline holding any conversation with you." "sooner than incur such a penalty, pretty one, i would do* anything," said de lisle; "but before this time to-mor row you will be my wife — and after that i trust you will know your duty to your husband too well to refuse talking to him." "sir, i will not; i will never be your wife," said edith, passionately. "oh. it is all very well for you to ^ay ro, misa percival, bljt how are ybli' to help yourself? you are here, my phi» oner, completely in my power, mirround ed by my people, the clergyman who ib to marry us will be most discreetly si lent as to everytiiing he will s«e dr hear —is {)repared for hysterics, 'tears, and rebellton, and will pay no attention to them. how, then, beautiful bdlth, are you to help yourself?" "god llveth!" said edith, rising, and speaking in a tone of intense solemnity, "and i appeal to him from y6u— un worthy the name of mah." ■ "the days of miracles are past, edith," ^ald de lisle, with his customary mock ing sneer. "he will hardly sehd an an gel down t^ prevent the marriage of a silly girl, "rtie time of miracles has long since passed, fair one." "but not a divfne interposition." said edith; "my confidence in him' can never be shaken. i will trust in him, and you may do your worst. hedven will never permit the happiness of my life to be blighted by you!" "bah! bah! bah! are you silly enough to believe such cant, edith?" said de lisle, scornfully. "i thought you had more sense. but time whl tell; ere fow and twenty hours you will be my wile in spite of yourself, and then where wlh be your boasted confidence in heiiven?" "i have faith to believe that time will never come," said £}dith. '"but ehouid it, my confidence in heaven whl be^as strong as ever." -"you believe that time will never come," said de lisle, "and may i ask what do you expect will happen to pre vent it?" "oh, fifty things might happen," re pled the voice of elva, who entered ab ruptly, in time to hear his remark, and took it upon herself to answer: "the yankees might «ome and set fire to the bouse, and carry her off — or the minister might forget to come— or she might be very sick— or you might be accidentally shot, which would set everything right at once. for my part, if i was miss per cival i'd live in hopes." "would you, indeed?" said de lisle, angrrily. "well, i prefer living in cer tainty. "and pray. miss snowe, what brought you here?" "my feet, of course," answered elva. "don't be impertinent, minion; answer my question." "i did answer it. mister de lisle, sir," replied elva. "what did you come here for?" ex claimed de lisle, in a rage; "what do you want?" "oh! i want nothing," r''plled elva, vvrfth provoking indifference; "only father's arrived, and sent me here with a message for you." "what is it, what did he say?" de manded de lisle, hurriedly. 'i if ' i; 44 the hermit of tue vuffti. 1 •he didn't say much; the mebsage consisted of just ave words: tell him it's ail right.' that's all. it's short and sweet, you see. like a weavers kiss. the look of satisfaction that followed her words rather surprised elva. who, after watching him a moment, turned to edith, saying in a very audible whls "somethlng dreb^xiful has happened to somebody, as sure as shooting! nothing else ever puts him in such good humor. see how absurdly happy he looks." "clear out!" said de lisle, who was too well accustomed to the pert elva to get into a passion at her impertinent words. 'tell paul i'll see him by and by; and don't you come here again until you're sent for." "nice way, that, to speak to a young ladv," said elva. "i guess miss percival would rather have me than you with her. after all." and. turning a pirouette on one toe, the elf disappeared. "well, edith," said de lisle, turning to her, "our marriage will not have to be postponed till to-morrow, as i feared it would. i sent paul to see if the clergyman could come to-day, and the answer is favorable. therefore, you will prepare to become my bride this after noon." the blood rushed for a moment hotly to edith's face, and then retreated to her heart, leaving her faint and sick. she had hitherto looked upon it as some fearful dream— now it arose before her, a terrible reality. she strove to speak, but the words died away on her pale lips. involuntarily, she laid her hand on her heart to still its loud throbbing?. "of course," went on de lisle, calm ly, "this news must be equally pleasant to both of us. you, no doubt, feel anx ious to return home— which i regret you cannot do until after our marriage, for reasons before given; and i know con finement in this lonely place must neces sarily be very irksome to you. i trust, therefore. miss percival, you will see the wisdom of submitting yourself, and make no resistance to the ceremony tak ing place — a resistance which you must know would be idle and useless, since there is no one here who has either the will or the power to prevent it." "ralph de lisle, you cannot, you will not be so base!" said edith, vehemently, rising. "i conjure you, by all you hold sacred in heaven and dear on earth, to desist' why should you render miser able for life a defenseless girl who never injured you? it is not because you really loye me that you wish me to be your wife, but for my father's money; and that you shall have, i solemnly promise you. you will — you will release me! i cannot believe you are so deliberately, basely wicked!" bhe stood before him with clasped hands, flushed cheeks, and glisteniiik eyes— her long, golden hair floating llkt n glory around her. never had slu> looked so beautiful; and, gazing upon her, de lisle grew more determined than ever in his resolution. "nay edith, you wrong me," he said. "your money. i confess, is an induct ment; but were you a beggar, my afcei tion for you is so strong i would still make you my wife! i love you better than you are willing to give me credit for." "you do not!" she exclaimed, impetu ously. "when did man wish to render miserable the woman he loved? you know i dlslik<i you — detest you — and with you can never be happy!" "you will learn to overcome this dis like in time, fair edith," he said, coolly "at present it is quite natural you should feel indignant, and fancy you dis like me; but, i assure you, it will wear away. then, too, your suly penchant foi a person who shall be nameless, ren ders you !css reconciled to this union than you would otherwise be. time, however, works wonders; and i have no doubt you will be in quite a different state of mind in a few months. i shall not trouble you again to-day until tht hour appointed for our marriage; but elva will attend you in the meantime. au revoir," and, rising, de lisle quitted the apartment. edith sat like one stunned by some sudden blow. her arms dropped power less in her lap: her eyes were wide open, with a look of fixed, stony despair. ev ery trace of color had fadei! from hei face, as she sat like one suddenly turned to stone. prom the doom before her she felt there could be no escape. de lisle was all-powerful and she was utterly helpless. one by one the faces and forms of loved ones passed before her: father, mother, brother, sister, and — dearer than all — fred. where were they all now? was there no one in all the world ~to help her? sun. and moon, and stars seemed fading from her sky, and the future loomed before her so dark and full of horror that she drew back ap palled. only a few brief hours, and she would be the wife of de lisle — a fate far worse than death! hope, there was none; and involuntarily she covered her face with her hands, and groaned in the depth of her anguish. she heard the door open and some one enter: but shewdid not look up. her hands were gently removed from her face; and. raising her head, she met the pitying eyes of elva. "dear miss percival," she said, gently, "don't grieve so! bad as ralph de llsle is. i don't think lie'll force you to marry him against your will." "he will— he will!" exclaimed edith. the hermit of the vliffh. 45 med edith, wringing her hands. "oh, elva! what shall 1 do?" "i'm sure i don't itnow," replied elva. •'i wish i could help you; but it is quite impossible. really, though. i never thought he'd be so mean. it's dreadful to think about; but i don't see how it can be helped." the look of sublime perplexity on elva's face bordered closely on the ri diculous, and at any other time would have provoked a smile from edith. but she only sat with her hands pressed to her throbbing head, striving in vain to think, with her brain in such a whirl. "when is this precious wedding to take place?" inquired elva, after a pauhe. "this afternoon," answered edith, hur riedly. "your father went after a clergyman." "why, you don't mean to say that lit tle, dried-up anatomy, with a face like a withered pippin and a nose like a boiled beet, who came home with father, is a clergyman?" said elva, opening her eyes in amazement. "i really do not know," said edith, faintly. •well, if it is, i'll give up!" said elva, drawing a long breath. "why, i saw him drinking gin and water with father, and singing, 'old king cole was a merry old soul,' as jolly as the worst cut throat in de lisle's gang." "elva snowe!" called the shrill voice of miss crow, at this moment. "oh, there's miss crow!" said elva, jumping up. "i must go and see what the blessed old seraph wants, or she'll drive me wild with her screeches." and elva vr,::>ished. the houra dri gged slowly on, and edith waited in vein for her reappear ance. the afternoon waned; but still, to her surprise, she came not. rousing herself from the lethargy into which she was failing, she arose and paced up and down the room, striving to collect her thoughts. she turned to the window, and gazed out. the sun was setting in cloudless splendor. the heavens were flushed with gold, and azure, and pur ple, and crimson; and amid this radiant setting the sun shone like a jewel of fire. a fading sunbeam, as it passed, lingered lovingly for a moment amid her golden hair. with clasped hands and parted lips, edith stood entranced, forgetting everything save the glorious beauty of that gorgeous sunset. the sudden opening of the door star tled her. she looked up, and her heart sank like iea.^ in her bosom as she be held de lisle. "come." he said, taking her hand— "the hour has arrived, and the clergy man is waiting." she grew taint and dizzy at his words, and was forced to grasp his arm for support. "let me assist you," he aaid, kindly, as he placed his arm around her waist and drew her with him. she drew back involuntarily — her lips parted, but no sound came forth as she lifted her eyes in a voiceless appeal to his face. "nonsense, edith!" he said, almost an grily— "you must come. have i not told you resistance is useless?" he drew her forcibly with him as he spoke. quitting the room, they crossed a long hall, descended a flight of wind ing stairs, which led them to another hall, similar to that above. opening one of the many doors that flanked it on either side. de lisle led his almost faint ing companion into a room, which she saw indistinctly, as in a dream, filled with people. the clergyman, book in hand, stood at the upper end of the room. at a lit tle distance stood the man, paul— the same individual seen by fred in the music-room of percival hall. ~ near him stood elva, pity and indignation strug gling for the mastery on her pretty face. old nan crow, grinning and chuckling, and evidently in a sublime state of beat itude, was perched on a chair in the cor ner. various other individuals — mem bers of de lisle's tory band — were scat tered round the room, watching poor edith with mingled curiosity and ad miration. supporting the slight form of his com panion, de lisle led her to vhere stood the clergryman. "go on, sir," said de lisle, briefly, "we are ready." he opened his book, and already had the ceremony commenced, when a sud den noise broke upon their ears, and startled all to their feet in consterna uon. shouts, cries, yells and the report of firearms, mingled together in wild con fusion, resounded without. ere any one could move, a man, wounded evil bleeding, rushed in and fell lifeless »i, the feet of de lisle. chapter xv. thb prisoners. "a careless set they were, in whose bold hands swords were like toys." for a few moments all stood spell bound, gazing in silence and consterna tion in one another's face, while the noise and uproar without seemed still increas ing. oaths shouted, the clash of swords, and the report of firearms united in fierce discord. so completely unexpected was the surprise that all stood looking at one another and at their fallen com iiil (6 the ueumir of the ollffki. >tfl i » ill 11 rade in speechless wonder. but de liiste'a presence of mind never forsook him— the true state of the case seemed to hash upon him instantly— and, turning to £lva, he said, hurriedly: "condoict miss perclval to her cham ber, and, whatever happens, see that she does not escape. " then, turning to the others, he called; "there is danger without! follow me!" and as he spoke, he disappeared through the open door. the men rushed pell-mell after him, and in a few moments the room was de serted, save by the clergyman, edith, elva, and miss crow. edith stood lis tening breathlessly, while her heart once more began to throb with hope. de lisle's enemies were her friends, and she might yet be free once more. nan grow was the first to speak. turn ing to elva, who stood listening eagerly to the sound of the conflict without, she said: "what are you a-standlng there for, like a fool? go 'long with you, and take her off to her room, as mister ralph told you." "yes. come, miss perclval," said elva; "there may be danger in remain ing here. let me assist you— you seem week and faint." she passed her arm round her waist, and led her from the room. wrought to the highest pitch of suspense and anx iety. edith tottered and was obliged to lean on her companion for support. "oh, miss, perclval, who do you sup pose they can be?" inquired elva, when they reached the apartment of edith. "my friends, i feel certain," said edith, pressing her hands on herheart to still its tumultuous throbblngs"who, hav ing missed me, by some means discov ered that i am here. great heaven, elva, listen to those terrible sounds without!" said edith, with a shudder. "the conflict seems to grow more des perate each moment," said elva, listen ing breathlessly. the noise and confused din of the light were indeed momentarily growing more violent. almost wild with excitement, edith paced up and down the room, striving to catch some sound by which she could judge which party was the vict.>r. but she listened in vain — nothing met her ear but a discordant din. in which the cries of all were mingled in indiscriminate confusion. per upward of an hour the strife con tinued, and then suddenly all grew still. they could hear, for a time, the sound of many feet passing and repassing through the different rooms and pass ages; but gradually this died away, and was followed by a silence so deep and ominous that the young girls looked on each other, pale with undefined fear. '-oh. this suspense!— this 'suspense! it is killing me!" said edith, sinking intu a chair and covering her face with her hand. "de lisle must have conquered!" ex claimed elva, "or your friends would be here before now." "the will of heaven be done," cam<» from the pale lips of edith— while the hope that until this moment had ani mated her heart died out in deepest de spair. "what can this sudden silence mean?" said elva. "it is not their customary avay of conducting themselves after p. victory. i cannot stay here — i must go and see." "let r.ie go with you!" plea('.d edith. "no, no — you must stay here!" ex claimed elva, hurriedly. 'to go with me would be dangerous. i will return immediately. do try and restrain your impatience for a short time, and you will hear all." she left the room as she spoke, and edith was alone in the profound silence and rapidly deepening gloom. it was a calm, starless night. without, in the gray dusk, the tall, swaying pine trees looked like dim, dark specters. the shrill cry of the whip-poor-will and katydid came at intervals to her ears; and once the hoarse scream of a raven broke the stillness, sending a thrill of superstitious terror to the heart of edith. each moment seemed an age. until the return of elva. unable to sit still, in her burning impatience, edith paced rapidly up and down the rpom— her excitement lending to her feeble frame an unnatural strength. there was a wild, burning light in her eye, and a hot, feverish flush on her face that betokened the tumult within. her head ached and throbbed with an in tensity of pain; but she hardly noticed it in the fierce agony of impatience she endtired. she counted the hours as they passed on; midnight came, but elva was ab sent still. she seemed almost like a ^nanlac in her maddening impatience, as she trod wildly up and down the long room. "she will not come to-night!" was ringing in her ears, as she clencned her small hands together so fiercely that the nails sank into the quivering palhis until they bled. her quick ear at last caught the sound of a rapid, excited footstep without. she sprang forward, breathing heavily in her impatience, when the door opened, and elva, bearing a lamp in her hand, entered. placing the lamp on the table, elva drew a long breath, and, with a mut tered "oh, dear!" fiung herself into a seat. her long hair was streaming wildly over her shoulders; her face was very pale; her dress disordered and stained with blood. thh hermit of the vliff8. 411 . sinking into face with her iquered!" ex riends would done," canjf* th— while the ent had ani n deepest de lence mean?" ir customary jives after p. e— i must go lear'.d edith, here!" ex 'to go with i vvlll return restrain your ne, and you ^ spoke, and 'ound silence 3m. it was hout, in the g pine trees cters. the )or-will and to her ears; i of a raven a thrill of e heart of led an age. rnable to sit lence, bdltn the rpom — her feeble gth. there in her eye, )n her face vlthln. her vith an in ly noticed it atlence she they passed '^a was ab lost like a patience, as n the long to-night!" lie clencned lercely that ring palms t the sound ithout. she heavily in lor opened, her hand, able, ejlva th a mut lelf into a streaming [* face was iered and "elva! elva! speak! what haa hap p<.ied?" inquirod edith, in a voice husky with deep emotion. "oh, just what 1 told you! de lisle iind hir villainous-looking set have con »iuered!" exclaimed klva, impatiently. for u time nothing could be heard but the labored breathing of edith. she strove to ask another question; but though her up? moved, they could not utter the words. elva sat with her lips t'ompressed and her eyes tlxed moodily on the floor. looking up, at length, and seeing the expression on edith's face, hhe said, in reply to it: "yes, they were your friends — i heard de lisle say so. there were only seven of them altogether; but they fought des perately, and. 1 believe, killed half of de lisle's band they were conquered, however, and killed — with the exception of those who appeared superior to the rest, and whom de lisle said he would reserve for a more terrible fate. one comfort is," added elva, flinging back ner hair almost fiercely, "old nick will pay him with interest for all this some of these days!" edith did not exclaim nor cry. her lace was only a shade whiter, her eyes dilated with a look of unspeakable hor ror, her voice, when she spoke, sounded unnaturally deep and hoarse. "did you hear what were tjie names (if those three?" she asked. elva looked up in alarm at the strange sound of her voice. "one, the youngest of the three, i heard called gus, i thjnk; and' another looked so much like >ou i think he must be your brother. bu< the third — he was «»plendld; he looked like a prince — so tall, and dark, and handsome. he was wounded, too, but he walked in looking as proud and scornful on de lisle as though he were a king and de lisle his slave. i never paw such a look of in tense, fiendish hate and triumph on any face as de lisle's wore when he looked on him. they are now confined in sep arate rooms at the other side of the house, though i fancy they will soon leave it for a narrower and darker prison. oh, miss perclval, i have had to look on such fearful sights to-night! i have a little knowledge of surgery, and i was obliged to bind up those fearful wounds. ugh!" and elva shuddered con vulsively. there was no reply from edith, who stood like one suddenly turned to stone. her brother and cousin were in the power of the merciless de lisle — and that other! there was but one man in the world to whom elva's description could apply — one dearer than life — whom she never expected to see again. and he — would de lisle let him live to see the sun again? ' "de lisle is going away somewhere to-mornjw." uald elva, looking up, after a pause. "he received a letter a few hours ago which will take him off thank goodness! i suppose he will see you before he leaves, and tell you when he will return." "elva!" exclaimed edith, suddenly, "if de lisle leaves here, why can we not make our escape during his absence? you can aid us, can you not?" "i scarcely know," said elva, thought fully. "i might aid you, it is true; but uh father is commander here until de lisle's return, he will have to be an swerable for it. beside, you will all be very carefully guarded; and i fear, were any attempt to escape discovered. it would be worse for us. de lisle might marry you immediately, in spite of all obstacles; and as for the others — well, 1 wouldn't give much for their chance of life now, but any such attempt would be their death-warrant!" "then escape is impossible, and there is no hope but in the grave!" said edith, sadly. "oh, do not say it is impossible!" said elva. "indeed, the more i think of it, the less difficult it seems. let's see"— and she leaned her head thoughtfully on her hand— "de lisle will probably be ab sent a week or so. before the end of that time i may find some opportunity for throwing the men off their guard, and setting you free. i have no doubt i could easily effect your escape; but it may be more difficult to liberate your friends. however, if i cannot, you can inform your friends where they are, and let them come here and free them by force of arms." "but, elva, the moment de lisle would discover my escape, do you not think he would wreak his vengeance on those remaining in his power? you, too, dear elva— what would he do to you?" "oh! as for me, i ain't afraid of him— only i don't like to get father into trou ble; but as there is no alternative, he'll ha re to run the risk, and i'll set you free if i can. but your friends — yes. it would be very dangerous for them to be here after your fiight is discovered. i must think. i have no doubt i can hit on some plan to get the whole of you cut of his power. and if i do, won't it be as good as a play to see de lisle! oh, won't he rage, though, and blow us all sky high to think he has been out witted by a girl! la! i think i see him." and elva, changing in a motient from seriousness to gayety. laughed outright at the vision that rose before her mind's eye. "do you think you see him, minion?" suddenly exclaimed a low, fierce voice, that made both spring to their feet in terror. the door was pushed open, and 48 the hermit of thk outfti. ^llli de ll»le, pale with rage, rtood before them. „ , "oh, well, you heard ub, did you? i never had a high opinion of you, and i'm not hurprlhed to nnd you playing the eavesdropper!" exclaimed elva. dtflant jy. "by all the fiends in flames, girl, you shall repent this!" "shall i. indeed! that for you, mr. de lisle!" said the audacious k�a, snapping her fingers in his very face. "leave the room, you impudent" — "impertinent, outrageous, abandoned young woman— chlng a ring, a ring, chaw!" sang the elf, making a whirl. "you shall never remain another night in this house"— "delighted to hear it," again inter rupted elva, with a profound courtesy. "silence? who, then, will help this fair lady or her lover to escape?" said de lisle, with a look of triumphant mal ice gleaming in his eyes. "heaven helps those who help them selves!" said elva. "well, i fancy heaven will not trouble itself about this affair. and now, miss, the sooner you leave this room and house the better," said de lisle. "surel>, mr. de lisle, you will allow elva to remain with me?" said edith, speaking now for the first time. "no. madam, i will not," said de lisle, sternly, "after listening to that ingen ious plot. i shall take care that every means of escape is cut off. leave her with you forsooth! do you think me a fool?" "think!" repeated elva; "not she. in deed; she knows you to be one." "wul you leave the room, or shall i turn you out?" ex<!laimed de lisle, an grily. "don't trouble yourself," said elva, coolly. "i'll go myself and be thankful to get out of this dismal old tomb. good l>y, miss perclval; keep up your spirits. old nick' 11 twist de lisle's neck for this by and by— a blessing for which i in tend to pray night and morning. don't get into a rage, my dear sir, as i see you are going to; it spoils your beauty, of which you have none to spare." and, casting upon him a look of withering contempt, elva left the room and ran downstairs. for a few moments after her depart ure de lisle walked up and down, as if to cool the storm of passion into which the ta^mtlng words of elva had thrown him. b^dith sat pale and motionless . in her seat. . pausing at last before her, he said, in a tone of bitter sarcasm: , "well, miss perclval, i see you can plot better than, i ever gave you credit for. how unfortunate i chanced to spoil your pretty little scheme!.. after all, you see, providence seems to favor me more than .you. do you not suppose it. was 'divine ititerposttlon' that so providen tially sent tne here in time to discover your plans?" with the determination of not answer ing him, edith sat listening in silence. "you do not answer," he went on. in the same ironical tone, after waiting a moment. "it is just as well; silence gives assent j know you will regret to hear that busi ness of importance calls me away for a few days, thereby delaying our mar riage; but at the end of that time i will have the happiness of claiming you as my bride. i scarcely regret the hasty interruption we met with a few hours ago. as it will permit me to invite a few friends of yours to assist at the cere mony. mr. frederic stanley, who will shortly follow his frienkui to a better wf)rid. will be present to witness our nuptials, fairest edith, and take his last farewell of my bride. he will, doubtless, feel happy during his last moments, when he knows the lady he professes to love is the happy wife of another." he paused, and gltinced with a look of malignant triumph at edith, who sat quivering like an aspen in her chair. "yes, fairest edith," he went on, "my hour of triumph has come. ere five suns rise and set, he lor whom you would willingly die will hahg a discolored corpse between heaven and earth, and you will be my wife. no power on earth can save you; if an angel from heaven were to descend and plead for you both, i would refuse." she lifted her head, and de lisle saw a face so full of horror, with such a look of utter anguish and despair, that jfie started back appalled. she did not see him; her eyes were gazing steadily for ward, fixed, glazed, and rigid. she only saw the vision his words had conjure^j up— herself the wife of the living demon beplde her. and he whom ahe loved dying in agony the death of a malefactor. so rigid, so unnatural, so full of speechless ^orror was her look, that, alarmed for the effect of his words, de lisle sprang to her .side., exclaiming: "edith! edith 1 good heavens! do not look so wildly. edith! look up— speak to me!" the hand he held was cold as ice. her head dropped on her breast, her eyes closed, and she fainted entirely away. terrified beyond measure, de lisle raised her in his arms, and laid the ap parently lifeless form on the bed, and sprang downstairs at a bouqd in search of elva. he found that young lady in a violent altercation with nan crow— who. in spite of ali euva's vehement threats and protestations, positively re fused to let her out until morning. . "go upstairs! gol— mleis perclval has fainted!" exclaimed. de i^isle, hurriedly, tbb bahmit or tbk cuwyb. icatchlnv klva'b arm in bin haate to [puhh her ulonr. wrtrnchink ht^r arm violently from his graap, and catklnk upon him a kiance of cunuentrutod contempt and hatred, eiva pashed him, and flew rather than ran upatalrh to edith's room. bhe htill lay lifelehh upon the t>ed. elva opened her druha and began chaf ing her handtt and templeu. long hiiu labored in vain— no sign of life was there, and something almost akin to a feeling of pleasure entered the heart of p]lva as the conviction that edith had escaped the power of de lisle forced itself upon her. but life was not ex tinct—a few hard-drawn, laboring breaths— a sudden fluttering at her heart, and >ie long lushes were lifted, and the < udless blue eyes bought the t)right face of elva. "my dear, dear miss perclval, i thought you .would never look on any one again!" exclaimed elva, as she soothingly pushed back the bright hair off edith's face. "you here, elva?" exclaimed edith, vacantly. i thought— i thought— where is he?" she said, with a sudden look of terror. "downstairs, the horrid wretch!" ex claimed elva, passionately. "i thought he had sent you away?" fcald edith. "bo he did, and i am going, too; but when you fainted he sent me here to at tend to you. i am sorry to leave you. miss perclval, but you see i must go." "oh, it don't matter!" said edith, wearily; "it la all the same to me." elva looked hurt— so much so that edith noticed it, and, laying her hand on ners, she said: "dear elva, don't be offended. i di 1 not mean to hurt your feelings, but for tlie few days i have to remain. it mat ters little who attends me." "are you going away?" asked elva, in surprise. "yes, i hope so." "with de lisle? " * "no." "why, are you not going to marry him?" "no." "no!" repeated elva, beginning to think her mind wandered; "how will you avoid it?" "elva, i shall die!" "you will not commit suicide?" said elva, shrinking back in horror. ' "there will be no necessity, elva; i shall die." "dear lady, i trtist not. heaven is merciful, and there may be happy days in store for you yet. before morning dawns, night is ever darkest. do not give way to despair, but trust in heav en." '■"•■•• •■■ ' -' ^ttou o«in go n&w," said the voice of r>e lisle, as he ntthid in the doorway; "your liorkie awaits y«»u at the door." he imuhed, and drew back to allow her to pans. pressing a klsa on hdlth'a brow, she arose, and, whispering in her ear the one word, "hope!" ahe left the room. as she passed de i^isle, she cast upon him a look of j^uch dark, withering scorn that be absolutely quailed bt'f«»r© her. passing dt»wn the stairs and through the numerous empty rooms, »»b» left the house, sprang u|>on the back of tlmun, and in a few momenta waa lost to sight among the trees. chapter xvi. job smith. "domt deem that uught can hide in beggar rags a heart so bold as mine? and dix'atn'st thou aught of common dan ger now can hcare me from my purpose?" —barry cornwall. to explain how the friends of edith discovered her prison. it is neoesaary to retrace our steps a little. » for an hour or two after her depart ure with de lisle, major perclval wallced thoughtfully up and down the broad plaeza, debating within himself whether it vk'ere better to wait or com pel edith to fulfill her engakement. the words of fred stanley had thrown a new light on the subject, and he f«lt con vlnceti that her affection for him was the cause of her refusal. to marry or not to marry, therefore, was the ques tion; and, in a state of unusual inde cision, the major debated the case i»ro and' cfin. '^ whil6 thus engaged nell came run ning up the stairs and stood beside hlih: "papa, where's edith?" ' •'out riding with de lisle." "with d^ lisle?" and nell's eye8 opened to their wld68t extent with ama-zement. . "eh? what's that? " said the majof. turning round sharply. "nothing, sir," said nell, demurely, "but i really thought ralph de ijlsle was the last person edith would go any where with.'' "and why not. miss impertinence? whom should she go with. if not with her future husband?" "why, papa, i thought edith refused to fulfill her engagement?** "we'll make her fulfill it!" was the short, .«»harp arftj decislyo reply. "hem-m^m! perhaps isov said nell, with a scarcely perceptible srtlle, "but if i had been she,. i know i'd not have gone with de lisle to-night." v • "you wouldn't?"and a storm began to gather in the major's eyes. "why, may i -ask?" ' ^ "" r4m *»i so tbe hermit of the cliffh. "oh, i don't know; i wouldn't satisfy liim so far; besides, he might try to run away with me, or something. i wouldn't trust him." the words were spoken thoughtlessly; but the major gave a sudden start, and stood silent. nell left him, and tripped downstairs to join gus in the garden, leaving liim to his own reflections. an hour passed away; nell and gus left the garden and piazza for the cool, pleasant parlor; but the major still re mained watching for the arrival of edith and de lisle. another hour passed on, and still they came not. the major began to feel anxious and angry at the prolonged absence. his anxiety began to contribute itself to the other members of the family, as another hour wore cway without them. a tif^usand conjectures were formed as to the cause of this unaccountable absence, but none si^emed satisfactory. as midnight ap proached, uneas'iness changed into real alarm; and the major and gus, unable to endure the suspense longer, mounted their horses and rode off in the direc tion the absentees ha'^ taken. a sleeplfeps night was passed in perci val hall. early in the morning both returned from their fruitless search, weary and dispirited. no clew to their a 'hereabouts could be discovered; and ai' gazed into one another's faces, pale with terror. half an hour after their return, a ser vant entered bearing a note which, he said, had been given him by a man, who immediately departed. the major glanced at the superscription, and rec ognized the bold, free hand of de lisle. tearing it open, he read, "my dear sir:— as, for wise reasons, doubtless, jou decline bestowing on me the .hand of your fair daughter, i am under the painful necessity of making her my wife, without troubling you to g've her away. for your own sake. i feel convinced you will not make a public riffair of this— as i judge you have too much pride to allow your daughte-'s good name to become a byword for the town. rest assured she shall be treated with all the respect due to' the daughter of so distinguished a gentle man as major perclval; and when once my wife, shall be restored to her home on one condition. it is, that you will give me her fortune as a sort of ransom which, as you are wealthy, no doubt you will willingly do if you refuse, why, then it will be all the worse for your pretty, but rather stub born daughter. the retreat to which i have taken her is secur;e, and you cannot dis cover it; theiefore, you had better make up your mind to comply with my terms at once. if you do. your daughter • shall be immediately restored to you; if not— "i have the honor, my dear sir, to re main, "yours sincerely, "ralph de llyle. ' "the scoundrel! the treacherous, de ceitful villain!" thundere'd the major,'' springing to his feet, white with pas sion. "what is it?" d'^manded gus and nell, while mrs. penival's eyes asked the same question, though her lips were si lent. "read that!" exclaimed the major, as he flung the missive he had crumpled in his hand fiercely from him. "read that! for i cannot tell you." nell took it up, and read it slowly from beginning to end. "merciful heavens!" exclaimed mrs. perclval, "what shall we do?" "do?" shouted the major, "i'll send a bullet through his heart if ever my eyes light on hi again. the black-hearted villain! is this his return for ail i have done for him? my daughter! my daugh ter in the power of such a villain!" "my dear sir, what is the matter?" ex claimed a well-known voice; and, look ing up, they beheld nugent, dusty and travel-worn, standing before them. in a few words nell related all that had transpired, for the rest were to»i much excited to do so, and ended by placing de lisle' s latter in his hand. the brow of nugent grew dark, and his eyes flashed fiercely; but, subduing all other signs of anger, he turned to his father, and said: "well, sir, on what plan have you de cided?" "plan! i car. think of nothing but of j'ursulng that scoundrel to the ends of the earth. mount! mount! and after them!" "stay!" cried a voice, that made them all start, it was so stern and command ing. "are you mad to start, on such a wild goose chase? wait; follow my direc tions, and all will be well." they looked up, and beheld, to their amaaement, the hermit of the cliffs, who stood before them like some prophet of old, in his flowing robes, majestic bearing, and snowy hair. "you here!" exclaimed nugent, in surprise. ' "and wherefore not, my son?" "i thought you were in the city. you were there a short time ago!" said nu gent. "whithersoever my duty leads me, there am i," answered the hermit, in his calm, grave voice. "the wolf hath stol en a lamb from the flock, and the rest shall be left in the desert while we search for the one that is lost. listen to me, and go not fonh rashly." "this is no time for fooling!" ex claimed the major, impatiently. "stand aside, old man, and let us begone!" "nay, there is one come who will show you the way," said the hermit. "why should you wander in the dark when thero \i: light at hand?" "do you know where my daughter is?"^ the hermit o*' the cufm. 61 d ' the major/ ite with pa.« gus and nell bs asked the ups were si the major, as a crumpled in "read that! it slowly from claimed mrs lo?" "i'll send a ever my eyes black-hearted for all i have •' my daugh 1 villain!" matter?" ex e; and, look t, duaty and ■e them, ited all that ?st were too id ended by n his hand lark, and his subduing all jrned to his lave you de thing but of the ends of •' and after made them 3 command t.on such a w my direc ?ld, to their the cliffs. >me prophet s, majestic nugent, in m?" city. you " said nu leads me, [•mit, in his hath stol id the rest while we listen to ling!" ex y. "stand gone!" will show it. "why ark when shter is?" [demanded major percival, fixing his eyes ? sternly upon him. "oi� is at hand who does!" repeated the hi rmit, in the same quiet tone. '/my hand may not point out the way, but trust in him who will follow me. his eyes have been opened, and to him it is gf4ren to rescue the maiden of the house of percival." , "pshaw! why do we stay listening to i such nonsenst?" demanded the major, , impetuously. "what can this hoary old 'man know of edith? let ua away; why f should we waste time lingering here?" ; he turned to go; but the hand of the hermit was laid on his shoulder, "thou shalt remain, major percival!" , he said, in the same firm, calm tone of [command. "it is given me to know that \ if you now set out, you ^ ill prove unsuc [cessful. remain; he who cometh after me is at hand, and when he arrives, with thy son and this youth, let him , search for the lost daughter of thy house: but do you remain here and watch over .hose who are left." he bowed slowly and with grave dig nity, .and, folding hif5 garment around him, quitted the house. all stood looking in the face of each other, in amazement and uncertainty. surprise that he should know already what had occurred, and wonder at the probable meaning of his words, were mingled with an uncertainty whether to follow his advice or n ->t. the major and newton thought of the strange power he exercised over sir william stanley; and, in spite of their impatience, were hdlf inclined to follow his advice. ere they oould fully determine what course to pursue, however, fred stanley, his fine face flushed, and his garments dis ordered, stood before them. "stanley' by all that's wonderful!" exclaimed nugent, in unbounded aston ishment. the major's brow grew dark as night, but the young man. in his excitement, scarcely seemed to notice him. "what has happened? where is edith?" was his first demand. "young man, will you be good enough to tell us what sent you here?" said the major, sternly, stepping forward. "certainly, sir!" said fred, with a stiff bow, "this singular note." and he drew forth a letter, and handed it to the major, who opened it and read: "ride, ride for your life to percival hall. she whom you love is in the power of your rival. he has carried her off by force. take the road to the north; near the vil lage of r. are the pine woods, where an old mansion of de llsle's is situated. there you will find edith percival. e. s.. "hermit of the clltts." "let us start instantly!" exclaimed the major. "every moment is precious!" '!you had ijett^r follow tbe chrectlons of the hefcmit, and remain here," said nugent. "we • three, with one or i^ivo friends, will be enough. de lisle.'s men are in all probability far enough from their leader, who feels too secure in his retreat to dread a visit from us. be side, i have a message for you from your friend. colonel greyson, which ad mits of no delay, and will absolutely pre vent you from going with us." the major seemed sthl uncertain; but the others joined nugent in urging him to obey the hermit, and remain behind. having, at length, reluctantly con sented, fred, gus and young percival, with one or two f rie ids, started in the direction pointed out by the hermit. having reached the plape indicated, they secreted themselves in the woods, while nugent, who was familiar with the place, went to reconnoitre. he soon returned with the ominous in telligence that there was a force six times their number in the old house, and that it would ruin tlieir cause altogether to attempt at present to contend against such odds. nothing remained, therefore, but to lie in wait, and seifce the first fa vorable opportunity. none, however, presented itself; and the afternoon of the following day, accidentally overhearing a conversation between two of de lisle's men, by which they learned the marriage was to take plaee that very day. they, determined at all risks to make the at tempt, the result of which is already known to the reader. ♦ • * ^ ♦ * , ♦ . «,.,._ half an hour after his interview with edith, de lisle sat in his own room, eat ing a hasty breakfast ere fie departed on his journey. his meditations were at length abruptly interrupted by the en trance of nan crowe, who. in her usual screeching tones, announced that a boy without wished to see him. "what does he want?" said de lislei "want?" repeated mrs. crow. ^'yes, he wants to see you." "what is his business?" demanded de lisle, raising his voice. "none of my business!" exclaimed mrs. crow, in rising wrath; "allers the way every one ireats me arter a-trottln'. me off my legs, with the rhumatiz in the small of my back, a-bringing of pesky young galls to 'tend on, what ain't no business here, a flghten. and sitten up killing of one another, with the rhumatiz in the small of my back" — "go to the deuce, vou old fool!" an grily interrupted de lisle. "be oflf with you and bring him here, whoever he is!" muttering to herself. nan crow quitted the room, and presently reappeared with a yotit4i of some sixteen years--^ rough, uncouth-loaking lad. he was small for his age. and dressed in a suit of coarse gray homespun. f2 the hermit of the cliffb. m w which looked, to use. a common but ex presbive phrase, as though they had been thrown on by a pitchfork. his face was bronzed and darkened by exposure to the sun. his eyes were brigh* and intelligent, and shone and glittered like glass beads through the coarse masses of uncombed sai;dy hair. his walk was peculiar, as he shuffled along in a pair of huge cow hide boots, dragging his legs after him as thoiigh they belonged to somebody such was the lad who now stood, hat in hand, before de lisle, shifting un easily from one foot to the other. "who are you?" demanded de lisle, gazing rather contemptuously at the new-comer. "joe smith, sir," answered the boy, with a strong nasal twang of "deown east." "what do you want?" "wall, i kinder kalkerlated on gettin' work." "work? what kind of work?" said de l'sle. "wall, i ain't particular; 'most any thing comes handy to me." "what hpve you bieen accustomed to?" "little of everything, boss. i gen'ly work on the farm to hum." "why did you leave hum, as you call it?" "wall, me and mother and glory ann thought as how i'd better come up to boston and 'list; but arter lookln' round a spell, i didn't like it, and klncluded 'twasn't no slch fun to be shot as 'twas cracked up to be." "what induced you to come here?" "why, i'd beam tell o' you some, and thought maybe you wouldn't mind hirln' a new hand to cook vittlls, and bring water, and chop wood, and slch. you see, bos i'm rather a smart chap, 'spe cially arter a llckin'; and didn't see no reason why i'd waste my talents a-rais ing pumpkins all my life; so when i makes my fortln here, i intends goin' home, and gettin' spliced onto glory ann liazybones, a gal what's 9, regular buster, and no mistake." . "you are an original," said de lisle, rather amused, "but i am surprised that you do not wish to join the rebels, like so many otheris of your class." "wall, boss, i allers had high ideers since i was 'bout so old, when i used to ride roun' every day on mother's old cheese-horse for exercise. these here rebels ain't no 'count, and beln' the weaker party, i intends pitchin' into 'em like a thousand o' bricks. mother allers ses-^sez she: 'joe,' sez she, 'you stick to the strongest party, my son; it's allers best'; so, in course, as i'm a dootlful son, i obeys the old 'oman. 'sides, if i turn britisher, and help to lick our boys, there's no tellin' but what they'll want to make a lord or an earl o' me one o' these long-come-shorts. lord joe smith! jee-whlttlca! that sounds) sort o' grand. don't it?" "i see — number one's your lookout!" aald de lisle. "well, since your ambi tion soars so high, it would be a pity to depflve glory ann of the chance to be come lady smith; so i don't mind tak ing you into my service." "thankee, boss; you're a brick!" inter rupted mr. smith, patronizingly. "don't be so familiar, sir," said de lisle, sharply. "learn a little more re spect when addressing your betters. for the present, your duty will consist in as sifting my housekeeper in her household aftalrs, and in looking after and attend ing to the wants of two or three prison ers confined here. one of my men will direct you what to do. and now, to be gin your new duties, go and saddle my horse and bring him round to the door." "ah right, siree!" replied joe, clapping his hat on his head, and giving it a vig orous thump down over his eyes, as he hastened out to obey the order, leaving de lisle to finish his breakfast. "there is yet one more duty to per form," muttered de*lisle, rising; "one so agreeable that it amply compensates for all the humiliation i have been, through him, forced to endure. master pred stanley, i go to pay you a morning visit, and see how you estimate my kind hos pitality, in keeping you here my guest." the sinister smile he wore made his face almost repulsive as he arose and left the room. passing through a long hall, he de scended a flight of narrow, winding stairs, and stood in another long hall, f anked on each side by doors. a sentry stood pacing to and fro before them. he paused, and touched his hat respectfully on seeing de lisle. "where is stanley confined?" he in quired. "here, sir," answered the man, opening one of the doors to allow him to enter. die lisle passed in, and found himself in a low, gloomy room, with a damp, un wholesome odor. seated on a low stool, the only article of furniture it contained, was fred stanley, his forehead leaning on his hand, his eyes fixed on the floor, his brow knit, as though in deep, troubled thought. as the creaking of the heavy door fell on his ear, he looked up quickly and si rang to his feet as he saw his mor tal foe before him. for a moment they stood silently fac ing each other— those two rivals. de lisle's face wore a look of triumph, min gled with most intense and deadly hatred. a bitter, sneering smile was on his lips, and a look of gratified malice in his eyes. fred, stern, and cold, and haughty, stood opposite him, his arms folded, across his breast, returning his gaze with such a look of »ofty scorn. the uhrmit of the cliffs, 88 that, in spite of himself, de lisle quailed before him. "well, frederic stanley, my hour of tri umph has come," said de lisle, with a look of malignant triumph. "villain! do your worst! i defy you!" was the bold answer. "that most assuredly i shall do," re turned de lisle. "before the sun's rise and set you shall die the ignominious death of the halter." "do your worst, ralph de lisle; i fear you not!" was the rejoinder. "when you crossed my path, and won the affections of her whom i loved, i swore a deadly oath of vengeance. for tune has favored me, the time has come, and your hours are numbered. she whom you love is in my power, and the same hour which will see you swinging a dis colored corpse between heaven and earth will see her a bride in my arms. you both began a dangerous game, fred stanley, when you thwarted my wishes, as you will find when the halter is round your neck, and as she will discover when, after making her my mine, i will whisper in her ear the fate of him whom she loves better than life." "fiend! devil in human form! do your worst, and may the heaviest ' curse of heaven fall upon you!" exclaimed fred, growing livid with passion. "ha! i thought you would feel that!" said de lisle, with a grim smile. "you will have ample time to meditate on these arid many otlier consoling truths between this and the day of doom. it will also, doubtless, be a pleasure to you to know that edith will be a prifjoner under the same roof with you until my return, which may be to-morrow, or, at the furthest, three days hence. and now it occurs to me that my revenge will be greater to allow you to be present at our bridal. i will thus have a double tri umph over you both." "a fiend could not be more diabolical!" exclaimed fred, paling involuntarily at his words. "have i not well learned the art of torturing?" went on de lisle, with a fiendish smile. "death itself would be nothing — that would be a poor triumph. i know you well enough to be aware that you do not fear death; but the torture i shall inflict before death shall last even after the soul has left the body. i will leave you now to repose and solitude. you will have ample time," he added, with a sneer, "to meditate on your latter end, and make your peace with heaven during my absence. should i return to morrow, before another sun sets you shall swing as high as haman. au re vt)ir, until i meet you again on abra ham's bosom." and turning on his heel, he strode from the room. "to-morrow?" repeated fred, gazing after his retreating figure, "who knows what to-mcrrow may bring forth?" chapter xvii. joe visits his prisoners. "trust in god! thou forlorn one, cease thy moan; all thy pain and all thy sorrow are to god, the highest, known, he leaves thee now, but helps to-morrow. trust in god!" the bright sunshine of the morning following that eventful night shone into e^th's room; but it was all unheeded by her. she lay on her face on the bed, not sleeping, but in a deep, heavy torpor, her white arms extended above her head, so still and motionless that but for the quick, rapid breathing, one might imag ine her dead. not of herself was she thinking, but of those for whom she would have given her life — of one whom she would gladly have died to save. fred! fred! all through that miserable night his name had been on her lips — his image alone in her heart. never again would she meet those dear, dark eyes — already, perhaps, closed forever; that brave, impulsive heart, whose every throb had been for her, might now be cold and still in death. thebolt was withdrawn, the door opened, some one entered, but she did rot look up. she was conscious that some one was bending over her, but still she did not move until she heard a strange voice muttering, in a sort of so liloquy: "crikeyi she beats the seven sleepers, she does! i'm blamed if she ain't as sound as a top. wall, i s'pose i better leave the vlttals here, and arter her snooze she'll fall to." with a start, edith rose on her elbow and gazed wildly around. her amaze ment at beholding tlie uncouth figure and face of honest joe smith may better be imagined than described. so com pletely was she bewildered that she con tinued to stare at him between surprise and terror, scarcely knowing whether to cry out for help or not. joe, however, bore her scrutiny with wonderful com posure, and returned her stare with com pound interest. "good mornin', marm. fine day this. how's your folks? i hope the old wo man and all the folks to hum is well!" said joe, in a tone of condescending po liteness. • "what?" said edith, rather bewildered by the rapidity with which this speech was delivered. "never mind, 'tain't worth sayin' over again," said joe. "i hope i didn't dis turb any pleasant dreams o' your'n. you h tbe hermit of the cliffs. '•'\ ■i' 5' -w.aa 8)eepln' ay^ay jlike all creatiicin wb.en i ca?ne in!" , , . , , : "who sent you herfe?" inquired edith, wljose terror had not quite vanished. "wall, the cap'n did, maxtn," replied joe; i 'xpect i'm to he waitln'-mald till he comes back. i hain't no objections to it. though— 'cause, maybe, i'll be able to rarn glory ann somethin' in her line arter i go back to hum. here's your breakfas.', marm, what that jolly old case down in the kitchen sent me with. seems to me the cap'n's got a taste for keepin' people 'n the lockup, jijdgin' by all i've 'tended to this mornin'. let's see— two and one's three, and one's fpur — f eur i've visited this mornin', countin' you." .^ an exclamation of delight broke invol untarily from the lips of edith. three beside her! .then fred was living still. "hey? what is it? did you stick a pin in you?" inquired joe, mistaking the cause of her emotion. "who were the three you visited this mornings?" inquired edith, with breath "wall, let'«-:see." said joe, closing one eye and laying his forefinger meditative ly -on the point of his nose; "the first, i think, somebody called goose, or some thin* about the size ©' that." "0us," amended edith, eagerly. vyaas, gus, or goose, or some sort o' a fowl. i found him lyin' on the, floor, takin' a snooze, i s'pose, somethin' like i found you. he got up when i came in, and fell to the vlttals as if he'd been itvln' ob pavin' -stones for a week, an' 'tween every mouthful he took to askin' me a string o' questions as long as a law yer's conscience. he wanted to know all the particulars 'bout you, and 'fore he'd give me time to answer one of 'em he blowed the cap'n and the whole blamed consarn sky-high. 'twa'n't no use to try to reason matters with him, 'cause when i took to arguin', 'fore i got to thirdly, he told me to go and be hanged. you see i couldn't stand that— i wasn't used to it, mother^ never 'lowed no, pro fane sweftrin' to hum so i just told him to be hanged himself, if he liked, but as f*r me, i was like the highlandman, in no hurry.'* ■ "what highlandman?" inquired edith, absently. "why, some old scotch big-bug, long ago, had a servant that did somethin', i forgot what, and he was goin' to hang him for it. but; you see, the servant had been a favorite of his, so his master told him he'd grant htm the favor of choosing "walchever tree ih his orchard he'd like to be hung on. the servant wtfs tickled to death to hear it, an* weftt crttfr to ehoose th^ tree with his master. at" last he stopped before a goosebierry btrsh, aiid said he'd be h\ing onto that. . "'go to tt&a«\' b^z his master; 'tnat ain't big enough to hang a six-footer like you on!' ,; " 'oh, well',' elez the senraot, 'iml wait till.lt grows big. . i'm "in no hurry!' " "but the others— the others?" exclaim ed edith, who had listened impatiently to this digression. "oh, ya-as— just so. well, the next was the very picter o' you — s'pect he must be some relation. he was sittin' > down onto a bench, an' asked me a few questions — not many, though; 'bout a dozen or so — if i'd seen you, and where was the boss, and so on. it was sort o' comfortable to talk to hhn sides the oth er two, who didn't seem to have a single grain o* senses in their knowledge boxes " -. . . "and the third?" demanded edith, hurriedly. • "him! o jerusalem! i've seen a wild cat — i've seen a bear with a sore head — i've seen a gander when somebody carried off the goslin's before him— i've seen mother in a passion, and a-flarin' around at the governor — but i never, never, never saw such a savage, wlld lookln' scunner as the t'other one. cracky! when i went in thar, he was artearin' up and down as though hf was boun' to have a walksomehow, if the floor held out — lookln' so sort o' savage-lookin' an' fierce that i like to spilt his breakfas' atop of him. it's lucky i didn't; for if he'd got his dander riz any wuss the l.or' a massy only knows whar joe smlth'd be now. i'm blamed if i ever seen any one in sich a tearin' rage as that oove was in." "it must have been fred," thought edith. "was he wounded?— how did he look?" she asked, aloud. "wall, marm, i don't know as i kin tell," said joe, thougrfitfully. '*he set me into .sich a flusterlfication that it was 'most a danger to look at hlnr. he had a black coat and trousls," and hair on, and was as tall as— as— i don't know who (that's a nice size for a mian). he was sort o' darklsh-lookin', with a black murstuasher onto his upper lip. some people might call him good-lookin* ; but glory ann allers sez fair hair's the nic est." and joe gave his tow locks a complacent shake. "would you bring a message from me to them?" inquired edith, eagerly. "wall, now, i don't know," said joe, rather reluctantly; " 'twould be sorter agin orders, you know. sorry to refuse you, marm, but i can'f help it." "tell him, at least, that i will die sooner than marry de lisle you will befriend me by doing so; and you can do no one any possible injury," said edith, pleadingly. "tell who, niarm— which of 'em?" "the one you spoke of last." • "oh! the fierce-lookin' one. yes'm, i don't mind telun' him. but i guess he the hermit of the vllfrs. w % six-footer like rvant, t.b wait no hurry!' " lers?" exclaim led impatiently i^'ell, the next you— s'pect he he was sittln' . aked me a few lough; 'bout a fou, and where it was sort o' 1 sides the oth have a single ir knowledge nanded edith, ire seen a wild h a sore head hen somebody ?fore him— i've 1, and a-flarln' —but i never, savage, wlld t'other one. thar, he was as though he k somehow, if n* so sort o' that i like to of him. it's got his dander 1 massy only be now. i'm one in sich a was in." red," thought ?— how did he now as i kin . "he set me that it was him. he had and hail* on, don't know a man). he with a black er lip. some 1-lookin'; but air's the nic tow locks a sage from me eagerly. iv," said joe, lid be sorter rry to refuse !lp it." t i will die lie you will and yoii can njury," said of 'em?" last." • le. yes'm, i t i guess he won't care. i don't believe he'd go tci the weddin' if he was asked." "you will tell him. at least?— you will not forget it?" said emith. anxiously. "oh, no fear: i'll tell him, if he does blow me up. 'tany rate, i guess wed din's is the last thing he'll think about, 'cause the boss is boun' to string him up ■like a dried mackerel soon as ever he comes back." a convulsive shudder was edith's only answer. "wall, now, marm, i wouldn't take on so if i was you." said joe, gazing sym pathetically toward edith. "arter all, i shouldn't wonder if things should turn out all right in the end. p'raps you've hearn tell o' people entertainln' angels in disguise?" edith lifted her head, and looked at him with so much surprise that joe laughed and said: "keep up heart— there's nothing like it. i shouldn't be s'prlsed if me and glory ann danced at your weddin' yet. there's never no use in frettin'. hope on, hope ever!" "who are you?" asked edith, with an undefined feeling that she had heard the voice before. "lor! i'm only joe smith, from bung town. old jake smith's my governor, an' me an' glory ann lazybones is goin' to hitch teams one of these times, when they make a lord or somethln' of me — that's all. 'tain't wuth makln' a book of." "i think you resemble some one i've seen before," said edith, with a puzzled look; "but whom, i cannot tell. well, you may leave me now; i wish to be alone. you will not forget to deliver my message?" "all right, marm; joe smith's got a stunnln' memory. good morning. i s'pect that blessed old angel down in the kitchen'll give me fits for stayin' here so long. don't forget to keep up your spirits. i don't believe we'll have a weddin' or a hangin' so ~ soon as the boss thinks." with this sage concluding remark, worthy joe shuffled out of the room, leaving edith to ruminate on the prob able meaning of his words. chapter xviii. plotting. "nightly tears have dimmed the lustre of thy sweet eyes, once so bright; and, as when dark willows cluster, weeping, o'er marble rocks, o'er thy forehead white. droop thy waving locks yet thou art beautiful, poor gin. as angels in distress yea, comforting thy soul, dear girl with thy loveliness." — tupper. the day's toll was over. nan grow, . after screeching, and grumbling, and scolding to her heart's content, had thrown her apron over her head, and fallen asleep in her easy-chair in the long kitchen. the men were loitering idly about— some lying on the cool grass, where the shadows fell long and dark, rejoicing in the cool evening breeze after the scorching heat of the day: some snt at the table playing cards, swearing and vociferating at an appalling rate; others lounged in groups round the room, with bottles and glasses before them, relating their several adventun ., for the general benefit of all. mr. joe smith, who found his duties of mald-of-all-work rather fatiguing, would gladly have left the revelers to themselves; but they, having no one to wait on them, were determined he should not escape so easily. unceasing calls for mrs. smith, as they named him, resounded continually from one end of the room to the other, until, at last, in a fit of desperation, he told them to go to grass and wait on them selves. a shout of laughter and a unan imous cry of: "come back! come back!" reached him: but. unheeding their shouts, joe resolutely made his escape and set. off for a ramble by himself. sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, joe leaned his head on his hand and fell into a fit of profound musing. for up ward of an hour he remained thus* with brows knit, eyes fixed on the ground and lips compressed like one in deep meditation. suddenly a new light seem ed to dawn on him and he sprang to his feet with the triumphant exclama tion: "i have it!" "have what?" said a merry voice be side him; and. turning abruptly round, worthy joe beheld our little friend elva. • "wall, now. i don't know as it's any business o' youm," saidjoe, surveying elva coolly from head to foot. "you're mighty polite." said elva. "wall, yaas, rayther; glory ann allem said so," said joe, modestly. "who's glory ann?" "a young lady up to hum; i'm goin' to be married to her some day." "nice girl, i expect?" "nice! that word doesn't begin to tell about glory ann lazybones. i tell you she's a reg'lar screamer and no mis take." "shouldn't wonder!" said elva. "is she as good-looking as i am?" "wall, now, i don't know. some folks might say you was better-lookln'; but i don't. you ain't so showy, you know. glory ann's got nice red hair; and red haired girls is allers smart and spunky" "m'hey are. eh? now. if i'd known that before i'd have dyed, and not gone whimpering through the world afraid to 66 thb ebrmit of the cuffs. ^4 1 ■■!' lifij call my soul my own. perhaps it's not too late yet, ejv? what do you think?" "oh. you don't need it. tou've got impjdence enougeh. you'll do." "well, really, that's cflol. what's your name?" "what's yours?" ; "elvena snowe— not so pretty as glory ann lazybones, is it?" "not quite ; hers is a scripter name, you know. yours is pooty, though,, and sounds sort a' cool this hot weather." **now what's youf»." "wall, 14: might be beelzebub, or nebu chadnezzar, or any other bible name; but ?tain't. ireckon i won't tell you; i'd rather not have it made publie." -^•why?" : "oh, well, joe smith ain't a common name, so i guess i'll keep it a secret. 'jsides, ther*8 no tellin' but you may fall in love with me; and i'm anxious to avoid sich a c'lamity." "y-ou're a case? aren't you the boy de lisle hired yesterday?" "wal, i mought be, and ag'in i moughtn't. seems to me you're very in quisitive," said joe, suspiciously. : "and it seems to n^e you're very cau tious. what dayou take me for?" said estva, indtgnantyy. •^"why, you might be a good many thtngs— you might be cornwallis or washington in disguise, or you might be a spjt from the enemy. there's never no telhn'." "you're too smart to live long, joe, dieai*. how do you suppose a little thing iflten>e could be anybody but herself?" *<rt does seem odd," said joe, scratch ing his head, as if to extract some reason by the roots; "but then, you know, it's better to be sure than sorry. i like to be on my guard, so's i won't leave glory ann a wldder." ■'■ "i honor you for your prudence, my son. and now, joe, when i assure you i'm no desperate character — neither obrriwallls nor washington in petticoats — maybe you'll answer me a few ques tldns?" ' "yaas'm, if they're noways improper fior me to listen to." "you sweet innocent! do you think i'd ask such a saintly cherub as you any thir^g improper? first, then, there's a yx>\xtig lady confined a prisoneir in that om house over there?" ■"wall. »ow, raally couldn't say." and jo^ looked innocently unconscious as he issued this little work of fiction. "oh, get otrt, and don't tell fibs!" ex clftim(&d elva indignantly. "there's three tj^her prisoners there, " too, isn't there?" "'^/s'here might be; i don't like to say fbi* sar*in, for fear o' telmn' a he." replied jm, b^ttttlng oiie eylfe, "slnd fixing the <fth€r reaectively on ;& grasishopper at ii[}s feef. "i'll aak wfieh 1 jfo mi*; aftd send yott a l(^ter to ' let you know." "you abominable wretch! i know very well they're there," said blva, los ing all patience. "wall, and if you know very well, where the mischief's the use o' askin' me a string of impudent questions, ^and callfn' me names?" exclaimed joe, inr dignantly. elva couldn't resist laughing at joe's look of offended dignity. "yes, you may larf," sai4 joe, with a look of intense disgust. "i s' pose it's all very funny, comin' and callin' a fellar names. it shows all the brought'n up you had!" and joe gave the inno cent grasshopper at his feet a vicious kick. "there, now,^ joe. don't get mad, like a good boy," said ehva, patting him soothingly on the back, "listen to me; i'm miss perclval's friend, and wish to see her." "well, go and see her, then," said joe, sulkily, "i ain't hinderin* you." "but i can't," said elva, "unless you help me." "me!" said joe, opening wide his eyes, "how?" "why, you must find the key of the side door and let me in that way. i don't want anybody to see me. now do. like a dear, good boy." "you be grannled!" exclaimed mr. smith, losing all patience, "can't you tell a fellar who you want to see, and not be goin' on with your story hind end foremost." "why, i thought juju knew," said elva. "i mean the prisoner, miss perclval." "oh! that's her name. is it?" how was i to know, when nobody never told me? so you want to see her, do you?' "yes, yes, yes! do let me in, will you?" "why don't you go and ask some of the others?" "oh! they won't let me, they're hate ful, but you're not. ah, joe. won't you?" and elva looked pleadingly up in his face. "wall now, marm," said joe, laying one finger refiectively on his nose. "i'd like ter oblige you if 'twas anyways possible, but if i'm found out the boss wouldn't make no bones o' stringing me up like a red herrln', and i tell you what, i hain't no ambition to be elevated in the world after that fashion." "he won't find you out; how can he?" exclaimed elva, impetuously; "he is away, the men are all loungin^t and drinking in the other wing of the buiw ing, old neil crow is asleep, and there is no onie plotting mischief or making love but you and me. there! you needn't look surprised. i know more about that old houstr and its inmates than you think. so now, j<5fe, ydu 'dear, gbod-naturied looking did «loul, ifet me in to see miss perclval tihd i'll dandeat your weddiagr." tht! ilbuxh'p or thb cllp'fii. 97 mng at joe's vide his eyes, ask some of joe. laying s nose. this la.8t entreaty had a due effect upon joe, who indulged in sundry low chuckles at the idea. recovering his composure at last he seated himself de liberately on the log, and cros'-ing one leg over the other, and fixing his eyes solemnly upon his cowhide boots, fell into a profound fit of musing. elva stood watching him, swinging her light straw ha,t by the strings and tapping her little foot impatiently up and down. "well now, joe, i hope you'll soon honor me with an answer," she said at last, quite out of patience. "i declare i never saw such a stick of a fellow as you are, a body can hardly ge: a word out of you." "bh?" said joe, looking up; "were you speakin' to me. miss elva?" "was i speaking to you. miss elva?" repeatedthat young lady, mimicking his tone. "yes, i was speaking to you, miss elva. did you ever hear it was impolite not to answer a lady when she speaks to you?" "wal, if i don't talk niuch, i keeps up a mighty big thinking," said joe, "and as to answerin' ladies, why, as i never met one yet i couldn't hev bin very imperlite tp 'em." "why, you horrid, impudent fellow, what do you call me but a lady?" "oh, my eyes!" ejaculated joe, with a look of infinite contempt. "you a lady? you hain't no inore the look of one than i hev. lady, indeed! you git ouf!" "well, we won't argue the question now," said elva. "perhaps we've hard ly time at present to do, the subject :(vstlce. and now, once for all, will you grant my request?" "why. i don't mind if i do, seein' it's you," replied joe; "but first i'll go and see miss percival, and tell her you want to see her. by the time i git back it'll be dark, and you can git in without bein' seen, and everything will go off smooth jy" ^'that's a good boy!" said elva, ap provingly. "maybe i won't write to glory ann one of these days and tell her what a nice fellow she's going to get. jiurry up now, and i'll wait here till you conie back." so saying, elva seated herself on the fallen tree, and watched honest joe as he shuffled slowly out of sight and dis appeared among the trees. an hour passed, and joe had not made his appearance. a deep gloom was settling around, the dark pines swayed solemiily to and fro tn the night breeze. there was no jight ' sftve thftt of the radiant stars; nd sound save th£it of the 'wind and the cry of the katydid. the silence wait almost painful, ais @v& rat .w4m with impatlwbce. at length, a» bite w&b dbbut tt> deirpair of hijai coming at all, a familiar voice at her ear startled her with the expressive phrase: "here we is!" "o joe! is it you? i thought you would never come. well, can i see her?" she exclaimed, breathlessly. "yes'm! i've 'ranged everything beau tifully. i'll go back to the house, and you'll steal round to the side door you was speaking of, and i'll let you in. that's the way!" and each took a different path, both leadlttg to the old house.. the side door sppken of had long been unused, and was almost hidden by vines and shrubs. forcing her way through these, elva waited until she heieird the key turn in the rusty lock. pushing o.pen the door she entered a long, dark hall, where she beheld joe standing, lamp in hand. "here, take this," sa^d joe, handing her the light. "i s'pose you know the way up to her room better'n i can show you. i'll be about here and wait, and let you out." "you're a darling!" exclaimed elva, as she almost llew up a ipng, winding staircase. "how i wish i was glory ann lazybones to get such a prize as you." and with a merry laugh she van ished amid the gloom, while joe gazed after her with. a look of decided f^d; "miration. '• .. reaching the well-known chamber of the prisoner she tapped at the door. a . low voice bade her enter, and withdraw ing the bolts, she passed into the room. edith sat by the table, her head lean ing on her hand, her bright, golden hair falling like a veil over her pale, sweet face. she looked up as elva entered, and approached with extended hands. elva was shocked beyond measure by the change those, few days had made. the face of edith, always fair, seemed now perfectly transparent, the deep blue eyes had grown dim and heavy with constant weeping. a long illness could hardly have changed her more than those miserable days and sleepless nights, albeit she was not used to "tears by night instead of slumber." "my dear elva, how glad i am to see you again!" said edith, pressing the young girl's hands in her own. "the pleasure is mutual, my dear miss percival. but how pale and thin you are looking! have you been sick?" "no, not exactly sick; but i have been ill in body and mind. o elva! how could i be otherwise irt this dreadful place?" "very true!" said elva, sadly; "and your friends, are thej^ rtih here, or has de lisle"— ; . ' "nq, nof" interrupted bdith, hwrried ly, "not yet!: but .when hie retumfi— o'biva.'jelvaipr^ky heaven i may die befwe that dreadful tlm^t" 58 thtj hermit of tilt: vurfh. im "not so. miss perclval. you shall live and be happy, in spite of all the de lisles that ever cheated the hangman!" exclaimed elva. "we'll see if woman's wit is not more than a match for man's cunning. de lisle will not return, father says, until the day after to-morrow; and when he does come back and find his hire" has flown away fr'-ni her cage idurlnr his rbsence, wor't tl er.? be a scene'' whew! it will be as good as a ylay to see hl»n'" a.nd elva clapped her hand j in celight. ' "elva! what d-^ you mean? i do not understand." said edith, looking be wllderfid. "why, you shall make your escape to-t.iorrow night— that's the talk! when everybody is sleeping i'll come her ^, fasten a rope ladder to your window— climb up— iron gratings old — easily takei off— you'lt get down — make a moonlight flittingand before morning dawns you'll be over the hllla and far away!" edith caught her breath at the vision thus conjured up. but a moment's re ilectlgn banished the bright hopes elva's words had recalled to her heart. "my cousin, my brother, and— their friend, hojv can i go and leave them here in the power of de lisle? o elva! i cdnnot go!" "bother!" exclaimed elva. impatient ly. "what good can your staying here do them? will it help them any? do *you think your marrying de lisle (as you will most assuredly have to do. if you wait until he comes back)— if they really care for you, will it not render them far more miserable than anytning they may have theinr.elver, to suffer? whereas, if you escapti you may yet res cue them; or, if you cannot, you can at least let the world know what a villain he is, and have the comfort of letting the world see him danco on noth ingr. stay here, indeed! nonsense, miss perclval! i beg your pardon tor saying? so, but the idea is perfectly absurc?." edith's feelings a/ways caught their tone and impetus from whoever chr.nce to be with her. now some of the daring spirit that glowed on the cheeks and flashed in the eyes of elva animated her own heart as she raised her head, and said, firmly: "be it so, then, kindest, best of frien<js. i khali make the attempt: if i succeed i shall at least be spared the wretched doom of becoming the wife cf one i detest; if i fail, my fate can be no worte thau it is now." " "fall" echoed elva, cheerily. "in my vocabulary there is no such word as fal . no^ you will live ani laugh at de ljsle yet." that's the chat!" exclaimed a voice that made them both start; and turning round in alarm, they beheld the shock head of master joe protruded through the halfopen door. chapter xix. the bsca^hj. "the lovely stranger stands confesae^l a maid in all her charms." — ooldritlltl) "that's the chat!" again repeated the worthy youth, as. seeing he was dis covered, he walked in and coolly took a seat. "o joe! my dear joe! you will n<it betray us?" eclalmed elva. while edith kat in silent dismay. "don't know 'bout that!" replied joe. " 'tain't fair to be cheatin" the boss in this fashion. la! how nicely i caught you that time!" and evidently highly de lighted at the reoollecilon, he leaned back and laughed until the tears stood in his eyes. "o joe! you won't tell, will you?" pleaded elva. "how would yo'^ like now if glory ann was a prisoner and wanted to escape if somebody hindered her' just think what a heartrending cast that would be. and let us off." "wall, now. i don't know's i'd care. t'm gettln' sorter tired o* glory ann!" said joe. coolly. "unfaithful youth!" exclaimed eiva. in a voice of horror "poor, deserted glory ann! but since that falls to mffve you. miss perclval's father is very rich, ami if you help her to escape your i;or tune is made." "go *. . grass!' inr'^gnartiy exclaimed mr. smith "what d'ye s'posc i caro 'bout his money? no'm: if you han't somethln' better to propose than that. i'll blab!" "what can i offer?" said poor elva, in despair. "jr it mention something y urself. joe. an(z if it's in my power, yji: shall have it." "there's one thing," said joe, mtdi tatlvely. "name it — name it!" exclaimed elva, impadently 'it's very easy. tot>, though i nrever thought of it afore." went on joe, in the saine blow, thoughtful tone, "name it! — name it!" exclaimed the impatient elva. "yes. i dor.'t care 'bout glory am: — there's uo mistake in that. red hair's common, and i guess i'll take to_some other coloi'." cortinued joe, seriously. w^ithout lifting his eyes off the floo*-. "oh, you wretch' you provoking creature! yo i stupid old th'ng, you! win you tell me what ft is?" and elva, :osing all patience, shook him so soundly ':hat poor joe looked up quite ^atonished. "hey? what's the matter? oh, you want to know what it hi, do you? wau. you see, i've got kinder tired ix' glory ided through c. is confensed — goldsmltli repeated th(» he was dis coolly took a you will not while edith replied jot* the bosb ill sly i cauglil ly highly de n, he leaned ; tears stood will you?" yo'j like now • and wantf'd ndered her" •ending cast )flf." v's i'd care grlory ann!' aimed elva . or, deserted 'ails to move b very rich, pe your for y exclai.ned 30sc i caro ' you han't than that. poor elva, something my power, joe, mtdi limed elva, gh i never on joe, in one. laimed the glory ann red hair's ce to_some seriously, floo'-, provoking h'nj?. you! and elva. so soundly ^atonlshed. oh, you ou? wau, d <>' gwory tbe h^yitmlt of the guwm. ann. as i md, and i'd like a change; so i'm help the young lady to run off, if"— joe paused, and looked doubtfully at t**ivjl "well, if what?'* reiterated that young "if you'll marry me!' exclaimed joe, l!ke a man of honor, coming to the point at once. ••done!" exclaimed elva; "there's my hand on it. who'll say, after this, i haven't had a proposal?" and elva cast a glance toward edith, that, in spite of hers<'if, brought a smile to the face of the latter. ''you're a trump!" exultlngly ex claimed joe, "a regular stunner! i tell you what; i'll set free them three coves down in the lower regions, if you like. i will, gracious!" with an exclamation of joy, ekilth and elva both sprang forward, and caught each a hand of joe, who looked a little surprised, not to say alarmed, at this sudden attack. "joe, dear, you're a darling!" exclaim ed elva. "i'll m^rry you a dozen times over, if you liket'' "all right!" said joe, "and now that the courtin' part o' the business is over, vpore we change the 8u'>ject. l.et'8 see, i«-morrer night, 'bout twelve, be ready, and if we don't fix 'em, it'll be . a cau tion!" and joe arose to leave. "but. joe, won't you tell us what you intend to do?" said elva; "just consider i'm your better half now, and have a right to know." "don't trouble yourself, raarm. i'll tell you arterward," replied joe; "and now i shouldn't be s'prised if 'twas time for you to go. to-morrer night, 'bout this time, come round to the side-door and i'll let you in so's to be ready to start with us." elva laughed, and with a cheerful good night turned to follow him. leaving edith with a more hopeful look on her face than she had worn for many a day.. the following day joe did not appear until nearly noon, when he informed edith that he imd told her friends of their plan and that th^y were "tickled to death 'bout it." to all her anxious inouiries as to what that olan was he only replied by teiiing hor to "hold on and she'd «!ee a^'ter a spell." with the approach of night came elva who was silently admitted by joe through the side-door, and conducted to edith's apartment. there that worthy youth left them, after miany charges not to be asleep when he called for them by end by. elva knew that three nien ramained each night in the orriddr bef«re the cells of the priaonei... aaid how joe was to conduct tliem past tttese was a mys tery she could not solve. joe, however, turned a deaf ear to all her <iu«htian8, and repeating his command to be ready lit the appointed hour, left^th^m to themselves. .*,:■•.. pa««mg through the many halls and passages and staircases, joe at length reached the opposite end of the house and entered a spacious sitting-room, where nearly a dozen men were seated around a long table in the middle of the rtoot, singing, shouting, telling stories, and vociferating in.f' most approved fashion. at the head of the table sat paul snowe, the father of elva, in bliss ful ignorance of the plot his audacious little daughter was weavl: ~ *'^ free his prisoners. "hi there! mrs. smith! where the deuce have you been all evening?" called a flashy-looking individual, known as dandy dan; "i believe in n>y soul, the tow-headed scoundrel is forever making love to lady beauty above-stairs.'.', "come here, mrs. smith, my dear," said another, "the jug's empty and nan crow's asleep. be off to the kitchen and fill it, i and here's your good health, ma'am." with a smothered growl, which elicited a shout of laughter, joe took the huge earthen jar which stood in the center of the table, a-nd set off on the errand. pilling it from a lar^e cask which stood ill the kitchen, he drew from his pocket a bottle containing a colorless liquid, and emptied its contents into the jamaica rum. a smile of triumph flitted over his face, which was, however, changed to one of sulky stupidity as he again stood before the revelers, panting under his load. "good boy, jqu!" said dandy dan, helping him to lift the jar on the table; "has your mother any nrnwe like you?" "yes, thar's ic*" on 'em to hum, but none so smart as me," said joe, in a tone of artless simplicity. "you're a genius, joe. pity they didn't make a lawyer of you!" "no, sir, none o' our family ever fell so low as that yet," said joe, in a tone of offended prid6; "mother was to law once and i never wants to know no more 'bout it." , „„ "and what sent the old lady to law? inquired paul snowe. "wall, 'twas about our cow. our cow and mother and two other cows was out, and she kicked the minister." "who did? yonr mother?" "no. the cow. he was goin' 'long, and she took to jawin' him 'bout something she didn't llkp 'n his sermons." "the cow did?" "no, mother. so he comes over to 'xnlaln. and ' lie leaned agin her and takes to smoothing down her back." "rmoothing your mother's hack?" "no, the cow's. but she wasn't goin' i'? il 60 tuk hermit of the clit'fh. !i:i to take none o' his blarney, so ehe jlst turned up her nose and told him to go to pot." "the ^w told tjlm so?" "no, mother! but he took to arguln' and at last forgettin* he wasn't in the pulpit, he brought his flst down with an almighty thump on her hack." "on your mother's back." "no, darn ye, on the cow's! so havln' a spirit of her own that wouldn't put up with sich insults, she lifts up her hind leg and gins him a kick." "your mother did?" "no, blame you, the cow! by gra cious, i won't stand to hear the old wo man insulted this way!" exclaimed joe, indignantly. a roar oi laughter followed, during which joe stood looking savagely from one to the other, and at last turned away in evident disgust. "i say, joe, don't leave us, man," called paul snowe. "tell us what hap pened to your mother and the other cow." "find out!" said joe, shortly. "what's the use o' tellin' a story whep you're too stupid to understand it? i wouldn't tell you another word if you was to btist!" and with this spirited announce ment the young gentleman gave his pantaloons an indignant hitch, and re paired to the kitchen. another hour passed, and the uproar grew "fast and furious." joe listened with a smile, and a muttered, "it will floon be over," and patiently "bided his time." gradually the noise died away. now and then a heavy sound would be heard, as one of the drunken revelers fell pros trate on the floor, »nd a long-drawn snore betrayed his profoundly drunken sleep. joe went in softly. lying under the table, and in various directions through the room, was de lisle's gal lant band. paul snowe lay backin his seat, his head down on his breast, sleep ing as profoundly as the rest. joe seized the jar, considerably llght rir nov.-, and repaired with it in the di rection where the prisoners were con fined. leaning against the walls, half asleep, were the remaining three who had been left to guard them. "who comes?" cried one of the senti nels, opening his sleepy eyes. "only me. ben— joe smith. the other chaos drunk thelrselves asleep, and i l>'''>mght the jug here, thinlclng you miffht like the rest." "thanky, joe; may you never die till your time comes." said the man. as he. together with his companions, gathered round the jug. "don't pee any reason why them roves upstairs should have all the fnn to them selves," said the second, taking a long draught. . "that was my notion exactly!" said joe. "prime that!" said the third, smack ing his lips. "joe, you deserve to be naade an archbishop of." joe took the compliment with all' hu mility and looked with delight at their eagerness to empty the jug. very soou its effects became apparent, for the three worthy sentinels lay stretched at full length, as sound asleep as thiii companions upstairs. joe arose softly, and took the key.s from the belt of one; then he openod the nearest door, and fred stanley stepped forth. joe then noiselessly opened the other two doors, and nugent perclval and gus made their appear ance. joe made a motion for them to be si lent, and, lifting the lamp, beckoned them to follow. with noiseless step they obeyed, and in a few moments they stood in the cool night air, free once more." "walt here a minute," said joe, when they arrived before the useful little side door, as he opened it and disappeared. "that small youth is worth his weight in diamonds," remarked gus, as he joe disappeared. "he reminds me strangely of some one i've seen before," said perclval; "but whom, t cannot recollect." "just fancy de lisle's disappointment when he comes back, losing his prison ers and his bride! eh, stanley," said gus. , "what?" said fred, rousing with a start from a dream of edith. "ah! i fancy i know where your thoughts were that time," said gus, while perclval smiled slightly, but said nothing. "here we are," said joe, reappearing, followed by edith, wrapped in a. large cloak, and leaning on the arm of elva. there was but little time for congrat ulations. as the whole party passed throughthe gate, joe gave elva a nudge in the ribs, saying, in a very audible whisper: "s'pdsin* you and me goes and gets spliced right off! where's the use losin' time?" "thank you; i guess i won't mind it just now!" said elva, laughing and blushing, as she caught the dark eye of young perclval fixed upon her with a look of decided amusement. "we part here, then," said joe, ex tending his hand. "good-by, elva. have you no message to send to glory ann?" to the surnrise of all. he had suddenly lost his peculiar nasal twang. fred, who bad be*»n.vvatchlne him earnestly, came forward, and. laying his hand on joe's shoulder, said: tue heumit of the vllfh'is. ,ctly!" said "further disguise is unnecessary, i know you " joe laughed and colored slightly, as he lifted his cap and removed his wig, and in spite of the dye on his face, they be held and recognized the merry face and hlsxck eyes of nell percival! chapter xx. thc journky hume. "oh, she is a shrewd one!— as keen as a briar! though her lip pouts with love, it can curl with disdain; and her eye, now so soft, can shoot quiv ering (ire. ah! she's a shrewd one!" -j. w. h. "nell! by all that's glorious!" ex claimed ous. "is it possible!" ejaculated edith, al most transfixed with amazement. "i thought i hb.fl heard that voice be fore," said nugent, •>:«,rcely less aston ished. •'is she a girl or a boy?" said elva, turning from one to the other, com pletely bewildered. "a girl, my dear, a girl!" said nell, gayly; "and i hope you won't forget you've promised to marry me. if you do, why then i'll call you out, and we'll have pistols before coffee, as sure as shooting." "but glory ann?" said elva. 'ah, yes— poor thing! but we won't pursue the harrowing subject just now, having no time to lose," said nell. then, lowering her voice, she added, hurriedly: "can you give me other garments? i don't wish— that is"— "oh, to. be sure!" interrupted elva; "we w^ill help ourselves to horses from de llsle's stables and you can come home with me while the rest wait in the forest. we won't be long." a few minutes saw them on their way —nell and elva far ahead of the rest. "we had better wait for them here," said percival, suddenly halting. 'who would ever think nell so clever!" said gus, in a tone of delight. "seeing that cleverness don't generally run in our family,' said nugent, laugh ing. " 'pon my honor, i'd never imagine it. she visited me daily, too, and i gave her a decided blowing up once or twice," said gus. "she told me of that," said edith, smiling, "and seemed quite indignant about it." "i say, edith, who is that pretty lit tle dear she has gone off with?" in quired ferclval "why, it's blvena snowe, the daugh ter of one of de liisle's men, and for whose unfailing kindneos i shall ever be grateful," replied edith. "'i hope we shall not be kept here much longer." said gus. "had 1 not better ride forward and meet them?" "meet them?— meet nell, you mean." iiaid percival, laughing. "here they come," said fred, whose quick ear had caught the sound of horses' feet in the distance. in a few moments more the young girls rode up, nell arrayed in a neatly fitting riding-habit of elvas— the bright face 'flushed a little, now that the paint was oit, as they could see even in the moonlight. "i have coaxed elva to come back and bid you all good-by," said nell. "would you believe it, she actually did not wish to come." "you would not have treated us that way, dear elva?" said edith, kissing her fair brow. "how i wish you could come home with us altogether!" "yes, do. elva; we'll have such glori ous times; you and i, and— glory ann!" coaxed nell. "i cannot," said elva, almost sadly; "but i hope to see you all once more. you had better hasten now — delay is dangerous." the adieux were hastily spoken. wav ing her hand ih a last farewell, elva turned and rode off down the forest path. there was silence for a while, during which the party gained the highroad nell in advance, between gus and her brother, and fred and edith following rapidly. "and now, nell, tell us about this strange affair of your masquerade," said gus, at length. "well, it's nothing to make a fuss about," said nell. "i suppose i needn't tell you that when you went off that day you didn't come back, as we ex pected. papa was away, and mamma was making a great time about it. i tried to cheer her up, but 'twas all of no use; she insisted the whole four of you were comfortably located in abra ham's bosom." " 'pon my honor, we came pretty near it," said gus. "well, the day passed, and none of you came. mamma was in a dreadful way, to be sure, and some of her friends came to visit and console her. i knew she wouldn't want me, with so many to look after her; so i asked and obtained leave of absence for a week or two, and as i was always fond of adventure, i determined, like a second don quixote, to go off in search of you." "bravo, nell!" exclaimed percival. "i knew how to find the old house, and felt pretty sure edith was there, at least, though i confess i had my doubts whether you three had not been 68 tun ummt or thje cuffs. bent to 'kingdom come.' i determined to disguise myself, and, havlnik colored my fa^e, and i»rocuicd that horrid tow wig, i dressed mynelf in a suit of clothes procured fftr the occasion. before ven turing ihto the power of de m8l<-. i de termined to see if any one would recog nize me, and i attuhlly chatted for an hour with mamma, about the farm 'to hum,' and 'glory ann lazybones,' with out being recognized. so, of course, i knew my disguise was perfect; and i came, saw, and conquered. that's all!" "by jove, nell!" exclaimed ous, de lightedly, "you're a"— •what?" said nell. "a regular stunner!" was the reply. "well, i consider that anything but a compliment," said nell; "and, rest as sured. master gus, i should never have taken the trouble of going there to save you— but as it was just the same to take you along with the rest, i thought i might as well do it. being wonderfully amiable, i'm always willing to oblige people when it's no trouble to myself," conversing gayly thus, they rode along until the red hue of coming morn ap peared in the east. "fred and edith seem to have quite a nice time of it behind there," said nell, looking back; "i expect they're saying a lot of pretty things to each other." "suppose we follow their example," said gus. "perhaps i am de trop," observed per elval, smiling. "here th^ come!" said nell; "wonder if they overheard us?" at this moment fred and edith rade rapidly up. the keen dark eyes of nell saw in a moment that her sister had been weeping, and that fred looked un usually flushed and agitated. lifting his hat to nell, he said, brief ly: ''we part here, i believe. allow me to bid you farewell." "what! going to leave us?" exclaimed qus and perclval— while nell, complete ly astonished, silently retained his hand, and edith bent her head still lower to hide her falling tears. "yes, i must be at n to-morrow." answered fred. "but i thought you were coming home with us," said percival. "i regret; i ciannot do so. my presence here is no longer required, and business obliges me to go to n . good-by, miss ellen," he added, with a smile, "give my best wishes to glory ann. farewell, percival. gus, when shall i expert t<j see you?" "let's see, a. week at the furthest," re plied qus. ■"3rery well! until then au revoir! adieu, mjjjw percival." her upg moved, but her reply was not audible as 8h€ took iii hers the hand extended. the next moment he was galloping rapidly off in the opposite di rectitm. "now, that's what i call real mean of him." said nell, pouting, "to go off and leave us that way. i don't care if he was twice as handsome as he is, i wouldn't have anything to do with such a fiery-headed fellow for any possible in ducement." "very glad to hear it, my dear," said gus. "well, ihen, you needn't be, my dear. for indeed i'd no more have you than him." "oh. come now, nell, you don't mean it?" 'oh, come now, gus, i do mean it! and i'd thank you not to be so confident that i'm dying about you, for the fu turt'. if t choose to amuse myself flirt ing with yon, for want of any one else, you're not to imagine i care one pin for you, i'd have you know." 'my doar nell, if i thought you were serious, i'd tnke up the first broken ram rod t could find, and blow my brains out." "my dear ous, you can do for that as you please; only, as you happen, un fortunately, to' have no brains, i don't see how you're going to blow them out. seems to me, if i were you, i'd try to blipw a few in, instead of blowing them out." "nell, be serious." "gus, i am serious, awfully serious, as you'll find out to your cost." "i know you just do this to torment me, yom little vixen. but do try and be good-natured for once. ne^, you know i must leave you in a day or two, 'and he off to the wars again.' " "dear knows, i'll be glad to be rid of you," said nell, in all sincerity. gus looked hurt, so much so that nell looked up and exi^laimed: "there, gracious me! you needn't look so sulky about it. of course, i'll be glad when you go off, for all my other friends of the masculine persuasion were afraid to pay me the slightest attention, lest they should be wasting their 'sweetness on the desert air,' that is to say, on somebody else's property. and i'll tell you what you'll do, gus," she added, as though struck by a sudden thought, "go off and try if you can't captivate blva snowe. she's a nice little thing, and al mo.3t as pretty as me." "i'd rather have you, nell." "oh! i dare say; but you see you can't have me, gus. 'tain't everybody in this vale of tears can get such a prize as i am (not to be egotistical). wen, dear mel (to change the subject) won't this be an adventure to talk of! why, i don't belietft one of your. wonder ful lady aramlntas in the roniianceci couw have done it better." the hermit of the vufes, (w ear," 8ai<( m't mean jerlous. as be rid of that nell "nor half bo well, my dear." "i alwayr had an immenhe renpect for joan <jf arc," went on nell, "but i'll begin to admire myself after i per form two or three more wonderful deedn of urms. how hot it la! poor edith (iroopb like a flower wilted in the sun." "i hope you're not going to take to poetry, nell, if you do"— 'don't be alarmed, gus; i have too much respect for the feelings of my family to be gyilty of such a thing; but poor edith does look dreadfully used up." "there is an inn not far from here," observed gus; "i think we can procure a carriage of some description there that will convey you and edith home. you must be tired too, nell." "oh! not a bit. i'm never tired, but we must try to get one for edith. walt, ml tell her." nell drew up, and waited until the others had reached her, then in a few words she communicated her wishes to her brother. "yes, that will be best," said perclval; "edith does look worn out. how far is thp inn from here, gus?" "not more than a mile," replied gus; "we will soon reach it." a few minutes brought them to it, and after waiting for breakfast they resumed their journey, edith and nell comfortably seated in a light wagon, with gus driving, while nugent gallop ed on to announce the news at home. there was a joyful meeting at percl val hall that night. nell was decidedly the lion of the evening, and bore her honors with edifying indifference. major perclval, who had only returned a few hours before, was in raptures, and de clared she was "every inch a perclval." mrs. perclval gazed upon her with moistened eyes as she thought of the narrow escape of her children, and the numerous friends of the family were extravagant in their eulogisms of her conduct. edith lay on the sofa, utterly pros trated in body and mind, too wearied for the exertion of speaking; and with her eyes shut, she listened.' while her thoughts were far away. there was one wanting to make that family circle com plete—one whose name all avoided men tioning. a few days restored edith to her wont ed health; again a soft bloom began to mantle her pale cheek, and her blue eyes grew bright and radiant once more. a happy circle gathered in the parlor of perclval hall each evening— the past making it seem more happy by contrast. but leavingr the inmates of perclval hall, we must follow the changing for tunes of pred stanley. chapter xxi. tub hkitmit't) prediction. "my heart 1h with my riutlvi' lund. my ,mong is for her glory; her wurrlorh' wreath ih in my hand, my llj)h breathe out her htory. her h»fty hills and valleyh green are hmlllnk bright before me, • . and like a ralnbow-hlicn ih heen -n her proud flag waving o'er me." -t. h, h. the little village of grassfleld was in an unusual state of excitement. groups of old men, boys, and women were scat tered in every direction, talking over, with exultation, the latest news from the "seat of war." a splendid victory had been gained by the american troops, the news of which hao just reached grassfleld; and now the matter was be ing talked over. in all its bearings, by the delighted villagers. in the barroom of the "battle and bowl," the one solitary inn which the village contained, was assembled the collective wisdom c grassileld. the hostess, a pretty little black-eyed wo man, bustled in and out, attending to her guests, occasionally stopping to glance in the cradle where a tiny item of humanity lay, with wide-open eyes, making desperate exertions to swallow its own tiny fists. the unusual sound of a horse gallop ing rapidly along the street caused the whole assembly to rush pell-mell to the door. the horseman drew up, and con signing the animal to the hostler, passed through the gaping crowd, and entered the barroom. pretty mistress rosle. the hostess, who was busily washing glasses behind the counter, no sooner beheld him than with an exclamation of joy, she drop ped her towel, and running forward, seized him by both hands, exclaiming: "why, mr. fred, how do you do! i'm delighted to see you! i am indeed! where have you been this long time? fighting with the rest, i suppose! well, well, who'd have ever thought it? sit down, sit down! well, i declare. i am glad, r 1 you see my josh lately? no. i s'pose you didn't, though, or he'd men tioned it. he's off. fighting like the rest; he is. indeed! i had a letter from him last night; and he says he's quite well, and expects to be home soon. well, this is a surprise! dear me; how glad i am to see you. but sit down. la. nr»e! sit down, mr. fred. i declare, i've kept you standing all this time!" and having by this time talked herself quite out of breath, the bustling little woman danced out a chair, and flirting her apron over it to blow off the dust, permitted fred stanley (for he it was) to sit down. "and how are all my friends. mrs. 64^ the hklrmlt 01^ the 0liff8. m i! wilde/' he aald. with a smile; "for your self, i reed not ask, for i see you are looking as blooming and handsome as ever." "oh, to le sure." said the lively little woman: "what would hinder me? all your friends are well, too, and betsy higglias is married to the tail<>r— you remember her. don't you? the little milliner that used to be in love v/ith you. there, you needn't be laughing now; if you had been in betsy's place, i guees you wouldn't see anything in it to laugh at. but bless me! i forgot to show you the baby. he's named after you, too; for everybody says he's your born image." t/ed laughed as he glanced down at the little fat, red face, framed in an enormous cap frill. mrs. wilde — evident ly delighted at the striking resemblance between the tall form and dark, hand some facp of fred, and the little blinking atom, his namesake— lifted up the biaby and deposited him, with a jerk, into the arms of fred. "therel" e^^ciaimed mrs. wilde, fold ing her arms ahd nodding her head in & very satisfied manner, "if he ain't yo»:r very plcter! it takes after you every w:iy. toa, for it's the quietest, wessedest,. young one"— here a loud, shrill yell from the blessed young one hi,m»*lf interrupted his mam aia's euloglum. fred, who seemed rather afraid o2 it than otherwise, glanced ap nrehendingly at mrs. rosie. "a.h, you aggravatln' little monkey, you!" said that lady, snatching it from fred with one hand and giving it & shake, "stop that yellin', or i'll turn you up &nd give you such a spankin' as ye never had in all your born days. there, me in that, then, if you won't," she added, dumping it into the cradle, and leaving it to its own reflections. baby^'who seetned quite accustomed to this kind of treatment, immediately stopped crying, and became so absorbed in contemplating his own little fat fists as to forget all minor considerations. ' i suppose, mr. fred, you're going to ?:rtay all night?" inquired mrs. wilde, resuming the washing of her tumblers: "i rather think' not," said fred, doubt fully, "my horse is lame, so i was forced to come here. if i find he is well enough to proceed, i will go oh." "if . not, you'll stay; so we needn't tlmink you for your company," broke in the little hostess. "hark! here's some body else, as i live! i never did know one td come unexpected but another was siire to follow. who's this, i won der?" ■■ " •• ••-■•' the w6iider was speedily solved, for a young man with an exceedingly sol dier-ukf^ air walked the next instant into the batrroonk. > "bh, is it possible? captain rogers, my dear fellow," said fred, springing up. and extending hisi hand. "stanley! what, in the name of all that's wonderful, drove you here?" ex claimed the newcomer in surprise. "where did you expect i would be?" said fred, smiling: at his look o< aston ishirient. "with your regiment, to be sure! but hold on ; i haven't seen my old sweet heart, rosie, yet. ah! roste. here you are. as pretty as ever, i see. why didn't you send me an invitation to the wed ding? well, never mind; it's not too late to salute the bride yet!" a sound box on the ear was his re ward, while mrs. rosie's cheeks grew most becomingly red. "what's this?" said the young man, who bore the little woman's indignation with most exemplary coolness, as his eye fell on the cradle, "a bahy» la! what a comical little concern! i say, rosie, you jon't mean to say" — but rosie, wwd wasn't golns to put up witkhls impudence, a.dministered.. an other box on the ear, with no very gentle hand, and seizing baby, imme diately decamped. captain rogers looked after her and ^-^.ughed. "did ^ ou i how, fred. rosie ahd; i kept up auite i spirited flirtation winter before last? *1 'on my honor, j[ was quite spooney about her one time, too, but josh wilde carie along and cut me out." "i never knew you when you weren't spooney abou',. some one," said fred. "oh! to bo sure! there's nothing, like it. t>on't you know what the»song says: "i am in love with tv^enty; i could adore as' many mtire: there's nothing like a plenty." "you hardly find as much ^tinie to flirt now as you used to, i ^ancy?" said fred. "why, no, not quite; but when an opportunity presents itself i always im prove it. by the way, fred, they say old perclval has two or three deuced pretty daughters. pshaw! man! never redden so; i intend to cultivate the old gentleman the first chance i get, for the sake of ma'amselle estelle — edith— what's the name?" "you may spare yourse'f the trouble, my very dear friend. she would not notice you." "don't believe it," said cabtain rogers, glancing at the mirror. "neverknew a female heart could resist me yet! but noiitswverrons, mon ami! when have you seen ralph de lilsle?" .. fred started at the name. "why, what of him?" he demanded. moh, nothing, only they say you've cut him out there. serves him f^bt* too ^he's an hifemal villain!" ;.';-... the hermit of the glif^s* aji ! never "have you seen, him lately?" said fred, bttihgr his lips to repress his im patience. ■ "saw him yesterday with youngr bates, off on some expedition of mischief. but, stanley, is it i^ally true tlutt you've won his lady-love from him?" "captain rogers," if you wish us to remain friends you will pay no more on this subject." said fred, sternly. "gadso! you're confoundedly touchy, stanley. well that's one proof you're guilty, .and now. may i ask, if i qah do so without offending you, whither are you bound?" ^ "to flpt"!! — to join my regiment," 'thar s lucky! are ydu ih much of a hurry?" "why, no; not particularly." "then might ■ i ask you to grant me a favor?" "cert,#,inly, my deiir rogers;, anything in my power." "thank you, thank you!" interrupted rogers, eagerly. "these, despatches i have been ordered to convey to colonel — -; but an affair of a moat pressing nature requires, my presence in another direction. now, if you would deliver them, you would render me an inestim able servlccb." '^ ''.''■■'• •.'..:■ "with all my heart, my i^ood feuow., stand and deliver." "it's rather a dangerous busuaess^" said rogers, drawing a foruiida'-jle-looklpg document from hla breast-pocket. ."toy will have to make your way through the forest to reach .colonel m 's quarters; and there are lurking parties of indians and tories forever prowling about"— "say ne. more about it," interrupted fred. "i am too weh accustomed to danger to fear it; beside, who would shun danger in the service of. his country?'' "you will start to-night, i supposes ?" ,"0h, certaljrly; ' there is no time to flose^ here comes our pretty hostess, so not a word!": � 7 "weir, rosit, til take a drink and be off! what have you done with that pocket-edition of josh' wilde?" "none of your business. will rogers," replied rbsle/ saucily. "here, take this, and be off; i can't be bothered with you." , captain rogers liughed, drained the glfiss she handed t » him, ohuckfed her iihdlat* the chin, siv; nted a ^careless good-by.to fred, sprang ua his horse and amid many an admiring glance from the bright eyes of the village damsels, rode oify "i thtflk i h»d better follow him," remarked fred, turning cttplessly frgfttt • ""you'h wia^t-^ i^r -^iwier, . wonh .y<iu1''' sftu boioe^ t'gomfc.. ja#w ./ i'u ^take np^ refusal. i jmva ey&^mivb»n»jmntisto say to xttu. t^re^ t koew. you wo^la.'"^ she tm^. m ^^ dmtled. ^ust wal)^ into the parlor; dlnner'll be ready, in a minute." so saying, she laughingly pushed fred into the parlor, closing the door behind her, and leaving him to amuse hlms^f during her absence as best 'he might. . fred seated himself, and.taklqg up * volume of goldsmith's works, was soo|i absorbed in the pages of "sht stoops, t(^ conquer," when the door opened, arid* mistress rosie stood again -jbef ore him* "there's a geiitl&man out here inamf ing for you, mr. fred," said the llttlfe hostess. ' "for*me?" said fred ip surprise. "who .can it ^?': . ijit^ w x , "he looks like some of tl^^m oldrphr bers in the' pj[etures," said liilts. wuqe, "with a long elbak; wrapped rounds hlm, 'knd his hfet' pulled way down oyer lilb eyes. will i show him 4h?" , "i suppose so," said fred, inwa.rdly wondering who the mysterious persqnaib|e could be. . ./'" the door opened, and the figure of. ft man, wrapped in a long, black . o1q^«c> •srtth his hat pulled far down overh?« eyes, stood before. him. > ito whom am i indebted f or tha hpnor of. this visit?'' said fred, rising, "to a friend, young man; pne w^ho is no stranger to, you." and removing, his hat, fred beheld the white locks of the hermit of the cliffs. "a friend you have indeed proved to me, good father," said fred, frankly extending his hand. "even now you were in my thoughts, though i hardly expected the honor of this visit;" "you will ever find m«. near you when, danger is at hand,." said the hei^lt. "danger?" said fred. "and w^jat dan ger threatens -me now?" , ■ ".4.. soldier's life is ailways dangerous," replied the old roan, evasively; "esp^ cially with so many enemies as ybi| ''libt it come, then,". said fred, care lessly. "i am too well accustomed tq| danger to shrink from it now," "perhaps you think you carry a charm ed life/' said the hermit; "and because you have escaped the bullet* of th^ executioner, and the halt^c. of de lisle, you can rush into greater dah^rii, and oome forth soaihiess.' yotjnsr man, ^ i say to thee, beware!^ last n{gr8t; when, the sjtars rodv^ in solemn splendimr through th^ heavens, i read thy fate. ah was dark and ominous. the-qhadow of the scaffold f6lr redljr afeross^^y path. the steel of the assassm is sharp ened for the. heiaft of one ydu love, and. ,for the crime of another shall yott die. again i sa,y to thee,, be ware! be warned hif l!ktt«;^e>tso youv^ihatt tepent it when top... latel ".,;.... -~.v ■ '■"' '■ ''-"■^■■■ — •'* the d^p.' inteime« ..passionate sol emrittywith which "he spome-^twedrln? ▼ohihtarily tliib fearlefhs taeact of fred. ■'m 66 s :< i i ti tss hermit t)f tbe cuffs, i. a iftenbatlon of fear,, not f for himself, but for one dearer than all the world beside, crept over him. "old man!" he exclaimed,, seizing him by the wrist with a vise-like gn'tp. "who is this for whom the steel of the assassin is prepared? speak, and tell me, ior i must know." ' . ' "that i -saw not," replied the hermit, calmly. "can the lips -ost man reveal what • the stars speak not? ^guafd against the danger ivhlch hangs over yourself, and trust the rest to a higher po-^'er!" "pshaw! i might have known 'twas but silly raving," said fred, shaking off the superstitious feeling that had for a moment overcome him. "if you have nothing more definite than this to warn me against good father, i fear your words have been in vain." "and thou wilt not be warned?" said the old man, sadly." "it is only when the \ danger is at hand thou wilt believe me? did i not warn thee before, and did not my words prove true? hast thou forgotten thy powerful enemy, pe lisle?" "t am not likely to forget him; but i fear him ixot," said fred, scornfully. "so thoir didst say before," said the hefmit, calmly; "yet thou didst fall in his power, and yrould" have died by his hand but for the heroism of a young girl; the same thing may happen again, when there will be no one at hand to aid you." "forewarned is forearmed," said fred. . "ralph de lisle will find it not so easy 'to get me once more within his clutches; and should we ever meet in open war fare, then, good father, you will find it your duty to bid him beware, instead of me!" "rash youth! thou canst not., read the book of fate as i can." said the hermit, sorrowfully. "again i tell thee, danger is at hand — nay, hangs over thy head, and over one for whom thou wouldst give thy life. in the hour of doom thou canst not say there was no one to warn thee of thy danger." the tone of profound melancholy in ^yhlth the last words were uttered touch fed fred. istdt that he believed what the old man said— his words he considered] the niere idle raving of a moonstruck idiot, who warned him of danger after hearing of his narrow escapes, and know ing de l^le was still his enemy._ but his evident affection for him and interest in his fate reached his heart. '""accept, at least, my thanks for th^' interest you manifest ih hre," :^aid fred; '*liuhou^h' i may never make use of your warning. i feel , grateful to you for it. and now, let me ask you, why should you care so much for one who is a i^ranger to yoii, and whose father you have spoken of jn the most opprobrious terms?" / moment after he was sorry he had asked a question which seemed to act like a galvanic shook on the hermit, whose head fell heavily on his clasped hands, while his whole frame quiverf d with emotion, "my dear sir," said fred, starting up, "if i have said anything to hmrt your feelings, believe me it was quite unin tentional, and i am sincerely sorry for it." "say no more, say no more!" said the hermit, raising his head, and startling the young mein by the deadly paleness of his face. "i am subject to th«>8e cud den shocks, and do not mind them. some day, perhaps, before i die, should you survive me, you will know who i am. but until that time comes, let what you already know of me sufl!ice. you think me crazed— perhaps i am ; but there is at least 'method in my madness.' believe me to be your friend — your best friend on earth. you say you are a stranger to me. believe it not. long before you saw me, i knew you ; and when you least fancied it i have been watching over you. i-.ask neithei; your love nor' con fidence in return. should we both live, the time will come when you will give both willingly. and now, farewell! i have come to warn you, but you heeded not my words. in the hour of your darkest trial, when your summer friends desert you in the winter of aflliction, i shall be near. when danger threatens, look for me. until then, farewell." he wrapped his cloak around him, drew his hat down over his eyes, bowed with stately humility. and was gone ere fred could f rafne an answer. **strange being!" thought the ydxing man, throwing himself into a seat, and leaning his head on his hand. "howdark and mysterious are his words! can it be that that simple old man really reads the secrets of futurity? 'thou hast hid den from the wise and prudent, and revealed unto babes.' wonderful being,! will those ominous predictions borne true? i have already seen his w«rds verified, and why may not these like wise? 'the shadow of the scaffold ! falls across my path.' well, though i "have escaped twice. i begin to think t have been born for a halter, after rilt. -l"'can eas^ily ,arcount for my narrow escape from shipwreck by the wise old proverb, that' any one born to be hanged will never be drowned. it's a pleasant an ticipation, truly." ^why. mr. fred, you look as dismal 4s if you had lost your last relation." satfl the merry voice of rosie wilde, breakr ing in udon his reverie. "goodness gracious me! have* you seen a ghost^; or are you^ thinking of committing gwiftn tjlde? if you are. i've a botue of lode the hermit of the gliff8. w [pprobrioiis fe »»e hjki ped to act »e hermit. ms clasped quivered larting up, ihwrt your lite unln sorry for ' said the startwng paleness hese ffud em. some lourd you ho i am. what you [ou think here is at beileve st friend stranger -tore you you least 'ng: over nor/ con oth live, will give ewell! r u heeded of your f fiiends ictlon, i ireatens, ell." d him. . bowed rone ere yoting at, and w mark m it be reads st hld t. and being! t<mne words ifke l^falls nave have l"'can scape •verb, wllj an al as saw 6akr ness f, or sftn )d«. lum out in the bar that -will send you sleepiitg c6int<frtably to the other world in less fman too time. ho! ha! ha!" "bgad! i've a strong notion to follow her advice, and cheat jack ketch, after all," muttered psed. . "well, now, dinner's ready; so never mind talking to yourself just now, for fear i might overhear you. so come along." fred laughingly accompanied mrs. wilde to tlie dining-room, where they sat down to a comfortable meal, to which both did ample justice. an hour after, as fred stood in the parlor with mrs. wilde, previous to starting, another horseman galloped up and alighted at the inn door. "t'u have general washington him self here next, i expect," said mrs. wilde, who was rocking' the cradle. "your coming brought them all, i think; for i haven't had so many visitors be fore, this month of sundays." "landlady!" called a high, imperious voice, that made fred start arid flusfli to the temples. "coming, coming!" answered mrs. wilde, hurrying from the room half an hour passed by. fred stood with his arms folded across his breast, all his indifference gone, and a look of fierce sternness and intense hatred on his face. well he recognized that voice. "gone at last," said mrs. wilde, again making her appearance. y fred looked out. a young man passed out of the door, sprang on his horse, and rode off. but not before fred had caught a full view of his face. it was tlalph de lisle. "well, i regret to say i must leave you now, mrs. wilde." said fred, turn ing from the window, and striving to banish the shadow that had gathered on his brow. "very sorry to hear it," ^ said mrs. rosle. "but i. hope to see you soon again." "rest assured of that, my dear ma dam," said fred. "i shall certainly visit my little namesake as soon as may be. good-by until we meet again." raising to. his litis the plump little hand she extended. fred passed out, sprang on his horse. and was soon out 1-; '«*gnt, while the pretty little ho^ess of the "bottle and bowl" stood* in the doorway, watching him until he disap peared. night found him making his way slowly aiid with difficulty along the slip pery forest path in the direction pointed out by his friend. captain rogers. it was a gloomy, disagreeable night. a thinv drizzling rain was falling, a cold, sharp wind was. sighing drearily through the tre^b. there was no light, save the faint, sickly g^ow of the spectral moon» as 8fa« lifted her wan face over tlm bleak tree-tops, through the dull, dark cloudsth^t scudded across the sky. > ' urging his horse with rein and spur. fred bent his head to the storm, and proceeded slowly onward. there was a strange presentiment of evil hanging over him— an oppression of spirits he ' had never ..felt before. it might have been ' caused«jby the words of the hermit, hifl chance glimpse of de lisle, which he felt half-inclined to consider an omen of evil, or it might have been caused by the dismal night, and the lonely path he was pursuing. he strove to shake off these superstitious fancies, kjiowlrig there might be more tangible evils at hand, for there were always lurking bodies of indians prowling about in the woods. now and then the cry of some wild animal would break upon his ear, making his horse start anjl snort with terror, but no enemy had molested wni^ and ere morning he trusted to be far from danger. suddenly an abrupt turn in the road '^w^ brought him jn view of a scene that "" 'made him start and draw back in alarm. in the center of a large semicircle, evidently the work of nature, and not of art. a large fire was burning. gathered around it were some twenty half naked, hideously painted savages, who, with a large keg, which fred well knew con tained rum, were evidently bent upon making a night of it. in spite of the in' clemency of the weather. to e^jcape without being discovered was now fred's only idea. he turned nolse 'pssly to proceed in another direction, but his horse reared at the sudden bibze nf light, and gave a loud neigh of fean it reached the keen ears of the ipdiaris. snatching up their weapons, they sprang to their feet, while a series of diabollcftt yells rent the air, "followed by an omi' nous silence. 4. chapter xxii. v thh stake. "through the leafy halls of the wild old wood, rang an echo full and free. to the -ravage shout of a fearful band, as they bound the white man foot and hand to the sacrlflclar tree." — h. harlon stephens'. ' escapk was now out of the question. resolved to sell his life as dearly^ as possible, fred drew his pistol, and two nf the . foremost savages, with wild^ howls, bit the ground. maddened by the sight, the remainder sprang fiercely upon him, and in aplte of hie desperate re slstancerhe was overpowered by ntnn bers and securely bound. they next turned their etttentlon to their . fallen companions. one of them was oinlf; m '68 the hermit of the cliffy. ■ ■', 9' •«■ lii wounded, but the other was quite dead. a long, low wall was heard, as he who appeared to be their chief touched the fresh scalp-lock which dangled at his belt the savages now gathered in a cluster together, and appeared to hold a con sultation, while fred, bound to a tree, inwardly wondered what dame hprtune had in store for him next. in the red light of the are, the scene resembled one of salvator rosa's wild^palntings. the dark, gloomy forest in the back kround. through which the wind sjghed a dirge-like chant; the wild faces, gleaming eyes, and horribly painted bodies of his captors, giving them the look of demons in the lurid glow of the are. . ^^ ,* # fred waited eagerly for the result of this conference. now. and then he would catch some fierce exclamation; but as they spoke in their own language, he, of course, understock not a word. often, too. he would catch a look directed to himself that hoded him no good. at last, they seemed to ha>e arrived at sonfe conclusion; for, rising to their feet, they returned to their former places round the fire, glaring savagely upon him as they passed. left alone, fred was soon lost in •thought. he seemed to himself a mere football in the hands of fate,, to be tossed wherever the fickle goddess will ed. in the power of the indians, he well knew that death, speedy and bloody, must be his doom. death and he had been too often face to face for him to shrink frrtm it now; but to die thus, afar from all who ever knew or cared for him, might have chilled the stoutest heart. to die on the field of battle, fighting for his country, would aave been glory; but such a death as he well knew was now in store for him, was indeed appalling. hf» thought of edith, freed from the rower of her mortal foe, and happy at home, and wondered if she would ever hear of his fate. he thought of th< strange, mys terious hermit, and of his dark pre diction of coming danger so soon fulfilled. he turned his eyes to where sat his captors. some of them, overpowered by the eflfects of the fire-water, were stretched on the ground asleep, looking like dark statues in their rigid repose. the others still sat drinking, some whooping and yelling fearfully in their intoxication, the rest silently staring at them, evidently more than half stupefied. fred's position was painful in the ex treme. the ligatures which bound his wrists behind him were tied so tightly that they seemed cutting their way into bis flesh. his position was painfully comtratned, bis head being the only por tion of bl» body he could move. to add to his sufferings, the storni. which had for several hours been threat ening, now burst in all its fury. a blaze of lightning, so vivid that it seemed as though the heavens were one vast sheet of flame, followed by a terrific crash of thunder and a flood of rain, and tht storm was upon them in full fury. rous ed from their slumbers, the stunned anrl half-drunken savages gathered together in evident dismay. the wimi howled a perfect tornado, the lightning still flash ed in one continual sulphurous gl|tre. the thunder pealed as though the heav ena were rending asunder, and the rain fell in perfect torrents. a tali tree, scarcely three yards from where fred stood, was shivered to atoms by a blind ing flash, and another was torn violently up by the roots and hurled almost at his feet. for nearly two hours the storm con tinued in all its fury. then the sullen clouds began slowly to break away, the lightning still flashed, but at rare inter vals; the thunder growled far ott in the distance, the wind abated its fury, and though the rain still fell, it was no longer i.n drenching torrents. the savages re covering from the effects of their first alarm, and still stupid with liquor, agam stretched themselves on the wet ground, and scon lay motionless, like hideous figures ii^ wax. ^fred. wet. cold, and benumbed, stood waiting the approach of day. his arm 5; felt as thoutrh they were dead, having swollen from bein^ so tightly bound. as he thought ol the fearful fate for which he was most probably reserved, he had more than rnce. during the raging of the storm, wished that some friendly fiash of lir.htning had freed his spirit, and borne him from their power. the hours of that dreary night wore on, but fred thought it the longest he had ever known. the gray, foggy light of morning at last stole pver the tree tops, coming slowly and unwlllingrly. as though reluctant to behold the disasters of the preceding night. fred recollected that at that time, twenty-four hours 'be fore, he bade adieu to edith, and some thing akin to despair filled his heart as the certainty that jie should never see her ainrain stole over him. his c|iptokhad by this time arisen, and were now busily engaged in making their morning meal. this over, some of them wpnt in » parch of their horses where thev had left them the preceding night, while two others approached the prisoner; and having unfastened the thongs which bound him placed before him a sort of hard, codrse cake made of indian corn, a gourd filled with water, and made signs for him to eat. it was some time before he could com ply, for his hands were stiff nnd l>e numbed, and the food none of the most the hermit of the cliffs. 0» (^ storn,. n threat •a blaze 'emed i,s ,»st sheet crash of and th. '• rous ^ned anfl together lowied a "1 flash |8 «^re, 'e heav ,;he rain 1" tree. e pred la blfnd -^olentlv iioet at palatable. knowtag, however, nature tniist be sustained, he essayed to eat: and by the titne he had finished his meal, the rest returned with the horses. fred was permitted to mount his own horse; and with one of his captors placed on either side of him, dashed off at a rapid galtop. they rode on for several hours, avoid ing with the utmost care all white settle ments, anda little before noon they halted at a running stream to rest their wearied animals. fred allpr^ted, and was bound as before, to prevent his escaping, while his captors once more regaled themselves with their coarse food. all traces of the previous night's storm had now vanished. the sun shone in unclouded splendor, and at any other time pred would have admired the beautiful scene around him, but now his eyes were fixed on his captors. they were a savage, bloodthirsty look ing set, hideously painted, and fright fully ugly, looking fiercer and more bar barous in the clear light of day than when he had seen them first. they ate in solemn silence; and having finished, again mounted and rode off, seldom speaking, save when he who appeared to be their chief addressed to them a few brief words, evidently concerning their journey. toward evening the party again halt ed, and made preparations for the night. pyed was again bound, but ki such a manner as would permit him to lie down. the savages then proceeded to kindle a fire: and seating themselves around it after partaking of their evening meal, of which fred received a share, they stretched themselves on the damp earth, and were soon buried in sleep, with the exception of one who remained to keep guard. it was a lovely night. the moon rode in radiant brightness through the blue arch of heaven. one by one the solemn stars came out, looking with their pity ing eyes on the pale face of the captive. the cool south wind lifted his long, dark locks off his noble brow. the air was redolent with the odor of flowers, and with a singsong sound in his ears, fred fell asleep. and sleeping, he dreamed. once again in fancy he stood by the side of edith, whispering in her ear "the tale which ladies love to hear." suddenly a shadow fell across his path. edith was torn from his side, and with the rapidity of thought, he found himself swinging by the neck from a halter. a shriek of mortal agony. reached his ear, ^nd look ing down, he beheld edith struggling in the arms of de lisle, now transformed into a hideously painted savago. with a start, he awoke to find his dream, in part, realized. . ' the red hue of coming morn was al ready crimsoning the sky. his savage captors were up and gathered together in a circle, as if holding a consultation. among them, fred beheld the fierce. dark faces of three or four of de lisle's tory band; and standing above him. with his arms folded across his breast, and a look of fiendish triumph on his face, was ralphde lisle himself. "so," said de lisle, slowly hissing the words through his closed teeth, "so, fred stanley, we have met again." "so it seems," replied fred, calmly. "you see. sir, you are in the hands of fate, and you cannot escape me. no doubt you fancied, when you so cleverly freed yourself from my power, that you were safe. now you are convinced of your mistake. since our last meeting i have dally prayed i might soon hold you in my clutches once more; and now my prayer is granted." "which proves that your master, the devil. is good to his own," said fred. "you are pleased to be facetious, my good friend. well. i can excuse that in one whose hours are numbered. fred stanley. dame fortune has favored you long. one time i almost fancied you bore a charmed life; but fate can bear you bo further than the ,end, and your hour has come. for your present risk, you have no one to thank but yourself; and. being such a hot-headed fool, our dusky friends yonder will prevent your getting into any more scrapes by send ing you to heaven, where you belong, the first opportunity. dream no longer that you can escape. yonder sun which la rising, you will never see set. ere three hours we shall have reached the. indian village, where the stake is prepared, and your doom is sealed. no power, either in heaven or earth, can save ^you now. and if, as you say. the devil is my mas ter, i most sincerely thank him for pre^ servlng you from the rope, since it has reserved you for the far more horrible fate of death by slow torture. i shall faithfully, like a true friend, stand by you to the last, and witnessing your death-agony, console you by the agr< e able information that, in spite of fate, edith perclval shall yet be mine. doubt ^, lesd she imagines, as you did a few; hours ago. that she has escaped me for ever. like you. she will find her mis take ere long; and i swear, she shall repent in dust and ashes for her scorn of me. ha! you change color. i thought that would touch you. i see you can fear for her though not for yoyrself. well, every indignity that woman can endure shall be hers until your dainty lady-lo^te shall weep for the hour she was born." de lisle paused, while his eyes actu ally blazed. an infernal spirit mlglit •» the hermft of the guff8. .-rr i bit 1:1. have enviedthe diabohealtriumph that ahone in his face. .;-.;■, • " villain! monster! devh!" cried fred, .almost maddened by his words. "an hour of fearful reckoning wll} yet come for all this." . "tou are disposed to moralizej my dear stanley," said de lisle, with his usual mocktng sneer. "well, doubtless, the near approach of death doe» incline men that way. as for the future reck oning you threaten me with, believe in it if you will; as for me, i have a spirit above such hypocritical whining and preachers' cant. however, i will not argue the matter now, as in a few hours you will havei an opportunity of knowing •which of us is right. if, when you reach, the^ other world, you really do see the gentleman in black— my maijter, you know — just give him n>y gompllments, -will you, and tell him f trust he will al wavs remain as true a frlejid to me as he has up to the present. ah! here comes my friend long knife — suggestive name, isn't it? i will leave you to meditation and prayer, hoping you will offer up a good word for edith and me while i consult with yonder dusky chieftain." and lifting his hat with mock politeness, i>e lisle turned on his heel and strode a.way. .it would be 'impossible to give fii\ idea of the torrent of fiery, passionate, mad dening thoughts that leaped in burning chaos through the brain of fred. the image of edith in the power of de lislf, that demon in human form, was ever before him. and he knew of the fate in stjore for her, and yet was uname to ' assist her. he grew maddened, frenzied at the thought, and struggled to burst his bonds, until, finding an his efforts ineffectual, he sank back exhausted. standing at a few yards distant, talk ing to a frightfully painted savage— who, from the number of feathers waving from his scalplqck, appeared to be a chief of unusual distinction— stood i)e lisle. he saw the impression his words had made and the smile of gratified hatred on his lips; and the light of triumphant malice in his eyes made him appear more of a demon than ever. after a few moments' rapid conversa stion, the parties separated, and mount ing their horses, prepared to start. fred rose as before, guarded by twq of the indians. de lisle put himself at the head of his own men,' not mor^ than half a dozen in number, and ajl dashed off. fop over . three hourr they rode on rapidly, and almost in slience. now and then de lisle would turn to converse with the man paul showe, who formed «ne of his party; but this was only at fcatervals. and each seemed too much ab sorbed in his qwnreflectinns to talk. . » . at levtf^^ as they rea^shed the summit of a high hill, the whole party drew rein, and pausedfor "a moment. befow them lay an indian village, enveloped by en circling hills, and forming a sort of circle of thirty huts or thereabouts. the whole population of the village seemend to have turned out to meet theip:; and with wild shouts, more than half of fred'« captors dashed off, leaving hira wltjr de lisle's men and the others to follow more slowly. as fred neared the village he turned to gaze on them, and was forced to think that a more repulsive-looking set he had never beheld. the wome*i were even worse than the men, with their flat. unintellectimii-looklng faces, dirty persons, and savage, -unpitying eyes. every look was bent upon him. as he rode past, but all were fierce and stern, and even the children seemed to glare with their dark eyes as fiendishly as their parents. one of the indians made a sign for fred to dismount: and bidding him fol low, led the way toward one of the huts, the crowd opening right and left to allow them to pass. i»ushing aside the skin which served for a door, he motioned him to enter, and then binding him hand and foot, he seated himself beside the door to keep guard, with his scowling black eyes fited on hia prisoner, with the steady gaze of a basilisk. fred had made no resistance, knowing it would be worse than useless; and now he sat with hia eyes fixed upon the ground, striving to collect hia thoughts and think calmly. in vaini an was wild confusion in his >eart and brain, every thing seemed red a^^d darifcing before his eyes. death! death* seemed written in fiery characters everywhere he turned. never had he felt so dreadful a certainty that his last hour was come, than when sitting there, expecting each moment to be led forth to the stake. he felt art that bitter moment that de lisle'a words were true, and that it would have been better to have died by the halter than to be reserved for the fearful doom now in store for him. his bodily suffer ing almost equaled the mental, for the ligatures which bound him were cutting into the quivering fiesh, and his posture was so constrained that he could not move. he strove to pray; but the hated image pf de lisle, at such times, would rise before him, driving away the pity ing form of his good angel, and filling his mind with fierce, bitter thoughts. and so two or three hourspassed away. his savage jailer still crouched at the door, glaring upon hira with his eyes of fire, his half naked, horribly painted body and scarred face giving him the apnearance of some hideous painting, rather than a living man. now and then a bright ray of sunshine would ateal in through some chink, falling like an anifel hand' on the black, glosfiy locks tt£ti uk if mit of till-: cliffs) ■ii' [f turned proed to l^'ngset ie*i were th their ^s. dirty 8" eyes, as he |<j stern, to glare shjy as of the 'captive.' tttl»re was a drowsy stillness in the air, rendered more op pressive by the dull. monot(»nous hum that cante from the village. at length, a profound stillness for a few moments pupceedetl. fred listened in ponder, and ev^n hla guard betrayed some sign of interest. they could almost hear each other breathe, so profound was the still ness, when lo! a yell so fierce, so savage, ?o diabolical, that it seemed to come from the depths of panden)x>i)tum, broke upon their ears. with an answering cry, the indian guard spi^ng to his feet, and turned to fred with. such a look of fiendish triumph, that he could no longer doubt what these shouts purported. thoy were his death-warrant. a moment after, and the skin at the entrance was burst rudely aside, and two fierce, hideous-looking warriors entered and spoke a few words to the ^uard, who immediately rushed irom the hut. then approaching fred, they sever ed his bonds, and made signs for him to rise. with some difficulty he obeyed, for his limbs were cramped and painful in the extreme. then motioning him to follow, they led the way into the air. it was a golden, glowing summer day. the sun shone in a sky of unclouded i)lue, and poured a glow of light and lieat over the green earth. the air was lieavy with the odor of flowers, and the dear chirping of numberless birds min gled gently with the dreamy murmur of the trees. never had nature appeared so lovely to him before, as he cast one long, last, lingering look around. a series of unearthly yells greeted him as he appeared. the whole population of the village — warriors, squaws, and papooses had assembled around a large stake, firmly driven in the yielding earth, and were glaring upon him with their fierce eyes. around the stake was a pile of fagots ready to be set on fire, and leading him toward it, they bound his arms fti'mly behlndjilm to the stake. almiost uhknown to himself, there had been hitherto a wild hope still lingering in fred's breast— a hope that fate, or rather providence, had rtot reserved' him foia doom so fearful. but now the last faint spark of hope died out, and wltix it went all his w^ild, tumultuous thought iii and a deep, settled calm took their place. he looked up, before him stood del lisle, his arms folded across his breast, ' gazing upon him with his evil eyes. the 4 sneering smile of a demon was on his facie, all the intense hatred and revenge he' had ever cherished glowed in hie features, and a light of intense malignity glittered in his serpent-hke eyes. "wfll. fred stanley, we have met for the last time,*' he b$.va, mockingly. "t9u st>e now the death you were born fol: — vout doom is to roa.qt alive by a slow nre." fred made no' reply. fixing hlr ey s on de liale'.s face, he gased upon him so long, so fixed, so steadily, that in vdluntarlly he quailed before him. it was but for a moment, however, and recovering himself, he went on: "and have you no message to send t() edith? i go from here to-night, and with the help of my master, bi?fore re ferred to. t shall carry her off in spite of them all. to where they will never again behold her. look as fierce as you please, mv good fellow; i rather enjoji* it than otherwise, slnee it tells me you feel. once, had i not hated you so in tensely, with a hatred that became pan of my very being. i could have envied you for the heart you had won— a heaft which i will yet trample under my feet; until your fat^ will seem an'envlable one compared with hers. she despised me, spurned me with contempt for the gay,' the handsome, the fascinating, the gal lant fred stanley; and in her turn she will learn what it is to be spurned. no one who has ever yet injured nie escaped. to the very ends of the earth i would follow them, like a bloodhound following a trail, until i had wreaked my ven geance. you wronged me, insulted me, and you see the result— a fate, so dread ful that manhood must shudder to con template it, will be yours. her turn comes next; for now that you stand on the threshold of. eternity, i swear to you. fred stanley, that neither heaven nor earth can turn me from my purpose." "monster!" exclaimed fred. in a voice that sounded low and unnatural with intense horror, "is this the return you make for all major perclval has done for you? for myself i neither have nor shall ask for nrercy from you, fiend that you are— i would not accept it if offered; but gratitude to the old man, who has been more than a father-to you, should restrain you from a crime that even those bloodthirsty savages around us would shrink from committing. man! man! if there is one spark of human nature in your fiendish heart, you will not bring the gray hairs of that old man with sorrow to the grave." "ha! ha! and fred stanley can pleadi for the roan who spurned him like a dog!"" laughed de lisle, scornfully. "if you continue in this strain, i shall begin to think you are a saint— have you' canonized, an^ l<?t edith know you died in the odor of sanctity. tour eloquence is .quite lost, my good friend; that one. spark of human nature, you see, does not exist in my fietldlsn heart. say, my friend, was it not for pretty edith you were pleading that .time, instead of her doting old fool of a father? spare him! ha! haf why, i have m long score against him, too, that m\i8t l>e, wiped out hy a> 72 toe hermit of the efllffls. few <jf hin doubjoons, when he refused to compel his love-alck daughter to marry me, i vowed vengeance against him as well as the rest: and, as i don't uke to be in people's debt, i ' ha«take, care tocancel it as sf n as ' ssl le." "if there e'''"r "^'bl^ -«' a > iman form. it is y> :, raip !>• ^ <flel" ex claimed fred, with a 16. '• vf -red and loathing; "to purstie .hut ; ih lii^r ven geance of a tiger, an old nian an >lp less girl for some fancied wrong--; ad it been a man— but old age .and help lessness! o coward 1" de lisle's face grew livid with rage, as he half drew a pistol, and 'advanced a step toward him. jj^red observed the action; ahd his heart bounded with the hope that in hi^ rage de lisle might shoot blni. and thus t)ave him from a more terrible fate. the hope was in vain, however. de lisle saw the quick gleam of. his eye, and stepping back, he replaced the pistol in his belt, saying, in his customary sar castic tone> *'no, don't flatter yourseif i'll end you sufferings so speedily. i have no inten tion of depriving m^y good friends here of the pleasant scene they anticipate. i must confess it is rather new for me to allow any one to call me a coward, and let him escape immediate chastise ment; but circumstances alter cases, you know. i percielve liohg knife approach ing, to give the signal for the fagots to be lighted, and our red-skinned friends ■ are growing impatient. so farewell, \p'eed stanley! i wish you a pleasant jpumey tf the other world» and a cordial welcome when you arrive there!" he bowed with most ceremonious politeness, and stepped aside, as the tfavage chief approached. waving his hand as a signal, one of the indians approached, and thrust a lighted brand among the combustibles. in a moment, the whole pile was in a blaze. with screeches and yells that cati be likened to nothing earthly, the savages joined hands, and danced madly 4i'f>und the flames that rose crackling, and blazing, and roaring as though ex> lilting in their power. fred raised his eyes, to the bright sky abfivje him for one farewell glance. it was such a glorious day, bright and radiant with sunlight. j^\] nature lodked lieaceful and lovely; in the breast of ni^n alone fierce, dark passions -existed ~thevi alone thirsted for eachother's ; higher^ and higher rbse . the flannes. flercet* and fiercer they blazed, faster and fa ster they spread, until he stood 4lone a^lthin a red, lurid cll^cie ot fire: thfe heat and" smoke w^r? besihyiing 1%> grow unbearable, for tme flameti had tiot »ea<^e4 >ln}<^ -flxtaefrhtsiey^g jon tb«^^0ie^ vouring monster, fred silently commit ted his soul to heaven. one last thon^ , of edith, and then all were turned that dread unknown to whlc'. he was o rapidly approaching. the crlesi whoops. y<.:h3 and screeches fj thc' ^av^gej each tihoment increased. rts they danced madly without the ring of are. he scarcely heeded or heard them, until suddenly they died away. every voice was arrested — the ma«1 dance ceased— and all stood as if trans fixed. following the direction toward which every eye was now turned, frod beheld a sight which filled him with amazement. chapter xxiii. a narrow escape. ... "oh! ask me not to speak thy fate— oh! tempt me not to tell. what doom shall make thee desolate, the wrong thou tpayst not quell. away! away! for death would be ■ e'en as a mercy, unto thee." tnn cause of their astonishment was soon explained. there, before them, ifte a spirit, in his flowing robes and snowy hair, stood the hermit of the cllffsf with a grunt expressive of surprise and satisfaction, not unmlngled with awe, the chief advanced to meet him. there was something truly imposing in the majestic appearance of the old man —his fantastic robes fluttering in the air, his long white hair and beard flow ing over his shoulders. there was an evident reverence and . respect for this singular old man in the hearts of the indians, who looked upon him ais a supe rior being— something more akin to the great spirit than to his fellow men. pointing with his hand toward th^ prisoner, the hermit addressed the chief in his own language, in a tone more*of command than entreaty. at first, jlls words were listened to impatiently— then angrily— and finally with a sort of ^wfe. as the hermit went of). increasing in • vehemence, the warrior listened in auip erstitlous silence, and when he had coi^ cluded, he bowed his head, and, foilotwisid by the hermit, turned toward his o^p people, who had stood watching thejr^. durlne; their conference, with looks .of p^lngled respect and curiosity, and. began pddrewslng them in their own langviagi^. as a matter of course, fred undejrstocid not a word; but. from the savage eyes that were every now and theii turiied toward him. he judged he was the sub ject of their convjersatlon, ., ,-,, .j i/^ surprise, first, and then rage, was der pljjted on every face, while knlvei* and tomahawks were brandished, with fleroe veils. but thfe-ltoud. harsh voice of the ^chlef.inaide itself ^earii ahove^ «he dtes 'm. t^m«r of-:.ffn^«rr n.nd oomtrtand. friw warriors gradually relapsed into sullen, irned was ,, •creased. [the rlnjf heard away. •® mad i* trans toward 'd, pred im with the bbrmit of the cuffs. (lokired silence, while >very eye was di rected toward the aptlve, and glared with eoncetitrated passion and dfsap pointnient. w'^'^n the ohltftaln ceased, the hermit aduressed the enraged crowd. high and clear, like the shvery tones of a trumpet, his voice rang out, soothing the waters of passionwhich the words of their rhief had lashed into fury. as they lis tened their noisy demonstrations of rage gave place to low, deep growls and sul len mutterlngs, while they glared like wild beasts upon pred, whose position at the stake was now almost unbearable. as he folded his arms across his breast,, and ceased speaking, the war riors fell sullenly back, and the chief perfectly ghantly with su n.essed pas sion, 'but think not. tho^ h you are triumphant now, you have conquered ralph de lisle. i swear i will yet have threefold vengeance on 'thee, hoary sor cerer, and on this doubl(6-dyod traitor beside you!" with a fierce exclamation pred sprang forward, and de t.lsie would doubtless have b^en felled to the earth, but the hermit laid his hand oh the young man's shoulder, and said, aternly "i ommand you, do it not. 'ven gei. ce mine, salth the lord, and i w«i! re /.' leave this flend incarnate tr d h er power. his race will soon 'h : say you so, good father?" said hloihelf. leaping over the burning circle, ! pg v^gie, ironically. "it may be so, but freed the bonds of pred, and motioned | i ^,j;i ggnd a few of your particular him to follow. no second invitation wad mends before me. to announce my corn necessary to make him leave his plact. of torture, and the next moment he stood beside the hernilt, who scarcely gave him a single glance, as he turned again and addressed the chief. puring these proceedings, which oc cupied but a few moments. de lisle had stood watching them, like one who can not believe what he sees. now be ad vanced to where the <^rlo stood, and with a face perfectly jivld with rage and disappointment, he turned toward the hermit, and angrily exclaimed: "sir, what means this? by what devilish art have you bewitched these savages into giving up their prey?" "it means, sir, that your evil machina tions are again defeated by me. i use no devilish arts; as you well know; but there is a power higher than that of man— a power that can defeat man's most cunning scheme, in its own good time!" answered the hermit, with grave dignity. "death and fury! old man, cease your prating!" exclaimed the maddened be lisle. "though this copper-colqred fool 'here has given him up. by heaven! i will disappoint you yet, and you shall bear from hence but a dead carcass." 'he drew a pistol as he spoke; but, ♦^re he cdtild fulfil his threat, it was strttck from his hand by the chief, who brandished his tomahawk before wa eyes with a fierce yell, and would doubt less have prevented his ever drawing: another, but for the intervention of the hermit. motioning de i.lsle back with a: 'nia|(estic wave of the hand, he salct; before.all the events since his capture ^'"away, 'slrr one word from.: me. and 'had passed so raplttly that he was. al you' and your band of cutthroats ther^ most tempted to believe it was but. a wilf, in five minutes, be in eternity! troubled dream. a glance, however, at thou?" youcan show ho mercy to othbis dusky companion^ soon convinced t regret leaving such pleasant com pany, but 'necessity knows no law.' i trust soon to have the pleasure of meet ing you both again. until then!" he bowed; lifted his hat, and with the same oold, sneering smile on his lip, turned away. whispering a few words in the ear of paul, snowe, whose eyes were fixed as if fascinated on the hermit, he gave his men the order to mount. ere five minutes had elapsed, they were in their saddles and away. \ "we must follow their example," sqld the hermit ' to pred. then, turning to the chief, he spoke a few words in the indian language, to which the other an swered by a nod; and making a sign that they should follow him, he turned and forced his way through the group of dogged-looking warriors, whose glances toward pred were anything but friendly. fred's horse was led forth, together with the hermit's. the chief himself mounted, and gave some order to his followers, upon which some half dozen sprang into their saddles, and the whple party dashed off. as they reached the summit of the hill, pred paused a moment to look back. scarcely eight hours had elapsed since he had stood in the same spot— but how different were his feelings! then he stood on the threshold of death, wt;l;h his deadly foe on one side and blood thirsty savages on the other, now l� yfsis safe and free, or at least on the high road to freedom, saved by the same mysterious being who had saved his life ers, rcy shall be shown. ta you. away . al^— yotir very presence is pbl \>eyj; ;nfk»t -reverend v^leaier in hi.: r and -smhe. though his face wa»[inade captive^ tlmlr.saya.ge.eijcatflt,l«ft him of the unpleasant reality, and qulek. enlng his pace, lie descended the hill, ahd^ bade a jastaiid-unr^uot^nt ad(eu*to the indian vtuaffe.. . _ . t .. .: • . . ry f>iear the fpoi vwhtere ^r§dxjiad >ij^eb f ^' p.. n the hehu1t of the c*i-//(vftf; rtiein, and the preserver and preserved went' on their journey alone. for a time they rode on in silence. roth were too deeply absorbed in thought to eonvotse. at length the her mit looked up and said: "yours was a narrow escape, my friend. you were indeed hterallsf shatch ed 'a brand from the bdrning,*" "and to you t owe it," replied fred, gratefully. "you seem fated to place me under a debt of gratitude. i will not attempt to thank you for saving me from a doom an dreadful. nowords of mine"— "i want no thanks," interrupted the hermit. "if you really feel grateful, ic'. your gratitude be inward, and manifest itself by actions instead of words. i know the world too well to place much confidence in hollow promises!" "how did you discover i was a pris oner?" inquired fred, whose curiosity could no longer be restrained. "very easily. i foresaw danger when vox! started, and followed you." "then you were near me during my journey," said fred. "i wonder the savages did not discover you." "i was near you at first, but was un able to ride forward as rapidly as your party. however, i followed your trail, and reached the village a few hours after, and providentially in time to sav^ your life." "it is most wonderful that they would surrender a captive at the stak^" said fred. "your power, sir. «eems^to be omnipotent." "i had a strong claim on the gratitude of the chief," said the hermit. "once, when i found him alone, wounded and almost dying, i had him ^orne to my dwelling and nursed him until he recov ered; since then he has been anxious to redeem the promise made at the time, to grant me the first favor i ever asked of him, and as your life chanced to be the first, he was forced to grant it. beside," he added, with a smile, "his supersti tious followers consider me something more than mortal, and labor under the delusion that in offending me they will draw upon themselves the wrath of the great spirit." "your power extends ovef more than superstitious savages," said fred. "my father, stern and haughty as he is, quails before you, as hft has never done before any other living man. would i knew the secret of your -niysterious power!" a shadow passed rover tl^e face of thfe hermit, and tvhen he spoke again his voice wa» unusually low and solemn. "some day, ere long, perhaps, you will learn all. until that tjme rest in peace, atiel believe this mystery is all for the best. i go now to my home on the cuflts, but somettitng ,tie1l9 tn^ that we shall soon moet>ag«itn." >";' "well, let it be for joy .or for sorrow, the meeting will be welcome,'' replied fred; "but why should you reside iri that lonely spot— why not seek a hoinu with your friends?" , "friends?" repeated the hermlt^v r' most bitterly, "who in this selflsh world deserve that sacred name? no, i havt done with trusting the world; my expe rience has taught me how much reliance there is to he placed in it. i would be alone with natuee.. watching th»' mighty, ever-moaning, sea, listening to the wild shrieks of the wind or gazing upon the blue lightning, i am happy. i never wish to mingle with my fellpw men more." "strange, eccentric . being!" thought fred, as he gaaed on the pale face of his companion, now lit up . by epthufu. asm. "what strange vicissitudes he must have passed through!" "what do you think now of my predic tion?" said the hermit, quietly, after a few moments' pause. "think?" replied fred, "why, that your prophecy has in a most unpleasahtly short time been fulfilled, and i must apologize for ever presuming to. doubt its truth." "i fear still grefiter dangers are in htore for you," said the hermit, gloom ily. "from what quarter now?" inquired fred. "from your mortal enemy, de lisle. there was something perfectly fiendish in his look as he left us, and it needs no soothsayer to tell he is even now plot ting against you." "well, it seems to be a drawn battle," said fred, with a half smile; "he plot ting and you counterplotting. as for me, i seem like a rudderless craft in the stream of life, drifting whichever way the current sets. it is useless striving to guard against dangers when we can not foresee in what shape they ttiay come. so, my dear sir, i shall preserve' the even tenor of my way, and place my trust' in providence and you!" "youth is always hopeful and' blitidly trusting," said the hermit: "but heavetfl forbid my presentiments should pihdve true, for there niay be dahgbrs wors^' than death. disgrace to you would t>e k thousandfold worse." "disgrace!" exclaimed fred,almost' furiously, while his face flushed; "who dares couple nty name with dlssrrage?" "de lisle will endeavor to db so, rest assured," said the hermit; "there— there is no need of looking so fierce about it. do you imagine there is anythinghe can do to injure you in the opinion of the world, more especially in that of the percivals, that he will not da? and, speaking of the percivals, i presume that is your present destinati*6n?" ''no»" said fred/ "i go there tlo. more. thb hbrmit of tub ouff8. wowi* tp heftven i h4* nevet gon* ttietel" ' .» . • "it 'would liave ireeii better for all par wen," said the hermft; "but the past can never be recalled, and you can only en deavor toatone for it by absenting; ypur helf for the future. edith's love for you has remained firm throughout, and will tq the end— for her you need have n<* fear. the war will soon be over, and there can be little doubt which side will be victorious. major perclval's views may change in time, and his fair daugh ter may yet be your bride. who can tell what the future may bring forth?" "who, indeed?" thought fred, "though i fancy that prediction is altogether too goqd to prove true." "and now farewell!" said the hermit, when they emerged from the forest road. "i go to my wild home among the cliffs, while you go to follow the pa'th of glory. it may be, when we meet again, many things now hidden in darkness will be brought to light. when in danger, re member you have a friend in the her mit of the cliffs." he turned in a direction opposite to that taken by fred, and was soon out of bisht. chapter xxiv. the uaflt rkbolve. "there was a laughing devil in his sneer. that raised emotions both of rage arid and where his frown of hatred dark':* fell hope, withering, fled— and mercy sighecr . farewell." —the corsair. months passed away. hoary winter had shrunk back before bright, smiling spring, and the gblden summer days were approaching again. many exeltlhg events had taken place since the cir cumstance recorded 'in the la»t chapter, for the war was over, and america was free. it was a dark, sultry night in june. in the back parlor of an unpretending looking inn sat two men conversing. they were our old acquaintances, ralph efe' lisle .and his amiable friend, paill snowe. ''well, what is this wonderful plot you have in your wise head now, de lisle?" inquired the man paul. "a plot that, like some great medicines, must either kill or cure!" answered d« lisle; "one that noakes edith percival mine beyond hope of redemption." "i never knew one of your plans yet that you were not equally sure of. take care this does not prove a wlu-o'^the wiept like the rest," said jthe other, with a sneer. •^' "no, uy heaven!" exclaimed e^ lfaile, . setting his teeth fiercely; "this night edith percival shall be^ either my bride or that of death; this night the crisis of her fate and mine has come." "nah! bah! all foolery-^all child's play!" said paul rnowe, in his bitler, jibing tone. "you lay wonderful plans, and see them slip through your angers when they are in your ijower. this girl who has made sueh a fool of you was for a week under the same roof with you; her lover and your mortal foe was likewise within arm's length of you. well, you let both go— let them give you the slip and laugh at you and your plans in safety." "for that i may thank your dainty (laurhte>< and that villainous young scoundrel, joe smith," said de lisle, an grily. "i should have liked to have twisted her treacherous neck for her on my return, and would have done so but for you." "i have no doubt of it." said paul, de liberately fllhng a glass of brandy; "but you well know you. are too completely in my power to play any of your tricks off on me. what would you do if i took a fancy to split some day and let all out?" "if you would!" exclaimed de lisle, his face grow»ng absplutely livid with rage as he drew a pistol, "i would"— "what?" said paul snowe. with his cold, deriding smile, as his leader paused. "shoot you like a dog!" hissed de lisle through his clenched teeth. "two could play at that game, my worthy captain," said the man, careless ly, touching a long knife he. wore, "if i took a fancy for peaching, there would be a slight obstacle in the way qf your shooting me— something like this." and paul made a peculiar motion under htti left ear. indicative of hanging. "villain!" said de lisle, "there was a time when you would n«t daxe to be thus insolent. but boast away; i fear you not; you are too careful of your own precious jugular to risk it by such an experiment. i fancy when ralph de lisle swings, paul snowe will keep him company." "perhaps so. well, it's a comfort to think the world will wag just as mer rily when we are gon< there will be few tears shed over our grave — eh, cap tain?" "you forget your affectionate daugh ter," said de lisle, sneerlngly. "oh, elva? she will be better without me; but for her sake i will avoid jack ketch as long as possible. but to change the subject, which la getting, rather per sonal, when you talk of hanging, hovy^ do you propose to abduct miss perci val?" * "i shall not abduct her, my good friend; she must come with me of her own free wih or not at all." . "faith, you are gettlijg jirig^tiypar ticular. i've seen the time when yon 70 thk hermit of the cliffb. ifl i i'l \m weren't so choice, and wan glad to get her. by hook or by crook." "yea, hut that time ban pashed. and my proud lady edith nhall eue to me now aa i have heretofore done to her. love and hatred, worthy tnul, are nearly akin. next to mysolf, i loved that girl better than anything on earth. well, bhe jilted me for this dashing rebel— or patri ot. i suppose i should say now. since they have triumphed — and i hate her now with an intensity far surpassing any lovo i ever felt for her. now i would, as far as love is concerned, a thousand times rather marry your pretty daugh ter elva than her." •• "much obliged for the honor." said paul, dryly. "but. in the name of my 'pretty daughter elva,' i beg respectfully to decline the illustrious alliance." de lisle smiled scornfully, but, with out noticing his words, went on: "affection, therefore, you see, has nothing to do with my wish to make edith perclval my wife. hatred and revenge are my sole motives. she loathes the very sight of me, i know, and there is no other means by which i can punish he%. for it so well. her lover, too— master fred— will feel it more. than anything else i could possi bly do. therefore, these are my reasons for wishing tc n^.sfv pretty edith." "well, i didn't ask you for your rea sons," said snowe; "i don't take so much interest in either of you. you say you are going to make her marry you. now, how are you going to do it?" "listen!" said his friend, with a sar donic smile. "i have learned that my quondam lady-love has taken a fancy to a sick glr) in the neighborhood, and visits her veryoften. a brother of the invalid —a child of nine— goes for her when wanted. this little fellow i told to meet me to-night at a place i appointed, but i have not yet told him what i want. i think i can manage to induce him to bring edith out. i will meet her— urge her to fly with me— and if she persists in refusing"— "well, and if she does?" said the man paul, looking up. "i win stab her to the heart!" ex claimed de lisle, in a fierce, hoarse whisper, while his eyes glittered with a demoniacal light. paul snowe drew back involuntarily at the strange, wild expression on his com panion's face. there wag a look almost of horror on his face as he exclaimed: "no, no! devil as you are, you would not murder an unoffending girl!" "ha, ha! paul snowe turned preach er!" mocked de lisle. "wheii was it your conscience became so tender, hon est paul ?-^imnge^ the night your spanish* knife let the moonlight through dandy dan's backbone for cftutng you a liar— eh?" "perdition selie you! hunh!" ex claimed paul, growing pale. "i meant to dissuade you from it, because it will be discovered, and then we shall swing, you know." "well, it's swing with us, anyway, sooner or later. one may aa well be hung for a sheep aa a lamb, paul." aald de lisle, recklessly. "to be sure." said paul, turning un easily in his chair and draining another glass of brandy. "but where'a the use of being so desperate? you ougnt to take precautions." "so i have, my honest friend. if it does come to the worst, i think i hav«' arranged matters in such a manner that all the blame will fall -on the shoulders of that meddler, fred stanley." "ha! have you? in what way?" "this dagger belongs to him; i saw hlh name engraved on it, and, thinking it might be useful to me, i took charge of it. about three hours ago i saw him parting with major perclval. and* the major foaming and scolding like jin en raped washerwoman. shortly after he mounted his horse and left the village in hot haste. now, if the major's daughter is found mur — well, you know what i mean— in the morning, with his dagger somewhere near, that circumstance, tak en in connection with his quarrel with the major and subsequent flight from the llage, will, without doubt, place the orthy youth's neck in a tight place and convince the world generally, and his admirers particularly, that, after all his escapes, he was born to be hanged at last." there was a wicked and most sinister smile on de lisle's lips, a glittering light in his evil eyes, that involuntarily made paul snowe. hardened in crime though he was, draw back in horror. there was something so fearfully cold-blooded in the manner in which he unfolded his dla bolical plot that his listener placed his hand on the hilt of his knife and looked for a moment into de lisle's gleaming eyes in alienee. "well, what do you think of it?" de manded de lisle, at length. "think!" repeated paul: "why, that if there ever was a fiend incarnate on earth, you are one!" •!ha! ha! well, no matter for that. do you not think my plan a safe one?" "r neither know nor care, ralph de lisle. if you are safe yourself, all right. if you are not safe, all right likewise. i will have nothing to do with your dia bolical plans: therefore, as i .saidl^ before, i neither know rior care wl^ether you are safe ornot." ,^ ' "insolent villain!" exclaimed j5e lisle, tbb ubhmit of the cuffs. i de fiprlnalnff fltrcely to hir f«et: "ymi shall rep«nt this!" "hands off. t)e lisle!" said paul, bold ly confrontini^ him. "i am not afraid of you. commit your own murders for the future: i will have no more to do with such a cold-blooded assassin." for a moment de lisle glared upon him like a wild beast: hut the bold eye of paul flnowe quailed not beneath his burning gaxe. seeing how little he was feared, d^ lisle rhanged his tactios, and, throwing himself back in his chair, he said, with a forred laugh: "well, we won't quarrel, paul: we have been friends too long to part in anger, and espeeially about surh a trifle." "i never was a friend of yours, cap tain de lisle," said paul, doggedly. "villainy bound us together; but the link of crime is very different from that of friendship." "well, have it your own way," said de lisle, with affected carelessness, as he replaced the daprner within his vest. "and now i see by yonder timepiece that 'tis time i was keeping my appointment with little nine-year-old. you'll wait for me here, of course?" "no, i won't!" was the short, sharp and decisive reply. "i have waited for you too long, as i may yet and out to my cost. you and i part to-night, de lisle," continued paul snow, rising, and taking his hat. "i -intend to leave the country as soon as possible; and, if you wish to avoid the hangman, you will fol low my example, and let edith perclval alone. don't turn so white about the gills, man: i won't peach. but you kno^' . however long the fox may run, he'll he caught by the tall at last. so, as w« are parting, i'll take a last glass with you. in memory of old times. here's wlshlnff you long life and an escape from the halter." "i'll drink no such toast!" said de lisle, biting his lips to keep down his in creasing anger. "here's to the bright eyea of your daughter elva." "so be it, then." said paul, refilling his glass; "and on those sa4|[| bright eyes you will nevwtook again, ifiy susceptible friend. oood-nlght, de lisle, and luck be with you." he turned and quitted the room. de lisle looked after him with an evil smile as he muttered: "say you so, worthy paul? that re mains to be seen. and now for the drama of the"evening. will it be a trag edy or a farce? well, ere midnffeht i shall know." he drank deeply, as if to nerve him self for what was approaching: and then, muffling himself in his cloak and draw ing hta hat down over his brow, he quit ted the obscure tnn. and disappeared in the gloomy night. chapter xxv. thr old hoi'sr o.n thk rlupr. •a wlllliik menneriker— <'rltn»*'k midy tool— a thiim of menh and blood that may b« lunight and hold like vllent mcnhnndinc." tiik sky was dark and overcast with storm-threatenlng clouds. the moon struggled feebly on her way, shedding a sickly, watery light over the earth. the wind had been rising all the evening, and now blew chill and raw. accompanied by a thin, ilglg drtszle. lights were twin kling here and there through the village as de lisle passed along; but there were few abroad— a circumstance he rejoiced at. lest he should be discovered. those who did meet him as they hurried home ward, paused to stare in surprise at the tall, dark, muffled figure which strode along as though gifted with the famous seven-league boots. faster and faster he walked; for, half mad with excitement, he strove to lose memory in the rapid motion. his head. hot and throbbing, felt as though it would burst. he paused for a moment, and, leaning against a tree, took oft his hat that the cool breeze might relieve him. his long, dark locks streamed wildly in the wind behind him, and his heart throbbed so loudly that every pul sation sounded like the stroke of a sledgehammer. his hands were red with blood— his soul dark with crime; but never had he meditated so dreadful a murder as weighed on his heart to-night. the shadows, as they flitted by. looked to his heated imagination like specters ris ing from the grave to warn him back. the village clock struck nine. he started at the sound, and, unable to re main longer inactive, started on more rapidly than before. as he walked, he suddenly lifted his head, and beheld the churchyard before him. to reach the place where thi boy was to meet him, he must par* h the tombstones gleamed white arj ijiiastlt/ in the dim light. how they s" ' med to glare i'.)>on him with their cold, tn e ?yes! he >haddered, ar ' hurried on faster than v .ei. hln rrroid walking soon brought him fo the p/ace of rendezvous; it wa-t an old, deserted house on the black hillside known as the barn on the bluff. it had »;eien untenanted for many a day, and was only used as a shelter for sheep on stormy nights. no other house was near it on any side. it sltocd alone, bleak, grim, and dismal— a fit place for the dark scene it was to witness that night. a boy of about nl ie— a vacant-eyed, stupid-faced urchin— stood shivering be side one of the broken windows, and en deavoring to peer out into the gloom. hearing approaching footsteps, he start ed from his corner, and met de lisle in the doorway. n the he^rmit of the cliffs. 4f',n i ijm "if yom'd stayed muc^i longer, i wouldn't waited," said the boy, rather fmllenly. "why didn't you come hooner?' "it's time enough." said de loale.. "dp you think you'll find miss perclval at home now?" "be' sure i will," replied the boy. "they have a party to-night, and she'll be sure to be there." "a party!" muttered de lisle; "tnat deff'iits all my plans. why didn't you tell me this before, you young rascal? she won't come with you ij, they have a party." "yes, she will, too," said the boy. "she did it afore, and she told our mai*riet any tlms she wanted her she'd come, and no bother about it." "well, will you go and tell her yoor sister is dying, or any other he that you think will be likely to bring her here? 3ee. i will give youthis koicl guinea now, and a dozen when you come back." "will you. though?" exclaimed the boy r^ his eyes sparkling with delight. "yes, if you bring her here alone. mind, don't tell her there is a man waiting for her here. you have to pass this bluff on you'' way home, have you not?" "yes; but there's another shorter way." "oh! well, don't mind the shorter way. briftg her here—dlone, mind— alone. do you think there is any danger of her being accompanied by any one?" "no, i guess not; she often came with me alone to see harriet as la'.e as this." "oh! very well, then; go now and don't be long. romeniber, if you bring m'ss perclval here alone, you shall h&ve my purse upon your return." "all right," an«wered the boy, touch ing his cap, as he quitted the old house and bounded down the bill. folding his arms across his b^c.^"**. and drawing his cloak closer around him, de lisle leaned against the broken doorway, and strove to stih the wild tumult within, and think. think! how could he think with heait and brain burning anr» throbbing with such a blinding intenrsity of pain? his face was deailly pale, his eyes inflamed and bloooshot. his lips dry and parched. a horror, nameless and hitherto unfelt, was sveallng over him. it was as if some dread calamity were hovering over his own head. all was profoundly still. the ligbts in the village below were going cat one by one, as tl?ie simple villagers retired to rest, ifttle dreaming of him who leaned silent and alone in the old house with such a tumultuously throbbing heart. the wind wailed dirge-like through the troes, and at intervals the harsh, omi nous croak of a raven—that evil bird r,t night— as it flew past, would break upon his ear, startling him like a gal vanic shock. "would this night were over!" he mut tered, taking off hlfl hat, anj shaking back his black locls. "am i turning coward that i quake thus at every sound? ralph ds lisle, courage, man! 'tis but a girl more or less in the world, anfl there is no one to know it." no one to know it! a stray gleam of moonlight, bi^eaking through the clouds, fell on his face white as that of thf dead, but lighted up with suoh intensely burning eyes. no onfe to know it! a still small voice deep down in his heart and silent for many a year, raiig out with one word, clear and dis tinct. a host of memories — memories of his almc^t forgotten childhood— rushed back l(' his mind. again he felt his mother's jjentle hand straying amid his hair; h«r soft voice whispering, as she passed fiom earth r "love and fear god, my son, and meet me in heaven." how reproachfully her loving eyes rose before him now. again, in fancy, he wander ed hand in hand with edith, as he had oftendone in childhood, or lay on the grass at her feet, while she sang for hini the sweet "evening hymn," and he thought the sky not half so bl:ie and luautifu' as her eyes. words "he had h.iig forgotten came again to his mind; the simple, earnest prayer he had said in his boyhood night and morning, like some wandering strain of music rose to his lips. it was the last struggle be tween good and evil lin his heart. his better nature seemed for a moment tfi prevail. he turned to quit the old house when the image of fred stanley arose before him. the struggle was past — ^he stayed. his good angel covered her bright face an(! wept, and ralph de lisle was forever — lost! chapter xxvi. caught in thk snare. " 'tls done! ijklw it in my dreams no more 'a^hr hope the future beamsl my days of happiness are few; chilled by mlsfortvme's wintry blast. my dawn of life is overcast; lov3, hope, and joy alike adieu: wouid i could add remembrance, too!" —byron. prrcivai. hall was all aglow with light and radiance, music and mirth, feasting and fest'.vity. the loft3r*room8 were c^owdifed with the numerous friends of the family for the last time, for major perclval had announced his intention of departing for england in a few weeks, to reside there permanently. weary with dancing, edith had quitted the balhroom and sought refuge in the conservatory. the gay sounds 6t muuic the hermit op 'the cliffs. 19 break a lisli. b mut aklng irnine: every man! world. kleam the hat of suoh know pvn in and dancing came to her ear, softened and mellowed by the distance. seating herself in a shadowy corner her igrolden hair falling like a glory around her, she leaned her head upon her hard, while her thoughts wandered far away. she felt sad and out of spir its, and in no mood to join the gay rev eleris. she was about to leave her home for the shores of "merrie england," to leave many whom she lov$d, and who loved her, behind her. shp thought of fred, but no longer v/ith hope. at her father's command they parted forever. unable longer to resist the temptation, he had sought the village and they had one interview. the major discovered it, and a few hours before, they had parted after an exceedingly stormy interview, and iahe had been sternly forbidden ever to see or speak to him again. therefore edith feet, sad and silent, with tears ^slowly fllling her deep-blue eyes, and falling unheeded on her white hands. tears for him, tears for herself, and a weight heavy and oppressive on her heart. the entrance of a servant roused her from her sad reverie. the' girl paused as she approached her. and eldlth looked up inquiringly: "if you please, miss, little eddy dil lon's out here. he says his sister har riet sent him with a message for you." "o dear little harriet! i hope she is not worse where is he, betty? i must see hivn immediately," said edith, for getting her own sorrows to listen to those of others. "down here at the hall door, miss, ' said betty. and edith flew past "tfier apd ran down to the hall door, where stood little eddy, cap in hand. "o eddy! how is harriet?" exclaimed edith, breathlessly. "a great deal better— i mean worse. miss edith," said edd^ ; "don't expect she'll live till to-morrow, nohow." "is it possible? poor little harriet! o eddy! why didn't you come for me before?" said edith. "cause i was busy," said eddy, scratching ms head, as he composedly uttered the he. "but she. wants to see you now, 11 you're agreeable." "certainly, i'll go. betty, bring me my . hood and mantle," said edith, promptly. vo miss edith! i wouldn't go to-night, if r was you. it's goinfe to rain i'm afraid, and the company"— "betty.-ycu mustn't talk so. do you think any such selfish conj-.ideration would make me refuse that dear child's dyir? request? bring me my* hood and cloak immediately." betty disappeared to obey her; and turning to eddy, edith began inqui hit' sq ei^rly about thttr-sudden dangero> ft turn fti hlb sister's illness that the good youth, not having a stock .»f lies .manu factured for the occasion, got quite be wildered. betty's reappearance with the desired articles relieved him . from his dilemma, as she threw the cloak over edith's shoulders and tied on her j^ood. "hadn t you better let me or 5ne of the others go with you?" said betty. it s powerful lonesome going along alone." _':oh! no, thank you; i'll do very well. eddy and i havp often gone alone 6n the same errand, to see poor harriet." "what shall i say, if any one asks for you. miss?" called betty after her. "you may tell mamma where i have gone; and if any oiie else asks you, refer them to her. come, eddy. i am all ready. "_ they went down the steps together, ' and started at a rapid walk. the clouds were slowly breaking awf^y, and the moon rode in silvery radiance through the star-studded dome. the cool night breeze brought a bright flush to edith's pale cheek, and a clearer light to her blue eyes, as she tripped lightly along, thinking of "dear '.ittle harriet." and almost envying her for being freed from earth so soon. master eddy, too, was thinking— a very unusual thing for him, by the way— and which never occurred, save on an unusual occurrence like the present. he was wondering what the tall, dark man could want with her, and whether he had acted quite right in de ceiving her as he had done. unable to solve this knotty problem, he. placed his hand in his pocket where it encountered and closed upoh a guinea, which, in a wonderfully short space of time, removed all his scruples, just as it would those of an older person. the recollection of the twelve he was to get on his return, clinched the argument, and master eddy lifted bis head and walked along in the proud consciousness of having discharg ed his duty as a man and a chrlstlah should having heanl the villagers talk ov%>r the story of »iiss edith's rebel • lover, he concluded this must be he come to hold a clandestine interview with her. "why are you taking this .roundabout way?" asked edith, as her companion turned in the (direction of he bluff. "the other path is wuch shorter." "yes, i know it; but the other road's muddy; 'taint • so good as thlfi" said eddy, rather at a loss for a suitable lie. "this ain't much longer, either." "oh, very well!" said edith; "only hurry, i am so anxious to qpe harriet." both walked on rapidly, and in silence, until they reached the dark bluff. "where are you going?" s^sked ^ith, as eddy began to descend. "i left something up in the old ba-^n, t rplist go after. come with me; i dou't ifke to go alone." unconscious and unsuspecting, edith '■s -y^^ 80 the bbttmtt of the 'cliffs. ji ' followfd him up the ste.ep hulsldc the tbrlgrhi modnllsht shone full upon 'tfte deserted, barn, and showed it in all its dreary loneliness. ;. ■ "what a dismal plaeev thought edith: "it iflteks wilder and drearier to-night than i e.ver remember to have seen it befqr*. how ghastly tljose moldering wallsf look.in the dold moonlight!" within the shadow of those walls, how little did she dream that he whom she dreaded most on earth stood watch ing her. rapidly she followed her young guide, whose steps wefe quickened by the recollection of the reward promised on hjis return. '... a tall, dark figure, muffled in a cloak, stepped from within the shadow of the , doorway, ' and -approached them. some thing in his height arid air reminded her of pred, an(i, filled with the idea that he had again. sought her to bid a final adiet|, she sprang forward, exclaiming breathlessly: "fred! fred! can this be you?" he raised .his hand. and. pointing to the lad, made, a motion ^or her to be silent. then, slipping the promised re ward into his hand, he whispered sternly f "go!" "o .pred! this is very rash!" said edith, as the l?»y bounded down the hillside and disappeared. "what would papa say, if he knew of this?" : "hist!" said: de lisle, disguising his voice in a hurried whisper; "come in here!" i ,. . he drew h«r arm i^dthin his; and, half-bewilderetl hy this sudden meeting, she scarcely realized his meaning until she. stood with him in the old deserted house. h€ released her arm^ and stood between her and the door, his hat stiu hiding his fac<e. so tam, so still, so mo tionless, that he looked like some dark statiie. • 4 ' "pred, is this you?" said edith, k wild thrljl of fear, shooting through her heart at his strange silence. the long cloak that mulhec' him fell off, he slowly raised his hat.' and she beheld the pale, fierce face fifnd"' intensely, burning eyes of her dreaded foe. ralph' be lisle. i -. v■ « -;^^' |. ch^^pter xxt:n the ca'astuophe. "murder, moat foul— ns in the best it is but this most foul, strange, and un* fmitui^5ll."., ■ ^'*' ' — shakesneare. stimned,' bewildered, giddy, the wild shriek of. ;morta.i fear, that quivered on the lipg 5f e^lth dl«daway. as. she met these fierce. dafk.ey*s ahe dreaded moat on eart^k 9x1^upon jhev with such a fiery, ^^rp^nhlhe gajse. > she arrew dizay, and gasped for breath : for there was a look more of a demon than of a man on the face before her. alone with him in that deserted house, too far from the village for her cries to reach human ears— nothiniif but heaven could saye her now. all the dangers of her appalling situfitlon burst upon hei* at once. a dimneaa stole over her eves —the sound of many waters was in her ears— her heart throbbed like-the muffled beating of a drum, and she would have fallen had she not graspied the wall for support. "i see you have not forgotten me. edllh,"^^ were his first words, spoken with cold, bitter sarcasm. "when last we parted ^ou had decidedly the advantage of me; now the tables have turned, and edith percival is again in tny, power !?'' she strove to speak; but, though her lips moved she could not articulate a word. "you mistook me for prfeb,". he went on. in the same mocking ^:one: " 'tis a wondrous pity you were disappointed. you never need call on htnii agrkin. tf-hls night is the crisis of, both our lives. for what purpose, do you think, i have had you brought here?" "i know not," said edith, speaking in ^ voice yet faint with terror. ^^ "listen, then: this night you must either consent to. be .my"~*ride or yeaj will never live to see the sun riae agalnf his face wore the look of a flehd— his glittering eyes were fixed dn her. face; his voice sounded low, hoarse and utt • natural, in that dreary room. •■ her lips parted— her eyes dilated wltli horror; her face wa,8 deadly white, but na cry escaped her. her very he«rt seemed for a moment to stand still at his. appalling word.", and ifaen— the cour age that had . never wen hers before was granted her in that dreadful mp- ment. in her awful peril, fear and horror alike passed away, and i feehng of intense loathing and lofty scorn t6r him who stooi before her took their pl^ce. drawing herself, up to her full ■ t 'i ?*»e shook back her golden ha«; and fixing her large blue eyes full dti his face she said, in a voice whos^ ii*ery calmness startled even herself• i' <. "my itfe you may take, fpr it is in ybiip power; but i would die a thckufiand qf thine?'*^"^^ than be bride or aiight her fearless words and undaun^ manner were so unexpected, that, he started back a pace, and stood regard ir« her in silent, wonder. it was but for a moment, and the fiend wfthin his heart was aroused into fury teif fold greater than before. •^i., ° ■ \.llt^^ ^*?** <iare def y me «»us<'' he m 1, setting hs teeth hard-.-toeethor-n "bo4, j know tt ; but deuith i» pref ef able ■^muimirmm^ the hermit of' the cuffs. ?l emon |e her. jiea to leaven rers of (n hei' eyes m her luffled have ul for me, with '■ we [ntage and jh her ate a to bekigr the wife of a demon incarnate, ^such as you!" his face grew livid with diabolical 'passion, and he grasped her by the arm so fliercely that she could scarcely re press a cry of pain. "consent to be my wife, or by ah the fiends in flames, this shall enter your heart!" he hissed, as he brandished the gleaming dagger before her eyes. "o ralph de lisle! lay not the weight of this dreadful' crime on your sout i conjure yovj!" exclaimed edith, laying her small white hand on his arm, and looking up in his face with her earnest eyes; "by the memory of the past, when you were young and guiltless, i implore you to spare. my life! think of the re morse you will endure for this awful crime in days to-.trome! o rallph! ralph! by, the love you bore me once, commit not the fearful sin! think of t.ne eternal woe pronounced against the murderer hereafter, and have mercy upon your self!" i'vt-f'. ■! ;•■■■■ ■ ji» . the thrtiting,' the intehise solemhity of her tone awed even his heart of stone. like some wandering strain of music' it broke upon his ear, and for a^ moment he paused, appalled at the magnitude of the -crime he was about to commit. but his evil mentor whispered in his >« ear: "it is too late tonretreat"— and the chord she ha4 touched no longer vibrated. "you prate in vain!" he exclaimed; "once again, i ask you, will you be my wife?" "never— never ! " he paused, as if to work his feelihgit up to the most intense pitch of madden ing excitement. ' his whole frame quiv ered and his gheistly face was convulsed by tage. "for the last time t ask you, edith percival,"he said. in a voice hoarse and choked, "will you marry me, or dijf!" •;i will 4ie!" her words fell clear and distinct in the de«|> silence of the lonely night. foam inir,vlth rage, he drew the slender,. glit tering knife tfjad plunged it up to the hutl^, her side! •tjhe hot blood spurted up in hia face. with one wild cry of mortal agony she feu.tp ^the ground. ©e lts!% stood above her, ghastly and pafailjrzed: by the awful deed. with one last effort she rose on her elbow, fixed h©*" flying eyes on his face and drew out the dagger. 'a torrent of blood flowed over her snojvy hands and dyed with crimson the floor around. her white lips parted, but no sound came forth— her eyes grew glased and sightless, and she fell back; stiff, and cold, and lifeless. ' abd ttie^tb, rm0i(f itght of the solemn stars, in the wi#ly silence of the night„ the feaffm ti'a^edy had been enaciad the cotd glare of the mocntight, streitm ing through the broken casement, fell softly and pityingly on the still form that lay on thfe ground. the golden wfttr fell over her face, but the wild, despiiilf-' ing eyes seeftied still fixed on the face of her murderer, as he stood, like oiie turned to stone, above her. her white festal garments were red with blood,and one little hand still held the . dagger, dyed with the same dreadful hue. de lisle stood rooted to the gi .diiid, f eelint, as though he neither lived wir breathed. everjrthing danced red and fiery before his eyes— his brain and heart seemed rending in twain. heilven of heavens! how those dying, despairing eyes seemed glaring upon him ! maddened;, frenzied, crazed, he turned to rqah from the building. his foot sti;-uck against something, and he stum bled. he gljanced down, and saw it was the fatal dagger. with a fearful bath he hurled it from him over the craggy bluff and fled out into the op«*n air.' he paused for a moment and pressed his hands heavily to his burning tenir pies, that throbbed madly beneath his fingers. his eyes were like burning coals— his hps were hot and parched, and his hands trembled as though he were stricken with the palsy. the night-wind seemed to shriek in his ear. "murderer." ringing— ringing through heart and brain was the last dying cry, until he stopped his ears in aeronized horror. " what should he do? whtthfr should he go? his first impulse was to rush from that dreadful spot, aad fly— fly far from the world, far from hte yellow men, and far from himself. one other idea filled his mind: it was to destroy the evidence of his crime— to burn the old house, and what it contained. he could not endure to see it standing there, so dark and ghastly, seeming to mock him in his agony of remorse. there was a pile of loose brushwood near. he set it on fire, and paused to gaze; aa — -— "fierce and hi^h the death-pile biazedunto the sky." t . how red and angry the flames looked! were they, too, tinged with blood? he knew the place would soon ♦be sur rounded, and fee dared not pause to oee his dreadful work accomplished. like one pursued by a demon, he fled, and paused not until he had gained the. vil lage. there was no one astir; ail were buried in peaceful repose, unconscious of the awful crime that had just been, committed. how the murderer envied them as he flew past.. he paused not until he had gained his own room, and locked himself in. a flask of branrty strtod' on the table. otess after glass of the fiery liquid he drained to drown recollection; b>rt atl in vainr-. ?■ -a t 82 the heruft 4if the gliffti. »i\ in vain! those dying eyes— thojt de spairing cry— that last imploring ifa«e, were before him still; and he paced up and down the rootn like a maniac, not daring to pause one moment in his rapid walk. "fire! fire!" ^ the cry rang through the streets, and roused him into action. j^ll was bustle and confusion. m«n were rushing through the streets toward the scene of the tragedy. he coilld not endure this dreadful inaction longer. opening the door he left the inn. and mingling with th^ crowd, rushed toward the burn ing house. amid all that crowd no one litrove so zealously to extinguish the flames as he. in the wild excitement there was no time to think, and hf worked as though his very life depended, on it. , all their efforts were, however, vain — higher and higher rose the flames, rearing <helr heads. ,red and fiery, unto heaven, until dp lisle almo.st fancied they were cryfng for vengeance on him. suddenly a bright sheet of flame shot into the cloudless sky— the next moment there was a loud crash, as the whole building fell, a mass of red. flery ruins to the ground. de lisle felt as though the sight was leaving his eyes, as he witnessed that last act in the fearful tragedy of the night. the people, wondering how the fire coul(lhave originated, were hurrying to their 'tiomes. he dared not venture to go with them; for. in his excitement, he fancied every one could read "mur derer" in his face. he turned, and ^plunged lnt(5 the dark pine w()ods, scarce ly knowing whither he went^ only strly irrg to escape from .himself and his haunting remorse.' he could hear that cry as th^^wind wailed like a lost spirit through tfie trees— he could see those inploring eyes still before him, wher ever he 'ent. he put his hand over his eye^ :u shut thern out. but all in vain — the: .'?¥;•> bf\y ".'^fore him: so mournful, so beste.'ajj i so >;idly reproachful. , "o, tha*. *l)is njtfht were over!" he said, wiping (h« perspiration from his heat'd h.v. ^ rhp havp i dle. that i sk aife }w xctiuvkl ilius? ' » for the watfi::. ».< r.s .! ett, tuown maddening memt), ' ' ,&ha>i . i never ak^'n know peace; *'.. j ii«vr ; f scape rom my through tif*^ &' , soiemn woo4s he paced unv ! ir>», ng. the red sunlight gilded with t, j. ■ n glory the green tree top^, and the murderer shrank frr>m its bright, k^en gaze like the guilty twing that he was. he hurried to his rooms, djalned glass after glass of brandy, and then flung himself on his bed, to lose, ttii fevprish sleep, the recollection of what .he had done. chaptbi^ xxvi^, mext mornino "and over all there hung a baleful gloom^ the step stole fearful tnrough ieach, shad owy room. dark, sumptuous, solemn as somi^ bastt rn pile where mutes keep watch^-a home without a smile." -'-' . — bulwer. * • . ■" tfie red light of coming morn dispers ed the revelers from perdval hall. one by one they departed until tvhere lately all was music and m'rth^ profound silence reigned. and father and mother, brother and sister, all slept, little dreaming, of th* fate of her they loved. during the night, when the gay hours flitted by on "rosy wings,"' no presentiment of what wap passing in the lonely house on the bluff arose before them to mar their festivity. and now, all unconscious of her absence or h*r dreadful fate, they slept peace fully. "where is edith?" asked major perci val, as the family assembled a few hours after around the breakfast-table. "don't know, i'm sure," replied hell. to whom the question was addressed: "i lyiven't seen her since early last night." ^ "she was not among the tlancers dur ing the morning," remarked gus; "i missed her, and heard several wondering at her absence." "strange," said the majer. frowning slightly. "what must our guasts have thought? edith has acted very strange ly of late." "perhaps she is lu," said mrs. perci val, anxiously. "tell one of the ser vants. ellen, to go up to her. room and see." "mi go myself," said nell, rising, and hurriedly leaving the room. in a few moments she reappeared, and with a look of alarm, announced that edith was not in her room, and tnat her bed had not been slept in, at <a]l that night. ^ "where can she be?" said mrsi jrercl val, now thoroughly alarmed. oopd heaven! something must have hap pened." "ring the bell and see if any of the servants know," said the major, inore angry than frightened. nell obeyed, and in a rhojrtent betty made her appearance. ' "have you seen miss edith this morn ing?" demanded her mtoster, as she entered. "this morning? no, sir." "do you know wht the major, for the ttrg to feel slightly alarmel "yes. sir; little eddy dillon came here for her last night, saying his; sister liar ,,bh.e is?" said !^|liptme beginning the bermtt of the cuffs. s8 |cn. sh.id bast. rn without iulwer. idlbpers ^11. one [e lately frofound >er and i; of th( ]e nigrht, in "rosy »t was »e bluff festivity, ibsence peace. perci hours d l^el). reased : y last rs dur us; "i iderlng ' have range percl i ser n and '. and . a^d thhx km erpl 3opd l?ap the lore ?tty •rn she aid br ire [j- rlet was dying, and wished to see her. she went with him and bade me tell you, ma'atn, but i found no chance." "oh, then, 'she's safe enough, i sup pose," said the major, while mrs. percl val drew a long breath, as though re lieved. at this moment, nugent sauntered carelessly in. ' "well, good folks, have you heard the news ?'^ he asked, throwing himself in dolently on a lounge. "no— what news?" said nell. "why, the old barn on the bluff was burned down last night." said nugent. "burned down! it must have been the work of an incendiary, then," said his father. "doubtless it was, though i cannot see what could have been the object for which it was done," replied his son. "some misowevously-inclined person, who wished to rouse the villagers," sug gested ous. "very likely: 'twas fit for nothing but a bonfire. where's edith?" "at the widow dillon's." "the widow dillon's! why, she hasn't been there since yesterday morning." "what!* . "she has not been there since yester day morning." said nugent, decidedly; "i was going past there about an hour ago, and mrs. dillon called me in to see her littie girl. harriet begged me to tell edith to come to her immediately, and mrs. dillon said she had been longing for her since she had been there yester day morning." "what can be the meaning of all this?" said the major, rising hurriedly, while mrs. perclval grew pale with terror. "her son came here for edith last night, and they both departed together." "she must nave left him then, sir," said n agent, "for she certainly -^id not accompany him home. he was in the cottage while i was there, and made no mention of her having started with hlrn; neither did the widow allude to her hav ing sent for edith at all. and now i recollect, she said she would have sent for her last night, but on account of the ban, she thought she would not trouble her." "o major percival! .something dread ful has happened." said mrs. percival, rising in great agitation; "i feel it! i kaow it! she heis been carried off again, and we shall never see her more!" "nonsense, mrs. percival! she is doubtless somewhere in the village," said the major, concealing his own alarm, *1 wll! go in search of herfjf "let me accompany you," itaid nugent, springing up; for the many dangers edith had recently e.«ieaped made them doubly anxious. both quitted the house together, ard talked rapidly in. the djrecuon of the village.'--•• ••^t.^^i'^-"":,.., -■/v^■-rv■ >*v ^' '.'i tf*** *'*i^re may -^be danger, father," said nugent, uneasijy; "the whole affttlf seems rather mysterious." *• * ../'if^*^?." forbid!" said his father," hur uedly; but we must see this boy with whom she departed, and learn what has happened from him." * they walked on in silence until they reache^^the widow's humble cottage ^m^ ^*"?" ^''^ ^^^"^ *n the doorwsy. looking alarmed and excited. "o major percival! i'm so gtart to see you! just look here." and the widow displayed a purse filled with bright gold guineas. * ■ "why mrs. dillon, what piece of good fortune is this you have met with? tou liaven't robbed a bank. i hope," said young percival. / "no. indeed. mr. nugent." suld th*' widow, anxiously. " 'twas he brought this ho.tie." and she pointed to where ^^j^^\ hopeful son; and he, with his finger in his mouth, was looking dog gedly on the ground. "eddy: why. man alive, where did you get all this money?" said nugt nt. giving him n shake. "look up. sir. have you turned highwayman?" the boy sat in sulky siler <?. "i'm terribly afeared he 3tr le it." said the widow, in evident distre'^^. ; "he won'* tell where he got it. and i know he never ame honestly 'oy it," "t' is s. rious," ffv..l tne major, "and mil )e seen to. bse l:ere, my fine fell. ' he said, sternly, 'where did you gel lis money? have yuu stolen if" no. i didn't steal it," said the boy. su' ily. ijere did you get it. then? answer '^ or i'll have you committed to )n," said the major, with increasing . nness. in order to intimidate him. kddy looked up, and seeing the in flexible iook on the f .' ce bending over him. burst into tears. come, my little man, don't cry," said nugent, patting him on the head, "tell the truth, and nothing shall be done to vnu. where did you get it?" "the man gave it to me," sobbed e^ 'v. ■ ^ what man?" inquired percival. "the man who told me to bring mio . edith to the bluff, last night." "what!" exclaimed the major, catch^ ing him so fiercely by the, arm that the boy uttered a cry of pain. "father, be calm," said nugent, though his own face grew deadly pale, "we mu.vt hear all the particulars, ar^ if you frighten him zo he will not «neak. begin new at the first,, kddy. who was this man?" "i don't know— he didn't tell me his name, " replied eddy, lkshf ,;^i h4 tbe hermit of the cuffs. i 1 "can you describe him? what rid he look like?" . ^ ^. , ». . "he was tall and dark, with black hair and whiskers, and wore a long, black «loak. i couldn't see his face, 'cause his hat was pulled away down," "when did you meet him first?" "yes'day evenln«he asked me if miss edith didn't visit harriet, an* i said yes; and then told me to meet him on the bluff at nine o'clock, and that he would pay me well." "did you go?" asked nugent, growing more and more excited. "yes, i went and waited for him in the old barn. he came and told me to go up to the hall, and say harriet want ed miss edith— and than bring her to him and he'd pay rne~i"— ti 1 boy i).auaed, and feiancej in terror at the agitated face of the major. "go on, ^ said nugent hoarsely. "7'ui alraid," said the boy, again be ginning to cry. "go on, go on, go on!" said the young man, impatiently; "no one shall touch you. did you obey?" "yes. i went up to he hall and miss edith came with me. she ran forward when she saw the man, and cailed him fred, and he gave me this money and told me to go, and as i ran dov;n the hill i heard her say: 'o fred, tiiis is very rash!' and then she went with him into the old house.*' father and son gazed into each oiher'a faces, pale with undefined terror, "well, what else?" said nufent, al most giddy with a strange appr^^^-'sion. "then i come home, " v»ent on the boy, reluctantly; "but 1 wanted to hear who he was. and what he was going to do. so i came back and stood where i could see them without they seeing me. i couldn't see his face, 'cause he ham his back turned, but i could hear them talk ing. he asked her to go with him and marry him, or something, and she said she wouldn't, and then" — again the boy paused, and covered his face with a shudder. "well, end then," said nugent, in a voice that sounded husky and unnatuial. "he got awfully angry, and took out a lortg knife; and i got frightened and ran away," said the boy, trembling at the recollection. nugent paused for a moment to mas ter the emotions that threatened to un man hiiirt. then with an effort at calm ness he said: "and what followed next?" "i went home and went into bed," continued eddy, "until i hoard them singing out 'fire,' and then i got up and went to the bluft, and the barn was burning, i »aw the man in the crowd, but i was ai'rald to speak to him, he seemed so wild-like. when the barn was all burned down the ptsople went a>vay and i saw him go off into the wgod.s and that's all i know." "merciful heaven!" exclaimed nugent, reeling back, as though stunned by a heavy blow, "edith is murdered!" "and fred stanley is her murderer," said the major, in a voice so deep and unearthly that it seemed to issue from the jaws of death. "it cannot be! it cannot be! it is mon strous! impossible! absurd!" exctaimed nugent, in wild excitement. "fred stanley could never be .an assassin!" "i tell you he has murdered her," said his father, in a tone of concentrated fierceness; "and by the heaven above us. his life shall pay for hers. an eye foi an eye, a toeth for a tooth, and a life for a life!" he cried, rushing madly from the house. nugent followed; and feeling the necessity for calmness and firmness in the dreadful crisis, he laid his hand on his arm and arrested his fiying steps. "father, father! be calm! be calm for heaven's sake! think of my mother, if she sees you thus, and hears this news; the shock will kill her. for her sake '"ompose yourself and be calm '' "calm, sir! dare you talk of calmness when my daughter has been foully as sassinated? o edith! my child! my child! i aviu not think of mourning for tl eo until i have had vengeance on thy murderer!" "father. it ifc impossible that fred stanley has been guilty of this dreadful deed. i will never believe it!" cried percival, excitedly. "a nobler heart never beat within the breast of man than his." "who else is there to have done such an act?" said the major passionately. "did we not part in anger a few hours before? i tell you there was murder in his flashing eyes as i watched him ride away. you heard how it occurred. he urged her to fiy with him. she, dreading my anger, refused, and no doubt, riad dened by her resistance, he slew her on the spot. o my daughter! my daughter! why was i not near to save you from so dreadful a fate?" he wrung his hands and groaned aloud in bitter anguish. "but the villain shall meet his doom." he again^ exclaimed, with the old fierce ness flashing in his eyes; "this, very day shall he be arrested i" they walked on in silence until they reached the foot of the bluff. "let us visit the scene of the tragedy," said nuprent, as they paused for a mo rnenlr to contemplate the heap of black, smoking ruins they turned tc ascend. scarcely had they gono a dozen stepa, when the ma jor's c-ye fell on something brf.ght gleam ing: among the rocks. he stooped to the hermit of the cuffs. 86 l»i( k it up, and started back with a cry of horror. it was the fatal dagger, red with the fliied blood. as he turned it over, his <ye fell on the name engraven on* the liandle— "frederick stanley." re "just heaven! how wonderful is thy trlbutlon! he exclaimed, as he handed i he knife to his son. "with this fatal l)lade the deed was done, and the mur derer's name is on it. in the excite ment of the moment he has cast it :i�ay and forgotten it." pale with horror, nugent examined it. he had often seen the dagger with fred; it had been given him by his father in his boyhood and was prized as his gift. to doubt his guilt longer seemed out n( *he question, and yet how could he heu-'ve him ffullty? fred stanley, so brave, so generous, so noble-hearted, i^ullty of so dreadful a crime! oh. never, iii'ver! the thought was too unnatural to be entertained. they stood at length gazing with fet inffs impossible to describe on th smoldering remafns of the fire. there fmith had been slain and her body had perished amid the flames. . ' it was with very different feelings they stood gazing upon the charred and ."smoking ruins. in major perclval's breast, above every other feeling, was the fierce, burning desire for vengeance. he could scarcely think of sorrow, so intense was his desire for revenge; it seemed an injustice to her memory to allow her murderer one moment longer to burden the earth. hanging seemed a thousand times too good for him, and he would have given worlds to see him broken on the. wheel, tortured on the rack, or roasted at a slow fire for the rrlme he had committed. in nugent's heart, horror for his sis ter's dreadful fate, a feeling of remorse that he had not been near to save her, were mingled with agonizing doubts, whether or not to believe fred stanley etuilty. one moment he almost hated himself for believing him capable of such an action: and then the startling train of circumstantial evidence would arise before him, until there seemed no longer r.oom for the shadow of a doubt. amid all this war of conflicting emotions, neither of them suspected ralph de 1-isle. whom they imagined far away. "ha! what have we here?" exclaimed nuprent, suddenly, as a portion of a blue scarf caught his eye, lying unjjer a char red and broken stick. he picked it up. both recognized it as one edith had worn that fatal night, it was of rich blue silk, embroidered with silver fringe, and now inore than half burned. it was spotted with blood and pear the end was a hole, exactly such as would be made by the dagger. "it is but another proof >r his guilt," j f.^\^}}^ major. in a low, thick voice. o edith! edith! but there is no time for mourning! when justice is satisfied there will be time enough for tears." his eyes "were burning and tearless, his face was deadly pale, and there was a look of fierce determination in his face. as they reentered the village they were met by the bustling little landlord of the inn. "ah! good morning. major perclval! good morning, mr. nugent! fine day this; been up to the fire, i s'pose; queer thing that, queer thing. s'pose you haven't seen anything of a tall fellow in a black cloak, and hat over his face, hey?" "what of him?" said nugent, with breathless interest. "oh. nothing! nothing! only he came here late last night, and ordered a room then went out and didn't come in till after midnight. two or three minutes after he was off to the flre, and since hat nobody's seen him. funny chap! a'ent off without paying the reckoning, ar\6 drank more brandy than i like to thiiik of. good morning!" and the land lord bustled away. major perclval hurried to the nearest magistrate to make a deposition of the case, and obtain a warrant for the arrest of fred stanley. nugent, finding the task of announcing the dreadful news devolved upon him, hastened home stunned and bewildered, like one who walks in a dream. gently as he broke the news to them, the effect was terrible. mrs. perclval fell into violent convulsions, and .was carried to her room. nell grew deadly white, and such a feeling of sickness came over her that for a moment she was on the verge of fainting. but when she heard fred accused as the mur derer, indignation restored her to her selt and she ipxclalmed, vehemently: "i'll never believe it— never, never! i would as soon credit it, nugent, if they said you did it yourself. oh, how dread ful! how dreadful!— to think we were all here, dancing and enjoying ourselves, and edith lying cold and dead without one friend near to aid her! o edith, edith, edith! my dearly beloved sister!" she covered her face with her hands, and wept so hysterically that both nu gent and gus were alarmed. the latter endeavored to console her, hut she pushed him away, saying "no. no! let ine alon ' oh. edith, edith! my murdfnnl ulster!" and all through that day she wandered about the klooiny house, wringing her hands and repeating that dear name — her pale face, disheveled hair and disor deied dress giving her the look of one insar". it was a silent and gloomy man sion indeed. the servants, palo with horror, stale about as noiselessly as m thb bermit of tub cuffs. i< ghmts thtouffh the hou»e'. sdh as the grave, save -when " a wild shriek from the -darkened 'room of mrs. perctval would reach their, ears. and j>ieli wan dered vacantly about, twisting her pale itogers and repeating, "edith* edith!" —seeing but one object, (he nr>urdered form of her sister. through the village the news had (ti>read ilke^ wildfire. men were gath ered li, groups at every corner, talking over the tragic occurrence; women for got their household affairs to. speak of the goodness of the nrurdered girl and weep over her untimely fate — for edith wa» unlversiftuy beloved. people spoke of it in low whispers, for the whole affair eeemed wrapped in mystery. never had such a thing been heard of befdre to that quiet little village, and they almost held their breath, as they wondered whose turn it would be next. chapter xxix. . ' . the aruesr. ■ '"and yet he sefemk not ovcreom*?, »•'• althoul^h as yet hln voir* l»t' dumb." *■*.'■■■ ■-'-■■ ' • ■in the little parlor of the "bottle and bowl" was ir^d stanley. he lay stretched at full i ngth on a lounge, leis urely smoking and listening to the mer ry, ringing voice of mrs. rosie wilde, as she alternately • scolded the servants, laughed with the neighbors and talked to the baby. and while he indolently watched the blue smoke wreathing up ward, fred was thinking. he thought of edith, iind wondered if he should ever see her dear face again; of her stern father and his invincibje an tipathy to himself; of his hated rival, ralph de lisle; of his father, who was on the eve of departure for england, and whom he had never sen since the night he liberated him; of the siysterious her mit, and wondered what new danger was destined to bring them face to face, arid lastly, of himself, as yet undecided what to do or whither to go. the quick tramp of horse's feet dash ing down the street arresteti his atten tion. the htjrseman. drew up and alight ed at the inn door. fred fancied his form was familiar, but he stood unde cided until he heard the neweomei pro nounce his name in quick, hurried nes. the next moment the door was 'vn violently open, and gus elliott le, haggard, dusty and ^ ax'ol-worn st into the room. "gus. my dear feljow it pobb ble?" exclaimed fred, spring! i... up and rrasp iftg hw hand. "but,^ h< .-> ided, 'eelns hfs despairing face, "hat the .'crlu has happened?" gus fixed his eyes or? face, could read nothing thei frank 4 tonishment. would a gulli <ii ct and look' thus? his doubts, if he entertained any, vanithed in a moment, and, wring ing the hand his friend extended, he ex claimed: "oh, fred! then you have not beard? .how can i tell you the dreadful story?" "what dreadful story? my dear gus, sit down and compose yourself. you look as though you were insane." "do i? i may well look insane. fou, too, will look insane, when you have heard my story." "then let me hear it." "oh, fred! my business here is very painful— painful in the extreme!" "then, my dear gus, let me advise you to get it over as soon as possible. the longer you hesitate the worse it will be," said fred, resuming his seat on the lounge. "have you no idea what my errand is? j come from perclval hall.' "well?" said fred, inquiringly. g\is paced silently up and down. "does it concern bdlth?" inquired fred, for the first time wglnnlng to feel alarmed. ' "it does." "what has happened? good heaven! gus, has de lisle carried her off again?" "no; no! worse still!" groaned gus. "what mean you?" cried fred, spring ing up, white with apprehension. "is she —is she"— "dead!" said gus. solemnly. there was a long pause. gus turned to the window, to hide his agitation. he did not venture to look at hiu friend, whose deep, labored breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the silence of the room. "where — how— when did she die?" he asked, at length, in a voice so altered that gus started back in terror. "fred, my dear friend, prepare your self for the worst!" he said, scarcely dar ing to tell all. "the worst has passed; edith is dead! nothing you can say now will af fect me," he answered, with such unnat ural calmness that fred almost feared the blow had unsettled his reason. "then, fred, she was— murdered'" another long pause followed. fred's face had grown so sternly rigid that it looked as though -turned to marble. "by whom?" he asked. "that is unknown," replied gus. who shrank with cowardly fear from telling him all. "when was she— when did his hap pen?" 8ai<j fred, whose lips e jmed un able to frame the word. "the night before last. the newe has spread like wildfire, and i h^a hoped that i'ou had heard it ere this and so spared me the pains of being the first 'to annotmce it." "where is ralph de lisle?" said fred, i the bermit of the fjliffb. in jiitoni that plainly indicated he had hph there with another «<^vifr*tm«i> '• ....!« ^«..h» whr. w«. t»,« m«r,l*.r»r said the cheery vo»ce of robip wllde o,m*"lj*7?^^?^ pubhed open, and atein ?«n. ^''^''*?'*' ^^'' "»'^''*'' o' the county, them ^ * cnnbtable. stood bwore • «."^'' ^*»"'«yi helleve." aaid the sher iff bowing to pred. who lifted hl8 head and answered briefly in the affirmative. ♦ k t'»«"'.f'»'. i arrest you in the nam*' of h/«hti, "**?t**** sheriff, letting his h ipd fall nn the young man's shoulder. arrest me!" aimioi"-.-.^ m — j — ._ little doubt who was the murderer "t know hot. moat probably on his way to engfland or in the far southwest. < no ope suspects him of being the mur derer." "who. then, can it be? how could one so aweet, so gentle, hav^ enemies? was fihe robbed as well a»>niurdered?" "her body was not found," said qus, who uttered each word as slowly and reluctantly as though it burned his lips. "you recollect, perhaps, the old barn on . the bluff?" "yes." "she was decoyed there and slain. th )iarn was afterward set on are, and her remains ^ere consumed in the flames." bomething like a groan escaped the lipv of fred. sluicing into a seat, he shaded his face with his hands, and for several moments s^t silent and motionless. then, without raising his head or look ing up, he said, huskily: , 'tell me the particulars. i would know all " sadly and reluctantly ous complied. fred sat with his hand still shading his tace— his lon«, dark locks falling heavily over his temples— so cold and still that he seemed to be slowly petrffylng. gus related all save who was the suepected murderer— his lips refused to reveal that. "you see the affair is wrapped in com plete mystery," he concludtid. "but no doubt the murderer will y»t be found. no exertion will be spared to ferret him out.. the arm of divine providence is long enough to reach him, even to the uttermost bounds of the earth." pred did not speak or move. the sud denness of the shock seemed to have completely stunned him. "my dear friend," said gus. going over and laying his hand on fred's shoulder, "bear up! it is a heavy blow, and t can sympathize with you; but never despair! we all knew and loved edith— we all feel her. loss; but still, despair is useless. rear up, fred, and be a man! i have seen you before now face death at the cannon's mouth without wincing, and will you now sink under aflllctlon like a timid goirir' fred looked up and disclosed a face so pale and eyes so despairing that gus felt his words were worse than useless. he went and took a seat by the win dow and gazed out. pred. his face hid den by his hand and his black locks, sat silent and motionless. and so an hour passed before either moved ojr spb^e. ♦ t^js^^jfiound of a carriage stopping; be for.» tjhe door at length startled gus. he looked up eagerly, and jsrew a shade paler, as he heard a quick, authoritative voli'e inquire for "ntr. frederick stan-^ ley." "step in the parlor, sir, if you please.! * w. exclaimed pred, sprlng .ng to his feet and flercely shaking ofl" the officer's hand, as though stung by a viper. n «jr a. ''such is my painful duty, sir." "in the name of heaven, sir. up«>n what charge? impetuously exclrflmed fred nowthoroughly aroused into action "you are arrested upon the charge of having murdered edith perclval." fred reeled as though suddenly struck and was forced to grasp the table for support. for a moment everything seemed swimming around him; then, conscious that the cold, keen eyes of the official were fixed upon him, he recov ered his usual stately firmness, and an swered, with cold self-posseshlon. "i am ready to attend you. air. gus. farewell! do you believe this charge'" "heaven forbid, fred!" said gus in * choking voice. "you knew, when you came. i was suspected— did you not?" "yes; but it was so monstrous, so ab surd, i could not tell you." "it would have been better if you had; but it matters not now. the world, no doubt, believes me guilty; but what care i for the world now? sir. i am quite ready." .^ the sheriff bowed, and in his charge fred quitted the room. bidding adieu to mrs. wilde, whose lamentations were loud and heartfelt, he entered the car riage, which was driven immediately to ward the county jail. chapter xxx. the trial. "and he for her had also wept: but for the eyes that on him razed, his sorrow, if he felt it. slept: stern and erect his brow was raised; whate'er the grief his .soul avowed. he would not shrink before the crowd." a pcrtnioht had passed away since the arrest of fred stanley. the court would sit in another wrek. and his trial was among the first in the session. in his cell the prisoner sat alone. his fcice was pale but firm, sad and com posed. his long-neglected locks fell darkly over his lofty brow, as he sat watching a fading aupbeam that stole through the dj;isty, grated window. he heard the key turn in the lock; the next 88 the uermit of the cliffh, i)j.' m momem the door open«d and oua en tered. •'; ^ prnd arose and extended ma hang. naylnr, with a sad bmhe: "this. ih indeed kind, ous! ah thfi rest of, th»? world seems to have desert ed na^'but youv" . ,' "they believe you gutlty, fred— i do not. 1 would have visited yon before, hih circumstances would not perm;:. when doch your trial come on ?" ■ "to-morrow week." \r •i:"you ha-ve eng;aar«d counsel?" , f . "yes^mr. jolce, one of the best law yers in the state." "that's well. oh, there's no fear of your acquittal, ffed.' it seems incred ible to me how you could ever have been suspected."* . "you forget the clrcumstan^al .evi dence."■ > • ^.�. '■ "nothlng^ but clrcumstaictlal^ evidence, nevertheless, my dear friend." "'true; but much silghter has been found sufficient to condemn a man be fore, now." "bnt it will not in your case. 1 feel efure of it! it is impossible, pred, that you ckn be convicted!" exelalmed ous, impetuously rising and pacing the cell. . "well, never mind that now. what's the news from the outer world? what does public opinion ^ay of hie?" "public opinion'* afool!" ? "in "many cases it is, no doubt; but what does it say of me?" • "it says you're— guilty." "i thought so," said fred, quietly. '^thls charitable world is always in (;ilned to look on the worst possible side of things. no doubt there will be an immense crowd at the trial." ».. "oh, of course! you never saw such excitement. your family and the per civals are so highly connected nothing else is talked of. people are looking forward to the trial with an eagerness and anxiety you can have no idea of. they are crazy to get a sight of you, too, and you may expect to endure a pretty prolonged stare from a couple of thousand eyes on that day. this exag gerated anxiety would be ludicrous we're ft not so annoying," said gus, biting his hp. ,*• where are the perclvals now?" in quired fred, after a pause. "the major and nugent are in town here; mrs. percival, whose life is de spaired of. is at hon>e; and poor nell, half insane with grief. is �lth her." : "la my, father here yet?" a'yes: i saw him yesterday, looking as though fifty years had lately been aidd ed to his age; but as proud and haughty ^ 6ver,. 'tis said he will wait until after your trial, and then leave for bng ■land.".'■■ ,.■■'-^., .t . ;■ ^. v';t, aurpqwi. hift jwiftg*9.#'»»e gvhty^,, \of.e the rest ?'! .<' > ' ^ ~^— ^ ' ■ ■i< "no doubt; but when your trial is over, and your innocence clearly proved, perhaps they will change their tune." "it matters little." said fred, "even though i am acquitted public opinion will still believe me guilty, and i will be just as much a murderer in the eych of the world as though i had ''been con demned. but what do i care for the opinion of the world?" he added, draw ing himself proudly up, while some of the old haughtiness hashed in his eyes and crrled his up. "i live in a world of my own, as high above theirs as heav.^ en is above the earth. but you, dear gus— i should be sorry to lose your faith in my integrity. how will you be able to maintain your, belief in my innocence, against such an overwhelming; mass of testimony as will be brought against me?" "though all' the wdria should believe you guilty. fred, i never �\l\," replied gus, firmly. "even 'though i should be con demned?" "even though you should be con demned!" "heaven bless you, my dear friend," said fred, grasping hfs hand, while tears sprang in bis deep, dark eyes. "and now i must leave you, pred," said gus. "i will see you to-morrow again. if possible. meantime, remember the old motto: 'hope on, hope ever.' '/ "there remains but little for me to hope for," said fred, sadly. "hitherto, i have always borne an unsullied name, but now, the disgrace of this trial for murder will cling to me for life." "nonsense, fred! the world is not so unjust 'before morning dawns, night is ever darkest.' there are bright days in store for you yet, believe me." "you are unusually full of 'wise saws' to-day, gus," said fred, with something like the old smile flitting over his hand some face. "i shall wait impatiently for your coming to-morrow; for, shut in this black hole, it seems like a gllmpi^e of the outer world to catch sight of you." gus knocked at the door, to be let out. the jailer opened it and the yovith difr appeared. , , n. the day of the trial came at last. even at early morn the streets were crowded by the excited mob, anxious to, catch a glimpse of the prisoner when he i^hould be led forth. stores were (^iqped. for men forgot to buy and sel|,i in talking over the dreadfiil murder, and the as sassin's probable fate. women forgot their ordinary occupation to chat over the merits and demerits of the calm€ixtor the prisoner, being young» handteme, and wghjy connected, deeply interested the' fair sex, e;ven chlldfjen forgot their m«^rbl.es..lw»d; tops in jtft0 a|,i-av»a<>rblhg topic, and played at ''trials," and talked trial |« provt'd. me." "even "pjnion whi be eyt'b of 'n cun foi the draw ome of la eyea world s heuv^ u, dear r faith be able oc6nce, nam of against believe replied i con tub hehmit ov the cllffb. of judges and juriea, int4ead of kites and penknives. in rhort, nothing was tlioughl ir spoken nf but the one excit ing bubj> rtr> the trial of frederic stanley on the' appalling charge of murder. the doorh were at length ttirown open -the crowd rushed in and the court loom was fllled to suffocation. a deep, low murmur, like the aurglng of the sea, fllled the air, as the mighty crowd swayed to and fro. the murmur in creased almost into a rpur as the pris oner, in the custody of the sherlft/en lered. the dark, scowling faces on ev ery side showed how deeply the mob were prejudiced against him, and it was with the utmost difticulty order could he maintained. fred entered with the careless grace habitual to him — his fine head erect, his keen, dark eyes fixed calmly on the ex <?ited crowd. more than one scowling gl'^nce ^ell before his haughty, scornful eye, and the public were forced to think that he looked far more like some cap tive prince than an assassin. if he were gu.'lty, he certainly betrayed no sign of it. taking his place at the bar, fred glanced again at the crowd in the court room ■ there sat major percival, with a brow stern and dark as night, his eyes t^xed on the prisoner with a look of such intense hatred and loathing that he seemed longing to tear him limb from limb. near him sat nugent, his eyes axed on the crowd, his brow clouded; but there was a look far more of sorrow than of anger in his face. that he be lieved lilm guilty there could be little doubt; and for a moment, a feeling of desimir weighed or the hieart of fred at the thought"if nugent percival, with his open, generous nature, and noble mind,* believes me capable of mur der, what can i expect from strangers?" at the opposite end of the courtroom, with his arms folded across his breast, his cloak thrown over his shoulders, and wrapped in his haughty pride as in a garifnent, sat sir william stanley. his face was cold and sterh, his eye clear and unpltylng. his mouth arm and rigid. whether he believed in his son's guilt or not, it would be hard to determine. nothing coufd be read from his face; all was stera ahd expressionless there. again he glanced over the crowd. whichever way he turned, nothing met his eyes hilt fierce looks and sullfen glances. those who had been his friends in other days sat with downcast eyes and averted faces: no kindly look was t^re; not one among all thatimmense ctqwd, it called upon to prenp mce hi« doom, but would nave shouted .'guilty, atillty}" . ll«r furned 'a^vay with a feewiig of de 8i)a!r at his heart but his otttwatd -biear ing war-bojd, ujida*nrte*..and.al*n«»t de fying. he glanced at the bench. even the presiding judge seemed to have made up his mind as to tha guilt of the pris oner, judging by the lo«;k his face wore. as for the jury, little could t)e read from their blank faces, but more than one of them he knew to be his personal t nemles. amid all that assembly there was but one who in ills heart believed in the innocence of the prisoner. ous, faithful to the last, stood by his side, returning every hiok of hatred directed toward his friend with compound interest, and en deavoring by nlh cheerful face and hope ful glances to encourage him to trust for the best. having taken his place, the usual charge was read, arraigning the prison er for the wilful murder of edith per cival, by stabbing her with a knife on the night of the fifth of june. fred listened with outward calmness to" the charge, and when the clerk of the court asked the usual quesilon, "frederic stanley, how say you— are you guilty or not guilty of the felony with which you are charged?" his dark eye flashed and his lip curled, as he answered, with cold haughtiness: "not guilty!" the state's attorney then arose, and proceeded with his address. no pen can describe the emotions which his elo qiience and pathos produced in minds ai. jady made up to believe the prisoner's guilt. to destroy any favorable im pression the well-known nobleness and generosity of the prisoner might have made on the minds of the jury, he spoke of the excesses to which blind rage will often excite even the most tranquil; of his known haughtiness and flery tem per, which could never endure opposi tion. he dwelt long and eloquently on each trifling circumstance that could by any possibility heighten his guilt, until gus grew pale with apprehension. as he proceeded to state the case, the audience were wrought up to a pitch of the highest excitement. he stated that the prisoner at the bar had conceived a passion for his unhappy victini, knowing ber to be the betrothed of another; how by his artful words he induced her to forget her plighted en gagement, and turn her affections * to himself; that he had audaciously dis closed his feekngs to the father, boast ing of his ascendancy over her at the saitie time; that, meeting with whaj; he deserved, an indignant disilntssal, h(^ had departed in high anger; that some tirhfe after, her former ; engagement bein^ broken: by a circumstance not necessary to mention, the prisoner, on , the evp» ' ing of the murder, agaih made his ajl peeirah^ in' the little vdlacte, thinking, no doiybt, he was now «ure of suceestf; tttat he-was met by the y'outag iad!v% father, who refused to permit him to «>, image evaluation test target (mt-3) €^0 % <^ /] c^m^'.o^ ^^» y: /a w w om 1.0 n& no 1 2.5 1^ 12.2 i.i s »a ||2£ 11.25 1.4 photographic sciences corporation 1.6 m \ <x cs^ 23 west main street webster, n.y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 9q the eermit of the. gtlffb. -m ■ ■ ■ ll\ • i see her; that angry words ensued, and the prisoner rode off in high displeasure; but, instead of leaving the village, had, by means of a little boy, decoyed his vic tim to a lonely house, and there, upon her steadily refusing to fly with him, murdered her. the prosecuting attorney spoke of all this at length, and not with the brevity with which it is summed up here. he referred to the gentle and amiable character of the unhappy young lady— her beauty, her goodness, and the deep, trusting affection for himself with which her murderer had inspired her. how un suspectingly she had been betrayed into meeting the unworthy object of her love, and because her sense of duty was greater than her affection for him, was, as she stood there with him, alone and helplessjr basely assassinated. so touching was the picture he drew, 8opathetic-were his words, that all the women present sobbed convulsively, and even among the men many eyes, all un used to the "melting mood," grew dim, and flashed still more fiercely through their tears on the prisoner, who, with h<s face shaded by his hand, strove to hide the agony he endured when the speaker dwelt on the harrowing fate of his beloved edith. the state's attorney concluded by say ing he would prove his statements by facts— stern, undeniable facts — by com petent and respectable witnesses, whom he would now call in the order in which the circumstances they were to prove oc curred. "major percival will take the stand." the major advanced, and, after the usual oath, testified that the prisoner at the bar had conceived a passion for the deceased, which she returned; that the prisoner had boldly informed the witness of it, and that they had parted in high anger. that on the evening of the mur^ der the witness had accidentally met the prisoner, and accosted him, demanding his business there, knowing he could have come for no good purpose; that the prisoner had audaciously told him he came to see his daughter once more be fore leaving tha country; that he indig nantly bade him begone, and that the prisoner, in a rage, had ridden off, and» that he had not seen him since until to day iat the bar. qeing cross-examined, he admitted that at parting the prisoner had made use of no threats, and that his own words had been angry and insulting. the witness was then allowed to retire. the next witness called was nugent percival. he corroborated the testimony of his father; further deposed that after learn ing the particulars of the murder, he had, in company with his fatlier, visit ed the spot! .4;hat he had foun« a dog ger, stained, with blood, which he knew to be the property of the prisoner, aa it bore his name, and had been the gift of his father. that he likewise discov ered a portion of a silk scarf, which he knew the deceasexj had worn on the night of the murder. the dagger and scarf were produced, and identified by the witness. a severe cross-examination followed, but nothing more was elicited. sir william stanley was then called, who, after closely examining the dagger; pronounced it to be the same he had himself given to his son. fred listened like one thunderstruck to this testimony. that the drgger was his, there could be no doubt, and he now recollected having lost it a short time, previous to the murder; but had trou bled hin;self little about it — never dream ing it would yet witness so fatally: against him in a court of justice. gus, who had listened with equal sur prise, now stooped down and whispered: "bah! that proves nothing. tjie mur derer might have accidentally found it or stolen it to lay the blame on you." the third witness called was edward dillon. master eddy came up with a swagger, evidently in the highest spirits. con vinced that nothing could be done to him for his share in the transaction, and elated by the reward promised him if he told the truth boldly, he was in ex cellent humor, and delighted to find him self shining off before so great a crowd. "witness, do you understand the na ture of an oath?" asked the state's at torney. " spect i do," said eddy, seriously. "what is an oath?" eddy laid his finger on his nose in deep meditation; but, evidently, the question was a poser. he* glanced ap- pealingly at the judge, but that high functionary was looking at him thrbiugh his gold-rimnied spectacles, with silent but overwhelming dignity. findiaig'ho help from this quarter, eddy scratched his head witti '^ look of intense per |>lfe« ity. ■ :■■■^'■\ ■'■■•'■ "witness, what is an oath?"'solen4hly' repeated his interlocutor. "well, if i must, i must, though i plaguey hate to," said eddy. "when you told the tailor day bief ore yester day, when he asked you for his bilk' to 'go to the devil/ that was an oath." a roar of laughter from the crowd followed this, while the attorney, who was noted for now and then indulging in profanity, turned crimson with ragt. "silene6, sir, and answer to the point!" he angrily exclaimed'. "do you know where you'll go to when you die if yoju take a false oath?" ; ' " ^'well. i s'pose i'd go where they say all the had folks aina th6 lav^yets go.'" and eddy gave his head a peculiar jerk, to designate the ^ikce below.' ' " tbe m^iiillt of the: cliffs. n i followed, anolher snicker from the crowd fol lowed this j and," eon vhiced by thie time that eddy; realty did know the nature of an oath, the court concluded that the promising young gentlemao should be sworn. "witness, look at the prfsoner at the . bat!" eddy turned and favored fred with a patronizing nod and grin. "now, witness, you have, seen the pris oner. do you know him?" "well, i can't ^i^y that i am parttcu .ularly acquainted with him," answered eddy, gravely. ' "have you ever seen him before?" , "weil, now, i really couldit't say for certain, you know. think i have» though." "does he look like any one you have ever seen?" "if he had a long cloak on, and a hat pulled over his ^ace, i wouldn't be s'prised if he looked uncommon like the chap as got ipe to go for miss .edith." "witness, on your oath can you testify tliat this is the same person who paid you on the night of •the murder to bring the young lady to the lone house on the bluff?'* " "twas after night, and his hat was away down over his face, and the rest of him , was kivered up in a big cloak, and, not having the eyes of a cat, i couldn't 'stinguish him precisely. he was 'bout the size of that 'ere prisoner, though, and— yes, he had long black hair like him, too— i saw that." "weili inow; ten the jury itll' that paseed between you and the murderer that night." interlarding the narrative w4th many explanations of his own, not particularly lucid, aihd many profound observations on what he thought and said to "his self," which were generally cut short by the unceremonious attorney, eddy proceeded with his tale, which is too well known to need repetition here. when he came to the meeting where editii addressed her murderer as "fred," the prisoner lifted his head and gazed upon the boy with a look of utter amaze ment. that he was telling the truth there eould be no doubt, for there wa» an unmistakable look of honesty and candor on his face. eddy was severely cross-examined by ):he counsel for the defense, but all his answers were plain and straightforward, and to the point. at length, thoroughly exasperated by this raking fire of cross cjuestions, he indignantly and stoutly, rfi fused to answer a single question more. and,^ amid the laughter of the audi ence, master eddy was pernrvitted to sit down. the girl betty was then called, who corroborated the evidence of eddy, as far as coming foi; the deceased was con cerned, and further identified the scarf f«;,*»"e the deceased he* vvopn>«n'-le«v^^ ihg home; ,=. ,< ..,„;",. the landlord of the inn was the next .witness summoned, who deposed thaa a stranger, answering,, to the descrif^tibn given of the murderer, had engaged a room in his house for the night; that half an hour previous tothe murdter he had hastily left the house and turned. ru,£*^ ^u^**^?"* **^ **^« ^^^ »^0"8e on the i^luff; that he had returned ip. great haste, and evidently much; excited, and drank a great deal of brandy; that upon the alarm of fire being given he had has tened out with the rest and that his al most frantic actions ba4 excited the wonder of several; that after the fire he (the witness) had hastened home; that he observed the assassin plunge into the woods and return to his house no more. j3elng cross-examined, he could not swear positively that the prisoner at the bar and the murderer were one and the same person, as he had not, during the night, procured a good view of his face; but he thought they were the same— their height was alike, the color of their hair, etc. . r _ several other witnesses were exam ined, but nothing more of importance was elicited, and the court was shortly after adjourned until the following day. -on the second day of the great trial, the crowd was even greater thap be fore—all eager to hear the fate of the prisoner. every eye was turned upon him as he entered. pale, but firm, his ^agle eye met the gaze of that crowd, all anxh)us for his condemnation, with out flinching, and, taking his seat, he lifted his princely head and fixed hjs dark eyes on the bench as calmly as though the men before him held not his life in their hands. when the last witness for the prosecu tion had been examined, the defense was taken up and conducted with great skill and eloquence by the counsel for the prisoner. he spoke at length upon the high character his client had always inaintaiiied, and eiilai ged on every ]b6lnt' that could possibly be in his favor. it was evident, however, his words made ' but little impression on the minds of the jury. • the counsel for the pi-osecution then arose, and summed up the testimony against the prisoner in one mighty, crushing mass of evidence. when the judge siood up to charge the jury,the silence of that mighty crowd was so deep that it might almost be felt. it was quite evident that in his mind there existed no doubt of the prisoner's guilt, and though he urged the jury to delib erate calmly upon the evidence, every one present ftit that the prigoher's doom wias sealedf^ . the jury withdrew to deliberate, and the silei>ce of that mighty crowd waa so profeuqd and ominous that it was pain 92 the hermit of the gliffb. ful to experience. every eye was di rected toward the prisoner, who, with his stately head erect, his proud, hand some face as cold and firni as marble. l)etrayed no sign of his feelings within. gus. noble, true-hearted gus. still stood faithfully by his side, his only remain ing friend, and looking fierce defiance at c-ery scowling glance directed toward fred d what were the feelings of those who in other days had stood by him, during those awful moments of sus pense'' sir william stanley, as stern and grim as death itself, sat with his lips compressed, his stony eyes fixed on the floor, his iron face expressing no emotion whatever. major percival sat, deadly pale, but with the old look of mingled hatred and triumph on his face. nugent's head was bowed on his hand, his face hidden by his falling hair. presently the jury re-entered. the foreman arose, and announced that their verdict was ready. one look at their sad, stern faces, and every heart stood still, knowing wen what was to come. the judge arose. "gentlemen of the jury, how say you, is the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?" "not guilty!" cried the clear, excited voice of a female, and. forcing her wa,y through the crowd that fell back in mingled fear and amazement, a young girl stood before the bench. throwing back the veil that hid her face, the newcomer turned' slowly round and the wonder-struck spectators beheld the pale but beautiful edith percival. chapter xxxi. edith's story. "then think of this maxim, and cast away sorrow, the wretched to-day may be happy to morrow!"' for a moment the profound silence of intense amazement held every tongue speechless, every voice silent, and the dense crowd stood motionless, spell bound! and then "edith! edith! edith percival!" rang out like the roar of the sf.a. the ei'.citement and uproar were fear ful; the judge sat transfixed; the jury gazed on her with mouths and eyes agape; the crowd reeled and swayed to see one who seemed to have risen from the grave to vindicate the prison er; the clerk of the court forgot to cry silence, and stood staring in speechless astonishment, like the rfest. and fred— the sudden revulsion of feeling, the unexpectfri sight of one he imagined in heaven, cam^ so. stunningly upon him, that, for a moment, the sight left his eyes, his senses reeled, and he leaned jiis head upon the railing, feeltng as though he shoulf faint. it was but for an instant — then all his wopderful power of self-control came back, and he lifted his head — almost fearing what he had seen and heard was but a delusion, a dream. but no.; there stood edith alive, lovely and radiant as when he first beheld her — her soft blue eyes beaming upon him. with such a look of deep, un utterable love. with a passionate exclamation, major . percival arose to his feet, and would have sprung toward his daughter, but as ^well might he have endeavored to. force his way through a wall of iron as through that madly excited crowd. nugent perceived how vain would be the effort, and, although almost delirious himself with overwhelming emotion, he strove to keep him back from the crush ing throng of human beings. but high above all the noise and up roar that filled the court-house, there arose a cry, a cry so full of unspeakable horror and despair that every heart stood still. ah eyes were turned in the di rection from whence it came, and there before them, like a galvanized corpse, stood ralph de lisle. okil such a ghast ly face, such livid lips flecked with blood and foam, such wild, despairing, horror-struck eyes! every face blanched with a deep, unspeakable awe as they gazed. "sheriff. i command you to arrest ralph 0e lisle, on charge of attempting the nurder of edith percival," called a calm, r*ommanding voice, that sounded strangely clear and cool amidall thai wild storm of passion and excitement, and, waving his arm to where stood the consclence-strickert man, tyie hermit of the cliffs turned toward the bench. ■ "never!" shouted de lisle, fiercely all his presence of mind returning with the imminence of his danger, as he struggled madly to force his way through the waving sea of beings be tween him and the door. but he struggled in vain. the, strong hand of the' officer grasped his colleti* in a grip of iron. "dog of a sheriff! release me!" he cried, foaming with rage, and endeavor ing to wrench himself from his powerful grasp. half a dozen willing hands were raised to aid the oflficer, when de lisle, seeing all hope was past, with the rapidity of lightning drew a pistol and leveled it at edith. she stood white and motion less, unable to move, while a low cry of horror arose from the spectators. but his murderous object failed ; for, as quick as thought, his arm was struck upward, while the nlstni fpii to the ground and went off. a shriek of pain followed, and a boy was raised from the floor bleed ing, and carried out— the ball having lodared in his .ankle. this 'did not tend to allay the feelings the hermit of the vliffh. 93 e feelings of the mob, who turned upon de lisle and would have torn him in pieces but for the interference of the officers. his arms, after a desperate resistance, were pinioned firmly behind his back; and, still struggling like a madman, he was borne to a place of safety. with the utmost difficulty, peace was at length restored, and edith was com manded to tell her story; and then the deepest silence followed where a moment before all had been fierce noise and wild uproar, and all ears were bent and necks strained to catch each word that fell from her lips. but edith was so weak and faint from excitement that her voice was inarticulate, a chair was brought fo^her, and a glass of water presented by gus. who, poor, faithful fellow, scarcely knew whether he ought to laugh or cry, and consequently did neither; and then, revived, edith turned to the bench and began: "i presume all here present know most of tht events of that night. oh, that dreadful night! i cannot 6ven now think of it without a shudder. "thinking i was to visit his sister, i accompanied the boy, eddy dillon, from home. forming some excuse, he per suaded me to go with him to the old house on the bluff. ae we ascended the hill the figure of a man wrapped in a cloak — his face hidden by his hat — stepped from the old house and stood be fore us. i imagined it to be frederic stanley, who that evening had been in the village; and, thinking he had em ployed the boy to lead me there for a clandestine interview. i addressed him by his name. he did not reply, but said something in a* whisper to eddy, who immediately ran away. still thinking it was fred, i followed him into the old house, and again called him by his name. still he w^as silent. i grew alarmed; when he dropped his cloak, and raised his hat, i saw before me my .»nortal enemy — ralph de lisle!" edith shuddered, and covered her face with her hands as memory conjured up that almost fatal night. "i was so shocked, so startled, so ter ror stricken, that for a moment i almost fainted. t scarcely know how i rallied, but i was inspired by sudden courage, and stood fearlessly before him. he urged me to fly with him or die. death was preferable to life with him, and i refused. blinded, nnaddened by my re fusal, he drew a dagger and plunged it into my side. dimly, as one remembers a frightful dream, i recollect falling to the ground; then i drew out the knife, and then all grew dark, and, witha dull, roaring st)und as of many waters in my ears, memory and life were alike for a time lost in oblivion. "when i again opened, my eyes i found myself lying in the little cottage among the cliffs, occupied by the aged hermit. for days i hovered between death and life, and, with a care for which i can never be sufficiently grateful, the hermit watched over me night and day. he scarcely ever left me, even for his nec essary repose; and, : ^ing to his care, i slowiv recovered. he said it would be dangeious to remove me home, and i was too weak and powerless to care where i was. as he never went out, we heard nothing of what was transpiring in the outer world, until yesterday, yield ing to my entreaties, he went to inform my parents that i was still alive. the first person he met related the arrest of mr. stanley, and informed him that he was to be tried for murdering me, to day. with almost frantic haste he tuined home and told me all; and, scarcely pausing to make the necessary arrangements, we started for this place, and, thank heaven! we have arrived in time to vindicate the innocence of fred eric stanley," edith paused and glanced with a look of unchangeable affection toward the spot where fred sat — his face alternate ly flushing and paling with powerful emotion. there was a moment's dead silence, and then a cheer that made the old court-house ring came from every excited 'heart. yes, in that moment a complete revulsion of feeling took place in every breast, fred's triumph was complete; and, with its usual impulsive considerateness, the mob as heartily re joiced in his innocence, as, a few mo ments previously, they had done in his guilt. "but how were you rescued?" said the judge, partaking of the universal ex citement. "this blank in your story" — "can be filled by me," interrupted the hermit, stepping forward. "on the night in question, passing accidentally— or rather by a dispensation of providence which men call chance — near the bluff, i beheld, to my surprise, a sudden jet of flame shoot up from a pile of rubbish. anxious to know the cause, i hastened up and entered the old barn. all was deserted and dreary around; and i was about to quit it and give the alarm when my eyes fell on an object lying at my feet that almost transfixed me with horror — that froze the very blood in my veins. ithere, lying cold and lifeless, bathed in blood, lay edith percival. in a moment the whole truth burst upon me. she had been murdered there, and the assassin had set are to* the house to conceal the evidence of his crime. should i leave her to perish in the flames? no; not if i died with her. an almost superhuman strength seemed to inspire me. i raised her lifeless form in my arms as though she had been an infant, and turned in the direction of the cliffs. at any other time the feat m the hermit of the cuffs. ii ! wquld ;have been impossible; but a strenirth not my own seemed suddenly ■ to have 'been granted to me, and ere rriornlrtg dawned we had reached my lit tle cottage in safety. i had imagined her dead; but, to my surprise and joy, i soon discovered signs of mfe. having a little knowledge of surgery, i examined the wound, and dis covered that, though dangerous, it was far from being mortal. i applied such rerifiedies as i knew to be good in such a case, and, in the course of a few days, she began to recover. i did not wish to tell her friends, knowing they -would dis turb her with visits, and perhaps insist on having her removed— a proceeding which i knew would be highly danger ous. the world callff me odd and eccen tric—perhaps this was oue of my eccen tricities; beside, i wished to have the pleasure of returning tc her family her whom they imagined dead. it never oc curred to me that any one but the real murderer would be arrested. judge, therefore, of my surprise, when the first time i left home i learned that frederic stanley had been arrested, and was about to be tried for her murder. i lost no time in hastening here — and here i am." • and then such another shout as rent the air! — the crowd seemed to have gone wild. then the court was adjourned, and the prisoner discharged; and edith went over and laid her hand in his, and looked up in his face with her love-beaming eyes. the friends of fred were now pressing around, to shake hands and congratu late him on his triumphant vindication. and first among them came gus, with "a smile on his lips. and a tear in his eye," and who shook fred's hand until it ached, and who squeezed edith's lit tle hand until her fingers tingled. then wary /was made for major percival and hiei son, the dense crowd opening right b,tid left tc allow tliem to pass. their meeting was not a very demonstrative one— it could not be in that crowded courtroom; but it was none the less heartfelt and deep for th*it. , "and fred, papa?" sa.id edith, gently. the face of the major grev/^ red with a flush of honest shame and embarrass ment, as he held out his hand. for a nmiment fred hesitated; all hus pride rose, as he recollected the many indigni ties he had received from the man be fore him. edith saw the struggle in his mind, and,* laying her hand on his arm, apd lifting her soft, reproachful eyes to his face, she said: "dear fred!" he qould not resist that witching glaiice. the next moment his hand grasped that of tixe major in the warm clasp of friendship. "and thus do i atone for the pa'st," 3aid, the major, placing the hand of edith in that of fred. ih that moment the past — all its wrongs, and sorrows, and sufferings was forgotten. that instant of bliss more than compensated him for the troubled, stormy past. there was one other whose eyes fell on that scefte. ralph de lisle, pinioned like a malefactor, and led out between two officers, saw it as he passed. he gnashed his teeth in impotent rage; and his eyes, in their frenzied despair, glared upon them like the burning orbs of a tiger; such a look of undying hate and fierce anguish lucifer might have worn when cast from heaven. his livid lips opened to heap curses upon them, but words refused to come. his face grew black and convulsed — his oyes turned in their sockets— he reeled, and would have fallen to the ground, had nut the otficefs supported him in their arms. as they raised him frpm the ground, a dark stream of blood flowed from his mouth. in his agony of rage and de spair, he had ruptured a blood vessel. they bore him off to prison, while the spectators gazed on horror-struck. faint and sick, edith hid her face on her brother's shoulder with a shudder. "let us go," .said nugent, turning away, pale with horror, as he passed his arm around his sister's waist, to lead her from the room. "you will accompany us, of course?" said the major, in an imperative tone to fred, who glanced at edith, and bowed, with a smile. "and you, too," added the major, turning to the hermit, whose eyes were fixed, as if fascinated, on sir william stanley, as, borne along by the swaying rush, he was approach ing them. , " "no," said the hermit, gravely; "my task is ended, and i must return home." "oh, pray, come with us,*' said edith, | eagerly; "you will be much happier, i am sure, than living all alone among those dreary cliffs." but the hermit only shook his head, and steadily refused. finding entreaties vain, they turned to go out, when, unable to extricate him self from the crowd, sir william stan ley stood directly beside them. all paused in momentary expectation. fred's cheek fiushed and his heart throbbed as he caught his father's eye. he would have held out his hand, but the baronet's stem look forbade it. lift ing his hat to edith, he bowed coldly to the rest, and passed on, with the same look of iron inflexibility hds hard face alway» wore. suddenly his eye fell on the hermit, who was half hidden behind the tall figure of fred. he gave a sud den start, as though he had received a galvanic shock-yhis face grew deadly -vrhite, and then deepest crinison, as he the hermit of the clifeh. 95 plunged into the crowd and disappeared. a carriage was in waiting to convey the party to percival hall. the hermit, in spite of their united entreaties, per sisted in refusing to accompany them, and at the door bade them farewell. the major, edith, nugent, fred and gub therefore entered and were soon on their way home. they traveled slowly, for edith was still weak, and the next day, about noon, they arrived at the hall. who can describe the meeting that there ensued? joy seldom kills; and though ttie shock nearly extinguished the slight spark oi life that yet lingered in the breast of mrs. percival, she slowly be gan to recover. as for 'nell, her first im pulse was to embrace every one present, which she accordingly did, to the great disgust ol gus— who wouid have been inlinitely better pleased to have received them all himself. that young lady re mained quite serious for a day or two, but after that she became the same in corrigible she had been beforef and ous, 'jriven to desperation, declared that, of all thp trials his friend had been afflicted with he had never to endure so severe a trial ad nell percival. chapter xxxn. "the wages of sin is death.'' "burning heart and beating brow i ye are very quiet now " — e3. b. browning it wfts-night, dark, chill and dismal, the rain pattered with spectral fingers against the grated windows, the wintl moaned and wailed drearily without. in his cold, flreless cell, sat the once gay and handsome ralph de lisle. dark and wild was the storm without, and darker and wilder was the heart within his bosom, , his face v.'as blanched to the hue of death, and looked still whiter, contrasted with his heavy black locks. he wias half reclining on his wretched bed— lying so still, so motionless, that (me alight have thought him dead, but tor the fierce living light blazing in his ^vild black eye^. it was wonderful how he could lie there s6 immavabie, with such a fire in his heart; the burning fire of remorse. all his life seemed passing in review liefore him, and he alniost shuddered to himself, so young in years, yet so old in clime. his part in the drama of life was over; and the world would go round as though he had never existed. he felt like a man who has staked his all on the gaming-table, and lost. the world had beeti to him a chessboard, and men and women had moved as he willed; but an unseen though powerful hand had t>een plftying against him; another had won, and ralph de .lisle was check mated in the great game of life. like gome dark panoriij|ia, all the events uf his life were still passing be fore him. he thought of the past— of his boyhood with all it.s bright prom ises, high hopes, and glorious delusions. how easy ail those noble projects seemed of realization then, but, like the mirage of the desert, one by one they had faded away at his approach. his radiant day-dreams had all set in a sea of blood and crime, and he had gone down, down, in his rapid career of crime, not daring to look liack at the height from which he had fallen. and then came his visions of that bright land of light and roses where edith reigned queen, and once more he seemed wan dering with her through the dim aisles of the grand old wood, and watching, with his old feeling of adoration, the • gulden sunlight falling on her flowing hair. his prison walls stretched away, and he saw himself standing in the lofty rooms of percival hall, with edith blushing and smiling beside him. his be trothed bride. he saw her so vividly be fore him with her sunny smile, and her blue, love-beaming eyes sinking beneath his, that the almost forgotten lov6 of other days c3me back, and with the ir repressible cry, "oh. edith! my hope! my dream! my life!" he stretched out his arms, almost expecting to enfold the radiant vision before him. it faded away in thin air, and he awoke with a start from the tiance into which he was falling the past was gone; he could think of it no longer. and the present! could this be he, ralph de lisle, the high born, the haughty— this convicted felon? had all his daiing projects, his bold schemes, from which less reckless minds would have shrunk — all his fearless deeds, come to this at last? he had trampled the solemn commands of god and the slavish laws of men alike under his feet; he had committed crimes that no other would have dared to contem plate, until he had begun to fancy him self above punishment. he had gone on so long in his reckless career of crime with impunity, that he ha,d forgotten a day of reckoning must yet come; now he realized it at length. he could have made his escape after the diabolical crime had been perpetrated, but some power within chained him to the spot. he felt sure fred stanley would be con victed, and then his triumph would be complete. after the execution of hfs rival, his intention was to return to en^ land, and in god-forgetting london lost the recollection of the past. but all his projects had fallen to the ground with a crash; she whom he imagined dead was clasped in the arms of his hated foe, and her stem father smiled on their union ; a life of happiness was before them — and he was here. what had the future in store for: him? his trial was soon to come, and he saw i *v .# 96 the hermit of the gliff». 4 'av\ \% the eyes of the crowd fixed upon him in hatred and derision. they whom if at liberty he would have spurned under. hi« feet, could now point to him in acorn as the foiled aasassin. if the law found him guilty and he was condemned— he . shuddered as the gallows and all the fearful paraphernama of a felon's death rose before him. vh<^ maddened crowd, glaring at him with their savage eyes, and ready to tear him limb from limb as they attempted to do in the court house. and hia rival, his mortal enemy, would be there to i&xvilt over his ig nominious death. but his life might be saved! true, he was as much si murderer as though his victim had perished in the burning tiouse; but the law mijrht not find him fed. and if he was spared, what then? a long lift lime of drudgery among fel? ons, the lowest of the low, until death would place him in the convict's de spised grave! those hands, small and white as a wo man's, must -grow, hard and coarse with unceasing toll; and he, de lisle, born to v?eaith and honor, mvist herd with thieves and murderers for the remainder of his life* the picture grew too horrible to be longer endured. he sprang from his bed, with the perspiration standing in great beaded drops on hia brow — his hand clenched until the nails «ank into the quivering flesh— his eyes bloodsliot and glaring— ^an expression of horror un uittefable on his ghastly face! oh, ii) that moment, how fearful 'vas the mad -denjhg storm of pabsion in hia guilty heart! ~a.-ltf€tinie of agony seemed con centrated into -each second as. it passed; the blb<?»d seemed to pour like molteh. lead tfttough every vein, a wheel of .fire seemedoraishing through his btailn} his vety ejres seemed like red-hot halls of fire.' ' ■' ■■ • ' ■"■• he strode 4ip and down like a maniac, i and, apringhifif to the window, shook th^ irpn . bars with the . fierce strength of n(iadne9s.! . his , hands were cut and bleedjiiff, but he heeded it not, ds he struggled like a caged tigeito wrench them away. . au in valh! the strong grating resisted all his efforts, iand he i feh beavjly with his face on the stone floor. , ^lib head struck on something aharp. and the blood rained .down from a «:ash in his forehead. he pressed hia hand to the wound, and gazed op the flpwing blood vvtth a smile that might hav^^cwlted the atoute^ heart.* v , "never shall they;«ao.-degrade ralph de leslie! "he. shouted, springing to his feet. 'g3»is night , the trage^dy shall be com plptefl, and. the gaping mob cheated of its "victlfh! 'dk) i not hold ftiy life in niy 6;k'ii hahast and shall 1 live tt> b^i. cqi^e a n;^t^ for the finger of scorn to , . potnt'^ at ? never ! to 'this world, ^wtth all u« drealina &nd delusions: to sun, and* moon, atid stsirs, i win this night ' bid adieu. ere morning dawns this body, and the spirit it contains, will have sunk into nothingness." into nothingness! was it a dream, or was it the mocking laugh of a fiend that rang through the lonely cell? "eternity! eternity!" he said, passing his hand across his clammy brow; "can it be that what preachers tell us is true, and that there really is any hereafter? my mother taught me so once — my mother! fiend that i am, dare i mention her sa cred name? well, in a few moments i will have solved that problem, ahd have* learped the mystery that no living man can ever know," . he walked to th6 window and listened. how the driving rain beat against that little casement; how the wind howled and roared! it seemedto hinj like the voice of the destroyer, shouting im patiently for his prey. from the black pall of night that no eye could penetrate white, spectral faces seemed gleamlngr. mocking him with their deriding lau^h-^ ter. he turned away; amid the war of the elements and the roar of tixe tempest should his dark, crimson-atained soul go forth. ; ~ v • the storm passed away with the morn ing's dawn. the bright isummer sun shine was streaming gloriously through the window whien the jailer entered, and there, right in the glow of the blei^ed sunlight, hung the convulsed form of ralph de lisle— deiad by his own hand. of all the .sights which the suii rose upon, it looked on none more 'tearful than that. without the. prispn walls, the stream of busy life, fio wed tnaeijtrily ! on; the bride stood at the aitar, the. roan of buainesa hurried by. and fieople talked ;ahi9 laughed aa though despair wa« a wor« unknown; and withui, stark and cola in tjie glare of the, aunllght. lay the rigid form of the dead man, his face upturned to the sky, and staring wide open were the glassy eyes . that leaver would look on aught in this world again! : chapter xxxiil /\ ■ a staiitwno diacoyibfif; ; ;" "^s^ ^^^ through all my life it stwked, that deadly, deadly sin! " -'f though"^' erao fair the outside mirth, the spectre sat within." ; ,, i must a$e hitti 'be "go, elva, go! fore i die!" . '"ohi father, liaten to the ajtorm! how can i go out to-night!'' "qirlj i tell you i in»at sae -him— j mwst! do you jiear? even though fi're wfefe failing from heaved y0u shdtild have to go forth, and biiiig wiii to me!*' ■ but, felther, i know ijot wheirii*he la! j, ^'^m ^ave the »t<^;.:i3«ip j^ inay ale here bexoure i;,r«stisi3»i,''. ' v^ * "i cannot ^hl^^lwmriof die before r: ■ k' the hermit ot' the vufk'ii, 07 his body, have sunk dream, op fiend that 3, passing fow; "can us is true, after? my mother! >n her sa loments i an.d have* vldg man 3 listened, linst that howled n like the itlng im the black penetrate, gieaminir. ng lau^h le wa,r of e t^npest ined soul the morn nier suh< 7 through ered, and le blesbed form of wn. hand. suii rose •e • tearful oil walls, atjnefj-uy ; litar, the. , ad .'immple'-' 1 despair iln, stark jaunlight. man, his 1 staring j^s that ills world • *s. :' bit^ked, ■■' • '' mtrth, ' ' .'.• ■ . ■ fiitii «*)e lav how > j»jm— j ugh ^flre 1 shotild to me!" **he is! fmi may you return!" almost screamed i*aul snowe, tossing in wild delirium on his pillow. "go and find sir william stan ley, i tell you.' and bring him here to nie. i cannot (lie untill have seen him." it was that same tempestuous night on which ualph de lisle had breathed his last; and now his accomplice in crime, paul snowe, lay wounded unto death. strange that, on the same night, i»oth should be doomed to die.. he lay in the little room of the inn, near perclval hall. it was the same iiouse in which de lisle had planned the murder of edith a few weeks before. perhaps the recollection of that night added to his delirium, as he tossed on his bed in feverish agony. a week before, as he loitered round the village, bound by some unaccount able fascination to the place of the sup posed murder, he had been stabbed in a drunken brawl. finding his days were numbered, he had caused them to send for his daughter, elva, who had arrived a, few hours before. troubled and anxious, elva threw her cloak over her shoulders, and, tying o« her hood, hurried out into the driving i'aln. as she passed out, she encountered the bijrly landlord, who gazed at her as though, he had seen a ghost. "jerusalem!" he ejaculated, in ama,ze ment, "you ain't going out anywhere in this storm, miss snowe?" "can you tell me where sir william stanley is to be found?" inquired elva, hurriedly. "well, no, i rayly can't; but his son lives up at perclval hall. likely he can. tell you." "perclval hall!" said elva, with a start. "does it belong to major percl val?" "yes'm."' /'has hie a daughter-, edhh?" inquired lijlva, with increased agitation; •^yes^m," agaiti responded mine host, looi^ngrather surprised at the emo tion she manifested. "edith! dear miss edith!" exclaimed the impulsive eiva, in a sort of rapture, as she darted out into the blinding storm. , ^ "weui i never," said the jolly land lord, epening his eyes in amazement, un til they resembled two midnight moons. in a moment she was back again, and by his side. "cattvyou tell me which way i must go. tp reaeh percival hall?" she asked, breathlessly. ' * "yes'm. keep on straight for a spell, then turn to the right and take the for est road. mind, and don't go the other way, or you'll break your neqk over the oliffs. tdu'd better let. me send jemmy along with • you to show you the way, cftiise— oh! sfce's gone! -^ she's a qu^r oijci "am ho;au8take,r' t^ald the ^^o^|| landlord, hastening to raise up the spir its of his guests by pouring his own spirits down. meantime elva pursued her lonely way through the driving rain and blinding' storm, toward percival hau. almost hy ing along in her haste to reach it. i scarcely know whether it is proper to tell a young lady's thoughts or not; but certain it is that, though edith occupied a prominent place in her mind, edith's brother occupied a still more promi nenter (i don't know whether that's ac cording to webster, or not). but elva, bewildered by the storm, her own thoughts, her haste, and the strangeness of the place, forgot the landlord's directions, and took the road leading to the cliffs. f^v, s^? went, ."tumbling £irid sllppirig over rod :■ end crags, at the irnininent danger of break ing her neck, suddenly, the fiash of a light caught her eye, and, walking in that direction, she soon found ht&rself before the home of the hermit of the cliffs. elva rapped loudly, and a mo ment after the door was. opened, and the hermit himself stood before her, holding a lamp in his hand, the full light of which fell on his imposing figure. with a half -suppressed scream of mingled terror and surprise at this sin gular apparition, elva turned to fly, when she was arrested by the mild, kind voice of the hermit: "fear not, riiy daughter; the hermit of the cliffs is the friend of all man kind." elva paused and stood hesitating. "come in out -of the storm^, my ehtldi it is a wild, night for a young girl like you to be abroad.'' reassured by his friendly words, and wishing to know more of this strange looking personage, elva,' who wa^ nat urally ooiirageous, entered the cottagre. . she glahced curiously around, but there was nothing very singular about it. it was fitted yp as any other oom njon room .might have been, and was singularly neat and clean. "now, my* child, what can i do for you?" asked the hermit, in his grave, pleasant tones. . "i started for perciva hall," an swered elya, "and, bein* a stranger herie, i lost my way; and, guided by the light of your lamp, i wandered here and sought, admittance." ; "you had better stay here until morn ning," said the hermit; "the night is too stormy for yoii to venture abroad."' . "oh, nof icainnpt. my father is dying, and i cannot rest until he sees sir will iam stanley. imust hasten to perclval hall immediately, if you wiu be kllid -erioiigli,to show me the way." "sir wiuiain stanley, did i un4ersta|id. ypm. ta jpay?" .sauol the hermit, with a .athja^a slart...,. ..'.■.. ■\.. ,:'l the uekmit of the vliefh. hi : l's' if "yt's. perhaps you can tell me where to find him." "who is your father, child?" asked the hermit, without heeding her ques tion. "his name is paul snowe," replied elva. "what!" exclaimed the hermit, almost i oundlng from the floor. "his name is paul snowe," repeated i:iva, drawing back in surprise and alarm. "good heavens! is it possible!" said the hermit, deeply excited. "and are you paul snowe's daughter?" "yes. sir," said the astonished elva. "what is your name?" "elvena snowe." "elvena! elvena!" repeated the her mit. "can there be two elvena snowe's jn the world?" • "sir, i must go," said felva, in alarm, beginning to think him insane. "wait one moment, and i will go with you," said the hermit, cloaking himself with wonderful celerity. "can it be that t will see paul snowe yet once again be fore i die?" they . passed out, and the hermit turned in the direction of the inn, hold ing elva firmly by the hand. "but i must go to percival hall," said p]lva, drawing back. , "why?" ."to see sir william stanley." "he is not there, child!" "his son is, then, and he can tell me where to find him. i must go," said elva, wildly. "his son knows no more of his where abouts than you do, elvena. believe me, it is impossible for you to find him to-night. if paul snowe wishes any thing, i will do as well as william stan ley. do not hesitate," he added, as elva still hung back; "i repeat, it is utterly impossible, for you to find him to-night. come." elva felt convinced that he spoke the truth, and, seeing no alternative, she allowed him to draw her on, inwardly dreading to meet her father without the man for whom she had been sent. on reaching the inn, the hermit de manded to be at once shown to the chamber of the sick man. as they en tered, paul snowe half raised himself on his elbow, .and glared at them with his inflamed eyes. "elva, is it you?" he cried. "have you brought sir william stanley? ha! who are you?" "your best friend, paul snowe," said the hermit, advancing to his bedside. "i should know that voice. who are you?" "men call me the 'hermit of the cliff,' )iut you knew me by another name once," was tki^ answer. "and sir william stanley, where is he, elva? elva, did you not bring him?" exclaimed the wounded man, in an agony of alarm. "my friend, you cannot see him. sir william stanley is many a mile from here. you will never meet him in this world again, for your hours are num bered. anything you wish to tell him, confide in me, and, believe me, he shall hear it." "can i— dare i tell you? you will not have me arrested?" said the invalid, wildly. "no, my friend; you are beyond the reach of human laws. speak, and fear not." "men say you are good and generous," said paul, tossing restlessly; "therefore, since it cannot be helped, i will tell you. elva, leave the room. listen; what 1 have to say concerns her." "your daugliter, elva?" "she is no daughter of mine; neither is her name elva. i stole her when a child. her name is leila stanley!" he fixed his eyes on the hermit's face, to see what effect this announcement would have; but, beyond one sudden, convulsive start, he betrayed no emo tion. "go on," he said, after a pause. ^ "to tell why i stole her, it will be necessary to go back in my history, 1 once had a sister — her name waa elvena — whom i , loved as i never loved any other human being in this world. she grew up a beautiful girl/the pride and belie of our village; but in an evil hour she -met sir william stanley. he was young and handsome in those days, and she soon learned to love him. he pre tended to return her affection; and, un der an assumed name, he wooed and won her. she became his wife — little dreaming she had wedded a baronet. well, i must hurry on, for i feel that i have but a few moments to live. , he used to go to england, undei pretense of business, and, on one of these occa sions, he married again some high-born lady. he had grown tired of his first wife, for he was always a heartless vil lain; but he wanted his son (th^y had one child). he came and forcibljr fore him away, and departed for englah'd. i don't know what story he told lady stanley about the child; probably that he had been married, and that hii) wife was dead, or some other convenient lie. 1 was absent at the time, but <vhen i returned i learned what had hapt»ened — that my sister had gone crazy aiid wan dered off, and, as we afterward teamed, died in a distant village. i swore a fearful oath of vengeance, and that oatlt has been kopt^^ years passed <ixi befofe x could go to elngland and seek out .thy sister's murderelr. 1 foun^'liim otif at last, and learned that htf had ahother the htjrmir of the vllft'h. fherp ib him?" in an |msir »«^ fiom jn this num ?ll him, le shall /111 not |in valid. fnd the id fear m child — a daughter, whom both he ana lady f^tanley almost idolized. he had stolen eilvena'8 child from her, and so caused her death. he should suffer as she had done — he, too, should know what it was to lose a child; and one day, when she was out playing, i carried her cff. "my first intention had been to kill little leila, but i could not do it. as you may imagine, there was a mighty up roar* made almut sir william stanley's child being kidnapped; the whole coun try was aroused, but i eluded them all. r had a friend — the mate of a small trading-vessel, and his wife consented to take care of the little lady. . i gave her my dead slater's name, and, as leila grew up, she -forgot she ever had any other parent but me. i brought her here, and, after a time, fell in with ralph de lisle; and joined his reckless band of licensed cutthroats. "but during all those years undying remorse for what i had done haunted me day ahd night. lady stanley had died shortly after her child's loss; and, when i heard of it, i felt as though i were a murderer. do what i would, rea son as i pleased, my accusing conscience slept not. i was not one to inspire af fection, but i think elva really likes me. i grew fond of the child myself, but i never could endure her caresses; for at such times the recollection of what i had done would rush upon me with double force, and i would think how she would shrink from me in horror did she know to what i had reduced her — the heiress of a baronet. "in after years, i met sir william stanley's son. loving my sister as i did, it may seem strange to you i did not love her child also; but i hated him for his father's sake. he was once im prisoned by de lisle, and liberated by elva, who little dreamed she was liber ating her own brother. "as i toid you, my undying remorse gave me no rest, and i resolved at last to tell sir william stanley what i had done, and then, if possible, fly the coun try. but the hand of providence over took me, and my tale of crime has been reserved for my death -bed confession. "the dress elva wore the day i stole her is in yonder chest," continued the dying man, pointing faintly in the direc tion; "also, a small locket containing her mother's portrait. if anything further is needed to establish her identity, there is a peculiar mark on her arm that can not be mistaken, and will set at rest all doubts. and now, thank heaven, my story is ended, and justice has been done at last. it is said that you have great po?ver over sir william stanley; there for^, y^u will have no trouble in induc ing , mm to helleve nriy dying words." "litiub it is that heaven ever oonfounds i the wicked, and brings hidden things of darkness to light. thus it is that jus tice shall be nmdered unto all men at last, .said the hermit, clasping his hands soli'rnnly. 'that voice!— that voice!" said paul snowe, raising himself wildly on the pil low. "has the grave given up its dead? are you a man or a being from the world of spirits? (jreat heaven, are you"— ere the hermit could speak, the fear ful death-rattle resounded through the room. he clutched the air convulsively, his eyes grew fixed and glassy, and, falling heavily back on his pillow— all was over! chapter xxxiv. at last. ^. "all's well that eiid.s well." half an hour passed away in the chamber of death ere the hermit moved. he sat gazing still and silent, on the rigid form before him, wondering, per haps, how such tierce passions could have existed in that clay-cold form. then he arose, and, opening the door, ijeckoned elva to enter. awed by the expression of his face, she stole softly into the room, and approached the bed. as her eyes fell upon the rigid figure stretched upon it, she sprang back with a wild cry of grief. for, with all his faults, and notwith standing all his cruelty, elva had really loved paul snowe. he had been the only friend and protector she had ever known, and with a passionate exclam ation, "oh, father— father!" she fell on her knees by the bedside and hid her face in her hands. "my child, grieve not," said the her mit, laying his hand on her head, "paul snowe was no father of thine." she arose and stood before him, with parted lips and wonder-dilated eyes. "not my father?" she said. "who, then, is?" "sir william stanley." she did not speak, but stood still, re garding him with such a wild, startled look of incredulity and amazement that he hastened to explain. "sir william stanley had wronged him, and to revenge himself, he stole his only daughter. your name is not elva snowe, but leila stanley." "and this was why -he implored me so wildly to bring him sir william stan ley?" said elva, in a low, breathless tone, almost bewildered by this sudden announcement. "it was; he could not die in peace un til he had confessed what he had done. and now that you know how deeply he has wronged you, can you forgive him?" elva was, gazing sadly and intently on the death-cold form before her. at the 106 ttn: hermit of tuk cliffs. w\ f f ■';i hermlt'h muehtwin. she looked up and nald. earnehtly: "forklve him? oh, yeh. eh i hope to be forgiven. but this heenih 8«» strange —ho improbable— bo like an loastern ro irtame cnn it be that 1 really have a father living?" . „ u •'and a l)n)ther. likewise. you have i«een fred stanley?" •yth— yes; i have seen him. he is tall and dark and handsome as a prince. and he is my brother! some thing drew me toward him from the lh>t; but 1 never, never could have imafeined anything so wild as this! he is somewhere, near this, is he not?" "ypb; at percival hall." •sham i see him to-night?" "no; it were better not. the last re inalns-^rf paul snowe must be consigned to the grave first. for a day or two you will remain with me, and then all hhall be revealed." • ••*•••• "what god has joined together, let no man put asunder." the great drawing-room of percival hall was ablaze with light. from base ment to attic the house was crowded with guests, assembled from far and near, to witness the nuptials of major percival's daughters. fredand gus, looking excessively happy, and very unnecessarily hand some, stood before the venerable clergy man, who, in full canonicals and im posing dignity, pronounced the words that made them the happiest of men. edith and nell, radiant with smiles and white satin, blushes and orange-flowers, stood by their side, promising dutifully to "love, honor and obey;" although, if the truth must be told, nell hesitated a little before she could promise the lat ter. suddenly the door was flung open, and in a pompous tone, the aristocratic but ler announced: "sir william stanley." had a bomb exploded in their midst, greater consternation could not have appeared on every face present, as sir william, pale, wild, excited and agitat ed, stood before them. 'this is an u-nexpected pleasure. sir william," said major percival, advanc ing with extended hand. "my daughter — my daughter! la she here?" demanded the baronet, wildly. "your daughter?" said major percival, in surprise. "if you mean edith" — "no, no, no, no! i mean my own child —my long-lost leila!" "can he be deranged?" said the major, turning to fred with a look of alarm. "i am not mad— read that!" said sir william, handing the major a note. "go to percival hall," it said. "this night you shall hear of your lost daugh ter, leila," 'it is from the mysterious hermit of the cliffs," said the major, in astonish ment. "what can he mean?" "what he says," said a ealm, elear voice that made them all htart as they turned and beheld the hermit in their midst. "my daughter— my leila — what of her?" exclaimed sir william, striding forward. "behold her!" said the hermit, step ping back, and every eye turned to the slight, girlish figure behind him. "elva snowe!" exclaimed a half dozen voices simultaneously, while the baronet started back suddenly at the name. "not elva snowe, but leila stanley," paid the hermit, drawing her forward. "on his death-bed, paul snowe confessed he had stolen her, and resigned her (o jtie. this trinket was on her person when stolen. probably you recollect it, sir william." "yes — yes; it was i who placed it on her neck; but, if leila, she bears on her arm a singular mark" — "look." said the hermit, pushing up her sleeve, and exposing a little crimson heart; "are you convinced now?" "my child— my child!" exclaimed sir william, clasping in his arms the shrink ing elva. "thank heaven. i have found you at last." amazement held every one silent. but the hermit advanced and said: "you have found one child, and the other"— "shall be mine likewise," interrupted the baronet, approaching fred, "if he can forgive the past." "willingly, joyfully, my dear father!" said p'red, grasping his hand while tears sprang to his dark eyes. "and elva— leila rather — may i claim a brother's privilege?" he added, pressing his mus tached lip to her blushing brow. "and now for a still more surprising discovery," said sir william, turning with much agitation toward the hermit. "on this joyful occasion it will not do to have one cloud marring our festivity. if you can forgive me for the great wrong i have done you, we may see many happy days together yet." for a moment the hermit hid his face in his hands, while his whole frame quiv ered with powerful emotion. then, rais ing his head, to the amazement of all present, he removed his flowing white hair and his long beard. his large, flow ing robe fell from his shoulders, and lo! a pale, stately, dark-haired woman stood before them. wonder chained every tongue. sir william stanley sprang forward and clasped her in hia arms, exclaiming pas sionately: "my wife — my wife — my own elva'" "good heaven! sir william stanley; njlj lllumll ol' lilk iutl,y. lui lat (,t • btt'j). to the \'. hut mt'aiih all this?" exclaimed major ivr.lval, flndltik his tuiirue at laht. "it nieanh," hald hlr wllliain, iuihimk ills head proudly, "that this lady in my tlrbt, my only wife, elvena snowe. i)«m'i> ly have i wronged her, but i shall strive to atone for it, by a public ronfession to-night. when i forcibly toulc her son from her, yonder youth, she waw for a lime deranged and wandered away from the village of her birth. after a time a report went forth that she was dead. hhe heard it, when sanity partially re turned, and resolved never to return to the spot where she had suffered so much. she found a cottage deserted iimong the wild cliffs, and resolved to make her home there. afraid that some one would recognize and bring her back, with the cunning of partial derange ment, she disguised herself as you have ween, and for years lived on alone, until she learned to love the dreary spot. when the war commenced i came here, and was followed by my son. she heard of it, and, unknown herself, she deter mined to watch over her son. i, as you all know, had condemned him to die. at the eleventh hour she came, and by disclosing who she was, saved his life. i believed her, for the time, to be a being from the world of spirith, and tlu» shock und surprise were ho great that i mi)ari'd my hon. afterward we mot. und she tt>ld .me all: but pride would not allow me to contuhh to the world my guilt. kut now since leila has been so miraculously restored, i van trample pride and the opinion ;)f the world uii iler foot, and proclaim the »)ii( •• hermit of the ('llffs my wife, in the face of heaven and earth!"' a month later, sir william and lady stanley were bounding over the blue waves to "merrie england." they went not alone, for leila, now mis. nugent pentlval. and her liusbund,. her. edith and guh and nell land thty loved best. farewell. we have long, but notliing can last forever. all thingh must have a close, and the charactcis who have passed before you must disappear from your view at last. i, too, must go from your sight— for the daylight is dying out of the sky, anil my task* is ended. i trust, however, we may meet again, rrnic knd.l accompanied fred and dwelt in the • * and now, reader. journeyed together vt " i-*s« •*■' \ "i'f-x..*:^.* • • <\ •«. 'i:=..'» 'ivv * '^ . .,--r..t.»iv >x^v ' .■-.-.• •r"*",!! ii«. ■■-i? ». >v*y "f, , ^••'. tv 4 *,m'--rt^-*.»^: ■.^•^y((.7-; i ;■?..,, -v ■■■ ■if.^^,,-_ tl sis ter of charity. by mrs. may agnes fleming, author of a wonderful woman," "a terrible becrei,-' " the mystery al jiiacknmod granqe •• ^ "sir n.el'8 heir," etc., etc. ' 'she was once a lady of honor an>^. wealth jjright glowed on her features the roses of health; her vesture was blended of silk and of gold, and her motion shook perfume from every fold. joy revelled around her, love shone at her side, and gay was her smile, as the glance o{ a bride. and light was her step in the mirth sounding hall, avhen she heard of the daughters of vin cent de paul." q. ghifpkn. this was my first visit to the city. all my life had been spent in a quiet coun try farmhouse^ far removed from the noise and bustle and din of the outer world. the most exciting events of my life were my first parasol and my first beau. so it will not be wondered at that i was completely bewildered with de light at the ever-varying scenes and faces i met in my new home. there was a vast difference between passing my eveninga quietly knitting, or sewing, or reading, as i had formerly done, and go ing each night to balls, and parties, and concerts, and operas, as i did now. among the many new acquaintances i made there, there was one who particu larly struck me from the first. this was a young lady, the only child and heiress of a southern millionaire, the reigning beauty and belle of the city. no queen on her throne could receive tho homage of her subjects more proudly than did alma vernon; and, truly, no queen could look more regal than she. i close my eyes and see her now standing before me, as 1 did the first night we met; her gorgeous robe of purple velvet sweeping the carpet with its rich folds; her dia mond necklace and cross flowing in a blaze of light around her snowy neck, and flashing like imprisoned sunbeamn from her ears and on her fingers. a glit tering circlet of gems enclasped her long, silky, jet-black tresses, that would per sist in eoquettishly breaking from their \ imprisonment, and fiow in long spiral ringlets on her neck. i think she was the proudest girl i ever knew. how gloriously her splendid : oriental eyes ^ould kindle, and. her beautiful lip ^ ill sarcastically, as she i listened with scornful indifference to the i prettily-turned compliments ever poured in her ear by he!" admiring train of fol lowers. i used to stand ^n some distant corner and watch her for hours together with a sort of subdued rapture; she evinced over me a sort of i^trauge fascination, for which i cannot account. of me, she never took any not.'ce. i was too small and insignificant; i was only one among the countless numbers who regarded her as a being belonging to a higher sphere. among the most devoted of her fol lowers there was one, a dashing young ofllcer, the handsomest man i have ever seen. captain travers seemed in every way fitted for the peerless "flower of the south/' as she was called. rich, handsome, distingue, of an old and aris tocratic family, . there seemed nothing likely to impede the course of his woo ing; and the world was not surprised when it was announced that captain travers and the "flower of the south" were engaged. about this time, matters over which i had no control rendered it necessary i should leave home for another land. i departed in the hope of speedily return ing again to witness the nuptials that were soon to take place. but fate or dered it otherwise; and three yeam elapsed ere i again set foot on my natir^ i •ft!'. " 10 tz/b 8i&tbr of charity. j'o' i: \' ui!' f ji ghore. my lirst inquiry was for my old friends, arid ariiorig the i'est for alma vernon; but. to my surprise, no one knew anything of her. she had left the city shortly after my departure, accom panied by captain travers, and since then had not been heard of. all my en deavors to iearn further were in vain. i could hear nothing more of her. one day 1 repaired to the house ceu pled by the sisters of charity, being anxious to place a -poor, friendless or-, phan under the charge of the good sis ters. my business concluded, i arose. to go, when the isuperior, noticing the curi osity with which i eyed -tihe chapel— jwhich i could see from thie parlor where we were^-said: ;, 'perhaps, miss, you would like to see the chapel? if ibo, vespers will com ihence presently, and we will be happy to have you remain."'. "' . ^; ., ' . , .. \. having eagerly signified 'the pleasure it would give me to do so, ifollowed the nun to the chapel. the profound still ness that reigned here, the perfume of the flowers with which it was adorned, :ihe beautiful pictures and statues afotind, made the place seem very lovely indeed. involuntarily i fell to speculait ing oil the lives the nuns must lead, and wondering if be'ng confined here was not terribly irksome, when a lay sister en tered to light the candles on the altar— aisckttiolics always do before service. in a few moments after, the nuns entered in procession, two by tw<^ and noiseless ly took their, places. suddenly i started; i'almost exclaimed aloud,as, amid the numerous black-robed figures that glid ed past me. i beheld the tall, graceful form and beautiful face of the '/flower of the south," alma vernont .. ^1 /< like one in a dream. i saw her take her^ place at the organ to sing vespers. for a moment i fancied my eyes were deceiving me. altna vernon— the heir ess, the beauty, and bene— a nuril the thought was bewildering, and yet she it was! there could be no mistaking that pale, but still ^exquisitely lovely face— rovelier. i fancied, than i l.td ever seen ij; before; for the old scornful, sarcastic look of ipride was gone, leaving in its place one of calm, earnest, heartfelt peace, which cannot be descfi'bed', but which those who l�ve seoji nu^s can un^ .derstand. yes. there she stood': the veil vet robes exchanged fw her black nun's; dress; her diamonds gone, and in th«lr place' a rcjsary "aad ciructfii ;" tlftr ikjuig^, silken curls shorn off. and their place supplied by her long black veil— tbe badge of her eternal separation from the world. ^ there was something, i thought, al most seraiphic in her face, as with the others she cha;nted the "evening hymn to the virgin." when the vespers con cluded, she flitted past like a shadow among the rest, and disappeared. it was one of the lay sisters who came to show me out. so there was no oppor tunity of having my curiosity concerning her gratified. 1/ stepped out, the heavy door closed behind me« and i shuddered as i heard it— it seemed so like shutting in those fair young nuns in a living tomb. i visited the convent many times after that, but still no opportunity occurred of my seeing alma vernon again. i shrank from asking the superior — might she not think it impertinent curiosity? — and i knew not the name she went by among the sisters, so i could not ask to see her self. and even if i had known it, what motive could i say prompted me to ask for her? i had no doubt she had forgot ten me long ago. so weeks passed on, and my curiosity was still unsatisfied. where was captain travers? why had those two, who seemed formed for each other, parted? why had she become a catholic? i wondered and wondered, and worked in my. own mind a romance con cerning them, but still the wish to hear the story haunted me night and day. one evening as i, with some friends, was out driving, a sudden storm of thun der and lightning arose, with such vio lence that our horses took to flight, anjl all pur efforts to restrain them were in vain. on, on they went, dashing madly through the crowded streets, while the appalled crowd strove to check them in vain. i closed my eyes, expecting in stant death, when suddenly a cloak was thrown over the heads of the furious animals, a powerful hand grasped the reins, and we were safe. a loud shout from the crowd followed the deed, and numberless hands were still outstretched to restrain the still restive horses. i ventured to look up to thank our deliv erer, but he cut me shortby lifting jiis hat and disappearing among the crowd. somewhat chagrined by the indifferent way in which he had treated the pretty speecli i was about to make, i turned to one of the bystanders and inquired who ^hie'^^«raiji;-':'t^v ■:".;;■■ " ■: •",■'.:■■"-■,'.■::: *.;,.. the 8i8ter of charity. 11 "a catholic priest," was the reply. ^'he was, jvist leaving yonder cottage, where th'ere is a sick woman, when your carriage came dashing down the street. quick as lightning he sprang forward and "threw hi« cloak over the horses' heads, and so saved your life." "you had better go into one of those cottages for a few moments," said a gen tleman of our party, approaching me. "the shaft has been brok >., ti:^. ' must be repaired before we can lo any farther." . i sprang to the ground, and, making my way through the crowd, approached one of the humble-looking cottages and entered. it was a wretched, squalid place, totally devoid of furniture, and rendered almost unendurable by the dense smoke with which it was filled, tha^ came from the black, smoldering fire in the hearth. two or three dirty, half-naked children sat cowering over the miserable fire, striving in vain to wi^m their chilled limbs. but my at tention was soon drawn from them to another sight. in the farthest corner, stretched on a heap of straw, and cov ered only by a single ragged quilt, lay the worn and wasted form of a woman, wbose livid face, purple lips, and glaring eyes betokened the r.apid approach of death. kneeling by her side, and hold ing one of the dyii^g woman's hands in hers, was a sister of charity. in her ether hand she held a prayer-book, from which she read, in a low, sweet, sooth . tag voice, the touching prayers for the 4yfng. i approached softly on tiptoe, and, with a feeling of awe, such as the presence of death can never fail to awaken, i knelt down. as i did so, i caught sight of the nun's face, and be keld f< ? the second time the beautiful matured of alma vernon. i canr.ot de scribe the feeling that stole over me as i re^gnized her. she, the once flattered heiress and belle, the sole attendant of a poor, wretched pauper— she, who had itved all her life in the grandest and most aristocratic of mansions, kneeling now in this wretched hovel alone. sure ly, some motive highe and nobler than any other earthly consideration must have induced her to leave riches, and -eomforts; and all the pleasures that wealth and beauty can bring, to become aberrant df servants, to become tlie at tendant of paupers, forgotten and. de spised by au the rest of the world— to teecom€, ib a word, a ststw <rf charity. i katl aiismyb looked ijpon nvnm '&» oie graded beings, sunk in superstition, and blinded by fanaticism; but in this mo ment some of my old prejudices were swept away. alma vernon, enlightened and accomplished, surely could not be a victim of priestcraft; and yet, the old romance came again before me, how had she left the world? had she married captain travers? what had become of him— so young, so noble, so handsome? how many heartaches chose two must have suffered before they parted! what would i not give to know th© whole story? lost in my own reflections, i almost forgot where i was, until a noise that made my blood run c^ld smote upon my ear. it was what is called the death-rat tle — the sure forerunner that life is go ing. i looked up; the woman lay back on the pillow, her features already grow ing rigid in death, while the nun clasped her hands and exclaimed fervently: "may god have mercy on her soul!" for a few moments she remained ab sorbed in profound prayer, while her beautiful face wore a look of such rapt devotion that she resembled an angel. i scarcely dared to breathe, until at length the nun arose, and, turning round, be held me. a slight bow was the only no tice she took of me; and she began to compose the limbs of the dead woman in the attire of the grave. she then whis pered to the elder of the children. who went out, and reappeared with two or three women from the adjoining cot tages. very profound and respectful was their courtesy to the sister, who gave them a few directions in a low tone, and then, approaciiing the little porch where i stood, she held out her hand, saying, with a smile inexpressibly sweet: "we are old friends, i believe. i saw you that day at vespers; and the little orphan ellen, whom you brought us, is never done speaking of you. so, you see, i am well acquainted with you." "i believe i have a still stronger claim to your friendsihip," said i. raising her hand to my lipt!. "long ago i knew you as mies vernon, though i know not now whether to address you by that name or mrs. travers." she grew very pale, and drew her hand away, while she said, hurriedly: "as neither— as neither! to one i have no right* the other i have left be irind me la the world, together with all *he «mpty vanftlea that werewine when xa the b1hteb of charity. i bore it. i am now sister mary teresa. but you— who are you?" "don't you remember a little awkward country girl, who used to follow you like a shadow?" said i, laughing. "little susie! oh, i remember her per fectly! and are you that little thing? how you have grown!" "yes; i have shot up wonderfully these last three years," said i. "and you —you have changed greatly, too." she sighed first, then smiled. "yes, i have grown old and worn-out. did you recognize me that day in the chapel?" ^ ^,^, "recognize you! oh, of course i did! though i could scarcely believe my "i suppose you hardly expected to see alma vernon, the most worldly and thoughtless of girls, in a veiled nun," said the sister. "indeed. i did not. ah! miss vernon, what could have ever induced you to leave the world for a convent!" i ex claimed, earnestly. "not that name— call me sister," she said, with a slightly impatient move ment. "and so you would like to hear my story, susie?" "oh, indeed, i would, sister teresa!" said i, eagerly. "do tell me why you left all the '^.umberless pleasures that were yours for a gloomy convent. and captain travers — where is he?" her voice faltered a little, but she an swered, calmly, "he is dead!" i was shocked, the announcement came so suddenly and unexpectedly. i had seen him last full of life and radiant with beauty, glowing with hope and light-heartedness: and now— i raised my eyes to the still lovely face of the nun, who stood with her large, ^rk eyes fixed on the floor, while the nervous twitching of her mouth betrayed that the old memories had again risen before her with saddening power. "and this is why you became a nun," said i, at length. "partly; but i have not time to tell you now. come to the convent some day. and i will tell you all. perhaps the story may do you good. i must go now. good by." she pressed my hand, and, drawing her thick veil over her face, she hurried away, and was soon out of sight. i went several times after that to the wnvent, but some weeks passed ere i found an opportunity of hearing sister teresa -s story. at length, one day, she came to meet me in the parlor, apd with out preface began her story: "shortly after you left the city i start ed for new orleans, my bii't^olaoe, ac companied by papa, captain travers and my cousin lulu. as you know, we were engaged to be married in a few weeks, but i, ever whimsical and capricious, and taking a strange delight in torment ing others, suddenly changed my mind, and positively refused to fulfill my en gagement until we had made a tour through europe. captain travers and the others rebelled, but the more they urged me the more determined i became, and at last, much against theii* will, they consented. there were a large number of passengers on board, and i soon made many acquaintances, and resumed , my old business of flirting, with the amiable design of making tracers jealous, in this i succeeded to perfection. he grew morose and sullen, scarcely ever speak ing to* any one; but i kept on in my mad career, not caring a straw for him or hit; jealousy — for i had never really loved him as a woman should the man she in tended to marry. i liked him well enough ; he was rich and handsome, and polite-^and that was all i fancied any one wanted in a husband; and as for sacrificing any whim of my own to please him, i had no idea of it. "still, there were times when i did not flirt; when i was as quiet and subdued as even captain travers could wish. this was when conversing with one of the passengers, a catholic-priest. iv at first, when i met him, i took him to be a professor, in his plain black suit. had i then known what he really was, i would have shrunk from him as from an eastern leper. but i did not know; and there was a strange charm in his dis course that often drew me to his side. one day he accidentally mentioned who he was, and. to my own surprise, i found myself listening without the hor ror i once thought i would have felt at meeting a priest. from that day i sought father john — as he called himself — continually. it was such a relief — aftfer listening to the tawdry compliments and insipid nothings of the brainless fops that hovered around me— r to hear father john's grave, earnest, but gentle words. by degrees, partly to pass the time at first, i began to question him concerning his religion; and became so enraptured with his explanations that. the 8ibtbr of charity. is before our arrtval in england, i. became an entbusiastlc convert to his faith. for a few weeks i managed to keep my change of religion a secret from the rest of the family; for i had not courage to brave the storm of anger which i feared would follow its avowal. but they soon learned it; and then my father stormed and raved, captain travers absolutely entreated me on his knees« lulu wept and implored; but all was. in vain. i re mained firm. seeing i was not to be moved, my father at last sternly bade me to leave his house. with a heavy heart, indeed, i left .my home — the last ivords i heard from captain travers be ing a terrible oath that he would be le venged on the wily jesuit who had weaned me from the faith of my fathers. i sought and found a home with the sis ters of cnarity, and for a while heard nothing of the others; until one day i read in the paper that "richard vernon, lij^sq.. and his niece h|d left in the water witch for new orleans." i had not ex pected my fault would be so severely punished. i never dreamed for a mo ment they would have left me alone in a strange land ; and for a while i was in iconsolable. but the kindness and affec tion of the good sisters somewhat con boted me; and at length i grew, if not happy, at least content. of frederick tfravers i had never heard since the day * we parted. "one evening i repaired to a neighbor ing cathedrat, and, feeling a delicious pleasure in the holy quiet of the place, 1 did not leave until near dark. as i went out, i overtook father john, and, wish ing to cons^t him about something, we walked on together. suddenly, there was the report of a pistol behind us. with a groan, father john fell at my feet, wel tering in blood. my piercing shrieks s'oon collected a crowd, and the assassin. who had turned to fly, was soon cap tuf e|d. as he was led past, i looked upi and, to my unspeakable horror, recog nized captain travers. "father john was borne to a neigh boring house and a surgeon sent for — who, to the great joy of all, pronounced the wound dangerous, but not mortal. the constant care and attention of the jjgood people of the house soon restored him to health once more. the trliu <a the assassin came on; but, as father john refused to appear against him, he was discharged, and, as it was reported, (luitted england immediately for his na tive land. ^ "three months more passed aw&y, and i still remained with the good sisters of charity. i had not taken tne veil, but i often assisted the nuns in tending the hospital patients and visiting the sick. "one night a man was brought to the hospital horribly mutilated and in a dy ing state. he had been engaged in a brawl in a gambling saloon, and waa stabbed by his adversary. some chari table persons brought him to the hospi tal, but it was too late. every breath pumped the life-blood from a ghastly wound in his head. i knelt by his side to wipe the clotted gore from his face. he slowly opened his glazing eyes and fixed them with a wild, maniacal glare on .my face. suddenly he raised himself, with a last convulsive effort, on his elbow and shrieked, 'alma!' then, with a choking gasp for breath, he fell back, dead. but i had recognized him. it was frederick travers." the nun covered her face with her hands, while her slight figure quivered convulsively at the remembrance of that terrible scene. then, lifting her pale face, she went on hurriedly : "there is but little more to tell. they buried him in a little ^english church yard, and i — i became a sister of char ity. my father died a year ago, leaving all his wealth to lulu. may heaven grant her a long and happy life to en joy it!" "and oh. sister, can you be happy here, always by the loathsome bedside of dying paupers, leading thts self-sacrific ing, this laborious life?" 1 cried out. "yes, my dear, i am happy; for i know i am doing my duty," she answered, ear nestly. "and father john?" i inquired, after a pause. "saved your life just now, my dear," she answered, smiling. she stooped to kiss me. the next mo ment she was gone. we have never met since. t;;*;v.»'-<-'^,■ ,t.^-f,y...f..ff.i--ji. --ft *; carries bridal. by mrs. may agnes fleming, authorqfa wonderful woman," " a terrible secret," " the mystery at blaokwood qranae," "sir noel's heir," eto., etc. ^ ' i, ■ . a sweet, pretty little girl was carrie fay. none of your wonderful beauties, you know, so transcendently lovely that all creation falls in love with them at first sight, but a pretty little thing, with merry, blue eyes and wavy brown hair and rose-tinted cheeks, and red, laugh ing lips, and the dearest, prettiest little form ever you saw in your life. then carrie had such winning ways, such sweet smiles and gentle words for every one, except her beaux, that it is no won der she was the prime favorite of every body in ashfield. she was especially fond of old men and women — so fond, in fact, that half the claimants foi* her hand could have strangled all the old people in the village from sheer jealousy. carrie, of course, had plenty of lovers kneeling at her feet and vowing ever lasting fidelity, while she laughed in their face. the house of deacon fay was besieged bj' wearers of broadcloth from morning till night, to the great an noyance of that orthodox pillar of the church. but, seeing that carrie laughed at them all alike, and seemed to have no intention of falling in love with any of tnem, the worthy deacon made up his mind that for the present at least he would "grin and bear it." carrie and i were fast friends. we had gone to school together when chil dren, played truant together, and got punished together — except, sometimes, v hen my brother hugh, by some plausi ble story, got us oft, or took our punish ment on himself. and on these occa sions carrie would throw her arms around his neck with her usual impul siveness and exclaim: "oh, hugh, you're such a good boy, and i do love you more than anybody else in the world!" hugh, however, who had a true boyish dislike of caresses, would disengage him self and push her away with a gruff: "bother!" but the fates had ordained that we should part. i was sent to a french academy to be "finished," hugh obtained a midshipman's appointment, and carrie remained in ashfield. five years passed ere we met again, and now behold me lying on a sofa i» carrie's room, car ressing a hideously ugly little terrier, while his mistress sits before me re counting her adventures since we parted last. "and so you haven't got married yet, sue?" said carrie. "i expected you would have been mrs. somebody-or other long before this, and here you come back a dashing city girl, it is true, but plain susi.e ford after all!" "nothing wonderful in that, my dear. there never was a man born yet half good enough for me. i intend to be an independent old maid, and when i die i'll leave my money to found a hospital for superannuated dogs and cats. i'm fond of puppies of all sorts, except those running on two legs." "sour grapes, sue, nothing else; some body's jilted you, and, for spite, you rail against the whole sex. come, now, con fess; you've been in love and" — "never, as i am a sinner! i scorn the accusation. but you, with more beaux than i could shake a stick at, why ain't you a 'blessed bride,' eh?" "oh, well, because i don't want to be married — at least, not yet. i think it's horrid. and the men — well, i declare, of all the silly looking, creatures imag inable, a man in love is the most intol erable. there was captain lucas, now; i thought him a splendid fellow before i got acquainted with him — so grave and stately, and dignified, and all that. well, i got an introduction to him and for a carrie'r bridal. i 15 while we got along swimmingly to gether; but at last he took it into his head to fall in love with me. i never suspected such a catastrophe at all, until one night he knelt down at my feet and began telling me i was an 'adorable crea ture,' and, just at that moment, his pants succumbed to the pressure of his knees. i burst out in laughter, and the stately captain, springing to his feet and cast ing one look of horror at his ruined un mentionables, fled from the spot, and i have never seen him since. "then^ there was dr. stuart, the hand somest man of myacquaintance, who went to 'pop the question' and got dread fully confused, stuttered and stammered, and blushed red and purple and white, and all the colors of the rainbow. ac tually, the bewildering doctor was trem bling and blushing before poor little me. now, i don't mind a girl's blushing now and then. i rather like it than other wise; but to see a man — a lord of crea tion — as red in the face as a boiled lob ster, all his dignity oozing out of the toes of his boots, and looking like some body about to be hanged for sheep steal ing — oh, horror! i was disenchanted on the spot, and never could bear the sight of the doctor since. "then there was mr. adolphus per simmon byron, a literary character, who wrote pathetic love tales and melancholy verses for the ashfleld lightning bug. he used to come here rainy days and bring his pathetic poems with him and read them aloud to me. i was always glad to see him, i'm sure, for he reg ularly set me sound asleep before he got to the end of the second verse, which was just what i wanted. i had no idea he'd ever fall in love with me, poor thing! or i'd have told him beforehand it was a waste of ammunition. bat one day he handed nie a copy of verses, and, with tears in his eyes, implored mc to read it and answer favorably. it was a heart-rending proposal of his heart and hand and fortune, the last item being invested in a railway near the north pole, in a region y-et to be dis covered. there were most awful, ter rifying hints of arsenic, ratbane and drowning if i refused; but refuse i did, in elegant verse, of which the following is a copy: " 'your heart, your hand and your for tune you offer— and truly, dear sir, 'tis a irenerous prof fer; but as i can't think to deprive you of all, i'll take the last-mentioned, though i fear it's but small. so send on your fortune without more delay it will ne'er be refused by your friend, "'carrie fay.' " "oh! stop! stop! you wicked little flln! do you really mean to tell me that you have become such a wicked trifler with the gentlemen's hearts?" "gentlemen's hearts! come, i like that! as if anything encased in broad cloth ever had a heart. no, my dear, there is nothing but a cavity filled full of vanity, somewhere under their watcli pocket, in the place where the heart ought to be. bless you! it does them good to take the conceit out of 'em. i believe i was made for the salvation of them all." "come, now, carrie, be sensible; among all your suitors is there not one whose affection you return?" "not one, 'pon honor! i wouldn't give two stra-tts for the whole blessed lot of them." "and you were never in love?" "never. oh, i mean since your brother hugh left me to w£ar the willow. you know how zealously i paid my distresses to him, and how ungratefully he rejected them. even when he went away his 'last speech and confession' was adding insult to injury. there i was, with my arms round his neck, hugging and cling ing to him like a chestnut burr, and cry ing till you couldn't see ^n eye in my head. and what do you think was his return? why, he pushed me away and told me to 'go off and not make such a little goose of myself,' and there he left me whimpering on the ground." "the hard-hearted monster!" i replied, unable to repress a laugh at carrie's dolorous look and tone. "well, he'll be here in a week or two, i expect, and you will have a chance of making him apol ogize for his rudeness." "oh, is he coming home?" cried carrie, clapping her hands. "how glad i am! won't i fix him, though? i perfectly dote on sailors—especially midshipmen." i left carrie and walked slowly home ward, thinking about nothing in partic ular, according to my usual habit, when, just as i entered the door of my resi dence, i was confronted by an individual six feet high, dressed in "gorgeous array," and glittering with brass but tons. i felt sure i had seen that hand d 16 carrie'h bridal. it ii ; ' i'. j; ■;■'' w «;■; -iv;" ■4 i if '^ i' some face and those wicked black eyes and glossy dark locks somewhere before, but ere i could call memory to my aid, i was clasped in his arms, while he eagerly exclaimed: "susie, susie, little sister, don't you know me?" "why, hugh! my goodness, hugh; can this be you? i'm so glad!" i exclaimed, in delighted surprise. "yes, this is me, nobody else. hugh ford, esq., u. s. n., past midshipman," was his concise and descriptive answer. "why, how tall you are, and how handsome you've grown," said i, hold ing him off and surveying him with ad miration, "and what a splendid mus tache you've got." "wish 1 could return the compliment, sis." ' "when did you come?" "about an hour ago. they told me you were somewhere in the village, and i was about to go cruising in search of you, when you dropped ini" "yes. i was up with carfie fay. you remember little carrie, don't you?" "what! the little girl with the blue eyes and yellow hair, who used to be bo fond of me? i should think i did. she used to half-strangle me with her caresses," he replied, coolly, stretching himself indolently on a lounge. "take care the tables are not turned. master hugh. carrie is one of the pret tiest girls in ashfleld, which is noted far and near for its pretty girls." "then, in that case, she may be as fond of me now as she pleases, and caress me whenever she likes. i won't oppose it in the least." "you incorrigibly yain wretch. if you had heard her a while ago it would have taken the nonsense out of you. we were speaking of you, you know." "yes; good, no doubt." "no, indeed, we wer'n't. you don't catch carrie speaking well of you," said i, thinking, inwardly, if she admired cool impudence she would likely take a desperate fancy to him pretty soon. late that evening i went over to see her, and, without telling her of hugh's arrival, asked her to come home with me. we walked across the fields together, carrie drawing on her gloves and chat ting gaily. suddenly, in the middle of an animated speech, she gave her kid glove a desperate pull and tore it in pieces. • "there, now, look at that!" she ex claimed, ruefully. "i paid a 'dollar and a half for these yesterday. i wish to goodness i had a chance to kiss some body and so get a new pair." "why, how would that get you a new pair?" said i. "what a piece of simplicity you are! do you not know, if you kiss a sleeping gentleman, without his knowledge, you'll get a pair of new gloves? the first chance i get i'm going to try it." as she spoke i opened the parlor door and entered. the room was darkened to exclude the heat; and there, on the sofa, lay hugh, as sound asleep ns though i had not seen him with his eyes wide open when we first entered. "there's a chance for you, then," said i, pointing to the sleeper. "who is it?" said carrie, who, on en tering the darkened room, could not dis tinguish objects very clearly; "your uncle john?" "who else would it be?" said i, eva sively. "then here goes!" exclaimed carrie, in a tone of suppressed delight, as she tip-toed forward, and, stooping over the sleeper, imprinted a kiss on^his fore head. ^ in a moment she was encircled by a strong arm, and her salute returned with compound interest by some one who was not uncle john. surprise at first held her spell-bound; then recognizing her former playmate in the dashing mid shipman, she broke from his arms and fled, like a startled deer, from the room. suppressing my laughter, i followed her, and found her sitting at the foot of the garden, with her face hidden in her hands. "come, carrie," said i, gaily, "you shall have the gloves, though you did kiss the nephew' instead of the uncle. mistakes will happen in the best of fam ilies, you know." she raised her head and laughed, though her cheek was deep crimson. "it was too bad of you to deceive me so, susie. wliat will he think of me? oh, susie, what will he think of me?" she said, earnestly clasping her hands. i burst out laughing. "why, he'll be very much disappointed when he finds your affectionate embrace �as not intended for him. but here he comes to plead his own cause, and, as be doesn't need any assistant counsel, 1*11 vainish." i kelv rays thin atte they rily nev< tl i carrie' it nuiuah, « le ex r and ish to some new are! replug you'll flr&t •« "1 door veiled n the > fis eyes said carrie started in alarm to her feet, with the intention of following my ex ample, but hugh was by her bide, malt ing ten thousand apologies for taking advantage of her mistake. i left them to settle the matter them selves and sauntered off, humming to myself and gathering cinnamon roses. i think she forgave him, for, two hours afterward, when he escorted her home, they were laughing and chatting as mer rily as thougl that unlucky blunder had never occurred. the next day i explained the matter to hugh, who charitably wished carrie might tear her gtove and make a similar mistake every day. that evening a pair of tiny lavender-hued gloves found their way to the deacon's, accompanied by a beautiful bouquet. ifugh had received long leave of ab sence, and he certainly improved it by devoting all his time to carrie fay. three weeks passed, and, in spite of all my entreaties to go and see the rest of the family at cape maj^, where mamma and the girls were spending the dog days, he still lingered, rusticating at ashfleld. "now, hugh, look here," said i, one morning, "here's this letter from mam ma, and listen to what she says: "'what on earth is the matter with hugh, my love? is' he bewitched or what attractions can there be for him in a hum-drum country* village to detain him from us? tell him to come imme diately here — command him. your sis tiers, maud and eva, are quite as anxious to see him as i am. misb rich* the old niillionaire's< daughter, is here. she is enormously wealthy, and used to admire hugh very much as a boy. if he plays his cards well he may have the -richest bride in the united states. tell him to make all possible haste. miss rich begs to be remembered to him.' "• ^'miss rich be— hanged!" exclaimed mr. hugh, in a passion. "i wish my mother would not take upon herself the odious character of matchmaker. i won't go." '"you will go, hugh," said i, firmly. "you must go. no, never flash up so haughtily at that word; just listen pa tiently for a moment. tell me, what is it keeps you here?" his dark cheek flushed, but he laughed'" and answered carelessly: "why, my winsome little sister, to be sure," he said, twining my curls over his angers. "don't talk nonsense, hugh! what would mamma and the girls pay if they knew you stayed here making love to a little country girl, with two or three thousand dollar.s for her fortune?" "making love! don't be a fool. susie!" he exclaimed, almost angrily, getting up and pacing the floor. "very well, sir; perhaps you are quite innocent, but your long moonlight walks and your morning rides and afternoon sails look most suspiciously like it. now go to cape may and pay your respects to mamma, and if you find my presence here a stronger attraction than miss rich's dollars and dimes, why, come back to me — that's all." he left the room without making any reply, and i saw him go toward deacon fay's house. two hours after he re turned, bade us all a hasty good by. vaulted into the saddle and quitted ash fleld. that evening i went over to see carrie. she was sitting watching the moonris ing over the tops, with & sad, dreamy look on her fair face. her parents were present, and so was a short, fat, pom pous-looking old man, whom the deacon presented to me as mr. rich, whose daughter mamma wished hugh to marry. i stayed with carrie all the evening, but she did not once mention hugh's name. old mr. rich seemed struck by her beauty, and announced his intention of spending the remainder of the week with them. that '^veek passed and the next, and still he remained; and the people whis pered in the village that there would soon be a wedding at the deacon's. i had heard nothing from hugh since his departure; but, in a dainty note, my fashionable sister, eva, gave me to un derstand that he was decidedly the hand somest man at cape may, and regarded with favorable eyes by the "beauty and heiress," miss rich. one evening, as i entered the porch of deacon fay's house, i heard his voice in loud and angry tones. ere i could retreat the following words met my ear: "i tell you, carrie fay, i'll have none of your nonsense. old, forsooth! as if that made any matter. you must and shall marry him — mind that! when young ford was here i let him spark around, thinking he would marry you; but now he's off with his fashionable i i i", r ■ 18 carrie's bridal. ii family at somo watering place, and going to be married to some great lady. so, no more whimpering. i trust i know my duty well enough to provide for my daughter. so prepare for your wedding as soon as you like." i fled from the house just in time to avoid meeting the deacon, who came stalking out, with a look of grim deter mination on his face. the next day, as i sat alone, a letter was brought me in the handwriting of eva. i tore it open and read: "dear sur: hugh is married at last. he and sellne rich were united this morning and everything went off splen didly. all the world was here to witness the nuptials, and everybody says they never saw so magnificent an affair. celine has heard some absurd report that her father is going to marry a country girl in ashfleld; but, of course, it cannot be true. she insists, however, on going there to see; so you will soon have an opportunity of beholding your new bister. eva." tlie letter fell from my hand and 1 dropped my head on the table with a groan. a touch on the shoulder startled me. i looked vp and beheld carrie, but so pale and wil4 that i scarcely knew her. "susie," she said, "read that." i took the newspaper she held and saw in flourishing capitals the announcement of the marrlag© of hugh ford and celine rich. "oh, susie," she cried, passionately, "is it true?" "yes," i said, briefly.' . "then god help m©!" . there was such utter despair in her voice that iw^s startled. her face was deadly white, even to her tps, and such a look of deep, settled apgulsh i never saw.in human eyes before. "dear carrie," said i, gently, "what is it? did yoh love him?" "oh, hugh! hugh!" that wild; mournful cry answered me. i passed my arms around her waist and ^ould have drawn her down beside me, but she gently released herself, and, cov ering her face with her hands, stood for a time silent and motionless. then looking up, she said, hurriedly: "susie, i am to be married the day after to^morrowr.. "wtill you be my brides-, maid?" ^ r :■ , ; i stared at h^r in amazemeilt. : "married! to whoii^?" ..^ "to mr. rich," she said, with a sort of shudder. "that old man! oh, carrie!" i said, reproachfully, "hush! oh, hush, susie, i must!" she cried, wildly. "do not talk to me now. i cannot bear it. oh, they have all talked to me too much. 1 am going crazy, i think. susie, you will come?" "since you wish it, carrie — yes." she smiled faintly, as if to thank me, and slowly left the house. i did not see her again until the wed ding morning. she was in her room and would see no one — not even me; but that morning she came down like a spirit among the guests, all in white, and with a face more deathly pale than any bride ever was before. "i am tired, take^ me up stairs," she said to me, faintly, when the ceremony was over. i looked and was unepaak ably shocked to see the light had died out of her eyds, the bright golden hliift 8«emed even to have faded from her hair. supporting her with my arm, i led her to her room. she seated harself by the table, and, leaning her arm upon it, her head dropped heavily down. .<..% just at that moment the sound of car riage wheels arrested my attentlpn, 1 ran down stairs, and there in the parlor stood hugh and his bride. proud man as 'he wao^ he actually auailcd before the look i gave him. his wife was talking la loud and angry tones to her father. "where is this girl you have mar ried?" she said, 1^ no very gentle voice. "i must see her." "she is up stairs, madam," said i, coldly; "but i do not think shie is a*fl« to tjome down." "then i shall go up. come with me> mr. ford," she said, passing her arni through his and turning to follow me. , we ascended the stairs. carrie still mt.ioaiotlonless by the table, her head resting on her folded arms. i stooped over her and whispered her name, but ' she did not stir. "carrie," said i. shaking her gently, "hugh is here." : * had she been dying that name would have recalled her to life; but now it fell unheeded. . , with a -wild, vague fear i raised her head. the golden-brown hair fell heav ily over my arm, the lids were closeul / o^rer :the >iiro«^ry;bluie eyesp, a smile still ' cakrlfl'a bridal. iff lingered on the sweet, beautiful lipb. and on her bridal day her aching hetut u.id found rest. i laid her down, and, waving them back, i turned sternly to ce'.lne. "you are too late, madam," i said, bit terly; "yonr reproaches ^111 fall un heeded now. carrie fay is beyond your power." "dead!" she exclaimed, with a shriek. "dear me, how shocking! do take me (town stairs, mr. ford. i feel as though i 53hould faint." "disease of the heart." the doctors said, as they bent over the lifeless form. down in the village churchyard, where the sunshine falls brightly and the sweet aoutb wind comes loaded wltb tbe odor of cinnamon roses, they laid qarrle. no cold, white monimient niarkw her losting place, but a majestic willow sighs mournfully above it, and drops tears upon the roses through the long nights. and in the hush of midnight the tall, dark form of a man comes here to wres tle with his romorse and nnkulsh, thiit t\9 world dream« not he has ever felt, lor "the dnrk eyes, dim with wicplnif. sparkle 'mid the crowd again." and to-night, listening to the bitter autumn storm, i cannot rest, for my thoughts are with the lone\y sleeper in tbe cold churchyard. i i •■:.■ '■ ' ■ ''■..■,. 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'1'.^ mr. mounter-ville. by mrs. may agnes fleming, author of'* a womttrful woman," " a terrible secret," " the^myntery at blackwood graun, " ^ '* sir nueva imr," ktc, etc. i i pi ! k 1 'i fl his name was mountervllle — john frederick mounterviue. that sounds ro mantic, doewn't it? lilie the hero of a high-pressure novel, you know, but for all that he wasn't a bit romantic. fancy thlrty-flve years, five feet six, two hun dred pounds weight, a florid complexion, and sandy whiskers, and point out the romance, if you dare. that was mr. j. f. mountervllle; and he kept the large grocery store up the village, and sold kerosene, and liog's-lard, and pork, and butter and r.-c!:.sses; and if there's any thing romantic or .sentimental in all that, t shall be happy tc have you tell ihe of it. how he ever came to be mount ervllle, the gods above only know. if ever smith — peter or samuel — was writ ten in a "human face divine," it was in mr. mounterville's, but for all that it was his name, real and bona fide, and had been his father's and grandfather's before kirn, and was likely to be his son's, if he ever got that far, for mr. john frederick mountervllle, grocer, was a bachelor. and that is how i come to be writing about him to-day; for, of all the odd things that ever happened, the oddest was that this man should go and fall in love with me. you see. ma — ma's a widow, and i'm her only one, and we keep the village school. ma used to send me to the gro cery store for butter, and sugar, and tea, and coffee of every-day life, and mr. mountervllle used to wait on me a good deal, and make pleasing jittle remarks about the weather, and the prices-cur rent, and our school, and things gener ally. t didn't notice it myself, at first, that there was any display 'of the tender passion in all this, for one would as soon have thought of a kangaroo in love as mr. mountervllle; but phil marks, one of the clerks, got into a way of grinning knowingly whenever i appeared, and dodging off to wait on some other t \i; tomer, and leaving me to "the boss. • and then, by-aud-by, in a sheepish and shanus-faced sort of way, mr. mountci vido took to making me presents. not bouquets of hothousa exotics, or tenny bon in gold and azure, or illuminathl sheets of music, but nice little cakes ol" cheese, and pounds of roll butter, aiul drums of figs, and bottles of pickles, and such like, until gradually my eyes began to open to the truth, and i realized the staggering fact that my black eyes and i raven* tresses had wrought havoc inside mr. mounterville's capacious vest. when the thrilling conviction first dawned upon me i stood stunned, speecti less, for about ten minutes and a half. then i sat down in the nearest chair, and laid my head back, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until ma came running up, and stood before me, with tears in her eyes, and the cam phor bottle in her hand, thinking it was hysterics. "go away, ma," i said, as soon as i could speak, "it isn't that— i mean hys terics; it's mr. mountervllle." "mr. mountervllle! whatever has mr. mountervllle done?" "nothing much, only — oh! good gra cious!" — another paroxysm — "only, ma, can't you see through the little cheeses, and l-olls of butter, and figs, and sau sages, yet?" "see through them, lucinda? what do you mean?" "mean! why, ma, look here; a bat might see it — mr. mounterville's in love!" "what! lucinda, my child," with a look of horror, "you never mean to say the unhappy man has fallen in love with me?" "no, ma; not with you — only with, me." mr. movstkitvilhe. "luclnda!" "it's true, ma: it has rushed upon me uu at on(;o« like an alpine avalanche! cheeses and saumagcs arc mr. mounter vine's way of breathing hlh houi'h deep cht feelinkh. i know what phil marku'h grins mean now; and i've only to suy the word and i'm certain to change the ple beian name of thompson for the hlgh houndlng cognomen of mountervlue — m.h. john frederick mountervlue; u'h lovely. isn't it?" "my dear," said ma, thoughtfully, "you might do worse." "yes, die an old maid — the most horri ble of all earthly dooms. and i was twenty-seven last birthday; and when a lovely female comes to be twenty-seven it's time she ceased to be prrtlcular. well, ma, i'll think about it." and i did. i went slowly and thought fully up stairs to my own room, and sat down by the window to turn it over. mr. mountervlue waa rich; selling lard and molasses may not be romantic, but it's remunerative — and mr. mountervlue had made money out ot it. he lived in a handsome white wooden mansion up the village; he kept a horse and buggy in summer, and a horse and sleigh in win ter, and a cook, and a housemaid, and a boy, and two clerks. could any right thinking schoolmistress of seven-and twenty-odd long for more? surely my lucky star had ridden high in the heav ens the day mr. mountervlue first cast upon me the eye of desire. yet, oh, my prophetic soul! was this what the dreams of my youth had come to! i, who had once reveled in the gorgeous delusion of wedding a count lara, a corsair, a giaour, a veiled prophet! hud not my ideal, all my days, been of a grand, un approachable creature, with swarthy skin, and ferocious whiskers, and a cim etar by his swe? a man who would "leave a corsair's name to other times, linked with one virtue and a thousand crimes." and here i had fallen into this! come to think over a two-hundred-pound gro cer, with sandy sj.dewhlskers, and eyes like pinholes, as a very desirable match indeed. nine o'clbck struck, school came in, and i twitched my collar and apron straight, glanced at my black eyes that had done such execution, and descended to teach the ybung idea how to shoot. but i was in a state of pensive abstrac tion ail day, and set sunib, •nd wrote copies, and slapped little girls and boys, in h frame of pleahing melancholy, with ■ my thoughts on the white wooden man sion up the village, and the cook, and the sleigh, and the chambermaid, and the buggy, ami piles and plle.-i of new dresses. liefore i dismissed the forty cherubs on my roll cull (fond of crying as the other cherubim). i had miide up my mind, with a gentle sigh, to bury in oblivion tli" image of my pay aim hero, and accept mr. mountervlue as »oon as he should scirew his courage to the stick ing point and propose. i think ma must have been revolving the matter in her mind, too, and arriveii at a similar conclusion, for just before dusk she says to me: "luclnda, love, the molasses is out, and there's no gingerbread. suppose you take the pall, dear, and step over to mr. mountervllle's?" i was nothing loath. i put on my best bonnet, threw my shawl picturesquely over my .shoulders, took the tin pall, and departed. it was a lovely evening. the month was february, and the snow lay piled high and white. there was no wind, and a crystal moon was rising like a shield of silver over the black pine woods, and the sparkling stars cleft fro.sty and keen. the white road glittered as if sown with diamonds; and the village llghtsgleamed and twinkled athwart the hazy blue at mosphere. all nature was conducive to tender muifing as i went along for mo lasses, and my heart was melted within me like a roll of mr. mountervllle's but ter. mr. mountervllle's shop was one blaze of illumination, for three kerosene lamps, suspended in mid air, like the sword of — what's-hls-name. the two counters were crowded with customers, and phil marks and sam wilson, thn other clerk, were busier than nailers, and there was an overpowering perfume of coffee, and kerosene, and codfish, and apples that reminded me of "ceylon'a spicy breezes," and "summer isles of eden in purple spheres of sea." and there was mr. mountervlue, waiting, with superhuman energy, on three old women at once, and tying up quarter pounds'^of tea< and ounces of starch and pepper, with a rapidity that waa the very poetry of motion, and made me wink again — mr. mountervlue, who bounced away from the three old women -,■,.• 22 mr. mouktervillk. r l r* and was confronting me over the counter in a flash, with a heavenly smile illu minating his face. "good evening, miss lucinda, good evening. what can i do for you this evening?" now, if any of my pupils, in making a remark to me, had put three "evenings" so close together, i should most certain ly have rapped them over the head for it. but mr. mounterville was different. 1 could bear tautology from him, and smile over it. a man who keeps three servants and two clerks need not stand on trifles of rhetoric. "half a gallon of molasses, if you please. yes, it is a lovely evening, mr. mounterville. i declare, i was almost sorry the walk over was so short. thy don't you take advantage of this lovely weather and call and see us? ma was just remarking to me, she hadn't seen you she didn't know when." mr. thounterville's florid complexion turned absolutely crimson with delight. "did she. miss lucinda? now, that was real kind of your ma. you see, we've been pretty busy, right straight along, in the shop here, and i ain't ranch of a visiting man, anj'way." "oh! of course, business before pleas ure; but you must try and make an ex ception in our favor. how do you sell these pickeled mackerel? ma's so fond of mackerel." "miss lucinda," mr. mounterville cried, trembling with eagerness like a calves'-foot jelly, "might i send her over a dozen, just to try 'em? sam'll take them, and the molasses, too; and if you wait a minute, until i wash my hands and take off my apron, i'll see you home." a dirty apron worn habitually around a lover's waist can hardly be less than a poisoned dart to the breast of any young woman of refinement. but i smothered my feelings and smiled. yes, i paw mr. mounterville take off his apron and wipe two very dirty hands on it, and i smiled! sain winked at phil as he seized the mackerel and the molasses. it was with the eye next phil; but i saw it, and i folded my shawl around me like a ra man toga, and drew myself up, and turned my back upon that young man, with a solemnity and asperity of aspect, i'm inclined to think, he won't forget in a hurry. there were dozens of customers in the shop, but, with a wild and reckless dis regard of popularity and fractional cur rency, mr. mounterville shuffled them over to phiu and stalked majestically out into the night, with me by his side. he didn't offer me his arm (to take a gentleman's arm in our village is equiv alent to a binding engagement), but we trod along, side by side, slowly and sen timentally., with that sam on ahead, stopping every now and then to shift the molasses and mackerel from one hand to the other, and take a backward glance at us. the night was lovely — i think i made the remark before. a profound stillness reigned, and everything in the firma ment above and the earth beneath was conducive to a tender declaration. my heart throbbed, as the hedrt of a spot less maiden should throb, the first time the question is popped; and mr. mount erville, with his hat rather on one side, as he likes to wear it, and a pungent odor of codfish and onions about him, looked up at the moon with one eye shut, and a plaintive expression of coun tenance. "nice, isn't it?" remarked mr. mount erville — we had walked about three dozen yards without exchanging a syl lable. "i always had a hankering after moonlight, and then it's a saving in kerosene, too, if a man only keeps his shop door open. how's the school get ting on. miss lucinda?" "pretty well; much the same as usual." "don't you ever get tired of that there? it's sort of wearing to the feel ings, i should think." "do you mean teaching?" "yes; it's wearing, ain't it?" i sighed heavily; you could have heard me a good way off. "bxit what can we do, mr. mounter ville? we must live, ma and me, and to live we must labor. it is of no use com plaining; it is our lot, and must be en dured." (sigh the second.) "well, but, miss lucinda, look hei-e," said mr. mounterville, firmly; "hain't you ever thought of being married?" good gracious, here it was! i had thought mr. mounterville would have been embarrassed, and stammer, and tremble; but i can't say he did. he took it coolly, as though the matter in hand had been several new tubs of butter. "married! oh, dear me, mr. mounter ville; such a funny question, you know!" with an hysterical little giggle. mr. moryterville. m i enr theni ^ically side, lake a jqiiiv hit we sen ihead, fft the md to glance made illness rma wa« my spot time ount side, igent him, eye oun as "is it? now, i should think it was time. when a girl comes to be your age she ought to marry, if ever she means o. the odious brute! i could have pound ed hffn, but i didn't. i only giggled more hysterically than before, and said noth ing. "i've been thinking about marriage a good deal myself lately," pursued mr. mounterville, looking severely at sam, who, gazing back at us, had spilled the mackerel over the snow, "and i've about made up my mind to try it. i haven't had much time all along, up to the pres ent, to reflect on such light matters; but i'm pretty comfortably off in the world now. got a nice house, and everything fixed up in pretty good style, and all i want to top off with is a wife. i ain't so young as i've been, and no more are you, miss thompson, and i think we couldn't do better. now, what, do you say? i want a wife, and you want a husband, so suppose we clinch a bargain? i don't be lieve you can do better." good heaven! did ever mortal maiden hear such a proposal? the coarse, nasty wretch! but i thought of the white man sion, and the horse and carriage, and servants, and swallowed my wrath. "oh! mr. mounterville, this is so — so sudden!" i stammered, and then i dropped like a hollyhock on the stem, and was silent, "sudden, is it?" said mr. mounterville, taking a^pinch of snuff; "why, i thought i'd been hinting at it this some time (in groceries gratis, i thought). but never, mind the suddenness, miss lucinda, it's out now, and let us have your answer yes or no." this was an upright and downright way of putting things with a vengeance! with a low-lived longing in my ten fin ger nails to scratch his odious eyes out, i stammered and drooped my head. "i hardly know what to say, mr. mounterville; one feels— feels so—" and there i came to a deadlock. ."good gracious!" cried mr. mounter ville, wildlv; "can't you say something? yes, or no; that's easy enough, i'm sure." "yes, then," i returned, goaded to des peration; "if ma don't object." "oh! she won't object; she knows which side of her bread's buttered! i'll go in and sneak to her— nothing like striking while the iron's hot. and here we are. sam, i've kept my eye on you all along, and i'll trounce you within an inch of your life when i get back. be off!" off scuttled sam in mortal alarm, and enter lucinda, fouol^d by mr. mounter ville. ma was in the parlor, darning stock ings; and she got up and shook hands with my companion with motherly vim. "so happy to see you, mr. mounter ville — such a while since you've been here! take the rocking-chair, da and how well you're looking; dear me, grow ing younger every day— isn't he. lu cinda?" " thanky, mum," responded mr. mounterville, dropping into the boston rocker and making it creak in every pore; "so a man ought when he's going to be married." "going to be married!" with a little scream. "just hear that, lucinda!" "she has heard it, mum; i asked her coming along— that's why i made sam fetch the molasses— and she's said yes; and all that's wanting's your consent — and that won't be wanting long, i reckon." my ardent wooer snorted and took an other pinch of snult. ma put her hand kerchief to her eyes and sniffled; and i — i sat staring at the fire, and pulling the fringe frantically out of my shawl. "i'm sure," ma sobbed, at last, "it's a trial, and you'll overlook a mother's feel ings, mr. mounterville, though, not be ing a mother yourself, you can't be ex pected to understand. i don't see how i ever shall get on without her; and you'lj have a treasure that money can't buy, though i say it that hadn't ought to, aifll — lucinda, my love," with a sudden gush, "kiss me!" i kissed ma, and then ma went over and kissed mr. mounterville, with a sec ond gush. mr. mounterville snorted again, and took some more snuff. "that means yes, don't it? than we've clinched the bargain, i suppose, miss lu cinda?" "i suppose so," rather sulkily. thereupon mr. mounterville got up and shook my hand as if it had been the village prjip, and^hook hands with ma; and ma, in a gay and sprightly man ner, tripped out of the room and re turned presently with a bottle of black berry wine and some slices of sponge cake. this innocuous collation beingr partaken of, and mr. mounterville a spir its rising with it, he proposed the first of april for his wedding-day. i itf ■ ' i' i, 91 mr, mountervjlle. w^ \i'y . ie.:; !:ji "april eool'8-day, you know/'with a chuckle; "so kind of appropriate, you know. let's be dirtied april foovs d^y, miss lucindap 'if i could have shied the plat© of sponge cake at his head, as he sat there, what an inexpressible relief it would have been to my overcharged heatt! but i only "grinned horribly a ghastly smile," and said it should be as he wished. so the wedding-day being fixed, and all things settled, mr. mounterville got up to go. i accompanied him to the gate, shook hands with him across it, and bade him good-night, and watched him*| plodding along the moonlit road, his bands in his pockets, and whistling for purest joy, like an asthmatic bullfrog. as i stood there, contemplating the starry brilliancy of the sky and the spot less whiteness of the earth, in a pensive reverie, there started out from the cor ner of the house, and the shadow of an old pear tree, a young man,, who stood still and confronted me. i gave one little yelp of terror and started back, staring with all my n^ight. and no wonder, for the young man was tali as a telegraph pole, and robed in sombre b�ck; and his countenance was albeit handsome, with two blazing black eyes, and a shock of tar-black hair. 'mdh! let me not startle you, pretty one," said this remarkable phenomenon, in a deep and husky bass; "had i heart for.falsehood formed, i never could in jure thee! do you take boarders in your house?" the jerking suddenness with which this question was put, and the peculiar gtyle of his two previous remarks, left me gasping like a stranded fish, and ut terly unable to reply. "and still she gazed," said this tall young man, rapidly, with a violent sweep »f one arm; "and still the wonder grew! tell, oh! tell me, fairest maiden, dp you keep boarders?'* i found nay tongue at last. v "if you'll step in, sir," i said, unlatch ing the gate, "i'll see. we do take board ers occasionally; but you must speak to my mother." "oh! thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my mo;ther," chanted the tall 5*;<juhg man, striding through. "proceed, ikright vision! i follow whithersoever thou leadest." really this young gentleman's style of conversation was remarkable, to say the least of it. i opened the. door in consid erable trepidation, and ushered him into the maternal presence. "madam, i salute thee, lo te salute!" said the seeker after lodgings, laying his hand on his heart and bowing low; "this fair creature, your diaughter, i perceive, informs me you take boarders. madam, madam, may i have that honor?" "goodness me, lucinda, my dear!" cried ma, jumping back, and dropping her balls and needles in a paroxysm of terror and dismay. "fear not, fear not, fairest being!" said the gentleman, in a shrill, chanting voice, and transfixing me with his wild, black eyes. "i know not, i ask not, if guilt's in thy heart; but i know i want lodgings, whatever thou art. answer me quickly!" getting excited, "and answer me truly, minion, wilt thou, or wilt thou not?" then it all fiashed upon me — the tall young gentleman was mad! he looked , like lara, or the corsair, a good deal; but i didn't care for my ideal just then, and would have given a year of my life to see mr. mounterville's florid complex ion and sandy whiskers beaming on me through the door. i had heard that a lu natic, and a dangerous one, had escaped out of an asylum in the next town, and was supposed to be hiding in the pine woods. and here he was, glaring upon me, with flaring black eyes. ■ "speftk!" cried our terrible visitor, ad vancinig a step toward me, "speak! or, by the stars above, i'll tear thy perjured soul from out thy craven carcass, and fling it to the four winds of heaven! wretch! miscreant! base minion!" with a howl and a hop nearer me, "this night shalt thou pay the penalty of thy crime; this night my wrongs shall be avenged!" he made^a grab at me, caught me by the shoulder, and waved the other arm aloft. i gave one shriek, and then my throat was grasped. "foul wizard, ayaunt! i have mar shaled my clan! down, slave — down! cease thy cries, for these dungeon walls are thick, and none shall hear, or help! die the death! die! worm, toad, siren, fiend in female form! die!" not yet! the door was flung open, and oh! thanks and praise forever! in rushed mr, mounterville, and laid hold of my frantic opponent. my face was black, my eyes and tongue protruding, and i rolled over in a heap on the floor. "ah, hast col luadmai ton thlt me hurl there they vo\ other's life of ris^s t( erville'^ fought my bral victorif skeletol way. floor al "fet and r ah, y< crazy heels, wasn' hook 5 i heal nowl afltii this cl i si slapp« lound on th< "al decei' him i untie mr. mih\teti\ illb. fonsid into flute!" pg his 'this i'celve, [adam, iear!" ppping |sna of ing! " inting wild, ^ot, if want er me iswer thou "ah, vassal! dog of a christian! thou hast come to the rescue!" yelled the madman; "thou wouldst shield the wan ton thing! but share her fate, cur! let me hurl thee to inferno!" v there was a clutch and a wrestle, and they rolled over and over, locked in each other's embrace. there is a time in the life of every man, i suppose, when he ris'fes to sublimity — this was mr. mount erville's time. the corsair couldn't have fought more manfully for medora than my brave little man for me. and he was victorious! the madman was a mere skeleton, and his fictitious strength gave way. mr. mounterville pinned him to the floor and called to me. "fetch me the clothesline, lucinda, and i'll fix this squirming vagabond. ah, yes! you would, would you? — you crazy scamp! that will do; hold his heels, and keep him from kicking. wasn't it lucky i dropped my pocket book and came back to look for it; and i heard you yell out here on the road. now he's safe; and there's the ir other in a fit in the corner. see to her, l.ucinda — this chap's all right!" i shook ma, and, sprinkled her, and slapped her, and presently brought her round. and all the while the lunatic lay on the floor glaring at the ceiling. "ah! you're, quiet now, you matchless deceiver!" said mr. mounterville, giving him a little push with his toe; "but just untie you, and see the cantrips you'd cut a up. where would you be now. lucinda, only for me?" where, ndeed? would you believe it? i walked right over and kissed mr. mounterville. "false! false!" moaned the young man on the floor, "false as fair! thou hast learned to love another; thou hast broken every vow! but go it-^go it! let fate do her worst; i'll not flinch!" it was of no use — he was tied too fast. i went to the village for help, and our lu natic was removed with his eyes fixed on the stars, and dreamily murmuring po etry. he had been an actor, it appeared afterward, when his keepers found him. and ono of the worst cases in the asy lum. i was grateful to mr. mounterville, of course, and gratitude is akin to love. after all, medora and gulnare, and the itst of these poetic beings who had de lightfully romantic husbattds (by the bye, were they their husbands?) were unspeakably unhappy young women; and it was much. better to marry a rich, stout, elderly grocer than a cut-throat brigand, if one comes to look at it in a proper light. and so i rather think i'm resigned to my fate. april is drawing near; my dresses ar6 being made; the school is broken up; and the grocery store flourishes like a green bay-tree. and sitting here, gazing at the moon rays with folded hands and dreamy eyes, i sign myself, for the last time, yours pensively, lucinda thomp son. 1 :\ !i / hkaii i, m ■ i. ■ .*! mr i.; s.^ , ,>.:i ;<■.. ; by mrs. may agnes fleming, ' : ^ ' author of " a wonderful wonum," " a terrible secret," " the mystery at blackimod orange" ^ • .r^-.;..,v • " sir lioela heir," mo., etc. • <'• . • * /■ 7 "ipa'tter; p'attfer, patter! how drearily the rain thilb to-day. around the old l^criifie, through those gray old walls, the dying wind creeps, wailing and meaning, like the last cry of a broken heart. sadly the rain beats against the window, with heavy sobsmike to human sorrow. wifti the voices of the wind and rain in my ears, with the black and murky sky above my head, and with gloom all ground, iny thoughts wander back, , far away to the sorrowful past. on such a day /as this should my life's story be told, for, like this ghostly, dreary au inihn day, it risies before the, shrouded in darkness arid glpom. c far away, amid the grand old forest, che. first fourteen years of my life were spent. the only world i ever knew was bounded by the majestic trees; the only faces i had ever looked upon were the dark-skinned members of our tribe. spmetimes visitors, gay ladies and gen trleinen, would pass our encampment and t^top to haye their fortunes told, but i never saw them. my grandmother, gypsy kerine, as she was called, the oiily relative i ever knew, watched over irie with jealous carel never, she said, firmly, should the eyes ,of these gay young men rest upon chixd. of hers again. ,^he daughter of .her old -age had once fled with one of these. i was her only child, gifted with all the fatal beauty of my dead mother, mingled with the fire, energy and pride of my father, and now, .ijkrjijile , s1i€> lived, her. daughter's,, child sj^ouxd.nevei' see one <>f her. father's race. ^ ohthe vague,. wild. longings that, at times, would fill my heart to see the beautiful wcirld beyond, of iwhfeh the young gypsy girls rela.ted "such wbiider 1^1 tales. of beajiiljfiil ladies, dressed so jmj^nduidjiy, jn. rpji^es ,^that jv^uld . ds^saile '%nh eyes'^^to loot iipon,, arid of handsonie, cp^rtly ; g^t^mts^i wha wjould -jptp: them such charming compliments, and cross their palms with gold, for tehing them of a future as glorious as a gypsy's dream could make it. then, coming home, my fervid imagiiration fired with such tales, i would cast myself at ker ine's feet, and beg passionately, wildly, for permission to go forth and see all the beautiful world beyond for myself; and again and again 1 would hear, in answer, the same cold, firm, determined: "never, myra!" sometimes i would grow desperate at this confinement, doubly irksome to one of my impulsive, fiery nature, i^nd, with wild vehemence, declare my determina tion to escape. at. such times my grand mother would smile sneeringly and point to where stood one who followed me everywhere — followed me night and day like my own shadow — a wild, untamed, lawless gypsy boy — by name, lendoh bray. lendon bray — oh, how i hated him! evei* since i had been able to remember anything, he constantly followed • me. no dog could track out a fugitive's steps as he could mine, wherever i went. through the forest, it mattered not how stealthily i looked round, i would see him behind me, creeping along in my trail like a snake. oh. how i loathed and hated that boy; the very sunlight seemed hateful when he stood in it. many and many a timfe, when driven nearly to desperation by his ceaselessly dogging my steps, have i wished it were in my power to murder him. i knew not then how sinful such thoughts were; could i have found the opportunity, i would have slain him, with as little remorse as i v^ould crush a viper; but fate willed it otherwise. one pleasant afternoon, in the glorious indian shimmer, i was eeated^ mirsing i\^p9.]i the iirkbo|ne, lonict^ life i . was his kerl apra ■■"i wh? <i plii "61 idd fee to'' br wl va' ik g ' n ft 8 t s < 1 • "•■"'■ ' ' "^ ■> aypsy my ii a. obliged to lead, so different from the free, gay, careless life of the other gypsy girls, and longing, with strange eager bess, to leave the forest forever. had i known how to pray, i might have im plored help from on high, but i had never even heard the word. seme vague notion i had of a supreme being, who iniled over the destinies of men, but that ■waa all. the idea of addre£sing one i could not see would have then appeared to me ftbsurd and iucompreheuslble. so i sat there, weaving pictures and day dreams to myself, of that unknown world i seemed never doomed to see, and feeling a sort of dreamy pleasure in knowing that i was alone. gradually, ijowever, i felt i was not alone. i had heard no one approach, yet, when i looked up and saw lendon bray before me, i felt in no way surprised. "one of the tribe is dead, myra," he said, gazing at me steadily, with his cold, glittering black eye. "i wish you were dead, too, lendon bray," i said, passionately, springing to my feet, and turning away. ."stop, myra," he said, calmly, laying wis hand on my shoulder, "it is gypsy kerlne, your grandmother, myra." -with a low, sharp cry of horror, 1 e^prang. to his side. "my grandmother dead! lendon bray, what do you mean? how— when — where did she die?" i exclaimed. ' -"she died half an hour ago," he re plied, in his usual cold, indifferent way. "she was walkfng toward the keeper's ibdge, and fell into one of the fox traps, keeper lee heard her cry out and came toward her, and, finding her still alive, brought her here. she couldn't speak when she arrived, and died a few mo ments after." i listened with a sort of bewildered consciousness, like one stunned by some sudden blow. little cause had i to love gypsy kerine, and yet tears of real sor row fell fronr my eyes, as the clods were lam on the face of the old woman. stern ^ad harsh to me she ever had been, yet s&e was my only relative, and i felt, as i took my last look at her dark face^ that a great gap lay between me and every one elise in the world. iprom meditations stieh as these i^wasj iici^iraed by the sound of footsteps beside mfc looking up i saw the hated fifinire <sf len^ob bray. he watched me «i«i^ly for a toonredt, then, with a strange, rest less glitter in his dark eyes, he said, quietly: "free at last, myra." p'ree! ye«, i was free. i had not thought of it before, aud my heart gave a sudden glad, exultant throb. i raised my head and drew myself up proudly. "yes, lendon bray, free — free for ever more! free to lead what life i like; free to go and come when i please, un watched and unfollowed. free from you forever — remember that!" . "i shall remember, myra," he said, calmly. "what use do you intend to* make of your freedom?" "what i please. it is no business of yours, that i am aware of," i answered, shortly. "oh, none whatevercertainly not!" he said, in his cool, carelets tone, "only there is going to be a fafr at the town to-morrow, and, as you've never been to one, i thought i would bring you." "you bring me?" i exclaimed, with a scornful laugh. "no, no — not so; you will never see the day that i will accept a favor from you. i can take care of gypsy myra, and you mind yourself, lendon bray." he made no reply. i stooped to gather a cluster of crimson berries for my half and then turned proudly away. he took one step after me, and, laying his hand on my arm, said, sorrowfully: "myra, what have i ever done that you should treat me thus? why should you dislike one who loves you?" "dislike!" i repeated, fiercely. "i bate you, lendon bray — oh, how i hate you, and i wish you were dead! go back, sir! don't dare to follow me. back — i command!" and i stamped my foot pas sionately. a sudden, sharp gleam shot from his black eyes, as he hissed, from between his clenched teeth: "have a care what you say, girl. i am not to be scorned with impunity, gypsy myra." a very fury seemed to possess me as he spoke. ; "this for your warning, then." i. picked up a sharp stone and fiung it with all my might at his bead. one naoment i stood; i heard his sudden ex^ cyamation, saw the stream of blood that flowed from bis forehead, saw his face grow livid with eag€(, as he made one spritig after me. a mocking laugh was my answer,, as i darted through the i 'if .'. i, m 9b oypsy myra, bushes, and flew, rather than walked, to the tents. all the rest of the day i remained care fully out of sight. it was not dread of lendon bray made me shrink from meeting him— fear was a sensation i had never known; but i felt ashamed and grieved at what i had done. i did not know or care, perhaps, that it was wrong and sinful, but i felt humbled at having given way to my passion, and, after all, he had never really injured me. the next day's sunlight, however, dis pelled all these reflections. when i arose the people were all preparing for the fair — packing up carts, making flres, cooking breakfast, and getting ready their baskets for sale; all was bustle and confusion. how often had i sa;t watching them prepare for fairs and gatherings before, with feelings of envy; now i was going myself— going to see the beautiful world beyond, at last. "time to get ready, myra," said zita, the handsomest gypsy girl in the tribe, approaching and interrupting my medi tations, j "i have nothing to wear," i said, looki ing up in dismay at her fanciful adorn ments, most of which had been stolen by her own clever flngef s. "oh, no matter! gypsy ruth is not going, and she'll lend you hers. they'll just fit you, and, before night, if you're clever, you'll manage to nab enough to buy a dress," and zita laughed, sang a wild mountain chorus, struck her tam bourine gaily and jumped into one of the carts, all ready for the fair. in a few moments i was all ready, and, running across the green, sprang into the same cart with zita, just as it began to move away. "how handsome myra looks in her crimson gypsy cloak. she altogether outshines you, zita," said some one be hind me. i turned hurriedly, for well i knew that voice, and crimsoned to the temples. gypsy zita tossed her raven braids co quettishly, aiid replied, angrily: "mind your own business, lendon bray. you needn't think because you're dying about myra every one else is. get oft." he leaped from the cart without a ward. as he did so his cap fell off, dis cloblng hia forehead, swollen and cut. i felt now sincerely sorry for what i had done, but before i could apologiie he was gone. "what do you intend to i do in the fair to-day, myra?" loquired aiita. "sell bab kets, tell fortunes,or pick pockets?" "i am no thief," i answered^ curtly. "oh, well!" aaid zita. "i'll show you. it ain't hard." "i don't want to learn to stealj" i said, angrily. "well, dear me, you needn't get so cross about it!" said zita, indignantly. "i'm sure you ought to be thankful for the offer. what do you intend to do — tell fortunes?" i nodded. "do you know what to say?" persisted the good-natured zita. i nodded again. "who show:ed you? gypsy kerlne?" another nod. zita, finding i was determined not to enter into conversation, turned around and began plying the next one to her with questions, until, to my great relief, the cart stopped and each one got out and mingled with the crowd. for a few moments i stood by myself and gazed around, half-bewildered, on the crowd of people, moving to and fro. at last i went forward, feeling curious to see the, wonders of the fair. suddenly some one right before me exclaimed: "oh, brother, look! look! see that gypsy girl with the red cloak-roh, how handsome!" i looked up, somewhat conhised, to see the speaker. it was a fair, richly dressed young lady, who leaned: upon the arm of a young and eminently handsome man. as i stood, not knowing whether to advance or recede, gypsy zita passed me and whispered: "don't stand there like a fool all day, myra. go up and tell their fortunes,". acting on this hint, i advanced boldlv and, turning to the lady, i said: "let the gypsy girl tell your fortune, my pretty lady?" "just what i was going to ask you to do," she said, laughingly extending her hand. "mind now, my dark-eyild gypsy, and predict for me a happy future," "one so beautiful cannot be otherwise than happy," i replied, demurely taking her hand. ^ "there's a compliment for you, sis," said 'her companion, pinching her blush ing cheek. "now let us hear your fate." i could scarcely refrain from sniiltog at the eagerness with which she listened as i predicted for her, with the usual cant of our tribe, an uoclohded: future.. tfa*e qypf^ myha. slie smiled brightly, when i had done, bind extended me a guinea, saying: "now . tell this gentlemau^b fortune, miss ijypsy;" '• • ■:.'■■. ' . ■•:-!? '■ ---vv ■«;'y> .,.;r.v . i looked up fearlessly ih bier face, but; meeting the look of profound admiration in bis blue eyes, my own fell, and i felt the hot blood crimsoning my cheeks. i took his hand, small and white as a ifldy'sr ^nd every nerve in my heart thrilled at the touch of those mu, warna fingers. what a contrast it was to my little brown hand. oh! ye who talk so coolly and sedately of falling in love, little dream of the in tensity of loving at first sight. from th*e first moment my eyes rested on the , face of. wil lard dale i loved him— loved him with all the passionate fervor that only tropical natiitres like mine can know. the blood seemed leaping, with new life, through every vein, as, with wild enthusiasm, i. pictured a future, as brilliant and glorious as even my heart eould wish him. involuntarily he caught his breath and flushed to the temples at my impetuous words. ^ "how glorious! how dazzling!" ex dimmed his sister, her eyes kindling as i ceased. "oh, willacd, what a future there is for you!" 'he smiled slightly, and, still holding myhand, he drew from his own an ele gant eeal ring and placed it on my finger, saying: "accept my thanks and this ring, most beautiful gypsy, and may your own fu ttire be as bright as that yoii have fore told me." . and, with negligent ease, he rettirhed my low salutation and turned away with his sister. .during therest of the day i moved about like one in a dream. the fair had lost all its* attractions for me — every thing was forgotten save him i had seen. even london bray, whose dark face and ■glittering eyes met me at every turn, watching me with the old restless, eager look. how anxiously, as the day wore on,; i scrutinized every one i met to see il he was near; but, in vain— he had de parted. > at len||th, as evening drew oa^ we all assembled and entered the carts to drive ' home. each had their own story to re late, their money to count, and the clev erness with which, they had earned it to boast of. '.^and what have you got,.myca?" in q«rlred gypsy zita. ' i fi»d been sitting, gazing so intently upon tha ring on my finger that i heana not a word that had been spoken «ntil she addressed me. i started and colored, like one guilty, and wrapped my hand in my cloak to conceal the tok^n. "don't hideit, myra," said the voice of lehdon bray, with a short laugh, "it's a pretty toy, and the river was very handsome, too — wasn't he,myra?" his glassy eyes glittered as he spoke, with an evil light. i shuddered invol untarily, and, wrapping my cloalf closely around me, turned away in silence. zita was about to begin questioning again, but something in my manner checked her, and the journey home was performed in unusual silence. all that night, in my dreams, i saw the pale, thoughtful face and clear blue eyes of willard dale watching me. yet, though he never for a moment "v^ ab sent from my thoughts, 1 could scarce-y suppress a cry of surprise and joy when i encountered him next morning in tho forest. how well he looked! better, i fancied, even than th^ day befoi^e, dressed in a green hunting suit, his gun on his shoulder and his dog by his side. "why, is it possible, my pretty gypsy!" he exclaimed, in surprise, throwing him self on the grass beside me. "i'd not the slightest idea i was to be so fortunate as to meet you here." ' ^t "nor did i expect to meet you' here, sir," i answered, looking up in the eyes i already loved so well, v ; '; i v . ''^i':^ . "some good fairy sent me feitfier, no doubt, to see the dark-eyed queen of the forest," he said, gaily. "why, i have bqen thinking, of you ever sinee we met yesterday. i intended to seek for you, but i knew not your name. what is it?" "gypsy myra." '^ * . "well, then, myra, i have son^ething to tell you. yesterday, after you told me my fortune, an 'evitlooking gypsy youth eought me out and threatened me with all sorts of calamities if' i ever spoke to you again. who was hie? do you know?" "yes — yes— 'i know. what did you say to him?" . ."say^ to him!" be repeated, laughing. "i didn't stop to reason matters with him, i assure you. i just took him by the collar and pitched hiin, head first, into the middle of the crowd, as a gentle hint to mind his owi^ bus!nes8.t i rather think the young gentleman won't trouble me for a white againv" ashe spoke' a fttsthng in the btisbes 80 oypsr myba. i !<<) arrested my attention. i glanced around and beheld a pair of black eyes, blazing witli ominous light, glaring at us from the thicket. wei: : knew to whom they belonged. a strange dread of that ev-1 minded boy stole over me» i arose to go. "what, myra! you're not surely going to leave me so soon?" he explained. "come, sit down; i want to talk to you." "not now," i replied, hastily. "i will be missed." "joh! well, then, i won't detain you if you must go. good-by! i shall soon visit you again, my pretty myra." he touched hla cap gallantly, whistled to his dog, and plunged into the thicket, while i turned slowly and thoughtfully homeward. the next day, and the next, and the next, willard came, and every day, until autumn began to give place to winter, we met. and ever lurking on our steps came lendon bray. look which way 1 vould, his basilisk eyes seemed ever upon me. one day i. hastened, as usual, to owri+^an a trysting place. it was one of those balmy days that sometimes linger on the verge of winter. never had the forest worn so gay a livery as now, decked out m its many-hued diess. i eeated myself beneath a large outspreading oak, our favorite seat, where often, during those happy latter days, i had sat, my arms around the neck of his favorite dog, lis tening to his stories of far-off climes. how anxiously i listened for his loved footsteps. the time of meeting was al ready past, and never before had he loit ered. at length the well-known sound reached my ears; bruno came dashing through the thicket, and a moment after his master was beside me. "have i made you wait, myra?" he said, taking his seat. "yes, but it don't matter, now .that you're here," i answered, gaily. he was silent. i looked up, in sur prise, and saw an unusual cloud resting on his brow. "has anything happened?" i inquired, in alarm. ^ "yes, myra. i have unpleasant news for you. i am going away," he said, slowly. going away! i was bewildered. i could not speak, so sudden came the shock. for a time we were both silent; then, controlling my emotions by a firm effort, i said, in a voice which faltered in spite of mysqlf: "i am sorry. how long will you he absent?" "three or four years, perhaps," he said, sadly. what an eternity it seemed to me! i clasped my arms tighter around bruno's neck and hid my face in his shaggy side. willard watched me, in silence for a moment, then he unclasped my arms from around the dog, and said: "nay, myra, you should grieve witli your arms around my neck. instead ot bruno's! look up — i want to talk with you." look up! i strove to do it, but, mce ing those sorrowful eyes, my head le 1 over more heavily oix his shoulder. "i cannot— i canfiot! oh, willard, 1 shall die if you leave me!" i'cried, pas sionately. "no, you will not — you must not, myra!" he said, passing his hand caress ingly over my long bl^ck hair. "i want to see ycu live to be something better gypsy. you must live to be a woman— a woman in every sense of the word — good and noble, and self-rellan*;— one i shall be proud of. listen, myra. you have a splendid voice, and mighc make your fortune as a singer. will yoi not try?" "yes, yts — anything you wish," i fal tered. "then, i shall speak for you to-mor row; and (i shall tell yoiyr fortune this time) when i return i shall see you, myra, the gypsy no longer, but myra, the prima donna of one of the first operas in london. and now, myra, i shall see you to-morrow for the last ^ time . until my return from germany, whither i am going." the last time! how like a knell of death sounded the words in my ears. the very sunlight seemed to freeze me now, for the light and warmth of my life departed with him. he had told my fortune truly. ere two years were past-i was the acicnowl edged prima donna of the opera. night after night i was haile^ wl^h en thusiasm, and the fame of "la belle myra," the "queen of song," had spread far and wide. many of the noblest in the land had knelt at my feet, craving for one smile; but i turned sadly from them all, for my heart was far away. in a "land beyond the sea." , . and, during all this time, my evil oypfiy uyra. 81 genius, in the person of i^ndon bray, pursued me. how often, when, wl.h cheeks glowing and eyes bparkllng, i would look around and meet tho^e co.d, gleaming eyes, that, in my proudest mo ments, could strike a chill to my heart. a loathing and horror iinspsahable al ways crept over me at the sight. i would gladly have given all i posfessed in the world to be free from h m; but eacaie i could not. night after night i world se^ him before me, watching me ever with the old eager, mocking sneer on his lips. and so the three years of will ard's absence passed, and he would soon be home again. i thought of this, as i stood arrayed before the glass, one nitht, preparatory to appearing on the stage. that very night, three years before, he had bidden me farewell! how i had changed in that time. strange, i had never thought of it be fore; but it struck me forcibly now, as i gazed upon the image reflected in the mirror, clothed in the rich, flowing robes, and wearing the crown of norma. would he know me? he had left me a little, tawny, dark eyed, sun burned gypsy. an"d now! i started as i gazed upon the dark, bright oriental face, the large, languishing, black eyes, so full of lire and passion, the crimson cheeks and lips, and tall, regal figure. involuntarily i wondered if "i be i." a vague impression that he was pres ent filled my mind that night, v/hen i stood on the stage. i heard as one who hears not the thunder of applause that greeted me. i raised my eyes, and cast a sweeping glance over the audience, and — ! yes, he was present! that proud, erect carriage, the princely head, those dark blue eyes! oh, well i. knew them. yea, he was there. that night i sang as i never sang be fore. i forgot myself. i seemed in spired. i was no longer "la myra," but norma herself— sorrowful, noble, beau tiful norma. i lost sight of all present and sang with passionate abandon, until thfe last act of the opera. then, utterly exhausted, i sank into a chair. but not long had i to rest, for shout after shout, and cheer after cheer, broke upon my ears until the very house shook. the simultaneous cjy of "l>a belle myra," rang again and again upon the air, unt|l once more i stood before uiem. then showers of wreaths and bouquets, many knotted with jewels, fell at my feet. lad'es, carried away by the enthubiasm of the moment, clapped their hands and waved their handkerthiefs, ::nd the cries grew wilder and wilder, un lil, hoarse with the effort, the multitude lapsed into silence. yes, it was a tri umph—a triumph such as even i had never before won. yet, as i bowed, with (lushed cheeks and palpitating heart, my eyes fell on the hated face of lendon iiray. a deadly sickness came over me, a sudden revulsion of feeling, the blood nu bed to my heart, and i sank, nearly ewooning, on a seat as the curtain again fell. i had won fame and wealth, and the love of many; but the proudest and hap piest moment of my li.e was when, one month after that eventful night, willard dale held me in his arms as his be trothed bride. yes, that for which i had struggled was won; that which i had, ever since our first meeting, looked forward to with wild longing— willard's love. i had quitted the stage forever — for we were to be married immediately — and 1 had taken, as i hoped, my last look at the dark face of lendon bray. 'twas the "night before the bridal." i stood on the piazza of my houee, gaz ing dreamily out upon the moonlight, with all the conflicting emotions of a bride passing through my mind. sud denly i felt a cold hand laid on my shoulder. i turned quickly around, and almost shrieked aloud as i found myself face to face with lendon bray. "as you have not thought fit to invite me to your wedding, myra, i thought i would call and tell you i intended to come without an invitation," he said, with an evh smile. "lendon bray, wnat do you me».n?" i exclaimed,'' a nameless dread crteping over me. "oh, nothing," he answered, with the same sinister look; "only, as i have watched over you so carefully all my life, i fancied you would at least have asked me to see you married, if it were only to get my blessing," and he laughed a short, bitter laugh as he spoke. "watched over me?" i repeated, fierce ly, all my fiery passions roused by his gibing manner. "yes, you have dogged me, night and day, like the crawling snake that you are! haunted me, until i scarce dared go outside the door for fear of meeting you! followed me. un til ynu have made me hate you as i hate satan himself — until i have been tempt mm ^ f 81 oyphy mxra-> ed to slay myself, rather than breathe the same air with y(),u. i have loalheu you from my c^i^lclhood up, and ever shall, until the grave separates ub." "and the grave alone shall ever sep arate us," he hissed, in a tone that made me quail in spite of myself. "lc;ok," and he took off h!s cap and pointed to a deep scar on his forehead; "do you see that? well, your own dainty, jeweled angers gave me that true love token. you struck me, and to did he. you two were the first and shall be the last, who ever gave me a blow. i swore then to be revenged, and, though years have passed since then, those blov/s cry for i-evenge as loudly as ever. and so, gypsy myra, farewell till we meet again!" and with a bitter, mocking smile, he was gone. during the remainder of the night i paced my room up and down, thinking of his ominous words. what could he mean? i dared not think of an answer to the question, for well i v ew his dark, wicked mind. morning found me pale and restless. i stood like one in a trance, while my bridesmaid robed me for the altar. i saw them throw the long, rich veil over my head, saw them weave the orange blossoms through my jetty locks, heard them whisper, with startled looks, that i resembled far more a corpse than a bride. and all the time i saw before me the vindictive, revengeful face of lendon bray. it came between me and every thing else. his dark eyes clouded all my future. at length i was arrayed. willard, bright, happy and joyous as ever, only wondering a little at my altered looks, handed rae into the carriage, and we drove to the church. the spacious build ing was crowded to excess. strangers x.^-i:v. had assembled from far and near to wit ness the nuptials of "la belle myra." the ceremony began, and, as it pro ceeded, every beat of ray heart sounded us loudly as the stroke of a sledje ham mer. there was a dead, a prolound silence throughout the church, as the clergyman pronounced the impressive words: "what god has joined together, let no man put asunder." scarcely had the words passed his lips ere the report of a pistol broke upon tie air. with a cry, so full cf piercing ago;.y that it even now rings in my ear, wil lard sprang high in the air, and fell dead at my feet! another shot broke the ap palling stillness that reigned throughout the lofty edifice. i felt an awful crash, as if my skull were rent in twain, then all became dark — thought and conscious ness left me, and i fell to the ground. months passed before i arosa from that bed of sickness that had nearly been the bed of death. the flowers had long been blooming on the graves of my husband and his murderer. i did not learn how lendon bray cp,me to his end until i was fully recovered from my wounn. he had fied imme diately after committing the deed, but was arrested a few days after. he was tried, found guilty of murder and sen tenced to death. the very night of his condemnation he was found dead in h's cell, having committed suicide rather than be publicly hanged. years and years have passed sinc« then. as gold is purified by fire so is man by afillction. i have passed through the furnace, and, i trust, have come forth cleansed. i am walking amid the shad ows, but i only wait the summons that will call me home, to be happy forever more. price each •l tbb soai os. thb mts charlotte m. undbr ti 04. kino soi 05. aronnd t o0. tea c0r8 07. laot gtu 08. avrril. 09. tbh blaoi aio. anoblr oil, thb bbu by charlott ai3. tbb blao ois. tbb dnoi ali. norsbai al5. mbrlb'c ( ols. asrddti^ al7. rook run al8. lord lisl al9. tbbarmo om. mr. uilfii 021. a 80arlb1 os. tbbsbak 023. thbsiboc o«t. mr. mbbsfl o3>. jbnithai oao. bbaton'b i 037. thb giqdir oas. tbb rossi. osb. tbb wand oao. piomtr ai osi. net tboroc asi. tbborbat oas. thisoroi aik hilda: or asi. orandfati o86. a trip to i ttb. tbb pionbi ax. . a littlb n (u0. maotbr ro 440. tabhbirk (141. miss modoi oo. hiokobte 043. mbbnno e 044 in durano o45. danbsburi o40. thb twin off. bbpbhtbd 04t5. the kkd til 048. acnt diani oso. trbascrb i specie any six for age prepai< number of . precede eac ten it will i i the arm chair library. price, ten cents each. see special offer below. r each issue g)nsists d a book of sixty-four doublc-cdumn octavo pages, with colored cover. mo. tai soarlit littlr. by nathaniel hawthorne. tbi. mtstirt of colob-nu. : on, not protim. by os. at. a5. aa. ^: o9. alo all, ai3 al3 al*. ali. alft. an. ai8. oi9. an. a2i. an. aa. ou. aay ok. an. an. an. an. osl. % as). <is6. 440. 1141. «o. <l«3. 044 045. ofi. <«• atn. aia. ose. by mlu m. b. braddon. by mil byh charlotte m. braerae, under thk rkd plaq. kino aoiomon's mines. by h rider haggard aroond the worlo in elobty dats. by jules vetuif. thr corsiuan brothbrs. by alexander dumas. laot oraoi. by mrn. henry wood. avrril. by rom noucbette carey. tbb black dwarf. by sir walter scott. a norlb llvb. by mihh mulock. tbb billr ov lynn ; or, tbb miltir's dauohtib. by charlotte m. b'aeroe. tbb black tclip. by alexander dumas. tbb ddobbss. by "the ducbeas." ndrsb rbtrl's mistakr. by florence warden. mbrlr'c! orn.naob. by rosa noucbette carey. a srddt in soahlbt. by a. conan doyle. rook ruin. br mrh. ann a. stephens. lord lislb's dauohtbr. by charlotte m. braeme. tbb armorbr op ttrb. cy sylvanub cobb. jr. mr. gilfil's lovb stort. by george euot. a soarlbt sin. by florenco marr , %t. tbb sba icino. by capt:xlq maritr,t. tbb siboc of granada. by glr e. bultver lytton. mr. mbbson's will. by h. rider ilage^. jbnnt harlow. by w clark rub:c1i. beaton's bargain. by mra. alexander. tbb squire's darlino. by charlotte m. braeme. tbb rpssian otpst. by aloxander dumas. tbb wandbrino hbir. by charles uczde. flowbr and wbbd. by miss m. e. braddon. not taoronobfarb. by dickens and collins. tbborbat hoooartt diahond. uy w. m.tbackeray. tbi scrobon's dacohtbr. by sir wr,lter scott. hilda; or, tbb false vow. bychartott<«m braeme. orandfatrbr's cbair. bf nathaniel hawthorne. a trip to tbb moon. by jules vome. tbb pionbbr's dadohtbr. by bmerson bennett. a littlb rbrbl. bv "th« duchess. " master rookafbllar'b votaob. by w. 0. rauell. tbb heiress of hilldrop. by charlotte m. braeme. miss mcdonald. by mrs. mary j. holmec. hickort batx. by mrs. emma d. e. n. sonthwortb mbehno hkr fatb. by miss nf. b. braddon. in ddranob vile by "the duchess." danesburt house. by mrs. henry wood. tbb twin libutbnants. by alexander dumas. bbfbntbd at lbisokb. by cbarlotte m. braeme. thb tckd tiill ikagbot. by mi8. soutuwortd. aont diana. by rosa noucbette carey. tbbabcrb island. by robert louis stevenson. no. oal. a rooub's life. by wllkie collins. 052. lady diana's pride. by charlotte m. brammu oas. grace darnbl. ry minn m. e. braddon. as4. alla.v qdatbrhain. by h. rider haggard. afio. kino arthur. by .minh mulock. om. ladt latimer's escape. by charlntte m. br 007. allan's wife. by h. klder haguard. oss. tub sign op tub four. by a. conan doylb. ofio. pretty miss smith. by florence warden. a60. christie johnstone. by ( iiarlem reade. a6l. a dark nioht's work. by mrs. gaskell. 062. the traoboy op lime hall. by c. m. braemth 063. sybil brotherton. bv mrs. soutbwortb. 004. thb risen dead. by florence marryat. ods. swbbt la true lo tb. by "the duchess." 066. at hay. by mm. alexander. a67. at war witb herself. by cbarlotte m. braaomb 068. the mystery of no. 13. by helen b. mattaen. 069. thk haunted hotel. by wllkie collins. 070. crarifpord. by mrs. gaskell. 071. a fatal tbhptation. by cbarlotte m. braemo. 072. the gold bug. by edgar allen poe. a73. the nan in black. by stanley j. weymao. 074. the ghost of ri vbko alb hall. by mrs. may agmf fleming. i a75. beyond the citt. by a. cnnan doyle. lady ethel's whim. by cbailottem. braeio*. the house of tbb wolf. by stanley j. weyman. the mystery of cloombbb. by a. conan doyl*. the haunted hombbtkad. by mrs. soutbwortb. she's all the world to ma. by hall caioe. the artist's love. by mrs. soutbwortb. beside the bonnib brier bubb. by ian maclartn. the heir of brandt. by etta w. pierce. the hombstbadon tbbuillaidb. by mrs. mary j. holmes. the hbirrss of bbndbb ball. by etta w. plmregii tbb shadow of a sin. by charlotte m. braeme. taa light that faitsd. by rudyard rtpling. lord ltnnb'b cboicb. by charlotte m. braeme. the broxbn engaobmbnt. by mrs. southwortb. tbb h/iuntbd chambbr. by *' the duobess." tbb tolugatb mtstbrt. by mary kyle dauaa. her reoond lovb. by charlotte m. braeme. tbb rector of st. mask'a by mrs. mary j. holmm tbb spy of thb ten. by pylvanus cobb, jr. dora dbanb. by mrs. mary j. holmes. magoib millrr. by mrs. mary j. holmeai taa slatb kino. by rer. j. h. ingrabam. fen. ian. an. a19. 080. osi. 083. oss. 084. 086. 087. 088. 090. 091. 092, a93w ah. aan. an, as7. an. cm. oioo. the bankbr's heir. by sylyanns'cobb, jr. rosamond. by mrn. mary j. 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"reasonable" was subjectively defined as the curve that an individual would most probably draw by hand through the same data points. of the several techniques tried, only an algorithm consisting of hermite interpolation between every two successive points with artificial construction of required derivatives generated "reasonable" curves. derivatives are artificially constructed by a subroutine which duplicates the constraints that an individual subconsciously employs when drawing a curve through discrete data points. this report discusses the techniques investigated, graphically demonstrates the advantages and reasonableness of this algorithm, and describes it in detail. this algorithm should be applicable for fitting a continuous curve to discrete data of any sort. dd form 1 nov 65 1.473 unclassified security classification unclassified security classification 14. link a link b link c key words role wt role wt role wt curve fitting lagrange interpolation algorithm hermite interpolation least squares unclassified security classification preface the authors wish to thank mr. t. persakis for programming and documenting the algorithm and mrs. f. fernandes and mrs. m. borghetti for typing the manuscript. 3 | 1 contents 1. introduction 7 8 2. techniques 2.1 lagrange interpolation 2.2 least squares 2.3 hermite interpolation algorithm oo oo oo oo 8 8 8 3. conclusions 9 appendix a a detailed description of the hermite interpolation algorithm 23 illustrations 10 1 11 1. example 1, curve fitting through 7 discrete data points by: (a) straight line segments; (b) lagrange interpolating polynomials; (c) hermite interpolation algorithm 2. example 2, curve fitting through 7 discrete data points by: (a) straight line segments; (b) lagrange interpolating polynomials; (c) hermite interpolation algorithm 3. example 3, curve fitting through 7 discrete data points by: (a) straight line segments; (b) lagrange interpolating polynomials; (c) hermite interpolation algorithm 4. example 4, curve fitting through 7 discrete data points by: (a) straight line segments; (b) lagrange interpolating polynomials; (c) hermite interpolation algorithm; (d) the hermite interpolation algorithm modified to correct negative values 13 14 5 illustrations 16 5. example 5, curve fitting through 12 discrete data points by: (a) straight line segments; (b) lagrange interpolating polynomials; (c) hermite interpolation algorithm 6. example 6, curve fitting through 12 discrete data points by: (a) straight line segments; (b) lagrange interpolating polynomials; (c) hermite interpolation algorithm 7. examples of curve fitting data given in figure 1 (example 1) by least squares with different degree polynomials: (a) 2-degree; (b) 3-degree; (c) 4-degree; (d) 5-degree; (e) 6-degree 18 19 25 26 a1. determing the derivative of the point a; a2. determining the x-axis tangent point in restricting the polynomial to be > 0 a3. example 4 rotated 90°, customary dependent/independent variable portrayal: (a) straight line segments; (b) the unmodified hermite interpolation algorithm; (c) partial correction; (d) the modified hermite interpolation algorithm 30 tables 29 a1. example n data points (a;) and data point derivatives as a function of height a2. example n + 1 data points (aſ) and data point derivatives as a function of height 32 6 hermite interpolation algorithm for constructing reasonable analytic curves through discrete data points 1. introduction research* was conducted to investigate the characteristics of vertically integrated, boundary-layer winds. the methodology required construction of "reasonable" analytic curves of wind and temperature vs height from discrete data. these data were obtained at nonregularly spaced levels ranging in height from the surface to 1500 ft and in number from 7 to 12, depending on the tower. the curves had to be capable of integration and differentiation, and because of the number involved (over 60, 000), had to be generated by computer without human intervention. "reasonable", as used above, is subjectively defined as a curve that an individual knowledgeable of the physics involved, could draw by hand through the same data points. connecting the data points with straight line segments creates physically unnatural derivative discontinuities and this method is therefore not acceptable. figures la through 6a show examples of curves constructed by this procedure. (received for publication 6 july 1973) *conducted by r. v. cormier in absentia and towards fulfilling the requirements for the degree of doctor of philosophy in meteorology from st. louis university, st. louis, mo. 7 2. techniques 2.1 lagrange interpolation the first technique employed used a lagrange interpolating polynomial of degree n-1 through the n data points. the details of this technique are available 1 in the most elementary textbooks on numerical analysis?. figures 1b through 6b show sample curves plotted through 7 data points using the lagrange technique. inspection of these figures indicates that lagrange interpolation can yield curves having unreasonable excursions and/or turns between data points. this is somewhat evident between the top two data points in figure 1b, and grossly evident in figures 3b and 4b. in addition, figure 4b shows that these excursions can lead to physically unreal negative wind speeds. for relatively simpler data distributions, as shown in figure 2b, the technique yields more reasonable curves. figures 5b and 6b are examples of curves plotted through 12 discrete data points. 2.2 least squares in the search for a technique which would more consistently yield reasonable curves, least squares fitting with polynomials of varying degrees was tried. again 1 this technique is described in most elementary numerical analysis texts texts?. figure 7 shows the curves constructed by this technique for the same data points used in figure 1 (example 1) for 2through 6-degree polynomials. least squares fitting . generally produces curves having fewer and smaller excursions than lagrange interpolation but, with one exception, these curves do not meet the basic criterion of going through the data points. the one exception is the least squares polynomial of degree one less than the number of data points (figure 7e) which is equivalent to lagrange interpolation. 2.3 hermite interpolation algorithm 1 = hermite interpolation was then suggested, but two problems were immediately evident. if hermite interpolation were used over all n = 7 points, one could have as many as n-2 = 5 turns between points?; this would, as was the case with lan grangian interpolation, produce unrealistic excursions between points. further hermite interpolation requires, in addition to the value of a function at specific points, the derivatives of the function. 1. singer, j. (1964) elements of numerical analysis, academic press, new york, n.y. 8 the first problem was solved by using hermite interpolation between every two successive points rather than over all points. the second problem was solved by artificially constructing derivatives at each of the points by a procedure that duplicates the constraints that an individual subconsciously employs when handdrawing a curve through data points. this algorithm, consisting of two-point hermite interpolation with derivatives artificially constructed, is described in detail in appendix a. figures 1c through 6c show the curves generated by the algorithm. these should be compared with curves a and b shown in figures 1 through 6. with the exception of figure 4c, notice how exceptionally reasonable the curves are. they are free of excursions and are quite similar to curves one would draw by hand through the same data points. figure 4c displays an unreal negative wind speed. the algorithm was then further modified so that it would yield only positive values if data were physically limited to being equal to or greater than 0. figure 4d shows the elimination of negative values as a result of this additional modification. note that this has been achieved without a sacrifice in reasonableness; the curve is still as if it were drawn by hand. 3. conclusions research using data measured at a few points on a 1500-ft tower required the construction of "reasonable" analytic curves of the data as a function of height by electronic computer. of the several techniques tried, only an algorithm consisting of hermite interpolation between every two successive data points with artificial construction of the required derivatives, generated "reasonable" curves. this algorithm should be applicable to discrete data of any sort. it is available from afcrl (suya) by referring to problem number 4026/6. 9 0.091 0001 120.0 height (ft) ix101) 00.0 60.0 (a) 0:00 20.0 ... 00 1.00 2.00 300 7,00 8.00 9.00 10.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wino speeo (m/s) 160.0 140.0 120.0 100.0 height (ft) (x101) 80.0 60.0 (b) 0:01 20.0 0.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wino speed (m/s) 10.00 figure 1. example 1, curve fitting through 7 discrete data points by: (a) straight line segments; (b) lagrange interpolating polynomials 10 0.091 0.001 120.0 100.0 height (ft) (x10') 80.0 80.0 (c) 0:00 20.0 0 °0.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/s) figure 1. (cont) example 1, curve fitting through 7 discrete data points by: (c) hermite interpolation algorithm 160.0 0:01 120.0 (a) 100.0 height ift iix101) 0.08 0:09 40.0 0.02 9.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/s) 10.00 figure 2. example 2, curve fitting through 7 discrete data points by: (a) straight line segments 11 0.091 140.0 120.0 0.001 height (ft) ix101) 60.0 0:08 (b) 0.01 20.0 90.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 wind speed (m/s) 0.097 0.011 120.0 100.0 height fix101) 80.0 (c) 0:09 1 001 20.0 0,00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/s) figure 2. (cont) example 2, curve fitting through 7 discrete data points by: (b) lagrange interpolating polynomials; (c) hermite interpolation algorithm 12 160.0 0.011 120.0 0.001 height (ft mix101 00.0 60.0 (a) 40.0 20.0 00.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 7.00 6.00 9.00 10.00 wind speed (m/s) 160.0 140.0 120.0 0.001 (b) height (ftitx10') 0.08 0.09 0001 20.0 0.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/s) 10.00 figure 3. example 3, curve fitting through 7 discrete data points by: (a) straight line segments; (b) lagrange interpolating polynomials 13 0.091 0.001 120.0 100.0 height (ftdix10') 80.0 60.0 (c (c) 001 20.0 0 0.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/s) figure 3. (cont) example 3, curve fitting through 7 discrete data points by: (c) hermite interpolation algorithm 160.0 139.9 119.8 99.8 height (ft) tx101) 79.7 59.6 (a) 39.5 19.4 09.7 '0.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 0.00 9.00 10.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wino speed (m/s) figure 4. example 4, curve fitting through 7 discrete data points by: (a) straight line segments 14 1 160.0 8166t 6h 1 99.8 height (ft)ix101) 797 99.6 (b) (b) 39.5 161 요 ​0 0.7 '0.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 0.00 9.00 10.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/s) 160.0 140.0 120.0 100.0 heloht (ft(x101) 80.0 (c) (c) 0.09 0001 20.0 +1.00 9.00 1.00 2.00 6.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 3.00 4.00 5.00 wind speed (m/s) figure 4. (cont) example 4, curve fitting through 7 discrete data points by: (b) lagrange interpolating polynomials; (c) hermite interpolation algorithm 15 0.091 0.011 120.0 100.0 height (ft) (x10') 8010 60.0 (d) out 20.0 90.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 $.00 9.00 10.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/s) figure 4. (cont) example 4, curve fitting through 7 discrete data points by: (d) the hermite interpolation algorithm modified to correct negative values 160.0 0.001 120.0 100.0 height (fti(x101) 80.0 (a) 60.0 40.0 20.0 * 9.00 1.00 2.00 + 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 11.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/h) figure 5. example 5, curve fitting through 12 discrete data points by: (a) straight line segments 16 160.0 140.0 120.0 100.0 height (fd (x101) 80.0 (b) 0.09 0.01 20.0 9.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 7.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/h) 10.00 11.00 160.0 140.0 120.0 100.0 height (ft) (x101) 80.0 (c) 009 40.0 20.0 9.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/h) 10.00 11.00 figure 5. (cont) example 5, curve fitting through 12 discrete data points by: (b) lagrange interpolating polynomials; (c) hermite interpolation algorithm 17 160.0 0.001 120.0 100.0 height (fd (x101) 80.0 60.0 (a) 40.0 20.0 * 00.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 11.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/h) 160.0 140.0 120.0 100.0 height (ft) (x101) 80.0 60.0 (b) 40.0 20.0 9.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 + 10.00 11.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/h) figure 6. example 6, curve fitting through 12 discrete data points by: (a) straight line segments; (b) lagrange interpolating polynomials 18 160.0 140.0 120.0 100.0 height (ft (x101) 80.0 60.0 c) (c) 00 20.0 90.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 11.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/h) figure 6. (cont) example 6, curve fitting through 12 discrete data points by: (c) hermite interpolation algorithm 160.0 0.011 polynomial fit degree 2 120.0 100.0 height (ft) (x101) 80.0 60.0 (a) x 0:01 20.0 00.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/s) figure 7. examples of curve fitting data given in figure 1 (example 1) by least squares with different degree polynomials: (a) 2-degree 19 160.0 0.011 polynomial fit degree 3 120.0 x 100.0 height (ft)ix10') 80.0 60.0 (b) 0.01 20.0 90.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 1.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 4.00 s.00 6.00 wind speed (m/s) 160.0 0.011 polynomial fit degree 4 120.0 x * 100.0 height (ft) ix10') 80.0 60.0 c (c) 0.07 20.0 °0.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/s) figure 7. (cont) examples of curve fitting data given in figure 1 (example 1) by least squares with different degree polynomials: (b) 3-degree; (c) 4-degree 20 160.0 0.071 polynomial fit degree 5 120.0 100.0 height fix10') 80.0 60.0 (d ) * 0:07 * 20.0 00.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wind speed (m/s) 160.0 0.001 polynomial fit degree 6 120.0 100.0 height (ft) (*10') 80.0 60.0 (e) 0.01 20.0 x 0.00 1.00 2.00 3.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 4.00 5.00 6.00 wino speed (m/si figure 7. (cont) examples of curve fitting data given in figure 1 (example 1) by least squares with different degree polynomials: (d) 5-degree; (e) 6-degree 21 appendix a a detailed description of the hermite interpolation algorithm al. mathematical considerations this algorithm is based upon hermite's interpolation formula through n-data points. to briefly describe hermite's formula, consider the simplest form of the formula using just two data points. given the values f(x7), f(xz), and the derivatives f'(x7), f'(x2) of a function f(x) at two points xq and x2 of the x-axis, find a x1 polynomial p(x) of degree at most three, say ' 2 p(x) = 20 + a7x + ayx? + agx3, ao , (a1) such that f(x) and its derivatives are identical with those of the polynomial at the points x x1 and x2, that is f(x) p(x;) f'(x) = p(x) ; ' i = 1, 2, (a2) 3 20 + ayx1 + a2xiº + azaz a 21 a281 2381 applying eq. (a2) to eq. (a1), the following linear system of equations is obtained: f(x1) a1 + 2a2x1 + 3az x1 f'(x1) (a3) ao f(x2) a1 + 2a2x2 + 3a382 f'(x2) 2 x a 2 3 + a x2 + a2x2 + az82 11 2 а 23 а 9 the solution of the above system determines the coefficients aj, aj, az, az, and so the polynomial is determined. the determinant. d of the matrix of coefficients is (x2 x2) 114, and therefore, if x2 + xy and at least one of the numbers f(x;), f'(x;), i = 1, 2, is different from zero, a non-zero solution of the above system exists and is unique. therefore the polynomial is obtained uniquely by solving the above system. most texts on numerical analysis derive polynomial p(x) using a different, somewhat more sophisticated method than solving the above system. in such texts, the polynomial is given as: 2 ) = ) 1 + + x2 2 ( 2 p(x) = f(xx) (1 21", (xz) (x = x;)] 2 (x) f(x) [1 2ľ, (x) (x x2)) ?(x) ] l, x + f'(xy) (x xz) l?, (x) + f'(x2) (x x2) l?(x) (a4) 2 2 ' 2 where x x2 l (x) x1 x2 and (a5) x l2(x) x1 *2 -*1 in the present study there is one constraint which restricts the use of the above method. the derivatives of the function are not known. this handicap is avoided by artificially creating derivatives of the given function at the given points as follows: the derivative of the function f(x) at the point [*;, f(x;)] is taken as the slope of the straight line joining the two points adjacent to this point. for example, the slope m; of the point a; (see figure a1), is f(x1+ 1) f(x-1) m. yi+ 1 yi-1 i i ?. 1 x 24 1 y ai a1-1 aiti 1 1 1 1 1 х xi-1 xi xiti figure a1. determining the derivative of the point a; for the two end points of a given number of points, the derivative is taken as the slope of the straight line joining the point considered and the point adjacent to it. for instance, the derivatives of the points ai-1 and a. ai+1 are, respectively, the following: mi-1 f(x) f(x-1) x; *-1 x and i m. i+ 1 f(x+1) f(x) yi+1% after creating the derivatives of the function f(x) at the points x; = 1, 2, ..., n, using the above method, the function which represents the physical data is approximated by a set of polynomials each having degree at most three. every two consecutive points define one such polynomial, as proven above, and is given by eq. (a4). in this study, the function cannot be negative. therefore the polynomial is restricted to p(x) ao + ax + ay x² + az x3 + ? 20, , (a5) where x in this study represents height above the earth and p(x) is the wind speed. to accommodate this restriction, consider a special case of the polynomial (the reason will become apparent below). pick a point xm lying between xa and xp (see figure a2). а 25 pm,b(x) (x) ka 가 ​fo fo х xo xm хь figure a2. determining the x-axis tangent point in restricting the polynomial to be 20 for this point suppose that f(xm) = f'(xm) = 0, (a6) and also f(a) > 0. (a7) to simplify things denote f fa = f(a) and f' = f'(a). . a = x m ; if a polynomial having properties of eq.(a6), namely, p(xm) = p'(xm) = 0, is created, then it would have a double root at the point x = this can be seen easily by constructing the polynomial which, for the points (xa, fa) and (xm; fm), becomes ) x 2 (x -x) f : x х m 1 p (x xa pa, m(x) x) [(x xm q' 21 ] ) fa m x а. x x) а х m a а a m + (xa x) f m a a}: а the third (real) root of pa, m(x) is , it x3 (x x) f a m a (x x ) f '2f a m a a + x a 26 1 one now determines where this root is located or, to be more specific, what condition or conditions should the derivative fi' satisfy in order that this root be and x of the x-axis. outside of the interval defined by the points xa а. m case a: if x3 <xa is desired, then . (xa x) f ) fa а m а (xa x ·x)fi а m a + x 2fa ха < xa, x а. а or f a -x)f'2f m a a < 0, (x a (since *a х m < 0). a from the above inequality, since fa > 0, (xa xm) fa' 2f <0, а а a or 2f a f a (a8) x x m a case b: if xz > xm is desired, then (xa (x а x) f m a x) ft m a txa > x + x a *m 2f a 9 а a or а fa xm) fa' > 1. (x a 2f a the above inequality holds if fa' satisfies the double inequality: а 3fa 2f a а 2 <f a < fa (a9) *m xa x am а x m x a 27 a therefore, if the derivative fa' satisfies eq. (a8) or eq. (a9), the polynomial has no other root in the interval (xa, xm) except the double root x = xm: a second conclusion is that since f > 0, the polynomial p (x) is positive for every x in the interval (xa, xm. xm one can incorporate eq. (a8) and eq. (a9) into the following inequality: a a, m ' 3f a <fi', (a) x m a x a and say that if the above inequality holds, the polynomial p. pa, m(x) has no root between x and x im• one now similarly treats the points (xm; fm) and (xp, fp), where suppose again a that, f m f m = 0, and fy > 0. hermite's polynomial passing through these two points is written as 2 x x m * 1 p (x xb (x) b x xb. *mfy' 2fy ] (xy x m x m b m pm, bre) ( {-x} [14 21)6** ( fo} .{%ܟ݂ܐ ܀ + (xp xm) f x this polynomial has a double root at x = x and its third root is m = хз (xb xm) fo 2fb + (хъ xm) fb хь • as before, one concludes that pm, b(x) is positive in the interval (xmxp), if either of the inequalities below is satisfied: 2fb fb' < (a10) xb %m x m 28 or 2fb fo' < 3fb. хъ x (a11) m x m incorporating eq. (a10) and eq. (a11) into one inequality: 3fb fb' < (b) xp *m if (b) holds, the polynomial pm, b(x) has no root between xm and xp , b a2. an example the reasons for the mathematical considerations described in appendix a are now explained in the following paragraphs. constructing hermite's polynomials for every two consecutive points has been mentioned previously, as well as the fact that the polynomials should be positive if the phenomenon is positive. in this case the phenomenon is the relationship between wind speed and height above the ground. the data are given in table a1, and graphed in figure a3(a). this graph is composed of straight line segments passing through the given data points. the x-axis represents height above the earth and the y-axis represents wind speed. table a1. example n data points (aſ) and data point derivatives as a function of height 23 146 296 581 874 1166 1458 height (x) wind speed (y) derivatives 9.06 8.60 9. 68 0,09 1. 33 2.20 2.51 at a -.004 .002 -.020 -.014 .004 .002 .001 the derivative of each point using the method mentioned in a1. is constructed, and the hermite cubic polynomial through each consecutive pair of points a;, i = 1, ..., 6 is determined. 6 is determined. the derivatives are also given in table a1. the polynomials are plotted and can be seen in figure a3(b). ai+1' , i 29 10.00 6..67 (a) 3.33 0.00 50 150 100 (x101) 10.00 the polynomi al pao (xdefined in 1xoxo with absolute minimum at xa= 648.62 6.53 ) (b) 3.07 xm -0.40 хь 0 150 50 x 100 ( x 101 ) figure a3. example 4 rotated 90°, cus tomary dependent/independent variable portrayal: (a) straight line segments; (b) the unmodified hermite interpolation algorithm as previously mentioned, since the phenomenon is positive, the polynomials corresponding to each pair of points must be positive. the polynomials p ) i, i+ 1 +1(x) 30 = x *4' = a, b passing through the points a; and ai+1 would be positive if they had no real roots in the interval (x;, xi+1). figure a3(b) shows that this occurs in the intervals (x1, x2), (x2, x3), (x3, x4), (x5, x6) and (xo, xy). inside the interval (xa *b = xg) the polynomial p (x) however has negative values. this behavior of the polynomial pa, b(x) can be eliminated in the following way: find the absolute minimum of p. (x) in the interval defined by xa and xbº suppose that this absolute minimum is x = x *m • (in the present example xm = 648. 62). in such a case, one more point is included in the set of the given experimental points; namely the point [xm, f(xm)) such that b a, b а f(x) xml f'(xm) = 0, x = *m i thereby making the assumption that the phenomenon is zero with zero derivative at if initially there were n = 7 points, there are now n + 1 = 8 points. find the derivatives at the n + 1 = 8 points a; as described in al. with the + constraint that f(xm) = f'(xm) = 0. create, for the interval (xa, xm', one hermite's polynomial say p (x) a, and for the interval (xm, xy) another hermite's polynomial say p ; , b(x), see figure a3(c). = ' m 10.00 the polynomial pom (x1 defined in (xgxm! the pol pab in (xo xd! 6.67 c (c) 3.33 00:0 хь 0 + 50 *o *m 100 x 101) 150 figure a3. (cont) example 4 rotated 90°, customary dependent/independent variable portrayal; (c) partial correction 31 a * (x) and pm, b(x) a, m in order that these two polynomials do not cross the x-axis, the derivatives fi' and fn' should satisfy the conditions (a) and (b) respectively. if these conditions are not satisifed, the derivatives fa' or ff' are changed in an orderly fashion until fo these conditions are satisfied. by so doing, the polynomials p. do not cross the x-axis and are both positive satisfying the requirement that our phenomenon is positive in the respective interval. figures a3(b) through a3(d) clarify this discussion. in figure a3(b) the polynomial pa,b(x) passing 'a, b(x) passing through the points aa (ta = x а = 581.0, f f 0.09), а a and aъ = , 874.0, fb (xop 1.33), 11 becomes negative in the interval (xa, xy). the absolute minimum in this interval of p 648. 62. a, b(x) is x m the new set of the n + 1 = 8 points with their derivatives is given in table a2, where there is one more point than in the previous set (table a1), a 648.62, f 0), with zero derivative, fm' = 0. 0 (x m m m table a2. example n + 1 data points (aj) and data point derivatives as a function of height 23 146 296 581 648* 874 1166 1458 height (x) wind speed (y) derivatives at a. i 9.068 8.60 9. 68 0.09 0.00 1.33 2.20 2.51 -.004 .002 -.020 -.027 0.000 004 .002 .001 * x = x m added data point in figure a3(c) the polynomials corresponding to the new set of points are plotted. the role of conditions (a) and (b) now becomes apparent. consider first condition (b). for the given data, 3f хь = 3 x 1.33 874, 0 648. 62 0.0177. x m 32 it but the new derivative of the point ay is 0.004, and since 0.004 < 0.0177, follows that condition (b) is satisfied, and therefore the polynomial pm, b(x) does not cross the x-axis and is positive in the interval (xm; xp). for the polynomial p (x) we check condition (a), a, m 3f a 11 0.004. x x m a a а a, m the new derivative of the point a is fa' = -0.028 and condition (a) is not satisfied. for this reason the polynomial p. (x) crosses the x-axis and is negative in the interval (x , xm), see figure a3(c). accordingly, the derivative fa' is xm changed by the amount, say, of '= 0.001 and condition (a) is again checked; if it is not satisfied, fa' is again changed by o fa' and so on until a a а fa' > -0.004. the derivative fa' = -0.028 must be changed by 0.025 to satisfy condition (a). the new derivative of the point a. becomes а а f' a -0.028 + 0.025 -0.003. , a, m m, b m with this value of the derivative, the new polynomial pa, m(x) does not cross the x-axis and is positive in the interval (xa: *m, see figure a3(d). xm) the two polynomials p, (x) and p (x), which have replaced the polynomial p (x), are positive in their respective intervals and have a common double a, b zero for x = x *m • using the above procedure, the phenomenon has thus been represented by a continuous positive and "reasonable" curve. one consideration should be taken into account. the change of the derivatives fa' and fp' will result in the change of the form of the polynomials being defined in fb the interval adjacent to the left of the point x, and adjacent to the right of the point xp respectively. these two polynomials should be reconstructed to make certain that they are positive in their respective intervals. a 33 10.00 the polynomi al pagam (x) defined in 1xq xm? the polynomi al pmd 1x1 defined in txmxo 6.67 (d) 3.33 xm 1 0.00 1 хь 0 150 50 x 100 ( x 101 ) figure a3. (cont) example 4 rotated 90°, customary dependent/independent variable portrayal: (d) the modified hermite interpolation algorithm 34 printed by united states air force l. g. hanscom field bedford, massachusetts 403 b-vix b, -7 ^ t the antiquary’s books general editor; j. charles cox, ll.d., f.s.a. the hermits and anchorites of england i y v.. y [ i, lm f i '* t » 4 • ^ ( \ 'k. t 'c ‘> / ■ • ttwclc. inc ft ^cnt * jr s < — i i ii c »cr >. 1 c richard roi.lk, hkrml'l' of hahpolk a/s. cotton, /■itustina. a*. / v,/r? r.v. ii.f.sl’. a’..i/. the hermits and anchorites of england by rotha mary clay t * author of “the mediaeval hospitals of england" with fifty-four illustrations boston college library chestnut hill, mass. methuen & co. ltd. 36 essex street w.g. london 1 first published in igi4 6996 ’? dedicated to the memory of the reverend canon charles hill wallace who, like the honoured hermits of olden time, has been to many father, friend, and counsellor preface i desire to acknowledge my indebtedness to all those who have rendered assistance in the preparation of this volume, by the supply of materials, and the loan of manuscripts, books, engravings, and photographs. particular mention must be made of miss m. leaf, who has kindly per¬ mitted her drawings of the “ prick of conscience” window to be reproduced. the valued help of a large number of cor¬ respondents and helpers can of necessity only be acknowledged privately, but i should like to name canon c. w. foster, mr. e. l. guilford, mr. h. b. mccall, mr. w. brown, mr. j. w. clay, mr. a. g. little, rev. c. h. evelyn-white, canon wilson, rev. dr. wilson, rev. b. zimmerman, canon deedes, and mr. w. p'arrar. mr. w. rye, of lammas, generously granted me access to his norfolk mss., especially to mr. john l’estrange’s transcripts of wills from the norwich registers. canon wordsworth, rev. r. m. serjeantson, and rev. h. salter freely placed at my disposal notes relating to wiltshire, northamptonshire, and oxfordshire ; and to other good offices mr. salter has added that of proof-reading. to rev. dr. j. c. cox i owe much, both in planning and carrying out this book. in conclusion, heartfelt thanks are offered to my friends. miss arnold-forster, rev. m. f. peterson, prof. g. h. leonard, and rev. c. s. taylor, who have encouraged, advised, and greatly assisted me in this work. i have sought documentary evidence for all the statements made in this book, taking as a motto the words of the faithful old historian, thomas habingdon, when describing a wor vll viii hermits and anchorites of england cestershire hermitage: “other thinges which i receaved from uncertayne rumours i will rather conceale than hazard mysealfe to father an untruthe”. i trust that my readers will point out errors, and will send me additional notes. the necessity of condensing my manuscript has led, i fear, to a sacrifice, in some cases of clearness, and in others of interest of detail. rotha mary clay miller bridge, ambleside sf. ciithbert and st. herbe^'fs day^ ^9^3 contents introduction .... * • • page xv i. island and fen recluses • • i ii. forest and hillside hermits 17 iii. cave dwellers • • 32 iv. light-keepers on the sea coast 49 v. highway and bridge hermits 57 vi. town hermits • • 66 vii. anchorites in church and cloister 73 viii. order and rule • • 85 ix. concerning the body . • • loi x. trial and temptation . • • 116 xi. human intercourse • • 128 xii. prophets and counsellors • • 146 xhi. literary recluses • • 167 xiv. the sixteenth century • • 183 appendix a. office for the enclosing of an anchorite 193 appendix b. office for the benediction of a hermit appendix c. tabulated list of cells general index . . . . . 199 205 265 4 • a list of plates richard the hermit of hampole .... frontispiece from religious poem in old english. b.m. cotton, faustina, b.vi, pars. ii. f. 8 b. to face page i. st. cuthbert’s chapel, farne. 5 from drawing by s. h. grimm (i8th century). b.m. addit. ms. 15543, f. 97. ii. coquet island. 7 drawn by c. f., duchess of northumberland, engraved harding. from castles of alnwick and warkworth, 1823, p. 35. iii. st. fremund. 10 (а) the voyage. (б) building the chapel. from lydgate’s life of st. edmund. b.m. harl. 2278, f. 80, 81. iv. chapel of st. tiriac the anchorite. 12 on chapel island near chepstow. drawn by e. ormerod. from g. ormerod’s strigulensia, 1869. v. st. guthlac’s voyage to crowland.14 from b.m. harl. y. vi. vi. st. godric of finchale.25 the hermit receives vision of blessed virgin and child. b.m. cotton, faustina, b.vi, pars, ii, f. 16 b. vii. finchale.26 from drawing by s. h. grimm. b.m. addit. 15539, 71* viii. a forest hermit.29 b.m. roy. 19 e. iii, f. 133. ix. anchor church.32 near repton, derbyshire. photograph by messrs. r. keene, derby. x. hermit’s cave, guy’s cliffe.34 near warwick, in the grounds of lord algernon percy. photograph by messrs. valentine. xi. guy’s cliffe. 35 (a) guy’s statue, in the chapel. (6) the cloisters, excavated in the cliff. photographs by valentine. xii. the hermitage, bridgnorth.36 formerly known as “ athelardston ". photograph by frith. xi xii hermits and anchorites of england to face xiii. the chapel, bridgnorth hermitage. photogiaph by mr. wilding, shrewsbury. xiv. st. wulsi, the hermit-seer. the hermit writes his vision concerning the foundation of westminster abbey, and gives it to a messenger. the left side of the picture (now defaced) represented st. peter appearing before the sleeping saint (xiii cent. ms.). camb. univ. ms. ee 59, f. 15 b. xv. dale hermitage. on the hill above dale abbey, near spondon, derbyshire. photograph by messrs. r. keene, derby. xvi. st. robert’s cave, knaresborough. (a) foundations of holy cross chapel, and entrance to cave. photo¬ graph by miss rotha clay. ib) st. robert’s tomb, and traces of altar. photograph by canon hancock. xvii. st. robert’s chapel, knaresborough. {a) entrance. (6) interior with altar. photographs by canon hancock. xviii. warkworth hermitage.. . (а) chapel of holy trinity. drawn by duchess of northumberland, and engraved by harding. castles of a inwick and warkworth, 1823, p. 32. (б) engraving by allom. xix. hermitage in ghyston cliff, clifton .... (а) st. vincent’s rocks and cave. photograph by miss m. p. perry, taken with telephoto lens across the avon gorge. (б) entrance to cave. from engraving lent by mr. j. e. pritchard. xx. st. edmund’s-on-the-cliff, hunstanton .... photograph by mr. w. e. daw, hunstanton. xxi. a lighthouse hermitage. tower at st. catherine’s, on chale down, isle of wight. east view, 1757. from gent. mag. xxvii, 176. xxii. redstone hermitage. near stourport, worcestershire. photograph by messrs. valentine. xxiii. st. christopher and hermit. from lithograph of wall-painting at wedmore, somerset. xxiv. brandon hill, bristol. drawn by w. westall, engraved by e. francis. xxv. redcliffe hermitage, bristol. by the avon, near st. mary, redcliffe. photograph by mr. f. little, bristol. xxvi. anchorage at hartlip. supposed cell at w. end of n. aisle. photograph by mr. p. m. johnston. xxvii. anchorite’s window, newcastle-upon-tyne on n. side of chancel of st. john’s church. photograph by mr john scott. xxviii. enclosing an anchoress. recluse receives the bishop’s final benediction. from ms. corpus christi college, cambridge, 79. by permission of the alcuin club ^collections iv., fig. 18]. block lent by rev. r. m. serjeantson. page 37 40 42 44 45 48 50 52 57 58 70 72 79 82 93 list of plates xlll to face page xxix. enclosing an anchoress.96 initial letter of office. from xiv. cent. pontifical, b.m. lansd. 451, f. 76 b. xxx. traditional tomb of roger and sigar, hermits . . 113 in st. alban’s abbey. the position agrees with the chronicle, but the arched recess is of later date. photograph by mr. griggs. xxxi. hermit tempted by the devil.117 from the pilgrim, a french allegory translated by lydgate. b.m. cotton, tiberius. a. vii, f. 56. xxxii. the crucifix, cratcliff.127 near rowsley, derbyshire. photograph by messrs. r. keene, derby. xxxiii. the recluse in romance. 133 (a) ministers to wounded knights. (b) sir perceval visits a cell roman du saint graal, b.m. 14 e. ill, f. g8 b, 101 b. xxxiv. the hermit and the knights.147 (a) hermit exhorts sir launcelot. ibid. f. 109. (b) hermit helps to bury sir galahad, f. 138 6. xxxv. a hermit-counsellor.148 st. guthlac consoles king ethelbald of mercia. b.m. harl. y. vi. xxxvi. “ prick of conscience ” window, york .... 176 illustrates the poem attributed to richard rolle, couplets from which are inserted under the panels. drawn by miss m. leaf from the window in all saints’, north street (n. aisle), circa 1390. xxxvii. warkworth hermitage .igo photograph by messrs. valentine. list of illustrations in the text page i. the cripple-hermit and the seagull.9 legend of st. kenyth of gower, from cross-shaft at dearham, cumberland. from calverley and collingwood’s early sculptured crosses. block lent by mr. w. g. collingwood. 2, 3. the hermit-martyr of malvern.18, 19 (а) dedication of chapel built by st. werstan. (б) martyrdom of st. werstan. from windows at malvern priory church (n. of choir). archcbological journal ii. by permission of messrs. parker, oxford. 4, 5. warkworth hermitage.46, 47 ground-plan and window. from c. h. hartshorne’s illustrations of alnwick and warkworth, plates 57, 65. 6. hermit of the order of st. paul.87 from p. helyot, ordres monastiques, ed. 1715, iii. 324. 7. symon “ the anker of london wall ”.181 from woodcut in his fruyte of redempcyon, printed by wynkyn de worde, edition of 1514 in british museum. 8. chapel of our lady, court-at-street.189 in aldington, near hythe, kent. drawn by mr. j. c. wall. ancres and hermytes for sum fleen from the world and closen hemsilf in wallis, and steken hem in stones, and litil wole thei speken, to fleen sich occasiouns as foly wole fynden ; and thees we clepen ancres in the comoun speche. also in contemplacion there ben many other, that drawen hem to disert and drye [endure] muche peyne. by eerbis, rootes, and fruyte lyven for her goddis love. and this maner of folk men callen hermytes. —friar daw topias {political poems , ed. wright, ii. 64). xiv introduction i n every age and amongst all peoples a certain wonder and reverence have been excited by the solitary life—a life so abnormal that those who have watched it from without have not only been interested in its eccentricity, but also strongly attracted by its spiritual mystery. it has always been felt that a life so independent of the common intercourse of human relationships must possess a secret known only to a few, and asceticism has therefore been venerated alike in the oriental fakir, the stoic sage, and the hebrew prophet. this withdrawal from the world was not at first encouraged by the christian religion. tertullian, writing about a.d. 197, says: “we are not indian brahmans or gymnosophists, who dwell in woods and exile themselves from ordinary human life ... we sojourn with you in the world”. during the third century, however, the church developed a monasticism of her own which was in its beginning solitary, {/xovaxelvi to dwell alone). although paul of egypt—called “ the first hermit ”—dwelt alone in his desert cave, his successor anthony attracted round him many followers, and in this way the hermitage developed into the /aura or group of cells. the solitary monk frequently became the founder of a body of coenobites—monks dwelling in community. the great benedict himself was a son of the wilderness. the history of many of the monastic houses of england shows that they also were of eremitical origin. guthlac and his hermit companions dwelt in fenland solitude in a group of single cells; but in course of time crowland became a famous xv xvi hermits and anchorites of england abbey. the hermit guy was joined by so many brethren at malvern that he formed them into a large convent. benedict, a norman monk, lived in seclusion at selby, and thus formed the nucleus of a monastery of which he was the first abbot. it is, however, with the solitary rather than with the social aspect of monasticism that we are now concerned—with the solitary but not necessarily self-centred state of life to which the recluse felt himself called. from a modern standpoint this retirement from the world might perhaps be considered selfish; but it must be borne in mind that the problems of that time were different from those of to-day, and that those who thus withdrew themselves from their fellow-men did not become useless to the community. it is true that their primary object in retiring into solitude was the cultivation of the soul, but in so doing they became living witnesses to the reality of the spiritual world. theirs was no easy religion. indeed, hermits were regarded as heroes, because of the physical hard¬ ness they endured. their life was one of strenuous effort. they strove after christian quietude by bending all their activities to self-conquest. they upheld a lofty and austere moral ideal in the face of self-indulgence, and their manner of life was a silent rebuke to rudeness, and exercised a chastening influence in an age of violence. further, they could not but have some social intercourse. there were, indeed, two distinct classes of solitaries: the anchorite^ enclosed within four walls, and the hermit, who went out of his cell and mingled with his fellow-men. the ideal of both was the contemplative life, but even in the case of the anchorite, this concentration upon religious exercises did not imply complete absorption in his own spiritual in¬ terests. intercession was his appointed work. aelred of rievaulx mentions some of the needs which would call out the sympathies of the anchoress: the misery of the poor, the sigh of the orphan, the desolation of the widow, the need of pilgrims, the danger of voyagers, the hardships of soldiers, the vows and temptations of nuns and monks, the cares of bishops. it is evident that those who lived this life of contemplation introduction xvll were recognized as being qualified to exercise spiritual in¬ fluence and give ghostly counsel. awed by such austerity of life, the conscience-stricken and heavy-laden resorted to them in order to receive comfort and benediction after unburdening themselves of their sins and sorrows. in some cases anchorites devoted their quiet hours to study, and placed their literary or artistic powers at the service of others. the lindisfarne gospels were wrought and adorned with the aid of recluses. scholars sent forth from their cells books of devotion, his¬ torical works, poetry, and at least one valuable dictionary. anchoresses, too, found useful occupation in making clothes for the poor. the hermit, with his larger measure of freedom and activity, had a still wider sphere of influence, and undertook many social duties. he taught and preached, celebrated divine offices in his chapel for the benefit of wayfarers, or acted as guardian of some shrine ; he gathered alms for the relief of the poor at home, or for the freeing of those in captivity amongst the heathen; he helped to cultivate the waste places of the land and to clear the forest; he made roads and bridges and kept them in repair; he erected sea-marks and lighthouses for the guidance of mariners. in fact, the hermits were pioneers of philanthropic works which in these days are under¬ taken and carried out by public bodies. all who embraced this separate life were under vows of some kind. they were subject to authority, and had a re¬ cognized place in the ecclesiastical system. the hermit, if a monk, needed only the approval of his abbot; if a layman, he applied to the bishop for his habit. no man or woman could become an anchorite without the permission of the bishop, who enclosed them in the cell with solemn rites. the appendix contains a valuable, translation of the office for the enclosing of anchoritesy contributed by the rev. c. s. taylor, to whose ready and generous help this book owes much throughout. it also includes, by the courtesy of mr. f. c. eeles, an office for the benediction of hermits^ transcribed by him from a sixteenth-century pontifical in his possession. after pro b xviii hermits and anchorites of england fession in either of these orders, solitaries were under some definite rule of life. the best known is the ancren riwle — a book of wise and tender counsels for anchoresses, compiled by one who knew in an intimate manner not only the homely details of their outward circumstances, but also the special needs of their inner life. the solitary life thus developed into an established institu¬ tion. so widespread did it become that there was not a single county in england which had not at some time or another a recluse’s cell. it will be seen from the tables appended to this volume that there is evidence for the exist¬ ence of at least 750 cells, whilst the actual names of over 650 hermits and anchorites occur in the following pages. dim traditions exist of solitaries in celtic britain. the christian martyrs under diocletian are said to have included two anchorites of caerleon. we learn from bede that a re¬ cluse was the oracle of the british church at the time of the conference with augustine. elgar the kidnapped slave, kenyth the crippled prince, and the wonder-working women keyne and modwen, are shrouded in the mists of legend, it is true, but these and others, who like them lived apart from the world, helped to keep the faith alive in those early days. among the saxon saints are numbered many hermits ; cuthbert, drawn from his northern retreat to become a bishop, and his faithful friend herebert of derwentwater; guthlac, the soldier-monk of the eastern fens, whose presence trans¬ formed that grim wilderness into a “glorious plain,” and neot, the nobleman of the western wilds; alnoth the serf, and edwold the prince; plegmund and dunstan, archbishops of canterbury; werstan the martyr, and wulsi the seer. the religious revival of the twelfth century produced five great ascetics; roger, the monk of markyate ; christina “of the wood ”—remarkable alike for her fortitude and for her gifts of wisdom and counsel; wulfric of haselbury—prophet and confessor, stern and uncompromising alike with himself and his king; godric—the sea-roving adventurer, the tender son, the pious pilgrim, the simple, stout-hearted solitary of introduction xix finchale; and that other undaunted northerner, bartholomew of fame—to whom, for the space of over two and forty years, people resorted for comfort and exhortation. amongst later hermits two famous yorkshiremen must be named ; robert of knaresborough—the poor man’s friend; richard of hampole—an evangelist burning with the fire of love. nor can we forget dame julian of norwich “strong in sure trust in weal and woe,” whose revelations of divine love show the eager and joyous spirit of the writer. from the dawn of christianity in england until the sixteenth century many men, perhaps even more women, continued to dedicate themselves to this separate life. “the life of the recluse,” says a recent writer upon mysti¬ cism, “is now seldom chosen and never respected.” in the period which we are about to study, it was, however, regarded as the state nearest perfection. in the liber vitcb of the church of durham, anchorites rank second to royal bene¬ factors, and take the precedence of abbots and others. the life of action, indeed, was apt to be despised by religious teachers, save by such rare saints as hugh of lincoln, who would speak in this wise to persons unable to practise the more perfect life of contemplation : “ by no means shall monks alone, nor yet hermits, nor even anchorites, attain to the king¬ dom of god ” ; adding, that when the lord should judge any man at last. he would not require of him to have been a hermit or monk, but rather to have been truly a christian—to have had love in his heart, truth in his mouth, purity in his life. in the following account of the lives of english hermits and anchorites no attempt has been made to consider the scientific truth and value of the miraculous element in their history. to ignore it, however, would be not merely a loss of the picturesque, but also a denial of spiritual facts. modern science forbids us to doubt the reality of the spiritual forces exercised by these self-disciplined men and women. to in¬ vestigate and determine these imperfectly understood powers lies beyond the scope of these pages. indeed, no attempt has xx hermits and anchorites of england been made to penetrate into the subject of mysticism, which has recently been so ably dealt with by miss evelyn underhill. the aim of this book is rather to give a picture of the daily life of the lonely dwellers in fen and forest, hillside and cliff, cloister and churchyard, and to show something of the way in which their influence made itself felt. the hermits and anchorites of england i. island and fen recluses when saynt jone was in the yle of pathmos, than god schewed hym his pryvytees.— richard the hermit n o self-imposed barrier was so complete as that of the island-recluse. surrounded as he was by an ex¬ panse of sea and sky, “ the secrecy of solitude ” was his. only a devoted friend or an earnest penitent would ven¬ ture forth to visit him who was sea-bound, or encircled by some wellnigh impassable morass. the hermit-inhabited islands of england and wales include fame and coquet, in the north ; and in the west, bardsey, off the coast of carnarvon, the holmes, st. tiriac’s rock, and other islets of the severn. i. isles of the sea (a) fame and coquet .—about two miles from the nor¬ thumbrian coast lay a bare inhospitable rock which became famous as the abode of solitary saints. when st. aidan, the island-monk of iona, was bishop of lindisfarne, he used occa¬ sionally to retire to fame for undisturbed prayer. cuthbert afterwards sought in this spot the secret solitude for which he longed. it was a desert island, and ill-suited for human habi¬ tation. at the presence of the man of god, however, the evil spirits fled ; at his prayer water bubbled out of the rocky ground ’ and by his manual labour he raised from the barren soil plentiful crops of barley. with the help of the brethren he built himself a small dwelling and an oratory, which are thus described by bede :— “the building is almost of a round form, from wall to wall about four or five poles in extent: the wall on the outside is higher 2 hermits and anchorites of england than a man, but within, by excavating the rock, he made it much deeper, to prevent the eyes and the thoughts from wandering, that the mind might be wholly bent on heavenly things, and the pious in¬ habitant might behold nothing from his residence but the heavens above him. the wall was constructed, not of hewn stones or of brick and mortar, but of rough stones and turf. . . . there were two chambers in the house, one an oratory, the other for domestic pur¬ poses.” this simple beehive-hut was not the only building on the island, for it proved necessary to make a large guest-house to accommodate those who came continually to visit the saint. many came, not only from lindisfarne, but from the more remote parts of britain:— “ at first, indeed, when the brethren came to visit him, he would leave his cell and minister to them. ... at length, as his zeal after perfection grew, he shut himself up in his cell away from the sight of men, and spent his time alone in fasting, watching, and prayer, rarely having communication with anyone without, and that through the window, which at first was left open, that he might see and be seen; but after a time he shut that also, and opened it only to give his blessing, or for any other purpose of absolute necessity.” when cuthbert was elected bishop he would not consent to leave fame, but the king and others went across and “ drew him, weeping, from his retreat at,length he yielded to their entreaties. faithfully did the bishop of lindisfarne fulfil the duties which he had undertaken. “ he protected the people committed to his care with frequent prayers, and invited them to heavenly things ... by first doing himself what he taught to others.” amid the turmoil by which the hermit-bishop was surrounded, he ceased not to observe the severity of a monastic life. his mission was manifold. he visited parishes and religious houses, healed the sick, comforted lonely sur¬ vivors of the plague, and protected the needy from the op¬ pressor. as the shepherd was visiting his folds, he came one day to a wild spot, where many people were gathered that he might lay his hands upon them. among the mountains no fit church or other building could be found, but at night the bishop and his flock were sheltered in tents and in booths roughly formed of boughs from the neighbouring wood. “ two island and fen recluses 3 days did the man of god preach to the assembled crowds, and minister the grace of the holy spirit by imposition of hands.” after two years of strenuous labour, cuthbert returned to fame, knowing that the time of his departure was at hand. he used now to leave the cell frequently and converse with those who came to visit him. he died after a short illness on 20 march, 687—on the same day as his friend, st. herebert (p. 12). he had earnestly desired to be buried on his island, but finally yielded to the wish of the brethren, who accordingly buried his body in lindisfarne—a spot which became so sacred as to win thereafter the name of holy island. cuthbert’s successor, aethelwald, a priest of ripon, was in seclusion at fame for twelve years. when he arrived, he found the cell in a dilapidated condition. crevices made by the violence of the winds had been roughly filled up with timber, hay, or mud; and the walls were crumbling. aethel¬ wald therefore begged the brethren who came thither to bring him a calf-skin, which he fastened in the spot where he, like cuthbert, was wont to pray. bede relates how aethelwald stilled a tempest when guthfrid and certain other brethren were in peril. the story was told to bede by guthfrid himself. when the monks were returning to lindisfarne a tempest arose, so great that neither sails nor oars availed aught:— “ looking out as far as we could see, we observed, on the island of fame, father oidiluald, beloved of god, who had come out of his cell to watch our course; for, hearing the noise of the storm and the raging of the sea, he had come out to see what would happen to us. when he beheld us in distress and despair, he bowed his knees to the father of our lord jesus christ, in prayer for our life and safety; whereupon the swelling sea was calmed, so that the violence of the storm ceased on all sides, and a fair wind attended us even to the very shore.” ^ when they were safely landed the storm immediately re¬ turned and raged throughout the day, so that it was clear that the brief cessation had been granted at the hermit’s re¬ quest. it was this aethelwald who with billfrith assisted in illuminating the lindisfarne gospels (see chapter xill), ^ bede, ecc. hist., ed. stevenson, 492-3. 4 hermits and anchorites of england during the time of felgeld, the third inhabitant of the place, the hermitage was rebuilt from the foundations by bishop eadfrid. “ by means of the ruins of the holy ora¬ tory,” felgeld himself was said to have been cured of a dread¬ ful disease and deformity. in earlier life he had been subject to the swelling; “but now that he was living alone, and bestowed less care on his person, whilst he practised still greater rigidities, and, like a prisoner, rarely enjoyed the sun or air, the malady increased”. when the cell was being restored, devout persons begged of felgeld relics of his prede¬ cessors. having cut into pieces the calf-skin which aethel wald had nailed in the corner where the hermits used to pray, felgeld determined to apply the relics to his own need. steeping a piece of the covering in water, he washed his face therein, and the blemish was removed. when bede wrote his account of st. cuthbert (before 721), felgeld, then seventy years of age, was still dwelling on the island. for a considerable period history is silent about cuthbert’s cell, but gaufridus, the twelfth-century chronicler, states that the island lapsed into a wild state, until at length the dese¬ crated, time-worn oratory was cleansed and repaired by the monk edulf. bartholomew of fame, the most famous of cuthbert’s followers, was born at whitby about the year 1120. his life was written by gaufridus,^ the contemporary biographer of the famous hermits of finchale and of fame. he seems to have been of saxon origin; but as his name tosti met with disfavour he adopted that of william. he was a careless youth, and does not appear to have been awakened to spiritual things even by two visions which were vouchsafed to him. desiring to travel, william sailed to norway, where he came under religious influences and was ordained priest. when the wanderer came home to northumbria, his zeal led him to seek the stricter life of a monk. on entering the monastery of durham, william assumed the name bartholomew. before long st. cuthbert appeared to him, bidding him become a hermit at fame. in obedience to the vision, bartholomew went thither, and there he spent the remainder of his days. ^ printed in rolls series (75), as appendix to symeon of durham, i. 295 325. see also english saints, iii. plate / st. cuthbert’s chapel, farne island and fen recluses 5 like st. cuthbert he lived frugally by his own labour, and devoted himself to meditation. fame became once more a spiritual centre, and the guest-house was in constant use. fishermen from the mainland and seamen from all parts visited the solitary, and relied on his advice, whether it con¬ cerned their ships or their souls. in this convenient harbour sailors and traders were fre¬ quently detained by stress of weather. sometimes the hermit host suffered from a scarcity of provisions, but so hospitable was he that upon one occasion he killed his only cow to supply the needs of his guests. pirates frequently carried off his slender stores. during the reign of stephen, aeistan, king of norway, ravaged the english coast, and landing on fame he killed and roasted the sheep of the hermits bartholomew and aelwin, and even repaired his ships with the timbers of their cell. bartholomew lived at fame for over forty-two years, and he persevered in ascetic habits to old age. he would have no couch, no pillow, no prop to support his body. as long as he was able, he would sit upright, or walk round the island, and all the while he never ceased from prayer. during the last nine days he was very ill; but, despite the diseases of his body, he kept all the faculties of his mind, nor did the brave old man shrink from dying in solitude. when, therefore, the brethren had administered the last holy rites, they left him ; and on their return from lindisfarne they found his body lying not far from the stone coffin which he had prepared for himself. it was remembered that when the coffin had first arrived, bar¬ tholomew, finding it too short, had with his own hands hewn it out to fit his body. he was buried in the oratory on the south side, in the spot where his great predecessor had desired to lie. the monks would gladly have carried the remains to lindisfarne, but bartholomew’s love for his island-home was strong, and he had expressed a wish that he should be buried there in order that the place might not again be¬ come deserted. echoing the words of st. cuthbert, he de¬ clared : “i would have my body lie here, where i hope that my spirit will be received by its creator, and where i have fought during a very little time for the lord ”. the mediaeval chapel shown in plate 1 is still standing. 6 hermits and anchorites oe england it has been restored, and services are occasionally held there for the lighthouse men. south of fame, near the mouth of the river coquet, was another sanctuary of the sea. in the days of st. cuthbert, who visited coquet island, it was remarkable for the number of its monks. little is known of the place, however, before the time of st. henry, early in the twelfth century. this young dane of noble family was about to be forced into mar¬ riage, when, in obedience to a vision, he determined to serve god all the days of his life upon a certain rock on the nor¬ thumbrian coast. sailing, therefore, from denmark, he ob¬ tained permission of the prior of tynemouth to build a small cell on coquet island. messengers followed him, urging him to return to the land of his birth, where there were deserts to which he might withdraw. strong was the longing of the exile, but before making his decision he cast himself down before the crucifix set up in his oratory, and implored a revela¬ tion of the divine will. it seemed to him that the lips of the figure moved, and that christ, reminding him of his call, pro¬ mised eternal life if he should persevere. “ play the man, and strengthen thine heart, and in nowise abandon this place of solitude unto thy life’s end.” fearing lest he should again be tempted to forsake the island, the hermit prayed to be stricken with some infirmity which should render this impos¬ sible. he was afterwards afflicted with a loathsome disease in his knee, which he bore with fortitude. leaning on a crutch, he continued to cultivate his plot of land. the ulcerated leg caused him agony, but he refused assistance. alone in his cell, without fire or light, henry passed the winter, until one night (january, 1127), there was heard a choir of angels sing¬ ing. the music ceased, and suddenly a bell tolled. when a monk reached the hermitage, he found henry in the sleep of death, seated on a stone, holding the bell-rope, and beside him burned a candle lit by no human hand.^ in the thirteenth century the office of “ keeper of the island ” was held by an energetic recluse named martin, who raised thereupon at great expense a windmill. but robert ¥itz roger, considering martin’s act as detrimental to the ^ roscarrock’s life; nov. leg. ii. 22-6. v • ♦ v t i ( r s •t * i' i * i i ..•» > \ • •h ) i/ i * . v ■'t' % * / k ' ♦♦ -i * 4 'v \ « 1 pla i'e u c:0(,)uet isi.anl) island and fen recluses 7 overlord, sent thirty men with axes and mattocks to destroy the mill. the terror-stricken hermit made no protest, and when his servant ventured to remonstrate, they treated him so ill that he barely escaped with his life. this curious story of enterprise and persecution breaks off abruptly with these words: “ moreover, the said martin was blamed by no one in that he was wont to prefer to lead the solitary life. he desired to attract neither the approach nor the noise of people of either sex, because often in mills and play-houses irregular and unlawful things are done.” ^ the island was under tynemouth priory, which in its turn was subject to st. albans. when the latter convent was replying to a benedictine inquiry in 1253, it was noted that no monk dwelt apart, save one hermit in a certain little island called coquet, and another in a wood. a tower, pos¬ sibly used as a lantern, adjoined the chapel. it is men¬ tioned in 1415 as belonging to the prior of tynemouth. at the dissolution of monasteries the buildings included a chapel served by a chaplain. mediaeval remains may still be traced in and about the modern lighthouse. the tower shown in plate ii was standing a century ago. ( 5 ) isles of the west ,—the west, like the north, had her isles of saints ; nor can the recluses of the welsh coast be excluded, although not strictly within the scope of this volume. the ascetic life was eagerly embraced by the fervent-natured celt, and from shadowy traditions it would seem that many a rocky islet had its cell. the “ book of llandaff ” opens with an account of elgar, hermit of ynys enlli (bardsey), a native of britain, who had been carried off as an infant from his home in devon, and became a slave in ireland. after serving king roderic in the office of executioner, elgar obtained freedom and became a sailor. being wrecked on bardsey, a holy island where many martyrs were buried, he resolved to stay there and to lead the contemplative life. “ having spent the space of seven years with a religious com¬ munity of brethren, and sometimes in solitude, led a holy, glorious, and chaste life, with scant food, slight clothing, and an emaciated ^chr. s. alb., annales, edw. i (rolls, 28, ii.), 477-8. 8 hermits and anchorites of england countenance, he, in the following seven years . . . dwelt in his hermitage, and had nothing for his maintenance except the support which he received, through the providence of god, from the fish of the sea, and what the eagles, or as we may say, angels, brought to him.” by the ministry of the eagles, elgar’s table was prepared in the wilderness with fishes, herbs, and water; and once when he was hungry he found a large white stag which supplied him with food for some time. the hermit “ led his life, present to the lord, and unknown to man ”. at length, having prepared a grave for himself in the oratory, he lay down beside it and expired; and the sailor-saint was after¬ wards buried by sailors. the details of his life were told by him at the entreaty of the teacher caradoc who came .to visit him.^ upon a rocky promontory on the coast of glamorgan dwelt kenyth, a welsh prince cast adrift on the waves in an osier coracle. friendly sea-birds bore the hapless babe to ynys weryn—worms head, which is an island at high tide— where they made him a nest of feathers, and drove the ser¬ pents from the place. according to the legend, an angel brought a brazen bell, which was regularly replenished with milk by a doe. the child was found and taken home by a shepherd, but when the sea-gulls gathered in flocks and at¬ tacked his home, the aflrighted rustic carried him back to his rocky nursery. there, on a ledge of rock, the little cripple grew up with no companions save the gulls. an early celtic representation of this legend is found on the cumberland cross-shaft of dearham, near maryport. it is strange that the story of a solitary of the severn sea should thus reach the shores of the solway. the rude but graphic sculpture (fig. i) shows a sea-bird with a bundle in its claws, and a deformed human figure holding out a bell-shaped vessel.^ kenyth, who after eighteen years of solitude found a companion to share his ascetic life, spent the rest of his days at burry holmes, an island-promontory on the north shore of rhosilly bay. he built a cell of osiers and thatched it with ^ liber landav., ed. w. t. rees, 281-7. ^ w. s. calverley and w. g. collingwood, early sculp. crosses, 127-30. island and fen recluses 9 reeds. the hermit was revered by all. once some starving robbers, coming to those parts, said among them¬ selves :— “there is a certain saint not far from here, who loves and instructs all, and he re¬ freshes the strong as well as the weak ; he invites the desti¬ tute and wayfarers, and even to evil-doers he is gentle. let us go, therefore, to him that he may succour our need. and when they arrived there they were quickly received into the hospice.” after the hermit’s death, his remains were removed to a neighbouring church. william worcester records his “ translation ” to st. keneth’s in gowerland. many centuries later a custom prevailed of taking solemn oaths upon his re¬ lics. in a quarrel which arose in 1472, the arbitrator adjudged that the claimant should swear to the right¬ fulness of his title “ in the chirche of langenytt upon seint kenythis hedde ”. ^ the cell at burry holmes was inhabited from time to time. possibly the oratory there was the “deserted church of st. kined,” to which caradoc retired early in the twelfth cen¬ tury.^ the hermitage of st. kenyth “ atte holmes in gowers '[a^nijus. fig. i. —the hermit and the seagull. ^ nov. leg. ii. 105-9 ; jd* davies, w. gower, pt. iii.; birch, penrice and mar gam mss. v. 114. ^ caradoc left the court of rhys, became a monk at llandaff, then a hermit on the isle of ary. his final retreat was near haverfordwest. he died in 1124. nov. leg. ii. 105-g. lo hermits and anchorites of england land ” was still occupied during the fifteenth century, when philip lichepoll, william bernard, etc., were hermits.^ steep holme, flat holme, and barry, were often inhabited by solitaries—not always as permanent abodes, but for periods of seclusion between missionary journeys or during lent. these islands of severn were a wilderness to which it was easy to retire, and a centre from which work could be resumed. two famous friends abode upon ronech and echni (the holmes), namely, cadoc, who chose the flat island nearest to wales, and gildas, who inhabited the craggy rock lying off the english shore. gildas built a cell and an oratory in honour of the blessed trinity, but his rocky bed was under the precipit¬ ous cliff, where he was wont to watch and pray until midnight. these holy men used to visit one another during their seven years’ sojourn in the severn. being troubled by pirates, how¬ ever, st. gildas left steep holme, and went to glastonbury, where he became abbot and wrote his history (chapter xiii.). not far from glastonbury, on the river, he built a church, and there he lived once more as a hermit, clad in a hair-shirt. people came from remote parts of britain to hear his wisdom and his teaching. st. cadoc, returning to wales, became abbot of llancarvan. one of his disciples, barroc, gave his name to barry, near cardiff. “ his remains,” says giraldus de barri, “are deposited in a chapel overgrown with ivy.” this “fair little chapel of st. barrok ” was a place of pilgrimage in leland’s day.^ prince fremund was the son of the saxon king offa. whilst his father was yet alive the pious youth was crowned as his successor; but, fired with love to god, he determined to leave home and country and seek the desert. fremund and his two companions set out for caerleon. when they reached the sea they took a little barge, and without oar and without food committed their passage to god’s ordinance (plate iii). driven to and fro by the wind for five days, they came to land “ up an yle froward to kome to ”—deserted of inhabitants, but with fair mountains, running rivers, crystal ^ see pat. rolls, 1398, 1428, 1482, etc. 2 possibly the same saint to which the fine old derbyshire church of nor bury was dedicated, “ st. barlok,” mentioned in fitzherbert wills, and com¬ memorated in the glass of the s. chapel. i'late iff the voyage to ilefaye nuildinc; ihe chapel st. frk.mund ■ , , . . -s. r ‘ ' ’ ^ ■ v • * ‘ ■ 'x ■ t,' island and fen recluses 11 wells, green meadows, and trees laden with wholesome fruits— a place divinely ordained for them. and ilefaye men that yle calle off old tyme desolat and sauage more agreable than was his stalle to hooly fremund thouh he were yong off age and ther he bilte a litel hermytage be side a ryuer with al his besy peyne he & his fellawis that were in noumbre tweyne. a lytil chapel he dide ther edefie day be day to make in his praiere in the reuerence only of marie and in the worshepe off hir sone deere and the space fully off seuene yeere hooly fremund lik as it is found leued be frut and rootis off the grounde. despite privation, trial, and temptation, fremund kept to his purpose : “ stable as a wal he stood in his degre at length offa, hearing of the arrival of the danish chieftains hinguar and hubba, and of the death of st. edmund (his queen’s brother), sent to seek his son through that region and all strange isles. the messengers told the prince of the deso¬ lation brought by the paynims and besought his aid. then stood fremund in a sore plight. by his profession he was pledged to live apart and to eschew bloodshed ; yet in that world which he had forsaken, the helpless were oppressed, the church despoiled, and christ’s faith brought to destruction. perplexed, the hermit fell to prayer, and he was bidden in a vision to hasten home to his country, and be strong in spirit like christ’s champion. fremund straightway left ilefaye, and was victorious when he led his people against “ the miscreants of denmark ”. whilst he knelt in thanksgiving, however, he was murdered by a saxon renegade to the faith who was in league with the danes. the hermit-martyr’s story is depicted in the beautiful ms. of lydgate’s “ life of st. edmund.” ^ near the old passage of severn, at the mouth of the wye, is chapel island with its “ chapel of st. tiriac the anchorite the earliest known record concerning this place is a licence of the bishop of hereford, given in 1290 to brother john sterre, a benedictine monk, to officiate in the chapel of st. tryak of 1 b.m. had. ms., 2278. 12 hermits and anchorites of england beachley.^ in the year 1405 “a multitude, both of english and welsh,” were wont to resort thither on pilgrimage. in the time of henry viii, the capella s, triads standing in the sea, is described as being worth nothing. the ruined oratory, which measured 31-^ feet by 14-^ feet, was drawn by miss eleanor ormerod many years ago (plate iv). there is no clue as to the identity of the dedication-saint. st. triaculus occurs on one patent roll. william worcester refers to sanctus tiriacus anachorita^ and to rok seynt tryacle. leland speaks of s. tereudacus chapel. modern maps com¬ plete the confusion by printing st. tecla. ii. inland isles {a) in lakes. —many a saint sought solitude upon some inland-islet, shut off from the world by the waters of the mere, the marsh, or the river. the holy herebert dwelt upon an island in derwentwater :— “there was a certain priest, venerable for the probity of his life and manners, called herebert, who had long been united with the man of god, cuthbert, in the bonds of spiritual friendship. this man, leading a solitary life in an island of that great marsh from which the derwent flows, was wont to visit him every year, and to receive from him advice concerning his eternal salvation.” in the year 696 cuthbert and herebert met in carlisle for the last time. the bishop told his friend of his approach¬ ing death, and the hermit won from him the assurance that his own soul should depart at the same time. more than eight centuries later, leland writes of “ st. herebert’s isle wher is a chapel ”. it had long been visited as a hallowed place. in 1374 bishop appleby of carlisle offered an indulgence to such parishioners of crosthwaite as should accompany the vicar thither when the mass of st. cuthbert was celebrated on st. herbert’s day (the 13th of [the kalends of] april, i.e. 20 march). “ what a happy holy day must that have been for all these vales ; and how joyous on a fine spring day must the lake have appeared, with the boats and banners from every chapelry, and how must the ^ reg. swinfield (cant, and yk. s.), 238-g. beachley is in tidenham, near chepstow. plate iv chapel of st. tiriac the anchorite % \ * . ’ • * « / 4 t i *■, a « t i i island and fen recluses 13 chapel have adorned that little isle, giving a human and religious character to the solitude! ” “ its ruins are still there,” adds southey, “ in such a state of total dilapidation that they only make the island, mere wilderness as it has now become, more melancholy.”^ one of wordsworth’s inscriptions was written for the spot where the hermitage stood:— . . . stranger! not unmoved wilt thou behold this shapeless heap of stones, the desolate ruins of st. herbert’s cell. here stood his threshold; here was spread the roof that sheltered him, a self-secluded man, after long exercise in social cares and offices humane, intent to adore the deity, with undistracted mind, and meditate on everlasting things, in utter solitude.—but he had left a fellow-labourer, whom the good man loved as his own soul. and, when with eye upraised to heaven he knelt before the crucifix, while o’er the lake the cataract of lodore pealed to his orisons, and when he paced along the beach of this small isle and thought of his companion, he would pray that both (now that their earthly duties were fulfilled) might die in the same moment. nor in vain so prayed he:—as our chronicles report, though here the hermit numbered his last day far from st. cuthbert, his beloved friend, those holy men both died in the same hour. there was an island cell “within the water of winder mere,” on lady holm near bowness. the earliest known reference is to “ the hermit brethren of st. mary’s” (1272). the chapel, also described as hospital or chantry, was served by two priests, some of whom came from segden hermitage, near berwick-upon-tweed. after the dissolution of religious houses, the survey mentions “a fre chapel within the parishinge of wynondermere called our ladie chapelle of tholme ”. according to local legend it was a monk of lady holm who silenced for ever the ghostly “crier of claife”. travellers from kendal to hawkshead crossed the narrow lake by ferry. the fell between winder mere and esthwaite is called claife heights. thence one stormy night a fateful voice cried “ boat! ” the ferryman ^ southey, colloquies (more), i. 337. 14 hermits and anchorites of england rowed across expecting some passenger, but he saw some dreadful apparition, and returned speechless to die. the story of the boatman’s last voyage struck terror into all hearts, and after nightfall none would venture upon the lake. at length a priest of st. mary’s went forth to lay the ghost, and henceforth the awful “crier” was heard no more. {d) in the fens .—encircled by fenny swamp or flooded river, saxon solitaries took up their abode at crowland, pea kirk, thorney, huneia, bethney, and other islands. felix, himself a monk of crowland, describes the terrible marsh which guthlac made his home—with its stagnant pools, its spongy moss, its wreaths of dark vapours, its watercourses winding between woods and islands. now when the young monk of repton heard of this huge desert he went straight thither. inquiring of the inhabitants their knowledge of this vast solitude, guthlac heard of a more un¬ cultivated part of that wide wilderness. one of those who stood by, tatwine by name, declared that he knew another island in the hidden parts of a yet more remote desert, which many who had tried to live there disliked on account of unknown monsters and terrors of different kinds. guthlac, who in youth had ever been ready for a wild raid, was still eager for holy adventure. he was guided by tatwine to the place of dreadful desolation. the voyage to crowland is shown upon the fine harley roll (plate v), which also depicts the construction of the chapel under the hermit’s direction. traces of guthlac’s church and cell remained until last century on a mound not far from the abbey.^ the cistern or well mentioned by the eighth-century chronicler has also been uncovered. a cottage here was known in the eighteenth century as “anchor church house”. pega, guthlac’s famous sister, settled as a recluse at pea kirk, “ being the first dry land she reached after coming by water from croyland ”. on the traditional site of her dwell¬ ing stands a chapel, which was formerly known as the hermit¬ age of st. bartholomew—the saint who appears constantly in the life of guthlac as his patron. according to the continuator ^ bvit. archcbol. yoiirnal^ xxxv, facing p. 133. ri a te j st. (iuthlac's voya(ie to crowi.and island and fen recluses 15 of ingulph's chronicle^ the chapel of st. pega was rebuilt by abbot john wysbech about 1469, “after the same had been for many years levelled with the ground if this be true, the nave (now used as a reading-room) may represent the abbot’s work. the chancel is older, dating probably from the latter part of the thirteenth century. at thorney (once ancarig, island of anchorites) dwelt, according to uncertain tradition, thorncred, thortred, and bosa. to this spot in the tenth century athelwold, abbot of abingdon, and bishop of winchester, was wont to retire at certain seasons, and a monastery was afterwards founded there. in thorney abbey were preserved the relics of huna, the chaplain of st. etheldreda. the priest had long practised great austerity of life, and after he had performed the last offices for the holy abbess, he spent the rest of his days in seclusion upon a small island near ely, called huneia after the saint. near hunney farm, on the borders of chatteris, traces have been found of an ancient building, supposed by some to have been the chapel where huna was buried, before the translation of his body to thorney. (^r) hi rivers .—bertellin or berthelm (by some identified with beccel or beccellin, guthlac’s disciple), a wild young prince who had become a penitent recluse, went in disguise to his father, the king of mercia, and begged from him a little island in the river sow, where now is stafford. after his father’s death, the hermit was dispossessed, and, leaving beth ney, he retired to the desert places of the mountains. this last retreat is supposed to have been dovedale, possibly near ham, where the shrine and well of st. bertram are still to be seen, and also certain ancient cross-shafts which may once' have marked the saint’s grave. ^ modwen is said to have dwelt upon a plot of ground be¬ tween two branches of the river, near burton-on-trent. “ re¬ turning to england from rome, she came to the place which is called scaleclif, by the hill where the river trent makes, as it were, an island. having built an oratory in honour of st andrew, she lived the anachoritical life for seven years.” a sixteenth-century rental mentions “andrew’s isle, alias mud ^ bishop of bristol, st. bertram's shrine at ham. boston college libliaky chestnut hill, mass. i6 hermits and anchorites of england win’s chappell the story of st. modwen’s hermit-friend, hardulch, is told in chapter iii. plegmund, the learned friend of king alfred, once lived the solitary life upon “an island of chester, called by the in¬ habitants plegmundesham”—probably plemondstall, about four miles from chester. the good priest was summoned from his place of retirement by alfred, whose instructor and ‘ counsellor he became (chapter xiii.). the saxon chronicle for the year 890 records that: “ this year was plegmund chosen of god, and of all the people, to the archbishopric of canterbury”. “at this time,” says another historian, “arch¬ bishop plegmund, so faithful and so famous, ruled the church of christ; a reverend man, bright with the fruits of wisdom.” he is said to have crowned edward the elder, and to have died at an advanced age in 914. the memory of the hermit archbishop was treasured in his former retreat, where his name was adopted. the “christening well,” near the church of plemstall, was called “ st. plegmund’s well ” in the time of edward vi.^ an island called andersey, by the river parrett in somer¬ set, was inhabited during the twelfth century by herduin, a venerable solitary; the place was granted to him by charter, and he afterwards presented it to athelney abbey. the wye had a hermit’s isle near winforton, in herefordshire; it was about a quarter of a mile south of the church, and had a chapel dedicated to st. kenedr. the first occupant of the cell was walter the priest. his successor. brother stephen, planted a quickset hedge about the hermitage, finding, perhaps, that even the river did not protect him sufficiently. ^ hook, archbishops, i. 312 sq.; e. conybeare, alfred in the chroniclers, 106, 127, 156, 203 ; chester and n. wales hist. s., n.s., xvi, 56, 67. 11 . forest and hillside hermits a little lowly hermitage it was, down in a dale hard by a forest’s side. —spenser, faerie queene t he densely wooded wilderness or hidden cave of the mainland afforded seclusion almost as complete as that of the sea-girt sanctuary. celtic recluses in particular seem to have loved the depths of the forest. several of these have left their memory in somerset. the village of keynsham, for example, is supposed to derive its name from the welsh princess ceneu or keyne, who is believed to have lived the contemplative life in those parts ; whilst congresbury and st. decumans are associated with cungar and degeman. the watery, woody spot where cungar—otherwise called docwin—settled in the days of ina, king of wessex, be¬ came under his care flowery meadows; so cultivated, indeed, did the congresbury valley become that the holy man crossed the severn to seek a more fit hiding-place in the wilds of glamorganshire. crossing the severn sea—the hermit’s high¬ way—^the welsh prince degeman disembarked from his rude raft in the neighbourhood of dunster. the tract between exmoor forest and the quantocks, with its high hills and deep ravines, was densely wooded. there he dwelt for many years, subsisting upon herbs and roots, and he was martyred at a spot afterwards known as st. decuman’s well. another hermit-martyr was alnoth, a herdsrnan of st. werburg, who, winning favour by his faithfulness, was re¬ leased from serfdom, and became a solitary:— this foresayd alnotus by synguler grace refused this worlde pleasures and vanyte went unto wyldernesse and machoryte was whome theues martyred to heuen blysse went he at stow besyde bukbrydge buryed was trule. 17 2 18 hermits and anchorites of england the place of his murder was stow wood in bugbrooke, near weedond the saxon saints included prince as well as serf. after the martyrdom of st. edmund the people desired to make his ^ h. bradshaw, lyfe of st. werburge (chetham s. 1848), loi, 103. forest and hillside hermits 19 brother edwold king in his stead. from his youth up edwold pelamottciiftcavisioi: a fig. 3.—the hermit-martyr of malvern. had given himself to the exercises of religion, and had earnestly longed to retire into the wilderness. it was revealed to him 20 hermits and anchorites of england that he should depart from east anglia and travel far until he should reach a fountain called “ the silver well after travers¬ ing many shires edwold reached dorset, where on a hillside, some four miles west of cerne, he found the spring and built his hut. the spot which he sought was indicated to him by a shepherd, who afterwards supplied him with milk and bread, and received from the solitary in return silver pennies. when st. edwold died, he was buried in his cell, but his body was eventually translated to cerne. of the martyr-monk of the malvern hills little is known. leland notes that near the priory stood the chapel of st. john baptist, where st. werstan suffered martyrdom. within the priory church is a series of painted glass windows (c. 1460), which depict a part of his story. on a flower-covered hill kneels the hermit. above is seen a vision of angels, ap¬ parently indicating the spot where he should build his hermit¬ age. in the next window (fig. 2) angels are represented as assisting in the consecration of the oratory. in the third compartment a figure of st. edward the confessor is intro¬ duced, which suggests that he was in some way werstan’s benefactor or protector. the last subject (fig. 3) is the death of the saint, whose head is being struck off at the window of his cell.^ william of malmesbury tells of another solitary who dwelt “ in that vast wilderness which is called malvern aldwin lived with a fellow-hermit named guy, and he was minded to accompany guy on a pilgrimage to the holy land. he sought counsel, however, of wulstan, bishop of worcester (1062-1095), who urged him to stay at malvern, foreseeing that a great work lay before him. aldwin therefore remained, and he lived to see the establishment through his influence of the priory at great malvern. an inquisition entered in bishop giffard’s register (1268) states that in the time of edward the confessor or earlier, aldwin lived in a wood granted to him by hudde, earl of gloucester, where now stood the priory. the foundation is elsewhere attributed to urso d’abytot.^ early in the twelfth century a group of fen and forest re ^ albert way, in archceological yournal, ii, 48-65. ^reg. giffard (wore. hist. s.), ii, 178; abbrev. placit. (rec. com.), 331. forest and hillside hermits 21 cluses were dwelling miles apart in the counties of hunting¬ don, bedford, and hertford, whose lives were interwoven in a singular manner. edwin lived on the island of higney, near ramsey. he surrounded his hermitage by a dyke, over which there was a drawbridge. when he endeavoured to make an outer dyke—because, for some unknown reason, certain shep¬ herds of the neighbourhood endeavoured to burn down his hut, but failed in the attempt—the men of saltrey succeeded in hindering him, and indeed drove him away; but after a while he returned and made himself secure. the assistance of edwin, probably the hermit of higney, was sought in time of distress by theodora (afterwards called christina), the young daughter of a certain autie of hunting¬ don, and beatrix his wife. although vowed to maidenhood, she had been forced into marriage by her parents, and cruelly persecuted:— “ she had noe means to free herself but by flight; being ascisted by one edwine an erimite, who procured her a horss, and a boye to convaye her, to one alfwina an anchorisse of flamsteed . . . ; from thence she went to one roger a holie ermitt, whoe lived in a desert not farr from dunstable.” rogers hermitage was situated “by the wayside on the right hand as you go from st. albans to dunstaple, hard by the village which in these days is called markyate”—a spot to which he was said to have been led by the ministry of angels on his return from pilgrimage to jerusalem. christina was destined to become the devoted disciple of roger, but family claims and church order had first to be satisfied:— “ but before she came thither, edwine, by roger’s means, whoe refused to admitt her, imparted her case to radulfe, archb. of canterburie. . . . after this burfred her husband together with the preist whoe had maried them, came with others to the ermitage of the forenamed roger, and there in the presence of five ermittes gave her leave, notwithstanding that which had passed, to dispose of her self as she pleased; and thurstane archb. of yorke disolving the match with their consent, permitted him to marrie, and shee to enter into religion.” 1 when the archbishop of canterbury died, roger turned to the archbishop of york. as a monk of the proudly inde ^n. roscarrock, life of st. christina^ in nov. leg. ii. 532-6. 22 hermits and anchorites of england pendent abbey of st. albans, he would acknowledge no allegiance to the bishop of lincoln ; indeed, he had himself been ordained sub-deacon by an irish bishop, who had been called in by the abbot to perform certain rites. archbishop thurstan, moreover, was a personal friend of roger, whom he revered for his goodness. the archbishop, wishing to speak privately with the maiden concerning her purpose, bade roger send her to him at redbourn. travelling thither with godescal of caddington and his wife, christina was received by thurstan, who, having bestowed salutary counsel upon her, sent her back to roger:— “ now there was a building adjoining the oratory of the said roger, with which it made an angle. this [angle], having a board before it, might so be concealed as to lead the outside beholder to suppose that no man was in this space. ... in this prison roger placed the joyful christina, and set for a door a proper oaken plank, which was so heavy that the anchoress could by no means move it either to or fro. ... if she would have had roger come to her she must call to him or smite upon the door, and how could the hidden virgin do this, who dared not utter even half a sigh? for she feared lest some other than roger might be near, who at the mere sound of her breath might discover her hiding-place; and she would rather have died in her prison than make herself known at that time to any person outside.” ^ there the recluse dwelt for over four years, enduring misery with great fortitude (chapter x.). so did she grow in grace that the old monk cherished the hope that she should become heir to his hermitage, and it was revealed to her that it should be even so. “ at last roger, leaving this world at the call of the god whom he served, went the way of all flesh.” hearing of roger’s death, thurstan sent for christina, treated her with great kindness, and offered to provide for her. “ after this, she havyng choyce of sundrie places, preferred sainct albons, where she had vowed virginitie, and where her deare frind roger laye buried : and alexander bishop of lin colne vailing her, she lived under the obedience of the abbott of st. albons as roger before had done.” it is noteworthy that no less than two archbishops, three ^ gest. 'abb. (rolls, 28, iv.) i. g8-g, trans. g. g. coulton, mediaeval garner, 510. forest and hillside hermits 23 bishops, two mitred abbots, and a pope are concerned in the life story of this young recluse. her case is committed by one friend to ralph d’escures, archbishop of canterbury {d. 1122), and by another to thurstan, archbishop of york {d. 1140); she is persecuted by ralph flambard, the wicked bishop of durham {d. 1128); robert bloet of lincoln {d. 1123) is amongst her detractors, but she receives the veil from his successor, alexander. she becomes the counsellor of the powerful abbot geoffrey, who appoints her first prioress of markyate ; whilst abbot robert uses her as an instrument in his dealings with the english pope, adrian iv, whose favour he won by the gift of three mitres and a pair of sandals ex¬ quisitely embroidered by christina. lastly, henry ii makes a grant for her support, fifty shillings a year being paid out of the exchequer (1155) “in corn which the king gives to lady christina of the wood nor was christina the only woman in that neighbourhood who lived thus in seclusion. in a wood close to st. albans two holy women made a wattled hut of boughs and twigs and logs covered with bark. they lived “ in wonderful abstinence” for some years, until abbot geoffrey, who approved the lives of these recluses, added to their number, and the settlement at eywood became sop well nunnery. in one charter it is stated that this cellula was rebuilt by roger. sigar, another monk of st. albans, dwelt at northaw. in that richly-wooded part of hertfordshire nightingales abounded, and their chorus disturbed the hermit’s devotions. he, therefore, made supplication that they might be removed “ lest he might seem to rejoice rather in the warbling of birds than in the worship whereunto he was bound before god john amundesham declares that in his own day nightingales not only never presumed to sing, but never appeared within a mile of the hermitage. sigar was wont to walk every night to st. albans in time for matins. he was buried in the abbey in the same tomb as “st. roger” (see p. 113). a northern hermit now arose to fame. godric of finchale dwelt in various waste places before he finally settled down beside the river wear. in his youth he followed successively ^ pipe r., ed. hunter, 1844, 22. the priory, called holy trinity de boscoy was in caddington, at markyate, now market street, 24 hermits and anchorites of england the callings of sailor, trader, and household steward. the first longing to embrace the solitary life came to him as the result of a visit to fame, although he did not at once become a fol¬ lower of st. cuthbert, but went on pilgrimage to st. james of compostella in spain, to the hermitage of st. giles in france, and to rome. when he resolved to make the journey to rome a second time, he was accompanied by his mother. the pilgrims set out on foot, and when they came to ford or ditch godric carried aedwen on his back. beyond london there met them in the way a lovely maiden, who asked permission to join in their pilgrimage. they readily assented, and hence¬ forth she served them with grace and diligence. they knew not who she was or whence she came, and none of the com¬ pany save themselves saw the mysterious maiden. when they were returning, and had reached the place where they had first met, she bade farewell with words of benediction. after godric had restored his mother in safety to his father’s protection and had received their blessing, he sold all that he had and made his way to carlisle, where, in the neighbouring forest of inglewood, he searched for the empty den of some wild beast. desiring to follow the example of john baptist in the wilderness, he lived on herbs and wild honey, with acorns, nuts, and crab-apples. he slept upon the bare ground, and, rising at daybreak, went forth to gather food, falling on his knees in prayer every few paces. godric then became the disciple of an aged hermit at wolsingham in weardale (p. 128). after aelric’s death, the wanderer went off a second time to the holy land. there he worshipped at the sacred sepulchre, and bathed in the jordan; and whilst staying in jerusalem he ministered to his fellow-pilgrims in st. john’s hospital. the attraction of the solitary life was irresistible, and he went to see the hermits dwelling in the subterranean caves of the judean deserts. on godric’s return to england, he found a secret place in the forest near whitby, and for over a year dwelt in a turf covered log hut in eskdale. he at length discovered, in the forest north of durham, the unknown valley of finchale, where st. cuthbert in a vision had bidden him ultimately settle; whereupon he made a cave in the earth near the bank of the river wear. possibly this was at the place still called plate vi st. (;01)k1c of finchale forest and hillside hermits 25 “ st. godric’s garth,” in the lower whin-covered open ground nearly a mile above finchale. the hermit afterwards be¬ took himself to a more favourable spot, “ well fitted both by situation and view for habitation it was a level plot at the bend of the wear, sheltered by the rushing river, with its steep, rocky, densely wooded banks. during a part of his sojourn it became an island, encircled by the flood which rose so high on one occasion that he was nearly swept away. he en¬ countered many perils. he was once bound and all but killed by marauding scots, who broke into his cell in the hope of securing treasure. he would have been in danger from the beasts of the forest, had he not possessed that mysterious power over the lower creation which has been attributed to many saints, and especially to those of the desert. upon his arrival at finchale (which was the bishop’s hunting-ground), a wolf rushed at him as though it would tear him to pieces. he made the sign of the cross and adjured the creature to depart, whereupon it crouched at his feet as if begging pardon. “ the number of serpents was fearful, but they were all tame towards the man of god ”. sometimes, as he sat by the fire, they would coil themselves round his legs, or settle in his dish. they so multiplied, however, that they hindered his devotions, and he bade them enter no more. the picturesque legends describe godric as a gentle companion, but firm master, of the wild creatures, forbidding the stag to touch his trees, or the leveret his herbs. he was the protector of beasts pursued in the chase; he delivered birds from the snare of the fowler; he nursed back to life little animals which were half-dead through the severity of the northern winter. the legend round the figure of goderyke heremit^ depicted in plate vi, runs thus :— in wasterne and in wildernes . whare nane wont bot wilde i went and in halines . a heremitage i plylde the fendes with faindinges of my flesche . fayne walde me haue filede bot gode his grace to me gune dres . elles hade i bene gilde.^ there are two graphic descriptions of brother godric, one 1 b.m. cott. faust. b. vi, pars. ii. f. 16 h. wont, dwelt; plylde, ? build ; faindinges, temptations; filed, defiled; the last line may be translated “ unless god had begun to address (or direct) his grace to me, i should have been beguiled 26 hermits and anchorites of england recalling his strength in the prime of life, the other portraying him in the grace and dignity of advanced years ;— “ he was a man earnest in spirit and fond of work, in body vigorous, of undiminished strength, moderate in stature, having broad shoulders, a wide chest, a long face, eyes grey and brilliantly flashing, thick eyebrows, a broad forehead, wide nostrils, a well-shaped hooked nose, a narrow chin, with a beard thick and rather long, a comely mouth, lips moderately full, the hair of his head and of his beard black in his younger days, but in old age of a hoary whiteness. his neck was short and thick with full lines of sinews and veins; shins moderately thick, feet with good insteps, knees thickened and hard through his often kneelings; the skin of his body was very rough, but in old age all that roughness was turned to softness.” ^ this stalwart, steadfast solitary remained at finchale for sixty years. his extraordinary asceticism seemed only to harden him; but at length he was conquered by infirmity, and was stricken with disease. the last stage of life is thus described by an eye-witness, william of newborough :—• “ when then he had lived to a feeble old age, he lay for a few years before his death in great weakness of body, and for a long time preserved some measure of life in his perishing body by small draughts of milk. in those days i was privileged to see him and to speak with him as he lay in his own oratory near the high altar. when then he appeared to be in his body under the shadow of death, he nevertheless spoke readily enough those words which were often on his lips : ‘ in the name of the father and of the son and of the holy ghost,’ repeating them over and over again. in his countenance, moreover, there appeared a certain dignity and beauty unknown before. thus he passed away, old and full of days, and his body now occupies the very spot of ground in which he was wont to lie prostrate in prayer or in sickness.” ^ st. godric died on 21 may, 1170. the grave which he had himself prepared became the resort of thousands of pil¬ grims. the priory of finchale (plate vii) grew up round the shrine, where many miracles of healing were wrought. not infrequently, as in the case of finchale, the cell de¬ veloped into a monastery. it happened that ralph aldlave, chaplain of henry i, fell ill at pontefract. going one day ^ anon, chronicler (probably reginald). see vita, 30, 31 n. hist. rerum angl. (rolls, 82), i. 150. plate i'// / , ^ • i / / i r. cv 0 » .m *1 'i y,' n. forest and hillside hermits 27 into the woods on his recovery, he found there certain men living in seclusion—-probably gilbert, hermit of st. james, nostell and his brethren, mentioned in an early charter. adlave (or adelwold) became the first prior of the community of st. oswald’s.^ radmore, in the royal chase of cannock, was granted to clement and hervey; but finding the foresters troublesome, the hermits removed to stoneleigh where they built a priory. beaulieu priory grew out of the hermitage of moddry wood, once tenanted by ralph de nuers, a monk of lichfield. many monasteries sent forth monks to inhabit desolate ^ parts of their territory. whitby abbey appointed monks to lonely outposts at goathland, eskdaleside, saltburn, and mul grave. about the year 1220 there was a hermit at shap in westmorland, probably a brother from the abbey, who received by the will of agnes de clifford one mark. in the cumberland forest of inglewood there were her¬ mitages at sebergham and ilekirk. that of st. hilda at ilekirk was held by roger goky, and was afterwards granted by royal charter to holme-cultram abbey. in 1223 the abbot himself, adam de kendal, retired thither. he had be¬ come insane after the failure of ambitious schemes, and dwelt there until his death under the care of the monk ralph.^ there were cells also in charnwood forest. charley hall, with the field called priests’ close, occupies the site of st. mary’s hermitage. it was at one time under luffield priory, but the earl of winchester became patron both of charley and ulverscroft. the hermitage of ulverscroft developed into an abbey. that of haliwell haw was under garendon abbey. several solitaries dwelt in the forests of wychwood and brill. the king, as lord of the forest, was usually the original patron of the cells, but in course of time they were placed under religious houses; loughborough (“lovebyri” or low bar row, near leafield) was granted to lechlade, lockeslegh to deerhurst, muswell to missenden, and brill to chetwode. the foregoing were actual hermitages, but the word was occa¬ sionally given to semi-parochial chapels served by secular 1 nostell ms. in scott. hist. rev. no. 26, pp. 153-4; ^f. v.c.h. yorks, hi. 234. “ fordun, scotichron,, ed. goodall, ii. 12. 28 hermits and anchorites of england priests. thus chetwode had a so-called “ hermitage ” (dis¬ tinct from that of brill), founded by robert, lord of chetwode. lord ralph nominated to it a chaplain, who was “ canonically instituted therein as perpetual guardian with the duty of a vicarage”. bishop grosseteste enters in his register the following illuminating memorandum : “ this place is commonly called by lay people a hermitage, on account of its loneliness, not because any hermit at any time was accustomed to dwell there, but a chaplain serves there, after the manner of a secular, and is bound to live there with a suitable household ”. in the forest of dean there were cells at ardland, st. briavels, and taynton. ardland, or ertlond, seems to have been between cinderford and newnham-on-severn. henry ii gave this place to a certain william the hermit, who afterwards, in the days of richard i, entered stricter seclusion at that chapel. he was taken under the protection of the abbot of flaxley, who promised him food and clothing. in 1225 panye de lench became a recluse at ardland, and was granted by henry hi four acres of land and also two oaks for the con¬ struction of her dwelling. the hermitage of st. briavels is mentioned early in the twelfth century. it was afterwards granted by henry hi to grace dieu abbey (monmouthshire), on condition that three priests should celebrate there for the souls of his ancestors. the wildness of the spot is shown by the fact that, as late as 1361, the chantry was removed to the abbey on account of the depredations of the beasts of the forest. there are said to be traces of the chapel at stowe grange. whilst the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were pre-emi¬ nently the period of the solitary, there were throughout the fourteenth century some retreats in wood and wilderness. in 1323, for example, there was a hermit at dalby in pickering forest. again, the chapel of losfield in clewer (now called st. leonard’s hill), which had been occupied by a certain william the hermit in henry hi’s time, was afterwards in¬ habited by a succession of solitary priests. in 1355 it was held by another william, and seems, from the following peti¬ tion, to have been a place of pilgrimage :— “ whereas william the hermit, chaplain of st. leonard, loffield, in windsor forest, lives a solitary life, and serves god alone, and rla te .v.vl '// anc h or i r k’s wi ni )0w, n kavcasti ,k-u fon-'j'vn k / plate /■/// a forest hermit forest and hillside hermits 29 whereas a multitude of people flock to the chapel, the pope is prayed to grant an indulgence to those who visit the said chapel . , . and give alms to the fabric.” ^ in the same year there was, as formerly, a hermit living on the slopes of the wrekin. the first tenant of this cell on mons gilberti was n icholas de denton, a clerk, who received a piece of land from shrewsbury abbey. the king granted him another plot for an oratory, and also contributed six quarters of corn every year in order to give him greater leisure for holy exercises, and to support him so long as he should be a hermit on the mountain. the woods and hills of somerset and dorset had their solitaries. in 1317 a chaplain was instituted to the hermit¬ age in rechych or neroche forest. at winscombe on the mendips there was a hermit at the place commonly called locus s. romani (1331). polden hill had a cell made for herself by the chapel of st. thomas by a woman named elneva. in 1505 john the hermit of st. thomas super powldon received 4^. as the bequest of a neighbour at cossing ton. the chapel in the forest near wimborne was inhabited in 1395, when lady alice west bequeathed 40s. “to the reclus frere thomas atte seynt lames in the holte a succession of chaplains dwelt at clipston in the royal forest of sherwood. to one of these king john paid qoj’. a year, and henry iii continued the grant to one benedict, hermit of st. edwin at birkland. priests were instituted to this chantry throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. the sixteenth-century commissioners reported that “ itt hathe no mancyon butt a parlor under the chappell of no valewe ”. turning from history to romance, sherwood is the scene of the exploits of the hermit-poacher who unwittingly enter¬ tained his king. it befell in good king edward’s days—^so runs the popular minstrel’s tale of the fourteenth century ^— that the king went a-hunting. towards eventide he missed his way, and espying a hermitage, asked harbour. the inmate replied that it was but a poor place, yet since it was far from the town he consented to receive the stranger. “ i dwell here ^ papal reg., petitions, i. 270; lett. iii. 572. 2 w. carew hazlitt, early pop, poetry, 11-35. 30 hermits and anchorites of england among wild beasts in the wilderness, living upon roots and rinds,” says the solitary. “ did i dwell in this forest,” ex¬ claims the other, “ when the foresters were asleep, then would i cast off my habit and stalk deer, to glad me and my guest —for the king needs not the venison! ” the man replies piously that his work is not archery, but prayer and penance; as for himself, he eats no meat. he sets before the king bread and cheese and thin ale. after a while the hungry huntsman discovers that the cell can produce not only white bread, but collops of deer’s flesh. “ wyllym alyn,” the serv¬ ing-lad, goes out to feed the horse, and when host and guest are left alone, they make merry over a pot of wine. the huntsman admires the skill and strength that can bend such a bow as hangs over the bed, and invites the hermit to visit him in the town, adding: “jhake flecher, that is my name; all men knowys me at home”. next morning the solitary shows the stranger his way; after leaving him the king blows his bugle, and at the blast come anxious knights and foresters who had sought him in vain. they ride away, and the ms. breaks off before the hermit has fulfilled his promise of visiting his whilom guest. this old tale was retold by sir walter scott in “ ivanhoe,” where the clerk of copmanhurst entertains the black knight.^ mention must also be made of the murdered monk of eskdaleside. in the time of henry ii, certain barons were hunting in a wood belonging to the abbot of whitby. having found a great wild boar, the hounds ran him near about the hermitage of eskdaleside, where dwelt a solitary monk of whitby. the boar, hotly pursued, went in at the chapel door, and there died: whereupon the hermit shut the hounds out and remained within at his meditations. following the cry of the hounds, the huntsmen came to the cell, where they found the boar lying dead. in fury thdy rushed violently at the hermit with their boar-staves, and he died soon afterwards. before his death, however, the monk desired the abbot to send for those who had wounded him, and freely forgave them, but he enjoined a certain penance upon them for the salvation of their souls. ^ the cave cell of friar tuck is shown at copmanhurst near fountain dale. forest and hillside hermits 31 the names and dates incorporated in the legend are not confirmed by records. the date given is the fifth year of henry 11 ; the murderers are william de bruce and ralph de perci, whilst the abbot is sedman, a name unknown in the annals of whitby. the cartulary of meaux shows that about this time a hermit called sedeman was dwelling at st. leonard’s, near egton, in whitbystrand. this cell, however, did not belong to whitby; it was at first in the hands of william le gros, earl of albemarle, and was granted by him to meaux.^ the popular story of the monk of whitby passed into “ marmion ” :— in wrath for loss of sylvan game saint hilda’s priest ye slew. ^ b.m. cott. vesp. e., xix. f. 80 6; burton, monast. ebor. 78-9. iii. cave dwellers far from men in the wilderness . . . enclosed in a cave . . . deep down in the grey rock .—life of edward the confessor t he solitary dwelt not only in desert or mountain, but in dens and caves. it seems natural to associ¬ ate him with hidden haunts in deep valleys or riverside crags. hollowed out at the base of the cratcliff rocks, near stanton-in-peak, is a cave, small and bare indeed, but perhaps the most impressive of our hermitages. there dwelt a solitary whose name has not been recorded, but graven in the rocky wall is a lasting memorial of his faith. in a recess at the eastern end is a simple, striking rood (plate xx xi^ the crockets on the cross suggest the budding foliage of the tree of life. the features are defaced, but the sacred figure is boldly executed. a manuscript rule of hermits, dating from the fourteenth century (probably contemporary with this sculp¬ ture), says: “ let it suffice thee to have on thine altar an image of the saviour hanging upon the cross, which repre¬ sents to thee his passion which thou shalt imitate, inviting thee with outspread arms to himself”.^ in the same county, near repton, is the cave-pierced rock called anchor church (plate ix), which from its name is believed to have sheltered an “ anker it has been suggested that this was the abode of the hermit mentioned by john of tynemouth, who used to visit modwen, the legend¬ ary lady of burton (chapter i.). the tradition of his name and dwelling-place has been preserved in a fragment of an early printed book ;— “ [one] tyme dwelled an holy heremyte, whose name was [hajrdulche in a place named bredon. he herde tell ^ camb. univ. ms., vi, 17, f. 74 b, 75. 2 compare anchor church house, crowland, nichols, leicestershire, iv, pt. i, p. 2. 32 rla te ix anchor church cave dwellers 33 [of modjwen’s holy lyuynge and wente oft to her and bare [bokejs of holy sayntes lyues. on a daye this holy man [left h]is boke at home, and therfore she made great \wailing\ and sayd, father why bringest thou not thy booke [like a]s thou were wonte to do. madame he sayde i [haue] forgoten. that tyme saynt hardulche had a celle in [a cjlyffe a lytell frome trent.” ^ then st. modwen sent two of her maidens in a boat to his hermitage to fetch the book. a tempest arose and overturned the boat, but (needless to relate) they were rescued by the miraculous intervention of their mistress. anchor church is, it is true, some miles from breedon-on-the-hill (where the church is dedicated to st. mary and st. hardulph), but in those remote times the parish of breedon, or the lands of its monastery, may have extended to the trent. probably the original hermitage—if such it was—consisted of “church” and cell. there are now four chambers in a semicircle, one of which commands a view of the trent valley. the river no longer runs beneath the rock, but a pool indicates its former course. there was perhaps no hermitage which possessed a more beautiful situation than that of guy’s cliffe, near warwick. this rugged precipice, washed by the avon, is clad in living green. leland saw in this spot—with its mossy caverns, clear springs, and flowery fields—a place of more than ordinary beauty. its silence was only broken by “ the river rollynge with a praty noyse over the stones ”. in the time of king athelstan—so the story goes—this cliff became the retreat of guy of warwick. returning from pilgrimage, the famous warrior arrived at warwick, and re¬ ceived an alms from felicia his wife, who failed to recognize him in his pilgrim’s weeds. he then carried out his resolve to retire into a cave not far distant from his lady’s castle:— “ he repaired to an heremite that resided amongst the shady woods hard by, desiring ... to receive some spiritual comfort, where he ^ sir matthew joyce’s pamphlet on “ st. hardulph ” contains a facsimile of the page of black letter bound as a flyleaf into a volume in lord kenyon’s library. 3 34 hermits and anchorites of england abode with that holy man till his death, and . . . succeeded him in that cell . . . and continued for the space of two years after; but then discerning death to approach, he sent to his lady their wedding ring by a trusty servant, wishing her to take care of his burial: add¬ ing also, that when she came, she should find him lying dead in the chapel, before the altar; and moreover, that within xv dayes after she her self should depart this life. she came accordingly, and brought with her the bishop and others, and did honourably interre [his body] in that heremitage.” • « this romantic tale, derived frorp gerard of cornwall, is re¬ corded in the chronicle of hyde abbey, under the date 927. ^ the hermit’s cave (plate x) is small, narrow, and almond shaped. it is about 14^ feet long, and barely 5 feet at its widest point. the rudely-hewn entrance, being 5 feet above the floor, is more like a window than a door. opposite this opening is a panel in the rocky wall, bearing an obliterated inscription. according to an ingenious, but doubtful, reading, it is rendered : remove^ 0 christy from thy servant this weight — guthi} if this were a genuine record of some recluse’s prayer, it would add a living interest to the cell, but the semi-runic characters are regarded with suspicion by scholars. guy’s cave and guy’s well are mentioned by leland. “ men shew a cave there in a rok hard on avon ripe, where they say that he used to slepe. men also yet showe fayr springs in a faire medow thereby, where they say that erie guido was wont to drinke.” the well, reached by a path along the riverside, is in an arched recess. richard beauchamp “ enclosyd the silver welles in the medow with pure whit slike stone like marble ”. the carved slab in which the twin-basins are scooped, is time-worn and overgrown with creeping liver¬ wort, but a never-failing spring bubbles out of the rock into the well. early in the thirteenth century brother wiger, canon of oseney, took up his abode in the hermitage, having deter¬ mined, with the consent of his abbot, to lead the solitary life at the place called gibbecliff.^ gilbert, described in an ordina¬ tion list (1283) as the hermit “of warwick,” may have dwelt liber de hyda (rolls, 45) 122-3; dugd., warwickshire^ i. 273, 275; see also romance of guy of warwick (e. e. text s., 1875), 302-7. ^ r. carr, 1870, “anglo-saxon epigraph “ (warwick museum). 3 b.m. cotton. vitell. e., xv., 186, per rev. h. salter. plate x hermit's cave, guv's cliffe plate el guv’s statu k the ct.oistkks (;uv's clikfk cave dwellers 35 here. the names of thomas de lewes, robert maudith, and john burry also occur as hermits of gibbeclifif. at one time the cell was under the care of the priory at warwick, but the earl, recovering the patronage, converted it into a chantry. in the rows roll, richard beauchamp is represented bearing the chapel in his right hand and the young king in his left. he was the kinsman and guardian of henry vi (see p. 155) in the first year of whose reign he obtained licence to found a perpetual chantry in the chapel called gibbeclifif, wherein two priests should perform divine service for the souls of the king and of the founders. he did so “ that god would send him heir male,” prompted thereto by the prophetic visions of an anchoress at york :— “ he did hyt by the styrryng of a holy anchoras namyd dam em rawghtone dwellyng at all halows in the northe strete of york and for hyt to her apperyd our lady vii tymes in on yer and seyd that in tyme to cum . . . hyt shuld be a gracious place to seke to for eny dises or gref and on of seynt gyes eyris shuld bryng hys reliks a geyn to the same place.” ^ william worcester notes in his itinerary that richard beauchamp caused a fair house to be made for the priests called hermits, and leland mentions “ a praty howse of stone for the cantuary prists by the chapel ”. it is uncertain to which of the rock-hewn dwellings the travellers nefer. the lofty hall with pillars and arches, surrounded by an ambulatory, is known as the cloisters (plate xi). there is a range of cells in both upper and lower cliffs. some of them have small square¬ headed windows and other signs of habitation. the “ right goodly chapell of st. mary magdalene ” is still in use, after careful restoration in 1875. the ancient door is massive, carved and iron bound. a huge oak chest has been preserved. within the chapel, cut in the rock, is a gigantic statue of sir guy; it is about 9 feet high and represents him as warrior, the victor over colbrand the dane. shake¬ speare doubtless had this figure in his mind when he writes: “ i am not samson, nor sir guy, nor colbrand, to mow them ^rows roll, ed. 1845, sect. 50 (john rows was chantry priest at guy’s cliffe; he was aged in 1491. his vetustates clivi guidonici perished by fire.) dame emma was instrumental in the appointment of richard beauchamp as regent, see chapter xii. 2 dimensions 32 x 28 ft., or excluding ambulatory 23 x 12j ft. 36 hermits and anchorites of england down before me it appears to date from the early part of the thirteenth century, although according to leland it was earl richard who set up there “an ymage great lyke a giant”. richard beauchamp held his famous ancestor in especial honour. like guy he went on pilgrimage, and like guy did deeds of prowess. richard neville, “ the king-maker,” pur¬ posed “ to have woltyd and butracyd sir guys caue for fallyng downe of the hangyng rok . . . and to let peynt sir gyes image”. his further scheme to enlarge the chantry as an almshouse was never carried out, owing, probably, to the wars of the roses. fuller, after describing the charms of guy’s clifife, adds;— “ many hermites . . . being sequestred from the world, retreated hither. some will say it is too gaudy a place for that purpose, as having more of a paradice then wilderness therein. . . . but seeing hermits deny themselves the company of men, let them be allowed to converse with the rarities of nature.” the hermitage near bridgnorth (plate xii) is said to date from the tenth century, and the rock of athelardston, in the royal forest of morf, was, by the tradition preserved by leland, the habitation of a brother of athelstan. nothing authentic is known before the fourteenth century, when the crown nomin¬ ated several persons. a patent roll entry sets forth that:— » “ whereas roger de burghton, chaplain, inflamed with the fervour of devotion, has arranged to take the habit of a hermit, and has made instant supplication to the king to grant him for life the hermitage at atherlaston on the high road by bruggenorth now void, wherein to dwell, that he may pray for the king, queen philippa and their children: the king has granted his petition.” athelardston, now hermitage hill, is near the top of the sandstone ridge above the severn valley. the rock con¬ sisted of four chambers. a small door opens into the largest cave, about 33 feet long, including the chapel (plate xii), which is the most complete part remaining. a passage and flight of steps lead to the upper cave, which, like the lower side cave, is now roofless, the soft stone having crumbled away.^ the county of worcester had several habitable caves, as, ^ hubert smith, shropshire arch. trans, i. plate xii i'} ik hkrmltacik, p.rl i)(inorth pla pe xm 'i'hk chai'el, itrllxinor'l'h hermi'i'ac.r cave dwellers 37 for example, those at redstone, blackstone, and southstone. that of redstone (plate xxii), near stourport, contained a chapel with an altar and several chambers, all hewn in the rock. over the altar there was formerly a wall-painting which de¬ picted an archbishop saying mass, and above it an inscription declaring some indulgence to those who frequented this place with devotion. those who trafficked on severn used to make offerings of their commodities to the hermit as they passed. some suppose that layamon dwelt here when compiling his translation of wace’s brut. “ it appearethe the hermittes weare buryed heere, althoughe the stone hardly yeeldethe a grave.” in some unknown cave in the neighbourhood of evesham dwelt one of the most influential recluses of the west. “ on the slope of a wood, enclosed in a cave, deep down in the grey rock,” wulsi lived in seclusion through the troublous reigns of cnut, edward the confessor, harold, william the conqueror, and william rufus. he was brought up in worcestershire, but became a benedictine monk at crowland. he was un¬ skilled in literary pursuits, and could neither sing in the choir, nor cater in the market; but he felt that he had a vocation for the contemplative life. he therefore sought to become an anchorite, that he might pray unceasingly for the whole com¬ munity and for himself. a few years passed peacefully, but upon cnut’s death there was an upheaval in the kingdom. a multitude of men, women, and children took refuge at crow land, and they “everlastingly” disturbed the whole monastery. but more than all, they distracted wulsi ; for day and night they consulted him, crowding to the doors of his humble cell as though it were some royal palace. the din made wulsi weary of his life, and he had not time for devotion. worn out, and fearing lest, while people called him holy, he should fall into utter desperation and rush headlong into depths of wicked¬ ness, he at length, by the advice of the prior, sought tranquillity at evesham, and there in a cavern and in the chapel of st. kenelm hard by, he served god in all holiness of life.^ some years later, a vision was vouchsafed to the hermit.^ ^ peter of blois, continuation of ingulph’s chron., ed. riley, 252-5. 2 flete, hist, of westminster (ed. j. a. robinson), 45, 46, from aelred’s life oj st. edward (r. twysden, hist. angl. script, x., col. 382). 38 hermits and anchorites of england one night, after much prayer and meditation, the apostle teter, bright and beautiful, appeared saying:— “fear not, brother; i am peter, who keep the keys of heaven. tell edward the king that his prayer is accomplished; of all his sins he has pardon, and absolution from his vow ... on the condition that to me he make a house, where he may have a convent of monks. ... at london is the spot marked out, two leagues from the city, at thorney, where is a church, ancient and low . . . towards the west on the thames. i myself will consecrate the spot with my hands. . . . whatever i have here said to you, clearly put it in writing." wulsi delayed not. in the morning he wrote it on parch¬ ment, and caused it to be carried as from st. peter to the king (plate xiv). the writing and receiving of the roll are well depicted in the thirteenth-century manuscript.^ mean¬ while the messengers (who had gone to obtain a release from the king’s vow to go on pilgrimage) returned from rome, and since the two messages agreed, the divine will seemed clear: “ for the one comes from the east, and the other from the west . . . hence every one is assured of it, because no tidings could have reached the recluse, who was very far away in the country of worcester, far from men in the wilderness." after living in seclusion for seventy-five years wulsi died, and was buried at evesham. the shrine of “st. wlsin" was one of the treasures of that abbey. the solitary life was embraced by persons of every estate, not only by the noble lord of warwick and the high-born monk of worcester, but by a baker of derby and a citizen of york. the narrative concerning the pious townsman of derby —“ not a tale, but a circumstance which most certainly hap¬ pened ”—is recorded by thomas de musca.^ the baker was a godfearing man, intent on good works, “ being in a measure another cornelius". whatever food and clothing he could procure during the week beyond what was needful for his family he would bring on saturday to st. mary’s church, for distribution amongst the poor. at length, yielding to a call ^ la estoire de s. aedward, camb. "univ. ms. ee. 59. see lives of edward (rolls, 3), p. 8; kemble, cod. dip. iv. 175. 2 trans, by mr. w. h. st. j. hope. fla te xiv s'l\ wlilsi, rhk ilkrmri'-sker . j i cave dwellers 39 which seemed unmistakable, he exchanged social life for soli¬ tude, commerce for contemplation, prosperity for privation. “ it happened that on a certain day in autumn when he had given himself up to repose at noon, there appeared to him in his dreams the blessed virgin mary, saying: “ thy alms are acceptable before my son and me. but now if thou wilt be perfect, leave all that thou hast and go to depedale and there thou shalt serve ray son and me in solitude.” awaking, he straightway left all that he possessed. ignorant of the place for which he was bound, he turned east¬ wards, and in passing through a village, heard a woman bidding a maiden drive the cattle into depedale; he followed forth¬ with. “ he found that the place was a marsh, exceeding dreadful, and far distant from every habitation of man. and turning himself to the south-east of the place, under the side of the mountain, he cut out for himself in the rock a very small dwelling, and an altar turned to the south which has been preserved to this day, and there, by day and night, he served god in hunger and thirst, and cold and naked¬ ness.” now ralph fitz geremund was hunting one day in his woods of ockbrook. he caught sight of smoke ascending from the cave, and was indignant that anyone had dared to make himself a habitation. but seeing the miserable case of the man of god who was clad in rags and skins, the baron was smitten to the heart, and granted him the place, giving him also for his support the tithe of the mill of burgh. lack¬ ing water, the hermit wandered about near his abode until he found a spring, beside which he made a hut and built an oratory in honour of god and the blessed virgin. in almost unendurable solitude the hermit of dale steadfastly carried out his resolve, until at length “ having finished the struggle of his life laudably in the service of god, he passed happily from the prison of his body to the lord ”. dale hermitage (plate xv) is situated in a steep wooded hillside above the dale and its ruined abbey. the rock is overhung with beeches which seem to be embedded in the sandstone. the cave is about 20 feet long, 9 feet wide, and 9 feet high. possibly it was originally of two compart¬ ments. it has a doorway and two other openings. the 40 hermits and anchorites oe england walls are much defaced, but there is a niche to the west. in an orchard at the foot of the hill a spring which never runs dry is still called “ the hermit’s well robert of knaresborough was a citizen of york. accord¬ ing to a fourteenth-century chronicle, his surname was koke. leland calls him “ one robert flowr, sunne to one robert ' flowr, that had beene 2 tymes mair of york”. other authorities give his father’s name as touke or tok flour, and his mother’s as onnuryte, simunina, or sunniva.^ the pious youth became a lay brother of newminster in north¬ umberland, but after a few months he sought stricter seclusion. being doubtless well acquainted with knaresborough (only eighteen miles from his home), he determined to join a certain knight, rich and famous, who, having fled from the lion-like wrath of richard i, was living apart from men on the banks of the nidd. the two men dwelt together in a cave; but, after the king’s death, the fugitive warrior returned to the world:— langir lyked hym noght that lyffe bott als a wreche wentt to hys wyffe, leaving the “soldier of christ” alone. the young solitary was befriended by a virtuous matron named helena, who gave him the chapel of st. hilda at rudfarlington in knaresborough forest.^ there he abode for a while, but when thieves broke into his hermitage, he moved on to spoffbrth. then, fearing lest the crowds which followed him should move him to vainglory, he accepted the invitation of the monks of holy trinity, york, to join some of their number at hedley. the young zealot, clad in an old white garment, who would eat nought but barley bread and vegetable broth, was not a comfortable companion, and robert, regarding his fellows as “ fals and fekyll,” returned to st. hilda’s. the noble dame was passing glad to see him, and provided a barn and other buildings for his use. william de stuteville, constable of knaresborough, passing by, saw ^ lanercost chr. (bannatyne club, 1839), 25-7; metrical life (roxburghe club); n. roscarrock’s life, camb. univ. ms. c.add. 3041, 377-96. 2 r. stodley, vita, b.m. hark, 3775 f. 76; “ ubi quondam uilla grandis que rothferlington vocabatur ”. rudfarlington, once a large township, is now a farm. a field towards crimple beck is called chapel garth. plate a’i palk hp:rmita(; v i. i / i \ > / i i • \ i. • ♦ t v ' » ? 's ^ j i -r '. . •'.i it / . / ••»■ f' i . 1 n* k 1 \ \ i % ^ cave dwellers 41 the dwelling, and when he heard that one robert, a devoted servant of god, lived there, he cried: “ this is a hypocrite and a companion of thieves ! ” and bade his men “ dyng doune hys byggynges the homeless hermit took his book and fared through the forest to knaresborough:— to a chapell of sayntt gyle byfor whare he had wouned a whyll that bygged was in tha buskes wyth in a lytell holett; he hyed hym in. but again the lord of knaresborough went a-hunting, and when he saw smoke rising from the hut, he swore that he would turn out the tenant that night there “ appered thre men blakker than ynd,” who roused him from his restless sleep. two of them harrowed his sides with burning pikes, whilst the third, of huge stature, brandished two iron maces at his bedside: “take one of these weapons and defend thy neck, for the wrongs with which thou spitest the man of god william cried for mercy and promised to amend his deeds, whereupon the vision vanished. early in the morning the terrified tyrant hastened to the cell, and humbly sought pardon:— roberd forgafif and william kyssed and blythely wyth hys hand hym blyssed. the penitent baron then bestowed upon robert all the land between the rock and grimbald kyrkstane, besides horses and cattle. william de stuteville was succeeded by brian de lisle, who regarded the hermit as his faithful friend. it was he who besought king john to visit robert (seep. 153). this visit resulted in the further endowment of the cell. john bade robert ask what he willed, but he replied that he had enough, and needed no earthly thing. when ive found that alms for the poor had not been asked, he persuaded his master to follow the king, from whom he received the grant of a carucate of land. this land was appropriated to the use of the poor, and robert refused to pay tithe for it to the rector, to whom he indignantly granted “crysts cursynge” for his covetousness. robert was “to pore men profytable”. he gathered alms for the needy, fed them at his door, and sheltered them in his cave. the complaint made by the angry baron that the 42 hermits and anchorites of england hermit was a receiver of thieves had some truth in it. in the rhyming life, robert speaks of the corn required for “ my cayteyffes in my cave”. his favourite form of charity was to redeem men from prison :— to begge an brynge pore men of baile, this was hys purpose principale. st. robert died on the 24 september, 1218.^ he had been a benefactor to many, and great was the grief of the mourners. as he had foretold on his death-bed, the monks of fountains sought to bear away his body, but ive carried out his master’s wish to be buried in the chapel of the holy cross, where he had himself prepared a rock-hewn grave. i wyll be doluen whar so i deghe beried my body thare sail ytt be wyth outen end here wyll i rest here my wounyng chese i fyrste here wyll i leyud here wyll i ly in this place perpetuely. the chroniclers call st. robert’s first hermitage “ the chapel of st. giles,” describing it as a dwelling under the rock formed by winding branches over stakes in front of a cave. they relate how his brother walter, who was mayor of york, thought this cavern and wattled hut no fitting habitation for him, and suggested that he should join some community. robert replied: “ this is my resting-place for ever: here will i dwell, for i have chosen it ”—an answer which recalls the antiphon sung when a recluse was about to enter his life¬ long retreat. walter therefore sent workmen from the city who laid the foundations of a chapel in honour of the holy cross, built of hewn stone. evidently this chapel adjoined the cave, and replaced the humble oratory of st. giles. st. robert’s cave is about a mile below the castle. on the north bank of the river is a low cliff about 20 feet in height. the descent is made by a narrow flight of steps, which ends in an uneven platform of rock about 40 feet in length of two levels, the upper one being the floor of the chapel, with traces of an altar at the eastern end (plate xvi). before the altar-steps is the tomb, deeply cut in the rock, ^ 8 kal. octobris, 1218, chr. lanercost, 25. the diet. nat. biog. gives c. 1235, but chart. r. 1227 grants land of brother robert “ formerly hermit there ” to ive. plate a77 cave and toml! of st. roijert, knarksrorough cave dwellers 43 which has a groove for a slab to cover it. i a mossy lichen covered wall on the south shows the extent of the original building. on the north of the chapel (which now has a natural roof of beech and trailing greenery) is the picturesque ivy-clad cliff of a warm yellow and red tint. a low doorway gives access to the cave. ^ after robert’s death, the cell was claimed as crown pro¬ perty. a writ was issued (1219) to the constable of knares borough to cause “our hermitage” to be given into the custody of master alexander de dorset. the original grant was afterwards confirmed to brother ive, hermit of holy cross (1227).^ the chapel became a place of pilgrimage, and many miracles of healing were wrought there, especially about twenty years after the saint’s death. “the same year (1238) shone forth the fame of st. robert the hermit at knares borough, from whose tomb medicinal oil was brought forth abundantly.” matthew paris, naming in 1250 the chief per¬ sonages of the last half-century, mentions in particular st. edmund of pontigny, st. robert of knaresborough, and st. elizabeth of hungary.'^ although there seems to be no re¬ cord of actual canonization, the hermit was universally regarded as a saint. the papal records for the year 1252 contain an offer of indulgence to those who should help in completing “ the monastery of st. robert of gnarebur, where that saint’s body is buried ”. this new priory (or “ house of st. robert”) was granted to the trinitarian friars, and it was fitting that the “ order of the holy trinity for the redemp¬ tion of captives ” should become successors of the saint who had delighted in releasing men from prison. the name holy cross or holy rood was superseded by that of the hermit. in 1257 richard, earl of cornwall, confirmed to the order the chapel of st. robert. in the following century, letters of ^ the grave measures 6 ft. 5 in. and is from 14-21 in. broad ; at the bottom is a hole 15 x 6 in. ^ the cave is 16 ft. 8 in. from east to west, and is about 8 ft. at its widest; it is 5 ft. 10 in. high. at the n.e. corner is a recess 3 ft. 9 in. long. it is also known as “ eugene aram’s cave,” from the tragedy rendered famous by lord lytton and by hood. ^ the metrical life affirms that ive gave the place to coverham abbey by charter. chr. maj. (rolls, 57) iii. 521; iv. 378; v. 195. 44 hermits and anchorites of england protection whilst collecting alms were granted by edward hi to a follower of the saint who was also his namesake and fellow-citizen, “brother robert of york, hermit of the chapel of st. robert henceforth st. robert was “ the peirles patrone of this place”. other chapels were built and dedicated to his memory. nothing is known of the history of the chapel now called “st. robert’s,” in the crag below the castle. the tiny building contains an altar (plate xvii), piscina, niche, and seat, all carved out of the rock. ^ near the entrance is a figure with a drawn sword, the origin and meaning of which are alike unknown (plate xvii). leland alludes but briefly to this place : “ a litle beneth march-bridge ... i saw an old chapelle yn a rok hewen owte of the mayne stone there is no ground for believing that it was ever the habita¬ tion of st. robert. the rock-hewn cells of pontefract and of bristol will be described in chapter vi. the history of st. vincent’s her¬ mitage, clifton (plate xix), is obscure. william worcester describes it as situated in the dangerous rock called ghyston cliff. he speaks of “the hermitage with the church,” and again of “ the hermitage and chapel the “hall” and “ kit¬ chen ” must refer to the caverns, but it is possible that the chapel stood on a projecting ledge of limestone, now fallen. an episcopal brief relating to it is preserved as a memorandum in the episcopal register of ely (1492). an indulgence is offered to such as should assist and relieve thomas dene, warden of the chapel of st. mary and st. vincent, and should visit the chapel by way of pilgrimage or contribute to its pre¬ servation or the maintenance of lights and ornaments.the word “ preservation ” seems to suggest that the oratory had been constructed, not merely hewn out of the rock. some support is given to this theory by the fact that an encaustic tile and the fragment of a small gothic window have been found. it is evident that the chapel was the chief feature of the place. it was a landmark, for worcester records the ^ the chapel is not more than 12 ft. long, including a miniature apse about 3 ft. in which the altar stands; it is 8 ft. wide. in the centre of the floor is a shallow cavity, 17 x ii in. 2 reg. alcock, f. 79-83. ri.atk x] ji s'l'. rolikrt’s c:hapki,, knarkslioroudh plate xviii war kwok'i'h h erm ri'al ik cave dwellers 45 height from the chapel to the summit of the lofty cliff, and down to the water below. measurements would hardly have been given to him in this form had the chapel been out of sight. worcester was struck with its perilous position ; but even this steep wall was by no means inaccessible, and the indulgence, dated within twelve years of the famous traveller’s visit in 1480, shows that thomas dene expected his chapel to be the resort of the faithful. warkworth hermitage (plate xxxvii), overhung by trees, with its well-defined architectural features, is a striking con¬ trast to the rude caverns in the bare and precipitous rocks of the avon gorge. it is pictured thus in the ballad the hermit of warkworth :— then scoop’d within the solid rock, three sacred vaults he shows ; the chief a chapel, neatly arch’d, on branching columns rose. up to the altar’s ample breadth two easy steps ascend ; and near, a glimmering solemn light two well-wrought windows lend.^ the hermitage is approached from the riverside by a flight of steps (plate xviii). the chapel of the holy trinity is reached through a tiny vestibule, in which is a rood. the chapel (about 20 feet long and feet high) is of three bays (see ground plan. fig. 4). it contains an altar, piscina (a), quatrefoil window (h), and hagioscope (j). these, with the shafts and capitals and the ribs of the roof are graven in the rock. in a recess to the south-east is a recumbent effigy, ap¬ parently that of a female, and above it a figure of a knight— monuments which suggested bishop percy’s romantic ballad. the west wall is pierced with four lancet windows, beyond which is a small chamber, now open at the west end, having a window looking south upon the river. a long narrow chamber adjoins the principal chapel on the north and communicates with it by a doorway and by a fine decorated window (fig. 5). at the eastern end there is a small roughly-hewn oratory (c) containing traces of an altar, stoup (b), aumbry (d), and a hagioscope commanding the altar in the adjoining chapel. ^ percy, reliquesy iii. 310. 46 hermits and anchorites of england probably this narrow chamber was the original cell, entered from the west (l) by stone steps, some of which remain. it fig. 4.—warkworth hermitage. was perhaps the inmate’s living room, and the recess (e) may have held a bed. there are considerable remains of a later building erected at the south-west corner. these were probably the hall and cave dwellers 47 kitchen mentioned in stockdale’s survey of the lands of the percies (1586) ;— “there hath been in the said parke one house hewen and wrought in a cragg or rock of stone, called the harmitage, having in the same a hall, kytchen, chamber, and chapell, with a little orchard and garden adjoyning the same; in which house hath been kept in times past an heremity or priest to doe and celebrate divine service.” fig. 5.—window in warkworth hermitage. the garden above is reached by winding steps. the holes in a rock near by may be traces of a lean-to byre. the hermit was allowed pasturage for horses and cattle, and received twenty marks a year and twenty loads of firewood. once a week he might net salmon, for he had the right to “ one draught of fishe every sondaie in the yere, to be drawn fornenst the said army tage, called the trynete draught the hermit’s well is still shown. nothing is known of the foundation of warkworth hermi¬ tage. the occupants were sometimes called “ chaplains of the 48 hermits and anchorites of england chantry ” ; but in 1515 edward slegg is described as “ hermit in the chapel of holy trinity”. in 1531 henry, earl of northumberland, in consideration of the services of his chap¬ lain sir george lancastre, appointed him to “ myn armytage bilded in a rock of stone within my parke of warkworth,” whilst he on his part should pray for the good estate of certain persons (see p. 190). there was a dwelling not far from the church at sneinton near nottingham, excavated, probably, in the low sandstone cliff by the trent. a rental of 1544 notes : “ there is a house under the ground in a rock of stone that some time was called hermitage ” ; and again (1591) : “ the ermitage of sneynton being a house cut out of rock and payeth yearly 2 s/\ a later deed mentions “ hermitage close on the top of the rock of the hermitage near sneinton church ”. it is not unlikely that some of the rock holes in nottingham park were occupied by hermits. two monks used to minister in the chapel of st. mary of the rock under the castle. there is a subterranean oratory cut in the chalk at royston, the walls of which are carved with rude figures— a crucifixion, st. katharine, and st. christopher. at oxton, near exeter, there is a “hermit’s cell” cut in the red rock. the chamber has a gothic doorway, a lancet window, a niche, a ledge round the walls, and a kneeling-place with a cross carved above it. other caverns remain which may have been the abode of recluses, although documentary evidence is wanting. on the banks of the eamont, near brougham, are the chambers hewn in the rock, mentioned by leland; and above the eden at wetheral are “ st. constantine’s safe¬ guards ”. another cave-dwelling is the “ holy austin rock ” at kinver edge in staffordshire. the “hermit’s hole” is shown in the midst of culver cliff in the isle of wight. tradition says that the caves on the seashore at buxsted and hastings were once used as hermitages. a separate chapter must, however, now be devoted to some of the sea-coast solitaries. pl a te xix hermitagp: in ghyston cliff, clifton / f \ % j r ip \ . { a i / y j «w 7 f i k iv. light-keepers on the sea coast it is a pious work to help christians exposed to the dangers of the sea, so that they may be brought into the haven out of the waves of the deep. (patent roll, 1247) _ • w hilst the hermits of the island, the forest, or the cave, chose their haunts chiefly with a view to solitude, there were others who took up their abode with more regard to the direct service of their fellow men. the church was the pioneer in many works of mercy and utility, including the provision and maintenance of beacons, bridges, roads, harbours, and even forts. tynemouth priory kept up a lamp on st. mary’s island near south shields, and in foggy weather a bell used to ring from the chapel for the benefit of mariners. probably the towers upon inner fame and on coquet island (plate ii) were designed for a similar purpose. when a sea-mark was required on the coast of ireland, a tower was built at hook (co. wexford) by the monastery of st. saviour, with the assistance of the earl of pembroke. ^ the chapel of st. nicholas on lantern hill, about 100 feet above the haven of ilfracombe, was, and still is, used as a lighthouse. year by year throughout the winter a beacon burned on the top of this chapel “ as if it were a star flashing in the night”: so wrote bishop veysey in 1522, when he testified to its usefulness in stormy weather, and invited people to stretch forth a helping hand for the upkeep of the guiding light. ^ on the promontory near st. ives, there was another conspicuous sea-mark. “ there is now,” says leland, “ at the very point of pendinas a chapel of s. nicolas, 1 g. b. hodgson, s. shields, 287; pat. 31 hen. ill, m. 6. 2 oliver, monast. exon. 29 n. 49 4 50 hermits and anchorites of england and a pharos for lighte for shippes sailing by night in those quarters.” hermits used frequently to act as coastguards and light keepers at these lonely stations. in the days of edward iii, john puttock settled on the seashore near lynn, where he erected, at his own great cost and charge, “ a certain remark¬ able cross of the height of no feet,” which proved a boon to seamen sailing up the wash. recognizing the services of the solitary of “ lenne crouche ” (who dwelt in a cave in the bishop’s marsh), the mayor and commonalty petitioned the bishop of norwich to admit him to the order of hermits (1349). possibly some such ministry was performed by the hermits of cley by blakeney haven and of cromer. it seems probable that a leading light was shown from the chapel at st. edmund’s point. near the old village of hunstanton, the low-lying shore of the wash is broken by a ridge, rising at places to 60 feet in height. on the highest part of the cliff, near the lighthouse, are the ruins of st. ed¬ mund’s chapel (plate xx), founded, as tradition says, by the saint after he had escaped from shipwreck. the building seems to date from norman times, with doors and windows of later date. the site has been recently excavated, and the walls (3 feet thick), show that the chapel was 79 x 24 feet. possibly this was the cell occupied by thomas cooke the hermit, who in 1530 was maintained by the l’estranges of hunstanton. there were other hermitages on the shores of the north sea, at saltfleet haven, at skegness (near ingoldmells point), and at the mouth of the humber. the last-named, the chapel of ravenserespourne, was re-built at great expense by matthew danthorpe, shortly before 1399*. because it was situated “ where the king landed at the last coming into england,” henry iv granted the place and the chapel of st. mary and st. anne to this hermit and his successors “ with wreck of sea and waif and all other profits on the sand for two leagues round ”. the possession of these privileges seems to have called out the sympathies of the succeeding chaplain, for in 1427 richard reedbarowe had much on his heart the dangers of the humber and the frequent disasters, for lack of sea-mark and lighthouse :— plate xx st. ei)muni)’s-on-the-cliff, huns'fanton light-keepers on the sea coast 51 so that the seid richard, havyng compassion and pitee of the cristen poeple that ofte tymes are there perisshed, and also of the godes and marchaundise there lost, hath begunne in weye of charite, in salvacon of cristen poeple, godes and marchaundises comyng into humbre, to make a toure to be uppon day light a redy bekyn, wheryn shall be light gevyng by nyght, to alle the vasselx that comyn into the seid ryver of humbre.^ this enterprising man had begun his tower, but needed assistance in finishing it. he accordingly made a petition to parliament, setting forth that the tower “ may not be made nor brought to an ende withouten grete cost,” and proposed that a tax should be levied on every ship entering the humber ; to this suggestion the merchants and seamen of hull had already agreed. the commons, in response to these business¬ like proposals, made special request to the king’s council, and the matter was settled. it was arranged that for ten years the mayor should take tolls from each ship at a fixed tariff accord¬ ing to her tonnage, and that the money thus raised should be applied under the survey of certain merchants and mariners in completing the tower to serve as a beacon, and in finding a light to burn therein. whether richard reedbarowe ever saw the fulfilment of his enterprise does not appear. ^ the terrible frequency of wrecks is shown by the duty in¬ cumbent upon the coastguard-chaplain of reculver. on that cliff was a chapel “ ordeyned for the sepulture of suche persons as by casualty of storms or other incident fate or mysaventures were perished ”. when the hermitage was founded is not known; but it was becoming ruinous in i486, when thomas hamond, “ hermyte of the chapell of st. peter, st. james, and st. anthony being at our lady of rekcolver,” was granted a commission to collect alms for the rebuilding of the roof which had fallen down.^ perhaps he was not successful in his quest for alms, or it may be that another fifty years of exposure to the winds had reduced it again to a state of disrepair, for leland notes : “ ther is a neglect chapel, owt of the church-yard the sea was rapidly encroaching, and eventually the cliff was swept away at that point. a hermit kept watch at st. margaret’s-at-cliffe on the south ^ p.r.o, anc. petitions, no. 1232: rot. pari., iv., 364-5. b.m. harl., 433 f. 216. 52 hermits and anchorites of england foreland. in 1367 brother nicholas de legh dwelt in this hermitage of “st margaret atte staire ” : the “stair” was probably (like “ st. margaret’s gate ”) a passage from the bay to the cliff. local tradition declares that the cell was cut in the chalk cliff, near the modern lighthouses, and that a lantern was hung up there to guide ships at sea. possibly the her¬ mitage on the sussex cliff at seaford was used for a similar purpose. upon chale down, in the isle of wight, there was in 1312 a hermitage and chapel in honour of st. catherine. two years later a shipwreck occurred, which led to the foundation of a lantern tower at st. catherine’s. a french ship belonging to a religious house was wrecked, and the mariners, who sold the cargo to certain men of the island, were afterwards charged with sacrilege for having appropriated church property. it is said that a papal bull was issued threatening the chief offender, walter de godeton, with excommunication. in expiation he was charged to build a lighthouse on the down near nyton, above the scene of the disaster. a letter of bishop stratford proves that the tower had already been erected in 1328. a chantry priest was to keep up a bright light to warn mariners sailing by night on that dangerous coast. a survey of 1566 shows the buildings as they then existed, with little stacks of wood ready piled for the beacon. the octagonal tower with its conical roof is about 35 feet high (plate xxi). it is in good preservation, having been strengthened during the eighteenth century as an important sea-mark. it stands 750 feet above sea level. into the walls of the old lighthouse a piscina is built, which probably came from the oratory, now demolished. there stands on the dorset coast another mediaeval light¬ house from which an idea may be gained of the kind of provision formerly made upon our shores. the chapel on st. aldhelm’s head (in the isle of purbeck) is 440 feet above the sea. within this oratory, which was in existence in 1291,^ prayers were offered on behalf of mariners, whilst without, a beacon blazed for their benefit. there is no actual record that st. aldhelm’s was served by a hermit, but the fact ^ hutchins, dorset, ed. 1774, i. 228. pla tk xxi a lighthouse hermitaije j ■ ■ _ ^«t «. / , i* .' c ^ \ / / r h' f • •l" . » i t ■ light-keepers on the sea coast 53 that no institutions occur in the sarum registers suggests that this lonely chantry was held by some semi-independent person. plymouth hoe had a hermitage beside which stood a cross for a sea-mark. the chapel is described as an old one in 1413. indulgences were frequently offered by the bishop to those who should give alms for its preservation. in 15 ii there was a “ hermyt of seynt kateryn leland writes : “ ther is a righte goodly walke on a hille without the toun by south caullid the howy and a fair chapel of s. catarine on it ”. several other seacoast cells were standing in his day. describing branksea (or brownsea) island in poole haven, he observes: “ther is yet a chapelle for an heremite”. an earlier traveller, william worcester, mentions one dedicated to st. anthony, in the midst of “ the island of camber,” near winchelsea. this chapel was destroyed by flemish pirates in 1536. “the men of rye say that these men burnt the hermitage of the camber in despite and hewed an image of st. anthony with their swords, bidding it call upon st. george for help.” there was also a hermit’s cell in the cliffy at dover, some¬ times called the chapel of our lady in the rock. a re¬ ference to this place is found in the disbursements of john, king of france, before embarking for calais in july, 1360: “ un homme de douvre, appelle le rampeuvy qui rampa devant le roy contremont la roche, devant hermitage de douvre, pour don fait a li par le roy, 5 nobles, valent 33j. 4^. one david welkes was hermit of dover in 1399 when henry iv con¬ tinued to him a life-annuity of 40^. granted by richard 11 . when henry viii returned from france in 1532, he visited the oratory and gave alms : “ item . . . paied to the kings owne hands for his offering to our lady in the rocke at dover iiijt. v\]d. the hermitage had recently been rebuilt (1530) by joachim de vaux, the french ambassador, who afterwards declared that the little chapel in the cliff had been restored by himself “ in honour of our lady and of that holy peace of which their majesties made him the instrument discord, however, ^ arclif, cf. hermit of occlive near dover (pat. 1308). ^ comptes de vargenterie (soc. de i’hist. de france), p. 274. 54 hermits and anchorites of england arose in connexion with the chapel, because it was served by a french chaplain, jean de ponte, who was always in trouble with the comptroller of the king’s works at dover, or with the mayor and townsmen. the arms of england and france were impaled over the door. a letter written to thomas cromwell in 1535 set forth that “certain naughty persons have razed out the french king’s arms from a table that stands upon the altar”. henceforth there was constant trouble about the chaplain.^ on one occasion he was arrested by the mayor and put in prison. he was released, but not long afterwards he was attacked one evening by some labourers work¬ ing at the new fortifications. by the friar’s own account he was much ill-used. “ one,” says he, “ knelt on my breast, and with a stone knocked me on the mould of the head till i was as dead.” froude, indeed, paints the man as a martyr:— “ while the harbours, piers, and the fortresses were rising at dover, an ancient hermit tottered night after night from his cell to a chapel on the cliff, and the tapers on the altar, before which he knelt in his lonely orisons, made a familiar beacon far over the rolling waters. the men of the rising world cared little for the sentiment of the past. the anchorite was told sternly by the work¬ men that his light was a signal to the king’s enemies, and must burn no more. and when it was next seen, three of them waylaid the old man on his way home, threw him down, and beat him cruelly.” ^ by the men of his own day, however, the friar was regarded as a “ false french knave ”. the comptroller of the works himself begged cromwell to command the mayor to expel him, because he advertised strangers of all that was done in those parts. it is of interest to notice that it was partly the light shown in the hermitage which provoked ill-feeling. ‘‘these persons,” complained jean de ponte, “because i have a light in my chapel at night when i go to bed or to my book, say i have a light for the king’s enemies, which is not true.” but the light was soon to be extinguished. at this opportune moment (1537), the authorities determined to extend the har¬ bour works to arcliff, nor is it surprising that the sieur de vaux sought in vain to turn from their purpose those who 1 l. and p. hen. viii, vols. ix-xii. hist. ed. 1858, iii. 256-7 n. light-keepers on the sea coast 55 intended to destroy the chapel by the contraction of a bulwark. for some years, indeed, a fisherman peacefully occupied the cell; but the place having been undermined by arcliff fort, it was eventually swept away by a tempestuous sea. the great sea-mark on the cliffs of dover was the ancient roman watch-tower which still stands by the church of dover castle. it is always known as the pharos,^ although there is no record of its use as a lighthouse. there was formerly a second tower, but this was already ruinous when leland visited dover. he describes it as “ a mine of a towr, the which has bene as a pharos or a mark to shyppes on the se ”. during the sixteenth century many of the old beacons were destroyed or fell into disrepair owing, doubtless, in many cases, to the suppression of religious houses. it was, however, a happy circumstance that the fraternity of the bles.sed trinity had recently been founded at deptford. this religious guild was instituted in 1514 for the benefit of mariners. in 1536 a similar guild of the holy trinity was founded at newcastle upon-tyne, and was empowered to erect stone towers at the mouth of the tyne for “ signals, metes, and bounds,” and the two towers were to be “ perpetually lighted at night by an act of parliament the erection of sea-marks for the guidance of navigators was afterwards committed to the sole charge of the trinity house, deptford. this act (1566) contains a tribute to the work done by way of charity in bygone days :— “ forasmuche as by the dystroyeng and taking awaye of certaine steeples woods and other markes standing upon the mayne shores . . . being as beakons and markes of auncyent tyme accustomed for seafaring men to save and kepe them and the shippes in their charge from sundry daungers thereto incident, divers shyppes . . . have by the lacke of suche markes of late yeres ben myscaried peryshed and lost in the sea, to the great detryment and hurte of the comon weale, and the perysheng of no smale number of people,” ^ etc. ^ so called from the island of pharos, whereon ptolemy philadelphus built his famous lighthouse tower, one of the seven wonders of the world. it was of white marble, and could be seen at a distance of 100 miles. on the top fires were kept burning to direct sailors into the bay of alexandria (lempriere, clas¬ sical diet.). 2/v. and p. hen. viii, xi. 376. 2 statute, 8 eliz., c. 13. 56 hermits and anchorites of england henceforth the story of the watchers of our coasts must be sought in the annals of the trinity house. the scientifically equipped lighthouses on coquet island, spurn head, st. edmund’s point, and st. catherine’s, form, it is true, a striking contrast to the ancient cells upon those headlands, but it is well to remember that, in the day of small things, even the simple signal was to the seafarer a “ bright beacon of god,” and that the hermit helped to lay the foundations of the present elaborate system for the distribution of maritime lights. i % ' 4 , • iv r ■ / f \ % ■jp'-k': ll\< w t i » > i /. . i * < j k* f • .*-*4 i y\// flal'k . r k i )s'j'0 n k h k r m11'a(k v. highway and bridge hermits “to ordain a hermit to stay in the hermitage and labour with his hands for the maintenance of the highway, which has long been a nuisance for lack thereof .”—patent roll, 1447 s ir thomas malory, looking back in imagination to the golden age of king arthur, says that “ in these dayes it was not the guyse of heremytes as is now a dayes formerly, they had been men of worship and prowess: “ and the heremytes helde grete housholde, and refresshed peple that were in distresse during the middle' ages, however, ministering hermits, often of the peasant class, were found throughout the country, dwelling beside the highways, bridges, and fords. their duties were those of host, guide, light-bearer, labourer, alms-gatherer, turnpike man, or bridge-warden. before the year 1114, goathland hermitage, on the moors near whitby, was a house of hospitality for the poor. it was under the care of osmund the priest and other brethren. another philanthropic solitary was hugh garth, “an heremyt of great perfection,” who, after gathering alms for that purpose, founded a hospital—probably to shelter travellers—at cocker sand, in the sandy wastes between the estuaries of the lune and coker, a place described by leland as “ standing veri blekely and object to all wynddes ”. this refuge, founded shortly before 1184, afterwards developed into an abbey. other hermits acted as guides at the passages of rivers. there were cells above rownham ferry near bristol; by the severn at redstone; by the itchen at southampton; at several norfolk fords; and by the ferry and haven at gorleston. the work of light-bearer at the riverside is illustrated by the story of st. christopher. in that beautiful legend it is a hermit who bids offerus serve travellers, and lights the 57 58 hermits and anchorites of england giant in his pious labours. in many drawings of st. christo¬ pher depicted on the walls of our ancient churches, the solitary stands on the bank with a huge lantern, to light him as he fords the river, carrying the christ-child; as, for example, in the wall-paintings at st. john’s, winchester (now destroyed), and at poughill (restored). the painting in shorwell church shows on one shore a cell, and on the other, a tripod-beacon and cross.^ that in st. laurence, winchester, depicted a flaming beacon outside the chapel, and on the opposite bank, a cottage. road-hermits begin to appear early in the fourteenth century. throughout the middle ages the upkeep of highways was left to the charity of the few. some of the religious houses did their share, and the bishops encouraged almsdeeds in this form. langland, the fourteenth-century social reformer, ex¬ horted the charitable to repair “ wikked ways ” and “ brygges to-broke ”. the complaint of the ancient rhyme that “ london bridge is broken down ” was echoed in other towns, and how to build it up again was often a problem. a considerable amount of work was undertaken during the fourteenth century. the state of the common ways at this period has been so fully described by m. jusserand in his way faring life that it is not necessary to say more about the subject than actually concerns the office of the hermit. the bridge-maker’s chief duty was to raise funds for materials and wages. brother john le mareschal went about the country collecting alms for the sustenance of himself and of the men working at the causeway between blyth and mattersey, and at mattersey bridge. this fourteenth-cen¬ tury stone bridge over the idle is still standing. it was begun in the previous century, for archbishop wichwane issued a brief for it in 1284. the privilege of raising pavage or pontage —to use the technical terms—was occasionally given for a term of years. tolls were levied at doncaster in order to fill up certain pits near the king’s highway, and to repair the pave¬ ment near the bridge. geoffrey de bolton, “ who out of charity undertook that work,” was permitted to take a penny on every cart, and a farthing on every pack-horse laden with goods for sale. ^ yourn. brit. arch, ^55. x. pi. 10, 11 ; p. g. stone, antiq. i. of w., pi. cxi. /’l.-l te xxhf mm '■^e .’!■ •fvwat s'l'. ch ris'l’0[’h kr a\i) ukr.mi'l' highway and bridge hermits 59 the office of these bridge-keepers was at once secular and religious. one of the hermits of lancaster bought twenty-six oaks from john of gaunt ; he paid for them in advance and selected them with the chief forester of wyresdale.^ another, thirty years later, received from henry of lancaster, after his accession, a gift of vestments of his chapel: item, a termite de lancastre un chesible, aube, amite, stole, et fanon, deux draps dor ragmas rouges, un corporas et un towaille? the keepers of this “ bridge of loyne ” received a yearly grant from the duchy. the overlord sometimes granted material assistance. the king, as earl of chester or duke of lancaster, supported work which was designed to benefit his tenants. by writ of richard ii, the forester of mara was ordered to deliver to the hermit of tarvin one oak for the repair of “ holmestrete” and of stanford bridge. henry iv granted five timber oaks for warrington bridge. the power that lay in the hands of such men is illustrated by the story of one keeper of bow bridge. an abbot of stratford langthorne once appointed a certain godfrey pratt (not necessarily a hermit) as his agent. he was given a house on the causeway and an allowance of food. perceiving that, by the alms of passers-by, godfrey was a gainer, the abbot withdrew his daily dole. but the man was a match for his master ; he barred the bridge and refused to let cart or horse¬ man pass without fee. “ at length, wearied with toyle ”—so stow charitably has it—“ hee neglecteth his charge, whereof came the decay and mine of the stone bridge and way.”^ this bridge of stratford-le-bow afterwards had a chapel dedicated to st. katherine, which in 1344 was in the custody of brother john de ware, hermit. in the forest, the labours of the roadmender were most necessary. the rough tracks were often impassable on account of fallen trees, and deep ruts in the mire, whilst the low wooden bridges of remote country districts were frequently swept away in flood-time. several instances from the neighbourhood of ^ john, “ called the hermit of syngelton,” was at ribble bridge before he went to the lune (loyne; the lancaster toast is “ luck to loyne”). p.r.o., pat. 4 hen. iv. pt. 2, m. 27. ^ archceologia, xxvii, 80, 6o hermits and anchorites of england york occur on the patent rolls. adam de whenby, who dwelt by st. helen’s chapel at shipton in the parish of overton, undertook to make a convenient road in certain dangerous parts. he was granted protection and safe conduct “ while seeking means of carriage and alms to enable him to make a safe way in the forest of galtres, at a place called les folks^ where many accidents have occurred by reason of the depth of the ways ”. adam continued his labours there between 1327 and 1332, but was succeeded by robert de skitheby, hermit of st. augustine’s chapel at huntington by york. this brother robert, formerly of st augustine’s chapel at skeeby, near richmond, had collected for the building of a bridge over the gilling beck. there are other records of work going forward in the vicinity. the hermits of skip bridge and stainforth bridge spent large sums in repairing the ways over the moors. similar improvements were effected in other wild districts. at wragmire, about six miles from carlisle, in the parish of hesket in the forest, dwelt john of corbridge, who in 1354 was occupied in mending the highway between carlisle and penrith. it was small wonder if this lonely road, through the heart of inglewood forest, was a “ foul way,” for at this very time the paved streets of london were a disgrace, that between temple bar and westminster being full of bogs and holes. travellers in the fens were constantly in peril. it can have been no light task to keep open several miles of highway, which, in that land of watercourses, suffered from serious inundations. the absolute necessity of the work is set forth in an indulgence issued by the bishop of ely (1458) in order to facilitate com¬ munication with the cathedral city :— “since our church of ely is surrounded by waters and marshes, and the relics of the holy virgins lying in it can only be visited over bridges and causeys, requiring daily repair, we commend to your charity william grene, hermit, who, at our command and with con¬ sent of our church of ely, has undertaken the repair of the causeys and bridges of stuntneye and some ”. about the year 1400 there are frequent grants of a similar character in the episcopal registers.^ at cambridge one man 1 see notes by rev. j. h. crosby in ely diocesan remembrancer. highway and bridge hermits 6i had charge of the great bridge at the castle end of the town, and of two lesser ones over branches of the river at newnham, and also of the road to barton ; another kept the road towards trumpington. a certain john lucas kept the bridge and causeway between great and little shelford; later, he made whittlesford bridge his centre, and constructed a chapel there. “ foulmire,” a place-name in that neighbourhood, suggests the discomforts which travellers had to endure. hermits worked between royston and arrington, between waterbeach, denny, and stretham, between haddenham and earith. the bishop issued a brief to hold good for life on behalf of john thomp¬ son of earith causeway, offering indulgence to all who should supply him with food, or contribute to the work committed to him. when funds were being raised, the collector required either an episcopal or royal certificate, which might run as follows :— “edward the king o date'] hearing that newbrygge and the two causeys leading from it, the one to standlake and the other to kingston, all of which were made of charity by john golofre, knight, deceased, are out of repair and dangerous, gives his protection to thomas brigges, hermit dwelling by that bridge, who, moved by piety, proposes to collect money in oxon, berks, and gloucester for the repair of the bridge and causeys ”. about the year 1434 there was a hermit of newbridge who was highly respected. he made his office an opportunity for talking openly on the subject of temptation and sin. the learned thomas gascoigne, who doubtless heard him when on his way to oxford, gives in his theological dictionary a brief account of “ good william of cornwall the office of bridge-warden was one which was liable to abuse. some of the persons placed in these independent posi¬ tions proved untrustworthy. in piers plowman^ langland inveighs against false hermits that “edify’’ the highway—men who were once labourers and ill off, but took the habit for the sake of an idle life, preferring alms to wages. he pictures a time of dearth, when even hermits seized spades and dug, in dread of death by hunger. langland would have rich men give to the lunatic rather than to the “ loller,” who gathers alms at eventide to roast his back by the hot coals, drink deep, and ^ gascoigne, hihev veritatum, ed. j. e. t. rogers, 105-6. 62 hermits and anchorites of england go to bed ; rising when he will, he roams out to espy where he may get a repast—a round of bacon, some meat, a loaf or at least half a loaf, a lump of cheese—and carries it home to his cot thus does he live “in ydelnesse and in ese and by others trauayle”. the roadmender, indeed, was much in the world and might readily fall into bad company. langland’s glutton finds a hermit in the tavern with a pedlar, a ratcatcher, and the hangman of tyburn.^ the hermitage of st james near chester (at handbridge, beyond the dee) fell into bad repute. john bennet was indicted for receiving robbers there, and keeping a house of ill-fame. his successor, leuan ap blethyn ap caswet, was nominated by the king, who directed the mayor and sheriffs to inquire into his conduct and rule of life (1455). the following entries on the patent rolls show that there were others who disgraced their habit: “ pardon to thomas de anderstowe, hermit of corbridge, of the king’s suit for the stealing of a pig worth 3^. whereof he is indicted or appealed, and of any consequent outlawry thomas shelve, hermit of st. katharine, dwelling on teme bridge, ludlow, late hermit of leintwardine, was pardoned “ for all felonies, trespasses, and misprisions committed by him ”. the vow of richard ludlow of maidenhead shows the abuses to which this office, at once religious and secular, was liable. he undertook to have the minister’s profession in worship and reverence, to live to his life’s end in temperance, soberness, and chastity, to eschew all open spectacles, common scot-ales, taverns, and other suspect places of sin; to hear mass, pray, and fast; and lastly, he undertook that whatever he should receive by way of charity, he would expend truly, without deceit, upon the mending of the bridge and common ways of the town, reserving only sufficient to support himself. the bishop’s charge in the office for the benediction of a hermit (see appendix b), included a clause declaring that he must labour with his hands in order to obtain food, and also in making roads and bridges: “ for idleness is the enemy of the soul ”. in too many cases, however, these men were expected ^ ed. skeat (e.e. text s.) text c, ix. 183 ; x. 140-52; vii. 368. highway and bridge hermits 63 to fulfil important duties without being responsible to any competent local authority. this seems to have been remedied to some extent during the fifteenth century. henry iv when granting pontage to the hermit of stony stratford appointed overseers of the repairs. the public-spirited wardens of st. christopher’s gild, thame, took the matter in hand, them¬ selves proposing to found a hermitage at tetsworth “and to ordain a hermit to stay in the hermitage and labour with his hands for the maintenance of the highway between stoken church and hareford bridge, which has long been a nuisance for lack thereof”. the hermits of stratford-on-avon were members of the town gild, which was a guarantee of good conduct. the appointment to such posts was often made by the commonalty of the town. letters-patent sealed by the mayor of oxford were granted to nicholas wadekyns, keeper of pettypont, who found pledges that he would mend the bridge according to his ability. the mayor, bailiffs, and aldermen appointed william cardon to be warden of the south bridge. evidently he was to go about the town collecting, for the deed asks people in general that when he comes to them and asks alms, they will trust him and con¬ tribute to the repair of the bridge and of dangerous places in the ways about the town. at henley, the hermit was under an official “ bridgeman,” who even supplied his clothes. the making and mending of roads continued to be regarded as a work of individual piety and private enterprise. simon cotes of westbourne had the needs of travellers much on his heart; he therefore founded on his own property the hermitage of st. anthony, and himself set to work to improve the means of communication in that neighbourhood. at his death in 1527, he bequeathed the house, chapel, and garden to the earl of arundel, to the intent that a professed hermit might dwell there, to pray for the souls of his own ancestors and those of his lord, and to maintain the bridges and highways which he had made. such labours, faithfully carried out, were appreciated by the people, as appears from bequests. a butcher of northampton defines in his will (1528) the work which he desires to be done : “ also i wyll that stonton the hermyt of saynt thomas chapell have delyvered to him . . . vj^ viij^to the men[ding] 64 hermits and anchorites of england the cawsey ” ; after describing the situation of the stony bit of street, the testator offers a like sum for the repair of a little causeway between the tabard inn and the stone bridge; whilst a third instalment is to be expended “ at the dyscretion of the sayd armytt ” in filling up with ramell (rubbish) the holes in the street towards coton. as late as 1532 nicholas wodhull directs his executors to repair the hermitage “ at the brigg foot ” at banbury (i.e. in grimsbury on the northamptonshire side of the river), to place therein an honest man to pray for him and his friends. the repair of bridges and of the adjoining highways became a matter for legislation in 1530-1. justices of the peace were charged to inquire “ of anoysances of bridges broken in the highe wayes to the damage of the kynges liege people ”. in cases where no person was liable to repair them, taxes might be levied for this purpose by appointed collectors.^ there followed close upon this statute, however, the sup¬ pression of religious houses, which resulted in the crippling of communications for many years. after the dissolution bridge cells disappear, like other religious institutions directly or indi¬ rectly associated with the monastic life. leland notes ; “at the very end of thrapeston bridge stand mines of a very large heremitage and principally welle buildid but a late discoverid and suppressid ”. the hermit of chippenham causeway lin¬ gered on until the days of edward vi, when it was recorded that: “ tharmyte holdyth without copye iij acres of pasture . . . by th’ armytage in 1554 the causeway became charge¬ able upon the borough. wayfaring men suffered sadly through the suppression of religious houses. the new owners of church property did not consider themselves to be under any obligation to carry on charities of this kind. the people preferred to be almsgivers rather than ratepayers. in 1588 they were complaining that since the suppression they were burdened, taxed, and charged for the repair of divers great bridges. even in the time of queen elizabeth, when the hermits of the highway were already dim figures of a bygone age, their work, however imperfect, won recognition as useful to their own days and to the days ^ statute 22 hen. viii, c. v. highway and bridge hermits 65 that followed. in 1596 the story was being handed down in highgate that: “ where now the schole standeth was a her mytage, and the hermyte caused to be made the causway betweene highgate and islington, and the gravel! was had from the top of highgate hill, where is now a standinge ponde of water in due course, when the social upheaval of the sixteenth century had righted itself, things were placed on a sounder basis. it was, of course, far better that the maintenance of roads should become a public charge, organized by a local body which had continuity. the work of the pioneer need not, however, be forgotten, and it merits at least the slight record which has been attempted in this chapter. 5 vi. town hermits if a hermit dwell in a borough, town, or city, or nigh thereto where each day he can well beg his daily bread, let him before sunset distribute to christ’s poor that which remains of his food .—rule of hermits, bodleian ms. t he city of london seems a strange place in which to seek solitude, yet there were hermits by cripple gate, aldgate, bishopsgate, and also near the tower. in the present monk well street stood the cell of st. james, “ in the corner towards the west near cripple gate,” that is, in the comparatively retired spot formed by the north-west angle of the city wall, between the gate and the bastion which may still be seen in the churchyard of st. giles. it was an ancient foundation, for the architectural features of the crypt below the chapel were norman. brother warin, chaplain of richard i dwelt here. it was afterwards granted to robert bat, rector of st. bride s, with the provision that he entered the hermitage ^ immediately and religiously stayed therein. probably he did not comply with the condition, for jordan de eston was subsequently appointed to serve it. one of henry ill’s last nominees was robert de s. laurencio. after remaining there for over twenty years, he became in¬ capacitated, and william de wyntreburn, chaplain, was ad¬ mitted to the cell—“provided that he behave himself well and honourably, that he devote himself to his sacred office, minister to brother robert, the hermit of the place, who is feeble, and maintain him in a fitting manner for as long as he lives ”. three months later the old man died, and was succeeded by his com¬ panion, who stayed four years and then resigned. in 1311, the bishop prohibited thomas de byreford, who, living as hermit there, took upon himself to hear confessions, administer sacraments, offer indulgences, and do other un ^ usually hermitage, but inclusorium occurs 1253 (nicholas, leic., iii. pt, ii. 840). in 1265 richard de ginges became a recluse there, 66 town hermits 67 authorized things. some time previous to 1290, st. james's hermitage was enlarged, and, in 1332, the king granted the custody thereof to william lyons and two other priests, and to alan chaims, hermit. when in old age william lyons was “ broken with bodily weakness,” a chaplain was sent to his aid. all these men were nominated by the crown, but the cell changed hands frequently, and, during voidance, damage was done to the muniments, ornaments, and goods. edward i committed the custody of the place to the mayor, and after¬ wards to the constable of the tower. edward iii, however, granted the advowson to the abbot and convent of garendon. one of their nominees, john de flytewyk, stayed only one year. he was a priest on the staff of the lazar-house of st. mary de pre near st. albans. he failed to obtain permission to depart, but went nevertheless to the cistercian abbey of garendon, by whom he was admitted to the hermitage. he afterwards resumed the benedictine habit. ^ about this time the cripplegate cell became a chantry chapel. in 1347, new endowments were provided by the countess of pembroke, who founded a chantry for the soul of aymer de valence. john ayobanensis (formerly bishop suffragan in the sees of canterbury and exeter) dated his will from this place in 1380.^ during the fifteenth century it ap¬ pears to have been a corporate body with a common seal.^ after the dissolution, the property came into the hands of the clothworkers’ company, and became known as “ lambe’s chapel ”. there was also a hermitage on the south side of aldgate. this cell was built in a turret of the city wall by john the hermit—possibly that john le megre, who in 1259 was allowed to “ transfer himself from the hermitage of alegate, where he has lived for some years,” to that of cripplegate. the hundred rolls record that the building encroached on the highway to the extent of 4 feet in one direction and 33 feet in another. brother berengar afterwards dwelt at the chapel of st. mary and st. nicholas in the torella of the city wall, by ^ pap. lett. ii. 554. "^ex. reg. brantyngham, i. 3. ^b.m. seals, lxviii. i. 68 hermits and anchorites oe england the tower. during the fourteenth century, this place was in the hands of the mayor and aldermen, who granted it to sir john de elyngham, chaplain, on condition that he should keep it in repair and protect it against wind and rain. in this docu¬ ment it is described as being near bishopsgate. of the bishopsgate cell little is known. in 1342 the custody of the king’s hermitage within bishopsgate was given to john de warrewyk. four years later, protection was granted to robert, hermit of bishopsgate, who was dependent upon alms.^ another hermitage was situated by st. katharine’s hos¬ pital, near the tower. it was visited in 1360 by john, the captive king of france, who gave two crowns as alms on ascension day, and a fortnight later, attended mass and offered \ 2 d? this was evidently the place called “ le swan nesnest,” where in 1371 john ingram was hermit. in the same year one sir robert was “ a recluse monk near the tower ”. a more rural spot was the hermitage of st. katharine, on the site now occupied by charing cross post office. henry hi granted to the bishop of llandaff permission to lodge “in the close of the king’s hermitage of la charryng ”. in 1268 he appointed simon de bragham to succeed richard de la march as chaplain of “the free chapel of the hermitage of la cherring”. the exchequer roll of 1272 mentions two chaplains who performed divine service there for the soul of the king’s father. in 1361, a bequest was made to the hermit near charrynge-crouche. in other parts of the kingdom, too, the “ solitary ” made his habitation in many frequented places. lawrence burgeys (or abingdon), bailiff of reading, obtained permission from abbot helyas to build a chapel in honour of st. edmund, beside which he might dwell as a hermit.^ this chapel was situated on rising ground nearly opposite the west end of the friary. in a memorial issued against the abbot of reading in the fifteenth century this allegation was made : “ a chapelle at ^ comptes de vargenterie (soc. de i’hist. de fr.), 248, 252. 2 possibly this cell became the abode of stricter recluses ; cf. “ the anchorite within the gate of bishopsgate on the wall towards cripplegate,” etc. 3 b.m. cott. vesp. e. v. f. 81 b. town hermits 69 the west end of the towne, of seynt edmunds, and feyre londs therto, for to have god worshyppyd in that chapelle, wherein lyeth the bonys of many chrysten people, and now they have made a barne therof, and put therin come and hey, and tye therin horse and bests when the remains of st. edmund’s were discovered a few years ago, some stones were removed to the museum at the abbey gateway. there was a hermitage in the suburbs of salisbury. the bishop licensed the hermit of fisherton to celebrate divine service in the chapel there, but his office was usurped by a certain layman who assumed clerical dress and pretended to be a hermit. this schismatic person was in the habit of ringing a bell to collect the people in the slums of fisherton, thus “ tempting the people, as jeroboam did israel ”. offer¬ ing years of pardon to those who attended the mass which he presumed to say, he in this manner deceived the simple and extorted money from them. bishop wyvil therefore laid the chapel under an interdict (1352). bishop mitford afterwards licensed thomas, hermit of st. anne’s chapel, to conduct service, subject to the vicar’s consent. in 1418, the hermit john petitioned that he might be shut up in a confined place at the end of the chapel to lead the stricter life of an anchorite. bishop chandler commissioned two of the canons of salisbury to inquire whether there were any impediment to his complying with this request, and empowered them to perform the cere¬ mony of inclusion if the inquiry proved satisfactory.^ some hermits lived in the heart of the town, and others on the outskirts. at shrewsbury, for example, there was one at cadogan’s cross, and another at spelcrosse, a waste place on the meole road. we hear of hermitages at durham, leicester, ely, colchester, coventry, crewkerne, canterbury, lydd, chichester, etc. there were two cells in the town of pontefract, and another on the hill of st. thomas. the series of underground cham¬ bers in or under back lane is evidently the place “ in a cer¬ tain lane leading from malfaygate to the house of the friars preachers,” which was granted in 1368 to brother adam. the rent paid by the inmates was a white rose at midsummer. ^ reg. wyvil, i. f. 210 ; reg. mitford, f. 115 ; reg. chandler, iii. f. 5. 70 hermits and anchorites of england the grants made to the various hermits of pontefract are diffi¬ cult to ascertain. west of the cell founded by the layrthorps and occupied by adam and afterwards by the priest laurence, lay a garden (90 x 30 feet) in which thomas elys permitted john de crayk to build a hermitage ; and eastwards the land belonged to the prior of nostell, to whom eventually this second hermitage passed. the present garden is surrounded by walls, three of which are ancient. the ground below is a network of cellars, one of which is an oratory and contains a stone altar: another, the dwelling-place, has a hole in the floor for fuel, and a flue cut out of the rock. the inmates obtained water from a clear well, which was reached by a winding staircase. a ground-plan and description of these excavations were prepared for a visit of the society of antiquaries, and may be found in the proceedings for 1869. a solitary used to dwell on the hill near the castle at pontefract. john of gaunt permitted william de byngham to inhabit certain houses by the mount where thomas, earl of lancaster (the popular hero and “ saint ”) had been put to death. these buildings, which were then in a ruinous condi¬ tion, the tenant agreed to keep up at his own charges. lord scrope made a bequest to john the hermit of the hill at pontefract. brandon hill by bristol (plate xxiv), from a fancied re¬ semblance to mount calvary, was regarded as a holy place. the summit was in the possession of tewkesbury abbey. probably there was already a cell in 1192, when the place is referred to as “waste land at st. brendan’s”. in 1313, walter, a monk of garendon, sought permission to lead a soli¬ tary life in st. brendun’s chapel.^ walter de s. cruce seems, nevertheless, to have remained at garendon, where he eventu¬ ally became abbot; and in 1350 he was translated to be the first abbot of st. mary graces, london, at the invitation of edward iii. at this very time, lucy de newchurch, was beseeching the bishop of worcester to allow her to be enclosed at that hermitage (p. 91). in 1403, the famous bishop of winchester, william of wykeham, issued letters of indulgence to benefactors of st. brandan’s chapel, bristol, or of reginald ^ reg. sede vac. (wore. hist. s.), 147. rla i'e xxiv iirandon hji.l, i'.rls'l’ot, town hermits 71 taillour, a poor hermit there.^ a later inmate was visited by william worcester (1480). this hermit told the chronicler that sailors and discreet men declared that the hill-chapel was higher by 18 fathoms than the spire of redcliffe or any other church. the length of the chapel was about 2 5 x 15 feet (8-j x 5 virgas). the wall enclosing the cell measured 180 steps. the chapel is said to have been frequented by mariners arriving at bristol port. in bristol itself, or rather, in redcliffe, is the picturesque hermitage shown in plate xxv. william worcester de¬ scribes it as situated on the west side of the church (i.e. the hospital chapel) of st. john, above the river avon in the red cliff. it stands in the friends’ cemetery, jones lane. the chamber cut in the sandstone is only 9 feet by 8 feet, with an arched doorway and a rough recess which forms a seat. this cell was founded in 1347 by thomas, lord berkeley, who placed there one john sparkes to pray for him and his family. town-hermits often undertook definite employment. there were those, as we have seen, who kept the bridges and roads of lancaster, chester, derby, doncaster, northampton, oxford, cambridge, marlborough, etc. some dwelt by the gates, as at lynn and bury st. edmunds. at norwich, a hermit used to inhabit a chamber over st. stephen’s gate, and there were others near most of the gates. according to blome field, the hermit of magdalen gate presided over the lepers. such men were sometimes employed by hospitals to gather alms on their behalf. letters of protection were granted by edward iii to richard de breton, hermit of the leper-house at southbroom outside devizes, and also to john trewe, of st. thomas’s hospital by marlborough. at the end of the town of bicester (in st. john’s, now sheep street) there was a hermit age-chapel, of which the hermit, nicholas jurdan, obtained permission “ to found a hospital for poor and infirm persons in two disused norfolk churches solitaries acted as resident caretakers. about the time of the black death, the norwich parish of st. margaret, newbridge (or colegate) being de¬ populated, the monastic patrons converted the church into a hermitage. when st. giles’s, thetford, was annexed to ^reg. wykeha 7 n, pt. iii. f. ccclvii. pat. r. 1337, 1338, 1340, 1355. 72 hermits and anchorites of england st. cuthbert’s, the church was let to a hermit at a yearly rent of \ 6 d. the tenant, doubtless, gathered alms for its repair. in the fifteenth century we still find churchyard-cells. at sudbury, a hermitage was built in the churchyard of st. gregory’s at the cost of the parish, and one john levynton was dwelling there in 1433. at this time, another townsman, richard appelby by name, applied to the bishop to be ad¬ mitted to the order of hermits, but the bishop declined until he could be assured that the man would dwell “ in a solitary place, wher virtues myght increase and vice be exiled ”; whereupon the mayor of sudbury and certain parishioners of st. gregory’s undertook that richard should share john’s abode, and they made supplication to the bishop to admit richard. in the busy seaport of sandwich, the hermit seems to have acted as a special chaplain. it was his duty to minister to strangers and the poor, and to pray for the people. his chapel of st. james, near st. mary’s church, had a burial-ground, which was afterwards used as the cemetery of the parish. the churchwardens’ accounts for the year 1447 show an expendi¬ ture of i 2 d. upon reparation of the chapel. the sum'of 4^*. \d. was paid “ for a stone to lay ovyr sir williem ye herimyte withyn seynt jamys chirchezerd the last chap¬ lain, john steward, who as late as 1538 received a bequest as “ sir john the heremit,” became vicar of st. mary’s. the churchwardens probably secured his appointment in recogni¬ tion of his services to the parish. the chapel was destroyed in the time of edward vi. solitaries in towns, and especially in churchyards, usually belonged to the stricter order of anchorites, and to them we must now turn our attention. plate l xr kki k'l.l fi' k hkhmi'i'afk, i'.ris roi f ui r'*' t# . «► ( i-.yl \* '• -r vii. anchorites in church and cloister recluses who dwell under the eaves of the church .—ancven riwle. he sawe a chappel where was a recluse whiche hadde a wyndowe that she myghte see vp to the aulter.— malory, morte d'arthur. t he anchorite differed from the hermit in that he lived in stricter seclusion, and was not free to wander at will. he was not merely, as the word avaxo^ptjttj^ signifies, withdrawn from the world : he was inclusus^ shut up in a strait prison, whether in church, chapel, convent, or castle. various names were given to the enclosed person : inclusus, inclusa, reclusus^ reclusa^ and the indefinite anachorita are used synonomously in records. ancre was of common gender in middle english ; anker and ancresse occur later. lucy “ y® ankereswoman ” is mentioned in the hundred rolls. a study of the christian names which appear in the ap¬ pendix to this volume seems to show that more women than men undertook this austere vocation. so large is their num¬ ber, indeed, that for lack of space only a few typical persons ! can be mentioned. j i. the anchorite i. adjoining parish churches ^ the author of the ancren riwle makes a play upon the , word ancre; she is “ anchored under the church as an anchor under a ship, to hold the ship so that neither waves nor storms , may overwhelm it”. enclosed persons were usually attached to some church in order that they might derive spiritual ad i vantages from it, and at the same time confer spiritual benefits upon the parish. being a holy place, it was suitable for a i dedicated person, and it was also a frequented spot for one ! who lived partly upon alms. the churchyard not only stood 73 74 hermits and anchorites of england for a wilderness, but seemed a fitting habitation for one, as it were, dead to the world. the most celebrated anchorite of mediaeval england was, perhaps, wulfric, enclosed for twenty-nine years at haselbury, a village near crewkerne. wulfric was born at compton, probably compton martin. he became priest of deverill near warminster, but at that time he was more addicted to sport than to spiritual exercises. upon his conversion, he determined to devote himself entirely to a life of contemplation and rigorous asceticism at haselbury—“ burying himself in christ in a cell adjoining the church sir william fitzwalter had a great respect for his saintly neighbour ; he sent provisions to him and visited him from time to time. wulfric numbered among his intimate friends osbern, the village priest; william, a lay-brother of ford abbey; and brichtric, who seems to have joined him as a disciple or attendant. during the reigns of henry i and stephen, he exercised a powerful influence, not only in his own neighbourhood but also at the court. the story of wulfric as prophet and wonder-worker is related elsewhere. wulfric died in 1154, and was buried in his cell by the bishop of bath who had visited him on his death-bed. the monks of montacute sought to obtain possession of the saint’s body, but osbern the priest interposed, and the remains were translated to the adjoining church. miracles subsequently took place there, and the shrine became a place of pilgrimage. the north chapel is still known as “wulfric’s aisle”. another interesting recluse was lauretta, countess of leicester. her mother and brother were amongst those persons “miserably famished” at king john’s command. her father, william de braose, a man of singular piety, escaped, and died in an abbey in france. lady lauretta wedded robert fitz parnell, earl of leicester, who, after distinguishing him¬ self in the crusades, died in 1204, and the widowed countess eventually retired into solitude at st. stephen’s, hackington. a more familiar name is that of katherine of ledbury. she was the daughter of john giffard, baron of brimsfield, and was born in 1272. her husband, nicholas, baron audley, died in 1299, leaving her with two young sons and a daughter.^ ^ for genealogy see staffs. coll., n.s., ix. 264. anchorites in church and cloister 75 no more is heard of the lady audley until 1312, when she gave away into lay hands a portion of her maternal inheritance. since the deed is witnessed at ledbury by the bishop and the vicar, it may be presumed that she had already taken up her abode there, or was about to be enclosed by the bishop. in 1323, “katherine de audele, recluse of ledbury,” was receiv¬ ing ;£^30 a year through the sheriff, and as the sum was paid out of lands which were in the custody of her husband’s exe¬ cutor, it seems probable that she had made some arrangement about her property in order to obtain a pension. around these prosaic facts the following poetic legend grew up. in obedience to a vision which bade her not to rest until she came to a town where the bells should ring untouched by man, katherine and her maid mabel wandered from place to place, following out of worcestershire into herefordshire the hoof-marks of the lady’s mare which had been stolen—prints still shown in the sandstone at whelpley brook. the expected miracle was manifested at ledbury, and there, it may be under the shadow of the bell-tower, the lady katherine de¬ termined to remain. the story is familiar through words¬ worth’s sonnet :— when human touch (as monkish books attest) nor was applied nor could be, ledbury bells broke forth in concert flung a down the dells, and upward, high as malvern’s cloudy crest; sweet tones, and caught by a noble lady blest to rapture ! mabel listened at the side of her loved mistress : soon the music died, j i and catherine said. here i set up my rest. warned in a dream, the wanderer long had sought a home that by such miracle of sound i must be revealed :—she heard it now, or felt i the deep, deep joy of a confiding thought; 1! and there, a saintly anchoress, she dwelt till she exchanged for heaven that happy ground. i the title “ saint ” catherine of ledbury is a late addition i to the tale, suggested, doubtless, by the dedication-name of the hospital of st. katharine, a house founded years before the j birth of katherine de audley. ! there were also cells attached to many town churches, j the foundation of some of these was so remote as to be lost in i obscurity. chester, for example, had an anchorage by the col i legiate church of st. john. the tradition handed down by 1 76 hermits and anchorites of england giraldus cambrensis was, that king harold, sorely wounded, fled from senlac to chester, “ and lyued there holily an ankers lyf in seint lames celle faste by seint lohn his chirche, and made a gracious end at oxford there were six or seven churches where recluses were dwelling between ii8o and 1280.^ one, matthew, was enclosed at holywell, outside the town. it was said to have been revealed to this holy man that the church of dorchester contained the bodies of two saxon bishops. he heard a voice saying : birinus inpavimento^ bertinus i'eti'o ostium ; and when the relics were discovered, miracles occurred—a dead man came to life, a leper was cleansed, and one learnt to speak french in three days. these startling events were duly recorded at an inquiry held by the archbishop in 1224. soon after this, henry iii issued an order for a reclusorium to be made at holywell church of which he was the patron. another was founded at st. budock’s :— “ intimation to r[obert grosseteste] bishop of lincoln that, yielding to the prayers of alice, the bearer, who has made a vow to serve god in some solitary place, the king has granted that on the north side of the church of st. bodhuc, oxford, she may build herself a cell, where she may for her life serve god and the blessed virgin.” in the quietude of the closet, many a solitary strove to shut out the city’s turmoil. edward iii gave alms to eight ancho¬ rites, as well as to three hermits, in london and the suburbs, s it was the same in other cities, e.g. norwich, lincoln, york. by comparing scattered records, it is possible to gather a few facts about some of these persons. there was, for example, a cell at st. leonard’s, exeter. in 1397, the bishop com¬ missioned john dodyngton, canon of exeter, to enclose a certain alice in a house in the cemetery. three years later, when the canon died, he bequeathed qoy. to her. that same year the bishop permitted alice bernard to choose a confessor with plenary powers. the rector of little torrington left to her 20s. and a book of sermons in english. another bequest was made as late as 1430. 1 higden, polychron., j. trevisa (rolls s. 41), vii. 245. 2 see appendix. the vision of the eynsham monk concerns a recluse, possibly at st. thomas’s. f. devon, issues of exchequer^ 395, cf. 160, anchorites in church and cloister 77 eifteenth-century wills abound in references to persons living the solitary life. lord scrope bequeaths money to anchorites in twenty villages and market towns, as well as to those in and about london and york, and to any others found within three months of his death. (2) in conventual houses the great benedictine communities of crowland, durham, westminster, worcester, and sherborne had their solitaries, as had also many other monastic houses. mottisfont priory was founded by william briwer, and his brother, a wonder-worker known as “the holy man in the wall,” probably dwelt in the precincts of that monastery. even the more secular hospital might be used as a place of seclusion. the bishop of exeter founded a cell by the chapel of st. laurence, crediton, and appointed brother nicholas as the first inmate. alice was enclosed at the church of st. giles in the suburbs of hereford (1321); and clearly this was the hospital, for a will of the pre¬ vious year mentions not only the anchorite of st. giles but the brethren and sisters there. with the assent of the master and brethren of holy innocents’ outside lincoln, the king, as patron, permitted elizabeth de elm to become a recluse by the chapel of the hospital. probably the infirm materially benefited by the presence of such persons in their precincts. the austin friary at droitwich had a cell on the south side of the choir of the conventual church. it was founded by thomas beauchamp, earl of warwick, who stipulated that the candidate nominated by the founder’s heirs, should be religious and devout, of the same order as the convent, or willing to submit to the prior; and that he should not be a burden on a house which was pledged to poverty. the white friars and the black friars favoured the solitary life. the carmelites of norwich had two cells. thomas bradley (p. 163) dwelt in that next the entrance of the friary. dame emma, daughter of sir miles stapilton, was probably enclosed in the chamber under holy cross chapel, set apart for women. she was buried in the church of the friary in 1442. other carmelite nuns took similar vows, e.g. alice wakleyne of northampton, margaret hawten, joanna 78 hermits and anchorites of england catfelde of lynn, and agnes gransetter of cambridge. bale mentions elsewhere that mistress alice wakelyn, a woman of illustrious family, died on 13 june, 1426" and was succeeded by margaret hawton, who died on 17 november (the year is not recorded). dominican friars were enclosed at lynn, lancaster, new¬ castle, arundel, and canterbury; and dominican sisters at norwich, bristol, and worcester. 3. adjoining chapels there were cells attached to chapels which were neither parochial nor directly monastic. henry ii pensioned geldwin, inclusus of st. aedred at winchester, and richard, of st. sepulchre’s, hereford. henry iii appointed others to several royal free chapels, including those of the fortresses in london and dover. in 1237, he ordered the constable of the tower to admit brother william to the cell by st. peter’s church in the bailly which was dedicated to st. eustace. idonea de boclaund afterwards occupied this chamber, and received the daily dole of a penny, and every year a robe. emma de skepeye was enclosed by the church of st. mary in dover castle (1234). twenty-three years later, the king, before setting sail from dover, ordered that the customary alms (three half¬ pence a day) should be made to her for life. in the tower of bristol castle there was a chapel and anchorage dedicated to st. edward. directions were sent by henry iii for certain alterations in the fortress:— “ block up the doors of the chapel beside our great hall there, and let a door be made in the chancel towards the reclusorium: in which reclusorimn let there be made an altar in the chapel of the blessed edward, and above that reclusorium in the turret let the chamber of the clerks be made ”. a chaplain, probably a recluse, was to perform masses for the soul of alienora of brittany, the king’s cousin. during the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries, a succession of solitary women dwelt in the chapel of st. helen by the castle at pontefract. they were in receipt of a pension from the lords of the town.^ ^ p.r.o. due. lane. aeeounts (various) bdle. 27, no. 3; lane, bk. 79. anchorites in church and cloister 79 cells were frequently situated in places of thoroughfare, e.g. “ in the midst of the town ” at wakefield, at the end of french gate street in richmond, by bridges at doncaster and derby. speed s plan of kendal marks the ankeriche^ which tradition describes as a small beehive hut, concealed by fences from the road which encircled it. ii. the cell the place of seclusion is called indifferently domus ana choritcb^ reclusoriurn^ inclusorium^ reclusagium^ and anchoragium. since english sources of information are scanty on this subject, we are obliged to turn to foreign writers. grimlaic in his regula solitariorum ^ directs that the dwelling be very small and surrounded, if possible, by an enclosed garden. two anchorites might share a single chamber. if the recluse had disciples, they dwelt in a separate apartment and served him through the window. the cell communicated with the church ; but if the inmate were a priest, he also had a consecrated oratory. a bavarian rule directs that the cell be of stone, 12 feet square. through one window, towards the choir, the recluse partook of the blessed sacrament; through another, on the opposite side, he received his food; a third, closed with glass or horn, lighted the dwelling.^ in the ancren rzwle, particular instructions are given con¬ cerning the windows. “ hold no conversation with any man out of a church window, but respect it for the sake of the holy sacrament which ye see therethrough.” communication was held through a parlour window, small, narrow, and always fast on every side.^ even when the recluse unclosed her shutter, she was hidden by a curtain—a black cloth bearing a symbolic white cross. “ the black cloth also teacheth an emblem, doth less harm to the eyes, is thicker against the wind, more difficult to see through, and keeps its colour better against the wind and other things.” the house, which might consist of several apartments, often ^ l. holstenius, codex reg., ii. 464-600. 2 ducange, glossarium, “ inclusagium ”. in the norwich museum is preserved an old oak window frame, about 2 feet square, with iron bars. it was found in the south wall of the cathedral (choir), and may possibly have communicated with a cell [per mr. f. johnson]. 8o hermits and anchorites of england included an oratory in which mass was celebrated from time to time. there was an austere simplicity about the building. abbot aelred did not approve of covering the naked walls with pictures and carvings, or of decking the chapel with a variety of hangings and images : such ornaments savoured of vanity. he decreed that the altar should have upon it only a fair white cloth and a crucifix :— “now shal i she we the how thou shalt arraye thyn oratory. arraye thyn autier with white lynnen clothe, the whiche bitokeneth both chastite and symplenesse. ... in this autere sette an ymage of cristis passion, that thou may have mynde and se hou he sette and spredde his armes abrood to resceyve thee and al mankynde to mercy, if thai wil axe it. and if it plese the, sette on that oo side an ymage of our lady, and a nother on that other syde of seynt john.” ^ the rites of durha^n contains a description (i 593) of one such chamber within the cathedral. it was a loft, evidently a wooden structure, close to the high altar and behind st. cuth bert’s shrine :— “at the east end of the north alley of the quire, betwixt two pillars opposite, was the goodlyest faire porch, which was called the anchoridge, havinge in it a marveillous faire roode, with the most exquisite pictures of marye and john, with an altar for a monke to say dayly masse; beinge in antient time inhabited with an anchorite. . . . the entrance to this porch or anchoridge was upp a paire of faire staires adjoyninge to the north dore of st. cuthbert’s feretorie.” there was also an anchorage adjoining chichester cathe¬ dral. william bolle, rector of aldrington, resigned his benefice, and obtained permission to construct a cell and retire thither. it was agreed that after his death it should pass into the bishop’s hands. the chamber, 29 feet long and 24 feet wide, communi¬ cated with the lady chapel. the anchorite attached to sherborne abbey dwelt in the chapel of st. mary le bow on the south of the thirteenth century lady chapel (now part of the school). an inmate of this place is mentioned in the codicil to the will of lady alice west: “also, for hit was for-yete byfore in this testament, i ^ bodl. ms. 423, f. 186, 186 h (cf. infoymacio, cap. xi. in englische stndien, vu, 315-6); regula, cap. xxxiv., xxxviii. anchorites in church and cloister 8i bequethe to the reclus of shirbourn, whos surname is arthour/ k\s. for to do and to preye as othere reclus forseyd shulleth don and preye the cell at worcester was next the cathedral on the north, between the porch and the west end. in a fifteenth-century account-book of the priory is an entry of xs. paid : “ for brycks, lyme, and sonde, to y^ repa’ con of y® anckras house by y® charnel howse”.^ there was no rule as to the situation of such dwellings. the records are apt to be vague, as, for instance, that a religious woman abode “ in a remote corner of the church”. informa¬ tion is sometimes supplied incidentally, e.g. a testator of faversham desires to be buried on the north side of the churchyard, opposite the door of the anchoress. occasionally, however, some particulars are given. juliana, anchoress of worcester, dwelt at the north-west corner of the church of st. nicholas, in an angle of the churchyard, bounded by the main street and by a side street. she petitioned for the en¬ largement of her courtyard, and the king, satisfied that this would not be to the nuisance of the city, granted permission to widen the court on three sides, by 7, 5, and 4 feet, re¬ spectively.^ situated in a busy thoroughfare (now “ the cross”) it was conspicuous to all passing to and from the foregate. writing of the norwich church of st. john baptist, tim berhill, blomefield says : “ anciently a recluse dwelt in a cell joining to the north side of the steeple, but it was down before the dissolution ”. the anchorage at st. edward’s was also on the north. from numerous examples it seems that the ascetic would deliberately forego the sunshine with the rest of nature’s gifts. rare instances occur of a brighter aspect. the westminster anchorage was on the south side of the chancel of st. margaret’s.^ the cells at droitwich and polesworth ^ since going to press canon wordsworth sends an extract dated 1397. indtilgencia pro edmundo artur, anchorita “capelle b. marie vocat’ le bowe infra scalare cimiterii ecclesiae conventualis de shireburn ”. reg. metford, f. cxxi. b. the charnel vault under the courtyard, near the deanery gate. ^ the cells at droitwich (p. 77), and winterton (p. 92) had enclosures (clausura). westminster ms. extra parcels, no. 14 [per mr. c. welch]. 82 hermits and anchorites of england were also on the south. that at the west end of crewkerne church was still standing in the seventeenth century. although so many recluses were dwelling “ under the eaves of the church/’ the church itself has in many cases been rebuilt, and no traces of the cell can be found. thus even in ancient buildings (for example, in st. michael’s and st. peter’s at st. albans) there is no clue as to the position of the annexed chambers. in none of the eleven fine churches described by mr. mccall in richmondshire churches have indi¬ cations of cells been found, although recluses are known to have dwelt in three of those parishes, viz. burneston, kirkby wiske, and wath. it must not be forgotten, however, that the dwelling might stand apart in the churchyard, as at st. john’s, chester. in several churches architectural features confirm the re¬ cords. two cells in the south have been described by mr. p. m. johnston, and three in the north by mr. j. r. boyle. hartlip (kent).—that of hartlip (plate xxvi), where a certain robert was anchorite, remains at the west end of the north aisle. hardham (sussex).—the same writer ^ traces the site of a chamber on the south side of the chancel, which may have been the abode of the recluse to whom the bishop bequeathed half a mark in 1253. all that remains is a thirteenth-century squint. newcastle-upon-tyne, —the vestry on the north of the church of st. john baptist seems originally to have been an anchorite’s house. this conjecture is supported by a docu¬ ment, dated 1260, confirming to christiana umfred a place {locum inclusionis) in st.john’s churchyard to be her habitation for life. the original grant had been made by the bishop, prior, and convent of carlisle (patrons of the mother-church of st. nicholas), with the assent of the mayor and burgesses. christiana probably witnessed the services through the cross¬ shaped opening shown in plate xxvii, which is about 14 feet above the present floor. the chamber was probably of two stories. there is a blocked thirteenth-century window on the north. it may be observed in passing that the cell founded in ^ stissex arch, coll., xlii, 176-7 ; arch. journ., lvill, 66-8. r • plate xxl'i anchora(;k .\t hak'n.ii anchorites in church and cloister 83 gateshead churchyard in 1340 was replaced by a vestry, which retains the name anchorage. stamdrop. —mr. boyle describes a chamber with an ancient fire-place over the vestry of this church. at the head of the stone newel staircase is a square-headed window of three lights, the mullions of which are cut askew from east to west in order to command the high altar. chester-le-street. —this church has retained what is prob¬ ably the most complete anchorite’s house remaining in england. it is at the west end of the church, on the north side of the tower, partly within and partly beyond the ancient walls. two of the four rooms, one above the other, have been formed by walling off the western bay of the north aisle. this inner room is about 18 by 10 feet, whilst the two outer rooms are about 10 feet square. the recluse’s upper chamber had a hagioscope commanding the altar in the south aisle ; the slit on the church side is only about 10 inches high and i or 2 inches wide. the west window consists of a large slab pierced with four rectangular openings and a lancet. below the floor is a well, which is probably ancient. there appears to have been an outside stairway to the upper story of the outer room, which has a window and a slit aperture. there is no archi¬ tectural clue to the date of “ the ankers house,” which is mentioned in the chantry certificate of i 548. its subsequent history is told in chapter xiv. the house contains several doors, windows, and recesses, but it has suffered under altera¬ tions, and is now used for heating apparatus and lumber. the small upper chamber, once a museum of antiquities, contains a fine sculptured saxon cross-shaft. yo 7 'k: all saints\ north street. —at the west end of the north aisle are the supposed traces of a two-storied cell, which was inhabited by a recluse famous during the reign of henry vi (p. 35). both the upper and lower windows command the high altar.^ it may be well to mention certain supposed cells, which have not at present been authenticated by documentary evidence. bengeo (herts) and chipping ongar (essex).—these ^ the lower window was carefully opened out by the rector and miss m. leaf, 1909. 84 hermits and anchorites of england “ ankerholds ” were investigated by mr. j. t. micklethwaite and mr. dewick.^ in both cases openings were found in the north walls, and above them holes which might have held the timbers supporting a lean-to building. at chipping ongar traces of a shuttered lancet window were discovered. letherhead (surrey).—the foundations of a chamber on the north side of the chancel were excavated by mr. johnston, and were described and illustrated in the surrey archceological collections (xx). compton .—another surrey church has a chamber annexed to it on the south side. a narrow window communicates with the churchyard, but the outer doorway is blocked. the arch of the inner doorway, leading into the church, springs from the capital of the sanctuary arch. the hagioscope, deeply splayed, is so close to the high altar as to be over the aumbry adjoining* the piscina ; it is cruciform, of graceful and uncommon design. michaelstow (cornwall).—on the north side of the chancel are traces of a cell. about 4 feet 8 inches from the floor is a diamond-shaped stone, pierced with a quatrefoil aperture.^ traces of the anchorage, then, may reasonably be sought near the chancel. it might be an upper room, but a chamber in the tower or over the porch was a most unlikely abode for the recluse. since the term “leper’s window” has become discredited, there is a tendency with some to describe any in¬ explicable low-side window as an “ anchorite’s squint it is well to bear in mind that even where a habitable room exists, with fire-place, seat, or book-desk, it may have been a sacristy or a priest’s lodging. there is abundant opportunity for research on this subject, and it is much to be desired that architects should follow up the clues supplied by records. ^ aycu. yourn. xliv, 26-9 ; xlv, 284-7, with plates. ‘■^j. c. cox, county churches. viii. order and rule what sawest thou before thee when thou didst vow thyself to this manner of life ?— rule of st. aelred. do you now ask what rule ye anchoresses should observe ? ye should by all means, with all your might and all your strength, keep well the inward rule, and for its sake the outward. . . . the outward rule may be changed and varied according to every one’s state and circumstances ... it is only a slave to help the lady to rule the heart.— ancren riwle. t he eremitical life, it has been truly said, “ was once a career, and not the abdication of all careers re¬ cluses were therefore set apart for their vocation, whether they were regular or secular clergy, nuns, or men and women who had as yet taken no vows. a monk might become a hermit by permission of his abbot, but he could only be ad¬ mitted to the order of an anchorite by the joint consent of his superior and of the bishop. a lay person required the sanction of the bishop before taking either step. i. hermits the place of the hermit in the ecclesiastical system is hard to define. there were many kinds of solitaries—all, perhaps, of a less conventional and canonical type than other churchmen, —but all, in theory at least, recognized by the church. some were in close touch with a monastery. the monk bartholomew and the lay-brother godric were both under the aegis of the benedictine house of durham, the prior of which exercised the right to “ create ” hermits. the secular clerk naturally turned to the bishop for licence, institution, or ordination. he might be admitted to minor orders, or even to full orders if the cell were sufficiently endowed for it to be accounted a benefice. robert of lilbourne, for example, after being made successively acolyte, sub-deacon, and deacon, was ordained priest on the “ title ” of five marks a year from his patron, robert de hawk well. unlettered hermits were also licensed, for episcopal recog 85 86 hermits and anchorites of england nition was required even by civil law. the vagrancy statute of 1388 exempts “approved hermits having letters testimonial of their ordinaries”.^ such approval is frequently entered in episcopal records, e.g. the bishop of sarum gave j. spensar letters testimonial that he had received the habit. the ceremony of receiving the habit was a feature in the office of benediction (appendix b). the candidate appeared before the bishop, bare-headed and barefoot, carrying on his left arm the scapular and other garments suitable to the pro¬ fession of a hermit. during the service the old garments were put off, and the new ones, after being blessed, were put on with appropriate prayers. the hermit signed a deed of pro¬ fession, made a vow, and received a charge as to his future manner of living. some english hermits belonged to a branch of augus tinians ^ called “the order of st. paul the first hermit in 1431 richard spechysley took the following vow at-hartle bury :— y rychard spechysley sengleman not wedded promytte and solempne a wowe make to god, to hys blessed moder marie, and all the seyntes of heuene yn presence of your reuerent fadyr yn cryst thomas by the grace of god busshopp of worcestr fulle and hole purpose of chastity perpetually to be kept by me after the rule of seynt poule yn name of the fadyr and sone and holy gost amen et faciat heremita cnice super cedula7n. similar instances occur elsewhere, but chiefly within the last fifty years of hermit-life in england ; e.g. robert michyll and john smith were professed before the bishop of ely in 1494; john ferys took the vow at norwich (1504); john colebrant received the habit from the bishop of rochester (i 509). geoffrey middleton, richard pury, and nicholas heage, all of sarum diocese, likewise joined this order. the lydence pontifical (1521) contains the special service for ad¬ mission into the order of st. paul ^ (see appendix b). the habit worn by its members is shown in fig. 6. various rules of life are extant, including the following ;— 1 statute 12 ric. ii, c. 7. 2 the “ augustinian hermits ” or “ friars hermits of the order of st. augus¬ tine ” have nothing to do with our subject ; they were mendicants living in community. ^ see also exeter and york pontificals. order and rule 87 (a) regiila heremitarum (cambridge ms.), sometimes ascribed to richard rolle. fig. 6 .—hermit of the order of st. paul. {u) de pauperate^ statu^ et vita heremitarum (bodleian ms., fourteenth century). {c) rule^ called “ of pope celestine,” a manuscript which 88 hermits and anchorites of england belonged to the house of st. mark, bristol. it begins: “ thyes are the notable rewles of the lyfe heremiticalle . . . made by pope celestine the preface and much of the matter are similar to {b). (d) rule, called “ of pope linus” (lambeth ms., fifteenth century, bound as fly-leaf into a carmelite work). it begins : “ lyne owre holy fadyr [pope] of rome he ordeyned thys rowle to all solytary men that takys the degre of an here myte ” ; and ends : “ thys is ye charge of an hermygtis lyffe [e) episcopal charge, or form of living (pontifical, six¬ teenth century, see appendix b). these documents contain directions about times of labour, eating, sleep, silence, and worship. obedience in the monastic sense was not required. “ the hermit should make obedience to god alone, because he himself is abbot, prior, and prefect in the cloister of his heart.” to almighty god he may, if he so desire, vow poverty and chastity before the bishop, but not by any man’s commandment. minute instructions are given as to the repetition of the creed, lord’s prayer, and angelic salutation, at the set hours. he was to hear mass daily, if possible, and to be houselled once a week. regulations con¬ cerning food, dress, etc., are referred to in the chapters which follow. although celibacy was doubtless customary among those professed as hermits, it was not obligatory. it is recorded that “ john shenton, armett, and hys wyfife ” took charge of the ornaments of the chapel at derby bridge (1488). nor is this a mere instance of laxity of discipline. when it was noti¬ fied to archbishop arundel that adam cressevill, after taking a hermit’s vow, had married a certain margaret, the archbishop adjudged that the reception of such a habit did not de jure bring upon any one a tacit or express profession of religion, nor include in itself holy orders, so as to preclude a subsequent contract of “ marriage which was instituted in paradise ”. the adam of 1405 was, therefore, declared to be effectually bound and held to the observance of the marriage.' in theory, the solitary was canonically appointed and 1 lambeth, reg. arundel, pt. i, f. 438 h. order and rule 89 placed under definite rule, but every age has its free-lances. the difficulties connected with due order and discipline were as old as sixth-century monachism. the benedictine rule declares that there were not only hermits trained in the monastery, but also self-appointed ones, some of whom roamed from cell to cell. self-constituted or wandering solitaries were bound to interfere with parochial, monastic, or episcopal rights. when archbishop thurstan was granting a charter to the priory of holy trinity, york, he inserted this clause: “ let no hermit or anyone else presume to construct a chapel or oratory of any kind within the territory of that parish church, without the permission and free consent of the prior and chapter ”. ^ the church prohibited hermits of irregular life or belief. about the year 1231 the bishop of lincoln excommunicated elias, a monk notorious for excesses, and a chaplain was ad¬ mitted in his place to mirabel hermitage in stockerston. in 1334, heresy and schism are recorded both in north and south. the archbishop of york issued a mandate forbidding anyone to listen to the teaching of henry de staunton, hermit.^ the bishop of exeter took proceedings against a peculiar person named william, who had set himself up as a hermit at st. david’s chapel in ashprington.^ two years later ranulf, an apostate friar, being “ a heretic in the habit of a hermit,” was examined by theologians, and convicted of holding false doctrines; but the prisoner was released by death.^ sometimes, indeed, the habit was assumed by mere beg¬ gars :— “ william blakeney, shetilmaker . . . was brought into the guildhall ... for that, whereas he was able to work for his food and raiment, he . . . went about there, barefooted and with long hair, under the guise of sanctity, and pretended to be a hermit, say¬ ing that he was such, and that he had made pilgrimage . . . and under colour of falsehood he had received many good things from divers people.” 1 cal. doc. france, ed. j. h. round, 443. dixon, ed. j. raine, fasti, i. 421. ^ ex. reg. grandisson, pt. ii, 751-2. chron. edw. i (rolls, 76), i. 365. 90 hermits and anchorites of england the impostor, who had lived by fraud for six years, was con¬ demned to the pillory (1412).^ the desire to be independent of authority led some persons to seek the solitary life. william stapleton, clerk, left st. tenet’s, holme (where, as he confesses, he had often been punished for laziness), went to london, and purchased from cardinal wolsey a dispensation to be a hermit. the truth was, that his whole mind was set on necromancy. he used enchantments in digging for hidden treasure, and practised spirit-raising. when he returned to norfolk and showed his licence, his friends motioned him to go about his “ science ” again, saying they would help him to his habit. this runaway monk was intimate with wolsey (to whom, in 1528, his long letter is addressed), cromwell, more, and the duke of norfolk. whether he became solitary or sorcerer does not appear.^ even authorized hermits were apt to upset the parochial system, if persons resorted to their chapels to the neglect of their parish church. a long-standing grievance at hinxton was met by an agreement between the vicar, wardens, and parishioners, and william popeley, hermit of whytford bridge. tithes and dues were commuted for fixed oblations at the principal feasts, when the bridge-chaplain must, like all other parishioners, make his oblations. the vicar was to say mass yearly at st. anne’s chapel, and in return for his labour, should receive 4^. and a good dinner from the hermit. h. anchorites turning to the stricter order, we find that the permission of the bishop of the diocese was required before any person could be enclosed. a notable exception was wulfric of haselbury ; for “without any appointment of the bishop, with no solemnity of benediction, but by the authority of the holy spirit who dwelt within, he buried himself with christ in a cell close to the church”. a canon of st. edmund (1233) enacted that anchorites should not be made without the bishop’s special approval; and lyndwood, commenting on this clause, observes that assistant bishops may not give the ^ h. riley, memorials, 584. ^ l. and p. hen. viii, iv (2), no. 5096; norfolk archaeology, i, 59. order and rule 91 requisite licence, nor may an abbot enclose a person on his own authority^ it was also necessary to obtain the consent of the in¬ cumbent and patron of the church to which the person was to be attached. henry iii permitted celestria to be enclosed at his chapel of kingesham (probably kingsholm in the manor of king s barton at gloucester), the sheriff having signified that this would not be detrimental to the crown. the approval of the patrons was not sought by the parishioners of st. michael’s, bristol, and the chronicler of tewkesbury therefore records that: “ both the townsmen of bristol and the anchoress intruded into the cell (^reclusagiuni) of st. michael on the hill without bristol confessed that they had acted presumptuously and contrary to justice, and sought forgiveness from robert, the lord abbot”. the prefatory note to the sarum office declares that no one ought to be enclosed without the will of the bishop, who was to cause the candidate to be instructed and warned how he should examine his conscience and consider his motives, whether he is setting himself to please god, or to acquire gain or the praise of man. nor was the applicant accepted without close investigation. a commissary was appointed to inquire into the circumstances of the case, not only as to the suitability of the proposed place, but as to the person’s estate, whether maiden, married, or widow, and, above all, concerning her character. sometimes the mandate included permission to induct the candidate, should the examination prove satisfactory. the following charge was given by the bishop of worcester concerning lucy, who was eagerly desirous to inhabit the cell upon st. brandan’s hill, near bristol:— “ john by the mercy of god bishop etc. greeting, to our beloved son master john de severley, archdeacon of worcester, peace and blessing. “lucy de newchirche has approached us many times with earnest and humble devotion, as was clear to us from her appearance and demeanour, asking to be enclosed in the hermitage of st. brandan at bristol in our diocese. but as we have no knowledge of the life and conversation of the said lucy, we commit to you, in whose trustiness, diligence, and caution we have full confidence, an enquiry ^w. lyndwood, provinciale, ed. 1525, lib. ill, f. clv. clvi. 92 hermits and anchorites of england from men and women worthy of credit with regard to the conversa¬ tion of this lucy, and whether you would consider her to be of pure and praiseworthy life, and whether she excels in those notable virtues which ought to prevail in persons who give up the life of the world. and if at a day and time appointed, at your discretion and in accordance with law and reason, for her examination, you should find her to be resolutely and firmly set on the pure purpose with regard to which we have burdened your conscience in the presence of god, we commit to you our power, so far as by the divine law we can, of enclosing her, either personally or by deputy as an anchoress in the aforesaid hermitage.” ^ since the bishop himself had been impressed by lucy’s earnestness, it is probable that she was enclosed. barrett cites a deed referring to land near st. brendan’s which the anchoress held. who the petitioner was does not appear ; but two years previously a certain lucy de newchurch, from the diocese of hereford, obtained a papal indult to choose a confessor who should give her plenary remission at the hour of death. the would-be anchoress might be some maiden “ without the habit of a nun ” who desired to devote herself to religion in the village where she had been brought up, as, for example, matilda de campden, who sought to be enclosed in the church¬ yard at chipping campden. she might be one who, like emma sprenghose of shrewsbury, “ from childhood always affected, and still affects, the solitary life”. she might be already in a convent. a nun of stainfield, beatrice franke by name, petitioned the bishop of lincoln to be enclosed at winterton church ; the abbot of thornton, therefore, released her from her previous vows and proffered to her new vows at high mass in that church. the anchoress might even be some matron. a curious case is that of the vowess emma cheyne — “late the wife of the recluse of bury st. edmunds, aged sixty-eight years and professed for twenty-two years in the order of widowhood and daily persevering in honest conversa¬ tion ”—who dwelt at st. peter’s, cornhill.^ the applicant might be one of the regular or secular clergy. william de pershore, priest, sought permission to be enclosed in the parish of wickwar, and he vas given a dispensation to ^ reg. thoresby, f. 21. 2 pat. 28 hen. vi., pt. i, m. ii. the veiled widow may have dwelt in the anchorite’s cell, without being actually enclosed. i i i i i .% \ } i, ‘ ' ’ .'-i a' .\ •' i i i r. * .4 i i plate xml// k\('loslx(; an anchorkss order and rule 93 build a little house for that purpose, subject to the consent of the rector as patron of the church. robert cherde, a cistercian monk of ford, who desired to become a solitary at crewkerne, brought letters from his abbot, and made his petition in person before the bishop at wells. in certain cases it was thought advisable to fix a period of probation. in may, 1403, the bishop of exeter commis¬ sioned the abbot of hartland and rector of southill to place cecilia moys in a house in the cemetery of marhamchurch, assigning her until christmas as a time of probation. the ceremony was performed by the bishop or his deputy. the bishop of lichfield empowered his suffragan, robert prissinensis (1376) to administer holy orders, etc., and to enclose anchorites.^ episcopal prerogative might, however, be overruled by papal privilege. richard gilbard, an augus tinian canon of longleat, obtained licence “ to choose and remain in any hermitage in the realm in order to lead therein a solitary life” (1399)-^ the mendicant orders were free from episcopal jurisdiction. john toker, a franciscan, gained per¬ mission to be enclosed, without licence of his superiors, at buckland ; he was fifty years of age and had been a friar since he was thirteen. carmelite recluses were professed before the provincial of the order. again, the abbot of st. albans en¬ closed members of the community at will. he himself cele¬ brated the solemn mass when (at the instance of edward iv and his queen, and “at the supplication of divers magnates dwelling in the king’s household”) elizabeth katherine hoisted was admitted to the anchorage at st. peter’s.^ as a general rule, however, the bishop was, by virtue of his office, the guardian of every solitary in his diocese. the archbishop of york made himself responsible for a religious refugee from scotland. the nuns of coldstream having been dispersed (probably in 1296, when edward i made his head¬ quarters in their house) beatrice de hodesak, for this just and reasonable cause, left the nunnery by permission of the bishop and prioress. she afterwards, with the licence of archbishop thomas, became an anchoress at sprotburgh, near doncaster, at the house adjoining st. edmund’s chapel by the bridge. it '^staffs. coll., n.s., viii, 131. ^ pap, lett., v. 200. ^chr. s. alb. (rolls, 28, pt. vi.); registers, ii. 202. 94 hermits and anchorites of england had been founded by lord fitzwilliam, who provided yearly for each of the women five quarters of corn. when beatrice settled there about the year 1300, her companion was that sibil de lisle who had been enclosed in 1294 by the abbot of kirkstall. beatrice probably died before 1328, when the dean of doncaster was commissioned to enclose joan, daughter of william of easingwold, who desired to live with dame sibil.^ there are numerous liturgical forms for the enclosing of anchorites. the earliest extant seems to be that entitled ad recludendum anchoritam^ in a fragmentary twelfth-century pon¬ tifical.^ of later examples, cambridge has several—the clifford pontifical (plate xxvi 11 ) at corpus christ! college, the chichele pontifical at trinity, the sarum manual at st. john’s, and the russell pontifical in the university library. in this chapter we draw chiefly upon three published offices, namely, those found in the exeter pontifical belonging to bishop lacy (1420-55), the york pontifical of archbishop bainbridge (1508-14), and the sarum manual (printed in 1506).^ the “ order of enclosing servants or handmaidens of god,” according to the sarum use, provided that the candidate, before being admitted to the cell, should fast and make his confession, and should keep vigil throughout the preceding night. on the morrow the bishop or his commissary made an exhortation to the people and to the one who was about to be enclosed, and the office opened with versicles and psalms. the celebrant proceeded to mass, which included special prayers. after the gospel the includendus, having offered his taper to burn upon the altar, stood at the altar-step and read his pro¬ fession in a clear voice. he then made the sign of the cross with a pen on the roll, and placing it upon the altar with bended knee, prayed. next came the sprinkling and blessing of the habit, in which the newly-professed was clad. whilst he lay prostrate before the altar, the celebrant chanted over him veni^ creator spiritus, when. mass being finished, all, includ¬ ing the novice who carried his taper, moved in procession % ^ northern reg. (rolls 61), 196-8; raine, fas^i, 380 ; reg. romeyn, f. 46; reg. melton, f. 175. 2 b.m. cott. vesp. d., xv., f. 61-5. ^ liber pontif., ed. r. barnes; (s.s. 61); sartwi man. {s.s, 63); see appendix a to this volume. order and rule 95 towards the cell. the bishop advanced, and, taking him by the hand, led him to his habitation, whilst the clerks chanted a litany. the bishop, having hallowed the altar and house, went out and brought in the includendus^ and after solemn prayers and benedictions, he—now the inclusus —was left alone. the bishop recited the antiphon in a loud voice, audible, may be, in the utter silence of the cell, the door of which had been firmly shut. after united prayer for the solitary, the procession formed again and returned into the church. the exeter office bears a general resemblance to the fore¬ going. the opening rubric directs that the would-be recluse, if a clerk, should prostrate himself barefoot in the midst of the choir ; if a layman, he should lie outside the gate of the choir; if a woman, in the western part of the church, where women are wont to worship. having recited certain psalms and a litany, the bishop and his ministers should come to the pros¬ trate person, with cross, thurible, and holy water, and after sprinkling and censing him, the bishop, with another venerable person, should raise him up. holding a taper in each hand, the candidate should listen devoutly as this lection was read from isaiah : “ come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and shut thy doors about thee : hide thyself as it were for a little moment, until the indignation be overpast ”. the gospel was taken from st. luke : “ jesus entered into a certain village : and a certain woman named martha received him into her house. and she had a sister called mary, which also sat at jesus’ feet, and heard his word,” etc. having read the form of profession, the candidate should kneel at the altar-step, repeating thrice : “ receive me, o lord, according to thy word ”. after further prayers, “ let the bishop make a dis¬ course to the people, explaining the manner and form of living of a recluse, and let him commend the person about to be en¬ closed to the people that they may pray for him ”. the mass of the holy spirit was now celebrated, by \}ciqinclude7idus\{\m self, if he were in holy orders, but if not, by the bishop or by another priest. the bishop, having led the novice to the door of the reclusorium^ was to enter, and consecrate the whole house by prayers, holy water, and censing. he should then go out to the waiting person and say : “ if he wishes to enter, let him 96 hermits and anchorites of england enter the bishop then began to perform rites which were designed to impress upon the devotee the fact that in a strict sense he was henceforth dead to the world. the office of ex¬ treme unction was performed, with the commendation of the soul, lest death should anticipate the last rites. “ these things being done, let the grave be opened, entering which, let the recluse himself, or another in his name, sing : this shall be my rest for ever dust was scattered with the words ; from dust wast thou created^ etc. before going out, the bishop made a final exhortation, and the door of the house was built up. “we left her, as is believed, in peace and calm of spirit, in the joy of her saviour ” : so it was reported of the nun beatrice (p. 92), who almost from her youth had craved for this life. in this solemn manner the self-dedicated person was ad¬ mitted to the “order” of an anchorite, as it was termed. it was “in the order of an ancresse ” that one margery made her profession in 1521 in the church of the blackfriars, in the following words:— “ i sister margerie clyute offereth and giueth myselfe to the mercie of godd in the order of an ancresse to lyue in his seruice after the rule of an ancresse and here in the presence of you worthy father in godd thomas bishop of lydene ^ i make myne obedience to the worshipful father in godd lord ric. fitz james byshop of lon¬ don and to his successours this word “ order ” often occurs in documents, but, in the ancren riwle^ recluses were warned against using the term in a limited sense: “if any ignorant person ask you of what order ye are, as ye tell me some do . . . answer and say that ye are of the order of st. james,” that is to say, of those who keep themselves unspotted from the world. the recluse’s rule of life consisted of friendly counsel rather than rigid regulations. several such books of instruc¬ tion were written in england for english women—by an abbot, by some unknown churchman, by a layman-hermit, and by an augustinian canon. {a) rule of aelred (twelfth century).—the regula, informa ^ in 1495 the bishop of lydda was suffragan to bishop blyth of sarum. this thomas lydensis owned the pontifical mentioned elsewhere. pla te xxix rim ilittiftw? i / •i • ► >• ■ . ; i i v • 4 / t • 1 ’ >• i t t f v 4 / i i ( 9 i •i 4 tf i * vi \ «" i . v . 1 r order and rule 97 cio^ or institutio inclusarum ^ was compiled by aelred of rie vaulx, “a man glowing with enthusiasm for the solitary life”. it is dedicated to his sister, who had long besought him for a form of living. he says in his preface that being her brother after the flesh and in spirit he could not refuse her request, but he would she had asked one wiser and more experienced than himself: “ natheles after that simple felynge that god hath youen me i shal write to the a forme gadert out of holy fadirs tradition”. the first chapter is entitled: “ how the eremitical life was appointed ”. looking back to the ancients, many of whom dwelt alone in the wilderness, aelred inquires wherefore this life was undertaken. some, he says, find it harm¬ ful to live in a crowd, and profitable to be in solitude ; finding in the world a freedom of loveliness and possibility of wander¬ ing, they think it safer to be confined within a cell. aelred gives wise counsel on spiritual and material matters, extracts from which will be found in succeeding chapters. after giving some details as to dress, he adds: “ these things, dear sister, i have written at thy request concerning the manner of outward conduct, not on account of zeal for antiquity, but for the short¬ ness of our time here on earth ; setting forth a certain form of life adapted for weaker sisters, leaving to the stronger ones to go forward unto fuller perfection ”. the humble abbot con¬ cludes with a personal plea: “if any one shall have profited by the discourse of this book, let her render back to me this return for my labour and study: that she may intercede for my sins with my saviour whom i love, with my rewarder for \ whom i look, with my judge whom i fear”. ib) ancren riwle^ (thirteenth century).—the rule bearing this name is a handbook of devotion, conduct, and household management. the author was familiar with aelred’s work and quotes from it (p. 122). he was the personal friend of those for whom he wrote—“ my dear sisters, women most dear to me ”. he enjoins the three-fold vow of obedience, chastity, and constancy of abode. they must be guided by an inward 1 l. holstenius, codex regularum, iii. 186-239. also english paraphrase, bodl. ms., 423, f. 178-92: “ here endith the reule of a recluse that seynt alrede wrote to his suster ”. another copy, vernon ms., is transcribed by horstman in englische studien, ed. e. kolbing, vii. 304-44. 2 camden soc., o.s. 57 (1853) contains original and translation; latter re¬ printed in 1905 by abbot gasquet {king's classics), 7 98 hermits and anchorites of england law—that of love which regulates the heart. mere outward rules might vary according to each one’s estate and circum¬ stances. the precepts contained in the book are, he declares, written for themselves alone; other anchoresses must not say that he, by his own authority, makes new rules for them. the regulations may be changed at will for better ones: “ in regard to things of this kind that have been in use before^ it matters little the question of authorship has yet to be solved. it was formerly attributed to richard poer, bishop of salisbury (1217-29), but the evidence is insufficient. the preface to one imperfect latin copy, preserved at magdalen college, oxford, states that bishop simon of ghent (1297-1315) wrote it for his sisters, anchoresses at tarrent, but this is clearly a transla¬ tion and the original english work is of considerably earlier date. the researches of prof. koelbing and dr. thummler will doubtless contribute much to the question of date and authorship. their critical edition is to be published by the early english text society (see note on p. 100). the writer was a man of high ideals, a practical person, with sound judgment and clear insight. a marked gift of sympathy is shown by his tender, delicate, and understanding instructions. careful thought and infinite labour were be¬ stowed upon the work :— “ in this book read every day, when ye are at leisure—every day less or more ; for i hope that if ye read it often it will be very bene¬ ficial to you through the grace of god, or else i shall have ill employed much of my time. god knows, it would be more agreeable to me to set out on a journey.to rome, than to begin to do it again.” {c) form of perfect living^ (fourteenth century).—this treatise was written by richard rolle for his friend. dame margaret. it is an intimate spiritual letter rather than a set rule. the second chapter (often found as a separate tract) deals with the solitary life, its peculiar trials and joys. of its mystical teaching the following is a specimen:— “ for that thou hast forsaken the solace and the joy of this world, and taken thee to solitary life ... i trow truly that the com¬ fort of jesus christ and the sweetness of his love, with the fire of ^ c. horstman, r. rolle^ i, 3-49. order and rule 99 the holy ghost that purges all sin, shall be in thee and with thee, leading thee and teaching thee how thou shalt think, how thou shalt pray, what thou shalt work, so that in a few years thou shalt have more delight to be by thyself and speak to thy love and thy spouse jesus christ, that is high in heaven, than if thou wert lady here of a thousand worlds. men ween that we are in pain and penance: but we have more joy and very delight in a day than they have in the world all their life. they see our body, but they see not our heart, where our solace is. if they saw that, many of them would forsake all that they have, for to follow us.” (d) the scale (or ladder) of perfection} written by walter hilton, an augustinian canon who died in 1396. it deals with the life of action and of contemplation, but especially with the latter. he addresses it to a woman “ closid in a hous,” and reminds her that the cause of her bodily enclosure is that she might thereby the better come to a “ ghostly closynge ”. since her estate required of her to be contemplative, it behoved her to be right busy both night and day with travail of body and of spirit, in order to come as nigh as she might to that life. [e) book for recluses (fifteenth century), containing advice based upon various reasons for embracing this life, whether (i) intention of living at her own will without labour, (2) fer¬ vent repentance, (3) avoidance of sin, or (4) desire for divine contemplation. the first counsels of the preface aim at changing the purpose of any whose first motive had been tem¬ poral solace, comfort, independence, acquisition of goods. the remainder of the book is entirely devotional. the first part con¬ tains plain teaching drawn from the old and new testaments. prayer is illustrated by david and hezekiah, moses and joshua, elijah and elisha; repentance, by david, peter, mary magdalene, and “ the publican asking mercy ”. the second part is a call to praise, and treats of the excellence and might and goodness of god as maker and keeper of all things. there is pathos in the suggestion made to one so straitly shut up that she might stir her heart to praise by thinking upon the merry noise of birds in their sweet song, the delight of flowers and fruits, the usefulness of beasts, which follow without fail the ^ first printed by wynkyn de worde, 1494. latest edition, 1901. 2 b. m. harl. 2372. 100 hermits and anchorites of england law of nature and are every year marvellously renewed to the behoof of man. but chiefly was she to meditate upon “ the glorious passion of our lord the third part, which is un¬ finished, contains sacramental teaching. the order and rule have necessarily been dealt with only in outline. details of the outer life will now be considered, whilst an account of the inner life with its trials and discipline is reserved for a subsequent chapter. note on the “ ancren riwle'\ since going to press professor gollancz has called my attention to a fourteenth-century version of this rule, recently edited by joel pahlsson {the recluse, university of lund, 1911). the original is found at magdalene college, cam¬ bridge (ms. pepys, 2498). it is addressed to men and women, and several of the intimate touches of the ancren riwle are omitted, e.g. allusions to the circumstances of the three sisters (see pp. 97-8, 105-6, 109, 131, 136 of this volume). in place of the homely allusion to the scullion slurry, the camb. ms. preaches the patient endurance of insolence from underlings. “ our lay-brethren ” and “ our order” are not mentioned, but the religious of the later version include friars. the camb. ms. inserts passages which are wanting in the cottonian; but the full practical directions found at the end of the latter are given in briefest outline* the compiler describes himself as “ him that drew it out into this language ”. ix. concerning the body a bird sometimes alighteth on the earth, to seek his food for the need of the flesh. . . . even so, the pious recluse, though she fly ever so high, must at times come down to the earth in respect of her body—and eat, drink, sleep, work, speak, and hear, when it is necessary, of earthly things.— ancren riwle. a lthough the true solitary was chiefly occupied with the affairs of the soul, either he himself or his neighbours were bound to take thought for his bodily needs. the possession of a little plot of land enabled the hermit to be more or less independent, but the anchorite could not maintain himself. the hermit’s absorbing interest in his garden was even supposed to become an obstacle to his spiritual progress. in the hortus deliciaruin^ compiled by a german abbess in the twelfth century, the ladder to perfection is depicted in symbol, with the climbers and their respective hindrances. among men of religion, the hermit is foremost, although his garden has proved a stumbling-block; whilst the anchorite is kept back by sloth, represented by a bed} i. food the early hermits lived a primitive life as tillers of the soil, and their food consisted of herbs, roots, grain, and fruit. godric of finchale used to refuse the gifts of food offered to him, and cultivated his garden as long as he was able; we read of his planting and grafting, and of his crops. he also kept cows, and in his old age, lived almost entirely upon milk. robert of knaresborough was another hermit-husbandman. he fared frugally, but one day he was left hungry, for robbers invaded his dwelling and stole his bread and cheese. after a time he was granted as much land as he could dig, and later, as much as he could till with one plough. he was also given two horses, two oxen, and two cows. robert’s parable was an ear of corn (p. 153); and the miracles ascribed to him are ^ l. eckenstein, woman tinder monast., 246. 101 102 hermits and anchorites of england the miracles of a farmer. he tames the wild cow, and yokes to his plough the stags which trample his corn:— hertes full heghe of hede and horn • vsed to come to robertt corn . . . he wentt and wagged att them a wand and draffe thise dere hame wt hys hand. this legend and also that of a counterfeit cripple, who begged a cow from st. robert, were depicted in a window set up in knaresborough church in 1473.^ in some cases the hermit had no land to cultivate. richard rolle, for example, was homeless. at first he was provided with food and shelter by sir john and lady de dalton, but when they died, he became a wanderer, dependent upon alms. ill-clad and ill-shod, he suffered severely from exposure. at times he subsisted on mouldy bread, and had but a scant supply of water. yet richard did not refuse proper sus¬ tenance when it was provided. he had eaten and drunk of the best, not for love of good food, but for nature to be sus¬ tained in god’s service. he would not appear unto men to fast, but conformed himself to them with whom he dwelt, fearing lest he should feign holiness, and win praise. he advised the contemplative not to attempt too much fasting, lest “for febilnes of body he myght not synge”.'^ enemies were therefore not slow to say that he would not abide but where he might be delicately fed; whilst as a matter of fact he frequently suffered exhaustion from abstinence. flesh was rarely tasted by the hermit. it was lawful to partake of it on the three great festivals, and on the four following days ; also in time of sickness, or strenuous work— “ for grete labore past or labor for to come yf nede ax yt ”. at the commandment of the bishop or patron, he might indulge in meat for a single day. he was directed to fast three days in the week, and on friday upon bread and water. he was also required to observe seasons of abstinence, namely, forty days before christmas and easter, and nine days before whit¬ sunday and michaelmas.^ ^dodsworth, church notes. (rec. s., 34), 158. the glass is said to have been removed during the last century (? into lincolnshire). further information will be welcomed by the writer. ^fire of love (e.e. text s.), 25-6. ^bristol city library, ms. 6 (cf. appendix b). concerning the body 103 in one rule interesting directions are given under the heading of provisio 7 i in his cell :— “ if a hermit dwells in a borough, town, or city, or nigh thereto, where each day he can well beg his daily food, let him before sunset distribute to christ’s poor that which remains of his food. but if he abides afar, as in a country village or a desert spot one or two miles from the abode of men, let him make provision for one week strictly from sunday to sunday, or he may begin on another day of the week ; and if aught remains over, let it be given to the poor forthwith, un¬ less on some ground he can excuse himself in the sight of god, as that he is sick or weak, or that he is tending a sick man, or is busy at home with works bodily or spiritual which are well pleasing to god.”i this encouragement to town hermits to beg their bread was mischievous. langland complains that there were false her¬ mits living in idleness and ease by others’ travail (p. 61-2). more than one rule, however, devoted a clause to manual labour, and impressed the apostolic saying ; “ he that laboreth not, owght not to ete ”. anchorites, on the other hand, could not support themselves. there are, indeed, two chapters in aelred’s rule (vi., xi.) to the effect that the recluse should live by the labour of her hands, or, if she were not in want, bestow the price upon the church or the poor. but if either sickness or tenderness did not allow this, let her, before she is enclosed, seek out certain persons from whom day by day she may receive food. the bishop was careful not to license anyone unless he was satisfied that sustentation was secure and permanent; indeed, if the solitary were in want, the burden of maintenance fell upon the bishop, as in the case of a clerk ordained without a title. ^ archbishop arundel granted permission for the enclosure at broughton (lincolnshire) of the monk john kyngeston, “ according to the appointment and disposition of certain venerable friends of his ”. maintenance was provided in money or in kind. the al¬ lowance varied according to the person’s estate. during the century 1160-1260 royal pensioners were usually granted or \d. a day; but adam, a recluse at gloucester, had the liberal dole of 2d. a day, paid out of the farm of the city. ^ bodl. rawl. ms., c. 72. ^ lyndwood, provinciate, lib. iii. 104 hermits and anchorites of england the ample yearly allowance of iooj. was made to the anchoress of iffley, who also frequently received oaks for her fire. other donors gave smaller sums, even \d. or 2 d. a week, supplemented, perhaps, by food, fuel, or clothes. in some cases, anchoresses received a grant of corn, but this was often commuted for-a money payment. the recluse lived on simple foods, chiefly vegetarian. the rules direct that she have potage made of herbs, peas, or beans, furmity sweetened with milk, butter, or oil, and fish seasoned with apples or herbs. on wednesday, ftiday, and saturday, lent meals only were allowed. during lent she might have one kind of potage daily, but on fridays only bread and water. no flesh or lard was eaten except in great sickness. the hour of the meal was noon, but in lent, not until after vespers.^ langland says that he will give alms to anchorites “ that eten nought but at nones, and no more ere morrow the inmate of a cell which was dependent upon a monastic house usually received a corrody, or fixed allowance of food and clothing; thus in the compotus rolls of worcester priory are entered the portions of bread and ale given out to two re¬ cluses. about the year 1235 it was ordained that the anchor¬ ess of st. michael’s church at st. albans should enjoy the corrody left to the abbey by adam the cellarer. at whalley the provision seems liberal. the sum of '^^d. a week was paid to the three inmates of the cell, who received every week seventeen loaves such as were usually made in the monastery, and seven loaves of an inferior sort (each loaf to weigh fifty shillings sterling), with eight gallons of beer. at the feast of all saints they were given ten large stock fish, one bushel of oatmeal, and one bushel of rye. for the lighting and warm¬ ing of the house oil, turfs, and faggots were provided. some persons contributed towards their maintenance. agnes booth or shepherd (a nun of norton priory) was en¬ closed at pilling in garstang, a chapelry of cockersand. eight years later, in 1501, the following entry occurs in the rental : “ m^ yat annes scheperte hasse payn to james y^ ^ reg. inchis., cap. xix.; bodl. ms., 423, f. 182. piers plowman (e.e.t.s., 38), text b., pass, vi., 147-8. but in summer two meals were permitted, see ancreti riwle. concerning the body 105 abbott of cokersand for her lyuing—ii^tome&vi® viii^ to ye convent”. the necessaries of life were sometimes provided from the manor-house. the ladies for whom the ancren riwle was written were maintained in an unusual degree of comfort:— “for ye take no thought for food and clothing, neither for yourselves nor for your maidens. each of you hath from one friend all that she requireth; nor need that maiden seek either bread, or that which is eaten with bread, further than at his hall.” the writer adds emphatically that “ many others know little of this abundance, but are full often distressed with want ”. the recluse was warned not to grumble at her meat and drink, were it ever so stale; if it were actually uneatable she might ask for more palatable food, but reluctantly and tactfully ; for it were a sin to cause men to say : “ this anchoress is dainty, and she asks much ”. only sheer necessity should drive her to make a request: “ yet humbly shew your distress to your dearest friend”. if fragments could be spared from her meals, she should send them secretly to poor women and children who had laboured for her. waste, untidiness, and neglect of house¬ hold duties were forbidden. the category of faults to be con¬ fessed included these: “ dropping crumbs, or spilling ale, or letting a thing grow mouldy, or rusty, or rotten; clothes not sewed, wet with rain, or unwashen; a cup or a dish broken, or any thing carelessly looked after which we are using ”. ii. clothing in a convent it was customary, for uniformity’s sake, that all should be attired alike; “but wherever a woman liveth, or a man liveth by himself alone, be he hermit or anchorite, of out¬ ward things whereof scandal cometh not, it is not necessary to take so much care”. foolish people, supposing that the “order” consisted in kirtle or cowl, would question recluses about the colour and cut of their garments, as though religion were a matter of a wide hood, or of a black, white, or grey cowl. as the visible sign of separation, however, a habit was essential. no man felt himself a hermit until he had assumed some distinctive dress. even that most unconventional of io6 hermits and anchorites of england solitaries, richard rolle, when about to flee from home, per¬ suaded his sister to send to him in the wood two garments and his father’s raincloak, whereof he fashioned a habit and hood. putting off his own clothes, he put on his sister’s white tunic. above this he wore her grey tunic, thrusting his arms through the holes which he had left by cutting out the sleeves; and over all he drew on the cloak, “ so that, in some measure, he might present a confused likeness to a hermit”. sir john de dalton then provided him with “ garments suitable to a hermit”. long afterwards, when he was established as a hermit, his friends removed a tattered habit, mended it, and put it on again, whilst he was in spiritual absorption.^ the rules direct that the hermit’s dress be according to the bishop’s ordinance; it must not too closely resemble that of any order, lest it cause offence. “ let hys clothyng be humyle and not curius. . . . and yf he wyll of devosyon were next hys flesh a cylyce it ys laufull.” he was to wear plain shoes without hose, or else go barefoot. in his coat or kirtle, girded with a cord, he slept, and he was at length buried in it: “ and he shall be graved whan he ys ded in hys habyt as he gothe ”. the habit varied as considerably as did the office. it usually consisted of loose garments of sober hue, caught up with a cord. a wall-painting at rampton shows a hermit with sleeved surplice, tippet, and skull-cap. another type of dress is shown in fig. 6. there was no regulation dress for the anchoress. against the winter she was to have a pilch, a thick garment made of skins; and in summer, a kirtle with a black mantle. the head-covering was not to be of fine texture or varied colour, but of a mean black. if the ladies dispensed with wimples, they should have capes and veils. clothing was to be simple and serviceable. “ because no man seeth you, nor do ye see any man, ye may be well content with your clothes, be they white, be they black; only see that they be plain, and warm, and well-made—skins well tawed; and have as many as you need, for bed and also for back.” underclothing was to be of coarse linen or woollen material. shoes must be thick and warm, but in summer recluses were at liberty to go barefoot. ’ officium, york breviary (s.s., 75), app. v. concerning the body 107 they might wear no ring, brooch, ornamented girdle, or gloves. the male anchorite probably wore some clerical garb. symon, of allhallows, london wall, is represented in the frontispiece of his book as a priest (fig. 7). offerings were sometimes made to the recluse in the form of garments. wulfric of haselbury, scantily clad in his chilly cell, received a welcome gift from bristol:— “the man of god was very frequently benumbed with extreme cold, to such a'degree that a certain man from the neighbourhood of bristol, being warned by a vision, sent to him a new covering of fox skin wherewith he should cover himself. for the lord said to him in a vision : ‘ my servant wulfric is tortured with cold, but thou, indeed, art pleasantly warm; get up as quickly as possible and send this covering with all speed ’. and so it was done.” but mantles which men might make, mice might mar. as wulfric sat one day in his cell, he observed that his cloak had been gnawed by a mouse. “ may the mouse perish which has thus presumed to damage my mantle ! ” the words were no sooner uttered than, behold, the creature, starting out from the wall, fell dead at the feet of the recluse. seized with com¬ punction, wulfric called the priest and humbly confessed that his thoughtless curse had slain the mouse. the priest ex¬ claimed in reply; “would that a like anathema might utterly exterminate all the mice of this district! ” by a will, dating from the time of king john, a super-tunic of bijie was left to dame lucy, who was enclosed in the church¬ yard of bury st. edmunds. the anchorite of colemans church in london received from a canon of st. martin’s two fur garments. geoffrey le scrope made a substantial legacy to the anchorite of holy trinity, lincoln, namely, 20s.^ a tunic furred with calaber with a double hood, and a cloak furred with gris. a priest of lynn made a grim gift to the anker in the friary (i 504) ;— “ i beqwethe to the seid fryer william a blak vestment and a blak clothe steynyd with an ymage of deth. and i wyll the sam cloth be set vpon my hers in the day of my buryyng. item i beqwethe to the seid fryer william a red cloth that lyeth on my bed.” ' ^ wills, bury st. edmunds (camden s.), 105. io8 hermits and anchorites of england about the recluse’s toilet a word must also be said. some of the extreme ascetics with their unchanged haircloth-shirts seem almost to have gloried in dirt and squalor. so absorbed were they in an ideal of holiness that they ignored the practical needs of the poor body. it was well that rigid discipline in¬ cluded immersion in cold water. the rules gave no encour¬ agement to personal neglect. one directs: “wash your¬ selves as often as ye please another quotes a saying of st. bernard: “ i haue louyd pouerte but y neuer louyd fylth”.^ hi. property to forsake all was the initial step of the hermit’s career. the rhyming chronicler puts typical words into the mouth of ive, the companion of robert of knaresborough :— i wyll forsake all thatt i se fadyr and frend and folowe the gold and goods ryches and rentt towne and toure and tenement playng and prosperyte in pouerte for to won wyth the. but although the recluse’s renunciation of the world in¬ cluded houses and land, fresh grants were made to him for his maintenance. st. robert gave up his own inheritance; but, as hermits, both he and his successor, ive, came to possess considerable property, held in trust for the relief of the poor. the solitary was sometimes the owner, but usually the life-tenant, of the cell. he frequently granted it to some religious house, ,e.g. geoffrey, hermit of mosehude (a place not identified), granted his house there and all his possessions to the knights templars. personal property he might dispose of at will. robert, an inmate of the cripplegate cell, london, was ministered to during the last months of his life by william de wyntreburn, who received by the old man’s will the sum of soj*., three messuages, and sundry small rents. william, hermit of linstock, owned six cattle and a little money. he bequeathed two cows to carlisle cathedral, in the precincts of which he wished to be buried ; another he devised to his parish church of stanwix ; the price of a fourth was to be divided amongst the priests and clerks who should conduct ^ bristol ms.; cf. bodl. ms., “ paupertatem dilexi, sordes nunquam”. concerning the body 109 his obsequies. twenty shillings was to be expended on the bridge over the eden, and a few legacies were made to friends. hermits were, as we have seen, sometimes married men, or widowers, and family claims were not disallowed. there is a reference in the bridlington cartulary (c. 1220) to the hermit’s wife, and also to their son who did homage for his father’s land at bridlington. thomas wylkys, of ewelme, left 20s. to his daughter. simon cotes (p. 63), whose will is witnessed by his son, left to him all moveable goods; but his house and chapel at westbourne, built upon ground which he had inherited, he bequeathed for the use of a successor who should carry on his work. whilst the hermit might own his three acres and a cow, the anchorite might not possess such things as would tend to draw the thoughts outward. enclosed women were warned against becoming absorbed in household cares. there are women, says aelred, who are busy gathering worldly goods, cattle and wool, and in multiplying pence and shillings. they arrange food for their beasts, and at the year’s end they reckon their number and price; then follow buying and selling, which lead to covetousness and avarice.^ the ancren riwle is still more explicit:— “ ye shall not possess any beast, my dear sisters, except only a cat. an anchoress that hath cattle appeareth as martha was, a better housewife than anchoress ; nor can she in any wise be mary, with peacefulness of heart. for then she must think of the cow’s fodder, and of the herdsman’s hire, flatter the heyward, defend herself when her cattle is shut up in the pinfold, and moreover pay the damage. christ knoweth, it is an odious thing when people in the town complain of anchoresses’ cattle. if, however, any one must needs have a cow, let her take care that she neither annoy nor harm any one, and that her own thoughts be not fixed thereon.” trading is condemned: “ an anchoress that is a buyer and seller, selleth her soul to the chapman of hell”. she was for¬ bidden to gather alms in order to give away. the alms of visitors or passers-by were dropped into a box placed near the cell; langland says that “ at ancres there a box hangeth”. hoccleve refers {c. 1411) to this popular form of largesse:— ^bodl. ms., 423, f. 178. no hermits and anchorites of england to every chirche and recluse of the toune bad hem eeke of golde geue a quantite.^ the hermits and anchorites of lynn were regularly assisted from the funds of the trinity gild. among the expenses in¬ curred at john paston’s burial in 1466 was an alms of ^od. to the ancors of carrow by norwich. small annuities were some¬ times provided. in the schedule of charges incumbent on st. alban’s abbey in keeping the anniversary of humphrey, duke of gloucester, occurs this entry : “ item to a ankres at sent petur chirch, a nother at sent mich, the seid day, yerly, to euerych xxd.'\ alms were frequently bestowed upon these religious women of st. albans.^ when the prioress of st. mary de pre was paying certain estate-charges, she set aside a few pence by way of charity (1487-9) ; “ item spente at the ankers of seint petres whan i sawe the fermours indentures of bemond iiijc/.”. when passing through the town in 1502 elizabeth of york gave 3^'. 4d. to the anchoress of st, peter’s, and the following year, 26,^. sd. to the anchoress of st. michael’s. during the fifteenth century, alms were so liberally bestowed that money became a snare. a harleian ms. (2372) of that period shows that the anchoress was tempted to live in com¬ fort, to receive poor folks and pilgrims, and to support needy cousins ;— “ some recluses in these dayes [dwell] nat in wildernesses but in the citees that they may there receyue large almes wher of thei may holde greet meynee [i.e. company] and helpe and promote more largely her kyn and her freendes than thei myghte in othir estat and lyue more delicatly than thei were likly haue doon in seculer plyt.” ithough the ancren riwle speaks disparagingly of “ rich anchoresses that are tillers of the ground, or have fixed rents,” the recluse did, for the sake of maintenance, retain houses and lands and receive rent for them. not infrequently she made over her property to a religious house, accepting in lieu thereof a definite allowance for life ; thus the abbey of oseney made yearly payments to childlove, anchoress of faringdon. mar¬ garet, of st. edward’s, norwich, issued charters, sealed with her own seal, whereby she conceded land to langley abbey, 1 picyi plowman (e.e.t.s.) b., xv. 208 ; reg. of princes (e.e.t.s.), 156. ^ dugd., ii. 202 n.; iii. 360 ; for bequests see herts genealogist, i., ii. concerning the body 111 and the abbot in return granted her 6 s. a yeard if such agree¬ ments were not kept, a plea might be sent to the itinerant justices, or a petition lodged in chancery. the case of cecily, recluse of st. james’s, colchester, is entered on the assize roll (1272) ; the abbot of st. osyth’s, who had not fulfilled his promise to pay her an annual rent of five quarters of wheat, undertook to do so, and to pay arrears. aline of wigan fell on evil days. her benefactor. sir robert holand, being in¬ volved in the rebellion of 1321-2, forfeited his property; hence “ la povre recluse ” lacked the sum of '^od. which he had granted annually for her sustenance. aline, unable to obtain her allowance from john travers or john de lancastre, who had charge of the forfeited lands, at length appealed to the king for restitution. the law recognized the right of enclosed persons to hold property, if need be, and to defend it.^ the learned judge littleton, writing in the time of edward iv, declares that albeit the recluse could not leave his cell to ap¬ pear in court—“ for this kind of order always dwells separate and apart from civil life ”—yet he could appear by attorney, on the principle that “ inability suspends the operation of the law ”. ^ if the solitary fell into a condition of helplessness, the bishop constituted himself her guardian. when dame joan of blyth was weak and poverty-stricken, archbishop wich wane took her under his protection, and arranged for the administration of her affairs, lest she should suffer loss. “ she is now fallen into sickness, so that she scarcely possesses things needful for her bodily welfare, and has been obliged to give up those lawful occupations in which she formerly spent her time.” the archbishop deputed the vicar to look after his poor parishioner and her household, directing “that in all things both with regard to persons and goods, while she survives or when she is taken away from our midst, they be kept in all honesty and always treated with discretion, as we will that an account shall be required of you concerning the matter”. 1 b.m. add. ch. 14558, etc. 2 cf. case of w. lucas, who appealed in chancery for repayment of loan, c. welch, churchwardens^ accounts of allhallows, xxx., xxxi. ^ coke, littleton’s institutes, ed. butler, ii. 112 hermits and anchorites of england although goods and chattels could be disposed of at will, they seem usually to have been given for pious purposes. robert, the anchorite of hartlip, gave a silver chalice to the cathedral church of rochester. two enclosed monks of westminster abbey caused it to be enriched with paintings.^ brother john myrymouth spent 26^. zd. upon an altar-piece for st. benedict’s chapel. the more famous brother john london provided a painting above the altar of st. john baptist; he is also named among the benefactors of syon monastery. dame agnes vertesance, of st. michael’s church at st. albans, bestowed upon the shrine of st. alban a gold ring.^ an in¬ ventory of the goods of allhallows, london wall (1501) includes this item : “ agrett paxe with iij images of sylver by the gyfftt off the anker ”. successive recluses were liberal donors to the fabric fund. the sum of 4s. 6\d. was paid by “ the ankyr syr symon of the gaynes of a stande of ale whiche he gave to thecherche ”. on another occasion he gave 9^. 3<^., “ the gyft of dyuersse men and women of ther dewocion at dyuersse tymys ”. when a new aisle was being built, he lent 32i-., and gave 32^-., besides supplying the scaffolding.^ the treasures of the cell were usually of a devotional character, consisting of sacred vessels, rosaries, and relics. a set of beads {i par pater master geinsid de gete) was left to the anchorite of westminster by lord scrope ; another, of mestylden gauded with calsedonys was given by a norwich citizen to the anker of the white friars. the relics of the parish church at tavistock included “ a little cross of silver, the gift of john armytt in which is a piece of the holy cross”; and there the anniversary of the donor, john the hermit, was kept. the possessions of the solitary might, however, be given to friends, or even sold. sir brian stapelton owned a silver basin with an image of our lady in alabaster which had belonged to the anker of hampole.^ another testator (john de dodyngton, canon of exeter and rector of crewkerne) mentions in his will “ a cup with a cover, formerly the pro¬ perty of one stephen, a recluse” (1400).^ thomas coke, the 1 stanley, memorials, ed. 1868, p. 609. cott. nero d., 7, f. 137. 3 welch, churchwardens'' accounts, 52, 56-9, 68. ^test. ebor. (s.s. 4), i. 199. ^ ex, reg. stafford, 379. 1 . » i j y • •^ ■ f'x; j \ t • s •s t • i i i i" / ■ f pla i e .\.\.\ i'o.mi! rodkk and skiar, hkrmi'i's (in' tra 1)1 ri( )\) concerning the body 113 anchorite-priest, dwelling in kexby chapel, sold a missal and a great portifer to sir thomas ughtred, who agreed that the priest should have them in his keeping during his lifetime. after the death of margaret, anchoress of richmond, a dis¬ pute arose respecting the disposal of her property (1490). it was settled that, after her debts were paid and the anchorage (which belonged to the burgesses) repaired, the remainder of her goods should go to the grey friars, from whom she had received the habit; whilst the effects of her successor were to pass to easby abbey. in some cases the enclosed person was able to make a will, witness that of katherine dytton, of st. albans (1437).^ iv. burial in early days it was customary for the cell to become the tomb of its tenant, whether hermit or anchorite. we read in the lives of bartholomew, godric, and robert how each was buried in his oratory in a tomb prepared by himself, which had for years served as a solemn reminder of the end. sometimes, however, the solitary was buried elsewhere. tynemouth priory claimed the body of henry of coquet. when roger of markyate died, his body was borne to st. alban’s abbey and was placed with honour “ in an arched tomb built into the south wall of the church, hard by the choir of the brethren ”. in the same spot sigar of northaw was also buried. when henry iii visited st. albans in 1257, he gave offerings at various shrines, including rich cloths for that of these famous monks.^ over the recess of their traditional tomb (plate xxx) is the inscription:— vir domini uerus iacet hie heremita rogerus et sub eo clarus mentis heremita sigarus. human remains have frequently been found on the sites of hermitages. in the hermitage field at tarporley, the plough turned up a stone coffin containing a skeleton. local tradition tells of a burial-ground at oath farm, in or near a field called chapel five acres. in 1328 the sick recluse of oath petitioned that when he died he might not be buried 1 somerset house, reg. “ stoneham,” f. 31 b. ^gest. abb. i., loi, 105, 184; y. amund., i., 433. 8 114 hermits and anchorites of england in his cell as the custom was, but in aller churchyard or else¬ where. during the fifteenth century it seems to have become usual to bury the hermit in his parish church or in any other cemetery that he willed. one of the hermits of newbridge in ickburgh desired to be interred in munford church porch, another at the chapel-in-the-fields, norwich. robert leake of blythburgh was buried before the font. there is at wellingham a monu¬ mental brass inscribed hiciacetenim thomas leeke herernita ; this is clearly the memorial of thomas leek who at the be¬ ginning of the sixteenth century was hermit of weasenham, close to wellingham. in the case of the enclosed person, the tomb was sometimes prepared before his admission to the cell, and lay ever open to his gaze (p. 96). the same custom prevailed when the ancren riwle was written. the anchoress was bidden not only to meditate upon death but actually to scrape up earth every day out of the pit. “ she . . . hath her death always, in a manner, before her eyes.” at the close of the fourteenth century, one of the westminster recluses was buried in the oratory adjoining his chamber, in a leaden coffin with iron clasps. the keeper of westminster palace suborned a plumber of the convent, who, after flinging the mortal remains into the well in the cloister-cemetery, removed the coveted chest to the palace. divine retribution fell on both partakers in this act of sacrilege. few churches have preserved monuments of the solitaries who dwelt under their shadow. the tradition that lady lauretta was buried at hackington church under the large stone on the altar steps is recorded by hasted. there is at st. john’s, lewes, the curious memorial of magnus the dane.^ the inscription (which is supposed to date from the thirteenth century) is built into the wall on fifteen stones arranged in a double semi-circle. clauditur hic miles, danorum regia proles; mangnus nomen el, maivgn^ nota progenei : deponens mangnum, se moribus induit agnum, prepete pro vita, fit parvulus arnacorita which may be rendered : “ here is enclosed a soldier of the ^ m. a. lower, hht. of sussex, ii. 25. concerning the body 115 royal race of denmark, whose name magnus bespeaks his noble lineage: laying aside his high estate, he assumes the demeanour of a lamb, and exchanges a life of ambition for that of a lowly anchorite in lower quinton church (gloucestershire) is the tomb of joan, lady clopton, who (from the use of the word clauditur in her monumental inscription) is supposed to have been enclosed there after the death of sir william clopton. the fine brass lies on an altar tomb at the east end of the south aisle. the costume shows the veiled head-dress with the barbe^ the sign of widowhood. in the chancel of faversham church is the brass of william thornbury, the vicar, who is said to have been preparing to become a recluse in 1472. the meaning of the inscription is obscure, but it seems probable that he retired to live in solitude in his “ chapel and parvise situated in the corner of the churchyard,” described in his will.^ the year 1846 saw the death of two recluses at allhallows, london wall. the sum of 6 s. %d. was paid by the church¬ wardens “ ffor the berynge of the nue ancker, that is to say, for the grete bell for his knyll ”. 1 see arch. cant. xi. 26-g, plate, p. 27. x. trial and temptation lord, for thy great pain have mercy on my little pain.— margery kempe of lynn. he said not: “thou shalt not be tempested, thou shalt not be travailed, thou shalt not be afflicted,” but he said: “ thou shalt not be overcome — julian of norwich. t here are times when the human heart longs to escape from the overwhelming evil and sorrow of the world. the psalmist yearned for the wings of the dove that he might escape from the tempest and wander far off and remain in the wilderness. obeying this impulse, world-weary souls have oftentimes fled to some remote spot as to a place of refuge. the hermits have been stigmatized as weak and morbid persons who sought retirement in order to avoid the struggles of life ; but, in truth, the very object of the true solitary when he set his face toward the wilderness was to enter into fierce con¬ flict with the tempter. “the fiend tempteth much those who lead a solitary life, for envy that he beareth them : but he is there always overcome. for our lord himself standeth by them in the fight, and emboldeneth them to resist strongly, and giveth them of his strength.” the desert, then, was a place for combat and conquest— not “ a retreat for the feeble, but a training-place for the strong”.^ so terrible was the warfare, that raw recruits were not permitted to engage in it; they had first to prove them¬ selves disciplined soldiers of christ. st. benedict, himself an anchorite, ordains thus in his rule :— “the second kind [of monks] are the hermits, that is, settlers in the wilds, who, not in the first fervour of religious life, but after pro¬ bation in the monastery, have learned by the help and experience of others to fight against the devil, and going forth well armed from the ^ farrar, saintly workers, 51, 116 pl a te jcxxr ukrm rr i'km i' l'ki) liv 'i'hk dkvii. trial and temptation 117 ranks of their brethren to the single-handed combat of the wilderness, are able without the support of others to fight by the strength of their own arm and the help of god against the vices of the devils and their evil thoughts.” the same ideal of spiritual warfare inspired the recluse in england. cuthbert, even in the monastery, would withdraw to the most secluded spot, there to contend with the invisible adversary; and, when he went to fame, he ousted “ that wicked enemy with all his followers ”. nearly seven centuries later, another northumbrian hermit retired to norham, that there, apart from the turmoil of men, he could fight with the old enemy. indeed, the reality of the personality of the devil was so strong to the minds of men like cuthbert, guthlac, roger, godric, robert, and richard, that they seemed them¬ selves—like anthony of egypt—to have actual conflicts with demons, whose insults and attacks are described at length in the lives of these saints. the inexperienced solitary was warned against the snares of the devil :— “ account no vision that ye may see, waking or sleeping, or in a dream, to be anything but an illusion, for it is one of his stratagems. he hath often thus deceived wise men of holy and pious life, as him . . . whom he made to believe that he was an angel, and of his own father that he was the devil, and made him kill his father.” the allusion here is to the popular allegory of the pilgj'im. the tempter “full of fetheres bryght and clere ” went to a cer¬ tain hermit in the desert, bidding him beware of satan who would assail him on the morrow in the likeness of his father. thus counselled, “ this innocent, this sely man ” started up anon, and took a knife and slew the old man (plate xxxiy richard the hermit warns his solitary friend margaret against the quaint and subtle temptations of the fiend. he relates the story of an anchoress to whom the evil one often came in the form of a good angel, saying that he was come to take her to heaven. overjoyed, she told this to her shrift father, who, doubting the vision, counselled her to bid the angel show her the blessed virgin. at her request, he showed her the fairest woman that might be ; but when she knelt and 1 lydgate’s translation. b.m. cotton. tiberius a., vii. f. 56, go. ii8 hermits and anchorites of england said ave maria^ the fair figure vanished. richard himself was specially anxious to help recluses and others who were vexed by evil spirits. he was once summoned to a lady’s death-bed, whence, by means of prayer and holy water, he ejected a multitude of horrid demons.^ the mediaeval belief in daemonology was of a highly superstitious character, and the terror of death was enhanced by the thought that devils and angels were wrestling for the departing soul. the apparition sometimes assumed human shape. to robert of knaresborough, much tried with “imps and war lows,” the devil appeared as a lad gaping and grinning at him ; but the sturdy saint took his staff and beat “ sir gerrard ” soundly.2 to the sick emma, he seemed to take the form of a physician, who desired to touch her person and prescribe a cure ; but the holy woman exorcised him by the sacred spell verbum caro factum est? the subjection of the body was the lifelong labour of recluses. the seriousness of the struggle is shown by the extreme measures devised by way of training. wulfric, for example, “ used to mortify his members with much fasting, and bring them under control by toil of vigils, so that his flesh scarcely hung on his bones”. he and certain other cham¬ pions of the ascetic life, were clad not only in spiritual but material armour. night and day the iron habergeon pressed the rough hair-shirt upon the emaciated frame. when wul¬ fric, having worn out one penitential suit, obtained a new one from sir william fitzwalter, its length impeded his kneeling. the knight offered to send the coat of mail to london to be shortened, but the anchorite bade him in god’s name take a pair of shears and cut it. whilst he hesitated, thinking the good man mad, wulfric brought shears out of the house, and, having drawn a thread through the rings of the chain-armour to mark where it should be cut, he placed it in the window before the knight, saying : “ be steadfast, and fear not. i go to pray to my lord about this matter ; meanwhile do you set about it confidently.” the two warriors were now busily occu 1 c. horstman, r. rolle, i. 12, 13; offieiiiniy col. 798-g. " godric also had nicknames for his tormentors, viz., carcaueresard, corin brand, ^ lanercost chr. (maitland club), 185. trial and temptation 119 pied, the one in praying, the other in cutting. their work prospered, and the iron seemed like a linen texture. amazed, sir william fell at wulfric’s feet, but he raised him and bade him tell no man. such things, however, cannot be hid, and the fame of the wonder-worker traversed the whole realm. “ from that time the man of god, without any shears, with his own weak fingers, but with no less faith, distributed rings of the coat of mail to heal the diseases of all who asked it of him in charity.” godric wore the lorica for fifty years. indeed, he wore out three in succession, the metal rings of which were treasured as relics. another ascetic practice was that of standing in cold water for hours, sometimes throughout the night. godric often stood in a hollowed rock in the icy waters of the wear, or descended into a tub sunk in the floor of his oratory. such being likewise wulfric’s habit, it is not surprising to learn that he was wont to suffer torture with the cold (p. 107). nor was the anchoress less ready to endure almost incon ceivable misery. christina was shut into the corner of a hut, huddled up on the bare floor. the door was so fastened that she could not herself open it, and she was released once a day, at dusk :— “ here the handmaiden of christ sat crouching on the hard cold stone. . . . oh, what discomfort she there endured from heat and cold, hunger and thirst, and daily fasting! the place was too narrow for her to wear the clothing needful for cold weather, whilst in the heat this close-fitting closet allowed her no refreshment.” the description of physical agony is too painful to repeat, and “ to all these sufferings were added many and terrible diseases”. roger, her spiritual father, was remarkable for his asceticism. william of malmesbury says that he led an austere life, “ seldom heard of in our times ” {c. 1125). he had been on pilgrimage to the holy sepulchre, where he resolved upon a life of sacrifice and self-abnegation. the ardent receptive nature of his young disciple led her to emulate his austerities. after she had endured much suffering for over four years, a vision of comfort was vouchsafed to her. one fairer than the sons of men appeared, bringing a golden cross. he bade her take up this cross, as all must needs do who 120 hermits and anchorites of england would fain go to jerusalem; but he promised that she should not bear it long. when christina told this vision to roger, he wept for joy, saying in the vulgar tongue; “rejoice with me, myn gode sonendayes doghter (that is, my good daughter of the lord’s day) for your tribulation will shortly be ended ” : and so it came to pass. roger, christina, and wulfric, godric and bartholomew, all lived in the twelfth century. when the ancren riwle was compiled (early in the thirteenth century, as is supposed) there were still persons performing similar penances :— “i know a man who weareth at the same time both a heavy cuirass and haircloth, bound with iron about the middle too, and his arms with broad and thick bands, so that to bear the sweat of it is severe suffering; he fasteth, he watcheth, he laboureth, and, christ knoweth, he complaineth and saith that it doth not oppress him, and often asketh me to teach him something wherewith he might give his body pain ... i know also a woman of like mind who suffereth little less. and what remaineth but to thank god for the strength that he giveth them ? ” although the compiler of the rule could not but admire their courage, he did not commend their practice as a pattern for other recluses. those who have not physical strength to fast, keep vigil, endure cold, and such other hardships, as many can bear and many cannot, may very well be excused, and please god with less. he forbids the misguided self-torture practised by the great ascetics:— “ wear no iron, nor haircloth, nor hedgehog-skins; and do not beat yourselves therewith, nor with a scourge of leather thongs, nor leaded; and do not with holly nor with briars cause yourselves to bleed without leave of your confessor; and do not, at one time, use too many flagellations.” their food had seemed to him less than was fitting, and he bids them fast no day upon bread and water without per¬ mission. for the devil craftily suits the temptation to the nature of the recluse ; knowing, therefore, that he cannot make this one sin through gluttony, “he incites her to so much ab¬ stinence that she is rendered the less able to endure fatigue in the service of god, and leads so hard a life, and so torments her body that her soul dieth ”. the night’s rest must not be trial and temptation i2i neglected; “ in bed, as far as you can, neither do anything nor think, but sleep”. foolhardiness concerning health is sternly condemned. “ sickness is a fire which is patiently to be endured—sickness which god sends; but not that which some catch through their own folly.” richard the hermit also writes against self-neglect. with him it was a matter of personal experience, he having frequently been so exhausted by abstinence as to suffer excruciating head¬ ache. the tempter, he says, sometimes entices thus: “ eat little, drink less, reck not of sleep, wear the hair and the habergeon, so that there be none that pass thee in penance ”. this so enfeebles them that they cannot love god as they should. he reckons it no virtue but a sin to withhold neces¬ saries from the body. the young anchoress should eat and drink, better or worse, as it comes; when she is proved, and knows herself and god better than she did, she may take to more abstinence. the ascetics sought to discipline themselves until all the desires or shrinkings of nature were changed. thus margery kempe so dwelt upon the thought of christ’s passion that all pain was transformed “ in the sight of the soul ”. she saw christ in every sufferer and “ she had great mourning and sorrowing that she might not kiss the leper when she met them in the way, for the love of our lord : which was all contrary to her disposition in the years of her youth and prosperity, for then she abhorred them most ”. she even desired pain for herself, but it was revealed to her that inward communion was better than any outward observance: “ daughter, if thou wear the habergeon or the hair, fasting bread and water, and if thou saidest every day a thousand pater nosters, thou shalt not please me so well as thou dost when thou art in silence, and suffereth me to speak in thy soul it was for strict, self-controlled recluses of this kind, who were inclined to excessive penance, that both the ancren riwle and form of living were written. there were others, how¬ ever, who considered comfort and health overmuch and raised objections to discipline. “ my dear sir,” one of them is heard to say, “ is it wisdom now for a man or woman thus to afflict ^ treatise of contemptation^ ed. e. g. gardner, see p. 178. 122 hermits and anchorites of england themselves ? ” but the writer of the rule replies that christ’s followers must surely imitate him in suffering ; and he quotes from the earlier rule to enforce the lesson that not without bodily discipline can purity be maintained:— “ let not any one handle herself too gently, lest she deceive herself. she will not be able, for her life, to keep herself pure, nor to maintain herself aright in chastity without two things, as st. ailred wrote to his sister. the one is, giving pain to the flesh by fasting, by watching, by flagellations, by wearing coarse garments, by a hard bed, with sickness, with much labour. the other thing is the moral qualities of the heart, as devotion, compassion, mercy, pity, charity, humility, and other virtues of this kind. . . . yet many anchoresses, more is the harm, are of such fleshly wisdom, and so exceedingly afraid lest their head ache, and lest their body should be too much enfeebled, and are so careful of their health, that the spirit is weakened and sickeneth in sin.” one fault to which solitary women were prone was that of sitting too long at the parlour window. “ wherefore, my dear sisters, love your windows as little as possible; and see that they be small,—the parlour’s smallest and narrowest.” within the shutter was a heavy curtain bearing on both sides “ the white cross appropriate to white and unstained maiden purity, which requires much pains well to preserve ”. convent bred or sheltered in her own home, the inexperienced inmate of the cell found herself exposed to new temptations. the extreme monotony made her yearn for diversion and excite¬ ment ; hence the warnings of aelred {cap.vl.). danger might arise from that old woman, who, hoping for alms, comes as a messenger, and whispers soft words in her ears. bad women will come as well as good. settling down before the window they utter a few pious phrases and then pass to secular matters and even weave love-tales : thus they drive away from the recluse almost all sleep. bearing in mind that she was an anchoress, “ a woman in whom such confidence is put,” she was to keep a strict watch over herself, lest she should bring reproach upon her holy calling: “ for who can with more facility commit wickedness than the false recluse?” constant vigilance was needed. “ surely our foe, the warrior of hell, shoots, as i ween, more bolts at one anchoress than at seventy and seven secular ladies.” hers was by no means one great renunciation trial and temptation 123 followed by years of freedom from tribulation, as was pointed out by her sympathetic spiritual guide:— “ an anchoress thinks that she shall be most strongly tempted in the first twelve months . . . and when, after many years, she feels them so strong, she is greatly amazed, and is afraid lest god may have quite forgotten her, and cast her off. nay! it is not so. in the first years, it is nothing but ball-play.” for the young and feeble are spared at first, and drawn out of this world gently and with subtlety; thus are they gradu¬ ally taught to fight and to suffer want. secret faults, such as spiritual pride and a desire for praise, were to be shunned :— “ for the sorcerer would fain cajole you, if he might, and with flattery render you perverse, if ye were less gentle and docile. there is much talk of you, how gentle women ye are; for your goodness and nobleness of mind beloved of many; . . . having, in the bloom of your youth, forsaken all the pleasures of the world and become anchoresses.” richard rolle alludes to the temptation of ostentatious piety: “ men that come to thee, they love thee, for they see thy great abstinence . . . but i may not love thee so lightly for aught that i see thee do without ”. the prefatory note to the sarum office strikes a note of warning against self-satis¬ faction, lest at the outset the person to be enclosed should imagine that he was being separated on account of merit, but rather, lest he should infect his fellow-men. he must consider himself as it were condemned for sin and committed to a soli¬ tary cell as to a prison. the much-tried anchoress was inclined to low spirits. she was therefore reminded that the lord would sometimes with¬ draw himself for her good—^like some fond mother who hides from her darling, and waits until he calls dmne ! dante ! when she leaps forth laughing and kisses away his tears. “ when two persons are carrying a burden, and one of them letteth it go, he that holdeth it up may then feel how it weigheth. even so, dear sister, while god beareth thy temptation along with thee, thou never knowest how heavy it is, and therefore, upon some occasion, he leaveth thee alone, that thou mayest understand thine own feeble¬ ness, and call for his aid, and cry aloud for him. if he delay too long, hold it up well in the meantime, though it distress thee sore.” 124 hermits and anchorites of england some of the sicknesses and sins of the solitary life were in¬ timately connected. indolence, languor, apathy, despondency —all arising from accidie, a besetting sin of the cloister—were not unknown to the recluse. doubtless, her mind became morbid and her nerves overwrought by the unintermittent strain of existence under conditions so unnatural ; this re¬ sulted in peevishness, and she was obliged to confess to having grumbled and having been of gloomy countenance. she was therefore counselled never to be idle, but to work, read, or pray, and be always doing something from which good may come. a tender leniency and strong commonsense are shown by the writer of the ancren riwle with regard to illness. reme¬ dies might be used, but over-anxiety was to be avoided, both because it was displeasing to god, and because “ we often dread a bodily disease before it come ”. in times of physical weakness, enclosed women ought to do nothing that might be irksome, but rather talk with their maidens, and divert them¬ selves together with instructive tales: “ye may often do so when ye feel dispirited, or are grieved about some worldly matter, or sick. thus wisely take care of yourselves . . . when ye feel any sickness, for it is great folly, for the sake of one day, to lose ten or twelve.” prudence was based on the highest motives. they were so to rest that long thereafter they might labour the more vigorously in god’s service. the infirm person was to shorten her devotions. “whoso is very ill, let her be free from the whole service, and take her sickness not only patiently, but right gladly, and all is hers that holy church readeth or singeth.” to learn to suffer, and to suffer well, was one of the chief ambitions of the anchoress. matilda, who was enclosed for sixteen years at wareham, was a signal example of unmur¬ muring patience. this stoical woman would not tolerate complaining in the cell, and when her handmaiden gertrude (afterwards her successor) was suffering agonies with toothache, matilda told her that she herself had uttered no word or groan even when her jaw had been in such a state of disease that it seemed to be breaking away.^ ^ b.m. cott. faust. b. iv (vita s. wulfrici), ii. f. 97. trial and temptation 125 in a life of untold hardship, the recluse must surely have fallen a ready prey to disease. one was unable to occupy her¬ self on account of failing eyesight, whilst another was a prisoner in herself through deafness. indeed, when we read of the ill health of joan of blyth (p. iii), of the paralytic seizures and consequent loss of speech suffered by margaret kirkby (p. 139), and of dame julian’s severe attack of sickness, we cannot but marvel that frail women were able thus to endure want and weakness. for this illness julian had longed and had definitely prayed, though she afterwards confessed: “ if i had wist what pain it would be, i had been loth to have prayed ”. she lay for several days in a helpless condition, and on the fourth night received the last rites of the church. during the succeeding three days she seemed to be at the point of death. some minute details of the illness are re¬ corded, as though they were fresh in the writer’s mind. “ the persons that were with me beheld me, and wet my temples ; and my heart began to comfort.” once, indeed, her mother, believing her to be dead, lifted her hand to close her eyes. when the priest came, with his acolyte, julian was unable to speak, but fixed her gaze upon the crucifix which he set before her. then sight began to fail, and it was dark about her and murky, as it had been night, save in the image of the cross. julian seemed to see and actually to share christ’s sufferings, and sank exhausted. but, suddenly, all the pain was taken away from her. “ i was brought to great rest and peace, without sickness of body or dread of conscience.” through this experience she gained a firmer faith : “ then saw i well, with the faith that i felt, that there was nothing betwixt the cross and heaven that might have distressed me ”. at the time of her illness, which occurred in 1373, julian was “ thirty winters old and a half”. she was still living in 1413, when she would be in her seventy-second year.^ “i saw,” she says in her revelations, “ that the age of every man shall be made known in heaven. . . . and specially the age of them that willingly and freely offer their youth unto god, passingly is rewarded and wonderfully is thanked ”. ^ blomefield seems to have read the date in the ms. as mccccxlij. the true reading is mccccxiij. see mr. harford’s introduction to comfortable words, p. 7; also mr. edmund gardner’s article on dame julian in the catholic cyclopedia. 126 hermits and anchorites of england the hermit’s venerable aspect was proverbial. it was not merely that hardship produced a premature appearance of great age, but the rigour of his life seems actually to have preserved his health and promoted longevity. hermits of england carried on the traditions of those of egypt, where paul had died at the age of 113 years, and was buried by anthony, who was already ninety. despite “ frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds,” the solitary “overpassed his days,” until he was indeed, as pictured by shakespeare, “ a withered hermit, five-score winters worn shortly before the norman conquest, three ancient anchor¬ ites were dwelling at evesham; basing had been in seclusion seventy-two years, but ^ifwinand wulsi no less than seventy five years. there were also three aged ascetics in the twelfth century. wulfric lived to be “full of days”. bartholomew enjoyed good health throughout almost the whole of his sojourn of forty-two years at fame:— “ he was so strong and in such full possession of his powers that his face was always cheerful and full of the beauty of bright colour, so that even when he was following a course of the sharpest fasting, and neglected all care of his body, any one would think that in all respects he fared delicately bartholomew retained all his faculties to the end, but in his last days he suffered from an internal abscess, haemorrhage, and heart disease. turning to godric, “ the athlete of christ,” who passed sixty years at finchale, we marvel, with charles kingsley, “not only at the man’s iron strength of will, but at the iron strength of constitution which could support such hardship, in such a climate, for a single year ”} the weather¬ beaten old sailor-hermit was bedridden for nearly eight years, and unable even to turn on his side without help. how pathetic, and yet how striking, a picture the vener¬ able solitary presented! in his earlier days the famous anchorite of westminster had been the counsellor of kings (p. 154):— “ he had reached the extremity of age allowed to man, even, it was said, his hundredth year. for sixty years he had been immured. those who conversed with him (but of late his discourse was wild) ^ the hermits, 311. i < / i y’* « i / \ * r r (>< rla tk x.v.vi/ i’he crucifix, cratcliff trial and temptation 127 saw through an iron grating a long, bent figure, with white hair and white beard reaching to his waist. his face was like the face of some corpse which had escaped corruption—so thin, so white, so sunken it was ; but for the gleaming of his eyes one would have thought him the figure of death as he is painted in the cloister of paul’s.” ^ the chronicler also gives an impression of the spiritual strength of the veteran. “ formerly he would recount engagements with devils . . . but of late the devils being routed, he was left to his meditations . . . and for the last year or two his soul being rapt, his voice spoke only words uncertain.”^ from first to last, as we have seen, the mystic was waging war with demons. to strive to dwell in thought solely upon the invisible was a severe strain upon the mind. some of his fightings and fears were the result of self-repression and shat¬ tered nerves ; some apparitions were hallucinations or feverish dreams. nevertheless, the indomitable will of these men and women command admiration. we see in them not feebleness but fortitude. they lived a life of unflinching sacrifice—a life typified by the nakedness of the cell with its dominating cruci¬ fix (plate xxxii). voluntarily they stripped themselves of the natural joys of life. patiently they persevered in hardness of living and unremitting moral effort. contemporary writers witness to the reality of their discipline. langland says ;—^ to prey ere and to penaunce * putten heom monye, for loue of vr lord • liueden ful harde, in hope for to haue ' heuen-riche blisse ; as ancres and hermytes * that holdeth hem in heore celles. and the ascetics themselves testify that they found a rich recompense in thus faithfully performing in what they con¬ ceived to be their duty. “ full swete melody makis mery the solitary man,” says the hermit of hampole. “in the end after long tpil. he giveth them sweet rest, here, i say, in this world, before they go to heaven ; and then the rest seemeth so good after the labour.” so writes, out of her own experience, the anchoress of norwich. ^ this description may be compared with sven hedin’s affecting account of a tibetan lama, who died, within living memory, after being immured for sixty nine years. ^ given on the authority of sir w. besant, see p. 155, n. 2 piers plowman (e.e.t.s. 28), text a. prol., 25-8. xl human intercourse let him never be alone, if he can conveniently have with him a companion or servant .—de vita hereniitarum. so ready and so buxom be thou in will for to speak with thine even-cristen when he cometh to thee; for thou knowst not what he is, nor why he cometh, nor what need he hath of thee, nor thou of him, till thou hast assayed.—w. hilton, how an anchoress shall behave her. 1 . companionship in the cell t he “solitary” was not condemned to a self-centred and self-sufficing life of utter separation and si¬ lence. companionship was permitted, and even encouraged, on the ground that to live entirely apart from human converse was positively dangerous to the soul. “ he thinks himself to be that which he is not; for this, indeed, is wont to happen to him who has not with him one who can test his work.” the rules therefore impress the advisability of fellowship with another of like mind and purpose. that of grimlaic has a clause xvil.) directing that never less than two or three be solitaries together. although enclosed in single cells, they could communicate through the window, and stir up one another in the service of god. guthlac formed one of a group of recluses who were in touch with one another. they included tatwine (p. 14) and ecgberht, cissa, and the clerks beccel and wilfrid. when a man became renowned for sanctity, others desired to dwell near him and emulate his manner of life. thus around roger were gathered five hermits and an anchoress (pp. 21-2). in cases of failing health, the services of a young disciple were sought. godric joined an aged monk at wolsingham. entering the hermit’s cave, he received the unexpected salutation, “ wel¬ come, brother godric ! ” to which—though as yet they were strangers—he replied : “ how dost thou fare. father aelric ? ” 128 human intercourse 129 they lived together for two years, and when aelric became feeble, godric waited on him and carried him about, and at length, fetched a priest to administer the last rites. at finchale godric in his turn was served by a young nephew ; and in his old age he had a priest living with him. in the same way, lucian the priest ministered to ernald the hermit at loughborough in wychwood forest. robert of knaresborough was joined by ive and by several servants, who shared his labours. the story of ive seems to show that even in the “ solitary ” life, two were better than one, for the strong would lift up his fellow. one day ive attempted to return to the world which he had renounced. in passing through the forest, however, he broke his leg with the bough of a tree, and fell into a ditch, where he sat cry¬ ing “ alas ! alas ! waloway! ” robert, supernaturally aware of what had happened, hastened thither, and not without mirth at his friend’s plight, pointed the moral: “ no man, having put his hand to the plough and looking back, is fit for the king¬ dom of god”. robert then blessed his leg and bade him stand. the two hermits returned to knaresborough, and continued to live together until robert’s death, when ive received his last benediction and became his successor. brethren, however, did not always dwell together in unity. the solitaries of fame and coquet had their trials in the way of uncongenial companionship. arriving at fame, bartholo¬ mew found the cell already occupied. aelwin was much annoyed, and would fain have cast out the intruder; he en¬ deavoured to excite him to anger, but bartholomew would not sin with his lips, and bore with patience aelwin’s perpetual nagging. when aelwin perceived that persecution availed nought, he retired and left bartholomew alone. bartholomew himself had afterwards to suffer a like trial. the new-comer was prior thomas, who, having been deposed from his office at durham, was seeking seclusion. during years of solitude bartholomew had acquired certain habits which unfitted him for society ; these he gave up, even changing his hair-shirt out of consideration for his companion. but there were limits to his complaisance. he was not prepared to linger over the pleasures of the table, such as they were, and thomas, who enjoyed a hearty meal, made painful insinuations, questioning 9 130 hermits and anchorites of england his motive in withdrawing so hastily. in such close quarters, familiarity without true fellowship became intolerable, and bartholomew at length retired to the monastery of durham. after he had remained there for a whole year, he was persuaded that it was his duty to return to the island. perhaps a little social intercourse had done good to the lonely monk, whilst an interval of unbroken solitude may have refreshed the harassed ex-prior, worn out with governing a large community. at all events, it proved on bartholomew’s return that a trans¬ formation had taken place, and henceforth the two men lived “ in complete tranquillity both of tongue and soul ”. a similar story is told of the relations between henry the hermit and the keeper of the island of coquet, with whom he had constant dealings, though probably they did not dwell together. this monk did not cease to attack henry daily with harsh and opprobrious words ; but at length, admiring his immense humility and holiness, he fell at his feet with tears, entreating forgiveness. henry raised him from the ground with joy of heart, and the two men became united in the bond of spiritual friendship. but friction did not always end in fellowship, as is shown by another northumbrian tale. a certain gilbert de nidden dale associated with a hermit called seman de botelesham. the latter was attacked by his companion, who beat him and left him on the moor for dead, taking away his clothes and a penny. gilbert fled, but was seized by an official and taken prisoner for the robbery. in the meantime the hermit had recovered, and the king’s servant caused him to behead with his own hands his former comrade, such being the custom in that wild border country when a man was caught red-handed. nor did the enclosed person necessarily live alone. wulfric, for example, seems to have had the company of brichtric (p. 74). richard le coupe of swepestone, priest, and geoffrey richard, layman, dwelt together in london in the churchyard of st. lawrence, jewry (1367).’ ela, the niece of walter, bishop of norwich, had companions at massingham. margaret and alice were anchoresses at st. olave’s, norwich. isabel and olive lived together at fordham. those for whom the ancren ^ reg. wykeham (hants rec, s.), ii. 122-3. human intercourse 131 riwle was written were three sisters—“ of one father and of one mother recluses had to avoid the pettiness, suspicion, and ill temper which a narrow life might foster. the above-men¬ tioned rule comments thus upon the ungenerous person who is not willing to share her good things: “ see, now, how different are the envious from our lord ! the anchoress who refused to lend a book to another had turned her eyes of faith very far from him.” a spirit of unity was to be cultivated: “ let your dear faces be always turned to each other with kind affection, a cheerful countenance, and gentle courtesy”. one must never heed a rumour whispered about another by the devil’s messenger, who would separate them by anger or envy. nevertheless, one sister should warn another sweetly and affectionately of anything that she does wrong, if she knows it with certainty; but the person who bears such a message must repeat it often before she go out to deliver it, that she may not report it otherwise, nor patch anything more upon it. the other sister should receive such admonition humbly and readily. should any resentment be caused, none ought to receive the blessed sacrament, nor even behold it, lest they should look with anger towards him who came down to earth to make peace. a peacemaker’s blessing is offered to the one who restores peace by taking the blame upon her¬ self, although the other might be more in fault. these pas¬ sages seem to show that the individuals composing the little community were living to some extent a separate life. it was customary for the enclosed person to have servants. loretta, countess of leicester (an elderly widow, p. 74) had a serving-man who was granted exemption from being put on juries, etc., during her lifetime. katherine, anchoress of st. michael’s church at st. albans, was attended by a certain joan gerard, and also by philip gerard (1424, 1433). the enclosed lady usually had a confidential companion. christina of markyate had her maid doet; nor is the faithful mabel unremembered in the story of katherine of ledbury (p. 75). the recluse’s attendant held a responsible post cecile, hand¬ maid of the anchorite at st. chad’s chapel, chester, appeared (probably to represent her mistress) as plaintiff in the court of piepoudre against several persons. if she were a suitable 132 hermits and anchorites of england person, she might even succeed her mistress. already familiar with the life, she might in turn be professed as an anchoress. an instance occurs early in the twelfth century at wareham (p. 124). agnes vertesance who, in 1424, was one of the companions of katherine dytton of st. albans, became her successor; she died in 1478, having spent at least fifty-four years in that cell by st. michael’s church.^ aelred describes the qualifications and duties of the waiting women :— “ first chese an honest anxient womman in lyvynge, no jangler, ne royler aboute, noo chider, noo tidynges teller, but such oon, that may have witnesse of hir good conversacyon and honesty. hir charge shal be to kepe thyn houshold and thy lyflod, to close thy dores, and to resceyue that shuld be resceyved, and to voide that shuld be avoided. under hir governaile shuld she have a yonger womman of age, to here gretter charges, in fettynge of wode and water, and sethynge, and greithynge of mete and drynke. and that she be ouerloked under gret awe.” ^ the ancren riwle ordained that the elder woman, who went out on business, should be very plain, whilst the younger one should generally stay within doors. the chapter “of domestic matters ” contains “ the rule concerning your maids,” which was to be read to them every week until they knew it well. it was imperative that they should be well looked after : “ for ye may be much benefited by them, and, on the other hand, made worse ”. there was a danger lest through them the lady might hear gossip : “ for people say of anchoresses that almost every one hath an old woman to feed her ears ”. it was, indeed, a common saying that “ from mill and from market, from smithy and from ancre-house, men bring tidings ”. when upon some errand, the women were to behave with propriety, and never linger or converse; even their attire should be such that it might be easily seen to what life they were dedicated. should they meet with annoyance when fetching their food, they must take it meekly : “be glad in your heart if ye suffer insolence from slurry, the cook’s boy, who washeth dishes in the kitchen ”. the maidens were to be considerate :— 1 b.m, cotton. nero. d. vii. f. 137. bodl. ms. 423 f. 179. vv r t . i r * i i .-.i pl a i e xxxiii kecluse ministers 'to wounded knkihts sir tkrckvai. \ istts a cel.i. thk kfx'ij'sk in ro.maxck human intercourse 133 “ let them, by all means, forbear to vex their mistress ; and whenever they do so, let them before they either eat or drink make obeisance on their knees . . . and say mea culpa ; and accept the penance that she layeth on them, bowing low. and let not the anchoress ever again thereafter upbraid her with the same fault, when vexed, except she soon afterwards fall into the same, but drive it entirely out of her heart.” the mistress, on her part, was to be affectionate and gentle, and seldom stern. “ it is right that they should both fear and love you ; but that there should be always more of love than of fear. thus it shall go well.” ii. intercourse with the world having considered the question of daily companionship, we turn to that of communication with the world outside. there was a great diversity of practice according to the char¬ acter and circumstances of the individual. his love for silent contemplation might grow with the exercise of it, and his life shrink into ever narrower isolation; or, full of human interests, he might be constrained to social service by some pressing call. st. cuthbert, as we have seen, passed through both these stages. it is significant that the island of fame had two buildings— the cell and the guest-hall. pilgrims and sailors alike found shelter in the house of hospitality by the seashore. long after the days of st. cuthbert, many persons crossed to fame to receive the help of bartholomew, or of aelric. bartholomew was equally ready for solitude or service. his bright, out¬ spoken, sympathetic manner attracted people. many were drawn to him by the report of his holiness, to whom he gave advice and consolation :— “troubled therefore by the throngs and crowds, and fearing lest their esteem should lead him into vanity, he proposed to be enclosed, so that in proportion as he cut himself off from the cares and gossip of men, he should grow nearer to god. but ... he continued ^ven to the end content with that measure of quiet which he had at first, following that word of wisdom of the apostle, who, when he had a desire to depart and be with christ, thought it needful for the welfare of many to remain in the flesh, choosing in his loving soul not that which was better for himself but for others.” 134 hermits and anchorites of england godric of finchale was an austere reserved man, and held no intercourse with strangers unless they had been recom¬ mended by the prior of durham. in the early years of his retirement he maintained strict silence, even to the extent of using a code of signs for purposes of communication; but he abandoned this practice. he was dutiful and affectionate to his family, several of whom followed him to finchale; namely, his mother, who died there, his brother, and his nephew. his sister burchwene lived the solitary life in a cell hard by his own, but falling ill she was nursed until her death in a hospital at durham. he was kindly to his servants, and was venerated by those who visited him. godric’s visitors were usually admitted to his little church, dedicated to st. john baptist; only a privileged few were ever allowed to enter his inner dwelling-place with its oratory of the blessed virgin. his friends included aelred, the saintly abbot of rievaulx, robert of newminster, cuthbert, prior of guisborough, william, bishop of durham; and his biographers. prior german and the monk reginald. the genial, generous robert of knaresborough was ever surrounded by a crowd of poor pensioners and pilgrims, for which he built a guest-house near his cell:— heghe and lawe vnto hym hyed in faith for to be edified. richard of hampole, too, was of a sociable disposition. when first the youth comes before us, at a crisis of his life, he was indeed silent. during the dinner to which he was bidden after his first sermon (p. i6l) “he was such a perfect keeper of silence that no word proceeded out of his mouth ”. when asked by sir john de dalton^ whether he were indeed the son of his familiar friend, william rolle, richard, fearing lest he should be hindered in his purpose, replied, “ perchance i am ” ; but he was afterwards prevailed upon to talk with his host. p'riendliness was, however, his leading characteristic : he would be all things to all men if he might thereby save ^ a certain john de dalton {rnilitis, armiger) and margery his wife, of kirkby misperton, are mentioned in 1371, when their son, john, was dealing with the property (final concords of lands, 44 edw. ill) bodl. ms. dodsworth, i. f. 505. r. rolle’s birthplace was thornton, probably thornton le dale, between pickering and kirkby misperton. human intercourse 135 some. it was his custom to go in and out of houses, and even to eat and drink with the people. his wanderings were so habitual that his biographer makes a kind of apology for him—lest he should be confounded with those roving hermits who were in ill-repute—and explains that he moved about in order better to edify the people. richard confesses that he was wont to go from place to place, and maintains that there is no harm in leaving the cell with good reason: “ cellis forsoth to leue for cause resonable, to harmetis is not ill, and eft, if it accorde, to the same to turn agayn some of the old fathers had done so, though they suffered man’s “ grutch ing ” for it. but richard himself speaks of “ rynnars aboute, that ar sclaunderes of hermyts”.^ langland, too, would give alms to some ancres and heremytes—“ but robert renne aboute shall nought have of mine according to more than one rule, the hermit ought not to go often about the country for his errands, but should send a servant, if he should have one, because by unlawful wandering or straying he might lose devotion by negligence. whilst the hermit might leave his dwelling and mix with men, the anchorite abode always in one place, and conversed only with those who came to his window. some considered it wrong for the enclosed person even to extend a hand out of the window for the purposes of healing. wechelen, the welsh recluse of llowes, was advised by cistercian monks not to put forth his hand to cure the blind, lame, and sick who resorted to him; but he was persuaded by the famous arch¬ deacon of brecknock to make use of his healing touch.^ wul fric is said to have exercised a similar power (p. 152). although recluses were permitted to speak at discretion, they bore the reputation of being taciturn; “ little will they speak ”. a sixteenth-century critic refers to the iron grating through which they peep “when they will vouchsafe to speak with any man at whose hand they hope for advantage”. silence, however, was by no means a thing to be condemned in one supposed to be dead to the world. many are the counsels how a recluse should speak, and when. only at col. 792-3; fire of love (e.e.t.s. 106), 32, 35. spiers plowman (e.e.t.s. 38), text b, pass. vi. 1 . 150. ^ giraldus cambr., opera (rolls, 21) i, 92. 136 hermits and anchorites of england stated hours was she permitted to talk with visitors, and even with her fellow-inmates. in lent she must be silent altogether, or if that were impossible, speak i seldom, with her confessor and her maidens only, unless some reverend person should come from afar. the anchoress was expected to confine her very thoughts within the cell. it was not enough to keep her body and limbs within walls whilst her mind and senses were frittered away by wandering thoughts, wasted with care and weariness, even stirred up by unworthy desires; or her tongue, maybe, ran idly to and fro the livelong day through streets and cities, market-places and fairs.^ she was therefore shielded from everything that could engross her mind or excite her emotions. she was not to become a teacher, almoner of the poor, or guardian of church property. aelred strictly forbids access to children, condemning a practice which he touchingly describes:— “ let not boys or girls approach thee. there are some recluses who undertake the teaching of girls and turn their cell into a school. she sits at the window and they settle down in the porch. she watches them one by one, and according as each behaves, now she is angry, now she laughs, now she threatens, now she beats them, now she coaxes them, now she kisses them, now calls a weeping child to come nearer to be beaten, she strokes her face, she draws up her head, and eagerly embracing her, calls her now daughter, now darling.” ^ the ancren riwle permits to the solitary woman at least a link with child-life. “ her maiden may, however, teach any little girl concerning whom it might be doubtful whether she should learn among boys, but an anchoress ought to give her thoughts to god only.” aelred says moreover: “ let not the poor cry out around the cell, nor orphans weep, nor widow lament”. if she ask how this can be prevented, he replies, that she must sit still, keep silence, and restrain herself until they depart worn out, perceiving that they will receive nothing. “ thou mayest ex¬ claim that this is cruel: but if thou hast aught besides food and clothing, thou art not a nun.” prayer and pity she ought to give, but not alms. ^ aelred, cap, ii. ibid. cap. vi. human intercourse 137 the canon formulated by st. richard of chichester (1246) ordains not only that recluses should have narrow and suitable windows, and avoid communication with persons concerning whom sinister suspicions might arise, but forbids that they be entrusted with the charge of vestments^ a similar warning occurs in the ancren riwle against the use of the cell as a depository of goods: “ neither receive under your care the church vestments, nor the chalice ... for oftentimes much harm has come of such caretaking”. the recluse’s one regular visitor was her father-confessor. if the cell were dependent upon some monastery, the abbot would appoint to that office. a secular chaplain nominated by the abbot said mass for the recluse of whalley and her two servants.^ when emma stapilton was professed as a carmelite anchoress, the provincial appointed as her advisers and pro¬ tectors the prior and subprior of norwich and three others of that convent.^ not infrequently the recluse held the bishop’s licence to select her own ghostly counsellor. the name of alice, anchoress of hereford, occurs amongst those to whom papal indults were granted to choose confessors, who should give them, being penitent, plenary remission at the hour of death.^ it was a matter of great importance what manner of person was sent to her, or summoned by her. the rules direct that the shrift-father be a priest of good life, prudent, and not young—“ not young of wit, nor yet foolish old men ”. without his direction, the recluse was advised to speak with no visitors, except a bishop, or abbot, or prior of high char¬ acter, and even then, it should be in the presence of some other person. she was bidden never to allow messengers to run to and from between her and any man under colour of charity or spiritual friendship, neither should she receive or send gifts and letters without leave. she was warned to accept “not so much as a race of ginger” from any man whom she distrusted. in conversation with visitors, the anchoress was to exercise restraint and discretion :— ^wilkins, concilia, i, 693. 2 towneley’s ms. transcripts from monastic cart., p. 151, penes w. farrar. ^ b.m. hark, i8ig, f. 197* [per rev. b. zimmerman]. ^ pap. lett., iii. 504. 138 hermits and anchorites of england “ when you have to go to your parlour window, learn from your maid who it is that is come ; for it may be some one whom you ought to shun. . . . say first, confiteor^ and then benedicite^ which he ought to say; hear his words and sit quite still, that when he parteth from you, he may not know either good or evil of you. . . . some one is so learned and of such wise speech, that she would have him to know it, who sits and talks to him and gives him word for word, and becomes a preceptor who should be an anchoress, and teaches him who is come to teach her; and would, by her own account, soon be celebrated and known among the wise. known she is well; for, from the very circumstance that she thinketh herself to be reputed wise, he understands that she is a fool. . . . for, at last, when he is gone away, he will say, ‘ this anchoress is a great talker many a recluse was perplexed because she could not pre¬ vent worldly people from coming and telling tales, sometimes of vanity. one woman confided her difficulty to a friend, probably walter hilton, who wrote a letter advising her how she should conduct herself. he tells her that intercourse ought to be a help, not a hindrance. although she ought not to go out of the house to seek occasion to do deeds of mercy, she should love her fellow-christians, and be ready to help them ; she must “ speke gudely, gladly, and mekely to thaim all ”. even should she be called away from her devotions to the visitor, let her not think that in so doing she is leaving god for the sake of any man. “ methinks not so in this case,” declares the writer, “ for if thou be wise, thou shalt not leave god but thou shalt find him and have him and see him in thine even-christian as well as in prayer—but in another manner thou shalt have him.” discretion was of course needful. if a man came to tell some trouble, suffer him to ease his heart. when he is done, comfort him gladly and charitably, but soon break off; should he then fall into idle tales of other men’s deeds, discourage him by answering shortly, and he will soon take his leave. if a man of holy church come, hear him in a lowly, reverent manner, but do not attempt to get to know him. it falls not to thee to reprove any for his faults ; when possible, however, profit him spiritually, if he will take it. “ and of all othir thyngs kepe silence als mykel as thou may.” ^ 1 hilton’s scale of perfection. the tract “ how an ancre should have her ” is also found in mss. ascribed to r. rolle, see horstman, i. 106-7. human intercourse 139 but in the excitement of receiving a great visitor, the anchoress did not always keep silence. the celebrated prior, called st. john of bridlington, went to see over the property of the monastery in richmondshire, and took this opportunity of visiting a certain recluse. the story, which occurs in detail in the saint’s life, is thus quaintly told by fuller :— \ “ going to view their lands in richmondshire, he gave a visit to a woman lately turnd an ancorist, and renowned for her holiness; she told him, that now her vision was out, who the night before dreamt that an eagle flew about her house with a label in his bill, wherein was written jesus is my love j ‘and you,’ saith she, ‘are the person who so honour him in your heart, that no earthly thing can distract you’. to whom our john returned: ‘i came hither to hear from you some saving and savoury discourse, but seeing you begin with such idle talk, farewell; ’ and so waved any further converse.” ^ the anchoress seldom received visitors within her cell. margaret kirkby, the devoted disciple of richard the hermit, lived at ainderby in richmondshire, twelve miles from the place where richard was then dwelling. receiving word that she was suffering from a terrible disease, and had been now speechless for thirteen days, he came to see her. he does not seem to have entered her house, however, in spite of their close friendship. much comforted by the sight of her teacher. dame margaret fell asleep at the window, and leaned upon him. she was seized with a convulsion and seemed to desire to break open the window; then she suddenly awoke, having recovered her power of speech. with fervent devotion she immediately burst forth in these words: gloria tibi dornine, and the blessed richard went on, qui natus est de virgine, and so forth. then he said : “ now speech is restored to thee, use it like a woman who talks sensibly the subject of hospitality is dealt with by aelred, who sets forth “that a recluse shulde not haue to do of hospitalyte anempst religious gestes, for it longeth not to hir”.^ guests ^ a popular religious watchword; chalices, seals, etc., were engraved jhesus est amor mens. 2 fuller’s worthies^ ed. 1662, yorks, p. 193; also nov. leg,, life of st. john of b. •’^officium, col. 801. ■*bodl. ms. 423, f. 192. 140 hermits and anchorites of england were occasionally admitted within the anchorite’s house, but they rarely entered the inner chamber of seclusion, or stayed the night. according to the ancren riwle^ the maid ought to receive and entertain the visitors with glad cheer; and the recluse should have leave to open her window once or twice, to make signs of gladness at seeing her friends. she was not to eat with them, for “ there are anchoresses v/ho make their meals with their friends outside the convent,” but that is too much friendship, she being quite dead to the world. sir john de beauchamp made a petition to the pope in 1363 that his wife elizabeth might visit her mother, an enclosed minoress, accompanied by six fit persons. the request was granted, but elizabeth was forbidden to eat or spend the night with her mother.^ without open and manifest cause, secular persons were on no account to stay in the houses of anchorites.^ nor were men to be received as guests : “ let no man sleep within your walls. if great necessity should cause your house to be used, have with you a woman of unspotted life day and night.” the franciscan chronicle of lanercost tells how some such occasion of necessity once arose at a cell six miles from shrewsbury. it was in the year 1296, on the eve of st. fran¬ cis, to whose order belonged the nun who was enclosed by the parish church of the village. this pious woman, emma by name, was accustomed to receive visits from holy men, and on the vigil of the saint she admitted two minorite friars to hos¬ pitality. at midnight she rose from her bed, called her hand¬ maid, and bade her bring a lamp for early worship. the lamp was twice set upon the altar of the oratory, but was as often extinguished by a gust of wind, the place being at the same moment brightened by rays coming through the window of the oratory of st. john baptist which was next the church. this light “ surpassing the radiance of the sun, beautified with a heavenly lustre the features of her maidens, who lay in a distant part of the house, notwithstanding that the maidens themselves were weeping because of the abundance of the celestial illumination ”. a vision of saints was then manifested. the blessed virgin bade the anchoress rouse her slumbering ' paf>. reg. (petitions), i. 457. lyndwood, provinciale. human intercourse 141 guests that they might see the wondrous light wherewith that dwelling had been purified. desiring to know the source of this light, one of the friars looked through the window of the church, and saw what seemed to be a torch burning before the image of the blessed baptist, the herald of eternal light. iii. constancy of abode the recluse might never leave her cell “ except only by necessity and fear of death, obedience to her bishop or superior ”. there is one recorded instance of an anchoress refusing to abandon her dwelling even to save her life. this horrible event took place when william the conqueror sacked mantes in 1087. the woman enclosed at st. mary’s church remained therein and was burnt to death:— an auncre godes spouse that nolde vor no thing fle out of hire house.^ the word immured is sometimes applied to the solitary in the sense that he never left his four walls ; but he was seldom walled in or sealed up with no means of egress. grimlaic’s rule, indeed, directs that the bishop seal the door with his ring after perform¬ ing the solemn act of induction, the chamber being unfastened only in time of sickness. sometimes even in mediaeval eng¬ land the entrance was actually blocked up. a petition was made to the bishop by thomas, a franciscan brother enclosed in the hermitage of oath in alien since the time of his en¬ closing no one had visited him, or seen how ill he was, and he therefore entreated that a door might be made in his dwell¬ ing so that some one might come and hear his confession. the vicar of muchelney (four miles away) was therefore charged to make a door and keep the key for his visits to thomas and his companion. again, when bishop grandisson of exeter gave permission for beatrice of colyford to be enclosed at the chapel of st. kalixtus in colyford, he directed the abbot of newenham “to shut her up in the cell or house aforesaid, and, when she is enclosed, block up the door of her house and do all other things which are fitting and convenient in this case”. the exeter office certainly implies the building up of 1 wm. malm, gest. reg. (rolls, 90), ii. 336; chr. robert of qlos (rolls, 86) ii. 562. 142 hermits and anchorites of england the entrance. according to the sarum use the door was to be “firmly closed from the outside”. doors and locks are men¬ tioned in other documents. when the abbot of thornton, on behalf of the bishop of lincoln, set apart beatrice franke at winterton, he described it as “ shutting her up in a certain house and enclosure . . . and securing the door of the same with bars, bolts, and keys ”. the recluse, according to civil law, “ is so mured or shut up that he is always alone and remains in his enclosure and can never come out of his place it was a matter of con¬ science rather than of keys. in some cases the inmate was able to quit the cell if she chose ; the anchoress who should go to the play in the churchyard does not escape censure in the afteren riwle. in the life of wulfric it is recorded that on one memorable occasion he did leave his chamber to enter the adjoining church. this deliberate act of self-mortification evidently created a pro¬ found impression. on the feast of pentecost, in the face of all his neighbours, this sensitive saint openly denounced himself on account of the evil thoughts by which he had been assailed the night before :— “ when morning was come and all the congregation were assem¬ bled, he came forth in public from his cell and opening his mouth spoke this speech against himself. ‘ thus,’ said he, ‘ it has happened to this miserable wulfric, that on this most holy night my sins have pressed upon me, so that my enemy has led me, an unhappy one, astray. i confess my sin to god and to you. i pray for pardon from god through your intercession.’ ... so this bold follower of humility did not spare in any degree his own shame, or the respect of those who stood round, nor, lastly, the reputation for holiness which spread far and wide. when he had said these things, he returned to his cell.” the enclosed person remained in the same spot for life unless a change of domicile became necessary. the reason for removal is not recorded in the case of simon, who was translated in 1222 from lichfield to dunstable where, six years later, he died. in the case of margaret de kirkby, per¬ mission to change her abode was sought in order to obtain ^ coke, littleton’s institutes. human intercourse 143 facilities for worship. archbishop thoresby therefore issued a commission (january, 1356-7) to the abbots of jervaulx and eggleston to transfer margaret from layton to “ a place near the parish church of aynderby, where, according to the desire expressed in her petition, she may see and hear the solemn sacrament of the lord’s altar, which in her present place of enclosure she is unable to do, and to dispense her from her vow of dwelling perpetually at laton”. it is related in the life of richard the hermit that after he died (as is supposed, in 1349^), the anchoress. dame margaret kirkby, transferred herself (se transtulii) from ainderby to hampole. whilst her spiritual father lived, his presence had caused her to recover from illness. she therefore sought to dwell near his place of burial : and never thereafter was she oppressed with that horrible sickness. ’"i’^^another left under compulsion, exchanging her stone walls for a veritable prison. matilda, enclosed in the churchyard of st. peter’s, leicester, was cited as one “ infected with the pest¬ iferous contagion of heretics and lollards examining matilda, archbishop courteney found her not to answer plainly and directly, but sophistically and subtilely; whereupon he commanded the abbot that the door of her cell should be opened, and the inmate put in custody. on his return to leicester, she answered his questions humbly, and retracted any unorthodox opinions which she might have held. where¬ fore the archbishop placed her again in her reclusorium. lest the anchoress should suffer from a loss of prestige, the arch¬ bishop issued a mandate pro anachorita reducta adviam veritatis, setting forth that she had confessed her errors and was peni¬ tent, and offering indulgence to those who should come to her aid with gifts by way of charity. possibly the matilda of 1388 is the nostre bienaime maude wardesale ankores recluse en leglise de saint pierre who in 1400 received six marks a year from the duchy of lancaster.^ in cases of necessity or expediency, a dispensation for de 1 the dates present difficulties, it is true. there was some connexion between the east layton cell and hampole, for in 1348 margaret la boteler, nun of hampole, was enclosed there. possibly she was margaret la boteler of kirkby. 2 p.r.o. duchy of lane. misc. bks. 15, f. ii. 144 hermits and anchorites of england parture could be obtained from the bishop or from the pope. in 1402, a dominican friar of arundel sought to quit his cell in the friary, pleading its inconvenience and the extreme poverty of the community. about the same time (1401), a woman at pontefract obtained permission to change her dwelling-place. this emma was a privileged person and en¬ joyed a liberty unknown to most. “to emma scherman, of the diocese of york. indult to her— who formerly took a vow of a recluse and has had herself for many years enclosed in a cell in the place of pontefract, with a little garden contiguous thereto for the sake of taking fresh air—on account of the tumults and clamours of the people in the said place, to have there another cell with a like garden, and to leave her cell yearly for the purpose of visiting churches and other pious places, and of gaining the indulgences granted there, without requiring licence of the diocesan or other.’’ when the monastery of syon by sheen was founded, several solitaries left their dwellings and entered the community. mar¬ garet, an anchoress dwelling near bodmin, obtained her bishop’s consent to migrate thither, and to join the order of st. bridget. matilda newton, a nun of barking, was appointed to rule this house, but difficulties arose, and she was not elected abbess. in 1417 she returned to barking as a recluse. the accounts of the earliest father-confessors are somewhat confusing. ac¬ cording to the foundation charter (1415), it seems that brother william alnwyk was appointed by henry v as first father confessor of syon. john of amundesham records that william alnwyk, a recluse monk of westminster, together with others, presided over the care of the women ; ^ “ but in the course of a year, worn out by weariness and old age, he returned to the cell whence he had gone forth ”. another priest, thomas fyschbourn, who had been an anchorite by st. german’s chapel at st. albans, succeeded him as confessor-general at syon. he died in 1428, and his obit was kept yearly, for he, as counsellor and confessor of henry v, had promoted the king’s benevolence towards that house. there was one particular sphere of labour for which it was commonly accounted justifiable to abandon the solitary life. ^ st. bridget’s own confessor had been a hermit. human intercourse 145 “ they maye by no meaiies bee suffered to come oute of their houses excepte it bee to take a streighter and an harder life uppon them, which is to be a bishop.” ^ elsewhere we have seen how st. cuthbert and others were drawn from solitude to undertake arduous posts of responsibility and care. in con¬ tinental history, there is the notable instance of pietro morone, the aged peasant, taken from his cave at sulmona to become pope (1294). an english copy of the rule ascribed to st. celestine refers to him as a hermit chosen for his holiness to be pope, who afterwards returned to the wilderness again.^ to dante this act of resignation may have been il gran refuto^ but the anchorite felt himself under a moral obligation to return ultimately to the life to which he had been dedicated by solemn vows. in truth, the simple solitary was rarely fitted for strenuous social work, though he might on occasion emerge from his solitude as a counsellor, and even a leader, of men. ^ thos. becon, reliques of rome, ed. 1563, f. 54. ^ bristol city library ms. 6. 10 xii. prophets and counsellors the prophets that have been before me and before thee of old prophesied ... of war, and of evil, and of pestilence.—book of the prophet jeremiah. forsooth, john baptist, prince of hermits after christ . . . chose the solitary life.— richard rolle, fire of love. t he hermits and anchorites of england occupied an independent position somewhat akin to that of the hebrew seer. whereas monks living in commun¬ ity looked back to “ the sons of the prophets ” as the first ccenobites, the recluse regarded himself as the follower of elijah and of john the baptist. it was therefore his vocation to read the signs of the times, to declare, to preach, and, it may be, to predict. if, then, the solitary had a striking per¬ sonality, if he were a man with force of character, or possessed the mysterious power begotten of deep personal holiness, he was to his generation the servant of god to whom secrets were revealed. to the simple people who sought him, his counsel seemed to come as a voice from heaven. the first authentic record of an anchorite in britain (603) illustrates this oracular office. when the bishops and monks of the british church heard of augustine’s arrival, they were face to face with a hard problem. they therefore visited a solitary sage before attending a second conference with the strangers:— “they that were to go to the aforesaid council, repaired first to a certain holy and discreet man, who was wont to lead an eremitical life among them, consulting with him, whether they ought, at the preaching of augustine, to forsake their traditions. he answered : ‘ if he is a man of god, follow him ’. ‘ how shall we prove that ? ’ said they. he replied, ‘ our lord saith, take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for i am meek and lowly in heart; if, therefore, this augustine be meek and lowly of heart, it is to be believed that 146 plate xexn the hermit anm) the ka’kihts prophets and counsellors 147 he has taken upon him the yoke of christ, and offers the same to you to take upon yourselves. but, if he be stern and haughty, it is plain that he is not of god, nor are we to regard his words.’ they again asked: ‘ and how shall we discern even this ? ’ ‘ do you contrive,’ said the anchorite, ‘that he may first arrive with his com¬ pany at the place where the synod is to be held; and if at your approach he shall rise up to you, hear him submissively, being assured that he is the servant of christ; but if he shall despise you, and not rise up to you, whereas you are more in number, let him also be despised by you.’ ” when they arrived at the synod, augustine remained seated, which circumstance augured ill for the cause of unity. at once they charged him with pride, and endeavoured to con¬ tradict all he said.^ in those primitive times, the recluse was the regular religious teacher. maildubh, the irishman who settled among the christian britons at malmesbury {c. 637), gathered round him a school whence missionaries went forth to the pagan saxons ; and it was maildubh the hermit who taught aldhelm the bishop. in the realm of romance, the solitary is a teacher, expounder of visions, confessor, counsellor, healer, and host. in the celtic legends, especially in the quest of the holy grail, there is ever a cell in the background. when a joust takes place, a recluse is at hand to intervene (plate xxxiii a). sir perceval, hoping for tidings of a certain knight, knocks at the recluse’s little win¬ dow (plate xxxiii b). on hearing his name, she commands the gates to be opened, for she is his aunt; she tells him of his mother’s death, and gives him counsel. on good friday sir lancelot goes barefoot into the forest perilous and confesses to a hermit. he even stays three days in a cell, receiving ex¬ hortation (plate xxxiv a). again, when sorely wounded, he is nursed by the knight-hermit and good leech, sir baudewin. when gawayne is granted harbour at a hermitage, the good man insists on knowing how it stands betwixt his guest and god. gawayne and ector repair to the holy nacyen, who, in teaching them, shows an intimate knowledge of the round table. galahad, bors, lionel, and other knights-errant might often be found at the hermitage. after the burial of sir gal ^ bede, eccles, hist., ed. stevenson, 358. 148 hermits and anchorites of england ahad, at which a hermit assists (plate xxxiv b), sir perceval takes a religious habit, and so lives until his death. the solitary is always some noble knight of fame who has for¬ saken great possessions.^ returning to bede and the chroniclers, we find amongst the saxon saints many renowned counsellors, men like cuth bert and guthlac, endowed with intellectual gifts, rare insight, and a wisdom born of experience and meditation. it was re¬ membered of cuthbert that, even before he entered upon the solitary life, he spoke so beautifully and had such a bright angelic countenance that no man durst conceal from him the most hidden secrets of his heart, but confessed his guilt, believ¬ ing that it could not be hidden from him. guthlac also had a winning personality and a powerful influence. he was sought by men of every condition, and, from the king to the least of his subjects, none left the young monk of crow land uncomforted or uninspired. among the illustrations on the fine harley roll is one entitled: “ guthlac consoles the exile king ethelbald (plate xxxv)”. the king is repre¬ sented as gazing intently at the hermit, who is in the act of exhortation, with one hand uplifted, and clasping in the other the holy book. the saint is declaring that he has made inter¬ cession for ethelbald, predicting that he will be restored to his kingdom, and encouraging him to wait patiently. the same role is attributed to st. neot. a saxon homily declares that king alfred often came to this holy man about his soul’s need, and relates that neot reproved and ex¬ horted him with foreknowledge. neot’s later biographers, indeed, represent him as pronouncing judgment upon his royal kinsman for pride, tyranny, and licentiousness ; but there is no occasion to quote what dr. plummer with righteous indignation calls “wretched tales which besmirch the fair fame of our hero king in order to exalt a phantom saint ”. without giving credence to legends which are inconsistent with historical fact, we may believe that neot was a friend and adviser of the king, and a faithful pastor of the people. he cheered the sad and turned aside the wrath of those who had been burning with anger. the homily relates that he preached ^la queste de s. graal, ed. furnivall (roxburghe club) ; malory’s le morte darthur (caxton, 1485), ed. h. o. sommer, etc. mii plate xxxv a h e r .m it-cou x sk j, 1.0 r prophets and counsellors 149 to all men the true faith, and to those who confessed and re¬ nounced their sins, he declared the goodness and mercy of god. among the less-known saints, few are more interesting than wulsi, who became the oracle of crowland during a critical time (p. 37). when he removed to the west of england, he was still an influential counsellor. knowing how to speak a word in season, he was able to induce st. wulstan to accept the bishopric of worcester:— “since, then, wulstan the man of god could not be led to con¬ sent, although he had been asked by many men of the religious life and worshipful persons, at length, having been sharply rebuked for his disobedience by wulsi the recluse, a man of god who had lived the solitary life for more than forty years, and being terribly warned by a divine oracle, he was compelled to consent with great sorrow of heart again, like some dreamer of old, wulsi had a vision which led to the re-foundation of westminster abbey (p. 38 and plate xiv). the departing seer (like edward the confessor, whose last utterances showed premonitory instinct) predicted evil times, though he hoped that he might “be found a lying prophet ”. from the cell there went forth now and again warnings ot impending misfortune. godric, for example, who showed many tokens of possessing clairvoyant powers, discerned “ the spirit of famine”. the devastating dearth of 1258 was pre¬ saged, it was said, in a vision seen by the anchoress dwelling at st. peter’s church at st. albans—“ a most holy recluse, who was accustomed to see not simply dreams but heavenly signs of the future ”. one of her visions was that of a vener¬ able man ascending the tower of the church, turning towards the town and pronouncing repeatedly the dire message: woe, woe, woe, to all the inhabiters of the earth ! “ and soon, in the same year, on account of the failure of the crops, the herds also died, and so great a famine ensued that in the city of london 15,000 souls perished of hunger. in various by-ways, indeed, folk fell down and died miserably. and so great was their number that the grave-diggers for very weariness threw many bodies in a heap into a single pit.” ^ m, paris, chron. maj. (rolls, 57) ii. 39-40. iso hermits and anchorites of england the neighbourhood of st. albans had formerly been famed for the spirit of prophecy manifested by roger the hermit and christina the recluse. the chronicler declares that roger, “ the friend of god,” taught christina almost incredible things of the secrets of heaven, for his body alone seemed to remain on earth, his soul conversing with the invisible. christina’s super¬ natural faculty consisted in thought-reading, presentiments, and the power of seeing what took place at a distance. she was regarded with awe as a prophetess—for did not an angel in the form of a bird alight in her bosom, foreshowing her things ? the discrimination of her counsels caused her to be frequently sought by the abbot himself, even in political mat¬ ters, as, for example, when he was sent as ambassador from king stephen to the pope. william of malmesbury speaks of the “ ambiguous oracle ” pronounced by roger, who was believed to have anticipated the fate of robert bloet, bishop of lincoln. this prelate, a man of dissolute life, demanded of christina’s protector why he harboured a maiden who, having forsaken her suitor for the sake of celibacy, had sought refuge with him. when the her¬ mit gave a fitting reply, the bishop broke out : “ bold and insolent is your answer ; your cowl alone sustains you ”. to which roger retorted ominously : “ despise the cowl as you will, a day will come when you will sorely wish to have one, and words shall be wanting to you in which to ask for it ”. roger’s words were remembered when, without a moment’s warning, bishop robert died of apoplexy.^ the dark saying was sufficiently vague, and its half-enig¬ matical language might have admitted of many interpretations. wulfric of haselbury, however, predicted events with astound¬ ing clearness. he claimed to speak in the name of the lord, and was highly esteemed as a prophet. when he heard that henry i was arranging for his departure to foreign lands, he said : “he will go, indeed, but he will not return ; and even if he should return, he will not be either sound or whole hearing this, the king was wroth with the seer, and sent to inquire whether he were indeed the author of these words. wulfric replied : “ if i said them, i am not sorry, because i 1 gest. pontif. (rolls, 52), p. xvi. prophets and counsellors 151 have not spoken from myself”. king henry departed, and when his death took place, the anchorite intimated it to sir william fitzwalter : “ yesterday the king died ; do you take counsel what you will do then the knight, being amazed, commanded him to be silent. “ it is easy enough for me to be silent,” said the priest, “ but it will happen on the morrow that all men will speak it openly; and so it fell out. on another occasion wulfric predicted that king stephen was about to be led away captive, but would be set free. some time before stephen’s accession, the recluse had saluted him as the future king ; and he subsequently announced to the young prince of anjou that he would reign in succession. godric uttered predictions of a similar nature. the fol¬ lowing story, accurate in detail, is too long to relate fully. about march, 1170, a knight from the court visited godric and sought his blessing. as his visitor turned to go, the hermit sent a message to henry ii in which he referred to his own approaching death and also mentioned “ the young king ”. before long, the import of the mysterious allusion became plain. the old sailor-saint did indeed—to use his own words —“pass the borders of the great sea,” and a month later the king’s son henry was crowned, on account of unforeseen political circumstances.^ such oracles were frequently given unasked, but persons used also to inquire of the recluse, as warriors of old resorted to seer or prophetess. when he was in the holy land, richard coeur de lion went by night to consult the hermit of st. samuel, who predicted that jerusalem would not be taken by him.^ nor was it unusual for the solitary to act as spiritual adviser to those who visited him. no voice carried more weight than did the voice crying repentance in the wilderness. to coquet island, near the northumbrian coast, came many from distant parts to converse with henry the hermit. their secrets he made perfectly clear, as though his bodily eyes could look into hidden things. when a monk of tynemouth came to him, he bade the man beware and keep sober, and told him both the place and hour when he had been disgracefully 1 vita, pp. 302-4. ^m. paris, chron. maj. (rolls, 57), ii. 386-7, 152 hermits and anchorites of england drunk. bartholomew of fame exercised a strong and abiding influence alike on rich and poor, on wild border barons and rough sailors. the chronicler gaufridus describes him thus ;— “jovial also was he in his talk, and yet was he grieved by sin. whenever they came before him, he used fearlessly to convict the pride of those rich men the report of whose cruelty reached him. so grave was his countenance and so reverend his mien that many of them, moved by his words, set themselves earnestly to leave off oppression of the poor, to keep their hands from unlawful gain, and to atone for their sins by alms. he had compassion on the poor and the sick, persuading them to bear life patiently.” even the proud and passionate norman kings were open to influence when brought face to face with an outspoken man of god. henry i came to wulfric a suppliant; stephen left him a penitent. “a certain great prince^ of the household of king henry said when he heard of the fame of wulfric : ‘ the king would do well if he sent to the cell of this scoffer to take possession of his property, because it is impossible that one to whom so many resort should not have laid up much treasure’. and while the words were yet in his mouth, behold, he fell throttled to the earth, with his mouth twisted back right to his ear, and wallowed foaming. the king having heard of it, went when opportunity offered, to the cell of the servant of god; and commending himself earnestly to his prayers, told all things, and made supplication for his knight. ‘i do not,’ said he, may this sin to his charge, and i am present here to do whatever i ought to do.’ then one of those who stood by, taking the hand of wulfric, laid it on the face of the sick man, and immediately his mouth returned to its place, and becoming sound in mind, he spoke aright, glorifying god.” wulfric not only admonished count stephen as to his future conduct, but afterwards chode him because he had ruled ill, and the whole peace of england had been disturbed. after much wholesome exhortation, wulfric added that, unless stephen were penitent, his throne could never be established. “ when the king heard these things he began to weep co¬ piously and to make confession from the bottom of his heart, and he turned his cheek to the prophet to be smitten and spat upon,” ^drogo de munci, prophets and counsellors 153 robert of knaresborough boldly spoke his mind to king john. when the king and his retinue arrived at the hermitage, robert was prostrate before the altar, and would not leave his devotions, although aware of their presence. at length sir brian de lisle roused him, saying : “ brother robert, rise quickly : lo ! the king is here who would speak with thee ”. the hermit arose, and having picked up from the ground an ear of corn, he held it towards king john, and said : “ if thou be king, do thou create such a thing as this ” : and when the king could make no reply, he added : “ there is no king but one, that is god certain of the bystanders regarded the hermit’s conduct as madness, but one replied that robert was indeed wiser than they, since he was the servant of god in whom is all wisdom. even the unbelieving despot was duly, if momentarily, impressed by the good man’s boldness. before robert, says the rhyming chronicler, tyrants trembled, beasts and birds bowed, and fiends fled. it was not unknown for recluses to use their influence as protectors or mediators. the countess loretta, anchoress of hackington, was one of the chief promoters of the franciscan order when the friars first arrived at canterbury. thomas of eccleston says that she “ cherished them in all things, as a mother her sons ”. through her influence, some nuns of canterbury gained privileges, and a certain man obtained pardon for manslaughter. henry iii, yielding to the entreaty of nicholas, the monk of westminster, released a man from outlawry, and also issued a writ providing for the mainten¬ ance of another man.^ westminster abbey had a succession of anchorite-con¬ fessors. one of these was the chosen counsellor of richard h during wat tyler’s insurrection (1381) :— “ the same day the king went . . . toward westminster, attended on by the number of 200 persons, to visit saint edward’s shrine, and to see if the commons had done any mischiefe there. . . . after which he spake with the anchore, to whom he confessed himselfe.” ^ he was consulted on important political matters ; nor was he altogether free from suspicion of disloyalty by encouraging 1 a. g. little, in coll, d'etudes, vrr. 25-6 ; patent rolls (various), 2 j, stow, chron, of en^., ed. 1631, p. 288, 154 hermits and anchorites of england rebels. he was said to have acted as adviser to thomas, earl of warwick, one of the lords appellant (1397). accused of treason, the aged nobleman pleaded that he had been led away by the duke of gloucester and the earl of arundel—“ trustyng also in the holynes and wisdoum of the abbot of saint albones, and of the recluse of westmynstre, that saide it was lawfulle that he dede it was perhaps from this same man that henry v received serious impressions at the time of his acces¬ sion (1413), as related by thomas of elmham, afterwards his chaplain:— “ after he had spent the day in wailing and groaning, so soon as the shades of night covered the earth, the weeping prince, taking ad¬ vantage of the darkness, secretly visited a certain recluse of holy life at westminster; and laying bare to him the secret sins of his whole life, was washed in the laver of true repentance the abbey archives may yet prove whether these various monks can be identified as one and the same. sir john lon¬ don was enclosed before 1389 and lived until 1429. about the year 1415, however, another priest was enclosed there, william alnwyk by name, who was appointed by henry v to a burdensome ecclesiastical office, but shortly returned to his cell (p. 144). with one or the other the king had mone¬ tary transactions, perhaps by way of alms, for the issue roll of the exchequer (1420) notes ;^4 as “ paid by the hands of a certain recluse within the monastery of westminster ”. john the anchorite of westminster was remembered in the will of the noted conspirator. lord scrope of masham (1415), who bequeathed him the rosary which he used, and a consider¬ able sum of money. one of such exalted virtue was believed to have superabundant grace, and a high value was set upon his intercessions. this is confirmed by the curious revelation respecting purgatory^ in which the spirit of the nun margaret is represented as appearing to her friend on earth requesting prayers and masses :— “ and also sende to thi fadir the recluse of westemynster, and byd hym synge twa messis of saynt petir for me, and saye fyve dayes for 1 eng. chron. (camden s., 1856), p. ii. " a. j. church, henry f, 44-5. ^lincoln, ms. thornton, in horstman’s r. rolle, i. 384-5. prophets and counsellors 155 me this psalme miserere mei deus and this ympne veni creator spiritus and so forthe, in the manere a-bowne sayde. and bydde him warne dane perse cowme ^ that he saye two messis of the haly gaste for me.” this vision is dated 1422. seven years later the chronicle of st. albans announces the death of master john, the monk of westminster, “ prominent as a hermit enclosed there during forty years an undated manuscript, said to be in the west¬ minster archives, seems to refer to this event, which caused a sensation in the community :— “ after the singing of mattins, on the morning of st. thomas’ or mumping day, when the brethren began the lauds for the dead, it was whispered abroad that the abbey ankret was dead at last. brother innocent . . . sang the news in my ear when we turned to the altar for the gloria : ‘ dead is our holy ankret; he is dead; he died at midnight; the abbot confessed him; he is dead ’ in so great veneration was the old man held, that, even when his mind was failing, his incoherent utterances were treasured in the monastery: “his discourse consisted of pious ejacula¬ tions, some of which have been written down by the cancel larius claiming to know the divine will by special revelation, the recluse often exercised an important influence both in public and private affairs. when the young henry vi became king, an anchoress of york (dame emma rawghton) declared that it had been shown to her by our lady that he ought to be crowned in france as well as in england, and also that no person was better fitted to be his guardian than richard beauchamp, earl of warwick.^ the earl turned to this holy woman for advice in his private affairs, as described in chapter iii. whilst the secluded anchorite was the passive counsellor of individuals, the hermit might be an active leader among the people, closely associated with reform—sometimes, indeed, 1 brother peter combe, a benefactor of the abbey (see stanley, memorials, ed. 1868, p. 609). 2 jn. amund, ann. (rolls, 28, v.), i. 33. 3 w. besant, westminster, ed. 1897, pp. 102-10. ^ pageants of ric. beauchamp (roxburghe club), pageant xlvii. 156 hermits and anchorites of england with revolution—whether moral, social, or political. the most notable example is that of the preaching of the first crusade by peter the hermit (1096), whose cry dieu le veut rang throughout christendom. a tragic fate, however, often awaited the religious fanatic or political firebrand. the ruth¬ less persecution of the jews in 1190, was in york incited by a hermit. this militant priest, a premonstratensian canon, would go early in the morning “ to offer the unbloody sacri¬ fice,” and then walk forth to his bloody work. clad in a white habit, the hermit led his fellow-christians against “ the enemies of christ,”—the terrified jews shut up in the castle, and he assisted the mob in placing engines for the siege. advancing incautiously too near the wall, he was crushed by a great stone which was cast down upon him; and it was thought that since he was the only one of the besiegers to be slain, it showed the guilt of one in that profession or order taking part in such wanton work.^ there was danger, too, when hermits, persuaded that they spoke as true prophets, but sometimes (in hebrew phrase) as “ lying prophets, who spoke a vision of their own heart,” stood before kings as messengers of judgment to come. the tale of peter the wise (called, of pontefract, and also, of wakefield), the troubler of king john, is related in the chi'onicle of barn walf^ written sorne fourteen years after the occurrence. “there was a certain man of wakefield, peter by name. this simple, rustic man, living upon bread and water, was esteemed by the people as predicting future things. hedoretold that the rule of king john would not last beyond the next ascensiontide, inasmuch as it had been revealed to him in a vision that john the king would reign fourteen years. . . . being asked whether he would die or be driven out or resign, he answered also, as they say, that he did not know : this thing only he did know, that he would not reign beyond that time, neither he nor any one of his own family in his stead, but one whom it should please god to appoint. this thing did not escape the king, and it seemed first of all that they laughed at the man as an idiot and not sound in his head. but it came to pass that, as the man was a wanderer and told the story everywhere, he was taken by the king's favourites and shut up in prison. this saying ^wm. newb., hist. angl. (rolls, 82), i. 316-8. 2 in walter of coventry’s mem. (rolls, 58) 11. 208-12. prophets and'^counsellors 157 spread far and wide and his name became very famous, so that he who before was known to few and despised, from the time of his imprisonment was considered a man of note and everywhere spoken about. daily, as is the custom of people, lies were added to lies ; daily they attributed to him new things, and everybody developing some lie out of his own heart, asserted that peter had said it.” we learn from matthew paris ^ that the hermit staked his life on the certain truth of his prediction, saying: “ if i be found guilty of falsehood, thou mayest do with me as thou wilt ” ; to whom king john replied: “be it according to thy word the king then committed him to william de harecurt to guard him in close confinement at corfe, until it were proved how the matter would end. in the meantime, the king of france, urged on by the pope, prepared to invade england, and on 15 may, 1213, john did homage to the legate, agreeing to hold his realm as tribu¬ tary to the pope. several causes contributed to his submission, the chief being his forebodings at the approach of the ominous festival—“ afraid that he would lose with his life his kingdom, both of this world and of the world to come ”. when the day came, the king, with his bishops and rulers, were in high spirits, and those who had given credence to peter thought that after all he was half-witted, and deceived by his own simpleness. it was represented to the king, however, to what an extent the man had troubled the country, sowed discord, and stirred up the king’s enemies ; for his words had incited the french to invade england. the passion of the king was thus kindled, and he commanded peter to be hanged on a gibbet in the face of the sun ; and not he alone, but also his son, “ who ”—says the barnwall chronicler—“ being considered equally guilty was alike hung, lest by chance he also should have been a partaker, or even the author, of his father’s prophecy ”. for an account of the final interview and of the hermit’s last impassioned harangue, we must turn to the pages of a scottish chronicler :— ^ “king john, perceiving in himself that the day appointed by peter as aforesaid had passed away, and that no bodily ailment had ^ chron. maj. (rolls, 57), ii. 535-47. ^ j. fordun, scohchron., ed. 1759, ii. 7, 8. 158 hermits and anchorites of england come upon him, called peter, whom he caused to be brought forth from prison, a false prophet. who boldly resisted the king to his face, affirming that he was telling the truth, and he stated that the king himself was not reigning at that time, since ... he had sub¬ jected the rule of his kingdom to the power of another. when then peter was convicted by such judgment as this, and was condemned to be hanged, he said in a loud voice to the king. that it was natural he should feel that he must rage against the church and her mem¬ bers, since from the time when he was born he proceeded, forsooth, from the devil; but that he might not at last return to him, in abounding love he himself had besought the pity of the most high. ‘ this one nature,’ said he, ‘ i tell thee—thou who art not a king of men, but the dregs and a cross of all—is common both to thee and to thy relative the devil, whose work it is to lay traps, to prepare stumbling-blocks, to dig pitfalls, to make things a ruin, to stir up bodies from the depths of their evil souls, that they should not be saved ; to hate virtues, to love vices, to sow errors, to nourish strifes, to disturb the peace, to scatter true love, to profane humanity, and strain to the uttermost all that is divine.’ when he had finished his short speech, the king was angry and commanded that his life should end by hanging from the nearest tree.” matthew paris gives a slightly different version of the execution, and tells us what the people thought of it. john commanded that peter, who was bound with chains in corfe castle, should be tied to the tails of horses, and dragged over the plains to wareham, and there hanged, together with his son. “ it seemed to many an unworthy thing that he should be punished by so cruel a death for speaking the truth. for if those things which are written above are considered acutely, it will be proved that he had spoken no falsehood.” richard h, henry iv, and henry v were confronted by hermits ^heralding judgment. william norham delivered his message first to the archbishop of canterbury, who had been wrongfully appointed on the banishment of thomas arundel:— “in lent [1399], a certain hermit called william norham came to archbishop roger walden saying that he was sent to him on behalf of one whom it was not safe to disobey; to impress upon him to resign the archbishopric which he held unjustly, and to advise the king that he should amend his life and that he should recall others whom he had exiled unjustly . . . else would there certainly prophets and counsellors 159 come upon both of them, king and archbishop alike, in a short time, such terrible and new things that both the ears of every one that heard it should tingle.” offended at the man’s message, the archbishop suspended him from the celebration of mass, and imprisoned him for a season. he afterwards sent him to king richard, who desired nothing less than to hear words of correction, which things the prophet proceeded to speak. coming into the royal presence, he declared that he was sent from god to warn the king to lead a better life. richard, thinking lightly of the matter and despising the poverty and lowliness of his appearance, said: “ if indeed thou art so close a servant of god, go and run on thy feet upon the water, that we may have certainty that thou art a true messenger of god ”. to whom the hermit replied : “ i am not like such great saints as those who do miracles of this sort, nor may i go of my own will upon the water; but this i boldly affirm that unless thou dost obey my warnings, there will shortly come upon thee such terrible new things as thou hast never read of or seen”. richard, displeased at the man’s freedom of speech, ordered him to be taken to the tower of london. there he was kept until he saw his pro¬ phecy fulfilled, and the king led captive in his stead.^ for some time we hear nothing of william norham. the new king, however, being regarded by not a few of his subjects as a usurper, was not likely to escape ill-omened oracles, and at his coronation many a shrewd man said openly that the third heir should be uncrowned. the soothsayer bided his time. at length, believing in his mission, and encouraged by the speedy fulfilment of his former predictions, the bold priest followed henry iv after the battle of shrewsbury (1403). “that same hermit who foretold disaster to king richard came to the king and told him many secret things which were unknown to him. whom the king commanded to be beheaded, which was also done.” ^ much consternation was caused by his fate:— “ at this time a certain hermit who had predicted many future things to king richard, when he had set himself to prophesy to the ^ chr. s. alb., ann. ric. ii (rolls, 28, iii.), 231-2. ^ eulog. hist. (rolls, 9), iii. 397. i6o hermits and anchorites of england new king, and when he inveighed with too little prudence against him, having been convicted of speaking falsehood, he was beheaded at york; whose flesh a prickly hair-shirt had scraped; whose feet no shoes had covered for many years—except, perhaps, when he celebrated mass—although he had gone to rome and returned; whose lips had tasted absolutely no flesh for a long while: neverthe¬ less, he died the death.” ^ although in the scotichronicon a veil of secrecy shrouds the “ white hermit of england,” we may conclude that he was none other than williarn norham ;— “to this henry there came a certain holy man who was called the white hermit of england, saying that he had been taught by the holy trinity, and that he saw in spirit a reception room prepared for him, aflame with the fire of hell and attended by devils, in which after death he should be placed unless he should resign the crown of the realm which was not meet for him. to whom the king replied : ‘ if, indeed, i should renounce it, who will succeed me?’ ‘after thee,’ quoth the hermit, ‘a devil, and after a devil, a saint, and after a saint, a sword, and after a sword, a nobody.’ ‘ since then,’ said robert de waterton, a counsellor of the king, ‘ thou art so dear to god that his secrets are thus open to thee, it is fitting that thou shouldst speedily be sent to him.’ by whose counsel, and that of others who agreed with him, the king immediately commanded that his head should be smitten ofl". who afterwards blazed forth in manifold miracles.”^ henry v was confronted during his last campaign by a french hermit, who appeared whilst the king was before dreux, and represented to him the great ills he had brought upon christendom by his unjust ambition in usurping the kingdom of france. the hermit threatened him in god’s name with awful punishment if he did not desist from his enterprise. it seemed to henry but an idle dream, a mere suggestion of the dauphin’s followers; but the french chroni¬ cler tells us how the blow followed close upon the threat. smitten with a strange incurable disease, he grew gradually worse, and was brought to vincennes, where he died.^ the tale is related in southey’s ballad henry v and the hermit of dreux :— ^chr. s. alb., ann, hen. iv, 372-3. 2 w. bower, in fordun’s scotichron. lib., xv., c. ix. ^mezeray, abrege chron., ed. 1688, iii. 213. prophets and counsellors i6i he pass’d unquestion’d through the camp, their heads the soldiers bent in silent reverence, or begg’d a blessing as he went; and so the hermit pass’d along and reached the royal tent. the prophecies of one john the hermit about the issue of the war with france had sufficient influence to cause them to be discussed in the privy council in 1439.^ certain hermit-preachers now claim attention. richard of hampole, social reformer, evangelist, and writer, was one of the most remarkable men of mediaeval england. of his prophetic utterances, threatening the land with famine, plague, inundation, and war, thomas fuller says shrewdly that these predictions “ if hitting, were heeded, if missing, not marked it is, however, rather as a preacher and writer than as a prophet that richard rolle made his influence felt. passing in and out amongst the people, like another st. francis of assisi, he appealed to them personally in a persuasive manner, and con¬ verted many to god. at the outset of his eremitical career, he delivered at a village church in yorkshire a discourse which deeply affected the congregation :— “ moreover, he entered the same church a second time, and putting on a surplice without any mandate, he sang with the others mattins and the office of the mass. but when in the mass the gospel was to be read, having before asked the priest’s blessing, he went into the pulpit of preaching and made to the people a sermon of wonderful edification, so much so that a great number of the congregation were by his preaching so seized with compunction that they could not restrain their tears, and they all said that they had not themselves heard aforetime a sermon of such excellence and efficacy.” ^ the young prophet, however, was often without honour. he had enemies, persecutors, and slanderers, and even by friends he was misunderstood. some thought him demented ; others misin¬ terpreted his converse with the rich, and despite his rigorous abstinence, accused him of being a glutton and a wine-bibber. ^ nicolas, ac^s of p.c., v. 352-3 ; the visions of st. bridget concerning international policy, were also discussed. in 1396 the mission of robert i’her mite to england had resulted in peace, and in richard ii’s marriage with isabella of france (froissart, chron.^ bk, iv, c, 66). 2 officiunit col. 791-2, i62 hermits and anchorites of england churchmen maintained that he could not preach, and school¬ men ridiculed his writings. as a reformer, richard the hermit seemed to fail, nevertheless he became the beloved master of a chosen few to whom he expounded the word of god. speak¬ ing or writing, he was a man with a message. “ he re-dis¬ covered love, the principle of christ. he re-installed feeling, the spring of life, which had been obliterated in the reign of scholasticism. he re-opened the inner eye of man, teaching contemplation in solitude, an unworldly life in abnegation, in chastity and charity.” ^ after this preacher of righteousness arose another social reformer, the eccentric priest, william of swinderby. both these men were swayed by fervent emotions, impatient of authority, eager to reform the world in their own way; but whilst richard was an apostle of love, and inspired people to live a higher life, william was a fanatic, and estranged his hearers by his violence of speech. richard was able to draw women as disciples and instil into them his teaching of love and purity ; william inveighed so loudly against their sins that the women of leicester threatened to drive him out with stones. “there was in those days at leicester, a certain priest, hight william of swynderby, whom they commonly called william the her¬ mit, because, for a long time, he had lived the hermitical life there ; they received him into a certain chamber within the church, because of the holiness they believed to be in him, and they procured for him victuals and a pension, after the manner of other priests.” ^ after returning to ordinary life for a season, he was received into leicester abbey. he afterwards dwelt at the chapel of st. john baptist in a wood outside the town.^ followers re¬ sorted thither, for william was an earnest teacher, preaching “ by the desire of the people that were hungry and thirsty after god’s word ”. he made bitter enemies, however, by his fierce attacks upon the church and upon ecclesiastics. in 1382, he 1 c. horstman, r. rolle, p. xxxiv. 2 twysden’s script. x (knighton), ii. 2665 ; knighton, chron. (rolls, 64), ii. 189-98. 3 a bequest was made in 1382 to w. de s., chaplain of st. john’s chapel {line. wills^ 31). it was situated “ near a leper-house,” i.e. probably st. john’s hospital. nichols figures the remains of the “ chapel of st. john set at the town’s end ” {leic. i, pt. ii., pi. xxiii., facing p. 332)^ prophets and counsellors 163 was inhibited by the bishop of lincoln, who forbade him to preach in any church, chapel, or churchyard in the diocese ; but the hermit evaded the order by preaching on the highway. cited to lincoln and convicted of heresy, he was, however, set free through the influence of john of gaunt, and was restored to the bosom of the church on condition that he publicly confessed at lincoln and leicester the falsity of his preach¬ ing. the popularity of the lollard leader having waned, he was left in solitude at his chapel. he fled to coventry and preached in those parts for about a year, until he was driven away. he took refuge in the diocese of hereford, but again met with per¬ secution. the bishop denounced him as a child of wickedness, who had been running about in sundry places, presuming to preach—“ a teacher of pernicious doctrine and a horrible seducer among the people william denied m.any of the accusations brought against him, and appealed to the king and council, but in vain. the last we hear of the hermit heretic is that in 1392 the king (at the instance of the arch¬ bishop and the bishop of hereford) issued a commission to find and arrest “ a certain fellow named william swinderby pretending himself to be a chaplain,” and his companion, who would not revoke the errors of which they had been convicted, and were in hiding in wales. another zealous mission-preacher was the anchorite friar, thomas scrope (or bradley), who, about the year 1425, left his cell and went forth into the world for a season. leading a life of almost incredible austerity, he preached diligently to the people by word and by example. clad in sackcloth, with a girdle of iron fetters. brother thomas went into the streets of norwich : “ and he used to cry out that the new jerusalem, the bride of the lamb, would shortly come down from heaven, and that she should immediately be prepared for her spouse. and he added, that with great joy he saw her in the spirit.” this extravagant conduct was not approved by the strictly orthodox, and the provincial of the carmelites wrote a protest to the brethren at norwich, in which he referred to this matter as a scandal to the church, causing schism and disturbance, and bringing discredit upon those orders. at length, fearing for himself “ this generation of vipers,” he returned tq his^ i64 hermits and anchorites of england cell.^ in 1441 pope eugenius iv granted to thomas bradley, anchorite of norwich, an indult to choose a secular or regular priest as confessor.^ he was afterwards dispensed from his vows and nominated bishop of dromore (1450).^ he after¬ wards held certain norfolk livings, and acted as suffragan bishop. in old age he returned to the mission-work of his younger days. walking barefoot, the venerable bishop went about every friday in the country parts of the diocese, into villages and into the fields, teaching the ten commandments of the divine law. he used also to give away all his goods to the poor. he died in 1491, aged wellnigh 100 years. whilst some of these preachers were pious and patriotic, others were mere pretenders. the troubled reign of henry vi produced several adventurers disguised in this way. the coventry leet book records the notable visit, in 1424, of one “callyd john grace, heremyte,” who, saying that he had a licence to preach and had been at lichfield, birmingham, and walsall, preached for five days in the little park at coventry, and created considerable disturbance. men said he had been a monk, after that a friar, and then, a recluse. pie declared himself to be a wonder-worker as well as “ a gracyous man in sayng, and a hooly lyuer”. the king’s council afterwards ordered his arrest as “ a certain false prophet calling himself john grace,” accused of sedition and of attempting to over¬ throw the catholic faith, especially by his preaching in coventry and the neighbourhood.^ in kent, an agitator nicknamed “ bluebeard,” who posed as a hermit, started the insurrection generally known as jack cade’s rebellion (1450). the man was a fuller, thomas cheyny by name. fabyan says that the commons “ made of themself capitaynes, and named them bleweberde and other counterfayte names ”. the execution of the ringleader created 1 bale says he was enclosed fourteen years (harl. ms., 3838, f. 107), but elsewhere he says twenty years. pap. lett., ix. 241. ^ irish sees often gave titles to suffragans. rev. b. zimmerman, historian of the carmelite order, questions whether scrope took possession of his see, but (i) he has a letter of the provincial, nicholas kenton, commending scrope, bishop-elect of dromore (formerly an anchorite of norwich) to the bishops and nobles of ireland. (2) scrope suggested r.imysin as his successor; mysin was nominated 1457. 4 e.e. text s. (o.s., 134), i, 96-7; pat. 3 hen. vi, pt. i, m. 17 d. prophets and counsellors 165 such indignation that the men employed about it were in jeopardy. the sheriffs of london afterwards requested re¬ muneration for carrying out the writ whereby they were directed “ to send and delyver the heed of oon thomas cheyny feyning him silf an heremite cleped blewberd atteynt of high treson” to the mayor and bailiffs of canterbury, and to exhibit remains elsewhere. the corpses of traitors included that of “ jack cade ” himself, but the chief charges were involved by the carriage of cheyny’s body, “ for and by cause that unneth any persones durste nor wolde take upon ham the caridge of the seyd hed and quarters for doute of her lyves the city documents of canterbury record the event, and add that the head was placed over the westgate. when confirming the liberties of the citizens in 1453, henry vi commended their fidelity in the arrest of the traitor “ who called himself blewberd the hermit the hermit’s garb was a favourite disguise. when perkin warbeck was taken as a prisoner to the tower (1497), he was followed by one of his accomplices, “clad in armittes abyt,” bound hand and foot.^ religious malcontents played their part in the political crisis of henry vih’s reign. in 1535, hugh lathbury, hermit, was imprisoned at bristol, for saying that he trusted queen katherine should thereafter be queen again.^ three years later, the hermit of chesterfield was seized on the report of passionate words about the pope being deprived of authority, because he would not approve the king’s marriage with anne boleyne. he raised, moreover, the burning question of that year of sacrilege: “if a man will pluck down or tear the king’s arms, he shall be hanged, drawn, and quartered; what shall he do to them that doth pluck down churches and images, being but a mortal man as we be ? ” this rash orator was brought before the nearest justice to be examined, and was afterwards sent to thomas cromwell.^ even the secluded anchorite was not free from dangerous discussion. the dominican recluse of canterbury, christopher ^ acts of privy council, vi. 107-9 5 hist. mss. com., r. ix. 140, 167, 168. ^c. l. kingsford, chr. of london, 221. ^ l. and p., hen. viii, viii. p. 308; ix. p. 48. ^ibid. xiii. (i), p. 501. i66 hermits and anchorites of england warener, had been visited “because he was a prisoner” by elizabeth barton, the “holy maid of kent” (p. 187). crom¬ well tried to get the friar to incriminate the nun ; but he would only say that he was never of counsel with her, never saw her in a trance, nor heard her say aught against the king, except that should the marriage go forward, it would turn to great trouble. the matter, said the anchorite, was a hin¬ drance to his contemplation—a view of the case that would hardly disquiet the state officials.^ a sixteenth-century writer, thomas becon, who was adverse to everything monastic, complains that, whereas anchorites professed to be followers of judith, they did not resemble her:— “judith, when tyme required, came out of her closet to do good unto other. our recluses never come out of their lobbeies, sincke or swimme the people. judith put herself in jeopardy for to do good to the commune countrey. our recluses are unprofitable cloddes of the earth, doing good to no man.”^ it has, however, been shown in the earlier part of this chapter, that it proved possible to retire from the world with¬ out losing touch with men, and that to live in solitude was not to be without a sphere of influence, or a power of service. we now pass on to consider those recluses whose counsels were delivered chiefly in their writings, which were widely circulated and were valued by succeeding generations. j l. and p., hen. viii, vi, 1333, 1336, 1381. ‘■^t. becon, reliqnes of rome, 53-4. xiii. literary recluses the solitary, therefore, ought to be learned, not one who needs to be taught; also he ought to be wise and learned in the divine law, that he may know whence he may bring forth things new and old.— grimlaic, regula soli tariorum (ninth century). t he solitary, from st. jerome onwards, has usually been depicted in art as a student, holding a book. there is a tradition that a british recluse {eremita brj/tannus), living in the time of ina, king of wessex, collected the history of his country, and especially the deeds of king arthur.^ it is not unlikely that the story itself was handed down by one of those hermits who are represented as playing so important a part among the knights of the holy quest. the historian gildas is said to have been a hermit (p. lo). his liber de excidio britannice was written about the year 560, and from this book bede drew in the earlier chapters of his history. alcuin describes gildas as “ the wisest of the britons,” and the epithet “the wise” passed into common use. he seems to have acquired his learning in gaul, and he afterwards became a teacher in wales. gildas also wrote a book of the four gospels^ wrought in gold and silver, which was held in great estimation.^ we owe the famous lindisfarne gospels in part to aethel wald, who succeeded cuthbert in his island-hermitage (chapter i.), and to billfrith, another priest who lived the solitary life. the latin inscription declares that “ eadfrith, aethilwald, billfrith, and aldred have wrought and adorned this book of the gospels for god and st. cuthbert ”. there is a further note in saxon characters about the work of the goldsmith ; “and billfrith the anchorite, he wrought the metal work of ^bale, script., ed. 1557, pt. 2, 31, cent, x., no. xxi. mon. hist. brit., i. 6; nov. leg., i. 469. 167 i68 hermits and anchorites of england the ornaments on the outside thereof, and decked it with gold and gems, overlaid also with silver, unalloyed metal”. when, during a voyage, this precious volume accidentally fell over¬ board, its miraculous recovery was attributed to the merits of st. cuthbert and of the makers of the manuscript, namely. bishop eadfrid, the venerable aethilwald, and also of the hermit billfrith, “ whose skill in craftsmanship had executed the splendid work, for he was one of the first artists of his day ”. the names of these two men, oediluald and billfrith, recur in the list of benefactors of the church of durham.^ plegmund, “a religious man, well instructed in sacred lore,” and renowned for his wisdom, lived as a hermit before he was summoned to assist king alfred (p. i6). it has, indeed, been supposed that the transcription of the anglo saxon chronicle, and possibly a part of the composition itself, was his work, and this work he may have done during his years of seclusion. he was one of the four men of learning who were always about the court, and were ready night and day to read before the king when he had aught of leisure. in alfred’s preface to his translation of gregory’s pastoral care, he acknowledges the assistance of plegmund, asser, and others, who had expounded to him the author’s meaning:— “ i began, among other various and manifold troubles of this kingdom, to translate into english the book which is called in latin pastoralis, and in english shepherd’s book, sometimes word by word and sometimes according to the sense, as i had learned it from plegmund my archbishop, and asser my bishop, and grimbold my mass-priest, and john my mass-priest. and when i had learnt it as i could best understand it, and as i could most clearly interpret it, i translated it into english, and i will send a copy to every bishopric in my kingdom.” the manuscript addressed to plegmund himself is preserved in the british museum. this hermit-archbishop is described by a later chronicler as “a right noble man of letters”.^ dunstan, a more famous ecclesiastic, statesman, and scholar, once lived in seclusion within the precincts of glastonbury abbey, in a cell attached to the ancient church of st. ^lindisfarne gospels, (s.s., 48), 174; liber vitcb (s.s., 13), 9; vita s. cuthherti. pastoral care (e.e.t.s. orig. ser., 50), p. 7; diet. nat. biog., etc. literary recluses 169 mary. the eleventh-century chronicler, osbern, visited this cell or den, which he describes as being more like a tomb than a human habitation. it seems incredible that it measured only 5 feet by 2-j feet. in this narrow dwelling the gifted young solitary studied the scriptures, transcribed and illuminated manuscripts, and even, so it is said, practised various arts, such as casting bells and making organs. several books and a musical composition have been attributed to dunstan, but, as bishop stubbs points out, not a single literary monu¬ ment survives: “he has left, beyond a few lines of writing, the endorsement of a charter, and the prayer put into the mouth of a kneeling figure in an illumination, no writings whatever”. in due course the anchorite became abbot of glastonbury, and finally archbishop of canterbury.^ passing on to the norman period, we find that the student was still found in the cell. the literary herbert de losinga, first bishop of norwich (1095-1119) wrote to his well-beloved guy (wido), the anchorite, commending his manner of life, and giving him counsel in a deferential manner. in the course of the letter he alludes to guy’s studious habits:— “ thou reclinest in the company of the prophets and apostles, and thy soul is refreshed and gladdened by the meat and drink of heavenly doctrine. nor are modern authors who serve up the heavenly banquet wanting to thee; thou hast an abundance of them, proportioned to the ardour of thy zeal for study and thy diligence in reading.” perhaps the cultured bishop envied his friend these uninter¬ rupted opportunities for study and contemplation ; for, even as he writes, his colleagues call him away to the workshop of the world, so that he closes with the brief but earnest request : “ lend me, a sinner, the hand of your prayers to lift me up the solitary, however, was not of necessity a monk with a monastic education : he was sometimes an illiterate layman. a curious illustration of this general lack of learning is fur¬ nished by the story of the welsh pilgrim, wechelen. at the holy sepulchre wechelen vowed to lead the solitary life, and on his return he was enclosed at llowes in radnor. he wit ^ memorials of st. dunstan (rolls, 63), p. cix, 83-4. goulburn and symonds, herbert de losinga, i. 279. 170 hermits and anchorites of england nessed the services in the adjoining church, but, knowing no latin, he could comprehend little of their meaning. he there¬ fore besought the lord with tears to vouchsafe him a know¬ ledge of the latin tongue. one day, exhausted and hungry, he fell asleep, and on awaking, beheld on his altar a loaf, which he blessed and ate. that evening for the first time he understood what was being read at vespers. on the morrow, after mass, he called the priest to come to the window with his missal ; and as the priest read the gospel of the day, the anchorite expounded the meaning correctly in his native tongue, after which they conversed in latin. “ and from that day to this,” said wechelen to giraldus, “ i have continued to speak it.” “ but,” he added naively, “ the lord, who gave me the latin tongue, did not give me the latin syntax, but only so far as to understand others and be understood by them.” for wechelen spoke without regard to case, mood, or tense. thus, when he desired to express that he had been on pilgrimage, he would say : “ ego ire hierosolinian et visitare sepulchruni domini mei ; et quando redire^ ego ponere me in hoc carcere pro arnore dotnini mei qui mori pro me ”. although not skilled in latinity, the anchorite of llowes was the friend and adviser of the learned archdeacon of brecknock, who, before retiring to a life of study, went to seek his approval and blessing. giraldus besought wechelen to pray for him that he might understand the holy scriptures. “ och ! och ! ” cried the unlettered recluse, grasping the scholar’s hand, “ say not understand, but keep: vain, vain is it to understand the word of god, and keep it not.” ^ godric of finchale was to a great extent self-taught. as a young pedlar, his only lore was the paternoster and creed. bent on acquiring religious knowledge, he frequented the churches of carlisle, until some kinsman gave him a book, which he set himself to learn fully. this book was the valued “ psalter of st. jerome,” which he carried about with him and read continually. for a while he acted as doorkeeper in the church of st giles at durham ; afterwards he resorted to the cathedral church of st mary, where he picked up some psalms and hymns from the school-children. he is said to have 1 gir. camb. op. (rolls, 21), i, 89, go, pref. liv., iv. literary recluses 171 composed an english hymnd it is possible that the simple hermit was at heart a poet like caedmon, and that as he knelt in worship, some songs in the mother-tongue rose to his lips. the hymn to the blessed virgin and the story of its supernatural origin were recorded by reginald of durham and roger of wendover. one day—so we are told—when godric was praying before the altar of the blessed virgin, she ap¬ peared to him and placed her hands upon his head. she then sang, and taught him to sing, a metrical prayer which he afterwards imprinted firmly in his memory. seinte marie, clane virgine, moder jesu christ nazarene, onfo, scild, help thin godrich, on fang, bring heali widh the in godesrich. seinte marie, christes hour, meidenes clenhed, moderes flour, delivere mine sennen, regne in min mod, bringe me to blisse wit thi selfe god. these verses he was bidden to use whenever he was fearful of being overcome by pain, sorrow, or temptation. he seems also to have written a song to st. nicholas, the patron-saint of his seafaring years, the words and music of which are pre¬ served.'^ the literary recluses of mediaeval england include simon stock, the hymn-writer, and thomas scrope, the historian ; geoffrey, the grammarian, and george ripley, the alchemist; margery kempe and julian, the mystics; richard rolle, com¬ poser of poetry and prose, and symon, compiler of a manual of meditations. the early life of st. simon stock is a tangled web of legend. he is said to have died at a great age in 1265, but the earliest notice containing his name and a few particulars dates from about the year 1425 ; nor is it until the end of the fif¬ teenth century that stories are related of his wonderful infancy, of his ascetic boyhood spent in the “ stock ” of a tree, or of the visions which sent the young solitary first to study at oxford and then to join the carmelites upon their arrival in england. ^ the vita, pp. 203-4, says that he was thoroughly instructed only in his mother-tongue. his comprehension of french on one occasion was regarded as a miraculous gift of tongues. 2 wendover, flor. hist. (rolls, 84), ii. 72-3 ; vita s. godrici, 288, diet. nat. biog. ; ritson, bibl. poet., 4. 172 hermits and anchorites of england all that is certain is that he did become general of the order in 1247. the prose writings of simon stock have been lost. they included letters^ and canones^ the latter probably the acts of the general chapter of 1259. simon is believed to have been the author of the rhymed antiphons flos carmeli and ave stella matutina^ which are found in the carmelite breviary. the fine poem alma redemptoris mater^ sometimes attributed to him, is much older.^ the learned carmelite order produced during the fifteenth century two notable scholarly recluses. thomas scrope, a white friar of norwich—the preacher referred to in the last chapter—was a student from his youth. his sermones de decern prceceptis contain the substance of his teachings. he wrote an account of his mission as legate to rhodes, and also books entitled compendium historiarum et iurium, de sectarum introitu ad angliam. his principal works were upon the car¬ melite order.^ george or gregory ripley seems to have been an anchorite of the carmelites. some consider that there were two men of this name,—a canon of bridlington who wrote upon natural philosophy and occult science, and a friar of boston, who wrote religious poetry and biography. since george ripley com¬ piled lives of st. botulph and st. john of bridlington, it is not unlikely that he had been associated with boston and brid¬ lington. in the absence of proof to the contrary, it is per¬ missible to follow bale in identifying the alchemist with the anchorite. bale says that george ripley was at first a canon of bridlington. from his youth he had been interested in exploring “ wonderful effects and mysterious workings ”. in order to acquire knowledge, he travelled in foreign parts, and dwelt several years in italy. he studied the ancient philo¬ sophers and mathematicians, plato, aristotle, hermas, bacon, and others. on his return, he obtained a dispensation from choir service for purposes of study, and eventually became a recluse. he wrote a work called the castle with twelve gates, treating of calcination, solution, congelation, and ^ per rev. b. zimmerman. 2 bale, script., 629-30; cent, viii., no. liv ; bihl. carm., ed. 1752, ii. 829 ; diet. nat. biog.; lambeth ms., 192, contains english translation of the so-called “ johannes xliv,” probably scrope’s work [per rev. b. zimmerman]. literary recluses 173 similar phenomena. his medulla alchimice was widely studied. after his death he was regarded as a necromancer and magician. the first english-latin dictionary was compiled in 1440 by a dominican of lynn, geoffrey, “ the grammarian it is true that a note in one copy of an early edition declares that: “ the name of the compiler of this book is brother richard fraunces,^ enclosed within four walls for christ’s sake,” but this statement is at variance with other authorities. another copy is inscribed : “ the author of this work was geoffrey, called grammaticus, friar of the order of st. dominic the writer introduces himself as a recluse of the friars preachers of bishop’s lynn, ignorant and unskilled, more fit to learn than to teach, but desirous of helping young students. he calls his work “ a store-house of poor clerks,” promptorium par vulorum, or more correctly, promptuarium parvulorum cleri corum, and confesses that it is but a brief compendium of earlier grammarians. the author describes with simple ear¬ nestness in his preambulum the troubles of aspiring scholars, who, amidst the prevalent barbarism of his times, thirsted for knowledge like harts for the water-brooks, and in vain sought for guides.” he desires his book to be a mirror wherein should be clearly reflected the meaning of english and latin words :— “i humbly with prayers entreat all pedagogues, teachers, and masters, that when they have examined this little work, they will approve what may by god’s assistance have been rightly written, and will piously correct and emend what is written ill or erringly ; since humble grammarians and boys may look on this short volume as on a mirror, and find freely and immediately the common words which belong to the latin tongue looking into this mirror, we see the following words indicative of the solitary life :— ankyr (recluse), anachorita. ermytage, her{e)mitorium. ermyte (eremyte), heremita. recluse (or ankyr), supra, anachorita. ^ a bequest was made to . . . ardo fraunseys anachorite confessori meo by john l’estrange of hunstanton (1436); reg. surflet, f. 206. 2 a note in an early edition (lincoln cath. muniments) has caused some to suppose that his name was geoffrey starkey (diet, nat. biog,). 174 hermits and anchorites of england the dictionary was printed by pynson in 1499, and afterwards by wynkyn de worde.^ the compilation of a latin-english dictionary, entitled medulla grainmatice, has been ascribed to geoffrey. he is also supposed to have written a book of hymns, and treatises on the writings of john de garlandia and other authors. to the works of richard rolle of hampole frequent allu¬ sion has already been made. he went to the university of oxford “ where, when he had made great progress in study, he desired more fully and more deeply to be instructed in the theological doctrines of holy scripture, rather than in physics or in the teaching of secular science the young hermit was no profound scholar, but he was well read. his facility of expression was remarkable. it was reported, indeed, that he could exhort and write on different themes at the same time. he was once writing in his cell when guests arrived who begged him to offer them a word of edification. he did so : “ yet in no way did this make him cease from writing for two hours continuously, but, with the same speed as before, he continued to write ”. he wrote hastily, when possessed with his subject, and his style is unpolished, disconnected, ejaculatory, some¬ times even incoherent; but his originality and vivacity caused his work to live. “ his strength lies in his lyric fervour, in the truth of his feeling, in the depth of his inner life, in graphic descriptiveness, in happy illustration from nature, life, his own experience; ... he excels in terse sentences, epigrammati cally pointed and full of antithesis, which often convey truths far in advance of his time and of almost modern impress.” ^ no attempt can be made here to discuss the writings of richard of hampole. prof horstman has made many of them accessible, and it is understood that miss h. e. allen is about to publish the result of her exhaustive researches into his works and those of his followers. the melum (or melos conternplativormn) deals with the glory of the saints, and especially of solitaries. vehement and sweeping denunciation promptoriiim parv.^ ed. way (camden s., 1843, 1851, 1865); also ed. a. l. mayhew (e.e.t.s., 1908, e. ser., 102). 2 “ officium de s. ricardo,” in york breviary, ii., app, v (surtees s., 75), trans. d. harford. 3 c. horstman, r. rolle, ii. p. xix. literary recluses 175 of abuses stamp it as the work of a youthful reformer, who feels bitterly towards all authority. the incendium amoris^ also treats of the contemplative life, but it is devotional rather than controversial, and is mellowed and mature in tone. the writer shows a self-restraint; and his impassioned love is no less strong, though more serene. so greatly was this work appreciated that it was afterwards (1435) turned into english at the request of dame margaret heslyngton, a recluse—“ to the askynge of thi desyre, systre margarete,” says the translator, richard misyn, who is variously described as hermit and as prior of the carmelites of lincoln.^ the incendium amoris (\ikq the melunt) contains some per¬ sonal notes. it was written in early manhood, when the experi¬ ences set forth in it were fresh in his memory. the writer describes the stages of his inner life—the sinful follies of his youth, the penitence and “ lyfe-chaunging,” the temptations and self-discipline that followed thereupon, the gradual develop¬ ment of the soul, and its phases of rapture. nearly three years after his conversion, richard was sitting in a chapel, delighting in meditation, when he suddenly experienced a strange sensation of the burning heat of spiritual love. some months later, as he sat in the same chapel singing his evening psalms, he heard the sound of chanting above him and himself burst into ecstatic song (see frontispiece). earnestly desiring to kindle in all manner of folk the same unquenchable love, he makes it the subject of a book, offered not to philosophers and divines “lappyd in questions infenyte, bot unto boystus and untaght, more besy to con lufe god then many thinges to knawe richard rolle was a voluminous writer, and his works, transcribed into other than his native northern dialect, were scattered far and wide. the possessions of lord scrope, named in his will (1415) included the incendium amoris and also “an exposition on judica me deus which richard the hermit composed and wrote.” the monastery of syon, which possessed many of his books, treasured a melum^ written with his own hand.^ he is reputed to have written meditations on ^ a critical edition of the latin texts is being prepared by miss m. deanesly. '^five of love (e.e.t.s., orig. ser., 106), p. 104 ; facsimile, facing p. 103. ^m. bateson, syon library, 102; see also h. e. allen, athenceum, 23 aug., 1913. 176 hermits and anchorites of england the passion, and treatises on the ten commandments, on the paternoster, and on prayer, besides paraphrases and expositions of scripture in english. the pricke of conscience, which has long been attributed to him,^ contains counsels to the soul upon life, death, and judgment in a church at york (all saints’, north street) is a window depicting the end of the world (plate xxxvi). below each panel is a couplet from this poem. the representations of fire and flood, earthquake and falling stars, of the rending of tombs and coming together of bones, are quaint but vivid, and they follow the author’s description of the last fifteen days.^ the compiler of the officium de s. ricai'do describes the influence of richard rolle as a devotional writer:— “admirable, indeed, and very useful, were the occupations of this holy man—in holy exhortations by which he converted a very great number to god; in his mellifluous writings and treatises and little books composed for the edification of his fellow-christians, which should all re-echo the sweetest harmony in the hearts of the devout.” richard of hampole excelled in books of instruction and devotion composed for religious persons, and particularly for solitaries. a careful scribe who collected his works cites the source from which his text of the judica me deus is derived. it was copied from a book in the possession of a hermit whom he had visited at christmastide in 1409: ricardus heremita dixit in libro quein habuit heremita de tanfeld? the com¬ mentary on the psalter was written at the request of margaret kirkby, the recluse of ainderby. to the same lady, his “dear disciple,” was dedicated the letter of sympathetic advice, called the form of perfect living (p. 98), which became a popular tract. he bids her, however, not to covet books overmuch: “ hold love in heart and in work, and thou hast all that we may say or write”. mention must be made of a work occurring in whole or in part in many manuscripts, which sometimes purports to be a ^ since going to press, my attention has been called to the valuable mono¬ graph by miss allen on the authorship of the prick of conscience''. she does not consider r. rolle to be the author, or even the translator, of this poem. 2 see an old york church: all hallows in north street. ^ bodl. ms. 861, f. 102. also trin. coll., dublin, ms. a. 6, 9 [per miss m. deanesly]. t'late xxxri sw'!’ ■''nte.'fftrimsiau it! kftittaa v” flij! i tttc'a 1 f^fsl i'kick ok co.nsci kxck ■• window. york literary recluses 177 “ boke maad of rycharde hampole heremyte to an ankeresse it contains ninety-one chapters, and that numbered eighty-three is entitled: “ how an anker schal haue [behave] hyr to hem that comen to hir”. the work is none other than hilton’s treatise upon the contemplative life, called the scale of perfection (p. 99). walter hilton was an austin canon of thurgarton, and died in 1396. the following account of one “walter the recluse,” which occurs in a catalogue of “ english learned men that were augustin friers,” may possibly refer to walter hilton, although the otherwise unknown friar is said to have flourished in 1280, a century before the augustinian canon:— “walter the recluse, educated among, and afterwards became one of the eremites of st. augustine, and being already sufficiently instructed in secular learning, he apply’d himself to divinity, and became a great proficient in both heads, being put to teach others, he succeeded so well, that many of his scholars became notable doctors. but whilst he liv’d recluse from human conversation, being much addicted to solitary life, he wrote pious meditations: of a solitary life: of the contempt of the worldp ^ the works of richard rolle and walter hilton were much appreciated by anchoresses, who were often well-educated women. the ladies for whom the ancren riwle had been written were bidden to read books of devotion in english or french. reading was encouraged as a relief and help to the oppressed spirit:— “often, dear sisters, ye ought to pray less, that ye may read more. reading is good prayer. reading teacheth how, and for what, we ought to pray; and prayer afterwards obtaineth it. in reading, when the heart feels delight, devotion ariseth, and that is worth many prayers. st. jerome saith, let holy reading be always in thy hand. sleep may fall upon thee as thou lookest thereon^ and the sacred page meet thy drooping face ; and thus long and intently must thou read. everything, however, may be overdone. moderation is always best,” ^ bodl. ms., laud, 602. in another ms. (in private hands) r. is credited with the authorship. 2 j. stevens, continuation of 'dugd. monast. ii. 216. tanner cites b.m. cott. faust. b. vi. as pious contemplations of walter hylton, anchorite. this manuscript, falsely ascribed to w. h., deals with solitary saints, and contains the paintings reproduced in frontispiece and plate vi. 12 178 hermits and anchorites of england we owe to an anchoress of lynn a fragmentary mystical work, and to an anchoress of norwich, one of the finest con¬ tributions to sacred literature. about margery kempe no¬ thing is known but what we can glean from the treatise upon contemplation “taken out of the boke of margerie kempe of lynn of this fragment no manuscript is known. one copy alone has been traced, a tiny quarto of eight pages, printed by wynkyn de worde about 1501, preserved in the university library, cambridge. this was reprinted with slight variations by h. pepwell in 1521,^ and he appended this note: “here endeth a short treatise of a devout ancress called margery kempe of lynn ”. in the dialogues between her soul and god, she reveals herself as a zealous self-disciplined woman, eager to suffer more for his sake, but restrained from undue asceti¬ cism and outward observances by her realization of his desire for her love alone. we learn how she overcame her loathing of lepers (p. 121); with what sympathy she regarded suffering even in animals; how earnestly she desired that there should be more priests in lynn to conduct god’s worship; how she agonized in prayer for men and women of evil life, and also “ for all jews and saracens, and all heathen people, that they should come to christian faith”. during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, there were several anchorages in lynn (see appendix), but which was the abode of margery the mystic is so far unknown. even of dame julian of norwich we know comparatively little, but happily her record of religious experience is com¬ plete. the revelations of divine love describe with consider¬ able skill and power certain “ shewings ” vouchsafed to her during the severe illness of which mention has already been made. two distinct versions of this work are found.^ mr. harford has recently edited the shorter and simpler one which he considers to be the original. the more elaborate version (which has eighty-six chapters instead of twenty-five) omits some trifling details of the illness, but is in every other respect considerably fuller. julian herself tells us that almost twenty 1 reissued in cell of self-knowledge, ed. e. g. gardner, xix. pp. 51-9. '^comfortable words for christ's lovers, ed. dundas harford [amherst ms., b.m. addit. 37790]; revelations of divine love, ed. grace warrack [b.m. sloane 2449]. literary recluses 179 years after the time of the showing, she was still deriving in¬ struction from it, and was gradually learning its meaning. the amherst ms. is inscribed with these words :— “ here is a vision, showed by the goodness of god to a devout woman, and her name is julian, that is recluse at norwich, and yet is on life, anno domini mccccxiij. in the which vision are full many comfortable words, and greatly stirring to all that desire to be christ’s lovers.” julian was an anchoress at st. julian’s, norwich, a church which was under carrow nunnery. she was a humble woman, with no opinion of the intellectual and spiritual gifts, which caused a later writer to describe her as theodidacta^ profunda, ecstatica. she calls herself “ a simple creature, unlettered ”. “ god forbid that ye should say, or take it so, that i am a teacher, for i mean not so—no, i meant never so. for i am a woman un¬ learned, feeble, and frail; but i know well this that i say i have it of the showing of him that is sovereign teacher. but truly charity stirs me to tell you it. for i would god were known, and my even christians sped, as i would be myself, to the more hating of sin and loving of god. but, because i am a woman, should i therefore leave [it alone], that i should not tell you the goodness of god, since i saw in the same time that it is his will that it be known ? then shall ye soon forget me that am a wretch, and do so that i let you not, and behold jesus that is teacher of all.” ^ the central scene of the vision is christ’s passion—in the light of which julian ever after interprets all the mystery of life. the problems of the existence of evil and pain had long weighed upon her pure, compassionate spirit : “ thus, in my folly, afore this time often i wondered why by the great fore¬ seeing wisdom of god the beginning of sin was not letted : for then, methought, all should have been well ”. she was shown that sin was permitted because it was “ behovable ” : and that “ all manner of thing shall be well ”. still was her heart troubled : “ ah, how might all be well, for the great hurt that is come, by sin, to the creature ? ” then did christ make clear to her that all sin and suffering should surely be turned to profit by virtue of his passion. ^ comfortable words, p. 41-2, i8o hermits and anchorites of england dame julian reveals the secret “ beholdings ” and “ be seechings ” of her own soul. now she unfolds high aspirations : “ god, of thy goodness, give me thyself . . . and if i ask any thing that is less, ever me wanteth now she utters the agonized longing of her heart, and asks relief in her intense yearning for the welfare of a friend’s soul : “ i desired to learn assuredly as to a certain creature that i loved, if it should con¬ tinue in good living, which i hoped by the grace of god was begun this human thirst for fuller knowledge was not to be satisfied, nevertheless she was taught not to be greatly dis¬ tressed for any manner of thing : “for all shall be well her¬ self secure in love and strong in faith, she explains faith thus — “ it is nought else but a right understanding, with true belief, and sure trust, of our being : that we are in god, and god in us, whom we see not as to the full meaning of the revelation, julian expressly tells us that it only dawned upon her gradually as she medi¬ tated upon this, the supreme experience of her life :— “ and from that time that it was shewed, i desired oftentimes to learn what was our lord’s meaning. and fifteen years after, and more, i was answered in ghostly understanding, saying thus : wouldst thou learn thy lord's meaning in this thing ? learn it well: love was llis meaning. who shewed it thee ? love. what shewed he thee ? love. wherefore shewed it he ? for love. hold thee therem a7id thou shah learn and know more m the same. but thou shalt 7iever knozv 7ior lear7i therem other thmg without e7id. thus was i learned that love was our lord’s meaning.” ^ symon “ the anker of london wall ” was enclosed at the city church of allhallows. “ sir symon ” or “ master anker ” is frequently mentioned in the churchwardens’ accounts. he was the compiler of the fruyte of redempeyon^"^ an english manual containing meditations on the life of christ, with ap¬ propriate prayers and thanksgivings. the woodcut reproduced in the text (fig. 7) is from this work : within a church, a priest (doubtless intended for the author) kneels at the feet of christ. the book is introduced by symon to his readers thus :— ^ revelations, chap, lxxxvi. printed by w. de worde, 1514, 1530, 1532. reprinted in facsimile by mr. welch in churchwardens' accounts of allhallows. literary recluses i8i “ here foloweth prayers and full deuoute contemplacyons with thankynges of all the benefytes gyuen to mankynde, and specyally in the werke of our redempcyon, of the incarnacyon and passyon of cryste, called the fruyte of redempcyon. and fyrst it putteth a prayer to moue the mynde of man to laude god.” fig. 7.—symon “ the anker of london wall ”. what the pious priest saw “ with the inward eye of his mind,” that he set down for the help of the others, knowing that there were few books of devotion in the vulgar tongue. one ex¬ ample will suffice to indicate the manner of his teaching. a short meditation “ of the oblacyon of the thre holy kynges,” closes with this prayer: “ benygne jesu i praye y^ to sende me grace spyrytually to offre these gyftes to the. the pure golde of perlite loue. the swete encens of deuoute prayer. and the dene myrre of mortyfycacyon of my frayle flesshe.” in the postscript the anchorite adds a personal touch, and pleads for the prayers of such as had derived benefit from his work :— 182 hermits and anchorites of england “ o all ye seruauntes of god vnto whose handes this deuoute lytell treatyse shall come, yf ye fynde swetnesse or deuocyon in jhesu cryste therby, laude ye god therfore, and of your charyte praye for the anker of london wall wretched symon, that to the honour of jhesu cryst and of the virgyn his moder mary hath compyled this mater in englysshe for your ghostly conforte that vnderstande no latyn. deo gracias.” the book was put forth with the approval of the bishop of london, richard fitzjames (1506-22), who stated that he had himself studiously read it, and recommended it to all true servants of christ—“ to theyr great consolacyon and ghostly conforte, and to the merytes of the deuoute fader compounder of the same here then, at the eve of the reformation, we leave symon, the last of our literary recluses, a simple student of the scrip¬ tures. xiv. the sixteenth century ther was an ancres with horn i had not a lytyll besynes to have her grauntt to cum owte, but owte she is.—commissioners’ report, worcester. there ys a chappell . . . which in tyme past hath ben an hermitage, wherein a pore impotent man, sometyme heremyte thereof, doth dwel not able to pay the rent.—chantry survey, tadcaster. a lthough in the sixteenth century recluses were not so numerous as formerly, they were still to be found in many churches and religious houses ; e.g. at wakefield, york, lincoln, norwich, london (bishopsgate), westminster, and other places. elizabeth, queen of henry vh, made gifts to women enclosed at st. albans and at gloucester; katherine of aragon gave alms to the anchoress of stamford and to the anchorite of marlborough ; and the pensioners of henry vhi included “ ancres many other instances are found in wills. a somerset testator (1523) leaves : “ to the ancresse of crookehorne, /\.od. and a pair of shetes. to the ermytt there, 3^-. 4^. and a pair of shetes.” at faversham “ my lady ankeris ” was succeeded by a male recluse; cromwell’s re¬ membrances (1529-31) included petitions from the anker of faversham and from his sister, ann sawsten, and as late as 1541, a legacy was made to sir thomas crakynthorpe, anker. a will of 1538-9 shows that there were ankers both at the white friars and black friars of lynn.^ to such benefactions there was usually added a request for intercessory prayer; e.g. at faversham (1519); “to the ancres in the churchyard to the intent she shall pray for my soul and all christian souls, 4^. ” ; and at sandwich (1535) : “ to the ancras being at our lady church in sandwich to pray for my soul, 6 j. zd'\ sums of money were bequeathed 1 nicolas, privy purse exp.^ i, 67, 102; l, and p. hen. viii, iv., pt. iii., p. 2732 ; iii., pt. ii., p. 1545. 2 consist. court, norwich, reg. “ godsalve,” f. 269. 183 i84 hermits and anchorites of england to the priest enclosed in the austin friary at northampton, known as “ the ancre of our lady of grace,” or “ the armett of saynt austens”. the parson of creaton gave 2 od. “to the good father anker for to say v massys of y® v woundes of our lord jesu cryste ’ at the time of the surrender of the house, robert barrett was anchorite. the cell, as a recognized part of the chantry system, was doomed at the dissolution of monasteries. the inmates were quickly disposed of in vain the nuns of polesworth, with their abbess and an “ ancress ”—'reported by the commissioners as women of a very religious sort—intimated their desire to continue there or to be transferred to other houses (15 36). they were allowed, indeed, to buy a brief respite, but in 1539 they were forced to surrender. one of the nuns, possibly the recluse herself, was close upon 100 years old, and the commissioners themselves begged the court of augmentations to ratify pensions to all : “ for most of them are aged, impotent, or friendless the solitary dominican sister at worcester was dismissed under compulsion with a feint of acquiescence. the official visitor of the blackfriars wrote to thomas cromwell that he had not a little business to get her out, “ but owte she is the dominican anchoress of norwich came under the influence of thomas bilney, the protestant reformer, who presented her with a copy of the new testament translated by tyndale, and also with a book called the obedience of a christian man^ which was amongst those prohibited by bishop tunstall. when bilney was convicted of heresy, there was a danger lest she should be incriminated. when therefore he was about to suffer for his faith at norwich (1531), he made a solemn declaration at the stake, which was recorded by one who was present:— “ and where as that the lady ankeres of the blak freres is put in grete trouble and surmysed that she shuld be an heretike and that i shuld teche and instructe her with heresyes as well by bookes as otherwise. good cristen people here i take my deth upon it that i doo knowe her but for a good and vertuous woman. i beseeche god to preserue her in her goodnes. and i know non heresy in her nor i neuer taught her heresy. i wold god there were many more so good lyvyng in vertue as she is both men and women.” 2 ^ l. and p. hen. viii, x. no. 1191 (2). 2 foxe, acts and mon., ed. townsend, iv. 642, app. iii. the sixteenth century 185 in all probability she was the “ kateryn man late recluse in the house of the late blak freres ” to whom in 1548 a pension of 20s. was granted by the corporation for life, on condition that she relinquished such right as she had in the “ ancresse house two years later the civic assembly passed another resolution : “ it is agreed and graunted that katheryn manne syngle-woman shall have fre libertye to occupie within this cittie so long as she shall kepe her shoppe and be soole and unmarryed some recluses, old and feeble, were dependent upon the alms of those who had known them in the old days ; thus in 1546-7 the parson of all saints’, norwich, bequeathed 6 s. sd. to mistress kydman,^ sometime anchoress of carrow. buildings were disposed of in various ways. the “ an keresse house” at exeter was granted with st. john’s hospital into private hands, whilst the “ late ancres of excet tour,” alice buttes, received an annuity from the crown. the cell at allhallows, london wall, was suppressed in 1538, and was given to the city sword-bearer. in 1516, there had been an anchoress living at st. john’s chapel, wakefield, but a century later dodsworth speaks of it as “ now translated into a lay the (i.e. barn), on the south side wherof ther is a hollow place yett extant in the wall wher [an] anchoret lived such tenements were occasionally put to parochial uses, and became a vestry, or, as at gateshead, a school. the four rooms at chester-le-street were occupied by widows, who paid a few shillings a year to the churchwardens. in 1619 these build¬ ings were granted to the curate, but in 1626 the parish paid his house rent elsewhere “ in lieu that formerly he solie have had the anchorage, which is imployed to support the poor there were hermits, too, scattered up and down the country during these years preceding the dissolution of religious houses. road and bridge hermits were still doing useful work, and were popular objects of charity. the private accounts of sir henry willoughby in 1521 show “rewards” paid to the “ armytts ” called egerton and mytton, and to the “ armytts ” ofbindon and polesworth ; and as late as 1542 he 1 at the bishop’s visitation in 1514, the sub-prioress had complained “ that dame margaret kidman is unkind ”, ‘^church notes (rec. ser., 34), 51. ^ w. o. blunt, church in chester-le-street, 13-5. 186 hermits and anchorites of england gave twopence to a poor hermit at the gates.^ persons travel¬ ling would give alms to hermits on the highway. henry vi 11 on a journey “ paied in almes to an heremyte upon the waye ” 4^. zd. he also allowed 6 j. to the hermit of deptford towards the repair of his chapel.^ the enterprising hermit of lydd seems to have made himself indispensable to the town, and to have remained on at the hermitage from 1520 to 1558 in the capacity of agent in connexion with church restoration.^ john bate supplied loads of gravel, and even lead for the roofing of the chancel, e.g. :— “1532. itm receuyd of father armyte for half a c and 20 lb. of lede, 4^*. zd, “ i 538-9. it pd. to the hermyte for certen stonys of hym bought for to amend the churche wall, 2 s. zd!' but whilst some were honest, hard-working men, others were idle and greedy of gain (pp. 61-2). william thorpe, the lollard, had spoken in his testament (1460) of “ heremites and pardoners, ankers and straunge beggers ” who had leave to defraud the poor.^ there was some truth in his complaint, for the system of indulgences was frequently applied to their support, and some undoubtedly held positions which were connected with superstitious uses. in 1443, for example, the pope offered an indulgence to penitents who should visit and give alms to a chapel ^ in the parish of stalham, dedicated to st. andrew “ at which john kylburn, a hermit, has long dwelt, and whither resorts a great multitude out of reverence for the said saint, by whose merits divers of those who visit it have been delivered from diseases pilgrims to bawburgh were wont to resort to the oratory of the hermit near the bridge, and after mass he “ attended them to the town, sprink¬ ling them with hyssop and holy water ”. another instance of such service occurs at hinxton, in the neighbouring county of cambridge. an elizabethan inquisition on concealed lands reported as follows :— ^hist. mss. {middleton), igii; 331, 335-6, 346, 389. privy purse exp. 42, 273 ; l. and p. hen. viii, v., p. 749. 2 a. finn, records of lydd, 346, 359, 376, 381-2, etc. ^foxe, actes and mon., ed. 1583,1 p. 543. ^ probably at the place now called chapel field. the sixteenth century 187 “ we find lykwise that an ermite . . . dwellinge there did cast holly water on them that came to himfortye yeares sithenceand tooke the proffitts thereof. . . . but whether the sayd howse and close were given or used to anye other superstitious use before or since that tyme we knowe not.” a similar commission held in the county of northampton elicited the information that at boston ^ in brampton ash there was a hermitage called the chapel of st. augustine, where pilgrimage used to be made to an image of that saint, and where mass was many times celebrated in a superstitious manner. pilgrimage was also made to the hermitage at little harrow den, whereof the hermit-chaplain. sir thomas, was the re¬ cipient of numerous bequests in the reign of henry viii. the hermitage at southampton, situated near the old ferry over the itchen, was frequented by pilgrims ; the present chapel road was once the “ causey of our lady of grace henry vips charter presents a curious admixture of secular and spiritual interests. “ considering that by a confluence of our subjects and others the town may be greatly improved and advanced in wealth and prosperity,” a yearly fair of several days’ duration is granted to the mayor and burgesses, as also to william gefferey, hermit of the chapel of the holy trinity and the blessed mary, “in which chapel the said glorious virgin is very frequently honoured by the faithful in 1510, henry viii visited this place and gave 6 s. sd in alms. the hermit of colnbrook, near windsor, was guardian of another shrine in honour of the blessed virgin. elizabeth of york made an offering of sd. at “ our lady of cabroke,”" and gave the same day to the hermit in alms izd. the chapel of court at street in aldington sprang into fame about the year 1525 through its \ connexion with the “holy maid of kent”. before becoming a nun at canter¬ bury, elizabeth barton had lived at aldington. there she was visited with sickness which manifested itself in seizures and trances accompanied by wild speeches, and resulted (so says the statute-book) in “ wekeness of her brayne ”. the parson of aldington, richard master, encouraged the woman ^ or bedstow. sir john holt of brampton by dingley by will dated 25 march, 1419-20, leaves “ to the emendation of the hermitage of bedstowe, xl 5.’ . line. reg. repyndon, mem. f. 190 d. 188 hermits and anchorites of england to believe herself inspired, and spread exaggerated reports, with intent to increase the number of pilgrims to the chapel “ for hys own lucre and advauntage instigated to play the prophetess, she predicted that if the king’s marriage with anne boleyn took place, she should be burnt and he would die a villain’s death. an immense crowd gathered at the chapel, in whose presence the nun became rapt:— “ at her next voyage to our lady of court of strete, she entred the chappell with ave regina ccelomm in pricksong. . . . there fell she eftsoones into a marveilous passion before the image of our lady, much like a bodie diseased of the falling evill, in the which she uttered sundry metricall and ryming speeches, tending to the w'orship of our lady of court of strete, whose chappell there shee wished to be better mainteined, and to be furnished with a daily singing priest.” a hermit-chaplain. sir william, was duly appointed, and “ the heremite was enriched by daily offering ”. when the fame of the place was at its height (1528) a typical bequest was made by isabel, lady poynings :— “to the herymete of curte of strete vji-. wmd. to our lady chapel ... a yard and two nails and a half of cloth of gold, for a vestment.” ^ the chaplain himself was the subject of one of the nun’s “ revelations whilst she was at canterbury, and he at aldington, she announced “ what meate the heremite had to his supper, and many other things concerning him,” whereat people marvelled greatly. lambarde’s account, in his peram¬ bulation of kent^ was written within thirty-six years of these events. elizabeth barton herself may have been the victim of hallucinations, but her aiders and abetters who compiled the rolls of prophecies, were certainly guilty of fraud. bidden by an angel, she visited henry viii himself: possibly she told him the story repeated by chapuys in a letter to charles v, namely, that she had seen the seat prepared for him in hell (cf p. 160). she confessed many mad follies to the arch¬ bishop, but desired permission to go again to court at street, ^ test, vetusta, 634. the sixteenth century 189 and “ there have a trance, and then know perfectly at length she admitted her treason against god and the king, and publicly confessed her falsehoods at paul’s cross. cranmer declared, in 1533, that the feigned revelations of the false nun were had in abomination; and sir thomas more—who had once thought her pious, albeit strange and childish—now re¬ garded her as “ the wicked woman of canterbury elizabeth barton, the parson of aldington, and their accomplices, were imprisoned, convicted of high treason, and executed (april, fig. 8 .—chapel of our lady, court-at-street. , 1534) : “ this day the nun of kent, with two friars observant, two monks, and one secular priest, were drawn from the tower to tyburn, and there hanged and beheaded the hermit escaped, ibut disappears from public notice. his ruined chapel, the scene of all this excitement, is still standing (fig. 8). one of the last of the 'kentish hermits, an intelligent and hard-working man who dwelt by richborough castle, was visited by leland and commended by him : “i had antiquites of the heremite the which is an industrius man”. the last tenant of the hermitage near southwick was prior ^l. and p. hen. viii (1528-34); act 25 hen. viii, c. 12. 190 hermits and anchorites of england william noxton, who took refuge there from the sweating sickness (1534). writing to lady lisle he says that the visitation of god is very sore, and that his letter is “ scribbled with a comfortless heart in the eremitical habitation of st. leonard in 1544, st leonard’s armytage, consisting of house, chapel, garden and closes, was disposed of by the crown. the last solitary of sherborne died a few months before the expulsion of the monks from the abbey. one of the earliest entries in the parish register is the burial of william howell, hermit of st. john the baptist (1538). when visiting this town, leland noted that ‘ ‘ there was an heremitage of s. john by the mylle, now down human bones have been found in the plot of ground near the saw-mill, still called “ st. jone’s ”, there were a few survivors of the old days, in places not easily accessible to state officials. about the time of the sup¬ pression of holme cultram abbey, in cumberland, the follow¬ ing notice occurs : “ there is a chapel called st. cuthbert’s chapel with two garths containing one acre in the occupation of richard stanley hermit there, with a little moss thereunto belonging ”. the survey of yorkshire chantries includes the pathetic memorandum concerning tadcaster :— “ there ys a chappell in the sayd parishe, covered with stone, which in tyme past hath ben an hermitage, wherein a pore impotent man, sometyme heremyte thereof, doth dwel not able to pay the rent; which chappell with th’ appertenances ys worth to be letten by yere as appereth by the rentall, vj s. viij in the case of the last chaplain of warkworth hermitage, the grant made by the earl of northumberland to sir george lan castre (p. 48) was ratified by the court of augmentations in 1537) save that in lieu of twenty marks, he was to receive ten marks yearly, with the profits of the rood chapel, and of st. leonard’s hospital at wigton. before 1567, the place had ceased to be occupied. clarkson’s survey observes that:— “ ther is in the parke also one howse hewyn within one cragge, which is called the harmitage chapel: in the same ther haith bene one preast keaped, which such godlye services as that tyme was used and celebrated. the mancion howse ys nowe in decay : the closes plate xxxr/r wa k kwo rk h kr m rj'a(; * •71 ' % } i i i i r» ^ » v ■^v t% tv /. *• > / • r i i »• • 1 -. :.'?v x. •<i •r i i % f 1 the sixteenth century 191 that apperteined to the said chantrie is occupied to his lordship’s use.” ^ if, indeed, any solitary remained in his cell after the dis¬ solution of monasteries (1536-9), he was almost inevitably homeless after the suppression of the chantries in 1546. it was reported in 1548 that the chapel of horteley in batheaston “wherein an armyte sometyme dwelled” had for the last twelve years been inhabited by another tenant. st. brandan’s chapel at bristol—reported by leland to be “ now defacyd ”—was secured by the town clerk, who built a windmill in its place. the site (which became a fort in the civil wars) is now occupied by the cabot tower. the chapel near plymouth is referred to in 1591 as a barn and messuage called “ the hermytage of our ladie at quarrywell st. john’s chapel, which had belonged to tavistock abbey—“ a little cottage much ruyned, with two little garden plotts ”—was used in the seventeenth century first as a pest-house and then as a poor house. the premises of malmesbury abbey, sold in 1544, included “st. white’s armitage” upon burton hill. leland mentions another “ in the dike of the toune at the west ende of the old paroche chirche,” that is, in the avon valley, south of malmesbury. in the following century aubrey noticed several ancient buildings, which looked like hermitages, about malmesbury and westport. in the parish of stanton st. quintin “ stood a very fine hermitage, moted about in an oaken wood ”. alluding to a ruined chapel at yatton keynes, aubrey says : “ i think there was a hermitage by it, but a pleasanter romancy place i know not easily where to find ”. the solitary now belonged to a bygone age—the true solitary, that is, for the “ ornamental hermits ” of the pseudo¬ gothic revival belong to a wholly different category. recluses were swept away by the flood which carried off all that was in any way connected with monasticism. they had, however, fulfilled their purpose and justified their existence. they were not a class composed wholly of eccentric and fanatical, or sel¬ fish and morbid persons whp shirked the duties of life. they were often men and women of strong and saintly character ^ percy’s reliqices, ed. 1858, iii. 333. 192 hermits and anchorites of england whose life commanded respect and won gratitude from their fellow-men, who recognized them as workers. at its best, the contemplative life was a career and a noble one. there were of course some whose conduct brought discredit on their pro¬ fession, but there were others who lived up to the high ideal set forth by one of themselves :— “ righteous hermits also have a single aim : in charity of god and of their neighbour they live; worldly praise they despise; as much as they may, man’s sight they flee; each man more worthy than themselves they hold; to devotion continually their minds they give; idleness they hate; fleshly lusts they manfully withstand; heavenly things they taste and eagerly seek; and earthly they covet not but forsake; in sweetness of prayer they are delighted.” ^ the passionate earnestness of purpose in such a life commands the admiration said to have been expressed in an outburst of enthusiasm by a protestant moralist. dr. johnson: “ i never read of a hermit but in imagination i kiss his feet even the most cautious critic of the twentieth century, fearful of idealizing the “ dark ages,” may well echo the words of the hermit of hampole:— “ hermetis lyfle therfore is grett, if it gretely be done ^ from richard rolle,'fiy<? of love, 29, 30. appendix a the office for the enclosing of anchorites (according to the use of sarum) [manuale ad usum sarum (surtees s. 63), 37*-43*. the office is “ servi tium includendorum,” from the york manual.] the service of those who are to be enclosed / n what manner those who approach the order of anchorites ought to approach and to order themselves^ that which follows according to the use of sarum will make clear. no one ought to be enclosed without the advice of the bishop ; but let him be taught and warned by the bishop or some other presbyter that he must devoutly examine his own conscience., and in particular whether he desires holiness with a good or bad purpose, if he desires it to please god or to attain wealth or the praise of men ; lastly whether he have strength and endurance of mind enough to avail against the crafts of the evil enemy, and against manifold mischiefs of that sort. when he shall have promised to bear such things for the kingdom of god, and to set his hope on god alone, let the bishop, or a presbyter by command of the bishop, enclose him. but let the one who is enclosed learn not to think highly of himself, as though he deserved to be set apart from the mass of mankind; but let him rather believe that it is provided and ap¬ pointed for his own weakness that he should be set far from the companion¬ ship of his neighbours, lest by more frequent sin he should both himself perish and do harm to those who dwell with him, and should thus fall into greater damnation. let him therefore think that he is convicted of his sins and committed to solitary confinement as to a prison, and that on account of his own weakness he is unworthy of the fellowship of mankind. this rule must be obsetwed with both sexes. here beginneth the order of enclosing servants or handmaidens of god let him who is to be enclosed take care that he be confessed of all his sins which he can remember, and that on the day before the day of his en¬ closure he be refreshed only with bread and water. on the night follow¬ ing that day, he is bound to watch devoutly in prayer with his light burning in a inonastery near his cell. on the morrow, after an exhortation to the people and to the one who is to be enclosed, the bishop or priest must begin this responsorium : let us amend our ways. the choir goes on —for the 13 193 194 hermits and anchorites of england amendment of our sins of ignorance, lest, taken suddenly by the day of death, we seek time for repentance, and find it not. hear us, o lord, and have mercy, for we have sinned against thee. verse. help us, o lord our saviour, and for the glory of thy name deliver us, o lord. hear us, o lord. after this the bishop or priest prostrating himself on the carpet before the altar shall with the clerks.^ begin these psalms: 7//, ixxxviiii with gloria patri, xx with gloria patri, xxxii, xxxv^ xxxviii., xli.^ xliii., ivi^ cii^ ciii, 1-5 (only), cxxx, cxxxi^ cxliii. lord have mercy upon us. christ have mercy upon us. lord have mercy upon us. our father, etc. and lead us not, etc. but deliver, etc. o lord, my god, save thy servant (or thy handmaid); which putteth his trust in thee. let not the enemy prevail against him : nor the son of wickedness draw nigh to hurt him. be unto him, o lord, a strong tower : from the face of the enemy. send him help, o lord, from thy holy place : and strengthen him out of sion. o lord, hear my prayer; and let my cry come unto thee. the lord be with you. let us pray. spare, o lord, spare thy servant at. whom thou hast redeemed, o christ, with thy blood, and be not angry with him for ever. who livest, etc. another prayer with let us pray. o god of boundless mercy and great goodness, forgive his sins and heal all his weakness of soul, that having received forgiveness of all his sins he may rejoice in thy goodness. through christ, etc. let us pray. almighty and everlasting god, have mercy on thy servant n. and of thy great goodness guide him in the way of eternal life, that by thy grace he may love those things which are pleasing to thee, and may go on from strength to strength. prevent us, o lord, in all our doings with thy gracious favour, and further us with thy continual help, that all our work may be begun, and ended in thee. through our lord, etc. after this let the bishof or priest vest himself in a chasuble and let any mass he wills be at once begun; so that this prayer following be said for the one to be enclosed.^ with a single per dominum, and a single oremus. o god, who dost cleanse the wicked and wiliest not the death of a sinner ; we humbly beseech thy majesty that in thy goodness thou wilt guard thy servant m. who trusteth in thy heavenly aid, that he may ever serve thee, and no trials may part him from thee. through our lord, etc. after the gosfel the one who is to be enclosed must offer his taper appendix a 195 which must always burn above the altar during the mass. and the one who is to be enclosed must stand before the altar step and read his profession in a loud voice : if he is a layman some servant must read it for him. the profession must be of this sort :— i, brother or sister n. offer and present myself to the goodness of god to serve in the order of an anchorite ; and according to the rule of that order i promise to remain henceforward in the service of god through the grace of god and the guidance of the church and to render canonical obedience to my spiritual fathers. then must the one who is to be enclosed make the sign of the cross on the deed of his profession with a pen.^ and placing it on his knees upon the altar., let him pray after the bishop or priest in this 7jian7ier :— antiphon. confirm, o lord, that which thou hast wrought in us, from thy holy temple which is in jerusalem. alleluia, alleluia. let [god] arise. afterwards let the bishop or priest say :— let us pray. o god, who dost quicken thy servant who has turned from the vanity of the life of this world to the love of thy heavenly calling; cleanse the thoughts of his heart, and pour upon him thy heavenly grace, that trusting in thee, and guarded by thy mighty power, he may fulfil that which by thy grace he has promised, and the work of this life well done, he may attain at last to that which thou hast vouchsafed to promise to those who trust in thee. through christ, etc. the7t shall the bishop or priest bless the habit suitable to his professio7i with this prayer :— we mark the sign of our lord jesus christ on this garment that his profession may be kept, and that the holy spirit may rule in the heart and soul and in all the doings of him who receives it. through the same christ our lord. amen. then shall he sprinkle both the habit and hhn who receives it with holy water: and whe7i he gives the habit let hhn say when it is being put on :— may god put off from thee the old man with all his works, and may god clothe thee with the new man which after god is created in righteous¬ ness and true holiness. and let all answer: amen. when he who is to be enclosed is clad m his habif let hhn i7n7nediately prostrate hhnself before the altar step and let him remain thus prostrate in prayer until he be suinmoned by the bishop or priest to co7n7nunion. after that let the bishop or priest chant over hhn still lying prostrate this hymn :— veni, creator spiritus, etc. verse. send out thy spirit and they shall be made : and thou shalt renew the face of the earth. the lord be with you. and with thy spirit. let us pray. o god, who wiliest not the death of a sinner^ but rather that he should 196 hermits and anchorites of england repent and be cleansed ; we humbly beseech thy mercy for this thy servant who has forsaken the life of the world, that thou wouldest pour upon him the help of thy great goodness that, enrolled among thy chaste ones, he may so run the course of this present life that he may receive at thy hand the reward of an eternal inheritance. through christ, etc. then shall the bishop or priest going to the altar finish the mass for the one who is to be enclosed. secreta. we beseech thee, o lord, that by the power of these holy mysteries thou wilt cleanse us from all our faults, and wilt grant to thy servant n. forgiveness of all his sins. through our lord, etc. postcom7nunio. may the sacraments which we have received, o lord, make us pure, and grant that thy servant n. may be free from every fault, so that he whose conscience by sin is accused may rejoice in the fulness of pardon from on high. through our lord. when the bishop or priest shall have communicated., let him also cofnmunicate the one to be enclosed. when mass is finished., let the afore¬ said taper be handed to the one who is to be enclosed; and when a pro¬ cession has been formed., let the bishop or priest., vested in a chasuble, go before, theti let him take by the hand the one to be enclosed carrying the taper, aftd let him lead him in goodly sort to his dwelling. let the clerks meamvhile go before, singing a litany. whe7t they have reached the dwelling and the litany is finished, the bishop or priest shall leave the 07te to be enclosed outside the dwelling and shall enter the dwelling alone, be ginfling, with holy water, the antiphon purge me, or i saw water, as tune permits. then let him hallow and bless the dwelling with the following prayers. this prayer shall be said over the altar with let us pray. o lord, holy and merciful father, who hast neither beginning of days nor end of years, whose greatness is bounded only by thy will; o god whose majesty the heaven of heavens cannot contain ; we bless thee and humbly beseech thee that this altar may be such an one as that which abel the forerunner in suffering, being slain by his brother, moistened and hallowed with fresh blood. may this altar be to thee, o lord, like that which abraham our father, who was permitted to see thee, made ; on which the high priest melchisedech set forth the pattern of a prevailing sacrifice. may this altar be to thee like that which moses hallowed with seven days’ purification and sanctified it with a threefold blessing'; as thou didst say unto him ; whosoever toucheth this altar shall be holy. on this altar then may all wantonness be destroyed, and every lust be smitten down ; and there be offered, instead of turtle¬ doves, the sacrifice of purity, and for young doves the sacrifice of innocence. through our lord. the blessing on the house :— hearken, o lord, to our prayers, and let the clear light of thy presence shine upon this house. let a full measure of thy blessing fall upon those who dwell therein by thy grace, that, dwelling in all sobriety in these temples made with hands, they may ever be temples of thy spirit. through christi our-lord. amen. appendix a 197 another prayer with let us pray. hear us, o lord, holy father, eternal god, that if there be any thing against us or opposed to us in this house of thy servant js. it may be cast out by the power of thy divine majesty. through our lord jesus christ, thy son, who with thee liveth and reigneth, in the unity. another with let us pray. bless o lord, this house and this place, that in it may dwell health, holiness, chastity, power, victory, devotion, humility, gentleness, meekness, fulfilment of the law and obedience to god, father, son, and holy ghost. and let a full measure of thy blessing rest upon this place and upon all who dwell therein in thee, that, dwelling in all sobriety in these temples made with hands, they may ever be temples of thy spirit. through our lord jesus christ thy son, who with thee liveth and reigneth in the unity of the holy spirit one god. after this^ let the bishop or pfiest go forth and lead in the one who is to be enclosed bearing his lights beginning this responsormm /— the kingdom of the world. the choir goes on —and all the glory of it have i despised for the love of my lord jesus christ, whom i have seen, whom i have loved, on whom i have believed, whom i have chosen for myself. verse. my heart has indited a good matter : i speak of my work for the king. whom i have seen. when this has been sung with its verse^ let the bishop or priest say :— the lord be with you and let us pray. we beseech thee, o lord, holy father, almighty and everlasting god, that thou wilt vouchsafe to pour the spirit of blessing upon this thy servant that, endued with power from on high, he may be enabled both to gain thy glorious gifts and to set an example of good living to others. response. amen. also aiiother blessing over hhn. may the lord jesus christ be by thy side, to defend thee. amen. may he be within thee, to refresh thee. amen. may he be about thee, to keep thee safe. amen. may he be before thee, to lead thee forth. amen. may he be above thee, to bless thee. amen. who with god the father and the holy spirit liveth and reigneth. in the unity. another blessing. may god the father bless thee. amen. may god the son preserve thee. amen. may he guard thy body. amen. may he save thy soul. amen. may he enlighten thy body. amen. may he direct thy mind. amen. and lead thee forth to everlasting life. amen. who in threefold perfection liveth and reigneth one god for ever and ever. amen. after this., let the bishop or priest go forth from the house, the recluse alone remaining within and keeping strict silence, while he is being firmly e7tclosedfrom without, and in the meanwhile let the bishop or priest begin an antiphon after this fashion in a loud voice :— we have received thy mercy, o god, in the midst of thy temple. psalms xlviii, cxvi, cxlvii, cl, with gloria patri. 198 hermits and anchorites of england lei the antipho7i be repeated. we have received, o god. when the a7itipho7i is finished., let the bishop or priest cause ihon all to p7'ay for him., that almighty god., for zvhose love he has left the world., a7td caused himself to be shut up m a 77iost strait prison., may so guard hint a7id stre7tgthen hhrt m that service, that after death he may be found fit to live with him to all eternity. our father, etc. and lead us not, etc. but deliver, etc. show forth, o lord, thy mercy towards us. that our peace may be in thee. the lord be with you. let us pray. we beseech thee, o lord, to defend this thy servant, and through the intercession of the blessed virgin mary and all the company of heaven, increase in him thy manifold gifts of grace, that being set free from the temptations of this world, he may have help in this life, and in the world to come everlasting joy. through christ. let us pray. almighty god, unto whom all hearts be open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid, cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of thy holy spirit, that we may perfectly love thee and worthily magnify thy holy name. through christ our lord. amen. let us pray. almighty and everlasting god, guide us, we beseech thee, in all our doings with thy most gracious favour, that in the name of thy beloved son we may worthily serve thee in all good works. who with thee liveth and reigneth in the unity of the holy spirit one god for ever and ever. then let them all depart to enter into the church, the choir singing some responsorium with its versicle conce'ming the saint in whose name and honour the church is founded, ending at the choir step by the priest saying a verse and prayer on the same subject. and if it be a church of saint mary this responsordum must be said :— happy art thou, o holy maiden mary, and most worthy of all praise. because from thee arose the sun of righteousness, christ our god. in eastertide: alleluia. verse. pray for the people; mediate for the clergy ; intercede for womenkind who honour thee ; that all who join in thy service may feel thy comfort. because from thee arose, etc. verse. holy mother of god, mary ever virgin. strengthen our weakness, we beseech thee, o merciful god, and grant that we who plead in the name of mary the maiden mother of god may by the aid of her prayers be freed from all our sins. through the same christ our lord. appendix b the office for the benediction of hermits (according to the rule of st. paul the first hermit) [transcribed by mr. f. c, eeles from a sixteenth century pontifical in his pos¬ session. it was written for thomas, titular bishop of lydence, who was suffragan to richard fitz james, bishop of london, in 1521, and afterwards to cuthbert tunstall.] [folio 68 . orma et ordo qualiter heremita a seculi vanitate cordialiter con uersus faciet professionem que ab episcopo vel eius conmiissario fieri potest quocunque celebri festo ad hoc ordinato. phmo episcopus ex more sacris vestibus indutus peragat 7nissa?n vsque ad euangelhmi et interim du7n alleluia tractus vel sequenc\i(i\ dicitur conuersus denote ve72iens i in vestibus consuetis portansque scapulare et alia vesthnenta [fo. 6827 professioni here77iitice conueniencia super brachiimi sinistru77i incedendo 7tudis pedibus vsque ad gradu7n altaris et ibidem nudato capite gemc flectendo eaponat ad pedes episcopi vel eius c07n77iissa7dj. episcopo stati77i cu7n circwnstantibus hunc. psal77iu7n. alter7tati7n pre77iittentibus miserere mei. / deus secundum magnam misericordiam tuam cum gloria patri et [fo. 69 sicut erat. dicto psalmo episcopus sedendo alloquatur eimi de proposito castitatis et exa7ninando de obseruacione regulari eiusde77i concensimi publice requirendo declaretque 077inia alia que sibi videntur ad salute7}t anhne illius esse oportuna quibus secundum dei ti77iore7n c077tpletis legal conuersus professione7n / suam vel episcopo ipsu7n docente dicat [fo. 692 / hoc 7nodo episcopo in cathedra sedente vultu adpopuhwi co7iuerso ego n non coniugatus promitto et voueo deo beate marie et omnibus sanctis in presencia reuerendi in christo patris et domini. n.n. episcopi propositum castitatis perpetue iuxta regulam beati pauli. in nomine patris et c[etera] deinde facial signmn crticis m fine professionis et tradat episcopo tunc i dicat episcopus hanc oracione77i super eu7n prostratimi [fo. 70 . oremus p raesta quesumus omnipotens deus huic famulo tuo . n. renuntianti seculi pompis gracie tue ianuas aperi qui despecto diabolo confugit sub titulo christi iube uenientem ad te sereno vultu suscipi ne de eo valeat inimicus triumphare tribue huic infatigabile brauium auxilij tui mentem eius lorica fidei circumda vt/felici muro vallatus mundum se gaudeat euasisse. per [fo. 702;. dominum. 199 200 hermits'and, anchorites of england oremus d eus qui filios israel in heremi solitudine manna ad pascendum celeste quadraginta annis manare fecisti quique vitam heremiticam tam per filium tuum quadraginta diebus et quadraginta noctibus prophetas et sanctos in heremo degentes tibi in heremo placere monstrasti concede propicius vt/famulus tuus . n. similem pro modulo suo eligens vitam sic in [fo. 71 proposito heremitice discipline mores suos mutet aptet et componat quatinus perseueranter proficiens ad huius vite perfeccionem attingere et ad gaudia per fectorum valeat peruenire. per eundem sequitur benediccio vestium cum [^] dominus vobiscum et cum [spiritu tuo]. oremus d eus eternorum bonorum fidelissime promissor certissime /per[fo. solutor qui vestimentum salutare et indumentum iocunditatis tuis fide libus promisisti clemenciam tuam suppliciter exoramus vt hec indumenta humilitatem cordis et contemptum mundi significandus quibus famulus tuus sancto visibiliter est informandus proposito propicius bene*j-dicere digneris vt et castitatis habitum quern te inspirante suscepturus est te protegente custodiat et quern vestimen/tis venerande professionis induis perpetualiter beata [fo. 72 facias inmortalitate vestiri per dominum et c[etera] d eus bonarum virtutum dator et omnium benediccionum largus infusor exaudi preces nostras vt banc vestem quam famulus tuus pro con seruande castitatis signo se ad cooperiendum expossit bene^jidicere et consecrare digneris ad laudem et gloriam nominis tui. per christum dominum nostrum amen. / [fo. 72 v deinde aspergatur aqua benedicta et postea det ei habitum episcopus et dum induit dicat. exuat te dominus veterem hominem cum actibus suis et induat te nouum hominem qui quit secundum deum creatus est in iusticia et sanctitate veritatis deo gracias deinde dicat ei episcopus si fuerit literatus vel in materna lingua f rater ecce dedimus tibi habitum heremiticum cum quo/monemus [fo. 73 te viuere caste sobrie et sancte in vigilijs in ieiunijs in laboribus in precibus in misericordie operibus et habeas vitam eternam et viuas in secula seculorum amen cui conuersus . r{espondit'\. genujiectendo denote sic. ef ego reuerende pater in nomine domini nostri ihesu christi ilium recipio promittens me secundum posse michi a deo collatum uestrum preceptum fideliter seruaturum adiuuante dei gracia et sanctorum eius oracione benigna tunc\sequantur benedicciones super eum prostratu7n cum [fo. qyu .oremus. f amulum tuum domine tue custodia muniat pietatis vt castitatis sancte propositum quod te inspirante suscepit te protegente semper illesum custodiat. per dominum appendix b 201 oremus a desto domine supplicacionibus nostris ut hunc famulum tuum bene dicere digneris cui in nomine sancto tuo habitum religionis/impo[fo. 74 nimus vt te largiente et deuotus in ecclesia persistere et vitam per cipere meretur eternam. per dominum deinde episcopus conuersus ad orientem dicat hunc ympnum. ljeni creator spiritus. ut supra in benediccione vidue et dicatuf vsque adfinejn. deinde dicatur kyrieleyson cbristeleyson kyrieleyson pater noster [^.] et ne nos [inducas in temptacionem]. [i^.] sed libera [nos a malo. amen.] [y.] saluum fac/seruum tuum. [fo. [i^. deus meus sperantem in te.] [)?".] mitte domine ei auxilium de sancto. [i^. et de syon tuere eum.] [^.] esto ei domine turris fortitudinis. [i^. a facie inimici eius.] [^.] domine exandi [oracionem meam]. [^. et clamor meus ad te veniat.] [^.] dominus vobiscum. [i^. et cum spiritu tuo.] oremus a desto quesumus omnipotens deus famulo tuo de tua misericordia con¬ fident! eumque tua proteccione custodi vt a cunctis aduersitatibus liberatus benediccioneeterna dignus inueniatur. per christum dominum. d eus qui iustificas impium et non vis mortem pec/catoris [fo. 75 maiestatem tuam supplices deprecamur vt famulum tuum . n. de tua misericordia confidentem celesti protegas benignus auxilio et assidua proteccione conserues ut tibi iugiter famuletur et nullis temptacionibus a te separatur. per christum dominum o mnipotens sempiteme deus miserere famulo tuo et dirige eum secun¬ dum clemenciam tuam in viam salutis eterne vt te do/nante tibi [fo. 75 ?; placita cupiat et tota virtute perficiat et omnipotens dominus tebenedicat et graciam bene viuendi tibi tribuat et ad vitam eternam perducat per christum deinde benedicat eum episcopus genujiectentem sic dicendo _5enedicat te omnipotens deus pate et filius et spiritus sanctus. ^ed antequam recedat quia sub aliqua regula certa viuet'e 7ninime defbet coartari ideo ne ignorans ignoretur exponatur ei modus [fo. 76 viuendi cu7n eius obse7uancia speciali. primo iniungitur ei episcopus vt palam etpublice dicat. oracionem. dominicam salutacioneinque euangelicam et fidei simbolum quibus ab omnibus perfecte auditis det sibi episcopus in 202 hermits and anchorites of england mandatis qtiod pro qualibet hora diei statut\d\ ab ecclesia cerium dicat / numenim oracioniim pro salute anime sue et omnium benefactorufn [fo. 762/ suorum deuote impetra 7 ida videlict primo pro vesperis xx‘^ pater noster cu 7 n totideni aue maria pro c 077 tpletorio xiij pater noster cu 7 n totidem aue maria 7 natutinis. xxx pater noster cum totide 7 n aue maria laudibus. xv pater noster cuni totidem aue maria pro hora pri 77 ia xxiiij pater noster cu 7 n totidem aue ma/ria pro qualibet hora videlicet iij^ vj<^ et ix<^ xv pater noster cum [fo. 77 totidem aue maria in fe 7 ialibus vero diebus dicet pro placebo, i. pater noster cu 7 n tottde 7 n aue maria, pno ditdge xxxiij pater noster cum totidem aue maria pro commendacione xxiiij pater noster cum totidem. aue maria, zymbolum vere suum singulis diebus cunt noctibus dicat xiij vicibus et cotidie audiat missam si vero fuerdt literatus ita quod sciat / dicere horas beate [fo. qqv marie vhginis cuiii vij psalmis et letania acplacebo et dirige pro defunctis. extunc cum qualibet horanim illarum dicat ter pater noster cum aue maria et cum dimidio nocturni. psalterij semel in die omnibus alijs pretennissis. et quia ociositas inimica est anwie et ne diabolus eu 7 n inueniat ociosum suis labotd manibus temporibus intei' medijs circa vic ualia acquirenda aut vias et pontes jityniter construendas [fo. 78 in aduentu domini et in xl^^ ac decern diebus ante pentecosten abstineat a camibus vt in fine eor^im communicetur confessione semperprecedente hi om 7 iibus ferijs quartis piscibus vtatur vel lacticineis et in ferda sexta ieiunet pa 7 ie et aqua nisi pro graui infirmitate aut nimio labore secum i dispe 7 isetur hi sabbato ieiunabit solis contentu piscibus [fo. 782/. lineis vti 7 ion licebit exceptis femoralibus pedulis eciam cum sotularibus solum vti debet caligis semper omissis et post habituni ex ordinacione episcopi sibi competentur datum m nofuine domini recedat in pace. appendix c tabulated list of cells explanation of headings, references description. h. a. date. patron. italics. name. i.e. dedication or situation of cell. = hermit, hermitage. = anchorite (male or female), anchorage. i.e. the earliest accredited reference; c. = circa; c. = century ; hef. = before; tp. = temp. = patron, benefactor, source of endowment. the use of italics implies uncertainty. when a name is italicized it signifies that the person is described not as hermit but keeper, chaplain, etc. with name of inmate, d. = dame ; br. = brother; pr. = priest ; d. = died; n.d. = no date recorded. n.b.—the numbering of cells is for purposes of reference. in some cases two or more numbers may refer to one cell, e.g. in norfolk, nos. 19 , 27 , 29 , 30 . abbreviations used in references b. blomefield, history of norfolk. b.m. british museum. bodl. bodleian library. cart. cartulary. ch. charter. close. calendar of close rolls. dugd. dugdale, monasticon anglicanum. ex. reg. exeter episcopal registers, ed. hingeston-randolph. feed. rymer, fcedera. itin. leland, itinerary, ed. hearne, 1770 . line. wills. a. w. gibbons, early lincoln wills. nov. leg. nova legenda angliae, ed. c. horstman. pat. calendar of patent rolls. p.r.o. public record office. r. roll. rec. records. reg. register. rolls. rolls series ol chronicles and memorials. s. society. s.s. surtees society. ser. series. v.c.h. victoria county history. 203 204 hermits and anchorites of england i. bedford place. description. i bedford a. 2 a. at st. mark’s 3 bletsoe wood h. st. mary 4 bushmead [in eaton socon] h. on site of priory 5 dunstable a. at priory 6 » h. — 7 farley, nr. luton h. — 8 houghton regis h. chapel of st. wilfrid 9 kempston a. at church 10 markyate wood [in caddington] — afterwards priory 11 moddry wood [in clophill] h. st. mary [site of beaulieu] 12 newnham priory, in or nr. h. — 13 oakley (“ ode ”) h. — 14 t urvey (bridge) h. chapel 15 wilden a. i. b.m. harl. 3656, f. 22 b. 2. c. h, hartshorne, antiq. of n'humb. ii. 226. 3. p. r.o. anc. deeds, c. 1454, c. 1738, c. 2188. 4. leland, collect, i. 68. 5. ann. mon. dnnst. ill. 77, 109. 6. line. wills, \q2. 7. j. amund, ann. l. 59; cf. pat. 1253, 1255. 13309 reg. hugh de wells, ann. 8. 10. gest. abb. i. 97-105, ii. berk place. description. i cookham a. 2 faringdon a. — 3 hinksey a. — 4 losfield [in clewer] h. chapel of st. leonard 5 maidenhead (bridge) h. _ 6 pewsey (“ peuesia ”) a. — 7 poughley (clenfordmere) h. site of priory 8 reading h. chapel of st. edmund m. 9 sandleford, nr. newbury a. — 10 seacourt (“ seukewrthe ”) a. — — stratfield saye, v. sub. hants — — 11 wargrave h. chapel of corpus christ! i. pipe r.s. xviii-xxxiii. 2, 3. bodl. oseney ch. xiv. 4. close, 1225; pat. 1275,1320; hundred r. 5. hoare, wilts, ii. 162. 6. pipe r.s. iv-xii. 7. v.c.h. appendix c 205 shire date. patron. name. xiii c. isabella 1184-5 crown — xiii c. ' — robert parage and brethren 1222 — simon, d. 1228 1442 — — bef. 1431 — cf. brethren of st. william in the desert, 1253. peter de whitteleye 1330 — 1242-3 elstow abbey br. walter, pr. bef. 1123 st. alban’s abbey roger, monk ; “ five hermits ” ; christina of the wood bef. 1146 private, st. alban’s ralph de nuers, monk of lich¬ field — — simon 1339 — john, pr. 1405 — john combes 1194-5 crown 127. ii. ibid. i. 78 ; dugd. 111.276; misc. biog. (s.s. 8), 84-5. 12. v.c.h. i. 350; b.m. harl. 3656, f. ii. 13. p.r.o., k.b. anc. indictments, i. beds. edw. iii. m. 3. 14. gibbons, £iy rec. 403. 15. see (2). shire date. patron. name. 1171 crown bef. 1254 — childluve 1271 ■—• — bef. 1225 private william, 1225 ; john, 1320 ; william, 1355 1423 — richard ludlow 1155 crown — c. 1160 — — 1204 abbey laurence burgeys 1179 crown — 1271 — — _ — — 1339 — alan de elsefeld ii. 85. 8. coates, reading, 199, app. ix. ; berks, arch. j, xii. 28-9. 9. pipe r.s. xxix. etc. 10. see (2). ii. pat. 1339. 2o6 hermits and anchorites of england iii. bucking place. description. i brill h. chapel of st. werburg 2 chetwode h. „ „ ss. stephen and laurence j colnbrook, nr. windsor h. chapel of our lady 4 finemere, nr. quainton h. — 5 stony stratford (bridge) h. i. chart., close, and pat. r. 2. reg. grosseteste, ann. xii. 3. privy expenses, eliz. of yk. 31-2. 4. b.m. harl. roll o. 26 (3) ; close, 1213, 1218, 1228, 1237 ; reg. bek., mem. f. 64. 5. pat. 1400. iv. cambridge place. description. i arrington and royston (be¬ tween) h. — 2 barnwell — chapel of st. andrew j cambridge (without) a. at st. peter’s church 4 a. at carmelite friary 5 „ (trumpington st.) h. chapel of st. anne 6 „ (newnham bridge) h. chapel 7 „ (barnwell road) h. — 8 ely a. at st. mary’s 9 „ russells pits (“ roucehill ”) h. — 10 ,, diocese of a. — 11 )) )) h. — 12 gamlingay h. — 13 haddenham h. — 14 hinxton (whytford bridge) h. chapel of st. anne 15 huneia, nr. ely h. — 16 leverington h. chapel of st. john b. 17 royston in bassingbourne h. — 18 shelford (bridge) h. — 19 stuntney h. — 20 swavesey h. — 21 thorney (ancarig) — — 22 throkennolt h. st. mary and st. andrew 23 waterbeach and denny (be¬ tween) h. — 24 whittlesford bridge h. chapel of st. mary b.v. i. gibbons, ely rec. 401. 2. j. w. clark, eccles. de bernewelle, af'z. 3. camb. antiq. s. xliv {1908), p. 73. 4. bale, script. 565. 5. ely rec. 400; h. p. stokes, trumptington gates, 66-7. 6. pat. 1399 ; t. d. atkinson, camb. 62. 7. trumpting ton gates, 66. 8, 10. pipe r.s. xv. 96. 9, 13. ely rec. 399, 404. ii. ely dioc. remembrancer, 1909, p. 46. 12. pat. 1271. 14. p.r.o. sp. exch. com. 2926 ; dioc. appendix c 207 hamshire date. patron. name. 1205 crown, chetwode priory robert, 1205 ; richard, 1251 1246-7 private robert de walthone, pr. 1502 — _ c. 1179 crown, nutley abbey william, monk, 1213-28 1400 john blawemuster shire date. patron. 1401 — c. 11 12 — xiii c. — 1421 friary bef. 1361 — 1399 1169 bishop 1394 — 1169 bishop 1494 — 1271 — 1406 — 1524 — c. 679 — 1488 — c. 1506 —■ 1398 — 1458 bishop 1392 — vii c. — xii c. bishop, thorney abbey 1400 — 1401 — name. william brown godesone matilda, dau. of hervey agnes, widow of jn. granseter john bernewell, pr., 1399 jn. jaye, 1399 ; thos. kendall, 1406 adam holme of wisbech 6 incluscb rob. michyll; jn. smith br. william john spenser william popeley huna, pr. hermit, d. 1506. john lucas, cf. (23). william grene john beel thorncred ; thortred ; bosa ; saxulph ; toret. trokonolus william rogere john lucas, cf (17). rem. 1911. 15. nov. leg. ii. 538. 16, 18. ely rec. 413, 400. 17. j. beldam, roys ton cave, 48. 19. dice. rem. 1904, p. 234. 20. ely rec. 398. 21. ingulph, chr. 43, 48 ; leland, collect, i. 10, 28. 22. dugd. ii. 594, 600, 601 ; pap. lett. i. 187. 23. ely rec. 401. 24. dioc. rem. 1900, p. 160. 208 hermits and anchorites of england v. che place. ... ■ ' r description, i chester a. st. james, by st. john’s church 2 a. at st. chad’s chapel 3 )) (on cliff) h. — 4 )> (bridge) h. chapel 5 )) (hand bridge) h. chapel of st. james 6 frodsham a. — 7 hilbre is. h. — 8 plemstall h. — 9 stockport (bridge) h. chapel 10 a. _ 11 tarporley h. chapel of the rood or [st. mary b.v. &] st. leo nard 12 tarvin (stanford bridge) h. st. agatha v. 13 wilderspool, nr. warrington h. chapel i. ormerod, ed. helsby, hi'it. i. 353-4; staffs coll., o.s. i. 283; n.s. viii. 21, 32, 42, 47; x. ii. 162. 2. b.m. harl. 2162, f. 61 b. 3. ormerod, i. 353-4. 4. staffs coll., n.s. viii, 24, 38. 5. r. h. morris, chester, 189—possibly identical with (4). 6. close, 1275. vi. corn place. description. i bodmin h. 2 „ (near) a. — 3 hamstoke (now st. neot) h. — 4 liskeard (park) h. chapel of st. mary b.v. 5 marham church a. in churchyard 6 penlyne [in lanlivery] h. — 7 restormel [in lostwithiel] h. — 8 roche h. chapel of s. michael 9 st. teath (“ stathe ”) h. ■ i. leland, collect, i. 75 ; dugd. ii. 459. 2. ex. reg. stafford, 25, 394. 3. gorham, st. neots, p. xcvii seq. 4. pat. 1339. 5. ex. reg. stafford, 251, 394. appendix c 209 shire date. patron. name. bef 1341 various br. hugh le vernoun, 1341 ; br. wm. de heytildesham, 1357 ; br. jn. de chorleton, 1363. c. 1300 — — >358 — john spicer 1365 crown john, 1367 1450 jn. benet, 1450 ; leuan, 1455 1275 earldom wimark 1328 crown c. 890 — plegmund 1355 “ ” ' thos., pr., c. 1355 ; ric. webster, pr., 1366 ; thos., pr., 1372. br. jn. boner, pr. 1361 — bef. 1287 private john, 1287 ; adam, 1301 1395-6 richard de clayton 1367 simon de goddesmer 7. dugd. vi. 1616. 8. gervase (rolls 73), ii. 350, 9. staffs coll., n.s. viii. 57, 68, 96. 10. lancs, and cheshire wills (rec. s. 30), 7. ii, 12. ormerod, ii. 236-7, 313. 13. staffs coll., n.s. viii. 37, 116. wall date. patron. name. st. guron ; st. petroc 1416 — margaret — — st. gwerir, st. neot 1339 — roger godman 1403 — cecilia moys, lucy moys c. 1301 earldom br. robert )> )) br. philip 1408 — — 6, 7. cal. inq. p.m. edw. i. ill, 458, 8. gilbert, par. hist. (1838), ill. 391-3. 9. ex. reg. stafford, 391. 14 210 hermits and anchorites of england vii. cumber place. description. t dalston h. chapel of st. wynennus b. 2 denton h. — 3 derwentwater h. on st. herbert’s island 4 holme cultram h. at st. cuthbert’s chapel 5 ilekirk [in englewood forest] h. st. hilda 6 kirkland “ on east of eden ” h. st. andrew 7 linstock [in stanwix] h. chapel of st. peter 8 sebergham h. 1 9 wragmire [in hesket in the forest] h. ' i. reg. kirkley, f. 451. 2. lanercost cart., pt. i, no. 4; dugd. vi. 237 ; pap. lett. v. 513. 3. cumb. and w. arch. s., o.s. vi. 342-3. 4. ibid., n.s. ii. 339-41. 5. dugd. v. 595, 604 ; chart. r. 1227. 6. c. and w. arch. s. tract 6 (wetheral), viii. derby place. description. i anchor church, nr. repton h. cave 2 breadsall h. “ heremitorium,” afterwards priory 3 chesterfield h. at chapel of st. thomas 4 „ (bridge) h. — 5 cratcliff [in birchover] h. cave 6 dale [abbey], “ depedale ” h. „ ; chapel of mary v. 7 a. — 8 derby (bridge) a. by chapel of st. mary 9 >) j) h. “ cure lady of the bryge ” 10 high tor, matlock h. — \oa kirkwood h. st. godam 11 lees moor (“ leyes ”), nr. bakewell h. — 12 morewood [in ashover] h. — i. f. c. hipkins, repton, 123-4. 2. pat. 1266. 3. l. and p. hen. viii, xiil. (i). no. 1345. 5. arch. journ. iv. 156. 6, 7. derbs. arch. s. v. 17-20, 23. 8. staffs coll., n.s. viii. 53. 9. nottingham rec. il. 270; j. cox, derbs. churches, iv. 70. appendix c 21 i land date. patron. name. 1342 _ hugh de lilford xii c. private, lanercost priory br. leysing vii c. —■ st. herebert, d. 687 xvi c. — richard stanley xii c. crown, holme cultram abbey roger goky bef. 1156 private, wetheral priory — bef. 1362 — william, d. 1362 xii c. crown, carlisle priory william wastehose 1354 'john of corbridge 25-6; denton, account of cumb. 106. 7. r. s. ferguson, test. karl. 130. 8. close, 1228, 1234. 9. reg. welton, f. 112. shire date. patron. name. st. hardulfh.^ cf. breedon, xx “ brethren of the hermitage ” 1266 crown 1538 — william ludelam xii c. — a baker of derby — — peter cocus of batheley 1370 — agnes waley 1468 — john shenton, 1488 1238-9 — heremita s. godarn in haia 1333 — — bef 1235 dale abbey — 10. ibid. ii. 527. \oa. pipe r. 83, yeatman, feudal derbs. i. 209. ii. hist. mss. (middleton), 1911, p. 275. 12. b.m. wolley, vii. i, 2. 212 hermits and anchorites of england ix. devon place. description. i colyford [in colyton] a. chapel of st. kalixtus 2 crediton a. st. mary, by chapel of st. laurence 3 dodbrooke, kingsbridge a. chapel of our lady of langewyll 4 exeter a. — 5 exeter (larkbere) a. in st. leonard’s churchyard 6 „ {sidwell?') a. “ atte wille ” 7 a. by st. john’s hospital 8 holbeton (anchorist rock) a. capella s. anecorite 9 ottery (bridge) — nr. st. saviour’s chapel 10 pilton (churchyard) a. chapel of st. agnes 11 plymouth (on hoe) h. ,, „ st. katherine 12 „ (quarrywell) h. st. mary, our lady of grace 13 tavistock by h. at chapel of st. john b. 14 » by h. „ „ „ st. margaret 15 h. — 16 torrington, great a. — 17 devon, county of a. — i. ex. reg. grandisson, pt. ii. 650. 2. oliver, monast. 88. 3. ex. reg. stafford, 134. 4. gath. ms. 3675, liber obit. f. 5, 9 [per miss e. lega-weekes]. 5. ex. reg. stafford, 20, 99, 393, 394 ; wills (somerset rec. s. 19), 330 ; reg. lacy, ill. f. 499. 6. reg. lacy, ill. f. 500 [per e. l.-w.]. 7. l. and p. hen. viii, xv. 299 ; xviii. (i), p. 258. 8. ex. reg. stafford, 132. 9. oliver, 262. 10. ex. reg. grandisson, pt. i. x. dor place. description. i blackmoor forest, now hermi¬ tage h. st. laurence, or priory hermitage 2 branksea is., poole haven h. chapel of st. andrew 3 cerne, nr. h. by st. augustine’s well 3 « hawkchurch (brimley) h. chapel of st. andrew 4 holt [in wimborne] h. chapel of st. james 5 luccombe, alias chelborough h. —• 6 mannington h. — 7 shaftesbury (nenlitton, by) h. —■ 8 sherborne a. in abbey church 9 „ (by mill) h. st. john baptist 10 tarrant kaines a. — 11 wareham a. — 12 west stour or westover h. chapel called “ the hermit ” 13 winterborne a. in churchyard 14 woodbury hill [in bere regis] a. chapel and anchorite’s well i. close, 1273; pat. 1314. 2. itin. 111.84. 3 nov. leg. i. 362. 3^. wilts^fci arch. s. xxxviii. 29. 4. eng. wills (e.e.t.s.), 10. 5. cal. chanc. r. (van), 42.n 6. chart. r. 1237, 1242. 7. pat. 1352. 8. see (4). 9. wills (somerset rec. s. 19), ^.j ] appendix c 213 shire date. patron. name. 1332 _ beatrice of colyford, widow 1242 bishop br. nicholas 1412 — margaret holt, widow connected with cathedral wluric ; editha 1397 — alice bernard 1425 — — xvi c. — alice buttes 1400 — — xvi c. — john selman bef. 1329 — alice c. 1370 — — bef. 1518 — david waryn 1383 abbey david bukketorre 1383 — robert crese bef. 1470 ■— john 1395 — william tredewy 1419 c. 1175 earldom of cornwall '' 538 ; ii. 653. ii. pap. lett. vi. 306 ; r. n. worth, hist. 233 ; itin. iii. 43. 12. oliver, 131 ; worth, hist. 234. 13, 14. ex. reg. brantyngham, pt. i. 499: gent. mag., 1830, i 232-3. 15. worth, tavistock rec. 13, 14, 18; cf. {14), (15). 16. ex. reg. stafford, 352. 17. pipe r.s. xxv. 153 xxvi. 9. set date. patron. name. bef 1273 earldom of cornwall, cerne abbey — xvi c. cerne abbey — ix c. — st. eduold 1340 — william dughecut 1395 private friar thomas, recluse 1297 — rob. de lodres, keeper bef. 1237 private, tarrant abbey — 1352 — william godwot xiii c. abbey edmund arthur, recluse, 1395 ^405 — wm. whityng, 1405 ; w. howel, d. 1538 c. 12 c) 7 — — 1315 xii c. — matilda, c. 1125-54 ; gertrude ; christiana xvi c. — — xii c. — john 304, 315 ; hutchins, hist., ed. 1873, iv. 233. 10. ancren j?iw/c {ca.mden s.), p, vii n. ii. b.m. cott. faust. b. iv. vitas. wulfrici, ii. f. 96. 12. hutchins, ill. 636. 13. see (ii), f. 97 b. 14. hutchins, i. 135. 214 hermits and anchorites of england xi. dur place. description i chester-le-street a. in church 2 h. — 3 durham a. in cathedral 4 j? h. — 5 5 ) — by st. oswald's church 6 „ diocese of h. — 7 „ in or near h. — 8 h. — 9 eighton or skottewell h. chapel of holy trinity 10 finchale h. chapels, st. mary v., st. john b. 11 a. near „ „ „ 12 gainford (barmore) h. chapel of st. mary m. 13 gateshead a. by church of st. mary 14 keighley [in winston] h. — 15 norton h. — 16 pounteys bridge [in middleton st. george] h. chapel of st. john 17 satley h. — 18 staindrop a. adjoining church 19 tyneside (nr. bishop’s park) h. st. cuthbert 20 wolsingham h. — 21 yareshale on derwent h. st. mary i, 2. boyle, guide, 420; chantries (s.s, 22), app. vi. p. ixiv. 3. rites of dur¬ ham (s.s. 15, 107), i. 15 ; ii. 17. 4. close, 1238. 5. surtees, hist. iv. 84. 6. v.c.h. ii. 131. 7. yk. pontif. (s.s, 61), app. v. 288, 8. tres script. (s.s. 9), app. p. ccclxxix. 9. v.c.h. ii. 131; ely dioc. rem., 1900, p. 54. 10, ii. reginald, vitas. godrici (s.s. xii. es place. description. i barking a. 2 brad well (bridge) h. — colchester a. at church of st. james 4 „ (hythe, nr.) a. at [st. leonard’s] church 5 „ (hallywell) h. st. anne 6 hainault forest (“ henold ”) h. — 7 maldon a. — 8 radwinter 'a. — 9 stanstead-mountfitchet h. chapel of st. mary b.v. 10 stratford le bow (bridge) h. „ „ st. katharine 11 west tilbury h. at a free chapel 12 woodham h. st. john b. (afterwards bicknacre priory) 13 writtle “ called bedemannesberg ” i. pat. 1417, 1423. 2. pat. 1336 ; morant, essex, 1768, i. 154. 3. pipe r.s. i.-xxxiii. ; morant, i. 152 ; v.c.h. ii. 158. 4. b.m, harl. ch. 44, e. 17. 5. pat. 1388, 1402. 6. pat. 1461. 7. pipe r.s. vii. 37; viii. 16. 8. “ juxta mansione dni. appendix c 215 ham date. patron. name. 1383 john de wessington 1400 — john blenkinsopp — priory — 1238 bishop thomas 1373 william shepherd c. 1365 — g.— m.— 1493 — john man, of yorkshire 1387 —. robert lambe c. mo bishop, durham priory st. godric — ■ burchwene 1435 rob. perules ; thos. apulby., i486 1340 — — bef. 1315 — — 1426 durham priory jn. teysedalf 1402 ; wm. byn delawes, 1426 bef. 1195 john 133^ — john de camera 1312 — john “ called godesman ” bef. tr. 1110 — aelric and godric bef. 1188 bishop, durham priory john 20). 12, 13. v.c.h. ii. 131; pat. i486, 1510; reg. pal. dunelm (rolls, 62), iii. 300-1. 14. surtees, ffzsi. iv. 38. 15. gent mag., 1864, i. 710-2. 16. surtees, hist. iii. 228. 17. feod. prior. (s.s. 58), 240. 18. boyle, 700-1. ig. reg. pal. dunelm. i. 197. 20. vita s. godrici, 45-52. 21. ibid. 192-3 ; feod. prior. 240, 279, 280. sex date. patron. name. 1417 matilda newton 1336 ■—. william 1155 crown cecily, 1272 1290 — agnes 1388 private, priory john newton 1461 — john rychard 1163 — — 1374 — , anne de lexeden 1492 — john parrot 1344 — br. john de ware xvi c. — — bef 1157 — br. jordan, canon tp. hen. i crown, colchester abbey robert, monk; inclusus, 1189 johis de lenne,” rye mss., l’estrange wills, i, f. 52 9. gibbons, ely rec. 415. 10. pat. 1334. ii. valor ecc. i. 448. 12. dugd. vi. 446. 13. cart. (roxburghe club), i. 38-9, 52-3 ; ii. 529 ; pipe r., ed. hunter, 20. 2i6 hermits and anchorites of england xiii. glou place. description. i ardland [forest of dean] h.a. at a chapel 2 ashchurch (“ estchurche ”) a. — 3 bristol a. at st. michael’s church 4 „ (in castle) a. chapel of st. edward 5 n a. in dominican friary 6 jj h.a. hermitage of st. brandan 7 „ (redclifife in somerset) h. cave, by st. john’s hospital 8 bristol h. st. milburga 9 campden, chipping a. in churchyard 10 clifton (ghyston cliff) h. cave, chapel of st. mary and st. vincent ii cromhall a. — 12 dursley h. — 13 gloucester a. — 14 a. nr. st. kyneburga’s chapel 15 a. — 16 „ (sembridge, sand bridge) h. 17 gloucester, in or near h. — 18 kingsholm (“ kingesham ”) [in kg.’s barton] a. at the king’s chapel 19 meysey-hampton a. — 20 newnham (“ niweham ”) a. — 21 quinton a. — 22 st. briavels h. — 23 st. tiriac’s rock (nr. beachley) — “ capella s. tiriaci ana choritae ” 24 stapleton a. — 25 taynton wood h. — 26 wickwar a. ' i. a. w. crawley-boevey, flaxley cart. 46, 78 ; close, 1225, 1241. 2. ann. theok (rolls, 36, i), i. 68. 3 ibid. 105-6. 4. p.r.o. liberate r., 34 hen. iii. 5. wills (somerset rec. s. 19), 161. 6. barrett, bristol, 60 ; latimer, annals, 59; w. worcester, itin. (ed. nasmith), 241. 7. w. wore. 274; smyth, berkeleys, i. 337. 8. birch, margam abbey, 203. 9. reg. giffard, f. 18 b. 10. w. wore. 185-6, 275 ; b. and glos. arch. s. xxx. 204-5. rudder, glos. 397. 12. smyth, berkeleys, iii. 175-6. 13. pipe r. s, xvi.-xxxiii. 14. pat. 1390. 15. line. vvills, 196. 16, appendix c 217 cestershire date. patron. name. bef. 1189 flaxley abbey william ; panyede lench, 1225 ; juetta de wiz, 1241 1226 tewkesbury abbey — 1237 )} jj — 1249 crown — 1512 — — bef. 1313 tewkesbury abbey lucy de newchurch, 1351 ; regi¬ nald taillour, hermit, 1403 1347 private john sparkes — mar gam abbey — 1269 — matilda de campden bef. 1480 thos. dene, warden, 1492 bef. 1516 1170 crown adam, 1170-84 1390 lanthony priory — 1481 — — xvi c. st. peter’s abbey — 1387 william pereshore 1228 crown celestria c. 1300 — — 1158 crown — c. i4ig — joan., lady clopton., widow bef. 1131 crown, grace dieu — 1290 private, crown john ster re., monk 1382 _ — bef. 1163 st. peter’s abbey — 1278 ■ wm. de pershore, pr. rudder, 196; l. and p. hen. viii, xxi., pt. i, p. 578. 17. corp. rec. 1018. 18. close 1228. 19. godstow reg. (e.e. text s.), 151-2. 20. pipe r.s. i.-xxxiii ; chart r. 21. b. and g. arch. s. xiii. 167-9. 22. ibid. vi. 82 ; xxix. 13 ; dugd. v. 685 : close, chart r. 23. pat. 1385, 1391, 1402; pap. reg. iv. 354, 511 ; vi. 24, 141 ; val. ecc. ii. 501. 24. bristol corp. mss., orphan bk. i., f. 6. 25. cart. mon. glouc. (rolls 33), i. 116 ; ii. 137. 26. reg. gift'ard, f. 79 b. 2i8 hermits and anchorites of england xiv. hamp place. description. i farlington a. 2 itchel [in crondall] a. — 3 mottisfont a. — 4 southampton h. holy trinity or st. mary de grace 5 southwick h. st. leonard 6 stratfield saye (on loddon) h. 5 > 7 winchester a. st. aedred 8 „ in diocese of h. isle of 9 st. catherine’s down, nr. chale h. st. katherine v. i. close, 1235. 2. winchester pipe r., ed. h. hall, 38. 3. dugd. vi. 481. 4. davies, southampton, 230-2. 5. l. and p. hen. viii. vii. 1153; xix. (i), p. 618. xv. here place. description. i clodock [in ewyas] ■ 2 hereford a. st. sepulchre 3 a. church of st. giles’s hos¬ pital 4 a. — 5 ledbury a. — 6 leintwardine a. — 7 h. — 8 winforton is. h. chapel of st. kenedr 9 wormeley, at or nr. h. ■' i. liber landav, 446. 2. pipe r.s. xviii.-xxxiil ; pipe r., ed. hunter, 141. 3. reg. orleton (cant, and yk, s.), 205 ; capes, cath. rec. 187 ; pap. lett. iii. 504. 4. wills (somerset rec. s. 19), 300; possibly identical with (3). 5. close, 1323 ; appendix c 219 shire date. patron. name. 1235 crown joan 1209 bishop — tp. john — peter de rievaulx 1496 town william gefferey 1534 priory — c. 1170 private, alien abbey godard “ inclusus et heremita ” and brethren 1189 crown geldewin 1404 — robert northrygge professed wight 1312 — john, alias walter de lange berewe 6. hist. mss. 9th rep. 355-6; pat. 1332 , 1341. 7. pipe r., ed. hunter, 204. 8. lambeth, reg. arundel, pt. i. f. 435 b. 5 ). reg. woodlock, f. 172. fordshire date. patron. name. lybiaw and gwrwan 117i crown richard, 1171-84 1320 — alice, dau. of roger de atferton 1400 — — bef. 1322 — katherine, lady audley 1290 — — bef. 1410 bef. 1234 private, wormeley priory thos. shelve, cf. ludlow, xxix walter, pr. ; stephen edwyn “ primus heremita ” priory camden, brittannia, ed. 1789, ii. 456. 6, swinfield r., household exp. (camden s. 59), p. cxcix, 7. dugd. vi. 402 ; b.m. harl. 6726, f. 88 b. 8. harl. 3586, f. 145 b. 220 hermits and anchorites of england xvi. hert place. description. i barkway h. _ 2 barkway and ware, between h. — 3 flamstead a. — markyate, v. sub beds. — — 4 northaw (wood) h. — 5 radwell a. — royston, v. sub cambs. — — 6 st. albans, nr. (eywood) a. st. mary (site of sopwell nunnery) 7 a. at st. michael’s church 8 >) a. at st. peter’s church 9 5 } — at st. german’s chapel 10 >5 a. nr. „ „ 11 standon, or seltburn h. chape! of st. michael 12 wogobiliche [in cheshunt] h. — i. j. beldam, royston cave, 48. 2. archcelogia, xxv. 432. 3. nov. leg. ii. 535. 4. t. walsingham, gesc abb. i. 105 ; j. amund., ann. ii. 302-3. 5. pipe r.s. viii. 17. 6. gest. abb. i. 80-1 ; dugd. iii. 362, 365. 7. gest. abb. i. 305 ; j. amund. i. 66; chr. s. alb. vi, ii. 257-8; herts genealogist, i., ii. 8. gest. abb. i. 388-9; xvii. hunting place. description. i alconbury h. 2 bodsey h. — 3 coppingford (“ copmanford ”) h. — 4 earith h. — 5 higney, nr. ramsey h. 6 suameshei [in graff ham] h. — 7 sudbury [archdeaconry of h. — hunts] i. smyth, berkeleys, ii. 214. 2. ramsey cart. (rolls, 79), i. 87 ; ii. 221 ; dugd. 552. 588. 3. bushmead cart, penes w. h. wade gery, f. 65, 65 b. 4. gibbons, ely rec. 400, 401; ely dioc, rem., 1908, p. 180. 5. ramsey cart, i, 159, 162, 852 ; appendix c 221 fordshire date. patron. name. xvi c. _ 1520 — — xii c. — alfwina — — — bef. 1146 — sigar, monk 1163 — — — — — c. 1140 abbey 2 women c. 1235 j) kath. dytton, 1421, d. 1437; agnes vertesance, 1452, d. 1478 ; marg. smythe, 1483 c. 1258 5 ) alice, 1412, 1426 ; eliz. kath. hoisted, 1480 ix c. wulfa ; abbot eadfrith ; thos. fyschebourn, d. 1428 bef. 1421 ' house for anchoress founded t. fyschebourn bef. 1163 private; stoke-by-clare priory built by william, inclusus ; rob¬ ert., 1384 ; suron, 1393 ; jn. benwell, 1398. c. 1160 ' ■' b.m. cott. nero d. 7, f. 139; nichols, royal wills, 250. 9, 10. gest. abb. i. 21-2; j. amund. ii. 27-8, 301-2 ; bib. carmel. 472. ii. dugd. vi. 1658 ; pat. 1384, 1393, 1398 ; b.m. seal, xliii. 13. 12. b.m. add. ch. 28335. donshire date. patron. name. bef. 1524 private , 1220 private; ramsey abbey — bef 1314 „ bushmead priory joseph, pr. 1397 ric. grymston; hy. bourne, 1401 ; jn. thompson, 1491 bef 1153 ramsey (?) edwin bef. 1216 — — 1254 private reymund, pr. ; adam de meper sale dugd. v. 522. 6 . b.m. add. ch. 33281. 7. grosseteste, roll, ann. 7 ; reg. dalderby. f. 234 b. 222 hermits and anchorites of england xvm. place. description. i bredhurst h. 2 canterbury h. — 3 )j a. al si. mary's church 4 h. nr. the dane john 5 )) a. in dominican friary 6 ,, in province of h. — 7 » )) >5 >5 h. — 8 )j )) )) >> h. — 9 court-at-street h. at chapel of our lady 10 dartford (bridge) h. chapel of [st. mary and] st. katherine 11 a. — 12 davington, at or nr. a. — 13 deptford [in greenwich] h. st. katherine 14 dover a. at st. mary-in-the-castle 15 „ (arcliflfe) h. chapel of our lady [of peace] 16 „ occlive, nr. h. — 17 faversham a. in churchyard 18 )> a. )) >} 19 hackington a. — 20 hartlip a. — 21 kearsney [in ewell], at or nr. a. — 22 longsole [in petham] h. chapel of st. laurence 23 loose a. — 24 lydd (the nesse) h. st. mary b. v. 25 mailing, west h. — 26 milton, nr. sittingboume h. — occlive v. dover ■ 27 plumstead h. — 28 puxton [in stodmarsh] h. — 29 reculver h. chapel of ss. peter, james, and anthony i. b.m. add. 4607. 2. ely dioc. rem., 1895, p. 55. 3, hasted, kent, iv. 478. 4. j. brent, canterbury, 129. 5. l. and p. hen. viii, vi. nos. 1333,1336, 1381. 6-8. lambeth, reg. langham, f. 63 ; islip, f. iio^; arundell, pt. i. f. 395. 9. l. and p. hen. viii, vi. no. 1468. 10. j. dunkin, dartford, 190-2. ii. feed. ix. 275. 12. arch. cant. xi. 25-6. 13. pat. 1403 ; hasted, ed. drake, 64 n. 14. close, 1232, 1234 ; pat. 1259. 15. p.r.o. due. lane. aeeounts (various), bdle. 4, no. i, f. 28. 16. pat. 1308, ef. (15). 17, 18. test. cant. pt. ii. 128-9 • l. and p. hen. viii, vi. appendix c 223 kent date. patron. name. bef. 1549 . 1374 — william cower 1446 _ 1533 — christopher warener 1367 br. john de dutton, “ created ” by abbot of westminster 1353 — thos. stapelow “ of parish of st. leonard, eastcheap ” 1401 jn. langfeld of northflete, pro¬ fessed 1525 — sir william, pr. xiii c. —— jn. sodeman, 1438; jn. cole brant, 1509 1415 — — xiv c. connected with priory celestria, nun ; adilda, nun 1403 crown rob. darley, n.d.; walter combe, 1518 1232 )» emma de skepeye 1360 restored, sieur de vaux david welkes, 1399; fean^ chaplain, 1535 1308 — john de warwyk 1465 — anchoress, 1465-1523 1472 wm. thornbury, pr., 1472 ; br. of ann sawston, c. 1531 ; sir thos. crakynthorpe, 1541 1233 loretta, countess of leicester, 1235 — rochester priory robert 1285 kearsney manor mariun 1350 private stephen fynamour., chaplain bef. 1228 archbishop sarah bef. 1510 — john bate 1496 — — 1400 wm. fayreford, 1400; wm. hart, 1498 bef. 1207 southwark priory — 1516 — — 1415 archbishop henry gate, 1415 ; thos. ham ond, i486 13s. vii. 347-8. 19close, 1233 ; pat. 1235, 1256, 1259. 20. j. thorpe, reg. roff. 124. 21. cal. inq. p.m. edw. i, vol. 2, no. 605. 22. reg. roff. p. 155 ; hasted, ii. 177; p.r.o. anc. deeds, c. 537. 23. close, 1231-2. 24. hist. mss. 5th rep. 496; hasted, iii. 517 ; test. cant. 202. 25. test. cant. pt. i. 52. 26. ibid. ii. 215-7; gibbons, ely rec. 401. 27. b.m. harl. 55, e. 18. 28. test. cant. pt. ii. 365. 29. lambeth, reg. chicheley, f. 64 ; c. r. smith, reculver, 193, 202. 224 hermits and anchorites of england xviii place. description. 30 richborough h. nr. castle 31 rochester, diocese of h. chapel of st. katharine 32 st. margaret’s-at-cliffe h. “ hermitagium s. margar ete atte staire ” 33 sandwich h. at chapel of st. james (jacob) 34 „ (gascoign lane) h. chapel or hermitage at st. mary’s church 35 )) a. 36 shamwell [in sittingbourne] h. chapel of st. thomas m. 37 sutton [valence] a. — 38 whitstable h. st. anne in the wood 39 wickham [breaux] a. at st. andrew’s church 40 wye h. 30. itin, vii. 138. 31. ely dioc. rem., 1894, p. 181. 32. lambeth, reg. langham, ^ 3 * 33 boys, sandwich, 188, 328, 360; test. cant. 292. 34. boys, 188. 35. test. cant. 286. 36, pat. 1255, 1266; cf. close, 1288, 1308. 37. close, 1225. 38. test. xix. lanca j place. description. 1 i i chatbum h. chapel of st. martin 2 cockersand h. — 1 3 heaton h. nr. st. cuthbert’s chapel 4 kersall h. st. leonard i 5 lancaster (lune bridge) h. chapel 1 6 j) a. in dominican friary 7 pilling [in garstang] a. nr. chapel of st. john b. 8 ribble bridge [in walton le h. chapel dale] 9 ribchester, at or nr. a. •— singleton, v. lancaster ; ribble — — 10 warrington (bridge) h. chapel ii whalley a. chapel in churchyard 12 „ at or under h. , ■ . 13 wigan a. — — wilderspool, v. sub cheshire — — 14 wirpelesmosse, nr. burscough h. i. v.c.h. ii. 103. 2. w. farrer, lancs. pipe r., etc., 395; cart. (chetham s., n.s. 38), p. ix. 3. roper, church of lane. (chetham s., n.s. 31), ii. 279. 4. dugd. v. no, 112 ; v.c.h. ii. 113. 5. reg. j. of gaunt (camden s., 3rd ser. xxi.), ii. 179 ; rot. pari. v. 546. 6. v.c.h. ii. 103. 7. chetham s. lvii. (2), 29, 30. 8. staffs appendix c 225 kent— continued. date. patron name. xvi c. 1346 — john le maure 1367 — br. nicholas de legh 1447 wardens ; town sirwilliam, d. 1447 ; sir jn. steward, 1533 — — • — 1535 — — 1255 crown silvester; br. walter 1225 j) — 1514 — robert wodrofif, 1519 c. 1220 — — 1449 — john bernard cant. 362-3, xv. 39, b.m. harl. 48, c. 25. 40. hist. mss. 4th rep. 433 ; cf. test. cant. pt. i. 61, 62. shire date. patron. name. bef. 1372 duchy br. ric. de goldbourne bef. 1184 — hugh garth c. 1280 — br. william bef. 1184 lenton priory hugh de burun, monk john, “h. of singleton ” 1373 duchy 1390 — br. ric. pekard, pr. 1493 cockersand abbey agnes booth or shepard, nun 1366 — john, 1366, 1371, cf. lancaster 1292 — cecilia 1369 — br. john, 1369; thurstan de okenshaw, 1406 1354 duchy and abbey ellen, c. 1396; isold heton, widow, 1437 1353 abbey william de wygan c. 1322 private alina 1361 — thos. de huddeswell, pr. coll., n.s. viii. 28, 57. 9. whittaker, wkalley, ii. 461. 10. staffs coll., n.s. viii. 48. ii. v.c.h. vi. 360; whalley, i. 97, 102. 12. lichfield reg. norbury (act bk. 5), f. 210,211. 13. p.r.o. anc. petitions, 7470. 14. staffs coll., n.s. viii. 99; cf. lane. pipe r. 349. 15 226 hermits and anchorites of england xx. lei place. description. i breedon h in cliff by r. trent 2 charley [in charnwood] h. st. mary 3 haliwell haw „ h. — 4 leicester a. by st. peter’s church 5 h. in church; in wood; at chapel of st. john b. chapel by st. james’s well 6 jj h. 7 mirabel wood [in stockerston] h. chapel 8 ulverscroft h. — i. lord kenyon’s library, see chapter iii. 2. reg. hugh de wells (cant, and yk. s.), i, 255; dugd. vi. 565. 3. nichols, leic, iii, pt. i. 122 ; ii. 822. 4. ibid. /, pt. ii. 265 ; lambeth, reg. courteney, f. 139 b, 142 b, 143. 5. walsingham, hist. xxl lincoln place. description. i acke [in sibsey] (?) hakerley h. “ heremitorium ache or hacchae ” 2 ancaster (nr. castle) h. by st. mary’s chapel 3 asfordby h. — 4 belchford (“ beltesford ”) a. — 5 boston a. in carmelite friary brygdyke (? briggend in horb ling) h. — 6 broughton, nr. brigg a. in st. mary’s church 7 burreth (“ silverys ” in) h. chapel 8 caistor a. — 9 carlton le moorland a. by church 10 crowland, isle of — — 11 freiston h. chapel 12 gainsborough a. — 13 grantham a. by st. peter’s chapel 14 grimsby h. st. andrew by st. leon¬ ard’s priory 15 halton marsh, nr. miningsby h. — 16 holland marsh (“ hoyland ”) h. chapel of st. thomas m. 17 lincoln (greesen foot) a. in holy trinity at the stairs 17(2 ludborough h. — i. dugd. v. 455 ; chart r. 1328. 2. itin. i. 29. 3. reg. bokyngham, mem. f. 30 b. 4. pipe r.s. xxxiii. 23. 5. bale, script. 622-3. 5a. will of robert pell of newton. 6. arch. cant. xi. 37. 7. reg. bokyngham, mem. f. 423 ii. 79. 8. fxd. ix. 275. 9. reg. beck, mem. 91. 10. birch, mem. of st. guthlac; gir. camb. op. iii. 419 ; nov. leg. ii. 698. ii. reg. bokyngham, mem. f. 372. 12. appendix c 227 cestershire date. patron. name. _ hardulph bef. 1174 luffield priory, private 3 brethren — private, garendon abbey — bef. 1388 duchy of lane. matilda, 1388; maude warde sale, 1400; isolda n., 1405 wm. de swinderby, pr. 1382 — c. 1231 abbey private elias., monk, warden; ric. de keten, pr., etc. bef. 1220 j) 3 priests ii. 53-6 ; fasc. zizan. 334-40; foxe, acts and mon. iii. 195-6. 6. nichols, i, pt. ii. 328. 7. reg. hugh de wells, ii. 321 ; nichols, //, pt. ii. 815. 8. reg. hugh de wells, i. 255. shire date. patron. name. c. 1142 revesby abbey — xvi c. - — 1366 — — 1183 —■ matilda c. 1488 — george or gregory riplay 1524 — “armett,” pr. 1409 — john kyngston, monk 1395 — thomas de gretham 1415 — — 1347 — jn., son of geoffrey of knares boro’, pr. c. 700 guthlac, d. 714; cissa; beccel ; egbert ; tatwin ; lady al trida, 794 ; wulsi, c. 1035 1390 — john frere 1415 — — 1338 — emma of stapleford 1342 crown simon de scopwick ; cf. peter, h. of grimsby, 1348 — revesby abbey founded by ralph, monk 1189 sempringham priory — 1382 — isabella, 1383 ; d. matilda, 1453 1530 — robert fen see (8). 13. reg. burghersh, mem. 379 b. 14. pat. 1342, 1348. 15. j. c. walter, horncastle, 139. 16. pap. lett. iv. 431. 17. j. e. stocks, market harborough rec. 58; line. wills, 67; insrtuctions for priests (e. e. text s.), 90. 17a:. line. consist. courts 1520-31, f. 323. 228 hermits and anchorites of england xxi. lincoln place. description. 18 lincoln (danesgate) a. at church of st. andrew super collem 19 „ (wigford) a. at st. andrew’s-in-wigford 20 5 ) a. by chapel of st. mary m. in holy innocents’hospital 21 lincoln, in diocese of h. — 22 h. — 23 nettleton by caistor (“ twang castre ”) h. st. mary 24 newsham [in brocklesby] a. — 25 owston a. — 26 revesby, nr. (northdyke bridge) h. — 27 saltfleet haven [in skidbrooke] h. chapel of st. katherine 28 skegness h. _ ^ 29 stamford a. by st. paul’s church 30 a. in parish church ?pa strubby h. chapel 31 tealby (“ tevelby moor ”) h. chapel of st. thomas a. and st. thomas m. 32 thornton [curtis] a. within abbey 33 willingham, s. by h. on “ lymberghill ” 34 winterton a. by church i 8 , 19. line. wills, 74. 20. pat. 1339. 21. pap. lett. v. 59. 22. reg. cantilupe (cant, and yk. s.), ii. 310. 23. pat. 1348. 24. somerset ho., p.c.c. luffenham, 20. 25. line. wills, 153. 26. v.c.h. ii. 141. 27. pat. 1337; reg. bokyngham, f. 37. 28. w. o. massingberd, ingoldmells r. 117. 29. market harborough rec. xxii. middle place. description. i charing cross h. st. katharine 2 hadley, monken h. — j harrow on the hill h. st. edmund and st. cathe¬ rine 4 highgate [in hornsey] h. chapel of st. michael 5 highgate rise, west hill h. — 6 holborn a. at st. giles-in-the-fields 7 islington h. — 8 kensington a. — 9 kilbum h. afterwards nunnery 10 london (wall) a. at allhallows’ church 11 a. „ „ colman i. pat. 1263, 1267 ; r. r. sharpe, cal. of wills, 11. 107 ; issue r., p. xxxi; mac michael, charing cross, 15. 2. dugd. iv. 133, 149. 3. notes and queries, loth ser. iii. 467. 4. newcourt, repert. i. 654; gent. mag., 1834, i. 380-5. 5. w. howitt, appendix c 229 shi re— continued. date. patron. name. 1394 — — 1391 isabella 1339 — elizabeth de elm 1397 thos. bristow, pr. br. ric. de chadelington 1280 — 1348 — richard dryng 1434 — sir walter bekeby 1419 — —■ bef 1527 revesby abbey — 1337 — rob. de billesby ; john, 1366 1345 private william de clederhowe 1382 — emmota tonge of bourn, 1435 1415 — — — — — 1331 — roger de stamford and ric. de burle 1367 — petronilla de wutton 1461 — cf. sir william in monte., 1434 1435 — beatrice frank, nun 58 ; reg. gray, mem. f. 187 b; northampton prob. office, bk, b. 12. 30. see (8). 2pa. p.r.o. rentals and surveys (duchy of lane.) bdle. 6, no. 22. 31. pat. 1331, 1336 ; reg. burghersh, mem. 232 b. 32. reg. bokyngham, f. 53 b. 33. line. wills, 180; episc. rec., terriers, iv. f 138; cf. p.c.c. luffenham, 20. 34. reg. gray, mem. f. 186, 186 b. sex date. patron. name. 1263 crown simon de brageham, pr. 1267 bef. 1136 walden abbey — xv c. — — bef. 1386 bishop wm. lichfield, 1386; wm. forte, 1531 — — — 1371 — — xvi c. — — 1290 — — bef 1135 westminster abbey godwyn 1459 city anchoress, xv c. ; wm, lucas, d. i486 ; symon, c. 1513 1228 ■ n. heights of london^ 413. 6. sharpe, ii. 148,158. 7. pat. 1546. 8. swinfield r. (camden s. 59), p. cxxix. 9. dugd. iii. 422, 426. 10. c. welch, church�ardens’ accounts. ii. arch./o 7 irn. xxiv. 243 230 hermits and anchorites of england xxi. middle place. description. 12 london a. at st, benet fink 12a a. under st. dunstan 13 ?) without bishopsgate a. at st. botulph’s 14 „ temple bar a. „ st. clement danes 15 )) „ cripplegate a. „ st. giles 16 5 j jewry a. chyd. of st. laurence 17 5 ) a. at st. margaret pattens 18 5 ) a. „ st. mary de manny 19 j 5 cornhill a. „ st. peter’s 20 )) cripplegate h. st. james 21 d within bishopsgate h. 22 j) )) 5 ) a. in wall beside bishops¬ gate 23 in tower a. st. eustace (by st. peter’s chapel) 24 5 ) in wall nr, aldgate by tower h. st. mary and st. nicholas 25 j) “ swannesnest ” by t. — nr. st. katharine’s hosp. 26 >5 nr. tower a. 27 a. by st. bartholomew’s hosp. 28 )> a. (professed in holy trinity priory) 29 stratford v. sub essex a. professed in dominican friary 30 tottenham h. chapel of st. anne 31 westminster a. by st. margaret’s in abbey 32 a. — 12, 13. sharpe, i. 483; 11. 107, 146; rye mss. l’estrange wills, 1. f. 609; magd. coll. oxford, mss. 77, 156. 12a. pat. 1267. 14. nicolas, royal wills, 250; hist. collections (camden s.n.s. 17) p. xliii. 15. sharpe, 11. 107. 16. ibid. 11. 147, 197: arch. cant. xi. 36. 17. close, 1236; v.c.h. london, i. 587. 18. sharpe, ii. 107. 19. ibid. i. 483, 638 ; reg. baldock (cant, and yk. s.), 54; pari. r. i. 418. 20. pat. 1255-6, 1259, 1265, 1275, 1281, 1286, 1290, 1291, 1292, 1296, 1335, 1341; reg, baldock, 140-2. 21. pat. 1342, 1346. 22, line. wills, 117; royal appendix c 231 s ex —con tinned. date. patron. name. 1345 _ _ 1267 — maud malet 1370 — “wht. bpsgate,” d. joan, 1449 1426 — d. joan 1361 — — 1361 ric. le coupe, pr., and geoffrey richard, 1370 1236 — — 1361 — — bef. 1307 parish beatrice de means, 1307 ; emma cheyne, widow, 1449 ’ bef. 1199 crown; garendon abbey warin, pr., d. 1205 ; rob. bat; jordan de eston; jn. le megre; ric. de ginges; laurence ; rob. de s. laurencio ; wm de. wyntre burn ; jn. de bello ; thos. de by re ford; alan chauns, wm. de lyons, 1332 ; jn. de flitwick, etc. jn. de warrewyk; robert, 1346 1342 crown 1415 — — 1237 crown william, 1237 ; idonea de boc laund, 1252 1257 — john ; berengar ; jn. le megre 1360 — john ingram, 1371 1371 — sir robert 1227 crown katherine, wife of w. hardel 1513 — simon appulby, pr. 1521 — margerie clyute 1408 holy trinity priory thomas hert 1241 abbey br. nicholas ; br. jn. myry mouth ; jn. london, d. 1429 ; wm. alnewyk, c. 1415. 1443 crown cecily norton, widow ; alicia rippas, i486 wills, 250; test. vetust. i. 356; sharpe, ii. 107. 23. close, 1237; j, bayley, tower, 129. 24. hund. r. i. 413, 420; p.r.o. anc. deeds, a. 1653; pat. 1259; cal. lett. bk. e. 49, 193. 25, 26. sharpe, ii. 147, 218, 228. 27. close, 1227. 28. v.c.h., london, i. 587. 29. bodl. tanner, clxxvi. 132 a 30. gibbons, ely rec. 406 ; w. bedwell, tottenham, ed. 1818, 17-19. 31. close, 1241 ; pat. 1244, 1247 ; sharpe, ii. 260, 398 ; royal wills, 250 ; stanley, mem. 431, 447, 467, 641. 32. acts of p. council, v. 282 ; pat. 1443, 1453, 1456, i486; b.m. harl. 433, f. 41. 232 hermits and anchorites of england xxiii. nor place. description. i acle (bridge) h. site, “ hermitage staithe ” 2 attlebridge h. — 3 banham (stonebridge) h. — 4 bawburgh (bridge) h. chapel 5 brandiston a. — 6 cley-next-the-sea h. chapel 7 coxford a. — 8 cressingham, great h. chapel of st. george 9 cromer h. — 10 downham hythe (market) bridge h. — 11 erpingham h. — 12 heacham., nr. hunstanton^ — — 13 holm [in horning] \ a. at st. benet’s 14 houghton-in-the-hole h. st. catherine 15 hunstanton h. — 16 ickburgh (newbridge) h. st. mary and st. laurence (once hospital) 17 langley h. — 18 litcham h. — 19 lynn, bishop’s a. — 20 „ (gaywood) h. chapel of st. catherine 21 h. at “ lenne crouch ” 22 » h. „ st. margaret’s 23 )) h. „ st. nicholas > 24 „ (eastgate) h. ' is 25 „ (southgate) h. 26 „ south a. „ church of all saints 27 )) j) a. „ carmelite friary 28 jj a. in dominican friary 29 }) a. — 30 }> a. — 31 martham.) in or nr. a. — 32 massingham a. — 33 h. — 34 narford in westacre h. chapel newbridge, v. ickburgh — — 35 norwich church of all saints i. r. c. taylor, index mon. 27, 2. pat. 1405 ; b. x. 401. 3. b. i. 359. 4. b. ii. 389. 5. b, viii. 197 ; taylor, 65. 6. pat. 1343. 7. archaologia^ xxv. 524. 8. b, vi. 106. 9. pap. lett. vii. 421. 10. ramsey cart. ii. 190, 215 ; b. vii. 344; pat. 1398. ii. hundred r. i. 514. 12. taylor, 65. 13. mem. st. edmunds (rolls 96), i. 38. 14. pat. 1443 ; b. ix. 247. 15. archceologia, xxv. 494 ; cf. b. x. 324. 16. b. ii. 239 ; pat. 1448. 17. rye mss. l’estrange wills, f. 795 b. 18. b. x. 14 ; appendix c 233 folk date. patron. name. 1405 — thomas heremyte i 526 margery de boton, n.d. 1343 — rob. de barton bendish, pr. 1537 — — — parochial — 1425 ' — john hastyng c. 1200 private br. aillet ; jn. skillynge, warden, 1398 i 274--5 — geoffrey — lewes priory — xi c. — aelfwen, nun 1443 horsham priory walter white bef 1530 private thomas cooke 1441 ric. ferneys, d. 1464 ; jn. bath ; wm. dane, 1481 1 jn. canon; sir jn. lyster, 1528 1455 — william sabyn — — thomas cannon — — margery kempe, n.d. 1381 town, etc. john consolif 1349 — john puttock 1405-7 — john ; thomas 1373-4 — john 1384-6 — ann whyote, hermit j> — thomas j) 1421 — joanna catfelde, 1421 ; wm. clays, 1510 1440 — geoffrey, 1440 ; jn. lot, 1497 1392 — — 1449 — isabella xiii c. — olive de raveningham 1256 — ela and companions 1339 - br. john 1288 — anchorite, 1288 ; jn. levot or levolfe, hermit, d. i 509 taylor, 65. 19. e. underhill, mysticism, 270, 554. 20-26. h. harrod, deeds and rec 30; b. viii. 513-4; h. j. hillen, lynn, 250-1. 27. bale, script. 565. 28. arch. journ. xli. 83-4. 29. wylie, henry iv, iv. 145 n. 30. l’estrange wills, f. 609. 31. hist. mss. (holkam), 1907, various, iv. 319. 32. b. iii. 489. 33. pat. 133934 b. vi. 236 ; taylor, 65. 35. hudson and tingey, rec. i. 358 ; l’estrange wills, f. 1612 ; b. iv. 134. 234 hermits and anchorites of england xxiii. nor place. description. 36 norwich a. church of st. christopher 37 conisford a. „ st. edward 38 )j a. „ st. etheldred 39 5 > tombland a. „ st. george 40 )) on the hill h. „ st. giles 41 )) timberhill a. „ st. john b. 42 h. 43 conisford a. „ st. john e. 44 )) a. „ st. julian 45 carrow a. in priory 46 )) newbridge — church of st. margaret 47 a. ,, st. mary combust 48 in coselany a. „ st. mary 49 jj a. „ st. michael at plea 50 a. „ st. olave 51 5 j hungate a. „ st. peter 52 a. „ st. saviour 53 a. under holy cross chapel 54 a. by st. martin’s bridge 55 )j a. at dominican friary 56 h. nr. chapel in fields 57 )) a. at st. giles or newport gate 58 )) h. by bishop’s bridge 59 h. at magdalen gate 60 )) h. by berstreet „ 61 5 ) h. at st. stephen’s gate 62 »j conisford h. „ south „ 63 )5 h. „ heigham „ 64 )) h. „ st. austin’s „ 65 5 j westwick h. „ st. benet’s „ 66 >) h. „ st. martin’s „ 36. rec. ii. 359. 37. b. iv. 70 ; norf. and norw. arch. s. i. 124. 38. b. iv. 75. 39. see (36). 40-3. b. iv. 239, 128, 336, 102. 44-5. w. rye, carrow abbey; paston lett. ii. 267. 46-7. rye, norwich deeds, 100, 103 ; b. iv. 474. 48. taylor, 65. 49. see {36). 50. b. iv. 475. 51. see (36). 52. b. iv. 444. 53. bale, script. 565 ; appendix c 235 folk —continued date. patron. name. 1247 xiii c. — margaret ; d. joan, 1428 ; d. agnes kyte, 1458 bef. 1305 — — 1247 — — 1428 — sir richard, 1428 xiv c. dominican friary — c. 1300 franciscan „ — xiv c. carrow priory d. julian, c. 1373-1413; d. julian lampit, t:. 1428-1478; d. ag¬ nes, 1472 ; d. eliz. scott, 1481 ; d. agnes edrygge, 1524 1429 — d. margaret kydman, bef 1546 1305 norwich priory katherine, anchoress, 1305 ; jn. martin, hermit, 1429 1304 — cecily — — “ st. anne’s anchoress ” 1247 — — 1289 — margaret and alice 1247 — —■ bef. 1288 —• sabine 1421 carmelite friary lady emma stapilton, 1421-42 1441 5 ) 55 thos. bradley, 1441 ; jn. castle acre, 1465 ; thos. barton, 1479 1471 — kath. foster, 1471 ; kath. man, “late recluse,” 1548 1410 — sir thomas, 1410 ; richard, 1455 1244 — ■ — norwich priory — xiii c. — thomas, 1455 1435 — thos. basset, d. 1435 ; rob. godard, 1483 1455 — john \feltoti\ — — — — — — — — zimmerman, hist. carm. i. 408. 54. bale, 629 ; l’estrange wills, f. 64 ; n. and n. arch. s. iv. 332, 337. 55. ibid. ill. 166 ; iv, 335 ; kirkpatrick, relig. orders, 51-2. 56. taylor, 65 ; l’estrange, f. 794. 56-66. kirkpatrick, 211 ; b. iv. 140, 165, 167, 250, 438. 60-2. l'estrange wills, f. 444 b, 795 b^ 849 b. 236 hermits and anchorites of england xxiii. nor place. description. 67 norwich h. 68 norwich, diocese of h. — 69 outwell 1 h. chapel of st. christopher 70 pickenham, n. s' h. „ st. paul 71 pulham, st. mary v, ' h. „ st. james 72 shipdam h. st. thomas of canterbury 73 stalham h. chapel of st. andrew 74 stow bardolph (bridge) h. st. botulph 75 stratton, long a. chapel 76 suffield a. — 77 thetford (castle hill) h. — 78 h. in church of st. giles 79 5) h. st. john’s chapel 80 thornham > a. — 81 walpole h. chapel of all saints 82 walshatn h. — 83 walsingham, little a. in franciscan friary 84 walsoken (“ sculedale ”) h. — 85 h. holy trinity 86 weasenham h. st. paul 87 welney h. - 88 wiggenhall st. mary m. h. — 89 winch, west a. — 90 worstead h. 67. ibid. f. 1754 b. 68. east anglia?!., ix. 107. 69. pat. 1348. 70. b. vi. 69. 71-2. gibbons, ely rec. 401, 413. 73. pap. lett. ix. 302, 333-4. 74. b. vii. 448 ; ely dioc. rem., 1901, p. 39. 75. b. v. 193. 76. b. ill. 489. 77-9. t. martin, thetford, 10, 81 ; b. ii. 75, 87-8 ; pat. 1413. 80. b. iii. 489. 81. ely rec. 403 ; xxiv. north place. description. i brampton ash, beston in h. chapel of st. augustine 2 fotheringhay (in wood) h. — 3 grafton regis h. st. mary and st. michael 4 grimsbury (banbury bridge) h. — 5 harrowden, little h. at chapel of st. andrew 6 islip or thrapston (bridge) h. chapel 7 marholm h. st. guthlac la newark by northampton h. at chapel of st. mary m. i. p.r.o. sp. exch. com. no. 1672 ; bridges, northants, ii. 284. 2. ibid. 451 ; b.m. cott. aug. ii. 125. 3. baker, northants, ii. 170-1. ibid. i. 750 ; a. beesley, banbury, 161. 5. northampton probate office, bk. a. f. 415, b. f. 139; d. appendix c 237 folk ontinued date. patron. name. 1516 _ “ maister clyff ” 1504 — john ferys 1348 — — xvi c. — — 1401 — walter colman 1487 — — 1443 — john kylburn 1406 gild thomas coteler 1256 — — 1256 — — — — — xv. c. — — 1413 austin friary — 1256 bishop — 1404 — robert downham 1274-5 — william 1507 — — tp. john — —■ c. 1390 — wm. danyell; w. crouch^ etc. bef. 1465 ” jn. keating, “late hermit”; thos. leek xii c. private, pentney priory — — — john — — mabilia de leverington, n.d. 1274-5 roger dioc. rem., 1901, p. 58. 82. hundred r. i. 505. 83. l’estrange wills, iii. f, 1600; b. ix. 281. 84. ramsey cart. iii. 295. 85. pat. 1390, 1408, 1414. 86. see (30). 87-8. dugd. vi. 69 ; v. 69, 70. 89. b. ix. 157. 90. hundred r. i. 508. amptonshire date. patron. name. bef. 1420 _ — chambers, xvi c. bef. 1176 saltrey abbey — bef. 1205 private; st. james’s abbey, northampton elias xvi c. — — 1517 — sir thomas, pr., 1519-33 william mareschal, pr. 1400 crown 1395 — — 1446 peterborough abbey john grenefeld f. 86 ; sp. exch. com. 1672. 6. pat. 1400; itin. i. 8 ; bridges, ii. 239, 7. pat. 1395. 7a. b. m. lansd. 1028, f. 188. 238 hermits and anchorites of england xxiv. north place. description. 8 northampton a. at church of st. giles 9 )) a. —■ 10 )) a. at carmelite friary 11 5 > a. at our lady of grace in austin friary 12 „ nr. s. bridge h. at chapel of st. thomas 13 5 ) h. at st. james’ end 14 „ w. bridge h. —■ 15 „ in or nr. h. at a chapel 16 „ (kingsthorpe) h. st. david (afterwards hosp.) 17 oundle a. —• 18 peakirk — cell of st. pega, or hermit¬ age of st. bartholomew 19 peterborough 'a. — 20 pipwell h. st. mary de divisis 21 radstone h. — 22 rockingham h. — 23 rushden h. at chapel of st. james 24 singlesole, nr. peterborough h. — 25 stowe wood, nr. bugbrooke thrapston v. i slip h. — —• — — 26 towcester h. — 27 weldon h. chapel 8. b.m. add. ch. 7028. 9. eng. wills (e.e. text s.), 48. 10. b.m. harl. 3838, f. 37. ii. nhp. prob. off., bk. b. f. 33, 119 ; d. 288 ; e. 21 ; p.r.o. sur¬ render deeds, no. 169. 12, ibid. d. f. 209. 13. will of w. henne. 14. j. c. cox, borough rec. ii. 523, 432. 15. somerset ho., p.c.c. 4 blamyr. 16. p.r.o. anc. deeds, c. 2026. 17. pipe r.s. xxvi. 105. 18. v.c.h.ii. 519; bridges, ii. 577. xxv. north place. description. i alnwick, nr. (?) h. 2 bedlington h. at lepers’ hospital 3 berwick-on-tweed (segden) h. chapel 4 byker h. chapel of st. mary v. and st. anne 5 caistron (maydenly, nr.) h. st. john 6 coquet is. h. i. northumb. assize r. (s.s. 88), 70; p.r.o. assize r. 642 m. 10. 2. pat. 1388. 3. cal. doc. scotland, ill. 45 ; j. scott, berwick, 348. 4. pat. 1344. 5. new appendix c 239 am ptonshire— continued. date. patron. name. tp. edw. i. _ eva 1420 — — 1421 — alice wakleyne, nun, d. 1426 ; margaret hawten 1510 father anker, 1522 ; rob. barrett, 1538 1528 — stonton 1519 — — — — — 1501 — john mason, pr. xii c. st. andrew’s priory — 1176 peterborough abbey — viii c. crowland abbey st. pega 1176 abbey — xii c. — — 1215 private elyseus xvi c. — — xvi c. — — bef. 1190 peterborough abbey — — — alnoth — — — 1534 — john littley 1516 sir gregory, pr. 1528 19. see (17). 20. dugd. v. 431, 434 ; bridges, ii. 331. 21. clos<", 1215-6, 1225 ; pat. 1227; cf. pat. 1260, “house of radestan ”. 22. sp. exch. com. 1672. 23. arch. journ., 1901, p. 130. 24. chart. r. 1332. 25. nov. leg. ii. 423. 26. nhp. prob. off., bk. e. f. 154. 27. ibid. a f. 415, d. f. 288, 328 ; e. f, 21. umberland date. patron. name. 1255-6 seman de botelesham 1388 bishop ric. holewey of shypwassh i3ii hosp. of st. mary m. br. roger of wateby 1344 — john segerstane 1247 newminster abbey br. hugh of hepes bef. 1127 'tynemouth priory st. henry, d. 1127 ; martin, c. 1300. minster cart. (s.s. 66), p. xvi, 138-40. 6. j. c. hodgson, northumb. v. 316-21. 240 hermits and anchorites of england xxv. north place. description. 7 corbridge h. _ 8 fame is. h. 9 lilburn h. 10 merkelldene [in earsdon] h. st. ninian, alias st. ryn yane 11 newcastle-upon-tyne a. at church of st. john b. 12 5 ) a. ,, „ „ st. nicholas 13 a. in dominican friary 14 norham on tweed h. — 15 st. john lee (“ hernshow ”) h. ■■ 16 warenford by bamboro’ h. at leper’s hospital 17 wark worth h. chapel of holy trinity 7. pat. 1354. 8. bede, vita s. cuthberti; symeon dunelm, i. 295-325; nov. leg. i. 101-6. 9. reg. pal. dunelm, ill. 137, 190, 199. 10. hodgson, ix. 120, 121. ii. pat. 1260; j. r. boyle, vestiges of newcastle, 160. 12. ibid. 93. 13. feed. ix. xxvi. notting place. description. i blyth a. _ 2 5 » h. chapel of st. james 3 h. „ st. michael 4 clipston [birkland in sherwood] h. „ st. edwin 5 felley h. st. helen 6 halloughton (“ halton by south a. — well ”) 7 kneesall a. — 8 mansfield, east thwaite h. — 9 mansfield-woodhouse a. — 10 nottingham a. in church of st. nicholas 11 5 ) h. “ called owswell ” 12 „ (sneinton) h. rock hermitage 13 ,, in archdeaconry of a. — 14 welbeck a. ' “ “ i. close, 1241 ; reg. giffard (s.s. 109), 116 ; reg. wichwane (s.s. 114), 74. 2, 3. pat. 1335. 4. close, 1205, 1217; pat. 1318 ; v.c.h. ii. 62. 5. v.c.h. ii. 109. 6. line. wills, 97. 7. ibid. 118 ; feed. ix. 275. 8. walkerdine, mansfield deanery, 6. appendix c 241 umberland— continued. date. patron. name. 1354 thomas de anderstowe 676 lindisfarne abbey; dur cuthbert, d. 687 ; aethelwald, ham priory 687-99; aelwin, bef. 1150; bartholomew, 1150-93 ; thos., c. 1163 ; aelric 1337 private robert bef. 1497 — robert coward, 1500 1260 _ christiana umfred 1408 — — 1415 — — bef. 1329 durham priory roger de ellesden, pr. ; rob. de dunehno, 1337 c. 687 — st. john of beverley 1399 duchy of lancaster richard hayzaund 1487 earldom edward slegg, 1515 ; george lancastre, 1531 275. 14. raine, n. durham^ 262. 15. hodgson, iv. 143-4. 16. ibid, i, 251. 17. ibid. v. 134 ; c. h, hartshorne, antiq. of northumb. ii. 212-28. hamshire date. patron. name. 1241 archbishop 2 recluses, 1271 ; d. joan, 1281 1335 — br. peter de bound — br. jn. le mareschal bef. 1205 crown benedict, 1217 ; roger de trus seley, 1318 11 56 private ; priory br. robert 1401 — — 1411 — — c. 1280 — — 1403 — — bef. 1394 crown joan de aylston 1357-8 — — xvi c. — — 1267 — — 1411 john, recluse 9. line. wills, 103, 118. 10. pat. 1394. 1400; test. ebor. ii. (s.s. 30), 131. ii, 12. stevenson and stapleton, religious inst, of notts, 163, 208-9. ^3giffard, p, 185. 14. line. wills, 118, 16 242 hermits and anchorites of england xxvii. oxford place. description. i bicester h. chapel of st. john b. 2 cassington a. '— 3 crowmarsh a. — 4 dornford [in wootton] a. — 5 ewelme h. at chapel _ finmere, v. sub bucks henley (bridge) ■ — 6 h. — 7 horsepath a. — 8 iffley a. — 9 lockesley [in wychwood] loughboro’, low barrow, nr. h. — 10 h. — leafield 11 muswell [in piddington] h. chapel of holy cross — newbridge v. standlake — — 12 oxford near a. at holywell church 13 a. „ st. budock’s church 14 j) a. „ st. ebbe’s „ 15 )> a. „ st. giles’s „ 16 }> a. „ st. john’s „ 17 )5 a. „ st. peter’s-in-the-e. 18 a. in a certain church 19 „ grandpont, s. bridge h. chapel of st. nicholas 20 „ pettypont, e. „ h. — 21 pheleley h. chapel of st. john b. 22 standlake (new bridge) h. — 23 tetsworth [in thame] h. st. john baptist i. j. dunkin, bicester, 117. 2. close, 1237. 3. bodl. oseney, ch. xiv. 4. pat. 1236. 5. pat. 1403 ; line. wills, 193 ; valor ecc. ii. 201, 265. 6. j. s. burn, henley, 196. 7. see (3). 8. pat. 1234 ; close, 1235, 1238, 1241. 9. pat. 1337. 10. close, 1232; dugd. vi. 684; reg. giffard (wore. hist. s.), 11. 537; v. j. walney, cornbury, 19. ii. dugd. vi. 549 ; b.m. harl. 3688, f. 128-9, 12. surius, vitce s.s. vi, 688 ; close, 1236. 13. pat. 1242 ; oseney, ch. xiv. 14. magd. mun. xxviii. rut place. description. i langham h. — 2 norewood [in clipsham] h. — 3 ryhall i. pat. 1314, 1326. 2. reg. hugh de wells (cant, and yk. s.), 11. 137. appendix c 243 shire date. patron. name. 1355 nicholas jurdan 1237 — matilda de la more 1271 — — 1236 crown br. robert 1403 bruern abbey simon kirton, 1403 ; thos. wylkys, d. 1458 1505 — — 1271 — — 1234 crown annora, 1238; alienora, 1241 1337 deerhurst priory ; crown roger^ pr. 1232 crown; lechlade priory robert ; emald and lucian, 1232 bef. 1154 private ; missenden abbey ralph c. 1180 matthew 1242 — alice bef. 1225 — basilia 1271 — — 1271 — — c. 1227 •— — c. 1194 —• — 1359 town jn. braye of shiplake, 1365 ; wm. cardon, 1399 bef. 1358 )) hugo rose, oust os, 1321 ; nic. wadekyns, 1358 bef 1135 private; eynsham abbey — c. 1434, \ " ■ • wm. de cornubia, c. 1434; thos. brigges, c. 1462 1447 ' gild ■ st. ebbe’s, no. 7. 15. wood, oxford (hist. s.), ii. 503. 16. ibid. ; oseney r. liii. 17. magd. mun. st. peter’s, 21 b, 29 c ; new coll. mun. st. peter’s, no. 62, 68. 18. h. salter, eynsham cart. ii. 273, 334 ; cf. vita s. hugonis (rolls s. 37), 239. 19. 20. wood, ii. 498 ; bodl. twyne, xxiil. 340, 390. 21. dugd. iii. 20 ; eynsham cart. i. p. xiv. 22. twyne, iv. 243. 23. pat, 1447. land date. patron. name. 1314 jn. de norton, 1314; jn. de warrewyk, 1326 c. 1226 — ric. de beddestowe, fr. vii c. — st. tibbe 3. wright, rutland, ill. ; women s.s. (e.e.t.s.), 73. 244 hermits and anchorites of england xxix. shrop place. description. i albrighton h. ---- 2 astley abbots ( “ estlege ”) a. — — athelardston v. bridgnorth — — 3 bridgnorth (“ athelardston,” by) h. cave and oratory 4 haughmond h. afteiavards abbey 5 langley [in acton-burnell] h. -r 6 le botvvood h. ■ 7 ludlow (temebridge) h. st. katharine 8 mount gilbert, the wrekin h. — 9 newport h. chapel of st. katherine 10 priors lee a. — 11 shrewsbury (mount) h. by cadogan’s cross 12 )) a. at st. chad’s church 13 )) a. „ st. mary’s „ 14 )> frankwell a. „ st. george’s chapel 15 j) a. „ st. romald’s „ 16 )j without h. „ st. mary m.’s „ 17 )» a. „ dominican friary 18 >» six miles from a. in church i. cal. inq. p.m. edw. i, vol. 2, no. 569. 2. chart r. 1265. 3. pat. 1328, 1333, 1335, 1346 ; staffs coll., n.s. viii. 40. 4. itin. viii. 106. 5, 6. eyton, salop, vi. 145, 245-6. 7. pat. 1410. 8. pat. 1265 ; eyton, i. 310, ix. 149 ; staffs coll., n.s. viii. 154. 9. staffs coll., n.s. viii. 60, 154. 10. e. l. cutts, scenes and characters, xxx. somer place. description. i andersey [in curry rivel] h. 2 badgworthy [exmoor] h. .— 3 bath and wells, in diocese of h. — 4 batheaston (“ horteley ”) h. chapel — bristol, v. sub. glos. — — 5 buckland [in durston] a. nr. hospitaller’s church 6 congresbury, nr. — chapel of holy trinity 7 crewkerne a. by church 8 >) h. — 9 glastonbury ■ i. athelney cart. (somerset rec. s. 14), 166. 2. buckland cart. (s.r.s. 25), 121, 196. 3. reg. radulf (s.r.s. 9), 245. 4. chantries (s.r.s. 2), 151-2. cf. hart¬ ley farm. 5. pap. lett. vii. 180. 6. nov. leg. i. 249-50. 7. trokelowe, ann, appendix c 245 shire date. patron. name. 1284 _ 1265 — — 1328 crown jn. de oxendon, 1328 ; andrew de corbrigge, 1333 ; edmund de la mare^ i 335 1 roger de burghton, 1346; ric. de callyley, 1367 bef. iioi — — 1180 — — c. 1170 — bletherus, monk 1410 — thos. shelve ; cf. leintwardine 1265 crown nicholas de denton 1355 — br. william, pr., 1371 br. richard goldeston 1409 — 1355 — — 1355 — alice breton 1272 — petronilla 1310 — emma sprenghose 1314 — isolda de himgerford 1356 — br. roger 1415 — — 1296 emma, nun 100. ii, 12. staffs coll., n.s. viii. 29, 154 ; salop arch. s., 3rd ser. v. 394, 400. 13. eyton, vi. 89. 14, 15. owen and blakeway, shrewsbury, i. 315 n ; ii. 475. 16. pat. 1356. 17. feed. ix. 276. 18. chr. lanercost (bannatyne club), 183-5. set date. patron. name. bef. 1166 private herduin bef. 1184 — “ hermits ” 1335 — jn. worm of glastonbury xvi c. — — 1420 jn. toker, friar — — st. cungar 1402 — robert cherde, monk 1523 — — ■ st. gildas ; st. dunstan f.dw. //, ed. hearne, 263 ; reg. bowett (s.r.s. 13), 36-7. 8. gerard, description (s.r.s. 15), 67 ; wills (s.r.s. 19), 224. 9. see (ii). 246 hermits and anchorites of england xxx. somer place. description. 10 haselbury [plucknett] a. by church 11 holme, flat, is. (ronech) „ steep, is. (echni) h. — 12 h. — 13 neroche (or rechych) forest h. — 14 oath (“ oth ”) in aller h. —■ 15 polden hill — at chapel of st. thomas 16 publow h. “ called clarelewe ” 17 rownham [in long ashton] h. — 18 st. decuinans, nr, watchet — — 19 spraulesmede or burtle [in moorlinch] h. chapel of st. stephen 20 twerton a. 'at church 21 winscombe h. “ in loco qui s. romani nuncupatur ” 10. b.m. cott. faust. b. iv. f. 67 b to 1233/ nov. leg. ii. 511-20 ; gervase, i. 130-1; roger wend. i. 4-9 ; m. paris, chr. maj. ii. 205-9. ii, 12. vitce, ed. giles (caxton s. 1854), 312. 13. reg. drokensford (s.r.s. i), 167. 14. ibid. 284 ; w. hunt, dioc. hist. 92, b.m. harl. ch. 57 d. 4, 5. 15. close, 1241 ; wills (s.r.s. xxxi. stafford place. description. i bethney (now stafford) h. _ 2 burton (“ scaleclif,” “ an a. chapel of st. andrew dreseia ”) 3 calwich [in ellastone] h. — 4 dunstall h. — 5 f airwell h. (afterwards nunnery) 6 handsacre (armitage) h. — 7 n e wcastle-underlyne a. in the church 8 h. — 9 radmore [in cannock chase] h. (afterwards monastery) 10 stafford a. — 11 sutton wood [in forton] h. “ locus s. johannis b.” 12 tamworth (“ muryhull,” by) a. at chapel 13 walton, nr. stone h. — 14 west bromwich (by sandwell) h. (afterwards priory) i. nov. leg. i. 165. 2. ibid. ii. 210; shaw, staffs^ i. p. i. 3. dugd. vi. 224; staffs coll. (w. salt s.), n.s. xii. 102, 278. 4. ibid. p. 76 n. 5. dugd. iv. in. 6. b.m. add. ch. 24239 : shaw, 207. 7. close, 1237. 8. staffs. coll., n.s. viii. 154; appendix c. 247 set —continued date. patron. name. c. 1125 st. wulfric, d. 1154 — — st. cadoc — — st. gildas 1317 — richard bozon, pr. bef. 1328 — br. thomas, friar, 1328 1241 — elneva built reclusoriutn., 1241 ; john, hermit, 1505 c. 1228 private — 1406 — william popylton — — st. decuman bef. 1199 private ; glastonbury abbey br. walter 1337 — sibilla of bathford 1331 phillip schipham 19), 88. 16. collinson, somerset, ii. 428. 17. ibid. 296 ; bristol corp. mss. orphan bk. f. 103 b; w. wore., ed. nasmith, 275. 18. nov. leg. i. 264. 19. dugd. i. 34-5 ; reg. drokensford, 54. 20. reg.'radulf (s.r.s. 9), 303. 21. ibid. 70. shire date. patron. name. st. beccellin — — st. mod wen bef. 1148 various — bef. 1162 trentham priory walter c. 1140 — roger, geoffrey, and robert bef 1307 — fohn, pr. 1237 — avice 1355 — david hawardedyn, 1465 xii c. — clement and hervey 1415 — — bef. 1227 private ; shrewsbury — abbey br. roger de henerebarwe 1360 — — — st. wulfade xii c. pat. 1465. 9. dugd. v. 446. 10. feed. ix. 275. ii. dugd. ill. 523. 12. stafs coll., n.s, viii. 93. 13. ibid. xii. ill ; o.s. i. 178, 14. dugd. iv, 189, 190, 248 hermits and anchorites of england xxxii. suf place. description. i blythborough h. 2 brandon ferry (on bridge) h. chapel of ss. mary and etheldreda 3 bury st. edmunds a. in cemetery 4 >) a. — 5 >5 w. gate h. chapel 6 catiwade (bridge) h. chapel of st. mary b.v. 7 cowlinge a. — 8 exning h. chapel of st. mildred 9 gorleston, southtown h. near ferry 10 ipswich a. at carmelite friary 11 sudbury h. in st. gregory’s chyd. 12 thrandeston (“ randeston ”) a. i. t. gairdner, dunwich, etc., 125. 2. ely dioc. rem. 1903, p. 179 ; 1904, p. 150, 189 ; cf. 1905, p. 21. 3. madox, form. angl. 423. 4. pat. 1449. 5. r. yates, st. edmundsbury, 49. 6. pat. 1360. 7. close, 1234. 8. dioc. rem. 1897, p. 97. xxxiii. sur place. description. i bletchingley h. 2 brookwood [in windsor forest] h. — 3 dorking a. — 4 ewell h. — 5 ottershaw (“ hoteressaham ”) h. — 6 sheen a. in house of bethlehem 7 southwark (horsleydown) h. _ 8 thames ditton, in or nr. h. 1. close, 1233. 2. gervase, chr. ii. 295 ; pat. 1367. 3. close, 1240. 4. ms. memoriale [per canon deedes]. 5. surrey arch. coll. feet of fines, 10. 6. pat. xxxiv. sus place. description. i arundel h. at chapel of st. james 2 a. in dominican friary 3 camber, the (is. by winchelsea) h. chapel of st. anthony 4 chichester chapel of st. ciriac i. tierney, arundel, 679. 2. pap. lett. iv. 352 ; v. 470. 3. w. worcester, no ; appendix c 249 folk date. patron. name. 1516 robert leake, d. 1517 hef. 1406 bishop of ely wm. bussheby, 1406 ; jn. new¬ ton ; ric. passhlew; thos. passhelawe, d. 1459, etc. tp. john — lucy bef. 1449 — — cheyne 1360 — br. john atte welle 1234 — nicholaa 1389 — philip de cliston xvi c. — — — — agnes, n.d. 1433 parish j. levynton (& ric. appelby ?) 1157 ■ inclusiis 1157-81 9. c. j. palmer, yarmouth, iii. 257 ; suckling, suff. i. 378. 10. b.m. harl. 3838, f. 37. ii. b. ii. 241 : suff. inst. arch. viii. p. xxvii. 12. pipe r.s. i-xxxi. rey date. patron. • name. 1233 crown roger. 1289 — prior thomas, 1289 ; jtt. tyl man, 1367 1240 — — bef. 1408 merton priory — 1218 — geoffrey 1417 crown, priory jn. kyngeslowe, pr. 1417 ; jn. dygoun, pr. reclusus quintus, n. d. xvi c. — — 1294 richard le eremite 1417; magd. coll. oxford, mss. 77, 154, 156. 7. surrey arch. coll. i. 176. 8. feet of fines, p. 64. sex date. patron. name. 1459 1402 — john bourne, friar bef. 1536 — — 1247 alien abbey anchoress, 1247 ; ric. petevyne, hermit, 1405 1 l. and p. hen. viii, xii. (i), 1095. 4. d. and ch. mun. y. f. 135 b ; reg. rede, f. 14. 2 50 hermits and anchorites of england xxxiv. sus place. description. 5 chichester a. in cathedral 6 ,, in diocese of h. — 7 hardham (“ heringham ”) a. in church 8 harting a. — 9 houghton a. — 10 lewes a. at st. john-sub-castro 11 „ (westout) a. at st. mary’s church 12 pagham a. — 13 seaford (on cliff) h. — 14 stedham a. — 15 stopham a. — 16 westbourne h. chapel of st. anthony 17 winchelsea a. at church of st. thomas s 6. reg. rede, f. 105, 116 ; v.c.h. ii. 16. 7 . sussex arch. coll. r. 174 ; xliv. 78-80. 8. pipe r.s. xxx. 145, etc. 9-12. s.a.c. 1.174-6 ; xii. 132, 134. 13. pat. 1272. xxxv. war place. description. i berwood, nr. birmingham h. chapel of our lady 2 binton (“ bindon ”) h. — — bridgtown v. stratford bridge — — 3 coventry (bablake) a. by chapel of st. john b. 4 h. st. anne 5 fletchamstead wood [in stone h. st. mary leigh] 6 guy’s cliffe (“ gibbecliff ”) h. cave ; chapel of st. mary magd. 7 packington, little, or maxstoke h. “ hemeric’s church ” 8 polesworth a. by abbey church 9 ,, (tamworth road) h. by st. edith’s well 10 stratford-on-avon (bridge) h. chapel of st. mary magd. ii warwick h. — „ v. guy’s cliffe — — 12 wolvey heath h. i. dugd., mon. vi. 466. 2. hist. mss. (middleton, 1911), 336. 3. dugd., warw.^ ed. 1730, p. 193. 4. dugd., mon. vi. 16. 5. ibid. iv. 345, 348 ; vi. 835. 6. pat. 1334; staffs coll. n.s. viii. 280, 285, 289. 7. dugd., warw. ii. 978 ; ann, appendix c 251 sex —con tin u ed date. patron. name. 1402 william bolle, pr. 55 — robert rydley, professed 1253 — — 1180 — — 1253 — — — — magnus, n.d. 1253 — — }> — br. hunfred 1272 — peter 1180 crown — 1253 — — bef. 1527 earl of arundel simon cotes, d . 1527 1242 “ ' 14. pips r.s. xxx. 146, etc. 15, 16. s.a.c. i. 175; xii. 79, so; xxii. 98. 17. chart r. 1242. wickshire date. patron. name. xii c. leicester abbey i 521 — — — — — 1357 — robert de worthing pr. bef. 1381 — — xii c. crown ; templars ; luf field priory gerald, monk c. 927 guy of warwick ; br. wiger, c. 1205-21 ; thos. de lewes, 1334; rob. maudith, 1373 5 jn. burry bef 1135 private ; worcester pr. — bef 1457 abbey margaret salle, 1457 1521 — — 1367 private br. jn. richeman, 1367 ; jn. rawlyn, 1443 ; jn. whythede, 1472 ; thos. smyth, 1495 ; jn. butteler, 1497, 1503 1283 — gilbert, sub-deacon 1395 private ; combe abbey wm. de scregham, 1395 ; jn. iddezeard^ 1501 mon. wigorn. iv. 487. 8, 9. dugd., warw. ii. 1117: hist. mss. (1911), 331, 349, 381, 384. 10. j. halliwell, rec. ; bloom, rec. ; lambeth, reg. langham, f. 63. ii. reg. giffard (wore. hist. s.), ii. 204.' 12. dugd., warw. i. 67. 252 hermits and anchorites of england xxxvi. west place. description. i kendal (kirkland) a. by “ anchorite’s well ” 2 shap (“ heppa ”) h. chapel of st. mary 3 windermere, ladyholm in h. i. c. nicholson, annals, 78. 2. b.m. harl. 48 c. 25. 3 inq. p.m. 1272, 1354 ; xxxvii. wilt place. description. i bentley wood, by clarendon h. 2 bradford-on-avon h. chapel of st. andrew 3 )) h. st. mary (now tory chapel) 4 britford a. — 5 castle combe h. — 6 chippenham (monkton) h. — 7 codford, east h. chapel of holy cross 8 edington h. chapel 9 fisherton anger h. chapel of st. anne 10 a. at dominican friary 11 hazelbury [in box] h. (now chapel playster) 12 lydiard tregoz — “ by antedoch's well 13 malmesbury (burnvale) h. chapel of st. michael 14 „ (south) h. “ in the dike of the toune ” 15 „ (burton hill) h. st. white 16 marlborough a. — 17 „ (sun lune) h. — 18 )) h. st. white, st. clement, and st. novalis 19 preshute a. _ 20 salisbury a. — 21 „ in diocese of h. — 22 n j) h. — 23 )> h. — 24 55 55 h. — 25 stanton st. quint in h. in wood 26 sunning a. at the church 27 yatton keynes h. — i. pat. 1330-6. 2. reg. metford, f. 123 b; wilts arch. s. xiv. 103. 3. ibid. i. 148 ; v. 35 ; xx. 319-20. 4. close, 1226, 1241 ; reg. osmundi (rolls 78), i. 259 n. 5. scrope, castle combe, 161. 6. j. j. daniell, chippenham, 95-7. 7. hoare, wilts, 231, 319. 8. it in. iii. 98. 9. hoare, ii, 161-2. 10. somerset ho., p.c.c. logge, f. loi ; p.r.o. minister’s accounts, 30-1 hen. vih, n. 136. ii. i tin. ii. 55. 12. aubrey and jackson, wilts coll. 183. 13. dr. g. f. browne, st. aldhelm, 43-4.' appexndix c 253 morland date. patron. name. c. 1220 — — 1272 ■ pat. r. 1334, 1381, etc. ; close, 1344. shire date. pation. name. 1330 _ br. john de warrewyk 1397 — — xvi c. — — bef. 1226 crown d. joan malewyn 1358 private john xvi c. — — 1317 — br. henry de mareys, pr. xvi c. — — 1348 — thomas, 1396 ; john, anchorite. 1483 — 1418 xvi c. — — — — — 637 — maildubh xvi c. — — 5) abbey — 1517 — john benton bef. 1548 — — 1523 town nicholas heage 1215 crown eve xvi c. — d. alice curson 1326 —• 7 hermits professed c. 1410 — j. spenser ,, 1487 — geoffrey middleton professed. 1495 — richard pury „ bef. 1220 — alice 14. liin. ii. 54. 15. l. and p. hen. viii, xix (2), p. 414. 16. ibid. iii. (i), p. 500 ; (3), p. 2732. 17. wilts arch. s. 561, 567. 18. corp. mss. 19. pat. 1215. 20. birch, hyde abbey, liber vitae, 185. 21. reg. mortival, ii. f. 187. 22. reg. halam, f. 47. 23. reg. langton, f. 24. 24. reg. blythe, f. 40. 25. wilts coll. 288. 26. reg. osmundi, i. 275. 27. wilts coll. 123. 254 hermits and anchorites of england xxxviii. wor place. description. i blackstone., nr. bewdley h. cave 2 droitwich a. in church of austin friary 3 evesham a. — 4 „ in or nr. a. chapel of st. kenelm 5 malvern, great h. „ st. john b. 6 )j 55 h. on site of priory 7 redstone, nr. astley h. cave, chapel 8 severn stoke a. — 9 soiithstone [in stanford on h. chap el of st.john b. teme] 10 worcester a. by church of st. nicholas 11 )) a. by cathedral 12 )) a. in dominican friary 13 worcester, in diocese of h. ■■■ i. nash, wore. ii. 47. 2. ibid. i. 332. 3 ) 4 evesham chr. (rolls 29), 219 266, 267 n, 322. 5. leland, colleet. ed. hearne, i. 65. 6. w. malm., gest. pontif. 285-6. 7. habingdon, survey (hist. s.), ii. 17. 8. pipe r.s. xvi.-xxx.; pat. 1264. xxxix. york place. description. i ainderby [richmondshire] a. adjoining church 2 beeston, nr. leeds a. 3 beverley h. 4 beverley a. — 5 35 a. by church of st. giles 6 )) a. in house of st. juliana 7 )> a. at st. nicholas le frary 8 bolton a. 9 bridlington or flamborough h — 10 burneston a. — 11 byland a. — 12 cadeby [in sprotburgh] h. st. margaret 13 campsall a. — — conisboro, v. sprotburgh ; — — cadeby 13^ cave, north a. — 14 ' coverham [in coverdale] h. chapel of st. simon and st. jude i. reg. thoresby, f. 287; perry, j?. rolle, p, xxvi. 2. reg. romeyn, f. 45 b ; reg. melton, f. 156 b ; test. ebor. (s.s. 30), ii. 26, 178. 3. (?) feed. viii. 296. 4. b.m. stowe, ch. 432 ; test. ebor. iii. (s.s. 45), 32. 5. test. ebor. ii. 98. _ 6. line. reg. buckingham, f. 107. 7. v.c.h. iii. 15 ; test. ebor. ii. 98. 8. will of appendix c 255 cestershire date. patron. name. bef. 1388 private br. henry de stokebrugge xi c. abbey aelfwin ; basing c. 1042 >) st. wulsi, d. c. 1097 xi c. — st. werstan c. 1085 — aldwyn {d. 1140) and guy — private — 1170 crown — 1353 evesham abbey — bef. 1256 private; bishop juliana, 1256-69 — priory 2 recluses bef 1538 — — 1431 ric. spetchley professed 9. habingdon, i. 382. 10. pat. 1256, 1266 ; reg. giffard, 1 . 2^ b. ii. reg. wore. pr. (camden s.), 120 b, 124 b, p. cii; j. noake, wore. cath. 119. 12. ellis, orig. lett, cccxxviii, 3rd ser. iii. 190. 13. reg. pulton, f. 137. shire date. patron. name. 1367 _ d. margaret kirkby, cf. layton 1294 denise of barneby, 1294 ; joan sperry, nun of st. clement’s, york, 1322. 1403 — — 1397 duchy of lancaster robert riell, 1397-1415 1444 — — 1392 — c. 1321 __ agnes migregose and marg. de punchardon, nun 1385 — — xii c. — simon, n.d.; hermit, 1403 1400 — — 1392 — — 1226 private — 1240 }> muriel 1286 agnes muscregros coverham abbey jn. de gisburne. 9. w. t. lancaster, bridlington cart. 179 {} bced. viii. 296). 10. test. ebor. i. (s.s. 4), 274. ii. see (6). 12. p.r.o. anc. deeds, a. 5074 ; cf. (79, 80). 13. close, 1240; pat. 1244. 13a. reg. romeyn (s.s. 123), 196. 14. yks. arch. journ. xx. 484. 256 hermits and anchorites of england xxxix. york place. description. 15 crayke a. 16 cudworth, nr. barnsley dalby [in pickering forest] h. — 17 h. — 18 dart on a. — 19 doncaster h. „ v. sprotburgh — — 20 easington, or newton, in or nr. ecclesfield (kimberworth) h. — 21 h. st. john 22 egton [in lythe] h. st. leonard 23 elland a. — 24 eskdaleside h. — 25 famdale-head h. — 26 goathland h. st. mary 27 guisborough (“ gysburne ”) a. — 28 hampole h. — 29 jj a. — 30 harum [in helmsley] h. — 31 haverah (“ haywra ”) [knares boro’ forest] h. 32 healaugh park h. — 33 hedon a. in churchyard of st. nicholas 34 helmsley a. — 35 hessey [in moor monkton] h. — 36 holme on spalding moor h. — 37 hood [in kilburn] h. — —■ howden, v. ringestainhirst — — 38 huntington, nr. york h. chapel of st. augustine 39 kexby ferry a. in chantry chapel 40 kirkburton a. in churchyard 41 kirkby wiske a. — 42 kirkstall h. afterwards abbey ' 43 knaresborough, nr. h. chapel of st. giles ; chapel of holy cross 44 h. chapel of st. robert 45 „ grimbald bridge h. — „ v. haverah ; rud farlington — — 46 layton, east a. in a house in the chapel 15. ibid. iv. 435. 16. yks. deeds (rec. ser. 39), 156. 17. j. c. cox, royal forests^ 108. 18. reg. gray (s.s. 56), 65. 19. pat. 1328. 20. wills (s.s. 116), 17. 21. dugd. v. 416, 419. 22. ibid. v. 392 ; chr. melsa (rolls 43), i. 84. 23. reg. giffard, p. 123. 24. whitby cart. (s.s. 69), 3. 25. rievaulx cart. (s.s. 83), 36. 26. whitby cart. 161. 27. proc. arch. inst. lincoln, 313. 28. horstman, r. rolle; perry, r. rolle (e.e. text s.). 29. mkt. harbord rec. 58 ; line. wills, 97 ; feed. ix. 275. 30. line. wills, 71. 31. v.c.h. iii. 91. 32. dugd. v. 437-8. 33. j. r. appendix c shire— continued. date. j patron. name. c. 767 _ etha or eata, d. 767 — — richard 1323 — william 1234 — cecily 1328 — geoffrey de bolton 1417 — — — private ; kirksted abbey — bef. 1150 „ ; meaux abbey sedeman ; ivo 1270 — — c. 1138 whitby abbey — xii c. private edmund bef. 1114 crown ; whitby abbey osmund, etc. 1386 — john bef 1349 priory richard rolle, d. 1349 1382 — — 1392 — john 1267 — lambert le fleming, etc., 1315 bef. 1184 private gilbert, monk 1267 — alice de falketon 1392 — agnes 1348 — stephen hamondes xii c. selby abbey — bef 1138 — robert de alneto, monk 1333 ■ rob. de skitheby, cf. skeeby 1398 — thomas coke, pr. 1293 — agnes, dau. of wm. de burton 1382 — — t:. 1147 — seleth, etc. bef 1199 crown ; priory knight; st. robert, d. 1218 ; ive 1339 br. robert de eboraco 1336 — roger, 1336; william, 1398 1348 — marg. la boteler, nun of ham pole, 1348 ; marg. de kirkby, bef. 1357, cf. ainderby boyle, hedon, 151; and app. 34. see (30). 35. pat. 1348. 36. selby cart. (rec. ser. 13), 27 ; reg. zouche, f. 210. 37. dugd. v. 343, 349 ; vi. 322. 38. pat. 133339 test. ebor. i. 244 ; feed. ix. 275. 40. reg. romeyn, i. 126. 41. mkt. harboro' rec. 58 ; test. ebor. i, 274, iii. 32 ; feed. ix. 275. 42. kirkstall cart. (thoresby s.). 43. close, 1216, 1219 ; chart. r. 1227 ; mem. of fountains (s.s. 42), i. 167-71 n. 44. pat. 1339, 1340. 45. pat. 1336; wheater, knaresboro\ 158. 46. reg. zouche, f. 72 ; reg. thoresby, f. 287. 17 258 hermits and anchorites of england xxxix. york place. description. 47 leak by upsall a. 48 lindholme \in hatfield chase\ h — 49 mulgrave [in dunsley] h. st. james 50 newton [in cleveland^ h. — 51 newton-upon-ouse h. — 52 nostell [in wragby] h. st. james 53 nun appleton a. — 54 pontefract (by castle) a. in st. helen’s chapel 55 a. . 56 j) h. on hill of “ st. thomas ” 57 „ (nr. blackfriars) h. rock hermitage and chapel 58 >) h. — 5 j h. — 59 rameshagh [in sproxton] h. — 60 ravenser (“ ravenserespourne ”) h. chapel of st. mary and st. anne 61 ribblehead and gearstones (be¬ tween) h. “ domus heremitae 62 richmond a. — 63 >> a. by chapel of st. edmund k. 64 )) a. — 65 richmondshire, in ringestainhirst, by howden a. 66 h. chapel of st. mary m. 67 ripon bishopton bridge h. chapel of st. mary 68 rudfarlington [knaresborough forest] h. at chapel of st. hilda 69 saltburn-by-sea h. — 70 selby in wood h. chapel of st. german 71 „ nr. (“ scablu ”) h. — 72 sherburn in elmet h. st. mary m. “ hospital or hermitage ” 73 shipton [in overton] h. chapel of st. helen 47. test. ebor. i. 376 ; feed. ix. 275. 48. gent. mag., 1747, xvii. 23. 49. whitby cart. (s.s. 72), ii. 525-7. 50. ord, cleveland, 423. 51. chart. r. 1294. 52. dugd. vi. 89. 53. test. ebor. i. 376. 54. close, 1240; reg. zouche, f. 58 b ; pat. i 3 s 9 > i486 : pari. r. v. 546. 55. pap. reg. v. 471. 56. reg. j. of gaunt, ii. 40; feed. ix. 275; test. ebor. ii. 26. s 7 's^' b.m. stowe, ch. 468-470; g. fox, ponte¬ fract, 291-2. 59. chart. r. 1336. 60. pat. 1399, 1427 ; feed. viii. 89-90. 6r. appendix c 259 shire —continued date. patron. name. 1414 _ — — william of lindholme bej. 1244 private; whitby abbey — 1294 — — c. i 1 2 1 — gilbert and brethren 1414 — 1240 private ; duchy of lan¬ caster sybille, 1240; joan haliday, 1351 ; alice ripas, 1464 ; margaret multon, i486 bef. 1401 — emma scherman 1372 — wm. de byngham ; john, 1415 1368 private br. adam, 1368 ; laurence grene, pr., 1404 john de crayk (?), alias queyks 1404 private; nostell priory 1405-6 — william portyngton xii c. private ; kirkham priory godwyn ; edwin 1399 — matthew danthorpe, 1399 ; ric. reedbarowe, 1427 c. 1190 furness abbey — 1393 — d. joan sampson 1274 private ; crown margaret askham, 1439 5 alice howorth, 1446 margaret richmond; alison comeston, 1490 1490 town t:. 1361-79 — — 1284 bishop of durham thos. de osgoteby, 1284 ; ric. de cavill, 1366; rob. de sakerston, 1391 bef, 1521 — — c. 1200 — st. robert, cf. knaresborough bef. 1211 private ; whitby abbey br. archillus c. 1069 — benedict, first abbot c. 1123 — abbot hugh de lacy 1352 — john de kildesby 1327 — adam de whenby furness cart. b.m. add. 33244, f. 123. 62-4. test. ebor. i. 189, 274; ii. 115; iii. 202, 297; itin. v. ii6; whittaker, richmond, i. loo-i ; pat. 1439, 1446. 65. nov. leg. ii. 71-2. 66. pat. 1284 ; reg. pal. dunelm. i. 429 ; v.c.h., durham, ii. 131 n.; test. ebor. i. 156. 67. memorials 74), i. 114, 183, 274. 68. b.m. harl. 3775, f. 76. 69. whitby cart. i. 177. 70-1. coucher bk. (rec. ser. 13), cap. xiii, xiv, xxx. 72. pat. 1352. 73. pat. 1327, 1330, 1332. 26o hermits and anchorites of england xxxix. york place. description. 74 skeeby, nr. richmond h. chapel of st. augustine 75 skip bridge ; cf. hessey h. — 76 snaith a. — 77 sowerby, nr. thirsk h. — 78 spaldingholm h. — 79 sprotburgh, doncaster bridge a. by st. edmund’s chapel 80 „ or conisborough h. st. margaret 81 staddle bridge (“ stalebrig ”) h. — 82 stainforth bridge, nr. barnby on don h. at chapel 83 tadcaster h. 84 thorganby by cottingwith a. at the church 85 wakefield (northgate head) a. by chapel of st. john b. 86 wath a. — 87 weigh ton a. — 88 westcroft in hutton bushell h. — 89 york north street a. at all saints’ church 90 5 ) a. „ st. cuthbert’s church 91 )) a. „ st. giles’s „ 92 ,, fishergate a. „ st. helen’s „ 93 „ walmgate a. „ st. margaret’s „ 94 „ clementhorpe a. „ st. clement’s „ 95 ,, bishophill a. —• 96 „ h ungate a. — 97 „ layerthorpe bridge a. — 98 „ peaseholm a. — 99 „ in diocese of h. —■ 100 h. — 74. pat. 1328. 75. pat. 1335-6. 76. reg. gaunt, ii. 243. 77. test. ebor. i. 206 ; cf. wakefield r. (rec. ser. 36), 156, 185. 78. b.m, cott. claud. d. xi. f. 34. 79. hunter, 5 . yorks, i. 348; reg. gitlard (s.s. 109), 116. 80. l. and p. hen. viii, v, p. 700; chantries (s.s. 92), ll. 426. 81. yks. arch. journ. xvill. 266. 82. pat. 1348. 83. chantries, ii. 375. 84. test. ebor. i. 186 ; ii. 26 ; feed. ix. 275. 85. reg. zouche, f. 59: test. ebor. i. 286, v. 74; halifax wills, 217; itin. vii. 43-4. appendix c 261 shire —contimied date. patron. name. 1328 rob. de skytheby, cf. hunting ton 1335 — br. thomas | 1374 _ 1395 _ [cf. hugh, 1308] bef. 1179 n. ormsby priory i2yi private ; archbishop amabil and ellen, 1279 ; sibil lisle, 1294 ; beatrice, nun, bef. 1304 ; joan of easing wold, 1328 xvi c. 1484 —• _ 1 1348 — william de epworth xvi c. 1393 — d. agnes, 1433 1352 elizabeth de coppelay 1393 ' * 1415 — — bef. 1187 private ; whitby abbey — 1430 — d. emma rawghtone, c. 1422 1393 — —• 1386 —• john 1433 — — 1435 — 1465 priory d. alice darby, 1475 1385 — i )> 1381 — _ 1415 ■—■ ' ' j 1343 — walter de thorp ordained sub¬ deacon, deacon, priest 1404 nicholas humanby professed 86-7. /did. i. 186, 274 ; f(£d. ix. 275. 88. whitby cart. i. 49. 89. test. ebor. ii. 26, 56 ; oid york church: all hallows, p. 94. 90. ibid. i. 186. 91. see (27). 92-3. test. ebor. ii. 26, 56, 271. 94. ibid. ii. 271, 145 n. ; madox, form. anglic. 437 * 95 * see (8); test. ebor. v. 214. 96-7. ibid. i. 186, 118. 98. feed. ix. 275. 99. york, ordination list, zouche. 100. lambeth, reg. arundel, pt. i. f. 435 b. 262 hermits and anchorites of england unidenti place. date. i basing, basinch, or acres chapel: st. john b. h. 1138 2 cen a. x c. 3 childris : st. bridget h. 1207 4 colemanshegg : chapel h. 1256-7 5 cruke a. 1176 6 dodford h. bef, 1199 7 fordham a. 1260 8 hauescumba h. bef. 1166 9 h ungate h. 1433 10 leye or reye : chapel a. 1315 11 magdalen, la h. — 12 mosehuda h. bef. 1260 i2<a! tanfield (in wood) h. 1409 13 vestheton a. 1393 14 warham a. 1183-4 i. gloucester abbey cart. (rolls 33), i. 224, 228, 352 ; ii. 169. 2. st. dunstan (rolls 63), 381-2. 3. pat. 7 john m. 3. 4. f. devon, p.xcheq. r., p. xxx, 34. 5. pipe r.s. xxvi. lo, etc. 6. dugd. vi. 836, 839. 7. pat. 1260. 8. b.m. campbell, appendix c 263 fied patron. name. st. peter’s, glou oxon or bucks cester —• pilgrim — — brethren of hermitage — crown richard, hermit — — ? creech, co. dorset „ ; templars isabel and olive, re¬ cluses ? co. n’hants or wore. ? co. cambs private ; farley — ? hawcomb, co. glos. priory isabella dioc. hereford — prior humfrid ? co. derbs. templars geoffrey berks or oxon — — probably w. tanfield, yorks — — ? west heaton crown probably co. norfolk ch. xiii. 12. 9. line. wills, 158. 10. reg. swinfield, camden s. 213, and cant, and yk. s. 501. ii. derbs. arch. s. v. 23. 12. bodl. wood empt. no. 10, f. 83. i2^z. see p. 176; cf. pat. 1314. 13. test. ebor. i. 186. 14. pipe r.s. xxxiii. no. index (a. = anchorite, anchorage ; h. = hermit, hermitage). abbots, enclose anchorites, 91-41, 41-3. adam, a. of gloucester, 103. — h. of pontefract, 69-70. — v. cressevill. adrian iv, pope, 23. aelred of rievaulx, st. 37w., 97, 134; rule of, 80, 85, 96-7, 103, 109, 122, 132, 136, 139. aelric, h. of wolsingham, 24, 128-9. — h. of fame, 133. aelwin, h. of fame, 5, 129. aethelwald, oediluald, h. 3, 4, 167-8. agnes, v. shepherd, vertesance. ainderby, a., 139, 143, 176, v. margaret of kirkby. aldrington (sussex), rector of, a. at chichester, 80. aldwin, h. of malvern, 20. alfred, king, 16, r48, 168. alfwina, a. of flamstead, 21. alice, a. of hereford, 77, 137. — v. bernard, buttes, wakelyn. aline, a. of wigan, in. alms, bequests, 27, 37, 39, 58, 62-4, 68, 73 . 76-7. 81, 103 sq., 183-8, v. grants. alnoth, st., 17. alnwyk, william, a., 144, 154. altar in cell, 26, 34, 37, 39, 42,44-5, 54, 70, 78-80, 95, 171, 196. anchorage (anker-ancress-house), 79 84, 95-6, 132, 183-5, passim. oratory, altar, 78-80, 95, 140. door, 81, 95-6, 132, 141-3, 147. window, 73, 79, 82-3, 118, 122, 127-8, 135-40, 147. tomb, 74, 96, 113-5. anchor church (derbs), 32-3. anchorite (anker, anchoress), 73 sq., 112, 115, 173, 180, 182, 184, 186, passim. enclosing, 69, 76, 90 sq., 103, 141-3, app. a. vow, profession, 76, 92, 96,143-4, 169, app. a. sick, aged, in, 118-9,121,124-7, 132, 139, 141-4, 164. ancren riwle, 73, 79, 85, 96-8, 105-6, 109, no, 114, 120-4, 130-1, 136-8, 140, 142, 177. andersey, h., 16. ardland (glos), h., 28. armyt, armitage, 48, 64, 88, 112, 165, 184-6, 190-1. arthur, edmund, a., 81. arundel, a., 144. — v. westbourne. asceticism, 2, 4-7, 22-3, 39, 40, ch. ix. ch. x. 160,178; habergeon, 118-21; hairshirt, 10, 106, 108, 118, 120-1, 129, 160, 163, v. food. ashprington, 89. athelardston (bridgnorth), h., 36. attendants, v. companionship. audley, katherine, a. of ledbury, 74-5, 131 augustine, st., 146-7. banbury, 64. bardsey is., i, 7. barking, a., 144. barroc, st., 10. barry is., 10. bartholomew of fame, st., 4, 5, 85, 113, 120, 126, 129-30, 133, 152. barton, elizabeth, 166, 187-9. batheaston (somerset), h., 191. bawburgh (norfolk), h., 186. beacons, seamarks, erected by h., ch. iv. beatrice of colyford, a., 141. — de hodesak, a., 93-4. — v. franke. beauchamp, thomas, 77, 154. — richard, 34-6, 155. becon, thomas, quoted, 135, 166. bede, quoted, i, 3,4, 167. bedstow, beston, h., 187. benedict, h. of birkland, 29. bengeo, supposed cell, 83-4. bernard, st., quoted, 108. bernard, alice, a., 76. bertellin, st., 15. bethney, 15. bicester (oxon), h., 71. billfrith, a., 3, 167-8. women, 14-5, xi. passim. 17, 21-3, 28-9, ch. vii. 265 266 hermits and anchorites of england bilney, thomas, 184. bishop— guardian of recluses, 93, 103, in, 141. deputies enclose, a., 69, 76, 91-4, 96, 141-3, 193 licences h., 50, 60, 69, 72, 85-6. inhibits h., 66, 89, 159, 163. “ bluebeard the hermit,” 164-5. bolle, william, a. of chichester, 80. books, manuscripts, 76, 96-9, 113, ch. xiii. boston, a., 172. bradley, thomas, v. scrope. branksea is., h., 53. bredon (? breedon, leics.), 32-3. brian de lisle, 41, 153. bridges, h., keepers of, ch. v. 71, 202. bridget of sweden, st., 144, 161. bridgnorth (athelardston), h., 36. bridlington, h., 109, v. john, st. brill, forest of, h., 27-8. bristol— st. michael’s, a., 91. 1 castle, a., 78. brandon hill, h., a., 70-1, 91-2, 191. redcliffe, h., 71. britain, recluses in, 146, 167. brougham, caves near, 48. buckland (somerset), a., 93. burchwene, a. at finchale, 134. burgeys, lawrence, h., 68. burial, 3, 23, 38, 72, 74, 77, 106, 113-5 ; in cell, 5, 8, 34, 42-3, 96, 113-4, 190. burry holmes, 8-9. bury st. edmunds, a., 92, 107. buttes, alice, a., 185. cadoc, st., 10. camber is., h., 53. cambridge, county of, h., 60-1. canterbury, anchorite of, 165-6. archbishops of, 16, 21, 23, 88, 90, 103, 143, 158, 163, 168-9. caradoc, h., 9. carlisle, 12, 24, 108, 170. castles, a. in, 78. celestine, st., 87-8, 145. celestria, a. of kingeshaixi, 91. cell, v. anchorage, hermitage. cerne, 20. chale down, h., lighthouse, 52. chapel (oratory), 1-6, 8, 10-16, 20, 26, 28-9, 34-7, 39, 40, 42-5, 51.4, 59, 66-71, 88-9, 113, 140, 185-8, 190-1, v. altar, dedications. chapel is., st. tiriac’s rock, i, ii, 12. charing cross, h., 68. charley (leics.), h., 27. charnwood, forest, h., 27. cherde, robert, a., 93. chester, a., 75-6, 82, 131; h., 62. chesterfield, h., 165. chester-le-street, a., 83, 185. chetwode, chapel, 28. cheyny, thomas, 164-5. chichester, a., 80. childlove, a. of faringdon, no. chippenham (wilts), h., 64. chipping ongar, supposed cell, 83-4. christina of markyate, st., a., 21-3, 119-20, 131, 150. christopher, st., representations of, 57 8, 106. churches, cells adjoining, ch. vii., 92-3, no, 140-3, 179, 180, passim^ v. anchorage. clifton (ghyston cliff), h., 44-5. clothing, of h. and a., 39, 63, 78, 86-7, 105-7, 165, 195, 199, 200, 202. clyute, margery, a., 96. coke, thomas, a., 112. colchester, a., in. colnbrook (bucks), h., 187. colyford (devon), a., 141. companionship, attendants, 8, 10, n, 13, 20, 27, 33-4, 40, 66, 72, 74, 79, 94, 104, 124, ch. xi. compton, supposed cell, 84. confessor to a., 76, 136-7, 141, 155, 164. cooke, thomas, h., 50. “ copmanhurst, clerk of,” 30. coquet is., 6, 7, 49, 56, 151. corbridge (northumb.), h., 62. cotes, simon, h., 63, 109. court at street (kent), h., 187-9. coventry, preachers in, 163-4. crakynthorpe, thomas, a., 183. cratcliff (derbs), h., 32. crediton (devon), a., 77. cressvill, adam, h., 88. crewkerne (somerset), a., 82, 93, 183; h., 69, 183. cromwell, thomas, 54, 90, 165-6, 183-4. crowland (lines), 14, 32 n., 37,77, 149. crucifix in cell, 6, 32, 45, 80, 127. cungar, st., 17. cuthbert of fame, st., 1-6, 12, 13, 24, 80, 117, 133, 145, 148, 167-8. dale (derbs), h., 39, 40. danes, a. in england, v. henry, magnus. danthorpe, matthew, h., 50. dean, forest, h., 28. dearham (cumb.), cross, 8, 9. decuman, st., 17. dedications of cells and chapels— aedred, st., 78. andrew, st., 15, 186. anne, st., 50, 69, 90. anthony, st., 51, 53, 63. index 267 dedications of cells and chapels {cont .)— augustine, st., 60, 187. bartholomew, ap., st., 14. brandan, brendan, st., 70, 91-2, 191. chad, st., 131. cuthbert, st., 5, 190. edmund, st., 50, 68-9, 93. edward, st., 78. edwin, st., 29. eustace, st., 78. german, st., 144. giles, st., 41-2. helen, st., 60, 78. herebert, st., 12. hilda, st., 27, 40. holy cross, 42-3, 77. holy trinity, 10, 45, 48, 187. james, st., 29, 51, 62, 66, 72, 76. john baptist, st., 20, 134, 140-1, 162, 190-1. john, st., 185. kalixtus, st., 141. katherine, st., 52-3, 59, 62, 68. kenedr, st., 16. kenelm, st., 37. kenyth, st., 9. laurence, st., 77. leonard, st., 28, 31, 190. mary b.v., our lady, ii, 13, 27, 39, 44, 50, 53, 67, 80, 81 n., 134, 171, 187-8,191; our lady of grace, 184. mary magdalene, st., 35. nicholas, st., 67. pega, st., 15. peter, st., 51. robert, st., 44. romanus, st., 29. sepulchre, st., 78. thomas, st., 29, 63. tiriac, st., ii, 12. vincent, st., 44. white, st., 191. v. appendix c. deptford, h., 186. derby, a., 79 ; h., 88 ; baker of, 38-9. derwentwater, h., 12. devizes (wilts), hospital near, 71. dissolution of monasteries, 55, 64-5, ch. xiv. doncaster, a. near, 79, 93-4; h., 58. dorchester (oxon), 76. dover, a., 78 ; h., 53-5 ; pharos, 55. dreux (france), h. of, 160-1. droitwich (wore.), a., 77, 81, 81 n. dunstan, st., 168-9. durham— anchorage, 80. hermits, 69, 85, 129-30. bishop of, 23, 134. monks of, 4, 129-30, v, reginald. dytton, katherine, a., 113, 131-2. earith (hunts), h., 61. edmund, st., ii, 18. edward the confessor, st., 20, 38, 78, 149. edwin, h. of higney, 21. edwold, st., 19, 20. ela, a. of massingham, 130. elgar, st., 7. elizabeth of york, queen, no, 183, 187. elneva, a. of polden, 29. ely, 15, 60; bishops of, 44, 60, 61, 86. emma, a. near shrewsbury, 118, 140. — v. rawghton, scherman, spreng hose, stapilton. ernald, h., 129. eskdaleside, whitby, h., 24, 27, 30. ethelbald, king of mercia, 148. etheldreda, st., 15, 60. evesham (wore.), a., 37, 126. ewelme (oxon), h., 109. exeter, a., 76, 185 ; bishops of, 49, 76-7, 93, 141 ; v. pontifical. faringdon (berks), a., no. fame, h., 1-6, 24, 117, 129, 133, v. cuthbert, aethelwald, bartholo¬ mew. faversham, a., 81, 115, 183. felgeld, h. of fame, 4. fens, h., 14-5, 20-1, 60-1. finchale (durham), 23-6, v. godric, st. flamstead (herts), a., 21. flat holme, ronech, 10. flower, robert, v. robert of knares boro’, st. food, i, 8, 11, 17, 23 sq., 40, 47, 62, 79, 101-5, 120-1, 162. fordham, a., 130. forest, h. in., ch. ii. 40, 59, 60. franke, beatrice, a., 92, 96, 142. fraunces, richard, a., 173. fremund, st., 10, ii. french language, 76, 171, 177. friars, enclosed, 77-8, 93, 107, 112, 141, 144, v. orders. fruyte of redempeyon, 107, 180-2. fyschbourn, thomas, a., 144. galahad, sir, 147-8. garden, court, 47, 63, 64, 70, 79, 81, loi, 144, 190-1. garendon, abbey, 67, 70. gascoigne, thomas, 61. gateshead, a., 83, 185. gaufridus, chronicle of, 4, 152. geoffrey de bolton, h., 58. — grammaticus, a., 171, 173. gertrude, a. of wareham, 124. gibbecliff (guy’s cliffe), 34-6. gildas, st., 10, 167. 1 giraldus cambrensis, 10, 76, 170. 268 hermits and anchorites of england glastonbury, lo, 168-9. gloucester, a., 91, 103, 183. goathland (yorks), h., 27, 57. godric of finchale, st., 23-6, 85, loi, 113, 117-20, 126, 128-9, i34> i49» 151, 170-1. goky, roger, h., 27. gower (wales), 8, 9. grace, john, 164. grants, endowments, 23, 28-9, 39, 41, 53, 59, 78, 85, 94, no, in, 143, 162, v. alms. gregory, st., 168. grene, william, h., 60. grimlaic, rule of, 79, 128, 141, 167. guthlac of crowland, st., 14, 117, 128, 148. guy, a., 169. — h. of malvern, 20. — of warwick, 33-6. guy’s cliffe, 33-5. habit, v. clothing. hackington, st. stephen’s (kent), a., 74, 114, 153 haliwell haw, h., 27. hamond, thomas, h., 51. hampole, a., 112,143. — richard of, v. richard. hardham, a., 82. hardulche (st. hardulph ?) h., 16, 32-3. harold, king, 76. harrowden, little, h., 187. hartlip, a., 82, 112. haselbury plucknett (somerset), 74, v. wulfric, st. hawten, margaret, a., 77-8. henley, h., 63. henry of coquet, st., 6, 113, 130, 151. henry i, 150-2. — n, 23, 151. — ill, 113, 153; appointments, grants by, 28-9, 43, 66, 68, 76, 78, 81, 91. — iv, 50, 59, 158-60. — v, 154, 160-1. — vi, 35, 155, 164-5. — vii, 187. — viii, 53, 165-6, 183 sq. herduin, h. of andersey, 16. herebertof derwentwater, st., 3,12, 13. hereford, a., 77, 78, 137. heresy, accusations of, 89,143,163, 184. hermit— professed, 86, 88, app. b. becomes anchorite, 2, 28, 69. begging, idle, 61-2, 66, 89-90, 103,186. irregular, 66, 67, 69, 89, 135, 162-3. industrious, 6, ch. iv. v., 71-2, 102, 103, 189, 192. sick, aged, 4-6, 26, 38,66,102-3,126-7, 129. hermit (cont.) — persecuted, killed, 5, 10, 17-21, 39, 40-1, 156-60, 162-3. v. army t. clothing, food, rule of life. hermitage— word, 28, 173. described, 2, 3, 8, 21, 23, 24, 29, ch. iii. 69-71, 119. altar, 26, 34, 37, 39, 45, 70, 171. crucifix, 6, 32, 45. tomb in or by, 5, 8, 34, 37, 42-3,113-4, 190, v. burial. guesthouse near, 2, 9, 41, 57, 133. heslyngton, margaret, a., 175. highgate, h., 65. higney (hunts), h., 21. hilton, walter, 99, 128, 138, 177. hinxton, h., 90, 186-7. hoccleve, quoted, no. holme cultram, h., 190. hoisted, eliz. katherine, a., 93. holy land, h., 24, 151; pilgrimage to, 20, 21, 24, 119, 151. howell, william, h., 190. hugh garth, h., 57. humber, navigation in the, 50. huna, st., 15. huneia, hunney, 15. hunstanton, st. edmund’s chapel, 50. huntington, h., 60. iffley (oxon), a., 104. ilefaye (severn), n. ilekirk, h., 27. ilfracombe, chapel, lighthouse, 49. inclusorium^ 66, 79, v. anchorage. inglewood, forest, h., 24, 27. ive, h. of knaresboro’, 41-3, 108, 129. ives, st., chapel, lighthouse, 49, 50. jean de ponte, 54. jerome, st., 167, 170, 177. joan, a. of blyth, in, 125. — a. of sprotburgh, 94. — lady clopton, 115. john baptist, st., 24, 140-1, 146, v. dedications. — king, 41, 153, 156-8. -of france, 53, 68. — of bridlington, st., 139, 172. — de dalton, 102, 106, 134. — of gaunt, 59, 70, 163. — london, a. of westminster, 112, 154. — h. of aldgate, 67. — h. of fisherton, 69. —• h. of lancaster, 59. — h. of polden, 29. — h. of tavistock, 112. — h. of wragmire, 60. — v. kyngeston, puttock, rows. judith, st., 166. index 269 julian of norwich, a., 116, 125, 127, 171, 178-80. juliana, a. of worcester, 81. jurdan, nicholas, h., 71. katherine, queen, 165, 183. — audley, a. of ledbury, 74-5, 131. — v. dytton, man. kempe, margery, a., 116, 121, 171, 178. kendal, a., 79. kent, nun or holy maid of, 166, 187-9. kenyth, kined, st., 8, 9. kexby, a., 113. keyne, st., 17. king and hermit, 29, 30. kingsholm (glos), 91. kinver edge, 48. knaresborough, 40-1, v. robert, st. chapel of st. giles, 41-2. — holy cross, 42-3. st. robert’s cave, 40-2. “ chapel of st. robert,” 43-4. priory of st. robert, 43. knights of round table, 147, 167. kydman, margaret, a., 185. kylburn, john, h., 186. kyngeston, john, a., 103. lancaster, h. of, 59; duchy of, 59, i 43 > john of gaunt. lancastre, george, 48, 190. lancelot, sir, 147. langland, w., quoted, 58, 61, 103-4, 109, 127, 135. lathbury, hugh, h., 165. latin language, 170, 173-4, 182. law, canon, 90, 137 ; civil, 55, 64, 86, iii, 131, 142. layton, east (yorks), a., 143, v. mar¬ garet of kirkby. leake, robert, h., 114. ledbury, 75, v. audley, katherine. leek, thomas, h., 114. leicester— st. peter’s, a., 143. st. john’s hosp., 162 n. h., 69, 162. leland, john, quoted, 10, 12, 20, 34-6, 55. 64, 190-1. lepers, 71, 76, 121, 178. letherhead, supposed cell, 84. lewes, st. john’s, memorial to a., 114. licences, briefs, indulgences (ecclesias¬ tical), 29, 44, 50, 60, 61, 69, 70, 72, 85-6, 88-93, 103, 137, 143, 186; (royal), 36, 60, 61, 71, 76, 78, 91. lighthouse,erected, 6, 7, ch. iv. lincoln— anchorites, 76, 183. holy trinity, a., 107. holy innocents’ hosp., a., 77. lincoln {cont.)— bishops of, 22-3, 28, 76, 89, 92, 142, 150, 163. lindisfarne (holy is.), i, 2. gospels, 3, 167-8. bishops of, 1-4, 167-8. monks of, 2-5. linstock (cumb), h., 108. linus, st., 88. llowes (radnor), a., 135, 169-70. lollards, heretics, 89,143,163, 184,186. london— a. in churches, 92, 107, 112, 115, 130, 183, 185. a. in tower, 78. a. professed in friary, 96. h. in or near, 66-8, 108. bishops of, 96, 182, 184, 199. loretta, lauretta, countess of leicester, a., 74, 114, 131, 153. losfield (berks), h., 28. loughborough (oxon), h., 27, 129. lucas, william, a., iii n., cf. 115. lucy, a. of bury, 107. — de newchurch, 70, 91-2. ludlow, h., 62. ludlow, richard, h., 62. lydd, h., 69, 186. lydda, lydensis, bishop of, 86, 96, 199. lynn, a., 78, no, 116, 178; a. friars, 107, 173, 183 ; h., 50. lyons, william, h., 67. magnus, a., 114-5. maidenhead, h., 62. malmesbury, h. 147, 191. malory, thomas, 57, 73. malvern, h., 18-20. man, katherine, a., 185. mantes (france), a., 141. margaret, a. of bodmin, 144. — a. of richmond, 113. — la boteler, a., i43». — of kirkby, a. of layton, ainderby, hampole, 98, 117, 125, 139, 142-3, 176. — v. heslyngton, kydman. margery, v. clyute, kempe. marhamchurch (cornwall), a., 93. markyate, h., 21-3, v, christina, roger. marlborough, 71, 183. marriage of h., 88, 109. martin, h. of coquet, 6-7. mass, 62, 66, 68, 79, 80, 88, 131, 137, 143, 159, 170, 184, 186-7, altar. matilda, a. of barking, 144. — a. of campden, 92. — a. of leicester, 143. — a. of wareham, 124. mattersey bridge (notts), 58. matthew, a. of holywell, 76. 270 hermits and anchorites of england matthew v. danthorpe. mendicancy, 61-2, 8g, 103, 186. michaelstow, supposed cell, 84. mirabel (leics), h., 89. miracles, i, 3, 4, 43, 74-7, 118-9, 135, 152, 160, 170-1, 186, v. visions. misyn, richard, 164 n., 175. moddry (beds), h., 27. modwen, st., 15, 32-3. monasteries, friaries, a. in, 37, 77-8, 80-1, 126-7, 137, 144, 153-5, 163, 172-3, 183-5. — cells under, i, 6, 7, 27-31, 67, 70, 71, 91, 93 . 104 5 . 137. 189-91 — hermitages develop into, 14, 15, 20, 23, 26-7, 43. — v. monk, nun, orders. — dissolution of, 55, 64-5, 67, ch. xiv. monks, solitary, 1-5, 10, ii, 14, 20, 21, 23, 27, 37, 40, 48, 68, 70, 80, 85, 89. 90, 93. 103, 112, 113, 116, 128; v. monasteries, orders. morte d'arthur, 73, 147-8. mosehude, h., 108. mottisfont (hants), a., 77. moys, cecilia, a., 93. neot, st., 148. newbridge (oxon), h., 61. — (norf.), h., 114. newcastle-upon-tyne, a., 82. newminster, 40, 134. newton, matilda, a., 144. nicholas, a. of westminster, 153. — h. of wrekin, 29. norham, h., 117. norham, william, h., 158-60. northampton, a., 184 ; h. 63. northaw (herts), h., 23, 113. norwich— a. in churches, 76, 81, no, 130, 179, 183, v. julian. a., in friaries, 77, 112, 137, 163-4, 172, 184. a. of carrow, no, 185. hermits, 71-2. bishop of, 50, 72, 130, 169. cathedral, 79 «. nostell (yorks), h., 27. nottingham, caves, 48. nuns, enclosed, 22, 77-8, 92-3, 96, 104, 113, 136-7, 140, 142-4, 184-5. oath (somerset), h., 113-4, 141 occult science, 90, 172-3. office for enclosing a., 94-6, 123, 193 sq. -benediction of h., 86, 199 sq. “order” of anchorites, 96, 105, in, 193 orders, monastic, mendicant— st. augustine, 86 w, 93, 99. st. benedict, ii, 77, 89. st. bridget, 144. st. francis, 93, 113, 140-1, 153. st. paul, 86-7, 199. carmelite, 93, 137, 163-4, 171-2. i 75 dominican, 173, 184-5. trinitarian, 43. orders, holy, 85, 88, v. priests. osbern, priest of haselbury, 74. oxford, a. in churches, 76; h., 63. oxton, supposed cell, 48. patronage of cells, 63, 77, 91, 93, v. grants, monasteries; app. c. paul of egypt, st., 86-7, 126, 199. peakirk, 14. pega, st., 14, 15. perceval, sir, 147-8. peter, st., 38. — the hermit, 156. — “ the wise,” 156-8. pilgrimage, 20, 21, 24, 28, 43, 74, 119, 133-4, 169-70, 186-8. plegmund, st., 16, 168. plemstall (cheshire), 16. plymouth, h., 53, 191. polden hills (somerset), h., 29. polesworth (warw.), a., 81,184; h., 185. pontefract, a., 78, 144; h., 69, 70, v. peter the wise. pontificals, 86, 94, 96, 199. prick of conscience, 176. priests, solitary (chaplain, clerk), 3, 4, n-i6, 26-9, 34-6, 47-8, 51-2, 54.57. 59. 66 sq., 72, 78-80, 85, 92-3, 95. 129, 130, 156, 162, 181, 184, 188, 190. promptorium parvulorum, 173-4. puttock, john, h., 50. quest of holy grail, 147-8, 167. quinton, lower, brass at, 115. radmore, h., 27. ralph fitz geremund, 39. — de nuers, h., 27. ravenserspurn (yorks), h. 50. rawghton, emma, a., 35, 83, 155. reading, h., 68-9. reclusorium, recltisagium, 76, 78, 79, 91, 95, v. anchorage. reculver (kent), h., 51. redstone, h., 37, 57. reedbarowe, richard, h., 50-1. reginald of durham, 26 «., 134, 171. revelation respecting purgatory, 154-5. revelations of divine love, 125, 127, 178-80. richard i, 40, 151. index 271 richard ii, 153, 158-9, 161 n. 1 — le coupe, a., 130. — v. ludlow, reedbarowe, spechysley, i stanley. richard rolle, h. of hampole, i, 98,102, 106, 117-8, 123, 127, 134-5, 143, 146, 161-2, 171, 192. —works of, 174-6; fire of love, quoted, 102, 127, 135, 146, 192; form of living, quoted, i, 117, 121, 123. richborough, h., i8g. richmond, a., 79, 113. richmondshire, a., 82, 139. ripley, george, a., 171-2. roads and bridges, 71, ch. v. 185, 202. robert of knaresborough, st., 40-4, loi 2, 108, 113, 117-8, 129, 134, 153. — a. of hartlip, 112. — h. of cripplegate, 66, 108. — de skeeby, h., 60. — v. cherde. roger, st., monk of st. alban’s, h. of markyate, 21-3, 113, 117, 119, 120, 128, 150. — h. of bridgnorth, 36. rolle, richard, v. richard. rownham (somerset), h., 57. royston, cave, 48. rudfarlington (yorks), 40. rule of life for anchorites— grimlaic’s, 79, 128, 141, 167. aelred’s, 80, 85, 96-7, 103, 109, 122, 132 sq. ancren riwle, 73, 79, 85, 96-7, 105-6, 109, no, 114, 120-4, 140* 142. 177. bishop’s charge, 95, 193. rule of life for hermits— of st. celestine, 87-8, 102, 108, 145. of st. linus, 88, 106. bodleian ms., 66, 87, 103, 108, 128. camb. ms., 32, 87. bishop’s charge, 88, 201-2. st. alban’s— st. michael’s, a., 82, 104, no, 112, 131-2. st. peter’s, a., 82, 93, no, 149. abbey, 7, 22-3, 113 ; hermits’ tomb in, 23, 113. abbots, 7, 22-3, 93, 113. eywood, 23. st. aldhelm’s head, lighthouse, 52. st. briavels, h., 28. st. catherine’s down, lighthouse, 52,56. st. edmund’s point, 50, 56. st. margaret’s-at-cliffe (kent), h., 51-2. st. mary’s island, 49. salisbury (fisherton), h., 69. — bishop of, 69, 86, 98. — use of, 94, 142, 193. sandwich, a., 183; h., 72. scale of perfection, 99, 128, 138, 177. scherman, emma, a., 144. scott, walter, quoted, 30, 31. scrope, thomas (bradley), a., 77, 163-4, 171-2. — lord, bequests to a., 70, 77, 112, 154 seaford, h., 52. sedeman, h. of egton, 31. seman, h. (near alnwick ?), 130. severn, r., i, 8, 10, n, 17, 57. shakespeare, quoted, 35, 126. shap, h., 27. shepherd, agnes, a., 104. sherborne (dorset), a., 77, 80-1; h., 190. sherwood, forest, h., 29. shipton (yorks), h., 60. shrewsbury, h., 69. sibil de lisle, a., 94. sigar, h. of nor thaw, 23, 113. simon, a. of dunstable, 142. — stock, st, 171-2. — v. symon. sneinton (notts), h., 48. southampton, h., 57, 187. southey, edmund, quoted, 12-13, 160-1. southwick (hants), h., 189-90. sparkes, john, h., 71. spechysley, richard, h., 86. spenser, edmund, quoted, 17. sprenghose, emma, a., 92. sprotburgh (doncaster bridge), a., 79, 93 4 spurn point, lighthouses near, 50-1, 56. staindrop, anchorage, 83. stalham (norfolk), h., 186. stanley, richard, h., 190. stanton, st. quintin (wilts), supposed h., 191. stapilton, emma, a., 77, 137. steep holme (echni), 10. stephen, a., 112. — king, 150-2. stony stratford, h., 63. stratford-le-bow, bridge, 59. stratford-on-avon, h., 63. sudbury, h., 72. , symon, a. of london wall, 107, 112, 171, 180-2. syon, abbey, 112, 144, 175. tadcaster, h., 183, 190. tanfeld, h., 176, tarporley (cheshire), h., 113. tarrent (dorset), a., 98. , tarvin (cheshire), h., 59. tatwine, h., 14, 128. tavistock, h., 112, 191. tetsworth (oxon), h., 63. thetford, h., 71-2. 2/2 hermits and anchorites of england thomas, a. of oath, 113-4, 141. — a. in holt, 29. — h. of fame, 129-30. — v. hamond, fyschborne, scrope. thorney, 15. thrapston (islip), h., 64. tolls, imposts, levied by h., 51, 58. trent, r., 15, 33, 48. trinity house, the, 55-6. tynemouth priory, 6, 7, 49, 113. umfred, christiana, a., 82. vertesance, agnes, a., 112, 132. visions, voices, revelations, 4, 6, 11,22, 24. 35 , 37 9 , 75-6, 117-21, 129, 139 41, 149 sq., 160, 161, 163, 170-1, 175, 178-80. vows, 76, 85, 86, 88, 96, 97, 169, 195; dispensations from, 92, 143-4. wakefield, a., 79, 183, 185. — v. peter the wise. wakelyn, alice, a., 77-8. wales, solitaries in, 7-12, 17, 135, 169 70. walter, 177, v. hilton. wardesale, maud, a., 143. wareham, a., 124, 132. warener, christopher, a., 165-6. warkworth, h., 45-8, 190. warwick, h., 34. earls of, 34, 155. — v. guy’s cliffe. wear, r., 23-5. weasenham (norfolk), h., 114. wechelen, a., of llowes, 135, 169-70. welkes, david, h., 53. wellingham, brass at, 114. wells, hermits’, 14, 16, 17, 20, 34, 39, 40, 47, 70. werstan, st., 20. westbourne, h., 63, 109. westminster abbey, a., 77, 81,112, 114, 126-7, 144, 153-5, 183. -, foundation of, 38, 149. wetheral, caves, 48. whalley (lancs), a., 104, 137. whitby, 27, 30-1. “ white hermit,” 160. whytford bridge (cambs), h., 90. wickwar (glos), a., 92. wiger, h. of gibbecliff, 34. will, made by h., 108-9 » by a., 113. william, h. of ardland, 28. -court at street, 188-9. -linstock, 108. -losfield, 28. -pontefract, 70. — a. of lynn, 107. — of cornwall, h., 61. — fitz walter, 74, 118, 151. — de pershore, a., 92. — de stuteville, 40-1. — of swinderby, h., 162-3. — worcester, 9,12, 35, 44-5, 53, 71. — de wyntreburn, 66, 108. — v. alnwyk, bolle, lucas, lyons, norham. — winchester, a., 78. windermere, lady holm, h., 13. winforton, h., 16. winscombe, h., 29. winterton (lines), a., 92, 142. wolsingham, h., 24, 128. worcester— a. in priory, 77, 81, 104. a. at st. nicholas, 81. a. in friary, 183-4. / bishops of, 20, 86, 91, 149. wordsworth, quoted, 13, 75. worms head, 8. wragmire (cumb.), h., 60. wrekin, the, h., 29. wulfric of haselbury, st., 74, 90, 107, 118, 120, 126, 130, 135, 142, 150-2. wulsi, st., 37-8, 126, 149. wulstan, st., 20, 149. wychwood, forest, 27, 129. wye, r., ii, 16. wylkys, thomas, h., 109. yatton keynes (wilts), supposed h., 191. ynys enlli, 7. ynys weryn, 8. york— anchorites of, 76-7, 183. allhallows, a., 35, 83, 155 ; window, 176. jews in, 156. archbishops of, 21-3, 89, 93-4, m, 143 mayor of, 40, 42. aberdeen: the university press a selection of books published by methuen and co. ltd. london 36 essex street w.c.2 contents general literature • • 9 page 2 little quarto shakespeare page 19 ancient cities . • • 9 x 2 miniature library 19 antiquary’s books . • 9 12 new library of medicine 20 arden shakespeare . • • 13 new library of music 20 classics of art . • • 14 oxford biographies , . , 20 ‘complete’ series . • • 14 nine plays. 20 connoisseur’s library • • 15 sport series . 21 handbooks of english church states of italy .... 21 history • is westminster commentaries . 21 handbooks of theology • • is ‘young’ series .... 21 health series , • 9 is cheap library .... 22 ‘home life’ series. • 9 16 books for travellers . 23 leaders of religion . • t 16 some books on art . . , 23 library of devotion . • • 16 fiction . 24 little books on art . • • 17 books for boys and girls 29 little guides 9 • 18 cheap novels . 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and c. b. fry. pomp of the lavilettes, the. sir gilbert parker. profit and loss. john oxenham. red derelict, the. bertram mitford. printed by morrison and gibb ltd., edinburgh the poetical works of rudyard kipling barrack-room ballads the seven seas the five nations departmental ditties the years betw^een 197th thousand 132nd thousand 120th thousand 94lh thousand in buckram. crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net each volume in cloth. fcap. 8vo. 6s. od. net each volume in leather. do. 7s. 6d. net each volume in cloth, service edition. square fcap. 8vo. each work in 2 vols. (ten in all) 3s. gd. net each volume. twenty poems from rudyard kipling is. net. 350th thousand. a selection by mr. kipling from his volumes of verse, and in addition three poems which have never been published before in book form. charming illuminated editions of rudyard kipling’s splendid poems recessional hymn before action in special envelopes. is. 6d. net each methuen & co. ltd. 36 essex street, london, w.c.2 .... ly t 'v?' )0 \8 \99\ .. ; r*. ) 1 .' & m m 5:w:; x.;'; k-.b ■m-.l br fihkf: t .■■r.itvy.rkii.):'. i:i:i:ni ’irfilih:); wh >!rkri::v)’ ilbi i : i;;-rrr.r^'' i <ii kii;-.: r; »> irryuir.w boston college 3 9031 195357 7 ] be renewed for the same period, unless re¬ served. two cents a day is charged for each book j kept overtime. if you cannot find what you want, ask the lyibrarian who will be glad to help you. the borrower is responsible for books drawn on his card and for all fines accruing on the l does not circrtate boston college library university heights chestnut hill, mass. books may be kept for two weeks and may same. 209 book__£:jlah4l_ copyrightfjlo^ copyright deposit. x^hc rcrmif 8 rome grover the first \oqcmxtc and other poems ^^ by i jf vinton webster author of augusta, etc. san francisco the whitaker & ray company (incorporated) 1903 " ig llliu/', two ctwi.rf rroen/et) oct l.'^' tmi3 cl.fiss* a,vyr, f:r.i ;9 : i:.^f ^t ! ea.'i,ej*e.d according to act of congress in the year 1903 by j. vinton webster in the office of the librarian, at washington, d. c. dedicated to my beloved daughter, helen webster clark, ever kind, gentle and devoted to those she loves. prefatory f4otc. in preparation of the following poems, the chief purpose in view has been to instill love of humanity, love of the beautiful in nature and of the divinity, who seems to be present with us in every work and aspira tion for human betterment. j. v. w. index. the hermit's home, 9 yosemite, 109 ville de saint xazaire, 118 the lover's farewell, 124 carmena's curse, 127 may de veres, 181 soul harmony, . . . . , lo5 time, 137 evil omens, 139 lillian, 143 old man's lament, 145 music 147 the watchman, 148 shakespeare, 151 shall we live again? 153 grover the first, 159 x^be rcrmit^s f)ome* canto i. oa that fair eve the hunt had spent its force ; the tired hounds tracked after me with pant and lolling tongues, through groves of noble oak and hazel hedge, that grew in clumps about the spurs and crags, till winding on beneath a rugged bluff, my pack in wonder stopped to bay a hole, rockbound, with door-like arch and slanting roof, as if a porchway to a pillared hall. i peered within, and as i gazed, i saw a frame in somber dress and seated on a stone, white-haired, and leaning on a cane. '•avh^' art thou here in this lone place, amid tliese rocks and rugged hills, brush-clad and crowned with cedars green and whispering pines? " he sat dumfounded at the sight of such intrusion, rude, upon his cavern home. his eyes were large and full, with austere face. deep-furrowed with the rasping years of time. held council with a breadth of brow that told of thoughts beyond the grasp of common minds. an age, it seemed, he sat in silence there. and then it did appear he spoke, but yet no sound — as when a cloud too distant for the ear to catch the thunder roll, the flash of light that blazes on its front, reveals a power there, prodigious in its wake. 10 ■ poems of love and philosophy. la this suspense that told upon ray nerves, a lark, with golden throat, essayed to siug his mellow evening hymn in. heather high above the cavern door, and as his lays rang out and echoed sweetly up among the crowning peaks, the hermit's rigid face relaxed into a smile, as when the moon does half dispel the haze of diugy night. " why am i here," he said, " alone among these uninviting hills ? come in, strauge sir. and since you stumbled on my hiding place and do persist in knowledge why i'm here. and since you seem to have a heart not prone to gibe the bitterness of human ills, i will confide some thoughts, in truth, that weigh upon me heavily, with trust and hope that such revealing may you serve and save from many troubles common to your lot.'' reflection sat serene in every line of that grand face, with eyes that seemed to burn in depth, like vestal fires never quenched. with amber fingers to his temple pressed, half hid within his flowing hair, white as the camlet's silken fleece for winter clothed ; with left hand resting on his sturdy staif, unbarked, deep, knotted, curved about the top. he sat and forward leaned, mute as the stones that pillared up the granite hall, with eyes bent on the vale below, where ran a stream with shimmering light that fleck the willow boughs that gently swayed as fanned the evening breeze. the sun, hazed in the western horizon, seemed like a ball of blood which whirled above the gleaming sea, that sang its requiem the hermit's home. 11 to all the dead who rock forever, prone and pale, upon its shining coral reefs. i could not break the spell, it hung about my heart as if a dream of something i had surely seen, in fact, or shadow-land. at length he turned and fixed his gaze on me, deep set, but yet, with all, so kindly that i felt assured and braced myself to hear — as one who hopes, yet fears reality. " i trust," he thus begun, " no idle freak has brought you hence, a wilful pry into my gloomy life, wherein the fairest hopes and bitter wormwood mingle in a way which makes me wish that chaos could blot out the past and rescue memory from all the ills that weigh like lead upon my heart, " 'tis true i've seen the roses in their bloom and with the sweet incense of myrtle for a guide to deep affection, i have felt the spell of woman's love, that makes full bliss or narrow hell to him who dares to claim the shining idol of his callow years. " but let that pass. 'tis gone ! what did i say? o, what a wretched man i surely am ! my youth was spent halfwild and proud about a growing city, further east. it's name ? it matters not — suffice, it bordered on a deep and placid river near the sea — a mart of trade that sent its argosies like phantoms flying from the fertile coast to trafi&c largely with the busy world. " here wealth displayed utility and pride in massive blocks of brick and granite built^ with domes and steeples, silver-lined, 12 poems of love and philosophy. all rivaling in growth as if to reach the pinnacle of great vanity. " then to rear came a gentle slope that lifted up to higher levels, decked with fair abodes among the native trees — all interlaced with riinniug vines and banked about with flowers most profusely. " and in the distance, where the city lost itself among the wooded hills, there ran a range which seemed a backbone of the world that lifted up into the blue of god's great arch, that spans this little sphere, as does some canopy a grain of sand. " in this fair summerland my lot was cast. by parentage was to the manor born. with leisure, life seemed as a holiday, on which to labor counted as reproach. " my home, pretentious and environed with a garden rich in native growth and sweet exotics from a hundred sunny climes. i grew to relish nature as the birds that swing with song high on the lofty trees and drink the streams that flow like moving pearls among the nodding lilies of the vale. " my drill and education was the best the city could afford. my father wished me for the ministry, and often on a sabbath morn would bid my audience to songs and prayer within the steepled church. " but then, i loved the music of the groves. and god's great temples in the woods so well. that lofty-steepled sanctuaries did impress my simple mind and heart as some great vaulted catacomb, much like unto the hermit's home. 13 the silent halls of eserhadden, where sad spirits whisper of the damned. " i much preferred the simple ways of christ who gave his lessons under olive trees, or near the summer sea of galilee, avhen twilight lingered over bethlehem. " while thus engaged in thinking of myself, and manner of my future livelihood. an incident occurred that did upset my equipoise and sadden all my life. '' 'twas on an april morning blushing in to may. the goddess dawn, had beckoned up the sun a little way and as his eye pursued the glowing, njaiiph-like form above, he sent a gleaming ray of luming light toward the garden where i stood, and then, the tears, fresh fallen from the weeping night. turned into jewels on the blooming rose, " the daisy, from its golden disk, peeped forth with dripping eyes as turned each tear into a glowing rainbow, miniature in form. the violet, long used by lo for ambrosial food, and from sweet sherbet which the gods in truth designed for cooling draught. canto ii. " as nestled they upoa the warming earth, and blushing like some fairy maiden's face in presence of the one she dearly loves, there breathed a fragrance not in words to name. and just beyond, the glowing myrtle bloomed and showered forth its beauties on the ground, as when in rapture horus gathered them to line the royal way which venus trod, when from the bosom of the waves she came. '' and so, on every hand, were nodding to each other, jewels, most approvingly. to all who had an image in the heart. for things divine in ministry of love. ' ' it seemed i stood in dreamland for a time, and then i saw a form upon the walk that startled me, as does a vision on the senses creep, of something fair be^^ond control, and spells one stolid as a stone. " a little hand was stretched to pluck a rose. with wrist and arm no chisel could design; and then was lifted to my gaze, a brow i cannot well describe; suflice it then, the glow of beauty there displayed in form and face and every movement made that seemed a witchery of flesh and blood. contrived, perhaps, in some romantic mood of amphion, with harp and song that built with exhalation thebes, and temples grand. '' comparison sat dumb at that array, 14 the hermit's home. 15 and cynicism simmered into naught. her beaming ej'es seemed like two morning stars withdrawing from the watches of the night and languid with the trusty vigil kept. " while thus confused i stood, there came a sound, a murjnur seemed it, such as pue alone does sometimes hear in dreams, when those he loves, draw near, in faith, to comfort him; and in its melody i heard these words: " ' since it seems this fairy place is not a garden grown to private use alone, but broad enough in heart of him who aims, to let the world in rapture gaze upon the beauty centered here, in betterment of soul and mind, that leads to higher thoughts, i beg of you, who seem to have control, this rose, some jasmine and just a sprig of that fair myrtle bough which hangs so near.' " i could not move, but seemed entranced, and for a moment stood like one in sense confused by sight of something new and strange. my tongue refused me utterance, and yet i reached to prune the jasmine, and then meandering about the myrtle bough i plucked a stem of crowning shower bloom, which, at its touch, pearl dew drops fell upon the earth with fragrance in their dying breath. " and then advancing to the rosebush where she stood and leaving that the fairest hand in all the world had touched, and looking for a charmer, found a cluster growing on a single stem, just buddiug into bloom. " and when secured the three she named in one embrace, i handed her the gems and in 16 poems of love and philosophy. the act sweet vision met in duplicate aud soul to soul seemed there revealed by light that trembled on the morning star of love. and then with graceful bow and smile of thanks she left me standing there like one who sees a charm or raiubow fading from the sight. when half assured i was not going daft. i plucked the rose she touched and folded to my heart as fond memento of herself, with blissful hope that she might come again. " each morning when the dew drops sparkled on the bloom and fragrance scented all the breeze, i clipped the fading roses, watching all the garden walks for that strange apparition, — substance surely seemed it, j^et in truth so fairy like, i was in doubt and fear, lest solid earth gave no support to it. *• thus engaged the mornings fled as came, auroras lead, and disappointed in the watch i kept, with hunger in my heart, withdrew to shade beside the waterfall. and yet the sight i longed to see delayed to come. so days grew lengthwise into weeks, and when despair stood in the breach of all my hope, she did appear as light of foot, as does a water nymph that leaves no track behind her flowing robes and sylph like form. '' she seemed so much at home and glibly talked of botany and all the glories of her queenly kingdom while i cut and trimmed the daintiest voluptuaries, that, in fact, i lost the stupor of my comatose and gave her glib reply and compliment when dint of courtesy the hermit's home. 17 most finely shaded did allow the gliut. " and with the thanks for flowers well arranged, she did extend her shapely hand and said: ' we live upon the hill, just where the climb grows in the level space among the grove which eros planted in the make-up of his morning walk, when all the infant world was stranger to the vine and stately tree; and as i have a brother studious and schooled in many things that seem to be full cousin to your wish and bent of mind, perhaps it would be time unwasted if you chanced to call on him for intercourse.' it was enough of skillful hint to me, and thanked her did i graciously, as one who feels he's reached a step upon the blissful stairway leading to the skies. " for three long days i wandered to and fro around about my home, like one who's lost within a wood and sees the glintage of the sun through breakage of the shim'riug boughs, and restless that he cannot reach his goal before the glowing light of day is gone. discretion kept me harrowed thus, because i felt a rush to see the charmer might but willow hedge my aim and hopeful heart. " the third day waned at last, the evening sun seemed loath to leave a land so sweet and fair; but go he must, and wiping dry his eyes upon a silver cloud, and gave his brow a bath of shining mist to soothe, sustain, then slowly sank into the troubled flood. " the time had come for action, yet my nerves were tensioned like a harp with keys that could 18 poems of love and philosophy. not hold the strings ; a dose of anodyne did brace me for a dress in spotless garb, by sight of which more hearts are won than can attain the solid wisdom of the world. canto iii. "the skint of night had harbored in the vale, and somber ammon hekl dominion there before i reached the hill on which she lived, ' just where the roadway turned among the trees,' all interlaced, it seemed, with clambering vines. " the house, full gothic, gabled all aboiit. with indent of veranda, 'questered in each curve and turn ; with mullion windows, trained around with jasmine, potted plants. in every nook and curve, disabled for a larger hold; with trees of stately growth on every hand ; and garden glories strewn about, as where sweet nature in a clime of tropic sun sheds warmth and showers on the earth, profusely, as the heart and ej^es of loving byblis for her brother caunus. in this elysium lived my charmer. sweeter for the sweets surrounding her. " the days went by without a shadow on their fleeting wings, and all i do, in truth, remember of them is that as they sped, sweet incense showered in their balmy wake. my books forsook me as stern judgment does a myth, and stared from every shelf, as if to say, ' leave us alone, your head is turned. and till your senses come again, presume no handling of our pages while in love. for solid substance, such as we contain, can hardly reach an appetite that feeds on julep, mint and things ambrosial ; 19 20 poems of love and philosophy. but foolish raau, remember this : the time, when hungered you will be for other food, will come and weigh like lead upou your heart.' as one who glibly sails a summer sea, unmindful that the monsoon breeds within the torrid zone, i laughed the warning out of breath, as some old loon with upper room to let, and kept the giddy pace of one with goggles on, who views the crumbling earth beneath his feet as fields of evergreen, until the stumble of destruction comes. " the climax, autumn spanned, was reached at last. fair ceres stood among her golden sheaves, the fading green upon the rustling leaves denoted change, their song was sad and in their yellow melancholy whispered to each other of the fall awaiting them. the gentle convolvulus, winding up its cups upon the garden's granite wall. entwined about with spray of rosemary, did seem as if in faith were holding forth to me a bud, while stood i there, and she, with downcast eyes and sprig of myrtle in her hand, as showered on the earth its sweets. that nimble fingers deftly plucked away. " there was no other word to say than that which struggled to my lips for utterance. it came at last, and i, upon my knees, without response she gave to me her hand, and in reply i held the jewel to my heart, as one forgetting all things else. the rest i cannot say — no tongue can tell — sufiice it that the bliss of all my years had melted into one delicious kiss, the hermit's home. 21 while words were dumb iipou my fevered lips. '• the day was set when we should be as oae, and twine our souls about the same fond hope, to glide along the coming years with spring forever present in the heart. time sped on, the day approached, and then there came the dirge, as when the summer fruitage feels the chill of winter's blast without a note of warning for the change ; or as a malefactor, high in hope, is dropped through darkness on to hungry hooks, when all the world is blissful to his sight. '' 'twas on an evening tide that sat upon october's rim, while raw-winged winds shook down from shrub and stally trees their yellow leaves, sad emblems of decay and flight of time. when beatrice said to me, — that was her name — ' dear leon, do you know there is for you and i, a double welcome down the way. tonight, at madam rollins, where the stars. that now are coming out, will be eclipsed. and make the golden sun seem dim at noon. " 'ah the fashion aud elite of this fair town are certain to attend, and then a count, late of marseilles, is billed to be on hand with gaudy retinue. and all the gems and silver-slippered sweets. the burg affords will swing in retiform to catch, the ambling fortune hunter, with gold bricks and shale of great gentility. of course you'll go, for ere the autumn frost is gone, we will be wed and into bed and playing cosily at hide and seek.' " of course, i could not otherwise than go. 22 poems of love and philosophy. it was a brilliant throng, a modern day aifair, in which the ballroom floor was but a sea of whirling silk, too short above and much too long below, as when in glee fair venus makes a skirt of rainbows, gathered at the waist and all above, a glowing mist of airy nothings set, " my winsome love was fairest of them all, a gorgeous piece of mechanism where sweet nature struggled with the milliner to gain supremacy. at points they were so intermingled that the practiced eye was doubtful where the frilling ended, and the solid flesh began its master3^ " i reeled and swung with her but once, she said i was too slow, and hugged so tightly' too. she never lost a skip till da3diglit dawned upon the eastern hills, and seemed a thing of meager gauze and blushing energy. the count, superbly dressed, with diamond glitter in the frout, and waxed mustache, with parted hair from crown to sloping brow. and counted rich in lands he never owned. "and seeming like sleuth hound full on the track of some large game, he singled out my love, as does a trapper after otter skins, because the fur is fine and meat the best. the count, in prying, learned clandestinely, her father was a multi-millionaire, so vied with all his wits to win a gem. profusely jeweled with the banker's cash. " quadrille did press upon quadrille and waltzed he did with her some dozen times, with all the grace and elite of a nobleman. the hermit's home. 23 and in the welcome rest between the heats i caught them in a cosy corner with thennodding head^ together, like two doves that bill and coo tbe fading twilight through. " this was too much. the shaft of jealousy, distilled in gall, did send its poison througli my blood as adder sting that knows no cure. i hid away from sight as does a bird deep wounded at the heart, and when the time had come to go, she bid the frenchman call on her, with look that did betray a sigh. as when one longs for something not possessed. " as home we went i eluded her for such display of freedom with a stranger count, and wished to know, that since we were engaged and near our wedding day, why she had bade him urgently to call, as one who held as souvenir your heart and household keys. " at this she sulked in silence for a time, and then with blazing face that paled the rising sun's full glare upon the hills, she said, ' you are impertinent beyond endurance, sir, and seem to think i'm but a jug of common pottery or urn in which to store and hide your jealousy, and bow submissive to j^our will, as one "who bends like willow boughs before the wind. i'll have my way and do and dare my right as woman free; and from this hour call engagements off; the die is cast, the count will take your place with winnings on my side.' " i stood, when she had left the carriage at her father's home, as one half dazed — as one who gathers from the ground his limp 24 poems of love and philosophy. and trembling limbs, from fall prodigious in its height, and staggering, seeks a resting place. i sought my home, the cold sweat stood upon my face, my hands did shake as does an aspen when a storm sets from a brimming sea. " i felt a choking thirst and pain, no one can ever know, save him who has gone through the fate of love without a recompense. a raging fever came upon me like a venomed wolf upon a stricken lamb. the struggle lasted full a month, and more. the mind, with balance gone, did wander like a spirit lost, and darkness, woven from the sable wings of night, pressed down upon my troubled senses like a canopy that's fallen from its shaky moorings. canto iv. '' o, tliou unending time ! that measures minutes and eternities, the gentle balm and trouble soother of all human ills, in thy embrace i found my recompense, as when a grieving child seeks consolation on its mother's breast. the glowing spring, with all its fragrant bloom, did beckon me to health as comes, — as comes the weary prodigal to share the love and comfort of his father's home. and in this waiting on sweet nature's process, leaned i for that strength that comes of rest, as does some ruined pensioner on god, when life seems but a blauk of destiny. " 'tis true that reconciliation with my lot was hard of fair adjustment, for my hopes were bat as withered leaves strewn upon the ground by bleak untimely winds before the summer had matured its blushing fruit. a year had passed, with glimpse of sun and much of sable wing, since first i met the charm that kills or cures a potent phantasy which runs in streams that float the fickle ship beyond the moorings of security. " thus hopes are shivered into atoms by a single word, and darkness settles down upon a soul that sees no light beyond — neither had she sent a word to me in all the weary weeks i wrestled with 25 26 poems of love and philosophy. this demon, death, and striving hard to hold my mind above the grasp of lunacy. i saw her not, nor cheering word received. the count, as i have understood, became, in fact, her daily escort, rambling where the woods were green, and hand in hand along the shaded stream where shining pebbles washed their faces when the morning sun came up. " conceiving of the prime advantage that a blue-blood union, coupled with the name of ' count ' would give their daughter in the world of strut and giddy fashion, sire and dame, of low estate, yet rich in corner lots and bank accounts, were anxious for the trade, as he who seeks to gain a blooded horse with lucre, huxter made, and lilly fair of mustang breed. " so pledged they willinglj^ some millions cash to bridge the gulf that sadly separates the clink of ducats, vulgar, from the prime respectability of blooded prince, sprung from a castled lord, brave in his own defense of many robberies. " beatrice, it seems, in wilful mood had kicked considerably before she was disposed to pull the way the count essayed to go. it does appear she had no depth of love for him, and doubt of happiness did make her saw a cord of boards, with sire and dame before she gave her word and full assent to take the name of countess halowell, and make abode in ruined castle on a hill, rock-ribbed, with scanty shrubbery and crumbling walks, on which the skin-dressed lords the hermit's home. 27 of olden time had broiled and eat their game, with twisted legs, prone on the stony ground. o, wonderful indeed, the fool a man can make himself, when crinolined to dizziness and love-sick to the eyes ! if he could ever learn to bear the brunts of little piques and spites and jealousies so common to the frilling female heart, and always have the wit to smile and bow with compliment when sore and angry at the sting of slight, his conquest would be sure, though hedged about with moat and brazen guns. " but let that pass — all opportunity is gone to rectify the errors of a day distilled in bitterness of soul. suffice it that i had no longer hope, nor wish to prosecute the law, which i had chosen as an aid to reach the round upon the ladder leading up to fame. and so, ambition sitting in the dust and playing quits with all the bitter past, i quietly disposed of walks and tenements and lands, at prices fair, but not the best. " then packing full my buckskin haversack and saddle bag, with ample blankets rolled behind, i mounted sanger — such a horse as all bedouins love to own and prize above the shining pearls that showered on fair princess of the east by lavish hand. or tinseled show of some great conqueror. black as the raven's wing, full-headed, round. with ample girth, broad breast, limbs of steel, yet nimble as the antelope that runs before the wind, like mist in shadow-land — 28 poems of love and philosophy. my sturdy spenser, breech to saddle breach, with muzzle, stirrup pointing, handy for my major hand, in case of urgent need, to manage most conveniently. " thus mounted on my charger for a tramp that spans the continent. good rover stood in wonder, looking at my 'couterments. and waiting for the word to follow on. faithful dog! istewfoundiand, scanty half, a shepherd, quarter, and the balance bull; with hide all lined with silky hair that grew in spots of black and white, with here and there a skint of glossy tan, that came to him legitimate, upon his mother's side. his face was of that kind that plainly gives assurance of integrity in man or beast ; with ample brow and brownish eyes that^did display intelligence that plainly said, as any words could tell, ' you are my friend and loving master, be thou well assured i follow wheresoever leadest thou. though lurking death be in each track we tread. ^ " a narrow, angling pathway followed up on eas}^ grade to higher ranges, checked the steed, and turning looked we down upon the city, as the morning sun brazed every roof and dome and lifting spire, flaming like the great promethean fire god kindled on olympian crags. i blessed the gainly town, and wept at my discomfiture, like one who leaves his heart behind, in search of desolation. " finally, as moves the mourner from the grave of one he loves, i faced the west, the hermit's home. 29 as singing pines, paused in their morning hymn, and bid the blazing sun take precedence of all the gentle breeze's murmuriugs among the groves that crowned the azure hills. canto v. " the winding way we diligent pursued across sweet streams and little sunny vales and on through woods that knew no haunt of man, through brush and tumbled trees, wind shaken in the storms that measure potent strength with fo, and when the day had spent its luming force, with stretching shadows lank and sere among the burnished trees, that told of night's approach. while in the hushing sunset hour, sat in worship of the failing day, there came from high within the arching limbs a sound — a mellow song of sweetest praise to him who made them in the early ages of the world, to live beyond and far above the troubled lot of man, who knows not god is ever present in his works, but seeks the talisman of happiness in grim pursuits of wealth, which wither in his grasp, like dead sea fruit, that in its bitterness can never satisfy the fickle heart. " as faded tips of light, and haze of night began to hang like mantles in the woods, we reached a little vale, cut through with stream of shining water, singing on its way to meet the brimming river as it moves to mingle with the tides that rock the sea. " here on the streamlet's brow and gentle slopes and in the little vale, the green of spring just budding into summer bloom, did laugh 30 the hermit's home. 31 upon the earth, and over all, the oaks, with outspread arms, in solemn grandeur seemed to whisper from their moving lip-like leaves, ' peace be to those who dwell within our shade and will essay to worship with us when the evening comes, and glory in the king of day, when through our boughs he darts his shafts of gold upon the sod beneath and all the floral beauties at our feet do send up incense as we praise.' "a little fire kindled by the stream to hold a shining teapot and a pan did seem as sacrilege in such a place; and when the frugal meal had passed, its licking tongues let go the smutty sticks. while darkness spread her mantle in the vale. and in the interval of pause and night had sanger fed upon the grassy slopes, and beiug sated sauntered up to us; with shining eyes, and rubbing nose upon my knee, did say as nearly as a horse can say, ' how much i love thee for the care you take of me and to allow my romp with loosened rein upon a pasture rich in all things sweet and rare ; ' while rover came and cuddled at my feet, with jaw upon his brindle paws, and looking in my face^ as one who studies into depths beyond his keen, for divination of the soul of man, that he may know and feel the spirit moving there, the better to perform his ever willing services. " there and thus environed, blanket wound, with overcoat for rest of head, i dozed, 32 poems of love and philosophy. and dreamed aud looked into the stellar world where in its azure, burning lamps hung out, as if to aid the pigmies of this world to learn the sober lesson of our littleness in god's unending universe and call reflection to the phantasies and selfish ends we seek. and thus to give us more of heart and mind and human sympathy for pressing ills that others bear unceasingly. " most commonly the sweetest hearts are those that suffer most, while smiling fortune is the honey-worded dragon, often leading down to cold disdain of those less fortunate in worldly things, and with a smile puts off distress with promises. until too late to rectify the wrong. 0, man ! of but a day upon the earth ! why play with conscience in the rush for gain and dig your grave upon the brink of hell ? " thus engaged in thought the dreamy night advanced a pace; the air seemed burthened with the hum of insects, mingled with the sound of rustling leaves that stirred aud fell as passed the breezes through the branches of the trees. and while i listened, still and mute to all this melting harmony, the night crow's caw was heard upon the hills, and then in sad and rasping cadence came the whip-poor-will's ungainly call, as if distress oppressed its loneliness. and finally, as cap to crown the glory of the waning night the philomela of the ancient world, in all the sweetness of its mellow tones, the hermit's home. 33 far back in darkness of the somber wood ■commenced his saddened lay that hung upon the ear like some sweet cadence coming from the vale of childhood's fairyland, or where the blessed forever tune their harps and sing in praise and presence of the infinite. " how long these charms from dwellers in the vale did hold my spirit wakeful in the arms of sleep, i never knew, but when returned to consciousness, the morning sun had tinged to gold the feathery tops of all the pines that grew and shimmered on the mountain crest. •good rover stood nearby, and with a whine and paw upraised, seemed anxious to direct attention to the singing brook, where stood a lovely fawn, so trim and perfect in its form, that bouheur never painted such, — with slender neck and head and ears erect. and yellow eyes most prominent, it stood upon four shapely legs that shames all art in reproduction of their counterpart, " its body round, in color spotted, like the sky when snowflakes start toward the earth. * buck-ague' seized good rover in the joints, and with his paw uplifted, pointed to the fawn, as if to say, ' see ! there's your chance ! ' i shook my head. he then, as if afraid the fawn would see his moving form, crept on his haunches to my guu, and placing his right paw upon it, gave a low, deep whine, with look surprised at my indifference. i shook my head again, when he did growl, and muttering rage, essayed to catch the fawn, which nimbled off in graceful leaps and bounds 34 poems of love and philosophy. that measured land beyond my view before poor rover reached the running stream. " with not a cloud the jeweled day wore on — the sun had traveled in his car of state across the sky, and now was looking at me through a passing ray that hung upon his upper limb as sentinel to call the busy world to evening vespers, when there came in view a fox with tired pace, and running thwart the vale, there followed it a sable bear, full tilt, with jolting jumps, as if possessed to have a dinner ere the night should flood with darkness all the world. my gun lay handy by and ere the cub of bruin bounced his prey, a shot rang out and brought the king of urns to the ground. before i reached its side old eover ran ahead and putting forth his paws upon the beast did laugh with lolling tongue and in his ej^es there seemed to be a passing thought that plainly said, ' i do forgive you for the fawn you spared, for now we have, in truth, the better game to feast upon.' no hunter ever bagged a finer prize ; his hide ran slip'ry with the oozing oil before its final severance from spine and flaking fats, that made its form appear like some prime log, rolled from the hills when snow& of winter feel at heart a gentle thaw. sweet steaks and spitted ribs and spicy stews, with watercress and baker's bread brought from the town, surpassed, it seemed, king arthur's fare, in olden time, when skins were clothes, and men of greatest estate sat by ' the table round,' the hermit's home. 35 in converse of the chase, with mountain goat and venison haunches piled to make the feast. canto vi. " for three days longer lived we iu this fair abode of rest, where selfish man has not essayed to take god's beauty from the earth that lucre might accrue to lust of wealth. these days were as a balm to me, mind-sore and harrowed to the heart with false conceits and ruined hopes, blank with uncertainty. each amber evening, with its crescent moon and star-lit canopy, brought back the hum of insect life, the sound of rustling leaves. the qualking, forked-tongue crow, with echoes from the sad-mood whip-poor-will and nightingale's consoling notes of sweetest melody. perhaps it was ordained that each should take his chalice brimmed with gall, to learn him of his littleness and cleanse his midget soul of selfish ways and struts ungainly made. '' 'twas on a sabbath morning, such as must appear iu paradise, where flow in peace the limpid streams with verdant slopes through zones of stately cedars, topped with mellow light from golden suns, steadfast in purpose to dispel the shadows lingering iu the woods. that we essayed to leave the charming vale. with bear meat jerked, and hardtack left, some ham and condiments, with all our camping traps, we buckled on stout sanger for a start. " still sore in memory for all i'd left behind — fond friends, and many talismans 36 the hermit's home. 37 of hope, with saddened soul and heart oppressed, and mind iu stagger with the hard resolve to brave the wilderness and arid plains, least common to the haunts of men, to go — i knew not where — perhaps to distant shores that border on the occidental sea. i made the mount and gathering up the rein for early start. to my surprise i did observe a wood lark hopping up among the branches of a blooming hawthorn tree, not twenty steps away, and when he'd reached the topmost bough i noted that he had a broken wing, that limp and sore hung from his shoulder blade. a moment's rest, and then "with chirp and underwarble, seemingly to set his tune, commenced a song of praise so deep and soul-enchanting that i sat like one delayed by messenger from him who seemeth to have given cadence to the warbling bird to soothe the fevered brow of care and fan to life and sparks of flame hope's dying embers in the troubled heart. "the silver, laughing stream, the solemn woods, the echoes from the hills, seemed drinking in the glory of that tender song, as if ' amens,' were breathing from them all. i blessed that lame-winged lark that did forget its own distress in that sweet hour when the lifting sun told of the infinite, who sanctifies the pure in heart and lifts toward the upper world the aspiration in a song of gentleness and praise. " consoled and comforted by that sweet song, like ^neas, son of ancheses, sore in mind 38 poems of love and philosophy. with sable hopes, faced westward from the site and ashes of old ilium, seeking some asylum far beyond his ruined home, we sped our way through pathless woods, deep glen and coves, across the trails of man and beast, high hills, green vales and dreary waste, where skipped the deer and blear-eyed hare through stinted sage, sore pressed for drink and substance on the plain, — some day, perhaps, to bloom as does the rose when water comes and tillage takes the lead. when happy homes shall dot the land, as does the whitecaps line the mighty sea. " then on and on, and up the mountain's slopes. and on by crags and peaks that seem to hold the upper world above the azure vault of famous lebanou, and on the slopes and levels down below great cedars grow ; where mountain daisy, primrose and the crocus intervening, seemingly, that fair and gentle nature in her grandest courts is ever anxious to display her love and care of all things beautiful. " we paused to rest and worship in these woods, in grandeur nearest god of any land. left on the earth, unknown and scant explored. then on and on we moved by narrow trail, unkept, and winding down the mountain side. through ancient groves and dells, by singing streams, until the rolling hills and sunny plains that stretch to westward, lost in haze, beside the sunset sea, fell on my vision like a fairyland, or tadmor where the palms spread forth their leaves, inviting to the shade. • ' wearied with three moons of lonely tramp, the hermit's home. 39 through every phase of scene and varied clime. at last we found a little, laughing vale, with western outlook on the shining sea, in length a league and scarce one-half as much in width, with soil as rich as skirts the nile, and climate unsurpassed upon the earth ; fine clumps of oak, as if on guard were placed about the vale, while here and there through all its length stood single sentinels and some that seemed relieved of duty for the time. and tattled, two or three together in a place, like busybodies do who have some scandal to report, in whisper or in pantomime. " a limpid stream ran near the southern verge of this fair land and on its brink stood willows weeping, alders bright of trunk and limb, and frequently a clump of hazel wood and hawthorn thickets, intervening with wild roses rare. " just beyond the southern line of this bright stream, as if designed by nature for a terrace, rose a splendid hill that stretched the valley's length from east to west, and on it stood in clusters and alone, bull pine, small roble oaks, some laurel wood and oft a sturdy cedar cone, while from the earth beneath their shade, grew labyrinths of ferns, blackberry vines and yellow crocus bloom. this conditioned growth extended round the valley's head and margined on the rocks and rough-hewn hills that bound it on the north, while on the west the sapphire sea complains of winds and ever-changing of the moon 40 poems of love and philosophy. that keep her whitecaps always on the run. "this trouble, like a spirit never free, moves up her tides and surf upon the shore to breast and mingle with the shining sand, and in the sound there seems a requiem for all the slumbering dead that line her depths. just midway of the vale from east to west, and on the northern side and running up and down the stream full half a mile, then at angles right across the plain, the lines extending past a little bench, then higher up among the spurs and cliffs, where hazel, alder wood and scrubby pines glean scanty substance from decaying shale and mould of withering herbs and fallen leaves, i purchased, of pre-empter, for abode. " each quarter-section in this sunny vale was entered for a home, improved and had its thrifty habitance, who raised some corn, a little wheat, some stock that grazed upon the hills, with garden rich in succulents and door-yard flowers most profusely grown. " a schoolhouse, white, upon a little hill, a union church nearby all dressed in brown, with squatty belfry struggling from its top, and gothic gables, friezed in snowy white ; with market-place and trading-post across the hills to southward, twenty miles away, made up the features of this sunny clime. cakto vii. " here in this vale, upon the plot of land before outlined, we did, in faith, essay to build a home ; that is to say, myself. old rover, lame from his long walk, and my good steed, then lank and lean from overwork in dunnage packing, plain and mountain crossing, often stinted in his rations down to fennels, greasewood and white sage. "they helped me build the house? be sure they did. the long, slim pines i felled upon the slopes and cut in lengths to form the walls. fast to a chain about one end of each peeled pole i hitched my noble horse and with a snort at starting, snaked them to the spot i had selected for the slipper3^ round-logged cot. "and when the logs had pushed their noses through the hillside shale to reach the chosen site, with smaller skints, neat skinned for ridge pole and for rafters, shakes for roof and puncheons for a floor, split from a stately sugar pine. were all upon the ground — a bench of land some forty feet above the level plain — where growth of oak and alder sparsely stood. " southward set i there my cabin's face that overlooked the prospect of the vale, while to the west full half a league away, obscured in distance by some spreading trees, the ocean gleamed at every setting sun, like robes imagined for divinity. 41 42 poems of love and philosophy. the work commenced, thereon i hinged my thoughts, with aids, old rover and my sturdy steed. advancement seemed forever manifest. " how did these animals help on the work? good rover learned to know the name of nail, of hammer, saw and chisel, too, a shake. or square or spirit level, so i had no other care than name the thing i wished, and it would come between his teeth, and when the job was full in hand his schooling seemed so well engraven on a thoughtful mind that he was ever on the watch to give his aid upon the ground, or high above, where leaned the willow ladder on the wall. up which he went as nimble-footed as an urchin climbing for the fun of it. " when after all the skill we did possess and after weeks of steady toil, the house stood prim and trim, good sanger, sleek with leisure and fair feeding on the green bunch grass of hill and clover on the plain, came up of sturdy step to view the work. " with rover, round and round the house we went, as if inspectors of a castle built for prince, or magnate of some sugar trust. we all were proud of it. the corners matched so closely that the logs hung not an inch apart, and chinked with strips of pine and lime made on the ground. the roof, third pitch of shakes, half lapped, with eaves and gables well projecting, door and windows on the southern part. out-letting on a little rustic porch. " the north wall held a chimney made of stone, with jams and arch and hearth of diorite, the hermit's home. 43 or something like it, hewn from quarry on the hill. then on the east, a cosy place for kitchen, built with window and a door, the well-hewn puncheon floor fit snug and well. with ceiling overhead of like account. " when i and rover went within to look about, old sanger stood with blear eyes in the door and whinnied at our leaving him without, and seemed concerned to know what we proposed on his account, as shelter from the winter storms that sat foreboding in the north. the hint, so plainly given, struck me with the thought that stable nigh we'd build, near where a weeping willow stood, some rods away, prime west nor'west the compass marked. and there it stands, constructed chiefly of the remnants left in putting up the house. " a spring of crystal water welled up from a crevice in a ledge of stone that formed for it a little basin, shaded by a green bay tree that manifestly measured years by centuries. in all the work we did, our neighbors seemed most kind and affable and often lent a helping hand, as if in token of regard, which signifies in all the world, where soul and sense commune that kind is one. and common to us all, as grow and bloom the crowning roses, red and yellow gold, that grow in strength the more we nurture them. * ' if kindred we are, then should kindness lead the way to better things, as toils in pain the homeward bound, with hand extending help to some poor, weary brother on the way, 44 poems of love and philosophy. and pointing to the blessed abode above. " so when the task of building grew complete, october's strides had reached half-way his span, and as he passed, the leaves upon the trees began to pale with fear, for well they knew the north wind, howling in the rugged hills, betokened them no good or recompense for all the glory they had given to the early spring and summer's cooling shade, where parching thirst and heat can never come. " and now when all this lovely angel work is hardly done, their dirge is being sung by dreary boreas in northern climes. in blend with mournful whisper of the pines, that sing as does the ever-troubled sea. the requiem of all its strangled dead. and thus it is with everything that lives — each has its day and dying disappears — while memory forgets their resting place in rush for phantasies that give no rest. " the later fall and winter spent we in attempt to clear a field of scattering brush and drooping limbs that lankly hung about the spreading oaks, which seemed in strength to hold the valley down in place and annually, like ammon, with a lavish hand, upon the earth does scatter brown and lusty nuts, which long-nosed chuk and herds grow fat upon. "and when relieved of growth superfluous. old sanger fat and favored by his rest and choice of feed, was in new harness hitched unto a shining plow, and with my guide. the rich, brown soil, surprised in its long sleep. rolled from the mould, dark lap on lap, the hermit s home. 45 like ridging breakers on a sandy shore. " some spelts and wheat we sowed, and later on, when spring, with belt of green and budding robes, we planted corn, and then a garden, fenced with pickets split upon the hills; we set and seeded many rows and many kinds of succulents, with sage and flower plants in plots, on curves and circles near the house, " and ere the lovely queen of spring, in faith, had finished arbors for the summer's heat. in woodland and along the shining streams. the fields were green with waving grain that gave great promise, when appeared the harvest moon, and laughed while drinking morning dew and warmth that came as heralds from the rising sun, while blooming flowers nodded as i passed about my little home, as if to say, " ' we came to thee as fragrant breath from god, that in thy troubles thou shalt not forget. with us, to bless the hand that made us all.' the ocean shore was oft my rambling ground. with rover, in the lead, we traced it u}) and down a hundred times, on hunt of shell and shining pebbles scattered on the sand. " we bathed within the rush of rolling surf, and oft when standing out so far as safe, a slick i'd hurl out on the ridging sea, when rover, watching every act, would bound in after with a yell, and swimming, float upon the surf, until the prize secured. returned it to me with a laughing look that wisely said, ' i dare, in faith, to go where ever you can throw beyond your depth, 46 poems of love and philosophy. out in the booming sea and with much ease will gladly bring the stick or token back.' canto viii. " sometimes the brimming ocean seemed in great distress, as if in lamentation of a brewing storm, with haze and scudding clouds, and guffs and swells that preface lifting winds, which gulf great ships and monsoon all the seas, that throb with luming heat in tropic climes where winter never comes with icy hand. " living thus, in peace, untrammeled by the busy world, two years and more, of time sped past on golden wings; yet sore in heart i was, with depth of wound that seldom heals. then came a sudden change, so mingled in with sunshine and with shadow that my life for thirty years has been like one who dreams, then wakes from troubled sleep and turning on his pillow but to dream again. in all those years my soul has traveled with my heart and mind from pinnacles of bliss to depths of woe that leads infinity. '* i know not why it was, no human tongue can tell. it seems to me a link of fate to fate so strange, i have no name for it, the fringing event of this stranger tale came arm in arm with one foul april day that set the giant trees to swinging like so many brittle reeds, that splitting fall in every gust and adverse wind that blows. " it was a day so fierce that all the hills seemed breaking up; the pines and sturdy oaks lost all their dignity, their groaning trunks 47 48 poems of love and philosophy. and twisting tops forgot composure in the fearful gale that howled through wood and plain like demons loosened from the under world. " in this array of force that seemed to rock the adamantive hills and set at naught great nature's equipoise, i heard a call, — it seemed to come up from the ocean, miles away, — ' don't laugh!' the superstitions of the world are based on facts, deep-hidden from the common mind, that in its ignorance of what the womb of nature holds, sets up for truth the strangest phantasies. " it may be thus with me in this affair, but then we know there are experiences. most numerous, that clearly indicate there's soul force over soul that travels with the wind and makes impressions truthful when great sorrow sways the sympathetic mind. " but be this as it may, at all events the call i seemed to hear took hold on me with force so potent and surprising that from playing with my dog i moved toward the door and op'ning it i heard the call again above the roaring tempest, then a little later wailings as from one who has set hope aside and hovers on the brink of death. th-ere could be no mistake. it was distress engulfed in floods of foam and breaking waves upon the cruel sea. abandoned, seemingly, by god and man. i felt constrained to go; impelled like one by fate decreed. i closed the door, my teeth were set like th-ose of some good soldier called to fill a breach, death-lined with noljle men. the hermit's home. 49 with rover at my side, we faced the storm. the weeping willow shelt'ring sanger's stall had lost its footing and lay twisted up, prone on the earth like alegone in throes of death stretched out beside the ih-imming tide. " my trusty horse, half frightened by the storm was quickly buckled to the sturdy cart and while i plied the strappings, traces, bit and lines, old sanger surely seemed to know that some wild ride was starting from the slips. and rover, stricken dumb at such display of madness on my part, stood by the rig avith flaring eyes, and ears erect, but when the start was made he ran ahead, as if full conscious that the trouble was upon the swiftly running sea or foaming surf — death laden, cold and pitiless. " it was a fearful ride, the howling wind stood dead ahead; the swaying oaks that lined the vale groaned under their uncommon load. and giant limbs long used to angry storms. with grinding wail fell prone upon the ground. the lowing herds in peaceful pasture caught infection from the mighty wind and pressed by falling trees, tore through the fences like the bison in his maddened flight to reach a shelter from the howling elements. no whip was needful on old sanger's sides, from start to finish he was on the run. as when a stag with hounds and horn behind disdains the earth and seems to fly with wings more potent than possessed the sacred bulls that lined egyptian labyrinths. " so wild we went the surf was soon at hand, 50 poems of love and philosophy. in looking seaward we beheld, far off, a vessel black, with rigging gone, high on a mountain wave, and then as phantom of the sight she disappeared, to rise no more. left, there was no sign of living thing. black desolation held dominion there. and laughed to scorn the prowess of the world. " while yet i peered out on the blinding storm there seemed to me, tossed on the running surf, a tiny speck of something more than foam, slow sinking out of sight, then on a crest would rise again a little more distinct. a few more times it rose and fell like gauze, or wrap of red, light bordered for a skirt; it seemed to come in with the drifting tide and then an undertow would take it back apace, a little dainty garment surely it appeared, with some frail form enclosed, perhaps an hundred yards from where the surf beat on the sandy shore, with butting froth of chopping waves and foaming eddy whirls. 0, destiny that rides the blinding storm! where is thy pity for the dead thou hast entombed? suspense was agony to me. " i grasped the dog, his fore arms in my hands, and standing up erect, i pointed to the object sought and with kind words set on — a gleam of soul ran through his eyes, — he saw the apparition and with consciousness of what i avished, spring out upon the flood and like a mariner who dares to die when duty calls, he struck the running tide with might that seemed prodigious for a dog. " he neither turned to right or left, but fought the hermit's home. 51 through surf and foam, as one in duty bound to save the lost and shame old anuhis. at last he reached the form and right about set out for shore again; with back to back he came, with head run through the apron strings, his burthen's front above the lapping foam. i met him in the tide, full to my waist, and bracing, held steadfast from undertow. while surf at times ran high above my head. " thus poised unsteadily, i lent the dog a helping hand in his distress, which was so great, that never could he, living, reached the land. a little nearer then i gathered up the form and wading out. there laid my charge upon the gleaming sand, a form so fair and sweet i never had beheld, a face in model greek, long golden hair. small hands and feet with tiny slippers on, a scarlet cashmere waist and dainty skirt of opal colored silk. the form, in age. was surely not beyond its early teens. " the life seemed gone, and that distracted nie. how sweet and beautiful she seemed in death! 0, lashing waters, waste of some great flood poured on the w^orld to sate the wrath of god, display your might; in foaming caverns dwell, and bellow with your threats of booming hell. was it an everlasting sleep? or was there yet a chance of rescue from the grave? " at this i fell upon my knees and set to chaffing, kneading, rolling, as if fate had held in his slender balance hope delayed. at little brandy poured upon the lips set death to doubting his supremacy; 52 poems of love and philosophy. a tremor ran through all the lovely frame, then with a wrenching gasp the bosom heaved, a gurgling sound of water running from the mouth; then eame the breath in agony of utterance, like some poor soul long held in comatose. she lived! and soon her large brown eyes were opened full ujjon my face. her respiration grew more regular, and then she said composedly, in. lute like tone, but hardly audil^le, ' why am i resting here and where are now my friends?' she spoke a tongue i had not heard for years, but still i did essay direct reply. eehearsing all i knew and how i found her in the flood and how old rover rescued her. she seemed delighted with the dog and put her arms about his neck so lovingly that rover, hoping he had made a friend. did lick her smiling face like one who claims a valid right to do as much. " hastily i wrapped my buggy robes about the shivering form and placing it snugly in the shay, i mounted by her side. then giving sanger ample rein, we ran like atalanta leading hippomenes. up through the vale we flew before the wind. for full i realized that, soaked and chilled through to the bone, atropos lingered near. with lifted hand to cut the thread of life. " at this uncommon sj^eed we reached the home of lulu wanna, wife of bonadena, late of italia, refined and lovable. with ample room and comfortable. the husband met us at the wicker gate, the hermit's home. 53 the front of an enclosure, flower blown, and when we went into the house with her poor, little, helpless form, chilled through and through, from washing of the sea, the lovely wife, a bonny bit of wit and woman's heart, stood dumb a moment watching what we brought. and then the pity of it melted down her eyes and with a mother's love she bent and kissed the cold, blue lips and laying off the robe, glib felt about the tender limbs. and in a moment realizing that the greatest haste was all that lay between the girl and death, she gathered up the gem as if a babe, and ere the story could be told, had placed the flower in a bath of water, warmed, to make a ruddy glow ; then rubbed and dressed in dry, warm clothes, and tucked in bed with sips of steaming tea, the little waif went off to sleep, like one in swoon and weary with fatigue. " for days grim specters of the shadowland seemed in the air of that sweet tenement. a fever raged within the blood of that fair stranger in a stranger land. her tongue made mellow sounds between a sob, a sigh. or song, delirious in her present woe. like sappho hanging on lucadian rim in sorrow for her faithless mytilene. hardly could i leave the house, for through the rage of her delirium, were times when came a word that told of want and i alone, of all the vale, could understand a thing she said. the climax came at last. " the doctor shook his head, but deigned to say, 54 poems of love and philosophy. ' an hour will decide her fate.' it seemed to me a soul so truly beautiful should never die if destiny had linked the fairest forms avith immortality. passing strange and indefinable is human sympathy, it surely is a touch transmitted from divinity, a glint, a spark of soul force, ray of light, that strikes deep-seated at a glance and burns like vestal fire through eternity. it is uncommon surely, but it comes sometimes in life to every soul, as comes the morning light before the lifting sun. " how small does grow the vanity of man when life and death hang in the balance by a hair and human aid stands powerless to give a helping hand to those we love. the recompense of such an hour comes to him who hath the soul to see that all of life is like a fitful song with smiles and tears, in which the notes are memories of sweets and sorrows passed and dint of hope for happy time to come, with consciousness of mind and heart each day hath record there of all the jewels we have gathered here. and all the ills our deeds have shadowed forth, and that the crucible of conscience, ever silently is burning out the dross of every act and thought that's selfish or untrue, and slowly gathering up the gems discovered for the settings of a crown and refuse black for torment for the damned. " didst ever thou, with fear and breath abate, behold the night at noonday, when the sun the hermit's home. 55 had shadowed all his face, and thought perhaps, he might not shine again upon the earth? and how you had to hold your heart when glimpse the coming day broke by the moon's dark disk? this may compare, as does a river to a sickly stream, the feeling that was mine, when light came back into her loving eyes. " the angel ministry that brought her form to life again, with hoi3e of many years, turned all that household in happy tears, father, mother, janie, ten, most fair. and robbie, seven, was the baby there. canto ix. " great ocean canst thou not assuage thy thirst to toss such beauty on thy rolling ribs, and take so many to thy caverns down and avrap in seaweed, there to rock forever in thy cradles, as you sing the mournful dirge of human destiny? i grieve with thee. but then it may be for the best, as he who made it never made a thing in vain, though oft it seemeth so. *' without the ocean every living thing upon the globe w^ould die ; the rivers in their beds go dry; the streamlets cease to run; the seasons fail, and famine, pale, possess the earth as bores does the desert sands.. " compared with this array of nature's force poor human strength seems frail indeed; but then the consolation is, inspired hope that all is well with those who dare to do the right and strive, in faith, to reach the rest. where darkness never comes, avhere morning spans the day and praise possess the lips of all the tribes that ever lived upon the earth. '' no, no, my friend, don't blame the sea. it might have been as placid as a mirror's face. the howling winds would leave her robes alone, her bosom heave no more, no sigh would come from cresting swells, nor surf break on the yellow sand. but then, if all the winds were gone, what would the sailor do? where drift his argoses that glibly skim, 56 the hermit's home. 57 unharmed, the blue-robed bosom of the deep, like swans that hurry to some distant port? " the gulfs and bays grow black in their decay. stagnation stands on land and sea and shoal in grimy winding sheets, avith laughing hell close down upon a ruined world — the curse of god and seal of death forevermore. " no, no, we cannot blame the sea, nor sun, nor driving winds. they have their uses on the earth ordained for them — a part of that great purpose in design of him who made all things to move in harmony with laws immutable to their appointed end. " but to return from this innate review. as rosebuds fresh renewed by gentle rains and may day suns, with watchful care the waif grew into health again, and as she grew in strength of form, she grew as well in strength of mind, and depth of noble soul sat on her face, that from her winsome smiles and large brown eyes enveloped all the house with charm, so sweet and gentle; those who came to see the gem and hear her silver, ringing, lute like tongue, did seem enchanted by the spell, imposed, with overflowing hearts of praise. as does sweet canthies run when pressed from ivy buds, and when they went away would come again, like bees released from nighty fly to the sunny vales and nectar sip from running roses and the lilac bloom, or as the children gaily tramp the hills and dells in search of nuts and honey due, " three months had passed since her recovery, the early summer, dressed in robes of green 58 poems of love and philosophy. and gold, smiled in her beauty in the vale, the fields of waving grain and growing corn held forth their praise to him who made them all, and every garden, dell and hillside seemed to vie with neighbor in fair rivalry in richness of adornment, when i chanced to meet the winsome miss, some distance down the laughing stream, with apron full of buds and dainty flowerets she had, with care. secured, wild growing in the blooming woods. . " she greeted me with smile that seemed to take the gentle beauty of the posies on. we paused and sat upon the sloping bank of that fair stream where tufts of velvet grass seemed to invite sweet converse and repose. the trees stood silent auditors and all their leaves, gold-tinted by the setting sun. were shimmering as moved the gentle breeze. " some random gossip ran between us for a time, and after pause, i gently said, ' nenona, you have wonderfully improved since first you came among us some few months ago, and yet in all that time i've learned so little of your past, that now i know no more than when we met, of who you are and whence you came, except your name. and yet my interest in your life is such. that nothing more concerns me than to learn your antecedent history, as you. from memory may please to give it me.' " at this strong hint of inquiry she seemed oppressed. her beaming face turned into one of sadness, and the tears slipped from her eyes down through her silken lashes like pearl drops, the hermit's home. 59 and dripping undisturl)ed from burning cheeks. thus seeing her distress i sought recall of my request, and make amends for what might seem to her, in measure, something rude. " she answered not, but sat like one unstrung, and lost in deepest reverie, as when the ring of sakasntala lost, she could but grieve alone in her divine retreat. her thoughtful brow, in depth and stretch surprised my gaze, as something wonderful in one so young. composure came at last as on a pool of water, light disturbed by pebble dropped upon its placid face, and then she said unsteadily, ' i beg indulgence for this little show of grief. that came as does a passing cloud before the morning sun. the deepest sorrow oft is memory of blessings gone, and thoughts of those we loved who were, but now are not. " ' i should have told you what you now request, long ere this, but heartache held m}^ tongue, as hush holds down the pulse at mention of calamity, but then, if you will deign to now and then, forgive a tear, pressed out mine eyes in this recital of the past, i will proceed; perhaps you may have had some sorrows in your time as well: " ' 'tis now a little more that fourteen years since first i saw the light on lesbos, near the city of sweet mitylene. by birth, my father was a greek, with records of an ancestry that ran into the mist of time; while mother was, by race and blood, aoelian. its tribal settlement 60 poems of love and philosophy. occurring on the isle, ere homer wrote the iliad, and troy's ruin was new history that liad no record but in memory of living men who in the groves and schools of lovely mitylene, culoni and molivo, told avith much parade the sights they saw, while yet the gods of great olympus urged the bloody fight. " ' a brother had i older that myself by seven years. and after one decade of life had passed, in all the beauty of my home, surrounded by fair, wooded hills. broad fields of purple vine and olive groves. that baffled time in steady growth, and reach across so many centuries. my father oft, for change of scene and weal of learning athens offered those he loved. would man his skipper, always moored secure in little inlet near the home, that made an eye of port culoni; thence with all the household, sail across fair ^gean. seldom ruffing more her placid face than avhen the waving grain bows welcome to aeotus moving on a summer dav. canto x. " ' the way was tine, we passed sweet peara, round cape doro, through the inlet facing hymethus, curving northward up the channel to old athens. those days now seem as dreams to me wherein i held a golden horn, and from it poured unstinted bliss of fairest destiny. the choice of everything came at request. but most of all our parents were concerned that we sliould have the l)est of training mentally, with social roundings that would cull the rough, uncanny growth of youth, and set with plants the garden of our lives, untainted by the upas; neither decked with gaudy bloom of hot house cereus, which in a single night does open out the glory of its heart, and withers ere the gray of dawn appears; but rather plants of amaranth and anemone, with here and there the myrtle bloom, sweet jasmine and pathway borders lined with violets. " ' no stufhng process was desired. as when slim pigs are cramped into a sty; but rather, as pure streams that trickle in a silver pool, that circling, slowly brims with shining water from the distant hills. my brother learned beyond my depth; had with it all, a nature so reserved that few. beside myself, could fully understand. he loved the hellas race as if a part 61 62 poems of love and philosophy. and parcel of himself; would camp alone for days about the sunny vales, and with his dog and gun inspect the battlefields that have in all the centuries since then clothed attica with sons in which the shades of heroes shine like jewels in a crown. no date or name unknown to him, and when in athens i have often seen him stand beside a column of the parthenon, unmindful of the moving stream of life. his heart seemed in the grave with those who built it in the infant world. he loved the grand, old masters, and with plato talk as friend to friend about philosophy too deep for platitudes to hold an anchorage. " ' conversed, it seems, with that great stagirite, who in his exoteric work and depth of thought, stands like a shining pillar in the dusk and haze of mental growth. met solon, lover of sweet salimis, and solid glory of the ancient greek, — who, base and noble equals made before the law, and consecrated justice stood well to the front, with even-balanced scale; and socrates, the searcher after truth and knowledge of himself, when sophistry stalked thwart the temple door and rode to death its own surprised absurdities. " ' his love was such for grecian blood that when the hellans had fierce contest with the turk, defending christian creed, he ran away from home and joined the standard of the greeks, and then he wrote to me these lines: ' tell our loving; mother, all thino-s else the hermit's home. 63 may pass away, as dust before the wind, and yet her noble council will, with me, endure, as precious grains of shining gold that nurture and sustain, when ill betides. and father will, perhaps, forgive my flight to join a contest with the bloody turk that men may live who dare to worship god. " ' as for the nations, christian-named, that stand, cold-hearted as the polar seas, unmindful of the common brotherhood of man, and view a people struggling in defense of right and human liberty against a monster of the modern world, without extending aid or sympathy, — are but abettors of the damned, in aid of hell's dominion on the earth, that each may hold secure its many robberies, without the fear of rupture with the rest. and mark my word, that ripe will come the day when all this ghoulish greed will fester in the rotting flesh of those old cormorants. and desolation feed upon their woe.' " ' poor boy! in heart he had no wish above his country's good; his fight was brief; at last he fell with face toward the bitter foe, and wrapped in colors that he loved so well, sleeps on a bloody battlefield in crete. " ' my father grieved like one bereft of all incentive in the teeming strife of men for worldly betterment, and went about his work sad-faced and inconsolable as ieneas for the fair-faced nisus. " ' my mother seemed like one who calmly sits upon the verge of time and looks beyond 64 poems of love and philosophy. for consolation; shadowed hung her life, as when the sun in full eclipse hath not expression, other than the shining hreadth of solar soul that margins round the moon's dark border, all was glory left of light in her fair face, and those who saw her then had impress of divinity that time could never wear away. i seemed the link that bound in tie of earth those two great souls. " ' no word nor action did i stint to bridge the chasm of despair on which their feet seemed merging for untimely fall. while thus consoling them as best i could, the tears would often flood ndne eyes in spite of nerve in effort to control them; yet when they would start unbidden, smiles were forced upon my face to shine a rainbow through them. thus some months in gloom and doubt were passed. till time, sweet messenger of rest and hope. dispelled the depth of shadow from our home. " ' the ottoman, austere, cold-blooded in his intercourse with other creeds, held sway in all the avenues of trade in that fair isle, and government thereof, as in a vice, and after crushing greek and friend by butcheries and on the battlefield, we, of that race, bore taunt and ill from them unceasingly, and justice of the courts. with balance lost, stood on the side of that unspeakable, and since those creatures knew my brother fought against their standard, treated us with jeer, dispicably. " 'and father, noble-hearted, bore tlie brunt of their indignities, which turned his face the hermit's home. 65 against the turk, as turns despair against the cruel hand that holds the shackels on distress, and ruined l)y the ottoman financiall}^, he did resolve to leave forever the fair isle, so long his home, where arion and sappho sung, and seek seclusion in some foreign clime, and set about, with man}^ friends in like distress. to build a boat, in ^yhich to sail across the seas to find a home in fairyland, where western suns set in the orient. " ' with some good seamen in the group, who had seen service for the state, with carpenters who knew their trade, it was in council, soon resolved to build a topsail schooner, rigged. square top, topgallant sail, full fore and aft. with bent of mind to see what could be seen. and hear with ears wide open every sound, from saw-winged cricket croaking on the hearth to calliope that hoarsely sings as pass the packet boats, i never failed to note. the men discussed the building of the ship, and how it should be rigged and what should be its length and breadth and greatest depth. " ' from mitylene the staunchest timbers came. the seasoned elm, keel and ribs and brace and beam and knees of laurel, tough as teak. with knowledge of my father's grief, the wrongs he'd suffered from the turk, and gentleness of soul, bound all my heart to him as twines a tender ivy round a mighty oak. my sympathies were always with his work. just what he said or looked was law to me. i had no love for surly ottomen, 66 poems of love and philosophy. so, when i passed one anywhere my nose went up, like some young chipmunk sniffing at the air, when hunter and his wily pack. in circles, avid'ning, scoured all the wood. " * poor, simple soul! i never seemed to learn that every conqueror of hate or stubborn will is he who strives to know himself and from the golden scale of justice measure gives for every one received, which makes a mead that's worthy of the name, and for ill-will search out return of some beneficence. how happy would the lot of man become if we could only pattern after some old eskimo, who kills a walrus or a seal, and straightway serving it with all his neighbors, share and share alike, while he himself with smiling fa»;e, most cheerfully goes hungry on the morrow. my dear, old mother, sweetest counselor, did love her children as a lark her young. that limping flutters from her gaping. blear-eyed brood to lead a danger off. gave to my active nature latitude. canto xi. " ' hedged only by my duty and the care of self, i rambled in the fields, as do the linnets when the spring is blooming and the heart feels everything to glorify and praise the maker of them all. but when the ship began to grow, and knowing well the purpose of its maker, the current of my life took angle strange. my dolls, so much beloved in former years, without a tear, were put in night-clothes and to bed, high in the garret loft, where they, poor things, perhaps are sleeping yet. the drift and nature of my studies changed, i lost romantic moods. " ' utility unchecked, did stick her nose in everything, and not a ship or boat which passed the little dock, that did not catch my wary eye observing it ; each mast and spar and flapping sail, their length and breadth were measured in the mind, and there impressed for future use; i singled out the moorings of each rope, its length, its strength. and purpose in the vessel's full control. the shape of beak and stern, its depth of hold. and breadth of beam, as if a seaman skilled in matters of this kind; perhaps i ruffed the spirit of old homer, plodding through his works to find the build of memnon's fleet; what merit had the galleys of the fierce achilles that was worth the copy of a modern beak, or shape of maintop sail 68 poems of love and philosophy. that carries now our richest argosies? " ' but in tliis age of mammoth battleships • and merchantmen that stretch their lengtli across the waves at once, the grecian outfit, sailing on the placid jegean sea, three thousand years ago, seem but as tubs with oar-locks on the sides, compared to those great whales that plow the mighty oceans like >so many leviathans, gulping up the channel waters as they pass. well did they serve their aim and disappeared like phantoms in the mist of time. " ' perhaps those now engaged will pass as well. what then? what ships? what race prevail? o, destiny! no eye can see beyond thy veil, and stand we helpless on the brink of change, as does a mariner at sea, with helm lost, and sails all blown away. perhaps it's for the best, that trusting souls should have no view of what is yet to come. " ' three months had vanished since the keel was set, true as a die, from which the little ship grew into shape, with swelling sides, planked with the best and toughest teak with model set. and painted azure hue, with band and bar and trimmings white, the standard colors of the greeks; and there she sat in royal state, like some great duck just ready for a swim; everything in prime to make the launch. " ' i was selected holder of the cren to christen her, and when she moved upon the ways, slow, gaining speed as on she went, like some uncommon creature, conscious of her destinv. i broke the bottle on the hermit's home. 69 her prow, when mixed the foaming wine with foam below, as down it trickled in the deep, as spirit for her future use. " * a few more weeks of patient work, and then the boat sat proudly at the little dock, complete, and seemingly prepared to breast the troubled seas of many climes, and make a voyage distant more than half around the world, in search of lands fair as we left. *' ' soon, supplies were all aboard and back accounts were settled up; of many friends, with tears, took leave and with our souvenirs we went aboard, with others, making up a score of souls; twelve men, six women and two girls, and i, the youngest of the clan. " with sails all set we slowly moved out in the stream, and down along the northern shore of port culoni, leaving that fair land forever, home and friends and ties of blood. the sorrow of such partings wound and grieve all loving hearts, which never fully heal. but like all memories sanctified, imbue the soul as some old melody. few words were said, each seemed absorbed in thought, no one companioned as the gentle solace silence gives. the village in sweet coves. the avaving grain, the meadow green, the corn in bloom, the olive groves, the vine-clad hills passed by us as a dream of one fatigued into a gentle sleep. three leagues and more we measured thus; then turning sharp around a high-browed headland, timber clad, the craft caught square in rig the swelling wind, and like some mighty swan, ungainly caged, breaks through 70 poems of love and philosophy. its chafing bars, and with an even wing and widely spread, sails outward to the sea. " ' thus curving on the ^gean, southward. passing psara, sweetest tino, cycladese, the fairest gem of all the ocean ; out at milo, thence to cerni, through its channel, touched correnti, passed tulada, on the waters of the adriatic. thence to channel neck of oceans, on which stand the pillars built by hercules, whereon he sat, in time uncertain, watching all the world's great shipping; set the winds to fill its canvas; frowning when he wished to raise a cyclone, scattering the argosies. " ' thence curving southward to canaries, once the peaks of mountains in the wide dominion of atlanta, sunk before the arian dwelt upon the plains of iran, reckoned deluge of the ancients sent by deus as avenger on the race for sin committed, when the flood of old ducalian came. " ' thence south to verdes, anchoring at the porto praya for supplies, and viewed the belching fogo, from afar, that runs its red-hot lava in the sea, the dross of vulcan's mightv forges down below. canto xii. " ' thence south, a little west, we sailed across the torrid zone, in one great stretch, without a stop, eight hundred leagues, through scorching heat, shot downward from the sun, as if that god, long-worshipped in the east, with blazing brand, had formed a savage league with phfeton, curbless son of sol, to burn the world. " ' when through the worst of that distressing sail, of heat, and calm and storm, we sighted off the starlward bow, bleak cape saint rouque, thence down, and scarcely twenty miles from eastern coast of old brazil, we passed her woodland hills. her sunny vales, her rivers flowing in the sea, with here and there a sightly port. all hedged about with tropic growth until we reached fair rio, landlocked in the bay. three score and more of miles around and in the charming beauty of the place and its environments we spent a pleasant month, made repairs upon the vessel's deck, laid in supplies to last three moons, then out again we floated with the tide; each sail was set and catching remnant of a storm that pulsed to anger all the tropic seas. away we moved along the wonder coast that changed as oft as some kaleidescope, in varied hue and loveliness sublime, till sighted we afar the crowning cape of de las virgines and entered then magellan's straits with rough hewn islands on 71 72 poems of love and philosophy. the south, and through three hundred miles we slowly worked the dubious way, between high ridges, desolate, and summits crowned with snows eternal, till we rounded out the dreary channel of victoria cape, and set our course northwesterly to run a stretch of full five thousand miles to those fair isles that rest as gems within the crown of sapphire seas unequaled in their reach. and w^here eternal spring is like unto the sunny clime we left at mitylene, where hope we had of sweet repose without the jealous enmity of the ottoman, " ' without mishap of special note, we crossed again the torrid zone, and reached secure the latitude of fifteen north and near the longitude, one-forty west, within a few degrees of the fair elysium sought, when unexpected came a fearful storm. the leaden haze about the setting sun grew ominous, the face of that great orb shone like a globe of blood; the scudding clouds denoted lifting winds; the sea did moan as does a leviathan in the throes of death, and swell on swell did lift and fall like rolling ridges, capped with spray and foam. " ' conscious of the fearful squall in sight all sails were reefed and helm set to run before the blast; the little boat, as if a thing of life, did tremble in her joints as when an antler, hot pursued, essays to make a fearful leap; her scudding, then commenced, and raced she with the avind and waves, with leaps and bounds, unknown before in all the hermit's home. 73 her history; through foam and blinding spray, and topping waves, with course set north-nor'east, she ran at least a thousand miles, and just as seemed the deluge to abate and when we felt the worst had passed, the vessel sprung a leak. the pumps were set at work and for a day and night we labored might and main to keep the craft afloat, till land in sight should give relief from perils on the sea. the hope was vain; the water gained upon our work so rapidly the pumps were left and to our boats as last resort we took, just ten in each; but soon the rolling flood swamped one; the other one, in which myself and people were, seemed better manned, and hope sat on each dripping face, when came with force an ugly squall and over went the little craft and all went floundering in the flood. i never saw my parents more, nor anyone of that fair band. i avas alone, it seemed upon the sea, but soon i lost my consciousness, and knew no more until i saw you bending over me upon the beach. i know not why i live and all the others gone, unless it is because i had a large preserver on, and being less in weight than others were^ my head had better chance to cap the waves. " ' it was my hope that we, at least, should find the forms i loved, but as you say, no one was found along the strand. i must assume they all were lost past chance recovery.' she ceased to speak; her hands were clasped about her face and scalding tears streamed from lier eyes. canto xiii. " conscious of my duty well performed i lived in peace secluded from the world, with only rover for companion in my walks, and sanger daily coming for his hay, and rubbed his nose upon my arm. when fed, as if to say, ' this is my thanks, and when you wish my service, be assured i shall remember all your compliments.' the simple people of the lovely vale were kind and true and well content with what the had — their little farms, their growing crops and stock and ever-swelling flower buds. " because i knew a little greek, had read some books and could pronounce some words in dutch, the people seemed to think, in truth, that i was wonderfully wise, and oft would troop across the vale, to where my cottage stood that i as referee, might settle some disputed point, such as the rods, or roods an acre did contain; what seed to ];)lant? the grains of corn to drop in every hill? what poison best to rid their fertile fields of rodent pests? what flowers should be grown in pots? what roots to grow for dairy stock? the safest medicine for chicken-pox? and other questions more profound than these — as depth to plow, or how to manage bees? to dwell with people thus some one may say that time is wasted opportunity. because the appetite of higher mind the hermit's home. 75 hath naught but barrenness to feed upon, without the quench of thirst for better things that beam from upper levels of the mind, like burning stars that shine above the peaks of cragged teneriffe and everest. " but ere the verdict on this theme abides, i beg you pause and counsel with your heart to find reflection there of what we are and of design for human betterment. wealth may last us for a shining day, but brick and mortar have no souls in them, and many gilded fronts that mark the line of some great thoroughfare, contain behind but whitened sepulchres where feast and wine inflame the animal within to such excesses as the devil loves, and think they live to purpose in the world without a recompense for increment received. cold brick and mortar have no souls to save. " great cities are, at best, but cancers in the stomach of the world, that putrefy. and but for increase from the rural homes would rot and stink with desolation. god never made a city in the world, and there are scattered ruins everywhere to mark the destiny of all the rest. god rules! his everlasting laws defied. have no condolence for the miseries of men who never learn the lesson of their lives, no more than pigs that fill with swill and are content to sleep the stupor off. god's bounty is sufficient for us all. and some day each will have his share, when each shall recognize the right of all to live. 76 poems of love and philosophy. " nenona, full recovered, grew in strength and beauty every day, as when the chill and sear of winter's passed, sweet chloris comes with all her train to garland early spring. her tender words and cheerfulness seemed like a garden of exotics giving off its fragrance to each passer-by; and when a day of recreation came for all the children in the vale, and troop on troop with cheer and glee went singing on the way to hunt for nuts, or blooming treasures in the woods, or romp upon the picnic grounds. about nenona flocked the spruce young lads. and comely lasses, like so many birds of minor plumage, round a singing lark, unmindful of their own sweet melodies. " she seemed as one who had no thought of self, but was supremely happy in the joy of other hearts, as when the pearly drops of dew that glisten in the morning sun transform to sweetness, rosebuds drooping in a garden poorly tilled and famishing for showers that so seldom come. her dress, though plain and simple, always neat, and every band and tuck set most complete. her golden hair, untrammeled in its sway. fell gently down in wave on wave, upon her shapely shoulders, like a shower of sweet crocus bloom put forth in early spring. her face had not a flaw, 'twas perfect greek, with hazel eyes beyond the reach of words conceived in song, or range of common minds. canto xiv. " their teacher gone afar to pastures new, the people of the vale besought of me to play the pedagogue, and prove the love i clamied to have for all that did pertain to them. and while i turned the thought of what was best to do, nenona came to me, and laying hold of both my hands and lifting up her face, as does a rose with glistening dewdrops swelling from its heart, and all her soul reflected from her eyes, she said, in words that harsh makes sound a harp: '' ' two years have passed since from a corpse, found on the flood, you brought me back to life again and gave me friends and home when all was lost to me, and since that time have been my guide and star of hope, with light as true and pure as carnar's in his hold on eridanus. i know the vale in which we live is fair, and much of earthly charm is gathered here and then these dear, good people have so grown the tendrils of affection in my heart. that i can feel their hold and mastery in every pulse, like thongs of gossamer. too fine to be definable in words. i give full sympathy for all their loves and for each ache and sorrow that they have. " ' so beg i for your audience to hear my simple plea that you may grant this wish of theirs most willingly, and furthermore, in this emergency, my selfishness 77 78 poems of love and philosophy. takes shape decidedly. if teach you not the school, what then? some other must enlist and who? so far are we from centers of the world and pay so small, that brains we can secure, perhaps, will be most primitive, and some of us have hopes above the bogs and barren steeps of simple doggerel. " ' and should you leave us for some other place congenial and better pay, i feel the moon would never shine again, my mother-tongue would fade from memory as does a summer dream upon the coast of labrador. philosophy would live as something passed, to me, and all ambition lose the prop of hope, and set afloat my craft of life without a sail. and rudderless, to drift upon the sea. " ' i know you have no present wish to teach the little school. it's whole year's wage, in cash, is hardly worth a single thought of yours; but then, how much of good would come of it? the sprint we had did do the best she could, and etchings on our simple mind did make; but so confused they ran about, that when we sought to find a point as center for a thought, there was no anchor for a hold. " ' it may be that i err, but then it seems to me the smallest thought conveyed should bear upon a greater one, so when the structure is complete, might be a tenement, for one in love with gentle nature and with god, with wish and crowning outlook far above the selfish ends and plodding ways of men. so if you will but take the little school, the hermit's home. 79 i will most gladly pose as one of your small satellites and catch reflection when i can to light my way to higher flights, and preparation for the great unknown. " ' at times, perhaps, i might sail off among the spheres and conjure up a thousand forms of beauty, there, and lean with confidence upon some myth unsteadfast in support. or on a crooked stick of poesy; but be assured, i will return to sit about your feet, as do the skipping lambs return, and tired, to the larger fold. " ' i see you hesitate, and have a look far off, as one who has a memory of other days, when life's bright dreams were new, and through the mist and sere and yellow haze of time, discerns a form once counted true. why start at this? i meant no harm, be sure. my brim of girlish freak does run my tongue so much at random that i sometimes sport with sacred things unmindful of the hurt. if wounded you unheeded, sad i am to know it, so, if worth a fig to you as salve to 'suage the sore, i will apply the balm of all my sympathy and love. as showers down the myrtle's blooming sweets upon the earth, when shaken by the wind.' canto xv. " there seemed no answer to a plea like this save yield possession of a fortress stormed by dimpled wit and charming sentiment. it seems there have been times when castle walls and belching" guns have bid defiance to great legions fronting them, but then what man can stand unmoved before such loveliness of form and mind, pure as the fountain of ar'thusa, soul enchanting as the harp of amphion, with tact and gentle grace that never seemed to recognize itself? " austereness, grave as nestor, sage of pylos, would have melted like the polar snows exposed to glowing heat of tropic suns. consent secured, this hallowmas tripped through the vale, like one who had important news to tell, and everywhere she went, there came about her sunny faces, as of old when some fair eastern nymph would sing delightful songs from ramay ana's page. " when full installed as teacher of the school, and every one was busy with the work, i sought to find the soul of every child. and he who studies here, will shed a tear of sympathy for human entities with lives and characters inborn, which ill or good predominates, as circumstance and antecedents may by dint constrain. to find the drift and cause of character and remedies to counterbalance wrong. the hermit's home. 81 with application not constrained, is first of all, the problems which the teacher has ' to solve, before much progress can be made. " as illustrative of a multitude of temperaments, so plainly manifest, i had a boy in school called tony flinn, a little irish lad, with lanky sides. and eyes of gray, with head in knots behind, square forehead, ample mouth, new-moon in shape. with corners upward turned. he seemed to live on pranks, and did appear to have no aim in life but fun, that helped digestion in a way to make a stringy doughnut seem an ample substitute for provender of prince, or kingly epicure. a pun in words, slick said, would make him laugh a week. " to get his mind full settled on his book was harder work than digging in a ditch. with speller up before his face, his eyes would shine around its corners like the sun, when shadowed by the moon in full eclipse. his hair was short and red and stood like quills upon his head, with fair skin, freckled face. and high cheek bones above a rounded chin. which counseled with a jaw of little force. " to cure him of this ailment, nothing seemed sufficient, short of moulding him again. as does a potter, remnants of his clay. but scant of skill in this direction, i essayed to get myself a lodgment in his heart, as does a sympathetic song of long remembrance start the brimming tear. to fairly mould the human mind within its angled tenement it did appear 82 poems of love and philosophy. that hickory oil had lost its potency, that while chastisement of this sort may curb and cow the spirit for a time, it is as plants of bitter fruit set out to grow the golden apples of hisperidese. so after much of caustic drill and rough experiment, i hit upon this plan: " one day when all the children were at play this boy, by chance, the schoolroom entered for his hat, when catching him around the neck, i said, ' dear tony, you are not, in fact, a naughty boy. your only wrong is fun. provoking every little incident to roar the school when lessons are on hand. now, if you'll straighten out your angle face and settle down to sober work while we are all engaged, i will agree that you shall have a romp with me at every noon, and tell a story that will make you laugh with all the school, and count you as my friend.' " in this display of friendly interest in the boy's untutored ways, there did appear a glintage in his lustrous eyes, as does a light that burns upon a distant hill as beacon that a human form is there, and with expression such as comes when soul with soul conceives a unity, he said. between his sobs, ' i know it's wrong to laugh so much and start the school to cackling when the lesson's on, but then, in truth, it seems to swell and gurgle up like bubbles on my mother's tub when lathered for the wash. but since you are so good and talk so kind to me, i'll try to choke my mischief down. the hermit's home. 83 as doughnuts dry and forced, without a drink, until my full of mirth, without degree of impropriety, may flow at will, and run at random as a passing stream that's summer fed from all the woodland hills.' thenceforth young tony loved his fun not less, but books and teacher, seeming something more, loved order from controlling strength of love, as sweetest dews in sunshine sparkle most. where flowers grow without the chill of frost. " the hardest case in all the school was one ungainly spanish boy, coarse-grained, with head straight up and wide behind, with crown well raised and forward sloping down to near the brows; with eyes like beads, in black, deep-set; a sloping nose and short, with lips compressed with corners down and jaws most prominent that ran like bands of steel up through his face, with bulging skull above his flabby ears — a young gorilla born, a brute — what could be done with him? what virtue there impart? he mixed but little in the romp and plays of other boys, but slipped about from place to place, with cunning eyes, as of a fox nearby a flock of singing larks, or as a wolf, full half concealed, reviews the lambs that frisk about the field or glades of green; ' to grind a bug or worm beneath his heel. or wring the neck of some lame bird, or stone a dog, or hoot to scare the grazing herd, seemed but quintessence of delight to him. to bid him do, was bid a thing undone; and to destroy, was all he had of fun. i coaxed and pled, spoke words of gentle cheer; 84 poems of love and philosophy. shamed at his heartless acts and vicious moods, then plied the lash without avail, save at each sturdy stroke i saw his snake-eyes gleam like fiery glintage on a darkened stream. " revenge sat full upon his somber face, while conscious duty was a blank to him. the pity is, a creature, human, thus, was ever made, and made, all such, should have no power left to reproduce his kind. at last 1 gave the struggle up and sent him home, as one in whom the hope is lost for better things, and clog to better lives — and now, as last of these extremes, i'll name the frisky, bright-eyed robby hutchinson. he had a head, gourd-like, and handle off. with extra swell behind his coon-like ears. and flattened skull, commencing where the hair in brindle kinks began to crawl up to the crown; his eyes of hazel, had a light in them, the hawk is not a stranger to; his nose, full, high and drooping at the point. was not, in shape, unlike the eagle's beak. his lips, thick-set and cut across his face without a curve, with jaw of ample strength. and chin that rounded in a swelling lump. his mind was bright and active as a mink's he loved the sports afield, but ever edged toward the maidens skipping of the rope. and tagged with them, when on the sly he could essay, without observe of colder eyes. " his greatest fault was pilfering; no chance escaped he could improve to scoop a ball, or marble not his own; his pockets full and bulging out with nuts and rusty knives the hermit's home. 85 and keeps and pencil stubs and bits of string were laughing stock for all the grinning school. with expert hand and undue haste he would divide some other student's hoard of fruit. but never once conceived of such a thing as kindly give and take in consonance of soul in human reciprocity. he seemed, in truth, the early counterpart of many anxious men, who strive through life to pile up wealth they cannot use, and die undone and lost to all the elements that was intended should distinguish them from ghouls and brutish beasts — unsouled — to rot as carrion in a vaulted grave. what can be done with such as these? the warp of life without the filling woof that makes the tangle threadbar in the sight of god! surprising is the thought, and dumb we stand amid infinity of problems yet unsolved and feel about for evidence of what we are, with just a glimmer in the distance of a star that moves the heart to hope it is the harbinger to light the soul of man to knowledge of himself: — the centerstance of all philosophy — to know which is to know the remedy for all our ills and knowing, give us strength of purpose to apply the urgent need. canto xvi. " for three full years i labored thus among this simple trusting people; proud they seemed of progress made by all their little ones, and praised my work with many kindly words. in these three years nenona had outgrown the place, as does a thrifty myrtle top all lesser growth, with bloom that stinteth not. the reputation of its excellence. " she seemed the idol of each heart in all the land, example in deportment marked, and when distress sat brooding on the mind of some poor soul, a tear, or tender word from her, of sympathy, that led the way to hope, the darkness disappeared, as when a cloud obscuring light unshades the sun. " she had no art but that which nature gave; no studied pose, or word to gain control. but in her missions merciful, pure soul met soul, as do the welling waters of a limpid stream commingle with the flow of some sweet river running to the sea. in fact, all language stands abashed, and feels confused in utter helplessness to name a pearl so true and constant in its light. " but then, i felt that all things beautiful must pass. infinity has thus ordained. and though one staggers with the load imposed at duty's call, there is no other light along the weary path of life that gives to view the guide-posts on the way, but that the hermit's home. 87 which conscience sheds upon the trusting soul. at times, it seemed, i felt like one who finds a shining star and in supremacy of selfishness would hide it from the gaze of everyone but his, unmindful of the darkness wrought upon the world by such ungainly mood and dei)th of littleness. " vso, curbing as i could, each selfish wish and nerving all my better nature for the sacrifice, i did resolve that she should go to some academy or school sufficiently advanced and skillful in design, to find the crowning peaks whereon consoling light of knowledge ever shines. " not such as blunt and bend and warp the mind by sect or austere creed embodiments. that circumscribe the broader range of thought and cramp it in a sphere no larger than the cranium of some assuming crank. or gloomy cloister, who prates of things he knows not of — but to a training school. that teaches god in nature, scope and breadth so magnified, to fit infinity of space, and show divinity in all things made, inanimate and such as live in form of man, as cap, and under him the beast and bird and teeming world. " so, on a golden afternoon that marked the change of svimmer heat to autumn's edge. with all its glory of maturing fruits. when mingled green and yellow awnings on the stately trees, hung passively in place and whispered to each passing breeze of what their fate should be, and when their call would come 88 poems of love and philosophy. to move like some pale, mournful caravan, to bosom all their sorrows in the earth, as mortals do, when life has spent its force p^or good or ill, nenona sat, and i beside her, on the smooth, round, barkless trunk of alder tree, long prone upon the ground. " away to westward, where we looked, the sun stood mantled in a silver cloud, while down below his amber skirts, the sea's great stretch of surface, marked beyond the horizon with murmur undefinable to those avho never heard its dismal tale of woe. " while thus we viewed and mused in silence on the beauty of the scene, i felt the time had come to speak of that which i would fain forego, had heart or duty prompted less. while yet i thought about the manner of approach, nenona thus delightfully exclaimed, while spread the soul's imprint upon her face, as moisture follows foot imprint in yielding sand along the sounding sea: " ' 0, lovely land, of lesbo's summer skies! in flowing robes of green and brightest gold, where dwelleth surely some divinity of amphion that buildeth up this scene, with harp, enchanting in its melodies,' " ' well done,' said i, ' that strain is surely from sweet sapho's string, that sounds forever in the fair, sweet, sunny streets of mitylene; but since romance does sink to littleness when life's oppressive load of care commands attention sad and seriously, i wish a confidential chat with you. ' ' five years and more have passed, nenona, since the hermit's home. 89 you came among us as a waif cast from the cruel sea, like some surprising bud from tropic zone, which we have nurtured in development, as does a botanist, some new-found treasure of the floral world, which, in its tender culturing, does lean upon its neighbor for support, avith breath of rarest excellence. so has it been with you, nenona; more than all the hope we cherished at your coming, has, in truth. been realized, for wheresoever thou art known in all this sunny land, there hangs, inviting to your pull, the latch string of each household, as a breath of blooming spring finds gentle welcome to all human hearts. " ' i do not wish to flatter you; in fact, it would be vain to undertake a task so difficult, and so i hope you'll take no umbrage at these seeming compliments. and if you claim that i should verify ~ my words, i will present to you a wall of human testimony that shall more than satisfy. if this be not enough, i will collect the lovely linnets and fair kittens of the vale, and forming one great ring of all the people — you among the rest — and setting down the show of birds and little cats, as centerstance, and if they move not in a drove toward your stand, i will agree, upon my bending knees, to pay the forfeit of this compliment. " ' but then i will desist. it is enough to know you live among us now, and who has such effrontery to undertake 90 poems of love and philosophy. description of the morning star, when she is manifest to every living soul? the counsel which i wish with you is this — by application most remarkable, and measure of intelligence to see the way, your progress up the rugged steeps that lead to summits of eternal light, has passed the stations where we have to stop and resting, wonder what is further on. " ' to cramp a soul that hath a flight like yours in boundaries of such a place as this, is surely sacrilege of god's intent — to cover jewels with a rusty spade — that should outshine the transient glory of all earthly wealth, as arching rainbows span the somber figure of the whirling globe. " ' as brother, older by ten years, my wish has been advance for you and happiness. and since there is no further progress here along the lines of higher learning, you must go where there is latitude to reach above the half-way round on which i stand. that loving prophesy of all the vale may be fulfilled — that you, in sober truth, shall ultimately gain the borderland where bar is placed that separates the reach of mortal mind from that which is divine. " ' now, say the word that you will go from this poor stinted place, to learn the better life and higher aim attainalde by one so favored mentally and morally with all the excellence of soul and sense. essential for a flight of mind conceived, that follows shining stars, when breathless the hermit's home. 91 others pause upon the l)rink of further flight. the cost of such advance shall be my own and i will make arrangements readily and more than recompense shall be to me the knowledge of my aid in this affair.' canto xvii. " when closed i this well-meaning speech, she rose and stood before me like a statue from the mystic hand of phidias, who had the art to make a marble face and form breathe inspiration in the soul of all who has the fortune to behold his work. not rigid, stately stood she there, like one who hears her doom, yet steady as a star holds down the flood of her great agony. " her eyes were on me like two orbs that look out from the depths of space, with sad reproach, expressive of surprise, yet no ill-will or thought offended seemed to cluster there. i could but look, my eyes refused to gaze another way, as when enchantment holds the mind engaged and blank is all things else. at last her lips began to move and like the strings of some sweet instrument that breathe and quiver in prelude when lightly touched by master hand, she said in tones that seemed like some forgotten melody : ' i grieve to hear your words. my hope has been to live here always, have no other home, nor wish no other while i live. no doubt you feel this change is for my good. the sacrifice you do propose to make in my behalf does well assure concern and wish to aid to uttermost in making life for me a fragrant bloom, full worthy of the care and tender nurturing so lavishly the hermit's home. 93 bestowed by you and all the people of this charming vale, but why transport a half grown linnet to another nest when all its heart is here? i never shall forget the priceless aid you have alforded me; a father never offered more to one he loves; a brother, lover, often less yet, is it evidence of deeper care to send a fairly fledgling soul beyond the wish and haven of its greatest need? to titled schools, where sage professors, glum with mighty thoughts that shine among the stars. possess the only ideal that love and faith, with straining nerves, should follow to the grave? while more of thought and deeper culture of the mind, is surely manifest, yet who will say that learning in the abstract brings a creature nearer god than he who dwells within these blooming groves, with every thought turned inward on himself, and in the heart of nature delving to discover truth and his relation to divinity? " ' like flowers grown in gardens fair, the mind, full tutored where gentle warmth of loving care stands thwart each avenue of yewpas growth. is surely sweet and most commendable. but where is strength of such surroundings found? where teeming thousands hurry through the world, with thought of naught but gain and giddy show, while depths of sin and misery stalk on the streets and harbor where the lights are dim? " ' it is accounted wise and great to soar on eagle wings to find a star beyond the keen of common men ; but then it seems 94 poems of love and philosophy. to me, a master-mind, unaided by the heart, is like a ship that goes to sea without a rudder, seeking oceans fathomless. and baffled by the winds, and currents crossed, brings back to port no treasured argosies. " ' your compliments have been profuse, most kind and seemingly sincere. i treasure them as rarest gems, but cannot wear them all at once, unless i make a gaudy show that turns my head from things more serious, and starts the flush of swelling vanity. " ' do not forget my flaxen curls and drees of childhood's gone. as well you say, five years and more have passed, since chance or something else moved with me on the rushing waters to your out-stretched arms, unconscious of myself; helpless and frail beyond my youthful years; the tender hearts and hands that wooed me back to life again, will rest forever in my memory, like fragrant incense on an altar built of love, and for your part in this affair, i have no words or song of praise, in any wise accceptable. " ' the days and months and years so kindly spent to guide my steps aright, and bring within the compass of my simple mind the true and beautiful in thought and sense of soul that maketh mortal something more than flesh and blood and life a talisman in charm to reach above the sordid aims of time into eternities of better things, is work of yours i never can forget ; and hoped till now that i might ever be companion in your rambles through these woods the hermit's home. 95 and learn to drink more deeply of the stream of wisdom ever flowing from your lips. " ' but since you bid my leaving this abode for other climes — i know not where — to gain more polish and less soul among the learned of other lands, i feel constrained to go. each selfish want and thought must be with me subordinate to wish of yours, for while i love these scenes as does the simple child a fairyland of butterflies, i know your counsel, ever good, should bear in weight above my preference, as does a star the light and shifting dust of fading leaves. " ' you praise my work in aid of other lives as most complete, but really, i think such work is never done, nor never can. so long as mortals need a helping hand. so long as duty calls, sad want we see. and heart of heart does seek its sympathy. " ' perhaps 'tis for the best that i should go; but then i think the yield will surely be but scanty recompense for what i leave. acclimating oft kills the fairest grow'th; no jasmine can stand the winter chill of northern clime, and fades the myrtle bloom among the polar pines; why then attempt what nature does abhor, in planting growth of tropic clime beyond the chilling range of capricorn? no recompense will come of it, no more than can of planting sunny lives, where wraps of fur and cold utility do sap the human heart of sentiment, and make affinities in naught but selfish ends! a monster garbed 96 poems of love and philosophy. with gold seems god of more than half the world. " ' why then attempt to further plant in fields where mortals are esteemed as dross compared to shining wealth? which is the greater need in all the world today, a competence with soul, and love for other lives, or gain that takes the increment from honest toil? " ' ah, sir, solution of these thoughts are far above my childlike wits, but then, they will well up in every loving heart to plague philosophy that seeks to answer them. it seems to me the fairest life in all the world is that which is contented with enough and gives of that to help those more in need, and labors earnestly for light and truth and human betterment? " ' each simple atom of the universe, each living thing that moves upon the earth, should fill its little sphere and be at rest. it seems to have been so ordained, and he who clambers high upon the shoulders of the race, regardless of the rights of those beneath, hath lost, in truth, the semblance of humanity, and monster makes of that which god intended should be help to man. " ' if pilgrimage to crowning schools of fame, that overlook the busy marts of men is acme of the sunburnt country swain, and highest aim in god's utility. why does the forest bloom upon the plain? beside the running streams and on the slopes that lift their verdure upward to the sky? where start the streams that glint the sunny vales and sing to him who made their shining pearls? the hermit's home. 97 why wave the fields and meadows blooming, with the incense of divinity, not cramped within great city walls, to please with form and fragrance all the motley, moving throng? " 'the mystery no longer mystifies; the cities seem no part of god's design in makeup of creation, surely are they plants exotic, breathing something good and much of ill. it fact, they seem as moral cancers in the stomach of the world, that putrefy, unless infused continually with rural blood that flows as limpid streams to purify the mass intoxicated with excess, is life. perhaps i overdraw the picture here. and set comparison to grinning in his sleeve, like some rude boy that dresses up a doll ungainly for the sport of it. " ' but be that as it may, i now will cast objection to the wind and bow, in truth. submission to your wish. it may be that the children will forget the little waif that came among them years ago. i have no right to claim their loves, as what i've done has been conceived a duty to myself for all the care and tenderness received. but still i go as goes the lamb torn from its mother's side with bleat and bleeding heart. that balm of time can never fully heal. nor memory allow forgetfulness. " ' it seems to me that god is nearer here than any place in all the land. the pines that worship on the hills; the sylvan nook, the blooming glen, the silver stream, are all 98 poems of love and philosophy. a part of me as i in nature am a part of god, and revel in the thought that all eternity will never mar or dim this sweet relationship. deep in this wonderland, my days have passed. and are remembered as a lullaby when cradled by my loving mother's hand; or as the song of that sweet nightingale that echoed music through the blooming wood the night before we left sweet mitylene. full conscious am i that i wane your time on things of small account compared to words and counsels wise you are disposed to give. " ' but ere my star of hope goes down and leaves me utter darkness, hear my last appeal — it is of thoughts oft welling to my lips in happy days forever passed away — of your infinitude of compliments and gentleness of mind that fell upon my heart like sunshine on a tiny plant, that it might grow among the larger fold. so let me say — for all this warmth and light thus caused by you to fall upon my soul, like heavenly incense from an holy urn, i never can repay. here is my hand and in it all my heart. these all i have — i never loved before, i never can again.' " at this she sank, subdued, upon her knees before me, trembling like an aspen leaf. while, with her hands before her face, the tears ran through her fingers like great pearl drops, streaming from a golden horn of gems. what could i do? what could i say? it seemed i had no choice of approach, or wish, the hermit's home. 99 or hope of rescue from the summer dream of beauty kneeling there. so as a child, i took her to my arms and folding there in rapture to my heart, while kisses fell in showers fresh and sweet as honey dew. l.ofc. canto xviii. " fair days and weeks ran into nimble month, as in sweet havens of hesperides where happiness does sit in laps of ease, and all the golden fruits of ripened time hang ready for a desert luxury of soul and sense and appetites of love's warm breath and dalliance, unshadowed l^y a cloud above the future's horizon. " the time was set when we should be as one, and all the vale appear as witnesses. the day was that fair anniversary of him who came to bless and save the world; the little church, all decked in evergreens. late rose and lily bloom, did seem to smile on everyone who entered there, as when a floral arch bends in its welcome down and greets the passing throng, delighted with the scenery and graceful art displayed. the tolling bell called all to worship there, as did the star above sweet bethlehem so many rounding centuries ago. " with invocation to divinity, and songs of praise that lift humanity above the weary run of daily life — amid the smiles of all the multitude the service was performed, and solemnly, that made nenona and myself, two souls, in one, as with a band of gossamer. frail as a spider's woof, yet strong as bands of gold when love is linked with common sense, 100 the hermit's home. 101 and purity stands by with balanced scale. " another room was deftly added to the cottage on the sunny slope, in which the neighbors joined as do school boys, when much elated, build a habitation for some fairy queen that comes among them for a summer's stay, with cheer and gleeful song. old sanger seemed to know some enterprise was on the taps, uncommon to the place, and pranced about surprised, yet gave assent in neiker and in snort subdued. while rover wondered at the active hands engaged and watched each timber laid, as one not quite persuaded good would come of it. " when stood the cottage, quite complete in all appointments consonant with plan, i felt the house too big for my sparse furniture. so, hitched to wagon, boarded up, two span of dapple grays and sped away across the hills, the journey of a day, to port that sat on little inlet by the sea. and bought a line of modest household goods, fair crockery and tinnery renewed. a clock of dainty form, on either side a maiden stood in scottish dress, that held aloft its pointing hands and snow-white face with dentures black, which marked suggestively the hours passing on the wings of time, unchecked by storm, or sun, or mortal wish to undo that which is already done. when glossy furniture was all in place, fair crockery and glass in cupboard sat, and kitchen ware in shining rows replaced the rusty tins of uncouth batchelerdom, 102 poems of love and philosophy. and warning clock upon the mantel stood. "a great reception was extended to the loving people of the little vale, without a slight or stinting preference. perhaps there may have been such holidays before, perhaps there may be such again, but anyway, the people did declare that surely in the world there never was occasion half so joyful and filled to brim the sweetest of amenities. thus started we, nenona and myself, with sunny maid as cheer and kitchen help, to keeping house, untrammeled by a care. save that which ever moved the mind of each to make the other always satisfied. " fair castles line the banks of sunny streams and mountain steeps with moat and parapet; and shining turrets, crowned with terreplein, while all about are gardens rich in prime, exotic plants, all spiced by tropic suns — yet, who can say, in truth, they do contain a happiness of sweeter growth than cots reared in the woods, or on the treeless plain and thatched with strips of bark or barley straw. " about my little home, with tender care there grew a labyrinth of flowers, fair as those that deck the throne of flora, when in league with may, its queen does shower down with lavish hand rich gems plucked from the crown of dryadese, avho roams the pleasant wood, and plucks at will her dainty doweries. " old sanger, little worked because of long and faithful service, ran at large and free as ran the water from the sloping hills; the hermit's home, 103 and when i harnessed younger stock to turn the shining furrows in the field, this pet, spoiled by his own exulierance of worth, would watch my work and when the team stood still beneath some spreading tree to blow and rest, as if inspector-general of the vale. came prancing up and with an expert eye tramped round and round my nags, as if to see that every strap and tug and rein was taut and best adjusted to the work in hand. "while rover, weaned from all his youthful ways by steady training hand of time, would go along demurely, little heeding rat or squirrel, frightened, running from the team; but when afield would curl up in the shade to dream, perhaps, in retrospect of all the years gone by, when active in the chase. or iron stand he ever took on guard. or when a danger seemed to hover near. thus passed the days and weeks and months. in toil sufficient for our utmost need. " yet leaving leisure ample for sw^eet rest at home, with her, than whom there never lived a soul more heavenly in all the land. if paradise hath welcome sweeter than my own, and man in any way could half discover it, a song of praise would be on every lip; distempered ills of life would disappear as did old tiamat, the hag of woes unnumbered — outward hurled by potent marduke, shrieking from the world. " two years passed thus in ease and happiness, as does the time roll by in avonderland — with all we love in gardens of the gods, 104 poems of love a^^d philosophy. perfumed by incense from the floral world. and then there came a change that checked the flow of earthly bliss, as when feronia checks the flowing streams, — then parch and wither up the growth and glory of the nurtured plain. " a sickness came upon nenona, not uncommon to her sex, that taxed severe the best of skill that sought to bring relief. but all in vain, she faded as a rose just bursting into summer bloom on which untimely frost had set its seal of death. " the people of the vale seemed stupefied by this calamity, deep sorrow sat on every face; brave men moved to and fro like shadows through the fields, in search, it seemed, of something, knowing hardly what, that might relieve the strain of nerve and troubled mind; the women flocked about the house and grounds like doves that coo around their stricken mates, uncomforted by clotho in their grief. the day of her sad funeral did seem the darkest ever known, altho the sun stood shadowless high in the arch above. "just yonder on that sunny slope we laid her lovely form, in life a shining star that had no orbit through the cold, blue sky. but in its daily round shed ample light for sweetest leadership in all good avorks. the little babe is with her there in peace. and all the consolation left us is, — the balm of memory that ever clings to loved ones lost, with hope of union where the skies are clear and peace forever there, for all who love and dare to do the right. the hermit's home. 105 •• how little seems the worth of life when called to bear calamity like this, and naught but fortitude and trust in god can stand against the growth of lunacy, that drags the mind to gloomy bogs and bottomless, unguided by a single shining star? i lived no longer as myself, for three we were, yet two were in the silent grave. " my interest in the work about the farm did cease; and from the day we buried her the neighbors nurtured it, and gave as rent whatever suited them. "tis wonderful how little mortals need upon the earth! i had no wish for company; reserve came over all my life and grief did sit consoler as the seasons slowly passed. " when two full years had fled without relief, i cleared the rubbish and the rubble stones from this surprising cavern — built by sonie eruption in the early ages of the world, before old thurmes cooled the earth — then bringing here belongings such as made it comfortable, moving in the place with rover following. and thus i've lived for thirty years, supplied with simple needs gleaned from the farm and garden there below the grave, where, as you see, a crystal stream runs near, which is at times diverted to the plot and used for watering the plants and posies, hedged about with spicy shrubs, where in their tilling does allow escape from gloomy solitude, that patient waits along the strand, with hope to quench in flow of lethe remains of human memories. 106 poems of love and philosophy. " for many years i made an annual pilgrimage down to the golden sands that line the ocean shore, and once did build a little hamlet where nenona lay when rescued lifeless from the cruel sea. but as all earthly work of human hands is evanescent as the falling leaves — the first full moon that pulled to eastward with the sun did flood the mighty stretch of shore, and washed away my ruined tenement, as lesson that the props of life cannot support for length of days the things we love. " poor rover ultimately grew so old, that like some sage philosopher, with head upon his paws, would_dream away the time and little caring for a thing beside a crust. at last the flickering lamp went out. and now, perhaps, with life renewed, he has. with others, reached the happy hunting ground. who knows? who can deny that mind of man and beast is not, in fact, an essence from a common source, and measured out to meet the need of everything that lives, and soul, but conscious memory of what has been? " since then i hardly go below the plot of garden truck, but never have i in those thirty, weary years, a single day delayed a visit to nenona's grave and carried flowers there, the freshest that the season could afford, and there behold! the pathway l^eaten bare l:)y weary feet, unrcstful only on the lonely tramp. '' the time approaches for my final call. more i am than satisfied with length the hermit's home. 107 of years, yet hope i that they have not been in vain. as nature softens down the hard cold stones, with time's erosive hand, so have i sought each day to wear away some ill of soul remaining in my life, and make a flower grow where aspen grew before. " i know myself and know what nature has in store for me. that dust to dust shall this poor frame return, and what there is in it of spirit shall return to sources whence it came. if life exists beyond the grave wherein a soul can recognize itself, i know that memory of evil deeds is conscious hell, and highest heaven only conscious duty well performed. and that all faith is measured by its works, and isms stand before the judgment seat confronted by the inquiry, ' what bring you here in purity of soul, what mite of worth for human good, and measure give above the measure meted out to you?' ' if death is an eternal sleep it is god's will, and i will not presume to will it otherwise; ' to be or not to be,' it matters not so far as duty goes. "the fairest soul in this abode of death and in another life, if such there be. is, that which doeth all things well, with faith in god that justice shall prevail. this is the story of my troubled past. perhaps a fair example of the life of average men who live in every land. it seemed your wish that i should say as much, and only hope that you are paid for time 108 poems of love and philosophy. expended thus. perhaps the lesson may assist you in the years to come; we all need counsel as we limping go along the thorny road, encouraged by the hope that he who suffers most for righteousness will ultimately reach the shining mark, set high above all sordid things, where ends the constant wear of earthly pilgrimage. " farewell, the night stands near meridian, the half-full moon has set, the tide is ebb; and nature sleeps; may peace be with us all." at this the hermit closed his eyes, his lips were still and silence reigned in that abode. death was the welcome messenger that stood between two worlds and called the weary soul, as does a loving mother whisper to her babe and sings an evening lullaby. most tenderly the people of the vale. with many floral offerings, did lay to rest the aged hermit by the side of his fair wife to sleep in silence there while move the ages to the end of time. yosemitc. whence art thou, spirit of the evil wind ? and thy twin sister of the ribbon fall? from womb of deepest chaos comest thou ? or did some late convulsion give thee birth ? we will assume, that vishnu wooed the " white eobed goddess of the hills," and in his warmth of love, does melt her frozen heart, and tears of bliss her eyes suffuse, while venus weaves therefrom " a bridal a^eil " of diamond mist and rainbow tints, so curved and charming that the sun delights to linger on them, ere " cathedral rock " its vesper bells engage. these things to us reveal their mystery; but whence the overhanging crags that hold aloft in dim outline, the crowning arch of heaven's azure, starlit canopy. and frown like giant gods upon the deep recesses of the wooded vale beneath ? fair white-robed hills, for later autumn clothed with green and gold of pine and cedar, for a crown of waving plumage; will you please a moment to forget your solemn grandeur, and let your stony hearts, with human hopes bear sympathy, — and thus allow frail man to learn a lesson of divinity? 109 110 poems of love and philosophy. if answer hast thou not for me, consult thy lordly brother, proud '' yosemite ; " if knowledge yet abideth not with him, pray will you counsel " rushing water?" and from " the diamond cataract," i'll weave for you a jeweled crown of shining pearls! all dumb and silent; not a single sound to solve this mystery of all the ages? then speak to me, bright "goddess of thevale ! " whence comes your crowning height? and thy grim mate, the ball-domed sphinx, like " martyr mountain ? " i do beseech a whisper from you now; you are not dead; god's life is in you, as it is in man; we breathe to gather from the same eternal source of soul and mind ! and what in him is not, is not in us; and what is not in us, does not exist ! all silent as the grave of ages, gone around the cycles of eternity ! divest yourself of all this irony, " great valley chief," but second in command, and learn me something of the things that were. and teach me best how i can worship god ! is there no hope to gain a clew that may reveal the mandate, bringing forth so much of wonder 'midst these torn and shaggy hills ? you are my elder brother, which i love; then give me half your heart a moment, so that i may feel the common pulse of nature. beating through us all, as one in him who doeth all things well, and i'm content. and will refrain to further question you . 'tis vain! one effort more and i am done! yosemite. ill at last, to tbee i come, with invocation, " o mighty cloud rest!" tell me, if in truth, thou comest from the magic womb of time, forever hidden from the finite gaze? did god decree this wonderland for thee — or was it fate that did ordain it so? long silence stood oppressed at coming change; the somber mist turned pale with amber light; as daybreak falls upon the crown of night; then rosy tinges of the coming sun, revealed the glory of that awful one. a tremor ran through all the crags and hills as when in fright one feels his body quake, and clutches object nearest for support. the vernal falls turned green with envy at the sight of that supreme uplifting — hooded round about with drifting snow; while "old nevada " splintered up in mist her shining robes, to make a regal crown. dove-tailed about with bits of rainbow^. that some attention might remain to her. grand was the view the upland gods beheld ! deep to the westward, winding in and out among the shrubs and trees and crowning crags, the silver river, sunlit, sheen-like, seemed a belt about the waist of fairyland, that girdled more of beauty, grandeur and divine, than all enfoldings of the sweetest forms that lavish nature has vouchsafed to man. in silence, expectation sat dumbfounded; sere, intent and still, the hoary heads 112 poems of love and philosophy. that guard have kept for many ages past, lu all this waste of crowning solitudes, frowned down upon " the brother twins," who stood upright and tip-toed for a better view. surrounded by his subjects, dressed in white, on high sierra's pure and burnished throne, with face to westward, scanning many leagues of intervening woodland, hill and dale, did great "mount whitney," blank with wonder, gaze. and in this hush of sound and waiting time, where seemed to hang an age of doubt and fear — in every breath, great "cloud rest" murmured thus: " foj" long, revolving ages, i, in silence held great nature's secret, and designed to hold it to the end. the magic key which chance hath given thee, unlocks my lips; and now beneath the garb of theory, of which the book-fools prate so learnedly, i will relate some antecedents. " god rules! and next to him in grandeur stands these adamantine walls, o'er which have i so long and faithfully presided. deep in the distance of the mighty past, there was a time when this stupendous gorge was not. the rough-hewn hills which sat around like loyal subjects, waiting my command, and all those higher, barren granite peaks — once held as giant pillars of the state, — knew no severance. peacefully we dwelt together, massive, sere and winter crowned. but potent forces, silent grew beneath. the cooling earth did slowly crust about yosemite. 113 the inner cauldron of the boiling flood; and as the swaying igneoiis grew less, an intervening space was formed, in which a smoldering hell-force grew prodigious. " the earth did swing, as does a whirling top. and reel beneath, then came the mighty crash! god's great foundation stones were rent in twain. the hills were broken up and chopped about like rolling billows on a troubled sea. destruction stood aghast and wondered at her awful work. the wealth of pent-up pearls did rush with reckless fury round the gorge, and each division, severed from the rest, did seek to find escape. from point to point, with murmur and complaint, the waters surged. until the verge of some high cliff was reached, and then, like tramping soldiers, coming on behind the lead, at pace too swift for check. they leaped together down the yawning gulf ! and thus the push of foremost from behind, goes on and on forever, " down in the mist of time this wonder place did not exist as now — some clefts of granite rock and running rills — and trees with intervening vales between — but down and down a narrow gorge of death these perpendicular walls did stretch below. till smoke and fire and fumes of gloomy hell did seethe and boil at touch of rushing streams, that sought to cool the crater as they fell. instead, as now, of counting flights by scores, these falls then leaped as many thousand feet. 114 poems of love and philosophy. curved and lashed to fury as they went. cycling ages since have passed away; decay has scored her many victories; rock by rock, the yawning gulf was filled from height of mountain spur and crater cap, with silt and drift from sloping eastern hills, washed in from drifting snow and winter floods, did make this valley what it is, and set apart by time's decree, these rugged cliffs. " if doubt of this great truth possess thee, dig into the bowels of the center vale, a thousand fathoms deep, and there you'll find the crumbling edges of the hidden walls, and round about, slim-based, projecting crags; and in between, dark caverns, grim and old, filled in with rubbish of ten thousand years. god reigns! decay does hang in every wind, and ere another cycle passes out, these crowning heights of flint and adamant. shall surely crumble, into level plain, or into rolling slopes, so gentle, that the plowman's pride will be to smoothly turn the yielding soil, with sturdy team and share; to plant his crops and garner yellow grain. aye, all these feathery cataracts shall fail. and disappear before the march of time, as have god's children of these rugged hills — destiny ruled, ruined and forgotten! ** if wish is thine to reach the soul of nature. claim thou kinship with the shining worlds and learn a lesson which each sun and star and satellite, has mastered long ago: yosemite. 115 that innate force, by god's decree, does move in harmony the mighty universe, with every shining system leaning on the others for support and sympathy. so man should feel, in spirit and in truth, a part of all that is, and realize that purity of life with love and aid for every living soul, is all there is of worth in all religions in the world. so all are ever equal in the scale of god's ordaining, as the water drops that fill the vortex of the mighty sea. " man, alone, of all his maker's works. has failed in his appointing. mind he has. and well designed, but warped to selfish ends. that make him strut about, as if he had no other aim upon the earth, but clutch with robber hands, each pearl and seeming prize in sight, regardless of his brother's rights; and helpless want goes crying from his door. as if the fullness of the earth was not designed by god for every human need! '* there seems no hope to suage this thirst for gain and love of pomp and tinsel show in man. divinely formed, and yet a vapid fool in all things great or wise, for human good. for glut of wealth he'll hazard sense and soul, and friendship spurn, as if it grew on trees, instead of precious jewel, richer than a shining gem, or flower sweeter than sirisha bloom on brow of sakoontala. 116 poems of love and philosophy. " we grieve that it is so, and warn you that the past reveals the future of the race! long, cycling ages come and go, into the ocean of the past, while nations rise and flourish for a time with peace and love, then fall like giant pines upon the hills. and others grow from ashes of decaj:! " if thou, in conflict with the greedy world. yet have a heart and soul for better things; then seek to know that god forever reigns; in truth, to know him, is to know thyself; to know thyself, is knowledge of the laws that permeate the circling universe; without which, chaos would control, as does the wind, the dust, or wafting heather down. "■ i leave you now, this is the last recall; but ere my voice is hushed in solitude, some counsel will i, and a warning give, which, well observed, with faith, will safely guide you in the golden pathway up to god! the major hates of all the world are based upon the isms, bred for selfish ends. your maker hath no need of advocates to talk much doggerel on sacred things they know not of and try to prove a lie by conjured text of horrid infamy. and call it brahma, or some molock work. " the only blind are those who will not see. god is the living soul of everything in universal harmony with him; and every sin is violated law. yosemite. 117 praise is only truth personified; religion is the love of things that are; peace with god is duty well performed; heaven is but mind of purity; •and hell is conscience crucified upon the altar of remorse." yillc de saint ]vazaire. [this good ship, " french, by manning and in name, " left new york on friday, march 4, 1897, bound for port au prince. hayti or hispanolia. two days out, she encountered a fearful storm off cape hatteras, in which the vessel foundered. of the eighty-two passengers and crew, only four are known to have escaped with their lives.] 'twas on an evil-omened morning in that month of all the year, which dresses for a summer's day and yet so fickle that before an hour passes she has changed her mood and dons a robe of doubtful hue, with flounces frilled and fulled for winter's wear, that ville de saint nazaire — by manning french, and make, staunch in timber, mast and sail — did leave the hudson, weird and shadowed by old gotham, bound for port in hispanolia, which columbus thought the ophir, whence fine gold and pearls did flow like shining stream into the cofi'ers of that hebrew king. who had no equal in the ages passed — where the vega real, watered by the yuma, sweet lamos and the plain of cayes to the westward, green and fertile, fair beyond arcadian dream; and as an outlook, crowning all the land. with head above the morning mist, stands old cibo, clothed with whispering pines and palms and roble oak, and wbere the richest fruits and fairest flowers grow in beauty so profusely that, with loss of eden, eve would have lived, supreme and happy there. 118 ville de saint nazaire. 119 thus bound aud mauned and moved by steam and sail and wind, the vessel glided onward, while the galley crew and passengers, with cheer and sport and pun, and all the little ones went romping round the deck with hide and seek, passed pleasantly the breezy, fleeting hours. two days moved out upon the flood of time. while joy in flowing robes, sat queen of hearts! and then there came a change. the ship had reached that storm bound headland, where the gulf stream flows and vibrates like a monster of the deep, avitli bulk of form so huge and breath so hot. that currents from the shore-line rush to fill the vortex made in air and sea by this old leviathan, ceaseless onward moving, when commotion holds communion with the damned and all things human, helpless, drifting, flounders in the raging flood. oh, who has ever seen a storm at sea? god moves the troubled waters there alone — no fetish, old triumvirate; but one eternal as the everlasting hills. fair isles and woodland dells and mountain crags, beget in simple minds a host of gods: but god is god forever on the deep! amid the warring elements of wind aud wave, that fight their battles o'er and o'er, for such dominion as the gods abhor. and pile up wreckage on the dreary coast, where ships go down and precious lives are lost, did sunday morning, sere and bleak and cold. with haggard look and bloodspots on the sun, 120 poems of love and philosophy. find the gallant vessel speeding onward. the murky sky grew dark, the ocean breathed with ominous omen; and anxious care sat silent on the captain's swarthy face; sailors ordered, moved as though they knew the danger lurking in the heaving sea; while others stood like pillars at their post. squall on squall, came howling by, as if to say, " hell holds dominion further down!" every sail was furled; the masts and spars appeared as remnants left, all sere and bleak — of some old forest, tangled in the rage of tempest roar or western cyclone. and when the weary day had passed and night set in, the bravest heart on board grew faint w^ith fear, for every heaving billow floods the ship; great shoals of foam and surf poured down the hatchways; engines ceased to move; the wheels stood still; fires quenched; the vessel logged with bilge, and rushing water from the deck. the bowsprit with the bridal ropes about its mouth did cower like a charger in some mortal combat; groaning like a thing of life; the vessel rolled from side to side, as if death wounded by some fatal dart of steel, transfixed within its heaving heart. " low twelve," rang out the sturdy night watch, but not the looked-for word that, "all is well." and many felt as if it were the knell, before the leap into eternity; so, every soul on board now sought the deck. for hope of rescue seemed suspended by ville de saint nazaire. 121 a hair. not one betrayed the horror in his heart, except by blauchiag faces. freezing hands clung on to billiard, stays and running rigging-reft and lagging. every eye was on the captain as he swayed upon the bridge. " the vessel's lost; no other hope is left us but the boats. let go!" four of them floundered in the flood a moment, then were crushed to splinters by the ship. a lull, and then the other four were lowered safely in the wreckage lee, and all on board were crowded into them. captain berry took command of one, containing near two score of souls, all told. including one poor, weary woman, and four little ones, half-clad and weeping sorely. the signal lights were carried in this boat. and all the others ordered, it to follow. but wind and wave too mighty for the men. did scatter them like feathers on the sea, to meet each other not again forever. besides the drenching spray that swashed and flew about the boat like white-robed diamonds. the night was cold beyond endurance; the oarsmen heaved and tugged and splashed amid the ridging waters, with a stroke too deep, and then a skip, with home thrusts in between; and tiller held by one with nerves of steel, and thus brave hearts, with hands half frozen, kept the prow to windward — shoreward leaning, while the others bailed the boat of foam and bilge. and so the weary night moved slowly on. as if she lingered in delight to witness 122 poems of love and philosophy. human woe. some, dazed and frozen, threw themselves into the sea, to rest and rock forever in the cradle of the deep. there is no name for such a death! the brave and laggard down together go, thus prone and helpless as a cedar in a cyclone. yet all this horror strong men can endure and whimper not at fate's decree, but to behold the prattling babe and little forms half-famished, clad, and freezing, clinging to their dyiug mother, begging for a crust, or comfort, does despair the bravest heart. and sets the soul of anguish on the lips of him who hath a spark of sympathy. o god! the weary, watchful hours of that gruesome wreck, tossed on the flood, with hope stagnating in the heart of those within the little skipper. day by day the crew grew less, as many took their leave, distressed beyond endurance. others died from chill and hunger, with the mother and her brood. with health and home upon a spot of god's green earth, the days move on like passing dreams. oft fraught with visions of the blessed, where none could wish a moment spent more pleasantly, and all do grieve that hours are so fleet. but save us from the ocean's wreckage! where sits the demoned hunger, gnawiug at the vitals; thirst that maddens for a draught of lashing foam, or gulp of that blue hell broth, surging further down, that burns into the life blood like a fire never quenched until its victim seeks relief beneath the frowning waters, coral stranded. ville de saint nazaire. 123 robed in seaweed for eternal sleep. thus surrounded, floundered on the boat — old time, in mockery stood still; the days seemed years; the hours, mouths, and moments, days, half halting with the ages as they passed. a week out on the lashing waves, with want aboard, unbridled for his human gorge; the little craft, unmanned, v^y helpless, drifting, when was sighted off the fenish islands by the hilda. all were dead but four wan forms and they were raving with delirium. three bodies rolled with every swell upon the boat's wet bottom, while at stern there sat a form, half clad, upright and rigid, yet still firmly holding to the restless tiller, with eyes wide open, peering forward through the mist and spray, as if in duty bound, alive or dead, to keep the boat afloat. and save the wreck of human life remaining. god seems to have ordained it that the soul of man should be revealed when ruined hopes and desolation overtake the forms we love, and death's pale horse sweeps on towai'd the highlands of eternity. but then, endurance of the bravest hath its limit; so it was with pierre x. mucore. his spirit stood a moment on his face and broke a smile upon his rigid lips — for as he looked and steered he surely saw the blissful haven of eternal rest where sorrow ends and joy forever reigns. xlhc lovcv^q farewelu leona, harsh leona, how i loved thee, tongue can never tell. leona, harsh leona, now "with bitterness i say farewell. the hope of all my early years, has turned to wormwood and gall, — i go, but shall restrain my tears, and no return shall meet your call. you did by words and winning ways, and all the charm that love displays. enchant my heart to sing your praise, and kindle longings to a blaze. ah ! laugh you may, you cunning elf. ah ! laugh to scorn, this passion mine, ah ! laugh, and look upon yourself, as one above me, and divine. hadst thou restrained me in advance, hadst thou but said, " it is in vain," hadst thou but warned me in my trance. it would have saved my soul from pain. but like a fawn to me you skipped. when in the garden came i near. and elfish-like, to me you tipped your hand and lip for welcome cheer. 124 the lover's farewell. 125 how could i help to love a thing, so lovely and so sweet to me ; how could i help to feel the sting, as he who toys the honey bee ? and now you say you had no thought — that i was like a little shad, with crumbs and pin-hook glibly caught, and then complain — " it is too bad !" i know the power you possess, to make a man an arrant fool ; i know the charm of your caress. and laughing, send a heart to shoal ! it is all ended now, my lark, i know your method and can prove — you strike a blaze, without a spark of sympathy, or light of love. laugh on, and giggle as you may — i feel the steel within my breast, i will not hope you to repay, this poignant sorrow and unrest. the blush of youth is on your cheek, a smile enchants your lip to curl, you will the hearts of others seek. and when they're found, you'll call them "churl." but in the matchless tune you play upon the chords of manly love, — beware ! there's sure to come a day. that will, in truth, your ruin prove. the sweet forget-me-not does bloom. and crumble into shining dust, 1'26 poems of love and philosophy but leaves a fragrance on its tomb, that tells of love and sweetest trust. and so it is with all things pure, and so it is with loving souls. yet fickleness cannot endure, but ashes to its lips it holds. farewell, your bitter day will come ; farewell, your youth will soon be gone ; farewell, your calloused heart, all dumb, will gasp for help when there is none. i will not leave thee with a curse, i've loved too well to harbor hate — i've loved too well, and now can scarce resign thee to thy coming fate. i give my hand and thus we part ; i give my hand and wish you well ; i give my hand but not my heart, for such as yours is love in hell. a time will come, as come it must. when all your fickleness will fail ; a time will come, when in the dust, you may your thoughtless words bewail. i go as one who daggers feel, who seeks to hide from further ill. and temper up his heart to steel, against the passion with me still. farewell ! and may your faith abide. that justice has been done to me ; farewell ! i go, as does the tide. that sighing, dies upon the sea. carmcna^s curse* the miner's wife stood in the door, the miner's wife at hazleton, with care her features spreading o'er, from stint of fare her husband won. her dress was neat, with threadbare sleeves, with mended skirt, of faded check, with apron tattered at the eaves, and ribbon bound about the neck. her feet were shoeless, white and bare, her face was of the grecian mould, loose flowed, unbound, her yellow hair, the counterpart of yellow gold. close pressed within her loving arms, her child was mantled on her breast, while throb to throb the lifeblood warms, the little one, with hand caressed. her eyes were strained far down the street. toward the miner's caverned hole. as if expectant there to meet the living image of her soul. the cruel guns ! she heard the blast, that murdered twenty mining men ; she listened, watched each face that passed. before her on the slippery lane. 127 128 poems of love and philosophy. then came in sight an ambulance, made of a miner's coat and tore, and while she stood beside in trance, they bore it through her humble door. they gently raised it in their strength, and laid in on the cheerless bed, and there she saw, stretched out at length, her noble husband, pale and dead. one shriek she gave, and to the floor. fell like a stick or cobblestone, to see her helpmate grim with gore, her life, her earthly all, her own. dazed in the passing days tliat came. upon this harrow of her heart. she grieved in silence, called his name : " my dearest leo, who us part? " misfortunes come, not like the tramp. wan, sad and singly, alone. but press in squads and with us camp. until all hope's forever gone. her babe, unnurtured, life went out. as does a fitful fire spark. as does a glow worm creep about. then close its wings, and all is dark. suns came and went, she saw them not, days passed like beads upon a string, while listless by her little cot. she watched the midnight's sable wiug. then came another trial, fast — the last she did endure but one: carmena's curse. 129 the words " evicted " chilling blast, fell ou her ears at hazletou. her store of rags upon the street, with ghoulish glee and curse were cast ; with hands about her breast she beat — in tears she said, " this is the last." that night she kneeled beside the grave, her child's and husband's — one with two, and made a vow to help the brave, this hellish work of fiends undo. '' is this the work of men? " she said, " is this a land where christians dwell ? " " that sanctions this — these miners dead, this tyranny that's worse than hell ? " " this ghoulish wealth — the miner's blood. that warm is shed upon the earth, ascends like incense to their god, and gives the tramp an anarch birth. ^' for every creature now that lives. there's full enough without this strife. for god to every creature gives. the right of substance for his life. " if greed shall take the toiler's bread, through forms of ill begotten law, if greed has filled these graves with dead, soon justice will the dagger draw. '' old shylock's millions running high, while millions hunger for a crust — while millions pine away and die. and mingle with their mother dust. 130 poems of love and philosophy. " shall belch his lucre out agaiu, while woe and want, in frenzied ire, shall drench in blood the street and plain and lash the rich with whips of fire. " i will not rest, god help me on, to do, and as a woman dare, the kings of earth to help dethrone. and help the millions in despair. " god blast the judge, his judge made law god blast the fiend that has no heart, who in his meshes, thousands draw. to rob at will and leave no part. " it is enough — the die is cast ! it is enough — it is the last ! the shackles shall from labor fall ! or revolution ruin all ! " )v[ay de veres* full fifty years have passed since then, and little boys have grown to men, and men have grown to hoary age, and passed like shadows from the stage, from all their work and active life, of sorrows full and much of strife. the little maids have reached their bloom. have reached beyond and to the tomb, have many fair and noble gone, as dreams of early youth have flown — since may de veres left my side, with angel fairies for a guide. like tides that flood the dreary beach. with sobs and sighs but never speech, has been the ebb and bitter flow, of heart and soul and earthly woe. for her i lost for heaven's gain — for her i loved — but not in vain. a fever came, as does a thief — its stay was harsh but very brief, it robbed the world of fairest gem, it robbed poor hearts, and left to them who mourned the lovely treasure lost — but faded leaves as of a frost. her dolly age had hardly fled, nor hardly had it found its bed, 132 poems of love and philosophy. in all its finest clothing dressed, sweet kissed and in her arm caressed and laid away to garret rest — ere i had been supremely blessed. blessed in her love when but a child, blessed in her love with rapture wild aud ere the warmth of sunny years had known of want or worldly cares, i had no other thought than hers, and with our play oft mingled tears. her father stern, forbid the coo, her mother's love was ever true — and when she knew her little maid was skittish — in degree afraid, as oft she did essay to be — she plead that i would with her gee. her home was in a little glen, just where the vale sloped into hill, just on the merge of mountain fen, just by the run of rippling rill. where alders glistened in the light. and hawthornes blossomed fair to sight. the sweetest hearts lived in that cot, fair flowers grew about the door. fair walks about the garden run. fair vines the porchway spreading o'er, as if to cheer the lovely one. and seemed to say, " forget-me-not." it seems a phantom of the mind, so many days have flown since then. so many years of sorrow passed. may de veres. isi since plucked we flowers in the glen, and loved each other to the last, while left we care and work behind. oh ! can it be that it is so ? it seems a dream so far away — it seems a dream of saddest years — it seems a dream without decay, because embalmed in bitter tears — because i can no further go. though wanes my saddened lamp of life, 'twas not in vain she went awaj", 'twas not in vain she loved and died, 'twas not in vain my lovely may did not become my earthly bride — did not become my wedded wife. oh god ! how sad is thy decree ! her parents grieved beyond control; they drooped when autumn's flowers fell, as more and more they turned to soul, and went to her in peace to dwell. and one large grave contains them all. and i alone am left with thee ! i feel as one upon a shore, more gloomy than the darkest night. with grief-stained face i wander o'er the sands of time without a light. save that we have to mortals given — fond hope of better things in heaven ! the cottage where my heart is left. in glen below the crowning cleft, has fallen into sad decay, 134 poems of love and philosophy. and not a flower left to blow, and not a path or sunny way to mark where all the beauty grew. my soul does brood upon this scene, my mind with all its memories green. comes here for rest, comes here for thought. comes here for grief that has no word, comes here for anguish deeply wrought. for voice of her that's never heard. but then she lived not all in vain ! the soul of man is not so true to things of earth, as those above ; for while we linger here in pain, we try of ill to much undo, for worthiness of those we love. i live as one who lives the past, i live as one who's had his day. as lives a tree that's felt the blast. and in its heart does feel decay, and longs alike for earthly rest with soul to soul among the blessed. there is no death where she has flown, there is no sin where she has gone. but purer far than roses bloom. i'll claim her always for my own, and live as one who lives to gain a crown of peace — with her to reign. soul rarmony* i love the streams that sing along, the mountain's shadowed glen ; i love the forest — not the throng of anxious, wear}' men. life's fondest dreams are found alone among the woodland hills, or where the warblers crown the zone, with melody that thrills. the sadness of the world is wrought — engendered by the race — of those who in their hearts have fought the talisman of peace. the ignis fatuus of the hope, that wealth will give us bliss, is but a strand of rotten rope — the devil's hit or miss. the glory of the world is not, the gaudy dress aud rod; nor by the glittering gold begot, and worshipped as a god. how vain are all these empty shows of tinsel-burthened prize, where mammon into greatness grows, while love and friendship dies. 135 136 poems of love and philosophy. the steepled church is nob the place, where god will hear the call of those who seek to see his face, with love and hope for all. if purity of life we seek religion of the heart, kind words of love to others speak, and bid the wrong depart. go counsel god deep in the wood, and list the whispering trees ; the warbling birds in cadence flood the wings of every breeze. put down your breast upon the ground, your heart upon the sod ; and throb to throb your soul is found, in unity with god. sweet peace and love will come to thee, like incense through the air falls on the triune, one in three, and three in one are there. i^ime* how unconcerned and willful do we squander time ! always present, yet forever moving ! half unheeded in our hurry for continual change, with hope for better days. his footprints fall relentlessly upon each living thing, the impress there remaining ever more, regardless of all wish of puny man. his course is never stayed ! no bugle call, no moving legions on the field of blood ; the raging storms, the rolling floods or crush of worlds, are powerless to stay an ebb of that relentless tide that moves at his commanding, down among the shadows of the dead, where silence is forever dumb. his rounding out the dimpled cheeks of youth, and giving to the lover all his dreams of bliss, and every hope we have does hang upon his evanescent wing, like lily bloom — or silver lining to a passing cloud. how many gaudy castles, formed along his pathway, in the morning of our lives, have tumbled into dust and bitterness of heart — is all remaining of the thought ! how strange the bittersweet — the bliss and gall, that crowd each other on the run of time like black and purple beads upou a string. that round and round with him forever go ! 1s7 138 poems of love and philosophy. how sad the thought that with a beaming smile of promise on his lips, that beckons us to follow in his labyrinths, for weal or woe — we go in faith, and trustingly ! yet while we go, we know that every step we tread, there's echoes from the dead — that all who follow him must grieve for ruined hopes and disappointments — dim with flowing tears. but then, old fate has so decreed it, for he holds a hand above us with a rod of iron to compel obedience. the only consolation left us is — that precious hours passing are our own, in which to fit all for eternit3\ we should improve these moments as they fly, for all the wisdom of a world of men can never tell by learning or in art, the record of a single day unborn. 6vu omens* in bitterness of sonl there comes, like storms that brew upon the mighty main, where winds prevail amid cold sleet and rain, and on the shores runs high the heaving tide — while clothed in darkness, demons onward ride with grinning front above the raging flood, and dismal voice that echoes up to god: a cataclasm in affairs of men approaches, such as there has seldom been. like noble form of some great goddess born, the nation sleeps, all sere, with mantle torn; her feet unshod, her lovely shoulders bare, and in her eyes, great tears are gathered there, because, though slumber dims the mortal sight, within her soul there shines a conscious light that ill betides of coming troubles deep. while weeping thus, in pain, she tries to sleep. this silent grief that from her lips escape, has caused her people to believe a rape has been committed on the form they love. and now are anxious for a chance to prove where is the vandal who has done the deed ? where is the wrong that makes the nation bleed ? where is the hand that laid the goddess low and struck the garland from her placid brow ? 140 poems of love and philosophy. the murmur first, was like the sighing sea, or like a soul that struggles to be free, that grows by sobs into a mighty wail. as howls the wind about a shivered sail, until the nation seems as if despair, would come to men and women everywhere, as face to face they turn, as if to know what hand is this that would the state undo? as scudding clouds foretell the coming gale ; as frozen snow and rain, the rattling hail — the flood kept back so long, of burning tears — the crop of anguish grown for many years ; the famished infant in its mother's arms should bring the kation fear and great alarm, that will not down while millions short of food lift up their voice in prayer to god. the scales are falling from the people's eyes, the mists of doubt from minds obscure arise; and now, as comes increasing light, thej^ see that courts of justice (?) grow the upas tree ; that trusts behind them stand with hellish glare, and bid them serve the people, if they dare ! and as these judges know old shylock's stealth, they chose to serve these men of sordid wealth. the public press contends that all is right, that all the trouble is, bold cranks affright " old confidence," and seek to keep away the re-appearance of a brighter day. and every ghoul and every beast of prey. who robs and kills, re-echoes, " better day," and try with skill to ebb the rising flood. while all their aids declare, " there is no god." evil omens. 141 there is no god but gold and lust and greed ; and thus distressed, the nation's gone to seed, amid the wreck and glory of her past — amid confusion that will ever last — until the people, hand to hand, contend against the monsters, who their forces lend to thwart all justice ; robbers give their aid and laugh to scorn a nation thus betrayed. all hope and truth have not forever gone; all honor has not from the nation flown ; pale through the gloom that now obscures the light, like sunbeams breaking through the darkest night — i see a gleam of hope, as tops the whispering pine. when morning comes apace with light divine, and with it comes the echo through the laud — " hail brother, friend, come join us heart and hand !" as drops of water, mingled, make the flood ; as mites of dust, the universe of god, so little hands and hearts united hold a wealth more precious far than gods of gold. a nation's trust is in their mighty arms, to bear her flag on high, when social storms arise from wrongs imposed upon the race. by those who rule and grind the people's face. strong hands and hearts in union, joined with truth. cangive the nation sere, immortal youth ; can save the ship of state that drifts ashore. amid the rocks and reefs and billows' roar. where wrecks of all the ages heaping, hoard with loss of all the clans that went on board so let each one assist to tack the sail and hold with might the guiding tiller wheel. 142 poems of love and philosophy. courage friends! the right will yet prevail, and millions yet unborn, with joy will hail. high on the ramparts, far above the flood of human wrath and all the hellish brood of ghouls who rob and on their victims gloat — the banner of the free, with wave and float, all stars undimmed and every stripe unfurled that dares a danger and defies the world. lillian. i knew her iu her early years, before her budding bloom, i knew her ere her childish cares had given the woman room. her face was like an open book. her heart was in her hand, with grace of heaven in her look, no angel could command. she lived as does a fairy queen. within some sylvan shade. to love her was but to be seen. this blushing, little maid. her home was fair and bowered o'er. beside the singing sea, where shells upon the shining shore. have much of love for me. not that i love the yellow sand. not that i love the shell, but that they oft were in her hand. or where her footsteps fell. the ocean tides that sung and played, along the gleaming shore, revered her tracks wherever made. and never washed them o'er. 143 144 poems of love and philosophy. and on the hill and in the vale, wherever she has tread, the charm is such they never fail, to grow a flower bed. her step is like the forest fawn, that nimbles through the wood, or like the lambs upon the lawn. in search of flower food. when day has settled with the sun, and stars come out to shine, and take their places, one by one, with faces all divine. fair lillian takes her seat above. on deck of gabled hall, and sings with all the strength of love, with voice of sweetest call. while in her eyes there shines a light, from depths of azure blue. that dims the stars that twinkle bright. and moon and all the crew of worlds that brim with fairy glow to light the darkened world below. zhc old jman's lament dear brother, comrade, can you see beyond the gloom that now obscures the life of poor men, bound and free, and every one who wrong endures, from those who rule and those who sway god's people in their blinded trust, who toil and grieve from day to day, and live upon a scanty crust ? mine eyes grow dim with heavy years of ceaseless effort to remove the blighted life and burning tears, of her i vowed to ever love ; of those intrusted to our care. by him who doeth all things well ; by him whose constant cross i bear. and of his sweetness love to tell. four children given, have we yet. were raised in faith and humble truth so deep instilled will not forget, the lessons learned in early youth ; will not forget their love of home ; will not forget — go where they will, the little house beneath the hill ; and yearly now to it they come. 145 146 poems of love and philosophy. sad days are these that come to me, that pass like shadows, when the night is on the valley and the sea ; and yet the mountain tops are bright with glintage of the setting sun of life's fond hopes, and still they run above the amber-tinted trees ; beyond the circle of the seas. jviusic* hast thou heard the murmuring music in the sunbeam's whisper from the stellar world ? or listened on some charming evening to the silver-luted moon, that breathing, sings among the garden shrubs and mountain pines ? for he who hath a soul that does commune "with god in nature, holds the key that can unlock a world of beauty to his gaze — and hear the sound of sweetest harmony that falls like incense from the shining spheres, which move like gems forever round and round their common centers, lights outhanging, as fair beacons for fraternal guidance. all the world is but a symphony — if we could only still our souls to hear the harp of nature, sounding all about. but when thou seekest it remember this : that pearls and gems will never fatten swine ; that music's jewel is the tuneful ear, with heart and mind in purest sympathy eefined to essence of divinity. 147 izhc cdatchmari* hail ! watchman, on the citadel ! hail ! guardsman, at your post ! o, can you see that all is well ? or is the nation lost ? who guards the battlements around the country's honor, fame ? where can the true and tried be found. who love their nation's name ? brave, on a thousand fields of gore, the life blood of the best ran down and mingled with the shore that skirts the soldier's rest. great spirits of the noble dead ; great sire and noble son : are not the skies with omens red. as when your work begun ? the flag you carried in the fight — the stripes that sheened the sun — the stars that twinkled in the night — where has their glory gone? go, ask the toiler in the mine. the farmer in the field ; the sturdy merchant, in decline, if they can see the shield ? go to the mothers, wan and pale, their children scantly fed ; 148 the watchman. 149 go out upon the highway, hail the tramps who beg for bread, — then tell me why this sore distress, from causes, what, arise ? who has the people thus oppressed, and why the nation dies. the bending heavens from above. proclaim god's care of all — proclaim equality and love — then why the nation's fall ? o, brother, can you not discern the writing on the wall ? o, will you not in duty turn to heed your country's call? secure you feel upon the wave when plenty rules the land ; but helped to dig the nation's grave as heedless as you ran! the coils about your limbs were thrown, when soothed by mammon's creed ; you served their party as your own, and helped the monster's greed. his plan has been for thirty years the people to divide — excite each to each other's fears, and into power ride. this done so long, there's little left, of rights these traitors heed. there's little left — we are bereft of liberty indeed. 150 poems of love and philosophy. the banner of our fathers floats high on the rampart wall ; the jeering traitor at it gloats and wish to see it fall. there is one hope — there's only one, on land or on the sea — one only hope beneath the sun, to save sweet liberty ! it is a union at the poll of men who dare the right, where brother, father, soul to soul, will vote in truth or fight ! who dare to break the tyrant's chain, his bond and golden rod, though millions in the fight are slain for country and for god ! shakespeare. pillared halls in grandeur may rise, a.nd columns fair, ascending to the skies, or pyramids of wide extending base, but monuments of some forgotten race in ages past, perhaps were built by kings for tombs, or grandeur which their presence brings to living men, of what the past has been in art and science since the world began ? the crowning hills, the mountains, awe bespeaks where snows eternal, clothe their lofty peaks at best, but dust, these haughty emblems are. their life seems as a day, when we compare their ages to the ages of that wonder one, who lived and died, half-known upon avon. time's withering hand will crumble these to dust, as all things else of earth time surely must bring down their lofty domes to sad decay, but mind, of one who has immortal youth — who spake and wrote for all, immortal truth, can never from the muses pass away. thus move great souls forever in advance of all things else, around their centerstance. as moves aurora round a shining star, — so shakespeare's works and glory will remain when hill tops crumble to the level plain, and lyric wonders gathering from afar, will sing as those who have no gloomy days. upon the harp and zither in his praise, 151 152 poems of love and philosophy. so long as mind to mind with soul adheres, and moves in silence on the fleeting years ; so long as turns in space the golden sun, or chattering rills to brimming rivers run. shall we live again? o horatio, i have been troubled with a thought so weird aud full of mental doubt, that in its grasp my soul is shriveled up, aud all my frosting locks are set on eud. like a lone sailor sounding the depths of an unknown sea, with lead aud line too light and short to reach the solid bottom, i have in vain endeavored to probe the depths of eternity. hope has hung her shining mantle on the crumbling brink of death, and beckons me to speak the truth. wrapped in doubt and mystery beyond. at times i seem a wonder to myself, and with anxious heart i feel around for evidence of what i am, like one groping in the dark. the christian's hope is based upon belief, confirmed to him by change of heart ; while swedenborg's disciples tell that, through the visions of the mind. they have beheld the conscious forms of loved ones counted lost. and with them held communion, word for word and face to face. 153 154 poems of love and philosophy. but then, defective mortal sight, looking through imagination's lens, is so uncertain and so oft deceived. that like a rainbow's shining ends. when reached, but mist alone remains. from gloomy chambers of the skeptic's mind, like slimy serpents of a hideous mould, crawls out the dark, cold thought that "death is an eternal sleep," while the scoffer and the babbling fool, in their conceit, declare there is no god ! can it be, good horatio, that these men divine the truth? that the soul is but a blank opinion. and that annihilation stands athwart the gaping door of death ? if this be so, then farewell love and ruined hopes ! farewell, reward for well-doing ; and let the longing, thirsting heart feed upon its cup of bitterness. if death is an eternal sleep, life, in its vexatious pathway is like the toilsome, foot-sore journey of a weary, hopeless traveler, climbing the heights of a frozen mountain, to look beyond on desolation ! no, my friend, it cannot be ! the brute does eat to sating, and content ; the birds have no thought but song, and for their chirping nestlings ; while man, with luxury surrounded. with every tempered want supplied. shall we live again? 155 sighs and pines for sometliing beyond the reach of mortal life. the contemplative sage in solicitude, and the burley, tatooed bushman running naked through the world, draw their highest inspiration from the same fond, joyous source — the innate hope of a hereafter. how can it be thus, horatio, if there was not a purpose, a design, in the make-up of creation ? if god has so ordained it, that the hopes and longings for a higher life ai^e part and parcel of our being, and has not made its counterpart — a rest, a respite, beyond ourselves — then the crowning glory of his work is but a life-consuming fire. wherein the divinity within us is turned to dust and ashes. h drama in three acts entitled grover the first written in 1894; revised cast. grover cleveland, white house parlor. mrs. cleveland. john sherman. c. p. huntington. attorney general olney. a. r. u. debs. jerry simpson. senator dan voorhees. senator hill. secretary of war lamont. populist mob, etc. 6rover the f irst* act i. enter clev. and this is what the world calls greatness! the circling earth to its uttermost doth surely herald our supremacy. men once counted quite my equals in affairs of state have growni so small in this commanding presence, that i do appear like gulliver surrounded by his pigmies. " a little brief authority," as shakespeare hath it, does not apply to me, for men were then much nearer equals, and the few who ruled did sport in skins, and eat their game in hand, with twisted legs upon the ground. that age of foolish kings avho lived as swine has passed away like slickings from a flume. and left the shining gold behind. with this bright oar we lash and goad the men, who dig all wealth from out the solid earth, to racks of want, with cords of usury. justice cries against us for laying on this heavy load; but .justice hath no hold on men who. thong and bind their fellows down. it is an essence of unmeasured weight. that's seldom felt by him who deals it out; and then, in this great babel of confusing tongues, where each reformer knifes his brother's hobby to the heart, and strides some blunderbus 159 160 poems of love and philosophy. that shoots both ways, oft killing more of friends than foes; coupled with the servile press, that freely feeds upon the spawn and spoor exuding from the loins of grasping wealth. until its ghoulish growth obtrudes upon disgust, and at command doth bay the moon, or howl oblivion down upon the dolt who dares obstruct the robber on his raids against the substance of the many, that favored few may pile up greater wealth, do give us full control and pow'r supreme o'er men and measures meted out to them. other souls, besides myself, have lived with some pretense and show of greatness — such as caesar and napoleon; but for a man all rounded out with great proportions, i have never had an equal! and so crowned heads of sleepy europe and islands of the sea do court my favor, counsel seek; and should the king of kings. great rothschild, so ordain it, i could spit in all their faces with im})uiiily. but why stop i to thus soliloquize while fortune's flood-tide sweeps me onward? ere two more years of rule have passed away the bubbling hell-broth i am stirring in the pottage mess of want and woe and hate will fill the gaping maw of anarchy and start the froth of revolution. then the time is come to set a heel of iron on the heart of discontent. and wipe the earth with all my enemies! between the two extremes in every move there is a midway halt — l)eyond that point grover the first. 161 we've passed, and now tend downward as the car of state goes grinding 'round the curves of time; and every milestone pass'd too plainly shows increasing speed! where shall we put on brakes? a single swing along this doubtful road may bring disaster to my glowing hopes. but why grow nervous at the timid thought of failure when with mind prodigious, steady hand, and nerves of hammered steel? with all the wealth and cunning of the world to back me in this greedy enterprise, there's little chance of failure in design. the army is my greatest shield in this emergency. its drill-beat now is heard in every state, and lengthening lines of foot and horse are on their way to washington ; so all things do portend the coming man of crowning rank, and greatest destiny. but when events herein portrayed shall make ambition weep for other worlds to conquer, what title shall i then assume? " president " was well enough for those who have preceded me. plebeians were they, and plebeians they ruled, advancement calls for men of higher mould than this scrub stock, and higher names as well. cromwell struck the middle ground of " lord protector." similitude there is between us; but years by hundreds have so changed the statis of the races ruled in gaul and england then, ijy petty lords and kings. that i can hardly pattern after them. so nothing short of czar, sultan or shah, or emperor, will well comport with all 162 poems of love and philosophy. my parts outlined upon the role of fame. which one of these shall i select? but hold! i do believe " grover the first " would be a better name. eureka! that will do! so let it be on land and sea proclaimed, by right divine this name transmitted down the line of my prodigious progeny! but, then! but, then! hardly can i hope to live always; and yet i have no son to follow me. two girls i have, 'tis true. but she kings shallow up to nonsense, when all dressed for show, in frills and furbelows. in this affair the state demands full heads, foundation thoughts, and sound discretion. what shall i do? and whither go for help in this supreme emergency? by zounds! there is one scheme, and only one,< to cheat the fates of their ordaining. napoleon's course with that beauharnais gal does open up the way, and would allow to me another wife, perhaps of royal blood. to bear male issue as successor to myself and ruler over all this people. but, then, there is a side to this bold move that does unnerve me at the outset. if i could cram the sneering world into one neck, of hate, upon a chopping block, and stop its wagging tongue at one fell stroke. green-eyed envy would no longer belch its gall upon me, like an ugly adder spitting out its venom from the grass on every unsuspecting passer-by. ^ and as a vent for all my pent-up rage. in sorrow, more than anger, i will say. grover the first. 163 if god from out this swinging world of dirt did make his true and living image here, and place within a soul immortal, designed to keep man's carcass saint-like in all this selfish sea of troulded life, his work has been a dismal failure, sure. and that bright place of rest prepar'd by him for those who live uprightly here below will surely be supremely lonesome. and so, in all this clang of rasping tongues, i can no further go than to adopt a son and heir, perhaps of noble blood. and on this line, i'll speak to frances mine. exit clev. sliding doors receding. mrs. cleveland and children. enter clev. clev. the baby sleeps, i see, my loving wife — its mother's pet and surely greatest joy. i only wish it was a strapping boy, to take my place and don my royal robes ^mlen i am weary of or through with them. fran, what meanest thou, my lord and master? clev. i mean some day that i most likely shall be titled king or emperor over all this great and growing people, swaying them as csesar did the ancient romans. fran. indeed! clev. yes; and then you know great caesar died without the shadow of an issue, and only for a sickly nephew chance 164 poems of love and philosophy. did bring him forward at the proper time the race of kings had ended with his death. i cannot take m_y chances thus, you see; in truth, must have male issue born to me, and if this cannot be, must then adopt a son — some one, perhaps, of noble blood — to rule this people with an iron rod when i am through with life and swaying them. fean. you a king! and i step-mother to some other woman's love and favored son! in heaven's holy name, what foul conceit possesses that surprising head of yours? no! no! my grover, not so fast; your mind's upset by its supreme importance, so i'll get a rag and bathe your fever'd brow with water from the fiery congress well, to which, for quenching thirst, proud carlisle leads on all great days of state occasion. clev. why jeer and taunt me thus, and set at naught my will? remember your degree of caste! you were half-orphaned and unknown, in fact, when i did stoop to call you wife, and deck you with a title high above the thought and hope of all your plebeian kin. fran. if unknown when you did seek my hand, i had a name as pure as drifting snow. hadst thou as much, my noble master? a woman's love, unsullied by a stain or blemish, weighs in worth, when balanced by a candid mind, much more than doughty titles won by men who slight all virtue, not appeasing lust or selfish ends. grover the first. 165 clev. what! thvis speak to one of 1113' account? at whose behest the common herd doth sway and bend, like willow boughs before a strong north wind! ye gods, protect us from the din crowned tirade of a woman scorned! fran. why, man, what folly does possess you? surely you are rattled with your brief authority! and like a beggar, horseback'd. by some sudden freak of fickle fortune seized; with whip and spur, through blooming fields. and pleasant vales, where singing streams enchant. and great armed trees stretch out their silvan shade, with here and there a shimmering sun-bar passing through the breaks, and falling on the emerald earth beneath, like jewel'd wealth. of all the world combin'd, — he breathless goes; with blinded sight and sense unconscious of a single thought, but that he rides! so lay aside the gads and trappings of disordered will; smooth down to decent manhood all these rough-hewn thoughts of yours, and be consistent, and yourself again. if gaunt ambition had no hold on man — beyond conceptions of fair duty to his fellow man — and all his limping ways were justified by conscience of his own. lax and laggard though it surely is, — how chang'd would be the world in which we live! conceit would simmer down to hated dross; selfish lives grow dim with years of shame; great wealth devoted to the common good ; honor stand as shining guideposts 'long the path of virtue; chivalrous monsters 166 poems of love and philosophy. cease protecting woman from insults on every hand — not by themselves imposed — while peace and plenty everywhere prevailed. clev. hold your rattling tongue, or surely will i smash the hand of fate, that binds me as a menial thus to take this tirade! enter sherman. sher. i beg indulgence for intruding thus. [aside — a family row, as i do live!] with your good pleasure, mr. president, i simply call'd to see you on that new bond issue, spoken of the other day. you know carlisle is on the ragged edge about the cloughhead bill of wild-eyed bland, proposing coinage of the seigniorage of that white metal which has kept me on the rack of censure since the dollar of our daddies died in seventy-three. and so he's blowing hot and blowing cold, between a silver curse and gold adore. with shylock threatening for a scare; and jerry simpson everywhere is railing for the people's cause. for silver free and fiat laws. to make cheap money for the millions. and then your secretary, gushing, throws his ballast overboard, and goes and sits in gotham at the bankers' elite feast. and wined and dined so lavishly that ere the groaning table's cleared he was quite full up to the beard. and then came learned financeer, thick and fast. grover the first. 167 from out his gaping jaws, of voiding laws and obsolete, for bases of new bonds. and then he said in ringing rhapsodies, this government is very great and can do many things, " but cannot make its money." and now this loosened speech is working on the public mind like brewers' yeast in tubs and vats before the beer is made. clev. blast your bloody bones, john sherman, for this robber raid upon our privacy! you're none too good to jeer about it on the gaping streets and walks of washington. sher. in the name of neptune, grover, what doth ail you? surely something has upset your stern and ragged-edge diplomacy. and left the wits within your lath'ring head to swim around with gloomy chaos! clev. well, since you have presum'd intrusion on my inner life, and kicked discretion to the winds, i'll break the matter to you, thus : you see, my wife is mad, and from pandora's viper box hath pour'd her wrath upon me. sher. what outrage upon a noble woman could induce her silver tongue to lash you with the scorn that's always uppermost in every female heart, when deeply wrong'd? clev. well, j^ou see, i have a scheme, born of ambition — reckless, you may call it, though. but in conception, brighter than the moon. sher. well? 168 poems of love and philosophy. clev. well, you know, the ranting curs that yelp along our track like howling woives upon the pathway of a frightened flock of sheep — 8her. well? clev. well, in truth, i have contrived a plan to down our enemies and all at once, by punching these ferments to boiling heat in blazing cauldrons of the common mind, until extremes shall meet in dire collision. and then we'll bring to bear the heavy arm of force full drilled and so disciplined to our liking, down upon this herd of ingrates, who jeer at our endeavors for their good. we'll do this under pretext for the care of state, with law and order for our shield. all things will then stand still and tiptoed. waiting for the man of destiny; and so, you see, there'll be no other one but me to take the role of dictator, a la napoleon or a cromwell. sher. wonderful conception, i must admit. friend cleveland. nevertheless, there forces on me an impression that the nearer you reach the end in view, the nearer will you reach the hangman's halter. clev. hold fast your]adder tongue, john sherman, hold! i can but feel the sharp rebuke that viper circles all your words, like stinging nettles bound about a rasping sore. you do forget that i but follow counsel of your own in this great game of nervy chance. however much i do abhor thy presence. grover the first. 169 be assured that i will keep my pledge to give you second place in this affair. , what riled the woman when you entered was my kind proposal to adopt a son, perhaps of royal blood, successor of myself to rule this turbid people. sher. (aside) (pray, good devil, take me ere this howling fraud brings rack and ruin on us all!) if ever i did hint a thing like that, and promise league with you in this intrigue, i now and here renounce my claim upon your favor. sackcloth wrap about my loins, and hot gall pour upon my foolish tongue, for ever utt'ring such absurdity — and ask contrite forgiveness of the lord for stooping thus to counsel with you — but of advice, should i presume to give it further, will just say, the world would be the better off, and womanhood in purer moods promoted, should you in haste withdraw from her whose heart, for years has been upon the sacrificial altar, like a dove sharp pinioned over scorching embers. then, if ambitious of a greater name and progeny of sire so big and grand, male born and greatly like your strutting self, lilioukalani surely would you better suit. " paramount " blount did open up the way and willis hath the last obstructions mov'd to your royal wedding with that dusky, dumpy, doubtful sea-girt maiden. clev. say, john sherman, i will have no more of your corroding, clownish impudence. 170 poems of love and philosophy. pray, who are you, from whom i gasping take these saber cutting wounds, and whiplash stings that drive me back upon my inner self, for some defense that shall disarm you of the spits and gads on which you roast me. of all the men divinely built of dirt, and spawned upon the human race, you have no equal, in the line, of aping honest work in all affairs of state, where you can lend the devil service, underhand and secure, at shylock rates of usury. you've been a rasping clog in every wheel of progress started for the public good. with all the cunning of a wily fox untreed for trespass on a chicken roost, you struck the dollar from the coinage act while in your hands, and then declared upon your honor as a man, no change material, had been made therein. and years had pass'd before your cunning work was noised about and fully understood. how much your share of all that english gold brought hence by ernest syed to help this deed of infamy, i cannot surely say. by intrigue, worse than downright robber}^ your wall street bank is made a shining dump for many millions of the people's gold, on which for thirty years they've paid per cent bought up with bonds now interest bearing ; and so for all this time you've bled the nation of its wealth, struck down the hand of toil. that you might richer grow on bond per cent, per cent of notes thereon unfairly issued. and while you get per cent on all those bonds grover the first. 171 and all these notes, you hold the shining gold, so purchased by these bonds, and loan it out for your own 'profit, thus receiving triple rates of usury from the people on one surprising single coin investment, not invested in the notes and bonds you hold; trading on your vote, affecting trusts has been, no doubt, a common thing with you. and when old shylock wish'd a pliant tool to make a law, or change some clause therein. that would insure some other robl:)ery under forms of legal villainy, john sherman was the man thought safest to employ, and thus your millions have been piled regardless of your sacred trust. sher. hold just there, your excellency! 'tis bad for glass-house dwellers to be throwing stones; you speak of money made by me precariously. may i enquire how many sheckels found their way into your own capacious maw? then you speak of my rough raid on silver! before you struck the white house stool nine years ago, your letters railed against an act by bland, for monthly silver coinage of two millions, and when the chair of state was widened out to fit a carcass — ample in its hips and breadth of beam — you wrote in message every year against said silver act, and when your platitudes were smash'd to atoms l)y your good friend beck, returned you to the sick'ning tilt again, as does a sow to wallow in a hole. 172 poems of love and philosophy. how much for that you did receive i can not say, nor for the bills you father'd, but this we know, that avhen your blind horse riding ended, forc'd by tippecanoe born blood, you strode into your gotham den. hypothecated and retained by near a hundred gold-bug firms and trusts and hook-nosed english syndicates. taking all these things together, there's small wonder that you were returned four years later, through uncommon use of gold — and gab and mugwump paper plaudits; scarce seated were you when the hell-broth of disaster bubbled up on every hand from full a thousand hidden springs of greed. with your concurrence wall street started out her sleuth-hounds on the track of every one who dar'd to cross their scenting trailways, demanding payments for their credits when no money could be found. in every city. large and small, they urged their cohorts for more cash, who in their turn did pounce upon the merchant, tradesman and the farmer. and every one did run amuck in search of yellow eagles, cali'd to go to gotham. trade stood still, appall'd. ten thousand looms refus'd to move; the arts did lean upon decay, and ruin rested on the threshold of a million homes. strong men were bound, by cunning greed, to racks of penury; children crying, famished on the streets; and noble women, nurtured in the lap of virtue, fed upon their own depravity. the deed was done; and, chuckling in the face grover the first. 173 of want, you called j'our extra session, but design'd to strangle silver and its aids, as does a midnight robber strangle peaceful sleepers in his ghoulish work. if i have freely fed on fat things from the public funds and moulded millions out of naught but cheek by jowl and cunning greed; the part you've played in like proceedings in your own behalf doth dim my record in support of wrong — as does a pestilence the memory of a stomach cramps induced by eating corn, or green persimmons. that i have done much wrong i do admit, with much of sorrow and contrition bowed. unconscious of the trend, i've helped to lay the viper eggs that hatch great trusts and villain syndicates, which freely feed upon the nation's tender vitals, like vampire bats, wing soothing as they draw the life blood from their weary victims. received retainers have i from the state's despoiler's; fill'd weak banks and greedy ones with gold, bond purchased for the purpose, under plea of needed coin reserves. promoted love of wealth insatiable. in all ways helping me to get a part of it, and have not scrupled use in aid of courts defending many robberies. but all these ills compounded into one are but as little flaws in my long drawn and checkered life, compar'd to those promoted by your single self! exit sher. and clev. 174 poems of love and philosophy. act ii. enter huntington. hunt. it is distressing for a nican of my account to be compelled thus nose around and court the favor of a jackal pack that's ghoulish in its greed for further raids upon the substance of the common herd; but, then, i must secure some valid help, for this obnoxious strike does worry us and stills all conscience, while my wits do work. the only hope i have, it does appear to me, is through old olney — witty cur — to cleveland's fierce but duller judgment. this attorney sure will serve us well, as we from nothing made him what he is and can undo him with a single breath. enter olney. hunt. glad to see you, olney. any news ? where does cleveland stand in this great strike? what is his mood to-day? and what says he about the brewing storm? and what about the use of federal troops to put it down? will he espouse our cause with that blind force of human will that totters empires in a day? has he the nerve to stand the storm of wrath exuding from the common herd. and all the fiery ordeal he must pass in calling on the troops to stand between the strikers and the moving pullmans? ol. be assured, good friend, that all is well. your utmost wish has been anticipated. grover the first. 175 you should have learn'd my cunning ere this time; in fact, the fat retainers given nie by you and your prolific people, with promise of far richer spoils to come, concludes me in the faith of this assurance. you know the president is but a child in state affairs. he's like a buzzing wheel of solder spinning round unsteady base. while segments of the rim are flying off at tangents, as events do press him onward — no boat more insecure without a rudder, wind-scudding through a lashing sea of foam. than is the ship of state, with cleveland at the helm, unaided by my ready hand. with bissell's mail conveying order for a mudsill, i have built a structure that will stand the storm of this upheaval. so move your trains just as you wish them; go " in usual and the ordinary way," with pullman cars attachej:!, and we will see no harm befalls you through unlawful raids of these rough strikers who are food for dogs. gird up your loins with much of faith and hope, good friend, and leave the rest to me; i'll have the troops on hand whenever needed for defense. and on pretense of moving all the mails we will protect your hated pullmans. and be assured of this, for if the worst should come, the bayonet shall be our first defense, then spensers will play havoc with the crowd. if these will not let blood enough to satisfy, we'll let the gatlings and the cannon loose for better execution, and when the brush is over vou can sue 176 poems of love and philosophy. the towns and cities for all damage done, and get for carrying supplies and troops some millions more of uncle sam's hard cash, and so when final settlements are made the railroads will be ahead and have their battle fought and won against the clans of workingmen, to their distressed undoing. hunt. good friend olney, keep your word and be assured of a reward magnificent. we must put down these ranting union curs; we cannot suffer them to gain a point. should they succeed in this supreme effront, these domineering dolts would damn the land, dictate what kind of men we should employ. the avages we should pay, what cars we run, tie up the moving commerce of the state, and chaos come to every enterprise. with this great contest won, no more we'll see this hydra-headed monster starting up at every turn we put upon tlie screws. designed to bind these ugly, selfish men within the lines subjective to our will. and then, again, dear olney, if you can but help me pass my little funding bill, the wealth of ormus or of ind is yours. our grip will be renewed in all the land. the western coast will be content to " do our will *' — to take what taxes we may mind to pay, grumble not at transit rates, and leave to us the courts and legislature. ol. very well. i will obey commands of yours. considered now almost omnipotent; and as retained by your munificence grover the first. every branch of this great government shall hinge its action on your pleasure. exit. scene ii. enter debs. debs. we are undone; the strike is surely lost. god help us and our country's waning cause! labor, writhing, bleeds beneath the iron heel of corporate and concentrated wealth. hope hath her pinions clipped by usury ; distress has settled down upon the threshold of a million homes, and other millions tramp the streets and dusty highways. countless willing hands are idle now, great want we have where plenty should prevail. while dumb the nation stands and paralyzed, and hovers on the brink of revolution. one hope alone is left in all this chaos of despair. one thought should move each mind and nerve the heart for final contest — the ballot yet is left us. through it we see the beacon light of better days. a revolution peaceful and serene by it may be effected. who will grasp the opportunity before it passes? let the little bickerings of the nation's workers cease; burn from your bitter souls the dross of selfishness; let unity of action be our ringing watch-word call. and then with faith in god and man, and use of ballots, we shall surely win this fall, 177 178 poems of love and philosophy. and save the nation from the ruin now everywhere impending. scene iii. enter clev. enter newsboy. morning herald! latest 'count of 'lection. clev. reads. " new york, november seventh, ninety four. one hundred populist congressmen elected from the south and western states; seven governors and legislatures, same stripe, insuring as many senators for people's party in the coming congress," 0, great caesar! where is thy brazen shield? and almighty hand that smote the romans, give me nerve for such portend occasions! this rough raid against my policy must backward move, or ninety-six will see these robbers running this great government! so, by the great eternal, i will smash it with an iron hand, or — best perchance, it is to use john sherman policy. " to be, or not to be," is now the burning question. perhaps this hungry, scurvy crew of nondescripts can be seduced by favors from my purse or patronage — at all events i'll try it on. [ writes.] here, ned! be quick, and take this note to that old ranting rancher, jerry simpson. — this does surely let me down an inch or two grover the first. 179 in my conceit, to eat black crow at my own table, hot swallowed and repulsive! enter simpson. (aside.) i wonder why i am thus call'd to this detested presence? perhaps the late elections paved the way to grover's stony heart? clev. glad to see you, mr. simpson; take a seat— but why in thunder came you here all sere and sockless as a strutting stork? had you but mentioned your disparity i would have sent you some of my best silks. simp. no offense intended, your excellency. but as to living in your musty hose, i'll simply say i'm better housed at home, unless, perchance, i go fishing down to buzzard's bay and need an ample tent. clev. pray let that pass with wine and nuts for two, and down to urgent business. simp. " let them pass with wine and nuts for two," old socks, with wine, perhaps, 'twere good for you. but my poor stomach will not take such draughts. what's this great business boom and so portend? clev. well, laying jokes aside, i wish to know if you would like an english mission — one to germany ; or if the russian eagles suit you better, just say the word. they're all submissive to your pleasure. simp (aside.) well, did you ever. no, i never! clev. what, friend simpson, think you of my offer? 180 poems of love and philosophy. there's not a man in this broad, sunny land who would not tumble to it all at once. simp. did your father die with rabies? and was your mother witch-burned? clev. how dare you talk so lightly of my kin? if 'twas not for this damn'd diplomacy — observed in all affairs of state — i'd kick you tumbling from my injured presence. simp. no reflection was intended — only this: i could not well account the parents of a son like you to be right-minded, or having souls of good intent, so large as spider woof, or chigger feet. clev. then are you so insane as thus to jeer at my prodigious offer? 0, ye gods! what fools thou makest of some people! simp. say, cleveland! what the devil are j^ou driving at? you seem to take me for a cur, that thinks of naught but falling crumbs and venison haunches half consumed! you call me friend, when all the friendship now between us could be heated by a polar glacier. this you know; and yet you have the cheek to offer me a shining place in that magnanimous way the devil offered christ possession of the world! i see your brazen purpose; 'tis a bribe to break this hold upon my people and stay their growing hopes of some relief from god and honest human effort. you wish for me to go and kennel with grover the first. 181 the hounds of old perfidious albion, wear knee pants, full frills and powder'd hair; bend obeisance to sham shuttlecocks. and lick the hand of rotten royalty. no, never, while my name is simpson! i'd rather live upon my mortgaged farm; plod the turning furrows for my bread; pay usury to help the greed of man. than wear the velvets of an aping snob. my people sent me here to aid their cause, to check the hellish current of your laws. and back destruction's roll upon destroyers. my country's cause is mine, my conscience is my guide, and may the harpies hang me when i shirk or budge an inch from duty. with eyes half open you should plainly see the coming doom of those who plot and thwart the public will. honored hast thou been above all hope of common men, and yet an ingrate art thou — coldly plotting for the favored few, while want and ruin's running riot in the gaping land. god rules, and, like his raging storms, full bred in foul and stagnant air cy cloning all the filthy plague spots from the reeking earth — so thou, great wonder of compound conceit, shalt surely feel, full-forc'd, the drifting scourge of public scorn, and chaos come to all your schemes and shameless villainies. exit simp. clev. zounds! if this does not amaze me much! a sere and sockless hay-seed, cradled in the western blizzards, toiling daily for 182 poems of love and philosophy. his stinted bread, in iields of corn all split and splintered up by driving storms of hail; with zero for a bedroom, brac'd about with dung heaps running to the ridge pole. refusing with disdain an english mission from my generous hand! perhaps i do mistake these sturdy people? can it be that virtue hath a hold on men thus bred and born in want and mortgaged homes. above the price of gold or stately hold? if this be so, and all the toiling millions of the land should reach the meat and inwardness of these fine schemes of ours — well seasoned for the men who feast and rule — pandemonium would break out in spots as big as sovereign states, and woe betide the small and greater rascals of us all! but then why cow at such disorder'd thought. some there may be of this simpson kind who value honor more than shining place. but sure the gall and grit of all the world would make but few such hide bound fellows. exit clev. scene iv. enter vooehees. voor. this surely does beat wabash butternuts! to think that i have crawled so far in slime and filth to sate the lustful power of one whom i detest in every move he makes! but, like golgotha — lore of ancient jew — there is a strange oppressive spell that holds the will of everyone who passes by grover the first. 183 the bust and hoo doo head of cleveland. but then, i've gone so far in eating dirt my master calls upon me thus to swallow, that sliould i stop to vomit now, the world with all its gaping jaws, would know the part i've played in this unpleasant business. and so i'll keep my counsel to myself and gang me further homeward. enter hill. {runs up against voorhees.) hill. hello, stranger! who are you, thus prowling in this gloomy wood so late at night? voor. and you, who keeps me butting company? hill. just lost m}way in passing through this place. and may the devil take us both if there's design or any mischief in our blood! voor. no mischief prone in me of any kind; no more than in a lonely suckling dove that's hunting for its truant mother. hill. then on this theme we are agreed, but who are you in name or deed? voor. long dan, a senator from the wal)ash. now, may i know your name and place? hill. you should remember hill from gotham old. voor. and so wemeet as if by chance, and since we do thus meet, pray let us have a talk about our pique and little differences, and try regain the friendship once we knew. and to begin, i'll ask quite pleasantly. 184 poems of love and philosophy. why do you drub me with your stinging tongue whenever you can make a run upon the president; in faitli, i do but grin and chuckle every time you slaughter him. to save the party i have stuck to this old fraud through thick and thin and taken all the prods and gads and jeers of hate from every cutting tongue, and thus impal'd i've walked the senate hoor, and in the streets, like a lion wounded in defense of that he hates, and scowls at all observers. in favoring schemes and selfish ends of his, i've ruined all my future hope of place. so on the wabash all my power's gone; friends once counted dear do turn upon me with a glare which says as plain as words, " what next do you design in villainy? " i gave my aid in striking silver down to sate the greed of this great monster. detested always have i stocks and bonds, and yet in haste did i excuse carlisle for issuing them. cleveland wished my aid and so i gave it like a slave regarding nothing but his master's stubborn will. i have upheld the wilson bill, as one large fraught with democratic principle, when, in fact, it is a patchwork of concessions, dovetailed in together with as many cuts and colors as the rainbow. and now as void of justice as the devi'l holding court to judge a wayward soul. hill. well, dan, in truth, with all my heart i do forgive you, as i wish to be forgiven. grover the first. 185 circumstances held you down before that hope destroyer, till faith no longer lives for him who has betrayed a sacred trust. you know i've hated g rover cleveland as the devil does a holy sacrament. i will admit the chief degree of gall was pour'd into my cup two years ago, when he did rob me of my rightful nomination, now my hope is gone. because he's left no rallying point in all the chaos of democracy. and so i have declared in every case — save, of course, that hypocritical episode so recently on the boards. bill'd there to fully boost me back into the party's lead and thinning ranks again — the canvass now is on for ninety-four, and we are out the field of politics. the race goes hot between the rotten g. 0. p's and sanguine populists who ranting run; but since old tammany can never get the lion's share of spoils the present year, we'll have to skulk in camp, while watching wait, and live on gotham blood and little windfalls. voor. well, since old wabash seems with weaver's crowd, i'l leave my party in its shroud and go that way as well. exit hill and voor. 186 poems of love and philosophy. act iii. enter lamont and clev. clev. glad to see you, dan. how prospers now your drills and mobilizing of the raw recruits. a crisis seems to be at hand, and we must be prepared to choke it down. lam. the army's safe as frozen cider, but this election news is very bad. clev. how so? lam. have you not heard reports now coming in, relating how some dozen states have gone to weaver's ilk, insuring to his clan election and the loss of place to all who hold them now, including some control of senate and the house, and two years hence will see yoii boosted from your chair unless the army aids us all in holding it. clev. 0, great gospel of the holy prophets! do you tell me truly? and if so. what provision shall we make to thwart the purpose of these ranting lunatics? lam. 'tis true as heaven's everlasting law that no effect can come without a cause. as to the course we should pursue in this emergency i will say, with anxious care — companion and stepmother of discretion — we can with ease control the rising tide. but first: confusion worse confounded must be wrought by punching up to boiling heat the foul fag ends of hate and party feud. grover the first. 187 and egging on the servile press to breed a doubt within the public mind as to the count in every state, where pretext can discover ample way. we have, you know, some blanket dailies yet remain with us. which strike the licks that ring around the world; and then the weekly town, and rural press is mostly in our hands, all purchased with cheap ads of stocks, and nostrums, notes on banking, finance news and charity gifts by plutocratic cormorants — all prepared to order by our agents. with these great aids combin'd in our behalf, wisely used in casting doubt upon the votes returned from sources other than our own, clash will come the public mind and cleave asunder honest men, who wish always to guard the right, but, when deceiv'd and wrought to heat by fakes and cunning lies. do battle for the wrong with nerves of steel. and then will chaos come, and if we do not lose our mother wit we'll win the fight. the hand-to-hand contest that we shall have to meet will be a struggling, howling mob. half crazed by rum and gnawing hunger. then with brazen cannon set in every street. with stomachs loaded full of shot and shell. we'll leave no place but death or gaping hell for those who dare to stand before them. the army proper, fifty thousand strong, well drilled, is ready now for action. the country's quotas now are coming in. full fifty thousand more, disciplined on the road, which i shall hold reserve 188 poems of love and philosophy. in fort and camp for this emergency. with lavish hand we've used the money meted out to us, upon those raw recruits; and then, by special dispensations. lined we the pockets of commandants with these bright eagles, until love of gain has sapped the soul of patriotism and left but bones and skin as cover for a whitened sepulcher, wherein did dwell the heart's enthroned divinity. for, as you know, this shining gold will gnaw the conscience out of every one of us. as does a cancer eat away the flesh of one who struggles with a deathly grasp. until his body rots in its embrace! so, in this swim of life and living well, these god-like men have devil turned beyond control of connnon decency. and with their belching guns and spears in hand will coldly cleave asunder friend or foe who dares obtrusion on their mettle. the forts around this city are secure, full provisioned, guns well trained. with shot and shell sufticient for a siege. clev. good report, my loyal secretary! now, buckle on your armor for the fray. ends well all things well ordained. how long this strain will last no one can tell; but when the break-up comes, as come it must. be sure our fortunes move upon the flood as onward float we on this turbid stream. or else the eddies near the shore will find us helpless circling with them. grover the first. 189 and now, farewell, till out of chaos comes subjection to my will, and rule supreme over all these warring elements. exit lam. clev. (^inedifating.) and so the game is set, and i must roll for all the pins, and if i miss the mark. my head may roll from off my shoulders! re-enter lam. (excited.) lam. your excellency, our cause is lost. clev. lost? how dare you tell me such a tale as this. when just a moment since j^ou said that all was well and everything on top? and now you say our cause is lost! what ails you, man? fright has surely taken all your wits away, or else i can but call you mad. lam. yes, mad, and lost beyond redemption! for full two years we've both been worse than mad. we've run at large while madmeji should be lock'd beyond the call of harm; l)ut being mad and loose, we have, for lust of power. maddened sixty million people, who are now to be aveng'd for ruin wrought by us, to fiends or devils turned. and so the streets are full of wild-eyed men, all struggling, yelling come they up to this white mansion, full intent to take us hence for swinging rope or bloody guillotine? and then, again, it does appear that. god has so ordained it that the soul of man shall break from shining shekels when the test 190 poems of love and philosophy. does come between betrayal of the rights divinely planted in each human breast — the love of home and largest liberty — and men with cunning measures meting out destruction to all rights and forms and laws, by themselves dictated and imposed. and thus the raw recruits on which we did depend for aid in this emergency have, as one man, ignor'd this volunteered subserviency, and from the smoldering embers of their early love of home and truth have kindled up a fire, that greater grows behind each flying spark of precious time, and in this swimming rush of discontent the heavy jaws of fate are closing back upon our hopes and forms like earthquake cracks upon lost victims, sifted in them. and so the fruit of all this hellish work, more bitter than the gall nuts from aleppo, press our pallid lips for tasting. clev. is this handwriting on the wall like that belshazzer saw? it looks that way just now. the seas of want and hate are running high. and all the tides at once seem striving for the topmost roll, as on and on they come, while stand exulting devils chuckling in the breakers nearer shore, awaiting there to gather in another crop of fools. it cannot be that we are lost in this amazing strut of cranks and trades and long haired yeomen, lately so much cowed that you could kick them in the streets like curs. and send them howling to their dirty holes. grover the first. 191 lamont, i wish to know where are those men with minds prodigious, trustful, great and true, whom i have chosen for my counsellors? i need their aid to help me hind a load of retrihution on the hacks of this unyielding people, till they cry aloud for peace and rest from many ills by me inflicted on them for their jeering hate and disobedience of my sov'reign will in all affairs affecting this great state. lam. most of them have made provision for themselves. a wall street banker gives carlisle the second place for favors and support. clev. devilish cheap for such subserviency! lam. the trusts have given olney great retainers; the g. 0. p's. have gresham in their fold again; hoke goes cotton planting down in georgia; the howling hayseeds in the woolly west have stripped poor morton to the tender skin. and now he's bathing in his wife's great tul) to get the tar and feathers off of him; brave herbert's got the charleston out to sea to rid himself of your good pleasure; wilson's bad digestion of his tariff bill has given him the gripes; dan voorhees' corpse was found this morning floating in the river. lashed on lengthwise to a avabash sapling. there being no more schemes of greed to hatch. or corporation pipes to lay along the lonesome avenues of ruin'cl trade. john sherman's waddled off to canada with all the boodle he can carrv. 192 poems of love and philosophy. and so your excellency and myself are all that's left of that great clan of men who tried in vain to hold a nation doavn by blasting, as with fire and racking scourge, each growing hope or prospect of relief, that we might ride, rough shod, with gad and spur, the hag of fortune over it. clev. get out with all your -rot! i'll have no more. betrayed me, have you, as a dog deserts his master in the midst of howling wolves? i will not yield! there's nothing lost to me that this strong arm cannot recover. god rules the seas and circling universe, but not more surely than i rule this people. woe supreme may shadow all the earth, hell gnaw out the solid bowels of the rock-ribbed hills, and burn to dross the alps, the andes and great everest, but all these ills compounded into one shall not deter me from my onward course in this great game of rule or ruin. expectant troops await my coming now in fort and field. i will assume command as cfesar did on like occasion — break through this seething mass of maddened men avith shot and shell, and show the gaping world a hero never yet surpassed! lam. too late your fervor comes to stay the tide. of human wrath, that sweeps upon us like a raging sea, relentless, 'round a shivered vessel in midocean. these jarring walls their purpose do portend, grover the first. 193 like bloodhounds on the track of some great game, long baffling them in hot pursuit of it. do now, avith lolling tongues and panting l)reath, cavorting, yelp and bay around a hole in which the monster has found lodgment. and thus it is with thy commanding self. so, if no way of exit can be found. you will surely swing to hades from the arm of injured .justice, long by you defied. exit lam. clev. with all my ponderous weight of gall, i must admit, in truth, that i have been an aping fool — fed on presumption born of mind disordered by a tickled sense of great importance, strutting as a king supreme, and lost to all discretion! i've sought to lead in schemes outspoken when common sense would call an honest man to follow in the wake outlined by truth on every day of my conceited rule. i've warmed a viper in my breast that's stung me deathly. now, there seems no certain cnve or antidote to take away the sting. and so just retribution finds me here, undone, disgrac'd, alone in grief and fear. with some returning sense of conscience lost. so now, with not a mourner by my sitle, i go to dregs and endless infamy. and if i call to find a crack or hole, that i may pull in after me. 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what if all our missionaries and their work, the prayers and gifts and genuine altruism of christ’s followers, be ignored ? can we not stretch a hand across the centuries and oe glad with paul? “what then? notwithstanding, every way, whether in pretence, or in truth, christ is preached ; and i therein do rejoice, yea, and will rejoice.” if the harvest ripen, why shall we grieve if the sower be unknown? has it not been well said of our civilization that it is “ largely the product of the forgotten”? the english landscape is a joy to the eye. “to whom are englishmen to-day indebted for bringing the primeval forest into this condition? to more than fifty generations of forgotten toilers. it is largely the magnificent gift to the present of dead and unremembered men.” so may we say con cerning results in that gospel enterprise whose field is not only japan but the world. 3 yet the japanese themselves are beginning to acknowledge the debt they owe to americans. ^years ago, when the writer uttered his belief that the japanese would themselves yet rear to commodore m. c. perry a monument in recognition of the bless ings he brought them, the assertion was greeted with a hearty laugh, and in some quarters i'eferred to with jeers. yet to-day there stands at kurihama, fronting the bay of yedo, in the midst of “ perry park,” a monument of sendai stone, chiseled deep with a grateful inscription of acknowledgment from the pen of japan’s premier. marquis ito. in honor of the e\ ent of july 9, 18^3, besides oratory and poetry of the celebration, the steel battleships of japan and a double-turreted war vessel of the united states navy added in 1901 their 4 diapason in fraternal and memorial salutes. rear admiral l. a. beardslee, once a midshipman on a frigate in perry’s peaceful armada, was there, besides a throng of our own countrymen and high officers of state. this is what the japanese themselves say : — this visit of commodore perry was the turning of the key which opened the doors of the japanese empire to friendly intercourse with the united states, and subsequently to the rest of the nations on similar terms ; and may in truth be regarded as the most memorable event in our annals : an event which paved the way for and accelerated the introduction of a new order of things ; an event that enabled our country to enter upon the unprecedented era of national ascendancy in which we are now living.” yet what has been japan’s line of progress.^ what the order of events.^ let us inquire. taking our stand in imagination al kurihama in 1s54, let us look at the social and moral conditions armed now with the x-ray of historical research, and do the japanese full justice apart from foreign and christian bias. let us acknowdedge first of all, there was a despotism at yedo which gave priestcraft, stupid officialdom, reactionarv mediocrity, and all the devil’s forces of the exclusion of ideas and the inclusion of the people, their full opportunity, while every principle of progress, every hope of imprisoned or murdered reformer and all native possibilities of improvement were sternly repressed. 'let us frankly confess that the japanese genius and hereditary forces, in the light of nature, would of themselves have done much to re-create and improve. let us even imagine, if we can, that possibly with out foreign influences or christianity, the condition of the population (kept immorally stationary for a hundred years), the slavery of woman in harlotry, the rule of the sword, the elaborate oppression of the people, the existence of a pariah (eta) class, the low state of woman, kept so by religious dogma, the ravages of unnatural disease, the disastrous social heresies, might have been profoundly modified for the better. yet after making full allowance for interior potencies unfertilized from without, we declare it to be impos sible, with them alone in view, to account for the japan of to-day, or even as much as half of her moral potency. without christian civilization, and more particularly of active christian effort, by the men and women borne from christendom to japan by the gales of prayer and working there sus tained by the holy spirit and the praying and giving christians at home, there w'ould have been no such japan as we see to-day, with a promise and potency of moral progress almost equal to her advance in things material. 6 without one christian man on the soil, the clans most hostile to the yedo government might have upset the old order of things political, and given unity and a new outlook to the nation, but, personally, we doubt it. they might, in japanese phrase, have changed the mats but not the floor. as matter of simple fact, it was christianity that gave japan new foundations. let 'us recall and remember. at nagasaki, in 1858, an american mis sionary layman from china and interpreter to commodore perry, s. wells williams, the u. s. naval chaplain henry wood, with rev. e. w. syle, sailors’ chaplain at shanghai, all american citizens, heard officially that the japanese were “ready to allow foreigners all trading privileges, if a way could be found to keep opium and christianity out of the country.” there upon “ we three,” one of them writes, “ agreed to write home for mission aries for japan who could teach the people what true christianity was.” there is a kind of christianity that has plenty of ecclesiastical opium in it. there is another which, believing in christ alone as the great physician, is the giver of health drug-free. as the direct result of that first protestant missionary conference in japan, four christian men of light and leading reached japan in 1859. as we now discern them in the perspective of his tory, they became, all unconsciously to themselves, and for the space of ten 7 years almost alone in their work, a committee for the making of a new japan. they trained up hundreds of the young men who have since be come the statesmen, physicians, men of science and introducers of new and better things, “beginners of a better time,” re-creators of the nation, _ the pupils of these four missionaries were not indeed a majority of the over turners of the old regime^ not iconoclasts merely ; but we can say without fear of successful challenge, that they did form a majority of the men most influential in the constructive work required in the new state. after 1s69 these four influential men, verbeck, brown, hepburn, wil liams, were no longer alone. the revolution, or the restoration, having become a fixed fact, and the mikado, now sole executive, having taken oath to reform the nation on modern principles, the missionaries of the american board, men and women, poured into the country. with other fellow-work ers, they also began the training of hundreds, yes, thousands, of boys and young men in self-government, in parliamentary usage, in the rudiments of social order, making their churches, sunday schools and general meetings institutes for self-support and self-control, so necessary in a country wherein old absolutism and the reign of the sword were to make way for enlight ened government. these men and women from christian america laid down the principles for the re-making of the japanese, body, soul, spirit, home and society. without the christian missionaries, we believe it would have been absolutely impossible for japan to have gained anything like the rate of progress which she has been for years enjoying. for consider, for example, the condition of native womanhood — one half of the japanese — in 1s53. from empress to eta, the status of woman was unspeakably lower than that of to-day. to have suggested then that even the mikado’s wife was an empress in the occidental sense of the term, would have angered a japanese. an imperial marriage had no special sanction, being outwardly merely an item in the government gazette, and morally of no meaning; in the harem. in the lower ranks the customs in regard to women were largely those of barbarism, c\'en as they are so largely yet — one divorce to every three marriages, and conjugal union too often only partnership over a tub of rice. woman’s status and possibilities were summed up in “ the three obediences.” relatively, poor women were more on an equality with their lords and masters than their sisters socially higher. the more wealth and rank, the more were women treated like dolls and babies. when heirs or more progeny were desired, and often when the man’s mere whim made law, the wife had few rights which a husband was bound to respect. women could be called in, hired as servants, and after their duties of motherhood and nursing were over, were discharged, being allowed to know no more of their offspring than the forgetful brutes around them. no wonder the numerical distributive term hiki was employed, as i have heard it, for oxen, men, and women, or any and all draught animals and beasts of burden. the laws governing the myriads of women shut up from childhood in the brothel quarters or settlements in every large city were, in many of the most vital particulars, exactly like those of actual slav er^■. the foreign and christian notions about love and reverence toward woman were hooted at as absurd. to love one’s wife “ as christ also loved the church,” has given many a japanese christian learning to follow the master deep searchings of heart, until he might say to such, winning back many of the wavering, “ will ye also go away.? ” happily the victories of the conquering christ in this arena of the heart are many. to-day those who actually saw the old pagan situation, who know it from ha\ ing lived in it, and who can look through the spectacles of research, can hardly believe their own eyes. “what hath god wrought.?” was the ex clamation, in 1s73, of townsend harris, our first envoy in japan from 1855 to i860. he thought it wonderful that one native christian church was n organized. to-day there are many hundreds with myriads of worshipers. i hold in my hands, as i dictate, two slender volumes entitled “ the civil code of japan,” containing the text in japanese, and translation into eng lish of the new laws, which with the other codes, when passed by the im perial diet, won japan’s recognition as equal in the sisterhood of nations. this, with the constitution, now nearly fifteen years old, came only after terrific struggles, and both are victories of him who leadeth the nations, whose name is the word of god. both of these great political instruments cut directly across the grain of those hoary systems which made the state all, the individual a cipher, the family everything, the individual nothing, against systems which were what they were, avith all their social horrors, because founded on the idea of impersonality. the educated and consecrated womanhood of japan is a new and perma nent force. there are no more pariahs. the law preaents a son of a con cubine from inheriting property, title or rank, and this from the loavest nobleman up to the heir to the throne. only the son of the true aa’ife can be the legal heir. in the recent marriage of the croavn prince and the birth in the home, and not in the herd, of an heir to the throne ave read a happy augury for the future. hereafter there are to be no legal concubines, e\'en 11 to an emperor. throughout the empire not only the christian women are handing together, but eloquent lecturers and writers, pupils of the mission aries, are urging the cause of one morality for both sexes. japanese ci^’ilization lacked as its corner stone the glorious ideas of the personality of god and the indi^•iduality of man. these ideas are now, — having been introduced, enforced, and illustrated by the christian mission aries, — as steadily as leaven in meal, transforming the japanese people. all the silly charudnism, all the hysterical and false patriotism, all the owls and the bats that thri\ e in the darkness of insular ignorance and oriental conceit, cannot ultimately hinder the growth of christian japan. in the sunrise empire we ha� now the new home, the new family, the new patriot, the new book, the new political and semial principles, the new faith based on the idea of god as spirit seeking spiritual worshipers, upon -the idea of a loving father to whom his japanese children are very dear. as we write, the news of the spiritual re\d\ al in the cities and the national capital, bring ing hundreds of new-born souls into the master’s kingdom, seems to waft amen i banzai ! banzai ! (ten thousand generations) to the new state in the new asia. 363 ts nley ings nedl transfer hn 289iy sund the for household oroit reading لاس 2 "and abbie from. jom and. elea h august. 14/1869. 1 1 the sunday library household reading• 3 jevecoe st. brendan setting sail.-p. 261. the hermits by the rev, charles kingsley. ste philadelphia: j. b. lippincott and co. ہے 1868. 4 kd 33738 harvard university library 47604 introduction saint antony the life of saint paul, the first hermit hilarion arsenius basil · the hermits of asia. simeon stylites st. malo contents. the hermits of europe. st. severinus, the apostle of noricum. the celtic hermits st. columba st. guthlac st. godric of finchale. anchorites, strictly so called • • • · • page i 21 83 104 149 155 162 167 219 224 246 278 282 300 309 329 list of illustrations. st. brendan setting sail illuminated title. frontispiece. . page to face 35 life of st. antony "and having committed his sister to known and faithful virgins, and given to her wherewith to be educated in a nunnery," &c. paul, the first hermit to face 92 "for entering the cave he saw, with bended knees, erect neck, and hands spread out on high, a lifeless corpse. and at first, thinking that it still lived," &c. the hermits. introduction. st. paphnutius used to tell a story which may serve as a fit introduction to this book. it contains a miniature sketch, not only of the social state of egypt, but of the whole roman empire, and of the causes which led to the famous monastic movement in the beginning of the fifth century after christ. now paphnutius was a wise and holy hermit, the father, abba, or abbot of many monks; and after he had trained himself in the desert with all severity for many years, he besought god to show him which of his saints he was like. and it was said to him, "thou art like a certain flute-player in the city." then paphnutius took his staff, and went into the city, and found that flute-player. but he confessed that he was a drunkard and a profligate, and had till lately got his living by robbery, and recollected not s. l. ii. b introduction. having ever done one good deed. nevertheless, when paphnutius questioned him more closely, he said that he recollected once having found a holy maiden beset by robbers, and having delivered her, and brought her safe to town. and when paphnutius questioned him more closely still, he said he recollected having done another deed. when he was a robber, he met once in the desert a beautiful woman; and she prayed him to do her no harm, but to take her away with him as a slave, whither he would; for, said she, "i am fleeing from the apparitors and the governor's curials. for the last two years. my husband has been imprisoned for 300 pieces of gold, which he owes as arrears of taxes; and has been often hung up, and often scourged; and my three dear boys have been taken from me; and i am wandering from place to place, and have been often caught myself and continually scourged; and now i have been in the desert three days without food." and when the robber heard that, he took pity on her, and took her to his cave, and gave her 300 pieces of gold, and went with her to the city, and set her husband and her boys free. then paphnutius said, "i never did a deed like that: and yet i have not passed my life in ease and idleness. but now, my son, since god hath had such care of thee, have a care for thine own self." and when the musician heard that, he threw away the flutes which he held in his hand, and went with paphnutius into the desert, and passed his life in hymns and prayer, changing his earthly music into introduction. 3 heavenly; and after three years he went to heaven, and was at rest among the choirs of angels, and the ranks of the just. this story, as i said, is a miniature sketch of the state of the whole roman empire, and of the causes why men fled from it into the desert. christianity had reformed the morals of individuals; it had not reformed the empire itself. that had sunk into a state only to be compared with the worst despotisms of the east. the emperors, whether or not they called themselves christian, like constantine, knew no law save the basest maxims of the heathen world. several of them were barbarians who had risen from the lowest rank merely by military prowess; and who, half maddened by their sudden elevation, added to their native ignorance and brutality the pride, cunning, and cruelty of an eastern sultan. rival emperors, or generals who aspired to be emperors, devastated the world from egypt to britain by sanguinary civil the government of the provinces had become altogether military. torture was employed, not merely, as of old, against slaves, but against all ranks, without distinction. the people were exhausted by compulsory taxes, to be spent in wars which did not concern them, or in court luxury in which they had no share. in the municipal towns, liberty and justice were dead. the curials, who answered somewhat to our aldermen, and who were responsible for the payment of the public moneys, tried their best to escape the unpopular office, and, when compelled to serve, wrung the money in self-defence out of the poorer wars. b 2 introduction. inhabitants by every kind of tyranny. the land was tilled either by oppressed and miserable peasants, or by gangs of slaves, in comparison with whose lot that even of the american negro was light. the great were served in their own households by crowds of slaves, better fed, doubtless, but even more miserable and degraded, than those who tilled the estates. private profligacy among all ranks was such as cannot be described in these or in any modern pages. the regular clergy of the cities, though not of profligate lives, and for the most part, in accordance with public opinion, unmarried, were able to make no stand against the general corruption of the age, because at least if we are to trust such writers as jerome and chrysostom-they were giving themselves up to ambition and avarice, vanity and luxury, intrigue and party spirit, and had become the flatterers of fine ladies, “silly women laden with sins, ever learning, and never coming to the knowledge of the truth." such a state of things not only drove poor creatures into the desert, like that fair woman whom the robber met, but it raised up bands of robbers over the whole of europe, africa, and the east,-men who, like robin hood and the outlaws of the middle age, getting no justice from man, broke loose from society, and while they plundered their oppressors, kept up some sort of rude justice and humanity among themselves. many, too, fled, and became robbers, to escape the merciless conscription which carried off from every province the flower of the young men, to shed their blood on foreign battle-fields. in time, too, many of introduction. 5 one. these conscripts became monks, and the great monasteries of scetis and nitria were hunted over again and again by officers and soldiers from the neighbouring city of alexandria in search of young men who had entered the "spiritual warfare" to escape the earthly and as a background to all this seething heap of decay, misrule, and misery, hung the black cloud of the barbarians, the teutonic tribes from whom we derive the best part of our blood, ever coming nearer and nearer, waxing stronger and stronger, learning discipline and civilization by serving in the roman armies, alternately the allies and the enemies. of the emperors, rising, some of them, to the highest offices of state, and destined, so the wisest romans saw all the more clearly as the years rolled on, to be soon the conquerors of the cæsars, and the masters of the western world. no wonder if that, in such a state of things, there arose such violent contrasts to the general weakness, such eccentric protests against the general wickedness, as may be seen in the figure of abbot paphnutius, when compared either with the poor man tortured in prison for his arrears of taxes, or with the governor and the officials who tortured him. no wonder if, in such a state of things, the minds of men were stirred by a passion akin to despair, which ended in a new and grand form of suicide. it would have ended often, but for christianity, in such an actual despair as that which had led in past ages more than one noble roman to slay himself, when he lost all hope for the republic. christianity taught those who despaired 6 introduction. of society, of the world-in one word, of the roman empire, and all that it had done for men-to hope at least for a kingdom of god after death. it taught those who, had they been heathens and brave enough, would have slain themselves to escape out of a world which was no place for honest men, that the body must be kept alive, if for no other reason, at least for the sake of the immortal soul, doomed, according to its works, to endless bliss or endless torment. but that the world-such, at least, as they saw it then-was doomed, scripture and their own reason taught them. they did not merely believe, but see, in the misery and confusion, the desolation and degradation around them, that all that was in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life, was not of the father, but of the world; that the world was passing away, and the lust thereof, and that only he who did the will of god could abide for ever. they did not merely believe, but saw, that the wrath of god was revealed from heaven against all unrighteousness of men; and that the world in general —above all, its kings and rulers, the rich and luxurious -were treasuring up for themselves wrath, tribulation, and anguish, against a day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of god, who would render to every man according to his works. that they were correct in their judgment of the world about them, contemporary history proves abundantly. that they were correct, likewise, in believing that some fearful judgment was about to fall on man, is proved by the fact that it did fall; that the first half introduction. 7 of the fifth century saw, not only the sack of rome, but the conquest and desolation of the greater part of the civilized world, amid bloodshed, misery, and misrule, which seemed to turn europe into a chaos,-which would have turned it into a chaos, had there not been a few men left who still felt it possible and necessary to believe in god and to work righteousness. under these terrible forebodings, men began to flee from a doomed world, and try to be alone with god, if by any means they might save each man his own soul in that dread day. others, not christians, had done the same before them. among all the eastern nations men had appeared, from time to time, to whom the things seen were but a passing phantom, the things unseen the only true and eternal realities; who, tormented alike by the awfulness of the infinite unknown, and by the petty cares and low passions of the finite mortal life. which they knew but too well, had determined to renounce the latter, that they might give themselves up to solving the riddle of the former; and be at peace; and free, at least, from the tyranny of their own selves. eight hundred years before st. antony fled into the desert, that young hindoo rajah, whom men call buddha now, had fled into the forest, leaving wives and kingdom, to find rest for his soul. he denounced caste; he preached poverty, asceticism, self-annihilation. he founded a religion, like that of the old hermits, democratic and ascetic, with its convents, saint-worships, pilgrimages, miraculous relics, rosaries, and much more, which strangely anticipates 8 introduction. the monastic religion; and his followers, to this day, are more numerous than those of any other creed. brahmins, too, had given themselves up to penance and mortification till they believed themselves able, like kehama, to have gained by self-torture the right to command, not nature merely, but the gods themselves. among the jews the essenes by the dead sea, and the therapeutæ in egypt, had formed ascetic communities, the former more "practical," the latter more "contemplative:" but both alike agreed in the purpose of escaping from the world into a life of poverty and simplicity, piety and virtue; and among the countless philosophic sects of asia, known to ecclesiastical writers as "heretics," more than one had professed, and doubtless often practised, the same abstraction from the world, the same contempt of the flesh. the very neoplatonists of alexandria, while they derided the christian asceticism, found themselves forced to affect, like the hapless hypatia, a sentimental and pharisaic asceticism of their own. this phase of sight and feeling, so strange to us now, was common, nay, primæval, among the easterns. the day was come when it should pass from the east into the west. and egypt, "the mother of wonders;" the parent of so much civilization and philosophy, both greek and roman; the half-way resting-place through which not merely the merchandise, but the wisdom of the east had for centuries passed into the roman empire; a land more ill-governed, too, and more miserable, in spite of its fertility, because more introduction. defenceless and effeminate, than most other roman possessions-was the country in which naturally, and as it were of hereditary right, such a movement would first appear. accordingly it was discovered, about the end of the fourth century, that the mountains and deserts of egypt were full of christian men who had fled out of the dying world, in the hope of attaining everlasting life. wonderful things were told of their courage, their abstinence, their miracles: and of their virtues also; of their purity, their humility, their helpfulness, and charity to each other and to all. they called each other, it was said, brothers; and they lived up to that sacred name, forgotten, if ever known, by the rest of the roman empire. like the apostolic christians in the first fervour of their conversion, they had all things in common; they lived at peace with each other, under a mild and charitable rule; and kept literally those commands of christ which all the rest of the world explained away to nothing. the news spread. it chimed in with all that was best, as well as with much that was questionable, in the public mind. that men could be brothers; that they could live without the tawdry luxury, the tasteless and often brutal amusements, the low sensuality, the base intrigue, the bloody warfare, which was the accepted lot of the many; that they could find time to look stedfastly at heaven and hell as awful realities, which must be faced some day, which had best be faced at once; this, just as much as curiosity about their alleged miracles, and the selfish longing to rival 10 introduction. them in superhuman powers, led many of the most virtuous and the most learned men of the time to visit them, and ascertain the truth. jerome, ruffinus, evagrius, sulpicius severus, went to see them, undergoing on the way the severest toils and dangers, and brought back reports of mingled truth and falsehood, specimens of which will be seen in these pages. travelling in those days was a labour, if not of necessity, then surely of love. palladius, for instance, found it impossible to visit the upper thebaid, and syene, and that "infinite multitude of monks, whose fashions of life no one would believe, for they surpass human life; who to this day raise the dead, and walk upon the waters, like peter; and whatsoever the saviour did by the holy apostles, he does now by them. but because it would be very dangerous if we went beyond lyco" (lycopolis?), on account of the inroad of robbers, he "could not see those saints." the holy men and women of whom he wrote, he says, he did not see without extreme toil; and seven times he and his companions were nearly lost. once they walked through the desert five days and nights, and were almost worn out by hunger and thirst. again, they fell on rough marshes, where the sedge pierced their feet, and caused intolerable pain, while they were almost killed with the cold. another time, they stuck in the mud up to their waists, and cried with david, "i am come into deep mire, where no ground is." another time, they waded for four days through the flood of the nile by paths almost swept away. introduction. ii another time they met robbers on the seashore, coming to diolcos, and were chased by them for ten miles. another time they were all but upset and drowned in crossing the nile. another time, in the marshes of mareotis, "where paper grows," they were cast on a little desert island, and remained three days and nights in the open air, amid great cold and showers, for it was the season of epiphany. the eighth peril, he says, is hardly worth mentioningbut once, when they went to nitria, they came on a great hollow, in which many crocodiles had remained, when the waters retired from the fields. three of them lay along the bank; and the monks went up to them, thinking them dead, whereon the crocodiles rushed at them. but when they called loudly on the lord, "the monsters, as if turned away by an angel," shot themselves into the water; while they ran on to nitria, meditating on the words of job, "seven times shall he deliver thee from trouble; and in the eighth there shall no evil touch thee." the great st. athanasius, fleeing from persecution, had taken refuge among these monks. he carried the report of their virtues to trêves in gaul, and wrote a life of st. antony, the perusal of which was a main agent in the conversion of st. augustine. hilarion (a remarkable personage, whose history will be told hereafter) carried their report and their example likewise into palestine; and from that time judæa, desolate and seemingly accursed by the sin of the jewish people, became once more the holy land; the place of pilgrimage; whose ruins, whose very soil, were 12 introduction. kept sacred by hermits, the guardians of the footsteps of christ. in rome itself the news produced an effect which, to the thoughtful mind, is altogether tragical in its nobleness. the roman aristocracy was deprived of all political power; it had been decimated, too, with horrible cruelty only one generation before,* by valentinian and his satellites, on the charges of profligacy, treason, and magic. mere rich men, they still lingered on, in idleness and luxury, without art, science, true civilization of any kind; followed by long trains of slaves; punishing a servant with three hundred stripes if he were too long in bringing hot water; weighing the fish, or birds, or dormice put on their tables, while secretaries stood by, with tablets to record all; hating learning as they hated poison; indulging at the baths in conduct which had best be left undescribed; and "complaining that they were not born among the cimmerians, if amid their golden fans a fly should perch upon the silken fringes, or a slender ray of the sun should pierce through the awning;" while, if they "go any distance to see their estates in the country, or to hunt at a meeting collected for their amusement by others, they think that they have equalled the marches of alexander or of cæsar." on the wives, widows, and daughters of men of this stamp and not half their effeminacy and baseness, as the honest rough old soldier ammianus * about a.d. 368. see the details in ammianus marcellinus, lib. xxviii. introduction. 13 marcellinus describes it, has been told here-the news brought from egypt worked with wondrous potency. women of the highest rank awoke suddenly to the discovery that life was given them for nobler purposes than that of frivolous enjoyment and tawdry vanity. despising themselves; despising the husbands to whom they had been wedded in loveless marriages de convenance, whose infidelities they had too often to endure: they, too, fled from a world which had sated and sickened them. they freed their slaves; they gave away their wealth to found. hospitals and to feed the poor; and in voluntary poverty and mean garments they followed such men as jerome and ruffinus across the seas, to visit the new found saints of the egyptian desert, and to end their days, in some cases, in doleful monasteries in palestine. the lives of such women as those of the anician house; the lives of marcella and furia, of · paula, of the melanias, and the rest, it is not my task to write. they must be told by a woman, not by a man. we may blame those ladies, if we will, for neglecting their duties. we may sneer, if we will, at the weaknesses-the aristocratic pride, the spiritual vanity-which we fancy that we discover. we may lament and in that we shall not be wrong-the influence which such men as jerome obtained over them the example and precursor of so much which has since then been ruinous to family and social life : but we must confess that the fault lay not with the ladies themselves, but with their fathers, husbands, and 14 introduction. brothers; we must confess that in these women the spirit of the old roman matrons, which seemed to have been so long dead, flashed up for one splendid moment, ere it sunk into the darkness of the middle age; that in them woman asserted (however strangely and fantastically) her moral equality with man; and that at the very moment when monasticism was consigning her to contempt, almost to abhorrence, as "the noxious animal," the "fragile vessel," the cause of man's fall at first, and of his sin and misery ever since, woman showed the monk (to his naïvelyconfessed surprise), that she could dare, and suffer, and adore as well as he. but the movement, having once seized the roman empire, grew and spread irresistibly. it was accepted, supported, preached, practised, by every great man of the time. athanasius, basil, chrysostom, gregory of nazianzen in the east, jerome, augustine, ruffinus, evagrius, fulgentius, sulpicius severus, vincent of lerins, john cassian, martin of tours, salvian, cæsarius of arles, were all monks, or as much of monks as their duties would allow them to be. ambrose of milan, though no monk himself, was the fervent preacher of, the careful legislator for, monasticism male and female. throughout the whole roman empire, in the course of a century, had spread hermits (or dwellers in the desert), anchorites (retired from the world), or monks (dwellers alone). the three names grew afterwards to designate three different orders of ascetics. the hermits remained through the middle ages those who dwelt in deserts; the anchorites, or introduction. 15 "ankers" of the english middle age, seem generally to have inhabited cells built in, or near, the church walls; the name of "monks" was transferred from those who dwelt alone to those who dwelt in regular communities, under a fixed government. but the three names at first were interchangeable; the three modes of life alternated, often in the same man. the life of all three was the same,―celibacy, poverty, good deeds towards their fellow-men; self-restraint, and sometimes self-torture of every kind, to atone (as far as might be) for the sins committed after baptism and the mental food of all three was the same likewise; continued meditation upon the vanity of the world, the sinfulness of the flesh, the glories of heaven,.and the horrors of hell: but with these the old hermits combined-to do them justice-a personal faith in god, and a personal love for christ, which those who sneer at them would do well to copy. over all europe, even to ireland,* the same pattern of christian excellence repeated itself with strange regularity, till it became the only received pattern; and to "enter religion," or "be converted," meant simply to become a monk. * in the celtic irish church, there seems to have been no other pattern. the hermits who became abbots, with their monks, were the only teachers of the people-one had almost said, the only christians. whence, as early as the sixth century, if not the fifth, they, and their disciples of iona and scotland, derived their peculiar tonsure, their use of bells, their eastern mode of keeping the paschal feast, and other peculiarities, seemingly without the intervention of rome, is a mystery still unsolved. 16 introduction. of the authentic biographies of certain of these men, a few specimens are given in this volume. if they shall seem to any reader uncouth, or even absurd, he must remember that they are the only existing and the generally contemporaneous histories of men who exercised for 1,300 years an enormous influence over the whole of christendom; who exercise a vast influence over the greater part of it to this day. they are the biographies of men who were regarded, during their lives and after their deaths, as divine and inspired prophets; and who were worshipped with boundless trust and admiration by millions of human beings. their fame and power were not created by the priesthood. the priesthood rather leant on them, than they on it. they occupied a post analogous to that of the old jewish prophets; always independent of, sometimes opposed to, the regular clergy; and dependent altogether on public opinion and the suffrage of the multitude. when christianity, after three centuries of repression and persecution, emerged triumphant as the creed of the whole civilized world, it had become what their lives describe. the model of religious life for the fifth century, it remained a model for succeeding centuries; on the lives of st. antony and his compeers were founded the whole literature of saintly biographies; the whole popular conception of the universe, and of man's relation to it; the whole science of dæmonology, with its peculiar literature, its peculiar system of criminal jurisprudence. and their influence did not cease at the reformation among protestant divines. the influence of these introduction. 17 99 lives of the hermit fathers is as much traceabie, even to style and language, in "the pilgrim's progress as in the last papal allocution. the great hermits of egypt were not merely the founders of that vast monastic system which influenced the whole politics, and wars, and social life, as well as the whole religion, of the middle age; they were a school of philosophers (as they rightly called themselves) who altered the whole current of human thought. those who wish for a general notion of the men, and of their time, will find all that they require (set forth from different points of view, though with the same honesty and learning) in gibbon; in m. de montalembert's "moines d'occident," in dean milman's "history of christianity" and "latin christianity," and in ozanam's “etudes germaniques.” but the truest notion of the men is to be got, after all, from the original documents; and especially from that curious collection of them by the jesuit rosweyde, commonly known as the "lives of the herniit fathers."+ "'* after an acquaintance of now five-and-twenty years with this wonderful treasury of carly christian. mythology, to which all fairy tales are dull and meagre, i am almost inclined to sympathise with m. de montalembert's questions,-"who is so ignorant, or so unfortunate, as not to have devoured these tales of the heroic age of monachism? who has not s.l. ii. * a book which, from its bearing on present problems, well deserves translation. "vitæ patrum." published at antwerp, 1628. с 18 introduction. contemplated, if not with the eyes of faith, at least with the admiration inspired by an incontrollable greatness of soul, the struggles of these athletes of penitence? . . . . everything is to be found therevariety, pathos, the sublime and simple epic of a race of men, naïfs as children, and strong as giants." in whatever else one may differ from m. de montalembert-and it is always painful to differ from one whose pen has been always the faithful servant of virtue and piety, purity and chivalry, loyalty and liberty, and whose generous appreciation of england and the english is the more honourable to him, by reason of an utter divergence in opinion, which in less wide and noble spirits produces only antipathy -one must at least agree with him in his estimate of the importance of these "lives of the fathers," not only to the ecclesiologist, but to the psychologist and the historian. their influence, subtle, often transformed and modified again and again, but still potent from its very subtleness, is being felt around us in many a puzzle-educational, social, political; and promises to be felt still more during the coming generation; and to have studied thoroughly one of them-say the life of st. antony by st. athanasius— is to have had in our hands (whether we knew it or not) the key to many a lock, which just now refuses either to be tampered with or burst open. i have determined, therefore, to give a few of these lives, translated as literally as possible. thus the reader will then have no reason to fear a garbled or partial account of personages so difficult to conintroduction. 19 ceive or understand. he will be able to see the men as wholes; to judge (according to his light) of their merits and their defects. the very style of their biographers (which is copied as literally as is compatible with the english tongue) will teach him, if he be wise, somewhat of the temper and habits of thought of the age in which they lived; and one of these original documents, with its honesty, its vivid touches of contemporary manners, its intense earnestness, will give, perhaps, a more true picture of the whole hermit movement than (with all respect, be it said) the most brilliant general panorama. it is impossible to give in this series all the lives of the early hermits-even of those contained in rosweyde. this volume will contain, therefore, only the most important and most famous lives of the egyptian, syrian, and persian hermits, followed, perhaps, by a few later biographies from western europe, as proofs that the hermit-type, as it spread toward the atlantic, remained still the same as in the egyptian desert. against one modern mistake the reader must be warned; the theory, namely, that these biographies were written as religious romances; edifying, but not historical; to be admired, but not believed. there is not the slightest evidence that such was the case. the lives of these, and most other saints (certainly those in this volume), were written by men who believed the stories themselves, after such inquiry into the facts as they deemed necessary; who knew that others would believe them; and who intended that c 2 20 introduction. they should do so; and the stories were believed accordingly, and taken as matter of fact for the most practical purposes by the whole of christendom. the forging of miracles, like the forging of charters, for the honour of a particular shrine, or the advantage of a particular monastery, belongs to a much later and much worse age; and, whatsoever we may think of the taste of the authors of these lives, or of their faculty for judging of evidence, we must at least give them credit for being earnest men, incapable of what would have been in their eyes, and ought to be in ours, not merely falsehood, but impiety. let the reader be sure of this-that these documents would not have exercised their enormous influence on the human mind, had there not been in them, under whatever accidents of credulity, and even absurdity, an element of sincerity, virtue, and nobility. saint antony the life of antony, by athanasius, is perhaps the most important of all these biographies; because first, antony was generally held to be the first great example and preacher of the hermit life; because next, athanasius, his biographer, having by his controversial writings established the orthodox faith as it is now held alike by romanists, greeks, and protestants, did, by his publication of the life of antony, establish the hermit life as the ideal (in his opinion) of christian excellence; and lastly, because that biography exercised a most potent influence on the conversion of st. augustine, the greatest thinker (always excepting st. paul) whom the world had seen. since plato, whom the world was to see again til lord bacon; the theologian and philosopher (for he was the latter, as well as the former, in the strictest sense) to whom the world owes, not only the formulizing of the whole scheme of the universe for a thousand years after his death, but calvinism (wrongly so called) in all its forms, whether held by the 22 saint antony. augustinian party in the church of rome, or the "reformed" churches of geneva, france, and scotland. ➖➖ whether we have the exact text of the document as athanasius wrote it to the "foreign brethren ”– probably the religious folk of trêves-in the greek version published by heschelius in 1611, and in certain earlier greek texts; whether the latin translation attributed to evagrius, which has been well known for centuries past in the latin church, be actually his; whether it be exactly that of which st. jerome speaks, and whether it be exactly that which st. augustine saw, are questions which it is now impossible to decide. but of the genuineness of the life in its entirety we have no right to doubt, contrary to the verdicts of the most distinguished scholars, whether protestant or catholic; and there is fair reason to suppose that the document (allowing for errors and variations of transcribers) which i have tried to translate, is that of which the great st. augustine speaks in the eighth book of his confessions. he tells us that he was reclaimed at last from a profligate life (the thought of honourable marriage seems never to have entered his mind), by meeting, while practising as a rhetorician at trêves, an old african acquaintance, named potitanius, an officer of rank. what followed no words can express so well as those of the great genius himself. "when i told him that i was giving much attention to those writings (the epistles of paul), we began to saint antony. 23 talk, and he to tell, of antony, the monk of egypt, whose name was then very famous among thy servants: * but was unknown to us till that moment. when he discovered that, he spent some time over the subject, detailing his virtues, and wondering at our ignorance. we were astounded at hearing such well-attested marvels of him, so recent and almost contemporaneous, wrought in the right faith of the catholic church. we all wondered: we, that they were so great; and he, that we had not heard of them. thence his discourse ran on to those flocks of hermitcells, and the morals of thy sweetness, and the fruitful deserts of the wilderness, of which we knew nought. there was a monastery, too, at milan, full of good brethren, outside the city walls, under the tutelage of ambrosius, and we knew nothing of it. he went on still speaking, and we listened intently; and it befell that he told us how, i know not when, he and three of his mess companions at trêves, while the emperor was engaged in an afternoon spectacle in the circus, went out for a walk in the gardens round the walls; and as they walked there in pairs, one with him alone, and the two others by themselves, they parted. and those two, straying about, burst into a cottage, where dwelt certain servants of thine, poor in spirit, of such as is the kingdom of heaven; and there found a book, in which was written the life of antony. one of them began to read it, and to wonder, and to be warmed; and, as he read, to think of taking up such a life, and leaving the warfare of this world to serve * he is addressing our lord. * 24 saint antony. * thee. now, he was one of those whom they call managers of affairs.* then, suddenly filled with holy love and sober shame, angered at himself, he cast his eyes on his friend, and said, 'tell me, prithee, with all these labours of ours, whither are we trying to get? what are we seeking? for what are we soldiering? can we have a higher hope in the palace, than to become friends of the emperor? and when there, what is not frail and full of dangers? and through how many dangers we do not arrive at a greater danger still? and how long will that last? but if i choose to become a friend of god, i can do it here and now.' he spoke thus, and, swelling in the labourpangs of a new life, he fixed his eyes again on the pages and read, and was changed inwardly as thou lookedst on him, and his mind was stripped of the world, as soon appeared. for while he read, and rolled over the billows of his soul, he shuddered and hesitated from time to time, and resolved better things; and already thine, he said to his friend, 'i have already torn myself from that hope of ours, and have settled to serve god; and this i begin from this hour, in this very place. if you do not like to imitate me, do not oppose me.' he replied that he would cling to his companion in such a great service and so great a warfare. and both, now thine, began building, at their own cost, the tower of leaving all things and following thee. then potitianus, and the man who was talking with him elsewhere in the garden, seeking them, came to the same place, and warned them to return, as the agentes in rebus." on the emperor's staff? * 66 saint antony. 25 sun was getting low. they, however, told their resolution, and how it had sprung up and taken strong hold in them, and entreated the others not to give them pain. they, not altered from their former mode of life, yet wept (as he told us) for themselves; and congratulated them piously, and commended themselves. to their prayers; and then dragging their hearts along the earth, went back to the palace. but the others, fixing their hearts on heaven, remained in the cottage. and both of them had affianced brides, who, when they heard this, dedicated their virginity to thee." the part which this incident played in st. augustine's own conversion must be told hereafter in his life. but the scene which his master-hand has drawn is not merely the drama of his own soul or of these two young officers, but of a whole empire. it is, as i said at first, the tragedy and suicide of the old empire; and the birth-agony of which he speaks was not that of an individual soul here or there, but of a whole new world, for good and evil. the old roman soul was dead within, the body of it dead without. patriotism, duty, purpose of life, save pleasure, money, and intrigue, had perished. the young roman officer had nothing left for which to fight; the young roman gentleman nothing left for which to be a citizen and an owner of lands. even the old roman longing (which was also a sacred duty) of leaving an heir to perpetuate his name, and serve the state as his fathers had before him-even that was gone. nothing was left, with the many, but selfishness, which could rise at best into the 26 saint antony. desire of saving every man his own soul, and so transform worldliness into other-worldliness. the old empire could do nothing more for man; and knew that it could do nothing; and lay down in the hermit's cell to die. trêves was then "the second metropolis of the empire," boasting, perhaps, even then, as it boasts still, that it was standing thirteen hundred years before rome was built. amid the low hills, pierced by rocky dells, and on a strath of richest soil, it had grown, from the mud-hut town of the treviri, into a noble city of palaces, theatres, baths, triumphal arches, on either side the broad and clear moselle. the bridge which augustus had thrown across the river, four hundred years before the times of hermits and of saints, stood like a cliff through all barbarian invasions, through all the battles and sieges of the middle age, till it was blown up by the french in the wars of louis xiv., and nought remains save the huge piers of black lava stemming the blue stream; while up and down the dwindled city, the colossal fragments of roman work--the black gate, the heidenthurm, the baths, the basilica or hall of justice, now a lutheran church-stand out half ruined, like the fossil bones of giants amid the works of weaker, though of happier times; while the amphi-· theatre was till late years planted thick with vines, fattening in soil drenched with the blood of thousands. trêves had been the haunt of emperor after emperor, men wise and strong, cruel and terrible;-of constantius, constantine the great, julian, valentinian, valens; saint antony. 37 and lastly, when potitianus's friends found those poor 'monks in the garden* of gratian, the gentle hunter who thought day and night on sport, till his arrows were said to be instinct with life, was holding his military court within the walls of trêves, or at that hunting palace on the northern downs, where still on the bathfloors lie the mosaics of hare and deer, and boar and hound, on which the feet of emperors trod full fifteen hundred years ago. still glorious outwardly, like the roman empire itself, was that great city of trêves; but inwardly it was full of rottenness and weakness. the roman empire had been, in spite of all its crimes, for four hundred years the salt of the earth: but now the salt had lost its savour; and in one generation more it would be trodden under foot and cast upon the dunghill, and another empire would take its place, the empire, not of brute strength and selfindulgence, but of sympathy and self-denial,-an empire, not of cæsars, but of hermits. already was gratian the friend and pupil of st. ambrose of milan; already, too, was he persecuting, thought not to the death, heretics and heathens. nay, some fifty years before (if the legend can be in the least trusted) had st. helena, the mother of con* st. augustine says, that potitianus's adventure at trêves happened "i know not when." his own conversation with potitianus must have happened about a. d. 385, for he was baptized april 25, a.d. 387. he does not mention the name of potitianus's emperor: but as gratian was augustus from a.d. 367 to a. d. 375, and actual emperor of the west till a. d. 383, and as trêves was his usual residence, he is most probably the person meant: but if not, then his father valentinian. 28 saint antony. stantine the great, returned from palestine, bearing with her so men believed-not only the miraculously discovered cross of christ, but the seamless coat which he had worn; and, turning her palace into a church, deposited the holy coat therein: where-sq some believe-it remains until this day. men felt that a change was coming, but whence it would come, or how terrible it would be, they could not tell. it was to be, as the prophet says, "like the bulging out of a great wall, which bursteth suddenly in an instant." in the very amphitheatre where gratian sat that afternoon, with all the folk of trêves about him, watching, it may be, lions and antelopes from africa slaughtered-it may be criminals tortured to deathanother and an uglier sight had been twice seen some seventy years before constantine, so-called the great, had there exhibited his "frankish sports," the "magnificent spectacle," the "famous punishments," as his flattering court-historians called them: thousands of frank prisoners, many of them of noble, and even of royal blood, torn to pieces by wild beasts, while they stood fearless, smiling with folded arms; and when the wild beasts were gorged, and slew no more, weapons were put into the hands of the survivors, and they were bidden to fight to the death for the amusement of their roman lords. but fight they would not against their own flesh and blood: and as for life, ali chance of that was long gone by. so every man feil joyfully upon his brother's sword, and, dying like a german man, spoilt the sport of the good folk of trèves. and it seemed for a while as saint antony. 29 if there were no god in heaven who cared to avenge such deeds of blood. for the kinsmen, it may be the very sons, of those franks were now in gratian's pay; and the frank merobaudes was his "count of the domestics," and one of his most successful and trusted generals; and all seemed to go well, and brute force and craft to triumph on the earth. and yet those two young staff officers, when they left the imperial court for the hermit's cell, judged, on the whole, prudently and well, and chose the better part when they fled from the world to escape the "dangers" of ambition, and the "greater danger still" of success. for they escaped, not merely from vice and worldliness, but, as the event proved, from imminent danger of death if they kept the loyalty which they had sworn to their emperor; or the worse evil of baseness if they turned traitors to him to save their lives. for little thought gratian, as he sat in that amphitheatre, that the day was coming when he, the hunter of game-and of heretics-would be hunted in his turn; when, deserted by his army, betrayed by merobaudes-whose elder kinsfolk were not likely to have kept him ignorant of "the frankish sports"he should flee pitiably towards italy, and die by a german hand; some say near lyons, some say near belgrade, calling on ambrose with his latest breath.* little thought, too, the good folk of trêves, as they sat beneath the vast awning that afternoon, that * see the excellent article on gratian in smith's dictionary, by mr. means. 30 saint antony. within the next half century a day of vengeance was coming for them, which should teach them that there was a god who "maketh inquisition for blood;" a day when trêves should be sacked in blood and flame by those very "barbarian" germans whom they fancied their allies-or their slaves. and least of all did they fancy that, when that great destruction fell upon their city, the only element in it which would pass safely through the fire and rise again, and raise their city to new glory and power, was that which was represented by those poor hermits in the garden-hut outside. little thought they that above the awful arches of the black gate-as if in mockery of the roman power-a lean anchorite would take his stand, simeon of syracuse by name, a monk of mount sinai, and there imitate, in the far west, the austerities of st. simeon stylites in the east, and be enrolled in the new pantheon, not of cæsars, but of saints. under the supposed patronage of those saints, trêves rose again out of its ruins. it gained its four great abbeys of st. maximus (on the site of constantine's palace); st. matthias, in the crypt whereof the bodies of the monks never decay;* st. martin; and st. mary of the four martyrs, where four soldiers of the famous theban legion are said to have suffered martyrdom by the house of the roman prefect. it had its cathedral of st. peter and st. helena, supposed to be built out of st. helena's palace; its exquisite liebfrauenkirche; its * i cannot explain this fact: but i have seen it with my own eyes. saint antony. 31 palace of the old archbishops, mighty potentates of this world, as well as of the kingdom of heaven. for they were princes, arch-chancellors, electors of the empire, owning many a league of fertile land, governing, and that kindly and justly, towns and villages of christian men, and now and then going out to war, at the head of their own knights and yeomen, in defence of their lands, and of the saints whose servants and trustees they were; and so became, according to their light and their means, the salt of that land for many generations. and after a while that salt, too, lost its savour, and was, in its turn, trodden under foot. the french republican wars swept away the ecclesiastical constitution and the wealth of the ancient city. the cathedral and churches were stripped of relics, of jewels, of treasures of early art. the prince-bishop's palace is a barrack; so was lately st. maximus's shrine; st. martin's a china manufactory, and st. matthias's a school. trêves belongs to prussia, and not to "holy church;" and all the old splendours of the "empire of the saints" are almost as much ruinate as those of the "empire of the romans." so goes the world, because there is a living god. "the old order changeth, giving place to the new ; and god fulfils himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world.” but though palaces and amphitheatres be gone, the gardens outside still bloom on as when potitianus and his friends wandered through them, perpetual as 32 saint antony. nature's self; and perpetual as nature, too, endures whatever is good and true of that afternoon's work, and of that finding of the legend of st. antony in the monk's cabin, which fixed the destiny of the great genius of the latin church. the story of st. antony, as it has been handed down to us,* runs thus :--the life and conversation of our holy father antony, written and sent to the monks in foreign parts by our father among the saints, athanasius, archbishop of alexandria. you have begun a noble rivalry with the monks of egypt, having determined either to equal or even to surpass them in your training towards virtue; for there are monasteries already among you, and the monastic life is practised. this purpose of yours one may justly praise; and if you pray, god will bring it to perfection. but since you have also asked me about the conversation of the holy antony, wishing to learn how he began his training, and who he was before it, and what sort of an end he made to his life, and whether what is said of him is true, in order that you may bring yourselves to emulate him, with great readiness i received your command. for to me, too, it is a great gain and benefit only to remember antony; and i know that you, when you hear of him, after you have wondered at the man, will wish also to emulate his purpose. for the life of antony is for monks a perfect pattern * i use throughout the text published by heschelius, in 1611. saint antony. 33 of ascetic training. what, then, you have heard about him from other informants do not disbelieve, but rather think that you have heard from them a smail part of the facts. for in any case, they could hardly relate fully such great matters, when even i, at your request, howsoever much i may tell you in my letter, can only send you a little which i remember about him. but do not cease to inquire of those who sail from hence; for perhaps, if each tells what he knows, at last his history may be worthily compiled. i had wished, indeed, when i received your letter, to send for some of the monks who were wont to be most frequently in his company, that i might learn something more, and send you a fuller account. but since both the season of navigation limited me, and the letter-carrier was in haste, i hastened to write to your piety what i myself know (for i have often seen him), and what i was able to learn from one who followed him for no short time, and poured water upon his hands; always taking care of the truth, in order that no one when he hears too much may disbelieve, nor again, if he learns less than is needful, despise the man. antony was an egyptian by race, born of noble parents,* who had a sufficient property of their own: and as they were christians, he too was christianly brought up, and when a boy was nourished in the house of his parents, besides whom and his home he knew nought. but when he grew older, he * he is said to have been born at coma, near heracleia, in middle egypt, a.d. 251. s. l. ii. d 34 saint antony. would not be taught letters, not wishing to mix with other boys; but all his longing was (according to what is written of jacob) to dwell simply in his own house. but when his parents took him into the lord's house, he was not saucy, like a boy, nor inattentive as he grew older; but was subject to his parents, and attentive to what was read, turning it to his own account. nor again (as a boy who was moderately well off) did he trouble his parents for various and expensive dainties, nor did he run after the pleasures of this life; but was content with what he found, and asked for nothing more. when his rents died, he was left alone with a little sister, when he was about eighteen or twenty years of age, and took care both of his house and of her. but not six months after their death, as he was going as usual to the lord's house, and collecting his thoughts, he meditated as he walked how the apostles had left all and followed the saviour; and how those in the acts brought the price of what they had sold, and laid it at the apostles' feet, to be given away to the poor; and what and how great a hope was laid up for them in heaven. with this in his mind, he entered the church. and it befell then that the gospel was being read; and he heard how the lord had said to the rich man, "if thou wilt be perfect, go, sell all thou hast, and give to the poor; and come, follow me, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven." antony, therefore, as if the remembrance of the saints had come to him from god, and as if the lesson had * seemingly the greek language and literature. m life of st. antony. "and having committed his sister to known and faithful virgins, and given to her wherewith to be educated in a nunnery," etc.-p. 35. jcooper se saint antony. 35 been read on his account, went forth at once from the lord's house, and gave away to those of his own village the possessions he had inherited from his ancestors (three hundred plough-lands, fertile and very fair), that they might give no trouble either to him or his sister. all his moveables he sold, and a considerable sum which he received for them he gave to the poor. but having kept back a little for his sister, when he went again into the lord's house he heard the lord saying in the gospel, "take no thought for the morrow," and, unable to endure any more delay, he went out and distributed that too to the needy. and having committed his sister to known and faithful. virgins, and given to her wherewith to be educated in a nunnery, he himself thenceforth devoted himself, outside his house, to training;* taking heed to himself, and using himself severely. for monasteries were not then common in egypt, nor did any monks at all know the wide desert; but each who wished to take heed to himself exercised himself alone, not far from his own village. there was then in the next village an old man, who had trained himself in a solitary life from his youth. when antony saw him, he emulated him in that which is noble. and first he began to stay outside the village; and then, if he heard of any earnest man, he went to seek him, like a wise bee; and did not return till he had seen him, and having got from him (as it were) provision * i have thought it more honest to translate donos by "training," which is now, as then, its true equivalent; being a metaphor drawn from the greek games by st. paul, 1 tim. iv. 8. d 2 36 saint antony. for his journey toward virtue, went his way. so dwelling there at first, he settled his mind neither to look back towards his parents' wealth nor to recollect his relations; but he put all his longing and all his earnestness on training himself more intensely. for the rest he worked with his hands, because he had heard, "if any man will not work, neither let him eat;" and of his earnings he spent some on himself and some on the needy. he prayed continually, because he knew that one ought to pray secretly, without ceasing. he attended, also, so much to what was read, that, with him, none of the scriptures fell to the ground, but he retained them all, and for the future his memory served him instead of books. behaving thus, antony was beloved by all; and submitted truly to the earnest men to whom he used to go. and from each of them he learnt some improvement in his earnestness and his training: he contemplated the courtesy of one, and another's assiduity in prayer; another's freedom from anger; another's love of mankind: he took heed to one as he watched ; to another as he studied: one he admired for his endurance, another for his fasting and sleeping on the ground; he laid to heart the meekness of one, and the long-suffering of another; and stamped upon his memory the devotion to christ and the mutual love which all in common possessed. and thus filled full, he returned to his own place of training, gathering to himself what he had got from each, and striving to show all their qualities in himself. he never emulated those of his own age, save in what is best; and did saint antony. 37 that so as to pain no one, but make all rejoice over him. and all in the village who loved good, seeing him thus, called him the friend of god; and some embraced him as a son, some as a brother. · but the devil, who hates and envies what is noble, would not endure such a purpose in a youth: but attempted against him all that he is wont to do; suggesting to him the remembrance of his wealth, care for his sister, relation to his kindred, love of money, love of glory, the various pleasures of luxury, and the other solaces of life; and then the harshness of virtue, and its great toil; and the weakness of his body, and the length of time; and altogether raised a great dust-cloud of arguments in his mind, trying to turn him back from his righteous choice. but when the enemy saw himself to be too weak for antony's determination, but rather baffled by his stoutness, and overthrown by his great faith, and falling before his continual prayers, then he attacked him with the temptations which he is wont to use against young men; . . . . but he protected his body with faith, prayers, and fastings, . . . setting his thoughts on christ, and on his own nobility through christ, and on the rational faculties of his soul, . . . and again on the terrors of the fire, and the torment of the worm, and thus escaped unhurt. and thus was the enemy brought to shame. for he who thought himself to be equal with god was now mocked by a youth; and he who boasted against flesh and blood was defeated by a man clothed in flesh. for the lord worked with him, who bore flesh on our account, and 38 saint antony. (6 gave to the body victory over the devil, that each man in his battle may say, not i, but the grace of god which is with me." at last, when the dragon could not overthrow antony even thus, but saw himself thrust out of his heart, then gnashing his teeth (as is written), and as if beside himself, he appeared to the sight, as he is to the reason, as a black child, and as it were falling down before him, no longer attempted to argue (for the deceiver was cast out), but using a human voice, said, "i have deceived many; i have cast down many. but now, as in the case of many, so in thine, i have been worsted in the battle." then when antony asked him, "who art thou who speakest thus to me?" he forthwith replied in a pitiable voice, “i am the spirit of impurity."... then antony gave thanks to god, and gaining courage, said, "thou art utterly despicable; for thou art black of soul, and weak as a child; nor shall i henceforth cast one'thought on thee. for the lord is my helper, and i shall despise my enemies." that black being, hearing this, fled forthwith, cowering at his words, and afraid thenceforth of coming near the man. this was antony's first struggle against the devil: or rather this mighty deed in him was the saviour's, who condemned sin in the flesh that the righteousness. of the lord should be fulfilled in us, who walk not after the flesh, but after the spirit. but neither did antony, because the dæmon had fallen, grow careless and despise him; neither did the enemy, when saint antony. 39 worsted by him, cease from lying in ambush against him. for he came round again as a lion, seeking a pretence against him. but antony had learnt from scripture that many are the devices of the enemy; and continually kept up his training, considering that, though he had not deceived his heart by pleasure, he would try some other snares. for the dæmon delights in sin. therefore he chastised his body more and more, and brought it into slavery, lest, having conquered in one case, he should be tripped up in others. he determined, therefore, to accustom himself to a still more severe life; and many wondered at him: but the labour was to him easy to bear. for the readiness of the spirit, through long usage, had created a good habit in him, so that, taking a very slight hint from others, he showed great earnestness in it. for he watched so much, that he often passed the whole night without sleep; and that not once, but often, to the astonishment of men. he ate once a day, after the setting of the sun, and sometimes only once in two days, often even in four; his food was bread with salt, his drink nothing but water. to speak of flesh and wine there is no need, for such a thing is not found among other earnest men. when he slept he was content with a rush-mat: but mostly he lay on the bare ground. he would not anoint himself with oil, saying that it was more fit for young men to be earnest in training, than to seek things which softened the body; and that they must accustom themselves to labour, according to the apostle's saying, "when i am weak, then i am strong;" for that the mind was strengthened 40 saint antony. as bodily pleasure was weakened. and this argument of his was truly wonderful. for he did not measure the path of virtue, nor his going away into retirement on account of it, by time; but by his own desire and will. so forgetting the past, he daily, as if beginning afresh, took more pains to improve, saying over to himself continually the apostle's words, "forgetting what is behind, stretching forward to what is before;" and mindful, too, of elias' speech, "the lord liveth, before whom i stand this day." for he held, that by mentioning to-day, he took no account of past time: but, as if he were laying down a beginning, he tried earnestly to make himself day by day fit to appear before god, pure in heart, and ready to obey his will, and no other. and he said in himself that the ascetic ought for ever to be learning his own life from the manners of the great elias, as from a mirror. antony, having thus, as it were, bound himself, went to the tombs, which happened to be some way from the village; and having bidden one of his acquaintances to bring him bread at intervals of many days, he entered one of the tombs, and, shutting the door upon himself, remained there alone. but the enemy, not enduring that, but rather terrified lest in a little. while he should fill the desert with his training, coming one night with a multitude of dæmons, beat him so much with stripes, that he lay speechless from the torture. for he asserted that the pain was so great that no blows given by men could cause such agony. but by the providence of god (for the lord does not overlook those who hope in him), the next day his saint antony. 41 ܛ acquaintance came, bringing him the loaves. and having opened the door, and seeing him lying on the ground for dead, he carried him to the lord's house in the village, and laid him on the ground; and many of his kinsfolk and the villagers sat round him, as round a corpse. but about midnight, antony coming to himself, and waking up, saw them all sleeping, and only his acquaintance awake, and, nodding to him to approach, begged him to carry him back to the tombs, without waking any one. when that was done, the doors were shut, and he remained as before, alone inside. and, because he could not stand on account of the dæmons' blows, he prayed prostrate. and after his prayer, he said with a shout, "here am i, antony: i do not fly from your stripes; yea, if you do yet more, nothing shall separate me from the love of christ." and then he sang, "if an host be laid against me, yet shall not my heart be afraid." thus thought and spoke the man who was training himself. but the enemy, hater of what is noble, and envious, wondering that he dared to return after the stripes, called together his dogs, and bursting with rage,-" ye see," he said, "that we have not stopped this man by the spirit of impurity; nor by blows: but he is even growing bolder against us. let us attack him some other way." for it is easy for the devil to invent schemes of mischief. so then in the night they made such a crash, that the whole place seemed shaken, and the dæmons, as if breaking in the four walls of the room, * i give this passage as it stands in the greek version. in the latin, attributed to evagrius, it is even more extravagant and rhetorical. 42 saint antony. seemed to enter through them, changing themselves into the shapes of beasts and creeping things;* and the place was forthwith filled with shapes of lions, bears, leopards, bulls, and snakes, asps, scorpions, and wolves, and each of them moved according to his own fashion. the lion roared, longing to attack; the bull seemed to toss; the serpent did not cease creeping, and the wolf rushed upon him; and altogether the noises of all the apparitions were dreadful, and their tempers cruel. but antony, scourged and pierced by them, felt a more dreadful bodily pain than before: but he lay unshaken and awake in spirit. he groaned at the pain of his body: but clear in intellect, and as it were mocking, he said, "if there were any power in you, it were enough that one of you should come on; but since the lord has made you weak, therefore you try to frighten me by mere numbers. and a proof of your weakness is, that you imitate the shapes of brute animals." and taking courage, he said again, "if ye can, and have received power against me, delay not, but attack; but if ye cannot, why do ye disturb me in vain? for a seal to us and a wall of safety is our faith in the lord." the dæmons, having made many efforts, gnashed their teeth at him, because he rather mocked at them, than they at him. but neither then * surely the imagery painted on the inner walls of egyptian tombs, and probably believed by antony and his compeers to be connected with devil-worship, explain these visions. in the "words of the elders a monk complains of being troubled with "pictures, old and new. probably, again, the pain which antony felt was the agony of a fever; and the visions which he saw, its delirium. "2 "" saint antony. 43 1335 "" did the lord forget antony's wrestling, but appeared to help him. for, looking up, he saw the roof as it were opened and a ray of light coming down towards him. the dæmons suddenly became invisible, and the pain of his body forthwith ceased, and the building became quite whole. but antony, feeling the succour, and getting his breath again, and freed from pain, questioned the vision which appeared, saying, "where wert thou? why didst thou not appear to me from the first, to stop my pangs?" and a voice came to him, antony, i was here, but i` waited to see thy fight. therefore, since thou hast withstood, and not been worsted, i will be to thee always a succour, and will make thee become famous everywhere." hearing this, he rose and prayed, and was so strong, that he felt that he had more power in his body than he had before. he was then about thirty-and-five years old. and on the morrow he went out, and was yet more eager for devotion to god; and, going to that old man aforesaid, he asked him to dwell with him in the desert. but when he declined, because of his age, and because no such custom had yet arisen, he himself straightway set off to the mountain. but the enemy again, seeing his earnestness, and wishing to hinder it, cast in his way the phantom of a great silver plate. but antony, perceiving the trick of him who hates what is noble, stopped. and he judged the plate worthless, seeing the devil in it; and said, "whence comes a plate in the desert? this is no beaten way, nor is there here the footstep of any traveller. had it 44 saint antony. fallen, it could not have been unperceived, from its great size; and besides, he who lost it would have turned back and found it, because the place is desert. this is a trick of the devil. thou shalt not hinder, devil, my determination by this: let it go with thee into perdition." and as antony said that, it vanished, as smoke from before the face of the fire. then again he saw, not this time a phantom, but real gold lying in the way as he came. up. but whether the enemy showed it him, or whether some better power, which was trying the athlete, and showing the devil that he did not care for real wealth; neither did he tell, nor do we know, save that it was real gold. antony, wondering at the abundance of it, so stepped over it as over fire, and so passed it by, that he never turned, but ran on in haste, until he had lost sight of the place. and growing even more and more intense in his determination, he rushed up the mountain, and finding an empty inclosure full of creeping things on account of its age, he betook himself across the river, and dwelt in it. the creeping things, as if pursued by some one, straightway left the place: but he blocked up the entry, having taken with him loaves for six months (for the thebans do this, and they often remain a whole year fresh), and having water with him, entering, as into a sanctuary, into that monastery,* he remained alone, never going forth, and never looking at any one who came. thus he passed a long time * here is an instance of the original use of the word monastery," viz. a cell in which a single person dwelt. "( saint antony. 45 there training himself, and only twice a year received loaves, let down from above through the roof. but those of his acquaintance who came to him, as they often remained days and nights outside (for he did not allow any one to enter), used to hear as it were crowds inside clamouring, thundering, lamenting, crying-" depart from our ground. what dost thou even in the desert? thou canst not abide our onset.' at first those without thought that there were some men fighting with him, and that they had got in by ladders but when, peeping in through a crack, they saw no one, then they took for granted that they were dæmons, and being terrified, called themselves on antony. but he rather listened to them than cared for the others. for his acquaintances came up continually, expecting to find him dead, and heard him singing, “let the lord arise, and his enemies shall be scattered; and let them who hate him flee before him. as wax melts from before the face of the fire, so shall sinners perish from before the face of god." and again, “all nations compassed me round about, and in the name of the lord i repelled them." he endured then for twenty years, thus training himself alone; neither going forth, nor seen by any one for long periods of time. but after this, when many longed for him, and wished to imitate his training, and others who knew him came, and were bursting in the door by force, antony came forth as from some inner shrine, initiated into the mysteries, and bearing the god.* and then first he appeared out of * an allusion to the heathen mysteries. در 46 saint antony. the inclosure to those who were coming to him. and when they saw him they wondered; for his body had kept the same habit, and had neither grown fat, nor lean from fasting, nor worn by fighting with the dæmons. for he was just such as they had known him before his retirement. they wondered again at the purity of his soul, because it was neither contracted as if by grief, nor relaxed by pleasure, nor possessed by laughter or by depression; for he was neither troubled at beholding the crowd, nor over-joyful at being saluted by too many; but was altogether equal, as being governed by reason, and standing on that which is according to nature. many sufferers in body who were present did the lord heal by him; and others he purged from dæmons. and he gave to antony grace in speaking, so that he comforted many who grieved, and reconciled others who were at variance, exhorting all to prefer nothing in the world to the love of christ, and persuading and exhorting them to be mindful of the good things to come, and of the love of god towards us, who spared not his own son, but delivered him up for us all. he persuaded many to choose the solitary life; and so thenceforth cells sprang up in the mountains, and the desert was colonized by monks, who went forth from their own, and registered themselves in the city which is in heaven. and when he had need to cross the arsenoite canal (and the need was the superintendence of the brethren), the canal was full of crocodiles. and having only prayed, he entered it; and both he and all who saint antony. 47 were with him went through it unharmed. but when he returned to the cell, he persisted in the noble labours of his youth; and by continued exhortations he increased the willingness of those who were already monks, and stirred to love of training the greater number of the rest; and quickly, as his speech drew men on, the cells became more numerous; and he governed them all as a father. and when he had gone forth one day, and all the monks had come to him desiring to hear some word from him, he spake to them in the egyptian tongue, thus-"that the scriptures were sufficient for instruction, but that it was good for us to exhort each other in the faith.". [here follows a long sermon, historically important, as being the earliest christian attempt to reduce to a science dæmonology and the temptation of dæmons: but its involved and rhetorical form proves sufficiently that it could not have been delivered by an unlettered man like antony. neither is it, probably, even composed by st. athanasius; it seems rather, like several other passages in this biography, the interpolation of some later scribe. it has been, therefore, omitted.] and when antony had spoken thus, all rejoiced; and in one the love of virtue was increased, in another negligence stirred up, and in others conceit stopped, while all were persuaded to despise the plots of the devil, wondering at the grace which had been given to antony by the lord for the discernment of spirits. so the cells in the mountains were like tents filled with divine choirs, singing, discoursing, 48 saint antony. fasting, praying, rejoicing over the hope of the future, working that they might give alms thereof, and having love and concord with each other. and there was really to be seen, as it were, a land by itself, of piety and justice; for there was none there who did wrong, or suffered wrong: no blame from any talebearer: but a multitude of men training themselves, and in all of them a mind set on virtue. so that any one seeing the cells, and such an array of monks, would have cried out, and said, "how fair are thy dwellings, o jacob, and thy tents, o israel; like shady groves and like parks beside a river, and like tents which the lord hath pitched, and like cedars by the waters." he himself, meanwhile, withdrawing, according to his custom, alone to his own cell, increased the severity of his training. and he groaned daily, considering the mansions in heaven, and setting his longing on them, and looking at the ephemeral life of man. for even when he was going to eat or sleep, he was ashamed, when he considered the rational element of his soul; so that often, when he was about to eat with many other monks, he remembered the spiritual food, and declined, and went far away from them; thinking that he should blush. if he was seen by others eating. he ate, nevertheless, by himself, on account of the necessities of the body; and often, too, with the brethren, being bashful with regard to them, but plucking up heart for the sake of saying something that might be useful; and used to tell them that they ought saint antony. 49 to give all their leisure rather to the soul than to the body; and that they should grant a very little time to the body, for mere necessity's sake: but that their whole leisure should be rather given to the soul, and should seek her profit, that she may not be drawn down by the pleasures of the body, but rather the body be led captive by her. for this (he said) was what was spoken by the saviour, "be not anxious for your soul, what ye shall eat; nor for your body, what ye shall put on. and seek not what ye shall eat, nor what ye shall drink, neither let your minds be in suspense for after all these things the nations of the world seek: but your father knoweth that ye need all these things. rather seek first his kingdom; and all these things shall be added unto you." after these things, the persecution which happened under the maximinus of that time,* laid hold of the church; and when the holy martyrs were brought to alexandria, antony too followed, leaving his cell, and saying, "let us depart too, that we may wrestle if we be called, or see them wrestling." and he longed to be a martyr himself, but, not choosing to give himself up, he ministered to the confessors in the mines, and in the prisons. and he was very earnest in the judgment-hall to excite the readiness of those who were called upon to wrestle; and to receive and bring on * a.d. 311. galerius valerius maximinus (his real name was daza) had been a shepherd-lad in illyria, like his uncle galerius valerius maximianus; and rose, like him, through the various grades of the army to be co-emperor of rome, over syria, egypt, and asia minor; a furious persecutor of the christians, and a brutal and profligate tyrant. such were the "kings of the world" from whom those o'd monks fled s. l. ii. e 50 saint antony. their way, till they were perfected, those of them who went to martyrdom. at last the judge, seeing the fearlessnes. and earnestness of him and those who were with him, commanded that none of the monks should appear in the judgment-hall, or haunt at all in the city. so all the rest thought good to hide themselves that day; but antony cared so much for the order, that he all the rather washed his cloak, and stood next day upon a high place, and appeared to the general in shining white. therefore, when all the rest wondered, and the general saw him, and passed by with his array, he stood fearless, showing forth the readiness of us christians. for he himself prayed to be a martyr, as i have said, and was like one grieved, because he had not borne his witness. but the lord was preserving him for our benefit, and that of the rest, that he might become a teacher to many in the training which he had learnt from scripture. for many, when they only saw his manner of life, were eager to emulate it. so he again ministered continually to the confessors; and, as if bound with them, wearied himself in his services. and when at last the persecution ceased, and the blessed bishop peter had been martyred, he left the city, and went back to his cell. and he was there, day by day, a martyr in his conscience, and wrestling in the conflict of faith; for he imposed on himself a much more severe training than before; and his garment was within of hair, without of skin, which he kept till his end. he neither washed his body with water, nor ever cleansed his feet, nor actually endured putting them into water unless it saint antony. 51 were necessary. and no one ever saw him unclothed till he was dead and about to be buried. when, then, he retired, and had resolved neither to go forth himself, nor to receive any one, one martinianus, a captain of soldiers, came and gave trouble to antony. for he had with him his daughter, who was tormented by a dæmon. and while he remained a long time knocking at the door, and expecting him to come to pray to god for the child, antony could not bear to open, but leaning from above, said, “man, why criest thou to me? i, too, am a man, as thou art. but if thou believest, pray to god, and it comes to pass." forthwith, therefore, he believed, and called on christ; and went away, with his daughter cleansed from the dæmon. and many other things the lord did by him, saying, "ask, and it shall be given you." for most of the sufferers, when he did not open the door, only sat down outside the cell, and believing, and praying honestly, were cleansed. but when he saw himself troubled by many, and not being permitted to retire, as he wished, being afraid lest he himself. should be puffed up by what the lord was doing by him, or lest others should count of him above what he was, he resolved to go to the upper thebaid, to those who knew him not. and, in fact, having taken loaves from the brethren, he sat down on the bank of the river, watching for a boat to pass, that he might embark and go up in it. and as he watched, a voice came to him: "antony, whither art thou going, and why?" and he, not terrified, but as one accustomed to be often called thus, answered when he heard it, e 2 52 saint antony. "because the crowds will not let me be at rest; therefore am i minded to go up to the upper thebaid, on account of the many annoyances which befall me; and, above all, because they ask of me things beyond my strength." and the voice said to him, "even if thou goest up to the thebaid, even if, as thou art minded to do, thou goest down the cattle pastures,* thou wilt have to endure more, and double trouble; but if thou wilt really be at rest, go now into the inner desert." and when antony said, "who will show me the way, for i have not tried it?" forthwith it showed him saracens who were going to journey that road. so, going to them, and drawing near them, antony asked leave to depart with them into the desert. but they, as if by an ordinance of providence, willingly received him; and, journeying three days and three nights with them, he came to a very high mountain; † and there was water under the mountain, clear, sweet, and very cold; and a plain outside; and a few neglected date-palms. then antony, as if stirred by god, loved the spot; for this it was what he had pointed out who spoke to him beside the river bank. at first, then, having received bread from those who journeyed with him, he remained alone in the mount, no one else being with him. for he recognised that place as his own home, and kept it thenceforth. and the saracens themselves, * the lonely alluvial flats at the mouths of the nile. "below the cliffs, beside the sea," as one describes them. now the monastery of deir antonios, over the wady el arabah, between the nile and the red sea, where antony's monks endure to this day. saint antony, 53 seeing antony's readiness, came that way on purpose, and joyfully brought him loaves; and he had, too, the solace of the dates, which was then little and paltry. but after this, the brethren, having found out the spot, like children remembering their father, were anxious to send things to him; but antony saw that, in bringing him bread, some there were put to trouble and fatigue; and, sparing the monks even in that, took counsel with himself, and asked some who came to him to bring him a hoe and a hatchet, and a little corn; and when these were brought, having gone over the land round the mountain, he found a very narrow place which was suitable, and tilled it; and, having plenty of water to irrigate it, he sowed; and, doing this year by year, he got his bread from thence, rejoicing that he should be troublesome to no one on that account, and that he was keeping himself free from obligation in all things. but after this, seeing again some people coming, he planted also a very few pot-herbs, that he who came might have some small solace after the labour of that hard journey. at first, however, the wild beasts in the desert, coming on account of the water, often hurt his crops and his tillage; but he, gently laying hold of one of them, said to them all, "why do you hurt me, who have not hurt you? depart, and, in the name of the lord, never come near this place." and from that time forward, as if they were afraid of his command, they never came near the place. so he was there alone in the inner mountain, having leisure for prayer and for training. but the brethren who 54 saint antony. ministered to him asked him that, coming every month, they might bring him olives, and pulse, and oil; for, after all, he was old. and while he had his conversation there, what great wrestlings he endured, according to that which is written, "not against flesh and blood, but against the dæmons who are our adversaries,” we have known from those who went in to him. for there also they heard tumults, and many voices, and clashing as of arms; and they beheld the mount by night full of wild beasts, and they looked on him, too, fighting, as it were, with beings whom he saw, and praying against them. and those who came to him he bade be of good courage, but he himselt wrestled, bending his knees, and praying to the lord. and it was truly worthy of wonder that, alone in such a desert, he was neither cowed by the dæmons who beset him, nor, while there were there so many four-footed and creeping beasts, was at all afraid of their fierceness: but, as is written, trusted in the lord like the mount zion, having his reason unshaken and untost; so that the dæmons rather fled, and the wild beasts, as is written, were at peace with him. nevertheless, the devil (as david sings) watched antony, and gnashed upon him with his teeth. but antony was comforted by the saviour, remaining unhurt by his craft and manifold artifices. for on him, when he was awake at night, he let loose wild beasts; and almost all the hyænas in that desert, coming out of their burrows, beset him round, and he was in the midst. and when each gaped on him and threatened to bite him, perceiving the art of the enemy, he said + l saint antony. 55 to them all," if ye have received power against me, i am ready to be devoured by you: but if ye have been set on by dæmons, delay not, but withdraw, for i am a servant of christ." when antony said this, they fled, pursued by his words as by a whip. next after a few days, as he was working-for he took care, too, to labour—some one standing at the door pulled the plait that he was working. for he was weaving baskets, which he used to give to those who came, in return for what they brought him. and rising up, he saw a beast, like a man down to his thighs, but having legs and feet like an ass; and antony only crossed himself and said, "i am a servant of christ. if thou hast been sent against me, behold, here i am." and the beast with its demons fled away, so that in its haste it fell and died. now the death of the beast was the fall of the dæmons. for they were eager to do everything to bring him back out of the desert, but could not prevail. and being once asked by the monks to come down to them, and to visit awhile them and their places, he journeyed with the monks who came to meet him. and a camel carried their loaves and their water; for that desert is all dry, and there is no drinkable water unless in that mountain alone whence they drew their water, and where his cell is. but when the water failed on the journey, and the heat was most intense, they all began to be in danger; for going round to various places, and finding no water, they could walk no more, but lay down on the ground, and they let the camel go, and gave themselves up. 56 saint antony. but the old man, seeing them all in danger, was utterly grieved, and groaned; and departing a little way from them, and bending his knees and stretching out his hands, he prayed, and forthwith the lord caused water to come out where he had stopped and prayed. and thus all of them drinking took breath again; and having filled their skins, they sought the camel, and found her; for it befell that the halter had been twisted round a stone, and thus she had been stopped. so, having brought her back, and given her to drink, they put the skins on her, and went through their journey unharmed. and when they came to the outer cells all embraced him, looking on him as a father. and he, as if he brought them guest-gifts from the mountain, gave them away to them in his words, and shared his benefits among them. and there was joy again in the mountains, and zeal for improvement, and comfort through their faith in each. other. and he too rejoiced, seeing the willingness of the monks, and his sister grown old in maidenhood, and herself the leader of other virgins. and so after certain days he went back again to the mountain. and after that many came to him; and others who suffered dared also to come. now to all the monks who came to him he gave continually this command: to trust in the lord and love him, and to keep themselves from foul thoughts and fleshly pleasures; and, as is written in the parables, not to be deceived by fulness of bread; and to avoid vainglory; and to pray continually; and to sing before sleep and after sleep; and to lay by in their hearts the commandsaint antony. 57 ment of scripture; and to remember the works of the saints, in order to have their souls attuned to emulate them. but especially he counselled them to meditate continually on the apostle's saying, "let not the sun go down upon your wrath ;" and this he said was spoken of all commandments in common, in order that not on wrath alone, but on every other sin, the sun should never go down; for it was noble and necessary that the sun should never condemn us for a baseness by day, nor the moon for a sin or even a thought by night; therefore, in order that that which is noble may be preserved in us, it was good to hear and to keep what the apostle commanded: for he said: "judge yourselves, and prove yourselves." let each then take account with himself, day by day, of his daily and nightly deeds; and if he has not sinned, let him not boast, but let him endure in what is good and not be negligent, neither condemn his neighbour, neither justify himself, as said the blessed apostle paul, until the lord comes who searches. secret things. for we often deceive ourselves in what we do, and we indeed know not: but the lord comprehends all. giving therefore the judgment to him, let us sympathise with each other; and let us bear each other's burdens, and examine ourselves; and what we are behind in, let us be eager to fill up. and let this, too, be my counsel for safety against sinning. let us each note and write down the deeds and motions of the soul as if he were about to relate them to each other; and be confident that, as we shall be utterly ashamed that they should be known, we shall 58 saint antony. cease from sinning, and even from desiring anything mean. for who when he sins wishes to be harmed thereby? or who, having sinned, does not rather lie, wishing to hide it? as therefore when in each other's sight we dare not commit a crime, so if we write down our thoughts, and tell them to each other, we shall keep ourselves the more from foul thoughts, for shame lest they should be known. and thus forming ourselves we shall be able to bring the body into slavery, and please the lord on the one hand, and on the other trample on the snares of the enemy." this was his exhortation to those who met him: but with those who suffered he suffered, and prayed with them. and often and in many things the lord heard him; and neither when he was heard did he boast; nor when he was not heard did he murmur: but, remaining always the same, gave thanks to the lord. and those who suffered he exhorted to keep up heart, and to know that the power of cure was none of his, nor of any man's; but only belonged to god, who works when and whatsoever he chooses. so the sufferers received this as a remedy, learning not to despise the old man's words, but rather to keep up heart; and those who were cured learned not to bless antony, but god alone. ... for instance, one called fronto, who belonged to the palace, and had a grievous disease (for he gnawed his own tongue, and tried to injure his eyes), came to the mountain and asked antony to pray for him. and when he had prayed he said to fronto, " depart, and be healed." and when he resisted, and remained saint antony. 59 within some days, antony continued saying, "thou canst not be healed if thou remainest here; go forth, and as soon as thou enterest egypt, thou shalt see the sign which shall befall thee." he, believing, went forth; and as soon as he only saw egypt he was freed from his disease, and became sound according to the word of antony, which he had learnt by prayer from the saviour.... [here follows a story of a girl cured of a painful complaint which need not be translated.] but when two brethren were coming to him, and water failed them on the journey, one of them died, and the other was about to die. in fact, being no longer able to walk, he too lay upon the ground expecting death. but antony, as he sat on the mountain, called two monks who happened to be there, and hastened them, saying, "take a pitcher of water, and run on the road towards egypt; for of two who are coming hither one has just expired, and the other will do so if you do not hasten. for this has been showed to me as i prayed.” so the monks going found the one lying dead, and buried him; and the other they recovered with the water, and brought him to the old man. now the distance was a day's journey. but if any one should ask why he did not speak before one of them expired, he does not question rightly; for the judgment of that death did not belong to antony, but to god, who both judged concerning the one; and revealed concerning the other. but this alone in antony was wonderful, that sitting on the mountain he kept his 60 saint antony. heart watchful, and the lord showed him things afar off. for once again, as he sat on the mountain and looked up, he saw some one carried aloft, and a great rejoicing among some who met him. then wondering, and blessing such a choir, he prayed to be taught what that might be; and straightway a voice came to him that this was the soul of ammon, the monk in nitria,* who had persevered as an ascetic to his old age; and the distance from nitria to the mountain where antony was, is thirteen days' journey. those then who were with antony, seeing the old man wondering, asked the reason, and heard that ammon had just expired, for he was known to them on account of his having frequently come thither, and many signs having been worked by him, of which this is one.... [here follows the story (probably an interpolation) of ammon's being miraculously carried across the river lycus, because he was ashamed to undress himself.] but the monks to whom antony spoke about ammon's death noted down the day; and when brethren came from nitria after thirty days, they inquired and learnt that ammon had fallen asleep at the day and hour in which the old man saw his soul carried aloft. and all on both sides wondered * this most famous monastery, i.e. collection of monks' cells, in egypt is situate forty miles from alexandria, on a hill where nitre was gathered. the hospitality and virtue of its inmates are much praised by ruffinus and palladius. they were, nevertheless, the chief agents in the fanatical murder of hypatia. saint antony. 61 · at the purity of antony's soul; how he had learnt. and seen instantly what had happened thirteen days' journey off. moreover, archeleas the count, finding him once. in the outer mountain praying alone, asked him concerning polycratia, that wonderful and christ-bearing maiden in laodicea; for she suffered dreadful internal pain from her extreme training, and was altogether weak in body. antony, therefore, prayed; and the count noted down the day on which the prayer was offered. and going back to laodicea, he found the maiden cured; and asking when and on what day her malady had ceased, he brought out the paper on which he had written down the date of the prayer. and when she told him, he showed at once the writing on the paper. and all found that the lord had stopped her sufferings while antony was still praying and calling for her on the goodness of the saviour. and concerning those who came to him, he often predicted some days, or even a month, beforehand, and the cause why they were coming. for some came only to see him, and others on account of sickness, and others because they suffered from dæmons, and all thought the labour of the journey no trouble nor harm, for each went back aware that he had been benefited. and when he spoke and looked thus, he asked no one to marvel at him on that account, but to marvel rather at the lord, because he had given us, who are but men, grace to know him according to our powers. and as he was going down again to the outer cells, 62 saint antony. and was minded to enter a boat and pray with the monks, he alone perceived a dreadfully evil odour, and when those in the boat told him that they had fish and brine on board, and that it was they which smelt, he said that it was a different smell; and while he was yet speaking, a youth, who had an evil spirit, had gone before them and hidden in the boat, suddenly cried out. but the dæmon, being rebuked in the name of our lord jesus christ, went out of him, and the man became whole, and all knew that the smell had come from the evil spirit. and there was another man of high rank who came to him, having a dæmon, and one so terrible, that the possessed man did not know that he was going to antony, but [showed the common symptoms of mania]. those who brought him entreated antony to pray over him, which he did, feeling for the young man, and he watched beside him all night. but about dawn, the young man, suddenly rushing on antony, assaulted him. when those who came with him were indignant, antony said, "be not hard upon the youth, for it is not he, but the dæmon in him; and because he has been rebuked, and commanded to go forth into dry places, he has become furious, and done this. glorify, therefore, the lord for his having thus rushed upon me, as a sign to you that the dæmon is going out." and as antony said this, the youth suddenly became sound, and, recovering his reason, knew where he was, and embraced the old man, giving thanks to god. and most of the monks agree unanimously that many like things. saint antony. 63 were done by him: yet are they not so wonderful as what follows. for once, when he was going to eat, and rose up to pray about the ninth hour, he felt himself rapt in spirit; and (wonderful to relate) as he stood he saw himself as it were taken out of himself, and led into the air by some persons; and then others, bitter and terrible, standing in the air, and trying to prevent his passing upwards. and when those who led him fought against them, they demanded whether he was not accountable to them. and when they began to take account of his deeds from his birth, his guides stopped them, saying, "what happened from his birth upwards, the lord hath wiped out: but of what has happened since he became a monk, and made a promise to god, of that you may demand an account." then, when they brought accusations against him, and could not prove them, the road was opened freely to him. and straightway he saw himself as if coming back and standing before himself, and was antony once more. then, forgetting that he had not eaten, he remained the rest of the day and all night groaning and praying, for he wondered when he saw against how many enemies we must wrestle, and through how many labours a man must traverse the air; and he remembered that it is this which the apostle means with regard to the prince of the power of the air; for it is in the air that the enemy has his power, fighting against those who pass through it, and trying to hinder them. wherefore, also be especially exhorts us: "take the whole armour of god, that the enemy, having no evil to say about 64 saint antony. us, may be ashamed." but when we heard this, we remembered the apostle's saying, "whether in the body i cannot tell, or out of the body i cannot tell : god knoweth." but paul was caught up into the third heaven, and, having heard unspeakable words, descended again; but antony saw himself rapt in the air, and wrestling till he seemed to be free. again, he had this grace, that as he was sitting alone in the mountain, if at any time he was puzzled in himself, the thing was revealed to him by providence as he prayed; and the blessed man was, as scripture says, taught of god. after this, at all events, when he had been talking with some who came to him concerning the departure of the soul, and what would be its place after this life, the next night some one called him from without, and said, rise up, antony; come out and see." so coming out (for he knew whom he ought to obey), he beheld a tall being, shapeless and terrible, standing and reaching to the clouds, and as it were winged beings ascending; and him stretching out his hands; and some of them hindered by him, and others flying above him, and when they had once passed him, borne upwards without trouble. but against them that tall being gnashed his teeth, while over those who fell, he rejoiced. and there came a voice to antony, "consider what thou seest." and when his understanding was opened, he perceived that it was the enemy who envies the faithful, and that those who were in his power he mastered and hindered from passing; but that those who had not obeyed 66 saint antony. 65 him, over them, as over conquerors, he had no power. having seen this, and as it were made mindful by it, he struggled more and more daily to improve. now these things he did not tell of his own accord; but when he was long in prayer, and astonished in himself, those who were with him questioned him and urged him; and he was forced to tell; unable, as a father, to hide anything from his children; and considering, too, that his own conscience was clear, and the story would be profitable for them, when they learned that the life of training bore good fruit, and that visions often came as a solace of their toils. but how tolerant was his temper, and how humble his spirit; for though he was so great, he both honoured exceedingly the canon of the church, and wished to put every ecclesiastic before himself in honour. for to the bishops and presbyters he was not ashamed to bow his head; and if a deacon ever came to him for the sake of profit, he discoursed with him on what was profitable, but in prayer he gave place to him, not being ashamed even himself to learn from him.* for he often asked questions, and deigned to listen to all present, confessing that he was profited if any one said aught that was useful. moreover, his countenance had great and wonderful grace; and this gift too he had from the saviour. for if he was present among the multitude * it appears from this and many other passages, that extempore prayer was usual among these monks, as it was afterwards among the puritans (who have copied them in so many other things), whenever a godly man visited them. s. l. ii. f 66 saint antony. of monks, and any one who did not previously know him wished to see him, as soon as he came he passed by all the rest, and ran to antony himself, as if attracted by his eyes. he did not differ from the rest in stature or in stoutness, but in the steadiness of his temper, and purity of his soul; for as his soul was undisturbed, his outward senses were undisturbed likewise, so that the cheerfulness of his soul made his face cheerful, and from the movements of his body the stedfastness of his soul could be perceived, according to the scripture, "when the heart is cheerful the countenance is glad; but when sorrow comes it scowleth." . and he was altogether wonderful in faith, and pious, for he never communicated with the meletian* schismatics, knowing their malice and apostasy from the beginning; nor did he converse amicably with manichæans or any other heretics, save only to exhort them to be converted to piety. for he held that their friendship and converse was injury and ruin to the soul. so also he detested the heresy of the arians, and exhorted all not to approach them, nor hold their misbelief.† in fact, when certain of the ariomanites came to him, having * meletius, bishop of lycopolis, was the author of an obscure schism calling itself the “church of the martyrs," which refused to communicate with the rest of the eastern church. see smith's "dictionary," on the word "meletius." + arius (whose most famous and successful opponent was athanasius, the writer of this biography) maintained that the son of god was not co-equal and co-eternal with the father, but created by him out of nothing, and before the world. his opinions were condemned in the famous council of nicæa, a.d. 325. saint antony. 440 discerned them and found them impious, he chased them out of the mountain, saying that their words were worse than serpent's poison; and when the arians once pretended that he was of the same opinion as they, he was indignant and fierce against them. then being sent for by the bishops and all the brethren, he went down from the mountain, and entering alexandria he denounced the arians, saying, that that was the last heresy, and the forerunner of antichrist; and he taught the people that the son of god was not a created thing, neither made from nought, but that he is the eternal word and wisdom of the essence of the father; wherefore also it is impious to say there was a time when he was not, for he was always the word co-existent with the father. wherefore he said, "do not have any communication with these most impious arians; for there is no communion between light and darkness. for you are pious christians: but they, when they say that the son of god and the word, who is from the father, is a created being, differ nought from the heathen, because they worship the creature instead of god the creator.* believe rather that the whole creation itself is indignant against them, because they number the creator and lord of all, in whom all things are made, among created things." all the people therefore rejoiced at hearing that christopposing heresy anathematized by such a man; and * if st. antony could use so extreme an argument against the arians, what would he have said to the mariolatry which sprang up after his death? 68 saint antony. all those in the city ran together to see antony and the greeks,* and those who are called their priests † came into the church, wishing to see the man of god; for all called him by that name, because there the lord cleansed many by him from dæmons, and healed those who were out of their mind. and many heathens wished only to touch the old man, believing that it would be of use to them; and in fact as many became christians in those few days, as would have been usually converted in a year. and when some thought that the crowd troubled him, and therefore turned all away from him, he quietly said that they were not more numerous than the fiends with whom he wrestled on the mountain. but when he left the city, and we were setting him on his journey, when we came to the gate a certain woman called to him: "wait, man of god, my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil; wait, i beseech thee, lest i too harm myself with running after thee." the old man hearing it, and being asked by us, waited willingly. but when the woman drew near, the child dashed itself on the ground; and when antony prayed and called on the name of christ, it rose up sound, the unclean spirit having gone out; and the mother blessed god, and we all gave thanks: and he himself rejoiced at leaving the city for the mountain, as för his own home. now he was very prudent; and what was wonder*i.e. those who were still heathens. + iepeús. the christian priest is always called in this work simply τοεσβύτερος, or elder. saint antony. 69 ful, though he had never learnt letters, he was a shrewd and understanding man. once, for example, two greek philosophers came to him, thinking that they could tempt antony. and he was in the outer mountain; and when he went out to them, understanding the men from their countenances, he said through an interpreter, "why have you troubled yourselves so much, philosophers, to come to a foolish man?" and when they answered that he was not foolish, but rather very wise, he said, "if you have come to a fool, your labour is superfluous, but if ye think me to be wise, become as am; for we ought to copy what is good, and if i had come to you, i should have copied you; but if you come to me, copy me, for i am a christian." and they wondering went their way, for they saw that even dæmons were afraid of antony. and again when others of the same class met him in the outer mountain, and thought to mock him, because he had not learnt letters, antony answered, "but what do you say? which is first, the sense or the letters? and which is the cause of the other, the sense of the letters, or the letters of the sense?" and when they said that the sense came first, and invented the letters, antony replied, "if then the sense be sound, the letters are not needed." which struck them, and those present, with astonishment. so they went away wondering, when they saw so much understanding in an unlearned man. for though he had lived and grown old in the mountain, his manners were not rustic, but graceful and urbane; and his speech was 70 saint antony. seasoned with the divine salt, so that no man grudged at him, but rather rejoiced over him, as many as came. ... [here follows a long sermon against the heathen worship, attributed to st. antony, but of very questionable authenticity: the only point about it which is worthy of note is that antony confutes the philosophers by challenging them to cure some possessed persons, and, when they are unable to do so, casts out the dæmons himself by the sign of the cross.] the fame of antony reached even the kings, for constantinus the augustus, and his sons, constantius and constans, the augusti, hearing of these things, wrote to him as to a father, and begged to receive an answer from him. but he did not make much of. the letters, nor was puffed up by their messages; and he was just the same as he was before the kings wrote to him. and he called his monks and said, "wonder not if a king writes to us, for he is but a man: but wonder rather that god has written his law to man, and spoken to us by his own son." so he declined to receive their letters, saying he did not know how to write an answer to such things; but being admonished by the monks that the kings were christians, and that they must not be scandalized by being despised, he permitted the letters to be read, and wrote an answer; accepting them because they worshipped christ, and counselling them, for their salvation, not to think the present life great, but rather to remember judgment to come; and saint antony. 71 to know that christ was the only true and eternal king; and he begged them to be merciful to men, and to think of justice and the poor. and they, when they received the answer, rejoiced. thus was he kindly towards all, and all looked on him as their father. he then betook himself again into the inner mountain, and continued his accustomed training. but often, when he was sitting and walking with those who came unto him, he was astounded, as is written in daniel. and after the space of an hour, he told what had befallen to the brethren who were with him, and they perceived that he had seen some vision. often he saw in the mountain what was happening in egypt, and told it to serapion the bishop, who saw him occupied with a vision. once, for instance, as he sat, he fell as it were into an ecstasy, and groaned much at what he saw. then, after an hour, turning to those who were with him, he groaned and fell into a trembling, and rose up and prayed, and bending his knees, remained so a long while; and then the old man rose up and wept. the bystanders, therefore, trembling and altogether terrified, asked him to tell them what had happened, and tormented him much, that he was forced to speak. and he groaning greatly-"ah! my children," he said, "it were better to be dead before what i have seen shall come to pass." and when they asked him again, he said with tears, that "wrath will seize on the church, and she will be given over to men like unto brutes, which have no understanding; for i saw the table of the lord's house, and mules standing all 72 122 saint antony. around it in a ring and kicking inwards, as a herd does when it leaps in confusion; and ye all perceived how i groaned, for i heard a voice saying, 'my sanctuary shall be defiled.”” this the old man saw, and after two years there befell the present inroad of the arians,* and the plunder of the churches, when they carried off the holy vessels by violence, and made the heathen carry them and when too they forced the heathens from the prisons to join them, and in their presence did on the holy table what they would.† then we all perceived that the kicks of those mules presignified to antony what the arians are now doing without understanding, like the brutes. but when antony saw this sight, he exhorted those about him, saying, "lose not heart, children; for as the lord has been angry, so will he again be appeased, and the church shall soon receive again her own order and shine forth as she is wont; and ye shall see the persecuted restored to their place, and impiety retreating again into its own dens, and the pious faith speaking boldly everywhere with all freedom. only defile not yourselves with the arians, for this teaching is not of the apostle but of the dæmons, and of their father the devil: barren and irrational and of an unsound mind, like * probably that of a.d. 341, when gregory of cappadocia, nominated by the arian bishops, who had assembled at the council of antioch, expelled athanasius from the see of alexandria, and great violence was committed by his followers and by philagrius the prefect. athanasius meanwhile fled to rome. + i.e. celebrated there their own communion. saint antony. 73 133 the irrational deeds of those mules." thus spoke antony. but we must not doubt whether so great wonders have been done by a man; for the saviour's promise is, "if ye have faith as a grain of mustard-seed, ye shall say to this mountain, pass over from hence, it shall pass over, and nothing shall be impossible to you;" and again, "verily, verily, i say unto you, if ye shall ask my father in my name, he shall give it you. ask, and ye shall receive." and he himself it is who said to his disciples and to all who believe in him, "heal the sick, cast out devils; freely ye have received, freely give." and certainly antony did not heal by his own authority, but by praying and calling on christ; so that it was plain to all that it was not he who did it, but the lord, who through antony showed love to men, and healed the sufferers. but antony's part was only the prayer and the training, for the sake whereof, sitting in the mountain, he rejoiced in the sight of divine things, and grieved when he was tormented by many, and dragged to the outer mountain. for all the magistrates asked him to come down from the mountain, because it was impossible for them to go in thither to him on account of the litigants who followed him; so they begged him to come, that they might only behold him. and when he declined they insisted, and even sent in to him prisoners under the charge of soldiers, that at least on their account he might come down. so being forced by necessity, and seeing them lamenting, he came to 74 saint antony. the outer mountain. and his labour this time too was profitable to many, and his coming for their good. to the magistrates, too, he was of use, counselling them to prefer justice to all things, and to fear god, and to know that with what judgment they judged they should be judged in turn. but he loved best of all his life in the mountain. once again, when he was compelled in the same way to leave it, by those who were in want, and by the general of the soldiers, who entreated him earnestly, he came down, and having spoken to them somewhat of the things which conduced to salvation, he was pressed also by those who were need. but being asked by the general to lengthen his stay, he refused, and persuaded him by a graceful parable, saying, "fishes, if they lie long on the dry land, die; so monks who stay with you lose their strength. as the fishes then hasten to the sea, so must we to the mountain, lest if we delay we should forget what is within." the general, hearing this and much more from him, said with surprise that he was truly a servant of god, for whence could an unlearned man have so great sense if he were not loved by god? another general, named balacius, bitterly persecuted us christians on account of his affection for those abominable arians. his cruelty was so great that he even beat nuns, and stripped and scourged monks. antony sent him a letter to this effect:"i see wrath coming upon thee. cease, therefore, to persecute the christians, lest the wrath lay hold upon thee, for it is near at hand." but balacius, laughing, saint antony. 75 threw the letter on the ground and spat on it; and insulted those who brought it, bidding them tell antony, "since thou carest for monks, i will soon come after thee likewise." and not five days had passed, when the wrath laid hold on him. for balacius himself, and nestorius, the eparch of egypt, went out to the first station from alexandria, which is called chæreas's. both of them were riding on horses belonging to balacius, and the most gentle in all his stud: but before they had got to the place, the horses began playing with each other, as is their wont, and suddenly the more gentle of the two, on which nestorius was riding, attacked balacius and pulled him off with his teeth, and so tore his thigh that he was carried back to the city, and died in three days. and all wondered that what antony had so wonderfully foretold was so quickly fulfilled. these were his warnings to the more cruel. but the rest who came to him he so instructed that they gave up at once their lawsuits, and blessed those who had retired from this life. and those who had been unjustly used he so protected that you would think he and not they was the sufferer. and he was so able to be of use to all; so that many who were serving in the army, and many wealthy men, laid aside the burdens of life and became thenceforth monks; and altogether he was like a physician given by god to egypt. for who met him grieving, and did not go away rejoicing? who came mourning over his dead, and did not forthwith lay aside his grief? who came wrathful, and was not converted to friendship? what poor man 76 saint antony. came wearied out, and when he saw and heard him did not despise wealth and comfort himself in his poverty? what monk who had grown remiss, was not strengthened by coming to him? what young man coming to the mountain and looking upon antony, did not forthwith renounce pleasure and love temperance? who came to him tempted by devils, and did not get rest? who came troubled by doubts, and did not get peace of mind? for this was the great thing in antony's asceticism, that (as i have said before), having the gift of discerning spirits, he understood their movements, and knew in what direction each of them turned his endeavours and his attacks. and not only he was not deceived by them himself, but he taught those who were troubled in mind how they might turn aside the plots of dæmons, teaching them the weakness and the craft of their enemies. how many maidens, too, who had been already betrothed, and only saw antony from afar, remained unmarried for christ's sake! some, too, came from foreign parts to him, and all, having gained some benefit, went back from him as from a father. and now he has fallen asleep, all are as orphans who have lost a parent, consoling themselves with his memory alone, keeping his instructions and exhortations. but what the end of his life was like, it is fit that i should relate, and you hear eagerly. for it too is worthy of emulation. he was visiting, according to his wont, the monks in the outer mountain, and having learned from providence concerning his own end, he said to the brethren, "this visit to you is my last, and i wonder if we saint antony. 77 shall see each other again in this life. it is time for me to set sail, for i am near a hundred and five years old." and when they heard that they wept, and embraced and kissed the old man. and he, as if he was setting out from a foreign city to his own, spoke joyfully, and exhorted them not to grow idle in their labours or cowardly in their training, but to live as those who died daily, and (as i said before) to be earnest in keeping their souls from foul thoughts, and to emulate the saints, and not to draw near the meletian schismatics, for "ye know their evil and profane determinations, nor to have any communion with the arians, for their impiety also is manifest to all. neither if ye shall see the magistrates patronising them, be troubled, for their phantasy shall have an end, and is mortal and only for a little while. keep yourselves therefore rather clean from them, and hold that which has been handed down to you by the fathers, and especially the faith in our lord jesus christ which ye have learned from scripture, and of which ye have often been reminded by me." and when the brethren tried to force him to stay with them and make his end there, he would not endure it, on many accounts, as he showed by his silence; and especially on this:-the egyptians are wont to wrap in linen the corpses of good persons, and especially of the holy martyrs, but not to bury them underground, but to lay them upon benches and keep them in their houses; thinking that by this they honour the * evidently the primeval custom of embalming the dead, and keeping mummies in the house, still lingered among the egyptians. 78 saint antony. departed. now antony had often asked the bishops. to exhort the people about this, and in like manner he himself rebuked the laity and terrified the women; saying that it was a thing neither lawful nor in any way holy; for that the bodies of the patriarchs and prophets are to this day preserved in sepulchres, and that the very body of our lord was laid in a sepulchre, and a stone placed over it to hide it, till he rose the third day. and thus saying he showed that those broke the law who did not bury the corpses of the dead, even they were holy; for what is greater or more holy than the lord's body? many, then, when they heard him, buried thenceforth underground; and blessed the lord that they had been taught rightly. being then aware of this, and afraid lest they should. do the same by his body, he hurried himself, and bade farewell to the monks in the outer mountain; and coming to the inner mountain, where he was wont to abide, after a few months he grew sick, and calling those who were by-and there were two of them who had remained there within fifteen years, exercising themselves and ministering to him on account of his old age-he said to them, "i indeed go the way of the fathers, as it is written, for i perceive that i am called by the lord." . . . [then follows a general exhortation to the monks, almost identical with much that has gone before, and ending by a command that his body should be buried in the ground.] "and let this word of mine be kept by you, so that no one shall know the place, save you alone, for i shall saint antony. 79 receive it (my body) incorruptible from my saviour in the resurrection of the dead. and distribute my garments thus. to athanasius the bishop give one of my sheepskins, and the cloak under me, which was new when he gave it me, and has grown old by me; and to serapion the bishop give the other sheepskin; and do you have the hair-cloth garment. and for the rest, children, farewell, for antony is going,. and is with you no more." saying thus, when they had embraced him, he stretched out his feet, and, as if he saw friends coming to him, and grew joyful on their account (for, as he lay, his countenance was bright), he departed and was gathered to his fathers. and they forthwith, as he had commanded them, preparing the body and wrapping it up, hid it under ground: and no one knows to this day where it is hidden, save those two servants only. and each (i.e. athanasius and serapion) having received the sheepskin of the blessed antony, and the cloak which he had worn out, keeps them as a great possession. for he who looks on them, as it were, sees antony; and he who puts them. on, wears them with joy, as he does antony's counsels. such was the end of antony in the body, and such the beginning of his training. and if these things are small in comparison with his virtue, yet reckon up from these things how great was antony, the man of god, who kept unchanged, from his youth up to so great an age, the earnestness of his training; and was neither worsted in his old age by the. 80 saint antony. desire of more delicate food, nor on account of the weakness of his body altered the quality of his garment, nor even washed his feet with water; and yet remained uninjured in all his limbs: for his eyes were undimmed and whole, so that he saw well; and not one of his teeth had fallen out, but they were only worn down to his gums on account of his great age; and he remained sound in hand and foot; and, in a word, appeared ruddier and more ready for exertion than all who use various meats and baths, and different dresses. but that this man should be celebrated everywhere and wondered at by all, and regretted even by those who never saw him, is a proof of his virtue, and that his soul was dear to god. for antony became known not by writings, not from the wisdom that is from without, not by any art, but by piety alone; and that this was the gift of god, none can deny. for how as far as spain, as gaul, as rome, as africa, could he have been heard, hidden as he was in a mountain, if it had not been for god, who makes known his own men everywhere, and who had promised antony this from the beginning? for even if they do their deeds in secret, and wish to be concealed, yet the lord shows them as lights to all, that so those who hear of them may know that the commandments suffice to put men in the right way, and may grow zealous of the path of virtue. read then these things to the other brethren, that they may learn what the life of monks should be, and may believe that the lord jesus christ our saviour saint antony. 81 will glorify those who glorify him, and that those who serve him to the end he will not only bring to the kingdom of heaven, but that even if on earth they hide themselves and strive to get out of the way, he will make them manifest and celebrated everywhere, for the sake of their own virtue, and for the benefit of others. but if need be, read this also to the heathens, that even thus they may learn that our lord jesus christ is not only lord and the son of god, but that those who truly serve him, and believe piously on him, not only prove that those dæmons whom the greeks think are gods to be no gods, but even tread them under foot, and chase them out as deceivers and corrupters of men, through jesus christ our lord, to whom be glory and honour for ever and amen. ever. thus ends this strange story. what we are to think of the miracles and wonders contained in it, will be discussed at a later point in this book. meanwhile there is a stranger story still connected with the life of st. antony. it professes to have been told by him himself to his monks; and whatever groundwork of fact there may be in it is doubtless his. the form in which we have it was given it by the famous st. jerome, who sends the tale as a letter to asella, one of the many noble roman ladies whom he persuaded to embrace the monastic life. the style is as well worth preserving as the matter. its ruggedness and awkwardness, its ambition and affectation, contrasted with the graceful simplicity of s. l. ii. g 82 saint antony. athanasius's "life of antony," mark well the difference between the cultivated greek and the ungraceful and half-barbarous roman of the later empire. i have, therefore, given it as literally as possible, that readers may judge for themselves how some of the great fathers of the fifth century wrote, and what they believed. the life of saint paul, the first hermit. by the divine hieronymus the priest. (st. jerome.) prologue. many have often doubted by which of the monks the desert was first inhabited. for some, looking for the beginnings of monachism in earlier ages, have deduced it from the blessed elias and john; of whom elias seems to us to have been rather a prophet than a monk; and john to have begun to prophesy before he was born. but others (an opinion in which all the common people are agreed) assert that antony was the head of this rule of life, which is partly true. for he was not so much himself the first of all, as the man who excited the earnestness of all. but amathas and macarius, antony's disciples (the former of whom buried his master's body), even now affirm that a certain paul, a theban, was the beginner of the matter; which (not so much in name as in opinion) we also hold to be true. some scatter about, as the fancy takes them, both this and other stories; inventing incredible tales of a man in a subterranean cave, hairy down to his heels, and many g 2 84 paul, the first hermit. other things, which it is tedious to follow out. for, as their lie is shameless, their opinion does not seem worth refuting. therefore, because careful accounts of antony, both in greek and roman style, have been handed down, i have determined to write a little about the beginning and end of paul's life; more because the matter has been omitted, than trusting to my own wit. but how he lived during middle life, or what stratagems of satan he endured, is known to none. the life of paul. under decius and valerius, the persecutors, at the time when cornelius at rome, and cyprian at carthage, were condemned in blessed blood, a cruel tempest swept over many churches in egypt and the thebaid. christian subjects in those days longed to be smitten with the sword for the name of christ. but the crafty enemy, seeking out punishments which delayed death, longed to slay souls, not bodies. and as cyprian himself (who suffered by him) says: "when they longed to die, they were not allowed to be slain." in order to make his cruelty better known, we have set down two examples for remembrance. a martyr, persevering in the faith, and conqueror amid racks and red-hot irons, he commanded to be paul, the first hermit. hermi 85 anointed with honey and laid on his back under a burning sun, with his hands tied behind him; in order, forsooth, that he who had aiready conquered the fiery gridiron, might yield to the stings of flies. * * * * * * * in those days, in the lower thebaid, was paul left at the death of both his parents, in a rich inheritance, with a sister already married; being about fifteen years old, well taught in greek and egyptian letters, gentle tempered, loving god much; and, when the storm of persecution burst, he withdrew into a distant city. but "to what dost thou not urge the human breast curst hunger after gold?" his sister's husband was ready to betray him whom he should have concealed. neither the tears of his wife, the tie of blood, or god who looks on all things from on high, could call him back from his crime. he was at hand, ready to seize him, making piety a pretext for cruelty. the boy discovered it, and fled. into the desert hills. once there he changed need into pleasure, and going on, and then stopping awhile, again and again, reached at last a stony cliff, at the foot wherof was, nigh at hand, a great cave, its mouth closed with a stone. having moved which away (as man's longing is to know the hidden), exploring more greedily, he sees within a great hall, open to the sky above, but shaded by the spreading boughs of an ancient palm; and in it a clear spring, the rill from which, flowing a short space forth, was sucked up again by the same 86 paul, the first hermit. soil which had given it birth. there were besides in that cavernous mountain not a few dwellings, in which he saw rusty anvils and hammers, with which coin had been stamped of old. for this place (so books say) was the workshop for base coin in the days when antony lived with cleopatra. therefore, in this beloved dwelling, offered him as it were by god, he spent all his life in prayer and solitude, while the palm-tree gave him food and clothes; which lest it should seem impossible to some, i call jesus and his holy angels to witness that i have seen monks one of whom, shut up for thirty years, lived on barley bread and muddy water; another in an old cistern, which in the country speech they call the syrian's bed, was kept alive on five figs each day. these things, therefore, will seem incredible to those who do not believe; for to those who do believe all things are possible. but to return thither whence i digressed. when the blessed paul had been leading the heavenly life on earth for 113 years, and antony, ninety years old, was dwelling in another solitude, this thought (so antony was wont to assert) entered his mind-that no monk more perfect than he had settled in the desert. but as he lay still by night, it was revealed to him that there was another monk beyond him far better than he, to visit whom he must set out. so when the light broke, the venerable old man, supporting his weak limbs on a staff, began to will to go, he knew not whither. and now the mid day, with the sun roasting above, grew fierce; and yet he was not paul, the first hermit. 87 turned from the journey he had begun, saying, “i trust in my god, that he will show his servant that which he has promised." and as he spake, he sees a man half horse, to whom the poets have given the name of hippocentaur. seeing whom, he crosses his forehead with the salutary impression of the cross, and, "here!" he says, "in what part here does a servant of god dwell?" but he, growling i know not what barbarous sound, and grinding rather than uttering, the words, attempted a courteous speech from lips rough with bristles, and, stretching out his right hand, pointed to the way; then, fleeing swiftly across the open plains, vanished from the eyes of the wondering antony. but whether the devil took this form to terrify him; or whether the desert, fertile (as is its wont) in monstrous animals, begets that beast likewise, we hold as uncertain. so antony, astonished, and thinking over what he had seen, goes forward. soon afterwards, he sees in a stony valley a short manikin, with crooked nose and brow rough with horns, whose lower parts ended in goat's feet. undismayed by this spectacle likewise, antony seized, like a good warrior, the shield of faith and habergeon of hope; the animal, however, was bringing him dates, as food for his journey, and a pledge of peace. when he saw that, antony pushed on, and, asking him who he was, was answered, “i am a mortal, and one of the inhabitants of the desert, whom the gentiles, deluded by various errors, worship by the name of fauns, satyrs, and incubi. i come as ambassador from our herd, that thou mayest pray 888 paul, the first hermit. for us to the common god, who, we-know, has come for the salvation of the world, and his sound is gone out into all lands." as he spoke thus, the aged wayfarer bedewed his face plenteously with tears, which the greatness of his joy had poured forth as signs of his heart. for he rejoiced at the glory of christ, and the destruction of satan; and, wondering at the same time that he could understand the creature's speech, he smote on the ground with his staff, and said, "woe to thee, alexandria, who worshippest portents instead of god! woe to thee, harlot city, into which all the dæmons of the world have flowed together! what wilt thou say now? beasts talk of christ, and thou worshippest portents instead of god." he had hardly finished his words, when the swift beast fled away as upon wings. lest this should move a scruple in any one on account of its incredibility, it was corroborated, in the reign of constantine, by the testimony of the whole world. for a man of that kind, being led alive to alexandria, afforded a great spectacle to the people; and afterwards the lifeless carcase, being salted lest it should decay in the summer heat, was brought to antioch, to be seen by the emperor. but to go on with my tale-antony went on through that region, seeing only the tracks of wild beasts, and the wide waste of the desert. what he should do, or whither turn, he knew not. a second day had now run by. one thing remained, to be confident that he could not be deserted by christ. all night through he spent a second darkness in prayer, and while the light was still dim, he sees paul, the first hermit. 89 afar a she-wolf, "panting with heat and thirst, creeping in at the foot of the mountain. following her with his eyes, and drawing nigh to the cave when the beast was gone, he began to look in: but in vain; for the darkness stopped his view. however, as the scripture saith, perfect love casteth out fear; with gentle step and bated breath the cunning explorer entered, and going forward slowly, and stopping often, watched for a sound. at length he saw afar off a light through the horror of the darkness; hastened on more greedily; struck his foot against a stone; and made a noise, at which the blessed paul shut and barred his door, which had stood open. then antony, casting himself down before the entrance, prayed there till the sixth hour, and more, to be let in, saying, “who i am, and whence, and why i am come, thou knowest. i know that i deserve not to see thy face; yet, unless i see thee, i will not return. thou who receivest beasts, why repellest thou a man? i have sought, and i have found. i knock, that it may be opened to me: which if i win not, here will i die before thy gate. surely thou shalt at least bury my corpse." "persisting thus he spoke, and stood there fixed: to whom the hero shortly thus replied." "no one begs thus to threaten. no one does injury with tears. and dost thou wonder why i do not let thee in, seeing thou art a mortal guest ?" then paul, smiling, opened the door. they mingled mutual embraces, and saluted each other by their names, and committed themselves in common to the 90 paul, the first hermit. grace of god. and after the holy kiss, paul sitting down with antony thus began— "behold him, whom thou hast sought with such labour; with limbs decayed by age, and covered with unkempt white hair. behold, thou seest but a mortal, soon to become dust. but, because charity bears all things, tell me, i pray thee, how fares the human race? whether new houses are rising in the ancient cities? by what emperor is the world governed? whether there are any left who are led captive by the deceits of the devil?" as they spoke thus, they saw a raven settle on a bough; who, flying gently down, laid, to their wonder, a whole loaf before them. when he was gone, "ah," said paul, "the lord, truly loving, truly merciful, hath sent us a meal. for sixty years past i have received daily half a loaf, but at thy coming christ hath doubled his soldiers' allowance.' then, having thanked god, they sat down on the brink of the glassy spring. but here a contention arising as to which of them should break the loaf, occupied the day till well-nigh evening. paul insisted, as the host; antony declined, as the younger man. at last it was agreed that they should take hold of the loaf at opposite ends, and each pull towards himself, and keep what was left in his hand. next they stooped down, and drank a little water from the spring; then, immolating to god the sacrifice of praise, passed the night watching. and when day dawned again, the blessed paul said to antony, "i knew long since, brother, that thou wert dwelling in these lands; long since god paul, the first hermit. 91 2 had promised thee to me as a fellow servant: but because the time of my falling asleep is now come, and (because i always longed to depart, and to be with christ) there is laid up for me when i have finished my course a crown of righteousness; therefore thou art sent from the lord to cover my corpse with mould, and give back dust to dust." antony, hearing this, prayed him with tears and groans not to desert him, but take him as his companion on such a journey. but he said, "thou must not seek the things which are thine own, but the things of others. it is expedient for thee, indeed, to cast off the burden of the flesh, and to follow the lamb: but it is expedient for the rest of the brethren that they should be still trained by thine example. wherefore go, unless it displease thee, and bring the cloak which athanasius the bishop gave thee, to wrap up my corpse." but this the blessed paul asked, not because he cared greatly whether his body decayed covered or bare (as one who so long a time was used to clothe himself with woven palm leaves), but that antony's grief at his death might be lightened when. he left him. antony astounded that he had heard of athanasius and his own cloak, seeing as it were christ in paul, and venerating the god within his breast, dared answer nothing: but keeping in silence, and kissing his eyes and hands, returned to the monastery, which afterwards was occupied by the saracens. his steps could not follow his spirit; but, although his body was empty with fastings, and broken with old age, yet his courage conquered his 92 paul, the first hermit. at last, tired and breathless, he arrived at home. there two disciples met him, who had been long sent to minister to him, and asked him, "where hast thou tarried so long, father?" he answered, "woe to me a sinner, who falsely bear the name of a monk. i have seen elias; i have seen john in the desert; i have truly seen paul in paradise;" and so, closing his lips, and beating his breast, he took the cloak from his cell, and when his disciples asked him to explain more fully what had befallen, he said, "there is a time to be silent, and a time to speak." then going out, and not taking even a morsel of food, he returned by the way he had come. for he feared -what actually happened-lest paul in his absence should render up the soul he owed to christ. and when the second day had shone, and he had retraced his steps for three hours, he saw amid hosts of angels, amid the choirs of prophets and apostles, paul shining white as snow, ascending up on high; and forthwith falling on his face, he cast sand on his head, and weeping and wailing, said, "why dost thou dismiss me, paul? why dost thou depart without a farewell? so late known, dost thou vanish so soon?" the blessed antony used to tell afterwards, how he ran the rest of the way so swiftly that he flew like a bird. nor without cause. for entering the cave he saw, with bended knees, erect neck, and hands spread out on high, a lifeless corpse. and at first, thinking that it still lived, he prayed in like wise. but when he heard no sighs (as usual) come from the worshipper's breast, he fell to a tearful kiss, underpaul, the first hermit. "for entering the cave he saw, with bended knees, erect neck, and hands spread out on high, a lifeless corpse. and at first, thinking that it still lived," etc.-p. 92. paul, the first hermit. 93 standing how the very corpse of the saint was praying, in seemly attitude, to that god to whom all live. so, having wrapped up and carried forth the corpse, and chanting hymns of the christian tradition, antony grew sad, because he had no spade, wherewith to dig the ground; and thinking over many plans in his mind, said, "if i go back to the monastery, it is a three days' journey. if i stay here, i shall be of no more use. i will die, then, as it is fit; and, falling beside thy warrior, christ, breathe my last breath." as he was thinking thus to himself, lo! two lions came running from the inner part of the desert, their manes tossing on their necks; seeing whom he shuddered at first; and then, turning his mind to god, remained fearless, as though he were looking upon doves. they came straight to the corpse of the blessed old man, and crouched at his feet, wagging their tails, and roaring with mighty growls, so that antony understood them to lament, as best they could. then not far off they began to claw the ground with their paws, and, carrying out the sand eagerly, dug a place large enough to hold a man: then at once, as if begging a reward for their work, they came to antony, drooping their necks, and licking his hands and feet. but he perceived that they prayed a blessing from him; and at once, bursting into praise of christ, because even dumb animals felt. that he was god, he saith, "lord, without whose word not a leaf of the tree drops, nor one sparrow falls to the ground, give to them as thou knowest 94 paul, the first hermit. how to give." and, signing to them with his hand, he bade them go. and when they had departed, he bent his aged shoulders to the weight of the holy corpse; and laying it in the grave, heaped earth on it, and raised a mound as is the wont. and when another dawn shone, lest the pious heir should not possess aught of the goods of the intestate dead, he kept for himself the tunic which paul had woven, as baskets are made, out of the leaves of the palm; and returning to the monastery, told his disciples all throughout; and, on the solemn days of easter and pentecost, always clothed himself in paul's tunic. i am inclined, at the end of my treatise, to ask those who know not the extent of their patrimonies; who cover their houses with marbles; who sew the price of whole farms into their garments with a single thread-what was ever wanting to this naked old man? ye drink from a gem; he satisfied nature from the hollow of his hands. ye weave gold into your tunics; he had not even the vilest garment of your bond-slave. but, on the other hand, to that poor man paradise is open; you, gilded as you are, gehenna will receive. he, though naked, kept the garment of christ; you, clothed in silk, have lost christ's robe. paul lies covered with the meanest dust, to rise in glory; you are crushed by wrought sepulchres of stone, to burn with all your works. spare, i beseech you, yourselves; spare, at least, the riches which you love. why do you wrap even your dead in golden vestments? why does not ambition stop amid grief and tears? canpaul, the first hermit. 95 not the corpses of the rich decay, save in silk? i beseech thee, whosoever thou art that readest this, to remember hieronymus the sinner, who, if the lord gave him choice, would much sooner choose paul's tunic with his merits, than the purple of kings with their punishments. this is the story of paul and antony, as told by jerome. but, in justice to antony himself, it must be said that the sayings recorded of him seem to show that he was not the mere visionary ascetic which his biographers have made him. some twenty sermons are attributed to him, seven of which only are considered to be genuine. a rule for monks, too, is called his but, as it is almost certain that he could neither read nor write, we have no proof that any of these documents convey his actual language. if the seven sermons attributed to him be really his, it must be said for them that they are full of sound doctrine and vital religion, and worthy, as wholes, to be preached in any english church, if we only substitute for the word "monk," the word "man." but there are records of antony which represent him as a far more genial and human personage; full of a knowledge of human nature, and of a tenderness and sympathy, which account for his undoubted power over the minds of men; and showing too, at times, a certain covert and "pawky” humour which puts us in mind, as does the humour of many of the egyptian hermits, of the old-fashioned scotch. these reminiscences are contained in the "words of the elders," 96 words of the elders. a series of anecdotes of the desert fathers collected by various hands; which are, after all, the most interesting and probably the most trustworthy accounts of them and their ways. i shall have occasion to quote them later. i insert here some among them which relate to antony. 66 sayings of antony, from the words of the elders." a monk gave away his wealth to the poor, but kept back some for himself. antony said to him, "go to the village and buy meat, and bring it to me on thy bare back." he did so: and the dogs and birds attacked him, and tore him as well as the meat. quoth antony, "so are those who renounce the world, and yet must needs have money, torn by dæmons." antony heard high praise of a certain brother; but, when he tested him, he found that he was impatient under injury. quoth antony, "thou art like a house which has a gay porch, but is broken into by thieves through the back door." antony, as he sat in the desert, was weary in heart, and said, "lord, i long to be saved, but my wandering thoughts will not let me. show me what i shall do." and looking up, he saw one like himself twisting ropes, and rising up to pray. and the angel (for it was one) said to him, “work like me, antony, and you shall be saved.” one asked him how he could please god. quoth antony, "have god always before thine eyes; whatwords of the elders. 97 ever work thou doest, take example for it out of holy scripture: wherever thou stoppest, do not move thence in a hurry, but abide there in patience. if thou keepest these three things, thou shalt be saved." quoth antony, "if the baker did not cover the mill-horse's eyes he would eat the corn, and take his own wages. so god covers our eyes, by leaving us to sordid thoughts, lest we should think of our own good works, and be puffed up in spirit." quoth antony, "i saw all the snares of the enemy spread over the whole earth. and i sighed, and said, 'who can pass through these?' and a voice came to me, saying, 'humility alone can pass through, antony, where the proud can in no wise go."" antony was sitting in his cell, and a voice said to him, "thou hast not yet come to the stature of a currier, who lives in alexandria." then he took his staff, and went down to alexandria and the currier, when he found him, was astonished at seeing so great a man. said antony, "tell me thy works; for on thy account have i come out of the desert." and he answered, "i know not that i ever did any good; and, therefore, when i rise in the morning, i say that this whole city, from the greatest to the least, will enter into the kingdom of god for their righteousness: while i, for my sins, shall go to eternal pain. and this i say over again, from the bottom of my heart, when i lie down at night." when antony heard that, he said, "like a good goldsmith, thou hast gained the kingdom of god sitting still in thy house; while i, as one without discretion, have been haunting s l. ii h 98 words of the elders. the desert all my time, and yet not arrived at the measure of thy saying." quoth antony, "if a monk could tell his elders how many steps he walks, or how many cups of water he drinks, in his cell, he ought to tell them, for fear of going wrong therein." at alexandria, antony met one didymus, most learned in the scriptures, witty, and wise: but he was blind. antony asked him, "art thou not grieved at thy blindness?" he was silent: but being pressed by antony, he confessed that he was sad thereat. quoth antony, "i wonder that a prudent man grieves over the loss of a thing which ants, and flies, and gnats have, instead of rejoicing in that possession which the holy apostles earned. for it is better to see with the spirit than with the flesh." a father asked antony, "what shall i do?" quoth the old man, "trust not in thine own righteousness; regret not the thing which is past; bridle thy tongue and thy stomach." quoth antony, "he who sits still in the desert is safe from three enemies: from hearing, from speech, from sight and has to fight against only one, his own heart." 27 a young monk came and told antony how he had seen some old men weary on their journey, and had bidden the wild asses to come and carry him, and they came. quoth antony, "that monk looks to me like a ship laden with a precious cargo; but whether it will get into port is uncertain." and after some days he began to tear his hair and weep; and when words of the elders. 99 they asked him why, he said, “a great pillar of the church has just fallen;" and he sent brothers to see the young man, and found him sitting on his mat, weeping over a great sin which he had done; and he said, "tell antony to give me ten days' truce, and i hope i shall satisfy him ;" and in five days he was dead. abbot elias fell into temptation, and the brethren drove him out. then he went to the mountain to antony. after awhile, antony sent him home to his brethren; but they would not receive him. then the old man sent to them, and saying, “a ship has been wrecked at sea, and lost all its cargo; and, with much toil, the ship is come empty to land. will you sink it again in the sea?" so they took elias back. quoth antony, "there are some who keep their bodies in abstinence: but, because they have no discretion, they are far from god." a hunter came by, and saw antony rejoicing with the brethren, and it displeased him. quoth antony, "put an arrow in thy bow, and draw;" and he did. quoth antony, "draw higher;" and again, "draw higher still." and he said, "if i overdraw, i shall break my bow." quoth antony, quoth antony, "so it is in the work of god. if we stretch the brethren beyond measure, they fail." a brother said to antony, "pray for me." quoth he, "i cannot pity thee, nor god either, unless thou pitiest thyself, and prayest to god." quoth antony, "the lord does not permit wars to arise in this generation, because he knows that men are weak, and cannot bear them." h 2 100 words of the elders. antony, as he considered the depths of the judgments of god, failed; and said, "lord, why do some die so early, and some live on to a decrepit age? why are some needy, and others rich? why are the unjust wealthy, and the just poor?" came to him, "antony, look to thyself. the judgments of god, which are not fit for thee to know." and a voice these are quoth antony to abbot pastor, "this is a man's great business--to lay each man his own fault on himself before the lord, and to expect temptation to the last day of his life." quoth antony, "if a man works a few days, and then is idle, and works again and is idle again, he does nothing, and will not possess the perseverance of patience." quoth antony to his disciples, "if you try to keep silence, do not think that you are exercising a virtue, but that you are unworthy to speak." certain old men came once to antony; and he wished to prove them, and began to talk of holy scripture, and to ask them, beginning at the youngest, what this and that text meant. and each answered as best they could. but he kept on saying, “you have not yet found it out." and at last he asked abbot joseph, "and what dost thou think this text means?" quoth abbot joseph, "i do not know." quoth antony, "abbot joseph alone has found. out the way, for he says he does not know it." quoth antony, "i do not now fear god, but love him, for love drives out fear." words of the elders. ioi ***** he said again, "life and death are very near us; for if we gain our brother, we gain god: but if we cause our brother to offend, we sin against christ." a philosopher asked antony, "how art thou content, father, since thou hast not the comfort of books?" quoth antony, "my book is the nature of created things. in it, when i choose, i can read the words of god." brethren came to antony, and asked of him a saying by which they might be saved. quoth he, "ye have heard the scriptures, and know what christ requires of you." but they begged that he would tell them something of his own. quoth he, "the gospel says, 'if a man smite you on one cheek, turn to him the other.'" but they said that they could not do that. quoth he, "you cannot turn the other cheek to him? then let him smite you again on the same one." but they said they could not do that either. then said he, 66 if you cannot, at least do not return evil for evil." and when they said that neither could they do that, quoth antony to his disciples, "go, get them something to eat, for they are very weak." and he said to them, "if you cannot do the one, and will not have the other, what do you want? as i see, what you weakness." want is prayer. that will heal your quoth antony, "he who would be free from his sins must be so by weeping and mourning; and he who would be built up in virtue must be built up by tears." quoth antony, "when the stomach is full of 102 words of the elders. meat, forthwith the great vices bubble out, according to that which the saviour says: 'that which entereth into the mouth defileth not a man; but that which cometh out of the heart sinks a man in destruction.'' 999 [this may be a somewhat paradoxical application of the text but the last anecdote of antony which i shall quote is full of wisdom and humanity.] a monk came from alexandria, eulogius by name, bringing with him a man afflicted with elephantiasis. now eulogius had been a scholar, learned, and rich, and had given away all he had save a very little, which he kept because he could not work with his own hands. and he told antony how he had found that wretched man lying in the street fifteen years before, having lost then nearly every member save his tongue, and how he had taken him home to his cell, nursed him, bathed him, physicked him, fed him; and how the man had returned him nothing save slanders, curses, and insults; how he had insisted on having meat, and had had it; and on going out in public, and had company brought to him; and how he had at last demanded to be put down again whence he had been taken, always cursing and slandering. and now eulogius could bear the man no longer, and was minded to take him at his word. then said antony with an angry voice, "wilt thou cast him out, eulogius? he who remembers that he made him, will not cast him out. if thou cast him out, he will find a better friend than thee. god will choose some one who will take him up when he is words of the elders. 103 cast away." eulogius was terrified at these words, and held his peace. then went antony to the sick man, and shouted at him, "thou elephantiac, foul with mud and dirt, not worthy of the third heaven, wilt thou not stop shouting blasphemies against god? dost thou not know that he who ministers to thee is christ? how darest thou say such things against christ?" and he bade eulogius and the sick man go back to their cell, and live in peace, and never part more. both went back, and, after forty days, eulogius died, and the sick man shortly after, "altogether whole in spirit." hilarion. i would gladly, did space allow, give more biographies from among those of the egyptian hermits: but it seems best, having shown the reader antony as the father of egyptian monachism, to go on to his great pupil hilarion, the father of monachism in palestine. his life stands written at length by st. jerome, who himself died a monk at bethlehem; and is composed happily in a less ambitious and less rugged style than that of paul, not without elements of beauty, even of tragedy. prologue. remember me in thy holy prayers, glory and honour of virgins, nun asella. before beginning to write the life of the blessed hilarion, i invoke the holy spirit which dwelt in him, that, as he largely bestowed virtues on hilarion, he may give to me speech wherewith to relate them; so that his deeds may be equalled by my language. for those who (as crispus says) "have wrought virtues" are held to have been worthily praised in proportion to the words in " hilarion. 105 which famous intellects have been able to extol them. alexander the great, the macedonian (whom daniel calls either the brass, or the leopard, or the he-goat), on coming to the tomb of achilles, "happy art thou, youth," he said, "who hast been blest with a great herald of thy worth "-meaning homer. but i have to tell the conversation and life of such and so great a man, that even homer, were he here, would either envy my matter, or succumb under it. for although st. epiphanius, bishop of salamina in cyprus, who had much intercourse with hilarion, has written his praise in a short epistle, which is commonly read, yet it is one thing to praise the dead in general phrases, another to relate his special virtues. we therefore set to work rather to his advantage than to his injury; and despise those evil-speakers who lately carped at paul, and will perhaps now carp at my hilarion, unjustly blaming the former for his solitary life, and the latter for his intercourse with men; in order that the one, who was never seen, may be supposed not to have existed; the other, who was seen by many, may be held cheap. this was the way of their ancestors likewise, the pharisees, who were neither satisfied with john's desert life and fasting, nor with the lord saviour's public life, eating and drinking. but i shall lay my hand to the work which i have determined, and pass by, with stopped ears, the hounds of scylla. i pray that thou mayest persevere in christ, and be mindful of me in thy prayers, most sacred virgin. 106 hilarion. the life. hilarion was born in the village of thabatha, which lies about five miles to the south of gaza, in palestine. he had parents given to the worship of idols, and blossomed (as the saying is) a rose among the thorns. sent by them to alexandria, he was entrusted to a grammarian, and there, as far as his years allowed, gave proof of great intellect and good morals. he was soon dear to all, and skilled in the art of speaking. and, what is more than all, he believed in the lord jesus, and delighted neither in the madness of the circus, in the blood of the arena, or in the luxury of the theatre: but all his heart was in the congregation of the church. but hearing the then famous name of antony, which was carried throughout all egypt, he was fired with a longing to visit him, and went to the desert. as soon as he saw him he changed his dress, and stayed with him about two months, watching the order of his life, and the purity of his manner; how frequent he was in prayers, how humble in receiving brethren, severe in reproving them, eager in exhorting them; and how no infirmity ever broke through his continence, and the coarseness of his food. but, unable to bear longer the crowd which assembled round antony, for various diseases and attacks of devils, he said that it was not consistent to endure in the hilarion. 107 desert the crowds of cities, but that he must rather begin where antony had begun. antony, as a valiant man, was receiving the reward of victory: he had not yet begun to serve as a soldier. he returned, therefore, with certain monks to his own country; and, finding his parents dead, gave away part of his substance to the brethren, part to the poor, and kept nothing at all for himself, fearing what is told in the acts of the apostles, the example or punishment, of ananias and sapphira; and especially mindful of the lord's saying-"he that leaveth not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple." he was then fifteen years old. so, naked, but armed in christ, he entered the desert, which, seven miles from maiuma, the port of gaza, turns away to the left of those who go along the shore towards egypt. and though the place was blood-stained by robbers, and his relations and friends warned him of the imminent danger, he despised death, in order to escape death. all wondered at his spirit, wondered at his youth. save that a certain fire of the bosom and spark of faith glittered in his eyes, his cheeks were smooth, his body delicate and thin, unable to bear any injury, and liable to be overcome by even a light chill or heat. so, covering his limbs only with a sackcloth, and having a cloak of skin, which the blessed antony had given him at starting, and a rustic cloak, between the sea and the swamp, he enjoyed the vast and terrible solitude, feeding on only fifteen figs after the setting of the sun; and because the region was, as 108 hilarion. has been said above, of ill-repute from robberies no man had ever stayed before in that place. the devil, seeing what he was doing and whither he had gone, was tormented. and though he, who of old boasted, saying, "i shall ascend into heaven, i shall sit above the stars of heaven, and shall be like unto the most high," now saw that he had been conquered by a boy, and trampled under foot by him, ere, on account of his youth, he could commit sin. he therefore began to tempt his senses; but he, enraged with himself, and beating his breast with his fist, as if he could drive out thoughts by blows, "i will force thee, mine ass," said he, "not to kick; and feed thee with straw, not barley. i will wear thee out with hunger and thirst; i will burden thee with heavy loads; i will hunt thee through heat and cold, till thou thinkest more of food than of play." he therefore sustained his fainting spirit with the juice of herbs and a few figs, after each three or four days, praying frequently, and singing psalms, and digging the ground with a mattock, to double the labour of fasting by that of work. at the same time, by weaving baskets of rushes, he imitated the discipline of the egyptian monks, and the apostle's saying "he that will not work, neither let him eat"-till he was so attenuated, and his body so exhausted, that it scarce clung to his bones. one night he began to hear the crying of infants, the bleating of sheep, the wailing of women, the * * these sounds, like those which st. guthlac heard in the english fens, are plainly those of wild-fowl. hilarion. 109 • roaring of lions, the murmur of an army, and utterly portentous and barbarous voices; so that he shrank frightened by the sound ere he saw aught. he understood these to be the insults of devils; and, falling on his knees, he signed the cross of christ on his forehead, and armed with that helmet, and girt with the breastplate of faith, he fought more valiantly as he lay, longing somehow to see what he shuddered to hear, and looking round him with anxious eyes: when, without warning, by the bright moonshine he saw a chariot with fiery horses rushing upon him. but when he had called on jesus, the earth opened suddenly, and the whole pomp was swallowed up before his eyes. then said he, "the horse and his rider ne hath drowned in the sea ;" and "some glory themselves in chariots, and some in horses: but we in the name of the lord our god." many were his temptations, and various, by day and night, the snares of the devils. if we were to tell them all, they would make the volume too long. how often did women appear to him; how often plenteous banquets when he was hungry. sometimes as he prayed, a howling wolf ran past him, or a barking fox; or as he sang, a fight of gladiators made a show for him and one of them, as if slain, falling at his feet, prayed for sepulture. he prayed once with his head bowed to the ground, and-as is the nature of man-his mind wandered from his prayer, and thought of i know not what, when a mocking rider leaped on his back, and spurring his sides, and whipping his neck, "come," he cries, "come, run! why do you sleep?" 110 hilarion. · and, laughing loudly over him, asked him if he were tired, or would have a feed of barley. so from his sixteenth to his twentieth year, he was sheltered from the heat and rain in a tiny cabin, which he had woven of rush and sedge. afterwards he built a little cell, which remains to this day, four feet wide and five feet high—that is, lower than his own stature-and somewhat longer than his small body needed, so that you would believe it to be a tomb rather than a dwelling. he cut his hair only once a year, on easter-day, and lay till his death on the bare ground and a layer of rushes, never washing the sack in which he was clothed, and saying that it was superfluous to seek for cleanliness in hair-cloth. nor did he change his tunic, till the first was utterly in rags. he knew the scriptures by heart, and recited them after his prayers and psalms as if god were present. and, because it would take up too much time to tell his great deeds one by one, i will give a short account of them. [then follows a series of miracles, similar to those attributed to st. antony, and, indeed, to all these great hermit fathers. but it is unnecessary to relate more wonders which the reader cannot be expected to believe. these miracles, however, according to st. jerome, were the foundations of hilarion's fame and public career. for he says, "when they were noised abroad, people flowed to him eagerly from syria to egypt, so that many believed in christ, and professed themselves to be monks for no one had known of a monk in syria hilarion. iii before the holy hilarion. he was the first founder and teacher of this conversation and study in the province. the lord jesus had in egypt the old man antony; he had in palestine the young hilarion he was raised, indeed, by the lord to such a glory, that the blessed antony, hearing of his conversation, wrote to him, and willingly received his letters; and if rich people came to him from the parts of syria, he said to them, 'why have you chosen to trouble yourselves by coming so far, when you have at home my son hilarion?' so by his example innumerable monasteries arose throughout all palestine, and all monks came eagerly to him . . . . but what a care he had, not to pass by any brother, however humble or however poor, may be shown by this; that once going into the desert of kadesh, to visit one of his disciples, he came, with an infinite crowd of monks, to elusa, on the very day, as it chanced, on which a yearly solemnity had gathered all the people of the town to the temple of venus; for they honour her on account of the morning star, to the worship of which the nation of the saracens is devoted. the town itself too is said to be in great part semi-barbarous, on account of its remote situation. hearing, then, that the holy hilarion was passing by-for he had often cured saracens possessed with dæmons-they came out to meet him in crowds, with their wives and children, bowing their necks, and crying in the syrian tongue, 'barech !' hat is, 'bless!' he received them courteously and humbly, entreating them to worship god rather than 112 hilarion. stones, and wept abundantly, looking up to heaven, and promising them that, if they would believe in christ, he would come oftener to them. wonderful was the grace of the lord. they would not let him depart till he had laid the foundations of a future church, and their priest, crowned as he was, had been consecrated with the sign of christ. * * * * * he was now sixty-three years old. he saw about him a great monastery, a multitude of brethren, and crowds who came to be healed of diseases and unclean spirits, filling the solitude around; but he wept daily, and remembered with incredible regret his ancient life. "i have returned to the world," he said, “and received my reward in this life. all palestine and the neighbouring provinces think me to be worth somewhat; while i possess a farm and household goods, under the pretext of the brethren's advantage." on which the brethren, and especially hesychius, who bore him a wondrous love, watched him narrowly. * * "" when he had lived thus sadly for two years, aristæneta, the prefect's wife, came to him, wishing him to go with her to antony. "i would go,' he said, weeping, "if i were not held in the prison of this monastery, and if it were of any use. for two days since, the whole world was robbed of such a father." she believed him, and stopped. and antony's death was confirmed a few days after. others may wonder at the signs and portents which he did, at his incredible abstinence, his silence, his hilarion. 113 miracles: i am astonished at nothing so much as that he was able to trample under foot that glory and honour. bishops and clergy, monks and christian matrons (a great temptation), people of the common sort, great men, too, and judges crowded to him, to receive from him blessed bread or oil. but he was thinking of nothing but the desert, till one day he determined to set out, and taking an ass (for he was so shrunk with fasting that he could hardly walk), he tried to go his way. the news got wind; the desolation and destruction of palestine would ensue; ten thousand souls, men and women, tried to stop his way; but he would not hear them. smiting on the ground with his staff, he said, "i will not make my god a liar. i cannot bear to see churches ruined, the altars of christ trampled down, the blood of my sons spilt." all who heard thought that some secret revelation had been made to him: but yet they would not let him go. whereon he would neither eat nor drink, and for seven days he persevered fasting, till he had his wish, and set out for bethulia, with forty monks, who could march without food till sundown. on the fifth day he came to pelusium, then to the camp thebatrum, to see dracontius; and then to babylon to see philo these two were bishops and confessors exiled by constantius, who favoured the arian heresy. then he came to aphroditon, where he met barsanes the deacon, who used to carry water to antony on dromedaries, and heard from him that the anniversary of antony's death was near, and would be celebrated s. l. ii. i 114 hilarion. by a vigil at his tomb. then through a vast and horrible wilderness, he went for three days to a very high mountain, and found there two monks, isaac and pelusianus, of whom isaac had been antony's interpreter. a high and rocky hill it was, with fountains gushing out at its foot. some of them the sand sucked up; some formed a little rill, with palms without number on its banks. there you might have seen the old man wandering to and fro with antony's disciples. "here," they said, "he used to sing, here to pray, here to work, here to sit when tired. these vines, these shrubs, he planted himself; that plot he laid out with his own hands. this pond to water the garden he made with heavy toil; that hoe he kept for many years." hilarion lay on his bed, and kissed the couch, as if it were still warm. antony's cell was only large enough to let a man lie down in it; and on the mountain top, reached by a difficult and winding stair, were two other cells of the same size, cut in the stony rock, to which he used to retire from the visitors and disciples, when they came to the garden. "you see," said isaac, “this orchard, with shrubs and vegetables. three years since a troop of wild asses laid it waste. he bade one of their leaders stop; and beat it with his staff. 'why do you eat,' he asked it, 'what you did not sow?' and after that the asses, though they came to drink the waters, never touched his plants." then hilarion asked them to show him antony's grave. they led him apart; but whether they hilarion. 115 showed it to him, no man knows. they hid it, they said, by antony's command, lest one pergamius, who was the richest man of those parts, should take the corpse to his villa, and build a chapel over it. then he went back to aphroditon, and with only two brothers, dwelt in the desert, in such abstinence and silence that (so he said) he then first began to serve christ. now it was then three years since the heaven had been shut, and the earth dried up: so that they said commonly, the very elements mourned the death of antony. but hilarion's fame spread to them; and a great multitude, brown and shrunken with famine, cried to him for rain, as to the blessed antony's successor. he saw them, and grieved over them; and lifting up his hand to heaven, obtained rain at once. but the thirsty and sandy land, as soon as it was watered by showers, sent forth such a crowd of serpents and venomous animals that people without number were stung, and would have died, had they not run together to hilarion. with oil blessed by him, the husbandmen and shepherds touched their wounds, and all were surely healed. but when he saw that he was marvellously honoured, he went to alexandria, meaning to cross the desert to the further oasis. and because since he was a monk he had never stayed in a city, he turned aside to some brethren known to him in the brucheion,* not far from alexandria. they received * the brucheion, with its palaces and museum, the residence of the kings and philosophers of egypt, had been destroyed in the days 1 2 116 hilarion. him with joy but, when night came on, they suddenly heard him bid his disciples saddle the ass. in vain they entreated, threw themselves across the threshold. his only answer was, that he was hastening away, lest he should bring them into trouble; they would soon know that he had not departed without good reason. the next day, men of gaza came with the prefect's lictors, burst into the monastery, and when they found him not—“is it not true," they said, "what we heard? he is a sorcerer, and knows the future." for the citizens of gaza, after hilarion was gone, and julian had succeeded to the empire, had destroyed his monastery, and begged from the emperor the death of hilarion and hesychius. so letters had been sent forth, to seek them throughout the world. so hilarion went by the pathless wilderness into the oasis; and after a year, more or less-because his fame had gone before him even there, and he could not lie hid in the east-he was minded to sail away to lonely islands, that the sea at least might hide what the land would not. but just then hadrian, his disciple, came from palestine, telling him that julian was slain, and that a christian emperor was reigning; so that he ought to return to the relics of his monastery. of claudius and valerian, during the senseless civil wars which devastated alexandria for twelve years; and monks had probably taken up their abode in the ruins. it was in this quarter, at the beginning of the next century, that hypatia was murdered by the monks. * probably the northern, or lesser oasis, ouah el baharieh, about eighty miles west of the nile. hilarion. 117 but he abhorred the thought; and, hiring a camel, went over the vast desert to parætonia, a sea town of libya. then the wretched hadrian, wishing to go back to palestine and get himself glory under his master's name, packed up all that the brethren had sent by him to his master, and went secretly away. but as a terror to those who despise their mastershe shortly after died of jaundice. then, with zananas alone, hilarion went on board ship to sail for sicily. and when, almost in the middle of adria,* he was going to sell the gospels which he had written out with his own hand when young, to pay his fare withal, then the captain's son was possessed with a devil, and cried out, “hilarion, servant of god, why can we not be safe from thee even at sea? give me a little respite till i come to the shore, lest, if i be cast out here, i fall headlong into the abyss." then said he, "if my god lets. thee stay, stay. but if he cast thee out, why dost thou lay the blame on me, a sinner and a beggar?" then he made the captain and the crew promise not to betray him: and the devil was cast out. but the captain would take no fare when he saw that they had nought but those gospels, and the clothes on their backs. and so hilarion came to pachynum, a cape of sicily,† and fled twenty miles inland into a deserted farm; and there every day gathered a * jerome (who sailed that sea several times) uses the word here, as it is used in acts xxvii. 27, for the sea about malta, "driven up and down in adria." the southern point of sicily, now cape passaro. 118 hilarion. 6 bundle of firewood, and put it on zananas's back, who took it to the town, and bought a little bread thereby. but it happened, according to that which is written, “a city set on an hill cannot be hid," one scutarius was tormented by a devil in the basilica of st. peter at rome; and the unclean spirit cried out in him, "a few days since hilarion, the servant of christ, landed in sicily, and no man knows him, and he thinks himself hid. i will go and betray him." and forthwith he took ship with his slaves, and came to pachynum, and, by the leading of the devil, threw himself down before the old man's hut, and was cured. the frequency of his signs in sicily drew to him. sick people and religious men in multitudes; and one of the chief men was cured of dropsy the same day that he came, and offered hilarion boundless gifts: but he obeyed the saviour's saying, “freely ye have received; freely give." while this was happening in sicily, hesychius, his disciple, was seeking the old man through the world, searching the shores, penetrating the desert, and only certain that, wherever he was, he could not long be hid. so, after three years were past, he heard at methone* from a jew, who was selling old clothes, that a prophet of the christians had appeared in sicily, working such wonders that he was though.t to be one of the old saints. but he could give no description of him, having only heard common * in the morea, near the modern navarino. hilarion. 119 report. he sailed for pachynum, and there, in a cottage on the shore, heard of hilarion's fame-that which most surprised all being that, after so many signs and miracles, he had not accepted even a bit of bread from any man. so, "not to make the story too long," as says st. jerome, hesychius fell at his master's knees, and watered his feet with tears, till at last he raised him up. but two or three days after he heard from zananas, how the old man could dwell no longer in these regions, but was minded to go to some barbarous nation, where both his name and his speech should be unknown. so he took him to epidaurus,* a city of dalmatia, where he lay a few days in a little farm, and yet could not be hid; for a dragon of wondrous size--one of those which, in the country speech, they call boas, because they are so huge that they can swallow an ox--laid waste the province, and devoured not only herds and flocks, but husbandmen and shepherds, which he drew to him by the force of his breath.† hilarion commanded a pile of wood to be prepared, and having prayed to christ, * at the mouth of the bay of cattaro. this story-whatever belief we may give to its details-is one of many which make it tolerably certain that a large snake (python) still lingered in eastern europe. huge tame snakes were kept as sacred by the macedonian women; and one of them (according to lucian) peregrinus proteus, the cagliostro of his time, fitted with a linen mask, and made it personate the god æsculapius. in the "historia lausiaca," cap. lii. is an account by an eye-witness of a large snake in the thebaid, whose track was 'as if a beam had been dragged along the sand." it terrifies the syrian monks: but the egyptian monk sets to work to kill it, saying that he had seen much larger-even up to fifteen cubits. "" 120 hilarion. and called the beast forth, commanded him to ascend the pile, and having put fire under, burnt him before all the people. then fretting over what he should do, or whither he should turn, he went alone over the world in imagination, and mourned that, when his tongue was silent, his miracles still spoke. in those days, at the earthquake over the whole world, which befell after julian's death, the sea broke its bounds; and, as if god was threatening another flood, or all was returning to the primæval chaos, ships were carried up steep rocks, and hung there. but when the epidauritans saw roaring waves and mountains of water borne towards the shore, fearing lest the town should be utterly overthrown, they went out to the old man, and, as if they were leading him out to battle, stationed him on the shore. and when he had marked three signs of the cross upon the sand, and stretched out his hands against the waves, it is past belief to what a height the sea swelled, and stood up before him, and then, raging long as if indignant at the barrier, fell back little by little into. itself. all epidaurus, and all that region, talk of this to this day; and mothers teach it their children, that they may hand it down to posterity. truly, that which was said to the apostles, "if ye believe, ye shall say to this mountain, be removed, and cast into the sea; and it shall be done," can be fulfilled even to the letter, if we have the faith of the aposties, and such as the lord commanded them to have. for which is more strange, that a mountain hilarion. 121 should descend into the sea; or that mountains of water should stiffen of a sudden, and, firm as a rock only at an old man's feet, should flow softly everywhere else? all the city wondered; and the greatness of the sign was bruited abroad even at salo. when the old man discovered that, he fled secretly by night in a little boat, and finding a merchantman after two days, sailed for cyprus. between maleæ and cythera* they were met by pirates, who had left their vessels under the shore, and came up in two large galleys, worked not with sails, but oars. as the rowers swept the billows, all on board began to tremble, weep, run about, get handspikes ready, and, as if one messenger was not enough, vie with each other in telling the old man that pirates were at hand. he looked out at them and smiled. then turning to his disciples, "o ye of little faith," he said; "wherefore do ye doubt ? are these more in number than pharaoh's army? yet they were all drowned when god so willed." while he spoke, the hostile keels, with foaming beaks, were but a short stone's throw off. he then stood on the ship's bow, and stretching out his hand against them, "let it be enough," he said, "to have come thus far." o wondrous faith! the boats instantly sprang back, and made stern-way, although the oars impelled them in the opposite direction. the pirates were * now capo st. angelo and the island of cerigo, at the southern point of greece. 122 hilarion. astonished, having no wish to return back-foremost, and struggled with all their might to reach the ship; but were carried to the shore again, much faster than they had come. i pass over the rest, lest by telling every story i make the volume too long. this only i will say, that, while he sailed prosperously through the cyclades, he heard the voices of foul spirits, calling here and there out of the towns and villages, and running together on the beaches. so he came to paphos, the city of cyprus, famous once in poets' songs, which now, shaken down by frequent earthquakes, only shows what it has been of yore by the foundations of its ruins. there he dwelt meanly near the second milestone out of the city, rejoicing much that he was living quietly for a few days. but not three weeks were past, ere throughout the whole island whosoever had unclean spirits began to cry that hilarion the servant of christ was come, and that they must hasten to him. salonica, curium, lapetha, and the other towns, all cried this together, most saying that they knew hilarion, and that he was truly a servant of god; but where he was they knew not. within a month, nearly 200 men and women were gathered together to him. whom when he saw, grieving that they would not suffer him to rest, raging, as it were to revenge himself, he scourged them with such an instancy of prayer, that some were cured at once, some after two or three days, and all within a week. so staying there two years, and always meditating flight, he sent hesychius to palestine, to salute the hilarion. 123 * brethren, visit the ashes of the monastery, and return in the spring. when he returned, and hilarion was longing to sail again to egypt,—that is, to the cattle pastures,* because there is no christian there, but only a fierce and barbarous folk,—he persuaded the old man rather to withdraw into some more secret spot in the island itself. and looking round it long till he had examined it all over, he led him away twelve miles from the sea, among lonely and rough mountains, where they could hardly climb up, creeping on hands and knees. when they were within, they beheld a spot terrible and very lonely, surrounded with trees, which had, too, waters falling from the brow of a cliff, and a most pleasant little garden, and many fruit-trees-the fruit of which, however, hilarion never ate—and near it the ruin of a very ancient temple,† out of which (so he and his disciples averred) the voices of so many dæmons resounded day and night, that you would have fancied an army there. with which he was exceedingly delighted, because he had his foes close to him; and dwelt therein five years; and (while hesychius often visited him) he was much cheered up in this last period of his life, because owing to the roughness and difficulty of the ground, and the multitude. of ghosts (as was commonly reported), few, or none, ever dare climb up to him. but one day, going out of the little garden, he saw a man paralytic in all his limbs, lying before the gate; and having asked hesychius who he was, and how he see p. 52. + probably dedicated to the paphian venus. 124 hilarion. had come, he was told that the man was the steward of a small estate, and that to him the garden, in which they were, belonged. hilarion, weeping over him, and stretching a hand to him as he lay, said, "i say to thee, in the name of jesus christ our lord, arise and walk." wonderful was the rapidity of the effect. the words were yet in his mouth, when the limbs, strengthened, raised the man upon his feet. as soon as it was known, the needs of many conquered the difficulty of the ground, and the want of a path, while all in the neighbourhood watched nothing so carefully, as that he should not by some plan slip away from them. for the report had been spread about him, that he could not remain long in the same place; which nevertheless he did not do from any caprice, or childishness, but to escape honour and importunity; for he always longed after silence, and an ignoble life. so, in the eightieth year of his age, while hesychius was absent, he wrote a short letter, by way of testament, with his own hand, leaving to hesychius all his riches; namely, his gospel-book, and a sackclothshirt, hood, and mantle. for his servant had died a few days before. many religious men came to him from paphos while he was sick, especially because they had heard that he had said that now he was going to migrate to the lord, and be freed from the chains of the body. there came also constantia, a high-born lady, whose son-in-law and daughter he had delivered from death by anointing them with oil. and he made them all swear, that he should not be kept hilarion. 125 an hour after his death, but covered up with earth in that same garden, clothed, as he was, in his haircloth shirt, hood, and rustic cloak. and now little heat was left in his body, and nothing of a living man was left, except his reason: and yet, with open eyes, he went on saying, "go forth, what fearest thou? go forth, my soul, what doubtest thou? nigh seventy years hast thou served christ, and dost thou fear death?" with these words, he breathed out his soul. they covered him forthwith in earth, and told them in the city that he was buried, before it was known that he was dead. the holy man hesychius heard this in palestine ; reached cyprus; and pretending, in order to prevent suspicion on the part of the neighbours, who guarded the spot diligently, that he wished to dwell in that same garden, he, after some ten months, with extreme peril of his life, stole the corpse. he carried it to maiuma, followed by whole crowds of monks and townsfolk, and placed it in the old monastery, with the shirt, hood, and cloak unhurt; the whole body perfect, as if alive, and fragrant with such strong odour, that it seemed to have had unguents poured over it. i think that i ought not, in the end of my book, to be silent about the devotion of that most holy woman constantia, who, hearing that the body of hilarion, the servant of god, was gone to palestine, straightway gave up the ghost, proving by her very death her true love for the servant of god. for she was wont to pass nights in watching his sepulchre, and to converse with him as if he were present, in order to assist 126 hilarion. her prayers. you may see, even to this day, a wonderful contention between the folk of palestine and the cypriots, the former saying that they have the body, the latter that they have the soul, of hilarion. and yet, in both places, great signs are worked daily; but most in the little garden in cyprus; perhaps because he loved that place the best. such is the story of hilarion. his name still lingers in "the place he loved the best." "to this day," i quote this fact from m. de montalembert's work, “the cypriots, confounding in their memories legends of good and of evil, the victories of the soul and the triumph of the senses, give to the ruins of one of those strong castles built by the lusignans, which command their isle, the double name of the castle of st. hilarion, and the castle of the god of love." but how intense must have been the longing for solitude which drove the old man to travel on foot from syria to the egyptian desert, across the pathless westward waste, even to the oasis and the utmost limits of the egyptian province; and then to sicily, to the adriatic, and at last to a distant isle of greece. and shall we blame him for that longing? he seems to have done his duty earnestly, according to his own light, towards his fellow-creatures whenever he met them. but he seems to have found that noise and crowd, display and honour, were not altogether wholesome for his own soul; and in order that he might be a better man he desired again and again to flee, that he might collect himself, and be alone with nature and with hilarion. 127 god. we, here in england, like the old greeks and romans, dwellers in the busy mart of civilized life, have got to regard mere bustle as so integral an element of human life, that we consider a love of solitude a mark of eccentricity, and, if we meet any one who loves to be alone, are afraid that he must needs be going mad: and that with too great solitude comes the danger of too great self-consciousness, and even at last of insanity, none can doubt. but still we must remember, on the other hand, that without solitude, without contemplation, without habitual collection and re-collection of our own selves from time to time, no great purpose is carried out, and no great work can be done; and that it is the bustle and hurry of our modern life which causes shallow thought, unstable purpose, and wasted energy, in too many who would be better and wiser, stronger and happier, if they would devote more time to silence and meditation; if they would commune with their own heart in their chamber, and be still. even in art and in mechanical science, those who have done great work upon the earth have been men given to solitary meditation. when brindley, the engineer, it is said, had a difficult problem to solve, he used to go to bed, and stay there till he had worked it out. turner, the greatest nature-painter of this or any other age, spent hours upon hours in mere contemplation of nature, without using his pencil at all. it is said of him that he was seen to spend a whole day, sitting upon a rock, and throwing pebbles into a lake; and when at evening his fellow painters showed their day's sketches, and 128 hilarion. rallied him upon having done nothing, he answered them, "i have done this at least: i have learnt how a lake looks when pebbles are thrown into it." and if this silent labour, this steadfast thought are required even for outward arts and sciences, how much more for the highest of all arts, the deepest of all sciences, that which involves the questions-who are we? and where are we? who is god? and what are we to god, and he to us?—namely, the science of being good, which deals not with time merely, but with eternity. no retirement, no loneliness, no period of earnest and solemn meditation, can be misspent which helps us towards that goal. and therefore it was that hilarion longed to be alone; alone with god; and with nature, which spoke to him of god. for these old hermits, though they neither talked nor wrote concerning scenery, nor painted pictures of it as we do now, had many of them a clear and intense instinct of the beauty and the meaning of outward nature; as antony surely had when he said that the world around was his book, wherein he read the mysteries of god. hilarion seems, from his story, to have had a special craving for the sea. perhaps his early sojourn on the low sandhills of the philistine shore, as he watched the tideless mediterranean, rolling and breaking for ever upon the same beach, had taught him to say with the old prophet as he thought of the wicked and still half idolatrous cities of the philistine shore, "fear ye not? saith the lord; will ye not tremble at my presence who have placed the sand for the bound of hilarion. 129 the sea, for a perpetual decree, that it cannot pass it? and though the waves thereof toss themselves, yet can they not prevail; though they roar, yet can they not pass over. but this people has a revolted and rebellious heart, they are revolted and gone." perhaps again, looking down from the sunny sicilian cliffs of taormino, or through the pine-clad gulfs and gullies of the cypriote hills upon the blue mediterranean below, "and watching from his mountain wall the wrinkled sea beneath him crawl," he had enjoyed and profited by all those images which that sight has called up in so many minds. before and since. to him it may be, as to the psalmist, the storm-swept sea pictured the instability of mortal things, while secure upon his cliff he said with the psalmist, "the lord hath set my feet upon a rock, and ordered my goings;" and again, "the wicked are like a troubled sea, casting up mire and dirt." often, again, looking upon that far horizon, must his soul have been drawn, as many a soul has been drawn since, to it, and beyond it, as it were into a region of boundless freedom and perfect peace, while he said again with david, "oh that i had wings like a dove; then would i flee away and be at rest!" and so have found, in the contemplation of the wide ocean, a substitute at least for the contemplation of those eastern deserts which seemed the proper home for the solitary and meditative philosopher. for indeed in no northern country can such situations be found for the monastic cell as can be found k s. l. ii. 130 hilarion. in those great deserts which stretch from syria to arabia, from arabia to egypt, from egypt to africa properly so called. here and there a northern hermit found, as hilarion found, a fitting home by the sea side, on some lonely island or storm-beat rock, like st. cuthbert, off the coast of northumberland; like st. rule, on his rock at st. andrew's; and st. columba, with his ever-venerable company of missionaries, on iona. but inland, the fens and the forests were foul, unwholesome, depressing, the haunts of fever, ague, delirium, as st. guthlac found at crowland, and st. godric at finkhale.* the vast pine-woods which clothe the alpine slopes, the vast forests of beech and oak which then spread over france and germany, gave in time shelter to many a holy hermit. but their gloom, their unwholesomeness, and the severity of the climate, produced in them, as in most northern ascetics, a temper of mind more melancholy, and often more fierce; more given to passionate devotion, but more given also to dark superstition and cruel self-torture, than the genial climate of the desert produced in old monks of the east. when we think of st. antony upon his mountain, we must not picture to ourselves, unless we, too, have been in the east, such a mountain as we have ever seen. we must not think of a brown northern moorland, sad, savage, storm-swept, snowburied, save in the brief and uncertain summer months. we must not picture to ourselves an alp, * the lives of these two hermits and that of st. cuthbert will be given in a future number. hilarion. 131 with thundering avalanches, roaring torrents, fierce alternations of heat and cold, uninhabitable by mortal man, save during that short period of the year when the maidens in the sennhutt watch the cattle upon the upland pastures. we must picture to ourselves mountains blazing day after day, month after month, beneath the glorious sun and cloudless sky, in an air so invigorating that the arabs can still support life there upon a few dates each day; and where, as has been said, "man needs there hardly to eat, drink, or sleep, for the act of breathing will give life enough;" an atmosphere of such telescopic clearness as to explain many of the strange stories which have been lately told of antony's seemingly preternatural powers of vision; a colouring, which, when painters dare to put it on canvas, seems to our eyes, accustomed to the quiet greys and greens of england, exaggerated and impossible-distant mountains, pink and lilac, quivering in pale blue haze-vast sheets of yellow sand, across which the lonely rock or a troop of wild asses or gazelles throw intense blue-black shadows-rocks and cliffs not shrouded, as here, in soil, much less in grass and trees, or spotted with lichens and stained with veins; but keeping each stone its natural colour, as it wastes if, indeed, it wastes at all-under the action of the all but rainless air, which has left the paintings on the old egyptian temples fresh and clear for thousands of years; rocks, orange and purple, black, white, and yellow; and again and again beyond them* sihor, the black river, was the ancient name of the nile, derived from the dark hue of its waters. k 2 " 132 hilarion. glimpses, it may be, of the black nile, and of the long green garden of egypt, and of the dark blue sea. the eastward view from antony's old home must be one of the most glorious in the world, save for its want of verdure and of life. for antony, as he looked across the blue waters of the gulf of akaba, across which, far above, the israelites had passed in old times, could see the sacred goal of their pilgrimage, the red granite peaks of sinai, flaming against the blue sky with that intensity of hue which is scarcely exaggerated, it is said, by the bright scarlet colour in which sinai is always painted in mediæval illuminations. but the gorgeousness of colouring, though it may interest us, was not, of course, what produced the deepest effect upon the minds of those old hermits. they enjoyed nature, not so much for her beauty, as for her perfect peace. day by day the rocks remained the same. silently out of the eastern desert, day by day, the rising sun threw aloft those arrows of light, which the old greeks had named "the rosy fingers of the dawn." silently he passed in full blaze almost above their heads throughout the day; and silently he dipped behind the western desert in a glory of crimson and orange, green and purple; and without an interval of twilight, in a moment, all the land was dark, and the stars leapt out, not twinkling as in our damper climate here, but hanging like balls of white fire in that purple southern night, through which one seems to look beyond the stars into the infinite abyss, and towards the throne of god himhilarion. 133 self. day after day, night after night, that gorgeous pageant passed over the poor hermit's head without a sound; and though sun and moon and planet might change their places as the year rolled round, the earth beneath his feet seemed not to change. every morning he saw the same peaks in the distance, the same rocks, the same sand-heaps around his feet. he never heard the tinkle of a running stream. for weeks together he did not even hear the rushing of the wind. now and then a storm might sweep up the pass, whirling the sand in eddies, and making the desert for a while literally a "howling wilderness ;" and when that was passed all was as it had been before. the very change of seasons must have been little marked to him, save by the motions, if he cared to watch them, of the stars above; for vegetation there was none to mark the difference between summer and winter. in spring of course the solitary date-palm here and there threw out its spathe of young green leaves, to add to the number of those which, grey or brown, hung drooping down the stem, withering but not decaying for many a year in that dry atmosphere; or perhaps the accacia bushes looked somewhat gayer for a few weeks, and the retama broom, from which as well as from the palm leaves he plaited his baskets, threw out its yearly crop of twigs; but any greenness there might be in the vegetation of spring, turned grey in a few weeks beneath that burning sun; and the rest of the year was one perpetual summer of dust and glare and rest. amid such scenes the mind had full time for thought. nature and man 134 hilarion. alike left it in peace; while the labour required for sustaining life (and the monk wished for nothing more than to sustain mere life) was very light. wherever water could be found, the hot sun and the fertile soil would repay by abundant crops, perhaps twice in the year, the toil of scratching the ground and putting in the seed. moreover, the labour of the husbandman, so far from being adverse to the contemplative life, is of all occupations, it may be, that which promotes most quiet and wholesome meditation in the mind which cares to meditate. the life of the desert, when once the passions of youth were conquered, seems to have been not only a happy, but a healthy one. and when we remember that the monk, clothed from head to foot in woollen, and sheltered, too, by his sheepskin tape, escaped those violent changes of temperature which produce in the east so many fatal diseases, and which were so deadly to the linen-clothed inhabitants of the green lowlands of the nile, we need not be surprised when we read of the vast longevity of many of the old abbots; and of their death, not by disease, but by gentle, and as it were wholesome natural decay. but if their life was easy, it was surely not illspent. if having few wants, and those soon supplied, they found too much time for the luxury of quiet thought, those need not blame them, who having many wants, and those also easily supplied, are wont to spend their superfluous leisure in any luxury save that of thought, above all save that of thought concerning god. for it was upon god that these men, hilarion. 135 whatever their defects or ignorances may have been, had set their minds. that man was sent into the world to know and to love, to obey and thereby to glorify, the maker of his being, was the cardinal point of their creed, as it has been .of every creed which ever exercised any beneficial influence on the minds of men. dean milman in his "history of christianity," vol. iii. page 294, has, while justly severe upon the failings and mistakes of the eastern monks, pointed out with equal justice that the great desire of knowing god was the prime motive in the mind of all their best men :"in some regions of the east, the sultry and oppressive heat, the general relaxation of the physical system, dispose constitutions of a certain temperament to a dreamy inertness. the indolence and prostration of the body produce a kind of activity in the mind, if that may properly be called activity which is merely giving loose to the imagination and the emotions as they follow out the wild train of incoherent thought, or are agitated by impulses of spontaneous and ungoverned feeling. ascetic christianity ministered new aliment to this common propensity. it gave an object, both vague and determinate enough to stimulate, yet never to satisfy or exhaust. the regularity of stated hours of prayer, and of a kind of idle industry, weaving mats or plaiting baskets, alternated with periods of morbid reflection on the moral state of the soul, and of mystic communion with the deity. it cannot indeed be wondered that this new revelation, as it were, of the deity, this profound and rational certainty of his existence, this 136 hilarion. infelt consciousness of his perpetual presence, these as yet unknown impressions of his infinity, his power, and his love, should give a higher character to this eremitical enthusiasm, and attract men of loftier and more vigorous minds within its sphere. it was not merely the pusillanimous dread of encountering the trials of life which urged the humbler spirits to seek a safe retirement; or the natural love of peace, and the weariness and satiety of life, which commended this seclusion to those who were too gentle to mingle in, or who were exhausted with, the unprofitable turmoil of the world; nor was it always the anxiety to mortify the rebellious and refractory body with more advantage. the one absorbing idea of the majesty of the godhead almost seemed to swallow up all other considerations. the transcendent nature of the triune deity, the relation of the different persons of the godhead to each other, seemed the only worthy object of men's contemplative faculties." and surely the contemplation of the godhead is no unworthy occupation for the immortal soul of any human being. but it would be unjust to these hermits did we fancy that their religion consisted merely even in this; much less that it consisted merely in dreams and visions, or in mere stated hours of prayer. that all did not fulfil the ideal of their profession is to be expected, and is frankly confessed by the writers of the lives of the fathers; that there were serious faults, even great crimes, among them is not denied. those who wrote concerning them were so sure that they were on the whole good men, that hilarion. 137 they were not at all afraid of saying that some of them were bad,-not afraid, even, of recording, though only in dark hints, the reason why the arab tribes around once rose and laid waste six churches with their monasteries in the neighbourhood of scetis. st. jerome in like manner does not hesitate to pour out bitter complaints against many of the monks in the neighbourhood of bethlehem. it is notorious, too, that many became monks merely to escape slavery, hunger, or conscription into the army. unruly and fanatical spirits, too, grew fond of wandering. bands of monks on the great roads and public places of the empire, massalians or gyrovagi, as they were called, wandered from province to province, and cell to cell, living on the alms which they extorted from the pious, and making up too often for protracted fasts by outbursts of gluttony and drunkenness. and doubtless the average monk, even when well-conducted himself and in a well-conducted monastery, was, like average men of every creed, rank, or occupation, a very common-place person, acting from very mixed and often very questionable motives; and valuing his shaven crown and his sheepskin cloak, his regular hours of prayer and his implicit obedience to his abbot, more highly than he valued the fear and the love of god. it is so in every creed. with some, even now, the strict observance of the sabbath; with others, outward reverence at the holy communion; with others, the frequent hearing of sermons which suit their own views; with others, continual reading of 138 hilarion. pious books (on the lessons of which they do not act), covers, instead of charity, a multitude of sins. but the saint, abbot, or father among these hermits was essentially the man who was not a common-place person; who was more than an ascetic, and more than a formalist; who could pierce beyond the letter to the spirit, and see, beyond all forms of doctrine or modes of life, that virtue was the one thing needful. the historia lausiaca and the pratum spirituale have many a story and many a saying as weighty, beautiful, and instructive now as they were fifteen hundred years ago; stories which show that graces and virtues such as the world had never seen before, save in the persecuted and half-unknown christians of the first three centuries, were cultivated to noble fruitfulness by the monks of the east. for their humility, obedience, and reverence for their superiors it is not wise to praise them just now; for those are qualities which are not at present considered virtues, but rather (save by the soldier) somewhat abject vices; and indeed they often carried them, as they did their abstinence, to an extravagant pitch. but it must be remembered, in fairness, that if they obeyed their supposed superiors, they had first chosen their superiors themselves; that as the becoming a monk at all was an assertion of self-will and independence, whether for good or evil, so their reverence for their abbots was a voluntary loyalty to one who they fancied had a right to rule them, because he was wiser and better than they; a feeling which some have found not degrading, but ennobling; and the parent, not of servility, words of the elders. 139 66 but of true freedom. and as for the obsolete virtue of humility, that still remains true which a voice said. to antony, when he saw the snares which were spread over the whole earth, and asked, sighing, "who can pass safely over these?" and the voice answered, humility alone." for the rest, if the sermon on the mount mean anything, as a practical rule of life for christian men, then these monks were surely justified in trying to obey it, for to obey it they surely tried. the words of the elders, to which i have already alluded, and the lausiaca of palladius likewise, are full of precious scraps of moral wisdom, sayings, and anecdotes, full of nobleness, purity, pathos, insight into character, and often instinct with a quiet humour, which seems to have been, in the old world, peculiar to the egyptians, as it is, in the new, almost peculiar to the old-fashioned god-fearing scotsman. take these examples, chosen almost at random. serapion the sindonite was so called because he wore nothing but a sindon, or linen shirt. though he could not read, he could say all the scriptures by heart. he could not (says palladius) sit quiet in his cell, but wandered over the world in utter poverty, so that he "attained to perfect impassibility, for with that nature he was born; for there are differences of natures, not of substances." so says palladius, and goes on to tell how serapion sold himself to certain play-actors for twenty gold pieces, and laboured for them as a slave till he had won them to christ, and made them renounce the theatre; 140 words of the elders. after which he made his converts give the money to the poor, and went his way. on one of his journeys he came to athens, and, having neither money nor goods, starved there for three days. but on the fourth he went up, seemingly to the areopagus, and cried, "men of athens, help!" and when the crowd questioned him, he told them that he had, since he left egypt, fallen into the hands of three usurers, two of whom he had satisfied, but the third would not leave him. on being promised assistance, he told them that his three usurers were avarice, sensuality, and hunger. of the two first he was rid, having neither money nor passions: but, as he had eaten nothing for three days, the third was beginning to be troublesome, and demanded its usual debt, without paying which he could not well live; whereon certain philosophers, seemly amused by his apologue, gave him a gold coin. he went to a baker's shop, laid down the coin, took up a loaf, and went out of athens for ever. then the philosophers knew that he was endowed with true virtue; and when they had paid the baker the price of the loaf, got back their gold. when he went into lacedæmon, he heard that a great man there was a manichæan, with all his family, though otherwise a good man. to him serapion sold himself as a slave, and within two years converted him and his wife, who thenceforth treated him not as a slave, but as their own brother. after awhile, this “spiritual adamant,” as palladius calls him, bought his freedom of them, and sailed for words of the elders. 141 rome. at sundown first the sailors, and then the passengers, brought out each man his provisions, and ate. serapion sat still. the crew fancied that he was sea-sick; but when he had passed a second, third, and fourth day fasting, they asked, "man, why do you not eat?" "because i have nothing to eat." they thought that some one had stolen his baggage: but when they found that the man had absolutely nothing, they began to ask him not only how he would keep alive, but how he would pay his fare. he only answered, "that he had nothing; that they might cast him out of the ship where they had found him.” but they answered, "not for a hundred gold pieces, so favourable was the wind," and fed him all the way to rome, where we lose sight of him and his humour. to go on with almost chance quotations:some monks were eating at a festival, and one said to the serving man, "i eat nothing cooked; tell them to bring me salt." the serving man began to talk loudly: "that brother cats no cooked meat; bring. him a little salt." quoth abbot theodore: "it were more better for thee, brother, to eat meat in thy cell than to hear thyself talked about in the presence of thy brethren." again a brother came to abbot silvanus, in mount sinai, and found the brethren working, and said, "why labour you for the meat which perisheth? mary chose the good part." the abbot said, "give him a book to read, and put him in an empty cell." about the ninth hour the brother looked out, to see if he would be called to eat, and at last came to the abbot, 142 words of the elders. and asked, "do not the brethren eat to-day, abbot ?" "yes." "then why was not i called?" then quoth abbot silvanus: "thou art a spiritual man: and needest not their food. we are carnal, and must eat, because we work: but thou hast chosen the better part." whereat the monk was ashamed. as was also john the dwarf, who wanted to be "without care like the angels, doing nothing but praise god." so he threw away his cloak, left his brother the abbot, and went into the desert. but after seven days he came back, and knocked at the door. who is there?" asked his brother. "john." 'nay, john is turned into an angel, and is no more among men." so he left him outside all night; and in the morning gave him to understand that if he was a man he must work, but that if he was an angel, he had no need to live in a cell. "" 66 "" consider again the saying of the great antony, when some brethren were praising another in his presence. but antony tried him, and found that he could not bear an injury. then said the old man, brother, thou art like a house with an ornamented porch, while the thieves break into it by the back door." or this, of abbot isidore, when the devil tempted him to despair, and told him that he would be lost after all: "if i do go into torment, i shall still find you below me there." or this, of zeno the syrian, when some egyptian monks came to him and began accusing themselves: "the egyptians hide the virtues which they have, words of the elders. 143 and confess vices which they have not. the syrians and greeks boast of virtues which they have not, and hide vices which they have." or this one old man said to another, "i am dead to this world." "do not trust yourself," quoth the other, "till you are out of this world. if you are dead, the devil is not." two old men lived in the same cell, and had never disagreed. said one to the other, "let us have just one quarrel, like other men." quoth the other: "i do not know what a quarrel is like." quoth the first : "here i will put a brick between us, and say that it is mine and you shall say it is not mine; and over that let us have a contention and a squabble.” but when they put the brick between them, and one said, "it is mine," the other said, "i hope it is mine." and when the first said, "it is mine, it is not yours," he answered, “if it is yours, take it." so they could not find out how to have a quarrel. anger, malice, revenge, were accursed things in the eyes of these men. there was enough of them, and too much, among their monks; but far less, doubt not, than in the world outside. for within the monastery it was preached against, repressed, punished; and when repented of, forgiven, with loving warnings and wise rules against future transgression. abbot agathon used to say, "i never went to sleep with a quarrel against any man; nor did i, as far as lay in me, let one who had a quarrel against me sleep till he had made peace." 1 abbot isaac was asked why the devils feared him 144 words of the elders. so much. "since i was made a monk," he said, "i settled with myself that no angry word should come out of my mouth." an old man said, “anger arises from these four things: from the lust of avarice, in giving and receiving; from loving one's own opinion; from wishing to be honoured; and from fancying oneself a teacher and hoping to be wiser than everybody. and anger obscures human reason by these four ways: if a man hate his neighbour; or if he envy him; or if he look on him as nought; or if he speak evil of him." a brother being injured by another, came to abbot sidonius, told his story, and said, "i wish to avenge myself, father." the abbot begged him to leave vengeance to god: but when he refused, said, "then let us pray." whereon the old man rose, and said, "god, thou art not necessary to us any longer, that thou shouldest be careful of us: for we, as this brother says, both will and can avenge ourselves." at which that brother fell at his feet, and begged pardon, promising never to strive with his enemy. abbot pomen said often, "let malice never overcome thee. if any man do thee harm, repay him with good, that thou mayest conquer evil with good." in a congregation at scetis, when many men's lives and conversation had been talked over, abbot pior held his tongue. after it was over, he went out, and filled a sack with sand, and put it on his back. then he took a little bag, filled it likewise with sand, oaking wesson words of the elders. 145 and carried it before him. and when the brethren asked him what he meant, he said, "the sack behind is my own sins, which are very many: yet i have cast them behind my back, and will not see them, nor weep over them. but i have put these few sins of my brother's before my eyes, and am tormenting myself over them, and condemning my brother." a brother having committed a fault, went to antony, and his brethren followed, upbraiding him and wanting to bring him back; while he denied having done the wrong. abbot paphnutius was there, and spoke a parable to them :"i saw on the river bank a man sunk in the mud up to his knees. and men came to pull him out, and thrust him in up to the neck." then said antony of paphnutius, "behold a man who can indeed save souls." "salabbot macarius was going up to the mountain of nitria, and sent his disciple on before. the disciple met an idol-priest hurrying on, and carrying a great beam: to whom he cried, "where art thou running, devil?" at which he was wroth, and beat him so that he left him half dead, and then ran on, and met macarius, who said, vation to thee, labourer, salvation!" he answered, wondering, "what good hast thou seen seen in me that thou salutest me?" "because i saw thee working and running, though ignorantly." to whom the priest said, "touched by thy salutation, i knew thee to be a great servant of god; for l s. l. ii. 146 words of the elders. another-i know not who-miserable monk met me and insulted me, and i gave him blows for his words." then laying hold of macarius's feet he said, "unless thou make me a monk i will not leave hold of thee." after all, of the best of these men are told (with much honesty) many sayings which show that they felt in their minds and hearts that the spirit was above the letter: sayings which show that they had at least at times glimpses of a simpler and more possible virtue; foretastes of a perfection more human, and it may be more divine. "better," said abbot hyperichius, "to eat flesh and drink wine, than to eat our brethren's flesh with bitter words." a brother asked an elder, "give me, father one thing which i may keep, and be saved thereby." the elder answered, "if thou canst be injured and insulted, and hear and be silent, that is a great thing, and above all the other commandments." one of the elders used to say, "whatever a man shrinks from let him not do to another. dost thou speak not shrink if any man detracts from thee? ill of another. dost thou shrink if any man slanders thee, or if any man takes aught from thee? do not that or the like to another man. for he that shall have kept this saying, will find it suffice for his salvation." "" "the nearer," said abbot muthues, a man approaches god, the more he will see himself to be a sinner." words of the elders. 147 abbot sisois, when he lay dying, begged to live a little longer, that he might repent; and when they wondered, he told them that he had not yet even begun repentance. whereby they saw that he was perfect in the fear of the lord. but the most startling confession of all must have been that wrung from the famous macarius the elder. he had been asked once by a brother, to tell him a rule by which he might be saved; and his answer had been this :-to fly from men, to sit in his cell, and to lament for his sins continually; and, what was above all virtues, to keep his tongue in order as well as his appetite. but (whether before or after that answer is not said) he gained a deeper insight into true virtue, on the day when (like antony when he was reproved by the example of the tanner in alexandria) he heard a voice telling him that he was inferior to two women who dwelt in the nearest town. catching up his staff, like antony, he went off to see the wonder. the women, when questioned by him as to their works, were astonished. they had been simply good wives for years past, married to two brothers, and living in the same house. but when pressed by him, they confessed that they had never said a foul word to each other, and never quarrelled. at one time they had agreed together to retire into a nunnery, but could not, for all their prayers, obtain the consent of their husbands. on which they had both made an oath, that they would never, to their deaths, speak one worldly word. l 2 148 words of the elders. which when the blessed macarius had heard, he said, "in truth there is neither virgin, nor married woman, nor monk, nor secular; but god only requires the intention, and ministers the spirit of life to all." c arsenius. i shall give one more figure, and that a truly tragical one, from these "lives of the egyptian fathers,' namely, that of the once great and famous arsenius, the father (as he was at one time called) of the emperors. theodosius, the great statesman and warrior, who for some twenty years kept up by his single hand the falling empire of rome, heard how arsenius was at once the most pious and the most learned of his subjects; and wishing-half barbarian as he was himself-that his sons should be brought up, not only as scholars, but as christians, he sent for arsenius to his court, and made him tutor to his two young sons honorius and arcadius. but the two lads had neither their father's strength nor their father's nobleness. weak and profligate, they fretted arsenius's soul day by day; and, at last, so goes the story, provoked him so far that, according to the fashion of a roman pedagogue, he took the ferula and administered to one of the princes a caning, which he no doubt deserved. the young prince, in revenge, plotted against his life. among the parasites of the palace it was not difficult to find those who would use 150 arsenius. steel and poison readily enough in the service of an heir-apparent, and arsenius fled for his life and fled, as men were wont in those days, to egypt and the thebaid. forty years old he was when he left the court, and forty years more he spent among the cells at scetis, weeping day and night. he migrated afterwards to a place called troe, and there died at the age of ninety-five, having wept himself, say his admirers, almost blind. he avoided, as far as possible, beholding the face of man; upon the face of woman he would never look. a noble lady, whom he had known probably in the world, came all the way from rome to see him; but he refused himself to her sternly, almost roughly. he had known too much. of the fine ladies of the roman court; all he cared for was peace. there is a story of him that, changing once his dwelling-place, probably from scetis to troe, he asked, somewhat peevishly, of the monks around him, "what that noise was?" they told him it was only the wind among the reeds. “alas!” he said, "i have fled everywhere in search of silence, and yet here the very reeds speak." the simple and comparatively unlearned monks around him looked with a profound respect on the philosopher, courtier, scholar, who had cast away the real pomps and vanities of this life, such as they had never known. there is a story told, plainly concerning arsenius, though his name is not actually mentioned in it, how a certain old monk saw him lying upon a softer mat than his fellows, and indulged with a few more comforts; and complained indignantly of his luxury, and the abbot's 4 arsenius. 151 favouritism. then asked the abbot, "what didst thou eat before thou becamest a monk?" he confessed he had been glad enough to fill his stomach with a few beans. "how wert thou dressed?" he was glad enough, again he confessed, to have any clothes at all on his back. "where didst thou sleep?" "often enough on the bare ground in the open air," was the answer. "then," said the abbot, " thou art, by thy own confession, better off as a monk than thou wast as a poor labouring man: and yet thou grudgest a little comfort to one who has given up more luxury than thou hast ever beheld. this man slept beneath silken canopies; he was carried in gilded litters, by trains of slaves; he was clothed in purple and fine linen; he fed upon all the delicacies of the great city: and he has given up all for christ. and what hast thou given up, that thou shouldst grudge him a softer mat, or a little more food each day?" and so the monk was abashed, and held his peace. as for arsenius's tears, it is easy to call his grief exaggerated or superstitious: but those who look on them with human eyes will pardon them, and watch with sacred pity the grief of a good man, who felt that his life had been an utter failure. he saw his two pupils, between whom, at their father's death, the roman empire was divided into eastern and western, grow more and more incapable of governing. he saw a young barbarian, whom he must have often met at the court in byzantium, as master of the horse, come down from his native forests, and sack the eternal city of rome. he saw evil and woe 152 arsenius. unspeakable fall on that world which he had left behind him, till the earth was filled with blood, and antichrist seemed ready to appear, and the day of judgment to be at hand. and he had been called to do what he could to stave off this ruin, to make those young princes decree justice and rule in judgment by the fear of god. but he had failed; and there was nothing left to him save self-accusation and regret, and dread lest some, at least, of the blood which had been shed might be required at his hands. therefore, sitting upon his palm-mat there in troe, he wept his life away; happier, nevertheless, and more honourable in the sight of god and man than if, like a mazarin or a talleyrand, and many another crafty politician, both in church and state, he had hardened his heart against his own mistakes, and, by crafty intrigue and adroit changing of sides at the right moment, had contrived to secure for himself, out of the general ruin, honour and power and wealth, and delicate food, and a luxurious home, and so been one of those of whom the psalmist says, with awful irony, “so long as thou doest well unto thyself, men will speak good of thee." one good deed at least arsenius had seen done-a deed which has lasted to all time, and done, too, to the eternal honour of his order, by a monk-namely, the abolition of gladiator shows. for centuries these wholesale murders had lasted through the roman republic and through the roman empire. human beings in the prime of youth and health, captives or slaves, condemned malefactors, and even free-born arsenius. 153 men, who hired themselves out to death, had been trained to destroy each other in the amphitheatre for the amusement, not merely of the roman mob, but of the roman ladies. thousands sometimes, in a single day, had been "butchered to make a roman holiday." by the training of gladiators had become a science. their weapons and their armour, and their modes of fighting, they had been distinguished into regular classes, of which the antiquaries count up full eighteen: andabatæ, who wore helmets without any opening for the eyes, so that they were obliged to fight blindfold, and thus excited the mirth of the spectators; hoplomachi, who fought in a complete suit of armour; mirmillones, who had the image of a fish upon their helmets, and fought in armour with a short sword, matched usually against the retiarii, who fought without armour, and whose weapons were a casting-net and a trident. these, and other species of fighters, were drilled and fed in "families" by lanistæ, or regular trainers, who let them out to persons wishing to exhibit a show. women, even high-born ladies, had been seized in former times with the madness of fighting, and, as shameless as cruel, had gone down into the arena to delight with their own wounds and their own gore the eyes of the roman people. and these things were done, and done too often, under the auspices of the gods, and at their most sacred festivals. so deliberate and organized a system of wholesale butchery has never perhaps existed on this earth before or since, not even in the 154 arsenius. worship of those mexican gods whose idols cortez and his soldiers found fed with human hearts, and the walls of their temples crusted with human gore. gradually the spirit of the gospel had been triumphing over this abomination. ever since the time of tertullian, in the second century, christian preachers and writers had lifted up their voice in the name of humanity. towards the end of the third century, the emperors themselves had so far yielded to the voice of reason, as to forbid by edicts the gladiatorial fights. but the public opinion of the mob in most of the great cities had been too strong both for saints and for emperors. st. augustine himself tells us of the horrible joy which he, in his youth, had seen come over the vast ring of flushed faces at these horrid sights; and in arsenius's own time, his miserable pupil, the weak honorius, bethought himself of celebrating once more the heathen festival of the secular games, and formally to allow therein an exhibition of gladiators. but in the midst of that show sprang down into the arena of the colosseum of rome an unknown monk, some said from nitria, some from phrygia, and with his own hands parted the combatants in the name of christ and god. the mob, baulked for a moment of their pleasure, sprang on him, and stoned him to death. but the crime was followed by a sudden revulsion of feeling. by an edict of the emperor the gladiatorial sports were forbidden for ever; and the colosseum, thenceforth useless, crumbled slowly away into that vast ruin which remains unto this day, purified, as men well said, from the blood of tens of thousands, by the blood of one true and noble martyr. -,, the hermits of asia. the impulse which, given by antony, had been propagated in asia by his great pupil, hilarion, spread rapidly far and wide. hermits took possession of the highest peaks of sinai; and driven from thence, so tradition tells, by fear of those mysterious noises which still haunt its cliffs, settled at that sheltered spot where now stands the convent of st. catharine. massacred again and again by the wild arab tribes, their places were filled up by fresh hermits, and their spiritual descendants hold the convent to this day. through the rich and luxuriant region of syria, and especially round the richest and most luxurious of its ɔities, antioch, hermits settled, and bore, by the severity of their lives, a noble witness against the profligacy of its inhabitants, who had half renounced the paganism of their forefathers without renouncing in the least, it seems, those sins which drew down of old the vengeance of a righteous god upon their forefathers, whether in canaan or in syria itself. at antioch, about the year 347, was born the famous chrysostom, john of the golden mouth; and near antioch he became a hermit, and dwelt, so 156 the hermits of asia. legends say, several years alone in the wilderness: till, nerved by that hard training, he went forth again into the world to become, whether at antioch or at constantinople, the bravest as well as the most eloquent preacher of righteousness and rebuker of sin which the world had seen since the times of st. paul. the labours of chrysostom belong not so much to this book as to a general ecclesiastical history: but it must not be forgotten that he, like all the great men of that age, had been a monk, and kept up his monastic severity, even in the midst of the world, until his dying day. at nisibis, again, upon the very frontier of persia, appeared another very remarkable personage, known as the great jacob or great st. james. taking (says his admiring biographer, theodoret of cyra) to the peaks of the loftiest mountains, he passed his life on them, in spring and summer haunting the woods, with the sky for a roof, but sheltering himself in winter in a cave. his food was wild fruits and mountain herbs. he never used a fire, and, clothed in a goats' hair garment, was perhaps the first of those boscoi, or "browsing hermits," who lived literally like the wild animals in the flesh, while they tried to live like angels in the spirit. some of the stories told of jacob savour of that vindictiveness which giraldus cambrensis, in after years, attributed to the saints in ireland. he was walking one day over the persian frontier, "to visit the plants of true religion" and "bestow on them due care," when he passed at a fountain a troop of the hermits of asia. 157 damsels washing clothes and treading them with their feet. they seem, according to the story, to have stared at the wild man, instead of veiling their faces or letting down their garments. no act or word of rudeness is reported of them: but jacob's modesty or pride was so much scandalized that he cursed both the fountain and the girls. the fountain of course dried up forthwith, and the damsels' hair turned grey. they ran weeping into the town. the townsfolk came out, and compelled jacob, by their prayers, to restore the water to their fountain; but the grey hair he refused to restore to its original hue unless the damsels would come and beg pardon publicly themselves. the poor girls were ashamed to come, and their hair remained grey ever after. a story like this may raise a smile in some of my readers, in others something like indignation or contempt. but as long as such legends remain in these hermit lives, told with as much gravity as any other portion of the biography, and eloquently lauded, as this deed is, by bishop theodoret, as proofs of the holiness and humanity of the saint, an honest author is bound to notice some of them at least, and not to give an alluring and really dishonest account of these men and their times, by detailing every anecdote which can elevate them in the mind of the reader, while he carefully omits all that may justly disgust him. yet, after all, we are not bound to believe this legend, any more than we are bound to believe that when jacob saw a persian judge give an unjust sentence, he forthwith cursed, not him, but a rock close 158 the hermits of asia. by, which instantly crumbled into innumerable fragments, so terrifying that judge that he at once revoked his sentence, and gave a just decision. neither, again, need we believe that it was by sending, as men said in his own days, swarms of mosquitos against the persian invaders, that he put to flight their elephants and horses: and yet it may be true that, in the famous siege of nisibis, jacob played the patriot and the valiant man. for when sapor, the persian king, came against nisibis with all his forces, with troops of elephants, and huge machines of war, and towers full of archers wheeled up to the walls, and at last, damming the river itself, turned its current against the fortifications of unburnt brick, until a vast breach was opened in the walls, then jacob, standing in the breach, encouraged by his prayers his fellowtownsmen to stop it with stone, brick, timber, and whatsoever came to hand; and sapor, the persian sultan, saw "that divine man," and his goats'-hair tunic and cloak seemed transformed into a purple robe and royal diadem. and, whether he was seized with superstitious fear, or whether the hot sun or the marshy ground had infected his troops with disease, or whether the mosquito swarms actually became intolerable, the great king of persia turned and went away. so nisibis was saved for a while; to be shamefully surrendered to the persians a few years afterwards by the weak young emperor jovian. old ammianus marcellinus, brave soldier as he was, saw with disgust the whole body of citizens ordered to quit the city the hermits of asia. 159 within three days, and "men appointed to compel obedience to the order, with threats of death to every one who delayed his departure; and the whole city. was a scene of mourning and lamentation, and in every quarter nothing was heard but one universal wail, matrons tearing their hair, and about to be driven from the homes in which they had been born and brought up; the mother who had lost her children, or the wife who had lost her husband, about to be torn from the place rendered sacred by their shades, clinging to their doorposts, embracing their thresholds, and pouring forth floods of tears. every road was crowded, each person struggling away as he could. many, too, loaded themselves with as much of their property as they thought they could carry, while leaving behind them abundant and costly furniture, which they could not remove for want of beasts of burden." "'* one treasure, however, they did remove, of which the old soldier ammianus says nothing, and which, had he seen it pass him on the road, he would have treated with supreme contempt. and that, says theodoret, was the holy body of "their prince and defender," st. james the mountain hermit, round which the emigrants chanted, says theodoret, hymns of regret and praise, "for, had he been alive, that city would have never passed into barbarian hands." there stood with jacob in the breach, during that siege of nisibis, a man of gentler temperament, a disciple of his, who had received baptism at his hands, * ammianus marcellinus, book xxv. cap. 9. 160 the hermits of asia. and who was, like himself, a hermit-ephraim, or ephrem, of edessa, as he is commonly called, for, though born at nisibis, his usual home was at edessa, the metropolis of a syrian-speaking race. into the syrian tongue ephrem translated the doctrines of the christian faith and the gospel history, and spread abroad, among the heathen round, a number of delicate and graceful hymns, which remain to this day, and of which some have lately been translated into english.* soft, sad, and dreamy as they were, they had strength and beauty enough in them to supersede the gnostic hymns of bardesanes and his son harmonius, which had been long popular among the syrians; and for centuries afterwards, till christianity was swept away by the followers of mahomet, the syrian husbandman beguiled his toil with the pious and plaintive melodies of st. ephrem. but ephrem was not only a hermit and a poet: he was a preacher and a missionary. if he wept, as it was said, day and night for his own sins and the sins of mankind, he did his best at least to cure those sins. he was a demagogue, or leader of the people, for good and not for evil, to whom the simple syrians looked up for many a year as their spiritual father. he died in peace, as he said himself, like the labourer who has finished his day's work, like the wandering merchant who returns to his fatherland, leaving nothing behind him save prayers and counsels, for "ephrem," he added, "had neither wallet nor pilgrim's staff." "his last utterance" (i owe this fact to m. de mon· by dr. burgess. the hermits of asia. 161 talembert's book, "moines d'occident") was a protest on behalf of the dignity of man redeemed by the son of god." s. l. ii. "" """ "the young and pious daughter of the governor of edessa came weeping to receive his latest breath. he made her swear never again to be carried in a litter by slaves. 'the neck of man,' he said, 'should bear no yoke save that of christ.' this anecdote is one among many which go to prove that from the time that st. paul had declared the great truth that in christ jesus was neither bond nor free, and had proclaimed the spiritual brotherhood of all men in christ, slavery, as an institution, was doomed to slow but certain death. but that death was accelerated by the monastic movement, wherever it took root. a class of men who came not to be ministered unto, but to minister to others; who prided themselves upon needing fewer luxuries than the meanest slaves; who took rank among each other and among men not on the ground of race, nor of official position, nor of wealth, nor even of intellect, but simply on the ground of virtue, was a perpetual protest against slavery and tyranny of every kind; a perpetual witness to the world that, whether all men were equal or not in the sight of god, the only rank among them of which god would take note, would be their rank in goodness. 1 m basil. on the south shore of the black sea, eastward of sinope, there dwelt in those days, at the mouth of the river iris, a hermit as gentle and as pure as ephrem of edessa. beside a roaring waterfall, amid deep glens and dark forests, with distant glimpses of the stormy sea beyond, there lived on bread and water a graceful gentleman, young and handsome; a scholar too, who had drunk deeply at the fountains of pagan philosophy and poetry, and had been educated with care at constantinople and at athens, as well as at his native city of cæsarea, in the heart of asia minor, now dwindled under turkish misrule into a wretched village. he was heir to great estates; the glens and forests round him were his own: and that was the use which he made of them. on the other side of the torrent, his mother and his sister, a maiden of wonderful beauty, lived the hermit life, on a footing of perfect equality with their female slaves, and the pious women who had joined them. basil's austerities-or rather the severe climate of the black sea forests-brought him to an early grave. but his short life was spent well enough. he was a basil. 163 poet, with an eye for the beauty of nature-especially for the beauty of the sea-most rare in those times; and his works are full of descriptions of scenery as healthy-minded as they are vivid and graceful. in his travels through egypt, palestine, and syria, he had seen the hermits, and longed to emulate them; but (to do him justice) his ideal of the so-called "religious life" was more practical than those of the solitaries of egypt, who had been his teachers. "it was the life" (says dean milman*) "of the industrious religious community, not of the indolent and solitary anchorite, which to basil was the perfection of christianity. . . . the indiscriminate charity of these institutions was to receive orphans" (of which there were but too many in those evil days) "of all classes, for education and maintenance: but other children only with the consent or at the request of parents, certified before witnesses; and vows were by no means to be enforced upon these youthful pupils. slaves who fled to the monasteries were to be admonished and sent back to their owners. there is one reservation" (and that one only too necessary then), “that slaves were not bound to obey their master, if he should order what is contrary to the law of god. industry was to be the animating principle of these settlements. prayer and psalmody were to have their stated hours, but by no means to intrude on those devoted to useful labour. these labours were strictly defined; such as were of real use to the community, not those which might contribute to vice or * history of christianity, vol. iii. p. 109. m 2 164 basil. luxury. agriculture was especially recommended. the life was in no respect to be absorbed in a perpetual mystic communion with the deity." the ideal which basil set before him was never fulfilled in the east. transported to the west by st. benedict, "the father of all monks," it became that conventual system which did so much during the early middle age, not only for the conversion and civilization, but for the arts and the agriculture of europe. basil, like his bosom friend, gregory of nazianzen, had to go forth from his hermitage into the world, and be a bishop, and fight the battles of the true faith. but, as with gregory, his hermit-training had strengthened his soul, while it weakened his body. the emperor valens, supporting the arians against the orthodox, sent to basil his prefect of the prætorium, an officer of the highest rank. the prefect argued, threatened; basil was firm. "i never met," said he "such boldness." at last, 66 because," said basil, "you never met a bishop." the prefect returned to his emperor. "my lord, we are conquered; this bishop is above threats. we can do nothing but by force." the emperor shrank from that crime, and basil and the orthodoxy of his diocese were saved. the rest of his life and of gregory's belongs, like that of chrysostom, to general history, and we need pursue it no further here. i said that basil's idea of what monks should be was never carried out in the east, and it cannot be denied that, as the years went on, the hermit life took a form less and less practical, and more and more basil. 165 repulsive also. such men as antony, hilarion, basil, had valued the ascetic training, not so much because it had, as they thought, a merit in itself, but because it enabled the spirit to rise above the flesh; because it gave them strength to conquer their passions and appetites, and leave their soul free to think and act. but their disciples, especially in syria, seem to have attributed more and more merit to the mere act of inflicting want and suffering on themselves. their souls were darkened, besides, more and more, by a doctrine unknown to the bible, unknown to the early christians, and one which does not seem to have had any strong hold of the mind of antony himselfnamely, that sins committed after baptism could only be washed away by tears, and expiated by penance; that for them the merits of him who died for the sins of the whole world were of little or of no avail. therefore, in perpetual fear of punishment hereafter, they set their whole minds to punish themselves on earth, always tortured by the dread that they were not punishing themselves enough, till they crushed down alike body, mind, and soul into an abject superstition, the details of which are too repulsive to be written here. some of the instances of this selfinvented misery which are recorded, even as early as the time of theodoret, bishop of cyra, in the middle of the fifth century, make us wonder at the puzzling inconsistencies of the human mind. did these poor creatures really believe that god could be propitiated by the torture of his own creatures? what sense could theodoret (who was a good man himself) have 166 cyra and marana. put upon the words, "god is good," or "god is love," while he was looking with satisfaction, even with admiration and awe, on practices which were more fit for worshippers of moloch? those who think these words too strong, may judge for themselves how far they apply to his story of marana and cyra. marana, then, and cyra were two young ladies of berhoea, who had given up all the pleasures of life to settle themselves in a roofless cottage outside the town. they had stopped up the door with stones and clay, and allowed it only to be opened at the feast of pentecost. around them lived certain female slaves who had voluntarily chosen the same life, and who were taught and exhorted through a little window by their mistresses; or rather, it would seem, by marana alone: for cyra (who was bent double by her "training") was never to speak. theodoret, as a priest, was allowed to enter the sacred enclosure, and found them shrouded from head to foot in long veils, so that neither their faces or hands could be seen; and underneath their veils, burdened on every limb, poor wretches, with such a load of iron chains and rings that a strong man, he says, could not have stood under the weight. thus had they endured for two-and-forty years, exposed to sun and wind, to frost and rain, taking no food at times for many days. together. i have no mind to finish the picture, and still less to record any of the phrases of rapturous admiration with which bishop theodoret comments upon their pitiable superstition. 1 simeon stylites. of all such anchorites of the far east, the most remarkable, perhaps, was the once famous simeon stylites-a name almost forgotten, save by antiquaries and ecclesiastics, till mr. tennyson made it once more notorious in a poem as admirable for its savage grandness, as for its deep knowledge of human nature. he has comprehended thoroughly, as it seems to me, that struggle between self-abasement and self-conceit, between the exaggerated sense of sinfulness and the exaggerated ambition of saintly honour, which must have gone on in the minds of these ascetics-the temper which could cry out one moment with perfect honesty"although i be the basest of mankind, from scalp to sole one slough and crust of sin; " and at the next"i will not cease to grasp the hope i hold of saintdom; and to clamour, mourn, and sob, battering the gates of heaven with storms of prayer. have mercy, lord, and take away my sin. let this avail, just, dreadful, mighty god, this not be all in vain, that thrice ten years thrice utiplied by superhuman pangs, 168 simeon stylites. a sign between the meadow and the cloud, patient on this tall pillar i have borne rain, wind, frost, heat, hail, damp, and sleet, and snow; and i had hoped that ere this period closed thou wouldst have caught me up into thy rest, denying not these weather-beaten limbs the meed of saints, the white robe and the palm. o take the meaning, lord: i do not breathe, not whisper any murmur of complaint. pain heaped ten hundred-fold to this, were still less burthen, by ten-hundred-fold, to bear than were those lead-like tons of sin, that crush'd my spirit flat before thee." admirably also has mr. tennyson conceived the hermit's secret doubt of the truth of those miracles, which he is so often told that he has worked, that he at last begins to believe that he must have worked them; and the longing, at the same time, to justify himself to himself, by persuading himself that he has earned miraculous powers. on this whole question of hermit miracles i shall speak at length hereafter. i have given specimens enough of them already, and shall give as few as possible henceforth. there is a sameness about them which may become wearisome to those who cannot be expected to believe them. but what the hermits themselves thought of them, is told (at least, so i suspect) only too truly by mr. tennyson— "o lord, thou knowest what a man i am; a sinful man, conceived and born in sin: 'tis their own doing; this is none of mine; lay it not to me. am i to blame for this. that here come those who worship me? ha! ha! the silly people take me for a saint, simeon stylites. 169 and bring me offerings of fruit and flowers: and i, in truth (thou wilt bear witness here), have all in all endured as much, and more than many just and holy men, whose names are register'd and calendar'd for saints. good people, you do ill to kneel to me. what is it i can have done to merit this? it may be i have wrought some miracles, and cured some halt and maimed: but what of that? it may be, no one, even among the saints, can match his pains with mine: but what of that? yet do not rise; for you may look on me, and in your looking you may kneel to god. speak, is there any of you halt and maimed? i think you know i have some power with heaven from my long penance; let him speak his wish. yes, i can heal him. power goes forth from me. they say that they are heal'd. ah, hark! they shout, 'st. simeon stylites!' why, if so, god reaps a harvest in me. god reaps a harvest in thee. can i work miracles, and not be saved? o my soul, if this be, this is not told of any. they were saints. it cannot be but that i shall be saved; yea, crowned a saint." i shall not take the liberty of quoting more: but shall advise all who read these pages to study seriously mr. tennyson's poem if they wish to understand that darker side of the hermit life which became at last, in the east, the only side of it. for in the east the hermits seem to have degenerated, by the time of the mahomedan conquest, into mere self-torturing fakeers, like those who may be seen to this day in hindostan. the salt lost its savour, and in due time it was trampled under foot; and the armies of the moslem swept out of the east a superstition 170 simeon stylites. which had ended by enervating instead of ennobling humanity. but in justice, not only to myself, but to mr. tennyson (whose details of simeon's asceticism may seem to some exaggerated and impossible), i have thought fit to give his life at length, omitting only many of his miracles, and certain stories of his penances, which can only excite horror and disgust, without edifying the reader. there were, then, three hermits of this name, often confounded; and all alike famous (as were julian, daniel, and other stylites) for standing for many years on pillars. one of the simeons is said by moschus to have been struck by lightning, and his death to have been miraculously revealed to julian the stylite, who lived twenty-four miles off. more than one stylite, belonging to the monophysite heresy of severus acephalus, was to be found, according to moschus, in the east at the beginning of the seventh century. this biography is that of the elder simeon, who died (according to cedrenus) about 460, after passing some forty or fifty years upon pillars of different heights. there is much discrepancy in the accounts, both of his date and of his age; but that such a person really existed, and had his imitators, there can be no doubt. he is honoured as a saint alike by the latin and by the greek churches. ་ his life has been written by a disciple of his named antony, who professes to have been with him when. he died; and also by theodoret, who knew him well simeon stylites. 171 in life. both are to be found in rosweyde, and there seems no reason to doubt their authenticity. i have therefore interwoven them both, marking the paragraphs taken from each. theodoret, who says that he was born in the village of gesa, between antioch and cilicia, calls him that "famous simeon-that great miracle of the whole world, whom all who obey the roman rule know; whom the persians also know, and the indians, and æthiopians; nay, his fame has even spread to the wandering scythians, and taught them his love of toil and love of wisdom;" and says that he might be compared with jacob the patriarch, joseph the temperate, moses the legislator, david the king and prophet, micaiah the prophet, and the divine men who were like them. he tells how simeon, as a boy, kept his father's sheep, and, being forced by heavy snow to leave them in the fold, went with his parents to the church, and there heard the gospel which blesses those who mourn and weep, and calls those miserable who laugh, and those enviable who have a pure heart. and when he asked a bystander what he would gain who did each of these things, the man propounded to him the solitary life, and pointed out to him the highest philosophy. this, theodoret says, he heard from the saint's own tongue. his disciple antony gives the story of his conversion somewhat differently. st. simeon (says antony) was chosen by god from his birth, and used to study how to obey and 172 simeon stylites. please him. now his father's name was susocion, and he was brought up by his parents. when he was thirteen years old, he was feeding his father's sheep; and seeing a church he left the sheep and went in, and heard an epistle being read. and when he asked an elder, "master, what is that which is read?" the old man replied, "for the substance (or very being) of the soul, that a man may learn to fear god with his whole heart, and his whole mind." quoth the blessed simeon, "what is to fear god?" quoth the elder, "wherefore troublest thou me, my son?" quoth he, "i inquire of thee, as of god. for i wish to learn what i hear from thee, because i am ignorant and a fool." the elder answered, “if any man shall have fasted continually, and offered prayers every moment, and shall have humbled himself to every man, and shall not have loved gold, nor parents, nor garments, nor possessions, and if he honours his father and mother, and follows the priests of god, he shall inherit the eternal kingdom: but he who, on the contrary, does not keep those things, he shall inherit the outer darkness which god hath prepared for the devil and his angels. all these things, my son, are heaped together in a monastery." hearing this, the blessed simeon fell at his feet, saying, “thou art my father and my mother, and my teacher of good works, and guide to the kingdom of heaven. for thou hast gained my soul, which was already being sunk in perdition. may the lord repay thee again for it. for these are the things which edify. i will now go into a monastery, where god simeon stylites. 173 shall choose; and let his will be done on me." the elder said, "my son, before thou enterest, hear me. thou shalt have tribulation; for thou must watch and serve in nakedness, and sustain ills without ceasing; and again thou shalt be comforted, thou vessel precious to god." and forthwith the blessed simeon, going out of the church, went to the monastery of the holy timotheus, a wonder-working man; and falling down before the gate of the monastery, he lay five days, neither eating nor drinking. and on the fifth day, the abbot, coming out, asked him, "whence art thou, my son ? and what parents hast thou, that thou art so afflicted? or what is thy name, lest perchance thou hast done some wrong? or perchance thou art a slave, and fleest from thy master?" then the blessed simeon said with tears, "by no means, master; but i long to be a servant of god, if he so will, because i wish to save my lost soul. bid me, therefore, enter the monastery, and leave all; and send me away no more." then the abbot, taking his hand, introduced him into the monastery, saying to the brethren, "my sons, behold i deliver you this brother; teach him the canons of the monastery." now he was in the monastery about four months, serving all without complaint, in which he learnt the whole psalter by heart, receiving every day divine food. but the food which he took with his brethren he gave away secretly to the poor, not caring for the morrow. so the brethren ate at even: but he only on the seventh day. 174 simeon stylites. but one day, having gone to the well to draw water, he took the rope from the bucket with which the brethren drew water, and wound it round his body from his loins to his neck: and going in, said to the brethren, "i went out to draw water, and found no rope on the bucket." and they said, "hold thy peace, brother, lest the abbot know it; till the thing has passed over." but his body was wounded by the tightness and roughness of the rope, because it cut him to the bone, and sank into his flesh till it was hardly seen. but one day, some of the brethren going out, found him giving his food to the poor; and when they returned, said to the abbot, "whence hast thou brought us that man? we cannot abstain like him, for he fasts from lord's day to lord's day, and gives away his food." . . . . then the abbot, going out, found as was told him, and said, "son, what is it which the brethren tell of thee? is it not enough for thee to fast as we do? hast thou not heard the gospel, saying of teachers, that the disciple is not above his master?" . . . . the blessed simeon stood and answered nought. and the abbot, being angry, bade strip him, and found the rope round him, so that only its outside appeared; and cried with a loud voice, saying, “whence has this man come to us, wanting to destroy the rule of the monastery? i pray thee depart hence, and go whither thou willest." and with great trouble they took off the rope, and his flesh with it, and taking care of him, healed him. but after he was healed he went out of the monastery, no man knowing of it, and entered a deserted simeon stylites. 175 tank, in which was no water, where unclean spirits dwelt. and that very night it was revealed to the abbot, that a multitude of people surrounded the monastery with clubs and swords, saying, "give us simeon the servant of god, timotheus; else we will burn thee with thy monastery, because thou hast angered a just man." and when he woke, he told the brethren the vision, and how he was much disturbed thereby. and another night he saw a multitude of strong men standing and saying, “give us simeon the servant of god; for he is beloved by god and the angels: why hast thou vexed him? he is greater than thou before god; for all the angels are sorry on his behalf. and god is minded to set him on high in the world, that by him many signs may be done, such as no man has done." then the abbot, rising, said with great fear to the brethren, "seek me that man, and bring him hither, lest perchance we all die on his account. he is truly a saint of god, for i have heard and seen great wonders of him." then all the monks went out and searched, but in vain, and told the abbot how they had sought him everywhere, save in the deserted tank. . . . then the abbot went, with five brethren, to the tank. and making a prayer, he went down into it with the brethren. and the blessed simeon, seeing him, began to entreat, saying, "i beg you, servants of god, let me alone one hour, that i may render up my spirit; for yet a little, and it will fail. but my soul is very weary, because i have angered the lord." but the abbot said to him, come, servant of god, that we ... 66 176 simeon stylites. may take thee to the monastery; for 1 know concerning thee that thou art a servant of god." but when he would not, they brought him by force to the monastery. and all fell at his feet, weeping, and saying, "we have sinned against thee, servant of god; forgive us." but the blessed simeon groaned, saying, "wherefore do ye burden an unhappy man and a sinner? you are the servants of god, and my fathers." and he stayed there about one year. after this (says theodoret) he came to the telanassus, under the peak of the mountain on which he lived till his death; and having found there a little house, he remained in it shut up for three years. but eager always to increase the riches of virtue, he longed, in imitation of the divine moses and elias, to fast forty days; and tried to persuade bassus, who was then set over the priests in the villages, to leave nothing within by him, but to close up the door with clay. he spoke to him of the difficulty, and warned him not to think that a violent death was a virtue. "put by me then, father," he said, "ten loaves, and a cruse of water, and if i find my body need sustenance, i will partake of them." at the end of the days, that wonderful man of god, bassus, removed the clay, and going in, found the food and water untouched, and simeon lying unable to speak or move. getting a sponge, he moistened and opened his lips and then gave him the symbols of the divine mysteries; and. strengthened by them, he arose, and took some food, simeon stylites. 177 chewing little by little lettuces and succory, and such like. from that time, for twenty-eight years (says theodoret), he had remained fasting continually for forty days at a time. but custom had made it more easy to him. for on the first days he used to stand and praise god; after that, when through emptiness he could stand no longer, he used to sit and perform the divine office; and on the last day, even lie down. for when his strength failed slowly, he was forced to lie half dead. but after he stood on the column he could not bear to lie down, but invented another way by which he could stand. he fastened a beam to the column, and tied himself to it by ropes, and so passed the forty days. but afterwards, when he had received greater grace from on high, he did not want even that help but stood for the forty days, taking no food, but strengthened by alacrity of soul and divine grace. when he had passed three years in that little house, he took possession of the peak which has since been so famous; and when he had commanded a wall to be made round him, and procured an iron chain, twenty cubits long, he fastened one end of it to a great stone, and the other to his right foot, so that he could not, if he wished, leave those bounds. there he lived, continually picturing heaven to himself, and forcing himself to contemplate things which are above the heavens; for the iron bond did not check the flight of his thoughts. but when the wonderful meletius, to whom the care of the episcopate of s.l. ii. n 178 simeon stylites. antioch was then commended (a man of sense and prudence, and adorned with shrewdness of intellect), told him that the iron was superfluous, since the will is able enough to impose on the body the chains of reason, he gave way, and obeyed his persuasion. and having sent for a smith, he bade him strike off the chain. [here follow some painful details unnecessary to be translated.] when, therefore, his fame was flying far and wide everywhere, all ran together, not only the neighbours, but those who were many days' journey off, some bringing the palsied, some begging health for the sick, some that they might become fathers, and all wishing to receive from him what they had not received from nature; and when they had received, and gained their request, they went back joyful, proclaiming the benefits they had obtained, and sending many more to beg the same. so, as all are coming up from every quarter, and the road is like a river, one may see gathered in that place an ocean of men, which receives streams from every side; not only of those who live in our region, but ishmaelites, and persians, and the armenians who are subject to them, and iberi, and homerites, and those who dwell beyond them. many have come also from the extreme west, spaniards, and britons, and gauls who live between the two. of. italy it is superfluous to speak; for they say that at rome the man has become so celebrated that they have put little images of him in all the porches of the shops, simeon stylites. 179 providing thereby for themselves a sort of safeguard and security. when, therefore, they came innumerable (for all tried to touch him, and receive some blessing from those skin garments of his), thinking it in the first place absurd and unfit that such exceeding honour should be paid him, and next, disliking the labour of the business, devised that station on the pillar, bidding one be built, first of six cubits, then of twelve, next of twenty-two, and now of thirty-six. for he longs to fly up to heaven, and be freed from this earthly conversation. but i believe that this station was made not without divine counsel. wherefore i exhort fault-finders to bridle their tongue, and not let it rashly loose, but rather consider that the lord has often devised such things, that he might profit those who were too slothful. in proof of which, theodoret quotes the examples of isaiah, hosea, and ezekiel; and then goes on to say how god in like manner ordained this new and admirable spectacle, by the novelty of it drawing all to look, and exhibiting to those who came, a lesson which they could trust. for the novelty of the spectacle (he says) is a worthy warrant for the teaching; and he who came to see goes away instructed in divine things. and as those whose lot it is to rule over men, after a certain period of time, change the impressions on their coins, sometim s stamping them with images of lions, sometimes of n 2 180 simeon stylites. stars, sometimes of angels, and trying, by a new mark, to make the gold more precious; so the king of all, adding to piety and true religion these new and manifold modes of living, as certain stamps on coin, excites to praise the tongues not only of the children of faith, but of those who are diseased with unbelief. and that so it is, not only words bear witness, but facts proclaim aloud. for many myriads of ishmaelites, who were enslaved in the darkness of impiety, have been illuminated by that station on the column. for this most shining lamp, set as it were upon a candlestick, sent forth all round its rays, like of the sun : and one may see (as i said) iberi coming, and persians, and armenians, and accepting divine baptism. but the ishmaelites, coming by tribes, 200 and 300 at a time, and sometimes even 1,000, deny, with shouts, the error of their fathers; and breaking in pieces, before that great illuminator, the images which they had worshipped, and renouncing the orgies of venus (for they had received from ancient times the worship of that dæmon), they receive the divine sacraments, and take laws from that holy tongue, bidding farewell to their ancestral rites, and renouncing the eating of wild asses and camels. and this i have seen with my own eyes, and have heard them renouncing the impiety of their fathers, and assenting to the evangelic doctrine. but once i was in the greatest danger: for he himself told them to go to me, and receive priestly benediction, saying that they would thence obtain great advantage. but they, having run together in simeon stylites. 181 somewhat too barbarous fashion, some dragged me before, some behind, some sideways; and those who were further off, scrambling over the others, and stretching out their hands, plucked my beard, or seized my clothes; and i should have been stifled by their too warm onset, had not he, shouting out, dispersed them all. such usefulness has that column, which is mocked at by scornful men, poured forth; and so great a ray of the knowledge of god has it. sent forth into the minds of barbarians. i know also of his having done another thing of this kind: one tribe was beseeching the divine man, that he would send forth some prayer and blessing for their chief: but another tribe which was present retorted that he ought not to bless that chief, but theirs; for the one was a most unjust man, but the other averse to injustice. and when there had been a great contention and barbaric wrangling between them, they attacked each other. but i, using many words, kept exhorting them to be quiet, seeing that the divine man was able enough to give a blessing to both. but the one tribe kept saying, that the first chief ought not to have it; and the other tribe trying to deprive the second chief of it. then he, by threatening them from above, and calling them dogs, hardly stilled the quarrel. this i have told, wishing to show their great faith. for they would not have thus gone mad against each other, had they not believed that the divine man's blessing possesses some very great power. i saw another miracle, which was very celebrated. 182 simeon stylites. one coming up (he, too, was a chief of a saracen tribe) besought the divine personage that he would help a man whose limbs had given way in paralysis on the road; and he said the misfortune had fallen on him in callinicus, which is a very large camp. when he was brought into the midst, the saint bade him renounce the impiety of his forefathers; and when he willingly obeyed, he asked him if he believed in the father, the only-begotten son, and the holy spirit. and when he confessed that he believed—“ believing," said he, "in their names, arise." and when the man had risen, he bade him carry away his chief (who was a very large man) on his shoulders to his tent. he took him up, and went away forthwith; while those who were present raised their voices in praise of god. this he commanded, imitating the lord, who bade the paralytic carry his bed. let no man call this imitation tyranny. for his saying is, "he who believeth in me, the works which i do, he shall do also, and more than these shall he do." and, indeed, we have seen the fulfilment of this promise. for though the shadow of the lord never worked a miracle, the shadow of the great peter both loosed death, and drove out diseases, and put dæmons to flight. but the lord it was who did also these miracles by his servants; and now likewise, using his name, the divine simeon works his innumerable wonders. it befell also that another wonder was worked, by no means inferior to the last. for among those who had believed in the saving name of the lord christ, an ishmaelite, of no humble rank, had made a vow to simeon stylites. 183 god, with simeon as witness. now his promise was this, that he would henceforth to the end abstain from animal food. transgressing this promise once, i know not how, he slew a bird, and dared to eat it. but god being minded to bring him by reproof to conversion, and to honour his servant, who was a witness to the broken vow, the flesh of the bird was changed into the nature of a stone, so that, even if he wished, he could not thenceforth eat it. for how could he, when the body meant for food had turned to stone? the barbarian, stupified by this unexpected sight, came with great haste to the holy man, bringing to the light the sin which he had hidden, and proclaimed his transgression to all, begging pardon from god, and invoking the help of the saint, that by his all-powerful prayers he might loose him from the bonds of his sin. now many saw that miracle, and felt that the part of the bird about the breast consisted of bone and stone. but i was not only an ear-witness of his wonders, but also an ear-witness of his prophecies concerning futurity. for that drought which came, and the great dearth of that year, and the famine and pestilence which followed together, he foretold two years before, saying that he saw a rod which was laid on man, stripes which would be inflicted by it. moreover, he at another time foretold an invasion of locusts, and that it would bring no great harm, because the divine clemency soon follows punishment. but when thirty days were past, an innumerable multitude of them hung aloft, so that they even cut off the sun's rays and 184 simeon stylites. threw a shadow; and that we all saw plainly: but it only damaged the cattle pastures, and in no wise hurt the food of man. to me, too, who was attacked by a certain person, he signified that the quarrel would end ere a fortnight was past; and i learned the truth of the prediction by experience. moreover there were seen by him once two rods, which came down from the skies, and fell on the eastern and western lands. now the divine man said that they signified the rising of the persian and scythian nations against the romans; and told the vision to those who were by, and with many tears and assiduous prayers, warded that disaster, the threat whereof hung over the earth. certainly the persian nation, when already armed and prepared to invade the romans, was kept back (the divine will being against them) from their attempt, and occupied at home with their own troubles. but while i know many other cases of this kind, i shall pass them over to avoid prolixity. these are surely enough to show the spiritual contemplation of his mind. his fame was great, also, with the king of the persians; for as the ambassadors told, who came to him, he diligently inquired what was his life, and what his miracles. but they say that the king's wife also begged oil honoured by his blessing, and accepted it as the greatest of gifts. moreover, all the king's courtiers, being moved by his fame, and having heard many slanders against him from the magi, inquired diligently, and having learnt the truth, called him a divine man; while the rest of the crowd, coming to simeon stylites. • the muleteers and servants and soldiers, both offered money, and begged for a share in the oil of benediction. the queen, too, of the ishmaelites, longing to have a child, sent first some of her most noble subjects to the saint, beseeching him that she might become a mother. and when her prayer had been granted, and she had her heart's desire, she took the son who had been born, and went to the divine old man; and (because women were not allowed to approach him) sent the babe, entreating his blessing on it. [here theodoret puts into the queen's mouth words which it is unnecessary to quote.] but how long do i strive to measure the depths of the atlantic sea? for as they are unfathomable by man, so do the things which he does daily surpass narration. i, however, admire above all these things his endurance; for night and day he stands, so as to be seen by all. for as the doors are taken away and a large part of the wall around pulled down, he is set forth as a new and wondrous spectacle to all; now standing long, now bowing himself frequently, and offering adoration to god. many of those who stand by count these adorations; and once a man with me, when he had counted 1,244, and then missed, gave up counting: but always, when he bows himself, he touches his feet with his forehead. for as his stomach takes food only once in the week, and that very little-no more than is received in the divine sacraments, his back admits of being easily bent. but nothing which happens to him overpowers his philosophy; he bears nobly both voluntary and 185 • 186 simeon stylites. involuntary pains, and conquers both by readiness of will. there came once from arabena a certain good man, and honoured with the ministry of christ. he, when he had come to that mountain peak,-“tell me,” he cried, "by the very truth which converts the human race to itself-art thou a man, or an incorporeal nature?" but when all there were displeased with the question, the saint bade them all be silent, and said to him, "why hast thou asked me this?" he answered, "because i hear every one saying publicly, that thou neither eatest nor sleepest; but both are properties of man, and no one who has a human nature could have lived without food and sleep." then the saint bade them set a ladder to the column, and him to come up; and first to look at his hands, and then feel inside his cloak of skins; and to see not only his feet, but a severe wound. but when he saw that he was a man, and the size of that wound, and learnt from him how he took nourishment, he came down and told me all. at the public festivals he showed an endurance of another kind. for from the setting of the sun till it had come again to the eastern horizon, he stood all night with hands uplift to heaven, neither soothed with sleep nor conquered by fatigue. but in toils. so great, and so great a magnitude of deeds, and multitude of miracles, his self-esteem is as moderate as if he were in dignity the least of all men. beside his modesty, he is easy of access of speech, and gracious, and answers every man who speaks to him, simeon stylites. 187 whether he be handicraftsman, beggar, or rustic. and from the bounteous god he has received also the gift of teaching, and making his exhortations twice a day, he delights the ears of those who hear, discoursing much on grace, and setting forth the instructions of the divine spirit to look up and fly toward heaven, and depart from the earth, and imagine the kingdom which is expected, and fear the threats of gehenna, and despise earthly things, and wait for things to come. he may be seen, too, acting as judge, and giving right and just decisions. this, and the like, is done after the ninth hour. for all night, and through the day to the ninth hour, he prays perpetually. after that, he first sets forth the divine teaching to those who are present; then having heard each man's petition, after he has performed some cures, he settles the quarrels of those between whom there is any dispute. about sunset he begins the rest of his converse with god. but though he is employed in this way, and does all this, he does not give up the care of the holy churches, sometimes fighting with the impiety of the greeks, sometimes checking the audacity of the jews, sometimes putting to flight the bands of heretics, and sometimes sending messages concerning these last to the emperor; sometimes, too, stirring up rulers to zeal for god, and sometimes exhorting the pastors of the churches to bestow more care upon their flocks. i have gone through these facts, trying to show the shower by one drop, and to give those who meet with my writing a taste on the finger of the sweetness of the honey. but there remains (as is to be expected) 188 simeon stylites. much more; and if he should live longer, he will probably add still greater wonders... ... thus far theodoret. antony gives some other details of simeon's life upon the column. the devil, he says, in envy transformed himself into the likeness of an angel, shining in splendour, with fiery horses, and a fiery chariot, and appeared close to the column on which the blessed simeon stood, and shone with glory like an angel. and the devil said with bland speeches, "simeon, hear my words, which the lord hath commanded thee. he has sent me, his angel, with a chariot and horses of fire, that i may carry thee away, as i carried elias. for thy time is come. do thou, in like wise, ascend now with me into the chariot, because the lord of heaven and earth has sent it down. let us ascend together into the heavens, that the angels and archangels may see thee, with mary the mother of the lord, with the apostles and martyrs, the confessors and prophets; because they rejoice to see thee, that thou mayest pray to the lord, who hast made thee after his own image. verily i have spoken to thee: delay not to ascend." simeon, having ended his prayer, said, “lord, wilt thou carry me, a sinner, into heaven?" and lifting his right foot that he might step into the chariot, he lifted also his right hand, and made the sign of christ. when he had made the sign of the cross, forthwith the devil appeared nowhere, but vanished with his device, as dust simeon stylites. 189 before the face of the wind. then understood simeon that it was an art of the devil. having recovered himself, therefore, he said to his foot, "thou shalt not return back hence, but stand here until my death, when the lord shall send for me a sinner." [here follow more painful stories, which had best be omitted.] but after much time, his mother, hearing of his fame, came to see him, but was forbidden, because no woman entered that place. but when the blessed simeon heard the voice of his mother, he said to her, "bear up, my mother, a little while, and we shall see each other, if god will." but she, hearing this, began to weep, and tearing her hair, rebuked him, saying, 66 son, why hast thou done this? in return for the body in which i bore thee, thou hast filled me full of grief. for the milk with which i nourished thee, thou hast given me tears. for the kiss with which i kissed thee, thou hast given me bitter pangs of heart, for the grief and labour which i have suffered, thou hast laid on me cruel stripes." and she spoke so much that she made us all weep. the blessed simeon, hearing the voice of her who bore him, put his face in his hands and wept bitterly; and commanded her, saying, "lady mother, be still a little time, and we shall see each other in eternal rest.” but she began to say, "by christ, who formed thee, if there is a probability of seeing thee, who hast been so long a stranger to me, let me see thee; or if not, let me only hear thy voice and die at once; for thy 190 simeon stylites. father is dead in sorrow because of thee. and now do not destroy me for very bitterness, my son." saying this, for sorrow and weeping she fell asleep; for during three days and three nights she had not ceased entreating him. then the blessed simeon prayed the lord for her, and she forthwith gave up the ghost. but they took up her body, and brought it where he could see it. and he said, weeping, "the lord receive thee in joy, because thou hast endured tribulation for me, and borne me, and nursed and nourished me with labour." and as he said that, his mother's countenance perspired, and her body was stirred in the sight of us all. but he, lifting up his eyes to heaven, said, "lord god of virtues, who sittest above the cherubim, and searchest the foundations of the abyss, who knewest adam before he was; who hast promised the riches of the kingdom of heaven to those who love thee; who didst speak to moses in the bush of fire; who blessedst abraham our father ; who bringest into paradise the souls of the just, and sinkest the souls of the impious to perdition; who didst humble the lions, and mitigate for thy servants the strong fires of the chaldees; who didst nourish elisha by the ravens which brought him food -receive her soul in peace, and put her in the place of the holy fathers, for thine is the power for ever and ever." antony then goes on to relate the later years of the saint's life. simeon stylites. 191 he tells how simeon, some time after this, ascended the column of forty cubits; how a great dragon (serpent) crawled towards it, and coiled round it, entreating (so it seemed) to be freed from a spike of wood which had entered its eye; and how, st. simeon took pity on it, he caused the spike (which was a cubit long) to come out. he tells how a woman, drinking water from a jar at night, swallowed a snake unawares, which grew within her, till she was brought to the blessed simeon, who commanded some of the water of the monastery to be given her; on which the serpent crawled out of her mouth, three cubits long, and burst immediately; and was hung up there seven days, as a testimony to many. he tells how, when there was great want of water, st. simeon prayed till the earth opened on the east of the monastery, and a cave full of water was discovered, which had never failed them to that day. he tells how men, sitting beneath a tree, on their way to the saint, saw a doe go by, and commanded her to stop, "by the prayers of st. simeon ;" which when she had done, they killed and ate her, and came to st. simeon with the skin. but they were all struck dumb, and hardly cured after two years. and the skin of the doe they hung up, for a testimony to many. he tells of a huge leopard, which slew men and cattle all around; and how st. simeon bade sprinkle in his haunts soil or water from the monastery; and when men went again, they found the leopard dead. he tells how, when st. simeon cured any one, he 192 simeon stylites. bade him go home, and honour god who had healed him, and not dare to say that simeon had cured him, lest a worse thing should suddenly come to him; and not to presume to swear by the name of the lord, for it was a grave sin; but to swear, "whether justly or unjustly, by him, lowly and a sinner. wherefore all the easterns, and barbarous tribes in those regions, swear by simeon.” he tells how a robber from antioch, jonathan by name, fled to st. simeon, and embraced the column, weeping bitterly, and saying how he had committed every crime, and had come thither to repent. and how the saint said, "of such is the kingdom of heaven: but do not try to tempt me, lest thou be found again in the sins which thou hast cast away." then came the officials from antioch, demanding that he should be given up, to be cast to the wild beasts. but simeon answered, "my sons, i brought him not hither, but one greater than i; for he helps such as this man, and of such is the kingdom of heaven. but if you can enter, carry him hence; i cannot give him up, for i fear him who has sent the man to me." and they, struck with fear, went away. then jonathan lay for seven days embracing the column, and then asked the saint leave to go. the saint asked him if he were going back to sin? "no, lord," he said; "but my time is fulfilled," and straightway he gave up the ghost; and when officials came again from antioch, demanding him, simeon replied: "he who brought him came with a multitude of the heavenly host, and is able to send into tartarus your city, and a who simeon stylites. 193 dwell in it, who also has reconciled this man to himself; and i was afraid lest he should slay me suddenly. therefore weary me no more, a humble man and poor." but after a few years (says antony) it befell one day that he bowed himself in prayer, and remained so three days-that is, the friday, the sabbath, and the lord's day. then i was terrified, and went up to him, and stood before his face, and said to him," master, arise: bless us; for the people have been waiting three days and three nights for a blessing from thee.” and he answered me not; and i said again to him: "wherefore dost thou grieve me, lord? or in what have i offended? i beseech thee, put out thy hand to me; or, perchance, thou hast already departed from us?" and seeing that he did not answer, i thought to tell no one; for i feared to touch him: and, standing about half an hour, i bent down, and put my ear to listen; and there was no breathing: but a fragrance as of many scents rose from his body. and so i understood that he rested in the lord; and, turning faint, i wept most bitterly; and, bending down, i kissed his eyes, and clasped his beard and hair, and reproaching him, i said: "to whom dost thou leave me, lord? or where shall i seek thy angelic doctrine? what answer shall i make for thee? or whose soul will look at this column, without thee, and not grieve? what answer shall i make to the sick, when they come here to seek thee, and find thee not? what shall i say, poor creature that i am? to-day i see thee; to-morrow s.l. ii. o 194 simeon stylites. i shall look right and left, and not find thee. and what covering shall i put upon thy column? woe to me, when folk shall come from afar, seeking thee, and shall not find thee!" and, for much sorrow, i fell asleep. and forthwith he appeared to me, and said: "i will not leave this column, nor this place, and this blessed mountain, where i was illuminated. but go down, satisfy the people, and send word secretly to antioch, lest a tumult arise. for i have gone to rest, as the lord willed: but do thou not cease to minister in this place, and the lord shall repay thee thy wages in heaven." but, rising from sleep, i said, in terror, “master, remember me in thy holy rest." and, lifting up his garments, i fell at his feet, and kissed them; and, holding his hands, i laid them on my eyes, saying, "bless me, i beseech thee, my lord!" and again i wept, and said, "what relics shall i carry away from thee as memorials?" and as i said that his body was, moved; therefore i was afraid to touch him. and, that no one might know, i came down quickly, and sent a faithful brother to the bishop at antioch. he came at once with three bishops, and with them ardaburius, the master of the soldiers, with his people, and stretched curtains round the column, and fastened their clothes around it. for they were cloth of gold. and when they laid him down by the altar before the column, and gathered themselves together, birds flew round the column, crying, and as it were lamentsimeon stylites. 195 ing, in all men's sight; and the wailing of the people and of the cattle resounded for seven miles away; yea, even the hills, and the fields, and the trees were sad around that place; for everywhere a dark cloud hung about it. and i watched an angel coming to visit him; and, about the seventh hour, seven old men talked with that angel, whose face was like lightning, and his garments as snow. and i watched his voice, in fear and trembling, as long as i could hear it; but what he said i cannot tell. but when the holy simeon lay upon the bier, the pope of antioch, wishing to take some of his beard for a blessing, stretched out his hand; and forthwith it was dried up; and prayers were made to god for him, and so his hand was restored again. then, laying the corpse on the bier, they took it to antioch, with psalms and hymns. but all the people round that region wept, because the protection of such mighty relics was taken from them, and because the bishop of antioch had sworn that no man should touch his body. but when they came to the fifth milestone from antioch, to the village which is called meroë, no one could move him. then a certain man, deaf and dumb for forty years, who had committed a very great crime, suddenly fell down before the bier, and began to cry, "thou art well come, servant of god; for thy coming will save me: and if i shall obtain the grace to live, i will serve thee all the days of my life." and, rising, he caught hold of one of the mules which carried the bier, and forthwith moved himself from that 02 196 simeon stylites. place. and so the man was made whole from that hour. then all going out of the city of antioch received the body of the holy simeon on gold and silver, with psalms and hymns, and with many lamps brought it into the greater church, and thence to another church, which is called penitence. moreover, many virtues. are wrought at his tomb, more than in his life; and the man who was made whole served there till the day of his death. but many offered treasures to the bishop of antioch for the faith, begging relics from the body: but, on account of his oath, he never gave them. i, antony, lowly and a sinner, have set forth briefly, as far as i could, this lesson. but blessed is he who has this writing in a book, and reads it in the church and house of god; and when he shall have brought it to his memory, he shall receive a reward from the most high; to whom is honour, power, and virtue, for ever and ever. amen. after such a fantastic story as this of simeon, it is full time (some readers may have thought that it was full time long since) to give my own opinion of the miracles, visions, dæmons, and other portents which occur in the lives of these saints. i have refrained from doing so as yet, because i wished to begin by saying everything on behalf of these old hermits which could honestly be said, and to prejudice my readers' minds in their favour rather than against them; because i am certain that if we look on them merely with scorn and ridicule,—if we do not acknowledge prodigies. 197 and honour all in them which was noble, virtuous, and honest, we shall never be able to combat their errors, either in our own hearts or in those of our children and that we may have need to do so is but too probable. in this age, as in every other age of materialism and practical atheism, a revulsion in favour of superstition is at hand; i may say is taking place round us now. doctrines are tolerated as possibly true, persons are regarded with respect and admiration, who would have been looked on, even fifty years ago, if not with horror, yet with contempt, as beneath the serious notice of educated english people. but it is this very contempt which has brought about the change of opinion concerning them. it has been discovered that they were not altogether so absurd as they seemed; that the public mind, in its ignorance, has been unjust to them; and, in hasty repentance for that injustice, too many are ready to listen to those who will tell them that these things are not absurd at all-that there is no absurdity in believing that the leg-bone of st. simon stock may possess miraculous powers, or that the spirits of the departed communicate with their friends by rapping on the table. the ugly after-crop of superstition which is growing up among us now is the just and natural punishment of our materialism—i may say, of our practical atheism. for those who will not believe in the real spiritual world, in which each man's soul stands face to face. all day long with almighty god, the father, the son, and the holy ghost, are sure at last to crave after some false spiritual world, and seek, like the evil and 198 the natural history profligate generation of the jews, after visible signs and material wonders. and those who will not believe that the one true and living god is above their path and about their bed and spieth out all their ways, and that in him they live and move and have their being, are but too likely at last to people with fancied saints and dæmons that void in the imagination and in the heart which their own unbelief has made. are we then to suppose that these old hermits had lost faith in god? on the contrary, they were the only men in that day who had faith in god. and, if they had faith in any other things or persons beside god, they merely shared in the general popular ignorance and mistakes of their own age; and we must not judge those who, born in an age of darkness, were struggling earnestly toward the light, as we judge those who, born in an age of scientific light, are retiring of their own will back into the darkness. before i enter upon the credibility of these alleged saints' miracles, i must guard my readers carefully from supposing that i think miracles impossible. heaven forbid. he would be a very rash person who should do that, in a world which swarms with greater wonders than those recorded in the biography of a saint. for, after all, which is more wonderful, that god should be able to restore the dead to life, or that he should be able to give life at all? again, as for these miracles being contrary to our experience, that is no very valid argument against them; for equally contrary to our experience is every new of prodigies. 199 discovery of science, every strange phenomenon among plants and animals, every new experiment in a chemical lecture. the more we know of science the more we must confess, that nothing is too strange to be true: and therefore we must not blame or laugh at those who in old times believed in strange things which were not true. they had an honest and rational sense of the infinite and wonderful nature of the universe, and of their own ignorance about it; and they were ready to believe anything, as the truly wise man will be ready also. only, from ignorance of the laws of the universe, they did not know what was likely to be true and what was not; and therefore they believed many things which experience has proved to be false; just as seba or any of the early naturalists were ready to believe in six-legged dragons, or in the fatal power of the basilisk's eye; fancies which, if they had been facts, would not have been nearly as wonderful as the transformation of the commonest insect, or the fertilization of the meanest weed: but which are rejected now, not because they are too wonderful, but simply because experience has proved them to be and experience, it must be remembered, is the only sound test of truth. as long as men will settle beforehand for themselves, without experience, what they ought to see, so long will they be perpetually fancying that they or others have seen it; and their faith, as it is falsely called, will delude not. only their reason, but their very hearing, sight, and touch. untrue. 200 the natural history in this age we see no supernatural prodigies, because there are none to see; and when we are told that the reason why we see no prodigies is because we have no faith, we answer (if we be sensible), just so. as long as people had faith, in plain english believed, that they could be magically cured of a disease, they thought that they or others were so cured. as long as they believed that ghosts could be seen, every silly person saw them. as long as they believed that dæmons transformed themselves into an animal's shape, they said, "the devil croaked at me this morning in the shape of a raven; and therefore my horse fell with me." as long as they believed that witches could curse them, they believed that an old woman in the next parish had overlooked them, their cattle, and their crops; and that therefore they were poor, diseased, and unfortunate. these dreams, which were common among the peasants in remote districts five-and-twenty years ago, have, vanished, simply from the spread (by the grace of god, as i hold) of an inductive habit of mind; of the habit of looking coolly, boldly, carefully, at facts; till now, even among the most ignorant peasantry, the woman who says that she has seen a ghost is likely not to be complimented on her assertion. but it does not follow that that woman's grandmother, when she said that she saw a ghost, was a consciously dishonest person; on the contrary, so complex and contradictory is human nature, she would have been, probably, a person of more than average intellect and earnestness; of prodigies. 201 and her instinct of the invisible and the infinite (which is that which raises man above the brutes) would have been, because misinformed, the honourable cause of her error. and thus we may believe of the good hermits, of whom prodigies are recorded. as to the truth of the prodigies themselves, there are several ways of looking at them. first, we may neither believe nor disbelieve them; but talk of them as "devout fairy tales," religious romances, and allegories; and so save ourselves the trouble of judging whether they were true. that is at least an easy and pleasant method; very fashionable in a careless, unbelieving age like this: but in following it we shall be somewhat cowardly; for there is hardly any matter a clear judgment on which is more important just now than these same saints' miracles. next, we may believe them utterly and all; and that is also an easy and pleasant method. but if we follow it, we shall be forced to believe, among other facts, that st. paphnutius was carried miraculously across a river, because he was too modest to undress himself and wade; that st. helenus rode a savage crocodile across a river, and then commanded it to die; and that it died accordingly upon the spot; and that st. goar, entering the palace of the archbishop of trêves, hung his cape on a sunbeam, mistaking it for a peg. and many other like things we shall be forced to believe, with which this book has no concern. or, again, we may believe as much as we can, 202 the natural history because we should like, if we could, to believe all. but as we have not—no man has as yet-any criterion by which we can judge how much of these stories we ought to believe and how much not, which actually happened and which did not, therefore we shall end (as not only the most earnest and pious, but the most clear and logical persons, who have taken up this view, have ended already) by believing all: which is an end not to be desired. or we may believe as few as possible of them, because we should like, if we could, to believe none. and this method, for the reason aforesaid (namely, that there is no criterion by which we can settle what to believe and what not), usually ends in believing none at all. this, of believing none at all, is the last method; and this, i confess fairly, i am inclined to think is the right one; and that these good hermits worked no real miracles and saw no real visions whatsoever. i confess that this is a very serious assertion. for there is as much evidence in favour of these hermits' miracles and visions as there is, with most men, of the existence of china; and much more than there, with most men, is of the earth's going round the sun. but the truth is, that evidence, in most matters of importance, is worth very little. very few people decide a question on its facts, but on their own prejudices as to what they would like to have happened. very few people are judges of evidence; not even of their own eyes and ears. very few persons, when they see a thing, know what they have seen, and what of prodigies. 203 not. they tell you quite honestly, not what they saw, but what they think they ought to have seen, or should like to have seen. it is a fact too often conveniently forgotten, that in every human crowd the majority will be more or less bad, or at least foolish; the slaves of anger, spite, conceit, vanity, sordid hope, and sordid fear. but let them be as honest and as virtuous as they may, pleasure, terror, and the desire of seeming to have seen or heard more than their neighbours, and all about it, make them exaggerate. if you take apart five honest men, who all stood by and saw the same man do anything strange, offensive, or even exciting, no two of them will give you quite the same account of it. if you leave them together, while excited, an hour before you question them, they will have compared notes and made up one story, which will contain all their mistakes combined; and it will require the skill of a practised barrister to pick the grain of wheat out of the chaff. moreover, when people are crowded together under any excitement, there is nothing which they will not make each other believe. they will make each other believe in spirit-rapping, table-turning, the mesmeric fluid, electro-biology; that they saw the lion on northumberland house wagging his tail;* that witches have been seen riding in the air; that the jews had poisoned the wells; that—but why go further into the sad catalogue of human absurdities, and the crimes. which have followed them? every one is ashamed of not seeing what every one else sees, and persuades an authentic fact. * 204 the natural history himself against his own eye sight for fear of seeming stupid or ill-conditioned; and therefore in all evidence, the fewer witnesses, the more truth, because the evidence of ten men is worth more than that of a hundred together; and the evidence of a thousand men together is worth still less. now, if people are savage and ignorant, diseased and poverty-stricken; even if they are merely excited and credulous, and quite sure that something wonderful must happen, then they will be also quite certain that something wonderful has happened; and their evidence will be worth nothing at all. moreover, suppose that something really wonderful has happened; suppose, for instance, that some nervous or paralytic person has been suddenly restored to strength by the command of a saint or of some other remarkable man. this is quite possible, i may say common; and it is owing neither to physical nor to so-called spiritual causes, but simply to the power which a strong mind has over a weak one, to make it exert itself, and cure itself by its own will, though but for a time. when this good news comes to be told, and to pass from mouth to mouth, it ends of quite a different shape from that in which it began. it has been added to, taken from, twisted in every direction according to the fancy or the carelessness of each teller, till what really happened in the first case no one will be able to say; and this is, therefore, what actually happened, * if any one doubts this, let him try the game called "russian of prodigies. . 205 in the case of these reported wonders. moreover (and this is the most important consideration of all) for men to be fair judges of what really happens, they must have somewhat sound minds in somewhat sound bodies; which no man can have (however honest and virtuous) who gives himself up, as did these old hermits, to fasting and vigils. that continued sleeplessness produces delusions, and at last actual madness, every physician knows; and they know also, as many a poor sailor has known when starving on a wreck, and many a poor soldier in such a retreat as that of napoleon from moscow, that extreme hunger and thirst produce delusions also, very similar to (and caused much in the same way as) those produced by ardent spirits; so that many a wretched creature ere now has been taken up for drunkenness, who has been simply starving to death. whence it follows that these good hermits, by continual fasts and vigils, must have put themselves (and their histories prove that they did put themselves) into a state of mental disease, in which their evidence was worth nothing; a state in which the mind cannot distinguish between facts and dreams; in which life itself is one dream; in which (as in the case of madness, or of a feverish child) the brain cannot distinguish between the objects which are outside it and the imaginations which are inside it. and it is plain, that the scandal," where a story, passed secretly from mouth to mouth, ends utterly transformed, the original point being lost, a new point substituted, original names and facts omitted, and utterly new ones inserted, &c. &c.; an experiment which is ludicrous, or saddening, according to the temper of the experimenter. 206 the natural history more earnest and pious, and therefore the more ascetic, one of these good men was, the more utterly would his brain be in a state of chronic disease. god forbid that we should scorn them, therefore, or think the worse of them in any way. they were animated by a truly noble purpose, the resolution to be good according to their light; they carried out that purpose with heroical endurance, and they have their reward: but this we must say, if we be rational people, that on their method of holiness, the more holy any one of them was, the less trustworthy was his account of any matter whatsoever; and that the hermit's peculiar temptations (quite unknown to the hundreds of unmarried persons who lead quiet and virtuous, because rational and healthy, lives) are to be attributed, not as they thought, to a dæmon, but to a more or less unhealthy nervous system. it must be remembered, moreover, in justice to these old hermits, that they did not invent the belief that the air was full of dæmons. all the eastern nations had believed in genii (jinns), fairies (peris), and devas, divs, or devils. the devas of the early hindus were beneficent beings: to the eyes of the old persians (in their hatred of idolatry and polytheism), they appeared evil beings, divs, or devils. and even so the genii and dæmons of the roman empire became, in the eyes of the early christians, wicked and cruel spirits. and they had their reasons, and on the whole sound ones, for so regarding them. the educated classes had given up any honest and literal worship of the of prodigies. 207 old gods. they were trying to excuse themselves for their lingering half belief in them, by turning them into allegories, powers of nature, metaphysical abstractions, as did porphyry and iamblichus, plotinus and proclus, and the rest of the neo-platonist school of aristocratic philosophers and fine ladies: but the lower classes still, in every region, kept up their own local beliefs and worships, generally of the most foul and brutal kind, the animal worship of egypt among the lower classes was sufficiently detestable in the time of herodotus. it had certainly not improved in that of juvenal and persius; and was still less likely to have improved afterwards. this is a subject so shocking that it can be only hinted at. but as a single instance-what wonder if the early hermits of egypt looked on the crocodile as something diabolic, after seeing it, for generations untold, petted and worshipped in many a city, simply because it was the incarnate symbol of brute strength, cruelty, and cunning? we must remember, also, that earlier generations (the old norsemen and germans just as much as the old egyptians) were wont to look on animals as more miraculous than we do; as more akin, in many cases, to human beings; as guided, not by at mere blind instinct, but by an intellect which was allied to, and often surpassed man's intellect. "the bear," said the old norsemen, "had ten men's strength, and eleven men's wit; and in some such light must the old hermits have looked on the hyæna, “bellua," the monster par excellence; or on the crocodile, the hippopotamus, and the poisonous snakes, which have been "" 208 the natural history objects of terror and adoration in every country where they have been formidable. whether the hyænas were dæmons, or were merely sent by the dæmons, st. antony and st. athanasius do not clearly define, for they did not know. it was enough for them that the beasts prowled at night in those desert cities, which were, according to the opinions, not only of the easterns, but of the romans, the special haunt of ghouls, witches, and all uncanny things. their fiendish laughter-which, when heard even in a modern menagerie, excites and shakes most person's nerves— rang through hearts and brains which had no help or comfort, save in god alone. the beast tore up the dead from their graves; devoured alike the belated child and the foulest offal; and was in all things a type and incarnation of that which man ought not to be. why should not he, so like the worst of men, have some bond or kindred with the evil beings who were not men? why should not the graceful and deadly cobra, the horrid cerastes, the huge throttling python, and even more, the loathly puff-adder, undistinguishable from the gravel among which he lay coiled, till he leaped furiously and unswerving, as if shot from a bow, upon his prey-why should not they too be kindred to that evil power who had been, in the holiest and most ancient books, personified by the name of the serpent? before we have a right to say that the hermits' view of these deadly animals was not the most rational, as well as the most natural, which they could possibly have taken up, we must put ourselves in their places; and look at nature as of prodigies. 209 they had learnt to look at it, not from scripture and christianity, so much as from the immemorial traditions of their heathen ancestors. s.l. ii. "" if it be argued, that they ought to have been well enough acquainted with these beasts to be aware of their merely animal nature, the answer is-that they were probably not well acquainted with the beasts of the desert. they had never, perhaps, before their conversion," left the narrow valley, well tilled and well inhabited, which holds the nile. a climb from it. into the barren mountains and deserts east and west was a journey out of the world into chaos, and the region of the unknown and the horrible, which demanded high courage from the unarmed and effeminate egyptian, who knew not what monster he might meet ere sundown. moreover, it is very probable that during these centuries of decadence, in egypt, as in other parts of the roman empire, "the wild beasts of the field had increased" on the population, and were reappearing in the more cultivated grounds. but these old hermits appear perpetually in another, and a more humane, if not more human aspect, as the miraculous tamers of savage beasts. those who wish to know all which can be alleged in favour of their having possessed such a power, should read m. de montalembert's chapter, "les moines et la nature.~* all that learning and eloquence can say in favour of the theory is said there; and with a candour which demands from no man full belief of many beautiful but impossible stories, "travesties of historic verity," * les moines d'occident, vol. ii. pp. 332--467. p 210 the natural history which have probably grown up from ever-varying tradition in the course of ages. m. de montalembert himself points out a probable explanation of many of them :-an ingenious scholar of our times* (he says) has pointed out their true and legitimate origin—at least in ancient gaul. according to him, after the gradual disappearance of the gallo-roman population, the oxen, the horses, the dogs had returned to the wild state; and it was in the forest that the breton missionaries had to seek these animals, to employ them anew for domestic use. the miracle was, to restore to man the command and the enjoyment of those creatures, which god had given him as instruments. this theory is probable enough, and will explain, doubtless, many stories. it may even explain those of tamed wolves, who may have been only feral dogs, i.e. dogs run wild. but it will not explain those in which (in ireland as well as in gaul) the stag appears as obeying the hermit's commands. the twelve huge stags who come out of the forest to draw the ploughs for st. leonor and his monks, or those who drew to his grave the corpse of the irish hermit kellac, or those who came out of the forest to supply the place of st. colodoc's cattle, which the seigneur had carried off in revenge for his having given sanctuary to a hunted deer, must have been wild from the beginning; and many another tale must remain without any explanation whatsoever-save the simplest of all. * m. la borderie, "discours sur les saints bretons :" a work which i have uniortunatly not been able to consult. of prodigies. 211 neither can any such theory apply to the marvels vouched for by st. athanasius, st. jerome, and other contemporaries, which "show us (to quote m. de montalembert) the most ferocious animals at the feet of such men as antony, pachomius, macarius, and hilarion, and those who copied them. at every page one sees wild asses, crocodiles, hippopotami, hyænas, and, above all, lions, transformed into respectful companions and docile servants of these prodigies of sanctity; and one concludes thence, not that these beasts had reasonable souls, but that god knew how to glorify those who devoted themselves to his glory, and thus show how all nature obeyed man before he was excluded from paradise by his disobedience." this is, on the whole, the cause which the contemporary biographers assign for these wonders. the hermits were believed to have returned, by celibacy and penitence, to "the life of angels;" to that state of perfect innocence which was attributed to our first parents in eden: and therefore of them cur lord's words were true: he that believeth in me, greater things than these (which i do) shall he do." but those who are of a different opinion will seek for different causes. they will, the more they know of these stories, admire often their gracefulness, often their pathos, often their deep moral significance ; they will feel the general truth of m. de montalembert's words: "there is not one of them which does not honour and profit human nature, and which does not express a victory of weakness over force, and of 66 p 2 212 the natural history good over evil." but if they look on physical facts as sacred things, as the voice of god revealed in the phenomena of matter, their first question will be, "are they true?" some of them must be denied utterly, like that of st. helenus, riding and then slaying the crocodile. it did not happen. abbot ammon* did not make two dragons guard his cell against robbers. st. gerasimust did not set the lion, out of whose foot he had taken a thorn, to guard his ass; and when the ass was stolen by an arabian camel-driver, he did not (fancying that the lion had eaten the ass) make him carry water in the ass's stead. neither did the lion, when next he met the thief and the ass, bring them up, in his own justification, to st. gerasimus. st. costinian did not put a pack-saddle on a bear, and make him carry a great stone. a lioness did not bring her five blind whelps to a hermit, that he might give them sight.§ and, though sulpicius severus says that he saw it with his own eyes, || it is hard to believe the latter part of the graceful story which he tells—of an old hermit whom he found dwelling alone twelve miles from the nile, by a well of vast depth. one ox he had, whose whole work was to raise the water by a wheel. around him was a garden of herbs, kept rich and green amid the burning sand, where neither seed nor root could live. the old man and the ox fed together on the produce of their common toil; but two miles off there was a single * vitæ patrum, p. 753. ibid. p. 539. § ibid. p. 540. + ibid. p. 893. ibid. p. 532. of prodigies. 213 palm-tree, to which, after supper, the hermit takes his guests. beneath the palm they find a lioness; but instead of attacking them, she moves "modestly" away at the old man's command, and sits down to wait for her share of dates. she feeds out of his hand, like a household animal, and goes her way, leaving her guests trembling, "and confessing how great was the virtue of the hermit's faith, and how great their own infirmity." this last story, which one would gladly believe, were it possible, i have inserted as one of those which hang on the verge of credibility. in the very next page, sulpicius severus tells a story quite credible, of a she-wolf, which he saw with his own eyes as tame as any dog. there can be no more reason to doubt that fact than to ascribe it to a miracle. we may even believe that the wolf, having gnawed to pieces the palm basket which the good old man was weaving, went off, knowing that she had done wrong, and after a week came back, begged pardon like a rational soul, and was caressed, and given a double share of bread. many of these stories which tell of the taming of wild beasts may be true, and yet contain no miracle. they are very few in number, after all, in proportion to the number of monks; they are to be counted at most by tens, while the monks are counted by tens of thousands. and among many great companies of monks, there may have been one individual, as there is, for instance, in many a country parish a bee-taker or a horse-tamer, of quiet temper and strong nerve, and quick and sympathetic intellect, 214 the natural history whose power over animals is so extraordinary, as to be attributed by the superstitious and uneducated to some hereditary secret, or some fairy gift. very powerful to attract wild animals must have been the good hermits' habit of sitting motionless for hours, till (as with st. guthlac) the swallows sat and sang upon his knee; and of moving slowly and gently at his work, till (as with st. karilef, while he pruned his vines) the robin came and built in his hood as it hung upon a tree: very powerful his freedom from anger, and, yet more important, from fear, which always. calls out rage in wild beasts, while a calm and bold front awes them: and most powerful of all, the kindliness of heart, the love of companionship, which brought the wild bison to feed by st. karilef's side as he prayed upon the lawn; and the hind to nourish st. giles with her milk in the jungles of the bouches du rhône. there was no miracle; save the moral miracle that, in ages of cruelty and slaughter, these men had learned (surely by the inspiration of god) how"he prayeth well who loveth well both man and bird and beast; he prayeth best who loveth best all things, both great and small; for the dear god who loveth us, he made and loveth all." after all, let these old lives of the fathers tell their own tale. by their own merits let them stand or fall; and and they will in one senșe: for whatsoever else they are not, this they are the histories of good men. their physical science and of prodigies. 215 their dæmonology may have been on a par with those of the world around them: but they possessed what the world did not possess, faith in the utterly good and self-sacrificing god, and an ideal of virtue and purity such as had never been seen since the first whitsuntide. and they set themselves to realize that ideal with a simplicity, an energy, an endurance, which were altogether heroic. how far they were right in "giving up the world" depends entirely on what the world was then like, and whether there was any hope of reforming it. it was their opinion that there was no such hope; and those who know best the facts which surrounded them, its utter frivolity, its utter viciousness, the deadness which had fallen on art, science, philosophy, human life, whether family, social, or political; the prevalence of slavery, in forms altogether hideous and unmentionable; the insecurity of life and property, whether from military and fiscal tyranny, or from perpetual inroads of the so-called "barbarians:" those, i say, who know these facts best will be most inclined to believe that the old hermits were wise in their generation; that the world was past salvation; that it was not a wise or humane thing to marry and bring children into the world; that in such a state of society, an honest and virtuous man could not exist, and that those who wished to remain honest and virtuous must flee into the desert, and be alone with god and their fellows. the question which had to be settled then and there, at that particular crisis of the human race, was 216 what the hermits not-are certain wonders true or false? but-is man a mere mortal animal, or an immortal soul? is his flesh meant to serve his spirit, or his spirit his flesh? is pleasure, or virtue, the end and aim of his existence? the hermits set themselves to answer that question, not by arguing or writing about it, but by the only way in which any question can be settled-by experiment. they resolved to try whether their immortal souls could not grow better and better, while their mortal bodies were utterly neglected; to make their flesh serve their spirit; to make virtue their only end and aim; and utterly to relinquish the very notion of pleasure. to do this one thing, and nothing else, they devoted their lives; and they succeeded. from their time it has been a received opinion, not merely among a few philosophers or a few pharisees, but among the lowest, the poorest, the most ignorant, who have known aught of christianity, that man is an immortal soul; that the spirit, and not the flesh, ought to be master and guide; that virtue is the highest good; and that purity is a virtue, impurity a sin. these men were, it has been well said, the very fathers of purity. and if, in that and in other matters, they pushed their purpose to an extreme-if, by devoting themselves utterly to it alone, they suffered, not merely in wideness of mind or in power of judging evidence, but even in brain, till they became some of them at times insane from over-wrought nerves-it is not for us to blame the soldier for the wounds which have crippled him, or the physician for the disease which he has caught himself while trying to heal have taught mankind. 217 others. let us not speak ill of the bridge which carries us over, nor mock at those who did the work for us as seemed to them best, and perhaps in the only way in which it could be done in those evil days. as a matter of fact, through these men's teaching and example we have learnt what morality, purity, and christianity we possess; and if any answer that we have learnt them from the scriptures, who but these men preserved the scriptures to us? who taught us to look on them as sacred and inspired? who taught us to apply them to our own daily lives, and find comfort and teaching in every age, in words written ages ago by another race in a foreign land? the scriptures were the book, generally the only book, which they read and meditated, not merely from morn till night, but, as far as fainting nature would allow, from night to morn again: and their method of interpreting them (as far as i can discover) differed in nothing from that common to all christians now, save that they interpreted literally certain precepts of our lord and of st. paul which we consider to have applied only to the "temporary necessity" of a decayed, dying, and hopeless age such as that in which they lived. and therefore, because they knew the scripture well, and learned in it lessons of true virtue and true philosophy, though unable to save civilization in the east, they were able at least to save it in the west. the european hermits, and the monastic communities which they originated, were indeed a seed of life, not merely to the conquered roman population of gaul or spain or britain, but to the heathen 218 what hermits have taught. and arian barbarians who conquered them. among those fierce and armed savages, the unarmed hermits stood, strong only by justice, purity, and faith in god, defying the oppressor, succouring the oppressed, and awing and softening the new aristocracy of the middle age, which was founded on mere brute force and pride of race; because the monk took his stand upon mere humanity; because he told the wild conqueror, goth or sueve, frank or burgund, saxon or norseman, that all men were equal in the sight of god; because he told them (to quote athanasius's own words concerning antony) that "virtue is not beyond human nature;" that the highest moral excellence was possible to the most low-born and unlettered peasant whom they trampled under their horses' hoofs, if he were only renewed and sanctified by the spirit of god. they accepted the lowest and commonest facts of that peasant's wretched life; they outdid him in helplessness, loneliness, hunger, dirt, and slavery; and then said, "among all these i can yet be a man of god, wise, virtuous, pure, free, and noble in the sight of god, though not in the sight of cæsars, counts, and knights." they went on, it is true, to glorify the means above the end; to consecrate childlessness, selftorture, dirt, ignorance, as if they were things pleasing to god and holy in themselves. but in spite of those errors they wrought throughout europe a work which, as far as we can judge, could have been done in no other way; done only by men who gave up all that makes life worth having for the sake of being good themselves and making others good. the hermits of europe. most readers will recollect what an important part in the old ballads and romances is played by the hermit. he stands in strongest contrast to the knight. he fills up, as it were, by his gentleness and selfsacrifice, what is wanting in the manhood of the knight, the slave too often of his own fierceness and self-assertion. the hermit rebukes him when he sins, heals him when he is wounded, stays his hand in some mad murderous duel, such as was too common in days when any two armed horsemen meeting on road or lawn ran blindly at each other in the mere lust of fighting, as boars or stags might run. sometimes he interferes to protect the oppressed serf; sometimes to rescue the hunted deer which has taken sanctuary at his feet. sometimes, again, his influence is that of intellectual superiority; of worldly experience; of the travelled man who has seen many lands and many nations. sometimes, again, that of sympathy; for he has been a knight himself, and fought and 220 the hermits of europe. sinned, and drank of the cup of vanity and vexation of spirit, like the fierce warrior who kneels at his feet. all who have read (and all ought to have read) spenser's fairy queen, must recollect his charming. description of the hermit with whom prince arthur leaves serena and the squire after they have been wounded by "the blatant beast" of slander; when— 66 toward night they came unto a plain by which a little hermitage there lay far from all neighbourhood, the which annoy it may. "and nigh thereto a little chapel stood, which being all with ivy overspread decked all the roof, and shadowing the rood, seemed like a grove fair branched overhead; therein the hermit which his life here led 66 in straight observance of religious vow, was wont his hours and holy things to bed; and therein he likewise was praying now, when as these knights arrived, they wist not where nor how. 'they stayed not there, but straightway in did pass : who when the hermit present saw in place, from his devotions straight he troubled was ; which breaking off, he toward them did pace with staid steps and grave beseeming grace : for well it seemed that whilom he had been some goodly person, and of gentle race, that could his good to all, and well did ween how each to entertain with courtesy beseen. * * "he thence them led into his hermitage, letting their steeds to graze upon the green: small was his house, and like a little cage, for his own term, yet inly neat and clean, decked with green boughs, and flowers gay beseen: 1he hermits of europe. 221 therein he them full fair did entertain, not with such forgèd shews, as fitter been for courting fools that courtesies would feign, but with entire affection and appearance plain. * * * * * how be that careful hermit did his best with many kinds of medicines meet to tame the poisonous humour that did most infest their reakling wounds, and every day them duly dressed. "for he right well in leech's craft was seen; and through the long experience of his days, which had in many fortunes tossèd been, and passed through many perilous assays : he knew the divers want of mortal ways, and in the minds of men had great insight; which with sage counsel, when they went astray, he could inform and them reduce aright; and all the passions heal which wound the weaker sprite. "for whilome he had been a doughty knight, as any one that lived in his days, and proved oft in many a perilous fight, in which he grace and glory won always, and in all battles bore away the bays: but being now attached with timely age, and weary of this world's unquiet ways, he took himself unto this hermitage, in which he lived alone like careless bird in cage." this picture is not poetry alone: it is history. such men actually lived, and such work they actually did, from the southernmost point of italy to the northernmost point of scotland, during centuries in which there was no one else to do the work. the regular clergy could not have done it. bishops and priests were entangled in the affairs of this world, striving to be statesmen, striving to be land-owners, striving to 222 the hermits of europe. pass church lands on from father to son, and to establish themselves as an hereditary caste of priests. the chaplain or house-priest who was to be found in every nobleman's, almost every knight's castle, was apt to become a mere upper servant, who said mass every morning in return for the good cheer which he got every evening, and fetched and carried at the bidding of his master and mistress. but the hermit who dwelt alone in the forest glen, occupied, like an old hebrew prophet, a superior and an independent position. he needed nought from any man save the scrap of land which the lord was only too glad to allow him in return for his counsels and his prayers. and to him, as to a mysterious and supernatural personage, the lord went privately for advice in his quarrels with the neighbouring barons, or with his own kin. to him. the lady took her children when they were sick, to be healed, as she fancied, by his prayers and blessings; or poured into his ears a hundred secret sorrows and anxieties which she are not tell to her fierce lord, who hunted and fought the livelong day, and drank too much liquor every night. this class of men sprang up rapidly, by natural causes, and yet by a divine necessity, as soon a; the western empire was conquered by the german tribes; and those two young officers whom we saw turning monks at trêves, in the time of st. augustine, may, if they lived to be old men, have given sage counsel again and again to fierce german knights and kinglets, who had dispossessed the rich and effeminate landowners of their estates, and sold them, their wives, and the hermits of europe. 223 children, in gangs by the side of their own slaves. only the roman who had turned monk would probably escape that fearful ruin; and he would remain behind, while the rest of his race was enslaved or swept away, as a seed of christianity and of civilization, destined to grow and spread, and bring the wild conquerors in due time into the kingdom of god. for the first century or two after the invasion of the barbarians, the names of the hermits and saints are almost exclusively latin. their biographies represent them in almost every case as born of noble roman parents. as time goes on, german names appear, and at last entirely supersede the latin ones; showing that the conquering race had learned from the conquered to become hermits and monks like them. st. severinus, the apostle of noricum. of all these saintly civilizers, st. severinus of vienna is perhaps the most interesting, and his story the most historically instructive.* a common time, the middle of the fifth century, the province of noricum (austria, as we should now call it) was the very highway of invading barbarians, the centre of the human maelstrom in which huns, alemanni, rugi, and a dozen wild tribes more, wrestled up and down and round the starving and beleaguered towns of what had once been a happy and fertile province, each tribe striving to trample the other under foot, and to march southward over their corpses to plunder what was still left of the already plundered wealth of italy and rome. the difference of race, in tongue, and in manners, between the conquered and their conquerors, was made more painful by difference in creed. the conquering germans and huns were *it has been handed down, in most crabbed latin, by his disciple, eugippius; it may be read at length in pez, scriptores austriacarum rerum. st. severinus. 225 either arians or heathens. the conquered race (though probably of very mixed blood), who called themselves romans, because they spoke latin and lived under the roman law, were orthodox catholics; and the miseries of religious persecution were too often. added to the usual miseries of invasion. it was about the year 455-60. attila, the great king of the huns, who called himself—and who was— "the scourge of god," was just dead. his empire had broken up. the whole centre of europe was in a state of anarchy and war; and the hapless romans along the danube were in the last extremity of terror, not knowing by what fresh invader their crops would be swept off up to the very gates of the walled towers which were their only defence: when there appeared among them, coming out of the east, a man of god. who he was, he would not tell. his speech showed him to be an african roman-a fellow-countryman of st. augustine-probably from the neighbourhood of carthage. he had certainly at one time gone to some desert in the east, zealous to learn "the more perfect life." severinus, he said, was his name; a name which indicated high rank, as did the manners and the scholarship of him who bore it. but more than his name he would not tell. "" if you take me for a runaway slave," he said, smiling, "get ready money to redeem me with when my master demands me back." for he believed that they would have need of him; that god had sent him into that land that he might be of use to its wretched people. and certainly he could have come into the neighbourhood s. l. ii. q 226 st. severinus. • of vienna at that moment for no other purpose than to do good, unless he came to deal in slaves. he settled first at a town called by his biographer casturis; and, lodging with the warden of the church, lived quietly the hermit life. meanwhile the german tribes were prowling round the town; and severinus, going one day into the church, began to warn the priests and clergy and all the people that a destruction was coming on them which they could only avert by prayer and fasting and the works of mercy. they laughed him to scorn, confiding in their lofty roman walls, which the invaders-wild horsemen, who had no military engines-were unable either to scale or batter down. severinus left the town at once, prophesying, it was said, the very day and hour of its fall. he went on to the next town, which was then closely garrisoned by a barbarian force, and repeated his warning there: but while the people were listening to him, there came an old man to the gate, and told them how casturis had been already sacked, as the man of god had foretold; and, going into the church, threw himself at the feet of st. severinus, and said that he had been saved by his merits from being destroyed with his fellow-townsmen. then the dwellers in the town hearkened to the man of god, and gave themselves up to fasting and almsgiving and prayer for three whole days. and on the third day, when the solemnity of the evening sacrifice was fulfilled, a sudden earthquake happened, and the barbarians, seized with panic fear, and probably hating and dreading-like all those st. severinus. 227 wild tribes-confinement between four stone walls instead of the free open life of the tent and the stockade, forced the romans to open their gates to them, rushed out into the night, and in their madness slew each other. town. in those days a famine fell upon the people of vienna; and they, as their sole remedy, thought good to send for the man of god from the neighbouring he went, and preached to them, too, repentance and almsgiving. the rich, it seems, had hidden up their stores of corn, and left the poor to starve. at least st. severinus discovered (by divine revelation, it was supposed), that a widow named procula had done as much. he called her out into the midst of the people, and asked her why she, a noble woman and free-born, had made herself a slave to avarice, which is idolatry. if she would not give her corn to christ's poor, let her throw it into the danube to feed the fish, for any gain from it she would not have. procula was abashed, and served out her hoards thereupon willingly to the poor; and a little while afterwards, to the astonishment of all, vessels came down the danube, laden with every kind of merchandise. they had been frozen up for many days near passau, in the thick ice of the river enns: but the prayers of god's servant (so men believed) had opened the ice-gates, and let them down the stream before the usual time. then the wild german horsemen swept around the walls, and carried off human beings and cattle, as many as they could find. severinus, like some old q 2 228 st. severinus. hebrew prophet, did not shrink from advising hard blows, where hard blows could avail. mamertinus, the tribune, or officer in command, told him that he had so few soldiers, and those so ill-armed, that he dare not face the enemy. severinus answered, that they should get weapons from the barbarians themselves; the lord would fight for them, and they should hold their peace: only if they took any captives they should bring them safe to him. at the second milestone from the city they came upon the plunderers, who fled at once, leaving their arms behind. thus was the prophecy of the man of god fulfilled. the romans brought the captives back to him unharmed. he loosed their bonds, gave them food and drink, and let them go. but they were to tell their comrades that, if ever they came near that spot again, celestial vengeance would fall on them, for the god of the christians fought from heaven in his servants' cause. so the barbarians trembled, and went away. and the fear of st. severinus fell on all the goths, heretic arians though they were; and on the rugii, who held the north bank of the danube in those evil days. st. severinus, meanwhile, went out of vienna, and built himself a cell at a place called "at the vineyards." but some benevolent impulse-divine revelation, his biographer calls it—prompted him to return, and build himself a cell on a hill close to vienna, round which other cells soon grew up, tenanted by his disciples. "there," says his biographer, "he longed to escape the crowds of men who were wont st. severinus. 229 to come to him, and cling closer to god in continual prayer: but the more he longed to dwell in solitude, the more often he was warned by revelations not to deny his presence to the afflicted people." he fasted continually; he went barefoot even in the midst of winter, which was so severe, the story continues, in those days around vienna, that wagons crossed the danube on the solid ice: and yet, instead of being puffed-up by his own virtues, he set an example of humility to all, and bade them with tears to pray for him, that the saviour's gifts to him might not heap condemnation on his head. over the wild rugii st. severinus seems to have acquired unbounded influence. their king, flaccitheus, used to pour out his sorrows to him, and tell him how the princes of the goths would surely slay him; for when he had asked leave of him to pass on into italy, he would not let him go. but st. severinus prophesied to him that the goths would do him. no harm. only one warning he must take: "let it not grieve him to ask peace even for the least of men." the friendship which had thus begun between the barbarian king and the cultivated saint was carried on by his son feva: but his "deadly and noxious wife" gisa, who appears to have been a fierce arian, always, says his biographer, kept him back from clemency. one story of gisa's misdeeds is so characteristic both of the manners of the time and of the style in which the original biography is written, that i shall take leave to insert it at length. "the king feletheus (who is also feva), the 1 1 230 st. severinus. son of the afore-mentioned flaccitheus, following his father's devotion, began, at the commencement of his reign, often to visit the holy man. his deadly and noxious wife, named gisa, always kept him back from the remedies of clemency. for she, among the other plague-spots of her iniquity, even tried to have certain catholics re-baptized: but when her husband did not consent, on account of his reverence for st. severinus, she gave up immediately her sacrilegious intention, burdening the romans, nevertheless, with hard conditions, and commanding some of them to be exiled to the danube. for when one day, she, having come to the village next to vienna, had ordered some of them to be sent over the danube, and condemned to the most menial offices of slavery, the man of god sent to her, and begged that they might be let go. but she, blazing up in a flame of fury, ordered the harshest of answers to be returned. 'i pray thee,' she said, 'servant of god, hiding there within thy cell, allow us to settle what we choose about our own slaves.' but the man of god hearing this, 'i trust,' he said, 'in my lord jesus christ, that she will be forced by necessity to fulfil that which in her wicked will she has despised.' and forthwith a swift rebuke followed, and brought low the soul of the arrogant woman. for she had confined in close custody certain barbarian goldsmiths, that they might make regal ornaments. to them the son of the aforesaid king, frederic by name, still a little boy, had gone in, in childish levity, on the very day on which the queen had despised the st. severinus. 231 " servant of god. the goldsmiths put a sword to the child's breast, saying, that if any one attempted to enter without giving them an oath that they should be protected, he should die; and that they would slay the king's child first, and themselves afterwards, seeing that they had no hope of life left, being worn out with long prison. when she heard that, the cruel and impious queen, rending her garments for grief, cried out, o servant of god, severinus, are the injuries which i did thee thus avenged? hast thou obtained by the earnest prayer thou hast poured out this punishment for my contempt, that thou shouldst avenge it on my own flesh and blood?' then, running up and down with manifold contrition and miserable lamentation, she confessed that for the act of contempt which she had committed against the servant of god she was struck by the vengeance of the present blow; and forthwith she sent knights to ask for forgiveness, and sent across the river the romans his prayers for whom she had despised. the goldsmiths, having received immediately a promise of safety, and giving up the child, were in like manner let go. "the most reverend severinus, when he heard this, gave boundless thanks to the creator, who sometimes puts off the prayers of suppliants for this end, that as faith, hope, and charity grow, while lesser things are sought, he may concede greater things. lastly, this did the mercy of the omnipotent saviour work, that while it brought to slavery a woman free, but cruel overmuch, she was forced to restore to 232 st. severinus. liberty those who were enslaved. this having been marvellously gained, the queen hastened with her husband to the servant of god, and showed him her son, who, she confessed, had been freed from the verge of death by his prayers, and promised that she would never go against his commands." to this period of severinus's life belongs the once famous story of his interview with odoacer, the first barbarian king of italy, and brother of the great onulph or wolf, who was the founder of the family of the guelphs, counts of altorf, and the direct ancestors of victoria, queen of england. their father was ædecon, secretary at one time of attila, and chief of the little tribe of turklings, who, though german, had clung faithfully to attila's sons, and came to ruin at the great battle of netad, when the empire of the huns broke up once and for ever. then odoacer and his brother started over the alps to seek their fortunes in italy, and take service, after the fashion of young german adventurers, with the romans; and they came to st. severinus's cell, and went in, heathens as they probably were, to ask a blessing of the holy man; and odoacer had to stoop and to stand stooping, so huge he was. the saint saw that he was no common lad, and said, “go to italy, clothed though thou be in ragged sheepskins: thou shalt soon give greater gifts to thy friends." so odoacer went on into italy, deposed the last of the cæsars, a paltry boy, romulus augustulus by name, and found himself, to his own astonishment, and that of all the world, the first german king of italy; and, st. severinus. 233 when he was at the height of his power, he remembered the prophecy of severinus, and sent to him, offering him any boon he chose to ask. but all that the saint asked was, that he should forgive some romans whom he had banished. st. severinus meanwhile foresaw that odoacer's kingdom would not last, as he seems to have foreseen many things, by no miraculous revelation, but simply as a far-sighted man of the world. for when certain german knights were boasting before him of the power and glory of odoacer, he said that it would last some thirteen, or at most fourteen years; and the prophecy (so all men said in those days) came exactly true. there is no need to follow the details of st. severinus's labours through some five-and-twenty years of perpetual self-sacrifice-and, as far as this world was concerned, perpetual disaster. eugippius's chapters are little save a catalogue of towns sacked one after the other, from passau to vienna, till the miserable survivors of the war seemed to have concentrated themselves under st. severinus's guardianship in the latter city. we find, too, tales of famine, of locustswarms, of little victories over the barbarians, which do not arrest wholesale defeat: but we find through all st. severinus labouring like a true man of god, conciliating the invading chiefs, redeeming captives, procuring for the cities which were still standing supplies of clothes for the fugitives, persuading the husbandmen, seemingly through large districts, to give even in time of dearth a tithe of their produce to the poor;—a tale of noble work which one regrets 234 st. severinus. to see defaced by silly little prodigies, more important seemingly in the eyes of the monk eugippius than the great events which were passing round him. but this is a fault too common with monk chroniclers. the only historians of the early middle age, they have left us a miserably imperfect record of it, because they were looking always rather for the preternatural than for the natural. many of the saints' lives, as they have come down to us, are mere catalogues of wonders which never happened, from among which the antiquary must pick, out of passing hints and obscure allusions, the really important facts of the time,-changes political and social, geography, physical history, the manners, speech, and look of nations now extinct, and even the characters and passions of the actors in the story. how much can be found among such a list of wonders, by an antiquary who has not merely learning but intellectual insight, is proved by the admirable notes which dr. reeves has appended to adamnan's life of st. columba: but one feels, while studying his work, that, had adamnan thought more of facts and less of prodigies, he might have saved dr. reeves the greater part of his labour, and preserved to us a mass of knowledge now lost for ever. and so with eugippius's life of st. severinus. the reader finds how the man who had secretly celebrated a heathen sacrifice was discovered by st. severinus, because, while the tapers of the rest of the congregation were lighted miraculously from heaven, his taper alone would not light; and passes on imst. severinus. 235 patiently, with regret that the biographer omits to mention what the heathen sacrifice was like. he reads how the danube dared not rise above the mark of the cross which st. severinus had cut upon the posts of a timber chapel; how a poor man, going out to drive the locusts off his little patch of corn instead of staying in the church all day to pray, found the next morning that his crop alone had been eaten, while all the fields around remained untouched. even the well-known story, which has a certain awfulness about it, how st. severinus watched all night by the bier of the dead priest silvinus, and ere the morning dawned bade him in the name of god speak to his brethren; and how the dead man opened his eyes, and severinus asked him whether he wished to return to life, and he answered complainingly, "keep me no longer here; nor cheat me of that perpetual rest which i had already found," and so, closing his eyes once more, was still for ever:—even such a story as this, were it true, would be of little value in comparison with the wisdom, faith, charity, sympathy, industry, utter selfsacrifice, which formed the true greatness of such a man as severinus. at last the noble life wore itself out. for two years severinus had foretold that his end was near; and foretold, too, that the people for whom he had spent himself should go forth in safety, as israel out of egypt, and find a refuge in some other roman province, leaving behind them so utter a solitude, that the barbarians, in their search for the hidden treasures of the civilization which they had extermi235 st. severinus. nated, should dig up the very graves of the dead. only, when the lord willed that people to deliver them, they must carry away his bones with them, as the children of israel carried the bones of joseph. then severinus sent for feva, the rugian king, and gisa, his cruel wife; and when he had warned them how they must render an account to god for the people committed to their charge, he stretched his hand out to the bosom of the king. "gisa," he asked, "dost thou love most the soul within that breast, or gold and silver?" she answered that she loved her husband above all. "cease then," he said, "to oppress the innocent: lest their affliction be the ruin of your power." severinus' presage was strangely fulfilled. feval had handed over the city of vienna to his brother frederic," poor and impious," and impious," says eugippius. severinus, who knew him well, sent for him, and warned him that he himself was going to the lord; and that if, after his death, frederic dared touch aught of the substance of the poor and the captive, the wrath of god would fall on him. in vain the barbarian pretended indignant innocence; severinus sent him away with fresh warnings. "then on the nones of january he was smitten slightly with a pain in the side. and when that had continued for three days, at midnight he bade the brethren come to him." he renewed his talk about the coming emigration, and entreated again that his bones might not be left behind; and having bidden all in turn come near and kiss him, and st. severinus. 237 having received the sacrament of communion, he forbade them to weep for him, and commanded them to sing a psalm. they hesitated, weeping. he himself gave out the psalm, "praise the lord in his saints, and let all that hath breath praise the lord;" and so went to rest in the lord. no sooner was he dead than frederic seized on the garments kept in the monastery for the use of the poor, and even commanded his men to carry off the vessels of the altar. then followed a scene characteristic of the time. the steward sent to do the deed shrank from the crime of sacrilege. a knight, anicianus by name, went in his stead, and took the vessels of the altar. but his conscience was too strong for him. trembling and delirium fell on him, and he fled away to a lonely island, and became a hermit there. frederic, impenitent, swept away all in the monastery, leaving nought but the bare walls, "which he could not carry over the danube." but on him, too, vengeance fell. within a month he was slain by his own nephew. then odoacer attacked the rugii, and carried off feva and gisa captive to rome. and then the long-promised emigration came. odoacer, whether from mere policy (for he was trying to establish a half-roman kingdom in italy), or for love of st. severinus himself, sent his brother onulf to fetch away into italy the miserable remnant of the danubian provincials, to be distributed among the wasted and unpeopled farms of italy. and with them went forth the corpse of st. severinus, undecayed, though he had been six 238 st. severinus. years dead, and giving forth exceeding fragrance, though (says eugippius) no embalmer's hand had touched it. in a coffin, which had been long prepared for it, it was laid on a wagon, and went over the alps into italy, working (according to eugippius) the usual miracles on the way, till it found a restingplace near naples, in that very villa of lucullus at misenum, to which odoacer had sent the last emperor of rome to dream his ignoble life away in helpless luxury. so ends this tragic story. of its substantial truth there can be no doubt. the miracles recorded in it are fewer and less strange than those of the average legends-as is usually the case when an eye-witness writes. and that eugippius was an eye-witness of much which he tells, no one accustomed to judge of the authenticity of documents can doubt, if he studies the tale as it stands in pez.* as he studies, too, he will perhaps wish with me that some great dramatist may hereafter take eugippius's quaint and rough legend, and shape it into immortal verse. for tragic, in the very highest sense, the story is throughout. m. ozanam has well said of that death-bed scene between the saint and the barbarian king and queen "the history of invasions has many a pathetic scene: but i know none more instructive than the dying agony of that old roman expiring between two barbarians, and less touched with the ruin of the empire than with the peril of their souls.” but even more instructive, and more tragic also, is the * scriptores austriacarum rerum. st. martin. 239 strange coincidence that the wonder-working corpse of the starved and barefooted hermit should rest beside the last emperor of rome. it is the symbol of a new era. the kings of this world have been judged and cast out. the empire of the flesh is to perish, and the empire of the spirit to conquer thenceforth for evermore. but if st. severinus's labours in austria were in vain, there were other hermits, in gaul and elsewhere, whose work endured and prospered, and developed to a size of which they had never dreamed. the stories of these good men may be read at length in the bollandists and surius: in a more accessible and more graceful form in m. de montalembert's charming pages. i can only sketch, in a few words, the history of a few of the more famous. pushing continually northward and westward from the shores of the mediterranean, fresh hermits settled in the mountains and forests, collected disciples round them, and founded monasteries, which, during the sanguinary and savage era of the merovingian kings, were the only retreats for learning, piety, and civilization. st. martin (the young soldier who may be seen in old pictures cutting his cloak in two with a sword, to share it with a beggar) left, after twenty campaigns, the army into which he had been enrolled against his will, a conscript of fifteen years old, to become a hermit, monk, and missionary. in the desert isle of gallinaria, near genoa, he lived on roots, to train himself for the monastic life; and then went north-west, to poitiers, to found ligugé (said to be the most ancient monas240 st. martin. tery in france), to become bishop of tours, and to overthrow throughout his diocese, often at the risk of his life, the sacred oaks and druid stones of the gauls, and the temples and idols of the romans. but helike many more-longed for the peace of the hermit's cell; and near tours, between the river loire and lofty cliffs, he hid himself in a hut of branches, while his eighty disciples dwelt in caves of the rocks above, clothed only in skins of camels. he died in a.d. 397, at the age of eighty-one, leaving behind him, not merely that famous monastery of marmontier (martini monasterium), which endured till the revolution of 1793, but, what is infinitely more to his glory, his solemn and indignant protest against the first persecution by the catholic church-the torture and execution of those unhappy priscillianist fanatics, whom the spanish bishops (the spiritual forefathers of the inquisition) had condemned in the name of the god of love. martin wept over the fate of the priscillianists. happily he was no prophet, or his head would have become (like jeremiah's) a fount of tears, could he have foreseen that the isolated atrocity of those spanish bishops would have become the example and the rule, legalized and formulized and commanded by pope after pope, for every country in christendom. sulpicius severus, again (whose lives of the desert fathers i have already quoted), carried the example of these fathers into his own estates in aquitaine. selling his lands, he dwelt among his now manumitted slaves, sleeping on straw, and feeding on the honoratus. 241 coarsest bread and herbs; till the hapless neophytes found that life was not so easily sustained in france as in egypt; and complained to him that it was in vain to try "to make them live like angels, when they were only gauls.” another centre of piety and civilization was the rocky isle of lerins, off the port of toulon. covered with the ruins of an ancient roman city, and swarming with serpents, it was colonized again, in a.d. 410, by a young man of rank named honoratus, who gathered round him a crowd of disciples, converted the desert isle into a garden of flowers and herbs, and made the sea-girt sanctuary of lerins one of the most important spots of the then world. "the west," says m. de montalembert, "had thenceforth nothing to envy the east; and soon that retreat, destined by its founder to renew on the shores of provence the austerities of the thebaid, became a celebrated school of christian theology and philosophy, a citadel inaccessible to the waves of the barbarian invasion, an asylum for the letters and sciences which were fleeing from italy, then overrun by the goths; and, lastly, a nursery of bishops and saints, who spread through gaul the knowledge of the gospel and the glory of lerins. we shall soon see the rays of his light flash even into ireland and england, by the blessed hands of patrick and augustine." in the year 425, romanus, a young monk from the neighbourhood of lyons, had gone up into the forests of the jura, carrying with him the "lives s. l. ii. r 242 romanus. of the hermits," and a few seeds and tools; and had settled beneath an enormous pine; shut out from mankind by precipices, torrents, and the tangled trunks of primæval trees, which had fallen and rotted on each other age after age. his brother lupicinus joined him; then crowds of disciples; then his sister, and a multitude of women. the forests were cleared, the slopes planted; a manufacture of box-wood articles-chairs among the rest-was begun; and within the next fifty years the abbey of condat, or st. claude, as it was afterwards called, had become, not merely an agricultural colony, or even merely a minster for the perpetual worship of god, but the first school of that part of gaul; in which the works of greek as well as latin orators were taught, not only to the young monks, but to young laymen likewise. meanwhile the volcanic peaks of the auvergne were hiding from their arian invaders the ruined gentry of central france. effeminate and luxurious slave-holders, as they are painted by sidonius appolineris, bishop of clermont, in that same auvergne, nothing was left for them when their wealth was gone but to become monks: and monks they became. the lava grottoes held hermits, who saw visions and dæmons, as st. antony had seen them in egypt; while near trêves, on the moselle, a young hermit named wolflaich tried to imitate st. simeon stylites' penance on the pillar; till his bishop, foreseeing that in that severe climate he would only kill himself, wheedled him away from his station, pulled down the st. goar. 243 pillar in his absence, and bade him be a wiser man. another figure, and a more interesting one, is the famous st. goar; a gaul, seemingly (from the recorded names of his parents) of noble roman blood, who took his station on the rhine, under the cliffs of that lurlei so famous in legend and ballad as haunted by some fair fiend, whose treacherous song lured the boatmen into the whirlpool at their foot. to rescue the shipwrecked boatmen, to lodge, feed, and if need be clothe, the travellers along the rhine bank, was st. goar's especial work; and wandelbert, the monk of prum, in the eifel, who wrote his life at considerable length, tells us how st. goar was accused to the archbishop of trêves as a hypocrite and a glutton, because he ate freely with his guests; and how his calumniators took him through the forest to trêves; and how he performed divers miracles, both on the road and in the palace of the archbishop, notably the famous one of hanging his cape upon a sunbeam, mistaking it for a peg. and other miracles of his there are, some of them not altogether edifying: but no reader is bound to believe them, as wandelbert is evidently writing in the interests of the abbey of prum as against those of the prince-bishops of trêves; and with a monk's or regular's usual jealousy of the secular or parochial clergy and their bishops. a more important personage than any of these is the famous st. benedict, father of the benedictine order, and "father of all monks," as he was afterwards called, who, beginning himself as a hermit, caused the hermit life to fall, not into disrepute, but into comparar 2 244 st. benedict. tive disuse; while the cœnobitic life—that is, life, not in separate cells, but in corporate bodies, with common property, and under one common rule—was accepted as the general form of the religious life in the west. as the author of this organization, and of the benedictine order, to whose learning, as well as to whose piety, the world has owed so much, his life belongs rather to a history of the monastic orders than to that of the early hermits. but it must be always remembered that it was as a hermit that his genius was trained; that in solitude he conceived his vast plans; in solitude he elaborated the really wise and noble rules of his, which he afterwards carried out as far as he could during his lifetime in the busy world; and which endured for centuries, a solid piece of practical good work. for the existence of monks was an admitted fact; even an admitted necessity: st. benedict's work was to tell them, if they chose to be monks, what sort of persons they ought to be, and how they ought to live, in order to fulfil their own ideal. in the solitude of the hills of subiaco, above the ruined palace of nero, above, too, the town of nurscia, of whose lords he was the last remaining scion, he fled to the mountain grotto, to live the outward life of a wild beast, and, as he conceived, the inward life of an angel. how he founded twelve monasteries; how he fled with some of his younger disciples, to withdraw them from the disgusting persecutions and temptations of the neighbouring secular clergy; how he settled himself on the still famous monte cassino, which looks down st. benedict. 245 * upon the gulf of gaeta, and founded there the "archi-monasterium of europe," whose abbot was in due time first premier baron of the kingdom of naples, which counted among its dependencies* four bishoprics, two principalities, twenty earldoms, two hundred and fifty castles, four hundred and forty towns or villages, three hundred and thirty-six manors, twenty-three seaports, three isles, two hundred mills, three hundred territories, sixteen hundred and sixtytwo churches, and at the end of the sixteenth century an annual revenue of 1,500,000 ducats,—are matters which hardly belong to this volume, which deals merely with the lives of hermits. hæften, quoted by montalembert, vol. ii. p. 22, in note. the celtic hermits. it is not necessary to enter into the vexed question whether any christianity ever existed in these islands of an earlier and purer type than that which was professed and practised by the saintly disciples of st. antony. it is at least certain that the earliest historic figures which emerge from the haze of barbarous antiquity in both the britains and in ireland, are those of hermits, who, in celibacy and poverty, gather round them disciples, found a convent, convert and baptize the heathen, and often, like antony and hilarion, escape from the bustle and toil of the world into their beloved desert. they work the same miracles, see the same visions, and live in the same intimacy with the wild animals, as the hermits of egypt, or of roman gaul: but their history, owing to the wild imagination and (as the legends themselves prove) the gross barbarism of the tribes among whom they dwell, are so involved in fable and legend, that it is all but impossible to separate fact from fiction; all but impossible, often, to fix the time at which they lived. st. patrick and st. ninian. 247 .their mode of life, it must always be remembered, is said to be copied from that of the roman hermits. of gaul. st. patrick, the apostle of ireland, seems to have been of roman or roman british lineage. in his famous "confession" (which many learned antiquaries consider as genuine) he calls his father, calphurnius a deacon; his grandfather, potitus a priest-both of these names being roman. he is said to have visited, at some period of his life, the monastery of st. martin at tours; to have studied with st. germanus at auxerre; and to have gone to one of the islands of the tuscan sea, probably lerins itself; and, whether or not we believe the story that he was consecrated bishop by pope celestine at rome, we can hardly doubt that he was a member of that great spiritual succession of ascetics who counted st. antony as their father. such another must that palladius have been, who was sent, says prosper of aquitaine, by pope celestine to convert the irish scots, and who (according to another story) was cast on shore on the north-east coast of scotland, founded the church of fordun, in kincardineshire, and became a great saint among the pictish folk. another primæval figure, almost as shadowy as st. patrick, is st. ninian, a monk of north wales, who (according to bede) first attempted the conversion of the southern picts, and built himself, at whithorn in galloway, the candida casa, or white house, a little church of stone,--a wonder in those days. of "creel houses" and wooden stockades. he too, 248 dubricius. according to bede, who lived some 250 years after his time, went to rome; and he is said to have visited and corresponded with st. martin of tours. dubricius, again, whom legend makes the contemporary both of st. patrick and of king arthur, appears in wales, as bishop and abbot of llandaff. he too is ordained by a roman bishop, st. germanus of auxerre; and he too ends his career, according to tradition, as a hermit, while his disciples spread away into armorica (brittany) and ireland. we need not, therefore, be surprised to find ireland, wales, cornwall, scotland, and brittany, during the next three centuries, swarming with saints, who kept up, whether in company or alone, the old hermit-life of the thebaid; or to find them wandering, whether on missionary work, or in search of solitude, or escaping, like st. cadoc the wise, from the saxon invaders. their frequent journeys to rome, and even to jerusalem, may perhaps be set down as a fable, invented in after years by monks who were anxious to prove their complete dependence on the holy see, and their perfect communion with the older and more civilized christianity of the roman empire. it is probable enough, also, that romans from gaul, as well as from britain, often men of rank and education, who had fled before the invading goths and franks, and had devoted themselves (as we ha that they often did) to the monastic life, should have escaped into those parts of these islands which had not already fallen into the hands of the saxon invaseen st. iltut. 249 • ders. ireland, as the most remote situation, would be especially inviting to the fugitives; and we can thus understand the story which is found in the acts of st. senanus, how fifty monks, "romans born," sailed to ireland to learn the scriptures, and to lead a stricter life; and were distributed between st. senan, st. finnian, st. brendan, st. barry, and st. kieran. by such immigrations as this, it may be, ireland became as she certainly was for a while-the refuge of what ecclesiastical civilization, learning, and art the barbarian invaders had spared; a sanctuary from whence, in after centuries, evangelists and teachers went forth once more, not only to scotland and england, but to france and germany. very fantastic, and often very beautiful, are the stories of these men; and sometimes tragical enough, like that of the welsh st. iltut, cousin of the mythic arthur, and founder of the great monastery of bangor, on the banks of the dee, which was saidthough we are not bound to believe the fact—to have held more than two thousand monks at the time of the saxon invasion. the wild warrior was converted, says this legend, by seeing the earth open and swallow up his comrades, who had extorted bread, beer, and a fat pig from st. cadoc of llancarvan, a princely hermit and abbot, who had persuaded his father and mother to embrace the hermit life as the regular, if not the only, way of saving their souls. in a paroxysm of terror he fled from his fair young wife into the forest; would not allow her to share with him even his hut of branches; and devoted himself to the labour of 250 st. david. making an immense dyke of mud and stones to keep out the inundations of a neighbouring river. his poor wife went in search of him once more, and found him in the bottom of a dyke, no longer a gay knight, but poorly dressed, and covered with mud. she went away, and never saw him more; "fearing to displease god and one so beloved by god." iltut dwelt afterwards for four years in a cave, sleeping on the bare rock, and seems at last to have crossed over to brittany, and died at dol. we must not forget-though he is not strictly a hermit-st. david, the popular saint of the welsh, son of a nephew of the mythic arthur, and educated by one paulinus, a disciple, it is said, of st. germanus of auxerre. he is at once monk and bishop: he gathers round him young monks in the wilderness, makes them till the ground, drawing the plough by their own strength, for he allows them not to own even an ox. he does battle against "satraps" and "magicians". probably heathen chieftains and druids; he goes to the holy land, and is made archbishop by the patriarch of jerusalem: he introduces, it would seem, into this island the right of sanctuary for criminals in any field. consecrated to himself. he restores the church of glastonbury over the tomb of his cousin, king arthur, and dies at 100 years of age, "the head of the whole british nation, and honour of his fatherland.” he is buried in one his own monasteries at st. david's, near the headland whence st. patrick had seen, in a vision, all ireland stretched out before him, waiting to be converted to christ; and the celtic the isle of saints. 251 people go on pilgrimage to his tomb, even from brittany and ireland: and, canonized in 1120, he becomes the patron saint of wales. from that same point, in what year is not said, an old monk of st. david's monastery, named modonnoc, set sail for ireland, after a long life of labour and virtue. a swarm of bees settled upon the bow of his boat, and would not be driven away. he took them, whether he would or not, with him into ireland, and introduced there, says the legend, the culture of bees and the use of honey. ireland was then the "isle of saints." three orders of them were counted by later historians: the bishops (who seem not to have had necessarily territorial dioceses), with st. patrick at their head, shining like the sun; the second, of priests, under st. columba, shining like the moon; and the third, of bishops, priests, and hermits, under colman and aidan, shining like the stars. their legends, full of irish poetry and tenderness, and not without touches here and there of genuine irish humour, lie buried now, to all save antiquaries, in the folios of the bollandists and colgan: but the memory of their virtue and beneficence, as well as of their miracles, shadowy and distorted by the lapse of centuries, is rooted in the heart and brain of the irish peasantry; and who shall say altogether for evil? for with the tradition of their miracles has been entwined the tradition of their virtues, as an enduring heirloom for the whole irish race, through the sad centuries which part the era of saints from the 252 croagh patrick. present time. we see the irish women kneeling beside some well, whose waters were hallowed, ages since, by the fancied miracle of some mythic saint, and hanging gaudy rags (just as do the half savage buddhists of the himalayas) upon the bushes round. we see them upon holy days crawling on bare and bleeding knees around st. patrick's cell, on the top of croagh patrick, the grandest mountain, perhaps, with the grandest outlook, in these british isles, where stands still, i believe, an ancient wooden image, said to have belonged to st. patrick himself; and where, too, hung till late years (it is now preserved in dublin) an ancient bell; such a strange little oblong bell as the irish saints carried with them to keep off dæmons; one of those magic bells which appear, so far as i am aware, in no country save ireland and scotland till we come to tartary and the buddhists: such a bell as came down from heaven to st. senan: such a bell as st. fursey sent flying through the air to greet st. cuandy at his devotions when he could not come himself: such a bell as another saint, wandering in the woods, rang till a stag came out of the covert, and carried it for him on his horns. on that peak, so legends tell, st. patrick stood once, in the spirit and power of eliasafter whom the mountain was long named; fasting, like elias, forty days and forty nights, and wrestling with the dæmons of the storm, and the snakes of the fen, and the peishta-more, the gigantic monster of the lakes, till he smote the evil things with the golden rod of jesus, and they rolled over the cliff in hideous rout, and perished in the atlantic far below. st. brendan. 253 we know that these tales are but the dreams of children but shall we sneer at the devotion of those poor irish? not if we remember (what is an undoubted fact) that the memory of these same saints has kept up in their minds an ideal of nobleness and purity, devotion and beneficence, which, down-trodden slaves as they have been, they would otherwise have inevitably lost; that it has helped to preserve them from mere brutality, and mere ferocity; and that the thought that these men were of their own race and their own kin has given them a pride in their own race, a sense of national unity and of national dignity, which has endured—and surely for their benefit, for reverence for ancestors and the self-respect which springs from it is a benefit to every human beingthrough all the miseries, deserved or undeserved, which have fallen upon the irish since pope adrian iv. (the true author of all the woes of ireland), in the year 1155, commissioned henry ii. to conquer ireland and destroy its primæval church, on consideration of receiving his share of the booty in the shape of peter's pence. among these irish saints, two names stand out as especially interesting: that of st. brendan, and that of st. columba-the former as the representative of the sailor monks of the early period, the other as the great missionary who, leaving his monastery at durrow, in ireland, for the famous island of hy, iona, or icolumbkill, off the western point of mull, became the apostle of scotland and the north of england. i shall first speak of st. brendan, and at 254 monk voyagers. some length. his name has become lately familiar to many, through the medium of two very beautiful poems, one by mr. matthew arnold, and the other by mr. sebastian evans; and it may interest those who have read their versions of the story to see the oldest form in which the story now exists. the celts, it must be remembered, are not, in general, a sea-going folk. they have always neglected the rich fisheries of their coasts; and in ireland every seaport owes its existence, not to the natives, but to norse colonists. even now, the irishman or western highlander, who emigrates to escape the saxons," sails in a ship built and manned by those very "saxons," to lands which the saxons have discovered and civilized. but in the seventh and eighth centuries, and perhaps earlier, many celts were voyagers and emigrants, not to discover new worlds, but to flee from the old one. there were deserts in the sea, as well as on land; in them they hoped to escape from men, and, yet more, from women. 66 "9 they went against their carnal will. they had no liking for the salt water. they were horribly frightened, and often wept bitterly, as they themselves confess. and they had reason for fear; for their vessels were, for the most part, only "curachs' (coracles) of wattled twigs, covered with tanned hides. they needed continual exhortation and comfort from the holy man who was their captain; and needed often miracles likewise for their preservation. tempests had to be changed into calm, and contrary winds baitanus. 255 into fair ones, by the prayers of a saint; and the spirit of prophecy was needed, to predict that a whale would be met between iona and tiree, who appeared accordingly, to the extreme terror of st. berach's crew, swimming with open jaws, and (intent on eating, not monks, but herrings) nearly upsetting them by the swell which he raised. and when st. baithenius met the same whale on the same day, it was necessary for him to rise, and bless, with outspread hands, the sea and the whale, in order tc make him sink again, after having risen to breathe. but they sailed forth, nevertheless, not knowing whither they went; true to their great principle, that the spirit must conquer the flesh and so showed themselves actually braver men than the norse pirates, who sailed afterwards over the same seas without fear, and without the need of miracles, and who found everywhere on desert islands, on sea-washed stacks and skerries, round orkney, shetland, and the faroës, even to iceland, the cells of these "papas" or popes; and named them after the old hermits, whose memory still lingers in the names of papa strona and papa westra, in the orkneys, and in that of papey, off the coast of iceland, where the first norse settlers found irish books, bells, and crosiers, the relics of old hermits who had long since fasted and prayed their last, and migrated to the lord. adanman, in his life of st. columba, tells of more than one such voyage. he tells how one baitanus, with the saint's blessing, sailed forth to find "a desert" in the sea; and how when he was gone, the saint pro256 cormac. phesied that he should be buried, not in a desert isle, but where a woman should drive sheep over his grave, the which came true in the oak-wood of calgaich, now londonderry, whither he came back again. he tells, again, of one cormac, "a knight of christ," who three times sailed forth in a coracle to find some desert isle, and three times failed of his purpose; and how, in his last voyage, he was driven northward by the wind fourteen days' sail, till he came where the summer sea was full of foul little stinging creatures, of the size of frogs, which beat against the sides of the frail boat, till all expected them to be stove in. they clung, moreover, to the oar blades ;* and cormac was in some danger of never seeing land again, had not st. columba, at home in iona far away, seen him in a vision, him and his fellows, praying and "watering their cheeks with floods of tears," in the midst of "perturbations monstrous, horrific, never seen before, and almost unspeakable." calling together his monks, he bade them pray for a north wind, which came accordingly, and blew cormac safe back to iona, to tempt the waves no more. "let the reader therefore perpend how great and what manner of man this same blessed personage was, who, having so great prophetic knowledge, could command, by invoking the name of christ, the winds and ocean." even as late as the year 891, says the anglo-saxon chronicle: "three scots came to king alfred, in dr. reeves supposes these to have been "crustacea:" but their stinging and clinging prove them surely to have been jelly-fishmedusæ. st. brendan. 257 a boat without any oars, from ireland, whence they had stolen away, because for the love of god they desired to be on pilgrimage, they recked not where. the boat in which they came was made of two hides and a half; and they took with them provisions for seven days; and about the seventh day they came on shore in cornwall, and soon after went to king alfred. thus they were named, dubslane, and macbeth, and maelinmun." out of such wild feats as these; out of dim reports of fairy islands in the west; of the canaries and azores; of that vinland, with its wild corn and wild grapes, which leif, the son of eirek rauda, had found beyond the ocean a thousand years and one after the birth of christ; of icebergs and floes sailing in the far northern sea, upon the edge of the six-months' night; out of edda stories of the midgard snake, which is coiled round the world; out of reports, it may be, of indian fakirs and buddhist shamans; out of scraps of greek and arab myth, from the odyssey or the arabian nights, brought home by "jorsala farar," vikings who had been for pilgrimage and plunder up the straits of gibraltar into the far east;-out of all these materials were made up, as years rolled on, the famous legend of st. brendan and his seven years' voyage in search of the "land promised to the saints." this tale was so popular in the middle age, that it appears, in different shapes, in almost every early european language.* it was not only the delight of * i have followed the latin prose version of it, which m. achille jubinal attributes to the eleventh century. here and there i have s. l. ii. s 258 st. brendan. monks, but it stirred up to wild voyages many a secular man in search of st. brendan's isle, “which is not found when it is sought," but was said to be visible at times, from palma in the canaries. the myth must have been well known to columbus, and may have helped to send him forth in search of "cathay." thither (so the spanish peasants believed) don roderic had retired from the moorish invaders. there (so the portuguese fancied) king sebastian was hidden from men, after his reported death in the battle of alcazar. the west indies, when they were first seen, were surely st. brendan's isle : and the mississippi may have been, in the eyes of such old adventurers as don ferdinando da soto, when he sought for the fountain of perpetual youth, the very river which st. brendan found parting in two the land of promise. from the year 1526 (says m. jubinal), till as late as 1721, armaments went forth from time to time into the atlantic, and went forth in vain. for the whole tale, from whatever dim reports of fact they may have sprung, is truly (as m. jubinal calls it) a monkish odyssey, and nothing more. it is taken the liberty of using the french prose version, which he attributes to the latter part of the twelfth. i have often condensed the story, where it was prolix or repeated itself: but i have tried to follow faithfully both matter and style, and to give, word for word, as nearly as i could, any notable passages. those who wish to know more of st. brendan should consult the learned brochure of m. jubinal, “la légende latine de st. brandaines," and the two english versions of the legend, edited by mr. thomas wright for the percy society, vol. xiv. one is in verse, and of the earlier part of the fourteenth century, and spirited enough: the other, a prose version, was printed by wynkyn de worde, in his edition of the "golden legend;" 1527. st. brendan. 259 a dream of the hermit's cell. no woman, no city, nor nation, are ever seen during the seven years' voyage. ideal monasteries and ideal hermits people the "deserts of the ocean." all beings therein (save dæmons and cyclops) are christians, even to the very birds, and keep the festivals of the church as eternal laws of nature. the voyage succeeds, not by seamanship, or geographic knowledge, nor even by chance: but by the miraculous prescience of the saint, or of those whom he meets; and the wanderings of ulysses, or of sinbad, are rational and human in comparison with those of st. brendan. yet there are in them, as was to be expected, elements in which the greek or the arab legends are altogether deficient; perfect innocence, patience, and justice; utter faith in a god who prospers the innocent and punishes the guilty; ennobling obedience to the saint, who stands out a truly heroic figure above his trembling crew; and even more valuable still, the belief in, the craving for, an ideal, even though that ideal be that of a mere earthly paradise; the "divine discontent," as it has been well called, which is the root of all true progress; which leaves (thank god) no man at peace save him who has said, “let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die." and therefore i have written at some length the story of st. brendan; because, though it be but a monk-ideal, it is an ideal still: and therefore profitable for all who are not content with this world, and its paltry ways. saint brendan, we read, the son of finnloga, and s 2 260 st. brendan. great grandson of alta, son of ogaman, of the race. of ciar son of fergus, was born at tralee, and founded, in 559, the abbey of clonfert,* and was a man famous for his great abstinence and virtues, and the father of nearly 3,000 monks.† and while he was "in his warfare," there came to him one evening a holy hermit named "barintus," of the royal race of neill; and when he was questioned, he did nought but cast himself on the ground, and weep and pray. and when st. brendan asked him to make better cheer for him and his monks, he told him a strange tale. how a nephew of his had fled away to be a solitary, and found a delicious island, and established a monastery therein; and how he himself had gone to see his nephew, and sailed with him to the eastward to an island, which was called "the land of promise of the saints," wide and grassy, and bearing all manner of fruits; wherein was no night, for the lord jesus christ was the light thereof; and how they abode there for a long while without eating and drinking; and when they returned to his nephew's monastery, the brethren knew well where they had been, for the fragrance of paradise lingered on their garments for nearly forty days. so barintus told his story, and went back to his cell. but st. brendan called together his most loving fellow-warriors, as he called them, and told them how he had set his heart on seeking that promised *in the barony of longford, county galway. + 3,000, like 300, seems to be, i am informed, only an irish expression for any large number. st. brendan. 261 land. and he went up to the top of the hill in kerry, which is still called mount brendan, with fourteen chosen monks; and there, at the utmost corner of the world, he built him a coracle of wattle, and covered it with hides tanned in oak-bark and softened with butter, and set up in it a mast and a sail, and took forty days' provision, and commanded his monks to enter the boat, in the name of the holy trinity. and as he stood alone, praying on the shore, three more monks from his monastery came up, and fell at his feet, and begged to go too, or they would die in that place of hunger and thirst; for they were determined to wander with him all the days of their life. so he gave them leave. but two of them, he prophesied, would come to harm and to judgment. so they sailed away toward the summer solstice, with a fair wind, and had no need to row. but after twelve days the wind fell to a calm, and they had only light airs at night, till forty days were past, and all their victual spent. then they saw toward the north a lofty island, walled round with cliffs, and went about it three days ere they could find a harbour. and when they landed, a dog came fawning on them, and they followed it up to a great hall with beds and seats, and water to wash their feet. but st. brendan said, "beware, lest satan bring you into temptation. for i see him busy with one of those three who followed us." now the hall was hung all round with vessels of divers metals, and bits and horns overlaid with silver. then st. brendan told his servant to bring the meal which god had prepared; and at once 262 st. brendan. a table was laid with napkins, and loaves wondrous white, and fishes. then they blessed god, and ate, and took likewise drink as much as they would, and lay down to sleep. then st. brendan saw the devil's work; namely, a little black boy holding a silver bit, and calling the brother aforementioned. so they rested three days and three nights. but when they went to the ship, st. brendan charged them with theft, and told what was stolen, and who had stolen it. then the brother cast out of his bosom a silver bit, and prayed for mercy. and when he was forgiven and raised up from the ground, behold, a little black boy flew out of his bosom, howling aloud, and crying, "why, o man of god, dost thou drive me from my habitation, where i have dwelt for seven years?" then the brother received the holy eucharist, and died straightway, and was buried in that isle, and the brethren saw the angels carry his soul aloft, for st. brendan had told him that so it should be: but that the brother who came with him should have his sepulchre in hell. and as they went on board, a youth met them with a basket of loaves and a bottle of water, and told them that it would not fail till pentecost. then they sailed again many days, till they came to an isle full of great streams and fountains swarming with fish; and sheep there all white, as big as oxen, so many that they hid the face of the earth. and they stayed there till easter eve, and took one of the sheep (which followed them as if it had been tame) to eat for the paschal feast. then came st. brendan. 263 a man with loaves baked in the ashes, and other victual, and fell down before st. brendan and cried, "how have i merited this, o pearl of god, that thou shouldest be fed at this holy tide from the labours of my hand?" and they learned from that man that the sheep grew there so big because they were never milked, nor pinched with winter, but they fed in those pastures all the year round. moreover, he told them that they must keep easter in an isle hard by, opposite a shore to the west, which some called the paradise of birds. so to the nearest island they sailed. it had no harbour, nor sandy shore, and there was no turf on it, and very little wood. now the saint knew what manner of isle it was, but he would not tell the brethren, lest they should be terrified. so he bade them make the boat fast stem and stern, and when morning came he bade those who were priests to celebrate each a mass, and then to take the lamb's fleece on shore and cook it in the caldron with salt, while st. brendan remained in the boat. but when the fire blazed up, and the pot began to boil, that island began to move like water. then the brethren ran to the boat imploring st. brendan's aid ; and he helped them each in by the hand, and cast off. after which the island sank in the ocean. and when they could see their fire burning more than two miles off, st. brendan told them how that god had revealed to him that night the mystery; that this was no isle, but the biggest of all fishes which swam in the ocean, and always it tries to make its head and its tail meet, 264 st. brendan. but cannot, by reason of its length; and its name is jasconius. then, across a narrow strait, they saw another isle, very grassy and wooded, and full of flowers. and they found a little stream, and towed the boat up it (for the stream was of the same width as the boat), with st. brendan sitting on board, till they came to the fountain thereof. then said the holy father, "see, brethren, the lord has given us a place wherein to celebrate his holy resurrection. and if we had nought else, this fountain, i think, would serve for food as well as drink.” for the fountain was too admirable. over it was a huge tree of wonderful breadth, but no great height, covered with snow-white birds, so that its leaves and boughs could scarce be seen. and when the man of god saw that, he was so desirous to know the cause of that assemblage of birds, that he besought god upon his knees, with tears, saying, "god, who knowest the unknown, and revealest the hidden, thou knowest the anxiety of my heart.... deign of thy great mercy to reveal to me thy secret. .. but not for the merit of my own dignity, but regarding thy clemency, do i presume to ask." then one of those birds flew from off the tree, and his wings sounded like bells over the boat. and he sat on the prow, and spread his wings joyfully, and looked quietly on st. brendan. and when the man of god questioned that bird, it told how they were of the spirits which fell in the great ruin of the old st. brendan. 265 enemy; not by sin or by consent, but predestinéd by the piety of god to fall with those with whom they were created. but they suffered no punishment; only they could not, in part, behold the presence of god. they wandered about this world, like other spirits of the air, and firmament, and earth. but on holy days they took those shapes of birds, and praised their creator in that place. then the bird told him, how he and his monks had wandered one year already, and should wander for six more; and every year should celebrate their easter in that place, and after find the land of promise; and so flew back to its tree. and when the eventide was come, the birds began all with one voice to sing, and clap their wings, crying, "thou, o god, art praised in zion, and unto thee shall the vow be performed in jerusalem." and always they repeated that verse for an hour, and their melody and the clapping of their wings was like music which drew tears by its sweetness. and when the man of god wakened his monks at the third watch of the night with the verse, "thou shalt open my lips, o lord," all the birds answered, "praise the lord, all his angels; praise him, all his virtues." and when the dawn shone, they sang again, "the splendour of the lord god is over us ;" and at the third hour, "sing psalms to our god, sing; sing to our king, sing with wisdom." and at the sixth, "the lord hath lifted up the light of his countenance upon us, and had mercy on us." and at the ninth, "behold how good and pleasant it is for brethren to 266 st. brendan. dwell in unity." so day and night those birds gave praise to god. st. brendan, therefore, seeing these things, gave thanks to god for all his marvels, and the brethren were refreshed with that spiritual food till the octave of easter. after which, st. brendan advised to take of the water of the fountain; for till then they had only used it to wash their feet and hands. but there came to him the same man who had been with them three days before easter, and with his boat full of meat and drink, and said, "my brothers, here you have enough to last till pentecost: but do not drink of that fountain. for its nature is, that whosoever drinks will sleep for four-and-twenty hours." so they stayed till pentecost, and rejoiced in the song of the birds. and after mass at pentecost, the man brought them food again, and bade them take of the water of the fountain and depart. then the birds came again, and sat upon the prow, and told them how they must, every year, celebrate easter in the isle of birds, and easter eve upon the back of the fish jasconius; and how, after eight months, they should come to the isle called ailbey, and keep their christmas there. after which they were on the ocean for eight months, out of sight of land, and only eating after every two or three days, till they came to an island, along which they sailed for forty days, and found no harbour. then they wept and prayed, for they were almost worn out with weariness; and after they had fasted and prayed for three days, they saw a narrow harbour, and two fountains, one foul, one clear. but st. brendan. 267 when the brethren hurried to draw water, st. brendan (as he had done once before) forbade them, saying that they must take nought without leave from the elders who were in that isle. and of the wonders which they saw in that isle it were too long to tell how there met them an exceeding old man, with snow-white hair, who fell at st. brendan's feet three times, and led him in silence up to a monastery of four-and-twenty silent monks, who washed their feet, and fed them with bread and water, and roots of wonderful sweetness; and then at last, opening his mouth, told them how that bread was sent them perpetually, they knew not from whence; and how they had been there eighty years, since the times of st. patrick, and how their father ailbey and christ had nourished them; and how they grew no older, nor ever fell sick, nor were overcome by cold or heat; and how brother never spoke to brother, but all things were done by signs; and how he led them to a square chapel, with three candles before the mid-altar, and two before each of the side altars; and how they, and the chalices and patens, and all the other vessels, were of crystal; and how the candles were lighted always by a fiery arrow, which came in through the window, and returned; and how st. brendan kept his christmas there, and then sailed away till lent, and came to a fruitful island where he found fish; and how when certain brethren drank too much of the charmed water they slept, some three days, and some one; and how they sailed north, and then east, till they came back to 268 st. brendan. the isle of sheep at easter, and found on the shore their caldron, which they had lost on jasconius's back; and how, sailing away, they were chased by a mighty fish which spouted foam, but was slain by another fish which spouted fire; and how they took enough of its flesh to last them three months; and how they came to an island flat as the sea, without trees, or aught that waved in the wind; and how on that island were three troops of monks (as the holy man had foretold), standing a stone's throw from each other: the first of boys, robed in snowwhite; the second of young men, dressed in hyacinthine; the third of old men, in purple dalmatics, singing alternately their psalms, all day and night: and how when they stopped singing, a cloud of wondrous brightness overshadowed the isle; and how two of the young men, ere they sailed away, brought baskets of grapes, and asked that one of the monks (as had been prophesied) should remain with them, in the isle of strong men; and how st. brendan let him go, saying, "in a good hour did thy mother conceive thee, because thou hast merited to dwell with such a congregation ;" and how those grapes were so big, that a pound of juice ran out of each of them, and an ounce thereof fed each brother for a whole day, and was as sweet as honey; and how a magnificent bird dropped into the ship the bough of an unknown tree, with a bunch of grapes thereon; and how they came to a land where the trees were all bowed down with vines, and their odour as the odour of a house full of pomegranates; and how they fed forty days on those st. brendan. 269 grapes, and strange herbs and roots; and how they saw flying against them the bird which is called. gryphon; and how that bird who had brought the bough tore out the gryphon's eyes, and slew him; and how they looked down into the clear sea, and saw all the fishes sailing round and round, head to tail, innumerable as flocks in the pastures, and were terrified, and iwould have had the man of god celebrate mass in silence, lest the fish should hear, and attack them; and how the man of god laughed at their folly; and how they came to a column of clear crystal in the sea, with a canopy round it of the colour of silver, harder than marble, and sailed in through an opening, and found it all light within ;* and how they found in that hall a chalice of the same stuff as the canopy, and a paten of that of the column, and took them, that they might make many believe; and how they sailed out again, and past a treeless island, covered with slag and forges; and how a great hairy man, fiery and smutty, came down and shouted after them; and how when they made the sign of the cross and sailed away, he and his fellows brought down huge lumps of burning slag in tongs, and hurled them after the ship; and how they went back, and blew their forges up, till the whole island flared, and the sea boiled, and the howling and stench followed them, even when they were out of sight of that evil isle; and how st. brendan bade them strengthen themselves in faith and spiritual arms, for they were now on the confines of hell, therefore they must watch, and play the man. all this * some dim legend concerning icebergs, and caves therein. 270 st. brendan. must needs be hastened over, that we may come to the famous legend of judas iscariot. they saw a great and high mountain toward the north, with smoke about its peak. and the wind blew them close under the cliffs, which were of immense height, so that they could hardly see their top, upright as walls, and black as coal.* then he who remained of the three brethren who had followed st. brendan sprang out of the ship, and waded to the cliff foot, groaning, and crying, "woe to me, father, for i am carried away from you; and cannot turn back." then the brethren backed the ship, and cried to the lord for mercy. but the blessed father brendan saw how that wretch was carried off by a multitude of devils, and all on fire among them. then a fair wind blew them away southward; and when they looked back they saw the peak of the isle uncovered, and flame spouting from it up to heaven, and sinking back again, till the whole mountain seemed one burning pile. after that terrible vision they sailed seven days to the south, till father brendan saw a dense cloud; when they neared it, a form as of a man sitting, and before him a veil, as big as a sack, hanging between two iron tongs, and rocking on the waves like a boat in a whirlwind. which when the brethren saw some thought was a bird, and some a boat; but the man of god bade them give over arguing, and row thither. and when they got near, the waves were still, as if they had been frozen; and they found a * probably from reports of the volcanic coast of iceland. st. brendan. 271 man sitting on a rough and shapeless rock, and the waves beating over his head; and when they fell back, the bare rock appeared on which that wretch was sitting. and the cloth which hung before him the wind moved, and beat him with it on the eyes and brow. but when the blessed man asked him who he was, and how he had earned that doom, he said, "i am that most wretched judas, who made the worst of all bargains. but i hold not this place for any merit of my own, but for the ineffable mercy of christ. i expect no place of repentance: but for the indulgence and mercy of the redeemer of the world, and for the honour of his holy resurrection, i have this refreshment; for it is the lord's-day now, and as i sit here i seem to myself in a paradise of delight, by reason of the pains which will be mine. this evening; for when i am in my pains i burn day and night like lead melted in a pot. but in the midst of that mountain which you saw, is leviathan with his satellites, and i was there when he swallowed your brother; and therefore the king of hell rejoiced, and sent forth huge flames, as he doth always when he devours the souls of the impious." then he told them how he had his refreshings there every lord'sday from even to even, and from christmas to epiphany, and from easter to pentecost, and from the purification of the blessed virgin to her assumption but the rest of his time he was tormented with herod and pilate, annas and caiaphas; and so adjured them to intercede for him with the lord that he might be there at least till sunrise in the + 272 st. brendan. morn. to whom the man of god said, "the will of the lord be done. thou shalt not be carried off by the dæmons till to-morrow." then he asked him of that clothing, and he told how he had given it to a leper when he was the lord's chamberlain; “but because it was no more mine than it was the lord's and the other brethren's, therefore it is of no comfort to me, but rather a hurt. and these forks i gave to the priests to hang their caldrons on. and this stone on which i always sit i took off the road, and threw it into a ditch for a stepping-stone, before i was a disciple of the lord."* "but when the evening hour had covered the face of thetis," behold a multitude of dæmons shouting in a ring, and bidding the man of god depart, for else they could not approach; and they dared not behold * this part of the legend has been changed and humanized as time ran on. in the latin and french versions it has little or no point or moral. in the english, judas accounts for the presence of the cloth thus:"here i may see what it is to give other men's (goods) with harm. as will many rich men with unright all day take, of poor men here and there, and almisse (alms) sithhe (afterwards) make." for the tongs and the stone he accounts by saying that, as he used them for “good ends, each thing should surely find him which he did for god's love." but in the prose version of wynkyn de worde, the tongs have been changed into "ox-tongues," "which i gave some tyme to two preestes to praye for me. i bought them with myne owne money, and therefore they ease me, bycause the fysshes of the sea gnaw on them, and spare me." this latter story of the ox-tongues has been followed by mr. sebastian evans, in his poem on st. brendan. both he and mr. matthew arnold have rendered the moral of the english version very beautifully. st. brendan. 273 their prince's face unless they brought back their prey. but the man of god bade them depart. and in the morning an infinite multitude of devils covered the face of the abyss, and cursed the man of god for coming thither; for their prince had scourged them cruelly that night for not bringing back the captive. but the man of god returned their curses on their own heads, saying that cursed was he whom they blest, and blessed he whom they cursed;" and when they threatened judas with double torments because he had not come back, the man of god rebuked them. 66 " "art thou, then, lord of all," they asked, “that we should obey thee?" i am the servant," said he, "of the lord of all; and whatsoever i command in his name is done; and i have no ministry save what he concedes to me." so they blasphemed him till he left judas, and then returned, and carried off that wretched soul with great rushing and howling. after which they saw a little isle; and the holy man told them that now seven years were nigh past; and that in that isle they should soon see a hermit, named paul the spiritual, who had lived for sixty years without any corporeal food, but for thirty years before that he had received food from a certain beast. the isle was very small, about a furlong round; a bare rock, so steep that they could find no landingplace. but at last they found a creek, into which they thrust the boat's bow, and then discovered a very difficult ascent. up that the man of god climbed, s.l. ii. t 274 st. brendan. bidding them wait for him, for they must not enter the isle without the hermit's leave; and when he came to the top he saw two caves, with their mouths opposite each other, and a very small round well before the cave mouth, whose waters, as fast as they ran out, were sucked in again by the rock.* as he went to one entrance, the old man came out of the other, saying, "behold how good and pleasant it is, brethren, to dwell together in unity," and bade him. call up the brethren from the boat; and when they came, he kissed them, and called them each by his name. whereat they marvelled, not only at his spirit of prophecy, but also at his attire; for he was all covered with his locks and beard, and with the other hair of his body, down to his feet. his hair was white as snow for age, and none other covering had he. when st. brendan saw that, he sighed again and again, and said within himself, "woe is me, sinner that i am, who wear a monk's habit, and have many monks under me, when i see a man of angelic dignity sitting in a cell, still in the flesh, and unhurt by the vices of the flesh." to whom the man of god answered, "venerable father, what great and many wonders god hath showed thee, which he hath manifested to none of the fathers, and thou sayest in thy heart that thou art not worthy to wear a monk's habit. i tell thee, father, that thou art greater than a monk; for a monk is fed and clothed by the work of his own hands: but god has fed and clothed thee and thy family for seven years with his secret things, copied, surely, from the life of paul the first hermit. * st. brendan. 275 while wretched i sit here on this rock like a bird, naked save the hair of my body." then st. brendan asked him how and whence he came thither; and he told how he was nourished in st. patrick's monastery for fifty years, and took care of the cemetery; and how when the dean had bidden him dig a grave, an old man, whom he knew not, appeared to him, and forbade him, for that grave was another man's. and how he revealed to him that he was st. patrick, his own abbot, who had died the day before, and bade him bury that brother elsewhere, and go down to the sea and find a boat, which would take him to the place where he should wait for the day of his death; and how he landed on that rock, and thrust the boat off with his foot, and it went swiftly back to its own land; and how, on the very first day, a beast came to him, walking on its hind paws, and between its fore paws a fish, and grass to make a fire, and laid them at his feet; and so every third day for twenty years; and every lord's day a little water came out of the rock, so that he could drink and wash his hands; and how after thirty years he had found these caves and that fountain, and had fed for the last sixty years on nought but the water thereof. for all the years of his life were 150, and henceforth he awaited the day of his judgment in that his flesh. then they took of that water, and received his blessing, and kissed each other in the peace of christ, and sailed southward: but their food was the water from the isle of the man of god. then (as paul the hermit had foretold) they came back t 2 276 st. brendan. on easter eve to the isle of sheep, and to him who used to give them victuals; and then went on to the fish jasconius, and sang praises on his back all night, and mass at morn. after which the fish carried them on his back to the paradise of birds, and there they stayed till pentecost. then the man who always tended them, bade them fill their skins from the fountain, and he would lead them to the land promised to the saints. and all the birds wished them a prosperous voyage in god's name; and they sailed away, with forty days' provision, the man being their guide, till after forty days they came at evening to a great darkness which lay round the promised land. but after they had sailed through it for an hour, a great light shone round them, and the boat stopped at a shore. and when they landed they saw a spacious land, full of trees bearing fruit as in autumn time. and they walked about that land for forty days, eating of the fruit and drinking of the fountains, and found no end thereof. and there was no night there, but the light shone like the light of the sun. at last they came to a great river, which they could not cross, so that they could not find out the extent of that land. and as they were pondering over this, a youth, with shining face and fair to look upon, met them, and kissed them with great joy, calling them each by his name, and said, “brethren, peace be with you, and with all that follow the peace of christ.” and after that, "blessed are they who dwell in thy house, o lord; they shall be for ever praising thee," st. brendan. *277 then he told st. brendan that that was the land which he had been seeking for seven years, and that he must now return to his own country, taking of the fruits of that land, and of its precious gems, as much as his ship could carry; for the days of his departure were at hand, when he should sleep in peace with his holy brethren. but after many days that land should be revealed to his successors, and should be a refuge for christians in persecution. as for the river that they saw, it parted that island; and the light shone there for ever, because christ was the light thereof. then st. brendan asked if that land would ever be revealed to men: and the youth answered, that when the most high creator should have put all nations under his feet, then that land should be manifested to all his elect. after which st. brendan, when the youth had blessed him, took of the fruits and of the gems, and sailed back through the darkness, and returned to his monastery; whom when the brethren saw, they glorified god for the miracles which he had heard. and seen. after which he ended his life in peace. amen. here ends (says the french version) concerning st. brendan, and the marvels which he found in the sea of ireland. st. malo. intermingled, fantastically and inconsistently, with the story of st. brendan, is that of st. maclovius or machutus, who has given his name to the seaport of st. malo, in brittany. his life, written by sigebert, a monk of gembloux, about the year 1100, tells us how he was a breton, who sailed with st. brendan in search of the fairest of all islands, in which the citizens of heaven were said to dwell. with st. brendan st. malo celebrated easter on the whale's back, and with st. brendan he returned. but another old hagiographer, johannes à bosco, tells a different story, making st. malo an irishman brought up by st. brendan, and preserved by his prayers from a wave of the sea. he gives, moreover, to the isle of paradise the name of inga, and says that st. brendan and his companions never reached it after all, but came home after sailing round the orkneys and other northern isles. the fact is, that the same saints reappear so often on both sides of the british and the irish channels, that we must take the existence of many of them as mere legend, which has been carried from land to land by st. malo. 279 monks in their migrations, and taken root upon each fresh soil which it has reached. one incident in st. malo's voyage is so fantastic, and so grand likewise, that it must not be omitted. the monks come to an island whereon they find the barrow of some giant of old time. st. malo, seized with pity for the lost soul of the heathen, opens the mound and raises the dead to life. then follows a strange conversation between the giant and the saint. he was slain, he says, by his kinsmen, and ever since has been tormented in the other world. in that nether pit they know (he says) of the holy trinity: but that knowledge is rather harm than gain to them, because they did not choose to know it when alive on earth. therefore he begs to be baptized, and so delivered from his pain. he is therefore instructed, catechised, and in due time baptized, and admitted to the holy communion. for fifteen days more he remains alive: and then, dying once more, is again placed in his sepulchre, and left in peace. from fragmentary recollections of such tales as these (it may be observed in passing) may have sprung the strange fancy of the modern cornishmen, which identifies these very celtic saints of their own race with the giants who, according to geoffrey of monmouth, inhabited the land before brutus and his trojans founded the arthuric dynasty. st. just, for instance, who is one of the guardian saints of the land's end, and st. kevern, one of the guardian saints of the lizard, are both giants; and cornishmen a few years since would tell how st. just came from 280 st. malo. his hermitage by cape cornwall to visit st. kevern. in his cave on the east side of goonhilly downs; and how they took the holy communion together; and how st. just, tempted by the beauty of st. kevern's paten and chalice, arose in the night and fled away with the holy vessels, wading first the looe pool, and then mount's bay itself; and how st. kevern pursued him, and hurled after him three great boulders of porphyry, two of which lie on the slates and granites to this day; till st. just, terrified at the might of his saintly brother, tossed the stolen vessels ashore opposite st. michael's mount, and, fleeing back to his own hermitage, never appeared again in the neighbourhood of st. kevern. but to return. st. malo, coming home with st. brendan, craves for peace, and solitude, and the hermit's cell, and goes down to the sea-shore, to find a vessel which may carry him out once more into the infinite unknown. then there comes by a boat with no one in it but a little boy, who takes him on board, and carries him to the isle of the hermit aaron, near the town of aletha, which men call st. malo now; and then the little boy vanishes away, and st. malo knows that he was christ himself. there he lives with aaron, till the bretons of the neighbourhood make him their bishop. he converts the idolaters around, and performs the usual miracles of hermit saints. he changes water into wine, and restores to life not only a dead man, but a dead sow likewise, over whose motherless litter a wretched slave, who has by accident killed the sow with a stone, is st. malo. 281 weeping and wringing his hands in dread of his master's fury. while st. malo is pruning vines, he lays his cape upon the ground, and a redbreast comes and lays an egg on it. he leaves it there, for the bird's sake, till the young are hatched, knowing, says his biographer, that without god the father not a sparrow falls to the ground. hailoch, the prince of brittany, destroys his church, and is struck blind. restored to sight by the saint, he bestows large lands on the church. "the impious generation," who, with their children after them, have lost their property by hailoch's gift, rise against st. malo. they steal his horses, and in mockery leave him only a mare. they beat his baker, tie his feet under the horse's body, and leave him on the sand to be drowned by the rising tide. the sea by a miracle stops a mile off, and the baker is saved. st. malo, weary of the wicked bretons, flees to saintonge in aquitaine, where he performs yet more miracles. meanwhile, a dire famine falls on the bretons, and a thousand horrible diseases. penitent, they send for st. malo, who delivers them and their flocks. but, at the command of an angel, he returns to saintonge and dies there, and saintonge has his relics, and the innumerable miracles which they work, even to the days of sigebert, of gembloux. st. columba the famous st columba cannot perhaps be numbered among the hermits: but as the spiritual father of many hermits, as well as many monks, and as one whose influence upon the christianity of these islands is notorious and extensive, he must needs have some notice in these pages. those who wish to study his life and works at length will of course read dr. reeves's invaluable edition of adamnan. the more general reader will find all that he need know in mr. hill burton's excellent "history of scotland," chapters vii. and viii. ; and also in mr. maclear's "history of christian missions during the middle ages"-a book which should be in every sunday library. st. columba, like st. david and st. cadoc of wales, and like many great irish saints, is a prince and a statesman as well as a monk. he is mixed up in quarrels between rival tribes. he is concerned, according to antiquaries, in three great battles, one of which sprang, according to some, from columba's own misdeeds. he copies by stealth the psalter of st. finnian. st. finnian demands the copy, saying it was his as much as the original. the matter is st. columba. 283 referred to king dermod, who pronounces, in high court at tara, the famous decision which has become a proverb in ireland, that "to every cow belongs her own calf.”* st. columba, who does not seem at this time to have possessed the dove-like temper which his name, according to his disciples, indicates, threatens to avenge upon the king his unjust decision. the son of the king's steward and the son of the king of connaught, a hostage at dermod's court, are playing hurley on the green before dermod's palace. the young prince strikes the other boy, kills him, and flies for protection to columba. he is nevertheless dragged away, and slain upon the spot. columba leaves the palace in a rage, goes to his native mountains of donegal, and returns at the head of an army of northern and western irish to fight the great battle of cooldrevny in sligo. but after a while public opinion turns against him; and at the synod of teltown, in meath, it is proclaimed that columba, the man of blood, shall quit ireland, and win for christ out of heathendom as many souls as have perished in that great fight. then columba, with twelve comrades, sails in a coracle for the coast of argyleshire; and on the eve of pentecost, a.d. 563, lands upon that island which, it may be, will be famous to all times as iona, hy, or icolumkill,hy of columb of the cells. -* the famous cathach, now in the museum of the royal irish academy, was long popularly believed to be the very psalter in question. as a relic of st. columba it was carried to battle by the o'donnels, even as late as 1497, to insure victory for the clan. 284 st. columba thus had columba, if the tale be true, undertaken a noble penance; and he performed it like a noble man. if, according to the fashion of those times, he bewailed his sins with tears, he was no morbid or selfish recluse, but a man of practical power, and of wide humanity. like one of homer's old heroes, st. columba could turn his hand to every kind of work. he could turn the hand-mill, work on the farm, heal the sick, and command as a practised sailor the little fleet of coracles which lay hauled up on the strand of iona, ready to carry him and his monks on their missionary voyages to the mainland or the isles. tall, powerful, handsome, with a face which, as adamnan said, made all who saw him glad, and a voice so stentorian that it could be heard at times a full mile off, and coming too of royal race, it is no wonder if he was regarded as a sort of demigod, not only by his own monks, but by the pictish chiefs to whom he preached the cross. we hear of him at craig phadrick, near inverness; at skye, at tiree, and other islands; we hear of him receiving visits from his old monks of derry and durrow; returning to ireland to decide between rival chiefs; and at last dying at the age of seventy-seven, kneeling before the altar in his little chapel of iona—a death as beautiful as had been the last thirty-four years of his life; and leaving behind him disciples destined to spread the light of christianity over the whole of scotland and the northern parts of england. st. columba, at one period or other of his life, is said to have visited a missionary hermit, whose name st. serf. 285 still lingers in scotland as st. kentigern, or more commonly st. mungo, the patron saint of glasgow. the two men, it is said (but the story belongs to the twelfth century, and can hardly be depended on), exchanged their crooked staves or crosiers in token of christian brotherhood, and that which st. columba is said to have given to st. kentigern was preserved in ripon cathedral to the beginning of the fifteenth century. but who st. kentigern was, or what he really did, is hard to say; for all his legends, like most of these early ones, are as tangled as a dream. he dies in the year 601 and yet he is the disciple of the famous st. servanus or st. serf, who lived in the times of st. palladius and st. patrick, 180 years before. this st. serf is a hermit of the true old type; and even if his story be, as dr. reeves thinks, a fabrication throughout, it is at least a very early one, and true to the ideal which had originated with st. antony. he is brought up in a monastery at culross: he is tempted by the devil in a cave in the parish of dysart (the desert), in fifeshire, which still retains that name. the dæmon, fleeing from him, enters an unfortunate man, who is forthwith plagued with a wolfish appetite. st. serf cures him by putting his thumb into his mouth. a man is accused of stealing and eating a lamb, and denies the theft. st. serf, however, makes the lamb bleat in the robber's stomach, and so substantiates the charge beyond all doubt. he works other wonders; among them the slaying of a great dragon in the place called "dunyne;" sails for the orkneys, and converts the people there; and vanishes 286 st. kentigern. thenceforth into the dream-land from which he sprung. two great disciples he has, st. ternan and st. kentigern; mystery and miracle hang round the boyhood of the latter. his father is unknown. his mother is condemned to be cast from the rock of "dunpelder," but is saved and absolved by a miracle. before the eyes of the astonished picts, she floats gently down through the air, and arrives at the cliff foot unhurt. st. kentigern is thenceforth believed to be virginborn, and is reverenced as a miraculous being from his infancy. he goes to school to the mythic st. serf, who calls him mungo, or the beloved; which name he bears in glasgow until this day. his fellowscholars envy his virtue and learning, and try to ruin him with their master. st. serf has a pet robin, which is wont to sit and sing upon his shoulder. the boys pull off its head, and lay the blame upon kentigern. the saint comes in wrathful, tawse in hand, and kentigern is for the moment in serious danger; but, equal to the occasion then as afterwards, he puts the robin's head on again, sets it singing, and amply vindicates his innocence. to this day the robin figures in the arms of the good city of glasgow, with the tree which st. kentigern, when his enemies had put out his fire, brought in from the frozen forest and lighted with his breath, and the salmon in whose mouth a ring which had been cast into the clyde had been found again by st. kentigern's prophetic spirit. the envy of his fellow-scholars, however, is too much for st. kentigern's peace of mind. he wanders st. kentigern. 287 away to the spot where glasgow city now stands, lives in a rock hollowed out into a tomb, is ordained by an irish bishop (according to a celtic custom, of which antiquaries have written learnedly, and dubiously likewise), and has ecclesiastical authority over all the picts from the frith of forth to the roman wall. but all these stories, as i said before, are tangled as a dream; for the twelfth century monks, in their loyal devotion to the see of rome, are apt to introduce again and again ecclesiastical customs which belonged to their own time, and try to represent these primæval saints as regular and well-disciplined servants of the pope. 999 it may be remarked that st. serf is said to have come into a "dysart" or desert. so did many monks of the school of st. columba and his disciples, who wished for a severer and a more meditative life than could be found in the busy society of a convent. "there was a 'disert,' says dr. reeves, "for such men to retire to, besides the monastery of derry, and another at iona itself, situate near the shore in the low ground, north of the cathedral, as may be inferred from portandisiart, the name of a little bay in this situation." a similar "disert" or collection of hermit cells was endowed at cashel in 101; and a "disert columkill," with two townland mills and a vegetable garden, was endowed at kells, at a somewhat earlier period, for the use of "devout pilgrims," as those were called who left the society of men to worship god in solitude. the venerable bede speaks of as many as three 288 lindisfarne. personages, saxons by their names, who in the isle of ireland led the "pilgrim " or anchoritic life, to obtain a country in heaven; and tells of a drycthelm of the monastery at melrose, who went into a secret dwelling therein to give himself more utterly to prayer, and who used to stand for hours in the cold waters of the tweed, as st. godric did centuries afterwards in those of the wear. solitaries, "recluses," are met with again and again in these old records, who more than once became abbots of iona itself. but there is no need to linger on over instances which are only quoted to show that some of the noblest spirits of the celtic church kept up wherever they could the hermit's ideal, the longing for solitude, for passive contemplation, for silence and perpetual prayer, which they had inherited from st. antony and the fathers of the egyptian desert. the same ideal was carried by them over the border into england. off its extreme northern coast, for instance, nearly half-way between berwick and bamborough castle, lies, as travellers northward may have seen for themselves, the "holy island," called in old times lindisfarne. a monk's chapel on that island was the mother of all the churches between tyne and tweed, as well as of many between tyne and humber. the northumbrians had been nominally converted, according to bede, a.d. 627, under their king edwin, by paulinus, one of the roman monks who had followed in the steps of st. augustine, the apostle of kent. evil times had fallen on them. penda, at the head of the idolatrous mercians (the people of mid-england), and aidan. 289 ceadwalla, at the head of the western britons, had ravaged the country north of tweed with savage cruelty, slain king edwin, at hatfield, near doncaster, and exterminated christianity; while paulinus had fled to kent, and become bishop of rochester. the invaders had been driven out, seemingly by oswald, who knew enough of christianity to set up, ere he engaged the enemy, a cross of wood on the heavenfield," near hexham. that cross stood till the time of bede, some 150 years after; and had become, like moses' brazen serpent, an object of veneration. for if chips cut off from it were put into water, that water cured men or cattle of their diseases. "" oswald, believing that it was through the mercy of him whom that cross symbolized he had conquered the mercians and the britons, would needs reconvert his people to the true faith. he had been in exile during edwin's lifetime among the scots, and had learned from them something of christianity. so out of iona a monk was sent to him, aidan by name, to be a bishop over the northumbrians; and he settled himself upon the isle of lindisfarne, and began to convert it into another iona. “a man he was," says bede, "of singular sweetness, piety, and moderation; zealous in the cause of god, though not altogether according to knowledge, for he was wont to keep easter after the fashion of his country;" i.e. of the picts and northern scots. from that time forth many scots came daily into britain, and with great devotion preached the word to these. provinces of the english over whom king oswald s. l. ii. u 66 290 aidan. reigned. churches were built, money and lands were given of the king's bounty to build monasteries; the english, great and small, were by their scottish masters instructed in the rules and observance of regular discipline; for most of those who came to preach were monks.”* so says the venerable bede, the monk of jarrow, and the father (as he has been well called) of english history. he tells us too, how aidan, wishing, it may be supposed, for greater solitude, went away and lived on the rocky isle of farne, some two miles out at sea, off bamborough castle; and how, when he saw penda and his mercians, in a second invasion of northumbria, trying to burn down the walls o bamborough-which were probably mere stockades of timber-he cried to god, from off his rock, to "behold the mischief:" whereon the wind changed suddenly, and blew the flames back on the besiegers, discomfiting them, and saving the town. bede tells us, too, how aidan wandered, preaching from place to place, haunting king oswald's court, but owning nothing of his own save his church, and a few fields about it; and how, when death came upon him, they set up a tent for him close by the wall at the west end of the church, so that it befell that he gave up the ghost leaning against a post, which stood outside to strengthen the wall. a few years after, penda came again and burned the village, with the church; and yet neither could that fire, nor one which happened soon after, destroy * bede, book iii. cap. 3. st. cuthbert. 291 that post. wherefore the post was put inside the church, as a holy thing, and chips of it, like those of the cross of heaven field, healed many folk of their distempers. ... a tale at which we may look in two different humours. we may pass it by with a sneer, and a hypothesis (which will be probably true) that the post was of old heart-of-oak, which is burnt with extreme difficulty; or we may pause a moment in reverence before the noble figure of the good old man, ending a life of unselfish toil without a roof beneath which to lay his head; penniless and comfortless in this world: but sure of his reward in the world to come. a few years after aidan's death another hermit betook him to the rocks of farne, who rose to far higher glory; who became, in fact, the tutelar saint of the fierce northern men; who was to them, up to the time even of the tudor monarchs, what pallas athene was to athens, or diana to the ephesians. st. cuthbert's shrine, in durham cathedral (where his biographer bede also lay in honour), was their rallying point, not merely for ecclesiastical jurisdiction or for miraculous cures, but for political movements. above his shrine rose the noble pile of durham. the bishop, who ruled in his name, was a count palatine, and an almost independent prince. his sacred banner went out to battle before the northern levies, or drove back again and again the flames which consumed the wooden houses of durham. his relics wrought innumerable miracles; u 2 292 st. cuthbert. and often he himself appeared with long countenance, ripened by abstinence, his head sprinkled with grey hairs, his casule of cloth of gold, his mitre of glittering crystal, his face brighter than the sun, his eyes mild as the stars of heaven, the gems upon his hand and robes rattling against his pastoral staff beset with pearls.* thus glorious the demigod of the northern men appeared to his votaries, and steered with his pastoral staff, as with a rudder, the sinking ship in safety to lindisfarne; received from the hands of st. brendan, as from a saint of inferior powers, the innocent yeoman, laden with fetters, whom he had delivered out of the dungeon of brancepeth, and, smiting asunder the massive norman walls, led him into the forest, and bade him flee. to sanctuary in durham, and be safe; or visited the little timber vine-clad chapel of lixtune, on the cheshire shore, to heal the sick who watched all night before his altar, or to forgive the lad who had robbed the nest which his sacred raven had built upon the roof, and, falling with the decayed timber, had broken his bones, and maimed his sacrilegious hand. originally, says bede, a monk at melrose, and afterward abbot of the same place, he used to wander * these details, and countless stories of st. cuthbert's miracles, are to be found in reginald of durham, "de admirandis beati cuthberti," published by the surtees society. this curious book is admirably edited by mr. j. raine; with an english synopsis at the end, which enables the reader for whom the latin is too difficult to enjoy those pictures of life under stephen and henry ii., whether moral, religious, or social, of which the book is a rich museum. st. cuthbert. 293 weeks together out of his monastery, seemingly into ettrick and the lammermuirs, and preach in such villages as "being seated high up among craggy, uncouth mountains, were frightful to others even to look at, and whose poverty and barbarity rendered them inaccessible to other teachers." "so skilful an orator was he, so fond of enforcing his subject, and such a brightness appeared in his angelic face, that no man presumed to conceal from him the most hidden secrets of their hearts, but all openly confessed what they had done." so he laboured for many years, till his old abbot eata, who had become bishop and abbot at lindisfarne, sent for him thither, and made him prior of the monks for several years. but at last he longed, like so many before him, for solitude. he considered (so he said afterwards to the brethren) that the life of the disciplined and obedient monk was higher than that of the lonely and independent hermit: but yet he longed to be alone; longed, it may be, to recall at least upon some sea-girt rock thoughts which had come to him in those long wanderings on the heather moors, with no sound to distract him save the hum of the bee and the wail of the curlew; and so he went away to that same rock of farne, where aidan had taken refuge some ten or fifteen years before, and there, with the deep sea rolling at his feet and the gulls wailing about his head, he built himself one of those "picts' houses," the walls of which remain still in many parts of scotland-a circular hut of turf and rough stone-and dug out the interior to a depth of 294 st. cuthbert. some feet, and thatched it with sticks and grass; and made, it seems, two rooms within; one for an oratory, one for a dwelling-place : and so lived alone, and worshipped god. he grew his scanty crops of barley on the rock (men said, of course, by miracle): he had tried wheat, but, as was to be expected, it failed. he found (men said, of course, by miracle) a spring upon the rock. now and then brethren came to visit him. and what did man need more, save a clear conscience and the presence of his creator? certainly not cuthbert. when he asked the brethren to bring him a beam that he might prop up his cabin where the sea had eaten out the floor, and when they forgot the commission, the sea itself washed one up in the very cove where it was needed: when the choughs from the cliff stole his barley and the straw from the roof of his little hospice, he had only to reprove them, and they never offended again; on one occasion, indeed, they atoned for their offence by bringing him a lump of suet, wherewith he greased his shoes for many a day. we are not bound to believe this story; it is one of many which hang about the memory of st. cuthbert, and which have sprung out of that love of the wild birds which may have grown up in the good man during his long wanderings through woods and over moors. he bequeathed (so it was believed) as a sacred legacy to the wild-fowl of the farne islands, "st. cuthbert's peace;" above all to the eider-ducks, which swarmed there in his days, but are now, alas! growing rarer and rarer, from the intrusion of vulgar sportsmen who never heard st. cuthbert's name, or st. cuthbert. 295 learnt from him to spare god's creatures when they need them not. on farne, in reginald's time, they bred under your very bed, got out of your way if you made a sign to them, let you take up them or their young ones, and nestled silently in your bosom, and croaked joyfully with fluttering wings when stroked. "not to nature, but to grace; not to hereditary tendency, but only to the piety and compassion of the blessed st. cuthbert," says reginald, “is so great a miracle to be ascribed. for the lord who made all things in heaven and earth has subjected them to the nod of his saints, and prostrated them under the feet of obedience." insufficient induction (the cause of endless mistakes, and therefore of endless follies and crimes) kept reginald unaware of the now notorious fact that the female eider, during the breeding season, is just as tame, allowing for a little exaggeration, as st. cuthbert's own ducks are, while the male eider is just as wild and wary as any other sea-bird: a mistake altogether excusable in one who had probably never seen or heard of eider-ducks in any other spot. it may be, nevertheless, that st. cuthbert's special affection for the eider may have been called out by another strange and well-known fact about them of which reginald oddly enough takes no note-namely, that they line their nests with down plucked from their own bosom; thus realizing the fable which has made the pelican for so many centuries the type of the church. it is a question, indeed, whether the pelican, which is always represented in mediæval paintings and sculptures with a short bill, instead of the enormous 296 st. cuthbert. bill and pouch which is the especial mark of the “onocrotalus" of the ancients, now miscalled pelican, be not actually the eider-duck itself, confounded with the true pelecanus, which was the medieval, and is still the scientific, name of the cormorant. be that as it may, ill befell any one who dare touch one of st. cuthbert's birds, as was proved in the case of liveing, servant to ælric, who was a hermit in farne after the time of st. cuthbert. for he, tired it may be of barley and dried fish, killed and ate an eider-duck in his master's absence, scattering the bones and feathers over the cliffs. but when the hermit came back, what should he find but those same bones and feathers rolled into a lump and laid inside the door of the little chapel; the very sea, says reginald, not having dared to swallow them up. whereby the hapless liveing being betrayed, was soundly flogged, and put on bread and water for many a day; the which story liveing himself told to reginald. not only the eider, but all birds in farne, were protected by st. cuthbert's peace. bartholomew, who was a famous hermit there in after years, had a tame bird, says the chronicler, who ate from his hand, and hopped about the table among him and his guests, till some thought it a miracle; and some, finding, no doubt, the rocks of farne weary enough, derived continual amusement from the bird. but when he one day went off to another island, and left his bird to keep the house, a hawk came in and ate it up. cuthbert, who could not save the bird, at least could punish the murderer. the hawk flew round and st. cuthbert. 297 round the island, imprisoned, so it was thought, by some mysterious power, till, terrified and worn out, it flew into the chapel, and lay, cowering and half dead, in a corner by the altar. bartholomew came back, found his bird's feathers, and the tired hawk. but even the hawk must profit by st. cuthbert's peace. he took it up, carried it to the harbour, and there bade it depart in st. cuthbert's name, whereon it flew off free, and was no more seen. such tales as these may be explained, even to their most minute details, by simply natural causes: and yet, in this age of wanton destruction of wild birds, one is tempted at moments to wish for the return of some such graceful and humane superstition which could keep down, at least in the name of mercy and humanity, the needless cruelty of man. but to return. after st. cuthbert, says bede, had served god in the solitude of farne for many years, the mound which encompassed his habitation being so high that he could see nothing from thence but heaven, to which he so ardently aspired, he was compelled by tears and entreaties-king egfrid himself coming to the island, with bishops and religious and great men—to become himself bishop in holy island. there, as elsewhere, he did his duty. but after two years he went again to farne, knowing that his end was near. for when, in his episcopal labours, he had gone across to lugubalia-old penrith, in cumberland-there came across to him a holy hermit, herebert by name, who dwelt upon an island in derwentwater, and talked with him a long while on 298 st. cuthbert. heavenly things; and cuthbert bade him ask him then all the questions which he wished to have resolved, for they should see each other no more in this world. herebert, who seems to have been one of his old friends, fell at cuthbert's feet, and bade him remember that whenever he had done wrong he had submitted himself to him utterly, and always tried to live according to his rules; and all he wished for now was that, as they had served god together upon earth, they might depart for ever to see his bliss in heaven: the which befell; for a few months afterwards, that is, on the 20th of march, their souls quitted their mortal bodies on the same day, and they were re-united in spirit. st. cuthbert wished to have been buried on his rock in farne: but the brethren had persuaded him to allow his corpse to be removed to holy island. he begged them, said bede, should they be forced to leave that place, to carry his bones along with them; and so they were forced to do at last; for in the year 875, whilst the danes were struggling with alfred in wessex, an army of them, with halfdene at their head, went up into northumbria, burning towns, destroying churches, tossing children on their pikepoints, and committing all those horrors which made the norsemen terrible and infamous for so many years. then the monks fled from the monastery, bearing the shrine of st. cuthbert, and all their treasures, and followed by their retainers, men, women, and children, and their sheep and oxen: and behold! the hour of their flight was that of an exceedingly high st. cuthbert. 299 spring tide. the danes were landing from their ships in their rear; in their front was some two miles of sea. escape seemed hopeless; when, says the legend, the water retreated before the holy relics as they advanced; and became, as to the children of israel of old, a wall on their right hand and on their left; and so st. cuthbert came safe to shore, and wandered in the woods, borne upon his servants' shoulders, and dwelling in tents for seven years, and found rest at last in durham, till at the reformation his shrine, and that of the venerable bede, were robbed of their gold and jewels; and no trace of them (as far as i know) is left, save that huge slab, whereon is written the monkish rhyme :— hic jacet in fossâ bedæ venerabilis ossa. * * "in this hole lie the bones of the venerable bede." st. guthlac. hermits dwelling in the wilderness, as far as i am aware, were to be seen only in the northern and western parts of the island, where not only did the forest afford concealment, but the crags and caves shelter. the southern and eastern english seldom possess the vivid imagination of the briton, the northumbrian, and the scot; while the rich lowlands of central, southern, and eastern england, well peopled and well tilled, offered few spots lonely enough for the hermit's cell. one district only was desolate enough to attract those who wished to be free from the world,—namely, the great fens north of cambridge; and there, accordingly, as early as the seventh century, hermits settled in morasses now so utterly transformed that it is difficult to restore in one's imagination the original scenery. the fens in the seventh century were probably very like the forests at the mouth of the mississippi, or the swampy shores of the carolinas. their vast plain is now, in summer, one sea of golden corn; in winter, a black dreary fallow, cut into squares by st. guthlac. 301 stagnant dykes, and broken only by unsightly pumping mills and doleful lines of poplar-trees. of old it was a labyrinth of black wandering streams; broad lagoons; morasses submerged every springtide; vast beds of reed and sedge and fern; vast copses of willow, alder, and grey poplar, rooted in the floating peat, which was swallowing up slowly, alldevouring, yet all-preserving, the forests of fir and oak, ash and poplar, hazel and yew, which had once grown on that low, rank soil, sinking slowly (so geologists assure us) beneath the sea from age to age. trees, torn down by flood and storm, floated and lodged in rafts, damming the waters back upon the land. streams, bewildered in the flats, changed their channels, mingling silt and sand with the peat moss. nature, left to herself, ran into wild riot and chaos more and more, till the whole fen became one "dismal swamp," in which, at the time of the norman conquest, the "last of the english," like dred in mrs. stowe's tale, took refuge from their tyrants, and lived, like him, a free and joyous life awhile. for there are islands in the sea which have escaped the destroying deluge of peat-moss,-outcrops of firm and fertile land, which in the early middle age were so many natural parks, covered with richest grass and stateliest trees, swarming with deer and roe, goat and boar, as the streams around swarmed with otter and beaver, and with fowl of every feather, and fish of every scale. beautiful after their kind were those far isles in the eyes of the monks who were the first settlers in the i 302 st. guthlac. wilderness. the author of the " history of ramsey" grows enthusiastic, and somewhat bombastic also, as he describes the lovely isle, which got its name from the solitary ram who had wandered thither, either in extreme drought or over the winter ice, and, never able to return, was found feeding among the wild deer, fat beyond the wont of rams. he tells of the stately ashes, most of them cut in his time, to furnish mighty beams for the church roof; of the rich pastures painted with all gay flowers in spring; of the " green crown" of reed and alder which encircled the isle ; of the fair wide mere (now drained) with its "sandy beach" along the forest side; "a delight," he says, "to all who look thereon." in like humour william of malmesbury, writing in the first half of the twelfth century, speaks of thorney abbey and its isle. "it represents," says he, "a very paradise; for that in pleasure and delight it resembles heaven itself. these marshes abound in trees, whose length, without a knot, doth emulate the stars. the plain there is as level as the sea, alluring the eye with its green grass, and so smooth that there is nought to trip the foot of him who runs through it. neither is there any waste place; for in some parts are apples, in others vines, which are either spread on the ground, or raised on poles. a mutual strife there is between nature and art; so that what one produces not the other supplies. what shall i say of those fair buildings, which 'tis so wonderful to see the ground among those fens upbear?" so wrote william of of malmesbury, after the st. guthlac. 303 industry and wisdom of the monks, for more than four centuries, had been at work to civilize and cultivate the wilderness. yet even then there was another side to the picture; and thorney, ramsey, or crowland would have seemed, for nine months every year, sad places enough to us comfortable folk of the nineteenth century. but men lived hard in those days, even the most high-born and luxurious nobles and ladies; under dark skies, in houses which we should think, from darkness, draught, and want of space, unfit for felons' cells. hardly they lived; and easily were they pleased; and thanked god for the least gleam of sunshine, the least patch. of green, after the terrible and long winters of the middle ages. and ugly enough those winters must have been, what with snow and darkness, flood and ice, ague and rheumatism; while through the dreary winter's night the whistle of the wind and the wild cries of the waterfowl were translated into the howls of witches and dæmons; and (as in st. guthlac's case), the delirious fancies of marsh fever made those fiends take hideous shapes before the inner eye, and act fantastic horrors round the fenman's bed of sedge. concerning this st. guthlac full details remain, both in latin and anglo-saxon; the author of the original document professing to be one felix, a monk of ramsey near by, who wrote possibly as early as the eighth century.* * an english translation of the anglo-saxon life has been published by mr. godwin, of cambridge, and is well worth perusal. 394 st. guthlac. there we may read how the young warrior-noble guthlac ("the battle-play," the "sport of war"), tired of slaying and sinning, bethought him to fulfil the prodigies seen at his birth; how he wandered into the fen, where one tatwin (who after became a saint likewise) took him in his canoe to a spot so lonely as to be almost unknown, buried in reeds and alders, and how he found among the trees nought but an old "law," as the scots still call a mound, which men of old had broken into seeking for treasure, and a little pond; and how he built himself a hermit's cell thereon, and saw visions and wrought miracles; and how men came to him, as to a fakir or shaman of the east; notably one beccel, who acted as his servant; and how as beccel was shaving the saint one day there fell on him a great temptation: why should he not cut st. guthlac's throat, and instal himself in his cell, that he might have the honour and glory of sainthood? but st. guthlac perceived the inward temptation (which is told with the naïve honesty of those half-savage times), and rebuked the offender into confession, and all went well to the end. there we may read, too, a detailed account of the fauna now happily extinct in the fens; of the creatures who used to hale st. guthlac out of his hut, drag him through the bogs, carry him aloft through frost and fire-" develen and luther gostes "-such as tormented in like wise st. botolph (from whom botulfston boston, has its name), and who were supposed to haunt the meres and fens, and to have an especial fondness for old heathen barrows with their fancied = st. guthlac. 305 treasure-hoards: how they "filled the house with their coming, and poured in on every side, from above, and from beneath, and everywhere. they were in countenance horrible, and they had great heads, and a long neck, and a lean visage; they were filthy and squalid in their beards, and they had rough ears, and crooked 'nebs,' and fierce eyes, and foul mouths; and their teeth were like horses' tusks; and their throats were filled with flame, and they were grating in their voice; they had crooked shanks, and knees big and great behind, and distorted toes, and cried hoarsely with their voices; and they came with immoderate noise and immense horror, that he thought that all between heaven and earth resounded with their voices. . . and they tugged and led him out of the cot, and led him to the swart fen, and threw and sunk him in the muddy waters. after that they brought him into the wild places of the wilderness, among the thick beds of brambles, that all his body was torn. . . . after that they took him and beat him with iron whips, and after that they brought him on their creaking wings between the cold regions of the air." but there are gentler and more human touches in that old legend. you may read in it how all the wild birds of the fen came to st. guthlac, and he fed them after their kind; how the ravens tormented him, stealing letters, gloves, and what not, from his visitors; and then, seized with compunction at his reproofs, brought them back, or hanged them on the reeds; and how, as wilfrid, a holy visitant, was sitting s. l. ii. x 306 st. guthlac. with him, discoursing of the contemplative life, two swallows came flying in, and lifted up their song, sitting now on the saint's hand, now on his shoulder, now on his knee; and how, when wilfrid wondered thereat, guthlac made answer, "know you not that he who hath led his life according to god's will, to him the wild beasts and the wild birds draw the more near ?” after fifteen years of such a life, in fever, ague, and starvation, no wonder if st. guthlac died. they buried him in a leaden coffin (a grand and expensive luxury in the seventh century) which had been sent to him during his life by a saxon princess; and then, over his sacred and wonder-working corpse, as over that of a buddhist saint, there arose a chapel, with a community of monks, companies of pilgrims who came to worship, sick who came to be healed; till at last, founded on great piles driven into the bog, arose the lofty wooden abbey of crowland; in "sanctuary of the four rivers," with its dykes, parks, vineyards, orchards, rich ploughlands, from which, in time of famine, the monks of crowland fed all people of the neighbouring fens; with its tower with seven bells, which had not their like in england; its twelve altars rich with the gifts of danish vikings and princes, and even with twelve white bear-skins, the gift of canute's self; while all around were the cottages of the corrodiers, or folk who, for a corrody, or life pittance from the abbey, had given away their lands, to the wrong and detriment of their heirs. but within those four rivers, at least, were neither st. guthlac. 307 tyranny nor slavery. those who took refuge in st. guthlac's place from cruel lords must keep his peace toward each other, and earn their living like honest men, safe while they so did for between those four rivers st. guthlac and his abbot were the only lords; and neither summoner, nor sheriff of the king, nor armed force of knight or earl, could enter "the inheritance of the lord, the soil of st. mary and st. bartholomew, the most holy sanctuary of st. guthlac and his monks; the minister free from worldly servitude; the special almshouse of most illustrious kings; the sole refuge of any one in worldly tribulation; the perpetual abode of the saints; the possession of religious men, specially set apart by the common council of the realm; by reason of the frequent miracles of the holy confessor st. guthlac, an ever-fruitful mother of camphire in the vineyards of engedi; and, by reason of the privileges granted by the kings, a city of grace and safety to all who repent." does not all this sound like a voice from another planet? it is all gone; and it was good and right that it should go when it had done its work, and that the civilization of the fen should be taken up and carried out by men like the good knight, richard of rulos, who, two generations after the conquest, marrying hereward's grand-daughter, and becoming lord of deeping (the deep meadow), thought that he could do the same work from the hall of bourne as the monks did from their cloisters; got permission from the crowland monks, for twenty marks of x 2 308 st. guthlac. silver, to drain as much as he could of the common marshes; and then shut out the welland by strong dykes, built cottages, marked out gardens, and tilled fields, till "out of slough and bogs accursed he made a garden of pleasure." yet one lasting work those monks of crowland seem to have done, besides those firm dykes and rich corn-lands of the porsand, which endure unto this day. for within two generations of the norman conquest, while the old wooden abbey, destroyed by fire, was being replaced by that noble pile of stone whose ruins are still standing, the french abbot of crowland (so runs the legend) sent french monks to open a school under the new french donjon, in the little roman town of grante-brigge; whereby—so does all earnest work, however mistaken, grow and spread in this world, infinitely and for ever-st. guthlac, by his canoe-voyage into crowland island, became the spiritual father of the university of cambridge in the old world; and therefore of her noble daughter, the university of cambridge, in the new world which fen-men sailing from boston deeps colonized and christianized 800 years after st. guthlac's death. st. godric of finchale. a personage quite as interesting, though not as famous, as cuthbert or guthlac, is st. godric; the hermit around whose cell rose the priory of finchale. in a loop of the river wear, near durham, there settled in the days of bishop flambard, between 1099 and 1128, a man whose parentage and history was for many years unknown to the good folks of the neighbourhood. he had come, it seems, from a hermitage in eskdale, in the parish of whitby, whence he had been driven by the percys, lords of the soil. he had gone to durham, become the doorkeeper of st. giles's church, and gradually learnt by heart (he was no scholar) the whole psalter. then he had gone to st. mary's church, where (as was the fashion of the times) there was a children's school; and, listening to the little ones at their lessons, picked up such hymns and prayers as he thought would suffice his spiritual wants. and then, by leave of the bishop, he had gone away into the woods, and devoted himself to the solitary life in finchale. buried in the woods and crags of the "royal park," 1 310 st. godric of finchale. 1 as it was then called, which swarmed with every kind of game, there was a little flat meadow, rough with sweet-gale and bramble and willow, beside a teeming salmon-pool. great wolves haunted the woods; but godric cared nought for them; and the shingles swarmed with snakes,-probably only the harmless collared snakes of wet meadows, but reputed, as all snakes are by the vulgar, venomous: but he did not object to become "the companion of serpents and poisonous asps." he handled them, caressed them, let them lie by the fire in swarms on winter nights, in the little cave which he had hollowed in the ground and thatched with turf. men told soon how the snakes obeyed him; how two especially huge ones used to lie twined about his legs; till after many years, annoyed by their importunity, he turned them all gently out of doors, with solemn adjurations never to return, and they, of course, obeyed. his austerities knew no bounds. he lived on roots and berries, flowers and leaves; and when the good folk found him out, and put gifts of food near his cell, he carried them up to the crags above, and, offering them solemnly up to the god who feeds the ravens when they call on him, left them there for the wild birds. he watched, fasted, and scourged himself, and wore always a hair shirt and an iron cuirass. he sat, night after night, even in mid-winter, in the cold wear, the waters of which had hollowed out a rock near by into a natural bath, and afterwards in a barrel sunk in the floor of a little chapel of wattle, which he built and dedicated to the blessed st. godric of finchale. 311 virgin mary. he tilled a scrap of ground, and ate the grain from it, mingled with ashes. he kept his food till it was decayed before he tasted it ; and led a life the records of which fill the reader with astonishment, not only at the man's iron strength of will, but at the iron strength of the constitution which could support such hardships, in such a climate, for a single year. a strong and healthy man must godric have been, to judge from the accounts (there are two, both written by eye-witnesses) of his personal appearancea man of great breadth of chest and strength of arm; black-haired, hook-nosed, deep-browed, with flashing grey eyes; altogether a personable and able man, who might have done much work and made his way in many lands. but what his former life had been he would not tell. mother-wit he had in plenty, and showed insight into men and things which the monks of durham were ready enough to call the spirit of prophecy. after awhile it was whispered that he wrought miraculous cures that even a bit of the bread which he was wont to eat had healed a sick woman; that he fought with dæmons in visible shape; that he had seen (just as one of the old egyptian hermits had seen) a little black boy running about between two monks who had quarrelled and come to hard blows and bleeding faces because one of them had made mistakes in the evening service: and, in short, there were attributed to him, during his lifetime, and by those who knew him well, a host of wonders which would be startling and important were they not exactly 4 312 st. godric of finchale. the same as those which appear in the life of every hermit since st. antony. it is impossible to read the pages of reginald of durham (for he, the biographer of st. cuthbert, is also the biographer of st. godric) without feeling how difficult it is to obtain anything like the truth, even from eye-witnesses, if only men are (as they were in those days) in a state of religious excitement, at a period of spiritual revivals. the ignorant populace were ready to believe, and to report, anything of the fakeer of finchale. the monks of durham were glad enough to have a wonder-working man belonging to them; for ralph flambard, in honour of godric, had made over to them the hermitage of finchale, with its fields and fisheries. the lad who, in after years, waited on the hermit, would have been ready enough to testify that his master saw dæmons and other spiritual beings; for he began to see them on his own account;* fell asleep in the forest coming home from durham with some bottles; was led in a vision by st. john the baptist to the top of a hill, and shown by him wonders unspeakable; saw, on another occasion, a dæmon in st. godric's cell, hung all over with bottles of different liquors, offering them to the saint, who bade the lad drive him out of the little chapel, with a holy water sprinkle, but not go outside it himself. but the lad, in the fury of successful pursuit, overstepped the threshold; whereon the dæmon, turning in self-defence, threw a single drop of one of his liquors into the lad's mouth, and * vita s. godrici, pp. 332, 333. st. godric of finchale. 313 vanished with a laugh of scorn. the boy's face and throat swelled horribly for three days; and he took care thenceforth to obey the holy man more strictly: a story which i have repeated, like the one before it, only to show the real worth of the evidence on which reginald has composed his book. ailred, abbot of rievaux (for reginald's book, though dedicated to hugh pudsey, his bishop, was prompted by ailred) was capable (as his horrible story of the nun of watton proves) of believing anything and everything which fell in with his fanatical, though pious and gentle, temper. and here a few words must be said to persons with whose difficulties i deeply sympathise, but from whose conclusions i differ utterly: those, namely, who say that if we reject the miracles of these saints' lives, we must reject also the miracles of the new testament. the answer is, as i believe, that the apostles and evangelists were sane men: men in their right minds, wise, calm; conducting themselves (save in the matter of committing sins) like other human beings, as befitted the disciples of that son of man who came eating and drinking, and was therefore called by the ascetics of his time a gluttonous man, and a wine-bibber: whereas these monks were not (as i have said elsewhere) in their right minds at all. this is, or ought to be, patent to any one who will compare the style of the apostles and evangelists with that of the monkish hagiologists. the calm, the simplicity, the brevity, the true grandeur of the 314 st. godric of finchale. former is sufficient evidence of their healthy-mindedness and their trustworthiness. the affectation, the self-consciousness, the bombast, the false grandeur of the latter is sufficient evidence that they are neither healthy-minded or trustworthy. let students compare any passage of st. luke or st. john, however surprising the miracle which it relates, with st. jerome's life of paul the first hermit, or with that famous letter of his to eustochium, which (although historically important) is unfit for the eyes of pureminded readers and does not appear in this volume; and let them judge for themselves. let them compare, again, the opening sentences of the four gospels, or of the acts of the apostles, with the words with which reginald begins this life of st. godric: "by the touch of the holy spirit's finger the chord of the harmonic human heart resounds melodiously. for when the vein of the heart is touched by the grace of the holy spirit, forthwith, by the permirific sweetness of the harmony, an exceeding operation of sacred virtue is perceived more manifestly to spring forth. with this sweetness of spirit, godric, the man of god, was filled from the very time of his boyhood, and grew famous for many admirable works of holy work (sic), because the harmonic teaching of the holy spirit fired the secrets of his very bosom with a wondrous contact of spiritual grace :”—and let them say, after the comparison, if the difference between the two styles is not that which exists between one of god's lilies, fresh from the field, and a tawdry bunch of artificial flowers? st. godric of finchale. 315 godric himself took part in the but to return. history of his own miracles and life. it may be that he so overworked his brain that he believed that he was visited by st. peter, and taught a hymn by the blessed virgin mary, and that he had taken part in a hundred other prodigies; but the prologue to the harleian manuscript (which the learned editor, mr. stevenson, believes to be an early edition of reginald's own composition) confesses that reginald, compelled by ailred of rievaux, tried in vain for a long while to get the hermit's story from him. "you wish to write my life?" he said. "know then that godric's life is such as this:-godric, at first a gross rustic, an unclean liver, an usurer, a cheat, a perjurer, a flatterer, a wanderer, pilfering and greedy; now a dead flea, a decayed dog, a vile worm, not a hermit, but a hypocrite; not a solitary, but a gad-about in mind; a devourer of alms, dainty over good things, greedy and negligent, lazy and snoring, ambitious and prodigal, one who is not worthy to serve others, and yet every day beats and scolds those who serve him this, and worse than this, you may write of godric." "then he was silent as one indignant," says reginald, "and i went off in some confusion," and the grand old man was left to himself and to his god. the ecclesiastical boswell dared not mention the subject again to his hero for several years, though he came after from durham to visit him, and celebrate mass for him in his little chapel. after some years, however, he approached the matter again; and 316 st. godric of finchale. whether a pardonable vanity had crept over godric, or whether he had begun at last to believe in his miracles, or whether the old man had that upon his mind of which he longed to unburthen himself, he began to answer questions, and reginald delighted to listen and note down till he had finished, he says, that book of his life and miracles ;* and after a while brought it to the saint, and falling on his knees, begged him to bless, in the name of god, and for the benefit of the faithful, the deeds of a certain religious man, who had suffered much for god in this life which he (reginald) had composed accurately. the old man perceived that he himself was the subject, blessed the book with solemn words (what was written therein he does not seem to have read), and bade reginald conceal it till his death, warning him that a time would come when he should suffer rough and bitter things on account of that book, from those who envied him. that prophecy, says reginald, came to pass; but how, or why, he does not tell. there may have been, among those shrewd northumbrian heads, even then, incredulous men, who used their common sense. but the story which godric told was wild and beautiful; and though we must not depend too much on the accuracy of the old man's recollections, or on the honesty of reginald's report, who would naturally omit all incidents which made against his hero's perfection, it is worth listening to, as a vivid sketch of * the earlier one; that of the harleian mss. which (mr. stevenson thinks) was twice afterwards expanded and decorated by him. st. godric of finchale. 317 the doings of a real human being, in that misty distance of the early middle age. he was born, he said, at walpole, in norfolk, on the old roman sea-bank, between the wash and the deep fens. his father's name was eilward; his mother's, ædwen-" the keeper of blessedness," and "the friend of blessedness," as reginald translates them-poor and pious folk; and, being a sharp boy, he did not take to field-work, but preferred wandering the fens as a pedlar, first round the villages, then, as he grew older, to castles and to towns, buying and selling-what, reginald does not tell us: but we should be glad to know. one day he had a great deliverance, which reginald thinks a miracle. wandering along the great tide-flats near spalding and the old well-stream, in search of waifs and strays, of wreck or eatables, he saw three porpoises stranded far out upon the banks. two were alive, and the boy took pity on them (so he said) and let them be: but one was dead, and off it (in those days poor folks ate anything) he cut as much flesh and blubber as he could carry, and toiled back towards the high-tide mark. but whether he lost his way among the banks, or whether he delayed too long, the tide came in on him up to his knees, his waist, his chin, and at last, at times, over his head. the boy made the sign of the cross (as all men in danger did then) and struggled on valiantly a full mile through the sea, like a brave lad never loosening his hold of his precious porpoise-meat till he reached the shore at the very spot from which he had set out. 318 st. godric of finchale. as he grew, his pedlar journeys became longer. repeating to himself, as he walked, the creeds and the lord's prayer-his only lore-he walked for four years through lindsey; then went to st. andrew's in scotland; after that, for the first time, to rome. then the love of a wandering sea life came on him, and he sailed with his wares round the east coasts; not merely as a pedlar, but as a sailor himself, he went to denmark and to flanders, buying and selling, till he owned (in what port we are not told, but probably in lynn or wisbeach) half one merchant ship and the quarter of another. a crafty steersman he was, a wise weather-prophet, a shipman stout in body and in heart, probably such a one as chaucer tells us of 350 years after:"a dagger hanging by a las hadde hee .about his nekke under his arm adoun. the hote summer hadde made his hewe al broun. and certainly he was a good felaw; full many a draught of ine he hadde draw, from burdeaux ward, while that the chapmen slepe, of nice conscience took he no kepe. if that he fought, and hadde the higher hand, by water he sent hem home to every land. but of his craft to recken wel his tides, his stremes and his strandes him besides, his herberwe, his mone, and his lode manage, there was none swiche, from hull unto carthage. hardy he was, and wise, i undertake : with many a tempest hadde his berd be shake. he knew wel alle the havens, as they were, from gotland to the cape de finisterre, and every creke in bretagne and in spain." but gradually there grew on the stout merchantman the thought that there was something more to st. godric of finchale. 319 he be done in the world than making money. became a pious man after the fashion of those days. he worshipped at the famous shrine of st. andrew. he worshipped, too, at st. cuthbert's hermitage at farne, and there, he said afterwards, he longed for the first time for the rest and solitude of the hermitage. he had been sixteen years a seaman now, with a seaman's temptations-it may be (as he told reginald plainly) with some of a seaman's vices. he may have done things which lay heavy on his conscience. but it was getting time to think about his soul. he took the cross, and went off to jerusalem, as many a man did then, under difficulties incredible, dying, too often, on the way. but godric not only got safe thither, but went out of his way home by spain to visit the sanctuary of st. james of compostella, a see which pope calixtus ii. had just raised to metropolitan dignity. then he appears as steward to a rich man in the fens, whose sons and young retainers, after the lawless fashion of those anglo-norman times, rode out into the country round to steal the peasants' sheep and cattle, skin them on the spot, and pass them off to the master of the house as venison taken in hunting. they ate and drank, roystered and rioted, like most other young normans; and vexed the staid soul of godric, whose nose told him plainly enough, whenever he entered the kitchen, that what was roasting had never come off a deer. in vain he protested and warned them, getting only insults for his pains. at last he told his lord. the lord, as was to 320 st. godric of finchale. be expected, cared nought about the matter. let the lads rob the english villains: for what other end had their grandfathers conquered the land? godric punished himself, as he could not punish them, for the unwilling share which he had had in the wrong. it may be that he, too, had eaten of that stolen food. so away he went into france, and down the rhone, on pilgrimage to the hermitage of st. giles, the patron saint of the wild deer; and then on to rome a second time, and back to his poor parents in the fens. and now follows a strange and beautiful story. all love of seafaring and merchandise had left the deephearted sailor. the heavenly and the eternal, the salvation of his sinful soul, had become all in all to him; and yet he could not rest in the little dreary village on the roman bank. he would go on pilgrimage again. then his mother would go likewise, and see st. peter's church, and the pope, and all the wonders of rome, and have her share in all the spiritual blessings which were to be obtained (so men thought then) at rome alone. so off they set on foot; and when they came to ford or ditch, godric carried his mother on his back, until they came to london town. and there ædwen took off her shoes, and vowed out of devotion to the holy apostles peter and paul (who, so she thought, would be well pleased at such an act) to walk barefoot to rome and barefoot back again. now just as they went out of london, on the dover road, there met them in the way the loveliest maiden they had ever seen, and asked to bear them st. godric of finchale. 321 company in their pilgrimage. and when they agreed, she walked with them, sat with them, and talked with them with superhuman courtesy and grace; and when they turned into an inn, she ministered to them herself, and washed and kissed their feet, and then lay down with them to sleep, after the simple fashion of those days. but a holy awe of her, as of some saint and goddess, fell on the wild seafarer; and he never, so he used to aver, treated her for a moment save as a sister. never did either ask the other who they were, and whence they came; and godric reported (but this was long after the event) that no one of the company of pilgrims could see that fair maid, save he and his mother alone. so they came safe to rome, and back to london town; and when they were at the place outside southwark, where the fair maid had met them first, she asked permission to leave them, for she "must go to her own land, where she had a tabernacle of rest, and dwelt in the house of her god." and then, bidding them bless god, who had brought them safe over the alps, and across the sea, and all along that weary road, she went on her way, and they saw her no more. then with this fair mysterious face clinging to his memory, and it may be never leaving it, godric took his mother safe home, and delivered her to his father, and bade them both after awhile farewell, and wandered across england to penrith, and hung about the churches there, till some kinsmen of his recognised him, and gave him a psalter (he must have taught himself to read upon his travels), which he s.l. ii. y 322 st. godric of finchale. learnt by heart. then, wandering ever in search of solitude, he went into the woods and found a cave, and passed his time therein in prayer, living on green herbs and wild honey, acorns and crabs; and when he went about to gather food, he fell down on his knees every few yards and said a prayer, and rose and went on. after awhile he wandered on again, until at wolsingham, in durham, he met with another holy hermit, who had been a monk at durham, living in a cave in forests in which no man dare dwell, so did they swarm with packs of wolves; and there the two good men dwelt together till the old hermit fell sick, and was like to die. godric nursed him, and sat by him, to watch for his last breath. for the same longing had come over him which came over marguerite d'angoulême when she sat by the dying bed of her favourite maid of honour-to see if the spirit, when it left the body, were visidie, and what kind of thing it was whether, for instance, it was really like the little naked babe which is seen in mediæval illuminations flying out of the mouths of dying men. but, worn out with watching, godric could not keep from sleep. all but despairing of his desire, he turned to the dying man, and spoke, says reginald, some such words as these:-"o spirit! who art diffused in that body in the likeness of god, and art still inside that breast, i adjure thee by the highest, that thou leave not the prison of this thine habitation while i am overcome by sleep, and know not of it." and so he fell asleep but when he woke, the old hermit lay st. godric of finchale. 323 motionless and breathless. poor godric wept, called on the dead man, called on god; his simple heart was set on seeing this one thing. and, behold, he was consoled in a wondrous fashion. for about the third hour of the day the breath returned. godric hung over him, watching his lips. three heavy sighs he drew, then a shudder, another sigh:* and then (so godric was believed to have said in after years) he saw the spirit flit. what it was like, he did not like to say, for the most obvious reason-that he saw nothing, and was an honest man. a monk teased him much to impart to him this great discovery, which seemed to the simple untaught sailor a great spiritual mystery, and which was, like some other medieval mysteries which were miscalled spiritual (transubstantiation above all), altogether material and gross imaginations. godric answered wisely enough, that "no man could perceive the substance of the spiritual soul." but the monk insisting, and giving him no rest, he answered,-whether he wished to answer a fool according to his folly, or whether he tried to fancy (as men will who are somewhat vain-and if a saint was not vain, it was no fault of the monks who beset him) that he had really seen something. he told how it was like a dry, hot wind rolled into a sphere, and shining like the clearest glass, but that what it was really like * 66 reginald wants to make a wonder incredible in our own times," of a very common form (thank god) of peaceful death. he makes miracles in the same way of the catching of salmon and of otters, simple enough to one who, like godric, knew the river, and everv wild thing which haunted it. y 2 324 st. godric of finchale. no one could express. thus much, at least, may be gathered from the involved bombast of reginald. another pilgrimage to the holy sepulchre did godric make before he went to the hermitage in eskdale, and settled finally at finchale. and there about the hills of judæa he found, says reginald, hermits dwelling in rock-caves, as they had dwelt since the time of st. jerome. he washed himself, and his hair shirt and little cross, in the sacred waters of the jordan, and returned, after incredible suffering, to become the saint of finchale. his hermitage became, in due time, a stately priory, with its community of monks, who looked up to the memory of their holy father godric as to that of a demigod. the place is all ruinate now; the memory of st. godric gone; and not one in ten thousand, perhaps, who visit those crumbling walls beside the rushing wear, has heard of the sailor-saint, and his mother, and that fair maid who tended them on their pilgrimage. meanwhile there were hermits for many years in that same hermitage in eskdale, from which a percy expelled st. godric, possibly because he interfered with the prior claim of some protégé of their own; for they had, a few years before godric's time, granted that hermitage to the monks of whitby, who were not likely to allow a stranger to establish himself on their ground. about that hermitage hung one of those stories so common in the middle ages, in which the hermit appears as the protector of the hunted wild beast; st. godric of finchale. 325 a story, too, which was probably authentic, as the curious custom which was said to perpetuate its memory lasted at least till the year 1753. i quote it at length from burton's "monasticon eboracense," p. 78, knowing no other authority. "in the fifth year of the reign of king henry ii.. after the conquest of england by william, duke of normandy, the lord of uglebardby, then called william de bruce, and the lord of sneton, called ralph de perci, with a gentleman and a freeholder called allatson, did on the 16th day of october appoint to meet and hunt the wild boar, in a certain wood or desert place belonging to the abbot of the monastery of whitby; the place's name is eskdaleside; the abbot's name was sedman. then these gentlemen being met, with their hounds and boarstaves, in the place before-named, and there having found a great wild boar, the hounds ran him well near about the chapel and hermitage of eskdale-side, where was a monk of whitby, who was a hermit. the boar being very sore, and very hotly pursued, and dead run, took in at the chapel door, and there died: whereupon the hermit shut the hounds out of the chapel, and kept himself within at his meditations and prayers, the hounds standing at bay without. the gentlemen in the thick of the wood, being put behind their game, followed the cry of their hounds, and so came to the hermitage, calling on the hermit, who opened the door and came forth, and within they found the boar lying dead, for which the gentlemen in very great fury (because their hounds were put 326 st. godric of finchale. from their game) did most violently and cruelly run at the hermit with their boar-staves, whereby he died soon after: thereupon the gentlemen, perceiving and knowing that they were in peril of death, took sanctuary at scarborough. but at that time the abbot, being in very great favour with king henry, removed them out of the sanctuary, whereby they came in danger of the law, and not to be privileged, but likely to have the severity of the law, which was death. but the hermit, being a holy and devout man, at the point of death sent for the abbot, and desired him to send for the gentlemen who had wounded him: the abbot so doing, the gentlemen came, and the hermit, being very sick and weak, said unto them, 'i am sure to die of those wounds you have given me.' the abbot answered, 'they shall as surely die for the same;' but the hermit answered, 'not so, for i will freely forgive them my death, if they will be contented to be enjoined this penance for the safeguard of their souls.' the gentlemen being present, and terrified with the fear of death, bade him enjoin what penance he would, so that he would but save their lives. then said the hermit, ‘you and yours shall hold your lands of the abbot of whitby and his successors in this manner: that upon ascension eve, you or some of you shall come to the woods of the strag heads, which is in eskdale-side, the same day at sunrising, and there shall the abbot's officer blow his horn, to the intent that you may know how to find him ; and he shall deliver unto you, william de bruce, ten stakes, eleven strut-towers, and eleven yethers, to be st. godric of finchale. 327 cut by you or some for you, with a knife of one penny price; and you, ralph de perci, shall take twenty and one of each sort, to be cut in the same manner; and you, allatson, shall take nine of each sort, to be cut as aforesaid, and to be taken on your backs, and carried to the town of whitby, and to be there before nine of the clock the same day before-mentioned; at the same hour of nine of the clock (if it be full sea) your labour or service shall cease; but if it be not full sea, each of you shall set your stakes at the brim, each stake one yard from the other, and so yether them on each side of your yethers, and so stake on each side. with your strut-towers, that they may stand three tides without removing by the force thereof: each of you shall do, make, and execute the said service at that very hour every year, except it shall be full sea at that hour: but when it shall so fall out, this service shall cease. you shall faithfully do this in remembrance that you did most cruelly slay me; and that you may the better call to god for mercy, repent unfeignedly for your sins, and do good works, the officers of eskdale-side shall blow, out on you, out on you, out on you, for this heinous crime. if you or your successors shall refuse this service, so long as it shall not be full sea at the aforesaid hour, you or yours shall forfeit your lands to the abbot of whitby, or his successors. this i intreat, and earnestly beg that you may have lives and goods preserved for this service; and i request of you to promise by your parts in heaven that it shall be done by you and your successors, as it is aforesaid requested, and i will 328 st. godric of finchale. confirm it by the faith of an honest man.' then the hermit said: 'my soul longeth for the lord, and i do as freely forgive these men my death as christ forgave the thieves upon the cross;' and in the presence of the abbot and the rest he said, moreover, these words: into thy hands, o lord, i commend my spirit, for from the bonds of death thou hast redeemed me, o lord of truth. amen.' so he yielded up the ghost the eighth day of december, a.d. 1160, upon whose soul god have mercy. amen." anchorites, strictly so called. the fertile and peaceable lowlands of england, as i have just said, offered few spots sufficiently wild and lonely for the habitation of a hermit; those, therefore, who wished to retire from the world into a more strict and solitary life than that which the monastery afforded were in the habit of immuring themselves, as anchorites, or in old english "ankers," in little cells of stone, built usually against the wall of a church. there is nothing new under the sun; and similar anchorites might have been seen in egypt, 500 years before the time of st. antony, immured in cells in the temples of isis or serapis. it is only recently that antiquaries have discovered how common this practice was in england, and how frequently the traces of these cells are to be found about our parish churches. they were so common in the diocese of lincoln in the thirteenth century, that in 1233 the archdeacon is ordered to inquire whether any anchorites' cells had been built without the bishop's leave; and in many of our parish churches may be seen, either on the north or the south side of the 330 anchorites. chancel, a narrow slit in the wall, or one of the lights of a window prolonged downwards, the prolongation, if not now walled up, being closed with a shutter. through these apertures the "incluse," or anker, watched the celebration of mass, and partook of the holy communion. similar cells were to be found in ireland, at least in the diocese of ossory; and doubtless in scotland also. ducange, in his glossary, on the word "inclusi," lays down rules for the size of the anker's cell, which must be twelve feet square, with three windows, one opening into the church, one for taking in his food, and one for light; and the "salisbury manual" as well as the "pontifical" of lacy, bishop of exeter, in the first half of the fifteenth century, contains a regular "service" for the walling in of an anchorite.* there exists too a most singular and painful book, well known to antiquaries, but to them alone, "the ancren riwle," addressed to three young ladies who had immured themselves (seemingly about the beginning of the thirteenth century) at kingston tarrant, in dorsetshire. for women as well as men entered these living tombs; and there spent their days in dirt and starvation, and such prayer and meditation doubtless as the stupified and worn-out intellect could compass; their only recreation being the gossip of the neighbouring women, who came to peep in through the little window-a recreation in which (if we are to * that of the salisbury manual is published in the "ecclesiologist for august 1848, by the rev. sir w. h. cope, to whom i am indebted for the greater number of these curious facts. "" anchorites. 331 believe the author of "the ancren riwle") they were tempted to indulge only too freely; till the window of the recluse's cell, he says, became what the smith's forge or the alehouse has become since-the place where all the gossip and scandal of the village passed from one ear to another. but we must not believe such scandals of all. only too much in earnest must those seven young maidens have been, whom st. gilbert of sempringham persuaded to immure themselves, as a sacrifice acceptable to god, in a den along the north wall of his church; or that st. hutta, or huetta, in the beginning of the thirteenth century, who after ministering to lepers, and longing and even trying to become a leper herself, immured herself for life in a cell against the church of huy near liège. fearful must have been the fate of these incluses if any evil had befallen the building of which (one may say) they had become a part. more than one in the stormy middle age may have suffered the fate of the poor women immured beside st. mary's church at mantes, who, when town and church were burnt by william the conqueror, unable to escape (or, according to william of malmesbury, thinking it unlawful to quit their cells even in that extremity), perished in the flames; and so consummated once and for all their long martyrdom. how long the practice of the hermit life was common in these islands is more than my learning enables me to say. hermits seem, from the old chartularies,* to * i owe these facts to the courtesy of mr. john stuart, of the general register office, edinburgh. 332 anchorites. we have been not unfrequent in scotland and the north of england during the whole middle age. have seen that they were frequent in the times of malcolm canmore and the old celtic church; and the latin church, which was introduced by st. margaret, seems to have kept up the fashion. in the middle of the thirteenth century, david de haigh conveyed to the monks of cupar the hermitage which gilmichael the hermit once held, with three acres of land. in 1329 the convent of durham made a grant of a hermitage to roger eller at norham on the tweed, in order that he might have a "fit place to fight with the old enemy and bewail his sins, apart from the turmoil of men." in 1445 james the second, king of scots, granted to john smith the hermitage in the forest of kilgur, "which formerly belonged in heritage to hugh cominch the hermit, and was resigned by him, with the croft and the green belonging to it, and three acres of arable land.” i have quoted these few instances, to show how long the custom lingered; and doubtless hermits. were to be found in the remoter parts of these realms when the sudden tempest of the reformation swept away alike the palace of the rich abbot and the cell of the poor recluse, and exterminated throughout england the ascetic life. the two last hermits. whom i have come across in history are both figures which exemplify very well those times of corruption and of change. at loretto (not in italy, but in musselburgh, near edinburgh) there lived a hermit who pretended to work miracles, and who it seems anchorites. 333 had charge of some image of " our lady of loretto." the scandals which ensued from the visits of young folks to this hermit roused the wrath of that terrible scourge of monks, sir david lindsay of the mount: yet as late as 1536, james the fifth of scotland made a pilgrimage from stirling to the shrine, in order to procure a propitious passage to france in search of a wife. but in 1543, lord hertford, during his destructive voyage to the forth, destroyed, with other objects of greater consequence, the chapel of the "lady of lorett," which was not likely in those days to be rebuilt; and so the hermit of musselburgh vanishes from history. * 66 a few years before, in 1537, says mr. froude,* while the harbours, piers, and fortresses were rising in dover, "an ancient hermit tottered night after night from his cell to a chapel on the cliff, and the tapers on the altar before which he knelt in his lonely orisons made a familiar beacon far over the rolling waters. the men of the rising world cared little for the sentiment of the past. the anchorite was told sternly by the workmen that his light was a signal to the king's enemies" (a spanish invasion from flanders was expected), "and must burn no more; and, when it was next seen, three of them waylaid the old man on his way home, threw him down and beat him cruelly." so ended, in an undignified way, as worn-out institutions are wont to end, the hermit life in the british isles. will it ever reappear? who can tell? "history of england,” vol. iii. p. 256, note. 334 anchorites. to an age of luxury and unbelief has succeeded, more than once in history, an age of remorse and superstition. gay gentlemen and gay ladies may renounce the world, as they did in the time of st. jerome, when the world is ready to renounce them. we have already our nunneries, our monasteries, of more creeds than one; and the mountains of kerry, or the pine forests of the highlands, may some day once more hold hermits, persuading themselves to believe, and at last succeeding in believing, the teaching of st. antony, instead of that of our lord jesus christ, and of that father of the spirits of all flesh, who made love, and marriage, and little children, sunshine and flowers, the wings of butterflies and the song of birds; who rejoices in his own works, and bids all who truly reverence him rejoice in them with him. the fancy may seem impossible. it is not more impossible than many religious phenomena seemed forty years ago, which are now no fancies, but powerful facts. the following books should be consulted by those who wish to follow out this curious subject in detail:the "vita patrum eremiticorum." the "acta sanctorum." the bollandists are, of course, almost exhaustive of any subject on which they treat. but as they are difficult to find, save in a few public libraries, the "acta sanctorum" of surius, or of aloysius lipommasius, may be profitably consulted. butler's "lives of the saints" is a book common enough, but of no great value. anchorites. 335 m. de montalembert's "moines d'occident," and ozanam's "etudes germaniques," may be read with much profit. dr. reeves' edition of adamnan's "life of st. columba," published by the irish archæological and celtic society, is a treasury of learning, which needs no praise of mine. the lives of st. cuthbert and st. godric may be found among the publications of the surtees society. the end. the borrower must return this item on or before the last date stamped below. if another user places a recall for this item, the borrower will be notified of the need for an earlier return. non-receipt of overdue notices does not exempt the borrower from overdue fines. harvard college widener library cambridge, ma 02138 617-495-2413 widener ww widener 25 jan 05 2000 cancelled please handle with care. thank you for helping to preserve library collections at harvard. 86 ame gems of goldsmith oliver goldsmith 331 1 1 1 gems of goldsmith. f the traveller, the deserted village, the hermit. with lotes and illustrations. together with a sketch of the great author. new york: samuel r. wells, publisher, 389 broadway. 1873. and thou, sweet poetry, thou loveliest maid, still first to fly where sensual joys invade ;— * * * * * * teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; teach him, that states of native strength possest, though very poor, may still be very blest; that trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, as ocean sweeps the labor'd mole away; while self-dependent power can time defy, as rocks resist the billows and the sky. john kent, stereotyper and electrotyper, 13 frankfort st., n. y. bz 3,3 g624 l 101240 introduction. his poem is said by the biographers of goldsmith to be founded on his adventurous wanderings, "flute in hand," on the continent of europe in the years 1754 and 1755. one says: "in these wanderings he encountered many privations. after a hard day's toil he knew what it was to be refused a night's shelter at a peasant's cottage. his flute did him good service except while in italy, where, as he says, 'every peasant was a better musician than i." he had also become a good disputant; and by maintaining his ground in the open discussions going on in the universities and convents on certain days, he was open to claim the gratuity of a small sum of money, a dinner, and a bed for one night." แ "the traveller was published in december, 1764, and for the first time goldsmith's name appeared as an author, the numerous works which he had written previously having been published by the booksellers without allusion to their authorship. dr. johnson examined the proof-sheets, and favorably considered it in the critical review. the poem proved a great success, and made goldsmith's name famous. it had been his dream for eight years, and the writing of it his principal solace in many hours of affliction. so much care did he bestow upon the work, that johnson pronounced it to be "a poem to which it would not be easy to find anything equal since the death of pope;" and charles fox said that "the traveller" was 66 one of the first poems in the english language." up to the time of its author's death there were nine iv introduction. editions published; and yet it is said that all goldsmith received for this poem was twenty guineas, in small installments,-a marked exhibition of the estimate then placed on poetry by either the publishers or the reading public. 66 "the traveller" was dedicated to "the rev. henry goldsmith,” brother of the author, at that time a curate in kilkenny, a man who, despising fame and fortune, has retired early to happiness and obscurity, with an income of forty pounds a year." a summary of the nature and aim of the work is contained in the closing paragraph of the dedication, which is as follows: "what reception a poem may find which has neither abuse, party, nor blank verse to support it i can not tell, nor am i solicitous to know. my aims are right. without espousing the cause of any party, i have attempted to moderate the rage of all. i have endeavored to show that there may be equal happiness in states that are differently governed from our own; that each state has a particular principle of happiness, and that this principle in each may be carried to a mischievous there are few that can judge better than yourself how far these positions are illustrated in this poem." excess. the traveller; or, a prospect of society. emote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, or by the lazy scheld, or wandering po; or onward, where the rude carinthian boor against the houseless stranger shuts the door; or where campania's plain forsaken lies, a weary waste expanding to the skies; where'er i roam, whatever realms to see, my heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee; still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, and drags at each remove a lengthening chain. eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, and round his dwelling guardian saints attend: blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire to pause from toil, and trim their evening fire: 6 the traveller; or, blest that abode, where want and pain repair, and every stranger finds a ready chair; blest be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd, where all the ruddy family around laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; or press the bashful stranger to his food, and learn the luxury of doing good. but me, not destined such delights to share, my prime of life in wandering spent and care; impell'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view; that, like the circle bounding earth and skies, allures from far, yet, as i follow, flies; my fortune leads to traverse realms alone, and find no spot of all the world my own. e'en now, where alpine solitudes ascend, i sit me down a pensive hour to spend; a prospect of society. and plac'd on high above the storm's career, look downward where a hundred realms appear; lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, the pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. when thus creation's charms around combine,. amidst the store, should thankless pride repine? say, should the philosophic mind disdain that good which makes each humbler bosom vain ? let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, these little things are great to little man; and wiser he, whose sympathetic mind exults in all the good of all mankind. ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor crown'd; ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round; ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale; ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale; *8 the traveller; or, for me your tributary stores combine: creation's heir, the world, the world is mine. as some lone miser, visiting his store, bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er; hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill, yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still : thus to my breast alternate passions rise, pleas'd with each good that heaven to man supplies: yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, to see the hoard of human bliss so small; and oft i wish, amidst the scene, to find some spot to real happiness consign'd, where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest, may gather bliss to see my fellows blest. but where to find that happiest spot below, who can direct, when all pretend to know? a prospect of society 9 the shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own; extols the treasures of his stormy seas, and his long nights of revelry and ease: the naked negro, panting at the line, boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, and thanks his gods for all the good they gave. such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, his first, best country, ever is at home. and yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, and estimate the blessings which they share, though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find an equal portion dealt to all mankind: as different good, by art or nature given, to different nations makes their blessing even. nature, a mother kind alike to all, still grants her bliss at labor's earnest call; with food as well the peasant is supplied on idra's cliffs as arno's shelvy side and though the rocky-crested summits frown, these rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down. from art more various are the blessings sent; wealth, commerce, honor, liberty, content. yet these each other's power so strong contest, that either seems destructive of the rest. where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails; and honor sinks where commerce long prevails; hence every state to one lov'd blessing prone, conforms and models life to that alone. each to the fav'rite happiness attends, and spurns the plan that aims at other ends: 10 the traveller; or, till carried to excess in each domain, this fav'rite good begets peculiar pain. but let us try these truths with closer eyes, and trace them through the prospect as it lies. here for a while, my proper cares resign'd, here let me sit in sorrow for mankind; like yon neglected shrub at random cast, that shades the steep, and sighs at every blast. far to the right where apennine ascends, bright as the summer, italy extends; its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, woods over woods in gay theatric pride; while oft some temple's mould'ring tops between with venerable grandeur mark the scene. could nature's bounty satisfy the breast, the sons of italy were surely blest. a prospect of society. 11 whatever fruits in different climes are found, that proudly rise, or humbly court the ground; whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, whose bright succession decks the varied year; whatever sweets salute the northern sky with vernal lives, that blossom but to die; these here disporting own the kindred soil, nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil; while sea-born gales their gelid wings expand to winnow fragrance round the smiling land. but small the bliss that sense alone bestows, and sensual bliss is all the nation knows. in florid beauty groves and fields appear, man seems the only growth that dwindles here. contrasted faults through all his manners reign; though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vain; though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue; and e'en in penance planning sins anew. all evils here contaminate the mind, that opulence departed leaves behind; for wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date, when commerce proudly flourish'd through the state; at her command the palace learnt to rise, again the long-fall'n column sought the skies; the canvas glow'd beyond e'en nature warm, the pregnant quarry teem'd with human form. till, more unsteady than the southern gale, commerce on other shores display'd her sail; while nought remain'd of all that riches gave, but towns unmanned, and lords without a slave: and late the nation found with fruitless skill its former strength was but plethoric ill. 12 the traveller; or, yet, still the loss of wealth is here supplied by arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride; from these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind an easy compensation seem to find. here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array'd, the pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade; processions form'd for piety and love, a mistress or a saint in every grove. by sports like these are all their cares beguil❜d, the sports of children satisfy the child; each nobler aim, represt by long control, now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul; while low delights succeeding fast behind, in happier meanness occupy the mind: as in those domes, where caesars once bore sway, defac'd by time and tott'ring in decay, there in the ruin, heedless of the dead, the shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed: and, wondering man could want the larger pile, exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. my soul, turn from them; turn we to survey where rougher climes a nobler race display, where the bleak swiss their stormy mansion tread, and force a churlish soil for scanty bread; no product here the barren hills afford, but man and steel, the soldier and his sword. no vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, but winter lingering chills the lap of may; no zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, but meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. yet still, e'en here, content can spread a charm, redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. a prospect of society. 13 though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small, he sees his little lot the lot of all; sees no contiguous palace rear its head to shame the meanness of his humble shed; no costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal, to make him loath his vegetable meal; but calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, each wish contracting, fits him to the soil. cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose, breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes; with patient angle trolls the finny deep, or drives his vent'rous ploughshare to the steep; or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, and drags the struggling savage into day. at night returning, every labor sped, he sits him down the monarch of a shed; 14 the traveller; or, smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys his children's looks, that brighten at the blaze; while his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, displays her cleanly platter on the board: and haply too some pilgrim, thither led, with many a tale repays the nightly bed. thus every good his native wilds impart, imprints the patriot passion on his heart: and e'en those ills, that round his mansion rise, enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, and dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; and as a child, when scaring sounds molest, clings close and closer to the mother's breast, so the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, but bind him to his native mountains more. such are the charms to barren states assign'd; their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd. yet let them only share the praises due, if few their wants, their pleasures are but few; for every want that stimulates the breast, becomes a source of pleasure when redrest, whence from such lands each pleasing science flies, that first excites desire, and then supplies; unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, to fill the languid pause with finer joy; unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame, catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame. their level life is but a mouldering fire, unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire; unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer on some high festival of once a year, a prospect of society. 15 in wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. but not their joys alone thus coarsely flow: their morals, like their pleasures, are but low; for, as refinement stops, from sire to son unalter'd, unimprov'd the manners run; and love's and friendship's finely pointed dart falls blunted from each indurated heart. some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast may sit, like falcons cowering on the nest; but all the gentler morals, such as play thro' life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way, these, far dispers'd on timorous pinions fly, to sport and flutter in a kinder sky. to kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, i turn; and france displays her bright domain. 16 the traveller; or, gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can please, how often have i led thy sportive choir, with tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring loire ! where shading elms along the margin grew, and freshen'd from the wave the zephyr flew; and haply, though my harsh touch falt'ring still, but mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill; yet would the village praise my wondrous power, and dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. alike all ages. dames of ancient days have led their children through the mirthful maze; and the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore. so blest a life these thoughtless realms display, thus idly busy rolls their world away; theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, for honor forms the social temper here. honor, that praise which real merit gains, or e'en imaginary worth obtains, here passes current; paid from hand to hand, it shifts in splendid traffic round the land; from courts to camps, to cottages it strays, and all are taught an avarice of praise; they please, are pleas'd, they give to get esteem, till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem. but while this softer art their bliss supplies, it gives their follies also room to rise; for praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought, enfeebles all internal strength of thought, and the weak soul, within itself unblest, leans for all pleasure on another's breast. a prospect of society. 17 hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart; here vanity assumes her pert grimace, and trims her robes of frieze with copper lace; here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, to boast one splendid banquet once a year; the mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. to men of other minds my fancy flies, embosom'd in the deep where holland lies. methinks her patient sons before me stand, where the broad ocean leans against the land, and sedulous to stop the coming tide, lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. onward methinks, and diligently slow, the firm connected bulwark seems to grow; 18 the traveller; or, spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar, scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore: while the pent ocean rising o'er the pile, sees an amphibious world beneath him smile; the slow canal, the yellow-blossom'd vale, the willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, the crowded mart, the cultivated plain, a new creation rescued from his reign. thus while around the wave-subjected soil impels the native to repeated toil, industrious habits in each bosom reign, and industry begets a love of gain. hence all the good from opulence that springs, with all those ills superfluous treasure brings, are here display'd. their much-lov'd wealth imparts convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts: but view them closer, craft and fraud appear; e'en liberty itself is bartered here. at gold's superior charms all freedom flies, the needy sell it, and the rich man buys; a land of tyrants, and a den of slaves, here wretches seek dishonorable graves, and calmly bent, to servitude conform, dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. heavens! how unlike their belgic sires of old! rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold; war in each breast, and freedom on each brow; how much unlike the sons of britain now! fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, and flies where britain courts the western spring; where lawns extend that scorn arcadian pride, and brighter streams than fam'd hydaspes glide; a prospect of society. 19 there all around the gentlest breezes stray, there gentlest music melts on every spray; creation's mildest charms are there combin'd, extremes are only in the master's mind! stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, with daring aims irregularly great; pride in their port, defiance in their eye, i see the lords of human kind pass by; intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, by forms unfashion'd, fresh from nature's hand, fierce in their native hardiness of soul, true to imagin'd right, above control, while e'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan, and learns to venerate himself as man. thine, freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd here, thine are those charms that dazzle and endear; too blest, indeed, were such without alloy, but foster'd e'en by freedom ills annoy; that independence britons prize too high, keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie; the self-dependent lordlings stand alone, all claims that bind and sweeten life unknown; here by the bonds of nature feebly held, minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd. ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar, represt ambition struggles round her shore, till, over-wrought, the general system feels, its motions stop, or phrenzy fire the wheels. nor this the worst. as nature's ties decay, as duty, love, and honor fail to sway, fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. 20 the traveller; or, hence all obedience bows to thee alone, and talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown: till time may come, when, stript of all her charms, the land of scholars, and the nurse of arms, where noble stems transmit the patriot flame, where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame, one sink of level avarice shall lie, and scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonor'd die. yet think not thus, when freedom's ills i state, i mean to flatter kings, or court the great; ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire, far from my bosom drive the low desire; and thou, fair freedom, taught alike to feel the rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry steel; thou transitory flower, alike undone by proud contempt, or favor's fostering sun, a prospect of society. 21 still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure; i only would repress them to secure; for just experience tells, in every soil, that those that think must govern those that toil: and all that freedom's highest aims can reach, is but to lay proportion'd loads on each. hence, should one order disproportion'd grow, its double weight must ruin all below. o then how blind to all that truth requires, who think it freedom when a part aspires! calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, except when fast approaching danger warms; but when contending chiefs blockade the throne, contracting regal power to stretch their own, when i behold a factious band agree to call it freedom when themselves are free; each wanton judge new penal statutes draw, laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law: the wealth of climes, where savage nations roam, pillag'd from slaves to purchase slaves at home; fear, pity, justice, indignation start, tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart; till half a patriot, half coward grown, i fly from petty tyrants to the throne. yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour when first ambition struck at regal power; and thus polluting honor in its source, gave wealth to sway the mind with double force. have we not seen, round britain's peopled shore, her useful sons exchang'd for useless ore? seen all her triumphs but destruction haste, like flaring tapers bright'ning as they waste; 22 the traveller; or, seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain, lead stern depopulation in her train, and over fields where scatter'd hamlets rose, in barren solitary pomp repose? have we not seen at pleasure's lordly call, the smiling, long-frequented village fall? beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd, the modest matron, and the blushing maid, forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train, to traverse climes beyond the western main; where wild oswego spreads her swamp around, and niagara stuns with thund'ring sound? e'en now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays, through tangled forests and through dangerous ways; where beasts with man divided empire claim, and the brown indian marks with murd'rous aim; a prospect of society. 23 there, while above the giddy tempest flies, and all around distressful yells arise, the pensive exile, bending with his woe, to stop too fearful, and too faint to casts a long look where england's glories shine, and bids his bosom sympathize with mine. go, vain, very vain, my weary search to find. that bliss which only centres in the mind: why have i stray'd from pleasure and repose, to seek a good each government bestows? in every government, though terrors reign, though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain, how small of all that human hearts endure, that part which laws or kings can cause or cure. still to ourselves in every place consign'd, our own felicity we make or find: with secret course, which no loud storms annoy, glides the smooth current of domestic joy. the lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, luke's iron crown, and damien's bed of steel, to men remote from power but rarely known, leave reason, faith, and conscience all our own. or the deserted village. introduction. 'his poem, which is universally acknowledged to be one of the sweetest in the english language, was produced in 1770, although written for the most part in the intervals of leisure from the monotonous drudgery of engagements to furnish certain volumes of history, polite literature, etc., to publishers, engagements, however, upon which the poet was dependent for personal support. its reception by the public was most cordial. between the months of may and august five editions were published, and it was “spoken on all sides as being one of the most beautiful poems ever written." goethe, the eminent german poet, hailed it with delight, and at once set to work to translate it into german. with the passage of time, its hold upon the literary world has increased instead of diminishing. no critic has disallowed the high merits of “the deserted village" as a poetical composition, and all who have feeling hearts and emotional natures own its power. as one says, "it teems with tender and pathetic sentiment and touches of the finest humor; with high moral feeling; with noble and effective imagery; with portraitures of character that exhibit the conception of a genius and the hand of a master. goldsmith dedicated this poem to one of his associates in the celebrated "literary club," sir joshua reynolds, who proved himself a friend to the poet in more than one of the latter's embarrassments. this dedication discloses so much of the author's purpose. vnice cical semn 28 introduction. in writing the poem, and that, too, with so much elegance, that it would be a mistake on our part not to make it what it properly is, he introduction to the poem. to sir joshua reynolds. dear sir-i can have no expectations in an address of this kind, either to add to your reputation, or to establish my own. you can gain nothing from my admiration, as i am ignorant of that art in which you are said to excel; and i may lose much by the severity of your judgment, as few have a juster taste in poetry than you. setting interest therefore aside, to which i never paid much attention, i must be indulged at present in following my affections. the only dedication i ever made was to my brother, because i loved him better than most other men. he is since dead. permit me to inscribe this poem to you. how far you may be pleased with the versification and mere mechanical parts of this attempt, i do not pretend to inquire; but i know you will object (and indeed several of our best and wisest friends concur in the opinion) that the depopulation it deplores is nowhere to be seen, and the disorders it laments are only to be found in the poet's own imagination. to this i can scarcely make any other answer than that i sincerely believe what i have written; that i have taken all possible pains, in my country excursions, for these four or five years past, to be certain of what i allege, and that all my views and inquiries have led me to believe those miseries real which i here attempt to display. but this is not the place to enter into an inquiry, whether the country be depopulating or not; the discussion would take up much room, and i should prove myself, at best, an indifferent politician to tire the reader with a long preface when i want his unfatigued attention to a long poem. in regretting the depopulation of the country, i inveigh against the increase of our luxuries; and here also i expect the shout of modern politicians against me. for twenty or thirty years past it has been the fashion to consider luxury as one of the greatest national advantages; and all the wisdom of antiquity in that particular, as erroneous. still, however, i must remain a professed ancient on that head, and continue to think those luxuries prejudicial to states by which so many vices are introduced and so many kingdoms have been undone. indeed, so much has been poured out of late on the other side of the question, that, merely for the sake of novelty and variety, one would sometimes wish to be in the right. i am, dear sir, your sincere friend and ardent admirer, oliver goldsmith. the deserted village. weet auburn! loveliest village of the plain, where health and plenty cheer'd the laboring swain, where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, and parting summer's ling'ring blooms delay'd; dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, seats of my youth,* when every sport could please, how often have i loiter'd o'er thy green, where humble happiness endear'd each scene! how often have i paus'd on every charm, the shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, the never-failing brook, the busy mill, the decent church that topp'd the neighb'ring hill, the hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, for talking age and whisp'ring lovers made! *"seats of my youth."-this epithet seems most likely to point at lissoy or ballyoughter as the region of country designated as auburn. the general characteristics of the scenery in the place first mentioned are very similar to those portrayed so vividly in the poem, while some contend that the description is as appropriate to the other. 30 the deserted village. how often have i bless'd the coming day,* when toil remitting lent its turn to play, and all the village train, from labor free, led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, while many a pastime circled in the shade, the young contending as the old survey'd ; and many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, and sleights of art and feats of strength went round; and still as each repeated pleasure tir'd, succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd; j.a.coughlan-co.ny the dancing pair that simply sought renown, by holding out, to tire each other down; *there is no good reason for the inference some have drawn here, that goldsmith alluded to saints' days. at the date of this poem, and later, recreations of the kind alluded to were customary in ireland on sunday. the deserted village. 31 the swain mistrustless of his smutted face, while secret laughter titter'd round the place; the bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, the matron's glance that would those looks reprove. these were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these with sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please; these round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, these were thy charms,---but all these charms are fled! sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, and desolation saddens all thy green: one only master grasps the whole domain,* and half a tillage stints thy smiling plain; no more thy glassy brook reflects the day, but, chok'd with sedges, works its weedy way; along thy glades, a solitary guest, the hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, and tires their echoes with unvaried cries. sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, and the long grass o'ertops the mould'ring wall, and, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, far, far away thy children leave the land. ill fares the land, to hast'ning ills a prey, where wealth accumulates, and men decay: princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; a breath can make them, as a breath has made; * this keen reproach seems to refer to general robert napier, who purchased a large irish estate, including lissoy, in 1730. desiring to inclose a considerable park, he ejected all the tenants (the goldsmiths excepted), numbering upward of a hundred persons, many of whom emigrated to america. 32 the deserted village. but a bold peasantry, their country's pride, when once destroy'd, can never be supplied. a time there was, ere england's griefs began,* when every rood of ground maintain'd its man; for him light labor spread her wholesome store, just gave what life requir'd, but gave no more his best companions, innocence and health; and his best riches, ignorance of wealth. ة but times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train usurp the land and dispossess the swain; along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, unwieldy wealth and cumb'rous pomp repose; * from this assertion, and what follows, it is apparent that the principle intended to be illustrated in the poem by a particular place, wherever it may be, is applied to england as well as to ireland. the deserted village. 3333 and every want to luxury allied, and every pang that folly pays to pride. those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, those calm desires that ask'd but little room, those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful scene, liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green; these, far departing, seek a kinder shore, and rural mirth and manners are no more. sweet auburn! parent of the blissful hour, thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. here, as i take my solitary rounds, amidst thy tangling walks, and ruin'd grounds, and, many a year elaps'd, return to view where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, remembrance wakes with all her busy train swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. in all my wand'rings round this world of care, in all my griefs, and god has giv'n my share,i still had hopes my latest hours to crown, amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; to husband out life's taper at the close, and keep the flame from wasting by repose; i still had hopes, for pride attends us still, amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill, around my fire an evening group to draw, and tell of all i felt, and all i saw ; and, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue, pants to the place from whence at first he flew, i still had hopes, my long vexations past, here to return,-and die at home at last. o blest retirement, friend to life's decline, retreats from care, that never must be mine, 2* 34 the deserted village. how blest is he who crowns in shades like these, a youth of labor with an age of ease; who quits a world where strong temptations try, and, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! for him no wretches, born to work and weep, explore the mine, or tempt the dang'rous deep; no surly porter stands in guilty state, to spurn imploring famine from the gate: but on he moves to meet his latter end, angels around befriending virtue's friend; sinks to the grave with unperceiv'd decay, while resignation gently slopes the way;* and, all his prospects bright'ning to the last, his heaven commences ere the world be past. sweet was the sound, when oft, at ev'ning's close, up yonder hill the village murmur rose; there, as i pass'd with careless steps and slow, the mingling notes came soften'd from below; the swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, the sober herd that low'd to meet their young; the noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, the playful children just let loose from school; the watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring wind; and the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; these all in sweet confusion sought the shade, and fill'd each pause the nightingale had made. but now the sounds of population fail, no cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, no busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread, but all the bloomy flush of life is fled. *the famous painting "resignation," which sir joshua reynolds dedicated to goldsmith, was suggested by this passage. the deserted village. 35 all but yon widow'd, solitary thing, that feebly bends beside the plashy spring; she, wretched matron, forc'd in age, for bread, to strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, to pick her wintry fagot from the thorn, to seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; she only left of all the harmless train, the sad historian of the pensive plain.* near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd, and still where many a garden-flower grows wild; there, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, the village preacher's modest mansion rose. *this powerful picture of contrasted conditions brings vividly to the reader's mind the village once teeming with good cheer and happiness, and the painful afterdesolation. the allusion to the "widow'd, solitary thing" is believed to be made of a poor widow by the name of catherine geraghty, who remained at lissoy. 36 the deserted village. a man he was to all the country dear, and passing rich with forty pounds a year; remote from towns he ran his godly race, nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his place; unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, by doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, more bent to raise the wretched than to rise. his house was known to all the vagrant train, he chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain; the long remembered beggar was his guest, whose beard descending swept his aged breast. the ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; the broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, sate by his fire, and talk'd the night away; wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow; and quite forgot their vices in their woe; careless their merits, or their faults to scan, his pity gave ere charity began.* thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, and e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side: but in his duty prompt at every call, he watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all; and, as a bird each fond endearment tries, to tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies, he tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. the poet's father, charles goldsmith, who was a country curate, doubtless was the original from which was drawn this delightful portrait. the deserted village. 37 beside the bed where parting life was laid, and sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, the rev'rend champion stood. at his control despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, and his last falt'ring accents whisper'd praise. at church, with meek and unaffected grace, his looks adorn'd the venerable place; truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, and fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. the service past, around the pious man, with steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; e'en children follow'd with endearing wile, and pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile. 38 the deserted village. his ready smile a parent's warmth express'd, their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd; to them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, but all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. as some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, eternal sunshine settles on its head.* beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, with blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, there, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, the village master taught his little school; † a man severe he was, and stern to view, i knew him well, and every truant knew; well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace the day's disasters in his morning face; full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee at all his jokes, for many a joke had he; full well the busy whisper circling round, convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd; yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, the love he bore to learning was in fault; the village all declar'd how much he knew; 'twas certain he could write, and cypher too; lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, and e'en the story ran that he could guage; * there is scarcely anything to be met with in all the range of english poetry which equals the simple grandeur and beauty of the simile introduced in these four lines. it has been remarked that a similar comparison occurs in the verse of the latin poet claudian, and might have suggested the thought of goldsmith. ↑ goldsmith's first male teacher was quarter-master byrne, to whom the graceful and humorous pen-portrait was said to bear a striking likeness. the deserted village. 39 in arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill, for e'en though vanquished, he could argue still; while words of learned length, and thund'ring sound, amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around, and still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew, that one small head could carry all he knew. but past is all his fame. the very spot where many a time he triumph'd is forgot. near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspir'd, where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil retir'd, where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound, and news much older than their ale went round. imagination fondly stoops to trace the parlor splendors of that festive place; 40 the deserted village. the whitewashed wall, the nicely-sanded floor, the varnished clock that click'd behind the door; the chest contriv'd a double debt to pay, a bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; the pictures plac'd for ornament and use, the twelve good rules, the royal game of goose; the hearth, except when winter chill'd the day, with aspen boughs, and flowers and fennel gay, with broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row. * vain transitory splendors! could not all reprieve the tott'ring mansion from its fall! obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart an hour's importance to the poor man's heart; thither no more the peasant shall repair, to sweet oblivion of his daily care; no more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, no more the woodman's ballad shall prevail; no more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, relax his pond'rous strength, and lean to hear; the host himself no longer shall be found careful to see the mantling bliss go round; nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, these simple blessings of the lowly train. to me more dear, congenial to my heart, one native charm, than all the gloss of art; * there is in this description a closer approach, it must be conceded, to an english inn than to an irish inn. however, the proprietor of the "three jolly pigeons" at lissoy repaired and arranged that "place of entertainment" to suit the descriptior given in this poem. the deserted village. 41 spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, the soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. but the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, with all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed, in these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, the toiling pleasure sickens into pain: and, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, the heart distrusting asks, if this be joy? * ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey, the rich man's joy increase, the poor's decay, 'tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand between a splendid and a happy land. proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, and shouting folly hails them from her shore; hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, and rich men flock from all the world around. yet count our gains. this wealth is but a name that leaves our useful products still the same. not so the loss. this man of wealth and pride takes up a space that many poor supplied; space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, space for his horses, equipage and hounds; the robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth, has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth; his seat, where solitary sports are seen, indignant spurns the cottage from the green: around the world each needful product flies, for all the luxuries the world supplies. * here, by a single master-stroke, the poet contrasts simple rustic enjoyments with the envious and extravagant dissipation of aristocratic society. 42 the deserted village. while thus the land adorn'd, for pleasure, all in barren splendor feebly waits the fall. * as some fair female unadorn'd and plain, secure to please while youth confirms her reign, slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies, nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes; but when those charms are past, for charms are frail, when time advances, and when lovers fail, she then shines forth, solicitous to bless, in all the glaring impotence of dress. thus fares the land by luxury betray'd, in nature's simplest charms at first array'd, but verging to decline, its splendors rise, its vistas strike, its palaces surprise: while, scourged by famine from the smiling land, the mournful peasant leads his humble band; and while he sinks, without one arm to save, the country blooms-a garden and a grave. where, then, ah! where shall poverty reside, to 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride? if to some common's fenceless limits stray'd he drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, and e'en the bare-worn common is denied. if to the city sped-what waits him there? to see profusion that he must not share; to see ten thousand baneful arts combined to pamper luxury, and thin mankind; * a wholesome lesson in political economy is taught in this and following passages. the same spirit of unscrupulous exaction and appropriation is exhibited by the wealthy to day, forgetting the principle that in the comfort and security of the lower classes consists the chief essential to true national prosperity. the deserted village. 43 to see each joy the sons of pleasure know extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, there the pale artist plies the sickly trade; here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, there the black gibbet glooms beside the way. the dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign, here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train: tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, the rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! sure these denote one universal joy! are these thy serious thoughts?—ah, turn thine eyes where the poor houseless, shiv'ring female lies. she once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, has wept at tales of innocence distrest; her modest looks the cottage might adorn. sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn, now lost to all: her friends, her virtue fled, near her betrayer's door she lays her head, and, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower, with heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, when idly first, ambitious of the town, she left her wheel and robes of country brown. do thine, sweet auburn, thine, the loveliest train, do thy fair tribes participate her pain? e'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, at proud men's doors they ask a little bread! ah! no. to distant climes, a dreary scene, where half the convex world intrudes between, through torrid tracks with fainting steps they go, where wild altama murmurs to their woe. 44 the deserted village. far different there from all that charmed before, the various terrors of that horrid shore: those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, and fiercely shed intolerable day; those matted woods where birds forget to sing, but silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd, where the dark scorpion gathers death around; where at each step the stranger fears to wake the rattling terrors of the vengeful snake; where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, and savage men more murd'rous still than they; while oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies. far different these from every former scene, the cooling brook, the grassy vested green, the breezy covert of the warbling grove, that only shelter'd thefts of harmless love. good heavens! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day that called them from their native walks away; when the poor exiles, every pleasure past, hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their last, and took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain for seats like these beyond the western main; and shudd'ring still to face the distant deep, return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep. the good old sire, the first prepar'd to go * to new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe; but for himself in conscious virtue brave, he only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave. * could anything be conceived more realistic and pathetic than this portraiture of clinging affection for home? the deserted village. 45 his lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, the fond companion of his helpless years, silent went next, neglectful of her charms, and left a lover's for her father's arms, with louder plaints the mother spoke her woes and bless'd the cot where every pleasure rose; and kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear, and clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear; while her fond husband strove to lend relief in all the silent manliness of grief. o luxury thou curst by heaven's decree, how ill-exchang'd are things like these for thee! how do thy potions with insidious joy, diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, boast of a florid vigor not their own. at every draught more large and large they grow, a bloated mass of rank unwieldly woe; till sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound, down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. e'en now the devastation is begun, and half the business of destruction done; e'en now, methinks, as pond'ring here i stand, i see the rural virtues leave the land. down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, that idly waiting flaps with every gale, downward they move, a melancholy band, pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. contented toil, and hospitable care, and kind connubial tenderness are there; and piety, with wishes plac'd above, and steady loyalty, and faithful love. 46 the deserted village. and thou, sweet poetry, thou loveliest maid, still first to fly where sensual joys invade; unfit in these degenerate times of shame, to catch the heart, or strike for honest fame; dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, my shame in crowds, my solitary pride, thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, that found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; thou guide by which the noble arts excel, thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well! farewell, and o! where'er thy voice be tried, on torno's cliffs, or pambamarca's side, whether where equinoctial fervors glow, or winter wraps the polar world in snow, still let thy voice, prevailing over time, redress the rigors of th' inclement clime; aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain; teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; teach him, that states of native strength possest, though very poor, may still be very blest; that trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, as ocean sweeps the labor'd mole away; while self-dependent power can time defy, as rocks resist the billows and the sky.* *it is stated by boswell, in his "life of johnson," croker's edition, 1835, that dr. johnson marked for him with a pencil the last four lines of the poem as having been written by him. the hermit. the hermit. this poem, as the reader is doubtless aware, occurs in that most remarkable combination of humor and pathos, "the vicar of wakefield," and is introduced not merely as a graceful decoration in verse of what is most admirable prose, but, as is apparent from the text of the dialogue immediately preceding it, is introduced to illustrate the advantage of a pure and simple style in poetic composition. to convey the author's meaning, we can not do better than transcribe the passage with which he prefaces the "ballad: "our family dined in the field, and we sat, or rather inclined, round a temperate repast, our cloth spread upon the hay, while mr. burchell gave cheerfulness to the feast. to heighten our satisfaction, two blackbirds answered each other from opposite hedges, the familiar redbreast came and pecked the crumbs from our hands, and every sound seemed but the echo of tranquillity. i never sit thus,' says sophia, but i think of the two lovers, so sweetly described by mr. gay, who were struck dead in each other's arms. there is something so pathetic in the description, that i have read it an hundred times with new rapture. in my opinion,' cried my son, the finest strokes in that description are much below those in the acis and galatea of ovid. the roman poet understands the use of contrast better, and upon that figure, artfully managed, all strength in the pathetic depends.' it is remarkable,' cried mr. burchell, that both the poets you mention have equally contributed to introduce a false taste into their respective countries, by loading all their lines with epithet. men of little genius found them most easily imitated in their defects, and english poetry, like that in the latter empire of rome, is nothing at present but a combination of luxuriant images, without plot or connection; a string of epithets that improve the sound, without carrying out the sense. but, perhaps, madam, while i thus reprehend others, you'll think it just that i should give them an opportunity to retaliate; and, indeed, i have made this remark only to have an opportunity of introducing to the company a ballad, which, whatever be its other defects, is, i think, at least free from those i have mentioned.""" "turn, gentle. hermit of the dale, and guide my lonely way to where yon taper cheers the vale, with hospitable ray. "for here forlorn and lost i tread, with fainting steps and slow; where wilds immeasurably spread, seem length'ning as i go." 50 the hermit. แ forbear, my son," the hermit cries, "to tempt the dangerous gloom; for yonder faithless phantom flies to lure thee to thy doom. 66 here to the houseless child of want my door is open still; and though my portion is but scant, i give it with good-will. "then turn to-night, and freely share whate'er my cell bestows; my rushy couch and frugal fare, my blessing and repose. "no flocks that range the valley free, to slaughter i condemn; taught by that power that pities me, i learn to pity them: "but from the mountain's grassy side a guiltless feast i bring; a scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd, 66 and water from the spring. then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; all earth-born cares are wrong; man wants but little here below, nor wants that little long." soft as the dew from heaven descends, his gentle accents fell; the modest stranger lowly bends, and follows to the cell. the hermit. 51 far in a wilderness obscure the lonely mansion lay, a refuge to the neighb'ring poor and strangers led astray. no stores beneath its humble thatch requir'd a master's care; the wicket, op'ning with a latch, receiv'd the harmless pair. and now, when busy crowds retire to take their ev'ning rest, the hermit trimm'd his little fire, and cheer'd his pensive guest: and spread his vegetable store, and gaily press'd, and smil'd; and skill'd in legendary lore the ling'ring hours beguil'd. around in sympathetic mirth its tricks the kitten tries, the cricket chirrups in the hearth, the crackling fagot flies. but nothing could a charm impart to sooth the stranger's woe; for grief was heavy at his heart, and tears began to flow. his rising cares the hermit spy'd, with answ'ring care opprest; "and whence, unhappy youth," he cry'd, "the sorrows of thy breast? 52 the hermit. "from better habitations spurn'd, reluctant dost thou rove? or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, or unregarded love? "alas! the joys that fortune brings are trifling, and decay; and those who prize the paltry things, more trifling still than they. "and what is friendship but a name, a charm that lulls to sleepa shade that follows wealth or fame, but leaves the wretch to weep? "and love is still an emptier sound, the modern fair-one's jest: on earth unseen, or only found to warn the turtle's nest. "for shame, fond youth! thy sorrows hush, and spurn the sex," he said; but while he spoke, a rising blush his love-lorn guest betray'd. surpris'd, he sees new beauties rise, swift mantling to the view; like colors o'er the morning skies, as bright, as transient, too. the bashful look, the rising breast, alternate spread alarms: the lovely stranger stands confest a maid in all her charms. the hermit. 53 "and, ah! forgive a stranger rude, a wretch forlorn," she cry'd; "whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude where heav'n and you reside. "but let a maid thy pity share, whom love has taught to stray; who seeks for rest, but finds despair companion of her way. "my father lived beside the tyne: a wealthy lord was he; and all his wealth was mark'd as mine, he had but only me. "to win me from his tender arms, unnumber'd suitors came; who prais'd me for imputed charms, and felt, or feign'd, a flame. “each hour a mercenary crowd with richest proffers strove : among the rest young edwin bow'd, but never talk'd of love. “in humble, simplest habit clad, no wealth nor power had he; wisdom and worth were all he had, but these were all to me "and when, beside me in the dale, he carol'd lays of love, his breath lent fragrance to the gale, and music to the grove.* * this stanza, never before printed, was communicated by richard archdal, esq., who received it from the author himself. 54 the hermit. "the blossom opening to the day, the dews of heav'n refin'd, could nought of purity display to emulate his mind. "the dew, the blossom on the tree, with charms inconstant shine: their charms were his, but woe to me, their constancy was mine. "for still i try'd each fickle art, importunate and vain; and while his passion touch'd my heart, i triumph'd in his pain. "till quite dejected with my scorn, he left me to my pride; and sought a solitude forlorn, in secret, where he died. "but mine the sorrow, mine the fault, and well my life shall pay; i'll seek the solitude he sought, and stretch me where he lay. "and there forlorn despairing hid, i'll lay me down and die; 'twas so for me that edwin did, and so for him will i.” "forbid it heav'n!" the hermit cry'd, and clasp'd her to his breast: the wond'ring fair one turn'd to chide,— 'twas edwin's self that press'd. the hermit. 35 55 "turn, angelina, ever dear, my charmer, turn to see thy own, thy long-lost edwin here, restor'd to love and thee. "thus let me hold thee to my heart, and every care resign; and shall we never, never part, my life, my all that's mine? "no, never from this hour to part, we'll live and love so true; the sigh that rends thy constant heart, shall break thy edwin's too." 1 biography. 66 oliver goldsmith was born at pallas, or pallasmore, in the county of longford, ireland, on the 10th of november, 1728. his father, the rev. charles goldsmith, was a protestant clergyman. when oliver had reached the age of two years his father became rector of kilkenny west, and removed to the village of lissoy, in the county of westmeath. by this change his circumstances were materially improved. according to all accounts, oliver was an exceedingly dull boy." his first teacher declared him to be "impenetrably stupid." he made but little progress in his studies while attending the village school, and was soon removed to a special school at elphin, where, much to his distaste, he was put to study horace and ovid. he had never been a good-looking boy, and an attack of the small-pox had left him with features which too many of his schoolfellows called ugly. he was generally considered a stupid, heavy blockhead, little better than a fool, and every one made fun of him. as is evident in his portrait, his perceptive faculties were but moderately developed as compared with his reflectives. he was possessed of much more originality in thought than appreciation of external things and conditions. his temperament, too, was not of the sharpest type, but partook of the vital in large proportion, thus inclining him to ease, and perhaps indolence. as a boy, this temperamental condition was pretty strongly marked, and, as a consequence, many of the characteristics which provoked the ridicule of his schoolmates and the frequent reproofs of his teachers are accounted for. the latter, to their discredit, it must be said, did not understand him. in fact, at that time the light which in these latter days illumines the sphere of the educator, enabling him to discriminate between the mental capacities of youth, had not then dawned. had his teachers possessed a sufficient insight into temperamental adapta58 biography. tions, oliver would have enjoyed a training adapted to his abilities and preferences, and so, doubtless, would have escaped much of the misfortune and chagrin which clouded his adult life. this treatment made him peevish and irritable, yet at times he was good-natured, and even good-humored. on one occasion, while dancing a hornpipe, the musician stigmatized him as "ugly æsop," to which he retorted to the effect that he was dancing to the music of esop's monkey. this repartee has been retained by some of goldsmith's biographers in the following couplet: "our herald hath proclaimed this saying, see æsop dancing, and his monkey playing at the age of thirteen he was removed to the school of rev. patrick hughes at edgeworthstown, where he made considerable progress in his studies, became fond of ovid, horace, and livy, mastered tacitus, but hated cicero. during the four years he remained here, he conquered his shyness and overcame many of his awkward ways, and even took the leader's part in the sports and depredations of the boys. we next find him at the dublin university as a sizar, where he had to sweep the courts and do all kinds of menial offices. "the popular picture of him in these university days," says one authority, "is little more than a slow, hesitating, somewhat hollow voice, heard seldom, and always to great disadvantage in the class-rooms; and of a lowsized, thick, ungainly figure lounging about the college grounds on the wait for misery and ill-luck." in 1747, after oliver had been at school a year and a half, his father died suddenly, and the hitherto slender means which had supplied the poor collegian for his daily wants died with him. to keep himself from actual starvation he took to writing street ballads, which he disposed of for five shillings a copy, and his greatest delight was to steal out of college to hear his effusions sung. he found that the listeners around the ballad-singer were pleased with his songs, and he was now happy that a small source of income was open to him. notwithstanding his extreme poverty, his charity was reckless to the extreme, and he would frequently dispose of all he possessed, even some of his clothes, to comfort some poor, half-starved wretch, and then go calmly without himself. on the 27th of february, 1749, he took his degree of bachelor of arts, and soon after returned to his mother's house. his friends urged him to qualify for holy orders, and he at last consented. as he biography. 59 was only twenty-one, he would have to wait two years for this, and to while away this period, we find him writing verses, learning french from the irish priests, fishing, hunting, and forming a club at the village ale-house, where a few uneasy spirits met to tell stories, sing songs, and play whist. his application for holy orders was not successful, but for what cause does not appear. some say he applied in scarlet kneebreeches; others, that his old tutor told the bishop of his irregularities while in college; but it is well known that oliver himself had no liking for the clerical profession. in 1752 he commenced the study of medicine in edinburgh, where he made some progress in chemistry; but was known principally as a capital teller of humorous stories, and a very good singer of irish songs. becoming involved in debt, he hastily left edinburgh for leyden, where he engaged in teaching, but soon abandoned it; and after various adventures, in february, 1755, flute in hand, he set out on that renowned journey which he has immortalized in his “traveller." traveling through flanders, singing and playing his flute at the houses of the peasantry, in order to obtain a supper and a night's lodging, he at length reached louvain, where, according to some of his biographers, he took the degree of "medical bachelor." he afterward passed through belgium and other parts of the continent, and ultimately reached paris, where he attended chemical lectures, visited the theaters, and had an opportunity to study french manners and politics, and to still further perpetuate his prevailing fault-that of getting into debt. he next passed to switzerland, climbed the alps, visited basle, berne, and other places, and then descended into piedmont, made his way to florence, mantua, milan, padua, etc. in these wanderings he encountered many privations. after a hard day's toil he knew what it was to be refused a night's shelter at a peasant's cottage. his flute still did him good service, except while in italy, where, as he says, “every peasant was a better musician than i." he had also become a good disputant, and by maintaining his ground in the open discussions going on in the universities and convents on certain days, he was open to claim his gratuity of a small sum of money, a dinner, and a bed for one night. finally, he turned his course toward england, where he landed on the 1st of february, 1756, and soon found himself alone, friendless, and without a farthing in his pocket in the terribly gloomy streets of london. he at length succeeded in obtaining a situation as assistant to a chem 3 60 biography. 66 "" ist, and soon after we find him practicing as a physician in a very humble way. but being unable to gain a livelihood by his profession, he soon changed it for a situation as assistant in the scholastic establishment of mr. milner, at peckham. he was next employed as “literary hack for mr. griffiths, publisher of the monthly review, in paternoster row, where he criticised with general success the works of smollett, johnson, burke, gray, and others. but so poorly was he paid for his literary labor, that after a few months he threw up authorship and went back as usher to dr. milner's academy, at peckham. fortunately for the world, however, goldsmith could not long abandon the school of literature. in february, 1758, his first book, entitled "the memoirs of a protestant condemned to the galleys of france," was published by griffiths. on the 2d of april, 1759, his work entitled enquiry into the present state of polite learning in europe," was published by dodsley, in 1759 he was engaged in writing for the bee, the busy body, and the ladies' magazine. in 1760 he was engaged to contribute two articles per week to the public ledger, at a guinea each. up to this time he had occupied lodgings in a garret in a miserable locality called green arbor court, lying between the old bailey and farringdon street. he now took what he called respectable lodgings in wine office court, fleet street. of the numerous literary undertakings in which he was engaged, our space will not admit of detailing. the simple titles of the books and reviews which he wrote would fill several of these pages. his "history of england, in a series of letters from a nobleman to his son," was a great success, and was translated into the french. about this time he became acquainted with dr. johnson, and laid the foundation for that friendship which ever after existed between them. as his reputation increased, he also became associated with foote, garrick, sir joshua reynolds, churchill, burke, and numerous other celebrities. he was one of the founders of the turk's head club, where such men as burke, johnson, reynolds, and other notables, met to banter wit and repartee, or talk politics and literature. on the 19th of december, 1764, his “traveller ” was issued, and this was the first of his numerous works in connection with which his name appeared. this poem was a great success. johnson pronounced it “a poem to which it would not be easy to find anything equal since the time of pope;" and charles fox declared it to be "one of the first poems in the english language." up to the biography. 61 time of goldsmith's death there were nine editions published of "the traveller," and yet it is supposed that all he received for it was twenty guineas. the duke of northumberland, then lord-lieutenant of ireland, one day sent for him and told him that, hearing he was a native of that country, and having read his "traveller" with much interest, he should be glad to do him any kindness. here was at once a great helping hand, and likewise patronage, held out to him; but he simply said he had a brother in ireland, a poor clergyman, who stood in need of help. goldsmith now received better pay for his works. for " a survey of experimental philosophy" he was paid sixty guineas. his "vicar of wakefield" was published in march, 1766. no book has obtained a wider popularity, and none is more likely to endure, and yet all goldsmith received for it was sixty pounds. he now turned his attention to stage literature. his first production was "the goodnatured man," which proved very successful, and brought him over five hundred pounds. in 1773 his second comedy, "she stoops to conquer," was brought out. so great was the success of this, that for the first three nights the author is supposed to have received between four and five hundred pounds. on the tenth night it was played by royal command. it ran nearly the whole season, and has ever since retained its place as one of the greatest favorites of our stock comedies. he now occupied handsomely furnished chambers in the brick court, middle temple, where he might have lived a happy and prosperous life, but his reckless and generous habits led him still further into debt, from which he never recovered. many were the social dinners and nights of feasting that took place here. in 1769 he was honored with the degree of m. b. by the oxford university. "the deserted village" was published in 1799, and its success was immediate and decisive. it was translated into the german by goethe. between the months of may and august five editions were published, and it was spoken of on all sides as being one of the most beautiful poems ever written. among his other works which attracted particular attention were histories of england, rome, and greece, "life of lord bolingbroke," "animated nature," and "life of dr. parnell." in march, 1774, he had a severe attack of an old illness, which resulted in a nervous fever, from which he died on the 4th of the following month, in the forty-sixth year of his age. he was buried in the ground of temple church. a monument was erected to his memory in westminster 62 biography. abbey. it consists of a medallion portrait. the epitaph, which is in latin, was written by dr. johnson. the following is a translation: oliver goldsmith, poet, naturalist, and historian, who left scarcely any style of writing untouched, and touched nothing that he did not adorn; of all the passions, whether smiles were to be moved, or tears, a powerful yet gentle master. in genius, sublime, vivid, versatile ; in style, elevated, clear, elegant. the love of companions, the fidelity of friends, and the veneration of readers, have by this monument honoured the memory. he was born in ireland, at a place called pallas, (in the parish) of forney, (and county) of longford, on the 10th nov., 1728. educated at the (university of) dublin. and died in london, 4th april, 1774. mm www samuel r. wells' publications. aesop's fables. www style of engraving-the frog and the ox. esop's fables illustrated.-the people's pictorial edition. with seventy splendid illustrations. complete in one vol., 12mo, 72 pp. beautifully printed on tinted paper, bound in cloth, gilt edges, beveled boards, $1. the following brief selections, from a very numerous collection of notices of the press, show with what favor this beautiful edition has been received. the new york daily times says: "this attractive volume is very appropriately styled the people's edition.' the illustrations are numerous, spirited, and well engraved." the christian intelligencer says: "the designs are new, apt, and form & decided feature of this work. the artist has put wit into his delineations, and the fables may be read in their pictorial representatives. the cincinnati journal of commerce says: "it is an exceedingly beautiful little volume, and is well worthy of having a place in every house with the family bible." the brooklyn union says: "it is one of the best gift-books of the season." 99 the american baptist says: "it is a neat volume, beautifully illustrated. it contains a larger number of fables than we have before seen grouped together under the name of that great master." the rural new yorker says: "the form, appearance and general style of the book make it truly the people's edition,' as the publishers announce." the mount holly herald says: "it is gotten up in sumptuous style, and illustrated with great beauty of design. it will conduce to educate the eye and elevate the taste of the young to the appreciation of the highest and most perfect forms of gra e and beauty." the phrenological journal says: "this is a beautiful cdition of the sayings of the slave of athens. the volume is complete, containing over two hundred fables and upward of sixty fine-lined wood engravings, nearly every page being charmingly illustrated. it is beautifully printed on tinted aper, bound in cloth, with gilt edges, and well calculated for a popular gift to old and young." new physiognome wknowin yse by s. r. wells, 389 b'way, n. y. "it is an illustrated cyclopedia." new physiognomy; or, signs of character, as manifested in temperament and external forms, and especially in the human face divine. by s. r. wells, editor phrenological journal. large 12mo, 768 pp. with more than 1,000 engravings. illustrating physiognomy, anatomy, physiology, ethnology, phrenology, and natural history. a comprehensive, thorough, and practical work, in which all that is known on the subject treated is systematized, explained, illustrated, and applied. physiognomy is here shown to be no mere fanciful speculation, but a consistent and wellconsidered system of character-reading, based on the established truths of physiology and phrenology, and confirmed by ethnology, as well as by the peculiarities of individnals. it is no abstraction, but something to be made useful; something to be practiced by everybody and in all places, and made an efficient help in that noblest of all studiesthe study of man. it is readily understood and as readily applied. the following are some of the leading topics discussed and explained in this great illustrated work: previous systems given, including those of all ancient and modern writers. general principles of physiognomy, or the physiological laws on which character-reading is and must be based. temperaments. the ancient doctrines spurzheim's description the new classification now in use here. practical physiognomy. general forms of faces-the eyes, the mouth, the nose, the chin, the jaws and teeth, the cheeks, the forehead, the ilair and beard, the complexion, the neck and ears, the hands and feet, the voice, the walk, the laugh, the mode of shaking hands, dress, etc., with illustrations. ethnology-the races, including the caucasian, the north american indians, the mongolian, the malay, and the african, with their numerous subdivisions: also national types, each illustrated. physiognomy applied-to marriage, to the training of children, to persona improvement, to business, to insanity and idiocy, to health and disease, to classes and professions, to personal improvement, and to character-reading generally. utility of physiognomy, self-improvement. animal types.grades of intelligence, instinct and reason alimai heads and animal types among meu. graphomancy.-character revealed in hand-writing, with specimens-palmistry. "line of life" in the human hand. character-reading.more than a hundred noted men and women introduced-what physiognomy says of them. the great secret.-how to be healthy and how to be beautiful-mental cosmetics-very interesting, very useful. aristotle and st. paul.-a model head-views of life illustrative anecdotes-detecting a rogue by his face. no one can read this book without interest, without real profit. "knowledge is power," and this is emphatically true of a knowledge of men-of human character. he who has it is "master of the situation ;" and anybody may have it who will, and find in it the "secret of success" and the road to the largest personal improvement. price, in one large volume, of nearly 800 pages, and more than 1,000 engravings, on toned paper, handsomely bound in embossed muslin, $5; in heavy calf, marbled edges, $8; turkey morocco, full gilt. $10. agents may do well to canvass for this work. free by post. please address, s. r. wells, 389 broadway, new york. the indispensable hand-book. how to write how to talk how to ------behave, and how to do business. complete in one large volume. this new work-in four parts-embraces just that practical matter-offact information whicn every one-old and young-ought to have. it will aid in attaining, if it does not insure, "success in life." it contains some 600 pages, elegantly bound, and is divided into fuer parts, as follows: how to write: as a manual of letter-writing and composition, is far superior to the common "letter-writers." it teaches the inexperienced how to write business letters, funily letters, friendly letters, love letters, notes and cards, and newspaper articles, and how to correct proof for the press. the rewspapers have pronounced it "indispensable." how to talk: no other book contains so much useful instruction on the subject as this. it teaches how to speak correctly, clearly, fiuently, forcibly, eloquently, and effectively, in the shop, in the drawing-room; a chairman's guide, to conduct debating societies and public meetings; how to spell, and how to pronounce all sorts of words; with exercises for declamation. the chapter on "errors corrected" is worth the price of the volume to every young man. "worth a dozen grammars." how to behave: 99 this is a manual of etiquette, and it is believed to be the best "manners book" ever written. if you desire to know what good manners require, at home, on the street, at a party, at church, at table, in conversation, at places of amusement, in traveling, in the company of ladies, in courtship, this book will inform you. it is a standard work on good behavior. how to do business: indispensable in the counting-room, in the store, in the shop, on the farm, for the clerk, the apprentice, the book agent, and for business men. it teaches how to choose a pursuit, and how to follow it with success. "it teaches how to get rich honestly," and how to use your riches wisely. how to write how to talk-how to behave-how to do business, bound in one large handsome volume, post-paid, for $2 25. agents wanted. address, s. r. wells, 389 broadway, new york. the new testament in greek and english, entitled the emphatic diaglott, containing the original greek text of what is commonly called the new testament, with an interlineary word-for-word english translation; a new emphatic version based on the interlineary translation, on the readings of eminent critics, and on the various readings of the vatican manuscript (no. 1,209 in the vatican library); together with illustrative and explanatory foot notes, and a copious selection of references; to the whole of which is added a valuable alphabetical index. by benjamin wilson. one vol., 12mo, pp. 884. price, $4; extra fine binding, $5. samuel r. wells, publisher, 389 broadway, new york. this valuable work is now complete. the different renderings of various passages in the new testament are the foundations on which most of the sects of christians have been built up. without claiming absolute correctness for our author's new and elaborate version, we present his work so that each reader may judge for himself whether the words there literally translated are so arranged in the common version as to express the exact meaning of the new testament writers. in regard to mr. wilson's translation there will doubtless be differences of opinion among greek scholars, but having submitted it to several for examination, their virdict has been so generally in its favor that we have no hesitation in presenting it to the public. we have no desire for sectarian controversy, and believe that it is consequent chiefly upon misinterpretation, or upon variations in the formal presentation of the truths of christianity as taught in the new testament; and it is with the earnest desire that what appears crooked shall be made straight, that we present this volume to the careful consideration. of an intelligent people. opinions of the clergy. the following extracts from letters just received by the publishers from some of our most eminent divines will go far to show in what light the new "emphatic diaglott" is regarded by the clergy in general: from thomas armitage, d.d., pastor | of the fifth avenue baptist church. gentlemen: i have examined with much care and great interest the specimen sheets sent me of the emphatic diaglott.'* ** i believe that the book furnishes evidences of purposed faithfulness, more than usual scholarship, and remarkable literary industry. it can not fail to be an important help to those who wish to become better acquainted with the revealed will of god. for these reasons i wish the enterprise of publishing the work great success." from rev. james l. hodge, pastor of the first mariner's baptist church, n. "i have examined these sheets which you design to be a specimen of the work, and have to confess myself much pleased with the arrangement and ability of mr. wilson. * ** i can most cordially thank mr. wilson for his noble work, and you, gentlemen, for your christian enterprise in bringing the work before the public. i believe the work will do good, and aid in the better understanding of the new testament." from samuel osgood, d.d., new york city.-"i have looked over the specimen of the new and curious edition of the new testament which you propose publishing, and think that it will be a valuable addi tion to our christian literature. it is a wo without being sure of agreeing work of great labor and careful study, with the author in all his view, i can commend his brk to all lovers of biblical research." the science of health, a new first-class health monthly. to educate the people in the science of life, which includes all that relates to preserving health and to the art of retaining health, is the whole object and purpose of this journal. it will not be the organ of any person, business, or institution, but an independent earnest teacher of the laws of life and health; the exponent of all known means by which health, strength, happiness and long life may be attained, by using and regulating those agencies which are vitally related to health and the treatment of disease including air, light, temperature, bathing, eating, drinking, clothing, working, recreation, exercise, rest, sleep, mental influences, social relations, electricity, and all normal agents and hygienic materials. terms.-$2.00 a year in advance; single numbers, 20 cents; ten copies, $15.00, and an extra copy to agent. volumes begin in july and in january. the phrenological journal, a first-class magazine. specially devoted to ethnology, or the natural history of man; physiology and anatomy, or the special organization and function of the human body; phrenology, or the brain and its functions; physiognomy, or the signs of character exhibited in the human face and form; psychology, or the science of the soul; sociology, or man in his private and public relations; history and biography, or man in the past and in the present; science and art, or the achievements of man in the domains of the practical and the imaginative; education, or the methods of human developement and progression; and it is here that phrenology finds its best and most important field of work. by a positive analysis of individual character it ministers to individual usefulness, designating special aptitude, and indicating the methods by which mental deficiencies may be remedied. it teaches what each can do best, and "puts the right man in the right place." terms.-$3.00 a year in advance. single numbers, 30 cents. ten copies, $20, and an extra copy to agent. new volumes begin in july and in january. premiums.-besides the above club rates, we are offering the most liberal premiums, a list of which will be sent on application. local agents wanted every. where, and cash commissions given. send p. o. orders. address all letters to s. r. wells, publisher, 389 broadway, new york. 1 works on phrenology and physiognomy, published by s. r. wells, 389 broadway, n. y. please address as above. how to read character. a new illustrated hand-book of phrenology and physiognomy, for students and examiners, with a chart for recording the sizes of the different organs of the brain, in the delineation of character, with upwards of 170 engravings. latest and best. paper, $1. muslin, $1.25. memory and intellectual im. provement, applied to cultivation of memory. very useful. $1.50. lectures "good books for all."-here are the best works on these subjects. each covers ground not covered by others. copies of one or all will be sent by return post, on receipt of price. american phrenological journal and life illustrated. devoted to ethnology, physiology, phrenology physiognomy, psychology, biography, education, art, literature, with measures to reform, elevate and improve mankind physically, mentally and spiritually. edited by s. r. wells. published monthly, in octavo form, at $3 a year in advance, or 30 cents a number. annuals of phrenology and physiognomy. one yearly 12mo volume. price 25 cents for the current year. for 18s65, '66, '67, '68, '69, '70. 71. the seven containing over four hundred pages, many portraits and biographies of distinguished personages, together with articles on "how to study phrenology, "bashfulness, diffidence, stammering," "the marriage of cousins," "jealousy, its cause and cure," etc. the seven bound in one volume, muslin, $1.50. constitution of man. considered in relation to external objects. george combe. the only authorized american edition. with twenty engravings, and a portrait of the author. muslin, $1.75. 99 by chart of physiognomy illustrated. designed for framing and for lecturers. map form. 25 cents. defence of phrenology; containing an essay on the nature and value of phrenological evidence. a vindication of phrenology against the attacks of its opponents, and a view of the facts relied on by phrenologists as proof that the cerebellum is the seat of the reproductive instinct. by boardman. $1.50. domestic life, thoughts on; or, marriage vindicated and free love exposed. by n. sizer. 25 cents. education: its elementary principles founded on the nature of man. by j. g. spurzheim, m.d. with an appendix, containing the temperaments, and a brief analysis of the faculties. an excellent work. illustrated. $1.50. education and self-improvement complete. comprising physiology-animal and mental; self-culture and perfection of character; including the management of youth; memory and intellec. improvement. complete in one large 1 vol. muslin, $4.00. on phrenology. by george combe. with notes. an essay on the phrenological mode of investigation, and a historical sketch. by boardman, m.d. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.75. mental science. lectures on, according to the philosophy of phrenology. delivered before the anthropological society. by g. s. weaver. $1.50. moral philosophy. by george combe. or, the duties of man considered in his individual, domestic and social capacities. from the edinburgh edition. with the author's latest corrections. $1.75. natural laws of man. questions with answers. a capital work by j. g. spurzheim, m.d. muslin, 75 cents. new physiognomy; or, signs of character, as manifested through temperament and external forms, and especially in the "human face divine." with more than one thousand illustrations. by s. r. wells. in three styles of binding. price, in one 12mo volume, 768 pp., handsomely bound in muslin, $5; in heavy calf, marbled edges, $8; turkey morocco, full gilt, $10. phrenology and the scriptures. harmony between phrenology and bible. by john pierpont. 25 cents. phrenological busts. showing the latest classification, and exact locations of the organs of the brain, fully developed, designed for learners. in this bust, all the newly-uiscovered organs are given. it is divided so as to show each individual organ on one side and all the groups-social, executive, intellectual. and mcral-properly classified, on the other side. there are two sizes, the largest is sold in box, at $2.00. the smaller, at $1.00. sent by express phrenology proved, illustra ted and applied. embracing an analysis of the primary mental powers in their various degrees of development, and location of the phrenological organs. illustrated. $1.75. self-culture and perfection of character; including the training and management of children. $1.50. self-instructor in phrenology and physiology. with over one hundred engravings and a chart for phrenologists, for the recording of phrenological developments muslin, 75 cents. symbolical head and phrenological map, on fine tinted paper, for framing. 25 cents. your character from you likeness. for particulars, how to have pictures taken, inclose stamp for a copy of " mirror of the mind." $40.00. paper, 50 cents. wells' new descriptive chart for use of examiners, giving a delineation of character. 25 cents. to physicians, lecturers, and examiners. we have a cabinet of 40 casts of heads, selected from our mu. seum, which are sold at $35.00. also a set of phrenological drawings, on canvas, size of life, 40 in number. price a set of six anatomical and physiological plates, colored and mounted, $20. another set of twenty, in sheets, plain, $35. colored and mounted, 60. skeletons, from $40 to $60. manikins, $250 to $1000. portraits in oil from $5 upwards. woodcuts, $3.50 to $5. symbolical heads, electrotypes, $3 to $5, and $7.50, according to size. all works pertaining to the science of man," including phrenology, physiognomy, ethnology, psychology, physiology, anatomy, hygiene, dietetics, etc., supplied. enclose stamp for wholesale terms to agents. address s. r. wells, 389 broadway, new york. works on physiology and hygiene. age, is either a "physician or a fool." treat, and take care of himself. these "how to live." how to avoid diseases adapted to both people and profession.] food and diet. with observations on the dietical regimen suited for disordered states of the digestive organs, dietaries of the principal metropolitan establishments for lunatics, criminals, children, the sick, paupers, etc. thorough scientific work. by jonathan pereira, m. d., f. r. s. and l. s. edited by charles a. lee, m. d. $1.75. it has been said that, a man at forty years that at this age, he ought to know how to works are intended to give instruction on and of premature decay. they are practical, anatomical and physiological plates arranged expressly for lectures on health, physiology, etc. by r. t. trall, m. d. they are six in number, representing the normal position and life-size of all the internal viscera, magnified illustrations of the organs of the special senses, and a view of the nerves, arteries, veins, muscles, etc. fully colored, backed, and mounted on rollers. price for the set, net $20. avoidable causes of disease, insanity, and deformity, including marriage and its violations. by dr. john ellis. $2. children, their management in health and disease. a descriptive and practical work. by dr. shew. $1.75. diseases of the throat and lungs. with treatment. 25 cents. comestic practice of hydropathy, with a form of a report for the assistance of patients in consulting their physicians. by e. johnson, m. d. $2. family gymnasium. containing the most improved methods of applying gymnastic. calisthenic, kinesipathic, and vocal exercises, to the development of the bodily organs. by. dr. trall. many illustrations. $1.75. a the fruits and farinacea, proper food of man. vegetarian. by john smith. with notes and illustrations. by r. t. trall, m.d. muslin, $1.75. hydropathic cook book. with recipes for cooking on hygienic principles. by dr. trall. $1.50. of hydropathic encyclopedia. a system of hydropathy and hygiene. embracing outlines of anatomy; physiology of the human body; hygienic agencies, and the preservation health; theory and practice; special pathology, including the nature, causes, symptoms, and treatment of all known diseases. designed as a guide to fami lies and students, and a text-book for physicians. by k. t. trall, m.d. $4.50. the most complete work on the subject. family physician. a ready pres| criber and hygienic adviser. with reference to the nature, causes, prevention, and treatment of diseases, accidents, and casualties of every kind. with a glossary, and copious index. by joel shew. m. d. muslin, $4. management of infancy, physiological and moral treatment. by andrew combe, m. d. with notes and a supplementary chapter. muslin, $1.50. midwifery and the diseases of women. a descriptive and practical work. with the general management of child birth, nursery, etc. $1.75. movement-cure. an exposition of the swedish movement-cure. embracing the history and philosophy of this system of medical treatment, with examples of movements, and directions for their use in various forms of chronic diseases. illustrated. by george h. taylor, m. d. muslin, $1.75. notes on beauty, vigor and development; or, how to acquire plump. ness of form, strength of limb, and beauty of complexion. 12 cents. physiology of digestion. considered with relation to the principles of dietetics. by andrew combe, d.m. illustrated. 50 cents. philosophy of the water-cure. a development of the true principles of health and longevity. by john balbirnie, m.d. 50 cents. practice of the water cure. containing a detailed account of the various baiting processes. 50 cents. physiology, animal and mental: applied to the preservation and restoration of health of body and power of mind. illustrated. muslin, $1.50. principles of physiology applied to the preservation of health and to the improvement of physical and mental education. by andrew combe. $1.75. science of human life, lectures on the. by sylvester graham. with a copions index and biographical sketch. of the author. illustrated. $3.50. sober and temperate life. the discourses and letters of louis cornaro. with a biography of the author, who died at 150 years of age. 50 cents. tea and coffee, their physical, intellectual, and moral effects on the system by dr. alcott, 25 cents. the alcoholic controversy. a review of the westminster review on the physiological errors of teetotalism. by dr. trall. 50 cents. the story of a stomach. by a reformed dyspeptic. paper, 50 cents: muslin, 75 cents. three hours' school a day. a seri ous talk with parents. by william l. crandal. muslin, $1.50. water-cure in chronic diseases. an exposition of the causes, progress and terminations of various chronic diseases of the digestive organs, lungs, nerves, and skin, and of their treatment. with engraved view of the lungs, heart, stomach, and bowels. by j. m. gully, m. d. $2. "a special list" of 70 or more private medical, surgical and anatomical works, invaluable to those who need them, sent on receipt of stamp. address s. r. wells, 389 broadway, new york. the reader will greatly oblige by exhibiting this catalogue to a neighbor, who would, perhaps, be glad to procure some of the works; or, would like to become a subscriber to the illustrated phrenological journal, or engage in the sale of these publications. works for home improvement. this list embraces just such works as are suited to every member of the familyold and young. these works will serve as guides in self-improvement, and are almost indispensable to those who have not the advantages of a liberal education. aims and aids for girls and young women, on the various duties of life, physical, intellectual, and moral, selfculture, improvement, dress, beauty, employment, the home relations, duties to young men, marriage, womanhooa, and happiness. by rev. g. s. weaver. muslin, $1.50. æsop's fables. the people's pictorial edition. beautifully illustrated with nearly sixty engravings. cloth, gilt, beveled boards. only $1. benny. an illustrated poem. by anna chambers ketchum. published in the elegant style of enoch arde n. a beautiful christmas present. $1.50. chemistry, and its application to physiology, agricult ire, and commerce. by liebig. 50 cents footprints of life; or, faith and na ture reconciled. a poem in three parts. the body. the soul. the deity. by philip harvey, m.d. $1.25. fruit culture for the million. a hand-book. being a guide to the cultivation and management of fruit trees. descriptions of the best varieties, and how to propagate them. illus. $1. good man's legacy. a sermon by rev. dr. osgood. 25 cents. gospel among the animals; or, christ with the cattle. same. 25 cents. hand-book for home improvement: comprising "how to write," "how to talk," "how to behave," and "how to do business," in one vol. $2.25. how to live; saving and wasting, or, domestic economy made plain. by solon robinson. $1.50. home for all; the concrete, or gravel wall. new, cheap, superior mode of building. $1.50. hopes and helps for the young of both sexes, relating to the formation of character. choice of avocation. health, conversation, cultivation of intellect, moral sentiment, social affection, courtship and marriage. by weaver. $1.50. library of mesmerism and psychology. comprising the philosophy of mesmerism, clairvoyance, and mental electricity; fascination, or the power of charming; the macrocosm, or the world of sense; electrical psychology, he doctrine of impressions; the science of the soul, treated physiologically and philosophically. one large vol. iilustrated. muslin, $4.00. life at home; or, the family and its members. a capital work. by william aikman, d. d. $1.50; gilt, $2. life in the west; or stories of the mississippi valley. where to buy pub lic lands. by n. č. meeker. $2. man, in genesis and in geology; or the biblical account of man's creation, tested by scientific theories of his origin and antiquity. by joseph p. thompson, d.d., ll. d. one vol. $1. pope's essay on man. with notes. beautifully illustrated. cloth, gilt, beveled boards, best edition $1. oratory-sacred and secular; or, ne extemporaneous speaker. including chairman's guide for conducting public meetings according to the best parliamentary forms. by wm. pittenger. $1.50. temperance in congress. ten min utes' speeches delivered in the house of representatives. 25 cents. the christian household. embracing the christian home, husband, wife, father, mother, child. brother, and sister. by rev. g. s. weaver. $1. the emphatic diaglott; or. the new testament in greek and english. containing the original greek text of the new testament, with an interlineary word-for word english translation. ă work for students in theology, and s. s. teachers. by benjamin wilson. price, $4, extra une binding, $5. the planchette mystery; an inquiry into the nature, origin, import, and tendencies of modern signs and wonders. how to work planchette. 25c. the right word in the right place. a new pocket dictionary and reference book. embracing synonyms, technical terms, abbreviations, foreign phrases, writing for the press, punctuation, proof-reading, and other valuable information. cloth, 75 cents. the temperance reformation. its history from the first temperance society in the united states. by rev. j. armstrong. with portrait. $1.50. ways of life, showing the right way and the wrong way. by rev. g. s. weaver. muslin, $1. weaver's works for the young comprising "hopes and helps for the young of both sexes," ""aims and aids for girls and young wonsen," "ways of life: or, the right way and the wrong way." a great work. $3. wedlock; or, the right relations of the sexes. disclosing the laws of conjugal selection, and showing who may aud who may not marry. for both sexes. by s. r. wells. plain, $1.50: gilt, $2. capital punishment; or, the proper treatment of criminals. single copies, 10 cents. education of th heart. by hon. schuyler colfax. 10 cents. father mathew, the temperance apostle, his portrait, character, and biography. 10 cents. we have all works on phonography and a large stock of mechanical and scientific books for sale. any book wherever published may be ordered at advertised price, and will be promptly sent, by return post, from this office. english, french, spanish and german works, imported to order. agents wanted. address, s. r. wells, 389 broadway, n. y. ng 1. [], of 2. e ! i date loaned boct 18 nov 12 1954 library bureau cat. no. 1138 p14 goldsmith poems date b sapr 5 1948 oct 198413 r. b keeibra bz3.3 g624 l 101240 issued to the library union theological seminary broadway at 120th street new york 27, n. y. library bureau cat. no. 1173 l 37 kor c* -x. in the published by presbyterian committee of publication richmond. va. texarkana, ark.-tex. list of missionary booklets covering the work of the southern presbyterian church, by rev. h. f. williams, editor of the missionary. 1 — along the grand canal (our mid-china mission). 2 — north of the yangtze (our north kiangsu mission). 3 — in the hermit land (our korea mission). 4 — in the mikado’s empire (our japan mission). 5 — in mexico and cuba (our near-home missons). 6 — in south america (our missions in brazil). 7 — in the congo (our mission in africa). price, 5 cents each. postpaid. in four continents (text-book 1912-13) — the foreign mission work of the southern presbyterian church. cloth, 50c. paper, 35c. for outline of this book, with helps, see page 32. published by the presbyterian committee of publication, richmond, virginia. texarkana. ark.-tex. in the hermit land the korea mission of the presbyterian church in the united states by henry f. williams published by presbyterian committee of publication richmond. va. texarkana, ark. -tex. hax^i-gykng h\yangch(\i> 1 ^' ^yeng'^ r iis>-k�ra kuug-ju ’chiiuxg-chheng •|ic\-*-t aiission presbyterian church. u. eapsved by ednin na3li%*ille texm scale of miles 50 100 150 “in her boasted history of ‘four thousand years,’ the little kingdom has too often been the ireland of china, so far as misgovernment on the one side, and fretful and spasmodic resistance on the other, are considered. yet ancient corea has also been an ireland to japan, in the better sense of giving to her the art, letters, science and ethics of continental civilization. as of old, went forth from tai’a’s halls to the british isles and the continent, the bard and the monk to elevate and civilize europe with the culture of borne and the religion of christianity, so for centuries there has crossed the sea from the ])eninsula a .stream of scholars, artists, and mission aries who brought to japan the social culture of chosen, the literature of china, and the religion of india .” — william elliott griffis. rev. w. d. reynolds and ilis korean assistants translating the uiblo. korea the geography of korea. korea is a compaiatively small peninsula extending from north to south, hounded on the east hy the sea of jai)an, the yellow sea on the west, and by manchuria and siberia on the north. korea might properly be called an island. a stream finding its source in a lake on the boundary line between korea and ^lauchuria is the source from which a river flows to the sea. in the same lake the yaln kiver, of historic memory in connec tion with the recent war between .japan and kussia, finds its source and hows southwest, eni])tying into the yellow sea. to travel around the border of korea would reciuire a journey of 1,750 miles. within the boundary there is an area of about 00,(100 s(piare miles. the area is not <piite equal to that of the combined states of new york and pennsylvania. this territory does not include what the koreans call “the ten thousand islands” that cluster around the shore to the west and south of the i)eninsula. dr. underwood, in giving the coni])arative size of korea, says: “we have a country a little larger than great uritain, almost half the size of the (jernian empire, or about the same as the kingdoiu (d' italy." popf ration. in ilulbert's "history of korea” it is stated that sttch a thing as a popular census was tinktiown until after the ( 'hina-.jajian war in 1!)05. the house census was the 6 in the hermit land — korea. only one in existence for three hnndred years. in the old time taxes were paid on the number of houses and the estimate of the population was made on the basis of five ])ersons to each house. this, for the orient, is considered a conservative estimate, and on this basis the population of korea would be in the neighborhood of twelve million people. since japanese occupation and annexation, a more careful census has been taken. owing to the mountainous character of the country, it is more thickly settled than the average population in our older states. it is said that only about one-fourth of the land in korea can be cultivated. the mountains of korea are, in the main, a rugged chain extending along the east coast to within about one hundred and fifty miles of the southern extremity of the peninsula. at this jioint the range divides, spreading out over the southern end of the country. on account korean village— kungmal in the hermit land — korea. 7 of the location of the mountain ranges, the east coast is precipitous. the mountains on the west coast slope more gradually and descend to hills and fertile plains. the tides on the east and west coast of korea vary. on the east coast the tide rises only one to two feet, and on the west coast, on the narrowing shores of the yellow sea, there is a rise and fall of from twenty-eight to thirty-eight feet — one of the highest tides in the world. the traveler approaching korea would not hud the verdure and attractive scenery of japan. on the other hand the mountains are barren of timber, and except in certain seasons of the year are bleak. the first im pression that missionaries have on their arrival at fnsan is usually very unfavorable, so barren and bleak is the a|>earance of the land. hut korea is far from being an unattractive country. on the other hand, it is highly i)ictures(ine. the traveler in the interior will find a combination of beauty in the low mountain ranges, the hills and rich valleys. one will travel far before see ing anything moi-e beautiful than the valleys hedged in by low ranges of mountains. es])ecially whcm the rice is ri]iening and being harvested. the climate of korea, with the exception of one or two months in the summer, when the rainy season pre viiils, is delightful. in the north it is v^ery cold, but not so frigid as the location of the country on the maj) st*ems to indicate. the mildness of the climate is accounted for in the fact that the warm stream in the pacific, which corresponds to the gulf stream on the eastern shore of our country, strikes the east shores of japan and gives to that country its warm, damj) cli mate, which clothes the island with a very paradise of verdure. this same current gives korea, especially the southern ]>art of it, a most delightful climate. 8 lx the heumit l^axl) korea. early history. the liistoi-y of korea is lost in the misty past. the first (lawn of korea's history was about the time that samnel called the elders of israel toj^ether, 1122 b.c. there is much tradition and mystery connected with the history of these early times. a <>reat man named kija came into korea from china. wild tribes occupied the country; among these i>eople the great kija took up his abode and established his capital in pyeng-yang, and called his kingdom “cho.sen.'’ he reigned fifty thiw years, ^'isitors to pyeng-yan find great interest in going to the grave of kiga, outside the walls of the city. the chinese ideas and mysticisms that are found in korea were brought into it by this first king. kija’s well. the couiitry has not existed as a sejiarate government for over two hundred years. during this iieriod of korean his tory there were freipient wars. jajian on the east and china on the west were both endeavoring to coiupier korea. there were some great naval battles in those times, and it is worth mentioning that the first armored battleshi]) of which there is any record was constructed by a korean admiral, who, with his sheet-iron jirotected ship, demolished the jajianese fleet on the west shore of korea. in the hermit land — korea. 9 the country opened. just one liuiidred years before colmiibus crossed the atlantic there was a change in the korean dynasty, and the caiiitol was removed to seoul, now iw far the largest city in “chosen.’’ in 187(i korea made a treaty with japan, which was the first relation established with the outside world. six years later the united states suc ceeded in making a treaty with korea, and a govern ment representative was sent to the “hermit kingdom.” early korean christians. from “the call of korea,” by kev. ii. g. underwood, i). i)., we take the following extract, which tells the story of the first korean christians: "in the year 1782 some koreans, having secuit'd chinese books that told of christianity, sent to pekin to imiuire further. there, in 178j, the tii-st korean was bajitized and named peter. two hundred years previous to this komanist mission aries, following in the wake of the ja])anese army, had administered the sacraments to the ja]>anese who pro fessed a faitli in christ, bnt we find no record of a result of any seed sowing which may have ikhmi done among the koi-eans. peter, w h o was ba])tized in 1781, was seized, thrown into jail, and suffered inai tyrd(»m in 17!m. others, nevertheless, songhi ba]) tism. prominent among them were l*aul and korean christian famiiy. 10 ix the iieumit land — korea. •liumiues kim, wlio wen* exti-eniely active in sjireadiiift a knowledjic of the tnith, so that in the first ten years after the baptism of peter it is estimated that there were ovei" four thousand followers of christ amonji the koreans." the new religion, which re(iuired the f>ivinf>np of ancestral wor sliij), aroused oi»])o.sition. which rapidly grew to perse cution. from isoo to istid there was continued per.se cution of catholic adhei-ents to the koman faith. girls from kwangju school. fir.st protestant missionary. korea was o])eiied to l*rotestant missions in a remark able way. pijiitei, a korean, was sent to reiiresent his government in dajian. soon after reaching the country some christian books fell into his liands. he read them with eager interest and was introduced to one of the .vmerican missionaries, from whom he received instruc tion. he accepted christianity and was baptized, ffijutei immediately began to juejiare a ifible which his ix the hermit land — korea. 11 coiuiti-ymen could read, and begged that missionaries might be sent to korea, and dr. h. n. allen, then living in china, was sent in 1884. the american minister ai)])ointed him physician to the legation, which insured his safety. soon after his arrival a number of koreans were wounded in a political outbreak, among them a nephew of the king. he and several others recovered from their wounds under dr. allen’s care. his skill gained him the favor of the king and his court, and opened the way f(»r protestant missions. the first ordained missionary arrived in korea in the spring of 1885; the first convert was ba])tized in duly, 1886; the first church organized (presbyterian! in the fall of 1887, and before the close of 1888 the first bajdized converts of the two missions. presbyterian and methodist, num bered over inn. earlier m issioxaries. dr. allen was the first resident i’rotestant missionary in korea, but efidrts were made by protestant mission aries to enter the country long before he was sent to seoul. a prussian udssiouary named gutzlaff landed in korea in 18 .”,l', remaining a mouth. in 18(i(i kev. .mr. thomas, of the loudon .mi.ssioiiary society, became interested in the koreans, studied the language, and was sent to korea in the early ’sixties. lie was given passage on the ill-fated american schooner, the general t^heniian^ on couditiou that he would act as interpreter. this schooner, passengers nor crew, were never heard from after they reached korea, and it is a generally accepted fact that they w(*re murdered by the koreans. mr. thomas was followed by two other scotchmen, who eutei-ed korea from ^lukden — messrs. loss and mcintyre. ('onsiderable work was done by these early 12 in the hermit land — korea. missionaries in the way of translation, and there were a number of converts as a result of their work. among the number was mr. soh sang eyim. of this man dr. underwood says: “after his conversion he stayed awhile, assisting in the preparation and iirintiug of books, and finally told mr. eoss that he must take a few books and go home and tell his friends about the saviour of whom he had learned. mr. soh si>ent some little while traveling around the northern province, jireaching and distributing books; vis ited the capital, where he found quite a number who were at least willing to hear what he had to tell : and later settled with his fam ily at the village of sorai or pine stream, in the county of chang yun, on the yellow sea. here he preached and lived christ, and laid the foundations for the work in this village that has since become world renowned. such were the beginnings of mission work in the land of the ‘]morn ing calm,’ and while the efforts put forth were meager and feeble, the results gave promise of the speedy dawn and morning light that hood much of the laud today.” interesting items regarding other missionary work in korea must be passed over and our further account begin with what has been called the "wide seed-sowing period.” there was so much opposition to christianity in the early days that the first converts were baptized behind closed doors. long itineraries were made into korean beggar boy. in the hermit land — korea. 13 the interior, and converts multiplied beyond the bright est hopes of the missionaries. the year 1890 is given as the end of the period of seed sowing. it was found that the koreans were not so much opposed to religion as they were to a people without a religion. as the tirst live years was a period of .seed sowing, the second five years is called by dr. underwood that of “expecta tions.” missionaries of other denominations entered the field, and the word was widely preached, and re ceived by great numbers. our field in korea. a chain of mountains extends through the whole length of korea. of the eight ]»rovinces into which the country is divided, three lie east of the mountains and five west. in the division of the countiw among the denominations doing foreign mission work in korea, the two favored ])rovinces in the southeast. north and south chulla, were assigned to the southern presbyte rian church. our first missionaries to korea were sent out in the fall of 1892. owing to the disturbed conditions of the country resulting from the hostilities between china and japan, they were detained at seoul until 1895, when, following the advice of the council of presbyterian mis alexander school. village school. kunsan. 14 in the hermit land — korea. panorama of kunsan sions ill korea, they ojieiied work in the jn-ovince of chnlla, occupying' kiinsan a.s the first station — a coast town ahont two hundred miles smith of ('hemnlpo. the field in which the missionaries of the southern presbyterian church are working, by the aiiijortionment of the various mission boards having missions in korea, is our exclusive territory. it includes two in-ovinces. north and south chulla, and six counties of an adjoin ing province. there is not to be found in all korea a better section of country. the region is known as the "granary of korea,’’ and is the most densely populated part of the country, the y)oi)ulation niimljeriug. approx imately, 2,243.000 peojile. there are four itrincijial stations, with a town and field iioi)iilation as follows: kunsan, 336,000; chunju, 632,000; ^lokpo. 340.000; kwangju, 03o,000. station sketches. kunsan. kunsan, our first station, opened in 1896. is pictur esquely located near the mouth of the changpo biver. being the only natural outlet for the products of a thickly populated section of the country, the japanese in the hermit land — korea. 15 station buildings. and korean towns are steadily jirowing-. onr work at knnsan consists of a clmrcli and a dis])ensary in the city. at kun<>nml, a villajie ahont a mile from knnsan. where the princijial hnildinjis of this station are located, there is a chnrch, vilhifit* school, school for hoys, acad emy for hoys, a jiirls' school, the frances i>rid<i,es ^lenio rial hospital, and an adetpiate nmnher of missionary residences. ('iirn.iu. chnnjn, ojk'iied in islhi, the cajiital of north clinlla province, is a walled city of,a])])roximately.2.“,()(mi inliah itants. its imjiortance in the eyes of the natives may he seen from a coniimm sayinn' in the south of the country: “if yon can't c'o to see seoul, see ('hnnjn.” it lies on the eastern edf>e of one of the largest, most thickly pop ulated rice ])lants in the whole country, just at the base of the “pine pid<>e'’ of the ])rovince. the work at ('hnnjn consists of a lar<>e and prosperous chnrch, with a second smaller chnrch in another jiart of the city. the girls' school and academy for hoys are eqnipjied avilh <>()od hnildiiifis. an adequate hosjiital hnilding' has heini recently erected. the missionary homes occnjiy a convenient and beautiful location adjoining the city. 16 ix the hermit land — korea. mokpo. hokpo, oik?ned iii 1<s!)s, nestles at the foot of a moun tain of rock between the river and the sea, near the southeast corner of the i>eniusula. as in all the impor tant port cities, there are separate japanese and korean towns. there is a good harbor, with many picturesque islands near at hand. our work at mokpo includes a large church, the john watkins academy for boys, an adequate school building for girls, a number of mis sionary residences, a small building for clinics, with ground purchased and appropriations made for a hospital. kwang.iu. kwangju, opened in ishs, the capital of south chulla, is an important city. there is a prosijerous church, adequate buildings for a hoys’ and girls’ schools, the ellen lavine graham memorial hospital, with an ade(]uate supply of missionary residences. soonchux. the new station, soonchun, is sixty miles east of kwangju. land has ix^en bought for this station. kecent reports from this station tell of the great ojiening the john watkins academy students, mokpo. in the hermit land — korea. 17 for mission work, the readiness of the people to receive the gospel and be organized into groups of believers. the station property is described as being beautifully located with an abundant sui)ply of good water. starting on an itinerary. itinerating. the work at each of the central stations in korea is a small i»art of what is done by the missionaries. ka diating in different dii-ections from each station, the district is divided into fields that are placed in charge of a resident missionary who, with his native helfiers. makes journeys to the organized groujis of believers, and preaches the gospel at new centers. the male missionaries are assisted by the native evangelists, and the women who do visitation work are iiccomiianied by the native bible women. the extent of the itinerating work and the results are shown on a niaj) printed on another page, on which the i>rincipal stations are indi cated and the out-stations, where there are groups of believers, are represented by .«mall dots. 18 in the hermit land — korea. native helpers. the i)iiiicipal of self-ia-oiiagation adopted by all the mi.ssioiiai-ies at the begiiinidg necessitated the use of the the native christians. in the schools, bible study meetings, and the rnion theological seminary at pyeng yang, a strong force of native evangelists and teachers has been prepared for the work. in the work among women there has been a corresi)onding develojmient of efficient native workers, and these bible women, either alone or in the comjtany of the women missionaries, have been instrumental in bringing the knowledge of christ to thousands of the women and girls of korea. the test (piestion asked of candidates for bai)tism is, “have you led anyone to christ?’’ the missionaries hesitate to bajitize any candidate who must give a neg ative answer. the readiness of the korean christian to be a “witness," and the results of their work, will be .seen in the following extracts taken from a recent annual bei)oi-t : “in one year twelve ordained evangel i.sts baptized adults and received .‘bllh ‘catechu mens.’ ” these results were due in very large measure an out-station group. in the hermit land — korea. 19 to the iiersoiial work of the rank and tile of the church. at the hihle conferences it is the cnstoin to ask for v'olunteers to jiledge ja-eaching days. tliis means a pledge to the lord of so many days to be devoted to j)reaching or testifying at one’s own expense. the korean christian does not count sunday in this vol unteer jtledge, for they say: “that day belongs to the lord already.” j‘>ii!le study. a system of hible study ado]ited by the korea .mission caniktt be better stated than in the following jiaragrajth from the laymen's i)am]ihlet on korea : "the system of hible insfrtictioti in use in korea is, in brief, as follows: “(1) sunday school classes and classes for those j)re ]»aring for entrance into the church are held in each gronj), conducted by the local leaders. “(2) local llible classes in each station, for men and for women, condncted by the resident missionaries, chietly the ladies. these are held weekly, for instruc tion of catechnmens, ba])tized members, helpers, itible wometi, and sunday school teachers. there are at least half a dozen in each station. “(.”,1 district classes, which are held at strategic jioints and participiited in by the neighboring churches. the.se are condncted by the missionary in charge, as sisted by his hel]>ers. and often by one of the lady work ers. with her heljimin sjiecial work among the women. at other times the ladies conduct such a class se])arat(*ly. attendance on the.se classes ranges from twenty-five to one hundred and fifty, and time of meeting is one week. three stations rejtorted, foione year, thirty-seven of 20 in the heumit land — korea. tliese classes held for women, with an attendance of 1, (»()(), and two stations reported fifty-five held for men, avith an attendance of 2,g00. “(4) station bible conferences. these are held yearly at each of the four stations, separately for men and for women. delegates from every church in the territory of the station gather, at their own expense, for ten days of bible study. all of them walk, covering distances for the round trip ranging from ten to two hundred miles, many of them bringing their rice on their covenanter band, chunju. backs. the course is graded, coa’eriug six years, and the instructors are the missionaries and the theological students. the aggregate attendance of the four classes for men was 1,700, ranging from 200 to goo, and of the four classes for avomen, 000, ranging from 75 to 400. “(5) leaders' bible confei'ences, held once a (piarter at each of the stations for sea^eral days, and once a year for a aa’cek. attended by church officers, leaders, and picked men, and 1 aught by the missionaries. “(g) bible institutes. these are of tavo kinds, one for men, designed especially for those helpers and lead in the hermit land — korea. 21 ers who do not attend the theological seminary ; and one for women, designed for bible women and picked leaders among the women. they are held for a month, and taught by the missionaries.” presbyteries and general assembly. ^vhen the church in korea had grown to a sufficient size, with the reipiisite number of church officers, esjie cially elders and pastors, the presbyterian bodies work ing in korea organized the i’resbytery of korea. in connection with the organization of the presbytery, the country avas divided into seven districts, the missionaries having in mind the training of church officers until the conditions avonld avarrant the organization of sea'en presbyteries. the hoi)es of the missionaries have been realized in this connection and the seven presbyteries haa'e been organized, and ihe first general assembly in korea avill be held in the fall of 1912. the ecclesias tical organization of the presbyterian church in korea does not include a synod. i )istances. from kunsan to chnnju the distance is thirty miles. the jaiianese have constructed a good road, avith bridges oa’er the streams, lietaaeen these places. the distance from chuuju, south, to ivavangju, is seaenly-tia-e miles. the travel betaa’een these tavo jilaces is jtartly oaer the jaiianese roads, but the most of the avay is by the korean path crossing a number of mountain ranges. from h()k]io, on the coast, to kwangju, the distance is fifty-eight miles. a good government road connects these places. 22 ix the hermit land — korea. kunsan hospital buildings. railways. the ])i-incii)al railway in korea extends from fusan 1o seoul, and tlienee through korth korea to a connec tion at jlarhin with the main line of the siberian eail way, making the journey to europe a comjiaratively brief and comfortable trij). a railroad is under construction heginning at mokpo and extending northeast to join the main line a little north of fusan. population. the jiojuilation of that part t»f korea which has been assigned to the presbyterian church f. s., is about the same as the population of the states of south carolina and florida. the total poinilations of the two states is 2,2(i7,000. the total poimlation in the provinces of north and south ('bulla is 2,243,000. at the time this comjiarison was made, there were 3,240 ordained min isters in south ('arolina and florida, and twelve or dained ministers in korea, or one ordained jueacher to 000 of the ]h)]uilation in the two states, and one ordained ju’eacher to 185,010 ]teo]ile in our korea field. while recent additions to the korea mission avill considerably increase the working force in that held, it will be readily .seen how much larger is the task of the korean missionary than of the minister at home. in the hermit land — korea. 23 christian education. lu villages where there are groups of believers, the native christians make early provision for the village school. while the japanese goveruiiieiit has done much ill the way of providing school buildings and teachers for the koreans, the christians desire schools where their children will receive i>ible instruction. as a rule the koreans will build the schoolhonse and pay ihe salary of a native teacher. from these village sclntols there have come a large number who have en tered. or are now {)repared for leadership in the korean church. the next step in the missionary school system is the opening of an academy at each of the principal stations. the academy is snpjiorled by the .mission, and receives ])u])ils from the city and surrounding teriitoi-y worked from the station. apjireciating the iichmi of higher education for those who wonld become jiastors and evangelists, a college is a village school. 24 in the hermit land — korea. oontemplated which will receive students that have completed the courses of study in the academies. it is not proposed to have more than one college in the ^lission. i'rovisiou has been made for the build ings, and in the near fu ture this part of the edu cational system will be eipiipped and in oi)era tion. the next .step in the educational system i s the provision for theo logical training. this is provided for in a the ological seminary — a union movement of the presbyterian church u. s. ( southern i and the presbyterian church c. s. a. (northern), located at pyeng yang. the instructors in this seminary are provided by the missions of the two denominations and competent native instructors. the remarkable progress of our mission in korea is due largely to the consistent christian life of the stu dents in the schools. the following is quoted from the pamphlet referred to above : ‘alost of these students are active christian workers — all of them become so in time. the mother of one of the students, on lieing urged to believe, replied : ‘i am too old to learn a new doctrine ; let my two boys go to heaven if they wish, but i am too old to learn new things.’ the boy instantly replied : “p>ut, mother. i don't want to go to heaven alone; i want you to go with me.’ through the a village christian family. in the hermit land — korea. 25 faithful and per.sisteiit testimony of this boy the mothei was bronglit to christ. the reply of this boy may well be taken as the key-note of korean christianity, and the secret of its success." medical work. the following statement regarding the medical work of the korea mission is taken from the excellent pam phlet, “korea,” issued by the laymen's missionary ^lovenient : “ko one expects to treat the 2,400,000 people of our held with foreign physicians. we expect to use only six physicians from america, of whom four have arrived, and through them to train up an adequate force of christian native i)hysicians. the twenty native med ical assistants enumerated are all studying under our jihysicians, and are all christians of standing. as to their ability, one physician testihes: ‘the six students of my medical class have all made encouraging progress. they are now able to till all the prescriptions, kee]t the stock conqxumds made u]), do the dressings, administer ame.sthetics, and perform minor operations, thus enabling the doctor to do treble the amount of work for merly possible.' “.medical work is incomparable in removing pi’eju dices and misconceptions of the ]>eo]de and securing a hearing for the gosjtel. as a concrete exam])le of the es.s(mitialiy christi:m sjiii'it of love and helpfulness, it is siuqily indispensable on the held. from the earliest day when korea was oj)ened ‘at the ])oint of a lancet,' to the ]>resent time, the doctor's work has been the strong arm of missions in this country. “^fedical work is, therefore, not merely philanthropuc, but directly evangelistic, as witness the following testi monies from our doctors: 26 in the hermit land — korea. “ ‘we may say that the medical work not only heals their sick bodies,, but brings many a one to the "great physician.” if i were desirous of investing money for large returns in the evangelistic work, 1 know of no better place than in the medical work.’ “ ‘a well-to-do woman brought her four-year-old child to kunsan for medical help. she said that she was the only one of her family who had accepted christ, and her husband was a native doc tor of much fame, but an unbeliever. after treating the child for two months, he had given up the case. 'fhe mother begged him re ] heatedly to take the child to kunsan in hope of saving its life. the husband finally consented, saying that if the child came back healed he would attend church and helieve the same doctrine his wife believed. by the goodness of god the child got well in twenty days. after the woman returned home, she wrote me a letter saying that her husband and all her family are attending church.’ ” the island work. to the south and along the western coast of the south ern end of the peninsula of korea the shores are fringed with islands. the korean archiiielago was practically unknown until 1810, when adventurous captains of tv \‘0 vessels explored the southern extremity of the coast line going to the hospital. in the hermit land — korea. 27 of korea.* ‘‘a later visitor, and a naturalist, states that from a single island peak one mav count one hun dred and thirty-five islets. stretching far away to the north and to the south were groujis of dark-blue islets, risiug mistily from the surface of the water. the sea was covered with large, picturesque boats, which, crowded with natives in their white, fluttering robes, were putting off from the adjacent villages, and sculling across the pellucid waters to visit the stranger ship.” in these almost unnumbered islands there is a popula tion variously estimated from seventy-five to a hundred thousand. ko systematic missionary work was under taken in this large population until our korea mission, recognizing the importance of the island work, assigned a missionary, who now gives his entire time to the evan gelization of the ]»eo]»le on the islands, their organization into churches, etc. tliis missionary, in a koran san-pan, sails in and out among the islands, visiting the villages where there are groups of christians, and also giving special attention to new ])laces. let ween twenty-five and thirty groups of christians have been already established. korea has sometimes been called “the italy of the east,” and (^uelpart, a large island some sixty miles south of the mainland, sustains something of the same relation to korea that sicily does to italy. the in habitants of this island differ in a number of character istics from the jx^ople in southern korea, and it is re garded by the koreans as a missionary field. out of the first company of men who were ordained by the i’resbytery of korea, one of the best men was set apart for work in the island of quelpart. he is supported by the churches of korea, and so ray)idly have the jteople "from “korea, the hermit nation.” 28 in the hermit land — korea. received the gospel that heliiers, lioth men and women, have been sent by the native church to the assistance of the evangelist in charge. i’unvuk ta toyusso. “translation all dona.’’ outside effort was made to give the koreans the word of ood in their own tongue as early as 18(55. individual versions by various missionaries followed, and a production of the kew testament, pre ])ared by an otticial board, was issued iu 1s81j. the authorized translation of the old testament, giving to the koreans the entire luble in their own tongue, was completed iu april, 1!)10. kev. w, i). keynolds, who did the linal translation of the old testament, gives the following account of its completion : “pun yuk ta toyusso was the message flashed over the wires from the chunju section of the board of official trans lation of the scriptures, saturday evening, april 2, 11)10, announcing to the agent of the british and for eign bible society at seoul, korea, the glad tidings that the task of translating the whole bilile into the korean language had iieeu completed. true, some flnishing touches were yet to be put to the work in the way of careful cojiyiug and rapid revision of certain manuscripts iu preparation for the press; but the terse telegram, costing only live cents, accurately expressed the fact: “translation all done.' not quite tweuty flve years had elapsed since the landing of the first ordained protestant missionaries, just twenty-three years since the organization of the first bible com mittee, about thirteen years since the reorganized board began joint work uiion the new testament, ami ])reci.sely five years, five months and sixteen days from start to ttnish u])on the translation of the old testa ment.” in the hermit land — korea. 29 each of the 307 dots indicates a self-supporting church. plate used by permission of laymen’s movement. 30 lx the hermit land — korea. the korea mission forward move^^ient. the progress of the gospel in korea has been one of tlie most remarkable events in the history of modern missions. in this progress of the kingdom in korea our mission has had its full share. the missionaries on the field became convinced that with adequate equip ment and a sufficient number of missionaries there was opi)ortunity for a comparatively early complete evan gelization of one of our fields. moved by a mighty im pulse, undoiditedly prompted by the holy spirit, the needs of the field in the way of equipment were carefully considered, and it was found that about .^75,000.00 would be a sufficient amount to be used for this purpose. this condition was presented to the laymen’s mission ary 3iovement with such force that it became a challenge which was promptly met, and the fund of .^75,000.00 for the material equipment of the korea field was sub scribed through the eft’orts of the laymen on condition that the executive committee of foreign missions would be able to send a sufficient force of men and women. the committee, appreciating the unequal opportunity presented in the korea field, approved of the special equipment fund, and the call for rein forcements. mdth the money for equipment reaching the mission in installments, designs wei*e made for fifteen new buildings, including hospitals, schools and missionary residences, and the erection of a number of these build ings was begun. during the year 1911-12, returned missionaries from korea cooperated with the laymen's ^lovement in an efi'ort to secure twenty new missionaries in the hermit land — korea. 31 — thirteen men and seven single women — which was considered the necessary force “to evangelize onr share of korea in this generation.” one of the most stirring experiences at the closing session of the second general convention of the laymen’s missionary movement at chattanooga was the pi’e.sentation on the idatform of the volunteers for the korea field, sufficient in number to justify the announcement that these volunteers, with their supj)ort already provided, would he an adequate number of missionaries to meet the call of the korea mission. as these lines are written, groups of these missionaries are either on the sea or prtqairing to sail en route to korea. the prayer for adeiiuacy in equip ment and for the reipiisite number of missionaries has been turned into ])rai.se. the ])rayer now is for such an enduement of the holy sj)irit ujion the missionaries, old and new, in korea as will make possible the s]>eedy accomplishment of that for which we devoutly pray and hopefully look for, viz.: the evangelization of korea in this generation. “in four continents” third edition. revised by rev. h. f. williams a beautifully printed illustrated book of 230 pages, giving a concise and inspiring historical sketch of the origin and development of the missionary activities of the south ern presbyterian church in the four continents in which our seven missions are located, by rev. henry f. williams, editor of the publications of the executive committee of foreign missions of the presbyterian church, u. s. the first chapter recounts the initial step of the young and struggling church in the establishment of mission stations. the remaining chapters give graphic sketches of the planting of stations in seven countries where we now sustain missions. the book is attractively printed and illustrated. many of the pictures are from pho tographs taken by the author while on his recent world missionary tour. pastors and missionary workers will find in this book the information that has been so long needed to develop an intelligent and generous interest in the missionary enterprises of our church paper binding, postpaid, 35c. cloth binding, postpaid, 50c. map studies of mission lands by rev. h. f. williams an interesting and informing series of maps, showing very clearly the location of all the mission stations of the southern presbyterian church. brief explanatory notes make the studies invaluable to all who would be fully informed about the foreign activ ities of our church. price, 5 cents, postpaid. helps for leaders by rev. h. f. williams suggestions for the leaders of classes or individuals engaged in the study of “in four continents” a helpful pamphlet prepared by rev. h. f. williams, giving suggestions about organ izing and conducting mission study classes, and brief directions for the study of each chapter. a list of the best books on missions for side reading is appended, and a table gives the correct pronunciations of the foreign names in the book. a set of review ques tions provides for a complete resume of each chapter as studied. an invaluable aid to all who would make a thorough study of “in four continents.’, price 10 cents, postpaid. a free copy of “helps for leaders” will be sent to every one ordering a supply of the book “in four continents” for class study. address all orders to presbyterian committee of publication richmond. va. texarkana. ark. -texas 41 nor _— the wanderings of the hermit of westminster, on the continent, in the spring and autumn of 1880. by r. p. spice, mice, f.b.gs., member of the kosmos club, london: marchant singer & co. printers, ingram court, fenchurch street, e.c. 1880. the wanderings of the hermit of westminster, on the continent, in the spring and autumn of 1880. + + springs summons. “wake, o wake! for now at last, cruel winter’s reign is past.” —sones or kitnarney. “when rising spring adorns the mead, a charming scene of nature is displayed.” —drypen. on the occasion of the sudden and quite unexpected disruption of the governmental machinery of the country, by the dissolution of the house of commons in the spring of the year, the hermit took the opportunity which it afforded him, of turning his back on the work of preparing to defend or oppose, as the case might be, such of the private bills of the session as he was then engaged upon ; and, bidding good bye to his native land for about a month, went to look after affairs on the continent, hoping to return with recruited energies to his work at westininster. and now, at his leisure in a quiet corner of the austrian a2 4 dominions, he takes up his pen to jot down some of his mpressions concerning the first of his two holiday tours of the year of grace 1880. arriving in the gay city of paris on the 22nd of march, he rested for one night at his favourite hostelrie, the « hotel de deux mondes,” in the avenue de l’opera, and next day started for turin, where he again renewed his agreeable acquaintance with the “ grand hotel de turin,” feeling rather fatigued with the long journey from paris, occupying 22 hours; but a day’s quiet sojourn in the pleasant old city, and a night in bed, fitted him for the start which he made the next morning for venice, where he duly arrived in the evening. : here all was new and novel to him, this being his first introduction to venice, the numerous narrow canals, the grand canal, and its historic gondolas. but the hermit, with that intuitive perception of the fitness of things, which so well becomes all bona-fide travellers,” and especially hermits, accepted with easy grace, and grate fully, the polite attentions of those courtiers and other well-trained officials, whose presumed warm regard for the credit of their country forbids their declining to accept, in return for their services, some specimens of the national circulating medium, when offered to them, in the shape of italian government bank notes for five peuce or ten pence as the case might be ;—fancy bank of england notes for five pence, and wnredeemable too ! the services here referred to and accepted, consisted in conveying the hermit’s modest quantity of luggage from the terminal station of the railway, on the very brink of the grand canal, to the gondola in which he was to be conveyed to his hotel. and to this luxurious aquatie conveyance he was politely conducted. stepping into it as one might who was “to the manner born,” he was conveyed across the 5 grand into and along and through several minor canals, and, finally, into the grand canal again, and alongside the steps in front of the “ grand hotel.” “ did’st ever see a gondola? for fear you should not, i’ll describe it you exactly ; *tis a long covered boat that’s common here, carved at the prow, built lightly, but compactly, rowed by two rowers, each called “ gondolier,’’ it glides along the water looking blackly, just like a coffin clapt in a canoe, where none can make out what you say or do.” — byron, the time of arrival was about seven o’clock in the even ing, and with the exception of the light given by the moon, which was not very bright, and by the artificial lights exhibited here and there on and in buildings and on the prows of vessels, it was dark. this, however, did not detract from, but rather added to, the novelty of the situa tion; glimmering lights flitting silently about the narrow and gloomy watery highways, walled in on each side by grim and prison-like looking buildings, but— “stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron barres a cage; mindes innocent, and quiet, take that for an hermitage.” —cotonez lovenace. the only noise by which the silence was disturbed was caused by the gondoliers, who, to avoid collisions, call to one another on approaching the corners or intersections of these narrow canals. nothing but actual experience can give an adequate conception of the ideas engendered under the circum stances. one’s mind going backward irresistibly to the olden time, when the historic “‘ council of ten” ruled in all their might and mystery, and by secret decrees doomed innocent and guilty alike to torture, or to death—in dungeons, down below the level of the water in the canals, 6 existing then as now, on which the free-born englishman of to-day ventures without fear of inquisitors, or any other of “the powers of darkness.” again does this strong sense of the mighty difference between the past and the present strike the mind of a stranger, when he is received by the polite landlord and his attendants, and is ushered up to his room in a hotel replete with all modern luxuries. he passes up a handsome staircase, through comfortable passages and corridors, with stained glass windows here and there, and articles of luxury on all sides, exhibiting a due regard for the fine arts, in every way befitting a life of ease, comfort, and refinement. well, having been thus politely installed in a comfortable room, which, for the time you may want it, you feel is your own, the first practical idea—and after all the poetry and sentimental part of the business is over, practical ideas are indispensable everywhere and on all occasions, and so here—the first practical idea was for a good wash, and the next, a good dinner. both these essentials followed in due course, and, with a sense of gratitude for favours received, and full of anticipation of pleasures to come, the hermit retired to his couch for the night. after a good night’s rest, the first craving experienced in the morning, was, for a sight by broad daylight of the far-famed grand canal, and this craving was very soon gratified. the view reminded the hermit of the enthu siastic frenchman, who is reported to have exclaimed, a long time since, before paris was half so fine a city as it is at the present day, “see paris and die.” well, the hermit does not quite understand or agree with this kind of french philosophy; he thinks it would be preferable to say, see paris and live; and he would add by way of advice, see venice afterwards; and remember, there is only one venice,—nobody, not even mr. barnum, the american showman, has ever thought of making so much as a copy of it for exhibition. 7 st. mark’s, that choice portion of venice about which art critics have raved, and gone into fits of admiration and veneration, and indulged in learned disputations about its lines of beauty and its “ stones,” will never be reproduced in its original integrity ; so everybody who can, and whose soul is alive to beauty in architecture,*and the lovely harmony of true proportion, should go and see st. mark’s as it now exists, as the hermit did, by daylight and moonlight; and then read ruskin’s “ stones of venice,” and mr. street’s enthusiastic letters about the vandalism and positive sin of putting new marble in the place of old, and omitting to make the new exactly like the old, as it now appears on the outside of st. mark’s after the lapse of ages, in those mellow tints which time alone can give; to say nothing about the dilapidated floor of the church, the defects of which one is led to infer are positive beauties in his artistic eyes. the hermit having observed in the columns of the london papers the signs of a “tempest in a tea cup” at oxford, occasioned by the report of an italian govern mental resolution to continue the work of repairing the west front of this ancient cathedral, which work of reparation was commenced some time since, he carefully took stock, or special notice, of its state and condition, and, undismayed by the thunder and lightning reverberating and flashing in the columns of * the times,” he came to the conclusion that the art critics of oxford and london were agitated to an extent which the facts did not fully justify. he argued with himself thus, while musing on the spot, seated as he was on a stone bench in front of the grand old pile ;—anything that is good is worthy of preservation, and any structure which displays in its design evidences of a commanding genius, should be cherished and maintained with jealous care, especially when it represents the state of art at a remote period; and if this grand old work does 8 not very soon receive extensive repairs, some of it will fall without the intervention of human hands—some of it indeed has fallen. a life-size statue, for instance, some time since left its old anchorage on the apex of a gable of the west front, and was smashed to atoms on the pavement below— the anchor or iron bar which till then had sustained it in its place remains attached to the pinnacle, sticking up in the air to this day, as a signal of distress. in many parts similar effects are imminent, and only prevented from happening by being temporarily propped up. the marble slabs with which the front is in great part veneered, are, in fact, jess than three-quarters of an inch thick, and many of these have become loose and detached from the face of the brick or rubble wall, to which they were originally secured by cement and by metallic holdfasts; these plates require removal and re placement, and the columns—many being out of the perpendicular, and some broken—also require renewal and refixing. these are the simple facts, and if the existing dilapida tions are not promptly attended to by efficient restoration, the grand old work ‘will inevitably go to aseay; and cease to be “a thing of beauty anda joy for ever.’ having more than once thus meditated in the grand square of st. mark’s, and wandered about the curious old city—once upon a time an important emporium of commerce —observing its extraordinary and unique characteristics, the hermit felt thankful for having had an opportunity of seeing the place and its people, and with a feeling of regret he watched for a few minutes the builders at work driving piles for the foundation of a new structure, in the place of an old one which had, with some others contiguous to it, been removed to make way for public improvements, for he could not help feeling that it savoured of dese eration to modernize old venice; it ought, as a whole, ¢ 9 st. mark’s included, in his opinion to be repaired, renovated, and maintained in its original character while time lasts—if that indeed be possible; and with these conservative feelings he bade adieu to this fallen city, with its romantic history, and went on his way to florence, en route for rome. as to lovely florence, as he has said something in other notes about a previous visit to it, he will say no more now than that it is one of those places by which pleasurable feelings are always excited when the recollection of its beauties crops up, whether of the painter’s or the sculptor’s art, its architectural marvels, or its unaided natural charms; and his short stay in it on this occasion having refreshed and deepened his affection for it, he proceeded on his journey to rome. his feelings and anticipations, as the train in which he travelled from florence drew near the “ eternal city,” may be imagined by those who have experienced the pleasurable sensations engendered by the proximate realization of ardent hopes long deferred, but they scarcely admit of accurate description. he tried to look out of both sides of the carriage at one and the same time, but failed; however, as he went along, he first observed the visible signs of former greatness and power in the majestic remains of the aqueduct of claudius, which, in bygone ages, served to convey to the romans an abundant supply of water, pure and fresh from the mountains—the length of this stupendous work being about sixty miles. having had a view of this before arriving at the city as the train sped onwards, the hermit caught a glimpse of the ancient ruin called the temple of minerva medica, as he entered rome by the central railway station on the esquiline hili, through an opening in the wall of the fortification built by aurelius. his first impression on leaying the station was one of 10 surprise at the newness of the structures all around; grand modern stone buildings, of magnificent character and familiar type, massive and solid enough, but by no means venerable, line the way on all sides to the “ grand hotel quirinal,” and beyond it, in the via nationale; having taken up his temporary abode here, he had a brush-up, and availed himself of the hour or so there was to spare before the table d’héte dinner would be ready, und strolled forth to find something belonging to old rome, and soon discovered the tower on the top of which nero fiddled while rome was burning. this was enough before dinner, he could enjoy his evening meal now he had seen a monument which con nected the present with the past; he moralized a bit about the fiddling, and wondered how long the fiddler would be permitted in the present day, to exhibit his taste for music in such a situation, and under such circumstances; things are not quite perfect in england yet, but we may be thankful we have no roman neros to trouble us. next morning the first object of attraction was st. peter’s; and the drive there through the streets of old rome was a matter of intense interest—quite indescribable, food for thought appeared at every turn concerning the historic past and the present. surprise was not so much the sensation, as satisfaction that at last the desire of the hermit’s heart had been gratified by a sight of the famous city which at one time ruled the world. the first view of st. peter’s was disappointing, the vast dome is to a great extent hidden by the nave having been lengthened, the facade was brought forward far beyond the original design of michael angelo, and his ground plan was altered from a greek to a latin cross for the sake of covering the whole of the site of the former edifice, which it replaced. no adequate conception of its grandeur ean be formed until it is seen from the interior, 4 ' i > r 11 nevertheless, the hermit was deeply impressed with the vastness and nobility of the genius of the original con ception, and the work as it stands, with its colonnade formed by four rows of 568 columns, each being 42} feet in height, and its splendid fountains and obelisk in the centre. having feasted his eyes and got a tolerably clear idea of the external beauties of st. peter’s, he entered the church, and took a quiet survey of its interior, and there he found much to admire in beauty of design and skill in execution ; and then he wandered into the vatican, the sistine chapel, the library, and the museum—all containing priceless treasures and gems of art, science, and literature; creating in the mind of the visitor a desire to go again and again, when time and opportunity may serve, so as to renew and form a more intimate acquaintance with works of such undying interest. the next objects of attention were the bridge and castle of st. angelo; the castle being originally a tomb, or mag nificent mausoleum, for hadrian, which, so far back as the time of honorius, was transformed into a fortress. it is said to have been encased, or faced with massive blocks of pure parian marble; evidences of some kind of facing remain, and were scrutinised by the hermit, but the blocks of parian are gone. the summit was crowned by a colossal marble statue of the founder (hadrian), the head of which may be seen in the rotunda of the vatican museum. he explored this stupendous monument from the base ment to the summit, and from the top of it looked down and around upon the panorama below; the tiber, which flows on as of old, the bridge connecting the old city with the castle, and the living human stream which now knows something of the liberty which was denied the citizens in times when tyrants ruled as they chose; when offenders against orthodoxy were treated to a turn or two of the 12 thumb-screw, or some other ingenious instrument of torture, and confined in dark dungeons, into which food was supplied to them through holes in the brick or stone domes which formed the covering of each cell. but it sometimes happened that the jailors poured down these small openings boiling oil, which fell upon the un fortunate prisoners who came forward expecting to receive from above their rations of food, and thus they were tortured into confession or to death. the arrangements for affording facilities for this kind of cruelty are shown and explained to visitors by the guide, who also directs attention to the ancient implements of torture, which adorn! the walls of an upper room of the castle, and which were in common use in the “ good old times,” when the right of private judgment was too great a luxury to be permitted to influence the actions of ordinary mortals, and “ board schools” had not come into existence as they have in our time in “ the land we live in.” the bridge is remarkable for its strength and solidity, and is a picturesque structure; many other bridges built across the tiber within the last 1700 years—which is about the age of this—have been swept away by inundations, but this has stood and remains firm and perfect as ever at the end of seventeen centuries, then followed a visit to the ruins of the colosseum, or flavium amphitheatre, so called from the three emperors of the flavium family—vespasian, titus, and domitian. this vast structure, capable of affording accommodation to 87,000 spectators, was founded by vespasian about the year 72, on the site of the ornamental lake in nero’s garden ; it was dedicated by titus, in the year 80, with games which lasted 100 days, during which 9,000 wild animals were slain in the arena, and was completed by domitian ; thirty thousand jewish prisoners of war, it is said, were employed in building it; it is now a magnificent ruin, numerous 13 palaces and a host of minor buildings having been built of the stones removed from it as from a great stone quarry. gladiatorial combats, the martyrdom of christians, and exhibitions of men fighting with animals, were powerful attractions to the multitude of spectators in the days before a great earthquake rent its walls; and in those luxurious times it was not uncommon, as mark twain would say, to feed wild beasts on christians. the arch of titus, the forum, the arch of constantine, the temple of vesta, the golden house of nero, and the baths of caracalla, or the remains of them, were all scrutinised in turn, and were each and all the subjects of reflection and deep interest. and then the hermit visited the most wonderful church of all, so far as the interior is concerned, that of st. paul—plain without, but grand in its conception and execution, so far at least as it has been carried out, surpassing in magnificence and beauty all he had seen; and to all who are in anywise curious respecting architectural marvels, he would simply say—go and see this, if you desire to have your conceptions of the grand and sumptuous enlarged. and then he entered upon the “ appian way,” the name of which is “ familiar in our mouths as household words.” who can have read of it and its scenes and history, and not be fired with a desire to travel upon it, and muse on the old’road, lined as it is with the ruins of massive and magnificent tombs—evidences of former great ness, which are in themselves so many proofs of the truth of history as recorded in inspired and other pages—silent, but deeply impressive records of eventful times, and human progress through a period exceeding eighteen centuries. while traversing this ancient highway, the hermit came to the church of santa maria della piante, within which is the entrance to the catacombs. these subterranean vaults constitute a vast network of labyrinthine galleries 14 extending for many miles underground; the one he entered is called the catacomb of st. callixtus; then come the jewish catacomb and the catacomb of st. sebastian ; and, then in the via appia again, the tomb of romulus, the son of maxentius, and the extensive ruins of the circus of romulus. all these the hermit passed in review ; and, to satisfy the cravings of nature, pulled up at a wine shop, or road-side inn, on one side of the latin way, into which he went by a cross road, for refreshment, which was served up in very primitive style; and this he felt grateful for, the meal consisting of eggs and bread and wine, accompanied by the finest of all known sauces, namely, hunger ; and finally found his way back to his hotel in modern rome in good time for dinner. next morning he drove to the quirinal palace, the state rooms of which he strolled through, refreshing thereby his recollections of some of the doings of napoleon the first, who made within its walls a prisoner of pius the seventh, and which is now-the royal palace of the king of italy. having seen all these objects of interest, and many more, and pondered over the tangible evidences of the vast changes which have taken place in old rome through a period exceeding 2,000 years, the hermit set out for naples, where he arrived in due course, and found another temporary home at the “hotel tramontano,” which is situated sufficiently high up the hill side, at the head of the delightful bay, to be beyond the reach of the pestiferous nuisances which exist in the immediate neighbourhood of the hotels down below,—nuisances of which the mere description is apt to affect the imagination to such an extent as to engender bodily disease, therefore the un savoury details are mercifully omitted from these pages, the first desire of the hermit on arriving at this hotel, at eleven o’clock at night, was to get a sight of vesuvius, and he was delighted. to find that he could see it from his 15 bedroom window; and from thence he witnessed for the first time the outpouring of its smoke or vapour, rising like a column and spreading like a cloud, trending away for many miles; and having seen this wonder of the world, he retired to rest. next morning he chartered a one-horse vehicle, and set out after breakfast for an exploring drive, and found the situation to be one of matchless beauty—the city occupying the base, the slopes, and terraces of a vast hill, in the form of an amphitheatre, the length or width being about four miles, with the delicious bay of blue sea in front; “a city set upon a hill,” of which it may fairly be said, in the words of bishop heber, that— * all the prospect pleases, and only man is vile.” and certainly the reflection is forced upon a visitor that there is here a strange mixture of the beautiful, the repulsive, and the miserable. nature has been lavish with her charms, and endowed naples with wonderful attractions; but it cannot be said that the inhabitants give one the idea of a happy family, or a high-class community. they have not had the educational advantages of good training, nor of the blessings resulting from wise government; ignorance and superstition have stood for ages, and still stand, in the way, and render it difficult for the government of to-day to establish wise laws and good order among the citizens. as for beggars, and thieves, and lazy drones, and re pulsive specimens of humanity, they abound to such an extent as, perhaps, is unknown elsewhere among the cities of europe. but it would be doing the neapolitans an injustice to apply this character to them indiscriminately; there are among the lower classes hard-working, industrious, and cheerful people, enjoying life in a climate which renders 16 clothing almost needless, so that a scanty covering of rags suffices for those whose tastes are not esthetic; and as the means of sustenance are easily obtainable, there is not much need for hard labour. much has been done for naples since the accomplishment of the unification of italy ; and the present government is entitled to credit for the improvements effected in the correction of sanitary deficiencies; but much more remains to be done in the way of water supply and drainage, before it can be considered a safe place of residence for visitors, even for a short stay in the city. _y, progress in sanitary matters is not rapid in italy; the ; introduction of a systematic water supply to naples has been under consideration for the last twenty years, and has not yet been decided upon, although all that is wanted is the means of conducting an ample quantity of the element, from the mountains in the background, into the city. possibly for another decade or more, the provision of this first necessity of civilized life may be delayed, and the inhabitants kept, as they are now, dependent upon water carriers, who convey it to them in small wooden casks. well, having visited the museum and some other objects and places of interest in the city, the hermit started one fine morning on board a steamer for a trip up the beautiful bay, on an excursion to capri, with the intention of seeing its famous blue grotto; however, on arriving off the island, the sea was considered by the guides to be too rough for the venture, and so the passengers had to be content with a walk on the shore and a lunch at an hotel on the mountain side. the visit to the island being concluded, all returned on board, and the vessel was headed towards naples again, calling at sorrento; and here the greater number of pas sengers left the ship, and were conveyed in boats to land. the hermit took this course, and found comfortable ef accommodation at the “ hotel syrene.” this hotel is built on the edge of the cliff, which rises from the sea level to some two hundred feet or thereabouts; and from the sea ward windows the view is magnificent, with amalfi, the beautiful, on the opposite side of the vast bay, and vesuvius, the terrible, on the right hand of the observer. a drive of some two hours or so before dinner was simply a delicious treat, orange and lemon groves by the road side, the trees laden with fruit, the way winding, hilly, and picturesque, affording occasional peeps into or across the bay, which lay some 200 or 300 feet down below, pre sented combinations of loveliness, producing sensations bordering on enchantment. 2 an enjoyable dinner in the evening, and a good night’s rest in a bedroom commanding a view of vesuvius, which, as it happened that night, sent forth a column of fire, fitted our wanderer for pursuing his way to pompeii on the following day, delighted with his visit to sorrento. the drive to pompeii was one of extraordinary beauty for about two thirds of the way, that is to say, from sorrento to castellamaré,the ground rising in the course of the drive to some 500 feet above the sea level; and then followed sensations of a new order. it seemed strange to the hermit that the principal en trance to pompeii should be, as in fact it is, through a public-house, dignified by the name of the “hotel diomede.” this rather jarred with his notion of the fitness of things; however, he dismissed his coachman and his one-horse shandrydan, and made his way through one or two rooms of the hotel and up a staircase, and finally through a primitive kind of doorway, and found himself within the precincts of the “ city of the dead.” and about the streets of this disinterred city he wandered alone, guide book and map in hand, finding his way by these aids to all the principal points of interest—the forum, b 18 the amphitheatre, the house of castor and pollux, the baths, &c., &e.—the scenes rendering the written accounts he had read of in history, strikingly clear to his perceptions ; the contents of the little museum, near the water gate, adding greatly to the completeness of the evidences appear ing in profusion on all sides; illustrating the awful character of the eruption of the volcano by which the entire city was overwhelmed and remained buried for nearly two thousand years. having thus wandered and mused through these silent streets of pompeii, with their old, time-worn stone or lava pavements, existing now, just as they were when suddenly covered with that deep funeral pall of volcanic ashes and scorize, which blotted the city out of the living and visible world for many centuries, the hermit engaged a one-horse vehicle, and was driven by an italian “ cabby ” to the rail way station of annunziata, where he took a train for naples. then followed a night and another half-day at naples, and the journey back to rome, and then two more days in the grand old city, which has long been the veritable happy hunting ground of classical students, rich beyond measure in traditions and memories of apostolic times, and calling forcibly to mind the epistle of st. paul to the romans, who were the objects of the apostle’s solicitude, and to whom he wrote—‘*‘ so as much as in me is, i am ready to preach the gospel to you that are at rome also,” teaching lessons hard to learn, but when learnt, becoming “the power of god to salvation to every one that believeth.” these two days having been spent in wanderings and musing about old rome, the hermit reluctantly bade adieu to the enchantments and allurements of this city of cities and set out for pisa, on his way homewards, to renew his acquaintance with its leaning tower, which on a former oceasion he had seen, but not ascended. he arrived at night and found comfortable accommodation 19 at the “ hotel minerva,” which is conveniently situated near the railway station, and after a good breakfast he visited the tower, ascended it and walked round the top of it, which is guarded by a light iron railing. his object was to examine the structure more critically than he had before done, and to satisfy himself entirely, if possible, as to the debated question—whether it was designed and built as it now stands, some fourteen feet or so out of the per pendicular, or whether its inclination is simply due toa settlement of its foundation—and having gone up and down its smooth and slippery marble steps, which are built in between the outer and inner walls, he fully satisfied himself, that, to attribute its inclination to design and genius is a popular fallacy. having made this examination, he took a train for turin, vid genoa and milan, arriving at his destination at 11.10 p-m., putting up for the night at his favourite hotel near the railway station. having passed through some beautiful scenery after leaving the station at spezia, noticing par ticularly en route charming villas in arcadian grounds, a fine bell tower afilicted with the same complaint from which the tower of pisa has been suffering for the last five hundred years or so, and also some choicely-placed chateaux on terraced mountain sides, with an abundance of olive, cypress, and fig trees, and vines, adorning the lovely landscape between spezia and genoa. the journey from genoa through milan to turin was performed after sunset, for by far the greater part of the way, therefore the hermit has nothing to say about it beyond this, that he enjoyed a nap, which went to the credit of his night’s rest. from turin he started next morning at 9.40 for “ aix les bains,” arriving in time for dinner on saturday evening, and enjoyed a quiet sunday in this very nice town, which has a reputation for gaming and gambling, but b2 of which vices the hermit saw nothing, possibly because the season had not commenced. anyhow, he found it an agreeable place of rest, with charming scenery around it, and on the following morning he set out by an early train for paris, where he duly arrived after a delay of two hours or so at macon, at about eleven o’clock at night, and enjoyed a good night’s rest at his hotel in the avenue de l’opera. . two days’ wandering about this gay city completed the hermit’s holiday, and the next day found him among his genial friends in the good old city of westminter, at the palace hotel, ready to resume his labours and join in the pleasures of social life. —— 21 ao luamn. “yellow autumn, wreathed with nodding corn.” —burns’ brics or ayr. “crowned with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf, while autumn, nodding o’er the yellow plain, comes jovial on, the doric reed once more, well pleased i tune.” —thomson. four months having passed away since the hermit’s return from his last holiday trip through sunny italy, and the work of the parliamentary session being practically over, although not quite concluded, the hermit resolved to leave the marquis of hartington to fight it out with home rulers and other fractious schismatics, and to start again on his travels in search of “fresh woods and pastures new.” thus inspired, he entered a train at victoria station, at 7.40 on the morning of the 21st of august, for brussels, vid dover and calais; arriving there conveniently in time for dinner at the “ hotel belle vue.” a quiet sunday followed, and the next day was devoted to a visit, by the familiar stage coach, to the battle field of waterloo; a pilgrimage made by myriads to a gory shrine in memory of the dauntless valour and indomitable pluck of british soldiers, who won the battle which resulted in making napoleon a prisoner, and wellington a hero. the long-existing peace which followed this terrible conflict was rudely disturbed just when the innocents of europe, who had been “ heaping up riches, not knowing who shall gather them,” had got it into their heads that the time had come, or was very near indeed, when swords 22 would be “beaten into plough-shares and spears into pruning-hooks,” and when the great seal was set to this pleasant programme in a palace of glass, which was designed for the occasion at the instance of prince albert, by the late duke of devonshire’s head gardener—sir joseph paxton—and set up in hyde park in 1851. but, alas! since then, thrones have been shaken and kingdoms violently disturbed, the map of europe re-cast, and many head gardeners deprived of their occupation. the “balance of power,” which leading statesmen tried hard to maintain, gave way to disruptive forces, and has not yet been satisfactorily re-adjusted ; and thus we are again made painfully conscious of the truism, that “ too many cooks spoil the broth.” in this state of things, quiet observers, like the gentle hermit of westminster, have looked on with deep interest at the struggles, still going on in the political world, between french and austrian, italian and german, russian and turkish plaintiffs and defendants; concerned above all things that, whoever may lose, old england shall win; not by taking anything belonging to any other people, but by maintaining and practising, as a fundamental rule of action among the nations, principles of inflexible truth and justice, and so win and maintain a reputation, the value of which shall be “ above rubies.” in looking backward through the period of the great events which have transpired in the last thirty years, the hermit arrived at the conclusion that czesarism in france has been a curse to the modern world; and that the huge armies of europe are sapping the vital energies of the nations, which have been driven, or have chosen, to main| tain under arms, vast multitudes of men who have been taken from industrial pursuits and trained to the art of war. and with these impressions on his mind he wandered about the continent, visiting its principal cities, keeping 23 an observant eye on the habits and customs of people, and the state of leading industries in the countries through which he passed. leaving waterloo and its now peace fully cultivated fields, brussels with its great exhibition of arts and manufactures, and belgium with its vast underground stores of coal and iron and its busy popula tion, the hermit next visited cologne, now in the zenith of its prosperity, with its noble cathedral completed, after more than six centuries of labour and vicissitudes. a day at this lively city of scents and social pleasures was enough, combined as it was with a visit to the indus trial exhibition at dusseldorf. and here the display of riches in raw materials, side by side with manufactures produced by native skill, forced upon the quiet observer the reflection, that neither the art of designing, nor skill in . manufacturing, can be confined by restrictive political con trivances to any country on the face of the earth. surely it must be true, although the doctrine is strongly opposed, that the supreme object of “the greatest good of the greatest number” would be best provided for by genuine freedom of action concerning demand and supply, and that excellence in production would be most surely obtained by “a fair field and no favour” in the markets of the world. next followed a visit to the old city of mayence, a stay of two nights at the good “hotel de hollande,” and a flying visit to heidelberg—with its celebrated castle and wonderful tun. a walk about the good old rhenish town of mayence gives one the idea of its being a thriving commercial centre, substantial and well-to-do, after many centuries of ups and downs. it seems to have had an origin without a date ; the guide book says, “ in b.c. 14, augustus sent his son in-law drusus to the rhine as commander-in-chief, and to him the fortress of mayence owes its foundation.”” what 24 had happened to the old town before that, the hermit cannot tell, because he does not know. but it appears that in 751 st. boniface was confirmed there as archbishop, and that he was the son of an english wheelwright, possibly a norfolk man—for norfolk is famous for wheelwrights—and this old chip must have been one of the best of the craft to have a son who became an arch bishop, and this son was so far from being ashamed of his father’s shop, that he adopted a pair of wheels as his armorial bearings, in honour of his ancestry, and in that way he advertised his father’s business ; certainly, he must have been a good boy. heidelberg is charming in its surroundings, and when seen from the grounds of the castle on a fine day, is simply lovely—with the neckar flowing through it down in the valley, and the luxuriantly wooded banks sloping upwards from the stream to considerable and varying heights. the old castle commands not only the valley, but the admiration of visitors coming from afar to see this venerable relic of olden time—which is now a magnificent ruin, through the unscrupulous barbarity of louis the 14th. having seen heidelberg, and returned to mayence for the night, the hermit set out on the following morn ing for frankfort, where he arrived after a pleasant railway journey, and drove to the “ schwan hotel,” where he was well cared for from the saturday afternoon till the following monday morning. the old parts of this pleasant town cannot be called attractive ; but the more modern parts of it possess very pleasing features, having good and handsome residences, erected mostly in ornamental grounds, giving a high-class character to the place, which, indeed, is regarded as being one of the most important cities of the german empire. chief among the out-door attractions for an agreeable 25 ve lounge, the “palm garden” may be mentioned as bearing the palm (excuse the pun), and, in this favorite place of resort, sweet music is discoursed by an excellent orchestral band of accomplished musicians, in the midst of a germanic eden, in which the highest floral skill has been employed with great success, in the formation of a plateau of ribbon gardening, combined with fountains and choice statuary, which struck the hermit as being of matchless beauty. | outside this central attraction, but within the garden, are arcadian grounds, in which landscape gardening has been developed in pleasing style, with ornamental water, rustic bridges, and sylvan walks bordered by trees and shrubs. and in these grounds within twenty minutes’ walk of the city, the citizens and visitors to frankfort assemble in considerable numbers, for light refreshments and enjoyment in summer evenings, exhibiting a pleasant picture of social life. after this pleasant experience came a railway journey to munich. and here a night and part of the next day were spent, and then on to salzburg for a short sojourn amidst scenery of the grand type. salzburg lying ina valley with a river running through it spanned by orna mental bridges, and surrounded by mountains of varied height,» with environs through which such delicious drives may be had as literally make one’s heart glad. and having seen this happy valley and enjoyed the comforts of its excellent “ hotel de europe,” the hermit went on to ischl, the journey being a very enjoyable one ; the sce.ery being very fine after leaving the station of gmunden, the capital of salzkammergut, looking down from the railway, for several miles, upon the beautiful lake of traunsee. having arrived at ischl, the hermit drove to the * hotel kaiserin elizabeth,” and found all he wanted to make life enjoyable far from home in a strange land; and here he remained for a few days’ rest from prolonged journeying and excitement. ischl is a favorite resort in the season for the upper. crust of viennese society, from the emperor of austria downwards ; there the emperor has a chateau, and there are very great natural attractions ; but, unfortunately for the hermit, at the time of his visit the heat was very far above the point which could be considered comfortable ; and this interfered with convenient locomotion to such an extent, as to limit his opportunities for exploring the mountain sides. however, he spent one day in the most agreeable way imaginable, taking the train about 9 o’clock in the morn ing, going up the charming valley through which the river runs down into the danube, stopping at the station at the head of the lake traunsee, and then embarking on board the steamer which goes up the lake to gmunden; and the scenery of this lake is grandly beautiful. this trip the hermit enjoyed immensely, and regarded it as one of the greatest pleasure excursions he had ever had, feeling that it was almost too much for one, and quite enough for two individuals ; however, he had it all to himself, being alone amongst strangers on deck, and having lunched at about two o’clock at gmunden, he got back to dinner in the evening at ischl. next day was sunday, and for the first time in his life he had the honour of serving as the clergyman’s church warden at morning service, and collected the alms of the small congregation, thus giving evidence that pieinte are sometimes useful. well, having had a quiet rest of four days at ischl, seen trout caught in the river at the back of the hotel by a fly fisher, basked under the trees in the public promenades, enjoyed the good things served up in the coffee-room of > = soo rd 27 the hotel, and received agreeable impressions from things in general, he bade adieu to this gem of a town on “ the banks of a beautiful river,’’ and set out for vienna. the route by rail. from ischl to vienna, after getting clear of the seductive beauties of the traunsee at gmun den, does not command or excite great admiration, at any rate it did not excite the hermit; so he indulged his inclination for the fragrant weed, smoked a good cigar, and enjoyed quict, dreamy reflections, as he journeyed onwards towards the capital of austria. on arriving at vienna late in the evening, he drove to the “imperial hotel,” and soon found he had no reason to regret his choice, the accommodation being very good. next morning he turned out according to his custom for a stroll after breakfast, and soon found much to admire. the tout ensemble of this part of vienna, which may briefly be called the modern part, is rather staggering to a stranger who has been accustomed to consider austria and its government to be short of money, with its national ledgers showing, for years past, balances on the wrong side ; and after some two or three hours’ walking about, and long rides in tramcars, the hermit began to think that at last he had found a country in which it seemed that the people, or those who governed the people, got on better without money, or with a short supply of it, than simple and old fashioned governments and people get on with it. anyhow, the vastness and the grandeur of this part of vienna deeply impressed the hermit with an idea of the almost boundless power of modern financiers; for it was quite clear to him that without a system of “wheels within wheels,” and financial main-springs, such effects as he saw could not be produced. paris is a sumptuous city, but it is poor in some of its modern features compared with vienna. as fcr popular resorts, gardens, concerts, &c., &c., their 28 name is legion, and their character high-class. the shops will bear comparison with those of any other european city, except paris or london; and in the fine arts it can hold its own. the dwelling-houses are palatial in character, and in their interior decorations they are models of elegance and sumptuous luxury. places of amusement abound to such an extent, that one might imagine amusement and luxurious enjoyment to be the chief aim of the population ; and the character of the best of such institutions is equal to any in europe. the imperial opera house, which is second to no other, and the new academy of art, both demand special mention ; but to attempt to describe either in these pages would be vanity and vexation of spirit, so instead of description the advice is given—to go and see them. _ and then, if you wish to see one of the best existing types of an old-world city, go to prague in the footsteps of the hermit, and patronise the “ hotel zum schwarzen ross.” you may then luxuriate in imaginary scenes of social life and manners in the olden time, and conjure up, with some approach to truth, such as no mere reading of history can inspire, visions of the past, and link them vividly with the present. standing, for instance, on the grand old carlsbriick bridge, more remarkable for its strength than its beauty, erected in the fourteenth century, you will sce a strangely curious tower of defence at each end, one of the two being adorned with the armorial bearings of lands once subject to the crown of bohemia. this tower resisted in 1648 a siege which the swedes maintained against the city for fourteen weeks without success, and when the prussians were expelled from prague in 1744, the bridge was the scene of fierce conflict and terrible slaughter. the buttresses are crowned with statues of saints, and on one is a curious representation of souls in purgatory, said — 29 to be commemorative of the expulsion of french invaders and the cessation of the plague. as a whole, the impression created on the mind by a visit to prague will be, that it is one of those places least affected by modern notions and the fast life of the present age—slow, heavy, and behind the time. all the more attractive, therefore, to the relic-monger and the seeker after primitive types. having ruminated and cogitated about the highways and byeways, the market place, the bridges, and ‘on the river of ancient prague, the hermit left it for the fair city of dresden, and had the advantage of passing through the saxon switzerland on a fine bright day, which enhanced greatly the enjoyment of the remarkably picturesque scenery of the route, the railway being in the valley and in close proximity to the river elbe, with its peculiar long boats or barges, its rafts of timber, and its busy commerce, the whole making an uncommonly pretty picture, combining the practical with the lovely and the sentimental. the grand old rocks along the stream beg worked into by quarry men, and disembowelled and sent away piecemeal in the shape of squared stones for building pur poses—goodness knows where their destination may be—to meet demands for which these quarries have existed, who can tell how long! and so with the trees growing on these slopes; they are constantly being cut down by the woodman’s axe, and sent into the stream to be floated away to distant markets ; the difference between the rocks and the trees being, that when the rocks are taken away, no more rocks will rise in their place; but when the trees are cut down and used up others will grow, if planted; and thus it is that “‘changes come o’er the face of nature.” now for dresden, the fair and the charming. the hermit took up his abode at the “ hotel belle vue,” and i | = ee was fortunate in being allocated to a bedroom commanding a view of the elbe and that portion of the city lying on the opposite bank of the river, and at once conceived the idea that it was a place for a prolonged stay, or a second visit, or both. further acquaintance with dresden confirmed these notions. a more charming city it is difficult to imagine. sumptuous buildings, open spaces, grand features, a princely home of the fine arts, a noble river running through it, choice gardens in its midst, native musical talent of the highest order, public wants anticipated in every way, and wisely provided for; nothing seems to be left undone which could add to the sum of human happi ness, so far as it can be secured by good government and external appliances, such as railways, steamboats, &c., &c. and about this fair city the hermit wandered and greatly enjoyed the brief period which he could devote to it, his favorite walk being on and over the magnificent old bridge which the french general, davoust, tried in vain to blow up. the bridge fortunately was so strong, and the stupid general so weak, that no traces can be found of the spot where his puny efforts were applied; the hermit looked in vain for evidence of the trial having been made, and could only find it in history ! the next point of attraction for the traveller was berlin, the great centre of modern germany, the capital of the newly-consolidated empire, which is the pride of the german heart; ruled over by an emperor of whom all true germans are justly proud. but, alas, if the truth must be told, it is an empire resembling a troubled ocean ; cross seas and heaving billows are keeping the experienced statesman now at the helm in a state of constant and uneasy watchfulness. germany has found that a successful war, although crowned with glory, is cruelly costly and burdensome, 31 notwithstanding the payment by the conquered of an enormous indemnity to the conquerors ; and it looks like cruel irony, that those who paid the almost crushing sum are better off now than those who received it. the result so far has been to create wide-spread dis content in the german mind, and strong appeals to head-quarters for remedial measures. “the manufacturing class have demanded protection to native industry and obtained it; the ear of prince bismarck was opened to the cry, and such measures were passed as effectually to prevent the importation of any commodities which native taleut can produce, and the economic result, as a matter of course, has been, to oblige every german to pay much more for such things than they could otherwise have been bought for; and thus the few are for the moment benefited at the expense of the many. but this benefit to the few is limited and doubtful, while the loss to the many is certain and grievous; and this may be illustrated by a reference to one german factory, capable of, and at one time really turning out about 600 engines yearly, but since the establishment of protection only turning out about 60; everything being dearer, the manufacturers can no longer compete with the outer world to which cheaper markets are open. in this way protection works and always will work ; and those who pursue the phantom will in all ages find that the road to affluence in commerce is not by the way of making things as dear as possible. pursuing his way, the hermit passing from dresden to berlin, went through a tract of country which impressed him with the notion that the agricultural industry of germany must be a comparatively poor one; very light land, extensive tracts being sandy and sterile to a great extent, and elsewhere not rich and fertile; not at all a promising prospect for an overtaxed country, but tending 32 to excite a feeling of pity for the chancellor of the exchequer, to say nothing about the tax-payer; and in ducing reflection about the future power of the country to maintain its colossal army, which those in high places deem essential to the safety of the empire; the fear of french retaliation being always present, troubling their dreams and disturbing their repose. the hermit strolled and mused in the favorite prome nade of the berliners, under the “ linden trees,”’ smoking his cigar in peace, and wondered what the end of all this martial, watch-dog kind of work will be, and how long it may go on, before common sense return to the german, french, austrian, and italian governments, and lead to such a common understanding and mutual good-will, that the destructive drain, occasioned by huge standing armies, may be put an end to, and the natural forces of each nation be applied to the profitable development of the inherent advantages possessed by each. at present, no symptoms of such a change in the state of affairs have appeared; on the contrary, the almost perpetual crack of the military rifle is heard on all sides in these countries, proceeding from squads of men learning to handle the weapon with which men of neighbouring nations may be forcibly translated by tens of thousands from this world to another. this being the state of affairs, the hermit would say to the principal public men of each nation,—gentlemen, if you will not take good advice, and go on the square, you must follow your own devices ; but if you will persist in going on in the way which leads to a bottomless pit, the time will come, and may not be far distant, when old england will be the only country in europe worth living in. as for greeks and turks, the hermit fancies it would puzzle a dutchman to tell, which is the better of the two, 33 whether either or neither ; and yet there has been an idea among the great powers in conference, of taking a province or two from turkey and giving them to greece, provided only, the sultan would agree to this adjustment, which he will not ; and so, instead of paying her debts, and putting down brigandage within her own borders, greece is pre paring for war with turkey; and although turkey has borrowed all the money she can get, and has no idea of paying her foreign creditors, the probability is, that she is quite prepared to fight the greeks, and “ lick the lot, says moses.” and now to return to the subject; the hermit’s visit to berlin was an agreeable one, and his-‘temporary home at the “hotel de russie” comfortable; during his short stay, he wandered about its good streets, and went by train to potsdam and back, having seen the palace of sanssouci and its extensive gardens and grounds; in this palace voltaire spent some time as the private tutor, or something of the sort, to frederick the great, who lived there after he had built it. the building of this palace need not have taken long to complete, for it is simply a row of rooms on the ground floor—except at one end, where some bedrooms were built over them; the situation is most charming, commanding fine and extensive views, and is just such a place as would suit many an english country squire. having thus seen potsdam, and its modest palace and lovely grounds, the hermit returned to berlin, and next day went on his way homeward ; stopping at dusseldorf for a night’s rest, and resuming his journey next morning, reached flushing, in the netherlands, in the evening. after a good dinner on board the steamboat, he started at night for queenborough, getting a good night’s rest in his cabin, and landing safe and well at six o’clock next morning ; he reached victoria station again at 9.10 a.m., c 34 after a month’s absence. in the afternoon he took train for great yarmouth, in norfolk; where he was warmly welcomed, and at. the “ royal hotel” enjoyed a good honest english dinner at the regular table d’héte of the house ; this dinner, as he remarked at the time to his friends who were dining with him, was superior in quality to anything of the kind he had met with on the continent, and it is only fair to “‘ mine host” to proclaim the pleasing truth. at yarmouth he found considerable progress had been made in the erection of a new town hall; and in compli ment to the town and the talented architect, mr. j. b. pearce, of norwich, he gives a lithographic view of this specimen of english architecture, which he fancies will not be over-shadowed by that which he also gives of the old and much admired structure—the hotel de ville, or town hall of brussels. after all his wanderings, the hermit feels grateful for the benefits derived from change of air and scene, and the advantage gained by increased knowledge of the world and its ways; the result of all such holiday tours being to strengthen his attachment to his native land, with its old institutions and advantages, far superior as they are to those of the less favoured nations of the continent; for, excited and troubled as we are just now in political matters, the fact remains—that english constitutional government stands out in bold relief, and grandly substantial, when compared with the working of any other governmental machinery in europe; and so the hermit says :— “ england, with all thy faults, i love thee still.” 21, parliament street, westminster, december, 1880. nae ld3lihdyy 3d4v3q"g nhof nois3q d3l9273¢ ‘hlnowyva lvsyd ‘sonigtineg tvdioinnw 4 asem otr race hcl ee a * te ade ; sra re erw rence loc ap ray hotel de ville oc na ast ea beatae ee ee ee ae ee ppeare sh enaaiae , or brussels a ee cc re ul ia — pes a gto 7 te a er am, ~~. ak se ae pee i ee i aer reer z = | the town residence of the hermit of westminster. marchant singer and co., printers, ingram court, e.c. 31 nb image evaluation test target (mt-3) !.0 i.i l^|2jb |2.5 £ us 112.0 il25 il.4 1.6 v2 .^ '■z >-5 ^)nic sdaices corporation 23 west main street webster, n.y. ms 80 (716) 872-4503 ^ ,\ iv \ fv ^^^^ or j >c^ .\^^ ^^^ .^^ cihm microfiche series (l\1onographs) icimh collection de microfiches (monographles) canadian institute for historical microreproductions / institut canadian de microreproductions historiques technical and bibliographic notes / notei techniques et bibliographiques d d n the institute has attennpted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. features of this copy which may be bibliographically unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly change the usual method of filming, are checked below. coloured covers/ couverture de couleur covers damaged/ couverture endommag^ covers restored and/or laminated/ couverture restaur^ et/ou pellicula cover title missing/ le titre de couverture manque coloured maps/ caites g^ographiques en couleur coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/ encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou 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partir de i'angle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. d 22x 1 2 3 1 2 3 1 4 5 6 l'^--;ysl^^"^ $11 m thi pennsylvania hermit ; op the most extraordinarir life or who bzpibbd in a cave im the neiohbournood of harrisnuroh, (penn.) after iiatinq therein lived in 80litarv retirement for the space of nineteen years, in consequence of the ignominious death of his sister. annexed 18 the wbub a rbclusb, and his reasons for preferring a state of solitude to that of the society of his fellow-beings. re-printed from the philadelphia edition. saint john, n. b. printed for, and sold by e. w. mitchell. 1840. i a hert ciety west< count respe son, 1 cuttii ring had t of mt of a r bid fi but tl not b forev( appai wi selfol dy of quain the yc ed an tue, a and i death de prote in dej the t.ife i v or amos wilson, &.c. i v im ■ ■ii « » „ ^9,^ wilson, (usuuliy termed «' the pennsylvania h«rniit,") whose eccentricity and seclusion from human so ciety for nmeteen years, has excited so much curiosity in the western part of the state, was l.orn in lebanon, dauphin county, pennsylvania, in 1774. his parents were honest and respectable, although not very wealthy. amos was their only son, whom, at the age of sixteen, they apprenticed at the stone cutting-busmess— he was a youth of correct habits, atid du ring lus apprenticeship very deservedly respected by all who had the pleasure of his acquaintance. his countejiance was of meek and modest expression, and perfectly characteristic of a mdd, affectionate temper ; indeed, he was a youth who bid fair to become not only a valuable member of society, but the support of his parents in their declining years, had it not been for a most distressing circuuiotance, which not only forever destroyed theirpeace of n:ind, hut rendered their son apparently the most unhappy of human beings. wilson had an only sister, but tuoyear:^ younger than him self of whom he was affectionately fond. she was a young la dy of amiable disposition, and not less esteemed by her ac quaintance for her virtuous and unblemishod character, than the yonth to whom she was so nearly allied ; but alas, esteem ed and beloved as she was in early youth for her love of vir tue, at the age of nineteen ciue! lato doomod thid deluded and unfortunate young woman to suffer an ijr.ioininiuus death ! " deceived, and shamefully seduced l;y a wretch, who with protestations of love, ond fn-omises of jnarriao-p pr.cccf*dcd in depriving her of all timt could render h.er respectable in the '•"•f (m amos u'l/,so\. the laws of our land is nusi f^"^"''"^'^ « crime, which by -he was tried. conds ^'^nd ^ °"^' ^""^ ^^^ich exertions that were nmdot .h«l '""''''''^ •^'•^«*^"'*''j ' the -pectable citize,^ of pennsyka '??" "',";"•*'''' °'"»^^' "'"«» »•« "avo this young woman fi^n 'n j *°'" p^''^^" ^°'-' '^"d perhaps, beyond all exam, le h rhf '^'"""""'""^ death, were tended with succp"s ,,nh f a '^"""""^ ' ^^^ were unat h's applications in herbclmlf t. .1° '2'' ''^*'" constant in awful moment of her mn.li. . *''^ ^^xccutive since the «f that day. hastened to pt'!^-' ^^'''^^ «" the morning himself at^'thefeorofth^rn:'^''""' ^^''^^ he prostrated stro^.er than we w po ' tr'"°'"' "".^ ^i^h entreaties gard to his aged ixffl jl , '''■''^'' i'egged that in re wretched daughter mfxthj ^^'^?^'^ ^^^ '"^« of their the half distrat? 5 btofht ^j^^^^^^^^ . ^''« ^'^^ ^^"'-cy of he was successful, and w^/hn?.. " *^*"' '^»« irresi..tible ; ings that can be b^^e" ima ^ine/tr^"^?"''' '^^''^>^' ^'^h feei: to convey the plea ng s's 1 bf^ '"'"'^^ he hastened friends : but, alas • prn.^ ? '^ ^ anxious and expectant blast his fondest hopes a^t tr^ "°^^ *° interfere to dered them crowned with^rnn^/."'" '"''^"' *^^* ^^ *^«n«i p'tious rain, which ha i fi/lt ?/ ''"!?p^ ''"*'^«««' «" ""pro «tream of a rive which he i" ul^' '1^^'^^^ '"'^^^'^ the to such a degree as to r a •''?^'^ *° ^'^^'^ '^n his return, hours he was^^ll^, ^/f;^;;^ '"'pof sable ! for many hrain, and gaze zon t . ^ ""^ ^^"^ hank with bursting his fondest cec atons" ''iz'^^' ^^^^^^^^ '^ ^^f ford was practicable he dn«ho i lu ^""f''^'* "'^'"^"t that a p^ce of execution lt-ntht 1 '''"«'^' ^".^ ^"'^-^^ «» the of his unfortunate ser r w ' "^ '"^*^^ ^«^t struggles l>vt a few minutes pre,!^ouo h?' '^""f^^"*^ '"^^ ^^«^"'ty. w^'th her pardon ! ^ ^° ^'' ^"'^^^ «t the fatal spot, [ng'^^erta^e, wkn'a'ss'; ''v'"'''''' ''' '"^^ heart-pierc \orse. in whi;h si? a^" z ^^ •"^^"^ihility he fell fro?n his '"any n^onths he°tmaine'dt *" '^ ^'"^''^ °^«^— for ««dfrom themoment that hisl^ '*'*' ^^ p^''^^^* ^«"'-'""' '•e declarer! that the woimh b 't !f ' "^^':^ p^^'^"^ '««tored tde wound he had received was incurable lil'k of amos wilson. that the world had now no plnmurc fur him, and that it was bis determination the remainder of his life to seclude him self from human society. in an unfrequented forest, twelve miles from harrison burgh, ho found a cave suitable for his purpose, which he se lected as the place of his future abode. in this lonely and solitary retreat he dwelt alone for the space of nineteen years, and was seldom visited by any one but the writer of these few particulars of his life, whom he selected as his confiden tial friend, and who orcasionly supplied him with such neces saries as his situation required. harriot wilson, the sister of amos, was born in 1776. she was early educated with the utmost tenderness ; and ev ery possible care was taken to itnpress on her mind senti ments of virtue and religion. she was of u sprightly dispo sition, polite in manners, and engaging in conversation — in a word, she in early age exceeded most of her sex in many of those accomplishments which are calculated to grace and dig nify the female mind. at the age of eighteen. miss wilson unfortunately became acquainted with a young man by the name of smith, a native of philadelphia ; who, although there was nothing very attrac tive in his person, succeeded in ingratiating himself into the affections of this innocent and unsuspecting young lady. her parents, aware of the impropriety of their daughter's forming too hastily an attachment for one who was yet to them a stran ger, gave her that advice, which had it been strictly adhered to, would have preserved her innocent, and prevented the com mission of a crime which brov;;!.; their gray hairs in sorrow to the grave, and their daught r to a shameful death. not until the credulous and unsuspecting harriot had sur rendered toiler vile seducer (bytho repeated and solemn pro mises of marriage) all that could render her respectable in the eyes of the world, was it discovered that the vile author of her ruin was already a married man ! and that his protestations of love and promises of marriage were without a shadow of sin cerity — a wicked device, made use of only to enable him to effect the ruin of an innocent girl. this poor deluded female now too late saw her imprudence in listening to the false vows of her vile seducer. to devise means that would enable her to avoid the disgrace that her im prudent connection was likely to produce, appears now to lmv« been her principal object ; and simmkim^ u» relate, she fiuaily mfx of am'ji f»r„,go.v. rat-, nii.l ,0 be over oji tiiei, „ ,, . f ' '.° "''"' ""a'nin. by her th™?';'" "'■""= »'l'er if "^■■"=""'^' "'« '"'••igses'^and ■"o^f .iis.i,l?^;l.red^,«[™'^«:"ions made by several of ,h„ ' , "",""'■'' ''■■■<"''""■, whoso !"if ,!'"',"■''''''•'' ^"'^'^'^s'she <'=.~.th, and •„..,". ';:?•:•.""»•» ^^^ e he,. fr„„, „„ l^^zt. '»o exi«tence of untl to cherish fcdintobeingi 'jg carried into 'oiiikj secreted irriot was sas fthe unnatural jarin^' an-ainst '■espfctuhllity t'on, and such heenacquain i'3 early fihe^i l''>e trial last t'je cvidenco luiiy oircuni k'inced of the exhibited an c to lament -r. on whom dmiiinf jicr 'nation, sho 'ctable per >iisequence a e.vhibited c whole of >nising the ™g" female 'ng by her igues and »;al of the 'in a par 'ss. she ite of his too, was >'ninious ppointed to suffer the par "her e.v is made ■ranient lifi:: of auos wilson. 7 was administered, t'he parting between her and her afflict ed parents, and many of those with whom she had been most intimately acquainted, was affecting beyond discription. at half past 10 a. m. accompanied by several of the clergy, sho was convoyed lo the gallows, she having taken an affectionate farewell and leave of her friends ; and rather appeared dis posed to impart to their comfort than to repine in consequence of her own unhappy fate. when ascending the platform and after the fatal cord had been aflixed, her countenance display ed a serenity that appeared more than human, and when she gave the signal there was a collected gracefulness and sub limity in her manner that struck every heart; and is above words or ideas. after she had been suspended nearly a min ute her hands were twice evenly and gently raised, and grad ually lot to fall without the le ist appearance of convulsive or involuntary motion, in a manner whi;;h could hardly be mista ken, v/hen interpreted, as designed to signify content and re signation. at all events independently of this circumstance, which was noticed by many, her whole conduct evidently show ed, from this temper of mind, a composed and even cheerful hubmisson to the views and will of heaven ; a modesit unaf fected, submisson entirely becoming her age, her sex, and sit uation. in less than five minuets after the fall of the fmal drop, her brother arrived with a pardon, with the governer's signature affixed. a letter directed to this unfortunate brother was de posited by hir. wretched sister in the hands of one of the rev. divines whonttendedhor, to be delivered to him as soon as ho should return, a^d of which the following is a copy : " my dear ijrolher : as the awful moment has nearly arrived, in which the dread ful sentence of the law is to be executed upon me i am con fident that we shall meet no more in this world. your failure to return yesterday at the hour appointed, satisfies mo that you have again been unsuccesfulinyour applicationfor a par don, and that you wish to be a.^ far distant as possible from the distressing scene, which a numerous throng ofiuipityinajspop tatovs arc already collecting to witness. my dear brother, ' am happy to inform you that i am prepared to meet my fate. nnd shall die penitent, and in peace with the world, i tni^t that i have made my peace with my god, in wliosr pr'\sf'nfe i must shortly kodear. mv dr.ir hrn'lwt. rh.-' mo-f iii;ii f now 8 ''"•'« of amos wilson. suffer ig from t) the g,a.e ! s„„.w° t""' "> so dj„rt„ 1"'t' '«"' "■« "•estrain voi,^ v ".""''"■ations of eterni.,, j "'wmbers of elcriiiti.mvz. 1'""'c'ess walk an.l „ ^ "=""" ''yaho "2 "ay all ^ee? ^eratnt'' ?™»"»« p«yer f„ ^ •" ""■" ' »l-trc:s^f"-«''o.he,e„simaie,ofh ■ ?he bloom of l„v"n„ ''!'■''' ?^ « ""e but yes"" ""''"' "«»• ■loated on ker "' '"^""'yand innom„.° *?/""»ln'<'m. "ff on the g' bbe • f ' "" <"^*"der of the black j?"* ^^ "» ^er warnioff asaln«f r , "pp^^'e "olated^,,.? ^'' "="*'"pir '7i<.4?r us ,£"'"». «"« ^ si.re r p"'"« ^.i"<.l.^»ubl„„ar7*orijlp«^'"• benevolence ""^ "^ calamities assail us on »« ' '^f^''^ ^"ed (he " v.i. , ''uman miaeit is nr«^ ./"''" ' "hcrever „. / »' "ears" posing attitudes bntt't^/" ""e view of all^ t.""' eyes. ted parents .' nji f ^^.^'»' a«d to wand that tjieir p'-^ve lor their sp. '«tjs,thatyoucher. 'jywaytopromote 'pation. i never ^^vas possible fo^ ■elations, and that tne chambers of 'ear brother, wijl ^tsofthishfejit '•eji^ion byaho rsation. itisi^ again to meet, '»■ in prison that en i bid you an '^^^"nunprin. d harriot sofhumanitv, 'e of woe" as ?f abhorrence ""of his arts. v. was in ali ''ernal morn make her— edbyajlher t cast, expir ed a public tne tears of ^e of tears" n our eyes, '"^andim uncontrol originaliy nnocence, disobeyed llpb of amos wilson. q the mandates ofthe almighty, fallen from that blessed state, and is now surrounded with all the evils and dangers atten dant on sin and misery. satan like a roaring lion ranges about seeking whom he may devour, and man preys upon his fellow-man : often do we see the wicked rolling in riches and honors, while poor depressed merit is too often abandon ed to poverty and scorn. the tenderness and sensibility that prevails in the minds of females, subjects them to many temp tations and dangers from which men are in a manner exempt. their weakness and dependent state places their reputation on a foundation so slender, that the smallest breath of wind will overturn, and the slightest touch indelibly tarnish. while lordly man can sin with impunity, and his most indecent devi ations from modesty and virtue, set dr-'n as trifling indiscreti ons and oftentimes, the more he sin:, .e more he is caressed. he can without any scandal to himself, seduce the innocent virgin from the paths of virtue, while the unfortunate victim of his arts is expelled from society, and doomed either to end her days in a brothel, among the most depraved, or be made a sacrifice on the altar of justice. the family ofthe unfortunate subject of these pages,was a happy <»ne until the intrusion ofthe vile seducer, when the un iortunate harriot, the victim of his wicked arts, was the hope and joy of her aged parents ; but in an unsuspecting moment their hopes were blasted forever ; thei" gray hairs were brought in sorrow to the grave ! a doating and only brother was thereby driven into a state of retirement, and during the remainder of his days lived a recluse from the society of men. '^v fair readers — you see by the foregoing pages the gra dation of evils attendant on a departure from that dignified modesty which renders you respectable and loved by the good and the worthy ofthe other sex. a chaste and virtuous wo man sits exalted on the pinnacle of excellence, giving rational happiness and pleasure to all within the reach of her acquain tance; as a sister, she possesses the warmest affection of her brothers, and the value set upon her reputation very often pre vents them from the commission of acts of folly which precede the depravity of vice ; and as adaughter, the delight of her pa rents, and the sweet soother ofthe path down the vale of life from time to eternity. but mark the contrast. i am now to depict woman in her state of depravity, which i do with reluc tance. view the scenes of dissipation, and the closing resort ujjon eartii oi tuese niisguiucu leniatvb, who too credulous, lost 10 '■'"' o" a„o, ^,,^^ awtfc — ""-sox no tie* 1,^ ^ ""'orsudnnl^f •i®"'* caprice nf„ •?.. """i •'"'•is were the? ""j^ ^»"'h° "fef ' "'•"'".w v™,!,""" p"n«ual i„\i. '^''^ preferred h! i '''« ''°<' otlior jf ^■'' fprnunation of oiv. n^^''«'-denroitsei> 'se'^c/ean/vat. ■ ^^as always «."*^ repeat! '.'on;afidino '« situation! * and that ^f '"n any ** t'njojino. wne. aj! ( epen his f'on after 's fellow ptyw/ii/e latfon of i.tfe of amos wilson. 11 his earthly cxistenco, to leave them a legacy, which if attended to, might prove for their earthly as well as spiritual good. on the writer's expressing to him his surprise (one day) that he should be found so willing to exclude himself from the so cial enjoyments of human society, he thus replied :— ^i live the life of my choice — i prefer being a recluse from the jars of a coutending world, and the mistrust and jealousies of an ostentatious race, who have £ilready inflicted a wound which they never can heal. retired in this lonley cell, i meet not the neglect of ungrateful ft lends, nor hear the taunts of the children of pride. i couii only the company of the divine spirit of the most holy, and the clamours of the foolish dis turb not my pious meditations, nor the sneers of ignorance excite painful sensations in my peaceful breast. the shafts of envy, tipt with calumy, spend their force ere they reach me ; and the vain of mankind may satiate themselves with folly, iniquity and deceit, and i shall not be rendered more mi serable thereby." but a few years since, this extraordinary and singular cha ractar expired in his hut, unattended by a single friend to close his eyes ! his exit must have been very sudden : as he was left, the evening before in tolerable health, by the writer ; in a corner of his cave was found a bunch of manuscripts, among which.was that of which the contents of the following pages is an exact copy, and which he requested particularly might be published ; o' ^ in conformity to which, we here present it to the pubhc. , discontent ia tu^ • '"""sr-wocks to fl" life of amos wilson. 19 "vd, wivd, hi, . isreat portion .feat pursuit ; ^^goal of ti,eir „\h^ circum "^mse/ff,o^ ^j^selfto live «/e there who ^p^anofcon f^yeakh, the ''^^ to their ''e •• there are *;i°;^er,a| their will • '"• ivotto -st satisfied *o content thing., jt * constan ^"'th pros " ^'^c the 'e brave ly amid his trials ; knowing them to be the hand of god, therewith he will be content, and scorning to repine will make himself happy. the greatest cause of discontent is, that men have no de finitive measures to their desires. it is not the supply of all their real wants that will satisfythem ; their appetites are precarious, they hunger not because they themselves are emp ty, but because others are full. ahab, one would think, might well have been content with the kingdom of israel, without naboth's vineyard; and haman, with the obeisance of all the persian court, without the additional bow of a poor jew. a low condition in the world seems to all a terrible misfortune; but how many are really poor amid their riches, and want in the midst of plenty. the true felicity of life is to be free from perturbations; to understand our duty towards god and man ; to enjoy the pre sent, without any anxious dependence on the future. not to amuse ourselves with either hopes or fears, but to rest satis fied with what we have, is abundantly sufficient : for he that is so, wants nothing. the greatest blessings of mankind are within us, and within our reach ; but we shut our eyes, and, like people in the dark, we fall foul upon the �ry thing that we are in search of without finding it. one of the greatert secrets of life is that of knowing how to soflen our uneasiness ; and if it be not in our power to disen gage ourselves from the trouble, to weaken at least the im pressions of it ; without this we must resolve frequently to be miserable, for, being exposed to numberless evils, hardly a day passes but we feel some new distress. now i know of no remedy more effectual than pre-consideration ; and whoever has made an exact reflection upon the traverses of life, will find himself at least consolable in his misfortunes. i would have every one so far consider and expect all kinds of evils, as not to be surprised at any calamitous event. let the happy courtier possess the favour of his sovereign, and enjoy to his wish the pleasures of his good fortune ; yet let the example of so many falls incline him to mistrust the security of his seat : let him not, although on the summit of the wheel, forever cast his eyes upward, but sometimes look down : let him view the place he began to rise from, let him consider the first degree of his advancement, as a precipice from which he may every minute be tumbled. let not a prince be too fond of his em pire ; let not the obeisance of such a world of people easily u '"•jtake to count l^eff^' *^' ^^«« ^'-oi^' j' }^'«^ adventj. „^'!^to depend upont ""=^ snides ; that wh; t l^ ^"'^"c. thpri • ^ °^ ^'^e, whirl, find li,maelf deraiv j '"' "■""s to htk ^ ""'i' "leprive r?"wed because ill: "' [^ '«' bem,'t<"',; ='"•" <^'l'et «'« world, ne ou'heto^'"' '?• "coe, '!'" "" '»« be ^f ^e joy of a sincerp !w ^pp'^'^'^nyems of « " -^ ''''^^'•^"i and jr" v'" «" places at m^'^" «'ands firnm",>?^^'-^'«' god f ^-eat creator ; let »? "' *° ^ontempjis ll "' ^^'"^^ar ad. and pomn nf "^ remove our tu *"^ w^orks nf /l ««d ^n "cjitude' "s' ?' -nosly enf "^.^-^ ^^4' 5: «^ents, have th;v „^^,^^^^«««. *he sun ''^{ *'^" ^^^^'.^i^ke /.^"'plates themt thp '''"^'^^ *° ««tir'th^ '•^?' *^^^ 0^ *he meads, the fln. "^^^'^ of piai„7,j''® «^'nd that con ^r groves ? ^^^ ^« ^e ever wam ^l '^ "«* channs to t^^^ our piet:4f^ -ntemed tet ^°^'^-^" in 'n this urorld in the f.^^ t ^^^^de.. wpt/^'"^^'"^ '^ we ^? hitn who is »»,„ ^*"^/ of nature • .v ?■ ^"'^ o"racco.,nf '^ir delights it/t' ^"'^or ofv''j'''''' ^"r thos ^«^«/«r^nou;^^^^^^ » capabv;r'"r «^^«* " vi h on, l"v''"^' ^^^'e been •^^"1 the hands of a ^^pends upon for f feature in .,„. ;'t 13 a common ^; a^-e superfluoa7 «otr„stmgtoher '^'" at least be ''' °"'' ^ot is in •bmus to the ^"tasmal|poi._ f ap/>7 in this a cheerful and jn^partiaj god. ^o"t interrup. conditions his jcessity or in ^s forbear ad """'■^s of the .°'5 ff'e pride ai-s, tile ele nd tiiat con se of rivers, )t charms to of birds in '"t""-e ie we ^ur account ir thoughts ^eet with ation, will l^^ tyrants life of awos wjlson. 19 of it any fm thor than we are willing to aerve them ; their chains cannot bind it, and in whatever place the body be •shut up, the soul never changes its place or dwelling. thus we may find contentment even in the meanest hovel, if we will only endeavour to make ourselves so. let the man of a firm health not account himself happy only in the enjoy ment of this good, but may the thoughts of suffering nothing among so many calamitous objects, which are about him, make him yet more content ; let him enjoy himself not only from the good circumstances that are his lot, but from the evils too which do not befall him. may the pleasures he tastes, and the pain he suffers uot, afiford him equal satisfac tion. in reality, however innocent they may appear, excess is ever criminal, and produces not only infamy, but sickness and pain ; a man who looses his reputation by a debauch, very often looses his health too, and wounds his constitution no less than his honor. it becomes every man to live with restriction. pleasure is the view of our actions ; and altho' we pursue different plans, we aim at the same point. let every one live as is most agreeable to his innocent inclina tions, and enjoy all the delights that offer, when they are con sistent with the principles of conscience and honor. it is preposterous for any one to expect to be truly happy in this world, unless he is truly pious ; he who aims to be iiappy, with all his earthly possessions, if he possesses not religion, he is indeed a miserable inhabitant of what he is pleased to call " miserable world." true happiness is not to be found in the excesses of wine or of women, nor in the largest prodigalities of fortune. he who would perfectly know himself, let him set aside his money, his fortune, his dignity, and examine himself naked. it is dangerous for a man too suddenly or too easily to believe himself; wherefore, let us examine, watch, ob, .e, and inspect our hearts. — we should every night call ourselves to an account. — what infirmity have i mastered to-day ? t ir what passion opposed ? what temptation resisted ? what virtue acquired .'' our vices will abate of themselves if they are brought every day to the shift. what can be more reasonable than this daily review of a life that we cannot warrant for a moment ? there is a great variety i:t our lives, but all tends to the same issue —nature may use her bodies as she pleasea, but a good man has this consolation, that nothing perishes which he can call 16 life of awos wllfsoy. against a common calamity b^tljli ^^'^ i^ »° '^nt'dote whoever seriously and mi^pli ^f ''^'p" a"d virtue, his own mind, may i'n ltru& ''^^ operationsof vmce him that there i^a god wto "17'^*"'" '^''^' »° «««" vidence he owes all the blessin ji on2 fir ^"" ', 1° ^^°^« p^o nj^sion it is that he exercisef «„j ^' ^l*'' ''^^ ^^ose per placed in this " miserawe wohd^' 1^?°^'^ them-that he is ture of a day, hastening toxni„ r""'^"^' "^"^ «» « crea retnrn ; that he is accolmb i fs hf/'"'",^*"^ ^« '^^l' "ot and wisest of beings tm!,!^ ■ ''°"^"^* to the greatest must have ereryzn/tolt'. brtttt' "^t j"^^'"« humble and penitent, and cast'hill^' t " ^'^^^"^^ ^'^ be order which he fn his^tss k ^'^f^l^'i"'"^ -'^ ^-"^iful appointed continual lersos ^ " '^'^^ ^o have ture, man. if the luminaries of th. v u-^" ^^^'°"a' «>-ea splendor over our heads ?rlf^ ^ ^^'"^ ^'^h superior cipally intended to mt ilu?„d heir "^li *''^^ ^^''^vi" gladness beyond themselvef i trrm""^^ •'jp^t wand habit is a world of trials and temm«t: "'''''5 '^^ »°^^ >« our passions to take possession y?"' ' ^"^ '^^^ «»ffer break their force, irwronc " fv ' ! " "° ^^*^ '"^"er to we know not when " hold jhe s ' 1^' >""^ ^pp^*'^°«' always to stop short of vice so fr jh« i! '' " '" °"'' power the force of habit, thal'vfs ^asier^^^^^ «re than to satisfy all that follow ?t.°'"pp'''' ^^^ ^'^ ^^ ofwhich,manyauish7sral .'%^kt^''"' ^''^ truth too late, been forced to acknowledge "j ^'"'^•"syouth has, known who, from the induirnrs • ^^ ""^"^^ ''^^^ we have been led into excesses if.?'"t^"^ amusements, reputation which woxtherwi rit ""u'^ ^^^ «*«'"«'** proachable, and which have ,n.^!^ "*? ^^^« ^a'*" and irre a shameful end. innocent nc-'""' °"^''* themselves tt support of theconstijs anrhs^'" as necessary to the but in keeping within bounds th! '.?' 'l'"*^""^ "'^'ji^^ne ; gress, by slol degrees till wl }^-^ ^^' l^^ task ; we pro a%. as well mfy ' the etz "an' 1! ^'^^ ^.">^ °^ ««"««" leopard his spot«," as those on? "h '^?§j'.'»'« «kin or the vice'' to reform the drunkard to h^"'"^ '" '^^ ^«y« «f .-bler to lose a relish fof ca^^^',-^^^^^^^^^ lif£ of amo« wiliom. 17 fish ; to hope and here is no antidote and virtue. the operations of ence there, to con im ; to whose pro and by whose per them— that he is ed, but as a crea vliich he shall not «ct to the greatest whose justice he is exhorted to be pe upon the infi ess. «e and beautiful i, seems to have lis rational crea te with superior 1 they were prin i impart joy and iich we now in ind if we suffer easy matter to > our appetites, it in our power ture — so strong ss the first de ^xim, the truth ing youth has, nany have we amusements, f»ave stained a fair and irre themselves to pessary to the ry medicine ; isk ; we pro iph of sens u is skin or the the ways of nperate, the ^0 sensaslist td give up his carnal desire. how important, then, is it, that those who have; the care of youth shoulj warn them, both by precept and example, to shun the excessive indul gence of pleasure, (falsely so called, a sure precursor of loss of health, reputation, fortune, and peace of conscience,) and to pursue the paths of sobriety, honostv, frugality and indus try ; to lead godly lives, in the fear ot the lord, which is the begmning of knowledge ! thus will their lives be serene and happy and their exit peaceful. in my solitary abcdc, secluded from the society of man kind, what pleasure have i enjoyed in contemplating the goodness of the almighty ! and should my life be prolonged to double the number of years which i have already passed, i would prefer a secluded life to that of mingling with the in habitants of a world producing so many temptations calculated to beguile them from the paths of virtue and morality. hea ven is a witness, that in this rocky cavern i enjoy more hap py moments than where i passed my laughing youth in the pursuit and indulgence of what is termed worldly pleasures. if i am not soothed by flattery, i am not wounded by ingra titude. if i have it not in my power vainly to boast of supe rior life, i am not the object of calumniating envy, and 1 am now too far removed into the shade for scorn to point its fin ger at me : my hopes no longer rest in vain, idle, fallacious ob jects, on private friendship or public justice : they have now a more durable foundation — they rest on heaven. well did the ingenious writer say of solitude, that in if •* the mind gains strength, and learns to lean upon herself :" in the world it seeks or accepts a few trracherous supports; the feigned compassion of one — the flattery of a second — the civilities of a third— the friendship of a fourth ! tl.ey all deceive, and bring the mind back to retirement, reflection, and books ! but although mankind read so many excellent maxims of wisdom, and their judgments are so fully convin ced of the lasting advantages of true philosophy, how frail, how forgetful, how much under the influence of the pasfious. but they are living monitors to teach us wisdom by their weakness ! whilst we remain in the world we are all fet tered down, more or less, to one level, and have neither all the leisure nor all the means to soar above it, which we may procure to ourselves by breaking the fetters of retirement. to talk of abstracting ourselves from matter, laying aside 18 '•'»"tor awoa wll.so.-v. i ti ^ody, ami bcintf resolvp#l o. •« proud, metaphylical, unlzin ''*""''' """ i^"'-« intellect i« «elve« from the^,rcjud ces s^'t" ^'^"' ^« "^^^^'^ct ol !' not capable of doil ; u cv u " """'/ '""'' *''«"=''' "" "ro co„.e weaned fvon't .%;,;''«„;:';" ^° ^'n-who can be «»•'"' m portion of their |iv,s"n /'"""''"^ themselves to *;^'naio their soals to a 1 'l.; « m i ^ '' ''t '" ^''«''''^trea? «uch a v.ew of the ,vo.ld is to!"' tl '""^ ''"^"^'^ t^'^c dream from the seats of m. 1 1 f ""'' ^^'p'o took in his appeared so little to „m tat fc^^'sf^'" ^''^ vvhole "a th "crease our knovvled..e by xwino"" ^•'''''' "^ ^'"« will will teach us to estabif^h our nel'^ f *^"'" ^^norance, and can rest securely in resigmi ion 41* /'""^.^'-ore al^ne u life more agreeable, and doa h i '''•'' ^'^'^^ ^^"1 render «od, and ti.e precepts oft btl!7:,il"''^^^he idea of i'^ff ') a'-e never so little re2mhf 7 ^'""p " celebrated intercourse of society pn ^"^®i»^cred as in the ordinary p"-uits, intrance/fn tlfcs,)" v""'^'^"^^ «"«s the continual ebriety which ralp«r ^ ^.^'''*>^' inflamed by dved'tr' rv '-"-tbatetitrrd" '^•;' ^*'"'"^'^^ solved, the bright and noble farnll! ? ""^ ^"** ™an is dis even the great and imporfams ^ t°" ^^^^^''^d, and source of true felicity. svobl^ '.''^ '/"«'°"' ^^^ «nly remembered only with lev ^ os '^ ^'^"^ *''« "^^nd or tering into a serious self-examinahn t^''^"^'' ^'^ ^vho, en in silence towards his go^ ^''°"' ^'^^'^t^^ ^"^ thoughts -if ss':;^ri;t^l;^tr^ ^--^" ^^an wittcod '"^'p^'^^^'-'th outselvef and'n:r '"'* «^"^"^-' with uod. pressed bv the rlz\i ?• " ^''^**^''" communion then clearly perceive that thev vvj''''""' "^^"^ errors we 'ng shunned the snares of .f '^°''««'««ed by not hav watched with suflise/ret--h and by n'ot havbg hearts oppose the sent.^en^of^^"^'''""*^«'^ «f ou? passed his life in pious confnt ■ f^^'^^^^ "^an, who has occupy a worldly crctfufofttsv''"'' ^" *^-«'« c'ng its dearest interests tothefj '^^^'''' ^"^ «acrifi compare the character of a�ise '"^.t"' ^j*^'^ "'^"'^nt : on the importance of eternitytwitluhn/^f?"^*^ in silence whoconsumeshis.eimeinti^;tdtt;s^^^^^^^^^^^^ / purr intellect, iy to abstract our cjisuies and bu '. though ull nro 8. who can be theniselves to »n tlieir retreat tiy tjieiice take no took in his 'c wlioje earth ly tliscern that ev,as tins will ?norance, and vliere alone it hv will render the idea of i a celebrated the ordinary do of absurd inflamed by id stimulates i man is dis bscured, and 3n, the only the mind or he who, en liis thoughts that we all id solitude, communion errors, we jynot hav lot having ns of our i> who has lose avhich nd sacrifi moment : in silence ible being, he world j life or awor? wilso.n. 10 and we bhall then perceive that solitude and dignified retire ment can alone afford true |)leas»rc, and give ua what nil the vain enjoymenth of the world will never bestow, consolation in death, and hope of everlasting life. but the bed of death discovers most clearly the difference between tiie just man, who has (juiefly passed his days in religious contemplation, and the man of the world, whose thoughts have only been employed to feed his passions and gratify his desires. a life passed amidst the tumultuous dissipations of the world, even when unsullied l)y the commission of any crime, con cludes, alas, very differently from that which has been spent in the bowers of solitude, adorned by innocence and rewarded by virtue. were mankind to examine on what their hope of future bliss is founded, and anticipate that day of discovery and de cision which is hastening upon them, it would excite diligence and awaken their attachment to inferior objects. to a mind conscious of his native dignity and immortality, this employ ment cannot be unpleasing or unprofitable. it is the highest proof of wisdom so to act in our present situation, that, when removed to another, the change may be ns happy as it will be lasting. we need not fear that this will diminish our present happiness. the gracious being who formed us, requires no service at our hand but what will promote our present good. " godliness is profitable to all things ;" by living in conformity to its rules, we escape many evils, and are preserved in virtue and innocence. we enjoy every gratification that can give delight to a reasonable mind. were mankind generally influenced by this noble principle, how happy then might be the state of human society. they would then cease to be miserable in a •' miserable world." the voice of discord would then be no longer heard. the various ranks and classes of men would be connected in the strongest and most pleasing band of union. "righteous ness and peace would kiss each other," and the present state of existence would be only a happy prelude to one still more exalted and glorious in the realms of eternal day. by experience i well know that the highest happiness which is capable of being enjoyed in this "miserable world," consists in a peace of mind, and strict adherence to the prin ciples of the christiigin religion ; and by experience i can assure my duar readers that the rich and the ])oor, the hap m '-'" "'• *wo« tvino.y, »ophi :o-ur ^^d^raip'i" r^r^t,tro'. ir « w'-i wore animated naiure. life or amos wii4m^> 81 'cic, in ehort, all '"t'lr .stulions or ' i'i(init<;a<ln,ti ''<', » iu m ii imj, l"e li'olllljr.s of ' distni,tov,)i„. ^"li'u'd to imve 'ii>t livsson we f p'ooruoii-ive '«'» is not to lie 'ient8 ; by fly. 't'r ; by cunti ; '>y untlerta enij[rosse9 tlie i' liis visiomi tfie iifnis f,i siie will con the pursuit, tondinif pas ippiness in a nar from the duties of na tranquilhty rse with hia without ha mms of en al or phijo bodies can an assimi maker. o the soui, as ui-e the tiiral con he world, whilst the d duties, from the «al piety i nature, it looks up to god, sees, bears, and feels him in eve^y event, in every vicissitude, in all places, at all seasons, and upon all occasiorih. it is theory verified by experience ; it is faith sulistiintiated by mental enjoyments; it is heaven transplant ed in the hiinuni bosom ; it is the radiance of the divinity wurminl uftd enrirciing man. it is a spiritual sense grati fied by spiritual sensations ; without this all ceremonies are ine{lic*u-iou;<. a fellow-being, with a cultivated mind enjoys peculiar sa fi'l'iction in the hours of solitude, and the most popular sub ject on which he can meditate and employ his attention and observation when alone, is the thought of deity. not that he may doubt the existence of a supreme being ; but he can naturally, and with more perspicuity, meditate oo his almigh ty |)ower, mercy, and benevolence towards poor, frail crea tures of mortality. the sick, the sorrowful, and the discon« tentcd, may fmd equal relief in solitude ; it administers u balm to their tortured souls, heals the deep and painful wounds they have received, and in time restores them their pristine health and vigour. sorrow, misfortune, and sickness, soon render solitude easy and familiar to our minds. how willing ly do we renounce the world, and become indifferent to all its pleasures when the insiduous eloquence of the passions is silenced, and our powers are debilitated by vexation of ill health ! it is then we perceive the weakness of those suc cours which the world affords ; the mind ^'^en seeks a balm in religion, and becomes more disposed to seek " its guardian anirel and its god." thus, my dear readers, have i endeavored, as far aa my feeble powers would permit, to satisfy you of the blessings of solitude, and of the vast importance of cherishing religion *i' tjis world, that you may be fitted for another and a bet ter. when you peruse these few pages, containing the best advice that i am able to give you, i shall have paid that debt which you must sooner or later pay ; my only prayer there fore is, that you may receive the foregoing advice with as much pleasure as it is given, and that it may ultimately ope rate as powerfully on your mmds, as it baa on that of the author. mysterious are the ways of providence ; the same wheel which raises you to-day on the smooth, unruffled ocean of prosperity, may, before the morrow, roll you in the stormy t2 life of amos wilson. heals those wounds, irvarthlltln^^^^^^ '^^^'» *hat vented niy committing vt4nce on 2 1^?^ ""'' ^"^' p'"^" moinentvvhcnlwasdoomecuopvlt ^^^' '^'^ melancholy trials of this life--wrrdoomn?r ^^"'^^"^"^'**^^««^«rest fateofanaffectionrteandontsis^^^^ t^melancholy youth, torn from her fond muztt � companion of my fined within the thicl wars of a x "' '"""^ "^""*^« ^«» thence conveyed, (at the vprl ^ ^ ""."^ p"^''""' ^nd from tained for her^) to the lallowt zltt '^^l^p^^'^on was ob greatest monsters of lems ^ " ' '"■' ''" °"" °^*'^^ view her lifeless corpse s^tpe/ded if ht""'""' ^^^^^' •'-*« a throng of u„pityi„^ spectc f '^' '"' ^"'•'•-""ded by waf :; t: .;^:^lt^^^^^^^ [« which wemust submit. it to my aid, and' bi^d "nezlott tl':" v^t^" v"^ r««-" not and ought not wish tosf s fh * m' ^'^^^^ ^ «««'d for her whsmlhad iust vph!. *« this troublesome worw-^ gions of eternal day love th.° "^'t 'f ^ ^^"« *«the re pain. ^' ^''''^^ t'^*' reach of sorrow, vice or vidence while we are wranttn in^ /r"^ *^^ '^^^^ ^^ p^o" thcre is a god, we mutt tnn'^n^^t^''*^,' ^"* convinced i am fully senslwrmv zr zi^"^''^' '^'^^ ^" '« ^'^^t. are strewed with diffic^fiertroublet '""fl '' *^'"* «"'• ^'^^^ that we daily experience the r^d w?' it^ ^.'«!^ppointments ; son highly lrthy of „^ruct?on if] ^t'^""' *^ "« '-^ ^^' tjnngs requsite thatwemcef ^ .»,: . .^ ''^^^ »^*"r« of order thai we know h^w to pdl' s^^^ ^^'^-'i" 'n the heavens above : that hp whn » ^''^"^^ ^^aits us trials and misfortunes of teworm ^^"'^ «."^0"nters the tng them but as motentaraffl ivf^'^^^^ joypvhich are set bef^etm^n totr't'"'"^^^ ^'^ ^'^^ fault and conclude we are possesset;f n ^'^ ''pf *« ^"** !,/i life of amos wilson. 33 continuahy sf,if^^ lavvayl" man nrmities, and dis c the long-lived is the balm that ed me, and pre t the melancholy le of'the severest the melancholy om])anion of my any months con nison, and from pardon was ob > like one of the ious death ! — to surrounded by rnist submit. it ■ion and reason r whoin i could bsome worw gone to the re rrow, vice, or md the glories mvaysofpro l>ut convinced t all is right, that our lives ppointments ; es to us a les sry nature of lere below, in ich awaits us counters the jinall, count itively to the -e apt to find iter share of ijan our pro 3 it were, to uaded man kind are not so unequally provided for iu this world as many imagine. " god is no respecter of persons," ho favors one man no more than another, and his blessings are equally showered upon all his offspring. as regards my ovv'n situation, few, very few, of my fellow creatures it is probable, could be found willing (after experi encing so many severe trials) to retire from the busy world, and be content to abide alone nineteen years within the walls of a solitary cave, as i have myself done. my situation has no doubt been pronounced unhappy and miserable by many of my fellow-beings ; but secluded as i have been from the so ciety of man, depriving myself of the superfluities of life, i solemnly declare that i have enjoyed more real happiness in retirement than what all the riches and superfluities of this world could have afforded me. my dear readers, i must now bid you an affectionate fare well. may the remainder of your days be spent in the faith ful discharge of the duty you owe to the supreme disposer of all events ! as your days shorten, may the sun of right eousness brighten over you till you arrive at the new jeru salem, where tears are wiped away from every eye, and sor row is no more ! amos wilson. a 249 princeton university library dupl 32101 037602990 12 20 crelli i b 6 exquared to lates princeton university library library of english poetry " plotis: 8,32, 18 came ayat 2413157 104, 145, 158, 196 sub nnmine founded and maintained by the class of 1875 dri viget m. a. murray. 1809. 1 1 f the el essay the by the prin m: a. murray poems, moral, elegant and pathetic: viz. essay on man, by pope; an elegy in a country the monk of la trappe, by jerningham; the grave, by blair; churchyard, by gray; the hermit of warkworth, by percy; and original sonnets, by helen maria williams. london: printed for e. newbery, the corner of st. paul's church-yard; and vernor and hood, birchin-lane, cornhill. 1796. ess the f the g the h sonnets t $7 vi t -57-9995 سے گئے۔ essay on i contents. man the univerfal prayer the dying chriſtian to his soul the funeral the grave elegy, written in a country church yard the hermit of warkworth sonnets from paul and virginia i. to love ii. to difappointment iii. to simplicity iv. to the strawberry v. to the curlew vi. to the torrid zone vii. to the calbaffia tree viii. to the white bird of the tropic 3598 72476 page 72 76 79 99 1 141 153 211 213 2:4 215 216 217 218 219 220 1 ין 体​感 ​f 3 essay on man. essay on man. by alexander pope, esq. epistle i. awake wake, my st. john! leave all meaner things to low ambition, and the pride of kings. let us (fince life can little more ſupply than juft to look about us and to die) expatiate free o'er all this ſcene of man; a mighty maze! but not without a plan; a wild, where weeds and flow'rs promifcuous fhoot; or garden, tempting with forbidden fruit. together let us beat this ample field, try what the open, what the covert yield; b 2 essay on man. the latent tracts, the giddy heights, explore of all who blindly creep, or fightleſs foar ; eye nature's walks, fhoot folly as it flies, and catch the manners living as they riſe; laugh where we muft, be candid where we can ; but vindicate the ways of god to man. i. say firft, of god above, or man below, what can we reaſon, but from what we know: of man, what fee we but his ſtation here, from which to reafon, or to which refer? thro' worlds unnumber'd tho' the god be known, 'tis ours to trace him only in our own. he, who thro' vaft immenfity can pierce, see worlds on worlds compofe one univerſe, obferve how fyftem into fyftem runs, what other planets circle other funs, what vary'd being peoples every ftar, may tell why heav'n has made us as we are. but of this frame, the bearings, and the ties, the ftrong connexions, nice dependencies, essay on man. 5 gradations juft, has thy pervading foul look'd through? or can a part contain the whole? is the great chain, that draws all to agree, and drawn fupports, upheld by god, or thee? ii. preſumptuous man! the reaſon wouldft thou find, why form'd fo weak, fo little, and fo blind? firft, if thou canft, the harder reafon gueſs, why form'd no weaker, blinder, and no lefs. afk of thy mother earth, why oaks are made taller or ſtronger than the weeds they fhade? or afk of yonder argent fields above, why jove's fatellites are leſs than jove? of fyftems poffible, if 'tis confeft that wiſdom infinite muſt form the beſt, where all muft full or not coherent be, and all that rifes, rife in due degree; then in the ſcale of reas'ning life, 'tis plain, there must be, fomewhere, ſuch a rank as man : . b 3 6 essay on man. and all the queftion (wrangle e'er fo long) is only this, if god has plac'd him wrong? reſpecting man, whatever wrong we call, may, muſt be right, as relative to all. in human works, tho' labour'd on with pain, a thouſand movements ſcarce one purpoſe gain; in god's, one fingle can its end produce; yet ferves to fecond too fome other uſe. so man, who here feems principal alone, perhaps acts fecond to ſome ſphere unknown, touches fome wheel, or verges to fome goal; 'tis but a part we fee, and not a whole. when the proud ſteed ſhall know why man reftrains his fiery courſe, or drives him o'er the plains; when the dull ox, why now he breaks the clod, is now a victim, and now ægypt's god : then fhall man's pride and dulnefs comprehend his actions', paffions', being's, ufe and end; essay on man. 7 lan od, nd why doing, fuff'ring, check'd, impell'd; and why this hour a flave, the next a deity. then ſay not man's imperfect, heav'n in fault; say rather, man's as perfect as he ought: his knowledge meafur'd to his ftate and place; his time a moment, and a point his ſpace. if to be perfect in a certain ſphere, what matter, foon or late, or here or there; the bleft to day is as completely ſo, as who began a thouſand years ago. iii. heav'n from all creatures hides the book of fate, all but the page prefcrib'd, their prefent ſtate: from brutes what men, from men what fpirits know: or who could fuffer being here below? the lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to day, had he thy reafon, would he fkip and play? pleas'd to the laft, he crops the flow'ry food, and licks the hand juſt rais'd to ſhed his blood. b 4 '8 essay on man. oh blindneſs to the future! kindly giv'n, that each may fill the circle mark'd by heav'n: who fees with equal eye, as god of all, a hero perish, or a ſparrow fall, atoms or ſyſtems into ruin hurl'd, and now a bubble burft, and now a world. hope humbly then; with trembling pinions foar; wait the great teacher death; and god adore. what future blifs he gives not thee to know, but gives that hope to be thy bleffing now. hope fprings eternal in the human breaſt: man never is, but always to be bleft: the foul, uneafy and confin'd, from home,, refts and expatiates in a life to come. lo, the poor indian whofe untutor'd mind sees god in clouds, or hears him in the wind; his foul, proud ſcience never taught to ftray far as the folar walk, or milky way; 1 yet fimple nature to his hope has giv'n, behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heav'n, designed & engravid by h. richterſ. lo the poor indian whose untutord mind sees god in clouds, or hears him in the wind : epifle l. 99. publish'd may 11796, hy vernor & hood. essay on man. 9 some fafer world in depth of woods embrac'd, some happier iſland in the watry waſte, where flaves once more their native land behold, no fiends torment, no chriftians thirſt for gold. to be, contents his natural defire, he aſks no angel's wing, no feraph's fire; but thinks, admitted to that equal iky, his faithful dog fhall bear him company. iv. go wiſer thou; and in thy ſcale of ſenſe, weigh thy opinion againſt providence ; call imperfection what thou fancy'ft fuch, say, here he gives too little, there too much; deſtroy all creatures for thy ſport or guſt, yet cry, if man's unhappy, god's unjuſt; if man alone ingrofs not heav'n's high care, alone made perfect here, immortal there: snatch from his hand the balance and the rod, re-judge his juftice, be the god of god. in pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies; all quit their fphere, and ruſh into the fkies. 10 essay on man. pride ftill is aiming at the bleft abodes, men would be angels, angels would be gods. afpiring to be gods, if angels fell, afpiring to be angels, men rebel: and who but wiſhes to invert the laws of order, fins againſt th' eternal cauſe. v. aſk for what end the heav'nly bodies fhine, earth for whofe ufe? pride anſwers, ""tis for mine : "for me kind nature wakes her genial pow'r, "suckles each herb, and ſpreads out ev'ry flow'r; "annual for me, the grape, the roſe renew "the juice nectareous, and the balmy dew; "for me, the mine a thouſand treaſures brings; "for me, health gufhes from a thouſand ſprings, "seas roll to waft me, funs to light me riſe; "my footftool earth, my canopy the fkies." but errs not nature from this gracious end, from burning funs when livid deaths defcend, essay on man. 11 e, for s; gs; when earthquakes fwallow, or when tempefts ſweep towns to one grave, whole nations to the deep; "no, ('tis replied) the firſt almighty caufe "acts not by partial, but by gen'ral laws; "th' exceptions few; fome change fince all began: "and what created perfect ?"-why then man? if the great end be human happineſs, then nature deviates; and can man do lefs? as much that end a conftant courſe requires of ſhow'rs and funſhine, as of man's defires; as much eternal fprings and cloudleſs ſkies, as men for ever temp'rate, calm, and wife, if plagues or earthquakes break not heav'n's defign, why then a borgia, or a catiline? who knows but he, whofe hand the lightning forms, who heaves old ocean, and who wings the ftorms; pours fierce ambition in a cæfar's mind, or turns young ammon looſe to ſcourge mankind? 12 essay on man. from pride, from pride, our very reas'ning ſprings; account for moral, as for nat'ral things: why charge we heav'n in thoſe, in theſe acquit? in both, to reaſon right is to ſubmit. better for us, perhaps, it might appear, were there all harmony, all virtue here; that never air or ocean felt the wind; that never paffion difcompos'd the mind, but all fubfifts by elemental ftrife; and paffions are the elements of life. the gen'ral order, fince the whole began, is kept in nature, and is kept in man. vi. what would this man! now upward will he foar, and little leſs than angel, would be more? now looking downwards, juft as griev'd appears to want the ſtrength of bulls, the fur of bears. made for his uſe, all creatures if he call, say what their ufe, had he the powr's of all? essay on man. 13 nature to thefe, without profufion, kind, the proper organs, proper pow'rs affign'd; each ſeeming want compenfated of courſe; here with degrees of fwiftnefs, there of force; all in exact proportion to the ſtate; nothing to add, and nothing to abate. each beaſt, each infect, happy in its own; is heav'n unkind to man, and man alone; shall he alone, whom rational we call, be pleas'd with nothing, if not blefs'd with all? the blifs of man (could pride that bleffing find) is not to act or think beyond mankind; no pow'rs of body or of foul to ſhare, but what his nature and his ftate can bear. why has not man a microſcopic eye? for this plain reafon, man is not a fly. say what the uſe, were finer optics giv'n, t' infpect a mite, not comprehend the heav'n? or touch, if tremblingly alive all o'er, to fmart and agonize at ev'ry pore? 14 essay on man. or quick effluvia darting thro' the brain,. die of a rofe in aromatic pain? if nature thunder'd in his op'ning ears, and ſtunn'd him with the mufic of the ſpheres, how would he with that heav'n had left him ftill the whiſp'ring zephyr, and the purling rill? who finds not providence all good and wife, alike in what it gives and what denies ? vii. far as creation's ample range extends, the ſcale of fenfual, mental pow'rs afcends : mark how it mounts, to man's imperial race, from the green myriads in the peopled grafs : what modes of fight betwixt each wide extreme, the mole's dim curtain, and the lynx's beam: of fmell, the headlong lionefs between, and hound fagacious on the tainted green : of hearing, from the life that fills the flood, to that which warbles thro' the vernal wood? the ſpider's touch, how exquifitely fine! feels at each thread, and lives along the line: essay on man. 15 in the nice bee, what fenſe ſo ſubtly true from pois'nous herbs extracts the healing dew? how inftinct varies in the grov'ling fwine, compar'd, half-reas'ning elephant, with thine! "twixt that, and reafon, what a nice barrier? for ever ſep'rate, yet for ever near! remembrance and reflexion, how ally'd ; what thin partition ſenſe from thought divide? and middle natures, how they long to join, yet never paſs th' infuperable line! without this juft gradation, could they be subjected, theſe to thoſe, or all to thee? the pow'rs of all fubdu'd by thee alone, is not thy reafon all theſe pow'rs in one! viii. see, thro' this air, this ocean, and this earth, all matter quick, and bursting into birth. above, how high, progreffive life may go! around, how wide! how deep extend below! 16 essay on man. a vaft chain of being! which from god began, nature ethereal, human, angel, man, beaft, bird, fish, inſect, what no eye can ſee, no glafs can reach; from infinite to thee, from thee to nothing -on fuperior pow'rs were we to prefs, inferior might on ours: or in the full creation leave a void, where, one ſtep broken, the great ſcale's deſtroy'd: from nature's chain whatever link you ftrike, tenth, or ten thouſandth, breaks the chain alike. and, if each ſyſtem in gradation roll alike effential to th' amazing whole, the leaft confufion but in one, not all that fyftem only, but the whole muft fall. let earth unbalanc'd from her orbit fly, planets and funs run lawleſs thro' the ſky; let ruling angels from their ſpheres be hurl'd, being on being wreck'd, and world on world; heav'n's whole foundations to their centre nod, and nature trembles to the throne of god. essay on man. 17 all this dread order break-for whom? for thee! vile worm!-oh madnefs! pride! impiety! ix. what if the foot, ordain'd the duſt to tread, or hand, to toil, afpir'd to be the head? what if the head, the eye, or ear, repin'd to ſerve mere engines to the ruling mind? juft as abfurd for any part to claim to be another, in this gen'ral frame : juft as abfurd to mourn the taſks or pains the great directing mind of all ordains. all are but parts of one ftupendous whole, whofe body nature is, and god the foul; that, chang'd thro' all, and yet in all the fame; great in the earth, as in th' æthereal frame; warms in the fun, refreſhes in the breeze, glows in the ſtars, and bloffoms in the trees, extends thro' all extent, lives thro' all life, spreads undivided, operates unſpent ; breathes in our foul, informs our mortal part, as full, as perfect in a hair as heart; с 18 essay on man. as full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, as the rapt feraph that adores and burns : to him no high, no low, no great, no ſmall; he fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all. x. ceaſe then, nor order imperfection name our proper blifs depends on what we blame. know thy own point: this kind, this due degree of blindneſs, weakneſs, heav'n beſtows on thee. submit. in this, or any other ſphere, secure to be as bleft as thou canft bear: safe in the hand of one difpofing pow'r, or in the natal, or the mortal hour. all nature is but art, unknown to thee; all chance, direction, which thou canft not fee; all difcord, harmony not underſtood; all partial evil, univerſal good: and, fpite of pride, in erring reaſon's ſpite, one truth is clear, whatever is, is right. essay on man. 19 epistle ii. 1. know then thyſelf, prefume not god to ſcan, the proper ftudy of mankind is man. plac'd on this ifthmus of a middle ſtate, a being darkly wife, and rudely great: with too much knowledge for the fceptic fide, with too much weakneſs for the ftoic's pride, he hangs between; in doubt to act, or reft; in doubt to deem himſelf a god, or beaſt; in doubt his mind or body to prefer ; born but to die, and reas'ning but to err; alike in ignorance, his reafon fuch, whether he think too little, or too much; chaos of thought and paffion, all confus'd; still by himſelf abus'd, or difabus'd; created half to rife, and half to fall; great lord of all things, yet a prey to all; c 2 20 essay on man. sole judge of truth, in endleſs error hurl'd : the glory, jeft, and riddle of the world! go, wondrous creature! mount where science guides, go, meaſure earth, weigh air, and ftate the tides; inftruct the planets in what orbs to run, correct old time, and regulate the fun : go, foar with plato, to th' empyreal ſphere, to the first good, firſt perfect, and firſt fair; or tread the mazy round his follow'rs trod, and quitting fenſe call imitating god; as eaſtern prieſts in giddy circles run, and turn their heads to imitate the fun. go, teach eternal wiſdom how to rulethen drop into thyſelf, and be a fool! superior beings, when of late they faw a mortal man unfold all nature's law, admir'd fuch wiſdom in an earthly ſhape, and fhew'd a newton as we fhew an ape. essay on man. 21 • could he, whoſe rules the rapid comet bind, defcribe or fix one movement of his mind? who faw its fires here rife, and there defcend, explain his own beginning, or his end? alas, what wonder! man's fuperior part uncheck'd may riſe, and climb from art to art: but when his own great work is but begun, what reaſon weaves, by paffion is undone. trace science then, with modeſty thy guide; firft ftrip off all her equipage of pride; deduct what is but vanity, or drefs, or learning's luxury, or idleness; or tricks to thew the ſtretch of human brain, mere curious pleaſure, or ingenious pain; expunge the whole, or lop th' excrefcent parts of all our vices have created arts; then fee how little the remaining fum, which ferv'd the paſt, and muſt the times to come! ii. two principles in human nature reign; self-love, to urge, and reafon, to reſtrain; с 3 22 essay on man. nor this a good, nor that a bad we call, each works its end, to move or govern all : and to their proper operation ftill, afcribe all good, to their improper, ill. self-love, the ſpring of motion, acts the foul; reaſon's comparing balance rules the whole. man, but for that, no action could attend, and but for this, were active to no end: fix'd like a plant on his peculiar ſpot, to draw nutrition, propagate, and rot; or, meteor-like, flame lawleſs thro' the void, deftroying others, by himſelf deftroy'd. moft ftrength the moving principle requires; active its tafk, it prompts, impels, infpires; sedate and quiet, the comparing lies, form'd but to check, delib'rate, and adviſe. self-love ſtill ſtronger, as its objects nigh; reafon's at diftance, and in profpect lie: that fees immediate good by prefent fenfe; reafon, the future and the confequence. . essay on man. 23 thicker than arguments, temptations throng, at beft more watchful this, but that more ftrong; the action of the ſtronger to fufpend reaſon ſtill uſe, to reafon ftill attend. attention, habit and experience gains; each ſtrengthens reaſon, and self-love reſtrains. let fubtle ſchoolmen teach theſe friends to fight, more ftudious to divide than to unite ; and grace and virtue, senfe and reaſon ſplit, with all the rafh dexterity of wit. wits juft like fools, at war about a name, have full as oft no meaning, or the fame. self-love and reaſon to one end aſpire, pain their averfion, pleafure their defire; but greedy that, its object would devour, this tafte the honey, and not wound the flow'r : pleaſure, or wrong, or rightly underſtood, our greateft evil, or our greateſt good. iii. modes of self-love the paffions we may call: 'tis real good, or feeming, moves them all : c 4 24 essay on man. but fince not ev'ry good we can divide, and reafon bids us for our own provide; paffions, tho' ſelfiſh, if their means be fair, lift under reaſon, and deſerve her care; thoſe that imparted, court a nobler aim, exalt their kind, and take fome virtue's name. in lazy apathy let ftoics boaſt their virtue fix'd; 'tis fix'd as in a froft; contracted all, retiring to the breaſt: but ftrength of mind is exercife, not reft; the rifing tempeſt puts in act the foul, parts it may ravage, but preſerves the whole.. on life's vaft ocean diverfely we fail, reaſon the card, but paffion is the gale. nor god alone in the ftill calm we find, he mounts the ſtorm, and walks upon the wind. paffions, like elements, tho' born to fight, yet, mix'd and foften'd in his work unite: thefe, 'tis enough to temper and employ ; but what compoſes man, can man deſtroy? essay on man. 25 suffice that reaſon keep to nature's road, subject, compound them, follow her and god. love, hope, and joy, fair pleafure's fimiling train, hate, fear, and grief, the family of pain, theſe mix'd with art, and to due bounds confin'd, make and maintain the balance of the mind: the lights and fhades, whoſe well accorded ftrife gives all the ſtrength and colour of our life. pleaſures are ever in our hands or eyes; and when, in act, they ceaſe, in proſpect, rife: prefent to grafp, and future ftill to find, the whole employ of body and of mind. all ſpread their charms, but charm not all alike; on diff'rent fenfes diff'rent objects ſtrike; hence diff'rent paffions more or leſs inflame, as ftrong or weak the organs of the frame; and hence one master passion in the breaft, like aaron's ferpent, fwallows up the reft. as man, perhaps, the moment of his breath, receives the lurking principle of death; 26 essay on man. the young diſeaſe, that muft fubdue at length, grows with his growth, and ftrengthens with his ftrength: so, caft and mingled with his very frame, the mind's diſeaſe, its ruling passion came; each vital humour which fhould feed the whole, soon flows to this, in body and in foul: whatever warms the heart, or fills the head, as the mind opens, and its functions ſpread, imagination plies her dang'rous art, and pours it all upon the peccant part. nature its mother, habit is its nurſe; wit, spirit, faculties, but make it worſe : reafon itſelf but gives it edge and pow'r; as heav'n's bleft beam turns vinegar more four. we, wretched fubjects tho' to lawful fway, in this weak queen, ſome fav'rite ftill obey: ah! if fhe lend not arms as well as rules, what can fhe more than tell us we are fools? essay on man. 27 teach us to mourn our nature, not to mend, a fharp accufer, but a helplefs friend! or from a judge turn pleader, to perfuade the choice we make, or juftify it made; proud of an eafy conqueft all along, she but removes weak paffions from the ſtrong so, when ſmall humours gather to a gout, the doctor fancies he has driven them out. yes, nature's road must ever be preferr'd: reaſon is here no guide but fill a guard; "tis her's to rectify, not overthrow, and treat this paffion more as friend than foe a mightier pow'r the ftrong direction fends, and fev'ral men impels to fev'ral ends: like varying winds, by other paffions tott, this drives them conftant to a certain coaft. let pow'r or knowledge, gold or glory, pleaſe, or (oft more ftrong than all) the love of eaſe; thro' life 'tis follow'd, ev'n at life's expenſe; the merchant's toil, the fage's indolence, 28 essay on man. the monk's humility, the hero's pride, all, all alike, find reafon on their fide. th' eternal art, educing good from ill, grafts on this paffion our beſt principle: 'tis thus the mercury of man is fix'd, strong grows the virtue with his nature mix'd; the drofs cements what elſe were too refin'd, and in one int'reft body acts with mind. as fruits, ungrateful to the planter's care, on favage ftocks inferted, learn to bear; the fureft virtues thus from paffions ſhoot, wild nature's vigour working at the root. what crops of wit and honefty appear from fpleen, from obftinacy, hate, or fear! see anger, zeal and fortitude ſupply; ev'n av'rice, prudence; floth, philofophy; luft, thro' fome certain ftrainers well refin'd, is gentle love, and charms all womankind; envy, to which th' ignoble mind's a flave, is emulation in the learn'd or brave; essay on man. 29 nor virtue, male or female, can we name, but what will grow on pride, or grow on fhame. thus nature gives us (let it check our pride) the virtue neareſt to our vice ally'd: reaſon the bias turns to good from ill, and nero reigns a titus, if he will. the fiery foul abhorr'd in catiline, in decius charms, in curtius is divine: the fame ambition can deſtroy or fave, and makes a patriot as it makes a knave. this light and darkneſs in our chaos join'd, what fhall divide? the god within the mind. extremes in nature equal ends produce, in man they join to fome myſterious uſe; tho' each by turns the other's bounds invade, as, in fome well-wrought picture, light and fhade, and oft fo mix, the diff'rence is too nice where ends the virtue, or begins the vice. fools! who from hence into the notion fall, that vice or virtue there is none at all. 30 essay on man. if white and black, foften, and unite a thouſand ways, is there no black or white? afk your own heart, and nothing is ſo plain? "tis to miſtake them cofts the time and pain. vice is a monſter of fo frightful mien, as, to be hated, needs but to be ſeen : yet feen too oft, familiar with her face, we first endure, then pity, then embrace. but where th' extreme of vice, was ne'er agreed: aik where's the north? at york, 'tis on the tweed; in scotland, at the orcades; and there, at greenland, zembla, or the lord knows where. no creature owns it in the firft degree, but thinks his neighbour further gone than he; ev'n thoſe who dwell beneath its very zone, or never feel the rage, or never own; what happier nature ſhrinks at with affright, the hard inhabitant contends is right. virtuous and vicious ev'ry man muſt be, few in th' extreme, but all in the degree: 4 essay on man. 31 the rogue and fool, by fits, is fair and wife; and ev'n the beft, by fits, what they deſpiſe. 'tis but by parts we follow good or ill; for, vice or virtue, felf directs it ftill; each individual feeks a fev'ral goal; but heav'n's great view is one, and that the whole. that counter-works each folly and caprice; that diſappoints th' effect of ev'ry vice; that, happy frailties to all ranks apply'd; shame to the virgin, to the matron pride, fear to the ſtateſman, raſhneſs to the chief, to kings prefumption, and to crowds belief: that virtue's ends from vanity can raiſe, which feeks no int'reft, no reward but praiſe ; and build on wants, and on defects of mind, the joy, the peace, the glory of mankind. heav'n forming each on other to depend, a mafter, or a fervant, or a friend, bids each on other for affiſtance call, 'till one man's weakneſs grows the ftrength of all. 32 essay on man. wants, frailties, paffions, cloſer ſtill ally the common int'reft or endear the tie. to theſe we owe true friendſhip, love fincere, each home-felt joy that life inherits here; yet from the fame we learn, in its decline, thofe joys, thofe loves, thofe int'refts, to refign; taught half by reaſon, half by mere decay, to welcome death, and calmly paſs away. whate'er the paffion, knowledge, fame, or pelf, not one will change his neighbour with himſelf. the learn'd is happy nature to explore, the fool is happy that he knows no more; the rich is happy in the plenty giv'n, the poor contents him with the care of heav'n. see the blind beggar dance, the cripple fing, the fot a hero, lunatic a king; the ſtarving chemiſt in his golden views supremely bleft, the poet in his muſe. see fome ſtrange comfort ev'ry ſtate attend, and pride beſtow'd on all, a common friend; designs & engraved by h. richter. see the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing. epiftle 2 l.267. publifh'd may 11796, by vernor & hood. essay on man. 33 see fome fit paffion ev'ry age ſupply, hope travels thro', not quits us when we die. behold the child, by nature's kindly law, pleas'd with a rattle, tickled with a ſtraw : some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, a little louder, but as empty quite: scarfs, garters, gold, amuſe his riper ſtage, and beads and pray'r-books are the toys of age: pleas'd with this bauble ftill, as that before, 'till tir'd he fleeps, and life's poor play is o'er. meanwhile opinion gilds with varying rays thofe painted clouds that beautify our days: each want of happineſs by hope ſupply'd, and each vacuity of fenfe by pride: theſe build as faft as knowledge can deſtroy in folly's cup ftill laughs the bubble, joy; one profpe& loft, another ſtill we gain; and not a vanity is giv'n in vain; ev'n mean felf-love becomes, by force divine, the ſcale to meaſure other wants by thine. d 34 essay on man. see! and confeſs one comfort ftill muſt riſe; 'tis this, tho' man's a fool, yet, god is wise. epistle iii. here then we reft: "the univerſal caufe "acts to one end, but acts by various laws." in all the madneſs of fuperfluous health, the trim of pride, the impudence of wealth, let this great truth be preſent night and day, but moſt be preſent, if we preach or pray. look round our world, behold the chain of love, combining all below and all above. see plaſtic nature working to this end, the fingle atoms each to other tend, attract, attracted to, the next in place form'd and impell'd its neighbour to embrace. essay on man. 35 see matter next, with various life endu'd, prefs to one centre ftill, the gen'ral good. see dying vegetables life ſuſtain, see life diffolving vegetate again; all forms that periſh other forms ſupply, (by turns we catch the vital breath, and die) like bubbles on the fea of matter borne, they rife, they break, and to that fea return. nothing is foreign; parts relate to whole; one all-extending, all-preferving soul ; connects each being, greateſt with the leaft made beaft in aid of man, and man of beaſt; all ferv'd, all ferving: nothing ſtands alone! the chain holds on, and where it ends, unknown has god, thou fool! work'd folely for thy good, thy joy, thy paſtime, thy attire, thy food? who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn, for him as kindly fpread the flow'ry lawn. is it for thee the lark afcends and fings, joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings? d 2 36 essay on man. is it for thee the linnet pours his throat, loves of his own and raptures fwell the note? the bounding fteed you pompouſly beſtride, shares with his lord the pleaſure and the pride. is thine alone the feed that ftrews the plain? the birds of heav'n fhall vindicate their grain. thine the full harveſt of the golden year? part pays, and juftly, the deſerving ſteer : the hog, that ploughs not nor obeys thy call, lives on the labours of this lord of all. know, nature's children fhall divide her care : the fur that warms the monarch, warm'd a bear. while man exclaims, "see all things for my ufe!" "see man for mine !" replies a pamper'd goofe: and just as fhort of reafon he muſt fall, who thinks all made for one, not one for all. grant that the pow'rful ſtill the weak controul : be man the wit and tyrant of the whole: nature that tyrant checks: he only knows, and helps, another creature's wants and woes, essay on man. 37 say, will the falcon, ftooping from above, smit with her varying plumage, fpare the dove? admires the jay the infect's gilded wings? or hears the hawk when philomela fings? man cares for all: to birds he gives his woods, to beaſts his paftures, and to fiſh his floods; for fome his int'reft prompts him to provide, for more his pleaſure, yet for more his pride: all feed on one vain patron, and enjoy th' extenfive bleffing of his luxury; that very life his learned hunger craves, he faves from famine, from the favage faves; nay, feafts the animal he dooms his feaft, and, 'till he ends the being, makes it bleft; which fees no more the ftroke, or feels the pain, than favour'd man by touch ethereal flain. the creature had his feaft of life before ; thou too muft periſh, when thy feaft is o'er to each unthinking being, heav'n a friend, gives not the ufelefs knowledge of its end: " d 3 38 essay on man. to man imparts it; but with fuch a view as, while he dreads it, makes him hope it too: the hour conceal'd, and fo remote the fear, death ftill draws nearer, never ſeeming near. great ftanding miracle! that heav'n affign'd its only thinking thing this turn of mind. ii. whether with reaſon, or with inſtinct bleft, know, all enjoy that pow'r which ſuits them beſti to blifs alike by that direction tend, and find the means proportion'd to their end. say, where full inſtinct is th' unerring guide, what pope or council can they need befide? reaſon, however able, cool at beſt, cares not for ſervice, or but ſerves when preft, stays 'till we call, and then not often near; but honeft inftin&t comes a volunteer, sure never to o'erſhoot, but juſt to hit; while ftill too wide or ſhort is human wit; sure by quick nature happineſs to gain, which heavier reafon labours at in vain. essay on man. 39 this too ferves always, reaſon never long; one must go right, the other may go wrong. see then the acting and comparing pow'rs one in their nature, which are two in ours! and reafon raiſe o'er inftinct as you can, in this 'tis god directs, in that 'tis man. who taught the nations of the field and wood to fhun their poiſon, and to chooſe their food? preſcient, the tides or tempefts to withſtand, build on the wave, or arch beneath the fand? who made the ſpider parallels defign, sure as de-moivre, without rule or line? who bid the ftork, columbus like, explore heav'ns not his own, and worlds unknown before? who calls the council, ftates the certain day, who forms the phalanx, and who points the way? iii. god, in the nature of each being, founds its proper bliſs, and ſets it proper bounds: but as he fram'd a whole, the whole to bleſs, on mutual wants built mutual happineſs: d 4 40 essay on man. so from the firft, eternal order ran, and creature link'd to creature, man to man. whate'er of life all quick'ning æther keeps, or breathes thro' air, or ſhoots beneath the deeps, or pours profufe on earth, one nature feeds the vital flame, and fwells the genial feeds. not man alone, but all that roam the wood, or wing the sky, or roll along the flood, each loves itſelf, but not itſelf alone, each fex defires alike, 'till two are one. nor ends the pleaſure with the fierce embraces they love themſelves a third time in their race. thus beaft and bird their common charge attend, the mothers nurſe it, and the fires defend; the young diſmiſs'd to wander earth or air, there ftops the inſtinct, and there ends the care: the link diffolves, each feeks a freſh embrace, another love fucceeds, another race. a longer care man's helpleſs kind demands; that longer care contracts more laſting bands: essay on man. 41 reflection, reaſon, ftill the ties improve, at once extend the int'reft, and the love; with choice we fix, with fympathy we burn; each virtue in each paffion takes its turn: and ſtill new needs, new helps, new habits rife, that graft benevolence on charities. still as one brood, and as another rofe, thefe nat'ral love maintain'd, habitual thofe : the laft, fcarce ripen'd into perfect man, saw helpless him from whom their life began; mem'ry and forecaſt juſt returns engage, that pointed back to youth, this on to age, while pleaſure, gratitude, and hope, combin'd, still ſpread the int'reft, and preferv'd the kind. iv. nor think, in nature's state they blindly trod; the ftate of nature was the reign of god: self-love and focial at her birth began, union the bond of all things, and of man. 42 essay on man. pride then was not; nor arts, that pride to aid; man walk'd with beaſt, joint tenant of the ſhade; the fame his table, and the fame his bed; no murder cloth'd him, and no murder fed. in the fame temple, the refounding wood, all vocal beings hymn'd their equal god: the fhrine with gore unftain'd, with gold undreſt, unbrib'd, unbloody, ftood the blameleſs prieſt: heav'n's attribute was univerſal care, and man's prerogative to rule, but ſpare. ah! how unlike the man of times to come! of half that live the butcher and the tomb; who, foe to nature, hears the gen'ral groan, murders their fpecies, and betrays his own. but juſt diſeaſe to luxury fucceeds, and ev'ry death its own avenger breeds; the fury-paffions from that blood began, and turn'd on man a fiercer favage man. see him from nature rifing flow to art! to copy instinct then was reafon's part; essay on man. 43 66 thus then to man the voice of nature fpake"go, from the creatures thy inſtructions take : "learn from the birds what food the thickets yield; "learn from the beafts the phyſic of the field; thy arts of building from the bee receive; "learn of the mole to plow, the worm to weave; "learn of the little nautilus to ſail, spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale. "here too all forms of focial union find, "and hence let reaſon, late, inſtruct mankind : "here fubterranean works and cities fee: "there towns aërial on the waving tree. "learn each finall people's genius, policies, "the ants' republic, and the realm of bees; "how thofe in common all their wealth beſtow, "and anarchy without confufion know; "and theſe for ever, tho' a monarch reign, "their fep'rate cells and properties maintain. "mark what unvary'd laws preſerve each ſtate, "laws wife as nature, and as fix'd as fate. <6 44 essay on man. "in vain thy reaſon finer webs fhall draw, v; entangle juftice in her net of law "ant right, too rigid, harden into wrong; "still for the ftrong too weak, the weak too ftrong. "yet go! and thus o'er all the creatures ſway, "thus let the wiſer make the reft obey; "and for thoſe arts mere inſtinct could afford, "be crown'd as monarchs, or as gods ador'd." v. great nature ſpoke; obfervant men obey'd; cities were built, focieties were made: here rofe one little ſtate; another near grew by like means, and join'd, thro' love or fear. did here the trees with ruddier burdens bend, and there the ſtreams in purer rills defcend? what war could raviſh, commerce could beſtow, and he return'd a friend, who came a foe. converfe and love mankind might ftrongly draw, when love was liberty, and nature law. thus ftates were form'd; the name of king unknown, 'till common int'reft plac'd the fway in one: << essay on man. 45 "twas virtue only (or in arts or arms, diffufing bleffings, or averting harms), the fame which in a fire the fons obey'd, a prince the father of a people made. vi. 'till then, by nature crown'd, each patriarch fate king, prieſt, and parent, of his growing ſtate; on him their fecond providence they hung, their law his eye, their oracle his tongue. he from the wond'ring furrow call'd the food, taught to command the fire, controul the flood, draw forth the monfters of th' abyfs profound, or fetch th' aërial eagle to the ground. "till, drooping, fick'ning, dying, they began whom they rever'd as god to mourn as man: then, looking up from fire to fire, explor'd one great firſt father, and that firft ador'd. or plain tradition that this all begun, convey'd unbroken faith from fire to fon; 46 essay on man. the worker from the work diftin&t was known, and fimple reaſon never fought but one: ere wit oblique had broke that ſteady light, man, like his maker, faw that all was right; to virtue, in the paths of pleaſure, trod, and own'd a father when he own'd a god. love all the faith, and all th' allegiance then; for nature knew no right divine in men, no ill could fear in god; and underſtood a fov'reign being but a fov'reign good. true faith, true policy, united ran, that was but love of god, and this of man. who first taught fouls enflav'd, and realms undone, th' enormous faith of many made for one; that proud exception to all nature's laws, t'invert the world, and counterwork its caufe? force first made conqueft, and that conqueft, law: 'till superftition taught the tyrant awe, then thar'd the tyranny, then lent it aid, and gods of conqu'rors, flaves of fubjects made: 7 essay on man. 47 she 'midft the lightning's blaze, and thunder's found, when rock'd the mountains, and when groan'd the ground, she taught the weak to bend, the proud to pray, to pow'r unfeen, and mightier far than they : she, from the rending earth and bursting skies, saw gods defcend, and fiends infernal rife: here fix'd the dreadful, there the bleft abodes ; fear made her devils, and weak hope her gods; gods partial, changeful, paffionate, unjuſt, whofe attributes were rage, revenge, or luft; such as the fouls of cowards might conceive, and, form'd like tyrants, tyrants would believe. zeal then, not charity, became the guide; and hell was built on ſpite, and heav'n on pride. then facred feem'd th' ethereal vault no more! altars grew marble then, and reek'd with gore: then firft the flamen tafted living food; next his grim idol fmear'd with human blood; 48 essay on man. with heav'n's own thunders thook the world below, and play'd the god an engine on his foe. so drives self-love, thro' juft, and thro' unjuſt, to one man's pow'r, ambition, lucre, luft: the fame self-love, in all, becomes the cauſe of what reſtrains him, government and laws, for, what one likes if others like as well, what ferves one will, when many wills rebel? how ſhall he keep what, fleeping or awake, a weaker may furpriſe, a ftronger take? his fafety muft his liberty reftrain: all join to guard what each defires to gain. forc'd into virtue thus by felf-defence, ev'n kings learnt juftice and benevolence: self-love forfook the path it firft purfu'd, and found the private in the public good. "twas then, the ftudious head or gen'rous mind, follow'r of god, or friend of human-kind, poet or patriot, rofe but to reſtore the faith and moral, nature gave before; if ta t t 1 8 essay on man. 49 relum'd her ancient light, not kindled new; if not god's image, yet his fhadow drew: taught pow'r's due ufe to people and to kings; taught nor to flack, nor ſtrain its tender ftrings; the lefs, or greater, fet fo juftly true, that touching one muſt ſtrike the other too; till jarring int'refts, of themſelves create th' according mufic of a well-mix'd ſtate. such is the word's great harmony, that fprings from order, union, full confent of things; where ſmall and great, where weak and mighty, made to ſerve, not fuffer, ftrengthen, not invade; more pow'rful each as needful to the reſt, and, in proportion as it bleffes, bleft; draw to one point, and to one centre bring beaft, man, or angel, fervant, lord, or king. for forms of government let fools conteft; whate'er is beſt adminiſter'd is beſt; e 50 essay on man. for modes of faith let graceless zealots fight; his can't be wrong whofe life is in the right: in faith and hope the world will diſagree, but all mankind's concern is charity; all muſt be falfe that thwart this one great end, and all of god, that bleſs mankind or mend. man, like the gen'rous vine, ſupported lives; the ftrength he gains is from th' embrace he gives. on their own axis as the planets run, yet make at once their circle round the fun; so two confiftent motions act the foul; and one regards itſelf, and one the whole. thus god and nature link'd the gen'ral frame, and bade felf-love and focial be the fame. essay on man. 51 epistle iv. oh happiness! our being's end and aim! good, pleaſure, eafe, content! whate'er thy name: that fomething ftill which prompts th' eternal figh, for which we bear to live, or dare to die, which ſtill ſo near us, yet beyond us lies o'erlook'd, feen double, by the fool and wife. plant of celeſtial feed; if dropt below, say, in what mortal foil thou deign'ſt to grow; fair op'ning to fome court's propitious fhine, or deep with di'monds in the flaming mine? twin'd with the wreaths parnaffian laurels yield, or reap'd in iron harveſts of the field? where grows where grows it not? if vain our toil, we ought to blame the culture, not the foil: e 2 52 essay on man, fix'd to no fpot is happineſs fincere, 'tis no where to be found, or ev'ry where: 'tis never to be bought, but always free, and fled from monarchs, st. john! dwells with thee. afk of the learn'd the way? the learn'd are blind; this bid to ferve, and that to fhun mankind; some place the blifs in action, fome in eaſe, thofe call it pleaſure, and contentment thefe; some funk to beafts, find pleaſure end in pain some fwell'd to gods, confefs ev'n virtue vain; or indolent, to each extreme they fall, to truft in ev'ry thing, or doubt of all. who thus define it, fay they more or leſs than this, that happineſs is happineſs? take nature's path, and mad opinions leave ; all ftates can reach it, and all heads conceive; obvious her goods, in no extreme they dwell there needs but thinking right, and meaning well; and mourn our various portions as we pleaſe, equal is common fenfe, and common eaſe. ; essay on man. 53 remember, man, "the univerſal cauſe acts not by partial, but by gen'ral laws;" and makes what happineſs we juftly call subfift not in the good of one, but all. there's not a bleffing individuals find, but fome way leans and hearkens to the kind. no bandit fierce, no tyrant mad with pride, no cavern'd hermit, refts felf-fatisfy'd; who moft to fhun or hate mankind pretend, seek an admirer, or would fix a friend: abftra&t what others feel, what others think, all pleaſures ficken, and all glories fink: each has his thare; and who would more obtain, shall find, the pleafure pays not half the pain. order is heav'n's first law; and this confeft, some are, and must be, greater than the reft, more rich, more wife; but who infers from hence that fuch are happier, fhocks all common fenfe. heav'n to mankind impartial we confess, if all are equal in their happineſs; e 3 54 essay on man. but mutual wants this happineſs increaſe; all nature's diff'rence keeps all nature's peace. condition, circumftance, is not the thing; bliſs is the fame in ſubject or in king, in who obtain defence, or who defend, in him who is, or him who finds a friend: heav'n breathes thro' ev'ry member of the whole one common bleffing, as one common foul. but fortune's gifts if each alike poffeft, and each were equal, muft not all conteſt? if then to all men happineſs was meant, god in externals could not place content. fortune her gifts may varioufly difpofe, and theſe be happy call'd, unhappy thofe ; but heav'n's juft balance equal will appear, while thoſe are plac'd in hope, and theſe in fear: not prefent good or ill, the joy or curſe, but future views of better, or of worſe. oh fons of earth! attempt ye ftill to riſe, by mountains pil'd on mountains, to the skies? essay on man. 55 heav'n ftill with laughter the vain toil furveys, and buries madmen in the heaps they raiſe. know, all the good that individuals find or god and nature meant to mere mankind, reafon's whole pleaſure, all the joys of ſenſe, lie in three words, health, peace, and competence. but health confifts with temperance alone; and peace, oh virtue! peace is all thy own. the good or bad the gifts of fortune gain; but theſe leſs tafte them, as they worfe obtain. say, in purfuit of profit or delight, who rifk the moft, that take wrong means or right? of vice or virtue, whether bleft or curſt, which meets contempt, or which compaffion firſt? count all th' advantage proſp'rous vice attains, 'tis but what virtue flies from and difdains: and grant the bad what happineſs they wou'd, one they muſt want, which is to pafs for good. oh blind to truth, and god's whole ſcheme below, who fancy blifs to vice, to virtue woe! e 4 56 essay on man. who fees and follows that great ſcheme the beſt, beſt knows the bleffing, and will moſt be bleſt. but fools the good alone unhappy call, for ills or accidents that chance to all. see falkland dies, the virtuous and the juft! see god-like turenne proftrate on the duft! see sidney bleed amid the martial ftrife! was this their virtue or contempt of life? say, was it virtue, more tho' hea'v'n ne'er gave, lamented digby! funk thee to the grave? tell me, if virtue made the fon expire, why, full of days and honour, lives the fire? why drew marſeilles' good bishop purer breath, when nature ficken'd, and each gale was death; or why fo long (in life if long can be) lent heav'n a parent to the poor and me? what makes all phyfical or moral ill ? there deviates nature, and here wanders will. god fends not ill; if rightly underſtood, or partial ill is univerfal good, essay on man. 57 or change admits, or nature lets it fall; short and but rare, 'till man improv'd it all. we just as wifely might of heav'n complain that righteous abel was deſtroy'd by cain, as that the virtuous fon is ill at eafe when his lewd father gave the dire diſeaſe. think we, like fome weak prince, th' eternal cauſe, prone for his fav'rites to reverſe his laws? shall burning etna, if a fage requires, forget to thunder, and recall her fires? on air or fea new motions be impreft, 'oh blameless bethel! to relieve thy breaſt? when the loofe mountain trembles from on high, shall gravitation ceafe, if you go by? or fome old temple, nodding to its fall, for chartres' head reſerve the hanging wall? but ftill this world (fo fitted for the knave) contents us not. a better fhall we have? a kingdom of the juſt then let it be : but first confider how thoſe juſt agree. 58 essay on man. the good muft merit god's peculiar care; but who, but god, can tell us who they are? one thinks on calvin heav'n's own fpirit fell; another deems him inftrument of hell: if calvin feel heav'n's bleffing, or its rod, this cries, there is, and that, there is no god. what ſhocks one part will edify the reft, nor with one fyftem can they all be bleft. the very beft will variouſly incline, and what rewards your virtue, punish mine. whatever is, is right.—this world, 'tis true, was made for cæfar, but for titus too: and which more bleft? who chain'd his country, fay, or he whoſe virtue figh'd to lofe a day? "but fometimes virtue ſtarves, while vice is fed.” what then? is the reward of virtue bread? that vice may merit, 'tis the price of toil; the knave deferves it, when he tills the foil, the knave deferves it, when he tempts the main, where folly fights for kings, or dives for gain. essay on man. 59 the good man may be weak, be indolent; nor is his claim to plenty, but content. but grant him riches, your demand is o'er ? "no-fhall the good want health, the good want pow'r ?" 66 add health, and pow'r, and ev'ry earthly thing, why bounded pow'r? why private? why no king? "nay, why external for internal giv'n? "why is not man a god, and earth a heav'n ?" who afk and reafon thus, will fcarce conceive god gives enough, while he has more to give: immenfe the pow'r, immenfe were the demand; say, at what part of nature will they ftand? what nothing earthly gives, or can deflroy, the foul's calm funfhine, and the heart-felt joy, is virtue's prize: a better would you fix, then give humility a coach and fix, juftice a conqu'ror's fword, or truth a gown, or public ſpirit its great cure, a crown, essay on man. 60 weak, foolish man! will heav'n reward us there with the fame traſh mad mortals with for here? the boy and man an individual makes, yet figh'ft thou now for apples and for cakes? go, like the indian, in another life expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife: as well as dream ſuch trifles are affign'd, as toys and empires, for a god-like mind. rewards, that either would to virtue bring no joy, or be deftru&tive of the thing: how oft by theſe at fixty are undone the virtues of a faint at twenty-one! to whom can riches give repute or truſt; content or pleaſure, but the good and juſt? judges and fenates have been bought for gold, efteem and love were never to be fold. oh fool! to think god hates the worthy mind, the lover and the love of human kind, whofe life is healthful, and whofe confcience clear, becauſe he wants a thouſand pounds a year. essay on man. 61 honour and fhame from no condition riſe, act well your part, there all the honour lies. fortune in men has ſome ſmall diff'rence made, one flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade; the cobler apron'd, and the parfon gown'd, the friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd. "what differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl?" i'll tell you, friend; a wife man and a fool. you'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk, or, cobler-like, the parfon will be drunk, worth makes the man, and want of it, the fellow; the reft is all but leather or prunella. stuck o'er with titles, and hung round with ftrings, that thou may't be by kings, or whores of kings; boaft the pure blood of an illuftrious race, in quiet flow from lucrece to lucrece : but by your father's worth, if yours you rate, count me thofe only who were good and great. go; if your ancient, but ignoble blood has crept thro' fcoundrels ever fince the flood, 62 essay on man. go! and pretend your family is young; nor own, your fathers have been fools fo long. what can ennoble fots, or flaves, or cowards? alas! not all the blood of all the howards. look next on greatneſs; ſay where greatneſs lies, "where but among the heroes and the wife ?" heroes are much the fame, the point's agreed, from macedonia's madman to the swede; the whole ftrange purpoſe of their lives, to find or make, an enemy of all mankind., not one looks backward, onward ftill he goes, yet ne'er looks forward further than his nofe. no lefs alike the politic and wife; all fly flow things, with circumfpective eyes; men in their looſe unguarded hours they take, not that themſelves are wife, but others weak. but grant that thofe can conquer, theſe can cheat; tis phrafe abfurd to call a villain great: who wickedly is wife, or madly brave, is but the more a fool, the more a knave. essay on man. 63 who noble ends by noble means obtains, or failing, fmiles in exile or in chains, like good aurelius let him reign, or bleed like socrates, that man is great indeed. what's fame? a fancy'd life in other's breath, a thing beyond us, ev'n before our death. juft what you hear, you have, and what's unknown the fame (my lord) if tully's or your own. all that we feel of it begins and ends in the fmall circle of our foes or friends; to all befide as much an empty fhade an eugene living, as a cæfar dead; alike or when, or where, they fhone, or fhine, or on the rubicon, or on the rhine. a wit's a feather, and a chief a rod; an honeft man's the noble work of god. fame but from death a villain's name can fave, as juftice tears his body from the grave; when what t' oblivion better were refign'd, is hung on high to poiſon half mankind. 8 64 essay on man. all fame is foreign, but of true deſert ; plays round the head, but comes not to the heart: one felf-approving hour whole years outweighs of ſtupid ftarers, and of loud huzzas; and more true joy marcellus exil'd feels, than cæfar with a fenate at his heels. in parts fuperior what advantage lies? tell (for you can) what is it to be wife? "tis but to know how little can be known: to fee all others' faults and feel our own: condemn'd in bus'nefs or in arts to drudge, without a fecond, or without a judge. truths would you teach, or ſave a finking land?: all fear, none aid you, and few underſtand. painful pre-eminence! yourſelf to view above life's weakneſs, and its comforts too. bring then theſe bleffings to a ftrict account; make fair deductions; fee to what they 'mount:: how much of other each is fure to coft; how each for other oft is wholly loft; essay on man. 65 how inconfiftent greater goods with thefe; how fometimes life is rifqu'd, and always eaſe: think, and if ftill the things thy envy call, say, would'ft thou be the man to whom they fall? to figh for ribbands if thou art ſo filly, mark how they grace lord umbra, or sir billy. is yellow dirt the paffion of thy life? look but on gripus, or on gripus' wife. if parts allure thee, think how bacon fhin'd, the wifeft, brighteſt, meanest of mankind: or raviſh'd with the whiſtling of a name, see cromwell damn'd to everlaſting fame! if all, united, thy ambition call, from ancient ſtory learn to fcorn them all. there, in the rich, the honour'd, fam'd and great, see the falfe fcale of happineſs complete! in hearts of kings, or arms of queens who lay, how happy thofe to ruin, theſe betray ! mark by what wretched ſteps their glory grows, from dirt and fea-weed as proud venice rofe. f 66 essay on man. in each how guilt and greatnefs equal ran, and all that rais'd the hero, funk the man. now europe's laurels on ther brows behold, but ftain'd with blood, or ill exchang'd for gold: then fee them broke with toils, or funk in eaſe, or infamous for plunder'd provinces. oh wealth ill-fated! which no act of fame e'er taught to fhine, or fanctify'd from ſhame! what greater bliſs attends their cloſe of life? some greedy minion, or imperious wife, the trophy'd arches, ftory'd halls invade, and haunt their flumbers in the pompous fhade. alas! not dazzled with their noon-tide ray, compute the morn and ev'ning to the day; the whole amount of that enormous fame, a tale, that blends their glory with their fhame! know then this truth (enough for man to know) "virtue alone is happineſs below." the only point where human bliſs ſtands ſtill, and taſtes that good without the fall to ill; 7 essay on man. 67 where only merit conftant pay receives, is bleft in what it takes, and what it gives; the joy unequall'd, if its end it gain, and if it loſe, attended with no pain: without fatiety, tho' e'er fo bleft, and but more reliſh'd as the more diftrefs'd; the broadeft mirth unfeeling folly wears, lefs pleafing far than virtue's very tears: good, from each object, from each place acquir'd, for ever exercis'd, yet never tir'd; never elated, while one man's opprefs'd; never dejected, while another's bleſs'd: and where no wants, no wiſhes can remain, since but to with more virtue is to gain. see the fole bliſs heav'n could on all beſtow! which who but feels can taſte, but think can know : yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind, the bad muft mifs; the good, untaught, will find; slave to no fect, who takes no private road, but looks thro' nature, up to nature's god; f 2 69 essay on man. purſues that chain which links th' immenſe deſign, joins heav'n and earth, and mortal and divine; sees, that no being any bliſs can know, ; but touches fome above, and ſome below learns from this union of the riſing whole, the firft, laft purpoſe of the human foul; and knows where faith, law, morals, all began, all end, in love of god, and love of man. for him alone, hope leads from goal to goal, and opens ftill, and opens on his foul; till lengthen'd on to faith, and unconfin'd, it pours the blifs that fills up all the mind. he fees why nature plants in man alone hope of known bliſs, and faith in bliſs unknown: (nature, whofe dictates to no other kind are given in vain, but what they ſeek they find) wife is her prefent; fhe connects in this his greateſt virtue with his greateſt bliſs; at once his own bright profpect to be bleft, and ſtrongeſt motive to affiſt the reſt. essay on man. 69. self-love thus pufh'd to focial, to divine, gives thee to make thy neighbour's bleffing thine. is this too little for the boundleſs heart? extend it, let thy enemies have part : grafp the whole worlds of reaſon, life, and fenfe in one clofe fyftem of benevolence: happier as kinder, in whate'er degree, and height of bliſs but height of charity. god loves from whole to parts: but human foul muft rife from individual to the whole. self-love but ferves the virtuous mind to wake, as the fmall pebble ftirs the peaceful lake; the centre mov'd, a circle ſtrait fucceeds, another ftill, and ftill another ſpreads; friend, parent, neighbour, firſt it will embrace; his country next; and next all human race: wide and more wide, th' o'erflowings of the mind take ev'ry creature in, of ev'ry kind; earth fmiles around, with boundleſs bounty bleft, and heav'n beholds its image in his breaſt. f 3 70 essay on man. come then, my friend! my genius! come along! oh mafter of the poet and the fong! and while the muſe now ftoops, or now aſcends, to man's low paffions, or their glorious ends, teach me, like thee, in various nature wife, to fall with dignity, with temper riſe; form'd by thy converfe, happily to fteer from grave to gay, from lively to fevere; correct with ſpirit, eloquent with eaſe, intent to reafon, or polite to pleaſe. oh! while along the ftream of time thy name expanded flies, and gathers all its fame; say fhall my little bark attendant fail, purſue the triumph, and partake the gale? when ſtateſmen, heroes, kings in duſt repoſe, whoſe fons fhall bluſh their fathers were thy foes shall then this verſe to future age pretend thou wert my guide, philofopher, and friend? that, urg'd by thee, i turn'd the tuneful art from founds to things, from fancy to the heart; essay on man. 71 for wit's falfe mirror held up nature's light; shew'd erring pride, whatever is, is right; that reason, passion, anfwer one great aim; that true self-love and social are the fame; that virtue only makes our bliſs below; and all our knowledge is ourselves to know. f 4 ( 72 ) the universal prayer deo opt. max. father of all! in ev'ry age, in ev'ry clime ador'd, by faint, by favage, and by fage, jehovah, jove, or lord. thou great firſt cauſe, leaſt underſtood: who all my fenſe confin'd to know but this, that thou art good, and that myſelf am blind; yet gave me, in this dark eftate, to fee the good from ill; and binding nature faſt in fate, left free the human will. universal prayer. 73 what conſcience dictates to be be done, or warns me not to do, this, teach me more than hell to fhun, that, more than heav'n purſue. what bleffings thy free bounty gives, let me not caft away; for god is paid when man receives, t' enjoy is to obey. yet not to earth's contracted fpare thy goodneſs let me bound,. or think thee lord alone of man, when thouſand worlds are round: let not this weak unknowing hand prefume thy bolts to throw, and deal damnation round the land on each i judge thy foe. 74 prayer. universal if i am right, thy grace impart, still in the right to ſtay; if i am wrong, oh teach my heart to find that better way. save me alike from fooliſh pride, or impious diſcontent, at aught thy wiſdom has deny'd, or aught thy goodneſs lent. teach me to feel another's woe, to hide the fault i fee; that mercy i to others ſhow, that mercy fhow to me. mean tho' i am, not wholly fo, since quick'ned by thy breath; oh lead me wherefo'er i go, thro' this day's life or death. t universal prayer. 75 p lot: this day, be bread and peace my all elfe beneath the fun, thou know'ft if beft beftow'd or not, and let thy will be done. to thee, whofe temple is all ſpace, whofe altar, earth, fea, fkies! one chorus let all being raiſe! all nature's incenfe rife! ( 76 ) the dying christian to his soul.' ode. vital fpark of heav'nly flame, quit, oh quit this mortal frame: trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, oh the pain, the blifs of dying! ceaſe, fond nature, ceaſe thy ftrife, and let me languiſh into life. hark! they whifper; angels ſay, sifter spirit, come away. what is this abſorbs me quite, steals my fenfes, fhuts my fight, drowns my fpirits, draws my breath? tell me, my foul, can this be death? the dying christian. 77 172 the world recedes; it diſappears! heaven opens on my eyes! my ears with founds feraphic ring: lend, lend your wings! i mount! i fly! o grave! where is thy victory? o death! where is thy fting? 1 the funeral of arabert, monk of la trappe. 1 < advertisement. arabert, a young ecclefiaftic, retired to the convent of la trappe, in obedience to a vow he had taken during a fit of illness: leonora, with whom he had lived in the ſtrictest intimacy, followed her lover, and by the means of a diſguiſe obtained admiſſion into the monaſtery, where a few days after the affifted at her lover's funeral. the funeral. by mr. jerningham. fair leonora, by affliction led, sought the dread dome where fleep the hallow d dead. the folemn edifice was wrapt around in midnight darkneſs, and in peace profound: a folitary lamp, with languid light, serv'd not to chaſe, but to diſcloſe the night; serv'd to difclofe (the fource of all her pains) the tomb that gap'd for arabert's remains. to this fhe fent the deep, the frequent figh, and ſpoke the warm tear rufhing from her eye. ꮐ 82 the funeral. • doom'd to receive all that my foul holds dear, "give him that reft his heart refus'd him here: 'oh fcreen him from the pain the tender know, the train of forrows that from paffion flow ! and to his happier envied ftate adjoin (or all is vain) an ignorance of mine.' as thus the mourn'd, an aged priest drew near, (whofe pure life glided as the riv'let clear) the virtuous anselm.-tho' in cloiſters bred, still bright-ey'd wiſdom to his cell he led: from paths of fophiftry he lov'd to ftray, to tread the walk where nature led the way. the prior's rank he long had held approv'd, efteem'd, rever'd, and as a parent lov'd: unfkilful in the jargon of the ſchools, he knew humanity's diviner rules: to others gentle, to himſelf ſevere, on forrow's wound he dropt the healing tear. in all the negligence of grief he found the fair extended on the naked ground. the funeral. 83 touch'd at her woe the facred father faid, 'well may'ft thou droop if happineſs be fled : sure, if at holy arabert's deceaſe 'impetuous forrows ruſh upon thy peace, 'some much lov'd friend in him you muſt deplore, or, dearer ftill, a brother is no more: 'yet, as through life our weary fteps we bend, 'let us not fink when beating ſtorms deſcend : 'still let religion hold unrivall'd ſway, • and patience walk companion of our way. 'ah, loſe not fight of that delightful ſhore, whofe blissful bowers fhall friends to friends reſtore ! 'tho' here misfortune comes to blaft our will, "the heav'ns are juſt, and god a father ſtill.' 'bleft be the voice,' the rifing mourner faid, that bids affliction raife her drooping head: that bids me hope (beyond ev'n death's domain) " thefe eyes fhall banquet on my love again. g 2 84 j the funeral. 'ah, ſtart not, anselm-for to truth ally'd, impiety now throws her maſk afide: no holy monk, by contemplation led, 'to theſe fequefter'd manfions of the dead; 'no youth, devoted to religion's pow'r, implores thy pity at this awful hour. < " 'the guilty fecret-i'll at length unfold—(forgive) a woman you behold. in meah fly me not, let mercy now prevail, and deign to mark my fad diſaſt'rous tale. 'known to misfortune from my tender years, 'my parents' afhes drank my early tears: a barb'rous uncle, to each vice ally'd, the office of a parent ill ſupplied : < of my entire inheritance poffefs'd, " by lucre prompted, and by fortune bleft, he pafs'd the ocean never to return, and left me weeping o'er my parents' urn: then arabert, the gen'rous ftranger, came to foothe my forrows, and relieve my fhame the funeral. 85 beneath his tender care my woes decreas'd, • more than religion's, he was pity's prieſt : to reach his bounty my affection ſtrove, 'till gratitude was heighten'd into love: 'nor he at length refus'd the lover's part, the pity that adorn'd, betray'd his heart. how ardently he with'd the nuptial rite, 'in holy wedlock, might our hands unite : but ftern religion at our vows exclaim'd,' and tore the bands that love and nature fram'd: " · " 'for then, devoted to her hallow'd fhrine, 'his country's laws forbade him to be mine. "tho' from my mind each flatt'ring thought retir'd› and in my bofom hope and peace expir'd; yet on their ruins, love triumphant role: enough-fhame o'er the reft a mantle throws. at length remorfe effac'd the guilty ſcene, and to his breaft apply'd her dagger keen; reftrain'd in full career the erring youth, and led him back to innocence and truth. g 3 66 the funeral. ''twas then he fled from pleaſure's rofy bow'rs, to woo religion in theſe gloomy tow'rs: 'yet ere he fled my blifs he fondly plann'd, and ſcatter'd riches with a lavish hand. ah, what to me avail'd the golden ſtore ? 'the giver gone, the gift could charm no more. 'while in the gloom his tedious abſence caſt, 'my former life in fancy i repafs'd, · " repentance gain'd admiffion to my breaſt, nor did it enter an unwelcome guest: for ne'er to pleaſure i difmifs'd the rein free and unconſcious of reflection's pain; 'if hapless leonora lov'd too well, 'content, fair virtue's friend, with virtue fell : * but not my ſtubborn foul could pray'r fubdue, ev'n grafted on remorfe my paffion grew; too fatal paffion-by its impulſe led, in man's attire to this retreat i fled : yet then, ev'n then to baſhful fear allied, still o'er my love did modeſty prefide. 6 the funeral. 87 < in thoſe ſweet moments that precede the night, • when peaceful nature wears a ſoften'd light, i met the youth within the folemn grove, 6 (his frequent walk) abſorb'd in heav'nly love: 'by warm occafion eagerly impell'd, " a fudden fear my ready fteps withheld : while god and he employ the trembling feene, "twere facrilege, i cried, to rush between : still from that hour my wishes i reſtrain'd, and in my breaft th' unwilling fecret chain'd, < unknown to him, yet half-content i grew, so that his form might daily charm my view. but new affliction, with relentless hand, "" o'erthrew the project that my heart had plann'd: 'amid the horrors of the loneſome night, * a ghaftly ſpectre rush'd upon my fight, and pour'd theſe accents on my trembling ear, ‹ think not impiety ſhall triumph here : thy hopes are blafted-death's tremendous bell shall found, ere many hours, thy lover's knell. t4 '88 the funeral. "i ftarted from my couch, with fright impreſs'd, 'flew to the fane to calm my anxious breaſt; 6 by love then prompted-yet by love diſmay'd, ، the peopled choir i tremblingly furvey'd ; still mid th' innumerous monaftic train 'theſe eyes folicited his form in vain. • nor in the field or penfive grove retir'd 'could i diſcover whom my heart requir'd: < then fure (i cried) at this unhappy hour 'does anguish o'er its cell diffuſe its pow'r : • shall leonora not relieve his pain, ' and with theſe arms his drooping head ſuſtain ? say, at the couch, when death is ftalking round, shall not the ſpouſe of his fond heart be found! 'ah no-th' affection that fubdues me ftill, at that dread moment check'd my ardent will, 'left rushing on his fight i ſhould controul the holy thoughts that hover'd o'er his foul. this low'ring morn difclos'd the fatal truth: oh early loft-oh lov'd-oh hapless youth" the funeral. 89 .6 6 fix'd to the column of the hallow'd porch"twas fcarcely light-fome fury lent her torch'i readthe pious arabert's no more, the peace the dead require, for him implore. let peace, let joy (i ſaid), his ſpirit join, 'nor joy, nor peace, muſt e'er encircle mine. lamented youth! too tenderly allied, in vain you fled me, and in vain you died; 'still to your image, which this breaſt inurns, " my conftant heart a lamp perpetual burns. 'but thou, to whom as friend he did impart each latent with, and foible of the heart; for well i know, where forrow drops a tear, or mifery complains, thou ftill art near; ah fay, by love did my known image dreſt 'come to his mind thus welcome, thus careft? 'or on his foul come rufhing undefir'd, the fatal fair, by female arts infpir'd, go the funeral. who dimm'd the luftre of his radiant name, and from his temples tore the flow'r of fame: < who thro' the labyrinth of pleaſure's bow'r < allur'd (for beauty fuch as mine had pow'r) 'ev'n to the dang'rous fteep-and caft him down 'from high repute to grov'ling diſrenown. wretch that i am, to my diftreſsful ſtate there wanted not th' addition of his hate: +6 4 " '6 4 for him i plung'd my artleſs youth in ſhame, unlock'd referve, and facrific'd my fame. still, ftill i fear (unable to confide), before my arabert, the lover died: this thought (to thee i'll own) fufpends my grief, while cold indifference comes to my relief. " say, virtuous anselm, if this thought be vain, and give, oh give me all my grief again!, to her replied the pity-breathing feer, * mark well my words, and loſe thy idle fear: when on the couch of death the victim lay, • not in that moment was his friend away. the funeral. 91 5 • " " as at his fide i took my mournful ſtand, < with feeble graſp he ſeiz'd my offer'd hand, and thus began :-" the fatal dart is ſped, soon, foon fhall arabert increaſe the dead. ''tis well-for what can added life beftow, 'but days returning ftill with added woe. say, have i not fecluded from my fight the lovely object of my paſt delight? " ah, had i too dethron'd her from my mind, " when here the holy brotherhood i join'd, 'remorfe would not, increafing my diſeaſe, prey on my foul, and rob it of its cafe: and yet i ftrove, unequal to the part, weak to perform the facrifice of heart; 'and now, ev'n now, too feeble to controul, ་ i feel her clinging to my parting foul." 'he ſpoke (my fympathetic bofom bled) and to the realms of death his ſpirit fled.' the fair rejoin'd: milled by foul diſtruſt, to him, whofe heart was mine, am i unjuft? · g2 the funeral. · ah, arabert, th' unwilling fault forgive, dead to th' alluring world, in thee i live: 'my thoughts, my deep regret, my forrows own, " no view, no object ftill, but thee alone: at all the vengeance burſting from above, alarm'd, i weep, i fhudder, yet i love.' as thus the fpoke, the death-bell ſmote her ear, while to the porch the fun'ral train drew near. ah, leonore, in that tremendous hour, didft thou not feel all heav'n's avenging pow'r, when, moving thro' the aisle, the choral band, and vefted prieſts, with torches in their hand, gave to thy view, unfortunately dear, thy lover fleeping on th' untimely bier? collecting now at length her ſcatter'd force, with trembling footſteps fhe approach'd the corſe, and while the check'd the conflict in her breaſt, the wide encircling throng the thus addreſs'd : • well may ye mark me with aſtoniſh'd eyes, • audacious hypocrite in man's diſguiſe; 6 the funeral. 03 " 'who, urg'd by paffion, dar'd with ſteps profane approach the hallow'd doom of virtue's train. • lead me, ah lead me, to the dungeon's gloom, the rack prepare-i yield me to your doom: 'yet ftill fhould pity in your breaſt abide, and pity fure to virtue is allied, to my diftrefs benign attention lend, 'your acts of rigour for a while fuſpend, 'till o'er this bier ('tis nature's kind relief) 'i've pour'd my plaints, and paid the rites of grief. < ah, he was dearer to this bleeding heart, far dearer than expreffion can impart. 'thou who didit place us in this vale of tears, 'where forrow blafts the plant that pleaſure rears: ፡ if, as the tenets of our creed require, s 'thy waken'd juſtice breathe immortal ire; if love, from whence ev'n here misfortunes flow, 'beyond the grave you curſe with endleſs woe; 'ah not on arabert thy vengeance pour! on me, on me thy ftorm of anger ſhow'r! 94 the funeral. · for i allur'd him far from virtue's way, and led his youthful innocence aftray: • ah, not in puniſhment our fate conjoin; 'he thar'd the rapture, but the guilt was mine.' with trembling hand ſhe now the veil withdrew, when lo the well-known features ftruck her view. abforpt in grief the caft a fond furvey-at length her thoughts in murmurs broke away: that eye-which ſhed on mine voluptuous light, alas, how funk in everlaſting night! 'see from thoſe lips the living colour fled, 'where love refided, and where pleaſure fed! and where bright eloquence had pour'd her ſtore dumb horror fits-and wifdom is no more. yet ere the worm (fince this is doom'd its prey) • shall ſteal the ling'ring likeneſs quite away, on that cold lip fure leonore may dwell, 'and, free from guilt, imprint the long farewell." she added not-but, bending low her head, three times the mourner kifs'd th' unconſcious dead. the funeral.. 95 b now holy anselm urg'd her to reſtrain her boundleſs grief, in rev'rence of the fane. she anſwer'd, ſtarting from the fable bier, "can i forget that arabert was dear! can i, cold monitor, from hence remove, his worth unrivall'd, and his lasting love! "can i forget, as deſtitute i lay, to fickness, grief, and penury, a prey, how eagerly he flew at pity's call, put forth his hand, and rais'd me from my all unfolicited he gave me wealth, 'he gave me folace, and he gave me health; and, dearer than the blifs thofe gifts impart, 'he ſtrain'd me to his breaſt, and gave his heart. and fhall theſe hallow'd walls and awful fane fall! • reproach the voice that pours the praiſeful ſtrain? · say, at the friend's, the guardian's, lover's tomb, • can forrow fleep, and gratitude be dumb? • but i fubmit-and bend thus meekly low, to kifs th' avenging hand that dealt the blow: 96 the funeral. " refign'd i quit the lofing path i trod, fall'n is my idol-and i worſhip god.' she ceas'd-the choir intones the fun'ral ſong, which holy echoes plaintively prolong; and now the folemn organ, tun'd to woe, pour'd the clear notes pathetically flow. theſe rites perform'd-along th' extending fane she now attends the flow proceeding train; who o'er the mournful cypreſs-ſhaded way, to the expecting tomb, the dead convey. see now the prieſts the cloſing act prepare, and to the darkfome vault commit their care. at this dread fcene, too feelingly diſtreſs'd, she pour'd the laft effufions of her breaſt: 'come, guardian ſeraph, from thy throne above, and watch the tomb of my departed love.' • she paus'd then (o'er the yawning tomb reclin'd) in all the tenderneſs of grief rejoin'd: 'oh beauty's flow'r-oh pleaſure ever new< oh friendſhip, love, and conftancy, adieu ! 1 the funeral. 97 methinks a voice ev'n animates the clay, "and in low accents fummons me away: hafte, leonore-thy other felf rejoin, and let thy glowing afhes mix with mine. ah, truſt me, arabert! to ſhare thy doom, prepar'd, refolv'd, i'll meet thee in the tomb. forbear, oh heav'n, in pity to theſe tears, " to curfe my forrow with a length of years. ·" • ye virtues that adorn'd th' unhappy youth, affection, pity, confidence, and truth, the gen'rous thoughts that with the feeling dwell, and fympathy of heart-farewell, farewell! not all of arabert this tomb contains, < all is not here while leonore remains. . " " "and when this drooping form fhall prefs the bier say, virtuous anselm, wilt thou not be near? "the friendly requiem for my foul to crave, and lay theſe limbs in this lamented grave? then, when this tortur'd heart fhall ceaſe to burn, "our blended duft ſhall warm the faithful urn: h 98 the funeral. nor diftant far is that releafing hour, for nature, now opprefs'd beyond her pow'r, 'refigns at length my troubled foul to reſt, and grief's laft anguifh rufhes thro' my breaſt. < behold her now extended on the ground, and ſee the facred brethren kuceling round: them fhe addreffes in a fault'ring tone, say, cannot death my daring crime atone? ah, let compaffion now your hearts inſpire, amid your pray'rs, i unalarm'd expire. ‹ thou who art ev'n in this dread moment dear, 6 oh, fhade of arabert, ftill hover near. 'i come.'-and now emerging from her woes ('twas love's laſt effort) from the earth fhe rofe; and, ftrange to tell, with ftrong affection fraught, she headlong plung'd into the gloomy vault: and there, what her impaffion'd with requir'd, on the lov'd breaſt of arabert expir'd. the grave. h 2 1 g, 4 vertigo, a 3 the grave. by robert blair. while fome affect the fun, and fome the fhade, some feek the city fome the hermitage; their aims as various as the roads they take in journeying thro' life; the talk be mine to paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb; th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all thefe trav'llers meet. thy fuccours i implore, eternal king! whofe potent arm ſuſtains the keys of death and hell. the grave, dread thing! men fhiver when thou'rt nam'd: nature appall'd; shakes off her wonted firmneſs. ah! how dark h 3 102 the grave. thy long-extended realms, and rueful waftes! where nought but filence reigns, and night, dark night, dark as was chaos, ere the infant fun was roll'd together, or had try'd its beams athwart the gloom profound! the fickly taper, by glimmering thro' thy low-brow'd mifty vaults, (furr'd round with mouldy damps, and ropy flime,) lets fall a fupernumerary horror, and only ferves to make thy night more irkſome. well do i know thee, by thy truſty yew, cheerleſs, unſocial plant! that loves to dwell midft fculls and coffins, epitaphs and worms: where light-heel'd ghoſts, and viſionary ſhades, beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports) embody'd thick, perform their myftic rounds. no other merriment, dull tree! is thine. see yonder hallow'd fane! the pious work of names once fam'd, now dubious, or forgot, and buried 'midft the wreck of things which were: the grave. 103 there lie interr'd the more illuftrious dead. the wind is up: hark! how it howls! methinks, till now, i never heard a found fo dread! doors creak, and windows clap, and night's foul bird, rook'd in the ſpire, fcreams loud! the gloomy aiſles, black plaifter'd, and hung round with fhreds of 'fcutcheons and tatter'd coats of arms, ſend back the found, laden with heavier airs, from the low vaults, the manfions of the dead. rouz'd from their flumbers, in grim array the grizly fpectres rife, grin horrible, and obftinately fullen pafs and repafs, hufh'd as the foot of night. again the fcreech owl fhrieks! ungracious found! i'll hear no more-it makes my blood run chill! quite round the pile, a row of rev'rend elms, coeval near with that, all ragged fhew, long lash'd by the rude winds: fome rift half down their branchlefs trunks; others fo thin at top, • h 4 104 the grave. that fcarce two crows could lodge in the fame tree. strange things the neighbours fay have happen'd here: wild fhrieks have iffued from the hollow tombs, dead men have come again, and walk'd about, and the great bell has toll'd, unrung, untouch'd. (such tales their cheer, at wake or goffiping, when it draws near to witching time of night.). oft in the lone church yard at night i've ſeen, by glimpſe of moonfhine checq'ring thro' the trees, the fchool boy, with his fatchel in his hand, whiſtling aloud to bear his courage up, and lightly tripping o'er the long flat ftones, (with nettles fkirted, and mofs o'ergrown) that tell in homely phraſe who lie below: sudden he ſtarts, and hears-or thinks he hears— the found of fomething purring at his heels: full faft he flies, and dares not look behind, till out of breath he overtakes his fellows, who gather round, and wonder at the tale tree. sen'd bs, d. -) en, ces, designed & engraved by h. richter. busy meddling memory, in barbarous succession musters up the past endearments of their softer hours, tenacious of its theme. page 105. published sept. 28.1796. by vernor & hood. the grave. 105 of horrid apparition, tall and ghaſtly, that walks at dead of night, or takes his ftand o'er fome new open'd grave—and, ftrange to tell! he vanishes at crowing of the cock. the new made widow, too, i've fometimes fpy'dsad fight flow moving o'er the proftrate dead: liftlefs, the crawls along in doleful black, while burfts of forrow gufh from either eye, faft falling down her now untafted cheek. prone on the lowly grave of the dear man she drops; whilft bufy meddling memory, in barbarous fucceflion mufters up the paft endearments of their ſofter hours, tenacious of its theme. still, ftill fhe thinks she fees him, and, indulging the fond thought, clings yet more cloſely to the fenfeleſs turf, nor heeds the paffenger who looks that way. invidious grave! how doft thou rend in funder whom love has knit, and fympathy made one; a tie more ftubborn far than nature's band! 8 106 the grave. friendſhip! myſterious cement of the ſoul, sweet'ner of life, and folder of fociety! i owe thee much. thou haft deferv'd from me far, far beyond what i can ever pay. oft have i prov'd the labours of thy love, and the warm efforts of the gentle heart anxious to pleafe. oh! when my friend and i, in fome thick wood, have wander'd heedlefs on, hid from the vulgar eye, and fat us down upon the floping cowflip-cover'd bank, where the pure limpid ftream has flid along, in graceful murmurs thro' the under-wood, sweet murmuring! methought the ſhrill-tongu'd thruth mended his fong of love; the footy blackbird mellow'd his pipe, and ſoften'd ev'ry note; the eglantine fmell'd ſweeter; and the rofe affum'd a dye more deep; whilſt ev'ry flow'r vy'd with its fellow plant in luxury of drefs. oh! then the longeſt ſummer's day the grave. 107 seem'd too, too much in hafte: ftill the full heart had not impared half: 'twas happineſs too exquifite to laft. of joys departed not to return, how painful the remembrance! dull grave! thou ſpoil'ft the dance of youthful blood, strik'ft out the dimple from the cheek of mirth, and ev'ry fmirking feature from the face; branding our laughter with the name of madneſs. where are the jeſters now ? the men of health, complexionally pleaſant? where the droll whofe ev'ry look and gefture was a joke to clapping theatres, and gaping crowds, and made e'en thick-lip'd mufing melancholy to gather up her face into a ſmile before ſhe was aware? ah! fullen now, and dumb as the green turf that covers them! where are the mighty thunder-bolts of war? the roman cæfars, and the grecian chiefs, the boast of ftory? where the hot-brain'd youth, 108 the grave. who the tiara at his pleaſure tore from kings of all the then difcover'd globe, and cry'd forfooth becauſe his arm was hamper'd, and had not room enough to do its work! alas! how flim, difhonourably flim! and cramm'd into a ſpace we bluſh to name. proud royalty! how alter'd are thy looks! how blank thy features! and how wan thy hue! son of the morning! whither art thou gone? where haft thou hid thy many fpangled head, and the majeftic menace of thine eyes, felt from afar? pliant and powerleſs now, like new-born infant wound up in his fwathes, or victim tumbled flat upon its back, that throbs beneath the facrificer's knife: mute must thou bear the ftrife of little tongues, and coward inſults of the baſe-born crowd, that grudge a privilege thou never hadſt, but only hop'd for in the peaceful grave, of being unmoleſted and alone. 1 the grave, 109 arabia's gums and odoriferous drugs, and honours by the heralds duly paid in mode and form ev'n to a very fcrupleo cruel irony!-thefe come too late, and only mock whom they were meant to honour. surely there's not a dungeon flave that's bury'd in the highway, unfhrouded and uncoffin'd, but lies as foft, and fleeps as found as he! sorry pre-eminence of high defcent, above the vulgar born, to rot in ſtate! but feel the well-plum'd hearfe comes nodding on, stately and flow, and properly attended by the whole fable tribe, who painful watch the fick man's door, and live upon the dead, by letting out their perfons by the hour to mimic forrow, when the heart's not fad. how rich the trappings, now they're all unfurl'd, and glitt'ring in the fun! triumphant entries. of conquerors, and coronation pomps, in glory fcarce exceed. great gluts of people 110 the grave. retard th' unwieldy ſhow; while from the caſements and houſes tops, ranks behind ranks cloſe wedg'd hang bellying o'er. but tell us, why this wafte? why this ado in earthing-up a carcaſe that's fall'n into difgrace, and to the ſenſe smells horrible? ye undertakers, tell us, 'midft all the gorgeous figures ye exhibit, why is the principal conceal'd, for which ye make fuch mighty ftir? 'tis wifely done: what would offend the eye in a good picture the painter cafts diſcreetly into fhades. proud lineage! now how little thou appear'ſt below the envy of the private man ! honour, that meddlefome officious ill, purſues thee ev'n to death; nor ſtops there ſhortstrange perfecution! when the grave itſelf is no protection from rude fufferance. abfurd! to think to over-reach the grave, and from the wreck of names to reſcue ours! the beſt concerted ſchemes men lay for fame the grave. 111 die faft away;-only themſelves die faſter. the far-fam'd ſculptor, and the laurell'd bard, thoſe bold inſurancers of deathleſs fame, supply their little feeble aids in vain. the tap'ring pyramid, th' egyptian's pride, and wonder of the world, whofe fpiky top has wounded the thick cloud, and long outliv'd the angry thaking of the winter's ftorm; yet ſpent at laft by th' injuries of heav'n, shatter'd with age, and furrow'd o'er with years, the myftic cone, with hieroglyphics crufted give way. o lamentable fight! at once the labour of whole ages lumbers down, a hideous and miſhapen length of ruins. sepulchral columns wreſtle but in vain with all-fubduing time: his cank'ring hand with calm delib'rate malice waftes them all : worn on the edge of days, the braſs conſumes, the bufto moulders, and the deep-cut marble, unſteady to the fteel, gives up its charge: 112 the grave. " ambition, half convicted of her folly, hangs down her head, and reddens at the tale. here all the mighty troublers of the earth, who fwam to fov'reign rule thro' ſeas of blood; th' oppreffive ſturdy, man-deftroying villains, who ravag'd kingdoms, and laid empires wafte, and in a cruel wantonnefs of pow'r thinn'd fiates of half their people, and gave up the reft to want-now, like a ftorm that's ſpent, lie huſh'd, and meanly ſneak behind thy covert. vain thought! to hide them from the gen'ral ſcorn that haunts and dogs them like an injur'd ghoft implacable. here, the petty tyrant, who fix'd his iron talons on the poor, and grip'd them like fome lordly beaft of preydeaf to the forceful cries of gnawing hunger, and piteous plaintive voice of mifery(as if a flave was not a ſhred of nature, of the fame common feelings with his lord) now, tame and humble, like a child that's whipp'd · 1 the grave. 113 shakes hands with duft, and calls the worm his kinſman ; nor pleads his rank and birthright. under ground precedency's a jeft; vaffal and lord, grofsly familiar, fide by fide confume. when felf-eſteem, or other's adulation, would cunningly perfuade us we are ſomething above the common level of our kind, the grave gainfays the fmooth complexion'd flatt'ry, and with blunt truth acquaints us what we are. beauty! thou pretty plaything, dear deceit! that ſteals fo foftly o'er the ftripling's heart, and gives it a new pulfe, unknown before, the grave difcredits thee: thy charms expung'd, thy rofes faded, and thy lilies foil'd, what haft thou more to boaſt of? will thy lovers flock round thee now, to gaze and do thee homage? methinks i fee thee with thy head laid low; whilft, furfeited upon thy damatk cheek, i 114 the grave. the high-fed worm, in lazy volumes roll'd, for this was all thy caution? riots unfcar'd. for this thy painful labours at the glaſs, t'improve thoſe charms, and keep them in repair? for which the ſpoiler thanks thee not. foul feeder! coarse fare and carrion pleaſe thee full as well, and leave as keen a reliſh on the ſenſe. look, how the fair one weeps! the conſcious tears stand thick as dew drops on the bells of flow'rs, honeft effufion! the fwoln heart in vain labours to put a glofs on its diftrefs. strength, too! thou furly and leſs gentle boaft of thoſe that laugh loud at the village ring; a fit of common ſickneſs pulls thee down, with greater eaſe than e'er thou didst the ſtripling, that rafhly dar'd thee to th' unequal fight. what groan was that i heard? deep groan indeed! with anguish beavy laden;-let me trace it; from yonder bed it comes, where the ſtrong man, by ftronger arm o'erpower'd, gafps for breath the grave. 1415 16 like a hard-hunted beaſt. how his great heart beats thick! his roomy cheft by far too fcant to give the lungs full play! what now avail the ftrong-built finewy limbs, and well-form'd fhoulders? see! how he tugs for life, and lays about him, mad with his pain! eager he catches hold of what comes next to hand, and grafps it hard, juft like a creature drowning-hideous fight! oh! how his eyes ftand out, and ftare full ghaftly! while the distemper's rank and deadly venom shoots like a burning arrow croſs his bowels, and drinks his marrow up.-heard you that groan? it was his laft. see how the great goliah, just like a child that brawl'd itſelf to reſt, lies ftill.-what mean'ft thou then, o mighty boafter, tovaunt of nerves like thine? what means the bull, unconscious of his ftrength, to play the coward, and flee before a feeble thing like man; i 2 16 the grave. • that, knowing well the flackneſs of his arm, trufts only in the well-invented knife? with ftudy pale, and midnight vigils ſpent, the ſtar-furveying fage cloſe to his eye applies the fight-invigorating tube; and, trav'lling thro' the boundleſs length of ſpace, marks well the courſes of the far-feen orbs, that roll with regular confufion there, in ecftafy of thought.-but, ah! proud man! great heights are hazardous to the weak head: soon, very foon, thy firmeft footing fails, and down thou drop'ft into that dark fome place where nor device nor knowledge ever came. here the tongue-warrior lies, diſabled now, difarm'd, diſhonour'd, like a wretch that's gagg'd, and cannot tell his ail to paffers by. great man of language, whence this mighty change, this dumb deſpair, and drooping of the head? tho' ftrong perfuafion hung upon thy lip, and fly infinuation's fofter arts 7 the grave. 117 in ambuſh lay about thy flowing tongue, alas! how chop-fall'n now! thick mifts and filence reft like a weary cloud upon thy breaſt unceafing. ah! where now's the lifted arm, the ftrength of action, and the flow of words, the well turn'd period, and harmonious voice, with all the leffer ornaments of phraſe? ah! fled for ever, as they ne'er had been! raz'd from the book of fame! or, what is worſe, perhaps fome hackney hunger-bitten fcribbler infults thy memory, and blots thy tomb with long flat narrative, or duller rhimes, that drawl with heavy-halting pace along, enough to rouze a dead man into rage, and warm with red refentment the wan cheek. here the great mafters of the healing art, theſe mighty mock-defrauders of the tomb, spite of their juleps and catholicons, refign to fate. proud esculapius' fon, where are the boaſted implements of art, 1 3 118 the grave. and all thy well cramm'd magazines of health? nor hill, nor vale, as far as ſhip could go, nor margin of the gravel-bottom'd brook, efcap'd thy rifling hand: from ſtubborn ſhrubs thou wrung'ft their ſhy retiring virtues out, and vex'd them in the fire; nor fly, nor inſect, nor writhy fnake, efcap'd thy deep reſearch. but why this apparatus? why this coft? tell us, thou doughty keeper from the grave, where are thy recipes and cordials now, with the long liſt of vouchers for thy cures? alas! thou ſpeakeft not. the bold impofter looks not more filly when his cheat's found out. here the lank-fided miſer-worft of felons, who meanly ſtole (difcreditable ſhift!) from back and belly too their proper cheer, eas'd of a tax it irk'd the wretch to pay to his own carcafe, now lies cheaply lodg'd, by clam'rous appetites no longer teaz'd, nor tedious bills of charges and repairs. the grave. 119 but ah! where are his rents, his comings in? now thou haft made the rich man poor indeed! robb'd of his gods, what has he left behind? o curfed luft of gold! how oft for thee the fool throws up his int'reft in both worlds, firſt ſtarv'd in this, then damn'd in that to come! o death! how fhocking muſt thy fummons be to him who is at eafe in his poffeffion; who, counting on long years of pleaſure here, is quite unfurniſh'd for the world to come! in that dread moment, how the frantic foul raves round the walls of her clay tenement, runs to each avenue, and ſhrieks for help, but fhrieks in vain! how withfully the looks on all ſhe's leaving-now no longer hers! a little longer,-yet a little ſpace! o might the ſtay to wash away her ftains, and fit her for her paffage !-mournful fight! her very eyes weep blood; and every groan she heaves is big with horror: but the foe, i 4 120 the grave. like a ftaunch murd'rer fteady to his purpoſe, purfues her cloſe thro' ev'ry lane of life, nor miffes once the track; but preffes on, till, forc'd at laft to the tremendous verge, at once the finks in everlaſting ruin. sure 'tis a ferious thing, my foul, to die! what ftrange moment muſt it be, when near thy journey's end thou haft the gulf in view! • that awful gulf no mortal e'er repafs'd, to tell what's doing on the further fide. nature turns back, and ſhudders at the fight, and ev'ry life-ſtring bleeds at thought of parting; for part they muſt: body and ſoul muſt part : and couple, link'd more cloſe than wedded pair! this wings its way to its almighty fource, the witnefs of its actions, now its judge; that drops into the dark and noifome grave, like a difabled pitcher of no uſe. if death was nothing, and nought after death,— if when men dy'd, at once they ceas'd to be, the grave. 121 returning to the barren womb of nothing whence firft they fprung,-then might the debauchee untrembling mouth the heav'ns: then might the drunkard reel over his full bowl, and when 'tis drain'd fill up another to the brim, and laugh at the poor bug-bear death: then might the wretch that's weary of the world, and tir'd of life, at once give each inquietude the flip, by ſtealing out of being when he pleas'd, and by what way,-whether by hemp or fteel: death's thouſand doors ftand open. who could force the ill-pleas'd gueft to fit out his full time, or blame him if he goes? sure he does well that helps himſelf as timely as he can, when in his pow'r. but if there's an hereafter, and that there is, confcience, uninfluenc'd, and fuffer'd to ſpeak out, tells ev'ry man ; then muſt it be an awful thing-to die: 122 the grave. more horrid yet, to die by one's own hand. self-murder! name it not-our iſland's fhame, that makes her the reproach of neighb'ring ftates. shall nature, fwerving from her earlieſt dictate, self-prefervation, fall by her own act? forbid it, heaven! let not, upon diſguſt,. the ſhameleſs hand be foully crimſon'd o'er with blood of his own lord. dreadful attempt juft reeking from felf-flaughter, in a rage to rush into the prefence of our judge! as if we challeng'd him to do his worſt, and matter'd not his wrath. unheard-of tortures muſt be referv'd for fuch: theſe herd together; the common damn'd ſhun their ſociety, and look upon themſelves as fiends lefs foul. our time is fix'd, and all our days are number'd; how long, how fhort we know not: this we know, duty requires we calmly wait the fummons, nor dare to ftir 'till heaven fhall give permiffion: like fentries that muſt keep their deftin'd ftand, 1 : the grave. 123 and wait th' appointed hour, till they're reliev'd. thoſe only are the brave, who keep their ground, and keep it to the laft. to run away is but a coward's trick: to run away from this world's ills, that at the very worft will foon blow o'er, thinking to mend ourſelves by boldly vent'ring on a world unknown, and plunging headlong in the dark;-'tis mad: no frenzy half ſo deſperate as this. tell us, ye dead! will none of you, in pity to thofe you left behind, diſcloſe the ſecret? o that fome courteous ghoft would blab it out, what 'tis ye are, and we muſt ſhortly be! i've heard, that fouls departed have fometimes forewarn❜d men of their death :-'twas kindly done to knock and give the alarm. but what means this ftinted charity? 'tis but lame kindneſs that does its work by halves. why might you not tell us what 'tis to die? do the ftrict laws of your fociety forbid your ſpeaking 124 the grave. upon a point fo nice?-i'll afk no more: sullen, like lamps in fepulchres, ye ſhine, enlight'ning but yourſelves.-well-'tis no matter; a very little time will clear up all, and make us learn'd as you are, and as cloſe. death's fhafts fly thick. here falls the village fwain, and there his pamper'd lord. the cup goes round; and who ſo artful as to put it by? "tis long fince death had the majority; yet ftrange! the living lay it not to heart. see yonder maker of the dead man's bed, the fexton hoary-headed chronicle, * of hard unmeaning face, down which ne'er ftole a gentle tear; with mattock in his hand he digs thro' rows of kindred and acquaintance, by far his juniors; fcarce a fcull's caft up, but well he knew its owner, and can tell some paffage of his life. thus hand in hand the fot has walk'd with death twice twenty years, • the grave. 125 and yet no youngſter on the green laughs louder, or tells a fmuttier tale. when drunkards meet, none fings a merrier catch, nor lends a hand more willing to his cup. poor wretch! he minds not that foon fome trufty brother of the trade shall do for him, what he has done for thouſands. on this fide, and on that, men fee their friends drop off, like leaves in autumn; yet launch out into fantaſtic ſchemes, which the long livers in the world's hale and undegen'rate days, could fcarce have leifure for. fools that we are, never to think of death, and of ourſelves at the fame time! as if to learn to die were no concern of ours! oh! more than fottiſh! for creatures of a day in gameſome mood to frolic on eternity's dread brink, unapprehenfive;-when, for aught we know, the very firſt ſwoln furge ſhall ſweep us in. think we, or think we not, time hurries on with a refiftlefs unremitting ftream, 126 the grave. yet treads more ſoft than e'er did midnight thief, that flides his hand under the mifer's pillow, and carries off his prize. what is this world? what but a ſpacious burial field, unwall'd, strew'd with death's ſpoils, the ſpoils of animals savage and tame, and full of dead men's bones? the very turf on which we tread, once liv'd; and we that live muft lend our carcafes to cover our own offspring: in their turns they too muft cover theirs. 'tis here all meet: the fhiv'ring icelander, and fun-burnt moor, men of all climes, that never met before, and of all creeds—the chriſtian, turk, and jew. here the proud prince, and favourite yet prouder, his fov'reign's keeper, and the people's fcourge, are huddled out of fight. here lie abaſh'd the great negociators of the earth, and celebrated mafters of the balance, deep read in ftratagems, and wiles of courts: now vain their treaty-fkill; death ſcorns to treat. the grave. 127 . here the o'erloaded flave flings down his burthen from his gall'd ſhoulders; and when the cruel tyrant, with all his guards and tools of pow'r about him, is meditating fome unheard-of miſchief, mocks his fhort arm, and, quick as thought, efcapes where tyrants vex not, and the weary reft. here the warm lover, leaving the cool fhade, the tell-tale echo, and the bubbling ftream, (time out of mind the fav'rite feats of love) faft by his gentle miſtreſs lays him down, unblafted by foul tongue. here friends and foes lie cloſe, unmindful of their former feuds. the lawn-rob'd prelate, and plain preſbyter, erewhile that ſtood aloof, as ſhy to meet, familiar mingle here, like fifter-ſtreams that fome rude interpofing rock had ſplit. here is the large-limb'd peaſant-here the child of a ſpan long, that never ſaw the fun, nor prefs'd the nipple, ftrangled in life's porch : 128 the grave. here is the mother, with her fons and daughters; the barren wife; and long-demurring maid, whofe lonely unappropriated fweets smil'd like yon knot of cowflips on the cliff, not to be come at by the willing hand. here are the prude fevere, the gay coquette, and fober widow ;-and the young green virgin, cropp'd like a rofe, before 'tis fully blown, or half its worth difclos'd. strange medley here! here garrulous old age winds up his tale; and jovial youth, of lightſome vacant heart, whofe ev'ry day was made of melody, hears not the voice of mirth: the fhrill-tongued fhrew, meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding. here are the wife, the generous, and brave, the juft, the good, the worthleſs, and profane; the downright clown, the well-bred gentleman, the fool, the churl, the liar, and the knave, the fupple ftateſman, and the patriot fiern; the grave. 129 the wrecks of nations, and the ſpoils of time, with all the lumber of fix thouſand years. poor man! how happy once in thy firſt ſtate ! when, yet but warm from thy great maker's hand, he ſtamp'd thee with his image, and, well pleas'd, smil'd on his laft fair work. then all was well;— sound was the body, and the foul ferene; like two ſweet inftruments ne'er out of tune, that play their feveral parts. nor head nor heart offer'd to ach: nor was there cauſe they ſhould; for all was pure within: no fell remorſe, nor anxious caftings up of what might be, alarm'd his peaceful bofom: fummer feas shew not more ſmooth, when kifs'd by fouthern winds juft ready to expire. scarce importun'd, the gen'rous foil with a luxuriant hand offer'd the various produce of the year, and ev'ry thing moft perfect in its kind. bleffed, thrice bleffed days! but, ah! how fhort! k 130 the grave. blefs'd as the pleaſing dreams of holy men; but fugitive like thoſe, and quickly gone. oh, flipp'ry ſtate of things! what fudden turns, what ſtrange viciffitudes, in the firſt leaf of man's fad hiftory! to-day moſt happy, and ere to-morrow's fun has fet moſt abject! how ſcant the ſpace between theſe vaſt extremes' thus far'd it with our fire: nor long he enjoy'd his paradife. scarce had the happy tenant of the fair ſpot due time to prove its ſweets, or fum them up; when ftraight he muſt be gone, ne'er to return again. and muſt he go? can nought compound for the firſt dire offence of erring man? like one that is condemn'd, fain would he trifle time with idle talk, and parley with his fate. but 'tis in vain. not all the laviſh odours of the place, offer'd in incenfe, can procure his pardon, or mitigate his doom. a mighty angel, with flaming (word, forbids his longer ſtay, the grave. 131 and drives the loiterer forth; nor muſt he take one laft and farewell round. at once he loft his glory, and his god. if mortal now, and forely maim'd, no wonder! man has finn'd. sick of his blifs, and bent on new adventures, evil he needs would try: nor try'd in vain. (dreadful experiment! deftructive meaſure! where the worst thing could happen was fuccefs) alas! too well he fped: the good he fcorn'd stalk'd off reluctant, like an ill-us'd ghoft, not to return; or, if it did, its vifits, like thofe of angels, fhort, and far between: whilft the black dæmon, with his hell-fcap'd train, admitted once into its better room, grew loud and mutinous, nor would be gone; lording it o'er the man, who now too late saw the the raſh error which he could not mend; an error fatal not to him alone, but to his future fons, his fortune's heirs. inglorious bondage! human nature groans k 2 132 the grave. beneath a vaffalage ſo vile and cruel, and its vaft body bleeds at ev'ry pore. what havoc haft thou made, foul monſter, fin! greateſt and firſt of ills! the fruitful parent of woes of all dimenfions! but for thee sorrow had never been. all noxious things, of vileft nature, other forts of ills, are kindly circumfcrib'd, and have their bounds. • the fierce volcano, from its burning entrails that belches molten ftone and glebes of fire, involv'd in pitchy clouds of fmoke and ſtench, mars the adjacent fields for fome leagues round, and there it ſtops. the big-fwoln inundation, of mischief more diffufive, raving loud, buries whole tracts of country, threat'ning more; but that too has a fhore it cannot pafs. more dreadful far than theſe, fin has laid waſte, not here and there a country, but a world: diſpatching at a wide-extended blow entire mankind; and for their fakes defacing the grave. 133 a whole creation's beauty with rude hands; blafting the foodful grain, the loaded branches, and marking all along its way with ruin. accurfed thing! oh, where fhall fancy find a proper name to call thee by, expreffive of all thy horrors? pregnant womb of ills! of temper fo tranfcendently malign, that toads and ferpents of the moſt deadly kind, compar'd to thee, are harmleſs. sickneffes of ev'ry fize and fymptom, racking pains, and blueft plagues, are thine. see how the fiend profufely ſcatters the contagion round! whilft deep-mouth'd flaughter, bellowing at her heels, wades deep in blood new fpilt; yet for to-morrow shapes out new work of great uncommon daring, and inly pines till the dread blow is ftruck. but hold-i've gone too far; too much diſclos'd my father's nakednefs, and nature's fhame. here let me pauſe, and drop an honeſt tear, k 3 134 the grave. one burst of filial duty and condolence, o'er all the ample defarts death hath ſpread! this chaos of mankind. o great man-eater whofe ev'ry day is carnival, not fated yet! unheard of epicure! without a fellow! the verieft gluttons do not always cram ; some intervals of abftinence are fought to edge the appetite: thou ſeekeſt none. methinks the countleſs ſwarms thou haft devour'd, and thoufands that each hour thou gobbleft up, this, lefs than this, might gorge thee to the full : but, ah! rapacious ftill, thou gap'ft for more; like one whole days defrauded of his meals, on whom lank hunger lays his fkinny hand, and whets to keeneſt eagerneſs his cravings, (as if diſeaſes, maffacres, and poiſon, famine and war, were not thy caterers !) but know, that thou muſt render up thy dead, and with high int'reft too! they are not thine, but only in thy keeping for a ſeaſon, the grave. 135 till the great promis'd day of reftitution! when loud diffufive founds from brazen trump of ftrong-lung'd cherubs fhall alarm thy captives, and roufe the long, long fleepers into life. then muſt thy gates fly open, and reveal the mines that long lay forming underground, in their dark cells immur'd; but now full ripe, and pure as filver from the crucible, that twice has ſtood the torture of the fire and inquifition of the forge. we know th' illuftrious deliv'rer of mankind, the son of god, once vanquish'd thee. his pow'r thou could'ft not ftand: ſelf-vigorous he roſe, and, fhaking off thy fetters, foon retook thoſe ſpoils his voluntary yielding lent. (sure pledge of our releaſement from thy thrall;) twice twenty days he fojourn d here on earth, and thew'd himfelf alive to chofen witneffes, by proofs fo ftrong, that the moſt flow affenting had not a fcruple left. this having done, k 4 136 the grave. he mounted up to heav'n. methinks i fee him climb the aërial heights, and glide along acroſs the fevering clouds: but the faint eye, thrown backwards in the chafe, foon drops its hold, diſabled quite, and jaded with purſuing. heaven's portals wide expand to let him in ; nor are his friends fhut out: as fome great prince not for himſelf alone procures admiffion, but for his train; it was his royal will, that where he is, there fhould his followers be. death only lies between ;-a gloomy path! made yet more gloomy by our coward fears! but not untrod, nor tedious: the fatigue will foon go off. befides, there's no by-road to blifs. then why, like ill-condition'd children, start we at tranfient hardſhips, in the way that leads to purer air and fofter ikies, and a ne'er-fetting fun? fools that we are! we wish to be where fweets unfading bloom; but ftraight our wifh revoke, and will not go. the grave. 137 so have i feen upon a fummer's eve, cloſe by the riv'let's brink, a youngſter play: how wishfully he looks to ſtem the tide, this moment refolute, next unrefolv'd: at laft he dips his foot; but, as he dips, his fears redouble, and he runs away from th' inoffenfive ftream, unmindful now of all the flow'rs that paint the further bank, and fmil'd fo fweet of late. thrice welcome death! that after many a painful bleeding ſtep conducts us to our home, and lands us fafe on the long with'd-for fhore. prodigious change! our bane turn'd to a bleffing! death difarm'd lofes his fellneſs quite. all thanks to him who fcourg'd the venom out. sure the last end of the good man is peace. how calm his exit ! the night-dews fall not gentlier to the ground, nor weary worn out winds expire ſo ſoft. behold him in the ev'ning-tide of life,a life well ſpent, whofe early care it was 138 the grave. his riper years ſhould not upbraid his youth : by unperceiv'd degrees he wears away; yet like the fun feems larger at his ſetting! high in his faith and hopes, look how he ſtrives to gain the prize in view! and, like a bird that's hamper'd, ftruggles hard to get away! whilft the glad gates of fight are wide expanded to let new glories in, the firſt fair fruits of the firſt coming harveſt. then ; oh then! each earth-born joy grows vile, or diſappears, shrunk to a thing of nought. oh! how he longs to have his paffport fign'd, and be diſmiſs'd! 'tis done-and now he's happy :-the glad foul has not a with uncrown'd. ev'n the lag fleſh refts too in hope of meeting once again its better half, never to funder more. nor fhall it hope in vain: the time draws on when not a fingle fpot of burial earth, whether on land, or in the fpacious fea, but muft give back its long committed duft the grave. 139 inviolate and faithfully fhall theſe make up the full account: not the leaſt atom embezzled, or miflaid, of the whole tale; each foul fhall have a body ready finiſh'd, and each fhall have his own. hence, ye profane, afk not, how this can be? sure the fame pow'r that rear'd the piece at firft, and took it down, can reaffemble the looſe ſcatter'd parts, and put them as they were. almighty god has done much more; nor is his arm impair'd thro' length of days, and what he can, he will: his faithfulneſs ſtands bound to ſee it done. when the dread trumpet founds, the flumb'ring duft, not inattentive to the call, fhall wake; and ev'ry joint poffefs its proper place with a new elegance of form, unknown to its firft ftate. nor fhall the conſcious foul miſtake its partner; but, amidſt the crowd singling its other half, into its arms shall rush, with all th' impatience of a man 140 the grave. that's new come home,who,having long been abfent, with hafte runs over ev'ry different room, in pain to ſee the whole. thrice happy meeting! nor time, nor death, fhall ever part them more. 'tis but a night, a long and moonleſs night, we make the grave our bed, and then are gone, thus, at the ſhut of eve, the weary bird leaves the wide air, and in ſome lonely brake cow'rs down, and dozes till the dawn of day, then claps his well-fledg'd wings, and bears away. elegy, written in a country church yard. 1 1 elegy, written in a country church yard. by mr. gray. the curfew tolls the knell of parting day, the lowing herd winds flowly o'er the lea; the plowman homeward plods his weary way, and leaves the world to darkneſs and to me. now fades the glimmering landſcape on the fight, and all the air a folemn ſtillneſs holds, save where the beetle wheels his drony flight, and drowſy tinklings lull the diftant folds; 144 elegy. save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower the moping owl does to the moon complain of fuch as, wand'ring near her fecret bower, moleft her ancient, folitary reign. beneath thoſe rugged elms, that yew-tree's fhade, where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap each in his narrow cell for ever laid, the rude forefathers of the hamlet fleep. the breezy call of incenſe-breathing morn, the ſwallow twitt'ring from the ſtraw-built ſhed, the cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn, no more ſhall rouſe them from their lowly bed. for them no more the blazing hearth ſhall burn, or bufy houſewife ply her ev'ning care; no children run to lifp their fire's return, or climb his knees, the envied kifs to fhare. 7 1 elegy. 145 oft did the harveſt to their fickle yield; their furrow oft the ftubborn glebe has broke; how jocund did they drive the teams a-field! how bow'd the woods beneath their ſturdy ſtroke 1. let not ambition mock their uſeful toil, their homely joys, and deftiny obſcure; nor grandeur hear, with a difdainful fmile, the ſhort and fimple annals of the poor. the beaft of heraldry, the pomp of power, and all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, await alike th' inevitable hour: the paths of glory lead but to the grave. nor you, ye proud, impute to theſe the fault, if mem❜ry o'er their tomb no trophies raiſe, where, thro' the long-drawn aiſle and fretted vault, the pealing anthem fwells the note of praiſe. l 146 elegy. can ftoried urn, or animated buft, back to its manfion call the fleeting breath? can honour's voice provoke the filent duſt ? or flatt'ry footh the dull, cold ear of death? perhaps in this neglected ſpot is laid some heart, once pregnant with celeſtial fire; hands, that the rod of empire might have fway'd, or wak'd to eeftafy the living lyre. but knowledge to their eyes her ample page, rich with the ſpoils of time, did ne'er unrol; chill penury repreſs'd their noble rage, and froze the genial current of the ſoul. full many a gem of pureft ray ferene, the dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; full many a flower is born to bluſh unſeen, and wafte its ſweetnefs on the defert air. elegy. 147 some village hampden, that with dauntless breaſt the little tyrant of his fields withſtood; some mute inglorious milton here may reft, some cromwell guiltleſs of his country's blood, th' applauſe of lift'ning fenates to command, the threats of pain and ruin to deſpiſe, to ſcatter plenty o'er a finiling land, and read their hift'ry in a nation's eyes, their lot forbade-nor circumfcrib'd alone their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; forbad to wade through flaughter to a throne, and ſhut the gates of mercy on mankind; the ftruggling pangs of conſcious truth to hide, to quench the bluſhes of ingenuous fhame, or heap the fhrine of luxury and pride, with incenfe kindled at the mufes' flame. l 2 148 elegy.! far from the madding crowd's ignoble ftrife, their fober wiſhes never learn'd to ftray; along the cool fequefter'd vale of life they kept the noiſeleſs tenor of their way. yet e'en theſe bones, from infult to protect, some frail memorial ſtill erected nigh, with uncouth rhimes and fhapeleſs ſculpture deck'd, implores the paffing tribute of a figh. their name, their years, ſpelt by th' unletter'd mufe, their place of fame and elegy ſupply; and many a holy text around the ftrews, that teach the ruſtic moralift to die. for who, to dumb forgetfulneſs a prey, this pleafing anxious being e'er refign'd; left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, nor caft one longing ling'ring look behind? } designed & engraved by h. richter. there, at the foot of yonder nodding beach, that wreaths its old fantastic roots so high, his listless length at noon-tide would he stretch and pore upon the brook that bubbles by. published sept. 28, 1796, by vernor & hood. 1 • elegy. 149 on fome fond breaft the parting foul relies, some pious drops the clofing eye requires; e'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, e'en in our afhes live their wonted fires. for thee who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, doft in theſe lines their artleſs tales relate; if chance, by lonely contemplation led, some kindred spirit ſhould inquire thy fate: haply fome hoary-headed fwain may ſay, "oft have we ſeen him, at the peep of dawn, "bruſhing with hafty ſteps the dews away, "to meet the fun upon the upland lawn. "there, at the foot of yonder nodding beach, "that wreathes its old fantaſtic roots fo high, "his liftlef's length at noon-tide would he ſtretch, "and pore upon the brook that bubbles by. l 3 150 elegy. "hard by yon wood, now ſmiling as in fcorn, mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; "now drooping woful wan, like one forlorn, "or craz'd with care, or crofs'd in hopeleſs love. "" "one morn i miſs'd him on the 'cuftom'd hill, along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree: "another came; nor yet befide the rill, "nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. "" "the next, with dirges due, in fad array, "slow thro' the churchway path we ſaw him borne. "approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay "grav'd on the ftone beneath yon aged thorn." the epitaph. here refts his head upon the lap of earth, a youth, to fortune and to fame unknown; fair ſcience frown'd not on his humble birth, and melancholy mark'd him for her own. 9 8 elegy. large was his bounty, and his foul fincere, 1 heaven did a recompenfe as largely ſend ; he gave to mifery all he had, a tear; he gain'd from heaven ('twas all he wifh'd) a friend. no further feek his merits to diſcloſe, or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (there they alike in trembling hope repoſe) the bofom of his father and his god. 151 l 4 p "} the hermit of warkworth. i the hermit of warkworth, by the rev. dr. percy. part 1. dark was the night, and wild the ſtorm, and loud the torrent's roar ; and loud the fea was heard to daſh againſt the diftant ſhore. mufing on man's weak haplefs ftate the lonely hermit lay; when, lo! he heard a female voice lament in fore diſmay. 156 hermit of warkworth. with hofpitable hafte he rofe, and, wak'd his fleeping fire; and, fnatching up a lighted brand, forth hied the reverend fire. all fad beneath a neighbouring tree a beauteous maid he found, who beat her breaft, and with her tears bedew'd the moffy ground. o weep not, lady, weep not fo, nor let vain fears alarm; my little cell ſhall ſhelter thee, and keep thee ſafe from harm. it is not for myſelf i weep, nor for myſelf i fear; but for my dear and only friend, who lately left me here : ? designed & engraved by h. richter. all sad beneath a neighbouring tree, a beauteous maid he found, who beat her breast & with her tears. bedew'd the mossy ground : publish'd aug:6.1796, by vernor & hood. 1 # hermit of warkworth. 157 and while ſome ſheltering bower he fought within this lonely wood, ah! fore i fear his wandering feet have flipt in yonder flood. o truft in heav'n, the hermit faid, and to my cell repair; doubt not but i shall find thy friend, and eaſe thee of thy care. then, climbing up his rocky ſtairs, he ſcales the cliff fo high; and calls aloud, and waves his light, to guide the ſtranger's eye. among the thickets long he winds, with careful ſteps and flow : at length a voice return'd his call, quick anſwering from below. } 158 hermit of warkworth. o tell me, father, tell me true, if you have chanc'd to ſee a gentle maid, i lately left beneath fome neighbouring trec. but either i have loft the place, or the hath gone aftray : and much i fear this fatal ftream hath fnatch'd her hence away. praiſe heaven, my fon, the hermit faid, the lady's fafe and well : and foon he join'd the wand'ring youth, and brought him to his cell. then well was feen theſe gentle friends they lov'd each other dear: the youth he prefs'd her to his heart; the maid let fall a tear. hermit of warkworth. 159 ah! feldom had their hoft, i ween, beheld fo fweet a pair: the youth was tall, with manly bloom; she flender, foft, and fair. the youth was clad in foreſt green, with bugle horn ſo bright; she in a filken robe and ſcarf, snatch'd up in hafty flight. sit down, my children, fays the fage; sweet reft your limbs require : then heaps freſh fewel on the hearth, and mends his little fire. partake, he ſaid, my fimple ſtore, dried fruits, and milk, and curds; and, fpreading all upon the board, invites with kindly words. } 160 hermit of warkworth. thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare, the youthful couple ſay: then freely ate, and made good cheer, and talk'd their cares away. now fay, my children (for perchance my counſel may avail) what ftrange adventure brought you here within this lonely dale? firft tell me, father, faid the youth, (nor blame mine eager tongue) what town is here? what lands are theſe? and to what lord belong? alas! my fon, the hermit faid, why do i live to ſay, the rightful lord of theſe domains is baniſh'd far away! 1 1 hermit of warkworth. 161 # ten winters now have fhed their ſnows on this my lowly hall, since valiant hotspur (fo the north our youthful lord did call) against fourth henry bolingbroke led up his northern powers, and ftoutly fighting loft his life near proud salopia's towers. one fon he left, a lovely boy, his country's hope and heir; and oh! to fave him from his foes, it was his grandfire's care. in scotland fafe he plac'd the child, beyond the reach of ftrife, nor long before the brave old earl at bramham loft his life. m 162 hermit of warkworth. and now the percy name, fo long our northern pride and boaſt, lies hid, alas! beneath a cloud, their honours reft and loft. no chieftain of that noble house now leads our youth to arms; the bordering scots defpoil our fields, and ravage all our farms. their halls and caftles, once fo fair, now moulder in decay; proud ftrangers now ufurp their lands, and bear their wealth away. nor far from hence, where yon full ftream runs winding down the lea, fair warkworth lifts her lofty tow'rs, and overlooks the fea. hermit of warkworth. 163 thoſe towers, alas! now ftand forlorn, with noifome weeds o'erfpread, where feafted lords and courtly dames, and where the poor were fed. meantime far off, mid scottiſh hills, the percy lives unknown: on ftrangers' bounty he depends, and may not claim his own. o might i with theſe aged eyes but live to fee him here, then fhould my foul depart in bliſs! he ſaid, and dropt a tear. and is the percy ftill fo lov'd, of all his friends and thee? then, blefs me, father, faid the youth, for thy gueft am he. m 2 1.64 hermit of warkworth. silent he gaz'd, then turn'd aſide to wipe the tears he ſhed; then, lifting up his hands and eyes, pour'd bleffings on his head : welcome, our dear and much-lov'd lord, thy country's hope and care: but who may this young lady be that is fo wondrous fair? now, father, liften to my tale, and thou shalt know the truth; and let thy fage advice direct my unexperienc'd youth. in scotland i've been nobly bred beneath the regent's hand, in feats of arms, and every lore to fit me for command. hermit of warkworth. 165 with fond impatience long i burn'd my native land to fee: at length i won my guardian friend to yield that boon to me. then up and down in hunter's garb i wander'd as in chaſe, till in the noble neville's houſe i gain'd a hunter's place. some time with him i liv'd unknown, till i'd the hap fo rare to pleaſe this young and gentle dame, that baron's daughter fair. now, percy, faid the bluſhing maid, the truth i muſt reveal: souls great and generous, like to thine, their noble deeds conceal. m 3 166 hermit of warkworth. it happen'd on a fummer's day, led by the fragrant breeze, i wander'd forth to take the air, among the green-wood trees: sudden a band of rugged scots, that near in ambuſh lay, mofs-troopers from the border-fide, there feiz'd me for their prey. my fhrieks had all been ſpent in vain, but heaven, that ſaw my grief, brought this brave youth within my call, who flew to my relief. with nothing but his hunting fpear, and dagger in his hand, he fprung like lightning on my foes, and caus'd them foon to ſtand. hermit of warkworth. 167 he fought till more affiftance came; the scots were overthrown: thus freed me, captive, from their bands, to make me more his own. o happy day! the youth replied: bleft were the wounds i bare! from that fond hour fhe deign'd to ſmile, and listen to my prayer. and when the knew my name and birth, she vow'd to be my bride; but oh! we fear'd (alas, the while!) her princely mother's pride: sifter of haughty bolingbroke, our houfe's ancient foe, to me i thought, a banifh'd wight, could ne'er fuch favour fhew. m 4 168 hermit of warkworth. deſpairing then to gain confent, at length to fly with me, i won this lovely timorous maid; to scotland bound are we. this evening, as the night drew on, fearing we were purfu'd, we turn'd adown the right-hand path, and gain'd this lonely wood. then lighting from our weary ſteeds, to fhun the pelting ſhower, we met thy kind conducting hand, and reach'd this friendly bower. now reft ye both, the hermit faid; awhile your cares forego : nor, lady, fcorn my humble bed : -we'll pafs the night below. t hermit of warkworth. 169 part ii. lovely fmil'd the bluſhing morn, and every ftorm was fled, but lovelier far, with ſweeter ſmile, fair eleanor left her bed. she found her henry all alone, and cheer'd him with her fight; the youth, confulting with his friend, had watch'd the livelong night. what ſweet furprife o'erpower'd her breaſt! her cheek what bluſhes dy'd, when fondly he befought her there to yield to be his bride. 170 hermit of warkworth. within this lonely hermitage there is a chapel meet: then grant, dear maid, my fond requeft, and make my blifs complete. o henry, when thou deign'ft to fue, can i thy fuit withſtand? when thou, lov'd youth, haft won my heart, can i refuſe my hand? for thee i left a father's fmiles, and mother's tender care; and, whether weal or woe betide, thy lot i mean to ſhare. and wilt thou then, o generous maid, such matchless favour ſhew, to fhare with me, a baniſh'd wight, my peril, pain, or woe? 8 hermit of warkworth. 171 now heaven, i truft, hath joys in flore to crown thy conftant breaſt: for know, fond hope affures my heart that we fhall foon be bleft. not far from hence ftands coquet ifle, surrounded by the fea; there dwells a holy friar, well known to all thy friends and thee: 'tis father bernard, ſo revered for every worthy deed; to raby caftle he thall go, and for us kindly plead. to fetch this good and holy man our reverend hoft is gone; and foon, i truft, his pious hands will join us both in one. 172 hermit of warkworth. thus they in ſweet and tender talk the lingering hours beguile : at length they ſee the hoary fage come from the neighbouring ifle. with pious joy and wonder mix'd, he greets the holy pair, and glad confents to join their hands, with many a fervent prayer. then ſtraight to raby's diftant walls he kindly wends his way; meantime in love and dalliance fweet they spend the livelong day. and now, attended by their hoſt, the hermitage they view'd, deep hewn within a craggy cliff, and overhung with wood. • hermit of warkworth. 173 and near a flight of ſhapely ſteps, all cut with niceſt ſkill, and piercing thro' a ftony arch, ran winding up the hill. there, deck'd with many a flower and herb, his little garden ſtands; with fruitful trees in fhady rows, all planted by his hands. then, fcoop'd within the folid rock, three facred vaults he fhows; the chief a chapel, neatly arch'd, on branching columns roſe. each proper ornament was there, that ſhould a chapel grace: the lattice for confeffion fram'd, and holy-water vafe. i 174 hermit of warkworth. o'er either door a facred text invites to godly fear; and in a little 'fcutcheon hung the cross, the crown, and fpear. up to the altar's ample breadth two eaſy ſteps afcend; and near a glimmering folemn light two well-wrought windows lend. befide the altar rofe a tomb all in the living ſtone; on which a young and beauteous maid in goodly fculpture fhone. a kneeling angel fairly carv'd lean'd hovering o'er her breaſt; a weeping warrior at her feet; and near to thefe her creft. hermit of warkworth. 175 the cliff, the vault, but chief the tomb, attract the wond'ring pair; eager they ask what hapless dame lies fculptured here fo fair. the hermit figh'd, the hermit wept, for forrow ſcarce could ſpeak: at length he wip'd the trickling tears that all bedew'd his cheek; alas! my children, human life is but a vale of woe; and very mournful is the tale which ye fo fain would know. 176 hermit of warkworth. the hermit's tale. young lord, thy grandfire had a friend. in days of youthful fame; yon diftant hills were his domains; sir bertram was his name. where'er the noble percy fought his friend was at his fide; and many a fkirmiſh with the scots their early valour try'd. young bertram lov'd a beauteous maid, as fair as fair might be; the dew-drop on the lily's cheek, was not fo fair as the. hermit of warkworth. 177 fair widdrington the maiden's name; yon tower's her dwelling place; her fire an old northumbrian chief, devoted to thy race. many a lord, and many a knight, to this fair damfel came; but bertram was her only choice; for him the felt a flame. lord percy pleaded for his friend, her father foon confents; none but the beauteous maid herſelf his wiſhes now prevents. but ſhe with ftudied fond delays defers the bliſsful hour; and loves to try his conftancy, and prove her maiden power. n 178 hermit of warkwokth. that heart, ſhe ſaid, is lightly priz'd, which is too lightly won; and long fhall rue that eaſy maid who yields her love too foon. lord percy made a folemn feaft in alnwick's princely hall; and there came lords, and there came knights, his chiefs and barons all. with waffel mirth and revelry the caftle rung around; lord percy call'd for fong and harp, and pipes of martial found. the minstrels of thy noble houfe, all clad in robes of blue, with filver creſcents on their arms, attend in order due. • hermit of warkworth. 179 the great achievements of thy race they fung: their high command: how valiant mainfred o'er the feas firſt led his northern band. < brave gilfred next to normandy 'with venturous rollo came; ✓ v and from his norman caftles won 'affum'd the percy name.' they fung how in the conqueror's fleet 'lord william ſhipp'd his powers, and gain'd a fair young saxon bride "with all her lands and towers: 6 then, journeying to the holy land, there bravely fought and dy'd; • but firſt the filver creſcent won, • some paynim soldan's pride.' n 2 180 hermit of warkworth. they fung 'how agnus, beauteous heir, 'the queen's own brother wed, lord jofceline, ſprung from charlemagne, 'in princely brabant bred. how he the percy name reviv'd, · and how his noble line, • still foremoſt in their country's cauſe, 'with godlike ardour ſhine.' with loud acclaims the liftening crowd applaud the maſters' ſong, and deeds of arms and war became the theme of every tongue. now high heroic acts they tell, their perils paft recall : when, lo! a damfel young and fair stepp'd forward thro' the hall. hermit of warkworth. 181 she bertram courteouſly addrefs'd; and kneeling on her knee ;sir knight, the lady of thy love hath fent this gift to thee. then forth the drew a glittering helme well plated many a fold: the cafque was wrought of tempered ſteel, the creft of burniſh'd gold. sir knight, thy lady fends thee this, and yields to be thy bride, when thou haft prov'd this maiden gift where ſharpeft blows are try'd. young bertram took the fhining helme, and thrice he kiſs'd the fame; truft me, i'll prove this precious cafque with deeds of nobleft fame. n 3 182 hermit of warkworth. lord percy and his barons bold then fix'd upon a day to fcour the marches, late oppreſs'd, and scottish wrongs repay. the knights affembled on the hills a thouſand horſe and more; brave widdrington, tho' funk in years, the percy-ftandard bore. tweed's limpid current foon they paſs, and range the borders round; down the green flopes of tiviotdale their bugle horns refound. as when a lion in his den hath heard the hunters' cries, and rushes forth to meet his foes, so did the douglas rife. hermit of warkworth. 183 attendant on their chief's command a thouſand warriors wait; and now the fatal hour drew on of cruel keen debate. a chofen troop of scottiſh youths advance before the reft; lord percy mark'd their gallant mien, and thus his friend addrefs'd:now, bertram, prove thy lady's helme, attack yon forward band; dead or alive, i'll refcue thee, or perish by their hand. young bertram bow'd with glad affent, and fpurr'd his eager fteed, and, calling on his lady's name, rush'd forth with whirlwind ſpeed. n 4 184 hermit of warkworth. as when a grove of fapling oaks the livid lightning rends, so fiercely, 'mid the oppofing ranks, sir bertram's fword defcends. this way and that he drives the ſteel, and keenly pierces through; and many a tall and comely knight with furious force he flew. now, clofing faſt on every fide, they hem sir bertram round: but dauntless he repels their rage, and deals forth many a wound. the vigour of his fingle arm had well nigh won the field; when ponderous fell a scottiſh axe, and clove his lifted fhield. } hermit of warkworth. 185 another blow his temples took, and reft his helme in twain; that beauteous helme his lady's gift! his blood bedew'd the plain. lord percy faw his champion fall amid the unequal fight; and now, my noble friends, he ſaid, let's fave this gallant knight. then rushing in, with ftretch'd-out ſhield he o'er the warrior hung; as fome fierce eagle ſpreads her wing to guard her callow young. three times they ſtrove to ſeize their prey, three times they quick retire: what force could ftand his furious ſtrokes, or meet his martial fire? 186 hermit of warkworth. now, gathering round on every part, the battle rag'd amain; and many a lady wept her lord that hour untimely flain. percy and douglas, great in arms, there all their courage fhow'd; and all the field was ftrew'd with dead, and all with crimſon flow'd. at length the glory of the day the scots reluctant yield, and after wondrous valour ſhown, they flowly quit the field. all pale, extended on their fhields, and weltering in his gore, lord percy's knights their bleeding friend to wark's fair caftle bore. 8 hermit of warkworth. 187 well haft thou earn'd my daughter's love, her father kindly faid; and the herſelf ſhall dreſs thy wounds, and tend thee in thy bed. a meffage went, no daughter came; fair isabel ne'er appears: befhrew me, faid the aged chief, young maidens have their fears. cheer up, my fon, thou fhalt her fee so foon as thou canst ride; and the ſhall nurſe thee in her bower, and ſhe ſhall be thy bride. sir bertram at her name reviv'd, he blefs'd the foothing found; fond hope fupplied the nurfe's care, and heal'd his ghastly wound. 188 hermit of warkworth. part iii. one early morn, while dewy drops. hung trembling on the tree, sir bertram from his fick bed rofe, his bride he would go fee. a brother he had in prime of youth, of courage firm and keen, and he would tend him on the way, becaufe his wounds were green. all day o'er mofs and moor they rode by many a lonely tower; and 'twas the dew-fall of the night ere they drew near her bower. hermit of warkworth. 189 moſt drear and dark the caſtle ſeem'd, that wont to ſhine ſo bright; and long and loud sir bertram call'd ere he beheld a light. at length her aged nurſe aroſe with voice fo fhrill and clear: what wight is this, that calls fo loud, and knocks fo boldly here? 'tis bertram calls thy lady's love, come from his bed of care: all day i've ridden o'er moor and mofs to fee thy lady fair. now out, alas! (fhe loudly fhriek'd) alas! how may this be? for fix long days are gone and paſt since the fet out to thee. 190 hermit of warkworth. sad terror feiz'd sir bertram's heart, and ready was he to fall; when now the drawbridge was let down, and gates were open'd all. six days, young knight, are paſt and gone since he fet out to thee; and fure, if no ſad harm had hap'd, long fince thou would'ſt her fee. for when the heard thy grievous chance she tore her hair, and cried, alas! i've flain the comelieſt knight all thro' my folly and pride! and now, to atone for my fad fault, and his dear health regain, i'll go myſelf and nurſe my love, and footh his bed of pain. hermit of warkworth. 191 then mounted fhe her milk-white fteed one morn at break of day; and two tall yeomen went with her to guard her on the way. sad terror fmote sir bertram's heart, and grief o'erwhelm'd his mind; truft me, faid he, i ne'er will reft till i thy lady find. that night he ſpent in forrow and care, and with fad boding heart, or ere the dawning of the day his brother and he depart. now, brother, we'll our ways divide, o'er scottiſh hills to range: do thou go north, and i'll go weſt ; and all our dress we'll change. 192 hermit of warkworth. some scottiſh carle hath feiz'd my love, and borne her to his den; and ne'er will i tread english ground till fhe is reſtored agen. the brothers ftraight their paths divide o'er scottiſh hills to range, and hide themſelves in quaint diſguiſe, and oft their drefs they change. sir bertram, clad in gown of moſt like a palmer poor, to halls and caſtles wanders round, and begs from door to door. gray, sometimes a minstrel's garb he wears, with pipes fo fweet and fhrill; and wends to every tower and town, o'er every dale and hill. hermit of warkworth. 193 one day, as he fat under a thorn, all funk in deep deſpair, an aged pilgrim paſs'd him by, who mark'd his face of care. all minstrels yet that e'er i ſaw are full of game and glee, but thou art fad and woe-begone! i marvel whence it be ! father, i ferve an aged lord, whofe grief afflicts my mind; his only child is ſtol'n away, and fain i would her find. cheer up, my fon; perchance, he ſaid, some tidings i may bear : for oft when human hopes have fail'd, then heavenly comfort's near. 194 hermit of warkworth, behind yon hills fo fteep and high, down in a lowly glen, there ftands a caftle fair and ftrong, far from th' abode of men. as late i chanc'd to crave an alms about this evening hour, methought i heard a lady's voice lamenting in the tower. and when i afk'd, what harm had hap'd, what lady fick there lay? they rudely drove me from the gate, and bade me wend away. theſe tidings caught sir bertram's ear, he thank'd him for his tale; and foon he haſted o'er the hills, and foon he reach'd the vale. 4 i hermit of warkworth. 195 then, drawing near thofe lonely towers, which ſtood in dale ſo low, and fitting down befide the gate, his pipes he 'gan to blow. sir porter, is thy lord at home, to hear a minstrel's fong? or may i crave a lodging here, without offence or wrong? my lord, he ſaid, is not at home to hear a minstrel's fong: and ſhould i lend thee lodgings here my life would not be long. he play'd again, ſo ſoft a ſtrain, such power fweet founds impart, he won the churlish porter's ear, and mov'd his ftubborn heart. © 2 196 hermit of warkworth. minstrel, he ſaid, thou play'ft ſo ſweet, fair entrance thou ſhould'ſt win; but, alas! i am fworn upon the rood to let no ftranger in. yet, minstrel, in yon riſing cliff thou'lt find a fheltering cave, and here thou shalt my ſupper ſhare, and there thy lodging have. all day he fits befide the gate, and pipes both loud and clear; all night he watches round the walls, in hopes his love to hear. the first night, as he filent watch'd, all at the midnight hour, he plainly heard his lady's voice lamenting in the tower. designed & engraved by h. richter. the second night the moon shone clear, and gilt the spangled dew, he his lady thro' the grate but twas a transient view: saw publife'd aug:6.1796, by vernor & hood 1 hermit of warkworth. 197 the fecond night the moon fhone clear, and gilt the ſpangled dew; he faw his lady thro' the grate, but 'twas a tranfient view. the third night, wearied out, he ſlept till near the morning tide; when, ftarting up, he feiz'd his fword, and to the caftle hy'd. when, lo! he faw a ladder of depending from the wall; and o'er the mote was newly laid a poplar ftrong and tall. ropes and foon he faw his love defcend wrapt in a tartan plaid : affifted by a ſturdy youth in highland garb y-clad. q 3 198 hermit of warkworth, amaz'd, confounded at the fight, he lay unfeen and ftill; and foon he faw them croſs the ſtream, and mount the neighbouring hill. unheard, unknown of all within, the youthful couple fly; but what can 'fcape the lover's ken, or fhun his piercing eye? with filent ſtep he follows clofe behind the flying pair, and faw her hang upon his arm, with fond familiar air. thanks, gentle youth, fhe often faid; my thanks thou well haft won: for me what wiles haft thou contriv'd l for me what danger run! hermit of warkworth. 199 and ever fhall my grateful heart thy fervices repay :· sir bertram would no further hear, but cried, 'vile traitor, ſtay! vile traitor, yield that lady up!' and quick his fword he drew. the ftranger turn'd in ſudden rage, and at sir bertram flew. with mortal hate their vigorous arms gave many a vengeful blow: but bertram's ftronger hand prevail'd, and laid the ftranger low. die, traitor, die !-a deadly thruſt attends each furious word. ah! then fair isabel knew his voice, and rufh'd beneath his fword. 04 200 hermit of warkworth. o ftop, fhe cried, o ftop thy arm! thou doft thy brother ſlay! and here the hermit paus'd and wept: his tongue no more could fay. at length he cried, ye lovely pair, how fhall i tell the reft? ere i could ftop my piercing fword, it fell and ftabb'd her breaſt. were thou thyself that hapleſs youth? ah! cruel fate! they ſaid: the hermit wept, and fo did they; they figh'd; he hung his head. o blind and jealous rage, he cried, what evils from thee flow. the hermit paus'd; they filent mourn'd; he wept, and they were woe. hermit of warkworth. 201 ah! when i heard my brother's name, and faw my lady bleed, i rav'd, i wept, i curft my arm that wrought the fatal deed. in vain i clafp'd her to my breaft, and clos'd the ghastly wound; in vain i prefs'd his bleeding corfe, and rais'd it from the ground. my brother, alas! ſpake never more; his precious life was flown. she kindly ftrove to footh my pain, regardleſs of her own. bertram, fhe faid, be comforted, and live to think on me. may we in heaven that union prove, which here was not to be. 202 hermit of warkworth. bertram, ſhe ſaid, i ftill was true; thou only hadft my heart: may we hereafter meet in blifs; we now, alas! muft part. for thee i left father's hall, my and flew to thy relief, when, lo! near chiviot's fatal hills i met a scottiſh chief. lord malcolm's fon, whoſe proffer'd love i had refus'd with fcorn; he flew my guards, and feiz'd on me upon that fatal morn ; and in theſe dreary hated walls he kept me cloſe confin'd; and fondly fued and warmly prefs'd to win me to his mind. hermit of warkworth. 203 each rifing morn increas'd my pain, each night increas'd my fear; when, wandering in this northern garb, thy brother found me here. he quickly form'd this brave defign to fet me, captive, free; and on the moor his horſes wait ty'd to a neighbouring tree. then hafte, my love, efcape away, and for thyfelf provide ; and fometimes fondly think on her who ſhould have been thy bride. thus pouring comfort on my foul, even with her lateſt breath, she gave one parting fond embrace, and clos'd her eyes in death. 204 hermit of warkworth. in wild amaze, in fpeechlefs woe, devoid of fenfe i lay; then fudden all in frantic mood i meant myſelf to flay. and, rifing up in furious hafte, i feiz'd the bloody brand: a fturdy arm here interpos'd, and wrench'd it from my hand. a crowd that from the caſtle came had mifs'd their lovely ward; and feizing me, to prifon bare, and deep in dungeon barr'd. it chanc'd that on that very morn their chief was priſoner ta'en: lord percy had us foon exchang'd, and ftrove to footh my pain. hermit of warkworth. 205 and foon thoſe honoured dear remains to england were convey'd ; and there within their filent tombs, with holy rites were laid. for me, i loath'd wretched life, my and long to end it thought; till time, and books, and holy men, had better counfels taught. my heart to that they rais'd whence heavenly comfort flows; they taught me to deſpiſe the world, and calmly bear its woes. pure fource no more the flave of human pride, vain hope, and fordid care, i meekly vow'd to ſpend my life in penitence and prayer. 206 hermit of warkworth. the bold sir bertram now no more impetuous, haughty, wild; but poor and humble benedict, now lowly, patient, mild: my lands i gave to feed the and facred altars raiſe; and here a lonely anchorite i came to end my days. poor, this ſweet fequefter'd vale i choſe, theſe rocks and hanging grove; for oft befide that murmuring ſtream my love was wont to rove. my noble friend approv'd my choice; this bleft retreat he gave: and here i carv'd her beauteous form, and ſcoop'd this holy cave. 1 1 1 hermit of warkworth. 207 full fifty winters, all forlorn, my life i've lingered here; and daily o'er this fculptured faint i drop the penfive tear. and thou, dear brother of my heart, so faithful and fo true, the fad remembrance of thy fate still makes my bofom rue. yet not unpitied paſs'd my life, forfaken, or forgot, the percy and his noble fons would grace. my lowly cot. oft the great earl, from toils of ſtate and cumbrous pomp of power, would gladly feek my little cell to ſpend the tranquil hour. 208 hermit of warkworth. but length of life is length of woe; i liv'd to mourn his fall: i liv'd to mourn his godlike fons, and friends and followers all. but thou the honours of thy race, lov'd youth, fhalt now reſtore, and raiſe again the percy name more glorious than before. he ceas'd, and on the lovely pair his choiceft bleflings laid: while they with thanks and pitying tears his mournful tale repaid. and now what preſent courſe to take they aſked the good old fire; and, guided by his fage advice, to scotland they retire. hermit of wark worth. 209 meantime their fuit fuch favour found at raby's flately hall, earl neville and his princely fpoufe now gladly pardon all. she fuppliant at her nephew's throne the royal grace implor'd: to all the honours of his race the percy was reftor'd. the youthful earl ſtill more and more admir'd his beauteous dáme; nine noble fons to him the bore, all worthy of their name. sonnets from paul and virginia. p 2 24 és de z z e z e sonnets. by helen maria williams. sonnet i. to love. ah love! ere yet i knew thy fatal power, bright glow'd the colour of my youthful days, as, on the fultry zone, the torrid rays that paint the broad-leav'd plantain's gloffy bower: calm was my bofom as this filent hour, when o'er the deep, fcarce heard, the zephyr ftrays, midft the cool tamarinds indolently plays, nor from the orange ſhakes its od'rous flower: but ah! fince love has all my heart poffeft, that defolated heart what forrows tear? diſturb'd, and wild as ocean's troubled breaft, when the hoarfe tempeft of the night is there! yet my complaining ſpirit aſks no reft; this bleeding bofom cheriſhes deſpair. 1 # p 3 214 sonnets. 1 i 1 sonnet ii. to disappointment. pale diſappointment! at thy freezing name chill fears in ev'ry fhiv'ring vein i prove, my finking pulſe almoft forgets to move, and life almoft forfakes my languid frame: yet thee, relentleſs nymph! no more i blame. why do my thoughts midſt vain illuſions rove why gild the charms of friendſhip and of love with the warm glow of fancy's purple flame? when ruffling winds have ſome bright fane o'erthrown, ܕ܂ which fhone on painted clouds, or feem'd to fhine, shall the fond gazer dream for him alone thofe clouds were ſtable, and at fate repine? i feel, alas! the fault is all my own, and, ah! the cruel puniſhment is mine! 1 sonnets. 215 e? e ? o'erfhine me? sonnet iii. to simplicity. nymph of the defert! on this lonely fhore simplicity, thy bleffings ftill are mine, and all thou canst not give i pleas'd refign, for all befide can footh my foul no more. i afk no laviſh heaps to fwell my ftore, and purchaſe pleaſures far remote from thine; ye joys, for which the race of europe pine, ah, not for me your ftudied grandeur pour. let me, where yon tall cliffs are rudely pil'd, where towers the palm amidſt the mountain trees, where pendent from the ſteep, with graces wild, the blue liana floats upon the breeze, still haunt thoſe bold receffes, nature's child, where thy majeſtic charms my ſpirit ſeize | 3 216 sonnets. sonnet iv. to the strawberry. the strawberry blooms upon its lowly bed, plant of my native foil!-the lime may fling more potent fragrance on the zephyr's wing; the milky cocoa richer juices fhed; the white guava lovelier bloffoms ſpread: but not like thee to fond remembrance bring the vanish'd hours of life's enchanting spring, short calendar of joys for ever fled! thou bidſt the ſcenes of childhood riſe to view, the wild-wood path which fancy loves to trace; where, veil'd in leaves, thy fruit of rofy hue lurk'd on its pliant ftem with modeſt grace: but, ah! when thought would later years renew, alas, fucceffive forrows crowd the ſpace! sonnets. 217 g եր iew, trace; ne e: renew, sonnet v. to the curlew. sooth'd by the murmurs on the fea-beat fhore, his dun-grey plumage floating to the gale, the curlew blends his melancholy wail with thofe hoarfe founds the ruſhing waters pour. like thee, congenial bird! my fteps explore the bleak lone fea-beach, or the rocky dale, and fhun the orange bower, the myrtle vale, whofe gay luxuriance fuits my foul no more. i love the ocean's broad expanfe, when dreft in limpid clearness, or when tempefts blow; when the finooth currents on its placid breaft flow calm as my paſt moments uſed to flow; or, when its troubled waves refuſe to reft, and feem the fymbol of my preſent woe. 8 218 sonnets. sonnet vi. το the torrid zone. pathway of light! o'er thy empurpled zone, with lavish charms perennial fummer ftrays; soft 'midft thy fpicy groves the zephyr plays, while far around the rich perfumes are thrown: the amadavid-bird for thee alone, spreads his gay plumes that catch thy vivid rays; for thee the gems with liquid luſtre blaze, and nature's various wealth is all thy own. but, ah! not thine is twilight's doubtful gloom, thoſe mild gradations, mingling day with night; here, inftant darkneſs fhrouds thy genial bloom, nor leaves my penfive foul that ling'ring light, when muſing mem'ry would each trace reſume of fading pleaſures in fucceffive flight. subi how whi who my since bene sym for o'er thu and ah! the sonnets. 219 zone, trays; plays, e thrown: vivid rays; blaze, own. tful gloom, with night; enial bloom, ring light, race refume ht. sonnet vii. to the calbassia-tree. sublime calbaffia! luxuriant tree, how foft the gloom thy bright-hu'd foliage throws, while from thy pulp a healing balfam flows, whofe power the fuff'ring wretch from pain can free. my penfive footfteps ever turn to thee! since oft, while mufing on my lafting woes, beneath thy flow'ry white-bells i repofe, symbol of friendfhip, doft thou feem to me: for thus has friendship caft her foothing fhade o'er my unfhelter'd bofom's keen diftrefs; thus fought to heal the wounds which love has made, and temper bleeding forrow's fharp exceſs! ah! not in vain fhe lends her balmy aid: the agonies the cannot cure, are leſs! : ļ sonnets. 220 1 1 sonnet viii. to the white bird of the tropic. bird of the tropic! thou, who lov'ſt to ſtray where thy long pinions ſweep the fultry line, or mark'ft the bounds which torrid beams confine by thy averted courſe, that fhuns the ray oblique, enamour'd of fublimer day: oft on yon cliff thy folded plumes recline, and drop thofe fnowy feathers indians twine to crown the warrior's brow with honours gay. o'er trackleſs oceans what impels thy wing? does no foft inftinct in thy foul prevail? no fweet affection to thy bofom cling, and bid thee oft thy abſent neft bewail? yet thou again to that dear ſpot canft ſpring; but i my long-loft home no more ſhall hail! the end. ii. the tropic lov't to fray te fultry line, id beams conf the ray recline, ans twine enours gay. y wing? all? ail? fpring; bail! 7 date issued date due date issued 359 7247 date due 247 25247.19.9 harvard college library veri tas from the bequest of evert jansen wendell ccccce class of 1882 1918 ccc 1 25247.19.9 harvard college library veri tas is ccc from the bequest of evert jansen wendell class of 1882 1918 cccccccccc's อ the hermit of warkworth, and the two captains, by the author of 'undine,' 'aslauga's knights,' etc. edited by a lady. "love, quiet, yet flowing deep, as the rhine among rivers; lasting, and knowing not changeit walketh with truth and sincerity." proverbial philosophy. boston: jordan and wiley, 121 washington street. mdcccxlv. 25247119.9 harvard co te library the dequest of vert jansen wendell 1913 percy, imor wright's steam press print, no. 3 water street. 6 8687 50-103 the hermit of warkworth. part the first. dark was the night, and wild the storm, and loud the torrents roar; and loud the sea was heard to dash against the distant shore. musing on man's weak, hapless state, the lonely hermit lay; when, lo! heard a female voice lament in sore dismay. with hospitable haste he rose, and wak'd his sleeping fire; and snatching up a lighted brand, forth hied the rev'rend sire. all sad beneath a neighboring tree a beauteous maid he found, who beat her breast, and with her tears bedew'd the mossy ground. 8 the hermit of warkworth. "o weep not, lady, weep not so; nor let vain fears alarm; my little cell shall shelter thee, and keep thee safe from harm." "it is not for myself i weep nor for myself i fear; but for my dear and only friend, who lately left me here: "and while some sheltering bower he sought within this lonely wood, ah! sore i fear his wandering feet have slipt in yonder flood." "o! trust in heaven," the hermit said, "and to my cell repair; doubt not but i shall find thy friend, and ease thee of thy care." then climbing up his rocky stairs, he scales the cliff so high; and calls aloud, and waves his light to guide the stranger's eye. among the thickets long he winds, with careful steps and slow : at length a voice return'd his call, quick answering from below: the hermit of warkworth. 9 “o tell me, father, tell me true, you have chanc'd to see a gentle maid, i lately left beneath some neighboring tree : if "but either i have lost the place, or she hath gone astray: and much i fear this fatal stream hath snatch'd her hence away." "praise heaven, my son," the hermit said: "the lady's safe and well: " and soon he join'd the wandering youth, and brought him to his cell. then well was seen, these gentle friends, they lov'd each other dear: the youth he press'd her to his heart; the maid let fall a tear. ah! seldom had their host, i ween, beheld so sweet a pair : the youth was tall with manly bloom; she, slender, soft, and fair. the youth was clad in forest green, with bugle-horn so bright : she in a silken robe and scarf, snatch'd up in hasty flight. 10 the hermit of warkworth. "sit down, my children," says the sage, "sweet rest your limbs require :" then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth, and mends his little fire. "partake," he said, "my simple store, dried fruits, and milk, and curds ;" and spreading all upon the board, invites with kindly words. "thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare," the youthful couple say : then freely ate, and made good cheer, and talk'd their cares away. "now say, my children, (for perchance my counsel may avail,) what strange adventure brought you here within this lonely dale ?" "first tell me, father," said the youth, (nor blame mine eager tongue,) what town is near? what lands are these? and to what lord belong?" 66 "alas! my son," the hermit said, why do i live to say, the rightful lord of these domains is banish'd far away? 66 the hermit of warkworth. 11 "ten winters now have shed their snows on this my lowly hall, since valiant hotspur (so the north our youthful lord did call) "against fourth henry bolingbroke led up his northern powers, and, stoutly fighting, lost his life near proud salopia's towers. "one son he left, a lovely boy, his country's hope and heir; and, oh! to save him from his foes it was his grandsire's care. "in scotland safe he plac'd the child beyond the reach of strife, nor long before the brave old earl at braham lost his life. "and now the percy name, so long our northern pride and boast, lies hid alas! beneath a cloud; their honors reft and lost. "no chieftain of that noble house now leads our youth to arms; the bordering scots despoil our fields, and ravage all our farms. 12 the hermit of warkworth. "their halls and castles, once so fair, now moulder in decay; proud strangers now usurp their lands, and bear their wealth away. "nor far from hence, where yon full stream runs winding down the lea, fair warkworth lifts her lofty towers, and overlooks the sea. "those towers, alas! now lie forlorn, with noisome weeds o'erspread, where feasted lords and courtly dames, and where the poor were fed. "meantime far off, 'mid scottish hills, the percy lives unknown; on strangers' bounty he depends, and may not claim his own. "o might i with these aged eyes, but live to see him here, then should my soul depart in bliss!”— he said, and dropt a tear. "and is the percy still so lov'd of all his friends and thee? then, bless me, father," said the youth, "for i, thy guest, am he." the hermit of warkworth. 13 silent he gaz'd, then turn'd aside to wipe the tears he shed; and lifting up his hands and eyes, pour'd blessings on his head : "welcome, our dear and much lov'd lord, thy country's hope and care: but who may this young lady be, that is so wondrous fair ?" 86 now, father! listen to my tale, and thou shalt know the truth: and let thy sage advice direct my inexperienc'd youth. "in scotland i've been nobly bred beneath the regent's' hand, in feats of arms, and every lore to fit me for command. "with fond impatience long i burn'd my native land to see: at length i won my guardian friend to yield that boon to me. "then up and down in hunter's garb i wander'd as in chase, till in the noble neville's² house i gain'd a hunter's place. 2 14 the hermit of warkworth. "some time with him i liv'd unknown, till i'd the hap so rare to please this young and gentle dame, that baron's daughter fair." "now, percy," said the blushing maid, "the truth i must reveal; souls great and generous, like to thine, their noble deeds conceal. "it happen'd on a summer's day, led by the fragrant breeze, i wander'd forth to take the air among the green-wood trees. "sudden a band of rugged scots, that near in ambush lay, moss-troopers from the border-side, there seiz'd me for their prey. 66 my shrieks had all been spent in vain; but heaven, that saw my grief, brought this brave youth within my call, who flew to my relief. "with nothing but his hunting spear, and dagger in his hand, he sprung like lightning on my foes, and caus'd them soon to stand. the hermit of warkworth. 15 "he fought till more assistance came : the scots were overthrown; thus freed me, captive, from their bands, to make me more his own." "o happy day!" the youth replied: "blest were the wounds i bear ! from that fond hour she deign'd to smile, and listen to my prayer. "and when she knew my name and birth, she vow'd to be my bride; but oh! we fear'd (alas, the while!) her princely mother's pride : "sister of haughty bolingbroke,3 our house's ancient foe, to me, i thought, a banish'd wight, could ne'er such favor show. "despairing then to gain consent, at length to fly with me i won this lovely, timorous maid; to scotland bound are we. "this evening, as the night drew on, fearing we were pursued, we turn'd adown the right-hand path, and gain'd this lonely wood: 16 the hermit of warkworth. "then lighting from our weary steeds to shun the pelting shower, we met thy kind conducting hand, and reach'd this friendly bower." "now rest you both," the hermit said; "awhile your cares forego: nor, lady, scorn my humble bed : -we'll pass the night below."4 part the second lovely smil'd the blushing morn, and every storm was fled : but lovelier far, with sweeter smile, fair eleanor left her bed. she found her henry all alone, and cheer'd him with her sight; the youth consulting with his friend had watch'd the livelong night. what sweet surprise o'erpowered her breast! her cheek what blushes dyed, when fondly he besought her there to yield to be his bride !— the hermit of warkworth. 17 "within this lonely hermitage there is a chapel meet : then grant, dear maid, my fond request, and make my bliss complete." "o henry, when thou deign'st to sue, can i thy suit withstand? when thou, lov'd youth, hast won my heart, can i refuse my hand? "for thee i left a father's smiles, and mother's tender care; and whether weal or woe betide, thy lot i mean to share." "and wilt thou then, o generous maid! such matchless favor show, to share with me, a banish'd wight, my peril, pain, or woe? "now heaven, i trust, hath joys in store to crown thy constant breast: for know, fond hope assures my heart that we shall soon be blest. "not far from hence stands coquet isle surrounded by the sea; there dwells a holy friar, well known to all thy friends and thee; 2* 18 warkworth. the hermit of ""tis father bernard, so rever'd for every worthy deed; to raby castle he shall go, and for us kindly plead. "to fetch this good and holy man our reverend host is gone; and soon, i trust, his pious hands will join us both in one." thus they in sweet and tender talk the lingering hours beguile: at length they see the hoary sage come from the neighboring isle. with pious joy and wonder mix'd he greets the noble pair, and glad consents to join their hands with many a fervent prayer. then strait to raby's distant walls he kindly wends his way: meantime in love and dalliance sweet they spend the livelong day. and now, attended by their host, the hermitage they view'd, deep-hewn within a craggy cliff, and overhung with wood. the hermit of warkworth. 19 and near a flight of shapeless steps, all cut with nicest skill, and piercing through a stony arch, ran winding up the hill: there deck'd with many a flower and herb his little garden stands; with fruitful trees in shady rows, all planted by his hands. then, scooped within the solid rock, three sacred vaults he shows: the chief, a chapel, neatly arch'd, on branching columns rose. each proper ornament was there, that should a chapel grace; the lattice for confession framed, and holy water vase. o'er either door a sacred text invites to godly fear; and in a little scutcheon hung the cross, and crown, and spear. up to the altar's ample breadth two easy steps ascend; and near, a glimmering, solemn light two well-wrought windows lend. 20 the hermit of warkworth. beside the altar rose a tomb all in the living stone; on which a young and beauteous maid in goodly sculpture shone. a kneeling angel, fairly carv'd, lean'd hovering o'er her breast; a weeping warrior at her feet; and near to these her crest.6 the clift, the vault, but chief the tomb, attract the wondering pair: eager they ask, "what hapless dame lies sculptur'd here so fair ?" the hermit sigh'd, the hermit wept, for sorrow scarce could speak: at length he wip'd the trickling tears, that all bedew'd his cheek. "alas! my children, human life is but a vale of woe; and very mournful is the tale which ye so fain would know!" the hermit of warkworth. 21 the hermit's tale. young lord, thy grandsire had a friend in days of youthful fame; yon distant hills were his domains, sir bertram was his name. where'er the noble percy fought, his friend was at his side; and many a skirmish with the scots their early valor tried. young bertram loved a beauteous maid, as fair as fair might be ; the dew-drop on the lily's cheek was not so fair as she. fair widdrington the maiden's name, yon towers her dwelling-place ;7 her sire an old northumbrian chief, devoted to thy race. many a lord, and many a knight, to this fair damsel came; but bertram was her only choice; for him she felt a flame. 22 the hermit of warkworth. lord percy pleaded for his friend, her father soon consents; none but the beauteous maid herself his wishes now prevents. but she, with studied fond delays, defers the blissful hour; and loves to try his constancy, and prove her maiden power. "that heart," she said, "is lightly príz'd, which is too lightly won; and long shall rue that easy maid who yields her love too soon." lord percy made a solemn feast in alnwick's princely hall; and there came lords, and there came knights, his chiefs and barons all. with wassail, mirth, and revelry, the castle rang around: lord percy call'd for song and harp, and pipes of martial sound. the minstrels of thy noble house, all clad in robes of blue, with silver crescents on their arms, attend in order due. the hermit of warkworth. 23 and high heroic acts they tell, their perils past recall: when, lo! a damsel young and fair stepp'd forward through the hall. she bertram courteously address'd; and, kneeling on her knee,"sir knight, the lady of thy love hath sent this gift to thee." then forth she drew a glittering helm, well plaited many a fold; the casque was wrought of temper'd steel, the crest of burnish'd gold. "sir knight, thy lady sends thee this, and yields to be thy bride, when thou hast prov'd this maiden gift where sharpest blows are tried." young bertram took the shining helm, and thrice he kiss'd the same: "trust me, i'll prove this precious casque with deeds of noblest fame." lord percy, and his barons bold, then fix upon a day to scour the marches, late opprest, and scottish wrongs repay. 24 the hermit of warkworth. the knights assembled on the hills a thousand horse or more : brave widdrington, though sunk in years, the percy standard bore. tweed's limpid current soon they pass, and range the borders round: down the green slopes of tiviotdale their bugle-horns resound. as when a lion in his den hath heard the hunters' cries, and rushes forth to meet his foes; so did the douglas rise. attendant on their chief's command a thousand warriors wait: and now the fatal hour drew on of cruel keen debate. a chosen troop of scottish youths advance before the rest; lord percy mark'd their gallant mien, and thus his friend address'd: "now, bertram, prove thy lady's helm, attack yon forward band; dead or alive i'll rescue thee, or perish by their hand." the hermit of warkworth. 25 young bertram bow'd, with glad assent, and spurr'd his eager steed, and calling on his lady's name, rush'd forth with whirlwind speed. as when a grove of sapling oaks the livid lightning rends; so fiercely 'mid the opposing ranks sir bertram's sword descends. this way and that he drives the steel, and keenly pierces through; and many a tall and comely knight with furious force he slew. now closing fast on every side, they hem sir bertram round: but dauntless he repels their rage, and deals forth many a wound. the vigor of his single arm had well nigh won the field; when ponderous fell a scottish axe, and clave his lifted shield. another blow his temples took, and reft his helm in twain; that beauteous helm, his lady's gift! his blood bedew'd the plain. 3 26 the hermit of warkworth. lord percy saw his champion fall amid th' unequal fight; "and now, my noble friends," he said, "let's save this gallant knight." then rushing in, with stretch'd-out shield he o'er the warrior hung, as some fierce eagle spreads her wing to guard her callow young. three times they strove to seize their prey, three times they quick retire: what force could stand his furious strokes, or meet his martial fire ? now gathering round on every part the battle rag'd amain; and many a lady wept her lord, that hour untimely slain. percy and douglas, great in arms, there all their courage show'd; and all the field was strew'd with dead, and all with crimson flow'd. at length the glory of the day. the scots reluctant yield, and, after wondrous valor shown, they slowly quit the field. the hermit of warkworth. 27 all pale, extended on their shields, and weltering in his gore, lord percy's knights their bleeding friend to wark's fair castle bore.8 "well hast thou earned my daughter's love," her father kindly said; "and she herself shall dress thy wounds, and tend thee in thy bed." a message went; no daughter came, fair isabel ne'er appears; "beshrew me," said the aged chief, 'young maidens have their fears. 66 "cheer up, my son, thou shalt her see, so soon as thou canst ride; and she shall nurse thee in her bower, and she shall be thy bride." sir bertram at her name reviv'd, he bless'd the soothing sound; fond hope supplied the nurse's care, and heal'd his ghastly wound. 28 the hermit of warkworth. part the third. one early morn, while dewy drops hung trembling on the tree, sir bertram from his sick-bed rose; his bride he would go see. a brother he had in prime of youth, of courage firm and keen ; and he would 'tend him on the way, because his wounds were green. all day o'er moss and moor they rode, by many a lonely tower; and 'twas the dew-fall of the night ere they drew near her bower. most drear and dark the castle seem'd that wont to shine so bright; and long and loud sir bertram call'd ere he beheld a light. at length her aged nurse arose, with voice so shrill and clear,— "what wight is this, that calls so loud, and knocks so boldly here ?" the hermit of warkworth. 29 ""tis bertram calls, thy lady's love, come from his bed of care : all day i've ridden o'er moor and moss to see thy lady fair." "now out, alas!" she loudly shriek'd; "alas! how may this be? for six long days are gone and past since she set out to thee." sad terror seized sir bertram's heart, and ready was he to fall; when now the drawbridge was let down, and gates were opened all. "six days, young knight, are past and gone, since she set out to thee; and sure, if no sad harm had happ'd, long since they would'st her see. "for when she heard thy grievous chance, she tore her hair, and cried, 'alas! i've slain the comeliest knight, all through my folly and pride! "and now to atone for my sad fault, and his dear health regain, i'll go myself, and nurse my love, and soothe his bed of pain.' 3* 30 the hermit of warkworth. "then mounted she her milk-white steed one morn at break of day; and two tall yeomen went with her, to guard her on the way." sad terror smote sir bertram's heart, and grief o'erwhelm'd his mind: "trust me," said he, "i ne'er will rest till i thy lady find." that night he spent in sorrow and care, and with sad boding heart or ever the dawning of the day his brother and he depart. "now, brother, we'll our ways divide, o'er scottish hills to range; do thou go north, and i'll go west; and all our dress we'll change. "some scottish carle hath seiz'd my love, and borne her to his den; and ne'er will i tread english ground till she's restor❜d again." the brothers straight their paths divide, o'er scottish hills to range; and hide themselves in quaint disguise, and oft their dress they change. the hermit of warkworth. 31 sir bertram, clad in gown of grey, most like a palmer poor, to halls and castles wanders round, and begs from door to door. sometimes a minstrel's garb he wears, with pipe so sweet and shrill; and wends to every tower and town, o'er every dale and hil!. one day as he sat under a thorn, all sunk in deep despair, an aged pilgrim pass'd him by, who mark'd his face of care. "all minstrels yet that e'er i saw are full of game and glee; but thou art sad and woe-begone! i marvel whence it be!" "father, i serve an aged lord, whose grief afflicts my mind; his only child is stolen away, and fain i would her find." "cheer up, my son; perchance," he said, "some tidings i may bear: for oft when human hopes have failed, then heavenly comfort's near. 32 the hermit of warkworth. “behind yon hills down in a lowly glen, there stands a castle fair and strong, far from the abode of men. so steep and high, "as late i chanc'd to crave an alms, about this evening hour, methought i heard a lady's voice lamenting in the tower. "and when i ask'd what harm had happ'd, what lady sick there lay? they rudely drove me from the gate, and bade me wend away." these tidings caught sir bertram's ear, he thank'd him for his tale; and soon he hasted o'er the hills, and soon he reach'd the vale. then drawing near those lonely towers, which stood in dale so low, and sitting down beside the gate, his pipes he 'gan to blow. "sir porter, is thy lord at home, to hear a minstrel's song; or may i crave a lodging here, without offence or wrong?" the hermit of warkworth. 33 "my lord," he said, " is not at home, to hear a minstrel's song; and, should i lend thee lodging here, my life would not be long." he play'd again so soft a strain, such power sweet sounds impart, he won the churlish porter's ear, and mov'd his stubborn heart. "minstrel," he said, "thou play'st so sweet, fair entrance thou should'st win, but, alas! i'm sworn upon the rood to let no stranger in. "yet, minstrel, in yon rising cliff thou'lt find a sheltering cave; and here thou shalt my supper share, and there thy lodging have." all day he sits beside the gate, and pipes both loud and clear: all night he watches round the walls, in hopes his love to hear. the first night, as he silent watch'd all at the midnight hour, he plainly heard his lady's voice lamenting in the tower. 34 the hermit of warkworth. the second night, the moon shone clear, and gilt the spangled dew; he saw his lady through the grate, but 'twas a transient view. the third night, wearied out, he slept till near the morning tide when, starting up, he seiz'd his sword, and to the castle hied. when, lo! he saw a ladder of ropes depending from the wall; and o'er the moat was newly laid a poplar strong and tall. and soon he saw his love descend, wrapt in a tartan plaid, assisted by a sturdy youth, in highland garb y-clad. amaz'd, confounded at the sight, he lay unseen and still; and soon he saw them cross the stream, and mount the neighboring hill. unheard, unknown of all within, the youthful couple fly; but what can 'scape the lover's ken, or shun his piercing eye? the hermit of warkworth. 35 with silent step he follows close behind the flying pair, and saw her hang upon with fond familiar air. 66 "thanks, gentle youth," she often said; my thanks thou well hast won: for me what wiles hast thou contriv'd! for me what dangers run! his arm "and ever shall my grateful heart thy services repay: sir bertram would no further hear, but cried, "vile traitor, stay! 99 "vile traitor! yield that lady up!" and quick his sword he drew; the stranger turn'd in sudden rage, and at sir bertram flew. with mortal hate their vigorous arms gave many a vengeful blow; but bertram's stronger hand prevail'd, and laid the stranger low. "die, traitor, die!"-a deadly thrust attends each furious word. ah! then fair isabel knew his voice, and rush'd beneath his sword. 36 the hermit of warkworth. "o stop," she cried, "o stop thy arm! thou dost thy brother slay!"and here the hermit paus'd, and wepthis tongue no more could say. at length he cried, "ye lovely pair, how shall i tell the rest? ere i could stop my piercing sword, it fell, and stabb'd her breast!" "wert thou thyself that hapless youth? ah! cruel fate!" they said. the hermit wept, and so did they: they sigh'd; he hung his head. "o blind and jealous rage," he cried, (6 what evils from thee flow!" the hermit paus'd; they silent mourn'd: he wept, and they were woe. ah, when i heard my brother's name, and saw my lady bleed, i rav'd, i wept, i curst my arm that wrought the fatal deed. in vain i clasp'd her to my breast, and clos'd the ghastly wound; in vain i press'd his bleeding corpse, and rais'd it from the ground. the hermit of warkworth. 37 my brother, alas! spake never more, his precious life was flown: she kindly strove to soothe my pain, regardless of her own. "bertram," she said, "be comforted, and live to think on me: may we in heaven that union prove, which here was not to be! 66 bertram," she said, "i still was true: thou only hadst my heart: may we hereafter meet in bliss! we now, alas! must part. "for thee i left my father's hall, and flew to thy relief, when, lo! near cheviot's fatal hills i met a scottish chief, "lord malcolm's son, whose proffer'd love i had refus'd with scorn; he slew my guards, and seiz'd on me upon that fatal morn ; "and in these dreary hated walls he kept me close confin'd; and fondly sued, and warmly press'd, to win me to his mind. 4 38 the hermit of warkworth. "each rising morn increas'd my pain, each night increas'd my fear! when, wandering in this northern garb, thy brother found me here. "he quickly form'd the brave design to set me, captive, free; and on the moor his horses wait, tied to a neighboring tree. "then haste, my love, escape away, and for thyself provide ; and sometimes fondly think on her who should have been thy bride." thus, pouring comfort on my soul, even with her latest breath, she gave one parting, fond embrace, and clos'd her eyes in death. and soon those honor'd, dear remains to england were convey'd; and there within their silent tombs, with holy rites, were laid. for me, i loath'd my wretched life, and long to end it thought; till time, and books, and holy men, had better counsels taught. the hermit of warkworth. 39 pure source they rais'd my heart to that whence heavenly comfort flows: they taught me to despise the world, and calmly bear its woes. no more the slave of human pride, vain hope, and sordid care, i meekly vow'd to spend my life in penitence and prayer. the bold sir bertram, now no more impetuous, haughty, wild; but poor and humble benedict, now lowly, patient, mild. my lands i gave to feed the poor, and sacred altars raise; and here, a lonely anchorite, i come to end my days. this sweet sequester'd vale i chose, these rocks, and hanging grove; for oft beside that murmuring stream my love was wont to rove. my noble friend approv'd my choice; this blest retreat he gave: and here i carv'd her beauteous form, and scoop'd this holy cave. 40 the hermit of warkworth. full fifty winters, all forlorn, my life i've linger'd here; and daily o'er this sculptur'd saint i drop the pensive tear. and thou, dear brother of my heart so faithful and so true, the sad remembrance of thy fate still makes my bosom rue! yet not unpitied pass'd my life, forsaken or forgot, the percy and his noble sons would grace my lowly cot; oft the great earl, from toils of state and cumbrous pomp of power, would gladly seek my little cell, to spend the tranquil hour. but length of life is length of woe! i liv'd to mourn his fall: i liv'd to mourn his godlike sons and friends and followers all. but thou the honors of thy race, lov'd youth, shalt now restore; and raise again the percy name more glorious than before. the hermit of warkworth. 41 he ceas'd; and on the lovely pair his choicest blessings laid: while they, with thanks and pitying tears, his mournful tale repaid. and now what present course to take they ask the good old sire; and, guided by his sage advice, to scotland they retire. meantime their suit such favor found at raby's stately hall, earl neville and his princely spouse now gladly pardon all. she, suppliant, at her nephew's throne the royal grace implor'd: to all the honors of the percy was restor❜d. race the youthful earl still more and more admir'd his beauteous dame: nine noble sons to him she bore, all worthy of their name. 4* notes то the hermit of warkworth. (1) robert stuart, duke of albany. (2) ralph neville, first earl of westmoreland, who chiefly resided at his two castles of brancepeth, and raby, both in the bishopric of durham. (3) joan, countess of westmoreland, mother of the young lady, was daughter of john of gaunt, and half-sister of king henry iv. (4) adjoining to the cliff which contains the chapel of the hermitage, are the remains of a small building, in which the hermit dwelt. this consisted of one lower apartment, with a little bedchamber over it, and is now in ruins; whereas the chapel, cut in the solid rock, is still very entire and perfect. (5) in the little island of coquet, near warkworth, are still seen the ruins of a cell, which belonged to the benedictine monks of tinemouth-abbey. (6) this is a bull's head, the crest of the widdrington family. all the figures, &c. here described are still visible, only somewhat effaced with length of time. (7) widdrington castle is about five miles south of warkworth. (8) wark castle, a fortress belonging to the english, and of great note in ancient times, stood on the southern banks of the river tweed, a little to the east of tiviotdale, and not far from kelso. it is now entirely destroyed. (9) king henry v. anno 1414. the two captains. by the author of undine,' etc. chapter i. a mild summer evening rested on the seashore near the city of malaga, awakening the guitar of many a cheerful singer, as well from the ships in the harbor, as from the houses in the city and the ornamental garden-d wellings around. these melodious tones emulated the voices of the birds as they greeted the refreshing breezes, and floated from the meadows over this enchanting region. some troops of infantry were on the strand, and purposed to pass the night there, that they might be ready to embark at the earliest dawn of morning. this pleasant evening made them forget that they ought to devote to sleep their last hours on european ground; they began to sing war-songs, and to drink long life to the mighty emperor charles v., now beleaguering the pirate-nest of tunis, and to whose assistance they were about to sail. these happy soldiers were not all of one race. only two banners waved for spain; the third bore the german colors; and the difference of manners and speech had often previously given rise to much bantering. now, however, thoughts of the approaching voyage, 44 the two captains. and the dangers they would share together, as well as the enjoyment which this lovely southern evening poured through soul and sense, united the comrades in full and undisturbed concord. the germans tried to speak spanish, and the spaniards german; without its occurring to any one to remark the blunders and mistakes that were made. each helped the other; thinking only how best to gain the good will of his companion by means of his own language. apart from this noisy group, a young german captain, sir heimbert of waldhausen, was reclining under a cork-tree, and looking up to the stars with a steadfast and solemn gaze, very different from the frank, social spirit which his comrades knew and loved in him so well. a spanish captain, named don frederigo mendez, approached him. he was as young, and as much accustomed to martial exercises; but his disposition was as reserved and thoughtful as heimbert's was gentle and frank. "pardon me, señor," began the solemn spaniard, "if i disturb your meditations; but i have so often known you as a courageous warrior and faithful companion in arms, in the many hot fights in which i have had the honor to see you, that i would choose you before all others for a knightly service, if it will not interfere with your own plans and projects for this evening." 1 "dear sir," frankly returned heimbert; "i have an affair of importance to transact before sunrise; but till midnight i am right willing and ready to render you any service as a brother in arms." "enough," said frederigo; "for before midnight must the tones have long ceased, in which i take leave the two captains. 45 of the dearest creature i have known in my native city. but, that you may understand the whole affair, as my noble companion should, listen to me attentively for a few moments :"some time before i left malaga, to join our great emperor's army, and to assist in spreading the glory of his arms in italy, i served, after the manner of young knights, a damsel of this city, the beautiful lucilla. she stood hardly on the border that divides childhood from growing womanhood; and as i, then a mere boy, offered my homage with friendly, childlike mind, so my young mistress in similar guise received it. "at last i went to italy, as you very well know, who were my companion in many a hot fight, as well as in many a magic and tempting scene in that luxurious land. through all our changes i held the image of my gentle mistress steadfastly, and never once relinquished the service and faith i had vowed to her; though i will not conceal from you, that it was more to fulfill the word i had pledged at my departure than from any immoderate glowing feeling of my heart. when we returned to my native city, a few weeks since, i found my lady married to one of the richest and most distinguished knights of malaga. fiercer far than love, jealousy (that almost almighty child of heaven and hell) now spurred me on to follow lucilla's steps. from her dwelling to the church-from thence to the houses of her friends, and, again to her home; and even, as far as possible, into the circle of knights and ladies which surrounds her, i unweariedly pursued her. i thus assured myself that no other young knight attended her, and that she had entirely devoted herself 46 the two captains. to the husband her parents had selected for her, although he was not the one of her heart's choice. this so fully contented me, that i should not have had occasion to trouble you at this moment, if lucilla had not approached me the other day, and whispered in my ear, that i should not provoke her husband, for he was very passionate and bold; to herself it threatened no danger-not the least-because he loved and honored her above all things; but upon that very account would his anger fall more fearfully upon me. you can now easily understand, my noble comrade, that to preserve my character for contempt of danger i must now pursue lucilla's steps more closely than ever, and sing nightly serenades beneath her flowery window till the morning star makes its mirror in the sea. at midnight, lucilla's husband sets out for madrid, and after that hour i will carefully avoid the street in which she dwells; but until then, as soon as the evening is sufficiently advanced, i will not cease to sing loveromances before his house. i have learnt that not only he, but also lucilla's brothers have engaged in the quarrel; and it is this, señor, which makes me request for a short time the assistance of your good sword." heimbert warmly seized the spaniard's hand, and said, “to shew you, dear sir, how willingly i undertake what you wish, i will meet your confidence with like frankness, and relate a pleasant incident which happened to me in this city, and beg you, after midnight, to render me a little service. my story is short, and will not detain you longer than we must wait for the twilight to become deep enough to begin your serenade. the two captains. 47 "the day after we arrived here, i was amusing myself in one of the beautiful gardens which surround us. i have now been long in these southern lands, but i believe the dreams which every night carry me back to my german home are the cause of my finding every thing about me here so strange and astonishing still. at all events, when i wake each morning i wonder anew, as if i was just arrived. i was then wandering among the aloes, and under the laurel and oleander trees, as one bewildered. suddenly i heard a cry near me, and a young lady, dressed in white, flew into my arms and fainted away, while her companions separated in every direction. a soldier has always his senses about him, and i soon perceived a furious bull pursuing the beautiful damsel. quickly i threw her over a flowery hedge, and sprang after myself, whilst the beast, blind with rage, passed us by; and i could afterwards hear no more of it, than that it had escaped from a neighboring court-yard, where some youths were trying to commence a bull-fight, and had broken furiously into this garden. "i was now alone with the senseless lady in my arms; and she was so wondrously beautiful that i have never in my whole life felt happier or sadder than at that moment. i laid her upon the grass, and sprinkled her angel-brow with water from a fountain near us. at last she came to herself, and as she opened her lovely eyes, i thought i now knew how the blessed spirits look in heaven. "she thanked me with grateful and courteous words, and called me her knight. but i was so enchanted, i could not utter a word; and she must almost have 48 the two captains. thought me dumb. at length my speech returned; and i ventured to breathe a request-which came from my heart-that the lovely lady would often give me the happiness of seeing her in this garden, for the few weeks i should remain here, till the service of the emperor should drive me forth to the burning sands of africa. she looked at me, half smiling, half sadly, and murmured, 'yes.' and she has kept her word, and appeared there daily, without our having yet ventured to speak to one another. for though we were sometimes quite alone, i could not do more than enjoy the happiness of walking by her side. often she has sung to me; and i have answered her in song. when i yesterday informed her that our departure was so near, i fancied there was a tear in her heavenly eye; and i must have looked very sorrowful also, for she said, consolingly, ah, pious, childlike warrior! one may confide in you as in an angel. after midnight, before the twilight summons you to embark, i give you leave to say farewell to me it this place. if you could find a faithful friend, whose silence you could depend on, to watch the entrance from the street, it might be as well; for many soldiers will be at that time returning from their last carouse in the city.' now god has sent me such a friend; and i shall go joyfully to the lovely maiden." 6 "i wish the service you require had more danger," answered frederigo, "that i might better prove to you how faithfully i would serve you with life and limb. but come, noble brother! the hour of my adventure is arrived." frederigo took a guitar under his arm; and wrapthe two captains. 49 ping themselves in their mantles, the young captains hastily made their way to the city. the night-violets before lucilla's window were pouring forth their sweet perfume, when frederigo, leaning in the angle of an old wide shadowing church opposite, began to tune his guitar. heimbert placed himself behind a pillar, his drawn sword under his mantle, and his clear blue eyes, like two watching stars, quietly penetrating around. frederigo sang:"fair in the spring-bright meadows grew a little flower in may, and rosy-tinted petals threw a blush upon its snowy hue, beneath the sunny ray. to me, a youth, that little flower my soul's delight became ; and often then, in happy hour, i taught my tongue with courteous power some flattering lay to frame. but ah! from where the floweret stood in delicate array, was i to distant scenes of blood, to foreign lands, o'er field and flood, soon summoned far away. and now i am returned again, i seek my lovely flower; but all my hopeful search is vain ; transplanted from its grassy plain, my flower is free no more. 5 50 the two captains. a gardener has the treasure found, and claimed it for his prize : now cherished in a guarded bound, and hedged with golden lattice round, she is denied mine eyes. his lattice he may freely twine, his jealous bars i grant: but all i need not yet resign; for still this pure delight is mine, her wondrous praise to chant. and, wandering in the coolness there, i'll touch my cithern's string, still celebrate the floweret fair; while e'en the gardener shall not dare forbid my voice to sing." "that remains to be proved, señor," said a man, stepping close, and, as he thought, unobserved, to frederigo. he had been apprised of the stranger's approach by a signal from his watchful friend, and answered with the greatest coolness: "if you wish to commence a suit with my guitar, señor, you will find she has a tongue of steel, which has already on many occasions done her excellent service. with which do you wish to speak?—with the guitar, or with the advocate?" while the stranger hesitated what to reply to this bold speech, heimbert perceived two mantled figures draw near, and remain standing a few steps from him -one behind the other, so as to cut off frederigo's flight, if he had intended to escape. "i believe, dear sirs," said sir heimbert, in a friendthe two captains. 51 (6 ly manner, we are here on the same errand: to take care that no one intrudes upon the conference of yonder knights. at least, that is my business. and i can assure you, that any one who attempts to interfere with their affair shall receive my dagger in his heart. you see we shall best fulfill our duty by remaining still." the two gentlemen bowed courteously, and were silent. so astonishing was the quiet self-possession with which the two soldiers carried on their affair, that their three companions were at a loss to imagine how they would commence their quarrel. at last frederigo again touched his guitar, and appeared about to begin another song. at this mark of contempt and unconsciousness of danger, lucilla's husband (for it was he who had taken his stand by don frederigo) was so enraged, that he, without further delay, snatched his sword from its sheath, and called out in a voice of suppressed rage: "draw! or i shall stab you!" "very willingly, señor," answered frederigo, composedly. "you have no need to threaten me, and might quite as well have spoken quietly." so saying, he laid his guitar in a niche in the church-wall, seized his weapon, and, bowing gracefully to his adversary, the fight began. for some time the two figures by heimbert's side, who were lucilla's brothers, remained quite quiet; but as frederigo began to get the better of their brother-inlaw, they made a movement, as if they would take part in the fight. at this, heimbert made his good sword gleam in the moon-light, and said: "dear sirs, you surely would not wish me to put my threat into 52 the two captains. execution. pray do not oblige me to do so; for if it cannot be otherwise, doubt not i shall keep my word." the two young men remained from this time quite motionless, surprised at the cheerful, true-hearted friendliness of all heimbert's words. " meanwhile had frederigo, though pressing hard upon his adversary, yet carefully avoided wounding him; and at last, by a dexterous movement, he wrested his weapon from him; so that lucilla's husband, in the surprise and shock of this unexpected advantage, retreated a few steps: frederigo threw the sword in the air, and adroitly catching it near the point as it descended, said, as he offered the ornamented hilt to his opponent: "take it, señor; and i hope this matter is ended; and you now understand that i am only here to shew i fear no danger in the world. the bell tolls twelve from the old dome; and i give you my word of honor, as a knight and a soldier, that neither is doña lucilla pleased with my attentions, nor should i, if i lived a hundred years in malaga, continue to serenade her. so pursue your journey in peace; and farewell." then he once more greeted his conquered adversary with solemn, stern courtesy, and withdrew. heimbert followed him, after he had cordially shaken hands with the two brothers, saying: "never let it again enter your heads, dear young gentlemen, to interfere in an honorable fight. do you understand me?" he soon overtook his companion, and walked by his side in silence-his heart beating with joy, sorrow, and expectation. don frederigo mendez was also silent, till heimbert stopped before a garden-door overhung with fruitful orange-boughs, and pointing to a pomethe two captains. 53 granate-tree laden with fruit, said: "we are at the place, dear comrade." then the spaniard appeared about to ask a question; but he checked himself, and merely said: "understand me: you have my word of honor to protect this entrance for you till the hour of dawn." he began walking to and fro before the gate with drawn sword, like a sentinel; whilst heimbert, trembling with joy, hastened through the dark groves within. chapter ii. he had not far to seek the lovely star, which he so deeply felt was the one destined to shed its light over his whole life. the full moon revealed to him the slender form of the lady walking near the entrance. she wept softly, and yet smiled with such composure, that her tears seemed rather to resemble a decoration of pearls than a veil of sorrow. the lovers wandered silently beside one another through the flowery pathway, half in sorrow, half in joy; while sometimes the night air touched the guitar on the lady's arm so lightly, that a slight murmur blended with the song of the nightingale; or her delicate fingers on the strings awoke a few fleeting chords, and the shooting stars seemed as if they would pursue the retreating tones of the guitar. o how truly blessed was this hour to the youth and maiden for now neither rash wishes nor impure desires had any place in their minds. they walked 5* 54 the two captains. side by side, satisfied that the good god had granted them this happiness; and so little desiring any thing farther, that the fleeting and perishable nature of the present floated away in the background of their thoughts. in the midst of this beautiful garden they found a large open lawn, ornamented with statues, and surrounding a fountain. on the edge of this the lovers sat down, alternately fixing their eyes on the water sparkling in the moonlight and on one another. the maiden touched her guitar; and heimbert, compelled by some irresistible impulse, sang the following words to it: "a sweet, sweet life have i, but cannot name its charm; oh! would it teach me consciously, that so my lips, in calm, soft, gentle songs, should ever praise what my fond spirit endless says." he suddenly stopped, and blushed, for he feared he had said too much. the lady blushed also; and after playing some time, half abstractedly, on the strings, she sang as if still in a dream :— "who beside the youth is singing, seated on the tender grass, where the moon her light is flinging, and the sparkling waters pass? shall the maid reveal her name, when, though still unknown it be, glows her trembling cheek with shame, and her heart beats anxiously? the two captains. 55 first let the knight be nam'd-'tis he who, in his bright array, with spaniards stood triumphantly upon the glorious day. who before pavia bravely fought, a boy of sixteen years: pride to his country hath he brought, and to his foemen fears. heimbert is his noble name; victor he in many a fight: dona clara feels no shame, sitting by so brave a knight. in her name's soft sound revealing, seated on the tender grass, where the moonbeams' light is stealing, and the sparkling waters pass." "ah," said heimbert, blushing more deeply than before," oh, doña clara, that affair at pavia was a very insignificant feat of arms; and if it had deserved a reward, what could better serve as one than the surpassing bliss which i now enjoy? now i know what your name is, and dare address you by it, you angel bright, doña clara! you blessed and beautiful doña clara! only tell me who has made so favorable a report of my youthful deeds, that i may ever think of him gratefully." "can the noble heimbert of waldhausen suppose, replied clara, "that the warriors of spain sent no sons where he stood in battle? you have surely seen them near you in the fight; and how, then, can it surprise you that your glories are known here?" 99 56 the two captains. they now heard the silvery tones of a little bell from the neighboring palace, and clara whispered, "it is time to part: adieu, my hero!" and she smiled on heimbert through her tears; and as she bent towards him, he almost fancied he felt a gentle kiss breathed on his lips. when he looked around, clara had disappeared the morning clouds began to assume the rosy tint of dawn, and he rejoined his watchful friend at the entrance-door, with a whole heaven of love's proud happiness in his heart. "stand! no further!" exclaimed frederigo, as heimbert appeared from the garden, holding, at the same time, his drawn sword towards him. "oh, you are mistaken, my good comrade," said the german, laughing," it is i whom you see before you, "" "don't imagine, sir heimbert of waldhausen, that i mistake you," said frederigo; "but i have kept my word, and honorably fulfilled my promise to be your guard in this place; and now i demand of you to draw without further delay, and fight for your life." "alas!" sighed heimbert, "i have often heard that there are witches in these southern lands, who have the power to deprive people of their senses with their magic arts and charms, but till to-day i have never experienced any thing of the sort. think better of it, my dear comrade, and go with me to the shore." frederigo smiled scornfully, and answered, "leave off your silly nonsense; and if one must explain every thing to you, word by word, before you understand it, i will tell you that the lady you came to meet in this my garden, doña clara mendez, is my only and dearest sister. now lose no further time, and draw, señor." the two captains. 57 "god forbid !" exclaimed the german, without touching his weapon: "you shall be my brother-inlaw, frederigo, and not my murderer, still less will i be yours." frederigo shook his head angrily, and advanced with measured steps towards his companion. heimbert, however, continued motionless, and said, "no, frederigo, i can never do you any harm; for not only do i love your sister, but you must certainly be the person who has spoken to her so honorably of my battle-deeds in italy." "if i did so," answered frederigo, "i was a fool. but thou, thou weak coward, draw thy sword, or—” frederigo had hardly spoken these words, before heimbert, glowing with indignation, snatched his sword from its sheath, exclaiming, "this the devil himself could not bear!" and now the two young captains fiercely closed upon one another. this was quite another battle to that which frederigo had previously fought with lucilla's husband. the two soldiers well understood their weapons, and boldly strove with one another; the light gleamed from their swords, as first one and then the other made a deadly thrust with the speed of lightning, which his adversary as speedily turned aside. firmly they planted the left foot, as if rooted in the earth, the right advanced one step to make each onset, and then quickly withdrawn to recover their footing. from the resolution and quiet self-possession with which both combatants fought, it was easy to see that one or other of them must find his grave beneath the orange-trees, whose overhanging boughs were now illuminated by 58 the two captains. the glow of morning. this would certainly have been the case, had not the report of a cannon from the harbor reached them. the combatants stopped as at an understood signal, and silently counted till thirty, when a second gun was heard. "that is the signal for embarkation, señor,” said frederigo; "we are now in the emperor's service, and all fighting is unlawful which is not against the foes of charles the fifth. we must defer our combat until the termination of the war." the two captains hastened to the shore, and were engaged in the embarkation of their troops. the sun, rising from the sea, shone at once on the ships and the water. chapter iii. the voyagers had for some time to contend with contrary winds; and when, at last the coast of barbary became visible, the evening closed so deeply over the sea, that no pilot in the little squadron would venture nearer land, and they anchored in the calm sea. they crossed themselves, and anxiously waited for the morning; while the soldiers, full of hope and anticipation of honor, assembled in groups upon the decks, straining their eyes to see the long-desired scene of their glory. meanwhile the heavy firing of besiegers and besieged thundered unceasingly from the fortress of goletta; and as the heavy clouds of night thickened over the shore, the flames of the burning houses in the city became the two captains. 59 more visible, and the course of the fiery shots could be distinctly traced as they crossed each other in their path of frightful devastation. it was evident that the musselmans had sallied forth, for a sharp fire of musketry was suddenly heard amidst the roaring of the cannon. the fight now approached the trenches of the christians; and from the ships they could hardly see whether the besiegers were in danger or not. at last they perceived that the turks were driven back into the fortress: thither the christian host pursued them, and loud shouts of victory were heard from the spanish camp-goletta was taken! the troops on board the ships were composed of young courageous men; and how their hearts glowed and beat high at this glorious spectacle need not be detailed to those who carry a brave heart in their own bosoms; while to any other, all description would be thrown away. heimbert and frederigo stood near one another. "i know not," said the latter, "what it is which tells me that tomorrow i must plant my standard upon yonder height, which is so brightly lighted up by the burning brands in goletta." "that is just my feeling," said heimbert. then the two captains were silent, and turned angrily away. the wished-for morning at last arose, the ships neared the shore, and the troops landed, while an officer was immediately despatched to apprise the mighty general alva of the arrival of this reinforcement. the soldiers hastily ranged themselves on the beach, and were soon in battle-order, to await the inspection of their great leader. 60 the two captains. clouds of dust appeared in the gray twilight, and the officer, hastening back, announced the approach of the general. and because, in the language of castile, alva signifies'morning,' the spaniards raised a shout of triumph at the happy omen they perceived in the first beams of the rising sun and the head of the general's staff becoming visible together. alva's stern pale face soon appeared: he was mounted upon a large andalusian charger of the deepest black, and galloped up and down the lines once; then, halting in the middle, looked over the ranks with a scrutinizing eye, and said, with evident satisfaction, "you pass muster well. 'tis as it should be. i like to see you in such order, and can perceive that, notwithstanding your youth, you are tried soldiers. we will first hold a review, and then i will lead you to something more interesting." he dismounted, and, walking to the right wing, began to inspect one troop after another in the closest manner, summoning each captain to his side, and exacting from him an account of the most minute particulars. sometimes a cannon-ball from the fortress whistled over the heads of the soldiers; and then alya would stand still, and closely observe their countenances. when he saw that no eye moved, a contented smile spread itself over his solemn face. when he had thus examined both divisions, he remounted his horse, and again placed himself in the middle. stroking his long beard, he said, "you are in such good order, soldiers, that you shall take your part in the glorious day which now dawns for our christian armada. we will take barbarossa! do you hear the two captains. 61 the drums and fifes in the camp? and see him sally forth to meet the emperor? yonder is the place for you!" "vivat carolus quintus!" resounded through the ranks. alva beckoned the captains to him, and appointed to each his duty. he was used to mingle the german and spanish troops together, that emulation might increase their courage; and on the present occasion it happened that heimbert and frederigo were commanded to storm the height which, now illumined by the beams of morning, they recognized as the very same that had appeared so inviting the night before. the cannons roared, and the trumpets sounded, the colors waved proudly in the breeze, and the leaders. gave the word "march!" when the troops rushed on all sides to the battle. thrice had frederigo and heimbert almost forced their way through a breach in the wall of the fortifications on the height, and thrice were they repulsed by the fierce resistance of the turks into the valley below. the musselmans shouted after the retreating foe, clashed their weapons furiously together, and contemptuously laughing, asked whether any one would again venture to give heart and brain to the scimitar, and his body to the rolling stones. the two captains, gnashing their teeth with fury, rearranged their ranks, in order to fill the places of the slain and mortally wounded in these three fruitless attacks. meanwhile a murmur ran through the christian host, that a witch fought for the enemy, and helped them to conquer. at this moment duke alva rode up to them; he looked sharply at the breach they had made. "could 6 62 the two captains. you not break through the foe here?" said he, shaking his head. "this surprises me; for from you two youths and your troops i expected better things." "do you hear, do you hear that?" cried the captains, pacing through their lines. the soldiers shouted loudly, and demanded to be led once more against the enemy. even those mortally wounded exerted their last breath to cry, "forward, comrades!" swift as an arrow had the great alva leapt from his horse, and, seizing a partisan from the stiff hand of one of the slain, he placed himself before them, and cried, "i will have part in your glory! in the name of god and of the blessed virgin, forwards, my children! " they rushed joyfully up the hill, all hearts reanimated, and raising their war-cry to heaven, while a few already cried, "victoria! victoria!" and the musselmans seemed to give way. then, like the vision of an avenging angel, a maiden, dressed in richly embroidered garments of purple and gold, appeared in the turkish ranks; and those who were terrified before, now shouted, "allah!" and accompanied that name with "zelinda, zelinda!" the maiden drew a small box from beneath her arm; and after opening and breathing into it, threw it among the christian army. a wild explosion from this destructive engine scattered through the host a whole fire of rockets, grenades, and other fearful messengers of death. 'the astounded troops held on through the storm. "on, on!" cried alva; and "on!" echoed the two captains. but at that moment a flaming bolt fastened on the duke's high-plumed cap, and burnt and crackled about his the two captains. 63 head, so that the general fell fainting down the height. then the spanish and german troops were generally routed, and fled hurriedly from the fearful height before the storm. the musselmans again shouted; and zelinda's beauty shone over the conquering host like a baleful star. when alva opened his eyes, he saw heimbert standing over him, his clothes, face, and arms scorched by the fire he had with much difficulty extinguished on his commander's head, when a second body of flame rolled down the height in the same manner. the duke was thanking the youth for his preservation, when some soldiers came by, who told him the saracen power had commenced an attack on the opposite wing of the army. alva threw himself on the first horse they brought him, and without losing a word, dashed to the place where the threatened danger called him. frederigo's glowing eye was fixed on the rampart where the brilliant lady stood, with her snow-white arm extended in the act of hurling a two-edged spear; sometimes encouraging the musselmans in arabic, then again speaking scornfully to the christians in spanish. don frederigo exclaimed, "oh, foolish lady! she thinks to daunt me, and yet places herself before me,so tempting, so irresistible a war-prize!" and as if magic wings had grown from his shoulders, he began to fly up the height with such swiftness, that alva's storm-flight from thence appeared a lazy snail's pace. before any one could see how he had gained the height, and wresting spear and shield from the lady, he seized her in his arms, and attempted to bear her away as his prize, while zelinda clung with both 64 the two captains. hands to the palisade in anxious despair. her cries for help were unavailing; partly because the turks were stupified with astonishment to see the magic power of the lady overcome by the almost magic deed of the youth, and partly because the faithful heimbert, immediately on perceiving his companion's enterprise, had led both troops to his support, and now stood by his side, fighting hand to hand with the besieged. this time the fury of the musselmans, overcome as they were by surprise and superstition, availed nothing against the prowess of the christian soldiers. the spaniards and germans broke through the enemy, assisted by fresh squadrons of their army. the mohammedans fled with frightful howling; and the banner of the holy german empire, and that of the imperial house of castile, united by joyful victorias, waved over the glorious battle-field before the walls of tunis. chapter iv. zelinda had escaped from frederigo's arms in the confusion of the conquerors and conquered, and flew so swiftly through the well-known ground, that though love and desire added wings to his feet, she was soon out of sight. this kindled the fury of the enchanted spaniard so much the more against the infidel foe. wherever they collected their scattered force to withstand the progress of the christians, he hastened with the troops, which ranged themselves around him as the two captains. 65 about a victorious banner; while heimbert was ever at his side like a faithful shield, often warding off from his friend dangers which were unperceived by the infatuated youth. they learnt that barbarossa had fled the day before, and pushed onwards with little opposition through the gates of tunis. frederigo's and heimbert's troops were always together. 66 "" thick clouds of smoke began to roll through the street, and the soldiers had frequently to shake off the sparks and burning fragments which fell upon their coats and richly plumed helmets. suppose the enemy has set fire to the powder-magazine in despair! exclaimed the thoughtful heimbert. and frederigo, to whom a word or sign was sufficient, hastened to the spot from whence the smoke proceeded. their troops pressed closely after them. a sudden turn in the street brought them upon a magnificent palace, out of whose beautifully ornamented windows the flames were already bursting. their fitful splendor seemed to make them like death-torches, prepared to do honor to the costly building in the hour of its ruin, as they illuminated first one part and then another of the massy edifice, and then sunk down again into fearful darkness of smoke and vapor. and like a faultless statue, the crowning glory of the whole, zelinda stood upon a giddy projection, wreathed around with gleaming tongues of flame, calling upon the faithful to assist her in securing from destruction the wisdom of many centuries, which was laid up in this building. the pinnacle tottered with the effects of the 6* 66 the two captains. fire beneath, and a few stones gave way. frederigo anxiously cried to the endangered lady; and hardly had she withdrawn her lovely foot, when the whole came crashing down on the pavement. zelinda disappeared within the burning palace, and frederigo rushed up the marble steps; heimbert, his ever-faithful friend, immediately following. their swift feet led them into a vast saloon, where they saw high arches over their heads, and a labyrinth of chambers opening one into another around them. the walls were all ranged with splendid shelves, in which were stored rolls of parchment, papyrus, and palm-leaf, inscribed with the long-forgotten characters of past ages, which had now reached the end of their designs; for the flames were creeping in destruction among them, and stretched their serpent-like heads from one repository of learning to another; while the spanish soldiers, who had hoped for plunder, were enraged at finding this mighty building filled only with these parchments, and the more so, because they discerned in them nothing but what appeared to them magical characters. frederigo flew, as in a dream, through the strange halls, now half consumed, ever calling zelinda; not thinking or caring for any thing but his enchanting beauty. long did heimbert remain at his side, till they reached a cedar staircase which led to a higher story, where frederigo listened a moment, and then said: "she is speaking there aloud! she needs my help!" and sprung up the glowing steps. heimbert hesitated an instant, for he saw them giving way, and thought to warn his companion; but at that moment the two captains. 67 they broke down, and left nothing but a fiery path. still he could see that frederigo had clung to an iron grating, over which he soon swung himself. the way was inaccessible to heimbert: quickly recollecting himself, he lost no time in idly gazing, but hastily sought another flight of stairs in the neighboring halls, which would conduct him to his friend. meanwhile frederigo, following the enchanting voice, had reached a gallery, in the midst of which was a fearful abyss of flames, while the pillars on each side were yet standing. he soon perceived the lovely figure of zelinda, who clung to a pillar with one hand, while with the other she threatened some spanish soldiers, who seemed every moment about to seize her, and already had her delicate foot advanced to the edge of the glowing gulf. it was impossible for frederigo to join her, for the breadth of the separating flames was far too great to spring across. trembling lest his voice. should make the maiden, through either terror or anger, precipitate herself into the abyss, he spoke quite softly over the fiery grave: "ah, zelinda! have no such frightful thoughts; your preserver is here!" the maiden bowed her queenly head. and when frederigo saw her so calm and composed, he cried with all the thunder of a warrior's voice, "back! you rash plunderers! whoever advances one step nearer to that lady shall feel the weight of my anger!" they started, and appeared willing to retire, till one among them said, "the knight can do us no harm—the gulf is a little too broad for that; and as for the lady's throwing herself in, it is evident that the young knight is her lover; and whoever has a lover is not so inclined to throw 68 the two captains. herself away." at this they laughed, and again advanced. zelinda neared the flaming edge; but frederigo, with the fury of a lion, had torn his target from his arm, and now flung it across with so sure an aim, that the rash leader fell senseless to the ground. the rest again stood still. "away with you!" cried frederigo, authoritatively; "or my dagger shall strike the next as surely; nor will i ever rest till i have found you out, and made you feel the force of my vengeance.” the dagger gleamed in the youth's hand, and yet more fearfully gleamed the rage in his eyes. the soldiers fled. then zelinda bowed courteously to her preserver; and taking a roll of palm-leaves which lay at her feet, she hastily disappeared at a side-door of the gallery. in vain did frederigo seek her in the burning palace. the great alva held a council with his officers in an open place in the midst of the conquered city, and, by means of an interpreter, questioned the moorish prisoners what had become of the beautiful enchantress who had been seen encouraging them on the walls, and who, he said, was the most lovely sorceress the world ever nothing could be gained from the answers; for though all knew her to be a noble lady, well versed in magic lore, none seemed able to tell from whence she had entered tunis, or whither she had now fled. at last, when they had begun to think their ignorance was the pretence of obstinacy, an old dervish, who had been hitherto unnoticed, pressed forward, and said, with a scornful smile: "whoever wishes to seek the lady, the way is open for him. i will not conceal what i know of her destination; and i do know something. only the two captains. 69 you must first promise me i shall not be compelled to guide any one to her, or my lips shall remain closed for ever; and you may do what you will with me." he looked like one who would keep his word; and alva, who was pleased with the man's resolute spirit (so akin to his own), gave him the desired assurance. the dervish began his relation. he was once, he said, wandering in the endless desert of sahara-perhaps from empty curiosity, and perhaps for a better reason. he lost his way; and at last, when wearied to death, he reached one of those fruit-bearing islands which they call an oasis. now followed a description of the things he saw there, clothed in all the warmth of oriental imagery; so that the hearts of his hearers sometimes melted within them, and sometimes their hair stood on end at the horrors he related; though, from the strange pronunciation of the speaker, and from his hurried way of speaking, they could hardly understand half he said. the end of all was, that zelinda dwelt upon this blooming island, surrounded on all sides by the pathless desert, and protected by magic terrors. on her way thither, as the old dervish very well knew, she had left the city half an hour before. the contemptuous words with which he closed his speech shewed plainly that he desired nothing more than that some christian would undertake the journey, which would inevitably lead him to destruction. at the same time he solemnly affirmed he had uttered nothing but undoubted truth, as a man would do who knows that things are just as he related them. thoughtful and astonished were the circle of officers around him. 70 the two captains. heimbert had just joined the party, after seeking his friend in the burning palace, and collecting and arranging their troops in such a manner as to prevent the possibility of any surprise from the robber-hordes. he now advanced before alva, and humbly bowed. "what wilt thou, my young hero?" said alva, greeting the young captain in the most friendly manner. "i know your smiling, blooming countenance well. the last time i saw you, you stood like a protecting angel over me. i am so sure that you can make no request but what is knightly and honorable, that i grant it, whatever it may be." "my gracious general," said heimbert, whose cheeks glowed at this praise, "if i may venture to ask a favor, it is, that you will give me permission to follow the lady zelinda in the way this strange dervish has pointed out." the great general bowed assentingly, and added: "to a more noble knight could not this honorable adventure be consigned." "i do not know that," said an angry voice in the crowd; "but this i do know, that to me, above all other men, this adventure belongs, as a reward for the capture of tunis. for who was the first on the height and in the city?" "that was don frederigo mendez," said heimbert, taking the speaker by the hand, and leading him before alva. "in his favor i will willingly resign my reward; for he has done the emperor and the army better service than i have." "neither of you shall lose his reward," said alva. the two captains. 71 "each has now permission to seek the maiden in whatever way he thinks best." swift as lightning the two young captains escaped from the circle on opposite sides. chapter v. like a vast trackless sea, without one object to break the dreary monotony of its horizon, ever white and ever desolate, the great desert of sahara stretches itself before the eyes of the unhappy wanderer who has lost himself in this frightful region. and, in another way, it resembles the ocean. it throws up waves; and often a burning mist is seen on its surface. not, indeed, the gentle play of the waves which unite all the coasts of the earth; where each wave, as it rolls onward, brings you a message of love from the far island-kingdom, and carries your answer with it in a love-flowing dance. these waves are only the wild toying of the hot wind with the faithless dust, which always falls back again upon its joyless plain, and never reaches the solid land, where happy men dwell. it is not the lovely cool seabreeze in which the friendly fays sport themselves, and form their blooming gardens and stately grottos: it is the suffocating vapor rebelliously given back to the glowing sun by the unfruitful sands. hither the two captains arrived at the same time, and stood struck with astonishment at the pathless chaos before them. traces of zelinda, which were not easily hidden, had hitherto compelled them to 72 the two captains. travel almost always together, however displeased frederigo might be, and whatever angry glances he cast upon his unwelcome companion. each had hoped to overtake zelinda before she reached the desert, well knowing how almost impossible it would be to find her, if she had once entered it. and now they had failed in this, and could obtain no further information from the few arabs they met, than that there existed a tradition that any one who would travel in a southerly direction, guiding his course by the stars, would, the sages maintained, arrive at a wonderfully blooming oasis, the dwelling of a heavenly beautiful enchantress. but all this appeared to the speakers to be highly uncertain and mysterious. the young men looked troubled; and their horses snorted and started back at the treacherous sand, while even the riders were uneasy and perplexed. then they sprang from their saddles suddenly, as at some word of command; and taking the bridles from their horses, and slackening the girths, they turned them loose on the plain, to find their way back to the habitation of man. they took some provision from their saddle-bags, placed it on their shoulders, and, casting from their feet their heavy riding-boots, they plunged, like two courageous swimmers, into the endless waste. with no other guide than the sun by day, and by night the host of stars, the two captains soon lost sight of one another; for frederigo had avoided the object of his displeasure; while heimbert, thinking of nothing but the end of his journey, and firmly relying upon god's protection, pursued his course in a due southerly direction. the two captains. 73 the night had many times succeeded the day, when, one evening, heimbert was quite alone on the endless desert, without one fixed object for his eye to rest upon; the light flask he carried was empty; and the evening brought with it, instead of the desired coolness, only suffocating columns of sand; so that the exhausted wanderer was obliged to press his burning face to the scorching plain to escape the death-bringing cloud. sometimes he thought he heard footsteps near him, and the sound of a wide mantle rustling over him; but when he raised himself with anxious haste, he only saw what he had already too often seen in the daytime-the wild beasts of the wilderness roaming about the desert in undisturbed freedom. now it was a frightful camel, then a long-necked ungainly giraffe, or a great ostrich with its wings outspread. they all appeared to scoff at him; and he resolved to open his eyes no more, but rather perish, without allowing these hateful and strange creatures to disturd his soul in the hour of death. soon he heard the sound of horse's hoofs and neighing, and saw a shadow on the sand, and heard a man's voice close to him. half unwilling, he yet could not resist raising himself wearily; when he saw a rider in an arab's dress on a slender arabian horse. overcome with joy at the sight of a human being, he exclaimed: "welcome, o man, in this frightful waste! and succour, if thou canst, thy fellow man, who must otherwise perish with thirst." and then remembering that the tones of his dear german mother-tongue were not intelligible in this joyless land, he repeated these words in that common language, the lingua romana, which 7 74 the two captains. is universally used by mohammedans and christians. in this part of the world. the arab was silent some time, and looked with scorn upon his strange discovery. at last he replied in the same language: "i was in barbarossa's fight, sir knight, as well as you; and if our overthrow affected me bitterly, i now find no little satisfaction at seeing ane of our conquerors lying so pitifully before me." "pitifully!" angrily repeated heimbert; and his wounded feelings of honor for the moment giving him back all his strength, he seized his sword, and stood in battle order. "oh, oh!" laughed the arab; "is the christian viper so strong? then it only remains for me to put spurs to my good steed, and leave thee to perish here, thou lost creeping worm." "ride where thou list, dog of a heathen!" retorted heimbert. "before i accept a crumb from thee, i will perish, unless the dear god sends me manna in this wilderness." the arab spurred his fleet horse, and galloped two hundred paces, laughing long and loud. he stopped, however, and, trotting back to heimbert, said: "thou art rather too good a knight to leave to die of hunger and thirst. have a care, now; my good sabre shall reach thee." heimbert, who had again stretched himself in hopeless despair on the burning sand, was quickly roused by these words to his feet, sword in hand; and as the arab's horse flew past him, with a sudden spring the stout german avoided the blow and parried the cut which the rider aimed at him with his turkish scimitar. the two captains. 75 repeatedly did the arab make similar attacks, vainly hoping to give his antagonist the death-blow. at last, overcome by impatience, he came so near, that heimbert was able to seize him by the girdle and tear him from the fast-galloping horse. with this violent exertion, heimbert also fell to the ground, but he lay above his adversary; and holding a dagger he had pulled from his girdle before his face, he said: "wilt thou have mercy or death?” the arab closed his eyes before the murderous steel, and answered: "have pity on me, thou brave warrior! i surrender to thee." heimbert commanded him to throw away the sabre he still held in his right hand. he did so; and both combatants rose from the ground, to sink again immediately upon the sand; for the conqueror felt himself far weaker that the conquered. the arab's good horse had returned to his master, as is the custom of those noble animals, who never forsake even a fallen lord, and now stood behind them, stretching his long slender neck over them with a friendly look. "arab," said heimbert, with exhausted voice, "take from thy horse what provision thou hast, and place it before me." the subdued arab did humbly what was commanded him, now submitting to the will of his conqueror, as he had before treated him with revengeful anger. after taking some draughts of palm-wine from the skin, heimbert looked at the youth with new eyes. he partook of some fruits, drank again of the wine, and said, "have you much farther to ride this night, young man?" 76 the two captains. "yes, indeed," answered the arab, sorrowfull "upon a very distant oasis dwells my aged father a my blooming bride. now, even if you leave me n freedom, i must perish in this waste desert before i ca reach my lovely home." "is that the oasis," asked heimbert, "on which th powerful, magic lady, zelinda, dwells?" "allah forbid!" exclaimed the arab, clasping h hands together. "zelinda's wonderous island receive none but magicians, and lies far to the scorching south while our friendly home stretches toward the coole west." "i only asked the question to see if we could b companions by the way," said heimbert, kindly. "a that cannot be, we must divide every thing; for would not have so good a soldier perish with hunge and thirst." saying this, the young captain began to divide the fruits and wine into two portions, placing the greater at his left hand, the smaller at his right, and desired the arab to take the former. he listened with astonishment as heimbert added: "see, good sir, i have either not much further to pursue my journey, or i shall die in this desert; of that i have a strong presentiment. besides, i cannot carry so much on foot as you can on horseback." "knight! victorious knight!" cried the amazed musselman, "do you give me my horse?" "it would be a sin and shame to deprive so noble a rider of such a faithful beast," replied heimbert, smiling. "ride on, in god's name! and may you safely reach your destination." the two captains. 77 he assisted him to mount; and just as the arab was thanking him, he suddenly exclaimed, "the magic lady!" and, putting spurs to his horse, flew over the dusty plain swift as the wind; while heimbert, on looking round, saw close beside him, in the bright moonlight, a shining figure, which he easily recognized to be zelinda. chapter vi. the lady looked fixedly at the young soldier, and appeared thinking how she should address him, while he, with astonishment at suddenly finding her he had so long sought, was equally at a loss for words. at length she said in spanish, "thou wonderful enigma, i have been witness to all that has passed between thee and the arab; and the affair perplexes my head as a whirlwind. tell me plainly, that i may know whether thou art a madman or an angel.” “i am neither one or other, dear lady," answered heimbert, with his wonted friendliness. "i am only a poor wanderer, who have been obeying one of the commands of his dear lord jesus christ." "sit down," said zelinda, "and relate to me the history of thy lord, who must be an unheard-of person, if he has such servants as thee. the night is cool and still, and beside me thou hast nothing to fear from the dangers of the waste." "lady," replied heimbert, smiling, "i am not of a fearful disposition, and when i am speaking of my 7* 78 the two captains. 1 blessed lord and redeemer, i know not the least anxiety." so saying, they both sat down on the now cooled sand, and began a wondrous conversation, while the clear moon shone upon them like a magic lamp from the high blue heavens, heimbert's words, full of love, and truth, and simplicity, sank like soft sunbeams into zelinda's heart, driving away the unholy magic power which ruled her, and wrestling with that for possession of the noble territory of her soul. when the morning dawned, she said, "thou wouldst not be called an angel, but surely thou art one; for what are the angels but messengers of the most high god?" "in that sense," returned heimbert, "i am content to be so called. my hope is, to bear his message at all times; and if he bestows further grace and strength upon me, it will give me pleasure if you become my companion in this pious work." "that is not impossible," said zelinda, thoughtfully. "but first come with me to my island, where thou shalt be entertained as beseems such an ambassador, far better than here on the desert sand, with miserable palm-wine, which thou must obtain with difficulty." "pardon me," answered heimbert; "it is difficult to refuse a lady any request, but it is unavoidable on this occasion. in your island, many glorious things are brought together by forbidden arts, and their forms are changed from those the almighty one created. these might dazzle my senses, and in the end enslave them. if you wish to hear more of those best and purest things which i can relate to you, you must come the two captains. 79 out to me on this barren sand. the arab's dates and palm-wine will suffice for many a day yet." "you would do much better to come with me," said zelinda, shaking her head with a dissatisfied smile. "you were surely neither born nor educated for a hermit, and there is nothing upon my oasis so very mysterious as you suppose. what is there so strange in birds, and beasts, and flowers, being collected together from different parts of the world, and perhaps a little changed, so that one partakes of the nature of another, as you must have seen in our arabian pictures? a moving changing flower, a bird growing on a branch, a fountain emitting fiery sparks, a singing bough-these truly are not such frightful, hateful things?" "he must avoid temptation, who will not be overcome by it," answered heimbert, very gravely. "i shall remain in the wilderness is it your pleasure to visit me here again?" zelinda looked down, somewhat displeased, then lowly bending her head, she answered, "yes; tomorrow evening i will be here." she turned away, and immediately disappeared in the rising storm-blast of the desert. with the return of evening the lovely lady appeared, and watched the night through in holy converse with the inspired youth, leaving him in the morning humbler, purer, and more pious; and this went on for several days. "thy palm-wine and dates must be consumed," said zelinda one evening; and placed before heimbert a flask of rich wine and some costly fruits. he, however, softly put the gifts aside, and answered, "noble lady, i thank you from my heart, but i fear 80 the two captains. these have been made by your magic arts; or could you assure me that they are not, by him whom you are beginning to know?" zelinda's eyes sank in silent confusion, and she took back her gifts. the next evening she brought some similar provisions, and, smiling confidently, gave the desired assurance. then heimbert partook of them without scruple; and henceforth the pupil hospitably provided for the sustenance of her teacher in the wilderness. and now, as the knowledge of the truth sank more deeply in zelinda's soul, so that she often sat till morning listening to the young man with glowing cheeks, flowing hair, sparkling eyes, and folded hands, he carefully observed to make her understand that it was on account of his friend he had sought her in this dreary region, and that it was frederigo's love for her which was the means of the highest good to her soul. she well remembered the handsome, fearless young captain who had stormed the height and clasped her in his arms, and related to their friend how he had saved her in the burning library. heimbert had many pleasant things to say of frederigo; of his knightly deeds, his serious mind, and of his love to zelinda, which, since the capture of tunis, would not be hidden within his troubled breast, but betrayed itself in a thousand ways, sleeping or waking, to the young german. the godly truth, and the image of her loving hero, entered zelinda's heart together, and both took root there. heimbert's presence, and the almost adoring admiration with which his pupil regarded him, did not disturb this state of mind; for froin the first moment, his appearance had something too pure and heavenly to allow of any the two captains. 81 thoughts of earthly love. when heimbert was alone, he often smiled to himself, and said in his own beloved german language, "how delightful it is to be able,. consciously, to repay frederigo the service he did me, unconsciously, with his angelic sister!" then he would sing such lovely german songs of clara's beauty and pious grace, as sounded strangely pleasant in the wilderness, and beguiled his long and lonely hours. as once zelinda came in the evening light, her steps airy and graceful, and carrying a basket of food for heimbert on her lovely head, he smiled and shook his head, saying, "it is quite incomprehensible to me, lovely maiden, why you continue to come to me in this waste. you cannot find pleasure in magic arts now that the spirit of truth and love dwells within you; and if you changed all things in your oasis into the natural forms which the merciful god gave them, i could go thither with you, and we should have much more time for holy converse." "sir knight," answered zelinda, "you speak truly, and i have thought of doing what you say for many days, but a strange visitor deprives me of the power. the dervish whom you saw in tunis, is with me; and because in past days we have performed many magic works together, he thinks to usurp his former authority over me now. he perceives the alteration in me, and on that account is the more importunate." "we must either expel or convert him," said heimbert, girding on his sword, and taking up his shield from the ground. "lead me, dear lady, to your wonderful island." 82 the two captains. "you avoided it before," answered the astonished. damsel," and it still remains quite unchanged." "formerly it would have been only rashness to venture," returned heimbert. "you came out to me here, which was better for us both. now, however, the old serpent might destroy in you the work the lord has done, and it is therefore a knightly duty to go. in god's name, then, to the work." and they hastened together across the darkening plain to the blooming island. magic airs began to play about their heads, and bright stars sparkled from the waving boughs beside their path. heimbert fixed his eyes on the ground, and said, "go before me, lovely lady, and guide me at once to the place where i shall find the dervish, for i will see as little of these distracting magic forms as is possible." zelinda did as he desired; and so, for the moment, each performed the other's part. the maiden was the guide, while heimbert followed, with confiding friendliness, in the unknown path. branches stooped as if to caress their cheek; wonderful singing-birds grew from the bushes; golden and green serpents, with little golden crowns, crept on the velvet turf, on which heimbert steadfastly bent his eyes, and brilliant stones gleamed from the moss. when the serpents touched these jewels, they gave forth a silvery sound. the soldier let the serpents creep, and the precious stones sparkle, without caring for any thing save to follow hastily the footsteps of his guide. the two captains. 83 "we are at the place," said she, with suppressed voice; and looking up, he saw a shining grotto of shells, and perceived within a man asleep, clad in a complete suit of gold scale-armor, of the old numidian fashion. "is that also a phantom, in golden scales?" asked heimbert, smiling. "oh, no," answered zelinda, very gravely, "it is the dervish himself; and i see, from his having clothed himself in that coat of mail, which has been made invulnerable by being dipped in dragon's blood, that he has, by his magic, made himself aware of our intentions." "what does that signify?" said heimbert; "he must know them at last." and he began to call with cheerful voice, "awake, old man! awake! here is an acquaintance of yours, to whom you must speak." as the dervish opened his great rolling eyes, all the wondrous things in this magic region began to move; the water to dance, the branches to strike one another in wild confusion, and, at the same time, the jewels, and corals, and shells gave forth strange, perplexing melodies. "roll and turn, thunder and play, as you will,” cried heimbert, looking steadfastly around him, "you shall not turn me from my good purpose; and to overpower all this tumult, god has given me a strong, farsounding, soldier's voice." then he turned to the dervish, saying, "it appears, old man, that you already know what has passed between zelinda and me. if you do not know the whole matter, i will tell you, in a few words, that already she is as good as a christian, 84 the two captains. and the bride of a noble spanish knight. for your own sake, do not put any hindrance in the way; but it would be far better for you, if you would also become a christian. talk to me of this, and command all these devilries to cease; for see, dear sir, our religion speaks of such divine and heavenly things, that one must lay aside all rough and violent passions." but the dervish, whose hatred glowed towards all christians, hardly waited to hear the knight's last words before he pressed upon him with drawn scimitar. heimbert put aside his thrust, saying, "take care of yourself, sir: i have heard that your weapons are charmed; but that avails nought before my good sword, which has been consecrated in holy places.” the dervish recoiled from the sword wildly, but as wildly sprang to the other side of his adversary, who only caught the deadly cuts with his target. like a golden scaly dragon, the mohammedan swung himself round heimbert, with a ferocity which, with his long flowing white beard, had something ghastly and horrible in it. heimbert was prepared to oppose him on all sides, only watching carefully for some opening in the scales made by his violent movements. at last it happened as he expected: he saw between the breast and arm the dark garments of the dervish, and there the german made his deadly thrust. the old man cried, "allah! allah!" and fell, fearful even in his fall, senseless to the ground. "yet i pity him," sighed heimbert, leaning on his sword, and looking down on his fallen foe; "he fought nobly, and in his death he called upon his allah, whom he believes to be the true god. we must give him the two captains. 85 honorable burial." he dug a grave with the broad scimitar of his adversary, laid the corpse in it, covering it with turf, and knelt in silent, heartfelt prayer for the soul of the departed. chapter vii. when heimbert rose from his pious duty, his first glance fell on the smiling zelinda, who stood by his side; the second, upon the completely changed scene around. grottos and caverns had vanished, and with them also the half-terrible, half-charming caricatures of trees and beasts; a gentle hillock of the softest green sloped on each side from the point where he stood to the sandy plain. several little springs of water murmured in refreshing beauty, and date-trees overhung the pleasant spot, all now smiling with simple sweet peace in the beams of the rising sun. "6 lady," said heimbert to his companion, "you can now feel how immeasurably greater aud more beautiful is all that the dear father of us all has created than any work of man's highest art. to assist him in his gracious works has the heavenly gardener, in his abundant mercy, granted to us, his beloved children, that we may become thereby better and happier; but we should be especially careful not to walk in our own rash, willful ways: this it is which drives us a second time from paradise." "it shall not happen again," said zelinda, humbly kneeling before the youth. "wouldst thou dare, in 8 86 the two captains. this desolate region, where we can meet with no priest of our faith, to bestow upon me, who am now changed, without farther delay, the blessing of holy baptism?" heimbert answered, after a thoughtful pause, "i hope i may do this: if i am wrong, god will pardon what is surely done in zeal to bring to him so worthy a soul as soon as possible." they walked side by side to one of the springs of the oasis, silently praying, and their souls filled with peaceful hope. by the time they had reached it, and addressed themselves to the holy work, the sun had risen in glory, as if to confirm and strengthen them in their purpose; so that their beaming countenances looked joyful and confiding to one another. heimbert had not thought of what christian name he would bestow upon his neophyte; but as he sprinkled the water over her, and saw the desert-sea, so solemn in the glow of morning, he remembered the pious hermit antonius in his egyptian waste, and baptized the lovely convertantonia. they passed the day in holy conversation, and antonia shewed her friend a little cave where she used to keep her provisions, when she first dwelt on this oasis. "for," she said, "the good god is my witness that my motive for coming hither was to become better acquainted with him and his works in solitude, without the least thought of learning magic arts. then came the dervish tempting me; and he drew, by his horrible power, the evil spirits of the desert into a league against me, and they allured me to make all the things they shewed me either in dreams or awake." heimbert had no scruple to take with him from this the two captains. 87 store whatever of wine and dried fruits would be useful for their journey. antonia assured him that the way, which was very well known to her, would lead them in a few days to the fruitful shore of this waterless ocean. with the approach of evening coolness they began their wanderings. the travelers had almost traversed this pathless plain, when, one day, they saw a wandering figure at a very great distance; for in the boundless sahara every object is visible an immense way off, if the whirlwind of the desert raises no sandy columns to intercept the view. this unfortunate man seemed uncertain which way to direct his steps, sometimes taking one direction, and then changing to the opposite one. antonia's oriental falcon-eyes could discover that it was no arab, but a man in knightly garb. "oh, dear sister," said heimbert, with eager joy, "it must be poor frederigo seeking thee! for god's sake, let us hasten, lest he lose us, and perhaps his own life also, in this immeasurable waste." they strove with all their power to reach him, but, owing to the burning sun (for it was now mid-day,) antonia could not long support these hasty steps; and soon the fearful storm-blast raised the cloud of sand, which completely obscured the object of their search. with the rising moon they renewed their pursuit, calling loudly upon frederigo, and making signal-flags of their white handkerchiefs tied to their walking-staffs; but all in vain. the object which had disappeared remained invisible. only a few giraffes sprang timidly before them, and the ostriches crossed their path with winged speed. 88 the two captains. at last, when morning dawned, antonia stopped, and said, "thou canst not leave me alone, brother, in this wilderness, and i cannot go one step further. god will protect the noble frederigo; for how can a father forsake so excellent a child?" "the pupil shames the tutor," returned heimbert, his sorrowful face brightening into a smile. "we have done our parts, and may confidently leave the rest to god, hoping he will assist our helplessness." he spread his mantle on the sand, that antonia might rest more comfortably; but suddenly looked up, exclaiming, "oh, god! there is a man quite buried in the sand! oh that he may not be already dead!" immediately he began to sprinkle wine from their little flask upon his forehead, and to chafe his temples with it. at length he slowly opened his eyes, and said, “oh that the morning-dew had not again fallen on me, then i should have perished unknown and unlamented in this desert, as it must happen at last!" with these words he closed his eyes again, like one drunken with sleep; but heimbert unceasingly continued his endeavors to restore him, and after some time the wearied wanderer half raised himself on the sand. he looked from heimbert to his companion, and again at heimbert, and suddenly exclaimed, gnashing his teeth with rage, "it is even so: i shall not perish in the dim obscurity of forgetfulness; i have lived to see the success of my rival, and my sister's shame!" he sprang eagerly to his feet, and rushed on heimbert with drawn sword. the german moved neither sword nor arm, but answered, with a friendly voice, "so exhaustthe two captains. 89 ed as thou art, i cannot possibly take advantage of thee; besides, i must first place this lady in security." antonia, who had looked at first with much emotion on the angry knight, now stepped between the two, and said, "oh, frederigo, neither misery nor anger can entirely disfigure thee; but in what has my noble brother offended thee?" • "brother!" repeated frederigo, with astonishment. "or godfather, or confessor," said heimbert: "call me which you please; only call this lady no longer zelinda-her name is antonia; she is a christian, and thy bride!" frederigo stood lost in astonishment; but heimbert's true-hearted words and antonia's lovely blushes interpreted the enigma for him. he sank before the longcherished image of his lady; and here, in this inhospitable desert, there bloomed to heaven a flower of love, gratitude, and faith. the excitement of this overpowering happiness at last gave way to bodily fatigue. antonia reposed her delicate limbs on the now scorching sand, like a drooping flower, and slept under the protection of her lover and chosen brother. "sleep thou also," said heimbert softly to frederigo; "thou must have wandered far, for weariness is stamped upon thine eyelids, while i am quite fresh, and will watch beside thee." "ah, heimbert," sighed the noble castilian, "my sister is thine, thou messenger of heaven-that is an understood thing; but for our unfinished quarrel-" "certainly," interrupted heimbert, very gravely, "thou must satisfy me for every hasty word when we 1 8* 90 the two captains. are again in spain. but, till then, i beg thou wilt never mention it, for it is no fit topic of conversation." frederigo sorrowfully reposed on the sand, overpowered by long-resisted sleep; and heimbert knelt to thank god for so many gracious blessings already bestowed, and for placing so joyful a future before him. the next day the three travelers reached the border of the desert, and refreshed themselves with a week's rest at a little village hard by; which, with its shadowing trees and soft green pastures, seemed like a little paradise compared to the joyless sahara. frederigo's condition made this rest particularly necessary; for he had not once left the desert, and was often compelled to fight with the wandering arabs for his subsistence, and sometimes he had suffered the total want of food and drink. at length he became so perplexed, that the stars no longer sufficed to guide him, and he was driven about, sorrowful and aimless, like the whirlwind of the desert. even now, when he fell asleep after the noon-day meal, and antonia and heimbert watched his slumbers like two smiling angels, he would suddenly awake in terror, and look round him with horror, till, rëassured by their friendly faces, he sunk back again to rest. in answer to the questions they put to him when he was fully awake, he said that, in his wanderings, nothing had been more horrible to him than the deceitful dreams which sometimes carried him to his own home, sometimes into the merry camp of his comrades, and sometimes even into zelinda's neighborhood, and doubled, by contrast, the helpless misery of the frightful desert. this it was which always gave to the mothe two captains. 91 ment of waking something fearful, and even in sleep he retained a dim consciousness of past sufferings. "you cannot think," added he, "what it was to be suddenly banished from the well-known scenes to the endless waste, where, instead of the long-desired enchanting countenance of my beloved, i only saw the long neck of a hateful camel curiously stretched over me, and with yet more hateful timidity springing away as i rose." this, together with other effects of his misfortunes, soon passed away from frederigo's mind, and they continued their journey to tunis. yet the remembrance of his conduct to heimbert, and its unavoidable consequences, spread like a cloud over the noble spaniard's brow, and softened the natural sternness of his character, so that antonia could cling more closely to him with her loving heart. tunis, which had been the scene of zelinda's magic power, and of her zeal against the christians, now witnessed her solemn baptism in a newly-consecrated edifice; and immediately afterwards the three companions embarked with favorable winds for malaga. chapter viii. beside the fountain where she had parted from heimbert, doña clara sat one evening in deep thought. the guitar on her arm gave forth a few solitary chords, which her delicate hand dreamily enticed from it; and at last they formed themselves into a melody, while 92 the two captains. the following words were murmured from her hal opened lips: 66 say who, by tunis' walls afar, where with grim bands of paynim might the spaniard and the german fight,— from lilies dark with gory dew, and roses of death's pallid hue, say, who hath won the prize of war? of alva ask the tale of fame, and he two knights of pride will name: one was my brother, tried and brave; one, he whom my heart i gave : and fain i hoped, in joyous light, to weave their garlands doubly bright. but sadly o'er my eyes and brow a widow's veil falls doubly now; the knights are gone, and ne'er again shall they be found 'mid living men." the guitar was silent, and soft dew-drops fell from her heavenly eyes. heimbert, who was hidden behind the neighboring orange-tree, felt sympathetic tears roll down his cheeks; and frederigo, who had led him and antonia in by the garden-way, would no longer keep the cup of joy from the restored ones, but disclosed himself, with a dear forin on either arm, as a messenger from heaven to his sister. but such moments of high overpowering delight, like the most precious and long-expected heavenly blessings, are better imagined than described. it is only doing an ill service to recount what this one said, and that the two captains. 93 one did. picture it then to thyself, dear reader, after thine own fancy, if the two pairs in my story have become dear to thee, and thou art now intimate with them. if this be not the case, my words would be lost upon thee. for those, then, who with hearty pleasure have dwelt on the reunion of sister and lover, i will proceed with increased satisfaction. when heimbert, casting a significant look at frederigo, wished to retire, after having placed antonia in doña clara's protection, the noble spaniard would not permit him. he detained his companion with the most courteous and brotherly kindness, entreating him to remain till the evening banquet, at which many distinguished persons of the family of mendez were present. in their presence frederigo declared that the brave heimbert of waldhausen was doña clara's bridegroom at the same time calling them to witness the sealing it with the most solemn words, in order that whatever might afterwards happen, which should seem inimical to their contract, it might yet remain indissoluble. the spectators were somewhat astonished at these strange precautionary measures, though no one opposed frederigo's desire, but unhesitatingly gave him their word that they would carry out his wishes. their ready compliance was greatly caused by duke alva's having, during his late sojourn in malaga, filled the whole city with his praises of the two heroic young captains. when the generous wines were circulating round the table, frederigo stepped behind heimbert's chair, and whispered, "if it please you, señor, the moon is now risen and shining bright as day: i am ready to meet 94 the two captains. you." heimbert bowed assentingly, and the youths left the hall, followed by the sweet salutations of their unsuspecting brides. as they passed through the blooming gardens, frederigo said, "ah! how happily we might have walked together here, had it not been for my rashness! " "yes, truely," answered heimbert; "but as it has happened, and cannot now be otherwise, we will proceed, and only look upon one another as soldiers and noblemen." "even so," replied frederigo; and they hastened on to the farthest part of the gardens, where the sound of their clashing arms might not reach the high banqueting hall. silent and enclosed amid dark groves was the chosen spot. no sounds could be heard there from the joyous company, no noise from the populous streets of the city. only high in heaven the full moon shone down with bright beams upon the solemn circle. it was the right place. both captains drew their shining blades, and stood opposite to one another, ready for the combat; but before they began, a kindlier feeling drew them to each other; they lowered their weapons, and embraced in the most brotherly manner, then they tore themselves away, and the fearful fight began. they were now no more brothers in arms-no more friends-no more brothers in law, who raised the sharp swords against each other. with firm boldness, but with cool collectedness, they fell upon one another, whilst each guarded his own breast at the same time. after a few hot deadly passes, the combatants were compelled to rest, and they regarded one another with the two captains. 95 increased love; each rejoicing to find his dear comrade so stout and courageous. then the fierce strife began anew. heimbert dashed aside frederigo's sword with his left hand as it was thrust at his side, but the keen edge had penetrated through his leathern glove, and the rosy blood gushed out. "halt!" cried frederigo; and they searched for the wound; but finding it of no importance, they bound it up, and with undiminished ardor renewed the fight. it was not long before heimbert's sword pierced frederigo's shoulder, and the german, conscious that it had done so, cried in his turn, "halt." at first frederigo would not acknowledge that there was a wound; but when the blood streamed forth, he accepted his friend's assistance. this wound also seeming of no consequence, and the noble spaniard finding himself strong enough in arm and hand to wield the sword, they pursued the deadly contest. then they heard a garden-door open, and the tread as of a horse from the groves. both combatants stayed their stern work, and turned to the unwelcome visitant. the next moment they saw through the slender pines some one approaching whose bearing and dress shewed that he was a warrior, mounted on a stately charger; and frederigo, as master of the house, said to him, "señor, why you have intruded into a strange garden, we will inquire another time. i shall now only beg of you to retire from it at once, and to leave me your name." "i shall not retire at present," answered the stranger; "but my name i will gladly tell you. i am the duke of alva." 96 the two captains. at this moment the moonbeams fell upon his stern pale face that dwelling-place of all that was noble, and great, and majestic. the two captains bowed low and sank their arms. "i surely know you," said alva, looking at them fixedly with his dark eyes. "yes, truly, i do know you, you two young heroes of the battle of tunis. god be blessed and praised, that i find two such noble warriors alive, whom i had almost given up for lost. but tell me now, what has turned your brave swords against each other? i trust you will not object to lay open before me the cause of this knightly encounter." they complied with the great duke's behest. both the youths related their history, from the evening before the embarkation till the present moment; whilst alva remained motionless before them in deep meditation, looking almost like an equestrian statue. the captains had already long ended their story, and the duke still remained silent and motionless in deep meditation. at last he addressed them in the following manner :— "may god and his holy word help me, my young knights, as i tell you, with my best wisdom and truth of heart, that i believe this affair of yours to be now perfectly settled. twice have you fought with one another on account of the irritating words which escaped don frederigo's lips: and if indeed the slight wounds which you have hitherto received are not sufficient, still, your having been comrades in the fight at tunis, and sir heimbert of waldhausen having saved don frederigo mendez' life in the desert, after he had rescued his bride for him in battle, all this gives the two captains. 97 the knight of waldhausen the privilege of forgiving an enemy every offence, to whom he has shewn himself so well inclined. the old roman history tells us of two centurions under the great julius cæsar who settled a dispute, and contracted a hearty brotherly friendship, from fighting side by side, and delivering one another out of the midst of the gallic army. but i affirm that you two have done more for each other; and therefore i declare this affair to be entirely settled and at an end. sheathe your swords, then, and embrace in my presence." obedient to their general's command, the young knights for the present put up their swords; but, anxious lest the slightest shade should fall upon their honor, they yet delayed the reconciling embrace. the great alva looked somewhat sternly upon them, and said, "do you suppose, young knights, that i could desire to save the lives of two soldiers at the expense of their good name? sooner than that, i would ra see you both struck dead at once. but i see that with such obstinate men, one must proceed to more effective measures." and leaping from his horse, which he bound to a tree, he stepped between the two captains with a drawn sword in his right hand, crying out, "whoever takes upon him to deny that the quarrel between sir heimbert of waldhausen and don frederigo mendez is nobly and honorably settled, shall have to do with duke alva for life or death. and should either of the aforenamed knights object to this, let him declare it. i stand as champion for my own opinion." the youths bowed to their great umpire, and sank 9 98 the two captains. into one another's arms. the duke embraced them with heartfelt affection, which appeared the more charming and refreshing, as any outward demonstration of it was seldom to be seen in this strong-minded man. then he led the reconciled ones back to their brides; and when these, after the first joyful surprise at the presence of the much-honored general was over, started back on perceiving drops of blood on the youths' garments, the duke said laughingly, "oh! the brides-elect of soldiers must not shrink from such medals of honor." the duke alva took on himself to stand as father to both the happy brides, and to fix the festival of their betrothal for the very next day. from this time forth they all lived in undisturbed concord; and when sir heimbert was recalled with his lovely spouse to the bosom of his native germany, the two families yet continued near each other by letters and constant communications. and in after times the descendants of the lord of waldhausen boasted their connection with the family of mendez, while the latter ever preserved the tradition of the brave and magnanimous heimbert of waldhausen. the end. ? 每​写 ​ 3 natalia, aslauga's knight, and other tales. edited by a lady. "love, quiet, yet flowing deep, as the rhine among rivers ; lasting, and knowing not change-it walketh with truth and sincerity." proverbial philosophy. boston: jordan and wiley 121, washington st. mdcccxlv. boston: printed by freeman and bolles, washington street. preface. in commencing this series of works, which is called "the fireside library of popular reading," we propose to offer such tales of truth and fiction as are well adapted to the cultivation of good affections and true thoughts. the editor enters upon her task and makes her selections with much interest, and cannot but hope they will be approved. the tales in this first number are various in their styles"blanche rose," illustrating the affections with touching power; aslauga's knight," (by the author of undine) manifests that enduring love which is truly self-sacrificing, and will last forever; and "natalia," which illustrates that charming modesty so delightful in the female character, and that manliness, and true respect for woman, in the other sex, so admirable and praiseworthy. 66 of sol 2015 sott natalia. michael fedorowitz, czar of all the russias, was son to philaretes, bishop of rostow; his mother was a lineal descendant of the ancient sovereigns of russia. demetrius, a tyrannical usurper, sent philaretes ambassador to poland, where he was detained prisoner, under pretence that his countrymen were, not long before, in rebellion against king uladislaus. this outrage was unquestionably sanctioned by demetrius; for he confined the wife of philaretes in a nunnery. but the boyars entertained such a high veneration for the bishop and his spouse, that they unanimously elected their son, michael federowitz, to be their emperor, though he was not more than fifteen years of age. philaretes, being exchanged for some polish captives, was by his son appointed patriarch of the church; and with great wisdom and prosperity assisted the inexperience of the youthful czar in exercising the functions of royalty. michael federowitz governed russia thirty-three years; and the firmness of his administration, tempered by leniency, established his power; while happiness and peace, long unknown, endeared him to the people. desirous of choosing a consort on the ground of personal attachment, the czar gave orders to collect at moscow a vast number of fat cattle and poultry, and to provide game and fish, to be frozen and stored in the commencement of winter, with all other necessaries for 1 6 natalia. entertaining a crowd of guests at the palace. at the same time he issued proclamations throughout the empire, inviting, or in other words, commanding all the young and beautiful maidens in his dominions to repair to the court. michael visited his fair subjects as an easy guest at private parties; or presided at royal feasts and balls for their amusement. when the weather permitted a return to their respective homes, they were dismissed with gifts beseeming regal munificence; and the lady who was honored by preference was informed of her elevation by the czar sending to her a superb wedding robe. the lady's name was strechen. her father was ploughing his farm when he received the announcement that he was destined to be father-in-law to the emperor. alexius succeeded his father michael; and though unfortunate in his wars with sweden, he was a prince of eminent genius. he promoted agriculture; introduced silk and linen manufactures; and endeavored to excite in his boyars a taste for the arts and sciences; giving them an example in his own studies, and patronizing literature, with all the branches of useful knowledge which had travelled to northern europe. he instituted and published a code of laws, still referred to in the jurisprudence of russia; and he greatly improved his army by establishing a regular system of discipline. he chose his first wife in the same manner as his father, and was married in his seventeenth year. in ten years he was a widower; and twenty months had not elapsed, when, before the fairest in his extensive realms were submitted to his election, his affections were fixed upon a beautiful orphan named natalia kesilowna narishkin. this historical trait d'amour, which has more the air of romance than of the sober pace appropri ate to hymenial engagements in real life, is little known out of russia, unless by foreigners who have made curious inquiries concerning the ancient manners of that singular region. alexius purposed to win the heart of an amiable woman for the czar in search of a wife. 7 his own sake; and with this aim laid aside every mark of extrinsic advantages, while he made a circuit some considerable way from moscow, or visited the middle classes in the city, as an herbalist in search of medicinal plants; a naturalist anxious to explore the salt-pits of astracan; or one of the literati in quest of mss. of ancient history, said to be preserved in the huts of the boors. sometimes the czar passed as a trader in morocco leather from kasan, or a learned teacher belonging to one of the numerous schools established in that country at a very early period. a small band of trusty attendants followed at short distances; and without confiding his ulterior views, he gathered from them much information concerning the families he visited, and regarding the actual state of his people. many months rolled on in these incognito perigrinations, and our royal celebs in search of a wife almost despaired of success, when the accomplishment of his most sanguine hopes appeared in the form of transcendent beauty and intellectual graces, seldom known in a barbarous age. a gentleman, named matweof, had been often serviceable. by furnishing suggestions for the improvement of various schemes adopted by the czar to correct the rugged ignorance of his subjects; and having returned to moscow, the sovereign recollected that he ought to bestow on this worthy man of science the distinction of a visit, though his family consisted only of sons. while revolving these thoughts as he walked alone on the banks of the moskwa, near the city, he saw matweof within call, and accosted him. after the first salutations, the czar said, " matweof, if thou hast no strangers at thy house, i will dine with thee to-day." 66 "my liege, i have not even my sons at home; they are dispersed to different occupations: i have only my wife and the sweet child of a deceased friend." 'depend on me as your guest; but mark me, you must not tell even your wife my real name. let me pass as a merchant." "a merchant of kasan, natalia. so please your highness?" "be it so; and take care to treat me as such only." matweof, when overtaken by the czar, was on his way to ask a merchant of kasan to spend the day with him; and had desired his wife to prepare for his reception. it may be supposed that he deferred this engagement, and the czar was received by madame matweof as the expected trader. he was ushered to the dining-hall by matweof; and his surprise and pleasure were unbounded, when he saw a young and beautiful girl, towering far above the stature of his hostess. "i fancied your ward was a child," said the reputed merchant of kasan. "she is not fifteen," answered the bustling hostess; " and the longer she is tractable to good advice as a child, the wiser must she be when we regard her as a woman. i was good eight years older than she is now, before i gave my vows to matweof; and till an hour within the change of my condition i was called a child." the czar employed his eyes more than his ears while madame matweof gave him a specimen of the wisdom acquired in her protracted childhood. we shall leave his majesty to admire the blushing natalia, and try to give the courteous reader some idea of her protectress. madame matweof was a low-sized, corpulent person, but very lively and active; and more than commonly addicted to fluency of language, as she piqued herself not a little upon the smattering of knowledge she had acquired on a diversity of topics, during thirty-four years, in domesticating with the most intelligent gentleman in the vast city of moscow. the courtly stranger paid to her all due attention, yet his eyes frequently reverted to the lovely features of her ward, who, in the simple garb of her own country, dazzled his imagination more than the proudest that in embroidery, ermine, and jewels, sparkled within the precincts of the kremlin. the fine contour of natalia's face was partly shaded by curlcostume of natalia. 9 ing ringlets of pale brown hair, encircled by a wreath of ivy leaves, intermingled with a few garden flowers. the crown of her head was covered by a cap of black velvet, which at the same age probably had been worn by her grandmother, for it was rather threadbare, and the band of gold lace surrounding the middle of this coiffure, was evidently tarnished by unsparing time. a short robe of fine white linen, almost after the model of a chemise, with long and wide sleeves, had these drawn up to the shoulders by strips of taffety of the same texture, with a rose-colored sash, which, compressing the linen robe, shewed the elegance of her waist. the skirts of her linen robe hung down half way over a many-colored and checquered petticoat, reaching no further than the calf of her leg, and displaying the delicate symmetry of her ancles and feet. the hem of the checquered petticoat had a border of old lace, seemingly coeval with the bandeau on her black velvet cap. her stockings of bright blue, were topped with circles of rose color, corresponding to her sash; and her shoes of kasan leather, were tied with strips of rose-colored taffety. the checquered silk handkerchief on her neck had a faded resemblance to the hues of which the rest of her dress was composed; and three rows of glass beads hung on her bosom, with an image of st. nicholas, in silver, of curious antique workmanship, appended to the upper row of beads-this image being apparently the only relic of former affluence undecayed by the altered fortunes of her house. how exquisite must have been the personal and mental attractions which subdued the heart of a mighty potentate accustomed to all the glare of asiatic magnificence, and now beholding natalia in a garniture of poverty that his lowest attendant would have disdained to wear! the czar, according to his masquerade designation, was habited in a loose coat of brown cloth, drawn about his loins by a girdle of rich purple silk. his long and wide trowsers were of orange-colored indian cotton; and he wore kasan 1* 10 natalia. leather boots without stockings. a silver-hilted scimetar was suspended by a shoulder-belt of yellow leather on one side; and on the other under his arm, a pouch of lynx skin, fastened by silver clasps, contained his money or other portable valuables. his shirt was nearly shaped like natalia's chemise robe, and left open at the throat, to allow full scope to his ample beard, a shade darker than natalia's ringlets. his figure was tall and handsome; and his regular manly features expressed a benevolent yet energetic character. 66 an old man and woman brought every dish to the door of the dining hall, and, under the direction of madame matweof, they were placed on the table by natalia. i pray you to be seated, my thrice-welcome friend," said matweof; "the beluga cools fast." "the dinner appears to be excellent," replied the guest; "but its relish will be lost to me, if these ladies stand aloof, as they seem to intend." "never mind us," said madame matweof; "i have no platters at home except those you see on the table. neighbor dubrowski bor rowed them yesterday for her daughter's wedding feast; and all our servants are lending her a helping hand but our old gardener and his wife. i sent this forenoon for a few of my platters, and one or two of my women; however, my good neighbor said it would be inconvenient to spare them, and it would be ill luck to change her plan. i have no faith in silly omens; but would not vex an old friend by making her wait till you have done." the czar was gratified by this unceremonious proof that matweof had not divulged his secret; and he gaily responded, "what signifies the want of platters, my good lady? you can eat with your husband, and the fair damsel will confer a zest on the nice viands by condescending to share them with me. "indeed i am not in the least anxious for dinner," replied natalia ; "and, as the servants are absent, shall with pleasure wait on you and my friends." "yet i warrant you," 19 i t the repast. 11 interposed madame matweof, "that if you unroll a musty parchment with historical records from the south-east of your country, she would be eager to devour it with all her eyes. natalia smiled, and the czar rising, drew her gently to a seat beside him. having prevailed with her to partake of the repast, he looked to matweof, saying, "so your fair ward can read and write? these are rare attainments!" madame matweof, more prompt in verbiage than her husband, replied: "to be sure! she reads and writes so well that she might be chief secretary to the czar; (st. nicholas bless and prosper him!) and yet her distaff produces more yarn than any girl i know. she wastes not a moment from dawn to a late hour at night, and was a mere infant when she learnt to use her pen!" natalia's blushes in vain deprecated these encomiums; but madame matweof persisted, till in a low voice she mildly interrupted her protectress, saying, "i owe all to you, who had the goodness to teach me every kind of work; and my indulgent guardian who took the trouble of directing me to use the pen.” —“my dear child!" said matweof, "you gave me no trouble, since you really learned faster than i could find leisure to afford you instruction." the czar, enraptured, eyed the eloquent looks of natalia, in this affectionate discussion of her early studies. matweof observed that he ate very little, but would not presume to urge the royal appetite; while the assiduous hostess, quite ignorant of his high quality, upbraided her husband for neglecting his guest, and stretching her large arms, and protruding her broad face over the table, heaped his plate with choice bits. her amplitude of countenance was the more remarkable in contrast with the delicate features of natalia; and the matronly costume of russia in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries required the hair to be gathered upon the summit of the head, and wholly covered by a black velvet cap. madame matweof's cap was of massive and new velvet, with 12 natalia. two bandeaus of broad and brilliant gold lace. the rest of her attire resembled that of natalia, except that the materials were much finer, and of recent date. matweof saw that his wife taxed the czar's good-nature by frequent interruptions to his conversation with natalia: he therefore overcame his habitual taciturnity and engaged her in talking to himself; but the exhaustless tide of her volubility was sometimes diverted from the conjugal auditor, to recommend the rye-cakes and honey, the metheglin and rye-brandy, to the merchant of kasan; and she could hardly suppress her impatient wonder that he would neither eat nor drink, and yet loitered over his platter and cup as if he never wished to leave the table. in truth he was intent upon taking the dimensions of natalia's understanding, and penetrating every recess of her disposition, by agitating a great variety of subjects, on which she spoke with artless freedom and unassuming intelligence, little aware of the impression she made, or of the identity of him who listened and looked as if he could be riveted to her side. madame matweof at length said she must see what the old folks were about and beckoning to natalia, they disappeared together. "that sweet maiden must be a treasure to thee," said the : czar. "she is the balsam of my declining years. now that my sight is impaired she reads to me; and when the shades of evening suspend the delights of study, she assists my failing memory by recapitulating what we have gathered from the stores of the learned." "thou shouldst transfer her to the cherishing bosom of a good husband; while young and pliant she can accommodate herself to his peculiarities and all men, more or less, have peculiar habits." "my liege, she is too good for a sick nurse, to tend the couch of an old fellow that has married her to secure for himself her patient diligent cares; and may my child go unmarthe proposition. 13 ried to the grave rather then bind herself to a young giddy pate, wildly enamored of her beauty, who will worship her for some weeks and then behave as if he had purchased a bond-woman, and not a wife. i will not leave her unportioned; and i pray she may live single, if she is not destined for a spouse that can appreciate her merits." "i will help thee in searching for a tender guardian of natalia's happiness; but i should not like to find her averse to my choice, and partial to another." "i am certain she has never bestowed a thought upon any of the sex. she knows my fears of making her over to a tyrant, and is strongly prepossessed against matrimony. she is perfectly satisfied to take refuge in a convent when my wife and i are no more." "good. i shall be thy guest again in four days, and in the mean time let us omit no exertion in behalf of the fair natalia." in the evening matweof called for the real merchant of kasan, and found a note from him, purporting that he had received a sudden call to deliver a large quantity of goods, but he had taken upon himself to introduce the son of a wealthy correspondent at astracan. the young gentleman was intrusted to deliver this note, and promised to dine with matweof the following day. natalia's estimation of the supposed trader of kasan was greatly enhanced by a comparison with the awkward effectation of this self-important coxcomb. he was at no pains to conceal that he knew himself to be very handsome; and spoke of his father's opulence, as if he inherited from it all kinds of talents and virtues. he quaffed rye-brandy till he became intoxicated, and so familiar that natalia left the room. he insisted upon seeing her again, and made down-right proposals of marriage. madame matweof considered him to be a match too splendid to be lost, and compelled natalia to return and 14 natalia. hear him plead for himself. she answered with a decided rejection; and matweof internally applauded her good sense and spirit, though he deemed it right to leave her at entire liberty to accept or decline the offer. the czar came on the fourth day as he had promised. matweof took care to intercept him by the way, to mention that his wife and natalia believed the young blade from astracan to be the son of his partner. alexius said he would answer them in conformity to that notion, if they asked any questions. matweof was insensibly led to communicate the precipitate wooing of the conceited youth, and natalia's inflexible rejection; with which the czar seemed more pleased than he allowed himself to declare, especially when informed that the fair damsel withstood the solicitations of madame matweof in behalf of the worthy admirer; and with respectful determination had affirmed she was ready to go to a convent, but could not give herself to a man whose foibles must excite her contempt. during several weeks the czar was a frequent visiter; and his attentions to natalia were received with a timid embarrassment, from which he drew the most delightful inferences. one day after dinner he took from his bosom an embroidered silk handkerchief, and, unfolding it, shewed three strings of amber beads, to which was affixed a golden image of st. nicholas. he presented these tempting gifts to natalia, and made an effort to untie the faded wrap on her neck. she recoiled with an indignant suffusion overspreading her face, and in a tremulous voice said: ― "if such must be the terms of your present, take it back. even our good and great sovereign lord the czar would not find me passive under an insult so degrading." "you will pardon a stranger to the customs of your province, fair damsel, if he has unwittingly trespassed against them; and be not angry though i add that you know not how the czar might prevail, unless you had seen him." a severe trial. 15 "natalia, my dear child," said matweof, "you will surely accept the apology of a stranger." natalia wiped away her tears and smiled, and the czar questioned -"have you seen the czar, fair damsel?" "never, never, but i shall never cease to invoke blessings on his name." "what has he done to deserve such fervent predilections? have you owed him any benefit? "" "he has done more for russia than iwan basilides, who took three hundred cart-loads of silver from the duke of novogorod, and conquered his province. the spoils of the enemy enriched only the court circle: our gracious czar hath made the mass of his people wiser and better, therefore they are much happier." "yet you would not allow him to uncover your lovely neck?" "he is too truly the father of all his subjects to require from a poor girl the sacrifice of her self-respect." "i now commend your spirit, my child," said madame matweof; but it is proper to tell the stranger gentleman, that it is only the privilege of an accepted lover to untie the knot he attempted to loose." “i humbly crave forgiveness," said the czar. "indeed, you have cruelly vexed me," answered natalia. "i esteemed you as one of the best men in the world — always excepting our sovereign lord alexius." "now, you are ready to be in tears again. come away, and bustle about, to forget an affront which was not intended." so speaking, madame matweof retired with natalia; and the czar said, "it is time to ask thee, matweof, if thou hast found a mate for thy pretty apprehensive dove?" "none, my liege, except the young eastern she has dismissed." "i have been more successful. i know an admirer, who will take natalia without any dowry but her own charms." 16 natalia. "god and st. nicholas reward your highness! my utmost gratitude is a poor offering, but it is ardent and sincere. i shall not presume with inquiries, since your highness will not throw away the girl who has been honored by your approbation." "why should i keep thee in suspense, my good matweof? the husband i have destined for natalia is myself. if she will be mine, our nuptials shall be celebrated without delay." matweof fell at the feet of his sovereign with incoherent bursts of gratitude. the czar desired him to rise and compose his mind; but matweof said he was now master of his own feelings, and besought his liege lord to grant him a boon. alexius encouraged him to ask with all freedom and matweof resumed" my sovereign lord! since a faithful and devoted servant is permitted, he most humbly implores your highness not to decide finally in favor of natalia, until the noble and beautiful of the empire shall present themselves at the kremlin, in obedience to a royal summons. that i desire the elevation and happiness of my ward cannot be doubted; but it is my duty first to consider the prospects of my most gracious lord. all russia will be gratified to have the daughters of the land entitled to a chance for the most exalted distinction; and if natalia be still preferred, she may still wait the royal mandate." the czar leaned his forehead on his hand some minutes, and then replied; "it is not by a mandate — it is by her free consent i desire to win natalia. i wish to talk with her in private; and before you send her hither, let me satisfy your disinterested loyalty by telling you i shall assemble the beauties of the empire, as you have wisely counselled." matweof brought natalia to the soi-disant merchant, and left her. the merchant declared his love, and with modest grace was accepted, yet in broken and scarcely audible words. after an effusion of tender transport, he subjoined, "but the royal proclamation. 17 there is news in the city to-day: it is reported that all the beauties of the empire are to be invited to the court by proclamation. my natalia has required a month to prepare for the change of her condition; and perhaps before that tedious time expires, she may be raised to the throne, and if bereaved of her, life will be hateful to me. if you can resign the chance for royalty, and give me your hand before the public. call for appearing at court, it would save me unutterable bitterness of anxiety." "never shall natalia hesitate to spare you anxiety. this poor hand is yours-yours only." "you shall see or hear of me to-morrow, loveliest, most amiable natalia-mine, mine forever! dearest, i am urged by business to tear myself from you, and for your own precious sake i must despatch the affair." early next morning the royal proclamation was heard in all quarters of the city; and the czar sent messengers throughout his dominions, with the same summons to the young and lovely, when he returned to the palace. the heralds in all parts of moscow performed this office each third hour, during seven days. the merchant came not to see natalia; and she never suspected that the sounds of the proclamations came from him. he often sent for matweof, and his heart smote him when informed that natalia hoped against hope, and though uneasy and dejected, never reflected harshly upon the seeming inconstancy of her lover. when madame matweof blamed him, she calmly asserted her confidence in his honor and faith, and was assured he could explain all that seemed mysterious in his conduct. she was very reluctant to appear at the court; but the czar must be obeyed. he sent her attire for the occasion; and she wore the embroidered kerchief, the amber beads, and golden image of st. nicholas, given to her by the merchant of kasan. matweof attended her to the palace. the gorgeous magnificence of the scene at 2 18 natalia. first bewildered her senses; and she was stunned by the loud reverberation of some hundred female voices, speaking at once in the lofty apartment. but hers was not a mind that could be wholly shaken from its poise, and her thoughts were soon collected, and fixed upon the merchant of kasan. she was roused from a reverie by a flourish of horns, the ancient royal music of russia. this music was produced in the same style which at the present day is continued in the emperor's band, and in the band of the regiment of guards. the emperor's band consists of three hundred horns, each, by the intervention of the air, vibrating a single note. the performers have no written music; but practice has given them such precision in the modulations, that at some distance the effect may be mistaken for a grand orchestra of instruments. three prolonged flourishes announced the approach of the czar. deep silence awaited his appearance. natalia breathed quick with a variety of confused sensations, in which a dread of being torn from her lover still predominated. she sat as much out of view as could be permitted by the etiquette of the presencechamber; however, she was obliged to comply with the general order, that the young ladies should stand in the front row, and their friends close behind them. the folding doors were thrown open, and in robes of state, embroidered with gold, his girdle and the hilt of his scimetar studded with gems, and a jewelled diadem on his head, the czar entered, followed by a multitude of boyars and gentlemen. he smiled and talked to the fair circle as he passed along; yet his eyes were manifestly seeking an object. when he perceived natalia, he bent his steps towards her, and matweof whispered to her, "look up, my child; it is against all rules to cast down your eyes when the sovereign draws near. you must look at him or be guilty of contumelious demeanor." natalia was all obedience to her guardian. she directed her regards to the awful figure of supremacy, and instantly recogthe vows. 19 nized her plighted lover; but among the highest born and the most beautiful, dared she to flatter herself his heart would acknowledge her? her energies had been impaired by the uncertainty of her fate since the reputed merchant bade her farewell; her spirits were fluttered by the dazzling novelties around her; and now, to discover the ruler of her destiny in a sphere so immeasurably above her, was overpowering-her sight and consciousness failed. matweof was carrying her out in a swoon, when the czar sent an officer of his household to shew the way to a private chamber, to which he hastened by a shorter passage. "shut the door, matweof," he said, "and open the lattice when you resign to me your lovely burthen. now, stand by to witness the renewal of my vows. "3 the air soon recovered natalia. she attempted to rise from the embraces of the czar, and to apologize for giving so much trouble. "do not deny me the innocent joy of holding you in my arms, most beloved natalia," said the czar. "say you forgive the cruel proofs of attachment and fidelity i have exacted. i am greatly to blame, and will make all atonement with my heart, my hand, my throne, my whole life: they are yours, my only love. your color comes and goes, my charmer let the air circulate round these swelling veins in your neck. may your alexius now untie the handkerchief?" — natalia's face beamed with the most animated suffusion, as in low accents she breathed a modest assent. the czar pressed her lips, her glowing cheeks, and neck; while natalia, abashed, confused, and shrinking from these impassioned caresses, implored him to release her; but her transported lover soothed her coy sensibility by the fondest protestations; and concluded by addressing matweof:"my worthy friend, bear witness that your cherished natalia is my affianced consort. i must now leave her, and return to the hall. her thither when she has regained composure." conduct 20 natalia. natalia soon reappeared in the brilliant circle. a crowd of attendants brought dried fruits. cakes of roses, apricots, and peaches, from damascus; figs and comfits, from turkey; transparent apples, called navlineh, from astracan; liqueurs and numberless delicacies, from the southwestern regions of europe. the ladies were dismissed with suitable presents, and the bridal robe was sent to natalia kesilowna narishkin. never did the sovereign of all the russias repent having shared his throne with the foster-child of matweof's bounty. her congenial mind sweetened his domestic hours, and invigorated his public labors to diffuse useful knowledge. she assiduously inculcated the peculiar attributes that ennoble the female character, and was herself a bright example of the virtues and attainments she recommended. to sum up, in a few words, her claim upon the everlasting reverence of her country natalia kesilowna narishkin was the mother of peter the great. she died, in childbed, when peter was in his eighth year. alexius survived her no more than five months. after the decease of his parents, his artful, ambitious sister sophia, deprived peter of all the opportunities for education, with the design to unfit him for assuming the reins of government yet his extraordinary capacity surmounted all impediments; and he was self-taught in acquirements, seldom equalled, with all the aids of instruction, in the most enlightened era of science. by his stupendous powers and mighty efforts, he raised his empire from barbarism to progressive civilization; and the darker shades that mingle with the splendor of his achievements should be imputed to the cruel sister, whose selfish policy endeavored to corrupt and debase his disposition. it only remains for us to record that natalia repaid the kindness of matweof, with a grateful veneration truly filial. he and his sons were appointed to places of trust, and acquitted themselves with talent, indefatigable attention, and faith1 natalia. 21 2* ful zeal. extheir attachment to peter, the son of natalia, posed them to the rancorous hatred of sophia. she extirpated their race; but they died, as they had lived, with an irreproachable good name. bowring's cabinet. conjugal love. a vision. while deeply musing on celestial themes, and sweetly wrapt in beatific dreams, one morn, a voice from yonder shining spheres, in heavenly warblings, thrill'd upon my ears; and, soft descending from his azure height, thus spoke the holy messenger of light: "we have perceived, o man! thou dost employ such thoughts as angels in the skies enjoy, and that to thee the knowledge may be given to tell frail mortals of the joys of heaven. now to thy view, upborne on wings of air, we'll full display a sainted nuptial pair.” when, lo! appear'd, like some resplendent star, in yon ethereal plains, a radiant car; still softly driving, near the earth it drew, unshaken by the winds that gently blew; through azure fields, by snowy steeds, was drawn this diamond chariot, brilliant as the dawn; in which were placed two forms divinely bright, deck'd in the dazzling robes of heavenly light; conjugal love. 23 whilst in each hand was held a milk-white dove, delightful emblem of unvaried love! and as they gently waved each shining crest, the angels me with melting voice address'd : "wilt thou, o mortal man, and child of care, that we to thee should nigher still appear ? but lest we come too near, alas! take heed, the sad event thou well mayst dread indeed! thy powers may all be lost, unhappy youth, in the celestial blaze of love and truth, derived from yonder skies divinely pure, which shall through all eternity endure." i bow'd assent, the chariot forward prest, while they with looks of mildness still address'd: "we are a pair descended from above, who know the pure delights of wedded love, supremely happy and in youthful prime, though thousand years have past, since yonder clime kindly received us from the earthly stage, where youth just wrote our names upon her page." to view the holy twain i fondly dared, in whom such heavenly majesty appear'd; the husband in a robe of orange hue, and velvet shoes; and hose of azure blue, and vest adorn'd with many a glittering gem, and roseate plume, and sparkling diadem, and silvery girdle reaching round his breast, 24 conjugal love. bedeck'd with radiant pearl was richly drest. from his refulgent eyes the holy blaze, derived from wisdom, darted purest rays; while in his face beam'd all the smiles of youth, and all the splendor of celestial truth; thus did the sainted son of joy appear, who whilom dwelt in this sublunar sphere. what pencil now, alas! shall vainly dare portray the beauties of the matchless fair? can all the artist's magic power express the splendid colorings of her sumptuous dress? or form, with mimic hues, that placid mien, that look of heaven, that beauteous smile serene? ah! no to paint the nymph of light and love his fond attempt must ineffectual prove. her sparkling hair, like threads of living gold, hung o'er her brows in many a graceful fold; and each fair lock that gently play'd around, pellucid gems and glittering jaspers crown'd her necklace, brilliant as the star of light, was form'd of amethysts and rubies bright, beneath whose kindling gleam a rosary hung, with chrysolites and richest jewels strung; her lucid robe, more white than alpine snow, was deck'd with brilliants of the purest glow; a golden zone about her waist was bound, and diamond bracelets clasp'd her arms around. ― conjugal love. 25 in her sweet aspect that delight was given which spotless innocence must feel in heaven; her eyes, resplendent as the rising day, shone forth with holy virtue's brighest ray; and as i on her gaz'd with sweet surprise, my raptured soul just bursting from my eyes, she turn'd aside those blazing orbs of light, whose heavenly splendor pained my feeble sight, and with the soothing voice of purest love, they spoke, and pointed to the realms above: in tender converse join'd this happy pair, while each soft accent warbled in my ear; such melting sounds till then ne'er cheer'd my breast, i ne'er till then believ'd a pair so blest. at length they said, in soft and gentle tone, "we are recall'd to yonder blissful throne" when, mounting in their car, they took their way, more swift than light, to realms of endless day. halcyon luminary. aslauga's knight. by the author of undine. chapter i. many years ago there lived, in the island of fühnen, a noble knight, called froda, the friend of the skalds, who was so named, because he not only offered free hospitality, in his fair castle, to every renowned and noble bard, but likewise strove, with all his might, to discover those ancient songs and tales, and legends, which, in runic writings, or elsewhere, were still to be found; he had even made some voyages to iceland in search of them, and had fought many a hard battle with the pirates of those seas for he was also a right valiant knight, and he followed his great ancestors, not only in their love of song, but also in their bold deeds of arms. although he was still scarcely beyond the prime of youth, yet all the other nobles in the island willingly submitted themselves to him, whether in council or in war; nay, his renown had even been carried, ere now, over the sea, to the neighboring land of germany. one bright autumn evening, this honor-loving knight sat before his castle, as he was often wont to do, that he might look far and wide over land and sea, and that he might invite any travellers who were passing by, as was his custom, to share in his noble hospitality. but on this day, he saw little of all that he was accustomed to look upon; for on his knees there lay an ancient book, with skilfully and richly painted characters, 1 the lay. 27 which a learned icelander had just sent to him across the sea: it was the history of aslauga, the fair daughter of sigurd, who, at first, concealing her high birth, kept goats among the simple peasants of the land, clothed in mean attire; then, in the golden veil of her flowing hair, won the love of king ragnar lodbrog; and, at last, shone brightly on the danish throne, as his glorious queen, till the day of her death. to the knight froda, it seemed as though the gracious lady aslauga rose in life and birth before him, so that his calm and steadfast heart, true, indeed, to ladies' service, but never yet devoted to one particular female image, burst forth in a clear flame of love for the fair daughter of sigurd. "what matters it," thought he to himself, "that it is more than a hundred years since she disappeared from earth? she sees so clearly into this heart of mineand what more can a knight desire? wherefore she shall henceforth be my honored love, and shall inspire me in battle and in song." and therewith he sang a lay on his new love, which ran in the following manner : "they ride over hill and dale apace to seek for their love the fairest face they search through city and forest glade to find for their love the gentlest maid they climb wherever a path may lead to seek the wisest dame for their meed. ride on, ye knights; but ye never may see what the light of song has shown to me: loveliest, gentlest, and wisest of all, bold be the deeds that her name shall recall; what though she ne'er bless my earthly sight? yet death shall reveal her countenance bright. fair world, good night! good day, sweet love! who seeks here in faith shall find above." "such purpose may come to good," said a hollow voice, near the knight; and when he looked round, he saw the form of a poor peasant woman, so closely wrapped in a grey man28 aslauga's knight. tle that he could not discern any part of her countenance. she looked over his shoulder on the book, and said, with a deep sigh, "i know that story well; and it fares no better with me than with the princess of whom it tells." froda looked at her with astonishment. "yes, yes," pursued she, with strange becks and nods; "i am the descendant of the mighty rolf, to whom the fairest castles, and forests, and fields of this island, once belonged; your castle and your domains, froda, amongst others, were his. we are now cast down to poverty; and because i am not so fair as aslauga, there is no hope that my possessions will be restored to me; and therefore i am fain to veil my poor face from every eye." it seemed that she shed warm tears beneath her mantle. at this froda was greatly moved, and begged her, for god's sake, to let him know how he could help her, for that he was a descendant of the famous northern heroes of the olden time; and, perhaps, yet something more than they — namely, a good christian. "i almost think," murmured she, from beneath her covering, "that you are that very froda whom men call the good, and the friend of the skalds, and of whose generosity and mildness such wonderful stories told. if it be so, there may be help for me. you need only give up to me the half of your fields and meadows, and i should be in a condition to live, in some measure, such a life as befits the descendant of the mighty rolf." then froda looked thoughtfully on the ground; partly because she had asked for so very much; partly also because he was considering whether she could really be descended from the powerful rolf. but the veiled form said, after a pause, “i must have been mistaken, and you are not indeed that renowned, gentle-hearted froda: for how could he have doubted so long about such a trifle? but i will try the utmost means. see now! for the sake of the fair aslauga, of whom you have both read and sung—for the sake of the honored daughter of sigurd, grant my request !" the apparition. 29 a then froda started up eagerly, and cried, "let it be as you have said!" and gave her his knightly hand to confirm his words. but he could not grasp the hand of the peasant woman, although her dark form remained close before him. a secret shudder began to run through his limbs, whilst suddenly a light seemed to shine forth from the apparition golden light in which she became wholly wrapped; so that he felt as though aslauga stood before him in the flowing veil of her golden hair, and smiling graciously on him. transported and dazzled, he sank on his knees. when he rose up once more, he only saw a cloudy mist of autumn spreading over the meadow, fringed at its edges 'with lingering evening lights, and then vanishing far over the waves. the knight scarcely knew what had happened to him. he returned to his chamber, buried in thought, and sometimes feeling sure that he had beheld aslauga; sometimes, again, that some goblin had risen before him with deceitful tricks, mocking in spiteful wise the service which he had vowed to his dead mistress. but henceforth wherever he roved, over valley or forest or heath, or whether he sailed upon the waves of the sea, the like appearances met him. once he found a lute lying in a wood, and drove a wolf away from it; and when sounds burst from the lute without its being touched, a fair child rose up from it, as of old aslauga herself had done. at another time he would see goats clambering among the highest cliffs by the sea-shore; and it was a golden form who tended them. then, again, a bright queen, resplendent in a dazzling bark, would seem to glide past him, and salute him graciously; and if he strove to approach any of these, he found nothing but cloud, and mist, and vapor. of all this many a lay might be sung. but so much he learnt from them all, that the fair lady aslauga accepted his service, and that he was now in deed and in truth become her knight. 3 30 aslauga's knight. meanwhile the winter had come and gone. in northern lands this season never fails to bring to those who understand and love it many an image full of beauty and meaning, with which a child of man might well be satisfied, so far as earthly happiness can satisfy, through all his time on earth. but when the spring came glancing forth with its opening buds and flowing waters, there came also bright and sunny tidings from the land of germany to fühnen. there stood on the rich banks of the maine, where it pours its waters through the fertile land of franconia, a castle of almost royal magnificence, whose orphan mistress was a relation of the german emperor. she was named hildegardis ; and was acknowledged far and wide as the fairest of maidens. therefore her imperial uncle wished that she should wed none but the bravest knight who could anywhere be met with. accordingly he followed the example of many a noble lord in such a case, and proclaimed a tournament, at which the chief prize should be the hand of the peerless hildegardis, unless the victor already bore in his heart a lady wedded or betrothed to him; for the lists were not to be closed to any brave warrior of equal birth, that the contest of strength and courage might be so much the richer in competitors. now the renowned froda had tidings of this from his german brethren in arms; and he prepared himself to appear at the festival. before all things, he forged for himself a splendid suit of armor; as, indeed, he was the most excellent armorer of the north, far-famed as it is for skill in that art. he worked the helmet out in pure gold, and formed it so that it seemed to be covered with bright flowing locks, which called to mind aslauga's tresses. he also fashioned on the breastplate of his armor, overlaid with silver, a golden image, in half relief, which represented aslauga in her veil of flowing locks, that he might make known, even at the beginning of the tournament "this knight, bearing the image of a a brother knight. 31 lady upon his breast, fights not for the hand of the beautiful hildegardis, but only for the joy of battle, and for knightly fame." then he took out of his stables a beautiful danish steed, embarked it carefully on board a vessel, and sailed prosperously to the opposite shore. chapter ii. in one of those fair beech-woods, which abound in the fertile land of germany, he fell in with a young and courteous knight of delicate form, who asked the noble northman to share the meal which he had invitingly spread out upon the greensward, under the shade of the pleasantest boughs. whilst the two knights sat peacefully together at their repast, they felt drawn towards each other; and rejoiced when, on rising from it, they observed that they were about to follow the same road. they had not come to this good understanding by means of many words; for the young knight edwald was of a silent nature, and would sit for hours with a quiet smile upon his lips, without opening them to speak. but even in that quiet smile there lay a gentle, winning grace; and when, from time to time, a few simple words of deep meaning sprang to his lips, they seemed like a gift deserving of thanks. it was the same with the little songs which he sang ever and anon; they were ended almost as soon as begun but in each short couplet there dwelt a deep and winning spirit, whether it called forth a kindly sigh or a peaceful smile. it seemed to the noble froda as if a younger brother rode beside him or, even a tender, blooming son. they travelled thus many days together; and it appeared as if their path were marked out for them in inseparable union: and much as they rejoiced at this, yet they looked sadly at 32 aslauga's knight. each other whenever they set out afresh or where cross-roads met, on finding that neither took a different direction; nay, it seemed at times as if a tear gathered in edwald's downcast eye. it happened on a time, that at their hostelry they met an arrogant, overbearing knight, of gigantic stature and powerful frame, whose speech and carriage proved him to be not of german but foreign birth. he appeared to come from the land of bohemia. he cast a contemptuous smile on froda, who, as usual, had opened the ancient book of aslauga's history, and was attentively reading in it. "you must be a ghostly knight?" he said inquiringly; and it appeared as if a whole train of unseemly jests were ready to follow. but froda answered so firmly and seriously with a negative, that the bohemian stopped short suddenly; as when the beasts, after venturing to mock their king the lion, are subdued to quietness by one glance of his eye. but not so easily was the bohemian knight subdued; rather the more did he begin to mock young edwald for his delicate form and for his silence all which he bore for some time with great patience; but when at last the stranger used an unbecoming phrase, he arose, girded on his sword, and, bowing gracefully, he said, "i thank you, sir knight, that you have given me this opportunity of proving that i am neither a slothful nor unpractised knight; for only thus can your behavior be excused, which otherwise must be deemed most unmannerly. are you ready?" with these words he moved towards the door; the bohemian knight followed, smiling scornfully; while froda was full of care for his young and slender companion, although his honor was so dear to him that he could in no way interpose. but it soon appeared how needless were the northman's fears. with equal vigor and address did edwald assault his gigantic adversary, so that to look upon, it was almost like one the combat. 33 of those combats between a knight and some monster of the forest, of which ancient legends tell. the issue too was not unlike. while the bohemian was collecting himself for a decisive stroke, edwald rushed in upon him, and, with the force of a wrestler, cast him to the ground. but he spared his conquered foe, helped him courteously to rise, and then turned to mount his own steed. soon after he and froda left the hostelry, and once more their journey led them on the same path as before. own name "from henceforth this gives me pleasure," said froda, pointing with satisfaction to their common road. "i must to you, edchen " he had accustomed himself, in loving confidence, to call his young friend by that childlike -"i must own to you, that hitherto, when i have thought that you might perhaps be journeying with me to the tournament held in honor of the fair hildegardis, a heaviness came over my heart. your noble knightly spirit i well knew, but i feared lest the strength of your slender limbs might not be equal to it. now i have learned to know you as a warrior who may long seek his match; and god be praised if we still hold on in the same path, and welcome our earliest meeting in the lists!" but edwald looked at him sorrowfully, and said, "what can my skill and strength avail, if they be tried against you, and for the greatest earthly prize, which one of us alone can win? alas! i have long foreboded with a heavy heart the sad truth that you are also journeying to the tournament o the fair hildegardis." "edchen," answered froda, with a smile, "my gentle, loving youth, see you not that i already wear on my breastplate the image of a liege lady? i strive but for renown in arms and not for your fair hildegardis." 66 my fair hildegardis!" answered edwald, with a sigh. "that she is not, nor ever will be,or should she, ah! 3* 34 aslauga's knight. froda, it would pierce your heart. i know well the northland faith is deep-rooted as your rocks, and hard to dissolve as their summits of snow; but let no man think that he can look unscathed into the eyes of hildegardis. has not she, the haughty, the too haughty maiden, so bewitched my tranquil, lowly mind, that i forget the gulf which lies between us, and still pursue her; and would rather perish than renounce the daring hope to win that eagle spirit for my own?" "i will help you to it, edchen," answered froda, smiling still. "would that i knew how this all-conquering lady looks! she must resemble the valkyrien of our heathen forefathers, since so many mighty warriors are overcome by her." edwald solemnly drew forth a picture from beneath his breastplate, and held it before him. fixed, and as if enchanted, froda gazed upon it, with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes; the smile passed away from his countenance, as the sunlight fades away from the meadows before the coming darkness of the storm. "see you not now, my noble comrade," whispered edwald, "that for one of us two, or perhaps for both, the joy of life is gone?" "not yet," replied froda, with a powerful effort; "but hide your magic picture, and let us rest beneath this shade. you must be somewhat spent with your late encounter, and a strange weariness oppresses me with leaden weight." they dismounted from their steeds, and stretched themselves upon the ground. the noble froda had no thought of sleep; but he wished to be undisturbed, whilst he wrestled strongly with himself, and strove, if it might be, to drive from his mind that image of fearful beauty. it seemed as if this new influence had already become a part of his very life, and at last a restless dreamy sleep did indeed overshadow the exhausted warrior. fancied himself engaged in combat with many knights, he a vision. 35 whilst hildegardis looked on smiling from a richly adorned balcony; and just as he thought he had gained the victory, the bleeding edwald lay groaning beneath his horse's feet. then again it seemed as if hildegardis stood by his side in a church, and they were about to receive the marriage blessing. he knew well that this was not right, and the "yes," which he was to utter, he pressed back with resolute effort into his heart, and forthwith his eyes were moistened with burning tears. from yet stranger and more bewildering visions, the voice of edwald at last awoke him. he raised himself up, and heard his young companion saying, courteously, as he looked towards a neighboring thicket, "only return, noble maiden; i will surely help you, if i can; and i had no wish to scare you away, but that the slumbers of my brother in arms might not be disturbed by you." a golden gleam shone through the branches as it vanished. "for heaven's sake, my faithful comrade," cried froda, "to whom are you speaking, and who has been here by me?" "i cannot myself rightly understand," said edwald. "hardly had you dropped asleep, when a figure came forth from the forest, closely wrapped in a dark mantle. at first i took her for a peasant. she seated herself at your head; and though i could see nothing of her countenance, i could well observe that she was sorely troubled, and even shedding tears. i made signs to her to depart, lest she should disturb your sleep; and would have offered her a piece of gold, supposing that poverty must be the cause of her deep distress. but my hand seemed powerless, and a shudder passed through me, as if i had entertained such a purpose towards a queen. immediately glittering locks of gold waved here and there between the folds of her close-wrapped mantle, and the thicket began almost to shine in the light which they shed. youth," said she then, "you love truly, and can well understand how a lofty woman's heart burns in keenest sorrow "poor 36 aslauga's knight. when a noble knight, who vowed himself to be her own, withdraws his heart, and, like a weak bondman, is led away to meaner hopes." hereupon she arose, and, sighing, disappeared in yonder thicket. it almost seemed to me, froda, as though she uttered your name." "yes, it was me she named," answered froda; " and not in vain she named me. aslauga, thy knight comes, and enters the lists, and all for thee and thy reward alone! at the same time, my edchen, we will win for you your haughty bride." with this he sprang upon his steed, full of the proud joy of former times; and when the magic of hildegardis' beauty, dazzling and bewildering, would rise up before him, he said smiling, "aslauga!" and the sun of his inner life shone forth again cloudless and serene. chapter iii. from a balcony of her castle, on the maine, hildegardis was wont to refresh herself, in the cool of the evening, by gazing on the rich landscape below, but gazing more eagerly on the glitter of arms, which often came in sight from many a distant road; for knights were approaching singly, or with a train of followers, all eager to prove their courage and their strength in striving for the high prize of the tournament. she was in truth a proud and high-minded maiden, -perhaps more so than became even her dazzling beauty and her princely rank. as she now gazed with a proud smile on the glittering roads, a damsel of her train began the following lay: the joyous song of birds in spring upon the wing doth echo far through wood and dell, and freely tell the song. 37 their treasures sweet of love and mirth, too gladsome for this lowly earth. the gentle breath of flowers in may, o'er meadows gay, doth fill the pure and balmy air with perfume rare; still floating round each slender form, though scorched by sun, or torn by storm. but every high and glorious aim, and the pure flame that deep abiding in my heart can ne'er depart, too lofty for my falt'ring tongue, must die with me, unknown, unsung. "wherefore do you sing that song, and at this moment?" said hildegardis, striving to appear scornful and proud, though a deep and secret sadness was plainly enough seen to overshadow her countenance. "it came into my head unawares," replied the damsel," as i looked upon the road by which the gentle edwald, with his pleasant lays, first approached us; for it was from him i learnt it. but seems it not to you, my gracious lady, and to you too, my companions, as if edwald himself were again riding tha way towards the castle?" "dreamer!" said hildegardis, scornfully, — and yet could not for some space withdraw her eyes from the knight, till at length, with an effort, she turned them on froda, who rode beside him, saying: "yes, truly, that knight is edwald; but what can you find to notice in the meek-spirited, silent boy? here, fix your eyes, my maidens, on this majestic figure, if you would behold a knight indeed." she was silent. a voice within her, as though of prophecy, said, "now the victor of the tournament rides into the courtyard;" and she, who had never feared the presence of any human being, now felt humbled, and almost painfully awed, when she beheld the northern knight. at the evening meal the two newly arrived knights were 38 aslauga's knight. placed opposite to the royal hildegardis. as froda, after the northern fashion, remained in full armor, the golden image of aslauga gleamed from his silver breastplate full before the eyes of the haughty lady. she smiled scornfully, as if conscious that it depended upon her will to drive that image from the breast and from the heart of the stranger knight. then suddenly a clear golden light passed through the hall, so that hildegardis said, "o, the keen lightning!" and covered her eyes with both her hands. but froda looked into the dazzling radiance with a joyful gaze of welcome. at this hildegardis feared him yet more, though at the same time she thought, "this loftiest and most mysterious of men must be born for me alone." yet could she not forbear, almost against her will, to look from time to time in friendly tenderness on the poor edwald, who sat there silent, and with a sweet smile seemed to pity and to mock his own suffering and his own vain hopes. when the two knights were alone in their sleeping chamber, edwald looked for a long time in silence into the dewy balmy night. then he sang to his lute: a hero wise and brave, a lowly tender youth, are wandering through the land in steadfast love and truth. the hero, by his deeds, both bliss and fame hath won, and still, with heartfelt joy, the faithful child looked on. but froda took the lute from his hands, and said, "no, edchen, i will teach you another song; listen ! – there's a gleam in the hall, and like morning's light hath shone upon all her presence bright. suitors watch as she passes by she may gladden their hearts by one glance of her eye; but coldly she gazeth upon the throng, and they that have sought her may seek her long. ancient book of legends. 39 66 she turns her away from the richly clad knight, she heeds not the words of the learned wight; the prince is before her in all his pride, but other the visions around her that glide. 'then tell me, in all the wide world's space, who may ere win that lady's grace? in sorrowful love there sits apart the gentle squire who hath her heart; they all are deceived by fancies vain, and he knows it not who the prize shall gain. edwald thrilled. "as god wills," said he, softly to himself. "but i cannot understand how such a thing could be. "as god wills," repeated froda. the two friends embraced each other, and soon after fell into a peaceful slumber. some days afterwards, froda sat in a secluded bower of the castle-garden, and was reading in the ancient book of his lovely mistress aslauga. it happened at that very time that hildegardis passed by. she stood still, and said, thoughtfully, "strange union that you are of knight and sage, how comes it that you bring forth so little out of the deep treasures of your knowledge? and yet i think you must have many a choice history at your command, even such as that which now lies open before you; for i see rich and bright pictures of knights and ladies painted amongst the letters." "it is, indeed, the most surpassing and enchanting history in all the world," said froda; but you have neither patience nor thoughtfulness to listen to our wonderful legends of the north." why think you so?" answered hildegardis, with that pride which she rejoiced to display towards froda, when she could find courage to do so; and, placing herself on a stone seat opposite, she commanded him at once to read something to her out of that fair book. froda began; and in the very effort which he made to change the old heroic speech of iceland into the german tongue, his heart and mind were stirred more fervently and solemnly. as he looked up from time to time, he beheld the 40 aslauga's knight. countenance of hildegardis beaming in ever-growing beauty with joy, wonder, and interest; and the thought passed through his mind whether this could indeed be his destined bride, to whom aslauga herself was guiding him. then suddenly the characters became strangely confused; it seemed as if the pictures began to move, so that he was obliged to stop. while he fixed his eyes with a strong effort upon the book, endeavoring to drive away this strange confusion, he heard a well-known sweetly solemn voice, which said, "leave a little space for me, fair lady. the history which that knight is reading to you relates to me; and i hear it gladly." before the eyes of froda, as he raised them from his book, sat aslauga in all the glory of her flowing golden locks beside hildegardis, on the seat. with tears of affright in her eyes, the maiden sank back and fainted. solemnly, yet graciously, aslauga warned her knight with a motion of her fair right hand, and vanished. "what have i done to you," said hildegardis, when recovered from her swoon by his care, "what have i done to you, evil-minded knight, that you call up your northern spectres before me, and wellnigh destroy me through terror of your magic arts?" "lady," answered froda, " may god help me, as i have not called hither the wondrous lady who but now appeared to us. but now her will is known to me, and i commend you to god's keeping." with that he walked thoughtfully out of the bower. hildegardis fled in terror from the gloomy shade, and, rushing out on the opposite side, reached a fair open grass-plot, where edwald, in the soft glow of twilight, was gathering flowers; and, meeting her with a courteous smile, offered her a nosegay of narcissus and pansies. preparation for the tournament. 41 chapter iv. at length the day fixed for the tournament arrived; and a distinguished noble, appointed by the german emperor, arranged all things in the most magnificent and sumptuous guise for the solemn festival. the field-combat opened wide, and fair, and level; thickly strewn with the finest sand, so that both man and horse might find sure footing; and, like a pure field of snow, it shone forth from the midst of the flowery plain. rich hangings of silk from arabia, curiously embroidered with indian gold, adorned with their various colors the lists enclosing the space, and hung from the lofty galleries which had been erected for the ladies and nobles who were to behold the combat. at the upper end, under a canopy of majestic arches richly wrought in gold, was the place of the lady hildegardis. green wreaths and garlands waved gracefully between the glittering pillars in the soft breezes of july. and with impatient eyes the multitude, who crowded beyond the lists, gazed upwards, expecting the appearance of the fairest maiden of germany; and were only at times drawn to another part by the stately approach of the combatants. 0, how many a bright suit of armor, how many a silken richlyembroidered mantle, how many a lofty waving plume was here to be seen! the splendid troop of knights moved within the lists, greeting and conversing with each other, as a bed of flowers stirred by a breath of wind: but the flower-stems had grown to lofty trees, the yellow and white flower-leaves. had changed to gold and silver, and the dew-drops to pearls and diamonds. for whatever was most fair and costly, most varied and full of meaning, had these noble knights collected in honor of this day. many an eye was turned on froda, who, without scarf, plume, or mantle, with his shining silver breastplate, on which appeared the golden image of aslauga, and with his well-wrought helmet of golden locks, shone, in the 4 42 aslauga's knight. midst of the crowd, like polished brass. others, again, there were, who took pleasure in looking at the young edwald; his whole armor was covered by a mantle of white silk, embroidered in azure and silver, as his whole helmet was concealed by a waving plume of white feathers. he was arrayed with almost feminine elegance; and yet the conscious power with which he controlled his fiery, snow-white steed, made known the victorious strength and manliness of the warlike stripling. in strange contrast appeared the tall and almost gigantic figure of a knight clothed in a mantle of black glossy bear-skin, bordered with costly fur, but without any ornament of shining metal. his very helmet was covered with dark bear-skin; and instead of plumes, a mass of blood-red horsehair hung like a flowing mane profusely on every side. well did froda and edwald remember that dark knight; for he was the uncourteous guest of the hostelry: he also seemed to remark the two knights; for he turned his unruly steed suddenly round, forced his way through the crowd of warriors, and, after he had spoken over the enclosure to a hideous bronzecolored woman, sprang with a wild leap across the lists, and, with the speed of an arrow, vanished out of sight. the old woman looked after him with a friendly nod. the assembled people laughed as at a strange masquing device; but edwald and froda had their own almost shuddering thoughts concerning it, which, however, neither imparted to the other. the kettle-drums rolled, the trumpets sounded, and led by the aged duke, hildegardis advanced, richly apparelled, but more dazzling through the brightness of her own beauty. she stepped forward beneath the arches of the golden bower, and bowed to the assembly. the knights bent low, and the feeling rushed into many a heart, "there is no man on earth who can deserve a bride so queenly." when froda bowed his head, it seemed to him as if the golden radiance of aslauga's tresses floated before his sight; and his spirit rose in joy and pride that his lady held him worthy to be so often reminded of her. the tournament. 43 and now the tournament began. at first the knights strove with blunted swords and battle-axes; then they ran their course with lances man to man; but at last they divided into two equal parties, and a general assault began, in which every one was allowed to use at his own will either sword or lance. froda and edwald equally surpassed their antagonists, as (measuring each his own strength and that of his friend) they had foreseen. and now it must be decided by a single combat with lances, to whom the highest prize of victory should belong. before this trial began, they rode slowly together into the middle of the course, and consulted where each should take his place. "keep you your guiding-star still before your sight," said froda, with a smile; "the like gracious help will not be wanting to me." edwald looked round astonished for the lady of whom his friend seemed to speak; but froda went on. "i have done wrong in hiding aught from you; but after the tournament you shall know all. now lay aside all needless thoughts of wonder, dear edchen, and sit firm in your saddle; for i warn you that i shall run this course with all my might: not my honor alone is at stake, but the far higher honor of my lady." "so also do i purpose to demean myself," said edwald with a friendly smile. they shook each other by the hand, and rode to their places. amidst the sound of trumpets they met again, running their course with lightning speed; the lances shivered with a crash, the horses staggered, the knights, firm in their saddles, pulled them up, and rode back to their places. but as they prepared for another course, edwald's white steed snorted in wild affright, and froda's powerful chestnut reared up foaming. it was plain that the two noble animals shrunk from a second hard encounter ; but their riders held them fast with spur and bit, and firm and obedient, they again dashed forward at the second call of the trumpet. edwald, who by one deep, 44 aslauga's knight. ardent gaze on the beauty of his mistress had stamped it afresh on his soul, cried aloud, at the moment of encounter, "hildegardis!" and so mightily did his lance strike his valiant adversary, that froda sank backwards on his steed, with difficulty keeping his seat in his saddle, or holding firm in his stirrups; whilst edwald flew by unshaken, lowered his spear to salute hildegardis as he passed her bower, and then, amidst the loud applause of the multitude, rushed to his place, ready for the third course. and, ah! hildegardis herself, overcome by surprise, had greeted him with a blush and a look of kindness; it seemed to him as if the overwhelming joy of victory were already gained. but it was not so; for the valiant froda, burning with noble shame, had again tamed his affrighted steed, and chastising him sharply with the spur for his share in this mischance, said in a low voice, "beautiful and beloved lady, shew thyself to me, the honor of thy name is at stake.” to every other eye it seemed as if a golden rosy-tinted summer's cloud was passing over the deep-blue sky; but froda beheld the heavenly countenance of his lady, felt the waving of her golden tresses, and cried, "aslauga!" the two rushed together, and edwald was hurled from his saddle far upon the dusty plain. froda remained for a time motionless, according to the laws of chivalry, as though waiting to see whether any one would dispute his victory, and appearing on his mailed steed like some lofty statue of brass. all around stood the multitude in silent wonderment. when at length they burst forth into shouts of triumph, he beckoned earnestly with his hand, and all were again silent. he then sprang lightly from his saddle, and hastened to the spot where the fallen edwald was striving to rise. he pressed him closely to his breast, led his snowwhite steed towards him, and would not be denied holding the stirrups of the youth whilst he mounted. then he bestrode his own steed, and rode by edwald's side towards the golden the vanquished knight. 45 bower of hildegardis, where with lowered spear and open visor, he thus spoke: "fairest of all living ladies, i bring you here edwald your knightly bridegroom, before whose lance and sword all the knights of this tournament have fallen away, i only excepted, who can make no claim to the choicest prize of victory, since i, as the image on my breastplate may shew, already serve another mistress." the duke was even now advancing towards the two warriors, to lead them into the golden bower; but hildegardis restrained him with a look of displeasure, saying immediately, while her cheeks glowed with anger, "then you seem, sir froda, the danish knight, to serve your lady ill; for even now you openly styled me the fairest of living ladies." "that did i," answered froda, bending courteously; "because my fair mistress belongs to the dead." a slight shudder passed at these words through the assembly, and through the heart of hildegardis; but soon the anger of the maiden blazed forth again, and the more because the most wonderful and excellent knight she knew had scorned her for the sake of a dead mistress. "i make known to all," she said, with solemn earnestness, "that according to the just decree of my imperial uncle, this hand can never belong to a vanquished knight, however noble and honorable he may otherwise have proved himself. as the conqueror of this tournament, therefore, is bound to another service, this combat concerns me not; and i depart hence as i came, a free and unbetrothed maiden." the duke seemed about to reply; but she turned haughtily away, and left the bower. suddenly a gust of wind shook the green wreaths and garlands, and they fell untwined and rustling behind her. in this the people, displeased with the pride of hildegardis, thought they beheld an omen of punishment, and with jeering words noticed it as they departed. 46 aslauga's knight. chapter v. the two knights had returned to their apartments in deep silence. when they arrived there, edwald caused himself to be disarmed, and laid every piece of his fair shining armor together, with a kind of tender care, almost as if he were burying the corpse of a beloved friend. then he beckoned to his squires to leave the chamber, took his lute on his arm, and sang the following song to its notes: "bury them, bury them out of sight, for hope and fame are fled; and peaceful resting and quiet night are all now left for the dead." "you still stir up my anger against your lute," said froda. "you had accustomed it to more joyful songs than this. it is too good for a passing-bell, and you too good to toll it. i tell you yet, my young hero, all will end gloriously." edwald looked awhile with wonder in his face, and he answered kindly: "beloved froda, if it displeases you, i will surely sing no more." but at the same time he struck a few sad chords, which sounded infinitely sweet and tender. then the northern knight, much moved, clasped him in his arms, and said: "dear edchen, sing and say and do whatever pleases you; it shall ever rejoice me. but you may well believe me, for i speak not this without a spirit of presageyour sorrow shall change; whether to death or life i know not, but great and overpowering joy awaits you." edwald rose firmly and cheerfully from his seat, seized his companion's arm with a strong grasp, and walked forth with him through the blooming alleys of the garden into the balmy air. at that very hour, an aged woman, muffled in many a covering, was led secretly to the apartment of the lady hildegardis. the appearance of the dark-complexioned stranger was mystethe mysterious stranger. 47 rious; and she had gathered round her for some time, by many feats of jugglery, a part of the multitude returning home. from the tournament, but had dispersed them at last in wild affright. before this happened, the tire-woman of hildegardis had hastened to her mistress, to entertain her with an account of the rare and pleasant feats of the bronze-colored woman. the maidens in attendance, seeing their lady deeply moved, and wishing to banish her melancholy, bade the tire-woman bring the old stranger hither. hildegardis forbade it not, hoping that she should thus divert the attention of her maidens, while she gave herself up more deeply and earnestly to the varying imaginations which flitted through her mind. the messenger found the place already deserted; and the strange old woman alone in the midst, laughing immoderately. when they questioned her, she did not deny that she had all at once taken the form of a monstrous owl, announcing to the spectators, in a screeching voice, that she was the devil — and that every one upon this rushed screaming home. the tire-woman trembled at the fearful jest, but durst not return to ask again the pleasure of hildegardis, whose discontented mood she had already remarked. she gave strict charge to the old woman, with many a threat and promise, to demean herself discreetly in the castle; after which she brought her in by the most secret way, that none of those whom she had terrified might see her enter. the aged crone now stood before hildegardis, and winked to her, in the midst of her low and humble salutation, in a strangely familiar manner, as though there were some secret between them. the lady felt an involuntary shudder, and could not withdraw her gaze from the features of that hideous countenance, hateful as it was to her. the curiosity which had led the rest to desire a sight of the strange woman was by no means gratified: for she performed none but the most common tricks of jugglery and related only well-known tales, so 48 aslauga's knight. that the tire-woman felt wearied and indifferent: and, ashamed of having brought the stranger, she stole away unnoticed. several other maidens followed her example; and as these withdrew, the old crone twisted her mouth into a smile, and repeated the same hideous confidential wink towards the lady. hildegardis could not understand what attracted her in the jests and tales of the bronze-colored woman; but so it was, that in her whole life she had never bestowed such attention on the words of any one. still the old woman went on and on, and already the night looked dark without the windows; but the attendants who still remained with hildegardis had sunk into a deep sleep, and had lighted none of the wax tapers in the apartment. then, in the dusky gloom, the dark old crone rose from the low seat on which she had been sitting, as if she now felt herself well at ease, advanced towards hildegardis, who sat as if spellbound with terror, placed herself beside her on the purple couch, and embracing her in her long dry arms with a hateful caress, whispered a few words in her ear. it seemed to the lady as if she uttered the names of froda and edwald; and from them came the sound of a flute, which, clear and silvery as were its tones, seemed to lull her into a trance. she could indeed move her limbs, but only to follow those sounds, which like a silver net-work floated round the hideous form of the old woman. she moved from the chamber, and hildegardis followed her through all her slumbering maidens, still singing softly as she went, "ye maidens, ye maidens, i wander by night." without the castle, accompanied by squire and groom, stood the gigantic bohemian warrior; he laid on the shoulders of the crone a bag of gold so heavy that she sank half whimpering, half laughing, on the ground; then lifted the entranced hildegardis on his steed, and galloped with her silently into the everdeepening gloom of night. the guiding light. 49 "all ye noble lords and knights, who yesterday contended gallantly for the prize of victory and the hand of the peerless hildegardis, arise, arise! saddle your steeds, and to the rescue! the peerless hildegardis is carried away!" thus proclaimed many a herald through castle and town, in the bright red dawn of the following day; and on all sides. rose the dust from the tread of knights and noble squires along those roads by which so lately, in the evening twilight, hildegardis in proud repose had gazed on her approaching suitors. two of them, well known to us, remained inseparably together; but they knew as little as the others whether they had taken the right direction; for how and when the adored lady could have disappeared from her apartments, was still to the whole castle a fearful and mysterious secret. edwald and froda rode as long as the sun moved over their heads, unwearied as he; and now when he sank in the waves of the river, they thought to win the race from him, and still spurred on their jaded steeds. but the noble animals staggered and panted, and the knights were constrained to grant them some little refreshment in a grassy meadow. secure of bringing them back at their first call, their masters removed both bit and curb, that they might be refreshed with the green pasture, and with the deep blue waters of the maine, while they themselves reposed under the shade of a neighboring thicket of alders. and deep in the cool dark shade, there shone, as it were, a mild but clear sparkling light, and checked the speech of froda, who at that moment was beginning to tell his friend the tale of his knightly service to his sovereign lady, which had been delayed hitherto, first by edwald's sadness, and then by the haste of their journey. ah, well did froda know that lovely golden light! "let us follow it, edchen," said he in a low tone," and leave the horses awhile in their pasture." edwald in silence followed his companion's advice. a secret voice, 50 aslauga's knight. half sweet, half fearful, seemed to tell him that here was the path, the only right path to hildegardis. once only he said in astonishment, "never before have i seen the evening glow shine on the leaves so brightly." froda shook his head with a smile, and they pursued in silence their unknown track. when they came forth on the other side of the alder-thicket upon the bank of the maine, which almost wound round it, edwald saw well that another glow than that of evening was shining on them, for dark clouds of night already covered the heavens, and the guiding light stood fixed on the shore of the river. it lit up the waves, so that they could see a high woody island in the midst of the stream, and a boat on the hither side of the shore fast bound to a stake. but on approaching, the knights saw much more; a troop of horsemen, of strange and foreign appearance were all asleep, and in the midst of them, slumbering on cushions, a female form in white garments. "hildegardis!" murmured edwald to himself, with a smile, and at the same time he drew his sword in readiness for the combat as soon as the robbers should awake, and beckoned to froda to raise the sleeping lady, and convey her to a place of safety. but at this moment something like an owl passed whizzing over the dark squadron; and they all started up with clattering arms and hideous outcries. a wild unequal combat arose in the darkness of night, for that beaming light had disappeared. froda and edwald were driven asunder, and only at a distance heard each other's mighty war-cry. hildegardis, startled from her magic sleep, uncertain whether she were waking or dreaming, fled bewildered and weeping bitterly into the deep shades of the alder-thicket. hildegardis rescued. 51 chapter vi. froda felt his arm grow weary, and the warm blood was flowing from two wounds in his shoulder; he wished so to lie down in death that he might rise up with honor from his bloody grave to the exalted lady whom he served. he cast his shield behind him, grasped his sword-hilt with both hands, and rushed wildly, with a loud war-cry, upon the affrighted foe. instantly he heard some voices cry, "it is the rage of the northern heroes which has come upon him." and the whole troop were scattered in dismay, while the exhausted knight remained wounded and alone in the darkness. then the golden hair of aslauga gleamed once more in the alder-shade; and froda said, leaning, through weariness, on his sword, "i think not that i am wounded to death; but whenever that time shall come, o beloved lady, wilt thou not indeed appear to me in all thy loveliness and brightness?" a soft "yes" breathed against his cheek, and the golden light vanished. but now hildegardis came forth from the thicket, half fainting with terror, and said feebly," within is the fair and frightful spectre of the north-without is the battle; o merciful heaven! whither shall i go?" then froda approached to soothe the affrighted one, to speak some words of comfort to her, and to inquire after edwald; but wild shouts and the rattling of armor announced the return of the bohemian warriors. with haste froda led the maiden to the boat, pushed off from the shore, and rowed her with the last effort of his failing strength towards the island which he had observed in the midst of the stream. but the pursuers had already kindled torches, and waved them sparkling here and there: by this light they soon discovered the 52 aslauga's knight. boat; they saw that the dreaded danish knight was bleeding, and gained fresh courage for their pursuit. hardly had froda pushed the boat to the shore of the island, before he perceived a bohemian on the other side in another skiff; and soon afterwards the greater number of the enemy embarked to row towards the island. "to the wood, fair maiden," he whispered, as soon as he had landed hildegardis on the shore : "there conceal yourself, whilst i endeavor to prevent the landing of the robbers." but hildegardis, clinging to his arm, whispered again, "do i not see that you are pale and bleeding? and would you have me expire with terror in the dark and lonely clefts of this rock? ah! and if your northern gold-haired spectre were to appear again and seat herself beside me! think you that i do not see her there now, shining through the thicket!" "she shines!" echoed froda; and new strength and hope ran through every vein. he climbed the hill, following the gracious gleam; and hildegardis, though trembling at the sight, went readily with her companion, saying only from time to time, in a low voice, "ah, sir knight! my noble wondrous knight leave me not here alone; that would be my death." the knight, soothing her courteously, stepped ever onwards through the darkness of dell and forest; for already he heard the sound of the bohemians landing on the shore of the island. suddenly he stood before a cave thickcovered with underwood; and the gleam disappeared. "here, then," he whispered, endeavoring to hold the branches asunder. for a moment she paused, and said, "if you should but let the branches close again behind me, and i were to remain alone with spectres in this cave! but, froda, you will surely follow me a trembling, hunted child as i am? will you not?" without more misgivings she passed through the branches; and the knight, who would willingly have remained without as a guard, followed her. earnestly he listened through the stillness of night, whilst hildegardis hardly hildegardis in safety. 53 dared to draw her breath. then was heard the tramp of an armed man, coming ever nearer and nearer, and now close to the entrance of the cave. in vain did froda strive to free himself from the trembling maiden. already the branches before the entrance were cracking and breaking, and froda sighed deeply. "must i then, fall like a lurking fugitive, entangled in a woman's garments? it is a base death to die. but can i cast this half-fainting creature away from me on the dark hard earth, perhaps into some deep abyss? come, then, what will, thou, lady aslauga, knowest that i die an honorable death!" "froda! hildegardis!" breathed a gentle, well-known voice at the entrance; and recognizing edwald, froda bore the lady towards him into the starlight, saying, "she will die of terror in our sight in this deep cavern. is the foe near at hand?" "most of them lie lifeless on the shore, or swim bleeding through the waves," said edwald. "set your mind at rest, and repose yourself. are you wounded, beloved froda?" he this short account to his astonished companions gave how, in the darkness, he had mixed with the bohemians and pressed into the skiff, and that it had been easy to him on landing to disperse the robbers entirely, who supposed that they were attacked by one of their own crew, and thought themselves bewitched. "they began at last to fall on one another "— so he ended his history; " and we have only now to wait for the morning to conduct the lady home; for those who are wandering about of that owl-squadron will doubtless hide themselves from the eye of day." while speaking, he had skilfully and carefully arranged a couch of twigs and moss for hildegardis; and when the wearied one, after uttering some gentle words of gratitude, had sunk into a slumber, he began, as well as the darkness would allow, to bind up the wounds of his friend. during this anxious task, while the dark boughs of the trees murmured over their heads, and the rippling of the stream was 5 54 aslauga's knight. heard from afar, froda, in a low voice, made known to his brother in arms to the service of what lady he was bound. edwald listened with deep attention; but at last he said tenderly, "trust me, the noble princess aslauga will not resent it, if you pledge yourself to this earthly beauty in faithful love. ah! even now doubtless you are shining in the dreams of hildegardis, richly-gifted and happy knight! i will not stand in your way with my vain wishes; i see now clearly that she can never, never love me. therefore i will this very day hasten to the war which so many valiant knights of germany are waging in the heathen land of prussia; and the black cross, which distinguishes them for warriors of the church, i will lay as the best balm on my throbbing heart. take, then, dear froda, that fair hand which you have won in battle, and live henceforth a life of surpassing happiness and joy." 66 edwald," said froda, gravely, "this is the first time that i ever heard one word from your lips which a true knight could not fulfil. do as it pleases you towards the fair and haughty hildegardis; but aslauga remains my mistress ever, and no other do i desire in life or death." the youth was startled by these stern words, and made no reply. both, without saying more to each other, watched through the night in solemn thought. the next morning, when the rising sun shone brightly over the flowery plains around the castle of hildegardis, the watchman on the tower blew a joyful blast from his horn; for his keen eye had distinguished far in the distance his fair lady, who was riding from the forest between her two deliverers; and from castle, town, and hamlet, came forth many a rejoicing train to assure themselves with their own eyes of the happy news. hildegardis turned to edwald with eyes sparkling through tears, and said, "were it not for you, young knight, they might have sought long and vainly before they found the lost the banquet. 55 maiden or the noble froda, who would now be lying in that dark cavern a bleeding and lifeless corse." edwald bowed lowly in reply, but persevered in his wonted silence. it even seemed as though an unusual grief restrained the smile which erewhile answered so readily, in childlike sweetness, to every friendly word. the noble guardian of hildegardis had, in the overflowing joy of his heart, prepared a sumptuous banquet, and invited all the knights and ladies present to attend it. whilst froda and edwald, in all the brightness of their glory, were ascending the steps in the train of their rescued lady, edwald said to his friend, "noble, steadfast knight, you can never love me more!" and as froda looked in astonishment, he continued —“ thus it is when children presume to counsel heroes, however well they may mean it. now have i offended grievously against you, and yet more against the noble lady, aslauga." because you would have plucked every flower of your own garden to gladden me with them?" said froda: no; you are my gentle brother in arms now, as heretofore, dear edchen, and are perhaps become yet dearer to me." "" "6 then edwald smiled again in silent contentment, like a flower after the morning showers of may. the eyes of hildegardis glanced mildly and kindly on him, and she often conversed graciously with him, while, on the other hand, since yesterday, a reverential awe seemed to separate her from froda. but edwald also was much altered. however he welcomed with modest joy the favor of his lady, it yet seemed as if some barrier were between them which forbade him to entertain the most distant hope of successful love. it chanced that a noble count, from the court of the emperor, was announced, who being bound on an important embassy, had wished to pay his respects to the lady hildegardis by the way. she received him gladly; and as soon as the first salutations were over, he said, looking at her and edwald, 56 aslauga's knight. "i know not if my good fortune may not have brought me hither to a joyful festivity. that would be right welcome news to the emperor my master." hildegardis and edwald were lovely to look upon in their blushes and confusion; but the count, perceiving at once that he had been two hasty, inclined himself respectfully towards the young knight, and said, "pardon me, noble duke edwald, my two great forwardness; but i know the wish of my sovereign, and the hope to find it already fulfilled prompted my tongue to speak.” all eyes were fixed inquiringly on the young hero, who answered, in graceful confusion, "it is true; the emperor, when i was last in his camp, through his undeserved favor, raised me to the rank of a duke. it was my good fortune, that in an encounter, some of the enemy's horse, who had dared to assault the sacred person of the emperor, dispersed and fled on my approach." the count then, at the request of hildegardis, related every circumstance of the heroic deed; and it appeared that edwald had not only rescued the emperor from the most imminent peril, but also, with the cool and daring skill of a general, had gained the victory which decided the event of the war. surprise at first sealed the lips of all; and even before their congratulations could begin, hildegardis had turned towards edwald, and said in a low voice, which yet, in that silence, was clearly heard by all, "the noble count has made known the wish of my imperial uncle; and i conceal it no longer, my own heart's wish is the same:i am duke edwald's bride." and with that she extended to him her fair right hand; and all present waited only till he should take it, before they burst into a shout of congratulation. but edwald forbore to do so; he only sunk on one knee before his lady, saying, "god forbid that the lofty hildegardis should ever recall a word spoken solemnly to noble knights and dames. to no vanquished knight' you said 'might the hand of the emperor's niece bethe challenge. 57 long' — and behold there froda, the noble danish knight, my conqueror." hildegardis, with a slight blush, turned hastily away, hiding her eyes; and as edwald arose, it seemed as though there were a tear upon his cheek. in his clanging armor froda advanced to the middle of the hall, exclaiming, "i declare my late victory over duke edwald to have been the chance of fortune, and i challenge the noble knight to meet me again to-morrow in the lists." at the same time he threw his iron gauntlet ringing on the pavement. but edwald moved not to take it up. on the contrary, a glow of lofty anger was on his cheeks, and his eyes sparkled with indignation, so that his friend would hardly have recognized him; and after a silence he spoke : "noble sir froda, if i have ever offended you, we are now even. how durst you, a warrior gloriously wounded by two sword-strokes, challenge a man unhurt into the lists to-morrow, you did not despise him?" if "forgive me, duke edwald," answered froda, somewhat abashed, but with cheerfulness; "i have spoken too boldly: not till i am completely cured do i call you to the field." then edwald took up the gauntlet joyfully he knelt once before hildegardis, who, turning away her face, gave him her fair hand to kiss, and walked, with his arm in that of his noble danish friend, out of the hall. chapter vii. while froda's wounds were healing, edwald would sometimes wander, when the shades of evening fell dark and silent around, on the flowery terraces beneath the windows of hilde5* 58 aslauga's knight. gardis, and sing pleasant little songs; amongst others the following: heal fast, heal fast, ye hero-wounds; o knight, be quickly strong; beloved strife for fame and life, o tarry not too long!" but that one which the maidens of the castle loved best to learn from him was this; and it was perhaps the longest song that edwald had ever sung in his whole life. "would i on earth were lying, by noble hero slain; so that love's gentle sighing breath'd me to life again! would i an emperor were, of wealth and power! would i were gathering twigs in woodland bower! would that, in lone seclusion i lived a hermit's life! would, amid wild confusion, i led the battle-strife! o would the lot were mine, in bower or field, to which my lady fair her smile would yield!" the at this time it happened, that a man, who held himself to be very wise, and who filled the office of secretary to the aged guardian of hildegardis, came to the two knightly friends to propose a scheme to them. his proposal, in few words, was this, that as froda could gain no advantage from his victory, he might in the approaching combat suffer himself to be thrown from his steed, and thus secure the lady for his com rade, at the same time fulfilling the wish of the emperor, which might turn to his advantage hereafter in many ways. the second combat. 59 at this the two friends at first laughed heartily; but then froda advanced gravely towards the secretary, and said “ thou trifler, doubtless the old duke would drive thee from his service did he know of thy folly, and teach thee to talk of the emperor. good night, worthy sir; and trust me that when edwald and i meet each other, it will be with all our heart and strength." the secretary hastened out of the room with all speed, and was seen next morning to look unusually pale. soon after this, froda recovered from his wounds; the course was again prepared as before, but crowded by a still greater number of spectators; and in the freshness of a dewy morning the two knights advanced solemnly together to the combat. "beloved edwald," said froda, in a low voice, as they went, "take good heed to yourself, for neither this time can the victory be yours, on that rose-colored cloud appears aslauga." "it may be so," answered edwald with a quiet smile; "but under the arches of that golden bower shines hildegardis, and this time she has not been waited for." the knights took their places, the trumpets sounded, and the course began, and froda's prophecy seemed to be near its fulfilment, for edwald staggered under the stroke of his lance, so that he let go the bridle, seized the mane with both hands, and thus hardly recovered his seat, whilst his high-mettled snow-white steed bore him wildly round the lists without control. hildegardis also seemed to shrink at this sight but the youth at length reined-in his steed, and the second course was run. froda shot like lightning along the plain, and it seemed as if the success of the young duke were now hopeless; but in the shock of their meeting, the bold danish steed reared, starting ― 60 aslauga's knight. aside as if in fear; the rider staggered, his stroke passed harmless by, and both steed and knight fell clanging to the ground before the steadfast spear of edwald, and lay motionless upon the field. edwald did now as froda had done before. in knightly wise he stood still upon the spot, as if waiting to see whether any other adversary were there to dispute his victory; then he sprang from his steed, and flew to the assistance of his fallen friend. $ he strove with all his might to release him from the weight of his horse; and presently froda came to himself, rose on his feet, and raised up his charger also. then he lifted up his visor, and greeted his conqueror with a friendly smile, though his countenance was pale. the victor bowed humbly, almost timidly, and said, "you, my knight, overthrown—and by me! i understand it not." "it was her own will," answered froda, smiling. now to your gentle bride." the multitude around shouted aloud, each lady and knight bowed low, when the aged duke pointed out to them the lovely pair, and at his bidding, the betrothed, with soft blushes, embraced each other beneath the green garlands of the golden bower. "come that very day were they solemnly united in the chapel of the castle, for so had froda earnestly desired: a journey into a far-distant land, he said, lay before him, and much he wished to celebrate the marriage of his friend before his departure. chapter viii. the torches were burning clear in the vaulted halls of the castle, hildegardis had just left the arm of her lover to begin aslauga in the lists. 61 66 a stately dance of ceremony with the aged duke, when edwald beckoned to his companion, and they went forth together into the moonlit gardens of the castle. "ah, froda, my noble, lofty hero," exclaimed edwald after a silence, were you as happy as i am! but your eyes rest gravely and thoughtfully on the ground, or kindle almost impatiently heavenwards. it would be dreadful, indeed, had the secret wish of your heart been to win hildegardis, and i, foolish boy, so strangely favored, had stood in your way." "be at rest, edchen," answered the danish hero with a smile. "on the word of a knight, my thoughts and yearnings concern not your fair hildegardis. far brighter than ever does aslauga's radiant image shine into my heart: but now hear what i am going to relate to you." -at the very moment when we meet together in the course -oh, had i words to express it to you! i was enwrapped, encircled, dazzled by aslauga's golden tresses, which were waving all around me. even my noble steed must have beheld the apparition, for i felt him start and rear under me. i saw you no more, the world no more, i saw only the angel-face of aslauga close before me, smiling, blooming like a flower in a sea of sunshine which floated around her. my senses failed me. not till you raised me from beneath my horse, did my consciousness return, and then i knew, with exceeding joy, that her own gracious pleasure had struck me down. but i felt a strange weariness, far greater than my fall alone could have caused, and i felt assured at the same time that my lady was about to send me on a far-distant mission. i hastened to repose myself in my chamber, and a deep sleep immediately fell on me. then came aslauga in a dream to me, more royally adorned than ever; she placed herself at the head of my couch, and said, 'haste to array thyself in all the splendor of thy silver armor, for thou art not the wedded-guest alone, thou art also the — ' 62 aslauga's knight. "and before she could speak the word, my dream had melted away, and i felt a longing desire to fulfil her gracious command, and rejoiced in my heart. but in the midst of the festival, i seemed to myself more lonely than in all my life before, and i cannot cease to ponder what that unspoken word of my lady could be intended to announce." "you are of a far loftier spirit than i am, froda," said edwald after a silence," and i cannot soar with you into the sphere of your joys. but tell me, has it never awakened a deep pang within you that you serve a lady so withdrawn from you alas! a lady, who is almost ever invisible?" "no, edwald, not so," answered froda, his eyes sparkling with happiness. "for well i know that she scorns not my service; she has even deigned sometimes to appear to me. oh, i am in truth a happy knight and minstrel!" "and yet your silence to-day, — your troubled yearnings?" "not troubled, dear edchen; only so heartfelt, so fervent in the depth of my heart,—and so strangely mysterious to myself withal. but this, with all belonging to me, springs alike from the words and commands of aslauga. how, then, can it be otherwise than something good and fair, and tending to a high and noble aim?" a squire, who had hastened after them, announced that the knightly bridegroom was expected for the torch-dance; and as they returned, edwald entreated his friend to take his place. in the solemn dance next to him and hildegardis. froda inclined his head in token of friendly assent. the horns and hautboys had already sounded their solemn invitation; edwald hastened to give his hand to his fair bride; and while he advanced with her to the midst of the stately hall, froda offered his hand for the torch-dance to a noble lady who stood the nearest to him, without farther observing her, and took with her the next place to the wedded pair. but how was it when a light began to beam from his comaslauga in the dance. 63 panion, before which the torch in his left hand lost all its brightness? hardly dared he, in sweet and trembling hope, to raise his eyes to the lady; and when at last he ventured, all his boldest wishes and longings were fulfilled.' adorned with a radiant bridal crown of emeralds, aslauga moved in solemn loveliness beside him, and beamed on him from amid the sunny light of her golden hair, blessing him with her heavenly countenance. the amazed spectators could not withdraw their eyes from the mysterious pair,—the knight in his light silver mail, with the torch raised on high in his hand, earnest and joyful, moving with a measured step, as if engaged in a ceremony of deep and mysterious meaning his lady beside him, rather floating than dancing, beaming light from her golden hair, so that you would have thought the day was shining into the night; and when a look could reach through all the surrounding splendor to her face, rejoicing heart and sense with the unspeakably sweet smile of her eyes and lips. near the end of the dance, she inclined towards froda, and whispered to him with an air of tender confidence, and with the last sound of the horns and hautboys she had disappeared. the most curious spectator dared not question froda about his partner. hildegardis did not seem to have been conscious of her presence; but shortly before the end of the festival, edwald approached his friend, and asked in a whisper," was it?" "yes, dear youth," answered froda; "your marriage-dance has been honored by the presence of the most exalted beauty which has been ever beheld in any land. ah! and if i rightly understood her meaning, you will never more see me stand sighing and gazing upon the ground. but hardly dare i hope it. now good night, dear edchen, good night. as soon as i may, i will tell you all." 1 see the baron de la motie fouqué's waldemar — "let none henceforward shrink from daring dreams, for earnest hearts shall find their dreams fulfilled." 64 aslauga's knight. chapter ix. the light and joyous dreams of morning still played round edwald's head when it seemed as though a clear light encompassed him. he remembered aslauga; but it was froda, the golden locks of whose helmet shone now with no less sunny brightness than the flowing hair of his lady. "ah!" thought edwald in his dream, "how beautiful has my dear brother-inarms become!" and froda said to him, "i will sing something to you, edchen; but softly, softly, so that it may not awaken hildegardis. listen to me. she glided in, bright as the day, there where her knight in slumber lay; and in her lily hand was seen a band that seemed of the moonlight sheen. 'we are one,' she sang, as about his hair she twin'd it, and over her tresses fair. beneath them the world lay dark and drear: but he felt the touch of her hand so dear, uplifting him far above mortals' sight, while around him were shed her locks of light, till a garden fair lay about him spread and this was paradise, angels said." "never in your life did you sing so sweetly," said the dreaming edwald. "that may well be, edchen," said froda, with a smile, and vanished. but edwald dreamed on and on, and many other visions passed before him, all of a pleasing kind, although he could not recall them, when, in the full light of morning, he unclosed his eyes with a smile. froda alone, and his mysterious song, stood clear in his memory. he now knew full well that his friend was dead; but the thought gave him no pain, for he felt sure that the pure spirit of that minstrel-warrior could only the grave of froda. 65 find its proper joy in the gardens of paradise, and in blissful solace with the lofty spirits of the ancient times. he glided softly from the side of the sleeping hildegardis to the chamber of the departed. he came back just as hildegardis awoke; she beheld, with wonder and humility, his mien of chastened joy, and asked him whither he had been so early; to which he replied, with a smile, "i have just buried the corpse of my dearly-loved froda, who, this very night, has passed away to his golden-haired mistress." then he related the whole history of aslauga's knight, and lived on in subdued, unruffled happiness, though for some time he was even more silent and thoughtful than before. he was often found sitting on the grave of his friend, and singing the following song to his lute: :listening to celestial lays, bending thy unclouded gaze on the pure and living light, thou art blest, aslauga's knight! send us from thy bower on high many an angel-melody, many a vision soft and bright, aslauga's dear and faithful knight! $ 6 blanche rose. 2 a tale of olden times. the bells of toulouse were chiming for primes.' the spires, steeples, and turrets fluttered with pennons and banners, and clustered with caps and bonnets like swarming bees. the main street was lined by the burgher guard, and crowded with citizens, strangers, troubadours, and minstrels, above whose motley show the windows and galleries were hung with cindon and arras, and filled with scarlet gowns, furred tabards, and all the riches, splendor, and beauty of "bel languedoc." a deep stillness reigned in the crowd, and all eyes were turned towards the east gate, where a triumphal arch, crowned with laurel, palm, and the white cross of toulouse stood as high as the bartizan of the city port. "santa madre! what jour de fête in this?" said an old pilgrim, as he pushed through the men-at-arms at the barrier. "in the name of st. jacques de toulouse, where did you come from? replied one of the sergeants, glancing at his "" cockle-shell. "that is no point of your charge," replied the stranger; "but i would know what saint you are going to celebrate." "truly we call him not saint as yet," replied the sergeant; "though i doubt not he is as good as st. dennis, or st. george, or any other st. chevalier in the calendar; bu in respect to the canonization, he is yet only raymond de toulouse-la 1 noon mass. 2 fine white linen. 3 a soldier between the rank of an esquire and man-at-arms, who generally worked the engines. the procession. 67 fleur de chevalerie'-' la lame de france,' our young prince that shall return to-day, with the glory of heaven and earth, from the holy croisade." the pilgrim crossed himself, and while he was yet speaking with the guard, the sound of cymbals, kettle-drums, and a "corps d'harmonie" came faintly through the still sunshine. "on viens!" exclaimed the sergeant; and the billmen, eagerly clearing the passage, closed up their array, and stood silent under their arms. the music advanced slowly, till the deep knell of an eastern march could be distinguished, and the thick heavy trample of horses upon the road; every eye fixed upon the gate, as the music approached, till suddenly the clattering hoofs and rolling drums echoed in the deep arch, and the dark mailed horsemen and forest of lances came through into the sunshine. the long black line of men-at-arms poured slowly down the street, till the bright tabards of the heralds appeared at the gate, followed by the great banner of toulouse, and all the peers and paladins of the array. in the midst of his knights, mounted upon a blanche arab, and glistening in the white battle-habit of the cross, the earl rode before his banner, surrounded by his officers, and followed by all the chivalry of languedoc and provence. his pale noble countenance was clear and serene as the sun that shone upon him, and his long black hair fell like waves of raven silk from the jewelled helmet and glittering lambroquin, which shook like a glory about his armed head. a rending shout, “ vive! vive! vive le paladin del croix !" went up like thunder from ¹ till the fourteenth century, the french language, particularly in the south, had great remains of the old provençal and romanish, once common to all the south of europe; hence, even in writing, it retained many constructions since localized to italy and spain, and thus, for "de la" " à la," &c. was used "del" "al," "rey" for "roi," espèe, for "epèe, " del rey and al rey" for "du roy and au roi," &c. hence the surname which yet remains in france, "delcroix." 68 blanche rose. ↑ the crowd; and the waving of bonnets, scarfs, and glaives, fluttered and flashed, and glistened down the street before the banner like the tossing and glimmering of flowers before the breeze. by the side of the earl, rode his sworn brother in arms the beautiful and gallant auguste de valence, son to king remi of provencecalled " la fleur de france," ""le bel du monde," and the second knight of all the christian chivalry; but the eyes of the people past over him as he rode beside the young prince, who, in the opinion of the troubadours, came nearer the beau-ideal of chivalry, "sir galahad du sangraal," than any other knight who had ever lived. all the way as he came, garlands, and crowns, and showering flowers rained upon his helmet and housings; and the people wept, and knelt and blessed him, and held up their children to see his face, and cry "vive la gloire de france! the young prince came white as his surcoat, and bowed his glorious head to the pall on his horse's mane. "soli deo gloria!" said he "soli deo gloria! et non nobis domini !" "" ― it was long before the court passed down the street, but at length the earl entered the grande place, and as he passed under a large house near the cross, looked suddenly up to the galleries. that house alone in the square was silent and deserted, the silk curtains were drawn close in the windows, and the heavy galleries empty and desolate. the prince turned suddenly and spoke to the grand almoner, and the color came into the face of the old man, but what he answered could not be heard in the crowd. in a few moments they reached the gate of the episcopal palace, and the long glittering lambroquins and tall lances poured through into the court till the gate closed, and the black column of men-at-arms filed past towards the castle. but the crowd still remained before the palace, and in a short 'du monde was a superlative epithet frequently bestowed upon the extraordinary degree of any quality, good or bad. thus there was" the perilous knight of the world," "the beautiful ladye of the world," &c. &c. &c. raymond de toulouse. 69 time a sumptuous cavalcade of the city procession came through to the gate, and the stately companies of peers, knights, and ladies, began to arrive for the banquet, prepared to give welcome to their prince. all the noon and till the sun grew low, the clangor of the wild eastern music came from the portals, and the gates-stairs, and galleries were crowded with valets, pages, pursuivants, and men-at-arms; but as the evening came and the twilight began to fall, the quiet of closing day succeeded to the hurry of the noon, and only a bright page, or an over-wassailed trooper was seen here and there flitting through the dim courts, or elbowing the narrow street as if it was too narrow for a victorious crusader, who had ridden upon the plains of zebulon and naphthali. it was near dark; the chateau was dim and still, and the quiet of feudal solitude had succeeded to the hurry and glitter of the baronial pageant and military parade. at times a sudden roar of songs and voices came from the ward-rooms, but only one still watch-light shone upon the moat, and already the pages were taking their respective turnpikes, and the seneschal was putting off his furred gown within his closet; for as yet the great had not fallen into those extravagant late hours which made them invisible to their poor suitors at eight o'clock before noon.2 in the midst of this quiet, a tall figure, wrapped in a dark mantle, came out from the west postern, and turned hastily towards the grande place. the full moon was rising over the dim houses as he entered the square; and as he looked up to her bright face, it discovered the pale noble countenance of raymond de toulouse. he passed hastily to the house, which 1 old name for a winding stair. 2 latimer, in one of his sermons, complains that the dissipations and late hours of the courtiers had advanced to such an excess, that they were unable to give audience perhaps, before eight o'clock in the morning. 6 * 70 blanche rose. he had noticed at his entry, and stopping at a small port under the garden turret, unclosed the door and passed into a little wilderness of cypresses and olives. he walked forward through the dim alleys, like one well acquainted with their windings, till he came to a vast plane-tree, which overshadowed a little green seat beside the garonne. a white female figure sat upon the turf, her long black hair loose upon her neck, and her silk gown glistening on the grass like a continuation of the moonlight which glimmered on the water, and to which she gazed with such fixedness that the knight was at her side before she heard his step. "blanche rose!" said he in a still gentle voice; she started and drew a long quivering breath, but as she looked in his face, she sprung from the ground,—“my own very dear prince and brother!" she exclaimed, and fell upon his bosom, and wept without a word. the prince held her in his arms and bent over her till her emotion subsided into the low tremulous sobs of an infant's tears. several times the earl strove to speak; but his voice failed at that sad trembling breath that fluttered upon his bosom. "dear blanche," said he at last, "what is this? would not tell me but will tell me." you the lady started and shuddered, and her face sunk closer on his mantle. the tears came to the eyes of the young knight—“ my own dear orpheline ladyethe child of my foster-mother you do not fear to speak to me !— to your brother? look up on the face that used to rest on the same bosom sleep in the same cradle and this the hand that was once the little helpless hand that clung to the same breast with yours now to him be the glory! the battle arm that holds the thunder and the lightning against all that should do ill to my dear sister." they the miniature. 71 blanche burst afresh into sobs, and would have sunk out of his arms but for his strong hand; but he supported her in silence, till at last her tears ceased, and she leaned still and breathless, and deathly heavy on his arm. raymond looked upon her bright lovely head that lay motionless upon his cloak, and smoothed the raven locks from her pale brow. "alas!" said he gently, "where is your own white flower that used to be so bright in these dark waves?" "la-blanche-rose" trembled like the leaves that quivered in the moonlight-" fallen -gone-withered in the dust!" she murmured faintly. ―― the earl's hand shook, but he did not speak, and for a long time they stood without a word. blanche rose up from his arm, and swept back the hair from her pale death-face. "raymond!" said she, "i will speak to you as a knight's daughter should speak to a knight's son. i was your very dear true sister. i am"her voice choked and struggled "no more your sister no more my father's daughter lost fallen maiden! a poor i was the last of his race that was the father of kings. i shall be the first the mother of one who will never have a father! she sunk down upon the seat and buried her face in the grass. raymond stood silent and fixed, and held her hand but it did not move again, and lay cold and still, and heavy as the dead clay. "my dear sister!" said he at last, "what, who has done you wrong?" "" blanche did not speak nor lift her face, but drew away her hand, and immediately it returned with something bright to the moonshine; as raymond stooped it flew open, and he saw the glorious beautiful features of auguste de valence. "la bel du monde !" he exclaimed. blanche did not move nor answer, and his eyes rested fixed upon the miniature, as it lay open in her passive hand. "what has he done?" said the earl, in the deep, calm terrible voice with which he used to speak in battle. 72 blanche rose. her voice spoke faintly from the ground; "he has shed the rose from my brow that shall never bloom again! raymond fell on the ground, his long hair spread in the dust, and his bright noble terrible battle-front bowed like a child. the white fingers of the maiden closed convulsively upon the gold, and the bright robe trembled on her slender form, like the lights upon the stream. "" raymond rose up; his lips were white as death, but his eyes calm and steady; and he stooped and took her passive hand and kissed her cold lips. "ladye! my very dear love and sister!" said he, "it is gone! it is passed away!-tomorrow your white flower shall bloom on your brow, clear and stainless as ever it shone in sun!" blanche started and glanced wildly up; but the sudden light of her eyes fell, and she clasped her hands on her face, "he is married to another!" said she. raymond grasped her hands. "look up!" said he; "look on the fair moon; she is rising as you and i have seen her rise when we were happy, careless infants on this bank. when she rises again, you shall look upon her, clear, and bright, and spotless as her face that smiles upon you!" blanche looked long, and fixed, and calm upon him, and dropped her eyes, and shook her head. "the grave. -the fire that washes out all spotthe mercy of god shall take away my stain, but never man on earth!" the earl turned away and held her hand, and the tears run down his face. at last he loosed his surcoat, and undid the white cross from his neck. "i took it at the holy shrine," said he," at his foot where all sins shall be forgiven; it has brought me through battle and tempest, and the black death,' by his might it shall bring you through peril worse than death. take it; pray for me; and when we meet again you 1 the plague in general, in particular a dreadful pestilence which desolated the north of europe in the 13th century. the forest of maris. 73 shall be the bright, beautiful, glorious lady of the world that ever you were in life!" he tied the cord on her neck, and laid the pearl in her hand, and long spoke and strove to console her, but she could not be comforted, and sat still and silent upon the grass; her hands dropped in the cold dew, and her eyes fixed blank and dim upon the moonlight that floated in the water. raymond stood and gazed upon her till his face grew white as hers; but suddenly the light came to his eyes, he laid his hand upon the cross of his sword "by his might and his hope, i hold the spell of your fate!" said he; "to-morrow it shall be broken!" the gray dawn was breaking in the forest of maris, and the dim cold light began to glisten upon the pale flowers and the dewy leaves of the wood-sorrel and colt's-foot which clustered about the feet of the old oaks. no sound came through the still thickets but the chime from the distant convent, and the light trip of the buck pricking among the leaves; even at that quiet hour he started at the mass-bell, suddenly topped his cropping lips from the grass, and bent his ear, and held up his nose in the wind; but he returned to his browsing, and wavered through the wood, till he came to the brink of a small deep glade; he stopped suddenly, and pricked his ear, and glanced his bright eye into the hollow, and for a moment stood and felt the wind, but in the next his white single went over the long fern like a flash of light, and he vanished into the deep thicket. for an instant his short bound came from the moss, but nothing stirred nor appeared where he had looked, and the light began to brighten and the birds to sing, but all was still and solitary. the red rose of the morning began to appear through the trees, and the white mist went slowly up from the glade, and under an oak leaned a tall dark man, his arms folded, his back 74 blanche rose. to the tree, and his brown cap and deep mantle scarce distinguishable from the knotted and fantastic shapes of the old trunks that stood about him. as he leaned and gazed upon the path, a quick step rustled on the leaves, and suddenly the light noble figure of the auguste de valence came out upon the glade. for a moment he stopped and glanced round. the man rose from the tree, and dropped his cloak, and came to the green — raymond de toulouse. auguste cast his mantle, and put off his glove, and they drew their swords and confronted each other without a word. for a moment they stood upon their guard, point to point, eye to eye, foot to foot, and neither gave hit nor foin; but in the next auguste made a feint and plunge that might have foiled the best hand in france, but the blade glanced like a reed from the sword of raymond, and for several moments the glade echoed to the quick clash and the heavy fearful trample of the mortal assault. but it might have seemed only a skilful "passage of arms," neither being able to foil the hand of his opponent, till auguste made the foin that he was never known to fail, and the sword went through the kirtle of his antagonist, close beneath his arm. the point glittered at his back, and the blood gushed down his green hose, but he did not fall nor stagger, nor drop his hand; and they closed, and clashed, and showered blows, till the blood run from every limb, and breathless and exhausted they dropped their points, and stood apart to breathe. for an instant they wiped their brows and drew their breath, and undid their kirtles to the wind; and auguste sat down upon a mole-hill, and the earl leaned to a tree, and each glanced at times to the other, till suddenly they started to the green, and renewed the battle with the same mortal determination. the sun was rising as they struck the first strokes; and whether it shone in the eyes of auguste, or that the earl had the better, he made a the duel. 75 sudden feint, and in the next moment the hilt of his sword was against the breast of his antagonist, and the blade a red half ell beyond his back. de valence sprung like a stricken hart, and fell upon the turf without a word; the blood gushed out from his mouth and breast, and in a moment his eyes began to change, and his lips became blue and cold. raymond threw himself upon his knees by his side, and clasped his hand, and raised his head, and strove to stanch the blood, and gazed wildly upon his closing eyes-" god give mercy and grace!" he cried, "that i should do this!" auguste opened his eyes and grasped his hand-"true and noble friend," said he, "you were ever kind and faithful to me in our lives, and this that you have now done is the best and truest deed of all. i thank god i bless you me forgive me but oh, she never can!" -pray for and he turned his face to the earth. the earl's tears dropped fast upon his cold brow, and he held his hand without speaking, as his breath came in short painful sobs, and the cold death-dew rose upon his forehead; he gave a sudden shiver, and his hand caught upon the hand of his friend-"say a prayer," said he ; "bid god sain; and let her pray for me when i am gone!" raymond cast up a sudden look no priest ! -――― 66 holy saints! — and none to say him shrift!” the dying knight pressed his hand -" hold up your cross," said he," and let me look upon it till i pass away. if i had but a cup of water! " . raymond glanced eagerly round the glade; a little blue streamlet fell through the grass upon a hollow of the mossy rock, and hastening to the spot, he filled his bonnet at the well, and hurried back to the dying man. the eyes of auguste had closed, but when the water came to his lips he opened them and looked up; a faint light came to his cheek; and he raised himself on the arm of his once brother. 76 blanche rose. "i will confess my shrift to you, my true brother," said he, " and you shall tell the priest, and pray for me, and there will be mercy." the earl bathed his face, and held him in his arms, and lifted the cross before him; and the knight clasped his dying hands on his, and confessed to him, as if he had been a monk in holy quire. his strength ebbed away with his last words, and he sunk heavy and breathless upon the breast of raymond. the knight dipped his hand in the water, and signed his brow, and put the cross in his cold fingers—“god be merciful to you and forgive you," said he, "and speak that word that i dare not speak, and that none is here to speak in his name!” the hand of the dying knight closed upon the rood; his eyes fell, and one sharp shiver, and he stretched out, cold and still, and gone for ever. the earl gazed on his void face, and held his hand till it grew stiff and cold, and the eyes slowly unclosed and fixed in the death-glare. raymond shuddered, and clasped his hands, and laid his head upon the turf, and the cross upon his breast, and spread his mantle over him, and knelt, and wept, and prayed beside him. at last he rose, and dried his sword on his sleeve and put his bonnet on his head, and set his horn to his lips, and blew the mort.' in a few moments a little page came lightly through the trees with his white arab; and, as he led up the horse, looked upon the cloak, and trembled and turned pale. "sit beside him," said the earl, " and watch that no beastnor bird come to do him wrong; and i will ride to the town, and he shall be buried as men should bury a king's son." the sun was set, and the twilight was almost gone; all toulouse was in motion: the great bell of the cathedral tolled 1 the death-note, or the blast that was blown at the death of a stag. the death-knell. 77 its heavy knell over the town; and the streets were crowded with a tide of people hurrying towards the main rue. all the way from the chateau to the great church was kept by menat-arms, and a constant wavering stir went among the tall lances, an eager murmur of voices, interrupted only by the fearful toll of the bell that struck its death-knell at slow intervals. "gramercy! what is this, that the great bell tolls," exclaimed an old peasant to his merchant as he pushed through the crowd; "i never heard that knell but for the death of our earl." "then shall you well hear it to-day," replied the citizen; "for though he is not, as you shall say, dead in his body, he is dead in his glory and knight's fame." "saint mary! of what speak you?" said the granger. 66 know you la rose blanche?" asked the merchant. "peine de ma vie !" exclaimed the old man, "do i know the moon, and the bright star when she rises at vespers?" "then shall you not marvel that the earl had the greatest love for her that ever knight had for a lady," said the burgher. "nay, truly," replied the peasant; "but i make great marvel to hear a bell toll, when all the chimes in toulouse should be ringing merry!" "" "you shall not make the lark sing at your holiday," re plied the merchant, nor a maiden's love come for your harping. this, that was the brightest that ever the sun looked on, minded a fair crown and broad lordship no more than yon should value a cowslip fee in a fairy-land; and likely for that they had been foster-children together, she thought of earl raymond but as a maiden may of her true brother, and would not be his lady though he had been king of france; at the least she said so. the count was near out of his mind, as all men know; but that which men know not alas, that it should be to say on the evening that he was to sail for the ―― " 7 78 blanche rose. • holy land, being alone with her to take his leave, fell such unknightly outrage as never prince did to a lady, unless it was don rodrique to count palayo's daughter. the sweet gentle maiden never spoke charge nor word against him, but ever she was pale, and heavy and broken of heart, and none knew why, till it could no longer be hid, and her shame flew fast and far as ever went the renown of the 'blanche rose,' that had never peer of any earthly ladye. fearful!-fearful! — she had to dree' when the priest came to curse her, and the bishop to make her speak, and the proud peers, her kinsmen, spoke of burning her on a hill, like queen guinever; yet she would never tell the name of her false knight till this hour. but now when the earl came, he was all confounded in her peril; and for his great repenting, he hath confessed and accused him to the bishop, and now would do all the amende that may be to the heart-broken maiden, and make her true lady and countess of toulouse." "and what is this that shall be done to-night?" said the peasant. "the earl goes in his penance to the great church,” replied the townsman; "and thereafter the blanche rose shall be your lady; and let no man nor maiden think her slight, because the silk mitten was not puissant as the mail glove.” "truly i shall think her the truest and most dolorous lady that ever was named with lips," said the old man, " and the devil spit in his face that shall ever say contrar!” as he spoke, a faint chorus of voices came from the chateau, and a great light appeared beyond the black crowd of helmets and lances. it advanced slowly up the street, and at length the heavy tread of feet could be heard through the crowd, and a choir of monks chanting the penitential psalms. the solemn strain approached, and rose and fell at intervals. till 1 endure. the penitent at the altar. 79 suddenly the crowd gave back, and the white monks and bright torches came slowly into the square. all the convents of toulouse followed in long procession, till a broad heaven of light shone upon the press, and discovered the dark shadows of the black penitents, preceded by their cross, and lighted by a thousand torches. in the midst, bare-headed, and bare-footed, divested of all his feudal ensigns, with a torch in his hand and a chain upon his neck, earl raymond walked in the white gown of penance; but his face was whiter than the cindon, and his eyes bent on the ground before the gaze and murmur that passed before him. a thrill of grief, wonder, and admiration passed through every heart which had so lately seen his crowned head, riding through that street, in all the light and glory of victory and the cross; and at each pause of the choir, a deep "amen!" answered from the crowd. as the procession came to the high cross, the chant ceased, the train stopped, and the heralds lifted their hands and cried “ oyez, oyez, so should it be done to all knights, traitors to orphelines and maidens."" a deep death-pause rested upon the crowd, and no voice answered back again; the heavy tramp went on, the chant rose up, and the procession passed on towards the cathedral. the long lines of monks vanished like shadows within the deep arch of the great portal, till the white gliding figures reappeared in the light of the still choir, and the cowls, and gowns, and glittering glaives poured through the dim aisles, till the choir and nave was filled with the dark crowd. the church was hung with black, and lighted as for a soul-mass; and as the torches and the penitent advanced to the altar, the voices every knight by his oath was particularly sworn to succor and defend all maidens, orphelines, and "desolate ladies;" hence treason against any, in such character, was the highest act of villany and infamy in a chevalier. • 80 blanche rose. of the unseen choir, and the still peal of the organ, went up over his head, as if the saints and the seraphims mourned over him in heaven. raymond wrapped his face in his mantle, and knelt upon the stone, and bowed his head upon the footstool of the altar, till the priest raised him, and set him on the "siege duloureux," in the sight of all the people. the service of the penitents was performed, the monks extinguished their torches at the foot of the shrine, and the heralds advanced to the altar. sir raymond stood up and turned to the people, and the pursuivants took off his white gown, and displayed his knightly habit and belt of estate. there was a terrible pause, and not a breath passed in the chapel. the heralds advanced to the earl, and broke his sword over his head, and hewed the spurs from his heels, and rent the fur from his tabard; and immediately his shield and crest were spurned from the church door; the trumpets sounded on the steps and the heralds cried,-"raymond de toulouse! raymond de toulouse! raymond de toulouse! traitor to god and his lady, and mansworn of his knighthood; traitor knight, so is thy name cast out from true knights, so i cast thy shame in thy teeth, and defy thee in the name of god, the defender of the orpheline and desolate!” the people stood cold and still, and hushed as death; and the blood went out of the earl's lips, till they were white as his kirtle. the heralds sat down, but raymond stood still and vacant, his arms hanging to his side, and his eyes fixed upon the air. the bishop rose out of his chair and took the book in his hand; for a moment he stood and looked upon the knight."in the garden of god, one little white rose grew amidst the flowers, very fair and pure, and bright, the sweetest among the blossoms; the sun loved to shine upon it by day, and the moon by night: and the dew and the rain watered it in the heat, and the breeze kissed it in the morning, and said, god the absolution. 81 bless thee, and he did bless it, till it was the fairest of the earth and the trees bent over to keep it from the wind, and the birds sung to it at noon, and the angels of god looked down upon it, and blessed his name that he had made it lovely. "god gave thee the flower, and the forest to keep and watch, and defend from all wrong; and he gave thee the oak, and the palm, the fair fields, the still, green wood, and all that walk therein — and if this had not been enough he would have given thee more. "thou spared to come to the cedar, and the oak, and plucked the little flower that was lonely, and put it in thy bosom when it was sweet, and when it faded, cast it on the ground to die, and went thy way!" raymond fell on his face before the altar; and the people wept and sobbed, and sunk on their knees, as if their hearts fell with his who bowed before them. the bishop laid his hand upon the book "when the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness that he hath committed, and doth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive! look up, my son; 'god is merciful and great to forgive us our offences! · he will see thy repentance and say, thou shalt not die!' " the earl rose upon his knee, and the bishop laid his hand. upon his head, and spoke the words of absolution, and laid the cross on his brow, and bid him rise. raymond stood up and the prelate kissed him on the cheek, and belted him with a new sword; and the heralds braced clean spurs upon his heels, and put a crest of a new device upon his head, and cried, "god make thee a new and valiant knight, and keep these arms to his service, to aid the widow, orpheline, and every one distressed and desolate, and maintain the right against all men who may live and die!" immediately the trumpets sounded, and the pursuivants proclaimed him, lord, earl, and knight; the furred mantle of state was cast over his 7* 82 blanche rose. shoulders, and he came out among his people raymond de toulouse. that night, before the moon went down, rose knew how she was clearedbut long she lay and wept upon his feet and would not be comforted; and when at last her strength and mind returned, it was in the strength of his despair, to fly to the bishop, and declare the truth; the hand of raymond held her like an infant on the grass, but she had no hearing for his words, and would but wring her hands, and cry to be released to do him justice, till she sunk exhausted upon the turf. he watched by her through the night, and in the morning, when her spirits ebbed away and the strength of her dilirium was past, she was subdued by his tears, and swore upon his hand. the light came into his face and he kissed her and rose up"you never broke your word," said he; now i will leave you!" "" on st. bride's-day at noon, the earl, surrounded by all the chivalry and beauty of languedoc, stood at the high altar, where he had done his penance. blanche rose bent before the priest in the white bridal amice, her pale brow glistening with pearls and gems, and the white flower shining like a star in the long glossy tresses that fell upon her neck for the last time.' the earl put the ring upon her finger, the priest set the coronet upon her brow, and the heralds cried her, countess of toulouse, at the high cross, amidst the shouts of the people, and the waving of ten thousand caps. 1 as late as the 17th century long hair was only worn by unmarried ladies, and it was closely confined under the coif or crestine as soon as they became matrons. it was remarked as an impudent assumption, that the beautiful, but scandalous countess of essex (in the reign of james vi.) wore loose hair after her infamous repudiation of her husband, and intrigue with the earl of rochester. the vigil of the cross. 83 all the city was in a transport, for the constancy "of the bright lady of the world," and the self-justice of her supposed traitor knight. "certainly," said the vicar of st. john, “i think him greater for this repenting, than if he had never had tache or spot, not to speak of the ninety and nine in the wilderness; he had then been but a puisnie saint, now he is lith and blood like to you and me, but so as you and i shall never be the greatest mortal man that ever quelled sinful flesh." ― a week of pomp and pageant, and all that the olden time held gay and splendid, passed through toulouse like a night's masque, and again all returned to the quiet sunshine, and still business of a simple summer's day. the countess lived in deep seclusion, partly for that the face of man was become terrible to her, partly for her feeble state, which might not suffer ceremony and fatigue. the leaves were falling, the birds had ceased to sing, and the sun looked sad and still upon the yellow fields, when the unconscious cause of her sorrow, was presented to the barons of languedoc in the great hall of toulouse; "i do not wrong them," said raymond, to its heart-broken mother, as she wept at his feet," my blood runs in the veins of none living; there is none to claim the right—you shall make him worthy to hold the sword and the coronet of a brave people, and god and their service shall give him right, better than a name.” • it was the vigil of the cross; the night was dark and still upon toulouse. the quiet streets were silent and empty, and all lights had gone out, except here and there a red solitary candle shed its long still pencelle upon the waters of the garonne. the black pile of the vast chateau rose like a giant over the dim town, and within the wide courts were silent and deserted, and all dark and quiet except the stamp of a horse that waited beside the postern, and one still solitary watch-light 84 blanche rose. that shone in an upper turret. about that light was gathered all the interest of toulouse, and perhaps an eye, born upon the gifted night,' might have seen the dim spirits leaning together over the turret, speaking the destinies of him, the last of his race, who should inhabit those towers, and who now stood within that dim still room. it was a small dark turret chamber, hung with coarse arras, and meanly garnished with such furniture as might become the use of a simple esquire, or frugal steward,— a low pallet, half concealed by a curtain of blue sey, filled a small recess beyond the hearth, and at its head stood a long white wand and a walking sword in a scabbard of green velvet. a black carved armoire and oak chest occupied the opposite corners, and the remaining space was no more than sufficient for a tall high-back chair of black leather, and wide olive-wood table, on which a number of papers, an almoniere, an aunlace, and a heap of loose gold lay by a wax taper that burned under the rood suspended against the wall. earl raymond stood before the light in his travelling-cloak, and his gray seneschal sat in the chair, his embossed hands rested upon his knees, and his white bald brow lifted to the face of his master. "you know her not," said the earl; "i, who was nursed on the same breast, rocked by the same hand, have grown with her like the twin bud upon the stalk-i know her — and god knows her, the bright noble ladye of the world; -i loved her, i will not say how i loved her; she was very lovely to me but i was only as a brother to her, how could i be more, and the glorious beautiful flower of all chivalry sworn to her ser vice. alas! that he had been true as i was, and i would have it was an ancient superstition that persons born on christmas-eve were endued with vision sensible of all spirits and supernatural objects. to this cause was referred the dark looks of philip ii. of spain, whose mind was believed to be impressed by awful appearances to which he was subject. a raymond departs for the holy land. 85 been a brother to him, as she was a sister to me! and since i am the last of my race, they should have had fair toulouse and my broad earldom; and i would have been the soldier of the cross, and prayed that they might have been happy." "god be praised, that has given you to be happy with her yourself," said the seneschal. raymond looked upon him as the spirits may look on man that cannot read the secret thoughts of the world above. "to-night," said he, "i go to the holy land." "blessed saints! and leave your lady?" exclaimed the seneschal. the earl's cheek became white as his tabard, but his voice did not change: "be you very true and gentle to her, as you have ever been to me," said he: "and serve her as if you were born in her father's house, as you were born in mine; and she shall still be your lady, and her lonely orpheline shall be your earl, when i shall come no more." "alas! alas! what is this?" said the old man. the earl stood a moment upon his sword: "you have been young that now are old," said he, "you shall know that a maiden's love is like the sunshine and the sweet moonlight; it must shine in its own summer and its own still hour, and cannot come through the cloud when you shall call it. i will never be the cloud to her face, nor a chain upon the heart, which i bound to me for its redeeming ; but she shall be bright and free to shine like the sun upon the flower, and god send a flower to blossom in her light, and be sweet and bright and grateful to her as the rose to the morning, when i am where the sun shall never shine again." ― never! "and you will not come back!" said the old man. raymond laid his hand the cross upon the old man fell on his knees, and bent his white head upon his master's hand, and wept like a child. for a long time the count held his trembling hand, and --66 99 86 blanche rose. turned away his face, at last," aymer!" said he, "god reward your true and faithful service to me; i have done with this world; i was a sclitary tree, without a parent, a brother, a sister, to fill my heart — the last of my race. she was a very bright flower to me, the rose to my bower, the sun to my glory, the lamp to my holy shrine; i am going to die before the cross as your father and mine; and we shall meet together with them before his glorious throne." the old man's sobs redoubled, and for a long while he knelt and wept, and the earl said no more. at length his sobs subsided, the stamp of the horse came from the gate; the earl lifted him in silence; for some moments he wrote upon the papers, and set his scal; and the old man told the gold and put it in his purse. the knight took off his hat, and kissed his furrowed cheek, and laid his hand upon his head, and for one moment grasped his hands, and looked upon the cross and turned suddenly to the door. the old man tottered after with the light; but raymond put him back with his averted hand, and threw the cloak about him, and hurried down the stair. the groom started up in his seat and threw the bridle on the arab, and raymond leaped into the saddle; the boy touched his bonnet and said some words, but the earl gave no answer, and spurring through the gate, took the street towards the east port. there is a blank in the chronicle of toulouse; who could tell how earl raymond turned his back upon his people — the tower where he was born, the roof where he was nursed, the field where he had plucked the flower, and chased the linnet, the garden where the rose of his love had blown that rose that was blighted, and faded, and never should bloom again to him! the monk did not write of it in his book, nor the trouba―― the page. 87 dour sing of it in his song; they said only, " raymond de toulouse shaped the cross on his sleeve and went to holy land." it was the third evening after the earl and his company arrived at acre. the men-at-arms were busily disembarking their horses to go forward for jerusalem, and the knight sat upon a stone by the beach, looking upon the bright water and the sun that was going down, red and still, and far away on france. while he yet gazed, a slender boy, in the dress of a page, came down the sand; he stopped and hesitated, and looked towards the knight as he approached, but at last he came to his side. sir raymond did not look up, and the boy stood and held his bonnet and twisted the feather, and the color went and came in his face, "sir earl!" said he, at last. raymond started as if one had struck him, on the cheek, and at the sight of his face leaped from the stone and turned as white as clay. it was a moment before his look came back. "what would you, fair child?" said he, gently. the tears came into the eyes of the timid boy. "sir !" said he, "i am an orphan child. my lord, that was very kind to me, is dead; i would serve you, if it please you." the earl's breast rose, and he turned away, and looked upon the sea; at last, from what country — what is your name?" said he. 66 "albert de la feuille morte," replied the boy; "my father was of provence," and his breath fluttered as if the memory of his father and his land, rose in his heart. "and have you no friends?" said sir raymond. "i had one," replied the child. "and where is he?" asked the knight. the boy turned away, and sat down upon the grass, and leaned his head upon a stone. the earl took his dark hand, and the tears came to his eyes 88 blanche rose. as he looked upon the slender fingers; "alas!" said he, “ this was never meant to burnish a helm, and hold a black stirrup! ” "i will be very proud to hold the stirrup of a knight of jesu christ," said the child. 1 the earl stood still for a moment, and held his hand with a grasp, from which a mailed wrist might have shrunk, but the boy did not shrink nor tremble. "god save you, gentle child!" said the earl, at last, “ if you will be pleased to serve me, i will be, not a master, but a brother to you, while i am in this world; and when i am gone, god will be a father." the page fell upon his knee, and kissed his hand, and the tears trickled fast to the stone, which was wet as dew where his cheek had lain. the earl did not speak, but raised him gently, and turned towards the town. as they went, he spoke him softly, and glanced to his dark beautiful features and faded habit; he looked yet scarce sixteen years, and wore the simple hose and green kirtle, such as was usually the dress of pages in the south of france; but except for this, and his accent, his complexion was so dark, and his short curling hair so raven black, none had believed that he had ever known another country than greece or syria. the earl discoursed him as they went, and wondered at his gentilesse and learning; and when he came to his inn, bestowed him in the especial charge of his old minstrel. "here is a flower that i did not think to find in this desert world," said he; "i pray you be very gentle to him." the old man was himself a provençal, and he laid his pillow in the alcove, and set his meat as if he had been his own son, and took his harp and played to him till he wept himself asleep like a stilled infant. "certainly," said he, when the earl there was an order of this title, but at an earlier period it was applied generally to christian knights, and in particular to the knights of the croisade. preparation for the assault. 89 asked about him the next day, "never such a gentle child served among stern war men!" and in a little time," le page noir was the mignon of all the court." unless at his service, however, he was always sad and alone, and never spoke of his native land and former days; and if the rude men urged him, he turned away, and the tears came to his eyes, and he would go to the sand or the rampart, though the sun was never so hot, or the wind never so wild. at length, upon the morrow of st. turiel, the earl and all the knights in acre set out for jerusalem, on sudden news that the great assault should be given in six days. through all that long and terrible march' albert rode beside the stirrup of sir raymond, and when the syrian sun burned at noon, and the “dead wind” blew at night, he never eat till he had eaten, nor drank till he had drunk, and served him at his board, and watched by him when he slept. when the heart of many a knight sunk in his hauberk, and the eye of the night-guard closed under his helmet, albert sat beside him, and fanned away the fly from his cheek, and the mouse from his pillow, and looked upon his face; and when his lips shrunk, and his brow came dark, dropped his beads, and raised his cross, and said "god give thee rest!" it was the night before the assault. the camp was still and quiet, and no sound came through the tents but the fitful stamp of a horse at the picket, or the distant clank of a hammer at the forge, where some man-at-arms still waited his armor for the morning. the stars shone bright upon the dark field, and at times the watch might hear the night-call upon jerusalem; and, as he walked before the tent, the whisper of shrift and absolution, where the knights made a clean breast for the "battle 1 it must be remembered that this was in the twelfth century, and in time of war-now it is only a ride of three days. 8 90 blanche rose. of god," and the rest in which so many should sleep when the night should come again. earl raymond lay asleep in his tent, his banner by his side, and his sword at his head, where he had knelt before it when the sun went down. albert sat by his shoulder, his pale brow fixed upon his face, and his still fingers rested on his crucifix. you could not see the breath come and go upon his lips. the broad hand of the knight lay unbent upon the pillow, and his pale face calm, and his dark brow clear and smooth as a sleeping child. albert had never before seen the deep frown relax from his front in all the nights that he had looked upon it. for a moment he glanced up, and a flush came to his cheek, and a light to his eyes; but all tears were gone, and they looked full and still as the calm stars that were above him. for an instant his lips moved, and he gazed upward; but again his eyes returned to the pallet, and his features to their watch. all night he sat, and by degrees every sound died away : the horse was still at his picket, and the sentinel at his post, and for a short while there was a deep death stillness, and all was hushed in heaven and on earth. it was the dead hour the turning of the tide when the soul passes, and the spirits in the grave are loosed slowly a faint sweet strain of music came by on the silence, and voices sung in the air — blessed is the heart when the sin-stain has gone ; blessed is the brow that his light shines upon. and ever a pale still light shone upon the brow of albert, while he sat fixed and quiet as if he heard no sound, and felt no light; and, whether it was the monks that sung in the valley, and the moon that looked into the tent but never song was so sweet on earth, and never light shone so fair upon a mortal brow. at length a faint stir began to come from the field, and at intervals the jingle of bridles, the stamp of hoofs, the baying of the benediction. 91 a hound, and a sudden foot passing quickly by the tent. in a short while the far cry of the mollahs could be heard upon the towers, and the pale gray dawn stole dimly through the curtain of the tent. albert sat, and fixed his eyes upon the light, as now a horse, and now a man came by, and now could be distinguished the tread of heavy feet pouring through the sand. suddenly a trumpet sounded at a distance, and the page started up, and laid his hand upon the breast of the earl. raymond awoke. "the first trumpet has sounded," said the page. the knight rose hastily, and put on his helm and hauberk. albert laced his casque, and buckled the spur to his heels, and the broad belt to his side; and the earl knelt down before his sword, and dropped his beads, and looked upon the cross with a look that made albert's cheek come pale. in a few moments he rose and grasped the page's hand, and laid his broad mailed glove upon his head, and sat down to the little table beside the pallet. albert served his frugal meal, and took his trencher to sit by the door; but the earl made him sit beside him at the same dish. "it is the last that i may eat," said he. "there will be no salt' between me and thee where we shall meet again." albert bent his head over the board, and said no word; but the large round tear fell on his plate. the short meal passed in silence, and the haste of those who every moment expect to hear the trumpet sound to arms. as soon as it was ended, the earl rose up and crossed himself, and gave his hand to the page, and drank the grace-cup; and when albert had pledged him, he went to his mails, and took out a heavy purse, and loosed from his neck a little white cross. "dear and faithful child," said he, "god be gracious to you, and give you peace." he put the purse in his hand1 the great salt-cellar was the division between the "gentles" and "simples " "who sat at the same table in the old time. 92 blanche rose. "when thou and i shall part, return to thy country, and if thou hast none better to mine, where thou shalt find a very gentle mistress, who will be to thee all that i would be." albert took the purse, and looked calm in his face, and bowed his head, and said him-" yes." the earl looked on him for a moment, but his eyes did not change. "brave and constant child," he said, "god shall not forsake thee; and now for none may know his will today take this little cross that must not fall among his enemies. if he give us the victory, thou shalt bury it with me in this holy earth; but if in the great press, or the day shall go against us, and i may not be found, take it with thee, give it to my lady, from whom i had it, and say, “raymond of toulouse is gone to his rest." albert had not changed before; but at the sight of that cross, and the sound of those words, his color went out of his face, and the hand that he held out fell to his side, and he sunk down at the feet of the earl. raymond lifted him to the pallet, and snatched the cruce, and hastened to loose his collar. the hand of the page closed upon his arm, and he opened his eyes, and sat upright. for an instant he gazed half conscious to the light but there was no tear in his eyes, and no flutter in his breast, and he rose up to take the earl's command. "alas, my child !" said raymond, "thou art spent and overwatched. thy feeble body is too frail for thy spirit. lie down and rest, and fear not all will be well." he put the cross upon his neck, and made him lie on the pallet, and covered him with his cloak, and taking his banner, went out hastily from the tent. albert started up and gazed after him, and looked upon the cross, and wept, and knelt, and laid it on his head, and bowed his forehead on the mat that had been touched by the helmet of the earl. suddenly the trumpet began to sound, the quick clank of arms, and the deep tramp of horses went past as if the earth the assault. 93 moved around him. albert dropped the jewel, and listened, and gazed where the heavy sound went by. the long successive tramp continued without intermission, till a shock like a clap of thunder burst upon the stillness, and a far fearful rolling surge of shouts went up to heaven like the roar of a tempest. in another moment the whole camp seemed to tremble, bolt after bolt shook the walls of the city, and the mingled cries and shouts, and clash of arms, spread like a storm from the beach; and as the tongues of the hundred nations rose and fell, came suddenly the faint shout of the french, "mont joye st. denis!" albert started from the ground, and braced his dagger, and did on his bonnet, and rushed out from the tent. the clear day was bright upon the camp, and the long black lines of men-at-arms were pouring though the white tents like torrents towards the town, but all beneath the wall was lost in dust and smoke, through which the tall black giant tower of assault rose almost as high as the ramparts, where the dim gray battlements could be discerned crowded with men. albert stood upon the rock under the standard before the tent, and watched the black columns pouring into the cloud, which swallowed them in its darkness. as the sun approached, the faint flash of the crescents and crowded arms could be seen glittering along the ramparts, and at quick intervals the fearful shock of the war-wolves, sent up a cloud of dust from the wall; and as it swept off, a deep black gap appeared in the battlements and glittering line of arms. all at once the vast dark mighty column of the tower began to move, and rose slowly out of the smoke till it looked over the rampart; a thunder of shouts rolled up from the hosts, and suddenly the flash of arms and banners receded like a bright wave along the wall. in an instant a little bridge fell from the top of the turret upon the battlement, and a white knight, followed by a glittering stream of glaives and lances rushed over to the ram94 blanche rose. part. a terrific cry came from the turret, and re-echoed from the moat-"raymond of thoulouse! raymond of thoulouse!!" and albert distinguished the glorious figure of his master and the white cross of france. one moment he gazed, one moment he knelt upon the rock, one moment lifted up his cross, and rushed down into the stream of the assault. the black terrible tide went on like a torrent into the moat, and the storm of the escalade thickened under the breach; but nothing was visible in the thick darkness, and the black dense press went on and disappeared into the cloud, man over man, till it almost filled up the deep, black, visionless gulf of the moat which roared round it like the bottomless pit. at intervals the heavy shot' rebounded on the wall, and the rolling ruin, and the storm of the defence rained down fire, and thunder, and battle sleet, through the black cloud: but the slow, dark, iron tide went onand on and on over the falling heaps, till suddenly there was an explosion as if the heaven and the earth burst amidst the darkness. a moment of fearful stillness prevailed, the smoke rolled away, and the breach appeared to the sun, and all the thick glittering stream of helms and crosses going up over the ruined wall like a swarm of locusts. again there was rescue again the chargeand as the cloud opened and shut now helmets, now turbans glistened in the breach; but suddenly a broad bright gleam broke on the towers, and the white figure of earl raymond appeared on the top turret. a moment he stood amidst the smoke in sight of all the hosts, and suddenly mounting the bartizan pitched the white banner in the sun, and began to sing the battle-hyma of toulouse. the field the breachthe crowded towers sent up a shout like the sea roar, and as the ――― 1 the stones and various missiles of balista, and other engines, were called shot, as the engines and their materials were called artillery several centuries before the invention of guns. the discovery. 95 bright silk flew in the wind, the darts and shot clinked upon the knight's mail, and glanced through the fluttering banner like sharp sleet. raymond stood still amidst the shower, waving his hand over the assault, and singing his chorus; soli deo gloria et sancti salvatori! corona de victoria sub cruci vivi mori!¹ as the coming stream poured up towards him, a sudden crowding, a dark object appeared upon a turret, and the black bow of a scorpion moved on the wall, and levelled upon the knight. for an instant it lay upon the battlement, till suddenly the bright eye of the arrow looked at him over the stone; a universal cry and waving of hands and caps came from the assault, but raymond stood still, waving his hand, and singing the song, till a wild cry, a flying shadow came through the smoke, and at the moment that the dart parted from the cord, albert threw himself upon the breast of his master, the hissing shaft struck short and sharp in his back, and he dropped from the bosom of the knight upon the rampart. the dart snapped upon the stone, but the bright point stood stiff and red through the breast of his coat; raymond dropped the banner, and gave a cry of grief, and drew out the broken wood; and as the clear blood gushed after, tore open the breast of the page to stanch the wound, when, as he undid the gorget, he discovered, not the dark neck of a sunburnt boy, but the white snowy throat of a maiden bosom ! in the middle ages the vulgar latin was little more than a patois through most parts of europe. there are some mss. almost unintelligible from the number of barbarous words, and the confusion of latin and native terminations; and in many serious pieces the language was little more pure than the doggerel rhyme in which the english monks satirized the ignorance of the lollards. "my name is tutivilus, my horn is blowen, fragmina verborum tuttivillus colligit horum belzebub algorum belial bellman doliorum " 96 blanche rose. she turned her face to the stone"thank god!" she said, "i die for you, as you died for me!" raymond raised her eagerly in his arms "who! who are you?" he exclaimed, looking wildly upon her dark face and snow-white bosom. "i was-blanche rose!" wispered the page. raymond fell upon her face, and for a moment held her to his mailed breast as still and silent as herself; but suddenly he started up, and rending his surcoat, bound the fillets round her bleeding breast; but still as he wound fold over fold with wild eagerness, the red blood came through the silk. "it is not painful," said blanche, "it will soon be past!" raymond dropped the last bandage, and gazed upon her with the fixedness of despair, as she lay still in his arms, her white passive face reclined upon his breast, and her cold hand resting quiet in his mail glove. for awhile she lay like one composing into sleep, and at last she lifted her heavy eyes "i am happy! i die in peace!" she said; and turned her face to his bosom like an infant to his rest; and one long tremulous sigh, and her breast came still, her hand unclosed, the smile fixed on her white lip, and the tear in her eye, and she lay calm, and still, and placid, like a child on its parent lap. they buried them together in the valley of jehosaphat, and raised over them a grave of simple turf; for he said, "let our pillow be the earth where he has trodden, and let his light shine upon us by day, and his dew come down upon our breast at night." there is a palm-tree at the head of the heap, and a little well at the foot, and one white rose of sharon that blossoms very sweet over the brink, and sheds the incense of the earth over their breasts who sleep below. jordan & wiley, 121, washington street, opposite water streetpublishers, booksellers, stationers, and boston. general periodical agents. office of the lady's book-graham's magazine-columbian magazine-parley's and merry's museum-hunt's merchants magazine-the mother's magazineall the foreign reviews, &c. &c. binding in every style executed with neatness and despatch. back nos. of any works supplied to complete volumes. a beautiful summer gift volume. flowers: their moral, language and poetry. edited by h. g. adams. london edition. price 75 cents. "i have gathered a nosegay o culled flowers, and brought nothing of my own but the thread that ties them." just received jordan & wiley, 121, washington st. a list of valuable school & miscellaneous books, issued by jordan, swift & wiley, (old stand of jordan & co.) 121 washington street, boston. 12mo., sheep. 12mo., sheep. 2 vols. 8vo., cloth. 12mo., sheep. 12mo., paper. colburn's sequel. 66 algebra. tytler's universal history. parker's natural philosophy. clark's lectures to young men. remarkable visions of the life death. translated from the german. game of life. with engravings by retzsch.. combe on the constitution of man. 66 digestion and dietetics. farmer's companion; or, essays on the principles and 66 practice of american husbandry. by the late judge buel. 12mo., cloth. gall's works. 6 vols. 12mo., cloth. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth. graham's science of human life. historical tales for youth. by miss m.e.lee. 18mo., cloth. ladies' wreath. by mrs. s. j. hale. 12mo., cloth. pursuit of knowledge under difficulties. edited by rev. dr. wayland. with portraits. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth pictures of early life. by mrs. e. c. emeury. 18mo., cloth. paley's natural theology. from bell and after 12mo., paper. 4to., paper. 12mo., cloth. 18mo., cloth. · brougham's edition, with a life of the author, numerous engravings, and an appendix of additions from lord brougham's work on natural theology. edited by elisha bartlett, m. d. seasons, (sacred philosophy of.) edited by rev. f. w. p. d. d. shaw's civil architecture. with 100 copperplate engravings.. teacher's manual, (american institute's prize essay.) by thomas h. palmer. teacher taught, or, the principles and modes of teaching. by rev. emerson davis. 12mo., cloth. columbus. washington irving's abridgment of his large work. plates. 12mo., cloth. domestic economy. for the use of young ladies at home and at school. by miss c. e. beecher. 12mo., cloth. flora's interpreter. by mrs.s. j. hale. 12mo., fancy. 66 66 66 66 12mo., emb.mor. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth. • 4 vols. 12mo., cloth. 4to., sheep. 12mo., cloth. hayward's outlines of physiology, for schools. 12mo.,sheep. olmsted's (prof. dennison) letters on astronomy. addressed to a lady. numerous engravings. 12mo., cloth. story's (judge) familiar exposition of the constitution of the united states, cloth. useful arts, considered in connection with the applications of science. by jacob bigelow, m. d. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth. · jordan, swift & wiley's publications. colburn's sequel. this work consists of two parts, in the first of which the author has given a great variety of questions, arranged according to the method pursued in the first lessons; the second part consists of a few questions, with the solution of them, and such copious illustrations of the principles involved in the examples in the first part of the work, that the whole is rendered perfectly intelligible. the two parts are designed to be studied together. the answers to the questions in the first part are given in a key, which is published separately for the use of instructors. if the scholar find any sum difficult, he must turn to the principles and illustrations given in the second part, and these will furnish all the assistance that is needed. the design of this arrangement is to make the scholar understand his subject thoroughly, instead of performing his sums by rule. the first lessons contain only examples of numbers so small, that they can be solved without the use of a slate. the sequel commences with small and simple combinations, and proceeds gradually to the more extensive and varied, and the scholar will rarely have occasion for a principle in arithmetic which is not fully illustrated in this work. j. s. & w. also supply to the trade, at the lowest prices, all standard periodicals, with all the cheap and other publications of the day, issued in boston, philadelphia, and new york. they are agents for godey's lady's book; ladies' companion; graham's magazine; each, $3,00, yearly. christian family magazine, (with engravings,) $1,00. hunt's merchant's magazine, an invaluable record of statistics, &c., $5,00. ladies' garland, (monthly,) $1,00. ladies' musical library, (monthly,) $1,50. national preacher, $1,00. mother's magazine, $1,00. the london christian observer, (monthly,) $2,50 bell's medical library, (quarterly,) $5,00. arthur's magazine, (monthly,) $2,00. democratic review, (with portraits in each number,) $5,00. southern literary messenger, $5,00. silliman's american journal of science, $6,00. law library, $10,00. the medico-chirurgical review, $5,00. the reprints of the london, edinburgh, foreign, and westminster reviews, the four together, $8,00. blackwood's magazine, $3,00. the eclectic magazine, (of foreign literature,) $6,00. the living age, $6,00. the christian examiner, $4,00. the biblical repository, $3,00. parley's and merry's magazines for youth, $1,00. the knickerbocker,. $5,00. law reporter, $3,00. the mother's assistant, $1,90. the north american review, $5,00. the lowell offering, by the female operatives, $1,00; and other american and foreign works. orders for any school, miscellaneous, or religious works, or school apparatus, accompanied with the money will receive prompt attention. 90 blanche rose. of god," and the rest in which so many should sleep when the night should come again. earl raymond lay asleep in his tent, his banner by his side, and his sword at his head, where he had knelt before it when the sun went down. albert sat by his shoulder, his pale brow fixed upon his face, and his still fingers rested on his crucifix. you could not see the breath come and go upon his lips. the broad hand of the knight lay unbent upon the pillow, and his pale face calm, and his dark brow clear and smooth as a sleeping child. albert had never before seen the deep frown relax from his front in all the nights that he had looked upon it. for a moment he glanced up, and a flush came to his cheek, and a light to his eyes; but all tears were gone, and they looked full and still as the calm stars that were above him. for an instant his lips moved, and he gazed upward; but again his eyes returned to the pallet, and his features to their watch. all night he sat, and by degrees every sound died away: the horse was still at his picket, and the sentinel at his post, and for a short while there was a deep death stillness, and all was hushed in heaven and on earth. it was the dead hourthe turning of the tide when the soul passes, and the spirits in the grave are loosed-slowly a faint sweet strain of music came by on the silence, and voices sung in the air ――― blessed is the heart when the sin-stain has gone; blessed is the brow that his light shines upon. -and ever a pale still light shone upon the brow of albert, while he sat fixed and quiet as if he heard no sound, and felt no light; and, whether it was the monks that sung in the valley, and the moon that looked into the tent but never song was so sweet on earth, and never light shone so fair upon a mortal brow. at length a faint stir began to come from the field, and at intervals the jingle of bridles, the stamp of hoofs, the baying of the benediction. 91 a hound, and a sudden foot passing quickly by the tent. in a short while the far cry of the mollahs could be heard upon the towers, and the pale gray dawn stole dimly through the curtain of the tent. albert sat, and fixed his eyes upon the light, as now a horse, and now a man came by, and now could be distinguished the tread of heavy feet pouring through the sand. suddenly a trumpet sounded at a distance, and the page started up, and laid his hand upon the breast of the earl. raymond awoke. "the first trumpet has sounded," said the page. the knight rose hastily, and put on his helm and hauberk. albert laced his casque, and buckled the spur to his heels, and the broad belt to his side; and the earl knelt down before his sword, and dropped his beads, and looked upon the cross with a look that made albert's cheek come pale. in a few moments he rose and grasped the page's hand, and laid his broad mailed glove upon his head, and sat down to the little table beside the pallet. albert served his frugal meal, and took his trencher to sit by the door; but the earl made him sit beside him at the same dish. "it is the last that i may eat," said he. "there will be no salt' between me and thee where we shall meet again." albert bent his head over the board, and said no word; but the large round tear fell on his plate. the short meal passed in silence, and the haste of those who every moment expect to hear the trumpet sound to arms. as soon as it was ended, the earl rose up and crossed himself, and gave his hand to the page, and drank the grace-cup; and when albert had pledged him, he went to his mails, and took out a heavy purse, and loosed from his neck a little white cross. "dear and faithful child," said he, "god be gracious to you, and give you peace." he put the purse in his hand 1 the great salt-cellar was the division between the "gentles" and "simples" who sat at the same table in the old time. 92 blanche rose. "when thou and i shall part, return to thy country, and if thou hast none betterto mine, where thou shalt find a very gentle mistress, who will be to thee all that i would be." albert took the purse, and looked calm in his face, and bowed his head, and said him"yes." the earl looked on him for a moment, but his eyes did not change. "brave and constant child," he said, "god shall not forsake thee; and nowfor none may know his will today take this little cross that must not fall among his enemies. if he give us the victory, thou shalt bury it with me in this holy earth; but if in the great press, or the day shall go against us, and i may not be found, take it with thee, give it to my lady, from whom i had it, and say, "raymond of toulouse is gone to his rest." albert had not changed before; but at the sight of that cross, and the sound of those words, his color went out of his face, and the hand that he held out fell to his side, and he sunk down at the feet of the earl. raymond lifted him to the pallet, and snatched the cruce, and hastened to loose his collar. the hand of the page closed upon his arm, and he opened his eyes, and sat upright. for an instant he gazed half conscious to the light but there was no tear in his eyes, and no flutter in his breast, and he rose up to take the earl's command. 66 'alas, my child !" said raymond, "thou art spent and overwatched. thy feeble body is too frail for thy spirit. lie down and rest, and fear not all will be well." he put the cross upon his neck, and made him lie on the pallet, and covered him with his cloak, and taking his banner, went out hastily from the tent. albert started up and gazed after him, and looked upon the cross, and wept, and knelt, and laid it on his head, and bowed his forehead on the mat that had been touched by the helmet of the earl. suddenly the trumpet began to sound, the quick clank of arms, and the deep tramp of horses went past as if the earth the assault. 93 moved around him. albert dropped the jewel, and listened, and gazed where the heavy sound went by. the long successive tramp continued without intermission, till a shock like a clap of thunder burst upon the stillness, and a far fearful rolling surge of shouts went up to heaven like the roar of a tempest. in another moment the whole camp seemed to tremble, bolt after bolt shook the walls of the city, and the mingled cries and shouts, and clash of arms, spread like a storm from the beach; and as the tongues of the hundred nations rose and fell, came suddenly the faint shout of the french," mont joye st. denis!" albert started from the ground, and braced his dagger, and did on his bonnet, and rushed out from the tent. the clear day was bright upon the camp, and the long black lines of men-at-arms were pouring though the white tents like torrents towards the town, but all beneath the wall was lost in dust and smoke, through which the tall black giant tower of assault rose almost as high as the ramparts, where the dim gray battlements could be discerned crowded with men. albert stood upon the rock under the standard before the tent, and watched the black columns pouring into the cloud, which swallowed them in its darkness. as the sun approached, the faint flash of the crescents and crowded arms could be seen glittering along the ramparts, and at quick intervals the fearful shock of the war-wolves, sent up a cloud of dust from the wall; and as it swept off, a deep black gap appeared in the battlements and glittering line of arms. all at once the vast dark mighty column of the tower began to move, and rose slowly out of the smoke till it looked over the rampart; a thunder of shouts rolled up from the hosts, and suddenly the flash of arms and banners receded like a bright wave along the wall. in an instant a little bridge fell from the top of the turret upon the battlement, and a white knight, followed by a glittering stream of glaives and lances rushed over to the ram94 blanche rose. part. a terrific cry came from the turret, and re-echoed from the moat-"raymond of thoulouse! raymond of thoulouse!!" and albert distinguished the glorious figure of his master and the white cross of france. one moment he gazed, one moment he knelt upon the rock, one moment lifted up his cross, and rushed down into the stream of the assault. ―――― the black terrible tide went on like a torrent into the moat, and the storm of the escalade thickened under the breach; but nothing was visible in the thick darkness, and the black dense press went on and disappeared into the cloud, man over man, till it almost filled up the deep, black, visionless gulf of the moat which roared round it like the bottomless pit. at intervals the heavy shot' rebounded on the wall, and the rolling ruin, and the storm of the defence rained down fire, and thunder, and battle sleet, through the black cloud but the slow, dark, iron tide went onand on and on over the falling heaps, till suddenly there was an explosion as if the heaven and the earth burst amidst the darkness. a moment of fearful stillness prevailed, the smoke rolled away, and the breach appeared to the sun, and all the thick glittering stream of helms and crosses going up over the ruined wall like a swarm of locusts. again there was rescue again the chargeand as the cloud opened and shut now helmets, now turbans glistened in the breach; but suddenly a broad bright gleam broke on the towers, and the white figure of earl raymond appeared on the top turret. a moment he stood amidst the smoke in sight of all the hosts, and suddenly mounting the bartizan pitched the white banner in the sun, and began to sing the battle-hyma of toulouse. the field the breachthe crowded towers sent up a shout like the sea roar, and as the 1 the stones and various missiles of balista, and other engines, were called shot, as the engines and their materials were called artillery several centuries before the invention of guns. the discovery. 95 bright silk flew in the wind, the darts and shot clinked upon the knight's mail, and glanced through the fluttering banner like sharp sleet. raymond stood still amidst the shower, waving his hand over the assault, and singing his chorus; soli deo gloria et sancti salvatori! corona de victoria sub cruci vivi mori! 1 as the coming stream poured up towards him, a sudden crowding, a dark object appeared upon a turret, and the black bow of a scorpion moved on the wall, and levelled upon the knight. for an instant it lay upon the battlement, till suddenly the bright eye of the arrow looked at him over stone; a universal cry and waving of hands and caps came from the assault, but raymond stood still, waving his hand, and singing the song, till a wild cry, a flying shadow came through the smoke, and at the moment that the dart parted from the cord, albert threw himself upon the breast of his master, the hissing shaft struck short and sharp in his back, and he dropped from the bosom of the knight upon the rampart. the dart snapped upon the stone, but the bright point stood stiff and red through the breast of his coat; raymond dropped the banner, and gave a cry of grief, and drew out the broken wood; and as the clear blood gushed after, tore open the breast of the page to stanch the wound, when, as he undid the gorget, he discovered, not the dark neck of a sunburnt boy, but the white snowy throat of a maiden bosom ! 1 in the middle ages the vulgar latin was little more than a patois through most parts of europe. there are some mss. almost unintelligible from the number of barbarous words, and the confusion of latin and native terminations; and in many serious pieces the language was little more pure than the doggerel rhyme in which the english monks satirized the ignorance of the lollards. "my name is tutivilus, my horn is blowen, fragmina verborum tuttivillus colligit horum belzebub algorum belial bellman doliorum" 96 blanche rose. she turned her face to the stone "thank god!" she said, "i die for you, as you died for me!" raymond raised her eagerly in his arms "who! who are you?" he exclaimed, looking wildly upon her dark face and snow-white bosom. ――――― "i was-blanche rose!" wispered the page. raymond fell upon her face, and for a moment held her to his mailed breast as still and silent as herself; but suddenly he started up, and rending his surcoat, bound the fillets round her bleeding breast; but still as he wound fold over fold with wild eagerness, the red blood came through the silk. "it is not painful," said blanche, "it will soon be past!" raymond dropped the last bandage, and gazed upon her with the fixedness of despair, as she lay still in his arms, her white passive face reclined upon his breast, and her cold hand resting quiet in his mail glove. for awhile she lay like one composing into sleep, and at last she lifted her heavy eyes "" 'i am happy! i die in peace!" she said; and turned her face to his bosom like an infant to his rest; and one long tremulous sigh, and her breast came still, her hand unclosed, the smile fixed on her white lip, and the tear in her eye, and she lay calm, and still, and placid, like a child on its parent lap. they buried them together in the valley of jehosaphat, and raised over them a grave of simple turf; for he said, “let our pillow be the earth where he has trodden, and let his light shine upon us by day, and his dew come down upon our breast at night." there is a palm-tree at the head of the heap, and a little well at the foot, and one white rose of sharon that blossoms very sweet over the brink, and sheds the incense of the earth over their breasts who sleep below. jordan & wiley, 121, washington street, opposite water street boston. publishers, booksellers, stationers, and general periodical agents. office of the lady's book-graham's magazine-columbian magazine-parley's and merry's museum-hunt's merchants magazine-the mother's magazineall the foreign reviews, &c. &c. binding in every style executed with neatness and despatch. back nos. of any works supplied to complete volumes. a beautiful summer gift volume. flowers: their moral, language and poetry. edited by h. g. adams. london edition. price 75 cents. "i have gathered a nosegay of culled flowers, and brought nothing of my own but the thread that ties them." just received jordan & wiley, 121, washington st. a list of valuable school & miscellaneous books, issued by jordan, swift & wiley, (old stand of jordan & co.) 121 washington street, boston. • 12mo., sheep. 12mo., sheep. 2 vols. 8vo., cloth. 12mo., sheep. 12mo., paper. colburn's sequel. 66 algebra. tytler's universal history. parker's natural philosophy. clark's lectures to young men. remarkable visions of the life death. translated from the german. game of life. with engravings by retzsch. combe on the constitution of man. 66 digestion and dietetics. farmer's companion; or, essays on the principles and practice of american husbandry. by the late judge buel. 12mo., cloth. gall's works. 6 vols. 12mo., cloth. graham's science of human life. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth. historical tales for youth. by miss m.e.lee. 18mo., cloth. ladies' wreath. by mrs. s. j. hale. 12mo., cloth. pursuit of knowledge under difficulties. 66 edited by rev. dr. wayland. with portraits. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth pictures of early life. by mrs. e. c. embury. 18mo., cloth. paley's natural theology. from bell and after brougham's edition, with a life of the author, numerous engravings, and an appendix of additions from lord brougha work on natural theology. edited by elisha bartlett, m. d. seasons, (sacred philosophy of.) edited by rev. f. w. p. d. d. shaw's civil architecture. with 100 copperplate engravings.. teacher's manual, (american institute's prize essay.) by thomas h. palmer. teacher taught; or, the principles and modes of teaching. by rev. emerson davis. columbus. washington irving's abridgment of his large work. 12mo., paper. 4to., paper. 12mo., cloth. 18mo., cloth. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth. 4 vols. 12mo., cloth. 4to., sheep. 12mo., cloth. • · · 12mo., cloth. 12mo., cloth. 12mo., cloth. 12mo., fancy. 12mo., emb.mor. hayward's outlines of physiology, for schools. 12mo.,sheep. olmsted's (prof. dennison) letters on astronomy. addressed to a lady. numerous engravings. 12mo., cloth. story's (judge) familiar exposition of the constitution of the united states. cloth. useful arts, considered in connection with the applications of science. by jacob bigelow, m. d. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth. plates. domestic economy. for the use of young ladies at home and at school. by miss c. e. beecher. flora's interpreter. by mrs.s. j. hale. (6 66 " 66 . • • jordan, swift & wiley's publications. colburn's sequel. this work consists of two parts, in the first of which the author has given a great variety of questions, arranged according to the method pursued in the first lessons; the second part consists of a few questions, with the solution of them, and such copious illustrations of the principles involved in the examples in the first part of the work, that the whole is rendered perfectly intelligible. the two parts are designed to be studied together. the answers to the questions in the first part are given in a key, which is published separately for the use of instructors. if the scholar find any sum difficult, he must turn to the principles and illustrations given in the second part, and these will furnish all the assistance that is needed. the design of this arrangement is to make the scholar understand his subject thoroughly, instead of performing his sums by rule. the first lessons contain only examples of numbers so small, that they can be solved without the use of a slate. the sequel commences with small and simple combinations, and proceeds gradually to the more extensive and varied, and the scholar will rarely have occasion for a principle in arithmetic which is not fully illustrated in this work. j. s. & w. also supply to the trade, at the lowest prices, all standard periodicals, with all the cheap and other publications of the day, issued in boston, philadelphia, and new york. they are agents for godey's lady's book; ladies' companion; graham's magazine; each, $3,00, yearly. christian family magazine, (with engravings,) $1,00. hunt's merchant's magazine, an invaluable record of statistics, &c., $5,00. ladies' garland, (monthly,) $1,00. ladies' musical library, (monthly,) $1,50. national preacher, $1,00. mother's magazine, $1,00. the london christian observer, (monthly,) $2,50 bell's medical library, (quarterly,) $5,00. arthur's magazine, (monthly,) $2,00. democratic review, (with portraits in each number,) $5,00. southern literary messenger, $5,00. silliman's american journal of science, $6,00. law library, $10,00. the medico-chirurgical review, $5,00. the reprints of the london, edinburgh, foreign, and westminster reviews, the four together, $8,00. blackwood's magazine, $3,00. the eclectic magazine, (of foreign literature,) $6,00. the living age, $6,00. the christian examiner, $1,00. the biblical repository, $3,00. parley's and merry's magazines for youth, $1,00. the knickerbocker,. $5,00. law reporter, $3,03. the mother's istant, $1,90. the north american review, $5,00. the lowell offering, by the female operatives, $1,00; and other american and foreign works. orders for any school, miscellaneous, or religious works, or school apparatus, accompanied with the money will receive prompt attention. jordan and wiley's publications. have you read six years in the monasteries of italy, by rev. s. j. mahoney, formerly a capuchin friar in the convent of the immaculate conception, at rome. it is among the most entertaining books of the day, containing a truthful narrative of the habits of the popish priests in ireland, france, malta, &c. and a description of convent life, written with ability, and free from indelicate and offensive matter. price 37 1-2 cents. liberal discount to the trade at jordan & wiley's, 121, washington street. choice new books for every family circle. integrity moderation decision — selfdenial-reflection energy. by mrs. hofland, author of young cadet, clergyman's widow, etc. these volumes, from the pen of a popular english writer, are just issued by messrs. jordan & wiley, 121 washington street. the titles of the several volumes indicate the subjects illustrated and enforced in the author's winning and popular style, and show them to constitute together a most charming and useful series for every family library, for young and old. the volumes average 160 18mo pages each. price a volume, in gilt cloth, 37 1-2 cts. paper, 25 cts. jordan and wiley's advertisement. the following letters have been received, relating to this val uable remedy. from rev. mr. lawrance of haverhill. boston, november 22, 1844 to the proprietors of the bronchial comfit. gentlemen: having suffered with bronchial difficulty for the last three or four years, and having made use of the materials of your preparation with decided benefit, although in a less perfect combination than i find yours to be, i am happy to give it my cordial approval. i have tried various remedial means, but with little or no good effect. i believe that clerical gentlemen, especially, who have been troubled with similar difficulties in public speaking, would derive essential advantage from the use of your preparation. from sympathy with such sufferers, i give it my cordial recommendation to them. edward a. lawrance. from a distinguished unitarian preacher of boston. from the use of the bronchial comfit, and from the nature and properties of some of the ingredients that enter into its composition, i am enabled to say, as i do say very cheerfully, that i have the utmost confidence in its adaptedness to relieve public speakers, and to allay irritation after exercise of speaking is over. if preachers would employ it generally after exertion of the voice, they would unquestionably find it the means of much comfort, and a safeguard against disease. december, 1844. from rev. s. remington, (formerly a physician.) dear sir: from my knowledge of the different articles of which your lozenges are composed, i am prepared to say that they are not only safe, but very excellent for public speakers, to enable them to guard against and counteract hoarseness. by the too frequent exercise of the organs of the voice and by those catarrhal attacks peculiar to this climate, the uvula becomes greatly elongated, and dipping down upon the epiglottis, troublesome irritation attended by cough often follows. the parts also which surround the uvula, its curtain and glands, are b jordan and wiley's advertisement. liable to become weakened and relaxed, the consequence of which is the secretion of too much mucous, causing a roughness of the voice and a difficulty of speaking, and laying the foundation for throat disease, bronchitis, &c. for all these difficulties, these lozenges furnish a gentle and grateful stimulant, which cleans the voice by contracting the muscular fibre, and so relieving the parts from irritations, and i therefore most cheerfully recommend them as a very excellent palliative. yours truly, s. remington. from edwin forrest, the celebrated tragedian. gentlemen: i have used your "bronchial comfit," and recommend it to public speakers as an excellent remedy for hoarseness, or huskiness of voice. yours respectfully, edwin forrest. from messrs. murdoch & russell, elocutionists. to the proprietors of the bronchial comfit. sir-in answer to your inquiry regarding our opinion of your bronchial comfit, we would say that we have ourselves used it for some time, and that many of our students have done the same, with great advantage. it seems well adapted to its purpose; and, as we frequently have occasion to answer inquiries respecting the best preparation of the kind, for the use of public speakers, we shall be happy to recommend your comfit as such. we are, sir, yours respectfully, j. e. murdoch. william russell, from messrs. baker & woodbury, professors of music. gentlemen: i have used your preparation and recommended it to others, not only as an effective remedy against irritations of the throat, arising from colds, or long continued exertion of the voice, but also as a valuable aid to the flexibility of the organs, and to freedom of execution in vocal effort. b. f. baker. odeon, december 6, 1844. gents i have used the bronchial comfit as a remedy for hoarseness and means for allaying all irritations of vocal organs. i consider it admirably adapted for these purposes. many of my pupils have used it also with the most beneficial results. i. b. woodbury. • jordan and wiley's publications. to save a lawyer's bill buy at jordan & wiley's, 121, washington street, the pocket lawyer and family conveyancer. comprising a selection of forms necessary in all mercantile and money transactions, including every direction essential to the magistrate and private individual, laid down in so plain a manner as to enable every person to transact his own concerns without the assistance of a lawyer; to which is added an abridged law dictionary ; new edition, 1845; price 25 cents. the home and traveller's library. no. 1. texas and the gulf of mexico; or, yachting in the new world. by mrs. houston. with illustrations. price 25 cents. no. 2.the englishwoman in egypt. by mrs. poole. with an engraving of the interior of the great pyramid. price 25 cts. no. 3.knights of the round table. by mrs. johnstone, author of "clan albyn," "elizabeth de bruce," &c. price 25 cents. sketches of imposture, credulity, and fanaticism. price no. 4. 25 cents. no. 5. the opium war; being recollections of service in china. by capt. arthur cunynghame. price 25 cents. no. 6. impressions of ireland and the irish. by the author of "random recollections of the lords and commons," "the great metropolis," &c. price 25 cents. no. 7. donaldson's eventful life of a soldier. price 25 cents. no. 8.dunn's history of the oregon territory and british north american fur trade. price 25 cents. no. 9. the muliny at the nore. jordan and wiley's advertisement. new remedy for bronchitis, hoarseness, colds, and influenza. this preparation is intended to allay all irritation of the larynx, trachea, or bronchial tubes. it will be found equally serviceable in cases arising from chronic inflammation, and those caused by the transient effects of colds. its properties are such as to impart a soothing and mollifying sensation to the membranous surfaces when excited, whether by the effects of influenza, or of unusual exertion in public speaking, and other uses of the vocal organs. clergymen, public and private singers, and other persons suffering from affections of the throat, hoarseness, colds of longer or shorter duration, or other impediments of the voice, will find this a most important discovery. it is entirely free from all deleterious ingredients, and has been prepared under the best medical supervision. price, 25 cents per box. sold for proprietors only at jordan & wiley's bookstore. also, at v. clirhugh's, 205 broadway, new york; and the principal booksellers. to persons suffering from catarrhal and bronchial affections, the comfit will be found a most agreeable relief, if not a permanent cure. directions for use. the comfit should be used as follows:-in cases of cold or bronchitis, take from ten to twelve a day, and be careful not to swallow them hastily, but keep them melting gradually in the mouth, so as to have the moisture gently diffused, that it may act permanently on the parts. when taken with a view to soothe and lubricate the organs, previous to the exercise of speaking and singing, use two or three at a time. the same number may also be advantageously used after such exercise. in cases of hoarseness and influenza, four or five may be taken before speaking. jordan and wiley's advertisement. from j. h. farnsworth. gents: having used the "bronchial comfit," and derived much benefit from it, i feel impelled to bear testimony to its worth. i have used it from the time of its first appearance, and am confident that it is a valuable preventative against bronchitis, and consider it an invaluable remedy for hoarseness, and all obstructions of the throat arising from irritation of the mucous membrane. i cheerfully recommend it for the use of public speakers and singers; it needs to be but generally tried to be generally used. j. h. farnsworth. pastor of the universalist society, hingham, mass. applications for agencies in any part of the united states, jordan & wiley, booksellers, to be addressed to 121 washington street, boston. beal's hair restorative. no charge until the hair is restored. emanating from a regular practiced physician, offered to the public on the above original terms, and personal reference given to some of our first citizens. "beal's hair restorative" stands alone, free from aught appertaining to quackery or humbug. office for the application, 13 1-2 first avenue. depot for the sale, a. s. jordan's, 2 milk street, boston. certificate. i do hereby certify that i was bald, and my hair is restored, and was greatly troubled with dandruff, and am not now, and do give credit where it is due, viz. to beal's hair restorative. henry whitehead, no. 366 ninth street. jordan and wiley's cheap publications. popular and useful works at low prices. wives of england, by mrs. ellis, in glazed paper covers, 19 66 66 women 66 66 66 66 66 19 mothers 06 19 19 37 66 66 66 66 66 66 66 66 daughters poetry of life, fire side recollections, and the young sculptor, by mrs. ellis. 66 66 66 ll 66 66 66 66 66 66 mary and martha, the two friends. one hundred romances, by leigh hunt. 66 66 66 66 66 phillip in search of a wife. life and exploits of the duke of wellington, forty engravings. zincali, an account of the gipsies of spain, by barrow. pictorial annual, with numerous engravings. ancient regime, by james. tom burke of ours, with engravings, by lever. leibeg's animal chemistry, or organic chemistry in its application to physiology and pathology. leibeg's chemistry in its application to agriculture. london forget me not, for 1845, without the plates. scientific notice of comets in general, by m. argo. romantic biography of the age of queen elizabeth, in sketches of life from the bye-ways of history. meredith, a novel by countess of blessington. modern chivalry, by w. h. ainsworth. 10 10 19 10 the bible in spain, or the journeys, adventures, and imprisonments of geo. barrow. 25 25 25 8 25 25 8 10 12 19 10 25 50 55555 jordan and wiley's cheap publications. 12 home, or family cares and joys, by mary howitt. arnold's lectures on modern history. dr. a. was, at his death, regius professor of history, at oxford. no one can read this delightful and instructive book without esteeming its author as among the noblest minds and highest characters of these days. history from his pen has a charm that no other has given it. the man of people, by rosenberg. wanderings of a journeyman tailor through europe and the east, translated by wm. howitt, from the german. 10 the smugglers of the swedish coast, by e. carlin. arrah neal, a romance by james. 19 12 bishop hughes' lecture on the importance of a christian basis for the science of political economy, and its application to the affairs of life. bishop hughes' lecture on the mixture of civil and ecclesiastical power in the government of the middle ages. bishop hughes' letter to mayor harper, on the times. atkinson's principles of political economy, with introduction by h. greeley. o'connell's memoir of ireland. farnham's history of the oregon territory, with map. sturgis' lecture on the oregon territory, with map. the comforter, and the morning watches, by fredrika bremer. the loiterings of arthur o'leary, by lever. thoughts on the annexation of texas, by theodore sedgwick. 12 12 6 6 6 25 25 19 25 12 12 12 25 ethel churchill, by l. e. l., with plate arthur's popular and excellent tales, cecelia howard, &c. 19 valentine vox, the ventriloquist, by cockton, (illustrated.) 50 62 jordan and wiley's advertisement. remarkable visions natural somnambulist, concerning the future state. translated from the german. of a 009 romandn from a distinguished orthodox divine. "whatever else may be thought of this book, we believe no one will dispute its claim to originality. it purports to be the record of the experience of an individual in a high state of somnambulism, and to lead us, as by an angel's hand, all over the invisible world. its descriptions are most vivid and glowing; and whatever of incredulity a reader may feel in regard to the reality of the scenes described, he will find it no easy thing to go to sleep over the description." supplied by the booksellers and newsmen at 12 13 i " ! list of valuable school & miscellaneous books, issued by jordan, swift & wiley, (old stand of jordan & co.) 121 washington street, boston. 12mo., sheep. 12mo., sheep. vols. 8vo., cloth. 12mo., sheep. 12mo., paper. colburn's sequel. 66 algebra. tytler's universal history. parker's natural philosophy. clark's lectures to young men. remarkable visions of the life 66 death. translated from the german. game of life. with engravings by retzsch. combe on the constitution of man. 66 digestion and dietetics. farmer's companion; or, essays on the principles and practice of american husbandry. by the late judge buel. 12mo., cloth. 6 vols. 12mo., cloth. gall's works. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth. graham's science of human life. historical tales for youth. by miss m.e.lee. 18mo., cloth. 12mo., cloth. ladies' wreath. by mrs. s. j. hale. pursuit of knowledge under difficulties. edited by rev. dr. wayland. with portraits. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth pictures of early life. by mrs. e. c. embury. 18mo., cloth. paley's natural theology. from bell and brougham's edition, with a life of the author, numerous engravings, and an appendix of additions from lord brougham's work on natural theology. edited by elisha bartlett, m. d. seasons, (sacred philosophy of.) edited by rev. f. w. p. greenwood, d. d. shaw's civil architecture. with 100 copperplate engravings. teacher's manual, (american institute's prize essay.) by thomas h. palmer. teacher taught or, the principles and modes of teaching. by rev. emerson davis. columbus. washington irving's abridgment of his after • 12mo., paper. 4to., paper. 12mo., cloth. 18mo., cloth. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth. 4 vols. 12mo., cloth. 4to., sheep. 12mo., cloth. 12mo., cloth. 12mo., cloth. 12mo., cloth. 12mo., fancy. 12mo., emb.mor. large work. plates. domestic economy. for the use of young ladies at home and at school. by miss c. e. beecher. flora's interpreter. by mrs.s. j. hale. 66 66 (2 66 hayward's outlines of physiology, for schools. 12mo.,sheep. olmsted's (prof. dennison) letters on astronomy. addressed to a lady. numerous engravings. 12mo., cloth. story's (judge) familiar exposition of the constitution of the united states. cloth. useful arts, considered in connection with the applications of science. by jacob bigelow, m. d. 2 vols. 12mo., cloth. · jordan, swift & wiley's publications. colburn's sequel. this work consists of two parts, in the first of which the author has given a great variety of questions, arranged according to the method pursued in the first lessons; the second part consists of a few questions, with the solution of them, and such copious illustrations of the principles involved in the examples in the first part of the work, that the whole is rendered perfectly intelligible. the two parts are designed to be studied together. the answers to the questions in the first part are given in a key, which is published separately for the use of instructors. if the scholar find any sum difficult, he must turn to the principles and illustrations given in the second part, and these will furnish all the assistance that is needed. the design of this arrangement is to make the scholar understand his subject thoroughly, instead of performing his sums by rule. the first lessons contain only examples of numbers so small, that they can be solved without the use of a slate. the sequel commences with small and simple combinations, and proceeds gradually to the more extensive and varied, and the scholar will rarely have occasion for a principle in arithmetic which is not fully illustrated in this work. j. s. & w. also supply to the trade, at the lowest prices, all standard periodicals, with all the cheap and other publications of the day, issued in boston, philadelphia, and new york. they are agents for godey's lady's book; ladies' companion; graham's magazine; each, $3,00, yearly. christian family magazine, (with engravings,) $1,00. hunt's merchant's magazine, an invaluable record of statistics, &c., $5,00. ladies' garland, (monthly,) $1,00. ladies' musical library, (monthly,) $1,50. national preacher, $1,00. mother's magazine, $1,00. the london christian observer, (monthly,) $2,50 bell's medical library, (quarterly,) $5,00. arthur's magazine, (monthly,) $2,00. democratic review, (with portraits in each number,) $5,00. southern literary messenger, $5,00. silliman's american journal of science, $6,00. law library, $10,00. the medico-chirurgical review, $5,00. the reprints of the london, edinburgh, foreign, and westminster reviews, the four together, $8,00. blackwood's magazine, $3,00. the eclectic magazine, (of foreign literature,) $6,00. the living age, $6,00. the christian examiner, $1,00. the biblical repository, $3,00. parley's and merry's magazines for youth, $1,00. the knickerbocker,. $5,00. law reporter, $3,03. the mother's assistant, $1,00. the north american review, $5,00. the lowell offering, by the female operatives, $1,00; and other american and foreign works. orders for any school, miscellaneous, or religious works, or school apparatus, accompanied with the money will receive prompt attention. jordan and wiley's publications. have you read six years in the monasteries of italy, by rev. s. j. mahoney, formerly a capuchin friar in the convent of the immaculate conception, at rome. it is among the most entertaining books of the day, containing a truthful narrative of the habits of the popish priests in ireland, france, malta, &c. and a description of convent life, written with ability, and free from indelicate and offensive matter. price 37 1-2 cents. liberal discount to the trade at jordan & wiley's, 121, washington street. choice new books for every family circle. integrity moderation-decision selfdenial-reflection energy. by mrs. hofland, author of young cadet, clergyman's widow, etc. these volumes, from the pen of a popular english writer, are just issued by messrs. jordan & wiley, 121 washington street. the titles of the several volumes indicate the subjects illustrated and enforced in the author's winning and popular style, and show them to constitute together a most charming and useful series for every family library, for young and old. the volumes average 160 18mo pages each. price a volume, in gilt cloth, 37 1-2 cts. paper, 25 cts. jordan and wiley's advertisement. · the following letters have been received, relating to this val uable remedy. from rev. mr. lawrance of haverhill. boston, november 22, 1844 to the proprietors of the bronchial comfit. gentlemen: having suffered with bronchial difficulty for the last three or four years, and having made use of the materials of your preparation with decided benefit, although in a less perfect combination than i find yours to be, i am happy to give it my cordial approval. i have tried various remedial means, but with little or no good effect. i believe that clerical gentlemen, especially, who have been troubled with similar difficulties in public speaking, would derive essential advantage from the use of your preparation. from sympathy with such sufferers, i give it my cordial recommendation to them. edward a. lawrance. from a distinguished unitarian preacher of boston. from the use of the bronchial comfit, and from the nature and properties of some of the ingredients that enter into its composition, i am enabled to say, as i do say very cheerfully, that i have the utmost confidence in its adaptedness to relieve public speakers, and to allay irritation after exercise of speaking is over. if preachers would employ it generally after exertion of the voice, they would unquestionably find it the means of much comfort, and a safeguard against disease. december, 1844. from rev. s. remington, (formerly a physician.) dear sir: from my knowledge of the different articles of which your lozenges are composed, i am prepared to say that they are not only safe, but very excellent for public speakers, to enable them to guard against and counteract hoarseness. by the too frequent exercise of the organs of the voice and by those catarrhal attacks peculiar to this climate, the uvula becomes greatly elongated, and dipping down upon the epiglottis, troublesome irritation attended by cough often follows. the parts also which surround the uvula, its curtain and glands, are b jordan and wiley's advertisement. liable to become weakened and relaxed, the consequence of which is the secretion of too much mucous, causing a roughness of the voice and a difficulty of speaking, and laying the foundation for throat disease, bronchitis, &c. for all these difficulties, these lozenges furnish a gentle and grateful stimulant, which cleans the voice by contracting the muscular fibre, and so relieving the parts from irritations, and i therefore most cheerfully recommend them as a very excellent palliative. yours truly, s. remington. from edwin forrest, the celebrated tragedian. gentlemen : i have used your "bronchial comfit," and recommend it to public speakers as an excellent remedy for hoarseness, or huskiness of voice. yours respectfully, edwin forrest. from messrs. murdoch & russell, elocutionists. to the proprietors of the bronchial comfit. sir-in answer to your inquiry regarding our opinion of your bronchial comfit, we would say that we have ourselves used it for some time, and that many of our students have done the same, with great advantage. it seems well adapted to its purpose; and, as we frequently have occasion to answer inquiries respecting the best preparation of the kind, for the use of public speakers, we shall be happy to recommend your comfit as such. we are, sir, yours respectfully, j. e. murdoch. william russell, from messrs. baker & woodbury, professors of music. gentlemen: i have used your preparation and recommended it to others, not only as an effective remedy against irritations of the throat, arising from colds, or long continued exertion of the voice, but also as a valuable aid to the flexibility of the organs, and to freedom of execution in vocal effort. b. f. baker. odeon, december 6, 1844. gents: i have used the bronchial comfit as a remedy for hoarseness and means for allaying all irritations of vocal organs. i consider it admirably adapted for these purposes. many of my pupils have used it also with the most beneficial results. i. b. woodbury. 4 1 jordan and wiley's publications. to save a lawyer's bill buy at jordan & wiley's, 121, washington street, the pocket lawyer and family conveyancer. comprising a selection of forms necessary in all mercantile and money transactions, including every direction essential to the magistrate and private individual, laid down in so plain a manner as to enable every person to transact his own concerns without the assistance of a lawyer; to which is added an abridged law dictionary ; new edition, 1845; price 25 cents. the home and traveller's library. no. 1. texas and the gulf of mexico; or, yachting in the new with illustrations. price 25 cents. world. by mrs. houston. no. 2.the englishwoman in egypt. by mrs. poole. with an engraving of the interior of the great pyramid. price 25 cts. no. 3. · knights of the round table. by mrs. johnstone, author of "clan albyn," ," "elizabeth de bruce," &c. price 25 cents. no. 4. · sketches of imposture, credulity, and fanaticism. price 25 cents. no. 5. the opium war; being recollections of service in china. by capt. arthur cunynghame. price 25 cents. no. 6. impressions of ireland and the irish. by the author of "random recollections of the lords and commons," "the great metropolis," &c. price 25 cents. ― no. 7. donaldson's eventful life of a soldier. price 25 cents. no. 8. dunn's history of the oregon territory and british north american fur trade. price 25 cents. no. 9. the mutiny at the nore. jordan and wiley's advertisement. new remedy for bronchitis, hoarseness, colds, and influenza. this preparation is intended to allay all irritation of the larynx, trachea, or bronchial tubes. it will be found equally serviceable in cases arising from chronic inflammation, and those caused by the transient effects of colds. its properties are such as to impart a soothing and mollifying sensation to the membranous surfaces when excited, whether by the effects of influenza, or of unusual exertion in public speaking, and other uses of the vocal organs. clergymen, public and private singers, and other persons suffering from affections of the throat, hoarseness, colds of longer or shorter duration, or other impediments of the voice, will find this a most important discovery. it is entirely free from all deleterious ingredients, and has been prepared under the best medical supervision. price, 25 cents per box. sold for proprietors only at jordan & wiley's bookstore. also, at v. clirhugh's, 205 broadway, new york; and the principal booksellers. to persons suffering from catarrhal and bronchial affections, the comfit will be found a most agreeable relief, if not a permanent cure. directions for use. the comfit should be used as follows:-in cases of cold or bronchitis, take from ten to twelve a day, and be careful not to swallow them hastily, but keep them melting gradually in the mouth, so as to have the moisture gently diffused, that it may act permanently on the parts. when taken with a view to soothe and lubricate the organs, previous to the exercise of speaking and singing, use two or three at a time. the same number may also be advantageously used after such exercise. in cases of hoarseness and influenza, four or five may be taken before speaking. jordan and wiley's advertisement. from j. h. farnsworth. gents: having used the "bronchial comfit," and derived much benefit from it, i feel impelled to bear testimony to its worth. i have used it from the time of its first appearance, and am confident that it is a valuable preventative against bronchitis, and consider it an invaluable remedy for hoarseness, and all obstructions of the throat arising from irritation of the mucous membrane. i cheerfully recommend it for the use of public speakers and singers; it needs to be but generally tried to be generally used. j. h. farnsworth. pastor of the universalist society, hingham, mass. applications for agencies in any part of the united states, to be addressed to jordan & wiley, booksellers, 121 washington street, boston. beal's hair restorative. no charge until the hair is restored. emanating from a regular practiced physician, offered to the public on the above original terms, and personal reference given to some of our first citizens. "beal's hair restorative" stands alone, free from aught appertaining to quackery or humbug. office for the application, 13 1-2 first avenue. depot for the sale, a. s. jordan's, 2 milk street, boston. certificate. i do hereby certify that i was bald, and my hair is restored, and was greatly troubled with dandruff, and am not now, and do give credit where it is due, viz. to beal's hair restorative. henry whitehead, no. 366 ninth street. jordan and wiley's cheap publications. popular and useful works at low prices. wives of england, by mrs. ellis, in glazed paper covers, 19 66 66 66 (6 women 66 66 66 19 mothers (6 19 19 37 66 66 (6 66 66 66 "" 66 daughters poetry of life, fire side recollections, and the young sculptor, by mrs. ellis. "c 66 66 66 66 (6 66 66 66 66 "6 66 66 66 66 mary and martha, the two friends. one hundred romances, by leigh hunt. phillip in search of a wife. life and exploits of the duke of wellington, forty engravings. 10 10 19 10 25 zincali, an account of the gipsies of spain, by barrow. 25 pictorial annual, with numerous engravings. 8 the bible in spain, or the journeys, adventures, and imprisonments of geo. barrow. 25 leibeg's animal chemistry, or organic chemistry in its application to physiology and pathology. leibeg's chemistry in its application to agriculture. london forget me not, for 1845, without the plates. scientific notice of comets in general, by m. argo. romantic biography of the age of queen elizabeth, in sketches of life from the bye-ways of history. meredith, a novel by countess of blessington. modern chivalry, by w. h. ainsworth. ancient regime, by james. tom burke of ours, with engravings, by lever. 25 25 8 10 22238 12 19 10 25 50 jordan and wiley's cheap publications. home, or family cares and joys, by mary howitt. arnold's lectures on modern history. dr. a. was, at his death, regius professor of history, at oxford. no one can read this delightful and instructive book. without esteeming its author as among the noblest minds and highest characters of these days. history from his pen has a charm that no other has given it. the man of people, by rosenberg. wanderings of a journeyman tailor through europe and the east, translated by wm. howitt, from the german. 10 the smugglers of the swedish coast, by e. carlin. arrah neal, a romance by james. 19 12 bishop hughes' lecture on the importance of a christian basis for the science of political economy, and its application to the affairs of life. bishop hughes' lecture on the mixture of civil and ecclesiastical power in the government of the middle ages. bishop hughes' letter to mayor harper, on the times. atkinson's principles of political economy, with introduction by h. greeley. o'connell's memoir of ireland. farnham's history of the oregon territory, with map. sturgis' lecture on the oregon territory, with map. the comforter, and the morning watches, by fredrika bremer. the loiterings of arthur o'leary, by lever. thoughts on the annexation of texas, by theodore sedgwick. 12. 12 12 ܘ 6 96 25 25 19 25 12 12 12 25 ethel churchill, by l. e. l., with plates. arthur's popular and excellent tales, cecelia howard, &c. 19 valentine vox, the ventriloquist, by cockton, (illustrated.) 50 62 jordan and wiley's advertisement. remarkable visions natural somnambulist, concerning the future state. translated from the german. of a hydiges tran cunt my god 900 romaner from a distinguished orthodox divine. "whatever else may be thought of this book, we believe no one will dispute its claim to originality. it purports to be the record of the experience of an individual in a high state of somnambulism, and to lead us, as by an angel's hand, all over the invisible world. its descriptions are most vivid and glowing; and whatever of incredulity a reader may feel in regard to the reality of the scenes described, he will find it no easy thing to go to sleep over the description." supplied by the booksellers and newsmen at 12 13 . 1 jordan and wiley's cheap publications. popular and useful works at low prices. wives of england, by mrs. ellis, in glazed paper covers, 19 women 66 66 66 (6 (6 66 66 19 mothers (6 19 19 37 66 66 66 66 66 66 66 66 daughters poetry of life, fire side recollections, and the young sculptor, by mrs. ellis. "" "c 66 "6 66 66 66 66 66 66 mary and martha, the two friends. one hundred romances, by leigh hunt. phillip in search of a wife. 66 66 66 66 66 life and exploits of the duke of wellington, forty engravings. 10 10 19 10 25 25 8 zincali, an account of the gipsies of spain, by barrow. pictorial annual, with numerous engravings. the bible in spain, or the journeys, adventures, and imprisonments of geo. barrow. 25 leibeg's animal chemistry, or organic chemistry in its application to physiology and pathology. leibeg's chemistry in its application to agriculture. london forget me not, for 1845, without the plates. scientific notice of comets in general, by m. argo. romantic biography of the age of queen elizabeth, in sketches of life from the bye-ways of history. meredith, a novel by countess of blessington. modern chivalry, by w. h. ainsworth. ancient regime, by james. tom burke of ours, with engravings, by lever. 25 25 8 10 22038 12 19 10 25 50 jordan and wiley's cheap publications. 12 home, or family cares and joys, by mary howitt. arnold's lectures on modern history. dr. a. was, at his death, regius professor of history, at oxford. no one can read this delightful and instructive book without esteeming its author as among the noblest minds and highest characters of these days. history from his pen has a charm that no other has given it. the man of people, by rosenberg. wanderings of a journeyman tailor through europe and the east, translated by wm. howitt, from the german. 10 the smugglers of the swedish coast, by e. carlin. arrah neal, a romance by james. 19 12 bishop hughes' lecture on the importance of a christian basis for the science of political economy, and its application to the affairs of life. bishop hughes' lecture on the mixture of civil and ecclesiastical power in the government of the middle ages. bishop hughes' letter to mayor harper, on the times. atkinson's principles of political economy, with introduction by h. greeley. o'connell's memoir of ireland. farnham's history of the oregon territory, with map. sturgis' lecture on the oregon territory, with map. the comforter, and the morning watches, by fredrika bremer. the loiterings of arthur o'leary, by lever. thoughts on the annexation of texas, by theodore sedgwick. 12241 6 6 6 33935 25 25 19 25 22 12 25 ethel churchill, by l. e. l., with plates. arthur's popular and excellent tales, cecelia howard, &c. 19 valentine vox, the ventriloquist, by cockton, (illustrated.) 50 62 jordan and wiley's advertisement. remarkable visions natural somnambulist, concerning the future state. translated from the german. of a 00 god m மாம romanon from a distinguished orthodox divine. "whatever else may be thought of this book, we believe no one will dispute its claim to originality. it purports to be the record of the experience of an individual in a high state of somnambulism, and to lead us, as by an angel's hand, all over the invisible world. its descriptions are most vivid and glowing; and whatever of incredulity a reader may feel in regard to the reality of the scenes described, he will find it no easy thing to go to sleep over the description." supplied by the booksellers and newsmen at 12 13 t -. 1 i the borrower will be charged an overdue fee if this book is not returned to the library on or before the last date stamped below. non-receipt of overdue notices does not exempt the borrower from overdue fees. "widther jul 7 1993 نامه 3 2044 021 115 035 book due 41 nypl research libraries 3 3433 07479596 8 the hermit of of marlow by h buxton forman london printed for private circulation mdccclxxxvii 1. mance (shelley, pb) ncc (shelle forman the hermit of marlow of this book twenty-five copies only have been printed t 100ddd albion house, marlow, bucks, shelley's residence in 1817. fac-simile of a woodcut published in "the mirror of literature, amusement, and instruction," for saturday the 2nd of march 1833, no. 593, vol. xxi, p. 129. the hermit of marlow marlow a chapter in the history of reform by h buxton forman magne london printed for private circulation 1887 }.... * me new york pelic library 327947b sr, lenox and pollen foundations 1915 l all me tharp-101 the hermit of marlow, a chapter in the history of reform. read before the shelley society, april 13, 1887. ladies and gentlemen,-the few remarks i have to offer you this evening are intended to form an introduction to the shelley society's forthcoming facsimile of the poet's manuscript of his political pamphlet entitled a proposal for putting reform to the vote throughout the kingdom. the first lecture delivered to this society after the inaugural address of the rev. stopford brooke was one which i gave on the vicissitudes of queen mab, and which was described as a chapter in the history of reform. the same description would fit more or less nearly the paper which i read to you on the 9th of february last, concerning the mask of anarchy; and indeed many of our subjects. during the next few years must perforce come within the scope of such a title. our subject for this evening, at all events, is before all things a chapter in the history of reform; and i fear you will not find in it even so much variety as there has been in previous chapters. in the year 1817 the wretchedness and unrest of the lower classes in england had taken a form sufficiently marked to be the occasion of grave disquietude on the part of the government and the privileged and predatory classes, while, to the liberal-minded and tenderhearted, the need for some alleviation of a general kind b io the hermit of marlow. for the wide-spread misery and oppression was fast becoming more and more visibly urgent. to make matters worse, the year 1816 had been a bad year for the farmers. there were countless mechanics and labourers who had been thrown out of work in consequence of the introduction of machinery, and the already growing power of foreign nations to compete with us in trade and manufacture. then, as now, there were plenty of demagogues engaged in stirring up the people to rash action; and then, as not now, there were government spies who earned a good living by mixing with the disaffected, inciting them to acts and utterances which could be construed into sedition or treason, and then betraying their poor dupes to the gaol or even the gallows. the people were practically unrepresented in parliament, and were to a great extent at the mercy of those who had no mercy, the shameful liverpool administration,-castlereagh, sidmouth, eldon, and company. moreover, in the previous year, 1816, the working classes, ignorant though honest in the main, had been sufficiently rash and tumultuous in their agitations for reform to create a strong feeling against them in the great and powerful middle class; and the last complete year which shelley passed in his own country was marked by a positive decline of the cause of reform. it is true the people had still their staunch and hardy advocates of several kinds and degrees. major cartwright and sir francis burdett and the honourable douglas kinnaird were their strong and bold supporters among public men; william cobbett and william hone were performing rough literary labour in the popular cause; leigh hunt, whose nature fitted him better for the purlieus of dilettantedom, had thrown himself into the hurley-burley of the same cause, and was doing good work in the examiner; and there was altogether a goodly and growing "cloud of witnesses for the rights of the people. and yet, when shelley passed his latest christmas at an english fire-side, the year was closing in utter blankness as to any public good which had been accomplished. the reform meetings and "" the hermit of marlow. ii petitions had for the moment failed; an attempted interference with the legal robbery carried on by the holding of sinecures had ended in smoke; and the popular cause was for the moment as a stream returning towards its source. it may possibly have been a perception of this retrograde tendency in the politics of his country that called into fresh and strengthened activity the reforming spirit of shelley, and goaded him not merely to produce the two essays in concrete politics which mark the year 1817, but also to compose his largest work, that daring laon and cythna whereby he hoped to awaken the better classes of his countrymen and countrywomen from their apathy, and startle them into a moral and intellectual fermentation calculated to bring about reform in all departments, radical, sweeping, and conclusive. but i think he can hardly have perceived the retrogression so early as february, when his reform pamphlet was probably written, for at that time the great crusade that was going on in the early part of the year, the crusade of the reform meetings held by influential people, and numberless petitions for reform. addressed to the house of commons, had not yet failed of its object. i think he must have been urged to issue this particular pamphlet by a wise perception that some of the most prominent reformers were asking not only what it was next to impossible to grant, but what the people were not ripe to exercise-universal suffrage. it was certainly not that he had nothing particular to do just then, no urgent personal cares to occupy him, no members of his own more intimate circle claiming help and active sympathy, no dreadful memories of recent events to harass him, and no impending disasters to struggle against. on the contrary, the year 1816 had not only seen the death of harriett shelley and fanny godwin by suicide, incidents unspeakably harrowing to him,-not only did the close of that year witness the beginning of his troubles about harriett's children; but the fiery planet byron had come into the shelleyan sphere and left him with the charge of claire clairmont, about to become the mother of allegra byron; while godwin, leigh hunt, and 12 the hermit of marlow. peacock, with their "large claims of general justice," were never far off. during the first two months of 1817 shelley was greatly occupied with preparations for the chancery suit, which eventually deprived him definitely of the charge of ianthe and charles; and in january claire's little allegra was born at bath, mary shelley being also there, and shelley in london. shortly mary joined him in london; and it was seemingly during the busy time immediately preceding their settlement at marlow that the political situation appeared to him so pressing as to call forth a proposal for putting reform to the vote throughout the kingdom: it was apparently while the chancery suit was still pending; for the pamphlet came out about the middle of march, and lord eldon's decision on the suit was not given till the 27th. the house which shelley had taken at marlow, to оссиру "for ever" with mary and her child, if not with claire and the little allegra and many regular or desultory camp-followers, bore the propitious name of "albion house." the household migrated to marlow "in the last week in february," says professor dowden,¹ "before the house was ready." shelley was back in london before taking possession, and finally "seems to have entered the house in the week march 9-16."2 this perpetual residence was secured, it seems, just in time to yield a pseudonym for the poet, who was then suffering keenly from the baleful effects of two early works filed by the westbrooks in the court of chancery, in support of allegations made to deprive him of the custody of his children. the fact that queen mab and the letter to lord ellenborough had been used against him, though with results not then disclosed, may have influenced him to conceal his authorship of the reform pamphlet; for, though moderate compared with much writing of the period on the liberal side, the proposal was still sufficiently daring, and would, in the eyes of lord eldon, the westbrooks, and other magnates and nobodies, have added to his religious and social enormities a definite 1 life of shelley, vol. ii, p. 110. 2 ibid. the hermit of marlow. 13 ----attempt at political agitation. for whatever reason, he elected to place upon the pamphlet no author's name, and to let it go out to the world as from " the hermit of marlow," a designation which it pleased him to keep during the greater part of his residence in that primitive buckinghamshire town on the banks of the thames, though it must be confessed that "albion house," albeit not then cut up into tenements and turned in part into a public-house as it is now, was not in any respect like a hermitage. it stood, as it stands to-day. right on the roadside (west street is the name of the road; but it is still not much like a street); and solitude was not a marked characteristic of the conditions of residence at marlow. whether shelley's friends knew him in 1817 as "the hermit," i cannot say; but he himself brought out the title for use again. in november, when he issued his second political pamphlet of 1817, ostensibly an address to the people on the death of the princess charlotte, but really an eloquent appeal against the iniquitous execution of brandreth, turner, and ludlam, the victims of the government spy oliver and one of those bogus conspiracies which were an ugly feature of the anti-popular tactics in those days of "murder, fraud, and anarchy." but to return to the hermit's first marlow pamphlet, -the same good fortune which, as we shall see anon, attended the scheme of reform there advocated, attended also the tangible substance incorporating that scheme,that is to say if preservation is to be regarded as a thing to be desired. unlike the hermit's other pamphlet, of which no manuscript, or proof-sheet, or copy of the original issue is known to be extant, the proposal is preserved in all three stages. not only have copies of the extremely rare print come down to us, but the proof-sheets revised by shelley, and bearing sketchy drawings from his pen, were preserved by leigh hunt, and are now in the collection of sir percy and lady shelley; while the manuscript sent to the printer, roughly and rapidly written, full of erasures and corrections, and probably the only copy written out by shelley, remained in the hands of mr. ollier, the publisher, whose family, in с 14 the hermit of marlow. the fulness of time, sold it. this took place in july 1877; and i refrain now from any textual examination of the manuscript, because mr. francis harvey of st. james's street, who bought this holograph at auction in the ordinary way of business, gave me, with exemplary courtesy and generosity, full opportunity to, exhaust the subject when i reprinted the pamphlet in my edition of shelley's prose works (4 volumes, 1880). i believe the foot-notes to the proposal give all that can be given in the way of variorum readings and cancelled passages; and it is a pleasure to me to think that mr. harvey, of whom i had no previous knowledge, and on whom i certainly had no claim, entertained an angel unawares. not that i ever was an angel, or expect ever to be one; but it was the record of the particulars of the manuscript in my notes that eventually found mr. harvey a customer for his costly treasure in the person of mr. wise, who has allowed it to be facsimile'd for the shelley society's extra series. but the luck of preservation connected with the proposal goes further yet. as far as i know, there is but one reference to the princess charlotte pamphlet in all the extant shelley correspondence. mrs. shelley's diary records that he began a pamphlet on the 11th of november and finished it on the 12th; and there is a little note to ollier, dated the 12th, sending a part of the manuscript for press.¹ these are doubtless references to the address; but in the case of the proposal we have shelley's instructions to his publisher in some detail. the following letter is undated, un-post-marked, and, i believe, unpublished :— dear sir, i inclose you the revise which may be put to press when corrected, and the sooner the better. i inclose you also a list of persons to whom i wish copies to be sent from the author, as soon as possible. i trust you will be good enough to take the trouble off my hands.1 dowden's life of shelley, vol. ii, p. 158. the hermit of marlow. 15 do not advertise sparingly: and get as many booksellers as you can to take copies on their own account. sherwood neely & co, hone of newgate street, ridgeway, and stockdale are people likely to do so -send 20 or 30 copies to messrs. hookham & co bond street without explanation. i have arranged with them. send 20 copies to me addressed to mr. hunt, who will know what to do with them if i am out of town.your very obedient sert p. b. shelley p the list which shelley sent to mr. ollier in the foregoing letter was a pretty considerable one, designed to dispose of fifty-seven copies of the pamphlet, besides the forty or fifty referred to in the letter; and the instructions as to advertizing and so on indicate regular publication. according to entries made on the list, thirty-one copies were sent out "from the author." a copy also appears to have reached either southey or the quarterly review; for in the heading to his article on "the rise and progress of popular disaffection,"¹ the title of shelley's pamphlet figures, though the proposal is not alluded to in the text of the article. on the whole the pamphlet ought not to be so extremely rare; and the shelley society will probably stir up hiding-holes and bring copies to light. in another extant letter to mr. ollier, written at marlow on the 14th of march 1817, the hermit asks "how does the pamphlet sell?" of the answer we know nothing; but it was probably the negative to which he was already well accustomed; and in this case the incongruity between the bold title and the shy retiring pseudonym might not unnaturally have deterred from purchase even the very elect of reformers. when one wants to form an idea of the influences working from without, at a particular time, on a man vitally interested as shelley was in the progress of 1 quarterly for january 1817, published the following april. 16 the hermit of marlow. public affairs, it is no bad plan, leisure permitting, to consult a file of some contemporary daily newspaper and the relative volumes of hansard's parliamentary debates. in default of leisure or opportunity for bringing this cumbrous apparatus to bear on the present subject, i will ask you to accompany me in imagination while i turn over the leaves of a weekly newspaper of 1817 instead; and how can we do better than take leigh hunt's ultra-radical print, the examiner, with its audacious "leontian" leaders, its excellent parliamentary and other reports, and its varied and multitudinous notes of news? moreover, this paper for 1817 is not unembellished by the genius of many of the shelley circle; and it is a pleasure to glance over pages in which we are conscious of the presence of leigh hunt passim, stumble upon sonnets by keats, meet once and again haydon and hazlitt, fall in with dear delightful horace smith, and even get a taste of the quality of shelley himself, who was a contributor of hunt's as well as a constant reader. before we take to our examiner, it will be worth while to glance down that list of persons to whom shelley ordered his publishers to send the proposal for putting reform to the vote. this list is printed in the shelley library, part i, page 67; but i will read it to you now, because it includes the names of most of the persons marked by liberal views on whose track we shall presently come in our radical newspaper. the list is as follows:sir francis burdett m.p.* mr. peters of cornwall mr. brougham m.p.* lord grosvenor * lord holland * lord grey * mr. cobbett * mr. waithman * mr. curran hon. douglas kinnaird * hon. thos. brand m.p.* lord cochrane m.p. sir r. heron m.p. the lord mayor* mr. montague burgoyne major cartwright * messrs. taylor sen. & jun. of norwich mr. place, charing cross * mr. walker of westminster lord essex * capt. bennet m.p.* the hermit of marlow. 17 the birmingham hampden club (5 copies) mr. i. thomas, st. albans, mon. mr. philipps, whitston, mon. mr. andrew duncan, provost of arbroath mr. alderman goodbehere ** mr. jones burdett * mr. hallet of berkshire (5 copies) the london hampden club (10 copies) * the editors of the statesman * the morning chronicle* and the independent whig* mr. montgomery (the poet) of sheffield mr. r. oven of lanark mr. madocks m.p. mr. george ensor mr. bruce mr. sturch (of westminster) * mr. creery m.p. gen'. sir r. ferguson m.p.* against some of these names, distinguished by asterisks, the word sent was written in the original list, and not by shelley. i presume this was done at messrs. ollier's office, and that copies were really sent to the persons thus indicated. to turn, now, to our examiner,-the year opens propitiously for us; for on new year's day the patriarchal reformer major cartwright took the chair at a meeting of the westminster electors at the crown and anchor, convened to receive from their popular and gallant representative in parliament, lord cochrane, his answer to an address which they had voted him in assurance of their continued confidence and admiration. lord cochrane's manly reply alludes to the support and protection he has had from liberal westminster during three years of persecution for those well-known attacks on naval abuses to which his position in the navy had given the sting of truth. "after many strong and interesting statements," says the report, "he recommended to the meeting to continue to support parliamentary reform, for without it the people of england would remain oppressed, persecuted, enslaved, and starving." in the course of the proceedings a mr. wells was hissed for proposing so weak a measure of reform as triennial parliaments: he explained that he really wanted annual ones, but thought "if that object could not be obtained, it were better to go step by step until they could obtain it." a mr. walker, d 18 the hermit of marlow. "c doubtless the gentleman of that suggestive name mentioned in shelley's "free list," remarked that he 'was for arriving at the wished-for object at once"; and then the redoubted major delivered his conviction that triennial parliaments could not be beneficial if obtained. he mentioned as evidence of the exertions then being made that he had five hundred petitions in his house to present at the meeting of parliament, and had issued three hundred more forms to be filled up: he named 2,400 as the total number of petitions likely to be presented; and he concluded by emphatically stating that annual representation was the only cure for existing evils. five days after this meeting in westminster, shelley may, for anything i can hear to the contrary, have attended a huge meeting at bath. claire was certainly in that city; and shelley and mary had secured places in the coach, for the 1st of january, to join her: it was still early in january when he left the two ladies at bath, to return to london on his chancery business; and if, as i think, he was at bath on the 6th, he would hardly have missed the occasion to attend a meeting of upwards of 6,000 people to petition parliament for a redress of grievances and particularly for and particularly for parliamentary reform. on this momentous occasion "large bodies of military, both horse and foot, were in readiness in case of a riot; and most of the principal inhabitants were sworn in special constables on the occasion," when "orator" hunt was "to the fore," and made a long speech in his usual rough and ready, pugnacious style, specially condemning the attempt of the authorities to intimidate the assembly. turning the page again, we find our examiner recording that four sailors, on the day after this meeting, were hung for stealing ships; and here was another call for reform which must have seemed desperately urgent to our tender-hearted and tolerant poet. to the examiner for the 19th of january he contributed his hymn to intellectual beauty, of which, by the by, i am pretty sure he must have revised a proof; and immediately after his signature comes the the hermit of marlow. 19 word reform at the head of a report of a "select meeting of independent gentlemen, friends of economy, public order, and reform,"-which had been held on the 17th of january. the most prominent names on this occasion are those of curran, alderman waithman, and alderman goodbehere, names which, you will remember, are all in shelley's list of persons to whom his pamphlet was to go. to go. curran made a capital speech, wherein he remarked that parliamentary reform did not "consist in breaking windows or getting drunk in the streets,”—a remark not wholly inapplicable to some of the so-called reformers of our own day. the report of this meeting is followed by one of a meeting held at dublin on the previous monday, the 13th of january, under the eye, as one of the speakers (o'connell) observed, "of ten regiments of soldiers under arms, and two troops of artillery ready for immediate action." this meeting, described as "a vast concourse of people," dispersed and "returned in the greatest order to their homes," after passing several resolutions, and agreeing to a thoroughly representative petition, the terms of which must, i think, have been familiar to shelley. this petition set forth that the house of commons did not, in any constitutional or rational sense, represent the nation; that, when the people have ceased to be represented, the constitution is subverted; that taxation without representation is a state of slavery; that there is no property in that which can be taken from the people without their consent; that these ills could only be remedied by the election of a free parliament; and that the substitution of the system of corrupt usurpation of popular rights for genuine representation was to blame for the state of permanent poverty and distress inflicted on ireland by the legislative union. the petitioners therefore prayed for popular representation coextensive with taxation, for equal distribution of seats, and for annual elections. proceeding with our examiner, we find that, the day after this petition was adopted at dublin, a boy whose 327947b the hermit of marlow. patronymic was dogood, but who was evidently regarded by those in authority as a "ne'er-do-weel," was sent to prison in london for tearing down some bills posted in long acre, headed "mr. hunt hissed out of bristol." the animus of the authorities against the "orator" and the cause he represented is obvious. 20 on the 22nd of january another reform meeting took place at the crown and anchor,-william cobbett, henry hunt, and major cartwright being the most prominent speakers. mr. jones burdett (another of the gentlemen of shelley's "free list,") brought word from the london hampden club that he and major cartwright were deputed by that club to lay before the reform delegates assembled at the meeting the heads of a bill to be submitted to parliament. the material principles recognized by this bill were (1) household suffrage, (2) division of counties and cities into electoral districts, each returning one member, according to population, and (3) annual elections. major cartwright said that, though in favour of universal suffrage, he must admit that many "sound reformists entertained other opinions on the ground of practicability." cobbett spoke most contemptuously of the club, but excepted from his denunciation sir francis burdett, mr. jones burdett, major cartwright, and "that sound patriot mr. hallet of berks." it is worth while to note in passing that this same gentleman, "mr. hallet of berkshire," was to receive five copies of the reform pamphlet according to shelley's list, and that the london hampden club was to receive ten. i suppose "berkshire," was not a sufficiently definite address for mr. ollier, no copies having apparently been sent to mr. hallet. henry hunt, while endorsing cobbett's contemptuous view of the club, managed to carry, against him, a resolution in favour of "representation co-existent with taxation." a skirmish between the "orator and the reporters of the morning chronicle and the british press gave variety to the proceedings: hunt, always in hot water, accused the daily press of systematic "} the hermit of marlow. 21 misrepresentation of reform meetings; and the two reporters resented the insult and denied the charge. one day later (23 january 1817) alderman goodbehere and alderman waithman took a prominent part in a reform meeting of the common council of london, at which the resolutions were very significant and well drawn. the court resolved to lay before parliament a representation tracing almost all the ills that flesh is heir to back to a long course of extravagance in the expenditure of the public money-to a profusion of useless places, sinecures, and unmerited pensions-to an enormous and unnecessary standing army in time of peace and to the want of that vigilance and constitutional control over the executive government, which can only spring from a free, equal, and pure representation of the people in parliament. they determined to point out that the decay of trade, manufactures, and agriculture, the depreciation in the value of property, and the enormous and vexatious weight of taxation, whereby a large portion of the population were compelled to seek charity, or to take refuge in a workhouse, had chiefly arisen from the corrupt and inadequate state of the representation, and that all attempts at remedy, without reform in parliament, would prove delusive; that as extravagance and corruption in governments had been the destruction of all free states, so it was impossible that a system, which had proved fatal to other states, should be innocently pursued in this; and that it was essential to the public welfare to shorten the duration of parliaments, bring about a fair and equal distribution of the elective franchise among all freeholders, copyholders, and householders paying taxes, and enforce such regulations as would preserve the purity and integrity of the members, and render the house of commons an efficient organ of the people. the court of common council therefore resolved that petitions should be presented to parliament, for the abolition of all sinecures and unmerited pensions, the reduction of the enormous standing army, the ese 22 the hermit of marlow. tablishment of a general system of retrenchment and economy, and such a reform in the commons house of parliament as would restore to the people their just and fair weight in the legislature. turning to other parts of our examiner for the 26th of january, we come on some occult allusions of leigh hunt's to shelley's chancery case, and on an inaccurate little report, taken from the morning chronicle, of the proceedings on friday the 24th of january in the matter of westbrook v. shelley. "his lordship is to give judgment on a future day," says the report. on the same page begins the report of the trial of a sailor named cashman and others in the matter of the musketstealing connected with certain riots of historic note which had taken place two months earlier. cashman was found guilty and condemned to death. on the 28th of january the prince regent opened parliament: on his way back to the palace he got hooted and pelted; and the windows of his carriage were broken. on the following sunday the examiner was of course full of the attack and the opening of parliament. on the 29th lord cochrane began the reform petition campaign by presenting a petition from bristol signed by over 50,000 people; and, after a full parliamentary report, we find in the examiner for the 2nd of february, in an appropriate setting of reform paragraphs, an editorial correction of inaccuracies in the report of westbrook v. shelley, immediately followed by horace smith's sonnet, commencing with the line "eternal and omnipotent unseen!" shelley's battle to regain possession of his children was of course regarded in his immediate circle not only as a personal question of desperate interest, but as an important issue in the general question of fundamental reform. the issue was indeed momentous-being no less than a dispute as to the right of a father, of what opinions soever in religious, moral, and social questions, to control and educate his own children. note that in this, as in most of the reform battles fought in the reign of eldon, castlereagh, sidmouth and co., the the hermit of marlow. 23 popular party, the party of freedom and equal laws, failed grievously and utterly. but we must keep to our examiner a little longer. on the 3rd of february, as reported in the paper of the 9th, the reform petitions to parliament were varied by one from the boy dogood, who had been sent to prison for tearing down scurrilous posters about "orator" hunt. that petition was rejected; and the boy was referred to the law courts. sir francis burdett and lord cochrane now appear in constant collision with lord castlereagh, mr. vansittart, or some one else of the kind,-every petition brought forward being subjected to obstruction, and brougham frequently rising to put in a pregnant word for the petitioners. 66 the examiner of the 10th of january has the agreeable variety of a sonnet from keats, that to kosciusko, flanked by reports of henry hunt's vulgarity at a reform meeting and of a discreditable fracas between him and morley the hotel keeper. perhaps this blundering coarseness, which was characteristic enough of the orator," prevented shelley from sending him the pamphlet: at all events his name is conspicuous for its absence from the list, though two years later, àpropos of "peterloo," shelley commended his conduct. the same day's paper has a report of a meeting in palace yard, westminster, on the 13th of february, to vote an address of the inhabitants of westminster to the regent concerning the attack on his carriage. as usual, sir francis burdett, major cartwright, lord cochrane, and henry hunt were in the van. the address voted was a clever, sarcastic document, really, with mock humility, making light of the attack, and inculcating on his royal highness the urgent need for reform. from the examiner for the 23rd of february we gather in passing that, at that time, seventy-three men and fifteen women were lying under sentence of death in newgate gaol. a mr. bennet used this fact for an indirect attack in parliament on lord eldon; and lord castlereagh "deemed the hon. gentleman's speech very inflammatory, and directed against high legal officers. the delay," he 24 the hermit of marlow. said, "did not rest with the chancellor." mr. bennet s object seems to have been to force the chancellor and the secretary of state to prepare a list of these wretched people for the prince regent, with a view of getting their miseries abridged either one way or another. it appears there was hope that the majority would not really suffer the penalty of death. the only member of parliament of the name of bennet that i can trace in 1817 is the hon. h. g. bennet. shelley's list includes captain bennet, m.p., to whom a copy of the pamphlet seems to have been sent; and i suppose this was the gentleman who had attacked lord eldon. turning from the disgraceful business which was the subject of his attack to another page of the paper, we find relief (and let us hope shelley did) in keats's sonnet "after dark vapors have oppress'd our plains" one more leaf turned, and we meet "orator" hunt in the court of king's bench before shelley's old bugbear lord ellenborough, urging, but without any satisfactory result, the case of the boy dogood, whom parliament had referred to the law courts. ... the accounts of reform meetings, and of the proceedings in parliament about the petitions occupy a great deal of space in the examiner. we know that shelley was a regular reader of the paper; and the chances are that he read every word of what we have been glancing at, and a vast deal more on these subjects. the petition phenomenon seems to have struck mrs. shelley; for, in a letter to leigh hunt inviting him to marlow, she says, "you shall never be serious when you wish to be merry, and have as many nuts to crack as there are words in the petitions to parliament for reform-a tremendous promise."1 now shelley's small contribution to this reform agitation is a really practical and not impracticable one. seeing how the contest raged in parliament, how little real impression on that corrupt chamber and insolently 1 dowden's life of shelley, vol. ii, p. 112. the hermit of marlow. 25 unprincipled administration was being produced by the fiery onslaughts of sir francis burdett, the frank and gallant pertinacity of lord cochrane, the logical incisiveness of henry brougham, the cool, consistent, decisive hammering of major cartwright, at the close of his forty years' experience in popular agitation; seeing behind the parliamentary spectacle the great surging ocean of misery and agitation; and hearing the repeated question, “i̇s parliamentary reform the will of the people," he said "let us see.” how? by taking the sense of the people. the object of shelley's pamphlet was to hold a meeting in order to organize a deliberate plébiscite, and to abide by the result. if reform should prove to be the will of the majority, parliament must grant it or be deemed in rebellion against the people. if only a minority demanded reform, it would rest with them to go on petitioning till they attained their end by attraction and accretion. not only was this proposal for a meeting at the crown and anchor tavern a reasonable and practicable one; but the hermit was ready to give a tenth of his year's income towards the expenses of the plébiscite. moreover, he expressed surprisingly moderate views. major cartwright's position in claiming universal suffrage he admitted to be logically impregnable; but he also pointed out that, logically, the preeminent advantages of a republic could not be disputed. he did not think england ripe either for republican government or for universal suffrage, because the men of the lowest class had been rendered "brutal and torpid and ferocious by ages of slavery." he therefore thought that "none but those who register their names as paying a certain small sum in direct taxes ought, at present, to send members to parliament." as to annual elections, he endorsed unhesitatingly the views of cartwright and cobbett. in the long run, shelley's reputation had the advantage proper to the moderate and sagacious tone of this pamphlet; for, as mr. rossetti says, at page 80 of his memoir of the poet, “the whirligig of time has brought in many revenges to shelley, and this amongst othersthat the tories found it their interest and necessity to f 26 the hermit of marlow. pass in 1867 almost the very scheme of reform which the poet and 'dreamer,' the atheist and democrat, had suggested in 1817; for it makes little difference whether we speak of a payment of money in 'direct taxes' or in 'rating.'" we may not unprofitably note another of time's revenges: a great poet in 1817 advocates a scheme of reform carried out by the conservatives in 1867; and then an admirable poet still among us characterizes the year, the deed, and the men, especially the late lord beaconsfield, thus:"in the year of the great crime, when the false english nobles and their jew, by god demented, slew the trust they stood thrice pledged to keep from wrong, . "1 this trust, you will observe, was the enslavement of the people. meanwhile, passing by the measure of reform wrung by pressure of circumstances from "the false english nobles and their jew," we may profitably bear in mind that the leading ideas of that gallant major whom shelley regarded as unanswerable, and who was one of the most influential politicians of his land and day, still await fulfilment. indeed, although the rushing wheels of our civilizing machine are fast driving out of any living place in our memory men whose work, like that of cartwright and burdett, is not of a form and visible substance to command integral preservation, i cannot leave john cartwright without a few more words. it is difficult for us to realize at the present day the importance of the position which he occupied in 1817, as well as earlier and later. when shelley wrote his proposal, the mere reference to major cartwright was sufficient to carry with it four clear and very advanced ideas, to wit, universal suffrage, equal representation, vote by ballot, and annual parliaments: it was as the "firm, consistent, and persevering advocate" of those principles that he was described at the base of a statue of him erected in burton crescent just before the reform bill of 1832 was passed. this was under. 1 (odes, by coventry patmore, 1868.) * the hermit of marlow. 27 the administration of earl grey, who was an old adherent to the principles of major cartwright, however much it may have been found expedient to water down those principles in the work of 1832, so as to give the power to the middle class and not to the people. this "firm, consistent, and persevering advocate" of righteous views, whereof some yet await fulfilment, had been a genuine force in england: born far back in the eighteenth century, his eventful and philanthropic life was drawing to its close when shelley became convinced of the need to retrench those magnificent schemes of reform. they were good men, these cartwrights: the major was brother to that edmund cartwright who invented the power-loom; and another brother, george, was the intrepid navigator who made six voyages to the coast of labrador, passed in all nearly sixteen years there, and published in 1793, in three quarto volumes, a journal of transactions and events during that long residence in an inhospitable country. as for major cartwright, we should do well to remember that his reasons for reformation, published in 1809, and another book issued a year later, entitled the comparison, in which mock reform, half reform, and constitutional reform, are considered, were familiar far and wide in 1817, and that they had succeeded a long array of political pamphlets, treatises, and essays; so that shelley would doubtless have thought it as impertinent as it was unnecessary to particularize the views and arguments to which he alludes in a proposal for putting reform to the vote. that proposal, sagacious and sound as it is, was a poor little tract compared with cartwright's achievements, the whole tale of which the world has quietly relegated to the dust-bin of oblivion. but we must take the world as we find it; and the world will take into account, even in appraising this pamphlet, the splendour of shelley's intellectual and literary gifts, the wonder of what he wrought in verse and of all that vast apocalyptic golden age that he saw spreading landscapelike beyond his day, beyond our day. more, even, than these things, perhaps, the fascination of his unique personality, makes it natural for us to attempt to gather, 28 the hermit of marlow. investigate, and illustrate all he ever did. but the true, honest men who only worked hard for the enfranchisement of their less fortunate fellow men, only gave their lives, their hearts, their heads, and their energies, must be deemed fortunate if allowed even to sit on the lowest steps of the temple of fame, while the upper steps are reserved for the men of genius, some of whom are already beginning to be crowded and jostled out of the inner sanctum. london: printed by richard clay & sons, bread street hill. april, 1887. b 1 1 157 830.9 f552 he the hermit in german literature 90-5 19 124. university of michigan libraries 1817 artes scientia veritas university of michigan oct 19 1961 library the hermit in german literature university of north carolina studies in the germanic languages and literatures publication committee frederic e. coenen, editor werner p. friederich john g. kunstmann george s. lane herbert w. reichert 1. herbert w. reichert. the basic concepts in the philosophy of gottfried keller. 1949. pp. 164. paper $ 3.00. 2. olga marx and ernst morwitz. the works of stefan george. rendered into english. 1949. pp. 375. cloth $ 6.25. 3. paul h. curts. herod and mariamne, a tragedy in five acts by friedrich hebbel, translated into english verse. 1950. pp. 96. cloth $ 3.00. 4. frederic e. coenen. franż grillparzer's portraiture of men. 1951. pp. xii, 135. cloth $ 3.50. 5. edwin h. zeydel and b. q. morgan. the parzival of wolfram von eschenbach. translated into english verse, with introductions, notes, and connecting summaries. 1951, 1956, 1960, pp. xii, 370. paper $ 4.50. 6. james c. o'flaherty. unity and language: a study in the philosophy of johann georg hamann. 1952. out of print. 7. sten g. flygt. friedrich hebbel's conception of movement in the absolute and in history. 1952. pp. 100. paper $ 3.00. 8. richard kuehnemund. arminius or the rise of a national symbol. (from hutten to grabbe.) 1953. pp. xxx, 122, cloth $ 3.50. 9. lawrence s. thompson. wilhelm waiblinger in italy, 1953. pp. ix. 105. paper $ 3.00. 10. frederick hiebel. novalis. german poet european thinker christian mystic. 1953. pp. xii, 126. 2nd rev. ed. 1959. paper $ 3.50. 11. walter silz. realism and reality: studies in the german novelle of poetic realism. 1954. pp. xiv, 168. paper $4.00. 12. percy matenko. ludwig tieck and amerika: 1954. 13. wilhelm dilthey. the essence of philosophy. rendered into english by stephen a. emery and william t. emery. 1954, 1961. pp. xii, 78. paper $ 1.50. 14. edwin h. zeydel and b. q. morgan. gregorius. a medieval oedipus legend by hartmann von aue. translated in rhyming couplets with introduction and notes. 1955. pp. xii, 143. paper $ 3.00. cloth $4.00. 15. alfred g. steer, jr. goethe's social philosophy as revealed in campagne in frankreich and belagerung von mainz, with three full-page illustrations. 1955. pp. xiv, 178. paper $ 4.00. 16. edwin h. zeydel. goethe the lyrist. 100 poems in new translations facing the original texts. with a biographical introduction and an appendix on musical settings. 1955. pp. xviii, 182, 2nd ed. 1958. paper $ 1.75. 、 17. hermann j. weigand. three chapters on courtly love in arthurian france and germany. out of print. 18. george fenwick jones. wittenwiler's „ring" and the anonymous scots poem ,,colkelbie sow". two comic-didactic works from the fifteenth century. translated into english. with five illustrations. 1956. pp. xiv, 246. paper $ 4.50. 19. george c. schoolfield. the figure of the musician in german literature. 1956. pp. xvi, 204. paper $ 4.50. 20. edwin h. zeydel. poems of goethe. a sequel to goethe the lyrist. new translations facing the originals. with an introduction and a list of musical settings. 1957. pp. xii, 126. paper $ 3.25. 21. joseph mileck. hermann hesse and his critics. the criticism, and bibliography of half a century. 1958. pp. xiv, 329. paper $ 7.00. 22. ernest n. kirrmann. death and the plowman or the bohemian plowman. a disputatious and consolatory dialogue about death from the year 1400. translated from the modern german version of alois bernt. 1958. pp. xviii, 40. paper $ 1.85 23. edwin h. zeydel. ruodlieb, the earliest courtly novel (after 1050). introduction, text, translation. commentary, and textual notes. with seven illustrations. 1959. pp. xii, 165. paper $ 4.50. 24. john t. krumpelmann. the maiden of orleans. a romantic tragedy in five acts by friedrich schiller. translated into english in the verse forms of the original german. 1959. pp. xiv, 130. paper $ 3.50. 25. george fenwick jones. honor in german literature. 1959. pp. xii, 208. paper $ 4.50. 26. middle ages-reformation-volkskunde. festschrift for john g. kunstmann. twenty essays. 1959. pp. xvi, 224. paper $ 6.00. 27. martin dyck. novalis and mathematics. 1960. pp. xii, 109. paper $ 3.50. 28. claude hill and ralph ley. the drama of german expressionism. a german-english bibliography. 1960. pp. xii, 211. paper $ 5.00. 29. george c. schoolfield. the german lyric of the baroque in english translation. 1961. pp. x, 380. paper $ 7.00, cloth 8.50. 30. john fitzell. the hermit in german literature. (from lessing to eichendorff.) 1961. pp. xiv, 130. paper $ 4.50. cloth $ 6.00. 31. heinrich von kleist. the broken pitcher. a comedy. translated into english verse by b. q. morgan. 1961. pp. x, 74. paper $ 2.00. cloth $ 3.50. foreign sales through: librairie e. droz 8 rue verdaine geneva, switzerland number thirty university of north carolina studies in the germanic languages and literatures the hermit in german literature (from lessing to eichendorff) by john fitzell chapel hill the university of north carolina press 1961. 830.9 f552 he printed in the netherlands by royal vangorcum ltd., assen gen lib lsa direct 10-19-61 84226 preface to dr. walter silz, gebhart professor of german literature at columbia university, i owe a frank and deep debt of gratitude. at princeton in the recent past, his guidance, encouragement, indeed, his suggestion of the theme were responsible for my composing the study upon which this monograph is based. in citing literary works or other studies, as well as in referring to them indirectly, i have indentified titles and authors clearly in my text, while the page or line number, act and scene, or chapter number, whichever was applicable, is bracketed next to the quotation or reference which it locates. for the specific editions cited, the reader is referred to the concise bibliography, arranged alphabetically by author and subdivided into (i) original texts and (ii) critical and reference works. accordingly, a large collection of notes is avoided in the hope that the body of the study may be rendered more lucid. finally i should like to thank the german quarterly for its generous permission to include here material on wieland's oberon from an article of mine originally published in its pages. i am grateful to dr. kenneth negus for his help in correcting proof, and i express my sincere thanks to the research council of rutgers university for its generous grant in support of this study. john fitzell table of contents . xi 1 introduction • chapter i the hermit of literary tradition wolfram and grimmelshausen. chapter ii the hermit and society . 10 (1) lessing: der eremit, p. 10 (2) goethe: satyros, p. 13 (3) lenz: die kleinen, p. 19 (4) klinger: sturm und drang, p. 26 (5) bürger: der wilde jäger, p. 31 (6) lessing: nathan der weise, p. 36 (7) chamisso: peter schlemihl, p. 47. chapter iii the inner conflict • 54 a. (1) goethe: erwin und elmire, p. 54 (2) lenz: der waldbruder, p. 59 (3) klinger: die zwillinge, p. 64 (4) brentano: godwi, p. 66 (5) droste-hülshoff: walter, p. 71 (6) lenau: die marionetten, p. 77. b. (1) klinger: fausts leben, thaten und höllenfahrt, p. 80 (2) wackenroder: ein wunderbares morgenländisches märchen, p. 82 (3) hoffmann: serapion, p. 83. chapter iv the hermit and nature · 88 (1) wieland: oberon, p. 88 (2) hölderlin: hyperion, p. 95 (3) novalis: heinrich von ofterdingen, p. 101 (4) schiller: die braut von messina, p. 105 (5) uhland: könig eginhard, p. 106 (6) kerner: die heimatlosen, p. 108 (7) goethe: faust, p. 111 (8) eichendorff: eine meerfahrt, p. 114. chronological table of works. bibliography • index. · 120 121 124 introduction a very strong penchant toward inwardness or "innerlichkeit", a tendency to withdraw from the outer, social world to the "world within" is generally characteristic of german literature. novalis spoke for more than german romanticism when he said, "nach innen geht der geheimnisvolle weg. in uns oder nirgends ist die ewigkeit mit ihren welten, die vergangenheit und zukunft." in all literary genres of german literature in all periods we note a concentration upon the inner reactions of the individual to the forces at work outside him. indeed, the world is recreated from within and we see life revealed and interpreted through a creative process in the individual personality. this is, to be sure, the very cardinal principle of artistic expression. nature and society appear as the very expressions of the inner self in its longing for harmony with a higher order. several remarks by fritz strich in his essay, natur und geist der deutschen dichtung (die ernte: franz muncker zu seinem 70. geburtstage see bibliography), illustrate this idea very pointedly. strich contrasts, for example, the nordic landscape with that of classical greece (p. 8), and says that the nordic landscape was not "menschlich beseelt", that one could not imagine in it the presence of such gods as those inhabiting the sunny hills and groves of greece. he later describes the germanic gods as "nebelhaft", as "wanderer", and declares (p. 8), “der mensch konnte nicht nach aussen, sondern musste nach innen gewendet sein." a subsequent passage in the same essay contrasts parzifal with dante (p. 9). while dante is led by virgil, the spirit of classicism, parzifal searches out his way to god along lonely, untrodden paths, guided only by the faith ("triuwe" or "hingabe") in his heart and the never-slacking power of his will. professor strich sees the position of the german poet thus (p. 20): "seine frage an die welt ist die: wie wird sie von seinem helden erlebt, und so kommt es hier denn nur auf den inneren reichtum des menschen an.” this contrast of classic and romantic types (subsequently developed and expanded into a full volume)¹ derives actually from ludwig uhland's essay, über die romantik. indeed, professor strich literally paraphrases uhland most fre1 deutsche klassik und romantik, bern 1949. xi quently without referring to him. uhland's (and professor strich's) conviction is not tenable namely the conviction that the dweller in germanic landscapes had to turn inward because he had not the clear outlines, the clear conceptions of gods as illumined in the sunny climes of greece. this theory stems largely, in fact, from the lack of plastic art portraying the gods, for example, in the north a lack due in turn, rather to a scarcity of substantially permanent materials such as the marbles of the south. those relics of ancient germanic art which remain are mostly small objects of metal, otherwise wooden fragments, some carvings and inscriptions on stone (cf. e. g. the illustrations in jan de vries' two volume altgermanische religionsgeschichte). yet the figure of the hermit does embody the undeniably characteristic inwardness attributed by professor strich to german literature and art (dürer's st. jerome), and it is therefore not surprising that the recluse early became a favorite figure in literature. what is surprising is that his character and role have not hitherto been made the subject of more concentrated interpretation and investigation. this gap the present study seeks to fill. the hermit must be defined as one who withdraws from society to achieve a deeper understanding of life through solitary contemplation. the causes and circumstances of his withdrawal reveal to varying extents his "weltanschauung". der grosse brockhaus defines hermits ("anachoreten" or "zurückgezogene", "eremiten" or "einsiedler") as "in der einsamkeit lebende mönche im christentum seit ausgang des dritten jahrhunderts -." the lives of these ascetics were characterized traditionally by "ringen mit sexualverdrängung, phantasiegebilden, dämonenkampf". under “weltflucht" we find in the schweizer lexikon the following definition: "eine einsame lebensweise frommer menschen, die sich zu innerer sammlung und religiöser übung einzeln (einsiedler) oder gruppenweise (mönchtum) in die (nie absolute) abgeschiedenheit von der welt zurückgezogen haben, oft beeinflusst von einer pessimistischen beurteilung des lebens in der welt." these definitions we shall see illustrated variously in our own subsequent investigations. in his work, the hermit in english literature from the beginnings to 1660, (p. 18 ff. see bibliog.), charles p. weaver notes some general distinctions between the anchorite and the hermit. the anchorite was required to pass through a trial period of fasting and prayer before being ceremoniously installed in his cell. the abode of the anchorite was generally connected with a church or cloister. his life was more strictly regulated than that of the hermit; the anchorite could be attended by those who were committed to bringing him the bare necessities of life, but he was dedicated to remaining in his cell, secluded from the world, until death released him. xii the hermit removed himself to the forest or mountains to a life of solitary contemplation, but, unlike the anchorite, he was not severely confined to his dwelling. he occupied himself very often with studies of various sorts for example, the healing powers of herbs and he could cultivate the land about his abode, even keep animals. the hermit also provided hospitality to wanderers in need of shelter, and he was not forced to forswear all contact with the outside world. unlike the anchorite, he was not, as a rule, of clerical status. the distinctions between hermit and anchorite made by: weaver are valid also for german literature and his descriptions of their modes of life are generally applicable, as we shall see, not only to english, but to all solitaries in the christian tradition. the first two hermit figures to be discussed provide examples more than adequate to support this conviction. the criteria which we have used in selecting figures from a period extending, roughly, from lessing to the death of goethe are twofold. first of all, the hermit figure, even if not plainly designated as such, must voluntarily withdraw from society, although not necessarily permanently, at the same time revealing his motivation to do so, and he must express a "weltanschauung" (hence play an important role in the work in which he occurs). second, i have tried to include only works which undeniably possess literary value and interest. perhaps we must apologize for a certain arbitrariness in our choice of figures. the study does not claim completeness, yet it is nearly so. only two major works have been excluded tieck's sternbald and eichendorff's ahnung und gegenwart. the solitaries in these novels are represented better as types and presented more interestingly as characters by the brentano and eichendorff works in our study. it has seemed most practical for concentrated analysis and interpretation to arrange the works in comprehensive thematic-groups, under rubrics which describe generally the themes associated with the figures analysed. the works under each separate rubric are chronologically arranged. xiii 1 1 chapter i the hermit of literary tradition wolfram's parzifal and grimmelshausen's simplicissimus contain the most important portrayals of the hermit in german literature prior to the eighteenth century. these two works are in themselves the most important single literary expressions of their respective ages, the age of chivalry and the baroque era. the role of the hermit in each of these works displays the characteristics of goethe's "urpflanze" with all its potentialities of development. indeed, many of the qualities and themes associated with the hermits of these works are revealed in similar figures by poets of subsequent periods (particularly in romanticism) varying, of course, with the individual creative personality and the movement or age in which he writes. essential to an interpretation of the hermit's role in wolfram's poem is an understanding of his deepened concepts of "minne" and "triuwe". for wolfram these ideals represent psychological and ethical values of a profoundly religious nature. near the beginning of the pivotal ninth book (str. 435, 1. 79 ff.), parzifal reencounters his cousin, sigune¹, who appears fittingly here as a female recluse (klausnerin) mourning her dead betrothed, schionatulander. this episode reveals with the utmost clarity and simplicity the profound sense which the poet instills into "minne" and "triuwe". sigune retains scarcely a vestige of her former beauty, for she has withered in her grief and in atonement for the caprice which sent schionatulander to his death in combat. this capricious vanity and its tragic result render sigune guilty of corrupting the ideal of "minne" as understood in its usual courtly connotation. now, in solitude, her repentance and atonement are connected with wolfram's concept of a new and true "minne" (440, 1. 211 ff.) "mîner jaemerlîchen zîte jâr wil ich im minne geben für wâr; der rehten minne ich pin sîn wer -." the woman who remains loyal to her husband for the duration of 1. wolfram's choice of name has signifiance. in germanic mythology, sigune was the wife of the fire god, loki. when chained to a rock beneath the dripping venom of a serpent, he was comforted by sigune, who remained loyally at his side to catch the poison in a cup. и ziteliai reiden 1 reus licide larze `his life fulfills the generally accepted ideal of “minne” (436, 1. 100 ff.); yet after his death she would normally be free to bestow her grace elsewhere. sigune remains bound to schionatulander in an eternal "minne" which embodies the deep sense of "triuwe", conveying repentance and atonement. this preliminary episode of the ninth book acts as an introduction to parzifal's stay with trevrizent in that it clarifies the aspect of atonement implicit in the full realization necessary for complete repentance. sigune, the recluse, expiates her guilt under the sign of "minne" which also becomes "hingabe" (triuwe). this is symbolized in the ring, schionatulander's pledge, which she still wears – (440, 1. 225) – "daz ist ob mîner triuwe ein sloz.' "" before considering the figure of trevrizent and his role in the poem, we must recall briefly the salient features of the "gralgemeinschaft". although the society of the grail is knightly in character, it is so in the same sense in which wolfram has deepened the ideal of “minne”. it represents a synthesis of the knightly and the purely religious elements. the guardians of the grail are knights, and courtly ladies follow the grail in procession. the sacred object, itself, may be borne only by the purest maiden (parzifal's aunt, repans de schoie). there are no conventionally sacred symbols in the society, for even the grail, itself, is, at least outwardly, a kind of stone. the traditional cross is nowhere apparent, although the dove, which replenishes the powers of the grail to maintain the eternal youth of its guardians, assumes an equivalent importance. only the king is permitted to wed, while the knights must forswear worldly "minnedienst". thus, religious and knightly ideals are welded into a unique and deeply symbolic hierarchy over which parzifal is destined to reign (500, end). when trevrizent describes the folly of anfortas and the consequences of it, the reason for his own withdrawal and the purpose in his life as a hermit are made plain. anfortas, the youthful grail king, had committed excesses in the pursuit of "minnedienst" which were expressly forbidden by the grail edict. the poisoned tip of a heathen_lance had dealt him a wound which would not heal and which left him suspended in a living death of unending pain. this misfortune was felt to be a divine punishment, for all cures proved to be of no avail (478, 1, 1363) ― "swelch grâles hêrre ob minne gert anders dann diu schrift in wert. der muoz es komen ze arbeit und in siufzebaeriu herzeleit." henceforth anfortas has lived only in the hope of redemption through the question which is to release him from his agony. trevrisethint 2 1 zent has betaken himself to the forest to atone for his brother's sin by rejecting knighthood and praying for him – (480, 1. 1420 ff.) "dâ lobet ich der gotes kraft, daz ich deheine rîterschaft getaete niemer mêre, daz got durch sîn êre mînem bruoder hulfe von der nôt." trevrizent stands between anfortas and parzifal. on the one hand, he atones for his brother's sin and prays for his redemption. on the other hand, he is in the unique position of being able to make his nephew conscious of the nature of his guilt thus indirectly bringing about the release of anfortas through parzifal. the nature of parzifal's guilt is inextricably involved with the idea of his relationship to the grail hierarchy, which trevrizent definitively clarifies. parzifal's mother was the sister of anfortas and trevrizent; parzifal, himself, is the natural heir to the grail, since he is the only direct male descendant of the immediate ruling family. the way to repentance is opened by trevrizent when he refers to the killing of ither, and parzifal admits, in turn, to being the killer. his guilt consists of a kind of original sin, for it was not wittingly incurred. his sins were three. he had killed ither, his kinsman by marriage, caused the untimely death of his mother by deserting her (499), and he had not been moved to inquire the reason for the suffering of anfortas. it must be emphasized that the major portion of parzifal's guilt lies precisely in the fact that he has harmed his own flesh and blood and, through them, the grail and god. possessing the knowledge which trevrizent imparts to him. parzifal can repent. trevrizent absolves his nephew (500, end) "er sprach: gip mir dîn sünde her: vor gote ich bin dîn wandels wer "" and, by once more opening parzifal's way to the grail, he indirectly accomplishes the salvation of anfortas. just as the ideals "minne" and "triuwe" possess a deeper meaning which is both worldly and religious, so, too, the grail with its company represents a blending of chivalrous form and religious spirit. trevrizent, however, as a hermit, embodies this synthesis. although he impresses upon parzifal the fact that he is a layman (462, 1. 881), trevrizent absolves his nephew of sin. in spite of the grail edict which forbids its knightly guardians to practice "frauenminne”, trevrizent lauds the chivalrous life, and he describes in great detail (495-500) and with pride his own earlier pursuit of "aventiure” 3 throughout the known world. from his lips resound the familiar lines, "swer schildes ambet ueben wil, der muoz durchstrichen lande vil". there is no tone of contempt or criticism in his words when he speaks of the society which he has given up, but rather praise of it and pride in his past experience (even though trevrizent has been only less guilty than anfortas in forgetting the edict of the grail). yet he has rejected the practice of knighthood and withdrawn as a hermit to atone for his brother's guilt. this function of hermithood as a vicarious atonement for other men's sins is, of course, akin to the conceptions of christ and of sainthood; it is a theme frequently encountered in connection with other figures also (cf. lenz's die kleinen chap. ii). the synthesis of the worldly and the religious elements in trevrizent render him qualified to act as parzifal's spiritual tutor and to lift from him frustration and guilt of the past. while trevrizent stands in the center of wolfram's poem, the figure of the hermit is encountered at the outset and at the conclusion of grimmelshausen's simplicissimus. even though we have the father as a hermit at the beginning of the novel, and the son at the end, it may be said that the conception of the hermit, as such, forms a frame around the violently colorful, but chaotic age which grimmelshausen so vividly brings to life. this significant detail in the form of the novel expresses a great deal about the author's reaction to his times. grimmelshausen lived in no such period as wolfram's with its firmly established knightly culture. instead he saw a world, in which human values were utterly disregarded, quaking at its ethical foundations. the hermit (simplicius' father, who is introduced in book i, chapter six) renounces the world completely because of disgust and horror for it built up through the sad experiences of his past. to save his soul, he dedicates his remaining years to preparing for the life to come. his son, of whose identity he is unaware, cannot benefit fully by the religious instruction imparted to him because he has been reared in ignorance and in conditions only slightly above the animal. it is necessary for simplicius to experience war and the degeneration of every sort that accompanies it until there is produced in him precisely the same horror and fear for his soul that drove his father into solitude. although the scriptural lessons and the last advice of the hermit to simplicius have no immediate practical meaning for the inexperienced lad, he is (like parzifal in his reaction to his mother's advice) impressed by them and they remain with him throughout his worldly life. their full effect is realized when simplicius, himself, rejects the world and its vanities. we know from the pastor's account (i, ch. 22) how simplicius' 4 father, a high-ranking officer, arrived at the parsonage door in the dead of night, his rich dress spattered with blood, sword still in hand, after the battle at höchst. later the governor of hanau informs the pastor (i, ch. 23) that he had believed his brother-in-law dead. he had sent out soldiers to find his sister, only to discover that she had been abducted by imperial cavalry and taken, in turn, from them by peasants in the spessart. the heartbroken officer was in despair because of the lost battle, because he had lost his wife after only one year of marriage together with the child she was about to bear, and because he, himself, had not perished defending the gospel. he turned over all his worldly possessions to the pastor, even including the golden chain with a miniature of his wife, which he exchanged for the pastor's wagon chain a complete renunciation of the life he had known. with only a few household utensils and a miserable wool blanket to cover his nakedness, he left for the most obscure part of the forest. the pastor sums up the motives of the recluse, when he says to simplicius (i, ch. 22), "sein geistiger sinn und widerwertige begegnüssen hemmeten endlich den lauff seiner weltlichen glückseligkeit so, dass er seinen adel und ansehenliche güter in schotten, da er gebürtig, verschmähet und hindann setzet, weil ihm alle welthandel abgeschmack, eitel und verwerfflich vorkamen. er verhoffte, mit einem wort, seine gegenwärtige hoheit umb eine künftige bessere glory zu verwechseln, weil sein hoher geist einen eckel an allem zeitlichen pracht hatte und sein dichten und trachten war nur nach einem solchen erbärmlichen leben gerichtet, darinn du ihn im wald angetroffen und biss in seinen todt gesellschaft geleistet hast." (the pastor also supposes that the hermit may have been influenced in this direction by the reading of "popish" books about the lives of ancient hermits.) the motivation for hermithood in this case is a "verleidung der welt" as well as the "jenseitig" christian urge to prepare for a better life after death; this hermit figure is, to a large extent, explainable by the terrible conditions in germany during the period of the thirty years war. simplicius learns much later through a chance meeting with his "knan" (v, ch. 8) that his spiritual father was in fact his real sire, "capitain" sternfelss von fuchsheim. after the battle at nördlingen, susanna ramsay, the hanau governor's sister, and mother of simplicius, had escaped from the imperial troops in the neighborhood of simplicius' boyhood home. the "knan" was no sooner able to help her from her horse and procure the aid of his wife and hired girls, than the unfortunate lady perished in child-birth leaving a legacy of some jewelry for her son, whom she committed into the peasant's care. it is necessary to bear in mind with regard to simplicius' develop5 ment and grimmelshausen's "weltanschauung" that the ignorance of the hero is almost a prerequisite for the eventual assimilation of the hermit's instruction. simplicius readily grasps reading and writing, and he also grasps the importance of the lessons in religion. the message of the religious instruction can only become clear in proportion as the hero becomes worldly-wise. this is its limitation, by nature, and, at the same time, its value. simplicius is profoundly impressed by the hermit's tutelage; of that there can be no doubt so much so, that these lessons eventually decide the outcome of his life (i, ch. 9) "denn dass ich alles so bald gefasst, was mir der fromme einsidel vorgehalten, ist daher kommen, weil er die geschlichte tafel meiner seelen gantz laer und ohn einige zuvor hinein gedrückte bildnüssen gefunden –”. the hermit realizes that his young charge is not likely to remain alone in the forest when he, himself, has died and before lying down in his grave he recapitulates the ideas which he wishes imprinted upon the open pages of the boy's soul (i, ch. 12). instead of screaming and howling at their parting, simplicius is to remember, even though he grow as old as methusalah, that he must never cease trying to know himself for what he is – for the basic reason underlying the damnation of all is that men recognize neither what they have been, nor what they might have become. simplicius must also avoid evil society and remain constant and true to himself under all circumstances; he who persists in these principles to the end of his life will become blessed and, like the phoenix of grimmelshausen's frontispiece verses, be reborn through fire. for simplicius, the hermit exemplifies these moral lessons. he has learned to know himself and consequently he has virtually shunned not only the temptations of all human company, but he has also fled from the world, itself – (i, ch. 12)” – ist auch in solchem vorsatz biss an das ende verharret, an welchem ohn zweiffel die seeligkeit hangt -.” throughout the myriad adventures in which he vacillates between good and evil, the hero is never actually in doubt as to what is right, for the seed planted by his hermit father had taken root in his conscience, and kept it alive. as a marauding mercenary, simplicius is always horrified by the depravity of his evil genius, olivier, while, in the company of hertzbruder, he also acutely perceives his own shortcomings. in the opening chapter of the fifth and final book, simplicius and hertzbruder make a pilgrimage to einsiedeln, and hertzbruder insists that they walk with peas in their shoes as part of their penance. simplicius cooks his peas in schaffhausen and arrives comfortably in zurich, where hertzbruder discovers his friend's deceit. simplicius had undertaken the journey only for the sake of accompanying hertzbruder and with no thought of penance 6 for his past sins. hertzbruder warns him that his soul is in danger, and that their friendship cannot continue while simplicius refuses to better himself in the eyes of god. immediately the past wells up before his eyes and he thinks of the copious evil pranks which he has executed. following hertzbruder in humility, he laments inwardly the innocence lost when he came out of his hermit's forest abode into a corrupt and depraved world. in the mummelsee episode (v, ch. 12-17) the chaos which mankind has created in the world is contrasted with the divine order of nature. the hero comes to the lake spirits who are, in a sense, personified natural forces. they are not transitory spirits, for their existence is as constant as that of earth. yet, although they are free of all the ills which beset mankind, they possess no eternal soul, no potentiality of attaining heavenly bliss, as does man, who seems to concentrate upon deserving damnation. the king of the mummelsee sylphs is deeply troubled over the question of future existence, since, if mankind in its depravity so angers god that he brings the world to an end, nature, itself, must logically perish. the king demands to know the truth about man's behaviour and simplicius lies to him. the various callings of society, the classes, the trades – all of them he describes as carrying out their offices in the most exemplary manner, but simplicius concludes his account (v, ch. 15, end) with bitter sarcasm which transparently lets the truth shine through. there is no lassitude in serving god, but, rather, all men vie with one another in attempting to do so in the most righteous manner for that very reason the world is disrupted by religious wars. each party insists that the other is on the wrong path. there are no more misers to be met with, but only the thrifty, no spendthrifts, but, instead, the generous. one finds no cutthroats robbing and murdering, only soldiers who protect their native land. beggars are now those who despise riches and love voluntary poverty. --the burden of the episode (and of the novel) is that the evils of society constitute a crime against nature and the divine order. after travels throughout the european continent, asia, and upon the sea, concluding with pilgrimages to rome and to loreta in spain, simplicius turns to his books. all of these experiences serve only to ripen in him the resolution to save his soul as his father did by rejecting the world. when he reads the advice of the apollonian oracle to the roman legates, "nosce te ipsum", his hermit-father's last words (i, ch. 12) echo out of the forest of his bygone innocence. simplicius sees himself (v. 23) "solches (erkenne dich selbst!) machte, dass ich mich hindersonne und von mir selbst rechnung über mein geführtes leben begehrte; weil ich ohne das müssig war, da sagte ich zu mir selber, dein leben ist kein leben gewesen, sondern ein todt, deine -7 tage ein schwerer schatten, deine jahr ein schwerer traum, deine wollust schwere sünden, deine jugend eine phantasey und deine wolfahrt ein alchimisten schatz, der zum schornstein hinauss fährt -." at the conclusion of the novel, simplicius cites the words of guevara, a spanish novelist whom he has been reading; they impress him by their force and conviction, and express adequately a summation of his own experience (v, ch. 24) "alsdenn wird die arme seel sagen: verflucht seystu welt! weil ich durch dein anstifften gottes und meiner selbst vergessen und dir in aller uppigkeit, bossheit, sünd und schand die tag meines lebens gefolgt hab." thus, like his father, simplicius thrusts human society from him, and becomes a hermit to save his soul from otherwise certain damnation. the principal point of contrast between the figures of trevrizent and simplicius is illuminated by their respective motives for rejecting society. trevrizent becomes a hermit to atone for his brother's sin. in his action there is no criticism of the world as he has known it. to give up the knightly life, as such, is, for trevrizent, a personal sacrifice which he willingly brings in service to a higher ideal (the grail) embodying the purest elements of knighthood and the spirit of christ. by their departure from a chaotic and corrupt world, simplicius and his father proclaim the unconquerable vitality of the individual to look into himself and save the soul from damnation. thus, we may say that trevrizent's withdrawal represents a positive aspect of hermithood, while that of simplicius and his father represents a negative one. the positive aspect in parzifal has its roots in the idealistic world of knighthood and the negative aspect in simplicissimus is a product of the sordid, savage world of the thirty years war the hermit figure becomes very frequently a social "gradmesser", a criterion of historical and social conditions. trevrizent is a hermit in the service of a high ideal, while, for simplicius and his father, living is a struggle to attain personal salvation. for trevrizent the knightly life, although praiseworthy for its own sake, is also dedicated to an ideal even more sublime. for simplicius earthly life is a marsh of sin from which the soul must learn to extricate itself at all costs. there are many characteristics which are common to both trevrizent and simplicius. most obvious, but none the less significant, is the fact that both flee into solitude where the soul is closest to the pervading spirit. both trevrizent and simplicius become hermits after having lived lives rich in experience (whether it be recalled with pride and nostalgia, or in horror and contempt). the hermits of both wolfram and grimmelshausen (simplicius' father) act as educators qualified by full knowledge of the world. 8 in both the epic of chivalry, parzifal, and the baroque novel, simplicissimus, the hermits are closely related to the characters upon whom they exercise decisive influence. the hermits in both of these works spend the remainder of their lives humbly close to nature, nourishing themselves with herbs and acorns and such vegetables as they are able to cultivate around their mean dwelling places. above all, they each comprise a most concentrated presentation of the individual in conflict with the collective aspect of the world and, of course, too, with his own soul. many of the characteristic themes and motifs associated with the figures examined in this chapter are given deeper and more poetic, psychological, or metaphysical significance, especially in storm and stress and romanticism, where, for example, the role of nature assumes such profound meaning. 9 chapter ii the hermit and society this phase of our study deals with those works illustrating the relationship of the hermit to society and the causes for his withdrawal from it; it deals, also, with the poet's conception of the hermit in contrast to specific aspects of the world about him. naturally, in certain works, such as satyros or sturm und drang, the role and the interpretation of nature supply the cause area of conflict between the hermit and society, while in sturm und drang it is the reaction to an aspect of society which leads blasius to the discovery of a dynamic nature and it must be emphasized that this characteristic discovery is surely the most significant contribution of the storm and stress to the interpretation of individual experience in the entire goethe period. the importance of the hermit figure, in this part of the study, lies in his relationship to society, his reaction to it, and the consequent direction which he takes. (1) lessing's little tale in verse, der eremit, is by no means one of his more significant artistic creations, yet it does have a relative importance which is not at first apparent. even at the age of twenty (1749) when the poem was written, lessing was already inclined toward the humanistic-religious thinking which was to attain its full artistic fruition in nathan der weise. (two other works of a serious religious nature were conceived during this same early period of activity as a critic in berlin die religion, a didactic poem with "vorerinnerung" and the first of his theological essays, gedanken über die herrnhüter.) the figure of the hermit, himself, shows none of the traits associated, for example, with trevrizent or simplicissimus. in fact, lessing's hermit is as much the butt of his creator's wit as is the society with which he unfortunately comes into contact. we do not learn the reasons for his initial rejection of the world, nor can we characterize his attitude toward society as other than that of a charlatan. the poet's interest in the characters in the poem is that of a critical narrator and commentator who stands outside the course of development; we do not, in this instance, perceive the world as inwardly experienced by the hermit, but, rather, we see the effect of the hermit as a poseur upon a weak and susceptible society. له 10 3 his mode of life (1. 25-40) follows the traditions we have already observed in the definitions in the introduction. he dwells in a tiny, bare hut in the thick of the forest, and, taking no meat or wine, he subsists on roots and water (like trevrizent and simplicissimus). the tone of the verses seems to reveal that the acts of religious devotion which the hermit performs are nothing more than sham – entirely devoid of any deeper meaning (1. 27 ff.) "was je ein eremit getan, fing er mit grösstem eifer an. er betete, er sang, er schrie, des tags, des nachts, und spät und früh." he scourges himself until he bleeds, fasts, and stands on one foot in his spurious efforts to attain heavenly bliss. as might be expected, the zeal of the young hermit soon becomes known to the inhabitants of near-by kerapolis (or “hörnerstadt”). the first of the many pilgrims to the hermitage is a trembling, elderly woman on crutches. she spreads the reputation of the hermit among the women of the city, who come to consider the pilgrimage to the holy man a cardinal prerequisite of true piety (1. 77 ff.) "der ist verloren und verflucht, der unsern eremiten nicht besucht!" consequently, the young and pretty women of the city also follow their neighbor's example in the edification of the soul. to the old and ugly the hermit speaks of death, vanity, and reverence, and to the poor of heavenly joy, but, with his pretty visitors, he speaks of the uply 7 love, the basic christian virtue. this concept, however, is quickly stripped of its spiritual value, and brought down to a fleshly niveau. when the young women visit him, the hermit shows his true nature (1. 163 ff.) "ich hätte manchmal mögen sehn, was die und die, die an den wallfahrtsort mit heiligen gedanken kam, für fremde mienen an sich nahm, wenn der verwegne eremit fein listig, schritt vor schritt, vom geist aufs fleisch zu reden kam." of course the good women are shocked at first but they quickly succumb (1. 174 ff.) "allein, dass die versöhnung ausgeblieben, glaub ich und, wer die weiber kennt, nicht eher, als kein stroh mehr brennt." 11 ratsherren! 2? 6) the sense of pride and shame of these women is no more deep-seated than their piety, while the hermit, in spite of his show of christian devotion, is a lascivious charlatan by whom an entire community permits itself to be seduced. he is a figure such as lessing may have had in mind when he said, "wenn der teufel und ein eremite lange beisammen leben, so wird entweder der teufel ein eremite, oder der eremite ein teufel werden" (lessings werke, bd. x, nachlass, p. 326). the hermit manages to prolong his activities for well over a year. his infamy is finally disclosed to the judge by two girls who are jealous of their mothers to comment upon such acid irony would be superfluous. when the hermit is brought before the court, the men of the community are ridiculed by the judge. the latter promises to mitigate the hermit's punishment if he will give the names of the ladies whom he has known. the judge is motivated solely by a sadistic desire to see his neighbors squirm in embarassment. he wrongly believes his own wife to be innocent, since she had paid only one visit to the "waldseraph" (1.264 ff.) "denk immer so, zu deiner ruh, lacht gleich die wahrheit und der dichter, und deine fromme frau dazu.” prompted by the judge's insistence, however, the holy man reveals the piety and virtue of his wife also to be only illusory. the poet suffixes a moral to his poem (1. 307, ff.) "wer seines nächsten schande sucht, wird selber seine schande finden! nicht wahr, so liest man mich mit frucht und ich erzähle sonder sünden?" the purpose of the moral is ostensibly to transform the tale from a "weibermärchen" (derived from the facetiae of poggio) to a respectable "lehrgedicht." it is clear, nevertheless, that the moral is completely superfluous to the real essence of the poem, which is not to be found in the contemptible efforts of the judge to scandalize his townsmen. this moral seemingly shifts the weight of the poet's attack from the hermit and his devotees to the judge, by making the latter the subject of a joke. the essence of the poem is rather in the attack upon false piety and the empty display of virtue; the hermit is the instrument of this attack. the weakness of the women of kerapolis is typical of the sham christianity which, put to the test, betrays a behaviour quite opposed to all pious pretenses. the hermit, himself, is the motivating personality of the tale. he is the very embodiment of hypocrisy through his pretense of holiness. later, in the person of 12 the patriarch in nathan der weise, lessing was to launch, from another angle, a much sharper and more serious attack on sham christianity. the objective delineation of the hermit figure in this early poem and the purpose for which it is used are quite typical of lessing's "aufklärung" attitude toward bigotry and hypocrisy in general. the poem satirizes human gullibility (and feminine frailty) in general, but it is quite specifically a voltairean attack on church and priesthood. lessing's stand is that of the seeker after truth and, as we have already suggested, the little poem represents a milestone in 11 this particular direction of his thinking, (2) in contrast to lessing's iconoclastic rationalism, the advent of "storm and stress" conclusively placed the accent in german literature once more upon the expression of emotion and experience through feeling. nature became a mirror of life, itself. goethe's little drama, satyros, presents a humorous conflict based upon two interpretations of nature as religion. the figure of the hermit is the protagonist of goethe, himself, while satyros, the antagonist, is, perhaps, the herder of goethe's strassburg period (max morris, der junge goethe, vol. 6, p. 309), disparaging toward the efforts of the young poet, yet expecting unwavering worship in return. on another level, the little comedy becomes a medium for goethe's "auseinandersetzung" with the more extreme aspects of "storm and stress". the hermit is the exponent of a true understanding of nature and satyros is the false prophet of an exaggerated primitivism; he dupes the people into deifying him. goethe's hermit, as opposed to lessing's, is wronged and persecuted both by satyros and by the misled arcadian community. in his opening speech, the hermit explains his reasons for deserting city life to dwell alone among the eternal beauties of nature. he has not removed himself from the city explicitly because of his distaste for the standards of behaviour there; indeed, the vanity of that life would have served to amuse him (1.5-8) "ich hab mich nicht hierher begeben, weil die in städten so ruchlos leben und alle wandeln nach ihrem trieb, der schmeichler, heuchler und der dieb: das hätt mich immerfort ergetzt, -." it is, rather, the arrogant and uncompromising attitude of these city-dwellers, which has driven him to the rich solace of nature; the city-dwellers demand unqualified respect precisely for their hypocrisy t л 13 (1. 9 ff.) "wollten sie nur nicht sein hochgeschätzt, bestehlen und be mich wie die raben, und noch dazu reverenzen haben! ihrer langweiligen narrheit satt, bin herausgezogen in gottes stadt, -.' "" this hermit perceives nature as a representation of life in all its myriad activity, as a cosmos. nature is, to him, "gottes stadt", full of living images of fertility, of continuous creation and recreation ("werden"). the verses given here to the hermit constitute an early exposition of goethe's "naturanschauung" and one of his most charming expressions of it. nature is not the booty of philistines (“der steif philister") to be trammeled and violated for the course pleasure of base tastes. the hermit sees the blossoms and buds of spring, the promise of plenty. he describes the activity of the smallest of creatures, each a moving, creating, developing glint in the mosaic of nature "da lockt uns denn der sonnenschein, (1.26 ff.) storch und schwalb aus der fremd herein, den schmetterling aus seinem haus, die fliegen aus den ritzen raus und brütet das raupenvölklein. das quillt all von erzeugungskraft, wie sich's hat aus dem schlaf gerafft; vogel und frosch und tier und mücken begehn sich zu allen augenblicken, hinten und vorn, auf bauch und rücken, dass man auf jeder blüt und blatt ein ehund wochenbettlein hat. und sing ich dann im herzen mein lob gott mit allen würmelein -.' "" that is the pulsing, kaleidoscopic world, endlessly recreating itself, which the hermit has made his own. it is, we may say, the basis of his religion, for all of it reveals a sense of eternal purpose. in these surroundings the hermit lives in peace, tending his garden and fruits, and protecting them from frost, caterpillars, and the dry heat of summer. outwardly he presents a traditional conception of the recluse. the inward experiencing of nature depicted above, however, is new, profound, and typical of goethe. it is the hermit's world of nature, his religion, which is opposed by that of satyros, who embodies much of the exaggeration which was present in "storm and stress" thinking and writing. the hermit acts fully in accordance with his mode of life when he takes the injured satyros into his hut, for it was customary, as we 14 have seen (introduction), for the recluse to offer hospitality and aid to those in need of it. the animal qualities which motivate satyros' lust (not love) for the natural life are suggested by his agonized howling outside the hut. the hermit supposes it to be that of some wounded beast. the absolute lack of any ground for basic understanding between satyros and the hermit is made clear by the thankless, arrogant behaviour of the former (1. 60-71 ff.). satyros criticizes the poverty and simplicity of the good hermit's household; he demands wine and fruit, and is indignant at the hermit's offer of milk and bread. the bestial character of satyros and his interpretation of nature as an element to be plundered for the satisfaction of his own ego illustrate an attitude toward the world strongly opposed to the deeply natural harmony in which the hermit lives. satyros calls the abode of the hermit a "hundelagerstatt" and "ein's missetäters folterbett". left alone to rest by the hermit, the point-eared villain gives vent to the contempt in which he holds his benefactor. his feelings reveal in exaggerated form the "storm and stress" desire to revolt against accepted traditions. here satyros shows his distaste for the symbolic object of the hermit's devotion – (1. 103 ff.) "da ist dem kerl sein platz zu beten. es tut mir in den augen weh, wenn ich dem narren seinen herrgott seh!" satyros would rather set in place of the hermit's crucifix an onion. he would substitute a tangible (and edible) symbol of nature which he cen grasp for one which signifies a power greater than his, and which is therefore incomprehensible to him (1. 106 ff.) "wollt lieber eine zwiebel anbeten, bis mir die thrän in die augen träten, als öffnen meines herzens schrein einem schnitzbildlein, querhölzelein. mir geht in der welt nichts über mich: denn gott ist gott, und ich bin ich." he steals a cloth from the hermit to cover his wild nakedness from any maidens he may encounter, hurls the crucifix into the river (revolt against the order worshipped by the hermit), and stealthily sneaks off. satyros pours all the seductive power of spring into his song at the well (1. 134 ff.), and it embodies the fertile drive of procreating nature which was expressed in the hermit's opening monologue. satyros' song, however, stresses the sultry, intangibly sensuous aspect of it. the spell of his music and his animal impetuosity enchant the naive, innocent psyche; only arsinoe (and later her 15 mother, eudora) is shrewd enough to perceive satyros for what he is (1. 148 ff.) psyche "welch göttlich hohes angesicht! arsinoe siehst denn seine langen ohren nicht?" just as the force of his animal passion overcomes psyche, so the power of satyros' speech and the wildness of his appearance impress the people who follow hermes and his daughter, arsinoe, to see the strange nature god. satyros wishes them to discard their unnatural clothing and to cease acting as slaves to custom. they are to emerge from the imprisonment of their houses, and live as in the golden age of natural man. trees will be their tents, the grass their carpet, and raw chestnuts their food(1.274) "und rohe kastanien ein herrlicher frass -!" the crowd, moved, but not grasping the sense of the speech (a take-off on rousseau's cult of "raw nature"), seizes upon the only tangible prospect which comes to the surface of satyros' torrent of words raw chestnuts. then, completely overwhelmed by his turbulent delineation of the creation, the gullible people proclaim the half-animal to be their god (1. 288-316). when the good hermit appears, and accosts his erstwhile guest as an ill-tempered, disgraceful beast, the two exponents of nature stand face to face. the hermit, as we have seen, sees nature as the revelation of god's ceaseless creation and inviolate order, while satyros, the hypocritical god of bestial feeling, conceives of all nature as the nourishment of his ego (1. 169 ff.) "mein ist die ganze weite welt, ich wohne, wo mir's wohl gefällt; ich herrsch übers wild und vogelheer, frucht auf der erden und fisch im meer." the thoroughly impetuous behaviour of the people illustrates the danger of unrestrained feeling and its effect upon a mass personality. in a state of blind irrationality, into which satyros has led them, they wish to put the hermit to death for blasphemy against their newfound god. the hermit is saved by hermes' wife, the clearsighted eudora, who tempts satyros into the temple. as soon as her cries are heard, hermes and his fellowers discover satyros attempting to embrace her; only then do they clearly see their god as the beast he actually is. the hermit with his deep insight into nature is misunderstood by the people as a group; eudora, alone, in whose house he is impris16 oned, sympathizes with him and distinguishes between the truth of his way of life and that of satyros (1.373) "dich um des tiers willen töten!" the hermit, however, is resigned to his fate, for he knows well the ways of life and the world (1. 370 ff.) "sie glauben. lass sie! du wirst nichts gewinnen. das schicksal spielt mit unsrem armen kopf und sinnen." in his resignation, he is prepared to pardon the society which persecutes him; he recognizes in the behavior of the people the same desire to comprehend life which in him has been fulfilled – (1.374 ff.) "wer sein herz bedürftig fühlt, findt überall einen propheten." unlike lessing's hypocritical "eremit" who plays upon the false piety and weakness of the citizens of kerapolis, goethe's hermit is persecuted by a deluded society in the throes of a nature "schwärmerei". goethe's recluse has discovered the deep truths of life in nature to which the people have been blinded by the very heat of their desire to find them goethe's little farce has serious, often tragic undertones. when death seems inevitable to him, the hermit has only one specific regret. he has lived for one purpose, to acquire the deep knowledge of nature which he now possesses, and, perhaps, to pass it on to a happier race of men – (1. 438 ff.) "doch das schmerzt mich nur, dass ich die tiefe kenntnis der natur mit müh geforscht und leider! nun vergebens; dass hohe menschenwissenschaft manche geheimnisvolle kraft mit diesem geist der erd entschwinden soll." this hermit would wish to teach each of the people, individually, some single bit of the profound knowledge which he has absorbed (1.447-450). his insight into nature is an individual experience acquired through a refinement of the senses to the creative harmony round about him. the truth of life, as he knows it, cannot be massexperienced; the mass drunkenness of feeling which satyros arouses in the people as a whole is an illusory religion. the hermit expresses this, when he says – (1. 448 ff.) "ich wollte jeden sein eigen kunststück lehren, einen jeden eins: denn was alle wissen, ist keins.17 thus goethe's solitary very nearly becomes a martyr for his individual belief which is incomprehensible to the people as a whole. the material of conflict in the play, as we have said, is the incompatibility between two concepts of nature as religion. the hermit reveals in his personality the deep insight into divine order which is the fruit of inward intimate experience (“erlebnis"); satyros represents the violently exaggerated emotionalism ("masslosigkeit") of more conventional "storm and stress", which has its most direct effect collectively. the hermit's conception of nature is a revelation of eternal harmony, while satyros' animal turbulence is a travesty on divine order. (this conflict also very clearly points to goethe's own subjugation of the more extreme elements of "storm and stress" in himself.) several characteristics and themes associated with this hermit figure are especially noteworthy. the hermit in satyros is (unlike lessing's, but more like trevrizent or simplicissimus) a carefully drawn individual personality – not merely a type. (he is a selfportrait of young goethe on the side of his fervent adoration of nature.) he embodies the profound conception of nature as a creative cosmos, a revelation of eternal harmony of which he, as an individual, is an integral part. we have also observed his desire to impart some of this knowledge to his fellow-men (as in hyperion, where, however, the theme is the development of the hero's conception of nature and the awareness of his particular relationship to it). to be emphasized most strongly is the fact that the hermit experiences nature specifically as "gottes stadt", which suggests that its intricate processes reveal the purpose of a divine will and the eternally harmonious design of life. this interpretation of nature by goethe's hermit is of the utmost importance as a theme which is developed (and differentiated, of course) in connection with many other figures in this and the following chapters (in spite of the distinguishing chapter-headings). the hermit's relationship to society is developed on two levels in satyros. first, in the exposition of the opening monologue, the hermit explains that he has abandoned life in the city because of the hypocritical demands made upon him. to find the true essence of life he has gone to nature. second, the substance of the drama, itself, involves a conflict between two interpretations of nature as religion. that of the hermit is based upon deep personal experience of a specifically individual kind which cannot readily be imparted to the people collectively. that which is imparted by satyros, on the other hand, is based upon an irrationally emotional reaction of the people as a whole; it readily alleviates the natural desire for an understanding of life through nature without supplying any deeper truth or personal conviction-mass hypnotism, rather than enlighten18 ment. consequently, the people, deluded and confused by satyros, are prepared to martyr the hermit, whose conception of life is inaccessible through any process other than that of individual experience (“erlebnis"). (3) because of the fragmentary form in which it has come down to us, lenz's die kleinen presents certain limitations to the analysis of themes and characters. yet we are justified in believing that the major ones stand before us in the six scenes which lenz actually executed, as well as in the sketches which he drew of intermediary and (apparently) final scenes. there is enough to reveal plainly the subject matter and the backbones of the two connected plots in which it is treated. the material of the first plot is an essentially typical one for "storm and stress" writing; it is the theme of revolt against the upper classes and an expression of contempt for the over-refinement, decadence, and lack of genuine humanity in the life of such circles. contrasted with the characteristics of the aristocracy are the sincere and earthy virtues of the peasant and serving classes. the central figure is hanns von engelbrecht, who has become sadly disillusioned in his own social stratum; therefore he sets out to observe the lower classes. he wishes to find his happiness by feeling that of others and by making them aware of their more fortunate lot (as in werther lenz was, of course, an avid disciple of goethe and strove to emulate him in his life and work). the second plot is connected technically with the first through the central character, engelbrecht. here, the sad conflict between the hermit and his older brother (the "bruderzwist" another popular "sturm und drang" theme) and the hermit's complete despair in the later scenes portray the tragic fate which befalls two men in the treacherous spider-web of court intrigue. this second plot has a more truly dramatic nature than do the scenes of the first, which depict the loves and activities of "die kleinen". the lives of "die kleinen" do provide vivid and lively portrayals, but they are episodic more like background studies against which the theme specifically involving the hermit, bismark, and engelbrecht stands out in bold relief. we have called engelbrecht the central character of the fragment, but this is so technically rather than intrinsically. the hermit and bismark (and all of the vividly drawn characters of the lower class scenes) are vastly more interesting and important than engelbrecht, himself. he is used by the poet to provide the human meeting ground of experience which sets off the naive and happier lives of annamarie and her "schlossergesell" or of lorchen, the chambermaid, and the hunter, hummel, from the tragedy of the hermit and his brother. 19 1 the second scene introduces the hermit, whom engelbrecht encounters sitting before his cave with his face half turned toward its entrance as if in painful disdain of the world. he appears to live in the traditional manner of the hermits discussed in all of the previous works. he dwells in a cave upon a mountain-side, and lives on roots and herbs. like trevrizent, he is an experienced venerable man who has secluded himself from the world for many years (p. 318) "lieber jüngling, kommt ihr, nach fünfzig jahren meine eingetrockneten augen wieder einmal anzufeuchten?" the hermit's behaviour throughout the scene discloses the deep despair which the world has inflicted upon him. engelbrecht hears no logical explanation for this sorrow, but he needs none; general remarks, even hints suffice for him. feeling and emotion are the touchstones of relationship and engelbrecht and the hermit need only to sense the force and direction of each other's emotional reactions to understand one another completely. when asked for a simple direction, the hermit makes clear the state of utter rejection of the world in which he exists. he does not even reply, but simply points out the path with his finger. his rejoinder to engelbrecht's query as to whether he is a carthusian "nein lebt wohl, mein herr.!" shows his adamant desire to avoid any involvement with his fellow-men or the world outside. in this respect, he displays a streak of the pathological fear and distrust of the world which we have seen in simplicissimus (and which we shall observe in peter schlemihl). he does not exhibit any natural sense of hospitality such as that of trevrizent or of goethe's recluse. engelbrecht, nevertheless, immediately understands the aged man (p. 317) "was hat euch die welt so verhasst gemacht?" the hermit's response ("die welt") overwhelms engelbrecht, who kisses the old man's hand as if he were a saint. this token of deep understanding and sympathy causes the hermit remorse, and through engelbrecht he feels again a bond of kinship with mankind (p. 318) “jüngling, ihr schenkt mir das leben wieder!" the tremendous force of the hermit's revulsion from the world, the very scope of his emotion, we might say, convinces the younger man that a figure of greatness stands before him who, but for the fateful cause of his despair, may have been destined to play a most important role in life. the hermit, however, designates his solitary existence as precisely the great role he has been fated to perform. this sentiment is echoed by engelbrecht when he takes leave of the recluse (p. 319) “o ich möchte verstummen wie du! heiliger grosser göttlicher mann! dass deine füsse die erde berühren, die sich unter ihnen verächtlich dahinrollt! wer soll dich schätzen, wenn du dich nicht schätzest? du, wie gott, dir selber genug, dir selber belohnung, dir selber alles!" in these lines the hermit is made to represent 20 the revolt of the almost divine individual against a defective world. the hermit informs engelbrecht that he has fled in order to leave open the way for his closest friend's worldly success. to save that friend from becoming guilty of treachery and machination against him as heidemann later hints, (p. 325) and to preserve the ideal of a friendship which could not have endured in a society motivated by intrigue and favoritism, the great man removed himself to the wilds. — the nature of his withdrawal, therefore, proves to be that of a self-sacrifice to save a friend (his brother, as is subsequently revealed). in this respect, his act also shows a strong relationship to that of trevrizent. trevrizent, however, rejected a knightly world in which he strongly believed, while lenz's hermit casts off a society which, because of its decadence, endangers an ideal. lenz's figure also contrasts with the hermit in satyros, where a susceptible society is victimized by the satyr, but is considered by the hermit worthy and capable of development because of its natural urge to discover the essence of life. the theme of martyrdom and holiness is suggested in trevrizent, and is strong in both satyros and die kleinen. lenz's hermit desires that knowledge of his sacrifice be withheld from all men; engelbrecht is the first man with whom he has spoken since his hermithood and he is to be the last. having shut himself completely off from the world, he feels the frost of death creeping through his bones, and this sense of foreboding suggests the chilling atmosphere of despair in which the hermit ends his life. having received an invitation from count bismark (the hermit's brother), engelbrecht stops at an inn to inquire the way to the nobleman's country estate. here he discovers from the innkeeper, heidemann, a good deal about the past lives of the two brothers. from heidemann's description of the count, engelbrecht gains the information which the hermit had denied him namely that count bismark is the friend and brother for whom the hermit had abandoned life in society. from the common rumors which heidemann passes on to him, engelbrecht receives the impression that the count's success at the prince's court was shortlived. the hermit's sacrifice seems to have been in vain. we find this confirmed in the subsequent interview between engelbrecht and bismark. as prime minister, bismark soon discovered that he was falling out of favor with the prince, whereupon he immediately withdrew to a lonely country estate. there he lives in deepest melancholy in contrast to the previous high spirits for which he had been noted (p. 325). some rumors attribute this depression to the death of bismark's daughter. others maintain that it is because of a younger brother who had been the prince's favorite, but whom bismark so maligned that he fled to the wilds. engelbrecht learns that the 21 younger bismark had been a dashing and successful officer in the prince's bodyguard. in a battle he had lost two fingers, and had received a scar on the face. these details identify the hermit for engelbrecht. this certainty as to the hermit's identity ripens the young man's resolution to bring the two brothers together to effect a reconciliation which might relieve the tortured conscience of count bismark and win the hermit recognition for his heart-breaking sacrifice. bismark, when he receives engelbrecht, appears as a broken man in the depths of a melancholy which is the wage and fruit of his intrigue at court. curious and fascinated by his visitor's project to observe the virtuous happiness of the lower classes, the count eagerly scans engelbrecht's writing portfolio. his glance falls at once upon the entry concerning the hermit. when engelbrecht snatches the portfolio from him to keep his oath of secrecy to the hermit, the count's remark (p. 335) "wenn das ist ich weiss was meineid ist. lasst mich!" indicates the source of his suffering. his subsequent monologue in the garden discloses the pact which he, a hopeless weakling, had made with his brother. the younger brother was to absent himself from court and leave the field clear for the count, after which the latter would care for his needs. this bargain took the form of an oath which the count has not fulfilled. lenz's portrait of bismark is that of a weak aristrocat who succumbs to the decadent brilliance of court life, and uses the sacrifice of a noble brother to gain his end. having fallen into disfavor, he suffers in solitude because it is too late to make good the broken oath or repay his brother's too generous love. in the two final fragmentary monologues of the hermit (p. 337) and in the scene following them, lenz's recluse takes on a pronouncedly pathological coloring. in the scene discussed earlier (scene ii), his complete and adamant rejection of society was delineated by his every gesture and word, but we have also noted that the sympathy and understanding of engelbrecht evoked in him a natural longing for some bond with his fellow-men, while, at the same time, he voiced a wish to have the soundness of his reason established after his death (p. 319 – “wenn ich tot bin, könnt ihr meinen namen in einen stein schneiden, und denen, die mich für närrisch oder abergläubisch hielten, sagen, dass ich meinen gesunden verstand hatte, wie sie"). we may imagine these desires to have been always present below the surface. the harsh disappointment occasioned by the experience with his brother, the count, however, had called up in him an extreme revulsion for a society so decadent as to provide temptation for one brother to intrigue against the other for the sake of obtaining rank and favor. the hermit, hein22 rich bismark, had detected in his brother's character a weakness common to the aristocratic court circle as he knew it. to prevent his brother, therefore, from becoming guilty of intrigue against him, heinrich became a hermit. his experience had embittered him to the extent that not only the scene of his former glory, but all human society had become distasteful to him. in the first of the two final monologues (p. 337), the hermit expresses a horrible doubt as to the justification of his flight. it is clear that he is in a pathological state of mind. the greatness of his purpose no longer suffices to comfort him. the desire to have the soundness of his reason attested by engelbrecht after his death has grown to exaggerated proportions (p. 337) "wem scheint nicht mein leben eine karikatur? wenn wird der gütige genius niemals wird er erwachen, der ein wohltätiges licht darauf wirft." the hermit now feels that his very salvation depends upon the validity and justification of his withdrawal. his speech has the tone of a despairing attempt at self-persuasion; he maintains that he would repeat his actions even if they now be undone. his sole consolation consists in having caused no one unhappiness, for he has blocked no man's path to success. yet this consolation does not ring true in his innermost soul, as he suggests in the exclamation, "guter gott! erhalte mir das gefühl in der todesstunde!" in the opening words of the second monologue (“kurz vor seinem tode im letzten akt"), the hermit apostrophizes the impotent thinking which has led him astray like a will-o'-the-wisp in the marshes. he is referring directly to the wishful thinking which lets him console himself with the idea that his brother's happiness is well worth the sacrificial withdrawal from the world. his soul is torn apart by the horrible doubt which possesses him "der du meine seele geschaffen hast, rette mich meine seele so kalt und gross, so unleidenschaftlich für meinen verzweifelten schmerz so eine kotseele für mein elend!" he feels incapable of coping with his despair despair growing out of the reality which would not have permitted him to forsake the world to gratify a decadent and weakling brother. the pathological emotion of the hermit is evident in the last attempt to persuade himself that his long life as a recluse has not been in vain – “und doch freut es mich einen bruder damit glücklich gemacht zu haben, einen bruder, der feuriger als ich, sein elend so kalten bluts wie ich nicht ertragen haben würde. und wohl elend hätte er müssen sein, weil aus furcht vor diesem zustande er mich hilflos gelassen." then the pangs of approaching death come upon him "meine brust hebt sich, ungewöhnliche zuckungen, leiden, die ich noch nie erfahren, folgen blitzschnell aufeinander" and in this state of supersensitivity he feels the judgment of god (and in this respect 23 lenz's hermit is also traditionally christian). lying prostrate, the hermit believes that he has been rejected, because his action was based upon a false generosity. he had no right to leave his brother alone on the political and social stage. he, himself, might have been of greater service to the world; it was his duty to oppose the designs of the decadent weakling, not to flee from them. thus, the despairing thought which plagues his last moments becomes crushing reality – “o gedanke, der die ganze hölle in sich führt, verfolgst du mich so spät am ende der laufbahn? verfehlt ein ganzes langes patriarchenlebenund mein tod unbekannt unberühmt unwürdig!" after the hermit's terrible struggle with his soul and the hopeless impact of its outcome, the scene which follows it is anticlimactic, but it does fulfill the poet's intention of reuniting the two brothers through engelbrecht. of particular interest is the hermit's expression of joy when engelbrecht and count bismark make their way to him through driving snow and icy wind (p. 339) "und es ist etwas süsses, deinem ende in gesellschaft von menschen entgegengehen. ich habe in meinem leben die menschen gemieden, nur für das letzte viertelstündchen habe ich mir einen zuschauer gewünscht mein gebet ist erhört." the sense of well-being derived from human society about him in his last moments is based upon the final realization (as we have seen) that the motive for his hermithood was not valid which does not mean that he now feels differently about the vanity and decadence of the aristocratic world and its "ruhmsucht", but that his flight actually meant a neglect of duty. when heinrich, with his last breath, stretches out his arms to the count, we must interpret the gesture as one of forgiveness. he feels that he bears the responsibility not only for his own, but also for whatever misery the weaker man has endured; for he had abandoned him with full knowledge of that weakness. the count stabs himself and falls beside the body of the hermit brother who had rejected the world and sacrificed his life for his sake in vain. in a sense, the figure of the hermit, heinrich bismark, expresses a sort of repudiation of hermithood, for he deceives himself into rejecting the world through partial weakness of character. as we have indicated, the decadence of the upper classes as opposed to the | simple virtues of "die kleinen" is the dominant theme of the fragment. the conflict between the hermit and his brother illustrates the devastating effect of the former way of life upon two individuals caught in its web of intrigue. the weakness of the count ruins the life of a stronger, nobler brother who thus falls prey to the same decadent order. we might say that count bismark embodies the aristocratic decadence because of which the hermit rejected the world to spend his remaining years in solitude although in vain. 24 the words of engelbrecht spoken over the brothers' bodies form a kind of epilogue "o schreckliches schauspiel! eitle grösse! o fürchterliches ziel der mühsamen laufbahn! wohin, hochmut, auf welche klippen führst du uns? sie sterben und ich bleibe, ihre körper zu vereinigen. o ihr himmlischen, verlasst meine seele nicht, wenn sie je sich auf ähnliche abwege verirren wollte!" the theme of martyrdom is suggested by trevrizent's withdrawal to atone for his brother's sin, but the theme is decidedly strong in goethe's satyros. heinrich bismark, however, in lenz's fragment becomes a martyr to the effeteness and sterile lust for worldly brilliance in aristocratic society. lenz's hermit falls victim to the very decadence and intrigue which he seeks to avoid, for, in removing himself from the path of the weaker brother's success, he capitulates to that very weakness. he deceives himself into believing that he has acted out of generosity, whereas his flight actually represented a lack of strength in his own character. the valid and true revolt, however, would have consisted in standing firm against the decadence and corruption round about; thus he might have performed a valuable service to the world. lenz's hermit, therefore, becomes the principal actor in a tragedy of revolt against an aristocracy of intrigue and corruption. in contrast to trevrizent, whose act consists of atonement for a sin against the ideal society in which he has the utmost faith, and in contrast, also, with goethe's hermit, who understands the motives of society about him, and has a sympathetic attitude toward it, lenz's figure illustrates an unsuccessful revolt against a specific class of society. his whole being is repelled by its "unnaturalness". goethe's hermit has the profound world of nature, "gottes stadt", which he can substitute for that which he left. lenz's hermit has no substitute in nature, but only his great soul – and he almost compromises its salvation. the role of nature, itself, as opposed to the superficialities of society, is not stressed in die kleinen as it is in satyros or in klinger's sturm und drang. the icy wind and snow flurries in the scene last discussed are used to suggest an atmosphere of doom and hopelessness descriptive of the hermit's state of mind. lenz does, however, introduce the concept of an individual with natural, therefore noble instincts into his portrayal of the hermit. the pathological element is injected into the hermit's struggle with his soul and the attempt is made successfully in die kleinen to give the hermit tragic stature. as a ruler with which the faults of a class and period are measured (true also of goethe's recluse and lessing's), the hermit in die kleinen illustrates specifically the unsuccessful revolt of a strong individual against a class of society so corrupt that even he cannot prevail against its influences there 25 7 is a sense of hopelessness which borders on nihilism in the portrayal of heinrich bismark. (4) in contrast to lenz's fragment, klinger's drama, sturm und drang, does not contain such a violent attack against any specific class of society, but it does criticize superficiality of feeling principally through the character of blasius (there is also much satirizing of the anacreontic view of life as embodied in the characters of la feu and lady katherine). feeling above all else is exalted; indeed, the play possesses (and often chastises) in exaggerated form all the stylistic mannerisms of the movement to which it gave its name. in it we can expect no logical development of motives, but must penetrate through the emotional expressions to arrive at any systematic understanding. of the characters as such, blasius ("der blasius", a blasé person) is drawn with most depth. although blasius does not appear as a hermit technically in the drama, he does, nevertheless, decide to reject the world (act v, scene 4) in order to become one. what is important is the fact that he reveals an attitude of disillusionment, even of disgust, toward the world, and we are given a picture of the relationship to society which brings him to substitute for its superficialities (like the hermit in satyros) the deeper eternal world of nature. we have, in other words, before us the development of thought and feeling which ends in blasius' hermithood, while, in the previous works, we have looked through the recluse into his past, as it were, to evaluate his present. blasius holds a position in the drama which is midway between the stormy, impulsive activity of wild and the unbridled, imaginative flights of la feu into his pastoral paradise. when the play opens in an american inn during the revolution, the three comrades sound the respective key-notes of their personalities. wild had whisked his friends willy-nilly from russia to spain and thence to the promised land of individual freedom and revolt against tyranny. he revels in the excitement and turmoil; paradoxically, the uproar of the revolutionary atmosphere is supposed to relax and free his innermost self (deutsche national-literatur, stürmer und dränger i, i, 1, p. 65) "das wilde geräusch hat mir schon soviel wohlsein entgegen gebrüllt, dass mirs wirklich ein wenig anfängt besser zu werden. soviel hundert meilen gereiset, um dich in vergessenden lärmen zu bringen tolles herz! du sollst mirs danken! ha! tobe und spanne dich dann aus, labe dich im wirrwarr!" wild, of course, seeks solace because he has been separated from his childhood beloved, karoline berkley, by the emnity of their respective fathers, the lords buschy and berkley. la feu's tempestuous activity (if it may be so designated) consists, on the other hand, of creating the most fantastic illusions for 26 the edification and stimulation of his senses (i, 1 p. 65) "es lebe die illusion! ei! ei!, zauber meiner phantasie, wandle in den rosengarten von phyllis hand geführt -". subsequent elaborations of this theme emphasize to what extent klinger lets la feu carry his imagination which corresponds in its paradoxical workings to wild's means of seeking consolation (i, 1 p. 65) "beim amor! ich will mich wie ein alt weib verlieben, in einem alten, baufälligen haus wohnen, meinen zarten leib in stinkenden mistlaken baden, bloss um meine phantasie zu scheren. ist keine alte hexe da, mit der ich scharmieren könnte?" between these two figures stands blasius, who is tired of the world's superficialities. he has no taste for their excesses. to them, he is "lieber, bissiger, kranker blasius." although he maintains that he loves nothing, blasius does love the world but for its own sake and not for the excesses and trivialities which make a travesty of life in it. we become aware that his relationships with women have much to do with his depressed state of mind and his attitude toward society, for they have, with one exception, been unfortunate. the recurring concern for donna isabella ("kommt meine donna noch?" and "ist donna isabella noch?") permits the conclusion that blasius had experienced through her the one deep love of his life (i, 1 – p. 67) "in krieg und getümmel von meiner passion weg, das einzige was mir übrig blieb." blasius had known her in spain and his temporary resentment toward wild is partially due to his having been wrenched from her against his will. this experience, however, is only one of the immediate causes of the melancholy which pervades his outlook upon life. the level of his feeling is not always comprehensible to his friends because of its depth. when wild says, (i, 1 – p. 67) "du liebst ja nichts, blasius," the reply is taken only at an apparent surface value. blasius answers that he loves nothing, that he has consciously brought himself to a point where he loves nothing that is, to love everything and to forget it all again in the very same moment. in reality, his attitude is one of self-protection; he wishes to preserve his sincere and sensitive heart from further pain and disappointment. this is the motive which underlies his frequent expressions of negation and his general behaviour in the drama; it is essentially the motive which prompts him finally to seek seclusion in nature. blasius would betray all women, he maintains, and in return they would betray, and have betrayed him. to his own disgust he has played the social game acted as fop and as stormy young petrel, as dullard and as hypersensitive personality, according to the demands of the moment. his only conquest was that of donna isabella, because he pretended to be nothing other than himself. 27 human relationship, as he observes it, is based upon triviality, sham, and illusion, and society, for him, is inhabited by shallow personalities only. despite the fact that wild's desire for strenuous activity oppresses him (ii, 1 – end), blasius also longs for the zest in life which his friend displays. the unhappy man suffers from a neurotic strain which has been nurtured in him by his experiences in the world – (ii, 1 end) "ich bin zerrissen in mir und kann die fäden nicht wieder auffinden das leben anzuknüpfen." implicit in this selfexamination is the desire to construct a shell around his own sensitivity and, on the other hand, the natural drive to find an emotional outlet for himself. he recalls the painful occasion (witnessed by wild) when he was forced to see his charger put to use as a drayhorse. the depressing sight caused him to weep, and isabella, understanding his emotion, wiped his tears away. this incident has a symbolic value for blasius; it illustrates, very simply, the deterioration of the joy which he once did have in life. he is now, as we have seen, completely disillusioned (ii, 1 – end) "herrlichkeit der welt! ich kann keine deiner blumen mehr brechen. ja, wer diesen sinn verloren hat, wer dich verloren hat, ewige liebe, die du in uns alles zusammen hältst!" in these lines, blasius infers that he has lost the sense of communion with the world (a sense similar to that which does inspire goethe's hermit in satyros), but the tone of the lines also conveys an unexpressed wish, a desire to find some realm of life in which his suppressed longing may find its release. we have already suggested that blasius' past relationships with women make up a principal cause for his melancholy attitude and distaste for society. with the single exception of donna isabella, the women in his life have embodied the triviality and general emptiness of all social intercourse. it is safe to assume that the resulting disillusionment has colored his entire approach to life; he had presumably sought release for his inner self through his relationships with the opposite sex. having been disappointed and deeply hurt, he attempts to shield himself from the world by closing off his emotion. yet, as we have also seen, the drive to feel life in all its fullness still pulses strongly in him albeit hidden beneath a negativistic exterior. — women have been largely responsible for blasius' disillusionment. through them, society has become a threat to his sincere and deep emotion; he feels he must protect himself from the superficiality which directs the course of human relationships. yet, the conscious attempt to close himself off emotionally from the world discloses the underlying drive in blasius to find release for his feelings to reestablish the bonds severed between himself and life. blasius' longing reaches its final solution through his experience 28 with luise. she embodies conclusively for him all of the superficial contradictions which have produced his negative attitude toward life. this final experience with the superficially rococo feminine personality provides the impulse which causes blasius to reject all human society. he finds release from the pain of a sham existence and rediscovers the "herrlichkeit der welt" in the revelation of cosmic nature in it he achieves at last a feeling of complete harmony. this solution is prepared for blasius by the contrast which is implicit in the natural beauty of luise and her emotional artificiality and emptiness. she is almost programmatic for his dualistic approach to life. in addition, her superficiality oppresses his natural longing, and contrasts with the pulsation of nature embodied in a magnificent evening which does speak to blasius' demand for deep emotional harmony. the disappointment resulting from this encounter with luise calls up in blasius all of his resentment toward the lack of true feeling which stamps the creatures of social tradition. while walking with luise, la feu, and kathrin, blasius becomes so depressed that he refuses to continue the stroll. in luise's company, the evening seems wet and cold. following the walk, la feu and blasius sit alone in the garden (iv, 6), and, in the magic stillness of the night air, the earlier dampness and cold is no longer apparent. instead, particularly to blasius, the encompassing aspect of night becomes charged with emotional life of its own. nature reveals itself cloaked in the mantle of night as a living cosmic organism the source and receptacle of all deep feeling. a response from the harmony of which he now feels himself to be part speaks mightily to the pent-up longing in blasius' soul. after previously having plunged to the utmost depth of depression, he finds an ecstatic release. his emotion, turned inward by the unnatural luise, bursts its corporal limits, and becomes an overtone in the pervading chord of nature, itself. this brief scene (iv, 6) represents the fulfillment of blasius' destiny in the drama, and characterizes his transition to hermithood. while la feu and wild find self-realization in the loves of kathrin and karoline, respectively, blasius turns from the oppressive superficiality of society to the living spirit of nature. this development is the climax of his life. the ecstasy expressed by blasius to cosmic nature as revealed in night is very like that of werther in the famous second letter "am 10. mai" only there, of course, nature is clothed in the splendor of a spring morning. this conception of nature and night points to the related one of novalis and his early romantic contemporaries. blasius becomes fully conscious that, in the harmony of nature, he has found peace at last. his life has been a pilgrimage over ways beset with both joys and thorns to this end. he 29 recalls once again his past life and the suffering he has endured from an insensitive world because it was his lot to be endowed with a feeling heart. now, however, his deep emotion finds a positive response "liebliche lüfte gebt mir liebe noch!" in his last meeting with luise (v, 4), blasius makes a final attempt to discover in her some basis for compatibility (cf. iv, 6) but the revelation of nature which he has just experienced renders him quite sarcastic in his approach. luise, shallow as she is, naturally does not comprehend the tone in blasius' sarcastic proposal of marriage. they are admirably suited to one another, he finds, for they are both bored to death in each other's company. to be able to endure such a relationship is the primary requisite of marriage. luise insists upon retorting to him and blasius finds, as before, that she thus destroys whatever aura of attraction she may have possessed. when la feu and kathrin agree to pass on into their imaginary "schäferleben" together, blasius announces his decision to become a hermit (v, 4). he has found a pleasant bushy cave where he can seclude himself from the society which has caused him so much pain. there he will preserve the feeling which still remains to him, and begin life anew in the harmony of nature the life they had left behind in the alps. (cf. kleist's schweizer idyll). we have seen that blasius stands between la feu with his anacreontic flights of imagination and the tempestuous wild. in him, klinger clearly wishes to portray the conflict of deep (genuine "sturm und drang") feeling with the capricious superficiality of society, which is embodied, not only in society as a whole, but specifically in women such as luise. the most typical "sturm und drang" characteristic, here, is the treatment of the unspecific quality, "gefühl", for its own sake. blasius, as a hermit, seeks seclusion in nature from the studied shallowness of society; his refuge in nature saves him from complete emotional paralysis where, in simplicissimus, the hermit's seclusion is a means of saving his soul from the damning influences of the world about him, blasius' flight is motivated by the desire to preserve the most precious of individual possessions, the capacity to feel. blasius, an echo of werther, embodies the high valuation of "fühlbarkeit" werther's term. the theme of martyrdom, implicit in the treatments of lenz's hermit and of goethe's in satyros, cannot be associated with blasius (as it cannot with simplicissimus), because his flight represents for him a personal salvation, a fulfillment of his deepest personal longing. we have seen that the interpretation of nature, itself, as opposed to that of society, plays an unimportant role in lenz's die kleinen 30 and in lessing's der eremit. in klinger's sturm und drang, as in goethe's satyros, the hermit's relationship to nature counterbalances his reaction to society. in satyros, goethe's hermit is the protagonist of a procreative nature as the revelation of divine purpose, which can be grasped only through individual experiencing – nature and religion are, in a sense, one. in sturm und drang, a specifically religious aspect is lacking, but both blasius and goethe's hermit substitute the world of nature for that of a deficient society in this respect, the attitudes of both figures toward life is positive; their rejection of society leads to the discovery of an eternal phase of life. for both klinger's and goethe's solitaries, nature is a living, breathing organic cosmos although it is a more narrowly emotional force in nature which speaks to blasius. with the exception of blasius, all of the hermit figures which we have analyzed are conceived in a traditionally christian manner they are holy men. the religious motif is strongly implicit in each of them (even though in lessing's poem false religiosity is put to the lash). in the cases of all figures (but lessing's) it is the reaction to society which specifically brings about the hermit's withdrawal. only satyros and sturm und drang point to the hermit's discovery of nature as a cosmos which contrasts with the shortcomings of social life. in contrast to the others, blasius will be a quite secular recluse; in this regard, he is untraditional, and represents a departure. nature becomes for him the sinecure of the man who is misunderstood by society. the view of nature in sturm und drang differs from that in satyros in so far as blasius finds in it not so much the revelation of an absolute divine purpose but, rather, the spring of eternal feeling. this is a conception which we find developed to great depth in the hermits of the romantic poets in lenau's marionetten. to be reemphasized is the fact that it is night, specifically, in nature, which draws blasius into its sphere another theme which, with its myriad interpretations, becomes one of the principal ones in romanticism. (5) the revolt against decadence in society and particularly against the upper classes is a recurrent theme in "storm and stress literature. this theme is developed through the hermit figure in lenz's die kleinen, and it is suggested in the conflict of blasius, who rescues himself from the superficiality of the social world and flees into the healing realm of nature. in satyros, the hermit is the exponent of nature as "gottes stadt"; he who trammels it violates divine order. gottfried bürger couples these two themes in his stormy ballad, der wilde jäger. in this poem, a decadent, unprincipled aristocrat lays waste nature, the symbol of divine order, and is consequently 31 punished for his sin by divine justice. through his violation of nature, the "wildund rheingraf" also becomes guilty of oppressing the peasant class, which is seen by the poet as closely related to nature and dependent upon it for a productive livelihood. the hermit, "der fromme kläusner" is ultimately associated with the divine spirit of nature, and intercedes in its behalf before god. of the thirty-six strophes in the poem, the first twenty concern the flagrant vandalism of the count, the climactic strophes (the twentyfirst through the twenty-fourth) introduce the hermit with his warning and the count's rejection of it. in order to appreciate fully the significance of the hermit's role and the conception of nature which he defends, it is of importance to analyze briefly bürger's treatment of the count and his blasphemous devastation of the peaceful countryside. in accordance with bürger's low saxon provenience and in keeping with balladesque tradition, the characters receive a legendary, "sagenhafte" treatment. bürger's work is, indeed, the finest poetic treatment of a famous low saxon legend, several versions of which are to be read in the deutsche sagen of the brothers grimm ludwig bechstein's version (in his märchen und sagen) is a prose narration of bürger's ballad. the introduction of jakob grimm's deutsche mythologie makes reference to hans von hackelberg, the "wild huntsman", a hannoverian country squire. grimm associates him through the gothic origin of his name with germanic paganism and wodan. the king of the gods was envisioned as a rider in the northwestern germanic area. he was the first leader of a "wütendes heer" which raged across the countryside and through the skies. because he, too, was the last legendary representative of old folk belief, widukind, the saxon prince, was identified with wodan. following his defeat at the hands of charlemagne, he led his warriors on a wild ride across the westphalian heath. this is of significance for our interpretation of the "kläusner", since the rheingraf thus must be understood also as an embodiment of paganism in opposition to the christian hermit. of striking interest is the fact that god's spokesman, the recluse, here is associated with nature, as we have said, while the pagan element, generally at one with nature, here violates god's creation. the tone of blasphemy implicit in the count's devastation of nature is present in the second strophe. it is sunday and the dome of the cathedral gleams in the early morning sun (1. 9 ff.) "zum hochamt rufte dumpf und klar der glocken ernster feierklang. fern tönten lieblich die gesänge der andachtsvollen christenmenge." 32 the first strophe, however, has already shown us that the count does not belong to the reverent community of the common folk. he pays no heed to the peaceful tolling of the bell; indeed, it is probably inaudible to him, since he is wildly exhorting his company to horse, while his baying pack is turned loose upon the placid countryside. the pending judgment of the count and the precarious predicament of his soul are suggested not only by the direction of the hunt (1. 13) "rischrasch quer übern kreuzweg gings" (the crossroad was a traditional burial spot for suicides and highwaymen) – but also by his position between the two mysterious riders who suddenly appear on either side of him (a variation of the dürer engraving, "ritter, tod, und teufel", perhaps of marlowe's two angels in doctor faustus) (1. 17 ff.) "des rechten ross war silbersblinken, ein feuerfarbner trug den linken." in spite of the angelic rider's warning that the hunting horn sounds ill in tune to choir and churchbell, the count scarcely needs the urging of the sinister horseman (1. 39 ff.) "was glockenklang? was chorgeplärr? die jagdlust mag euch bass erfreun! lasst mich, was fürstlich ist, euch lehren und euch von jenem nicht betören!" in this exhortation of the evil genius, the poet also identifies the wanton destruction of the hunt with the aristocracy ("was fürstlich ist"), and this class thereby receives a character symbolic of evil and rapacity. in the very same manner all of the figures in the poem have typical and symbolic attributes rather than individual ones. the goal of the wild count's hunt is, in itself, of sacred quality as a creature of nature and the paths of destruction which the count follows in pursuing it lead him to damnation. two specific acts of vicious oppression lead up to, and bring about his judgment. when the stag seeks refuge in the grainfield of a poor plowman, the count and his party plunge after it. heedless of the peasant's pleading, the count, his company and his pack sweep over the field, lashing the farmer with whips and trampling under hoof the stalks of grain the sole means of livelihood for the peasant. the second event reaches the very zenith of viciousness. the stag mingles with a herd of cattle, of which the owners are poor widows and other destitute folk. when the herdsman, under whose care the animals graze, begs the count to take pity, the bestial nobleman sicks his blood-crazed hounds at the innocent creatures. the herdsman and his charges are gashed and torn while the stag manages to escape (1. 125-126) "tief birgt sich's in des waldes mitte, in eines klausners gotteshütte." 33 the verses tell us that the forest receives the persecuted animal into its darkness and we may understand, at the same time, that nature is taking unto itself its own the center of the forest is the heart of nature, nearest the protecting arm of god into the very hut of the hermit. the precise spot in which the stag seeks refuge is (certainly through divine purpose) the "gotteshütte" of the hermit, who has here a symbolic value even stronger and more inclusive than that of the other figures in the ballad. we have, to be sure, discussed the details of the hunt in some detail; we have done so, however, only in order to grasp accurately the full significance of the hermit's climactic role. the center of the mysterious "deutscher wald", to which the stag flees, is the very heart of nature. bürger's conception begins this tradition which flowers in romanticism. here is the point of most intimate contact between god and his ordered creation and it is here that the hermit has his "gotteshütte". this location indicates very plainly the poet's conception of him; dwelling farthest from man and society in the most intimate relationship to the creator, the hermit is the interpreter of the almighty will and protector of nature's inviolability. in this capacity, the hermit confronts the "wildund rheingraf", whose rapacious pursuit leads to the very threshold of the hut, where the stag has taken refuge. (1. 134) "entweihe gottes freistatt nicht!" thus, the hermitage becomes an asylum for all god's creatures who are persecuted; it is a form of church, which the count violates to his undoing, and the hermit speaks for god in upholding the inviolability of this asylum. he speaks, too, for all creatures which suffer from the cruelty of the nobility. the hermit denounces the sin which the count commits (1. 135-138) "zum himmel ächzt die kreatur und heischt von gott dein strafgericht. zum letzten male lass dich warnen, sonst wird verderben dich umgarnen!" the count, in turn, ignores the warning of the hermit, as well as that of his angelic genius, and follows the urging of the evil one. at once he is enveloped by deathly stillness that of eternity. the hermit fulfills not only the role of nature's intercessor, but also that of its prophet. he denounces the painful wrong which the count, as a vicious representative of his tyrannical class, inflicts upon god's creatures and his creation. god hears the cry of his "sturm und drang" hermit-prophet. through the eternal silence into which he has been plunged, the 34 count hears the terrible judgment which the hermit has called down upon his head (1. 175-180) "fleuch, unhold, fleuch, und werde jetzt, von nun an bis in ewigkeit, von höll und teufel selbst gehetzt! zum schreck der fürsten jeder zeit, die, um verruchter lust zu fronen, nicht schöpfer noch geschöpf verschonen!" thus bürger unites through the climactic figure of the "klausner" two of the principal themes of "sturm und drang" literature the inviolate quality of nature and the tyranny of the aristocracy. the o aristocracy, embodied in the count, is attacked for its vicious oppression of the lower classes. these classes, represented, in turn, by the herdsman and plowman, are conceived by the poet as close to nature. they are integral with god's order in nature, while the count violates that order for his own sport and to satisfy his rapacity. in his pursuit of the white deer (and the horrible consequences of the hunt for the peasants), the count is guilty of a grievous sin against the spirit of nature. nature is interpreted again in der wilde jäger as a living organic cosmos, the pattern of divine order. as in goethe's play, the hermit is the embodiment of its spirit. we have seen, however, that he assumes quite different proportions here. the figure of the hermit is made typical rather than individual; he has a symbolic value. his seclusion in the heart of the forest makes him the interpreter of god's purpose and the defender of his creatures. (when the deer seeks refuge in the hermit's hut, one is inclined to think of st. francis, as well as of st. jerome and his docile beasts in dürer's engraving.) bürger's hermit accordingly defends divine order by opposing the count's profligate destruction; his position as intermediary between god and nature also lends him a kind of prophetic power to call down the vengeance of god upon the profaning nobleman. he champions the cause of the peasant class, indirectly, through his confrontation of the count. the count (representing the ruthless aristocracy and pagan wantonness has ridden roughshod over the commoners (represented by plowman and herdsman), but when he seeks to defile god's inviolate order (represented by the hermit) he meets his doom. the hermit is of a different order from the plowman and herdsman; he stands for divine institutions, not human (how much higher he stands than e.g. the dubious figure in young lessing's poem!) the embodiment of prophetic power in the hermit figure is common also to the solitaries in oberon, heinrich von ofterdingen, and hyperion (all in chapter iv), where, of course, the developments 35 i and conceptions of the prophetic power varies widely with the interpretation of the hermit figure. in each of these cases, howʊver, it is essentially inherent in the hermit's relationship to nature. the strong identification of the hermit with the spirit of nature is present in the works just mentioned, as well as in the "waldvater" of kerner's die heimatlosen (chapter iv). in bürger's ballad, of course, he acts in this capacity in defense of nature against the "wildund rheingraf", the archtype of criminally wastrel nobility. (6) in lessing's nathan der weise, the hermit is not involved in a conflict with specific classes of society, as are the various "sturm und drang" hermits; nor does a conception of nature, itself, with which the hermit is associated, figure in it as a way of life opposing the "unnatur" of social shallowness (as in klinger's play) or that of a bestial nobility (as in bürger's ballad). yet a very particular conception of nature (in the abstract) does actually form the ideal content of lessing's "ideendrama"; it is the concept of a “natural” (or "reasonable") humanity a profoundly "natural" way of life which does not constrict human relationships by the limits of outer form or restrictions of dogmatic prejudices, but which does look beyond these artificialities for the essentially "natural" humanity binding men together in tolerant and understanding brotherhood. in contrast to nathan, the central figure, both al-hafi and the lay-brother turn from the world to preserve their ideals. in this respect, they serve as foils to nathan who perseveres in an active life to the end that he may demonstrate to others a living experience of the pure humanity in which he believes. al-hafi's reaction to society is an absolute rejection of it, while the "klosterbruder", a former hermit who had been driven from his abode by marauders, patiently performs the distasteful services required of him by the patriarch only until such time as a new hermitage may be assigned to him. al-hafi, the dervish¹ is one of lessing's most original and interesting characters, although he is only a minor one. lessing's plan for a dramatic sequel to nathan, der derwisch (theatralischer nachlass, lessing's werke, bd. 10, p. 320) suggests that the poet may have regretted al-hafi's early departure for the wilderness at the end of the second act. the subject of this "nachspiel" would have been al-hafi's return from hermithood into the world (see also the letter an karl lessing, den 15. januar 1779 lessing's sämtliche schriften, briefe, teil ii). not only did this minor character strongly interest his own creator, but he also attracted the attention of klinger, who composed a fantastic comedy, der derwisch, which appeared in 1780 (f. m. klinger, dramatische jugendwerke, bd. iii). | 1,,bettelmönch im islam, ursprünglich individueller asket" lexikon. schweizer 36 the hero of klinger's comedy, however, has little in common with lessing's moslem beyond his designation as dervish in the title and a similar desire to flee to the ganges, but with a lovely redbearded fatime (v, 1 – beginning) "süsse seele, kümmere dich nicht, folg mir an ganges, das ende deiner und meiner noth! dort wird die freude deines lebens wiederkehren! dort singt die nachtigall in grünen büschen, die collibris hüpfen in deinen schoos." (klinger's hero does not function as a hermit at any stage of the dramatic action, and could not justifiably be included in this study.) al-hafi, lessing's dervish, is motivated by an ideal of humanity as lofty as that which he recognizes in his friend, nathan, but, unlike nathan, he fears a situation which might involve a compromise of it. rather than jeopardize his way of life and, therefore, himself in his own eyes, he withdraws from the world of everyday affairs. when lessing first introduces him (i, 3 lessing's werke, bd. 2 −), al-hafi has been tempted by his better self into a position which makes such a compromise inevitable for him. he appears in the splendid costume of defterdar, the treasurer of saladin, and astonishes his old friend, who cannot reconcile such magnificence with the character of the dervish for al-hafi has given up his individuality to become an official (1.380) "ich dachte mir nur immer, der derwisch so der rechte derwisch woll aus sich nichts machen lassen." the dervish is supposed to live sufficient unto himself, apart from the world for the good of his soul; he depends for his subsistence upon the alms-giving public this conception of the moslem ascetic is, of course, strikingly similar to that of the traditional christian hermit (as in the introduction). al-hafi accepted the position because he succumbed to a temptation to gratify his noble instincts. the temptation was the more insidious in that it struck him through his better self. this is what he confesses, essentially, in the lines which answer those of nathan – (1. 363 ff.) "dass ich kein rechter (derwisch) bin, mag auch wohl wahr sein. zwar wenn man muss -". nathan forces the issue to disclose the nature of his friend's problem and to ascertain whether al-hafi's garb corresponds to any change in the inner man (1. 384 ff.) "muss! derwisch! derwisch muss? kein mensch muss müssen, und ein derwisch müsste? was müsst er denn?" 37 nathan's question as to what a dervish, or any man, "must" do evokes an answer typical of the steadfast nature of al-hafi. at the same time, the answer reveals that it is his deep humanity which has placed him in his new and inappropriate office (1.386) "warum man ihn recht bittet, und er für gut erkennt: das muss ein derwisch." al-hafi's dissatisfaction with his situation has its immediate roots in the character of the noble and over-generous sultan. saladin is determined to administer alms to all those in need (1. 408-410), with the result that his private coffers are depleted by sunset of each day in spite of the revenues which fill them in the morning. al-hafi's attitude is that of an idealistic absolutist; he is unwilling to distribute alms from a limited amount of funds, for he conceives it to be unjust and inhuman to deny those whose hands remain empty when the treasury is depleted. it is this attitude, essentially, which motivates his return to hermithood. the dervish had let himself be seduced into his position as defterdar, not by any desire to change his lot (1. 453-457), but by an invitation which flattered his better self. saladin had become displeased with the coldness of the former treasurer a man who had questioned each recipient of alms to determine the degree of his desserts. therefore he chose the idealistic dervish as his man, for only a beggar could know how to give graciously to another one – (1. 473 ff.) “al-hafi gleicht verstopften röhren nicht, die ihre klar und still empfangenen wasser so unrein und so sprudelnd wiedergeben. al-hafi denkt; al-hafi fühlt wie ich!" al-hafi had assumed the proffered office without having foreseen the threat to his idealistic well-being. in his conversation with nathan, he is enraged and disgusted, first of all because he had permitted himself to be blinded by flattery (1.458 ff.) "weit etwas abgeschmackters! ich fühlte mich zum erstenmal geschmeichelt; durch saladins gutherz'gen wahn geschmeichelt." he seems to himself to be a fool's fool ("wie 'nes gecken geck!") in that he is attempting to execute saladin's order to satisfy ever increasing needs with an ever decreasing treasury. there are two serious corollaries to this somewhat humorous predicament and both of them are threats to al-hafi's way of life – first38 (1. 484 ff.) "es wär nicht geckerei, des höchsten milde, die sonder auswahl über bös und gute und flur und wüstenei, in sonnenschein und regen sich verbreitet, nachzuaffen, und nicht des höchsten immer volle hand zu haben?" the act of giving is a godly one; to dispense alms to the needy is to follow the example of the divine creator, who gives of himself unceasingly and without discrimination to all. to ape god's generosity without being able to satisfy all those in need is a blasphemy to alhafi. the second ramification involves the self-deception in his assumption of the office of defterdar – (1. 491 ff.) "was es wäre nicht geckerei, an solchen geckereien die gute seite dennoch auszuspüren, um anteil, dieser guten seite wegen, an dieser geckerei zu nehmen? he?" here al-hafi reveals not only his power of self-analysis, but also his awareness of the psychological danger in which he has placed himself. he recognizes the generosity which motivates saladin, but to share in it for the illusory satisfaction of his own ego constitutes a breach of his ideal. the cultivation of the purest humanity is not compatible with the materialistic problems of society to give to all in need would be godly, to give only to some, unjust and blasphemous. nathan voices his understanding of al-hafi's dilemma with dry humour when he suggests that his eccentric friend depart for his wilderness on the ganges (1. 496), since, in the company of men, he may forget his own humanity. having learned that nathan has been summoned to the sultan (1. 1425-26), al-hafi considers himself responsible for the inevitable ruin of his friend both spiritually and materially (for it was through al-hafi that sittah's attention was attracted to the wise and noble jew 1. 1034). convinced that nathan is destined to succeed him as defterdar, and completely disillusioned by his own experience, alhafi cannot bear to watch the decline and ruin of his friend (1. 1443 ff.). nathan, as we have indicated, contrasts sharply with saladin in the mind of al-hafi nathan, who never lends that he may always have something to give, embodies ideal humanity, while saladin's well-meant generosity is actually based on half-truth. even though his eccentric absolutism makes al-hafi the only humorous figure in the play, the kernel of his character consists in his unwillingness to compromise with his idealism 39 (1. 1485 ff.) "ich, der ich nie für mich gebettelt habe, soll nun für andre borgen, borgen ist viel besser nicht als betteln: so wie leihen, auf wucher leihen, nicht viel besser ist als stehlen.“ the essence of al-hafi's philosophy of life is that a truth, an ideal, cannot exist if it is compromised – a half-truth is no truth. as our analysis of his motives in becoming defterdar and of his reaction to the office have disclosed, life in society would require dealing in halftruth. distrusting the temptation to self-deception, which exists in society for the idealist, and, in addition, feeling responsible for the pending ruin of his friend, nathan, al-hafi resolves to depart for the ganges. the ideal man lives for his ideal and, for the dervish, that is possible only in contemplative isolation (1. 1489) "unter meinen ghebern, an dem ganges, brauch ich beides nicht (borgen, betteln) und brauche das werkzeug beider nicht zu sein.” in a final attempt to save his friend from ruin, al-hafi urges nathan to become a hermit with him (1. 1492) "am ganges nur gibts menschen. hier seid ihr der einzige, der noch so würdig wäre, dass er am ganges lebte." in their common devotion to human ideals, nathan and al-hafi are much alike; that is the basis of their friendship and of nathan's admiration for the dervish (1. 1515 ff.) "der wahre bettler ist doch einzig und allein der wahre könig."" they differ, essentially, in that the course of nathan's relationship with the other characters of the play reveals in him an active and 1 optimistic philosophy of life; this is also evident in his hesitation in following al-hafi to the ganges. as the dervish shrewdly observes, nathan only hesitates because he is seeking reasons for not going. al hafi's departure, on the other hand, is based partially upon a negative reaction to the pressure of social (financial) expediency as we have pointed out, he fears the temptation to which an idealist is susceptibe in society, that of self-deception, through the best of motives, which would compromise the ideal, itself. there is criticism of the ideal of hermithood impliciti n lessing's portrayal of al-hafi. he is admirable in his honesty, his hatred of delusion and pretense, and in his humanitarian impulses. his 40 solution, however, has a negative, unfruitful aspect. he has not the strength, as nathan implies (1. 496-499), to be human among men; he can love his fellow-men only when he is away from them. his only salvation is flight from the world. yet, there is, as we have said, a positive aspect of al-hafi's return to hermithood. the lines (1489 ff.) quoted on the preceding page connote an intense sense of pride and integrity, which has its roots in a profoundly ethical approach to life. al-hafi revolts against being the instrument of borrowing and lending – such activity is unworthy of the highest humanity, and amounts to complete degradation of man and ideal. his withdrawal from society is, in this regard, the fullest expression possible of his refusal to compromise (we need not comment upon the extent to which this attitude is representative of lessing's). the second hermit figure in lessing's drama, the "klosterbruder", stands in strong contrast to his moslem counterpart, al-hafi. although he does not appear as a hermit in the course of the play, technically, we know that he has been one (1. 2935) and that he is only biding his time, until he may return to contemplative isolation (1. 2950). since al-hafi's full realization of his problem was the product of rationalization and its origin was perhaps due to a lapse in his clear-sightedness, the impetuous dervish quickly remedied the threat to his idealistic well-being by returning immediately to hermithood. the "klosterbruder", however, is portrayed as a simpler man than the intellectual moslem and, as a true and humble christian (as opposed to the patriarch), his humility and perseverance in carrying out tasks distasteful to him fit him well. in the scene which first introduces the lay-brother (i, 5), we are given an accurate and complete picture of the disgraceful and degrading errands which the poor man is forced to undertake for the patriarch. it is interesting to note how lessing lets both of these hermit figures make their initial appearances engaged in acitivities foreign and degrading to them as individuals. when we first see the laybrother (i, 4), he has been ordered by the patriarch to sound out the templar for a plot against the life of his (and the templar's) protector, saladin (1. 660-678) the obscure but true christian, living for his peace in god and motivated by feelings of deepest humanity is made the tool of a personified travesty of both concepts. it is, of course, apparent in his repetition of, "meint der patriarch" (1. 683, 684, 689, 695), that the lay-brother wishes to disown any personal connection with the project of his superior. he expresses his personal reaction only once during the discussion; it is when he learns that the templar owes saladin his life that he interjects a heart-felt "pfui!" (1. 689) into his exposition of the patriarch's plans. 41 lessing's general techniques in presenting both al-hafi and the lay-brother are similar. both have been hermits in the past, and during the play we see both occupied in activities ill-befitting their modes of life. the dervish, however, was, as we have seen, faced with an idealistic-ethical problem of humanity, which he solved for himself by clear and rational self-analysis. the problem of the laybrother also involves the problem of higher humanity but, in him, it is treated from the more specifically religious approach; there is, in him, something more of feeling, rather than of rationalism. the lay-brother is an embodiment of simplicity, humility and dutifulness a lay-brother took only the vow of obedience. his basic urge is to live away from human society, but so long as he must remain in it, he is gentle and submissive. in the scene we have just briefly discussed, the lay-brother's very suppression of his own personal reaction to the scurrilous proposals would suggest an inner horror and disgust, an almost conscious attempt to free himself from any connection with the words he utters. it is much later in the course of the dramatization that the laybrother appears again (iv, 1), and this scene (again with the templar) bears directly upon the initial one (i, 4). in an opening monologue, the "klosterbruder" gives definite expression to his feeling about the tasks assigned, and he also tells us, to some extent, why he had become a hermit. from the first line (1. 2381 "ja, ja! er hat schon recht, der patriarch!"), we may assume that he has been reprimanded by the vile potentate for his failure to obtain the templar's services in the plot against saladin. the simple and honorable "klosterbruder" concedes that his superior is quite right, that he has had no success in carrying out this or other such tasks. he cannot understand why he should be burdened with such orders, for it is most contrary to his nature. he is not disposed by nature to thrust his nose everywhere, to have a hand in everything – (1. 2385) "(mag) mein näschen nicht in alles stecken; mag mein händchen nicht in allem haben." the use of the diminutives quoted above very clearly conveys contempt for the extensive meddling of the priesthood in affairs which not only do not concern them, but which are scarcely worthy of any whose lives should be dedicated to god alone. thus the laybrother strikes a theme which is an overtone to the broader subject of the drama: true humanity is not the exclusive property of a particular confession, nor is religion in a deeply human sense the exclusive property of the clerus. on the contrary, the patriarch and the monastic society busy themselves with affairs which have nothing whatever to do with true religion (or true humanity). just 42 as al-hafi embodied an uncompromising idealism which he found could be preserved only by leaving society, so the "klosterbruder" finds, ironically enough, that his purpose in life runs counter to that of the monastic society which surrounds him – (1.2387 ff.) “(bin) ich darum aus der welt geschieden, ich für mich; um mich für andre mit der welt noch erst recht zu verwickeln?" like al-hafi, he has the hermit's instinct to keep himself free from sullying alliances with the world. for the "klosterbruder" the life! among "pfaffen" is the very antithesis of a life dedicated to god; this his experience with the patriarch has conclusively proved to him. that this is his innermost conviction, the ensuing conversation with the templar brings out most pointedly. the scene takes place in a corridor of the cloister, and, consequently, when the good brother catches sight of the templar, he is both surprised and disappointed, for he is convinced that the knight has reconsidered the patriarch's proposition. the expression which he lends to his disappointment portrays explicitly his reaction to the unsavory task which he had earlier performed and indirectly his words convey also his contempt for its source (1. 2395 ff.) "der liebe gott, der weiss, wie sauer mir der antrag ward, den ich dem herrn zu tun verbunden war. er weiss, ob ich gewünscht, ein offnes ohr bei euch zu finden; weiss, wie sehr ich mich gefreut, im innersten gefreut, dass ihr so rund das alles, ohne viel bedenken, von euch wies't, was einem ritter nicht geziemt." indeed, the proposed assassination of saladin would ill become the honor of any knight, particularly one who owes his life to the intended victim of the foully planned murder. how much less does its hellish planning befit a patriarch, an authority over priests and the christian community? the antipathy of the "klosterbruder" toward the patriarch and all he stands for is immanent in his wonder at the templar's intent to ask advice of the potentate. his wonder mounts when he realizes that the templar has not come to the cloister regarding the patriarch's proposed plot, but concerning a matter which the knight describes as "ziemlich pfaffisch" (i. 2424 ff.) "gleichwohl fragt der pfaffe den ritter nie, die sache sei auch noch so ritterlich." 43 “der pfaffe” represents for the lay-brother the least desirable or trustworthy source of serious counsel; the patriarch is, to him, the absolute antithesis of the godly man. the templar, however, distinguishes between the christian in the patriarch and the man's true nature; his problem concerns the christian, not the officious potentate. consequently, he turns to the lay-brother, who possesses the ingredient lacking in his superior ("seid ihr mein patriarch!") pure humanity, pure religion, is not a form which cloaks the individual, but is the man, himself. the "klosterbruder", nevertheless, is quite unwilling to share the templar's problem; he reveals in his reaction his instinctive aversion to entanglements with social responsibilities (1. 2448 ff.) "nicht weiter, herr, nicht weiter! wozu? der herr verkennt mich. wer viel weiss, hat viel zu sorgen; und ich habe ja mich einer sorge nur gelobt. -" lessing represents hermithood in both the dervish and the "klosterbruder" as involving a desire to shed human responsibilities; the weakness and flaw of the hermit-solution is that it is based upon flight from the world instead of struggle with it. he does not wish to know the nature of the templar's query because it would, under the circumstances, preoccupy him to an extent beyond his capacity to cope with it. the sincere and virtuous "klosterbruder" retires, in principle, to his former hermithood (cf. quotation above), to the life dedicated to god, alone; as we have seen, this life, or "lebenseinstellung" of the lay-brother has nothing whatever to do with the ungodly, scurrilous meddling of the patriarch – his problem cannot concern the man of sincerity and virtue. this attitude indicates the cloister-brother's attempt to maintain "spiritual hermithood" beside his opposite number, the patriarch. he retreats, of course, not only from the patriarch, but, as we have suggested, from the world with its responsibilities. thus we see that lessing's "klosterbruder" hermit represents not only a parallel in the spiritual realm to al-hafi, the moslem exponent of humanity in the ethical-idealistic realm, but he also becomes the antithesis of the patriarch. the juxtaposition of the patriarch and the "klosterbruder" is pointedly illustrated by two scenes iv, 2 and iv, 7. in the first of these, we need refer only to the patriarch's response when the templar informs him that recha, as a destitute foundling, would have perished, had nathan not taken her into his house. in spite of the fact that the jew has been a loving father to her, the patriarch sees only nathan's neglect in not having her baptized 44 (1. 2456 ff.) "tut nichts! der jude wird verbrannt! denn besser, es wäre hier im elend umgekommen, als dass zu seinem ewigen verderben es so gerettet ward." even the inhumanly officious sham religiosity of the patriarch has no deep roots, for there is not substance enough, ironically, in his inhumanity to hold them. when he realizes that the templar has saladin's ear (1. 2583 ff.), the patriarch gives up his decision to seek saladin's aid in punishing nathan (1, 2570 ff.) (whose identity the templar rightfully withholds), for he fears the influence of the man to whom the sultan had shown grace it is likely, too, that he fears the templar because the latter has knowledge of the vile plot against saladin's life. finally, the patriarch passes off the entire question as a hypothetical problem (1. 2599 ff.) "(das wär so wiederum ein auftrag für den bruder bonafides.) hier, mein sohn!" this conclusion to the scene is filled with acid irony and also with deep truth, for, in the patriarch's decision to pass the matter on to the lay-brother (aptly characterized by his name cf. quote above) the problem falls, in reality, into the hands of the sincere, godly man who, for once, has a "task" worthy of him a "task" which does not immediately concern the patriarch as long as he fears to carry it out, himself, in his accustomed inhuman manner. the second of the scenes to which we have referred (iv, 7) contrasts the "klosterbruder" definitively with his superior; it also completes lessing's portrait of the lay-brother's character in relation to his hermithood. in the scene discussed above, the poet had delineated the patriarch mercilessly as an example of the clerus whose "religion" has nothing to do with humanity or god. in the present scene (iv, 7), the lay-brother's analysis of the problem regarding recha's upbringing reveals his "natural", or pure, humanity, his compassion which transcends outer forms (1. 3017 ff.) "wenn nur das mädchen sonst gesund und fromm vor euern augen aufgewachsen ist, so blieb's vor gottes augen, was es war." had nathan given the child over to be brought up as a christian by others, it would not have received the love which was its due and which nathan was able to give the daughter of his friend. the profound understanding of the "“klosterbruder" prompts nathan_to tell of the ghastly deaths of his wife and seven sons (3039-45) and of his gratitude to god, who gave him recha to supplant, in part, his 45 tragic loss (1. 3063-66). the painful but heart-warming tale inspires the good brother to the exclamation which, perhaps, best sums up his compassion and humanity (1. 3067 ff.) "bei gott, ihr seid ein christ.! ein bessrer christ war nie!” the "klosterbruder" means here the pervading spirit of any religion worthy of man love rather than of any superficially distinguishing quality. he is, as we have seen, a man who feels spiritually and universally. he calls nathan a "christian", because his own religion conveys to him spiritual strength. (he can think of no higher praise, nevertheless, of nathan's pure humanity than to call him a true christian; in his simple mind, he associates such feeling as nathan's with that which he considers characteristic of his own religion there is, therefore, a sectarian coloring in the lay-brother's expression of human understanding.) this scene also provides the most specific information about the cloister-brother's hermithood. there are elements in his background which remind us involuntarily of certain motifs in simplicissimus. the "klosterbruder" had been a trooper in the service of recha's father, wolf von filnek, a crusader, eighteen years earlier (1. 2970-2981). when his wife died shortly after the child's birth, the crusader sent the trooper with recha to his friend, nathan; the latter was to care for the child, until the father returned from battle. wolf von filnek, however, fell at askalon (1. 2986) and the trooper preserved the "brevier" which eventually provides information regarding the interrelationship of the major characters. we do not know specifically why the trooper became a hermit, but we may assume that (like simplicius' father) he was horrified at the pillage and destruction of war, and, therefore, sought peace and salvation in a life of lonely contemplation. it is also possible that sorrow over the death of wolf von filnek (1. 2983 ff.) was an additional motive. the cause of interruption in the lay-brother's hermithood was beyond his control. he had been taken from his cell near jericho by arab marauders who destroyed it (1.2935 ff.). having escaped from them, he fled to the patriarch to obtain from him another hermitage where he might spend the rest of his days in god's service (1. 2942 ff.) "allwo ich meinem gott in einsamkeit bis an mein selig ende dienen könne." (it is interesting to note that the lay-brother's first mountain hermitage, quarantana, was the alleged scene of christ's temptation, where he fasted forty days (hence its name); it was frequently the abode of medieval hermits see anmerkungen, v. 2936, lessings werke, p. 76). as we have seen, the "klosterbruder" has suffered 46 during his stay in the cloister because of the incompatibility of his adopted way of life with that of the nefarious patriarch; yet he has remained true to himself. in contrast to the patriarch, lessing chose to represent in the "klosterbruder" a deeply human and compassionate christianity. to do so, he created in the lay-brother a sincere and simple man (who cannot even read – 1. 3108) – a man of the lower classes ("ein reitknecht") who is motivated by natural feeling and devotion to god. in this respect, he contrasts also with the more intellectual al-hafi (a chess enthusiast) who might be designated as an idealistic and ethical rationalist (that is not to say that he is not also devoted to god, for we have seen the interpretation of blasphemy which he applied to his particular situation). if the "klosterbruder" was influenced initially in becoming a hermit by his war experience and his devotion to god, he has, since, evolved further reasons for wishing to return to hermithood (1. 2950 ff.) "da bin ich itzt, herr nathan; und verlange des tags wohl hundertmal auf tabor. denn der patriarch braucht mich zu allerlei, wovor ich grossen ekel habe." mount of transfiguration (tabor is the kungen, p. 76, quoted above.) cf. reference to anmerthe return to isolation will mean for the "klosterbruder", in addition to his original longing for peace in god, a flight from the official representatives of a dogmatic and officious way of life which impedes and degrades the man of genuine devotion and virtue. while al-hafi, the idealist, flies from a society of false and (to him) blasphemous magnanimity, the "klosterbruder" will depart from a society of sham religiosity and downright wickedness. it is not, however, only from the patriarch and such men that he flees, but from all human society; he wishes to have no part of the world, for it is an impediment to complete devotion to god. we may add, nevertheless, that, of all the hermit figures in this study (with the possible exception of trevrizent in the introduction) who are conceived in a traditionally christian manner, the "klosterbruder” represents the deepest and most moving expression of christianity, itself. but, in the portrayal of both al-hafi and the "klosterbruder", lessing does also imply a criticism of the negative and socially unfruitful solution of religious problems by hermithood. (7) while in lessing's drama both al-hafi and the "klosterbruder" wish to dwell apart from society to preserve a conviction which is, to them, a way of life, chamisso's romantic hermit, peter schlemihl, flees from society because of the loss of something which belongs intrinsically to him as a social individual his shadow. schlemihl's relationship to society is based upon this particular 47 object (or, rather, his lack of it). in this respect, the meaning of the shadow is of great importance; oskar walzel, in his introduction to chamissos werke (deutsche-national-literatur, p. lvii-lviii), lists an overwhelming number of interpretations of the shadow's symbolic meaning. to attribute to the shadow a specific value or significance, however, runs counter to the theme of this "märchen". thomas mann refers to the shadow in his essay, chamisso (essays of three decades, p. 257), where he calls it "a symbol of all bourgeois solidity and human belongingness"; walzel treats of it as a kind of "scheinwert" (p. lx cf. reference to walzel above). to endow the shadow with more definite characteristics than the writers just cited have done would rob the schlemihl-hermit theme of its universality; it is precisely the indefiniteness of the shadow as a concept which lends to chamisso's tale much of its depth. chamisso, himself, supported this stand in the preface to the french edition of 1838 (chamissos werke, bd. 2, p. 285 and p. 458), in which he answered with elegant sarcasm the queries of those who desired to know for their learned edification, the explicit meaning of the shadow (of course his explanation explained nothing). with tasteful humor, he cited a scientific definition of the shadow from a treatise on elementary physics, and summed up by indicating the theme of the tale "die finanzwissenschaft belehrt uns hinlänglich über die wichtigkeit des geldes; die des schattens ist minder allgemein anerkannt. mein unbesonnener freund hat sich nach dem gelde gelüsten lassen, dessen wert er kannte, und nicht an das solide gedacht" ("das solide" is the french "le solide" referring in the treatise to the shadow chamisso plays on the double meaning of this word in the original french). the shadow is, then, an intrinsic possession or characteristic of the individual as a member of society. it has no value as long as one has it; its lack, however, is of alarming importance, for the absence of the shadow sets schlemihl apart from society without it he does not "belong". having incurred a kind of "faustian" guilt through the exchange of his shadow for the magic purse of fortunatus, schlemihl renounces all ties with society, including his wealth. his hermithood is his salvation, for in it he turns to nature, and lives for his better self schlemihl's hermithood becomes the apotheosis of individualism which achieves independence of society and its "scheinwerte" through painful experience. the tale takes the form of a memoir written by schlemihl from his hermitage, which he has allegedly delivered to his friend, chamisso, in berlin (during the latter's absence chamisso was at kunersdorf composing the tale). this form permits the hermit to look back upon his experiences, and evaluate them as developments toward his final way of life – as in hyperion or die braut von messina 48 (1. 2104 "von dem berg der aufgewälzten jahre"), as well as in eichendorff's eine meerfahrt (don diego's rocky island in the south seas). such hermits, forever removed from the world, survey their arduous progress through it. the instigation to acquire the wealth which costs him his shadow is occasioned when the modest and unprepossessing schlemihl arrives at the garden party of wealthy herr john (chap. i, chamissos werke, bd. 2). he is received very well by his host (schlemihl says with sarcasm) – “wie ein reicher einen armen teufel" (p. 292). during the initial conversation, john is scarcely aware of his poor visitor, and continues the apostrophe to wealth which is the subject of discourse among the assembled guests "wer nicht herr ist wenigstens einer million, der ist, man verzeihe mir das wort, ein schuft!" these words, of course, arouse the envy of schlemihl, who views with wonder the effete doings of his host and party. the poor fellow's feeling of inferiority and longing is aroused; his exclamatory reaction to john "o wie wahr!" discloses the susceptibility which makes of him an easy mark for the subsequent bargaining of the "gray man". the effeteness of the society which treasures wealth so highly must be born in mind, as well as the fact that john has sold, not his shadow, but his soul to the gray man (chap. viii, p. 337), for schlemihl's hermithood embodies a rejection of this society's standard of values, and thus it becomes the means of his salvation. it is only when his "schattenlosigkeit" becomes the butt of mockery, horror, and pity of all ages and sexes after his departure from john's estate that the first impact of schlemihl's error strikes him. he hurls his gold into the streets to stave off attention, and climbs into a coach to weep over the lot which has befallen him (ii, p. 298) "es musste schon die ahnung in mir aufsteigen: dass, um so viel das gold auf erden verdienst und tugend überwiegt, um so viel der schatten höher als selbst das gold geschätzt werde in other words, the world's perverse valuation of "scheingüter" above true values. schlemihl locks himself in his rooms, and hurls himself upon his heap of gold, wallowing in it in a fit of sensuous madness. the more he seeks to rise in esteem, however, the more defiantly his lack of a shadow impedes schlemihl's striving to attain happiness. at one of his soirees (iii, end), the lovely fanny, who had originally ignored him at john's, is attracted to him obviously because of his wealth (although she does not remember having met him before). the supercilious persiflage which schlemihl has learned to use as commensurate with his social position impresses her greatly. yet when she sees only her own shadow before her in the full moonlight, she falls into a swoon in spite of his wealth and effete polish. the incident bears out conclusively schlemihl's anticipatory 49 estimation of his lot as quoted previously wealth may be of more importance to many than true virtue, but to all the "scheinwert" which qualifies "belonging" is primary. it is the unhappy experience with mina, nevertheless, which brings schlemihl's sense of guilt to its zenith; the outcome of the affair makes it possible for him to reject finally the pact which might have given him both wealth and shadow (as in the case of herr john) but at the price of his soul. this experience ripens to the extent that he is able eventually, also, to reject society and its standards for the hermithood in nature. the weight of the episode lies in the fact that mina loves schlemihl in spite of his wealth and in spite of his "schattenlosigkeit." this she expresses (iv, p. 314) when her lover somewhat cryptically explains that his destiny is to be decided on the last day of the coming month (the day on which the gray man had promised to arrange a new bargain ii, end) "ich habe keinen anspruch an dich. bist du elend, binde mich an dein elend, dass ich es dir tragen helfe." her love for him remains constant even when she discovers that his shadow is missing (iv, end). on the evening following schlemihl's declaration to mina's father of his intent to marry her, he visits mina in her garden. as he approaches her, she makes an involuntary motion (probably one of surprise or shock), and schlemihl thinks at once of the evening with fanny when he had exposed himself to the moonlight but mina "warf sich stille weinend an meine brust. ich ging." we may be assured that mina had also observed the nature of his plight, but her father prefers to give his daughter's hand to rascal overriding his wife's suspicions, for that scoundrel is not only wealthy, but is in possession of a flawless shadow. although the gray man makes schlemihl witness the family scene which breaks mina's heart, the drive to rebel against "scheinwert" remains dominant in him. he had previously refused to sign the contract which would have regained the shadow at the price of his soul (v, p. 320). so now, too, the "dunkler drang" to save his soul even at the price of mina's happiness manifests itself (vi, end-vii, p. 329) – when the gray man, holding parchment and pen, draws a drop of blood, schlemihl is saved by a fainting spell. the faint, which schlemihl characterizes as an event (“ereignis") rather than a deed (“tat”), is probably a result of the struggle in his heart between the desire to save mina and the revulsion against any further dealing with the gray man. he respects, nevertheless, the necessity which drives his destiny and that of others like cogwheels in the great machine of life. the burden of the entire experience with mina has, as we have stated, the greatest importance as motivation for schlemihl's turn inward to himself, for his development toward hermithood. his 50 refusal to sign away his soul in order to regain his shadow adds mina's heartbreak to his original guilt and, when he revives from his faint (vii, p. 330), she has been married to rascal. consequently the strongest existing motive for recovering the shadow is removed, and schlemihl leaves the scene of his greatest guilt and deepest sadness, utterly alone (vii, end) "und entfernte mich unter dem mantel der nacht von dem grabe meines lebens, unbekümmert, welchen weg mein pferd mich führen werde; denn ich hatte weiter auf erden kein ziel, keinen wunsch, keine hoffnung." the loss of mina throws schlemihl completely upon himself and he accepts his lot as a man apart; this conscious acceptance of his fate renders possible, consequently, the decision which severs all ties forever with the gray man and with society, and leaves open the path to hermithood. in this state of mind, then, he is followed by the gray man (viii) who, as he says, holds him fast by his shadow. when the odious gray gentleman concisely explains that a wealthy man must possess a shadow in the world, schlemihl remains resolute – (viii, p. 335) “nachdem ich meine liebe hingeopfert, nachdem mir das leben verblasst war, wollt ich meine seele nicht, sei es um alle schatten der welt, dieser kreatur verschreiben." the shadow, the "scheinwert" requisite to wealth and social standing, which had seemed earlier of such crucial importance, now, since the disheartening mina "erlebnis", becomes almost nothing when it is weighed against the soul the individual, himself. thus it is clear to schlemihl, as the gray man displays john's pale and distorted form to him on a lonely mountain gorge, that his wealth, the "glücksäckel", binds him to his insidious companion. wealth and shadow are inextricably connected with one another at the price of the soul. the condemnation which john's soul utters through its corpse-like lips crushes schlemihl with its horrifying revelation, and he flings the magic purse into the abyss, freeing himself from the gray man and from wealth and shadow values henceforth. freed from the ghastly weight which had haunted him, schlemihl lies down to rest. a lovely dream visits him, in which those he has loved best appear – mina, bendel (and chamisso, himself) weaving graceful dance patterns over a lovely landscape – and all are without shadows (one is immediately reminded, of course, of "anmutige gegend", faust ii). to be sure, upon awakening schlemihl remains an outcast because he has no shadow, but this state leads him to seek work in a mine, where his "schattenlosigkeit" would be less obvious. rainy weather ruins his shoes on the way and he acquires by accident the seven-league boots which reveal to him the wonders of nature on his round-the-world jaunt. this incident provides the final turning point in his career (x, beginning) "ich fiel in stummer 51 andacht auf meine knie und vergoss tränen des dankes denn klar stand plötzlich meine zukunft vor meiner seele." separated from society through "frühe schuld", he turns to the realm of nature, the world of the man who lives for his better self. the love of the individualist for nature is not a sudden development in him, for it is inherent in the man who frees himself from social "scheinwerte" (x, beginning) "und meine selbstzufriedenheit hat von dem zusammenfallen des dargestellten mit dem urbild abgehangen”. when schlemihl passes through the egyptian desert, and sees thebes of the hundred gates, the obvious decision is made. (thebes, the capital of upper egypt, became in the fifth century a. d. the original site of christian hermitages, and was the scene of many early martydoms schweizer lexikon). thus, schlemihl goes not to the “wald”, as do most of the hermits in german literary tradition, but to the desert dwellings of the first christian hermits (hermit, "eremit" from greek "pnuitno", a "lone-dweller" "épnμoo", lonely cf. merriam-webster). he reverts to the most ancient christian hermit tradition. here schlemihl decides to become a hermit, and selects the cave of a former solitary. he will spend his life as a recluse far from society, living for his better self and devoted to the study of nature and the natural sciences so dear to him (an interesting reflection of chamisso's own botanic studies). the stay in the "schlemihlium" affords him the opportunity to learn that mina and bendel, resigned to their early experience, have found happiness in charitable work. schlemihl, however, has found himself, and adheres firmly to his newly discovered way of life "willst du unter den menschen leben, so lerne verehren zuvorderst den schatten, sodann das geld. willst du nur dir und deinem bessern selbst leben, o, so brauchst du keinen rat.' for social "success," "scheinwerte" such as shadows and gold are essential, but for the true individualist (the hermit) they are nothing. thus the hermit, peter schlemihl, embodies the extreme and concentrated individualism which casts off the questionable standards required by society. as the result of his faustian struggle, he turns inward, and discovers solace in nature as a source of knowledge of the true world the only world for the better self. it is not surprising that, in the works previously discussed, those hermit figures who most strongly oppose the valid world of nature to the false standards of society belong to the "sturm und drang” -the analysis of the motivation for hermithood in satyros and sturm und drang reveals this juxtaposition of values in the hermit (or "hermit-to-be", in the case of blasius). in the cases of all hermit figures in this chapter, however, the conflicts involve a rejection of accepted social standards which are felt to be damaging to the integrity of the individual, or, at least, to his well-being. it is also 52 not surprising that the majority of hermit figures in this chapter occur in "storm and stress" works, for that movement accentuated the positive and natural qualities of the individual in relationship to society (that this is also true of lessing is understood although, as we have seen, on a different plane). it is interesting to note that, while the majority of the hermits discussed so far has been localized in the "wald" (in pursuance of german love for the forest both in a religious and in a nature-sense), schlemihl withdraws to the original locale of the earliest christian hermits or "wüstenväter" in the thebaid. schlemihl's hermit solution is somewhat similar to hyperion's. both figures withdraw from society to timeless nature. in both works there is severe criticism of society: the hero saves his soul and finds contentment only by renouncing society for nature, the source of healing and innocence. chamisso's schlemihl-hermit is a most opportune figure with which to conclude this chapter, for, just as romanticism developed many of the themes of "sturm und drang", so peter schlemihl's development to hermithood embodies in its motifs most of the themes observed in the preceding hermit figures, together with the strong individualism typical of romanticism (and of "sturm und drang"). peter schlemihl, nevertheless, also appears fittingly at the conclusion of this chapter because of the characteristics which make it transitional to the next. as our analysis of the motives for his hermithood have disclosed, the hermit, schlemihl, reveals to an intenser degree the subjective state of mind in the struggle of the individual to retain his essential individuality in relationship to society thus, too, he is similar to klinger's blasius in sturm und drang. in this respect, the theme of the tragic or unhappy love experience plays an important role. we have examined here the hermit in his relationship to society and his rejection of its values; in the next we see the essential personality of the hermit revealed by problems of a more intimate, subjective nature. 53 chapter iii the inner conflict a. (1) in the two principal versions of goethe's erwin und elmire, 1775 and 1787, erwin retires to mountain peace, because his sincere and open expressions of love have not been returned, but even scorned by the coquettish elmire. the atmosphere of the little operetta is light and full of rococo flavor. although the work was frankly designed to delight, rather than to stir deeply, the arias allotted to both erwin and elmire are, as might be expected from goethe, intense lyrical expressions of their emotions this is also not surprising when one imagines in the verses echoes of the goethe lili relationship. the hermit theme differs slightly in the earlier version from that of the later one. in the variant of 1775, there is only erwin, while that of 1787 contains two hermits the deceased recluse, whose hermitage erwin assumes, and erwin, himself. the treatments of erwin as a hermit vary also in several respects. in the first version (der junge goethe, bd. v), when we see erwin working in the garden before his hut, it is apparent that his solitude has brought him anything but peace (p. 53). he has fled the world, as we know, because elmire, who actually does love him, has seemed to mock his feeling (p. 47 ff.). erwin's hermithood has not only brought no comfort, but it has aggravated his pain and sorrow; isolation has not created in him a resignation to his lot, but rather an emotional conflict which had not existed before (p. 53) "welchen entschluss hab ich gefasst! was hab ich gethan! sie nicht mehr sehn! abgerissen von ihr! und fühlst du nicht, armseliger, dass der beste theil deines lebens zurückgeblieben ist, und das übrige nach und nach traurig absterben wird!" added to the sorrow over elmire's treatment of him is the feeling that his resolution robs him of the doubtful satisfaction of ever seeing her again. thus, erwin's solitude occasions a state of mental torture. his flight hardly prevents him from seeing her lovely form before his mind's eye, while it does incite him to maddening curiosity as to whether she may be concerned at all about his fate. although erwin has become a hermit to still the pain of his heartbreak, he is aroused to longing for the life he has left. the latter aspect of his dualistic emotional condition conflicts, of course, with his firm decision to part from the 54 world (p. 54) "und mich umgibt die ewig einfache, die ewig neue qual, dumpfer und peinigender, als die mich in ihrer gegenwart fasste." the exposition of erwin's emotions, his confused feelings, which are typical of the "sturm und drang" goethe, finds its most intense expression in the aria which concludes erwin's monologue (p. 54) "inneres wühlen ewig zu fühlen; immer verlangen, nimmer erlangen; fliehen und streben, sterben und leben, höllische qual endig einmal." the restlessly tossing rhythms of this poem, anticipating the equally contradictory feelings of klärchen's song, "himmelhoch jauchzend/ zum tode betrübt", (absent from the 1787 version) convey through the pairs of contrasted verbs ending each of the first six verses ("wühlen-fühlen," etc.) the hermit's inner struggle to attain peace of mind the last two verses sum up the fervent wish which so far remains unfulfilled. in this emotional state, therefore, erwin finds the visit of bernardo most unwelcome bernardo has also directed the repentant elmire to the hermit that he may comfort her (thus he accomplishes the reconciliation of the lovers, p. 50-52). bernardo is an intruder from the world which erwin strives, with so little success, to thrust from his mind; his coming means increased renewal of the pangs which tear the hermit, and withhold from him the soothing calm of solitude. consequently, erwin presents a defiant attitude to bernardo's entreaties to return. his unhappy experience has discolored all communal life in his eyes; perhaps this outlook is a subconscious means of maintaining his hermithood (p. 55) "der welt? wie lieb ist mirs, dass ich mich heraus gerettet habe. es hat mich gekostet; nun bin ich geborgen. mein schmerz ist labsal gegen das, was ich in dem verfluchten neste von allen seiten auszustehen hatte." (erwin refers indirectly, perhaps to his lack of means cf. erwin, p. 55 mid., and olimpia, p. 44 bot.) erwin's hermithood represents a state in which he intends to retain himself by force of will (p. 55) "ich habe geschworen, ich kehre nicht zurück!" this is the case, because his solitary mountain abode has become a battleground of emotional drives, rather than a solace to the disappointment which brought him there. as a result, when erwin unmasks himself to elmire and the two rejoicing lovers return to a happy and harmonious life, the former hermit almost neglects taking leave of the hermitage which has been the scene 55 of lonely suffering – (p. 65) “ich gehe, und schaue mich nicht nach dir um! danke dir nicht! ehre dich nicht! sage dir kein lebewohl, du freundlichste wirthin meines elends -." yet he reproaches himself for this neglect (which is due to elmire's charms "mädchen was macht ihr uns nicht vergessen!"), and dedicates a tear to the hospitable little hut. in this version of erwin und elmire, the recluse who seeks consolation in solitude because of disappointment in love is conceived as a sufferer, a victim, even when isolated, of an intense emotional dualism the peace he struggles to attain is denied him. the older, wiser bernardo, on the other hand, raises his voice (duet with erwin, p. 55) against hermithood as being a solution for the weak, an expression of "lebensunfähigkeit"; he praises the life of the citizen who earns his living, and creates a household "erdennoth ist keine noth, als dem feig und matten. arbeit schafft dir täglich brod. dach und fach und schatten. rings, wo gottes sonne scheint, findst ein mädchen, findst einen freund, lass uns immer bleiben!" the hermit theme assumes somewhat different coloring in the operetta of 1787. (the material of both forms is traceable to rousseau's devin du village and a ballad in the vicar of wakefield cf. der junge goethe, vi, p. 452 ff.). the "sturm und drang" character of the earlier form, which is apparent in erwin's more violent emotional conflict, and to which the prose of the spoken passages strongly contributes, fades in the later work in favor of a rococo-elegiac tone. this is largely due, not only to the new verse setting and the supplanting of olimpia and bernardo by the additional pair of lovers, rosa and valerio, but, for our purposes, most particularly to the motif of the old, deceased hermit (and, obviously, to the transformation in goethe, himself, between '75 and '87). where, in the form previously discussed, erwin's hermithood occasions a consuming emotional conflict, the introduction of the old hermit, the former inhabitant of erwin's chosen abode, changes the "stimmung" to one of nostalgic or plaintive calm in the final version. although the old hermit has already died before the action takes place, his influence in it is strong and we are given an accurate impression of him as a recluse. it is valerio who characterizes the recluse when he directs elmire to him for comfort and consolation (unlike bernardo, valerio has no idea of erwin's whereabouts). even in valerio's description of the 56 path to the hermitage, a healing power is ascribed to the peaceful natural surroundings (1. 284 ff.) "" es wird dir wohl auf diesem wege werden, wohler noch, wenn du das heiligtum erreichst." the hermit draws spiritual strength from nature, which gives him the power to impart the calm of his spirit to others; thus, identified with the healing, eternal aspect of nature, the solitary is conceived as knowing more of life than others (cf. braut von messina, part iv) he possesses its inexpressible secrets (1. 291 ff.) "und trügt mich nicht, was ich an ihm bemerkt, sein ungetrübtes freies auge schaut die ferne klar, die uns im nebel liegt. die melodie des schicksals, die um uns in tausend kreisen klingend sich bewegt, vernimmt sein ohr; und wir erhaschen kaum nur abgebrochene töne hier und da." -a erwin is revealed (zweiter aufzug) singing his aria, "ihr verblühet, süsse rosen" (as in the early version), but its elegiac tone does not change in the monologue which follows it, but, rather, a veil of tranquil melancholy is spread over the unhappy love experience transparent veil, however, which lets erwin's pain and sorrow be expressed in softer rhythms of poignant reflection. this pain, nevertheless, which is renewed through memory of elmire's beauty, never assumes the violent proportions of the emotional conflict in the version previously discussed. even though memory of elmire increases his sorrow and longing in solitude, the reflective tone in erwin's expression of it implies that he has found, at least, a measure of peace – (1. 480 ff.) "je tiefer sich die sonne hinter wolken und nebel bergen mag, je trüber sich der schmerz um meine seele legt -" and when his longing approaches in its intensity a desire to regain her fleeting image by returning to her (1. 495 ff.), he invokes the spirit of the ancient hermit, for the soothing tranquility of his soul still pervades the garden where he lies buried. (erwin had received comfort from the harmonious man in times past, and, therefore, has chosen his dwelling-place for his own retreat.) when he thinks of his old mentor's example, peace comes over him and the phantom voice of elmire is silent in his mind 57 (1. 514 ff.) "welch ein lispeln, welch ein schauer weht vom grabe des geliebten! ja, es wehet dem betrübten sanften frieden in das herz." valerio, also, has resolved to seek seclusion, having lost patience with rosa because of her petty jealousies (1. 377 ff.) "nein! nein, ich folge jenem trieb, der mir schon lang den weg zur flucht gezeigt, schon lange mich deiner tyrannei auf ewig zu entziehen hiess." he, too, hopes to find the calm which solitude in nature has granted the old hermit (1. 529 ff.), and, dedicating his life to loneliness, he swears an oath to lofty forest and waterfall. since erwin is heir, in a sense, to the spiritual calm with which his predecessor had imbued the hermitage, valerio's arrival is welcome to him (1. 551 ff.) – although, as in the prose version, his visitor occasions the return of visions from which he had found a measure of release (1. 582 ff.). when the two girls appear and elmire (1. 779 ff.) expresses her penitence, erwin plays the role of comforting father-confessor, disguised in a robe (a new one in which the modest old hermit disdained to be buried) and in a beard improvised from valerio's shorn blond locks. after the joyous reconciliation has taken place, there is a note of thankfulness in the rejoicing of the lovers as they depart, for the hermitage of the kindly old recluse has brought harmony into their hearts. even though erwin admits – (1.885 ff.) "ohne träne kann ich lassen diese hütte, dieses grab" he feels no antipathy toward the retreat (as in the early version) but, rather, gratitude, for it gave him peace in time of his greatest need, and the spirit of the old hermit, which dominates the lonely hermitage, has, as it were, also given the lovers comfort and reunion(1. 887 ff.) "oft, durch unser ganzes leben bringen wir der stillen hütte neuen dank und neue bitte, dass uns bleibe, was sie gab. "" in this version of the "singspiel," then, erwin does find in hermithood a large measure of peace and consolation for his heartbreak, and the source of tranquility and comfort is nature. most important in this connection, however, is the role which the old hermit plays, for, in spite of the fact that he is characterized only through the 58 other persons, it is he whose spirit lends its calm to the hermitage. thus, he embodies a kind of ideal of the hermit; identified with nature from which he has drawn a higher knowledge of life, he is able to impart to others the harmonious repose which he has found that his influence may be felt even after his death testifies to the eternal harmony with nature in which he had lived. the interpretation of eternal calm in nature found embodied in this hermit figure is typical of goethe; together with the longing for it we find it expressed in many other works of his such as wanderers nachtlied, 1 and 11, or an den mond ("füllest wieder busch und tal"). (2) lenz's unfinished novel in letters, der waldbruder, "ein pendant zu werthers leiden" (also partly inspired by rousseau's nouvelle heloise) has for its hero a hermit figure who stands in strong contrast to goethe's erwin. unlike erwin, who has been scorned by his beloved, and, therefore, turns to nature and solitude to calm the turbulence of his emotions, lenz's hermit, herz, removes himself to the odenwald out of an exalted and idealistic love for gräfin stellathere is no question of her scorning his love, and he knows her only through her letters. his lofty passion assumes the form of "liebesschwärmerei" and he becomes a hermit primarily to preserve his ideal emotion from the sophisticated criticism of his friends in courtly society. the solitude of nature and the purity of simple living is best designed to nurture such a feeling – herz lives rather for the ideal emotion, than for the source which inspires it. also unlike erwin, who, tempted by thoughts of elmire, i seeks release from a longing to return to her, herz is (for a time, at least) thoroughly happy in the life he has chosen, and is impervious to all efforts of rothe to coax him back. the novel reflects lenz's love experience with _henriette_von waldner in weimar (cf. schriften, v, p. 390, and rosanow, lenz, chap. xii) and it is interesting to note that lenz, like herz, fled to the “waldeinsamkeit” at berka in the thuringian forest on june 27, 1776, taking nothing with him but what he happened to be wearing (rosanow, p. 350) it was during his stay in the lonely forest town that he composed der waldbruder. there is a kind of "romantische ironie" in the novel, for, since the story is told in the letters, not only of herz, but in those of his friends and acquaintances, we have his idealistic point of view (honesta calls him a "werther", and characterizes his attitude as "romantisch" schriften, p. 119) as well as the amusedly sympathetic analyses of him by rothe and the mocking of fräulein schatouilleuse. herz is, of course, lenz, himself, while rothe, his best friend, is goethe. although herz eloquently defends his way of life, it becomes apparent through the letters of the other correspondents that he is quite pathological; he lives in a state of complete illusion 59 (“wahn”) which is utter reality to him. as long as herz is able to live exclusively for his ideal of love in the solitude of nature, he is safe and, in his own way, happy, but when he leaves his hermitage and involves others in his affair, his career may be expected to end tragically (pp. 135 and 138). rothe's final letter to plettenberg (p. 142-145) shows that herz's search for an ideal love was instilled in him in his youth. he had envisioned his guardian's mistress as a nymph in the iliad, which he had been reading with his tutor at the age of eleven. subsequent idealizations inspired by the heroines of goethe and wieland and by klopstock's cidli all led to disappointment. herz would have killed himself (p. 144) but for the fact that he considered suicide a sin. rothe, however, fears the outcome of an additional disappointment, for herz is convinced that he has, at last, found the ideal woman in stella, plettenberg's fiancee. the letters of honesta in the third part of the novel (p. 132-139) describe the immediate background and (especially in the third letter) the motivation for herz's hermithood. through the machination of frau hohl, a homely widow who, herself, had designs on herz, the young idealist and dreamer became acquainted with the letters of stella (p. 134), and fell violently in love with the sublime revelation of feminine character and intellect contained in them stella represents a variation of the "schöne seele" and it is with this aspect of womanhood that herz is obsessed. frau hohl was also initially responsible for concealing from him the knowledge of stella's engagement to plettenberg, for she hoped, through his eventual disappointment, to interest herz in herself. in his fantastic attempts to find and behold the object of his adoration, herz had run through his money, gone into debt, and, consequently, rather than incur obligation to the widow hohl, he had abruptly left the city to become a hermit. — having become a "waldbruder", herz finds in the solitude of nature a world and way of life commensurate with the purity and loftiness of his idealized emotion as his name would suggest, herz is a man of feeling, a masculine "schöne seele". he dwells in a hut roofed with moss and leaves, and rejoices in the splendor of the surrounding country. from the mountains he looks down into a wide valley crossed by a stream, where the houses of the simple country folk are situated. their way of life represents for herz a pure and natural happiness he calls them "adamskinder" (p. 109) – and he envies them the certainty and security of the limited joys afforded by their uniform living (his reaction is similar to werther's pleasure in observing the simple, "natural" occupations of poor villagers). the hermit figure here is eloquent statement of — 60 that rousseauistic back-to-nature creed which became virtually a religion during the german "sturm und drang". there is an unusual objectivity in lenz's hermit, even in his "schwärmerei", for herz is quite conscious of the strange impression he makes on the peasants. they eye him with curiosity and it is apparent to him that they sense his homelessness the fact that he "belongs" nowhere. although they make fun of his lack of understanding for their ways, herz is neither insulted nor hurt; he admits that their attitude is justified because of the manifestations in behaviour which are symptomatic of his condition and outlook upon life. as a recluse inspired by an ideal love, who finds in nature a spirit kindred in its purity, herz considers himself indirectly comparable to petrarch, who retired to a rocky spring near vaucluse, and there, too, dwelt in a seclusion devoted to his feeling for laura.¹ at any rate, herz considers his state of mind and his adopted way of life to be in a long-standing tradition – such figures as he have always been the mark of curiosity and fun-poking. yet, herz is much more averse to the mockery of his own class of society, for while the simple peasants wonder more at his manner and mode of life, members of his own social circle deride the idealized feeling for which he lives (p. 111, bot. ff.) "soll ich aber die wahl haben, so ist mir der spott des ehrlichen landmannes immer noch wohltat gegen das auszischen leerer stutzer und stutzerinnen in den städten. we have observed a thread of pseudo-objectivity in herz, but it does not affect either his evaluation of his way of life or his idealism. he is consistently able to find substantiation for his "schwärmerei", and, although he credits the arguments of his friend, rothe, he finds them quite inapplicable to himself (p. 117). when he receives a penciled note from rothe bearing only the words, "herz, du dauerst mich!", the hermit refers the sympathy expressed by rothe to his impoverished condition, rather than to his state of fanatical idealism (p. 110). he immediately goes on to describe his happiness in nature, but there is a melancholy strain in it which is also a source of pleasure to herz; it is inspired by the withering shrubs of autumn and the green meadows which seem to be struggling against coming frost and snow (p. 111). it is as if nature reflected the purity and freshness of his emotion which would not survive the blighting criticism and degrading traffic of sophisticated society p. 111) "ich denke, es wird doch für mich auch ein herbst einmal kommen, wo diese innere pein ein ende nehmen ¹ it is, perhaps, an interesting coincidence that the landscape of vaucluse very closely resembles that which herz describes cf. fredrik wulff, petrarch at vaucluse, lund, 1904, p. 2 and plates, and scheffel, reisebilder, ein tag am quell von vaucluse. 61 wird. abzusterben für die welt, die mich so wenig kannte, als ich sie zu kennen wünschte -, oh, welche schwermütige wollust liegt in dem gedanken?" he is convinced that a purely idealistic individualist of his type can never be understood by a society which does not recognize the validity of such emotion. the strange objectivity to which we have already referred (and which, in a sense, is immanent in the hero in so far as herz embodies any characteristics of lenz, himself) comes to bear when herz thinks of a concept of rousseau – namely, that one should not demand that which does not lie within one's power to achieve; he who does, remains forever a useless, weak half-man. the hermit, herz, sees in the concept an application to his own way of life and the motives behind it. yet, while the idea troubles him (p. 111 mid.), it is clear that, as a recluse living in a world both real and ideal, he prefers to be useless and weak, rather than to give up his way of life and thus dull his senses to the ideal embodied in stella (at whose birth all forces of nature were set in motion and to whose perfection heaven had combined all circumstances p. 111). the sublimity of the object of herz's adoration is the prime justification, of course, for his chosen way of life, and it is important to reemphasize that it is an ideal of perfection that he sees in gräfin stella not the woman, herself, outwardly. following the moment of doubt which we have just discussed and which herz overcomes almost in the same breath, the ecstatic recluse recalls in a panegyric the charm and splendor which the supposed stella radiated at a masquerade. to be sure, herz feels that an abyss lies between them (p. 111), but this feeling is only partially due to the fact that stella's rank places her beyond his reach (cf. p. 132, mid.). herz's attitude is that of one who worships an unapproachable ideal. the pattern of the dance had brought the assumed inspiration of his emotion to a position directly before herz's chair, yet he was unable even to offer her a seat (p. 112) "denn die ehrfurcht hielt mich zurück, sie anzureden". we realize, of course, from the subsequent letter of fräulein schatouilleuse to rothe (p. 112) and from that of rothe to herz (p. 113 ff.) that someone had tricked herz into identifying another young noblewoman as his beloved. the letter of schatouilleuse reveals the source of merriment which herz's seemingly ridiculous dedication to unreality, or illusion, provides for sophisticated society; that of rothe (and his subsequent one p. 115) contrasts the light manner of the "weltmann" (satire on goethe) in affairs of the heart with herz's single-minded and fanatical idealism (p. 114) "siehst du, so bin ich in einer beständigen unruhe, die sich endlich in ruhe und wollust auflöst und dann mit einer reizenden untreue wechselt." rothe analyzes herz quite properly from the point of view of his 62 sense of reality when he calls him one of those dangerous fools who, as shakespeare said, are incurable, because they are always able to excuse their own idiocy (p. 113). yet rothe fails to understand that what for him is illusion is supreme reality for herzit is inconceivable to him that his hermit friend should be able to dissociate the spiritual essence from the concrete individual. in spite of the fact that he is made aware of his foolish mistake at the masquerade, herz remains constant in his lofty devotion to stella and no coaxing or argument of rothe can induce him to leave his hermitage; on the contrary rothe's attitude only convinces him more firmly that he is in the right (honesta's description of stella justifies herz's emotion, at least to some extent p. 119). herz reveals in his answer to rothe (p. 117 ff.) both his peculiar objectivity and the justification for the sense of a higher reality which is his alone and for which he has forsaken the brilliance of sophisticated society to bury his undeniable talents in a hermitage – (p. 117) "sei glücklich unter deinen leichten geschöpfen und lass mir meine hirngespinste. – ich lache nicht, aber ich bin glücklicher als ihr. es ist wahr, dass ich alles hier begrabe, aber eben in dieser aufopferung findt mein herz eine grösse, die ihm wieder luft macht, wenn seine leiden zu schwer werden." the sole demand which herz makes on life is freedom to love what he wishes with all the strength and constancy of his particular character inclination this demand he finds fulfilled in his hermithood (p. 119) "du nicht glücklich, kümmernd herz? was für recht hast du zum schmerz? ist's nicht glück genug für dich, dass sie da ist, da für sich?" the hand of fate intervenes in the form of a freezing night which forces herz to leave his hut, and brings him among men (p. 121). he sees his stella in the flesh, and the intrigue over her portrait which involves widow hohl, rothe, and plettenberg leads to herz's downfall. although we do not possess the conclusion of the novel, we may assume a tragic ending, for herz, who is to accompany stella's fiance, plettenberg, on a campaign to america, will learn of her marriage to the old colonel after it has taken place (p. 138) this plan had been conceived by rothe primarily to cure herz of his illusion. herz embodies, as a hermit, a strange blending of fanatical idealism and individualism. in contrast to erwin, who wishes to find peace and consolation in nature for an unhappy love, herz finds in nature a realm of purity and simplicity conducive to complete devotion to an ideal love; hermithood is for him, as we have seen, the sole way of life in which he can indulge and preserve his emotion. 63 lenz's "waldbruder" dwells in a reality which is valid for him alone. as long as he is able to remain in solitude, and maintain the dissociation of his spiritual love from stella, herself, as an individual, herz enjoys peace of mind. when his destiny places him face to face with her, however, and, through his desire to possess her picture, he becomes involved with the intriguing of those whose sense of reality bears no relationship to his own, herz and his ideal realm of experience are doomed to be shattered. the hermit figure in lenz's der waldbruder, then, is the very type of "romantic" or idealistic individualist whose dream world can exist only quite apart from society and, indeed, in separation from the object of his own emotion, the hermit's spiritual love possesses the purity and eternal quality of nature, itself. (3) in klinger's tragedy, die zwillinge, grimaldi, too, lives only for an ideal love, but the difference between the latter and herz is that between day and night. grimaldi never appears as a hermit and, although he expresses a desire to become one (p. 24), it may be assumed that he would never gain strength enough to undertake such a move. grimaldi, like herz, lives in devotion to an ideal love and in a world of his own. his love and the realm in which he lives, however, belong to the past, to death they exist nowhere but in his own obsession. he might well be designated a victim of acute melancholia; as such, he acts as a foil to the unbelievably irrational raging of his friend, guelfo, for his melancholy, which has the pallor of death, imbues the entire atmosphere of the drama with its oppressive, dark humidity like that which pervades the air before a terrible thunder-storm. grimaldi's vitality (we are asked to believe that he once had strength and zest for life p. 20) has been sapped by the death of his beloved, juliette guelfo's sister (p. 22) "sie starb! sie starb! und da sie starb, starb grimaldi! alle hoffnung und leben entquoll meinem herzen mit den blutigen thränen." ferdinando is made to bear the blame for grimaldi's tragic experience in the past (p. 31, top and p. 22, mid.), as he is for thwarting the love of guelfo for kamilla during the action of the play. grimaldi's rank was considered unsuitable for union with the family (p. 22) and ferdinando had committed a grave wrong in belittling the melancholy knight's love for juliette and in pressing for her marriage to a wealthy count (p. 31, top) a marriage which was obviated by juliette's death of a broken heart. grimaldi's wish to become a hermit is directed also toward guelfo (p. 24), for, in his eyes, a fate similar to his own threatens his friend; guelfo must look on in self-torture while ferdinando reaps the blessing of a love which rightfully should be his rightfully, because guelfo, and grimaldi, himself, embody the capacity for deep, en64 nobling feeling and sensitivity lacking in ferdinando and in the society which has no insight into their sphere of experience. the expression of the wish to enter into hermithood is traceable to grimaldi's conviction that the man of strong and idealistically emotional nature, once crushed by adversity in the form of insensitive society, can never recover himself; an inevitable tragic end awaits him, for he will exist in a living death (p. 21) "aber guelfo, wenn das nun all niedergerissen ist, was uns damals trieb, wie den jungen adler, der seine schwingen stark fühlt, den weg zur sonne zu schweben wenn das nun nicht mehr aufzuwecken ist lieber guelfo, ich schein mir dem geblendeten adler zu gleichen, der sein leben in den felsen austrauert." all sentiments of brighter nature, all sympathetic feeling for the fate of others, or even for his own, have been transformed in him to hatred and antipathy (p. 21, top). the desire to depart from the world, then, is motivated by revulsion toward a society which, guided by superficial standards of rank and wealth, manipulates and destroys the will to live in the feeling individual (p. 22) – "ward ich nicht in finsternis zurückgestossen worin ich noch immer tappe?" the longing for isolation is based equally upon a sense of frustration evoked by those (ferdinando, the old guelfo) who cannot grasp the suffering of the individuals whose lives they have ruined – (p. 30) "versteht kein mensch den leidenden?" grimaldi represents, therefore, a spiritual secession from life, a sort of "inner hermithood" which justifies our consideration of him in this study. thus, grimaldi inhabits the dark world of his dreams, idealistically melancholy dreams of the past and of death. his hermithood would be dedicated to the expectation of death and it would be lived out in devotional sorrow (p. 24) “bruder, lass uns einsiedler werden, lass uns der welt absagen, und uns treu sterben! wie kann ich's, wie kannst du's ansehen? eine härne kutte wär des armen grimaldi's sache." (guelfo is addressed as "bruder" and included in the design of hermithood because he, alone, understands grimaldi's love and grief for his sister, and also because, as we have said, grimaldi foresees the tragic experience in store for his friend.) yet, ironically, the complete loss of strength and will to live, occasioned by his experience, would prevent grimaldi from ever carrying out his wish to become a hermit. the fact that he exists in a dream world of living death devoted to memory of his lost love (p. 23 and p. 30, bot.) binds him most explicitly to the sombre environment of guelfo's castle (p. 23) “bruder! dir darf ich's sagen, dass mir jede nacht ihre blasse totengestalt erscheint, dass ich sie so kalt in meine arme festdrücke, dass sie mir winkt, und dass sie mich nach sich zieht." even in his despair grimaldi is rooted to the 65 scene of his past by his recurring ghostly rendezvous with the dead beloved. hermithood in lenz's der waldbruder and the expressed desire to become a hermit in klinger's die zwillinge represent in the instances of both herz and grimaldi a longing, or inner need, of the individual dwelling in an idealistic dream-reality of his own fabrication to repulse a world which endangers it. hermithood, in both cases, is an attempt to preserve an individual reality from the infringement of a society for which that reality is quite nonexistent. the rejection of the world and the wish to do so reveal, of course, a defense mechanism against the suffering occasioned by the lack of sympathy and understanding in circles where the basis of the individual's emotional problems has no validity. (the realm of pathological melancholy and death in which grimaldi lives is similar, although the latter does not become a hermit, to that of the hermit figure of lenau's die marionetten, who also dwells in macabre devotion to the dead love of his gloomy past.) (4) in klinger's die zwillinge, grimaldi wishes to become a hermit because his life has been shattered by the death of his beloved; he exists, as we have seen, completely in the past, in communion with the dead. thus, his existence is utterly negative and he is, himself, without life. in brentano's "verwilderter roman", godwi, the hermit, werdo senne, also dwells, to an extent, in the past; he, too, has rejected the world out of sorrow over the death of his beloved. yet, brentano's hermit finds consolation and inspiration in nature; his experience and his knowledge of the secrets of life through nature have made him wise and benevolent there is little bitterness in his heart from the past only a constant sorrow, which, however, he alleviates by imparting his knowledge of life to the young. like trevrizent, the hermit in satyros, or even like the deceased recluse in goethe's erwin und elmire, he represents a kind of ideal hermit but one who embodies quite specific characteristics of german romanticism. of course, these are all not religious hermits in the churchly sense, but a sort of "lay" hermits. they neither practice religious devotions nor atone vicariously for the world's sins. in regard to the form of the novel, h. a. korff remarks, "so bildet der roman überhaupt kein ganzes, sondern nur ein willkürliches konglomerat von allerlei romanhaften stoffen, die nur insofern eine einheit bilden, als sie insgesamt erotische stoffe sind." youthful work though it may be, godwi possesses qualities which make it more unified than a string of "novellen" loosely connected by a common eroticism, as korff suggests (in an otherwise illuminating chapter on the novel). it is possible to disagree with such an interpretation for various reasons; one of these is inherent in the 66 1 portrayal of the hermit, werdo senne, whose personality is a dominant one in the first part of the novel and whose past runs like a thread through the second part, with specific clarifying references to the first korff does not mention senne in his godwi chapter. we have already referred to the fact that a tragic love-experience motivates werdo's hermithood. the second part of the novel explains this motivation through godwi's delineation of the relationship between joseph (werdo senne of part one) and marie wellner. their relationship was based upon a love which would have culminated in marriage, had it not been disrupted by the force of outer circumstances. although their love was deep and of enduring quality, it ran its course (until the death of marie) within conventional bourgeois confines. such a love-experience is opposed to the idealization of a free love, a boundless force of nature, which is set forth in the novel. it is only after the death of marie that senne's love for her assumes in hermithood the timeless depth of nature, itself. marie is pictured as "ein durchaus sanftes und argloses geschöpf mit einem treuen warmen herzen, und einem hellen geiste, der aber meistens in der wahl das gute dem schönen vorzog" (ii, ch. 19, beginning) there is a strain of the bourgeois in the conception of her as compared with her sister, annonciata ("ein kühneres und doch harmonischeres gemisch von farben ist nicht leicht denkbar"). joseph, engaged as tutor and business assistant to wellner, falls in love with the more conventional favorite daughter of the merchant, who blesses their betrothal with a pair of golden rings (ii, ch. 19, end). the circumstances arising out of joseph's commercial voyage serve to break up the conventional relationship which ends in stark tragedy. because of storms at sea (ii, ch. 29, end), joseph's return is delayed indefinitely, while godwi (the elder) convinces the despairing marie of her beloved's demise by destroying his letters and falsifying a death-certificate. consequently, marie is persuaded by her ailing father to marry godwi, to whom she bears a son (godwi, the younger) thus the catastrophe, which joseph's homecoming occasions, and which motivates his hermithood, ripens. through separation from him, marie's love deepens and becomes endless longing. on one of her accustomed evening walks with her child along the harbor, marie hears the voice of joseph from an approaching ship, and sees him looking toward her through a telescope.¹ overcome, probably, by her sense of guilt and by the longing which can never be fulfilled, she plunges with the infant godwi (later rescued) into the sea (ii, ch. 27, end) she breaks the ¹ cf. herder, stimmen der völker in liedern, das mädchen am ufer, which presents a similar scene, (including the "kaufmannsgestalt"), one which may have influenced brentano, who was surely familiar with it. 67 confines of the conventional love of her past through her act, and becomes "das steinerne bild der mutter". this statue of marie poised with the child in her arms becomes an eternal reminder of his guilt to the elder godwi, who had it placed outside the window of his lonely dwelling (ii, ch. 18, id.), and it represents, at the same time, joseph's last view of her – it is this sight and conception of marie which accompanies him into his retreat. by her act, marie embodies the death of constricting, bourgeois emotion, and becomes for the hermit, werdo senne, the very symbol of an eternally pervading, depersonalized love, a force of nature (1, p. 140) "wenn die liebe aus den sternen niederblicket auf die erde, und dein liebstes lieb begehrte, muss dein liebstes sich entfernen." (this interpretation of marie's transition from conventional love to an embodiment of a boundless love inherent in nature is substantiated by the comparison of the painting of marie before her death with the statue (ii, ch. 20, end). of the painting, the poet, marie, says, "ich habe noch nirgends ein häusliches gemählde im ideal gesehen, dies ist es, friede." of his mother's portraits in both painting and statue, godwi replies, "dies ist sie, ziehen sie von diesem bilde bis zum steinernen bilde eine linie, so haben sie das unglück meiner mutter ermessen.") after the death of marie, joseph suffered a transitory spell of insanity (ii, ch. 27 end). following his recovery, however, the knowledge of what had transpired during his absence produced in him a terrible solemnity which induced him to enter into hermithood godwi's reference to a second marriage of joseph (ii, 30) and the death of the second wife as an additional cause of his hermithood may well be attributed to an attempt to lift a measure of guilt from his father's memory. "" from ottilie's letter to joduno (i, p. 48 ff.) we learn that werdo lives plunged in sorrow and in longing for death which shall reunite him with marie as well as with the second wife (cf. above) – “ich werde bald deine mutter, mein treues, edles weib, wieder sehen, ich werde auch jene wieder sehen, die mein wiedersehn tödtete.' werdo finds happiness in this longing and conviction, for, as he says, without it he would scarcely be capable of even the wish to die. his sorrow and longing for death find expression and consolation in the songs which he sings to the accompaniment of his harp (werdo is an echo of goethe's "harfner" in wilhelm meister, as are also many of the other characters and themes in the work). the relationship of the romantic conception of moonlight and night to the death-longing is revealed as the soft rays of the moon fill the 68 chamber with their mild light, and inspire werdo to take his harp – (i. p. 50) "es war mir, als habe er sein lied an dem monde angezündet, es war so rein, so hell, und doch so mild, was er sang" thus, here, the conception of night and death-longing are synthesized in werdo's music, embodied in art. the tragic experience of his past assumes a uniquely positive aspect in senne's hermithood, for it is transformed into his gift of song. werdo senne dwells in a hermitage which he has constructed in the ruins of an ancient castle, reinhardstein (i, p. 79 ft.). here, he secludes himself with his daughter, ottilie, and the foundling boy, eusebio (a male echo of mignon) who had been committed to his care by lady hodefield. he had hidden himself among these ruins, he informs godwi, that men might not hear his laments and that he might not hear their lies (i, p. 79). in his care, the two children, ottilie and eusebio, have bloomed like flowers, in intimacy with nature and with an inexpressible, instinctive understanding of its pervading force; they, too, have acquired werdo's gift of song even their inspiration is identical with that of their father (i, p. 137) "leise, wie ein lied des danks, zündete sich eusebio's stimme am mond an" (cf. previous quotation). godwi is at once aware of the melancholy peace in which senne lives; the suffering, which has been transformed into a deep understanding of nature and a longing to be united with it, lends the hermit an aspect of solitary greatness in the eyes of the young visitor (i, p. 80); he does not speak readily with strangers and there is in his bearing, alone, a power which silences the lips of others. about him is an aura of serene peace, not unlike that which a feeling man experiences in the stillness of the evening after a full and tiring day. werdo sonne's principal source of consolation is his harp; he is accustomed to sitting for hours beneath a lonely oak where he lifts his voice in songs of enchanting power a power derived from the longing ("sehnsucht") inherent in them for something that he alone knows (i, p. 81). to godwi it seems that in werdo's songs lies the key to his suffering, for the hermit rests his forehead upon the harp as if it were the arm of a comforting friend (i, p. 83). when the hermit becomes convinced that his young visitor, godwi, possesses an instinctive sympathy for his sorrow, he explains that his solitary life is characterized by deep unity with all that lives about him (i, p. 140). again he raises his voice in song and, although the theme of marie's death is its ouverture, the poem reveals in its development the joy and peace of eternal unity in nature and god which is the fruit of his tragic experience (1. p. 142) "ich sinke ewig unter und steige ewig auf, 69 und blühe stets gesunder aus liebes-schoos herauf. das leben nie verschwindet, mit liebesflamm und licht hat gott sich selbst entzündet in der natur gedicht." in harmony with nature, the hermit dwells in the realm of eternal love and longing; only nature is able to offer him comfort in his suffering and it has taught him its language, song (i, p. 143 – "und lebe wie natur, in freien und ungebundenen tönen"). the aspect of the eternal revealed to the hermit in nature is a quality felt, or lived ("erlebt", perhaps, "geahnt"); it is the very antithesis of knowledge (i, p. 144) "denn alles wissen ist der tod der schönheit, die in uns wohnet". thus, the hermit, werdo senne, also performs an educational function (as do the solitaries in heinrich von ofterdingen, eine meerfahrt, and oberon chapter iv of this study), for his experience has formative influence not only upon the lives of ottilie and eusebio, but upon godwi, who absorbs the hermit's conception of nature as eternal love and longing, as the only ultimate way of life – (1, p. 146) "es stürzen bald des alten glaubens götzen zieht die natur mich so mit liebe an. o süsser tod, in liebe neu geboren, bin ich der welt, doch sie mir nicht verloren." as an eventual result of senne's teaching, godwi, himself, retires to the solitude of his "eremitage" in the second part of the novel. although senne starts in horror when godwi, overcome with enthusiasm, addressess him as "vater!" (i, p. 146), his behaviour is due to shock, rather than to any lasting bitterness from the past. the arrival of godwi, (the son he might have had) revives in the hermit the initial pain of marie's death and betrayal, which he had transcended in hermithood (i, p. 144). the nobility of character inherent in senne's suppression of such bitterness is revealed in his first letter to lady hodefield (i, p. 78) "der ist kein edler mensch, der sich nicht freut der liebe im arme seines nebenbuhlers, und der ist ein niedriger mensch, der sich nicht freut des werths der kinder, deren vater er hätte seyn können.” the same nobility and lack of bitterness is evident in senne's reconciliation with the elder godwi, the perpetrator of his greatest misfortune (ii, ch. 31, p. 457). in werdo senne's hermithood there runs also the theme of the relationship between art and madness. godwi feels that "wahnsinn" wages a continuous struggle for control of the hermit's spirit (i, p. 147) madness is the unfortunate brother of poetry, and is 70 often thrust aside in life. the stark realities in the world, however, hinder the flight of poetry, while madness, in his frequent victories over the adversities in life, bears his prize aloft to the very gods. the hermit, senne, as we have seen, possesses an instinctive understanding for the eternal power of nature, and, in hermithood, his own longing has become harmonized with it. this universally instinctive understanding of a profounder sense of life in nature, this phantasy ("wahnsinn"), creates its own reality the fertile soil which gives birth to the purest song. (this conception of the relationship between "wahnsinn" and art is clearly allied to hoffmann's "serapiontisches prinzip" and similar to a theme in wackenroder's der nackte heilige). -as a hermit, werdo senne embodies a supreme wisdom and kindly benevolence, the fruits of a tragic experience transformed through profound insight into nature; the longing for reunion with the dead betrothed was translated in him into a longing for union with nature, the element of eternal love (and, in this universal respect, all longing is for werdo senne "todessehnsucht”). we have also seen that the natural expression of this longing is song, the language of nature, itself. senne performs an educational function through the transmission of his "weltanschauung" to godwi and through his influence upon eusebio and ottilie, who represent for godwi the hermit's insight into life become flesh. werdo's concept of the world of nature as the realm of universal, eternal love and longing lends depth and perspective to the criticism of the novel as a whole. — werdo senne's hermithood, therefore, is a positive way of life, for it is a triumph over the tragedy and bitterness of his past, an entry into a richer, eternal aspect of life and art. the aged man characterizes his life as a hermit most aptly in the conclusion of his letter to lady hodefield (i, p. 78) "sonderbar ist das gewebe meines lebens gewesen, ein geheimnis liegt über ihm, keine staatenverhältnisse, keine sogenannten wichtigkeiten, menschenliebe und duldung haben ihm das siegel eiserner verschwiegenheit aufgedrückt. und das alles wird sich um uns drehen, diese freudensphäre wird auf meinem grabe stehen wie der fuss des regenbogens, unter dem in meinem vaterlande ein freundlicher aberglaube schätze wähnt." (5) the hermithood of werdo senne represented a triumph over the tragedy and suffering of his past; in isolation, that pain was transformed into a deep understanding of life through nature, which found its expression in song all "todessehnsucht" became a desire for union with eternal nature (as, also, in kerner, die heimatlosen, novalis', ofterdingen, and hölderlin's hyperion). in this longing and in the expression of it, the hermit found a sort of peace. in the 71 case of walter, the hermit-hero of annette von droste-hülshoff's youthful "epos", quite the reverse is true. it is, like her mature poem, das vermächtnis des arztes, to an extent, an "allegory of man as such, doomed to guilt and suffering beyond his comprehension or desert" (walter silz problems of "weltanschauung" in the works of annette von droste-hülshoff, p.m.l.a., 1949, p. 681). in walter, too, the force of evil overpowers the individual and, although the hero seeks peace and consolation in solitude, the tragedy of his love experience continually tortures him, and makes of his hermithood an agonizing purgatory (cf. previous reference p. 693). the poetess suggests the eventual subjection of her hero to the dark forces of fate through her delineation of his family background. the birth of theatilde occasions the death of her own mother, which, in turn, breaks her father's heart (werke, bd. 4, p. 140). his despairing end casts its shadow over the wedding of theatilde to alhard (p. 148) and the union of the tender, angelic girl with the fierce robber-knight symbolizes, in itself, the hopeless plight of innocence in conflict with overwhelmingly sinister forces in life (p. 149) "hat je dem weih' die taube wohlgewollt? ist wohl der hinde in des löwen höhle?" theatilde wilts like an uprooted flower, while walter, the fruit of this unequal alliance, is destined from birth, as it were, to suffer the painful experience of life's duality, from which even hermithood brings no release. the "epos" has the form of a "rahmenerzählung," and the first canto introduces the hermit, walter, who inhabits a rocky cave in the depths of a pine forest. the succeeding cantos disclose walter's family background (to which we have already referred) and his own life prior to hermithood, while the sixth and final canto describes his departure from the world, and reverts to the opening scene. a the dim light of the moon through the dark pines reveals in the cell of the recluse the meaningful objects which surround him skull, symbol of death and of the transitory quality of all things, a crucifix, a suit of armor on the wall (cf. ofterdingen), which is a dumb reminder of its owner's former life, and the empty bed of foliage. the hermit's restlessness, his lack of inner peace, are apparent from his nocturnal wandering, and, when he appears out of the darkness, shrouded in nightly mist, it is as if he were emerging cloaked in his own melancholy past (p. 134). the pallor of his face and his wavering steps disclose also the mental anguish which characterizes walter's lonely existence; though still young, his beauty has withered, and the traces of suffering in his features indicate that he has been unable to conquer the pain which has accompanied him to his lonely retreat (p. 135). the armor which he had worn as a 72 knight reminds him of former joyous days, but his weakened arm is unable to support its weight and it clatters to the floor of the cave a symbol of the blight which had come over his exuberant youth. his eyes avoid the silent witness of knighthood, but even in prayer walter cannot find the peace of god, for natural memories insist upon their rights, and pierce the calm of his devotion as long as man is bound to earthly life, he cannot avail himself of divine consolation (p. 137) "wer deine lust begehrt, du herrscher gross, "" den darf kein sinnlich freudenbild mehr rühren the thought of his dead beloved recurrently interposes itself between his struggling spirit and the peace it seeks walter clutches her pictured image to his heart, not that of the virgin and child, and bursts into tears of anguish and frustration. the young hermit's effort to attain spiritual calm is doomed to heart-rending failure – (p. 138) "o jüngling, einer heillos finstern macht ist dein zerstörtes leben hingegeben -.' the dark power which is meant here, however, is not specifically that which, in walter, ties him to memories of earthly joy and tragedy, but rather some obscure, cosmic power of destiny which renders the individual a helpless sufferer in circumstances with which he cannot cope. in the dream which impels walter to seek out alba's dwelling place on the following morning, there is a slight forboding of tragedy to come, as well as a suggestion of the sinister power which motivates it. walter is embraced in his sleep, at first, by an angel and then – (p. 157) "da sind die süssen züge all verrückt, ein fremdes antlitz lächelt auf den armen." the vision disappears and the entire choir of angels assumes the features of the beloved alba thus this dark cosmic force injects itself into the destiny of the individual. with graying dawn, walter sets out to find the angelic maiden, whose love and tragic death shall be his constant memories in isolation. the figure of balduin, alba's hermit father, represents an antithesis to the eventual hermithood of walter, for the aged recluse has been able to purge from his mind all thoughts and influences of wordly life. he dwells with his daughter in a tiny hut secluded in a forest glade remote from the world; the hut is situated on a brook, and is idyllically surrounded by grape-vines and jasmine blossoms (p. 158) the atmosphere breathes the very essence of peace and innocence. balduin, a former resident of the imperial capital, had inherited vast wealth from his family, yet his disposition was inclined 73 toward loftier riches of the spirit – (p. 160) “ich hatte höhern fahnen zugeschworen." he had felt the splendor of the world to be a burden weighing down his spirit, which, even then, longed for solitude and harmony with god (p. 160) "o kreis der alten, flamme in der nacht, du reine in sich selbst entglühte leuchte! du warst es, deren stolzer geistespracht sich demutsvoll mein schwaches sinnen neigte." balduin feels gratitude for the god-given strength which enabled him to bear up under the weight of vain "erdenglück." the luxury in which he had been obliged to live drew swarms of unwelcome guests about him and he resented the intrusion upon his privacy and the disturbance to his natural desire for spiritual peace and meditation (p. 160). since his wealth was a curse and impediment to his peace of mind, it was with a sense of relief that he looked upon the charred ruins of his palace, which was gutted by a night fire through the intervention of some happy fate – releasing him forever from the confines of wordly vanity. this loss sufficed to let plans of long standing come to fulfillment. three lines sum up balduin's ideal of existence · (p. 161) "nicht reich, doch sorglos, herrschend nicht, doch frei, nur der natur und ihrem zepter treu, am klaren born der alten mich zu letzen." (the "alten," to whom balduin refers in this and the previous quotation, are, perhaps, the early christian hermits who gave up all earthly goods to serve god through isolated devotion this hermit is motivated by a desire similar, in many respects, to that of lessing's "klosterbruder.") hermithood is, therefore, the fulfillment of balduin's most fervent wishes (p. 161) "erfüllt sind meine wünsche; seh' ich nicht ein kleines eden rings um mich erblühen? und drinnen glänzt, ein holdes liebeslicht, mein einzig kind in frischer jugend glühen." he and alba live in an "eden" of original love and innocence in nature; the aged recluse spends his hours in cultivating his daughter's spirit in accordance with his ideal of life (like werdo and ottilie). thus, alba, as the product of her father's way of life, becomes the embodiment of natural innocence and love a moving symbol of the original state of man. through her (and through the mingled characteristics of his inheritance, as we have seen), this ideal takes firm roots in walter's heart, but it is doomed to be crushed by the fatal 74 forces which subject it to conflict with the incompatible influences of the outer (here, knightly,) world. the ideals of knightly glory push their way into walter's life, decisively and openly in conflict with the new-found love for the angelic alba. he is to add his fame to that of his fathers by taking part in the crusade (p. 164), and is to receive as reward, upon his return, the hand of cäcilia (p. 16), daughter of the old knight, ebbo she is the essence of courtly coquetry (p. 167) and of insidious pride and jealousy. the incipient conflict of incompatible forces in walter's soul is indicated by the mixed emotions of his reaction to this news (p. 165) "wie auf der freude glut im antlitz ging, ihn dann als lichte flamme hell umfing und nun in blassen leichenduft verschwommen." when walter takes leave of balduin and alba (p. 171), the young knight makes show of his zeal to serve god; this holy service in the crusade must come before friendship. the old hermit, however, recognizes his embarrassed pretentiousness, and, perceiving the armlet given to walter by the false cäcilia, lays his finger upon the embroidered figure of amor (p. 171) "glaubt mir's, dies ist der eu'ren fahnenzeichen!"balduin clearly sees the duality which holds sway in the young man's soul, and this incident is a portent of the fearful psychic struggle which marks walter's hermithood. the knight departs, his heart divided between desire for knightly glory (worldly vanity) and thoughts of alba but it is the green ivy sprig, the innocent maiden's pledge and a symbol of natural purity, which acts as a talisman to guarantee walter's safe return (p. 172), and not the artificial favor of cäcilia (a symbol of superficiality and faithlessness p. 170). the death of balduin, of which the young knight learns upon his return (p. 176), followed a spell of madness brought on, no doubt, by the realization that his daughter's attachment to walter dooms her to a hopeless lot. his dying words envision the tragic end of innocence and purity when it becomes exposed to the sinister forces of the world – (p. 177) "mein kind, wie hilflos lass ich dich zurück! du arm, für diese welt verdorbnes leben!" in balduin, the hermit figure is interpreted as possessing a deep insight into life because of his intimate rapport with the natural and divine elements thus, he is more sensitive to forces antipathetic to his way of life, such as those to which walter is subject and which he had been able to observe in the young knight on the occasion of his departure for the crusade. 75 the anxiety of the dying hermit concerning the fate of his daughter proves to be visionary, for the hellish, destructive forces about walter, embodied in his father, alhard, and in his jealous betrothed, cäcilia, combine on the misty night of alba's rendezvous with her beloved to snuff out her life (p. 181-183) "hellish" is the proper word, for alhard's followers seem to serve "dem höllenreiche" (p. 181) and "die grause höllenlache" of cäcilia (p. 183) is the last sound to fall upon the fainting walter's ear after the deed. following his father's burial and the repayment of those robbed and oppressed by alhard, walter seeks out verenus, the hermitmonk, whose peace in god had impressed and consoled him at the death-bed (p. 186). while he awaits the arrival of verenus, the crucifix in the quiet cell seems to instill a divinely inspired tranquillity into his heart; the young man resolves to reject the empty world, for he has no further demands on life (p. 191) "in stiller klause schweigt des busens toben-." yet, verenus' insight into walter's problem reveals his practical wisdom hermithood is not for the young, before whom the furure is only beginning to unfold (p. 192) "schlagt nicht in fesseln dieses heisse herz, sonst, fürcht' ich, weint ihr einst mit herbem schmerz der welt zu lieblich lockende gestade." as we observed at the start of our discussion, solitude brings no peace to the young hermit, for he brings with him into his retreat the "dämon" which motivated the tragic conflict of forces in his past and which now, in walter's case, remains to stir ceaselessly the torment of these forces in his soul. at the outset of the poem, the poetess tells us that walter's life is subject to an unholy dark power (p. 138); the conclusion restates the fact that the world and memory of the beloved do not, of themselves, withhold spiritual calm (p. 194) "es ist ein furchtbar etwas, das sich müht, sich zwischen ihn und seinen gott zu stellen -." it is, rather, a force which motivates the dualism in life; this same fateful power stirs up tormenting recollections of the tragic events which grew out of it. walter, as a hermit, is the sum of all the conflicts in his past over which he had no control, but which have crushed him denying to him for the length of his earthly days the calm of spirit in god which he so feverishly desires. the hermit theme plays a role on three levels in annette's poem, as we have seen. balduin is the hermit by natural inclination. he holds the world's goods and vanities in contempt, and longs only to devote himself to god and to a life in nature peace in god is for 76 him (as for lessing's "klosterbruder") an impossibility in the world of men. it is interesting to note that annette (like lessing) turns, as did her romantic prececessors also, to the world of the middle ages for the setting of her narrative poem; earthly life was considered in those times (at least in religious circles) to be specifically a preparation for eternity. as a hermit, balduin lives in an "eden" of his own making, and rears his daughter, alba, in the purity and innocence of nature. his hermithood proves to be no solution in one sense, however, for innocence and purity are doomed to suffering through contact with the forces of the outer world. these he recognizes in walter, and dies despairing of his daughter's future. verenus embodies wisdom commensurate with his age and experience (although we learn nothing specific of his background); he knows that hermithood can be of no avail as a solution for youth (as do novalis's hohenzollern and eichendorff's don diego) upon whom the shackles of earthly life still hang. his warning to walter proves to be precisely valid. it is possible that verenus' way of life has brought him the peace of god, for he belongs to the clerus, and is a venerable man, whose ties are stronger to death than to life – his understanding of alhard's dying gestures (p. 187) might also suggest this. to walter, as we have seen, isolation can bring no peace. in him, hermithood illustrates the extent to which the individual can be tortured and crushed by forces beyond his control and understanding. (6) in lenau's die marionetten, the hermit also dwells in solitude devoted to grief over a tragic bygone love and his only source of consolation lies in the recounting of its gruesome history. unfortunately the poem was conceived during a period in which lenau was undergoing a crisis in his creative process (cf. errante, lenau, p. 155 ff. -) and his "nachtstück" (inspired by those of hoffmann, and composed in the terza rima of chamisso) is a frequently mechanically constructed horror tale which does not lend the hermit characters (marie's father is also a sort of recluse) much depth. the poet uses the effects of nature to provide atmosphere for his verse-tale and to suggest the spiritual plight of his hermit-narrator. the dark and rocky environment of the hermitage and the sense of foreboding in the air are descriptive of the state in which the hermit lives and of the gruesome recollections of the past which oppress him – the nature of the hermitage distinguishes the character of the hermit (as, also, in the instances of walter, balduin, and werdo senne). the tuft of lamb's wool clinging to a briar, the bloodstain underfoot, and the vulture lazily veering off to his lonely nest (lenau, sämtliche werke, bd. i 1. 1320 ff.) indicate the stark tragedy which had befallen not only the hermit, but count robert and his daughter, the innocent maria. the threatening darkness of the 77 gorge through which the wanderer descends to the abode of the recluse (1. 1339) "die dunkle wiege der melancholei" and the roar of thunder and flashes of lightning along the rocky cliffs intimate the morbid dedication to death and sorrow which characterize the hermit, who (like grimaldi and, in a sense, like walter) inhabits the nether regions of an ever-present past (1.1345) "wo murmelnd nacht und tod sich treue schwören." the unusual pallor of the hermit's face and the strange light which hovers about him (1. 1353 ff.) in the storm make an impression upon the approaching wanderer, which would suggest the state of pathological suffering gnawing at the soul of the recluse. lenau's setting, like that of annette, is medieval, and his hermit, like walter, is a former knight whose grievous memories are kept fresh by the portrait of the beloved adorning his cave (1. 1377 ff.) – “drauf wies er hin und sprach: ich denke dein! und plötzlich stürzten tränen ihm hervor. (1. 1379 ff.) auf seinen zügen lag ein tiefes leid, wie er im teuren bilde sich verlor." in youth he had followed count robert through battle (1. 1443 ff.) and, upon returning from these glorious feasts of arms with the old nobleman, he fell deeply in love with the latter's daughter, the beauteous maria, who did not requite his feeling indeed she was scarcely aware of it (1. 1462 ff.). the young knight, however, suppressed his desire even then, and resigned himself to the bitter pleasure of unfulfilled passion (1. 1461). this attitude discloses the strain of resignation inherent in the youth of the hermit which is transformed in him after maria's death into the doubtful consolation found in his retelling of the story and in the implied self-torture which characterizes his isolation. count robert, himself, embodies in his hermithood several motifs which we have observed in other figures. he is, of course, an old knight, saddened by the deaths of those close to him (1. 1407), who withdraws from the world with his daughter (like werdo senne and balduin). she is the sole comfort of his declining years. like senne, he makes his abode in the ruins of an ancient castle here, the decayed seat of his ancestors (1. 1425 ff.). the theme of the weary warrior whose span of life is almost empty, and, therefore, has the right to peaceful seclusion in preparation for death – ((1. 1414) "geschieden von der welt bewegten scharen hat sich sein herz, das nur den frieden sucht, des glückes letzte spur sich zu bewahren -" is strikingly similar to those in oberon, ofterdingen, and meerfahrt. in a sense, too, like annette's hermit, balduin, count robert's 78 tranquil solitude and with it his life is destroyed by the fate of his daughter. maria represents purity and natural innocence protected by isolation from sullying influences of the world, as did alba although these motifs are not nearly so extensively developed in lenau's poem (1. 1422 ff.) "an schönheit wunderbar, an tiefer güte, war selige genüg ihr stilles leben, dass sie den abend ihres vaters hüte." the robbery of maria's peace and innocence by the byronic wanderer (1. 1485-1496), lorenzo (cf. also werke, bd. x, p. 297), and her death of a broken heart plunge the aged hermit-count into the madness which culminates in a gruesome revenge upon both lorenzo and his son antonio noteworthy is the association of "wahnsinn" with the heartbroken hermit (1. 1573 "die nacht des wahnsinns schlug sich um sein haupt") as, also, in the case of werdo and balduin (all three are hermit-father types). we learn (1. 1556 ff.) from the hermit-narrator, that he had fled again into battle to avoid witnessing lorenzo's seduction of maria; yet his heart is consumed by jealousy and pain at a distance. although he tells us that he had received the news of maria's betrayal and death, we do not learn of the specific circumstances of his withdrawal, for he makes an immediate transition to count robert's madness and vengeful search for lorenzo. it may be surmised that madness had come over him, too, and, as we know, he retired to a cave in the dark gorge overlooking the castle ruins and site of the entire tragic and gruesome history. lenau's hermit does not seclude himself out of any desire to seek peace, but rather to indulge his obsession for reliving the past to finish his story on the scene in which it took place, he leads the wanderer before the ruins of count robert's castle. the sole motivation for life in lenau's hermit is his desire, as we have said, to reexperience the past which has broken his life; this is evident, too, in his drive to tell his story, to bring it to life for the wanderer (the "vermittler" of a horror tale in a manner similar to that of the monk in grillparzer's das kloster bei sendomir). once he has concluded it, he has no further interest in the listener, but leaves him swooning from horror. before dawn, he has disappeared, with the obsession for which he lives, into the bleak, dark mountain gorge. in lenau's poem, as in annette's, the principal hermit figure represents the individual broken by the sinister forces of fate, but there is, after all, more of grimaldi in the nature of lenau's recluse, who does not seek calm of spirit (like walter). the hermit-narrator of die marionetten is an utterly pathological figure clinging in hermithood to the scene and motifs of a gruesome past – he finds his 79 only release in the indulgence of this obsession and in retelling its history. we have observed the frequent theme of madness in connection with hermits in this part of the study – in balduin, whose fate as a hermit-father was comparable to count robert's, in werdo-senne, another hermit-father (the conception of madness and art was a theme in his hermithood) as well as in lenau's hermit-narrator. we may add that, in a remote sense, there is in the hermit-narrator of die marionetten a suggested tie between the effectiveness of storytelling and the madness of the hermit. the ability to recreate so intensely the horror of his past for the listener is in direct proportion to the degree of obsession which forces the hermit to relive it whether coincidental or not, this conception of madness is certainly reminiscent of that in hoffman's serapion. b. this brief subdivision in the second part of our study concerns itself with three hermit figures characterized specifically by their madness. (1) in klinger's novel, fausts leben, thaten und höllenfahrt, the devil, leviathan, commits himself in the pact with faust to disclosing the hypocrisy, superficiality, and perverse nature of man 170 ff.). the hermit is singled out as the apotheosis of virtue, simplicity, and devotion to god; through his destruction, the devil wishes to demonstrate to faust the sham which underlies all apparent reverence and faith among men; there is no virtue so constant that it will not ultimately succumb to temptation. the attack upon the hermit's morality is a revolting parallel to the temptation of st. anthony; the hermit succumbs to the temptation to which he is, perhaps, most vulnerable because of his isolation. he succumbs, however, to the temptation only after he has been driven literally mad through leviathan's conjuration of a seductress in the guise of a female pilgrim in reality, a hellish apparition. even though the devil's design to transform the holy man into a crazed murderer succeeds, the disgusted reader is rather more likely to share the view of the peasants who revere the hermit's bones }(p. 189) that the recluse is actually a martyr, not a poseur (like lessing's hermit in chapter ii of this study). although it is clearly not klinger's intention, the violent and luridly described temptation of the hermit is likely to arouse the reader's sympathy for him. the hermit whom leviathan subjects to his experiment appears to faust (p. 184) to be the very ideal of a recluse; in his heart there is the peace which is evident in the composure of his features and faust is led to believe that the hermit's hope and faith make him a far more enviable man than he who made the pact with the devil. in his hospitality to the two strangers, the hermit obeys the tradition 80 associated with his way of life; he is happy to minister to all who may come to him and his lonely life is not spent in completely useless inactivity (p. 184) "derjenige, der dem himmel lebt, darf der gefährlichen ruhe nicht pflegen." the mildness of his temperament does not permit him to grow angry at leviathan's taunts; he reveals his humility when the devil accuses him of weakness, of fear of temptation (p. 186) to the challenge that struggle and temptation are the triumphs of sainthood, the hermit humbly replies, "der herr hat recht; aber nicht alle sind heilige." the hermit, therefore, is precisely what he appears to be a man who has fled the world because of its temptations) (like simplicissimus) to devote himself to god and to save his soul (p. 187) "es ist eine sündige welt, in der wir leben, und weh' ihr, wenn tausende nicht in die einsamkeit eilten, ihr leben dem gebet weihten, um die rache des erzürnten himmels von dem haupt der sünder abzuwenden." it is, in a sense, through the charity of his office that the seductress is able to reach the godly man; she seems to seek refuge with him from the advances of leviathan. thus, his senses already inflamed, the hermit falls prey to the temptress (p. 188), who so shatters his entire being that he becomes a madman prepared to murder the two guests to whom he had offered his hospitality. crushed by realization of his entanglement with the hellish powers, the hermit faints, and perishes in the flames which release him from his ghastly plight. faust's accurate suspicion of the devil's intent prior to the hermit's horrible psychic struggle actually interprets most exactly what transpires (p. 185) "und du wirst die sinne dieses gerechten so verwirren, dass er thaten unternimmt, die seinem herzen fremd sind." it is difficult to say much more of klinger's hermit than that he is traditional in conception (a clerical figure, however) – a refugee from the evils of the reformation world, who wishes to save his soul by devoting his life entirely to god. yet, because of his isolation and asceticism, he is vulnerable to evil forces extreme asceticism and godliness are transformed by temptation to mad voluptuosity. the figure of the hermit represents the ultimate virtue and reverence in his ascetic isolation from the world of sinful men; he is, therefore, made the goal of an attack which designs to prove that all human faith and devotion is without constancy or substance. hermithood, then, provides no absolute peace in god, for even in isolation the hermit (as in walter) is sought out and martyred by forces of evil in the world. such an interpretation, to be sure, runs counter to klinger's actual intent. the author wishes to convey the fact (as did lessing) that there are some blackguards even among hermits madness here consists of sexual desire rampant, overriding every scruple. 81 the same attitude of contempt prevails, though more concisely and violently expressed, toward the sicilian hermit, martarillo, whom the great king louis of sicily visits (p. 252 ff.). the mighty monarch reveres the hermit as a holy man, begging him to grant long life and health the hermit is described as (p. 253) a fool who has lived on the peak of a cliff from his fourteenth to his fortieth year, torturing his body by fasting and denying his spirit all nourishment ("aber der schein des heiligen bedeckte den dummkopf und er sah bald die fürsten wie den pöbel zu seinen füssen"). it is, for faust, a supreme irony in life that such a creature commands the respect even of rulers, and thus, perhaps, exerts in his madness a decisive influence upon the world. (2) in wackenroder's ein wunderbares morgenländisches märchen von einem nackten heiligen, the relationship of art (here, music) to madness as a theme connected with the hermit is developed in a manner basically different from the conception in werdo senne (wackenroder's tale pre-dates brentano's godwi); here, the treatment is, to an extent, allegorical a treatment more compatible, also, with the "märchen" technique. for wackenroder (as for many other successive romantics) the orient is the land of mystery and profoundly irrational truths. his hermit figure is one of the original dervishes inhabiting the eastern wastes. a kind of sacred madness is associated with these solitaries, which sets them apart from other men; they are considered to be of essentially supernatural nature, and, as such, are objects of worship (while in philistine europe they would be considered merely insane). the hermit of the "märchen" dwells in a rocky cave by a little river; how he came there, or why, no one knows the original circumstances underlying his hermithood are as mysterious as, in a sense, his eventual departure from life. what characterizes this hermit, however, is the particular nature of his madness his obsession with the rushing wheel of time (p. 157) which roars in his ears, and whirls without interruption "wie sich mit brausen, mit gewaltigem sturmwindsausen das fürchterliche rad drehte und wieder drehte, das bis an die sterne und hinüber reichte." its revolutions border directly on the spheres of eternal harmony. of all men, only the wretched hermit is aware of its fateful turning; in fear that it may cease, he becomes the victim of enraged, frustrated anxiety and his solitude is marked by frenzied torment peace is unknown to him. thus, the recluse becomes a kind of allegorical embodiment of man, in the last analysis, alone, attempting to master the single great force, time, the furious rhythms of which confine and regulate all earthly existence. wackenroder's hermit represents in his isolation an extreme individualism which is obsessed with the problem of time a problem 82 conceived in terms of the maddening rhythms of the wheel, and one which grips the individual, never the group. as the hermit weakens in his strenuous attempts to master and control the wheel, a terrible fear seizes him, for he often senses an impulse to interrupt the perpetual revolutions by relinquishing his grasp (p. 159). often on moonlit nights, he weeps bitterly, because all other activity in life has been denied him "dass das sausen des mächtigen zeitrades ihm nicht ruhe lasse, irgend etwas zu tun, zu handeln, zu wirken und zu schaffen." his painful reflection is that of a man at the end of his life, who regrets what he might have done, had he not been swept along so mercilessly by the stream of time. a consuming longing overcomes the wretched solitary, lying before his cave; his desire is directed toward something indefinable, yet certain – “todessehnsucht," a longing for release from time into the harmony of eternal peace. on an enchanting summer night, when the landscape is transformed by the moonlight into an ethereal realm, the inhabitants of which direct their glances instinctively toward the heavens, a pair of lovers float down the river in a boat past the hermit's cave and their music fills the air and skies (p. 160) "aus dem nachen wallte eine ätherische musik in den raum des himmels empor." the concepts of night, music, and death are romantically synthesized; the longing for release from the roaring wheel of time is fulfilled for the mad hermit through the music of the lovers. the melody and harmony of music are the antitheses to the relentless rhythms of the time-wheel (or the complements of it); they are, as it were, the time-rhythms of eternity (p. 161) "mit dem ersten tone der musik und des gesanges war dem nackten heiligen das sausende rad der zeit verschwunden. es waren die ersten töne, die in diese einöde fielen; die unbekannte sehnsucht war gestillt, der zauber gelöst, der verirrte genius aus seiner irdischen hülle befreit." wackenroder's hermit, therefore, figures in his obsession not only in an allegorical "märchen" depicting the release of the individual from the crushing tempo of the time-wheel into the sphere of eternal harmony (music) and love, but, as "der verirrte genius," in a kind of "mythos." he becomes also the "genius" of music released from the evil enchantment (“zauber”) of the maddening earthly rhythms. as "der verirrte genius" he was condemned through his obsession to seek control of the terrible wheel; freed from this martyrdom, which characterized him alone, he is transformed into a kind of saint of heavenly "time" – music, arising, as it were, from the heart of love and resolving the cacophony of time into the rhythmic pattern of timeless harmony. (3) while wackenroder's "nackter heilige" is possessed of a sacred madness, triumphing through music over his martyrdom at 83 the wheel of time, to be absorbed in mystic union with the harmony of the spheres, hoffmann's serapion is simply insane – one of many figures in whom the "poet of the unseen world" examines the peculiarities of the abnormal mind. in contrast to wackenroder's hermit, however, hoffmann's achieves supreme spiritual calm precisely because of his "wahn." the hermit, who believes that he is the martyred bishop-recluse, st. serapion (we cannot say he "suffers" from a delusion, for he is utterly happy), takes up his solitary abode (like schlemihl) on the site of the original hermitages in the theban desert in reality, a forest two hours from bamberg. the original serapion was, of course, one of these first christian hermits; he was the bishop of thmuis near the upper nile delta (app. a. d. 350) and was driven by the arian, ptolemeus, from his seat – becoming a hermit in the theban desert. the serapion of hoffmann's tale (there were eight by this name in church history p. 7) was martyred in alexandria under emperor ducius (p. 6). the figure of serapion in the "novelle" is of interest, also, in connection with hoffmann's circle of friends (contessa, hitzig, koreff), “die serapionsbrüder,” which lent its name as title to the four volume collection of "märchen" and "novellen" (cf. hewettthayer, hoffmann, author of the tales p. 102 ff.). the occasion of the first meeting of the "bund" fell upon the fourteenth of november, serapion's name-day in the church-calendarthe day, also, on which hoffmann's mad hermit dies (p. 18). the hermit illustrates by his "novellen," told to the narrator (p. 16), the poetic phantasy, which is heightened by his insanity, and which reveals his amazing capability to live and, thus, bring to life the creatures of his imagination in a realistic manner, no matter how fantastic they may be. this conception of narrative embodied in the insane hermit provides the basis of hoffmann's "serapiontisches prinzip" of composition in the subsequent collections of tales. the hermit, serapion, had been the brilliant and poetically gifted son of a wealthy count, and had been distinguished by fiery imagination and deep insight into human existence (p. 4-5); he had also possessed a keen humor which made him widely popular and successful as a diplomat. yet, for reasons which we do not discover (and which play no role, actually, in his hermithood), the young man suddenly vanished from the scene of his activity to be found, subsequently, preaching in the mountain villages of the tirol and dwelling in the wilds as a hermit (p. 5). all therapeutic attempts to remove his illusion resulted in violent fits of rage and madness on the part of the would-be holy man, whereupon the physician in the case found it most advisable to grant his patient's desire to lead the life 84 of peace and freedom in the forest for which his subconsciousness so passionately longed (p. 6). with profound understanding and sympathy (we dare say, with admiration) for the abnormal mental state, hoffmann sets before us, paradoxically, the healthiest example of a hermit to be encountered in this part of the study and he is a madman. in his hermithood, he is completely in harmony with god, nature, and the world, and, but for his illusion, one would take him for a mentally sound, intelligent human being (p. 6). serapion's reputation among the peasants in the area reveals the fact that his life is, in a sense, a fruitful one; his influence upon those with whom he comes into contact is healthy and beneficial and he enjoys the respect of the country folk (p. 4) – “die leute sagen, er sei nicht richtig im kopfe, aber er ist ein lieber frommer herr, der niemandem etwas zuleide tut und der uns im dorfe mit andächtigen reden recht erbaut und uns guten rat erteilt, wie er nur kann." as a hermit, serapion is no shy fugitive from the world, but rather a vigorous man of the out-doors who seeks peace and harmony in god through a life devoted to natural living and piety. he has built his own hut, made its rough furniture, and planted a garden of vegetables and flowers around it (p. 6). except when he is engaged in conversing with men of his own philosophical cloth such as ambrosius of kamaldoli (p. 4), ariosto, dante, petrarch, or the churchteacher, evagrius (p. 14), serapion is more than happy to receive visitors "ohne im mindesten von jener frömmigkeit abzuweichen, die dem ziemt, der sein ganzes leben gott und der kirche geweiht, ist mir jener asketische cynismus fremd, in den viele von meinen brüdern verfielen und dadurch statt der gerühmten stärke innere ohnmacht, ja offenbare zerrüttung aller geisteskräfte bewiesen." the impression made upon the narrator by serapion is, as we have said, that of a healthy, energetic man at one with the world of nature (and men) about him. as hoffmann approaches the hermitage on his second visit (p. 7), he finds his recluse busy in his garden with hoe and spade. his harmony in nature is indicated by his intimacy with the doves and deer of his forest abode which he feeds while singing a pious song "so schien er mit den tieren des waldes in vollkommner eintracht zu leben. keine spur des wahnsinns war in seinem gesicht zu finden, dessen milde züge von seltener ruhe und heiterkeit zeugten." although he prefers to avoid company in the evening, he enjoys receiving visitors earlier in the day, especially on pleasant mornings. serapion's madness is of that sort to which hoffmann is inclined to attribute particular mental acuteness and energy this is illustrated not only by the mastery of the hermit as a "novellist," whose marvelous phantasy is distinguished by the ability to experience, which makes the irrational a reality ("serapion85 tisches prinzip"), but also by the astuteness and logic with which he opposes hoffmann's attempt to dislodge his fixed idea. hoffmann likes to use madness ironically as a description of genius, (cf. also rat krespel, ritter gluck). with systematic patience (and not a little sarcasm), the hermit refutes every single point made by the visitor, who had digested a number of authoritative works on the nature of such cases; and the opening words of the madman are such that they confuse the feelings of hoffmann from the outset (p. 11) "bin ich nun wirklich wahnsinnig, so kann nur ein verrückter wähnen, dass er imstande sein werde, mir die fixe idee, die der wahnsinn erzeugt hat, auszureden. wäre dies möglich, so gäb' es bald keinen wahnsinnigen mehr auf der ganzen erde, denn der mensch könnte gebieten über die geistige kraft, die nicht sein eigentum, sondern nur anvertrautes gut der höhern macht ist, die darüber waltet." the point which serapion actually does make is that it matters not a whit whether he is a madman or not; what is important is that he lives, to his mind, an ideal life. (he passes beautifully over the martyrdom by drawing and quartering; he feels now and then only a piercing headache and pulling in his limbs, which remind him of the torture endured (p. 9) god had thrown the blessed veil of forgetfulness over these details.) he considers his calm of spirit in hermithood to be a blessing from above and from his point of view (or the reader's), it is, indeed, that. consequently, we may formulate serapion's condition as a bizarre kind of sacred gift; he wishes his visitor the same blessing as that which has been granted to him (p. 14) "möge dich, o mein bruder! der himmel schon auf erden, die ruhe, die heiterkeit geniessen lassen, die mich erquickt und stärkt. fürchte nicht die schauer der tiefen einsamkeit, nur in ihr geht dem frommen gemüt solch ein leben auf!" hoffmann's serapion is a model hermit; he dwells in peace and harmony with nature and in benevolence toward the world and men. neither is his spirit troubled by torments from the past, nor is the tranquillity of his ideal and stimulating hermithood ever disturbed by the interference of antipathetic forces (except in the case of the narrator). could such complete peace and harmony be realized in isolation? though serapion's hermithood is a unique one, we cannot base a conclusion on any attitude of the author; such a question clearly does not concern him. we may offer only an enigmatic answer serapion is insane and his hermithood is phantasy projected, as it were, into reality. he stands apart, therefore, from all hermits of this part of our study apart even from those in whose development toward solitude madness plays a role. in this chapter we have concentrated upon subjective problems in hermithood. without over-simplifying our composite character 86 analysis, we may divide those hermits whose background involves an infortunate love, as well as the others, into two groups those who find peace in solitude and those who do not. in the first category, we place, for example, the old hermit of erwin and elmire, whose spirit after death becomes equated with the tranquillity and healing power of nature, then, balduin (walter), who finds in nature the original purity and innocence which is vitiated by forces in the outer world, and finally, lenz's "waldbruder", werdo senne, and serapion all, as we have seen, radically different, but dwelling in ideal reality in nature. erwin, himself, in goethe's operetta, walter, and wackenroder's "nackter heiliger" are, on the other hand, not able to attain spiritual calm. certain figures in this chapter may also be considered from another point of view those who find a new and compatible reality in the solitary life. among these, of course, are herz, werdo senne, lenau's morbid hermit reliving the past, and serapion. the sense of a new, deeper, more kindred reality, the world recreated in isolation from within, is the most positive aspect of hermithood and the goal of this way of life serapion is an extreme embodiment of the latter theme, and, as such, is transitional to the fourth and final part of our study. in this chapter we have examined, through the analysis of subjective problems and motifs, the struggle in isolation to achieve peace of mind. in so far as the hermit attains such tranquillity, he does it through re-evaluation of reality in terms of the world of nature (recreating the world from within). in the analysis of subjective problems, the hermit appears at his "loneliest" in conflict with those forces out of which his problem grew and which retain a grasp upon his spirit. in the following chapter, we take the last step in our study; now the hermit appears in relationship to that world for which he has rejected society and which offers, potentially, the desired harmony of spirit and nature where he stands upon the invisible border between this life and the next. 87 chapter iv the hermit and nature in nature, the hermit hopes to find the ultimate, universal values in life, for which he has rejected those of society (ii), and in this realm he seeks to attain spiritual calm and healing for a soul wounded by unhappy developments in the past nature is a refuge from hostile forces in the world, and transforms tragic experience into a new reality (iii). in this final portion, we shall examine the hermit in his relationship to nature, which becomes for him the final sphere of his development in this life a revelation of the eternal spirit, to which he is reunited. we have seen (for example, in godwi and in wackenroder's märchen) that the emotion of indefinable longing, most specifically the longing toward nature, is essentially "todessehnsucht" a longing for reunion with the elements of eternity. all "todessehnsucht" is, especially in works of romanticism, an unearthly and profound longing for such reunification. ― (1) the figure of the hermit, alfonso, in wieland's oberon illustrates many of the important characteristics associated with the solitaries of subsequent romantic works for wieland is, in significant respects, a forerunner of romanticism. like eichendorff's don diego, the recluse in oberon is a former spanish knight who finds his earthly paradise on a remote tropical island and, like novalis' hohenzollern, the death of his wife and sons had, in part, motivated his hermithood (the circumstances of shipwreck are also similar to those in chamisso's salas y gomez, the hero of which, however, is not a hermit). alfonso (and most subsequent romantic hermits) is an aged man and, as such, personifies spiritual intimacy with nature, preparing for his impending union with it in death. it is interesting to note that several lines referring to the shipwreck also suggest the sea as a source of eternal life surrounding his adopted world, the island (viii, 16) "bevor er aus den wogen/der welt geborgen ward-". this is comparable to the visions of gleaming endless waters symbolizing eternity in kerner's die heimatlosen. waldvater had been a seaman and serpentin had these visions, while, in the "märchen" of sililie, goldener departs across such an infinite sea. the conception of the sea as an isolating medium (insulate and isolate are variations of a common stem) and of the island-motif connect the hermit-theme to that of the island-paradise in the 88 "robinsonaden." there is some "internal" evidence that wieland's picture was influenced by the robinson crusoe motif (e.g. the "twofaced" island, with one barren and one verdant portion). as we have briefly mentioned, alfonso has a background which might be termed traditional for the hermit (trevrizent, simplicissimus, balduin, count robert, hohenzollern, don diego, paul, in uhland's könig eginhard all had sought solitude after a life of varied and rich activity, usually spent in knighthood or a courtly or military career). he had experienced a luxurious and active past as knight and courtier. like many of our hermits, he, too, had come to consider the empty splendor of wordly ways a vain thing. he had been reared in royal service, and had competed with countless others for glory and recognition (viii., 16) – "dem schimmernden gespenst, das ewige opfer heischet und, gleich dem stein der narrn, die hoffnung ewig täuschet." having evaluated this life as illusory and barren of all deeper validity, he felt the shipwreck to be a bizarre stroke of fortune, which released him from the burdens of courtly existence (as did balduin's losses by fire), and spared himself, his wife, and his friend to pass their remaining years in isolation (viii., 17). the successive deaths of his three sons, his wife, and his best friend, however, turned alfonso's thoughts toward the grave, and the world, itself, seemed to be a very tomb. to excape the silent reminder of his sorrow, he fled with a servant to the rocky isle which became the scene of his final hermithood. once every tie with the world is broken and the deaths of his loved ones have reoriented his entire being, alfonso's senses are opened and made receptive to the elements of nature and, through them, his spirit achieves awareness of its eternal relationship with all about him; a profound contentment comes over him and he finds a new life (viii., 22) "-die nüchternheit, die stille, die reine freie luft durchläuterten sein blut, entwölkten seinen sinn, belebten seinen mut. er spürte nun, dass aus der ewigen fülle des lebens balsam auch für seine wunden quille." nature is conceived (not only in the personification of its forces in the fairy rulers, oberon and titania) as the positive medium through which the divine spirit reaches out to soothe and heal the soul of man. thus, alfonso's abode, shut off from the rest of the island by the bleak cliffs and dense forest, suggests the pulsating heart of nature, itself. its eternal characteristics are indicated further by the green 89 earth and rich foliage, which, even in autumn, are protected from the blighting northwind it is another world, an enchanting fairyland where figs and oranges still bloom, although their season is past (viii., 12). the remoteness of this "elysium" from the outer world implies, also, a nearness to the pervading spirit of nature titania, its elfin queen and genius, had created the secluded paradise as a refuge for herself, until she might be reconciled with oberon (viii., 65-66). the marvelous glade, then, assumes a supernatural, ethereal quality through her presence. it breathes a vital healing power, and becomes for the hermit the medium of his metaphysical affinity with eternal life alfonso's intimate relationship with nature is the basis of his rapport with the spiritual beyond and, accordingly, his hermitage symbolizes the final stage and attenuation of his physical life. as we have already inferred, the death of those closest to him had made him acutely sensitive to the world of the spirit; through its intermediary realm, nature, it applies its healing power nature is the very revelation of the transcendental. left utterly alone after the passing of his loyal servant, the hermit's essential spiritualization ("vergeistigung") becomes an accomplished state through his heightened receptivity to the impulses about him, through nature he reaches toward his loved ones beyond (viii., 26) – "-doch desto fester kehrte sein stiller geist nun ganz nach jener welt sich hin, der, was er einst geliebt, itzt alles angehörte, der auch er selbst schon mehr als dieser angehörte!" yet, the specific longing for the dead is transformed (as in the case of werdo senne) into a suprarational, harmonious intimacy with the ethereal natural realm of his environment, and the process of the transformation is a recreation of the world from within (viii., 27) "ihm wird, als fühl' er dann die dünne scheidwand fallen, die ihn noch kaum von seinen lieben trennt; sein innres schliesst sich auf, die heil'ge flamme brennt, aus seiner brust empor; sein geist, im reinen lichte der unsichtbaren welt, sieht himmlische gesichte." at night (to wieland, as to the romanticists, a realm of "unendlichkeit" and other-worldliness) – (viii., 26) "wenn vor dem äussern sinn wie in ihr erstes nichts die körper sich verlieren -" alfonso feels a phantom touch upon his cheek and, in half-slumber, he is aware of the echoes of angelic voices from the grove outside his 90 hut. yet this consciousness of most intimate communion with the universal forces does not leave the hermit during daylight hours of activity, for the experience had awakened completely and forever in his innermost being (viii., 29) the purest of all senses (which the poet refuses to name, preferring, rather, to remain silent on the edge of the abyss, as he says). undoubtedly, "der reinste aller sinne" is essentially "todessehnsucht," equated, here, (as in hölderlin, novalis and kerner) with the emotion of harmony of the entire being with all elements (a conception related, also, to the "fühlbarkeit" of werther, to which we alluded in connection with blasius in chapter ii). it represents for wieland the inutterable, for it is a conscious insight into the absolute beyond the thin "dividing wall" (viii., 27). the partition between this life and the next has fallen before the hermit's inner eye, since his intimate communion with nature in solitude has granted him a means of penetrating it – a means accessible to the recluse alone (viii., 29) "so fliesst zuletzt unmerklich erd' und himmel in seinem geist in eins." this sense of suprarational recognition gained through such a communion distinguishes the hermit from other men; although he is a secular recluse, alfonso is endowed with a natural-spiritual power he becomes a kind of priest of nature. indeed, suggestions of his identification with the pervading spirit are apparent from amanda's (rezia's) initial impression of him. she falls upon her knees before him as before the genius of the sacred, seemingly enchanted glade in which he dwells (viii., 13). to both amanda and hüon, whom alfonso receives into his hermitage, he often appears to be a protective spirit ("schutzgeist"), perhaps oberon, himself, in the guise of a hermit to do penance for their guilt (viii., 33). in the capacity of confessor, the worthy alfonso urges hüon to disclose the source of his misery, offering to do penance for him (similar to the theme of vicarious atonement in trevrizent), to open to him the gates of redemption (viii., 6). in the same capacity, he hears the tale of hüon's adventures and the guilt which amanda and her knight had incurred through breach of trust with oberon, nature's royal elf (viii, 35-37). since the lovers had offended oberon and, through him, as it were, his realm, abstinence and the purifying effect of the simple hardy life in nature combine as fitting atonements thus, too, a strengthening for the ordeal of faith and loyalty which they are to endure at the court of almansor in tunis (x-xii). as the dedicated spokesman of nature, alfonso is the ideal mentor of the young couple in their penance and initiation into the cleansing life of his sacred hermitage. the hermit, therefore, becomes, as we have said, a secular priest and interpreter of the 91 element through which the "weltseele" reaches the soul of man. he performs, in this respect, what might be called an educational function for the protagonists of the epic, hüon and rezia, at a crucial stage of their development (as does trevrizent for parzifal, hohenzollern for heinrich von ofterdingen, and, to an extent, don diego for antonio). we have referred previously to implications of the hermit's identification with the genius of the secluded paradise; we have also indicated the essentially symbolic and spiritual character of his dwelling place – a quality derived specifically from the presence of titania (cf. viii., 66) – and we have traced the stages of his spiritualization ("vergeistigung") through the increased receptivity to the natural forces. while the suggestions of his identification with the pervading spirit of the hermitage cannot, of course, be taken at surface value (for titania, the personification of this spirit, dwells there too), they do point toward his ultimate union with it in deaththe final stage of his spiritualization. the angelic voices which alfonso had heard during the night (cf. viii., 27) were those of titania and her attendant sylphs (viii., 66) and it was the elfin queen, herself, whose passing seemed a phantom brushing on his cheek this fanciful connection of the hermit's sensitivity to the impulses from nature with its personification in titania lends a definite, we might almost say concrete, quality to the implication of his eventual reunion with the pervading spirit in death. a further word with respect to a possible symbolic connotation of titania's grotto may add weight indirectly to our conception of her as the genius of the natural spirit and of the death of the hermit as complete reunification with it. the entrance to the grotto is impassable; it is as if an invisible gate barred all who would from entering hüon and alfonso tempted by its iridescent beauty in the morning sun had often wished to go in, but had felt an unusual resistance "ein wunderbares grauen" (viii., 71). the invisible obstacle at the entrance to titania's cave may well be considered the ultimate equivalent of the thin "scheidwand" (viii., 27) which had fallen from before the hermit's soul in his new-found intimacy with the universal (nature) spirit (in preparation for his eventual and final "vergeistigung"). the curious sense of horror ("grauen") felt at the brink of this portal is like that expressed by the poet when he refuses to name "the purest of all senses" (viii., 29) it is the involuntary awe of confrontation with the absolute which one cannot comprehend in this life (an emotion similar to, though less violent than that which turns faust's face from tne earth-spirit). only amanda (rezia) is able to pass through the magic portal; that is possible because she is to give birth to her child in the sacred precinct of the grotto (viii., 75) – it is the heart and soul of nature 92 from which life emerges and into which, in death, it is finally taken. alfonso's life has its "diesseitig" aspects, however, for it is he who instructs hüon in the cultivation of the garden and in constructing shelter and hearth for amanda (viii., 40-41) – "nichts unterhält so gut" versichert ihn der greis, 'die sinne mit der pflicht in frieden, als fleissig sie durch arbeit zu ermüden; nichts bringt sie leichter aus dem gleis als müss'ge träumerei'." through the activity suggested by the recluse, hüon finds a means of maintaining his oath of abstinence. for alfonso (as for novalis' hermit and eichendorff's), hermithood is a way of life incompatible to the young, to whom isolation is highly unnatural and in whose veins the strength for deeds yet unaccomplished still pulses. although wordly existence has no further significance for alfonso, he sympathizes with the young people, reading the unfulfilled hopes in their souls and in the tears, which they vainly attempt to conceal (ix., 27) "tadelt nicht die unfreiwilligen triebe und frischt sie nur, so lang' als ihren lauf das schicksal hemmt, zu stillem hoffen auf." --yet, the hermit's entire being is, as we have seen, directed toward its final absorption into the cosmos; his earthly life has become a dream and his mind dwells upon the flight of his soul into the true existence (ix, 29) "es war, als wehe schon ein hauch von himmelsluft zu ihm herüber und trag' ihn sanft empor, indem es sprach.” the more sensitive feminine instinct of amanda is somehow aware that the pious man's final stage of withdrawal from life is at hand (ix, 29) she had been in the sacred grotto to bear her child. alfonso feels it too "mir', fuhr er fort, 'mir reichen sie die hände vom ufer jenseits schon, mein lauf ist bald zu ende' –” and upon the threshold of his "vergeistigung" he foretells the hardships which await the young people joys and trials alternate through life (pleasures are a strengthening for subsequent pains). the wordly vicissitude and bliss become dreams and nothing accompanies the soul to its goal (ix, 31) – 93 "nichts als der gute schatz, den ihr in euer herz gesammelt, wahrheit, lieb' und innerlicher frieden, und die erinnerung, dass weder lust noch schmerz euch je vom treuen hang an eure pflicht geschieden.” at the close of the evening on which the hermit expresses the sum of his life experience, he embraces hüon and amanda in a last farewell, and enters his hut with tear-filled eyes. in the past, his soul at rest had heard the ethereal voices from the enchanted grove, but on this night titania, in fearful anticipation of amanda's future peril, flies forth from her dwelling place, taking with her the baby for safekeeping (ix., 32). in this very night, too, alfonso's sublimation is completed; he is discovered dead on the following morning. the departure of titania coincides with the hermit's death; his soul has passed through the sacred portal, as it were, and has become one with the universal spirit of nature. the hermit's "naturvergeistigung" is implied not only by titania's flight from the garden paradise, simultaneous with the hermit's decease, but also by the fact that the "elysium" surrounding the hermitage has been transformed (ix., 44). the plants and garden have withered, the forest is blighted, and the entire glade becomes as bleak as the rest of the island. the departure of the genius, with which the hermit's soul in death is identified, robs the hermitage of its aspect of eternal life. the hermithood of alfonso, then, represents the most remote station of life, one attained only after a wealth of experience and suffering and in advanced age, when the innermost being has been directed toward the realm beyond; hermithood is that phase in which the final stages of spiritualization through nature take place and in which the soul of the hermit is ultimately reunited with the pervading spirit. nature becomes the realm through which the individual attains to the cosmic harmony. thus, alfonso's relationship to nature provides a kind of preview, essentially, of the hermit's position in romanticism. we may cite a thought of schelling, the most representative of romantic philosophers (cf. also w. silz, early german romanticism p. 8), which calls to mind our interpretation of alfonso's "vergeistigung" and reunification with the spirit of nature in death. in his ideen zu einer philosophie der natur (werke, bd. i, p. 158-159), he says of "das absolute," which is embodied in nature, da nun sein wesen ein produzieren ist und es die form nur aus sich selbst nehmen kann, es selbst aber reine identität ist, so muss auch die form diese identität, und also wesen und form in ihm eines und dasselbe, nämlich die gleiche reine absolutheit sein." the hermit here attains at last that "absolute identität des geistes in uns und der natur ausser uns" of which schelling speaks. "" 94 we have seen, too, that wieland's hermit is a secular one; his spiritual realm is in nature. this is true of a majority of hermits in the present chapter, and most particularly of those belonging to romanticism. the hermit in oberon is a forerunner of the solitaries embodying the romantic "naturfrömmigkeit" which takes the place of more orthodox christian concepts of the cosmos. thus, the hermit figure becomes a striking exponent of the interpretation of life through nature (cf. also korff, geist der goethezeit, bd. iv, 374). p. 372(2) the hero of hölderlin's hyperion is consciously dedicated to a religion of nature, a natural piety (cf. also korff, geist der goethezeit, iv, p. 375 ff), in which he sees the only hope of a rejuvenated humanity. hyperion's development to hermithood is the history (more properly, elegy) of his successive disappointments with the race of men as he has come to know it and, at the same time, of his attainment to complete harmony in nature. in proportion as he experiences disillusionment with the state of the world, his sensitivity to the divine aspect of nature is intensified by his suffering ("leiden"), and brings him to the conviction that solitude devoted to the nature-spirit is his inevitable lot. the specific experiences with alabanda and in the war of liberation against the turks, as well as the observations of humanity, form the bases of hyperion's disillusionment and dejection, while, opposed to these, the adamas and diotoma "erlebnisse," together with his inherent understanding of the divine elements about him, contribute to his rejection of a vain world in favor of solitary communion with nature. the form of the work, consisting as it does of hyperion's letters written in hermithood, permits the retrospective evaluation of experience in terms of the hermit's state of mind at the time of writing; this presentation, in addition to the essentially lyrical expression, lends to the whole its elegiac character, revealing the past transfigured through the shimmering veil of memory from the point of view of the hermit the past is bathed in the ethereal light of the spirit with which he communes. hyperion's disillusionment with his age derives from the degeneration of men; his contemporaries have broken the bond of naive understanding with nature, which once rendered them complete and harmonious reflection, pedantry, dry speculation have torn humanity up by the roots (as we shall see, the plant is a profound image of the godly relationship between nature and man). the jackal's howling amid the ruins of greek antiquity implies the corruption and destruction of earlier sacred concord through the perverse development of humanity (p. 5). this degeneration is, for hyperion, universal, for he is ashamed and disappointed not only of his modern greek countrymen (p. 6) but of the germans, too, from 95 whom (as the revivers of classic idealism) he had expected, at the least, consolation; instead, they had revealed to him a duality and discord exaggerated by their specialization in industry, science, and religion (p. 201). his own fatherland is a garden of the dead, in which the hermit dwells, seeking to steep himself in the aspect which recalls the innocence and completeness of his childhood (p. 9) – that he may recover the sense of communion with the divinity of nature, the sense of harmony destroyed by activity and experience in the world. the temptation to engage in violent activity (such as the war against the turks) foreign to his nature had played a major role in hyperion's disillusionment and consequent suffering, for this drive had been based upon love for the world, the essence of the nature-spirit, and upon the desire to rejuvenate humanity through his own idealism – (p. 6) “o hätt' ich doch nie gehandelt! um wie manche hoffnung wär ich reicher."" it would, of course, be quite inaccurate to call hyperion a "rahmenerzählung" in letter form, but the faint suggestion of such a form is, nevertheless, present. the initial letters of the novel concentrate upon the hero's state of mind in hermithood and his conception of nature as religion, while the concluding letters reveal again the communion of the hermit with nature in the light of the parallel streams of experience which lie between the experiences of disillusionment and those which lead him once more to the heart of nature. hyperion's most intense desire is the instinctive urge to surrender his entire being to nature, to let himself be absorbed into its divine ether and to absorb, in turn, its eternal spirit, as do the plants and blossoms of the field (p. 7) "und mir ist, als öffnet' ein verwandter geist mir die arme, als löste der schmerz der einsamkeit sich auf ins leben der gottheit." this emotion is not religiosity, but, rather, religion, itself. to be one with all that lives, to return in blessed forgetfulness of self into the cosmos, would be the ecstatic fulfillment of his inherent potentialities such a communion with nature is the true heaven (p. 7). in this union the concept of death has no meaning; eternal youth is its essence a blessing which would rejuvenate mankind. — in the child, alone, such a state exists to the fullest extent. hyperion recalls with longing the innocence of his own childhood spent in instinctive consonance with the all (p. 9) "es (das kind) ist ganz was es ist, und darum ist es so schön." in its original circumstances, the child is characterized by freedom, peace, and beauty; yet, in adulthood, it is fated to be robbed of its innocence and effortless happiness by the perverse influences of men (p. 10). the romantic estimation of childhood is connected here with the philosophy of hermithood as an attempt to return to a state of uncomplicated simplicity and innocence (this conception of childhood is 96 akin also to that of english romanticism cf. wordsworth, ode on intimations of immortality). the ideal state of childhood is like that of the tender plant, rooted in the earth, and blossoming to eternal light drawing its life and nourishment, not only from the soil, but from the spirit-ether into which it extends. this image of the plant recurs like a leit-motif throughout the work, always to suggest the full relationship to nature.) the idealization of childhood is reminiscent of that which is standard in new testament christianity, but, it is to be remembered, such an idealization for the hermit, hyperion, is an embodiment of his "naturreligion". hyperion conclusively identifies god with earth, his creation, (p. 11) – "o wenn sie eines vaters tochter ist, die herrliche natur, ist das herz der tochter nicht sein herz? ihr innerstes, ists nicht er?" adamas' teaching stimulates this "naturglaube" in the young hyperion, for the wise mentor lives in the utmost intimacy with nature, and exemplifies deep understanding of it to his pupil. yet, adamas feels a strong impulse to better humanity, to remold it to his ideal and, not having found men capable of this ennoblement (p. 12-14), he comes to greece in the hope of discovering the genius of that model race. in hyperion, he finds his protegé (p. 14) "wie vor einer pflanze, wenn ihr friede den strebenden geist besänftigt, und die einfältige genügsamkeit wiederkehrt in die seele so stand er vor mir." adamas recognizes in hyperion the naive understanding of nature, the integration of his being with it he stands. before the boy as if the latter were a "plant."together teacher and pupil wander over the eternal landscape, drinking in its spirit and discovering the reliques of pristine greatness (p. 15-16) "edle einfalt und stille grösse." thus, adamas reveals the character of ancient greece to hyperion as an ideal to be recreated in the greeks of his own age and he foresees the young man's destiny, exhorting him to be like his namesake, the sun-god to become a prophet of that spirit-light of nature which had illumined his forefathers (p. 17). adamas, however, recognizes the pain and frustration which inevitably await the idealistic youth; he prophesies hyperion's eventual hermithood (p. 18) "du wirst einsam sein, mein liebling! du wirst sein wie der kranich, den seine brüder zurückliessen in rauher jahrzeit, indes sie den frühling suchen im fernen lande." the desire to bring about among his contemporaries a renaissance of the natural harmony and "naturfrömmigkeit" envisioned in antiquity is doomed to end in the disillusionment and suffering which is, in part, hyperion's fate and which plays an important role in his turn to isolation. it is hyperion's destiny to suffer, as we have already indicated, because the motivating force of nature in him is love (p. 18) "das macht uns arm bei allem reichtum, dass wir nicht allein sein können, dass die liebe in uns, 97 solange wir leben, nicht erstirbt." it is love which binds hyperion to his "schicksal," but is love, too, which leads him ultimately to tranquillity and concord in nature (an elegiac tranquillity, to be sure). the departure of adamas for asia in search of a race of unique excellence leaves hyperion alone with the hope of redeeming his contemporaries burning in his heart; he also inherits from adamas the urge to seek out the embodiment of his ideal – to find a kindred soul, in whose companionship he may strengthen his own conviction and purpose (p. 27) – “die unheilbarkeit des jahrhunderts war mir aus so manchem, was ich erzähle und nicht erzähle, sichtbar geworden, und der schöne trost, in einer seele meine welt zu finden, mein geschlecht in einem freundlichen bilde zu umarmen, auch der gebrach mir." adamas' revelation of ancient greece fires the impulse in the younger man to revive its spirit in his own time; the adamas "erlebnis," consequently, prepares directly for the association with alabanda, as well as for the disappointment and disillusionment which result from it. in alabanda, hyperion sees the heroic "ganzheit" of the great past personified (p. 29) "wie ein junger titan, schritt der herrliche fremdling unter dem zwergengeschlechte daher, das mit freudiger scheue an seiner schöne sich weidete, seine höhe mass und seine stärke." although his friend is the man of noble aspiration and action, he lacks the divine inspiration of nature; the state is his ideal and the destruction of all that is decadent in it (p. 35) "die mine bereite mir einer, dass ich die trägen klötze aus der erde sprenge!" destruction, however, plays no role in the enthusiasm of the nature-apostle "wo möglich, lehnt man sanft sie (klötze) auf die seite." for hyperion the state is only the wall protecting the blossoming fruit of humanity; not through force or the supremacy of the state, but rather through the advent of the new faith ("naturfrömmigkeit"), will humanity be raised from its decadence (p. 40) "dann, wann die lieblingin der zeit, die jüngste schönste tochter der zeit, die neue kirche hervorgehn wird, wann das erwachte gefühl des göttlichen dem menschen seine gottheit und seiner brust die schöne jugend bringen wird -." alabanda, nevertheless, joins the band of nihilists to rout out and eliminate forcibly the decay in the state, and hyperion is left destitute and disillusioned. his faith, alone, consoles him and he sees in the alternating aspirations and adversities of his life the revelation of his godhead, nature (p. 48) – “bestehet ja das leben der welt in wechsel des entfaltens und entschliessens, in ausflug und in rückkehr zu sich selbst, warum nicht auch das herz des menschen?" the conception of the human heart, its "excursions" and its return into itself, is 98 clearly a suggestion of hyperions's eventual hermithood as an end process comparable to that of nature, where all returns through the course of existence to itself eventually, hermithood, for hyperion, of course, illustrates the "homecoming" of the spirit of nature in the individual to itself (as in the harmony of childhood) (cf. also p. 7). the experience in the war for greek independence, in which hyperion is reconciled to alabanda, produces in him the ultimate disappointment in his countrymen, and causes him to give up all hope of a renaissance in his own time. filled with the loftiest aspiration, hyperion leads his men against misitra (p. 150) "diotima, ich möchte dieses werdende glück nicht um die schönste lebenszeit des alten griechenlands vertauschen-." when the city has been taken, however, his comrades show their bestiality, their unworthiness of his high hopes for them; they plunder, rob, and murder countryman and enemy alike, revealing their cowardice in flight before a far weaker force of albanians (p. 152-154). hyperion is banished and cursed as a common thief and rebel (p. 155). he is, himself, crushed by the fiasco and forced to admit failure (p. 153) "diese trauernde erde! die nackte! so ich kleiden wollte mit heiligen hainen, so ich schmücken wollte mit allen blumen des griechischen lebens!" although hyperion attempts to throw away his life in a subsequent naval battle, he survives miraculously the hand-to-hand combat and the inferno of the flaming ship (p. 162) "und das schicksal schien mich zu achten in meiner verzweiflung." yet, it is the healing power of nature and his faith in it which gives hyperion back to life, albeit resigned by disillusionment to the surrender of his ambition (p. 164) "o heilige pflanzenwelt! wir streben und sinnen, und haben doch dich! wir ringen mit sterblichen kräften schönes zu baun, und es wächst doch sorglos neben uns auf." the strengthening conviction of the divinity of nature which hyperion carries with him into the war and which revives him after his dismal failure are largely inspired by the experience with diotima. in her, he finds the complete harmony which he had longed to behold in a human soul (p. 68) "ich hab es einmal gesehen, das einzige, das meine seele suchte, und die vollendung, die wir über die sterne hinauf entfernen, die wir hinausschieben bis ans ende der zeit, die hab' ich gegenwärtig gefühlt." she is beauty personified (p. 68); she symbolizes that concept of "schönheit" which for hyperion implies the perfect, instinctive union of the individual soul with the pervading spirit. it is this ideal, embodied in diotima, which accompanies him into hermithood and irradiates it. in her infinite "child-like" concord, diotima is a revelation of the sacred; she is nature (p. 71) – "diotimas auge öffnete sich weit, und leise, wie eine knospe sich aufschliesst, schloss das liebe gesichtchen vor den lüften des himmels sich auf, ward lauter sprache und 99 — for seele, und, als begänne sie den flug in die wolken, stand sanft emporgestreckt die ganze gestalt, in leichter majestät, und berührte kaum mit den füssen die erde." (here, too, the opening bud simile suggests the perfect state of communion.) her heart is at home among the flowers as if it were one of them (p. 73). the world of nature to her is a household in which all souls are eternal members (p. 74) a belief which paraphrases hyperion's faith in the return of the heart (soul) into itself in the course of life (cf. p. 48). hyperion's hermithood becomes, in this light, an "actus fidet" and in solitude, the hermit communes with her and nature at once through her death, she becomes imperishably one with its spirit. we have seen in our discussion of hyperion's relationship with adamas that the older man had dedicated his pupil to a higher existence and, at the same time, that he had prophesied the loneliness which would be the lot of the sun-god's namesake among men. we have also observed that a miraculous chance had preserved hyperion's life in battle. with diotima, too, hyperion had relived the glory of ancient athens (p. 112-113) "die natur war priesterin und der mensch ihr gott" and she had pointed out his destiny prior to his departure for war (p. 119) – “du wirst erzieher unsers volks." this would have been his natural mission, but his recourse to violence (war) vitiated it. the disaster of the war and the terrible disillusionment for both hyperion and diotima is largely responsible for her death. another factor is her realization that his love for her does not suffice to fill his life, that his masculine ambition and thirst for action will take him out of her life forever. she unselfishly encourages him, however, to fulfill himself while she derives consolation from her belief in their eventual spiritual reunion in the eternal divinity of nature (from which nothing can be lost and in which all things return see conclusion of this discussion). the idealism which she had felt in exhorting hyperion to educate the greeks withers and their future together is made impossible. diotima insists upon separation, for she will bring forth no children in a world of slavery and degenerated values (p. 171) "die armen pflanzen welkten mir ja doch in dieser dürre vor den augen weg.' in the realization of hyperion's imperishable love for humanity and of the pain and disappointment which would await him in further attempts to revive his race, she urges him to turn from men, to devote himself to the eternal divinity in nature to become a hermit (p. 171) – “du kehrest zu den göttern, kehrst ins heilige freie, jugendliche leben der natur, wovon du ausgingst, und das ist ja dein verlangen nur und auch das meine."no ordinary reunion proves possible for the lovers but through such solitary communion on the part of hyperion. in her final letter to him (p. 194), diotima passionately voices once more her belief in 100 immortality and union with nature "wir trennen uns nur, um inniger einig zu sein, göttlicher-friedlich mit allem, mit uns. wir sterben, um zu leben.' " — the trip to germany, which diotima had suggested (p. 118) as a means of seeking greatness and beauty among a presumably more fortunate people, is a wretched failure; hyperion finds there nothing worthy of the name, "mensch" (p. 206) "und wehe dem fremdling, der aus liebe wandert, und zu solchem volke kommt, und dreifach wehe dem, der, so wie ich, von grossem schmerz getrieben, ein bettler meiner art, zu solchem volke kommt!" there he finds no love of beauty, no honoring of genius in the artist, but only slavishness; completely defeated in his desire to educate or be educated, hyperion returns to greece and solitude in nature: he becomes an "eremit" on the island of salamis. as a hermit, hyperion puts the thought of rejuvenated humanity in his own time out of his mind ("ich hab ihn ausgeträumt, von menschendingen den traum" p. 209), and lives for the one truth he knows communion with the godhead of nature in which he is reunited with diotima (p. 210). hermithood, in hölderlin's hyperion, is, then, the state of the prophet unheard by his people, the exponent of a nature-religion which hopes to raise mankind to a golden age of divine concord with its environment. balked by degenerated standards with which he will not compromise, the would-be reformer seeks refuge in solitude, in consonance with the inspirational spirit of nature there to await a rebirth, perhaps, into a humanity which may ripen in harmony with the garden producing it (p. 209) "und ich, o baum des lebens, dass ich wieder grüne mit dir und deine gipfel umatme mit all deinen knospenden zweigen! friedlich und innig, denn alle wuchsen wir aus dem goldnen samenkorn herauf!" hyperion, as a hermit, exemplifies a certain pessimism toward society; yet, it is pessimism in a limited sense, for the firm belief in the power of nature as a religion to lift mankind to the height of its inherent potentialities is never shaken in him, only its realization is deferred to a remote future. the prophetic vision which, after repeated disappointments, looks into an unlimited vista, is positive – indeed, optimistic. hermithood is, in hyperion, characterized by underlying hope born of union with the vital elements in which the individual, the recluse, finds the spring of eternal life. the closing words of the novel: "more of this anon" ("nächstens mehr") are to be taken in a deep and symbolic sense. (3) in novalis' heinrich von ofterdingen, the figure of the hermit, friedrich von hohenzollern, reveals the poet's peculiar gift for uniting realism with fanciful and profound symbolism; hohenzollern embodies in his relationship to nature an uncanny perspective, 101 for past and future flow for him into a vast, timeless cosmos. in hermithood, he stands at the border of earthly life, where time ceases to exist, and from his vantage point he is able to evaluate the past and, to some extent, the future he becomes a kind of genius of history. like eichendorff's don diego and wieland's alfonso, hohenzollern is an aged man with a long life rich in experience behind him. as in eine meerfahrt, the first evidence of the hermit's presence is his song, which reaches the ears of heinrich and his party from the depth of the mountain cavern, hohenzollern's unique hermitage. the song, itself, is an expression of the deep peace which he has found in contemplative solitude; he dwells in perfect tranquillity and consonance with nature. divine love enriches his isolation, endowing him with a calm of spirit which is characteristic of his position on the brink between this life and the next (p. 159) "und ich steh in diesem leben trunken an des himmels tor." the trials and sorrows of the past (the death of his loved ones) have transfigured his earthly existence and time has ceased to have meaning for him, since he stands, as it were, between two existences like novalis, himself, a citizen of two worlds: still gratefully lingering in this vale, but poised for heaven – (p. 159) "jene lange zahl von tagen dünkt mir nur ein augenblick; werd ich einst von hier getragen, schau ich dankbar noch zurück." it is immediately apparent to the visitors, when they see him, that hohenzollern is at peace with the world. suggestive of the placid harmony in which he lives is the fact that his face is devoid of any traces of age (p. 159) – “er sah weder alt noch jung aus." the brightness of his glance makes it seem as though he were gazing from a mountain summit into some eternal springtime an intimation of his capacity to perceive past and future as a cosmic whole, for he looks from this life into the next. (this characteristic has a bearing, perhaps, upon the book illustrating heinrich's course of life and unfulfilled destiny p. 169). in the traditional manner, hohenzollern is hospitable to his visitors; he is not a hermit out of misanthropy, but, rather, out of the desire to devote himself to contemplation (p. 160). for hohenzollern (as for alfonso and don diego) the life in isolation is incompatible with youth since hermithood consists in reflection, its prerequisite is a rich fund of experience which has deepened the inner self. (the necessary tendency to strong individualism can 102 only be developed in contact with society (p. 160). although he had hoped to be a hermit as a young man, hohenzollern had soon convinced himself that a youthful heart would not stand isolation.) as a young man he had felt a desire to become a hermit. this was due to the prompting of a vague but ardent enthusiasm ("heisse schwärmerei"). he hoped and dreamed of finding full nourishment for his heart in solitude, for his inner life seemed to him an inexhaustible source. he soon realized, nevertheless, that one must bring to hermithood a wealth of experience – that a young heart cannot bear to be alone, indeed, that only through manifold experience with his kind does a man develop the independence of character, which, he implies, is requisite for hermithood (p. 160). the old miner intimates that increasing age inclines naturally toward withdrawal from society, which is generally characterized by hopefulness and a sense of common purpose, and is dedicated to activity infancy and old age are, as a rule, shut out, since the former is a state of helplessness and the latter has seen its hope fulfilled and its purpose in life accomplished (p. 161) "und nun nicht mehr von ihnen in den kreis jener gesellschaft verflochten, in sich selbst zurückkehren, und genug zu tun finden, sich auf eine höhere gemeinschaft würdig vorzubereiten." thus, isolation is the proper preparation for the life beyond. hohenzollern occupies himself by exercising in the fresh air and weaving baskets which he barters for food in nearby villages. at other times, he steeps himself in the many books which he had brought with him to the cave. thus, he never feels discomfort or boredom in his isolation and time passes rapidly. the gentle curiosity of the old miner aroused probably by the rich armor (cf. walter) hanging above the tombstone figures of hohenzollern and his wife draws out the background of the recluse who (like so many of our hermits) had been a knight. the fortunes of war had enticed the young would-be hermit into its currents, bearing him across the world to the orient (probably in the crusades). the deaths of his children and wife had provided the immediate motivation for hohenzollern's hermithood. marie had died of a broken heart upon returning to germany and in the vicinity of the mountain cavern (p. 168). a divine illumination had come upon him and lifted the pain from his spirit, granting the peace of mind which had characterized his solitude henceforth. it is possible that the hermit feels a union with marie and that the godly ray of light indicates that state of rapport between kindred souls in the heart of nature (cf. hiebel, novalis, p. 280). the epitaph on the side of the tomb reads (p. 161) "friedrich und marie von hohenzollern kehrten auf dieser stelle in ihr vaterland zurück." the word, "vaterland" refers, without doubt, not 103 only to the scene of marie's (and hohenzollern's eventual) death, but to the cavern, itself, and its symbolic properties. in the remote depth of the mountain, as it is, the cavern suggests the innermost heart of nature, where time almost does not exist for the hermit; here, past and future, earthly life and that of the spirit, blend into one another and are inseparable. in intimacy with the core of nature, then, hohenzollern is master of an unusual perspective; he becomes the exponent of the apotheosis of history a poetic history which presents the past in the light of the future. heinrich's encounter with the hermit occurs in the architectural center (fifth chapter of nine) of the first part of the novel. as a ripening poet, he experiences and absorbs into himself all that he witnesses. hohenzollern, consequently, performs what we have called an “educational" function. he imparts an interpretation of history, which is based upon the timeless, unified perspective, to which we previously referred, and which is his special property as a hermit, as we have seen (p. 162) "der eigentliche sinn für die geschichten der menschen entwickelt sich erst spät, und mehr unter den stillen einflüssen der erinnerung, als unter den gewaltsameren eindrücken der gegenwart. die nächsten ereignisse scheinen nur locker verknüpft, aber sie sympathisieren desto wunderbarer mit entfernteren; nur dann, wenn man imstande ist, eine lange reihe zu übersehn und weder alles buchstäblich zu nehmen, noch auch mit mutwilligen träumen die eigentliche ordnung zu verwirren, bemerkt man die geheime verkettung des ehemaligen und künftigen, und lernt die geschichte aus hoffnung und erinnerung zusammensetthe hermit's exposition, here, is based upon his wide experience prior to isolation; he analyzes the development and character of the perspective (as we have already seen) which distinguishes his state in hermithood in addition (and primarily, of course) it is his conception of history. what he had maintained concerning hermithood, hohenzollern, naturally, applies to the historical concept – that is – it should be written, not by the young but by old reverent folk, who have no further history of their own left to live and who await only their transplantation to the heavenly garden (p. 162). the technique of unrolling facts is not the goal, but, rather, the poetic revelation of truth (p. 164) "es ist mehr wahrheit in ihren (the poets') märchen, als in gelehrten chroniken.” " the hermit had learned his interpretation of history, had acquired his marvelous perspective, from communion with nature in the cavern abode (p. 165) "seitdem ich in dieser höhle wohne, -, habe ich mehr über die alte zeit nachdenken gelernt. wenn ich mir die wilde zeit denke, wo diese fremdartigen, ungeheuren tiere in dichten scharen sich in diese höhlen hereindrängten, von furcht und angst vielleicht getrieben, und hier ihren tod fanden; wenn ich 104 dann wieder bis zu den zeiten hinaufsteige, wo diese höhlen zusammenwuchsen und ungeheure fluten das land bedeckten: so komme ich mir selbst wie ein traum der zukunft, wie ein kind des ewigen friedens vor." as an example (although not designated as such) of the ideal history, the strange book which seems to portray his life and experiences, past and future, falls into the hands of the fascinated heinrich (p. 169): it represents the course of his life and all those persons with whom he had come into contact, together with others as yet unknown to him mathilde and klingsohr. the unfamiliar scenes are quite obviously the experiences of the future and the missing conclusion points toward the after-life. the past of novalis' hermit, hohenzollern, is transformed in his relationship to nature and blended with the future; in isolation, the last stage of life, he becomes a citizen of two worlds gifted with a strange perspective – past, present, and future are, in his eyes, one eternity. as its prophet, he is the spirit of poetic history. (4) the hermit in schiller's die braut von messina is endowed by nature (and god) with mystic power to recognize the changing direction of fate; like hohenzollern, he, too, has insight into future events by virtue of his age (1. 2099) and his communion with nature. he had his hermitage on the lofty crags of mt. etna; known as "der greis des berges" he has been there since time immemorial. great importance is attributed here, also, to the location of the hermit's abode. since he exists aloof from ordinary folk on the rocky heights near to heaven, he is considered to be in intimate contact with the divine forces governing the destinies of men. as a holy man whose senses have been purified by the rarer breezes, he possesses the character of a seer. because of the perspective from his remote dwelling, his insight into life is deeper than that of others (1.2103-2105) "und von dem berg der aufgewälzten jahre hinabsieht in das aufgelöste spiel des unverständlich krummgewundnen lebens." the solitary holy man possesses knowledge of the fate which hangs over the house of messina and which is embodied in isabella's daughter, beatrice. at isabella's behest, he had frequently used his extraordinary power to avert evil destiny by prayer. isabella had sent a messenger to the hermit to discover the whereabouts of her daughter who had disappeared from the cloister. the recluse sends back word that she has been found by don manuel. when he receives the candle, presented by isabella as a token of gratitude, instead of lighting it in honor of his saint, the frenzied hermit sets fire to his hut, and disappears, crying portentously three times, "wehe!" 105 to be sure, the audience, or reader, knows, prior to this scene, that manuel has been killed by his brother and that his corpse will subsequently be brought into the palace. the behavior of the hermit represents horror, for he foresees the terrible fulfillment of the curse in the discovery of beatrice. the function of the report concerning him is certainly to add a degree of suspense and to emphasize the fate which is about to fall upon the noble house. the conception of the hermit praying to avert a curse and of his violent reaction of horror to its imminence, as revealed in the destruction of his hermitage, would suggest, perhaps, a strong pagan, or asiatic, coloring (which is, on the other hand, not incompatible to the mixture of pagan and christian elements throughout the tragedy – expecially the interpretation of fate). the salient characteristic, however, is the interpretation of the hermit as possessing unusual, supernatural insight into life and into its subjection to the powers of fate all of which he derives from the perspective inherent in his vantage point on the remote mountain peak where the air breathed by ordinary men is thinned to the ether of the suprarational realm. (5) the figure of the hermit, paul, in uhland's dramatic fragment, könig eginhard, also known as schildeis contributes little of additional interest to our consideration of the relationship of the recluse to nature, but the poet's charming treatment of him merits a brief discussion here. the most important aspect is the fact that the hermit, for uhland, represents the strong romantic attachment to the forest a love which becomes a salient characteristic not only of german romanticism, but of german literature henceforth. paul is conceived as a semi-comic character (cf. also düntzer, uhlands dramen und dramenentwürfe, p. 80-81 -), whose sermons on human life and nature have a tedious effect on the old knight, dietwald, but whose discourses on the forest are to be taken in all earnest. the material of the fragment is drawn from a folk tale, included by the grimm brothers in their deutsche sagen (p. 204, footnote) and the figure of the hermit is taken over by uhland from the traditional legend (cf. also düntzer p. 39). eginhard has fled with his abducted bride, adelheit, emperor otto's daughter, and seeks refuge in the ancient castle, schildeis, hidden deep in the recesses of the bohemian forest it had been the hunting castle of eginhard's father many years earlier. in the forest near the castle, eginhard and adelheit, accompanied by dietwald, meet the hermit, who guides them to their destination, inhabited only by the venerable "burgvogt," eckart (also from the tale). the latter has literally lost track of time, and takes the young eginhard for his long deceased father. only the hermit is intimately acquainted with the timelessness 106 of the retreat. here, surrounded by forest and cliff, he feels no hint of passing time and life in the world outside goes on without intruding upon his "waldeinsamkeit." loneliness and intimacy with the environment make the hermit sensitive to the spirit life which frequents the castle. there at midnight, the ghosts of its former lords wander through the halls (p. 206) "sie kehren gerne zu dem haus zurück, wo alles noch ist wie zu ihrer zeit." the recluse explains that the changeless atmosphere of schildeis and of the thick forest about it have made his only human contact, the old eckart, forget his age completely. in uhland's fragment as in novalis' heinrich von ofterdingen, the hermit is characterized by the sense of timelessness. uhland's hermit finds this quality specifically in the "wald" typical, as we have seen, for the german "einsiedel" and here, especially, for swabian romanticism. the forest becomes for paul a symbol of this timelessness (p. 207) "den wechsel selbst der jahreszeiten lässt der tannenwälder ewig dunkelgrün, der felsen ewig frühlingslose öde in unsrer wildnis weniger bemerken." isolation from the world makes the recluse talkative and the arrival of eginhard and his party inspire the hermit to a sermon on life which reveals the specific source of comfort for him in the forest of schildeis. the seasonal cycles in nature ordinarily become a taunt for man whose life is a brief blossoming followed by prolonged withering. the youth is saddened by the bareness of autumn which foreshadows the coming of old age, while spring occasions pain for those (like paul) bowed with years (p. 207) "da will des greises wange neu sich röten, sich zu verjüngen meint das matte herz. ach, kurze täuschung nur!" thus, human life is interpreted by the hermit in terms of nature in the comparison, however, man must be saddened by the long and single direction of his cycle. therefore, the hermit finds consolation in the timeless forest of his solitude (p. 207) "drum lob' ich diese wechsellose gegend, wo nichts im herzen weckt der sehnsucht qual." here, where it has been untouched by time and where man no longer sets his foot, the forest represents earth in the early stages of creation. the elements seem as yet unseparated. since no light falls through upon the chaos of cliffs and ravines, even the plants are 107 lacking. dark waters rush beneath the rocks and clouds lie in the gorges the forest is the symbol of all natural forces combined the portrait of life fresh from the hand of the creator. in this atmosphere and in the isolation of hermithood, the solitary often feels a primeval, divine strength surge through him and he calls through the vast silence "es werde!" the timelessness of the forest and its revelation of pristine forces in the creation let the hermit experience the power of the godhead in contrast with the impotent voice of man. the poet smiles, to be sure, at the grandiosity of his hermit's inspiration at his glowing eye and fluttering locks. the humour, nevertheless, which is implied, particularly in the closing lines of paul's "schöpfungserlebnis" (p. 208) is sympathetic. the forest represents, ultimately, for the hermit (and romanticism) nature, undisturbed by man, removed from time (as does don diego's island in meerfahrt) (p. 208) "die weiten, stillen wälder, wo der mensch, des schöpfers letztes werk, noch fehlt, und dort noch in der ferne das gebirg, das liegt nun vollends ausser aller zeit.' "" hermithood embodies, here, love for the forest as a symbol, too, of the timeless essence of the "heimat;" although this connotation is nowhere specifically suggested in the lines, an unmistakable feeling of it surges beneath the surface of much of the verse given to the recluse. (6) the designation of the hermit as "waldvater" in kerner's "märchendichtung," die heimatlosen indicates two important features of the figure. for kerner, “wald” is nature, a living, universal spirit, while "vater" suggests the supremacy of this spirit and the intimate relationship of it to all beings; the "waldvater," then, is the fatherly spirit governing and pervading all life – the figure of the hermit is identified (more conclusively than in bürger's der wilde jäger) with nature, itself. another tenet inherent in the tale is of the utmost significance one upon which the interpretation of the hermit figure (or of the tale) must be based. the concept of "todessehnsucht" is a longing for reunion with the spirit of nature – for reunification with nature, itself. for kerner, this longing or drive, is natural and inherent in all beings. after having first read the tale, uhland wrote to his friend (justinus kerners briefwechsel mit seinen freunden, bd. 1, p. 338-339) asking the question, "sind es nur solche bewusstlose prophezeiungen, krankhafte ahnungen, zwecklose zerrüttungen, was man im innigeren umgang mit der natur gewinnt ?" in his answer (cf. previous reference, p. 340-343), kerner explained his conception of 108 "todessehnsucht" or reunification with nature; his explanation, of course, derives from his experience as a physician this biographical fact had much stronger influences upon kerner's poetic world than is generally conceded or recognized. death is the most intimate union with the spirit of nature and every type of sickness is a striving toward this union organic decay in any part of the body, even the sensitivity of scars to atmospheric changes are circumstances which bring the individual into more intimate contact with the nature spirit. the completely healthy body acts as a bulwark against such reunification. dispositions which reveal an unusual inclination toward intimacy with the secrets of nature (and kerner compares novalis with serpentin) are destined for early union to it. we have referred very briefly, in connection with the hermit of oberon, to the symbolism of the sea as a representation of eternity. this idea is implicit in kerner's tale; at the conclusion of sililie's "märchen" which introduces the story and to which serpentin listens in a dream-like state (much as ofterdingen's dream of the blue flower introduces novalis' novel), goldener, after long wandering, is crowned by fisher-folk, and gazes from a ship decked with flowers toward the sun sinking into the sea (p. 281) and serpentin, himself, falls asleep dreaming of the burning sun upon the waves (the tale was originally entitled “die wanderer zum morgenrot"). we learn from the count (p. 302) of "waldvaters" history; he had been born on the barren, rocky island, helgoland, and spent his youth in play by the ocean which surrounded his home. later he became a seaman. having returned from a long voyage, he had discovered (as did joseph in godwi) that his wife, convinced of his death at sea had remarried. the shock apparently led to his hermithood. the curious nature of the life and background of "waldvater" is almost lost in legend and the strange saga-like atmosphere surrounding his life lends him an air of mystery in keeping with his symbolic value. of his past otherwise, nothing is known but that he had retreated to hermithood in a remote mountain forest – the same forest, of course, to which his great-great-grandchildren, serpentin and sililie, had been brought with their older brother, luchs (p. 286). the description of the hermit's appearance (p. 283) is designed to suggest his personification of the spirit of the wild forest surrounding his cabin. the hair of head and chin is like moss. bent and twisted, and having skin which is leathern and wrinkled, he has the aspect of one of the ancient roots which supply part of his diet. he is "uralt," and has inhabited the cabin as long as can be remembered. the fact that the strange master of nature-cures, lambert, dwells in the same cabin is an intimation of the source of the latter's capacities and an additional hint as to the identification of "waldvater." we have 109 mentioned the eternal significance of the sea; the turtle which "waldvater" carries in his gnarled fingers is further evidence of his timeless source the aged turtle is the same as that which appears in the portraits in the count's castle (p. 296-297) of "waldvater" as a child and as a seaman. the hermit's death and burial convey actually, not his reunification to nature, but, rather, his utter identification with it. he is buried in a stalactite cavern by lambert, sililie, and the mountain folk, to whom he had been known as "waldvater, geist dieser alten wälder" henceforth he will be "geist der wasser, metalle und gesteine dieser gebirge" (p. 300). the properties of the waters which drip from the cave walls preserve his body (cf. also hoffmann's bergwerke zu falun, where the hero also had been a seaman, and eichendorff's eine meerfahrt: in both, the removal from time is a strong theme as here, and in uhland's paul). in death, his hands have the texture of the turtle's shell (which split at the moment of the old man's decease), his neck is like the bark of an ancient tree overgrown with moss, and the crystal-bright eyes have opened like dew-pearls on a water-lily. the entire ceremony of burial is a strange, beautiful rite of nature and the song of the maidens, which accompanies his interment in the cavern, celebrates his eternal preservation (p. 301) – "erglüh mit dem kristall der kluft, du aug' mit hellem schein, einst finde man in felsen dich als reichen edelstein." the relationship of "waldvater" to sililie, serpentin, and luchs, his great-great-grandchildren, lends to the tale a kind of allegorical quality nature and its children constitute one large family. the circumstances of the actual family history (p. 301-304), which separated the hermit, originally, from his wife, and the subsequent shipwreck of the parents of serpentin, sililie and luchs, give the tale its title, "die heimatlosen" (the theme of which is expressed in luchs' "die strassen, die ich gehe"). all three offspring long inwardly for the "heimat," which is the eternal spirit of nature. serpentin is tempted by the visions of light inspired through sililie's "märchen" (p. 281), a preview of his own course of life, to leave the dark forests in search of the "morgenrot." sililie, of course, does not wander forth; as a female, she exists in more intimate communion with nature than do her brothers ("und eilt auch bälder als der mann den gänzlichen verein mit der natur, dem tode, zu" briefwechsel, bd. 1, p. 341). her suprarational understanding of the sensitive child (p. 286-287) which exhibits such closeness to nature and is, therefore, soon united to it, reveals the feminine receptivity 110 to the secrets of the pervading spirit sililie's nearness to the spirit of nature is most strongly suggested by her care for "waldvater," shortly before his "death,” as well as by his pleasurable reaction to her (p. 295). luchs (kerner's version of goethe's "harfner") is obsessed by the same urge to wander in search of eternal dawn as is his brother, serpentin. serpentin and sililie succumb to their inner longing immediately after the burial of "waldvater." in her dying hour, sililie, like serpentin, envisions eternal light, while luchs, of more vigorous constitution than his sensitive brother and sister, is doomed to endless wandering in search of his "heimat” – he is seized by the urge to set out again (p. 307) at the time of serpentin's final sickness. from the distance, the tones of his harp and song enter serpentin's chamber, while a magnificent sunrise fires the sky (p. 307) "doch fern gebirge ragen, die meine heimat tragen, ein ewig morgenrot." kerner's hermit, therefore, is a "sagengestalt", more properly a symbol or personification of the nature-spirit, rather than a person. the poet uses his hermit, who draws his progeny after him to eternal life, as an exponent of "todessehnsucht" and reunification with nature the "waldvater" is nature, taking unto himself its family. (7) goethe also puts the hermit figure to symbolic use in the final scene of faust to a use quite different, however, from kerner's. it is of importance to note that goethe uses, specifically, four anchorites not ordinary hermits. we recall (cf. also definitions in the introduction) that the anchorite, unlike the hermit, takes a vow of utter seclusion, and is committed to the most severe isolation for the remainder of his life. the ties with earthly life are severed forever; there is no turning back and only his body still binds him to this world, for his entire soul is directed toward the next. the portion of the final scene containing the "heilige anachoreten" (1. 11844-12103) acts, in a sense, as a sort of prelude to the arrival of faust's soul into the sphere of eternal love. the anchorites represent stages of spiritualization in nature (“naturvergeistigung”), which free the soul of its transitory physical properties that it may enter into the pure sphere of love emanating from the presence of the "mater gloriosa,” “das ewig-weibliche." the site of the anchorites' hermitages is probably modeled after montserat (north of barcelona) in spain ("mons serratus" or jagged mountain) which contained a monastery and countless anchorite cells; it was the goal of over 6,000 pilgrims a year, and was sacred to the virgin. it is also possible that goethe was partly inspired by descriptions of a pisan fresco (df. sämtliche werke, bd. 14, p. 401 111 and schröer, goethes faust ii, p. 381), which portrays the lions (1. 11850) "löwen, sie schleichen stumm freundlich um uns herum "" the quiet, friendly beasts, transformed by the sacred nature of the hermitage, (as also in dürer's st. jerome engraving) are traditional symbols of the pervading power of love. (1. 11852) "ehren geweihten ort, heiligen liebeshort." the anchorites are situated in cells at varying levels, according to the stages of "vergeistigung", in the rocky cliff which rises out of the plain. of the four anchorites, the pater ecstaticus is not stationary; he represents the most transitional state of spiritualization through his continuous hovering up and down past the cells of the other three. in him, the poet reveals the emotion and inner working of the power of love in nature, which dissipates the last elements of the physical, leaving the essence of love, itself, the soul – (1. 11862-11865) "dass ja das nichtige alles verflüchtige, glänze der dauerstern, ewiger liebe kern." as his designation implies, the pater ecstaticus embodies in the intensity of the verses allotted to him the extreme ecstasy of "vergeistigung" (ecstasy in mystical language, a psychological state in which intense mental absorption in divine things is accompanied by loss of sense perception and voluntary control to put out of place, from greek existanai): the fact, too, that he is in motion indicates his complete spirituality – he is all emotion; his stage will be reached by each of his brothers. the second anchorite, pater profundus, is closest to the substantial elements of nature. he is aware of the rushing streams plunging eventually into larger rivers and the mighty energy which projects tree trunks into the air all these possess a driving strength generated by love, the motivating force of nature, which is evident in all elements (1. 11873) "so ist es die allmächtige liebe die alles bildet, alles hegt." the roaring waters from the mountain irrigate the fields and the lightning flames purify the air(1. 11882) "sind liebesboten, sie verkünden, was ewig schaffend uns umwallt." 112 this anchorite wishes to derive inspiration from the loving force which permeates nature as he feels it the source of spiritualization is, for him, in the substances of earth (1. 11884) "mein innres mög' es auch entzünden, wo sich der geist, verworren, kalt, verquält in stumpfer sinne schranken, scharfangeschlossnem kettenschmerz." pater seraphicus, as opposed to the pater profundus, is in a higher cell as befits his state; he is almost free of the physical. in him, spirituality is in ascendancy over matter and, consequently, he is receptive to the spirit world. the fine nuance of transition from physical to spiritual is disclosed in the anchorite's perception of the souls of midnight children those children born at the spirit hour are, according to tradition, fated for untimely death. as a tiny morning cloud hovers over the pines and floats closer, the anchorite is aware of the children-spirits, who, because of early death, have not known nature in earthly life. they pass into the eyes of the pater, and, through him, perceive the wonders of earth.¹ the pater seraphicus releases them, and, in turn, is able to follow their flight into the realms of pure spirit this instance, too, reveals the infinite power of love, for it is through this universal-natural emotion that the anchorite has contact with the spiritual – (1. 11902) "dass ein liebender zugegen, fühlt ihr wohl, so naht euch nur!" the doctor marianus, who is in the loftiest cell, enjoys the ultimate state of spiritualization which is possible in this life; therefore, it is given to him to perceive the presence of the mater gloriosa, "das ewig-weibliche." he is able to witness the forgiveness of the four women sinners, maria magdalena, the samaritan woman, maria of egypt, and gretchen; all four had committed sins of the flesh, of nature, and all four obtain mercy. doctor marianus, of course, comprehends the ascension of faust's soul through gretchen's love and intercession for grace. therefore, to doctor marianus are given the final verses, prior to those of the mystic choir which sums up the theme of the scene and of the poem. as an anchorite in the final stage of spiritualization, he testifies for mankind to the miracle of redemption through love – (1. 12096) "blicket auf zum retterblick, alle reuig zarten euch zu seligem geschick dankend umzuarten." 1 the almost certain source for this entire conception of the "midnight children" is to be found in klopstock's messias, i, 1. 652 ff. 113 in the figures of his anchorites, goethe portrays compositely hermithood as the border existence between the earthly and spiritual worlds; in each of his individual figures, as we have seen, he graduates the extent of spiritualization, making his last anchorite witness to the supreme mystery of redemption through love the eternal power which pervades all of nature. although these anchorites are occupied with religious rites (unlike the others of this chapter), religion and love are bound to the conception of nature.¹ (8) don diego, the hermit of eichendorff's eine meerfahrt combines orthodox religion with harmony in nature; as a hermit, he embodies heroic qualities. his natural piety saves him from temptation of the flesh and his hermithood represents a triumph over life -, the termination of a stormy career in placid concord with nature and god. diego conforms to the tradition of knightly, adventurous "einsiedler" as do trevrizent, hohenzollern, and, particularly, alfonso in oberon, who is also spanish, and finds peace on a remote and rocky island. although his hermithood is partially the result of victory through divine aid over dangerous passion, we may consider it, in a sense, his natural goal in life. as he tells antonio, alvarez, and alma of the outset of his portentous voyage, he describes his dream-empire (p. 347) "ich war damals noch jung, vor meiner seele dämmerte bei tag und nacht ein wunderbares reich mit blühenden inseln und goldenen türmen aus den fluten herauf -." in response to his illfated lieutenant's belief that it is foolhardy to seek eldorado in the world, since it lies upon the seas of eternity, diego insists that he must try, or else resign himself to never finding it (p. 348). the implications are clear only he has the right to dwell in an ideal realm, who has the strength of will to conquer it for himself, to earn it by service and trimph over the trials of life (as diego tells antonio, too, before parting from him.) to be sure there is also some truth in lieutenant alonzo's contention that it lies in eternity, for diego's eldorado turns out to be an empire rich in the eternal peace of god and nature. to earn his right to the island hermitage of tranquillity and concord, diego must first trimph over the dangers and temptations of its evil and pagan counterpart, the island of the passionate (penthesilea-type) warrior queen (cf. also ulmer, eichendorff's eine meerfahrt, p. 151). it is, however, diego's piety which (together with the miracle of his escape from the flaming ship) helps him survive the evils of the queen and her exotic, savage island kingdom. on the dawn of the day on which diego and his party land, the island seems 1 to be sure, these stages of spiritualization through nature represented in the anchorites imply the final attenuation of faust, himself. 114 to be bathed in the morning light of the lord's angel, who stands with flaming sword on the mountain peak driving the original sinners from paradise (p. 348-349). the picture which enters diego's mind suggests to the reader the atmosphere of the tempting, sinister beauty of the island and its queen and, at the same time, the hand of divine providence which is to shield the adventurous young man. although in eventual close contact he is fascinated by the savage queen's beauty "nun fesselte mich ihre schönheit, und ganz verwirrt und geblendet drückte ich flüchtig ihre hand" (p. 354) he never succumbs to her wild charm as does his lieutenant alonzo. the latter becomes her slave completely, deserting his company and ending in madness – keeping watch by the preserved body of his witch-goddess (cf. kerner theme of preservation) until his death at the hands of antonio and his party (p. 330). when diego swears, however, to convert the queen and rule the island in god's name or never to return to europe, he falls into the deepest temptation, for he is, in truth, dangerously near to becoming the victim of his passion (p. 356) – “ich tor, ich bildete mir ein, den himmel zu erobern, und meinte doch nur das schöne weib!" yet, through divine intervention, he survives the exploding ship's magazine, (which destroys the source of temptation) and the ordeal adrift on the waves; he is washed ashore on the true island paradise – where he hangs his sword on a tree (antonio sees it overgrown symbolically with blossoms) and becomes a hermit, devoted entirely to god, his benefactor, and the peace of his nature. as a hermit, diego has come through the trials of violent adventure and temptation; with the death of the island queen and his own providential escape from death, he assumes in hermithood a greatness of proportion commensurate with the fullness of the life behind him and with the eternal concord which characterizes his saintly solitude. near his hermitage, diego has cultivated a garden above which, on the mountainside, there stands a cross. the garden is symbolic of the hermit's accord with god and nature an expression of his devotion and piety (cf. also ulmer, eichendorff's eine meerfahrt p. 150). the heroic aspect of the hermit, derived from his trimph over life and temptation and from his background of enterprise and adventure, is frequently accentuated by the poet. on the evening following the landing on diego's island, a soldier reports to antonio and alvarez his having seen the gigantic figure of a saint standing on a peak (p. 340) "die ersten abendsterne am firmament hatten das haupt des bildes wie ein heiligenschein umgeben -." the figure is, of course, immediately identified as the gardener whom they had previously assumed to be "der liebe gott selber" (p. 339). when diego appears, he creates again the same awe-inspiring impression 115 (p. 342) "ein schöner, riesenhafter greis mit langem, weissem bart, in rauhem fell gekleidet, eine brennende fackel in der hand-." (costume here and the motif of footprints seen earlier are reminiscent of robinson crusoe). the song which heralds his appearance (like that of hohenzollern) sums up his transcendence over past life; the years, which have floated by like clouds, have left him in peaceful solitude (p. 341) "die jahre wie die wolken gehn und lassen mich hier einsam stehn, die welt hat mich vergessen, da tratst du wunderbar zu mir, wenn ich bei waldesrauschen hier in stiller nacht 1 gesessen.' "" it is interesting that don diego's song is a variation of grimmelshausen's hermit in simplicissimus (book i, chap. 7), beginning "komm, trost der nacht, o nachtigal!" both hermits are heard singing the songs which characterize their states of existence before they are seen. grimmelshausen's hermit expresses a typically strong "jenseitig" urge; his nightingale praises god in heaven. for don diego, on the other hand, the longing for eternity is imbued, typically, with "naturfrömmigkeit" and his spiritual longing finds intimacy and union with the nature spirit personified as night. the two poems form an interesting contrast between one of our earliest hermit figures (baroque) and our final one, eichendorff's don diego who, in spite of affinities with his predecessor, is most typically romantic. although it is literally not true that the world had forgotten him (he lives in song and antonio has come to seek information about him), the tone of the verses conveys the peace which is his in solitude, when the presence of god comes to him through the nightrustling of the trees. the sense of loftiness, which we have already noticed in the appearance of the hermit on the ridge and silhouetted on the mountain peak, implies not only his superior position over the life of action brought to a tranquil close, but also (as in the instance of the cross above the garden) his nearness to god and the next life. this aspect is apparent also at close range. when antonio falls upon his knees before diego at the conclusion of the story which identifies him as the young man's uncle, the venerable hermit's long white beard envelops him "wie höhenrauch" (p. 363). sessen ¹ most published versions of the poem have this line as "gedankenvoll gea version which seems more logical, since the verses are addressed to night (cf. walter silz, german romantic lyrics, p. 63 harvard university press, 1934). 116 diego gives his blessing to alma as well as to antonio, for, in her, he recognizes the virtuous, loving counterpart of her aunt, the island queen what had not been granted to him, will be fulfilled for antonio. the advice given to antonio before his departure for spain sums up diego's philosophy of life and hermithood. as in heinrich von ofterdingen and oberon, the hermit's existence is not for the young; the duty of youth consists in winning spurs in the battle of life. only by successful struggle can the individual hope to attain the rock of spiritual tranquility, on which the storms of life are shattered (p. 366) "mein leben ist wie ein gewitter schön und schrecklich vorübergezogen, und die blitze spielen nur noch fern am horizont wie in eine andere welt hinüber." hermithood represents, then, for eichendorff, the refuge in god and nature of the active, adventurous man who has successfully withstood the storms and temptations of life; from his remote vantage point, he (like wieland's alfonso and novalis' hohenzollern) gains a profound perspective through which (as diego does in his narrative) he may evaluate his experience in the light of the next world. for the hermit, earthly life has passed like a storm, leaving only distant lightning flashes on the horizon of eternity. hermithood, to eichendorff's religious mind, appears as a twilight zone of spiritual preparation interposed between the setting of the "diesseitige welt" and the dawn of an unending "jenseits." i eichendorff's positive and profound portrayal of the hermit concludes our discussion of the recluse in his relationship to nature. in the initial portions of our study, the hermit retreated from society for a great variety of reasons most of them constituted revolt against an accepted set of standards of living. in our second chapter, specifically, the majority of works belonged to "sturm und drang," a movement embodying and glorifying the revolt of the individualist. the third chapter treated of purely subjective problems; predominant among these was the tragic love experience, which required in hermithood adjustment to a new reality isolation was the medium in which the recluse sought peace of mind by recreating from within himself such a new reality. biographically speaking, our concluding chapter portrays the hermit's relationship to that reality found in isolation, the world of nature; it is not surprising, therefore, that the works involved represented romanticism, where nature is the very medium of spiritualization. as we have seen, through nature the hermit becomes aware of his eternal, universal destiny. in nature, he finds the revelation of a kindred spirit to which he is reunited and in the cycles of which he recognizes a principle of immortality here is his most characteristically individual role, for hermithood is extreme individualism and 117 the hermit embodies man, who is never in his life so alone as upon the threshold of eternity. no figure or type, recurrently appearing in german literature, reveals to such a degree the inwardness, the inner experiencing of the most basic problems in human existence. the hermit stands on an invisible frontier between everyday strife and the absolute, and views life from a vantage point which places all relationships in a universally valid perspective. the selection of the period from lessing to eichendorff was not arbitrary, for during the movements of enlightement, storm and stress, classicism, and romanticism, which partly coincide with, and overlap one another, the hermit figure appears in a particularly rich variety of interpretations and works. yet, he does not become extinct as the nineteenth century progresses, but continues to turn up with not-so-surprising regularity. without attempting to be comprehensive, we suggest a few typical examples. in stifter's der hochwald, gregor, the venerable "jäger," dwelling in the isolation of dense forest, embodies the spirit of timeless nature in much the same manner as kerner's "waldvater." scheffel's ekkehard withdraws to icy alpine peaks to find inspiration and a source of vital strength. the principal figure in storm's bulemanns haus is an unorthodox hermit-miser who shuts himself off from the world out of misanthropy; he is done to death by his two supernatural cats. nietzsche's zarathrustra is (like hyperion) an uncompromising idealist aspiring to raise up and rejuvenate mankind. in literature of the twentieth century, gerhart hauptmann's pseudo-hermit in der ketzer von soana forms his own religion in a pagan world of creative nature, while rembrandt in erwin guido kolbenheyer's amor dei, withdraws into a mysterious darkness like that of his own later paintings embodying a relationship between isolation and art (remotely reminiscent of that in brentano's godwi). orla, in wiechert's das einfache leben, retires from despair over the chaos in life to an island in east prussia, where, occupying himself with manual labor, he ponders the nature of god. the hermithood of josephus famulus in hesse's das glasperlenspiel represents withdrawal based on general disgust for life which is the evidence of slackening faith. it is not surprising that several lyric poets of the present century have seen fit to adopt the hermit-pose. stefan george's der einsiedel is a traditional medieval hermit, who (like eichendorff's don diego or wolfram's trevrizent) watches a young man (here, his son) depart to struggle with life. rudolf alexander schröder poses as a hermit in the final poem of his cycle, die ballade vom wanders118 mann. having rid himself of all ties to wordly life, he contemplates eternity from the vantage point of a windswept ridge. it is fitting that we close our study with brief mention of georg trakl's poem, an die verstummten. the poet enumerates with prophetic vision the vices and materialism which have plagued our era, and made a chaos of human life. for him, above all, the cycles of nature persuade of order and immortality, albeit he is most sensitive to its decadent aspect. he concludes with the lines "aber stille blutet in dunkler höhle stummere menschheit, fügt aus harten metallen das erlösende haupt." thus, here too, at the outset of our century, the hermit becomes (like hölderlin's hyperion) the apotheosis of the isolated individual, suffering out of love for humanity under standards of life with which he will not compromise – yet embodying undying hope for redemption in the future. 119 1749 chronological table of works in all parts of this study (roman numerals following titles indicate the chapter of the study in which a work appears.) lessing der eremit ii 1773 goethe satyros ii -1775 – goethe – erwin und elmire (cf. 1787) iii 1776 1778 1779 lenz die kleinen ii klinger die zwillinge iii klinger sturm und drang ii lenz der waldbruder iii bürger der wilde jäger ii lessing nathan der weise ii 1780 wieland oberon iv 1787 1791 1799 goethe-erwin und elmire (second version) iii klinger fausts leben (etc) iii wackenroder ein wunderbares märchen von einem nackten heiligen iii hölderlin hyperion iv 1800 brentano godwi iii — 1801 novalis heinrich von ofterdingen iv 1803 schiller die braut von messina iv — 1809 uhland könig eginhard (schildeis) iv 1811 kerner die heimatlosen iv 1813 chamisso peter schlemihl ii 1817 1818 1832 1835 hoffmann serapion iii droste-hülshoff walter iii goethe faust iv lenau die marionetten iv eichendorff eine meerfahrt iv 120 i texts bibliography brentano, clemens godwi herausgegeben und eingeleitet von anselm ruest berlin, n.d. bürger, gottfried august – gedichte – herausgegeben von august sauer (deutsche national-literatur, bd. 78) berlin und stuttgart, n.d. chamisso, adelbert von werke, 2 bde. herausgegeben von hermann tardel bibliographisches institut, leipzig und wien, n.d. werke herausgegeben von oskar walzel (deutsche national-literatur, bd. 148) stuttgart, n.d. droste-hülshoff, annette von sämtliche werke, 4 bde. in verbindung mit bertha badt herausgegeben von karl schulte-kemminghausen georg müller, münchen, 1930. eichendorff, joseph, freiherr von -gedichte, erzählungen, biographisches ausgewählt und eingeleitet von max wehrli atlantis, zürich, 1945. eschenbach, wolfram von parzival und titurel, 3 bde. herausgegeben von karl bartsch (deutsche classiker des mittelalters, bde. ix, x, x1) brockhaus, leipzig, 1875. goethe, johann wolfgang von sämtliche werke, jubiläums ausgabe in 40 bänden in verbindung mit konrad burdach und anderen herausgegeben von edward von der hellen cotta, stuttgart und berlin, 19021907 der junge goethe, neue ausgabe in sechs bänden besorgt von max morris, insel, leipzig, 1912. faust, 2 bde. k. j. schröer, heilbronn, 1888. grimmelshausen, hans jakob christoffel von grimmelshausens simplicissimus teutsch herausgegeben von j. h. scholte (neudrucke deutscher literatur-werke, 302-309) niemeyer, halle/saale 1938. hölderlin, friedrich ... gesammelte werke, 3 bde. mit einleitung herausgegeben von wilhelm böhm – diederichs, jena, 1911. hoffman, ernst theodor amadeus — dichtungen und schriften, gesamtausgabe in fünfzehn bänden herausgegeben von walther harich, weimar, 1924. kerner, justinus sämtliche poetische werke in vier bänden, herausgegeben mit einer biographischen einleitung und erläuternden bemerkungen von josef gaismaier-hesse, leipzig, 1905. briefwechsel mit seinen freunden, 2 bde. herausgegeben von theobald kerner einleiting und anmerkungen von ernst müller stuttgart und leipzig, 1897. klinger, friedrich maximilian – stürmer und dränger, erster teil, klinger und leisewitz (deutsche national-literatur, bd. 79) herausgegeben von august sauer stuttgart, n.d. dramatische jugendwerke in drei bänden, herausgegeben von hans berendt und kurt wolff, leipzig, 1913. lenau, nikolaus sämtliche werke und briefe in 6 bänden, herausgegeben von eduard castle, insel, leipzig, 1910. 121 lenz, jakob michael reinhold gesammelte schriften, 5 bde. herausgegeben von franz blei, george müller, münchen und leipzig, 1909. lessing, gotthold ephraim werke vollständige ausgabe in fünf und zwanzig teilen, herausgegeben von julius petersen und waldemar von ölshausen in verbindung mit anderen bong, berlin und leipzig, n.d. sämtliche schriften (achtzehnter band-briefe, zweiter teil) herausgegeben von karl lachmann, vermehrte auflage besorgt durch franz muncker, leipzig, 1907. novalis schriften 4 bde. im verein mit richard samuel herausgegeben von paul kluckhohn, bibliographisches institut, leipzig, n.d. schelling, friedrich wilhelm joseph werke, auswahl in drei bänden herausgegeben von otto weiss, leipzig, 1907. schiller, johann christoph friedrich von sämtliche werke. säkular ausgabe in 16 bänden. in verbindung mit anderen herausgegeben von eduard von der hellen, cotta, stuttgart und berlin, 1904. uhland, ludwig werke, 2 bde. herausgegeben von ludwig fränkel, bibliographisches institut, leipzig und wien, n.d. wackenroder, wilhelm heinrich werke und briefe in zwei bänden, herausgegeben von friedrich von der leyen, eugen diederichs, jena, 1910. wieland, christoph martin oberon mit einleitung und anmerkungen herausgegeben von reinhold köhler, brockhaus, leipzig 1868. ii critical and reference works (including periodicals) alt, johannes – grimmelshausen und der simplicissimus, beck, münchen, 1936. baumgartner, ulrich adelbert von chamissos peter schlemihl feld, leipzig, 1944. 1 frauenböckmann, paul – hölderlin und seine götter, beck, münchen, 1935. borchert, hans heinrich der roman der goethezeit urach und stuttgart, 1949. buchwald, reinhard stuttgart, 1949. führer durch goethes faust-dichtung, kröner, de boor, helmut – die höfische literatur (de boor-newald geschichte der deutschen literatur, bd. 2), beck, münchen, 1953. dilthey, ,wilhelm -das erlebnis und die dichtung, leipzig, 1907. düntzer, heinrich uhlands dramen und dramenentwürfe, hoppe, leipzig, n.d. errante, vincenzo – lenau, mengen, 1948. garland, h. b. storm and stress, london, 1952. heinzmann, franz justinus kerner als romantiker, tübingen, 1908. hewett-thayer, harvey, hoffmann: author of the tales, princeton, 1948. hiebel, frederick novalis, francke, bern, 1951. keferstein, georg parzivals ethischer weg weimar, 1937. kerr, alfred godwi, berlin, 1898. korff, h. a. – geist der goethezeit – 4 bde., leipzig, 1923-1953. mann, thomas 1948. chamisso (essays of three decades) knopf, new york, michel, wilhelm das leben friedrich hölderlins – schünemann, bremen, 1949. müller, ernst – hölderlin, studien zur geschichte seines geistes, kohlhammer, stuttgart und berlin, 1944. pascal, roy the german sturm und drang, manchester university press, 1953. 122 reed, eugene e. manic review, rosanow, m. n. leipzig, 1909. the union of the arts in brentano's godwi, the gercolumbia university, april 1954. jakob m. r. lenz (deutsch von c. von gutschow), runge, edith amelie primitivism and related ideas in sturm und drang literature, baltimore, 1946. salzberger, l. s. hölderlin, yale university press, new haven, 1952. schapler, julius chamisso studien, arnsberg, n.d. schneider, ferdinand josef – goethes satyros und der urfaust, niemeyer, halle/saale, 1949. silz, walter mass., 1929. early german romanticism, harvard university press, problems of,,weltanschauung" in the works of annette von droste-hülshoff, pmla, september 1949 (menasha, wisconsin). strich, fritz natur und geist der deutschen dichtung (die ernte, franz muncker zu seinem 70. geburtstage), niemeyer, halle/saale, 1926. tonnelat, ernest l'oeuvre poétique et la pensée religieuse de friedrich hölderlin, didier, paris, 1950. ulmer, bernhard eichendorff's,,eine meerfahrt," monatshefte, marchapril, 1950, university of wisconsin. weaver, charles p. the hermit in english literature from the beginnings to 1660, nashville, tenn., 1924. 123 index absolute, 90, 92. absolute, das, 94. adamas, 95. adamskinder, 60. adelheit, 106. ahnung und gegenwart, xiii. alabanda, 95. alba, 73. albanians, 99. asian, 84. asiatic, 106. askalon, 46. aufklärung, 13. aventiure, 3. ballade vom wandersmann, die, 118. balduin, 73, 78f., 87, 89. bamberg, 84. alexandria, 84. alfonso, 88, 102, 114, 117. al-hafi, 36ff., 43. alhard, 72. almansor, 91. alonzo, 114. alma, 114. alpine, 118. altgermanische religionsgeschichte (de vries), xii. alvarez, 114. amanda, 91. ambrosius of kamaldoli, 85. america, 26. amor, 75. amor dei (kolbenheyer), 118. anachoreten, xii, 111. anchorite, xiii, 111. an den mond, 59. an die verstummten, 118. anfortas, 2, 3, 4. anmutige gegend, 51. anacreontic, 26, 30. annamarie, 19. annonciata, 67. antonio, 92f., 114f. arab, 46. ariosto, 85. arsinoe, 15. asia, 98. barcelona, 111. baroque, 116. beatrice, 105. bechstein, ludwig, 32. bergwerke zu falun, 110. berka, 59. berlin, 10, 48. bernardo, 55. bild der mutter, 68. bismark, 19, 21ff. blasius, 26ff., 52. blue flower, 109. braut von messina, die, 48, 57, 105. brentano, xiii, 66, 82, 118. bruderzwist, 49. bulemanns haus, 118. buschy, 26. bürger, 31-36, 108. cäcilia, 75. carthusian, 20. chamisso, 47, 77, 88. charlemagne, 32. child, 96. childhood, 96, 99. christian, 24, 31ff., 43, 46. christian hermits, 84. christianity, 12, 47, 97. christentum, xii. cidli, 60. 124 classicism, 118. contessa, 84. count robert, 77, 89. crusades, 103. curse, 75, 106. dante, xi, 85. dämon, 76. defterdar, 37. devin du village (rousseau), 56. dervishes, 37ff., 82. derwisch, der, 36. deutsche mythologie (grimm), 32. deutsche sagen, 32, 106. deutscher wald, 34. dietwald, 106. diotima, 95, 99. de vries, jan, xii. doctor marianus, 113. don diego, 77, 88f., 92, 102, 114, 118. don manuel, 105. donna isabella, 27f. droste-hülshoff, annette von, 78ff. düntzer, heinrich, 106. dürer, xii, 33, 35, 112. early german romanticism (silz), 94. earth-spirit, 92. east prussia, 118. eckart, 106. eden, 74, 77. eginhard, 106. egypt, 52. eichendorff, xiii, 49, 77, 88, 93, 102, 110, 114, 118. eine meerfahrt, 49, 70, 102, 114. einfache leben, das, (wiechert), 118. einsiedel, der (george), 118. ekkehard (scheffel), 118. eldorado, 114. elysium, 90, 94. emperor ducius, 84. eudora, 16. engelbrecht, 19ff. english romanticism, 97. epos, 72. eremit, 17. eremit, der, 10, 31. erinnerung, 104. erlebnis, 18, 19. ernte, die (franz munker, festschrift) xi. errante, vincenzo, 77. erwin, 59, 63, 87. erwin und elmire, 54, 66, 87. europe, 115. eusebio, 69. evagrius, 85. ewig-weibliche, das, 111, 113. facetiae, 12. fanny, 49. fatime, 37. faust, 80, 111ff. faust ii, 51. faustian, 48, 52. fausts leben, thaten und höllenfahrt, 80. faustus, doctor, 33. ferdinando, 64. filnek, wolf von, 46. fortunatus, 48. frau hohl, 60. fräulein schatouilleuse, 59. fühlbarkeit, 30. gedanken über die herrnhüter, 10. geist der goethezeit (h. a. korff), 95. george, stefan, 118. genius of history, 102. german literature, xii. german literary tradition, 52. german romantic lyrics (silz, w.), 116. german romanticism, xi, 66, 106. germanic art, xii. germanic gods, xi. germanic landscape, xii. germans, 95. germany, 101, 103. glasperlenspiel, das, 118. 125 glücksäckel, 51. gods, xii. godwi, 66, 82, 88, 109, 118. goethe, 13f., 17ff., 25, 28, 30f., 35, 54, 59, 60, 66, 68, 87, 111. goldener, 88, 109. gothic, 32. grail, 2f., 6. greece, xi, 95. greek, 95, 97. greek independence, 99. gregor, 118. gretchen, 113. grillparzer, 79. grimaldi, 64, 78f. hölderlin, 71, 91, 95, 119. homecoming, 99. honesta, 59. hörnerstadt, 11. hummel, 19. hüon, 91f. hyperion, 18, 21, 48, 53, 95ff., 118f. ideen zu einer philosophie der natur, 94. iliad, 60. innerlichkeit, xi. insanity, 84. insulate, 88. isabella, 105. grimm brothers, 32, 106. grimmelshausen, 1, 4, 6, 116. guelfo, 64. guevara, 6. hackelberg, hans von, 32. hanau, 4. hannoverian, 32. harfner, 68, 111. hauptmann, gerhart, 118. heidemann, 21. heinrich, 24. heimatlosen, die, 36, 71, 88, 108. helgoland, 109. herder, 13, 67. hermes, 16. hermit-pose, 118. herz, 59, 64, 87. hesse, hermann, 118. hewett thayer, harvey, 84. hiebel, frederick, 103. hingabe, xi, 2. island, 88. isolate, 88. ither, 3. jericho, 46. jew, 39. joduno, 68. john, 49, 51. joseph, 66, 109. josephus famulus, 118. juliette, 64. junge goethe, der (morris, max), 13, 54. kamilla, 64. karolina berkley, 26, 29. kerapolis, 11, 12, 17. kerners briefwechsel, 108. kerner, 21, 36, 88, 91, 108, 115, 118. ketzer von soana, der, 118. klärchen, 55. kläusner, 32f. history, 103. klausnerin, 1. hitzig, 84. höchst, 3, 4. hochwald, der, 118. hodefield, lady, 69. hoffmann, e. t. a., 71, 77, 80, 84, 110. hohenzollern, 14, 77, 88f., 92, 101f., 117. kleinen, die, 4, 19, 21, 24, 30, 31. kleist, ewald von, 30. klinger, 25ff., 30f., 36f., 64, 66, 80. klingsohr, 105. klopstock, 60, 113. kloster bei sendomir, das, 79. klosterbruder, 36, 41, 74, 77. 126 knan, 5. kolbenheyer, erwin guido, 118. könig eginhard, 89, 106. koreff, 84. messias, der, 113. messina, 105. mina, 50. miner, 103. korff, hermann august, 66, 95. minne, 1, 2. kunersdorf, 48. lady katharine, 26. la feu, 26ff. lambert, 109. lay hermits, 66. lehrgedicht, 12. minnedienst, 2. mönche, xii. mönchtum, xii. monk, 79. mons serratus, 111. montserat, 111. morgenrot, 110. leiden, 95. leit-motif, 97. lenau, 31, 66, 77, 87. lenz, 4, 19-31, 59, 66, 87. lessing, xiii, 12ff., 17ff., 31, 35ff., 53, 74, 77, 80f., 118. lessing, karl, 36. leviathan, 80. lili, 54. loki, 1. lorenzo, 79. louis, king of sicily, 82. low saxon, 32. luchs, 109. luise, 29ff. lyric poets, 118. madness, 70, 85f., cf. insanity. mann, thomas, 218. märchen, 48, 82, 88, 109. märchendichtung, 108. märchen und sagen (bechstein, ludwig), 32. maria magdalena, 113. marie, 66, 103. maria, 77. marionetten, die, 31, 66, 77. marlowe, 33. martarillo, 82. masslosigkeit, 18. mater gloriosa, 111, 113. mathilde, 105. meerfahrt, cf. eine meerfahrt morris, max, 13. moslem, 37, 41. mt. etna, 105. nachtstück, 77. nackte heilige, der, (cf. wunderbares märchen, etc.), 71ff., 82, 87. q. 15 nathan der weise, 10, 13, 36ff. naturanschauung, 14. naturfrömmigkeit, 95, 97, 98, 118. natur und geist der deutschen dichtung (strich, f.), xi. naturreligion, 97. naturvergeistigung, 94, 111. new testament, 97. nietzsche, 118. nile delta, 84. nördlingen, 5. novalis, 29, 71, 77, 88, 91, 93, 101, 103, 107, 117. novellen, 66, 84. novellist, 85. oberon, 35, 70, 78, 88f., 109, 114, 117. obsession, 83. ode on intimations of immortality, 97. odenwald, 59 ofterdingen, heinrich von, 35, 70, 71, 78, 92, 101, 107, 109, 117. olimpia, 55. orient, 82, 103. orla, 118. other-worldliness, 90. 127 ottilie, 68, 69, 74. pagan, 106. parzival, xi, 4, 6, 21. parzival, 92. pater ecstaticus, 112. pater profundus, 112. pater seraphicus, 113. patriarch, 13, 41. paul, 89, 106, 110. penthesilea, 114. pessimism, 101. petrarch, 61, 85. pflanzenwelt, 99. philistines, 14. pisan fresco, 111. plant, 95. plettenberg, 60. poetry, 70. poggio, 12. romantic, 64. romantic, 96. romanticism, 34, 53, 71, 88, 94, 95, 117, 118. rosa, 56. rothe, 59. rousseau, 16, 56, 62. rousseauistic, 61. sagengestalt, 111. saladin, 37. salamis, 101. salas y gomez, 88. samaritan woman, 113. satyros, 10, 13ff., 21, 25ff., 30f., 52, 66. schatten, 48. scheffel, 61, 118. schein, scheinwert, 48. schelling, 94. schildeis, 106. schiller, 105. problems of "weltanschauung" in the works of annette von droste-hülshoff, (silz), 72. prussia, 26. psyche, 15, 16. ptolemeus, 84. quarantana, 46. rahmenerzählung, 72, 96. ramsay, susanna, 5. rascal, 50. rat krespel, 86. recha, 45. reinhardstein, 69. religion, die, 10. religion, 96. rembrandt, 118. repans de schoie, 2. rezia, 91. ritter gluck, 86. ritter, tod und teufel, 33. rococo, 54. robinsonaden, 89. robinson crusoe, 89. schlemihl, peter, 20, 47ff., 84. schlemihlium, 52. schionatulander, 1. schöne seele, 60. schröder, r. a., 118. schröer, 112. schutzgeist, 91. schweizer lexikon, xii, 52. senne, werdo, 66, 74, 78f., 87, 90. serapion, 80, 84. serapiontisches prinzip, 71, 84, 86. serapionsbrüder, 84. serpentin, 109. seven-league boots, 51. shakespeare, 63. sicilian hermit, 82. sigune, 1, 2. sililie, 88, 109. silz, walter, 72, 94, 116. simplicissimus, 1, 4, 30, 81, 89, 116. simplicius, 5, 10, 11, 28, 46, 64. singspiel, 58. sittah, 39. solide, le, 48. 128 spain, 26, 27, 111, 117. spanish, 114. spanish knight, 88. spessart, 5. spiritualization, 78, 82, 90, 92, 94. stella, 59, 60. sternbald, xiii. sternfelss von fuchsheim, 5. st. anthony, 80. st. francis, 35. st. jerome, xii, 35, 112. strassburg, 13. stifter, 118. storm, 118. storm and stress, 7, 14, 15, 18, 19, 31, 53, 118. strich, fritz, xi, xii. sturm und drang, 10, 25, 31, 52. sturm und drang, 19, 20, 26, 30, 53, 55, 61, 117. sunday, 32. swabian romanticism, 107. sylphs, 92. symbolism, 101. tabor, 47. templar, 41. terza rima, 77. teufel, 41. theatilde, 72. thebaid, 53. theban desert, 84. thebes, 52. the hermit in english literature from the beginnings to 1660, xii. thmuis, bishop of, 84. the wild huntsman, cf. der wilde jäger, hackelberg. thirty years war, 65. thuringian forest, 59. tieck, xiii. tirol, 84. todessehnsucht, 71, 83, 88, 91, 108, 111. trakl, georg, 118. trevrizent, 2, 3, 6, 10, 11, 18, 20, 21, 47, 66, 89, 92, 114, 118. triuwe, xi, 1, 2. timelessness, 107. titania, 89. tunis, 91. turks, 95. über die romantik, (uhland), xi. uhland, xi, xii, 89, 106ff. ulmer, bernhart, 114, 115. unendlichkeit, 90. urpflanze, 1. valerio, 56. vaucluse, 61. vaterland, 103. verenus, 76. vergeistigung, 90, 92, 94, 112. vermächtnis des arztes, das, 72. vicar of wakefield (goldsmith), 56. virgil, xi. virgin and child, 73. voltaire, 13. wackenroder, 71, 82, 84, 87f. wahn, 60. wahnsinn, 70, 79. waldbruder, der, 59ff., 66, 87. waldeinsamkeit, 107. waldner, henriette von, 59. waldvater, 36, 88, 108ff., 118. wanderer zum morgenrot, die, 109. walter, 72, 78ff., 87, 103. wanderer, xi. wanderers nachtlied, 59. weaver, charles p., cf. the hermit in english literature, etc. wellner, 66. weltseele, 92. walzel, oskar, 48. werther, 19, 29, 30, 59, 60. westphalian, 32. widukind, 32. wiechert, ernst, 118. 129 wildund, 60, 88ff., 102, 117. wild, 26ff. wildund rheingraf, 32. wilde jäger, der, 31ff., 108. wilhelm meister, 68. wodan, 32. wolfram, 1, 4, 6, 118. wordsworth, 97. wulff, fredrik, 61. wüstenväter, 53. wütendes heer, 32. zarathrustra, 118. zukunft, 105. zwillinge, die, 64-66. 130 university of michigan () 3 9015 00428 6905 201 the hermit of moss pond pitche nb пер nypl research libraries 3 3433 06935418 5 the hermit of moss pond pitcher dup 16 jan 24 1. poetry american pitcher the hermit of moss pond.a romance of the upper susquehanna, by james pitcher. bartwick seminary, a. y., 1896. vl the new york public library 95475b astor, lenox and tillen founda,igns b 1949 l copyright by james pitcher, hartwick seminary, n. y. printed by p. anstadt & sons, york, pa. table of contents. i. introductory, 5 ii. the wanderer, 19 iii. joseph manly, 25 iv. disappearance, 33 v. agnes daire, 47 vi. walks and talks, 57 vii. defalcation, 85 viii. some letters, 93 ix. decline, 115 x. school, 123 xi. the hermit, 131 xii. moss pond, 137 xiii. recognition, 143 xiv. graduation, 155 xv. the trial, 165 xvi. fruition, 181 i. introductory. (the upper susquehanna.) daily prayer. n the morning, lord, i pray, tn grant thy favor through this day; help me all my burdens bear, shield me from the tempter's snare. when the day has grown to noon, grant thy favor, lest i soon heedless be of thy dear love, while through toils and cares i move. when my daily task is done, grant thy favor, ere the sun, hastening in his westward flight, drops the sable pall of night. when mine eyelids close in sleep, grant thy favor; o'er me keep loving vigil, so i may welcome give the new-born day. 1. introductory. idway within the empire state,a commonwealth both rich and great,the "glimmerglass" in beauty lies, beneath unrivaled azure skies. to eastward, in condition still as when the redman roamed at will, majestic hills rise from the shore, with virgin forests covered o'er; while to the westward may be seen less rugged hills with vales between, whose gentler slopes and richer soil reward the farmers' patient toil. at either end a village lies, whence heavenward-pointing steeples rise. the shore is punctuated round with camps and cottages, here found, which gleam from jutting points among, like gems upon a necklace strung. 8 the hermit of moss pond. the waters of this fairy lake sometimes a silvery mirror make, in which the forests, hills and capes are reproduced in magic shapes of monsters stretched along the shore, with strange bilateral trappings o'er. here from the natty bumppo's deck, or from the lesser craft that fleck the glassy surface of the lake, the pleasure seekers often take the health-promoting mountain air, and view the prospects, rich and rare: kingfisher tower at first appears; the sleeping lion next uprears his stalwart shape against the skies, near where the sunken island lies. or if the travelers are inclined to more romantic turn of mind, introductory. 9 they disembark and visits pay to sulphur springs along the way; or leatherstocking's cave explore; or listen to the rythmic roar of waters leaping o'er the walls of leatherstocking's magic falls; or if, perchance, sly cupid be a member of the company, and should they seek more quiet nook, they glide into the shadow brook. my feeble pen might well decline to sketch the beauties of this shrine; but 'twere a pity if, perchance, one who has courage to advance thus far with this ambitious lay should fail to note this shadowy way. where lake otsego sweeps around the sleeping lion, may be found a deep and spacious sheltered bay, that stretches eastward far away. ιο the hermit of moss pond. here, from the northward wooded shore. into this bay, the waters pour from placid stream, whose portals lie half hidden 'neath the branches nigh. a boat, howe'er, may safely glide, upon this gateway's flowing tide; and once this tangled wood within, a lovers' true retreat is seen. the waters are surprising clear, in which the sporting fish appear to frolic, midst the shadows cast, as over-arching trees are passed. the bittersweet, and wild grape vine, and ivy, with each other twine; and hang in gay festoons above the watery way in which we move. upon the banks we may discern the rare and graceful walking fern; and other queer fantastic forms of vegetation's sportive charms. introductory. ii the mossy banks are mirrored, too, and so redoubled to our view; birds sing among the trees grown near, and squirrels chatter, as they hear the splashing of the boatman's oar. sometimes is heard the curious roar of frightened partridges. sometimes the azure sky an eagle climbs. oft overhanging limbs impend; and drooping vines so low extend, that those who wouid their way pursue, must lowly bow, till they are through. what wonder that of heads a pair in close proximity oft are? nor would it be a thing unheard, if in such case it has occurred, that toll is sought from first to last, whene'er these emerald gates are passed. at this fair lakelet's southern bound, a famous village may be found; 12 the hermit of moss pond. known to the world of fiction wide, as templeton,-otsego's pride;— its other name of like renown, is, from its founder, cooperstown. 'tis not our purpose to outline this charming literary shrine; that gracious task might well relate, to some inspired laureate. reluctant though we leave the place, the tortuous pathway now to trace, through mountain glen, or verdured lea, by which these waters seek the sea. nor is it strange that they should yearn, by mists and vapors to return; for one who here has dwelt betimes, is scarce content with other climes; but season after season comes from busy trade or urban homes, to breathe anew this mountain air, and sail upon these waters fair. introductory. 13 the susquehanna takes its rise here in this rural paradise, where cooper made each inch of ground both classical and world renowned. its mouth five hundred miles away, is chesapeake, an ample bay. a "crooked river" 'tis indeed, true to its name, we are agreed.. and one with reason might surmise, that, in its onward course, it tries to spell its name with letters delf, so oft it doubles on itself. here, it is easy quite to span with rod and line of fisherman; there, half a league it stretches o'er its rocky bed from shore to shore; and lowing herds are often seen, half way its distant banks between; for though its volume oft is swelled. from floods by tributaries held, 14 the hermit of moss pond. its banks retire to give it room, the while its depth is much the same. fair cities, towns, and hamlets lie in rich profusion clustered nigh; the locomotive's whistle shrill, re-echoing from hill to hill, gives evidence of industry, from mountain source to distant sea. rich mines of coal long time concealed, here in these hills their treasures yield; the wooded heights alike reward the axman's toil and wealth afford; and mile on mile of rafted trees sometimes are seen to lie at ease, till on some freshet's tumbling roar, they float to yield their gathered store. 'tis well to pause, ere we advance, to note this curious circumstance: while lake otsego is, of course, the susquehanna river's source, introductory. 15 itself is fed by springs, and rills, and lakelets in surrounding hills. one of these last it is well known divides its waters overflown; some running toward otsego lake, and some a northward journey take, and with the mohawk finally, through lordly hudson find the sea. and strangely do these streams compare,the one, as we are well aware, is long and wide and shallow, too, and crooked all its journey through; the other half the length and straight, but deep and broad,—of service great, for every kind of water craft, from panting tug, with lumber raft, to floating palace here can find a highway suited to its mind. so ample is the hudson's tide, that largest ships can safely ride; and here the ensigns be unfurled, of all the navies of the world. 16 the hermit of moss pond. each has its uses, each its charms, and like a pair of brawny arms, the one bears up the mighty weight of commerce or of human freight; the other turns the wheels of scores of busy factories on its shores. we hope our friends will not refuse, this slight digression to excuse; we now take up our wonted task, and for our story patience ask. a league to southward from its source,three times a league by winding course,(for whoso would its current trace all points of compass he must face,) the susquehanna's narrow vale here widens to an ample dale. the curious form in which 'tis planned is well outlined by human hand: if dexter member is stretched forth, palm up, with digits pointing north, introductory. 17 in miniature the hills between, a broad and level plain is seen. the thumb is beaver meadow's course, the index is the river's source, one may the middle valley take to reach canadaraga lake, while lesser vales to westward lie, and lead to thriving hamlets nigh. here at this palmate's western bound a seat of learning may be found; both venerable and far-famed, and from its founder, hartwick named. to eastward, by the river's side, doth white-winged charity abide; and minister from ample store, to the unfortunate and poor. somewhat to south of middle ground, is rare and curious indian mound, which like inverted basin lies, above an acre as to size. 18 the hermit of moss pond sometimes the river overflows, from vernal rains and melting snows, when all alone amid the flood, bedecked with spotless, snow-white hood, among the surging waves, the while, the mound is like a fairy isle. but though it long is known to fame, and bears a quite suggestive name, the treasures in its bosom stored, were often guessed but ne'er explored. ii. the wanderer. 20 snow crystals. t snow crystals. hou crystal of snow, multiform yet six-angled, how seldom thy perfect form is our delight; as jostled by winds, or by wrathful storms mangled, thy wondrous construction is lost to our sight. oh wealth of the love of our father in heaven, to lavish his mercies on us here below; while heedless we spurn the rich boon he has given, as we brush off the beautiful crystals of snow. snow crystal, thou poem six-stanzaed, oh teach me, how out of the measureless depths of the sky are formed those fantastical visions that reach me, a source of unceasing delight to mine eye. and teach me how out of life's conflicts and duty, its sorrows and trials, its grief and its joy; my life may be crystalized into rare beauty, to gladden the world, in the master's employ. the wanderer. 24 21 t 11. the wanderer. he eastern hills which parallel the river's course, are wooded well; and here 'tis not uncommon sight to see above their spired height, the curling smoke arising high, from woodman's camp toward wintry sky. the dwellers in the valley near so oft had seen this smoke appear, that no one gave it e'en a thought, or for an explanation sought. a year indeed had quickly passed, since sound of axe was noticed last, the while a curious circumstance had no attention claimed, perchance. in eighteen hundred seventy-five, on christmas eve, there did arrive at this rude camp, 'mid sleet and frost, a stranger who his way had lost. 22 the hermit of moss pond. he was well clad, of medium height, had bright, grey eyes, complexion light, smooth face, and hair inclined to curl, cheeks fair and rosy as a girl, and hands well shapen, though inured to useful toil some time endured. but as he, trembling, stood before this now deserted cabin door, he might be taken for a tramp who strayed into this lonely camp; for scarcely more alive than dead, half famished, tired from foot to head, late in that bleak december night, he would have perished save for light which at this moment flickered faint, from embers in a fire-place quaint; for on that very day, at eve, the woodsmen did the cabin leave. when once this shelter was secured, at thought of what he had endured, the wanderer. 23 he bowed his weary, aching head, the while a thankful prayer he said; then stirred to life the slumbering fire, which helped his courage to inspire. some remnant food he soon descried, which well his present need supplied. the long, sad night had nearly passed; the storm had ceased; and at the last the stars peeped out and twinkled bright; the waning moon shed feeble light; while from the quiver of the sun the golden arrows had begun to upward dart, in eastern sky, to herald that the day was nigh. confused as to this lonely spot, of its location knowing not, his most exacting need supplied, with effort quite extreme he tried events to recapitulate, which brought him to this wretched state. 24 the hermit of moss pond. a crumpled letter once again he tried to read, but all in vain. for, though the fire gave ample light, his copious tears bedimmed his sight. grown drowsy from exhausted strength, with brief but fervent prayer, at length, he threw himself upon a cot, and for a time his woes forgot. his troubled sleep continued on, until the low descending sun of christmas day, its zenith passed; and, while by sleep he is held fast, we well may trace the strange events, which led up to these sad portents. iii. joseph manly. 26 love and labor. love and labor. h child of mine, that climb'st upon my knee, while duties otherwhere my thoughts convey; i cannot leave my task to fondle thee, nor can i,-dare i,-thrust thee quite away; thine arms entwined to stay thy doubtful hold, my arms not only, but my heart enfold. ah! thou mayest never know that what to thee, may seem indifference or small desire; is but the balance, 'twixt a wealth to me of love and labor, whose half slumbering fire needs but the breath of danger, or concern, ere quick love's embers with new fervor burn. so, child of mine, still climb upon my knee, e'en though but half a welcome thou secure; no harsh repellant word shall drive from me thy heart, from every strong temptation pure, lest wandering from fond parental sway, thy steps forget return,—or lose the way. joseph manly. 27 t 111. joseph manly. he station agent at green crest was joseph manly, but addressed as "joe," a more familiar name; for when he to the village came, at once he gained entire respect, for habits pure and life correct. an orphan at an early day, he struggled hard to make his way: and for some years his rigid rule was summer work and winter school; till he himself was qualified at district school-house to preside. advancement then more rapid came, till a diploma he could claim, for years of labor diligent, at hartwick seminary spent. 28 the hermit of moss pond. the academic journey done, the sterner work of life begun; first as a learner, then relief, assistant next, and soon as chief, in an important inland town, along a railway of renown. exacting duties were his lot, but never were his tasks forgot; and such from childhood was his rule, his place at church and sunday-school was always filled with reverent pride, nor were his services denied; for soon his latent powers were guessed, and into service he was pressed, as teacher of a class of boys, whose chief delight was fun and noise. they were not vicious-not by farbut pent up boyhood caused a jar when injudicious rigid rule was sternly forced upon the school. joseph manly 29 to find a master for this class, had seemed their powers to quite surpass; till with apology and fear was joe installed as teacher here. he took the situation in, resolved he would at once begin, not to suppress the pent up force, but by controlling guide its course; for he had learned himself at school, of nature this the constant rule: that water, wind, electric force, or steam, or fire, are all the source of useful service to our race, up to a limit in each case; but when they are too much confined, no bands their energies can bind. thus joe devised to study out what all the members were about; what sports and games they each preferred; and if of game of ball he heard, 330 the hermit of moss pond. in which his boys engaged to play, he happened to be seen that way; and oft would cheer with hearty glee, when some good play he chanced to see; and if an invitation came, sometimes he would umpire a game. if skating party should arise, he, too, would need some exercise; and so it happened, through the year, that joe in some way would appear, connected with their boyish sport,but unsuspected the import. and on the sabbath, in the class, no opportunity would pass, to point a moral for that day, somewhat connected with their play; till every urchin in the school would quote joe manly for his rule: "joe would do this," and so 'twas right; and also as conclusive quite, joseph manly. 134 this, joe would never do,' "''twas wrong. so it befell that joe was strong in his control of boyish pranks, for which he had unstinted thanks. but strangely as it seems to tell, joe had his enemies, as well; for it is doubtful praise if said, that he no enemies had made; defend the right, oppose the wrong, you meet with opposition strong. and so the wise would nod their head, and winking say-" you wait, instead!" "these good young men, 'tis well to watch." "it takes a thief, a thief to catch !" "these christians are, 'tis plain to see, no better than they ought to be." "some scheme he has to gain renown, and be the idol of the town." these cruel taunts joe seldom heard, nor had it to his mind occurred 32 the hermit of moss pond. that praise or blame he should deserve, because from right he did not swerve. one rule of conduct he employed: the right to do, the wrong avoid. iv. the disappearance. 34 christmas. 1n christmas. 'n bethlehem's manger, 'mid want and 'mid woe, the christ-child was cradled long ages ago; as lord of creation, none reigned in his stead; as jesus, the savior, none pillowed his head. a legion of angels proclaimed at his birth,— "all glory in heaven, and peace on the earth." wise men from the cast saw his star in the sky, and worshiped the babe as the king from on high. though ages have passed since that great natal morn, each christmas anew in our hearts he is born; so now let us offer our hearts undefiled, to lovingly cradle the blessed christ-child. the disappearance. 35 tv. the disappearance. ome time had passed since joe began his duties as a rail-road man, and such his strict attention paid to all the merchants there in trade, and such his bearing and renown, he had esteem in all the town. on christmas eve the town was shocked, as people to the churches flocked, to live again their childish joys, 'mid christmas trees, and christmas toys, to hear that joe, whom they revered, that day had strangely disappeared. all sorts of reasons were advanced; the knowing at each other glanced; some ventured now; "i told you so,' "" and strange it is, i do avow, how great the millions are, and wise, to know, invent, foretell, advise, 36 the hermit of moss pond. but just as they would startle all, with some great product of their skill, some wizard genius will arise, and rudely snatch the valued prize; and so these self-important seers will struggle on for years and years, to be the favored heirs of fate, but always just a little late. "i told you so," will fit each case; 66 like oracle, with double face, the way the issue turns was meant,you pay the price and be content. so now, that clouds joe's sky o'erspread, i knew it all along," they said. and sceptics sneeringly would cry: another good man gone awry!" or, with insinuating glee: "how much defraud the company?" but be it known there were a few, who were not moved by this ado; the disappearance. 37 "'tis his misfortune not his blame, joe never will belie his name." at joe's own church the service lagged; his class of whom he often bragged, were all disconsolate and shy. with their respected leader nigh, they would allotted tasks perform, as though at play, with interest warm; but like an army without head, they only were a mob instead. the organ, too, oft quite sublime, that night was sadly out of time; and e'en the pastor's balanced mind, to wander often seemed inclined. so like a melancholy pall, the strange announcement seemed to fall; till at the close was offered prayer, that god would guide the wanderer, 38 the hermit of moss pond. and bring him safe unscathed from sin, the sheltered fold at last within; then tearfully they made their way, to usher in sad christmas day. the while excitement now prevails, and every explanation fails, we will return to trace the way that joe had spent that wretched day. that morning early he received a letter which his spirit grieved; he read it o'er and o'er again, to solve the riddle, but in vain; and as he read his eyes grew dim, a tremor ran through every limb, his brain was in a whirl till soon he fell into a deadly swoon; and thus unconscious did remain, till people came to take the train. the disappearance. 39 aroused at last, some thought it queer, that he so dazed should now appear; for they supposed he only slept, from some gay vigil too late kept. as he went halting to his task, some strangers would each other ask, if from his looks they did not think, the agent was inclined to drink! these gibes joe overheard at length, then rallied all his latent strength, with one supreme resolve to try himself to master or to die; his plans were laid to haste away, for surely here he could not stay. the telegraph he put to use, to ask official quick excuse; he flashed this message o'er the wire, which taxed his feeble strength entire: 40 the hermit of moss pond. "imperative and instant need for leave of absence. if agreed, send a relief, on number three." the answer came quite speedily: "o. k., make full report, for sure, and send it in on number four." thus far, at least, did fortune smile; he bent his energies meanwhile, to post his books and make report. he was of such methodic sort, that ere he left his work each day, his record was complete alway. the busy season's added freight had swelled the cash receipts of late; till several hundred dollars lay within the station safe that day. just as the eastward bound express came to a halt, he wrote address the disappearance. 41 upon a large envelope sealed, with "r. r. b." on corner shield; and was about to hand it o'er, when he was met at station door, by messenger from off the train, who just a moment did remain, to have dispatched a message quick; for he had fallen sorely sick. joe took the message, in return his own exchanged without concern. the troubled messenger in haste, joe's letter in his pocket placed. "to mrs. main, at albany, atlantic street, five twenty-three: am ill, send carriage to the train. on number four. on time. j. main. this message quickly joe dispatched, then for relief impatient watched. 42 42 the hermit of moss pond. and so absorbed was he in thought, that e'en his dinner was forgot. the train at last stood at the door; the office keys were handed o'er; but what came next,—where he should go,— not having planned, he did not know. somehow the summons, "all aboard! the balance of his mind restored, and matched his present urgent need, and soon to westward he did speed. if he had then been asked to tell his destination; and, as well, his purpose, it would have been learned, that he with neither was concerned. to go away he had prepared, but whither, neither knew nor cared. uncommon it was not to see employees riding passage free; the disappearance. 43 hence the conductor recognized, and kindly bowed, nor was surprised; except that joe, he knew not why, was not himself, but strangely shy. the train sped onward in its flight; the day was waning into night; when at an old familiar sound, he waked from lethargy profound. he tried to rouse his addled brain, to grasp the name when once again the brakeman's cry came floating down: "the junction, change for cooperstown." joe formed a purpose in a trice: he would at hartwick seek advice. well he remembered that at school, his teachers made it constant rule, to treat a pupil as a friend, and guard his interests to the end. for while his mind had been well drilled, his soul likewise had been well filled 44 the hermit of moss pond. with reverent counsel for his good, as he had always understood. the brakesman's notice seemed command. soon as the train came to a stand, he made the necessary change, and tried his purpose to arrange; but ere details had been contrived, here at the station he arrived. when joe dismounted from the train a blinding storm of sleet and rain had just set in; and from the west, as he supposed, but wrongly guessed. now at this somewhat distant year there was no station building here; but those who would a passage gain, must by a signal stop the train. the country round was trackless now, from fast descending drifting snow. the disappearance. 45 joe faced the storm, and made his way toward a light, whose flickering ray came from a lonely farmhouse found, to eastward of the indian mound. but he supposed it marked the street to westward, where his youthful feet had often trod the classic halls, within his alma mater's walls. first "russell's cove" he quickly crossed, and next the river, bridged with frost; then made his way for half a mile, and greatly wondered that, meanwhile, his journey should so far extend, and not already reach an end. till he at last was forced to say that in the storm he'd lost his way, but where he was, or what to do, just then not in the least he knew. 46 the hermit of moss pond when courage was about to fail, his weary feet now struck a trail, which had been left that very day, by woodsmen on their homeward way. this pathway led through a ravine, down which sometimes there may be seen, the tumbling waters from beyond, which issue from an ample pond. this mountain path did joe ascend; he thought that it would somewhere end, where shelter could be found, at last, until this blinding storm were past. and so at last it came about, as has already been found out; by those whose patience has endured until this issue is secured, that joe had reached this cabin rude, which near moss pond to northward stood. v. agnes daire. 48 music. music (quatrains.) i. 'he breath of god, upon the hearts of men, responsive each with tones divinely rare; as spirit of the harp æolian, makes answer to the spirit of the air. ii. the thought of god, conceived and born in heaven, but nursed and cradled in the souls of men ; the one employment to us mortals given, which, sundered here, is there resumed again. iii. the soul's one harpstring, which survives the ruin sin in eden wrought; a vibrant cord, by which the father strives to re-possess our alien thought. iv. a ladder from god's footstool to his seatthe king's highway for feet long used to roam; while faith, and hope, and love, down-climbing, meet and convoy new-born souls unto their home. agnes daire. 49 t v. agnes daire. 'he thriving village of green crest with thriving churches was well blessedthe first and largest, lutheran, conducted on such godly plan, that till the town had largely grown, it served the worshipers alone; but later on, with larger size, did other steeples grandly rise; and blend metalic voices clear, to summon people far and near; to gather in this earthly shrine, and render thanks for grace divine. of this large church, the sunday school was under the efficient rule of henry daire of good renown, a prosperous merchant of the town. the organist was agnes daire, his only daughter, young and fair; 50 the hermit of moss pond. reared in a christian home with care, no effort did her parents spare, to train her mind in wisdom's ways, to fortify 'gainst evil days. the village school-the village prideher early years had well supplied; till she acquired sufficient skill, herself to teach, if she should will. examinations she had passed, and had certificate at last; and her ambition was to teach, when this condition she should reach. her parents though could not agree, that she should leave the family tree, to brave the trials oft profound, in such exacting service found. but agnes fain would put to test the powers of which she felt possessed; agnes daire. 51 she would not be mere ornament, e'en by her parents fond consent. and so it came about one day, the principal had called to say, that his assistant had resigned, and he must quick another find 66 "i come to you," he said, to ask that you at once accept the task.” miss agnes sought and gained consent; for here at home could well be spent her leisure hours with parents dear. she took the place but with some fear, lest here among her neighbors she might not to this task equal be. but soon her native talent rose to match the duties which she chose; and soon the board, with one consent, would make position permanent. 52 the hermit of moss pond. attention thus was drawn to her, from watchful school commissioner. but when the term drew near its close a strange and sad event arose: one day her mother, mrs. daire, had fallen down the cellar stair, and thus sustained an injury, the end of which none could foresee. to agnes now was duty plain, at home she surely would remain; and with a daughter's filial love, supreme all other tasks above, would take her place as best she could, and make return as daughter should, for mother's love, and mother's care, through childhood's ills with patience rare. when school was opened in the fall, to the regret of children all, agnes daire. 53 a new assistant had arrived, instead of agnes, so much loved. with skillful treatment and with care, was rally quick with mrs. daire; and so it chanced that agnes found development for love profound, of music, which from childhood days had been a passion in some ways. with small encouragement or aid, such aptitude had she displayed, that long before her chubby hand had first the ivory octave spanned, she played the melodies with skill, which her quick ear had caught at will. she soon with "lessons" was employed, and e'en the practice she enjoyed for hours on each succeeding day, when duties would afford the way; $4 the hermit of moss pond. and be it to her credit said, she ne'er refused to give her aid, at home, at school, at house of prayer, in sunday-school, or anywhere that she could be of service true,such instances, alas! are few. she now had reached her eighteenth year, was tall and stately and sincere, had clear brown eyes that sparkled bright, or flashed disfavor at the sight of what was mean, or low, or vile; or kindled with approving smile, at what was good, and pure, and clean; till none could doubt her choice between. in feature she was strong and ripe, somewhat resembling grecian type; by nature of such gracious mind, that she was uniformly kind; where merit she could plainly see that was her chosen company. agnes daire. 55 and such were her adorments rare that she with grace her part could bear at organ, or piano forte, on croquet ground, or tennis court; could paint a picture, sing, recite, or creditable essay write; or in the kitchen take her place, and there preside with equal grace; or spread a table at command, with products of her own deft hand. vi. walks and talks. 58 the better part. the better part. right sun, in thy diurnal round, brige the haunts of men thou seest afar ; which with the arts of peace resound, or direful war. fair moon, thy dreamy brightness lures fond lovers forth into the night; thy look emboldens, and assures the bashful wight. pale stars, ye gaze upon the deeds of those who bend to sin's hard yoke ;: whose half reluctant courage needs night's sable cloak. all-seeing eye, alike to thee, is night or day. o teach my heart the bad to shun, and early see the better part. walks and talks. 59 151 vi. walks and talks. mall wonder 'tis that ere they knew, esteem 'twixt joe and agnes grew. like goodly service they performed, to like good usages conformed. and often when the sunday-school would follow customary rule, and hold a concert, or a drill, these would their usual tasks fulfil: joe would to management give heed, and agnes at the organ lead; and thus it often came about, that when the exercise was out, and little odds and ends were done, these two would find them quite alone; and so, of course, it was but right, that joe should act the gallant knight. 60 the hermit of moss pond. and soon the wise ones shook their head, and winking to each other said: "that's settled, you may be assured," so food for gossip was secured. and strange it is that to these twain, what to less active minds was plain, was never e'en suspected true,the same old story, ever new! of mutual interests they would talk, as slowly homeward they would walk; the small talk" of the town discuss; their tastes compare, their minds express; but what was uppermost in each, had not the courage quite to reach. but if suggestion had been made, that they with love were ever swayed, a stout denial had been met,and such delusions flourish yet! walks and talks. 61 i have a notion," he expressed, "that if i ever should be blessed with home and wife, her name might be the earnest of her love to me." "do you imply," said she, "or find, that names are omens of the mind?" most surely i would have it so; good names, good friends," said gallant joe. "but," she inquired, "how is it then that names so far precede the men?'' "you will admit," he kindly said, "that in the scripture may be read, that names and characters agree, of all the worthies there you see." your proof i challenge," she replied, though half won over to his side. 62 the hermit of moss pond. "was job not 'persecuted' sore? ་ and daniel judge' the people o'er? and jacob, did he not 'supplant'? and peter, firm as adamant'?'' "ah yes. but still," she next inquired, were not these bible names inspired?" "inspired, indeed," he said, "but yet the natures did the names offset.” "but has not inspiration ceased?" 66 said agnes, as the theme increased, can parents now with certainty the future of their child foresee, and match the temper of the mind with name well suited to the kind?' " "perhaps not always," joe replied, 46 and yet the rule may safely guide. is not hereditary trait quite sure to reappear, though late? walks and talks. 63 and if the tainted blood bear fruit, in evils we may not compute; why may we not expect the pure to have good fruitage quite as sure? and would it not be safe to say, as early as the christening day, that those with lineage avowed, well born, well nurtured, well endowed, will not their heritage disclaim, if this we certify by name?" she listened with an interest deep, which to herself she could not keep. assured, he ventured to proceed, "if to the altar i should lead on some sweet day a charming bride, 'twould be my all absorbing pride, whate'er might be the cherished name which at the altar she disclaim, the one unchanged might be embraced in classic garb as, agnes-' chaste.'" 64 the hermit of moss pond. had it been light joe would have seen her cheek up-glow with crimson sheen; but in the most indifferent way, she said; "perhaps it will, some day." the homeward journey neared the end, no further could this talk extend. now joe sometimes had been impressed, that he his calling had not guessed; he had opinions well defined, was of religious turn of mind; his duty was inclined to do, when once that duty he well knew. he had a good position now, but was not easy quite somehow; should he not fit himself to preach, and thus his proper calling reach? and so this question in some shape, his cautious lips would oft escape; walks and talks. 65 46 he longed to know but dared not ask, what agnes thought of such a task. suppose i had a friend," he said, "who was in doubt where duty led; to whatsoe'er he turned his hand, it would not quite his mind command; 4 but heard with every plan unfurled, go preach my gospel to the world'?" joe put this question with some doubt, but quick her answer came about: "i would regard it as a call from grace divine, surmounting all." "but how could he conclusion reach, that he was surely called to preach? " "perhaps 'twere better," she replied, "if he another issue tried: 66 the hermit of moss pond. how could he ever be excused, if such commission he refused? it surely ought to be confessed, that what endowments are possessed, should in the master's service find employment suited to our mind; if now your friend is well endowed, which by your question is allowed, he ought to seek a service call, which would command his talents all." "but may not one as useful be in other callings?" questioned he. "useful indeed," responded she, "but not as useful, as you see. for nowhere else in this domain, can godly talent hope to gain such grand results for labor done, as in the gospel of god's son. walks and talks. 67 for when the savior would commend the loving service of his friend, he highest praise to mortals paid: 'she hath done what she could,' he said. if one can preach the gospel pure, 'tis highest duty, i am sure." joe winced a little as he heard, for even so it had occurred to his own conscientious mind; but how to act he did not find. "but if," said joe, "my friend should be, toward gentler sex not quite heart free: but felt a passion in his breast, which not as yet had been expressed; would not this also be a voice which would affect his final choice?" god's purposes are not thus mixed,” she said. "we need not choose betwixt 68 889 the hermit of moss pond. 66 64 the good and good, all one these twain; for if 'tis true that heaven ordain a love for souls of sinful men, and love which answers love again, 'twere safe to follow heaven's call, and confidently venture all; for highest human love is found in hearts, if love of god abound." small comfort joe received from this; yet, ere he could the thought dismiss, once more he ventured to inquire: what if this once expressed desire should haply in the sequel prove to be a barrier to his love?" this last did agnes sorely vex, as though indictment of her sex; she thought a moment then replied; 'if mine 'twere ever to decide where love to god and duty plain would e'er conflict with selfish gain, walks and talks. 69 whate'er would come my love between i'd spurn it as a thing unclean.” and all unconscious of the pain had agnes drawn his picture plain; and as he left her at the gate, where just a moment he would wait, he pressed her hand, and with a sigh, "suppose," he said, "that friend were i?" the christmas season now approached, the festal subject had been broached. according to time honored rule, it was discussed in sunday-school; committees were appointed, too, and so the work in interest grew. the christmas tree must bear rich fruit, of various kinds each taste to suit, and music must be practiced o'er, and recitations, and much more. 70 the hermit of moss pond. so nightly joe and agnes met, and held sweet converse, cherished yet; sometimes agreed on current news; sometimes they differed in their views; though both to argue were inclined, they always tried the truth to find; these christmas duties kept them late, they oft were weary with their weight. "i ne'er could see the reason why," said agnes, with a conscious sigh, "that education is so planned, ( as to ignore god's great command: train up a child in wisdom's way, and when he's old he will not stray.' the purport of this statement queer, at first to joe was not quite clear. "what plan," he said, "would you approve, which your objection would remove?" walks and talks. 71 "i would encourage," she replied, "if not demand, that it be tried, to teach the heart as well as head, when teachers by the state are paid. we tax ourselves to self protect, and then to best results object." "would you combine," said he, "in school, the teaching of the golden rule, with mathematics and the rest?" joe said this only in a jest, but agnes took him at his word. "indeed," she said, "what more absurd, than for the state to school the mind, and leave the morals unrefined? and what the good to teach the law of duties man to man may owe, but never once his debts review, which to his god no less are due ?" 72 the hermit of moss pond. "how far," said he, "would this extend, if you should present laws amend? would not religion find its way into our public schools some day?" she caught at this with eagerness; "religion, truly," said she, "yes, not false religion, but the true; just think a moment what we do; we teach the system of the greek, and hoiner's language learn to speak; we hob-nob with the roman gods, as one through virgil's measures plods;: confucius too we study out, for what the chinese are about; with bloody turk,-mohammedan,we con the stupid alcoran; and no one rises to object, if book of mormon we inspect; but, oh! ye gods of greece and rome, and all the saints abroad or home! walks and talks. 73 the schools would evil breed instead, if once the bible should be read! to teach religion is all right, if once the true is not in sight!" joe listened with an interest real, which somehow he could scarce conceal; and lured her on by skillful tact, this fruitful subject to protract; and though at times he felt the thrust, of lancet keen, sarcastic, just, he thought his armor could afford to yield to such a kindly sword. "but is it not our policy, to educate the youth," said he, "and leave religion to the church, where those may freely find who search?" 66 "it yet remains," she said, to prove that education will remove 74 the hermit of moss pond. our ills, or in itself protect; to that conclusion i object." "but surely you would not maintain," said joe, to some advantage gain, "that no protection we receive, for all the money which we give?" her bright eyes flashed, her fair cheeks flamed, at this delusive fiction named. "protection, yes, indeed," she said, "i'll tell you how we are misled: first, all the people by one rule are rightly taxed for public school; next, christian people once more pay, for church and sunday-school outlay; and at their own expense provide the half the state leaves unsupplied. for well they know that learned head, with untamed heart we doubly dread; walks and talks. 75 and so, unselfish and devout, they work to bring good ends about; and even do not thus confine their gracious efforts to their own; but with unselfish christian zeal, they labor for the public weal; and so it happens that the state secures protection at that rate. and even more, some would be glad insult to injury to add, and tax these last the third time round, for all the churches that abound." "but would it do," he asked at length, that he might give his question strength, "to tax the populace entire, for what but part of them desire?" "well said, if true," she answered quick, "the state regards it politic 76 the hermit of moss pond. to educate the youth entire, no matter what they may desire. and is it not a patent truth, that many thousands of these youth, among the lower strata found, where vice and crime and filth abound, themselves resist the proffered aid, content with idleness instead? and so at school, by force, begin the rudiments of discipline?" "quite true," said joe, "i must agree; but yet i do not clearly see, how force could be resorted to, to teach the christian faith. do you?" "not that, indeed," she said, "but yet, why not have liberty to get a knowledge of that faith the same as those called by less honored name? walks and talks. 77 the time will come, i do believe, when men no longer can deceive; when christian sons of christian sires will kindle patriotic fires on every hilltop, and once more contend for freedom as of yore; for are we not a christian state? then why should we our faith abate? if infidels and sceptics find our state too narrow for their mind, then let them migrate to some zone where god and bibles are unknown. to me it seems supremely strange, that just a few can so arrange, that what themselves have once decried, must be by law to all denied.” "but is it not quite true," said he, 'that good men, christians, too, agree, 78 the hermit of moss pond. that state and church should be apart, and head be not confused with heart?" "half true," she said, "but not believed. no infidel has e'er received the nation's honors as its chief; each ruler must express belief in god, the ruler of the world; and on his word, to him unfurled, pledge loyal service to his peers, the while their honors he thus wears. and juries, too, and witnesses, in courts of justice must express belief in god and own his sway, ere they for service qualify. and legislators, great and small, and orators, and authors all, when they would rise to lofty flights of eloquence o'er human rights, will quote the bible rule supreme, for argument to prove their theme. walks and talks. 79 "" and yet in public school, forsooth! the bible is denied the youth, and would they dig in this rich mine, for gems their speech to well refine; they must with patience always wait, till through the schools kept by the state." what would you recommend? " said he. 'just simply this," responded she, "i'd make the bible the first rule, in every home, in every school; and give it equal place among the classic studies old or young; not force it out, nor force it in,— just give it chance its way to win." "but in unworthy hands," said he, "would not there then some danger be?” 64 unworthy hands!" said she, polite, would you the teachers thus indict? so the hermit of moss pond. 6 some danger,' think you could result, if god's own word we should consult? with profit might we not compare the bible worthies with some care, " with plutarch's lives,' of classic fame, and over-match them name for name?" now agnes did not quite intend, thus far her strictures to extend; herself a teacher, much she saw to well commend the present law; regretting only its defect which time, she hoped, would soon correct. 'twas her ambition soon to see the schools on this good plan agree: to give the body exercise, to train the mind till it is wise, the morals also to amend, esthetic culture to extend, the patriotic to inspire, and let religion rule entire. walks and talks. 81 these all, in just proportions wrought, is learning to perfection brought. of course, it matters not," said she, with well intentioned irony, "what i may think, or say, or do,— for women have no vote, you know." howe'er, it is not out of place to here remark, if by your grace, if then joe had been called to state his verdict on that night's debate, it surely would recorded be: "for agnes, one majority." at last the christmas eve approached, which on their time so much encroached. one practice meeting yet remained, and then the end would be attained; the christmas tree its fruit would bear, and joy would reign without compare. 82 the hermit of moss pond. for joe one thing remained, howe'er, to make complete that christmas cheer; one gift all other gifts above, he most desired: 'twas agnes' love. but could he hope the prize to gain? or, would he plead his cause in vain? a thousand plans he formed amiss, at last he settled down to this. that very night he would declare his ardent love for agnes daire, would write a letter, and inclose a diamond ring, and this propose: that if his love she could receive, she wear the ring on christmas eve. once formed, this purpose filled his mind. the ring was purchased, note outlined and copied o'er and o'er with care,— nought was too good for agnes daire. walks and talks. 83 all through the day and evening, too, it burned almost his pocket through; he thought his looks almost revealed, what mind and pocket thus concealed. the evening came to end at last, the homeward journey soon was passed; and strangely, too, for scarce a word 1 by either was expressed or heard; but both were busied with the thought which soon was to an issue brought. for joe's queer silence we have key, if explanation there need be; and agnes was not so obtuse, that she had failed to find excuse. when joe had said his last good night, he gave her hand a pressure slight, and placed the precious note therein, with gift designed her love to win. 84 the hermit of moss pond. grown somewhat bolder, after this he printed on her hand a kiss. the time for parting now had come, he walked on air his journey home. vii. defalcation. 86 misunderstood. misunderstood. rondeau. isunderstood! a life undone, ere half th' allotted race is run. 'tis ever thus;-we mourn, we cry o'er fancied wrongs, and oft deny sweet peace approach, till hope is gone. or if, perchance, we struggle on, and bear life's ills as best we can, oft 'neath the burden must we sigh,— misunderstood. paint not, dear heart, nor duty shun; through sacrifice of self, god's son redeemed a world; should not we try to act our part, and magnify our lord, e'en though by all save one, misunderstood? defalcation. 87 vii. defalcation. xcitement held the little town, that christmas day, and henceforth on; the station agent oft was plied with questions he could not decide; the business seemed all in share; no clue as yet had found escape; the books were posted neat and true; the tickets ran their numbers through; in short no reason could be traced, why joe departed in such haste; and so the gossip rose and fell, till every burgher knew it well; but none so wise as to foresee, what might the final issue be. the old year waned, the new at hand, must take the records as they stand; the agent sent in his report, for balance of the season short, 88 the hermit of moss pond. since that eventful day when joe had disappeared from public view. on new year's day a stranger guest made his appearance at green crest.a high official,—mr. howe, whose nephew was the agent now. an air of mystery he wore, the while he conned the records o'er. he and the agent worked all day, from early morn till evening gray, and oft were seen to shake the head, but of their business nothing said. when mr. howe left town that night, the records proved to be all right; but funds, according to report, were seven hundred dollars short. defalcation. 89 the story ran from mouth to mouth, to north, and east, and west, and south, till all the town was nearly wild, o'er what had been that day revealed. defaulter!" was on every tongue; and "fugitive," were changes rung; till wearied by the exercise, they waited for some new surprise. at last the secret had come out, joe manly was a thief, no doubt! to agnes came this awful news, like killing frost on summer dews. the flowers which sprang up in her heart, that gladsome time they last did part, lay chilled and withered by the blight, and even hateful to her sight. that dreadful night she tried to pray, which had her refuge been alway; the hermit of moss pond. but form of words she could not find, except there crowded in her mind, the psalmist's faith in dire distress, and thus her soul she did express: "if i in trouble do abide, in his pavilion he will hide; he'll keep me safe and secret, too, if enemies my soul pursue." a firm resolve she formed that night, that she would be consistent quite; faith was her duty, not more plain in sunshine than in chilling rain. "i will believe of doubt instead, help thou mine unbelief," she said. some keen detectives now begun to ferret out the guilty one; but disappointment they endured, for not a clue could be secured. defalcation. 19 for joe had not his plans revealed, nor on the other hand concealed; and for the very good excuse, he had no plan yet formed for use. a letter was indeed received, requesting that he be relieved from his entire relation now, for reasons he could not avow. but thought no one at ail concerned, if his location were not learned. the envelope showed no imprint, save" d. & h. in transit," sent; which is the case with transient mail, thus locally sent o'er the rail. and so the matter must be dropped, until some circumstance outcropped, to put the officers on track, or joe himself, perchance, came back. viii. some letters. 94 december and june. ow december and june. how short, and dark, and cold, in icy winter's garb, are days whose southern and low-circling orb slants to the earth his dim, reluctant ray. but when in summer time, treading his northward way, the sun makes haste to rise, or lingers to depart, for joy at song of birds, or busy hum of mart, while flowers and babbling brooks make glad his stay, ere full aware his tardiness prolongs the day. some letters. 95 55 t v111.. some letters. hese chronicles must now return, some previous events to learn. about a league, toward the west along the railway, from green crest, a hamlet lay amid the hills. its industry of knitting mills employment to the people gave, and income both to use and save. the people prospered as a rule, and well sustained their village school. good teachers only were employed, good wages were by them enjoyed, and when a change sometimes occurred, widespread regret was often heard. and such a change was now at hand, which our attention must command; because to small extent at least, by this was joe's distress increased. 96 the hermit of moss pond. the teacher at glenvale was ill, and her position could not fill. she struggled bravely through the term, bnt toward the end was so infirm, that it was plain she must decide,, to sure resign at christmas tide. the school trustee at once set out to bring the needed change about. he thought it wise to first confer with trusty school commissioner. the case was stated with some strength, and so it came about, at length, that joseph price, the school trustee, received this answer to his plea: dear sir: in answer to your note this day received, i gladly quote a list of teachers well endowed, of whom i am quite justly proud; some letters. 97 and at the head without compare, i place the name of agnes daire. with kind regards, i am, dear sir, yours truly, stern, commissioner. without delay he sent this note to agnes daire, which here we quote: miss agnes daire, from mr. stern, our school commissioner, i learn your name, and by his kind advice, i write to offer liberal price, if you consent the place to fill of teacher who has fallen ill. if you accept i will consent to wait till holidays are spent; and at your leisure i will call to close a contract, and withal 98 the hermit of moss pond. consult what plans we may express, for your convenience and success. with much respect, till you i see, yours truly, joseph price, trustee. 'twas on december twenty third, that this transaction had occurred. as henry daire came from his store, when labors of the day were o'er, he brought this letter, just arrived by evening mail, and so contrived how it might reach his daughter's sight, when she arrived from church that night. for agnes, we already know, that night did to the practice go. upon her table by her bed, had mr. daire the letter laid; some letters. 30 99 and there 'twas found, as he had planned, and, ere she slept, by agnes scanned. unhappy agnes! that thine eye could not have passed that letter by! ་་་ with joe's warm kiss upon her hand, with courage she could scarce command, had agnes hastened to her room, that at the issue she might come. she broke the seal, the diamond bright first met her joy bedizzened sight; and next she read joe's message through, which now is here transcribed anew: dear agnes, if i may lay claim, to call thee by that precious name; accept this token of my love, all earthly passions else above. 95475b 100 the hermit of moss pond. and if i may the hope indulge, of love returned, that boon divulge, by wearing on thy cherished hand, this gem-surmounted golden band; and every flashing ray of light shall be my answer and delight. but if,-my pen would fain decline to write the portents of this line,-but if thy heart can find no place for my poor love, ah! then efface my image from thy heart, and thrust this bauble to its kindred dust. but till thy answer i obtain, i feast on hope, and so remain, as ever, thine through weal or woe, your faithful, hopeful servant, joe. her cup ran o'er; such happiness she did not know, or even guess, could come to mortals here below. and then her thoughts went out to joe. some letters. ιοι "poor jce," she said, you shall not wait the whole day through, and night, till late, to have your answer; i will write before i sleep, this very night." as joy we double, grief divide, by sharing with a comrade tried, she was not quite supremely blest, with this sweet secret in her breast. she read the letter, o'er and o'er, for surely twenty times or more; she watched the diamond's chromic gleam, to be assured she did not dream; then on her finger placed the ring, which should to joe assurance bring. now when the night was well nigh spent, her wearied energies were bent, to make reply to both these notes, which this above narration quotes; then crept into her bed, at last, where sleep profound soon held her fast. 102 the hermit of moss pond. the hour was late, next morn, before the servant rapped at agnes' door; no answer came,-she entered then, and took the situation in. there agnes lay in sweet repose, her cheeks were crimson as a rose, a smile, as if of peace, o'erspread her face, and haloed her fair head. one hand lay there in vision plain, uncovered on the counterpane; and on her finger sparkled bright, the diamond placed there yesternight. the servant was a maid herself; was proud, though not possessed of pelf, and served for wages, when her state was with her pride commensurate. she had the weakness of her sex, for jewels and such charms complex; and when she saw the diamond rest on agnes' finger, quickly guessed some letters. 103 its full portent, and stood enwrapped, by curiosity entrapped. ah, yes! and she is not the first, who by their dire abnormal thirst for news to which they have no right, involved their neighbors in sad plight. she looked about the room straightway; there on the table letters lay, addressed and stamped but yet unsealed. a look at agnes quick revealed, that she was held by sleep profound; then glancing quickly all around, she took the letters from their shield, and soon devoured the secrets held. when these as quickly were replaced, she left the room with guilty haste; one moment paused outside the door, then rapped more loudly than before. 104 the hermit of moss pond. now agnes was aroused at last, a puzzled look about her cast, tried to recall her scattered sense, and verify last night's events; "had she been dreaming all this joy?" "was waking only to annoy?" she tried to make her senses act. the jeweled finger was a fact; there lay the letters on the stand, the product of her own free hand. she bade the servant enter now, and her excuses did avow, for over-sleeping in such style; and quickly robed herself meanwhile. and when she saw the hour was late, that postman now was at the gate, she sealed the letters, quick as thought, and bade the maid to hand them out. some letters. 105 as soon as breakfast was well o'er, her mother shared her heart's fond store of joy and hope, not loth to tell. she answered: "darling, it is well," and kissed her fondly, and embraced, "'tis well my daughter, agnes, 'chaste.'' and, at the noon time, henry daire was of this secret made aware; and he, too, blessed his darling child, and tearfully approval smiled. unhappy, happy agnes, thou! joy on, while yet you may, for now, yes even now, the lightning stroke, o'er thy devoted head has broke, for smiles are tears, for joy is pain, when will there sunshine be again? the strange events which on that day, we have before tried to portray, 106 the hermit of moss pond. may from this letter now be guessed, which had so sorely joe distressed: dear sir:your favor of this date, i haste to answer; and to state that with regret i must decline to entertain your offer fine; my parents, too, resist the thought, of sacrifice so dearly bought; my thanks howe'er must be expressed, for favor of such kind request; howe'er unwelcome this reply, tis final as you must rely. with much respect, i am, dear sir, yours very truly, agnes daire. one letter yet remains to trace, which had that morning left the place: some letters. 107 as joseph price, on christmas eve, came home from church, he did receive a letter postmarked from green crest. it reached glenvale by last mail west, and when he was ensconced at home, in his somewhat unsocial room, he dressed him in his reading gown, and with composure settled down, to read the letter at his ease, and learn the issue,-if it please. now joseph was a bachelor, a veteran of the civil war, his shoulder straps he bravely won as captain ere the war was done; a widowed mother kept his home, since from the army he had come; was popular in all glenvale, with young and old, infirm or hale; was "fat and forty," sleek of dress, and well preserved, and had access 108 the hermit of moss pond. to all the " functions" of the town, social or civic in renown. he had been school trustee for years, and was a leader 'mong his peers; polite and affable and kind, and of a social turn of mind; and though his years ran on apace, he had a youngster's heart and face. tonight he was quite ill at ease; for at the church, on christmas trees, he had received such gifts, in size and value, as to quite surprise: three pairs of slippers, worked by hand, with patient skill, in pattern grand; a reading cap, embroidered o'er; and christmas cards, full half a score. what did it mean, he asked himself, as these lay marshalled on his shelf. some letters. 109 ah me! at last he sighed, in vain, "i wish i were quite young again.' 64 now to his task he settled down, and soon relapsed to "study brown." dear joe,"-" well, well, the little minx! i really wonder what she thinks?" "dear joe,66 the proffered prize i take," there, now, i can some headway make. she will accept the school to teach, to that conclusion i can reach." "dear joe," he read again "let's see, a little queer, to thus call me; but then these girls are full of pranks,a bonnie lass this girl of hank's." now joseph price and henry daire, had once been playmates and friends rare, 110 the hermit of moss pond. aud so we may the custom thank, that they were known as joe," and "hank.” hence captain price, perhaps might know, why he should be addressed as joe, but why it should be written "dear," that surely seemed a little queer. if "mr. joe," or "captain joe," or "trustee joe," then that would go; but then, at last, he figured out, it might have this way come about: "now hank himself the letter writ for agnes, that's the way of it.' "or else," said he, "i am not old, just forty, if the truth is told, well settled in a cozy home, who knows what may be the outcome? the daughter of my dear old friend, might possibly such answer send. f some letters. iii let's see, what did i write to her, i have forgotten, i aver. is that word prize, or price, she makes? suppose the 'proffered price she takes.' i don't believe i clearly see, if she accepts the school, or me!" then in his desk he fished around, and some old scraps of paper found, on which in part the draft appeared, of his own letter scratched and bleared. "i do declare!" he said at length, with muster of his trembling strength, i fear instead of wages pelf, i just have offered her myself. i'd give my eyes, if i could see, if that was writ a capital p. for here it stands, as cold as ice, 'i write to offer liberal price!'" 112 the hermit of moss pond. nor were it strange, if it occurred in writing such familiar word as one's own name, that such mistake might easily a fellow make. well, what a mix, but let it go; whiche'er it is, it shall be so, and never to my latest day, shall anybody rise to say, that through a blunder of his life, joe price obtained a charming wife." he put the letter safe away, to be reviewed some other day; and meanwhile planned to make believe, that agnes would the school receive. here is the letter, as it stands, which our attention now commands: 1 some letters. 113 dear joe, the proffered prize i take, and wear it gladly for your sake; but beg you not to overrate my modest worth or humble state; but what of love my heart contains, all undivided yours remains; and happy shall i ever be, to write, yours truly, agnes d. ix. decline. 116 if anything happens. 1f if anything happens. -rondeau.f anything happens," wherever i rove, on land or on ocean, in temple or grove, defending home altars in liberty's cause, or peacefully heeding humanity's laws,— my soul will fly hither, on wings of the dove. through duty and danger triumphant i'll move, and brief our adieux in the language of love a volume of meaning condensed in a clause,— 66 if anything happens." so out from thy presence, where duties behoove, i go but my heartfelt devotion to prove; a wealth of success if i win thy applause, but if-ah! the thought makes my life current pause,— remember me kindly, and meet me above, "if anything happens." decline. 117 1. decline. 'was rather late that christmas eve, 't when agnes for the church did leave. the happy hours from morn to night, were counted off with glad delight, much as a faithful devotee counts beads upon a rosary. and when the time for service came, she tripped away with heart aflame. she noticed when she reached the church, that she was eyed with curious search. her entrance caused a mild surprise, but what it meant did not surmise. but when she climbed the organ stair, she saw joe manly was not there. 118 the hermit of moss pond. but no one had vouchsafed to tell the wondering agnes what befell; and so she was quite unaware, until she heard the closing prayer, and then her joy was turned to woe, the "wanderer" was surely joe. her father met her in the aisle, and tried her anguish to beguile; he, too, had heard the rumor wild, and hastened to protect his child; convoyed her home and gently told what of the case he could unfold. what happened there for days and days, is rightly hidden from our gaze; that joe had disappeared was plain, but why, she could not ascertain; till on that fatal new year's day, the story spread to her dismay, that joe was wrong in his accounts, and had defaulted large amounts. decline. 119 did she believe it? surely no, what woman would have failed him so? "if he is innocent," she said, "he'll need a friend, of foes instead; << if he has fallen,-god forbid!e'en though his fault may not be hid, he needs a friend, 'tis plain to see, and shall have friends in god and me." oh faithful woman, and sublime! what would the world, with all its crime, mistakes, and weakness, ever do, if thou, perchance, shouldst prove untrue? there must be some mistake," she said, then o'er and o'er joe's letter read; "for one who could such message write, did sure not feel his conscience smite.' soon after new year's day was past, she was in deeper trouble cast. i 20 the hermit of moss pond. 669 for joseph price, the school trustee, about the contract called to see. prepared he was for any fate,— whichever way the case relate. at first he halted at the store, to talk their old acquaintance o'er; then made his way to mrs. daire, to wisely seek for favor there; and there was shocked to be replied, that agnes was to guests denied. 'tis very urgent," he had said, then showed the letter to be read. to agnes now her mother went, to learn the letter's strange intent. poor agnes took the fatal dart, and pressed it sadly to her heart. decline. 121 46 this letter which was meant for joe, to joseph price did surely go; and that for captain price designed, its way to joe as surely find; and so, alas! it must be plain, that joe was driven away in pain." and as her eye ran o'er the note, she slightly changed it as we quote: "dear joe, the proffered prize i take, and wear it, though my heart may break." now such a man was joseph price, that, when acquainted with the case, assured his friends of service best, and hid their secret in his breast. the weary winter dragged its length, and so declined poor agnes' strength. the spring and summer filed along, and found her daily still less strong, 122 the hermit of moss pond. till her physician ordered change,-such brooding might her mind derange. now agnes blamed herself alway, for the mistake of that sad day; until the conscience stricken maid, had on herself the mischief laid; and had the circumstance confessed, which act had agues so distressed: "i read the letters, and in haste, perhaps, i changed them when replaced.” but though the truth some comfort gave, it came too late the wrong to save; and so 'twas thought the safest rule, to place her in some noted school; and so employment suited find, for her somewhat distracted mind. i x. school. 124 the chapel bell 'ir' the chapel bell. -sonnet.ing out, old bell! for years three score and ten, since first thy voice awoke the echoing trills, of susquehanna's virgin wooded hills, thou'st called to learning's sacred halls, young men and maidens fair, who since with tongue or pen, or in such other sphere as heaven wills, have blessed the world and modified its ills;ring out, old bell, a welcome once again. and when the angel trump that wakes the dead, and calls the faithful to the master's rest, shall sound o'er land and sea, at last, to tell that time shall be no more, may we not dread its summoning voice, but heed its glad behest, as we have answered to thy call, old bell. 1815-1885. i school. 125 va *. school. hen once it was the settled rule, that agnes should be placed in school, it somehow puzzled them to know, just where 'twas best for her to go. the magazines they searched to find the school announcements of this kind. then sent for catalogues and price, that they might make desired choice. but if they were at loss before, they well might now be puzzled more; for schools there were of every kind, but few just suited to their mind. now agnes needed home-like care, that contrast might not be severe; with work her mind to occupy, and exercise to strength supply. 126 the hermit of moss pond. a year would be enough, they thought, to make complete the learning sought; and bring her mind to such a state, as would become a graduate. and so were catalogues perused, for some advice which might be used. one offered great facility for boating contests, and such glee; and this year stood an even chance, to gain renown, and so advance to first rank in fraternity, by entry into "varsity." one had a champion foot-ball team, which brought the school to great esteem; and such the valor of the men, that in their sports time and again, had limbs been broken, noses split,— each would so well himself acquit. school. 127 and once, it was with boasting said, one had been carried homeward dead. another would their students drill, in contests of athletic skill; and had a record of this sort,the envy of the student sport: in running jump of height six feet, one had a score that none could beat: one put a twelve-pound shot away, for three-and-forty feet one day; and one could vault a fence with ease, for seven feet, if so he please; but crowning all, the school's great pet, could kick nine feet in air,—" you bet!" in some, fraternities abound, of secret order quite profound; and to distinguish their own "set," had ravished the greek alphabet; and oft the "anti's" had averred, when "scraps" with "frats" sometimes occurred, 128 the hermit of moss pond. that these symbolic letters few, were all the greek the members knew. and still another offered aid, for training of another grade; here under tutors was a chance, to learn the mazes of the dance; the rules of etiquette were taught, and so to great perfection brought; the social was so emphasized, that most of school life it comprised. some schools indeed it almost looks, paid small attention to their books; and others seemed to have some which chiefly their attention had. “fad,” in one 'twas physics, and the room was one museum, we presume; or chemistry, and so the space, for bottles and retorts found place; school. 129 or classics, with attention shown all languages except our own; or military drill, perhaps, with tinsel lace and shoulder straps. 'twould not be altogether good, from these exhibits to conclude, that all the schools are thus inclined; but still too many such we find; 'tis best, perhaps, to be advised that nostrums are most advertised. it soon was altogether plain, that from this source they would not gain the object of their eager search; then they remembered, once, at church, their pastor had with interest rare, commended to his people's care, a christian school, if need there be, to send their children thus away. 130 the hermit of moss pond. "tis well, my people," he had said, "to guard the heart as well as head; these godless schools may turn your child from wisdom's way to customs wild; for just at that susceptive age, some error may their thought engage; and with no christian teacher near, much mischief may be done, i fear." and so they sought their pastor's aid, and all arrangements with him made, to thence convoy their daughter dear, and see her settled for a year. xi. the hermit. 132 reclaimed. reclaimed. -sonnet. 'he lordly pine which, from its dizzy height, looks down o'er many a foot of unlimbed trunk, was once a twig whose tiny branches shrunk, and died, neglected in the upward flight, of the ambitious terminal toward light; the while these axillary buds were sunk, beneath exogenous folds, ere they had drunk the nectar brewed their growth to expedite. our lives, though in their origin possessed, of embryo bud, or weakling branch of sin, may yet through faith and love be made to rise, to glorious ungnarled height, which may be dressed fit for the heavenly builder's use, within that house not made with bands, beyond the skies. the hermit. 133 't 1. the hermit. 'is now our duty to return, and something of the wanderer learn. our paths, since parallel they run, must be traced singly since begun. when joe, on that sad christmas day, awoke his strange lodge to survey; no explanation could he find, to satisfy his puzzled mind. so when the sun descended low, he thought he would to clearing go, and learn before the night advance, somewhat of his retreat, perchance. he took the trail by which he came, then saw the western sky aflame; while at his feet in beauty lay, the river with its winding way, 134 the hermit of moss pond. a silver ribbon glazed with ice; then he discovered in a trice, that on that yester-night his quest, was toward the east, instead of west. then he retracked the forest road, and sought again last night's abode. he thought he soon would leave the place, his wandering pathway to retrace, but could not quite decision form. the cabin kept him fed and warm, till new year's day had quickly passed, and woodsmen had returned at last. they were surprised when they did come, to find a tenant thus at home; but explanations were supplied, till all their doubts were satisfied; and in their work joe soon engaged, and so his grief was some assuaged. the hermit. 135 it was agreed his wages went, entirely for the cabin rent; and for such usage of supplies, as would his scanty wants comprise. and so congenial was it found, that when the spring had come around, and woodsmen had their task complete, joe held the use of this retreat. so by degrees the story spread, that near moss pond a hermit dread, was dwelling in a cabin rude, within the mountain virgin wood. but farthest was it from joe's thought, to such tradition to be brought. the winter labor for him found some panacea for his wound, and summer's rest gave ample time for meditative thoughts sublime. 136 the hermit of moss pond. and every night he made a vow,if heavenly father would, somehow, bring order out of chaos dire, which held his soul almost entire, his ransomed powers he would devote, his righteous kingdom to promote. xii. doss pond. 138 october. t october. hy alternating smiles and tears, though not unlike the april showers, fall round the graves instead of cradles, of the joy-inspiring flowers; thy somber hues look rearward, to the fruitful summer's ripened grain, but forward to the killing frosts, and all their white-clad wintry train, thy sunset's golden glories, held imprisoned in the maple boughs, bring grief or gladness as they hint of perfidy or plighted vows; — for now the "season's" ended, and back home ward turns the human tide, whatever be the wooing, fair october claims a wintry bride. moss pond. 139 a 11. doss pond. mong otsego hills, is found a chain of lakes which cluster round the susquehanna river's head, like jewels which a crown o'erspread. with one of these we have to do, and that, one of the smallest, too: hid in surrounding forests deep, as though in nature's lap asleep. its name appropriate it bears, from mossy kerchief which it wears; for, round its curved periphery, a margin of dense moss we see, which from the shore extends beyond, well toward the centre of the pond. or, if the mountain we compare to monster lying outstretched there, 140 the hermit of moss pond. the pond would be cyclopean eye, steadfastly gazing toward the sky; the iris is the mossy marge, the open centre pupil, large. so dense this curious mossy bed, that one may safely on it tread, e'en to the curving central bound, where sparkling water may be found. the colors of this carpet strange, all through the prismic spectrum range, of gold and russet, red and green, of gray, and brown, and silvery sheen; with all the tints, and shades, and hues, which one in earth or sky e'er views. moreover with the changing year, these colors also changed appear; for in these mosses leaves entwine, of cranberries and aqueous vine, moss pond. 141 whose ripening fruit, and berries red, seem figures worked with beads instead. here one may stand, if so he please, "" and teeter up and down with ease. till waves of carpet roll along,— so dense the moss, and also strong. and yet a cane will easy go, down through the moss to depths below. the water of this lakelet queer, is found to be surprising clear; and multitudes of cat-fish find conditions suited to their kind. moss pond for years has been a shrine, for those who to romance incline;-for lovers fond and students gay, who wish to wile a summer day. 142 the hermit of moss pond. 'tis reached by trail which may be found, to eastward of the indian mound; which curiosity, betimes, was elsewhere mentioned in these rhymes. xiii. recognition and explanation. 144 resurgam. a resurgam. -sonnet.modest flower in a garden grew,— the garden was of old well tilled and fair, the flower breathed its perfume on the air as gentle breezes 'mong its petals blew. responsive to refreshing rain and dew, oft bloomed this choice perennial, to bear its meeds of joy to eye and mind, and wear its roseate crown of variagated hue. when dearth appeared, the flower drooped-and died. dead! dead? vibrated on a thousand lips; a thousand eyes dropped tears. the tears were rain, which waked the slumbering sprite. the vital tide reflowed, as life returns when nature sips the breath of spring. the flower bloomed again. recognition and explanation. 145 w 111. recognition and explanation. ith agnes school life well agreed; her mind from brooding had been freed, by occupation which engaged her fertile thought, and grief assuaged. the winter passed and spring arrived, when busy students oft contrived to find some relaxation meet, to match their weariness complete; for after long and tiresome work, what wonder that they sometimes shirk, when balmy spring invites to roam, and languors of "spring fever" come. one day in june-well nigh the end,petition did the students send the faculty, for holiday, a visit to moss pond to pay. 146 the hermit of moss pond. to hartwick seminary folk, 'tis quite a stale perennial joke; for while all join in such request, but few these projects interest. some want the day for shopping trip, some would the more their mind equip for "regents' now quite near at hand, and some the day in fishing spend. one name will cover all:-moss pond, each has his reason this beyond. but once at least should all incline, to make a journey to this shrine. this year howe'er, it came about, that quite a party started out, of students, teachers, parents, too, the interesting sights to view; to have pic-nic outing rare, and rest the mind from toilsome care. recognition and explanation. 147 as is the habit, in such case, the youngsters with each other race; and all the journey is thus done, with flash of wit, and joke, and fun. and one rash student e'en was found, to roll the slope of indian mound; but one such venture proved enough, so steep the journey, and so rough. the dainty lunch was much enjoyed, which for this purpose was convoyed; and then for hours, as each thought best, was pleasure sought, or timely rest. some caught the catfish for the sport; some paid respects to cupid's court; some ventured on the mossy bed; some otherwhere, as fancy led; and one,—and he professor, too, so bold and venturesome he grew, 148 the hermit of moss pond. that on a temporary raft, would sail, while his companions laughed, to see the antics he displayed, as these brief voyages were made, till by a misdirected stroke, involuntary bath he took. now agnes was herself inclined botanic specimens to find, and sassafras, and wintergreen, and orchids which may here be seen. she wandered out alone some way, and toward the north her journey lay; till out of her companions' sight, though of this fact unconscious quite. she oft had heard the story told, about the moss pond hermit old; but gave no heed as she would hear, nor thought it now worth while to fear. recognition and explanation. 149 with hat bedecked with running pine, and dogwood flowers and columbine, she heedless through the thicket pressed, for trophies to reward her quest. when she would now rejoin her friends, and for her absence make amends, to her amazement, in her way, the hermit stood, in garb of gray, with bearded face and curious mien, such as before she had not seen. she gave a piercing cry of fright, when this strange vision met her sight; she tried to run, but caught her feet, in tangled vines of bittersweet; and helpless lay, half dead with fear, when she beheld the hermit near. "fair lady," said he gallantly, "you need not fear unworthy me. 150 the hermit of moss pond. tell me your errand, whence you came, or whither you would go, just name, and it will be my cheerful task to guide you safe where'er you ask." could agnes now believe her ears? that voice so pleading calmed her fears; it had a strange, familiar sound, which echoed in her soul profound. she raised her hand to shield her eyes; she tried to look in her surprise; the diamond on her finger flashed; the hermit sorely was abashed. their glances met, they both cried out; "" "joe!" agnes!" "how came this about?" "and are you then alive?" she said, my love has mourned you, as if dead.” recognition and explanation. 151 "" what! love?" he said, "your love has mourned? how can that be, with my love scorned?" scorned, heaven forbid! see there," she said, then to his gaze her hand outspread. "and every flashing ray of light shall be my answer and delight.' these are your words to me addressed, and this the answer then expressed; poor joe, misfortune 'twas not fault, but let the end the means exalt, which gives us back to life our dead, and yields us flowers of thorns instead.” "how is it then," he quick inquired, "that this misfortune has occurred? here is the letter i received, which has my spirit sorely grieved." "that letter was for joseph price, not joseph manly. by device 152 the hermit of moss pond. of naughty servant it was sent to you, instead of him i meant.” it clearly would not do to stay much longer from her friends away; so while their souls o'erflowed their eyes did agnes once again arise, and give her jeweled hand to joe,"now to my comrades i must go." it is not meet for curious eye, into this brief adieu to pry; what plans were laid for future need, will be outlined as we proceed. joe guided agnes on her way, till he must needs his journey stay; she joined her friends, but not too soon, for though the days are long in june, recognition and explanat on. 153 the homeward march must be begun, forewarned by the descending sun. and now a strange discussion rose: who could the mystery disclose? what had occurred to agnes daire? so fresh, so bright, so glad, so fair! this maid so modest and so coy, was half beside herself with joy. for this great change none could account, "was she transfigured on the mount? xiv. graduation. 136 the diploma. the diploma. rondeau. like flakes of snow, down falling fast, in bleak december's wintry blast, now at the season's radiant noon, in rosy, gladsome month of june, descends a cloud white-winged and vast. from alma mater's rich repast, are academic parchments cast, for their own season opportune, like flakes of snow. some, like snow-crystals unsurpassed, bring matchless beauty, long to last; some, too, forsooth are trodden soon, 'neath wanton feet, a slighted boon, unvalued and unheeded passed, like flakes of snow. t graduation. 157 t xiv. graduation. he summer term at hartwick passed, with agnes cheerful quite at last. she wisely had indulged in sport, such as with dignity comport. her studies, too, she well pursued, the new she learned, the old reviewed, and passed the regents' of that day, till academic honors lay within her reach as graduate. it only now remained to state by thesis her research mature, and her diploma thus secure. just here a difficulty lay; for graduates too often pay more heed to outward garb refined, than to adornments of the mind. 158 the hermit of moss pond. some ladies of that graduate class their predecessors would surpass, in rich display, and costly dress. now agnes this did much distress. by nature she was disinclined to such debasement of the mind. she plead for neat simplicity, which to her mind would more agree with common sense and cultured taste, than such unnecessary waste. then, too, she could not quite consent, to deck herself in gay ostent, the while such rigors of distress, ofttimes her wounded soul possess. some members, too, could ill afford to meet extravagance absurd; and to their credit, be it told, the class did agnes' view uphold; graduation. 159 and so much labor and expense, has thus been spared from that day hence. commencement week was now at hand, for which the class had long time planned. the sermon baccalaureate had ushered in the yearly fete. then followed lectures, class-day sports, prize essays, annual reports, until the end was reached at last, and final muster must be passed. this agnes had been dreading long: though well equipped she was not strong, and sought seclusion in her state, for reasons she could not relate; and though her tasks were always done, and prize for essay had been won, about her was mysterious air, which none had fathomed, quite, thus far. 160 the hermit of moss pond. and more, all precedent beyond, since that strange pic-nic at moss poud; for now instead of ways demure, she seemed to dwell in sunlight pure. her parents came that evening late, to see their daughter graduate. they were surprised, delighted, too, but of this change they nothing knew, nor guessed, but only feared the fact, that this excitement might react. no time for explanations came, the program now had reached her name; then agnes stood in robe of white, upon the platform to recite. all eyes were riveted on her, the vision caused a conscious stir; for agnes, whom they thought demure, was radiant now and brilliant sure. graduation. 161 fair skinned by nature, and clear eyed, by grief she was so sorely tried, her countenance translucent grew, till very soul was shining through. "fruition" was her theme that night; she spoke as if inspired quite; and though the burden of her thought, was to eternal issue brought, she spoke with all the confidence, which knowledge gave for her defence. her teachers, friends, and parents, too, with admiration watched her through. she saw but one, in all that press, to him she did her words address. and he approached, now, at the end, congratulations to extend; when to the great surprise of all, joe manly's name did agnes call. 162 the hermit of moss pond. she knew he surely would be there, for once since that excursion rare, had joe and agnes meeting found, at the appointed indian mound; when joe, to his amazement, heard of that dread charge 'gainst him preferred. "it is a sad mistake," said he, or else a base conspiracy. but never, while i have my breath, shall agnes share this living death. i will the accusation meet, and prove my innocence complete." one favor only joe had sought,that to his soul strength might be brought;that on her graduation day, he might attend and tribute pay, of love, and admiration true, as constant friends are wont to do. graduation. 163 and sadly then they had agreed, to meet no more till joe was freed. and so it came about that night, that joe had reappeared to sight; and thence was known to comrades fond, as that strange hermit of moss pond. xv. the trial. 166 suspense. suspense. -sonnet.long weary days, and longer sleepless nights, death's door upon its rusty hinges swung; while smiles and tears each other chased among the anxious watchers, in fantastic flights, as now the portals closed on pluto's blights, now creaking op'ed the yawning gulf, and flung fresh terrors into hearts with anguish wrung. with doubtful issue the contending sprites, who sentinel the pass 'twixt life and death, strove for the mastery, until at last again the door, from standing open wide, swung to, before the pitying angel's breath. the latchet, quivering, at length fell fast, and shut our darling on the hither side. the trial. 167 v. the trial. hen joe was made aware, at last, of that suspicion o'er him cast; he hastened to the county seat, where accusation he might meet; gave bail for court a few weeks hence, and then prepared to make defence. he surely could not understand, why they should him a felon brand; and made resolve to shun green crest, if this suspicion on him rest. an honored man he was that day, when he had gone from there away; an honored man he would return, or else its confines he would spurn. the day of trial was at hand; what evidence he could command, 168 the hermit of moss pond. had joe prepared for his defence; then longed for trial to commence. at last was joe arraigned in court, and asked to plead to the report which the grand jury had returned, soon after the default was learned. just what was charged joe had not heard, till now in court the case occurred. he knew that trust funds were involved, to what extent he had not solved,— nor did it matter just how large. the clerk then read to joe the charge: "you are indicted, on account of having taken large amount of funds, entrusted to your care, while agent at green crest, last year. guilty or not? what do you plead?" the trial 109 "not guilty," answered joe, with speed. the jury then was quickly drawn, and ere the sun to rest had gone, the people had their case outlined, and in its meshes joe entwined. "have you no counsel?” asked the court. "6 64 none," answered joe, "of legal sort; but stand alone in my defense, supported by my evidence." do you not wish for counsel, then?" none," quickly answered joe, again. "all i desire is that the court 46 will just my legal rights support. sufficient load i have," he said, with this indictment o'er my head, without the ghost of legal fees, to haunt me till i have no ease." 170 the hermit of moss pond. a sneering smile was seen to pass o'er many a lawyer's guileless face; but joe knew well they could not save, unless his case the chances gave; and if he could such chance present, with jury he would be content. the people's case was soon complete, the web was like a winding sheet, till joe seemed tangled in portents, without the shadow of defence. the books were figured up in court, the vouchers, too, read in support. the tickets tallied to a jot, nor was the letter press forgot, on which was traced in joe's own hand, the records which the funds demand. joe's disappearance was outlined,— the action of a guilty mind. the trial. 171 all this was true, except the last, which joe without objection passed. joe's turn now came, and first he called the maid whose error we forestalled. a crumpled letter he showed her. "now on your oath please to aver, when first did you see this, and where?" "'twas at the home of henry daire, december twenty-fourth, last year." "how is it thus to you so clear?" "i must confess, my curious eyes made me both guilty and unwise. i saw two letters, read them through, and sent the wrong one then to you." 172 the hermit of moss pond. "so much," said joe, "to thus explain why disappearance might be plain." next came the agent to the stand, with all the books at his command. 66 the telegrams they then produce, by which joe had obtained excuse; and one receipt upon the book, the people's witness did o'er-look. but there it was, in letters plain, received, one package," signed, “j. main.” the date," december twenty-three, on number four, bound east, g. c." j. main next took the witness stand. such interest he did command, that deathly silence now prevailed, as he his evidence detailed. the trial. 173 "i was a messenger," he said, "but on that day i took my bed, and there for months with fever tossed, until employment i had lost. i have no recollection now, but that receipt i must avow. i was so ill when i arrived, report by proxy i contrived; but of this package here concerned, i never till this moment learned. why it was not with my report, i surely cannot tell the court." a close observer might have seen expressive nodding pass between the jury, at this last display, and at the close of that first day, so changed the situation was, for this opinion there was cause: a verdict might be brought about, for joe, of reasonable doubt. 174 the hermit of moss pond the jury now had filed away, to be returned another day. then joe at length addressed the court: "for my defence, a good support, one witness more i greatly need. i pray for order, with some speed, for the attendance here, straightway, of mrs. main; and if i may, with 'duce tecum,' for such things as to her mind this notice brings." he handed up the notice, then resumed his place at bar, again. the judge reviewed the circumstance, and saw with even casual glance, if he this order should withhold, 'twould only cause delay untold. here was foundation for defence of new discovered evidence. the trial. 175 and if conviction be obtained, on this indictment, as arraigned; he clearly saw no other way, himself would have to grant a stay. the order issued, and, next day when court convened, a large array of curious people did attend, to see how joe's affairs would end. excitement ran the court room through, when mrs. main came into view. she took the stand and answers gave, as joe inquired with questions grave: "i am the wife of witness main, and well remember with what pain he reached his home, one day last year, and lay with fever most severe, for months, till life was quite despaired. when fever left, was not prepared 176 the hermit of moss pond. his old employment to resume, but sought some service nearer home." "what kind of clothing did he wear, when messenger on rail-way car?" "the customary uniform, to which all messengers conform." "where were these garments put away on that remote december day?" "in garret clothes-press they have been, and not until this morning seen." "where are they now?" said joe, on fire 66 with interest, "if i may inquire." there in that satchel, somewhat large, the officer has in his charge." the trial. 177 "will you examine carefully, if aught in pockets you can see?” the court and jury craned to look, as mrs. main the satchel took; and when the coat she had removed, joe's innocence was straightway proved; for there the package was concealed, which this strange story has revealed. the seal was broken; and intact was found the money, closely packed; full seven hundred dollars, too, to the last cent from joe then due. the kindly judge, with moistened eyes, dismissed the jury in this wise: "you, gentlemen, may be excused; the prisoner has been abused; and clearly nothing here remains, for your considerative pains." 178 the hermit of moss pond. and then he bade poor joe advance, and took his hand, with kindly glance. "you are forthwith discharged," he said; then placed his hand upon his head,may grace attend. you may go now.' "" "your honor," broke in mr. howe,the high official of the road, whose countenance with pleasure glowed, "permit me here to undertake, what reparation we may make." "you take the package they produce, and count these sums for instant use:" "for that december salary, full pay, with interest, we agree." "and thence, until this very day, as compensation, count half-pay." the trial. 179 and then to joe he quickly turned, our meek apologies you've earned. our best position now at hand, will gladly be at your command. or, if your interests elsewhere lay, here is a 'pass,' time, without day." the court adjourned, and then the wire, this message flashed to agnes daire: "you may expect me, glad and free; i will arrive on number three." t xvi. fruition. 182 away at school. away at school. sonnet. eway at school! "god bless our children dear." at each returning, sad, lone eventide, up from devout home altars far and wide, ascends the fervent prayer; while hope and fear alternate in the mind, as year by year, relentless time, to alchemy allied, unconsciously transmutes our household's pride, from childhood's playful moods, to manhood's sphere. as they this transient life most nobly spend. who cankering self-indulgence least desire, parental hearts, with love almost divine, with pure self-sacrifice their treasures lend, to eruditions all refining fire, though ne'er again the casket all confine. fruition. 183 t xvi. fruition. 'hree years have passed, and christmas eve some new attention must receive. the church was vacant, at green crest; a call was recently addressed to reverend joseph manly, late a hartwick cleric graduate, and his acceptance was at hand. his installation had been planned for sabbath evening; which, that year, was christmas eve, as will appear. the president of synod then, with his assistant clergymen, had solemnly the service read, which did the church and pastor wed. the youthful pastor then retired, their pride,—by every eye admired. 184 the hermit of moss pond 66 the president then smiling said: one other pair must now be wed.” joe manly neared the altar stair, aud on his arm leaned agnes daire; and then was heard the plighted vow:her name is agnes manly now. finis. 292 be felie 221-1ed library of vet tes tam en nov tvm dei sub numine viger princeton university. parker lloyd-smith memorial collection catharine and ff on smith 55. thing william street 7. b. bright felix m'donough. the hermit abroad. by the author of the hermit in london, and hermit in the country. vol. i. london: printed for henry colburn and co. conduit-street, hanover-square. 1823. london: shackell and arrowsmith, johnson's court, fleet-street 21. preface. four years have now elapsed since the hermit and his readers first became acquainted; a period, which from the interest they have taken in his remarks on mankind and manners, has to him been replete with heartfelt gratification. often has it been his chance to sit unobserved in some obscure corner of a coffee-room, in a stage-coach, or steam-packet, watching the eye that perused his pages, and hearing his merits and defects examined; and never has his faded cheek had to glow with any blush but that of satis3838 .93 .341 v.i 1v preface. faction. he has been a thousand times overpaid for his exertions to please, in witnessing the sympathetic change of countenance in some lovely woman intent on his graver productions: his heart has bounded within him when he has observed a discerning reader doing justice to the purity of his intentions to instruct without pedantry, and reform without severity; to lash the vice whilst he felt for the man; to expose the failing whilst sparing its frail victim. nor has he derived less pleasure from the broad grin of sleek john bull, excited by the drillserjeant, or some other of his lighter sketches, written in merry mood. no praise can be more genuine than that which an unknown reader bestows upon an anonymous author, not in copious rhetoric like that in which brother scribes mutually eulogise each other, preface. but in an approving smile, attended with a satisfactory rubbing of the hands, or inadvertently betrayed in a congratulatory whisper of "very fair! or that's good!” nor have these been the only proofs of the hermit's success. let his honest pride be excused for mentioning that his london and country lucubrations have been translated into several languages, and are read in their native idioms by the inhabitants of france, germany and italy. thus encouraged, although his journey of life is down the slope, he will continue to pluck the flowers that grow by the way-sideto enjoy the fruits of experience, and to indulge in those delineations of life, and that light and harmless satire on the follies of the vi preface. day, which, it is highly gratifying to him to find, have afforded so much amusement to his readers, in his characters of the hermit in london and the hermit in the country, and which will, he trusts, be found no less interesting in their present continuation. the unities of time and place have no jurisdiction over works of this nature. it must not, therefore, be inferred, when par ticular objects and places are mentioned, that personalities and particular allusions are intended. these are but the clothing of general ideas; the forms which appear to the author best adapted to convey the lessons drawn from that experience of life, with which the lapse of years, and ceaseless observation, have endowed the hermit abroad. contents. of the first volume. the looking glasses arrival abroad liberty and legitimacy the wounded hussar the restaurateur the palais royal broken images sunday at paris the boulevards the ruffians the pauper and his child french society abroad a day's ramble in paris · · 1 page. 1 11 23 37 45 57 67 79 89 101 111 119 129 viii contents. page. the west indian 143 dropping acquaintance 157 a delicate application 169 the reconciliation 187 the ambassador's ball 199 the pocket book 213 les dames du comptoir 223 the english abroad, nº. 1. 233 the english abroad, no. 2.. 243 the english abroad, no. 3, 253 the english abroad, no. 4. 261 the hermit abroad. no i. the looking glasses. vol. i. venus, take my votive glass, since i am not what i was; what from this day i shall be, venus, never let me see. anacreon. the looking glasses. "o! que les miroirs sont changés !”—“how the looking glasses are changed now o' days !" was the common exclamation of a very amiable, and once very lovely french woman of my acquaintance, whenever the unwelcome mirror brought before her eyes the ravages which time had made in her charms: the remark being always accompanied by perfect goodhumour, and a smile, half resignation and half gaieté de cœur. i admired her practical philosophy, and took a lesson from her undisturbed contentment. "it must be so," said i to myself, whilst preparing to shave. "the fumes of the coals which we burn b 2 4 the looking glasses. i spoil the looking glasses of the metropolis; or this one has been wiped with a dirty cloth, or the housemaid has been sparing of her whitening or spirits of wine; applied a silk-handkerchief, but it would not do: at that moment in came the housemaid: i reproached her with laziness; but was instantly convinced of my injustice; for, on her passing a cloth over the surface of this severe reflector, nothing came off, and her own blushes, raised partly by wounded pride, and partly by the exertion, were reflected by the mirror, and made her look like a damask rose, fresh, ruddy, and in the prime of youth, whilst my colour was that of the flush of departing day, intersected by strong lines, like the march of age, traced upon the country through which the grey-beard had travelled; i poised my razor, and reflected on the flattering advertisement at a french barber's door "ici on rajeunit," (consoling enough.) i thought a little naples' soap and cold spring water might clear up the gloom, and the looking glasses. 5 bring back the rose; the remedy was but momentary, therefore i concluded the looking glass must be in fault, and i resolved to quit it altogether, as one leaves a dull preaching fellow who offers unbidden and unwelcome advice. "i will go," cried i, "to a purer climate; i will confront the mirrors of france and italy: change of scene may improve my veins, brighten my prospects, and amend my looks. travelling is healthful, and health produces comeliness; good spirits light up the countenance: agreed." i now tied my cravat tighter than usual, and i thought that my features were vastly changed for the better, but the pain of the semi-strangulation obliged me to slacken the tie, and i was literally chop fallen. "it wont do," i sighed out in an humble tone, and i asked john, with peculiar civility, to bring me the "morning post" and my breakfast. the gentle "post" cheered my spirits; it contained so much agreeable town chit-chat, some pretty amatory verses, and a pleasant hit or two which made 6 the looking glasses. me laugh; besides an account of a gentleman of sixty, (not that i wished to imitate him) who had eloped with a pretty young girl of sixteen. then there were so many promising advertisements—"grey hair changed to any colour! baldness remedied beyond detection! money advanced on the shortest notice! a bloom à la ninon, which recalled the freshness and smoothness of life's spring to the wrinkled cheek of antiquity." gentle "post!" thou art my delight, thou art so well bred! -how different from the tomahawkers of reformers, who pull down every thing, not leaving one a hope in promise for the heart to rest upon; amiable paper, thou shalt be constant morning companion. te (not tea) incipiente die." my i was now almost reconciled to myself, but on continuing to peruse its columns, i found "an elegant town residence to be let, the owner being about to make a tour on the continent." the looking glasses. 7 "a highly finished landau with a pair of beautiful horses to be disposed of, the former being as good as new, the nobleman for whom it was made proposing to reside for abroad." some years "to let, in a most romantic spot, a delightful cottage orné, the proprietor's health ('pocket' thought i) requiring him to visit a southern climate." this brought back my travelling scheme. john's introducing the tax-gatherer turned the doubtful scale, and i thought that i should feel lighter in lighter scenes. country, however, felt dear, dear though it be to live in it; and my books were dear to me in both senses of the word, but i resolved to leave honest john to take care of them, and to hire a laquais who gave himself an excellent character in the front column of the paper still in my hand, to be my travelling domestic. poor john looked grave, he is no flatterer, -he is of home manufacture, true, lasting and substantial. i take john with me, for the looking glasses. he is like the davus of horace (who by the bye shall be my pocket companion, my vade mecum to banish care), the friend of his master and of frugality, "davus ne? ita, davus, amicum mancipium domino et frugi." so much for the classics :-but to return to the looking glasses. on my arrival abroad, i did not find the vast amelioration which i expected in my living portrait, but i soon experienced it in my health: and i now avoid all unpleasant reflections, by making john shave me. i had scarcely been an hour on french ground, when a lady took off ten years from my age at a sweep, observing that she could not have thought me more than here i must keep my own secret, i am not à confesse, and there is no wiping off of time, all that we can do is to enjoy it as long as we are able, and when age and its attendant wrinkles come on, still to make the best of it, by abridging the useless moments which so many pass before the table, and adthe looking glasses. ding to study what may be deducted from the vanity of dress; i shall therefore give orders for the two mirrors which are in my library and boudoir to be exchanged for the portraits of lord bacon and sir isaac newton, in order that i may be certain of being greeted by wisdom and greatness at home, when i become weary of playing the hermit abroad. b 3 no ii. arrival abroad. i sit down to write you a line-only think! a letter from france, with french pens and french ink! how delightful! though would you believe it, my dear? i have seen nothing yet very wonderful here ; no adventure, no sentiment, far as we've come, but the corn fields and trees quite as dull as at home. fudge family in paris. arrival abroad. when a man quits his native land to travel abroad, there are two things which he ought by all means to take with him, if possible ;-money, and good-humour; both of which purchase a welcome for the stranger, and smooth his way among foreigners. i provided myself with the former of these to the probable extent of my wants, limited by my means of supplying them in the latter, i was determined not to be stinted; so i drew deeply on the bank of humanity, whose firm is composed of sympathy, cheerfulness and co. where i knew that my draft would be honored. : 14 arrival abroad. i will say nothing about sick companions; the miseries connected with our landing; the officiousness of scouts, runners, porters and boat-men, nor of " the insolence of office" in douaniers, spies, and anti-anglican lookers on; all these are to be expected, and (as they must be borne with) the shortest way is to make provision for them, and to smile when others fret, resist, and vex themselves to no purpose whatever, since this is an unchangeable order of things, and since a moderate sum, which may be replaced by some after-saving, will make all these matters plain and easy. as to myself, i had anticipated calls of this kind upon my purse, and therefore they neither deranged the tranquillity of my mind, nor the composure of my countenance; to which, at my time of life, the ruffled expression of anger or peevishness is ill-suited. i confess i like to think and to act for myself, but even this privilege a man must sometimes be prepared to surrender. in the first act of landing i was obliged so to do; for a arrival abroad. 15 busy fellow-countryman, full of self, and whose loquacity even now vibrates on my ear, fixed four sisters on me (two linked on each arm) and previously assuring us that his abilities were not of the minor cast, since he could ask for every thing in french, briskly undertook to transact anybody's business, and to be the factotum of the whole party. full of self-satisfaction, he set off to the customhouse, regardless of the train of gazers whose examining glances he interpreted into applause or admiration; ere he left us he promised to make all right for us, which promise he had not calculated was unwelcome to a number of the party, more qualified from their superior knowledge of the language of the country to take charge of their own concerns. this, however, not being felt by our companion (an attorney by profession) off he set, determined to evince the fluency with which he conceived that he could speak french. returned from what he called " la maison de coutume" (the custom-house), he was 16 arrival abroad. treated as a madman by one half of the french people with whom he had to do, and deserted by the other half in despair at the utter impossibility of understanding what he meant ; nevertheless, he went on, rejecting and disdaining interpreters, and so well satisfied with his performance, that he assured a french gentleman who came over in the same packet with us, that, "ayant frotté en haut tout son français (having rubbed up all his french) il avait traversé son emploi aussi vite que la pensée." (he had got through his business as quick as thought.) bic to the frenchman, who n'entens pas un seul mot de this was arareplied, "je ce que vous me this, however, faites l'honneur de me dire." was of no consequence to our verbose friend, who, turning towards the waiter, continued, "attendeur (waiter) appelez au police pour mon passeport, et laissez moi avoir un elegant diner avec excellent rouge vin, car je bois dur." (call at the police office for my passport, and let me have an elegant dinner with some exarrival abroad. 17 cellent red wine, for i drink hard.) here waiters, cooks, company and all, were convulsed with laughter, for his accent was just of a piece with his construction of phrase. our man of business, however, looked complacently around him, believing that his wit and vivacity had gained every heart; nay he announced to the party that he had made a conquest already, saying, "la chambre pucelle a tombé en amour avec moi." (the chamber-maid has fallen in love with me.) at table he made a desperate attempt at politeness, saying he should be affronted if a lady next him did not permit him to help her to a little turkey (a small piece he meant); which he rendered thus:-" madame je serai tout affronté si vous ne pas permettez moi de vous aider à un petit dindon." the roar that this master-piece brought forth was excessive, so much so, that he felt piqued, and turning to the lady, genteely observed," aidez vous donc, si vous venez à cela." (help yourself then, if you come to that.) the astounded 18 arrival abroad. frenchwoman answered, "je n'entens pas l'anglais." (i do not understand english.) in vain did he try to recover, he saw his defeat too late; and it was a considerable time before the company could adjust their features, which still bore the lines of broad laughter. furious at this reception, the man of law sharply observed, that it was useless to speak french to natives who hated the english, or before english people who took part against their country, so (calling the waiter un fils d'une chienne, a term which i shall not attempt to translate,) he concluded by, "portez ma voiture à la porte, dites mo combien vous chargez pour moi, et grattez moi hors de votre livre, parceque les comptes courts font des longs amis," (bring my carriage to the door, tell me what you charge for my share, and scratch me out of your book, for short reckonings make long friends.) not one word of this-not even the trite proverb was understood; but a waiter who spoke broken english, and who guessed at arrival abroad. 19 what was meant, ordered the carriage, presented the bill, and our self-constituted agent and interpreter departed in disgust. i regretted his discomfiture, for i felt that he meant to be active and serviceable, but his conceit had blinded him, and rendered all his intentions fruitless, whilst his immeasureable ambition for taking the lead deprived him of the assistance, nay, even the pity of those who might have rendered his debut in france both easy and agreeable. on the subject of foreign languages, our countrymen are generally in extreme, and either conceal their knowledge thereof from pride grafted on mauvaise honte, or they trust entirely to their small stock of half-learned and ill-pronounced sentences, which they deal out with much flippancy, making it a crime not to comprehend their jargon, composed most commonly of a literal translation, procured from words looked for in a dictionary, which, when cobbled up into a phrase, produce the most ridiculous effect, and seldom fail to be unintelligible. for instance, one says, "j'étais 20 arrival abroad. frappé en haut," (i was knocked up): another asks for un petit bœuf, that is to say, a little ox, instead of un peu de bœuf: a third, i remember, bargaining for une boutique de bœuf, (a shop full of beef), which had nearly been sent to him, because the word boutique hit his fancy as sounding like buttock. i have always observed that the traveller who knows nothing of the language of a country, succeeds better than the halftaught self-satisfied personage, whose "little learning" is indeed to him a most dangerous thing, leading to impositions, opening the door to innumerable mistakes, nay, sometimes producing offence, not to mention the ridicule which it draws down upon himself, whilst his self-approval shuts every avenue to assistance from others. we consider it a presumptuous thing in a mechanic to undertake a trade which he has not been instructed in, yet we see people daily playing parts which they have never rehearsed: those who travel ought either to be conversant in the arrival abroad. 21 language of the country which they visit, or to trust to some one to act and to interpret for them. a stranger in a foreign land, unacquainted with the language, manners and customs thereof, is like one who, thrown on the troubled ocean without understanding the art of swimming, looks round to be upheld and assisted: to such a one, every brave heart and warm hand leans with kindness. the appeal of the foreigner, like that of the orphan or widow, is imperative; cold and selfish must he be who would not turn out of his road to direct, instruct, and succour such a one. but how different is the feeling where a mummer appears on the stage of life, caricaturing foreign manners, and nick-naming the creation in a strange tongue! many amuse themselves at the expense of such a silly trifler, but disgust is the only feeling which he produces in the hermit abroad. n° iii. "liberty and legitimacy." o! happy state! when souls each other draw, when love is liberty, and nature law: all then is full, possessing and possess'd, no craving void left aching in the breast. ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part. and each warm wish springs mutual from the heart. pope. liberty and legitimacy. "que m'importe le droit si on regne ?" was the first broken phrase which caught my ear, as i lay sleepless at beauvais, with a thin partition betwixt my apartment, and that of two parisian belles, who had held an argument of considerable warmth and duration. “what signifies the right, provided one reigns?" this must be a political discussion, thought i, and i lent all my attention to it. "les legitimes sont si monotones." the devil they are!—one of these ladies is a little rebel, i presume. here i lost a few words; but the sentence concluded by giving the prevol. i. c 26 liberty and legitimacy. ference to elective tenure, nay even to the right of conquest. "dangerous dames these seem to be," cried i, as i turned on the other side, and disengaged my right ear from my night-cap. here one of the ladies laughed, and i lost another half sentence, the remnant of which implied a contempt for church and state, contained something about the law of nature, and honored established legitimacy with some term of contempt which escaped me. the other lady replied faintly, and seemed rather to be gained over by her adversary, who poured in priest-craft, superstition, remote times, dark era, absolute power, ancient prejudices, &c. &c. like shot and shell. "what an incendiary! what a complete revolutionist! it will be a wonder," thought i, "if she escape the hands of the police when she arrives at paris; she must be a living petard." 1 here my curiosity was all excited to know whether she was handsome or not: her voice was lively and rather affected; her style liberty and legitimacy. 27 rapid and flippant: i would have given a napoleon to have been able to have examined her physiognomy. "sharp eyes flashing fire!" said i, "i'll be bound, as black as the devil, or as a jewel coal, and as full of fire and," (i was going to say brimstone) but it did not sound correctly, so i changed it for "combustion; a very troublesome subject to whomsoever may have to govern her. would that i could take the measure of her cranium : there's no organ of devotion there; but the organ of fighting, may, perhaps, be not a little prominent. what a wife such a woman would make!" a panegyric on voltaire now followed; and her dear jean jaques came next in turn; a troublesome cough of mine intruded at that moment, and i was quite at a loss to connect the broken thread of her discourse. * * "je saurais bien le gouverner," was all that i could seize. a fine legislatrix: no doubt; but with all her rank rebellious princ 2 28 liberty and legitimacy. ciples, she would be pretty despotic herself. but who, or what was to be governed? my curiosity was now so highly excited, that i could not resist the temptation to gratify it by an expedient which i blush to confess, that of listening. i had observed, before i retired to rest, a door, which though now closed up, had formerly served as a communication between the apartment occupied by the fair conspirators, and mine. the key-hole of this door would, i conceived, facilitate the important discovery i anticipated. in groping my way towards it, in the dark, however, i struck my foot against a chair, and made such a noise, that one of the ladies cried out, "who's there?" "c'est un rat,” replied the other.—a rat indeed! rather humiliating to me: i paused; silence ensued, i stood in breathless expectation. not a syllable was uttered. at length finding the ladies had absolutely ceased to talk, i concluded, like a logician, that they must be asleep. i returned to my bed, shivering; having gained nothing liberty and legitimacy. 29 i by my indecorous expedition, but a violent cold and a bruised foot. i could not sleep, nor did i wish to do so, lest my rebel neighbours might escape unseen in the morning. besides, was it safe to sleep with such inflammable matter so very near? was so restless that i awakened these disturbers of the repose of europe; and one of them observed, that the englishman had a bad conscience, and was as troubled, and as agitated, as if he was possessed by an evil spirit. "il se demene comme un possedé." "evil spirits pretty near me," thought i; and her mode of pronouncing the word englishman, proved her to be an enemy to our nation. i was in hopes that she would have resumed the subject of her midnight argument, but i heard her distinctly turn in her bed, which stood, in relation to mine, so near, that she shook my curtains. thus, thought i, would she shake empires to their foundation, if she could i felt very strangely, and a respiration, not unlike a 30 liberty and legitimacy. sigh, again informed these anarchists that i kept vigil near them: they burst into a laugh, and one of them said, in a whisper, "pauvre jean bull, pauvre godem!" "too sprightly, this, for the workers of treason," i muttered to myself; "but there is no trusting to woman's smile:" again silence ensued-again i sighed again mesdames tittered; i never passed a more uncomfortable night; restlessness produced a feverish heat, and after tossing and tumbling, until three o'clock in the morning, i fell into a profound sleep. it was to be expected that i should dream, and so i did :the lady next the wall appeared at the foot of my bed, in the shape of thais, with a lighted torch, but whether to raise a flame in my bosom, or in my curtains, was not decided: she stood in a very elegant attitude: i extended my arms towards her, when she vanished into air. i awoke the sun was already high, and i jumped up; the lawless fair ones had risen, and were in the liberty and legitimacy. 31 act of dressing,-i held my breath for fear of disturbing them, and listened attentively: they re-commenced the theme of the preceding night. how different from what i had imagined! "" "thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers," never entered either of their brains: alike to them, all forms of government, all political views, the rise or fall of empires, the growth or declension of states,the kingdom of the heart, the conquest of affection, the absolute reign over the will and passions, were their aim; and their dispute arose from an argument on the rights of the wife, and those of mistress, on the hold which each has on our sex, on the power and fascinations of each. a short time afterwards, in passing the apartment in which they breakfasted, i had a good view of them. never did i behold two prettier creatures: the one a beauté piquante, as brown as a berry, with sun-bright eyes, and with raven tresses hanging about a well32 liberty and legitimacy. turned form: her hair was of considerable length, and elegantly braided. could this be the incendiary dame? surely not. the other was a belle blonde, whose eyes were founts of love, and whose light brown glassy locks curled gracefully on her alabaster forehead, and round her comely neck. there was nothing regicidal or revolutionary about her appearance; on the contrary, she looked like a queen of hearts-born to enslave mankind. but on hearing them speak, i was enabled to recognise the part which each had borne in the dialogue i had overheard. the belle blonde sighed for the married state, its tranquil enjoyment and soft security, the claims which the married dame has on her wedded lord, the legitimate right over his love and protection, and the hereditary established respect due to the matron, derived from remotest time, and handed down to posterity by the universal consent of all nations. the bewitching brunette laughed at the fetters of hymen, and preliberty and legitimacy. 33 " tended that the mistress was the greatest sorceress over hearts. "what signifies the right," said she, "if one does but reign ?" her right, she pretended, was that of conquest-her tenure, that of her attractions: "the legitimate possessors of the heart, were," she scornfully remarked, "si monotones! there was such tame tepidity, such sober sameness, such jog-trot uniformity in the marriage state, that it was enough to make both parties live in a kind of somnambulism together." "lucky that i am single," thought i;" still luckier not to be tacked to such a spouse." "the monarchy of the mistress," she continued, " is elective; but when once her throne is attained, the usurpation is sure to last; the chère amie remains perpetual dictatrix in the republic of love, (oh! the wicked little devil!) and the lover becomes the more enslaved, because he thinks himself free." she concluded by exposing the tyranny of husbands, and the convenience of being able to slip the lover's c 3 34 liberty and legitimacy. knot when it became uneasy; whereas, the noose of matrimony could not so conveniently be disentangled ! ! here the driving up of a carriage and four horses broke the thread of my monologue: two dashing officers leaped out of the equipage, and were not long kept in suspense: they handed my lawless beauties in, and drove off as if cupid had been the coachman, guiding the chariot of the sun. an overturn was what i anticipated; but certainly no serious accident took place, for i met the partie carrée soon afterwards at paris, in high good looks and elevated spirits. the ladies laughed on meeting jean bull, godem, and the rat, all in one person; for they had the advantage of me, by having seen me prior to the nocturnal conversation which deprived me of my rest. the unnecessary trouble and anxiety which i had experienced, made me hate all listeners at key-holes, and impressed me with one useful maxim, namely, never to trust to, or to liberty and legitimacy. 35 repeat half sentences, broken conversations, or speeches overheard. that we are never too old to learn, is a trite remark, and trite are many useful home-spun sayings: i have had repeated proofs, however, of their truth; and none more convincing than this last lesson to the hermit abroad. no iv. the wounded hussar. -a thousand welcomes and more a friend than e'er an enemy; yet, marcius, that was much. shakspeare. the wounded hussar. travelling betwixt senlis and meaux, in the short peace, preceding the hundred days reign of napoleon, i perceived a french hussar, journeying on foot and extremely lame. his face was of the manliest cast, yet uncommonly mild and interesting. he appeared fatigued and weak; his features bespoke disappointment; and his eyes seemed to say, "i have now no etat,-i have the world to begin over again, a long wearisome journey before me, very little money and no friends." "a handkerchief held all the treasure he had, "which over his shoulder he threw." 40 the wounded hussar. such a man, thought i to myself, cannot be mine enemy; his face shows that poverty will not drive him to the commission of crime; and who knows but he may sink on the road and never reach his home, if home he have. "would it not be a generous act, a work of charity to give him a lift ?" said i to myself. "but a soldier of napoleon!" whispered prejudice in my ear. "if he were a soldier of our army indeed," cried my nationality and selfishness," if he were even my countryman." "aye, but," suggested humanity, "is he not a man and a brother? well, i will ask him to take a cast." "soldier," said i to him, in french, “ you are weary and lame, accept a place in my caleche if you are travelling my road.” “i fear i am intruding," answered he, with the urbanity of a drawing-room. i had only my own man with me, who looked sulkily at him. "not at all," answered i, sit here by my side, and put your bundle under the seat. "helas!" exclaimed he, with a look of the wounded hussar. 41 humility which i shall never forget, “mon paquet ne vaut pas grande chose." the weather was very cold; i alighted at the first post house; and, lighting my segar, i gave the hussar one, and insisted on paying for some refreshment for him and my servant. he accepted both offers without servility, yet with diffidence. on our road he informed me that he was only two-and-twenty, that he had been brought up to no trade, and that he had been forced away from his aged parents, at sixteen, by the conscription, which almost broke their hearts. i asked him if he liked the army. he answered, "not at first certainly; but, forced as i was to serve, i thought that the name of deserter sounded like that of coward, and though i entered the service reluctantly, i could not but do my duty." this was said with manliness and resignation. his lameness proceeded from a wound; and he had a journey of three hundred miles before him, with the uncertainty of finding his 42 the wounded hussar. parents alive, having been absent from them for six years, and not having heard from them for a considerable time. the night came on. it rained and was excessively dark. i asked him if there were robbers on the road. he answered that he knew not; but, turning to me and laying his hand on his breast, he said in a voice softened by gratitude, "i am a frenchman, sir; but i would lay down my life in your defence, on account of your kindness towards a poor stranger." i shook him by the hand involuntarily and most heartily, on which he raised his cap from his head, as if to acknowledge what he thought condescension. we arrived at the auberge where we were to pass the night. i was weary, and only took a glass of brandy and water; but i ordered supper and a bottle of wine for the hussar and my domestic, who by this time had got into better humour. the aubergiste eyed the former with scorn; but i informed him (to his astonishment) that this soldier was one of the wounded hussar. 43 my party; and this procured him all proper attention. in the morning we were to part. the hussar presented himself before me to make his last bow. i felt a weakness which i cannot explain. i hate thanks, and wished that he had not seen me go. yet it would humiliate the poor fellow to part without bidding him farewell, and without wishing him a good journey. i held out my hand to him. he uncovered himself, and received it respectfully. i offered him a little money, which, drawing back gracefully, he refused, saying "that i had already done more for him than he could expect." then trying to speak, he burst into tears, and scarcely could articulate "adieu, mon commandant." "adieu, mon pauvre comarade!" said i. then jumping into the carriage, i told the post-boy to drive like the devil. these were my foolish words, for i caught my eyes betraying me into womanish emotions. i looked around and saw the hussar's eyes still fixed upon the carriage. he 41 the wounded hussar. again took off his cap, and we were soon out of sight of each other, perhaps for ever. perish the hand which when the battlestrife is over, will not succour a fellow man in distress. i have a hundred times thought with satisfaction of poor pierre berguin, the hussar, transported myself to the humble roof of his parents, felt my pulse encrease as i wondered whether he would rush into the embraces of his aged father and mother-exclaim with the same jewel which trembled in his eye at parting with me, mes chers parens, voila votre fils," and whether, sharing their humble fare, he would tell the story of our meeting, and devote a glass and a kind wish to the health and prosperity of his fellow man, journeying on the eventful road of life, who gave him a lift bet wixt senlis and meaux. 66 n° v. the restaurateur. "que vous semble, a-t-il dit, du gout de cette soupe ? sentez vous le citron dont a mis le jus, avec des jaunes d'œuf melés dans du verjus? ma foi vive mignot, et tout ce qu'il apprête." les cheveux cependant me dressaient à la tête : car mignot, c'est, tout dire, et dans le monde entier, jamais empoisonneur ne sut mieux son mêtier. boileau. the restaurateur. } "poor n'entend pas! the sport of fortune, the jest of foreign flippancy, the dupe of many, but the prop of thousands, and the pride of the free world." these were my reflections as i entered a restaurateur's at paris, and beheld a number of my honest, comely, respectable, and worthy countrymen sitting at different tables, covered with every variety of french provisions and cookery, which last article (be it said without prejudice) always brought back to my mind ovid's metamorphoses, and his― "in nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas corpora," &c. 66 48 the restaurateur. the whole of the assemblage had the appearance of liberty, opulence, and independence. some of them had a pondering, observing walk, which shewed that though the muses might have a share in their society, the graces were certainly not of the party. a few, placed at a distance from each other, with a certain air of mistrust (as much as to say, "i will take care not to get acquainted with foreign adventurers, or with uncertain migrated countrymen,") 66 sat, like contempt, alone;" but the parties mostly herded together, for john bull is a gregarious animal, and his habits are still stronger on the continent than at home; which is the reason he so often returns to his native land without any knowledge of the language, manners, or customs, of the countries through which he has passed, and which he not unfrequently despises, because he is thus wholly uninformed about them. the restaurateur. 49 the next remark which i made was, that all the english exceeded, in expence, the harlequin variety of natives, and of strangers, who filled the room, and there were various causes for this fact: habit, pride, appetite, curiosity, or extravagance. the rich natives were moderate amidst abundance; the many indigent ones were ravenous; some strangers appeared cautious and uncertain, not being at home, either as to country, or taste: others were more than difficult to please, and were continually examining the masqueraded viand with dainty satiety, through a glass, or were analyzing and scrutinizing the component parts of some well arranged made dish, held up in detail on the end of a fork, and doubtingly introduced within the suspicious and contemptuous lips. the proud man was a mere taster: the extravagant one a destroyer, elate amidst expense, and a waster of the poor man's due; his mind creating fanciful wants, which his arrogance paid dearly for. whilst i was thus indulging my habits of vol. i. d 50 the restaurateur. 66 reading men, "a bottle of your very best rosy champagne, no flimsy sham-abraham," roared out an athletic, young, well-proportioned hibernian, with a voice like a stentor. "oui, mi lord," replied one of the waiters, without looking round, because he was satisfied that the commanding tone came from a native of the british empire, with pocket artillery to back the order. on the supple attendant's producing the bottle in question, he asked, with a complaisant smirk, for which of the gentlemen it was. the irishman claimed it, offered a glass to a stranger next him, pledged him with kindness, and the seven francs worth was out of sight in a few seconds; and here the old proverb of "out of sight, out of mind,” seemed fully to apply, for (with the devil may care-ism of the emerald isle) this son of bacchus very soon ordered ditto repeated, and then rang the changes (assisted by his newmade acquaintance) on six other qualities of wine, all of the most expensive kinds. the restaurateur. 51 whilst these fantasies were proceeding in their course, i had an opportunity of viewing and considering the groups of english placed around me. here was a man in loose gaiters, with a white hat and a single-breasted sportsman-like coat of bottle green: the purple juice of the grape shone in his complexion; his face was short and chubby, terminated by a double chin, and he was accompanied by a bull-dog. "quel air de famille!" whispered an insolent french buraliste to his companion, as they took the measure of this piece of british produce and his trusty follower. well it was, too, for the frenchman that he spoke so low, for he might otherwise have found john and his bull-dog rather "ugly customers,” (to use the phrase of the fancy) had his remark been overheard.-near this pair sat a thin hypochondriac, with as meagre a greyhound at his feet: they could not have been better matched in point of appearance and of hunger, for they actually devoured all that was put within their reach: the man's clothes were so long and so d 2 52 the restaurateur. loose that he appeared slipping through them; his boney head was surmounted by a brown beaver, and he had dirty brown top-boots, from which his dwindled shanks seemed to be running away. "quelle figure d'emigré," grumbled a demietasse,-as the half-pay officers are styled at the coffee-houses and restaurateurs,-casting an ill-natured look at him. next came a country 'squire, with his neckcloth tied in the true coachman-like style, and with a flat broad-brimmed hat, of the size of a lady's parasol. "so fat he appeared he was just like a tun, or like two single gentlemen roll'd into one." his companions were a brace of terriers, and the whole three were simultaneously employed in the important act of mastication. “ gros patapoufe!" expressed the motion of the disdainful lips of a militaire en non-activité, with envy and dislike visible in every line of his face. the fact is, that the profuseness of our countrymen to the waiters, which enthe restaurateur. 53 3333 grossed their almost exclusive respect and attention, added to the air of opulence and the bonne chere before them, drew forth anger, hatred, and all uncharitableness from the hasty and disappointed gaul. i now lent an ear to the general buzz, interrupted as it was by noisy waiters calling for different dishes, which produced a very strange effect, like that of cross-readings and certain qui pro quos, of a most amusing tendency: amongst the number, the following struck me the most. enter two fat dutchmen; the garçon roaring to the cook, "deux têtes de veaux!"-an englishman now motioned to another waiter to bring his dinner -"un bœuf au naturel," was vociferated by the waiter to the cook. here a french exquisite lisped out his orders with an affected accenting of the letter r, in garçon, which is mightily the mode in paris, and which makes the word paris sound like payis, in the mouth of the insect train. "une omelette souffleé," was now the cry: a deputy, who had been 54 the restaurateur. holding forth to a circle around him, and who was not a little verbose, frothy, and a complete moulin à paroles, now gave the organs of speech a little rest, ending, by commanding his dish. "une crême fouettée," resounded in a moment from a corner of the saloon: lastly, an italian singer made his appearance, when "un chapon" was the order borne by a simpering fellow to the chef (head cook), who eyed the gentle signor with a mixture of contempt and complaisance. i had nearly forgotten a long-limbed, silly-looking booby, whose vacuity of countenance, disjointed deportment, and almost unconnected limbs, made him look like a scaramouch, and whose entrance was accompanied by "un abbatis d'oie." observe, gentle reader, i do not vouch for there being either art, contrivance, or design, in these appropriate combinations: i attribute. them to mere chance, and i give them just as i heard them, without addition or alteration. my dinner and observations being ended, i 1 the restaurateur. 55 now called for la carte payante; and, as a hint to my countrymen, i beg leave to observe, that "il ne faut jamais oublier la carte." i satisfied the waiter, and bowed to the dame du comptoir, a person of no small importance at restaurateurs and at coffeehouses, and whose eminence will hereafter claim an exclusive article, from the hermit abroad. n° vi. the palais royal. d 3 and much he pitied those whom falsely smiling fate has cursed with means to dissipate their days in quest of joy. armstrong. the palais royal. the prince who first let the confines of his palace for a bazaar, was well aware of the profits likely to arise from such a speculation: he duly appreciated the attractions which would fill his coffers, and blushed not at the unprincely scenes and sordid transactions which were to take place at the threshold of his apartments. interest and ambition often walk hand in hand, as impure desire and the swellings of pride are too frequently covered by the same ermined robe: the mutual sacrifices which they must make, seem to me as incalculable as irreconcileable; but, in es60 the palais royal. teem for the present occupier of the remnant of a royal residence, set round with pseudo ornaments, and begirt with shops, i will say no more on this part of the subject: the princely apartments, the large glass doors, the orange-trees and the swiss, are all that announce the habitation of a remote branch of the lily and a descendant of the bourbons; all the rest might be the exeter 'change, or burlington arcade of london, or any other general mart for an extensive variety of wares. to be well acquainted with the palais royal, not only requires habit, but comparative views: like the camera obscura it entirely depends upon the light in which it is perceived; to me it appeared a complete kaleidoscope, exhibiting tinsel and gaudy trash, indebted for its effect to the variety of its changes, and to the infinity of improved nothings, producing amazement; but the more fairly to exhibit the panorama, i will take it in two distinct points of view. every article of dress, jewellery, &c. is to the palais royal. 61 be procured here, so that a novice may be rigged out à la francaise, or in any other manner, from head to foot, in a few minutes; he may dine, drink the choicest wine, go to a public place, and return to his lodgings without wetting his feet; and he may, in the shortest space imaginable, be completely unfeathered and ruined into the bargain. the votaries of bacchus and of venus are equally at home in this circle; and a minor light-footed divinity, well known as a winged messenger in the pantheon, is also in constant attendance, namely, the " facundus nepos atlantis!" on the entire stranger, emerged from narrow and dirty streets; elbowed in the pressing throng, seeking shelter from a heavy shower of rain, or delivered from a fiacre, which holds the last place amidst the hackney coaches of europe, tired of being shaken therein, and of the frequently repeated whip and abuse of the cocher applied to his 62 the palais royal. horses, libertine, the boy, the boor, or the the galleries, shops, and extrinsic ornaments; the garden, the fountains, the host of idlers, and the light troops of females, must have a very great effect. the contrast and heterogeneous assemblage of a cabinet litteraire, and a gaming table, the supposed dwelling of learning and politics, and the real temple of idleness and ruin; the choice wines and viands of the taverns, with all possible sorts of incentives, provocatives and stimuli for all sorts of tastes and appetites, confuse alike the eye and the mind, bewilder the senses, and lead juvenile feelings astray. at night the effect is increased by the lustres and mirrors of the coffee-houses; by the splendid trappings of the lowest victims of self-degradation; by the brilliant gas and other lights in the surrounding exposition-rooms for jewellery, dresses, flowers, fruits, ices, prints, pictures, &c. &c.; by the buzz of the gaming-houses, and a great variety of minor amusements well fitted for a vacant brain. the palais royal. 63 the hungry, the thirsty, the weak and weary; the gambler, the lounger, the drunkard, and the debauchee have here nothing to wish for: he who complains of the tædium vitæ, may ring the changes on folly's and fancy's bells to deceive his imagination; the spendthrift may lessen his coffers ad libitum, and all this without quitting the arcades or piazza of the palais royal; nay, the poor man, on whom friends and fortune have long frowned, may sit in the morning inhaling the odours of the choicest flowers, or frequent in the evening the coffee-house. or reading-room, at a very small expence, unperceived (save only by the eye of the police) for whole hours together. he may make his meal at any time, and at almost any price, and thus cheat the heavy hand of care, and dispense with the necessity for society. the keen observer of men and manners, the satirist, the painter, but above all the caricaturist, have here the most ample and diversified field; nor is the moralist without a 64 the palais royal. theme for his talent, since wherever the greatest extremes and excesses exist, the moralist, the commentator, and the monitor, have abundance of labour provided for their hands. on foreigners, and in particular on such as are subjected to indolent habits, grafted upon a love of pleasure, the palais royal has a magnetic influence. i am acquainted with a certain gentleman, who, after habituating himself to foreign countries, so as to have lost all native cast, has, for these last four years, made this centre of attraction his head-quarters, and is seldom seen in any other part of the town; from the bath to the breakfast-table, thence to the reading-room, thence to the garden or the arcade, (according to the weather) — from lounging exercise to the restaurateur's, thence to the coffee-house, the evening lounge of the arcade, or garden again; and lastly to the rope-dancing and the gaming table:-thus do his hours pass; nor is he by any means more expensive than his moderate fortune allows the palais royal. 65 him to be. one day economy is his plan, and he dines at a cheap eating-house, with frugal wine and water; the next, he indulges his foreign taste with made dishes, fruits, ices, and a moderate quantity of wine: one evening he wins a crown at billiards, another he gains or loses a trifle at the little-go; a terne in the lottery is his speculation this week ; a silver martingale the next; to-day he courts solitude; to-morrow he makes a new acquaintance, and dines at a table d'hôte. in fine, he has no wants unsatisfied within this narrow circle, and what is most extraordinary, he complains of no sameness, of no vacuum, of none of the fatigues of super-satiety, (if i may be allowed the term) which the constant repetition of idle pleasures is calculated to produce; nor does his health, either of body or mind, appear to suffer for the want of more exercise, or of a more active life. when i say that it is precisely this sort of character which the palais royal is calculated to form, and to which the palais royal 66 the palais royal. offers an epitome of every thing that is delightful, i say all that is to be said in favour. of the place, which, with its armed attendants by day, and its pacing sentinels by night, opposing all the terrors of an arbitrary government to all the frivolities of the national character which can submit to such a yoke, had never any attraction beyond the momentary one of novelty, for the hermit abroad. no vii. broken images. doubtless the pleasure is as great of being cheated as to cheat. butler. broken images. fatigued with reading, and finding a dimness come over my eyes, i laid down my spectacles, thinking, alas! how often my views had changed since first i entered into life: this reflection was not calculated to enliven me, nor to clear up and brighten my prospects had i continued this train of thought, i should soon have become melancholy; all would have been misty, dense, gloomy and uncomfortable; so i called for my hat and gloves, and walked out," where to go?" "the champs elysées; the name is so romantic." this elysium, however, had 70 broken images. better suited my younger days, "l'aurore de la vie," when umbrageous alleys, amatory haunts, wood-nymphs and fair spirits are quite in season. "tis delightful to repose the wearied eye on a green field, or a shady grove, bearing the promise of the year; to contemplate the velvet slope, and inhale the odour of fresh and expanding flowers; such a relaxation, when the mind and sight are both exhausted, flings a freshness over the feelings, and is amongst the best gifts which flow from the all beneficent hand. relieved from noisy streets and the din of carriages, not forgetting the danger and dirt which they bring with them, i arrived in one of the alleys, when i beheld a crowd assembled round a poor italian boy, an itinerant vender of plaister figures, whose board, crowded with images, had by some mishap, a false step perchance, fallen on the ground, and now exhibited the fractured wreck and ruin of his fallen fortunes prostrate at his feet. broken images. 71 shakspeare pulverized to atoms, milton without a nose, plato without a head, the duke of wellington and bonaparte—were mingled in the dust; next came the pope with half a crown, and the king of spain covered with dirt, along with the head of fox and the limbs of pitt. it would be endless to recount the confusion of persons, and of things; broken bosoms and fallen crests, horses' tails and ladies' legs, shields, spears and sceptres, wreaths and diadems, monks' cowls and shepherds' crooks, all, all were lost for ever, and so for a few moments seemed all the hopes of the luckless italian : there he stood, in an attitude expressive of much resignation, his right leg advanced, his shoulders inclining forward, his jet-black curling hair pendant in disorder from his neck, his face dejected and his hands clasped in each other-he uttered not a word; but the by-standers were not strangers to sympathy, for many seemed to pity, and some were inclined to relieve him. 72 broken images. a pretty grisette passed by and heaved a gentle sigh occasioned by the faux pas which had caused this fatal accident, a reminiscent blush seemed to come across her face as she eyed the venus de medicis with her hands and arms knocked off, and a mutilated eve lying in a ditch, hard by a broken etruscan vase; she felt in her pocket, but some previous impulse had robbed it of its contents; nevertheless she looked her kind commiseration, and gave to misery all she had. a veteran picked up the fragment of a war horse, but cast it down again, it was unfit for service: the old man paused, remembrance seemed to be at work with him also; he shrugged up his shoulders, looked grave, gave the boy something, and made an orderly retreat. a priest was the next in succession: he had a huge breviary peeping out of his pocket; "le pauvre garçon!" cried he, in a gentle tone, and passed quietly on. a rich broken images. 73 banker now stopped his carriage, and enquired into the cause of this mishap: the poor boy shook his head, he could not speak french, and his silence had even more effect than if the accents of his affliction could have made the passer by exclaim, in the language of hamlet, "what is he whose grief bears such an emphasis?" the gros financier questioned in vain, but the italian pantomimed the fall of his fortune, by a tragical movement of both hands towards the earth, and the cast of his melancholy eye on the broken images. the man of money deliberately took off his glove, and introduced his gouty hand into the profundity of his bulky pocket, whence he drew a leathern bag, fastened so tight that the close knots seemed indivisible: he now turned over a quantity of gold and silver, (an anxious moment for the boy) and, after having fingered for some seconds each distinct and individual piece, fearful lest a friendly adhesion might take place betwixt vol. i. e 74 broken images. any two neighbouring coins, he dropped a solitary five sous piece (i: e. two-pence halfpenny) into the boy's hat, and after eyeing it thrice he reluctantly parted with it, casting a lingering look behind as he drove off from the spot. was it regret for the small bit of silver, or pity for the boy?-the case is very doubtful. "what a two-penny half-penny heart that fellow has," cried an english half-pay lieutenant in the navy, as he carelessly threw a five franc piece at the boy. a french colonel would not be outdone, and gave a similar sum, proudly, but with gracefulness and good will: a charming french lady added her crown; never did loveliness look more lovely: i had almost said to her "the hand that hath made you fair hath made you good." a drunken drummer next threw down a ten sous piece. in fine, silver showered in until the boy was thrice over paid, and walked off in high spirits, carelessly trampling under foot sages and warriors, godbroken images. 75 desses and monks, princes and cattle, columns, crowns, diadems and sceptres. an old man followed at a distance: he had been observing the boy all the while, but never took part in either pitying or relieving him; on the contrary he looked disgusted and dissatisfied, and ever and anon he shrugged up his shoulders and shook his head. i was puzzled at this circumstance, and curious to learn the cause. was it envy at another's gain? any personal grudge? a wish to share the spoil? or something unknown respecting the object who had been so successful in his mute appeal to public benevolence? i was determined to find out the secret. "perhaps," said i to myself," this man, although decently dressed, is himself a pauvre honteux, and merits as much commiseration as the italian boy. at length i addressed him; and judge my surprise at being informed, that the itinerant imagevender made a common practice of stumbling and breaking his ware to excite compassion, e 2 76 broken images. and that this was the second time, within a week, that he had been detected by this individual, who had witnessed the great success of this trick. the adventure disgusted me; not on account of the mite which i had thrown into the general contribution, nor the shame of being duped; but because it added another instance of fraud and hypocrisy to the records of my experience. nor was this the worst; the circumstance brought to my mind the painful and unwelcome remembrance of a fair de ceiver, who had, very early in life, wrung my heart's inmost recess, and fixed my every sympathy; her unprotected state inspired me with a holy respect, and the wrongs which she related fired me with indignation. what i did for her, without idea of any return, it becomes me not to tell; but i discovered afterwards that others had compassionated her in a far different way: to many confidants was her sad story told; her practised sigh and studied tear rose and fell to difbroken images. 77 ferent pitying swains. i would, however, have given worlds not to have been undeceived in this too interesting creature. i would have preferred being cheated ten times to being thus taught distrust by sad experience: but so it was; she, like the sly italian, played off an imposture on the credulous eye and unguarded heart. the stories of the broken vows and broken images are of one cast. a few days afterwards i met the little impostor, and my honest indignation inclined me to cane him. i contented myself, however, with reproaching him in his own language, but the urchin affected neither to remember, nor to understand; and, laughing in my face, replied, "non mi ricordo." a second flush of indignation visited my cheek, but i dismissed it as unbecoming the hermit abroad. nº viii. sunday at paris. the seventh day this; the jubilee of man; london! right well thou know'st the day of pray'r. then thy spruce citizen, wash'd artizan, and snug apprentice gulp their weekly air; the coach of hackney, whiskey, one horse chair, and humble gig, through sundry suburbs whirl, to hampstead, brentford, harrow, make repair, "till the tir'd jade the wheel forgets to hurl, provoking envious jibe from each pedestrian churl. lord byron, sunday at paris. how different the scene abroad! what a distinct race of beings the paris sunday folks from those of london! relaxation from labour is the end of each. but how little similitude is there in their manner of obtaining it; the features of the french countenance, as well as of their pleasures, differ immeasureably from those of neighbour bull. rest, piety, or pleasure, of a tranquil kind, fill up the englishman's sunday; now the gaul is a mercurial body, and naturally ever in motion; a quiescent state suits not his habits; with him all is activity on the seventh e 3 82 sunday at paris. day, and those who mingle not in the din of mirth, follow, careless of all religious creeds, (and in spite of orders to the contrary) their usual labours, performing their daily tasks, in dirty working-clothes, within doors, and unseen by the gay throng. at the close of day, however, they come out, not to pray, but to play :-if you ask them why they work on sunday, they will answer you, in a tone of ill-temper, "if we don't work we cannot eat;" but after the temperate meal, they exhibit the most intemperate love for pleasure, not in drinking or revelling in a pot-house, but in dancing, in frequenting the minor places of theatrical amusement, in attending the rope-dancing, the puppet-shows, the jugglers' and mountebanks' exhibitions, with which the french, metropolis abounds, or in playing at cards, dominos, or billiards, for the bottle of fixed. air called beer, or the demie tasse de café and the glass of brandy. nor is the segar omitted, which, however, does not keep the sunday at paris. 83 frenchman from his mistress, nor immure him in an ale-house with a male party, but serves as the incense, which he burns under the very nose of his idol, to shew the warmth of his affection, and often to give un air de service; for the sempstress and laundry-woman, and all the classes who furnish the amatory couples and couplets of the sunday, lean towards the militaire. hired horses, carriages, and carts are not so frequent in paris, as in london. the infantry make the chief display of the middle and lower classes; but the exercise which equitation might afford, is amply supplied by the airy dance, and the distance, perchance, at which it is held; for the day must be filled up, and those who do not work a part of it, think nothing of being on foot from early morn to five in the evening, and dancing from then until ten or eleven at night, when they seek their upper stories, or return to some gloomy ground floor, in an intricate court, in the narrowest parts of 84 sunday at paris. the town, full of love and tobacco, which serve as preservatives against the confinement and bad air which they have afterwards to encounter. in winter, the range of these amusements is much narrowed; but love, levity, scenic performance, intrigue, gaming on a small plan, and mirth uncontrolled, are to be found in sky-parlours, or buried under ground, at the caveau, at subterraneous coffee-rooms, at the estaminets and tabagies, i. e. blind ale-houses and smoking rooms; whilst, at night, the fauxbourgs ring with the return of labourers, singing love and glory, with their mistresses linked on their arms, and with their last penny rattling in the pocket's profundity. all the public places too are filled with different ranks of society, and the bird of paradise,* is the * the frequenters of the upper galleries are, in london, called the gods; in paris, the upper region is sunday at paris. 85 loudest and most satisfied there. such is the paris sunday, and it is much the same in other countries abroad; but still the gaieté française bears the belle-amongst the nations of the continent, no where is love and dancing more the order of the day. a wet sunday "derange diablement leurs projets," as they say themselves, for les instrumens à tout vent (those wind instruments performed upon in the open air), seem a key too low, and the harper and fiddler's chord sounds flat, the lights burn blue, and a damp is thrown even upon cupidon, who acts his part every where, from the garret to the cellar, and from the quarter of l'estrapade to the refined champs elysées; besides the thin robes of virgin white become mere boue de paris, and the dancing pump is like a sheet of brown called le paradis, therefore, i trust, that the name of bird of paradise will not offend these rara aves, perched up aloft. 86 sunday at paris. paper, ere it be brought into activity, in the mazes of the waltz, or draw attention in an attempt at le pas de zephyr in a quadrille; then the rain creates expense, and confines love and glory (generally prone to take the field together) within a hot and crowded apartment, thus cramping the confidential conversation usual on these occasions. i have a proud friend who likes to see a wet sunday, both abroad and at home, hating to behold the swinish multitude in droves in every quarter of the town; and a moral one, who asserts that a rainy sabbath may drive them into church, and at all events serves to keep them out of mischief. i feel my own opinion situated betwixt the two, and am neither inclined to approve of the loose amusements of foreigners on a day hallowed by religion and holy custom, nor averse to the general pause from labour and the enjoyment of the hours of recreation which the hard-working classes expect on the return of sunday. between masquerades and promissunday at paris. 87 cuous dancing, a café de la paix, a licensed gaming table, a rendezvous of intrigue, and the excursion to hampstead, the walk in kensington gardens, the improved dinner, and the improved dress of the sunday cockney, the distance is great. besides, i am iniclined to think that those who wait for rain to go to church, will only make a lounge of what ought to be a duty, and that if keenfelt disappointment confine the artizan at home, it will not be fair weather all day with his family. ill-temper may create divers jars, nay a neighbouring tavern or dram shop may inflame those resentments which fresh air and mild ale might have mellowed and softened into good-nature and uxorious complaisance; but i must return to my boulevards, and having described the sunday's amusements, i will say a very few words of the dramatis persona, and particularly of the badaud apprentice, or labourer with his chère amie, and give him as he appeared to the hermit abroad. n° ix. the boulevards. let us see-in my last i was-where did i stop? oh! i know-at the boulevards, as motley a road as man ever would wish a day's lounging upon; with its cafés and gardens, hotels and pagodas, its founts and old counts sipping beer in the sun; with its houses of all architectures you please, from the grecian and gothic, dick, down by degrees to the pure hottentot, or the brighton chinese; where in temples antique you may breakfast or dinner it, lunch at a mosque, and see punch from a minaret. fudge family in paris. the boulevards. having said so much on the sunday's amusements, the scenes of which are the boulevards, the palais royal, the public gardens, and the guinguettes in the outskirts of paris, we must next contemplate the various figures of the magic lantern of the boulevards: for no where can be seen a more motley assemblage; the jacket of harlequin is a blank to it. at venice, at florence, at rome, and at vienna, the masked population is only to be met with in the carnival time; but the boulevards represent a general masquerade of disguised faces, figures, 92 the boulevards. minds, resources and occupations. loves and graces, venuses of all sizes and ages! woodnymphs and water-nymphs, emerging from the champs elysées, the bains chinois, and from all the other baths, gardens and groves of the metropolis, float along in all directions; whilst fauns and satyrs and the followers of mars are not wanting to make up the group. here a faded or over-blown flora reclines in a barouche; there a pomona expects the fruits of her desir de plaire, the amatory offer, or the meed of admiration, to requite her for displaying so many attractions to the dazzled eye. on one side the fly-catching peasant grins delight; on another the staring stranger excites the smile of the old stager, playing off some borrowed character for his own benefit; and all this under living masks, speaking features, and familiar habits. in london a prevalence of grave faces, and an air of business mingle strongly even with the idle, or pleasurable crowd; but here all seems like the scenic representation of· the boulevards. 93 an eventful drama, filled with incident, intrigue, and agreeable surprise. then how delightful the fancy dresses are-how promoted are all charms-how improved all allurements, how disguised all defects-how few dull dominos, lawyers, priests, grave senators, and the like. if such pass, they are unobserved, and speedily quit the gay haunt. how many, in the true spirit of masquerade, assume the characters foreign to their own. a young female peasant, in the habit of the pays de cau, gazes around with an air of timid wonder, and the look of rosy health, who never quitted her native paris, and whose face is as well known to the hack nied libertine, as the sun-dial of the palais royal, round which so many idlers gather when the meridian ray is powerful enough to let off the little cannon. a disconsolate widow creates a deep interest by the story of 'her husband's death au champ d'honneur, in the heart of a neighbouring youth, seated near tortoni's, on the hired chair, though, in rea94 the boulevards. lity, she never was married, and knows as little of honor's path, as of the never-existing general of her imagination. a flirting galatea dashes along with her equipage and servants; the latter, with black cockades in their hats, explanatory of her being under the protection of an english military man of high rank. here is a modest looking tradeswoman, who unblushingly trades in the errors of her sex: there, an industriouslooking housemaid, who rises at twelve at noon, and goes to her couch at two in the morning; whose works whose works are works of darkness-whose wages are the price of transgression. in the other sex, there are as many artificial characters and parts:-high-dressed gentlemen, who live on simples; boys escaped from the counter, with the contents of the till in their pockets, wearing mameluke or tartar trousers, fixed spurs, and moveable moustachios, and who play the militaire, and talk of campaigns to women and children, and the boulevards. 95 strippling foreigners; but cautiously steer clear of the half-pay of various garb, and of the numerous spies of the police. these youths are habited, sometimes in the morning, as if dressed for dinner; sometimes in an imitation of english undress, and sometimes even decorated by a ribband, which never had a cross pendant to it. the jargon and acting of these performers are as various as their exterior. affected french, broken english, silvery softness, persuasive tone, the adventurer's tale of marvel, and the many quacks, and mountebanks' farrago of high-sounding nonsense, may, in turn, be observed. one fellow, i remember, in a most florid discourse, announced, from a car, drawn by two milk white steeds, that he sold tea, dry goods, and medicines; whilst his two comrades played on the french horn. but the highest attempt, was a vagabond, in an old scarlet and gold military uniform, whose talents were innumerable; he could cut cards and corns with equal dex96 the boulevards. terity; tell fortunes, draw teeth, take stains out of silk, shave, dress hair, and play the violin, and as to his medicines, their number and properties were infinite; and he sold them at the lowest possible rate, merely from his humanity to mankind: he had a variety of devices to set off his drugs, but the most appropriate, would have been the old latin one, "hic venditur emeticum, catharticum, narcoticum, et omne quod exit inum, præter remedium." lastly, we may observe, the badaud attempt at elegance of diction, the ce n'est pazamoi, all stirred into the same crowd ce n'est patelle; le jeune homme qui a reçuzez un education covenable ta sa naisance; the manzelle voila tunc chaise qui vous tende les bras, and similar phrases, offer a protean variety of ridiculous colourings, both to language and to things; for it must be observed, that the cockney dialect is not more ridiculous than the paris vernacular; nor than the boulevards. 97 the would-be-wit of the lower orders, and the real broad humour and slang of the fish-women. but we have been long enough upon the boulevards, and i shall only mention one more character, an elderly man, who brought to my mind very serious reflections, which may, at a future period, come in their turn. in the circle of the palais royal, and on the boulevard de montmartre, i frequently observed a man in the vale of years, bent and hanging on a cane, with a sickly account of his youthful transactions engraven on his face; he had, however, a spring wig of a very glossy light brown shade, fancifully poodled, his head was in the chancery of a stiff cravat which refused it free action; a shawl-waistcoat succeeded the highly-starched neck concern, and russia-duck trousers concluded the figure, not to forget an almost milk white tunic, and a bolivar hat; a rose in his bosom drew the admiring eye, and a very strong announcement of musk struck the olfactory vol. i. f 98 the boulevards. nerves of the passer by. he walked alone, but was ever and anon accosted by cyprians of all casts, presented with bouquets, forced to buy trifles, and sometimes receive letters en passant; he gave sugar-plums and bonbons to the little wantons who infest the neighbourhood of the rue st. honoré; and when he was fatigued with lounging about, he rested himself in the milliner's shop. i enquired who he was, and the answer was, "il vit de ses rentes," he lives on his fortune. the fact was, that he had a very handsome income, although he had, in his youth, lavished a still greater one on mere sensuality: grown grey in the champ de venus, he had outlived all the venal beauties of his early days, and had escaped the premature end of his debauched male companions; he was now closing the scene by the most selfish enjoyments, and by the lowest pastimes; whilst, to be the patron of depravity, and the flattered dupe of artful girls, formed his only ambition. he looked as if the boulevards. 99 he thought himself an object of envy, at least to those of his own standing; but assuredly there was one among them in whom he excited only contempt and pity, and he is here set down as a proper object for those feelings, by the hermit abroad. f 2 no x. the ruffians. ah sure a pair was never seen so justly form'd to meet by nature. the duenna. the ruffians. looking up at the eminence of that column (“ære perennius") which stands in stern and imposing majesty in the centre of the place de vendome, and speaks volumes to the patriot and soldier, my attention was drawn aside by sudden exclamations of surprise from two young englishmen of the ruffian class, with all the costume and four-in-hand style of the box and fancy richly blended. "is that jack rapid, or his ghost ?" "his ghost, to be sure,” answered the other, in a genuine slang style; "for i am dead in all the london papers. but am i sleeping, drunk, or hazy? or do i 104 the ruffians. see sam stafford, the luckiest dog on the turf, the best gentleman blackguard on the town, and the primest miller, for an amateur, that ever drew the first cork of his antagonist ?" "a truce to compliments," said sam, "but what brought you here ?" "four as fine tits as you ever sat behind, a nice light mail, and my own hard driving, with my duns in full cry. was stagged into long's by a rascally tailor-brought to by richard roe-floored him in turning a corner -ran full speed, neck or nothing, to a stand of coaches-bolted in-tipped jarvy the wink, and showed him a sovereign; took the road to brighton in a night coach-found four annuitants had got scent of me-stepped out on changing horses-posted it to cambridge, and raised five hundred amongst the only people i ever paid in the world—namely, my cantabrigien tradesmen; levied as much more on old school-fellows and college chums there -wrote to my intriguing servant to meet me in the city with my cavalry and carriages, which the ruffians. 105 were stowed away for fear of being taken in execution, and then brushed down to dover at night; sat boldly on my box, dressed so like my groom, and with a black patch on my eye, that the devil himself could not tell master from man; got safe over, and here i am. but the best of it was, that by the advice of the old swell, harry hardup has put my demise in all the papers, as having broken my neck in taking a six-barred gate, for a wager, in leicestershire. my blood hounds must be at a fault indeed. doubleface, my attorney, told me that i had eleven writs and four executions out against me; one from the jew jeweller; four from horse-dealers; tailors to the number of six, and the rest tavern and livery-stable keepers :-as to long, it will be a long farewell to all his hopes, and with my d-d tailor, measure for measure;' for hoby, i have a fellow feeling, because i stand in his shoes;' besides, he is the best tick in europe, so i'll make my executors pay him; but the other ragamuffins may go and f 3 106 the ruffians. hang themselves, or when i'm tired of living on the continent, i will get some broth of a boy to negociate for me, and to pay them eighteen-pence in the pound, out of respect to my memory. in the meantime, sam, remember that i am mr. thomas,-my travelling name." "but how do you carry on ?” 66 why the last winter's run was a hard one indeed; but i did not break cover until spring, i tried every thing. to be penitent to my old hard-hearted uncle wouldn't do; pretended to lady deborah, my detestable aunt, to have a call, and went with her thrice to the ebenezer; got but ten guineas; voted her religion all hypocrisy, and discovered that she drank hard in her closet. got a quack medicine for uncle's steward; he would only lend a hundred on my note of hand, and like a rascally ci-devant lick-plate, he passed, it off to my lord's coal-merchant. i hit the waiter at the club pretty hard, but i got so drunk with lord charles, that i know not whether the ruffians. 107 he and his friends brought me to market after supper, or whether i was robbed on my way home: it is one for the other, rouge perde la couleur,' i. e. the blush of shame to my friends if sold in their circle, or a little deeper dye if done amongst pickpockets and shoeblacks in the street: but live and let live, jack, is a liberal toast. well, all failed, and i was hemmed in on every side. horses pounded at tattersal's, carriages in quod at the hotel, plate and jewels spouted, credit gone at the family bankers, and no tick in the east, west, northern, or southern district. at length i determined on making love to mary fuller, whom you remember lady's maid in our family, and who has been set up in business not a hundred miles from cheapside. early impressions and the respectability of our house have a strong influence on mary, and i have prevailed on her to migrate with the last flourishing branch thereof. (a pretty flourish of yours, observed the friend.) she has sold the sticks for eight hundred pounds, 108 the ruffians. which are weighty arguments for constancy to mary for a time. in return for all this, i have given mary a post obit, to be cancelled in the event of my marrying her." here his comrade gave a long whistle. "then, you know, the chapter of accidents is full of eventful changes: she may die-i may die; but i hope his lordship, my uncle, may die first; and when i come to my title, honour and privileges, i will condescend to treat my followers to a sight of my coronet, as a receipt in full of all demands to them and to all inquiring friends. but pray how stand your rents?" "sixteen astonishing horses to be sold at enormous prices, the produce of which to be laid out in cheap, well chosen normans; these normans, by mutation, to represent the saxons and anglo-saxons, and to go for a frightful sum; thus combining the saxon and norman conquests, a few may be disfigured into danes, and still further follow the history of england; then we have dogs which can the ruffians. 109 do every thing, every one worth fifty pounds: finally, with a vigilant eye to look out, and a firm hand to act, always awake and never to be taken napping, i can do enough to wait for two lives, and a trojan (they say) has as many lives as a cat. you see, therefore, that i am not at my last shift; we can still carry on, my boy, and live as comfortably and as fairly as many of the western twinklers, who owe to their title, prerogative, or to the two powerful letters m.p. or to some other fortuitous circumstance, their rank and elevation in society." each seemed delighted with the other's wit. "d-n me what is the world? a scramble-a lottery-a handicap-a sweepstakes—a game of either chance or address." now they turned a corner so sharply, that i lost the rest, which i did not much regret; for there is, betwixt a pick-pocket's grappling a purse, ducking under a hackney coach, and changing his appearance and quarters, and a once gentleman's turning greek, sharper and run110 the ruffians. away, something so similar, that the very idea horrifies one. i met the duo the next day at a coffee-house, sam was very anxious to get acquainted with me, but i declined the honor, for they had unwittingly communicated the consequences of any intercourse with them, too freely, to the hermit abroad. no xi. the pauper and his child. the parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, 'that heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care, so deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree, se from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. burns. the pauper and his child. having occasion one day to traverse the rue vivienne, my attention was arrested by the peculiar appearance of a pauper and his little daughter; the former sat in a chair, with his feet covered by a blanket, and with his hands in a make-shift for a muff; he was meanly, but not raggedly dressed, and had the appearance of a reduced tradesman; he did not beg, nor did the pretty little child; but she followed the passers by, offering gilt toothpicks for sale, which she kept in a small osier basket. there was nothing obtrusive in her address, on the contrary, her manner was play114 the pauper and his child. ful, artless, and engaging; she dropped her little curtsy with infantine grace, had a winning dimple in her rosy cheek, and nothing of mendicity in her person or behaviour; she seldom even spoke at all, but tendered the contents of her basket with becoming independence: when they purchased she looked grateful, left the price to the buyers, and thanked them by a warm smile of rejoicing, which was worth ten times what could be given on such an occasion: if it was a piece of silver, her features brightened with joy, and she ran with it to the poor old man: if she was refused, she still made her curtsy, which bespoke the contentment of the heart, and the religion of resignation: if brushed past by unfeelingness, or refused with ill-nature, a passing cloud covered her features, but she paced back to the old man's chair, and plied her accustomed office without a frown:-her disappointment was not for herself, but for one who seemed dear to her. the poor man also possessed an admirable the pauper and his child. 115 composure and great decency of deportment, and he literally sat, 66 like patience on a monument smiling at grief.” the frequency of my visits to the rue vivienne, from that time, begot a kind of acquaintance between these interesting objects and myself. pleased as i had been with witnessing the conduct of the man and his child towards strangers, i was yet more anxious to observe their deportment towards each other, when unperceived by the crowd. i accordingly contrived, more than once, to be an unseen spectator of their endearments, whenever there was a momentary cessation of passers and repassers. the child would prattle kindly and cheerfully to her father. sometimes she rubbed his hands, benumbed by the cold, and sometimes danced and frisked round his chair with all the innocent playfulness of her age. 116 the pauper and his child. occasionally she would make a little garden at his feet, with rose leaves and sprigs, picked up in the street, as they were scattered from the costly bouquet of some fashionable belle. often would the parent smile a blessing on his child, whose dear little face thanked him in the plainest language of sympathy: once i observed a tear drop from the poor man's eye, it was one of reminiscence and affection kindly commingling. did the image of the infant's mother strike his mind? or did a mortal prayer beg a blessing on the prop of his old age? was it thanks to the all good, for these sweets mingled in his bitter cup? or sorrow at the inevitable approach of that awful period of separation, which would tear two hearts asunder, and make an orphan of his child? true it is that providence kindly tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, fits the burthen to the back, and metes our portion of afflicthe pauper and his child. 117 tion with an equal hand. what had been this pauper's lot but for his dear companion in distress? life would have been an insupportable load, his days all bitterness, this world a desart, a dreary wilderness. but here the weary heart of the man had a resting place; here the mind recoiled not upon itself, nor fed upon its afflictions: it had an easier occupation; the parent had some one to live for ; and whilst his little partner in adversity, contributed by the eloquence of innocent looks to canvass the vote of charity for her father, he, in his turn, by his helpless state, laid a legitimate claim to that assistance, of which his offspring had her portion. there are many of the great who sleep not so soundly on their downy pillows as the poor man and his child repose on their hard and humble couch; nay, from all that i could collect, they never felt absolute want of food, raiment, or a sheltering roof: the eye of providence is on the virtuous poor; their reward is certain, however it may be delayed. and 118 the pauper and his child. it was this reflection which made the contemplation of the pair, i have described, one of the most interesting spectacles that was ever offered to the notice of the hermit abroad. no xii. french society abroad. ce tourbillon qu'on appelle le monde est si frivole, en tant d'erreurs abonde, qu'il n'est permis d'en aimer le fracas qu'a l'etourdi qui ne le connaît pas. voltaire. french society abroad. if constant restlessness and a love of change; if feverishness in fashion and in politics, be proof of an insane state, as contrasted with the quietude, the coolness and stability of wisdom and sanity, the assertion of boileau holds good in the first paris circles :"tous les hommes sont fous, et malgre tous leurs soins, ne different entr'eux que du plus ou du moins." let us, however, enter the drawing-room in the chaussè d'antin, look round us at a blaze of light, of lustres, of looking glasses, and of toilette, or breakfast companion belles ; vol. i. g 122 french society abroad. see warm pictures from the italian school,quantities of porcelain, as beautiful and as fragile as the subjects of these attractive pictures,-view marble tables, candelabra, a few ornamental books, and a clock of inimitable workmanship, supported on one side by old father time, and on the other by henri iv., le père du peuple, both in every man and woman's mouth from the prince to the peasant, but neither seriously thought of by any. madame la comtesse de bellemont sits in an imposing attitude, like imperious beauty holding her gaudy court: nymphs of quality, formed for the offices of love and of conversation, are attituded about her, each star set as it were in surrounding satellites of admirers; an italian greyhound couches at his mistress's feet; (ah! qu'il est heureux! exclaim a group of elegants) and the marquis de millecœurs is holding forth before the fire, which no one can see, and which messieurs les anglois view with jealous eye. he has a gazette in his hand, with which he was, a moment ago, french society abroad. 123 screening his complexion; but the obverse of this favourite medal is to the ladies, the reverse to the igneous matter. "enfin, mesdames, c'est ainsi," cries he, giving a sort of a sigh.—the english look attentively, for they are young inexperienced men: they hear that the marquis is un esprit fort, and they consider madame bellemont's to be a meeting of the very cream of fashion and talent-we were going to say la crême de la france, but legitimates and the buonaparteans both claim this distinction. they are equally proud. but i must not again get into reasoning: my own opinion is that the truth is betwixt them. the marquis, whose device is l'amour et la gloire, seemed to balance betwixt the degree of admiration which was to be inspired by the fine proportions of his person, and by his intellectual qualities; and if one were to judge by the approving smiles given by self to self in the looking-glass, the scale preponderated in favour of the former, even in his g 2 124 french society abroad. own opinion. he was incessantly erecting his head, protruding his chest, turning out his toes, and as paddy calls it, “making a leg.” when he spoke he advanced one arm scientifically, whilst the other was imposed with the palm outwards on the hip, or was carelessly suspended by his left side, mais néanmoins on l'ecoutait. he was the favourite of the circle, and it seemed the fashion to listen to him. the marquis was a little man, but he made the most of his stature. he was in a sort of undress, half french half english, but of peculiar richness. as to his politics, he was accused of vacillation and time-serving; but he professed himself a moderé, who had trempé dans la revolution, but who was above all prejudice. near him, on a turkish couch, sat a french dandy. he was at the shoulder of a woman whose beauty was d'un grand eclat. to her he murmured and lisped. i once heard him say, "ma foi je n'entens pas la politique," to which he added, in a whisper, french society abroad. 125 that he had been bred to love and war. the belles smiled assent. we had one emigré, a man of admirable, information on english subjects, which the marquis held cheap, and was tolerably ignorant of; while monsieur le comte avoided les affaires de france, either because he was really not in the secret of them, or because he knew; them too well. the emigrant seemed more tolerated than sought for; but it was the ton of the house to unite all parties. whenever war was spoken of, the gay military sprigs, with legion of honour decorations and iron crowns hanging at their button holes, sighed, and looked at the ladies, as much as to say, "how we have fought for you! how gay we used to be in those days of military parade!" and one exquisite hummed in the ear of his bergére "allons ma belle, payez á ton tour d'un peu d'amour le troubadour." there also appeared to be more inamorati 126 french society abroad. than the couple alluded to, and from all that i could collect, les interets du cœur were not less attended to than the interests of the state. a peculiar freedom, rather let me call it ease, attended this conversazione. beaux and belles came in and went out, sans façon. the entré was always directed to the beauty in cathedra; the sortie was literally french leave. to an englishman, there was something coffee-house like in the movements of the party, but no doubt they were convenient. affectation was the order of the night; but the lady of the house certainly received her company with nothing short of a bewitching grace. 1 the result of my observations, as to public opinion, was, that no party was satisfied; that the ultras fancied they were neglected; and that the buonaparte noblesse thought themselves not sufficiently considered and employed. but the great matter is, that the majority of the fashionables do not know what they want. there is too much churchgoing la haut; there is a triste morale, a somfrench society abroad. 127 bre sedateness at court, which neither pleases the merveilleux nor the merveilleuses. now and then a coup de canon for a victory, al though victims and bleeding thousands were to pay for the amusement, would be a pleasant change to the etourdissomething bustling, something new. they will tell you, tout en badinant, qu'on est si bon, si bon qu'on en est bête. had they a worse king, things might be better. war or intrigue, battles or amours, plus de folie, that is the great matter: it has been remarked that l'aimable folie is of french growth. we are so uncultivated as to know nothing of amiable folly at home; the word is not at all understood. then the têtes à peruque, or the oldfashioned powdered iron greys, with the ailes de pigeon, cannot go down with the parisian belles, who have had all tête de brutus, moustache, spur, sabre, rattle and dash, with the bouquet of beard on the chin, à l'antique, and all kinds of crinose conceits. the transplanted sprigs of piety have a very 128 french society abroad. hard cold soil to take growth in. la violette, with its equivocal motto, suits the young taste, something new, something to catch the eye, -masks, balls, tilts, tournaments are wanted even to amuse the badaud de paris; and be the novelty good, bad, or indifferent, its being new would go a great way, according to the judgment of the hermit abroad. n° xiii. a day's ramble in paris. g 3 shall i be left forgotten in the dust, when fate relenting lets the flower revive? shall nature's voice to man alone unjust, bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to live? it is for this fair virtue oft must strive, with disappointment, penury and pain? no: heav'n's immortal spring shall yet arrive; and man's majestic beauty bloom again, bright through th' eternal year of love's triumphant reign. beattie. a day's ramble in paris. j every day, to an active mind, is a little life: nay, it has the features of man's brief existence from its very division of time. the morning we may compare to youth: the short meridian and sun-shine even of a midsummer's day, carries a fleeting resemblance of man's few gilded hours; the cool breeze tells us that the day-star and life's sun are going down together; that the evening is come on dusky pinions, with night treading on his steps; finally, the dark monitor arrives, and all is obscure, cold, and dreary. the blazing taper may cheat the passing hour, 132 a day's ramble in paris. but the leaden hand of sleep presses on the weary eye-lid, heaviness steals upon our frame, and we must sink into the form and shadow of death. sleep is its resemblance, and the day's existence is no more, its transactions are like a dream, its scene is closed. but i must stear clear of homilies: i began my day by peeping into a church, and collected my scattered ideas by reposing my sight on a painted window under the influence of the sun's ray, which gave light to, and embodied, as it were, the records of holy writ. such external objects becalm the passions, concentrate the powers of thought, and give a peaceful occupation to the mind, abstracting it from a cold, ungrateful, uncertain and interested world, and freeing it (for the time being) from all its cares and vicissitudes. from this momentary self-possession, from this intellectual quietude, my feelings were more forcibly called into action, and my sympathies more powerfully excited by the swelling organ breathing hara day's ramble in paris. 133 mony around me, and then dying in soft cadence on my regretful ear; but the rush of a crowd of people soon broke the charm. amid this assemblage of persons there prevailed for the most part, a levity better fitted for a coffee-house than for the holy roof of religion; but while i was studying the features of the motley multitude, i was struck by the performance of three very different ceremonies in the same temple and at the same time; namely, a baptism, a wedding, and the requiem of the dead. what a short but impressive sketch of life! from the cradle to the grave behold its whole amount! matrimony seemed like a central object connected with, and placed between the infant prologue and the dropping of life's curtain, a prudent and necessary preface to the ceremony on my right, but not precluded from the sad prospect on my left, which severs the links of love and disunites the bonds of friendship. "yet hope," said i to myself, 134 a day's ramble in paris. "pious hope may re-unite them in happier realms." now the crowd pressed on me to a most inconvenient degree, and bore me with it to the altar of matrimony. i cast a look on the innocent, whose baptism seemed to interest but very few, namely, two or three relations, who, among half-a-dozen assistants, were all that paid common attention to the rites which were performing. yet there was ample food for cogitation; what a world was before this stranger amongst men-how innocent at present-how little did the light of reason either illumine or afflict it; for what was this babe destined? but i think i now feel the elbows of the rabble, and see the tittering pretty girls mixed like flowers on a bed of weeds, and perceive the arch leer of a few militaires and half well-dressed people, who were attracted to the scene by curiosity, idleness, a passing shower of rain, or by cards of invitation to the nuptial solemnities; on i must a day's ramble in paris. 135 therefore go, and my reader with me, and scarcely have we time to throw a glance on the splendid pall and sable group which paid the last tribute to him on whom life's curtain had dropped for ever. i remarked, however, that deep affliction was not there, and that even silence, that decent mute mourner, did not reign without interruption-the snuff-box circulated freely, but i perceived no handkerchief applied to the dewy cheek. all eyes were upon the hymeneal party, or rather upon the blooming bride. here again i sought and sought in vain, for traits of sensibility in a father, mother, grandsire or grandam. where was the uplifted prayer of the parent, for the prosperity of her who was entering on so uncertain an element ? where the dubious, solicitous, yet fond look of brother or sister, hoping, yet fearful, lest her lot might prove a blank in life's most serious lottery, and lest love and beauty, tenderness and truth, should be sacrificed to gross desire, to paltry avarice, or to conjugal tyranny. 136 a day's ramble in paris. all were gay and thoughtless around the principal actress in this eventful drama. she was beautiful, more than beautiful, more than attractive, she was superlatively interesting; a suffusion of crimson furnished by nature, true to feeling, and adorned by feminine delicacy, served to add warmth to her glowing complexion, whilst sun-bright eyes, curtained by long silky eye-lashes, like a transparent drapery, shot their radiance from amidst a set of regular and speaking features: i have seen finer women, but none more enchanting; i have been struck with triumphant and commanding beauty, but here my approving admiration was fixed on one who, like our primitive parent, came forward "nor bashful, nor obtrusive." her figure was elegant, and in the act of giving her hand to her lord and master elect, had a grace that came from, and went direct to, the heart, it was an appeal to the very soul of sensibility, and spoke volumes; but the bridea day's ramble in paris. 137 groom, who appeared as if made by "nature's journeyman," took it like a block-head: what a man-machine! i was quite disgusted with him, and i confess, that had i been in the halcyon days of life, with riches, comeliness and a thousand things which i have not, i should have liked vastly to have been in his place. as the couple descended the steps of the altar, i made a votive offering for the young lady's happiness, and her fair image stole again upon my mind at the moment when i was about to press my cold and solitary pillow. before i left the church i enquired of some of the spectators into the particulars of the sacrifice, (for such, alas! it too evidently was) and they informed me that the young person, lovely and well born, with disparity of age thrown into the scale against her, was exchanged for a fortune on the husband's side; a fortune made by war contracts, and probably by no small degree of fraud: i took a second look at the man and saw not a trait 138 a day's ramble in paris. of humanity in his whole countenance, he appeared like a petty despot wholly unworthy to reign over such a subject-"dear girl !” said i to myself.here a fellow trod on my toes; this was not calculated to put me on a better footing with the world: i now became discontented and irritable, when, to increase my ill-temper, a man covered with orders very nearly drove over me. he was dressed for court, yet was pent up in a noddy, drawn by one lean horse; he was bare-headed, because a monstrous military hat with an enormous feather would not admit of his being covered; a brat of about sixteen, all over gold lace, and with a gross of buttons on a tawdry livery, stood up, the apology for a footman, behind this excuse for a carriage, and yet did the proprietor plume himself on his wretched vehicle, and thus run down one of his britannic majesty's liege subjects. this could not be borne; the cabriolet, however, was soon out of sight; and, to make matters worse, i was a day's ramble in paris. 139 covered with mud, laughed at by the natives composing the profanum vulgus on the spot, and called john bull, jack roast beef, and i know not what. thus circumstanced, it is no wonder that i drew a comparison betwixt paris and london, by which the former lost greatly in my esteem: there the poor foot passenger feels a painful inferiority when driven at the risk of his life before the often upstart chariot of one knows not who; whereas in london the prince and the peasant equally enjoy ease and safety, and are undistinguished on the foot path of freedom: "england! for ever," exclaimed i. look again at the yellow seine, behold its muddy banks, how unlike old father thames ! "though deep yet clear, though gentle yet not dull, "strong without rage, without o'erflowing full." the seine, in its passage through the great french metropolis, carries a few rafts of timber and a small number of vessels laden with charcoal, with here and there an awkward boat; 140 a day's ramble in paris. whilst we behold a forest of masts in the very 'centre of our city, and view with delight the riches of the world, proudly borne in mercantile triumph on the surface of our noble river, whose banks are decked with rich lawns and plantations. i now took a turn in the palais royal; but i traversed it in such haste and displeasure, that i could find nothing but gewgaws and extrinsic finery, tinsel, coffee-houses, gaming-shops, pigeon-holes and traps, frail women and cheating men, in its trumpery garden and surrounding piazza: i own my views were discoloured, i saw tout en noir. the matrimonial sacrifice of a lovely woman, the dirtiness of the streets, and the elbowing and danger which i encountered, made all things assume an unpleasing aspect. at that moment, two men hastily brushed by me, bearing the remains of a pauper, inclosed in a deal coffin without any covering, and placed upon a kind of chairman's horse: they stepped in quick time, as if in a hurry to get rid of a day's ramble in paris. 141 their load, and to rid the world of a forlorn being in whom no one took interest; not another soul accompanied the remains of wretchedness; scarcely an eye turned to mark the passage of a fellow-creature from a bed of agony to a couch of clay. "ashes to ashes! and dust to dust!” no friend, or follower, but one poor mute mourner, one firm adherent, one faithful attendant of the brute creation-the poor man's dog: that trusty animal, which had probably for many years shared his fate, participated in his mendicity, and added to the picture of misery which the master presented to an unfeeling world. repeatedly did this poor beast look up at the miserable bier as though it would "he is gone whose sole companion i was, deserted as he stood amongst his fellow men. i welcomed his approach, watched over his broken slumbers, stood sentinel for his safety, and licked his lean hands when on the bed of death." i am ashamed when i think of the womanish weakness which came say, 142 a day's ramble in paris over me at the moment that this humble, but impressive scene, passed before my eyes: the lesson of the grave's equality sunk deep in my mind, and i shall never forget how much the dog, the coffin, and the indifference of the bearers, affected the hermit à broad. no xiv. the west indian. ah me! in sooth he was a shameless wight, sore giv'n to revel and ungodly glee ; few earthly things found favour in his sight save concubines and carnal companie, and flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. byron. the west indian. "look, look, sir," cried one of the waiters of the hotel to me, drawing me at the same time to the window, " voici quelque prince qui va arriver à l'hôtel, (some prince is coming to the hotel,)—ma foi c'est un anglais." "an english prince !" replied i, "impossible:" but nevertheless i went down into the court yard in order to satisfy my curiosity; for, in spite of my retired habits, i should have felt inclined to be the first to testify my respect and attachment for one of our blood royal; it was, however, as i foresaw, no british prince, but as vain a commoner as ever i beheld. vol. i. h 146 the west indian. a thin, sallow-looking young man alighted from the first carriage, drawn by four french post-horses in chains, shackles and cords, like so many convicts. he had a most unmilitary look, yet was habited in a blue cavalry great coat, (a volunteer doubtless, and probably the only man of his corps) with a huge brown beaver hat, and coachman-like cravat; he had gilt spurs in the form of an eagle, of fantastic workmanship, loose white trousers, and he carried a favourite spaniel under his arm. "i say, you jockey, do you parler anglais ?" exclaimed he, in a vulgar tone, to the head waiter. "yez, milord," was the answer, in broken english. why then let me have the best apartments you have in your house, d-n the expense, and let them be clean; cleanliness being the soul of an englishman." "oui, milord." "and let me have two bedrooms for myself and this gentleman," pointing to a well-dressed man, his companion, "and seven more beds for my retinue." "seven bed! oui, milord." "yes, seven beds; -66 the west indian. 147 you seem astonished; why, man, i have sevenand-twenty servants at home, (not counting "the fieldnegroes;" in a low tone to his friend,) "and put up my three carriages (a travelling post-chaise, open barouche, and a dog cart,) and let me know when my osses come up, six in number, with the rest of my fellows." "oui, milord." "and give my companion and me some iced champagne and quails for our lunch, and let my fellows eat. and drink until they are drunk, or dead, if they like." "oui, mon prince." "and, i say, take particular care of my four brace of dogs." "qui, mon prince." (here one of them bit the ostler, who drew back.) "here's a crown for you," exclaimed the new arrival. "you old figure of fun, don't be afraid, nor don't go to use the dog ill, he's a bit out of his latitude; never saw france before. (here he looked for a laugh from his friend, and obtained it). i say, don't use the dog ill, i will pay handsomely for it if he hurts any of you, and you may charge me what h 2 148 the west indian. you like for the board of the whole lot of 'em. d-n the expense. don't come to france every day.” here five white and two black servants issued from the two carriages, with a due proportion of canine attendants. "there, there, vanish you slaves, get yourselves put to rights and refreshed, and come up all clean and in your new liveries at dinner time." (aside to the friend)-" i'll astonish mounseer, i think, by and bye.” (to the waiter) "i say, what am i to pay for my lodgings?" "forty napoleons per month, or twelve per week." "as cheap as dirt!" "yez, milord." "give the post-boys ten francs each." (the friend in a whisper),-" five is very handsome." "oh no, d-n the expense; besides, you know i abused the thieves so on the road that i shall get a bad name; we must tip them the second crown for hush money. there," (throwing a napoleon at the two first. here all hats were off.) "adieu milord, serviteur, &c." resounded from the west indian. 149 66 all quarters. "i say, waiter, pour me out a glass of champagne in the court, i have a pound of dust in my throat." "oui, mon prince." "what do you charge for this stuff?" "seven francs, milord." why, it's as ropy as be d-d; give us the first quality; i'd sooner pay a napoleon for your prime stuff, than a crown for this rot-gut. i must have a glass of brandy, old one, to keep down that flimsy gentleman." his friend looked disconcerted and ashamed of him, but on he rattled. "milord shall be obeyed in all vat he honor me vid his command." the brandy arrived, with more champagne; and the two travellers went up to their apartments. silence ensued for a few minutes, when the door was thrown open, and i heard the proprietor of the hotel thus accost the great man. "a thousand pardons, milord, but i have to request your name and quality, your christian name also, and the place of your abode."—" very well, mounseer, 150 the west indian. (this was by way of wit) my name is jack dashall, of blue mountain hermitage, cocoa tree hall, and lime valley, esq. of st. thomas's in the west, and the river side plantation, and new grove estate, &c. &c. in the island of jamaica." (" what a great man!" was written in the countenance of mine host.) "i have no profession, and i am upon my travels like an independent gentleman:" the master of the hotel bowed almost to prostration. "and dat gentel-man ?" continued the hotel-keeper. "he, sir, is my taster;" (aside to his friend who looked angry) "ask your pardon, tom, only in fun." "he, sir, is my director, finds out all that's good, and takes care of me because i'm such a rattlebrained fellow that i can't take care of myself." here he shook hands with his companion. "now, mounseer, (in continuation to the hotel-keeper) my seven servants are-my body servant, my head groom, my first and second coachman, two black footmen, and a tom fool of a white one; the grooms, helpers, the west indian. 151 and a french valet, that i took at calais, are a-coming with the cattle to-morrow, and now i hope that you are satisfied; d-n the expense. but by the bye, here's my passport, which i was very near lighting my gold pipe with last night, wasn't i, tom?" the hotel-keeper retired; (enter waiter) "i say," (the west indian again)" i say, my osses aʼn't arrived, so you must hire us a stylish coach for the day, don't stand for price, i pay like a prince, bleed like a (pig he was going to say) new one,-let the thing be genteel, and let us go to the pally roy-all; but fust send for some elegant gold snuffboxes, and some with funny pictures on 'em, the very tip top, d-n the expense, and this gentleman and i will take one a piece. (aside.) tom, i'll make you a present of one: d-n me, don't call me out for saying that my taster, all in fun, you know my way; and i hope, tom, you know my regard for you too: but i say, waiter, the boxes, and the coach and dinner at a guinea a head, if that's you were 152 the west indian. enough,-nothing mean,-wine not included, and ready rhino to be paid daily for all." "oui, mon prince!" a gaudy equipage, which few englishmen would have liked to have been seen in, speedily came to the door. "drive like hell," were the west indian's orders. whither they went i know not; but they returned in about two hours, with the carriage filled with trinkets and trifles. in taking them out, the servant (hired for the day) smiled to a companion, as much as to say, "this is pretty well, and i have had a tolerable share in the profits." all hands and eyes met the occidental heir on his arrival. "order milord's dinner," bawled out one: "let his people be called,” cried another: -"open the door pour monsieur le prince," vociferated one of the lowest of the establishment, whom we call boots. he entered proudly. a dingy domestic, bent half double, accosted him with "wa, wa, massa, what you'm want?"-" homer," (what a profana་ the west indian. 153 tion of the name) "tell terence to call white alexander, and order him to tell joseph to take my boots off." the blacks and whites being all mustered, he sat down to dinnergot drunk-broke a mountain of crystal and glass, and paid double for all. the next morning a scotch peer drove up to the door, with a cabriolet, three horses, and one servant; but the western luminary had so eclipsed him, that he was refused admittance. the ostler assured him that a mi lord d'amerique (the peer stared at this new creation) occupied and engrossed the attention of all the house and on lord auldbrechen's retiring, "he a lord!" said boots, "c'est un imposteur !" the noise and riot, however, of this western grandee was such, that, with the exception of myself, and a poor man confined with the gout, he cleared the house in three weeks. such fencing, dancing, drinking, singing, and ringing, it was impossible that the thing should last; but if he cleared the house, the h 3 154 the west indian. landlord, and other confederates, cleared his pockets so completely, that when he left pa ris, his horses and carriages were sold, and nothing but the dogs and domestics remained to go by the diligence; whilst he, and his mild friend, retired in an humble cabriolet de poste:-his habits and expense, nevertheless, went on to the end; and he paid ready money, and double price, for every thing, until the hour of his modest exit: crying, to the last, "go it, my boys, d-n the expense." far be it from me to give this living and real picture in portraiture of the west indian character in general. this man was young, just come to his estate-and the expensive son of an industrious, saving parent; the ordinary follower, in the common course of things, of scrapings, rakings and savings; the community is injured by the extremes and excesses of such. mr. dashall did as much mischief as time and ability would admit; for it is to such as him that our countrymen owe the enormous impositions which they the west indian. 155 meet with abroad. 66 charge him high," says one foreign shark. "c'est un milord;-put on a london price," whispers another, "he knows no better:"-" faites payer john bull," adds a third, "c'est autant de pris sur l'ennemi;" whilst the purse-proud simpleton, perhaps, courts expense; delighted at being thought richer than all the world beside, and careless of the injurious effects which his folly produces on the interests of the economist, the prudent man, the honest individual of retired habits, and among the rest, to the hermit abroad. dropping acquaintance. few years have pass'd since thou and i were firmest friends, at least in name, and childhood's gay sincerity preserved our feelings long the same. but now, like me, too well thou know'st what trifles oft the heart recall ; and those who once have lov'd the most forget they ever lov'd at all. byron. dropping acquaintance. ir we owe to accident the acquisition of many of our most agreeable acquaintance, chance and caprice deprive us of as great a number. making one of a group of englishmen in the tuilleries, i was accosted by spenser sondes: lord was by my side, and i was surprised to observe a cold half acknowledgment pass between them. this astonished me the more, when i looked back to their great intimacy at college, and to the many kindnesses which the peer, previously to his coming to his title, received from sondes' worthy father. my intimacy 160 dropping acquaintance. with both warranted my inquiry into the causes of this strange alteration, more particularly, as i was determined to endeavour to remove any misunderstanding, and to cement any breach which might exist between them. 66 my good lord," said i to the peer, the next time i saw him, 66 surely you must have been in one of your absent moods; you must have mistaken spenser sondes for some other person of your numerous acquaintance. from the style of your recognition just now, it seemed as if you had scarcely ever seen him before; or as if you had perceived him for the first time, and rather inclined your head out of respect to my friend, than out of regard for your old college companion.' "not at all," replied lord "the "" fellow is a good fellow enough, a sound head, and, i believe, a good heart.” “that," interrupted i with some warmth, "you know, and have tried." 66 very true," rejoined he, fetching a self-accusing cough; dropping acquaintance. 161 "but i don't know how it is: i lost sight of spenser at quitting college, and never met with him for years, until he was one day coming in to listen to a debate in the upper house, when i passed him inadvertently, which offended him; but i took him by the hand five years afterwards at an election.” "when," observed i, "perhaps he could serve you." "i forget," replied my lord; "it might be so: but then again, he says that i left him off at brighton, and he never made any violent advances towards me since, so that sometimes we do bow, and sometimes we do not. there are no acquaintances that we lose so soon as school-fellows and college intimates: these cronies, without whom we could scarcely live in our youthful days, are no more to us afterwards in our course through life than a table neighbour at a lord mayor's feast, whom one always cuts, for fear that he should keep a shop. now it is otherwise in the army and navy." 162 dropping acquaintance. "a good reason why," said i, with an upbraiding glance, "because these noble professions bear no slights, and never give or take offensive swellings of pride; each individual has his sword by his side, to teach him a practical lesson of propriety; but my lord," (taking out my watch) " i have tarried too long in your company :" (this i meant in a double sense of the word)" and i must quit you for another engagement." here i broke off from the confused coxcomb, and went home to my study. at a whist party the same evening, i found two next-door neighbours in london, who seem intimates there, but here they had quite cut each other. the member for rottentown, who owes his elevation in life to his second cousin, the counsellor, met him at the same party, and just put out one finger at him, with "how do?" to this the barrister indignantly replied, "how are you, sir?" -and afterwards informed me that the m.p. dropping acquaintance. 163 would not have acknowledged him at all had he not been most highly esteemed at the house where they met. not less than a dozen instances of this falling out of acquaintance presented themselves to me in the space of a few weeks: such are worldly men. as to myself, i so far differ from the peer, that whenever i meet with a school or college intimate, my blood assumes the warm glow of youth, i live over again the days of my earliest enjoyments, and my very heart leaps in my bosom. but to the breast tenanted by the colder passions, there is no refreshing spring wafted on the wings of memory, no increased flow impelled by the warm current of philanthropy; chillness and stagnation reign there uninterruptedly. "plague take the paltry peer," said i to myself, "whilst taking my third pinch of snuff, after a solitary dinner; yet i could not help reverting to my meditations on the causes of this non-intercourse between former acquaintance. these causes i found to be pride, 164 dropping acquaintance. envy, ambition, a mean consciousness of former obscurity, now exchanged for unexpected, and, most likely, unmerited prosperity. one man had dropped his early friend, because the latter had been an eye-witness to the vices of his youth, and he now wished, from interested motives, to pass for a moral man; thus exchanging the vice of intemperance for that of hypocrisy. a second sickened at the sight of a benefactor in altered circumstances, because he could not bear the remembrance of his own former poverty, and of obligations under which he still lay. a certain city knight shook off his old and worthy neighbour, because, from habit, he called him joseph, and my lady could neither bear the name nor the familiarity; besides, neighbour bridges was no ornament to the new circle in which sir joseph was ambitious to shine. lady castlemount disdained her school acquaintance, because she felt no confidence in herself, on her sudden elevation, nor considered herself sufficiently safe from dropping acquaintance. 165 the eye of scrutiny: and because none of her present associates knew that she was the daughter of a village apothecary. mrs. slur has sacrificed hosts of her friends, because she calumniated them, just as mrs. overblow shuts her doors on the most valuable of her female visitors, the moment that they are considered to be handsome, or better dressed than herself. i have known a well made coat breed an alienation between two schoolfellows-i need not add of weak minds; and i heard a joke of no ill-intent, which laid the foundation of dislike and perpetual disthese circumstances can never occur but where a despicable jealousy obscures the dim ray of reason, and where grovelling intellects are choked up with the weeds of ignorance and self-sufficiency. tance. the last and most innocent cause for falling out of acquaintance, is the too hasty falling in; the parties may not be formed for generous and lasting attachments. the soil of every heart is not rich enough to produce the 166 dropping acquaintance. pure flowers of friendship; the acquaintance built upon self-interest, necessity, or idleness, is too often mistaken for the leaning of one honest and feeling bosom towards another of the same texture; whereas solitude, vacuity, or mere accident is often the real cause of the connexion. in these events the man of talent and ancedote, the social companion, the instructive fellow-traveller, or the benefactor of his fellow-man, gives fairly and honestly his part in the barter of services and sympathies; but the empty animal that feeds upon his exertions and instructions, or is charmed by the witchery of his society, detaches himself the moment that interest or seeming advantage attracts his narrow, miserable, calculating soul. if indebted to the hand of generosity, he flies from it when in affluence, lest a similar act of the nobility of the mind should be expected from the cold clay of the reptile; so that of all the dangerous, although contemptible members of society, with whom we meet in life's brief career, the acquaintance dropper dropping acquaintance. 167 is the most to be avoided, and the most to be despised; and sooner than hold even occasional intercourse with such an one, i would rather be for the remainder of my days, a solitary hermit abroad. no xvi. a delicate application. vol. i. alas!-how light a cause may move dissension between hearts that love; hearts that the world in vain had tried, and sorrow but more closely tied ; that stood the storm when waves were rough, yet in a sunny hour fall off, like ships that have gone down at sea, when heav'n was all tranquillity! a something light as air-a look, a word unkind or wrongly takenoh! love that tempest never shook, a breath, a touch like this hath shaken. t. moore. a delicate application. ar an early hour in the morning, a gentle tap at my chamber-door called my attention from the foreign journals, and a very pretty femme de chambre entered the room, laid a letter on my breakfast table, and informed me that she would call for an answer in two hours. i scarcely dared to look at the smart little brunette, dreading some trick or hoax unbecoming of my gravity, or calculated to play upon my feelings. i was just going to observe, that i thought the letter must be designed for some younger person than myself, if i might judge by the appearance of the attractive envoy, when the folding 1 2 172 a delicate application. doors closed, and the emissary disappeared. at this moment an impertinent obtrusive waiter popped in his head with a significant smile, and asked if i wanted any thing? i could have knocked him down for the evil construction which i perceived he had put on the visit i had just received, but i did not wish to discompose myself, and therefore told him drily, that when i wanted him i would ring for him. i now twisted and turned the billet, the superscription was in a female hand, the seal bore the impression of a bird flying out of its cage, and the motto was"qui me neglige me perd." what could all this mean? i had no tie which warranted this device, i felt reluctant to open the note, for i thought-, but at length i ventured to examine the signature, and found it was that of a person whom i knew, a very amiaable young woman married but a few months, (another love match!) and who had travelled in company with a party which i joined for some days on my road, and which circuma delicate application. 173 stance occasioned my visiting the young couple in paris. the lady is a native of france, just returned from seeing england, where she went immediately after what is called the honey-moon. the billet began by complimenting me on my knowledge of the world, and of the human heart, and proceeded to state the implicit reliance which the writer had on my honour and secrecy. i did not like the phrase; it was however accounted for, by her adding that this confidence induced her most earnestly to request my advice in a matter of the highest moment, and which deeply affected her happiness; i was therefore to let her know when and where i could see her, to consult on the delicate subject in question. at this moment the femme de chambre returned, and i wrote a few lines to say that i would call on her mistress in the evening, about eight o'clock. mademoiselle josephine, however, not content with my written reply, informed me that she knew that madame wanted to speak to me, and that 174 a delicate application. monsieur was going to the theatre feydeau, and that her mistress would be alone all the evening. this vexed me again: how absurd in women to make confidants of their servants; and how strange it must appear to mademoiselle josephine that her mistress should send for me in her husband's absence !-was she in the habit of committing this kind of indiscretion? there certainly could be no fond preference for me; and, indeed, i wished her too well not to hope that her affections had never been alienated from her husband: i contented myself with informing the femme de chambre that my answer was contained in my note, and bowed her out of my room, putting an end by so doing to many smiles and graces which she was habitually wont to play off. "a bad business this," said i to myself; 66 plague on the women, how unfit am i for all these perplexities and intricacies; i will answer for it that she has got into some scrape, and wants me to extricate her: well, provided there is no intrigue in it unworthy of the a delicate application. 175 agency of a decent elderly man, i cannot object to serving her: i have it now," concluded i," she wants money; it might be worse, i believe her to be well principled, and we will see what's to be done." thus satisfied, i set off for the tuileries, resolving to walk there in an hour, then to dine at beauvillier's, and to be with the fair lady at eight; the time seemed wondrous long; it was doubtless anxiety for her good that made it appear so. i had no appetite, but a great desire for wine, which however i had prudence enough to restrain : a pretty adviser i should have been, with a flushed complexion and a heated brain! no, no, patience and a cup of coffee, and the hour will arrive in due time. half-past seven! the longest half hour of my life—one quarter to eight, i could walk it out, calmly and deliberately, as was befitting my years and experience; for, as friar lawrence says, "wisely and slow, he stumbles that runs fast." 176 a delicate application. i was now at her gate, and i rang gentlymadame was chez elle; however i had the deceitful caution to inquire for monsieur first, and to say that i was sorry that he was not at home, as i wanted to speak to him, but i would pay my respects to his lady. i was an old fool too for so doing, for it only left me in another scrape, and led me into another falsehood; for now i had some stratagem to invent in order to bear me out in this statement, which the footman would naturally repeat to his master. it occurred to me, on the staircase, that i would invite them both to dinner. bravo! old gentleman; but what trouble at thy time of life!-then again, madame might have pretended to her husband that she was going out, or that she was sick and inclined to rest upon her couch, and then i must not say that i had seen her. i was now at the drawing-room door, with the lock in my hand, which shook from agitation, mademoiselle josephine came to meet me, i assumed a grave and almost stern a delicate application. 177 look; why did i dissemble? je n'en sais rien; the accomplished waiting-woman put on an air of mystery, and conducted me into an inner apartment, where she informed me her lady would see me in a few minutes: i hummed a tune. seven minutes and a half, by a beautiful chimney clock bearing an emblem of old time with cupid on his back. "well," cried i, "le tems emporte l'amour; but ere the words were off my lips, my beautiful acquaintance appeared, like a beam of light,—i never saw her half so enchanting-she smiled, i looked collected, but was seized with a thick and uneasy respiration. "you don't seem well," said the enchantress, and taking me gently by the hand, seated me on a sofa and placed herself by me, with a warm cheek, half opened lip, and a broad enquiring eye. "i am a little giddy," (a burning shame at my time of life,) replied i, "but let me have a glass of water and all will be well again:" the request was complied with, and i speedily recovered, my usual pulse returned, 13 178 a delicate application. i cleared my voice, asked pardon for making her thus uneasy, said, "it was nothing, i was often so," (some years since, i ought to have added,) "i had walked too fast," a palpable i wont say what; i then adjusted my cravat, got a lucky glimpse of my pilgrimhead, and intreated her to inform me in what i could serve her, or what advice my age, knowledge of the world, respect and esteem for her could enable me to offer? "tout doucement," answered this rainbow of lovely tints, improved by a number of lustres which burned around her, "what i have to say is confidential, and, to me, most important; my future lot, perhaps, depends upon it;" i again felt agitated. "i know no one but yourself to whom i could apply." (money by juno!) "and," replied i, “ you may command me to the extent of my power." "that i know," added she: "i have so high an opinion of your nation,"-i bowed,—" my countrymen are so volatile,"— i bowed again; "they would misinterpret my conduct,”—i a delicate application. 179 looked grave: "they would abuse a confidence of this kind: they might cease to respect me." i could make no answer. man i could not 99 99 "to a younger she did not finish the sentence; i was more and more perplexed; my age sat very awkward upon me at that moment; some men would have wished to have been twenty at the time, i could have desired to have been eighty!" i am all in a flutter," said she, "i must take breath, the subject agitates me so much!" "et moi aussi !" thought i. • seven minutes and a half more, and the tyrolien struck upon the chimes,—a powerful relief; for during this period of time, iris had her eyes fixed upon the floor, and i sat with my hands clasped together on the head of my cane, upon which i reclined my cheek in the attitude of attention; how long i might have remained so, but for the tyrolien, i know not; i felt that, being on terms of intimacy with monsieur perhaps, i ought not to be there; then again, if he were 180 a delicate application. 66 to return precipitately, i might be the innocent cause of domestic infelicity. pride, i believe, suggested this idea, but a wrinkle, reflected in the mirror, mocked and chid her for it; i looked up and iris spoke. "my husband," said she with a sigh, “ makes me very unhappy." "is he jealous?" "no; i wish he were." she paused again, and a gem dropped from her eye-lid. "how weak i am," observed she, with a smile of anguish. "pardon me," said i, "exquisite sensibility has no alliance with weakness; but i hope that you mistake." "i should wish to think so too: but alas! it is too evident,"-here she wept again. "my husband does not love "impossible!" cried i. "but too true, my good friend;" (taking me by the hand)" the rosy hours of novelty are faded away; the dream of happiness is over; he is now in a large and pleasurable metropolis, and his indifference towards me becomes daily more visible." me." 99 "i hope -"here she interrupted me. a delicate application. 181 "let us lose no time; give me your advice; for this state of things cannot last. i have a mind to try an experiment in order to win him back." "good," observed i," what is it?" "to make him jealous." (surely she can never mean to pitch upon me for that purpose thought i). "yes, many a man only loves the object which others seek after and admire," continued she. "don't think me vain; but men are so selfish, that pride is oftener the motive for their love than real affection, or gratitude for the tender attachment bestowed on them." here she wept again. "i ought not to have married charles, he is too general a favourite with our sex; but perhaps a little self-love, or wounded feeling, might restore him to me." i felt deeply interested for the fair sufferer, but i candidly told her that i disapproved of her plan; and reminding her of the difficult part, which at least one of the actors in it would 182 a delicate application. have to play, i ventured to ask if she had fixed on any particular person as her coadjutor. "why," said she, "i thought of my cousin, the captain of lancers; but he is too conceited, and not to be trusted: and then i had a mind to send for a brother of mine whom my husband has not seen-a handsome hussar; but i don't think that auguste would relish my plan. i next determined to dress up josephine."—" and,” enquired i, "did you communicate your ideas to her ?" “i did.” "my dear lady you did wrong; the secrets, and even the sufferings of wedlock, its mysteries and charms should never be touched by foreign agents, nor breathed to the world, nor any where deposited, save only in the bosom of a parent, and that only after long trials, much weighing of the subject, and the most mature examination of all its bearings. "the woman who gives herself to a partner, performs the most important act of her a delicate application. 183 life, all after-balancing is not only imminently dangerous, but almost always of a ruinous tendency." iris blushed." not that," added i, “there is any moral evil in your stratagem to recall that affection, which i am convinced is only dormant, but that the dignity of your sex prohibits every thing verging on levity, or capable of being misrepresented." she looked grave. i thought the occasion favourable; and, taking her by the hand, i very distantly and delicately hinted in the most mild and indirect way, that even the application to me bordered on something not unlike indiscretion. she felt the remark keenly. "what shall i do, my friend?" said she, "for i tenderly love charles, in spite of his neglect." "redouble your many means of attracting him to you,” replied i. engage him not only by the charms of your person, but by those of your mind; by that cheerfulness, which pleases so generally; and by a generous overlooking of his errors. 66 • 184 a delicate application. touch your harp when he appears out of spirits, and oppose the soft tones of kindness to any asperity in his manner, or in his language. let reproach be a stranger to your lips, and banish all frowns from a brow, where candour is imprinted so legibly by nature's hand. thus will you conquer whilst you seem to yield; thus will you triumph where another might be forced to succumb." tell this encouragement put her in great spirits. "i will do all that you wish me; and do you, our mutual, best friend, take an oppor6. i tunity of speaking well of me to him." will with all my heart; and you can charles, when he returns from the play tonight, that i called to invite you to dine with me to-morrow; thus will my visit be accounted for, and all suspicion be removed. but, my amiable friend, no more of confiding secrets to your femme de chambre, no dressing up josephine in men's clothes, no asking advice from strangers." she blushed.-" no a delicate application. 185 trusting letters to any one." "you are right," said she in a tone of humility. " i yield to your better judgment; i have acted indiscreetly; but you have saved me from all evil consequences which might have ensued. a thousand thanks; the lesson will be useful to me during life, and particularly if i regain my husband's heart." "never fear," said i," the day is your's, your victory is certain." with this assurance i left her with a heart full of hope, and a countenance beaming like the early opening of a summer's morn. i now returned to my hotel, feeling as if a weight had been taken off my mind and heart. there was something mighty imperfect in my day's transactions; " but all is well that ends well." use every effort to awaken the spark of tenderness in the breast of iris's husband, which it appeared wonderful to me that so short a time should have diminished or stifled. wedlock's first moon must have something more and i was determined to .186 a delicate application. than commonly fickle and fleeting in it; the causes are best known to wedded pairs, and are above the comprehension of a bachelor like the hermit abroad. no xvii. the reconciliation. and well do vanish'd frowns enhance the charm of every brighten'd glance; and dearer seems each dawning smile, for having lost its light awhile. t. moore. the reconciliation. i was uncommonly impatient for the hour of six; i had hurried myself with ordering a dinner half french, half english; cheese from parma: ices from tortoni's; tne best fruits and wines which could be procured; all these i had collected, and i was now quite the fidgetty old bachelor, in an agony lest i should be kept waiting, and my dinner be spoiled :-i also dreaded an introductory matrimonial jar, on the arrival of my guests, such as the one laying the blame on the other for coming so late. one quarter past six struck, and i looked grave, but i almost in190 the reconciliation. stantly beheld the yellow vis-à-vis (london built) coming at a round pace up to the hotel. i went down stairs to hand out iris, who bounded from the carriage like a mountain roe; i never saw her more captivating, not even when she kept my fancy and my interest on the tenter hooks of anxiety. she had, with admirable judgment, so dressed herself, as to give every advantage to the bounteous gifts of nature, without a too palpable display. her husband must be composed of adamant if he did not feel proud of the pos session of such a woman, yet he followed her coldly, and seemed only anxious to prove to me, that my watch was too fast. she very properly committed the peccadillo of supporting her husband per fas et nefas, and strengthened his assertion, to which i bowed assent, adding that the time past was nothing to the present, when we had to enjoy the company of those for whom we felt regard, and that i was of opinion that my watch gained every hour, so that they must not trust to the reconciliation. 191 its information towards the close of the evening. iris gave me her hand for this, the husband observed that he had an engagement at nine. the beauteous iris's brow was nearly obscured by a cloud, but on my looking like a monitor stedfastly at her, she smiled seraphlike, and said to her husband, "well, my love, don't put us in mind of our misfortunes, but let us enjoy the present good. our friend will, perhaps, treat us with the sighs of his eolian harp, there is a breeze which is divin." i told her that she was mistress, and had only to command. "you'll spoil her," observed her husband." je ne saurais faire l'impossible," replied i:-they both smiled, but her smile was the soft expression of gratitude; his one of vacancy's expletives in society, which ape good breeding, and save the trouble of speech, where nothing is either felt or meant. the opening of the folding doors with an annunciation of the dinner's being served, 192 the reconciliation. came now very apropos, and i placed my blooming guest on one hand, and her altered husband on the other; the eolian harp was fixed in the window, and a bouquet was concealed in the serviette of my fair guest; its discovery seemed to please her, when her husband said "mon ami, if you were some years younger, you would be a dangerous rival." "not a bit," said i; "you stand unrivalled in the heart of your wife, and the admiration and attentions which she may meet with ought only to confirm you in the pride of having chosen so well." "bravo!" said iris, as i poured her out a glass of rosy champagne. "i never was jealous in my life," observed the husband, taking off a bumper at the same time. "that shews a confidence which is the pride of my heart, and i should be a wretch if i ceased to merit it," sweetly observed iris. here a flush of the warmest affection passed over her countenance: the husband felt it, and answered it by a rose of a deeper dye upon the reconciliation. 193 his cheek. "but come," said he, "this wont do; it's quite antediluvian, like wife and husband making love in company." here he turned the subject to theatricals and mademoiselle mars. my dinner and dessert went off very well; but just before the moment for coffee, iris arose and said, "you know, my good friend, that my husband's sejour in england has made him like many customs of that country; he has no objection to sitting half an hour after the ladies withdraw, and i see that you have got the last number of 66 campbell's magazine," which will amuse me highly in the drawing-room:" so saying, she left her place, and as i well knew the motive, i replied that whatever she dictated was a law with me. "let her go," said her husband, " and we will have one bottle of claret à l'anglaise." as soon as she was out of hearing, i commenced my work. "a happy man you must be with such a delightful creature," observed i. "yes, faith, she's a fine woman, and has a temper and a heart that are vol, i. k 194 the reconciliation. most rare; if we were not married, i should be in love with her again; but the dissipation of this town poisons conjugal bliss, and the variety of pleasure leaves an indifference for every thing but novelty, which, after all, is a mere name, or like the bloom upon fruit, or the fine gilded hue of the butterfly's wing, which is lost when touched. it is such very mauvais ton too, to associate with one's wife, that we are in a manner obliged to be strangers to each other." "that must be your fault," interrupted i. "no, faith, it's the fault of one's old college and army companions, and of custom. one don't like to be laughed at;-nay, if a man (here he played with the hair on his forehead, and put his whiskers in order)—if a man is at all good-looking, he is torn tỏ pieces by the parisian gallantes. i assure you, without pretending to much attraction,” (here he surveyed himself in a long mirror), “i have a sad time of it: i would not have my wife know all for the world"-" nor i either," the reconciliation. 195 added i, "it would break her heart :-i know that she possesses exquisite sensibility; and, to tell you the truth, i do not think that she is quite happy." "the devil you don't; what, did she tell you so? does she complain of me?" here i thought an untruth a very venial offence, and answered, " certainly not, but i am a great reader of countenances: when you are with her, she hangs upon your words, lives in your smiles, and has no will but your's-when you are absent, she looks languid and feverish; her expressive eyes apply to the clock for the painful record of solitary hours, and she has all the appearance of that state of hopes and fears, inseparable from tender attachment, and the enthusiasm of a feeling mind." : he looked recovered! "poor thing! i would it were otherwise; but women are so artful entre nous, my dear friend, i have got into an entanglement which vexes me, and keeps me from home,-an officer's widow, handsome as a star!" "not half so handk 2 196 the reconciliation. some as your wife, i'll bet a napoleon." 66 why, she's not so young, but a fine creature; yet, somehow, i wish i could disengage myself without acting unhandsomely. she plays me off, by way of keeping my flame alive, with a wish to visit england, and to see a certain man of rank there-but pleads the expense." "furnish her with the cash," said i. "no; that would be like paying her off." " well, but," quoth i," that would be better than her paying you off, and breaking the heart of innocence, affection, and truth." "we had a little tiff this morning," rejoined he, “and i am going to see if she is in better humour at nine o'clock." "then," said i," you had better not go; which will be an useful lesson." "i wish و, he paused, “i wish (with a grave look) that i could get decently out of this business." "if you will leave it to me, i will extricate you with honour only call on me to-morrow, and i will answer for your approving of my plan." : he shook me cordially by the hand, and the reconciliation. 197 agreed: i now told him that we would take coffee in the next room, and sent him in before me. he looked round, in order to be certain that no one saw him, and saluted his wife most affectionately. a glass door informed me of the fact, and my heart leaped with pleasure at so good an omen. on my entering the apartment, he said to iris, “love, our good friend has been persuading me to stay here until ten, to take an ice and go home early with thee (avec toi)." "i am glad that he persuaded you," replied iris, "his kindness was disinterested, whereas in me it would not have been so." they now exchanged one of those looks well understood by love, and which speak volumes in silence :-" we are all interested in this arrangement," concluded i," and we terminated the evening in perfect harmony." the next morning the happy husband called upon me, and accepted of the advice which i offered him, to return to his wife and never to let her be acquainted with this affair, 198 the reconciliation. and to allow me to call on the gallante, and to inform her that the sudden illness of a near relation of madame's had made it necessary for him to quit paris at a moment's warning in the night, and to travel with the utmost dispatch, to the south of france. i was to be the bearer of a billet from him corroborating this statement; and of one hundred and twenty napoleons to enable her to visit london. i was supposed to know nothing of his liaison, but merely to add that she would hear from him in due time. meanwhile, the married couple were to set off for lausanne; and on their return, to pass six months at their chateau in normandy. to time, to the charms of iris, to the inconstancy of the widow, and to the husband's future good conduct, i left the rest, having done all in the power of the hermit abroad. n° xviii. the ambassador's ball. k thrice happy they, who sleep in humble life "" beneath the storm ambition blows." young. the ambassador's ball. "will you call our carriage, my dear sir ?" said lady horatia st. clement to me, at the ambassador's ball. the mild, altered and humble tone in which these words were uttered might have softened an obdurate heart ; for my own part, i confess that mine is not formed of adamant, and i was so fascinated by this appeal to it, that had her ladyship, at that moment, required me to risk my life for her, i should have volunteered in her service without the least hesitation. nevertheless, on my way from the suite of splendid apartments thrown open on this occasion, to k 3 202 the ambassador's ball. the marble hall crowded by liveried locusts, i reflected on the altered deportment and subdued expression of this, so lately, proud beauty, who had so long been the despotic sovereign of hearts, and filled so high a rank in fashion's airy circle. "there must have been something to effect this sudden alteration," said i to myself; "some powerful event which has transformed her mandates into entreaties; however, be the cause what it may, a female claims my services, and i obey." i procured her carriage, and, on my return, offered one arm to the countess, her mother, and the other to lady horatia, whose features were now still more disordered, and whose whole demeanour bespoke disappointment and vexation. the countess declined my offer, saying, "be so kind as to take care of my daughter, she is not very well, the heat is too much for her; never mind me, i can take care of myself, and one must accustom one's self to so doing, for the the ambassador's ball. 203 age of chivalry is certainly no more, (i must confess that our beaux are not the most attentive in the world) but n'importe:" then not wishing to dwell on that subject, she continued (in our progress down the great staircase, crowded by comers and goers) "the ball is magnificent, but never was any thing so ill conducted; (this had escaped my observation) nothing could be more confused, more injudicious,-no order, no discrimi nation." here i observed fan-flirting, lipbiting, the flush of the cheek, and the increased swell of bosom, which denote the mighty combat betwixt female pride and disappointment, and the struggle which would conceal wounded feeling, disgust and resentment. lady horatia was less agitated, but seemed to be more acutely piqued, and she affected a sort of ease and kindliness quite foreign to her usual habits. she leaned familiarly on my arm, turned away from the company on the stair-case, and smiled, "as in scorn," whilst a toss of the head betrayed 204 the ambassador's ball. 66 the mental storm which was warring in her bosom. but the more she tried to conceal her real situation, the more obvious did it appear to me. on taking leave of the countess and her daughter, i expressed my regret for the indisposition of the latter, and told her that i should call the next day, and hoped to find her quite recovered. "do, my dear sir," replied the lovely lady horatia, (a term of warmth with which i had never before been honoured during five years' acquaintance) " pray do call on us, we shall be most happy to see you." here the carriage moved off, lady horatia wished to smile, and to give me a playful nod as she drew up the glass: but not even the display of a fine row of pearls set in coral, the velvet of a ruby lip, nor the grace which accompanied the action, could effect her purpose: there was no laughing eye, no dimpled cheek, no warmth in all this ceremony; she must have felt relieved when the carriage had proceeded some paces, and so did i; for i suffered at the ambassador's ball. 205 witnessing the restraint under which pride and beauty were placed at that painful moment. a strong disinclination to return to the gay scene (if gay can be called the seat of vanity, proud preferences, and timid ambition) took possession of me, and i felt happy at the opportunity of escaping, when captain milsington passed by me in company with two other young military men. the first accents which i heard must have formed the finale of a broken sentence, the termination was "d-n the ball, the sacrifice of eighty napoleons is, i think, too high a price for a crowded dance and a formal banquet, neither hot nor cold. il n'y a pas de fête ou le cœur n'est pas, the money's a trifle, (i did not believe this contempt for the loss) but then one might have passed the time so much more pleasantly elsewhere.” 'aye," replied one of his companions, "all very true; but then george, (ironically) if you will follow foreign princesses, stale countesses, dowager beauties, 66 206 the ambassador's ball. 1 excellencies without excellence, and titled professors at ecarté, you must pay for your apprenticeship. for my part, i wish i had not given up a pleasanter thing for this pompous let off; i never spent a more uncomfortable four hours in my life, bound as i was with a deformed partner, because forsooth she is a right honourable, and attached to the corps diplomatique, and pestered by that new-fangled lord with his immense star, bright in its novelty, and who imposed the weight of his unwieldly corpus upon me in the guise of condescension; made me accom-´ pany his gouty hobble for an hour round the room, and then shuffled me off unceremoniously for sir lionel languish, whose borough interest he has in view." "well," thought i to myself, "here are two more dissatisfied persons;" so i called for a chair; threw myself into it and retired. about three o'clock, on the ensuing afternoon, i made my morning call on the countess i was not many minutes in her the ambassador's ball. 207 ladyship's company before i discovered the cause of the foregoing night's disgust. she had been mortified beyond description at finding the tide of admiration diverted into an unusual course, and flowing entirely in favour of a young beauty who had come out for the first time that winter. she was still further chagrined by the circumstance of her rival's being only a commoner's daughter; and, to fill up the measure of her sufferings and humiliations, she had lost two steps of, rank in her place d'honneur, having a german princess and the fat daughter of a marquis placed before her, enough doubtless to keep her in a heat the whole of the night: lord flutter too, (worst of all!) had deserted her, to pay his homage to a rich banker's daughter, plain in person, and so like a skeleton, that her ladyship, with much humour, nicknamed her banquo's ghost. nor did her miseries end here: she got a bad partner in the only quadrille she danced, and was not asked to waltz by sir james jessamine, the best 208 the ambassador's ball. performer in that way in the room, and who, she bitterly complained, was nailed to the ecarté table, "and," (said she, with a certain flounce,) "made no bad thing of it." her lady mother railed at the unpardonable want of attention of his excellency and his "sticks of secretaries," (thus she treated the whole legation,) and ended by hinting at the want, not only of talent but of high birth, in that quarter. just at this interval lady lightwood and sir peter precious were announced. the former was extremely displeased with the ball, and grew very figurative in her remarks on the subject. "the company," she said, 66 was mal assorti, ill chosen and ill put together; and there was a certain set, like a packed jury, which did every thing; common civility was not divided, it was difficult to catch a portion of it; the supper was la la, the wine was flat, there were too many people asked, which made a scramble for every dish; and the renewed dance was a bear-garden; the ambassador's ball. 209 the officers of the guards were top-heavy from drink, whilst the ambassador was dull from excessive temperance; the chaplain was too talkative, the ambassadrice (so she called her, to evince her knowledge of languages) was a dumb belle; lastly cards, foreigners, and the young chit just come out, were alone attended to, although the latter possessed no merit but that of a new face, and what the french call la beauté du diable." on the word new face she laid great emphasis; the countess and lovely horatia smiled approbation, but her appeal to sir peter was not so successful. the baronet, who wants to be a wit, a man of gallantry and a sage all at once, and who stands high amongst hireling scribblers and eccentric dilettanti, begged leave entirely to differ from the honourable lady who spoke last; as to the crime of having nothing but a "new face," he observed, that youth had irresistible attractions. (lady horatia game a hem or short cough, not quite 210 the ambassador's ball. relishing the remark.) "it is," continued he, "the "primauera gioventù dell' anno, bella madre dei fiori "d'erbe novelle e di novelli amori." lady lightwood sighed, the countess knit her brows. if the baronet did not lose his latin, he lost his time and the good graces of these three graces. i began also to think on the loss of my own time, and rose to depart, which was very welcome to the ladies, as it cut the thread of sir peter's discourse. i accordingly received, in reward for it, one lily finger of lady horatia, in semblance of the refinement of shaking hands. in the course of the day i accidentally met with a number of persons who had been present at the splendid fête, which had become the general topic of conversation; and, from what i could collect from them, most of them were ill satisfied, either too much was announced, or too much was expected. in fine, the ambassador's ball. 211 a sumptuous entertainment which had cost great expence and trouble, pleasing scarcely any body. seemed to end in guests who went high in hope and elate in expectation, returned like those who bask in court favour or in a wintry sun, cold though shore upon, comfortless, and full of self-reproach. when i reflected on the time and pains bestowed on lady horatia's toilette, (not to mention scores of ladies besides, in whom i took less interest, or who were wholly unknown to me,) when i considered the ruinous cost of her laces, jewels and other ornaments and appendages; when i calculated the very many hours passed before a looking-glass, and recollected her anxiety and that of a number of my acquaintance to be asked to this same ball; and, lastly, when i witnessed the discomfiture and resentment of those who were omitted, i could not help contrasting its ill success with the tip-toed hopes which were the fore-runners of its arrival. but this is no uncommon case; such are all the pomps, pa212 the ambassador's ball. rades, promises, and vanities of the world; anticipation over-values them, possession shews their little worth, and reflection seizes them as food for the meditation of characters like the hermit abroad. no xix. the pocket-book. "and to thy secret self, with pleasure say, "rejoice my heart! for all went well to-day." rowe's pythagoras. the pocket-book. i wish i could meet with the young gentle man to whom the pocket-book belonged, which i picked up on the boulevard de coblentz; i still more earnestly wish that he would read pythagoras with attention, and apply the foregoing lines to his future diary; for the account entered in his memoranda, chronicles only the mis-spending of time. it proves him to be a very young man, and if ever i can return it to him, i should advise him to lock it up for some years, and at the end of that period to use it in evidence against himself, for the purpose of bringing in soli216 the pocket-book. tude, a blush to his face, for the waste of his youthful days. at the same time i would counsel belles and beaux in general, not to commit to paper, details, which may either serve to criminate them, or to expose their uselessness in society; and i would also counsel them to be very careful what they drop in public walks, or in hired carriages. to return to the pocket-book-green morocco and gold was its outside garb; it was meant to contain bank notes, was highly perfumed, and inclosed a lock of fine black hair, wrapped in paper, and superscribed with a lady's name, (another unpardonable imprudence); some court plaister, numerous addresses of females of easy virtue, and the following diary:— (jeudi matin.) rose à midi.-rang for auguste, positively the most intelligent valet de chambre in europe; the fellow always finds out what i want; and speaks of me every where as the pearl of fashion, and as a millionaire. took my chocolate; d-d insipid; the pocket-book. 217 ***** tasted some liqueur, would not go down; auguste advised a glass of cold water and sugar; with la fleure d'orange and elder flower water in it, as a refrigerant, advantageous to the complexion; thought his advice suited the case, as i do certainly go too hard and am heated;-sent my music master to the devil; cannot learn at all, but the vagabond is a very useful *** (here i took the liberty of the censeur, and cut out two lines.) not at home to my tailor, ditto to the member for our borough, a proser; ditto repeated to two duns. put on my corset and small chintz pattern robe de chambre, fits me like a glove, as do my straw-coloured slippers; clapped on a travelling cap richly ornamented and made in the last taste in the lancer style; had my hair curled, and then combed it with my fingers until i gave it a negligé dishevelled air; cocked my cap rakishly on the right side, and left my shirt collar open. n. b. french ladies admire this, when a man can sport a fine skin. looked in the vol. i. l 218 the pocket-book. long mirror, and was really quite the thing -not a bit of john bull about me; kissed my hand to a dozen beauties; was taken for a frenchman by one, and for a polish nobleman by another; made my active rascal run after a certain ***** (here cutting was again necessary) and then proceeded to dress, after two hour's exhibition in my balcony. sent for the italian doctor to amuse me, during my toilet, by telling me lies.-four o'clock. all complete; had my cabriolet at the door, and drove three times up to the rue de la paix and down to the bottom of the boulevard montmartre; took good care not to go down the rue de richelieu, nor to pass a certain window, remembering to forget my promise of a cachmere; attracted much attention; went to the champs elysées, where my horses were waiting for an hour; seven persons asked whose they were; my black horse the handsomest in paris; devilish unlucky, that my jolter of a groom can't speak french. rode for an hour, came back to the boulevard, took an ice the pocket-book. 219 at tortoni's, and sat for another hour on a chair: went home,-wrote to pauline, a delightful creature; and was dressed for dinner in an hour and a half. dined with le marquis, a fine agreeable reprobate, up to every thing; looked in at the français, and at feydeau after dinner, and made the salon the finish; took care not to lose above twenty naps, and got home full of champaign, by three in the morning, all snug. (vendredi)—a slight head-ache, obliged to rise at eleven in order to write letters; have some thoughts of keeping a secretary; a d-d bore to write at all; answered mother, a good soul for getting three hundred pounds paid for me unknown to the old gentleman; how tough he is, wish he had warning to quit: looked out of the window-rained torrents→→→→ horses counter-ordered; received a billet from pauline-smell a rat-she wants to play tricks -wont do, got no money.-a visit from the marquis, he too wanted a loan; but too deep for both of them. he offered to teach me l 2 220 the pocket-book. some tricks on the cards, could not be troubled; wrote home, sham sick, wont return this year at any rate; england a bore when compared to this place-read french like a native; wrote to virginie, no answer—she be am too much the fashion to care for any of them long; sent an excuse to lady louisa; hate" at homes," am at home every wheremean to cut the english women, they dress so ill-no small talk, nor life. dined at harvey hazards, can't think how the devil he lives, but will stick to him whilst he gives his ambigus (dinners and evening parties of theatrical ladies.) the party delightful; won a trifle; made a conquest; more and more in love with paris; played cards all night, and lay in bed all next day. (samedi) took a warm bath at five p. m. and dined tête-àtête at half-past seven with――(i tore off the name.) went to the opera and was tired in half an hour." and so, gentle reader, was i of the manuscript, which i put into my writing-desk, in the pocket-book. 221 case it should be advertised, or otherwise inquired for," as of no use to any one but the owner:" it may however have the good effect of opening the eyes of those who supply their sons and nephews with money to finish their education on the continent, and with this intention it is given by the hermit abroad. nº xx. les dames du comptoir. bright as the sun her eyes the gazers strike, and, like the sun, they shine on all alike. yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide ; if to her share some female errors fall, look on her face, and you'll forget them all. pope. les dames du comptoir. among my various delineations of character, i promised to notice the dames du comptoir, and i must now introduce them in due form, soaring above the vulgarity of waiter or bar-maid, separated from the homespun class of honest hostess, or buxom female publican, as beings of finer texture and highly ornamental appearance. at the houses of restaurateurs, and at the cafés, as many attractions as possible are assembled together, to whet the appetite and to catch the eye. thus is the passer-by attracted, and thus is his preference canvassed by the l 3 226 les dames du comptoir. 4 load-stone of beauty, novelty, or the appearance of good cheer: lustres, looking-glasses, and marble tables abound in the coffee-rooms; whilst showy furniture, well proportioned saloons, flowers tastefully arranged on side tables, desserts laid out, a few rarities of the season exhibited to view, and long bills of fare, with the promise of every variety, form the most inviting features of the restaurant, where established reputation, either of a famous cook, or the moderate price on the card do not already draw their different cus tomers. the former is sure to fix the gourmand, the latter never fails to engross the entire half-pay list of the french and british army present in paris, to which the rigid economist imported from north britain, is generally added; but substantiality in food, and excellence in wine cannot be looked for there; and any one who expects to get his dinner, with a pint of wine, for forty sols, must resign himself to eat his meat à la vinaigrette, for the wine is as strong an acid as a chemist could les dames du comptoir. 227 wish to procure, and answers all the purposes of taking physic. however, even in these frugal repasts, and at the easily accessible and unexpensive café, there is a great offset for any deficiency, amidst the lustres, the looking glasses, the lights, the marble tables and pictures. a dame du comptoir rises to view, presiding at her semilunar bar, or ornamental table, often called le plus beau meuble du salon; the lustre of her fascinations eclipses all the other lustres; the reflections of the mirrors only multiply her capabilities to please, and chase every heavier reflection from the dazzled eye and giddy brain; she is lighter than the lights: and as to the marble tables, the polish of her arm shames their rude workmanship, whilst the pictures and statues evince how much they want her animation; even when these presiding spirits have not regular features, fine forms or glowing complexions, youth, smiles, high dress, popular manners, an air of liveliness, and an impres228 les dames du comptoir. sive wish to please, furnish the sauce piquante of an indifferent dinner, and give a zest to a glass of parfait amour, or huile de rose, either at the restaurateur's or cafés. the ready wit and briskly-served artillery of the eye of a piquante brunette well figures the former, and the love-provoking languor, soft manner, and dulcet tone of a belle blonde, more than conveys the latter. ! in the first scenes of good living and elegance, such attendants improve and lend an illusion to the repast: coffee may be warmed and sweetened by love, as wine may be improved and mellowed by friendship and affection. novelty does a great deal; at one restaurant's, the owner has procured a patagonian female to astonish his customers; at the cafe de mille colonnes, every one who has visited the metropolis of france, must have seen la belle limonadiere (now in her autumn) who reigns on her throne, surrounded like many princesses, by numerous flatterers: there is a certain je ne sais quoi of coffee-house majesty les dames du comptoir. 229 1 about her; no one can deny that she has been handsome-no one would attempt to assert that she did not know it. in the general run of these counter ladies, there is a suavity which our higher females might envy, without making so public a display of it; there is a mild bearing of their faculties, difficult to preserve, whilst the incense of flattery is offered at the altar of their agreeableness; a command of feature, like a picture in good keeping, which is not very easily copied. a pretty girl hired at an iceshop, or at a tavern in england, for the interest of the house, is nothing to these; for in france, borrowed importance is attached to every thing-the ice-shop female is a servant, the dame du comptoir plays the lady; the one serves, the other governs, and a foreigner never fails to offer his complimentary tribute, en passant, to the lady at the bar. honest, plain matter-of-fact john bull astonishes, by his indifference, and sometimes passes her le chapeau sur la tête, a mortal 230 les dames du comptoir. crime in the court of venus, and in the gal lant circle even of an eating-house, or café; in every other way, however, john pays his dues better than any body, and is frequently made to pay the piper to no small amount; of this the cafés and restaurateurs are well aware, and as well they know how to turn him to the best account; for whilst a handsome french ex-militaire will amuse himself for a whole evening over a cup of coffee and a glass of brandy, with the accompaniment of the bright-eyed brunette's cheerful conversation and spirited remarks, honest john will spend his pound note, and then yawn and adjourn to some other haunt in quest of pleasure, there to put off more time, and get rid of more money. seldom does he attempt the amoroso at the bar; occasionally brother pat essays it, but he is beyond the mark, it becomes the furioso, and fails in its effect, unless he plays jupiter, and find a danæ to play second. le petit mot pour rire, is the foreigner's gift, and these dames du comptoir les dames du comptoir. 231 have other attachments, so that the interchange of civilities and amiabilities is all that they expect, and all that may in propriety be looked for from them. as to myself, i had no inclination to throw away time and money, like my prodigal countrymen; nor was the half cup of coffee, the dram, the tooth-pick, small talk, and glass of water quite nutritious enough for my constitution. i always made a moderate repast, with a due proportion of the juice of the vine, and bent, on retiring, to the presiding beauty, the language of whose eyes might have been dangerous to youth, but it was only by juvenile reminiscence that their vivid flash warmed for a moment the hermit abroad. no xxi. the english abroad, n° i. 'the same calm artificial look of state his half-clos'd eyes in self attention wrapt. cumberland. the english abroad. to seem to be what we are not is too general a passion, not to be easily discovered by a common observer, and no where have i seen more of this practised than amongst my countrymen abroad; people who, at home, glide on unobserved in the crowd, affect to be characters of certain mark upon the continent, and play off, to the stranger, important airs, which would induce the ignorant to imagine them the very pillars of the state. this manœuvre is generally practised where it is most likely to be successful, namely, with foreigners; but some people so forget them236 the english abroad. selves, that they even venture to pass off their counterfeit consequence on their countrymen abroad, taking the chance of non-detection, from long absence, or a probability of their auditors not being acquainted with the real sphere in which these pseudo great people moved at home. of the number of these birmingham impressions of the stamp above-mentioned, is peter dense, and, indeed, the whole of his affected family, who are scarcely known in london, but who occupy, in a small circle in paris, a degree of consideration usurped by pride, and maintained by false appearances. mr. dense is often called milord, and his lady, wife and daughters, caricature all the airs of quality. the solemn coxcomicality of the father is ridiculous to a man of good sense, but passes current with the ignorant. turning the corner of the place vendome, i espied this, my coffee-house acquaintance, lolling in a paris-built barouche, with all the state of an ottoman emperor. "cocher," the english abroad. 237 cried he, "arretez," and bowing with a condescending look-" ah!" he exclaimed, "i cannot be mistaken, it must be you; (measuring me through his glass) what, like ourselves, glad to escape from the toils of pleasure and the busy round of high life." i looked astonished at him. "upon my soul," continued he," the last winter's campaign (what campaign could he mean?) quite did me up, the dook and i used to set up night after night, until i began to think that i had mortgaged my constitution." what duke he meant i neither know nor care; perhaps duke humphrey." and then again, these nocturnal dinners! by-the-bye, royalty is to travel this summer, so that migration will be all the go, and i think myself of making my bow to the crowned heads at spa, or elsewhere. but will you take a cast in my d-d machine i've hired whilst my town vis is repairing? i hate a post-chay in the streets.” i declined the lift which he offered me. "you see (he continued, looking uncommonly 238 the english abroad. high) that paris is full of english, but how few of any note; such tag, rag, and bobtail, (a gentlemanlike phrase!) that one is afraid to be identified with them. i am always in hopes of being taken for a frenchman, for re-al-ly, john bull quite disgraces himself abroad." this, i informed him, was news to me.. "oh! yes," resumed he "the st. pelagie is full of english, and i am sure i have patronized a score of works of poor devils who come abroad; they always get my guinea and my name, which is an inducement to great people, for a subscription paper is like a company, one person of mark draws another." mark? thought i, unless it be mark lane, where his plodding father scraped together a few thousands, on which the son lived in mediocrity at home. "but fare you well; call upon us at our hotel, where my daughter florinda will tell you all the fashionable small talk of paris, and all the goings on of the court. will find her what i dare swear you with a levee of a dozen french dukes, counts, the english abroad. 239 and marquesses, and with as many curious titled dames about her. she is, i assure you, quite the rage in town, out every night. three parties ere she can get home. we came here for quiet, but faith, we can just get as thick in dissipation and high life as we were before-(that might very soon be.) farewell, i must call upon monsieur le comte d'argentcourt and the marques de veaumarin, and a bishop, and one of the ministers, and the devil knows who." the last information the truest. off whirled peter dense, esq. with a chasseur behind his carriage, as if he had been one of the corps diplomatique. now the fact is, that he gives great dinners to young idle frenchmen of small fortunes, with a coronet stuck upon their cabriolet, who are eating him up, and swallowing his lies, and beau-ing, dancing, and talking away miss florinda's character as fast as possible, whilst she bends disdainful looks upon the most respectable commoners of england, and is pendant on the arm of 240 the english abroad. decorated dandies who have nothing to recommend them but a foreign order and foreign foolery, a few distinctions suspended to a button-hole, and the modest assurance of the nation to which they belong. what peter dense is to do when he returns to england i know not, but he has persuaded his paris friends, that to avoid the fatigues of the coronation procession, was the main object of his honouring france with his present visit. nor are these solemn imposters so unfrequent as one might imagine: i met with a lace merchant from buckinghamshire, at a table d'hôte, who amused his neighbours in execrable french with an account of his stud and his carriages, his stud groom and out-riders, his hounds and his chateau in the country; and invited all around him, if ever they came into his county, to enquire for him, as he was well known, and had always a house full of company forgetting that he had one near him (myself) who knew his stud, consisting of one horse and a donkey; his equipage, a the english abroad. 241 whiskey of shabby appearance; his hounds, a mongrel that guarded his door; his chateau, a manufactory with a small dwelling-house attached to it; his grooms, one dirty boy, officiating alternately in the stable and in the parlour; and his house full of company, now and then a poor relation, and about forty women and children working at the lace cushion.-another example of this kind occurred in the person of a chance acquaintance i picked up at one of the theatres, and whose after-intercoruse with me never exceeded the exchange of bows. meeting at paris, he felt a kind of right to be more familiar, and i (as far as country and the ties of fellow man go) met that inclination. forgetting, however, propriety and truth, he observed, "here i am, my good sir, quite incog. (what was he when known?)—all on the reform: i have done with all the pomps and vanities of life, and am lodging here like a solitary, with only one servant."-solitary and with one servant! very good indeed! vol. i. m 242 the english abroad. probably a cook and chamber-maid in one and the same person. i never knew his former habits, but i have no reason to believe that they afforded a higher establishment than his incognito reform. an untruth is always disgraceful; but on no character does it sit so ill as on the native englishman; foreign counterfeits sometimes amuse, but to john bull thus perverted and denaturalized, i should say, at every trick attempted to be played off, 66 quodcunque ostendis mihi sic incredulus odi." thus observed horace, and thus thinks the hermit abroad. no xxii. the english abroad, n° ii. и 2 cest donc ainsi, troupe absurde et frivole, que nous usons de ce temps qui s'envole! c'est donc ainsi que nous perdons des jours, longs pour les sots, pour qui pense si courts voltaire. the english abroad, no. ii. i had been arguing with my friend general manby on the love of trifling, so prevalent in france, when he assured me that he could quote as many instances of triflers imported from great britain, as i could find him examples of in paris amongst the natives. "it is true," said he, "that the bagatelle has great attractions for a frenchman; that he must have his aimable folie, his round of fiddle faddle and small talk; must brush lightly through life like the butterfly in a garden, sipping sweets as he goes on, without attaching himself to any thing; but i assure 246 the english abroad. you that i know a score of young englishmen, and some old ones, who are playing the fool in this metropolis from morning until night, and whose nugatory pursuits would not a little astonish you. there are lord lackland and a certain diplomate who pass their whole mornings in seeking for what is miscalled les bonnes fortunes, and who are laughed at by all the depraved sempstresses and common servant girls in the town. an air of mystery, a ton bourgeois, the cap of the humbler tradeswomen, a band-box, or some other such blind, is an infallible bait to either of these gudgeons. and then their adventures are so humiliating; the peer was once half stifled under a bed in a garret in one of his high flights of fancy, and the envoy was imprisoned in a kitchen closet for twelve hours in the round of his amatory rambles. then there is sir george gamble, who has a strong box full of billets doux, with which he amuses himself and edifies his young friends on a rainy day. he has eight-and-twenty single the english abroad. 247 gloves as trophies borne off from various females; a hundred and sixty-four locks of hair, which he counts weekly, and which serve to recall histories that form the whole of his knowledge and conversation, and which fill up the remnant of time after laborious dressing and divers rendezvous. another acquaintance of mine, who has just taken orders, passes half his morning in reading immoral french books and the other half in learning to write love letters. sometimes one of these is addressed to a happy fair one, and comes back revised and corrected the next day. for this, and other kindlinesses, the reverend pays what might satisfy a travelling a.m. of the first ability and respectability. but three little incidents which i met with this morning," concluded he, "made up my mind as to triflers, or rather as to gleaners of bubbles and chroniclers of nothings. "passing through the church of st. sulpice, i found two little boys fighting during the time of service, to determine which of them 248 the english abroad. should ring the church bell. this was certainly deplacé and ridiculous enough; but i called on two oxonian friends immediately after, and found them outbidding each other at an auction for a dutch toy. i next proceeded to visit a captain of grenadiers, six feet high and forty years old, and i found him en chemise under the drill of a dancingmaster, who observed to another scholar, that le gros capitaine was as awkward as a bear and danced like a hackney-coachman. next i knocked at the door of a british dragoon, whom i discovered in the act of lacing his stays." i was here quite satisfied with the truth of 'the general's assertions; and as for chroniclers of nothings, i can bear testimony of that, having seen the pocket-books of certain young gentlemen, full of remarks, indeed, but remarks only on subjects that were foolish and vicious. it not unfrequently occurs that our countrymen import with them, on their return home, nothing but the the english abroad. 249 vices of each nation which they have visited; they learn to eat à la française, (preserving the english fashion of drinking) to intrigue à l'italienne, to smoke, take snuff, and swear à l'allemande, and à la mode hollandaise; they not unfrequently add to this the pride and the want of cleanliness of the spaniard, and almost always get a taste of the spirit of infidelity and the immoral philosophy which were introduced at the beginning of the french revolution, and which have since become so general throughout europe. these acquisitions, added to a love of novelty, a restlessness of disposition, and an affected contempt for home, makes a pretty accomplished gentleman; whereas a different system of selection might have united the useful and agreeable in as great a degree: for instance, the temperance of france; the admirable taste for the fine arts of italy; the perseverance and mechanical turn of germany; the high honour and sentiment of spain as it used to be, preserving at the same time the unsullied nam 3 250 the english abroad. tional character of the old english gentleman as the ground work, to be ornamented with the foreign embroidery of light talents and social amiabilities. i cannot conclude this chapter without paying a deserved compliment to the inviolable word and chaste honour of the old castilian. a signor of that province being called upon by an acquaintance to lend him a sum of money, he passed his word to assist him; his man of business soon afterwards informed him that the person whom he had engaged to serve was in bad circumstances and unprincipled, and that he would certainly never pay him. "i am sorry for it," said the noble castilian, "for the sum is considerable." "what will you do?" inquired the lawyer. "i will lend him the money," replied the spaniard, "for my promise is given, and my word is of more value than any sum of money in the world; i must make sacrifices and selfdenials in order to recover my loss, but my honour will be entire and my word as sacred the english abroad. 251 as ever." 99 that my countrymen may borrow this high sentiment, with all the good qualities to be found on the continent, and reject the dross, is the sincere wish of the hermit abroad. no xxiii. the english abroad, n° iii. at every word a reputation dies. popethe english abroad, nº. iii. "how are all our friends at boulogne ?" said mr. chatterly to lady blightall, in a morning call, where i happened to make one of a large circle. "friends at boulogne !" indignantly replied her ladyship; "i have very little knowledge of any of the coasters, scarcely common acquaintance; for who, with either good taste, money, or a love of elegant society, would ever think of sitting down with the rif-raf of calais, boulogne, dunkirk, and such bankrupt colonies. bou logne, in particular, is a complete botany bay. i had rather be met paying visits in 256 the english abroad. the rules of the king's bench, than have my carriage seen in the streets of boulogne, lest people might think that i was going to live therea plain proof that i could live nowhere else." i observed that i knew a very worthy english family at boulogne, and that there were good and bad every where. 66 you think so now, my good sir," said lady blightall; "but when i give an outline of the society there, you will change your opinion. in the first place: like margate company, transported by hoys and steam-packets, the class of coasters is inferior to the resident english in paris, or on their travels, because for half nothing these creatures can get over. there's a steam-packet to dover, by which the motley crew is smuggled across, like prohibited ware, to the opposite coast. a boulogne packet always reminds me of the unloading of a waggon, shooting its rubbish on foreign land. broken merchants, halfgentry, and tarnished characters, with the the english abroad. 257 remnant of reputation and the wreck of their former means. i declare if i were the french king, i would make such obnoxious people contraband, and prohibit them altogether; for as for paying duty, i believe they are deficient in all the duties of society. one fellow brings over a wife whom he forgot to marry; another has two spare wives besides, and 'how happy could i be with either' wont do at home. here a female wants to get into company; and there a would-be gentleman has just got out of it. some silly creatures flatter themselves, that although known and despised at home, they may be respected incog. abroad, and that at so short a distance. then you have the half-pay on the skirmish, and the pigeon on the wing, half-plucked and in hopes of getting into better feather, and the leg who can give but a lame account of himself, even to the police. to these are to be added retired greeks and folks out of business, loose fish from the other shore, and vamped up male and female anglers and 258 the english abroad. throwers of the matrimonial net, uncertificated bankrupts, nobodies who here try to be somebodies, flashy smugglers, wandering imposters, and lastly, the miserables who visit calais, boulogne, ostend, dunkirk, &c. in hopes of getting a bit of bread from their migrated countrymen, and who set up in their respective trades, to the great annoyance of the natives. thus john bull on the coast is as much john bull as when at home, eating and drinking like a barbarian, and not even learning the language of the country; or at most picking up a few ill-pronounced phrases amongst servants and market women. and now, (not forgetting the sickly, ricketty children, who come over to mend their health and manners,) you have a living picture of the coaster crew." here every one laughed at her ladyship's satirical description, and at the acrimonious humour mingled in the dose "these passagebirds," resumed she, "who light upon the french or flemish coast, are all light in characthe egnlish abroad. 259 ter and light in pocket, else would they proceed to the interior, instead of giving a flemish account to their belgian trades-people, or of taking french leave of the french coast, which they have so lately honoured by visiting (a visitation to many). but i pity not the cormorant french who receive and dupe them as long as they have a sixpence, a horse, a carriage, or the appearance of substance. to tempt john bull the more, also, the calasian and boulognese traders, force articles on him, and make a show of giving him credit, whilst they set their landlords and their police to watch him lest he should give them the slip. i can only compare the french coast bourgeois to anglers anxiously bent on hooking their fish, and then as anxiously and fearfully playing with them on the water's edge, lest they should get off the hook, 'and put to sea again.”” she concluded by a spirited account of the broils, backbitings, and quarrels of the 260 the english abroad. english coast-residents, each fearful lest a neighbour should preserve a little more character than himself, and by a description of the falsifying, drugging, and adulterating of wine, of spirits, and all sorts of provisions, as well as of the impositions practised in lace and other articles of wearing apparel. i had now listened for one hour, and i availed myself of the first opening in the conversation, to open the door with a low bow, and walk off, leaving most probably a new subject of discussion open to her ladyship, in the character and peculiarities of the hermit abroad. no xxiv. the english abroad, n° iv. begin, be bold, and venture to be wise. cowley. in time forbear, amidst the throng, no more so base a thing be seen: no more so idly pass along, be something, any thing, but-mean. lord byron. the english abroad, nº. iv. exaggerated as her ladyship's statement was, yet there was un fond de veritè, as the french call it, in her account. the want of reflection, the non-performance of necessary self-denials and economical plans, whilst abroad, is the ruin, not only of the remnant of their means, but of the reputation of our countrymen in france and elsewhere. not to mention travelling swindlers, greeks en ambulance, and those driven over by despair, i will merely notice the host of persons pursued by debt and difficulty, pinched in their 264 the english abroad. resources, and whose pecuniary concerns are in confusion; almost all of these leave home with a resolution of retrenching and of living on little in order to make up their lee way; the difference of the price of provisions on the coasts of france and flanders, and the cheap rate of passage, are powerful inducements; not to mention the consideration of personal safety. mat wildair, a gay navy lieutenant, pretends that you may always discover a fresh arrival, either by the joyful countenance of the party, or by his habit of looking round with alarm, and a certain ticklish shrug of the shoulders. be that as it may, good resolutions are always made, but the wisdom of today is never adopted. "to-morrow, or next week, at my quarterly payment, or, when i have seen a little of the place," these are the puts-off of imprudence, and these lead to ultimate disgrace of the british name, of which the possessor ought to be proud, and fill the prisons of the continent with british debtors; the english abroad. 265 whereas, had the self-devoted victims passed a few years in retirement, and under certain privations, they might have returned home respected. nay, it very frequently occurs, that had the same characters laid the axe to the root of the evil under which they laboured at home, they might have retrieved with more ease, surrounded by friends and countrymen, than by adding to the host of migrated miserables. but men fly from themselves, and, when the moment of panic is over, return to the same imprudences which occasioned their flight. extravagance is ever emulous, and association with the vain and unprincipled abroad is far more dangerous than facing the enemy at home. the herding together, the want of management, the wish to appear what they are not,—namely, easy and independent, frustrate the saving project; nay, have even raised the price of provisions on the french and flemish coast; but one example of a female would-be fashionable, eclipsed and sunk under the horizon at home, but ever vol. i. 18 n 266 the english abroad. striving to shine abroad, will afford the strongest proof of what i state. "constance, (the name of her maitre d'hôtel) how many cards of invitation have you issued out?" said lady barbara belair. "two hundred, my lady." "well, and how many apologies ?” "not above a dozen." "good; pray will my little friend the distressed poet chalk my room ?? evergreens ?" "yes, my lady." "and have you got the flowers and "no, my lady." "why not, sir ?" "no money, my lady."" humph!" a pause. "constance." "my lady." my lady." "won't the doctor lend a few naps ?" "no, my lady." "nor our parson ?" "no, my lady." "do you think fauxbrilliant the jeweller would come down for a little usury ?" haps he might ?" well, we'll have the flowers; but constance, how stands our wine ?" "not a drop." "well, you must get some champaign, burgundy, vin du rhin and vin de grave, of old cent pour cent the broker.” “he has this moment left your perthe english abroad. 267 ladyship's door with the bitterest threats of arresting you." "he is a beast: then try monsieur drogué, and promise him any price: to be sure we shall be half poisoned; but my ball must go off with eclat, if i die for it." "drogué, my lady, has sent in his bill to-day with a circular to all the english, announcing that for the future he will only deal for ready money." "ha! but i presume that friandise, the restaurateur, will furnish the supper." "no, my lady, he abused me like a pickpocket yesterday; called all the english escrocs, and said that we cheated him at our last fancy ball by giving him a bad bill, which he threatens to put into a lawyer's hands; and he says that mrs. lackrent has thrown him over by pleading her coverture, and that her husband is obliged to be kept out of the way; so that i am sure he wont trust us for a penny roll." "well, we must send to the inn." 66 they say that they are quite out of wine." "will sir simon lend the plate?" "no, my lady, for a very good reason, it went n 2 268 the english abroad. last week to pay for the hire of his horses." "do you think that the banker's clerk, unknown to his master, would lend us some, if i were to ask him to my party ?" "certainly not, my lady, he got finely scolded for advancing you five hundred francs on your in-coming quarter, which your ladyship knows is promised three deep." "would the grocer?" "i have made him believe that you are gone on a visit for a week in order to put him off, and to keep things a little quietish." "ask mrs. mac blunder to come here." "ma'am, she is in prison.' "i'm ready to faint; but the cook ?" "has not a copper, and has given us warning; besides, my lady, we have no wax lights; and the music must be paid before-hand, as they say that we have bit 'em too often; and we can't hire waiters, or get wood, or in short, any thing." 66 99 then, constance, (with a deep sigh) make the little poet write apologies to the whole party, and i must go to bed and sham desperately ill. oh me! oh me! constance, the english abroad. 269 leave the room or i shall sink into a swoon; send me up my smelling-bottle and the ether." here an hysteric fit concluded the scene. i will not, in the language of virgil say, "ab uno disce omnes." but i must say, from the example of one, you may learn much of the english conduct and character abroad. it will be objected that these are but a certain set; true, but the set is numerous, and one has to regret that their conduct in their native land forced them to their present state of banishment, where their behaviour disgraces the first and freest nation in the world. i was once asked, "what would you have people do whose estates are out at elbows ?" simply to change their habits," was the answer of the hermit abroad. end of vol. i. london: shackell and arrowsmith, johnson's court, fleet street. princeton university library dupl 32101 015324427 383 .93 .341 v.i date issued date due date issued date due due jun 15 1999 duchun 15 1990 un t5.2003 115 nypl research libraries 3 3433 07486028 3 ncl mallet ———— +-1 149 7746 j a myntor zu and fager theodor a: o r, the hermit. ? quita lat a poe m. david in three cantos. fortunati ambo fi quid mea carmina poſſunt, nulla dics unquam memori vos eximet aevo. by e mallet. *** the second edition. london: printed for paul vaillant, in the strand. mdccxlviii. price two shillings. ) virgil ncl mall 1. no mjest the new york public library 312673b ason, lenox and 1.l. neznaninns f : l to the right honorable philip dormer stanhope, earl of chesterfield, one of his majesty's principal secretaries of state. he author of this poem had devoted t it, in his own thoughts, an offering of eſteem to your lordſhip, ſeveral years before he was determined to make it public. and now, my lord, if a private man may be pardoned for faying, what he feels the higheſt fatisfaction in being able to fay with truth, he takes this opportunity of owning, that no change in your lordship's fituation fince has a prolandwire me 3 • 1995 ii the dedication. produced any alteration in his fentiments; or left a writer, who wiſhes only to do himſelf honor by the choice of his patron, at liberty to think of another. tho you gave leave for this addrefs, after having peruſed part of the following fheets in manufcript, yet he dares not avail himſelf of that diſtinction, however agreeably flattering, to befpeak his reader's favour. he knows, my lord, that the beſt judges of writing fometimes grant to perfonal kindneſs, or the well-meaning vanity of poets, that indulgence which ſhould be conferred on real merit alone. but, whatever may be the character, or the fate, of this performance, the writer's views are not confined to himſelf or it. if we may judge, by daily and diſagreeable proofs, it ſhould ſeem that we are relapfing faſt into barbarifm, either from a failure, or a ftrange mifapplication, of genius. the politer arts, my lord, which you muſt love, 1 were the dedication. 111 were it only out of gratitude, decline viſibly thro all their branches: and muſt languiſh more and more without fuch encouragement as may adorn while it rewards them. in this crifis, the eyes of mankind are naturally turned upon one, who, by taſte as well as reflection, feels and difcerns their utility. cardinal richelieu, amidst the mighty ſchemes of ambition that employed his thoughts, amidſt the domeftic and foreign wars that perplexed his adminiftration, yet found leifure to erect an academy for the french tongue; which ſtill flouriſhes to the advantage of his country, as well as to the peculiar honor of his own name. a propofal, for an eſtabliſhment of the like nature here, was agreed to by the late treaſurer oxford: and a certain annual fum, for the fupport of it, was certainly promiſed. how it happened that this promiſe was never carried into execution, it would be improper to enquire in this place. but may we not flatter our hopes that ſome fuch ſcheme, or one yet more extenſively uſeful, will a 2 take iv the dedication. take place, fo as to be rendered effectual under your lordſhip's influence? and that, ages hence, thoſe who are beſt fitted by their talents, to inſtruct or entertain the public, will have cauſe to remember, with gratitude as well as reverence, the miniſtry of the earl of chesterfield? i am, with the utmoſt reſpect, april 24th, 1747. my lord, your lordship's most faithful and moft humble fervant. david mallet, cotemporary of pope bolingbroke зд the preface. i he following poem was originally intended for the stage, and planned out, feveral years ago, into a regular tragedy. but the author found it neceſſary to change his firft defign, and to give his work the form it now appears in; for reasons with which it might be impertinent to trouble the public: tho, to a man who thinks and feels in a certain manner, thofe reafons were invincibly ſtrong. • as the scene of the piece is laid in the most remote and unfrequented of all the hebrides, or weſtern iſles that furround one part of great britain; it may not be improper to inform the reader, that he will find a particular account of it, in a little treatiſe, published near half a century ago, under the title of a voyage to st. kilda. the author, who had himself been upon the spot, defcribes at length the fituation, extent, and produce of that folitary ifland; sketches out the natural biftory of the birds of feafon that tranfmigrate thither annually, and relates the fingular cuftoms that fill prevailed among the inhabitants: a race of people, then the most uncorrupted in their manners, and therefore the leaft unhappy in their lives of any, perhaps, on the face of the whole earth. to whom might have been applied what an an1 tient vi the preface. tient hiftorian fays of certain barbarous nations, when be compares them with their more civilized neighbours: plus valuit apud hos ignorantia vitiorum, quam apud græcos omnia philofophorum praecepta. they live together, as in the greateft fimplicity of heart, fo in the most inviolable harmony and union of ſentiments. they have neither filver nor gold; but barter among themselves for the few neceffaries they may reciprocally want. to frangers they are extremely hofpitable, and no lefs charitable to their own poor; for whofe relief each family in the ifland contributes its share monthly, and at every feftival fends them befides a portion of mutton or beef. both fexes have a genius to poetry, and compofe not only fongs, but pieces of a more elevated turn, in their own language, which is very emphatical. one of thofe iflanders, having been prevailed with to vifit the greatest trading town in northbritain, was infinitely aftonished at the length of the voyage, and at the mighty kingdoms (for fuch be reckoned the larger ifles) by which they failed. he would not venture himſelf into the streets of that city without being led by the hand. at fight of the great church, he owned that it was indeed a lofty rock; but infifted that in his native country of st. kilda, there were others ftill higher. however, the caverns formed in it (fo he named the pillars and arches on which it is raiſed) were hollowed, he faid, more commodiously than any he had ever feen there. at the ſhake, occafioned in the steeple, and the horrible din that founded in his ears, upon tolling out the great bells, he appeared under the utmoft confternation, believing the frame of nature was fall4 ing the preface. vii " ing to pieces about him. he thought the perfons who wore mafks, not diftinguishing whether they were men or women, had been guilty of fome ill thing, for which they did not dare to fhew their faces. the beauty and ftateliness of the trees which he faw, then for the first time, (as in his own island there grows not a fhrub) equally furprized and delighted him: but he obferved, with a kind of terror, that as he paffed among their branches, they pulled him back again. he had been perfuaded to drink a pretty large dofe of frong waters; and upon finding himself drowsy after it, and rea dy to fall into a flumber which he fancied was to be his laft, be expreffed to his companions the great fatisfaction he felt in to eafy a paffage out of this world: for, faid he, it is attended with no kind of pain. among fuch fort of men it was, that aurelius fought refuge from the violence and cruelty of his enemies. the time appears to have been towards the latter part of the reign of charles the second: when those who governed scotland under him, with no less cruelty than impolicy, made the people of that country defperate; and then plundered, imprisoned, or butchered them for the natural effects of fuch defpair. the best and worthieft men were often the objects of their most unrelenting fury. under the title of fanatics, or feditious, they affected to herd, and of courſe perfecuted, whoever wished well to his country, or ventured to stand up in defence of the laws and a legal government. i have now in my hands the copy of a warrant, figned by king charles himself, for military execution upon them without viii the preface. " out process or conviction: and i know that the original is still kept in the fecretary's office for that part of the united kingdom. thus much i thought it neceſſary to ſay, that the reader may not be mifled to look upon the relation given, by aurelius in the fecond canto, as drawn from the wantonnefs of imagination; when it hardly ariſes to ſtrict hiftorical truth. what reception this poem may meet with, the author cannot forefee: and, in his humble but happy retirement, needs not be over-anxious to know. he has endeavoured to make it one regular and confiftent whole; to be true to nature in bis thoughts, and to the genius of the language in his manner of expreffing them. if he has fucceeded in theſe points, but above all in effectually touching the paffions (which as it is the genuine province, fo is it the great triumph, of poetry) for other imperfections that may be found in this performance, be dares rely on the candor of his more difcerning readers. • amyntor 30 r amyntor dav t and theodora: o r, rgy, in partiyasyong mga pa mallet: www. the hermit. by malleit canto i. 1 cotemporary of rope and d. baling broke iamon ***l********** and d cabacson del. rue fubincu 27 20 205 plantation d'un arbre de liberté. } ihard scul entrel 24. a myntor and theodora: or, the hermit. canto i ar in the watry wafte, where his broad wave from world to world the vaft atlantic rolls, f on from the piny fhores of labrador to frozen thulè eaſt, her aery height 5 aloft to heaven remoteſt kilda lifts; laft of the fea-girt hebrides, that guard, in filial train, britania's parent-coaft. thrice happy land! tho freezing on the verge of artic ſkies; yet, blameleſs ſtill of arts b 2 that 4 amyntor and theodora: 01, 10 that poliſh, to deprave, each fofter clime, with fimple nature, fimple vertue bleſt. beyond ambition's walk: where never war uprear'd his fanguine ſtandard; nor unſheath'd, for wealth or power, the defolating fword. 15 where luxury, foft syren, who around to thouſand nations deals her nectar'd cup of pleaſing bane that foothes at once and kills, is yet a name unknown. but calm content that lives to reafon; antient faith that binds 20 the plain community of guileleſs hearts in love and union; innocence of ill their guardian genius: theſe, the powers that rule this little world, to all its fons fecure man's happieſt life; the foul ferene and found 25 from paffion's rage, the body from diſeaſe. red on each cheek behold the roſe of health; firm in each finew vigor's plyant fpring, 1 by canto i. 5 the hermit. + by temperance brac'd to peril and to pain, amid the floods they ftem, or on the ſteep 30 of upright rocks their ſtraining ſteps ſurmount, for food or paſtime. theſe light up their morn,, and cloſe their eve in flumber fweetly deep, beneath the north, within the circling roar of oceans raging round. but laft and beft, 35 what avarice, what ambition fhall not know, true liberty is theirs, the heaven-fent gueſt, who in the cave, or on th' uncultur'd wild, with independence dwells; and peace of mind, in youth, in age, their fun, that never ſets.. 6 40 daughter of heaven and nature, deign thy aid, aufpicious mufe ! o whether from the depth of evening-foreft, brown with broadeſt ſhade; or from the brow fublime of vernal alp as morning dawns; or from the vale at noon, by 6 amyntor and theodora: or, 45 by ſome ſoft ſtream that flides with liquid foot thro bowery groves, where infpiration fits and liftens to thy lore, fpontaneous come! o'er theſe wild waves, o'er this unharbour'd ſhore, thy wing high-hovering ſpread; and to the gale, 50 the boreal fpirit breathing liberal round from echoing hill to hill, thy lyre attune with anfwering cadence free, as beft beſeems the tragic theme my plaintive verfe unfolds. : here, good aurelius and a ſcene more wild 55 the world around, or deeper folitude, affliction could not find-aurelius here, by fate unequal and the crime of war expell'd his native home, the facred vale that faw him bleft, now wretched and unknown, 60 wore out the flow remains of ſetting life in bitterneſs of thought: and with the furge, and canto i. 7 the hermit. and with the founding ftorm his murmur'd moan would often mix-oft as remembrance fad recall'd the mournful paſt; a faithful wife, 65 whom love firſt choſe, whom reaſon long endear'd, his foul's companion and his fofter friend; with one fair daughter, in her rofy prime, her dawn of opening charms, defenceleſs left within a tyrant's graſp! his foe profeſs'd, 70 by civil madneſs, by intemperate zeal for differing rites, embitter'd into hate, and cruelty remorfelefs! thus he liv'd: if this was life, to load the blaſt with fighs; hung o'er its edge, to fwell the flood with te 75 at midnight-hour: for midnight frequent heard the lonely mourner, defolate of heart, pour all the huſband, all the father forth in unavailing anguifh, ftretch'd along the naked beach; or fhivering on the cliff, 2 smote 8 amyntor and theodora : or, 80 smote with the wintry pole in bitter ſtorm, hail, fnow, and ſhower, dark-drifting round his head. such were his hours; till time, the wretche's friend, life's great phyſician, ſkill'd alone to cloſe, where forrow long has wak'd, the weeping eye, 85 and from the brain, with baleful vapours black, each fullen ſpectre chace, his balm at length, lenient of pain, thro every fever'd pulſe with gentleft hand infus'd. a penſive calm arofe, but unaffur'd: as after winds 90 of ruffling wing, the ſea ſubſiding flow still trembles from the ftorm. now reafon firft, her throne reſuming, bid devotion raiſe to heaven his eye; and thro the turbid mifts, dark-interpos'd, of paffion and of fenſe, 95 adoring own the fole unerring cause, all-righteous judge, who bids what ftill is beft, in canto i. 9 a the hermit. in cloud or fun-fhine; whofe fevereſt hand wounds but to heal, and chaftens to amend. thus, in his bofom, every weak exceſs, 100 the rage of grief, the felneſs of revenge to healthful meaſure temper'd and reduc'd by vertue's hand; and in her brightening beam each error clear'd away, as fen-born fogs before th' afcending fun; thro faith he lives 105 beyond time's bounded continent, the walks of fin and death. anticipating heaven in pious hope, he feems already there, safe on her facred fhore; and fees beyond, in radiant view, the world of light and love, 110 where peace delights to dwell; where one fair morn still orient fmiles, and one diffufive ſpring, that fears no ftorm and ſhall no winter know, th' immortal year empurples. if a figh с yet 10 amyntor and theodora: or, yet murmurs in his breaft, 'tis for the pangs 115 thoſe deareft names, a wife, a child, muft feel, yet fuffering in his fate: 'tis for a foe, who, deaf himſelf to mercy, may from heaven that mercy, when moft wanted, aſk in vain. the fun, now ſtation'd with the lucid twins, 120 o'er every fouthern clime had pour'd profuſe the rofy year; and in each pleaſing hue, that greens the leaf or thro the bloffom glows with florid light, the meek-ey'd may array'd: while zephire leads the filver-footed dews, 125 her ſoft attendants, o'er the bloomy ſcene to ſhed freſh ſpirit and perfuming balm. nor here, in this chill region, on the brow of winter's pale dominion, is unfelt the ray ethereal, or unhail'd the riſe 130 of her mild reign. from warbling vale and hill, with canto i. the hermit. ii with wild-thyme flowering, betony and balme, blue lavender and carmel's ſpicy root fragrance and health impregnate every breeze. but, high above, the ſeaſon full exerts 135 its vernant force in yonder peopled rocks, to whofe wild folitude, from worlds unknown, the birds of paffage tranfmigrating come; at nature's fummons their aëreal ftate annual to found. and fee! from hill to hill, 140 whitening each funny cliff, or new-arriv'd in file continuous or in leffening wedge, unnumber'd colonies of foreign wing, of various nations, in bold voyage fteer'd, safe thro the furges of the tracklefs air, 145 by heaven's directive fpirit, here to raiſe c2 their line 132. the root of this plant, otherwife named argatilis fylvaticus, is aromatic; and by the natives reckoned cordial to the ftomach. see martin's western isles of scotland, p. 180. 12 amyntor and theodora: or, their temporary realm; and form fecure, where food awaits them copious from the wave, and ſhelter from the rock, their nuptial leagues: each tribe apart, and all on taſks of love, 150 to hatch the pregnant egg, to rear and guard their helpleſs infants, piouſly intent. led by the day abroad, with lonely ftep, "and ruminating ſweet and bitter thought, aurelius, from the weſtern bay, his eye 155 now rais'd to this amufive ſcene in air, ray with wonder mark'd; now caft with level wide o'er the moving wilderneſs of waves, from pole to pole thro boundleſs ſpace diffus'd, magnificently dreadful! where, at large, 160 leviathan, with each inferior name of fea-born kinds, ten thouſand thouſand tribes, finds endlefs range for paſture and for ſport. wak'd canto i. the hermit. 13 wak'd reverence lifts the hermit's thought: he owns the hand almighty who its chanell'd bed 165 immeasurable funk, and pour'd abroad, fenc'd with eternal mounds, the fluid ſphere; with every wind to waft large commerce on, join pole to pole, confociate fever'd worlds, and link in bonds of intercourfe and love 170 earth's univerfal family. now rofe sweet evening's folemn hour. the fun declin'd hung golden o'er this nether firmament; whoſe broad cerulean mirror, calmly bright, gave back his beamy vifage to the day 175 with fplendor undiminiſh'd; and each cloud, white, azure, purple, glowing round his throne in fair aëreal landſchape. here, alone on earth's remoteſt verge, aurelius breath'd the healthful gale, and felt the fmiling fcene 180 with awe-mix'd pleaſure, mufing as he hung in i 14 amyntor and theodora: or, in filence o'er the billows huſh'd beneath. when lo! a found, amid the wave-worn rocks, deaf-murmuring roſe, and plaintive roll'd along from cliff to cavern: as the breath of winds, 185 at twilight hour, remote and hollow heard thro wintry pines, high-waving o'er the ſteep of ſky-crown'd apenine. the sea-py ceas'd at once to warble. screaming, from his neſt the fulmar foar'd, and ſhot a weftward flight 190 from fhore to fea. on came, before her hour, invading night, and hung the troubled ſky with fearful blackneſs round; when fierce upfprung, thick cloud and ftorm and ruin on his wing, the raging south; and headlong o'er the fea 195 fell horrible, with broad-defcending blaſt... aloft, and fafe beneath a fheltering cliff. whence overheard the bending fummit frowns gami cll as p apdaila mal line 189. see martin's voyage to st. kilda, p. 58. 6 jas. on canto i. the hermit. 15 on the rous'd flood, aurelius ftood apall'd: his ear affail'd with all the thundering main ! 200 his eye with mountains furging to the ſtars! commotion infinite! where laft wave yon blends with the ſky its foam, a ſhip in view shoots ſudden forth, ſteep-falling from the clouds : yet diſtant ſeen and dim; till onward borne 205 before the blaſt, each growing fail expands, each maft afpires, and all th' advancing frame bounds on his eye diftinct. with fharpen'd ken, its courſe he watches, and in awful thought that power invokes, whofe voice the wild winds hear, 210 whoſe nod the furge reveres, to look from heaven, and fave, who elfe muft perifh, wretched men, in this dark hour, amid the dread abyſs, 101 with fears amaz'd, by horrors compafs'd round. but o ill-omen'd, death-devoted heads! 215 for death bestrides the billow, nor your own, nor 16 amyntor and theodora: or, nor others' offer'd vows can ſtay the flight of inftant fate. and lo! his fecret feat, where never fun-beam glimmer'd, deep amidſt a cavern's jaws voraginous and vaſt, 220 the formy genius of the deep forfakes: and o'er the waves, that roar beneath his frown, afcending baleful, bids the tempeft fpread, turbid and terrible with hail and rain, p its blackeſt pinion; pour its loudening blaſts 225 in whirlwind forth, and from his loweſt depth upturn the vext atlantic. round and round the tortur'd fhip, at his imperious call, is wheel'd in dizzy whirl: her guiding helm breaks ſhort; her maſts in craſhing ruin fall; 230 and each rent fail flies fluttering looſe in air. now, fearful moment! in one ridgy fwell half ocean heaves, and o'er the foundering hull a billowy curve with horrid ſhade impends " 2 ah! canto i. the hermit. 17 ah! fave them, heaven!-it burſts in deluge down 235 with boundleſs undulation. shore and ſky rebellow to the roar. at once engulph'd, veffel and crew beneath its torrent-ſweep aurelius wept: are funk, to riſe no more. the tear unbidden dew'd his hoary cheek. 240 he turn'd his ſtep; he fled the fatal ſcene, and brooding, in fad filence, o'er the fight to him alone diſclos'd, his wounded heart pour'd out to heaven in fighs: thy will be done, not mine, fupreme disposer! as is meet; 245 but death demands a tear, and man muſt feel for human woes: the reft fubmiffion checks. not diftant far, and where the winding bay looks northward on the pole, a rocky arch expands its felf-pois'd concave; as the gate, ꭰ line 248. see martin's voyage to st. kilda, p. 20. am18 amyntor and theodora: or, 250 ample and broad and pillar'd maffy-proof, of fome unfolding temple. on its height is heard the tread of daily-climbing flocks, that, o'er the green roof ſpred, their fragrant food untended crop. as to this cavern'd path 255 aurelius turn'd, and, buſy in his breaſt, the paſt and preſent griev'd reflection roll'd, struck with fad echoes, from the founding vault remurmur'd thick and fhrill, he rais'd his head: and ſaw th' affembled natives in a ring, 260 with wonder and with pity bending o'er all-motionleſs on earth a fhipwreck'd man. he lay. the living luftre from his eye, the vermil hue extinguiſh'd from his cheek: and in their place, on each chill feature ſpred, 265 the fhadowy cloud and ghaftlineſs of death with pale fuffufion fat. so looks the moon, so faintly wan, thro hovering miſts at eve, 4 grey canto i. 19 the hermit. grey autumn's train. faft from his hairs diftill'd the briny wave: and cloſe within his graſp 270 was clench'd a broken oar, as one who long had ftem'd the flood with agonizing breaſt, and ſtruggled ſtrong for life. of youthful prime he feem'd, and built by nature's nobleft hand; where bold proportion and where ſoftening grace 275 mix'd in each limb, and harmoniz'd his frame. aurelius, from the breathleſs clay, his eye to heaven imploring rais'd: then, for he knew that life, within her central cell retir'd, may lurk unfeen, diminiſh'd but not quench'd, 280 he bid tranſport it ſpeedy thro the vale, to his poor cell that lonely ſtood and low, safe from the north beneath a floping hill: an antique frame, orbicular, and rais’d on columns rude; its roof with reverend mofs d 2 light20 amyntor and theodora: or, 285 light-ſhaded o'er; its front in ivy hid, that mantling crept aloft. with pious hand 'they turn'd, they chaf'd his frozen limbs, and fum'd the vapoury air with aromatic ſmells: then, drops of fovereign efficacy, drawn 290 from mountain plants, within his lips infus'd. slow, from the mortal tranſe, as men from dreams of direful viſion, ſhuddering he awakes : while life, to quivering motion, faintly lifts his fluttering pulſe; and gradual o'er his cheek 295 the rofy current wins its refluent way. recovering to new pain, his eyes he turn'd severe on heaven, on the ſurrounding hills with twilight dim, and on the croud unknown diffolv'd in tears around: then clos'd again, 300 as loathing light and life. his limbs convuls'd, his bofom heav'd, as when the fabled hag sits huge and horrid on the fleeper's limbs, thus canto i. the hermit. 21 thus from his lips in hurling accents wild diſtraction ſpoke: down, down with every fail305 mercy, fweet heaven---ha! now whole ocean fweeps in tempeft o'er our heads-my foul's laſt hope! we will not part-help! help! yon wave, behold! that fwells betwixt, has borne her from my fight. o for a fun to light this black abyſs! 310 gone---loft---for ever loft! he ceas'd. amaze and trembling on the pale affiftants fell: whom now, with greeting and the words of peace, aurelius bid depart. a pauſe enfu'd, mute, mournful, folemn. on the stranger's face 315 obſervant, anxious, hung his fix'd regard : watchful his ear, each murmur, every breath, attentive feiz'd; now eager to begin confoling ſpeech; now doubtful to invade the facred filence due to grief fupreme. then 22 amyntor and theodora : or, 320 then thus at laft. o from devouring ſeas by miracle eſcap'd! if, with thy life, thy fenfe return'd can yet difcern the hand, all-wonderful, that thro yon raging fea, yon whirling waſte of tempeft, led thee fafe; 325 that hand divine with grateful awe confeſs, with proftrate thanks adore. when thou, alas! waft number'd with the dead, and clos'd within th' unfathom'd gulph; when human hope was fled, and human help in vain---th' almighty voice, 330 then bade deſtruction ſpare, and bade the deep yield up its prey: that by his mercy fav'd, a monument of wonder and of love, that mercy, thy fair life's remaining race may juſtify; to all the fons of men, 335 thy brethren, ever gracious in their need. such praiſe delights him mofthe hears me not. some canto i. the hermit. some fecret anguiſh, fome tranfcendent woe sits heavy on his heart, and from his eyes, 340 thro the clos'd lids, now rolls in bitter ftreamyet, fpeak thy foul, afflicted as thou art! for know, by mournful priviledge 'tis mine, my ſelf moſt wretched and in forrow's ways severely train'd, to ſhare in every pang 345 the wretched feel; to foothe the fad of heart, to number tear for tear, and groan for groan, with every fon and daughter of diſtreſs. speak then, and give thy labouring boſom vent: my pity is, my friendſhip fhall be thine, 350 to calm thy pain, and guide thy virtue back, thro reaſon's pathes, to happineſs and heaven. the hermit thus: and, after fome fad pauſe of mufing wonder, thus the man unknown. 23 what 24 amyntor and theodora: or, what have i heard?-on this untravel'd fhore, 355 nature's laſt limit, hem'd with oceans round howling and harbourleſs, beyond all faith a comforter to find, whofe language wears the garb of civil life! a friend, whoſe breaſt the gracious meltings of fweet pity move360 amazement all! my grief to filence charm'd is loft in wonder!-but, thou good unknown, if woes, for ever wedded to deſpair, that with no cure, are thine, behold in me a meet companion; one whom earth and heaven 365 combine to curfe; whom never future morn shall light to joy, nor evening with repoſe deſcending ſhade.---o ſon of this wild world! from focial converſe tho for ever barr'd, tho chill'd with endleſs winter from the pole, 370 yet warm'd by goodneſs, form'd to tender ſenſe of human woes, beyond what milder climes, 4 by canto i. 25 the hermit. by fairer funs attemper'd, courtly boaſt; o fay, did ere thy breaft, in youthful life, touch'd by a beam from beauty all-divine, 375 did e'er thy bofom her ſweet influence own, in pleafing tumult pour'd thro every vein, and panting at the heart, when firſt our eye receives impreffion! then, as paſſion grew, did heaven confenting to thy wiſh indulge 380 that blifs no wealth can bribe, no power beſtow, that blifs of angels, love by love repaid? heart ftreaming full to heart in mutual flow of faith and friendſhip, tenderneſs and truthif theſe thy fate diftinguifh'd, thou wilt then, 385 my joys conceiving, image my deſpair, how total! how extreme! for this, all this, late my fair fortune, wreck'd on yonder flood, lies loft and bury'd there---o awful heaven! who to the wind and to the whelming wave e her 26 amyntor and theodora: or, 390 her blameleſs head devoted, thou alone can't tell what i have loft---o ill-ftarr'd maid! o moſt undone amyntor!-sighs and tears, and heart-heav'd groans, at this, fupprefs'd his voice: the reft was agony and dumb deſpair. 395 now, o'er their heads, damp night her ſtormy gloom spred, ere the glimering twilight was expir'd, with huge and heavy horror cloſing round in doubling clouds on clouds. the mournful ſcene, the moving tale, aurelius deeply felt : 400 and thus reply'd, as one in nature ſkill'd, with foft affenting forrow in his look, and words to foothe, not combat hopeleſs love. amyntor, by that heaven who fees thy tears! by faith and friendſhip's fympathy divine! 405 could i the forrows heal i more than ſhare, 'i this canto i. the hermit. 27 this bofom, truſt me, ſhould from thine transfer its fharpeft grief. such grief, alas! how juft? how long in filent anguiſh to deſcend, when reaſon and when fondneſs o'er the tomb 410 are fellow-mourners? he, who can refign, has never lov'd: and wert thou to the ſenſe, the facred feeling of a lofs like thine, cold and infenfible, thy breaft were then no manfion for humanity, or thought 415 of noble aim. their dwelling is with love, and tender pity; whoſe kind tear adorns the clouded cheek, and fanctifys the foul they ſoften, not fubdue. we both will mix, for her thy virtue lov'd, thy truth laments; 420 our focial fighs: and ſtill, as morn unveils the brightening hill, or evening's miſty ſhade its brow obfcures, each fair-unfolding grace, each charm freſh-opening in her face and mind e 2 shall 28 amyntor and theodora: or, shall be our darling theme. then ſhalt thou hear 425 a tale of woes, in fad return from me, so terrible---amyntor, thy pain'd heart, amid its own, will fhudder at the ills that mine has bled with---but behold! the dark, and drowſy hour fteals faft upon our talk. 430 here break we off: and thou, ſad mourner, try thy weary limbs, thy wounded mind, to balm with timely ſleep. each gracious wing from heaven of thoſe that minifter to erring man, near-hovering, hufh thy paffions into calm; 435 serene thy flumbers with preſented ſcenes of brighteſt vifion; whiſper to thy heart that holy peace which goodneſs ever ſhares: and to us both be friendly as we need. end of the first canto. amyntor and theodora: o r, the hermit canto ii c 1. αμυν το r or and theodor a: or, the hermit. canto ii. n o w midnight roſe, and o'er the general ſcene, air, ocean, earth, drew broad her blackeſt veil, vapour and cloud. around th' unſleeping iſle, yet howl'd the whirlwind, yet the billow groan'd; 5 and, in mix'd horror, to aмyntor's ear borne thro the gloom, his fhrinking ſenſe appall'd. shook by each blaſt, and ſwept by every wave, again pale memory labours in the ſtorm: again from her is torn, whom more than life his 32 amyntor and theodora : or, 10 his fondneſs lov'd. and now, another ſhower of forrow, o'er the dear unhappy maid, effufive ſtream'd; till late, thro every power the foul fubdu'd funk fad to flow repoſe: and all her darkening fcenes, by dim degrees, 15 were quench'd in total night. a pauſe from pain not long to laft: for fancy, oft awake while reaſon fleeps, from her illufive cell call'd up wild ſhapes of viſionary fear, of vifionary blifs, the hour of reft 20 to mock with mimic fhews. and lo! the deeps in aery tumult fwell. beneath a hill amyntor heaves of overwhelming feas; or rides, with dizzy dread, from cloud to cloud, the billow's back. anon, the fhadowy world 25 shifts to fome boundleſs continent unknown, where folitary, o'er the ſtarleſs void, dumb filence broods. thro heaths of dreary length, 5 slow canto ii. the hermit. 3:3 slow on he drags his ftaggering ftep infirm with breathlefs toil; hears torrent floods afar 30 roar thro the wild; and, plung'd in central caves, falls headlong many a fathom into night; yet there, at once, in all her living charms, that brighten'd with their glow the brown abyſs, roſe theodora. heavenly in her eye 35 sat, without cloud, the tender-fmiling foul, that, guilt unknowing, had no wiſh to hide. a ſpring of ſudden myrtles flowering round their walk embower'd; while nightingales beneath sung fpoufals, as along th' enamel'd turf 40 they feem'd to fly, and interchanged their fouls, melting in mutual foftneſs. thrice his arms the fair encircled: thrice fhe fled his grafp, and fading into darkneſs mix'd with air---o turn! o ftay thy flight !---fo loud he cry'd, 45 sleep and its train of humid vapours fled. f . he 34 amyntor and theodora: or, he groan'd, he gaz'd around: his inward fenfe yet glowing with the vifion's vivid beam, still, on his eye, the hovering fhadow blaz'd; her voice ftill murmur'd in his tinkling ear; 50 grateful deception! till returning thought left broad awake, amid th' incumbent lour of mute and mournful night, again he felt his grief inflam'd throb freſh in every vein. to frenzy ftung, upſtarting from his couch, 55 the vale, the ſhore with darkling ſtep he roam'd, like fome drear ſpectre from the grave unbound: then, ſcaling yonder cliff, prone o'er its brow he hung, in act to plunge amid the flood scarce from that height difcern'd. nor reafon's voice, 60 nor ow'd fubmiffion to the will of heaven, reſtrains him; but, as paffion whirls his thought, fond expectation, that perchance eſcap'd, tho paffing all belief, the frailer fkiff, to canto ii. the hermit. 35 to which himſelf had bore th' unhappy fair, 65 may yet be ſeen. around, o'er fea and fhore, he roll'd his ardent eye; but nought around on land or wave within his ken appears, nor ſkiff, nor floating corſe, on which to ſhed the laft fad tear, and lay the covering mold! 70 tho now, wide-open'd by the wakeful hours heaven's orient gate, forth on her progrefs comes aurora fmiling, and her purple lamp lifts high o'er earth and fea: while, all-unveil'd, the vaſt horizon on amyntor's eye 75 pours full her ſcenes of wonder, wildly great, magnificently various. from this ſteep, diffus'd immenfe in rowling profpect lay the northern deep. amidft, from ſpace to ſpace, her numerous ifles, rich gems of albion's crown, 80 as flow th' afcending miſts difperſe in air, f 2 · shoot } 36 amyntor and theodora : or, ; shoot gradual from her bofom: and beyond, like diftant clouds blue-floating on the verge of evening fkies, break forth the dawning hills a thouſand landfchapes! barren fome and bare, 85 rock pil'd on rock amazing up to heaven, of horrid grandeur: fome with founding aſh, or oak broad-ſhadowing, or the ſpiry growth of waving pine, high-plum'd; and now beheld more lovely in the fun's adorning beam, 90 that fair-arifing o'er yon eaftern cliff the various verdure tinctures gay with gold. mean while aurelius, wak'd from ſweet repoſe that temperance bids in timely dews defcend on all who live to her, his mournful gueſt 95 came forth to hail; as hofpitable rights and virtue's rule enjoin: but firſt to him, spring of all charity, who gave the heart with canto ii. 37the hermit. with kindly fenfe to glow, his morning-vows, superior duty, thus the fage addreft. 100 fountain of light! from whom yon rifing fun firſt drew his fplendor; source of life and love! whoſe fmile now wakes o'er earth's rekindling face the boundleſs bluſh of fpring; o firſt and beſt! thy effence, tho from human fight and ſearch, 105 tho from the climb of all created thought, ineffably remov'd; yet man himſelf, thy loweft child of reaſon, man may read the maker's hand, intelligence fupreme, unbounded power, on all his works impreſt, 110 in characters coeval with the fun, and with the fun to laft; from world to world, from age to age, thro every clime, reveal'd. hail univerfal goodneſs! in full ftream for ever flowing from beneath the throne thro 38 amyntor and theodora: or, 115 thro earth, air, fea, to all things that have life: from all that live on earth, in air and ſea, the great community of nature's fons, to thee, firft father, ceafelefs praiſe aſcend! and in the general hymn my grateful voice 120 be duely heard, among thy works not leaſt, nor loweft; with intelligence inform'd, to know thee and adore; with free will crown'd, where virtue leads to follow and be bleft. o whether by thy prime decree ordain'd 125 to days of future life; or whether now the mortal hour is inftant, ftill vouchfafe, parent and friend, to guide me blameleſs on thro this dark ſcene of error and of ill, thy truth to light me and thy peace to chear. 130 all elfe, of me unafk'd, thy will fupreme with-hold or grant: and let that will be done. ..... 4 this canto ii. 39 the hermit. 145 this from the foul in filence breath'd fincere, the hill's ſteep fide with firm elaſtic ſtep he lightly fcal'd: fuch health the frugal board, 135 the morn's freſh breath that exerciſe refpires in mountain-walks, and conſcience free from blame, our life's beſt cordial, can thro age prolong. there, loſt in thought, and ſelf-abandon'd, lay the man unknown; nor heard approach his hoft, 140 nor rais'd his drooping head. aurelius mov'd by foft compaffion, which the favage ſcene, shut up and barr'd amid furrounding feas from human commerce, quicken'd into ſenſe of ſharper forrow, thus apart began. o fight, that from the eye of wealth or pride, even in their hour of vaineft thought, might draw a feeling tear! whom yeſterday beheld by 40 amyntor and theodora; or, by love and fortune crown'd, of all poffeft that fancy, trans'd in faireſt viſion, dreams; 150 now loft to all, each hope that ſoftens life, each blifs that chears; there, on the damp earth fpred, beneath a heaven unknown, behold him now! and let the gay, the fortunate, the great, the proud, be taught, what now the wretched feel, 155 the happy have to fear. o man forlorn, too plain i read thy heart, by fondneſs drawn to this fad ſcene, to fights that but inflame its amorous anguiſhhear me, heaven! exclaim'd 160 the frantic mourner, could that anguiſh, riſe to madneſs and to mortal agony i yet would bleſs my fate; by one kind pang from this fierce form, theſe keener pangs of thought for ever freed. i am weary of the fun. 165 to me the future flight of days and years. 4 is -canto ii. the hermit. 41 is darkneſs, is deſpair---but who complains forgets that he can dy. one duty paid, grave, one tear of ſoftneſs ſprinkled on the my part in life is o'er. o fainted maid! 170 for fuch in heaven thou art, if from thy feat of holy reft, beyond theſe changeful ſkies, if names on earth moſt facred once and dear, a lover and a friend, if yet thoſe names can wake thy pity, dart one guiding ray 175 to light me where, in cave or creek are thrown thy lifeleſs limbs; that i---o grief fupreme ! o fate unequal! was thy lover fav'd for fuch a taſk?---that i thoſe dear remains, with maiden-rites adorn'd, at laſt may lodge 180 beneath the hallow'd vault; and weeping there, o'er thy cold urn, await the hour to cloſe theſe eyes in peace, and mix this duft with thine! 1 g such 42 amyntor and theodora: or, such and fo dire, reply'd the cordial friend in pity's look and language, fuch, alas! 185 were late my thoughts. whate'er of deep-felt woe can anguiſh human thought, grief, rage, deſpair, have all been mine, and with alternate war this bofom ravag'd. hearken then, good youth, my ſtory mark, and from another's fate, 190 pre-eminently wretched, learn thy own, sad as it feems, to ballance and to bear. in me, a man behold, whoſe morn ferene, whoſe noon of better life, with honor ſpent, in virtuous purpoſe or in honeſt act, 195 drew fair diſtinction on my public name, from thoſe among mankind, the nobler few, whofe praiſe is fame: but there, in that true ſource whence happineſs with pureft ftream deſcends, in canto ii. the hermit. 43 in home-found peace and love, fupremely bleſt! 200 union of hearts, conſent of wedded wills, by friendſhip knit, by mutual faith fecur'd, our hopes and fears, our earth and heaven, the fame ! at laft, amyntor, in my failing age, fallen from fuch height, and with the felon-herd, 205 robbers and outlaws, number'd---thought that ftill stings deep the heart and cloathes the cheek with ſhame! then doom'd to feel what guilt alone fhould fear, the hand of public vengeance; arm'd by rage not juſtice; rais'd to injure not redreſs, 210 to rob not guard, to ruin not defend : and all, o fovereign reason! all deriv'd from power that claims thy warrant to do wrong! a right divine to violate unblam'd each law, each rule, that by himself obferv'd, 215 the god prefcribes, whoſe ſanction kings pretend! g 2 o 44 amyntor and theodora: or, o charles! o monarch! in long exile train'd, whole hopeless years, th' oppreffor's hand to know how hateful and how hard; thy felf reliev'd, now hear thy people, groaning under wrongs 220 of equal load, adjure thee by thoſe days of want and woe, of danger and deſpair, as heaven has thine, to pity their diſtreſs! yet, from the plain good meaning of my heart, be far th' unhallow'd licenſe of abuſe; 225 be far the bitterneſs of faintly zeal, that hid behind the patriot's name prophan'd maſques hate and malice to the legal throne, in juſtice founded, circumfcrib'd by laws, the prince to guard---but guard the people too; 230 from heaven their equal claim: chief, one prime good to guard inviolate; that ſum of bliſs, fair canto ii. the hermit. 45 fair freedom, birth-right of all thinking kinds, reaſon's great charter, from no king deriv'd, by none to be reclaim'd, man's right divine, 235 which god, who gave, indelible pronounc'd. this to fecure, to cheriſh and exalt, by guardian-ſtatutes, plans of generous care, while peace bears high her olive; or when war his righteous fword unſheathes, in lifted fields 240 th' invaded rights of mankind to affert, thro danger and thro death---for this alone, this great imperial charge, were kings ordain'd, scepter'd with power, with purple ftate emblaz'd, and lawrel'd with renown; while kneeling worlds 245 as fovereigns reverenc'd whom as fires they lov'd, patrons and friends of virtue and of man i but 46 amyntor and theodora: or, ; but if, diſclaiming this his heaven---own'd right, this firſt beſt tenure by which monarchs claim if, meant the bleffing, he becomes the bane, 250 the wolf, not ſhepherd, of his ſubject-flock, to grind and tear, not ſhelter and protect, wide-wafting where he reigns---to fuch a prince, allegiance kept were treaſon to mankind; and loyalty, revolt from virtue's law. 255 for fay, amyntor, does juft heaven enjoyn that we ſhould homage hell? or bend the knee, in worſhip, to the peftilence or ftorm? the earthquake or volcano when they rage, rend earth's firm frame, and in one boundleſs grave 260 engulph their thouſands? yet, o grief to tell! yet fuch, of late, o'er this devoted land, was public rule. our fervile ſtripes and chains, our fighs and groans refounding from the ſteep of i canto ii. the hermit. 47 of wintry hill, or wafte untravel'd heath, 265 laft refuge of our wretchedneſs, not guilt, proclaim'd it loud to heaven: the arm of power extended fatal but to cruſh the head it ought to fcreen; or with a parent's love reclaim from error, not with deadly hate, 270 the tyrant's law, exterminate who err. in this wide ruin were my fortunes funk : my felf, as one contagious to his kind, whom nature, whom the focial life renounc'd, unſummon'd, unimpleaded, was to death, 275 to fhameful death adjudg'd; againſt my head the price of blood proclaim'd, and at my heels let looſe the murderous cry of human hounds. and this blind fury of commiffion'd rage, of party-vengeance, to a fatal foe, 280 known and abhorr'd for deeds of direft name, was 48 amyntor and theodora: or, was given in charge: a foe, whom blood-ſtain❜d zeal for what---o hear it not, all-righteous heaven! left thy rous'd thunder burſt---for what was deem'd religion's caufe, had favag'd to a brute, 285 more deadly fell than hunger ever ſtung to prowl in wood or wild. his band he arm'd, the fons of havoc, mifcreants with all guilt familiar, and in each dire art of death train'd ruthleſs up. as tygers on their prey, 290 on my defenceleſs lands thoſe fiercer beafts devouring fell: nor that ſequeſter'd ſhade, that ſweet receſs, where love and virtue long in happy league had dwelt, which war it felf beheld with reverence, could their fury ſcape, 295 defpoil'd, defac'd, and wrapt in waſteful flames : for flame and rapine their confuming march, from hill to vale, by daily ruin mark'd. so, borne by winds along, in baleful cloud, embody'd canto ii. the hermit. 49 embody'd locufts from the wing defcend 300 on herb, fruit, flower, and kill the ripening year : while, waſte behind, deſtruction on their track and ghaftly famine wait. my wife and child he drag'd, the ruffian drag'd---o heaven! do i, a man, furvive to tell it? at the hour 305 sacred to reſt, amid the fighs and tears of all who faw and curs'd his coward-rage, he forc'd unpitying from their midnight-bed, by menace, or by torture, from their fears my laft retreat to learn; and ſtill detains 310 beneath his roof accurft. that beft of wives! emilia! and our only pledge of love, my blooming theodora !---manhood there, and nature bleed---ah! let not buſy thought search thither, but avoid the fatal coaſt: 315 diſcovery, there, once more my peace of mind might wreck; once more to defperation fink h my 50 amyntor and theodora: or, my hopes in heaven. he faid: but o fad muſe! can all thy moving energy, of power to ſhake the heart, to freeze th' arreſted blood, 320 with words that weep, and ſtrains that agonize; can all this mournful magic of thy voice tell what amyntor feels? o heaven! art thou--what have i heard?---aurelius! art thou he?--confufion! horror !---that moſt wrong'd of men! 325 and o moſt wretched too! alas, no more, no more a father---on that fatal flood, thy theodora---at theſe words he fell : a deadly cold ran freezing thro his veins and life was on the wing her loath'd abode ; 330 for ever to forfake. as on his way the traveller, from heaven by lightning ftruck, is fix'd at once immovable; his eye with terror glaring wild; his ſtiffening limbs in marbly rigor bound: fo ftood, fo look'd the canto ii. the hermit. 51 335 the heart-fmote parent at this tale of death, half-utter'd, yet too plain. no figh to riſe, no tear had force to flow; his fenfes all, thro all their powers fufpended, and fubdu'd to chill amazement. silence for a ſpace 340 (such diſmal filence faddens earth and ſky ere firſt the thunder breaks) on either fide fill'd up this interval fevere. at laſt, as from fome vifion that to frenzy fires the ſleeper's brain, amyntor waking wild, 345 a ponyard, hid beneath his various robe, drew furious forth-me, me, he cry'd, on me let all thy wrongs be vifited; and thus my horrors end---then would have madly plung’d the weapon's hoftile point. his lifted arm, 350 aurelius, tho with deep difmay and dread and anguiſh ſhook, yet his fuperior foul collecting, and refuming all himſelf, h 2 · seiz'd 52 amyntor and theodora: or, seiz'd fudden : then peruſing with ſtrict eye, and beating heart, amyntor's blooming form; 355 nor from his air or feature gathering aught to wake remembrance, thus at length beſpoke. o dire attempt! whoe'er thou art, yet ſtay thy hand felf-violent; nor thus to guilt, if guilt is thine, accumulating add 360 a crime that nature ſhrinks from, and to which heaven has indulg'd no mercy. sovereign judge! shall man firft violate the law divine, that plac'd him here dependent on thy nod, refign'd, unmurmuring, to await his hour 365 of fair difmiffion hence; fhall man do this, then dare thy preſence, ruſh into thy fight, red with the fin, and recent from the ſtain, of unrepented blood? call home thy fenfe; know what thou art, and own his hand moſt juſt, rewarding canto ii. the hermit. 53 370 rewarding or afflicting---but fay on. my foul, yet trembling at thy frantic deed, recals thy words, recals their dire import : they urge me on; they bid me afk no morewhat would i aſk? my theodora's fate, 375 ah me! is known too plain. have i then fin'd, good heaven! beyond all grace---but ſhall i blame his rage of grief, and in my felf admit its wild exceſs? heaven gave her to my wiſh; that gift heaven has refum'd: righteous in both, 380 for both his providence be ever bleft! by ſhame reprefs'd, with rifing wonder fill'd, amyntor, flow-recovering into thought, submiffive on his knee, the good man's hand grafp'd cloſe, and bore with ardor to his lips. 385 his eye, where fear, confufion, reverence ſpoke, thro fwelling tears, what language cannot tell, 4 now 54 amyntor and theodora: or, now rofe to meet, now fhun'd the hermit's glance, shot awful at him; till, the various fwell of paflion ebbing, thus he faltering fpoke: 390 what haft thou done? why fav'd a wretch unknown? whom knowing even thy goodnefs muſt abhor. miſtaken man! the honor of thy name, thy love, truth, duty, all muſt be my foes. i am—aureliuss, turn that look afide, 395 that brow of terror, while this wretch can fay, abhorrent fay, he is---forgive me, heaven! forgive me, virtue! if i would renounce whom nature bids me reverence---by her bond rolando's fon: by your more facred ties, 400 as to his crimes, an alien to his blood; for crimes like his rolando's fon? juft heaven! ha! here? and in my power? a war of thoughts, allcanto ii. the hermit. 55 all-terrible ariſing, ſhakes my frame 405 with doubtful conflict. by one ftroke to reach the father's heart, tho feas are ſpred between, were great revenge !-away: revenge? on whom? alas! on my own foul; by rage betray'd ev to the crime my reafon moft condemns 410 in him who ruin'd me. deep-mov'd he ſpoke ; and his own ponyard o'er the proftrate youth sufpended held. but as, the welcome blow, with arms difplay'd, amyntor feem'd to court; that fight th' impending ſteel a moment ſtay'd. 415 a moment, wrath and mercy doubtful ſtrove: the next, reflection pity'd and forgave. now as, in act to ſpeak, his head he rais'd, behold, in ſudden confluence gathering round the natives ftood; whom kindneſs hither drew, 420 the man unknown, with each relieving aid of love and care, as antient rites ordain, to 56 amyntor and theodora: or, to fuccour and to ferve. before them came montano, venerable fage, whoſe head 425 the hand of time with twenty winters' fnow had fhower'd; and to whoſe intellectual eye futurity, behind her cloudy veil, stands in fair light difclos'd. him, after pauſe, aurelius drew apart, and in his care 430 amyntor plac'd; to lodge him and ſecure ; to fave him from himſelf, as one, with grief tempeſtuous, and with rage, diftemper'd deep. this done, nor waiting for reply, alone he fought the vale, and his calm cottage gain'd. end of the second canto. amyntor and theodora: o r, the hermit. canto c a n t o iii. " αμυν το r ꭱ and theodor a: or, the hermit. can tо iii. w here kilda's fouthern hills their fummit lift with triple fork to heaven, the mounted fun full, from the midmoſt, ſhot in dazling ſhower his rays direct. and now, in lowing train, 5 were feen flow-pacing weftward o'er the vale! the milky mothers, foot purfuing foot, and nodding as they move, their oozy meal, the bitter healthful herbage of the ſhore, i 2 around 60 amyntor and theodora: or, around its rocks to graze : for, ſtrange to tell! 10 the hour of ebb, tho ever varying found, as yon pale planet wheels from day to day her courſe inconftant, their fure inſtinct feels, intelligent of times, by heaven's own hand, to all it's creatures equal in its care, 15 unerring mov'd. theſe signs obferv'd, that guide to labour and repofe a fimple race, (for art the fubtle flight of time to mark, by founding bell, or ſhadow fliding round the figur'd plain, or filent-ſtreaming fands, 20 is here unknown) theſe native figns had warn'd to due repaſt at noon the temperate iſle : all but aurelius. he, by nature's call solicited in vain, nor hour obferv'd, unhappy line 9. the cows often feed on the alga marina: and they can diſtinguiſh exactly the tide of ebb from the tide of flood; tho, at the fame time, they are not within view of the fhore. when the tide has ebbed about two hours, then they ſteer their courfe directly to the neareſt ſhore, in their ufual order, one after another. i had occafion to make this obfervation thirteen times in one week. martin's western isles of scotland, p. 156. canto iii. the hermit. 61 unhappy man, nor due repaſt partook. 25 the child no more! the mother's fate untold! both in black profpect rifing to his eye! 'twas anguiſh there; 'twas here diſtracting doubt! yet, after long and painful conflict borne, where nature, reafon, oft the doubtful ſcale 30 inclin'd alternate, fummoning each aid that virtue lends, and o'er each thought infirm superior rifing, in the might of him, who ftrength from weakneſs, as from darkneſs light, omnipotent can draw; again refign'd, 35 again he facrific'd, to heaven's high will, each foothing weakneſs of a parent's breaſt the figh ſoft memory prompts; the tender tear, that, ftreaming o'er an object lov'd and loft, with mournful magic tortures and delights, 40 relieves us, while its ſweet oppreffion loads, and, by admitting, blunts the fting of woe. 4 as 62 amyntor and theodora: or, as reason thus the mental ftorm feren'd, and thro the darkneſs ſhot her fun-bright ray that ſtrengthens while it chears; behold from far 45 amyntor flow-approaching! on his front, o'er each funk feature forrow had diffus'd attraction, ſweetly fad. his noble port, majeſtic in diftrefs, aurelius mark'd; and, unrefifting, felt his bofom flow 50 with focial foftnefs. strait, before the door of his mofs-filver'd cell, they fat them down in counterview: and thus the youth began. with patient ear, with calm attention, mark amyntor's ſtory: then, as juſtice ſees, 55 on either hand, her equal balance weigh, abfolve him or condemn-but o, may i, a father's name, when truth forbids to praiſe, 4 unblam'd canto iii. the hermit. 63 unblam'd pronounce ? that name to every fon by heaven made facred; and by nature's hand, 60 with honor, duty, love, her triple pale, fenc'd ſtrongly round, to bar the rude approach of each irreverent thought. theſe theſe eyes, alas! the curs'd effects of fanguinary zeal too near beheld: it's madneſs how extreme; 65 how blind it's fury, by the prompting prieſt, each tyrant's ready inftrument of ill, train'd on to holy miſchief. scene abhorr❜d! fell cruelty let looſe in mercy's name. intolerance, while o'er the free-born mind 70 her heavieſt chains were caft, her iron-ſcourge severeft hung, yet daring to that power appeal, whoſe law is meeknefs; and for deeds that outrage heaven, belying heaven's command. flexile 64 amyntor and theodora: or, flexile of will, misjudging tho fincere, 75 rolando caught the fpred infection, plung'd implicite into guilt, and headlong urg'd his courſe unjuſt to violence and rage. unmanly rage! when nor the charm divine of beauty, nor the matron's facred age, 80 secure from wrongs, could innocence ſecure, found reverence or diftinction. yet, fuftain'd by conſcious worth within, the matchleſs pair their threatning fate, impriſonment and ſcorn and death denounc'd, unfhrinking, unfubdu'd 85 to murmur or complaint, fuperior bore with patient hope, with fortitude refign'd, not built on pride, not courting vain applaufe; but calmly conftant, without effort great, what reafon dictates, and what heaven approves. but canto iii. the hermit. 65 but how proceed, aurelius? in what founds. of gracious cadence, of affuafive power, my further ſtory cloathe? o could i ſteal from harmony her fofteft-warbled ſtrain of melting air! or zephire's vernal voice! 95 or philomela's fong, when love diffolves to liquid blandiſhment his evening-lay, all nature ſmiling round! then might i ſpeak; then might amyntor, unoffending, tell, how unperceiv'd and fecret thro his breaſt, 100 as morning rifes o'er the midnight-ſhade, what firſt was ow'd humanity to both, affifting piety and tender thought, grew ſwift and filent into love for one: 90 my fole offence-if love can then offend, 105 when virtue lights, and reverence guards its flame. k 66 amyntor and theodora: or, o theodora! who thy world of charms, that foul of ſweetneſs, that warm glow of youth, soft in thy eye, and funny on thy cheek, unmov'd could fee? that dignity of eafe, 110 that grace of air, by happy nature thine! for all in thee was native; from within spontaneous flowing, as fome equal ftream from its unfailing fource! and then too, feen in milder lights; by forrow's fhading hand 115 touch'd into power more exquifitely foft, intender'd by diſtreſs, by tears adorn'd; as feen thro tempering dews the beams of morn! o fweetneſs without name when love looks on with pity's melting eye, that to the foul 120 endears, ennobles her, whom fate afflicts, or fortune leaves unhappy! paffion then refines to virtue: then a purer train of canto iii. the hermit. 67. of heaven-infpir'd emotions, undebas’d by ſelf-regard, or thought of due return, 125 the breast expanding, all its powers exalt to emulate what reafon beft conceives of love celeſtial; whofe prevenient aid forbids approaching ill; or gracious draws, when the lone heart with anguiſh inly bleeds, 130 from pain its fting, its bitterneſs from woe! by this plain courtſhip of the honeſt heart to pity mov'd, at length the gentle maid my pleaded vows, with unreluctant ear, would oft admit; would oft endearing crown 135 with ſmiles of kind affent, with looks that ſpoke, in bluſhing ſoftneſs, her chafte bofom touch'd to mutual love. o fortune's faireſt hour! o feen but not enjoy'd, juſt hail'd and loft its flattering brightness! theodora's form, k 2 event 68 amyntor and theodora: or, 140 event unfear'd had caught rolando's eye: and love (if wild defire, of fancy born, by furious paffions nurs'd, that facred name profanes not) love his ſtubborn breaſt diſſolv'd to tranfient goodneſs---but my thought ſhrinks back, 145 reluctant to proceed: and filial awe, with pious hand, would o'er a parent's crime the veil of filence and oblivious night permitted throw. his impious fuit repell'd, aw'd from her eye, and from her lip ſevere 150 daſh'd with indignant ſcorn; each harbour'd thought of foft emotion or of ſocial ſenſe, love, pity, kindneſs, alien to a foul that bigot-rage emboſoms, fled at once: and all the favage reaffum'd his breaſt, 155 'tis juft, he cry'd; who thus invites diſdain, deſerves repulſe: he who, by flave-like arts, would meanly ſteal what force may nobler take, and, canto iii. the hermit. 69 and, greatly daring, dignify the deed. when next we meet, our mutual bluſh to ſpare, 160 thine from diffembling, from baſe flattery mine, shall be my care. this threat, by brutal ſcorn embitter'd, terrible alike to both, to one prov'd fatal. silent-wafting grief, the mortal worm that on emilia's frame 165 unfeen had prey'd, now deep thro all her powers its poyſon ſpred, and kill'd their vital growth. sickening, the funk beneath this added weight of ſhame and horror.---dare i yet proceed? aurelius, o moſt injur'd of mankind ! 170 shall yet my tale accumulating give to woe, new anguiſh? and to grief, deſpair—— she is no moreo providence ſevere ! aurelius fmote his breaft, and groaning cry'd: 175 but curb'd a ſecond groan, repell'd the voice of 70 amyntor and theodora: or, of froward grief; and to the will fupreme, in juſtice awful, lowly bending his, nor figh, nor murmur, nor repining plaint, by all the war of nature tho affail'd, 180 eſcap'd his lips. what! fhall we from heaven's grace with life receiving happineſs, our ſhare of ill refufe? and are afflictions aught but mercies in difguife? th' alternate cup, medicinal tho bitter, and prepar'd 185 by love's own hand for falutary ends. but were they ills indeed; can fond complaint arreft the wing of time? can grief command this noon-day fun to roll his flaming orb back to yon eaſtern coaft, and bring again 190 the hours of yeſterday? or from the womb. of that unfounded deep the bury'd corſe to light and life reſtore? bleft pair, farewel! yet, yet a few ſhort days of erring grief, 4 z of canto iii. the hermit. 71 now, gentle youth, of human fondneſs fighing in the breaſt, 195 and forrow is no more. and let me call thee son (for o that name thy faith, thy friendſhip, thy true portion borne of pains for me, too fadly have deferv'd) on with thy tale. 'tis mine, when heaven afflicts, 200 to hearken and adore. the patient man thus fpoke: amyntor thus his ftory clos'd. as, dumb with anguiſh, round the bed of death we kneeling wept, her clofing eyes to mine feebly ſhe rais'd; then fixing, in cold gaze, 205 on theodora's face---o fave my child! she ſaid: and, ſhrinking from her pillow, ſlept without a groan, a pang. in hallow'd earth i faw her fhrouded; bid eternal peace her fhade receive, and with the trueft tears 210 her duft bedew'd, that ever duty paid. what 72 amyntor and theodora: or, what then remain'd for honor or for love? what, but to fly rolando's fatal roof? that ſcene of violence, with guilt profan'd, and terrible with death. late at the hour, 215 the duſk dead hour, when o'er this nether orb deep fleep and filence reign, the waining moon afcending mournful in the midnight ſphere; on that fad ſpot, within whoſe cavern'd womb emilia fleeps, and by the turf that veils 220 her honor'd clay, alone and kneeling there, i found my theodora! thrill'd with awe, with holy horror fhook, which both the place and time infus'd refiftlefs, i too bent my trembling knee; and lock'd in her's my hand 225 acroſs her parent's grave. by this dread fcene! by night's pale regent! by yon glorious train of ever-moving fires that round her burn! by canto iii. the hermit. 73 by death's dark empire! by the fheeted duſt, that once was man, now mouldering here below! 230 but chief by her's, at whoſe nocturnal grave, reverent we kneel! and by her nobler part, th' unbody'd ſpirit hovering near, perhaps, as witneſs to our vows! nor time, nor chance, nor aught but death's inevitable hand, 235 shall e'er divide our loves.---i led her thence : but oh ! in evil hour, with heaven averſe; for fudden round in rolling fogs aroſe a deep-dy'd gloom, extinguiſhing the moon with broad eclipſe; while, glimmering on our left, 340 its ftreamy blaze the fearful night-fire wav'd : and to our eyes, as dazling fancy deem'd, pale in the church-yard path a ſhadowy ſhape, that ſwept athwart, diſclos'd. with all theſe ſigns of unconſenting fate, our ready bark 345 was launch'd---but, o my father! can i ſpeak l what 74 amyntor and theodora : or, what yet remains ? yon ocean black with ſtorm! its uſeleſs fails rent from the groaning pine! the ſpeechless crew aghaft! and that loft fair! still, ftill i fee her! feel her heart pant thick! 250 and hear her voice, in ardent vows to heaven for me alone prefer'd; as on my arm, expiring, finking with her fears the hung! i kifs'd her pale cold cheek with tears adjur'd, and won at laſt, with fums of profer'd gold, 255 the boldeft mariners, this pretious charge inftant to fave; and, in the ſkiff fecur'd, their oars acroſs the foamy flood to ply with unremitting arm. i then prepar'd to follow her---that moment, from the deck, 260 a fea fwell'd o'er and plung'd me in the gulph. nor me alone: its broad and billowing ſweep muſt have involv'd her too. myfterious heaven! my fatal love on her devoted head 4 drew canto iii. the hermit. 75 drew down---o fearful thought! the judgment due 265 to me and mine: or was amyntor fav'd for its whole quiver of remaining wrath? for ftorms more fierce? for pains of fharper fting? and years of death to come?nor farther voice, nor flowing tear his high-wrought grief ſupply'd: 270 with arms outfpred, with eyes in hopeleſs gaze to heaven uplifted, motionleſs and mute he ſtood, the mournful femblance of defpair. the lamp of day, tho from mid-noon declin'd, still flaming with full ardor, ſhot on earth 275 oppreffive brightneſs round; till in foft fteam, from ocean's bofom, his light vapours drawn, with grateful intervention o'er the ſky their veil diffuſive fpred; the ſcene abroad soft-ſhadowing, vale and plain and dazling hill. 280 aurelius, with his gueſt, the weſtern cliff l 2 afcending 76 amyntor and theodora: or, afcending flow, beneath it's cavern'd roof, from whence in double ftream a lucid fource rowl'd founding forth, and where with dewy wing freſh breezes play'd, fought refuge and repoſe, 285 till cooler hours arife. the ſubject-iſle; her village-capital, where health and peace are tutelary gods; her fmall domain of arable and paſture, vein'd with ſtreams that branching bear refreſhful moiſture on 390 to field and mead; her ſtraw-roof'd temple rude, where piety, not pride, adoring kncels, lay full in view. from ſcene to ſcene around aurelius gaz'd; and fighing thus began. not we alone; alas! in every clime, 295 the human race are fons of ſorrow born. heirs of tranfmitted labour and diſeaſe, of pain and grief, from fire to fon deriv’d, i all canto iii. the hermit. 77 all have their mournful portion; all muſt bear th' impos'd condition of their mortal ſtate, 300 viciffitude of fuffering. caft thine eye where yonder vale, amyntor, floping ſpreads full to the noon-tide beam its primroſe-lap, from hence due eaſt. amyntor look'd and faw, not without wonder at a fight ſo ſtrange, 305 where thrice three females, earneſt each and arm'd with rural inſtruments, the foil prepar'd for future harveſt. theſe the trenchant ſpade, to turn the mold and break th' adheſive clods, employ'd affiduous. thofe, with equal pace 310 and arm alternate, ftrew'd it's freſh lap white with fruitful ceres: while, in train behind, three more th' incumbent harrow heavy on o'erlabour'd drew, and clos'd the toilfome taſk. ?. xas behold! 78 amyntor and theodora: or, behold! aurelius thus his fpeech renew'd, 315 from that foft fex, too delicately fram'd for toils like theſe, the task of rougher man, what yet neceffity demands fevere. twelve funs have purpled theſe encircling hills with orient beams, as many nights along 320. their dewy fummits drawn th' alternate veil of darknefs, fince, in unpropitious hour, the husbands of thoſe widow'd mates who now for both muft labour, launch'd, in queft of food, their island-ſkiff adventurous on the deep. 325 them, while the fweeping net fecure they plung'd the finny race to fnare, whofe foodful fhoals each creek and bay innumerable croud, as annual on from fhore to fhore they move in watry caravan; them, thus intent, 330 dark from the ſouth a guft of furious wing, upfpringing canto iii. the hermit. 79 : upfpringing, drove to fea and left in tears this little world of brothers and of friends! but when, at evening-hour, disjointed planks, borne on the furging tide, and broken oars, 335 the wreck, before furmis'd, to fight reveal'd with fatal certainty; one general groan, to heaven afcending, fpoke the general breaſt with ſharpeft anguiſh pierc'd. their ceaſeleſs plaint, thro theſe hoarſe rocks, on this refounding fhore, 340 at morn was heard : at midnight too were ſeen, difconfolate on each chill mountain's height, the mourners fpred, exploring land and fea with eager gaze---till from yon leffer ifle, yon round of mofs-clad hills, borera nam'd--345 full north, behold! beyond the ſoaring lark, its dizzy cliffs afpire, hung round and white with curling mifts---at laſt from yon wild hills, inflaming the brown air with fudden blaze, and 80 amyntor and theodora: or, and ruddy undulation, thrice three fires, 350 like meteors waving in a moonleſs ſky, our eyes, yet unbelieving faw diftin&t ; succeffive kindled, and from night to night renew'd continuous. joy, with wild exceſs, took her gay turn to reign; and nature now 355 from rapture wept: yet ever and anon by fad conjecture damp'd, and anxious thought how from yon rocky priſon to releaſe whom the deep ſea immures (their only boat deſtroy'd) and whom th' inevitable fiege 360 of hunger muſt affault. but hope fuftains the human heart: and now their faithful wives, with love-taught ſkill and vigor not their own, on yonder field th' autumnal year prepare. amyntor line 363. the author who relates this ſtory, adds, that the produce of grain that feafon was the moft plentiful they had feen for many years before. vide martin's defcript. of the western isles of scotland, p. 286. canto iii. the hermit. 81 amyntor, who the tale diſtreſsful heard 365 with fympathizing forrow, on himſelf, on his ſeverer fate, now pondering deep, rapt by fad thought the hill unheeding left; and reach'd, with fwerving ftep, the diſtant ftrand, that hoarfe-remurmurs to the rifing furge. 370 above, around, in cloudy circles wheel'd, or failing level on the polar gale that cool with evening roſe, a thouſand wings, the fummer-nations of theſe pregnant cliffs, play'd ſportive round, and to the fun outſpred 375 their various plumage; or in wild notes hail'd his parent-beam, that animates and chears all living kinds. he, glorious from amidſt a pomp of golden clouds, th' atlantic flood beheld oblique, and o'er its azure breaſt 380 wav'd one unbounded bluſh: a ſcene to ſtrike m both 82 amyntor and theodora: or, both ear and eye with wonder and delight! but, loft to outward fenfe, amyntor paſs'd regardleſs on, thro other walks convey'd of baleful profpect; which pale fancy rais'd 385 inceffant to her felf, and fabled o'er with darkeſt night, meet region for deſpair! till northward, where the rock it's fea-wafh'd bafe projects athwart and ſhuts the bounded ſcene, rounding it's point, he rais'd his eyes and faw, 390 at diſtance faw, deſcending on the ſhore forth from their anchor'd boat, of men unknown a double band, who by their geſtures ſtrange there fix'd him wondering: for at once they knelt with hands upheld; at once, to heaven, as feem'd, 395 one general hymn pour'd forth of vocal praiſe. then, flowly rifing, forward mov'd their ſteps: slow as they mov'd, behold! amid the train, on either fide fupported, onward came 4 pale canto iii. 83 the hermit. pale and of piteous look, a penfive maid; 400 as one by waſting ſickneſs fore affail'd, or plung'd in grief profound---oh all ye powers! amyntor ftartling cry'd, and ſhot his foul in rapid glance before him on her face. illufion! no---it cannot be. my blood 405 runs cold: my feet are rooted here--and fee! to mock my hopes, it wears her gracious form. the spirits who this ocean waſte and wild still hover o'er, or walk it's ifles unſeen, preſenting oft in pictur'd vifion, ftrange 410 the dead or abſent, have yon ſhape adorn'd, so like my love, of unſubſtantial air, embody'd, featur'd it with all her charmsand lo! behold! it's eyes are fix'd on mine with gaze tranſported---ha! fhe faints, the falls415 he ran, ran, he flew his claſping arms receiv'd her finking weight---o earth, and air, and fea! m 2 'tis ' 84 amyntor and theodora: or, : 'tis fhe! 'tis theodora ! power divine, whofe goodneſs knows no bound, thy hand is here, omnipotent in mercy! as he spoke, 420 adown his cheek, thro ſhivering joy and doubt, the tear, faft-falling, ftream'd. my love! my life! soul of my wishes fav'd beyond all faith! return to life and me. o fly, my friends, fly, and from yon tranflucent fountain bring 425 the living ftream. thou dearer to my foul than all the fumleſs wealth this fea entombs, my theodora, yet awake; 'tis i, 'tis poor amyntor calls thee! at that name, that potent name, her ſpirit from the verge 430 of death recall'd, the trembling rais'd her eyes; trembling, his neck with eager grafp entwin'd, and murmur'd out his name: then funk again; then fwoon'd upon his bofom, thro exceſs of bliſs unhop'd, too mighty for her frame. c the canto iii. the hermit. 85 435 the rofe-bud thus, that to the beam ferene of morning glad unfolds her tender charms, shrinks and expires beneath the noon-day blaze. he, in this dread fufpenfe, while bufy round the ſtream with cool aſperſion on her face 440 theſe men officious caſt, beheld amaz'd, in them beheld, diſtruſting even his eyes, his friends! the very band! th' adventurous few, who plac'd her in the ſkiff! whoſe daring ſkill had fav'd her from the deep!-as o'er her cheek, 445 rekindling life, like morn, its light diffus'd in dawning purple; from their lips he learn'd, how to yon ifle, yon round of mofs-clad hills, borera nam'd, before the tempeft borne, thefe iflanders, thrice three, then priſon'd there, 450 (so heaven ordain'd) with utmoſt peril run, with toil invincible, from fhelve and rock 4 their 86 amyntor and theodora: or, their boat preſerv'd, and to this happy coaſt it's prow prow directed fafe---he heard no more: the reſt already known, his every ſenſe, 455 his full-collected foul, on her alone : was fix'd, was hung enraptur'd, while theſe ſounds, this voice, as of an angel, pierc'd his ear. amyntor! o my life's recover'd hope! my foul's deſpair and rapture!—can this be? 460 am i on earth? and do theſe arms indeed thy real form enfold? thou dreadful deep! ye ſhores unknown! ye wild impending hills! dare i yet truft my ſenſe ?---ọ yes, 'tis he! 'tis he himſelf! my eyes, my bounding heart 465 confeſs their living lord! what ſhall i ſay? how vent the boundleſs tranſport that expands my labouring thought? th' unutterable bliſs, joy, wonder, gratitude, that pain to death the canto iii. the hermit. 87 the breaſt they charm---amyntor, o fupport 470 this ſwimming brain: i would not now be torn again from life and thee; nor cauſe thy heart a fecond pang. at this, dilated high the fwell of joy, moſt fatal where it's force is felt moſt exquifite, a timely vent 475 now found, and broke in tender dews away of heart-relieving tears. as o'er it's charge, with ſheltering wing, folicitoufly good, the guardian-genius hovers: fo the youth, on her lov'd face, affiduous and alarm'd, 480 in filent fondneſs dwelt; while all his foul, with trembling tenderneſs of hope and fear pleaſingly pain'd, was all employ'd for her; the rous'd emotions warring in her breaſt, attempering, to compofe, and gradual fit 485 for further joy her foft impreffive frame. 88 amyntor and theodora : or, o happy! tho as yet thou know'ft not half the blifs that waits thee! but, thou gentleft mind, whoſe figh is pity, and whoſe ſmile is love, for all who joy or forrow, arm thy breaft with that beſt temperance, which from fond exceſs, 495 when rapture lifts to dangerous height it's powers, reflective guards. know then-and let calm thought on wonder wait---fafe refug'd in this ifle, thy god-like father lives! and lo---but curb, repreſs the tranſport that o'erheaves thy heart; 500 'tis he---look yonder---he, whoſe reverend ſteps. the mountain's fide deſcend !---abrupt from his her hand fhe drew; and, as on wings upborne, shot o'er the ſpace between. he faw, he knew, aftoniſh'd knew, before him, on her knee, 505 his theodora! to his arms he rais'd the loft lov'd fair, and in his bofom prefs'd. 490 my 1 canto iii. the hermit. 89 my father!-my child ---at once they cry'd : nor more.. the reft ecftatic filence fpoke, and nature from her inmoft feat of fenfe 510 beyond all utterance mov'd. on this bleft fcene where emulous in either bofom ftrove adoring gratitude, earth, ocean, air, around with ſoftening afpect ſeem'd to ſmile ; and heaven, approving, look'd delighted down. 515 nor theirs alone this bliſsful hour: the joy, with inftant flow, from fhore to ſhore along diffuſive ran: and all th' exulting ifle about the new-arriv'd, to hope long loſt, by miracle regain'd, was pour'd abroad. 520 in each plain boſom love and nature wept : while each a fire, a huſband, or a friend, embracing held and kifs'd. now, while the fong, n the 312673b 90 amyntor and theodora: or, the choral hymn, in wildly-cadenc'd notes, 525 what nature dictates when the full heart prompts, beſt harmony, their grateful fouls effus'd aloud to heaven; montano, reverend seer, whoſe eye prophetic far thro time's abyſs could fhoot it's beam, and there the births of fate, c 530 yet immature and in their caufes hid, illumin'd fee, a fpace abftracted ftood: his frame with ſhivery horror ſhook, his eyes from outward vifion held, and all the man entranc'd in wonder at the rifing ſcene, 535 on fluid air, as in a mirror, feen, and glowing radiant to his mental fight. they fly! he cry'd, they melt in air away, the clouds that long fair albion's heaven o'ercaft! with tempeft delug'd, or with flame devour'd 540 her drooping plains: while dawning rofy round a canto iii. the hermit. a purer morning lights up all her ſkies ! he comes, behold! the great deliverer comes! immortal william, borne triumphant on, from yonder orient, o'er propitious feas, 545 white with the fails of his unnumber'd fleet, a floating foreft, ftretch'd from ſhore to ſhore! see! with ſpred wing britania's genius flys, before his prow; commands the ſpeeding gales to waft him on; and, o'er the hero's head, 550 inwreath'd with olive bears the lawrel-crown, bleft emblem, peace with liberty reſtor❜d! and hark! from either ftrand, with nations hid, to welcome in true freedom's day renew'd what thunders of acclaim! aurelius, man 555 by heaven belov'd, thou too that facred fun shalt live to hail; fhalt warm thee in his ſhine! i fee thee on the flowery lap diffus'd of thy lov'd vale, amid a ſmiling race 3 · 91 from 92 amyntor and theodora. from this bleft pair to ſpring; whom equal faith, 560 and equal fondneſs, in foft league fhall hold from youth to reverend age; the calmer hours of thy laſt day to ſweeten and adorn : thro life thy comfort, and in death thy crown! the end. • m 4 127 princeton university library 32101 049725409 pr4809 h723 p47 ap tvs & testa cov mentvm deisi 3.nvmine-viget princeton university library english seminary a 4 1 } com ma (ltownpa pe peter the hermit peter the hermit: $ đau nh : tăng tars. ni kie holy . and other poem s. by h. b. m. hughes, student of the college of s.s. peter and paul, prior park, bath. second edition. entered at stationers' hall, bath: printed by j. lampard, at the collegiate press, prior park price 2s.6d. (recap) annex a) pr4809 .4723447 bath : printed at the collegiate press, prior park. princeton university library stown pa pair> didintele 103 mogu 52101 021190028 preface. kind reader, the welcome with which his first edition of " peter the hermit" was received has induced the author to reprint it, and bring it before you in a better dress ;--that which it wore before being too homely even for a hermit. . it was intended that “ peter the hermit" should form the first of a series of poems on the holy wars, one for each crusade ; but that intention has been, at least for the present, dropped. indeed, he feared lest, if it had been carried out, some goodnatured critic might have said, with byron, al “cease thy varied song! a bard may sing too often, and too long." 120boko.io however, he is even now engaged upon another lay 5 iv preface of the crusades, yclept “richard the lion heart,” recounting the deeds of our noble king against the saracens --which will shortly appear. the other pieces printed with this second edition relate, some of them to the crusades, and others to subjects purely imaginary, or legendary. for these he must apologize, as the roughness of the verse, the quaintness of the diction, and the variableness of the style seem to demand it. he prays you to bear in mind that they have been written at various odd moments of recreation during the term at college, and that they have therefore been composed under different influences, and states of mind. extend, however, the same indulgence to this as to the former work, and truly he will be very grateful to you. the author here begs to acknowledge the deep obligation he lies under to p. broise, his friend and fellow-student, to whose talent as an artist the present edition is indebted for its frontispiece, and ornamenpreface. v ation. nor would he pass over in silence the kindness he has experienced from many others, but that, mayhap, they would not like to be mentioned, though by their kind suggestions, and still kinder criticisms, they have most materially assisted a young and inexperienced author. h. b. m. h. prior park; feast of ss. peter and paul, 1855. ; 1 contents. page. peter the hermit. 1 the race for a soul 37 the angel of death 47 the vision of king richard. . 69 . the lay of the standard. . 80 the lay of the glove . 87 a.m.d.g. et h.b.m.v. peter the hermit: a lay of the holy wars. introduction to canto the first. was a lily of the valley, in simple beauty drest; (a fellow-student gave it to fix upon my breast,) but while the flower was fading and withering in my hand, it drew my thoughts to days of yore and to the holy land. methought some pious pilgrim first placed it in his scrip, ere he embarked at joppa in his homeward-wending ship, introduction to canto the first. and then with care had planted the floweret near his cell, that, gazing on't, he might recal the scenes he loved so well. then did the blessèd hermit rise ready to my thought, and the many, many battles the brave crusaders fought; and whilst my wandering fancy upon these matters ran, methought i'd sing how peter preached, and the holy war began. canto the first. cb ishops, and priests, and darkrobed friars stood round in long array, and many a knight, with armour bright, and pennon flaunting gay; but the bells of clermont all did clang with a slow and solemn toll, as though they called on the faithful, all, to pray for some dead man's soul. the gay plumes danced, and the helmets glanced in the morning's sunny glow, but dark and sad as a winter eve were the knightly brows below. with many a whisper, hushed, and low, the crowd around did stand, 'till one might think some grievous ill had fall’n upon the land. 1 4 peter the hermit: but one there stood above the rest, (an humble monk was he,) his robe was coarse, his head was grey, but his eye was bright and free. he raised on high the holy rood, (no other arms bore he,) he spoke :~'twas like the gentle breeze that fans a silent sea. 1 “my brethren, ye are christian men, at least, ye bear the name ; and ye are knights! then hear me, all, and hear me to your shame. the saracen, the infidel, pollutes that sacred place, where god, a thousand years ago, lived 'mongst us face to face ! the base blasphemer of the lord o'er judah holds his sway ! sion, the blest, the well beloved, is made the gentiles' prey ! the mount, where jesus bleeding died, the tomb-which once contained his sacred formare with the blood of martyred pilgrims stained ! a lay of the holy wars. 5 6 oh, sacrilege ! the saviour's tomb ?' ye cry, with horror pale! aye, ye do well to beat your breasts, and groan, and weep, and wail ! aye, groan! the blood of murdered saints to heaven for vengeance calls ! groan! for the wrath of god is dread on whomsoe'er it falls ! 'tis hanging o'er the saracens ; but mark, (for god is just,) ye too are guilty in the sight of him, in whom ye trust; ye heard the dying martyr's groans, nor to his rescue flew v; ye heard the injured virgin's shriek, and yet no weapon drew ! yet ye have pledged your knightly vow your swords should ever be the prop of injured innocence, the bane of tyranny! e’en now your murdered brethren lie unburied on the plain! sion bath called on you for aid, and shall she call in vain ?" 6 peter the hermit: he paused. the crowd, astonished, gazed upon that wondrous man, while through their ranks in various phrase the growing murmur ran. just like the roar, at distance heard, that tells of storm at sea, and makes the sailor's spouse to clasp the infant on her knee more closely to her breast, and quake lest he should ne'er return, for whom her vows to heaven are made and her votive tapers burn. but soon a gesture of his hand had calmed the murmuring throng, and again his mighty accents rose like a storm-wind loud and strong. 66 barons," he cried, " and yeomen, hear ; aye, hear me to your shame! 'tis through your fault the infidels blaspheme god's sacred name! 'tis through your fault the victims bleed beneath the paynims' sword ! 'tis through your fault the heathen rule the city of the lord ! a lay of the holy wars. 7 ye waste your hours in revelry, whilst these your brethren slay! whilst these insult your saviour's tomb, ye join the light tournay ! 'tis thus ye spend your hours, whilst they are pressing on! nay, more, amongst yourselves ye strive ! your swords are wet with christian gore ! no wonder, then, the foes advance, and the crescent mounts on high, when ye can tamely see the cross in dust dishonoured lie ! ha ! your eyes flash !enough is said ; then let each gallant knight harness his war-steed, arm himself, and hasten to the fight ! to arms, to arms ! and rear on high the standard of the lord ! turn, turn against the saracens your consecrated sword ! god wills it! buckle on your arms, and haste to meet the foe! and may the god of armies guide and bless you as ye go!" 8 peter the hermit: he ceased. awhile the mighty throng swayed fiercely to and fro, like waving corn, when warring winds against each other blow; then rose the cry, 6 god wills it, ho ! god wills it!"-young and old, noble and peasant, priest and friar, woman, and warrior bold, all joined the cry! it pealed and rose like thunder, loud and long, and guardian spirits made the words the burthen of their song! “god wills it!" was their gathering shout, from rank to rank it flew, each warrior to his comrade called, and each his weapon drew. aloft the standard of the cross was reared on every side ; it waved above that countless host in all its broidered pride; the cross gleamed bright on every shield, it blazed on every crest; none could be seen who did not bear the cross upon his breast ! a lay of the holy wars. 9 the bells rang out in merry, merry rout, till the sacred towers did reel, and each heart beat high, and bright was each eye, at the sound of that joyous peal! they pressed around that hermit then with reverence, and with awe, each seeking from his fiery words new fervour still to draw. they kissed the border of his robe. knights, priests, and noblemen. and he was thought right favoured, who could win his blessing then. that day to arms all europe flew swayed by that wondrous man; e'en as he spoke, the word went forth ! the holy war began ! introduction to canto the second. hough much i wished, and it pleased me well i might not sing what next befel. how the pilgrims marched through europe wide; how the wily greeks to stay them tried; how nice was ta'en :-how antioch fell, twere tedious to hear, and tedious to tell ; so my thoughts flew on, and i followed them to the leaguered walls of jerusalem. canto the second. he morning sun was shining bright o’er all the holy land, when on the mount of olivet the hermit took his stand. from all the vale of josaphat the mist had rolled away, and at his feet in gorgeous pride the holy city lay. all silent was the lovely scene! scarce might you hear a sound from out the leaguered city or the christian camp around; save when upon the listening ear some sentry's footstep fell, or paynim warder raised his voice, and faintly cried, "all's well!" 12 peter the hermit: the hermit, smiling, viewed the sight; his heart was free from care; i ween he thought how good was god who'd made the world so fair! but soon from out the city there rose a fearful yell, that on the old man's listening ear in jarring discord fell. 'twas from the holy sepulchre, and from beside the rood, the muezzins shrieked their morning prayer, and called upon mahmoud ! as at his rival's challenge shrill flashes the eagle's eye, as he screaming stoops to the deadly swoop from his craggy perch on high, so flashed the hermit's eyes, i ween, , when he heard that taunting yell; so shouting aloud to his god for aid, on bended knees he fell. “oh, be thou with our host this day, thou god of wrath!” he cried ; “ stretch forth thy strong right arm to aid, and tame the paynims' pride!” a lay of the holy wars. 13 then starting up, he grasped his staff, and his girdle tighter drew, and rushing down into the camp, from tent to tent he flew. “awake!” he shouted, “ don your arms, ye warriors of the lord ! awake, awake! and lay your hands on battle-axe and sword! hear ye not how the saracens blaspheme god's holy rood ? 'tis from the height of calvary they call upon mahmoud ! haste! sound the battle trumpet; let the banner's folds float wide! march on, march on,—to victory! for god is on our side! e'en now yon city's haughty towers are tottering to their fall, terror is lurking at her gates, and fear is on her wall! march on, march on ! god wills it; ye fight at his command ! if the lord of hosts be with you, who can your might withstand ?" с 14 peter the hermit: he ceased. from out the crowded tents, in an ever-varying stream, the troops poured forth, all silently, like pageants in a dream. a first one by one, as rain-drops come, that fall before a shower; and then in crowds, like the water-spout at the height of the tempest's power. a anon they raised a furious din, they shouted, and they sang, and clashed their swords against their shields, till the hollow metal rang. at first 'twas like the cracking sound that warns him of a flaw, who walks upon a frozen lake when the ice begins to thaw; but soon 'twas like the crash of rocks, and the fall of shattered pines, when the avalanche comes thundering down the lofty apennines. on, on they rolled in serried ranks, norman and piotevin, gascon, breton, and provençal, in mingled legions ran. a lay of the holy wars. 15 the danish axe, the saxon bill, went bristling side by side, and sturdy flemings poured along, to swell the battle tide. next marched along in gloomy files the sons of ruined rome, to seek that fame in other lands which they had lost at home. the wily greeks were ranged beside the warriors of almaine; all europe's chivalry were there, save the gallant knights of spain. (yet blame them not—their hearts were true, but their land from shore to shore rang to the clash of hostile arms, and the war-cry of the moor.) and truly they were chiefs of note who led that army on: the first, and bravest of them all, was godfrey of bouillon. tancred the next, whose youthful fame had made all europe ring, bohemond, raymond of toulouse, and edgar atheling, 16 peter the hermit: and there was hugh of vermandois, and robert of normandie, and a thousand more, i cannot name, the flower of chivalry ! the hermit felt his bosom heave, and his heart within him glow, as he stood again upon the mount, and viewed the troops below. along their dense and glittering lines one brightening glance he cast, then raised his venerable hands, and blessed them as they passed. and then upon a mossy stone, that close beside him lay, he sat, and leaned upon his staff, to watch the coming fray. by fifty priests, at fifty shrines, the holy mass was sung, and the christian army earthward bent, as the warning bell was rung. a then up they rushed with a cheerful shout, and to their posts they flew, whilst long and loud on every side the din of battle grew. a lay of the holy wars. 17 as round some rugged sea-girt isle the wild waves fiercely play, climb the huge rocks with roaring din, and scatter clouds of spray; so round those walls the christian host rolled onwards, wave on wave, each living billow surging white with plumes and pennons brave. up, up—they strove to mount the walls the lofty towers to gain; but the foemen cried, “ye must learn to fly, or ye strive to mount in vain !" stung by the taunt, the knights pressed on; the battle fiercer grew: deadly and swift the bowstrings hissed, and clouds of arrows flew. the scorpion and the catapult sent forth an iron shower; the tortoise moved with stealthy pace, to sap each paynim tower. loud was the crash of battlements, when the pond'rous stones 'gan fall, and the forceful swing of the battering-ram came thundering at the wall. 18 peter the hermit: loud and wild was the moslems' yell, when the winged deaths amongst them fell, but they kept their stations still ; and when the engines nearer drew, their fire-balls struck so fierce and true, that they mocked the christians' skill. from arrow-slit in wall and tower their archers poured so sharp a shower, and from each lofty roof their slingers struck at man and steed so well, our soldiers had good need their arms were missile-proof! as the waves fall back from a sea-beat rock, so shrank our host from the deadly shock, slowly and sad, i ween; i and as their baffled foes withdrew, the moslems shouted, “ allah hu !" and waved their standards green. but soon the paynims' yell was hushed, and the rising hope within them crushed, as, fiercer than before, that foe came rushing back again, and darts flew thick as winter rain when midnight tempests roar. a lay of the holy wars. 19 next, to the fight three moving towers, lofty, and vast, and strong, with many a spirit-stirring shout, the christians dragged along. but ere they drew them to the moat the gates were opened wide, and out the moslem legions poured, strong as the rushing tide. then brayed the trumpet loud and shrill ! then axe, and sword, and gleaming bill, clashed loudly in the strife. no space was there for bolt, or dart, but each aimed at the other's heart, and fought for very life! as in the maelstrom's fearful round the tortured billows leap and bound with loud and ceaseless roar, whilst ocean's various spoils uptorn are on the heaving waters borne, and piled upon the shore ; so round those towers the livelong day eddied and raged the maddening fray ! the din of clashing blows was mingled with the deadly yell, when ponderous mace, or falchion fell, and loud the war-cry rose ! 20 peter the hermit: so heaps on heaps of corpses pale, with battered helms, and riven mail, were rolled beneath the fray ; and, trampled by their fellow men, the christian and the saracen in death united lay. at last within the foremost tower the fire-fiend raged in pride and power, the red flames darted high. short time the monster blazing stood, and soon the crash of crackling wood told that its fall was nigh. then did the hermit cast the dust upon his hoary head, for he saw that the foemen's arm prevailed, and the christian army fled. prostrate he prayed the lord of hosts that he would send them aid; would strengthen each crusader's arm, and break each paynim blade. e'en as he spoke,-on olivet there stood a wondrous knight, whose limbs were sheathed in burnished gold, and shone sublimely bright ! a lay of the holy wars. 21 thrice waved he high his golden shield, and thrice his glittering blade, whilst muttering thunders o'er him rolled, and the lightning round him played. the christians turned with a cry of joy when they saw that glorious sight, but the conquering foemen backwards drew, and fled in wild affright! the old man saw the towers advance, their pond'rous bridges fall, and godfrey plant the blessed cross upon the city wall; a and then he heard a thundering sound, like the roar of a stormy sea ; 'twas the mingled yell of the foe's despair, and the shout of “victory!" oh, then he turned him to his god, his grateful thanks to pay; but his heart,-it was too full for speech: he fell, and swooned away! } introduction to canto the third. wim vi o hear 't were sad,to tell 't were pain, how moslem blood was shed like rain throughout that dreadful day! oh, happy was the hermit's lot, whilst (these sad scenes of woe forgot) he yet unconscious lay! but when he'woke him from his trance, what desolation met his glance, as on the mount he stood ! the christians' shout, the paynims' yell, told how the silver crescent fell before the holy rood. on minaret, and gay kiosk, on palace fair, and gorgeous mosque, the morning sun had shone; but when that sun at evening set, fallen was the graceful minaret, the stately mosque was gone ! introduction to canto the third. 23 he turned him sadly from the sight, for he could not bear to see the light of the fires that gleamed below; it made him think of that dread day when heaven and earth shall melt away in the last fire's awful glow ! when next he turned, 'twas silent all ! the ruined fanes had ceased to fall, the hostile fires to blaze ; so down he passed, and joined the throng, to the blessed tomb that poured along, to sing their saviour's praise. canto the third. 0 h, who can paint the glorious scene which met the hermit's eye, when mingling with the crowd he reached the church of calvary? a thousand torches shed their light around the saviour's tomb, but the rest of that vast minster lay shrouded in twilight gloom. the pillars threw a dark strong shade on the marble floor below, like the shadow of trees in a moonlit glade on the face of the frozen snow. each lofty arch showed loftier still in that uncertain light, but the eye was lost in the murky gloom of the dome's stupendous height ! a lay of the holy wars. 25 within, without, all round about, the christians knelt and prayed; doffed was each plumèd helmet now, and sheathed each conquering blade. prelate, and prince, and knight of name, knelt humbly, side by side, with sandalled friar, or lowly squire,that was no place for pride ! there many a contrite sinner prayed and wept for sins gone by, while his guardian angel o'er him bent in silent ecstacy! others were there who prostrate lay around each sacred spot, and, rapt in meditation sweet, all other things forgot; but there was none who dared to cast one mocking glance around, the infidel forgot to sneer upon such holy ground. hark!—'twas the trumpet's warning note ! they rose with one accord, ready with heart and voice to sing the praises of their lord. d 26 peter the hermit: at first, 'twas but a wavering note on the listener's ear that fell; but soon it rose, magnificent, in one majestic swell! “te deum laudamus!" great and small, with one accord they sang, 'till far and wide, through arch and aisle, the mighty accents rang! but when the notes began to roll the lofty dome around, it seemed as though the church did rock with the very force of sound ! loudly they sang, and joyously, in rich harmonious tonea living organ, framed to sound the praise of god alone. such music ear ne'er heard before, nor hoped to hear again; god's praise in one great chorus sung by fifty thousand men ! awhile adown the hermit's cheeks the silent tear-drops stole, as that full tide of glorious notes came sweeping o'er his soul; a lay of the holy wars. 27 but soon a thousand 'wildering thoughts of pleasure and of pain, of triumphs won, of labours past, came crowding through his brain. 1 he thought, i ween, of the time when he came to that church before, and the moslems mocked his humble garb, and drove him from the door. how he had journeyed painfully, fainting with toil and care, until he came and laid his griefs before saint peter's chair. methinks he thought of clermont, too, where, scarce a year before, he'd raised his voice, 'till christendom was roused from shore to shore. then came the traitor to his mind, colman of hungarie, and the countless host of christians slain by a christian's treachery. how, too, the wily greeks had tried to stop his course in vain ; how nice had fallen before his host, how antioch was ta'en; 28 peter the hermit: but now he saw his labours o'er, and the holy city won: what mighty kings had failed to do, an humble monk had done! and was it pride that brought that flush upon the old man's brow? had he so long the fiend defied, but to be conquered now? no: god forefend! he who had served his god in sorrow's gloom, surely could not a recreant prove beside his saviour's tomb ? no! ere the thought was fully formed in that reflective mood, a stranger knight, in armour bright, sudden beside him stood. the hermit's cheek grew deadly pale, as his eye the stranger's met, for by that lightning glance he knew the knight of olivet! humbly he followed at his beck, 'till they passed the portal high, and stood in silence side by side beneath the midnight sky. a lay of the holy wars. 29 “ who art thou?" then the hermit cried, “ and what is thy demand?” with a silent glance the knight replied, and pointed with his hand а. to where a ruined altar lay, o'erturned upon the sod, that men had raised in days gone by to some old heathen god. some earthquake, sure, had laid it low? far otherwise, i ween! 'twas but the root of a little plant that grew those stones between. around each fallen and broken stone its slender roots were twined, while its long green leaves, and flowerets pale, waved in the passing wind. right modestly those long green leaves its lovely flowers did shade, and it hung its head, as though ashamed of the ruin it had made. the silent lesson reached his heart, the proud glance left his eye; he felt that he was but a tool in the hands of the most high! a 30 peter the hermit: he turned to thank his guide—but lo! fresh wonders met his sight! a blessèd angel stood confest, in a flood of glorious light! yes, it was he of the fiery sword ! clad in bright panoply, first of heaven's chivalry, michael, who leadeth the host of the lord! for a moment his eye on the hermit shone; then over hill and plain night spread her wings again : the fair light had vanished !—the spirit was gone ! trembling, the astonished hermit lay prostrate upon the sod; and till the sun at morning shone, he communed with his god. at morn he rose, with an altered mien, and westward went his way; but whither he went, no mortal wight from that time forth could say ! conclusion. n old man dwelt in a lonely cell, in distant picardie ; no living wight his name could tell, but a holy man was he! he fed on herbs and bitter roots, with coarsest bread and forest fruits, he drank of the crystal spring; all day he'd sit in a shady nook and meditate with bead or book, at night god's praise he'd sing. and it were easy to be seen that he in palestine had been, for he wore the scallop shell ; and, framed of sacred olive wood, a pilgrim's staff and bottle stood in a corner of his cell. a little garden, fenced with care, lay round the humble cot, and many a flower, both sweet and fair, grew in that lovely spot. 32 peter the hermit: around the porch the wild rose twined, and the ivy shook to the summer wind its leaves of glossy green; whilst, underneath, the primrose grew, and the violet hid its flowerets blue the mossy stones between. but fairer far than all the rest, a little flower, with snowy crest, grew close beside the cell. there it was placed by the hermit's hand, when he brought it from the holy land; i ween he loved it well! ofttimes o'er that flower he wept, for something he had done; but, as he ever silence kept, that something in his bosom slept, and was revealed to none, save to the priest, who had him shriven, and made the sinner's peace with heaven. but day by day this was the song the peasants heard, who passed along by the hermit's lowly cot, (nor afterwards, for many a day, when the holy man was laid in clay, were the sweet words forgot.) a lay of the holy wars. 33 “sweet are the drops that flow from the wounded cassia tree ; sweet are the gales that blow o'er the isles of the indian sea; sweeter the tears of one who weeps for sin, and the sighs that tell of a contrite heart within !" (0 t the race for a soul. the bace for a soul. inscribed to the very rev. thomas canon rooker, d.d., president of prior park. > 'tis a fearful night! the wind around the quaking turret shrieks; scarce can they hear the sick man's voice, as still these trembling words he speaks : “ ride out, ride out,-some christian knight, for holy charity! ride out, and seek a holy priest, and bring him unto me!” a he speaks of fearful things that float, in selcouth forms before his eyes, , and ever and anon he moans, and thus in doleful accents cries : " ride out! for god from storm and ill the messenger will shield; and, oh! 'tis dreadful thus to die, unhouselled, unanealed !" e 38 the race for a soul. a little page sate by the fire, 'mid knights and squires of high degree: none dared to brave the pelting storm“ none thought to mount—but only he. “ lie still !" he cried," so god me guard; ” me aid, our sweet ladye ! i go to seek a holy priest, and bring him unto thee." -the storm was fierce,-it fiercer blew; the night was dark,-it darker grew : no moon was there, or star to guide ; all fordless roared the torrent's tide; the trees above him groaned and tossed, like tortured forms of spirits lost; and, 'mid the thunder's sullen growl, was heard the fierce wolf's hungry howl: but, heedless of the rushing wind, he left the castle gates behind; all fearless of the waters' roar, he swam the fordless torrent o'er; he cared not for the thunder's growl; and when he heard the were-wolf's how), he inly called on god for aid, and grasped and drew his trusty blade. sometimes, indeed, his heart beat fast, as, louder than the tempest blast, shrill peals of laughter, sharp and drear, would ring from every thicket near,the race for a soul. 39 and forms of evil, gaunt and grim, would cross the path in front of him. some whooped and laughed, as though in glee; some yelled in bitter agony; like fiery wheels, some rolled before ; some followed him with hideous roar some strove him from his path to lead, some strove to 'fright his gallant steed: but when he reared his cross-hilt blade, the frightful phantoms fled dismayed; and, spite of storm and demon's rage, he reached at length the hermitage. “rise, holy father! rise in haste, and wend along with me! my master lies on his dying bed, and has sent in haste for thee. “ he was in his mortal agony, when i left the castle gate: mount, father-mount! we must away, else shall we be too late." the father hath mounted-away! away! through the wild wood's shadowy paths they few; the tempest, that had been wild before, each moment wilder and wilder grew, 40 the race for a soul. amongst the trees it whistled and screamed, and many an oak, and elm, and ash, yielded before its strength, and fell beside the path, with a thundering crash. and demon faces gibber'd and grinned from every thicket along their track, and they were 'ware of a swarthy hound that followed ever behind their back. a on, on they flew, with a whirlwind's speed, straining to reach their distant goal; they knew they were running a fearful race, and the prize to be won was the baron's soul! on, on! for still the swarth-hound's bay follows them through the tempest's roar;'twill bode the baron fearful ill, if he should be first at the castle door. but no, but no,-'twill not be so, for there is one on the hermit's breast, who lieth concealed in a lowly form, and wrappeth him round in an humble vest. twas he !-that god who humbler is than all the creatures that are his; who hides his majesty divine beneath the veils of bread and wine; the race for a soul. 41 and-spring of purity and goodbecomes the meanest sinner's food. a god of mercy, a god of love, he hath hied him down from his throne above; he will not suffer the fiend to gain a soul he hath purchased with blood and pain. the father, he pattered his ave-beads, the page, he spurred and he prayed alsò; and, as they prayed, the swarth-hound's pace yet slower became, and yet more slow. and they were 'ware of a dazzling light that shone on the path 'twixt him and them, just like the beams that streamed of yore on the holy shepherds of bethlehem. a and they could hear a rustling sound, like the quivering beat of a thousand wings; for the air above, and the air around, was peopled with countless lovely things. although the storm still howled around, and strained and crashed in the forest trees, it seemed to them to be far away, for nought them reached but a gentle breeze. 42 the race for a soul: although across their homeward way the stream still fretted, and chafed, and roared, the good steed heeded it not a whit, but over it passed by an easy ford. the castle hill was rugged and steep, but the noble charger scaled it well; one last, strong effort,-he crossed the moat, and dead at the very gate he fell. a when to the stream the swarth-hound came, he might not cross in a borrowed form; so he rose like a mist from the torrent's brink, and followed the chase on the driving storm. but, demon, cease !-thy toil is vain; the prey is delivered, -tbe chase is o'er : thou art strong, thou art strong, in this world of sin; but one shall conquer thee evermore ! in vain, in vain, is all thy pain, for he is first at the castle door! ere half the hour-glass sands were run, the struggle was o'er-the prize was won. the angel of death, with gentle hand, had beckoned the soul to that blessèd land, the race for a soul. 43 where doubt, nor fear, can enter in, but only sorrow for pardoned sin; where, for a time, the soul must moan, its imperfections to atone, "till god most gentle-god most mild, stretch forth his hand to his chastened child, and clasp him close to his pitying breast, in endless glory, and endless rest. houselled and shriven, the soul had fled, but the body still lay on its gorgeous bed. the cheek-flush, the eye-flash, had passed away: 'twas but a model of shapely clay. long they knelt by the noble dead; many a tear they o'er him shed; and many a warrior rude was there, who rarely bethought him of bead or prayer, now sadly silent round him stole, and inly prayed, "god rest his soul!" the father, he rose from his bended knees, as the morning light through the casement broke; but, ere he wended his homeward way, 'twas thus to the little page he spoke: 44 the race for a soul. “god bless thee! god bless thee, thon gentle page! thou hast served thy master well! others have o'er him held their shield, and saved his life in the battle-field; but thou hast for him risked thy life, and for him waged a fiercer strife, 'gainst demon wiles, and storm-wind's rage, to save his soul from hell ! “god loves the man who freely gives his goods unto the poor ; the friend of the captive and the sick heaven's kingdom doth ensure. h " if for such deeds so fair a meed lie at the heavenly goal, what shall he gain who by his pain hath saved a priceless soul ?” the angel of death, 1 --1 the angel of death. inscribed to mgr. the very rev. thomas provost brindle, d.d., &c. &c. 1. hi ark! 'twas the clock struck twelve! ding! ding! ding! ding! ding! ding! ding! ding! ding! ding! ding! ding! and the old dutch clock behind the door went on, tick! tack! as it did before; as though the stroke on its little bell had never sounded a sinner's knell. yes! 'twas the clock struck twelve ! a “'tis the turn of the night!” the old-wife said, as she dozed by the side of the sick man's bed. trembling, she trimmed her flickering lamp; she touched his forehead,—'twas chill and damp; 48 the angel of death. and he turned in his bed uneasily. ah, me!" she cried, “ his sand is run! he ne'er will see the rising sun! ah, me! i thought it would be so; for the watch-dog bowled in the court below, and the clock struck wond'rous drearily!" a 'twas a rich bad man who lay dying there, who'd never bethought him of alms or prayer. he had gathered wealth,--a boundless store; honours he'd won, and had grasped at more: now honours and wealth had flown! who cared for him now? his sons ? no, no! they had gotten his wealth,—what heeded they mo'? the very nurse in fear has fled, spirits of evil were there!” she said : she has left him to die alone. hark! 'twas the clock struck one! if any were there, his eye might trace a something that passed o'er the old clock's face, like the shadows that flit of a winter night on a cottage wall in the dim fire-light, when the father and mother sit silently, and the child and dog play joyously. and if he looked in the sick man's eye, he'd see 't was the angel of death went by; for the eye was glassy, and cold, and dim, and stiff as brass was each lifeless limb. the angel of death. 49 was it a prayer, or was it a groan, that left those lips ere the spirit had flown? no: it was neither a groan nor a prayer; silent he died in his deep despair ;'twas but the clock struck one! w ii. of the first night watch,-seven bells ! the moon was bright in a cloudless sky; the pendant drooped from the topmast high ; unmoved, in many a gay festoon, the sails gleamed white beneath the moon; and on the face of the crystal sea the ship lay still as a ship might be. but why, when, o'er the waters round, rang forth the bell's accustomed sound, did the seamen start so fearfully, and drink it in so greedily? 'twas to their ears a well-known sound, but to-night they start as the word goes round, of the first night watch,-seven bells ! 'twas a lovely bark; but, oh! within she was laden with sorrow, and pain, and sin. f 50 the angel of death. the groans of the captive african, unheeded, unheard by his fellow-man, went up, from her hold, on high! , there, in the depths of her darkling womb, they lay in heaps in their living tomb. some prayed for water,—some begged for air; some only shrieked in wild despair, and laid them down to die. but, heedless of their agony, the crew but cursed the glassy sea, the fair, bright moon, and the flagging wind; for darkness and storm to a slaver's mind are a good and a grateful boon. curse not, curse not, poor fools ! for ye may live to pray for a calmer sea, and curse yourselves, in your despair, for the daring wish, and the impious prayer, that was answered all too soon! a no thought of ill,—no fear of woe! no pity for those who groaned below! on the moonlit deck, to the thrilling flute, and the joyous sound of the tinkling lute, the seamen are dancing merrily! music, and jesting, and merry song, and laughter jocund, and loud, and long ! no thought that the death spirit's hovering nigh, the angel of death. 51 each heart beats lightly, and dances each eye, as the rattling dice fly cheerily! hark! 'twas a whisper faint and low! from stem to stern it seemed to go. it moved not the pennon,-it stirred not a sail,but every man, at the sound, grew pale; and, as each looked in his neighbour's facer a fearful something he there might trace. some said 't was a spirit that passed them by; some said it was only the land wind's sigh: but the laugh and the music have died away, and the gamester has left his noisy play; none know what doth them thus appal, but a nameless terror has seized them all. a see! 'tis the lightning! see ! it quivered a moment,-it struck the mast; the thunder roared, and all was past! but the good ship-where is she? she is gone! she has sunk in the waters deep, and the slave and the slaver united sleep, where the pearl-shell shines, and the dolphins play, and the white-shark gloats o'er his festering prey. 'twas the angel of death on the blast went by! he looked on the bark with an angry eye;52 the angel of death. the sentence was passed, and the death-bolt flew, and loud was the shriek of the perishing crew. short shrift was theirs,-scant time to pray ;they were gone, ere the echoes had ceased to say, “of the first night watch,--seven bells!" 9 iii. a on great st. bernard fell the snow, and the traveller scarce the path might know; he'd many a weary mile to go,he must not shrink nor stay. though fierce the storm, he hurried on; but scarce one little mile had gone, ere the deep snow all round him shone, the track was swept away. he looked behind, he looked before,the snow had covered his footsteps o'er, and soon he was bewildered sore, no landmark could he find. the angel of death. 53 he shouted loud, he shouted long; but though his voice was shrill and strong, as feebly as a small bird's song 'twas borne upon the wind. aye! feebler than the sea-mew's shriek, when up the narrow, rocky creek, the sea-waves roll, and burst, and reek, and roars the tempest loud. one more long cry! he sank full low upon the face of the yielding snow; and cold and silent, soft and slow, it hid him like a shroud. a e'en as he sank, he breathed a prayer! words which, from him, were few and rare, went up upon the midnight air, in supplication deep. nor was it vain. he heard the cry, he who, in ages long gone by, answered repenting jonah's sigh, down where the sea-wolves sleep. oh! he had been an evil man! all ill that human creature can, in maddest mood of sin, but plan, he had both planned and done. 54 the angel of death. yet,-oh! how merciful is god, e'en when he holds the chastening rod ! though hell's dark paths so long he'd trod, his prayer acceptance found ! a monk unto the abbot came, and asked permission, in god's name, at that untimely hour, to go, and seek for travellers in the snow. “something within me says," said he, there's one in mortal agony, e'en now enshrouded in the snow: in god's name, father, let me go !” the abbot leave and blessing gave: “brother, may god thee guide and save !" and he, with hot and prayerful haste, started at once upon the waste. his faithful dog was at his side, the brother's eager steps to guide. nor long nor vainly searched they round, for soon the wanderer they found. his brow; but soon 't was brushed from thence, i trow, as dog and brother joined to save the stranger from his living grave. the snow was thick upon the angel of death. 55 stiff were his limbs, and scarce his breath belied the fixed, cold look of death; but though death's angel hovered nigh, he might not strike. he did not die ! the brother plied with thoughtful care the little flask of cordial rare; and in his mantle wrapped him warm, to guard him from the pelting storm. the dog, too, with half human wit, close by the stranger's side would sit, and clasp him with his hairy feet, as though to give him vital heat. oh, brother, brother, guard thee well! this biting blast on thee may tell, and thou may'st pay most fatally for thine exceeding charity! but there he sat upon the snow, though frore and shrill the wind did blow; and only bade the dog go back, to lead the brethren on their track. the dog he ran, the dog he flew, but still the cold wind colder grew; and, ere they left the convent gate, their aid, for one, had come too late. 56 the angel of death. for, when the brethren came, they found the stranger sitting on the ground, wrapped in the brother's mantle warm, and guarded well from cold and storm. but by his side the monk they found, with but his cassock girt around, the snow-drift only clothed his head. gently they raised him,-he was dead ! god rest and bless thee, hero brave ! unnoticed is thy humble grave; but who to the god of charity hath offered sacrifice like thee? thy life, thy all, that thou hast given, may't be thy passport into heaven ! and be this carved upon thy grave: “he died, a stranger's life to save !" and he, that stranger, where is he for whom he died so valiantly? there is a monk who kneels to pray beside his tombstone day by day, a and every night, when howls the storm, puts on his mantle, wide and warm, and kneels before the abbot's chair, and ever makes the self-same prayer: the angel of death. 57 “ loud howls the storm,—the snow lies deep; let me go forth, my watch to keep, lest some one perish in the snow. in god's name, father, let me go!" town if such a man thou chance to see, mark him well, reader,—that is he! iv. “oh! would it were morning!" the mother said, as she sat on the cold, damp ground. the rain came down through the roof o'erhead, and the children were crying aloud for bread, where bread could not be found. one cake of meal was all her store;she had given them that, and they cried for more. even the babe at her breast must die, for the fountains of nature, through want, were dry. she had striven to light the fire, in vain,for the turf was wet with the pelting rain; so there in darkness and cold they lay, longing and praying for break of day. 58 the angel of death. when pillowed in softness the rich man lies, darkness is sweet to his weary eyes; the labourer, seeking his humble bed, gives thanks for the darkness that shrouds his head; a but though so sweetly on such it fall, to the wretched it is but a murky pall, and many and sad are the prayers they say, as they wearily watch for the light of day. she hath felt for her children, and drawn them nigh, she hath laid her down in the midst to die; and when the angel at last came he, i ween, she greeted him smilingly. in faith and love she had served her god; she had humbly bowed to his chastening rod; and rather had chosen of want to die, than be false to her faith, or her god deny. oh, erin! fair erin! what faith is thine! what incense aye fumes from thy storm-beaten shrine ! in the path of the martyrs thy children have trod, and many thy saints in the kingdom of god! the angel of death. 59 god bless thee! thou pearl on the dark world's brow! there are isles in the ocean far fairer than thou, more fertile, more wealthy, in glebe and in mine,but none have been blessed with a blessing like thine! they were six,—the mother, and children five;not one in the morning was left alive! they were gone, in the arms of their loving lord, to reap for ever their bright reward. six blessed martyrs heavenward flew, though their bones unnoticed lie; for know, they would not now be dead, if the mother had sold her soul for bread; but rather she chose to die! v. a vulture sat on a drooping palm, by the side of a desert well. the night was clear, and still, and calm, the air was laden with spice and balm, and the cold dew gently fell; 60 the angel of death. but still he sat on the drooping tree, and gazed o'er the plain right cheerily. god guard us all! what did he see, that he was so content ? i ween, it was no omen good, to see that bird in such a mood,he is ever on evil bent. the caravan ! the caravan! through the desert sands they rode, they ran; they strained, they strove who should be first to reach the well, and quench their thirst; but, oh! how fearful was their cry! they reached the well,--and found it dry ! the vulture screamed from the withered tree, when he heard that mournful cry! he knew full soon a feast they'd be for him, and others such as he; and he watched not long, nor wearily, 'till they laid them down to die. two days! two days !-no drop to drink ! oh! 'tis a fearful thing to think! it makes one's very tongue to shrink from speaking of their pain. two days,-two days of agony, they journeyed through the sandy sea, seeking a well,-in vain ! the angel of death. 61 and now they had found it-oh, misery! well might they know, by the withered tree, that only spring was dry. their feet, too, raised a rattling sound; for bones, white bones, lay all around, camels' and riders';—they strewed the ground, where soon their own must lie! one by one their forms dropped down. who looked on their features, so parched and brown, might see them fixed in a ghastly frown, or a still more ghastly smile. 'twas terrible to see them die, with the cold, clear moon from the heavens on high beaming down, with a moveless eye, upon them all the while. a none questioned, and none made reply; too parched their tongues-their lips too dry; they could but speak by glance of eye; yet strange it was to see how, through their eyes, expression broke, and each so eloquently spoke, and told his misery. g 52 the angel of death. some looked a curse,—some looked a prayer; some apathy, and some despair : hard struggling for their breath, some moaned in bitter agony; some rolled about uneasily ; whilst others suffered silently, and bowed themselves to death. but there was one among them knelt, and spread his turban by the well; he spread it out upon the ground, to catch the night-dew as it fell. the dew fell down right copiously, the linen folds were wet and dank; e'en now he'd ta'en it in his hands, e’en now in expectation drank; when sudden he heard the dying moan of one who close beside him lay: " thou 'rt nearer death than 1,” he said; “ i'll save thy life, if yet i may!” he gave the draught;--the eyes unclosed, and gazed on him with wond'ring stare ; then suddenly the voice broke forth : “i know thee, now, thou man of prayer! the angel of death. 63 “ a holy christian priest art thou ;may endless glory be thy meed! if jesus taught such deeds as this, then jesus must be god indeed!” “ i thank thee, lord!" the priest he said, “who by my hands so much hast done! truly, the draught was cheaply lost, by which a priceless soul is won!” 9 and then, with few and simple words, he taught him all he'd need to know; and o'er his willing, joyful brow, he caused the saving stream to flow. 'twas the last drop! he saw it roll and sink into the thirsty ground. then sudden faintness o'er him stole, and double darkness veiled him round. he sank beside the new baptized, mingling with his his latest breath; but, oh! what bliss it was to die, when dying such a holy death! a the angel of death came smilingly, with a vision of heaven to his dying eye, unloosed the bonds of the earthly cell, and called to the spirit to mount, and fly. 64 the angel of death, heavenward they mounted, side by side, he and the soul for which he died. they were gone, all !--all by the desert well! and, ere the sunbeams on them fell, the vulture was rioting over his prey: there was none, there was none who could drive him away! vi. a babe lay sleeping on its mother's breast,emblem of innocence and trustful love! each dimple in its little chubby face seemed lighted up with radiance from above. one small, round hand upon the bed-clothes lay, holding a lily in its tiny grasp ; the other, 'neath the envious covering hid, lay twined within its mother's,-clasp in clasp. the eyes, with silken lashes shadowed o'er, seemed half inclined to open as he smiled, dreaming the heavenly dreams of infancy, which cannot reach a heart by sin defiled. a the angel of death. 65 ”t was the death-angel's form that o'er him bent! the infant smiled, his heavenly friend to greet, and stretched his little dimpled arm on high, as though he wished to soar, that friend to meet. the angel stooped, and, smiling back at him, laid that sweet baby-soul upon his breast : no mortal pang was there,and in her arms, unconsciously, a corpse the mother pressed ! oh! there was weeping wild, at break of day! a mother mourning for her baby boy! he was her pride, her happiness, her all,— a fair young widow's best and only joy ! but he, in peacefulness of perfect rest, upon the blessèd angel's bosom soared; nor thought upon that earth he ne'er had known, as heaven's immortal splendour round him poured, and angel hands were stretched to welcome him, laden with flowers that grow beyond the sky; and all around him floated joyously, the bursts of glorious music from on high ! the vision of king richard. the vision of king bichard. inscribed to miss a. e. grey, holyhead. 1 ' 4 he chamber was bright with silver light, the moon through the oriel shone; but king richard he lay on his gorgeous bed, sleepless, and woe-begone. 1 sad and dread were the thoughts which racked the monarch's weary brain; ; for he thought of the curse his father spoke, as he lay in his dying pain. in vain he looked on the star-lit heaven, for aye would his fancy trace, on the starry gleam, on the fair moon beam, his dying father's face. 70 the vision of king richard. a and e'en if sleep for a moment closed its pinions o'er his head, he'd wake anon, with a shuddering groan, for his dreams were of the dead. long did the night time seem to him, as wearily he lay, and turned, and tossed, and turned again, 'till at last he turned to pray. a just then a light,-so wond'rous bright, it paled the fair moon beam,filled all the chamber, far and wide, and round his couch 'gan stream. a so sudden it came, that, for a time, he had not power to see; and when that power at length was given, a trembling man was he. close by his couch, with look severe, a mailed warrior stood; a halo of light was round his helm, and on his shield the rood. the warrior spoke. his voice did sound sweet as a bird's in spring, when every nest is filled with young, and each to his mate doth sing. the vision of king richard. 71 but though 't was sweet, 't was wond'rous sad, and richard's heart was woe, when thus the stranger to him spoke, in accents soft and low: my son, i ween 'tis hard to bear a dying father's curse! it is a fearful thing to sin,but to despair is worse. “ no sin is there may not by prayer and penance be forgiven; for endless aye is mercy's stream, that flows to earth from heaven. " then shrive thee of thy grievous sin, and pardoned thou shalt be; but, ne'ertheless, a doleful dule thy life long thou shalt dree. “thou'st vowed to lead thy armies forth upon the syrian plain, to fight for god, and holy church, against the saraceyne. well, be it so! and god himself thy valiant arm shall aid ! cities shall fall, and hosts shall flee before thy conquering blade! 72 the vision of king richard. “but, when thy victories are won, this penance thou shalt dree: though thou shalt stand on olivet, the tomb thou shalt not see ! and, after that, through many lands a wanderer thou shalt roam, whilst treacherous friends, and open foes, shall bar thy journey home. “dark are the dungeons of almaine, and hard its gyves of steel; but these, and many woes beside, thou yet art doomed to feel. “and when thy life is at its close, an ill death thou shalt die. ten summers hence,-prepare thee well, for then thy end is nigh! “ but then, oh! then, thou'lt learn to think e'en life was lightly given, when thou shalt see the resting-place prepared for thee in heaven!” the vision of king richard. 73 “god's will be done !" king richard cried; then turned away, and wept. the pitying stranger touched his eyes, and soon the mourner slept. “god's will be done !" cried richard, when the sun at morning shone; and rising, with a trembling hand, his armour he did don. “it was our patron, good st. george, who stood beside my bed. (i knew him by his glittering helm, and by his cross of red.) “o father mine ! thy curse hath fall’n right sorely on thy son ! but thou, o god, art merciful! o god, thy will be done !" then heralds, riding in hot haste, went forth at his command, to summon to the holy war the noblest of the land. h 74 the vision of king richard. and there was furbishing of spears, and burnishing of shields; and bow and bill came bristling thick, as barley in the fields. and there were shouts of triumph loud, and eyes that flashed with pride, as the fleur-de-lys and the lions three went floating side by side. hurrah! hurrah! for the gallant hearts that crowded round our king ! a merry chime on paynim shields their conquering swords did ring! hurrah ! hurrah! for our gallant king ! a stalwart knight was he! he fought for god, and for holy church, and he won the victory! long will the paynims' hearts be woe, when richard's name they hear; for fearful was his whirling axe, and deadly was his spear! long shall the syrian mother say, to still her infant's cry, “hush thee, my babe! why dost thou fear? king richard is not nigh !” the vision of king richard. 75 now god him rest,-our gallant king! now god him save, and sain ! so stark a king, so brave a knight, we ne'er shall see again. and pray ye, all who hear my lay! pray ye our sweet ladye, that she may kneel to god in heaven, and his soul assoiled may be ! the lay of the standard. the lay of the standard. inscribed to the very rev. edw, canon kenrick, p.p., st. patrick's, liverpool. ing richard stood within his ladye's bower: his glance on many a flower of beauty fell; but berengare, his lovely spouse, was 'mong them,a pearl, encircled in an orient shell. the golden ringlets, o'er her white neck falling, shewed forth her gothic lineage, proud and high ! well might ye know the spanish monarch's daughter, by the clear flashing of her azure eye. 80 the lay of the standard. like silver lilies o'er calm waters bending, their broad leaves resting on the silent stream,while frolic fish, from out the flower-clad river, leap up, and sparkle in the sunny beam; so sate the queen, and broidered with her maidens the blood-red standard, stretched from knee to knee; their silver needles through the rich web leaping, wrought forth in golden threads the lions three. 'twas done! the gorgeous task at length was ended, and by her maids attended, as was meet, fair berengare, upon her knee low bending, laid the rich present at her husband's feet. “long," cried she, “may this banner, proudly floating, lead on thy knights to glory in the war! and when the rustling of its folds thou hearest, think then, my lord-think of thy berengare! “ and i will ask of thee this passing favour,do not refuse it to thy weeping bride !where'er thy duty calls, where'er thou wendest, oh! let me never, never quit thy side !" the lay of the standard. 81 low bending, with his strong right arm he raised her, and close embracing, pressed her to his heart. “ aye! be it so !" he cried, “ thou shalt be with • me; a soldier and his bride should never part! “for thy dear sake, myself will bear this banner, a meteor streaming through the ranks of war! and when i lead my warriors to the onset, my cry shall be, st. george, and berengare!' 6 “i hear the trumpet sound !-my battle charger impatient 'waits me in the court below! boune thee and follow, then, my peerless ladye; the voice of duty calls, and i must go!" oh! cyprus land was filled with woe and wailing, as through limisso's streets that war-cry rose, and fled the greeks before that dreaded standard, like leaves in autumn, when the north-wind blows ! the paynim ship sailed swiftly o'er the waters; a dromond, stately as a swan, was she. 82 the lay of the standard. a thousand warriors on her deck were standing, the chosen ones of all anatolie. why tremble they? why with such frantic gestures urge they the slaves to labour at the oar? those are but specks upon the broad blue waters,– but tiny barks, i ween, and nothing more! yet tremble they,--and they have cause to tremble ! those tiny barks that follow on the sea are filled with warriors bold, -and o'er the foremost floats fair the standard of the lions three ! a clash of swords on steely shields descending! war-cry and death-groan mingling fast and loud! and sank the dromond in the seething billows, and each bold paynim found a watery shroud! a strong were thy walls, and fair thy gates, 0 acre ! who queenly sattest by the sunny sea ! many the warriors who had sworn to perish, rather than evil hap should light on thee! yet vain thy bulwarks,-vain thy brave defenders ; for these are broken down, and those are slain : o'er these king richard's lion flag is floating, and those his arm hath stretched upon the plain! the lay of the standard. 83 ah, woe is me! my heart is sad for acre, the pride, the glory of the syrian shore ! now ruins gird thee round, thou mourning city, and joy and triumph fill thy streets no more! at early morn, upon the banks of arsur, horsemen and footmen stood in long array; and spears, as thick as reeds, along the river, shot back from steely points the morning ray. a thousand thousand, more than man could number, their turbans hid the plain, like drifted snow. so thickly waved the standards of the prophet, you scarce might see old arsur's stream below. but ere the sun, behind the cyprian mountains, had bathed his burning temples in the flood, the plain was void, save where the dead and dying tinged the dark river with their good heart's blood. that glorious day the lion-flag of england was first and foremost in the shock of war; and loud above the din of battle sounded king richard's cry,“st. george, and berengare!" why should i sing the bloody field of jaffa, the christians' triumph, and the paynims' woe? 84 the lay of the standard. enough, enough! methinks i hear the war-cries, the faulchions clashing, and the red stream's flow! enough, enough! the vultures knew that banner, and loved to follow in its track afar; and the gaunt wolf came bounding from the mountains, with hungry haste, at richard's cry of war! ! long may'st thou wave, o standard of our fathers ! and lead us on to glory as of yore! oh, may we find such warriors to bear thee, as he who 'gainst the paynims first thee bore ! god guard thee well, o standard of the mighty ! thou art the banner of the brave and free! ne'er shall a slave, a coward, or a tyrant, pollute with impious touch the lions three! a the lay of the glove. i the lay of the glove. anwa inscribed to w. h. brace, esq., bath. hytte i. 66 h! god thee guard, don lara! oh! god thee guard and save! and may his angel warriors their bucklers round thee wave ! “and may'st thou soon return again from warring with the moor, with the token in thy helmet that hath grieved me so sore ! “ for, if thou come not, all in vain for me the sun will shine; and, if that crest thou bearest not, i never can be thine. 88 the lay of the glove. my sire hath sworn a solemn oath, by good st. iago's head, that, if thou bring not back my gage, i never shall thee wed. “foul fall the glove! foul fall the moor, who raised it from the sand, when, in burgos, at the pass of arms, , i dropped it from my hand! “he was a gallant warrior, and he rode a noble steed; yet, though he meant it not, i ween, he did an evil deed. “oh! nobly rode he in the lists ! he made inigo reel; and velasquez before him rolled, beneath his charger's heel ! “'t was then the people shouted " the trumpets' notes above ! 'twas then i waved, -ah! luckless me! i waved, and lost my glove! « oh, had'st thou seen how statelily he bowed his plumèd head, with what a grace he picked it up, e'en thou hadst not gainsaid. the lay of the glove. 89 “he bore it off with a graceful swoop, as a falcon bears a dove, and, smiling, fixed it to the plume that waved his helm above. “he turned, against another foe another course to try; when, fiercer far than a blazing star, father's eye. i met my "oh, ne'er, oh, ne'er can i forget (methinks i see it now!) the fiery flash of his angry eye, and the frown upon his brow! “ he led me forth from the tournament, he bade prepare my steed, and never a word he to me spoke, but brought me home with speed. “ and when we came to the castle gate, a fearful oath he swore: she ne'er could be a daughter of his who loved the paynim moor!' “ in vain i prayed, in vain i wept, and clung about his knee,he never would me bless again, nor smile again on me. 90 the lay of the glove. “nor would he trust me, when i said, that moor i did not love. • why, then,' he'd cry, 'in the name of god! why didst thou drop thy glove ?' 6 " and now he'th sworn a solemn oath, by good st. iago's head, that, till that glove i win again, no suitor shall me wed. “go! god thee guard, don lara, when thou warrest with the moor! until thou come to me again, my heart will be full sore. “daily, at blessèd mary's shrine, i'll pray on bended knee, that, like a mother, she may watch, and ward all harm from thee. “ and a mass at compostella for thee daily shall be said, that god may send his angel host, to hover round thy head. “go! god thee guard, don lara! thee aid the saints above! may'st thou prevail against the moor, and win that fatal glove !" the lay of the glove. 91 thus spoke elvira laynez, from the lattice of her bower; and thus don lara answered, as he stood beneath the tower: “god thee guard, elvira laynez! god thee guard, my own true love! thy voice is sweeter to mine ears than the cooing of the dove. “ and the balmy words thou speakest are an unguent to my heart, which was wounded nigh to breaking, when thy sire me bade depart. “ not that i fear the danger, nor the prowess of the moor; but that i so long must leave thee, that, indeed, doth grieve me sore. “foul fall almed el zegri, for the evil he hath done! of a curst, and ill-starred ancestry, the curst and ill-starred son! a “as the dog-star in the summer, with a baleful light doth shine, so is thy name, el zegri, full of ill to me and mine! 92 the lay of the glove. “would that my sword were tempered like colada or tizón; and my steed were like rabieca, who would bear the cid alone! “ then soon i'd see the foeman subdued my might before, and loud would be the wailing in the cities of the moor! “ but i swear, e'en now, elvira, by my father, who is dead, to bring thee back that fatal glove, and with't the paynim's head! “one thing alone i ask thee,do not my suit deny! if thou love me, 'tis an easy thing, if thou say me nay,—i die? “ take now thy veil, elvira, and, cutting it in twain, give me the half, and wear thou half, until i come again. “ wear thou that half upon thy head, that half veil, and no more, and vow to me thou wilt not wed till i the rest restore !" the lay of the glove. 93 she spoke not,-no; but quickly her 'broidered veil unbound, and soon the sundered gossamer came floating toward the ground. with joyful hands he caught it, and fixed it to his casque. what troth more firmly plighted could the fondest lover ask ? yet still awhile he lingered, wherefore he could not tell. i ween, he found it wondrous hard to say the last "farewell!” twice he essayed to speak it, but still he silence kept ; at the third time, the tears broke forth, and silently he wept. he wept,-and was it echo gave answer to his moan? his heart made answer, “be content; thou dost not weep alone !" all night elvira laynez lay weeping on her bed, and listening, listening eagerly for his steed's fast fading tread; 94 the lay of the glove. 'till to her ear each rustling of the wind among the trees, seemed the clashing of his armour, borne along upon the breeze. oh, weep not so, elvira ! nor toss upon thy bed! whole hosts of blessèd spirits watch around thy lover's head, -and soon the time is coming will him to thine eyes restore, all laden with the spoils of war, and trophies of the moor! fytte ii. oh, woe is me! granada! thy glory waneth dim, like a golden sunset lingering at th' horizon's utmost rim. “once, like a queen, thou sattest,fair bulwarks girt thee round; and the proud alhambra graced thy head, with domes and turrets crowned. the lay of the glove. 95 « ten times ten thousand warriors from out thy gates could pour ;truly, thou wast the pearl among the cities of the moor! “still art thou girt with bulwarks, and with the alhambra crowned; but, woe is me! granada! thy foes the first surround ! “ their hands are on thy girdle, and the buckles of the gate must soon give way; for vain it is to stem the tide of fate! " and the crown of the alhambra, so fair and stately now, soon, soon, i fear, the victor's hand will tear it from thy brow! " once there was sound of music, and mirth in every street, and the graceful alma made thy courts ring to her winged feet. “ but now the bells, that tinkled in the alma's graceful dance, have given place to clash of swords, and shiverings of the lance; 96 the lay of the glove. “and the music of the guzla is drowned amid the din of battering-ram, and mangonel, bombard, and culverin. “ and, woe is me, el zegri! thy happiness is flown! the image of that christian maid now fills thy heart alone; “ and her favour on thy helmet,that prized but fatal glove, to thee's a talisman of death, or a talisman of love! “ah! lovely as heaven's houris are the maidens of the moor! if i were free, their praise i'd singtheir beauty i'd adore;" but the christian maid of burgos is lovelier far than they, and her form is shrined within my heart, to lord it there for aye! “ full well do i remember the joy-flash in her eye, when, in the flush of victory, like a dart, i passed her by. the lay of the glove. 97 “ oh! how she cheered me onward, with that glance of joy, and love ! oh! how my heart within me leapt, when i saw her drop her glove ! “sometimes, dark thoughts have risen: mayhap i am forgot ;mayhap she meant it not for me, and knows me, loves me not ! “no, no, my heart! hope ever! eyes of such lust'rous ray could never, never smile on thee, and smile but to betray! a “ ofttimes a beam of sunshine upon a dungeon wall, like a stream of heavenly comfort, on a captive's heart, doth fall. “ it gilds his heavy fetters, and, to cheer the weary hours, brings to his heart a pleasant dream, of the green trees, and the flowers. “ 'tis hope amidst his loneliness, and bringeth him good cheer, e'en though,--so envious is the grate, it come but once a-year. k 98 the lay of the glove, " then hope, stout heart! hope ever! though fearful is the strife; and the cheering ray from her bright eyes hath come but once in life! “ho! there, my slaves! what tidings? why doth the tambour beat? why ride the heralds in hot haste along the north-gate street ?" “ the tambour beats a parley for a gallant christian knight; and the heralds seek some champion brave to meet him in the fight. “hark! hark! the trumpet soundeth, e'en now before thy door! they call for thee, ahmed the brave, the bulwark of the moor!" “ haste ! barb my battle charger!” he shouted from the roof. “bring hither scymetar and shield, and lance, and arms of proof!" 0 he heard,-he spoke,-he mounted, he flew along the street, his eager soul went on before, intent the foe to meet ! . the lay of the glove. 99 all heedlessly, granada! he passed thy ramparts then; nor thought that but his breathless clay should pass those gates again! a forth went he from the city, like a bullet from a sling; but the christian waited like a pard, that crouches for the spring. the moors were on the ramparts, the christians on the plain; but every eye in either host was fixed upon them twain. and many a pulse beat quicker, as the warriors nearer drew, and many prayers from many hearts, for either, heavenward flew. right nobly rode el zegri, a charger brave had he, and his steely arms, with ruddy gold, they sparkled gloriously. like a fleece-cloud of the mountains waved his plume at every bound, and the flashing of his buckler threw a lightning radiance round, 100 the lay of the glove. than he, no nobler champion e'er rode by darro's shore,ahmed the brave, granada's pride, the bulwark of the moor! they thought, who saw el zegri, none better they might see; but the christian knight who waited there, what manner of man was he? he was a youthful warrior,scarce twenty summers old,of stature small, and light of limb, but his air was free and bold; and the lightning flash that darted from his dark and piercing eye, gave promise fair of spirit firm, and courage stern and high. white were his arms and buckler, no blazonry was there, and his only crest-a'broidered veilthat fluttered in the air. he was a noble warrior, and a noble steed him bore; but feeble, feeble did he seem before that iron moor. the lay of the glove. 101 e'en ahmed, when he saw him, felt pity in his breast, and thus, with half contemptuous words, the christian he addressed : “ who, and what art thou, christian ! that thus thou darest me ? thou art a rash and beardless boy, and my heart doth pity thee; a “ else, without further parley, my sword had laid thee low, and hewn thee piecemeal on the plain, to feed the carrion crow ! “go to! thou should'st be sitting at thy mother's side, by right! shame on the savages, who send such children forth to fight !" he spoke. the red blood mounted to lara's noble brow; but few and bitter words he said, for his heart was sore, i trow. “ thou scornest me, proud paypim ! but i swear by heaven above, either to die, or from thy crest to tear that 'broidered glove! 102 the lay of the glove. “ have at thee!-if thou think me unworthy of thy hand, know, i am of manrique's racethe noblest of the land !" no more. they spurred their coursers, and closed in deadly fray. (each, trusting to his good brown blade, had flung his lance away.) brave music was the clashing of scymetar and sword; ; loudly their good shields rattled, as the steel-storm on them poured; 1 > and, like the storm-raised columns on afric's wastes of sand, arose the dust, as reared each steed beneath his master's hand! ha! lara's hope hath fallen, his trusty sword hath broke ! god guard thee, christian warrior! that was a fearful stroke! el zegri's eye flashed triumph, and flushed his swarthy cheekfool! why suspend the deadly stroke ? why didst thou stop to speak ? the lay of the glove. 103 “now die!” he cried, “don lara ! where is thy boasting now?" don lara seized the trusty mace, hung at the saddle bow, and struck the paynim's helmet. he staggered in his selle, the scymetar his hand forsook, and prone to earth he fell! thund'ring, he fell! don lara leapt earthward with fierce glee, and on the fallen foeman's breast planted his armed knee. while one hand held the dagger the warrior's heart above, the other, with an eager clutch, secured the fatal glove! he rose, and sheathed his dagger, all bloodless was the blade ;don lara's hand for bravo's deed, i ween, was never made. no: he unlaced the helmet, and cut the gorget brace, and from the darro water brought, to bathe his foeman's face. 104 the lay of the glove. too late! but still el zegri looked gratefully on him, and blessed him with his dying eyes, though they were glazed and dim, and said, “god bless thee, lara ! to me that fatal glove hath been a talisman of death,to thee be't one of love! “o christian maid of burgos !". he could not utter more; and still in death his noble form lay on the darro's shore ! fytte iii. one morn, elvira laynez lay tossing on her bed; the downy pillows all too hard were for her aching head. her lovely cheeks were burning, and flushed with feverish pain, and she kept murmuring to herself, “ he ne'er will come again!” the lay of the glove. 105 the watchman on the turret, who watched both day and night, cried out, “ ho! cheer thee, ladye fair! a horseman is in sight! “ his steed is black as midnight,his arms of silver pale, and from his helm, upon the breeze, there floats a 'broidered veil !" . up rose elvira laynez,all thought of pain was gone : “come hither,” she said, “my maidens ! help me my robes to don!" she hath mounted to the turret, unto the warder's side, and he hath pointed out the knight that hitherward doth ride. she sees the fair veil fluttering, like to a lime-snared dove,but, oh! what joy! upon his helm he bears the fatal glove! 106 the lay of the glove. loud pealed the bells of burgos, and loud the joy-shout rang ! and everywhere along the streets the happy people sang: “god bless and guard don lara ! god guard him evermore ! manrique's pride, the boast of spain, the terror of the moor! “god bless elvira laynez, as she sits her lord beside! who would not risk his best heart's blood, to win so fair a bride ?" there was a tomb in burgos, all wrought in sculptured pride ;in it the noble lara lay, with his lady by his side, and men long viewed the trophy which hung that tomb above,a riven veil, an iron mace, a sabre, and a glove, the lay of the glove. 107 and told it to their children, how, in the olden day, don lara went to the moor's countree, and brought that glove away! l. d. s. finis painted by j lampard, collegiate press, prior park, bath. * princeton university library 32101 049725409 princeton university library this book is due on the latest date stamped below. please return or renew by this date. 43 115 nypl research libraries 3 3433 07485449 2 lenox library auctor pretiosa facit nyckinck collection. presented in 1878. 189 goldsmith i } henry dayshirely 1866 the new york public library 711 astor, lenox cundation t t. bewick, sculp. the traveller. published january 1, 1804, by william bulmer, at the shakspeare printing office, cleveland row. poems thomas by oliver goldsmith and parnell. olt: golds 2:15 afr.1 1774al. $5 year. don london: printed by w. bulmer and co. shakspeare printing-office, cleveland-row. 1804. dam ri messrs. boydells and nicol. gentlemen, то the shakspeare printing office owes its origin to the publication of that great national edition of the works of shakspeare, which you are now, so much to the honour of our country, happily conducting toward its completion; i therefore feel a propriety and peculiar gratification, in the present opportunity of dedicating to you a production from that press, which you have been so instrumental in establishing. feb. 1, 1795. i have the honour to be, with very sincere regard, gentlemen, your obliged servant, w. bulmer. t 1 1 advertisement. to raise the art of printing in this country from the neglected state in which it had long been suffered to continue, and to remove the opprobrium which had but too justly been attached to the late productions of the english press, much has been done within the last few years; and the warm emulation which has discovered itself amongst the printers of the present day, as well in the remote parts of the kingdom as in the metropolis, has been highly patronized by the public in general. the present volume, in addition to the shakspeare, the milton, and many other valuable works of elegance, which have already been given to the world, through the medium of the shakspeare press, are particularly meant to combine the various beauties of printing, type-founding, engraving, and paper-making; as well with a view to ascertain the near approach to perfection which those arts have attained in this country, as advertisement to invite a fair competition with the best typographical productions of other nations. how far the different artists, who have contributed their exertions to this great object, have succeeded in the attempt, the public will now be fully able to judge. much pains have been bestowed on the present publication, to render it a complete specimen of the arts of type and block-printing. the whole of the types, with which this work has been printed, are executed by mr. william martin, in the house of my friend mr. george nicol, whose unceasing endeavours to improve the art of printing, and its relative branches, are too well known to require any thing to be said on the present occasion; he has particularly patronized mr. martin, a very ingenious young artist, who has resided with him seven years, and who is at this time forming a foundry, by which he will shortly be enabled to offer to the world a specimen of types, that will in a very eminent degree unite utility, elegance, and beauty. the ornaments are all engraved on blocks of wood, by two of my earliest acquaintances, messrs. bewicks, of newcastle upon tyne and london, advertisement to say, after designs made from the most interesting passages of the poems they embellish. they have been executed with great care, and i may venture without being supposed to be influenced by ancient friendship, that they form the most extraordinary effort of the art of engraving upon wood, that ever was produced in any age, or any country. indeed it seems almost impossible that such delicate effects could be obtained from blocks of wood. of the paper it is only necessary to say, that it comes from the manufactory of mr. whatman. w. b. the foregoing dedication and advertisement are copied from the quarto edition of this work, published in 1795. the life of o. goldsmith, m. b. • the life of doctor goldsmith. oliver goldsmith was the third son of the rev. charles goldsmith, a divine of great respectability, though but in narrow circumstances. he was born at elphin, in the county of roscommon, in the kingdom of ireland, in the year 1729, and was instructed in the classicks, at the school of mr. hughes. on the 11th of june, 1744, he was admitted a sizer of trinity college, dublin, under the tuition of dr. radcliffe, where he was contemporary with mr. edmund burke. at college he exhibited no specimens of that genius which distinguished him in his maturer years. according to his own whimsical account of himself, "though he made no great figure in mathematicks, which was a study much in repute there, he could turn an ode of horace into english better than any of them." on the 27th of february, 1749, o. s. (two years after the regular time,) he obtained the degree of bachelor of arts. at this b xiv life of doctor goldsmith period of his life he turned his thoughts to the profession of physick; and after attending some courses of anatomy in dublin, he proceeded to edinburgh, in the year 1751, where he pursued the study of the several branches of medicine, under the different professors in that university. at this period of his life, the same want of thought and circumspection, and the same heedless beneficence operated, that in his latter years continued to involve him in difficulties. he, imprudently engaging to pay a considerable sum of money for a fellow student, who failed to exonerate him from the demand, found himself under the necessity of hastily quitting scotland, to avoid the horrours of a jail. sunderland was the place in which he took refuge, and there he arrived in the beginning of the year 1754. his sudden flight had left him no means of providing for his present wants, and he was driven to the greatest extremity. it was at this period, it is imagined, that he was reduced to an embarassment which will be best related in the words of the person who originally gave the anecdote to the publick. upon his first going to england he was in such distress, that he would have gladly become an usher to a country school; but so destitute was he of friends to recommend him, that he could not without "6 life of doctor goldsmith xv difficulty obtain even this low department. the master of the school scrupled to employ him, without some testimonial of his past life. goldsmith referred him to his tutor at college for a character; but all this while he went under a feigned name. from this resource, therefore, one would think that little in his favour could be even hoped for: but he only wanted to serve a present exigency-an ushership was not his object. "in this strait he writes a letter to dr. radcliffe, imploring him, as he tendered the welfare of an old pupil, not to answer a letter which he would probably receive the same post with his own, from the schoolmaster. he added, that he had good reasons for concealing, both from him and the rest of the world, his name, and the real state of his case; every circumstance of which he promised to communicate upon some future occasion. his tutor, embarassed enough before to know what answer he should give, resolved at last to give none. and thus was poor goldsmith snatched from between the horns of his present dilemma, and suffered to drag on a miserable life for a few probationary months. "it was not till after his return to london, from his rambles over great part of the world, and after having got some sure footing on this slippery globe, xvi life of doctor goldsmith that he at length wrote to dr. radcliffe, to thank him for not answering the schoolmaster's letter, and to fulfil his promise of giving the history of the whole transaction. it contained a comical narrative of his adventures from his leaving ireland to that time." it is to be regretted that accident has since destroyed this narrative, which the gentleman to whom it was written, admired more than any part of our author's works. but although dr. goldsmith had escaped from scotland into england, he could not secure himself from the fangs of the law. the vigilance of his creditor, a tailor, followed him, and he was arrested for the money, on account of which he had become security. from this difficulty he was released by the friendship of mr. laughlin maclane and dr. sleigh, who were then at the college of edinburgh. as soon as he was at liberty, he took his passage on board a dutch ship to rotterdam, from whence, after a short stay, he proceeded to brussels. he then visited a great part of flanders; and after passing some time at strasbourg and louvain, at which last place he obtained a degree of bachelor in physick, he accompanied an english gentleman to geneva. it is said, on unquestionable authority, that our ingenious author performed the greater part of his life of doctor goldsmith xvii travels on foot; and he himself alludes to this circumstance in one of his early works. countries," says he, "wear different appearances to travellers of different circumstances. a man who is whirled through europe in a post-chaise, and the pilgrim who walks the grand tour on foot, will form very different conclusions.-haud inexpertus loquor." it has been asserted, that he was enabled to pursue his travels, partly by demanding at universities to enter the lists as a disputant, by which, according to the custom of many of them, he was entitled to the premium of a crown, when, luckily for him, his challenge was not accepted; so that, as it has been observed, he disputed his passage through europe. he had left england with little money; but being at that time of a rambling disposition, and having probably no settled scheme of life, he neither foresaw, nor feared, any difficulties. he possessed also a body capable of sustaining every fatigue, and a mind not easily terrified by danger. thus qualified, he formed the design of seeing the manners of different countries. he had acquired some knowledge of the french language, and of musick; he played also on the german flute, which he found a very useful accomplishment, as at times it afforded him the means of subsistence, which all his other 66 xviii life of doctor goldsmith qualities would have failed to acquire for him. his learning, though not profound, produced him an hospitable reception at most of the religious houses that he visited; and his musick made him welcome to the peasants of flanders and germany. "whenever i approached a peasant's house towards nightfall," he used to say, "i played one of my most merry tunes, and that generally procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the next day; "but in truth," his constant expression, "i must own, whenever i attempted to entertain persons of higher rank, they always thought my performance odious, and never made me any return for my endeavours to please them.' on his arrival at geneva, it is said he was recommended as a travelling tutor to a young man, of mean birth and sordid disposition, who, after he had arrived at years of maturity, unexpectedly came into possession of a considerable fortune. with this person our author proceeded to the south of france, where a disagreement arose between the tutor and pupil, which ended in their parting from each other. once more our ill-fated traveller was left to encounter the difficulties of a friendless stranger in a foreign country. he had by this time satisfied his curiosity, and accordingly bent his steps towards life of doctor goldsmith xix england, where he arrived some time about the 1757. his situation was now altered, but not improved. he was still a stranger, and still destitute. "the world was all before him," but the means of present subsistence were not easy to be obtained. he applied to several apothecaries to be received as a journeyman; but his broad irish accent, and uncouth appearance, operated against his reception. in this forlorn state he was at length obliged to submit to the humble condition of an assistant in the laboratory of a chymist near fish-street hill. from this drudgery he was released by the kindness of his friend dr. sleigh, who received him into his family, and undertook to support him, until some means could be devised for his maintenance. in a short time he accepted the employment of usher to a boarding-school, kept by dr. milner, a dissenting teacher, at peckham. though this station, when viewed in its proper light, can be esteemed neither dishonourable nor disgraceful, yet, it is remarkable, it was the only one which goldsmith shrunk from the recollection of, when he attained a more prosperous state. it is imagined, that while he was usher to dr. milner, he first engaged in the pursuits of literature. year xx life of doctor goldsmith the earliest performance by him, now to be discovered, is, "the memoirs of a protestant, condemned to the galleys of france for his religion. written by himself. "translated from the original, just published at the hague, by james willington;" 1758, two volumes 12, for which mr. edward dilly paid him twenty guineas. in 1759 appeared in 1759 appeared "an enquiry into the present state of polite learning in europe;" and in october of the same year he began “the bee," a weekly publication, which ceased at the end of eight numbers. in the next year he became known to dr. smollett, who was then publishing "the british magazine;" and for that work our author composed several of the essays, which he afterwards collected into a volume. he also engaged as an assistant in the critical review; and it is believed wrote some articles in the monthly review. in the commencement of his literary career, he determined to observe the rules of economy very rigidly, and with that view took a lodging in greenarbour court, in the old bailey, where the greater part of his most successful pieces were written. he had been introduced to mr. newbery, a man who truly deserved the eulogium bestowed by dr. warburton on the booksellers in general, as "one of the best judges and rewarders of merit," by whom he life of doctor goldsmith xxi was employed to write in the public ledger the chinese letters, afterwards collected under the title of "the citizen of the world ;" and soon after he obtained the friendship of dr. samuel johnson, who encouraged him in his pursuits, applauded his exertions, and occasionally assisted him with his advice. our author, however, did not soon emerge from obscurity. he continued in his humble abode in green-arbour court, until about the middle of the year 1762, when he removed to a handsome set of chambers in the middle temple. his name was still but little known, except among the booksellers, until the year 1765, when his genius displayed itself in its full vigour by the publication of "the traveller, or a prospect of society;" a poem begun in switzerland, and which was revised by dr. johnson; who pronounced this eulogium on it, "that there had not been so fine a poem since pope's time." in the year 1767, our author, who had now assumed the title of doctor, made his first, and, probably, his only effort towards obtaining a permanent establishment. on the death of mr. mace, gresham professor of civil law, he became a candidate to succeed him; but without success. in 1768, his first play, the good natured man, was acted at covent xxii life of doctor goldsmith garden, with less approbation than it deserved. dr. johnson's opinion of this performance was, that it was the best comedy that had appeared since the provoked husband; and that there had not been of late any such character on the stage as that of croaker. in the succeeding year he had the honorary professorship of history in the royal academy conferred on him; and in this year his beautiful poem, the deserted village, was first printed. the estimation in which he was held by the booksellers was at this time so great, that he was solicited to engage in a variety of works, some of which, it cannot be denied, were executed in a hasty and slovenly manner. his reputation however was but little diminished to the end of his life. his emoluments were very great; and had he possessed only a small portion of prudence, he might have ensured that independence, the want of which embittered his latter days, and contributed in some measure to shorten his life. his generosity, not to call it profusion, was without bounds; and he had constantly a set of miserable dependants, whose wants he supplied, even to the distressing himself. he had also unfortunately contracted a habit of gaming, with the arts of which he was very little acquainted; and consequently became life of doctor goldsmith xxiii the prey of some who were unprincipled enough to take advantage of his ignorance. an habitual carelessness with respect to money matters, at all times appears to have been his predominant failing. though, as already observed, the emoluments arising from his writings were very great, yet his income bore no proportion to his expences. he became embarassed in his circumstances, and in consequence uneasy, fretful, and peevish. to this was added a violent strangury, with which he was some years afflicted, and which, with other misfortunes, brought on a kind of habitual despondency. in this state he was attacked by a nervous fever, which, being improperly treated, terminated in his dissolution the 4th of april, 1774, in the forty-fifth year of his age. it was first intended by his friends to bury him in westminster abbey; his pall was to have been supported by lord shelburne, lord louth, sir joshua reynolds, the honourable mr. beauclerc, mr. edmund burke, and mr. garrick; but a slight inspection into his affairs showed the impropriety of that design. he was therefore privately interred, in the burial ground belonging to the temple; when mr. hugh kelly, messrs. john and robert day, mr. palmer, mr. etherington, and mr. hawes; gentlemen, who had been his friends in life, attended his xxiv life of doctor goldsmith corpse as mourners, and paid the last tribute to his memory. dr. johnson's character of goldsmith, as an author, a few years after his death, is highly honourable to him. "he was," says that admirable writer, "a man of such variety of powers, and such felicity of performance, that he always seemed to do best, that which he was doing: a man who had the art of being minute without tediousness, and general without confusion; whose language was copious without exuberance, exact without constraint, and easy without weakness." mr. boswell has also portrayed our author: and some of his traits of his character will be readily recognized by his surviving friends. "no man had the art of displaying with more advantage, as a writer, whatever literary acquisition he made.-nihil quod tetigit non ornavit. his mind resembled a fertile, but thin soil. there was a quick, but not a strong vegetation, of whatever chanced to be thrown upon it. no deep root could be struck. the oak of the forest did not grow there; but the elegant shrubbery, and the fragrant parterre, appeared in gay succession. it has been generally circulated and believed, that he was a mere fool in conversation; but, in truth, this has been greatly exaggerated. life of doctor goldsmith xxv he had, no doubt, a more than common share of that hurry of ideas which we often find in his countrymen, and which sometimes produces a laughable confusion in expressing them. he was very much what the french call un etourdi; and from vanity, and an eager desire of being conspicuous where-ever he was, he frequently talked carelessly, without knowledge of the subject, or even without thought. his person was short; his countenance coarse and vulgar; his deportment that of a scholar, awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. those who were in any way distinguished, excited envy in him to so ridiculous an excess, that the instances of it are hardly credible."-" he, i am afraid, had no settled system of any sort, so that his conduct must not be strictly scrutinized; but his affections were social and generous; and when he had money, he gave it away very liberally." to these accounts, we shall add the following pleasant description of our author, by the sprightly pen of david garrick. here, hermes, says jove, who with nectar was mellow, go, fetch me some clay-i will make an odd fellow. right and wrong shall be jumbled; much gold, and some dross; without cause be he pleased, without cause be he cross: xxvi 7 life of doctor goldsmith be sure, as i work, to throw in contradictions; a great lover of truth, yet a mind turn'd to fictions. now mix these ingredients, which, warm'd in the baking, turn to learning and gaming, religion and raking; with the love of a wench, let his writings be chaste, tip his tongue with strange matter, his pen with fine taste. that the rake and the poet o'er all may prevail, set fire to his head, and set fire to his tail: for the joy of each sex on the world i'll bestow it, this scholar, rake, christian, dupe, gamester, and poet. though a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame, and among brother mortals be goldsmith his name. when on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear, you, hermes, shall fetch him, to make us sport here. a few years after his death a monument, by nollikens, was erected in westminster abbey, by a collection made by his friends; and upon it is inscribed the following epitaph, written by dr. samuel johnson. life of doctor goldsmith xxvii olivarii goldsmith poete, physici, historici, qui nullum fere scribendi genus non tetigit, nullum quod tetigit non ornavit; sive risus essent movendi, sive lacryme, affectuum potens at lenis dominator; ingenio sublimis, vividus, versatilis; oratione grandis, nitidus, venustus; hoc monumento memoriam coluit sodalium amor, amicorum fides, lectorum veneratio. natus hibernia, forneie lonfordiensis in loco cui nomen pallas, nov. xxix. mdccxxxi. eblanæ literis institutus obiit londini, apr. iv. mdcclxxiv. • ས་ 1 1 • the traveller. remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, or by the lazy scheld, or wandering po; or onward, where the rude carinthian boor against the houseless stranger shuts the door; or where campania's plain forsaken lies, a weary waste, expanding to the skies; where-e'er i roam, whatever realms to see, my heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee: b 150 2 the traveller still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, and drags at each remove a lengthening chain. eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, and round his dwelling guardian saints attend; bless'd be that spot, where cheerful guests retire, to pause from toil, and trim their evening fire; bless'd that abode, where want and pain repair, and every stranger finds a ready chair; bless'd be those feasts, with simple plenty crown'd, where all the ruddy family around laugh at the jests, or pranks that never fail, or sigh with pity at some mournful tale, or press the bashful stranger to his food, and learn the luxury of doing good. but me, not destined such delights to share, my prime of life in wandering spent, and care; impell'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view; that, like the circle bounding earth and skies, allures from far, yet, as i follow, flies: my fortune leads to traverse realms, alone, and find no spot of all the world my own. e'en now, where alpine solitudes ascend, i sit me down a pensive hour to spend ; the traveller 3 • and placed on high, above the storm's career, look downward, where an hundred realms appear; lakes, forests, cities, plains, extending wide, the pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. when thus creation's charms around combine, amidst the store, should thankless pride repine? say, should the philosophick mind disdain that good, which makes each humbler bosom vain? let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, these little things are great to little man ; and wiser he, whose sympathetick mind exults in all the good of all mankind. ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendour crown'd, ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round, ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale, ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale, for me your tributary stores combine; creation's heir, the world, the world is mine. as some lone miser, visiting his store, bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er; hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill, yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still: thus to my breast alternate passions rise, pleased with each good that heaven to man supplies; the traveller yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, to see the sum of human bliss so small; and oft i wish, amidst the scene, to find some spot to real happiness consign'd; where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest, may gather bliss to see my fellows bless'd. but where to find that happiest spot below, who can direct, when all pretend to know? the shuddering tenant of the frigid zone boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own; extols the treasures of his stormy seas, and his long night of revelry and ease : the naked negro, panting at the line, boasts of his golden sands, and palmy wine, basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, and thanks his gods for all the good they gave. such is the patriot's boast, where-e'er we roam, his first, best country, ever is at home. and yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, and estimate the blessings which they share, though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find an equal portion dealt to all mankind; as different good, by art or nature given to different nations, makes their blessings even. the traveller 5 nature, a mother kind, alike to all still grants her bliss at labour's earnest call; with food as well the peasant is supplied on idra's cliffs, as arno's shelvy side; and though the rocky-crested summits frown, these rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down. from art more various are the blessings sent, wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content. yet these each other's power so long contest, that either seems destructive of the rest. where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails; and honour sinks, where commerce long prevails. hence, every state, to one loved blessing prone, conforms and models life to that alone. each to the favourite happiness attends, and spurns the plan that aims at other ends; till, carried to excess in each domain, this favourite good begets peculiar pain. but let us view these truths with closer eyes, and trace them through the prospect as it lies: here, for a while, my proper cares resign'd, here let me sit, in sorrow for mankind; like yon neglected shrub, at random cast, that shades the steep, and sighs at every blast. 6 the traveller far to the right, where apennine ascends, bright as the summer, italy extends; its uplands, sloping, deck the mountain's side, woods over woods in gay theatrick pride; while oft some temple's mould'ring top between, with venerable grandeur marks the scene. could nature's bounty satisfy the breast, the sons of italy were surely bless'd. whatever fruits in different climes are found, that proudly rise, or humbly court the ground; whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, whose bright succession decks the varied year; whatever sweets salute the northern sky with vernal lives, that blossom but to die; these, here disporting, own the kindred soil, nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil: while sea-born gales their gelid wings expand, to winnow fragrance round the smiling land. but small the bliss that sense alone bestows; and sensual bliss is all the nation knows. in florid beauty groves and fields appear; man seems the only growth that dwindles here. contrasted faults through all his manners reign: though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vain; 1 the traveller 7 though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue; and e'en in penance, planning sins anew. all evils here contaminate the mind, that opulence, departed, leaves behind; for wealth was theirs, nor far removed the date, when commerce proudly flourish'd through the state; at her command, the palace learnt to rise; again the long-fall'n column sought the skies; the canvas glow'd, beyond e'en nature warm ; the pregnant quarry teem'd with human form. till, more unsteady than the southern gale, commerce, on other shores, display'd her sail; while nought remain'd, of all that riches gave, but towns unmann'd, and lords without a slave: and late the nation found, with fruitless skill, its former strength was but plethorick ill. yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied by arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride; from these the feeble heart, and long-fall'n mind, an easy compensation seem to find: here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array'd, the paste-board triumph, and the cavalcade; processions form'd for piety and love, a mistress, or a saint, in every grove. 8 the traveller by sports like these are all their cares beguiled; the sports of children satisfy the child. each nobler aim, repress'd by long control, now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul; while low delights succeeding fast behind, in happier meanness occupy the mind. as in those domes, where cæsars once bore sway, defaced by time, and tottering in decay, there, in the ruin, heedless of the dead, the shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed; and wondering, man could want the larger pile, exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. my soul turn from them, turn we to survey where rougher climes a nobler race display, where the bleak swiss their stormy mansions tread, and force a churlish soil for scanty bread; no product here the barren hills afford, but man and steel, the soldier and his sword. no vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, but winter, ling'ring, chills the lap of may; no zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, but meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. yet still, e'en here, content can spread a charm, redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. the traveller 9 though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small, he sees his little lot, the lot of all; sees no contiguous palace rear its head, to shame the meanness of his humble shed; no costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal, to make him loath his vegetable meal: but calm, and bred in ignorance, and toil, each wish contracting, fits him to the soil. cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose, breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes; with patient angle, trolls the finny deep, or drives his venturous ploughshare to the steep; or seeks the den, where snow-tracks mark the way, and drags the struggling savage into day. at night returning, every labour sped, he sits him down, the monarch of a shed; smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys his children's looks, that brighten at the blaze; while his loved partner, boastful of her hoard: displays her cleanly platter on the board: and haply too some pilgrim, thither led, with many a tale repays the nightly bed. 10 the traveller thus every good his native wilds impart, imprints the patriot passion on his heart; and e'en those hills that round his mansion rise, enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, and dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; and, as a child, when scaring sounds molest, clings close and closer to the mother's breast, so the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar, but bind him to his native mountains more. such are the charms to barren states assign'd; their wants but few, their wishes all confined. yet let them only share the praises due, if few their wants, their pleasures are but few; for every want that stimulates the breast, becomes a source of pleasure, when redress'd. whence, from such lands each pleasing science flies, that first excites desire, and then supplies: unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, to fill the languid pause with finer joy; unknown those powers, that raise the soul to flame, catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame. their level life is but a smouldering fire, unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire; the traveller 11 unfit for raptures; or, if raptures cheer, on some high festival of once a year, in wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. but not their joys alone thus coarsely flow: their morals, like their pleasures, are but low; for, as refinement stops, from sire to son, unalter'd, unimproved, the manners run; and love's and friendship's finely pointed dart fall blunted, from each indurated heart. some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast may sit, like falcons cowering on the nest; but all the gentler morals, such as play through life's more cultured walks, and charm the way, these, far dispersed, on timorous pinions fly, to sport and flutter in a kinder sky. to kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, i turn; and france displays her bright domain. gay sprightly land of mirth and social ease, pleased with thyself, whom all the world can please; how often have i led thy sportive choir, with tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring loire ? where shading elms along the margin grew, and, freshen'd from the wave, the zephyr flew ; 12 the traveller and haply, though my harsh touch, faultering still, but mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill; yet would the village praise my wond'rous power, and dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour. alike all ages. dames of ancient days have led their children through the mirthful maze, and the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestick lore, has frisk'd, beneath the burden of threescore. so bless'd a life these thoughtless realms display; thus idly busy rolls their world away: theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, for honour forms the social temper here. honour, that praise which real merit gains, or e'en imaginary worth obtains, here passes current; paid from hand to hand, it shifts in splendid traffick round the land: from courts, to camps, to cottages it strays, and all are taught an avarice of praise; they please, are pleased, they give, to get esteem, till, seeming bless'd, they grow to what they seem. but while this softer art their bliss supplies, it gives their follies also room to rise; for praise too dearly loved, or warmly sought, enfeebles all internal strength of thought. the traveller 13 and the weak soul, within itself unbless'd, leans, for all pleasure, on another's breast. hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart; here vanity assumes her pert grimace. and trims her robes of frieze with copper lace: here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, to boast one splendid banquet once a year: the mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. to men of other minds my fancy flies, embosom'd in the deep, where holland lies. methinks her patient sons before me stand, where the broad ocean leans against the land, and, sedulous to stop the coming tide, lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. onward, methinks, and diligently slow, the firm connected bulwark seems to grow; spreads its long arms, amidst the watery roar, scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore. while the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile, sees an amphibious world beneath him smile; the slow canal, the yellow-blossom'd vale, the willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, 14 the traveller the crowded mart, the cultivated plain, a new creation rescued from his reign. thus, while around, the wave-subjected soil impels the native to repeated toil, industrious habits in each bosom reign, and industry begets a love of gain. hence, all the good from opulence that springs, with all those ills superfluous treasure brings, are here display'd. their much-loved wealth imparts convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts: but view them closer, craft and fraud appear; e'en liberty itself is barter'd here! at gold's superior charms all freedom flies; the needy sell it, and the rich man buys: a land of tyrants, and a den of slaves, here wretches seek dishonourable graves; and calmly bent, to servitude conform, dull as their lakes, that slumber in the storm. heavens! how unlike their belgick sires of old! rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold; war in each breast, and freedom on each brow; how much unlike the sons of britain now! the traveller 15 fired at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, and flies where britain courts the western spring; where lawns extend that scorn arcadian pride, and brighter streams than famed hydaspiś glide; there all around the gentlest breezes stray, there gentle musick melts on every spray; creation's mildest charms are there combined; extremes are only in the master's mind; stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, with daring aims irregularly great; pride in their port, defiance in their eye, i see the lords of human kind pass by; intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, by forms unfashion'd fresh from nature's hand; fierce in their native hardiness of soul, true to imagined right, above control; while e'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan, and learns to venerate himself as man. thine, freedom, thine the blessings pictured here, thine are those charms that dazzle and endear; too bless'd, indeed, were such without alloy; but, foster'd e'en by freedom, ills annoy: that independence, britons prize too high, keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie; 1 16 the traveller the self-dependent lordlings stand alone, all claims that bind and sweeten life unknown; here, by the bonds of nature feebly held, minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd; ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar, repress'd ambition struggles round her shore; till, overwrought, the general system feels its motions stop, or phrensy fire the wheels. nor this the worst. as nature's ties decay, as duty, love, and honour, fail to sway, fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. hence, all obedience bows to these alone, and talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown; till time may come, when, stripp'd of all her charms, the land of scholars, and the nurse of arms, where noble stems transmit the patriot flame, where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame, one sink of level avarice shall lie; and scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonour'd die. yet think not, thus when freedom's ills i state, i mean to flatter kings, or court the great: the traveller 17 ye powers of truth, that bid of truth, that bid my soul aspire, far from my bosom drive the low desire! and thou, fair freedom, taught alike to feel the rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry steel; thou transitory flower, alike undone by proud contempt, or favour's fostering sun, still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure, i only would repress them, to secure : for just experience tells, in every soil, that those who think, must govern those who toil; and all that freedom's highest aims can reach, is but to lay proportion'd loads on each. hence, should one order disproportion'd its double weight must ruin all below. o then how blind to all that truth requires, who think it freedom when a part aspires! calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, except when fast-approaching danger warms; but when contending chiefs blockade the throne, contracting regal power, to stretch their own; when i behold a factious band agree grow, to call it freedom, when themselves are free; each wanton judge new penal statutes draw, laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law; с 18 the traveller the wealth of climes, where savage nations roam, pillaged from slaves, to purchase slaves at home; fear, pity, justice, indignation start, tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart; till half a patriot, half a coward grown, i fly from petty tyrants to the throne. yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour, when first ambition struck at regal power; and thus, polluting honour in its source, gave wealth to sway the mind with double force. have we not seen, round britain's peopled shore, her useful sons exchanged for useless ore? seen all her triumphs but destruction haste, like flaring tapers brightening as they waste; seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain, lead stern depopulation in her train, and over fields where scatter'd hamlets rose, in barren solitary pomp repose? have we not seen at pleasure's lordly call, the smiling long frequented village fall? beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd, the modest matron, and the blushing maid, forced from their homes, a melancholy train, to traverse climes beyond the western main; the traveller 19 where wild oswego spreads her swamps around, and niagara stuns with thundering sound? e'en now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays through tangled forests, and through dangerous ways, where beasts, with man, divided empire claim, and the brown indian marks with murderous aim ; there, while above the giddy tempest flies, and all around distressful yells arise, the pensive exile, bending with his woe, to stop too fearful, and too faint to go, casts a long look where england's glories shine, and bids his bosom sympathize with mine. vain, very vain, my weary search to find that bliss which only centers in the mind: why have i stray'd from pleasure and repose, to seek a good each government bestows? in every government, though terrors reign, though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain, how small, of all that human hearts endure, that part, which laws or kings can cause or cure. still, to ourselves, in every place consign'd, our own felicity we make, or find: with secret course, which no loud storms annoy, glides the smooth current of domestick joy. 20 the traveller the lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, luke's iron crown, and damien's bed of steel, to men remote from power, but rarely known, leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own. the deserted village. by oliver goldsmith. printed in 1769. 1 ——— the deserted village. sweet auburn! loveliest village of the plain, where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain; where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, and parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd. dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, seats of my youth, when every sport could please, how often have i loiter'd o'er thy green, where humble happiness endear'd each scene! how often have i paused on every charm, the shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, 24 the deserted village the never-failing brook, the busy mill, the decent church, that topp'd the neighbouring hill, the hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, for talking age, and whispering lovers made. how often have i bless'd the coming day, when toil remitting lent its turn to play, and all the village train, from labour free, led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, while many a pastime circled in the shade, the young contending, as the old survey'd ; and many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, and sleights of art, and feats of strength went round. and still, as each repeated pleasure tired, succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired: the dancing pair that simply sought renown, by holding out, to tire each other down; the swain mistrustless of his smutted face, while secret laughter titter'd round the place; the bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, the matron's glance, that would those looks reprove. these were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these, with sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please; 9 1 the deserted village 25 these round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, these were thy charms-but all these charms are fled. sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, and desolation saddens all thy green: one only master grasps the whole domain, and half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. no more thy glassy brook reflects the day, but, choked with sedges, works its weedy way; along thy glades, a solitary guest, the hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, and tires their echoes, with unvaried cries. sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, and the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; and trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, far, far away thy children leave the land. ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, where wealth accumulates, and men decay: princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; a breath can make them, as a breath has made; but a bold peasantry, their country's pride, when once destroy'd, can never be supplied. 26 the deserted village a time there was, ere england's griefs began, when every rood of ground maintain'd its man ; for him light labour spread her wholesome store, just gave what life required, but gave no more: his best companions, innocence and health; and his best riches, ignorance of wealth. but times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train usurp the land, and dispossess the swain; along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, unwieldy wealth, and cumbrous pomp repose; and every want to luxury allied, and every pang that folly pays to pride. these gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, those calm desires that ask'd but little room, those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, lived in each look, and brighten'd all the green; these, far departing, seek a kinder shore ; and rural mirth and manners are no more. sweet auburn! parent of the blissful hour, thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. here, as i take my solitary rounds, amidst thy tangling walks, and ruin'd grounds, and, many a year elapsed, return to view where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, the deserted village 27 remembrance wakes, with all her busy train, swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. in all my wanderings round this world of care, in all my griefs-and god has given my sharei still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; to husband out life's taper at the close, and keep the flame from wasting, by repose; i still had hopes, for pride attends us still, amidst the swains to shew my book-learn’d skill, around my fire an evening group to draw, and tell of all i felt, and all i saw : and as an hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, pants to the place from whence at first she flew, i still had hopes, my long vexations pass'd, here to return-and die at home at last. o bless'd retirement, friend to life's decline, retreats from care, that never must be mine; how happy he who crowns, in shades like these, a youth of labour with an age of ease; who quits a world where strong temptations try, and, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! for him no wretches, born to work and weep, explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; 28 the deserted village no surly porter stands, in guilty state, to spurn imploring famine from the gate; but on he moves to meet his latter end, angels around befriending virtue's friend; sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, while resignation gently slopes the way; and, all his prospects brightening to the last, his heaven commences ere the world be pass'd! sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close, up yonder hill the village murmur rose; there, as i pass'd with careless steps and slow, the mingling notes came soften'd from below; the swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, the sober herd that low'd to meet their young, the noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, the playful children just let loose from school, the watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, and the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; these all, in sweet confusion, sought the shade, and fill'd each pause the nightingale had made. but now the sounds of population fail, no cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale; no busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, for all the bloomy flush of life is fled. the deserted village 29 all but yon widow'd, solitary thing, that feebly bends beside the plashy spring; she, wretched matron, forced, in age, for bread, to strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, to pick her wintry fagot from the thorn, to seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; she only left, of all the harmless train, the sad historian of the pensive plain. near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, and still where many a garden flower grows wild; there, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, the village preacher's modest mansion rose. a man he was to all the country dear, and passing rich, with forty pounds a year; remote from towns he ran his godly race, nor e'er had changed, nor wish'd to change his place; unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, by doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, more bent to raise the wretched than to rise. his house was known to all the vagrant train, he chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain; the long-remember'd beggar was his guest, whose beard descending swept his aged breast; 30 the deserted village the ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, claim'd kindred there, and had his claim allow'd; the broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away; wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. pleased with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, and quite forgot their vices in their woe; careless their merits or their faults to scan, his pity gave ere charity began. thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, and e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side; but in his duty prompt at every call, he watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for all. and, as a bird each fond endearment tries, to tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, he tried each art, reproved each dull delay, allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. beside the bed where parting life was laid, and sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, the reverend champion stood. at his control, despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; comfort came down, the trembling wretch to raise, and his last faltering accents whisper'd praise. + the deserted village 31 at church, with meek and unaffected grace, his looks adorn'd the venerable place; truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, and fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. the service pass'd, around the pious man, with steady zeal, each honest rustick ran; e'en children followed, with endearing wile, and pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile. his ready smile a parent's warmth express'd, their welfare pleased him, and their cares distress'd: to them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, but all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. as some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, eternal sunshine settles on its head. beside yon straggling fence, that skirts the way with blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, there, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, the village master taught his little school: a man severe he was, and stern to view, i knew him well, and every truant knew; well had the boding tremblers learnt to trace the day's disasters in his morning face; 32 the deserted village full well they laugh'd, with counterfeited glee, at all his jokes, for many a joke had he; full well the busy whisper, circling round, convey'd the dismal tidings, when he frown'd: yet he was kind; or if severe in aught, the love he bore to learning was in fault; the village all declared how much he knew; "twas certain he could write, and cipher too; lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, and e'en the story ran, that he could gauge: in arguing too, the parson own'd his skill, for e'en, though vanquish'd, he could argue while words of learned length, and thundering sound, amazed the gazing rusticks ranged around; and still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, that one small head could carry all he knew. still; but past is all his fame. the very spot where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot. near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, where once the signpost caught the passing eye, low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, where gray-beard mirth, and smiling toil retired, where village statesmen talk'd, with looks profound, and news much older than their ale went round, iwan r. johnson, del. t. bewick, sculp. the departure. published january 1, 1804, by william bulmer, at the shakspeare printing office, cleveland row. hr new york fublic library! astor, lenox tilden poundation the deserted village s3 imagination fondly stoops to trace the parlour splendours of that festive place; the white-wash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor, the varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door; the chest, contrived a double debt to pay, a bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; the pictures, placed for ornament and use, the twelve good rules, the royal game of goose; the hearth, except when winter chill'd the day, with aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel, gay: while broken tea cups, wisely kept for show, ranged o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row. vain transitory splendours! could not all reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall! obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart an hour's importance to the poor man's heart; thither no more the peasant shall repair to sweet oblivion of his daily care; no more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, no more the woodman's ballad shall prevail; no more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear; the host himself no longer shall be found careful to see the mantling bliss go round; d 34 the deserted village nor the coy maid, half willing to be press'd, shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, these simple blessings of the lowly train ; to me more dear, congenial to my heart, one native charm, than all the gloss of art; spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, the soul adopts, and own their first-born sway; lightly they frolick o'er the vacant mind, unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. but the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, with all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, in these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, the toiling pleasure sickens into pain; and, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, the heart distrusting asks, can this be joy? ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey the rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, "tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand between a splendid and an happy land. proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, and shouting folly hails them from her shore; hoards, e'en beyond the miser's wish, abound, and rich men flock from all the world around. the deserted village 35 yet count our gains: this wealth is but a name, that leaves our useful products still the same. not so the loss: the man of wealth and pride takes up a space up a space that many poor supplied; space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, space for his horses, equipage, and hounds; the robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth, has robb'd the neighb'ring fields of half their growth; his seat, where solitary sports are seen, indignant spurns the cottage from the green; around the world each needful product flies, for all the luxuries the world supplies: while thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure all, in barren splendour feebly waits the fall. as some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, secure to please, while youth confirms her reign, slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies, nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes; but when those charms are pass'd, for charms are frail, when time advances, and when lovers fail, she then shines forth, solicitous to bless, in all the glaring impotence of dress. thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd; in nature's simplest charms at first array'd, 36 the deserted village but verging to decline, its splendours rise, its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; while, scourged by famine from the smiling land, the mournful peasant leads his humble band; and while he sinks, without one arm to save, the country blooms-a garden, and a grave. where then, ah! where shall poverty reside, scape the pressure of contiguous pride? if to some common's fenceless limits stray'd, he drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, and e'en the bare-worn common is deny'd. to if to the city sped-what waits him there? to see profusion, that he must not share; to see ten thousand baneful arts combined, to pamper luxury, and thin mankind; to see each joy the sons of pleasure know, extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, there, the pale artist plies the sickly trade; here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, there, the black gibbet glooms beside the way. the dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign, here, richly deck'd, amidst the gorgeous train ; the deserted village 37 tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, the rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. sure, scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! sure, these denote one universal joy! are these thy serious thoughts?-ah, turn thine eyes where the poor, houseless, shivering female lies: she once, perhaps, in village plenty bless'd, has wept at tales of innocence distress'd; her modest looks the cottage might adorn, sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn; now lost to all; her friends, her virtue fled, near her betrayer's door she lays her head; and pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower, with heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, when idly first, ambitious of the town, she left her wheel, and robes of country brown. do thine, sweet auburn, thine, the loveliest train, do thy fair tribes participate her pain? e'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, at proud men's doors they ask a little bread! ah, no! to distant climes, a dreary scene, where half the convex world intrudes between, through torrid tracts, with fainting steps, they go, where wild altama murmurs to their woe. 38 the deserted village far different there from all that charm'd before, the various terrours of that horrid shore; those blazing suns, that dart a downward ray, and fiercely shed intolerable day; those matted woods, where birds forget to sing, but silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; those poisonous fields, with rank luxuriance crown'd, where the dark scorpion gathers death around; where, at each step, the stranger fears to wake the rattling terrours of the vengeful snake; where, crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, and savage men, more murderous still than they; while oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. far different these from every former scene, the cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, the breezy covert of the warbling grove, that only shelter'd thefts of harmless love. good heaven! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day, that call'd them from their native walks away; when the poor exiles, every pleasure pass'd, hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their last, and took a long farewell, and wish’d in vain for seats like these beyond the western main; 1 the deserted village 39 and shuddering still to face the distant deep, return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep. the good old sire, the first prepared to go to new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe; but for himself, in conscious virtue brave, he only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave. his lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, the fond companion of his helpless years, silent went next, neglectful of her charms, and left a lover's for her father's arms. with louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, and bless'd the cot where every pleasure rose ; and kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear, and clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear; while her fond husband strove to lend relief in all the silent manliness of grief. o luxury! thou cursed by heaven's decree, how ill exchanged are things like these, for thee! how do thy potions, with insidious joy, diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! kingdoms, by thee, to sickly greatness grown, boast of a florid vigour not their own. at every draught more large and large they grow, a bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe; 40 the deserted village till, sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound, down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. e'en now the devastation is begun, and half the business of destruction done; e'en now, methinks, as pondering here i stand, i see the rural virtues leave the land. down, where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, that, idly waiting, flaps with every gale, downward they move, a melancholy band, pass from the shore, and darken all the strand: contented toil, and hospitable care, and kind connubial tenderness, are there; and piety, with wishes placed above, and steady loyalty, and faithful love: and thou, sweet poetry, thou loveliest maid, still first to fly where sensual joys invade; unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, to catch the heart, or strike for honest fame: dear charming nymph, neglected and decry'd, my shame in crowds, my solitary pride; thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, that found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well: the new york public library astor, lenox tilden foundation amy d john bewick, del. et sculp. the sad historian. published january 1, 1804, by william bulmer, at the shakspeare printing office, cleveland row. ; the deserted village 41 farewell; and oh! where-e'er thy voice be try'd, on torno's cliffs, or pambamarca's side; whether where equinoctial fervours glow, or winter wraps the polar world in snow, still let thy voice, prevailing over time, redress the rigours of the inclement clime; aid slighted truth, with thy persuasive strain, teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; teach him, that states of native strength possess'd, though very poor, may still be very bless'd; that trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, as ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away; while self-dependent power can time defy, as rocks resist the billows and the sky. 40 1 j the hermit; a poem. ri by t. parnell, d. d. with a biographical sketch of his life by goldsmith. 7 7 the life of thomas parnell, d. d. archdeacon of clogher. the life of thomas parnell, d. d. thomas parnell was descended from an ancient family, that had for some centuries been settled at congleton, in cheshire. his father, thomas parnell, who had been attached to the commonwealth party, upon the restoration went over to ireland; thither he carried a large personal fortune, which he laid out in lands in that kingdom. the estates he purchased there, as also that of which he was possessed in cheshire, descended to our poet, who was his eldest son, and they still remain in the family. thus want, which has compelled many of our greatest men into the service of the muses, had no influence upon parnell; he was a poet by inclination. he was born in dublin, in the year 1679, and received the first rudiments of his education at the school of dr. jones, in that city. surprising things are told of the greatness of his memory at that early period, as, of his being able to repeat forty lines of any book at the first reading; of his getting by heart 48 life of doctor parnell the third book of the iliad in one night's time, which was given him as a task, in order to confine him for some days. these stories, which are told of almost every celebrated wit, may perhaps be true; but for my part, i never found any of those prodigies of parts, although i have known enow that were desirous, among the ignorant, of being thought so. there is one presumption, however, of the early maturity of his understanding. he was admitted a member of the college of dublin at the age of thirteen, which is much sooner than usual, as at that university they are a great deal stricter in their examination for entrance, than either at oxford or cambridge. his progress through the college course of study was probably marked with but little splendour; his imagination might have been too warm to relish the cold logick of burgersdicius, or the dreary subtleties of smiglesius; but it is certain, that as a classical scholar, few could equal him. his own compositions show this; and the deference which the most eminent men of his time paid him upon that head, put it beyond a doubt. he took the degree of master of arts the 9th of july, 1700; and in the same year was ordained a deacon, by doctor w. king, bishop of derry, having a dispensation from the primate, as being under 23 years of life of doctor parnell 49 age. he was admitted into priest's orders about three years after, by the same prelate, then become archbishop of dublin; and on the 9th of february, 1705, he was collated by doctor saint george ashe, bishop of clogher, to the archdeaconry of clogher. about that time also he married miss anne minchin, a young lady of great merit and beauty, by whom he had two sons, who died young; and one daughter, who was alive so late as the year 1770. his wife died some time before him, and her death is said to have made so great an impression on his spirits, that it served to hasten his own. on the 31st of may, 1716, he was presented, by his friend and patron archbishop king, to the vicarage of finglass, a benefice worth about 400 pounds a year, in the diocese of dublin; but he lived to enjoy his preferment a very short time. he died at chester, in july, 1717, on his way to ireland, and was buried in trinity church in that town, without any monument to mark the place of his interment. as he died without male issue, his estate devolved to his only nephew, sir john parnell, baronet, whose father was younger brother to the archdeacon, and one of the justices of the king's bench in ireland. such is the very unpoetical detail of the life of a poet. some dates, and some few facts, scarce more e 50 life of doctor parnell interesting than those that make the ornaments of a country tombstone, are all that remain of one, whose labours now begin to excite universal curiosity. a poet, while living, is seldom an object sufficiently great to attract much attention; his real merits are known but to a few, and these are generally sparing in their praises. when his fame is increased by time, it is then too late to investigate the peculiarities of his disposition; the dews of the morning are past, and we vainly try to continue the chase by the meridian splendour. parnell, by what i have been able to collect from some who knew him, was the most capable man in the world to contribute to the happiness of those he conversed with, and the least able to secure his own. he wanted that evenness of disposition which bears disappointment with phlegm, and joy with indifference. he was ever very much elated or depressed; and his whole life was spent in agony or rapture. but the turbulence of those passions only affected himself, and never those about him: he knew the absurdity of his own character, and very effectually raised the mirth of his companions, as well at his vexations, as at his triumphs. how much his company was desired, appears from the extensiveness of his connections, and the number life of doctor parnell 51 of his friends. even before he made any figure in the literary world, his friendship was sought by persons of every rank and party. the wits at that time differed a good deal from those, who are most eminent for their understanding at present. it would now be thought a very indifferent sign of a writer's good sense, to disclaim his private friends, for happening to be of a different party in politicks; but it was then otherwise; the whig wits held the tory wits in great contempt, and these retaliated in their turn. at the head of one party were addison, steele, and congreve; at that of the other, pope, swift, and arbuthnot. parnell was a friend to both sides; and with a liberality becoming a scholar, scorned all those trifling distinctions, that are noisy for the time, and ridiculous to posterity. but he did not emancipate himself from these without some opposition from home. having been the son of a commonwealth's man, his tory connections in england, gave his friends in ireland great offence; they were much enraged to see him keep company with pope, and swift, and gay; they blamed his undistinguishing taste, and wondered what pleasure he could find in the conversation of men who approved the treaty of utrecht, and disliked the duke of marlborough. his conversation is said to have been extremely 52 life of doctor parnell pleasing; but in what its peculiar excellence consisted, is now unknown. the letters, which were written to him by his friends, are full of compliments upon his talents, as a companion, and his good nature, as a man. indeed he took care that his friends should see him to the best advantage; for when he found his fits of spleen and uneasiness, which sometimes lasted for weeks together, approaching, he returned with all expedition to the remote parts of ireland, and there made out a gloomy kind of satisfaction, in giving hideous descriptions of the solitude to which he retired. it is said of a famous painter, that being confined in prison for debt, his whole delight consisted in drawing the faces of his creditors in caricatura. it was just so with parnell. from many of his unpublished pieces which i have seen, and from others that have appeared, it would seem, that scarce a bog in his neighbourhood was left without reproach, and scarce a mountain reared its head unsung. but though this method of quarrelling in his poems, with his situation, served to relieve himself, yet it was not easily endured by the gentlemen of the neighbourhood, who did not care to confess themselves his fellow-sufferers. he received many mortifications upon that account among them; for life of doctor parnell 53 being naturally fond of company, he could not endure to be without even theirs; which, however, among his english friends, he pretended to despise. in fact his conduct in this particular was rather splendid than wise; he had either lost the art to engage, or did not employ his skill in securing those more permanent, though more humble connections, and sacrificed for a month or two in england, a whole year's happiness by his country fireside at home. however, what he permitted the world to see of his life was elegant and splendid; his fortune, for a poet, was very considerable, and it may easily be supposed he lived to the very extent of it. the fact is, his expenses were greater than his income, and his successor found the estate somewhat impaired at his decease. as soon as ever he had collected in his annual revenues, he immediately set out for england, to enjoy the company of his dearest friends, and laugh at the more prudent world that were minding business and gaining money. the friends to whom, during the latter part of his life, he was chiefly attached, were pope, swift, arbuthnot, jervas, and gay. among these he was particularly happy, his mind was entirely at ease, and gave a loose to every harmless folly that came uppermost. indeed it was 54 life of doctor parnell a society, in which, of all others, a wise man might be most foolish, without incurring any danger of contempt. parnell is only to be considered as a poet; and the universal esteem in which his poems are held, and the reiterated pleasure they give in the perusal, are a sufficient test of their great merit. he appears to me to be the last of that great school that had modelled itself upon the ancients, and taught english poetry to resemble what the generality of mankind have allowed to excel. a studious and correct observer of antiquity, he set himself to consider nature with the lights it lent him; and he found that the more aid he borrowed from the one, the more delightfully he resembled the other. to copy nature, is a task the most bungling workman is able to execute; to select such parts as contribute to delight, is reserved only for those, whom accident has blessed with uncommon talents, or such as have read the ancients with indefatigable industry. parnell is ever happy in the selection of his images, and scrupulously careful in the choice of his subjects. his productions bear no resemblance to those tawdry things, which it has for some time been the fashion to admire; in writing which the poet sits down without any plan, and heaps up splendid images without any life of doctor parnell 55 selection; where the reader grows dizzy with praise and admiration, and yet soon grows weary, he can scarce tell why. our poet, on the contrary, gives out his beauties with a more sparing hand; he is still carrying his reader forward, and just gives him refreshment sufficient to support him to his journey's end. at the end of his course the reader regrets that his way has been so short: he wonders that it gave him so little trouble; and so resolves to go the journey over again. his poetical language is not less correct than his subjects are pleasing. he found it at that period in which it was brought to its highest pitch of refinement; and ever since his time, it has been gradually debasing. it is indeed amazing, after what has been done by dryden, addison, and pope, to improve and harmonize our native tongue, that their successors should have taken so much pains to involve it in pristine barbarity. these misguided innovators have not been content with restoring antiquated words and phrases, but have indulged themselves in the most licentious transpositions, and the harshest constructions; vainly imagining, that the more their writings are unlike prose, the more they resemble poetry. they have adopted a language of their own, and call upon mankind for admiration. all those 56 life of doctor parnell who do not understand them are silent, and those who make out their meaning are willing to praise, to show they understand. from these follies and affectations the poems of parnell are entirely free; he has considered the language of poetry as the language of life, and conveys the warmest thoughts in the simplest expressions. oliver goldsmith. the new york public library astor, lenox tildin foundati j. johnson, del. the t. bewick, sculp. hermit at his morning devotion. published january 1, 1804, by william bulmer, at the shakspeare printing office, cleveland row. 1. a 18 the hermit. far in a wild, unknown to publick view, from youth to age a reverend hermit grew ; the moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, his food the fruits, his drink the crystal well: remote from men, with god he pass'd the days, prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. a life so sacred, such serene repose, seem'd heaven itself, till one suggestion rose; 58 the hermit that vice should triumph, virtue vice obey, this sprung some doubt of providence's sway: his hopes no more a certain prospect boast, and all the tenour of his soul is lost: so, when a smooth expanse receives impress'd calm nature's image on its watery breast, down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, and skies beneath with answering colours glow: but if a stone the gentle sea divide, swift ruffling circles curl on every side, and glimmering fragments of a broken sun, banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run. to clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, to find if books, or swains, report it right, (for yet by swains alone the world he knew, whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew,) he quits his cell; the pilgrim-staff he bore, and fix'd the scallop in his hat before ; then with the sun a rising journey went, sedate to think, and watching each event. the morn was wasted in the pathless grass, and long and lonesome was the wild, to pass ; but when the southern sun had warm'd the day, a youth came posting o'er a crossing way; 1 the hermit 59 his raiment decent, his complexion fair, and soft in graceful ringlets waved his hair. then near approaching, father, hail! he cried, and hail, my son, the reverend sire replied; words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, and talk of various kind deceived the road; till each with other pleased, and loath to part, while in their age they differ, join in heart. thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around. now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray; nature in silence bid the world repose; when near the road a stately palace rose: there, by the moon, through ranks of trees they pass, grass. whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of it chanced, the noble master of the dome still made his house the wandering stranger's home: yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, proved the vain flourish of expensive ease. the pair arrive; the liveried servants wait; their lord receives them at the pompous gate. 60 the hermit the table groans with costly piles of food; and all is more than hospitably good. then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. at length 'tis morn; and at the dawn of day, along the wide canals the zephyrs play; fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, and shake the neighbouring wood, to banish sleep. up rise the guests, obedient to the call: an early banquet deck'd the splendid hall; rich luscious wine a golden goblet graced, which the kind master forced the guests to taste. then pleased and thankful, from the porch they go; and, but the landlord, none had cause of woe; his cup was vanish'd; for, in secret guise, the younger guest purloin'd the glittering prize. as one who spies a serpent in his way, glistening and basking in the summer ray, disorder'd stops, to shun the danger near, then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear; so seem'd the sire, when, far upon the road, the shining spoil his wily partner show'd. he stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart, and much he wish'd, but durst not ask, to part: the hermit 61 murmuring, he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard, that generous actions meet a base reward. while thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, the changing skies hang out their sable clouds; a sound in air presaged approaching rain, and beasts to covert, scud across the plain. warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, to seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat: "twas built with turrets, on a rising ground, and strong, and large, and unimproved around; its owner's temper, timorous and severe, unkind and griping, caused a desert there. as near the miser's heavy doors they drew, fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew; the nimble lightning, mix'd with showers, began, and o'er their heads, loud rolling thunders ran. here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, driven by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. at length some pity warm'd the master's breast, ('twas then his threshold first received a guest,) slow creeking turns the door, with jealous care, and half he welcomes in, the shivering pair; one frugal fagot lights the naked walls, and nature's fervour, through their limbs, recalls: 62 the hermit bread of the coarsest sort, with meager wine, each hardly granted, served them both to dine: and when the tempest first appear'd to cease, a ready warning bid them part in peace. with still remark, the pondering hermit view'd, in one so rich, a life so poor and rude; and why should such, within himself he cried, lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside? but what new marks of wonder soon took place, in every settling feature of his face, when from his vest, the young companion bore that cup, the generous landlord own'd before, and paid profusely, with the precious bowl, the stinted kindness of this churlish soul! but now the clouds in airy tumult fly, the sun emerging opes an azure sky; a fresher green the smelling leaves display, and, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day; the weather courts them from the poor retreat, and the glad master bolts the wary gate. while hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought with all the travail of uncertain thought: his partner's acts, without their cause, appear; 'twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here; the hermit 63 detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, lost and confounded with the various shows. now night's dim shades again involve the sky again the wanderers want a place to lie; again they search, and find a lodging nigh. the soil improved around, the mansion neat, and neither poorly low, nor idly great: it seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind, content, and not for praise, but virtue kind. hither the walkers turn, with weary feet, then bless the mansion, and the master greet: their greeting fair, bestow'd with modest guise, the courteous master hears, and thus replies: without a vain, without a grudging heart, to him who gives us all, i yield a part: from him you come, for him accept it here, a frank and sober, more than costly cheer. he spoke, and bid the welcome table spread; then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed, when the grave household round his hall repair, warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with prayer. at length the world, renew'd by calm repose, was strong for toil; the dappled morn arose; before the pilgrims part, the younger crept near the closed cradle where an infant slept, 64 the hermit and writhed his neck: the landlord's little pride, o strange return! grew black, and gasp'd, and died. horrour of horrours! what, his only son! how look'd our hermit when the fact was done! not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder part, and breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart. confused, and struck with silence at the deed, he flies, but, trembling, fails to fly with speed. his steps the youth pursues: the country lay perplex'd with roads, a servant show'd the way: a river cross'd the path; the passage o'er was nice to find; the servant trod before; long arms of oaks an open bridge supplied, and deep the waves, beneath the bending, glide. the youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin, approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in; plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head, then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. wild sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes; he bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries: detested wretch!-but scarce his speech began, when the strange partner seem'd no longer man : his youthful face grew more serenely sweet; his robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet; r. johnson, del. t. bewick, sculp. the hermit, angel, and guide. published january 1, 1804, by william bulmer, at the shakspeare printing office, cleveland row. a p the hermit 65 fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; celestial odours breathe through purpled air; and wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day, wide at his back their gradual plumes display. the form ethereal bursts upon his sight, and moves in all the majesty of light. though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew, sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do; surprise in secret chains his words suspends, and in a calm his settling temper ends. but silence here the beauteous angel broke, the voice of musick ravish'd as he spoke: thy prayer, thy praise, thy life, to vice unknown, in sweet memorial rise before the throne: these charms, success in our bright region find, and force an angel down, to calm thy mind; for this, commission'd, i forsook the sky, nay, cease to kneel-thy fellow-servant i. then know the truth of government divine, and let these scruples be no longer thine: the maker justly claims that world he made, in this the right of providence is laid; its sacred majesty through all depends, on using second means to work his ends: f 66 the hermit 'tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, the power exerts his attributes on high; your actions uses, nor controls your will, and bids the doubting sons of men be still. what strange events can strike with more surprise, than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes? yet, taught by these, confess the almighty just, and where you can't unriddle, learn to trust. the great, vain man, who fared on costly food, whose life was too luxurious to be good; who made his ivory stands, with goblets shine, and forced his guests to morning draughts of wine, has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, and still he welcomes, but with less of cost. the mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door. ne'er moved in duty to the wandering poor; with him i left the cup, to teach his mind that heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind. conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, and feels compassion touch his grateful soul. thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, with heaping coals of fire upon its head; in the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, and, loose from dross, the silver runs below. the hermit 67 long had our pious friend in virtue trod, but now the child half wean'd his heart from god; child of his age, for him he lived in pain, and measured back his steps to earth again. to what excesses had his dotage run! but god, to save the father, took the son. to all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go, and 'twas my ministry to deal the blow: the poor fond parent, humbled in the dust, now owns, in tears, the punishment was just. but how had all his fortune felt a wrack, had that false servant sped in safety back?? this night his treasured heaps he meant to steal, and what a fund of charity would fail! thus heaven instructs thy mind: this trial o'er, depart in peace, resign, and sin no more. on sounding pinions here the youth withdrew; the sage stood wondering as the seraph flew. thus look'd elisha, when to mount on high, his master took the chariot of the sky; the fiery pomp ascending left the view; the prophet gazed, and wish'd to follow too. the bending hermit here a prayer begun, "lord! as in heaven, on earth thy will be done." 68 the hermit then, gladly turning, sought his ancient place, and pass'd a life of piety and peace. tog printed by w. bulmer and co. cleveland-row, st. james's. the f 1 爨 ​ 1 1 東 ​du171 38f 137 great that ꭷꭷꭷꭷꭷꭷꭷꭷ bringeti is oooo000000000 the ꭷꭷꭷꭷꭷꭷꭷꭷ knowledges gift jogooc ꭷꭷꭷꭷ non est mortivs 2 qvz scientz vivificav.t ptole cnnnnn the john crerar library chicago 1804 guunning errench sc.1996 jurnarius 4 มีนาคม the hermit naturalist by fred. alexander lucas. “there have been holy men, who hid themselves, doop in the woody wilderness."-bryant. trenton, n. j. wm. hibbert, printer and stereotyper, 210 8. broad street. 1899. l.t. ol x contents. pago. ...................... chapter i.-the old hermit............ 5 his hermitage..... 10 his island retreat.......... 18 his lost idol.. 23 chapter ii.-the life habits of snakes...... 28 senses of snakes... 35 how snakes feed........... 39 shedding the skin........ 48 modes of defense.......... 63 how snakes breed........... 59 hibernation.......... 66 do snakes charm ?............ 69 chapter iii.–our common snakes......... 73 the garter snakes.............. 73 the water snakes................. 78 the spreading adder.......... 81 the black snake............. 84 the pine snake... 89 the chain snake......... 91 the milk snake...... "423210 598.12 4 page. chapter iii.-the fox snake..... 92 the summer green snake... 92 the ring-neck snake.......... 93 dekay's brown snake......... 94 the red bellied snake....... 94 the grass snake............ 95 chapter iv.-a happy “find.".... 96 high bluff... 97 "it is she.”...... 99 glad tidings......... ..... 109 the re-union....... ..... 117 an } the hermit naturalist chapter i. the old hermit. "he can behold, things manifold, that have not yet been wholly told."-longfellow. in a historic vicinity in the delaware river lies a small island. one would hardly deem this isolated spot a pleasant abiding place. yet a small, white-washed, rough, stone dwelling, with shutterless windows, and destitute of porch or balcony, stands in the center of this island. a short distance from the dwelling there is a low, rambling wooden building, used for the accommodation of live-stock. a small vegetable patch, showing evidence of careful cultivation, occupies a portion of the contracted area. a few storm-beaten, yet still sturdy trees, and a rank growth of berry-vines, bushes and shrubbery constitute the physical attractions of this quiet solitude. frequently, during my walks along the del. aware's shores in pursuit of knowledge of nature's mysteries, i have reclined on a grassy 6 1 bank on the mainland opposite the island, and endeavored by critical observation to learn something of the mystery environed tenants of the cheerless isle. i have noticed a short, stout old man attending to the live-stock, or at work in the garden, or otherwise engaged, but i felt impressed that he was not the only human dweller on the island. several times during my numerous visits to my point of observation on the mainland, i noticed a stalwart, white-haired old gentleman in a boat, that was usually anchored some distance from shore; i could hardly decide at times whether he was fishing or dreaming, so quiet would he remain while i watched him. in my romantic fancy this was the mysterious individual, who, doubtless for some good purpose, had taken up his abode on this desolate spot, anxious to be apart from human society and its disappointing experiences. the more i observed the mystery veiled dwellers on this isolated spot in the delaware, the stronger grew my desire to become acquainted with them. fortune at last granted my heart's earnest longings, and brought me into closer fellowship with "the old hermit”as i had grown to style the lone fishermanthan my strongest desires could crave. on a frosty morning in the autumn of '93, when i was laboriously rowing against the strong current of the delaware, above tidewater, in search of a specimen of wild fowl for my cabinet, i saw the old hermit," sitting like a 7 a statue in his anchored boat. his shotgun rested on his knees, and he was evidently awaiting a shot at the wild-fowl that occasionally fly over at this season of the year. anxious to secure a nearer view of my hermit friend, i rowed towards him in such a manner as not to arouse his suspicions of my curiosity inspired purpose. i rowed but a short distance when i observed a fine flock of wild ducks fly over me. at once i turned my attention to the lone sportsman. he also saw the game and was standing easily in his boat and taking careful aim. as the flock passed directly over him he fired, when to my surprise and horror, he lost his balance, dropped his gun and madly grasped at the side of his boat as he went overboard and disappeared from my anxious gaze, in the swiftly rushing current. believing the current would carry him far below his anchored boat, i pulled with all my strength to intercept him as he came down stream, soon his head appeared above the surface of the water, a hundred yards or so from me. increasing my efforts i soon rested in his way as the swift current swept him toward me, and i called to him to seize hold of my boat. he was an expert swimmer and soon grasped the stern of my boat, when i shipped my oars, and helped him aboard, chilled from the effects of his untimely bath. when safely seated in my boat, and having recovered his breath after his exhausting efforts, 8 he seized my hand and fervently thanked me for my timely assistance. “did i bag my game?" inquired my shivering companion, when fully restored to strength and composure. “ yes sir, one of the flock dropped on the shore almost at the feet of the old man that stood there wringing his hands in anguish when your accident occurred." “ poor petro, he was doubtless horrified by my mishap. i much feared i had lost my i game as well as my balance. you will understand, that just as i drew a bead on the flock and fired, a strong gust of wind so rocked my boat, that its motion in conjunction with the recoil of my fowling-piece, caused me to suffer an inconvenient bath, and gave you an opportunity to demonstrate a vital truth, that man is his brother's keeper. i feel assured that, but for your timely aid, the accident would have proved disastrously serious. i must therefore consider you my literal saviour, and i sincerely hope and believe that time will prove how fully i appreciate your kindly services. now if you will allow me to man the oars, i will be able to keep my chilled blood in healthy circulation, and soon land us on the island, when we will allay petro's fears of any serious results following my narrow escape. i was glad to comply with my companion's request, as i could then enjoy the opportunity thus afforded me to critically view my new 9 friend. as we shot over the surface of the swiftly rushing river, from the impetus given by his strong, steady strokes, i decided that my companion was a foreigner. i noticed that he was a strongly built, well proportioned gentleman, whose life had experienced the vicissitudes of quite a half century. his face was a study; soft, full, smooth cheeks; a firm, sensitive mouth, with well preserved teeth ; a trong square chin, and high intellectual forehead; deep set, piercing gray eyes, well shaded by shaggy eyebrows; a shapely head crowned with a full growth of almost silky white hair. his hands were white with tapering fingers; his feet were neat and shapely, while his general bearing impressed a casual observer with the fancy that he was a military character. this quick scrutiny, which i made while my companion was propelling the boat rapidly towards shore, convinced me that my new associate was a gentleman born, used to the conventionalities of the best society, and, withal, a man of education and refinement. doubtless some strange and powerful influence had caused him to flee the associations of his fellowmen and seek relief, and perhaps forgetfulness, in a hermit's cheerless, lonely life. we had hardly reached shore, when petro, with eyes moist with joyous yet anxious tears, rushed into the water to seize the boat's bow and draw us ashore, so solicitous was he for his master's welfare. as soon as my companion 10 stepped ashore, petro fell at his feet in exuberant joy inspired by the happy termination of the accident. the hermit spoke kindly to the faithful and devoted servant in a peculiar foreign tongue, when the poor fellow arose, his eyes beaming with genuine joy as he looked into his master's face. a short dialogue between these two strange beings, resulted in a hearty welcome extended to me by petro, and unmistakable evidences of his full appreciation of the services i rendered to his master. “ you will pardon my use of a foreign language in addressing my servant, as he is utterly ignorant of other speech. he is a sicilian, and since leaving his native isle, he has enjoyed no opportunity to converse with anyone but me, whom, i sincerely believe, he loves with a superstitious affection. now, you will kindly pardon my absence, while i remove my wet garments, and petro will make you as welcome as our poor accommodations will permit." thus, gracefully, the old hermit left me. petro beckoned to me to follow him; this i did readily, as the opportunity to solve the mystery surrounding these lone dwellers on this island retreat was at last presented in a manner not to be anticipated. his hermitage. i followed petro to the hermitage, with all my senses active to absorb all the facts that 11 my fancy had invented relative to my new surroundings. the dwelling proved to be far neater in external appearance than my distant views of it led me to believe possible, while its environments gave evidence of cleanly attention. following petro through the front doorway, i observed that the hall continued through the house and allowed exit through another door-way in the rear. the ground floor contained but two rooms, one on each side of the hall, while a narrow, but substantial stairway led to the upper floor. the room on the right of the hall, as we entered the front door-way, was evidently the kitchen, as i noticed, through its door-way, a polished cooking stove, with a most inviting fire peering through the grate, and quite an assortment of shining cooking utensils hanging on the ample chimney. petro ushered me into the room opposite to the kitchen; this was certainly the dining-room and sitting-room combined. it was neatly furnished with a round center-table, several caneseated chairs and a substantial, hard-wood sideboard. the walls were decorated with unique old prints of foreign scenery, and a few tastily framed paintings of a sporting character; trout fishing, snipe shooting, etc. a grate wood-fire in a roomy old-fashioned chim. ney place warmed this room. a box of smoking tobacco, several pipes, indian relics, and shells embellished the wide mantel. sportsman's equipments-rifles, shot-guns, and fish12. 6 my ing tackle-filled the corners of this cosy room, while several old military relics hung on the wide chimney. petro left me to enjoy my associations ; which i did with true sutisfaction. while i was seated before the genia! warmth of the cheerful grate fire, endeavoring to decipher the nationality of the old prints on the walls, my new friend entered the room. "ha, my young friend, i feel honored indeed by your apparent ease and comfort in humble abode. as we become better acquainted you will gradually learn my peculiar ideas of true home joys. now kindly follow me upstairs, where i spend the rapidly speeding hours of my but few lingering years, and you will learn how i compensate myself for the loss of human society." “i sincerely hope, my dear sir, that your natural desire to manifest your true and full appreciation of my slight services, will not induce you to sufficiently restrain your very proper aversion to a stranger's trespass within the sacred retreat of your private study. doubtless manifold evidences of your sacredly quiet and isolated life are there discernible. i shall feel keenly the serious error of my presumption in accepting an invitation to enter the sanctuary of your private life, simply to gratify a natural, though perhaps foolish, inquisitiveness. “quiet your honest misgivings, my young 1 13 sir, friend. i extend this hearty invitation to become acquainted with my inner life, so far as my secret associations will enable you, not merely from courtesy, or as a partial recompense for the kindly service rendered me, but because i earnestly hope, and i shall endeavor, to establish an honorable and lasting friendship between us. i have long realized the need of a human associate capable of understanding and appreciating my labors within the limited extent of this isolated piece of earth. i am sincerely impressed that your friendship and association will prove most congenial as well as truly profitable to me. ah, here we are, allow me to usher you into my den. down pluto, this is my friend." this abrupt command of my companion proved timely indeed, for my advance into the "den" was most defiantly challenged by a fierce specimen of a powerful blood-hound, that evidently resented this seeming sacrilege of his master's sanctum. having quieted this faithful guardian of the sacred precincts, my host led me to an easy chair near the warmth of an open grate-fire; then calling pluto to accompany him, he gracefully retired and left me to my quiet meditations. this “den” as my kind host facetiously titled his sanctum was peculiarly adapted to the necessities of a cultivated mind and a refined nature, separated from daily intercourse with the great, busy, selfish world. > 14 1 it was a roomy apartment, yet every avail. able space was utilized with tact and neatness that impressed one with its orderly, yet cosy arrangements. all its furnishings gave evidence of the refined nature of its intellectual tenant. several neat book-shelves securely fastened to the walls of two sides of the room showed by their well arranged contents, the literary tastes of my hermit friend. science, history, philosophy, biography, poetry and the higher class prose, were all well represented to succor the mental and emotional cravings of their favored student. quite a variety of late editions of newspapers and periodicals showed that my host kept abreast of the times, and was fully acquainted with the doings and the prevailing sentiments of the outside world. i was especially pleased with the numerous specimens of nature's wonders, neatly arranged in a commodious cabinet that occupied one side of the “den." this proof that my new friend . was assuredly an ardent student of nature, ascomplished much toward strengthening the esteem i already entertained for him; as i realized that he was a co-worker with me among the inexhaustible riches of nature's extensive realms. birds, reptiles, fishes, crustaceans, insects, etc. in interesting variety and careful preparation composed this treasury of science. in one corner of the room, there was placed an oak stand on which rested a costly microscope; while near at hand stood a neat cabinet con15 taining the valuable requisites for successful microscopical work. a well mounted specimen of the osprey or fish-hawk, with wings spread, and a goodly size fish in his talons, rested, as though just alighting with his quarry on a rocky ledge. cocoons of the silk worm moths festooned the window-frames, while a large hornets-nest hung from the ceiling in the center of the room. a substantial oak desk well covered with notes and manuscript occupied a central spot in the “den;" and an easy chair and a student's lamp were proof that the hermit burned “midnight oil” in securing that surest means of earthly happiness, a well stored mind. two oil paintings hung on the south side of the room; these works of art riveted my admiring gaze. one was the portrait of my hermit host executed by a master when the subject was a young man. the other was a picture of the most charming womanly lovliness i had ever looked on; it also represented youth, but portrayed in virgin beauty and innocence. never can that marvelous face be banished from my memory. while i was intently gazing this handiwork of some master's skill my host re-entered the "den." he stood for a moment, following, with his intelligent glance, my admiring gaze, then with a hardly audible sigh, he drew a chair to the fire-place beside me, and there, in silence, he sat for awhile, as though reluctant to disturb my attention. after some minutes, he arose > > 16 and went to an artistically fashioned closet neatly fitted into one corner of the chimneyplace, then he returned to my side with a pouch of fragrant tobacco, and two oddly carved pipes made of some strange foreign wood. “do you smoke, my young friend?" inquired my host as he proffered me pipe and tobacco. "i shall be pleased to enjoy a pipe with you while we become acquainted with each other. in my opinion, a quiet smoke is very conducive to an interchange of pleasant confidence, and delightful congenialty between friends, and many weary weeks have flown since i last enjoyed a quiet smoke with a congenial companion." accepting the hermit's friendly offer, i smoked on in silence, determined to give him an opportunity to invite mutual confidence, and thus prove to my perfect satisfaction that his earnest expression of a strong desire to establish a full confidence, and a lasting friendship between us was the true longings of his heart, and not merely the manifestation of his appreciation of my services in his behalf. af ter a silent meditative smoke lasting several minutes, the old hermit wheeled his chair directly in front of me and looking steadily into my eyes, calmly inquired: "now what opinion have you formed of my hermit's quarters ?” i candidly confess sir, i almost envy your solitude among such associations and elevating 17 influences. may i so far presume on your hospitality as to ask how long you have separated yourself from human society to pass most delightful hours amidst such satisfying companionships ?" “let there exist no formality or diffidence between us, my dear rescuer; let us at once be friends and confidents; let me entertain and nourish the hope that hereafter my life shall be brightened, and my declining years shall be made joyous by the intimacy and genial com. panionship of one whom i shall ever highly esteem, and whose presence i shall ceaselessly yearn for as the brightest ray in the sunshine of my but few lingering years. 'tis but natural that you should crave some knowledge of the history of my past life, and some acquaintance with the causes that drove me to this secluded spot, where, far from the uncongenial associations of my fellowmen, i find rest for my weary soul, and edification for my active mind with nature and my books. a brief retrospect of my, not all unhappy, life i feel assured will suffice to satisfy your natural desire to know who i am, and why here. i am a sicilian by birth, of noble lineage. while i was happy on my native estates, in devotion to nature study, the idol of my affections, a beautiful daughter but twelve years of age, mysteriously disappeared from my home. i exhausted every resource at my command for her recovery, but without succese. nearly 18 no more. maddened with grief and anxiety, i left my native land, and for years in this quiet spot i have not ceased to labor and to pray for her return to me, or the positive proof that she is but enough; my record is true, my hope is yet strong; my desire is to win your esteem and confidence. as to your credentials, based on the unstable estimates of social position and family relationships i care nothing; i hate the frigid, heartless, conventionalities of selfish society. your face is a reliable index of your true character ; future associations between us will prove conclusively to my perfect satisfaction, that i have made no error of judgment in taking you to my bosom as a beloved and trusted intimate companion. to me you shall be simply, fritz; to you i shall be simply, the count. give me all the companionship of your genial nature that circumstances will enable you to steal away from the selfish exactions of the outside world. i need your presence; you may profit by my companionship; time will tell. yonder beautiful face is the image of my lost idol, i will tell you something of her history in the near future; not to-day, my dear fritz, not to-day. his island retreat. “but come, you have finished your pipe, let me show you my kingdomn. pluto, here sir; 19 this is my friend; be kind and true to him, even as you have for years been faithful to me; advance sir, pledge your deathless devotion.” thus commanded, the intelligent brute looked steadily into my eyes for a moment, as though really reading my true character, then he advanced to me, licked my outstretched hand, and prostrated his powerful form at my feet. enough, pluto will prove no mean comº panion, my fritz; but come, we will show our mutual friend our possessions, eh, pluto, good dog; hie on sir, and show us the way.” leaving the house through the door at the rear of the hall, and facing the sunny south, we stopped for a few minutes beneath a grand old oak, under whose branches a rustic seat rested. “many pleasant minutes, with pluto and my pipe, i waste beneath this old oak. i shall have petro make another rustic-chair for you, my dear fritz, when we can then pass pleasant hours here together, in contemplation of god's marvelous handiwork about us. now let me show you my live-stock; not much in quantity but best quality. entering the shed we visited the cow, a fine alderney, that gave evidence of the best care. “ah uno, always ruminating in quiet contentment; a penny for your thoughts my beauty." the mild-eyed bovine seemed to appreciate her master's caresses, for she turned her handsome face towards him and licked his hand. next we visited the hennery, where sev20 " eral fine specimens of the best poultry stock were comfortably housed. in another portion of the shed were piles of potatoes, turnips, cabbages and other hardy vegetables; while hanging from the roof were strings of red and white onions, peppers and soup herbs. carefully packed away in barrels in a corner of this shed were luscious apples, all well protected from the biting frosts of winter. “ these are products of your farm and orchard, i suppose?” yes, my dear fritz, all evidences of petro's faithful industry and commendable thrift; a valuable servant is petro, i could hardly spare him." beyond the shed we next visited a low, substantially built, rough stone building, neatly whitewashed, about twenty feet square, and ten feet in height. here were stored barrels of sugar, flour and molasses; boxes of tea, coffee, rice, split-peas and beans, and several varieties of canned goods, also several fine large cheese. beneath a trap-door, which my companion à raised, i saw quite a number of firkins of sweet, yellow butter. “you surely need entertain no fear of famine while these ample supplies continue." no, my fritz, we are careful to provide for the needs of the body, and to look well to our supplies, lest winter's inclemency catch us unprepared to withstand its rigors. from our well cultivated little farm, our cow, our chick66 21 ens, and our orchard; besides what an occasional shot at the game birds in season, that visit us, and such fish as the river affords, we manage to live very comfortably and even enjoy quite a variety of dishes. petro is a good provider. such articles as we cannot raise he secures from the village in barter for eggs, butter and farm produce above the demands of our limited needs. our wearing apparel and household furniture seldom require replenishing, and when demanded, are usually secured by petro.” leaving the food supplies we traversed the contracted isle, viewing the numerous old trees and young saplings. wild grape vines, in profusion, and vines and bushes of several varieties of small fruits showed the effects of petro's judicious and careful attention. on the south side of the island, along the river's shore, petro had erected a log hut, in which a row-boat and a commodious scow were housed during winter, while in one corner of it was stacked a large quantity of dry, tough cord-wood, prepared against the time of need, when winter's frosty breath made a blazing fire not only cheerful but absolutely necessary. “during winter, i imagine your surroundings are dreary indeed.” “out of doors, doubtless, my fritz, but withwe have the crackling logs, the genial warmth, and my books, you know, my books." "ah, yes, to a scholar cloistered with his > 3 22 books, what matters how the winds howl, the trees moan, the snow covers the face of nature, and all about appears cheerless and desolate.” true, my fritz, quite true. but let us return, we have but little of cheerfulness to show on our isle at this season, but wait till budding spring and summer's warm breath revive our now desolate realm, we can then show you a piece of paradise. you shall see and enjoy for yourself then, my fritz.” returning to the hermitage we learned that petro had prepared a tempting meal for us in the cheery dining room. after fully satisfying our sharpened appetites we retired to the hermit's sanctum, where we enjoyed a restful smoke. here for an hour or more the old hermit entertained me with a most enjoyable account of how he secured his fine zoological collection. he found the greater number of his specimens on the main-land, where, during pleasant weather, he spent much of his time in search of nature's objects of study. as evening was rapidly drawing nigh i was compelled, though reluctantly, to bid farewell to the old hermit, promising to repeat my visit early, and boarding my boat i was soon swiftly gliding down stream, homeward bound. arriving again within the busy whirl of town life, i felt that my visit to the old hermitage and the day's experiences were but a pleasant dream, from which i was now rudely awakened. but frequent renewals of this pleasant 23 > intercourse with my mystery environed hermit friend soon dissipated this peculiar delusion, and most happily assured me of the true reality of my pleasant and profitable relationship with the old hermit.” enjoying his fullest confidence, i soon learned during my pleasant associations with the "old hermit,” that he had suffered a most trying sorrow in the loss of a beautiful daughter, the whole joy of his quiet, earnest life. of noble lineage, his great wealth and vast territorial estates enabled him to give full and devoted attention to the study of nature, the love of which was strong in him. his lost idol. he was a born naturalist; and eschewing the empty dissipations of high life, he was happiest, when with his only child, the idol of his heart, he rambled among the wide expanses of nature within his own possessions. his lovely daughter, left motherless at an early age, was the sole companion of the count during these delightful rambles, and as she grew into beautiful young womanhood, he watched her daily with the keenest solicitude and the deepest affection. one day, while he was absent on one of bis usual rambles, after a prolonged stay, he returned at evening to his luxurious home, and was surprised to receive no demonstrative welcome from his idolized child. entering the house he inquired of the servants where their 24 young mistress could be found, and he was both shocked and alarmed to hear that they had seen nothing of her since noon, and supposed naturally enough, that she was with him. at once, almost frenzied with solicitude for his darling child, he instituted a careful search for her; soon the villagers became aware of his sad state and everyone joined in a careful search for the missing daughter. every resource was exhausted ; months of most careful and shrewd investigation by skilled detectives, accompanied with lavish expenditure of money; the offer of almost fabulous sums for her recovery and return to her home, with sacred pledges that no prosecutions would follow, all, all failed. on that charming may day the count's idolized child dropped out of his life as completely as if supernatural influences had caught her up into another sphere of existence and she was no more of this earth. well, year followed year, and the tireless and love-inspired search for his lost child after the expenditure of large sums of money, simply secured to the griefstricken father, a slight ray of hope that she still lived. he learned that on that cruelly memorable day in sunny may, a band of brigands from the mountain retreats of the far a pennines passed through the village on its way to the wilderness, and it was proved that this band abducted the count's child while she was on her way to join her father in his ramble. 25 the primary object sought in her abduction was doubtless a heavy ransom from her wealthy parent for her safe return. the appearance of the lovely captive at the rendezvous of the brigand band at once gave rise to a peculiar complication that hardly any amount of money could possibly settle. the manly young son of the stern old chief of the band at once fell in love with the beautiful maiden. his eccentric yet iron-willed father so encouraged the son's tender fancy as to issue a decree, that went forth to the tribe, that in the sweet, young captive, the band saw their future queen. of course such an edict, issued by the head and despotic ruler of the band, warranted to the beautiful but sad maiden the full devotion and personal service of every member. but there one dissenting voice among the usually strictly obedient band; this was the gallant young leader of the small party that abducted the lovely prize. he hesitated not to vehemently protest against the unjust procedure of disposing of his hostage without the consent or agreement of the band that secured the prize. he boldly declared his depthless love for the fair maiden, and further stated that for weeks he, with a few picked and trusted associates, had time after time sought the occasion that so opportunely placed lier in his hands. he would pay the ransom for the mutual profit of the band if it was demanded, but he sternly protested against such an unprewas 26 cedented act as to deliberately give his prize to another without his knowledge or consent. the old chief was inexorable, however; his royal edict had been proclaimed, nothing could recall it. time passed; the sweet young captive, under the tender care of most solicitous attendants grew into the band as a member of it. after two years of captivity, yet royal liberty, it was proclaimed that within two short weeks the chief's gallant young son would wed the lovely stranger. all was excitement and joyous expectation among the members of the tribe; every preparation was made for a gala time. the days flew by swiftly till the morning of a short week preceding the festal occasion, when the greatest surprise and benumbing consternation seized hold of the tribe. lo, the bride was missing the most careful search discovered that her trusted attendants had been stupefied by some chemical influence and left bound and gagged. but the most important fact explaining all, was the discovery that the jealous suitor of the beautiful maiden was also missing. the most searching investigation proved that the traitorous brigand and his lovely captive had set sail for some foreign port in a fruiter that just left messina, whose destination it was believed would be the united states of america. this meagre yet welcome information relative to his idol's experience was secured by the 27 nearly heart-hroken parent from a member of the band whose queen the abducted daughter was to be. confident that his lost child was somewhere in the great new world, the count disposed of his vast estates, and accompanied by faithful petro, he sailed from his native land for new york. arriving in the great metropolis of the western world, the count secured the skilled services of noted detectives and prosecuted an earnest search for his loved lost-one in the great city. after weeks of fruitless effort, disheartened and almost distracted with grief and anxiety, he sought out the quiet isolated isle in the delaware river, and there in the privacy of a hermit's life he has ceased not to labor and pray and wait for the return of his lost darling. after securing his island home, the count furnished it to suit his humble tastes and depending on faithful petro to manage the estate, he devoted his time to a studious observation and investigation of nature's mysteries. chapter ii. the life-habits of snakes. my heart is awed within me when i think of the great miracle that still goes on in silence, 'round me; the perpetual work of thy creation, during the winter of '93 i spent many days in most profitable association with the “old hermit;" and i learned much of nature's ; mysteries from his wide experience and extensive knowledge. i never left the hermitage, however, without casting one tender glance at the beautiful face that smiled down on me from its place on the wall. it seemed to inspire me with an inexpressibly happy conviction that somewhere, at some time in the near future, it would be my sacred privilege under providence to enjoy the thrice blessed opportunity to meet the original of that enchanting picture, and to be in god's hands the honored instrument to return a long lost idolized daughter to a sad and grief worn, yet still hopeful father. professional duties had prevented my presat the hermitage for several weeks. finally i succeeded in my efforts to sever all exacting demands on my time that prolonged my absence from the “old hermit," and i made arrangements of such a character as to allow me the rich enjoyment of a protracted visit ence 29 with my greatly esteemed naturalist friend. so on a stormy morning in december i breasted wind and snow in a laborious tramp along the delaware's shore toward the hermitage, crossed the frozen river, received a hearty welcome from both petro and pluto, and was soon after cozily seated in the warm embrace of the old hermit's cheery “den.” the count's reception on that stormy december morning, after weeks of grievous separation, was hearty and affectionate. i was impressed by his kind welcome that my presence was niost congenial to, and highly prized by my sincere and honest naturalist friend. “i am so pleased to see you again, my dear fritz, that i am tempted to lay aside my labors and devote my whole time to-day, to insuring your comfort and enjoying your return to me. ah, my dear count, you know full well it needs no waste of precious time to assure me of your true and hearty delight to again welcome me back to the hermitage. our mutual pleasure on this occasion of our happy re-union after weeks of grievous separation will be most fully and satisfactorily manifested in an earnest and profitable consideration of the labor that fell to our hands while absent, one from the other.” “you speak truly and wisely, my fritz, so i will at once return to the enjoyable labor in which i was engaged when your most desired presence interrupted me. i will now devote 30 myself to the work with greater zeal and delight because of your association and assistance. for several days i have been busily employed arranging and carefully revising my notes of observations and experiments made during the year now closing. you will be a most valuable aid in the satisfactory completion of my task. i have here quite a vilum inous record of what i have seen and learned of "snake life," with special reference to our common snakes." i sincerely hope you are not among the unreasonable despisers of snakes." “i am too ardent a lover of nature to despise any of god's creatures. but i have given but scant attention to the life habits of the serpents, simply because my time has been almost fully occupied in other departments of zoological research. i am anxious indeed, to learn what that mass of scientific notes contains, to which you are so attentive.” “of course, my fritz, i am not surprised to hear you say candidly, that snakes have held no charms for you, ardent naturalist though you are. the beautiful things of nature; the songful birds, the marvelously painted butteralies and moths, the charms of fragrant flora, the wonders of the mineral kingdom, and the shells of old ocean; these imcomparable decorations of nature tempt the naturalist to study their charms and mysteries. but the crawling, gliding, repulsive things of nature; the worms and caterpillars, the snakes and lizards, the > 31 toads and frogs, the crawling insects, are so frequently either disregarded by nature-loving souls, or despised by the average mortal, that our knowledge of their life habits is meagre indeed, yet every intelligent person must admit that repugnance and prejudice in nowise justify ignorance of nature or anything else. we are the losers when such sentiments prevent our knowing the characters and purposes of the obnoxious creatures in nature's extensive realms. now let me convince you, from these absolutely reliable notes, largely the results of my own personal observations, how really interesting and also instructive are the life habits of our common snakes. early in the spring my attention was drawn to my real ignorance of the complete life habits of even our most common snakes. i at once gave the subject careful consideration and i was amazed to learn how few observations i had made of the life habits of these creatures during my years of active work in nature's wide domain. i decided to procure specimens of different species of our common snakes, and confine them in comfortable quarters to study their life habits. petro built several commodious "snake boxes” and in a short time i secured several individuals of the different species, common in our vicinity. other species not to be found in our territory i secured in my "hunts” for specimens of nature's wonders. sometimes these rambles in search of objects of 32 interest and of study lead me miles from the hermitage, when several days would elapse before fortune favored my search and i returned to petro. during these prolonged wanderings in nature's wildwoods, o'er rugged hills and along beautiful water-courses, pluto was my sole companion, and many were the occasions when we slept on the mountain side, in a grassy meadow, or on a mossy bank beneath a sturdy oak along some musical brook. thus i secured my specimens, and i kept them in my ophidarium to closely observe their true natural life habits. so when summer was well advanced i had a fine collection of indi. viduals of several different species of our common snakes, and from daily, careful observations of my pets, i learned almost the perfect life habits of these ignored yet highly interesting creatures. now, my fritz; before discussing my valuable scientific notes on snake-life, allow me to present a few introductory facts relative to the classification, distribution, etc., of snakes in general. you know that reptiles are members of that great division of the animal kingdom, scientifically termed vertebrates; that is, animals having a back-bone or spinal column. certain characteristics peculiar to snakes confine these creatures to a linnited division of the reptile class termed ophidians. again, to more simplify the proper study of animal life, snakes are divided into two distinct classes, as, veno33 mous or deadly, and non-venomous or harmless snakes. the number of known species of the snake family is about sixteen hundred. of this large variety comparatively few species are to be found in our temperate climate. in a territory extending from canada to virginia, and from the atlantic ocean to the ohio river, not more than twenty-five species of the snake family will reward the diligent search of the student of snake-life. snakes seek warmth and shrink from cold, thus the greatest number of species are found in tropical climates, where, naturally enough, the venomous or deadly snakes abound, and there thousands of human lives are yearly sacrificed as victims to the deadly powers of the venomous species. the form of the snake is easily distinguished from nearly every other vertebrate animal. it is an elongated, cylindrical or semi-cylindrical body, terminating in most cases in a tapering tail, and destitute of limbs. in size, snakes vary from the pretty little brown snake of about a foot in length and as large around as an ordinary lead pencil, to the great boa which at times attains a length of twenty feet, with proportionate size of body. so much for generalities, my fritz, now let me claim your interested attention to my "notes," which i feel assured, will prove both entertaining and instructive. as the snake is destitute of limbs, its progress 2. 34 is entirely dependent on the peculiar arrangements of the back-bone, the ribs and the large over-lapping scales that cover the under side of the body. the back-bone is arranged on the wonderful mechanical principle of the ball-andsocket joint, thus allowing a freedom of action that explains the snake's ability to twist and turn with lightning swiftness, fearless of injurious consequences. just examine this spinal column that i removed from a large black snake, and you will see the exemplification of the wonderful ball-and-socket joint in the connection of its numerous vertebræ, now this same principle exists in the connection of the numerous ribs to the spinal column or backbone, and as these ribs are controlled by strong muscles you can easily comprehend the snake's swift and graceful motions. you will observe from this skin which i removed from a large specimen of water snake, that these large scales, or scutes as they are called, on the underside of the body over-lap; now just feel how rigid this lap is. well, when the snake is in active progress over the rough surface of its natural habitat, it raises these numerous stift over-lapping scales against the surface over which it glides, and, when you consider their conjunction with the numerous ribs, in some specimens three hundred pairs, you can a very satisfactory understanding of locomotion in snakes. the true explanation of locomotion in snakes is simply pushing curved portions of the body secure 35 6 you against obstructions in their path, and raising the numerous large over-lapping scales or scutes on the underside of the body against the rough surface over which they swiftly glide. have certainly placed a snake on a smooth surface, as a dish or a polished table, and noted with amusement how vainly it endeavored to escape." “yes, my dear count, i have enjoyed that experiment, and i noted its futile efforts to make progress over the smooth surface of its resting place; then i have removed the subject and placed it on a carpeted floor, and noticed how quickly it glided away. such experiments convinced me that the large scutes were in some important manner very necessary aids in snake locomotion. but what is the explanation of a snake's progress in water ? " “in water the snake's progress is dependent on pushing curved portions of its graceful body against the resisting fluid. snakes never advance in water by vertical curves, but always from side to side, or in horizontal curves." > senses of snakes. the senses of snakes are not acute. but i am convinced, by the results of careful study of my pets, that snakes are very sensitive to motion and to touch. frequently i have quietly approached my “snake box," raised the lid very gently, and watched my snakes in > 36 a their natural behavior by the hour, without detecting any sign from them that my presence was noted. again, while studiously observing my pets, petro has suddenly approached the box to speak to me, when, presto, every snake was all activity either in flight or on the defensive; his sudden appearance had instantly attracted their attention, and alarmed them till they sought safety in flight, or coiled for fight. the snake's eyes are lidless; they are, however well protected by a thin, transparent skin, which covers the eye like the crystal of a watch. this protecting skin comes away with the "slough” during the act of "shedding." you will notice how well the sight is guarded if you examine this fine specimen of "shed skin" that i removed from a large black snake. the sight is deficient. as a rule, objects must have motion to attract the attention of a snake, though in some instances the tongue acts as a reliable guide in distinguishing natural food from other objects. i have repeatedly dropped live food in my snake box and i have carefully noted what followed. i have observed that if the unfortunate victim remained quiet, the snakes gave it but indifferent attention, even gliding over it at times as though really unaware of its presence but as soon as the captive moved about, then, alas for it, the snakes instantly gave chase, and ere long the poor victim was seized by one, and frequently by two or more of its relentless now pursuers. 37 " toads and frogs, the natural food of most of our common snakes seem to possess an instinctive knowledge of the deficiency of sight in enakes. many times have i observed a frog or a toad when pursued by a hungry snake, suddenly “squat” with its head pressed close to the ground, and its body “humped up,” when the pursuing snake actually glided over the object of its pursuit, as though ignorant of its presence. sometimes the snake has stopped in its chase beside the suddenly squatted victim, critically examined it, and then deliberately left the terror stricken creature as though fully satisfied that the object thus investigated was not the animated morsel of food which the snake had so energetically pursued. but as soon as the victim hopped about it at once attracted the eager attention of the hungry snake and paid very dearly for its indiscretion. again, to illustrate this scientific fact, i have witnessed, many times, a snake pursue a toad, which eluded capture, when the snake has struck another snake that happened to be in its way and at once resolutely endeavored to gorge its prize, evidently convinced that it had made a capture of the victim it pursued; but the violent struggles of its relative soon impressed the stupid snake with a realization of its foolish error. the snake's tongue is a very interesting object to study, my fritz. it is generally sup. posed to be the stinger" of the snake; even 38 intelligent persons who should possess a fuller knowledge of snake life than to entertain such a foolish error, sincerely believe that this ever active darting organ, the tongue, is the snake's deadly “stinger.” of course you know that snakes do not possess a sting. they have teeth and the deadly species have poison fangs in addition to the teeth ; with these they bite, but never sting. a snake's tongue is a thread like muscle possessing considerable elasticity. it is smooth, soft and entirely free from the slimy exudations 80 common to a snake's mouth. this organ lies in the middle of the snake's lower jaw and directly beneath a sheath-like fold near the opening of the trachea or wind-pipe. about one-third of its full length is secured by two knotty muscles, one on each side of it and concealed from view by the trachea. the anterior or forward portion is entirely free and capable of considerable extension. this active part is generally red in color and black-tipped, sometimes it is entirely black and it is divided from the finely pointed tips to about one-third its full length when in action, the snake's tongue darts with lightning swiftness between the closed jaws; when at rest it is withdrawn almost its full length into the sheath-like fold that holds it. the functions of the tongue are simply to feel where the snake is going, to taste, i sin39 " cerely believe, and principally to terrify the natural enemies of the serpent family.” “ you doubt then, that the tongue possesses any power to charm by reason of its terrifying dartings ?” “charming by snakes is a myth, a superstitious fallacy, my fritz. the snake's tongue may and doubtless does terrify the ignorant, but it positively possesses no mesmeric power. when the snake quietly glides along in its natural haunts undisturbed, it darts out its tongue, ever and anon, as though feeling its way. but when irritated or molested the snake manifests its fury by a continuous swift darting of this interesting organ as though it would pierce its tormentor to death. i believe that it is also a sensitive taster. the tongue of the snake is perfectly harmless. it is as soft and pliable as a silk thread, and it is utterly powerless to suficiently harden itself to puncture the most delicate fabric. this organ is in nowise connected with the poison apparatus of our deadly snakes. how snakes feed. “ you have certainly seen a snake enjoy a meal of frog or toad or other natural food, my fritz." “yes, i have witnessed snakes feeding; but, on deliberate consideration of the matter, i have seldom been so favored during my ram40 bles as to witness many of the natural life habits of even our commonest species.” “ very true; and the fact that snakes are so difficult to study in their natural haunts largely explains away many of the ridiculous sentiments and superstitions relating to the life his. tory of even our most frequently met species. now there is special interest attached to the feeding of snakes, because these creatures, un. like most other animals, feed by deglutition or gorging; that is, they swallow their food whole and entire, and positively do not rend and masticate their prey. all snakes, venomous and non-venomous species, have their mouth well provided with teeth. the harmless species have teeth closely set on the outer edge of each jaw, and as well, a semi-circular set placed on the upper jaw on the roof of the mouth. snakes teeth are small, sharply pointed and curved backward towards the throat, thus it is a difficult matter for our common snake's prey, which is generally captured alive and active, to escape from its captor's grasp. in addition to the small, curved teeth common to all snakes, the venomous species possess poison fangs; in some species these fangs are set or fixed, but as a rule they are erectile. these fangs are generally placed one on each side of the upper jaw. they are provided with a canal through their whole length, through which the venom or death dealing poison is forced from the venom sac on the back part of the jaw, to the wound 41 a inflicted by their bite. but we will discuss the deadly powers of the venomous snakes at some future season, at present we will confine ourselves to the consideration of our common snakes. snakes capture prey much larger round than their own bodies, so nature has made a wonderful provision in the formation and the arrangement of the bones of the head and the jaws for a marvelous expansion of the jaws and the throat. the bones of the upper jaw are but loosely joined by ligaments and the arches of the palate are movable. the bones of the lower jaw, where they connect with the skull, are lengthened out into pedicles. from these facts, my dear fritz, you secure a comprehension of the possibility of snakes gorging the large objects, that, in the act of deglutition, pass through their delicate throats. carefully examine this skeleton prepared from one of my pets and you will then understand how truly nature plans the structure of her creatures according to their life habits. while gorging, or swallowing entire its food, the snake's mouth exudes copious secretions of slimy saliva. this greatly aids in the act of deglutition or gorging, as it serves as a most effectual lubricator. after securing its prey, the snake forces the hopeless struggling victim, if it be animate food, down into its capacious gullet by pushing forward first one side of its upper jaw, then the other side moves forward, 42 > 13 12 then the lower jaw is pushed forward till even with the upper jaw.” "truly, count, the snake pulls itself over its food in the act of gorging?" “yes, that is the real explanation of the act of deglutition in snakes. now, however a snake may seize live prey, it generally works toward either extremity, preferably the anterior part of its victim's body before beginning the act of gorging. you can readily perceive the great advantage of swallowing its prey head-first, as it then has far less trouble with the limbs of its victim which are thus pressed close to the body and easily disappear down the snake's dilatible throat. to illustrate the marvelous expansive powers of the snake's jaws and throat, and to prove the ability of the snake to gorge objects much larger in diameter than its own body, let me detail a case that came under my critical observation. i had confined in my snake-box a medium size water adder that persistently refused the tempting food dropped into the box for its nourishment. after many days fasting i finally tempted the adder with the following results. i secured a big toad, one of the largest specimens i have ever seen. this i dropped i into the box and quietly sat by to watch developments. the snake was comfortably coiled in the water-vessel, with its head gracefully resting on the edge of the vessel. soon the movements of the active toad attracted the 1 43 snake's attention. then the snake glided over the edge of the water-vessel till its head and a few inches of the forward part of its body rested on the ground, the remainder of its body was coiled in the vessel. in this watchful position the snake patiently waited, when presently the unwary toad hopped within reach of its natural foe, then, quick as thought, the snake seized the luckless toad and at once attempted to drag its unwieldy burden back with itself, into the vessel of water. the toad struggled bravely, but the pointed curved teeth of the determined snake held it securely and after some effort on the part of the snake, the big "hopper” was soon struggling for life and liberty in the water. i felt convinced that the snake could not by any possible means master such a large victim. naturally i was keenly interested in the apparently unequal struggle. the snake was not over two feet in length and its head was not over one inch in width, while the toad was fully three inches wide and plump and solid. the snake seemed confident of its ability to master its big prey and while keeping it under water as though intent on drowning it, the adder deliberately proceeded to prepare its big meal for gorging. after consuming considerable time in an apparent effort to compress the toad into as compact a form as possible, the snake worked towards the toad's head and there began the act of gorging. i considered it an impossibility for such a 44 1 a large object to pass between such small jaws and through the snake's delicate neck. yet the adder continued the interesting exercise till i really feared those small jaws would tear asunder from the severe strain experienced in forcing such a large body between them. little by little the toad was drawn in; wider and still wider the snake's jaws expanded, till after experiencing some trouble with the toad's plump fore-legg, the big meal gradually disappeared within the snake's nearly bursting throat. after an hour and a half of determined effort the toad was snugly resting within the snake's roomy stomach. so swollen was the snake at the point where the toad rested as to be unable to move about, so i carefully raised the adder from the ground where the struggle was finished and placed it in a corner of the box to digest its big meal in undisturbed comfort. after the toad disappeared down into the snake's gullet, the jaws regained their normal condition and appearance, and except for the large lump midway in the snake's body no one could hardly credit the fact that but a short time had elapsed since those delicate jaws appeared as if they must fly apart from the apparently unnatural strain they experienced. witnessing the whole interesting event i was both surprised and impressed. that hearty meal sufficed the adder for two weeks. the snake's food passes through the throat, 45 a > and it is then forced into the stomach by a strong contraction of the ribs immediately in front of the object swallowed. as the ribs are not joined to a sternum or breast-bone, but have a freedom of action, the body also possesses a wonderful power of expansion, thus easily accommodating the large objects gorged by the snake. the digestive fluids of a snake's stomach are indeed chemically powerful. as the snake gorges its food, the stomach receives it in an almost natural condition, sometimes even alive and active; frequently i have noticed a spasmodic movement, or heard mournful croak from a toad or frog but lately swallowed. now, with the food in this nearly normal condition, digestion begins and flesh, bones, skin, fins and feathers, whatever the character of the food may be, must be assimilated. that the digestion of these seemingly indigestible substances is almost perfect, is proved beyond doubt, in the fact that seldom do the snake's excrements show any trace or vestige of what has been swallowed. “do snakes ever over-estimate their powers and seize prey too large for them to master ?” frequently, my fritz; snakes seem to exercise no judgment in seizing their prey. often have i noticed my pets seize and tenaciously hold prey so large as to be far beyond the snake's ability to gorge it and after being pulled about by the struggling captive, the snake has been compelled to reluctantly free the intended 66 46 t victim. a hearty meal will nourish a snake for many days, yet when conditions make it necessary a snake will fast for several weeks and still be active. snakes drink water readily. i have many times observed individuals of my numerous pets gracefully glide over the edge of the watervessel, immerse about one-half of the head in the water and drink till satisfied. when drinke ing, the jaws move slightly from side to side, while the swallowing of the fluid can be easily traced by the action of the throat." “do snakes always demand living food to satisfy their appetite?” “ as a rule they do. some species of snakes subsist entirely on eggs; but the greatest proportion of the snake family subsist on live prey. occasionally i have tempted my pets to seize and gorge dead food; but in such cases the victims were but lately killed and being fresh and palatable the snake's dull senses were sufficiently deceived to warrant the snake in gorging its truly unnatural meal. of course you know that venomous snakes usually kill their prey before attempting to gorge it; and large snakes of the boa family crush their prey to death and then prepare it for gorging. these facts are due to the truth that the natural food of such species of snakes consists of animals sufficiently large and strong as to give the snake a serious struggle if it attempted to gorge its fierce victim while in the full possession of 47 the frequently formidable means of defense of such prey. now the natural food of our common snakes is generally weak and unable to seriously injure the snake during a life struggle, 80 it soon succumbs to the snake's superior strength and it can thus be easily gorged even when live and active. “ have you noticed whether snakes interfere with each other when feeding, or does the law of possession protect the fortunate snake against the attempts of relatives to contest its possession? “the law of the 'survival of the fittest' prevails among snakes as elsewhere, my fritz. frequently i have observed several snakes persistently contest the possession of a hopeless toad or frog. it is a common occurrence among snakes in confinement, for two individuals to seize a toad or frog at opposite extremities and fiercely and determinedly struggle for the possession of the luckless victim. suci struggles at times continue till one snake not alone swallows the contested meal, but as well, a large portion of its determined contestant. here you see in this jar a garter snake and a water adder, each about two feet in length. now neither of these species feed on snakes, yet you will perceive that about six inches of the forward part of the garter snake is down the water snake's gullet. how much more of the garter snake's body would have disappeared if i had not interrupted the interesting event 48 i am unable to state, for fearing i might lose good cabinet specimen by waiting too long a time, when they would be sure to separate, i prepared them for keeping in this condition." you really do not mean that after swallowing a portion of its unfortunate contestant for the meal, the water snake would free its captive and the two would separate without injury to either ?" “ yes, i mean exactly what i stated. i have observed two baby garter snakes fiercely contest the possession of a wee baby toad that they had both seized at opposite extremities, when one succeeded in securing all of the toad and besides swallowed all but an inch of the strug. gling relative. then when disturbed by my handling them, each hastily wriggled free froin the unnatural embrace and neither showed any injury whatever from their strange experience. of course the successful contestant retained the toad." well, well, my dear count that is indeed an interesting insight into the life habits of these strange creatures.' w shedding the skin. “a highly interesting feature in the life habits of our common snakes is the act of shedding the skin or 'slough. when the growth of the snake, which by the way, is quite rapid in baby snakes, causes the epidermis to become 49 uncomfortably tight, nature provides a new epidermis and enables the snake to cast or shed' its old skin. previous to this experience the snake appears to be 'stone blind,' because the protecting skin over the eyes becomes loose and dead, giving to those organs a bluish white appearance as though the sight was entirely lost. at this time the snake seeks seclusion, seeming to realize the fact that it moves about at a serious disadvantage and risk while its sight is covered by the loose, opaque skin. thus, being unable to distinguish clearly objects about it the snake patiently awaits the gradual loosening of its entire epidermis in some quiet shelter. in young snakes but a short time elapses during the whole process of shedding,' while in adults a week or two passes during the preparation and execution of this change. while awaiting this peculiar ex. perience in a snake's life the subject feeds but little, evidently realizing its handicapped condition, and safely sheltered in some safe retreat, it seldom ventures forth till able to cast' its old skin and appear in a new dress, bright and attractive and in full enjoyment again of all its faculties. when the skin is ready to be 'cast' it parts about the jaws first and can then be easily pushed off the body. the snake now leaves its seclusion and by pushing its way among weeds, vines and other obstructions in its path, it soon frees itself from its cumbersome old skin, turn6 50 > а 66 6 ing the slough' inside out in the operation, and appears bright, active and hungry in a new dress. often, when aware that my pets were ready to shed their old skins, i have taken one in my hands and carefully freeing the skin about the jaws, i have firmly held the loosened portion, when the snake has gradually worked itself out of the old skin, as you would remove a tightly fitting kid glove, leaving in my hands a perfect cast slough.'" during the act of shedding, does the snake quickly glide out of its loose skin ? “no, my fritz; the process of 'casting' a slough' is attended with considerable deliberate exertion on the part of the snake and frequently consumes hours, but when receiving unnatural assistance but a few minutes elapses during the act. after the skin is freed about the head, the snake in its natural haunts, slowly forces its way among the grass or weeds, or rubs against hard substances and these gradually push the skin back over the snake's body, while the snake contracts its body immediately in front of the free part of the skin; and thus, by rubbing and contracting, the skin is slowly pushed off. when assistance is rendered of course the snake has only to contract and advance and in a short time is entirely free from its uncomfortable vesture. sometimes when shedding its skin there will be a 'green' spot in the blough' and this will so tightly adhere a 51 > 6 6 6 6 to the body, that after the loosened portion of the skin is shed, this patch will remain and several days will pass before it is sufficiently dry and loose to be cast.' 'these shed skins or sloughs' are always a yellowish white color and very seldom show any markings, however attractively the snake may be marked. yet the scale arrangement is 60 true that an advanced student of snake life can easily distinguish the species to which the slough' belongs. it is a common occurrence for snakes to lie in water when about to cast' their skins, and the 'slough' then becomes softened by the soaking it receives, when it can be easily discarded." “how often do snakes 'cast' their skins ? you know it is generally accepted as a scientific fact that adult snakes 'shed' about twice a year. now how do your observations along this line agree with this prevailing opinion ? “well, you will of course appreciate the fact that animals in confinement differ somewhat in behavior from their relatives in the natural wild state of the species. now, naturally enough, young, growing snakes shed' frequently, but large adult specimens must be well fed indeed to cast' their slough' more than two or three times during the period of activity of our common snakes in their natural haunts. in the early spring, after awaking from its prolonged winter's sleep, the snake.casts' its skin soon after becoming fully interested in its sur> 6 6 52 6 66 6 roundings. then later in the season when food is comparatively plentiful another 'slough' is shed, and towards the close of the warm term still another one may be 'cast' even by large full grown specimens. in captivity, where plentiful supplies of natural food are at hand to be enjoyed without the exertion necessary to secure prey in a wild state, i have known very large specimens of black snakes, water adders and garter snakes to 'cast' four or even five 'sloughs' in a season." why is it true that in my numerous rambles over nature's expanses of field and forest, meadow and marsh and along the banks of streams, i seldom find a perfect shed' snake skin ? “it is true, my fritz, that rarely indeed, will even an observant rambler secure a perfect ' slough' in his walks abroad. this is explained by the fact that a snake while casting its "slough' and pushing its way through rank vegetable growths to aid in the process, almost invariably tears the skin and leaves portions of it here and there as torn off by the grass or weeds. allow me to show you my collection of 'shed' snake skins, all of which are perfect because my careful assistance during the process of shedding' prevented the usual severe treatment the skins receive when 'cast' in a natural manner. here, you see, i have a fine assortment ranging from a foot to nearly seven feet in length. this fine large one, which is 6 6 53 about as broad as your hand and nearly seven feet in length was cast,' with my assistance, by a large specimen of pine snake that i had among my pets. the others are from black snakes four and five feet in length, and other species of our harmless snakes. these small ones are from the little burrowing snakes that attain a length of less than a foot. you will notice these are as soft as silk. when cast,' snake skins are soft and pliable, but when dried you will notice they generally become hard and brittle, especially large specimens. a snake in its new dress, after casting its slough, is as smooth as china, and it is entirely free from the 'sliminess' that prevailing ignorance of spake life persistently attributes to these despised creatures. eels are slimny; snakes are as dry, and in some species as silky in texture, as ivory.” 6 6 modes of defense. “ we will next consider the means of defense possessed_and exercised by our common snakes. escape is the first impulse of our common snake, when suddenly surprised in its natural haunts. seldom, if ever, does an innocuous snake seek combat with man or beast, but when escape is seemingly impossible and the natural instinct of self preservation inspires defense, then even very small specimens of our harmless snakes manifest a strong disposition 5 54 to fight. the threatening appearance of a snake on the defensive generally suffices to arrest an attack till the snake is able to glide into some convenient shelter. bear in mind this fact, my dear fritz, that but comparatively few persons are willing to attack a snake that suddenly appears in their way, unless sticks or stones are at hand, and you will readily understand why snakes do not really require dangerous defensive powers. you know a bad reputation is frequently as effectual in guarding one from assault as a coat of armor. when suddenly surprised and unable to escape attack, our common snake immediately assumes a defensive attitude, and if tormented will unhesitatingly dart the forward part of its lithe body at its tormentor and endeavor to fasten its small sharp teeth in the person of its enemy. large specimens of our common snakes, such as attain a length of several feet, are capable of inflicting quite a severe wound, causing blood to flow. in such cases, persons wounded by a snake's bite, naturally experience some alarm lest the wound should prove to be a very serious matter. i have been frequently bitten by large non-venomous snakes, when the od has freely flowed from every puncture of the needle like teeth, yet i have never suffered any serious effects from such attacks. the wound usually appeared like a severe pin scratch and was really less painful than a pin scratch generally proves to be. 55 to attack its tormentor, the snake draws back its head and several inches of the forward part of its body in a graceful curve, and then, with mouth wide open it darts this erect portion of its body with lightning like swiftness at the object of its assault, immediately regaining its defensive attitude if the blow falls short of its mark. except in quite small specimens, the body never wholly leaves the ground during the fierce attacks of the irritated snake." “do you really mean to state as a scientific fact that the body of a snake does not wholly leave the ground during its vicious assaults, when the enraged snake attempts to fasten its teeth in the person of its tormentor ?” “most assuredly i do, my fritz, never except in small, vicious specimens of our most savage species, is more than half of the body clear of the ground during its fierce attacks. thus statements declaring that snakes spring bodily at their enemy is positively without foundation in facts.” the safest method of securing a specimen of our common snakes, except large black snakes, is to hold the subject firmly to the ground in such a manner as to allow you to seize it immediately back of the jaws; then it cannot bite and you are master of the situation. when capturing large black snakes, which not only bite severely but as well exercise the power to squeeze peculiar to this species, seize your captive back of the jaws with one hand 56 and about midway of the body with the other, thus preventing it from biting or using its pow. ers of constriction. the common snakes that are not over a foot in length when full grown, do not attempt to bite and can be handled with impunity, fearless of injury. though a wound of any character is to be avoided, yet the bite of one of our common snakes is really insignificant, as there is no secretion of venom in the jaws of our innocuous snakes. however, as it is not at all impossible to handle our harmless species of snakes without fear of their bites, it is still unwise to be careless in securing specimens. you know, my fritz, that some persons are very susceptible to poisonous influences. what would be but a mere scratch to one individual might prove a serious wound to another, whose physical condition was exceedingly sensitive to the slightest presence of poison associated with a bite inflicted by even a non-venomous snake. to illustrate my point, i may carelessly capture a large specimen of harmless snake, irritate it and receive a severe bite from the sharp teeth of my prize. now suppose the snake thus captured had but lately enjoyed a hearty meal of natural prey, and as a natural and very reasonable proposition, the saliva of the snake and the blood of its victim freely flowing while the snake was gorging its meal were dried and decomposed about the teeth of the snake at the time it inflicted the wound. if 57 my physical condition was keenly sensitive to poisonous influences when i received the bite, would it be a cause for surprise if the wound from a bite under such circumstances should prove a serious matter ? i think not, and i am strongly convinced that many so-called deadly snake-bites are nothing more than wounds inflicted by a harmless snake at a time when the teeth of the snake were in this poi. soned state, and the physical condition of the person bitten was most susceptible to the slightest presence of poison associated with the bite. some persons are sadly afflicted by the mere presence of poison-ivy, while others may heedlessly and without serious results move about in its poisonous midst. now, this is simply a matter of susceptibility to poisonous influences. so it is with the bite of a harmless or innocuous snake. though generally insignificant, yet under certain conditions in the snake and also in the victim of the snake's bite, a wound inflicted under these circumstances has proved a very serious affair.” "there is certainly considerable food for thought in your propositions, my dear count. i have given but a superficial attention to the life habits of snakes and i must therefore acknowledge a woful ignorance of the interesting characteristics of these too generally despised creatures. but i can easily comprehend from your lucid statements, how a truly and scientifically innocuous snake can become, under 58 6 certain unusual yet possible conditions, a veritable deadly serpent." “yes, there is no doubt that the really venomous snakes bear the burden of reproach for bites of a serious nature inflicted by innocuous a snakes. but to return to the consideration of modes of defense of our common harmless species. the large over-lapping scales on the under-side of snake, or scutes' as they are called, frequently serve as a most effectual means of defense when the snake is so fortunate as to glide into a convenient hole beneath a stump of tree or in a bank or wall. often have i seized a snake by the tail as it was disappearing in shelter beneath a rock or a stump of old tree, and i have been compelled to reluctantly allow it to escape or dismember it. so strongly has it resisted my efforts to drag it from its shelter, by the firm hold its scutes secured on the rough surface of its retreat, that the stretching of the body warned me to release it, or it would part and leave only its tail in my hand. now if you will pass your finger over the surface of the underside of this specimen, and from tail to head, thus, you will receive an intelligent idea of how firmly a snake can hold on to the rough surface over which it glides. when this 'lap’ is raised in this manner, then you get a satisfactory conception of how important these numerous strong scales, in conjunction with the many pairs of loose ribs, become as means of both locomotion and defense." 6 > 59 6 "truly, the innocuous snakes possess but inferior means of defense against the destroying hand of man, their chiefest foe. in my opinion the universal sentiments of detestation and fear with which these creatures are regarded constitute their best protection from injury at the hand of man.” “you speak truly, my fritz. though cursed above all cattle, and above every beast of the field' is the still existing reproach under which the serpent lies, yet but few persons seek an encounter with a snake, while the great mass of humanity is content to pass by on the other side' when a specimen of this much feared as well as universally despised creature is met. the fierce and threatening dartings of the tongue of an infuriated snake serve as a very eftectual means of defense." 2 6 how snakes breed. i am “in my pursuit of snake-lore i have been peculiarly fortunate in my observations of the breeding habits of our common snakes. surprised to find such a serious dearth of reliable information on this subject so evident in the great mass of scientific literature that professes to record the life habits of serpents. thus, you can appreciate my feelings of satisfaction, inspired by the pleasing and instructive observations i have been able to make 60 along this important line of strictly scientific investigation, the propagation of snakes is especially interesting from the fact that it is generally conceded by scientific authorities on this subject that snakes are oviparous, viviparous, or oviviviparous. more simply speaking some species lay eggs, other species give birth and still other species either lay eggs or give birth, according as conditions are favorable to either mode of generation. now it is not my purpose to discuss the scientific verity of this generally accepted belief, but to simply present in as lucid manner as possible the results of my personal observations on this subject. early in the spring, soon after awaking from its prolonged nap, the adult snake seeks a mate. i have been favored on several occasions with an opportunity to note this interesting feature in the life-habits of our common snakes, but i am unable to present the strictly scientific discussion of this subject in a popular work of this character. in the oviparous snakes the period of gestation is about ten weeks, when the female seeks a suitable place in which to lay her eggs. these are laid in a slight excavation a few inches deep in the soft earth where they are left to be hatched by the moist heat of their resting place. beneath old stumps of trees, in an open field, or along the edge of a wooded district bordering an open field, these snake eggs are to 61 > be found. frequently these eggs are plowed up by the husbandman, who conscientiously believes he is doing society a great service by destroying all he finds but he commits a serious error to his own immediate injury, as snakes feed on field-mice, moles and insects hurtful to the farmer's products. the eggs of our common oviparous snakes are a yellowish white in color and vary from 1x} inch, to the size of a pigeon's egg. in form they are either irregularly elliptical or cylindrical. when cylindrical in form they have flat ends and several of them are connected by a thin thread-like skin about a half inch in length between each egg. the shell is a tough leathery skin, sometimes covered with small hard pimples. the number of eggs laid at one time varies with the species. my pets have laid from a dozen to as high as twentytwo eggs at one time." “ you are inclined to be skeptical in your acceptance of reports that individuals of our common snakes have been found with thirty or forty eggs?" “such cases may occur, my fritz. but in treating of the life habits of our snakes i speak of the rule and not of the rare exception. as there are strange and unusual births among the higher forms of animal life, so there may be freaks' of nature found in reptile life. i speak of what i know from my own personal observations. so follow me closely as i give 62 1 t 1 e you the results of my careful observations relating to generation in snakes, one of my large black snakes, whose mating conduct i had witnessed with keen interest in the early spring, laid twenty-two eggs. this event occurred july 5 the eggs were deposited one at a time, with apparent effort on the part of the snake. some of them were 11x inches in size and elliptical in form. others were dxf inches in size, cylindrical in form with flat ends, and several of these were connected at the ends by a thin, thread-like skin, about a half inch in length. cutting through the tough skin of an egg i found the contents to be similar to the 'white' of a hen's egg. leaving the eggs where the snake deposited them for a period of about three weeks i again opened one. on cutting through the tough skin at this time, a small quantity of albumen fell out; next i observed a ball of fatty tissue which occupied nearly the whole space in the shell. opening this yoke i found the baby snake coiled in its center. carefully removing the little snake i ascertained that its length was seven inches; its body was almost transparent, its eyes were very prominent and the scale arrangement was beautifully distinct. the color of the baby snake was grayish-white, with dark markings. although i noticed a slight pulsation of the heart, showing life, yet the snake died when removed from the egg, because immaturely developed. 0 c 63 now follow me closely, my fritz. in the fore-part of august a garter snake, that mated in april, gave birth to sixteen active baby snakes. during the delivery of these interesting little creatures, the parent snake laid in an irregularly curved position with her body pressed close to the ground. the birth of each little snake required such muscular exertion as to plainly show the snake's numerous ribs during the muscular contraction required to deliver the little thing. at birth the baby snake was coiled in a mucous envelope and as soon as delivered it vainly attempted to free itself from this mucous covering, but so elastic wag it as to defy the puny efforts of the little prisoner. after a few minutes this elastic, mucous covering dried, when the baby snake easily parted its bonds, gaped several times as though really testing the expansive powers of its dilatible jaws and then started in active search for nourishment. the length of the baby snake was about six inches, and the body was slight and graceful in form, with markings much lighter and more delicate than on the parent snake. here you have an intelligent idea of the peculiar features in the propagation of the young of the oviparous and the viviparous species of our common snakes. now to prove to your satisfaction that snakes may possibly be only oviparous, let me give you the results of my careful observations that must assuredly arouse doubts in a thoughtful 64 mind relative to the scientific reliability of viviparous snakes. i had a fine specimen of full grown garter snake that i daily expected would give birth to a family of little ones. well, one day one of my large black snakes attacked the garter snake, and before i could prevent it deliberately began to gorge its big victim. i ι rescued the garter snake but not before it had received such injuries as to cause a premature delivery of about a dozen little dead snakes. nearly all of these little snakes were delivered with a mass of fatty tissue enveloped in a mucous covering. again, a large water adder that had been caught and severely injured on a fish-hook was presented to me, to all appearances dead. well, i revived it, and in a short time it also gave premature birth to several little snakes, all dead and accompanied with the mass of fatty tissue as in the previous case. again, late in october one of my water adders gave birth to about a dozen active little snakes, and in addition to them expelled several eggshaped masses of fatty tissue. now, does not the appearance of the baby snake prematurely delivered with its accompaniment of fatty tissue, and the appearance of the baby snake in its fatty tissue within the egg, prove a strong argument in support of the proposition that snakes are oviparous, but some species hatch the eggs in their own body, while others deposit the eggs in conditions favorable to their full development by the influence of solar heat ?" 65 > “certainly, my dear count, your critical observations and your very plausible proposition must accomplish much toward disposing of the generally accepted belief that snakes are both oviparous and viviparous. i shall hereafter feel fully convinced in my mind that snakes are only oviparous in their generative habits." “ well, my fritz, nearly all scientific beliefs are open to contradiction through the results of careful observations of critical investigators, and it is only by the honest efforts of such careful observers that science becomes a reliable source of truth.” “ as a rule snakes pay but indifferent attention to their offspring. i have never witnessed an instance when the parent snake manifested any concern for the young she had brought into existence. yet it is a well authenticated fact that the parent will temporarily swallow its young to protect them from threatening dana a ger." “is there any positively reliable external marks or peculiarities by which the sex of our common snakes can be distinguished ?” “no. though i have frequently witnessed the mating habits of my pete, yet even after the most critical examination i have utterly failed to secure any distinguishing features that would at once give the sex of a specimen secured in its natural haunts. the female is generally larger than her mate, but this is a most unsatisfactory proof of sex, as i have seen 66 males over eighteen inches in length mate with large, full grown females three feet in length. again, i have seen females of this same species not over twenty inches in length give birth to sixteen baby snakes, all well and active. in species that are prominently marked and colored there may exist a slight difference in appearance that will positively distinguish sex, but i am not yet able to lay down any law that can be assuredly relied on to distinguish sex by any external appearances of our common snakes found singly in their native wilds. dissection is the only positive proof of sex.” hibernation. 6 “ another interesting feature in the life-habits of the ophidians is hibernation. frequently this question is asked, what becomes of the snakes during winter?' of course you know that all reptiles hibernate during the cold season. the period of activity of snakes in our temperate climate is about seven months. . naturally enough this term is largely dependent on the character of our winters. if we experience an open winter,' snakes remain abroad later than when a severe frigid season prevails. as a rule the cold snapg' in autumn drive all our snakes into winter quarters. occasionally during the warm spells in the beautiful season of indian summer, individuals may be met enjoying a quiet siesta' beneath 6 67 > the sun's warm rays, protected from the chilly north winds; but as a rule snakes 'turn in for a prolonged sleep with the first real evidences of winter's advent. now this long term of slumber is called hibernation, a period of absolute inactivity in a state of torpidity, insensible to the pangs of hunger and the chilling frosts of winter's inclemency. this condition of insensibility is a happy provision of nature especially beneficial to such cold blooded' animals as reptiles. the natural food of snakes is almost entirely lacking during the freezing cold of winter, so to lie dormant during this season of serious scarcity of sustenance is certainly an agreeable way to escape starvation. frogs, toads, and other batrachians subsist largely on insects, and our common snakes depend for their sustenance on frogs, toads, small mammals, birds and insects, nearly all of which disappear with the arrival of the first chilling frosts of winter. thus deprived of their patural food the snakes are compelled during this season of short ' rations' to lie torpid or to starve. nature has endowed these creatures with an instinct that leads them to hibernate during the season of limited food supplies, and thus pass weeks in a state of absolute freedom from gnawing appetite. another cause for hibernation among the ophidians is found in the fact that due to an imperfect aeration of the blood from a defective circulation of the vital fluid, the snake would 68 soon freeze to death if it attempted to pass through winter exposed to the deadly rigors of this season. so snakes hibernate to escape death by freezing." "is hibernation a strict necessity? cannot a snake under favorable conditions live through winter and neither starve nor freeze?" “hibernation is not a rigid law of nature. domestication removes the causes for seeking escape from death by starvation or freezing, and a snake may remain both active and healthy during the long term of frigid weather with comparatively little food. i have kept specimens during winter, housed in comfortable quarters, with absolutely no food, and in the early spring they were active and healthy, some of them even shedding their skins; frequently during their protracted fast they were quite active, i am not aware that snakes hold any preferance for special places in which to hibernate. so long as they can find shelter from the freezing cold of winter, they seem indifferent to special localities, i have noticed that the places selected in which to hibernate are generally sheltered from the piercing north winds. the snake evidently possesses an instinct that leads it to seek its place to hibernate out of the reach of killing frosts. during this hibernal torpidity the snake succumbs to sudden severe changes in the temperature. i have surprised snakes just awakend from 69 their prolonged slumbers in various:situations and conditions. i have caught them in early spring basking in the: guns warm rays on leaves and flat stones on the south sids of a sunny bank. i have secured them beneatki des. cayed vegetation along meadow, streams, snugly sheltered from winter's cold blasts among the aquatic plants peculiar to such localities. i have unearthed a colony of different species, so twined and tangled together as to make it a difficult task to distinguish individuals. a few warm days in early spring an observant rambler will notice numerous round holes in the soft mold of meadow-land, and in the banks of high ground facing the south, all unmistakable evidences of the places of hibernation used by our common snakes. during this lethargic state of hibernation, respiration and circulation in the snake are almost entirely suspended. when brought into association with a moderate rise in temperature the hibernating snake soon regains activity." do snakes charm ? “now, my dear count, there is a much debated question, relative to the peculiar powers òf snakes, that i wish to ask you: do snakes charm ?” “that simple question has been asked time and again during decades of scientific research, and it still remains a controverted point. it is 6 70 my honest conviction that the question is incorrectly worded; careful observations of the life habits of our common snakes, confirms my opinion that ths ophidians possess no mesmeric power, which, when exercised, places the victim in easy reacã of the expectant snake; rather the inherent dread of snakes universally entertained by man and the higher orders of brutes, so affects some individuals, possessing a highly nervous temperament as to make them powerless to flee or fight when suddenly encountering a snake in their path. the great majority of the human family, learned and illiterate, accept with little or absolutely no hesitation or doubt a prevalent belief that snakes are endowed with certain mesmeric powers, through the exercise of which they stupify or paralyze their prey and thus are enabled to make an easy capture. the most absurd and unreasonable instances of snake charming' are readily accepted and cherished, and frequently grossly exaggerated as evidences of the terrifying potency of the snake's power over man and beast. careful investigation of these 'authentic cases' results in the fact that the victim was paralyzed with fear, rather than made powerless by the exercise of any mesmeric influence exerted by the snake. now, in nearly every human mind a strong sentiment of repugnance, and in some cases an actual horror of snakes in general finds lodgment. strong men, as well as delicate, sensitive women 6 > 71 turn pale and are subjected to intense mental perturbation when even small specimens of the snake family come in contact with their person. herein lies the whole secret of the prevailing erroneous belief that 'snakes do charm.' so we conclude it must be accepted as a scientific verity that the power to "charm,' so generally granted to the snake, does not exist; but rather, animate nature, in its highest and most sensitive forms, entertains such strong feelings of fear and repulsion towards the snake as to frequently suffer temporary paralysis of their powers when suddenly meeting a terror-inspiring snake.” “ your intelligent consideration of this much mooted question, certainly goes far toward dissipating the general belief that "snakes do charm.' i remember distinctly an instance in my own family, when a highly sensitive young lady relative was so overpowered by fear on suddenly meeting a large black snake ready for fight, that assistance was necessary to remove her from the spot, when she fainted and afterwards became seriously hysterical. for weeks after her terrifying experience she was visibly affected when the event was mentioned. now my dear count, i have long entertained an honest conviction that but for the timely arrival of aid, so intense was her terror as to have resulted in dementia or even death, especially would her terrible experience have resulted fatally if the snake in its assaults had fastened 6 72 its teeth in her garments; and thus have become attached to her person. but i have never doubted that her serious condition was caused by fright and borror and in no degree inspired by any subtle power to charm,' exercised by the snake." “you are certainly correct in your conclusions, my fritz. the snake would have been but a passive factor in any fatal results following the young lady's experience, for terror only was the cause of her serious condition.” chapter iii. our common snakes. the garter snakes. 6 “the garter snake is beyond doubt the 'common snake' of the eastern and middle states of our union. it is surprising, my fritz, to notice the readiness with which so many, even intelligent persons, call nearly all snakes which may cross their path during a quiet walk abroad with nature, garter snakes. yet, as you have doubtless frequently noticed, this species is so strongly marked as to allow no excuse for confusing it with other species of our common snakes. the garter snake is readily distinguished from other species of our common snakes by the presence of a prominent dorsal stripe, that runs along the back from head to tail. this stripe is usually yellowish in color and very distinct. besides this dorsal stripe there is always present along each side and running parallel with the dorsal stripe a duller, yet easily distinguished lateral stripe. these three stripes are always present on the garter snakes, and thus they comprise a positive proof of the species to which the individual belongs that possesses the stripes. 74 in the eastern territory of our country we find but two distinct species of garter snakes. one of these is very variable, with two strongly marked varieties. this species is the common garter snake frequently called the 'striped snake.' the common garter snake or striped snake has a stout body and attains a length of three feet when full grown. its general color is dull greenish above, light greenish below and along the sides. the dorsal stripe is narrow but prominent, the lateral stripes are much broader but duller than the dorsal stripe. rows of dark spots along the sides between the stripes ; these are not prominent in this species-eutania-sirtalis. no marks or spots on under side, yet there are always present on the outer edges of each scute or large overlapping scale on the under side, a row of small semi-circular dots. the tail is about one-fifth the total length of the body and it tapers to a fine point. so variable in coloration is this species that i have found specimens from light pea-green to almost black in color, yet because of the everpresent stripes i never hesitated to immediately distinguish the individuals as members of the garter snake family. the varieties of this species are the ordinata which is grayish or brownish green with dull stripes but very prominent spots, generally about eighty-five in number. the dorsalis which has a broad dorsal stripe and a row of 75 distinct spots above the lateral stripes; and the obscura which is dusky gray or brown in color, with a faint dorsal stripe, while the lateral stripes merge into the color of the under parts. this is the least attractive of the garter snakes. the common garter snake is active in its habits, rather irritable in temper, readily defending itself against attack, yet in confinement i have found it to be an interesting and tractable pet. the ribbon snake, or swift garter spake is a really pretty and exceedingly graceful little creature. it is slender in form, and grows to a length of about three feet. the tail is about one-third the full length of the body and gracefully tapers to a fine point. the general color of this species (eutania-saurita) is bright chestnut brown above, greenish below, with bright yellowish stripes. below the lateral stripes the color is a clear light brown. no spots. this snake is exceedingly swift in its movements. frequently wher. i have attempted to catch a specimen in its natural wilds, so quick has been its movements to elude capture as to really appear as if it literally sprang clear of the ground. it seldom attempts to bite aod makes a pleasing pet. the garter snakes are usually found in the vicinity of streams, where frogs and toads abound. their food consists of frogs and toads mainly, yet i have witnessed my pets greedily seize and devour earth worms and also small fish. 76 about the first week in august the female seeks a suitable place to bring forth her young, usually sixteen in number. of course you will understand, that my statements relative to the life-habits of snakes, as i have observed them, apply to the general rule; but i have also witnessed rare and exceptional cases in the different habits of my pets. now, though garter snakes generally bring forth their young in the early part of august and the number to a birth seldom exceeds eighteen, yet i have witnessed peculiar cases of birth as late in the season as the middle of october, and one of my large female garter snakes had a peculiar and strangely unusual experience of double birth that is worthy of record. early in my spring rambles i cap. tured a large specimen of garter snake. this in my "snake box' and after a few days witnessed it mating with a smaller garter snake. about the middle of the following august, as i fully expected it to do, it gave birth to sixteen active baby snakes. after this experience i was much interested in it because of its abnormally large size day after day it seemed to grow till it was exceptionally large and round, and as i did not notice any unusually greedy behavior on its part, but rather noted that it was clumsy in its action and ate but rarely, i became much interested in finding out the cause of its abnormal size. finally it became so plump and unwieldy as to be hardly able i put 77 to move about. at last the secret of its odd appearance was made known and just three weeks after it gave birth to the sixteen little snakes i made my usual visit to the box to see how my fat garter snake was progressing, when i was amazed to find my snake reduced to but little more than a skeleton, while the box was swarming with active little garter snakes. these i removed to another box and while so doing i counted sixty lively little baby garter snakes all about the usual size, it was a remarkable case of 'freak birth’in snakes, so i preserved the prolific parent snake in alcohol. you see here it is, no larger than an ordinary full grown garter snake, while it is so emaciated that its ribs are perceptible through the skin.” “ that was a strange case indeed. i suppose such cases are inexplicable. are inexplicable. like strange freaks of nature evidenced in higher forms of animal life there is hardly any satisfactory explanation of such cases." "you are right; seldom can such unusual instances in generation be explained. the baby garter snake is a miniature of its parent; it is usually about six inches long, active and graceful. a short time after birth it a is in earnest search for its natural nourishment, worms, tadpoles and baby toads. i have frequently watched individuals of my large family of baby garter snakes fiercely struggle for the possession of a wee baby toad, contested by two or even more resolute little snakes till 78 one snake not only swallowed the toad but as well the greater portion of its unfortunate relative; then when i freed the imprisoned little snake it was soon eagerly in search of another toad. garter snakes are partial to water. i noticed that they are graceful swimmers and pass much time in harmonious company with the water adders in the water-vessel placed in the box for my pets. they become quite tame in confinement and seldom attempt to bite." the water snakes. “we find but three species of the water snakes in the eastern part of our country. the common water snake or water adder is a stout, strong snake, which grows to four feet in length. this species-tropidonotus sipedonis the most savage of our common snakes. although a really timid snake, escaping if opportunity permits, yet when cornered it bites viciously. it is aquatic, and a rapid and graceful swimmer. let me show you a fine specimen i lately secured, my dear fritz. it is three and one-half feet in length, seven inches round, and it weighs two and three-quarter pounds. no doubt fellow is many years of age. seldom are they found as large as this one. the general color of the water adder is brownish or dusky above, with large, dark blotches, alternating with smaller, triangular, 79 reddish blotches on the sides and back. the underside is yellowish brown, with two more rows of irregular, semi-circular brownish spots. in some old specimens the color above is dusky brown, and the markings are hardly discernible, while the underside is marked with dull yellowish and brown blotches. the eyes of this species are small, with a reddish caste, possessing a vicious expression, true to the irritable temper of this snake. the scales on the back are coarse, forming a keel along the dorsal line. although fitted to seize its natural prey in the water, and capable of remaining beneath the surface for considerable time, yet the water adder frequents the shore in search of frogs and toads, and to enjoy a noon-day nap beneath stones and refuse matter. it is very quick in its movements, and readily attacks large fish. the old fishermen along the delaware have entertained me with interesting accounts of ex. citing life struggles between large eels and full grown water adders. and they have also told me of instances when water adders have compassed their own destruction in attempting to gorge large cat-fish, the sharp spines of which have pierced through the distended skin of the snake's neck, and thus caused the death of the gormand snake. early in august the female water adder brings forth her young, in some suitable spot on land. her family usually numbers sixteen, 80 yet i have seen instances when my pets gave birth to as high as twenty-two little ones, and i have also noted cases of birth among this species as late as the middle of october. the baby water adder is quite a pretty snake, with bright and distinct markings. the alternating yellowish white triangular spots and brownish rhomboidal blotches along the sides, with whitish lines across the back and delicate pencil. ings of yellowish and brown on the under side, all combine to make a pretty effect. the baby snake is about seven inches in length, quite stout, very active and full of fight. it feeds on tadpoles, baby toads and small fish. the water adder when irritated, flattens its body to the ground and fiercely attacks its tormentor. the teeth of this species are large and strong and my experience is that their bite is more severe than that inflicted by any other species of our common snake. it cannot be considered a pleasing pet because of its timid, suspicious and irritable disposition. it makes sad havoc among the fish in a stocked pond. the stiff snake_tropidonotus rigidus—is greenish brown above, with two brownish dorsal stripes. beneath it is dull yellow with two rows of brown spots. this species seldom grows more than twenty inches in length. the leather snake— tropidonotus leberis—is quite an attractive reptile ; it attains a length of about two feet. it is chestnut brown above, with three narrow, black dorsal stripes and a 81 yellowish lateral band. beneath it is pale yellow with four rows of dark spots. both of these species are comparatively rare in the delaware valley. they are not as predaceous among the fish of our streams as the water adder, as their food consists mainly of toads, frogs and tadpoles. > the spreading adder. “ now, my dear fritz, grant me your special attention to my notes on the most interesting species of our common snakes. this is the hog-nose snake, spreading adder, blowing viper or flat adder, as it is variously called in different parts of the country. the spreading adder-heterodon platyrhinus-attains a length of about thirty inches when full grown. it has a stout, ungraceful body, with abruptly tapering tail. the skin, especially about the neck, is quite loose, thus giving to the snake a clumsy, soft appearance, so different from the compact, graceful form of all other species of our common snakes. this species is quite variable in coloration, but generally it is yellowish-brown above, marked with about thirty dark brown spots along the back, growing into hands along the tail. beneath it is yellowish, clouded with slate color. the name hog-nose snake gets its derivation from the peculiar shape of its muzzle; this is pointed triangularly, slightly turned 82 up, and thus somewhat resembles a hog's snout. although the spreading adder is sluggish in its habits, yet when irritated it assurnes a most threatening attitude. it coils quickly, fills out its loose skin with air till nearly twice its natural size, flattens its body close to the ground, expands its neck to a wonderful degree, emits a long drawn hiss, and viciously strikes at its tormentor with lightning like strokes of wrath-inspired fury. but all this terrifying manifestation of deadly ire is but harmless bluster, as it never opens its mouth during its savage attacks, and it is as harmless as a little kitten. a peculiar characteristic of this snake, not existing in any other species of our common snakes, is its practice of playing possum,' when unable to frighten away its tormentor with a manifestation of serpentine rage. when resorting to this deception it rolls over on its back, with mouth wide open and tongue protruding, and lying perfectly quiet it thus simulates death perfectly. in this state it may be roughly handled, and even knocked about, yet it remains limp and apparently lifeless. it will continue this deception till its captor, even though sometimes a naturalist, thoroughly deceived, casts it away in disgust, when, presto, it suddenly revives and quickly glides out of harm's way into the nearest shelter. i have secured specimens of this snake, when it feigned death so per fectly and continued the deception 6 83 6 for so long time, that before i became thoroughly acquainted with its life habits i was tempted to throw it aside, under the impression that perhaps its vehement exhibition of rage when first i caught it had really re-acted on it in some fatal manner to cause its death. but, my fritz, the old schoolmaster, experience, soon taught me that i was being duped by the clever trick of a despised snake, so now, when a specimen tries to impose on my sympathies by practicing the possum trick,' i cruelly place it in my snake box and coolly watch it recover its senses. the hog-nose snake or spreading adder, is found in open fields, generally near streams, where its natural food, toads, frogs and salamanders, are to be found. it burrows readily in search of grubs and insects. it is very deliberate in its movements, and does not possess the ability to glide as swiftly out of danger as the other species of our common snakes. during the early part of july the female spreading adder lays about a dozen yellowish white, pointed eggs, about one inch long and one-half inch in diameter. these are deposited in some suitable spot to be hatched by the moist heat of their resting place. the little snakes are much lighter in color than the parent and interesting little creatures. the species niger is black or dark brown above, slate color below, a truly formidable appearing reptile, yet perfectly harmless." 84 “is not the spreading adder frequently mistaken for the deadly copper head ?" “yes, my fritz, because of its vicious behavior when irritated, and its fancied resemblance to the venomous copper head, the farmers kill it under the erroneous impression that they are destroying a death dealing serpent. this is a serious mistake as the spreadm ing adder is not only absolutely harmless, but it is a valuable adjunct to the farm and garden. you know, my fritz, that no one has a greater need of knowledge of nature than the farmer, as he frequently kills his best friends among the lower animals through ignorance of their true life habits. the spreading adder is a most interesting pet, because, though most vicious of all our common snakes in behavior, yet it is positively harmless, and can be handled with impunity.” a the black snake, ex“the truly representative species of our com. mon snakes is the black snake, my fritz. the black snake-bascanium constrictor.is ceedingly graceful in forın, swift as thought in its movements, fearlessly irritable in temper, and a most interesting subject for study. the body of this snake is comparatively slight, tapering gracefully towards the fine point of its prehensile tail. the general color 85 is a glossy blue-black on the back and sides, and slate color below. a glistening white patch is always present on the chin and throat of this species. its scales, ae you may observe from this fine specimen, are large, smooth and hexagonal in shape. the tail is about onefourth the full length of its supple body. the eyes are large, bold and jet black. this species grows to a length of six feet; occasionally specimens are found over seven feet in length, but as a rule a black snake six feet long is an uncommon find. the natural haunts of the black snake are in the vicinity of marshes and streams, where a dense growth of vegetation assures a safe shelter, into which it glides like an arrow when disturbed. its food consists of frogs, small birds, such small animals as field mice and moles, etc. it climbs trees readily to rob bird's nests of eggs and young birds. it attacks other species of snakes fearlessly, even the deadly rattlesnake, and frequently gorges its victim after securing one. i have, on several occasions, witnessed my black snake pets seize garter snakes and water adders nearly two feet in length and deliberately proceed to swallow the hapless victim. after seizing a snake, the black snake quickly throws a coil of its lithe body on the struggling captive, and thus holding it firmly to the ground, begins the act of deglutition, or gorging its meal head-first. this species bas a peculiar habit of beating 7 86 6 the ground with lightning-like strokes of its finely pointed tail when irritated, as if in imi. tation of the warning given by the deadly rattlesnake just previous to striking." “is not this species commonly called the racer,' from its practice of chasing persons who unwarily disturb it ? " “yes, my fritz, it is generally believed that the black snake or racer' as it is commonly called, really chases persons, who, startled by the sudden appearance of one of these ill-reputed ophidians flee in terror from its presence. i have never learned of an authentic case when the black snake literally chased a human being. i have captured many specimens of this species, in one instance securing five fine specimens in about five minutes, one of which was over six feet in length. repeatedly i have met well grown black snakes in my rambles and though i have noticed that they were slow to move at my approach, yet when i resolutely advanced towards them they invariably attempted to escape, and i found it necessary to be exceedingly quick in my endeavors to seize them. i have seen large specimens of garter snakes, water snakes and pine snakes when severely irritated swiftly glide for a short distance directly at their tormentors. so i know no reason why a black snake, with its characteristic pugnacious disposition, should not do the same thing when cornered and teased, but i am hardly able to credit the extravagant stories that find circula87 tion relative to black snakes actually chasing and attacking human beings when fleeing in terror from them. about the first week in july the female black snake lays from eighteen to twenty-two yellowish white eggs, covered with a tough leathery skin. these eggs vary in size and form. one of my pets laid twenty-two eggs; some of these were laid singly and were elliptical in form, pointed, and one and one-half inch long and three-quarter inch in diameter. others were cylindrical in form, with flat ends, and about fx in size; several of these were connected by a thin thread-like skin about a half inch in length between each egg. in its natural haunts the black snake lays its eggs in a shallow hole in the soft earth, generally along the edge of wood land, or beneath old stumps of trees in open plowed fields. about three or four weeks elapses after the eggs are deposited when the moist heat of their resting place hatches the young snakes. the baby black snake is a pretty creature, very active, of a dark olive color with a row of irregular brown spots, bordered with darker margins along the back. the sides of the body and the under side are also generally spotted. “ it seems to be a prevalent belief that the bite of the black snake is a serious affair. is there any foundation for such opinion?” “ nine whatever, my fritz. the bite of a black snake is comparatively insignificant, a a > 88 mere scratch compared to a wound inflicted by the bite of a water adder. i have repeatedly allowed my black snake pets to bite me after severely teasing them, and i have thus learned by experience that the slight wounds they can inflict, even during a furious attack, amounts to less than a severe pin scratch, and they are truly less painful than a pin scratch generally proves to be. of course the wound inflicted by the needle-like teeth of an enraged black snake will naturally enough draw blood, but it is really unworthy of notice, as the black snake is a positively harmless snake. although this species possesses a power to squeeze to a very perceptible degree, yet it is not sufficiently strong to do any injury to a human being or other large enemy in the exercise of its powers of constriction. the black snake when not abused proves to be a very tractable pet, and when handled gently makes no attempt to bite; but when abused it is quick to resent injury. it delights to bask in the sun's warm rays. frequently during my early spring rambles i have met several individuals, generally in pairs, gracefully coiled on a grassy spot enjoying the solar warmth. the black snakes, after mating, are generally found in pairs, and there seems to exist quite an attachment between mates of this interesting species.” > 89 the pine snake, “ the largest of our common snakes, my fritz, is the pine snake or bull snake, as it is called in some localities. this snake attains a length of over six feet; it has a stout, strong body. the general color of the pine snake-pityophis molanoleucus—is yellowish white. the scales of the back anteriorly are well spattered with brown; posteriorly these brown markings are developed into spots and bands along the glistening white sides are irregular rhomboidal blotches and spots of brown and slate color. the underside is yellowish white with slate color blotches. the head of the pine snake is ungraceful, with thick neck. the tail is about one-seventh the total length of the body and it terminates in a peculiar horny point. the scales of the back are pointed and keeled, while along the sides they are smooth. the pine snake derives its name from its natural habitat, the pine barrens.' the pine hawkers' or charcoal burners give it the name of bull snake and declare that it . bellows like a bull’at certain seasons; this assertion is not satisfactorily authenticated, yet it hisses vi. ciously when irritated. this snake is slow in its movements and of equable temper, thus it can be readily handled if not abused. when tormented it hisses furi6 6 90 6 2 6 ۱۱ ously and strikes viciously at its tormentor. it makes an interesting pet and can be fed on small animals, small birds, frogs and hen's eggs. “it is the pine snake that is so frequently seen in museums, where 'snake charmers' awe the horrified audience by their reckless hand. ling of large deadly (?) serpents. i have seen them brazenly caressed by representative snake charmers 'in sadly abbreviated skirts at our agricultural fairs, when i could not help deciding that the snake was far less dangerous than its blase charmer.' “you are right, my fritz, quite a trade has been developed for good live specimens of this species; and the dealers in this peculiar merchandise ship so many pine snakes to the big cities, that this species is likely to be soon exterminated. the pine snake in its natural haunts is generally found alone. it feeds on young rabbits, small birds and will venture near houses in search of hen's eggs, while it never refuses an opportunity to regale itself on the contents of a stolen' guinea's nest. the female lays from six to ten blunt pointed or rather elliptical eggs, about the size of a pigeon's egg, white, with tough leathery skin; these are deposited in the sand. the baby snakes are about seven inches in length and nearly white, markings quite obscure.) 6 91 the chain snake. a “ the king snake, chain snake or thunder snake-ophibolus-getulus-is an attractive reptile, my fritz. the color of this snake is deep lustroux black above, with about thirty yellowish white, irregular rings along the sides and back, forming a delicate chain. beneath it is slate color, with large yellowish white blotches. it grows to a length of five feet. in its general life habits it resembles the black snake." the milk snake. “ the milk snake, house snake or spotted adder is peculiar in the fact that its various names in no wise apply especially to it. the milk snake-ophibolus triangulus-as it is generally called, grows to about three feet in length and has a graceful form. general color of this snake is pinkish white, with a row of large red brown spots, bordered with black running along the back. on the sides are alternating small spots of pinkish white and dark brown. the under parts are artistically checkered with whitish and slate colored square blotches. prominent pinkish white arrow shaped mark always present on top of the head. the young milk snake is a very pretty little reptile. general color whitish, with numerous clear, bright red spots. 92 the milk snake is useful about the farm as a field mouse destroyer, but the slanders against it as a 'milk thief' are not founded on facts. i have secured it miles from any dairy, feeding on frogs." the fox snake. a “ the fox snake-coluber. vulpinus is a fine representative of our common snakės. this snake grows to about five feet in length and is graceful in form. it is of a yellowish brown color, with a series of square chocolate brown blotches along the back and a row of smaller spots of the same color along the sides. beneath it is yellowish white with square, black spots. the favorite resorts of the fox snake are the hilly wooded districts of the northeastern part of our country. a friend sent to me a fine specimen from the hilly district of pennsylvania which gave birth to fifteen little ones; these were miniatures of their parent. the fox snake is of a docile dieposition and thus makes a pleasant pet.” » the summer green snake. “the summer green snake-cyclophis æstivus—is an exquisite little creature. this spe. cies is also indigenous to the mountain districts. it has a small, conical head, very delicate neck and slight graceful body. it grows 93 to about thirty inches in length. the summer green snake is bright brilliant green above, and creamy white or delicate pale green beneath. it frequents low bushes in search of its insect food. now, in addition to the species of our common snakes already discussed, and which attain a length of over two feet when full grown, we have several species of small harmless snakes that do not grow over twenty inches in length. these little snakes are perfectly harmless, never attempting to bite. they subsist on tadpoles, grubs, earthworms and small insects, and most of them burrow in search of their food." the ring-necked snake. “in my opinion, the prettiest species of all our snakes is the beautiful little ring-necked snake-diadophis punctatus. this pretty little creature has a slight graceful form, with head depressed and large eyes, and it attains a length of fifteen inches. the general color above, a rich blue black ; beneath, bright pale orange, with each scale dotted on its outer edges with small black dots, one on each edge. generally a row of small black dots runs along the middle line of the under side, one dot to each scute. a yellowish white ring around the delicate neck is an always present distinguishing mark. the ring-neck snake frequents secluded local94 ities, where it burrows beneath decayed logg and bark in search of its food, slugs, salamanders and insect larvae. although it may be found throughout nearly the whole country, yet it is not often met, because of its love of seclusion. de kay's brown snake. the dekay's brown snake--storeria de kayi-has a stout body that tapers toward its delicate neck and small head. it is grayish brown above, with a prominent clay-colored dorsal band, dotted with minute black dots along its edges. beneath, grayish. this snake seldom grows over a foot in length. it is one of our commonest snakes and is usually found near water where it secures tadpoles, grubs and earthworms for sustenance. red-bellied snake. the red-bellied snake--storeria occipitomaculata—is less common than dekay's brown snake and is slighter in form. color above chestnut brown, with a narrow grayish dorsal stripe. a distinguishing mark peculiar to this species is three pale blotches on the back part of the head ; these are seldom absent. color, beneath salmon red. length seldom over a foot. general habits same as the dekay's brown snake. 95 the grass snake. a a really pretty species of our common snakes is the grass snake or green snake-liopeltis vernalis. this little creature grows to about twenty inches in length. it has a delicate graceful form, with an elongate head, small neck and large eyes. it is a bright grass green above, while beneath it is a yellowish green. it frequents grassy meadows and low bushes in search of its insect food. “ there, my fritz, now you know something about the life habits of our common snakes." “i congratulate you, my dear count, on the very valuable scientific facts that you have added by your own personal observations to science." chapter iv. a happy “find.” а "my spirit yearns to bring the lost one back-yearns with desire intense." -bryant. in the spring of '94, after a most enjoyable visit at the hermitage, i bade farewell to the old hermit and petro, for a short absence among the wilds of pennsylvania's picturesque hills. i had secured cozy quarters with a very congenial old couple right among the natural charms of a glorious country, and in a short space of time after leaving the old hermit i was comfortably domiciled in my mountain home. it was my purpose in selecting such a locality to carefully explore the mountain wilderness in search of specimens for my rapidly growing collection, such as can be found only in rugged, hilly country. the first few days of my visit were consumed in a careful "hunt” in the immediate vicinity of my home. after securing numerous valuable « finds” in such contracted area, my trips were extended to considerable distances. frequently my kind hostess prepared a generous lunch for me, when i prolonged my rambles for miles, returning often late in the evening. during one of these extended trips the following highly interesting facts were experienced. 97 high bluff. it was a glorious morning when i left my mountain domicile for a long day's hunt right into the heart of pennsylvania's most rugged territory. i rambled for miles over a magnificent country, meeting with encouraging success, when suddenly my attention was attracted to a stately appearing building some miles distant, situated on a high bluff, from which a fine view of the surrounding charming landscape might be enjoyed. at once i decided to reach that high point of observation, and to enjoy the wonderful view it afforded of the charming country, stretching away from its base for miles in all directions. believing it would be wise to refresh my somewhat wearied body before starting for my destination, i soon found a clear, sparkling and enticing mountain brook, where i ate my lunch, examined my “finds," corrected my notes, then enjoyed a quiet smoke. feeling refreshed and a invigorated i started with brisk steps toward the rugged eminence. a short walk, a laborious climb, then fatigued and almost breathless i gladly dropped on a mossy bank near the edge of the elevated bluff. the view from my elevated position was full recompense for the labor expended in securing it. after fully enjoying the magnificent panorama of natural scenery spreading away before me for miles, feeling refreshed in body and mind, i started on a tour > 98 of inspection of the fine grounds of the institution that occupied the high eminence. while leisurely walking along one of the well-kept gravelled paths that led along the edge of the bluff, i suddenly stopped, riveted to the spot by an indescribable sensation, that thrilled my being, and left me almost incapable of action. a short distance in advance of me, and gracefully reclining on a rustic bench, was the most beautiful young lady i had ever seen. she was neatly attired in the garb of a trained nurse, and seemed deeply absorbed in pensive thought. but it was not that angelic face that unnerved me; so beautiful, so chaste, yet with a perceptible pleading pensiveness, that at once touched the sympathy of a keen observant student of nature. what then so affected my usually calm temperament? ah, it was not the chaste beauty of that lovely face; it was not the sympathy inspiring pensiveness of its sweet expression. no, no, but what thrilled my being, and overcame my usual self-possession, was the overwhelming consciousness, yea, positive conviction, that somewhere, at some previous time, i had seen that face before, associated with most tender remembrances, and also with terribly sad experiences. still benumbed by my strange experience, and yet fully realizing my embarrassing position should the young lady discover my presence, i slowly retired, desirious of quietly, soberly meditating on the cause of my yery unusual behavior, 99 rapidly descending the precipitous mountain path i followed the highway with nervous, quick steps anxious to enjoy the privacy of my little room in the quiet farm house, where i could seriously review the extraordinary experiences of the day. reaching home under the spur of an all prevading suspicion, that some wonderful and important discovery required most careful deliberation and judicious conduct, i bade the good folks an early good-night on the plea of excessive fatigue, and sought the calm solitude of my own room. there i gave myself up to an absorbing consideration of the causes, the plausibility, the consequences of my strong impressions relative to the true personality of the beautiful young lady, the discovery of whom had so peculiarly affected me. after devoting an hour or more in serious thought on the day's strange events, i finally decided on a judicious plan of action for the morrow, and then i retired. 66 it is she. the next morning dawned gloriously. naturally anxious to at once investigate the peculiar events of the preceding day, i was soon wending my way towards the bluff. i was confident that the young lady would not occupy her, apparently usual place of reverie till after-noon, but i was so anxiously impatient that i was 100 compelled to, at least, be in the line of the fulfillment of my carefully prepared plan of action. the hours dragged along so slowly ; but at last the sun reached the meridian, when i sought out the sparkling mountain brvok, where i lunched and decided to visit the bluff on the preceding day. here again i refreshed my body and composed my mind before attempting the ascent of the steep path to my destination. again, almost exhausted, i reclined on the mossy brink of the precipitous bluff, and again felt fully paid for my arduous climb in the marvelous and inspiring view of natural scenery enjoyed from thai high point of observation. rested in body, and composed and resolute in mind, with a carefully prepared plan of action for the positive settlement of my honest convictions, should i be so favored as to again meet the charming stranger, i leisurely walked along the gravelled path towards the trysting place. fortune favored my heart's longings. at the same point where i made the discovery that so strangely affected me but yesterday, i again saw the same beautiful young lady. on this occasion she was deeply absorbed in the perusal of a magazine and she did not discover my presence. slowly advancing toward her, as if i was quietly enjoying the magnificent grounds so well laid out about me, my footsteps attracted her attention, and as i drew 101 66 nearer to her, she dropped her book into her lap, and, perfectly self-possessed, awaited my approach. “good afternoon, i hope i am not an intruder on these beautiful grounds." “oh, no sir, we are always pleased to welcome visitors to admire our quiet and beautiful retreat." “ this is certainly a magnificent country. may i ask the character of yonder institution.” "that is cliffside sanitarium; and these beautiful grounds belong to it." “ah, a most appropriate locality for such an institution. i am a stranger in this wonderful country, and it was while eating my lunch beside a brook at the base of this high bluff, that i was tempted to enjoy the fine view of the surrounding landscape, promised from this high point of observation. i have been rambling for several days about this charming wilderness in search of zoological specimens, and i have never seen grander natural scenery than can be viewed from this elevated position." “you are a naturalist, sir?” “yes, i am honored in being an humble disciple of linnæus," my dear papa was an enthusiastic natural. ist; many pleasant rambles we enjoyed together in search of specimens for his cabinet." “ is he deceased?" “ah, sir, that question i cannot answer. if i knew assuredly that papa was no more i 8 102 could be far happier than i am with my ever present hopes and doubts relative to his welfare. many weary years have flown by since i last saw my dear papa, and i know not what has become of him." “pardon my inconsiderate question, if it has aroused sad memories. it was but natural that i should be interested in the experiences of a co-worker in nature's extensive realms. although a stranger to you, yet i may be of service in securing some satisfactory information regarding your father's fate. i enjoy an extensive acquaintance among scientific men, and thus i may be able to secure some knowl. edge relative to your father that may be of value to you." you are very kind. for years i have locked the secret of my great sorrow in my own bosom, but i feel it to be my duty to use every available means at my command to learn the truth respecting my dear papa's fate. you may be of most valuable service to me, as you go among the men and women who are the most likely to know something of my papa. i gladly accept your generous proffer of assistance and i shall prove my appreciation of your sympathy by confiding my heart's secret to you. it must, naturally, surprise you that i would thus make a confident of a total stranger, but the fact that you are a naturalist, removes all doubts of your integrity, and again, the still more important fact that you associate with the a > 103 very people most likely to know something of my papa, compels me to accept your kind and sympathetic aid, as this is an opportunity i dare not let slip. hear my story.” "i am a sicilian by birth. at an early age, i was left motherless, and papa was my sole companion. he was a devoted naturalist, so i spent much of my time in his company, rambling about our beautiful estate searching for the creatures of nature to study. when about twelve years of age i was stolen from my papa and my happy home by a band of brigands which occasionally passed through our territory. i was taken to the mountain home of the brigands and presented to the stern old chief. he at once became attached to me and issued a decree that i should be the future queen of the tribe. for two long weary years i remained with the band, till at last the chief issued still another decree, declaring that in two short weeks i would be wedded to his only son, and thus became the literal queen of the tribe. great preparations for an extensive gala time followed this edict. but a week previous to the merry occasion i was abducted by a jealous suitor, aided by several faithful associates and we embarked from messina for some continental point from whence we took steamer for new york city. when a mere child i had read of the great metropolis of the western continent, and frequently papa had told to me interesting facts 104 concerning this great city. during our voyage my guardian died of a malignant fever, but before his death he cautioned me to be sure and seek out some christian minister as soon as i landed and to tell him my whole story and follow his advice. after a tedious voyage i at last arrived in the great city, and on landing i inquired of an official at the dock the address of the minister of the first church that happened to my mind. he curtly referred me to a pleasant appearing old gentleman, who stated that he was a city missionary and would be pleased to take me under his care till i found my friends. i went home with him and there i told my whole unhappy story. his wife, a sweet, motherly old lady, decided that my case required graver consideration and care than they felt capable of giving it, so they made me very comfortable for that night, and told me they would refer my case to wise and good friends in the morning. on the following morning i accompanied the kind old gentleman to a handsome residence on a wide avenue, where i was introduced to another kind old gentleman, who listened attentively to my story and then decided to make me a member of his family till he could do something towards finding my friends. well, not to weary you with details, i spent two happy years with this grand old man, during which time he exhausted every means for the recovery of my lost relationships, but with105 out success. then i decided that i would devote my life to soothing the wretchedness of other poor unfortunates so i became a trained nurse. i was recom mmended to the cliffside sanitarium and i readily accepted a position here when i saw its charming location. six long years have passed since i was forcibly separated from my dear papa and i am yet ignorant of what his fate may be.” “i thank you sincerely for your confidence yours is indeed a sad story. i pledge you my honor to do all in my power to learn assuredly what has become of your sadly bereaved parent. now have you any little trinket that you will trust in my care and that i may use as a positive proof of your identity ?” “oh, yes. i have here a small locket that i always carry with me. it contains the picture of my mother. papa has one like it. i will gladly entrust it to your care as it is a positive proof of my identity. papa had two made after mamma died, and he told me never to part with this one, but as proof of my perfect confidence in you i place it in your keeping. now i must return to the house. you will surely see me again within a short time. i feel indescribably happy and hopeful." "ah, my child, do not foster too bright hopes, only to be sadly blighted. i will do all in my power; but it is no small matter to unravel the mysteries of six long years. " i know it, i know it; yet i cannot but feel 2 106 now, an assurance that you will succeed. good-bye, and heaven bless your efforts.” she was gone. the awful nervous restraint under which i rested during the recital of her sad experiences now re-acted on my mental and physical powers almost to my undoing. i fell almost insensible into the seat that she had just vacated. my mind was in a wild tumult. the full proof of the happy reality of my suspicions almost over-powered me. i sat for a short time deeply absorbed in thought.“ there is no doubt about it; i am right; it is she. how shall i act? what must i do? ah, why craze my mind with such thoughts; i will go home, sleep over the matter and in the morning, happy and refreshed, i can carefully consider the important discovery and plan accordingly.” these were my reflections. with one final, yea, longing look towards the house i started homeward with reckless speed. a short hour afterward i was in the quiet calm of my own room. here i could not resist the temptation of putting aside the vail that hides the future, and fully enjoying the rich promises of mutual joy and happiness assured to my dear old hermit, his beautiful child and myself the humble instrument in the hands of an inscrutable providence. with a happy heart i retired early anxious for the morrow when i would be the swift messenger of great joy to the old hermit. the next morning i arose early, refreshed 107 and in good spirits. while awaiting the usual summons to breakfast i busied myself packing my specimens, and as well formulated a plan of action relative to my happy discovery. at the morning meal i informed my genial host and hostess that i wished to take my departure before noon. they were somewhat surprised by the abruptness of my unexpected information, but satisfied that i was the judge of my best interests, they expressed regret at so soun parting company with me and extended a hearty invitation to visit them if ever again in the neighborhood. i promised to pay them another visit in a short time, then while my host departed to the stable for the horse and carriage to convey me to the railway station, i completed my preparations for departure. soon i was speeding homeward. arriving home in the early evening i spent a few hours with my relatives and then i retired, anxious to hasten the morrow when i could turn my steps towards the old hermitage. early after breakfast the next morning i was making great haste toward my destination, the quiet, soothing influences of the island hermitage, a brisk walk soon brought me to the riverside of the mainland opposite the island. soon my peculiar signal was noticed and i was delighted to see petro push a boat from the shore and accompanied by pluto row over to when we landed on the island i followed petro's instructions and soon discovered the old me. 108 hermit enjoying a quiet smoke beneath the favorite old oak near the house. as i advanced toward my beloved friend, i noticed that he seemed absorbed in deep reverie. never before had i observed such an expression of mental anguish on his handsome face. the sight instantly touched my sympathy, for i at once surmised the nature of his grievously sad reflections. as i rapidly and cheerily advanced to him he recognized me and at once arose from his place to welcome me. ah, my dear fritz, you can never conceive my real delight on seeing you at this time. for days i have been under a crushing weight of almost maddening anguish, born of a slowly but surely dying hope of ever again seeing my poor, sadly bereaved anita. six long weary years have slipped into eternity; during this dark period of my life i have ceaselessly prayed and hoped that i might gain some clew to her whereabouts, either alive or dead. for several days i have vainly attempted to cast aside a crushing, heart-rending premonition that never again shall i either see or hear of my precious child, and my despairing soul has been slipping, slipping into the dark abyss of utter hopelessness. but, there, my fritz, your timely return to me revives my depressed spirits and i will try to be even more than ever patient and hopeful. yet, candidly, my dear fritz, this gnawing, persistent doubt is slowly, surely eating my life away.” ? 109 "i fully sympathize with you, my dear count, yet i sincerely believe that your years of patient hi pe and believing prayers will be rewarded far beyond your happiest anticipations." “you do, my fritz; you truly believe that we shall be united again this side of eternity? oh, my dear comforter, i thank you more than tongue can express for that sweet assurance. “ but come, my dear count, let us retire to the 'den,' i wish to enjoy a quiet talk with you along this line.” a strange expression swept over the old hermit's fine face, at my request. a mixture of terror born of awful forebodings of evil tidings, and of overwhelming joy inspired by happy expectations of good news. 6 glad tidings. when we were comfortably seated in our favorite places in the cosy “ den,” facing each other i declar: d: “now, my dear count, i have not the least shadow of a doubt that i enjoy your fullest esteem and confidence, yet you have but once during our long intimacy spoken of your great loss in my presence. you have never solicited my aid in finding some traces of your lost child, nor have you even given me any clews by which i could possibly trace her. i say this not chidingly but seriously. i know you 110 have the fullest assurance of my sympathy and you know i would do anything in my power to aid you." “oh, my fritz, i see now my mistake. it. was from fear of burdening you with my anguish that my lips have been closed. i should have been more confident of your love and sympathy; but i thought only of your happiness and not of my woe.” i appreciate the kind sentiments that have caused you to hide your poignant grief in your own heart, my dear count. but now i must make this demand on your love for me; tell me how i can serve you in this grievous matter. let me know how i may be useful to you as i go among men, as a searcher for your lost idol. give me some clew by which i shall know that i am on the right track, fully un. burden your heart to me, hold nothing back and together we will pursue this serious matter to its final end, that we may assuredly know what has become of your tender anita.” forgive me, my fritz, forgive me. i will confide all to you and with heaven's blessing on our efforts, from this moment we will devote every minute of available time in fully unravelling the distracting mystery enveloping my lost child. till death do us part we will persistently, hopefully and resolutely prosecute our search till we gain a full and satisfactory solution of this distracting enigma and we know positively that my child is dead and 111 66 " where her body lies, or happier thought, that she is yet alive and where, and how circumstanced. is it a compact my dear fritz? will you even at this late day accept my full confidence and give me your devoted aid in this holy mission ? speak, my fritz.” ah, my dear count, you need ask of me no such pledge. i give it voluntarily, happy indeed to be able to perform in the exercise of my best talents, whatever lies in my power toward the permanent, final settlement and explanation of this depressing mystery. here is my hand and with it my heart. death alone shall loose this compact. “bless you my fritz. i gladly accept your kind offer and time only can prove my estimation of your sympathy and true friendship. now to the work. i have already told you all the facts relative to the disappearance of my child so far as i possess them. from the time my sweet anita left my stricken home i have learned nothing of her except the story of her abduction and her departure for the new world. i carefully traced these facts and substantiated them, but i have not been able to learn one single little truth relative to her since her departure from messina. whether she ever reached new york city. or landed at some other port, i cannot tell. let me ghow to you a little trinket that i value nearly as my life; it is the surest clew to her identity that i possess. i keep it always here over my heart, and i 112 have never shown this precious remembrance to a living soul since my anita's disappearance.” opening his loose shirt the old hermit took from his person a small gold locket that was suspended from his neck by a fine gold chain. he gently opened the locket, looked long and lovingly at the small picture it contained, and then with a heavy sigh he handed the precious trinket to me. it was the counterpart of the one that i had safely concealed in my pocket. as soon as i looked on the beautiful picture it contained i felt the blood leave my face, and for a moment i was utterly unnerved. “in heaven's name, my dear fritz, what ails you, are you sick ?” the old hermit excitedly exclaimed; and then, as if possessed of a maddening suspicion, he sprang to his feet and seizing my arm in frenzied anguish, cried : “tell me, my fritz, in mercy's name tell me, have you ever before seen that face? calmly holding the locket in my free hand, and gazing firmly yet cheerfully into the agonized face of my beloved companion, i commandingly declared. “be calm, my dear count, return to your seat and give your careful attention to what i have to say: with a groan, the old hermit released my arm, fell heavily into his chair, and in a husky whisper he said: i am listening, my dear fritz.” slowly, carefully, and in studied detail i told 113 the old hermit the story of my wonderful experiences in the mountain wilderness. several times during its rehearsal i was compelled to raise my hand warningly to quiet the old hermit's almost uncontrollable feelings. when i finished my story, he sat like a statue in his chair, as if benumbed with the weight of his joy; then, with a sob, he requested me to show him the little trinket with which i had been entrusted. when i placed the locket in his trembling hand he opened it with difficulty because of his ernotion, and when he viewed the beautiful face that smiled from its golden resting place, his pent up feelings burst forth in un. controllable joy. “god be praised; it is she, it is she; my lost darling,” exclaimed the over-joyed father. then giving full vent to his emotions, his powerful frame shook with great sobs of joy. fully sharing the old hermit's great happiness, i patiently waited till he was calm again before continuing the discussion of the happy theme. “heaven's blessing rest on you, my fritz. you have been a messenger of peace and happiness to me. now, when can i go to her, my dear fritz?" "be patient, my dear count. we can wait the full development of my carefully laid plans. you will remain here, and i will bring her to your arms in a few short hours." “ be it as you decide; i am so happy that a 114 few hour's waiting will but increase my joy. you will start at once, my fritz?” “ yes, i will at once leave you, to perfect my plans, accompanied by both of these precious clews. then i will return in a short time with the idol of your heart, to fill to overflowing this, your cup of great joy. now, good hye; let me to the completion of this happy task.” “good bye, my beloved fritz, and may heaven tend you in your mission.” a short hour after this joyous experience i was again speeding toward the charming hills of pennsylvania's marvelous wilderness. about twilight i reached the cosy home of my late host. naturally enough, the little family was delighted to welcome me back again, and of course surprised by my early return. i told my kind friends that i was back on important business at the sanitarium. the next morning i was up and about early, anxious to perform my duty of love and friendship. provided with a light lunch, and warning my host that i would probably return late in the day, i wandered on through the inspiring influences of the wonderful wilderness toward my destination. believing there must be a private road leading directly to the sanitarium, i sauntered along at the base of the elevation on which the institution stood, till finally i found a good, level road, with gradual ascent, and this i decided was the regular carriage way to and from the sanitarium. this 115 path was far easier climbing than the one i followed during my previous visits, so, when i reached the top of the high bluff i was but slightly fatigued. as the sun was but at the meridian when i accomplished the ascent of the bluff, i wandered along over the beautiful grounds till i found a spring of sparkling water, half concealed amid a cluster of young maples. here i decided to refresh myself with my lunch and nature's purest, most wholesome beverage, and after enjoying a quiet rest proceed on my errand. an hour passed in delightful retrospect of the marvelous experiences of the few weeks now passed, then i decided it was time to seek the object of my visit. i followed the now familiar path along the edge of the bluff, till again i stood before the almost reverred rustic seat. it was vacant, i was evidently too early. deciding that' it would be best to await the young lady in her favored place of reverie, i made myself comfortable, and taking from my pocket my notebook i was soon absorbed in the pleasurable exercise of jotting down interesting items of scientific character noted in the natural wildness of my surroundings. how long i had been thus engaged i cannot tell, when i was suddenly startled by a sweet voice from behind me. 66 back so soon; oh, you must be the bearer of tidings.” 2 116 have you quickly rising from my seat i turned about and stood face to face with the object of my visit. her beautiful face was radiant with happy expectation. "oh, please be seated, and tell me quickly what sent you back to me so soon; learned any tidings of my dear papa ?" ? yes, i am the bearer of some tidings; not sad in character either. but pray be calm and patient while i relate to you my interesting story." with almost bated breath, and eyes flashing with irrepressibly happy expectation my beautiful companion, trained by adversity to patience, attentively listened to every word of my wonderful story. frequently, during its rehearsal tears welled up into her expressive eyes, till, when i had completed my tale, she covered her face with her hands and gave full and natural vent to her almost overwhelming feelings. fully recovering her self possession and looking into my eyes with inexpressible gratitude she quietly asked: “ did you secure a clew to his identity that will positively remove all doubts of the full reality of your happy discovery?” i placed both little lockets in her hand as an answer to her natural query. she gazed lov. ingly at these certain proofs of her great good fortune, and exclaimed. "heaven be praised, it is papa-it is surely my dear papa. poor dear papa, how grievous. 117 ly he has suffered during my long terrible absence. now, sir, kindly tell me, when can i go to him ? " « to-morrow afternoon we shall take our departure. first acquaint your good friends at the institution with your great new joy; then to-morrow morning i will visit you at the house and satisfy your motherly guardian the good matron that i and my mission are both honest and worthy of her fullest confidence. afterwards we will take train for home and happiness." at once she arose from her seat, and extending her trembling little hand, she said. “i will follow your instructions. never express to you my full appreciation of your kind sympathy and great assistance. now good bye, to-morrow i will see you at the house." for a moment i stood and watched her graceful form disappear among the trees. my emotions can be guessed better than described. then with joyous heart i rapidly walked homeward. 66 i can the re-union. the following morning i bade the good folks at the farm-house farewell, and while all nature was fully aroused to the charms of a bright delightful day, i turned my steps toward the sanitarium. i received a hearty welcome on my 9 118 arrival, from the motherly matron, to whom i soon gave a full and satisfactory explanation of my happy errand, and thus gained the good lady's confidence and best wishes. it was a happy trio that sat around the cosy little teatable enjoying the noon-meal and discussing the strange occurrences of the past few days. after dinner, the carriage was called, and we were driven to the train. after tender partings, exchanges of mutual best wishes, promises of early re-unions, my fair companion and i boarded the train, and as it slowly pulled out for its swift flight toward home, we could see the dear old soul still standing on the platform, alternately wiping her eyes and waving her handkerchief in sad farewell. so busy were our thoughts during our rapid homeward course that our conversation was but desultory. my fair companion seemed wrapped in deep reflection, so i realized that i would be inconsiderate if not presumptious to attempt to interrupt the course of her quiet meditations with uncongenial discussion. arriving safely at the point where our journey by rail came to an end, i ordered a carriage and we were driven to within a short walk of the river's bank. we soon reached the point on the mainland where a fine view of the island could be enjoyed. here i directed the attention of my happy companion to the old hermitage, and i left her for a short time gazing intently at her future island home, while i went 119 in search of the boat i had carefully concealed in the rank growth of water birch and dwarf willows that skirt the river-side. it was a delightful twilight when we reached the island. petro was busy attending to the live-stock, so we proceeded immediately to the house without his knowledge of our arrival. ushering my companion into the cozy sittingroom i at once went in search of the old hermit. i soon found him in his den gazing lovingly on the beautiful picture on the wall. he was nervously delighted to see me. “you have brought her with you? my fritz." “yes, my dear count, she impatiently awaits you in the sitting-room, allow me the great pleasure of escorting you into her presence." trembling with suppressed emotion, my beloved friend descended the stairs with me and followed me into the sitting-room. i opened the door quietly, and stepped inside, thus allowing him a full view of the room. the old hermit stood motionless on the threshold for a moment, then with a wild cry of delight he sprang forward toward the young lady who had arisen to meet him. “my child, my precious child.” “oh my papa. these exclamations of inexpressible joy were all i heard as i quietly retired leaving father and child clasped in each others embrace. i leisurely sauntered about the place and finally i dropped into the favorite rustic seat back of 120 the house, and with pleasantest emotions i here awaited the happy couple whom i knew would soon seek me. in a short time, father and daughter, united again after six long weary years of terrible separation, left the house and arm in arm came to join me beneath the old oak that had been silent witness to varied and numerous meetings between the old hermit and me. after a most enjoyable half hour of happy discussion of the great joy that had come to all of us within a few short days, we returned to the house, where petro was preparing the evening meal. i had previously informed him that we were favored with the presence of a young lady visitor, a friend of mine, and i warned him to prepare a meal worthy of the occasion. he proved equal to the emergency, and soon summoned us from the “den ” to partake of the evening meal. the old hermit and his truly happy child went into the dining-room, while i summoned petro to his master's presence. i soon found the faithful fellow busy in the kitchen, and led him into the dining-room, where the other members of the party were awaiting him. as i i entered the room i stepped aside and thus gave petro a full, clear view of its occupants. quickly gazing into the face of his beloved master to receive his commands, petro became somewhat embarrassed by the presence of the beautiful young lady clinging to his master's arm. for 1 121 a moment his dull countenance was a study, as, with a nervous start, he caught a view of the young lady's face; then with a wild cry of uncontrollable joy he sprang forward and prostrating himself at the young lady's feet he poured out in a strange foreign tongue, his native speech, a hearty and joyous welcome. anita tenderly responded to his vehement joy and bade him arise to his feet that she might look into his heaming face. poor old petro, he was almost beside himself with exuberant joy. well, my tale is nearly told. a short happy year soon passed at the hermitage, when at its close, anita and i persuaded the old hermit to dispose of his island home, and consent to brighten the home nest that was in course of preparation for us, so cozily nestled among the wildest charms of pennsylvania's most picturesque country. petro and pluto also joined our happy household and as we now look back over the marvelous experiences of but a few short years we cannot but declare “ there is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough how thom how we will." finis. 14 ! 598.12 p900 c. 1 hermit naturalist 086 856 992 university of chicago 443 nedl transfer hn snsj t the hermit charles clark munn pz4702.37 vetri tas harvard college library your fontumelly chach black min 1905the hermit a story of the wilderness "what do you mean — who is he" page 368 the hermit a story of the wilderness charles clark munn author of pocket island," ""uncle terry," and rockhaven 66 by 66 illustrated by a. burnham shute 1864 more shall tain clos boston "" lee and shepard 1903 a -4702.37 harvard college library copyright, 1903, by lee and shepard. published august, 1903. all rights reserved. the hermit dedication to o those who love the sparkle of rippled lakes hid in the wilderness, the fir-clad mountains lifting to kiss the clouds, the sweet laughter of running waters, the glowing camp-fire chasing away the darkness, the song of birds greeting the sunrise; or whose hearts vibrate to the memory of the old brown schoolhouse, the daisy-dotted meadows, the moss-coated mill and pond smiling with lilies, and all the fond recollections of such happy childhood days, this book is respectfully dedicated by the author. 1 chapter contents i. first love ii. iii. the wild man iv. the mystery of the wilderness v. beside a camp-fire vi. a strange pursuer ghost or wild man? vii. viii. the hermit's home ix. the hermit x. greenvale xi. aunt comfort's asylum greenvale is disturbed xii. xiii. illusion and reality xiv. after many years xv. boyhood memories xvi. sunday in greenvale xvii. angie curtis . xviii. old cy walker xix. diamond cut diamond xx. "thou shalt not steal xxi. "scar face, the avenger a curious footprint • • "" "9 • • • • · • page i ii 25 35 46 52 63 70 79 88 96 106 112 123 131 142 151 161 170 179 187 vii viii contents chapter xxii. xxiii. xxiv. a shock to greenvale sunday evening village gossip. · · · · · xxv. a taste of wood life xxvi. just a formal good-by. xxvii. in the wilderness once more xxviii. unexpected trouble 250 xxix. a night journey in the wilderness 261 xxx. a deserted cabin xxxi. the birth of new thought. xxxii. amzi curtis xxxiii. · · • · · 290 unwelcome visitors 300 310 xxxiv. the lair of an outcast xxxv. home building in the wilderness 318 xxxvi. hallowe'en xxxvii. no mourners xxxviii. a troubled conscience xxxix. a new life xl. a confession xli. thanksgiving day xlii. a christmas present xliii. the spread of happiness xliv. wedding bells page 197 206 · 215 221 · 233 242 271 281 330 338 350 361 370 380 389 396 403 illustrations page who is he?" frontispiece. 368 "what do you mean one moment only he saw the gray, hairy visage "they have souls, same as you and i " "what'll ye give?" "will you forgive me all these years of neglect?" "mebbe god's concluded to be good to me now i'm gittin' old " "let's see your tongue agin " "here is your present," she whispered · • · 24 85 176 213 265 353 • 395 ix 1 1 the hermit chapter i first love the camp-fire had burned low; the little zone of light barely outlined the open tent, the two canoes, bottom up, under which levi and jean were sheltered, and the narrow opening in the forest where martin frisbie and his boyhood friend, dr. sol, had camped for the night. in front of this a placid lakelet reflected the stars, while all about was a pathless wilderness, sombre and silent. for an hour these two, who had been village schoolmates, became reminiscent as they lounged beside the fire and smoked. "and so angie isn't married?" queried martin, reaching forward to poke the embers together. "that's strange. as i recall her at the close of our school days, she was a more than usually pretty girl of a quiet commonb i 2 the hermit sense sort, one who would naturally become a home-maker. she still lives with aunt comfort, i suppose?" "yes," answered the doctor, "and keeps the south end school and has for ten years." then, as if a new thought had come to him, he added: "maybe she is waiting for you, martin. i remember you used to be sweet on her in the old days.” martin slowly blew a smoke ring aloft, for he, like every youth, had passed safely through the brief delirium of first love, which the bright eyes and red lips of angie curtis had occasioned. "yes, i must admit i was," he responded, "and do you know, doctor, now that you mention my callow spell, i wish i could go back to it and be just as big and happy a fool as i was then." the doctor laughed. "better come up and tell her so," he responded, glancing at martin's upraised face; "for all you know, she might be glad to listen,` and as for being a fool over again—well, from what i hear, you can afford it now." first love 3 and martin could, for he had made good use of the years since he and dr. sol were boys together, and had reached the goal of moderate wealth while yet in the prime of manhood. "i'd like to see angie," martin added musingly after a long pause, "and have a good visit and laugh over our youthful silliness; but maybe she wouldn't speak to me now, if we met." "oh, pshaw, that's nonsense," returned the doctor, promptly, "and you know it. angie isn't so silly as to retain a grudge against a boy admirer so long. why do you imagine she would? does your conscience smite you?" "no-o-o," came the drawling answer, "and yet i think i didn't treat her just right, after leaving greenvale. i was too busy making money." and that night when the chat had come to an end, and martin had crept into the tent and lay listening to the crackle of the dying fire, once more he lived over those fond and foolish days of his youth. and how clear and distinctly they all came back, now that the pages began to turn! first 4 the hermit the school days, when angie, in her little checked gingham pinafore, had chosen him as her rescuer in a game of "stand in the well," then the first spelling school and the walk home with her in the early autumn, when the mizzy looked like a stream of rippling silver, and the moon cast mottled shadows along the maple-shaded lane which they followed. and what a delight it was to feel her small, soft hand on his jacket sleeve, and how scared he was when aunt comfort's was reached, and he felt impelled to kiss angie. then the next winter, and that never-to-be-forgotten sleigh-ride to riverton, and the home-coming when the bells jingled so merrily, and he could feel that "the stars that oversprinkle all the heavens seem to twinkle with a crystalline delight!" and the sleigh runners creaked in the frosty snow when the horse walked, and how his arm nearly froze holding the robe around angie! all the long winter evenings in aunt comfort's "best room," with its haircloth furniture, open fire, and shiny brass fire-dogs, came back, with first love 5 1 the popping of corn, the tin pan of seek-nofurther apples, and bowl of cracked walnuts as side features of minor interest. there were other and equally charming occasions — moonlit evenings on aunt comfort's porch when the lilacs were in bloom and the fireflies twinkled. over the meadow, long walks to a bridge across the mizzy, where sweet flag grew, with many stolen kisses fragrant with flagroot, gathered as well, and dozens of other and equally delightful hours, with angie as the one sole and supreme inspiration. but beyond these boyhood delights, and woven into his feelings like fine tendrils, was the memory of a dozen or more old-time sabbath-school melodies she used to sing to her own accompaniment played upon a little droning melodeon. they were all from a collection called "fresh laurels," and that, with two more, one labelled "songs of zion" and the other "the glee club," composed her musical library. the first was her favorite, and the songs she usually entertained him with were "give, said the little stream," "the golden rule," "shall we gather at the river," "all the way," and "sweet hour of prayer." 6 the hermit there were others, of course, but these were so catchy he had soon learned them, and often joined his voice with hers. all the other episodes of their youth together had been more or less indistinct in memory, but these remained clearest of all, and now after many years, and amid the silence of night in the wilderness, he could see angie's round, sweet face and earnest eyes as she sang those old, old songs of praise. not only did these melodies return, but borne upon their cadence was every detail of the singerher rounding figure, the tight-fitting, calico dress, the chubby fingers scarce able to span an octave, and the two long braids ending in bows of brown ribbon. and what a sweet picture she made in front of the low melodeon, her face upraised, with pink cheeks, white teeth, and red, ripe lips glowing in the lamplight. and later on, when the singing was ended and together they sat on the haircloth sofa, with the lamp turned low, he had felt that she was akin to the angels her songs had described. for two years he had lived in a new and glorified world, building air-castles with her and 1 first love 7 for her, as young romeos ever have and ever will, and then came a sweet and yet painful parting, prolific of fond promise, but alas, like most, to fade into thin air. for one year more they had exchanged tender missives, first weekly, then monthly, then irregularly; and then ceasing entirely, as martin, ambitious and hard-working in his new life, neglected them, and so the dream ended. five years later he returned to spend a thanksgiving with his mother, and, though he met angie at church and received a bow and a smile, he impolitely neglected to call. and then came the closing of his home, when his mother left the village to live with his only sister, now married and dwelling in riverton, and angie and greenvale became but milestones on the highway of memory. there is latent in every man's heart a long-cherished belief that she who was his early sweetheart must ever feel somewhat of the same tender interest in him. she may have married become a mother, possibly a grandmother; he may have neglected her utterly and for long years, and yet, in his con8 the hermit ceit, it matters not; she must and certainly does retain his face in her memory, and deep down in her heart, a little of the old first love. martin was no different from other men. he had lived the sweet illusion with angie as its star; then the great city-the fight for a livelihood, then a competence, and all the selfish cynicism instilled by contact with grasping greed, had levelled the beauteous air-castles and left angie and all those fond and foolish ways mere incidents of the long ago. beyond that, he had escaped any more mature and dangerous entanglement, had grown sceptical of all things, and was a free-hearted, all-around good fellow, yet conscious of success; and the only soft spot in his nature was a love for wood life. he had met dr. "sol" finch, an old schoolmate, by chance in the city, and under the spur of this sportsman's instinct and desire to share its keen pleasures, had invited his boyhood friend to join in them. and now the doctor was fast asleep, while martin, lying on a bed of fir twigs, with the dying fire faintly glowing in front of the tent, first love the low ripple of the near-by lake murmuring along the sandy shore, was once more listening to the old songs of sabbath-school days, sung by his boyhood sweetheart, and living over those dreams of young love. for a long hour, so keen was the spell, he wandered about that distant village, in fancy, and dwelt among bygones, and then suddenly he became conscious that some creature was stealthily crawling through the thick undergrowth back of the tent. only the faintest sounds betrayed its presence, the swish of a spruce bough brushed aside and returning to place, the breaking of a dead twig, the rustle of a dry leaf, and yet, so perfect was the utter silence of that june night, each trivial sound reached him. — for a moment he listened, breathless, to this approaching prowler, then rose to a sitting posture, reached for his rifle, and, softly drawing the tent flap aside, peeped out. whatever the creature was, its acute hearing had received warning, for now no sound issued from the surrounding thicket. for a seemingly long five minutes martin peered out, io the hermit glancing from side to side of the little opening and to the canoes, beneath which lay the guides, and listened. he could hear their measured breathing, the faint ripple along the lake shore near by, and that was all. then once more the creeping, crawling, stealthy movement in the tangle just back of the tent began again, this time slowly receding until it ceased. a danger we can measure does not appal us, but the invisible menace of some animal creeping close to one's tent at night in the wilderness is another matter. it may be a harmless porcupine, but we are sure to imagine it to be a bear, panther, or wildcat,—at least martin did, but after a half-hour more of listening without result, except to get chilled, he gave it up and crept under his blanket again. ----"i'd better not tell the doctor," he said to himself, and then fell asleep. chapter ii a curious footprint the morning concert of song birds, always heard in the wilderness in may and june, was in full force when martin crept out of the tent next morning. the sun was just peeping through the spruce tops, a film of thin gray fog covered the placid lake, and levi had just started a fire. then came the usual wash in the clear, cold lake water, the gathering around the bright fire to watch the guides cooking, the keen appetite for the simple breakfast of fried trout, ham, eggs, and coffee, eaten while sitting cross-legged on a mosscovered log, the packing up of their belongings, the launching and loading of canoes, and so the day began. "we have an easy day ahead of us," observed martin, when they were ready to start, "a good twenty miles up the mooseii 12 the hermit horn, which enters this lake close by, with no quick water or carries. we can reach the north branch in ample time to make camp to-night and catch some trout there for supper." it was an attractive programme, almost unvarying for all such days in the wilderness, and so pleasant that the impress of the previous night's caller, creeping close to the tent, had almost vanished from martin's mind. but it was soon recalled in an unexpected way, for levi, always last to leave each camping spot, was about to enter his canoe and push off, when he paused, and stepping to one side on the bit of beach, stooped over, looking at something. "what is it?" queried martin, from the canoe. "i dunno; you better come an' see," answered levi. martin stepped out of the canoe and to where his guide stood, to be as much astonished, for there in the hard damp sand, close to the bank, was a queer footprint. it was longer than one made by a human foot, with the deeply indented claw marks of a panther. a curious footprint 13 only these showed distinctly, for the heel mark was scarcely visible. it looked as if the creature making it had come out of the water and up on to the harder bank, where no track would show. "well," said martin again, after a long examination, "what is it?" "it's more'n i can tell," replied levi, shaking his head and measuring the claw prints with a twig. "if he's a panther, he had longer claws 'n i ever saw, 'n' i never knew one to have a heel mark like that, or step in the water if he could help it. it beats me." "what have you found?" called the doctor from his canoe out in the lake. "only "oh, nothing," answered martin; the track of an otter," and he stepped into his canoe again and they paddled away. then he told levi about their night visitor, creeping about the tent. "i do not think it wise to tell the doctor or jean," he said in conclusion, "or speak of this queer track. it's the doctor's first trip into the woods, and such things will alarm him unduly and spoil his enjoyment." and 14 the hermit so the singular footprint and its possible connection with the creature who had crept up to their tent at midnight was left behind. usually two sportsmen, in canoeing upstream especially, will keep along together, but somehow that day it happened that dr. sol and jean were first to reach the junction of the north branch with the broad and slowrunning moosehorn, and the lowering sun had left its valley in shadow ere jean pushed his canoe ashore and the doctor stepped out. it was, as martin had stated, a good camping spot, for the entrance to an old tote-road furnished a clear space, an endless procession of foam flecks on the branch emerged from the shadow of its overhang and wheeled into the broader stream, while the music of a little cascade just back in the woods suggested trout. "i wonder why martin don't keep in sight," complained the doctor, first glancing up to where the sun had vanished behind the low range of mountains and then down the moosehorn. "it'll be dark before we know it, and he's got the tent in his canoe. you a curious footprint 15 don't suppose anything's happened to them, jean?" "not so when levi morris is paddlin'," answered jean, "he one ver' safe man." then, making a half scoop with one hand behind. his ear, he added, "i hear 'em now, 'n' they 'bout half mile down.” dr. sol looked at his guide in admiration. to his unpractised ear no sound except that of running water broke the forest stillness. "you may jis' so well go fish," continued jean, turning to the canoe and taking from it a small axe, "zar be one ver' nice hole up ze stream few rod," and he pointed where a bushchoked opening showed that a tote-road had once been cut alongside the branch. dr. sol eyed it suspiciously. "no bears or panthers up there, jean?" he queried. "if you see him, he see you fust, an' you no see him," came the paradoxical answer, as jean began cutting away the undergrowth with his hunting-knife, preparatory to the erection of a tent. dr. sol reached for his rod, jointed it, still glancing furtively into the sombre wilderness, 16 the hermit and then down the stream again. "i wish frisbie would keep up," he said, half to himself. "i want trout for supper, but i'm not just anxious to go into the woods alone after them." but the floating foam flecks, the call of the running waters, and the love of sport conquered the forbidding forest, and with one more glance down the moosehorn he started up the almost invisible path. from the sound, the little cascade he could hear must be scarce ten rods in, but as he followed the old log road, now close beside the stream, and then bending away, while he pushed aside the undergrowth taller than himself, it seemed ever a little beyond. just as his courage had nearly ebbed, the faint path turned down beside the stream once more, and here its current, merely fretted by a hidden ledge, was making the music that had lured him in. like a boy now, in his eagerness, he adjusted his tackle, and with a short cast lightly threw the gaudy flies into the pool below, and let them float down. in an instant came a leap and splash as a pound trout took a curious footprint 17 the tempting morsel, and the sport began. one after another the little doctor reeled in, oblivious now to bears, panthers, or the solemn stillness of the wilderness, and happy as only a true sportsman can be. a dozen had been tossed in rapid succession behind a rotting stump, when, forgetting the trees back of him, he hooked one limb hard and fast. to climb such a spruce, with branches so thick a squirrel only could do it, was impossible, and, with a muttered imprecation, the doctor pulled on his line until the delicate leader broke, and then sat down to repair damages. he had just done so and arisen, when the faint sound of a breaking twig caught his attention. with a quick glance across the stream, where a rocky and bush-hid bank faced him, he saw, in the darkening twilight, just above brown, moss-covered boulder, a hideous, hairy, human face! one instant only he saw it, the next it had vanished. c for a moment dr. sol, never a courageous man, stood still, while it seemed that icy water was leaping through every vein; the 18 the hermit next instant he turned and ran down the bushchoked path as if pursued by demons. each moment, as he dove under bending boughs or leaped over fallen trees, he felt that a hairy, human monster was just behind and about to seize him. when the camp-fire was reached, martin had arrived and was cutting boughs with a hunting-knife, while jean and levi were just entering the tent. a fire had been started, a blackened pail had been hung from a stick over the flame, and preparations for a night in the woods were well under way. into this little group leaped the terrified doctor, breathless, with face scratched and bleeding. "pack up, quick!" he exclaimed in a husky voice; "we've got to get out of here at once! there's a wild man back up in the woods, and i wouldn't stay here for a million dollars!" martin and levi exchanged quick glances, and a halt came in the camping work. for a moment the two looked at one another, and then, as if recalling that curious footprint they had seen twenty miles away, they glanced fura curious footprint 19 tively up the bush-choked log road. one instant only martin hesitated, and then he recovered himself. "doctor," he said, "i expected you would get well scared the first time you went into the woods alone, and i see you have. what you saw, most likely, was a blackened stump half hid in the bushes, or possibly it might have been a bear. if so, he is a mile away by now, more scared than you are. here, take a drink, brace up, and help us to make camp. it's almost dark." but dr. sol was obdurate. "i tell you, martin frisbie," he replied sternly, heeding not the proffered flask, "i wouldn't stay here a night for love nor money. we are watched, and by the most savage-looking creature i ever set eyes on." then, with many additions, as might be expected, he told the story of his fright. martin and levi exchanged knowing looks once more, but made no comment until the tale was told, and then martin spoke. "levi," he said, "what do you say; is it go on, or stay?" 20 the hermit "we've got to stay!" came the resolute answer; "thar ain't a campin' spot within five miles either up or down the moosehorn, and it's too late to cut one out!" and once more he began work. as for martin, he was inwardly nervous but outwardly calm. he had not quite recovered from the previous night's experience and the queer footprints, however, and yet it did not occur to him that that had any connection with the cause of the doctor's fright. and yet, it might have. then another thought came, and it added to his fears. they had started early and paddled a good twenty miles up an almost currentless stream; on either bank lay an impassable wilderness, much of it swampy. no hunter or trapper stealing along ahead had been sighted that day, and if this wild man the doctor had seen was he who was prowling around their tent the night before, how had he reached this spot? but martin had already decided upon his own course, and though startled somewhat by the doctor's fright, he now pulled himself a curious footprint 21 together once more and attempted to calm his frightened comrade. "it may have been some hairy-faced, old trapper that you saw, doctor," he said finally, "and they are harmless. if it was, he will show up by and by, and hang around till we offer him a drink. i've met them many times here in the wilderness before, and a little good rum secures their friendship for life, so don't worry." and martin resumed his cutting of boughs. when supper was over and night had quite shut them in about the camp-fire, conversation was resumed and levi told a story with the seeming intent of allaying the doctor's fears. "thar's a good many hunters 'n' trappers livin' up here in the woods somewhar," he said, "'n' thar's no tellin' when one on 'em 'll show up. i was campin' one fall, way up on the allagash, me 'n' pete roncou, that's a cousin o' jean's here, 'n' we had some traps set for otter. well, thar was a storm coming up that night, an' though we'd been thar a week, we hadn't heerd a single loon, an' knew 'twas so late they'd all gone south, an' all ---22 the hermit 'twonce we heard one clus in shore. 'pete,' said i, 'that's queer; we ain't heered a loon sence we came, 'n' now thar's one squallin'.' "tain't no loon,' said pete, 'it's a human.' well, a loon, long way off, sounds good deal like a human, but clus to, not a mite. in a minute it squaked agin, 'n' this time it sounded jist like 'h-e-e-e-l-p!'" "i tell ye, it's a human,' said pete, an' with that we each on us grabbed a brand 'n' started. i don't just know what made me, but i grabbed my gun, too; but pete, he never thought o' his'n. well, we heerd it again, 'n' this time 'twas a reg'ler human holler fer help. we hallooed back 'n' it answered 'n' we kept on goin' 'n' wavin' the sticks to keep 'em goin', an' finally they went out, an' arter they'd gone out, we kept on hollerin', but didn't git any back. we hed hard work to git back ourselves, tho', fer we hed to guess at it." he paused, as if the sequel were not worth telling. "well," put in the doctor, "what then? did you ever find what it was?" "not 'zactly, but we sorter guessed from the a curious footprint 23 moccasin tracks 'twas an injun that had sneaked into our camp while we was loon huntin', fer pete's gun an' all our shells was missin'. that was more'n ten years ago, 'n' pete ain't heerd the last on't yit." "are there many indians wild in these woods now?" queried the doctor, glancing up to where the zone of firelight outlined the entrance to the old tote-road; "i thought they were all civilized." "so they are," replied martin, not waiting for levi, "and that's why some of them adopt white men's methods of getting what they want." "but the face i saw belonged to a white man,” interjected the doctor, who had not recovered from it, "and it wore a most demoniac look, with grizzly hair all around and a mat of it on top." "that may be," returned martin, "and so would any old trapper look when you saw him. they never shave or get a hair cut from one year's end to another, and all look alike ragged, hairy, and dirty. i've met them often, and, as i told you, they are all harmless and love if you saw one, which i doubt, he rum. --― 24 the hermit is like all the rest, and by now is fast asleep up back of here in the bushes." with that martin arose, for it was time to turn in, glanced first at the starlit sky and then up at the opening in the forest back of the tent. at that moment levi chanced to throw a handful of fir boughs on the dying fire, and as the flames flashed in response and the zone of light widened, martin caught the full view of a hideous human face peeping out from behind a stunted spruce. one moment only he saw the gray hairy visage; the next it had disappeared. one moment only he saw the gray, hairy visagepage 24 1 chapter iii ――― the wild man the wilderness has many moods grave, gay, grand, and mysterious. the morning melody of the birds in spring, the laughter of brooks deep hidden in impassable thickets, the loud-voiced rapids leaping down rock-walled gorges, the fir-clad mountains that shut one in, the bending spruce and cedar mirrored in placid lakes, each and all have their own mood and leave their own particular impress on one's feelings. but back of these and ever in waiting is the unvarying and ever present mystery of the solemn forest. to a novice in the woods there is a certain weird presence ever existent in these solitudes; a subtle, invisible mystery scarce comprehended and impossible to explain. to look into never penetrated and almost im25 26 the hermit passable forest glades is to half expect to see some new and hideous shape, some strange creature glaring out of shadow. walk in a little, and this lurking sense of danger increases — you stop, listen, look about, then go on, declaring to yourself that you are not afraid, and yet you are. the woods seem thicker and darker, rocks take on animal shapes, or, half hid beneath fallen trees, resemble gnome faces or ogre forms, shrinking in hiding. penetrate a little farther and every tiny sound becomes magnified. a bird flitting by is like the rush of an eagle; an owl's hoot, a crash of thunder; a squirrel hurrying away, the rapid footsteps of a fierce savage. you can hear your own heart beating. a sense of near danger ever increases, and the deeper into the pathless forest you go, the more the supernatural, ominous sense of invisible menace this face to face with some awful-presence-feeling comes to you. you agree with yourself that it is folly that there is nothing in the wilderness except beasts afraid of you, and for them you have a trusty rifle. you go on and on, each step a little weaker, till at last the presence has conthe wild man 27 quered and you retrace your steps to human companionship. if this be the forest in daylight, what would it be in the inky blackness of night? full well martin frisbie knew all wilderness moods, for he had met them many times. yet, at the moment he saw this vanishing apparition, not to save all his wealth could he have pursued it into the darkness one rod. but he had good command of himself, and, uttering not a word, he turned and heaped more fuel on the fire. then he sat down beside it. "why don't you turn in?" exclaimed the doctor, who had already entered the tent. "i will, presently; i want a smoke first." and martin coolly filled and lit his pipe. then he heaped the fire with fuel as if ruddy flames were a protection, and lying down between it and the stream, and resting head on hand and elbow, he covertly watched the opening in the woods. presently jean, the doctor's guide, yawned, picked up his blanket, wrapped himself in it and crept under his canoe. and now martin arose, peeped into the tent, satisfied himself 28 the hermit that the doctor was asleep, and returned to the fire. "levi," he said in a whisper, "the doctor was right. we are watched by a queer-looking man. i saw him a little while ago, just back of the tent." the two looked at each other a moment in silence and then at the dark opening in the forest. "well," whispered martin again, "what was it?" for answer levi cautiously but quickly stepped to one side of the tent, knelt, stooped, and laid his ear to the ground. for full five minutes he lay prone, then beckoned to martin to join him. he did so, and as the crackle of the fire died out, martin caught the sound of a stealthy tread, at wide intervals, and slowly receding into the forest. finally that ceased, and only the low murmur of the branch broke the utter stillness. then the two arose and returned to the fire, now only a faint glow of embers. "well," whispered martin once more, looking at his guide, "what was it?" the wild man 29 levi shook his head. "it sounded like a bear creepin' through the brush; they go that way." "it wasn't a bear i saw." "i know it," replied levi once more, "and that's what beats me." for a long time the two watched each other, listening to the faint voice of the stream, alert and keen lest any sound escape them. at last martin spoke. "levi," he said, "we have spent many weeks in this wilderness together, and i know i can trust you. what i saw is a mystery, and we may solve it and we may not, but until we do, neither the doctor nor jean must know we have been watched by this strange creature. as i told you, it's my friend's first visit to the woods, and timid as he is, if once he learned what i saw, no power could keep him here longer than it would take to get out. i shall try to convince him that he saw a rock or stump, and you must help do it." levi nodded. "i think i'll turn in now," continued martin, "and you may as well." but his faithful guide only put more fuel 30 the hermit on the fire and, taking martin's rifle, sat down beside it." "i'll keep watch a spell," he said; "it's just as well." when martin, awakened by the first notes of the inevitable bird concert, emerged from the tent, the fire was still smouldering, and levi rolled in his blanket fast asleep beside it. without awakening him he picked up the rifle and carefully entered the old log road. step by step he followed it, slowly and like a true woodsman, ever watching for signs of man or beast. the doctor's tracks, both going and coming, were plain, and when the path turned down to the stream, his rod was found; but although martin looked well about, not a solitary one could be found of the dozen or more trout claimed to have been caught. martin saw the stump back of which the doctor had thrown them, saw his tracks on the soft bank -grass trampled, bushes broken and that was all. then he looked across the stream, and there too was the boulder from behind which this wild man had glared. cautiously, and peering often up and down the wild man 31 the stream and into the thick forest, now gray with morning light, he crossed, stepping from rock to rock just out of the water. back of the boulder the rotting leaves showed fresh disturbance, and from its side bits of damp moss had been scraped. then he noted the faint forest sign of leaves that had been trodden upon or turned over, leading up the brook and beneath the overhanging firs. only a few rods he followed them, for the undergrowth was more than dense, and then he returned to the crossing. here, on a bit of sandy bank, washed up by the spring freshet, he saw that same footprint once more —a huge, horrible track, half brute, half human, with the heel mark of a man's foot round and deep, and the toe mark of a panther's claws! involuntarily he cocked his rifle, looked about, and listened. only the morning light, now bright and clear, the low note of the stream at his feet, the song of birds! he stooped and measured those claw prints with a twig as levi had. a full inch in depth they were, with a spread of at least five incheswider than the largest human foot. 32 the hermit then he turned back to where the doctor had stood and fished. here, unobserved at first, and distinct in the doctor's tracks, martin found the claw prints again. once again he listened long, looking all about and half expecting to see that face in the dense undergrowth. then, as the intangible menace grew upon him, he turned and almost ran down the bushy path to the camp. levi only was up, and he was just starting a fire. without a word martin beckoned him to follow, and together they returned to the puzzling tracks. like an indian trailing his enemy in the pathless forest, so did levi now follow and examine those footprints. all about where the doctor stood he traced them, then back and up the old wood road to where a fallen tree blocked the way, while martin watched his every motion. and here that keen woodsman, peering into these interlacing boughs, suddenly reached up to one, and, detaching something, held it up to the light. it was a long, white hair! with intense interest martin looked at that somewhat curly token of a human scalp which the wild man 33 his guide held aloft, then, taking it between thumb and finger, quietly wound it into a tiny coil and placed it in his pocket-book. "well," he said at last, "what is it?" "it's a critter that walks on two legs," responded levi, slowly shaking his head, "but them tracks is cur'us. i never knowed an injun with white hair, either." to martin this was a new possibility. "he come down this path," continued levi, as he slowly led the way back, half stooping, the better to watch for tracks, "'n' he went back the same way, steppin' strong, 'n' on his hind legs." "it's a human being, then," put in martin, as they reached the stream again and halted. "yes, it's a human, mebbe," admitted levi once more, shaking his head, " only them tracks ain't." d for a moment martin pondered. and in that instant a dilemma confronted him. to obey his keen hunter's instinct and follow this strange creature into the wilderness, he could not with timid dr. sol on his hands; neither did he dare even to let his old-time friend know 34 the hermit what a strange creature had watched them. and suppose he were alone, with his trusted and faithful guide, and they should follow and come upon this mysterious animal — this possible beast or possible man—what then? "levi,” he said suddenly, his mind made up, "we must get out of here as soon as we can pack and start. and mind you, not one word or hint to jean or the doctor." jean was busy cooking breakfast, and dr. sol watching and sniffing the pleasant odor of the frying ham, when martin and levi reached camp. "well, did you see the wild man?" queried the doctor. "no," answered martin, smiling, "but we saw the big gray rock that scared you, and found your rod where you dropped it. i think a mink carried your trout offthat is, if you caught any." chapter iv the mystery of the wilderness martin's first impulse had been to pursue and solve the identity of this half-human, halfbrute creature who had peeped into their campfire circle; the next, and kindlier one, to avoid alarming the timid doctor and pay no heed to it, but go on as planned. but resolving and doing are wide-apart impulses, not always reconciled, and although martin was not one whose mind turned like a weather-vane, yet while he was cheerfully deceiving dr. sol, his thoughts were away in the shadowy forest, pursuing an ogreish creature. neither did his will banish this mystery in the least, for when breakfast was disposed of, tent struck, canoes loaded, and they paddled away up the moosehorn, its clutch was still upon him. all that bright morning, while they pushed up the winding and almost currentless stream, now 35 36 the hermit shadowed by spruce and then broadening into long and narrow lakelets, faintly rippled and sparkling in the sunlight, its spectral hand reached out from every shadowy opening. over and over again had he and levi discussed this strange visitor, only to fail of reaching any tangible solution or solve any part of the mystery, and when noon came, and they halted where a short rapid compelled a carry, martin had hard work to keep from making a clean breast to the doctor of all he had seen and imagined. then, as if to drive him to confession, here at this landing he came upon two more mysterious discoveries. they had decided to cook dinner here, and as usual, while the guides prepared it, martin and the doctor tried for trout. both made a few casts in the same pool below the rapids, and then martin, leaving his friend, started up the path that led around the rapids to try in another pool. with more thought for tracks than trout he walked slowly, half stooping and scanning every spot where one might show. none were found until the path ended at the stream once more, and here, on a bit of sandy margin, the mystery of the wilderness 37 and as if the creature had stepped out of the water, were the same broad and well-marked claw prints. then, turning back, now that he had found the trail, and, with hunter's cunning, locating where the next step should be, he found a dozen others, though so faintly defined that only the prints of sharp claws were visible in the hard soil, or a bit of moss scratched from a stone showed where the animal had stepped. all pointed down-stream and were made as the others were by a creature walking upright! then, leaving the path and crowding through the undergrowth to an eddying pool in the rapids, martin made a cast. it scored, and then another and still another speckled beauty was hooked and reeled in, and the keen zest of time, place, and sport had, for the moment, obliterated all other thought, when, in stepping from one rock to another above, he saw, wedged between them, a curious bit of driftwood, one end of which seemed to grin at him. it was that that caught his eye, and stooping, he pulled it from between the rocks and found it to be the handle of a broken paddle, with the knob carved into semblance of a human skull. so 38 the hermit realistic had this unknown artist tried to be, that he had inserted a row of small, catlike teeth in the skull's mouth and dyed the eye and nose sockets red. the sun and rain had almost removed this, but the teeth still held in place. it was a curious bit of flotsam, evidently tossed up and caught between the rocks during some freshet, and then left to bleach in sun and storm. it had seemingly been so exposed for more than one year, for it was almost white. it did not appeal to martin as having any connection with the mystery he had come upon, but merely as the long-ago handiwork of some eccentric trapper or hunter thus killing time. it was a curio, but when he returned to the canoes at call to dinner, he said nothing, but quietly tucked it into the bow of his canoe. when dinner was over, the doctor, who wanted to fish most of the time, returned to his pool, jean began washing the dishes, and then a look and nod from martin to levi were enough, and together they walked up the path. "our friend of last night came down this way not long ago," asserted martin, quietly, the mystery of the wilderness 39 pointing to the best-defined tracks on the stream's bank, "and now can you tell me when?" levi kneeled and studied them well. then glancing up to the sun, and back to where one track just emerged from the shadow of an outgrowing spruce bough, he moved up to that, and again bent low. yesterday; 'n' late in the afternoon at that," he answered. and it was fully ten miles of almost impassable wildernessthat is, by land to where they had encamped the night before! for a few moments martin looked at his guide, and then at those tracks in silence. "it's beyond me," he said at last; and the temptation to tell the doctor all, and then return to where they had camped and pursue this strange creature, was strong upon him. "if it's a sane human being," he continued, "he would have made himself known to us last night; if some half-insane old hermit or trapper, even then i think he would. even if it was a wild man, the sight of us and our fire would also have drawn some cry or expres"" ― 40 the hermit sion of human kinship from him. but to look at us in grim silence from out the darkness, and then steal away like some hunted animal, wasuncanny." "it was a human fast enough," put in levi, "'n' nothin' else. bears stand up once in a while, but run on four legs. the only other critter that don't is an ape, 'n' no ape was ever known in these woods." when once more the two canoes were under way, and had ascended the moosehorn a few miles, the stream seemed to lose itself in a dismal swamp filled with dead fir trees. they stood out above the green undergrowth like bleaching skeletons, with here and there a lane of black waters between a forest golgotha of whitened cones, gaunt, spectral, and ghostly. a crow, perched upon one, cawed ominously, and, as if to add an uncanny touch to this forest graveyard, the horizon, now opening wide, had grown hazy, and the lowering sun red as blood. none but a woodsman like levi could thread that maze of lagoons twisting and turning into one another, and when they were crossed, and the canoes once more the mystery of the wilderness 4i entered the now lessened moosehorn, the overhanging spruce and fir seemed doubly wel come. a mile up, the banks grew bolder, with now and then a frowning cliff, moss covered, over which the spruce roots crept downwards, twisting and turning like arms of gnomes. here a scattered procession of foamflecks was met, and soon the murmur of running waters broke the forest stillness. low and sweet it tinkled like tiny bells just ahead, and ever elusive, for a dozen turns in the winding stream were rounded ere an opening in the banks showed where the brook entered. its mouth was broad and rippled, and out of idle curiosity, martin, who was also paddling, turned the prow of his canoe into it and up a little way. only a couple of rods, for it soon narrowed, and here, scarcely noticeable, and only to the trained eyes of a woodsman, were the faint signs of a path leading up the bank. not one well trod, but rather a divided path where some one had pushed the thick growth aside, or had broken branches to reach the brook. curious still, martin nodded to levi, and 42 the hermit as the canoe was pushed ashore, both stepped out and began an examination. "what are you looking for?" questioned the doctor, who had come up. "bear tracks," answered martin, reaching for his rifle, and following levi up the stream, at which the doctor scrambled hastily ashore and followed them. the faint signs soon converged into a distinct path, keeping close to the stream for perhaps two hundred rods, then turning to the right, it skirted the base of a low ledge until it reached and led up through a narrow pass. like two hounds on the scent, levi and martin had followed this, ever stooping and watching for footprints, with the doctor close behind, until a defile was reached, when he suddenly exclaimed:— "for god's sake, martin, look up!" and well he might, for, perched upon a projecting shelf of rock above them, white and ghastly in the forest gloom, was the bleached skull of an enormous moose. such a relic of some hunter's prowess is not uncommon in the wilderness, and ordithe mystery of the wilderness 43 narily would excite no comment, but here and now it seemed to martin a grewsome warning, and, in some mysterious way, connected with the creature he had seen the night before. for a full minute he was spellbound by that object, placed where it was with evident and sinister intent, then he turned to levi. not a word was uttered, yet in that long meeting of eyes, one and the same question was asked, and for it there was no answer. and standing there, face to face with the great presence, always invisible but ever existent in forest solitudes, with only the low prattle of the distant brook disturbing the utter silence, almost did that something conquer and turn them back. almost, i say, and yet that does not express it, for so delicate is the division between courage and cowardice in us all, that had there come to them at this moment the sound of a limb creaking in the breeze, or even the rustle of leaves, as a squirrel hurried away, the presence would have won. but the stillness, so profound it could be felt, was unbroken, and soon martin, gaining cour44 the hermit age, moved on up the ridge, followed by the rest. and now stepping slow and oft halting to listen, he soon saw an opening just ahead, and, looking down through the thick growth, they saw a tangled confusion of fallen trees, perhaps thirty rods in breadth, and, beyond and close beside a wall-like cliff, a small log-cabin. it was dim and shadowy down in this narrow vale, for the twilight had come, and as martin pushed through a thicket closing the path, he moved aside a small sapling barring the way, and at that moment, up from this lone and lonely cabin, faint and yet distinct, came the tinkle of a bell! in an instant he stepped back, and as this traplike trigger swung into place, he saw it was bound to a small sapling with a thong of deerskin, while around its butt was wound a fine wire. from this, and barely visible, the wire led away down the ledge toward the cabin. curious now, as well as startled by this queer human contrivance, martin once more moved the swinging stick forward to hear again the answering tinkle. twice, thrice he repeated this, his eyes on the cabin below; and then he the mystery of the wilderness 45 saw the one little and closed window-slide in it open halfway for an instant, and then close quickly. it was too dark to see more than the motion of this slide, but it was unmistakable. the cabin held an occupant. ordinarily martin, like any other pleasureseeker in the wilderness, would have descended to this cabin and made a friendly call; but the time, place, and mystery, as well as evident threat of this warning signal, were enough. without a word he stepped quickly back, and so potent is the weakening of any leader, that the doctor, just in the rear, turned on the instant and ran as if pursued. and it must be recorded that martin and levi reached the canoes almost as soon. neither was any discussion indulged in, for night and darkness was near, and by tacit consent, canoes were pushed off and all tumbled in, the doctor and martin each grasping the spare paddles and using them until that ill-omened landing was left a full mile astern. chapter v beside a camp-fire it was almost dark ere a possible camping site was reached, and this was in no way desirable, for the low banks of the moosehorn just here were soft and spongy, while from every twig of the tall and close-growing spruces depended long tufts of gray moss. but coming night in the wilderness forced the situation, and all four set about establishing a camp. first a fire, then the tent, and while the guides started supper on its way, the doctor and martin cut boughs for a bed and then stowed their belongings. and right in the midst of these duties, and just as the fire lit up the spectral beards that hung above and all about them, dr. sol found the broken paddle handle. for a moment he gazed at its hideous knob with something like terror, and then turned to martin. now all that day the doctor had felt that 46 beside a camp-fire 47 some uncanny discovery, some new and near danger had been kept from him; and more than this, that some mystery quite beyond human ken now surrounded them. as he would put it, "what i saw, i know i saw," and none of martin's badinage about imaginary ogres had in the least altered his fixed convictions as to what he had seen the night before. then at noon he had also observed the peculiar movements of both his friend and levi, but said nothing; and when they had landed to follow the mysterious path, what they had come upon and its denouement only added more mystery. but this piratical bit of handiwork was the last straw, and, as one might say, it broke the doctor's nerve. "martin frisbie," he frisbie," he exclaimed almost sternly, "where are we, and what is the meaning of this? first i see a hideous human face watching me, which you swear is a rock; then you go on all day, looking and listening in glum silence, while i follow, through ghostly swamps and up unaccountable by-paths, to face grinning skulls and find queer things. then you run away as if 48 the hermit scared yourself, and make no explanation until now, when we are halted by night where no sane human being can be comfortable. have you gone daft, or have we come into a region haunted by hobgoblins? why, even the trees have ghostly whiskers; and what is the meaning of this death's head staff i found in your canoe? if this is the joyous life of freedom in the wilderness you promised me, i have had enough of it! i want to go home. greenvale may be dull and slow, but at least it isn't haunted by ogres." and the decidedly frightened doctor looked at the grinning knob once more. "now keep cool," answered martin, half inclined to laugh in spite of his own nervousness. "in the main you are right, only i've been trying to save you from getting scared, which would spoil your outing. you did see some strange creature last night, for i saw it myself after you had turned in, and also its tracks where you met it, and this noon again on the carry where i found that bit of driftwood. whether this man or bruteand i don't know which had any connection with beside a camp-fire 49 that hid-away log-cabin or not, i can't say. i shall keep no more from you and shall tell you now that that hut was occupied, and i'll admit i felt it best to retreat in good order. we have come upon some wilderness mystery, though not a ghostly one, and yet i confess it beyond me. in fact, i think we have found two, for the creature who watched us last night and the occupant of that cabin are not the same. another point, and i'm sure of it, the hermit, who peeped out of his one sliding window a moment when we rang his bell-trap, doesn't want any callers, for such a contrivance here, a hundred miles from civilization, said plainly, 'if you don't want a hole bored in you, keep away!' it may be some escaped criminal in hiding, or it may be some half-insane old trapper who doesn't want visitors. we are not here on a man hunt, however, and if we mind our own business, i think this fellow will do the same, and tomorrow we will push on." then, as an afterthought, and to test the doctor's courage, he added: "if you feel curious, or as a matter of medical research would like to return and ―――――― e 50 the hermit visit that hermit and see if he is sane, we will go back with you in the morning. we could all stay out of sight and let you make the call alone, so as not to excite him." but the doctor was not in a mood to appreciate martin's pleasantry, and only glanced furtively around where the zone of light ended among the spectral trees and then at the cheerful fire. "don't you think we'd best let that go out when supper is cooked?" he said; "it may be seen by that chap, and he may visit us again." but another and not at all pleasant experience was to follow, for before the potatoes were boiled, or ham and eggs quite ready, the wind began to blow, then the rain that had threatened all the afternoon followed, and that supper, eaten in the tent and by the light of a pine knot, was not all that could be desired. the guides, however, kept the fire going, while martin and the doctor, peeping out of the tent, smoked and discussed the queer mystery they had come upon. it was not a pleasant camp, or even a comfortable one, for the wind, roaring in the dense canopy beside a camp-fire 51 of spruce tops, the creaking and moaning of the tall trees bending and rubbing together, added a peculiar touch to their somewhat ghostly surroundings. but nothing more occurred to disturb them, and when morning and blue sky once more returned, never before in his life had the clear light of day seemed so great a blessing to dr. sol. chapter vi a strange pursuer covering two-thirds of maine and a portion of canada and new brunswick is a wilderness many hundred miles in length and breadth. it is divided by ranges of mountains, dotted by countless lakes, traversed by innumerable streams, some running north into the st. lawrence, some east into the bay of chaleur, and some south into the atlantic. these serve as, and are, the only highways. sportsmen enter this wilderness a little way, rarely does one cross it; lumbermen follow up its streams to cut their quota of logs and return the same way; and yet so broad is it, and so impassable by direct journey, that events happening on one side are rarely known on the other. it is a world by itself, as it were, scarcely surveyed, with townships of primal wilderness seldom crossed, lakes that for years 52 a strange pursuer 53 remain unvisited, and mountains that are rarely scaled. it was the bold intention of martin and the doctor to cross this for an outing trip; and now, scared for a day and a night by the visit of a queer creature, they had gone on, leaving its locality many days' journey behind, and yet vividly retaining the impress it made. a bugaboo is like your shadow, and a mystery unsolved will follow as well, more especially in a vast wilderness, and although martin, out of consideration for his timid friend, had turned away from this, somehow it still seemed that sooner or later it would make itself manifest again; and whether floating down or slowly ascending streams each day, he watched ever for some sight or sound of this creature in the bordering forest. he never landed on a stream's bank or lake's shore but he looked for those uncanny tracks, and at night when smoking by the camp-fire and chatting with the doctor, he watched ever where the circle of light merged into the darkness, half expecting to see that strange face glaring at him once more. if such was the 54 the hermit effect on martin, that upon the doctor could not fail to be far more powerful. for two weeks they had journeyed onward, up-stream, down-stream, and across lake and carry, halting to try for trout in seductive pools or land at some available spot and cook a midday meal. deer browsing upon the first green shoots had been surprised many times; twice they had come upon a lordly moose, to hear it snort with affright and plunge out of sight in the undergrowth. once a bear had been seen scampering up an old log road, and often at night had they heard a lucivee or panther uttering its peculiar cry in some neighboring swamp. of humanity, they had met not a soul in all that time; and now, somewhat wearied of ever continued pushing on, they had camped on the shore of a long and narrow lake to remain and rest a few days. this, known as the second musquacook, lay at the apex of two narrow valleys, through each of which flowed sizable streams. one, the larger, had served as their waterway to this lake, and entered at its foot the other midway. it was near this, and in a cove a strange pursuer 55 outlined by a pretty sandy beach, that their tent was pitched. above this stream, and extending well out into the shallow lake, grew a bed of rushes, now putting forth fresh shoots. this growth also extended up the stream a few rods, while next to the cove its bank was wooded, and where it joined the lake a rounded gravelled point put out. the sun was out of sight behind one of the low ranges of mountains that shut them in, ere the camp was made comfortable, and just as levi had finished his watchful care of a frying-pan of trout and another of sputtering ham, and lifted the coffee-pot from the bending wambeck,¹ the moon, now almost full, looked over the opposite range. "i wish," said the doctor, who had seated himself by the little improvised table of saplings, and heaped his tin plate with good things, "that we had stayed a few days longer on the moosehorn and tried to run that wild man to cover." 1 the indian name for a small sapling thrust into the ground and sloping over a camp-fire, and upon which a pail or pot is hung. 56 the hermit like many another man, dr. sol was always courageous when either well fed or about to be. "we might go back there," answered martin, with his mouth full of fried trout, while he gently stirred the condensed milk in his tin cup of coffee; "it isn't over a hundred miles." "6 no-o-o," responded the doctor, slowly, "i don't believe we'd better; and yet, i'd go a good many miles to find out what that thing was." then martin laughed, knowing full well how little courage dr. sol had. time and again they had discussed this strange problem in all its bearings, failing each time to arrive at a conclusion. then, there were "two of him," as jean once said, and about equal in mystery. "i, too, wish we had stayed where i saw this creature," said martin, in response to the doctor's assertion, "at least for one night. if it was some half-insane old trapper who wore moccasins tipped with panther's claws, as i more than half suspect, the latent human curiosity in such a freak would have led him to return the next night. there was no danger, for if he a strange pursuer 57 had meant harm, he had ample chance. as to its being a nondescript, half man, half brute, as his tracks would indicate, i do not for one moment believe. neither do i think he had any connection with the chap who has hid himself in the lone log-cabin up the moosehorn, and who rigged a trap-bell signal to warn him of visitors. he is a cat of another stripe, and one i'd not care to disturb. what do you say, levi?" "i dunno, i dunno," replied that cautious woodsman, slowly shaking his head, "'cordin' to my way o' thinkin', it's the same feller, ez i've said afore now, an' mebbe some one ez had cause fer hidin'. there's a good many curis things ez happens in the woods, 'n' some on 'em never gits found out. i was up on the st. francis loggin' 'bout ten years ago, 'n' thar was a feller in the camp that was took that sick he was like to die. it was over forty miles to a settlement by the tote-road, 'n' about twenty cross country. the snow was good 'n' hard for snow-shoein', 'n' ez i knew thar was a couple o' trappers winterin' on a lake that way; whar i could put up, i went the shortest cut. 'twas 58 the hermit most dark 'fore i struck the lake, 'n' then i had to go two-thirds round, followin' the shore, 'fore i found the camp, 'n' when i did, 'twas pitch dark 'n' nobody in the cabin. all i had with me was a little pack 'n' a blanket, 'n' stay there i'd got to. i pushed the door open, slung my pack in 'n' then felt round 'n' found a birch 'n' peeled some bark, 'n' went in again 'n' struck a light, 'n' then looked round. i've been sot back a good many times, first 'n' last, but never quite so much ez that minute, fer right under my feet, almost, lay a dead man! the snow hed blowed in 'n' covered his legs, but his arms 'n' body wa'n't, 'n' his face was lookin' right up at me 'n' his eyes wide open. fer a minute i come near turnin' tail, 'n' then i kinder ketched myself 'n' 'lowed he couldn't hurt me, 'n' i'd got to stay there anyway. then i got a fire goin' 'n' pulled him up in one corner 'n' covered him. i couldn't make out to sleep a wink that night, though, 'n' didn't try to. all i did was keep the fire goin', 'n' i never knew afore that night how much company thar was in a fire. i kept on next day, 'n' when i went back to the lumberin' camp, i went the long way." a strange pursuer 59 "and did you find out who it was," put in the doctor, eagerly, "and who killed him?" "i dunno ez anybody killed him. the next sunday, though, three on us started early 'n' went over thar, 'n' the curis thing was we didn't find no dead man. it had snowed some, 'n' thar wa'n't no tracks outside, either, 'n' then they made great sport o' me 'n' said i must 'a' gone daft." "and was that all," inquired the doctor, who had never once ceased watching levi's face; "didn't you ever find out anything more?" "not a word, though i did some askin' when i got down to the settlement that spring. it ain't strange, though, fer thar's a good many trappers ez goes into the woods 'n' never comes out, 'n' 'less they've got families, nobody wonders at it. then agin, i wa'n't goin' to 'low i'd seen a dead man, fer if thar 'd been murder done, no tellin' but i might 'a' got into trouble 'n' cused on 't." "and you think this chap who put a moose skull where it would do the most good might have been some murderer in hiding," queried бо the hermit martin, "or possibly the other one of those two trappers?" "wal, he might 'n' he mightn't," answered levi, in his always cautious tone. "that was ten years ago, n' ten years is a long time for a man to live alone in the woods 'n' not go daft if he's cause to worry. if he ain't, he might live here forty 'n' keep fat." then, as this subject was about exhausted for the time, martin and the doctor once more fell to recalling incidents of their boyhood days, and all the fun they had, and all the scrapes they got into then. and as once before, when the evening's smoke and chat ended, the camp-fire low, and martin had stretched himself on the bough bed beside the doctor, his thoughts travelled to greenvale, and he wondered how angie looked and what she would say, and how she would treat him if he were to go back there again. beyond that lurked a little sense of guilt at the thought of all the years that had fled since he parted from her in such a tender fashion, and how heartless it was, after all! a strange pursuer 61 then he wondered why she had never married. she was a comely girl, and once he thought her more than that yes, even the sweetest and most beautiful maid in greenvale. why was it some other village swain had not caught her fancy, after his desertion? he knew she was an orphan, whose mother had died when she was quite young, and worse than that, her father had disappeared, no one knew why, nor whither, and that angie had been left without an heritage, to be brought up by aunt comfort. it was a peculiar case; and now, as it all came back to him, and how, in her sweet, girlish way, she had laid her heart at his feet, so to speak, it seemed to him that one so fond, and so wholly dependent, was the last whom a manly young fellow should turn from and desert. ――― it was the bud of a boyish love bursting into flower again, for before martin fell asleep, he had firmly resolved he would visit greenvale at an early date and see how angie would receive him. but the next morning all these sweet impulses received a quietus, for while levi and 62 the hermit jean were getting breakfast, martin and the doctor took their rods and started for the stream close by; halfway there martin halted suddenly, looking down. and well he might, for at his feet and freshly made in the hard, damp sand, were those same claw-print tracks he had twice found on the moosehorn, a hundred miles away! chapter vii ghost or wild man? martin looked long at those grotesque footprints in speechless wonder. for two weeks now he had watched for them in old log roads, along the banks of streams, in the muddy spots of carries, and upon the sandy shores of lakes, in vain. he had found all other kinds of tracks in plenty, hoof prints of moose, deer, and caribou, the oval ones of bear, and the rounder but sharper clawed tracks of lynx and wildcat-but none like these. and now, on a bright moonlight night, the nondescript creature had walked up to within two rods of where he lay sleeping! the effect on dr. sol was almost ludicrous. he gazed at them, grew pale, and with a "we've got to get out of here, and quick, too," started for the tent. "here he comes; run, doctor, run," shouted 63 64 the hermit martin, his sense of humor rising above his astonishment, as he followed the doctor, who had covered the distance with leaps. then each, grasping a rifle, and followed by the guides, returned to those tracks. and now for the first time, so plainly outlined were they in the deep sand, it was possible to better guess what manner of creature made them. "it's a gigantic ape," asserted martin, bending over them; but levi, kneeling, shook his head. "it's some one wearin' moccasins with claws on 'em. i kin see whar the seam comes," he said. it was not reassuring, and both martin and the doctor glanced furtively into the forest near at hand, and then up to the gravelled point where the stream entered. then following levi and avoiding the tracks, halting often to listen and look at one more distinct than the rest, they came to this point and the end of the tracks. here a faint furrow showed where a canoe had grounded and been lifted out on the beach. "it's a white man," asserted levi, in a posighost or wild man ? 65 tive tone; "an injun always lands a canoe sideways." "and why?" queried martin, to whom this was news. "'cause it don't strain 'em so much, an' leaves no sign." "this chap wasn't fussy about the signs," interjected the doctor, "and if it's the beast i saw that night on the moosehorn, i've had enough of his society." "the tracks are the same beyond question," said martin, "and it looks like a case of follow, but how he has kept along with us for ten days without discovery is curious." and the thought of such a savage man stealthily following one up-stream, down-stream, across lake and carry a good hundred miles of wilderness, made martin nervous. "i'm not going to back out just yet," he added, as they retraced their steps to find the fire out and breakfast ruined. but that mattered not; in fact nothing was thought of or spoken about all that day except those hideous tracks and the likelihood that their maker might be lurking in the forest about. no attention was paid to the lake, rippled and f 66 the hermit shining in the sunlight, the birds, piping defiance to all powers of darkness, or aught else of beauty. both canoes made an entire detour of that lake's shore at least three times, while their occupants, oblivious even of the trout leaping out here and there, scanned the shadows, pausing oft to listen at every trifling sound. the entrances to two long, unused log roads were examined, the stream where they first entered the lake followed back a mile, and the one where the tracks began and ended explored a little way, but no sign or sound of this wild man found. like a thief at night he had come ashore, stolen up to their camp, returned, embarked, and where he was hiding no man could guess. when nightfall drew near, the doctor became nervous. "i shan't sleep a wink to-night," he said plaintively, as he watched levi building a fire, and as the woods grew shadowy and darker, he kept close to the fire. not for untold wealth would he have walked into that sombre, silent forest one-half mile alone no, not even fifty rods. jean also was as scared as the doctor. like ghost or wild man? 67 many of the half-breed guides who lead sportsmen into this wilderness, he believed most wild animals to be endowed with human cunning and devilish malice as well; that they might imitate human actions, and certainly could hear and understand human converse. he was positive bears could walk upright for miles and panthers cross lakes on logs, using sticks for paddles. he was certain that this wild man who had followed them was a combination of man and beast, a huge, hairy ape maybe, or a mixture of bear, panther, and man. moreover, he believed in ghosts. the piratical paddle handle found by martin, the moose skull perched on the ledge, the night cries of loons on the lakes or wildcats in swamps, were all evidence of ghost existence and meant for death warnings, and when he heard them, he invariably crossed himself. under other circumstances this superstition would have been ludicrous, even to the doctor; now it added to the mystery. even martin and levi, both old experienced woodsmen, caught a little of this uncanny, eerie contagion, and when supper was over, pipes lit, 68 the hermit and there was nothing to do but converse in low tones and listen to the night sounds, their rugged common sense grew a little shaky. it became more so when the moon rose, filling the forest with rifts of spectral light and throwing ghostly shadows over the lake shore. "you might ez well turn in," said levi, when the hour had grown late, "me 'n' jean 'll take turns keepin' the fire goin'," and this tacit admission of the need of watching was not reassuring to the doctor at least. but martin had grown sleepy in spite of the mystery surrounding them, and led the way into the tent. it might have been midnight or later neither martin nor the doctor thought of time that night-when they were awakened by levi, who, without a word, beckoned them to arise. then silently, wrapped in blankets, they followed him to the shore. the moon was high overhead, the lake a sheet of burnished silver, the dark wilderness silent as a tomb, and as the little group looked up toward the head of the lake, there, close to shore and slowly moving toward them, was a dark object. ghost or wild man ? 69 between them and this object grew the bed of reeds, and as it advanced, almost at a snail's pace, it enlarged into the head and shoulders of a man, apparently wading waist deep in the water. nearer and nearer it drew, while the breathless four watched it-now to the edge of the reeds, then entering them it almost vanished, to emerge and become distinctly of human shape, and without doubt a man astride a log or seated in a narrow canoe but few inches out of the water. slowly, very slowly, he drew nearer, until where the stream entered the lake, he turned into it, and passed out of sight. it is needless to say that there was no more sleep in the camp that night, but reclining about the friendly fire, the four men watched, listened oft, speaking only in whispers, until the moon sank into the sombre wilderness and the gray light of morn banished the darkness. chapter viii the hermit's home superstition is a mushroom, growing best in shadow, and the four, who at first believed they had come upon a wild man, and later that he had followed them for ten days, were now divided, or rather graded, in conviction. jean was sure it was a ghost, levi divided between spook and wild man, the doctor positive it was the latter, and martin still in doubt. to be followed was disturbing; the bold night visit to their camp while they were asleep was significant; and now a creature, be it indian, wild man, or hunter, who journeyed by night and crossed lakes when he should be asleep, was more than merely curious of conduct. this mystery had piqued martin at first, now it exasperated; and though uncertain what to do or which way to turn to solve it, he had no thought of being driven 70 the hermit's home 71 he out of the woods, or even turning aside. had planned to remain here on this beautiful lake a few days, and now that this mysterious night prowler was there also, he resolved to stand his ground and hunt him out if possible. the creature had apparently gone up the tributary stream why not follow him? but dr. sol thought otherwise. "i've had enough of him," was his positive response when martin proposed they ascend this stream on a searching trip, "and some to spare. i dare not set foot in the woods alone; he drives me away from fishing, and i can't sleep nights. i don't see the good of chasing a bloodthirsty savage who decorates his feet with panther's claws, and who may want our scalps. i've a notion he'd try for one if he caught one of us alone." then martin laughed. "well, we'll keep together," he said, "and, for that matter, four men with two rifles need not fear even a wild man." "would you shoot him if you got the chance?" returned the doctor, feeling he had the better of the argument. 72 the hermit "why, yes, in self-defence, of course, not otherwise." martin, as leader of the trip, naturally carried his point, but when the canoes were loaded and they started up this stream, it was noticeable that the doctor and jean, in their craft, kept close to martin, and not once during all that day's journey did they drop two rods astern. for the first few miles the stream wound, black and without current, beneath a canopy of firs, the low banks completely hid by undergrowth. now and then a mink or muskrat was seen crossing just ahead, and once an otter, surprised on a half-submerged log, dived in with a splash that sounded unduly loud. then a wide stretch of impassable swamp was entered, with here and there a dead spruce rising tall and spectral; beyond this the valley narrowed and banks grew high and rockwalled. here, too, the stream showed the first sign of current, and the low murmur of an occasional, though invisible rill, gave some relief. and here it must be stated that in all the wide world there is no sound so sweet as the hermit's home 73 the music of a brooklet heard in the sombre silence of a wilderness. a bobolink circling over a meadow utters a note of wondrous sweetness, but not to compare with the melodious tinkle of a faint, forest-hidden rill. to martin and the doctor it gave keen pleasure, for the unbroken silence of forest solitudes, endured for hours, becomes oppressive. up to this time, also, no sign of what they were in quest of had been found no queer tracks on muddy banks, no broken twigs or leaves floating down, no sounds of ill omen, or aught else of suspicious nature. and when noon came, and they landed to crawl up on a high bank and cook dinner, it seemed as if the doctor's theory of a wild-goose chase was likely to prove correct. but now a clew came to them, though one that never would have been noticed except by a woodsman of levi's keenness. he had gone a little higher up on the bank to break dry twigs from the trunk of a fir tree, when suddenly he paused, elevated his nose, and sniffed. "i smell smoke," he said, "'n' birch-bark smoke, too." 74 the hermit the next moment he started to climb the tree and halted not until well up toward the top. "thar's an opening, 'n' a little lake ahead," he added, returning to earth. the information was a trifle, but it was something of value, and when the hastily cooked meal was eaten, they pushed on, and now the stream, which had grown smaller, seemed likely to lose itself in another swamp. it was now a mere network of narrow leads without current, twisting among bogs of dry sedge and half hidden beneath alders. first one was tried, then another, and even levi was getting discouraged, when an opening showed ahead in the tangle, and soon they emerged into a placid little lake. it was scarce a half mile in diameter, nearly round, and swamp bordered for three-quarters of its circumference. to the right of where they entered, and on its north side, the shore was high and thickly grown with spruce, and here also was a bit of sandy beach. without a word of comment, levi turned his canoe toward this, and side by side the two little craft drew near, to halt suddenly when within a few rods, the hermit's home 75 for there on the bank and beside a narrow path lay a birch canoe, bottom up! and well they might halt to see that tangible evidence of human existence, so far from civilization and so absolutely hid in the wilderness. then the two men looked at each other, while both canoes, as if sharing their feelings, drew close together. the doctor was first to speak. "can it be he?" he whispered. martin shook his head, looking and listening. the question now was not so much whether "he" was lurking in the thicket back of the canoe, as how he would be apt to receive callers. the canoe looked harmless an old-fashioned one of birch bark and not the later kind made of canvas. it was long, narrow, and shallow, patched in many places and must have had many years of service. we hesitate about landing on unknown shores, and martin now experienced this feeling; but at last he motioned to levi, and as his canoe grounded on the sandy beach, martin stepped out with rifle in hand and led the way up the narrow path. and very slowly those four, in single file, advanced. the path 76 the hermit wound around, ascending a low hill, thick grown with spruce at its base, then white birch on top, and beyond those soon appeared an opening, and facing it a log-cabin half hidden under green vines. a smaller one stood back of it. the opening bristled with blackened stumps, a fence of birch stakes driven into the earth and bound with bark withes, surrounded cabins and cleared space, and in this rude garden spot potatoes, beans, and corn, were just growing green. no occupant of the cabin was visible, its door was closed, and as the now astonished party drew near, a dozen or more red squirrels were observed, perched on the cabin or frisking about it, scolding and chattering. one bolder than the rest advanced to meet the visitors with evident delight. it was such a peaceful scene, and the squirrels added such a touch of nature to the wild-wood home, all fear of grizzly faced wild men vanished. if this was the lair of one, he certainly must be poetic of nature and therefore harmless. martin knocked on the door, but received no response, then lifted the latch, opened it a little way and glanced in. the interior was neat, and the hermit's home 77 odorous with fir boughs, a few dishes were piled on a shelf-like table, two stools of split slabs stood near a small stove in one corner, and on the bunk lay the skins of two lucivees and a deer, while others hung from the log walls. a few steel traps also hung from chains, and as if to add a welcome to the now surprised callers, while they looked, a squirrel suddenly appeared at the one little window, now open, sat upright and began to chatter. a faint smell of smoke, mingling with the balsam odor, showed the cabin to have been recently occupied. on a bench outside the door lay a short broom made of twigs. the smaller cabin contained wood cut and split and a pile of chips in front all bespoke this lone hut to be a human habitation. but where was its owner, and what manner of man must he be, content to live thus buried in this wilderness? then the four men, like children, began a tour of investigation, and every trifle held interest. an axe that sadly needed grinding, with a helve of white birch, a pail deftly fashioned out of birch bark, a hoe that hung from a cranny be78 the hermit tween the logs, and even the vines climbing the log walls and growing green over the pole and bark-thatched roof, were examined. in one corner of the garden a long, narrow bed was green with plants that might bear flowers later, a row of bending and broken-down stalks along the fence, with broad heads picked clean of seeds, showed where sunflowers had grown the previous year, and as all this domestic and home-making evidence was noted, it seemed more and more certain that the wearer of moccasins, with panther's claws, was not the occupant of this wild-wood home. but who was he? and as if in answer to this query, and just as the visitors were grouped in front of the hut, an old man, tall, gaunt, with tangled white hair and long beard, suddenly appeared from one side of the cabin. he was coatless, hatless, and barefoot; a gray shirt patched in many places and trousers more so were his only dress; and, as he halted, looking first at one and then at another of the group with wide-open, solemn eyes, his arms hung limp and motionless. chapter ix the hermit "how do you do, sir?" said martin, pleasantly, but with inward trepidation. "my friend and myself and our guides have just landed here and made bold to call." it was a civil speech and all true, but it brought no response. instead, this rip-vanwinkle-like man looked again at one and then another of the four with his big round eyes, but uttered no word. "i hope we are not intruding," continued martin; "we certainly didn't mean to, but it was curious to find a human dwelling here." then this queer old man spoke. "what do you want," he asked, in a not unkind voice, "are you hungry?" it was like the first thought of a savage, or perhaps, of all wild animals. "oh, no," answered martin, "we happened 79 86 the hermit to see your canoe on the bank, and landed out of curiosity. then we followed the path and found your cabin. we had no intention of intruding, and hope we are not." it was all that could be said, but it had no effect upon this nick o' the woods, for he made no reply, but turned and entered his cabin, closing the door after him. "well, i call that cool," muttered the doctor, while martin, decidedly taken aback, looked at levi. "guess we ain't welcome," he said again, glancing at the closed door, "and had best go." it was seemingly all that was left, and martin, more astonished than ever, turned and led the way back to the canoes. "i've had cold shoulder before," he said, when well away, "but none quite like this. why, the man must be demented." "he certainly isn't fond of society," responded the doctor, and then, as if with common impulse, or perhaps because suspense had ended, both began to laugh softly. but another and less humorous side to the situation was made pertinent by the sun, now the hermit 81 vanishing into the wilderness-where to find a camp site. to camp where they were, and so near this apparently insane hermit, was not, perhaps, wise, and yet curiosity to find out more about him held them. "i'm not going to give up this way," asserted martin, at last, after a brief discussion, "he's certainly harmless, and i'm going to try him again. of one thing i'm satisfied he isn't our wild man." "i don't want to meet him alone in the woods after dark, though," responded the doctor. but night was near, twilight already falling, and in a little cove, just around from the landing, they pushed ashore again and made a hurried camp. and now beside the cheerful fire once more, with the dark forest on one side, the little lake in front and the apparently halfinsane and altogether mysterious old hermit not a hundred rods away, they discussed him thoroughly as might be expected. as every detail of his home had been of interest, so now was he, as well as those trifles. g 82 the hermit in the busy world one man is so like hundreds of others in garb, speech, habit, and thought, he ceases to be of even passing interest. he may be neat or slovenly, handsome or homely, bright or stupid, brave or cowardly, or any one of the many extremes that make up human nature no matter. he is but one grain of sand among millions just like him, and we care not even what his name may be. but to martin and the little doctor, still keenly alive to the mystery that had pursued them for many days, and now coming upon another, as great if less dread, it absorbed all thought, or, in the vernacular, it "kept them guessing." and for reason. the hermit, for such he must be called, was no different in dress and appearance than any man of his age would be who had turned his back upon humanity for many years, his habitation as good as such unaided would be likely to erect-in fact, better cared for and with more of refinement about it than one would naturally expect. but the absorbing question was how and why any human being much less one who would plant flowers, the hermit 83 tame a squirrel, and even sweep out his abode would be content to thus dwell in solitude twice one hundred miles from a human dwelling. it was unaccountable, and the longer martin and the doctor discussed it, the more so it seemed. and then, when the crackling fire had grown silent and they paused in the chat to watch the moon, round and red, creep in sight over the tree-tops, adown through the still night air, from the hermit's hut, came the low, soft twanging of a jews'-harp very faintly; yet so perfect was the stillness, even the melody that unique player rendered could be distinguished, and "way down upon the suwanee river," whispered through the forest over and over again. then came others of the same sad refrain, to end at last with the saddest of all, "home, sweet home." in silent astonishment now martin and the doctor sat listening until the lowly, pitiful playing ceased, and then looked at each other. a new and still more unaccountable and pathetic element of mystery had been added 84 the hermit to this hermit's character. that he tamed squirrels was natural enough; that he cared for flowers was surprising; but to find he had a soul attuned to melody was astonishing. and he was content to live thus alone, buried in a pathless wilderness, year after year? it was past all comprehension. when morning came, martin decided that he alone might possibly obtain some consideration from this queer hermit, at least to the extent of replies to a few questions, and armed with a can of condensed milk and two or three cans of fruit as peace offerings, he made him a call. how he succeeded can best be told in his own words. "i found him on his knees," he reported upon his return, "but he was not praying-merely pulling weeds in the garden. he looked up when i bade him good morning, and then kept on weeding without a word. i asked one or two questions, but obtained no answer, and then a little in doubt whether i had best throw the cans at him and run, or try again, i "they have souls, same as you and i" page 85 ; • 1 the hermit 85 paused. presently he arose, looked at me with those moon eyes, and asked what i wanted. 'nothing,' i said, 'except to find out whether you are lonesome, and if you will accept what i've brought.' "he shook his head, turned away, faced around again, and started for the cabin, and i followed. here he sat down on the bench, lowered his face into his hands, and for five minutes spoke not a word. i put the cans down beside him, squatted on a stump, and began calling to the squirrels. then he looked up and smiled, and i never was more grateful for a smile. 666 'they won't hurt you,' he said, as one came close to me. as squirrels seemed to be the only avenue to his speech, i began to talk of them, and he joined in, telling me how they stole his corn, how they lived with him in winter, and what he fed them. he called them up to him with one peculiar cluck and stroked them, happy as a child. they have souls,' he said at last, same as you and i, and i'm going to be one of 'em some day.'" "it was curious and yet pitiful, but i failed 6 86 the hermit how long to find out anything about him he'd lived there, or who he was. one or two questions he answered sane enough, others in a vague way, as if he failed to understand them, and some he ignored entirely. when i arose to go, he arose also, and then some sudden impulse led me to offer my hand. he took it naturally enough, and we shook with a warm clasp. "good-by,' i said, and he said, 'good-by,' and stood and watched me out of sight. he is sane, and yet he isn't, or rather, he is almost childlike, and absolutely harmless." "he must have some sense and intelligence, or he'd starve here," said the doctor, when martin finished his story. "no imbecile or semi-lunatic could secure food and keep from freezing winters." and this medical opinion, as it may be called, fairly covered the case, though in no wise explaining the mystery. neither did martin make further attempt to may have been from a sense of pity for this half-demented old man, whose sole joy was the friendship of squirrels, for martin and the solve it. it the hermit 87 doctor left the lake that day, and the hermit to his solitude, as well. no more queer footprints were found, however, and the doctor grew less nervous as they journeyed through the wilderness. but the hermit's face, his long white beard and tangled hair, his moon eyes, his tame squirrels, and all that made him mysterious, formed the main subject discussed around each evening's camp-fire. though not a ghost, yet he followed them even to the border of the wilderness, a pathetic, mysterious, and altogether fascinating memory. chapter x greenvale it was a brook, or rather three brooks, that gave birth to greenvale. one, the largest, known as the mizzy (originally misery stream) came from, no one knew where, up between two ranges of mountains and out of a five-milelong morass, rightly called misery swamp. for many miles the mizzy twisted and turned between high wooded banks, diving under overhanging and moss-covered rock walls, down through deep intervales canopied with thick hemlock and fir, keeping always in shadow, as if ashamed of its origin, till at last it leaped into freedom and sunlight over a low ledge at the head of an oval valley. here it was joined by two smaller streams, one called fall brook, laughing down a narrow gorge in the mountain, active, pure, and fearless, as becomes a well-ordered brook; 88 greenvale 89 the other known as the ox bow, and of a similar tenor, coming from the opposite range of low mountains between which lies the valley now partially occupied by greenvale. at the head of this, ever so many years ago, an enterprising pioneer named asa curtis built a sawmill, taking his power through a flume out of the ready-at-hand falls of the mizzy, and floating his logs down that stream at spring-freshet time. gradually others joined him, until a half-dozen houses were grouped near the junction of the three streams, and the spot became known as the forks. then others came, clearing up the fertile valley below and erecting houses. a grist-mill and dam were built just above the mouth of fall brook, and following these natural adjuncts of civilization came a small log schoolhouse, and later a little church in the valley below. a semi-weekly stage line was established to a larger village twenty miles further down. the mizzy, and where it joined a river, which service was finally increased to a daily one. a tavern with a capacious open fireplace in its office and bar-room combined, was built; 90 the hermit one, two, and finally three stores were started, and in place of "the forks," the village name was changed to greenvale. in the meantime the revolution had been fought, the village cemetery had grown to ample proportions, asa curtis had passed on, his son jotham, inheriting the saw and grist mill, had become old, and as gray as the flour that daily settled upon him, until he, too, was laid away in the quiet part of the village, willing the two mills, his lands, and ever so many acres of forest, together with the capacious house he had built at the head of the valley, to his two sons, david and amzi, with the queerest kind of a provision. there was to be no division, but the property must be shared in common; neither could sell a foot of land while the other lived, and the survivor should inherit all. both were to occupy the dwelling, taking care of their mother while she lived. david, the elder, was to manage the saw and amzi the grist mill. as might be expected, tying two men together in such a manner was sure to produce discord, and it did. then, to make an unhappy situation greenvale 91 worse, the two brothers were diametrically opposite in temper and disposition. david was close-fisted to the verge of meanness, narrow-minded, conceited, self-willed, and bigoted in his religious opinions; while amzi freehearted, kindly natured, easy-going, knew not the value of money, nor cared a dreamer who loved nature, and was totally indifferent to the rigid calvinism that constituted greenvale's religion. he would rather raise flowers than corn, go fishing than work, and liked to spend his sundays in the woods better than in church. in due course he married, though his brother never did, and after a year built a small house near the sawmill, and, with his young wife, left the paternal abode. by this time a feud had started between the two brothers, so bitter that they were not on speaking terms. then a child. a girl was born to amzi. a freshet destroyed the dam above his mill, and david refused to rebuild it, though begged to do so by the neighbors, who knew the situation. amzi got into debt and discouraged, and then to to crown troubles, his wife sickened and died. he grew more ― ――― 92 the hermit morose and despondent, was often absent in the woods all day, until one june morning the little girl, angeline, woke up to find herself alone in the house. her father had taken his gun, a few of his clothes, and had left for parts unknown. then the girl, old enough to know the bitter feeling that existed between her father and uncle, took refuge with her mother's older sister, a widow living farther down the valley, and the little house by the mill was closed; and for many days and weeks the entire village waited and watched for the missing man's return, but in vain. mrs. comfort day, or aunt comfort, to whom the child had flown, was advised to take legal action, but refused. "the lord's wrath 'll overtake him some day," she said, "'n' while we're waitin', i'll take care o' angie." she adopted the girl, rearing her as her own; and so, to all intents and purposes, the heritage of amzi reverted to david. but it carried a curse, for a sense of justice, beyond the power of foolish wills or law, existed in that simple village, and all considgreenvale 93 ered david curtis responsible for the strange disappearance of his brother. in time he rebuilt the dam, for grist must be ground, attended to his sawing, went regularly to church, as usual, grew more exacting, avaricious, and mean than ever, if that were possible; refused to pay the debts amzi had incurred, held converse with but few, and that solely on business, and seemed to defy the tide of public opinion which he knew was setting against him. when his mother, about the only friend left him in the village, died, an old negress was imported to keep house for him; and if lack of social recognition and probable gnawing of conscience could be considered as wrath of god, aunt comfort's benediction seemed likely of fulfilment. he was still a rich man, however; the rev. eleazer jones still extended the brotherly hand to him; he was ever ready to contribute liberally to the church as if that would buy him absolution; a few sycophants fawned upon him, hoping for return, and so his life was not entirely useless. 94 the hermit in the meantime greenvale slowly increased in size; the falls of the mizzy shouted in the spring and murmured in summer; winter evenings found many of the villagers gathered in captain tobey's tavern, swapping news and sipping toddy; crops and silos and the cheapest fertilizers were here discussed; the village was divided into districts, and each district was furnished with a more modern and framed schoolhouse, and angie curtis, now grown to young womanhood, was installed as teacher in one of them. a new orthodox church, fitted with a tall spire, a larger bell, and also a mortgage, had been erected; another and smaller, a unitarian church, also arose, flourished meagrely for two years and then closed, also in debt. solomon finch, a quick-witted though under-sized young man, who had gone away to study medicine, returned to dispense pills, paregoric, and plausibilities to greenvaleites; a village debating society started, and the need of paved sidewalks, a system of sewers, a water-supply, and an academy discussed. an annual townmeeting was held, where the momentous quesgreenvale 95 tions of who should be first selectman, supervisor of road making, pound-keeper, hog-reeve, field-drivers, and school committee men, were settled; and more than all this in importance, a railroad had crept up to within twenty miles of greenvale, with promise of extension to it in the near future. all this is but a series of marginal notes showing greenvale's evolution from the forks, and when dr. sol deserted his patients for the first time since he began practice, and went away for an outing with martin frisbie, an old schoolmate, the village was as prosperous as one so far from a railroad could be. chapter xi aunt comfort's asylum "nezer! nezer!" called aunt comfort, from the kitchen door that june sunday morning, but no answer came. "i declare i never see the beat o' that boy," she muttered, returning to the sitting room, "he's never 'round 'ceptin' meal times, 'n' then he's allus under foot." "what is it, auntie," inquired a younger lady, dressed in gray cashmere, and drawing on a well-worn glove, "anything i can do for you?" "i want a sprig o' fennel and a bunch o' them laylocks to put on the pulpit, 'n' the last bell 'll be ringin' in a minute," the elder one responded in a "flustered" tone, while glancing into a small, gilt-framed mirror. without a word angie gathered her skirts up, barely showing trim ankles, and, tripping 96 aunt comfort's asylum 97 into the garden, soon returned with a cluster of fennel still moist with dew. then, stepping out of the front door, she broke long twigs of lilac blossoms from the two luxuriant bushes flanking the porch. "i'll go on ahead, auntie," she said, placing her fragrant bouquet on the stone step while she drew on the other glove, "and you and hannah can come when she is ready." angie had always "gone ahead" in aunt comfort's home, ever since she had reached the close of school days. and now, a little past "old maid's corner," but not looking it, she ruled the household. it was an odd collection, too, for aunt comfort, large of heart as person, had, in the sixties, contributed husband and only son to the cause of freedom, and to console herself in part had established a "sort o' 'sylum for the homeless," as greenvale would put it. first came hannah pettibone, a hopeless spinster, so angular of temper and features that no one but aunt comfort would have her around. then angie, a tot of six, who one morning had awakened to complete orphanhood and desertion in the house h 98 the hermit near the mill, and scared, hungry, and in tears, had run to her aunt's with her tale of woe and the first news of her father's disappearance. after angie came hans, an import, who walked barefoot into greenvale one hot summer day, his possessions tied in a red bandanna, and he unable to speak a word of english. it mattered not, however, for as "aunt lorena" thorp phrased it, "if a tramp was lookin' for a hum, he'd find aunt comfort's door open." her last addition to this motley collection was ebenezer talmage, or "nezer," whose father had been sent to jail for stealing, and whose mother, discouraged by poverty and a cough, had gone hence, leaving him a town charge. as was customary in greenvale, nezer was then "bound out" to the highest bidder. that is, some landowner gave a bond for the boy's maintenance, agreeing to allow him so many month's schooling until he reached the age of fourteen, and, in lieu thereof, to receive his labor until of age. in this case david curtis became nezer's proprietor, but as david's tableboard was notorious for its "thinness," the hun• aunt comfort's asylum 99 gry boy was soon driven to secret visits pantryward, to end in discovery, a whipping, and a bread-and-water diet for three days. but nezer was not the boy to endure this for long, and one cold winter morn aunt comfort found him half starved, at her back door, crying and begging for food. how her motherly heart opened, how she warmed and fed him beside the kitchen stove; how he pleaded to remain, willing to work and sleep in the barn; and how she, with misgivings as to "the law on 't," finally consented, is numbered with her many good samaritan acts. "it's a burnin' shame to treat a poor orphan that way," was her comment, "'n' if david curtis wants him back, let him come 'n' fetch him. if he does, he'll git a piece o' my mind." but david made no effort to reclaim nezer, and as no one else cared what became of him, aunt comfort added him to her assortment of unfortunates, and set about bringing him up according to her light. he was a hard problem to solve, however, for once fed and warmed, his sole ambition was mischief of the most diabolical kind. he shod aunt comfort's cat with 100 the hermit clam-shells, fastened by grafting-wax, and, with a fish-line for halter, gave that unhappy cat her first lesson in skating on the mill-pond. it was joy supreme to nezer, while he watched his victim humping, yowling, and vainly clawing the smooth ice, as the wind drew her across, only to be dragged back and repeat the exercise. when early spring came, he found a nest of black snakes, still dormant, and putting them in a bag, took them to angie's school, where he was a pupil, and, slyly tucking them under the franklin stove, awaited developments, which came in due time, and resulted in every girl, including angie, seeking safety on top of benches and desks and screaming with delirious fear, while the big boys enjoyed a snake-killing bee. nezer's star act came later, however, when he caught and placed a large eel in hannah's bed one night, and as that spinster felt the cold creature squirming around her attenuated legs, she paused not at all until she landed at the foot of the back stairs with a broken arm, besides serious injury to her feelings. of course nezer and aunt comfort held discussions over the subjects of snakes and eels, aunt comfort's asylum ioi during which a handful of wiry apple sprouts were the convincing argument. they had an enlivening effect on nezer's bare legs, but failed in moral influence, for when bumblebees came it occurred to him that hans, always slow and phlegmatic, would most likely be livened up some by "bumbles." to nezer it seemed a happy thought, and he accordingly trapped a few of those insects in a jar, and deftly inserted it between the sheets of han's bed late one night. that stolid boy was never before known to hurry much in getting out, but this time he did, and without waiting for a call. there was no end to the pranks nezer cut up at home, around the village, or at school, which he kept in an uproar most of the time, until, no matter what happened, it became a foregone conclusion, "nezer did it." of course aunt comfort, in her desire to bring nezer up in the way he should be, provided a new suit with brass buttons and collar pinned to the roundabout, and bow of black silk from a remnant of an old dress, and, thus arrayed, took him to church. but wearing this uncomfortable raiment, and sitting two hours in 102 the hermit a high-backed pew, while the birds were singing in the trees outside, and trout might be caught, was dire punishment to nezer, and when breakfast and chores were over sunday mornings, his red hair and freckled face were usually missing. angie, however, was the bright particular star in aunt comfort's asylum, and from the day she entered it, barefoot and in tears, until now, well developed and well poised, she was at once the life, light, and guiding spirit of the household, and the idol of her aunt's heart. she planned the style and made most of aunt comfort's and hannah's dresses, trimmed their best "bunnits," and as the asylum's income depended upon a few acres tilled by hired help, together with two cows and a flock of poultry, as soon as she was old enough she had applied for and obtained a chance to teach in one of the outlying district schools a mile from the village. she also, by rare economy, added a little to the home furnishing, and replaced the oldfashioned melodeon in the parlor with a modern piano, and during many a lonely evening taught aunt comfort's asylum 103 herself to play. like most country girls, of whom she was a fair type, she became self-helpful and self-reliant at an early age. while angie was the light of the home, aunt comfort may be called its statue of faith, hope, and charity combined. trouble, poverty, and self-denial had been her portion for many years; she lived and worked almost solely for others without complaint, and, except for angie, would not have gratified herself with a new dress or "bunnit" once in five years. she saw only the best side of all; if they failed to do right, it was from lack of knowledge rather than intention. only kindly words ever fell from her lips (except in one case, and that well merited), and though urged to do so by squire phinney, she flatly refused even to demand from david curtis angie's rights and inheritance. "let him keep it if he wants to," she said; "he won't be the happier for 't in the long run, 'n' soon or late the lord 'll see justice sarved." in fact, this ingrained faith that in due time the lord would right all wrongs, was the keynote of her character. david curtis was, as all greenvale knew, a pious hypocrite, a grasping 104 the hermit miser, willing to rob even his orphaned niece of her heritage, as he had, and yet aunt comfort still believed that he would yet be made to repent. her home was also as capacious as her benevolence, an ancestral inheritance, brown and moss covered. it stood well back from the village street, with vine-covered porch flanked by lilacs, two oval panes over the front door, giant maples, scarred by countless auger holes, shaded the deep dooryard whose picket fence leaned zig-zag and gray, and where peonies, sweet-williams, and hollyhocks grew. inside the house was even more antique, with angular, haircloth furniture and brass firedogs in the parlor, lithographs of george washington and perry's victory on the walls, and green and gold shades, never raised except on state occasions. in the sitting room, more cheerful, with a bright rag carpet and chintzcovered settle, stood a tall clock of solemn tick, while four-posters, girded with cords, and wooden chairs painted blue, stood in the spacious chambers. these never knew carpets, and the floor of the best one was also painted blue. aunt comfort's asylum 105 this, on cold winter nights, contained countless shivers and chills as well. the garret was always odorous with sassafras, pennyroyal, and peppermint, for aunt comfort believed in "arbs"; and big and little spinning-wheels gathered dust under the rafters, from which in winter depended well-browned hams and links of sausage. a vein of pathos as well as benevolence ran through aunt comfort's life, for in the best chamber closet hung a faded blue blouse, cap, sword, and belt. they were the sole relics of her husband, captain day, returned to her by a comrade of his on the field of gettysburg. the blouse was torn and blood-stained, the sword rusty, the belt mildewed, but all the wealth of the indies could not have bought them from aunt comfort. once a year, and always on the tenth of may, her wedding-day, she went to that closet alone, and, with tear-dimmed eyes, dusted them carefully, put them back, and, locking them in and her own sorrow with them, resumed her patient, hopeful, helpful life. chapter xii greenvale is disturbed dr. sol's return to greenvale was an event in the annals of that quiet village. for fifteen years he had traversed his daily rounds, feeling pulses, prescribing pills, and how the old ladies with their "janders," and old men with lumbago got along without him for a month was a marvel. but none died, and though not flattering to him none were the worse off. naturally the story of his wonderful adventures in the wilderness, the wild man, the lone cabin with its bell signal, and the hermit, made an exciting tale which was listened to with open-mouthed wonder by all. martin frisbie's possible return, rich, and likely to abide in greenvale, was also of keen interest, and for a week this and the doctor's experiences formed the sole topic of conversation in every home. his subsequent call at aunt comfort's, where he and his fat wife "drapped in" about once a week, was 106 greenvale is disturbed 107 also an event, and for three hours he talked steadily. nezer was the most interested listener, however, and he sat in one corner, so excited that he hardly breathed. he had read a few dime novels, but this was the real thing, and dr. sol a hero beyond compare. for days and weeks after nezer lived over that marvellous tale again and again, each time counting the years that must elapse ere he could obtain a gun and go into the wilderness and live as that old hermit did. aunt comfort and the rest were also charmed listeners, and when the doctor came to martin's probable return to greenvale, angie was the most interested of all, and not entirely pleased with it. he had been her youthful knight-errant in school days, and later at parties, husking-bees, and the like; he had taught her the lesson of first love and then left her abruptly, and she was not of the fibre that soon forgot. she cherished no malice; she was now mature enough to realize that such early experiences are inevitable and to be laughed over later on, and yet she was not anxious to meet martin again. she fancied from the doctor's meagre description that he 108 the hermit had grown stout, consequential, and arrogant over his success in life; that he had attained to riches and would insist on informing every one of that fact in all manner of ways. she hated bumptious men at sight, and was sure he would now prove to be one. once he was her girlish ideal, now he would inevitably prove irritating. while the voluble doctor was mingling more or less of martin his looks, actions, speech, and opinions into the tale of adventure, angie, keen and well accustomed to drawing her own conclusions, now formed an opinion of martin, and one not to his credit. the doctor had liked him that was to be expected; they both enjoyed wood life, and martin had paid all expenses, she learned that was another reason. his return to spend more money in greenvale would redound to the doctor's credit (still more reason for admiration), and as dr. sol talked. on and on, angie became distrustful and more certain that she would rather never meet this old-time admirer again. toward the close of the evening, dr. sol also indulged in unfortunate raillery. "i fancy," he said, "that a certain plump ― ――――― greenvale is disturbed 109 schoolma'am here is the magnet that is drawing martin to greenvale, and if she is wise, she will meet him halfway." then, as angie made no response, he added: "you were about the only person here in whom he showed much interest, angie. he inquired how you looked and what you were doing, and when i assured him you had no beau and were most likely waiting for him-well, if we hadn't been following a mysterious wild man, i think he'd have started out of the woods next day." it was only the doctor's pleasantry, of course, but angie's eyes snapped. "i wonder you didn't tell him i had kept a wedding-gown all ready for ten years," she answered, "and would come to the city to meet him." "oh, no, he wouldn't expect that," continued the doctor, who never tired of teasing angie; "but i assured him that i never met you without you mentioned him in some way, and he could pop the question with perfect safety. i think he will, too." "oh, of course," rejoined angie, with spirit, "all men imagine that every woman they look at twice is ready to fall into their arms, espeiio the hermit cially those who belong to the medical profession. of all men blessed with abnormal self-esteem, commend me to a doctor!" but dr. sol never winced. "i'll bet you a wedding-hat against a box of cigars, angie," he continued, "that you will contrive to go to church alone the first evening he is likely to be there; or if he calls sooner, he will find you with best bib and tucker on." when the callers had departed, aunt comfort addressed her with: "i think, angie, we'd best set to 'n' make up that figgered muslin you was callatin' for best this summer, 'n' mebbe a couple o' pretty waists. if martin frisbie's comin' to visit the doctor, he'll be like to call, 'n' you'll want suthin' cool 'n' becomin' to wear." "he will see me in my everyday dress or not at all," returned angie, firmly. "besides, i don't believe yet he's coming. city men have no use for us country people. we are too slow." but this was only the beginning to angie's annoyance, for the next sunday at church, aunt lorey, who was deaf and talked unduly loud, waited for her coming out. "i hear," she said, loud enough to be heard greenvale is disturbed iii across the street, "that your old beau's comin' back. i s'pose you'll be settin' yer cap fer him, won't ye? they say he's got a lot o' money." and angie felt like smiting aunt lorey with her parasol. it was fortunate, perhaps, that this breeze of gossip and raillery blew over before martin reached greenvale; and it must be recorded, also, that angie changed her mind in one respect, and set about making needed additions to her wardrobe. whether this was or was not in any respect due to a desire to look well in the eyes of this returning hero, or solely to a fair maid's latent vanity, can be safely left to the sneering critics of the fair sex. for one thing, she had certainly outgrown the illusion of her youth; martin was no more to her than any other well-behaved man; and yet, down deep in her heart, was a little craving for revenge. she had suffered like all silly girls, she said to herself, and now if he was returning with the idea of finding her a love-lorn maid awaiting his smile of favor, she would soon disabuse him of that conceit. and she was capable of it! chapter xiii illusion and reality while martin had assured the doctor that he intended to return to greenvale for an indefinite time, it is doubtful whether he would except for two reasons-first, angie, and second, the mania that all country-born men of waltonian instincts who drift cityward soon or late have, to retire to the peace of rural life and establish a trout preserve. in martin's case it may be asserted that it was the lady, more especially, that was the attraction. it is a curious phenomenon of love and logic that one may continue for years thinking only of and striving toward one end and aim, and then some trifle may change the current of thought and ambition. with martin it was the jesting assertion of the doctor that angie was a love-lorn maiden still, and doubtless wait112 illusion and reality 113 ing for him to claim her. and such is the astonishing vanity of most men in assuming how their early sweethearts are sure to feel, that martin (no exception) felt that the doctor's jest might perhaps be true. a suspicion soon grows to a certainty, and once martin began to recall that early episode in his life, the more guilty he felt, and the more sure that he wanted to return and pay court once more to angie. he could also afford a wife now, and with him all indulgences, from an outing trip into the wilderness to establishing a home, were decided upon from an economic standpoint. it was weeks before he could so shape his business affairs as to leave the city temporarily, and midsummer ere he packed his trunk, and, with an unwieldy bundle of rods, started for greenvale. "fishing in the old brooks will serve as an excuse," he said to himself, but it was to angle for angie rather than trout. little did he realize how many keen disappointments were in store for him, or how most of the charming fancies of his boyhood were to be dispelled. i 114 the hermit in the first place, he had neglected to notify dr. sol when he was likely to reach greenvale, and so it happened, when the twenty-mile stage ride ended and that dust-laden vehicle, with martin as sole passenger, halted at the doctor's just at twilight, no one was there to receive him. martin paid the rather surly driver who dumped his trunk on the porch and then hurried away, oblivious to what became of, or how fared, his passenger. then martin sat down to think. he had returned to the home of his boyhood after twelve years' absence, dusty, hungry, tired, and slightly, cross, and his only welcome was an empty house and the chance to skirmish for supper at the village tavern. this he did with not over-satisfying results, and then he wandered up the street. a quietude akin to that of a cemetery now pervaded it, and though occasionally he could see the occupants of a house out on the porch, most of the houses seemed empty. fireflies twinkled above the broad meadows of the mizzy, down the valley came the low murmur of its falls, the scent of new-mown hay perfumed the air, and as he illusion and reality 115 strolled on, somewhat soothed by the evening's stillness and his cigar, he came in sight of aunt comfort's. toward it he had many times before turned his steps on just such summer evenings long ago, and what if angie should be there now on the vine-hid porch alone and waiting his coming, as she used to then! the thought made his pulses quicken, but as he drew near he halted. the spot had not changed at all. the great maples, now thick with summer foliage, almost hid the house, the faint odor of lilacs and syringas greeted him; the two oval panes over the front door gleamed like two wide-open eyes, but no white-clad girl sat on the porch. instead, from out the house issued a medley of voices chatting and laughing, quite oblivious of a listener. he did not catch what was said, and did not try, and as he advanced again the tinkling of a piano began, and some one started singing. it sounded like angie's voice, and then others joined in one of the old songs, well remembered by him. it was "in the sweet summer time, long ago," and many a time had he been the sole audience while angie sang it. and now 116 the hermit once more laughter and voices, two of them certainly masculine and while he halted again in shadow, he heard how "in an ivy-covered cottage, hidden back by oaken trees, lived a little maiden blithe and happy as you please. there upon a low veranda every summer eventide, i sit among the flowers, fair camelia by my side." it was all very sweet and charming, and doubtless the young men who were joining angie in the old-time ballad enjoyed it, but somehow martin didn't. he wasn't sitting amid flowers with a "sweet camelia" by his side and what made it worse, another man was in his oldtime place. if angie had been pining for him all these years, it hadn't affected her spirits to a serious extent. then, as another burst of low laughter reached him, he moved on. a little gathering of friends were doubtless enjoying a call at angie's, and he was not one of them. more than that, it began to dawn. upon him that now, upon his return to the illusion and reality 117 scenes of his youth, he was likely to find himself forgotten. at the head of the street he paused again, looking across the mizzy to where the home of david curtis stood. there was no light or laughter here issuing forth, instead the house was silent, solemn, and apparently empty, while the low rumble of the mizzy falls, now close by, was the only sound. for a moment only martin paused, his spirits at low tide, and then retraced his steps. reaching aunt comfort's again, he halted. the callers were still there, voices and laughter still issuing, and the two wide-open eyes over the front door now seemed to glare at him in derision. a stranger in the village of his youth there was not one there who thought of his existence ! even angie, once all in all to him, was, or had just been, joining her voice with another man's. then, as he moved on, how the old memories returned! one by one, like the quick flashing views of a stereopticon, they sped by the many evenings he had sat on that same porch with angie, the lingerings at the gate when the moon118 the hermit light fell checkered through the maples, the summer evening rides along lonely and shaded roads, the winter nights when the snow gleamed white and the bells jingled, the barn dances when their feet and hearts kept happy time to the music of the fiddle, the huskings, the spelling schools, and always the home-coming to this one sacred dwelling, to repeat the parting again and again, and then to walk-no-float away on air! and now, when this dream had become only a charming memory of the long ago, he had returned to find her who had inspired it, singing with others and doubtless oblivious to whether he was dead or alive. it was all the silliest sort of nonsense then, of course, and foolish to try to recall it now; and yet, as martin did, it seemed that to feel the same boyish happiness and live once more in the same fairy palace built of moonshine and filled with delusion, would be cheap at the cost of all the years that intervened. when he, somewhat saddened by these bygones, and not at all sure that his return to greenvale was wise, reached the doctor's illusion and reality 119 home, to find it occupied now, the greeting that followed seemed doubly welcome. "it's all my fault," admitted martin, in response to dr. sol's profuse explanations, "and after all, the hour's stroll gave me a little pleasure, for i passed aunt comfort's and heard angie singing some of the old songs. she has a piano now, i judge." "why didn't you call?" queried the doctor, with a laugh; "she knows you're coming, and it wouldn't have surprised her." but martin answered not, for to admit the facts would expose him to the doctor's raillery. then they sat down to a social chat, the doctor's wife insisting that martin relate his side of that wonderful trip into the wilderness and the discovery of both wild man and hermit, and after that the doctor recounted changes that had taken place in greenvale since martin had left it. one story more, especially pertinent to this narrative, was told by the doctor, and must be quoted. "i suppose you remember old david curtis," he said, "and how he treated his brother amzi? 120 the hermit well, the old miser has almost reached his dotage, and they say his conscience is beginning to trouble him. i've always doubted he had any, but the men who work in his mill and board with him say he imagines the premises have become haunted and hears things at night. he certainly looks more dried up and careworn than ever. then there is a deal of concern here as to what he will do with his property when he passes on; you know, i suppose, that your old flame angie is next of kin, and if he makes no will, she inherits all." "i recall the stories of how he abused his brother," responded martin, "and amzi's mysterious disappearance. i used to half expect to find his bones in misery swamp some day when i set traps there. has no trace of him ever been found?" "no, and i doubt if there ever will be. old cy walker you remember him says he met a man in the woods above the falls about ten years ago, who resembled amzi, and some believe it was he, and that he will return some day." illusion and reality 121 "and there was no settlement of his estate," put in martin, as the old story returned to him, "and didn't angie receive anything finally?" "not a penny. david claimed amzi owed him more than his personal estate was worth, and all realty reverted to him at amzi's death, so angie received nothing. aunt comfort, as you know, brought her up. there's one curious fact about the matter," added the doctor, after a pause, "and that is, never, since amzi's disappearance, has david sold a foot of land." for a few moments martin pondered on this curious complication in silence. he had, as a boy, heard something about it, but it did not then interest him. "what about the dower right of angie's mother?" he asked suddenly; "no will could rob her child of that." "you must ask aunt comfort," responded the doctor, smiling, "and yet, i'd advise you not to. it's a tender subject with her, and never spoken of." then other bits of village history were recounted by the doctor, and squire phinney, 122 the hermit aunt lorey, parson jones, old cy walker and dozens of others, once well known by martin, were spoken of. "i must hunt up old cy to-morrow," asserted martin as the talk ended, "and get him to take me fishing. he used to know where all the best holes were." and thus martin came in touch once more with greenvale's quiet life, and when he was shown into the doctor's best front room, it seemed as if his absence had been only months instead of years. one incident of this first evening — or rather query kept recurring, even after he sought his pillow: to whom belonged the male voice which joined angie's in the old songs, and was he a frequent and welcome visitor there? chapter xiv after many years if there was one thing aunt comfort delighted in more than another, it was "arbs." every summer and fall her capacious garret was stocked with them, and great clusters of thoroughwort, hoarhound, boneset, spearmint, pennyroyal, and coltsfoot, duly labelled, were hung up, together with bunches of sarsaparilla, sassafras, burdock, elderberry, and dog-fennel roots, and bags of lobelia beans. these, it may be said, were her great specifics, whether it was nezer taken with cramps, hannah with "yaller janders," old cy with "rheumatis," or any one else aunt comfort was privileged to dose. every spring, at house-cleaning time, aunt comfort threw out the old "arbs" to be replaced by new, and in the fall the roots were also renewed. in fact, her best black silk, always wrapped in a sheet and hung in a closet, 123 124 the hermit and her best "bunnit" received no more solicitous care than her annual store of "arbs." neither was her dosing proclivity confined to her own family; but if a neighbor was known to be in the least "ailin'," aunt comfort was on hand in no time, and she knew "just what was good for 't." as may be surmised, dr. sol did not relish her encroachments on his calling, but he was a natural-born diplomat, and many a time he would go to aunt comfort and ask for a small bunch of boneset or handful of sassafras roots to use later, and then drop them by the roadside. as a result she always praised dr. sol, and assured the neighbors he "knew his callin'." in pursuance of her regular custom when certain "arbs" were ready for gathering, she had, on this pleasant saturday morning, spent by martin in fishing, gone with angie, and nezer to carry the basket, on an excursion over the hillsides and into the woods overlooking greenvale, and was just returning. nezer, on ahead, halted now and then to shy a stone at a bird or squirrel, aunt · after many years 125 comfort was waddling along, and angie carried an umbrella for a sunshade, when martin came in sight. "i vum, i do believe it's martin frisbie," exclaimed aunt comfort, in a tone of delight; "i heered this mornin' he'd come." "well, what of it?" answered angie, coolly, and secretly nettled at aunt comfort's tone; "no one here is likely to drop dead on that account." the fact is, angie had heard so much about martin, how rich he was in comparison to other greenvaleites and what an event his return to greenvale was likely to be, in the past two weeks, that she was prepared to dislike him at sight. dr. sol, aunt comfort, and several of the gossip-loving neighbors had also reminded her of what she wished to forget. then she also fancied he would be self-conscious of his importance, and deport himself as if he expected the village to bow down before him at sight. she was sure that she would not-in fact, had fully determined that when she did meet him, he would be made to know at once there was one to whom his 126 the hermit coming and wealth were matters of perfect indifference. like all her sex she was a little curious, however, and as he drew near, she noted with feminine eyes every detail of dress and manner. 66 'why, bless me!" he exclaimed, coming up and removing his hat as he extended his hand, "if this isn't aunt comfort, goodnatured as ever; and angie, how are you, too?" and perforce she had to take the hand he offered, though the "how do you do, mr. frisbie?" in return was entirely dignified. "well," he continued rapidly, "i suppose you heard i arrived last night and spent the evening tramping around to kill time? it was a good joke on me, for i forgot to write the doctor, and he was out." "i'm very glad to see you," asserted aunt comfort, "you look nat'r'l. i knew ye the minute i sot eyes on ye." and she beamed upon him in fact, she beamed upon every one. ― but angie was silent, quite willing her aunt should do the talking. after many years 127 "i made an early start for my old favorite trout brook," added martin, pleasantly, glancing at angie's impassive face, "and didn't recognize it when i found it, it has grown so small. i presume i'll find lots of other changes." he came near relating how he had stood for half an hour in front of aunt comfort's home and asking angie if she were not singing, but somehow her reception chilled the impulse. then, after replying to a few more cordial questions from aunt comfort and thanking her for her urgent invitation to call, he once more raised his hat and passed on. and this was his unromantic meeting again, with her whom he had worshipped when a callow youth, and who was destined to mete out to him more humiliation and heartache than all else in his life before. "rather cool," he muttered to himself when out of earshot, "but she hasn't changed much. fits her dress a little better, but same bright eyes and cherry mouth. wonder who was singing with her!” 128 the hermit and as he now wandered aimlessly over the old farm, finding, as he expected, dilapidation, neglect, and makeshift everywhere — meadows choked with bushes, fences rotted and rebuilt by felling saplings, ploughs and tools left to rust in fields, barns awry and full of holes, and worst of all, the house brown from lack of paint, with rags for missing window-panes, it made him sick at heart. then, too, the memories of bygone days, when youth and new ambitions were just becoming motive forces, and angie in her sweet girlish way was sharing them, returned; and as in his wanderings he came once more to the brook that had been his boyhood delight, it seemed to mock him with its chatter and insist how foolish he had been to expect happiness in wealth-gathering solely. in some intangible manner, angie too had conveyed to him the impression that the silliness of her youth was dead and buried forever, and that any reference to it would meet a rebuff. she had said very little, having merely spoken and looked at him in a perfectly courteous and calm manner, her brown after many years 129 eyes curious only, her rounded cheeks guiltless of extra color, and yet there was a poise and air about her that said louder than words: "you and your coming are nothing to me. do not seek to recall the foolishness of our childhood by word or act." this much came to him as he sat by the brook that, like a symbol of life, was forever running away, and when he returned to dinner, he was in a morose mood. "if it wasn't midsummer," he said to dr. sol, "i'd bounce that lazy bates out of the old house in short order. i've looked the farm over and it makes me sick." it is likely he would have been in a worse mood had he heard the comment made by angie after their meeting. "i think, auntie," she said, "that mr. frisbie must have expected all greenvale would be at the doctor's when he arrived, and he probably wonders why we don't follow him about and condole with him because things have changed. he said he supposed we had heard of his arrival, and we have at least i have, with repeats and foot-notes. he must k 130 the hermit think nobody but himself in the world ever got rich. he ought to wear a card on his coat with 'i am martin frisbie, and worth money,' printed on it." "if you don't cotten to him, stella phinney or some other gal will, you can make sure," responded aunt comfort, sagely, and in a tone of reprimand. "young men worth money are skeerce here, 'n' gals ain't all holdin' their noses any higher 'n' need on. you might at least 'a' been civil to him 'n' told him you was glad to see him." then angie laughed. to her aunt comfort was as transparent as glass. there is many a truth uttered in jest, and many a heartache concealed beneath a sarcasm, and angie's sneer must not be taken as an index of her feelings toward her youthful lover. she was prepared for and did meet him with polite indifference, but beneath it lay a sense of injustice and a bit of the old-time pain that no one, not even aunt comfort, suspected. chapter xv boyhood memories living over bygones is about as consoling as an epitaph in a cemetery, as martin learned when he set about a business examination of the old farm. he had returned to greenvale with a vague idea of remaining there, if angie had not forgotten, and still smiled upon him; then, if certain possibilities came about, to build a modern house on the site of the old homestead now owned by him, and for amusement to establish a trout preserve. it was all a nebulous plan, and somehow his first evening's experience and later meeting with angie had partially dispelled that. a few years had wrought great changes her old fondness for him had vanished, and he feared that he was almost forgotten. it was not pleasant, nor what he had secretly hoped, and yet it seemed a fact. 131 132 the hermit his early haunts that he now visited for the first time since his return also read him a lesson of change and bitter-sweet memory. there was the old house, so shocking in its rack-and-ruin condition, the woodshed where he used to hide his fish poles and traps, and beside it the old pear tree. the woodshed seemed a mere coop now, and he smiled at sight of that grindstone he used so to abhor. old memories might be saddening, as they were, but at least he was not likely to be called upon to "turn grin' stun" again until his back seemed broken. then came the garden, with its low wall hid by grape-vines, where he, with vexed spirit, had been made to pull pusley, year after year, and always, it seemed, when he wanted to go fishing. here he had usually dug for angleworms a pleasanter occupation; and when midsummer came, how good those crisp green cucumbers used to taste! beyond was the apple orchard, and, as he entered it again, one tree, to which he had many times been sent to cut sprouts to be used later on, on himself, caught his attention. it was old and boyhood memories 133 almost dead now, but a few of just such slender whips, as mother had used around his bare legs with such cheering effect, still grew from its trunk. and what a delight it had been, in the mellow autumn, to shake those trees and pick up apples, and when the cart was filled, to ride on it to the cider-mill and "holler" to the patient oxen. and then the cider making! how vividly that picture returned! the old horse walking slowly around pulling the sweep, the many-colored apples disappearing in the hopper, the men-folks heaping dripping pumice on the press, and when the cider began to run, how delicious it tasted through a straw! angie used to come here with other girls, on their way from school, and how pretty she used to look in her calico sunbonnet, her hair in one long braid falling in her way as she stooped over to suck cider out of the little rill that ran around the press. martin recalled how he used to keep a bunch of nice white straws hid away, waiting for her, and when she appeared, his heart used to beat a little faster. 134 the hermit it was all a delightful memory, that apple gathering and cider making, and he always regretted when its season was over. and now he wandered up to the brook running through the old farm, the one he was planning to utilize for trout raising, — and as he followed its leaping, laughing course, he paused to look into every eddying pool and at each little cascade. there was one deep hole below the abutments of a wooden road bridge, shaded by a willow, and here he halted longest, for here he had caught his first trout. it was only a little one, yet never since, among the thousands of big ones he had landed from lake or stream, was one that thrilled to his very finger-tips as that one had. and what a change in the stream itself! then this pool appeared deep, dark, and dangerous; now he could wade across it with impunity, and the brook seemed a mere rill. above this it ran through a pasture where laurel grew and where he used to set a boxtrap for rabbits. this, also, was good arbutus ground, and over it and along the bordering boyhood memories 135 woods he and angie had come many times, gathering those fragrant flowers. the laurel was now in full bloom, and great clusters, some pink, some white, surrounded him; but he was alone, and the happy days when he and she together, and sometimes hand in hand, wandered about here, seemed so long ago. he wondered if she would come here now with him, and if she did, would it seem to either as it did then? and now he recalled the recent first meeting again, and her cool reception, so disappointing, and then the oldtime youthful idyl seemed longer ago than ever. life had swept him, and doubtless her, far beyond the old sweet romance, and like the withered autumn leaves he now found crumbling to dust beside rocks, so were those old-time memories doomed. but he still followed the brook, whose laughter mocked his mood, until deep in the swamp where he had set traps and snares for partridges, it became lost in a tangle of alders. then back again, in melancholy frame of mind, he retraced his steps over pasture, meadow, and field, to where the mizzy flowed deep 136 the hermit and still. this he crossed on an old red bridge, also fraught with tender memories, and passed down the by-road to the schoolhouse, sacred to the memory of "two old cat," "pump peterway," kissing-games under an old apple tree with angie in the ring, and awful fright when examination day and speaking pieces came. it looked the same as then, only worse. more initials were carved on the brown boards, and the surrounding bushes hemmed it in a little closer. and as martin paused, looking at it, he wondered if he were the same boy who had come there day after day, creeping slowly in to study and storming out to play. and what would angie say if she stood beside him now, looking at the empty schoolhouse, with not a dwelling in sight and only the birds singing in the gnarled old apple trees, and the sun shining over all? would even these old memories recall aught of mutual heart interest, and brush away the cool reserve she had met him with? he had grown up with her, as it were, then the simple singling out of one another, the boyhood memories 137 quarrels and make-ups adding fuel, and later the keeping company, the walks home from spelling school and meeting, the flower hunting, summer drives in shady woods, winter sleighrides, sparking in aunt comfort's parlor, and all the silly nothings, so momentous then. with the ambition of young manhood, he had turned away from all such foolishness, forgetting it in the busy world; then in the stillness of a wilderness camp it had returned with insidious force, almost compelling thought and action, until now, when looking once again into the eyes of her who wrought this old-time spell, they met his without response. truly, a woman's heart was as transitory as the wind, and first love as short lived as early violets. he almost wished he had not returned to greenvale, and all his fond illusions were fast vanishing. more than all this, it was evident angie had outgrown hers, and was quite happy and content without him. and now as he retraced his steps toward the village after a morning of gloomy memories, it seemed as if fate meant to be kind, for just ahead he espied angie entering the by-road from a pasture. she wore the same broad sun 138 the hermit hat of the day before, carried a pail, and had evidently been after berries. with quick steps martin had almost reached her, when she halted and faced about. “why, how you scared me!" she exclaimed, looking relieved. "i'm sorry," he responded, smiling and raising his hat, "and yet, i'm glad. i've been on a tour over my old haunts, ending at the schoolhouse, and thinking of you." "you find things changed, i presume," she answered coolly, now herself and ignoring his reference. "why, yes, of course. everything seems to have grown smaller, including the old schoolhouse. that seemed a mere turkey coop. you have been after berries, i see," he added, as she made no reply to this. "why, yes," flashing a curious look at him, "country girls always go after berries, rake hay, and drive the cows, and i'm still a country girl, you see." martin laughed. "i hear you are also a schoolma'am now," he rejoined, thinking it wise to change the subject; "where do you teach?" boyhood memories 139 "in the same 'turkey coop' you just visited," she answered, smiling. "why, that's where we used to go to school together; that's funny." then, as she made no response, he continued: "i've been all over the old farm, and up through the laurel pasture where we used to gather arbutus, and back by the old cider-mill. it made me feel like a boy again." "that was pleasant," she replied in a lackinterest tone; "are you thinking of becoming a farmer again?" 66 hardly," a little piqued at her coolness; "i've a notion, though, of building a dam on the farm and raising trout. that's been a hobby of mine for many years. do you enjoy teaching school, angie?" he asked suddenly, realizing that old memories and his plans failed to interest her. --"why, yes, until winter comes. it's quite a long walk." a pause, an inflection, a mere shading of tone will give a keen observer the key to another's feelings, and martin, as he glanced down at the shapely, calico-clad girl beside him, read her 140 the hermit thoughts, and saw her life as it was in an instant. they had been as youthful lovers, all in all to one another, parting with fond promises, he apparently to forget his, and she to continue her simple life as pure and open as the brook he had that day followed. and now on his return, she would not, even by allusion to old associations, admit they had ever been aught to one another. had she wished to renew the old ties, or awaken his interest again, he had given her ample chance, and yet she ignored it. it was pride of the most indomitable sort, and while it hurt, he felt like taking off his hat to it. then, as the history of her life, as related by dr. sol, returned to him on the instant,-her heritage kept from her, a dependent on aunt comfort and obliged to walk a mile to and from that by-road schoolhouse each day, year after year, to earn a pittance, the pathos of it all smote him. he could buy half the village and have money left, and she whom he had many times held close in his arms, and to whom he had whispered loving words, was walking beside him gowned in faded calico and wearing wornout shoes. boyhood memories 141 worse than that, from his viewpoint, now that he had returned, anxious to atone for years of neglect and renew the old lovership, she would not even admit that it ever existed. "angie," he said, after a long pause, "i came near calling on you the evening i arrived. the doctor was out and i walked up to your house, but heard singing, and concluded you had callers." "well, why didn't you," she answered, smiling; "you are not bashful, are you?" "no, but i didn't feel like intruding. i stood under the maples, however, and enjoyed your singing a few moments." but even this brought no response, and fully conscious now that she intended to avoid all reference to old memories, he began speaking of his plans for trout raising. "won't you come in?" she asked pleasantly, when the house was reached; "aunt comfort will be glad to see you." "no, thank you," he answered in the same tone, "not now." and, raising his hat, he turned away. chapter xvi sunday in greenvale originally, a strict observance of the lord's day began in greenvale at sundown saturday, and became a twenty-four hours of penance. no cooking was supposed to be done, no chores except imperative ones, long prayers were repeated night and morning by the heads of the families, two lengthy sermons by the orthodox parson, each extending to "seventeenthly," then to "finally," and "in conclusion," occupied most of the day. to the young it was a long, solemn period of gloom from sun to sun, and if a boy was detected near a brook, or caught cracking a nut, merciless punishment followed. when the first bell sounded at nine o'clock, all (unless sick) were supposed to get ready, those at a distance came in all manner of 142 sunday in greenvale 143 conveyances, left lined up in the long row of sheds back of the church. at ten o'clock the second bell was rung, when all were expected to be in their seats and a penitent frame of mind. if a late-arriving farmer entered, tiptoeing down the aisle in tallowed, but squeaking boots, all turned, frowning at him, and when the last note of the tolling bell died away and the parson arose in the tall pulpit, the solemnity was so dense that it could be felt. then came a short prayer, a hymn read in full but abbreviated a little by "please omit the third and fifth stanzas," and droned in long metre by the assembled sufferers, and after that the long prayer in which the worthy parson not only recited what the lord's plans were, but his theories in reference to them, together with a surfeit of advice. at last "amen" was reached and then came a general clearing of throats. at this juncture the old ladies usually nibbled fennel or flagroot. of the sermon that followed, also in long metre, the least said the better. few under144 the hermit stood it as anything pertinent to their daily lives or followed it beyond "tenthly," and when the inevitable collection, closing hymn, and benediction ended the two hours of gloom, the young people at least were glad to escape. the congregation had been assured and proof offered that god created humanity expecting and intending to damn all who did not believe in the true and only orthodox creed; that all other creeds were heresies and their followers sure to flounder in burning brimstone; that unbaptized babes, and all nations that were heathen, would eventually be relegated to the fiery furnace and the worm that never dies; and, worse than that, told in solemn and sepulchral tones that wife, child, father or mother, brother or sister, who did not come into this, the only true fold, and accept this, the only true gospel and salvation, would also be damned forever. later, another creed known as unitarian secured a small following in greenvale, who erected a modest church which flourished meagrely a few years and then disbanded in debt. in time also the rigid calvinism and strict sunday in greenvale 145 sunday observance slowly merged into a growing indifference. many of the younger generation failed of conversion, and when martin frisbie accompanied dr. sol and his wife to the sanctuary the first sunday after his return, not more than half who gathered there were members. as he expected, martin was stared at slyly, and when services were over, a few of the elderly ones halted in the porch to greet him, for dr. sol had spread the news that he was now quite rich and might take up his residence in greenvale. aunt comfort was one of these, but angie merely bowed and walked on with hannah. as their path was the same, martin had half expected the two families would walk homeward together and thus give him a chance to chat with angie; but it did not occur. when the greetings were over, however, he walked away with aunt comfort. when evening came, martin was in somewhat of a quandary. he had met angie three times, and on each occasion she had shown no more than ordinary courtesy and no vestige of any deeper feeling. then to walk on ahead l 146 the hermit of the rest, as she had that morning, seemed almost a snub. but a certain dogged determination inherent in him conquered indecision, and when the evening bell called and she appeared, he boldly advanced and in the most polite manner offered his company churchward. now it was a well-understood social custom in greenvale that, when a young couple of marriageable age walked to church together, they were engaged, or willing to be so considered, and hence, when martin walked up the aisle that evening and faced about to let angie enter the pew first, every eye in the church was upon them and her face was very red. full well she knew what all were thinking and what a tempest of gossip would follow. it did not occur to martin, however, until service was over, and as he opened the hymn-book, found the places and stood up, he was quite proud of himself. but on the way home a species of frost seemed to fall upon angie and her "won't you come in?" when the gate was reached, was so chilly he came near refusing it. the old custom had recurred to him by this sunday in greenvale 147 time, however, and he felt he owed her an apology. but it must be delayed, for aunt comfort and hannah sat upon the porch, and for an hour the four chatted of commonplaces and the evening, which was one worth talking about, for the moon's full light glowed in the maples and fell checkered through the latticed, vine-hid porch where they sat, the syringas in the dooryard mingled their odor with the newmown meadows, and the low murmur of the mizzy falls whispered in the balmy air—an evening when cupid should be abroad. but angie was decidedly out of harmony with it. she would not have gone to church had she dreamed that martin would have intruded his company upon her. she could not refuse it without affront, and thus caught, had gone on to feel herself a spectacle for all eyes and a target later for all tongues, and this, in the face of her determined effort so far, to avoid his attentions. something of this came to him by degrees, however, and when they were left alone together, his first words were humble. "i owe you an apology, angie," he said, 148 the hermit quite meekly, "and realize i've put my foot in it, to-night; i didn't until i saw that we were stared at, and i hope you will pardon my blunder." "oh, it was nothing," responded angie, quietly, "and no harm has been done." it was the least she could say. "i've been away so many years," he continued, "i've forgotten greenvale's social laws, and how they will gossip here. i won't make another such blunder, i assure you." then, as she made no further response to this, perforce he had to speak of something, and launched into a recital of the incidents of his recent trip with dr. sol. it was ancient history to her, but she listened and commented with simulated interest. it was forced, as martin soon felt, and a gradual sense of his own failure to interest her grew upon him. beyond that her chilly reception of him upon all occasions, added to the changes he had found in his old haunts, now rendered him gloomy. he had tried his best to be agreeable, he had spoken all the pleasant words he could, pertinent to the occasion; he had shown his desire sunday in greenvale 149 to pay her attention, and it all availed not. his return had so far been a disappointment in all respects, and he began to wish that he had kept away from greenvale. "did you ever read the story of rip van winkle, angie," he asked at last, "and how the old fellow, after sleeping twenty years, returned to his village to find himself dead to all? i never before realized how he felt, but to-night i do. i've been here less than a week, but i have come to realize 'how soon we are forgot,' as rip said." it was not a wise speech, and in view of the manner in which he had turned his back upon angie years before, it was an ungrateful one. it stung her to the quick; and yet he was her guest, and she forbore to reply sharply. "we are all in the same position," she answered pleasantly, "and out of sight, out of mind, applies to us all. if one forgets, he should not complain at being forgotten." "that is true," he replied, quick to catch her reproof, "but the grind of life and fight for a competence are factors that must be considered. we are not always our own masters in life." 150 the hermit "no," she said with a laugh, and still resolved to be nice, "i have realized that many times when my own purse was empty and i owed a few bills." for a moment he paused, as if considering how to answer, and then suddenly rose to go. “once again, i beg your pardon for the annoyance i caused you this evening," he said, "and i assure you it won't happen again. i see i alone am to blame for being forgotten. i must make a fresh beginning. may i call again?" "why-yesof course," she replied, also "we are near neighbors, and why rising, shouldn't you?" and with that slight encouragement, he bade her good night. there are some invitations to call that mean stay away. chapter xvii angie curtis according to zachariah phinney, or squire phinney, the village oracle of greenvale, angie curtis was "a stiddy gal, that had got her growth airly 'n' made the best o' an unfortnit situation." he was the tacit leader of what might be called the anti-david-curtis faction, and originally had counselled and advised aunt comfort to take legal action and compel david to make an equitable settlement of his brother's estate. he had also been the prime mover in organizing the unitarian church society of greenvale, and as david was a pillar of the orthodox church, there was double reason for the two men's enmity. this, of course, was now an old story in greenvale, but as angie grew up, squire phinney was her earnest wellwisher and adviser, as his daughter was her 151 152 the hermit bosom friend and confidante. it was he who gave her a position as school-teacher, almost before she was old enough to fill it. when christmas came each year, his usual remembrance to her was a dress pattern and pair of shoes from his store. "ye mustn't mind takin' 'em, girlie," he would say when angie demurred, "yer father 'n' me was allus good friends, an' if 'twas turn about, he'd do the same." among the young people angie was in a way a puzzle. they had all known and noticed the youthful intimacy between herself and martin, but as most of them had had the same early experiences, a few of which materialized into marriage and more that did not, no heed was ever paid to the fact that "her beau" had gone away to seek his fortune. later, however, when other young men tried to pay her serious court and failed, it seemed past understanding. she was handsome and lovable, alone in the world, except for aunt comfort's care, entirely dependent upon her own earnings, and likely to be; and just why none of the eligible applicants for her favor received any encouragement angie curtis 153 seemed strange. some of the young men naturally called her "stuck up," but it was invariably those who had received "the mitten." however, she had company a-plenty, and aunt comfort's old-fashioned parlor and sitting room were the scene of many a country party, where "button, button," "post-office," and similar games were the hilarious enjoyments. occasionally a dance was held in the town hall, where two fiddles, a cornet, and bass viol rendered money musk, fisher's hornpipe, virginia reel, and other contra-dances in a lively manner, and the young men vied with each other in extra pigeon-wing steps. when martin returned, reported to be well off, and boldly walked to church with angie the first sunday evening, it was like a bombshell dropped into the rural quiet of greenvale, and the staring was a trifle to the storm of gossip that followed. it was kindly and well meant, however, and he was considered to be doing just what he ought to do, but it gave the village a shock, nevertheless, and a few wiseacres insisted that angie must have been waiting for him all along. 154 the hermit if she had been, he was not likely to even guess it from her conduct. impelled by the sweet memories of his boyhood, he had returned to greenvale, fully resolved to woo angie over again. he was mature enough to know what he wanted, had ample means to establish a home and live in modest luxury, had found angie developed into splendid womanhood, still unwed and no suitor in the way, but—she was unresponsive! he called again and again, to find her the same cool, well-poised young lady, always gracious, but never sentimental; always charming, but never alluring; and while he occasionally walked home with her from church, he did not again intrude his company there. he took her out driving along the shaded wood roads they had in their youth enjoyed, gathered laurel and all manner of wild flowers, and he had even accompanied her on berry-picking trips. in this pleasant association he discovered a few things, one of which was that no matter where they went, or how much of a reminder of old times the locality might be, reference to the fact met no response. it was as if she wished the angie curtis 155 past dead and buried. he also noticed she was no longer the simple, confiding, childlike girl, whom he could fondle and caress at will, but mature in thought and able to cope with him on any subject. greenvale boasted a modest public library of which angie had made good use, and he found her better informed than himself upon some subjects. another vexation to martin-it usually is to all men was that no matter how good an opportunity presented itself for loverlike caressing the seclusion of wood-bordered roadways, or when he lingered late in aunt comfort's parlor, or parted on the porch, some intangible barrier of cool reserve on angie's part kept him at a distance. in the old times she offered him her lips with childish innocence and perfect faith; now, although she was ten times more attractive, they seldom touched finger-tips. but a woman's heart or emotion hard to define and still harder to understand-always has been and always will be moved by curious influences, and angie, poor, proud, and tender, was no exception. more mature at sixteen than most girls, she had suffered keenly when 156 the hermit her boyish lover deserted her; but to no one, not even aunt comfort, had she confided that fact. and now her faithless one was back again and seeking her with evidently serious intent. at first her pride rebelled, and then it became a motive force in her suitor's favor. she knew all her schoolmates and present associates remembered his youthful devotion and sudden departure, and for him to return after all these years to pay her court anew was a vindication which even her pride could not deny. then gossip-and it is a potent factor in all village life played its part. first one, then another, of her friends slyly congratulated her upon his attentions. his looks, his bearing, his means, were all a matter of kindly comment, and such is the influence of money, or its possession, that people who had never noticed him as a boy now spoke of him as a person of great importance. but angie had learned the bitter lesson of man's faithlessness, and learned it well, and the wooing sped slowly. and then again, womanlike, she was so -angie curtis 157 exasperatingly changeable, he knew not what sometimes it seemed to him he had to think. been forgiven the old score and she appeared to be the the moment he assumed it, presto! she grew chilly. she had been forced to walk, with aching heart, through the valley of despair; now he was following the same path. as it was midsummer, his few calls had so far been passed upon the porch, but one evening the weather made an invitation into the parlor necessary. it was not changed except for the piano, and as martin seated himself upon the old-fashioned, haircloth sofa, it seemed as if he had stepped backward a score of years. then, too, angie used to sing for him here, simple sabbath-school songs and ballads never heard except in a secluded village like greenvale, and her childish treble, accompanied by the droning melodeon, had seemed very sweet. the melodeon had vanished, but all else was the same, and even angie now appeared more like her old self. for a time they chatted of commonplaces, and then the force of old never spoken of — angie of old; but even by a word, 158 the hermit memories wrought their spell, and martin stepped to the piano. "" come, angie," he said, "please be good to me and sing some of the old songs. i know you can; i overheard you the night i came.” for a moment she hesitated, while pride combated with another and better impulse. it was like a turning-point in her own feelings, a new and insidious desire to live over the old memories once again. "i cannot sing," she answered, and then went to the piano without another word. more than that, so gracious was her mood, she sang, for a full hour, anything and everything he asked for, and with a feeling that made him long to gather her in his arms once more. "no, not yet," he exclaimed, as she at last turned away, "you have made me feel somewhat churchy, and i want a sabbath-school song now." and he placed a well-worn copy of "fresh laurels on the music-rack. "" but angie didn't need it, and, turning again with upraised face, she sang: "give, said the little stream, give, oh give, give, oh give, angie curtis 159 give, said the little stream, as it hurried down the hill. i am small, i know, but where'er i go give, oh give, give, oh give, i am small, i know, but where'er i go the fields grow greener still. singing, singing all the day, give away, oh give away, singing, singing all the day, give, oh give away.” it was a rollicking song, full of the happy laughter of a brook, and it carried martin back. to boyhood as naught else could. he was not devout, except in a very moderate sense, and believed but little of all the orthodoxy ever preached in greenvale, but he was fast falling in love again with angie, and that species of insanity is peculiar in its manifestation. then came "gathering at the river," and a dozen more of similar old tenor. "there now," exclaimed angie, almost petulantly, as she ceased singing, "if i haven't tired you out, i shall never try again." "but i shall ask you to again, you may be sure," responded martin, in his earnest way. it was now time for departure, and as he 160 the hermit ――――― paused in the darkened hall, with angie close by waiting for him to go, and the tall clock ticking in the empty sitting room, almost did his impulse of love and longing assert itself. one word even the shading of a tone in her voice would have precipitated foolishness on his part. but her mood had changed. one accent "i think it's going to rain," she said, as she glanced out into the night, "and i am glad. my flowers are getting thirsty." and the good night that responded to his was as cool as the evening air. chapter xviii old cy walker from the orthodox standpoint of greenvale, old cy was a sabbath-breaker, an unregenerate old scoffer, outcast, vagabond, and one best to avoid. from the boys' point of view he was a most delightful old comrade, whose knowledge of woodcraft was marvellous, whose method of existence was the only right and proper one, and whose companionship was to be sought at all times. he knew where all the best trout pools were, how to line up and find the bee trees, set snares and traps; where nuts, berries, and wild grapes could be found; and more than all this, he was ready at all times to share this lore with them. he was to them a veritable leatherstocking outlined on a background of forest, field, and stream, and his shapeless hat, patched raiment, kindly face, and quaint speech were familiar to m 161 162 the hermit all. with dog and gun always, and some of the village boys occasionally for companions, he roamed the woods and followed the streams about greenvale, or worked for aunt comfort when needed. he lived in a hovel on her premises, was temperate, honest, and a friend to everybody except david curtis. there was ample reason for that exception. in the long ago, old cy, schoolmate, friend, and companion of amzi curtis, and later working for him in the mill, had aspired to own a respectable dwelling. he bought a small tract of land on the village outskirts, contracted with david curtis for lumber, and when the house was built, gave him a mortgage to secure payment. that was almost accomplished when amzi so mysteriously vanished. but lack of employment and illness fell to old cy's lot; he failed to pay as agreed; then david foreclosed, and after that old cy became a vagabond, as it were. martin had been one of his boy admirers, and now since his return had induced the old man to take him fishing, and later to superintend the building of his dam and the clearing of land for a trout preserve. it was old cy walker 163 while thus engaged that a new thought came to martin nothing less than to buy the mizzy falls and swamp above, build a low dam where the falls were, and flood a large area for trout and pleasure purposes. there was also another consideration. those falls, the key-note to any manufacturing opportunities or future growth of greenvale, were a valuable power that might become more so, and as a purely business investment, it seemed a wise one to martin. for a few days he thought about it, and the more he thought, the more tempting in many ways the investment seemed. "cy," he said, when they were by themselves, "how much of the mizzy swamp does dave curtis own, and what do you imagine he would ask for the falls and land above them?" old cy looked at him in astonishment. "i know every rod he owns above 'em," he answered finally, "but ye couldn't buy one 'thout payin' ten times what it's wuth, 'n' then a deed on 't ain't no good 'thout amzi's signin'." 164 the hermit "oh, i expect that," answered martin, indifferently, "and as far as amzi's signature, why, he'll never come back. it must be twenty years since he disappeared." "i'm not so sure o' that," responded old cy, resolutely; "i've allus held he was still alive, 'n' i believe it yit. ez fer dave's settin' a price on the mizzy falls 'n' his land, he's been figgering with some one out o' town already. i heerd him." "you heard him!" "i did, fer sartin. i was up the mizzy one day last spring, huntin' fer a mink trap that had got dragged off, 'n' i heard some one comin' through the brush 'n' laid low. 'twas dave 'n' a city man, 'n' dave was showin' him round and tellin' him how handy 'twas to float logs down the mizzy in spring freshets, 'n' about how much he owned. they sot down on a log 'n' talked more 'n' an hour, 'n' i heerd it all. the city man had a scheme to build a mill 'n' grind up wood 'n' make paper, but they didn't make a dicker, fer dave sot such an ungodly price, the man wouldn't pay it." "how much?" old cy walker 165 "thirty thousand dollars!" martin gave a low whistle. he had heard curtis was considered "sharp," but this was such a fabulous sum for the impassable misery swamp and water-power that it took his breath away. "i've kept watch fer that man showin' up ever since," continued old cy, "an' if he ever does, i'll open his eyes 'bout amzi 'n' one or two other matters. i've been roostin' round on back fences now fer a good many years, waitin' to git square with dave curtis! why, all his medder land 'n' houses 'n' both mills 'n' woodland ain't taxed fer but six thousand dollars, . 'n' askin' thirty fer the mizzy swamp 'n' them tumble-down mills ain't no better 'n stealin'." then martin laughed, for old cy's ideas of business were as primitive as his method of living. "i ain't said a word to nobody," added the old man, with true hunter's instinct, "'n' i wish you wouldn't yet awhile, 'n' don't be thinkin' o' buying land o' dave curtis 'n' gettin' robbed. he'll croak 'fore many years 'n' then ye kin git it fer what it's wuth; 'sides, amzi might show up any day.” 166 the hermit "what reason have you for believing amzi still alive?" inquired martin, a little touched by the blind faith of old cy. "no one else here shares your belief, so dr. sol says." "wal," answered the old man, slowly, "it's a curis notion o' mine, but him 'n' me wus just like two brothers, 'n' used to fish 'n' hunt together, 'n' spend hours in the woods talkin' 'bout all sorts o' things. he had queer ideas about some matters, 'n' one wus that all kinds o' animals had souls, same ez we hev. 'they all live over again,' he used to say, 'only they keep on changin' shapes back 'n' forth. birds become animals, 'n' animals birds; 'n'. men 'n' women become cows 'n' pigs 'n' cats 'n' back to human shape agin. i shall, 'n' so will you, 'n' if i change fust, i'll find some way o' tellin' you,' 'n' i believe he would, jest as sure ez i believe i'm livin'. then agin, he was a good deal younger 'n i am, and what i call handy in the woods. give him an axe 'n' a gun 'n' drop him down in the middle o' a wilderness, 'n' he'll take keer o' himself in the dead o' winter. his sense o' hearin' an' smellin' was keener 'n a fox's, 'n' old cy walker 167 he could see a bird or hear a squirrel a mile off, 'n' ez fur trackin' game, he could beat any dog that ever run." "i don't recall him very well," asserted martin, "but i remember there was a bitter hatred between him and his brother, and i always supposed he was out of his mind when he disappeared. of course i heard of the peculiar will, but i imagined the law had settled that long ago." "i don't believe no law kin rob a live man o' what he inherits," answered old cy, earnestly, "'n' if aunt comfort 'n' angie was a mind, they cud make old dave trouble. they won't, though. it ain't aunt comfort's natur'." "tell me what sort of looking man amzi was," continued martin, as a curious thought came to him, "and what were his peculiarities. i don't recall him very well." "wal, he was tall 'n' lanky, with wide starin' eyes 'n' queer ways. he liked to be by himself a good deal, 'n' once in a while i uster come onter him alone in the woods 'n' twangin' a jews'-harp. he allus carried one with him.” for one instant martin's heart almost stopped 168 the hermit beating, as the wilderness hermit, now so accurately described, flashed into mind. but, great heaven! could it be possible? and then came the thought of angie, now growing very dear to him, and what this seeming revelation might mean to her, if true. he sat down to think. as a rule martin seldom lost his head, or spoke without thought. he had battled with shrewd, hard-headed, grasping men, when a word too much or too soon meant everything, and he had learned caution. to now disclose, even by a hint, what he felt was true would mean to set all greenvale in an uproar. old cy might be trusted, and again he might not. it was, at least, safest not to try him. "i don't know what to think about david's price," martin said at last to old cy, who stood watching him; "it staggers me. i had an idea the falls and swamp above might be bought for perhaps ten thousand or less." and old cy never suspected that dust had been thrown into his eyes. "i'd rather you'd keep to yourself what i've said, cy," martin added a little later; old cy walker 169 "i certainly won't pay what you say david asks, and i'm not anxious to buy at any price. if this stranger comes around again, however, let me know at once. i'd like to meet him." when martin was by himself again, and could think coherently, a new horizon seemed to open before him, and, as might be expected, angie was in the foreground. most of her history he knew very well; some details had been added by the doctor, but now the situation was all changed. if this old hermit proved to be her father, as martin felt almost sure he was, if he could be induced to return to greenvale and assert his rights, what must it mean to angie and aunt comfort? the half-demented, or queer condition of mind, in which the old fellow seemed to be, was another factor, and what could be done with him in greenvale? it was a problem hard to solve, and, turn it which way he would, one that was pathetic, tragic, and almost horrible. it was long past midnight that night ere he ceased thinking of it, or decided upon a course of action. chapter xix diamond cut diamond in martin's long hours of trying to solve the problem, now so suddenly confronting him, one danger seemed imminent that david curtis might sell out to this stranger before it could be proved that his brother still lived. land could be attached; but money, once in the hands of a man like david, was not easily reached by law. what martin decided to do, cost what it might, was not to buy the mizzy power and land, but keep david from selling it until the existence of amzi could be proved. there was but one way to do it to secure an option and pay a small sum down to bind the bargain. "it will cost me a few thousand dollars," he said to himself, when a decision was reached, "but it may save angie her heritage." and martin was fast reaching that point where } 170 diamond cut diamond 171 money seemed like brown leaves compared to a woman's love. to go to david without actual currency to pay down was useless, and there was no bank in greenvale. early the next morning martin packed his valise, and telling the doctor that business of importance called him to the city, he left greenvale on the stage. he had many times taken journeys that were tedious all-day stage rides to reach the wilderness, and others quite as tiresome; but never one that seemed quite so long as this. when a day in the city had been consumed in obtaining legal advice from a friend, buying a few books and new songs for angie, and a late model rifle for old cy, martin started for greenvale with a roll of currency, and the journey back seemed interminable. it was late and he was dusty and very tired ere the doctor's pleasant home was reached, and by that time martin had realized that to carry out what he hoped, and not set greenvale gossips agog, required both tact and diplomacy. "i've learned that some capitalist is after 172 the hermit the mizzy power," he observed to the doctor when they sat down to supper, “and i think i'll buy it as a speculation; would you?" "no," answered dr. sol, bluntly, "i wouldn't. in the first place david won't sell except for a fabulous price, and if the unexpected should happen and amzi ever show up, your title wouldn't be worth a fig. the best way," he added, winking at his wife, "is for you to marry angie and then sue old david for her rights. it will make an awful stir here, but you will win, i'm sure." "you seem to think angie has already said yes," returned martin, looking pleased, "but i'm not so sure of it." "that's right," laughed the doctor, "but keep on thinking she won't, and you'll win. i've told her if she didn't marry you, i'd never speak to her again. i've heard," continued the doctor, as martin made no response to this sally, "that some one was here last spring trying to buy david's property, but wouldn't pay the price." "i still think i'll make him an offer," answered martin, to close the subject, "and if i diamond cut diamond 173 get it and don't sell, i'll turn it into a fishpond." it was a game of diamond cut diamond when martin approached david curtis the next day, and one not relished by him. he found the old man working in his sawmill, and, without wasting words, asked him if he would set a price on the mizzy power and all land above the falls. "wal, i might 'n' i mightn't," answered david, looking quizzically at martin with sharkish eyes, "dew ye want to buy it?" "perhaps, if i could get it low enough," answered martin, quietly; "i have a business friend in the city who has been looking for some available water privilege. he has about decided to locate at riverton. if i could buy yours cheap enough, i might induce him to change his plans and locate here." "wal, i don't keer much about sellin' out," replied david, beginning to whittle a stick, "the place has been ourn a good many jinerations 'n' i'm sorter 'tached to 't." he paused a moment, eyeing martin, then continued, "ye might make a dicker with this chap, mebbe, 'n' 174 the hermit i'd 'low ye all ye'd git over what i call a fair price." "no," answered martin, reading the old hypocrite like a book, "if i do anything about it, i shall buy the property outright, form a stock company, and go in myself. i'm thinking of residing here permanently now." 66 'an' what be ye callating to do with the property if ye do?" "why, i'd build a pulp-mill and possibly make paper besides," responded martin, also seating himself and beginning to whittle. "that's what my friend is up to, but he is opposed to greenvale for a location. it's too far from a railroad." "how'd it strike ye if i leased ye the power 'n' sold ye land fer a mill?" "no-o-o," replied martin, very slowly, as if thinking, "i wouldn't put any money into that plan and i know my friend wouldn't. there might be some litigation as to the title, also, later on. i'm told it's not quite clear as it is, and your brother's child, angie, has some claim; is that so?" the diamonds were beginning to scratch now. diamond cut diamond 175 "that's a lie," returned david, sharply, "an' i kin prove it. my brother didn't have nothing but debts when he died an' i paid 'em, an’ the land's mine by will." "i've heard also," replied martin, casually, now that he had a fair start, "that your brother was not dead and has been seen about here within a few years. i hardly believe that, however." for one instant david's wrinkled face grew livid, and the hand holding the whittled stick shook as with palsy. "it's a lie," he almost shouted, "a scand'lus lie 'n' told by an infiddle here t' injure me." "i've no doubt of that," replied martin, smiling calmly at the old miser's excitement, "but that story has been told, and a stranger coming here will be sure to hear it. i am not certain myself but that your brother's child, angie, has some legal claim yet against your it's a estate, some inherited dower right. matter that doesn't concern me, however. the only question is-do you want to sell the mizzy power and land above, and can you give me a clear title?" --176 the hermit "i kin, 'n' 'cordin' to law," replied david, in an ugly tone, "'n' ez for the price, what'll ye give?" "how much land do you own above the falls, and what will you take for it, and the power?" answered martin, facing about and looking squarely into david's face. for a moment the two sharp bargain-makers glanced into each other's eyes, the sparring at an end, and each sure the other had been lying. "i'll take forty thousand dollars fer the two hundred 'n' odd acres above 'n' the falls 'n' both mills," returned the elder, doggedly. "and i'll give you thirty thousand inside a year, and pay you two thousand down to-day, to bind the bargain," admitted the younger. david shook his head. "no," he said, "i ain't sellin' on them terms." "well, i'm not anxious to buy," rejoined martin, drawing a big roll of bills into view. "all i wanted was to see if i could get an option on the property and induce my friend to locate here. i'll make you one more offer," he added, returning the money to his pocket, "i'll give you ten dollars for a thirty days' : 66 what'll ye give?"page 176 1 diamond cut diamond 177 option, or you can accept my first offer." and he rose to go. david rose also. it was a critical moment. deep down in his heart he knew martin's innuendo was true, and that angie had a legal claim against him. more than that, it was within the bounds of possibility that amzi was still alive. he distrusted martin and, a consummate hypocrite himself, believed all others to be the same; and yet, here was two thousand dollars almost within grasp. it inflamed him and made him tremble with the miser's greed -and thirty thousand was all he dared ask the other! this would-be buyer had undoubtedly been lying, but the money was a reality. all this flashed through david's mind as martin turned away, and avarice won! "i'll take yer fust offer," he said doggedly, "an' ye've got to sign a paper now, 'greein' to pay the rest inside a year, or forfeit the two thousand." "i'm satisfied to do that," returned martin, smiling serenely, "but i also want a signed agreement from you to deliver me a warranty deed if i do pay the balance inside a year." n 178 the hermit and when these mutual distrust papers had been exchanged, the two thousand dollars counted over three times, with trembling fingers, by david, and martin bade him a curt good morning, and walked away on air, the mizzy falls seemed filled with joyous laughter and the birds never sang so sweetly before. his heart was opening anew to the wondrous miracle of love, and the divine light of a new life was within view. "i've saved you your heritage, little woman," he said softly to himself, when angie's home came in sight, "and maybe sometime you'll forgive me the old score." chapter xx "thou shalt not steal " old cy walker once said, "if the devil should hang a fi'penny bit o'er the middle o' hell, dave curtis wouldn't rest till he got it," and while a scarcely quotable expression, it best illustrates the man. he had deep-set, cold, gray eyes, never knowing a shade of tenderness; his hawk nose betrayed the miser as his retreating forehead did the egotist, and his bloodless handclasp was as chill as a pump-handle in winter. he was so thin the wind could almost blow through him; his self-conceit was abnormal, and he was miserly mean. in addition he was superstitiously pious. old cy, perhaps his bitterest critic, asserted as a reason for this, "dave's soul's so small he's 'fraid it'll git lost in the round-up, 'n' if he's likely to git into heaven, i'll chance the other place." 179 180 the hermit there was cause for this feeling, for when david foreclosed the mortgage and turned old cy, crippled by rheumatism, out of house and home in midwinter, he made a bitter enemy of him. it was spite, of course, on david's part, and in revenge for things said by old cy, but none the less merciless. aunt comfort had cared for the old man as she did for all unfortunates, and now he lived in a hovel and never missed a chance of sneering at david. there had been a time, however, in the earlier history of greenvale, when david curtis was more respected. it was before amzi disappeared, and when david, prospering in his mill, gave liberally to the church. he was close and mean even then; but so were others in that small village where dollars were hard to obtain. then came amzi's loss by the flood and the death of his wife, his disappearance, david's refusal to pay his debts, or even to make any provision for the doubly orphaned child angeline. it was a tragedy followed by a scandal, and when greenvale had done discussing it, what little respect there had been "thou shalt not steal" 181 for david had vanished. not even parson jones could defend him, although as david still held a mortgage on the new church and rented one of the best pews, besides contributing to the cause in other ways, the worthy dominie avoided all mention of him. there are times and reasons even in religion when speech is silver and silence golden. the inflexible law of compensation, however, says that no man can do a wrong and avoid its penalty, and the lash of injustice once unwound always recoils. it did on david, as it will on all in this finite world, and slowly, year by year, while aunt comfort cared for the homeless child angie, refusing even to ask david for justice, the little public of greenvale as slowly but surely turned its back on him. they spoke with him, of course, on sundays; they patronized his mills, as perforce they must. he was a man of means, paid taxes, and could not be entirely ignored; but none respected him. there was, however, a more potent lash than public sentiment, slowly unwinding to smite him, and that was superstition. in his narrow 182 the hermit cranium, though never admitted, lurked the ghost idea. with this, also, was a doubt as to the fate of amzi. at times david felt sure he must be dead; and again that he was not. there had been bad blood between them, bitter quarrels, almost blows; and then amzi had vanished in the night, as has been told. it was not the act of one with suicidal intent, or revenge; and yet it sowed the seeds of a revenge most horrible. there were also other factors and influences conspiring toward this revenge. david had never married, and when his mother, who survived his father many years, passed on, he still remained in the family home with an old negress as cook and housekeeper, and, to utilize the spare rooms, insisted that the men who worked for him in the mills should board there. naturally it was a cheerless home, without children or visitors of any kind, and as david gradually found himself shunned by the townspeople, he was forced to live an almost hermit life. even those who shared his home had nothing in common with him, and, although his men ate at the same table, there was no "thou shalt not steal" 183 sympathy or sociability between them. it was a mechanical existence in a great gloomy house, where the creaking of loose boards, the perpetual roar of the adjacent falls, and the moaning of the winds in giant elms at night always sounded ominous. such desolate homes become uncanny to their occupants in time, and so did this to david. there was also another insidious influence that worked on his mind, and one even stronger than ghostly sounds at night. on the wall back of the tall pulpitfrom which the reverend jones each sunday explained god's plan of salvation, with occasional descriptions of the city with jasper walls and pearly gates, as well as the other place—were the ten commandments. david had to read them once a week at least, and the "thou shalt not steal," as the years rolled on, seemed to smite him more and more. he was sure of his own salvation, however; he still held a mortgage on the church, and did not insist that it be paid; he contributed toward the expenses, as usual, and when the trumpet sounded and the dead arose, he was sure he would march upwards somewhere to the seat 184 the hermit he had been paying for. on the other hand, when the eternal doom of sinners was described, david was sure that old cy and all his enemies were to be the lost ones. he had no qualms of conscience; he was purely selfish in all his conclusions; and yet that eighth commandment kept boring into his conscience year after year. he knew he had wronged his brother was still wronging his brother's child; and yet so peculiar is religious conviction, that he felt himself excused for it, so long as he believed in the gospel as preached by jones. and yet that commandment annoyed him. often he would resolve not to read it, and then it gave him no peace until he did. it was like a magnet, and out of the entire ten the one that drew his eyes first. and then, his solitary, unsocial, and selfish life worked its inevitable result. he grew more superstitious, and the fear that amzi might return in body or spirit haunted him at night. he saw him in his dreams, imagined him peeping into the house when a board creaked, and, waking in the dead of night, he read, "thou shalt not steal" glow― "thou shalt not steal" 185 ing in the darkness. he grew timid, dared not go alone to dark rooms for fear of meeting amzi, and as his mind became diseased from brooding over the supernatural, the ghost taint increased. and now, in the midst of all these fears, came the desire to escape them. it followed the call from a stranger who sought to buy his most valued possession, the mizzy powerin fact, a sequence to that. in spite of his conceit, david realized he had but few friends, and now to turn his possessions into cold cash and establish himself elsewhere seemed wise. he had, in his business dealings, visited riverton often, and there received more or less consideration as the wealthiest resident of greenvale an homage very sweet to him. he would escape the sight of old cy, aunt comfort, angie, and other reproaches, and best of all, as he imagined, escape the haunting fear of amzi. then came martin with his astonishing proposal to buy the mizzy falls, and, during that sharp bargain-driving, to insinuate facts and dangers that gave david cold chills. it had 186 the hermit resulted in his securing two thousand dollars, and also an addition to his stock of worriment almost unbearable. it was a proposal and payment, also, that david, shrewd villain that he was, could not fathom. he had heard on all sides that martin had returned to greenvale wealthy. he knew of his youthful attachment to angie, and his now open and pointed attentions which undoubtedly meant marriage; and as if this combination of danger was not sufficient, this bold young man who carried a big roll of money as if it were a handkerchief, had hinted of angie's legal rights against him, that could most likely be sustained by law! and now, the more david pondered over this business transaction, the more sure he was that it meant a lawsuit later on. he had the two thousand dollars fast enough, he had signed an agreement which in law was almost as good as a warranty deed; and yet, before twentyfour hours had passed, so sure was he that he had walked into a trap, that he would have gladly paid twice two thousand for the return of that agreement. his punishment had only just begun. f chapter xxi " "scar face, the avenger nezer was not a bad boy at heart. to him aunt comfort was a rotund embodiment of all that was good and motherly in womankind. for her if within call he would run his legs off, and angie was his idea of what angels were. he hated his best clothes and church-going equally, minded angie at school with doglike humility, learned his lessons with surprising ease, and perpetrated the worst tricks with an innocent manner that disarmed punishment. he was the terror of the village when fruits were ripe, made the life of hans a burden, and when out of aunt comfort's sight, always up to some new mischief aimed at him. he had fed that phlegmatic immigrant red pepper deftly hid in pie, coaxed him to take a noonday nap pillowed on a red ant-hill, and then when he was asleep, stirred up those vicious insects; he 187 188 the hermit had caught an eel on a set pole and lowered it writhing on the hook down inside hans's shirt when again napping, and finally put an active snapping turtle in his bed. he did all these things out of pure mischief, but against david curtis he bore a grudge. it dated from that unhappy epoch ending in a bread-and-water diet, and nezer missed no chance to get square with david. in fact getting square with those who injured him was a cardinal point in the boy's nature. another thing, he was close mouthed, and secretly not only plotted and planned, but afterwards enjoyed his revenges. how much fruit he stole from david's orchard, how often he let bars down and cows into corn-fields, how much "garden sass" he maliciously destroyed in midnight raids, no one but himself knew, and he never told. for years he waged a guerilla warfare alone on david, and then one day sharp and perhaps deserved punishment overtook him. there was a secluded pool in the upper mizzy meadow owned by his enemy, and here nezer and his mates were wont to come many times each summer to enjoy a swim. to reach "scar face, the avenger” 189 it they had to cross david's best meadow, trampling the grass and quite destroying it about the pool. it angered david, to whom loss of even grass was misery, and whenever he caught them there, retribution with an ox-goad followed. they came under cover of night, however, and one boy would take turn as sentinel and david still suffered. he grew desperate, finally, and as a last resort, drove stakes along each bank of the pool and then strung a network of barbed wire across under water. it was a merciless and altogether heartless trap, and fate decreed, one evening, that nezer should be the first and only one to leap into it. how he suffered, pierced in a dozen places and terribly scratched, how his agonized screams were keen joy to david, how nezer, dripping blood, ran after the rest of the boys and halted not until they reached safety and a chance to dress outside david's possessions, need not be enlarged upon. nezer had mildly hated david before now it was changed to murderous intensity, and his only ambition was to seek vengeance. he took none of the boys into his confidence, but true to 190 the hermit the thief's caution, inherited from his father, resolved to act alone. and now while david was in sore distress over martin frisbie's probable legal assault and a growing dread of ghostly visitation, there occurred a series of events well calculated to drive a superstitious man insane. the first was to find that every tool in the sawmill had vanished, crowbars, canthooks, extra saws, hammers, chains, were all missing in the morning. a new supply was obtained, and a few days later david was awakened at midnight to hear the mill going, and a shower of sparks flying from the saw playing up and down against a crowbar wedged in the log cradle. later the grist-mill-never lockedwas visited by a ghostly miller, and bags of grain poured into the raceway, belts cut, and, as a final message, the gates raised and millstones found rumbling at early dawn. it was no ghost, of course, even to the superstitious mind of david, but an enemy of the most malicious sort, and yet the property loss produced almost as much suffering as an actual spook. david locked and barred the mill "scar face, the avenger' 191 doors after this, only to find it useless, for about once a week the mill was visited by this unrighteous enemy, and damage inflicted. then he rigged a cordon of fine wire around the grist-mill, attached to doors and connecting with his house, so that any disturbance would communicate and ring a bell. it worked to the extent of causing david and his men to rush to the mill with lanterns to find the belts again cut, and the stones grinding away, but no sight or sound of an intruder. then other depredations followed. a dog that had been secured as guard was found dead the next morning and swollen double from poison; a small raft of logs above the falls were cut loose and allowed to drift over and land in inextricable confusion below; stones took on a habit of entering the house unbidden through windows, and at odd intervals other night mischief was perpetrated. then the two men who boarded with david grew nervous, and the old negress said, "i 'clare to gracious, dese premises is gittin' hanted, 'n' if it doan stop, i'll quit here, suah 's yo' born." she was only restrained by an increase in her 192 the hermit wages, painful to david, and a temporary lull in the midnight visits. nezer, in addition to his mischief-inventing faculties, also dearly loved to masquerade. he had become the possessor of a few dime novels, one of which portrayed on the cover a realistic picture of "scar face, the avenger," and to imitate the raiment and habits of this savage was keen enjoyment to nezer. he had fashioned a head-dress, and crest of turkey feathers, obtained a hideous mask, and, having hidden these in aunt comfort's barn, waited the right and proper occasion to exploit them in secret. to try their effect on hans was too tame; besides hans would give him away, and nezer, always secretive, had grown wary with age. there was no limit to the fun he planned to have with that blood-curdling mask and head-gear, but his hero, scar face, had always swooped down upon his victims unawares, and nezer felt he must. he had some time previous purloined an old night-shirt with the intention of playing ghost when hallowe'en came. he was also an expert in the use of stilts, and, nimble as a "scar face, the avenger ” 193 squirrel, could stride off on them faster than a man could run. with these accoutrements and a nature much akin to the dime-novel hero he worshipped, it may be easily inferred that nezer was a combination quite likely to excite a quiet village like greenvale. and nezer hated david curtis with scar-face ferocity. for weeks david had lived a miserable existence, and worried as to the outcome of martin's supposed enmity. he knew he was guilty, and once dragged before even the most petty tribunal would have no defence, but must make restitution to his brother's child and be disgraced as well. so sure did he feel this outcome was only a matter of time, he thought of forestalling it by going to aunt comfort and offering her a lump sum for angie's past keep, and as much for her own signature releasing him from all obligation. he would have much preferred negotiating with martin, but of that young man's relations with angie he was not at all certain, and although more humiliating, it was safer to deal direct with the injured ones. he was in this quandary when his direct persecution 194 the hermit began, and as that continued, it became agony boiled down. to lose five cents was misery, but when the sum swelled to many dollars and depredations were repeated night after night, it became a torment. then his ghostly dread grew apace. with all his vigilance, and aided by his men taking turns watching, not once had they seen or heard aught that betokened a flesh-and-blood visitor. all he knew was that sometime in the night some one visited his mills, wrought malicious mischief, and vanished. it was for revenge beyond question, but by whom, and for what? was it some one in the village, or was it a stranger hiding in the woods by day, and stealing on to his premises by night like an indian wreaking swift, unerring vengeance? for weeks also david had not known one moment of peace or one hour of untroubled sleep. not trusting his men even, he had kept watch himself, ready to sally forth at any sound, and when the depredations ceased, he still kept on expecting them. for a week this vigil continued, and then one night, half asleep and partially clad, david caught the sharp } "scar face, the avenger" 195 thud of a small stone thrown against his house, and bounding out heard the low rumble of the stones in the grist-mill across the mizzy. the moon, a week past its full, had just risen, and as david paused a moment on the steps to listen, he noted how the mills, the trees, the bridge across the mizzy, and the falls just above, seemed ghostly in the spectral light. it was dreadful, and those loud rumbling millstones more so. but revenge and greed conquered fear, and, keeping always in shadow, and stooping as he walked, he started for the grist-mill. the trees gave partial concealment until the bridge was reached, and here he halted to listen once again. and what a weird, midnight scene it was, with the falls white in the moonlight, not ten rods away, their voice half concealing the rumbling millstones' deeper sounds, while all about the spectral shadows of the trees reached out to meet him. one moment only he paused, and then, still crouching, crept forward step by step down the little incline beyond the bridge, across the mill sluice, now filled with rushing water, then turning to the left up the driveway to the mill. each step a little 196 the hermit slower, as he drew near, and a loud thumping of pulse that beat upon his brain. and then, again, pausing with a sense of deathly fear, his mouth and eyes wide open-slowly, very slowly, from behind the mill, advanced a horrible something, with white ghostly body and hideous, leering face, above which waved a crest of feathers. one moment only david stared transfixed with horror at the awful apparition, twice as tall as a man, and then, as it strode toward him with giant steps, he sank to the ground unconscious. nezer was avenged! chapter xxii a shock to greenvale aunt comfort was paring apples, hannah putting away the breakfast dishes, angie, with sleeves up, disclosing rounded arms, was washing a panful of green pickles nezer had just brought in, when aunt lorey burst into the kitchen. "david curtis was took with a fit last night," she gasped, "'n' he's gone ravin' crazy. some on 'em heered him hollerin' like a loon 'bout midnight, 'n' the next, he rushed into the house screamin', 'o lord, lord, save me!' they had to tie him hand and foot 'n' dr. sol says he's gone clean daft!" and having delivered this astonishing message, she sank into a chair, fanning herself with her apron. "for the land's sake!" exclaimed aunt comfort, dropping her paring-knife, and staring at the caller with open mouth, while angie turned in mute astonishment, her hands full of wet pickles. no one observed that nezer suddenly vanished. 197 198 the hermit "and what was the cause on 't," continued aunt comfort, eagerly, "'n' is he likely to die?" "nobody seems to know," responded aunt lorey," he was just took, that was all, 'n' what he was doin' out o' the house that time o' night is a myst'ry. they found the grist-mill goin' an' the men say 'tain't the fust time that somebody's been prowlin' round there nights for weeks back." and this was a fair sample of the recital that spread like wild-fire over greenvale that august morn. it had been known that strange happenings had occurred up at the curtis place, that some enemy had made nightly visits there, stealing and destroying with evident malice, but who, and for what special reason, no one knew. some said it was just compensation for his many and well-known acts of meanness, a few ascribed it to supernatural causes, and one or two hinted that amzi, half demented, might have escaped from some asylum and returned to thus avenge himself. this latter surmise, however, seemed so unreasonable that no one believed it. "he has brain fever," was the explicit information dr. sol had imparted that afternoon, when he called at aunt comfort's, "and a shock to greenvale 199 his mind is deranged. it was brought on, no doubt, by some sudden fright while out watching for this night visitor. he may recover and he may not. his age is against him." "i s'pose we oughter go thar and try to do somethin'," aunt comfort asserted to angie later on. "he's been livin' like a hyena all these years, with that wench doin' the cookin', 'n' 'twon't do to let him die that way. he's your uncle, in spite o' his meanness." and in thus rising above all sense of injury and personal feeling, aunt comfort showed her broad and truly christian charity. but angie was not so ready to respond. her own early sorrow, the humiliation she had endured, the long-continued self-denials, the many times she had met her uncle well wrapped in a buffalo robe when she had to step out into the deep snow and let him pass, the countless times she had watched his hypocritical face in church, knowing he had been and was robbing her of her heritage, had sunk deep into her heart, and her first thought was, "let him die alone like a dog; he deserves it!" but aunt comfort was a beacon light of 200 the hermit goodness and homely sense to her and she made no protest, and so it came to pass that these two angels of mercy took themselves to the cheerless home of david curtis for the first time in many years. and aunt lorey who never missed attending all the funerals occurring in greenvale, and was said to enjoy them-also accompanied these two, possibly expecting a funeral in this case. "it's only good nursing that will save him," asserted dr. sol that night to aunt comfort, "but it's an outrage for you and angie to stay here. he isn't worth it. better let me hire some one." but aunt comfort persisted, and all that long night they ministered to their patient, tossing, groaning, and occasionally screaming in feverish delirium. and what a tragic revelation of guilty conscience and supernatural fear it was to them, for the sick man, in his delirious mutterings, lived over and recited all the dread fears and the agony of mind he had endured for many weeks. first it was his plans and projects, then his greedy hope of obtaining thirty thousand dola shock to greenvale 201 lars, and then his suspicion of martin; sure he was an implacable enemy and bound to rob him for angie. mixed in with this were comments on martin's intentions toward her, and his own half-formed intentions to make restitution; a hodge-podge of disconnected statements, but through it all ran a thread of ghostly dread—it was amzi lurking in the woods, amzi perched on the mill, amzi hiding in shadow, amzi stealing tools, cutting belts, doing this and that, but always amzi, an enemy and a terror. at times the delirious man would try to leap out of bed, screaming with deadly fear, and it was all one of his men who had stood by could do to hold him down. as for the old negress, the spookish drama had at the outset proven too much for her, and she had taken refuge at a neighbor's. in his dire extremity, a helpless, delirious, suffering wretch, and the richest man in greenvale the only ones who took pity on him and came to his succor were those whom he had wronged most. and what shame and humiliation it was to aunt comfort and angie to sit by and hear the dry bones of their family skeleton thus rattled about before others need not be specified. 202 the hermit with daylight came a change, for the fever slowly yielded to aunt comfort's "arbs" and the doctor's pills, and the sick man began to doze. it had been a night experience the like of which angie at least had never known, and almost as tragic a one to aunt comfort. but there was one touch of satisfaction in it, for as they, leaving aunt lorey in charge, were about to depart, some strange intuition came to their patient, for he suddenly sat bolt upright and looked at them with horrified but sane eyes only a moment, and then, muttering. "my god, is it you?" he sank back upon his pillow. aunt comfort came back that night bringing jellies, and relieving aunt lorey while she cooked broth and nursed the still very sick man, and later angie came bringing freshly cut flowers, but remaining only a moment. she would not speak to or look at david, but she would show him so much of kindly thought and pity—and that was all. that long night of insane raving, disclosing so much and reopening so many of her own wounds, had been too much for her, and she could no more converse with the man who had so wronged her a shock to greenvale 203 father and then herself than she could with a murderer. neither did david die, though many in the village felt it would be a wise dispensation of providence if he should, and aunt lorey missed the expected excitement of a funeral; not that she really wanted even the much-despised david to die far from it; but she was a peculiar body, unlike any one else in greenvale, and funerals furnished her a certain excitement, much akin to pleasure. she was ever ready to nurse the sick, she would join her tears with all mourners when the end came; she would work gladly, wash, bake, and cook all manner of edibles for out-of-town relations; she was useful at arranging flowers and other necessary adjuncts to such events; she listened interestedly, and always remembered all the minister said, and, to adapt an expression once applied to amzi curtis by cy walker, she was "handy at funerals." but of david's sudden and mysterious illness and its outcome dr. sol's remark to martin will best reflect the village verdict, and must be quoted. "i never knew of such a complete case of ― 204 the hermit heaping coals of fire," he said, "and such an object lesson in forgiving as aunt comfort and angie have meted out to that old skinflint. what he thought and felt when he came to his senses and saw those two beside his bed would have made a better text than any the reverend jones ever found in the bible. but what caused his illness is a mystery quite beyond me. by all reports, his premises have been haunted by some malicious night visitor, and david must have gone out and met him." it was many days ere aunt comfort and her assistant nurse could leave the sick man, and then he had to "persuade" aunt lorey, by means of liberal compensation, to remain and act as housekeeper, for the colored woman would no more set foot again in "dat hanted " house than in a den of lions. but the mystery remained and grew to a seven times seven days' wonder in greenvale. and strange to say, a story began to circulate that david had seen his brother in the woods above the falls, and that it was meeting him that night in the mill that had caused the shock. whether this tale started from aunt lorey's a shock to greenvale 205 report of david's ravings, or from old cy's assertions that amzi would return soon or late, no one knew. it became current gossip, however, in a short time, and so excited was greenvale over it that a searching party of men and boys was organized, and the entire length and breadth of mizzy swamp and the adjacent woods for many miles was thoroughly examined. it availed nothing, of course, except to retard david's recovery and cause him to continue in the same unhappy state of worriment as before his shock. he also had to close the grist-mill, for the man who acted as miller was a trifle superstitious and obtained other employment. it was no concern of his, of course, and yet the fact that some night visitor was like to come there again was spookish at best, and there was the suspicion that a longago dead man might any moment bob up out of some bin or stalk out of a dark corner. but the ghost manifestations ceased, for nezer was too much scared by the hubbub he had created, and having hid his scar-face raiment, kept his secret to himself like a wise boy, and the mystery remained unsolved. chapter xxiii sunday evening in greenvale, as in all rural towns, sunday evening was "sparking night," when lads and lassies put on their very best, the front parlor was given up to jane or huldah, their swains allowed all possible chance to reach popping point, and the old folks kept shady. as a rule all the young folks gathered separately at the church, and when service was over, each rustic romeo hurried to the porch to there await his heart's desire, and when the smiling maids "like snowbirds willing to be mated" appeared, faced the music with beating heart to receive joy supreme or the mitten. only engaged couples walked to the sanctuary together, and to do so was a tacit admission of betrothal. it was this solecism on martin's part on his first sunday evening that caused angie so 206 sunday evening 207 much embarrassment. he had not repeated it; in fact, so uncertain was he of his ground with her that he had avoided sunday evening church attendance almost entirely afterwards. by the time the excitement caused by david's night scare and almost fatal illness had subsided, martin had made some slight advance in angie's favor. she had been left alone a good deal, and he had seized his chances. she also seemed to grow more cordial, and by degrees her cool reserve melted away. when sunday evening came again, martin, recalling greenvale's social custom, resolved on a bold stroke, and calling early, invited her to join him churchward. for a moment she hesitated, knowing full well what would be thought of it, and then, as an extra shade of pink crept into her face, consented. when the bell began to call, she joined him on the porch, dressed in spotless muslin, a solitary rose her only ornament, and, as aunt comfort would say, "lookin' sweet enough to eat." and well might martin feel proud, for no fairer maid ever blessed a lover's eyes. for two months now, though they had met often, no mention had been made of the 7 208 the hermit past. he had essayed it at first, but soon saw it to be unwise, and yet maybe that old-time illusion, like the sound of bells now calling them, had never ceased to vibrate in their hearts. we are moved by subtile influences, and memory is ofttimes awakened by the veriest trifle. the odor of a certain flower, a strain of music, the sighing of the breeze in the pines, even the croaking of a frog in springtime, will carry us back over a lifetime in an instant. only a few years, comparatively, separated the lives of these two, very short to him, but long and weary to her. she had much to forgive, but like many another patient woman who goes through life silently forgiving an erring husband, so maybe had she now forgiven a lover's desertion. and very sweet the church bells sounded to martin, for now the fairest and dearest of all earth's womankind was walking beside him in a journey that was a tacit confession. there were speaking glances exchanged between matrons and maids in that sunday evening gathering, and whispered "i told you so's," while the white-haired parson searched for his sunday evening 209 chapter. the congregation arose and sang as usual, angie joining, while martin covertly watched her, feeling proud. and when both bowed with the rest to receive dismissal, and then walked away in the balmy august evening, it seemed to him he ought to enclose her in one strong arm, lest she escape. when the lane that crossed the mizzy was reached, martin halted. "let's go down to the old red bridge," he said, and without a word angie turned with him. it was a secluded as well as a pretty spot; a group of willows shaded one end of the bridge and a pile of worn-out planks; below, the stream broadened into a wide pool and beside it grew sweet flag. it had been one of their old-time trysting places, oft visited to gather flag and watch the moon's reflection in the pool. "i have a picnic plan to suggest," continued martin, as they slowly strolled down the lane, "which is for you, aunt comfort, and hannah, and the doctor and wife to join me in a day's outing. i know a little nook way up the mizzy where we can go, and i'll cook you a real backwood dinner." p 210 the hermit 'i should be glad to go," responded angie, with interest," and i'm sure it would be delightful. i've heard so much about wilderness life this summer that i'd love to see how you cook in the woods." but this picnic plan, while it promised much pleasure, was really of slight interest to martin, compared to another matter; and while they discussed it all the way to the bridge, he was thinking of who it was that had scared david curtis into delirium, and whether angie was likely to resent his supposed interference in her affairs. "i feel i owe you an explanation, angie," he said directly, they were seated on the old familiar pile of weather-worn planks. "as you may have heard, i have an inclination for trout culture, and one day it occurred to me that if i could buy the mizzy swamp and falls of david curtis at a reasonable price, it would not only be a good investment but make me a splendid fish-pond. i called on him, secured an option on it, and paid him something down. i found also that another party has been trying to buy him out, for pulp-mill purposes. now comes another matter, which is all a mystery to me. { sunday evening 211 first, as we all know, some enemy of his visits his premises nightly. david must have received an awful shock, and, in the delirious fever following it, he accused me of plotting against him and in your behalf. it may and must be the result of a guilty conscience, but up till now i am innocent of what he charges." "i've heard it all, of course," answered angie, in a constrained voice, "and while it is painful to have a family skeleton become public gossip, i am relieved by what you tell me." "i wish," continued martin, hesitating, "i wish you would consent to let me do something for you in this matter. i know the whole story and how you have been wronged, and—and how you have gone on all these years, bravely earning your own way, and now believe me, i want to be your friend, and big brother, and help you to your rights. won't you let me?" he spoke with earnestness and deep feeling, every word of which vibrated with love and tenderness, but angie remained silent for a moment. in fact she was having a hard struggle with her own feelings. "i thank you, my good friend," she replied at 212 the hermit last, swallowing a lump, "but i can't consentnot now. i feel as aunt comfort does, that some day god will see all wrongs righted, and maybe mine, but i do not want them gossiped about any more than they are now. i thank you, though, with all my heart." then, as she turned toward him, her face ethereal in the moonlight, "with eyes kinder teary and lips kinder smiley," martin almost lost his head in a sudden impulse to gather her close and whisper loving words. for a moment he looked into those misty eyes, and then, lest heart conquer head, he rose from his seat. "i'm going to get you some sweet flag," he said, "in memory of the old times when we used to come here." and when he oblivious to the soft banks that soiled his boots-had gathered an armful of long, green shoots, and the two stood on the bridge, he selecting those with buds, while she ate them, throwing the stalks into the stream below, somehow there and then the old sweet dream crept into her heart once more, and all the years that intervened seemed to fade away. what they spoke of now mattered not; the 小 ​asskute "will you forgive me all these years of neglect?”– page 213 5 sunday evening 213 moon smiling in the pool below, the green flag shoots floating down the slow current, the whippoor-wills calling in the near-by woods, were seen and heard as in a trance. when they turned from this spot, so fraught with tender memories, and martin drew her arm within his, still retaining the hand he clasped, she made no protest. when her home and the shading maples were reached, they paused a moment at the gate, he still holding the hand she had yielded and softly stroking it. "angie," he whispered at last, "can you, will you forgive me all these years of neglect but not forgetfulness, and let us begin where we left off; will you?" "i will try," she answered gently. and as he attempted to clasp her waist, she drew away. "no, not yet," she whispered. when she entered the sitting room, aunt comfort was beside the window in her highbacked, wooden rocker, watching the moonlit meadows. "why, auntie," she exclaimed, "why haven't you gone to bed?" "i was waitin' for you, my child," responded 214 the hermit aunt comfort, rising, and then, looking down into angie's eyes, tender in the soft light, she stooped and kissed her. to angie it seemed like a benediction. it was, but aunt comfort had been thinking of that faded blouse and rusty sword hanging in her attic chamber. chapter xxiv village gossip martin's return to greenvale, his reputed wealth, and his pointed attention to his boyhood sweetheart, resulting in the two practically confessing how matters stood by walking to church together, made one of the waves of gossip now sweeping across that village. it was the most charming one and fraught with good wishes also, for angie had many warm friends there, and her silent endurance of a well-known wrong, her self-helpful, guileless life, kindly sympathy for others' troubles, and sunny nature, had endeared her to all. none envied her the good luck that seemed coming her way, and if she had heard all the words of praise and good-will, now so freely uttered on all sides, it would have gladdened her heart. martin was also the object of much comment and some praise, and his every act was 215 216 the hermit known by all the next day. he had openly declared that he might settle in greenvale, and had had men working all summer clearing up the valley of the brook that ran through his old home farm now owned by him. a dam had been erected at a convenient point, and a small three-roomed house built at the foot of a knoll overlooking this valley. whom that was for was a mystery, and when some one ventured to ask martin, he smilingly answered, "i may live there and keep bachelor's hall when dr. sol gets tired of me.” as martin had discussed plans and cost of a new dwelling, on the site of his old home, this was known to be an evasion, and the general verdict was that his action and house building only waited on angie's naming a wedding-day. there was another wave of gossip, less charming, which centred upon david curtis and the mystery of his fright, and a fearsome tale it grew to be. the story that amzi had been seen in the woods above the falls, culminating in a searching party which made no discovery, removed village gossip 217 that possibility and left only the ghostly one to fall back upon, and that was explicit. few in greenvale believed in ghosts, however, and yet david, when he recovered, declared he had seen a most horrible one. he described it as a gigantic indian clothed in white, who had leaped out from behind the grist-mill and had felled him to the earth with one blow. when he recovered, he declared the monster savage stood leering at him, and that was all he remembered. the hired man's account of the matter was different. he asserted that he had been awakened by a blood-curdling scream for help, and rushed out of the house to find david on his knees beside the porch, groaning as if in awful agony. he had neither seen nor heard aught of ghost or indian, and yet every one believed some weird creature or else some night prowler must have been there. old cy, however, added fuel to the ghostly flame. he had been the leader of the searching party, piloting them into dark ravines and around moss-coated ledges where the sun never shone. 218 the hermit "it's a ghost fast enuff that skeered david," he kept asserting, "'n' we ain't like to find it here. it's only them ez is guilty that sees 'em, 'n' david ain't done yit. i've allers held amzi's alive, 'n' i don't give it up, 'n' when he comes back, i'd be fust to know it. depend on 't it's a spirit hidin' 'round david's premises, 'n' he'll see it agin," and the old man smiled to himself, for he knew what no one else did. prophecy from such a man as old cy, who found satisfaction in stalking about alone in the woods day after day, was to many almost the same as seeing a ghost themselves. another wave of gossip and one almost as astounding as the ghost tales was the story that martin had bought the mizzy power and lands above, was to erect a large pulp-mill there, and also would, as soon as he and angie were married, bring suit against david for her inherited rights. the latter part, not unnaturally, produced even more satisfaction than the likelihood of angie's obtaining a rich husband. it is fortunate that little of this gossip reached the most interested parties, for it village gossip 219 might have detracted from the new happiness they were sharing, besides martin had other vexations. to right the lifelong wrongs of angie, even against her wishes, seemed a bounden duty. he had taken one trick in this game of justice by securing an option and preventing david from selling his property, for one year at least; the next was to take old cy into the wilderness and secure proof conclusive that the hermit was angie's father; that was trick number two in this game; the third and winning one, angie herself. the second seemed certain, the third a question, and one that made his pulse leap unduly when he considered it. then again going into the wilderness meant leaving angie for a month or more, and just now he wanted to see her every day if possible. ― another trouble and really the most serious of all was suppose this hermit refused to leave his wilderness home and return to greenvale at all? and if he did, would not the care of such a half-demented, misanthropic man, result in more shame and humiliation 220 the hermit to angie than martin ever dreamed? it was in a way a most selfish thought; for he knew if such a denouement came about, angie would never shrink from her duty one moment. he could not if he would, withhold from her what he expected to find, after he proved it true and returned and yet he hesitated. he wanted angie; her happiness and future were now more to him than his own, his money even, but so many pawns on life's chessboard, every thousand of which he would spend for her health and happiness, but was he not about to open a grave? there were none he dared confide in, not even to the extent of a theoretical query ; in himself alone rested the judge and jury of this momentous question, and well might he hesitate. there are turning-points on life's highway where even the wisest are forced to close their eyes and let chance guide their steps onward. chapter xxv a taste of wood life the apple orchards scattered over greenvale were bending with ripe fruit, the farmers cutting rowen, maples growing yellow, and the date for all schools to open only two days away, when martin carried out his picnic project. so anxious was he to please and surprise angie, that he visited the spot selected the day before, taking old cy along to help make ready. it was a pretty glade, some four miles up the mizzy, reached by an old wood road, and here that stream, somewhat reduced, ran close to a moss-clad rock wall on one side, while spreading oaks shaded the greensward along the other. when the two men had cut away the scattered undergrowth, set up an outdoor fireplace of stones, and erected a small table out of boards they had brought, old cy made a suggestion. 221 222 the hermit "ye want a wigwam," he said, "to make it nat'ral like, 'n' to seem ez tho' ye was really livin' in the woods," and then to complete the effect, the two set about its erection. it was no small task to cut and fetch poles enough, set them up, and finally thatch the affair with small hemlock boughs, but when the conical hut was done, all that was needed to complete the picture was a lakelet near by, a canoe, and an indian just landing. "it orter please her," observed old cy, scanning it critically, "'n' it'll give a sorter injin tech to the spot." "i'm glad we thought of it," rejoined martin, smiling at old cy's intuitive sympathy with his own wishes and wondering if all greenvale had guessed them as well. he little realized how most of them already considered angie and himself engaged, and only waited notice of a wedding-day. but on the way back another matter was discussed the cause of david's scare and its results. "it's a wakin' o' his sense o' guilt," old cy responded to martin's inquiry, "'n' i a taste of wood life 223 wouldn't be s'prised if they found him danglin' in the mill some mornin'. it's fear o' amzi comin' back that ails him, 'n' i know it." "but what scared him the night they found him raving?" queried martin. "do you imagine amzi has returned and is in hiding?" "no, not yet not yet," answered old cy, slowly shaking his head, "but he'll come some day sure's the sun rises, 'n' when he does, i'll be the fust to know it." "but what scared david, do you think?" old cy looked at martin curiously. "kin ye keep a secret?" he said. "i will for you, old friend," answered martin, earnestly. "wal, 'twas nezer!" "nezer?" "yes, 'twas him ez hooked all the tools 'n' started the mill goin' 'n' finally played ghost that night. i've known it all long 'n' 'twas to git square fer jumpin' into a barbed-wire trap that old dave sot fer the boys in the swimmin' hole. i heerd on 't next day, 'n' i've bin watchin' nezer ever since. i tell you that boy's a deal like a hornet 'n' a bad 224 the hermit i've never let on, 'n' nezer scared the wits un to play tricks on. i don't want you to. out o' old dave that night, depend on't, 'n' he ain't done yit. it's a sort o' dispensation o' providence, so ter speak, 'n' i'm willin' he should keep at it. old dave robbed me o' house 'n' home once, 'n' now he's gittin' his desarts." and old cy's eyes twinkled. martin looked at him in admiration. “and you have kept mum for a month, while the entire village was in an uproar,' he said, "and even led the searching party!" "sartin, sartin," chuckled the old man ; "i warn't goin' to spoil nezer's game, 'n' i'm only waitin' fer him to skeer old dave agin. he'll do it 'fore long, depend on 't. he ain't forgot jumpin' naked into a barbed-wire net yit, 'n' won't let up on dave till he's druv him loony." "" then martin laughed heartily as old cy told how nezer met his mishap, and how he had watched the boy lurking around the mill one night. "i seen him crawlin' 'long like a cat in the shadder," he said, "'n' down under the a taste of wood life 225 mill, 'n' perty soon i heard the mill start, 'n' the next, i saw nezer come out 'n' sneak up the hill through the brush, 'n' i follered, not wantin' to be caught thar myself." for a little time martin remained silent, revolving a more important matter. "cy," he said, at last, "how would you like to go with me for a month's trip into the wilderness, where i took the doctor last spring? you have given me many a day's happiness when i was a boy, and now i'd like to return it. i'll rig you up with suitable togs, and give you a month's experience you won't forget. i want you also to see the old hermit we found." old cy's eyes glistened. "ye won't be 'shamed o' me goin' 'n' comin', will ye? i'm sorter out o' place 'mong folks, ye know, i s'pose." "i won't worry about that," laughed martin, "and i don't know a human being i'd enjoy camping with any better than you. the fall season for shooting begins in a few weeks, and i'd like to see you face a big bull moose, or bring down a deer on the run. there's a few other wilderness experiences i'd like to q 226 the hermit see you enjoy, and then we may discover another wild man. the doctor and i found a hid-away log-cabin we didn't get very close to, and who occupied it has been a mystery to me ever since." all the rest of the way home martin enlarged upon the fascinations of wilderness life, and so elated was old cy at his coming treat that he scarcely slept that night. the picnic next day, however, was such an enjoyable episode that it needs description. to begin, the weather was perfect. a hazy indian summer day, when the woods were so silent the tinkle of falling leaves could be heard, and the blue corn-crakes flitting among the chestnut trees, the squirrels chattering, and nut-gathering the only sounds. when the little party, crowded on to a threeseated buckboard, reached the forest nook, a surprise greeted them with an addition, unknown even to martin, for some kindly hand had been at work, and the wigwam was a blaze of yellow, being completely coated with sprays of goldenrod, while a row of ox-eye daisies outlined the triangular door. a taste of wood life 227 "it's old cy's work," asserted martin, while the rest were exclaiming in astonishment at the pretty picture. "we came here yesterday to get the spot ready, and he must have got up early to add the decoration." it was quite in order that angie should at least give martin a special glance of gratified approval, but although he watched her covertly, while the rest were praising his efforts, none rewarded him. she joined, of course, with them in approving comment on the table, the fireplace, the spot selected, and especially the wigwam; led off in opening baskets and bundles and setting the table; watched with keen interest the methods of outdoor cooking, and when martin had spread the chicken he had brought on the wire broilers, and set them in place before the fire, humorously inquired if salt was always omitted by backwood cooks. she was like a child, also, in her enjoyment of the wigwam, and the picture of herself seated inside, while the men attended their culinary work just in front, was one that drew martin's glances. a picnic has been defined as a few people 228 the hermit finding an uncomfortable spot where they may eat, getting ready to eat, eating, and then returning to more convenient quarters, declaring that they have had a good time, and perhaps this one was much the same. there is some satisfaction, however, to an anxious lover in being "cook and captain bold" on such an outing as martin had planned, and he made the most of his chance. he cooked the corn and potatoes just right, browned the chicken to a turn, and didn't spill the coffee. he was everywhere, and doing everything all at once, and when the rustic meal was served, received a loud succession of compliments from all the women except angie, and one or two mild ones from her. if she was somewhat unresponsive, aunt comfort made up for it, and to an uninformed observer it seemed as if she felt herself the one in whose honor the picnic was planned. there wasn't an item in the simple bill of fare that she didn't praise, and martin's skill in cooking received no end of it. "i'd no idee a man ud ever know when br'iled chicken was done through," she observed when a taste of wood life 229 all were seated at the table and the feast began. "i never saw one afore who did. but this beats any i ever tasted, 'n' how ye managed 'thout gittin' it smoked is the puzzlin' part." "he has learned it from his guide in the woods," put in the doctor, pausing to butter a steaming ear of green corn; "that is part of their trade, and martin catches on quick." "you might open a cooking school in greenvale and have plently of pupils," added the doctor's wife, who also loved good things to eat; "i will attend." "i am surprised you don't blush at so much praise, mr. frisbie," interjected angie, with a laugh, "i should, i am sure." but no reply came from martin until the chorus ceased. "i am reminded of the advice a wise man gave me once," he responded then, "and that was, never blow your own horn, but if some one else is doing it, don't stop him." it would have been quite in order at this picnic, when its feasting had ended, and the repacking attended to, had angie, as guest of honor, devoted herself for a time to the host, but that seemed no part of this girl's desire. 230 the hermit instead, the doctor was the target for her sallies, and the object of her attention, and had been from the outset. and when the time had arrived, when picnickers don't know what to do next, angie insisted that the doctor escort her up the mizzy, and show her the mysteries of trout catching. it was almost ludicrous, for martin had brought his rods along for this very purpose, and a plausible excuse for an hour's privacy with angie, only to see her deftly escape him, and wander off with dr. sol. "" 'hang on to him, angie, if you meet a wild man," laughed martin, as the two disappeared up the stream, "or you will have to come back alone," and with this parthian shot at the doctor, martin accepted his discomfiture without a frown. better than all that, too, he now devoted himself to the elder ladies, as if their enjoyment of the day was his chief concern. he told them stories of wood life and the meeting with bears and wildcats, how camps were made, meals cooked, fish and game secured, carries crossed, rapids shot, and all the hundred and one experiences of life in the a taste of wood life 231 wilderness familiar to all sportsmen. then he again recounted all the features of his trip with dr. sol, the night call of the ogre-faced wild man, his hideous half-human, half-brute tracks, the finding of the queerly carved paddle knob, the lonely cabin with its ominous signal wire, and later the weird night visitor to the moonlit lake, when they were camped, and his supposed explanation in the finding of the strange hermit. all this had been told before, but retold now in this romantic forest nook, with the stream chattering on one side, and the wigwam close by, it made a chapter of experience that held the three ladies spellbound. martin also had excellent descriptive powers, and the rare ability of making his hearers see and feel what he had seen and felt, and so entranced were they that the doctor and angie's hour's absence seemed no time at all. "i don't wonder you men go daft on wood life," asserted the doctor's wife, when martin's recital ended and the two absentees joined them. "if it's all so full of mystery and romance, as you describe, it must be fascinating." 232 the hermit but the lowering sun said pack up and go home, although the little party felt loath to do so. the picnic had been a success, however, and martin had been its hero to them at least, which is above the average. he was not crowned with laurel, though plenty grew about the pretty nook, but he received ample praise and a final word from angie, which was some reward for his patient effort. "i hate to leave this spot, and especially that wigwam," she said to him when the rest and their belongings were loaded and ready to start. then this teasing and perhaps now contrite girl added, "may i rob it of the daisies? 66 'why, of course," he responded, leading the way back to it; "we built it to please you." angie made no response, but when she had taken all the flowers she could grasp in one hand, she laid the bouquet on the table, and selecting a tiny sprig of golden-rod, drew it into the top button-hole of his coat without comment. and so ended the picnic. chapter xxvi just a formal good-by for a week now angie had been schoolteacher again, and twice a day she walked the distance of almost two miles to and from school. the leaves were turning, the maples in front of her home already a glow of yellow, and the advent of autumn only accented the memories clustering around the old red bridge she crossed morning and night. occasionally she paused there on her way home, looking into the slow-flowing stream and thinking of this sturdy young man with kindly brown eyes and earnest ways. in his presence she felt herself somewhat of a child, and yet one who could hold him in restraint with a glance. and he had changed so from the old days! then a big, happy, quite harmless boy, now an almost stern man, and more like a lion liable to roar at any moment, and who must 233 234 the hermit be treated with due consideration. the old resentment at his silent desertion was also vanishing, and as she glanced at the pile of bleaching planks under the willow each day, and realized how only her cool reserve had kept him at a distance, so far her face grew rosy. and what was to be the outcome? some day this forceful man would scorn her puny barrier, and what then? she could not always keep him at a distance; and did she want to? and could she say "yes" to a question she knew would sooner or later be asked? there would be no opposition if she did. aunt comfort would sew until blind to help get her ready for the all-important step, and then, left alone, would cry her old heart out in solitude. but could she trust her very life, and all chance for happiness, in his hands, and desert the good old soul who had been mother so many years? it must come to that, she felt, for his adopting greenvale as a permanent residence was unlikely. she was sure his trout-raising hobby was but a short-lived fad, and to content himself in slow-going greenjust a formal good-by 235 he vale for long was not to be expected. had grown used to the busy world of a great city and back to it he must go or be miserable. she even doubted if he would remain there after snow came and the dreary monotony of winter began. and as she looked down into the dark, slow-eddying current, and thought of the white pall that would then hide it, and how even the sight of a snowbird was a relief, then the sorrow, that all through life keeps pace with joy, touched her heart and not so much her own as that of another, who had even less to anticipate! she had little to look forward to. it was all alike—the same unvarying round of home life, night and morning; the long walk to school in heat, rain, or snow; the monotony. of lessons so simple to her, so hard for the pupils; the goings to church to see the same faces each sunday, and hear the same sermonizing there, to repeat it all the next week. it was a treadmill existence, without color or excitement, and yet even more so was that of aunt comfort, whose smile and word of greeting on her return each night marked it 236 the hermit as the only event of importance that day. then all the years since that fatal morning when she, a scared child, had flown to aunt comfort; all the loving care, the self-denials, the makeshift to get along, the kindly words, the motherly thought for all her needs now returned, like so many hands extended in supplication, and seemed to impose a sacred obligation. she knew what aunt comfort would say if asked. she knew what that good soul's waiting up for her and the kiss that was a benediction meant! but no, it should not be, and, as she turned away from the dark current, it was with a resolve to say "no" when the time came, and come what may, abide with and care for aunt c ort so long as she lived. and that evening martin called. "i leave for the wilderness to-morrow," he said, when greetings had been exchanged, "and am taking old cy with me." and then ensued a somewhat humorous account of how that unique old man felt about the trip and what he was likely to meet. it was rather forced, for martin felt himself starting just a formal good-by 237 upon a momentous expedition, and leaving angie just now was also unpleasant. then again, he sorely wanted to confide in some one, and yet dared not. a secret is a burden, be it good or evil, and all the possibilities of joy and sorrow contained in the one martin carried made it a double burden. in due time, and as usual, aunt comfort withdrew, and he was alone with angie. and now she too seemed out of sorts. "my school has been troublesome to-day," she said, in response to his inquiry, "and the turning leaves always affect me in a peculiar way. i am positively unbearable all through the melancholy days," she added, affecting a laugh, "and i think my school noticed it." martin did, at least, and quick of intuition realized that even a hint of love-making now would be out of place. then while angie spoke of her school, and all its vexations, recalled the picnic and its enjoyment, he joined in occasionally in a half-hearted way, fully conscious she was only trying to entertain him, and be polite. 238 the hermit "you are not quite your usual self," he said at last, almost desperately, "and i am way down hill in my mood.” "you ought not to be," she returned, smiling at him; "you have a few weeks of campfires, bough beds, and wilderness life ahead, and i almost envy you. i'd like to look into your camp some evening and see you cooking again. shall you visit that old hermit on your trip?" "i expect to," answered martin, feeling himself grow hot and cold, "but i wish the doctor were going also." and now a strange fatality led angie to ask all about this hermit-how he looked, lived, and acted, who he might be, and where he came from. "i've thought of him so many times since the doctor told me," she added, after martin had answered her questions as vaguely as possible, "and the more i think of it, the more pitiful his life seems. i wish i could send him something." then a new thought came to martin. he had an old and faded picture of angie, taken just a formal good-by 239 at sixteen, with hair in curls; but now he must have a later one for a purpose he dared not even hint, and how to get it without exciting her curiosity was a question. 66 angie," he said after a pause, "please come into the parlor and sing some of the old songs for me." "with pleasure," she responded, rising; "do you feel churchy again?" then she led the way to the parlor, where an album lay on the centre-table. and now a spirit of mischief all at once seemed to animate this clouds-and-sunshine girl, and the very song he had listened to outside the evening of his arrival — the plaint of "sweet camelia may's " love-sick adorer — was her first selection. then came "the quilting party," and a half dozen other oldtime love-songs, and martin, just a wee bit love-sick, and conscious that he had best keep it to himself, sat and listened. when she ceased, he rose to go. "good-by, angie," he said, extending his hand at the door, and as she took it their eyes methis full of trouble and despondency, hers a trifle 240 the hermit wistful. "i shall carry the memory of your face into the wilderness with me," he added, glancing at the hand he still held, "and — and don't forget me." when the sound of his steps had vanished in the still night, she returned to the parlor and sat down. through an open window came the faint tinkle of leaves falling from the maples, down the valley the low murmur of the mizzy falls, and from the sitting room, the slow, measured tick of the clock. she was accustomed to hours of solitude, her life was one of dull, flat monotony to which she was hardened. but somehow just now the parlor seemed like a tomb. full well she knew that martin had come to say more than a formal good-by. by sheer force of will-power she had checked it, as she meant to in the future. it was against her own heart-yearnings now, but it was her duty; and as she thought of the wrinkled face upstairs and the faded blouse and sword, and realized how her own young life and love were all aunt comfort had left, her resolution and sense of obligation grew stronger. just a formal good-by 241 once a less thoughtful girl, she might and no doubt would have brushed all duty aside in response to a lover's claim; now more mature duty came first. for a little time she sat there listening to never, never, never-beats of the the slow clock, and living over old-time memories. one by one they came back, and like vanished blessings, seeming the sweeter, and now this new insidious impulse that must be stifled. and as the little heartache grew apace, her eyes filled. "pshaw," she exclaimed at last, rising and brushing the tears away, "how silly. i am a woman now, and women are born to suffer in silence." r chapter xxvii in the wilderness once more never before, during old cy's unfortunate and hand-to-mouth existence, had so much delightful expectation entered as the morning he left greenvale as martin's companion, attired in new brown corduroy. the best of any pleasure is its anticipation, and the old man, now barbered into more human semblance, looked twenty years younger. then the busy world they soon entered, the rushing trains, the crowded cities, the hurrying people, the hasty meals, the night on a train, were one and all so great a change from his simple life in greenvale, that he almost lost his senses. his sleeping-car experience, and his first one, was almost ludicrous in its effect upon him. "it sorter seemed just like bein' in a coffin 'n' clankin' right along toward kingdom come," he said next morning in response to martin's inquiries as to how he slept, "'n' 242 in the wilderness once more 243 every time the train rocked, i thought i'd got thar." but when the border of the wilderness was reached, old cy felt more at home, for forest lakes and streams had been his lifelong companions. he was somewhat surprised at the extensive purchases martin made at the little village store, and especially at a complete suit of men's clothing with double sets of flannel underwear, but asked no questions. neither did he have any idea of the real and ultimate object of the trip, and was not told until our old friends levi and jean had pushed the well-loaded canoes twenty miles up a broad stream, and the first camp was made. all that day old cy had been like a boy in his enjoyment of this new wonder world of dark bordering forest disturbed only by the rippling stream, the cry of an eagle sailing over a mountain top, or the clatter of a flock of ducks rising out of a lagoon; and then, when the tent was pitched, supper eaten, and martin was reclining upon his blanket and slowly puffing his pipe, he told the story of the hermit, and who he was suspected to be. 244 the hermit "the doctor and i had a trip full of unusual and mysterious experiences last spring," he said, "and it's only a surmise on my part, even now, who the hermit was. first we were visited by the wild man about whom i told you, then we came upon a secluded log cabin that might have been his lair and might not. a week later we discovered a human prowler at night, equally mysterious, and finally this hermit-a morose, harmless, old man, who had made friends of the squirrels and evidently was averse to our company. i have a suspicion he is the long-vanished amzi, and if so, you are the only one who can tell, and also the only one whom he would be likely to remember. if it is amzi, he is, without doubt, partially demented. but whether or no, if he recognizes you, his old-time companion, we have established a fact which i can use to bring david to terms. if it is not amzi, no harm is done." "an' 'twas fer him ye bought th' extra clothes?" queried old cy, with keen interest; then adding, after a pause, with visible emotion, "mr. frisbie, how fer is it to whar he in the wilderness once more 245 was livin', 'n' kin we fetch it in another day? if it turns out to be amzi, i'll jist squat down an' blubber like a baby. i'm sure on 't." martin smiled. "i'm glad i brought you, old friend," he answered, watching his face and eyes that glistened in the firelight. "if it proves to be amzi, you alone can reach his memory and maybe induce him to return to greenvale." then, as the astonishing effect such a return would have on that village flashed into his mind, he added, "i'd give a cool thousand for the chance to walk up to old dave and say, 'here's your brother amzi; i found him in the wilderness."" "twould gin him a worse scare than nezer did, 'n' i'd be willing to lay down 'n' die jist te see angie git her rights. she's been robbed long enough." "she will before i'm done with the matter," responded martin, in his earnest way, "and it's for that purpose we are here tonight. but i must ask you to keep this to yourself when we return," he added after a 246 the hermit pause. "to no one in greenvale, not even dr. sol, have i even hinted what i've told you to-night." "ye kin trust me. i'd sorter 'spected all along how ye'd felt toward angie, 'n' if ever thar was a girl worthy o' a girl worthy o' a good man, it's her." a shade crossed martin's face, for angie's cool parting was with him still. "how many days'll it take us to git thar," continued old cy; "will it take long?" "about ten days," answered martin, after a pause; "it's a hundred miles, with some hard carries." then he filled and lit his pipe anew, pushed the embers together, and watched the fire in silence, his thoughts back to greenvale and angie. it had been but little over three months now since he had camped in this same wilderness and on this same stream with dr. sol, and in that time what a change in his own feelings had come about. then the soft voices of the woods, the laughter of running water, the whisper of winds in the fir tops, the song of birds had all sounded sweet to him. then he was like the woodpecker :―― in the wilderness once more 247 "who lived in the hollow of a tree, didn't care for nobody and nobody cared for he." true he had a blissful memory of old-time boyish love, also sweet and perfect, that could be recalled at will and lose none of its charm, but it was only a memory and held no heartache, no longing, no consuming desire to have and to hold its object for all time. then came the temptation to return to that remote village of his youth and renew the old fond dream if possible. and what was the result? he had returned to find greenvale's scattered houses seemingly dwarfed in size, the streams he once fished merely rills, his early sweetheart, once so tender and confiding, grown to young womanhood, who looked at him with critical eyes, and beyond all these disappointments and changes, and more painful than allhimself forgotten. and what had he accomplished in the three short months that seemed as many years? he had spent a few hundred dollars on his trout-preserve hobby, renewed a few old ac248 the hermit quaintanceships, passed a dozen or more evenings with angie, each increasing the sum total of his unrest, discovered how mean and miserly a human being could be and live and-that was about all. his wooing of angie had made no apparent progress; the fact that he had outgrown greenvale's social and religious scope was painfully apparent, and all that he had won of value to himself, was the faint hope of a chance to right a great wrong by restoring his boyhood's sweetheart to her natural rights. when that was accomplished, he felt for a moment that the wisest and best move on his own part would be to return to the whirl of city life, and, in the grind of money making, forget angie and greenvale. but -resolutions are easier to make than to carry out, and when the fire had burned low and martin had led the way into the tent and wrapped himself in his blanket beside old cy, angie's glorious eyes and all the temptation of her face, form, voice, and the sweet memory of old times followed him. put her out of his thoughts he could not, any more than he could in the wilderness once more 249 close his ears to the murmur of the flowing stream close by. with eyes closed he saw her tripping to and from church or across fields, with sun hat hanging low, felt the light clasp of her hand on his arm as he had that night walking home from the old red bridge, heard her voice rising in the sweet melody of "give, said the little stream," and after a long hour of these tantalizing memories, when he finally passed into slumber, a winsome face kept him company. chapter xxviii unexpected trouble a romanbut of that journey into the wilderness little need be said. it was like all such tic, though at times somewhat tedious, following of streams, crossing lakes and carries, and camping when night overtook them. on the second day out old cy obtained his first sight and shot at a deer, and, as might be expected, no harm befell the deer. "i sartinly aimed fair enough," he asserted in response to martin's laugh, "but the gun might 'a' wobbled a leetle. it's bigger game 'n i'm used to." he made amends later, for along toward night and just as they rounded a bend in the stream, there on the bank, with antlers held high, stood a noble buck looking directly at them. with a quick backward stroke jean halted the canoe, cy raised his rifle, fired, and 250 unexpected trouble 251 the deer leaped straight upward and vanished in the undergrowth. "never touched him!" exclaimed martin. but with a "not so, he one dead deer," from the more experienced jean, he urged his canoe forward, and, sure enough, there on the bank a trail of blood led them a hundred rods into the forest and to the prize awaiting them. "no deer jump that way 'cept he ver' bad hit," asserted jean, in triumph, and as for old cy, it was the proudest moment of his life. the next day they came upon a jolly party of four fellow-sportsmen, housed in a deserted lumber camp on the shore of a small lake, and halted for the usual exchange of compliments, and finally they made camp and remained near them that night. they were a typical party, jolly and full of fun, and addressed each other by most unique nicknames. the leader, a stout, florid, genial man was called lobster face, the next, a thin fellow, was herring bone, a short dapper little fellow responded to brownie, and the dude of the party answered to dead easy. but martin was too anxious to solve the 252 the hermit mystery that led him into the woods, to tarry long with this pleasant party, and early the next morning pushed on. it was four days after when they saw another human being, and one day's journey to the lake where he and dr. sol had found the hermit, when, just as levi and jean had pitched the tent and started a fire, two men paddled up in a canoe and landed close by. both were dressed as ordinary sportsmen, yet neither could be classed as a guide. "we were about to make camp above here," explained the older, a man with shortcropped gray beard and keen eyes, "and, seeing your fire, we came down for company's sake. hope we don't intrude." "not at all," answered martin, pleasantly, and according to the code of all sportsmen, "my old friend and i also like company, and you are welcome to camp with us.". then, still following the code, he drew a flask out from the stores and passed it to them. after this peace-offering they withdrew a few rods and began clearing a camp site. later, when martin and old cy had disposed unexpected trouble 253 of the broiled venison, coffee, and boiled potatoes levi had provided, and lit their pipes, the newcomers joined them. and now ensued a polite word duel between martin and the elder stranger, with each trying to obtain information without giving it. it was fruitless, as might be expected, for martin was suspicious that these men were not the sportsmen they claimed to be; hence he gave no information and they were as reticent. it is a curious and yet well-known fact that two men meeting thus, will, in a short space, form a usually correct opinion of each other's character and present plans and intentions. one may strive to evade, to assert what is false, and as the saying is, "pull wool over the other's eyes," yet it is usually futile. in this case martin soon felt satisfied beyond doubt that these men were not here for sport, but on some secret mission they meant to conceal. they spoke of the abundance of game and where they had seen it, of the weather, lumbering interests, parties they had met, and kindred subjects, all the time striving to induce martin to do more talking. at 254 the hermit last he decided to try an experiment on those who he felt wished to learn his mission. "i presume, gentlemen," he said, "that you've been up the moosehorn?” the speaker of the two admitted he had. "well," continued martin, in a confidential manner, "i was up that way last spring with a friend of mine who had never been in the woods, and one night we received a visit from a most hideous wild man. my friend saw him first and nearly died of fright, and later on i saw him glaring at us from behind a bush. if you go that way again, you may meet him. "the next day," continued martin, smiling at their sudden interest, "we hunted for this fellow's tracks, and found he was endowed with the claws of a panther. it was true, and yet in an instant martin saw he wasn't believed. "did you notice horns on him also the evening before?" came the query, in response to this astonishing statement. "no," answered martin, laughing, "nor tail either; but what i tell you is true, though i see you don't believe it." unexpected trouble 255 for answer the two men looked first at one another, then at levi and jean reclining close by, and, rising, the speaker said to martin, "come over to our tent, won't you? i've something choice there i want you to sample." "it was only an excuse to obtain privacy, and evident enough to martin, but he little realized the shock that was coming. "i am satisfied," said the speaker of the two men in a low voice, when the three had entered his tent, addressing martin, "that you and your friend are gentlemen who are here on sportsmen's mission and for sport. we are on another and far different errand, but it won't do for your guides to know it for sufficient reasons. i see you mistrust us, and that is why i asked you in here." he paused, looked at his companion who nodded, and then continued, "i did hope to obtain some information from you, but see it is impossible until i make myself known. we are officers and are looking for a murderer who has been hiding in this wilderness many years. we have heard recently that he has a cabin on one of the musquacook lakes, and we are bound that 256 the hermit way. every guide who comes into this region is in league against us to protect this murderer, and for that reason i could not speak freely before yours. then martin, listening, almost gasped for breath at this admission. this peaceful old hermit who taught squirrels to love him, and whom he believed to be amzi curtisderer! impossible! -a mur"you are wrong, gentlemen," he said in a positive tone, "wholly wrong, and i know it. i found that hermit you are after last spring, and he never did or never would harm a fly out of malice." then he told, as if pleading for himself, what manner of man this hermit was, and beyond that, whom he surmised him to be. "no, no, gentlemen," he said in conclusion, "this old fellow is a poor half-demented man whom my friend and myself are going to call on, and i know he is not the one you want." but somehow his pleading and profuse explanation failed to convince. "i don't doubt you believe what you say and are honest," was the response, "but i unexpected trouble 257 still think this hermit, as you call him, is the chap we want." and martin, returning to his own campfire, felt his heart sink with a new dread sense of danger. "levi," he said, "do you know who those men are?" "game wardens, i 'spect." "worse than that; they are officers on their way to arrest our old hermit for murder." then martin looked at old cy, then at jean, and back to levi in silence, and with firm, set lips. "boys," he said at last, "it's a good twentyhours' paddle to the musquacook. we have starlight and no carries-what do you say?" for answer levi began to draw the embers of the fire apart. "the sooner they think we have turned in the sooner they will," he said; "'n' then we can start." but this impending danger to the poor old hermit woke martin's curiosity. "levi," he said, while they waited, "these officers are on a wrong scent, i am sure, but s 258 the hermit are after some criminal, no doubt. do you know of any who have been or are now in hiding here in this wilderness?" "i do," answered levi, "but there's reasons why i don't care to speak out. i ain't shieldin' no murderers by keepin' mum. i'm just mindin' my own business, 'n' not tellin' things that might end in my bein' a mark for a bullet some day; that is all." "well," responded martin, somewhat surprised, "i think i understand your position, and it's all right. i don't want to get you into trouble, you may be sure, or to give any one away; but at least you can tell me whether you ever heard that an escaped criminal was hiding in this wilderness. it won't go any farther, i'll give you my word." and then levi, much pressed, told this story: "i've heerd thar was one, a chap by the name of mcguire, an' he had the name o' bein' a bad man. i ain't sayin' this as a fact, only just what i heerd. he used to do smugglin' years ago down country, fetchin' rum in from the provinces, 'n' then chinks hid in unexpected trouble 259 coffins, 'n' all that business. arter that, he kept a place up to grin'stun where lumbermen could spend thar money middlin' quick on rum, cards, 'n' sich. they used ter say he got most on 't, but some on 'em made a fuss 'n' took the law on him, 'n' then he dropped back. the next i heerd he was up to st. francis that's on the upper st. john-'n' runnin' the same sort o' a dive; 'n' then he shot a warden fer tryin' ter arrest him fer dynamitin' salmon on spawnin' beds, 'n' then he took to the woods. all this happened some years ago, 'n' thar's been a standin' offer of a thousand dollars fer him ever since. i ain't heerd he's been ketched, though." "but have you an idea that the chap we found with a bell signal last spring was this mcguire ?" put in martin, eagerly; "did you think so then?" "why, i sorter guessed it might be," put in levi, cautiously, "but i'd rather you wouldn't tell them wardens, if you meet 'em agin. it might make me trouble. i ain't over fond o' game wardens either, fer that matter." then a new light dawned on martin. 260 the hermit "i won't give you away, old faithful," he said, "and not a hint to those wardens, you may be sure. they doubted my word just now when i was telling the truth, and i am 'agin 'em' as much as you are. we will beat them to the old hermit's home to-night, if our paddles don't break, and when you and i part company, you will be well remembered." chapter xxix a night journey in the wilderness for an hour martin and his three faithful allies watched the other camp-fire from in hiding. at last it died down, the two strange men entered their tent, and, after another tedious wait, levi crept over to it, returned, and in a whisper announced that they were snoring. after hearing this, it did not take long for the four to pack and quietly fold their tent like the arab and silently steal away. the bordering forest along the stream was a wall of almost inky darkness; its course was but a narrow, winding rift between these walls and barely outlined by the stars. now and then a patch of foam, caught in some eddy, lay like a prostrate ghost in waiting, tall firs leaning over it, and, side by side, the two canoes, like two huge crocodiles slowly swimming, now crept up the stream. not a word, 261 262 the hermit not a whisper even, from the four determined men, bound on a mission of protection over an unknown old hermit who might not, after all, deserve it. it was a dim theory and faith in a long-range guess only on martin's part that led him forward on that all-night journey, and yet that was martin's way. once he formed a conclusion he never halted or turned back, but pushed on until he proved himself right or wrong. and what a wild night journey that was under the stars and ever on and on into the black forest! no use to turn back no waiting, welcoming light ahead, but ever the same dark, forbidding wilderness, ghostly and spectral. the black current they faced, veered and twisted from side to side, ever disputing their progress; owls hooted out of swamps, loons saluted them with half-human despairing cries, when a broad lakelet in the stream was reached, while ever and anon from out the darkness, came the scream of a wildcat or panther. sometimes the way grew uncertain where the stream broadened in a swamp, and here they a night journey in the wilderness 263 poked into beds of reeds, or nosed into clumps of alders, at last to find the current again and enter the forest once more. now and then they halted to rest, fill their pipes, and exchange greetings in whispers, for the wilderness at night ever awes and loud speech seems dangerous. and so on and on, hour after hour, each man patiently wielding his paddle, while backs ached, arms grew tired and eyes dim with watching, until at last a broadening lake was reached just as the gray light of coming morn drove away the darkness. with renewed courage it was soon crossed and there, in the same cove, and on the same sandy shore where martin and the doctor had camped, the canoes were drawn out and the weird night journey ended. "we have got to sleep a little, boys," asserted martin, looking into the tired faces of the rest, and especially old cy, whose hollow eyes looked ghastly. "i confess i'm well tired out." "it wa'n't the paddlin' that tuckered me so much as the feelin' skeery all the time," responded old cy. "it sorter seemed 's tho' 264 the hermit sum wild critter was like to jump out o' the woods any minnit." but conversation was at a discount, and, without waiting for tent raising, or even cutting bough beds, each man rolled himself in his blanket and the sleep of utter exhaustion. and what a picture greeted them two hours later when the september sun, now well up, smiled down into that rippled lake, blue and sparkling! overhead a fish-hawk was circling; across on a tall dead tree-top sat a gray forest eagle; a flock of ducks paddled to and fro along the margin of a bed of wild rice, while just above and nearer shore, stood an antlered deer knee deep in the water. best of all, no sight or sound of aught human was visible. the picture was so woodlike, so romantic, so perfect with the two canoes side by side on the sandy shore, kissed by the ripples, it almost brought tears to old cy, unused to such. "if i'd got to shut my eyes fer good," he said, after a long look with face upraised to where the eagle sat, "i'd like to do it right cr ab shute mebbe god has concluded to be good to me, now i'm gittin' old" page 265 a night journey in the wilderness 265 now 'n' carry this picter with me into kingdom come. i thought i knew what bein' in the woods meant, but i never did afore. mebbe god's concluded to be good to me now i'm gittin' old. they call me an infiddle in greenvale," he added a little sadly, "but i ain't, 'n' i never go through thick woods when. it's sorter shadowy 'n' still, but i feel jist as if god was keepin' me company 'n' i'd orter step light. lookin' up at a mountain also 'fects me the same way, 'n' i jist can't help takin' my hat off." and martin, touched by the simple reverence of old cy, felt a new admiration for him. but a duty of protection and rescue lay ahead, and there was an immediate need of food. it did not take levi long to start a fire, and while the slices of venison grew fragrant as they broiled, the coffee mingled its aroma with the resinous odor of the forest, and the boiling potatoes sent steam aloft, all enjoyed a vigorous wash in the clear lake water. "i think we've stolen a good march on those rascals who doubted my word," said 266 the hermit martin, as he peeled a potato, then, spearing a brown slice of venison off the wire broilers and dropping it into old cy's tin plate, he secured another for himself, added, "they must have gasped for breath when they woke up and found us gone." "they'll follow, fast enough," returned levi, taking his share of good things, now that the need of haste was evident, "they want to earn that thousand dollars ez has been offered for mcguire. we've got a good six hours' start on 'em, even 'lowin' daylight paddlin'," he added, glancing at the sun, "'n' time enough to hide the hermit where they can't find him, that is, 'lowin' he's the man you want." martin looked at his guide in surprise. he had confided to him the object of his trip; what levi knew of this mcguire's history he had imparted before that long night journey, but no definite plan of action had been agreed upon so far. "i'm going to let you manage this affair," replied martin, after a pause. "you know the woods, you know the danger, and what i want. if the hermit is the man i think, we a night journey in the wilderness 267 must keep him out of these officers' hands if we have to tie him hand and foot and carry him off bodily." "i wished we'd got more time," returned levi, thoughtfully; "we're in a sort o' pocket up thar, 'n' 'bout the only chance o' gittin' out is down the way we go in, 'n' that means runnin' right into these ossifers, sure pop. thar's a small stream comin' into that lake whar he is, but ye can't work up it more 'n a mile 'n' it ends in a beaver dam. d-n 'em," he muttered a little later, "i wish we could start 'em up toward the moosehorn 'n' the hut with the signal wire. that's one o' mcguire's hidin'-spots, i've a notion." but time was flying, martin uneasy to be off, and the moment breakfast was eaten, the smouldering fire was drenched with water to leave no smoke sign, and the canoes pushed off. and now came an exhibition of woodcraft new even to martin. levi, always the last to get into his canoe, waited until the other had moved out, then, stepping into the water, reached back with his paddle and levelled 268 the hermit every track in the sand and smoothed down the furrows cut by canoe bows when they landed, then with a tin cup he threw water over them all. "they may find somebody built a fire," he said, as he took his seat, "but they can't tell when." and now forward once more into and up the slow-running stream, martin and the doctor had ascended, as they supposed in pursuit of a wild man. it seemed longer now, for pursuers were hot after them. it lent vigor to their paddling, however, and when the quick water was reached, and they halted for a breathing spell, martin consulted his watch and was astonished to find it not yet ten. he had been so keyed up with excitement, the night journey, the brief sleep and all, that he had lost sense of time. he had not even noticed the sun. it was reassuring in one way, for they must still be many hours in advance of their pursuers, and they pushed on with rising spirits. for over two months now martin had been slowly reaching the conclusion that this old hermit must be the long-missing amzi. at a night journey in the wilderness 269 first a vague suspicion, then a probability, and at last so many times had he thought of it, comparing and shifting all data and gossip, recalling the old hermit's looks and nature as he found them, with all reports, that now he was ready to stake his life almost that the long mystery would be solved and the hermit found to be angie's father. there were other and stronger chords than curiosity. his memory of boyhood days and angie his more mature and deeper love for her now the realization of how she had been wronged, and beyond these, a burning desire to teach that miserly hypocrite, her uncle, a lesson in common honesty and manhood, moved him to action. and just ahead, shining in the sunlight, was the little lake across which might be the one who could solve all mystery and serve justice. martin could hardly wait, and, although weary by loss of sleep and long hours of steady paddling, when the prow of his canoe emerged from the tangle of alders and glided into the lake, he fixed his eyes on the thicket of spruce where the hut stood, and never lowered 270 the hermit them until his canoe bow grated on the sandy landing. then, leaping ashore, he halted. "you had better go first," he said to old cy, "the shock of seeing you may waken his memory. it's only a few rods up this path to the hut." half dreading, and yet longing to end the suspense, martin followed his companion. up the steep bank, among the thick-growing trees they crept stealthily until the stump-dotted garden opened into view, and beside it the hut. the fence was still in place, weeds and dried corn stalks filled the garden, and as old cy opened the little gate and halted before the cabin, the squirrels frisked and chattered with sudden interest. but the door was closed, and what was more discouraging, a bank of dry leaves had gathered at its foot. cautiously, and with sinking heart martin crept up, pushed the door open and looked in. the hut was empty. chapter xxx a deserted cabin for a few moments martin stood looking into that deserted hut, at the narrow bunk on one side, the shelf-like table with its few dishes washed clean and piled together, the two rude stools, tiny stove, pots, and pans. then he turned to old cy. "our night paddle was useless," he said in a dejected tone, "the hermit's gone." and absent he had been for many weeks, as their observant eyes soon saw. not only had the falling leaves drifted up against the door since last closed, but tiny shoots of grass had grown in the pathway and the garden had been left undisturbed since midsummer. it was here that the long-continued absence of its owner was most in evidence. the ripened ears of corn had been picked clean by crows and squirrels, bean pods lay rotting on the ground, and a tangle of weeds covered the plot. 271 272 the hermit "there's one thing we kin do, anyhow," said old cy, when the examination was ended, "we kin lay low round here 'n' watch them ossifers git fooled." it is needless to say that his bubbling sense of humor was consoling to martin just now, and the two returned to the landing where a consultation was held. it ended in a decision to cross the lake, ascend a tributary stream, and, hiding the canoes, return through the woods, and, as old cy said, "lay low." this was carried out, and, an hour later, levi stationed at the landing as an outer guard, while the rest found good hiding-places. they had another hour's wait, and then levi joined them with the information that the expected visitors were just crossing the lake. it was not really courteous conduct on martin's part to thus play spy, but somehow he felt unkindly toward these minions of the law who doubted his word, and when they approached the cabin, was willing to listen. "guess the bird has flown," said the leader, as he halted before the hut and glanced at the little bank of leaves. then, pushing the door 1 a deserted cabin 273 in, he looked long, turned about, and added, "i wonder where those fellows are who gave us the slip." "i've a notion we may have passed 'em below here," responded his companion, "and they'll show up later." then they ransacked the garden, returned and entered the cabin, and made a more complete examination. "he's been hiding here a good long time," asserted the leader, appearing again and glancing at the vines almost covering the hut. "this shack's been built all of ten years or more." "well, did you ever?" he exclaimed in astonishment, as a squirrel suddenly appeared from behind the cabin, ran up to him, halted, and the next instant was on his shoulder. "here, you varmint, git off," he added, striking at the pretty creature, who leaped to the ground chattering. then the two men looked at one another, for that frisking squirrel's conduct was a revelation. "i'm not just sure it's mcguire's hiding-spot after all," asserted one. "nor i either," responded the other. "this hut's been built twice ten years, or i'm no t 274 the hermit guesser; and mcguire wa'n't the chap to tame squirrels that way." then he glanced at the sun, now well down, and added, "we might as well camp here tonight and save trouble, besides there's taters and onions in the garden." when the two had returned to their canoe. martin softly whistled to his companions, and they also vanished into the woods to hold a consultation when secure from discovery. "wal," said old cy, chuckling, "they've skinned us out o' a good camping spot 'n' now what's to be done?” it was a poser, and martin, seating himself on a fallen tree trunk, stroked his chin and reflected. "they'll light out in the morning," he said at last, "and until then are welcome to the hut. i've no use for them. think of a brute in the shape of a man who would knock a harmless squirrel off his shoulder!" the fact was that martin had conceived a sudden and really causeless dislike for these two men who were only doing their duty. "it'll be dark 'fore we know it," asserted old cy, glancing into the shadowy forest, "'n' it's a a deserted cabin 275 mebbe we good spell back to the canoes. better push on." and push on they did, back to the concealed canoes, and a camp for the night. and later around the camp-fire a consultation was held in earnest. "we are here to find that hermit," asserted martin, after all surmises as to his whereabouts had been exhausted, "and hunt for him we will until snow flies." "amzi used to have the same trick o' wanderin' off fer days," responded old cy, pointedly, "'n' he'll be back here bimeby." martin smiled the first time in hours. "you seem sure it's amzi," he said, grateful for the assurance. "sartin i do, 'n' more'n that, he ain't dead ez i callate your thinkin'; i'd feel it if he was." the camp-fire conference terminated early, for the loss of sleep was felt by all, and when, late the next morning, martin crept out of the tent, levi and one canoe were missing while jean was busy cooking breakfast. it was eaten, and martin was getting uneasy at levi's prolonged absence when he appeared. 276 the hermit "they've gone, bag and baggage," he asserted with elation, "i watched till i see 'em shove off 'n' leave the lake." but this did not solve the problem of where the hermit was, and martin was as non plussed as ever. immediate danger to him was removed for the present, but where was the hermit? they were in the midst of a wilderness hundreds of miles in extent and traversed by streams running toward every point of the compass. to go in search of this strange recluse was sure to be like hunting for the proverbial needle, and martin realized it. "there is but one thing to do," he said at last in a despondent tone, "and that is, stay around here with the hope that he may return. he has evidently been away from his hut many weeks, and therefore all the more likely to be back soon." then, turning to old cy, he added jokingly, "how would you like to go hunting for the wild man we found up the moosehorn, just to kill time? there is another and more mysterious log cabin up that way that would be interesting." "you kin go," responded old cy, candidly, a deserted cabin 277 "'n' let me stay here 'n' watch fer amzi. i won't be lunsome, 'n' maybe he may come any day. i'd like to ketch sight o' that wild man, but i'd a good deal rather ketch sight o' amzi.” "we might go down to the lake where we slept in the bushes and camp there while waiting," said martin, thoughtfully; "he's likely to return that way." then levi suggested that they take possession of the hermit's hut, since it had been left unlocked. but martin said no to that promptly, and, as leaving the spot at all had obvious drawbacks, in the end they decided to camp in a little cove just around from the hermit's landing spot and there await him. to take possession of even his miserable hovel was against martin's feelings, and more than that, while the guides were establishing a permanent camp, he and old cy returned to the cabin, and tried to remove all evidence of the other men's visit. like many who hesitate at no vandalism, they had used part of the stake fence for fuel, dug up and carried off many of the potatoes and onions, and left the débris of their meals to mould on the table. 278 the hermit "d-n," muttered martin, as he looked at the desecration of this pitiful home, "i'd like to kick them, one at a time, from here to the lake and then pitch them in." "no use gittin' ruffled," answered old cy, "hogs is hogs the world over, 'n' always leave their tracks." then he seated himself on a stump and chirped to one of the squirrels who frisked and chattered, and then leaped into his lap. and now ensued a week of pleasant camp life, devoid of incident, but delightful to old cy, and, as may be surmised from his method of life in greenvale, where he was content to live alone in a hovel, work for aunt comfort part of the time and fish and hunt the rest, he borrowed no trouble and had few wants. if it rained, he remained under shelter; if it was cold, he kept close to the fire, oblivious to whether he had more than a day's fuel on hand, and as for clothes well, if they covered his nakedness and kept him warm, why, patches were as serviceable as the original material. and yet he was honest and kindhearted to a fault, loving his fellow-men if in sympathy with him-far better than himself, a deserted cabin 279 and keenly alive to the beauties of nature and not devoid of reverence for the almighty. beyond that and like aunt comfort, he had an abiding faith that all wrongs would be righted sooner or later, and everybody get what they deserved. and now he firmly believed that the long-missing amzi would in due time return in the person of this old hermit; and meanwhile they had a chance to enjoy this hunter's paradise. "the only critter i miss here is my dog," he observed at the close of the first day, when they returned to camp with a handsome buck and a dozen partridge; "i've sorter got used to talking to him when i'm content, 'n' he allus understands me. a dog's better 'n most humans fer company, 'n' ketchin' the drift o' yer feelin's quicker. once a dog loves yer, it's allus the same never changes, and ye don't have to keep warmin' it up. me 'n' amzi use' to be that way, an' ud be so now, if he hadn't gone queer." to martin also, now that he was forced to remain content, old cy was charming company, and his cheerful optimism, keen enjoyment of wood life, and childish gratitude for 280 the hermit this, the one supreme and altogether glorious episode of his life, a daily source of pleasure. and, too, the old man transmitted to martin some of his philosophic content and certainty that this expedition would turn out all right in the end. and so the balmy indian summer days wore on. each morning and night they visited the hut, lest its owner return unawares, and on these calls old cy always had a handful of nuts ready for the squirrels, who soon recognized a friend, and invariably ran to meet him. and how short those halcyon days were, even to impatient martin! they journeyed up the stream that entered this lake, watched the deer feeding in the woods, surprised otter, mink, and muskrat in their haunts, and by patient waiting saw the beavers at work on their dam. they caught a few trout in the spring hole that the hermit had located for martin, and, when more meat was needed, killed another deer. one week and then another of this matchless existence passed, and then one morning, as they drew near to the hut, there, sitting on the bench in front, hatless, coatless, with tangled white hair and beard, was the hermit! chapter xxxi the birth of new thought there were a few in greenvale who doubted the reverend jones's orthodoxy. squire phinney was one, cap'n tobey (who kept the village tavern) another, and who, while admitting the bible was correct in asserting man should take a little wine for his stomach's sake, questioned the truth of jonah's experience and the story of the deluge. this small coterie of incipient heretics, though attending church with semiregularity, met as often in cap'n tobey's hostelry or phinney's store, and held a little service of their own, where these biblical stories were discussed, pro and con, and the seeds of doubt and scepticism sown. some held that the bible was all literally true, others that it was partially so, and a few, while neither infidels nor atheists, asserted that no part of it was to be believed except as it seemed reason281 282 the hermit able. the orthodox creed and the reverend jones's sermons also came up for consideration, and while the sturdy farmers sat around phinney's stove on winter evenings, their heavy boots steaming on the iron rail surrounding it, chewing tobacco or smoking, the location and probability of the place of eternal punishment and the injustice of predestination, foreordination, and infant damnation were gravely discussed. in time a few newcomers, with less veneration for the parson and more outspoken in thought, settled in greenvale, and the nucleus of the unitarian church society came into existence. there were social causes also that aided in bringing this about. the first and most powerful, of course, was the growing doubt and lack of faith in the reverend jones's orthodox teachings. they believed he was a good man and meant well, but was mistaken, and that his clinging to a literal interpretation of some parts of the bible proved it. they had gravely weighed jonah's exploits, samson's conduct, and noah's ship-building, and found them wanting. solthe birth of new thought 283 omon's domestic example was pernicious; david's morals worse, and adam's shifting the blame on to eve unfair. then the unending repetition of god's plan of salvation and its reason, the glories of heaven, the agonies of hell, the nature of the devil, why he was created, how powerful he was, and all the long category of calvinism dwelt upon by jones year after year, had become tiresome, and the oftener they listened to it, the less they believed it. then another factor carried influence. the village had taken sides for and against david curtis when his brother disappeared, and the parson was on david's side. there were, of course, well known and selfish reasons for this, but they did not add to the reverend jones's credit for fair play and justice, and as time went on and the antidavid side grew in numbers, his influence waned. these causes finally culminated in direct action, the formation of another society, and the erection of a modest house of worship called the unitarian church. its following, however, was small in numbers. some who had advocated it at first failed to respond 284 the hermit financially. the reverend jones, of course, attacked those who did with all manner of invective, calling them heretics and even infidels. the minister, who was called to lead this little band, found it impossible to live on the meagre salary paid, and what with jones's opposition and lack of moneyed support, the movement failed, and the new church closed its doors. they remained closed until martin frisbie returned to greenvale, and then one evening in squire phinney's store, like a spark long buried in ashes, the movement came to life again. it was all due to an unusually severe sermon preached by jones the previous sunday, and now criticised sharply by the squire in the presence of martin and a half dozen more, formerly identified with the unitarian society. "guess the contribution boxes must 'a' bin comin' in light lately, the way jones pitched into us last sunday," phinney remarked; "i've allus noticed when quarters and halves was skeerce in the boxes one sunday, we ginerally git hell an' brimstun the next. it's as sartin a sign as tree-toads is o' rain." the birth of new thought 285 "and does it work well and fill them the next sunday?" laughed martin; "if it does, you can't blame him. he's got to live somehow." "that's so," rejoined the squire, "but the trouble is, them as has money to give here ain't skeered no more by bein' shook over hell they've got used to it for one thing, and another is they don't believe in hell 'n' pitchforks no more." "and do you mean to say you good people here doubt any of mr. jones's venerable creeds?" returned martin, looking from one to another of the group with an amused smile; "i am astonished at such heresy." "well, ye needn't be," returned the squire, testily, "we ain't all on us asleep here all the time, 'n' if we had money enough, we'd have another church-goin' in no time. we tried it once, but it sorter petered out. mebbe 'twas from lack o' brimstun preachin'. arter all," he added after a pause, "mebbe jones is right in his idee of skeerin' folks to make 'em pay. but i don't believe it yit, an' never shall." 286 the hermit then others chimed in in support of the squire and a general arraignment of the parson's old-line orthodoxy. "he's like a tree as is done growin'," asserted one, "'n' puts out no new shoots. he jist grinds the same grist o' thought over 'n' over agin, sunday arter sunday, an' ye kin tell what he's goin' to say the minnit he gives the text." "i've outgrowed a devil with hoofs and horns," added another, "an' don't take no more stock in jonah or the ark business. i don't b'lieve the almighty is a bein' any on us understands, 'n' jones makin' out he knows his plans an' intentions, is all bosh. he's gin us laws ter foller 'n' consciences to obey, an' that's all thar is to religion, anyhow." "i'll tell you what i'll do, gentlemen," asserted martin, after listening awhile to these heterodox admissions, "i have a young friend by the name of upson who is a recent graduate of a divinity school, an eloquent speaker of liberal tendencies and one whom i would like to assist now if you are tired of jones's theology and feel like listening to this young man, i'll h the birth of new thought 287 make you a proposition: circulate a subscription paper and obtain a monthly guarantee of sufficient money to pay him a living salary, then repair the old unitarian church and make it habitable, and i'll pay the bill for that. i'll also subscribe toward the salary." it was an astounding proposition, and may have come more from martin's desire to install himself in greenvale's good-will than to inculcate a new gospel; but that mattered not. greenvaleites were not addicted to over close examination of gift-horses, and martin's proposition was then and there accepted by all present. more than that, so ready was the soil for new seed that the requisite subscriptions were obtained in a day, and when he and old cy left for the wilderness, a gang of men were at work on the long-vacant church that had been used as a storehouse for farming tools, and it was well on its way toward reconstruction. as might be expected, this new movement caused even more gossip than david's ghostly visitor and consequent illness; in fact, martin and his actions since his return had been a storm centre of gossip, and this last exploit sur288 the hermit passed all that had gone before it. it landed him on the top wave of popularity with the majority of greenvale's citizens, of course, and only a few of the most bigoted of jones's followers, led by him, dared speak ill of the innovation. he, as might be expected, was in sore distress over it and missed no chance to cry it down. he denounced it from the pulpit as a secret emanation from the devil, sure to undermine the foundation of faith and the true gospel, and in private lamented that he in his old age should be exposed to such an arrogant assault. he even enlarged upon the trite saw that the love of money was the root of all evil, and this young man must be ungodly, since he belonged to no church and had come here to flaunt his illgotten wealth in the faces of the sanctified. "it's a hit bird as allus flutters, 'n' a stuck pig as allus squeals," remarked squire phinney, when told of the parson's lamentations, and as his homely philosophy fairly expressed the opinion of the majority, that is sufficient. angie and aunt comfort, of course, heard both sides of this discussion, and while the the birth of new thought 289 was latter discreetly praised martin's public spirit, angie felt it an unfortunate action. she was, as has been explained, abnormally sensitive to public criticism or notice of any kind. that reticence had been the basis of her own and aunt comfort's refusal to take any legal action against david curtis, and now feeling herself as she very much in the public's eye for many reasons, this last cause for gossip was painful to her. another reason and she would not admit it even to herself. was that it hurt her to have a few express spiteful and malicious opinions of martin. he was nothing to her, of course, and she had firmly resolved he should not be, and yet deep down in her heart he was a great deal to her. only as a would-be friend, of course, or one about whom a few oldtime memories still lingered, and that was all. he was absent now, he would doubtless return only to leave greenvale for good again, when he found his quest of herself met no response, and yet to have even an absent friend who was known to be her suitor denounced as a heretic, a scoffer, and almost an atheist, by the parson, hurt her cruelly. u ――――――― ―――― chapter xxxii amzi curtis ar sight of the hermit martin quickly stepped into hiding behind the tree, motioning .old cy to do the same. this strange recluse was not a dangerous beast, and yet so momentous was the question of approaching him, and whether or not he would admit himself to be amzi, that martin hesitated. "you go first, cy," he said in a low tone after thinking a moment, "and i'll keep out of sight. just walk up to him naturally and say, 'hullo, amzi,' or accost him as you were accustomed to, and if you take him unawares, the chances are he will admit that he knows you." it was with nervous dread that martin watched the denouement of this forest drama. for months now he had thought of but little else except angie, and proving this hermit 290 amzi curtis 291 to be her father, and thus obtain her rights. now that the critical moment had arrived and the mystery was to be solved for good or never, well might he feel nervous. and as he watched old cy leisurely approaching the cabin, he was almost breathless with suspense. step by step old cy drew nearer, now to the little gateway in the stake fence, now up the winding path among the stumps, until the hermit looked up and old cy halted. the critical moment had come. twenty years had been bridged. for a minute that seemed an hour the two looked at each other. then the hermit rose, and for another to martin breathless moment faced old cy, motionless. martin could see him quite distinctly, his shrunken features, white beard, all awry, scanty hair, long arms hanging listlessly, gray shirt wide open at the throat, and patched trousers. he was like a pathetic statue of old age gone to seed, and outlined against a log cabin, half hid beneath scarlet vines. now old cy took a step forward, both hands extended, the hermit raised his, their hands 292 the hermit met, then up and down again and again in a hearty shake of old friendship. the suspense was over and the long-missing amzi found. and now martin, keeping out of sight, returned to his camp content to leave the two old friends by themselves, and while he waited he drew from a small hand-bag a flat package and opened it. it contained two pictures of angie, one as a girl of sixteen with hair in curls, the other a maturer face, sweet, yet dignified. "well, little girl," he almost whispered, glancing from one face to the other, "i've found your father, but god only knows what we can do with him or how it will affect you." for a long time he looked at the two faces of one who now held the key of his life's happiness, and then folding them carefully, put the package in an inside pocket and glanced around. the morning's campfire still smouldered, a thin film of smoke rose from it, vanishing in the overhanging fir boughs above. the open tent just back disamzi curtis 293 closed a confusion of flattened bough beds, blankets, boxes, and clothing. two rifles lay side by side in one corner, in front one canoe half out of water on the sandy shore, while across the rippled, sparkling lake, and in a cove, rested the other with levi and jean casting for trout, —a collective wilderness picture which he never forgot. for a half hour he sat in the mellow autumn sunshine, as if in a trance, and then came a rustling in the undergrowth and old cy appeared. "well," said martin, anxiously, "is he sane and all right?" "oh, middlin' so," answered old cy, his face glowing with excitement; "it's amzi fast enough, 'n' he owns it up, but he can't make out how or why i'm here, an' he don't 'low he's got a brother dave 'n' a grown up gal, angie. he's sane enough so fur 's livin' here, 'n' how he does it, 'n' all about the garden 'n' squirrels, but jist the minnit i shift back to old times, he either gets wary or don't rec'lect. he thinks i come here 'lone, too, 'n' when i come 'way, he acted worried for fear i wouldn't 294 the hermit come back, 'n' kept beggin' i would. it's a curus case, 'n' i can't make it out. he acts like a man woke up out of a sleep." "had i best call on him now," asked martin, after a long pause, "or wait until to-morrow? he isn't likely to go off again, is he?” "wal, i dunno," answered old cy, cautiously, shaking his head, "i dunno; we can't stop him if he does, i s'pose, an' all we kin do is to be keerful-mighty keerful. my idee is i best go back to him bime by 'n' longer, 'n' mebbe eat with him. sorter connect him with us by callate." stay a spell we've got to his feelin's, i "i might go off with the guides a few days," rejoined martin, after considering old cy's "idee," " and give you a chance to renew old ties again." "wal, mebbe, though you might come round thar arter a spell, jist ter git him uster seein' you agin, 'n' then keep shady." "would it be best to show him angie's pictures now or wait?" queried martin, anxiously. "i've got them with me." "i'm glad on it," answered old cy, eagerly; amzi curtis 295 "i'll take 'em, 'n' when the right time comes 'll use 'em as a sorter clincher." and so these two, sitting beside that smouldering camp-fire, discussed the difficult problem of how to bring back to sane thought and action a mind diseased by misanthropy and years of solitude. a deer, with every sense keenly alert, might yet be stalked, a wary trout lured from hiding, but here was a problem quite new and ten times harder to solve. one false step, the crackle of a breaking twig, the motion of a moving body, would send the deer leaping away to safety; but the forest held others, and what matter. it held but one hermit, and on him and his return to sanity and action lay the happiness and heritage of an orphaned girl. "i am going to let you manage matters entirely and exactly as you think best," asserted martin, after long consideration; "you know him best, he was your stanch friend once, i brought you here for that very purpose, and now i'll not speak, move, or show myself until you say the word." but the question of martin's showing himself 296 the hermit to the hermit settled itself, for hardly had he ceased speaking when footsteps in the undergrowth were heard and the hermit emerged. "how do you do, sir?" was martin's greeting, as he rose and extended his hand cordially. "you remember me, don't you?" for one moment the strange recluse looked curiously at him, then to old cy and back. "i remember you," he answered pleasantly, grasping the proffered hand; "an' the squirrels didn't hurt ye, did they? i tamed 'em." it was like a child's answer, and it flashed on martin that this recluse had drifted back to that mental state. for a short time he glanced curiously at the camp and its belongings, smiling in a vacant way and then at old cy. "you're going to live with me now, cyrus, ain't you?" he asked plaintively. "there is room 'nough, and you can help me cut wood." martin sighed and turned away. he had been in suspense so long, hoping for the best and dreading the worst; for two weeks his fears had increased daily, and now to find the long-lost amzi, the father of the girl he amzi curtis 297 loved, a mental wreck and in his second childhood, was pitiful. "it might be wuss," old cy responded to his regrets later, after the hermit had left them; "he's childish now an' sorter wanderin', but mebbe his mind 'll come back arter a spell by coaxin'. i callate 'most any on us ud get that way livin' all stark 'lone this twenty years." old cy, with his homely speech, kind heart, and "horse sense," was right, and martin knew it. it was none the less pitiful, however, and that night as he, left alone with the two guides, sat by the camp-fire watching its glow and listening to the low wave wash of the lake, his thoughts flew far away to a vine-hid porch, the rustling of falling leaves, and a fair face with bewitching eyes. all that last evening with angie, her willing efforts to entertain, how he stole the picture while she sang, and her cool parting words came back. he had lived over the old boyish illusion months ago beside this same lakelet; it had led him back to greenvale and to a new ambition and unrest that spoiled his peace of mind. and now back again in this vast wilderness, with the stars twinkling in the placid 298 the hermit lake, it pursued him still and would not be put away. it had been almost four weeks now since he left greenvale, the leaves were turning, and he was anxious to get back for many reasons of his own, the new church movement which he had in a thoughtless moment offered to assist, the coming of his friend as its pastor, and his own hobby of trout raising. they were all ties of more or less strength, but chief of all was angie. the fire had burned low and both guides were asleep in their bark shelter when old cy returned. "i think ye best stay 'round a few days," he said, "'n' then go 'way a spell. amzi is kinder gettin' fond o' havin' me round helpin', 'n' arter a few days things 'll come back to him, mebbe. i doubt we'll git him back to greenvale, though, 'thout we fetch him back; he's that wonted here." it was not a reassuring report. for three days martin passed the time as best he could. he killed a deer and sent half up to the hermit, who with old cy was hard at work cutting and piling a winter's amzi curtis 299 store of wood. he added a few brace of partridge to this gift-offering later on, called on the two who were now living together, and talked as best he could with amzi, and then, at the close of one day, as he stood watching levi and jean busy preparing their evening meal, he heard a canoe grate upon the sandy beach close by, and, looking up, saw the two officers just landing. chapter xxxiii unwelcome visitors for a moment martin stood looking at these men in speechless astonishment. he had fancied them far away on their murdererhunting cruise, and now they were back-and for what purpose? “good evening, gentlemen," said martin, with the best grace he could; and, advancing to meet them, "have you found your man yet?" "we haven't," answered the leader in a curious tone, "but we think we shall if we stay around here long enough." then, glancing at his companion, he added, "do you do most of your canoeing by night?" "i do," responded martin, laughing slightly, and not at all abashed, "if i want to make time and protect an innocent man." "i presume you know," returned the officer, almost insolently, "that warning a suspected 300 unwelcome visitors 301 criminal or aiding him to escape exposes you to arrest?" "i do," answered martin, firmly, "and also that arresting a man without a specific warrant and proof that he is the criminal wanted, lays even an officer open to arrest and prosecution. now you have with you, no doubt, a warrant for the arrest of one mcguire, a criminal in hiding. i gave you, some three weeks ago, what i believed to be directions where you could find him. you doubted my word of honor as a gentleman, and came here. you found a cabin that had been vacated for many weeks; you remained in it over night, committing two crimes, trespass and stealing, and then went your way. the owner of this cabin is an old friend of mine whom i know well, and he is back again now. you can arrest him, of course, but at your own peril. if you do, i assure you, i am worth and will spend ten thousand dollars to land you in jail for so doing. now, gentlemen, we won't waste words over this matter. please consider yourselves my guests, pitch your tent here, and let us be sociable." 302 the hermit for a moment the two newcomers looked at one another, hardly knowing whether to be civil or not. the better impulse won finally, and when martin, as is customary, proffered a flask, they drank to his good health. "we do not wish to annoy any one," the leader asserted, when peace was restored; "my name's scott, and this is my chum, john smart. we did come here, and of course made free with an open shack. we don't doubt your word as a gentleman, but we have been up the moosehorn and don't find signs of any path or hut you described, and that's the story and why we are here." "you will be satisfied in two minutes that this old hermit is not your man," responded martin, pleasantly. "he is a poor, old fellow, almost a child now, and my old friend you saw with me was his intimate friend years ago." after the two officers had pitched their tent, cooked and eaten supper beside martin's fire, they all gathered around it and he told the old hermit's story. the wild man's night visit months before was not omitted, and the hidden cabin, with its bell signal, was again described. unwelcome visitors 303 the two officers also proved to be decent men on acquaintance. "i should not have taken that all-night paddle," asserted martin, when his story ended, "if you had not doubted my word, and to-morrow, if i find it's wise to leave my old friend alone here with the hermit, i'll go with you up the moosehorn and show you that cabin. may not be occupied now, but it was then." it when morning came, officer scott proved himself worthy of respect by accepting martin's word, and keeping away from the hermit. "it will only scare him," explained martin, "and we hope to get him out of the woods and back to greenvale and his daughter. if we can't coax him to go, i am nonplussed, and we may have to carry him out. how he has contrived to live here winter after winter is a mystery." the new plan of martin's going away met old cy's approval. "amzi and me is gittin' real chummy once more," he said; "we've dug his pertatoes 'n' packed 'em in moss under the cabin; we're cuttin' an' splittin' wood, 'n' smokin' meat, 'n' gatherin' nuts for the squirrels all day long. 304 the hermit i like it, and wouldn't mind stayin' with him all winter. he's got a couple o' bear traps set somewhar, 'n' to-morrer we're goin' ter tend 'em." it was a pleasant picture of wood life, but it failed to relieve martin's mind much, or show him a way to secure angie's inheritance. it set him to thinking, however, on what would be gained after all by the return of this childish hermit to greenvale, and would angie be made the happier by it? it was a question, and one hard to solve. so far as the law went, a deed, and all necessary legal papers, could be signed and witnessed here. it was too soon to propose that now, but it must be kept in mind. "i am going to leave jean here to hunt for you and amzi while i'm gone," martin said to old cy, when ready to depart with the officers; "he can get you one or two deer to cure for winter use, and i may decide to let you stay here after all. when the right time comes, show amzi the two pictures of angie and take good care of him." and with this parting injunction he and "old faithful," as he had sometimes called levi, pushed off. unwelcome visitors 305 a canoe trip through a wilderness is at once romantic, laborious, and lazy. the waterways, of course, must be followed, and when a "pitch of water," as a rapid or falls is called, is reached, your craft and belongings must be carried around if ascending the stream. if descending and not too dangerous, a thrilling, and often risky trip is made down through the boiling, seething waters; leaping perhaps over sheer falls of two or three feet, dodging rocks, tossed upon white-crested surges, spun around in eddies, wet with spray, breathless with excitement, until the mad race is run, and you float calmly at last in the foam-covered pool below. when one stream can no longer be followed, a long carry must be made often of many miles through tangled swamps where no path ever exists except tracks in the mud left by others, or a blazed trail over a ridge that only an experienced woodman can follow. when night comes, an opening in the undergrowth along the stream's bank must be cut to pitch a tent, or if fortunate, an old tote-road may be used. for days and weeks one may journey along these waterways, meeting all manner of wild animals x 306 the hermit native to them, but no sign of aught human, except, perhaps, some vacant lumber camp lone and ghostly and half hid behind fresh growth. and so peculiar an interest attaches to these rude structures, deserted for years and left to rot, that one is almost forced to halt and examine them. they are all alike—a square log cabin thatched with saplings and now rotting boughs, with the door and window staring wide open like the big mouth and one eye of an ogre, a pile of rusting cans and débris on one side, the whitened skulls and bones of moose and deer scattered around and grinning a ghastly greeting to the caller. it is a weird, lonely, and somewhat grewsome spot, where man once lived in a savage manner, and as you peer around, guessing how long this rude home has been vacant, you instinctively feel that a human skull may greet you next, or a spectre appear from behind the hut. the same mystery and invisible presence haunts your own temporary home each night, and every wilderness sound becomes magnified and fraught with danger. a squirrel leaping from a bough, a mink or otter plunging into unwelcome visitors 307 the stream, the cry of a loon on the neighboring lake, all have an ominous significance. this mysterious forest influence was familiar to martin, but now, as he journeyed onward, down-stream, up-stream, across carry with the two officers, and camping where night overtook them, it seemed to him that he had undertaken a fool's errand. we all ought to have an interest in the cause of justice, but to go in pursuit of an intrenched murderer hiding in a vast wilderness was, at least, not to his liking. he had, on the spur of impulse, and to prove his own assertions, promised to do this; but when the broad, slow-running moosehorn was reached and night found them at the camp-site where he and dr. sol were visited by a wild man, he wished himself back with old cy. the spot had not changed in the months that had elapsed except that the north branch was lower, and the summer's growth had sprung up where undergrowth had been cut away. the old tent poles still remained in place, the same endless procession of foam flecks came down the branch, and the same low murmur of running water issued from above. 308 the hermit when the tents were up, fires started, supper cooked and eaten, a council of war, so to speak, was held. "it was here," martin said to the officers, "that a friend and myself first discovered that some mysterious human being or wild man was haunting this wilderness, and, as i told you, he gave us a good scare. whether he was this man, mcguire, whom you want, i can't say. we found a peculiar secluded cabin late the next day, and if we make an early start to-morrow, we can reach it before night. i will pilot you to it, but more than that you must not expect. if this escaped criminal is there, you must act as you see fit. his arrest is not my affair, and i don't care to make it such. i've no doubt if it is your man, that the first one of us to approach his hut will be called to a halt, and, failing to obey, will meet a bullet. i've described the location and situation, and would suggest that you now decide upon a plan of action. a desperate criminal like this mcguire, who has kept in hiding for years, won't hesitate to add one or even three more murders to his list. now knowing what you are likely to meet, what do you propose to do?” t unwelcome visitors 309 for a moment the two officers considered the matter. "we are here to arrest this chap," the leader, scott, responded firmly at last, "and shooting is a game two can play at." "true enough," answered martin, laconically, "but with one shooter secure in a log cabin, the play part will be all on his side. i shall not mix up in it, as i said, but if you two feel that your duty calls for suicide-well, i'm sorry for you. i should hate to be called upon to bury you under a flag of truce in that clearing, and as for conveying you out of the wilderness if wounded-well, frankly, i can't spare the time." it was such a matter of fact statement of the possible outcome that both officers laughed. "i don't believe in tolling a bell until a corpse is ready," said scott, "and i've found that desperate men sometimes wilt easy. we will wait and see how the land lays around this fellow's lair." and that night martin felt worse than the man who bought a white elephant. chapter xxxiv the lair of an outcast it was mid-afternoon, and an impending storm hid the sun and made the forest unduly sombre when levi caught the first sound of the stream where, months before, he and martin had landed to follow a mysterious path. its beginning, beside the bush-grown brook, was easily found, where twigs had been broken off and grass recently trodden. "here's tracks," exclaimed levi, who had landed first, with paddle in hand; and, stooping, he added, "they's the wild man's, sure's a gun." "it is he, fast enough," asserted martin, who had followed, rifle in hand, and now also stooped over them. they were plainly visible, and a group of them at that. some faint on the patches of moss, and those close to the stream more dis310 the lair of an outcast 311 tinct and showing the well-remembered claw marks. for full five minutes the little party of four stood looking at them with thrice the interest martin and the doctor felt once before. they had journeyed a hundred miles to find a desperado, and the first signs of him filled them with forebodings. "well, gentlemen," almost whispered martin, when the tracks had been well examined, "here we are, and your game isn't far off,” and he led the way into the shadowy forest, up the narrow path only a few rods, and then he halted, for there, beside it, and nearly hid under freshly cut fir boughs, lay a canvas canoe, bottom up. it was the one inseparable companion of man and his existence in this wilderness; and yet, had it been a crouching panther instead, it would not have awakened much more interest. it held all eyes one instant only, and then the row of four stalwart men glanced furtively around as if expecting a savage to step out from behind each tree. only a moment they halted, and then with rifles at ready, and martin ahead, they filed cautiously 312 the hermit up the narrow path, step by step, twisting around the dense thicket, along the frowning ledge, and up the defile to where the moose skull still grinned, and here they paused. martin made no comment, but glanced at the officers, anxious to see how this ghastly warning was received by them. they looked at it in grim silence, then at one another, and then up the narrow, rock-walled path. once more martin, as leader, moved on, and the rest followed. not a whisper from any, not a loud breath even, each step a slow one and catlike, and, parting the bushes with caution until the open glade came in sight, and just where the swinging stick crossed the path, they halted. from here the log hut was visible, and out of its low chimney a thin film of smoke was ascending. martin looked at it a moment and then at his companions. "there's your man, i guess," he whispered, "cooking supper. do you want to call on him without notice, or shall i ring?" it was the critical moment, and one officer the lair of an outcast 313 scott was not ready to meet. he and his companion had for weeks been searching this pathless wilderness for a man whose crimes they knew well enough, but of his temper, disposition, looks even, they knew but little. if the occupant of this cabin was mcguire, he was in a position to defy arrest or at least make it costly. "well," whispered martin again, realizing their dilemma, "shall i ring?" scott nodded. then as all eyes were on this lair of a supposed murderer, martin pushed the swinging stick forward once, twice, thrice! on the instant, almost, and as the faint, tinkling answers reached the watching men, a shaggy-haired human face appeared at the one small window, then a slide was moved across it, leaving a narrow crack open. the cabin's owner was evidently at home. but it needed a brave man, indeed, to now enter this open glade, bristling with blackened stumps like so many fangs, and advance to the hut. scott was evidently not that man, for he merely watched and waited, and mar314 the hermit tin felt no cause to expose himself. one, two, three minutes passed, and the four still eyed the cabin. and now scott advanced to the signal lever and moved it again and again. only the faint bell sounds issued. it was seemingly a case of either advance or retreat, but scott did neither. only a moment more he waited, then gave a loud "hallo." it echoed through that silent wilderness and back from the cliff that frowned down upon the hut, but no one appeared. again and again was it repeated, but the cabin door remained shut, the window slide in place, and the smoke still ascending. "i've a notion to try a shot," whispered scott, and, as no one answered, he raised his rifle, aimed at the cliff, and fired. the ping of the bullet against the rock came back mingling into the report, but no one emerged from the hut. once again scott lifted his rifle and fired. this time he was answered, for now a gun barrel was thrust out of the narrow slit, then the lair of an outcast 315 a spit of red fire, and a bullet cut its way through the fir boughs above the watchers. in an instant all four were prone upon the earth. it was almost ludicrous, and yet the bravest of men would do the same. "he's your man," whispered martin, almost inclined to laugh, "but if you mean to arrest him, i'll stay here. i've no desire to head a funeral procession just yet." but the face of scott had grown fierce. "i'm a good mind to open fire on the shack," he said, "and see if that will start him out." "i wouldn't," answered martin, "you may kill the wrong man after all, and if i was that cabin's owner, and some one fired close as you did, i'd answer in coin. bullets are arguments that merit the same answer. your only show was to leave your gun behind, and call as a peaceful stranger might. you have closed the door to that, and it's now riddle that cabin with balls or retreat." "i've a good will to send a few bullets through his roof," asserted scott, angry at 316 the hermit being thus baffled. turn tail so easy." it was bravado pure and simple, and martin saw it. "all right," he answered cheerfully, "only just wait till i get behind a rock. as i told you, it's not my business, and i don't mean it shall be. i've led you to your victim's lair as i promised, but i'm going back with a whole skin and soon, too." "i'm not the man to then somewhat crestfallen and yet helpless to do anything else except retreat, scott led the way back to the canoes. and it must be noted that the time consumed in so doing was of the briefest. . the four camped together that night as indeed they had to, and when they parted ways next day, martin felt no regret. "that man scott's 'bout like most o' the game wardens," asserted levi, contemptuously, when alone with martin, “and a cross 'twixt a loafer 'n' a bluffer. all he wanted was to earn the prize money, 'n' hadn't either sense or sand enough to do it. i've a mighty poor 'pinion o' most o' the game wardens," the lair of an outcast 317 he continued, giving an extra push to his paddle stroke, "they're hired to keep laws from bein' broken, 'n' they fish 'n' shoot out o' season all the time. added after a braggin's a "then he's a braggart," he pause, "'n' that don't count. good deal like a feller tryin' to lift himself by his boot straps. he don't git up any further 'n' looks ridic'lus." but levi, like most of the guides, bore illwill toward all game wardens. and now, as these two will not again enter this narrative, it must be recorded that not until years after did martin find out who really occupied this inhospitable cabin on the moosehorn, or what the ultimate fate of mcguire was. for four days martin and levi journeyed onward in content together, as they had for many times before, and when at last the hermit's little lake was reached just at twilight, jean's camp-fire gleaming on its shore was a welcome sight. chapter xxxv home building in the wilderness when martin, aided by his guides, had made their own camp ready for the night and supper was disposed of, he started for the hermit's hut. he had learned from jean that all was well with amzi and old cy, and now a call on them was in order. the october new moon was bright in the western sky, the evening air cool and crisp, the leaves falling from the birches rustled beneath his feet, and as he came in sight of the hut, a cheery light gleamed from its one small window. he halted a moment at the gate, for out from this rude home came the sound of music once more. it was not a sad refrain now, but that cheerful old-time dance tune, "the irish washerwoman," and as martin paused to listen a moment, it carried him back to his boyhood when he had cut 318 home building in the wilderness 319 pigeon wings to its lively measures, and then clasped angie's supple waist when "balance and swing" echoed from the bare brown rafters. and now five hundred miles away from those old associations, he was listening to it. once again, twanged by her father on a jews'harp! it bore the same joyous mood as of yore, and, more than that, assured him that this strange recluse and old cy were now quite content and happy. and why shouldn't they be and continue thus here? and what was to be gained by insisting upon changing conditions and almost dragging this poor old man back to greenvale and to surroundings long since forgotten? it was but the same conclusion that had first come to him when he left here with the officers, now returning with convincing force. and what harm could follow? amzi was contentthe ties of his manhood were severed, earlier feelings dead and buried, he and old cy, two fossils as it were, were happy together and could be of mutual help and comfort. they were, or could be properly 320 the hermit provided for during winter; old cy, absolutely without ties in greenvale, would be glad to remain here, and why not? then another and the vital object of his coming here occurred to martin-angie's rights. he had consulted a legal friend and found that if her father was still alive, david could be made to pay over to him or his child one-half the income of the property since he left. the property could not be sold anyway without amzi's signature, and beyond that, martin held a claim on it as well. more than this, amzi would doubtless sign any necessary papers, and here were four good and reliable witnesses. all this came to martin as he stood watching the one little window light and listening to that old-time dance music. and now he advanced cautiously and peeped in at the window. a fire burned in the small stove, a queer tin lamp, a sort of can with a handle, was alight on the table, old cy with a pipe sat on a stool, and the hermit, squat on his bunk, was still twanging his jews'-harp. a curious picture of backwoods enjoyment, unique, yet pathetic. home building in the wilderness 321 for a moment only martin glanced in, then knocked on the door. a "come in," followed, and then he entered. there was no ceremony; old cy rose and shook hands with him cordially, but the hermit remained on his bunk smiling. "well, i'm back," asserted martin, "and how are you, boys? i see you are taking comfort." "oh, we're gittin' on famous," responded old cy. "ain't we, amzi?" amzi nodded, still smiling. "we've bin choppin' wood," he said, "'n' cyrus sharpened the axe on a stun, 'n' built a smoke house, 'n' we've got a lot o' nuts fer the squirrels." "back to childhood and for good," thought martin; then aloud, "that's right, boys; now is the time to get ready for winter. how are the squirrels ? " "oh, they're asleep now," answered amzi, eagerly, "i'll feed 'em in the mornin'." "still the child," thought martin, "and no thought beyond his daily life here, not even curiosity." for a little time he chatted, first with one and then the other, and then inviting y 322 the hermit old cy to come to his camp early next day, bade them good night. jean was asleep when martin reached camp, but "old faithful" levistill awaited him beside the fire. for a half hour or more martin sat near it, maturing his plans. "levi," he asked at last, "how far is it to the nearest settlement?" "'bout three days' goin', 'n' mebbe five gittin' back," came the answer, after a pause. "well," continued martin, with a laugh, "i thought of about everything when we came in but pens, ink, and paper, and those i must have as soon as possible." "well, i'll go fetch 'em," responded levi, with ready willingness; "i kin go down the allagash to connors 'n' back in a week, mebbe, if you kin spare jean.” why, of course," said martin, ashamed of his own thoughtlessness; "i intended him to go with you." then, as he thought of the long trip these two must make, so easy going, but a steady up-current journey coming back; he realized how costly a lapse of memory might be. he 66 home building in the wilderness 323 had prepared himself with legal advice, thought of and brought into the woods all manner of extra clothing, stores, and even medicine this old hermit might need if he refused to leave his hut; yet now he was helpless, without the simplest accessories of civilized life. then another thought came, and when morning dawned, he peeled strips of thin birch bark from an adjacent tree, and with a charred twig scrawled a brief letter to angie. and of all the love-letters ever received by waiting maid, none were more unique. "you must enclose this in an envelope," he said to levi, when they were ready to start, "and rewrite the address on it." and taking the flat package, now tied with fish-line, old faithful pushed off and started on his hundred-mile journey for a quarter's worth of stationery. when old cy presented himself a little later, the two held an important conversation. "i've given up the idea of taking amzi back to greenvale," martin said at once, "and if you are willing, i'd like you to stay here for the winter and take care of him. 324 the hermit i've sent levi and jean to the nearest settlement for writing materials, and while they are gone we will make amzi's hut more comfortable, and if you want jean to stay here with you, we will build an addition to it." "that's my idee, exactly," exclaimed old cy, with delight, "thar ain't nobody as wants me 'round in greenvale, 'cept my dog, an' amzi does, 'n' that's 'bout all thar is to livin' arter all. i wish i had bose here, though," he added, after a pause; "bose 'll miss me." "i'll come up in the spring," responded martin, also delighted at this easy solution of a vexing question, "and perhaps bring bose. in the meantime i'll take good care of him. i've also sent for meal, flour, salt, coffee, and a lot of other stores for you boys. i'll shoot you a deer or two while they are gone, and you can take a lot of comfort here this winter. i wouldn't mind staying here myself. there is game a-plenty, and when a warm day comes, you can catch a few trout through the ice." then, as another matter presented itself, he added, "did you show angie's picture to amzi, and what did he say?” home building in the wilderness 325 "i did," answered old cy, with a shade of disappointment, "'n' it's curus how a man kin so forgit his own child. i said, 'do you know who them picturs is,' 'n' he shook his head. 'it's angeline, yer little gal growed up,' i said, but he kept lookin' 'n' said nothin'. then arter a spell he handed 'em back. 'angeline's a little gal,' he said, 'an' not like them picturs.' i put 'em away, kinder hurt, 'n' it was two hours 'fore he said another word. then he come up to me looking sober like, 'cyrus,' he says, 'was them picturs angeline?' i told him they was, surer 'n a gun, 'n' showed 'em agin. he looked at 'em a long spell 'n' then sot down 'n' cried like a baby. i callate the old times is all comin' back piecemeal." "have you mentioned david to him yet?" "no, i dassent," answered old cy, shaking his head, “i dassent, not yit. he acted so curus arter that cryin' spell, sorter dazed all day, i dunno as it's best. if he's goin' ter stay here 'n' i with him, we'd best not meddle too much with his memory. he might go clean daft. he's all right 's fur as things 326 the hermit here go; but thar's a gap 'twixt now an' the old days, an' we best not try to bridge it. if he once sot eyes on angie or david, it ud all come back, 'n' mebbe drive him crazy 's a loon." and martin, trying to imagine how it would affect him to thus live in almost utter solitude for a score of years, realized that old cy was right, and that this poor hermit's reason was almost gone. it was worse than pitiful, and yet it was a fact. and then he fell to thinking of his own duty, and how he must break the news to angie and how she would receive it. he had dreaded this expedition for many reasons, and yet it had to be taken. in one way he could return with good news her father was alive and content, if childish that was some consolation. old cy's cheerful companionship might work wonders, and so martin tried to find hope. as for the business part of his mission, it seemed a trifle. amzi could and doubtless would sign any necessary legal papers — martin had them all in mind brief will in angie's favor, dr. sol as conservator and administrator, with power of attorney, all a ――――――――― home building in the wilderness 327 duly witnessed, and for the rest and any action upon these angie herself must decide. "i am going to let you manage this matter, as i told you before," he said to old cy, after explaining this part of his mission. "you have been with him a week now; he trusts you like a child, and in your own way you can get him to sign the documents i want. i think now," he added, rising, "i'll play boy with you two for a week and build an ell on the cabin for jean." how that week of "playing boy" was passed how martin stalked and killed the deer he needed, and dozens of partridges and ducks besides, how the cabin's addition was erected and other improvements made, and how much martin enjoyed this good samaritan labor-need not be specified. amzi also seemed to grow fond of his cheerful voice, and obeyed him like the child he was. ――― there was also some pleasure mingled in, for the hermit, stimulated by the excitement of more company, seemed to grow more sane and like a mature man in thought, and told stories of his long journeys through the wilderness and meetings 328 the hermit with bear and wildcat; how he had at various times ventured down to a settlement, and how curious people had been; and, in short, he related bits of his history without connection. there was some sport to diversify the work and care, for he led martin and old cy far into the wilderness where he had traps set, showed them spring holes in the lake that seemed alive with trout, and when evening came, he was as pleased as a child and as ready to produce his jews'-harp. he rapidly lost much of his misanthropic and surly demeanor under the influence of companionship, acted and talked as if he had known those about him for many years, and grew fond of them. it all added an unexpected pleasure to martin's labors, and when levi returned with the coveted paper and canoe well loaded with stores, the hut was doubled in size, its walls enclosed in a foot-thick casing of fir boughs and moss combined, a roof of poles was erected over the door, the roofs of both cabins doubly thatched, two more bunks well filled with dry moss and leaves were made ready, and all possible security against a long, cold winter provided. home building in the wilderness 329 the legal documents were, as martin expected, obtained with ease, money was given old cy to pay jean for six months' service, and with it ample directions for the hermit's care. everything that martin could think of he had attended to, and none too soon, for november had come, the wild geese were moving southward, the hardwood trees were bare of leaves, and ice formed in secluded coves around the lake each night. a two-hundred-mile canoe journey still separated him from civilization, and it was high time that he departed. "i shall miss you going out," he observed to old cy, when ready to start," but it's go now, or get frozen in. you and amzi are well provided for, however, and i'll be back in the spring." "i'll miss ye the most," replied old cy, wistfully, "an' i can't thank ye fer all ye've done fer me. all i kin say is take good keer o' yerself, an' fetch angie back with ye when ye come." and all the long days, ever pushing on, upstream, down stream, across lake and carry, and each night beside a camp-fire, that hope was a consolation to martin. chapter xxxvi hallowe'en david curtis never recovered from the awful shock occasioned by that midsummer night spectre, stalking out from behind the mill. what it was he never learned, for nezer kept his secret well, old cy and martin had never lisped their suspicions, and the spook of scar face remained a mystery in greenvale. ― its effect on the ghost-tainted mind of david, combined with the gnawing of conscience, the daily fear that legal proceedings would be taken against him, and nightly dread of another spectral visitation, became more and more apparent. he had thanks to aunt comfort's nursingrecovered from the first shock and brain fever. aunt lorey and the wife of one of his workmen now kept house for him, for he was willing to pay any price for company, but for all that he failed rapidly. old age was also against him. 330 hallowe'en 331 he could not eat or sleep, and long hours of each night were passed in nervous dread of something. the grist-mill was closed and had remained so since that fatal night, for every one considered it haunted; but the force of long habit kept david pottering about the sawmill each day, and would as long as sufficient strength lasted. nezer also renewed his persecutions after recovering from the fright occasioned by his ghostly indian masquerade, and though intermittent, they aided in the merciless retribution now pursuing david. these acts were all peculiar and mysterious, and quite like nezer. with a strain of indian blood in him, perhaps, he had never forgotten or forgiven that moment of agony when he leaped into a network of barbed wire, and, with diabolical cunning, meant to obtain ample revenge. once or twice a week he visited david's premises by night and added one more mite to it. tools were again taken from the sawmill and thrown into the flume or transferred to the unused grist-mill. pieces of belts, bags, measures, and other fittings from there were hung on trees about the house. on two occasions the grist-mill gate was raised and 332 the hermit millstones set rumbling, to continue until morning, while david listened with fearsome dread, and then, to crown all, nezer rigged a tick-tack over the house. he used a long fish-line for that, one end secured to a bush back of the house, with a lead sinker tied on at suitable location, another larger one fastened to the other end of the line, enabling nezer to throw it over the house and secure it again, hide himself behind a fence, and dangle the mid-line plummet against the roof. what the effect of such a regular tick-tack sound heard by one in david's state of mind at the midnight hour would be, can hardly be imagined. for the first two or three times he aroused and sent his hired man out with a lantern, but naturally that availed not except to stimulate nezer to a longer enjoyment of his trick when the foolish search ended. time and again did nezer perpetrate this weird trick, always on dark nights, and after an hour of fun, secure his rigging for use again and sneak away. he was like an indian in his methods, selecting nights just right and not too dark, stealing on to david's premises behind bushhallowe'en 333 choked fences and keeping out of possible sight, listening with keen ears and eyes until sure no one was watching, and making his visits with foxlike cunning. david curtis had lived his life of miserly pinching and sharp scheming, forgetting every law of justice and honor in his grasping greed, had come to be despised by even his fellow church-members and hated by many others, and now, pursued by an uncanny fear, growing weaker day by day, was fast nearing insanity. what it was that haunted his premises he knew not. he crept to his work, a physical and mental wreck, dared not go into his own cellar or the dark basement of his mill, even in the day-time, and required his hired man to sleep in his room at night. when the last of october and hallowe'en came, he was little better than a doddering idiot from fear, and, sitting in his mill all day, watched his man at work, too weak to aid him. and now came the climax of his punishment. hallowe'en had always been observed by the young folks of greenvale with the usual 334 the hermit and time-honored ceremonies. several parties were usually held, where apples, floating in tubs of water and secured if possible with teeth and lips of maid or swain, formed one amusement. if one was thus fished for and obtained, it was carefully pared by its proud owner, and its perfect peel, twirled three times around the head and dropped, must inevitably form the first initial of his or her future mate. kissing games to accelerate these results usually followed, and later the parties broke up for other and more ghostly amusements. small boys carried jack-o'-lanterns through the village, or held them in front of windows; older couples or small parties made a late tour, hanging cabbages or paper bags containing onions or potatoes on door-knobs, and then, clanging the iron knockers, scampered away. now and then some bolder lad, wrapped in a sheet, stalked through the quiet streets that night, and all manner of spookish pranks were indulged in. nezer, as might be expected, had always been an active participant in these observances, and now, when the famous night drew near, he resolved to outdo himself. he hallowe'en 335 had kept his "scar face" disguise in safe hiding, and had in some way obtained a bit of phosphorus to rub on the mask around eyes and mouth. his plan, well matured, was first, and most important of all, to try his hideous disguise on his arch-enemy, david, and later on visit each house on the street. he knew the room david slept in, where a light was always kept dimly burning, and, as he had learned that the wretched man was too feeble to be again lured out, his only chance was to show himself at david's window. it was late that spook-infested evening when nezer crept, barefoot, out of aunt comfort's kitchen door. the night was starlit only, and, taking his mask, head-dress, and muchsoiled old night-shirt out of hiding, and with the priceless bit of phosphorus he had kept in a spice-box full of water safely in his pocket, he scampered across lots to the grist-mill. here out of sight or possible detection nezer arrayed himself as scar face once more, and emerged ready for his star act, little realizing its outcome. there were no occupied houses in sight of 336 the hermit david's. the hallowe'en observers had confined their observance to the lower part of the village, the unceasing rumble of the falls, where they leaped into a deep pool, the only sound heard there; and david, with his sorely troubled mind, knew not, nor recalled what date it was. he only lived a wretched, aimless, hopeless life, an imbecile almost by day, and dreading each night. there was none to pity him or lift a finger unless paid. he would sit for hours with bowed head in the mill, uttering no word, lie sleepless on his bed, dreading lest he hear ghostly footsteps, or, if he slept, wake in the dead of night, expecting to find amzi standing near. this last dread was the most potent of all, and the one he never escaped. he had on this hallow-eve sat up late as usual (since sleep was fearsome), and had been in bed but a few moments. the light was turned low, the steady breathing of his hired man in another bed was the only sound, and as david lay there in the dead silence of a still night, suddenly he heard stealthy footsteps outside among the fallen leaves. hallowe'en 337 wide apart they were and slow, like a panther creeping up, yet each one nearer, nearer, once they ceased, and then again he heard that faint crushing of dried leaves, almost up to the window close to his bed. nearer. he sat up, his eyes wide open, while the sweat of deathly fear gathered on his pallid face. ― and now, slowly rising above the windowsill, came first a group of feathers, all awry, then two small circles of glowing light, two hideous, ghastly eyes! an instant he saw them, the next a more horrible mouth, with teeth alight, arose in view. only a moment did his fear-taxed brain withstand the awful strain the next, reason gave way, and, with an agonized scream, he leaped from his bed and out of the house. and nezer was almost as badly scared. 2 chapter xxxvii no mourners how aunt lorey and the hired man's wife were awakened by the latter's spouse that hallowe'en night, how the two women, wrapped in quilts, sat in fear and trembling while the hired man vainly searched the premises with a lantern and later related how he was scared almost out of his wits by the delirious conduct of david, and how, when daylight came, the story spread over the village like wild-fire, was perhaps the most exciting incident greenvale ever knew. for over two months now it had been known that david was in a precarious condition; his premises were by some considered haunted; the old scandal of amzi's disappearance was revived and discussed, also what the outcome would be in case martin married angie and "took the law" on david. and so interested was the entire village now in the latest 338 no mourners 339 development the midnight and supposed insane flight of david that the sun was scarcely up an hour ere his premises were almost black with people. angie only remained away, but aunt comfort was in the crowd and dr. sol led the searchers. nezer, a good deal scared, but holding his peace, was with the rest, but search where they would, no trace of david was found. both mills were examined time and again, and every outhouse; small parties probed the mill flumes with long sticks; the pool below the falls was examined with poles and grappling hooks, while others scoured the woods, but without avail. ――――― david had vanished like his brother, and the mystery grew deeper. suicide, of course, was his fate, or else death from exposure, for at his age and in his condition, no man could live long wandering demented and almost nude in the woods and swamps. this was the general verdict, and when noon came and the crowd dispersed, a few men and boys organized and began a more extended search. it was three days before they found david, 340 the hermit and then his body was discovered in the middle of mizzy swamp, miles away. and as if providential retribution led those searchers, it was nezer who first received the shock of discovery. * * "i s'pose we'd orter wear mournin' fer a spell jist fer the looks on 't," aunt comfort said the night after the funeral to angie, "he was your father's brother, arter all, 'n' you're like to cum in fer suthin'. i wonder if he left a will?" this combination of interest not only expressed aunt comfort's broad charity, but reflected all that greenvale now cared for david curtis. no will was found, however, except the original one that had separated two brothers for life. bank-books there were and bonds, and certificates of valuable stock as well, a total that fairly took aunt comfort's breath away. she and dr. sol and wife, with phinney, were the only ones present when david's room was searched, and a tin deed box containing these valuables was opened. in this box was an envelope also, and in it a no mourners 341 scrap of paper upon which was scrawled, “if ever you sell one foot of land, i will return to you in body or spirit." with this was a copy of a bargain signed by martin frisbie, and agreeing to pay david twenty-eight thousand dollars, for mill, land, and power, therein specified, within one year from date, or forfeit the two thousand dollars already paid, and in david's bed was also found that amount in bills. dr. sol was appointed administrator by squire phinney, the hired man and wife were paid and dismissed, and the house locked. this, the business end of david's life, like his tearless funeral, was a mere matter of routine, and yet there were other and far-reaching outcomes of public interest. first and foremost was the question of inheritance. angie, of course, the sole heir, would inherit in due time, and after legal preliminaries had been adjusted, and provided no other claimant appeared. upon this, however, there was a divergence of opinion. many still believed amzi yet alive, some insisted that he must be (and that it was known to david), and a few were positive that 342 the hermit his ghostly presence had been the cause of david's first case of "fits," as a return on hallowe'en had been of the final scare. it was but justice, as all agreed, and yet it was a mystery as dark and uncanny as the hackmatack swamp where david was found. for three months many had considered his premises haunted, now this number was increased; and out of those who still scouted the idea of any ghostly connection, there were few who would have visited either mill or the big empty house after dark. but the mizzy falls kept on rumbling, the autumn winds swept the dead leaves into every nook and cranny of the premises, the leafless elms moaned, the loose boards of the old house creaked by night, and if amzi's ghost came not, it seemed that david would be like to come. a foolish will had wrought its worse than finite woe, a mean and miserly hypocrite had continued it, and dead, had-like a serpentleft his trail and impress upon greenvale. when the outcome of david's death, scarcely realized as yet by aunt comfort, was conveyed by her to angie, it was told with bated breath no mourners 343 and as if a ghost might be listening. it was all so sudden, and so quite overwhelming also, angie was stunned. all her life long she had felt a grievous wrong had been done her father, and she had been left to suffer for it. at times she had felt such bitter hatred of her uncle that his very name, and sight of his pinched face was obnoxious. at his funeral she would not look upon him, and when the "earth to earth, and dust to dust," finale came, only its solemnity impressed her. we do not even admit some thoughts and feelings, and when those who have wronged us most pass down into their final resting-place, our lips must also remain sealed, and when angie turned away from her uncle's grave, she would not say, "i am glad," and could not say, "i am sorry." neither did the fact that she was to inherit his estate undo the sense of wrong. it was not his will and wish that this was to be, he had not thought of her, or justice to her in life, and only the law's mandate now said so, and that left a taint on the heritage. he had wronged her father in the long ago, and had driven him from 344 the hermit · home, had kept what was hers by right, and, in spite of public opinion, willingly saw her dependent upon charity and her own effort to earn a trifle, and now, in passing, had left her to stifle her natural feelings as best she could. but there was one spot of silver beneath the cloud, and that, the face of aunt comfort and the chance to reward her, was some compensation for all her self-denials. it was the first and about the only impulse that came to angie when the tragic shock had passed away, and that night when the two sat beside their little round table recounting all that had been said and done in the past few days, this chance was angie's only sense of gratitude. she had weeks before come to realize that any change in her own life would and must be impossible while aunt comfort lived, and martin's self-evident hopes seemed doomed to fail. to care for the good old soul, who had been home and mother since childhood, she must, or forever despise herself, and although this legacy would remove the narrow and cramping poverty that had been theirs always, the obligation remained, and with angie such a debt was sacred. no mourners 345 with aunt comfort it was otherwise, as might be expected, and when the evening had grown late and the fire had burned low, her résumé of the situation may well be quoted. "i've allers b'lieved the lord ud see justice done us all," she said, "and i b'lieve he has. he ain't like to bring amzi back to life, but maybe he's gin david his just desarts. i don't exactly believe in sperits, yet it looks ez if the hantin' o' conscience had made david see one the night he was took with a fit last summer 'n' again now when he run off in the night. he's wronged your father 'n' you all his life long, 'n' if his sufferin' from conscience ain't a dispensation o' providence 'n' his just desarts, i dunno what would be. thar is one thing i can't quite figger out, 'n' that is, what made martin frisbie pay him two thousand dollars fer an agreement o' a deed o' the mills 'n' mizzy lands, 'n' what he wanted on 'em. it looks curus, but i s'pose he'll explain when he gits back. it's 'most time he did, too; he's ben gone now 'most two months." then she paused, looking at angie and smiling benevolently. "it'll all be in the family, i s'pose," she continued, still smiling, 346 the hermit "when you 'n' martin git married, ez i spect you will in time. thar ain't no reason why you shouldn't, 'n' you will be middlin' well off in your own right now, if anything happens, 'n' fer that you ought to be thankful.” to aunt comfort this consummation seemed most natural and to be expected. more than that no thought of how that event would affect her own happiness came to her. “oh, you are not to be rid of me so easily," answered angie, lightly, "and if you want to be, you can't, either. i wouldn't marry martin or the best man that ever lived, and desert you now." but aunt comfort only smiled again, serene in her faith of what must inevitably happen. for a little while the two remained silent, each absorbed in her widely divergent line of reflection, while the tall clock ticked on, the evening breeze rustled the brown leaves about the house, and the fire burned low. at last aunt comfort, still smiling, began to doze, and angie was alone with her thoughts. and then back to the old days of her girlhood they sped in spite of all resolutions, 1 no mourners 347 and once again the old memories returned. they were only fond recollections now, for he who had inspired them had passed out of her life for good, and could not now be allowed admission again. he must never even know she retained them. her path of duty was clear, and beside the good motherly soul who had been all in all to her so long-beside her and for her she must and would live until the patient hands were folded at last and the wrinkled face would smile no more. it was a duty of love and gratitude, ten times stronger than all the silly impulses once inspired by martin and now sought to be renewed by him. true he was manly and tender, and somehow, absent, now was nearer to her than when present. he had shown repentance for his old-time neglect which, after all, was not surprising; and had almost begged for tacit forgiveness and reinstatement in her favor. she recognized that to live alone and without a man's protection was not easy for any woman, and yet so she had resolved and for a reason that seemed sacred. 348 the hermit then she fell to wondering what kept him so long in the wilderness and why it was that unique birch-bark letter, scrawled with a charred stick, had been sent in an envelope directed by some one else. she had opened it with eagerness, and tried again and again to decipher words impossible to read. it contained naught except what all might read without question, if they could, and yet no missive ever received by her had been valued more. his movements and plans in life were not her concern, of course, and not likely to be. she had renounced him for good and all now, and if he returned and pleaded his love, as she imagined he might, it would avail not. her resolve was made and finaland yet martin absent was stronger than martin present, and the old sweet illusion hard to eradicate. there are turning-points in life, when to choose the path of duty brings a heartache, and such a one now confronted angie, yet she faltered not, and the gray head with its white cap and wrinkled face, now nodding just 1 no mourners 349 across the table, still seemed her shrine of duty. and yet and yet the fire had burned quite out only one tiny coal still glowed among the white ashes, the tall clock kept saying, "never, — never, never," the night wind still rustled the dead. leaves in the dooryard, and life to angie seemed like the clock's solemn voice. suddenly aunt comfort woke up and looked at her companion. "why, angie," she said, "you've ben cryin'!" ――― chapter xxxviii a troubled conscience when nezer saw the white-clad figure of david curtis burst out of the house and vanish in the darkness with a yell of fear, his ingrained love of mischief received a keen but momentary satisfaction, followed by a sudden dread of consequences, and instead of continuing his ghost parade down the street, he sneaked away over the hills and hid his scar face disguise. the next day he joined with the rest in a search for david, and when it culminated in nezer's grewsome discovery, for the first time in his life he began to repent of his devilment. it was fear of being found out, of course, rather than regret; and yet its results were the same. that feeling increased hour by hour, and by the time the tolling bell sounded its solemn warning and the short procession 350 " let's see your tongue agin"page 353 1 a troubled conscience 351 started on its errand, nezer had reached a state of abject misery. it seemed to him that he must be suspected by some one, and if found out, the dire punishment sure to follow was fearful to contemplate. he had read of lifelong imprisonment, and hangings, —the latter with eager interest,—and now it began to dawn on him that he might become the central figure in such a scene, and the thought was fearful to contemplate. he knew he had done something awful; in its results at least, and possibly the law would consider it murder. he dared not confide in any one, so his imagination grew more terrible with doubt until he was sure hanging would be his fate if discovered. this dread certainty grew worse day by day, he could not eat nor study, and if a team stopped in front of aunt comfort's, or a man looked at him unduly, he felt worse. then he began to have troubled dreams, saw himself bound hand and foot and carried to riverton, where the court-house and jail were, then locked in a narrow cell, and twice he dreamed that he was standing on a scaffold with a noose about his neck. he began to grow thin and haggard, 352 the hermit and as aunt comfort would call it, "wofully peaked." and now ensued a most ludicrous game of cross-purposes, for there wasn't an ache or pain suggested by aunt comfort that he didn't have. the comedy was of short duration, however, for the chance to dose some one was consolation to aunt comfort, and she acted promptly. "stick out your tongue," she said to nezer, and a red and healthy specimen shot out of his face. "" nothin' the matter with yer stummick ez i kin see," she ejaculated, feeling of his hands, "'n' no signs o' fever. you say your head aches, 'n' back, 'n' legs, 'n' you sartainly ain't eatin' nat❜rally. do ye hev cold chills up 'n' down yer spine?" "yessum," responded nezer, eagerly. "feel dizzy?" "all the time." "sick to yer stummick?" "yessum." "bad dreams, you say?" "yessum." "well, yer gittin' bilyus," returned aunt a troubled conscience 353 comfort, wiping her "specs s" on her apron, adjusting them and pulling one of the invalid's eyelids down. "let's see your tongue agin." for a moment she scanned it, and then added, "you want a good dose of thoroughwort 'n' i guess i'll begin with lobelia," and she started for the attic. "it's curus," she observed to angie, after nezer had swallowed his dose of lobelia tea without a murmur and hastened out of the kitchen, “i never saw that boy so willin' ter take medicine afore, 'n' yet he ain't got no signs, 'ceptin' loss of appetite 'n' a leetle yaller round the eyes. must be suthin' comin' on, though." if there was, she took prompt, vigorous methods to head it off, however, and gave nezer no rest. at first he had dreaded discovery and dreamed of hanging, but, inside of two days, a persistent course of thoroughwort, catnip, opodeldoc, and lobelia, again varied by hot applications of burdock leaves and pepper tea, had made prison seem a blessed escape from trouble, and vinegar taste sweet. by this time nezer was sick in earnest, and 2 a 354 the hermit aunt comfort, somewhat scared, sent for dr. sol. he examined him, and after aunt comfort had recounted the remedies she had tried, he laughed. "you've both had a good time, i guess," he said, "and the boy won't soon forget it, but there's nothing the matter with him." aunt comfort was not convinced, however, and though nezer began to eat again, she watched him continuously for more symptoms, and his dread returned. for some years it had been angie's custom to devote a few saturday afternoons to outdoor excursions, usually taking nezer along for company and protection. in spring they went after arbutus, cowslips, water-cress, and later for strawberries and other summer fruits. in autumn, when the woods were brown and golden, nut-gathering was the incentive, and then nezer was indispensable. they had been out twice since martin had gone away, and now when saturday came again, she took nezer and started once more, and never was the boy more grateful for the chance. to him -in spite of his mischievous nature-angie was the a troubled conscience 355 one person whom he most adored almost a goddess, at whose shrine he worshipped. he had by this time become so reduced in spirits thanks to "arbs". that he felt the absolute need of making some one his confidante. he had, in fact, kept his awful secret as long as possible, and to no one but angie would he or could he dare confess it. like the young indian he was, however, he always approached all things by circuitous routes, and when they were well away from the village this autumn afternoon, and while poking away the rustling leaves in search of nuts, he began. "do you s'pose 'twas a ghost as scared old david the night he runned away?" he asked. ― "why, no," answered angie, curious at once, and knowing nezer never asked a question without an object, "there are no such things as ghosts." "wus it amzi come back 'n' peekin' in, do ye think?" "no, that isn't possible," came the sober answer. "wus it 'n injun, do ye s'pose?" : 356 the hermit "there are no indians about here," responded angie, with aroused suspicions, and looking sharply at nezer. "it might have been a bad boy, i know, dressed up as an indian. who do you think it was?" nezer, kneeling on the ground, looked furtively up at angie, and then suddenly became absorbed in his search for nuts. "i dunno who 'twas," he said, "'thout 'twas a ghost. folks say 'twas, 'n' the mill is haunted; i wouldn't go thar arter dark, would you?" angie, knowing nezer full well, made no response, feeling sure some admission would follow if she waited. for a few moments he pawed away the rustling leaves, and then looked up at angie again. "say, angie," he said, "won't ye never tell nobody if i tell ye suthin'?" "no, nezer," she answered seriously. "hope ter die?” hope to die." "hope the buggers 'll carry ye off if ye do?" "hope they will." 66 a troubled conscience 357 then nezer, having thus sealed her lips, arose. "come with me," he said, "'n' i'll show ye suthin'," and he led the way into the woods. for a quarter mile angie followed him into the forest, until a dark thicket of hemlocks, choked with boulders, was entered, and here he dropped prone to earth beside one, and, reaching into a crevasse beneath it, drew forth a bundle, and, undoing it, held up the hideous mask and head-dress of "scar face." for a moment he grinned at angie, and then put them on. "would ye be skeered now ter meet me arter dark?" he queried. it was such a naïve and nezer-like way of confession, that, in spite of the recent tragic event, angie almost laughed. "and so you are responsible for this awful happening," she said, as sternly as she could. "now i know what has ailed you for a week, and i am glad auntie gave you lobelia; you deserved worse medicine." it wasn't uttered with convincing force, however, and when nezer's face emerged from the mask, he looked both proud and relieved. 358 the hermit "i s'pose they'd put me in jail if 'twas found out," he said, as he hid the mask again, and led the way out of the woods. "you don't think they'd hang me, do ye, angie?" this time angie had to laugh. "now tell me all about it, nezer," she said. "i've promised to keep your secret, and i will." and when the border of the woods was reached, she sat on the leaf-carpeted ground and listened for an hour to nezer's recital of his exploit. and of the two, it is certain he enjoyed the telling the more. "it was an awful thing to do, nezer," angie asserted when the tale was told, "and i'm glad it isn't on my conscience. if you don't quit moping around the way you have, however, and act natural, all greenvale will guess your secret before long." but nezer was cured already, and when the lowering sun had started them homeward, he was almost hilarious in his joy. on their way they passed martin's fish-pond, and here a surprise awaited angie, for the long, narrow lakelet lay smiling and gently rippled in the a troubled conscience 359 autumn breeze, a thin sheet of water poured over the well-built dam, and beside the pond, and sheltered by a tree-crowned hillock, stood a tiny cottage with wide veranda. "it's fer old cy," explained nezer, with almost the delight of possession. "hisn's so old 'n' tumbledown, martin built this fer him ter watch the pond, so us boys wouldn't be ketchin' the trout. i wouldn't," he added, with astonishing frankness, "fer i ketched more'n two hundred on 'em ter put in, 'n' got ten cents apiece." it was evident martin had won nezer's heart, and as angie peeped into the pretty cottage, with its two rooms below and open fireplace in the front one, and thought what a palace it would seem to old cy after his present hovel, somehow her heart felt heavy. he who had built this, out of kindly feeling for old cy, was once her girlish lover, and would be now again if she so willed. but it must not be her resolution was made her duty was plain, and to be followed at all cost to herself or him. only a few moments she looked at this 360 the hermit labor of love for an almost outcast old man, and then turned away in silence. over the hills toward the village she led the way, pausing a moment at the bush-grown graveyard to place a wreath of ground-pine on a sunken mound marked by a low, white stone inscribed "mother," and then kept on. and nezer, following close, and feeling it would be a privilege to kneel and kiss the hem of her calico dress, wondered why her face was sad, and she so silent. "there is no need to dose nezer any more," she said to aunt comfort that night, "i've found out what ails him; it's a troubled conscience." chapter xxxix a new life martin's feelings, when he began the last day's journey to reach greenvale again, were about equally divided between dread and anticipation. he had solved the mystery of amzi's disappearance, a bit of news sure to astonish greenvale, but of doubtful effect on angie's peace of mind. he was now in a position to secure justice for her, if she would permit such action, and yet he dreaded to draw the veil aside and tell her what he must. of his own hopes, and the chance to pose as a benefactor, he gave no thought. his one and only real anticipation was the power he now held with certified facts to compel the contemptible david curtis to an act of reparation. it was short-lived, for as martin, the better to enjoy the scenery and learn the 361 362 the hermit latest news from greenvale, rode away with the driver, on his seat, that worthy waited not to be asked what it was. "i s'pose," he said, "ye hain't heerd how old dave curtis was found dead up in mizzy swamp, hev ye?" "good lord, is that so?" gasped the astonished martin. "wal, 'tis fer a fact," came the answer, in a tone that showed how david tood in the driver's estimation. "he wus took with another fit the night o' hallowe'en, and lit out iwith nothin' but his shirt on. we found the cuss up in mizzy swamp three days arter, stone dead, 'n' stark naked. he was middlin' well done up, too, by briers 'n' fallin' over rocks, we callated, but thar wa'n't no tears shed on that account, 'n' no mournin' when we planted him, as fur as i kin larn. the mills is both shut down now, 'n' angie gits all the property, i s'pose." and this was that stage driver's condensed obituary of the richest man in greenvale, quoted verbatim. "but what drove him out that night," rea new life 363 sponded martin, having nezer in mind; "did he see another ghost?" "wal, we callate he did, 'n' that's what must hev skeered him. thar's been curus things goin' on 'bout his premises the last three months, 'n' a good many b'lieve they're hanted by amzi's ghost. it's my private 'pinion though, that old dave's conscience had been worrying him lately since you come back. i've heerd," he continued, glancing at martin, and anxious for information, "that you've bought the mizzy property and was like to begin legal percedings fer angie; leastwise that's the story." martin smiled at this truly yankee method of obtaining news. "i did obtain an option on the property," he responded. "but as for bringing any legal action, i've never said i should. i was willing to buy the mizzy power and land, however, and pay david's price." "wal, mebbe that won't be necessary now," with another inquisitive glance; "they're all comin' to angie now, 'n'-'n', we all callate it'll be plain sailin' now fur you." but martin made no response to this decid364 the hermit edly pointed assertion, and little did that yankee stage driver realize how far away from 'plain sailing" martin's future course seemed to him. he had returned to greenvale prepared to astonish the natives, confound david curtis, and save angie her heritage, only to find that the great reaper had robbed him of his opportunity. for david, he felt not one grain of pity or regret, and as for angie, his first thought was, was it now wisest or 66 best to disclose the fact of her father's existence at all? it was but momentary, for come what might, it was martin's fixed faith that all concealments would prove unwise in the end. his first plan had been to go to angie as soon as possible after he arrived, and tell her all. she, first and foremost, should hear it. he dreaded the telling, however, for many reasons. then its results on angie's peace of mind and future was an all-important matter, and his own hopes as well. beyond these what must or could be done with her father? it was all a most perplexing problem, and the solution of it must inevitably devolve upon angie. a new life 365 for half the slow journey to greenvale, martin listened to the driver's repetition of all the grewsome facts of david's fate, including the gossip that followed it, with interest, and then, more absorbed in his own vexations, paid scant heed until the doctor's home was reached. a cordial welcome here and a good supper restored him somewhat, and after an hour of patient listening to the doctor's version of the all-important news, and still retaining his own, he rose and declared his intention of calling upon angie. "oh, by all means," laughed the doctor, "and i wish you success. if you didn't pop the question before you left, you ought to tonight, and matters between you must be settled soon, as. i need your advice regarding her estate. i am appointed administrator and have awaited your return before doing anything." it was a pleasant send-off, but a proposal of marriage was farthest from martin's thoughts just now. it was late when he reached aunt com366 the hermit fort's, and she and angie, always awaiting each other's wish to retire, were alone in the sitting room. the evening, a typical november one, was chilly, the stars obscured, and a cold wind rustled the brown leaves about the ancient dwelling. angie, too, was in much the same mood as the night, and for many reasons that need not be specified, and the slow-ticking clock and low-burning fire, merely accented her feelings. life had for many years been without much color for her, and lately, less so than ever. and then came a knock, and he who had been absent for two long months, but oft present in her thoughts, met her when she opened the door. his greeting, also, seemed unduly constrained and formal, and after shaking hands with aunt comfort, and inquiring after her health, he drew his chair to the fire and a pause came. it is always a problem how either good or bad news can best be conveyed to its recipient, and poor martin, after many days of a new life 367 worriment and dread, was now facing such. and the one person in all the world now dearest to his heart was the one most interested. for a few moments he watched the smouldering fire, the two ladies growing more curious each instant, and then he turned to them. "you must pardon my abstraction," he said, "but i've only just arrived, and have brought you some strange news that will seem incredible, and i hardly know how to tell it. the stage driver has told me all that has happened here, but you two are first to be told what i have learned." he paused a moment, looking first at aunt comfort, now wide eyed with astonishment, then at angie, even more so, and then continued: ――――― "it's not bad news i bring you, and yet not as good as i could wish. you remember the old hermit i told you about, angie; well, he is he is still there and quite content and happy, and improving some. in fact, i found him more rational, and i left old cy to care for him this winter. it was fixing up his 368 the hermit cabin that has kept me so long in the woods." once more martin paused, for the dread secret wouldn't out, and a look of almost terror had come to angie. "he is all right," continued poor martin again, conscious he was floundering, and feeling his throat growing husky, “and was and was glad to hear from us all, and and to see your picture." and now ensued a dramatic scene, for angie was on her feet instantly, with hands clasped and eyes dilated. "what do you mean who is he?" she almost screamed. martin also arose. "be calm, dear angie," he said, "be calm. it is blessed news i am trying to tell you. that poor old hermit is—is your father." for one moment she gazed at martin with wide-open, terrified eyes, the next on her knees with her head in aunt comfort's lap, sobbing. then came aunt comfort's heartburst, and all the years of her kindly patient life of love a new life 369 and hope were condensed into few words. for with hands upraised and eyes closed she whispered, "o god, i thank thee for this blessed news and all thy goodness. o god, i thank thee!" and then she, too, was sobbing. martin turned away with misty eyes. he had heard prayers, but never one that touched his heart like this. it was all over in less time than the telling, yet a lifelong drama was enacted in those few moments, and when angie arose again her face wet with tears and eyes still brimmingshe looked glorified. she could not speak, but two hands were extended to martin, and as he clasped them, the long ago of first love and the now of stronger love were joined. "i can't thank you now, dear friend," she said, brokenly, "but i shall, never fear, i shall." it was midnight ere they parted; when she again stood before the open fireplace where only white ashes remained, and glanced at the tall clock, she heard not its solemn voice, for a new life, a new joy, and a wondrously blessed hope had come to her. 2 b chapter xl a confession martin's first return and wooing of angie naturally interested all greenvale, but the news of his discovery of the long-lost amzi was, as he expected, a veritable bombshell. no one except aunt comfort and angie learned of it until the next day, and then dr. sol, so to speak, was the one to sound the alarm. and no medicine he ever gave had quite such an electrical effect. men driving on the highway were halted by others and told; women scurried across fields to neighbors' houses bareheaded to carry the news; squire phinney's store became a focal point where dozens gathered to hear the joyful tidings told and retold again and again, and angie, on her way to school, had to give up and tarry for congratulations. and so cordial 370 a confession 371 were they, and so warm a spot did she hold in greenvale's heart, that women insisted on embracing and kissing her in the street, and when she finally reached the schoolhouse, one of the committee was there awaiting her and declared the school closed for that day. she had walked there as her duty called, but she rode home, the cynosure of all eyes along the way, with most of her pupils following. martin also received an ovation wherever he went, and when he halted to describe the hermit home of amzi, and tell the tale over and over again, as perforce he had to, men left their work, and women and children their houses, to gather close and listen. he was really the hero of the hour, and his efforts to save angie her heritage, now known to all, his wisdom in not even hinting his suspicions of who the hermit was until proved true, and forethought in taking old cy into the wilderness to care for him, were all a matter of comment. — by night the public sentiment had crystallized into a general invitation to all to meet in the town hall, and listen to martin's telling 372 the hermit his story again in coherent order and in full. he rather laughingly consented, and for an hour held the unique gathering spellbound. at its close parson jones was called upon, as might be expected, and uttered a fervent prayer of thankfulness, and in it ascribing martin's intuitions and actions, as a pertinent example of divine interposition, and when amen was reached, called upon all to join in "praise god from whom all blessings flow." it was rendered with unusual fervency, while aunt comfort wiped her tears away, and when the audience dispersed, martin walked home with her. angie was not present, for she was in a state of almost mental collapse, and for ample reason. collectively it was an exhibition of public sentiment and kindly feeling, the like of which could nowhere else be found. greenvale had for many long years felt that a blemish rested upon it, and, like poor dog tray, realized the stigma david curtis was responsible for. he had met a just and wellmerited fate, and the general belief was that conscience had driven him insane. angie, a confession 373 well beloved, had come into her rights, and at the hands of a long-faithful lover, who now hoped to become a citizen of that village. aunt comfort, too, was in a fair way to receive due reward for her unfailing charity and general benevolence, and all in all— though slightly bigotedbigoted greenvale stood ready, like the rest of humanity, to applaud and reward all goodness and condemn all vice. but there was another, and to martin even more interesting, conclusion yet to be settled, and alone in aunt comfort's warm sitting room that night they discussed it. what it was need not be specified, but at the close of martin's plea for angie's consent and speedy marriage, although she permitted his arm-clasp, she shook her head. "no, no," she said, "not yet. once you left me without thought or care, and now let us try being lovers again. i was forced to try to put you out of my mind and heart once, and i wouldn't care to live through another such experience. 66 beyond that, i have aunt comfort, and 374 the hermit no love can set aside my duty to her. she has been my mother since a child, i am all there is in life for her, and her care and happiness is sacred and must be to me so long as i live. you have brought to me also another duty, and that, my poor father. i shall not rest, or feel a moment's content, until he is here and under my care. you tell me he is almost demented, but contented where he is, yet he is very old, and to let him remain and die in that miserable abode is out of the question. i would start and walk to where he is, if it were possible, and he must be brought here before i shall know a moment's peace." in vain martin pleaded that marriage would be no bar to this double claim; her duty must and would be his as well, and that aunt comfort would be the happier for this consummation. it was futile, for all his specious pleadings and promises availed not. duty to those already dependent upon her for happiness was her guiding star and watchword, and martin had to yield and accept it. she even refused to be considered as ena confession 375 are worth gaged, and her reasons for it quoting. "a verbal bond has no strength," she said, "unless reason wills and the heart wishes. if you need me and i you for life, that need must hold us until death, or it is worthless and a delusion. promises can neither add to, or injure it, and be it one week, one year, or a lifetime hence, it must hold and remain the same divine obligation. beyond that, i shall value a faith and fidelity, given without asking, and bound by no promise a thousand times more than all the vows uttered by mortal lips. i did not ask aunt comfort to care for me a helpless child and not her own; she gave me home and love without it. she would not ask me to sacrifice one hour for her selfish needs, and yet i am ready, and shall if need be, to devote all my life solely for her in return. this and this only is true and unselfish love, and all that is worth the name." then they changed the subject into a discussion of ways and means to rescue her father from his wilderness abode. 376 the hermit "he has, so far as i could discover, forgotten his early life," asserted martin, "and while he seemed disturbed and in a way almost touched by the sight of your pictured face, acted as if the past was a blank in memory. old cy he recalled well enough. in fact and it was curious his coming there appeared to strike him as perfectly natural, and in few days they became like two old schoolboys playing at keeping house. i'll wager at this very moment they are content and talking about their traps, the squirrels, and how thick the ice is on the lake, or how deep the snow is. they once were natural-born companions in companions in outdoor sports and such ways of living, and now are joined enjoying the same again. i took old cy along solely to identify this hermit, but builded wiser than i knew, and it turned out more than fortunate. i was also so sure i had found amzi that i took in extra clothing for him, and before i left, sent our guides to a settlement for more provisions and needful articles. it was by one of them that i sent you that birch-bark letter, for i was a confession 377 without even a pencil. we also repaired and improved the cabin; built an addition for the guide i left there for emergencies; they have meat and food supplies for a year, and when spring comes, i'll take you and aunt comfort to pay them a visit. to go there now is impossible, except to a hardy woodsman on snowshoes, for the only highways are locked by ice in that high latitude, and snow is likely to be a foot or more deep. i thought of all a man could to make your poor father safe and comfortable, and believe he is. i will do anything you ask, will take you and aunt comfort there when possible, and then you must judge what is best to be done. if old cy's companionship has the effect i hope it will on him, he may be changed into a more normal state of mind, and ready and even anxious to return to civilization. the long years of solitary life have made him almost demented, however, and nearly obliterated even the memory of you." much more—already known — was related by martin, and when the evening ended, a few words of defence for her own resolution 378 the hermit were uttered by angie, and must also be quoted. "you have rendered my poor father and myself," she said, "a service for which all you ask of me is no more than just reward. some day it shall be yours. and now as partial payment i will tell you what has never passed my lips, and god's truth. "once and when a silly girl i grew into a strangely sweet illusion. i did not know what it meant then, but blindly believed it must last for life, and that you would seem and be ever the same to me. it was selfish, as first love always is, but i did not know it. now i do, and that the only love worth calling such means self-sacrifice. then you went away, and i tried to forget you. it was useless, for none can force thought or feeling either to come or to go. for years i suffered as all fondly foolish girls must, and in silence. it was like the saviour's cross to me, and i helpless to escape its burden. in time and by trying to assume others' burdens, my own seemed lighter. i have never complained, for it was useless. i could a confession 379 not will you back if i tried, and the only peace i found was in living for aunt comfort and my pupils. at first i hoped you might return some day, but finally forced that hope away. other men and good ones tried to whisper love to me. it made no difference, for i felt no response. i certainly would have done so if i could, but i could not. it seemed to me god had willed me to live my life alone and for others, and even now i feel the same. your finding my father, your unaccountable impulse to return here, then going back to him again are all a part of my fate. i may be wrong, but i can no more escape my sense of duty, and that it is god's will you should bring me this added one, than i could put you out of my heart long ago. my duty now seems first, and when that is performed, and no one needs me more than you, i will be yours until death parts us. i could not do otherwise if i would, and i would not if i could." and when he parted from her, never before had he believed one woman could seem so priceless. chapter xli thanksgiving day thanksgiving had always been the most important day in aunt comfort's calendar, and latterly the one most anticipated by nezer. for many weeks previous to its advent he began to count the days ere it was due, and when preparations came, he was not only a boy ready and willing to do all that was asked, but one who seemed to be hunting for chores and chances to assist. first came the selection of the fattest turkey in the flock a few days ahead, and his cooping and extra feeding in due preparation for the grand event. in this occult matter nezer displayed almost abnormal acumen, and could tell by the bird's strut and how he held his wings which one to choose. chickens must also be selected and shut up, and here again nezer's night visit to the roost and choice of fowls 380 thanksgiving day 381 showed discretion. the yellowest ripe pumpkin was picked out from the pile by him, and all manner of smaller vegetables as well. he cheerfully carried a big basket of good things to old cy and others, and poor families a mile away for aunt comfort; he made no complaint at chopping wood, and when the big oven over the fireplace must be cleaned out, he was anxious to do it. by the time the all-important morning arrived he had reached a state of almost delirious excitement, and was usually underfoot all the time while watching the women folks preparing tarts and jellies and filling the many kinds of pies, to be deftly transferred to the deep oven on a long-handled shovel. to keep him quiet he was allowed to help, and angie usually put an apron on him and set him paring apples or chopping mince-meat. when preparations were well on and aunt comfort, who never forgot to go to church, hurried away for the brief service, then nezer's expectancy reached its critical stage, and not even a circus coming into town would have tempted him out of the house. if company 382 the hermit came, his excitement was increased, and so keen was his anticipation that his best clothes were donned with cheerful resignation. the only rift within the lute of his perfect joy was having to wait so long, and, when the banquet was served, to be the last to receive his portion. he made amends, however, in quantity, for his plate had to be passed up three times, and he usually found room for two pieces of mince pie besides. when the joyful day came again, both aunt comfort and angie set about making it memorable, and invited a gathering that was likely to crowd their home to its limit. first, dr. sol and his wife, and martin, of course, then his mother, sister, and her family, consisting of her husband and three children, from riverton, as well. then aunt lorey, whose ability to assist at and enjoy such an affair was even superior to her utility at funerals, was included. "i don't know where we can put all martin's family to sleep," asserted angie, somewhat ruefully, when she and aunt comfort began counting their guests. "the out-of-town people $ i 1 thanksgiving day 383 will need four rooms, and we have only two spare ones furnished." "we won't worry 'bout sich trifles," aunt comfort responded; "we kin double up somehow, and nezer kin sleep on the settle." she had set about a celebration that was one, and the matter of crowding was a trifle of no account, and the event was one the like of which her ancient dwelling had not held since the joyous days of her youth. for three days the women folks were more than busy, and the store of good things provided seemed limitless. twice the big oven had to be heated to bake all the pies, and again to hold the two turkeys and tempting spare rib, and nezer's nose was nearly blistered while basting them. martin obtained permission to add his mite, and he sent to the city for flowers enough to turn the whole house into a bower, and had aunt comfort known what they cost, she would have fainted. it mattered not to him, however, for he was in that state of mind when money seemed like the dry leaves of autumn compared to angie's happiness. nezer was almost beside himself with joy 384 the hermit when the supreme day arrived, but when the somewhat citified riverton party drove up and two pert and pretty girls about his own age alighted with the rest, he, for perhaps the second time in his life, felt scared. of the introductions, hand-shakings, and general efforts to make everybody feel at home and happy, nothing need be said. dr. sol and family soon joined the party, and when formality had merged into the happy-go-lucky cheerfulness of such an occasion and the banquet was served, no pen can describe its all-around enjoyment or hilarity. the climax of fun came in the evening, however, for angie, always thoughtful, had invited a little party of her oldest pupils to help entertain martin's nieces and nephew, and the house was turned almost topsy-turvy by "blindman's buff," "puss in the corner," "groceries," and finally a game of "button," in which even aunt comfort and aunt lorey had to join. the limit of rollicking fun was reached in this, when the latter was called upon to pay a forfeit by kneeling in the middle of the parlor floor and measuring six yards of thanksgiving day 385 tape with nezer. this performance produced shouts of laughter on all sides, but it is doubtful if nezer enjoyed it. there was one slightly ludicrous incident, however, for martin's mother, who was somewhat deaf and had somehow understood that her son and angie were engaged, went to her at the close of the evening and offered congratulations in an unnecessarily loud tone. her intent was kindness itself, but it brought a blush and almost tears to angie, and no one informed the old lady to the contrary. neither did any one consider it needful to do so, or that the outcome was anything but a foregone conclusion. and so it was, for there are some adjustments in life so absolutely compatible and so evidently in harmony with the law and sequence of events, that no will can stem the current. happiness and a union with the man angie's heart had never once swerved from, were forcing themselves upon her, and with her will or against her will, no alternative was possible. it may be called divine law or the law of natural selection no matter; it is one and the same, and a power that has 2 c 386 the hermit covered "this dear old world, this queer old world," with countless happy homes, and filled its isles and fields and groves with joy supreme and the sweet rippling laughter of children. love was hers by that same divine right, happiness for others meant her own, and what was hers she could not escape, even if she willed. more than that, the self-sacrificing impulses of a nature few men can either understand or appreciate controlled her and forced adoration. something of this was voiced by aunt comfort that night when the guests had been packed away and she and angie were alone. "i hain't spoken on 't afore," observed aunt comfort, "but i hope you an' martin won't put off gettin' married too long. thar ain't no need on 't now, and yer both old 'nough, 'n' i'd like ter see ye happy, ez i b'lieve ye will be, an' then thar's property reasons. ye mustn't expect dr. sol's goin' ter look arter them matters now that yer nat'ral pertecter's come back." "" why, we are not even engaged yet," answered angie, with emphasis, "and i told him thanksgiving day 387 i wouldn't be so long as you need me, as i know you do." "why, angie, i'm s'prised," came the somewhat severe answer. "i don't need ye half so much as ye do him, and ye've both on ye waited long enough. if ye want to make me happy, ye must consider my wishes in this matter, an' i won't be happy till the day is sot 'n' i've seen ye two made one. i ain't allers goin' to stay 'round here, 'n' then thar's yer father. how do ye callate to take keer o' him alone in the world 'n' 'thout a man?" it was a different viewpoint and one angie had not considered. to her, duty seemed to live singly and do for those dependent, without dividing her own thought and love, or assuming wifely cares, in short to get along without a man. "i am not anxious to be married," she said firmly, after duly weighing what aunt comfort had said. "it is a serious step, and if martin cares for me, it won't hurt him to wait a few years. i have grown well used to a single life, and am quite content without him. as for property, why, the mills and mizzy lands won't run 388 the hermit away, and you and i have got along very well so far. besides, there's my father, as you say, only your idea of my duty and his need is different from mine. martin is going to take you and me to him in the spring, he says." then aunt comfort laughed, for this naïve admission of woman's dependence on man was ludicrous. "why, you goose," she said, "if you 'n' martin was married, thar wouldn't be no need o' my goin', 'n' ez fer my settin' foot in one o' them topply canoes they tell 'bout, i wouldn't do it fer a farm." chapter xlii a christmas present like a wise man, martin made no effort to change angie's mind, but the path between the doctor's house and her home was kept free from snow, and seldom an evening passed when he did not use it. he made himself needful to her in many ways also, one of which was to be in front of her home each morning in time to convey her to school and back again each night. "you have walked long enough," he said, when she protested that people would consider them engaged, "and now you have got to ride, whether you want to or not. as for what folks will say, i want them to consider us engaged, for i do." he pleaded with her until she consented to resign her school at christmas, and then hurried away to tell squire phinney, to 389 390 the hermit have another teacher engaged, and once a week a well-packed box of cut flowers was left at her dwelling by the stage driver. martin also conferred with aunt comfort, who was heart and soul on his side, and table delicacies from summer climes and quite unknown to greenvale found their way to her table. he even enlisted nezer at fifty cents a day to go early to the schoolhouse, and have it well warmed ere angie arrived, and if his loving care and thought missed any points in this practical wooing, they were trifling ones. when she demurred at so much attention and repeated her thanks, he would not listen. "it's my own happiness i am hunting for," he said, “as well as yours, and i've many long years of neglect to make up. you needn't marry me until you feel ready to propose it, but you can't stop my loving you and doing for you, say what you choose." they had an almost make-believe quarrel over the two thousand dollars he paid over to her by dr. sol. "i positively refuse to touch it," martin declared, when she handed him the identical i 1 t a christmas present 391 ce a left artin was acies to he o go well ving this mes. and ɔr," ong n't it, ing rel to tin cal "it's yours by inheritance and roll of bills. law, and i won't have it on my hands." "i don't consider it mine," she answered as firmly, "and i won't keep it, so what shall i do with it?" "i don't care what you do with it," he exclaimed with mock grandiloquence in answer. "give it to hannah, to nezer, to the parson, or to the poor, or whom you choose, but you can't make me take it. i may insist that you give me a deed of the property when i tender the balance of payment, but that is all. i only bought it to keep it away from strangers." there were other rills of joy flowing her way these days besides martin's devotion, and one reached her heart the closing day of her school, and in the form of an invitation to come to the schoolhouse the next saturday and be her scholars' guest of honor. she could not even guess what was in store for her, and when martin called to convey her thither, he refused to even hint it. she almost collapsed, however, when she once more stepped into the long-familiar room, for it was packed by all her pupils, and most of their parents, with squire 392 the hermit phinney as master of ceremonies. first came the singing of an improvised song with her name used, then the presentation of an album containing her scholars' pictures, with speech by the squire, and lastly the good-bys. this finale was too much for poor angie's composure, for as the little ones began to file by in due order, each to give and receive a kiss, her feelings gave way, and her face became a shower cloud. when the old folks' turn came, she could not speak, and after they had departed, and only stella phinney and martin remained, she was still sobbing. to leave the room for the last time was almost as much a tax as parting from the school, for the ten years had imprinted every nook, cranny, and outline of that little temple on her heart, and when the door was closed and locked by martin and the three drove away, she was still unable to speak. the affair was a tribute she might well be proud of, for never before had its like occurred in greenvale, and yet, when the horse's hoofs struck the old red bridge on their way home, to angie they sounded like the rapid fall of clods upon a coffin. a christmas present 393 "i can't undo my heartstrings," she said to martin that night, "and to-day's experience has made me feel that i am like a ship without a rudder. i have lived with the growing ambitions of my little men and women so long, they have clung to me, and loved me, and i them, all these years, that they are part of my life. i am sure i shall feel like the prisoner who, after spending forty years in one cell each night, was released, only to go back there in a month and beg for the privilege of entering it again." but christmas day brought another mood to this more than lovable girl, and also a surprise to martin. he had, as might be expected, almost filled her home with presents for all its members, a list too long for mention, and they had all eaten banquet dinner at the doctor's, and with music and games passed the afternoon. it was not a day celebrated as thanksgiving was, and when nightfall came, aunt comfort led the way homeward. "i shall see you this evening, i hope," angie whispered to martin ere she followed; "at least i want to. i've a little christmas present waiting for you." 394 the hermit what it was he could not even guess in fact did not expect any. his evenings there were usually passed in the sitting room, for the parlor was slow to warm now winter had come, and aunt comfort's presence was no bar to conversation with angie. she also-like the wise mother she was-retired early, and did so to-night. then, for a charming hour, angie and martin had the room to themselves. no mention of his own feelings or hopes was made by him he had since the first abandoned that subject and the school farewell, with books and the latest gossip, furnished topics. it was almost time for separation, and yet no mention of the christmas token had been made by angie. "i thought i was to receive a present," he said at last, "or was it a joke?" "it may prove a sorry one," she answered, "but i have one for you, and will go out and get it. when i return, i'll knock; you must then arise, close your eyes, and promise not to open them until i say the word." somewhat mystified, he promised, and for a long half hour he watched the fire and lis"here is your present," she whispered page 395 a christmas present 395 tened to the clock. and that half hour seemed likely to never end. at last came the knock, and he arose and dutifully closed his eyes. soon he heard the door softly open and close, then a gentle, rustling step, and when, "now you may look," was whispered, he opened his eyes. and what a vision greeted him, for there, glowing with blushes and half concealed beneath a veil stood angie, a bride in dress and pose, with hands folded and eyes downcast. a woman beautiful as a sculptor's dream! "here is your present," she whispered at last, raising her love-lit eyes to his, "you have robbed me of school and my and i must have some one to care for in place of it." and now did he, or did he not consider that veil superfluous? let me assure you, kind reader, i'll never tell. ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ chapter xliii the spread of happiness two months had elapsed since the spectre of scar face and david's torturing conscience had caused him to leap into oblivion, and he was almost forgotten. the mizzy falls still poured out from beneath a sheathing of ice, and glittering pendants hung from the rocks beside it or swayed from the trees that bent toward it below. the mills were choked with snow, the great house near by was empty, not a footprint showed that the premises ever had a visitor, and the ghost that once haunted them had been banished. the gossips had more cheering subjects to discuss, and martin's discovery of amzi, his good samaritan service and care for that pitiful man, old cy's voluntary imprisonment with him in the far-away wilderness, and the hope that both would return in the spring, were discussed at every fireside. there was 396 the spread of happiness 397 also another topic of warm heart interest—the news that angie and martin were now openly pledged to marriage in the near future. it was not long in spreading, for when angie somewhat penitently informed aunt comfort, that motherly soul first kissed and caressed her with tearful joy, and then straightway informed aunt lorey and (in the vernacular) "that settled it." the snow was deep, but that was no hindrance to aunt lorey, for before the sun had again risen on fair greenvale, the important news was known all over the village. and what a romantic tale of faithful devotion well rewarded it was, and how the congratulations and good wishes came showering upon angie! for years she had lived her patient, helpful life, always thinking of and doing for others, bearing her own troubles and wrongs in silence, until she had grown very dear to the hearts of all, and now to come into her inherited rights and the crown of love and betrothal almost at once, with the prospect of again meeting a father supposed to be dead, was a reward greater than a fairy princess ever received. 398 the hermit and well deserved, as all considered. aunt comfort shared the general love-feast of good-will and wishes, and martin was also a hero. dr. sol was not forgotten, and even nezer received a few crumbs for his plodding through the snow early every morning for weeks to build a rousing fire in the schoolhouse for angie, acts which were attributed to his devotion to her. the social life of greenvale also received a new impetus that winter, and evening gatherings of the middle aged and young folks, to which angie and martin were inevitably invited, became frequent. they were considered the guests of honor at all these simple functions, and none complete without them. angie was, of course, the social star, who was sought as queen; her wishes were consulted, her suggestions were asked for, and she was forced to receive a homage she cared not at all for. the general sociability also culminated in several dances where she and martin were obliged to lead the grand march, and she was besieged afterwards by would-be partners. aunt comfort also entered into the spirit of joyousness the spread of happiness 399 and battled with angie's sense of economy until an ample supply of new gowns and frocks were added to her wardrobe. "you've been denyin' yerself 'n' going without things long 'nough," she said when the subject came up, "an' now you've got ter dress up, if i've got ter sit up nights sewin'. then you've got ter consider martin's feelin's. he's got man's nat❜ral pride in you, that you mustn't forget." he also "considered," and the costly hothouse flowers kept coming to aunt comfort's in spite of zero weather. there was also another side to the social impetus, and that the religious one. the church that had been repaired by martin, and where the reverend upson proclaimed what might be called the new school of thought, received good support and was well filled each sabbath. most of the audiences were composed of those who had grown lax in their church attendance, or seldom listened to the reverend jones, but many alternated between the two churches. it became a species of competition between the two preachers, which harmed neither and really 400 the hermit aided both by provoking widespread discussion out of church and more general interest in religion. the fact was the reverend jones had become old-fogyish, his arguments moss-covered, and the dry bones of calvinism had lost their power. the newer ones of unitarianism were more appealing to the broader minded, and even interested those who still held to the old theology. in a village like greenvale nothing can be concealed, and the reverend upson's utterances each sunday were quoted from house to house soon after, discussed in phinney's store and cap'n tobey's tavern, and weighed and compared with reverend jones's sermons time and again, and it must be said that to those sturdy farmers who had wrangled on predestination, doubted noah's maritime knowledge, and discussed the cause of adam's fall for years, parson upson's theories seemed the more logical and his idea of god the more commendable. a curious and quite unexpected change came over the reverend jones as well, and he seemed like a preacher uncertain of his ground and anxious to conciliate and retain the good-will and confidence of even his own parishioners. in social life he the spread of happiness 401 was less dogmatic and more ready to listen patiently to others' opinions, did not at once denounce those who differed with him even in trifles as formerly, and even admitted that his competitor in thought might have honest intentions and also be doing good. at first he had denounced mr. upson unsparingly. this tirade now ceased entirely, and when one evening the two chanced to meet in a social way, a surprise came, for a cordial hand-shake and most amiable chat followed. a marvellous change also came in his sermons. brimstone was banished, the wrath of god was seldom referred to, and a dozen other long-familiar points of creed were apparently forgotten. the character, attributes, and intentions of god also received a changed interpretation, and as squire phinney put it, after listening to one of jones's newly liberal sermons, "it looks as though parson upson was goin' to convert parson jones." neither did the orthodox following decrease any as might be expected, for the changed tenor of preaching in that church provoked interest. more people went to church each sunday, and 2 d 402 the hermit both were well attended. it was an outcome that gave good old parson jones more solace than he admitted, and almost as much satisfaction as that felt over angie's good fortune. it must also be told that she contributed an ample share to his recent peace of mind, for her first business act, after dr. sol had been appointed administrator of her uncle's estate, was to obtain the church mortgage from him and present it to parson jones. how that worthy man thanked and blessed her with a special prayer there and then, how he announced the joyous gift and fact in the pulpit the next sunday, and how this gave an added impetus to her queenship over greenvale, and the love and respect of all need not be described. after many years of patient self-sacrifice and unrest, the bark of her life had suddenly sailed into golden and azure waters where the banks were festooned with the flowers of respect, and the birds of love and joy were singing. and none envied her this new-found happiness. chapter xliv wedding bells when the pinks and syringas once more bloomed in aunt comfort's dooryard, and the lilacs beautified the weather-worn and mosscovered porch, there occurred a wedding in the old orthodox church. martin would have preferred it in the one he had endowed, yet did not even hint that thought, for the most trifling will and wish of angie was now law with him. i say wedding, and yet rather might it have been called greenvale's testimonial to the pair, for never had the village seen one like it. for weeks almost every one of the gentler sex was anxiously preparing suitable raiment; a dressmaker from the city had been called in for angie, a trained quartette and professional musicians engaged for the grand occasion, and a carriage and span from riverton to convey the united pair away. for two days dozens 403 404 the hermit of kindly hands labored to render the church more beautiful. every window was draped with flowers and foliage, the altar hidden beneath lilacs and roses, a carpet was laid from street to door, and when the bride and groom arrived, every inch of standing room in the church was packed solid, with scores outside, while hardly a man, woman, or child in greenvale was absent. a double row of angie's pupils flanked the carpeted walk, tossing flowers ahead of her as she entered. two more privileged led the way up the aisle, scattering buds and blossoms, while the wedding-song, "o promise me," filled the fragrant air with divine melody. then came a hush; and the few sacred and time-honored words that have opened the doors of heavenly joy or heart-rending sorrow to millions, a fervent prayer from the lips of minister jones, never before equalled by him, and a feeling in the hearts of many that god had entered the temple with the bridal pair. words were weak fitly to describe such an event and even less so the moods of all participants. it was a meeting of the rills of joy and wedding bells 405 sorrow, ever flowing alike from all human hearts, as well as a union of two finite beings, and those with gray hair were left to mourn. to angie it was a sacred and solemn step much akin to the thought of christ on the cross, and only by superhuman effort did she restrain her tears until the seclusion of aunt comfort's was reached again. love to her meant utter selfabnegation and marriage a pledge to live for, and if need be, to die for another. and when the dear old home enclosed her once more, emotion conquered all resolution. "ye mustn't take on so," aunt comfort whispered brokenly, when she clasped angie for the final parting, "it'll break my heart when ye're gone. ye've been a great blessin' to me all these years, 'n' i want to see ye start off happy. it's nat'ral ye should, 'n' when i can't see yer face no more, i want ter think on 't ez smilin'. it's all that's left me." over that hallowed journey to and through the wilderness where the streams wound between fir-clad banks, the waves rippled upon the shores of sparkling lakes, the spruce trees played hide and seek in the camp-fire light, and this book should be returned to the library on or before the last date stamped below. a fine of five cents a day is incurred by retaining it beyond the specified time. please return promptly. dener 6667 y widener wa ock2 3.4999 book pue due محمد www widener juel u6121999 book due 106 al widener library 4315 88 hx 51rd a al4315,88 harvard college library cademiae christo vardianas פד0t) from the in nov subscription fund begun in 1858 alx3/5.88 { francis abbott; or the hermit of niagara. tale of the old and new world. by the author of mettallak, &c. skookgo boston: gleason's publishing hall, no. 1 tremont row. 1846. entered according to act of congress, in the year 1845, by f. gleason, in the clerk's office of the district court of massachusetts. al 4 3/5,88 harvard colleg nov 10 1916 library subscriftm fed francis abbott; or the hermit of niagara. chapter i. but soon he knew himself the most unfit of men to herd with man; with whom he held little in common; untaught to submit his thoughts to others, though his soul was quelled in youth by his own thoughts; still, uncompelled, he would not yield dominion of his mind to spirits against whom his own rebelled; proud, though in desolation, which could find a life within itself, to breathe without mankind.' the day was far advanced, and the sun, partially enveloped in smoke and clouds, hung darkly in the west; a dense fog enshrouded the metropolis of the fast anchored isle, and a thick mist was fast descending upon the dark, time-worn houses, and making the streets of london dismal with mud; the month of october, 1828, had gone into the ocean of eternity, and the gloomy, suicidal month of november had just commenced, when a fine, tall, quickmotioned inan, might have been seen hurrying along one of the principal thorough fares of this great babylon of europe. he was snugly wrapped within a dark ed his manly form, and guarded it against the drizzling rain. a shrewd observer would, at a single glance, have known that this individual's mind was ill at ease; for his motions and gait indicated a troubled spirit, and a heart worn with care and disappointment, as he passed along, he would occasionally stop and look down upon the pavè as if some burning thoughts or agonizing emotions were sorely pressing his heart; and then he would suddenly raise his eyes to the lowering clouds, and hurry along with accelerated speed, as if he had com broadcloth cloak, whichi completely mitted some offence against the laws of his country, and every moment expected 8 francis abbott; or to feel the hand of a government officer upon his shoulder. but no crime had stained his soul, or wicked deed corrupted his heart. his mind, it is true, was troubled, but his thoughts were pure, and his heart unspotted. ( "ah! the clouds weep today, and so does my spirit,' he said within himself, as he came opposite the house in which histions. mother was confined upon a bed of languishment; i will see emeline clareudon once more, although my only surviving parent prays me to leave the proud girl, and no more sue for her favorable regards. but my mother knows not the power of love when circumstances are adverse; for she, while young, married the man of her choice, and i am the only pledge of that affection which felt no storms of adversity until death, unrelent-ly ing death, hurried my father into the grave. she never knew the pangs of disappointed love, and how the heart will yearn for unattainable joy.. kind, tender, and affectionate though she is, yet she deems it strange that i can still love a wo-hand of a woman whose heart had been changed by outward circumstances.' 6 6 'what of miss clarendon?' he anxiousinquired; did he speak of me also?' he did,' she answered, gazing into his agitated countenance, apparently with much feeling. 'he said he sincerely regretted that his only son and offspring had not more spirit and pride than to seek the man who now professes not to return my affection. ah! there are secrets of the soul which adversity has never taught her, and feelings which peculiar circumstances never awoke in her heart. i will go in and sit by her bedside until evening, and then snatch a few moments from my weary care, and visit the fair but ambitious emeline clarendon,' francis abbot withdrew his hand from his mother's burning forehead, and cast his eyes upon the floor in silence. for a moment he felt that he would for ever abandon his suit of the proud girl, and drive her from his thoughts; but the power of first love again came over his soul, and the charms of her beauty again were in the ascendant. the young man now softly entered a neat but humble mansion, and with a light step and beating heart found his way to the room where his sick mother was confined with her last illness. # softly approaching the bed, and laying his hand upon her feverish forehead, he said, mother, how do you feel this afternoon?' when he approached the bed, the sick woman was partially asleep, but the kind tones of his voice aroused her from her lethargy, and opening her sunken but still brilliant eyes, and feeling his warm palm gently pressing her throbbing temples, she replied, francis, is that you? it seems as if you had been gone a long time. i believe i have been dreaming. i thought your father was conversing with me, and his voice seemed to soothe my 6 weary soul, and wake up the recollections of the past. ah, francis, our whole lives are but fitful dreams, and will soon end. even the youngest will soon terminate his earthly career, and the strongest will not tarry long upon the shores of time.' " all true, mother,' he answered, with a voice choked with deeply agitated emowhat did father say to you in your dreams? did he speak of earthly or heavenly scenes?' "ah! francis, he spoke of earthly matters-of the proud and haughty miss clarendon,' she replied, while a look of severe reproof passed over her sickly features, and her deep black eyes plainly told that disease had not yet paralyzed her spirit or quenched the ardor of her soul. i'm glad to see you, francis, thus deeply wrapped in reflection,' continued his sick mother. 'i hope your reason and judgment will control you. let the proud girl seek other lovers, and even those less worthy than you are. what is the heart of woman good for, when reverses in fortune will change it? time was when miss clarendon and her haughty mother were glad to visit us in the hour of prosperity, but our riches have flown, and with them all which the ambitious mother and daughter seemed to hold dear. when we were wealthy, and lived in a more splendid house than this, emeline even sought your society, and professed great attachment for you; but now she spurns you from her presence, and lifts her head far the hermit of niagara. above you. the estate which her father left may, like ours, take to itself wings and fly away; and then, think you, her love would return? o, francis, such love cannot be depended on; for true love knows no rank or condition: it looks above riches, and scorns all distinctions which money makes in the world. be a man, and hon-done under the circumstances to which you allude. my proud spirit cannot now brook the scorn of man, and i feel quite sure i should have been further from it when i was younger than i ani now.' true, francis, i have not,' she replied; but reason teaches me what i should have or the memory of your high-minded and noble father. do not give me occasion again to hear him express his regret, even in my dreams, that his son has lost his spirit and his pride. go to the proud and heartless girl and tell her you love her no more. say to her that if the paltry and selfish considerations of riches can change her heart, you will not seek such a fickle thing. do this, and you will smooth my passage down to the tomb.' 'o, mother, you always taught me to utter nothing but the truth on all occasions, and my own conscience teaches me the same lesson,' he replied, while his lips trembled and his breast heaved with violent emotions. should i say to emeline clarendon that i no longer love her, my lips would speak that my heart does not feel. mother, i should give utterance to a falsehood which my soul abhors.' 'no doubt you feel as you express yourself,' he replied; but reason, cold, calculating reason, has but little power over the impulses of the heart. it is only here and there we find a man who has power to take a city, and how much fewer are those who can conquer their own hearts! has not the wisest man that ever lived said that he who conquers himself is greater than he who overcomes a city? no, no, mother. the task you wish me to perform, and the work i would most gladly do myself is harder, much more difficult than you imagine. i have tried—have called upon all the powers god has given me-struggled by night and by day, and at times it has seemed as if i had gained the victory over myself, but the all conquering power of love would return upon me, and its mighty impulses would again move my heart. before it the most stern resolves would melt away, and become like ropes of sand, easily falling in pieces.' 6 som. the sick woman gazed upon her highminded and virtuous son, and, stretching out her skeleton hands and almost nerveless arms, drew him to her swelling boshe loved her son with all a mother's tenderness, and admired his truthloving spirit, but yet she wished he had the soul to spurn from him the proud and haughty emeline. if he could do this her last prayer would be answered, and she felt as if she could close her eyes in peace upon all earthly scenes. what did the heartless girl say to you at your last interview?' inquired the impatient mother. what did she say of her former conduct, when we, like herself and mother, were resting in the lap of ease and affluence?' 'i would not for the world have you utter a falsehood,' she said; but i wish i bad borne a son who would not only speak truth on all occasions and under all circumstances, but who would also resist op'yes, wonderful light broke upon her pression in every form, and teach a heart-heart, and revealed to her all its secrets less woman that she is not worthy of any after she ascertained that our riches had man's confidence or love,' flown away,' said the mother. then the charm was broken, and the deception of her own heart was laid open to her view. believe me, francis, she never loved you, whatever you may think; for if she had, she would love you still.' 'you are indeed, mother, much older than i am,' he replied, and have more experience in many things, but there are some trials of the heart which your good fortune has never compelled you to pass through. you never knew what it was to love and not to be loved in return. your heart has never felt the stings of disappointed love. this, in past years, i have learned from your own lips.' 6 ah! she says her own heart deceived her,' he replied. she once thought she loved me, but on mature reflection she finds she was mistaken.' 10 francis abbott, or • francis abbott took a view of the subject ¡erate moments, when the impulses of your entirely different from that of his mother. heart do not drive you to wrong concluhe believed she once loved him, and would sions, and your own love for the proud even now if it were not for her pride and girl blinds not your judgment.' ambition. deprive her of wealth, and take away the hope of her moving in those circles to which money furnishes the only passport, he believed she would still love him. and, believing this, he had many times secretly wished that the gold her father left her and her mother were buried in the depths of the ocean. but these wishes he would attempt to drive from his beart; for he believed it was wrong to wish that poverty might be the portion of any one, however much his own prospects might be advanced by it. the impulsive young man stood by the bedside of his sick mother, and covered his face with his hands. he thoughtfully stood a few moments, and during this brief space of time, deeply did he examine. the past workings of his own heart; but he could not find there any evidence of the truth of his theory in matters of love. his own emotions plainly told him that if eneline clarendon had lost her fortune, he should have loved her the more; and yet when he remembered her sweet kisses, and saw in imagination the soft, bewitching glance of her deep blue eyes, he was forced to believe that he once had possession of her heart, notwithstanding all the coldness and indifference she now manifested towards him. a thousand conflict" mother, you might be right in your conclusions, but it seems to me he did once love me, and would even now, were it not for the change in our circumstances,' he answered. francis, look deep into your heart,' saiding feelings agitated his breast, and no his mother, looking anxiously into his face. opinion he formed could long satisfy him. do you find any evidence in your own i may be blinded, dear mother, by my love that dollars and cents can change the attachment to emeline,' he replied with heart? had fortune deprived her of prop-much feeling. i would shake off the im erty instead of taking ours away, would you have ceased to love her ? 'o! mother. no, not so!' he feelingly replied. it seems to me such a storm of adversity would have increased rather than diminished my attachment.' pressions she has made upon me, and for ever efface her image from my heart, if i had the power; but sometimes it seems to me impossible. you, and dear father too, when he was with us, thought she was a most beautiful girl, and one that would make me happy; but now how changed your opinion!' 8 6 " and so it wou'd, if you cherished for her pure and sincere love,' she replied. and will not the rule work in both cases? true, francis, we did once entertain a do principles bend to particular persons? very favorable opinion of her, but it was is a theory good in one case and false in when her true character was not develop another? you say you think she once ed,' said the mother. in our prosperity loved you; and if she did, does not your she, and her mother too, appeared like own experience teach you that her attach-good folks, but adversity has drawn them. ment would now be increased ?' out, and exhibited their pride and selfish" pride, ambition, a fondness for splen-ness. they believed our wealth was even dor and rank, a mother's influence, the at-greater than theirs, and so it was; but we tention of the rich and gay-all these have have lost nearly all, and with it their friendtheir power over the human heart, and ship and love. and will you continue to sometimes make it forget that it once respect such a mother, and to love such a joved,' he replied. daughter, however beautiful and accomdoes such reasoning satisfy your own plished she may be? o, francis, how mind?' inquired the mother. does such strongly i wish you would control the im a theory correspond with the workings of pulses of your heart, and seek out some your own heart? again i say examine other girl whose good qualities you could yourself, and see if such reasonings are depend upon under all circumstances im satisfactory to you in our calm and delib-life you may be called to encounter, in · francis abbott; or the hermit of niagara chapter i. b but soon he knew himself the most unfit of men to herd with man; with whom he held little in common; untaught to submit his thoughts to others, though his soul was quelled in youth by his own thoughts; still, uncompelled, he would not yield dominion of his mind to spirits against whom his own rebelled; proud, though in desolation, which could find a life within itself, to breathe without mankind.' the day was far advanced, and the sun, ed his manly form, and guarded it against partially enveloped in smoke and clouds, the drizzling rain. a shrewd observer hung darkly in the west; a dense fog enwould, at a single glance, have known shrouded the metropolis of the fast anchored that this individual's mind was ill at ease; isle, and a thick mist was fast descending for his motions and gait indicated a trouupon the dark, time-worn houses, and bled spirit, and a heart worn with care making the streets of london dismal with and disappointment. mud; the month of october, 1828, had gone into the ocean of eternity, and the gloomy, suicidal month of november had just commenced, when a fine, tall, quickmotioned nan, might have been seen hurrying along one of the principal thoroughfares of this great babylon of europe. he was snugly wrapped within a dark blue broadcloth cloak, which completely coveras he passed along, he would occasionally stop and look down upon the pave as if some burning thoughts or agonizing emotions were sorely pressing his heart; and then he would suddenly raise his eyes to the lowering clouds, and hurry along with accelerated speed, as if he had com mitted some offence against the laws of his country, and every moment expected 8 francis abbott; or to feel the hand of a government officer upon his shoulder. but no crime had stained his soul, or wicked deed corrupted his heart. his mind, it is true, was troubled, but his thoughts were pure, and his heart unspotted. ah! the clouds weep today, and so does my spirit,' he said within himself, as he came opposite the house in which his mother was confined upon a bed of languishment; i will see emeline clarendon once more, although my only surviving parent prays me to leave the proud girl, and no more sue for her favorable regards. but my mother knows not the power of love when circumstances are adverse; for she, while young, married the man of her choice, and i am the only pledge of that affection which felt no • what of miss clarendon?' he anxiousstorms of adversity until death, unrelent-ly inquired; did he speak of me also?' ing death, hurried my father into the grave. she never knew the pangs of disappointed love, and how the heart will yearn for unattainable joy. kind, tender, and affectionate though she is, yet she deems it strange that i can still love a wo-hand of a woman whose heart had been changed by outward circumstances.' 6 'he did,' she answered, gazing into his agitated countenance, apparently with much feeling. 'he said he sincerely regretted that his only son and offspring had not more spirit and pride than to seek the man who now professes not to return my affection. ah! there are secrets of the soul which adversity has never taught her, and feelings which peculiar circumstances never awoke in her heart. i will go in and sit by her bedside until evening, and then snatch a few moments from my weary care, and visit the fair but ambitious emeline clarendon.' francis abbot withdrew his hand from his mother's burning forehead, and cast his eyes upon the floor in silence. for a moment he felt that he would for ever abandon his suit of the proud girl, and drive her from his thoughts; but the power of first love again came over his soul, and the charms of her beauty again were in the ascendant. the young man now softly entered a neat but humble mansion, and with a light step and beating heart found his way to the room where his sick mother was confined with her last illness. softly approaching the bed, and laying his hand upon her feverish forehead, he said, 'mother, how do you feel this afternoon?' when he approached the bed, the sick woman was partially asleep, but the kind tones of his voice aroused her from her lethargy, and opening her sunken but still brilliant eyes, and feeling his warm palm gently pressing her throbbing temples, she replied, francis, is that you? it seems as if you had been gone a long time. i believe i have been dreaming. i thought your father was conversing with me, and his voice seemed to soothe my " weary soul, and wake up the recollections of the past. ah, francis, our whole lives are but fitful dreams, and will soon end. even the youngest will soon terminate his earthly career, and the strongest will not tarry long upon the shores of time.' 'all true, mother,' he answered, with a voice choked with deeply agitated emotions. what did father say to you in your dreams? did he speak of earthly or heavenly scenes?' "ah! francis, he spoke of earthly matters-of the proud and haughty miss clarendon,' she replied, while a look of severe reproof passed over her sickly features, and her deep black eyes plainly told that disease had not yet paralyzed her spirit or quenched the ardor of ber soul. 'i'm glad to see you, francis, thus deeply wrapped in reflection,' continued his sick mother. 'i hope your reason and judgment will control you. let the proud girl seek other lovers, and even those less worthy than you are. what is the heart of woman good for, when reverses in fortune will change it? time was when miss clarendon and her haughty mother were glad to visit us in the hour of prosperity, but our riches have flown, and with them all which the ambitious mother and daughter seemed to hold dear. when we were wealthy, and lived in a more splendid house than this, emeline even sought your society, and professed great attachment for you; but now she spurns you from her presence, and lifts her head får the hermit of niagara. true, francis, i have not,' she replied; above you. the estate which her father left may, like ours, take to itself wings and fly away; and then, think you, her love would return? o, francis, such love cannot be depended on; for true love knows no rank or condition: it looks above riches, and scorns all distinctions which money 'but reason teaches me what i should have makes in the world. be a man, and hon-done under the circumstances to which or the memory of your high-minded and you allude. my proud spirit cannot now noble father. do not give me occasion brook the scorn of man, and i feel quite again to hear him express his regret, even sure i should have been further from it in my dreams, that his son has lost his when i was younger than i ani now.' spirit and his pride. go to the proud and heartless girl and tell her you love her no more. say to her that if the paltry and selfish considerations of riches can change her heart, you will not seek such a fickle thing. do this, and you will smooth my passage down to the tomb.' " no doubt you feel as you express yourself,' he replied; but reason, cold, calculating reason, has but little power over the impulses of the heart. it is only here and there we find a man who has power to take a city, and how much fewer are those who can conquer their own hearts! has not the wisest man that ever lived said that he who conquers himself is greater than he who overcomes a city? no, no, moth• lips trembled and his breast heaved with violent emotions. should i say to emeline clarendon that i no longer love her, my lips would speak that my heart does not feel. mother, i should give utterance to a falsehood which my soul' abhors.' 'o, mother, you always taught me to utter nothing but the truth on all occasions, and my own conscience teaches me the same lesson,' he replied, while hiser. the task you wish me to perform, and the work i would tnost gladly do myself is harder, much more difficult than you imagine. i have tried-have called upon all the powers god has given me-struggled by night and by day, and at times it has seemed as if i had gained the victory over myself, but the all conquering power of love would return upon me, and its mighty impulses would again move my heart. before it the most stern resolves would melt away, and become like ropes of sand, easily falling in pieces.' som. the sick woman gazed upon her highminded and virtuous son, and, stretching out her skeleton hands and almost nerveless arms, drew him to her swelling boshe loved her son with all a mother's tenderness, and admired his truthloving spirit, but yet she wished he had the soul to spuru from him the proud and haughty emeline. if he could do this her last prayer would be answered, and she felt as if she could close her eyes in peace upon all earthly scenes. • what did the heartless girl say to you at your last interview ?' inquired the impatient mother. what did she say of her former conduct, when we, like herself and mother, were resting in the lap of ease and affluence?' 'yes, wonderful light broke upon her 'i would not for the world have you utter a falsehood,' she said; but i wish i had borne a son who would not only speak truth on all occasions and under all circumstances, but who would also resist oppression in every form, and teach a heart-heart, and revealed to her all its secrets less woman that she is not worthy of any after she ascertained that our riches had man's confidence or love.' flown away,' said the mother. then the you are indeed, mother, much older charm was broken, and the deception of than i am,' he replied, and have more exher own heart was laid open to her view. perience in many things, but there are believe me, francis, she never loved you, some trials of the heart which your good | whatever you may think; for if she had, fortune has never compelled you to pass she would love you still.' 6 through. you never knew what it was to love and-not to be loved in return. your heart has never felt the stings of disappointed love. this, in past years, i have learned from your own lips.' < ah! she says her own heart deceived her,' he replied. she once thought she loved me, but on mature reflection she finds she was mistaken.' 10 francis abbott; or francis abbott took a view of the subject ¡erate moments, when the impulses of your entirely different from that of his mother. heart do not drive you to wrong concluhe believed she once loved him, and would sions, and your own love for the proud even now if it were not for her pride and girl blinds not your judgment.' ambition. deprive her of wealth, and take away the hope of her moving in those circles to which money furnishes the only passport, he believed she would still love him. and, believing this, he had many times secretly wished that the gold her father left her and her mother were buried in the depths of the ocean. but these wishes he would attempt to drive from his beart; for he believed it was wrong to wish that poverty might be the portion of any one, however much his own prospects might be advanced by it. 1 the impulsive young man stood by the bedside of his sick mother, and covered his face with his bands. he thoughtfully stood a few moments, and during this brief space of time, deeply did he examine. the past workings of his own heart; but he could not find there any evidence of the truth of his theory in matters of love. his own emotions plainly told him that if eineline clarendon had lost her fortune, he should have loved her the more; and yet when he remembered her sweet kisses, and saw in imagination the soft, bewitching glance of her deep blue eyes, he was forced to believe that he once had possession of her heart, notwithstanding all the coldness and indifference she now manifested towards him. a thousand conflicting feelings agitated his breast, and no opinion he formed could long satisfy him. " i may be blinded, dear mother, by my attachment to emeline,' he replied with much feeling. i would shake off the im pressions she has made upon me, and for ever efface her image from my heart, if i had the power; but sometimes it seems to me impossible. you, and dear father too, when he was with us, thought she was a most beautiful girl, and one that would make me happy; but now how changed your opinion!' · true, francis, we did once entertain a very favorable opinion of her, but it was when her true character was not developshe once ed, said the mother. in our prosperity she, and her mother too, appeared like good folks, but adversity has drawn them. out, and exhibited their pride and selfishpride, ambition, a fondness for splen-ness. they believed our wealth was even dor and rank, a mother's influence, the at-greater than theirs, and so it was; but we tention of the rich and gay—all these have have lost nearly all, and with it their friendtheir power over the human heart, and ship and love. and will you continue to sometimes make it forget that it once respect such a mother, and to love such a loved,' he replied. daughter, however beautiful and accomdoes such reasoning satisfy your own plished she may be? o, francis, how mind?' inquired the mother. does such strongly i wish you would control the ima theory correspond with the workings of pulses of your heart, and seek out some your own heart? again i say examine other girl whose good qualities you could yourself, and see if such reasonings are depend upon under all circumstances im satisfactory to you ing our calm and delib-life you may be called to encounter, in mother, you might be right in your conclusions, but it seems to me he did once love me, and would even now, were it not for the change in our circumstances,' he answered. francis, look deep into your heart,' said his mother, looking anxiously into his face. do you find any evidence in your own love that dollars and cents can change the heart? had fortune deprived her of property instead of taking ours away, would you have ceased to love her ?" 'o! mother. no, not so!' he feelingly replied. it seems to me such a storm of adversity would have increased rather than diminished my attachment.' and so it wou'd, if you cherished for her pure and sincere love,' she replied. and will not the rule work in both cases? do principles bend to particular persons? is a theory good in one case and false in another? you say you think loved you; and if she did, does not your own experience teach you that her attachment would now be increased?' " the hermit of niagara. your journey through the world. the disflute! and yet you seem now to set no ease which is drinking up my life-blood value upon it. wake up from your admonishes me that my earthly course is dreams, francis, and make the most of almost run. the physician frankly told those precious gifts which god has so me yesterday, that no human skill or pow-abundantly bestowed upon you. you er of medicine could prolong my life. need not be unhappy, for but few young and i should be ready to depart for the men are better calculated to please the other world this day, if i could be assured world than yourself. then why should that you would cease to think of that proud you let one heartless woman destroy your girl.' peace, and render all your education and accomplishments valueless to yourself and ·6 mother, i will visit her but once more, if her feelings have not changed,' he re-to the world?' plied. • her feelings changed!' echoed the mother. 'what reasons can you have to suppose that her heart will undergo any change? i wish you might never have another interview with her so long as you live. every time you see her, it seems to me, the impressions she has made upon you are deepened, and your chance of getting rid of them much lessened.' this last remark of the mother was true, and fraucis felt its truth most keenly. he knew that every glance of her brilliant eyes, every motion of her symmetrical form, and every tone of her musical voice, still strengthened the cords which bound him to her, and made her absence from him more painful and more difficult to be endured; and yet he would seek interviews with her in spite of the remonstrances of his mother, and against the admonishings of his own good sense and judgment. at one moment he was almost determined to say to his mother that he would never see the proud girl again; but at the next moment the emotions of love would rush back upon his heart and destroy his resolutions. he stood in silence, and dared not trust his tongue to make a reply. having spoken so much and so earnestly, mrs. clarendon became quite exhausted, and turned away her head upon the pillow to get some rest. francis stood gazing upon her motionless form, and revolving in his mind the sentiments his mother had uttered. so still and motionless she laid, that it seemed to him the words she spoke were almost her last:— at any rate they affected him most seriously, and impressed him as strongly as if they were in fact her dying admonitions. you have a thousand resources within your power from which you may derive happiness and comfort,' continued his mother. you have a fine education, and the reputation of being a good scholar. your knowledge of musical science and your skill in playing the fute, place you far above most of those who were educated with you at the same university. from these accomplishments you can draw much | consolation. how many young men in london who envy your skill upon the while the mother thus rested in an exhausted state, and the sensitive and nervous sou was standing by the bedside and gazing upon her apparently lifeless form, her attending physician arrived and enter ed the room. seeing the sick woman lay so motionless upon the bed, and her head turned upon one side, the thought struck him at first that the vital spark had fled, and her spirit winged its flight to another world. hurrying to the bed, he seized her arm and drew it from underneath the bedclothes; but on examination of her pulse he found that she was not dead, although the circulation of the blood was very feeble, and indicated a very unfavorable turn in the disease his patient was laboring under. 6 your mother appears to be worse,' said the physician, addressing the agitated francis. how has she been this afternoon ? she has not been lɔng in her present state, has she? o no,' replied francis. 'she has been talking to me quite earnestly, and had just finished before you came in.' ah, i see how it is,' said the man of pills and potions; she has exerted herself quite beyond her strength. my advice to her has always been to keep quiet and say but little; but her spirit is such that it will 12 francis abbott; or exhibit itself in spite of the weakness of her bodily organs: for the future she must let go ber hold on all earthly things and remain quiet, or her disease will terminate her cxistence sooner than we dream of.' night produce a bad effect upon his refined and tender sensibilities. although much exhausted, yet she distinctly heard and understood what the worthy physician had uttered; and turning her head and partially opening her eyes, she said, in a voice scarcely above a whisper, 'i heard your remarks, doctor, and will endeavor to govern myself in future as much as possible; but i can hard-journey upon earth.' | 'she will never consent to such an arrangement unless fortune should again pour her treasures in his lap, and fill his coffers with gold,' said the mother. เ ly endure the thought that the only being to whom i have given birth should be made unhappy by a proud and heartless girl. she don't love him, and why should be continue to worship at her shrine? we were once rich, but now we are strange infatuation! ah, love plays comparatively poor. true, i have some mysterious freaks in this world! surely jewels, which will enable francis to give it is a little blind god, or makes people blind. do, doctor, tell francis the folly of loving a haughty woman who does not reciprocate his affection. advise him to quit her for ever, and—' me a becoming burial, and pay his expenses of travel to a foreign land, if he should think it best to leave his native country in search of pleasure, for i feel quite sure he never will find it here, so long as the im'too good an education! too much philosophy!' repeated the anxious mother, in a voice and manner quite beyond her natural strength. 'what resistance can these make to the power of love, when it has once seized upon the heart? i have often heard that genius furnishes no safeguard to the insidious workings of the tender passion, and the finest cultivated intellects bend before its power; and now in my son's case i fear i see the truth of the saying fully confirmed.' • 'be not needlessly alarmed, mrs. abbott,' said the physician. i trust your son will have sufficient strength to overcome all the difficulties that may, now or hereafter, beset his path in life. true, indeed, that beautiful women have great power over our sex, but francis will yet be enabled to resist the charins of miss clarendon, unless she changes her mind, and, consents to become his partner in hie " his imagination.' 'my dear madam,' interrupted the doc-age of that proud girl continues to haunt tor, you must keep yourself quiet, or your days may be numbered before you are aware of it. your son, i trust, has too much good sense, too good an education, and is too philosophical to be led astray by the charms of any woman who does not love him.' the physician had before known how exceedingly anxious mrs. clarendon felt upon this point, and had endeavored to quiet her nerves. of francis' genius and intellectual organization and refinement he entertained the highest opinion, and of his moral qualities the most profound respect; but still he feared his love for the beautiful and accomplished miss clarendon francis was glad to hear his mother speak of his going to a foreign land, for he was fully determined on a voyage to america, in case the beloved one of his heart still persisted in refusing to listen to his prayers. the physician now made some additional prescriptions for his patient, and took his leave, advising her not to talk any more that day, but to remain quiet, and endeavor to rest from her fatigue and exhaustion. it will be seen by the reader of this narrative, from what has already been written, that a great change in the pecuniary condition of the abbott family had taken | place. they were once rich; but within the last four years their riches had taken to themselves wings and flown away. a great reverse of fortune had happened to the house. the head of the family had gone down to the grave, but not, however, before he had seen the wreck of his fortune, and removed his family to the humble place they now occupied. francis abbott was an only child, and at the time our story commences, was the murder. • tors a scene in sudbury street between two gamblers, gandolpho and palierson, in which the latter murders the former, just before he reaches his boarding house. they had previ ously quarrelled, and here is represented the fatal result of the vice of gambling. k 1 the hermit of niagara. 15 aboutwenty-eight years of age. he had received the best education which the universities of england could afford, and was esteemed one of the finest scholars of his timė. his intellectual organization was of the first order, and his genius for the fine arts was altogether above mediocrity. his passion for music was great; and his skill upon the flute, his favorite instrument, made him welcome to the first circles. he had already composed some very fine songs, and was actually engaged upon an opera, when the tide of adversity came over his father's temporal concerns. this reverse of fortune did not damp his ardor, nor induce him to abandon his favorite pursuit. the opera and emeline clarendon were his themes by day and his dreams by night. before his father but failed he had made considerable progress in the composition of his opera, and had played some of its most beautiful and enchanting passages to miss clarendon, which highly gratified her, for she was passionately fond of music, and was herself a good singer and player. but when she learned that the expected fortune of her lover was scattered to the four winds of heaven, she began to grow cool, and finally, by the influence of her ambitious mother, and the workings of her own proud spirit, she told him that she could no longer receive his addresses in the character of a lover. it was then that he laid by his unfinished opera, and began to brood in melancholy over his fallen fortunes. chapter ii. 'but though true worth and virtue in the mild and genial soil of cultivated life thrive must, and may perhaps thrive only there, yet not in cities oft: in proud and gay and gain-devoted cities. thither flow as to a common and most noisome sewer, the dregs and feculence of every land.' the mist, which had gently fallen upon | every feature of it seemed to be chiselled the city during the afternoon, had now out for the express purpose of making her turned to a copious rain, and the evening bewitchingly beautiful, and at the same was dark, wet and gloomy. but few, comtime to give to her face a strong intellectual paratively, were thronging the streets.— expression. that she once loved francis occasionally the sound of carriage wheels abbott, there can be no room for doubt; might be heard, and now and then a foot and whether this passion had entirely died passenger would hurry along, as if he out in her heart, or whether the flame was were anxious to find shelter from the only choked and smothered by her pride storm, while the sedate watchmen, with and love of splendor, and ready to be remeasured tread, were upon their several kindled by a change of circumstances, will, beats, and lazily going their rounds. perhaps, be made to appear in the progress of this narrative. in a fashionable part of the city, not a half mile from the humble dwelling of 'i heard to-day, mother, that mrs. abfrancis abbott and his sick mother, stood bott's disease would probably terminate the stately mausion of mrs. clarendon.— fatally,' said emeline clarendon to her her husband had been dead several years, mother, as they were sitting in their richly and she was left with her only child, eunfurnished parlor, in the evening of the eline, the loved one of the musical and same day when the sick woman so much sensitive francis. to say she was a beauexhausted herself in lecturing francis tiful creature, would only be reiterating upon his continued love for the proud girl, what was on every person's tongue. and as she always called her. 'i understand she was indeed one of the most splendid it is the opinion of her physician that she females within the precincts of london. can never recover. don't you think, moth er, it would be well for you to visit her, as you and she were once such intimate her form was almost faultless, and her motions most graceful and easy. her countenance, too, was not only exceedingly friends? beautiful, but highly intellectual also; for 6 why, emeline, how strangely you hermit of niagara. 17 talk! replied the proud, aristocratic moth-eye of her mother observed all this, and er. a change in the condition of that she endeavored to guard against it with family renders it highly improper for us all the skill and tact she was mistress of. to visit them. if mrs. abbott is really inhe will not probably seek another interwant of any thing necessary for her comview with me,' said emeline, scarcely befort or convenience, i should be willing to lieving what she said, and even secretly give her something; but to visit her, under hoping it was not true. existing circumstances, is entirely out of the question. it would look as if we were trying to renew the engagement between you and her sou; besides, we should lose caste by taking such a measure. we have now fairly got rid of them, and i don't intend to do any thing to induce a belief that we wish to renew the connection.' 'it seems to me you might make her a call, now she is sick, and not incur those penalties which you so much dread,' said the daughter, feeling a slight kindling of the old flame, or some emotions of pity for the sick and afflicted. 'if i should do so,' it would be the talk of all our acquaintances, in a very short time, replied the haughty mrs. clarendon. 'no, no, emeline; we must not darken the doors of their humble dwelling. it would encourage francis to renew his suit, and you would be again troubled with his importunities and love-sick pleadings. he hasn't seen you recently, and it is best he should not again.' now emeline, proud and aristocratic as she was, could not have the same feelings her mother expressed; for at times she felt, in spite of all her ambition and her mother's influence, as if she would like to have another interview with him who loved and cherished her so truly and sincerely. she had never seen any young man among all her suitors, (and she was surrounded by a large number,) whose form, mind, taste and manners she liked so well as those of francis abbott. of this fact she was always fully sensible, and yet her‍ pride and ambition, together with the influence of her proud mother, induced her to discard him, and seek for other allia strange conflict was continually pressing her heart, but her love of splendor, rank and riches generally gained the ascendency over her. and yet she was unhappy, and not unfrequently cast down and dispirited. the keen and watchful ances. 'will not seek another interview! repeated her mother, with apparent surprise. how little you seem to know of the power of love! he will continue to seek after you just so long as you remain in a single state. his temperament is just the soil in which the plant of love will grow most luxuriantly. the sooner you make up your mind to marry thomas sillendare, the better for all concerned. there isn't scarcely a better match in all london.— many of your female friends now envy you, and they would much more in case you became his wife, for he is exceedingly wealthy, and you could move in the very highest circles, and live in splendor. he loves you so that you could easily control him, and choose any mode of life which might be most agreeable to you.' but will all these things be a good substitute for love?' asked emeline. 'love! why he loves you to distraetion, and that is enough,' replied her mother. could you have been happy if you had not loved father, notwithstanding he was wealthy?' inquired emeline. 'he was never half so rich as mr. sillendare,' replied the mother, wishing to avoid a direct answer to her daughter's question. but mr. sillendare is not so good looking as father was, nor are his manners so engaging. besides, he's no scholar at all, and has no finely cultivated taste,' said emeline, thinking of the scholarship and finely cultivated taste of francis abbott. 'finely cultivated taste! echoed the haughty mother. i'm sure he dresses with great taste. but few young men in london have such a splendid wardrobe.' he may have taste in dress, for aught i know, but he has none in music and the fine arts,' answered emeline. 'fiddlestick exclaimed mrs. clarendon. money is better than music. why " 18 francis abbott; or need a wife care whether her husband | sillendare,' said mrs. clarendon, smiling has any taste in music or not? his money and asking him to be seated. will buy music, and every other luxury.1 tell you, emeline, gold will purchase every thing you want, and you must be happy, if you become possessed of mr. sillendare's wealth. how many ladies there are in this metropolis who married for money! we see them riding every day in their own splendid carriages, with servants to wait upon them, while their husbands are enjoying themselves in other places.' 'i suppose not, when you are safely ensconced in your carriage,' answered mrs. clarendon, smiling. the words, servant and carriage, were very musical sounds to the ears of emoline, and caused a smile to play over her beautiful face, such a smile as the pompous • well, i should be glad to have sillendare any where rather than with me, if isillendare thought he never saw there at were his wife,' said emeline, being somewhat pleased with the suggestion her mother had made, and thinking of splendid coaches and servants in livery. " any previous interview. and perhaps he was right in this conceit, for emeline was uncommonly well pleased. the conversation that had passed between her and her mother previous to the entry of sillendare, and the fact that he had braved the storm of the evening for the purpose of visiting her, made his company more agreeable than on any former occasion. he had shrewdness enough to see this, and was wonderfully encouraged. true, madam; a carriage is very convenient in such stormy evenings as this,' he replied, gazing first on the mother and then on the daughter, much delighted.— 'if fortune had not enabled me to ride in my own carriage, i think there is attraction enough here to have induced me to come without one.' 6 . surely your husband would not be sticking round you all the time,' replied her mother. you could ride when you pleased, without your husband. mr. sillendare would grant you every indulgence your heart could wish.' the mother had pricked the right vein in her daughter; for the ambitious girl, in her dreams of splendor and equipage, had almost entirely forgotten the handsome and accomplished abbott, and thought of nothing but almack's and high life in london. 'dear me! how it raius this evening,' said mrs. clarendon; 'i reckon we shall not have many callers to-night.' at this moment the door bell rang, and a servant announced mr. sillendare, who had come to press his claims upon the fair and beautiful emeline. he entered the room with more than his accustomed politeness and sauvity of manners. believing, at his last interview, that he had made a favorable impression on both mother and daughter, and feeling great confidence in the power which he imagined his wealth gave him, he now made his appearance before the ladies with much swelling and pomposity. 'it is indeed very wet in the streets, i should think; for i heard the rain upon my carriage windows, as my servant drove along,' he replied. 'i don't mind a shower.' 'good evening, mrs. clarendon, and a happy one to you, emeline,' said sillendare, bowing most gracefully, and as suming what he supposed was a most pleasing attitude. perhaps so, mr. sillendare,' replied the mother, looking very cunningly at her daughter, and smiling most graciously upon the fashionable young man. 'we are always glad to see you, rain or shine, carriage or no carriage. you are one of our most welcome visitors, and we have quite a number.' this remark was highly gratifying to him; for there was one other young man in the habit of visiting emeline, whom he feared as a rival more than any one.the name of this young man was alfred marquinay. he was not so wealthy as sillendare, but was much handsomer, and possessed of more shrewdness. emeline liked his person and manners better than she did sillendare's, but to the latter she had given the most encouragement to quite a smart rain this evening, mr. hope for success. she loved neither of • the hermit of niagara. 19 * them, and never expected to. the success they met with in their suit for her hand was graduated, in her mind, according to the riches each possessed. her mother had, by dint of inquiry, ascertained very accurately the estate of each, and she found that sillendare could buy out marquinay, and then have a very respectable fortune left. this fact she had communicated to her daughter, and since this knowledge had been obtained, sillendare was received with the most favor. marquinay was aware of all this, but relying on his superior tact and skill, he continued to press his claims to the hand of the fair emeline, in spite of all opposition. 'you make me exceedingly happy,' replied sillendare. if your daughter had said that, i should consider myself the most happy person in all london.' 'modesty often forbids young ladies to express fully what they feel,' answered the mother. 6 may i hope, emeline, that your mother has spoken wisely?' he said, gazing upon her with intense anxiety, and feeling his beart almost jump into his throat. · ، it is undoubtedly true, mr. sillendare, that we have feelings sometimes which it would not become us to express,' replied emeline. all, whether young or old, male or female, have their private views and secret emotions, which they are reluctant to obtrude upon the notice of the world.' saying this, he took from his pocket a small casket and gave it to her. she opened it, and there her bright eyes met a most beautiful diamond ring, which was far above any ornament she had ever worn, although she was by no means destitute of articles of jewelry. " 1 'and there are but few ladies in the city so worthy as emeline to wear such an ornament," he replied, forcing a laugh through his mustachios, and running his fingers through the coarse black hair which hung like the beard of a goat under his chin; for he was a perfect model of a london dandy, and but for his great wealth emeline would have spurned him from her presence, and her mother would have done any thing to him rather than have smiled upon him so graciously as she did. emeline, during all this time, never utso we do, indeed,' he answered, feel-tered a word, but sat in silence and heard ing quite sure that he had now conquered the citadel of her heart. i too have emotions which i cannot express, even if i were disposed to express them. you, emeline, have awakened sensations in my soul which no human tongue can express. here, take this as a small token of my esteem. i purchased it purposely for you.' him and her mother pass their compli ments to each other. to say she was not highly pleased with the ring, would not be doing her justice; for her pride was flattered and her ambition excited. and notwithstanding she was thus flattered with the brilliant prospects which the wealth of sillendare held out before her excited imagination, yet a wish would often rise in her heart that francis abbott was able to give her such a ring. the storm increases, i believe, from the pattering of the rain upon the windows,' said mrs. clarendon. there, emeline, that is only an earnest of what you may expect to receive,' said the overjoyed mother, looking at the brilliant in an extacy of delight, and then smiling on the rich donor. 'put it upon your finger, my dear emeliue,' said the enraptured sillendare.— no, let me place it there.' and without further ceremony he took her delicate hand in his, and run her taper finger through the ring. it went on rather snug, but he cared not for that, for he was entirely willing to spend a considerable time in placing the jewel in its proper position upon her finger. having completed the process, he continued, 'i now think your hand looks better for the ring. don't you think so, mrs. clarendon?' 'indeed i do,' said the mother. it is a most beautiful as well as valuable gift. it is not every young gentleman in london who can make such a present to a lady.' 'well, let it rain,' answered sillendare. i hope it will keep away other callers this evening. i hope we shall not be disturbed by any one, for i'm happy enough now, 20 francis abbott; or and i'm quite sure no one could add to my enjoyment. to be frank, emeline, i came this evening to visit you because i thought you would have no company. i purchased that ring several days ago, and meant to present it to you when no one was present but your mother to be a witness.' 'i feel under great obligations to you for the beautiful gift, mr. sillendare, but you might, perhaps, have found other females more worthy than i am to wear it,' said emeline, feeling pleased with the brilliant ornament, but almost disgusted with the flat and silly remarks of the donor. 'none in all london!' he replied with much enthusiasm, seizing the hand which the ring ornamented, and bringing it in contact with his lips, or rather with his imperial mustachios, for these quite prevented him from kissing her hand with his lips, which he intended to do. she felt the stiff, coarse hairs upon her hand, and a sort of sickness came over her soul, for although she loved his wealth, yet she did not like his touch. he had never at any previous interview, presumed to take such liberties with her person. and now she was more sensible than ever of the difference between the touch of sillendare's mustachios, and the soft, warm lips of francis abbott. time was when the latter gentleman was permitted to press her lips with the pure kiss of love, but no other of all her suitors had ever been permitted to taste the sweetness of her lips. the ambitious mother saw him raise her daughter's hand to his face, and before she had time to say within herself, the work goes bravely on,' emeline withdrew her hand from his face, and laid it in her own lap. the rain does increase,' said sillendare, 'and i'm glad of it, for we three shall be permitted to remain together this evening; i have many things to say. did you know, mrs. clarendon, that i have purchased a splendid mansion in grosvenor square?' at this moment, and before mrs. clarendon had time to answer the inflated dandy, the door bell sent out another peal, and the servant announced the name of mr. marquinay, mr. alfred marquinay. 6 "heavens!' exclaimed the money-loving mother; who would have thought, that mr. marquinay would have called this evening, in the rain?' 'it is strange,' said the alarmed and excited sillendare, 'for he has no carriage, i am quite sure.' 'perhaps he has hired one, to shelter him from the storm,' replied emeline, in a very cool, quiet manner, undisturbed by the servant's,announcement that another gentleman bad called. very likely, he has,' said sillendare, in a hurried and excited manner, but i would stay at home such an evening as this, if i could not ride in my own carriage.' " mr. marquinay now entered the room, and very politely passed the compliments of the evening to all present. he was sorely disappointed when his eyes fell on sillendare, for he had hoped the inclemency of the evening would have prevented him or any other person from visiting that house at this time. the two gentlemen were upon speaking terms, although they were very far from being friends to each other. marquinay had never proposed to emeline, but he came this evening for the express purpose of offering his hand to the beautiful and accomplished miss clarendon. he flattered himself that he might be accepted; for although he did not pos sess the amount of wealth that his rival did, yet he had a competence of this world's goods, and very well knew, that in every other respect, except riches, he was far superior to sillendare. he was aware that the mother of emeline was very much carried away by the splendor of riches, and that for this reason she looked upon sillendare with more favor than she did upon him. still, having confidence in his own powers to please, he came this evening with a full determination to unburthen his heart, and make an offer of himself to emeline. how sadly then must he have been disappointed, when, on entering the room, he found his rival first on the ground which he anticipated occupying with so much pleasure. it is a very stormy evening without, but after all, it is very pleasant withing said marquinay. " it is indeed a very rainy evening,' ret 8 а ! r d i 18 8 a } d at ! 0 e 0 8 1 s e b 虽 ​d 5 0 2 1 j francis abbott and the indian girl. buy gr cucn sin mb osy e an indian girl of the tuscarora tribe presenting francis abbott, at niagara, a heart, ingeniously wrought with moose hair and ornamented with beads. the hermit of niagara. 23 เ plied emeline. but you did not get wet, and i think i shall purchase it,' said sili trust.' lendare, addressing mrs. clarendon. have you, indeed ?' replied the old lady, apparently much delighted, and gazing upon her daughter, to see how the intelligence struck her. "o no,' he answered; i jumped into a carriage, and came as pleasantly as if the evening had been never so fair. london has every convenience for us, and a few coppers will purchase a ride to any part of the city.' i suppose it comes much cheaper to hire a carriage once in a while, than to be at the expense of keeping one of your own,' said sillendare, bending back his stiff, dandy form, and looking very wise. 'indeed, i cannot tell which would be attended with the most expense,' replied marquinay, feeling indignant at his rival's question, but concealing his indignation with consummate tact and skill. "i have never owned a carriage, but i have to-day bespoken one, and i shall probably learn the difference one of these days.' it was true that he had made a bargain that very day with a carriage maker for a very fine coach, but not quite so costly a one as sillendare sported with. 'what do you expect to pay for it?' pompously inquired sillendare. there are carriages of all prices, so that every one can be suited according to his means.' 'i expeet to pay money for my carriage, when it is finished, sternly replied marquinay, looking daggers at the impertinent sillendare, and feeling as if he would like to squeeze the dandy's throat. then turning to emeline, he continued, 'you have been into the country recently, i understand. i hope you had a very pleasant visit.' 'i have been to visit one of my acquaintances,' replied emeline. the country now looks very fine and beautiful. admire the country at this season of the year.' 'so do i,' he answered. i should be highly pleased to pass a few weeks in the country, every summer. and perhaps i shall, in the course of a few years. my business now confines me to the city, but i hope in the course of a year or two i shall be able to leave it, and occasionally rusticate a little.' a 'i have, and it is a splendid place for summer's residence,' he replied. 'i should be happy to give you a seat in my carriage, and emeline, too, and we wil! go and see it. a woman's taste is always to be consulted in these matters.' 'i should be delighted to go,' said she. 'i, too, admire the country during the summer months.' 'i have been looking over a country seat, about two hours' ride from london, alfred marquinay was by no means pleased with the conversation between his rival and mrs. clarendon; for he had good sense enough to know that it was necessary, in this case, in order to a successful issue of his suit, that the favor of the mother should be secured. although he was aware that his own person and address were more pleasing to emeline than were those of sillendare, yet he was also seusible that her love of riches and the influence of the proud mother, might counterbalance all his personal qualifications, and finally give the victory to his rival. 'would you take a seat in my carriage, emeline?' inquired sillendare. 'i have a span of fine horses, and in less than two hours we can view the country residence i contemplate purchasing.' emeline was so much embarrassed that she did not make an immediate reply to the question, and marquinay gazed upon the questioner with feelings of hate and revenge. for a few moments there was a dead silence in the room, and marquinay i│rose up, and confronting his rival, said, in a tone of voice which showed how deeply indignant he felt, 'no wonder, sir, you receive no reply to your question. a man who has any of the feelings of a gentleman would not thus embarrass a young lady by asking her a question which she could not answer." sillendare was much excited, and iminediately sprang to his feet, and placed himself in an attitude of defence, as if he feared some blows might follow the angry words. 24 francis abbott be not alarmed, mr. sillendare,' continued marquinay, repressing, with much difficulty, a smile which he felt rising to his lips at the belligerent attitude which bis rival had assumed. you shall not be injured. i scorn to lay the weight of my finger upon your head. before you again ask a virtuous and respectable lady to accompany you in an excursion to the country, or elsewhere, you had better consult that courtezan with whom you spend so many of your nights. 2017 it the mother and daughter were struck with anmazement at the bold accusation which marquinay had made. and the accused trembled with fear, and looked as if indeed he were guilty, the evening's conversation was now broken up, and the two rivals soon took their leave of the fair emeline and her ambitious mother. marquinay went away rejoicing over his rival, for the time forgetting that he had too many glass windows in his own house, to throw stones at sillendare's chapter iii. grudge not, ye rich, (since luxury must have his dainties, and the world's more numerous half lives by contriving delicates for you,) grudge not the cost. ye little know the cares, the vigilance, the labor, and the skill, that day and night are exercised, and hang upon the ticklish balance of suspense, that ye may garnish your profuse regales with summer fruits, brought forth by wintry suns. ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart the process.' midnight had hung her sable mantle long. often have i heard the plaintive over the sleeping millions of london, and notes of his flute during the night, and the virtuous and healthy were sweetly more witching melodies i never heard resting from their labors in the noise and breathed from the flute. he used to play bustle of city life, when two guardians of a variety of tunes, but recently i have the night happened to meet on the side heard only one, and that the most plainwalk in front of the house occupied by tive ever listened to by mortal ears. at francis abbott and his dying mother. all hours of the night have those plaintive notes echoed in that same room where we now see that glimmering light. 1 fear some mental disease has seized upon the sensitive young man, or he would not always be playing that same plaintive tune.' . francis abbott!' repeated his companyes, i have heard of him, and a fine fellow he is; too. why, a few years ago his father lived in a splendid house near hyde park.' do you know who lives in this house?' inquired one watchman of the other. *during several nights i have seen light burning in that same room. some person must be sick there, or else it is a small gambling establishment,' a · : 'no gambling in that house, i can asion. sure you,' replied the other. mrs. abbott and her son francis live there. you've heard of francis abbott, the great scholar and flute player? they were rich he did,' replied the other watchman. once, but now the pinching hand of pov-but he lost his property and then he died, erty is upon them, it is said. the mother and francis and his mother removed to is very sick, and probably, will not live this house, where she was taken sick, and 26 francis abbott; or is not now expected to recover from her from his flute. if i were a young man illness. hark! i hear the strains of his and could play the flute as he can, i would flute. listen! don't you hear the plain-play myself into a fortune in less than a tive notes?' month. music is the food of love, and 'indeed i do,' said the other. 'and some beautiful and rich girl of london how sweetly he plays! i wish i could should be made to feel it, and to feed upbreathe such tones into the flute. hear! on it.' what heavenly music! the tones make me feel as if some spiritual beings were hovering in the darkness over our heads, and breathing forth strains of music they learned in the other world. have you beard such strains before?" 1. "o listen!' said the other. 'don't talk, but let me drink in the delicious music. i would stand and listen until the morning breaks, and let the city take care of itself. why don't the young man give a concert to the public? thousands would flock to hear him, and he might make money out of it.' 'hark! exclaimed his companion; 'i hear different kind of music. don't you hear the rattle of some one of our brethren?' 'quite often,' replied his companion. 4 he plays the same tube almost every ing. they hurried away, and reluctantly night, and has for several nights past. it left the enchanting music of francis abis a sweet tune, but it makes me feel sad bott's flute to attend to the duties of their and melancholy. i sometimes wish he profession; for dangerous to life and limb would play a more lively one; still i alas the work of watchmen sometimes ways stop and listen to its enchanting proves, still they generally have a great strains, for i can't budge an inch on my curiosity to see what is going on, and to round when the tones strike my ears.' mingle in the strife when the sound of the rattle is heard. we will not now follow these guardians of the night to the scene where they were summoned, but will call the reader's notice to matters more intimately connected with our story, and which, we trust, will be more interesting than those exhibitions of rowdyism and crime which are nightly witnessed in all " ab, he's too proud and ambitious to be-large cities, which gather within their precome a public performer for gain,' replied his companion. cincts the most corrupt and profligate of the human race. we may, and probably a they listened, and now the sound of the watchman's rattle was distinctly heard far down the street in which they were stand'too proud!' echoed the other in sur-shall, recur to this scene hereafter, as it prise. 'he would acquire fame, and his concerned one of the young gentlemen naine would ring all over the city and who has made his entrance into these country.' pages. 'no matter for that,' said he. 'he once belonged to the higher classes, and would now move in those circles if he had wealth to carry it out; but as it is he is obliged to live in this humble place, and amuse himself the best way he can... i heard today that he was once engaged to a most beautiful and wealthy lady, but after his father lost bis property, the haughty creature turned him off. how true it is i know not, but i was told so this day.' a few minutes before the watchmen met in front of the house in which lay the sick mother of francis abbott, and from which they heard such enchanting strains of music from the young musician's instrument, she had awakened from a troubled slumber, and with hollow, sunken eyes, was gazing upon her son as if she felt a sort of presentiment that she was taking her last look of all she held most dear on earth. 'she must be a fool, then; for if she has money that is enough,' replied the other. 'well, he need not despair, for there are hundreds of rich heiresses in the city whose hearts can be won by such beavenly strains as he is now breathing 1 francis was sitting at a small table, upon which burned a feeble lamp, a short distance from the bed. he was the sole watcher that night with his beloved mother; for, during the day previous, she had not been any worse than she had been for the hermit of niagara. 27 'no, no, francis,' she replied in a several days, although she was very sick, and her hold on life very feeble and almost broken. while she slumbered, francis was deeply engaged in composing some variations to a tune of which she whisper, whose soft and thrilling tones was very fond. it was a piece of music | rang louder in the chambers of his soul which he composed soon after his mother than any voice he ever heard. it is not was taken sick, and he called it the in the power of human skill to arrest the mother's prayer.' it was a composition progress of the disease which is preying well adapted to awaken all a mother's upon me. we must all die, sooner or fondest feelings, and to stir within her later, and if prepared, no matter when the heart the most pure and holy emotions. summons comes. i believe you are viroften during the silent watches of the tuous and good, and may the spirit of night had she called upon him to play this heaven keep you so. i have been proud tune which seemed to quiet her nerves and ambitious in years past, but this and make her almost forget that disease weakness of the body has taught me the was hurrying her down to the tomb. he folly of all such emotions. i have but had just completed one variation as his one request to make one wish to exmother awoke from her slumber, and press, and that is, that you will not humwas himself anxious to hear its tones ble yourself so much as to attempt to seek from his favorite instrument. 'francis,' the favor of the proud and haughty emesaid she in a very feeble voice, and turn-line clarendon. she's not worthy of you.' ing her eyes upon him as if strange emo'mother, if she loves me not, i will fly to other lands, and leave her for ever,' replied the agitated son. 'i have too much pride — too much spirit to sue long for the favor of any woman who will not reciprocate my affection. i will show myself a man in the midday of my life, as you now show yourself the calm christian in the hour of death.' 4 tions were pressing her heart. 'well, mother, what shall i do for you?' he said, rising up, and softly going to the bedside. 'i fear you're not so well as you were. do you feel worse?' · she gazed upon him most anxiously, but her lips made no reply. he trembled and was fearful that death was about to lay his cold, withering hand upon her. he took her by the hand, and tremblingly examined her pulse. but his own frame was so agitated that he could not feel the red current in the artery of her wrist as it still feebly found its way back to the jungs. 'mother! speak! and tell me if you feel worse,' he said in tones which evidently showed how deep and thrilling the emotions which agitated his bosom. 'if this fatal disease has not paralyzed your powers of utterance, speak and tell me your feelings, and what to do.' 'shall i not call a physician,' he anxiously inquired. 'i can have one here in a few minutes.' "francis, i do feel worse, and it seems to me that i shall not breathe many hours longer,' she feebly replied. but be not alarmed. if god summons me to the other world now, i'm ready to obey the call and depart. i wish for no one present but you and the ministering angels who are always present when the good and the virtuous die,' ― * a smile played over the haggard countenance of the mother as if the words her son uttered were the words of truth, but she made no reply, other than that which every feature of her face seemed to express. a tomb-like silence, for some minutes, reigned in the room, and neither mother nor son uttered a single emotion of the many which so deeply agitated their hearts. they gazed upon each other with that intensity of feeling which a fearful apprehension of a long separation can alone produce. at last the sick woman opened her trembling lips, and said, 'francis, i'm satisfied. i can now depart in peace. i always believed you would finally become aroused to a proper sense of your own dignity, and listen to the admonitions of your parents. let the proud emeline seek for a rich husband. i feel that my strength is fast ebbing away, and soon your only parent will be sleeping with the 28 francis abbott dead. while my ears have strength to hear, and my heart to feel the power of music, breathe softly into your flute the mother's prayer. let me hear it once more before my eyes are closed in death, and the cold clods of the earth stop up my ears.' greeted his ears but the ticking of his watch which bùng up over the fireplace. laying his instrument upon the table, with noiseless step he approached the bed and placed his trembling hand upon his mother's marble forehead. the touch told him but too plainly that his mother was dead. kissing her cold lips he spread a clean white handkerchief over her head, and sat down at the table. • tance. francis took up his flute, and played the piece his mother requested him to perform. she remained perfectly quiet until he commenced playing the variation i will try,' said he, to catch those which he had composed that evening. strains which i was playing when my the strange sounds fell sweetly on her mother's spirit took its flight to mansions ears, and she turned her eyes towards beyond the skies. she thought she beard him and faintly said, i hear you play a another flute far off in the distance played new piece, it seems to me, and yet it by an angel. ch! god! give me power sounds like the mother's prayer. ab 1 to write that heavenly music that i may hear the enchanting notes in the far display it in years to come. there are times when the soul feels deeply, and seems to catch inspirations from the spiritual world. he took up his pen, and, after a moment's deep and anxious thought, hegan to write down, the notes as memory gave him back the tones. he continued to write for nearly half an hour, and with such enthusiasm and emotion as he never experienced before. it seemed to him that the genius of music occupied his soul. such an inspiration is but once felt during the whole life of man, and that is, when the soul apparently shuffles of this mortal coil, and holds sweet communion with beings of another world. at any rate, sneh were his emotions at this time. he finished the composition in an incredibly short space of time, and although his mother lay dead in the room, yet he took up his flute and softly breathed into it what he had written. the strains were all his enthusiastic dreams supposed them to be. •all! it is done, he said to himself. this is a composition i will preserve as sacred as the popik of my eye. will play it when friends forsake me, it is an angel playing another flute, and adding some notes to the piece. oh! how heavenly are those strains, and how sweetly they come into my soul. oh! god! let me go from earth that i may hear that music nearer. yes, it is an angel; for earthly power can never make such music." she was now quiet and calm, and francis continued to breathe his whole soul into his flute, with his eyes intently fixed upon his mother. he played on, and it seemed to him that he never played with such power before, for having played what strains he had written a few times over, he launched off into an unbounded sea of music, and made his instrument breathe out the emotions which, moved his soul. strain after strain came from his flute until he was absolutely astonished at his own performance. oh! he thought if he could write out those strains from memory, he would never cease to play them. while he was thus enraptured with his own music, and breathing his whole soul into his flute, he cast his eyes upon his mother. a change had come over her countenance, — her | and darkness' hovers over my path. i lips were gently moving, and a smile v was in her face, he' took the flute from his mouth and the music reased. there was nothing left but its memory in the hearts of the mother and son. when he ceased to play a slight shuddering seized her worn out frame, and her pore spirit winged its flight far beyond the stars. allrounded by ministering angels.. tp then was silent as the grave, and no sound the sounds will be most grateful, for they *. 6 ↓ will call it my mother's requiem, and nơ moital ears shall hear its strains, for they cane from another world, and are only fit for angels' ears no buman ears shall drink in the sounds; for do human heart can properly appreciate such divine strains will play it when i'm alone, or only sur• t d e ទ 8 1 1 e • # s 1 1 francis abbott drowning in niagara river, tuscarora indian francis abbott drowning in nagara river, just below the falls. girl plunges in after him, and the ferryman puls off in his boat to rescue him, while emeline clarendon and her female attendant stand upon the shore, witnesses of the appalling scene. the hermit of niagara. 31 are such as they hear in the bright and world. how quiet she lays! how beaupure heavens.' tiful and serene her countenance as it calmly reposes in death! this was the music an angel played when her soul left earth for heaven.' thus sat and communed francis abbott with himself, almost forgetting in the inspirations which came over hin at that time that the dead body of his dearly beloved mother was his only companion in the solitude of the night. for more than two long hours he was completely ab sorbed in his own deep reflections, and felt as if no earthly duties demanded his attention. his body was in the room with that of his mother, but his spirit was soaring away far beyond the clouds, seem-and ingly disdaining the earth and all its scenes. while he was in the midst of this revery, and scarcely knowing where he was, the nurse nancy, who divided the task of taking care of mrs. abbott with him, having had her nap out, came into the room. he started up when the nurse opened the door, and he heard the sound of mortal footsteps. looking wildly around as if he had just been awakened from a strange dream, he said to the nurse, why do you come thus early?' 6 taking down the watch and looking at it, she replied, 'early! it is not so early as i usually come. see! it is after two o'clock, and i generally come about one to relieve you from your duties.' 'i did not think it was so late,' he replied. 6 speak lower, or you may awake your mother,' said the nurse, in a whisper. 'i think she's asleep now. did she rest well through the night?' 'asleep now!' he repeated, taking up the notes of his new musical, composition which he had just been playing. see! these are such strains as she heard angels playing when her spirit was leaving its earthly body for a brighter and better world!' 1 • 'what mean you?' anxiously inquired the astonished nurse, examining the written music, but being very far from comprehending it. 'here! give me the paper,' he said impatiently. you can't understand it,' and then pointing to the dead body of his mother, he continued, 'see there! she does sleep, never again to awake in this . the nurse burried to the bed, and pulling the white handkerchief from the face of the dead woman, saw at a glance that her spirit had indeed left from earth to heaven. 'she's dead!' exclaimed the nurse, in much surprise. " yes, she's dead,' he calmly replied, how sweetly she fell asleep!' why did you not call me when you ascertained she was dying?" asked the nurse. 'oh! of what avail could you have been in that terrible hour!' he said. 'i offered to go for a physician, but she forbade it, aud said no human skill could arrest the progress of the fatal disease.' 6 but i should have thought you would have wanted company,' she said. 'it is a fearful sight to witness the death of any one, and especially it is terrible for one to see a mother die." ( 6 'i was calm and composed, for i knew she must die,' he replied. and she said she wished for the presence of no one but me and the angels which hover around the deathbed of the christian.' 'did she not struggle at the moment of dissolution?' inquired the maid. 'no more than the nursed infant when it falls asleep,' he answered. 'did she not say any thing,' she asked. 'only requested me to play the mother's prayer,' he said. 'i played it, with some variations i composed this very night, and. she calmly breathed her last, as the weary worn out winds expire. and a smile sat upon her pallid conntenance even after the spirit had departed, as if to give evidence to the world how calm was her exit from this vale of tears. ah! true! it was the death of a mother of a loved and fondly cherished mother! but mothers must die, and happy is that son who is privileged to witness the death of a mother, if that sad event must take place in his lifetime. i saw her die, and may my death be as calm, peaceful and happy as hers; then i shall not have lived in vain.' -: 32 francis abbott or do you intend to reside in london now your mother is dead?' she asked, i think not,' he replied. i expect to cross the atlantic and take up my residence in america. loudon has no more charms for me.' know how francis got along with emeline clarendon, and thought this a good time to institute some inquiries. she knew very well that the aristocratic young lady had, since francis, or rather since his father, had met such reverses of fortune, refused to receive him as her lover; still she could not help thinking, as many others did, who were acquainted with the circumstances, that he would be finally successful. this nurse could hardly con ceive how any woman of taste and refinement, however rich she might be, would cease to love such an accomplished scholar, good hearted, handsome young man, as. francis abbott was. she was not sensible of the power and influence which ambition and a love of rank and splendor has over some female hearts. being in the humble walks of life herself, she was but illy prepared to conceive of the influences which operate upon those who move in the higher circles. if she could wed such a person as francis abbott, she never would think of rank or condition, but her aspirations never soared so high as this, and therefore she concluded any woman in london would be glad to unite herself to such a scholar and accomplished gentleman. 'you've more to be proud of than she has, if you have not so much money,' said the nurse. 'your education and your talents will qualify you for. any station, either here, or in the new world, whither you dream of going.' ! having received such a severe rebuke for meddling with affairs which did not concern her, and greatly fearing the displeasure of francis abbott, the purse sat herself about making preparations to lay money! he repeated. i hate it, or its debasing effects upon the souls of men and women more than ever. its love is the curse of the world in which we live. it corrupts the morals, debases the heart, and blints all its finer sensibilities. yes, it blots out the fair image of love from woman's hearty and stamps in its place pride and ambition with all their corrupt-out the dead body of his mother. several ing and blighting influences." women were called in, and the ceremony does miss clarendon still persist in performed. francis bore the death of his refusing your addresses because you are mother with much calmness and resignanot now rick?” inquired the nurse, having tion; for he had long been preparing his a great curiosity to know the secret of mind and heart for the melancholy event that connection, and desiring to pry into he could bear to see his fond 'mother die, matters which did not at all concern ber.but to be rejected by the proud and beau"seek anorlier time, and another place tiful and fascinating emeline, by her to make suele inquiries, and perhaps who he had reason to believe once loved might answer them, he sternly and re-him as she did, her own life, oppressed provingly replied, but let not a woman's and weighed him down to earth. upon curiosity fead you astray on such a solemn all other questions he reasoned calmly occasion as tits. let us first take care and philosophically, but upon the change of the dead, and then we can talk about in emeline's affectious he could not rea the livig son. the more he thought upon the subject the more confused he became, • 6 1. it has one charm, i conclude, in the person of miss clarendon the proud miss clarendon as your mother was wont to call her,' said the nurse.. 6 -oh! pronounce not the name in this place, made solemn by the recent death of my only parent,' he said with much feeling and painful emotion.if she is a proud and haughty girl, let her seek a proud and haughty companion, that she may be equally mated, for. i'm not proud and haughty; and if i were, the dying sceue which i have just witnessed would have driven forever all such emotion from my heart.' the inquisitive nurse felt herself severely rea kid, and made her retreat the best way e could. she was curious to → * . gog upop one thing he was fully resolved, and that was to seek an interview with the hermit of niagara, 33 emeline before he took passage for the new world, dark as his prospects were, and gloomy and sombre as the clouds were which hung over his path, still his heart was not the sepulchre of all hope. at times he even went so far as to force himself to believe that emeline might be induced to accompany him to amèrica, but these hallucinations would be scat tered and chased away by his batter reason and judgment, and the night of despair would again settle upon his soul, thus for several days after the earthly remains of his mother were placed in the tomb beside those of his father, he was alternately the subject of hope and despair. in the morning he would wake up from his troubled sleep, and resolve that he would before night seek an interview with emeline and learn his destiny; but before noon of the same day he would change his mind, and defer his visit to what seemed to him to be a more convenient time, preferring a state of alternate hope and fear to one of certainty, which might blast all his hopes for ever. the nature of man struggles against despair, and as sterne has, wisely said somewhere, it is indeed surprising to consider the strange force of this passion: what wonders it has wrought in supporting men's spirits in all ages, and under such inextricable difficulties, that they have sometimes hoped, as the apostle well expresses it, even against hope,-against all likelihood, and have occasionally looked forward with comfort, under misfortunes, when there was little or nothing to favor such an expectation. this flattering propensity in us, no doubt, is built upon one of the most deceitful of human pas[sions that is, self-love, which at all times inclines us to think better of ourselves and conditions than there is ground for. but experience has taught us all that we must call in something to aid this passion of hope, or will be like a ship tossed without a pilot upon a troublesome sea. it may float upon the surface for a while, but is never likely to be brought to the haven where it would be. chapter iv. 'what are the hopes of man? old egypt's king, cheops, erected the first pyramid and largest, thinking it was just the thing to keep his memory whole, and mummy hid; but somebody or other rummaging, burglariously broke his coffin's lid. let not a monument give you or me hopes, since not a pinch of dust remains of cheops.' it will be recollected by the reader, that when the rattle sounded, and arrested the attention of the two watchmen who stood before the house occupied by francis abbott and his mother, listening to the sweet and heavenly strains of the flute, that they hurried away to the scene to which they were summoned by the notes of this instrument of alarm. it will be also recollected that alfred marquinay, fearing that his rival, thomas sillendare, might supplant him in the good graces of emeline clarendon, threw out some pretty broad hints, in the hearing of the young lady and her mother, that the said sillendare was on very intimate terms with a courtezan. now marquinay did not reckon this time without his host, for he well knew that his rival kept a mistress, to whom he was much devoted; and how he obtained this information, may be developed in the course of our narrative. before we proceed to give a description of the scene to which the two watchmen were summoned by the sound of the rattle, we will take a peep behind the curtain, and there we may learn the cause which produced this uproar in the street. after sillendare had been accused, in the hearing of emeline, of associating with a female of ill fame, he was determined, if possible, to find out how marquinay became possessed of the information. he had several times made unsuccessful attempts to ascertain the facts from his mistress, but she had always most adroitly evaded his inquiries, till at last he became jealous of her, and suspected that marquinay was on more intimate terms with her than was altogether becoming the relation in which they lived. during the night the alarm was given, sillendare was with her, in a room splendidly furnished at his expense. he was continually catechizing her about marquinay, and endeavoring to ascertain whether she had any acquaintance with him; but her shrewdness and cunning had never forsaken her until this evening. she was a girl of very fair and captivating exterior, and was endowed with much more wit and art than fell to the share the hermit of niagara. 35 sillendare, i know you too well to be frightened at any thing you can say or do.' 'do you mean to insult me, after all i have done for you?' he asked. if there's any insult, it is all on your part,' she replied, proudly walking the room, and gazing upon him as if she would look him through. of sillendare. her name was jane delano. she had hitherto managed with such consummate art and skill, that she had always controlled the weak but aristocratic sillendare, and fleeced him of large sums of money in various ways. he bore it all with much meekness and patience, under the false belief that she was very fond of him, and so much at-will you tell me who gave the infortached to him that she would spurn, from mation that i am paying my addresses to her any other young man who might atmiss clarendon ?' he impatiently inquired. tempt to address her. in this he was upon one condition i will,' she anmost lamentably mistaken; for, like all swered. others of her profession, she was more fond of variety than he dreamed of in his philosophy. € " i have several times asked you, jane, if you had any acquaintance with alfred marquinay, but have never received a satisfactory answer,' he said. and i too have several times asked you why you are so anxious to know,' she replied. 'i have told you i know him by sight, and have now and then seen him in the street.' " jane, you know that is not what i mean,' he said, in a reproving manner, and in a voice which evinced more impatience, if not anger, than she had ever before witnessed. 'you need not attempt to intimidate me by your threats or looks, mr. sillendare,' she sternly replied, for two can play at that game, i can assure you. i have quite as much reason to be jealous of you as you have of me. i understand you are making love to a miss clarendon--yes, and on your knees, too. do you think such things are agreeable to me?' has he ever been in this room?' he plied in much anger. anxiously inquired. i cannot say but you have invited him here some times when i was out,' she answered. 蜜 ​'who told you of all this?' he inquired in a voice choked with rage. 'speak, and tell me, or by heaven, i will leave you for ever.' and what is that, pray?' that you tell me truly, if it is a fact,' she replied. i'm engaged to her, i suppose,' he said. 'no, not yet engaged,' she replied; it takes two to make that bargain. if you had said you were seeking, on your knees, an engagement with her, you would have come much nearer the truth.' * 'don't insult me, or i swear i'll hurl you through the windows into the street, to be picked up by the watchmen,' he re'i dare thee to the task, thou cowardly fool,' she said. 'i fear you not. weaponless as i am, these hands should pluck out your gray eyes, in case you offered to lay a hand upon me. i owe you one, and you shall have it. mr. marquinay is the person who told me you were humbly seeking the favor of miss clarendon.' 'death and fury!' he exclaimed.— 'i see it all. fool that i am to be thus deceived by a false hearted woman!' 'yes, you are a fool, and a poor weak one, too!' she replied, while a smile of contempt curled her proud lip, and her dark eyes flashed fire. 'one night spent with marquinay is worth a year passed with you.' 'the hottest curse of heaven upon you!' he exclaimed, springing towards her, and raising her by the hair of her head. i'll strangle you on the spot if you utter a single cry!" leave me for ever!' she tauntingly echoed. leave me for ever! well, leave me, if you please; for there are others, better looking than you are, who would be glad to supply your place.-go her hair and attempt to unclench her the moment he seized her by the hair, quick as thought she plunged her fingers. into his eyes, mouth and cheeks. so sudden did she make this movement, and with such energy too, that he was forced to let 36% francis abbott; or, bands and sharp nails from his face. ter a severe struggle he succeeded in doing so, but not, however, before she had left many marks, as the streaming blood gave abundant evidence. he now with much difficulty, held her by the wrists; and even then she continued to kick and bite him with the fury of a tigress that had lost her young. in the struggle she bit his hands severely, and once she left the print of her teeth upon the end of his nose, and would have devoured it at a single meal, if he had not thrown her from frim half way across the room. af-the tears flowed copiously down her flushed cheeks. she now rose from the floor, upon which he had thrown her to save his nose from further injury, and' with redoubled fury came at him again; and again he burled her upon the floor and planted his knees upon her breast, endeavoring with all his power to seize her by the throat; but she struggled as for her life, and succeeded by one powerful effort in kicking him from her, when she suddenly arose aud flew to the door, screaming murder with all the strength of lungs she could command. at that moment a watchman happened to be passing the house, and hearing the outery, he sprung bis rattle. in a moment she descended the stairs and stood in the outside door, leaving the discomfitted sillendare in the chamber, bleeding from every pore in his face. in her struggle her hair had escaped from its fastenings, and her night dress was torn half round in the skirt; and as she stood in the door, with the light of a lamp, which was near by, shining upon her agitated countenance and dishevelled hair, she looked like a maniac just escaped from her cell in some lunatic asylum. o save me from the hands of a murderer!' she exclaimed in the agonies of her soul, and assuming a most frightful attitude and manner. "where is the murderer?' anxiously inquired the watchman, believing she had most miraculously escaped from the hands of an assassin. she acted her part to admiration, and at once enlisted the sympathies of the guardian of the night. the other two watchmen who have been previously introduced to the reader now arrived. and while the one who gave the alarm was holding the frantic and apparently half murdered girl, the others ascended the stairs and entered the room, which had just been the battle field and the theatre of this nocturnal strife, just as the frightened and bleeding. sillendare was preparing to go out. the watchmen instantly seized him, supposing they had nabbed a murderer of the vilest stamp. sillendare made no resistance, but let the streaming, blood plead in his defence. in the chamber overhead,' she replied, while her voice was choked with sobs and why did you attempt to murder that girl?" inquired one of the watchmen, as he held the poor fellow in one hand and his rattle in the other. come, you must go with us.' i have attempted no, murder,' said sillendare, in a voice tremulous with rage and fear. i came the nearest being mur dered myself, as the streaming blood will testify." this watchman knew very well the man they had caught, and began to think there was not so much murder in the case after all as at first blush might appear.. " you know me too well to believe that i would deliberately commit murder,' said sillendare. the girl who has made such an outcry is one that i have kept. you've what is the matter?? exclaimed a heard me speak of jane delano? a pretty watchman, seizing her by the arm to pre-creature enough when pleased, but the devvent her escape. il all over when mad. she became angry with me and planted her nails in my face, as you may plainly see. i attempted to defend myself from her wild-cat claws, and in doing so i was obliged to use considerable force. and after scratching my face and almost tearing out my eyes, she hurried down stairs, screaming murder with all her might and strength, and alarming the neighborhood.' i have not the least doubt but sillen! 'what!' exclaimed the other watch man, in surprise, 'is, that you, sillendare? how in heaven's name did you get into such a scrape?' the hermit of niagara. 37 dare has told the truth,' said the watchman to his companion. i think it best to let him off, on condition he makes us a present." 'thank you, sir. here are two guineas-one for each,' said sillendare, handing them the money. 'he has bribed you with his money,' exclaimed jane, watching the movement of one of the watchmen when he slipped the guinea into the other's hand. all right; but another guinea for the watchman below, who now has the young tigress in custody,' he said. this abandoned female understood the sillendare gave them another guinea, character of the city watch much better and he was permitted to depart in peace. than those who moved in the higher and the watchmen now went below and as-purer walks of life, for she was somewhat experienced in these matters. sisted him who was guarding the girl. sillendare made his escape through a back way, and did not come down with the watchmen. 'charge us not with bribery, in addition to your other crimes,' said one of them, 'or we will have you hung up for a murderess, or for an attempt to commit murder. the gentleman's face, from which blood is now streaming, will be a swift 'where is the villain, the black-hearted murderer?" anxiously inquired jane. has not escaped, has he?' he has gone,' said one of the watch-witness against you in the hour of trial.' men, but he is no murderer; such a wicked thought never entered his heart. he was acting in self defence; and if he had not, you would have torn his eyes out and all the flesh from his face." 'away with her to the lockup,' said another. "tis not safe to let such she devils run at large through the city in the day time, and much less so in the night.' 'let me go to my chamber and get my clothes, and i will go with you,' said jane. i'll yet be revenged on that dastardly sillendare. i care not whither i go to night, for other days are coming which will give me opportunity to wreak my vengeance upon the mean scoundrel. let me go and not keep a woman here in her night clothes, and these hanging in tatters upon her person.' one of the watchmen now accompanied her to the chamber, for the purpose of letting her put on another dress. as she entered the room, the thought struck her that sillendere might have forgotten his watch, ia very valuable gold lever. she knew where he was in the habit of laying it when he visited her, and there she cautiously looked, but was very sly about it, lest the watchman might discover what she was about. as she expected, she found the watch and concealed it about her person. sillendare, in his alarm and excitement, never thought of his watch, but had gone and left it. while she was dressing, sillendare came round the corner of a street to reconnoitre and see how the affair was likely to end. seeing two watchmen he go free, for the sake of the shining dust. whether the watchmen, in this instance, would have let sillendare escape if one of them had not known him, may be somewhat doubtful. tis false as hell,' she exclaimed. 'he first seized me by the hair of my head, and if i had not scratched and bit him, he would have torn it all out by the roots: besides, he threw me down upon the floor, placed his knees upon my bosom, and attempted to choke the breath out of my body. with such strength as i never felt * before, i hurled the wretch from me and sought the street; and here f am, having just escaped from his ruthless hands to tell the story of my wrongs.' " how came he to escape?' asked the first watchman in surprise. justice ought not thus to be deprived of her dues. believe he's-' i know him well,' said another watchman, slily placing a guinea in his brother's hand. feeling the smooth, shining piece of gold in his palm, the watchman thus receiving the money at once understood the affair, and closed his lips. there is nothing like the power of gold, under almost any circumstance or condition in life, to smooth the way and purchase friends. even the ministers of law and the officers of government are not unfrequently induced to let the guilty escape, and prisoners 3 38 francis abbott; or alone rear the door where jane had made | i'm quite sure that sillendare will not like the alarm, he beckoned them to him. • i've been thinking,' said he, it will be best for all concerned, to let the jade go free; for if she's brought before the city authorities she will bring my name out before the public, and my character will become implicated. i should rather she be left in her chamber.' 'we will do so, if you wish it,' said they. i don't suppose we could make out much against her, if she were brought to trial. besides, it would become necessary to summon you as a witness.' 'o that will never do,' said sillendare, much alarmed; in that case my name would be mentioned in the public reports, and blazoned abroad before the public in all the newspapers in the metropolis. i would much rather have her set free now.' while they were thus talking, the other watchman and jane made their appearance in the street. sillendare, seeing them upon the sidewalk, hurried away; not, however, before he had secured the liberation of his paramour, by the gift of another piece of gold. to appear as a witness. come, lead off to prison, and i will follow you. it is much warmer there than in the street here.' the watchmen hesitated, for they were somewhat embarrassed between the performance of their duty and a desire to please sillendare, who had so liberally rewarded them. · no matter for that,' she replied; you say you can have me hung up as a murderess, let me see you do it, if you can. neither of you can swear you have seen me take the life of any human being, and 'come,' why do you hesitate?' she continued. 'come, the murderess is ready to go any where with you, and to appear before any court. would not the offer of a bribe quicken you in the performance of your duties? if i had oceans of gold, i would not give you a single atom, for i know money would take me from your hands, however guilty i might be; but now i'm innocent i would prefer to have the opportunity to establish my innocence.therefore on, and let me see the prison.' 'if we carry you there, you will never come out, except to be led to the gallows,’ said one of the watchmen, thinking he might frighten her. you are completely in our power, and a few words from us would swing you between the earth and the heavens.' 6 6 the watchman who had accompanied jane to her chamber was now informed of sillendare's request, and he very readily gave his assent. • 6 after consulting together about your case,' said be, we have concluded to let yon go free. to-night, upon condition you make a solemn promise never to disturb the peace of the city again.' i shall make no such promise,' she firmly replied. convey me to prison, if 6 you please, gentlemen. i'm ready to con-thrust me into prison, there to await my trial?' she tauntingly and provokingly replied. front sillendare before any court in the city, and in fact i really wish to do so.— come, let us go along. the night air is cold, and i do not wish longer to tarry in the street,' • because we don't wish to feed you at the public expense,' replied another watchman. yes, you might perjure your souls for the sake of hanging a woman,' she replied, but i do not fear that, for you have'nt courage enough to do it, although you may be as destitute of moral principle as the evil one himself.' " you are a provoking, miserable wretch, said he, 'and deserve to be hanged.' then why don't you hurry along and • you're a strange creature,' said one of more likely because you have received the watchmen. you are the first female a bribe from that low and dirty sillendare lever saw who preferred a prison to lib-to let me go, lest his name should be erty.' coupled with mine, and bruited about the city. he's afraid a certain young lady will hear that he has sworn love to me.' 'sworu love to you!' repeated the watchman, and laughing scornfully. 'yes, sworn love to me,' she replied. the hermit of niagara. niagara. 39 he has told me an hundred times how much he loved me, and i've no doubt he told the truth, for he did love me as much as much as he is capable of loving a woman. he has a small heart, and therefore his love cannot be very great for any body. so long as his money lasts he will exereise power over a certain portion of the community, watchmen included, but when his gold is gone, his power will be at an end.' | the watchmen felt the truth of what she uttered; at least one of them did, who was acquainted with the dandy; for he knew him to be a person of a very small calibre. a well known voice upon the outside answered, 'your friend, marquinay.' she opened the door, and alfred marquinay entered the room, with a smile playing on his face, and a devil lurking in his heart. i happened to be passing, and heard the row,' he replied. i concealed myself and awaited the result. what was this all about, pray y?' made the blood stream down and trickle into his ‘royal' mustachios. o he was in a dreadful pickle. if i had had a dagger about me, i would have made a small hole in his little beart.', 'i will find a room for you, and leave directions by a letter in the post office,' he said. the watchmen now let her go, contrary to her own expressed wishes. she went 'very well,' she said. 'do so as early back to her chamber, and they upon their as convenient in the morning, although several beats, in search of other adventures. i don't think there is much danger of his after she got back to her chamber, the coming here to-morrow, or appearing out thought struck her that she would write a at all until his face becomes healed over. note to emeline clarendon, but before the i'll tell you what i was thinking about thought was fairly matured she heard a just as you knocked at the door. the knocking at her chamber door. at first thought struck me that i would write she concluded that sillendare had come miss clarendon a letter, and give her back again after his watch, or for some some hints about his connection with other purpose. she went to the door, but me. i could sign it jane, and never be before she unlocked it, she inquired, 'who | known. it would hit her hard, now was there?' you have thrown out such intimations to her.' 'why, he was jealous about you, and became quite wolfish about the head and shoulders,' she answered, smiling. 'a more angry fellow i guess you never saw. he actually frothed at the mouth; but fortunate then for you that you did have no other weapon but your hands,' said marquinay. perhaps it is so,' she replied. in his fright he has left his watch, and it will be a lucky day for him when he gets it again. to-morrow morning i intend to pack up and remove from this room to soine other place.' where in the world did you come from?' inquired jane. if you had been here a while ago, you might have seen a terrible battle between me and the coward, | he replied. sillendare. i tore his face some, at any rate, and all the damage he did to me, he tore my night dress, but i can mend that long enough before the wounds in his face will heal over.' 'a capital thought!' exclaimed marquinay. write it now, and i will drop it into the post office to-morrow. it will raise the very devil with him and the clarendons." had you not better write?" she asked. 'o no, my handwriting may be known,' 'well, you dictate and i will write,' she said. this was agreed upon, and she sat down and wrote the following letter, dictated in part by marquinay. london, nov. 19, 1828. miss clarendon,— i'm a stranger to you, and perhaps may always he, but still i can be a friend. it is well known to me that mr. sillendare is paying his addresses to vou, and that your mother is highly pleased with them, much more so than 40 francis abbott. you are thought to be. it is a very easy thing for sillendare to say he loves, for he has told me many times and oft that he loves me. how many more he has told the same thing to, is more than i can tell. he and i have been on very friendly and even intimate terms for many months past, but whether we shall continue so any longer, is quite doubtful.the above letter was carefully sealed, he is not very pleasing in his manners and marquinay placed it in the post office to me, but i have put up with them the and anxiously awaited the results. best way i could, for the sake of the f dresses he has bought for me, and the money he has given me. i thought i would write you a few lines, and then you could govern yourself accordingly.have written nothing but truth; of this you may be well assured. yours, jane 1 ¿ chapter v. "quod adest, memento componere aequus. caetera fluminis ritu feruntur." hor. yes, she's gone to the spirit land;a kind, a well beloved mother. some time has elapsed since i followed her earthly remains to that narrow house appointed for all the living, and i'm still lingering around the spot where she drew her last breath, while i breathed my whole soul into my flutenow my only companion. how she listened to the sweet strains! they seemed to smooth her passage to the other world! how sacred will that tune ever be to me! it is indeed a mother's requiem. never before was i able to compose such a piece.. did the angels inspire me, as they hovered over the dying scene waiting to conduct her to a world of bliss? ah! who can tell how closely and intimately are the two worlds connected together! who in the flesh can know how many "spirits walk the earth unseen both when we sleep and when we wake?" poets must feel their influence, and yet they know it not! musicians, too. ah! who can know but angels, at particular times, are especially commissioned to inspire them, and give them a shadowy view, a sweet foretaste of the music which swells the bosoms of the heavenly choir? when i played those strains did not my dying mother say she heard the angels playing? what 彩 ​inspired me to breath such notes into my flute? it must have been a good, and not an evil genius. i will play those strains again, and who can tell but her sainted spirit will listen in company with other angels? happy am i that i wrote them down ere the sweet tones escaped my memory. thus communed francis abbott with his own soul, as he sat pensive and thoughtful in the room where his mother died, taking up his flute which laid upon the table before him, and breathing into it the same tune he played when his mother died. the soft delicious tones echoed about the room, and so intent was the player that he fancied he heard some answering strains. so absorbed was his soul in the music that he thought at one moment, that he was performing a duetto with an angel, and that his mother was listening. he even fancied, while he played, that he distinctly saw her face, and such a smile passing over it as ap peared upon her pallid features even after death had set his seal there. he played on until he was almost a disembodied spirit, forgetting that he was upon the dull, cold earth, and fancying himself among spiritual beings. laying his flute on the table, and gazing wildly about the apartment, he con 42 francis abbott; ok sweet voice with the music of nature, how happy would such a concert make my soul! but alas! the pride of woman is her downfall, and the plague of man. it is now many weeks since i have seen her, or heard her sweet voice. who kuows but her heart has again changed and love again triumphed over pride and ambition? ah! no, i will not lay that tinued his soliloquy. i'm here after all, surrounded by material walls, and not in the spirit laud. oh! how imagination did bear me away upon her wings? ah! music has power to raise the curtain which haugs between time and eternity, and give us a glimpse of the other world! did i dream? no: for i was not locked in the arms of sleep, but continued to play my flute. i could not play if i had | flattering_unction to my soul! she has too many rich suitors seeking her hand tơ allow her to bestow more than a passing thought on me. strange that such a female should love outward circumstances, and disregard the man, or look upon him with indifference amidst the dazzling power of his wealth! the sun has gone down, and soft twilight begins to shroud the city! i will now go to seek an interview with the fair emeline; but i will heed my mother's dying injunctions, and not, on bended knees, plead for her favor. i promised to be a man, and my mother bore the promise to another world. it shall be religiously kept. emeline! thou shalt hear me play the strains to which my mother listened in dying her moments. god has given thee a quick ear for music, and thou shalt listen to such notes as heaven itself has inspired in my soul.' been asleep; my fingers could not have moved the keys, nor my breath have given the proper tones. and yet it seemed to me that i was in the company of angels and my own dear mother. but i'm in the material world, and it still has claims upon me.' he now rose and walked the room. looking out of the window into the street, he continued. "this morning, i promised myself that another sun should not rise before i saw and conversed with the proud, yet beautiful emeline. it is now almost evening, and o! how i wish i had not made that solemn promise, and yet why should i longer defer that interview which i so much desire? no time is better than the present, and it is folly to put off until tomorrow what can be done today. soon will my fate be known. london! babylon as thou art, still i love thee, and thy many scenes. here i first drew my breath; here i felt the first inspirations of love, and alas! here, too, i first felt the pangs of love unrequited. america! the land of mountains, lakes and rivers! soon will my eyes open upon thy shores; soon my ears drink in the music of thy cascades, and my soul revel in thy solitudes. niagara! the great waterfall of the world! may heaven spare my life until i'm permitted to hear the roaring of its mighty waters, and to see the rainbows which god places over its terrible abyss! ah! happy will i try to be when i can min-moon had waxed and waned, and a new gle the strains of my flute with the anthem one had hung out her silver crescent in which those mighty waters are continuthe west, giving bright token to the world ally sending up to heaven. upon those that she had not forgotten her wonted wild and rugged cliffs will i sit and round. breathe out iny mother's requiem, while the deep roar of the waters are proclaiming the power of a god, whose voice is heard amidst all his works. o! could emeline clarendon be there to join her taking his flute apart and carefully depositing it in his pocket, he rose and went out into the street. it was a cold evening in the month of november. a stiff breeze from the north, during the day, had swept away the clouds from the sky, and dispelled the murky folds of smoke which usually hung over the city. the sky was clear, and the stars were out in all their brightness. occasionally a meteor would flash through the blue space, leaving behind a stream of liquid fire, and illuminating the tops of the church spires with a pale light. the merry harvest 'how beautifully did virgil, centuries ago, describe the man who could look through nature up to nature's god!' said francis as he slowly walked along towards the residence of the clarendons, repeating the hermit of niagara. the following lines from the great latin | no, i must not deceive myself, and let poet, of whose writings he was exceedhope lead me astray.' ingly fond, *felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, at que metus omnes et inexorabile fatum subjecit pedibus, strepitumque acherontis avari!" and the modest, unassuming, heavenly minded cowper, how many of my feelings has he expressed?' he continued, and repeated what follows, as he gazed upon the ten thousand stars that twinkled in the distant firmament, ― "tis folly all let me no more be told of parian porticos, and roofs of gold; delightful views of nature, dressed by art, enchant no longer this indifferent heart; the lord of all things, in his humble birth, makes mean the proud magnificence of earth; the straw, the manger, and the mouldering wall, eclipse its lustre; and i scorn it all." he passed along, and soon came opposite the mansion in whose splendid apartments he had spent so many hours in months that were past. a brilliant light was burning in the richly furnished and spacious parlor, and all seemed to be quiet about the premises. he stood and listened a few moments to ascertain whether emeline or her mother had company that evening, but he could discover no signs of it, and his heart beat with joy. soon the tones of emeline's piano reached his ears. ah! thought he, how familiar are the sounds of that instrument, and heaveus! she's playing a song of my own composition. and does she love to play and sing my music? the music now ceased, still the enraptured and enthusiastic francis stood in the street. and while he was standing there the following dialogue passed between emeline and her mother, but the lover could not hear it. • ― why do you sing that song so much of late, emeline?' inquired her mother, manifesting some impatience, and curling her upper lip in scornful pride. 'why, mother, it's a beautiful song, i'm sure,' replied emeline. it may be, but then you have worn it out,' answered the mother. why don't you practice some of the new ones which have been recently published?' i have tried several of them, but they are flat-there's no soul in them,' answered the daughter impatiently. 'no soul in them!' replied the excited mother. 'there's no love sickness in them, more likely. i don't like to hear you sing it so much. it seems to me that you sing it more lately, than usual. it is no better now than it used to be, is it?' · 'no, mother, but it is just as good,' replied emeline. the air somewhat resembles the melodies of bellini, and the more i hear such music the better i like it; for there is a soul in it, and it touches the heart.' touches the heart!' echoed the mother. "why, emeline i believe my soul that you yet love that francis abbott, who is as poor as a church mouse, or you. would not he eternally singing his music.' 'i was speaking, mother, of bellini's melodies, when i said such music touched the heart,' said emeline. 'i know it,' said the mother, rather shortly. but you said this song resem bled bellini's melodies.' 6 'and so it does,' replied emeline. i played it a few evenings ago to mr. sil did you tell him who composed it?' asked the mother. he now heard the tones of her sweet voice mingling with that of the instru-lendare, and he was enraptured with it.' ment. 'yes it is the song i composed for her the next day after i had declared my passion to her. i named it, "he told his love," from the first line of the poetry, which i also composed. and she sings it yet! this is indeed a favorable symptom. i wonder if she sings it often? no, 'i did not; for if i had, no doubt he would have disliked it,' replied emeline, smiling: · you made him believe, i suppose. that it was the composition of some 44 francis abbott; or " true, mother, i did throw out some hints, and could not help laughing in my sleeve to see how readily he swallowed it all, she answered. mr. sillendare has not the soul to appreciate music of a very complex kind, but he has enough of human nature in the elements of his constitution to be touched when he hears a simple melody like this song,-a pretty good evidence that trne musical genius composed it.' great italian master,' said mrs. claren-moment to hear emeline's sweet voice don. again in that song, but he listened in vain ; for she was too much engaged in conversing with her mother, to sing. the young man now approached the front door, and, placing his trembling hand upon a silver knob, he cautiously rang the bell. he heard the tinkling sound reverberate through the spacious entry, and trembled when he heard its music. he wished he had not pulled the wire, and yet he most anxiously desired to see the fair emeline once more before he took passage for the american shores. soon a servant came to the door, and the trembling musician was ushered into the brilliantly illuminated parlor. when he entered, emeline was seated upon the stool, near the piano, with her head turned towards her mother, and a bright glow upon her cheeks. mrs. clarendon sat, a few feet distant, at a centre table. she had just taken up a newspaper, and was glancing at a piece of poetry, which very much arrested her attention. the piece was headed, the lover's last look.' emeline had read the lines with a deep interest, and was so much pleased with its fine touches and tender sentiments, that she called the attention of her mother to them just as francis was announced. 'mr. sillendare thinks of other things besides simple melodies,' said the mother. these will do well enough to fill up the little voids in every day life, but mr. silleudare's mind soars higher. he wishes to move in a more elevated sphere-in the fashionable and cultivated circles of eociety.' he entered the parlor with fear and trembling, but he concealed the emotions which swelled his bosom, and appeared calm and sedate. excuse me, ladies, for thus entering the house which has almost become a strange place to me,' he said. perhaps, after so long an absence, i ought to have waited for an invitation, but being about to leave the country, i thought i wou'd just call and take a last look of my old friends.' 'mother, to be frank and plain, i must say i don't think he has a mind that soars at all,' replied emeline. take away his money, and he would be an exceedingly small affair about town, and scarcely noticed. he's not half so much of a man as marquinay,-besides, he has not entirely satisfied me concerning the intimation which marquinay threw out awhile ago. when he was endeavoring to explain it the other evening, he looked to me as if he was guilty. and surely you would not wish to have me connected with a man, however rich he might be, who would be continually running after other women.' 6 6 marquinay, no doubt, insinuated falsely,' said the mother. he wishes to disgust you with mr. sillendare, and then take you himself, if he can get you. it is all as plain as the light of day. young men in love frequently practice such tricks upon each other. they will do any thing sometimes to gain their ends. marquinay knows that sillendare is much the most wealthy, and therefore he fears him as a rival, and would stoop to any thing, if, by so doing, he could gain the ascendancy over him. no, no, emeline. you must not believe one word of what that sly marquinay says.' during the above conversation francis stood still in the street, expecting every francis abbott was astonished at the calmness and deliberation which characterized this introduction; for he was fearful that the deeply excited state of his feelings would have greatly embarrassed his manners, and somewhat deprived him of the power of utterance. but for many weeks previous to this interview he had schooled and disciplined himself with a direct reference to it, and now he had acquitted himself thus far better than he dared the hermit of niagara. 45 to hope for. mrs. clarendon was glad to hear him say he was about to leave the ountry, for she still feared his influence ver her daughter, as the dialogue about ne song above recorded, fully demonstraed. his declaration, that he was going to leave london, very much took the wire edge from her feelings, and made her disposed to treat him less cavalierly than she otherwise might have done. emeline was actuated by somewhat different feelings, still her pride and ambition forced her to rejoice that he was going to foreign lands. 'o! mr. abbott, you need not make any excuse for calling; for we are very glad to see you,' replied the hypocritical mother. i hope you will meet a good fortune, to whatever country you may go.' 'i thank you kindly, madam, for your good wishes,' he replied, in a voice so tender and full of sensibility, that emeline felt an impulse given to her heart which she found it difficult to control.. 'what tune did you play?' inquired emeline. 'it was a composition i call the mother's prayer,' he replied. 'i had written one variation while she slept, and played that also when she was dying. she knew it was not the mother's prayer, and yet she was greatly pleased with it.' 'o, i wish you had your flute here now, so that we might have you play it,' said emeline, her eyes sparkling, and her bosom heaving with emotions of joy. i have my flute in my pocket,' he replied. 'it is now my only companion, and i would not part with it for any consideration. if it would afford you any pleasure, i will play the piece and the variation.' 'o! it is melancholy, i suppose, and such tones always make me feel sad,' said mrs. clarendon, fearing the music might wake up in the heart of emeline, feelings which she trusted were dormaut there you have buried your mother, recent-now, and therefore giving him a hint not ly, i understand, she said. 'i was much to play. surprised when i heard of her death. i true, mrs. clarendon, the tones are did not dream of her being so sick, or somewhat melancholy, and yet they are i should certainly have called and seen her.' | sweet and soothing to the troubled spirit,' 6 'she did indeed make her exit from the he said. 'i would not play the piece, if world rather suddenly, perhaps, but i was it would in the least degree mar your fully prepared for the sad event,' he re-pleasure.' plied. 'for several weeks i had been expecting her dissolution, and therefore when it came i was the better prepared to meet it. we all play our parts on the world's stage, and must all make our exits as well as entrances. mrs. clarendon, we must all die, and that before long. is well if we are prepared to meet this great change, with joy and not with grief. my mother's death was truly a happy one. just before she closed her eyes upon all scenes, she requested me to breathe into my flute an air, of which she was very fond. i did so, and while i was playing, her spirit took its flight to other and brighter regions. a smile still lingered on her pallid countenance, as if to give evidence to the world that her spirit was happy when leaving its tenement of clay. ah! it was indeed a christian's death, and my only prayer is, that my death may be as calm and peaceful as hers." • now francis desired to perform the composition, because he thought it bave precisely the same effect upon the heart of emeline which her mother so much feared. 'do, mr. abbott, play it,' said emeline. itmother will like it, i have no doubt.' 'with her consent, i will play it to please you,' he replied. 'if you wish to hear it very much, emeline, i will make a sacrifice of my own feelings, and give my consent,' said her mother in a cold, heartless manner. knowing the pride and haughtiness of mrs. clarendon, and wishing to please the daughter, he took his flute from his pocket, and a paper containing the notes of the mother's prayer, with the variation, and the notes also of what he played after his mother was dead-a composition which he called, my mother's requiem. the tunes were all on one large sheet of * 46 francis abbott; or paper, carefully folded within a silken envelope, as if he valued the music very highly.. the placing the paper upon the piano, he commenced playing, while emeline stood bebind him, looking at the music. tones of the flute were clear and enchauting. in some parts of the tune, where the movement was marked slow and soft, it seemed to the enraptured eineline that a spirit was breathing into the instrument, and that she did not hear with her material organs of hearing, but rather with her soul and with her spirit. it seemed to her that the music was too fine and ethereal to be conveyed to the soul through the ordinary channel, but must find its way there through some other medium. after playing the first part of the piece, he commenced the variation which he composed just before his mother awoke from her last slumber, on the night she died. this was still more thrilling than the first part, and very | sensibly affected the nerves of the fair auditor. she watched the passages as he played them over, with much excited feeling. as he played, he could hear the secret sighs escape from her swelling bosom, and, at one time, when he was breathing out a very soft passnge, he fancied he could hear her heart beat, but of this he was not certain. i regret exceedingly i cannot comply with it,' he replied. 6 why not?' inquired emeline, in apparent surprise. i always supposed you could play almost any music at sight however difficult of execution it might be, and surely you can play any of your own compositions.' true, emeline, i can execute very difficult passages in music with my flute, and i could execute this, but it is a compositiou not designed for the public ear, and therefore you'll excuse me, i trust;'. he replied. • not for the public ear!' repeated mrs. clarendon. why, mr. abbott, you don't consider our ears public, i hope.' 6 'o, no, madam, not in the sense you seem to suppose,' he answered, smiling. what i intended to convey was this; it is a composition which i said i never would play in the hearing of mortal ears, and when i make a promise, either to myself or to another, i always keep it most religiously. i might have acted a foolish part when i made this promise, but the circumstances under which i was placed, at the time, were very peculiar, and cannot happen but once in the course of a man's or woman's life.' 'how is that?' inquired emeline. 'there seems to be some mystery overhanging this musical composition which woman's curiosity would like to penetrate.' to be frank with you, emeline, i felt, when i composed this piece of music, that it was not the production of my own genius in the ordinary way.' 'your explanation, if such it can be called, only serves to make the mystery still more dark and unfathomable,' said emeline. 'it may be so,' he replied. 'i will explain. i composed this piece, or rather played it just after my mother's eyes were mrs. clarendon was forced to believe that the music was very fine, and most admirably executed, but she was so much excited, lest emeline might be overcome by the divine strains, that she could not hear without prejudice. every motion she made, and she was very restive, evinced how much she feered the music of the artist. when he bad finished the variation, he took the flute from his lips, and laid it upon the paper. for several moments not a word was spoken by either of them. a profound and almost oppres-sealed in death. it seemed to me that i sive silence reigned throughout the apart was at that moment, the subject of a pement. at last emeline broke the stillculiar and special inspiration. after playness, and said, 'i believe you did not playing what you have heard this evening, at all that's written upon the sheet, if my the request of my mother, and after she eyes did not deceive me. i should like to had ceased breathe this vital air, i conhear the remainder, if it would not be tinued to play on, as i seemed to be asking too muck.' moved by an unseen power. i knew not the request is a very proper one, and what i was going to play, but a power the hermit of niagara. 47 was given me to know what i had played with manifest impatience, 'you've gone and to write it down. i did so, and gave quite far enough, considering the relations to the piece the name of "my mother's reyou sustain to each other. i hope i shall quiem." i have never yet played it within hear no more such fulsome compliments the hearing of mortal ears; and should i between you. flattery finds no favor undo so now, i should violate a solemn promder my roof.' ise which i have made and which is re'if heaven has planted in my heart a corded in heaven, as i religiously believe. love for your daughter, shall i not be althe music is not of this world and mortallowed to speak of it? an 1 to be called ears must not hear its divine strains. in a flatterer because i divulge the honest solitude i play it; and when i do so, it feelings of my soul? no, no, mrs. clarseems to me my mother and a host of anendon. god has given me the organs of gels incline their eyes to hear it. this all speech, and a heart to feel, and a mind to may be a sort of hallucination of the mind, think, and no human being has a right to but i must yield to its power if it be so.' deprive me of their use.' 'mr. abbott, your mind is shattered, your heart diseased, and your tongue runs at random,' said mrs. clarendon. remember, sir, where you are. you are in 6 emeline and her mother were astonished, not only at what he said but also at his manner and look when he said it; for he * assumed a very solemn countenance and appeared to be under the influence of very intense feelings. they began to think he was laboring under a species of derange. ment, and yet he seemed to be very cool, calm and deliberate. | my own house, sir, and you must conduct yourself accordingly.' 'did you, madam, deem it a crime when your husband, in his younger days, declared to you his love?' inquired francis, in a tone of voice which clearly evinced that love had not yet destroyed his reason nor diminished his independence of spirit. 'no; it was not criminal in my husband, for my ears were willing to hear the declaration,' she replied. but would you force a young lady to hear such a confession against her will and the natural instincts of her heart?' 'i would not, heaven is my witness,' he answered, feeling his spirit dampened as if a cold wave had been dashed upon it. let your daughter speak, and say if i have offended.' " 'what you have said seems strange and mysterious to me,' said emeline, and makes me exceedingly anxious to hear the music, but i would not have you violate any promises for the sake of gratifying my curiosity. the mother's prayer is most beautiful and touching music, and if the requiem exceeds it, then i think you have gone beyond the genius of bellini; and you know he was always a favorite of mine. i do think his melodies are the most enchanting in the world.' the hypocritical and aristocratic mother was very uneasy, and looked sour when she heard emeline pass this compliment on the music of young abbott. he saw her movements, and was not at a loss to divine the emotions which were pressing her proud heart; therefore he framed his answer accordingly: 'permit me, emeline, to return to you my sincere and heartfelt thanks for your good opinion of my musical compositions and my skill on the flute,' he replied. 'believe me when i say, no woman's opinion i prize so highly as i do yours, and no female exists whom i would more cheerfully gratify than you, if i could do so without violating the promise i have made.' 'there, there,' exclaimed the mother, she has spoken in months that have passed, and her mind has not changed,' said the agitated mother, turuing her anxious eyes upon emeline as if she would compel her to speak against her best feelings. 'say to him again, emeline, that your heart remains the same as at your last interview with him.' emeline's heart was sorely oppressed with conflicting emotions, and she hardly knew what to say. to say that she did not love francis abbott's mind and person better than she did any, or even all her suitors, would not be doing her justice. and never had she felt the power of love more sensibly than she did this evening; 48 francis abbott. but pride and ambition had still a hold upthat world from whose bourne no traveller on her. the glittering gold of sillendare has returned. o, emeline, beware of the still blinded her mind, and somewhat power of gold, or your heart may be fatally blunted the finer sensibilities of her heart. ensnared. it has a charm, i well know, the heavenly plant of love had taken root but beware of the serpent; and although in her soul, and it struggled to grow, to he has a shining skin, and may lay beautibud and to blossom, but it was choked by fully coiled among flowers, yet he has a the thorns and thistles of this world. sting, and poison is under his tongue. one word more, and i leave you for ever. you directed the attention of your mother to a piece of poetry which is in the paper on the table, entitled, "the lover's last look." you have read it once, and will you not read it again when i say to you that i am the author? o, emeline, read it, and you will have some faint conception of what a sincere lover feels when he takes the last look of her whom he loves.' enough, emeline, i ask no more,' he said, in a tone of voice made firm and bold by the recollection of his mother's dying injunction. 'i know the power which pride, ambition and the love of splendor taking his flute apart and carefully foldwhich riches can purchase, exercise over ing up his music, he deposited them in his the human soul. that i love you as but pocket and took his leave. with a heavy few in this world can love, there is no heart he sought his chamber, and there he doubt. i will seek the pleasure which the passed a sleepless night. the feelings of scenes of foreign lands may afford, and emeline clarendon, after he had left the wander in the wilderness of the new world. house, we will not undertake to describe. there, amidst the wildness and solitude of a more severe conflict of feelings she nevthat wide spread country, i will play my er passed through than she suffered that mother's requiem, and mingle its heavenly night; but her proud and haughty mother strains with the music of the beautiful cas-rejoiced when she heard him pronounce cade, and the thunders of the mighty catthe word farewell. but alas! she was not aracts. no mortal ears shall hear its sweet aware of the extent of the power which echoes, but angels will join in the song, was at work in her daughter's heart. and this, mingling with the sound of many time, the great revealer of secrets, may waters, will ascend to heaven in one great yet show her the power of love, and the anthem of praise. we shall meet no more folly of the world's grandeur. on earth, but we may meet each other in 'mother, why do you press me to speak,' said emeline, impatiently. mr. abbott has already been made acquainted with my determination, and what reason has he to expect that any change has come over me?' 6 chapter vi. "hath god indeed given appetites to man, and stored the earth so plenteously with means to gratify the hunger of his wish? and doth he reprobate, and will he damn the use of his own bounty? making first so frail a kind, and then enacting laws so strict, that less than perfect must despair? falsehood! which whoso but suspects of truth dishonors god, and makes a slave of man.' in three days from the time francis abbott took his final leave of emeline clarendon, he might have been seen busily engaged in packing up all the valua-thames, and the love-stricken and talented prayer to heaven for the happiness and prosperity of emeline clarendon. the ship went gallantly down the ble articles he had, and making hasty preparations for a voyage across the atlantic. although he was poor, in the estimation of mrs. clarendon, and was not rich in his own view, yet he had all the property his mother left, and this was by no means inconsiderable. the household furniture he sold, and the proceeds of this, together with a casket of jewels and some money, which his mother gave him before her death, made up quite a snug little fortune, enough to make him comfortable, with prudence and economy, and in the evening of the same day when induce the american people to whose francis abbott set sail for the land of the country he was about to go, to believe he pilgrims, emeline and her mother were was actually rich. his flute, music and sitting in the same room where, four days the casket of jewels found the safest place before, he took such an affecting leave of in one of his trunks. every thing was in the fair damsel. emeline, expecting to readiness, and on the fourth day he took hear of his departure every day, was anxpassage in a ship bound for boston, bid-iously looking over the lists of vessels and ding his native land farewell, and sending passengers in an evening paper which up from the unseen altar of his heart a was issued that day, when her eyes fell on abbott strained his eyes in the direction of london, his native city and the residence of the loved one of his heart, till he saw nothing but a heavy cloud of black smoke that hung like a pall over the place which gave him birth. in a short time the noble ship was gliding over the waves of the broad atlantic, where no land could greet the eye of our voyageur. we leave him for the present on the bosom of the great deep, and turn our attention to other actors in this drama of human life. 50 francis abbott; or " the name francis abbott, which was put | down among several others who had taken passage for america, in the ship 'duke of wellington, bruce master.' mrs. clarendon now read the name, and, throwing the paper upon the carpet in a manner which plainly told her feelings, said, 'i'm glad abbott has gone at ever since he was here, a few eventhen he has indeed gone!' said em| last. eliue in a voice which betrayed the feelings ago, you have acted strangely, and ings of her soul, dropping the paper upon conducted yourself very foolishly. why the table, and covering her face with her you should think of a man who has no hands. property to support you in style, is a mystery to me. away with your foolish notions, and once more look at the prospect which lies before you. sillendare not only loves you quite as much as ever abbott did, but he has wealth in abundance to make you shine in the first circles of london.' 'who has gone?' inquired her mother, anxiously, for she suspected the person to whom her daughter referred. emeline made no auswer to her mother's interrogatory, but still continued with her face buried in her hands. her mother saw the tears gush out between emeline's fingers, and several large drops fell upon the very paragraph in the paper which she had been reading. 'mother, he hasn't the mind and heart to love as francis abbott loves,' she replied. i feel more and more doubtful, 'what in the world ails you?' continevery day of my life, whether gold can ued the mother. 'i wouldn't make a fool supply the place of love in the married of myself, if i were you. who has gone? state. you know i do not love sillendare, are you so far gone that you cannot anand can never love him. his manners swer my question? why, the girl is be-disgust me more every time i see him.— side herself!' don't you think he has a disagreeable way with him? and besides, i'm not yet satisfied about the purity of his moral character. he seems to me to be a libertine, and the more so since he has attempted an explanation of the insinuation which mr. marquinay threw out against him.' the door bell now rang, and the veritable sillendare entered the room. we must pardon emeline for the thought that passed her mind the moment the rich dandy made his appearance, for she could not help it. the devil is always near when we are talking about him.' this was the thought that involuntarily came into her mind when she first set her eyes upon his nicely curled and formally cut hair that grew upon his upper lip and peaked chin. sillendare had not shown himself to the fair emeline since his severe struggle with jane delano, and he was not now in a very becoming state to visit the ladies, for many parts of his face were dotted over with court plaster, to conceal the wounds which´ jane had inflicted upon him with her fingers and nails. 6 emeline pushed the paper towards her mother, and with her trembling finger pointed to the paragraph which had thus broken open the fountains of her heart. mrs. clarendon hurriedly put on her spectacles, and began to read; but emeline's tears bad so obscured the print that her mother did not readily discover the -name of francis abbott among the list of | passengers, for those dew drops of the soul had wet aud obscured his name more than any other. i see nothing here to cry about,' continued the mother, " why should you shed tears because the ship duke of wellington has set sail for america ?' emeline again took up the paper, and anxiously looked over the list of names, not knowing but she might have made a mistake, and hoping she had. but álas!| it was too true. again she discoveaed the name of francis abbott, although it was wet with her tears, and much obscured. • well, do you find any thing so terribly alarming?' said the mother. emeline again handed the paper to her mother, and pointed the name which had thus made her tremble in every muscle, and started the tears from her eyes. why, mr. sillendare!' exclaimed the anxious mother, how did you hurt your face so ?' the hermit of niagara. 51 "sure enough!' said emeline. it looks as if it had been through the wars, and a charge of shot fired into it by the enemy,' indeed, my dear emeline, i can assure you it is nothing but the salt rheum which sometimes breaks out upon my skin. i thought i was entirely cured of it, for it has not troubled me for a long time until now. my physician says he can entirely cure it in a short time, now that it has appeared again.". 0136 • i certainly would pay strict attention to it, and neglect no means which may effect a cure,' said mrs. clarendon, examining through her spectacles very minutely theject.' several patches of court plaster which were sticking to his face, and considering why the disease should develope itself so much out of the usual way. · marry a man with the salt rheum in his blood!' said emeline within her heart. the thought is dreadful; i fear it may be something worse thau even that disease.' how long since it broke out before? inquired emeline. 'i never saw your face so marked during my acquaintance with you,' 6 -i 'o it has been several years,' he replied. i have not been troubled with it since your bright eyes made me happy, until within a day or two.' : upon his face, but also on account of the peculiar emotions excited in emeline's bosom from reading in the paper the departure of francis abbott. she was just in that state of mind which sillendare had reason to fear niore than any other. o my physician will cure it in a few days,' he said, 'and then my face will be almost as smooth as yours.' • saving and excepting your horrid coarse beard,' said enieline. " 'mr. sillendare,' said emeline, disregarding the admonition of her mother, and gazing sternly into her lover's face, i'm not yet satisfied with regard to the insinuation which alfred marquinay made against you, a few evenings ago. your explanation does not clear my mind from all doubts and misgivings upon the subit has been there, i suppose, all that time, lurking in your blood,' she replied, being disgusted with the thought of it, and feeling the blood creep coldly about her heart when she looked at his scarred face. | she “you must be bled until you nearly faint | the for the loss of blood, or it will spread all | saw before.' over you, and make the people think you've got the leprosy.' i wish i could,' thought emeline, for she was never so much disgusted with him as at that moinent. it was truly an unfortunate time for sillendare to make a visit, not only on account of the scars 3 • indeed, emeline, you must not for a moment believe any thing that villain of a marquinay may say,' said he, trembling and showing guilt. 'he's my bitterest euemy, and would do any thing to injure me, if thereby he could win you; but he never will, i trust and believe. i will lay my whole fortune at your feet, if you will consent to be mine. money, horses, carringes, servants, any thing that you want, shall be yours.' 'there, emeline, it is just as i always told you,' said her mother. 'i knew mr. sillendare would be generous towards you, and have often told you so.' the penny post now arrived, and the servant girl brought a letter to emeline,÷ she looked at the superscription, but could not tell whose handwriting it was. n 1 reckon i have a new correspondent,' said, breaking the seal and unfolding letter. the hand writing 1 never ، sillendare was on the qui vive to ascertain whether her correspondent was male or female. he was much troubled lest she might have another suitor, and she thought yes, and hoped, too-when she was opening the letter, that she might find francis abbott's name at the bottom why, emeline, how you talk!' said of it. with sparkling eyes and beating her mother; you'll frighten mr. sillen-heart she reads. the letter is finished.dare from the house.' • she suddenly dropped it from her fingers, as if it were heated sheet iron that burned them, and suddenly rising from her seat, she exclaimed, while scorn curled her lip, and fire blazed in her eyes, ‘read, and hide your patched face in shame!', 52 francis abbott; or his struggles were so severe, and the contortions and writhings of his limbs so violent that mrs. clarendon began actually to fear that nature was about making her last effort to keep his soul and body together. with this impression strong upon her, she ran for a smelling bottle, and thrust it, entirely unstopped, up to his nose. the bottle, having been recently replenished, gave out a strong effluvium. its powerful and stinging evaporation so affected his olfactory nerves that he involuntarily raised his right leg, and acci'why all this alarm?' he inquired in | dentally kicked the kind hearted woman much agitation. 'who wrote the letter?' over. being somewhat fleshy, and pos. jane, the beautiful jane; your para-sessing, through the effects of wine and mour, of course,' replied emeline, pointsumptuous living, great rotundity of form, ing her finger at him with scorn and conshe rolled over upon the carpet, very much tempt. 'read and tremble.' to the dishevelling of her hair and the rumpling of her dress. when her mother applied the bottle to the nose of the panting and nervous dandy, emeline broke out into an immoderate fit of laughter, in spite of all her efforts to restrain herself; but when she saw him kick her mother and beheld her prostrate upon the floor, her feelings changed, and she flew to her assistance, utterly regardclar-less of the spasms of her lover, as he lay writhing and struggling upon the sofa. mrs. clarendon, with the help of her daughter, soon regained a perpendicular position, and turned her eyes upon her patient. through the sanitive properties of the bottle's contents, or some other cause, sillendare, was very much revived, and soon rose from the sofa. standing a moment and gazing wildly about the room, as if he had just been awakened from some terrible dream, he said, 'excuse me, ladies, i'm sometimes subject to such spasms, but not often.' 'perhaps they may be caused by the salt rheum in your blood,' said emeline, most provokingly, while a smile of con tempt passed over her countenance. 'what is the matter, emeline?' exclaimed her mother, rising and picking up the letter from the carpet. read and you will know,' replied emeline in great agitation. the proof thickens. a lucky escape from a villain's arms.' 6 the mother reads the letter, and looks over her spectacles upon the astonished and trembling sillendare; but why he trembled he could not tell, for he knew not the contents of the letter, or who wrote it. the word jane struck him like a shock of electricity, and almost lifted him from the floor. poor fellow! he trembled in every joint, as if his dandy frame would shake into a thousand pieces. no more proof of his guilt was needed; for both mother and daughter were now satisfied that marquinay did not talk without a book, or reckon without his host. · yes, read the letter,' said mrs. endon. read it and be ashamed.' 6 sillendare seized the letter with a trembling hand, and undertook to read it, but his nerves trembled so he could not keep it still enough to read. no poor drunkard ever held the cup to his feverish and parched lips with a more palsied and trembling hand than sillendare's, when he held that fatal letter before his eyes. with all his trembling and agitation, he saw enough, however, to satisfy him that the hand writing was, in fact, jane delano's. when he learned this, he let the letter fall upon the carpet, and sank away upon a sofa which stood near by him. did the reader ever see a dandy in a swoon? it must have been a rich and ludicrous spectacle. there the poor fellow was, reclining upon the sofa, with one hand upraised towards the ceiling, his knees smiting against each other, and his gray eyes turned back in their sockets, as if his little soul was indeed about to escape from its shattered and frail tenement. hearing this, he could bear no more, but immediately took his leave, much to the relief of the ladies. on looking about the room which had just been the theatre of such strange and ludicrous scenes, emeline found no damage done, except the breaking of the smelling bottle, which flew out of her mother's hand when the nerthe hermit of niagara. 53 • 'what has happened, pray?' he inquired. i shall esteem it the happiest moment of my life, if i can be of any service to you or your daughter.' o, sillendare is a villain, and has kept a mistress while he was addressing emeline,' she replied. 'the whole matter has come out now. we owe you ten thousand thanks for for friendly intimation the other evening. emeline received a letter a short time ago, giving her warning of the double game sillendare was playing.' 'a letter!' he repeated in mock surprise. from whom, pray?' 'the lord only knows who she is!' she answered. 'her name is signed jane.' a very short, and, i presume, sweet name to sillendare,' he replied. "i really rejoice if the hint i threw out the other evening has had any good effect in placing you and your daughter upon your guard. mar-i would not willingly injure the character of any young man, but circumstances compelled me to give a friendly hint. i felt it to be my solemn duty.' 'you did right, mr. marquinay, and we shall esteem you highly for the act of kindvous and spasmodic sillendare so unceremoniously kicked her over. the discomfitted and chop-fallen young man sought his lodgings, swearing eternal hatred and revenge upon alfred marquinay and jane delano. sillendare, although the most arrant coward that ever strutted through the streets of london, was yet capable of strong feelings of revenge. as he passed along he met marquinay, and would have been tempted to stab him in the streets, if he had possessed a weapon and courage enough. had he known the dark game his rival was playing, he would have insulted him on the spot, and perhaps a severe fight might have been the consequence. sillendare was the stronger person of the two, but marquinay had more courage, which amply compensated him for his want of strength. the two rivals met and passed each other in quiet, but their feelings were highly excited. quinay was no better at heart than sillendare, but he possessed more talents and greater shrewdness to conceal his deviltry, and therefore he had great advantage over his rival. all the power sillendare was master of lay in his riches, but now thisness,' said the mother. 4 emeline did not feel very social after what had occurred that evening. the thought that francis abbott had left his | charm was broken, so far as emeline clarendon was concerned. marquinay was now on his way to visit emeline, to see what was the effect of jane delano's let-native country, and perhaps for ever, preyed ter; for he presumed it had been received ere this, and its contents devoured. had he have known precisely the true state of the case, and how seriously affected sil; lendare was, he would not, perhaps, have visited emeline that evening, but have deferred the visit, and let the matter work. as it was, he passed on, and soon supplied the place which poor sillendare had vacated. he was suspicious that his rival had been there that evening, but he concealed his suspicions, and thought it the best policy not to make any allusion to sillendare, unless emeline or her mother introduced him as the subject of conversation, and then he would be prepared to follow up the work of detraction which he had so successfully begun. upon her heart and bore her spirits down. sillendare was now out of the question, and even marquinay did not appear to her so well as usual. there was something at work in her heart which had, in a very short time, wrought a great change in ber feelings. 'shall i never see francis abbott more?' this kept running through her mind, in spite of all her efforts to drive away the thought. 'and well did you perform that duty, mr. marquipay,' continued the excited mother. 'o if you could have seen sillendare when he undertook to read the trollop's letter, you would have seen a most ludicrous sight. upon my soul, i believe he had a convulsive fit. such trembling and such spasms you never witnessed in suffering humanity.” 'o, i'm glad you have come,' said mrs. clarendon, as soon as he entered the room. we have had a terrible time here this evening.' 'and some kicking, too, mother,' said emeline, with difficulty repressing a smile. 'yes, i'm a swift witness to that,' re54. francis abbott. plied her mother. 'don't you think, mr. marquinay, he actually hit me with his foot, in his struggles, while i was holding a smelling-bottle to his nose to keep the breath of life in him, for i was seriously alarmed lest he might breathe his last upon the sofa.' marquinay laughed heartily, and now felt assured that his own prospects were very much brightened; but he knew not the emotions which were agitating the bosom of emeline. 'did this jane you speak of give you this information?' inquired emeline, feeling a strange suspicion rising in her heart, and easting on him a very searching look. ( he was embarrassed for a moment, not knowing how to answer her question, but soon recovering his equilibrium, he replied, o no, emeline; i hope you do not entertain the suspicion that i have any acquaintance with such a character as jane seems to be. i got my information from one of the watchmen who was present at the how did his face appear?' inquired melee.' marquinay. this explanation perfectly satisfied himall covered with patches of court plas-self and mrs. clarendon, but it did not enter,' replied mrs. clarendon. do you tirely quiet the suspicions of emeline.— know what ails him? he said he was she looked more at his manner than at troubled with the salt rheum.' what he said. to her he had the appearance of guilt, and this made her watchful and cautious in all subsequent interviews, marquinay, after tarrying awhile, and making, as he fondly believed, good progress in his suit for the hand of the fair emeline, took his leave. 'salt rheum!' repeated marquinay, laughing most heartily. if one jane was here, she could tell a different story. he had a flare up with her, and she scratched and bit him severely; besides, she has got his valuable watch.' " chapter vii. bur passion most dissembles, yet betrays even by its darkness; as the blackest sky foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays its workings through the vainly-guarded eye, and in whatever aspect it arrays itself, 'tis still the same hypocrisy : coldness or anger, even disdain or hate, are masks it often wears, and still too late.' the emotions of mr. thomas sillendare,] now his rival, alfred marquinay, was a after his spasmodic demonstrations at mrs. very different character, and much more clarendon's, can be better imagined than to be feared. he had more courage than described. when he left the house on sillendare and more shrewduess to conthat memorable evening, he was determin-ceal the moral obliquities of his heart, and ed to wreak his vengeance on jane delatherefore be was a greater hypocrite. alno, and had actually screwed his courage though he was too cunning to have a flare up to the point of spilling her heart's blood. up with the abandoned women be associnow this was a dreadful thought to enter ated with, and never had his face scratchthe soul of any man, and especially terri-ed and bitten by courtezans, yet he was ble did it seem to the weak nerves and guilty of the same thing which caused the imbecile mind of sillendare, for he had rupture between sillendare and emeline never been accustomed to dwell upon such clarendon. even jane delano was one a horrible subject as outright and wilful of his favorites, and he always exercised murder. the more he reflected upon it more influence over her than sillendare, the more dreadful and revolting it seeined. who kept her, as be vainly believed, for his it was quite evident that nature never cut own exclusive use: but even marquinay, him out for a deep, blackhearted villain. with all his shrewdness, had but partially his crimes had always been of a lighter learned the character of this courtezan. grade, and of a less appalling character. he was not aware how much power monduring his whole life thus far, he had nev-ey could exercise over her, and this he er manifested such a puguacious spirit and was never so lavish in expending as his given proofs of so much personal courage rival was. and in fact he had not so as were developed in his encounter with much to sport with and purchase power jane delano, when she mangled his face as sillendare possessed. in such a shocking manner. the next day after his rupture with the 56 francis abbott; or clarendon family, sillendare's excitement was so great that he actually purchased an ivory hilted dagger and concealed the shining blade in his bosom, fully bent on committing the foul crime of murder upon jane delano, if he could find some convenient opportunity when no mortal eye would be a witness. this fatal weapon he carried with him a whole day; but as the shades of evening fell upon the city, and the time drew near when he contemplated to plunge it into her heart, his courage somewhat oozed out at the ends of his fingers and his spirit flagged. 'no, i cannot commit the awful crime of murder,' he said to himself, as he sat in his chamber just at nightfall, preparing himself for the deed that very night. he withdrew the shining steel from his bosom and deposited it in his trunk. 'ah!' he continued to soliloquise, 'a happy thought has just struck me (and it may seem strange to the shrewd reader that the thought did not strike him before); i will seek an interview with jane and forgive her all, if she will betray the character of marquinay as she has mine. she's fond of money and, no doubt, will do any thing if the sum is only large enough. like many others she has her price, and i will pay it for the sake of defeating marquinay. he must not and he shall not rival me in the good graces of emeline clarendon, if my whole fortune is large enough to prevent it. what is money compared with the sweetness of revenge, when one has been abused as i have been? ah! i'll have revenge, cost what it may. how much better this will be than murder! o, the thought is dreadful! jane shall live, and become my willing instrument of revenge upon marquinay.' out her flag. he rang the door bell and the mistress of the house came to the door. she had a slight acquaintance with sillendare and knew of the scrape that occurred between him and jane, as the latter had very minutely related all the particulars to her. the keeper of this establishment was about fifty years of age; fat, good looking, cunning and shrewd, and totally destitute of moral principle, as all women in such a station must necessarily be. her love of money was great, and for the sake of it she was willing to lend her assistance to any enterprise, however wicked and appalling, provided she was sure her own neck would not be jeopardized, for she always kept a weather eye open upon her own safety. she bid the excited sillendare welcome to her house, knowing him to be rich, and thinking to secure a good customer in him. is jane delano here?' he anxiously inquired. 'she is, but engaged this evening, i believe,' she replied. 'there are others here quite as pretty as jane, and many gentlemen think more so. shall i introduce you to them?" " 'no, no, madam,' he impatiently replied. i want to see jane delano; i came on purpose, and must see her.' 'i regret to say that you cannot see jane to-night,' she answered, knowing the difficulties which existed between them, and fearing he had come to do violence to jane. 'she would be afraid to meet you alone, lest you might injure her. you know, mr. sillendare, that you and she have had one fight, and you must not have another under my roof. it would discredit my house. no, no, mr. sillendare, you must not see jane. you can be accommodated with others. you can take your choice out of a score of them, and all very pretty indeed, and some but recently arrived from the country. certainly you can be suited, mr. sillendare; i should be pleased to see you often at my house; you thus communed our hero with himself, until he was actually overjoyed with the bright prospect before. he now had but a single thought, and that thought was revenge upon him whom he considered his rival. in this feeling was almost every thing else forgotten. even the charms of the fair emeline were, for the time being, | shall be well accommodated.' lost in oblivion. with this feeling burn'but jane delano is the girl i wish to ing in his heart be hurried to the boarding-see,' he replied. let me see her, and it house of jane delano, for he had previous will put money in your pocket.' to this time ascertained where she hung this last clause of the sentence quickthe hermit of niagara. 57 ened her feelings, and excited her curiosity. 'let me fix upon the price,' said jane. 'i can tell how much to ask when i talk with him. i shall give him to understand it is a very hard thing for me to break friendship with mr. marquinay, and therefore he must pay liberally for it.' while they were thus talking and laying their plans in the chamber, sillendare was waiting below with great impatience, expecting every moment to meet jane.— it seemed to him he had been waiting an hour, when not a quarter of that time had elapsed. at last jane and the mistress of the establishment came into the room.— this being the first time he had seen jane 'revenge!' she repeated, not undersince she scarred his face so egregiously, standing what he meant, and supposing he he felt some strange emotions when she might intend some violence to jane dela-entered the room. and she, too, could 'it cannot be had in this house, mr. hardly keep her countenance when she sillendare.' discovered the black patches on his face, 'i'll give money,' he continued. 'jane but she restrained herself from laughing, shall not be hurt. it is alfred marquinay and was ready to hear his propositions. upon whose head i would wreak my vengeance. let me see jane. here, take this, and let me see jane.' no. 'good evening, mr. sillendare,' said jane. 'it has been some days since i saw you. what a foolish scrape we got into. i've been sorry for it ever since; but mr. marquinay is more to blame than i am.' 'i believe it,' he hurriedly replied; 'and now i wish you to help me pay him for it.' 'what do you wish, mr. sillendare?' she inquired, assuming an air as if she were an entire stranger to the business which brought him there. " he placed in her hand a guinea, which had a wonderful effect in stirring her up to make further inquiries. he finally made her acquainted with the object of his visit, and she flew to jane's room, and communicated the information to her. 'jane,' said she, 'mr. sillendare has come upon a curious business, and i think we can make some money out of it, if we only manage adroitly. he's rich, and in a terrible fever. his iron is hot, and now is the time for us to strike. he wants you to make marquinay as odious in emeline clarendon's sight as you did him; but this inust not be done unless he forks over the tin. his feelings are such that he will give a good round sum to have them gratified. let me manage with you; and putting our wits together, i think we can please him to the tune of a hundred pounds.' 'i wish you to let emeline clarendon know that marquinay has been familiar with you.' 'he'll pay more than that,' replied jane. "you don't know him so well as i do.he's very generous where he takes. i have his watch, you know, and this must be thrown into the bargain.' 'well thought of,' replied the mistress. 'now, jane, we will go shares in this enterprise, and get all we can from him.' 'how put in money in my pocket?" she inquired. i'm always willing to do that, if i can safely and consistently. why are you so anxious to see jane ? 'i wish to make a bargain with her,' he replied; and if you will assist me, you and she too shall be generously rewarded.' 'what kind of a bargain, pray?" she asked. 'i must have revenge, cost what it may,' he answered, manifesting much earnest ness, and gazing most wishfully upon this she devil. · 6 'but i should lose the friendship of mr. marquinay, if i should do that,' she replied, and he has always been very good to me. to be sure, he never gave me quite so much as you have, and he's not so well able to do it.' 'i will give you more than he ever has, or ever will, if you'll consent,' he said. 'i long to see the villain punished. he deserves it, for he's no better than i am, and yet he is attempting to pass himself off upon miss clarendon as a very moral man." i hate such hypocrisy, in either man or woman,' said the mistress. 'let a man come out and show his colors, i say, and not attempt to pass along under the garb of virtue and religion, when he's no better than other people.' 58 francis abbott; or 'in that you're right,' said sillendare, and this is the very thing i wish that jane would make him do. she has the power over him, and can make him feel as bad as i have felt for some time past.' you, and i think not half so good. jane has the power of putting down the hypocrite, if she can be induced to exercise it, but i suppose she will have to make a great sacrifice of her feelings. i hope you can prevail upon her. i hate to see such hypocrites pass themselves off as pure and virtuous persons.' jane and her mistress could hardly keep from laughing at the simplicity which characterized his movements, for they were now well assured they had got a flat in their net, and were determined not to let him go until they had bled him freely. both had their eyes upon him, and watched every motion he made. what shall i give you, jane?' he most anxiously inquired. now this question was one that led directly to the point which was nearest the hearts of these reckless and abandoned i hardly know what to say to you,' women. if they could fleece their vicsaid jane; ‘mr. marquinay, since our ruptim, it was all they asked, and the characture, has been very kind as well as gen-ter of the means to be used to effect their erous to me. he now pays my board, object they were not at all particular and gives me something besides. i don't about. see how i can break up my connection with him. you know, mr. sillendare, it would make a great difference with me.' 6 'i declare, mr. sillendare, i hardly know what answer to give your question,' replied jane. the more i reflect upon it the harder it seems to be. what would you be willing to give, to have the work thoroughly done up?' 'yes, i see where the shoe pinches,' said the mistress. 'these girls always have their particular favorites, and hate to part with thein. i was just so, myself, i'll give you a hundred pounds,' he reonce, and even now i like some men aplied, and if you succeed in breaking up great deal better than i do others.' 6 the connection between them, i'll add another hundred afterwards.' sillendare understood this perfectly, or thought he did, for he had been suspicious that jane liked marquinay better than she did him. the sentiment operated upon him just as this artful woman intended it should, for she only uttered the remark to magnify the sacrifice which jane was called upon to make, and therefore a large sum of money would be required as a compensation for it. this made jane and the cunning bawd open wide their eyes. a good beginning? thought the latter. he'll give more, or he would not offer so much the first time. i must put in a word.' jane east her eyes upon the floor and looked sad. i'm afraid jane will not consent, she looks so sober about it,' said the mistress. she lust-she will consent,' said the auxious silendare. til give her my there,' interrupted jane, 'you've let the cat out of the bag, after all. strange you can never keep any thing back. girls watch into the bargain, if she knows where don't like to have their private feelings ex-it is.' posed.' jane pulled the watch from her bosom, and, smiling, held it up before him. it was a splendid gold watch, and an elegant chain was attached to it. i found your watch, mr. sillendare, in the chamber, after you left the room so suddenly the other evening, and i would not keep it from you,' said jane, handing it to him, and assuming a very honest appearance, while a demon was lurking in her heart. · keep it, and here is a hundred pound note,' he said, holding out the valuable paper to her. 'never mind, jane,' replied this artful bawd, perhaps mr. sillendare will make up all your losses.' 'i will,' replied sillendare,' if she will expose the true character of marquinay. he has shamefully abused me, and i must be revenged upon him. he must not deceive and marry that beautiful and rich girl.' 'i don't blame you at all, mr. sillendare, for wishing to come up even with him,' said the mistress. he's no better than the hermit of niagara. 59 jane shook her head, and still held out | indeed, a great sacrifice for her to give up the watch to him. the man she loves. only think of it, mr. silleudare. make the case your own, and i'm sure you will not blame jane for feeling such reluctance. offer her five hundred pounds and your watch, and it may be she will consent,' 6 do you think she will?' he anxiously inquired. i would not say for a certainty, but there's nothing like trying,' she answered, feeling that she had not set the sum so high as he in fact would be willing to give, as he appeared not to express any surprise at her naming five hundred pounds. 'let me see,' continued the wily and heartless woman. it is a hard case for jane, for i know she likes marquinay.-well, on reflection, i don't know as she would; but i think a thousand pounds would do the work for you.' เ a thousand pounds!' be repeated, apparently somewhat surprised. that's a good deal of money. the interest of it would nearly support her.' i know it would,' she replied; but then she would not be so happy as she is now.' 'there, mr. sillendare, it is just as i thought it would be,' said the bawd. told you where the shoe pinched. girl likes marquinay, and hates to him up.' 'i the give sillendare walked the room in great agitation, feeling, for the moment, as if no money, however great the amount, would induce the wily girl to sacrifice the feelings she seemed to have towards marquinay, and comply with his request. he was really in great trouble, and these women were really glad to see him make such manifestions of it. ་ i wish, jane, you did'nt set so much by marquinay,' said the mistress. but there, young girls will have their own peculiar notions; i once had mine. there's nothing very strange in it, after all. it is human nature, acted out,' after violently walking the room a few minutes, sillendare stopped suddenly before jane, and said, will you comply with my wishes at any rate? i must do something to prevent the villain from triumphing over me, or i shall be most miserable. i'll run him through, murder him, poison him he must not have the fair emeline.' never let such dreadful thoughts enter your mind, mr. silleudare,' said the misit is terrible to think of; besides, you would endanger your own life.' 6 tress. 'i know it,' be replied in great anxiety, 6 but what can i do? i must do something, the artful women now put her mouth close to his ear, and whispered so that jano could not hear, offer her more. she will yet consent, only give her enough.' miss delano, will you consent on any conditions, and make me a happy man ?' "i don't know what to say, mr. sillendare,' she replied. 6 6 the mistress now asked mr. sillendare to step into another room with her, and he gladly followed, leaving jane, not grieving over the love for marquinay she was requested to sacrifice on the altar of sillendare's convenience, but laughing in her sleeve at his earnestness. "you didn't offer jane enough, mr. sillendare,' said the mistress. she will yet consent, only show her the money. it is, • the selfish creature now actually thought of naming two thousand, and then she would have one thousand for herself.-and the more she thought of it, the more anxious she felt. a hundred pounds looked large to her, at first; but now she could'nt be satisfied with any thing short of two thousand, for she began to think that he would finally come up to that sum, rather than fail in his enterprise. i will go and talk with her a few moments,' she continued, anxious to let jane know the prospects; before she finally accepted any proposal he might make. “i will do all in my power, mr. siflendare, to induce her to comply with your wishes.— i can have some influence with her, and i will exercise all i possess, for i should be glad to see that hypocrite punished as he deserves.' i wish you would go, he replied, not dreaming of the game she was playing. she now went out and told jaue all that had passed between her and sillendare.she gave it as her opinion that be might 60 francis abbott; or be brought finally up to the point of giving two thousand pounds, a very large sum for a man to give for the sake of gratifying his spirit of revenge, but men will give more for this than for almost any thing else. determined to gratify his revenge, at alf hazards, and at any expense, so wrought up were his feelings. he was silent, but the artful women knew by his appearance that the thing was working well, and so they let it work without disturbance.soon she went back, after admonishing jane too appeared very thoughtful and jane to stick for the two thousand pounds. | sober, as if she were really ahout to sac'what does jane say?' he inquired, rifice all her earthly happiness upon the manifesting an increasing anxiety, which altar of mammon. was far from displeasing the selfish woman. 'how much must i give?' he inquired, breaking the silence, and gazing most imploring into jane's countenance. 'i have reflected upon the question deeply, mr. sillendare,' she said. i have looked into my own heart seriously, and i find there many formidable objections. i feel that i shall be unhappy, if i don't have money enough to make me independent, and indeed i fear i shall be miserable even if you should give me such a sum as might seem to insure my independence of the world.' 'o jane, how often do these little trammels of the heart stand in the way of a good fortune!" said the artful mistress. i would shake them off and rise above them. money is the great thing, after all. it will purchase any thing this world affords.' 'i will give you a thousand pounds!' said sillendare, and that will make you independent.' i fear it would not compensate for the pangs of heart i might feel,' replied jane, in a well counterfeited voice. 'two thousand pounds might raise me above these anticipated troubles, but yet i'm not sure.* 'o, she hates to have a rupture with marquinay,' she answered. 'i don't know what she may yet be induced to do. i urged her every way i could think of. i have no doubt money will make her consent, for gold has great power; but how much, whether five hundred, a thousand, or two thousand pounds will be necessary, is more than i can tell.' 'we'll go and see her again,' he said, leading the way, followed by the mistress. 'jane, i've always been generous to you, and have made you a good many handsome presents,' said sillendare. 'you have, mr. sillendare, but you never asked me before to make such a sacrifice of feeling,' she replied. to be frank with you, i must confess it is very hard indeed for me to think of making marquinay my enemy, for he is now one of my very best friends.' 'i will give you five hundred pounds,' he said. but jane still cast her eyes on the floor, and appeared very thoughtful, making use of every means within her power to deceive the silly man, and induce him to offer the largest sum he would be willing to give. will you accept my offer?' he continued, manifesting increased solicitude and earnestness. 'i wish i could, mr. sillendare, but i'm afraid i shall be unhappy,' she said. 'a small sum of money can't make a person happy under such circumstances. it would require enough to make me independent of the world.' this looked reasonable to sillendare, ut generous as he was, he did not like to ave such a great draft made upou his irse, if he could avoid it; still, he was 'o, such an amount of money, i'm sure, would make you quite comfortable,' said the mistress. you could then do any thing you pleased. it might procure you a good husband. money works wonders in this world."' sillendare heard two thousand pounds named, but the sound fell heavily upon his ear, and he was silent and thoughtful. their eyes were upon him, and although they now had some doubts and misgivings, yet they thought he would finally come up to the demand that had been made upon him. 'it is a large sum, and i wish jane could the hermit of niagara. 61 see her way clear to take less,' said the mistress. 'but there, we cannot dive into the hearts of others and see what is operating there; for it is frequently difficult for us to know our own hearts. if i were you, mr. sillendare, i would be revenged upon that hypocrite of a marquinay.how it would make him feel to witness the scorn of miss clarendon's lip, and see the frown on her brow, when she told him to depart, and never visit her more. i should admire to be a witness of such a scene. i reckon the poor fellow would shed an abundance of tears, and burst his heart with grieving. well, it would be good enough for him. he has been an agent in driving you from the young lady's presence, and now i hope you will be in-thirsting for revenge as he was, he hapstrumental in driving him away. pened to be so prudent and thoughtful. and every word told upon the heart of poor sillendare. finally, he was induced to give jane two thousand pounds, upon her agreeing to go in person to emeline clarendon, and to expose the character of alfred marquinay. one thousand pounds were paid down, and the watch thrown into the bargain. he gave a written obligation to pay the other thousand after jane had completed her work. he evinced some shrewdness in withholding half the money until the exposure was made; for if he had paid her the whole he might have never set eyes on her again. it is due to the excited sillendare to give him credit for this shrewdness, for it is really a wonder, that in his excited state, and thus did this artful woman discourse, 6 chapter viii. london engulphs them all! the shark is there, and the shark's prey. * * o, thou, resort and mart of all the earth, chequered with all complexions of mankind, and spotted with all crimes; in whom i see much that i love, and more that i admire, and all that i abhor.' * * * nearly a week had elapsed, and jane delano had not yet fulfilled her engagement with thomas sillendare. twice, during that time, she had called at mrs. charendon's, but it so happened, in the order of events, that emeline was not at home. almost every night sillendare supposed, and francis abbott had gone sought a hearing with jane, to ascertain ¦ on a voyage across the ocean, to that the result, but as often was he disapthe coast was low clear, and his hones pointed. yet he bad confidence in her strong, and his faith quite frm. he had that she would execute her work, for she lied his arts to well, and exercised lis continually made fresh promises, and ep-skill so adroitly, that emeline's mother peared disposed to do every thing she did rather favored his suit than otherwise.promise. marquinay occasionally visited this he considered an important point jane, and, since the disclosure she had gained, and very much encouraged lim made of sillendare's character, he had to persevere in his enterprise. it was treated her with more kindness and geo-true that emeline, since the exposure of erosity, but dreamed not of the plan which sillendare, and especially since she learned she and sillendare had concocted to be that francis abbott had departed for a revenged upon him. of this he was foreign country, never, perhaps, to return, very shrewdly kept in utter ignorance.was low spirited, and at times received jane and the woman with whom she had his addresses with coldness, if not with her bed and board understood how to absolute indifference; but all this he vainly manage with great adroitness and skill; imagined he should be able to overcome and even marquinay's shrewdness, much by degree, and ingratiate himself firmly in as he had, was hardly a match for them. her good graces. he still continued his attentions to emeabout a week after sillendare had line clarendon, and he now believed his courtship was in the full tide of successful experiment. sillcadare's character had become so black and revolting, in the estimation of eineline, that he had nothing to fear from him, as he very naturally the hermit of niagara. 63 and i can guess the reason why you think your regard for him has been diminished,' replied her mother. •you're eternally playing and singing some of to made the agreement with jane, emeline i don't like him so well as i used to, and her mother were alone. it was in and you seem to like him a great deal the early part of the evening, and they better.' had been talking about marquinay, francis abbott, and other matters, when mrs. clarendon said, emeline, who do you think that young lady can be who has called twice to see you when you were francis abbott's musical compositions, gone? you know i told you she hes-and, for aught i know, dreaming about itated to give her name. that looks very him every night. you must cease suspicious, to me. still, she may be a think of him so much, eureline. he's virtuous female, for all that. she said now far away, and will probably never she had some private matter to reveal return. then why should you spend so to you of much interest. i wish she much of your time in vain regrets about would call again. i have quite a curios-him ? ' ity to know what she wishes to say to i never knew, until he left london you; for she's a very pretty and modestly for a foreign land, how much i loved appearing young woman. i liked the bim,' said emeline, frankly and openly. looks of her much; but why she refused to give her name is more than i can divine. it is, at best, a very suspicious circumstance, and ought to place you on your guard when you do happen to meet her.' there, emeline, you have done it now,' answered her mother impatiently.'it is just as i always feared it was. would you marry a beggar, because you, happened to fancy him? foolish girl! drive him for ever from your thoughts; for you'll never see him again, it is not at all probable. mr. marquinay loves you as much as abboit ever did, and his estate is quite large. his fortune is more ample than i supposed it was; so he tells me, and no doubt he speaks the truth.” true it was that emeline had a great curiosity to see this young lady, but she did not once dream of what her errand really was. sie ingined a flousand things, not oro of which was the riut one. what struck her mind the strongest was, (and it is was quite notum2) that the gil minst bi ve sond tidings low fricis abbot, or that he must lave left solvething with her waich she wis but to communicate until he lad set sail for america. this suspicion roused her cu-tude to bring about. riosity more than any thing else; for he may tell the truth, for aught i since young abbott had left the country, know,' replied. emeline, but will money she had leard somewhat of the height furnish a substitute for love in the married and depth of her attachment and love for state? that is a question which exceedhim. ingly troubles my mind, and the more i think of it the more perplexing it becomes.' marquinay, as mrs. clendon intimated, lad been artfully wlaspurng into her ears the value of his extre and, in his anxiety to please her, bad unguified it more than four fold; knowing this ambitions woman's weak points, be had most sure, sshily made attacks upon them, and sle veis no y quite korably onsposed towards the match he felt so much solici6 6 6 i'm sure, mother, i can't tell who it is, for the life of me,' replied emeline. i too have quite a curiosity to know her business.' 'she said she would call again, and now i think of it, it seems to me she said she would call this evening,' replied the mother. '0, i'm glad of it,' said emeline. i hope she will come this evening, for there's no one here now to interrupt us, although marquinay may come. some how or other, mother, it seems to me strange these love-sick notions and sickly sensibilities should so much occupy your mind, to the exclusion of high and ambitious thoughts,' said the proud mother. it was not so once. you gave abbott his walking ticket like a girl of spirit and ambition, and seemed to be looking 64 francis abbott; or for the high places in life, from which | sent lover through the hands of this feyou could see a large portion of the world male. lying at your feet; but now your feelings, it seems, would force you into the lowly vale, where you would be for ever shut out from all the beauty and splendor which you have it in your power to possess, if you will but exercise that power.' 'is not one much more exposed to rough winds, in the elevated places of life, than in the vales?' inquired emeline. 'there, that is one of francis abbott's morbid sentiments,' replied the impatient mother. 'i have frequently heard him utter such sickly opinions. such sentiments will do well enough for a love-sick poet or sensitive musician; but a lady who loves rank, and expects to rise in the world, will never be governed by such doctrines. i tell you what it is, emeline, you must get these foolish notions out of your head, or you will never shine in the higher circles.' 'i suppose, mother, it may be so, for francis abbott always said there was not much real mind among the more fashionable part of society, because such never have much time, and less disposition, to think of any thing but the change of fashions and the etiquette of high life,' replied emeline, feeling more and more, every day, a disposition to adopt the opinions and practice the precepts of francis abbott. 'i never saw a girl change so fast as you have for the last few days, in all my life,' said the mother, manifesting an unusual degree of impatience, and almost on the point of giving emeline a severe lecture, for what she conceived her imprudence and folly. their conversation was interrupted by the announcement of a servant that a lady wished to speak with emeline. 'bid her walk in,' said mrs. clarendon to the servant. then, turning to emeline she continued: 'i should'nt wonder if that girl had called who has appeared so anxious to see you.' emeline's heart beat quick at the suggestion of her mother, for she still was strongly impressed with a belief that she might receive something from her abjane delano now very modestly entered the room, and emeline wished her mother would go out, and leave them alone; but mrs. clarendon had no idea of doing any such thing, unless the strange female should particularly request it. 'i suppose i have not made a mistake in the house,' said jane, assuming a very modest manner, and eyeing emeline very narrowly; 'miss emeline clarendon lives here, does she not?' 'that name was given me in infancy, replied emeline, admiring the look and manner of jane. 'then i would not be in a hurry to change it, before i were put in possession of all the facts intimately connected with such a change,' answered jane, smiling. both emeline and her mother were surprised at such a declaration from a stranger. at the first blush, it seemed to them like a piece of impertinence, but notwithstanding this, emeline kept calm and cool, anxiously expecting something of interest. 6 'i'm not aware that i am in a hurry to change my name,' said emeline; you are the person, i presume, who has called twice before to see me; if you have any thing of a private nature to communicate to me, we can step into another room.' 'is this your mother?” inquired jane, looking at mrs. clarendon, whose curiosity was now excited to the highest pitch. 'she is my mother,' replied emeline. then i've no wish to retire into a private apartment, for i've nothing to communicate to you which may not, with propriety, be heard by a mother's ears,' said jane. · if it is any thing which concerns my daughter, then sure her mother has an interest in it,' said mrs. clarendon, rejoicing that she was not requested to leave the room. 'very true, mrs. clarendon,' replied jane. 'mothers ought to watch over their daughters in these days of libertines and deceivers. perhaps if i had had a good mother to have watched over me, i should not now be leading the abandoned life i do.' "may i be permitted to inquire your the hermit of niagara. 65 इन्द्र शब्द be 2 553 沂 ​el 'jane!' repeated mrs. clarendon, 'you'how ignorant such ladies are of their must be the person then who wrote my characters! abandoned as i acknowledge daughter some time ago? we thank you myself to be, still i have better opportuniten thousand times for giving us such ties to learn the true characters of young timely warning.' men than you can possibly have, so long as you lead a chaste and virtuous life.' 'i am the same person,' answered jane, 'and if i have been of any service to you, i really rejoice at it.' 'but you have not answered my question,' said mrs. clarendon, impatiently. 'i have no doubt but london is overrun with young men of dissolute habits, but that is no positive evidence that there may not be some virtuous ones.' " to de 'you did indeed do us much good service,' said the mother. before you wrote, a young gentleman gave my daughter th some hints about mr. sillendare, which roused our suspicions, and then your letter and his actions confirmed them all. it was indeed lucky, for my daughter has kescaped a libertine whom she might have ¿married, but for your timely letter, and our friend's kind inuendo.' f et i. to נוס ed name?' asked mrs. clarendon, feeling | cording to the company they meet,' replied great surprise and astonishment at the jane. course jane was pursuing. & 'i'm usually called jane, and sometimes jane delano; but the name my parents gave me when an infant is joanna lee,' she replied. 'i usually write it jane, when i have occasion to write, which is not very often.' 'who was the young gentleman who so kindly befriended you?' inquired jane, feeling much difficulty in repressing a smile which she felt rising to her lips. 'mr. marquinay, who appears to be a very fine man,' said mrs. clarendon. 6 think no more of him, emeline, i entreat you, if you value your peace of mind,' replied her mother. there is more than one virtuous young man in london, i trust.' 'i know not that there is one now,' said emeline, emphasising the last word in the 'mr. marquinay!' repeated jane, assentence more than any other one. suming a look of surprise. 'i hope there are many,' said jane, 'i have about the same acquaintance with him i had with mr. sillendare,' said jane. 'do you know him?' anxiously inlaughing; 'but after all, the less there are quired emeline. of virtuous men the worse it is for those who live as i do. i speak the truth frankly, for whatever my character may be in other respects, i love those who tell no falsehoods.' 'do not keep me in suspense any longer,' said mrs. clarendon. 'again i ask you if you know aught against the character of mr. marquinay?' there are a great many libertines in london who move in the most fashionable circles; more, perhaps, than virtuous ladies dream of,' replied jane. " why, mother, how anxious you are about mr. marquinay?' said emeline; ** 'keep me no longer in this cruel sus-you seem to be more auxious than i, pense,' said mrs. clarendon. speak! and who am the most interested. do you tell me if you know aught against the suspect him?' character of mr. marquiuay.' 'no, indeed, i do not,' she replied. 'i always thought he was a high-minded, honorable man. do not interrupt again, but let the girl have an opportunity of anam i to understand then that mr. marquinay is one of these characters?' asked emeline. 'i have often laughed in my sleeve when i've thought of the swells and the figures many young men cut with the virtuous females of london,' said jane. 'heaveus! what mean you?' exclaimed mrs. clarendon. 'speak! is mr. marquiray a libertine too?' 'many of the rich and fashionable young men of our city have two characters, the one or the other they assume acthere was one virtuous one, but he has quit this island for the continent of america,' said emeline, whose mind was now continually running on francis abbott. 66 francis abbott; or swering my question. if you are more thought every body was wicked, and interested than i am, let her tell what she therefore resolved to go with the crowd, knows, and we may both be satisfied.' and elbow my way along. i became a wanton, and the man who deceived and ( well, ladies, i will be frank with you, said jane, · marquinay is as much a liber-betrayed me taught me how to deceive tine as mr. sillendare.' his own sex.' how do you know that?' inquired mrs. clarendon, with doubt and anxiety depicted on her countenance. " by the same means that i knew sillendare to be a libertine,' replied jane, i have practical evidence-experience, my dear madam. he has staid ail night, and this not unfrequently. is not this sufficient evidence?' enough! enough!' exclaimed the mother; i wish to have no more; i'm satisfied.' 'do you always intend living such a life as you now live?' asked emeline, in a tone of voice which found its way to jane's 'gracious heavens!' exclaimed eme-hardened heart. it was a voice full of line, twice have i been saved from the touch of libertines! twice have i been rescued, and by whom, and for what? ah! heaven has dealt kindly with me; and shall i not repent of my folly? if the goodness of heaven leads to repentauce, then indeed have i much cause to become repentant! i have slighted the love of francis abbott, and he has left bistions for rauk and splendor had choked fresh feeling and sympathy-such an one as the new convert always expresses; for emeline, by the disclosures that had been made and by her lucky escapes from the embrace of libertines, was truly repentant herself. she now saw clearly, in the light of conviction, how foolish if not absolutely wicked she had been. pride and aspira6 6 do you now think every body is wicked?' inquired emeline, beginning to feel an interest in this abandoned girl, and a wish spring up in her heart that she might become reformed. "o no,' replied jane. there must be some virtuous people, or how could the city be saved? but, like angels' visits, they are few and far between.' native land. i was wrong, and now i see it most clearly. he loved me as few men can love, but pride and ambition forbade me to receive him as a lover.' the growth of that tender sentiment which had been awakened in her heart, and through their power she would have married a man she did not love. a truehearted lover had been driven from the " mrs. clarendon's powers of utterance were paralyzed by these astounding dis-land of his birth by her cruelty. ah! if closures, and the returning sense of her she could now meet francis abbott, how daughter. she sat in silence, deeply ber heart would leap for joy! riches, wrapped up in her own reflections. splendor-every thing now gave place in her heart to that love for young abbott which once burnt pure and bright. and strange as it may appear, she now felt a sympathy if not a friendship towards jane, and actually conceived the project of attempting her reformation. 'i sometimes feel gloomy and sad, and at such moments i resolve to become virtuous; but temptation again besets me, and i keep along upon the downward path. i feel that my life will be short, and i press onward to ruin. strange infatuation!—— now i clearly see the end; but an hour hence, perhaps, when i again mingle with my abandoned associates, i shall forget all these serious impressions. thus it is with life, prd thus it has been for a few 6 then, miss clarendon, you did not love mr. marquinay," said jane. lucky for you, indeed, that you did not love him. i rejoice at your good fortune in escaping from the arms of two such libertines as marquinay and sillendare. to marry a man whom you do not love, merely because he is rich, must have made you miserable. i once loved a cruel man, who deserted me. he deceived me. i lost my reputation, and with it all my pride. the world, for a while, looked dark and gloomy. ah! i began to hate the world, and this hatred roused me to action. i resolved to get a living out of it by any means in my power. and while this hatred was in my heart, i the hermit of niagara. 67 short years. but i must go. perhaps in the same way when he visited here,' you may soon have company, and i would she replied, casting upon him a very not so much disgrace you as to be found searching glance, as if she would read his your visiter.' inmost soul. he felt the searching power of that ‘i hope i shall see you again,' said emeline; you may yet be virtuous and hap-glance, but by dint of great exertions he py. sincere repentance is what we both kept his balance and continued the conneed, and may heaven inspire it in our versation. hearts.' 6 ah, my dear emeline, i flatter myself that there is a wide difference between mr. sillendare and myself,' he replied. there may be some difference,' she answered. 6 you do not wear mustachios and he does, and he may have the command of more gold than you have. these make some difference, it is true.' 'i am glad to find you in a joking mood,' he answered, turning his eyes on the mother, who sat in a moody silence. 'i do not emeline conducted jane into another indeed wear mustachios, and sillendare apartment; and giving her directions how | may have more gold at his command than to make her exit after the person who i have, but that is not quite certain. i rang the bell had made his entrance, then made a splendid business operation to-day, returned to the room again. mr. marquithe results of which will add several thounay made his appearance, and soon after sand pounds to my estate. it was a bold jane took her departure, having most faithand perhaps a dangerous enterprise, but i fully discharged her obligation to mr. sil-ventured, and the result has met my most lendare. sanguine expectations.' mrs. clarendon opened her eyes at this announcement, but she soon closed them again and made no reply. he thought her silence very singular, and could not account for it, for she was always very talkative upon such subjects, and he had invented this very story for her especial benefit. 'you are fortunate indeed, mr. marquinay,' said emeline; and if money could purchase absolution for crimes, there might be some hope in your case.' " to why, emeline, you're really disposed joke this evening,' he replied, laughing. i never was farther from joking in my life,' she said. 'you said you had made several thousand pounds to-day by a very hazardous speculation. this was intended for my mother's ear, no doubt, mr. marquinay; but i fear such、 made-up tales have lost their charm even for her, and i am sure they only disgust me.' what mean you,' dear emeline?' he anxiously inquired. 6 mr. marquinay, hark you!' she said in 'mr. sillendare was accustomed to talk a reproving tone, which cut him to the at this moment the door bell rang and all were much excited. even mrs. clarendon was aroused by its tones from her revery. 'it is, perhaps, mr. marquinay,' said mrs. clarendon; the ring sounds like his.' 'let me go into another room,' exclaimed jane; for i would not meet him here at this time: he might be tempted to murder ine.' marquinay entered full of smiles, and appeared unusually pleasant. before he came in, emeline requested her mother to be silent and let her manage the affair; for she did not wish to break the matter to him at once, but to lead him along awhile, that she might make the more impression upon him. he thought, when he first entered the room, that he was not received so cordially as usual, especially by mrs. clarendon; but he did not discover much difference in emeline's manner. • it does indeed afford me great pleasure to have the privilege of calling here and passing some of my evenings,' said marquinay. · i suppose the evenings you spend elsewhere are much more pleasant than those you pass under this roof,' replied emeline. indeed they are not,' he answered.the evenings i pass bere are the happiest moments of my life; and i hope the day is not far distant when i shall be permitted to spend all my evenings with you, emeline.' " 68 francis abbott. " that you are a base deceiver, a villain, a libertine; and the sooner you pass from under this roof the more agreeable will it be to me and to my mother, who has been more grossly deceived than i have.' quick. this very night i have learned | the greater the truth the greater the libel,' she replied. we have had no paper evidence-no letter signed by jane, but from her own lips we have heard your guilt; aud deny it before heaven if you dare! he trembled like a guilty criminal at 'ah, i see how it is,' he replied, in a the bar of justice, when the jury had retremulous voice. 'sillendare has been turned a verdict of guilty. the suddenpouring his poison into your ears. be-ness of the accusation and a consciousness lieve him not, he's a liar and a scoundrel.' of its truth, threw him into great embarc no poison from sillendare's lips has rassment before he had time to collect his reached our ears,' she answered. we forces and prepare himself for the astoundhave the same evidence that you are a lib-ing announcement. mrs. clarendon also ertine that you procured to prove sillenput in her tongue, and the young scoundare one; and common sense, as well as drel was completely overwhelmed. the law, forbids you to impeach your own testimony.' 'leave my house!' exclaimed the agitated and provoked mother. 'libertines shall find no quarters here.' the discomfited marquinay took his departure with curses on his tongue and deep and dark revenge in his heart. who? what? how?' he exclaimed, in the bitterness of his soul. 'who has been slandering me?' 'no one has been slandering you, unless you adopt as true the false notion that སྨ chapter ix. time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, unsoiled, and swift, and of a silken sound; but the world's time is time in masquerade! theirs, should i paint him, has his pinions fledged with motley plumes; and, where the peacock shows his azure eyes, is tinctured black and red, with spots quadrangular of diamond form. ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, and spades, the emblem of early graves.' the first day of january, 1829, had ar| abbott, who had made the passage across rived, aud our scene is changed; or, as the atlantic, and was safely landed on the the lawyers say, we now lay our venue, not | american shore. after dining, he took a in the metropolis of the british empire but walk along tremont street as far as the in the athens of america, in the metropcommon. every thing was new and olis of new england, where people of all strange to him. the buildings all looked nations do love to congregate. the day new and clean, and the common wore the was clear, and not a cloud obscured the aspect of the country in a winter's day.sun; but the air was keen and frosty, bit-the noble trees stretched out their bare 事 ​ing a person's nose and nipping his ears before he was conscious of the fact. about a week previous, there was quite a heavy fall of snow, and the sleighing was good. the merry sleighbells were ringing joyously through the streets, and the inhabitants of the city, of both sexes, seemed determined to welcome in the new year with every demonstration of joy. although the morning was cold, yet the sun shone so pleasantly, and seemed to be doing all he could to warm the air, that state street presented a large group of citizens who were wishing each other a happy new place where my father and mother are year, and intently talking over commercial buried? and emeline clarendon ! shall matters or canvassing the next presidential i never see thy fair form and beautiful face campaign. again? has fate decreed that we must for ever live separate? must the broad atlantic for ever roll between us? god! why didst thou implant within me a 'how different from london!' he said within himself, as he stood gazing upon this pleasure ground, and upwards to the clear sky, which was drawn like a blue silk curtain over his head. how clear is the air-no clouds of smoke to obscure the view, as in the city where i first drew my breath, london! have i left thee for ever? shall i never again behold the o my the news was soon spread on 'change that the british ship duke of wellington, had arrived with a large cargo and quite a number of passengers. the tremont car-soul so sensitive? why were i not made riage was early at the wharf where the gallant ship was moored, and several of the passengers were soon landed at the treinont house. among them was francis 5 of coarser materials, that i might have borne the ills of life with more fortitude strange that man should be made to love! and yet how happy must those be whose arms towards the clear blue sky as if they were imploring the sun to give them heat, and the beautiful grounds lay buried beneath the cold snows. 70 francis abbott; or love is reciprocated! i could have been nor the ear,' replied abbott. as you happy and useful to others, but now-o say, it is not a very pleasant part of the god! spare me from crimes of every grade! year to travel in this section of the let me not repine at thy goodness! i country,' will strive amid the new scenes of america-among its mountains, and lakes, and noble rivers-to rise above, that power, and be myself again.' while francis abbott was thus communing with his own soul, a dark complexioned but rather handsome man was gazing upon him with much curiosity. he had dined with him that day at the tremont house, and knew he was a foreigner; and when abbott walked out after dinner, this man followed him, intending to have an interview with him, if he could | remain in this city, or to what part of the country i may go,' replied abbott. 'i am indeed a pilgrim in a foreign land." it is not, but the city is a very comfortable place to pass the winter,' said gandolpho. 'i conclude you will pass the winter with us, and when the spring opens, you will then have a fine opportunity of visiting our watering places, and of beholding our noble rivers, lakes and mountains. your english brethren speak in high terms of the scenery of this country, if they do not so much admire its democratie institutions.' "i am unable to say how long i shall find a convenient opportunity. the name of this man was john gandolpho, a spaniard by birth, but he had resided in this country from his earliest youth, and, for the last ten or twelve years, had made boston his home. he was one of the most shrewd and finished gamblers to be found within the precincts of the city, and always upon the lookout for customers. when abbott first entered the tremont house, this blackleg had his eye upon him, and thought he might be game. these were the motives which indu| ced gandolpho to seek his acquaintance. while abbott was thus wrapped in deep meditation, and thinking of his own native land, gandolpho approached him and very politely said, 'i presume you are a stranger in this country, sir. came in the ship which arrived to-day from london, i suppose.' 'i did, sir,' replied abbott, fixing his dark eyes on the stranger who addressed him. this is my first appearance in america.' 'rather a cold season to land upon this northern coast,' said gandolpho, and not a very favorable time to travel for pleasure. i conclude you came over on a tour of observation, to see how the people this side the water get along. almost every vessel from london and liverpool brings over some english gentlemen, who are desirous of looking into the free institutions of this country; a very worthy object for those who have the means.' 6 'you will enjoy yourself much better here this winter than you could in travelling,' said gandolpho. we have every kind of amusement, and all sorts of exhibitions, musical, theatrical, and a great variety of entertainments, such as cannot fail to suit the taste of every individual who is disposed to be amused and diverted.' then you have musical exhibitions here, do you?' inquired abbott. o yes; boston has always been celebrated for the cultivation of music,' replied gandolpho. both sacred and secular music finds its patrons in this city; no place in the union where there is a better musical taste than is to be found here. and the rich and fashionable are really generous in patronizing this art and science.' 'i am myself very fond of music,' answered abbott. it is an art which has thus far in life afforded me much pleasure.' 'then i'm quite sure you will find much to gratify you in our city,' replied his wily companion. from what part of the "fast anchored isle" do you hail?' london is my native place,' he replied. in that city i have always lived.' 'you have friends residing there, i presume,' said gandolpho. 6 'no relatives, but i trust i have some friends among my acquaintances in that 'true, but the eye is never satisfied, city,' he replied. 'my parents are both the hermit of niagara. 71 dead; my mother died but a short time before i set sail for this country. i never had any brothers or sisters, so that i have left no relatives behind.' 'ah, he's an only son, and heir to much wealth,' said the gambler within himself. a rich subject, if he can only be brought up to the sticking point. i must invite him to go with me this evening.' indeed! you are left quite alone. but you have a wife, perhaps, who may now be mourning your absence,' said gandolpho. 'you're very kind,' replied abbott; 'i will see how i feel when evening comes. 'a wife!' repeated abbott, apparently much overcome by his feelings. ai don't feel much like mingling in the wife! if you are my friend, you will not again allude to that subject.' crowds just now.' gandolpho's curiosity was much excited, but he refrained from making any more inquiries on a subject which seemed to affect bis companion so seriously, supposing he might have lost his wife by death, or that she had proved disloyal to his bed, and eloped with some gay lothario. 'i'm sorry, sir, that i have awakened any unpleasant associations in your breast, for if i have, i did it unintentionally,' said gandolpho. gandolpho thought this was rather a 'bad symptom; still it was not conclusive, in his opinion. erage, myself, but i found my temperament so excitable and nervous, that wine was quite injurious in its effects upon me, and so i entirely abandoned its use.' " they now parted, and abbott went to his room in the tremont house, there to meditate upon his lonely state in the new world. he sat down and took his flute to while away a few moments. the first tune he struck was his 'mother's prayer.' the tones of his flute echoed softly through the room, and its heavenly strains fell enchantingly upon the ear of a young lady from the south, who was in an adjoining apartment. she listened, and the subdued tones filled her soul with strange emotions. she put her ear close to the wall, and in that attitude listened to the plaintive notes. | < 'o, sir, i attach no blame to you at all,' said abbott. all men have their rough places in life, as well as their smooth.-'o, what heavenly music!' she said to and sometimes a very small circumstance herself. i have heard most celebrated arwill touch a chord and make it vibrate un-tists on that instrument many times, but pleasantly.' never before have i heard the flute breathe both remained silent for a few mo-out such enchanting music. he must be ments, and each was wrapped up in his an italian, who intends to give a concert own reflections. here. i wish there was a hole in the at last gandolpho broke the silence and | wall, that my ears might drink in more of said, "the air is rather cold and i feel those heart-moving notes. how full of chilled; shall we step into an oyster sa-holy feeling in every strain! i wish i loon and take something to warm the incould see him, for he must be handsome.' side ?' abbott played away, unconscious of the i thank you, sir" replied abbott, i power his music was exerting over a never drink any thing stronger than cof-heart alive with sensibility. he did not fee and tea.' dream that any one could hear him, for he played very softly, yet with great feeling. while he was playing, the chamber maid was also listening with evident delight, for she stood near the door, with her head bent over, as if it were attracted by the strains which issued from the flute. the young lady in the room adjoining now gently opened the door, hoping well, every man must be his own judge, in these matters,' said gandolpho. 'i do not indulge to excess, but occasionally take a glass with a friend. if you are not otherwise engaged this evening, i should be pleased to accompany you to some place of amusement, and show you how we do up things in this country.' 'gentlemen from your country, i believe, are generally fond of wine,' replied gandolpho. " many of them are, and i was, once, a moderate drinker of that kind of bev72 francis abbott; or! she might hear the music more distinctly. she was from the south, and her name she did not at first discover the chamber was caroline davenport. she was the maid, neither did the chamber maid hear daughter of a rich planter in south carthe door open, so intently was she listenolina, and was now on a visit to the north. ing to the music. both females now if beauty of face, symmetry of form, and stood listening to the plaintive notes of lively, animated manners constitute a belle, abbott's flute, unconscious of each other's then miss davenport might be called one; presence, with scarcely any more power for the southern states boasted of but few to change their positions than the fluttersuch beautiful females. ing bird has when its eyes are fastened der twenty years, and upon those of the serpent that lies coiled as a new blown rose. near it. was warm as the sunny south from which she came, and her sensibilities as easily roused as the strings of an eolian harp. she had herself paid much attention to music, and was a great admirer of it. her a 3 at last abbott ceased to play, and the charm was broken. the listening females gradually recovered their self-possession, and their eyes met. they were not a little astonished that they had not discov-skill on the piano forte was equalled by but ered each other before. few young ladies of her age. why she still stood in the door, she was almost afraid to ask herself, but she did stand there until abbott returned again to his chamber. 'come here,' whispered the southern lady, beckoning the almost spell-bound chamber maid. 'do you know who that is that plays so splendidly on the flute?' 'he's a stranger, a foreigner, i presume; arrived in a ship from london, today,' replied the maid. i thought so,' said the lady. i dare say he's some italian, who intends giving a concert.' true, indeed; it was most enchanting music,' said the lady. i wish he would play again. can't you find out his name from some of the servants, and what nation he belongs to ?' 'i think i can,' she replied. 'i will try; and if he has told any one, some of the servants will know.' her age was un-` her heart as fresh her temperament 'quite a cold day; but yet the air is clear and bracing,' said abbott. 6 'i should'nt wonder,' replied the maid. 'i don't know much about music, but i never heard such sweet playing before. i was ashamed to have you see me so near the door. i couldn't help it, for my ear was drawn towards the key-hole before i'i thought i played so softly that i should was aware of it, so sweet and fascinating not disturb any one.' were the strains he breathed from his flute.' 'it is indeed, she replied; but i hope it is not so cold but you will again play on your flute. i'm a great admirer of music, and love the strains of the flute.' 'did you hear me play?' he inquired. 'disturb any one!' she repeated.— that kind of disturbance i should be willing to meet at any and all times.— what tune were you playing? it must have been the composition of some great master but i have no recollection of ever having heard it before.' the flute player now came out of his room, and passed by the lady. she gazed upon him as he passed her, and he returned her look, bowing very politely. a shade of sorrow was on his countenance, but grace in all his movements; at least, so thought the lady of the warm south.the chamber maid now went about her work, while the lady continued standing in the door of her chamber. we said as he was passing her, he nodded more familiarly than before. well bred and polite as she was, yet she could not resist the temptation to nod as familiarly as he did. this induced abbott to speak to her. the young musician stood silent, while a smile passed over his sad but highly intellectual countenance. she saw him smile and thought she might have betrayed, by the question, her ignorance of music. 'you smile, but do not answer me,' she continued. 'did i ever hear it, before? is it an extract from some old opera?' "o no,' he replied, in a voice almost as musical to her ears as the enchanting music of his ante. it is my own comthe hermit of niagara. 73 "your own composition,' she echoed, with unaffected surprise and astonishment. 'excuse me when i ask the name of the composer of such music.' position, and perhaps i ought to blush for of truth in what you say,” replied abbott. having acknowledged it.' 'but there are certain musical strains which will affect some hearts differently, and more than others. music, it is true, speaks an universal language, but yet there may be some peculiar tones which would | fall without effect upon some ears, while they would seriously affect others. the heart must be schooled, must be experienced, yes, must suffer, before it can duly appreciate every variety of change which may be rung from the simple octave,' said he, placing a strong emphasis on the words, must suffer. 'a very humble name, my dear madam. one scarcely known to the musical world,' he modestly replied. francis abbott is the name with which i was christened in my infancy, in the old world, and i know of no cause for changing it in the new.' 'abbott! francis abbott!' she repeated over. 'i don't recollect of ever seeing a musical composition under that signature; and yet i may and have forgotten.'preciate such a composition as i heard f "must the heart suffer before it can apyou play, a short time ago?' she asked. i loved it, and appreciated it, and yet i am not conscious of having suffered.' } 'i told you i was but little known in the musical world,' said he, 'and probably never shall be. when i compose a piece of music, it is not intended for the public ear, but to amuse myself. i write not for fame; 1 care not for the world now, and yet it is well adapted to man's convenience, and may please those whose hearts are full of joy and gladness.' had you lost a mother, as i have, perhaps you might have listened with more intense feeling,' he replied. 2 'it seems to me that any person's heart must be full of joy and gladness, and goodness too, if he can compose such music as i heard from your flute, a short time ago. what is the name of the piece?' i call it my mother's prayer!' he replied. c every uncorrupted heart must feel the power of such heavenly strains,' she answered. suppose you should play a sentimental song; do you not think i could appreciate it, even though i never loved any one?' 'if i should play you a song designed to express the feelings that press the heart when love is unrequited, do you think you could appreciate the music, having never experienced the emotions those strains were designed to express?' he asked. "and well do its strains breathe a mother's prayer,' she said. have you a mother living?" 4 both my parents are dead, and lie buried side by side in london,' he answered. this piece i composed before the decease of my mother, and the varia"listen, while i go and play,' he said, tion on the night she died, and but a few going into his chamber and playing a song moments before that sad event took place. which he had composed while on his pasi played it, at her request, when she was sage across the ocean, entitled, 'my hopes struggling with death. for me it has are crushed.' she stood and listened to charms, and awakens in my bosom the deep-the wild and mournful notes, until her est and tenderest emotions, but for you or the world it cannot afford such pleasure.' ( 'human ´ hearts are the same, on both <sides of the atlantic, and when peculiar strains of music touch a chord in one, it will also 'vibrate in another. this divine art has a language which speaks to all hearts, and tones which awaken the same emotions, the world over." blushing cheeks were wet with tears. he finished the song, and closed the chamber door. the young lady went into her own room with such emotions in her heart as she never felt before, and she was actually afraid that she loved that stranger.throwing her fair form upon the bed, and placing her white hand upon her polished forehead, she gave herself up to } l 'there may be, and probably is, much strange thoughts and wild emotions. 1 r can you play such a song, of your own composition?' she inquired. i hope your heart has never been schooled for such music.' 8 ** 1 chapter x. 'there, in a moment, we may plunge our years in fatal penitence, and in the blight of our own soul turn all our blood to tears, and color things to come with hues of night: 'the race of life becomes a hopeless plight to those that walk in darkness: on the sea the boldest steer but where their ports invite, but there are wanderers o'er eternity whose bark drives on and on, and anchored ne'er shall be. 6 ning,' said gandolpho. but there will probably be one shortly, which you can attend, and i should be pleased to accompany you.' evening came, and john gandolpho still entertained the thought that francis abbott might become a good subject in the gambling room. he was quite sure in his own mind that the stranger must have in possession a large amount of money, and if he could but lead him to one of these hells, he hoped he might become the sharer, to some extent, of the fortune which he supposed his parents had left him. with these views he sought abbott for the purpose of giving him an invitation to accompany him to one of those saloons in which so many young men have ruined their morals, and laid the foundations of their mise-quiet manner. gandolpho introduced abery in after life. bott to some two or three of the company and then called on some wine; but abbott, as on a former occasion, refused to drink on this, notwithstanding gandolpho and those to whom he had been introduced urged with considerable importunity. having confidence in gandolpho, and withal being somewhat pleased with the manner of the man, abbott consented to accompany him, without much thought where he was to be taken. the gambler led the way, and they soon entered a saloon where were assembled ten or a dozen young men, fashionably dressed and with beards of formal cut, who were standing before a counter and taking their liquor in a very 1 abbott was in his room and gandolpho went to the door and knocked, but with rather a trembling hand, for there was something in the manner of abbott, and a peculiar expression in his intellectual countenance, which made the gambler feel some misgivings; but the hope of gain pressed him on, in spite of all his fears.abbott opened the door and invited him in. you will recollect that i spoke to you about accompanying me to to a place of amusement this evening; and if you are not otherwise engaged, i should be pleased with your society,' said gandolpho. 'i'm not particularly engaged,' replied abbott. 'is there a concert of music this evening? i think that would afford me as much pleasure as any thing, for i should like to see how the americans manage musical exhibitions.' the party now retired to another apart. 'i believe there is no concert this eve-ment in the rear of the driuking saloon, 'don't you never liquor ap on any occasion?' inquired a black whiskered, sharp eyed fellow, who seemed to be a sort of leader in the gang, 'never any strong liquors or even wine,' said abbott in a firm tone of voice, which plainly told the young men that it would be in vain to urge him any more. 'very well, all right,' said gandolpho. we all have our peculiar tastes: some love to drink and some prefer to let it alone; and every one has a right, in these matters, to consult his own judgment and do as he pleases.' the hermit of niagara. which was lighted up and the tables all arranged. abbott now begau to be suspicious of what the evening's entertainment was to consist, but he thought he would not unceremoniously leave the room, and thereby offend gandolpho, who had been so polite to him. 'we propose to take a small game at cards, mr. abbott, and hope you will join us,' said gandolpho. it is a pleasant way of killing these long winter evenings.' 'a sure way of killing the best feelings of the heart,' thought abbott, but he did not say it. 'i'm really ignorant of cards,' said abbott. i once played whist a few times, but it has been so long since, that i should now hardly know one card from another.' 'ah, you needn't talk to us about your ignorance,' said the aforesaid sharp eyed fellow. a man who was born and bred in london caunot well be ignorant of cards. i dare say you're more than a match for any of us.' 'i assure you, sir, upon my honor, i'm quite ignorant of games of any kind,' said abbott. 'i never played for a shilling in my life, and i feel quite certain i never shall, if heaven spares me my reason.' not only the words but the manner and tone of voice in which he uttered them, and the shade of melancholy that rested upon his countenance, made these gamblers feel that they had a hard case to work upon, still they did not despair. 'are you really in earnest,' inquired the black whiskered fellow, or are you joking, and trying to deceive us, so as to get a better haul out of us?' gandolpho expressed his regret that his friend was so conscience bound that he could not join them in the evening's amusement, and took a seat at the same table with his black whiskered friend, whose name was patterson. they begau to play, while the others arranged themselves for the sport. gandolpho and patterson were two of the most accomplished blacklegs of the whole group. they were not particularly friendly to each other, although they had played much together and sometimes for pretty large sums. francia abbott remained a while a spectator of this scene of vice and iniquity. he was several times on the point of leaving, but thought he would tarry during a portion of the evening, that he might witness the operations of one of these bells. gandolpho and patterson continued the game. their countenances betrayed the extreme agitation they felt as the stakes increased in value, for every game became more and more important as the excitement became greater. "well, you can preach and we will practise,' replied he of the black whiskers, sitting down at a table and giving out a challenge to any one to confront him. "stop!' exclaimed patterson, 'that trick is not yours. you did not follow suit in the one before. my eyes are upon you. beware how you attempt to cheat, for i swear i will not endure it patiently. this is not the first time, by many.' 'don't accuse me of wilfully cheating, for i will not bear that,' replied gandolpho, in a voice of angry threatening. 'accuse you!' repeated patterson, taking up the last trick and exhibiting proofs of the fraud practised. see here! you played a spade on the trick when, by the rules of the game, you ought to have play'i am in earnest, as god is my witnessed as well as judge,' replied abbott. 'why, gandolpho, you have brought us a preacher of the gospel!' continued black whiskers, laughing and eyeing abbott very closely. 'it were well, perhaps, if i could preach the gospel in its purity, and make you listen to its divine precepts and terrible denunciations,' said abbott, while his eye lightened up and his voice sounded like a trumpet in their ears. a club. don't your eyes see how it is?' a mistake!' replied gandolpho; 'but don't call it a cheat.' 6 # "such mistakes occur too often,' said patterson. "there's too much method in them, and they happen too often to suit my taste.' they continued to play and for higher and higher stakes, until the sum became so large that the game was very exciting. 'by gthat's a deliberate cheat,' exclaimed gandolpho. see here! you did not follow suit.' • 'a mistake, of course!' replied patterson, and don't you call it a deliberate cheat.' 76 francis abbott; or 20 now there was no question at all but both intended to cheat. the game went on and their blood became hotter and hotter. abbott expected every moment to see the affair end in blows between the two gamblers, but they played on in breathless silence, each one intent upon the game. the stakes were large and the game close. at last gandolpho swept the board, and was about to pocket the money, when bis antagonist leaped over the table and sprang upon him like the tiger upon his prey, seizing him by the throat and exclaiming in wrathful tones, touch not the money, for it was won by fraud. saw the trick, and said nothing until you began to pocket the money. give it back or will have your heart's blood in exchange!' 6 i 1 ** 'hands off!' shouted gandolpho, pulling a dagger from his bosom and pointing it at the side of patterson, while the latter still held him by the throat with both hands. 'never, until you give back the money you have so unjustly and fraudulently taken,' replied patterson, still clinging to the throat of his antagonist, as if he would tear out his windpipe, and glaring upon him like a maniac. • they struggled for a few moments longer, when patterson shouted in a fearful voice, 'he has stabbed me, and the blood is streaming from my side!' " release your grasp from my throat, or i'll give you a second plunge, that shall drain your heart of all its blood!' replied gandolpho, again raising the fatal instrument to make a second plunge, but before he could do so, francis abbott seized the gambler's uplifted arm, and arrested the blow. m 'the money is mine, and by gi'll hold it, if it costs your own blood,' answered gandolpho, in a voice made hoarse by rage and the pressing fingers of pattersou. 'hold!' cried abbott, "remember, that whosoever sheddeth man's blood by man shall bis blood be shed. it a fearful thing to take human life. forbear, for we shall be swift witnesses against thee.' " • * confused and strangled by the hands of his opponent. it was some minutes before either arose from the floor. while they were thus prostrate, the other gambler's looked on with apparent composure, for they did not suppose that any thing like murder had been attempted. several times previous to this they had quarrelled in the same room, but not with such rage and desperation. patterson arose first, notwithstanding his wound continued to discharge the purple current, and drew a pistol from his pocket; but before he pulled the trigger, his brother gamblers seized him, and prevented any farther mischief. this was a desperate effort of patterson, but when his friends seized him, he dropped the pistol upon the floor, and fainted from loss of blood. they stripped off his clothes and stanched the blood with a handkerchief. and while they were doing this, gandolpho got upon his feet, but his eyes rolled wildly about, and he could, hardly stand, so severely had his throat been compressed by his antagonist. "have 1 killed the rascal?' inquired gadolpho. he deserves deah, b would not be his executioner.' "he's not dead, but very weak and faint,' said abbott. "whether the wound is fatal or not, remains to be proved. he may die, and then who can save your life? ah! much have i read of the fatal consequences of gambling, but now my eyes have seen them. you invited me to a place of amusement! and do you call this soul-destroying vice amusement? may god preserve me from the corrupting influences of such a place.' 'call a physician,' faintly said patterson, arousing from his fainting fit, and attempting to rise. i feel weak, i fear the wound is fatal.' a physician was sent for, and francis abbot, having seen enough of the wretched vice of gambling, found his way back to his hotel. on examining the wound, the doctor found that no vital organ was materially injured. the dagger passed through the flesh and glanced upon one the combatants now rolled upon the of the ribs, not penetrating far enough to floor, and ceased their strife, one weak-reach the heart or lungs. but no thanks ened by the loss of blood, which still were due to the gambler who wielded the flowed freely from his side, and the other weapon; for his rage was such that he # the hermit of niagara. cared not where it went, whether into one part or into another. it was not late when abbott reached his lodgings. during his absence, caroline davenport kept her room, wishing he might return and wondering where he could be. her father had invited her that evening to the theatre, and although she was extravagantly fond of theatrical exhibitions, yet she declined going, but her father knew not the cause. i ติ while she was anxiously waiting in her chamber, every footfall in the passage made her heart beat quicker; for she was expecting the arrival of the flutist every moment. and when he did come, and she heard his door open, emotions were awakened in her bosom to which she had hitherto been a stranger. why she should have such impressions she could not tell, but they were upon her, and she could not shake them off. t 7 " francis abbott, as might reasonably be supposed, was most seriously affected, after his return from the scene of gambling and of blood to which he had been invited as a place of amusement. he threw himself into a chair, and, taking his flute in his hand, gave himself up for a few moments to deep reflections. when he first sat down he intended to have recourse to music to drown his sorrows, but his thoughts were too intense to adagain he raised his flute to his lips, and mit of such an exercise. o, how differ-breathed into it such strains as his own ently have i passed this evening from peculiar feelings at this time suggested. those when i used to sit beside emeline when she heard the soft notes she rose clarendon, and join with her in conversaand reclined her head against the wall tion and in song! then i was indeed which separated his apartment from hers, happy, and the world and its crimes and o, how she wished that material barpassed almost unnoticed. what a scene rier could be removed, and that partition of human corruption and wickedness have wall torn down. she listened with her i witnessed this night! ah! could i find whole soul, but she could not hear enough some solitary place where i could pass of those bewitching strains. my days amidst the beauty and grandeur of nature's works, far away from the corrupting influences, and perplexing annoyances of human society, i might be comparatively happy. such scenes can only chase away melancholy! human society cannot. even lovely woman has lost her charms with me, since my love has been once rejected, and the night of despair settled upon my soul. ah! did i not hear the soft tread of that beautiful female in the next chamber? yes i hear her i will open my chamber door, and perhaps i can hear more distinctly," she said to herself, softly walking to the door and opening it. now. how fresh and beautiful and innocent she is! how full of sensibility is her heart to the charms of music, and how much the expression of her countenance reminds me of the far-off emeline! o god! i wish i could love her; for i believe she would return my love. but she must not love me. my heart is sick, and a fatal morbid disease has seized upon my soul! how fresh and pure is her spirit? it is as it came from him who made it, uncorrupted by the world; and cursed be he whose touch shall soil it. o, may she never feel the sorrows of unrequited love! she is now, perhaps, waiting to hear me play, and i will play ;' for music corrupts not the heart. i will breathe softly into the flute, my "mother's requiem." that will fill her soul with divine strains; for heaven inspired me when i composed it, and angels listen when i play it.' he put his flute to his trembling lips, and, suddenly taking it away again, he continued his soliloquy. no! i promised never to play it when i knew that mortal ears were listening. my promise has been made on earth and registered in heaven, and it must be kept. pure and innocent as she is, and like an angel as she may be, yet this music must not sound in her ears. i will play some other piece, and she shall hear.' ? the music was now much more clearly heard, for the chamber door of the flutist was left very little ajar. she stood just outside her door in the passage way, and there listened to such strange, wild, plaintive notes as she never heard before. at one moment the tears would stream down her cheeks, and the next a cold shudder 78 francis abbott; or would come over her heart and her frame would tremble with fear. what strange music, and yet how i love to hear it;' she said within herself 'what can he be playing? i wish i could get the notes from him. perhaps he would give them to me. but could i play or sing them? not as he plays them.' while she was thus communing with herself, she had approached, unconsciously, quite near his door, so that she could see a small part of his person. when she found herself in this near proximity to the door, she instinctively drew back a step or two, but the music again drew her forward until at last ber ear was placed close to the open space. as he turned his eyes suddenly removing the instrument from his lips, he said in a low voice, but loud enough for her to hear, 'ah, i was wrong, i thought i was with my dying mother and an angel was listening, but i was under a delusion of the imagination; i must not play that tune.' 'i cannot oblige you by repeating that tune; but i wish i could, consistently with my promise never to play it to human ears,' he replied. it is delightful music,' she said; i could listen all night to such sweet strains. why did you make such a promise?' it is my mother's requiem,' he answered. 'it was inspired within me after the vital spark had left her frame, and it is not suitable music for earth; such strains 'but didn't you compose that?' she inquired. in that direction he saw the whole of her ear, a single curl of her bright hair, and a small portion of her flushed cheek. as he continued to play, strange emotions are only breathed in heaven. any thing pressed his heart and peculiar thoughts of my own composition i will willingly occupied his mind. he fancied to himself play in your hearing.' that he was playing to a listening angel, for he could not see enough of flesh and blood to undeceive him and break the bewitching illusion. this fancy, which for a few moments flitted across his excited brain, brought up before him the image of his dying mother and all the associations connected with that scene. forgetting for the moment where he was, and utterly regardless of earthly things, he commenced playing his mother's requiem; but before he bad played it half through the delusion passed away, and he once more came to his sober senses. 'i think not,' he replied. 'at any rate it is not the production of my own unassisted genius. i was especially inspired. you may call this superstition, but to me it seems far otherwise. i hold it sacred, and only play it as i am especially moved by an unseen power.' 'i would not urge you to play it if you are not disposed,' she replied. 'what was that you played just before you struck what you call your mother's requiem?' 'indeed, madam, i have no name for it,' he answered. i was attempting to make my flute express my own peculiar feelings at the time. i played from impulse, altogether. the music, if such it may be called, was never written; and even now i could write out but a very few of the strains.' here he checked himself and was silent. the few strains of the composition which caroline davenport heard so wrought upon her feelings, and her curiosity to hear again was so much excited, that she could not resist the temptation to speak, however improper under other circumstances she might have deemed it. 4 'o, sir, will you play that tune again, you played last?' she said in a low, tremulous voice. he arose and opened the door a little wider, but in doing so he did not act as if he expected or even désired her to enter his chamber. as he opened the door, her first impulse was to start back, but he looked so mild, and so much kindness seemed to beam from every lineament of his countenance, that she stood still and waited for his answer. 'some of the tones were exceedingly sorrowful, and made my tears flow freely, while others were full of horror and chilled my blood,' she said. 'then, indeed, i succeeded in making my instrument express my own feelings,' he replied. 'why should you have such feelings?' she inquired. this night i was invited to a gambling room, not knowing where i was going, and the hermit of niagara. 79 le there i saw the horrid effects of this wretchi 'did she not return your love?' she inged vice,' he answered. i saw two men quired. t fight with desperation, choking and stabbing each other. murder would have been committed if i had not arrested the arm of el one of them, who was about to plunge the in dagger a second time into his antagonist's for side. o it was a horrid spectacle, enough to chill the blood of the most hardened on earth.' 'she once loved me, but my father lost his property and died, and then pride and ambition made her bid me leave her,' he answered. 'her mother's influence, too, urged her on to the cruel deed.' 'i would drive all remembrance of her from my thoughts,' she said. 'i'm an only child and my father is wealthy; but if i should once love, i should always love so long as the life of him i loved should be continued. do you not believe in loving a second time?' r lal in ι 8. t 3 n & d 2 0 7 'but the sorrowful tones you playedthe sentimental—why did you play those?' she inquired. 'such a murderous scene could not suggest them, could it?' 6 'more and more do you show me that you have indeed a heart to appreciate music,' he replied. those tender and affecting notes were not inspired by such a scene, but occasionally my memory would bring before me the image of her whom i shall never see again. ah, those feelings rise up from the depths of my soul under all circumstances, and i have not the power to keep them back.' 'i have lost a mother too, and would to heaven i could play such a requiem as yours,' she answered, with great feeling.'i would never try to keep such feelings back, but let them gush up at all times, from the fountains of my heart.' 'you did not understand me,' he said, in a tremulous voice. i did not allude to any emotions which the death of my mother stirred within me. i once loved another woman besides a mother, but she-' here he was so overcome by his feelings that he did not finish the sentence, but wiped a tear from his eye and remained silent a few moments. 'excuse this weakness of my nature,' he continued; 'i regret i spoke of her at all to you.' caroline's curiosity was now much excited to know all the particulars. 6 you was about to say she died, i suppose,' said caroline, in a voice full of sympathy. 'no, my dear lady, she's not dead, or was not when i left the shores of england,' he replied. 'not dead!' she repeated in surprise; then why did you leave her?' 'ah, i had as good a reason for leaving england as her death would have been, and one more painful,' he replied, 'my own experience would teach me to auswer your question in the negative,' he replied. i never have loved but once, and heaven only knows whether i shall again.' 'you have awakened in my heart a deep interest in your history,' said caroline. 'let not that interest ripen into love,' he replied sorrowfully. 'i fear it approaches that sentiment too nearly already,' she answered. • excuse my frankness. ladies of the south are not coy or prudish.' " 6 you are worthy of a better heart than mine,' he replied. my feelings prompt me to seek a retreat from the world. i have some jewels and money left me by my mother, which, with prudence and economy, will support me.' 'would you not like to travel south?' she inquired. my father is a generous man, and would be happy to see you on his plantation.' 6 'i know not whither i shall go when i leave this city,' he replied; but i must see the great cataract of america. niagara falls have a charm for me, and that place i shall visit. you know something of the private history of my life, more than any other one this side of the ocean, and more, probably, than any other will know. peculiar circumstances have induced me to be frank and free with you. your heart is innocent and pure, and i know you wish me well. tell not even your father why i came to this country. respect me, esteem me, pray for my prosperity while i sojourn on earth, and you shall have my prayers, but do not love me, for no woman must love me again. this interview must now end,' agreeably to his request they separated, chapter xi. o, love! thou hast no home save in the universe ;-and sweet, methought, as through the parting air i mounted up, i heard the stars reply to stars with songs ringing for ever! and within the heart, unchangeable by time or place, thou reign'st with a deep passion,-making all things change even with thy hues!' francis abbott, cold and indifferent as request, and her efforts to prevent such a 'he believed his heart was to every woman, consummation. she had been there but save emeline clarendon, from whom he a few moments before she again heard his was separated by a space, three thousand flute softly breathing out its strange music. miles wide, could not but feel some strange emotions after he parted with the beautiful and warm-hearted caroline davenport. "why does he again play his betwitching music, if he told me truly that he did not wish me to love him?' she said within herself. i fear i shall love him, if i continue to listen to the enchanting strains of his flute. he may be artful, and takes this course to excite within me the tender passion; but it seems to me to be a singular way, and yet it affects me strangely. i wish i really knew what his feelings are.' after he had closed his chamber door upon the fair girl of the south, he sat down to hold communion with his own thoughts. 'ah! and she would have reciprocated my affection! i wish i had never seen the beautiful emeline. no! i dare not indulge such a wish. i was made to love her, but the decree is inscrutable to me.' he took up his flute and played a tune he had composed for the following verse. love, wanton child of earth and heaven, whose home is in the human heart, when once thy piercing shaft is driven, nor god nor man can pluck the dart. as he played, the power of music and the associations which its peculiar tones awakened in his bosom, drove the thoughts of caroline davenport from his mind, and made him feel most sensibly that he could never love a second time, however much he might be loved by miss davenport or any other lady. | * when caroline davenport went into her chamber, after he had so unceremoniously closed his door upon her, with the singular injunction that she must not love hin, she felt a fearful foreboding that she would love him in spite of his peculiar 1 thus thought and felt this beautiful female, while she listened to the soft music of the flute. when he ceased playing, and songht his bed, she also at the same time disrobed her beauteous form, and laid down, but not to sleep for some hours, for her mind was too much agitated for repose. either the tones of his flute, the music of his voice, or the peculiar expression of his dark eyes had made a deeper impression upon her heart than she ever felt before. it was nearly midnight before she fell into a slumber, and then it was only to dream of sweet music, or dark eyes. abbott also bad seen too much that night, and been a witness of too many exciting scenes to allow sleep to visit his eyes until a very late hour. and when it did come he also was carried back, in-imagination, to the land of his birth, and stranger dreams disturbed him through the night. the hermit of niagara. 81 the next morning at the breakfast table caroline pointed out francis abbott to her father, and after the morning meal had been taken she told what she knew of the history of his life. · " o, father,' said she, he is one of the strangest men you ever saw. i wish you would converse with him and learn more of his character.' • why caroline, how enthusiastic you are?' replied the father. 'i never heard you talk so earnestly about any man before.' 'and for the very good reason, i never saw a man before in whom i felt so deep an interest,' she frankly replied. 'from your earnest talk and manner, i should think you had fallen in love with him already,' he said. 'you must be eareful how you look at foreigners, for many of them assume false characters and pass themselves off upon the americans for counts or some other great men, when they have nothing but a fine suit of clothes and their upper lip covered with hair, to recommend them.' 6 'he don't wear mustachios or very fashionable clothes,' said caroline. he don't assume any false character, or even wish to pass himself off for more than he's worth.' 'how do you know that?' he inquired. 'you have not, i presume, any acquaintance with him,-have not been introduced or conversed with him.' she was somewhat embarrassed by her father's questions, but of a frank disposition and a mind incapable of prevarication, she told him the whole truth. 'if there is much deception in the world, i don't believe this gentleman makes any part of it,' she answered. 'look at his countenance-see the benevolence that's beaming from every lineament of it--observe the melancholy shade that's on his features,-here him converse, and listen to the enchanting strains of his music, and then say, if you can, that he's either a strolling musician or a deceitful man. 0, no, no, father. he's not only a great genius, but he's a good man. i cannot be deceived, it seems to me, for if i am i shall never dare to form an opinion again about any one.' mr. davenport was much astonished at his daughter's remarks concerning this stranger, but more by the enthusiasm manifested in her manner. he began seriously to think that her heart was touched with the talismanic power of love. 6 now mr. davenport had great confidence in his daughter's opinion in relation to music, for being very fond of music himself, and a good singer, he had given her a most thorough musical education. why, what did he say to you?' he inquired, anxious to ascertain whether the | man had introduced any thing like love to her, or practised any of the arts of a libertine. 'conversed with him!' he repeated in surprise. how happened that? i hope, 'o, he said many a good things,' she caroline, you have not made yourself too replied, still keeping up the enthusiasm familiar with this gentleman merely beof her manner, and showing by her excause he is a good player upon the flute.pressive countenance, how deeply she felt. he is some foreigner who has come over he spoke of the death of his mother, here to seek a living by teaching music, perhaps, a strolling musician, without money or character. you must be cautious how you form acquaintance with such individuals.' 'i have conversed with him, and heard him play upon his flute, and such music i never heard before in my life, and you would say the same if you could hear him,' she replied. 1 'i heard him play and stood near his chamber door to listen, and he spoke to me,' she said. but he behaved like an accomplished gentleman. o, father, i wish you could hear him converse, he has fine conversational powers, and no doubt he's a man of learning and of genius. he not only plays, but composes the music he performs.' 'he might have told you so, and yet it might not be true,' replied the father. you've yet to learn how much deception there is in the world. pure and innocent yourself, you are inclined to believe every body else to be so, but caroline, let me assure you that you have much yet to learn, and my great anxiety is, that you may not learn it too dear.' 82 francis abbott; or played a piece of music he called his | abbott's face which denoted the gambler, mother's prayer, and o, such plaintive, or any other dissolute or abandoned chardeep, heart-moving strains i never heard, acter. with all his prejudices, he could and never shall in this dull, cold world, not but admire the manly beauty of abunless i again hear him play them.' bott's countenance, the brilliant expression of his dark eyes, the noble expanse of his polished forehead, and the intellectual cast of his head generally. 'why, caroline, you're beside yourself!' he replied. i never heard you talk so enthusiastically upon any subject, and you do not generally lack for enthusiasm.' 'see him, hear him, talk with him!' said caroline, in great earnestness. at last abbott finished reading, and laid the paper upon the table. a deep drawn sigh escaped from his bosom, and a tear did he make love to you?' he anxstood trembling in his eye. davenport's iously inquired. curiosity was now excited to the highest 'i will thank you for the paper, if you've done reading it,' said davenport. 'no, indeed; unless his sweet, heaven-pitch. he was at a loss how to construe ly music can be considered making love,' such conduct in the stranger. she answered. he told me i must not love, for no woman must love him again.' 'he must be insane then,' he replied. < told you not to love him! no woman must love him again! why, the man's love-sick already, and deranged. i will see the poor, unfortunate fellow, and attempt to console him.' ness. i have,' replied abbott in a tremulous voice, handing davenport the paper very politely, who took it and read the account of the fight last night, in a gambling house, of which abbott had been a witthe account stated that one of the parties was very severely stabbed in his side, but that hopes of his recovery were entertained. then followed a severe rebuke upon the city authorities for allowing such hells to exist in the moral city of boston. 'a sad affair, truly,' said davenport.— very near a deliberate murder, and it may turn out so, yet.' it was a desperate encounter, indeed,' said abbott. i presume you refer to the fight last evening between two gamblers.' i do, and it is much to be regretted that such scenes are almost nightly wit nessed in our large cities,' said davenport. we have got to be as bad as the old countries, for aught i know.' 6 not much difference, i apprehend,' said abbott. human nature is corrupt on both sides the ocean, and it will develope itself, in spite of the restraints which the law imposes. gambling is indeed a great evil, and produces sad effects upon the morals of the community where it exists. i did hope that america would escape some of these evils, at least, but i'm met with them on my first landing on these shores.' 'you're then from the old countryengland, i suppose,' said davenport. 'london is my native place,' replied abdo see him, father, but he's not crazy,' she said. 'no deranged man can converse and play as he does.' mr. davenport was really anxious, from the description his daughter had given of this stranger, to see and converse with him. it was not long after the above conversation took place between caroline and her father, before he saw francis abbott sitting in one of the parlors, reading a morning paper. seeing that he was much engaged in reading a particular paragraph, mr. davenport had the curiosity to look at the paper, (and especially to that part of it to which abbott's eyes seemed to be directed,) as he passed back of him, and took a seat in another part of the room. he thought he saw, as he passed by him, a paragraph headed in staring capitals, more sad effects of gambling.' 'ah! thought mr. davenport, he may be a gambler as well as an accomplished flutist, or he would not be so intently reading that paragraph over so many times. i wonder what it is that seems so deeply to interest him.' c mr. davenport continued to keep his eye upon him, watching the movement of every muscle of his face as he read, and noting every expression of his countenance, but he could not discover any thing in 6 the hermit of niagara. 83 bott. in that city i was born, and there i have lived until i came here yesterday: but go where i may, among the people who inhabit this world, i find crime and corruption marking the course of men and staining their souls with guilt. would to heaven i might find some sequestered spot where i might spend my days in peace and quiet, far removed from the vice and corruptions of human society!' 'you seem gloomy and sad,' said davenport, in the voice of sympathy and love; for he began to feel almost as deep an interest in this stranger as his lovely daughter had previously expressed. 'did i not see you at the breakfast table this morning beside a lovely female; and is she your daughter?' inquired abbott. she is my only child and the hope of my declining years,' he said. i heard her speak of you. she pointed you out to me at the table.' 'she's a lovely girl, but you must have a care over her and observe a strict watch, for her heart has many fine sensibilities, such as libertines love to sport with,' said abbott. 'i am aware,' said the father, 'that she's very fond of music, and possesses a very lively disposition; but i have yet to learn that she can be easily led astray. she has already, young as she is, refused some very good offers, such as i should be willing to approve.' abbott was either a most pure-minded man or a consummate rogue; and if the latter, he thought he was devising an exceedingly shrewd plan to entrap not only the daughter but her father also. he looked at him, observed his manner, noted the very tones of his voice, and watched every movenient of his fine, intellectual countenance as a cautious, prudent father would under the pressure of such peculiar circumstances. 6 6 your theory may be correct, for aught i can say to the contrary,' replied davenport; but 1 hope, in the case of my daughter, its application may fail, for i would not have her marry a mere strolling musician, who had no other good qualities to recommend him,' said davenport. i'm excessively fond of music and so is my daughter, but i trust this fondness will not blind my judgment nor lead her heart astray. why is it that so much sympathy has sprung up between you and my daughter? she esteems you very highly, and sure you speak as if you had a very exalted opinion of her.' music may be the cause, for aught i know,' he replied. she has a soul to appreciate this divine art, and she heard me play my own composition. she may esteem the man who can give birth to such strains as my flute has discoursed. it seems to me it is the music of the soul; for i cannot compose such every day of my life. peculiar circumstances must combine to make me feel before i bring out the notes from the depths of my soul. 'i knew her great love for music, but i was not prepared to witness such effects from it,' answered davenport. she almost loves you, i fear, and if she should, could you love her in return? i would not have her young and tender heart blighted.' i told her she must not love me, nor any other woman, for my heart is given to another, and i have no power to get it back again,' he answered. that may all be true and yet her heart be very susceptible,' replied abbott. she has a heart to love, and to love most ardently and sincerely too, and she might bestow her affections upon a man her father would not approve. here lies the danger. i have had some conversation with your daughter, but i trust i have treated her as becomes a man of honor. she has listened to the strains of my flute with such feelings as show that she is indeed passionately fond of music. and with this peculiar taste so strongly developed, might she not be charmed with the musical powers of a man when he had no other qualities to recommend him? there have probably been such instances in the world and they may occur again.' mr. davenport was much embarrassed for an answer. he firmly believed that 'and do you expect to marry the woman to whom you have given such a treasure,' asked davenport. do you expect to return to your native land, and there consummate all your hopes and wishes in alliance for life with that lady?' 84 francis abbott. 'o, no, sir, i never expect to return,' | bott, struck mr. davenport as something he answered. 'i shall finish my course very novel, and yet he could but duly ap ou this continent, and never become a preciate the motives which led to such a husband.' conclusion. most young men would have gladly embraced the opportunity to play in the hearing of caroline, if they could have anticipated such results as abbott seemed to fear, for she was not only a very beautiful and accomplished female, but also the heir apparent of an inde pendent fortune. 'why not marry the woman you love?' inquired davenport. should you not be happier with her in london than you can be here, far away from her.' 'her pride, and haughty mother's influence, forbad our union, and therefore i sought this western world,' he answered. 'i would not continue to love one whose pride had driven me from her,' said his friend. 'i would rise above such an influence, and seek out other objects of interest in the world.' ah! little do you know the power of that love which my heart feels,' said abbott. 'i know we can only judge for our selves,' replied the kind-hearted, generous davenport. 'but i would shake off the dust of my feet against a woman who would not reciprocate my affection.' 'i have shaken off the dust of my feet, but i cannot so easily shake off my love,' he replied. 'perhaps you have never experienced the pains of unrequited love, and before you have experienced such bitter experience you cannot judge of my peculiar emotions. my irresolution may seem to you, a weakness which ill becomes a man. were our circumstances reversed, i might, and probably should, entertain the same views you do, but now i cannot change.' abbott now went to his chamber, and davenport called his daughter, who most willingly accompanied him to the same place. caroline was all life and animation at the prospect of again hearing the handsome and skilful flutist. when she entered the chamber, abbott was just preparing his instrument. she now stood quite near him, nearer than she had ever been before. in spite of all her efforts to restrain herself, her heart beat violently, and the red blood rushed to her cheeks. her father and abbott too, noticed her agitation, but he was not essentially alarmed, for he had always placed great confidence in the firmness and resolution of his daughter. and well he might, for she had always conducted herself with great propriety on all occasions, especially in the management of the offers of mar'you may be right, and i will not censure you, nor accuse you of imbecility,' said davenport. 'we will drop the sub-riage which had been made to her. she may listen to your music once more when i am present to hear it too,' replied davenport, feeling quite sure there would be no very imminent danger, as he was about to start for home, in the south, in the course of a day or two, and take caroline with him. ject; for i perceive it is a painful one to you. my daughter expressed a wish for you to play again, and was particularly anxious that i should hear you.' 6 'will it be well for her to hear me play again?' he inquired. there are many things exceedingly pleasant in the present, but full of sorrow and regret in the future. i will play if you desire it; for you appear to be my friend. and your daughter may hear me with your consent. i had come to a conclusion, this morning, before i rose from my bed, that i should not let her hear any more of my music.' this determination on the part of ab'what shall i play?' inquired abbott, looking up and addressing caroline. 'o, sir, play the mother's prayer,' she replied. i want father to hear that; it is such sweet, plaintive music.' 6 'if the music is as good as the name, i think i must admire it,' said the father. your mother, caroline, was a praying woman, and many were the prayers she breathed out in her last sickness, for you and me.' 'would to god i could obey the last request of my mother in her dying hour,' said abbott, in a very tremulous voice. the hermit of niagara. 85 e 81 'what request did she make?' inquired| caroline. that i might forget the proud emeline clarendon, who refused my love,' he replied. but, alas! i have not power to yield obedience to her dying wishes.' he now gently put his flute to his trembling lips, and began to play the piece she requested him to play. both father and daughter stood gazing upon him in utter astonishment, and listening to his music in an extacy of delight. before he had half finished the piece, mr. davenport was satisfied that all his daughter told him was true. and when he closed, the father embraced caroline with more than parental fondness. 'it is wonderful music,' he exclaimed. 'it reminds me of the death of your mother. will you have the kindness to play it again, mr. abbott, for it is good for us to have such scenes brought to mind.' 'i wish he would go south and play it over my mother's grave,' said caroline in a voice which told how deeply she felt. 'i could stand on that sacred spot and hear such strains forever.' 'perhaps i ought to apologise for asking the question,' said mr. davenport. 'you have money enough, i presume, without resorting to such means for a livelihood.' 'o, my fortune is quite limited,' he replied. 'i'm not wealthy.' • will you accept a present?' asked his rich friend, holding out to him a hundred dollar bank note. thank you, sir, for your generosity, but i must decline to accept your present,' he replied. my means of living are enough for the present, and i should not feel justified in taking your liberal gift.' c 'you would be entirely welcome, but i will not urge it upon you contrary to your own feelings,' replied mr. davenport. do you not intend to go south?' " 'i know not where i shall go,' he replied. 'i have heard of the solitude of the prairies in this country, and the graudeur and sublimity of niagara falls. the latter place i shall visit, and perhaps the and so could i,' rejoined her father. former. god only knows where i shall 'do play it again.' abbott again breathed into his flute those heavenly tones, and caroline was so much overcome that she sank away into a chair and gave herself up to tears. all was now silent save the gentle sobbing of caroline. 'o,' thought the flutist, i was fearful the young lady's feelings would be greatly excited. i would not have played to her without the consent of her father. and i wish now i had not.' as soon as mr. davenport could command his own feelings so as to speak, (for he was much excited and overcome) he said, 'do you intend to give any concerts in this country?' 6 'o, no, sir, not to any larger audiences than you and your daughter make,' he replied. 'music is not my profession. i only play for amusement.' spend my days.' 'o, sir, do go with us to our plantation in the warm south,' said caroline. • we have beautiful groves there, and quite› romantic places.' 'you heard my daughter's request, and if you will comply with it, i can assure you that you shall be most heartily welcome.' 'receive my thanks, kind sir, but i must first seek a more retired situation,' he said. mr. davenport and his daughter now left the chamber, but she would have tarried hours if her father had been willing. she went away with a heart deeply impressed by the flutist. chapter xii. whom call we gay? that honor has been long the boast of mere pretenders to the name.' three days had passed since mr. davenport and his daughter listened to the soft breathings of francis abbott's flute, and the morning arrived when they were to start for their homes in the south. unexpected news had reached mr. davenport, which called him home some two or three days sooner than he calculated. caroline, during this time, was in a state of great excitement. for the first time in her lifeline. she was made to feel the power of love. abbott had not played since he performed the mother's prayer for the benefit of mr. davenport, and he neglected this exercise from the purest of principles and the best of motives. caroline was in great trouble when the day arrived she and her father were to leave the city. up to that time she indulged the hope that abbott would accompany them to their plantation, and now that the day had come when they were to start, and she found that they were not to have his company, she wade most bitter complaints to her father, and importuned him with all the eloquence she could command, to urge abbott to go with them. why will not mr. abbott go with us?' anxiously inquired caroline of her father, while they were preparing for their ney. 'do urge him to go with us.' i have invited him,' he replied, but he's not inclined. you would not wish me, caroline, to urge him so much against his inclination, would you? it seems to me your sense of propriety would forbid such importunity.' 'i shall be miserable, if we go and leave him here,' she said. 'i have tried all in my power to drive the thoughts of him from my mind, but i cannot.' 'why, my dear daughter, he says he can never love another woman,' he replied, and how can you, under such circumstances, wish him to accompany us?' 6 6 'he may change his mind,' said carohe has too much sense to continue his love for a woman who does not love him. besides, she is far away, and he will never see her again. his feelings will change, father. do talk with him again.' 'he has indeed fine talents, but these furnish no shield to guard him against the influences of love,' said her father; his mind is most strangely organized. one thought seems to absorb all its powers, and i fear that derangement may be the result.' < 'if he should go with us, it might prevent that calamity,' she answered. o, if he should become insane, and take his own life, what a dreadful thing it would be! a warmer climate might be beneficial to him, and guard against that morbid action of the mind to which you allude.' 'climate, nor change of place and objour-jects, i fear, will never draw his mind from that one thought,' he said. the image of that woman is indelibly stamped upon his heart, and death alone can blot it out. i'm satisfied, caroline, all you and i can do would not move him. i have conversed with him when you were not present, and i have no hope he will ever change, for the hermit of niagara. 87 he frankly tells me he shall seek out some against each other to sit at the same table. retired spot and there end the remainder of patterson's wound in his side had nearly his days. he seems bent on going to ni-healed over, but there was a deeper one agara falls, as soon the spring opens. i festering in his heart. the thought of have asked him too pass the winter with us, having been stabbed and also the loss of his but he declines, and 1 dare not urge him money stung him to madness, and stirred more.' within him the fell spirit of revenge. the more he reflected upon the matter, the more angry and desperate he grew; until the thought of murder entered his soul.— his mind was so wrought upon that nothing but the blood of gandolpho would slake his thirst for revenge. for more than a week he had been seeking for an opportunity to gratify this spirit. during two or three evenings he had stood near the place where gandolpho spent the greater part of his nights in gambling, watching for him when he came out, but had found no convenient opportunity to carry his murderous plans into execution. one evening, not far from midnight, patterson was on his watch, anxiously waiting for his victim. while he was thus prowling about, gandolpho and several others were engaged in their nefarious business in the same room where patterson received his wound. why does not patterson make his appearance at these boards?' inquired gandolpho. 'i understand his wound has healed over.' 6 6 'why has he avoided me for two or three days past?' she inquired. why has he ceased to play upon his flute? i have not offended him, have ]?" no, caroline, you have given him no offence,' he replied. 'do you not remember he told you not to love him? he would not have you love him, because he cannot return your affection. feeling the bitter pangs of love unrequited himself, he has too much kindness, too much sympathy and feeling, to witness the same emotions in another which agitate his own breast. he fears you may love him, and therefore has purposely avoided you. in in the spring, which will soon be upon us, he will go to the falls of niagara, and then you may visit that place. until then, you must remain quiet, and not let your thoughts of him disturb your mind.' 'can i not see him before we go?' she anxiously inquired, feeling somewhat reconciled with the idea of meeting him at niagara. 'he does not wish you to see him now, lest your parting from him might be rendered more painful by the interview,' said the father. o, if he should become crazy!' she exclaimed, shuddering at the thought, and looking inost anxiously into her father's face. the carriage now drove up to the door, and they left the city for the south. we will not follow them, nor attempt to describe the emotions which agitated the bosom of the beautiful and accomplished caroline davenport. she has gone to her home in the sunny south, and time alone will develope the results of the interviews she had with the strange flutist. nearly a fortnight had passed since the fight took place between the gamblers gandolpho and patterson. the latter had recovered from his wound, and was able to resume his demoralizing business, but he and gandolpho were too much exasperated 'i have met him in the streets several times within a day or two,' said his companion. 'i asked him why he did not take you before the court. he said that would never satisfy him, but meant to seek revenge in some other way. so you must be on the look out, or you may feel the point of a dagger tickling your side.' i fear him not, and he knows it,' replied gandolpho. i should have been an end of him the other evening, if that parson-like englishman whom i introduced here had not caught my arm just as i was about to give him the second touch.' 'lucky for you that you brought with you that night an english parson, for he probably srved your neck from the halter,' replied his companion. 'it may be, but no man must take me by the throat,' he answered. you was not born to be choked to death, i suppose you think,' said his companion, laughing at his own joke. 6 88 francis abbott; or 'i think i was not, for this trusty steel revenge. i warn you to be watchful, or will make patterson or any one else who you may feel his revenge before you are dares put his fingers upon my throat, reaware of it. he's in a dreadful fever, and lease his hold,' replied gandolpho, drawing in his present excited state would not stop from his bosom the saine weapon with short of downright murder.” which he had stabbed patterson. let him come on, when and where he pleases,' he replied haughtily. he may not again find a friendly arm to arrest the blow, as he did before. i shall be careful in the future how i take such a companion with me as that francis abbott. he is not the man for such scenes as we are accustomed to witness. there is too much music in his soul, or something else to make him a fit companion for me.' 'have you seen him since you introduced him here?' inquired his companion. then you always carry a dagger with you,' said his companion. 'having been born in spain, you adopt the customs of your countrymen, i conclude.' 'yes, and a good custom it is, too,' he answered. 'i have worn a dagger ever since i was a small boy, and the other evening was not the first time i found it useful in making a man release his grasp upon my throat.' " 'it is a dangerous practice here in boston to use such weapons,' said his brother gambler. 'you may yet use it once too often, and feel the twisted hemp about your throat, instead of a man's fingers. such cases have happened and may occur again.' well, i'm not so much of a coward as to die before my time comes,' he replied, laughing. patterson and all such as he must be cautious how they approach me. i've seen other parts of the world besides boston, and am not dead yet, thanks to a good fortune.' 'i must confess, if i were in your situation, i should have some fears, for patterson has his feelings of revenge so much awakened that he has become quite desperate,' said his companion. 'nonsense! he may have some skill in choking, but not in the use of the dagger,' he replied. 'i shall always be in readiness for him or any other man who insults me.' how was the fact in relation to the. money which you took at the time of the affray?' inquired the gambler. did'nt you cheat a little, as patterson assured you?' " to be frank with you, i did, but it was only to pay him for one of his tricks,' he replied. 'some time ago he cheated me, i believe, although he stoutly denied it at the time and has ever since.' " you may be mistaken, after all,' replied his companion, and i'm inclined to think you are; for patterson told me yesterday he always played fair with you, and that if you did not return the money and make an apology, he would have his "yes, several times, but conversed with him only once,' he replied, 'and then he gave me a long sermon, such an one as i seldom hear, for you know we don't much frequent the places where sermons can be heard. he's a singular fellow, but love and music will yet use him up, talented and learned as he is.' with all your boasted knowledge of men, you got the wrong pig by the ear when you invited him to visit this place,' said his companion, smiling. that's a fact,' replied gandolpho. 'i was somewhat deceived, although i had doubts and misgivings when i invited him. i knew he was an englishman, and thought he had a good supply of funds to sport with.' 6 'and so you wanted to share them with him,' said his friend. that fellow knows enough to take care of his money, i can sssure you.' thus conversed these gamblers, until past midnight while patterson was prowling about the premises, shivering in the cold night air, but fully bent on revenge. at last he saw gandolpho come out with two or three others, having broken up that night much earlier than usual. patterson followed them until they parted at the corner of endicott and hanover streets, and gandolpho pursued his way alone.— patterson's heart now beat as if it would burst from his side. he slily pressed on behind his victim, watching every movement, and gaining upon him at every step. 'i shall have him now,' said patterson the hermit of niagara. 89 to himself. 'i will keep at this distance the morning with a feverish brow. as from him until he passes into sudbury he approached the glass, to tie on his neck street. he will go there, i think, and handkerchief, he suddenly started back that street is rather dark. there i will with horror at the sight of his own counfor ever put an end to his cheating in this tenance. world, if i don't miss my blow. i have a good weapon, one that will reach his black heart, and i have strength and courage enough to wield it.' thus the murderer communed with his own dark spirit, until his victim turned into sudbury street, as he expected, for he knew he boarded there. he now hastened his steps, and just as gandolpho was passing under a large elm tree which rises from the sidewalk, he came up behind him, with uplifted dagger gleaming faintly in the light of a distant lamp. gandolpho hear footsteps close behind him, and the hard breathing of some one, but before he had time to turn round, patterson plunged the dagger into his back, just below the left shoulder blade. the murdered man sprang from the side-walk, as the fatal weapon entered his back, and fell against the elm tree. another plunge in the breast brought him down a lifeless corpse at the foot of that tree. no sound was now heard except the mourning of the night wind through the naked branches of the old elm which bad stood there for many years. o god!' he exclaimed, in the agony of his soul. i see the face of a murderer! whither can i flee to hide myself? hide myself! from whom? and from what? ah, the same eye that saw me commit the deed is upon me now. o, would to heaven i could hide myself from myself; but my own guilty conscience will be with me wherever i go, and the caves of the earth cannot conceal me from him whose eye is in every place. once my soul would have revolted at the thought of such a crime, but the cursed effects of gambling, and the deep feeling of revenge hurried me on, and now i am a murderer! o, heaven! ah, i dare not call upon that name, for its just vengeance will one day fall upon my head. could i give life, i would instantly restore the victim of my revenge to life again ¡ but i have not the power, and herein lies my guilt. i have taken that which i cannot restore. life! yes; the life of a human being like myself. i have destroyed it, and in the court of heaven the deed is registered!' while he thus held converse with himpatterson, after he had committed the self, he hurried on his clothes, and sought appalling deed, fled from the scene with the first conveyance he could find to carry rapid steps, feeling an awful consciousness him far beyond the limits of the city and that he was a murderer. the spirit of of the state. in a few days he was far revenge was indeed gratified, and an un-away from the scene of this great crime, prepared soul hurried into the presence of but the stings of his guilty conscience its creator, but new emotions were born were still goading him, and making his in the murderer's heart. he sought his life iniserable. from these there was no chamber and his bed, but he courted sleep escape. guilt was upon him, and his in vain. he was quite sure no human eye hands were imbrued in human blood.had witnessed the deed, and no human how wretched and miserable is the murtribunals would pass upon his crime; but derer; for there is no place in the unibut there was one eye which he now verse of god where he can hide himself feared and one tribunal which he dreaded. from himself. he passed a restless night, and rose in chapter xiii. · flow on for ever in thy glorious robe of terror and of beauty. god hath set his rainbow on thy forhead, and the cloud mantles around thy feet.' the winter had passed and gone, and spring, in all its loveliness and beauty, had again visited the earth. the streams which had been bound in frost through a long winter, now burst their chains and seemed to flow on merrily, as if they were rejoicing in the liberty which they had once more obtained. the birds were busy all over the country in selecting their mates, and preparing places where they could safely rear their young. all nature seemed to be awakened as if from a long sleep, and every living creature to be animated anew by the breath of spring. as the season has changed, so must our scene. we leave the metropolis of new england, with all its virtues and all its crimes, and ask our readers to go with us to niagara falls, whither our hero, franeis abbott, has wended his way, and where we intend to introduce him again. in the month of may, 1829, and in the early part of the month, before the pleasure travellers began to throng the great watering place, niagara falls, a sober, sedate, gray headed man stood upon the steps of the cataract house,' apparently waiting for arrivals. he was resting upon a cane, which he had worn several years, although, his form was very erect, and 'because he preferred to use his own seemed not to need such a support. his legs,' said the driver. "he wants to see countenance was mild, but yet intelligent, the country, and who has a better right and his whole appearance indicated that than a londoner?' 'have you seen the londoner, as you call him?' inquired the guide. appearance, always insured him a good share of custom. while the guide was standing upon the steps before the front door of the hotel, a carriage drove up, but there were but few passengers, and these were not visitors of the falls. among the bag. gage were two large trunks, labelled, francis abbott, london.' the veteran hooker first glanced his eyes on the passengers, and then on the trunks. when he saw these trunks with abbott's name upon them, his curiosity was excited, and he took a second look among the passengers, to see if he could discover the owner of them, thinking that a gentleman from london would most assuredly need his services as guide; but he saw no one who claimed the trunks, and for the very good reason that the owner was not there. 'whose trunks are these?' inquired mr. hooker of the driver, pointing to the two which were marked with abbott's name. 'they belong to the person whose name is upon them,' replied the driver, rather crustily, for he was quite unwell that day, and did not wish to be catechised by any one, 'why did he not come with his trunks?" asked hooker. " he was a very companionable person. he wore upon his hat a narrow piece of black cloth, bound round over his hat 'yes, i saw him at buffalo,' he replied. band, and upon this cloth was printed, in 'he sent his trunk, and means to foot it white letters, the word 'guide,' which inthe rest of the way he's as fine a lookdicated his business and profession. during fellow as iv'e seen for many a day, ing several years this gentleman had but his face looks melancholy and thoughtacted as guide to strangers who visit the ful. they say he's a scholar, à poet, and falls. his fees for his services were by a musician. he's been at the mansion,' no means exorbitant, for he was most asin buffalo, two or three days. he has siduous in his attentions, and knew every been heard to play the flute in his champoint of view where visitors could see ber, and such sweet music, they say, was this wonderful work of nature to the best never heard in buffalo.' advantage, the veteran guide's name was hooker, and his mild, gentlemanly inquired mr. hooker. 'is he sociable and companionable?' the hermit of niagara. 91 • very far from it,' said the driver; but when he does converse, there's music in his voice, and wisdom on his tongue. i heard the chambermaid say that she never heard such a voice in her life. he speaks so pleasantly, and looks so melancholy, when he asks for any thing, that she almost fell in love with him. i'll tell you what it is, he has created quite a sensation in that place. he talks more with the seneca indians than with any body else; for when he meets one in the street, whether male or female, he always stops to converse. he seems much more interested in them than he is in the white people. he's a singular fellow. on to him when he arrives, and you'll probably find him a good customer.' hook this advice was entirely superfluous, for the veteran guide needed no prompting in this regard, for he was always very attentive to his own interests. it was in the afternoon of the next day after his trunks arrived, when he came in sight of the village of niagara. soon he began to hear the roaring of the mighty waters. his soul was lifted to heaven, and, sitting down upon an oak log by the road side, he made a silent prayer to god for thus preserving his life and health until that moment. while he was thus sitting, and holy prayer was rising to heaven from the unseen altar of his heart, an indian girl, somewhat under twenty years of age, belonging to the tuscarora tribes, was standing but a few paces from him, with some bead work in her hand, which she was desirous of selling. when abbott sat down, she was preparing to expose her nicely wrought articles to his view, but when she saw his face turned towards heaven, and beheld his humble attitude, a feeling of reverence instinctively crept over her heart, and she stood gazing upon him in wonder and admiration. her fine form was wrapt in a blue cloth cloak, and her feet ensconced in beautifully wrought deer skin moccasins. her head was bare, and her long black hair hung in clusters down her back. abbott did not at first see her, nor until he had finished his devotions. rising up, his eyes fell on her brunette countenance; both were struck with admiration. it seemed to him, for the moment, that she was a being from another world, and came there to listen to his prayer. but the delusion soon passed away, and he approached her. in her admiration of his manly beauty, she entirely forgot to show her bead work, a circumstance which does not often occur among these indians when they meet strangers. untutored and uncultivated as this girl was, she was possessed of noble instincts, and her heart was not a stranger to those impulses which sometimes swell the bosoms of more refined females. there was something in the attitude of abbott as he sat upon the oak log, an expression upon his uplifted countenance, and a light francis abbott left boston some two or three weeks after the murder of gandolpho by patterson, and had been on his way to niagara ever since. during this time he had visited many places, not wishing to reach the falls until spring had opened. as the driver stated, he was now in buffalo, and would soon visit the great cataract of the world. to this place he had been looking ever since he embarked on board the 'duke of wellington,' and now that he was so near, his heart was all alive with expectation. it seemed to him, some how or other, that niagara falls would be the last place he should ever visit on earth, and this impression was much deepened as he leisurely pursued his way on foot beside the noble river towards the falls. the river and the scenery upon its banks seemed to absorb his whole soul, almost to the ex-in his dark eyes, which strangely impressclusion of the fair and beautiful emeline clarendon, whom he had so reluctantly left upon the other side of the atlantic ocean. ed this indian girl, and when he addressed her, these impressions were deepened, insomuch that her right hand forgot its cunning, and she neglected to hold out her bead work to his view. having purchased a few articles of the seneca indians, he had learnt some of their practices, and their desire to sell; therefore he naturally supposed this beautiful girl wished to do the same. he reached down and took hold of some ar← 92 ፡ francis abbott; or • ticles which she held, but she never movfinally reaching 'prospect point,' as it is ed her hand, or made any motion indicacalled. in going through the grove,abtive of her wish to dispose of her work, bott saw the beautiful indian girl standing but stood motionless, gazing full in his by a large oak tree, several rods distant, face, as if she saw something there which gazing upon him as he passed, apparently possessed a charm she could not resist. with undiminished interest; but his anxihe had previously conversed with several ety to see the falls was so great that he indian females, but he never saw one bedid not stop to thank her for the present fore who could look so steadily at his she had so strangely made him. countenance; for they almost invariably would cast down their eyes whenever they met his. but this girl gazed intently upon him, as if she had no power to change the direction of her deep, black eyes. he was at once much interested in her appearance; not a muscle of her face moved, and seldom did she wink as she gazed on him. this is the best view of the falls on the american side,' said the guide. 'good god!' exclaimed the awe struck abbott, and have i at last arrived in view of the terrible scene which i have so long contemplated? see how the river rolls by in the light of the declining sun, like a ruffled sea of silver. o, the awful abyss below! ah! god has set his bow of peace over that dreadful chasın. how beautifully the poet has described the place!' aud he repeated the following lines, which he found in a guide book, with more eloquence than the veteran hooker ever heard before. while they were thus gazing upon each other, she released her hold upon her bead work, and it was safely lodged in his hand. holding it up, and looking at it, he said, 'do you wish to sell some of these beautiful articles?' his musical voice somewhat broke the spell which bound her. taking her articles, and selecting a beautifully wrought heart, made of high colored silk and small beads, ingeniously placed round the edges, she gave it to him, and bounded away with the fleetness of a young deer, without stopping to receive any money in exchange. this was a strange movement to abbott, and most seriously impressed him. he soon arrived at the hotel, and the veteran guide was there ready to proffer his services, for he had, during the day, been upon the look out for his arrival. abbott signified his willingness to accompany the guide, and they started off, passing through a grove of trees, and "bright bow of promise! sit ever thus upon the beetling brow of the dread cataract, which but for thee were all too terrible: smile ever thus, making that beautiful which else were hideous. 'i would be alone,' said abbott to his guide, giving him his fee. but you have not seen all yet,' replied the guide, would you not like to be conducted to other points of view?' " 'not to day,' he answered. • leave me now, and perhaps to-morrow i may need your services again.' mr. hooker now took his departure, leaving the enraptured abbott to his own 'do you wish to view the falls, sir?' inquired the guide. 1 that was the motive which brought meditations. he stood a few moments me here,' replied abbott. 'the afternoon has not far advanced, and the weather is pleasant,' said the guide. "you will have time enough to-called prospect place. here he stood and gazed on the glorious scene where mr. hooker left him, and then advanced to the brink of the cataract, to the point day for one view. my business is to conduct strangers to those points where the best views of this great cataract may be had. i have long resided here, and ought to be well acquainted with the several localities which interest the stranger.' upon a projecting crag, holding on by some small cedars, and looked directly down into the awful depth below. it was a fearful sight, and strong nerves were essential to keep him in his position. 'roll on, ye mighty waters, till time shall be no more!' he exclaimed, amidst the roaring of the heaving and foaming abyss below him. majesty, grandeur, sublimi: i the hermit of niagara. .93 3 1 ty and beauty-the garniture of god-are a messenger from heaven, and now that here spread out before me! here is the she heard the strange and enchanting muaugust throne upon which nature sits! sic of his flute, she no longer doubted. here the everlasting altar at whose base at first she felt as if she could love him, the elements pay homage to omnipotence! but now that feeling had ripened into adhere deep calleth unto deep, and an eter-oration, and her superstitious fears made nal anthem of praise ascends to him who him an idol. scene! · has placed his bow arching the fearful having finished playing, he happened chasm, and, like faith on a dying martyr's to look in the direction where the indian brow, smiling through all the terrors of the girl stood, and he saw her form partially here will i pass the remnant of concealed behind some trees. he now my days! here, amidst the immensity of began to feel a superstitious dread himgod's works, will i try to forget the wo-self. there was something so strange man whose image has hitherto been too and mysterious in the motions and appearstrongly stamped upon my soul. i will ance of this dark female that he fancied select some spot amidst the wildness of she might be the 'genius of the place.' this scenery, and build me a shelter, in he gazed upon her for a few moments which i will erect an altar to the living in silent admiration. believing she was god. london, aud all it holds dear, shall friendly to him, whether she was of morbe driven from my thoughts, except my tal mould or not, he ventured to beckon parents' graves. these will be rememher towards him. she saw the motion of bered, but the image of emeline clarenher hand, and fear compelled her to apdon must be erased from heart; and yet proach. slowly she walked along, and how can i forget her! if i cannot forget when she had approached within a few her, i can remember her less here than in feet of him, she covered her head with any other spot on the face of the globe. her cloak and bent it to the ground. in now let me play my mother's requiem, this position she remained, until he musand let its heavenly strains mingle with tered courage to speak to her. the music of this mighty cataract; for none but angels' ears can hear me in this temple of god, not made by human band.' he now stood back a few paces from the overhanging crag upon which he stood, and placing his flute to his lips, he breathed into it that music which he religiously believed he received from heaven when bis mother died. the strains, mingled with the music of the falling waters, and were borne upward to the skies, forming, as he imagined, a great anthem of praise. while he was playing, and forgetting the world and all its cares, the same indian girl whom he had seen twice before, having cautiously followed him, now stood partially concealed by a clump of sapling trees, and listened to his music. she could distinctly hear, above the roaring of the waters, the soft and clear tones of his flute. she now no longer doubted but he had come from the great spirit. when she first saw him, in the attitude of prayer, and afterwards gazed upon his melancholy countenance, and in the depths of his dark eyes, she thought he might be 'rise!' he said, in a mild, musical voice, fall not down before me; the great spirit above has no other gods before him.' the agitated and trembling girl rose at his bidding, and stood gazing into his face. 'why did you thus fall down before me, who am but human, like yourself,' he continued. there is but one god, and him should'st thou worship. he made these mighty falls; you can hear his mighty voice in the roaring of the waters, and witness his power in these his bandy works. it is the great spirit you must adore.' the poor, trembling girl looked wildly about, but made no answer. she still believed he was something more than mortal, and therefore was afraid to speak to him. 'why tremble so?' he inquired; 'you shall not be injured. i am your friend look at me. see! i'm but a human being, like yourself, and worship the same great father you do.' 94 francis abbott, 'then how could you make such music?' she said, in a voice tremulous with fear. i never heard such before; and you pray out doors. white men always pray 6 in houses.' 'it is our duty to pray at all times, and what more suitable temple than this to pray in ?' them, and then destroy every vestige of them, determined that not a scrap of his poetical or musical compositions should ever meet mortal eyes. even the notes of his mother's requiem he destroyed, lest he might be taken suddenly away, and they fall into the hands of some one of his race. sometimes, but rarely, he would converse when any one called upon or happened to meet him, and when he did condescend to talk, eloquence seemed to sit upon his tongue, and his dark eyes would beam with extraordinary brilliancy. but these fits seldom came upon him, for more frequently he would indulge in moody silence, and repel every attempt to engage him in discourse. notwithstanding these peculiar habits, he was not a misanthrope, for he did not hate or despise, but only avoided his fellow men. imbued with a deep sense of religion, he worshipped his god in a temple not made with human hands, aud led a blameless life. 'will you give me some more music?' she said. 'i love to hear your music.' he played, but not the tune she heard him play before. she listened as if her whole soul was given up to the charms of his flute, and when he ceased, she exclaimed, 'you are from the great spirit,' and then she bounded away, and was soon out of his sight among the trees. after viewing the falls awhile from this place, admiring the beauty and grandeur of the scene, and occasionally thinking of the strange indian girl, he passed down the river some distance from prospect point, and there the thought struck him that he would build a small cottage often, in pleasant evenings of the sumon the bank of the river. the more he mer, would visitors of the falls steal caureflected upon it, the more enamored of tiously towards his humble dwelling, to the plan be became. the glorious scene-listen to the wild, enchanting notes of his ry wooed his melancholy spirit. he felt flute. even ladies have been known to disposed to shun all society but the comgo within hearing distance of his cottage, panionship of nature. with her only to drink in the charms of his music; and could his soul stoop to be intimate. fulthis, too, at late hours of the night, for he ly convinced that the darkest seclusion, seldom played until he believed every the most dangerous paths, and the most body had retired to rest. he has been august scenes would make him forget, in known to play in the day time for some measure, the loved one of his heart, the benefit of the fair tuscarora inhe was now determined to make his home dian girl, whom he permitted to stand a amid the wild scenery of the falls; and short distance from his cottage, and listen in the course of a month, a log cabin was to his music; but he never allowed her to erected on the bank of the river, below enter his lodge. he seemed to have more prospect point, in one of the most wild pity and compassion for this unfortunate and romantic spots to be found on the girl than for any one else, for he not only face of the globe. played for her amusement, but occasionally made her presents. the secret of the strange conduct of this girl was, that for more than a year previous to abbott's arrival at the falls, she had been partially deranged. when she first saw him, she was impressed with the belief that he was a messenger from the great spirit, and this impression never forsook her. having learned this fact, the young hermit always treated her with great kindness, and was was much more inclined to amuse her than any white person. here he lived, and music and letters were the only luxuries in which he indulged. his music was hushed when he heard footsteps approach, and whatever he wrote was destroyed almost as soon as written. he not only wished to seclude himself from the society of the world, but also to prevent the world from knowing any thing about his private griefs, in any records which he might make of them. he would compose a few verses, adapt music to the sentiments, play chapter xiv. 'shrine of omnipotence! how vast, how grand, how awful, yet how beautiful art thou! pillared around by everlasting hills, robed in the drapery of descending floods; crowned by the rainbow, canopied by clouds 'that roll in incense up from thy dread base; hid by their mantling o'er the vast abyss, upon whose verge thou standest, whence ascends the mighty anthem of thy maker's praise, hymn'd in eternal thunders!' it was a bright and beautiful day in the mouth of june, 1831, when a carriage drove up to the cataract house,' and several gentlemen and ladies alighted. they had come from different sections of the union, and some of them from the other side of the atlantic, to the great cataract of the world. one of the females wore a more melancholy aspect than the rest, and seemed to be under great ex*citement; but notwithstanding her dejected look, she appeared to be a woman of rank and fashion, and one who had seen happier days. she was very beautiful and accomplished, but sadness and gloom rested on her fair countenance. there was another young lady, who appeared to be her companion, but apparently of inferior rank, for she was very attentive to her, and seemed to act in the capacity of waiting maid. there was one gentleman who alighted from the carriage, and was very attentive to them, especially to the one who acted as a kind of servant. the young ladies were shown to a chamber, and the gentleman's duties seemed to be at an end; for he was not their gallant, but only a travelling companion, having py. accidentally fallen in with them the day previous, while en route. 'o, jane, do rub my temples, for my head feels badly,' said emeline clarendon. 'o, god! i feel as if i should not have strength to bear me up, when i meet the long absent, and ill-treated francis abbott. he loved me as man seldom loves a woman, but my foolish pride and my mother's influence drove him far away. i knew not then my own heart. i knew not the depth and strength of my attachment to him, but circumstances have revealed it all. how shall i meet him? what can i say, or do, to atone for my cruel conduct?' 'he will forgive you all, and meet you with open arms,' replied jane delano. god forgives her who sincerely repents, and will not man who loves? you feel as if you were forgiven of heaven, and no man will more rejoice than francis abbott. i too have been guilty of more crimes than you, but before heaven i repented, humbly and sincerely repented, and now i feel a consciousness that my sins are pardoned. be cheerful and hapyour lover is not far from you, and 96 francis abbott; or will be overjoyed to meet and embrace the mode of life which he led, and now you.' that she was within a short walk of his secluded lodge, she felt strange emotions swell her bosom. ever since she had read in a london paper of the embarkation of abbott for america, she had been suffering most severely, inasmuch that her health was greatly impaired, and her heart almost broken. 6 'o, that our first meeting were past!' said emeline. after we have taken some refreshment, we must go his lowly and romantic residence. should i not survive the shock of our interview, what will become of my money and my jewels? they shall be yours; and i will now write my wish to that effect before we gö to his lodge.' 'you will survive it, and your health will soon improve,' said jane. 'it may be so,' replied emeline, in a weak and tremulous voice, but i feel a strange presentiment that my sands of life have almost run out. i shall feel better to make this writing. it can do no harm, and may do you much good. you've been a fast friend to me, and you must be rewarded, whether i live or die. we must have a witness, and perhaps that gentleman who accompanied us will act as such. he appears to be a good man, and like me, his face shows the marks of sorrow and grief.' 喜 ​'but how will he know that i have repented!' inquired the almost heartbroken emeline. 'he will believe what you say,' answered jaue. 'have you not come across the dangerous ocean, and risked your life, in a long and perilous voyage, to see him? and think you he will not believe you under such circumstances? o, yes, he will, and his heart will leap for joy when he beholds your face once more.' 'he will hardly know me, my countenance has so much changed,' she replied. 'the sickness of my soul has spread a blight over my cheeks, and destroyed the bloom which once existed there. do you think he will be glad to see me?' 'surely, he will,' answered jane. 'i'm quite certain it will be the happiest moment of his life, when he beholds you again.' emeline clarendon had lost her mother by death, and had now left her native london, once more to see the only man whom she ever truly loved, if by good fortune she could find him in the new world. her mother died during the last winter, but previous to that sad event she seriously contemplated the voyage which she had now accomplished. her mother opposed it, and successfully too, while she lived, but her sudden death placed in the possession of emeline a handsome fortune, which she was determined to spend in seeking her lover. jane delano had become entirely reformed, and a friendship sprang up between them which was pure and unsullied. we continue to call her by the name she assumed when she was playing her tricks in the great metropolis of england, although she had taken back her true name, joanna lee, after she had repented and become a virtuous wowe have not space, neither do we think it necessary to a full development of our history, to go into a detailed account of all that transpired in relation to the voyage of these young ladies. after much time spent, and many inquiries made, emeline clarendon found where her long lost lover had located himself. man. soon after dinner the three set out for francis abbott's secluded cottage, on the banks of the river. emeline was so much overcome by her own feelings that she was obliged to stop several times on the way. patterson, having received directions where the hermit's residence night she had some information with regard to be found, took the lead and conducted the mr. patterson, the murderer of john gandolpho, was now called to witness the writing (for this was the gentleman to whom emeline referred.) the paper was drawn up, signed and sealed in presence of him who had once been a gambler and a murderer. he was also invited to accompany them to the hermit's lodge, to which he very cheerfully and happily consented; for he had become much pleased with jane during their short acquaintance, and she was by no means displeased with him. the hermit of niagara. 97 ladies there as soon as the agitated nervės of emeline would permit. in the course of an hour they came in sight of it through the trees. it was built of logs, and situated close upon the bank of the river, and underneath the craggy lime rocks hung in fearful attitudes, 'o! my god!' exclaimed emeline, when her eyes first fell on the humble dwelling, 'give me strength to embrace the inmate of that lowly cottage, and ask for his forgiveness as i have in time past asked for thine!' and she knelt down, and raised her streaming eyes towards heaven. never before had her kind female attendant seen her in such agony of soul. it seemed as if her heart would break, and her life depart on the spot, but after remaining in that humble position a few moments, she rose and continued, 'i feel better now. o how sweet and refreshing is the prayer of a penitent heart! it brings down strength from above, and gives to the supplicant new life and energy. i will now try to go and meet him whom i love more than all earthly things.' pronounce the heavenly word. forgive.' 'he may be in,' said patterson, knocking at the rough door. no answer was given, and he knocked again, but all was sileut except the roaring of the mighty cataract, which was not far distant. again he sought admission, but it was now evident that the owner was not there, for no answer to the summons was made. 'heavens! who's that!' exclaimed emeline, as her eyes fell on the indian girl who stood near the corner of the cottage covered with her blue cloth blanket, and looked as if she were the guardian of the place in the absence of abbott. when emeline made this exclamation, patterson was about to lift the wooden latch of the door and enter, but he forbore when he beard her voice, and at the same time discovered the object of emeline's surprise. he knew it was an indian girl, and therefore was not alarmed. 'do you know where the owner of this cottage is?' inquired patterson. 'may heaven support you in this hour, so long and so ardently prayed for,' said jane, in a voice full of sympathy and kindness, taking emeline's arm, and slowly approaching the log cabin. • the indian girl pointed towards the place where the ferry is between the canada and american side, and then bounded off among the trees, out of their sight. she had been watching abbott, and saw him go down to the river, and supposing he was gone to bathe, as was his frequent practice, she was forbidden by her native modesty from following him, but had stationed herself near his cottage to wait for his return. patterson, nor the ladies knew any thing of this, for the poor indian girl said not a word, but, significantly pointing with her finger, fled immediately from their presence. 'god will support you,' said patterson, in accents mild and confiding. he never forsakes the truly penitent, and the blackest crimes will be forgiven, and he who commits them will find peace and pardon, on condition of true and genuine sorrow for them. the history of my own life, and my own bitter experience, has taught me this lesson. let us on to the cottage. when the hesrt is right, all is right; thanks be to him who sets his bow of peace and hope over these roaring waters.' " they had now arrived at the cottage, and a wild, romantic place it was for a human being to live. patterson thought he would look into this singular hut, and see its interior structure. he gently opened the door, which was unfastened, and entered, followed by jane, but emeline went no farther than the threshold. not much was seen upon the inside, but every thing wore the air of neatness and order. abbott's flute was upon a rude table. and as emeline stood in the door way she discovered it. "how terrible is this spot!' whispered emeline. the door is closed, and he's not within, i fear. o, if some accident has happened to him in this wild and fearful place! i tremble with fearful forebodings. o, god! spare his life yet a me!' she exclaimed. let me take the little while longer, that i may hear his lips 'yes, 'tis his flute he used to play to instrument in my hand.' 08 francis abbott; or she seized the bubbling waters, and at once recog nized his countenance. she exclaimed in a voice distinctly heard above the roaring of the cataract. francis abbott, behold your repentant emeline!' and she sprang towards him, but at that moment patterson seized her round the waist and held her back before she had time to plunge into the water to drown with her lover. abbott, turning his head at the sound of her voice, saw her, and attempted to speak, but he was so choked with the water he had not the power of utterance. raising his hands towards her and looking most intently for a moment, he sank beneath the merciless waves. patterson handed it to her. it with a trembling hand, and, pressing it to her heaving bosom, covered it with kisses. o, how glad i am to see only this,' she continued, still hugging it to her bosom with as much tenderness and affection as the young mother would her first born. while she held the flute which had discoursed so much sweet music to her in. days past, the tears streamed from her eyes and ran down her pallid cheeks. we will not stay here till he comes,', said jane. he may think we are intruders. no. he'd never deem emeline an intruder, but a most welcome visiter.' they finally concluded to leave the cottage and go down towards the river in search of him. and here we must be permitted to say that the true history of francis abbott compels us to make a denouement quite different from what we might, perhaps, if we were left to draw on our imagination for facts, instead of taking those which the history of our strange hero furnishes; but we shall not "travel out of the record,' however much such a course might please us, or our readers. when we sat down to write this biographical romance, (if we may so term it,) we were determined not to adopt fiction wherr facts laid in our way, therefore our readers must not complain, if the denouement declare more awful deaths than happy marriages. such a man as francis abbott did live at niagara falls, and he was such as we have described him. at that moment, the indian girl came rushing down the steep bank, and plunged into the water to rescue her friend from drowning, but she was too late. she swam to the place where he sank, but he rose not again there. she swam round the spot where he went down, her long black hair floating on the boiling surface of the river, but the object of her anxious search was not to be seen. deep had he sank in those turbulent waves, no more to remember in this world his beloved emeline. the indian girl continued floating over the waves which had swallowed all she reverenced on earth, shrieking most mournfully, and gazing downwards as if she would penetrate the dark abyss beneath her. just as she was about to plunge in the water, the ferryman in his boat caught hold of her hair and brought her to the shore. emeline was unconscious of all that was passing. when abbott sank, she fainted in the arms of patterson, and remained in that unconscious state for some time. she was taken to the hotel, and remained very weak. the hody of abbott was not found until the lapse of ten days after he was drowned. it was found at fort niagara, brought to the falls and buried. during these ten days emeline was confined to her room, and her only inquiry was, if the earthly remains of her lover had been found. the day it was discovwe said that patterson and the two ladies went towards the ferry. they did so, and when they had arrived near the water's edge, they heard the cry of the ferrymen, that the "hermit of the falls" was drowning. looking just above them, they saw abbott struggling in the waters. from his appearance, the cramp had evidently seized him and paralyzed his power to swim. emeline, when she saw him, screamed, and rushed over the rocks with great speed, for one so weak and trembling as she was. she had reached the place op-ered and brought to the falls for interposite to where abbott was struggling for his life not more than two rods distant from the shore. she saw his head above ment, was one of general mourning among the inhabitants. " will the body never be found?' inthe hermit of niagara. 99 quired emeline in a weak, broken voice.' all i once asked was, that i might see him and ask his forgiveness, but now my only desire is, to see his lifeless form, and gaze upon it ere death shall close my eyes in darkness.'. we hope you will not only live to see the body, but for many years afterwards,' replied jane. 'you have gained some strength within a few days, and our hopes are revived.' 'do you think, jane, i shall be well, and behold again my mother's grave?' asked emeline. it has,' replied jane, taking her by the hand, and gazing upon her with looks of love. " if but he did not speak to me and say at he forgave me,' she answered. le had, it seems to me i might have surived the shock, but alas! his lips never pronounced that word.' 'o god, i thank thee!' she exclaimed, raising her hands and eyes to the ceiling above. 6 now my only earthly desire will be gratified," my only earthly hope be realized. let me see the corpse ere it be placed in tfie cold tomb, and hid from all human eyes.' 'have you strength to go down stairs ? ? inquired jane. 6 strength!' she repeated in apparent surprise.. fes, i have strength to go why may you not?' replied her con-miles.feel better now. god has heard panion and friend? you have seen and answered my last prayer, and blessed our lover, and for this you must be gratebe his name.' il.' 6 preparations having been made emeline was led by her friend into the room below, where were placed the earthly remains of the "hermit of the falls." at this moment a carriage drove up, and a gentleman and lady alighted, and entered the room where the corpse lay, soon after emeline, jane, patterson, and some others entered. it was indeed a most solemn scene. a tomb-like silence reigned in 'his looks spoke it more eloquently than words, just before the waters closed wver him,' said jane. in his heart he orgave you and loved you still.' emeline trembled, but no words esthe apartment. all eyes were turned oped her lips. the reply of her com-upon emeline, as her friend slowly conned to affect her nerves most ducted her towards the corpse, as it rested a gentle knocking was now upon a table, not with the habiliments of chamber door. jane opened the grave wrapped round it, but draped n stood there, apparently in the same garments he wore when the from his looks, jane waters engulphed him, and covered with brought news that the a linen sheet. emeline rested tremblingly ad. putting her finger upon upon the arm of her friend, while patps, in token of silence, she stepped terson gently removed the sheet from the te the passage-way, and inquired of pat head of the corpse. or what brought him there, and why dɛ appeared so anxious. as she expect he told her that the body was found, and was then in a room below. she repirned to the chamber with the glad tidigs, but how to break them to emeline was a delicate question. she gazed for a moment on the livid countenance in breathless silence, but the sight was too appalling for her shattered nerves to bear. she shrieked and fell upon the floor ere jane had time to prevent her fall. a blood vessel was ruptured, and like the weary, worn-out winds, she breathed her last. the silent, mournful group were now startled by the sudden approach of another female, who exclaimed in heart-rending 'where have you been?' anxiously inuired emeline. ah, the expression on your countenance tells me you have heard omething. speak and tell me. excuse ne, jane, but i feel an impression that tones, as her eyes fell on the body of the he body has been taken from the cruel hermit, o god! am i too late? vaters. i see it in your eye. o speak, i never again hear the heavenly, enchantnd keep me no longer in suspense. has t been found?' shall ing strains of his flute?' and the agitated girl hurried to the body and impressed 1 100 francis abbott. ཏྟཾ )! ( }\ 7 al 1. is sins and follie . upon its cold lips a holy kiss. she then lovers, patterson, feeling a deep interest stepped back, and gazing upon the lifeless in jane delano, or rather in joanna lee, form of emeline clarendon, continued, (for that was her true name,) made prothere lies the object of his only love; posals of marriage to her, which, after of that love i would have given worlds to deliberation,, she accepted. before the purchase, if they had been mine to give. nuptials were celebrated, they disclosed to but i heart could love but once, and i each other, fully and frankly, the dark per ye the decrees of heaven. 1 passages in their lives. one had been a er nove again, and here, in the wanton, and the other a murderer; but "the acid and the living, beboth had long since repented in dust and fore ethly ferber, and him who dashes; and dark and deep as had been de father of all, renounce the world ins of guilt and crime upon their ocks they felt that long and bitter re¿l be well supposed, all proven.pentance had wesbed them out, and that were struck with astonishnet at the they were forgiven of heaven. and who sudden exclamation and strange sentiof 4gould small, sei bends re ments uttered by caroline davenport.--| mercy of tim why, look, since she saw francis abbott in boston, 1.sees every secrètenic the last winter, she had never forgotten it him who is without him, but had now visited the falls, in stone. eighteen centu company with her father, to see him; said to a woman, · go, but she also, as well as the object of his thy sins are forgiven the first and only love, was too late. true, were uttered by him who never the latter saw him a moment while he man. lived, but the former was only permitted to gaze upon his lifeless form. as. the • e caroline and her father, after a few days, returned home, but she kept her vow to forsake the sins and follies of the world, and in six months from that time cured a convent, where she still contimes to live, in hope of another and a brighter state of existence beyond the skies. the bodies of francis abbott and emeline clarendon were interred side by side, at the falls. often does the unfortunate indian girl visit these graves, and mourn over them in grief and sorrow. day after day, and month after month, has she been seen sitting upon the hermit's tomb, wrapped in her blue blanket, her chin resting upon her hands, and looking as if she were the guardian of the sacred spot. not many days after the performance of the funeral ceremonies over the two patterson and his wife, scon alon marriage, took passage for giaod, k they now live the christian's wife, it parish where she was born, not mary miles from london. both are much ongaged in the benevolent operasi day. in a few days after her her native, place,, she visited i the purpose of conversing gentlemen, sillendare and m whom she had, in months wickedly connected; but the to.. ing been seized with a brain fever, hurried to an early grave, and the sites had gone to germany, to seek tha: lespal ness which he could not find in 1 and which he never will fad, ani), "ko the repentant wife of patterson, l and leads a virtuous life; for 148 149 21010 t * the end. ** he takes in his wicked course tộc gà h earthly pilgrimage will teach. it does all others like him, that the way i as * the transgressor is hard. est ce 01 ter to rk 71 383 princeton university library 32101 058273747 a hermits wild friends by mason'a walton 1 library of nov tam tvm en dei viget sub numine princeton university. friends of the princeton library the gift of ernest c. savage '19 --. the 66 hermit and his home. l ( a hermit's wild friends or eighteen years in the woods by mason a. walton (the hermit of gloucester) boston dana estes & company publishers (recap) 8602 .955 copyright, 1903 by dana estes & company all rights reserved a hermit's wild friends published october, 1903 colonial press electrotyped and printed by c. h. simonds & co. boston, mass., u. s. a. το the lovers of nature, everywhere, this volume is fraternally dedicated 62-26 note during my eighteen years of hermit life, i claim to have discovered several new features in natural history, namely: that the cow-bunting watches over its young, assists the foster parents in providing , food, and gradually assumes full care of the young bird, and takes it to the pasture to associate with its kind; that the white-footed mouse is dumb, and communicates with its species by drumming with its toes; that the wood-thrush conducts a singing-school for the purpose of teaching its young how to sing; that the chickadee can count; that the shad-bush on cape ann assumes a dwarf form, and grows in patches like the low-bush blueberry, fruiting when less than a foot in height; that the red squirrel owns a farm or fruit garden, and locates his male children v note on territory which he preempts for the purpose. i am aware that my claims will be vigorously assailed, but i have verified these discoveries by years of patient observation, and would say to my critics : “ you would better investigate carefully before denying the probability of any one of these claims.” thanks are due the publishers of forest and stream and youth's companion for permission to republish articles which have appeared in these respective journals. m. a. walton. gloucester, april 5, 1903. vi contents chapter . . 67 . . page i. nature versus medicine 11 ii. satan the raccoon 30 iii. wabbles. 52 iv. bismarck, the red squirrel v. changes in hermit life 99 vi. the white footed mouse . 118 vii. three years later 136 viii. the crow 140 ix. life in the woods 156 x. mr. and mrs. chewink 172 xi. somé of the wild things 190 xii. the instinct of the cow bird. 208 xiii. bee hunting . 223 xiv. tiny 236 xv. the chestnut sided warbler 253 xvi. instinct 265 xvii. the chickadees 282 xviii. triplefoot 295 . . . list of illustrations page the “ hermit” and his home . frontispiece tree sparrow 25 fox sparrow 27 bay winged bunting . 28 blackbird raccoon's head 30 “i begun by tying on a nut 37 66 with a savage snarl he sprang on to 29 . 66 . 47 52 . the dude song sparrow 66 wabbles made it his business to awake me at daylight” wabbles pigeon hawk « many a sprinting match of this kind 54 65 69 . . 74 takes place in my dooryard « the winter storehouse was completed indigo bird . oven bird black throated green warbler 85 96 97 98 list of illustrations . . • . page 102 103 104 104 105 106 107 109 110 111 . . . . . cedar bird . the new cabin maryland yellowthroat red winged blackbirds brown thrush swamp song sparrow baltimore oriole belted kingfisher, watching . kingfisher, striking kingfisher, lifting his catch 66 the distance between them grew less quite rapidly “ hermit, you are out ” 6 it carries its victim by the middle" mole kingbird ruffed grouse « the next sentinel takes up the call 6 i shot two ducks coot's head . chickadee 66 i threw a bit of cookie to her english sparrow. sparrow 6 found his owlship on a low limb owl chased . yellow bellied woodpecker « he coiled around my arm . . 114 117 125 131 141 145 151 158 159 173 174 186 189 191 193 196 202 . . . . . . list of illustrations . . page blue winged yellow warbler 211 bee hunting 226 66 again the plucky little bunting set its wing and lowered its head 241 “ made his way to the box, hand over hand 245 caestnut sied warbler 254 blue jays 265 wood thrush 275 the hermit thrush 278 triplefoot's den 298 " she stopped to look around, and saw 303 . . me” t a hermit's wild friends or eighteen years in the woods i. nature versus medicine eighteen years ago i was in sore straits. ill health had reduced my flesh until i resembled the living skeleton of a dime show. i realized that a few months more of city life would take me beyond the living stage, and that the world would have no further use for me except to adorn some scientific laboratory. a diagnosis of my case would read as follows: dyspepsia, aggravated, medicine could give but slight relief. catarrh, malignant, 11 a hermit's wild friends persistent. a douche was necessary every morning to relieve the severe facial pain. a cough that had worried me by day and by night, and thrived on all kinds of cough medicine. also, my lungs were sore and the palms of my hands were hot and dry. i thought that i was fading away with consumption, but the doctors said my lungs were sound. i was advised to go into the woods and try life in a pine grove. as there was no money for the doctors in this advice, i looked upon it as kind and disinterested, but my mind ran in another direction. when i was young and full of notions, the idea entered my head that i should like a change from fresh to salt water. it resulted in a two months' trip on a fishing schooner. during the trip i had been free from seasickness, and had gained flesh rapidly. the memory of that sea voyage haunted me, now that i had become sick and discouraged. it seemed to me that a few weeks on salt water life. with high hopes, i boarded the little would save my 12 nature versus medicine 66 9 66 we are gosteamer that plied between boston and gloucester. i thought it would be an easy matter to secure board on one of the many vessels that made short trips after mackerel. for three days i haunted the wharves in vain. the “skippers,” one and all, gave the same reason for refusing my offers. ing after fish,” said they, “and cannot be bothered with a sick man.” at last one skipper” discouraged me completely. he said to me: “i once took a sick man on board, and because we did not strike fish, the fishermen called the passenger a jonah, and made his life miserable. three days after we returned he died, and i swore then that i never would take another sick man to sea. this "skipper's ” story, and my fruitless efforts caused me to abandon the salt water i turned now to the hills around gloucester. in the end i selected bond's hill, because it was surrounded by pine groves. i found the hill covered with blueberry and huckleberry bushes, the latter loaded with fruit. on the brow of the hill the soil had > 66 cure. 13 a hermit's wild friends " been washed away, leaving great masses of bed rock (granite) towering above the cottages that clung to the base of the cliff. on the extreme brow of the hill i found a spot where the soil had gathered and maintained a grass-plot. here i pitched my little tent. here i lived from august to december. i called the spot the eyrie, because it reminded me of the regions inhabited by eagles. a visit to the spot will disclose the fitness of the name. on this spot my eighteen years of hermit life begun. at first i made it a practice to go to the city every day for one meal, bringing back food enough to last until another day. i found the huckleberries good wholesome food that did not aggravate my chronic dyspepsia. two weeks of outdoor life had brought a little color to my cheeks and had made me feel like a new man. about this time i awoke in the morning to remember that i had not coughed during the night. the cough that 14 nature versus medicine had harassed me night and day for two years, left me then and there, never to return. nature was performing wonders where medicine had failed. before the month of september had ended, my catarrh disappeared, and i no longer had use for the douche. from that time to this, i have been free from catarrh. i do not have even the symptoms, known as hay-fever. the dull, heavy pain that i had experienced constantly from dyspepsia, gradually subsided and eventually ceased. since that time i have been able to eat any kind of food, at any time, day or night, without the depressing pains of indigestion. during my first experience, climbing bond's hill, on my return from the city, had been almost beyond my strength. i had to rest three times before reaching my tent. by the middle of november my strength had returned nearly to the old standard, and i mounted the hill without a thought of weariness. standing one day on a massive spur of 15 a hermit's wild friends bed rock, near my tent, my thoughts went back to the statement of the doctors in relation to my lungs. i had just ascended the hill, without a long breath, and a hale, hearty feeling pervaded every fibre of my system. i knew, then, that my lungs were all right, and thanks to nature, i had recovered my health and stood there comparatively a well man. while i was yet weak, i passed many hours at the eyrie, entranced by the magnificent panorama spread before me. i could see the larger part of the city of gloucester, which extended, in a semicircle, from riverdale to eastern point. later in the season i watched the ebb and flow of the tide on the marshes that border annisquam river. the outer harbor, with ten pound island near the entrance of the inner harbor, lay in plain view, and the shifting scenes on its restless waters possessed a fascination which i could seldom resist. day after day i watched the vessels of the 16 nature versus medicine the hermit's wild friends fishing fleet as they rounded eastern point, bound outward or inward. these vessels were models of beauty, and looked as if they were built for racing instead of fishing. i often compared them with the clumsy coasters that rode at anchor in the outer harbor. now and then a vessel, homeward bound, rounded eastern point with her flag halfmast. mute reminder of the hardships and perils of a fisherman's life. every morning soon after it had become light enough to see, several boats could be seen rowing shoreward. usually there was only one man to a boat. it did not take me long to find out that these lone rowers coming in out of the night were fishermen that pulled their lobster-pots after one o'clock in the morning. i saw another lone fisherman sail out of the harbor every morning when there was wind enough to fill a dory sail. day after day he sailed or rowed out to sea to fish for shore codfish. he supported a large family from the proceeds of his labor, but the life was lonely and perilous. i watched 17 a hermit's wild friends 66 66 his return once when the wind was blowing a fierce gale. the little boat would careen until the sail trailed in the water and it seemed to me that she must capsize. at the last moment she would come up into the wind and right. in this slow, dangerous manner she was worked to the mouth of annisquam river and tied up above the cut bridge. the next day i asked the fisherman how he had managed to keep his boat right side up. oh, that was easy. when she heeled too much, i shook her up, and kept her from taking in water.” shook her up,” was a new phrase to me. below my eyrie lay the little hamlet called the cut. some of its cottages had straggled up to the base of the cliff just below the tent. i could look down on a long stretch of western avenue beginning at the cut and ending in ward five, beyond the cut bridge. the latter was a drawbridge, and when open the city of gloucester was on an island, with the exception of ward eight, which lies on the west side of annisquam river. 9 18 nature versus medicine the hermit's wild friends 12 i had located in ward eight, but at the time did not know anything in relation to its size, as compared with the other wards of the city. a glance at the map in the city directory showed me that ward eight was larger in area than all the other wards combined. i also found that it comprised within its limits the cut, fresh water cove, west gloucester, and magnolia. it pleased me much to find that it contained about twelve thousand acres of shrub land and forest. two-thirds of the way from the cut to the drawbridge, essex avenue connects with western avenue. essex avenue crosses the marsh to west gloucester, and is the highway into the city for essex and other distant towns. there is a constant stream of travel over this highway, divided among farmers, icemen, and pleasure-seekers. the travel on western avenue is now, and was then, made up largely from the summer colonies at magnolia and manchester. showy turnouts passed and repassed, so that i had enough to attract my attention from sunrise to sunset. 19 a hermit's wild friends when facing the harbor, i could turn to the left and look across the marsh to dogtown common. i had to look above and beyond a straggling portion of the city. dogtown common, in revolutionary days, contained forty dwellings; now it was houseless. i saw only a boulder-covered region of pasture-land, choked by huckleberry and blueberry bushes, with here and there large tangles of catbrier. some of the sunsets seen from the eyrie were beautiful beyond description. whenever a massive bank of clouds hung above the western horizon, the setting sun illuminated the city from riverdale to eastern point, and every window in sight glowed like burnished gold. until the middle of november the weather continued mild and balmy, with but a few stormy days. i recall, with pleasure and satisfaction, the evenings passed at the eyrie. perched on the brow of the cliff, i studied the city by moonlight, lamplight, and gashermits wild friends light. 'on dark nights the lights of the city took on the shape of a huge monster, half20 nature versus medicine coiled, and extended from riverdale to eastern point light. the latter is a revolving red light, and it gave the semblance of life to the one-eyed monster which constantly blinked its great red eye. it pleased me to call this imaginary monster the sea-serpent. gloucester owes her growth to the sea, and she might well take on the shape of the seaserpent. when the danger-signals were up, the outer harbor was crowded with craft of all kinds. at night time the tossing lights on the vessels contrasted strangely with the fixed lights on shore. the twin lights on thatcher's island could be seen from the eyrie, and i often wondered if these lights were necessary. to the middle of november i had seen the sea only in comparatively fair weather, when it was on its good behavior. afterward a storm that wrecked my tent, and brought in its wake huge waves that thundered against the headlands of cape ann, caused me to wonder in another direction. it seems incredible, but it is a 21 a hermit's wild friends fact, that i could feel the solid rock tremble beneath my tent from the shock of wave against headland, one fourth of a mile distant. the storm died out, but it left an impression on my mind that caused me to look for a locality less exposed to the wind. i found an ideal spot on the “ old salem road.” the spot was surrounded by wooded hills, where a little brook crept out of a swamp and crossed to the south side of the old highway. after crossing the highway, the waters of the brook went tumbling and singing down to another swamp, where they were lost in a tangle of moss, ferns, and marsh-marigolds. the old salem road had been deserted more than one hundred years, save as a wood road in winter. at one time it was the connecting link between salem and gloucester. seven ruined cellars indicate the spots where dwelling-houses once stood. i moved my tent from the eyrie, and put it up within the limits of the old highway, 22 the crow nature versus medicine and begun to build a little log cabin in which to spend the winter. while in the tent i experienced zero weather, and it may be of interest to know how i managed to keep warm. i had picked i up two discarded milk-cans, and these i filled with hard wood coals from a fire which i maintained near the tent. by closing the flaps of the tent the heat from the cans would keep up an even temperature through the night. if it happened to get cold toward morning i would burn a newspaper now and then, which would warm the tent until light enough to start an outdoor fire. i baked beans in a hole in the ground, in true maine camp style. there would be coals enough under the bean-pot, in the morning, to cook coffee, and hot coffee and baked beans seemed to go to the right spot when the thermometer was hanging around zero, and one was living in a cotton tent. i did my cooking on a bed of red hot coals, thus avoiding smoked food and the loss of coffee-pot handle or spout. hemlock bark 23 a hermit's wild friends from a dead tree will give the best coals in the shortest time. by the middle of december i had moved into my log cabin. i put in a second-hand . range, which proved to be an excellent baker and warmed the cabin in the coldest weather. the remainder of the winter “i was as snug as a bug in a rug,” to use an old familiar adage. before the winter months had passed, chickadees, black snowbirds, and tree-sparrows found their way into the cabin dooryard. i fed lard to the chickadees on a chip, and the birds would eat this clear fat, at short intervals, all day, and come around the next morning none the worse for the strange diet. certainly such food would kill any other bird. the snow-birds and sparrows were fed on different kinds of bird-seed. when i mention sparrows i do not refer to the english sparrow. i am pleased to state that this undesirable alien does not come to my dooryard. the tree-sparrow is a native bird, and here on the cape, is seen only in winter. it comes 24 nature versus medicine to us in october, and leaves by the first of april. the tree-sparrow is an interesting bird to know. it comes to us in the winter fifuertes j tree sparrow. when the most of our birds are in the south. it is a handsome bird from a sparrow standpoint. the crown is a bright chestnut, and there are chestnut markings on the side of the head 25 a hermit's wild friends and on the bend of the wing. the back is boldly streaked with black, bay, and light gray. there is much white edging to the feathers of the tail and wings in winter. a few of these birds stopped about the cabin all winter; but a flock numbering hundreds wintered on bond's hill. on warm days they roamed over the hill, far and near, always flying low and keeping well down in the shrubby growth. but when the weather was cold i would find them in a sheltered spot, where meadowsweet, bayberry, hardhack, blueberry, huckleberry, and sweet-fern shrubs crowded each other until their interwoven branches held a mantle of snow. beneath this shelter the birds secmed to find food, for they were busy at all hours of the day. i passed many hours watching them while they were thus secluded. invariably i found them chirping to each other, and by listening closely i could catch snatches of song low and sweet. the last of march their low song could be heard in the shrub-lands. later, when the 26 ferty fox sparrow. nature versus medicine song-sparrows and bluebirds swelled the chorus, the tree-sparrows silently disappeared. april 3d, in the morning, i found a large flock of fox-sparrows in the dooryard. it is somewhat singular that for three years they appeared on the same day of the month. one year, april 3, 1887, i awoke in the morning to find three feet of snow in the dooryard, and i was obliged to shovel the snow away in order to feed the sparrows on bare ground. the fox-sparrow is two-thirds as large as a robin, and may be classed with the beautiful birds both in form and coloration. the sexes are alike. the color above is a rich rusty red, deepest and brightest on the wings, tail, and rump. the head, neck, and shoulders are a dark ash-color, more or less streaked with rusty red. below the groundwork is snow-white, also thickly spotted with rust red. it could be called a wood-thrush by a careless observer. these birds are migrants with us, and pass through the state to their breeding-grounds in april, to return in october. it is usually six weeks from the 27 a hermit's wild friends are time the first flock appears before the loiterers all gone. the flock that called on me was a very large one, numbering over one hundred birds. mornings they made the woods ring with their delightful music. h.h.n. bay winged bunting. when the birds returned in april and may, i found that i was a trespasser on the nesting-ground of many a woodland bird. catbirds, towhee-buntings, robins, thrushes, and numerous warblers nested around my cabin. by this time i had settled down to hermit28 nature versus medicine life in earnest. i had tried the experiment of “ nature versus medicine,” and nature had triumphed. with good health, with strange > muyot blackbird. birds and flowers to study and identify, i was content to spend a portion of my rescued life in dame nature's company. 29 ii. satan the raccoon during the early years of my hermit-life, i had caged many small animals, such as deer-mice, raccoons, woodchucks, chipmunks, flying squirrels, stoats, mink, and red and gray squirrels. my first captive an artful old coon. i caught him in a small steel raccoon's head. trap, the jaws of which had been wound with cloth as a protection to the foot. the den was under a boulder near the cabin. i set the trap at the mouth of the den and covered it with was 30 satan the raccoon leaves. the next morning the trap, with clog attached, was missing. there was a trail in the dead leaves easily followed. while following the zigzag trail i was in plain sight of the coon, but he remained quiet until he found that he was discovered, then made frantic efforts to escape. the clog had anchored him securely to some witch-hazel shrubs. he was full of fight, and i had to look out for his teeth and claws. i had brought along a stout piece of duck, which i wrapped around the raccoon, trap and all; thus secure from his wicked teeth and claws, i toted him to the cabin. it took me two hours to put a strap on his neck. the struggle was a desperate one. without the duck it would have been a victory for the raccoon. when i had the strap securely fastened and a dog-chain attached, i removed the trap from his foot, then staked him out near the cabin. for two weeks he tried night and day to free himself from collar and chain, then suddenly appeared to be contented. 31 a hermit's wild friends instinct plays no part in coon lore. a coon can reason as well as the average human being. my captive proved to be as artful and wicked as beelzebub himself. whenever my back was turned he would be up to all sorts of mischief. when caught red-handed he could put on a look of innocence too comical for anything. by the end of the first month he had got all of my ways of life down fine. if i went into the woods with my gun, on my return he would tear around in his cage anxious for the squirrel he had not seen, but was sure to get. when i went away without the gun, he paid no attention on my return. i do not think he was guided by scent, for sometimes the wind would not be right. without doubt he connected the gun and squirrel in his mind, and perhaps knew more about a gun than i thought. he did not take kindly to cage-life, although his cage was under a small pine-tree, so when i was about the cabin i chained him to the tree and let him run outside. i put 32 satan the raccoon him into the cage every day before going to the city for my mail. he resented this, and would run up the pine-tree when he saw me lock the cabin-door. one day i pulled him down and whipped him while he lay prone on the ground, with his eyes covered. i took away his food and water. he must have been downright hungry before i fed him. he never forgot the lesson. after that, when he saw me lock up he would sneak into his cage, fearful, i suppose, that if found outside he would be whipped and starved. he preferred food in the order herein named: insects, eggs, birds or poultry, frogs, nuts, red squirrel, rabbit, gray squirrel, and fish. this, without doubt, was the bill of fare of his wild state. he would not touch green corn or milk until i had crushed the former into his mouth, and had dipped his nose into the latter. afterward he would leave everything for milk. the first rabbit i fed to him was about two-thirds grown. it was one which a mink had chased into my dooryard and killed. it was evident from the first that the coon was समय 33 a hermit's wild friends no stranger to this kind of food. he opened the rabbit's mouth with his fore paws and ate out the tongue, after which he skinned the head, turning the skin back over the neck. he crushed the bones of the head and lapped out the brains. on the third day he had finished the rabbit, and the skin was turned inside out, even to the ends of the toes. squirrels were skinned in the same manner. this coon decided for me a disputed question. i refer to the whimper or cry of the coon. night after night, in the nutting season, he would call to his comrades, and they would answer from the surrounding woods. when the sweet acorns were ripe, satan was unusually active early in the evening. at this early hour the coons were abroad in search for food, and satan scented them, and did his best to attract their attention. one coon passed near the cabin every night and answered satan's cries, so i imagined that it was his mate. many writers claim that the tremulous cry attributed to the coon is made by the little 34 satan the raccoon screech-owl (scops asio). it is true, doubtless, that people that do not know both cries may make such a mistake. the little owls appear to resent my intrusion on their vested rights, so from early spring to late fall they haunt my sleepingquarters, and divide their time between snapping their beaks and uttering their monotonous notes. as i sleep in the open air nine months out of the twelve, i have a good chance to study both cries, and could not mistake one for the other. the coon is a ventriloquist. his cry seems to come down from the sky. a friend came in from the city one night to hear the coon cry. it was a moonlight night, and the coon was staked out in the dooryard. my friend was not looking when the first cry was uttered, but claimed that the sound came from the trees overhead. afterward he saw the coon in the act, and could not make a mistake. when satan uttered the cry, he was always sitting on his haunches. he would throw his head up until his nose pointed skyward, then ch 35 a hermits wild friends blow the sound out between his half-closed lips. my friend had brought in a blanket and hammock, and was prepared to spend the night in the open air. he slung his hammock near mine, and we turned in about ten o'clock. he was nervous and restless, and said he could not sleep with the little owls about him. every fifteen or twenty minutes he would call to me to ask about some noise of the night, common enough, but which appeared strange and startling to him in the strained condition of his nerves. soon after midnight a small animal, doubtless a stoat looking for an owl supper, dropped on to my friend's blanket. there was a smothered cry, full of fear, and a flying figure that did not stop until my hammock was reached. nothing that i could say would induce the frightened man to go back to that hammock. he suggested at last that he would sleep in the cabin. i assented, and we soon had a bed arranged in a bunk. the cabin was overrun with white-footed mice, and i looked for more trouble. twenty min36 merguson kennedy "1 begun by tying on a nut." satan the raccoon utes later i heard several war-whoops, and i saw my friend tumble out of the cabin into the door-yard. “ are you awake?” cried he. “certainly,” i answered, “ you don't think there is any one asleep in this county after the racket you have made, do you?” “oh, let up with your fooling,” said he, “this is a serious thing. i sleep with my mouth open ; suppose ; one of those mice had run down my throat and choked me to death? i am going home." and home he did go. i accompanied him through the woods to western avenue, and returned in time to get three hours' sleep. my friend was like hundreds of other nervous people that i had known in a lifetime, who were too sensitive to enjoy a night in the open air. to be in full accord with nature one should get accustomed to the presence of a snake now and then, in the open-air bed. satan was an apt scholar. i taught him to pull in his chain, hand over hand, sailorfashion. the chain was twelve feet in length. i begun by tying on a nut about two feet 37 a hermit's wild friends from the coon. he pulled in the chain with his fore feet, which he used as hands. i would say to him, “pull in the chain. pull in the chain," and inside of a week he would obey the order without the use of food. i think he enjoyed the sport. the boys that visited my cabin thought it great fun to play with satan. they would pull the chain out and watch the coon pull it in. when satan got tired he would coil the chain and lay on it, and the play was ended for the time being. after he had rested awhile he would go on with the play. when he was resting, if a boy offered to reach the chain he would lay back his ears, growl, and show his teeth. when he was ready to play he would sit up on his hind feet, prick his ears forward and look clever; then the boys could reach under him and pull out the chain without danger. one day, while the coon was chained to a stake in the dooryard, he killed a pet bird in a manner so cruel and crafty, that it caused me to name him satan then and there. i had 38 satan the raccoon placed a piece of matting by the stake to which the coon was chained. he understood that the matting was for his use, and he would cry to be fed while chained out. he used the matting as a dining-table and bed combined. the pet bird that was killed was a male catbird. satan had left a piece of cookie on the matting, and the catbird thought to appropriate it. i was writing, not thirty feet away, and looked up just in time to see the flash of satan's paw. i shouted, and rushed to the rescue. when i reached the coon the bird had disappeared. satan looked so innocent and surprised that i was led to believe that the bird had escaped. i returned to my writing, and the coon settled down for a nap. an hour later a visitor from the city called to get the loan of a book on birds. i went to the cabin for the book, and when i returned satan was patting down the edge of the mat. he saw me, and put on his innocent look. he coiled up as if he were about to try to sleep in a new spot. my suspicion was aroused. i pulled away the coon and under 39 a hermit's wild friends i gave the mat found the dead bird. he had killed the bird and placed it under him so swiftly that i did not detect the trick when i went to the rescue. for a full hour he simulated sleep while he had the dead bird under him all the time. when i went to the cabin he hid the dead body under the mat. him a severe whipping and placed the dead bird on his mat. the next day i buried the body, so satan did not profit by his crafty deed. he remembered the whipping, and ever after did not molest the birds. i once saw a young towhee-bunting sit on his hind foot and eat from a cookie that the coon had tried to hide. how it would have fared with the bird, if i had been absent, is a question. i don't think satan had any respect for the sabbath, but he knew the day, nevertheless. on week-days, i returned from city about nine o'clock a. m. soon after, i would stake satan in the dooryard, and he would seem much pleased with the change. i got up every morning at daybreak. my first duty was to feed the birds and satan, then get a 40 satan the raccoon my breakfast. at first i did not let satan out of his cage on sundays, on account of the dogs that my visitors brought along. every sunday morning i would feed satan as soon as i was out of my hammock, as i did on week-day mornings, but he would not eat or drink, and constantly tried to open the door of the cage. he certainly knew, thus early in the morning, that it was sunday, and he would have to remain hived up in his cage all day. it seemed to me, that if satan was intelligent enough to keep run of the days of the week, he ought to know about the dogs, and was willing to fight them rather than be cooped up all day. i knew all about the fighting ability of the raccoon. it had been my good fortune to observe the evolution of a young coon, from a helpless, sprawling bunch of fat and fur, to an old coon, with a bristling battery of claws and teeth operated by chain-lightning. after due consideration i concluded to let satan take chances with the dogs. the next sunday i staked him in the dooryard and awaited developments. er 41 a hermit's wild friends a big newfoundland dog was the first to appear. the moment he saw the coon he made a fierce rush, but satan sprang lightly into the air and landed on the dog's back. swiftly and savagely he delivered two blows on the dog's eyes. the big brute tore himself away from the coon and frantically rubbed his eyes with his fore paws. when he could see a little, he “ dusted ” for home, a sadder but wiser dog. the next dog was a small one, and satan gave him a slap under the ear that landed him outside of the ring, or beyond the length of the coon's chain. this dog did not go home, but went to his master for sympathy. he could not be induced afterward to look at the coon. dog number three proved to be a yelping cur. he did not attack the coon, but danced around him, yelping all the time. he distracted the visitors with his incessant yelping. his master could not call him off. satan set a trap for the cur, and caught him, too. he went to the stake, pulled in the chain, 42 satan the raccoon and then pretended to sleep. the dog was deceived, and got bolder and bolder until he was near enough for satan to reach him. the coon made a swift rush and caught the yelping cur, and handled him so roughly that i was obliged to rescue him. it is needless to say that the cur was cured of yelping. satan whipped two other dogs before night, then for several weeks had no trouble worth mentioning now and then, through the summer, a strange dog would attack satan and get whipped. there is a class of writers that claim that the lower animals cannot reason. that such animals are controlled by instinct. i have ever found the lower animals as intelligent in relation to the needs of their lives as we are to ours. satan proved to me and to others that he could reason, also that he could take advantage of new circumstances. visitors often gave satan a dirty nut, which he would clean by rubbing it between his paws. this trick was played on the coon constantly. satan invented a new way to clean a nut. he 43 a hermit's wild friends young male. would take it to the mat and roll it under his fore paw. how did he find out that he could clean a nut on the mat? there was no instinct, as i afterward proved. when visitors were feeding nuts to him i dusted his mat with ashes. satan would take a nut and start for the mat, but his keen sight would detect the ashes, and he would stop, sit up, and clean the nut in the old way. in november i trapped another coon, a doubtless he was the son of satan, for he was from the same den. i knew, too, that he was born after satan was captured, so they could have no knowledge of each other. i thought i would put the young coon in satan's cage and see if the old fellow would recognize his own flesh and blood. if he did, i would have to admit that it was a case of instinct. when i put them together a desperate fight took place. the young coon was soon whipped and tried to hide. satan followed him up, but suddenly began to sniff. he dropped his nose on to the young coon's ears, sniffing all the time. 44 satan the raccoon on instantly his savage look changed for one of pleasure. his ears, that just now were flat his head, pricked up, and the lips, which were drawn back, showing the cruel teeth, fell into place. he put his arms around the young coon's neck and dragged him into the nest. then he licked his ears and head, purring all the time like a big cat. satan had recognized his son. i had noticed that the sense employed was of smell, and not of sight. i readily understood the meaning. the young coon carried the scent of his mother, and satan had recognized it, and with subtle reasoning had concluded that he had found his own offspring. afterward i trapped five coons. one was i put the four young coons, one at a time, into satan's cage. two of these were from the old den, and satan recognized them at once after sniffing them. the other two were from a distant den, and as soon as satan put his nose on their ears he fell to mauling them, and i was obliged to take them out to save their lives. an adult. 45 a hermit's wild friends i could handle satan whenever or however i pleased, and he would not lose his temper. it would be dangerous for a stranger to put a hand on him. one could almost step on him and he would not take offence, but he drew the line at touch. during the nine months that he was in my possession he attacked but one person. i met the gentleman in question at barnum's show, on stage fort. after the people had entered the main tent i stopped some time in the animal tent. i noticed a dudish-looking fellow acting in a peculiar manner before a cage containing two lions. i was interested, and strolled over to the cage. the fellow was a dude beyond a doubt. he wore a cowboy hat, a checkered coat, a crimson vest, and lavender colored trousers. he was trying to look the lions out of countenance. the big african lion, the male, seemed to feel uneasy under the fixed gaze of the dude, and at last crowded behind his mate. “ see him cower and hide,” cried the fellow, addressing me. the human eye, intelligently used, can subdue the most fero> 46 "with a savage snarl he sprang on to the dude." satan the raccoon cious brute living. i could enter that cage and handle those lions as i would kittens.” i did not dispute his assertion, and he asked if the woods about gloucester harbored wild animals. i told him about my raccoon. he suggested that it would please him to tame the coon for me, and offered to accompany me home. when the show was over i missed the liontamer, but the next day he came down the hill to the cabin, resplendent in his checkered coat, crimson vest, and lavender trousers. as soon as he had said good morning he threw off his hat and coat and started the circus. he fixed his gaze on the coon and slowly approached him, stamping his feet while he cried, in a commanding tone, “down, sir, , down, sir!” satan looked at the dude, then looked toward me. this was something new, and he wanted my opinon. when he found that i remained quiet, he concluded to act for himself. with a savage snarl he sprang on to the dude and fastened his claws in the lavender trousers. the dude, half-frightened 47 a hermit's wild friends the cold ai satan wo the swing arranged once he sa he invest paws, and to death, jumped backward beyond the length of satan's chain. satan held on, and the trousers were stripped from the hips to the knees. fortunately, the coon's claws did not reach the flesh. the dude put on a pair of my trousers, and with needle and silk i essayed to mend the lavender wreck. my work was rather clumsy. i should starve to death if i depended on the needle. i toiled and wrestled for two hours with that piece of work. it was a warm day, and i was nearly drowned in my own perspiration. the dude put on the mended trousers and left me without saying so much as “thank you.” thus was hood's “ song of the shirt ” verified. on the approach of cold weather i made arrangements to winter satan in the cabin. i placed a box inside, and the cage outside, and connected the two by a passage made of boards. the passage was eight inches square, and near the end that entered the cage i had hung a swinging door to keep 48 swinging box insid that the to tel prised by comprehe being. ] the i had ar and even the cabi contents light pu touched coon on grave and reli one satan the raccoon h ne де ot s, ed er ed it ed the cold air from the nest inside. i expected satan would have to be taught the use of the swinging door. after everything was arranged i put satan into the cage, and at once he saw the change that had been made. he investigated the passage with his handy paws, and when he found he could move the swinging door he passed through into the box inside. after he had satisfied himself that the nest was all right, he came out. to tell the truth, i was somewhat surprised by the ingenuity displayed. satan's comprehension was equal to that of a human being. i removed the chain and collar, and the coon and i settled down for the winter. i had arranged a cover to satan's nest-box, and evenings i would give him the freedom of the cabin. inside of a week he knew the contents of the cabin better than i did. the light puzzled him. once, and once only, he touched the lamp-chimney. he would look on gravely while i would blow out the lamp and relight it again. one night i forgot to fasten the cover in ad ok 99 de in. de, de nes he ep 49 a hermit's wild friends . his nest-box. that night something touched me on the face and awoke me. i remained quiet, and soon i felt a cold, soft touch on my cheek. a swift clutch and i had satan by one paw. i held him until i had lighted the lamp. he looked innocent and grieved, and tried to show me that he did not mean any wrong. he wanted to know if i were asleep or dead. when i released him he went to his box and raised the cover so quickly and neatly that it seemed a slight-of-hand performance. one morning i neglected to secure the door to satan's cage. when i returned that night the door was open and the coon was missing. the next day i took some food to the den under the boulder, but satan did not care for food. he was fat enough to go into hibernation, and had probably entered upon the sleep that would last till spring. the next spring satan would come to the mouth of the den and take food from my hand, but he was so crafty that i could not get hold of his neck. i thought to arrange a box50 satan the raccoon trap in which to catch him, when i could get time. one day i missed him, and when i heard that a farmer had caught a coon in his poultry-house, and had killed him, i knew that satan had sacrificed his life to his appetite for poultry. the reckless act did not indicate a lack of reason. human beings sacrifice their lives to ppetite, so which of us will throw the first stone at satan? 51 iii. wabbles а wabbles is the name of a wild bird. not a book name, for the bird is known to natural1 1 1 song sparrow. ists as the song-sparrow (melospiza fasciata). i made wabbles's acquaintance some years 52 wabbles wabbles a ago. on returning to my log cabin one afternoon, i had found him in the dooryard, wounded, bleeding, and exhausted. an examination disclosed a number four shot bedded in the muscle of the wing-joint. while i was removing the lead wabbles struggled violently, and when released, hopped into the bushes and hid himself. i think he held a poor opinion of my surgical skill. the next day he was about the dooryard with other sparrows, but for many days his flight was a peculiar wabble, hence his name. wabbles was left behind when, on the approach of cold weather, the song-sparrows migrated southward. he seemed contented, and i thought he would stop with me through the winter, but one cold day he was missing. early in the following march, i looked out upon the snow-banks one blustering morning, and saw wabbles in the dooryard. he had returned in the night, two weeks ahead of his mates. i do not know how far south he had wintered, but doubtless he had remembered the little log cabin in the woods, and all the 53 a hermit's wild friends time had understood that food and a welcome awaited his return. that spring the sparrows lingered about my dooryard three weeks or more, and then dispersed to the neighboring fields and pastures, for the song-sparrow does not nest in the woods. wabbles did not leave with the rest, and when spring merged into summer and he yet remained, i understood the reason the male song-sparrow is obliged to do battle for the possession of a mate, and wabbles, with his tender wing, wisely forbore to enter the lists. he preferred the cool woods and . free food to the sun-scorched fields and a mateless life. wabbles and i became fast friends. he was constantly hopping about the dooryard, and was always on hand to greet me whenever i returned from town. i slept in the open air in a hammock, with only a canvas roof to keep off the rain, and wabbles made it his business to awake me at daylight. the little rogue pursued the same method each morning. he would hop about а i 1 54 mergusonkennedy 66 wabbles made it his business to awake me at daylight. و۱ 3 直 ​1 1 1 1 4 wabbles wabbles in the bushes near the hammock, and chirp to me in the loud, sharp call-note peculiar to the sparrow family. if i remained quiet he would break into song. he confined his singing usually to the morning and evening hours. but on my return after a long absence, he would sing for a short time, regardless of the time of day. it was a bird's method of expressing joy. i thought that he prized my companionship and disliked to be left alone. that fall wabbles migrated with his mates, but the next spring he returned as before, two weeks ahead of the main flock. he lingered about the cabin until the mating season approached, when he disappeared for five days. on his return he brought with him a matea shy, demure little wife. wabbles wanted to set up housekeeping in the woods, so he showed mrs. wabbles all the nooks, sly corners, and sheltered spots, but it was useless; she positively refused to build a nest beneath the trees. she flew away to the fields, and wabbles followed her. three weeks later, when returning from 55 a hermit's wild friends . town, i heard his familiar call by the roadside. he came hurriedly through the bushes and fluttered to my feet. he appeared overjoyed to see me, and greedily ate the crackercrumbs i gave him. when he flew away, i followed him. he led me a long distance to a field, where i found mrs. wabbles sitting on four dainty, speckled eggs. the nest was in the open field, beneath a tuft of grass. three baby sparrows were reared from this nest. when they were big enough to fly, i expected that wabbles would move his whole family to the woods, provided mrs. wabbles would consent, which i much doubted. sure enough, early in autumn wabbles returned, but he was alone. i fancied that he had deserted his family for my companionship and a life in the woods. but not so. his visit was a matter of business. he wanted to know how the supplies of food held out. after he had satisfied himself he flew away, but the next day returned with one of the baby birds. wabbles fussed over this bird all day long. he called the little one into the dooryard and 56 wabbles wabbles stuffed it with crumbs, then into the garden and stuffed it with insects. he kept up a constant chirping meanwhile, and i thought he made much of the fuss and bustle to keep the baby from being homesick. that night he flew away with his charge, and the next day did not appear. undoubtedly mrs. wabbles had given him a piece of her mind for taking her baby to the woods. three days later, however, wabbles returned, and brought with him two of the babies. this day, for fuss and bustle, was like the first, but that night, instead of taking the birds out to the fields, he put them to bed in a hemlock-tree near my hammock, after which he flew away. the next day he brought in the other baby, leaving mrs. wabbles childless and alone. that night wabbles put the three little ones to bed in the same hemlocktree, and then flew back to his deserted mate. before dark i looked for the young birds, and found them on a twig about a man's height from the ground, sitting side by side and cunningly concealed by hemlock spray. 57 a hermit's wild friends them away. when i approached, three little heads turned and six bright eyes looked on me, but not with fear. i suppose wabbles had told them all about the hermit, and they knew i would not harm them. the next morning wabbles returned, and mrs. wabbles was with him. she at once took charge of her babies, and tried to entice but wabbles, the sly rogue, hopped into the dooryard, and i heard him calling, “ tsp, tsp," and the little fellows heard him, too, and, remembering the food, flew to him. mrs. wabbles was obliged to give in. wabbles is not wholly unknown to notoriety. many of the summer residents that visited my cabin had made his acquaintance, and the story of the little bird that would desert the fields for a hermit-life in the woods has doubtless often been told in many a distant home. before the birds had departed in migration, wabbles's little wife had become contented and happy in the cabin dooryard. 58 wabbles wabbles she was of a confiding nature, and in a remarkably short time would take food from my hand. wabbles and his family lingered about the cabin until the thermometer registered ten above. the fifteenth of march wabbles returned to my dooryard. his wife and family appeared a week later. for some reason, known only to bird-life, the male birds of most species return from the south about a week before the females and young birds. when the nesting-season approached wabbles and his wife located their family in a less wooded growth, on the road to the city. the old birds returned to the dooryard, and mrs. wabbles made a nest where a little patch of grass had sprung up between the ledges. wabbles and i, during the summer, renewed the friendly relations that had existed when he led the life of a bachelor. he would come to me for food at all hours of the day. when i gave him his favorite food, cookie, he would reward me with a song. he would fly to a limb about four feet above my head 59 a hermit's wild friends and sing one song, and then fly away to his mate. sometimes i could coax him to repeat the song by talking to him earnestly and rapidly. my visitors thought that the song was strange, and often it was suggested that it was on account of the nearness of the singer. but the song was not the one with . which they were familiar. it was a new song, low, sweet, and tender, with nothing in it to remind one of the loud, joyous carol heard in the springtime. wabbles called me at daybreak every morning. he was jealous of the other birds, and drove them away, when he thought they were too friendly with me. a catbird and a veery hopped about my hammock mornings, and wabbles attacked them so furiously that it made me wonder why they did not keep away for good. wabbles did not allow other birds to eat in the dooryard until he had satisfied his appetite. visitors asserted that he was a tyrant, but i did not look at his warlike actions in that light. he thought that he 2 1 60 wabbles wabbles owned the dooryard, and other birds were trespassers. near my cabin there is a notice posted forbidding trespass, and it alludes sarcastically to “wood-cutting thieves.” this sign was put up because sometimes dead, worthless wood was carried away from the lot. wabbles is willing that the birds may enjoy the things in the dooryard after he is satisfied, but the human fellow preferred to let the wood rot on the ground. the feathered biped's humanity contrasts sharply with the human biped's brutality. mrs. wabbles soon had four little mouths to feed, and she worked early and late. the heat was so intense that every little while she would seek the shade, and rest with her wings drooping and her bill open. notwithstanding the strain on her limited strength, she never showed impatience, but was always the same confiding little bird. the wabbles family enjoyed life in the woods. through the summer and fall months, wabbles set up a singing-school and trained 61 a hermit's wild friends his boys to sing the mating-song of his species. late in the fall death entered the family circle. a boy from the city mistook poor mrs. wabbles for an english sparrow and shot her to death. wabbles mourned for his little wife, and he was not the only mourner. i had become attached to the gentle bird, and i was grievously pained by her tragic death. wabbles lost his joyous manner. he watched over his motherless babies with gentle care, but not a song did i hear after the tragedy. later, he conducted the young birds to a warmer climate, and was lost to me until the next march. when wabbles returned in the spring he was alone, and his children did not appear later. i suppose some motherly bird had adopted the bereaved family, to take them into the fields or pastures. in april, wabbles deserted me for three days, then returned with another wife. this was an old bird, probably a widow. it was evident from the first that she thought wab62 wabbles . wabbles bles's first wife had spoiled him. she bossed him around in grand style. i tried to get acquainted with her, but, with a lordly air, she gave me to understand that she did not associate with hermits. after two days she ordered wabbles out to the fields, and i did not see him again till october. he came in twice before migration. that was all. wabbles, the warrior, was henpecked. the next spring wabbles returned from the south early in march. i think he was glad to escape from his wife, but three weeks later she swooped down on him, and packed him off to the pastures. for eleven years wabbles has lived with his second wife. every spring he comes to the cabin for a long visit, but i seldom see much of him in the fall. once i did not see him at all, and reported that probably he was dead, but the next spring he turned up as usual. it is now fourteen years since i removed the shot from wabbles's wing. he does not 63 a hermit's wild friends grow old in looks and is yet good for many years, if his wife does not worry him to death. dear old wabbles. he has blessed me with a friendship as sincere and lasting as any that can spring from the human heart. as the years go by, i am more and more impressed with the little bird's individuality. long ago he proved to me that he possessed a moral sense. . when wabbles finds birds in the dooryard he threatens them for a short time, then darts at the nearest, and the feathers fly. after he has satisfied his appetite he will let the other birds return to glean the dooryard. he does not want to deprive them of food, but insists that they shall await his pleasure. sometimes he will sing while the birds are eating. he firmly believes that he holds a mortgage on the dooryard, or, perhaps, that he is a joint owner with me; but he insists that his property rights must be respected. one afternoon i found a wounded chickadee in the dooryard. some wretch had shot away one leg and had injured a wing besides. i а 64 merguson kennedy wabbles. wabbles wabbles thought wabbles would make short work of the helpless bird, but instead he hopped around him and talked to him in a low tone. there was no threat in his notes such as he uttered when angry. up to the time that wabbles left in migration the chickadee was allowed the freedom of the cabin dooryard. when wabbles's first wife was alive, he returned one spring the tenth day of march, and brought with him a male linnet. i was surprised, for it was peculiar that a linnet should return in migration three weeks before the usual time. a week later mrs. wabbles returned, and with her was the mate to the linnet. this incident opened up a wide field for reflection. it proved that two species of the bird family could communicate ideas to each other. these birds must have met in the south. in the course of bird gossip either the linnets or sparrows had announced that the summer home was on cape ann. 66 that is where we live,” is the glad reply, so the birds, having come from the same locality, associate to65 a hermit's wild friends gether. wabbles tells them about the hermit and the dooryard crowded with food. in some way he induced the male linnet to accompany him, three weeks out of season, with the understanding that mrs. wabbles, a week later, would pilot the female linnet to her husband. it must be remembered that linnets do not inhabit the woods. wabbles gave the freedom of the dooryard to the linnets. they were invited guests, and were treated as such. it all goes to show that wabbles knows what belongs to good breeding and possesses a moral sense. 66 iv. bismarck, the red squirrel the red squirrel, or chickaree, leads all the wild things in the woodlands of cape ann for intelligence and the ability to maintain an existence under adverse circumstances. his life during the spring and summer months is a grand hurrah, but in the fall he sobers down and plods and toils in his harvest-fields like a thrifty farmer. right or wrong, it is a fact that the red squirrel bears a disreputable character. he is called a thief because he takes the farmers' corn, and a bloodthirsty wretch for robbing birds' nests. from my experience with the chickaree i am led to believe that he is not so black as painted. i used to think that he spared neither eggs nor young, but sav(rve , 67 a hermit's wild friends agely robbed every bird's nest which he chanced to find. i certainly got this idea from books, for i cannot recall an instance where a bird's nest was robbed by a red squirrel. for years i thought a squirrel was seeking food when he chased the birds in my dooryard. now my eyes are open, and i am heartily ashamed of myself. i awoke from my trance to find that the red squirrel was simply chasing the birds out of the dooryard and away from the food, which he claimed as his own. twice last summer i saw a red squirrel pounce on a young towhee-bunting, but both times he let the bird go without the loss of a feather. it was evident that he did not intend to injure the bird, but merely desired to frighten it away. the intention was so evident that i could not ignore it, and it led me to do a lot of thinking. i carefully examined my notes for proof of the squirrel's guilt, and found no record against him. the guilty ones were the hawk, a 68 muertes 98 pigeon hawk. bismarck, the red squirrel mouse. the owl, the snake, the stoat, the crow, the cat, the irrepressible boy, and the white-footed for fifteen years birds have nested around my cabin unmolested by the red squirrel. it was always a mystery to me why the birds were not afraid of the red squirrel. let a hawk, an owl, a weasel, a cat, a snake, or any of the animals known to prey on birds, enter my dooryard while birds were rearing their young, and the wildest alarm would prevail so long as the intruder was in sight. the red squirrel can come and go without a protest, which proves that the birds do not regard him as an enemy. whenever i have detected a squirrel investigating a bird's nest it has turned out that curiosity was the motive. a pair of chickadees nested in a box that i had placed in an oak-tree, and a squirrel that spent the most of his time in the dooryard made it a duty to investigate the nest several times a day. he did not harm the ୯ ( ୧୯ ; 69 a hermit's wild friends young birds, and the old birds did not fear him. while i was watching a red-eyed vireo's nest last season, i saw a red squirrel run out to the nest, stretch his full length on the limb (it was a very warm day), and look down on to the young birds that were squirming about in their confined quarters. i counted ninetysix before he left, and i did not begin at first. i think he was on the limb fully two minutes. these young vireos were not molested, for i saw them leave the nest when full fledged. i have a record of an oven-bird that nested at the foot of a pine-tree which contained a red squirrel's nest. four young squirrels were reared in a leafy nest in the top of the pine, and three young oven-birds in a domed nest on the ground. my experience with the red squirrel has caused me to change my mind, and hereafter i shall hold him innocent until he is proved guilty. the red squirrel in this locality is about 70 bismarck, the red squirrel seven and a half inches in length, measuring from the nose to the base of the tail. the tail is about six and a half inches in length, and is carried in a number of ways to suit the convenience of its owner. as to color, it seems as if there are two species, but it is only the difference between the young and the very old. young squirrels are bright red on the back and sides, with the under parts usually a pure white. old squirrels are red along the back bone, gray on the sides, and a dirty white below. some specimens are shot that are nearly all gray. gunners claim that such squirrels are a cross between the red and the gray, but they are simply old red squirrels. dame nature has been unusually kind to the red squirrel. she has provided him with powerful weapons of offence and defence. she has set in his muscular jaws long, cruel teeth, which are whet to a keen edge on the hard-shelled nuts. she has conferred upon him claws sharp as needles, and a muscular system which seemingly is controlled by an electric current. there is a wicked wild fire 71 a hermit's wild friends 9 in his bright eye that stamps him the bravest wild thing of the forest. he will fight to the death. he whips his great cousin, the gray squirrel, without effort, and is a match for the large stoat. when pursued by a dog he makes a dash for the nearest tree, which he mounts, calling out chickaree as soon as he is out of danger. he does not, like the gray squirrel, seek a hiding-place in the top of the tree. no, he is far too bold to hide from a dog. he stops on a low limb, just out of reach, and fairly boils over with rage and fury. he barks, spits, and sputters; he makes furious rushes, as if he intended to come right down the tree, and " whip that dog." he violently jerks his tail, and pounds the limb with his hind feet, a picture of impudent, fiery energy. every movement of this little squirrel is accomplished without apparent muscular energy. he seems to float up a tree. if you are near enough you may hear the pricking of his claws on the bark, but you cannot detect a muscular effort. he flashes along the 12 bismarck, the red squirrel limbs in some mysterious way, never stopping, like the gray squirrel, to measure distances before a leap. if he misses and falls, he usually catches by a claw to some twig, thus saving himself. if he falls to the ground, it does not harm or disconcert him. he is up the tree in a jiffy, spitefully saying things that sound to the listener very much like swearing from the middle of april to the first of september the male squirrel leads a jolly, rollicking life. he is as restless and noisy as a schoolboy, and as full of fun. he will hang head down, holding on by his hind claws, just for the fun of the thing. in the tree-tops he is king. he rules the blue jays and crows, and races them out of the pine-trees whenever he feels disposed. he hazes the gray squirrel, but does not unsex him as alleged. this silly tale is on a par with snakes' stingers and hoop snakes. any one that has had the opportunity to observe squirrels the year round, knows that chipmunks, red squirrels, and gray squirrels show the same appear173 a hermit's wild friends ance of being unsexed, except in the mating season. line the gray is no match for the red in a treetop in a trial of speed. he usually keeps to the ground, where his long leaps give him the advantage over his fiery little foe. many a sprinting match of this kind takes place in my dooryard. if a red surprises a gray squirrel stealing food, he sounds his war-cry, and in a mad rush is on to the gray before he can make off with the bit of food which he has appropriated. the gray, finding that he is hard pressed, runs around the cabin with the red hot at his heels. round and round they go, the gray silent, the red yelling like a little demon. when the gray has had several narrow escapes, he drops the food and retreats unmolested. the red picks up the food and takes it to a favorite limb, where he devours it, talking to himself, meanwhile, about “ that gray thief.” in all my years of observation, once only have i knowņ a gray squirrel to fight a red. i think it was hunger and desperation that in74 inferguson kennedy, 66 many a sprinting match of this kind takes place in my dooryard.'' bismarck, the red squirrel a duced the gray to fight. the gray was an old male, certainly three times as large as the red. the latter was an old male, and had held the dooryard for several years against all comers. he was a sagacious, grizzled old warrior, and i named him bismarck. the fight took place in my dooryard. it was a bloody battle for bread on a cold, drizzly day in midwinter. the gray was whipped inside of three minutes. the snow was crimsoned with his blood, and when he fled he left a bloody trail behind. at no time was there a ghost of a chance for him to win. the muscular energy of the red was astounding. his movements were too quick for the eye. while the fight lasted, all i could see was a bounding mass of red and gray. the red squirrel did not appear to be severely wounded, anyway he remained out in the cold and rain to lick his wounds. perhaps it was squirrel surgery to prefer the cold to a warm nest. from my observations i find that the reds seldom chase the grays, unless the latter enter 75 a hermit's wild friends territory which the reds claim the right to hold and protect. four-footed wild animals, with a few exceptions, own farms, gardens, or house-lots. that is, they hold exclusive control over a limited area around their nesting sites. you seldom see two woodchuck holes near each other, or two rabbit burrows. the red squirrel runs a fruit farm. he owns and controls trees that bear nuts or cones, and other reds respect his rights, and do not invade his territory unless there is a famine. a red squirrel will fight savagely for his home and property, and usually drives all intruders from his domain. young squirrels remain with their parents through the first winter, but in april the female turns the family over to the male, and makes another nest of moss, leaves, and dry grass in the top of a tall pine or hemlock-tree. while she is engaged by new duties, the male looks after the young squirrels that are now full grown. he finishes their education, and locates the young males on territory which 76 bismarck, the red squirrel they ever after hold. the young females, later on, are mated, and remove to the locality inhabited by their mates. whether the parents have anything to do in selecting sons-inlaw is beyond my knowledge. i have known an old male to fly into a passion when a smart young red tried to flirt with his daughter. the flirtation was cut short by the angry father, who run the young dandy off his territory. kicked him out-of-doors, so to speak. another young red that courted the daughter was tolerated, if not welcomed, by the father. he was the choice of the old fellow beyond doubt, but i do not know how the young lady decided the matter. perhaps she eloped with the smart young red. bismarck, the grizzled old warrior, held my dooryard for several years. one winter, when there was a famine in the land because the nut crop had failed, a muscular young red thought he could drive bismarck away. a fierce battle was the consequence, and bismarck killed his antagonist, but was disfigured for life by the loss of the end of his tail. 77 a hermit's wild friends while bismarck reigned, the only squirrel that gained a foothold in the dooryard without his consent was his wife. he chased her away time after time, but like some human wives, she persisted, and won the day. bismarck gave in when, instead of running away, his wife adopted the plan of running spirally up and down the tree-trunks. mrs. bismarck's favorite tree was a large hemlock, which was about eighteen inches in diameter. the trunk of the tree was very short, not over eight feet in length from the ground to the lower limbs. the squirrels made two turns in either going up or down the tree, and their speed was too swift for the human eye. a brown band seemed for a moment wound about the tree, shifting as the squirrels ascended or descended. it was two weeks before bismarck would allow his mate to remain in the dooryard. when peace was declared the two would eat side by side, but with bismarck always scolding and growling, while his wife discreetly remained silent. bismarck was my schoolmaster. he taught а 78 bismarck, the red squirrel me that squirrels think, plan, and reason just as human beings do. every time i threw to him a nut or bit of bread, i would see him do the thinking act. he would take the food to a boulder, where he would stop, hold up one foot ready to start again, and think out a good hiding-place. when he had thought . out a spot, he would run directly to it and conceal the food under leaves or pine-needles, and return to the dooryard for more. no two nuts or bits of bread were concealed in the same place. several times i experimented to find out how many trips bismarck would make. the greatest number was fifty-one. while the experiment was going on, i noted each hiding-place, as well as i could, and afterward saw the squirrel go to many. he certainly remembered each spot, and his keen scent did the rest. bismarck was a thrifty squirrel. he did not disturb his hidden store while the food held out in the dooryard. he would call around early in the morning, and if he found me eating breakfast under the trees, he would 79 a hermit's wild friends a а run to a limb just over my head and look down in a cute way that meant “ breakfast for two." if i did not respond he would probably say to himself, “ the hermit don't mean to feed me to-day. i must fall back on the food that i hid away yesterday. let me see, that first nut is under the edge of a boulder just back of the cabin.” off he goes straight to the spot. he noses out the nut, which he eats on the limb over my head, scattering the bits of shell on to the breakfast-table. he is very sociable while eating, for he stops now and then to say something to me. i do not understand his exact language, but i know by the tone that he means to be friendly. bismarck did not always hide bread beneath pine-needles or leaves. at a certain season of the year the trees about my cabin were made into storehouses. this season was governed by the blue jays. when they were nesting they did not come to the cabin and bismarck could store food in the trees without fear of being robbed. my attention was called early to the fact 80 bismarck, the red squirrel a that a gale of wind did not dislodge the pieces of bread which the squirrel had stored on the limbs of a hemlock-tree. i found that each piece was held in place by a small twig. scores of times afterward i saw bismarck lift up a twig with his hands and then push the piece of bread with his nose to the junction of twig and limb. of course the natural spring of the twig held the bread in place. bismarck always stored mushrooms in the trees, for he knew that the blue jays did not eat such food. he would drop the stem of the mushroom between the prongs of a forked limb, if there was cap enough left to hold the same in place, otherwise he treated it just as he would a piece of bread. how bismarck acquired a knowledge of the edible mushrooms is a mystery beyond my powers. doubtless, when he attended the chickaree college, he studied natural history instead of the dead languages. he knew how to harvest mushrooms. he gathered them soon after they appeared above the ground. gathered thus, they would keep several days, 81 a hermit's wild friends bismarck, while a few hours' growth would spoil them if left in the ground. bismarck knew how to eat mushrooms. he did not begin on the freshly gathered ones ; he knew they would keep, and he selected those that would decay shortly. human beings eat the specked apples from motives of economy, and the same impulse controls the squirrel. in the woods about my cabin grow many varieties of the poisonous mushrooms. one deadly variety — the “destroying angel ” — possesses a form most pleasing to the eye. its symmetrical shape and pearly white color give it a look of innocence that has lured many a human being to an early grave. i have never seen a tooth-mark by a squirrel, mouse, or mole in one of these deadly mushrooms, which goes to prove that the wild things know more than some human beings. a few years ago, while out on a walk with the appalachian mountain club, i told a professor, who was an expert on mushrooms, that i used the mushrooms which were approved by the squirrels, and no others. he said that i 82 bismarck, the red squirrel was risking my life, for he claimed that squirrels could eat poisonous varieties that might kill human beings. i thought that the professor knew more about mushrooms than he did about squirrels, so his warning was wasted on me. up to date i have found the squirrels all right, and i feel no fear when eating what they eat. for years i attended a squirrels' school, and bismarck was the schoolmaster. he taught me many things relating to squirrel life. much of the knowledge acquired was wholly unknown to me before. when bismarck first introduced himself to me i think he was an old bachelor or widower. three years later he excavated a storehouse in a bank, beneath a boulder, and made a sleeping-nest in a pine-tree, both in the dooryard. the storehouse was used but little after the first winter. the next spring he took to himself a mate, but did not introduce her to the dooryard. some distance from the cabin, in a swamp, bismarck's mate made a neat little nest in a hemlock-tree. a 83 a hermit's wild friends ease. here she reared two baby squirrels. bismarck did not take much interest in his family through the summer. he spent most of the time in the dooryard, sleeping in his own nest by night. by day his time was occupied in fighting the crows, and in driving squirrels and birds from the dooryard. there was always a good lot of food for bismarck to choose from, and i thought he would give up hard work and lead a life of but i did not know the thrifty ways of the red squirrel. when the harvest season for hazelnuts drew near, bismarck buckled down to hard work. he began his new life by calling often on his family in the hemlocktree. one day i found bismarck and his wife digging beneath a pine-tree that grew on the highland just out of the swamp. they brought out a great quantity of pine rootlets during the next two days. there was not much soil, which indicated that the squirrels had discovered a natural cavity, partly filled with pine rootlets. the third day, about four o'clock in the afternoon, the work stopped. 84 jmferguson kennedy 66 the winter storehouse was completed." bismarck, the red squirrel bismarck. mrs. bismarck ran to a pine-root, sat up straight, folded her hands, and said something. mr. bismarck ran to her side, folded his hands, and made a reply. both squirrels looked toward the hole beneath the tree by turning half-way round. then they looked at each other, and mrs. bismarck ran into the hole, and immediately appeared and said something that sounded very much like “ it is well.” then both squirrels scampered away. the winter storehouse was completed. when the hazelnuts were ripe bismarck and his mate began to fill the storehouse. bismarck gathered the hazelnuts about the cabin, while his mate gathered those around the home nest. bismarck did a lot of running, for he carried but one nut at a time. he always worked under high pressure, running to and fro at the top of his speed. i noticed that he left many nuts on the bushes, but when i investigated i found a worm in each nut a good reason for rejecting them; but as the husks seemed perfect, how did bismarck know the worms were there? 85 a hermit's wild friends i think his keen scent was the secret. by the sense of smell he could tell a wormy from a sound nut. so could i after the nut was smashed, but not before. after the hazelnuts, beechnuts were gathered. but right here competition was too great for the squirrels. the blue jays haunted the beech groves, and could load up with from twelve to eighteen nuts, then could use their wings against the squirrels' legs, so the latter were usually short on beechnuts. the acorn followed the beechnut crop, and , as the woods of cape ann are made up mostly of oak-trees, there were usually nuts enough for bismarck's family and to spare. besides being a hard worker, bismarck proved to me, in many ways, that he was quick-witted and resourceful. a sweet acorntree near my cabin was loaded with nuts. beneath the limbs on the south side was a carpet of pine-needles, while under the limbs on the north side grew a dense mass of brambles and catbriers. bismarck did not drop a nut into the mass of briers, but carried 86 bismarck, the red squirrel each nut one at a time to the clear side before dropping it. could human intelligence do more? when bismarck and his mate had stowed away food enough for winter, they made a winter nest in the pine-tree that grew above the storehouse. in the new nest the whole family passed the winter after the manner of red squirrels. the two baby squirrels for the most of the harvest-time remained in the nest or on the hemlock-tree in which the nest was located. now and then they followed the mother to a nut-tree, but were so noisy that i imagine the fear of enemies caused the discreet mother to drive them home. when the family storehouse was well filled, bismarck stored a few nuts in the hole at the cabin. i think he would have stored more if it had not been for the alert wood-mice. he hid a great many nuts around boulders and trees. these nuts were used in the winter, and often lasted until late in the spring. in the spring, when the nuts started to grow, 87 a hermit's wild friends bismarck dug them up, bit off the sprouts, and buried them again. when the nut crop is a failure, the squirrels are face to face with a famine. long before the nut season approaches the squirrels know that they must depend on other food for the winter's supply. during one year of failure i carefully noted how bismarck conducted himself, knowing that he would teach me how the red squirrel provides food when his main supply is cut off. when september warned the squirrels that the season for providing food for winter was on, bismarck turned his attention to the corn in the dooryard. years before he had stored corn, when he was obliged to compete with the blue jays and chipmunks. the latter could carry away from fourteen to nineteen grains, while bismarck's load was but two grains. he soon evened things up by hiding corn in the dooryard, or near it. when the supply was exhausted, and the blue jays and chipmunks had disappeared, bismarck would dig up his corn and carry it home. it was sharp prac88 bismarck, the red squirrel tice, but the squirrel was justified, when we consider the circumstances. for several years prior to the famine, bismarck had dropped the habit of storing corn, and only gnawed out the germ, leaving the mutilated grain for the blue jays and chipmunks. now bismarck undertook to store corn, hiding it as of old, but i vetoed the act, by withholding the corn. the squirrel then turned his attention to a black cherry-tree, and with the aid of a chipmunk, soon stripped it of fruit. i think the chipmunk gathered the fruit for the stone. he gathered an enormous quantity, and surely could not make use of the soft part. the red squirrel may have gathered for immediate use and also for a winter supply. bismarck's next move was a great surprise. i caught him carrying bones to his storehouse. one summer i saw bismarck sitting on a stone wall, apparently eating a bone. after he got through he hid the bone in the wall. i found that the bone was old and partly decayed. i smashed up similar bones, and bismarck seemed to relish a meal three or four 89 a hermit's wild friends times a week, but i never knew him to store bones for winter use before. his next move was to attack the pine-cones. these were gathered while quite green. they were left on the ground three or four days and then carried, whole, to the family storehouse a great quantity was stored under stumps, trees, and boulders. the hemlock-cones were gathered later, but were husked at the foot of the tree on which they grew. during the following winter bismarck looked to me for food. a loaf of bread was wired to a post near the cabin door, from which he could eat, while he could not carry it away. one cold, rainy day, he sat by the brcad without eating, and whimpered like a little child. he was telling me in squirrel language that it was cold, rainy, and almost night, and that i ought to give him some bread to take home to his family. i understood his appeal, and passed him a biscuit. he scampered away chuckling over his good luck. after that, fair or foul, all through the winter days, he would beg for bread to 90 bismarck, the red squirrel > take home, and always chuckled when he got it. perhaps he was laughing at me for being an easy mark, or it may have been squirrel for “ i thank you a thousand times." however that may be, he was welcome, for i thought of the baby squirrels starving along on a cone-seed diet. bismarck would eat all kinds of meat even fat pork — but he preferred cooked meat to raw. while the famine was on he turned his attention to many kinds of food found in the woods. i made a record of each variety, and religiously tasted of everything he used. frozen barberries and chokeberries were preferred to all others. i found the barberries had lost much of their usual sourness; the chokeberries were sweet and palatable. while the former remained on the bushes through the winter, the latter were soon exhausted, for they were food for quail, grouse, blue jays, and mice. the berries of the greenbrier, staghorn sumach, and rosehips were used sparingly. the greenbrier berries had a sweetish taste; the staghorn sumachs were sour and 91 a hermit's wild friends puckery, while the rosehips had a pleasant flavor at first, ending in a most disagreeable bitter. many mushrooms were caught by an early frost, and remained frozen through the winter. these were food for bismarck. he would gnaw out the under part, or gills, rejecting the rest. i tasted the food, but cannot say that i care for frozen mushroom. in the spring pussy-willow buds formed a part of bismarck's food. i found the buds nearly tasteless, but they crunched between the teeth like a crisp cucumber. as spring advanced, creeping wintergreen and partridge-berries appeared here and there where the sun had melted the snow, and bismarck greedily devoured the bright red berries. later berries formed the greater part of his food until the hazelnuts were ripe. wild apple-trees abound on cape ann, and bismarck attacked the fruit early in the fall. he destroyed great quantities for the seed, which was the only part stored for winter use. however, he seemed to relish an apple, if it was not too sour, and all through the . 92 bismarck, the red squirrel a winter he would eat a baldwin apple, even to the seeds, at one sitting. the history of bismarck through a year of famine is the history of other red squirrels on cape ann. it is evident that the red squirrel is famine proof. if the nut crop is failure, chickaree turns his attention to other food sources, and by perseverance and hard work is able to keep the wolf from the door. for years bismarck and the blue jays have matched wits. after nesting, the blue jays would flock to the cabin and impudently appropriate all the food found in the trees. bismarck seemed to know that it was useless to store food longer in this way, so he would bury it beneath the pine-needles. the jays were soon on to this trick. when i threw a piece of bread to the squirrel he would start at once to hide it, while the jays would follow him, keeping in the trees, just out of reach. the moment he left, the jays would fly down, dig out the bread and carry it away. it often happened that bismarck would fool the robbers by pretending to bury the bread. he ni 93 a hermit's wild friends would dig a hole, cover it over, pat down the pine-needles, but would run away with the bread in his mouth. while the jays were scratching the pine-needles right and left, in a useless search, bismarck would hide the bit of bread, and return to the dooryard for he was not so particular if the food was wheat bread, but if it was his favorite food — doughnut — the jays were fooled more. every time. every spring bismarck taps the trees around the cabin. he begins on the maples and ends later on the birches. if the tree is small, he taps the trunk; if large, he works on the limbs. he gnaws through the bark . and into the wood, then clings to the limb or trunk, below the wound, while he laps the sweet sap. if there is a hollow in the bark into which the sap flows, bismarck is sure to find it. did the red squirrel learn how to tap trees from the american indian, or did the indian learn from the squirrel? the habits of the red squirrel are rapidly . 94 bismarck, the red squirrel changing in this locality on account of a foolish state law. the story is quickly told. ward 8 (city of gloucester), where my cabin is located, contains over eleven thousand square acres. its area is greater than that of the other seven wards combined. the bulk of the territory of ward 8 is made up of woodland and shrubland, the city proper being in the other seven wards. ward 8 contains the delightful summer resort known as magnolia. this resort derives its name from magnolia swamp, the only spot in new england where magnolia glauca is found in a wild state. the famous coffin's beach is also in this ward. the general court four years ago placed a close time of five years on small game in the territory east of ward 8. this protects the seven wards of the city and the town of rockport. two years ago the town of essex, which joins ward 8 on the west, was protected, so that the gunners from a population of about forty thousand are turned loose in ward 8. the extermination of nearly 95 a hermit's wild friends all the game, and of great numbers of songbirds, has been the result of this peculiar legislation. all the wild things are desperately wild. the red squirrel if he hears the report of a gun instantly rushes to a hiding-place. well νθη indigo bird. he knows the deadly meaning of the report. he has turned day into night, and now harvests his nut crop in the night-time. i sleep in the open air, and during the harvest season i listen for hours to the sound of dropping nuts which the industrious but wary squirrels 96 bismarck, the red squirrel are cutting from the oak-trees around my cabin. bismarck is still in the land of the living, although ten years have passed since he first introduced himself, and requested me to book him for table board. he has cost me many dollars, while he has not paid a cent in the coin of the realm. however, i owe him for teaching and am ready to balance the books and exchange receipts. oven bird. i know that my position in relation to the red squirrel's destruction of song-birds will be sharply criticized by those who believe in the squirrel's total depravity. but the truth is that i describe wild life just as i find it, not as some books say i ought to find it. if 97 a hermit's wild friends the red squirrel was as destructive as reported, there would not be a young bird reared around my cabin. my notes show that last year the following named birds nested near my cabin, and probably every nest was known and visited by the red squirrel: . . chestnut-sided warbler black-throated green warbler oven-bird . vireo. canada fly-catching warbler robin towhee-bunting catbird wilson's thrush. indigo-bird number of nests. 3 1 2 4 1 2 2 1 2 1 total 19 a ruffed grouse nest was looted by the crows when it contained but four eggs, after which the bird resorted to a swamp, and reared a brood. several of the nests named were destroyed, but none by the squirrel. in the light of my observations i cannot consistently denounce the red squirrel. 98 o black-throated green warbler. v. changes in hermit life for several years i had slept in a hammock without a roof to keep off the night air. i had found this method inconvenient on account of stormy nights, when i was obliged to seek the shelter of the cabin. i overcame the difficulty by putting a tent roof over my hammock. the sides and ends were open so that i was practically exposed to the night air. the tent roof protected me on stormy nights, and with this slight shelter i slept outdoors from april 1st until christmas, unless there was a heavy fall of snow, time. i found it inconvenient to cook my breakfast, and then, after eating it, go to the city. why i did so was on account of account of my coffee mean99 a hermit's wild friends habit. i had tried to find a good cup of coffee in the city and had failed, so had depended on my own brewing. one morning i dropped into the little store i at the head of pavilion beach, and the proprietor asked me to have a cup of coffee. he piloted me into a back shop, where he told me that he served a light lunch with coffee, to the farmers. the coffee was just to my taste, and for twelve years i patronized the coffee trade in that little back shop. my note-book shows that during the twelve years i had missed only eighty mornings. i had paid six hundred and forty-five dollars, during that time, for my lunch and coffee, and had walked, on account of my breakfast, seventeen thousand two hundred miles. whew! it makes me feel poor and tired to recall it. i do not remember that i remained at home to breakfast on account of a storm. the eighty mornings which i missed in the twelve years were accounted for by absence from the city. i would leave my cabin, summer or winter, 1 1 1 100 changes in hermit life turb me. reason. at half-past five o'clock, so i could sit down to breakfast in the back shop about six. in the winter months it was dark at halfpast five in the morning, but that did not disi did not use a lantern because i would not be bothered with it, and for another it made one a bright and shining object for early ghouls or tramps. for some years past i have discontinued my early morning tramps, but i love to recall the persistence with which i clung to habit. those early walks afforded me much pleasure and some hardships. during the spring months the frogs and birds enlivened my morning walk with music. the bird-music along the route to the city was divided according to locality. before leaving the cabin, from early daylight, there would be a variety of bird-songs. in numbers the veery led all the rest. then followed the red-eyed vireo. after these, i could hear only one song each of the following species : catbird, towhee-bunting, chestnut-sided 101 a hermit's wild friends cedar bird. warbler, robin, black-throated green warbler, oven-bird, wood-thrush, and warbling-vireo. indigo-birds and cedar-birds some years could 102 so the new cabin. 1 changes in hermit life be added to the list, but they are erratic birds, and cannot be depended upon. my route to the city was along the deserted old highway. when i had climbed the first hill (where my new cabin now stands), i could overlook a rugged territory where the fire and axe had exterminated the large trees, leaving a low, shrubby growth, just suited to the needs of the birds. the songs of the catbird, towhee-bunting, and robin were heard here, and, strange to tell, in a distant corner of the territory, could be heard the loud carol of the song-sparrow. a few pairs of these birds had changed their nesting site from pasture to shrub-land. i knew that these sparrows were descendants of my pet birds, wabbles and his first wife. they were born in the woods, and so reared their children in the same surroundings. the frog-pond was just beyond the hill, and when the toads and frogs did not drown their music, birds could be heard singing from morning till night during the nesting season. there was a colony of maryland yellow103 a hermit's wild friends throats near this spot, and the sprightly song could be heard from may 1st to the middle of july. i have heard the song in september. a short distance from the frog-pond, on the left, there is another pond, or shoal bog, where frogs and red-winged blackbirds appear to own the earth or water. still farther along maryland yellowthroat. the old highway, on the right, there is a walled-in territory, called the “sheep pasture." i think i could carry the grass in ” this so-called pasture in my hands. a mass of boulders and bed-rock, set off by barberrybushes, comprises the view, but this rugged pasture (?) is the home of the field-sparrow (spizella agrestis). this sparrow is not so the song-sparrow and baycommon as 104 red winged blackbirds. 1 changes in hermit life winged bunting. i consider it a rare treat to listen to this sweet singer. i made it a practice, during the season of song, to stop by this old pasture, not only to hear the sparrow, but a brown thrush as well. the thrush occupied the other side of the old highway, and when he saw me coming, he would mount to the top of a small tree and sing so long as i remained to listen. farther along on the old road, a pair of redstarts could be found every spring. the male did his singing in a wild apple-tree. from this spot, down“ slaughter-house hill,” to western avenue, i found song-sparrows to be the prevailing bird. there were a few chestnut-sided warblers, robins, and catbirds. the birds i have mentioned, that nest along the old road, look upon me with friendly eyes as i pass. when they return in the spring, they give a greeting which i understand, because the notes are in a higher key, and are never repeated through the sumwhile passing daily over the road i have made it a practice to talk to the birds, a mer. 105 a hermit's wild friends so many of them, not all, greet me as before mentioned. the brown thrush is usually more demonswamp song sparrow. strative than other birds. his greeting is almost like the shrill cry of a small boy. two years ago, when rounding a turn in the old road, i saw four thrushes before me. i stopped 106 louis fuertes. brown thrush. changes in hermit life to observe them, when i heard behind me the laugh of a boy. i glanced back, but saw no one. again i heard the laugh, and this time i located the sound over the wall, and started to call, when a male thrush flew to the top of a small cherry-tree, and, after baltimore oriole. laughing as before, gave me a song. this thrush was my old friend just returned from the south, and when he saw me looking at his mates, he called out to let me know where to find him. along western avenue the tall elms harbored many singers. the baltimore orioles' 107 a hermit's wild friends loud notes could be heard above other birdsongs. linnets, chipping-sparrows, bluebirds, and bay-winged buntings were scattered along the route to the city. when i had reached the sea-wall, the gulls were the birds to attract my attention. some were seen skimming the surface of the water, while others were anchored in large rafts. the gulls appeared to be fearless, and swung to and fro near the beach, but, just the same, the crafty birds did not approach near enough for a shot. they knew how far the modern gun could shoot, and gauged their flight accordingly. whenever one desired to cross the highway to the marshes beyond, it would rise above gunshot before making the attempt. besides the keen sense which the gulls possess, they carry themselves with true dignity. from the first of april to the middle of november i looked every morning for my 66 lone fisherman.” there was a stake near the drawbridge which a belted kingfisher had preëmpted. for six years this feathered fisherman held that stake, while he had to face the hermits wild friends 108 changes in hermit life almost all the travel in and out of the city. the nest was in a clay-bank that overhung the beach near stage fort. it is needless for me to tell that i derived great pleasure from my daily association with belted kingfisher, watching. the birds that nested along my route to the city. the hardships which i have mentioned were encountered in the winter months, when storms prevailed. cold starlight mornings were my delight. if there was snow on the ground it 109 a hermit's wild friends added a new pleasure. i always enjoyed the keen, cutting air. sometimes there were storms in the morning with rain or snow. at times, the wind would blow such a furious gale on the cut, that it would make it nearly impossible to reach my haven. when safely housed at last, i always felt satisfied with myself, because of my victory over the elements. one storm forced me to remain in the city overnight. the storm had died out, but had created a sea such as is seldom seen even on the cape. i went over to kingfisher, bass rocks, to see the waves break, and did not get back to western avenue until near night. i found the street full of snow and sea-water. i waded nearly to the drawbridge and then mounted the sea-wall. i soon found that the large waves broke over the wall, and with striking. 110 changes in hermit life force enough to wash me overboard, so i turned back. the street was closed to travel afterward, by the city officials. 4uyrt kingfisher lifting his catch. during the summer weather i saw many strange sights when taking my morning walk. one morning, a pasture-rabbit tore along the 111 a hermit's wild friends he old road as if he were racing for life. passed me without turning his head, and was out of sight around a turn in the path before i had recovered from my surprise. while i was looking, he came back, jumping high and long; after he had got by the turn, and nearly to my feet, he gave a great jump sideways, and landed in a clump of weeds. just then a stoat came in sight on the rabbit's trail. his leaps were not expended in the air, but were swift, long, and near the ground. it was evident that the poor rabbit had no chance to escape from such a supple, bloodthirsty foe without help. when the stoat was out of sight, the rabbit again took to the road. he passed me, then turned into the woods. whether he knew it or not, it was the best thing to do. it left the hermit to face his relentless foe. perhaps the birds had told the rabbit that the hermit was a friend. the stoat came back, hunting both sides of the road. he understood just how he had been tricked. when he found the trail in the weeds, he circled around until satisfied that the 112 changes in hermit life the hermit's wild friends rabbit had returned to the road. when we met, he seemed surprised, but he tried to pass, spitting spitefully to frighten me. i drove him back, and managed to keep him from the rabbit's trail until it was too cold to follow. i expect that this rescue established my reputation with the rabbits, for from time to time they came into my dooryard when chased by a mink or stoat. whenever it occurs on sunday there are visitors present, who are invariably excited for the welfare of the rabbit. the stoat is the large weasel. it turns white in the winter, and is then the ermine. of all the incidents that happened during my morning walks, there is one that i cannot explain without resorting to a belief in hypnotism. i was on the way to the city when a turn in the path brought into sight a large mink, apparently coal-black. his peculiar actions caught my attention first, but soon i saw a ruffed grouse about twelve feet beyond the mink. every feather on the grouse stood up, causing the bird to look as large as a small turkey. the mink was making a 113 a hermit's wild friends figure eights, moving from side to side of the grassy path, which was over five feet in width. his movements were so rapid the eye could see only a black streak. while i could not see the mink move toward the grouse, i saw that the distance between them grew less quite rapidly. feeling sure that the grouse was doomed, for it seemed unable to do anything but follow the rapid motion of the mink, i stepped forward and gave a shout. the grouse flew away, and the mink turned on me and let out a yell that was fierce and loud enough for a tiger. he acted as if he meant to attack me, but thought better of it, and ran into a stone wall. from this safe retreat he yelled while i was in sight. this case puzzled me. it appeared almost impossible that such a wary, muscular bird as the grouse could be hypnotized. the mink was surely but slowly nearing the grouse when i interfered. i am sorry i did not remain quiet, and . i so find out if the grouse was able to fly away before the danger-point was reached. as it is, i remain in doubt. 114 miferguson kennedy 66 the distance between them grew less quite rapidly." changes in hermit life returning from the city one morning in october, i turned off the old highway into the woods. i thought that some of the woodfolk would notice my visit and reward me with gossip for my note-book. i stopped to rest near a red squirrel's nest. the nest was in the top of a tall hemlock-tree and i was on the ground, but the proprietor knew i could climb, and so was eager to drive me away. he did not dare to attack me, for i suppose that sometime in his life he had worked the idea through his little head that man was too big and powerful to be whipped by a red squirrel, but he did the next thing. he flew into a passion and abused me in the expressive and vehement language common to this squirrel. he would run out on the limbs over my head and dance himself into a frenzy, and chatter and bark and shriek as if that would drive me away. he was wound up for a halfhour. after he had run down, he stretched out on a limb and silently watched me. soon after, i heard a slight rustling of leaves, and a gray squirrel appeared from the underbrush 115 a hermit's wild friends the gray with an acorn in his mouth. the red saw the gray, but remained silent. squirrel selected a spot and proceeded to bury the nut. when he had finished and was patting the dirt down, the red set up a great laugh. the gray cast one look aloft, and instantly his little paws were making the dirt fly. in less time than it takes me to write it, he had dug up the nut and had disappeared. i don't think the red squirrel thought to appropriate the nut. i think he enjoyed the joke which was on the gray. i know that i did. a thaw in the winter made trouble for me outside of the sloppy walking. it brought out the skunk family, and each individual skunk thought he owned the old highway, and he did, when i met him. many and many times i have had to climb through snow, or over ledges, to give the right of way to some sleepy old fraud, that did not know enough about man to be afraid of him. one evening i went to the well for water, and left the cabin door open. when i rei 116 unforguson kennedy hermit, you are out.'" changes in hermit life > turned, i saw a big skunk climbing over the door-sill. i shouted, in hopes to make him turn back, but he looked at me as much as to say, “ hermit, you are out," and so i was. it was a cold, drizzly evening, and i was in my shirt-sleeves. it was a good half-hour before the scamp had satisfied himself that my stores were locked up. i was glad that he did not try his teeth on my cupboard. in that case i should have had to stop out all night. 117 vi. the white footed mouse @ the white fooled mouse the white-footed mouse, unlike the house mouse, is a handsome fellow. he sports a chestnut coat, a white vest, reddish brown trousers, and white stockings. his eyes and ears are uncommonly large, causing his head to resemble a deer's in miniature. this resemblance has bestowed upon him the name of “ deer-mouse." he is also called “woodmouse," but is known to science as hesperomys leucopus. my object in writing about these mice is to call attention to their peculiar method of communication. i have summered and wintered them over fifteen years, and never have i heard one of them utter a vocal sound. they communicate with each other by drumming > 118 the white footed mouse with their fore feet, or, rather, they drum with their toes, for the foot in the act is held rigid while the toes move. if any writer has called attention to this peculiar method of communication, it has escaped my reading. i am well satisfied that the habit has never been published before, so it must prove interesting to those who pry into the secrets of dame nature. the white-footed mouse has taken possession of my cabin. until a year ago the mice were kept in check by stoats, but for some reason the stoats have failed to appear, and the mice are increasing rapidly. i find their nests in every nook and corner. i go bareheaded the most of the time, so it happens that when i do need a hat i find it occupied by an enterprising mouse and her family. now a few mice for company in the winter evenings would not be objectionable, but i draw the line when they become so numerous that i am forced to eat and sleep with them. they are too cunning and intelligent to be kept in check by traps. i have tried all kinds of traps, only to 119 a hermit's wild friends che whre looted mouse find them useless. last winter i bought a wire rat-trap — the kind with a trencher that tips and slides the rat into the space below. the trap was a failure. the mice were highly delighted with the contrivance, and from the first used the trencher as a door leading into and out of the trap. how does it happen that these shy inhabitants of the woods are more intelligent than the cunning citrat? some writers tell us that the lower animals cannot reason. in such case it ought to be an easy matter for man to outwit a lot of foolish little mice. i tried the experiment by fixing a wire to the trencher in such a way as to give me full control. when the mice were engaged on the food in the trap i pulled my wire and made it fast. the next morning my prisoners numbered twenty-eight. i about to drown the lot, when several pets clung to the upper wires of the trap, and the mute appeal in their great wild eyes softened my foolish heart, and i thought it would be more humane to lose them in the woods. i carried 1 1 was 120 the white footed mouse them nearly a mile from the cabin, and turned them out near some big boulders. i left a supply of food, and promised myself to feed them from time to time. two nights later they were all back in the cabin. upon investigation i found that they had followed my footsteps. i could see their tracks in the snow where they had trooped along in short journeys. at the end of each journey the tracks would disappear under a boulder or a tree, only to appear again, but always heading for the cabin. i baited and fixed the trap, while the mice scampered about, evidently celebrating their return. i told them plainly that this was their last night on earth; that i had outwitted them once and would now outwit them again. but all my boasting came to naught. not a mouse would enter that trap while the wire was on the trencher. the third night i removed the wire, and the mice entered the trap without fear. vainglorious man had pitted his wit against the wit of these little rodents, and the rodents 121 a hermit's wild friends the white jooted mouse had triumphed. every sportsman knows how it is. he finds the wild things just as intelligent and crafty as man with all his boasted superiority. i desire to emphasize what i have already stated as to the peculiar method employed by these mice when communicating with each other. if any one has been fortunate enough to have heard a vocal sound uttered by a whitefooted mouse, i shall greatly like to hear of the fact. a daily and nightly knowledge of these little mice for more than fifteen years has led me to believe that they are completely dumb. they talk with their toes just as deaf and dumb people talk with their fingers, only they are guided by the ear instead of the eye. proof that they are talking together is found in the fact that they go on with the drumming when in full view of each other. when calling to attract attention, they drum a long roll which corresponds to the halloo of the telephone. the answer is the same; afterward the rolls are variously interrupted. through 122 the white footed mouse the winter months the mice about my cabin look to me for food. by catering to their . wants i have mastered their calls for food and water. i keep a loaf of bread on the floor, and it is no unusual thing to see a dozen mice eating and fighting around the food. whenever i forget to supply the bread, the mice come out of their nests and drum the long roll, the call over their telephone, to attract my attention. if i am reading or writing and do not heed the call, they continue the long roll, drumming on books, tinware, papers, and on the wooden shelves. the moment i look up or speak, all hands drum the foodcall, a long followed by a short roll. the call for water is two short rolls. the danger-call is two long rolls drummed rapidly and vigorously. the young mice learn to drum when nearly full-grown, but understand and answer the drumming of the mothermouse when quite young. i have had proof of this more times than i can remember. an old mouse, a pet of long standing, on cool nights takes her family to the roof of the tho white fooled mouse 3 198 123 a hermit's wild friends cabin. the roof is warm and makes an ideal playground for the little ones. here they race and romp until daylight, when the mother-mouse puts them to bed for the day. soon after i hear the mice on the roof, early in the evening, the old mouse comes down to see if food and water are on hand. if she finds things all right, she takes a drink and then calls her family down. as near as i can make it out, she drums three rolls, a long roll between two short rolls. anyhow, the young mice understand, and scamper down and drink and eat, after a harum-scarum fashion. the old mouse drums to me if there is no water in the dish. the the whne jooted mouse young mice must hear this drumming, but pay no attention to it, which proves that they understand the different calls. the old mouse drums on the tin wash-dish, and her claws make a sound that rings out loud and clear. she drums first the long roll to attract my attention, and then drums the water-call. if food is wanted, she drums the food-call after attracting attention. 124 merguson kennedy "it carries its victim by the middle. ܙܙ the white footed mouse the white jooted mouse the white-footed mouse has a deadly enemy in the weasel family, the stoat, or ermine, which pursues its defenceless victims every month in the year. i seldom see a small weasel, but the stoat is common in this vicinity. while a stoat is rearing its young, the life of the white-footed mouse is made miserable. by day and by night its bloodthirsty foe is on the trail. it is no unusual thing to see a stoat running along the wall back of the cabin with a mouse in its mouth. it carries its victim by the middle, and always reminds me of the picture of a tiger carrying off a hottentot. some of the old mice are quickwitted and full of resource, and escape danger, otherwise the species would soon be exterminated. there is an auger-hole in one of the logs inside the cabin that affords a mouse a safe retreat. several times i have seen a stoat thrust its paw into the hole, only to jerk it out in hot haste. a drop of blood on the log would show that the mouse had defended itself with its sharp teeth. there are three mice about my cabin that 125 a hermit's wild friends the white jooted mouse for years have managed to escape the stoats. time after time i have saved the lives of these mice. the three are pets, and intelligent enough to know that i will protect them from their fierce and relentless foe. in the nighttime, if hard pressed, they dive into my bed, while by day they sound the danger-call, knowing full well that i will come to the rescue and drive away their enemy. to a stranger these mice look as much alike as peas in a pod, but for me they possess individualities as marked and distinct as could be found in three human beings. one of the three, the mouse that uses the roof for a playground, always nests under a stone wall just back of the cabin. number two nests in the cabin summer and winter. when the weather is warm she makes a nest on a high shelf, but in cold weather her nest is on the floor under a pile of newspapers. number three nests where i nest. when i sleep in the cabin, the nest of this mouse is always there. when i sleep in the open air, under a roof to keep off the rain, the mouse follows me, nesting under 126 the white footed mouse newspapers or in a box which i supply. if she has a family when i move, it does not prevent her from following me. she makes ready a nest, and then takes her family to the new quarters. for keen intelligence mouse number two takes the lead. all through the summer months she makes a nest on a high shelf in the cabin. when there is a fire in the stove the heat becomes oppressive in the top of the cabin, and the young mice would perish if it were not for the intelligence of the old mouse. when i fill the stove with wood the old mouse understands just what will take place. she knows that i am about to kindle a fire, and she rushes to a shelf near the stove and frantically drums the danger-signal. she also does a lot of drumming which i do not understand. she tries to tell me in her dumb language that a fire will destroy her little family. when the mouse finds that i do not heed her appeal, she knows that her family will be destroyed, and can be saved only by 127 a hermit's wild friends the whrejooled mouse her own hasty efforts. the one thing to do is to remove her babies to a place far away from the death-dealing heat. if the young mice are small, in some mysterious way the mother-mouse induces each youngster to cling to a teat, when the whole family is removed in this novel manner to a safe retreat beneath the cabin. it is a comical sight to see the old mouse crawling along a log with eight or ten raw, shapeless things clinging to her like grim death. the hole in the wall that leads outside is small, and the old mouse has a long struggle to get her load safely through. now and then a young mouse drops off and remains squirming where it chances to fall. the mother invariably returns and gathers in the missing. when the young mice are halfmice are half-grown, they are removed in a different manner. they are now too large to be dragged as before. they are also too large to be carried by the neck. the mother overcomes this difficulty by doubling up the young mouse and then grasping it by the crossed legs. the young mouse 128 the white footed mouse a the 'whitepooled mouse turns its head inward and holds it in place by biting on to one of its own legs. in this way a young mouse is made up into a round, compact bundle. when the hole in the wall is reached it often happens that the mother cannot push her load through. after several unsuccessful efforts she turns about and backs through the hole, dragging the load after her. all in all, the white-footed mouse has afforded me much pleasure, but at times it becomes a nuisance. at one time my cabin was haunted by a strange sound. the sound was simple enough, only a sharp click repeated over and over. sometimes, however, the performance would change to a succession of clicks. for six weeks i vainly tried to solve the mystery. at last the clicking became downright annoying. it would break up my line of thought when writing. it would confuse my mind when reading, and i often jokingly asserted that this mysterious ghostly click, click would send me to the insane asylum. at last i traced the sound to a shelf where 129 a hermit's wild friends the white jooted mouse i had placed an empty cigar-box. i investigated, and the mystery was solved. a dozen mice occupied the box as a safe retreat from their enemy, the stoat. whenever a mouse entered or left the box the cover was raised, and, falling into its place again, made the click that had so annoyed me. the box-cover was heavy enough to severely pinch a mouse's tail, but the cunning mice had provided for this danger. a hole about the size of a lead-pencil had been gnawed in the side of the box, just below the cover, and afforded a channel for the tail, while it was too small to attract the attention of a stoat. a more cunningly contrived retreat from an enemy could not be invented. it shows that this wild mouse of the woods possesses intelligence which passes far beyond the powers of instinct. it would take a volume to record the incidents that have transpired in connection with these mice during the fifteen years of mit life. some of these incidents are comical, others my her130 the white footed mouse pathetic, and, alas! others are tragic. one in the comical line happened to a young man sears mole. from the city who thirsted for more knowledge of the wild things. he stayed one moonlight evening to see the mice eat. it often happened, 131 a hermit's wild friends the white fooled mouse when the mice were gathered about a loaf of bread, that a star-nosed mole would appear and scatter them in all directions. if i chanced to be sitting near, it was no unusual thing for a mouse to run up my trousers-leg. i kindly allowed the young man the post of honor near the bread. just what i expected took place. the mole appeared, and a frightened mouse rushed up the young man's trousers-leg. with a war-whoop that would have frightened an indian, he bounded into the dooryard. the mouse escaped from beneath his coat-collar before he got out of the cabin. the young fellow danced around like a crazy man. whenever his clothes touched him he thought the mouse was getting in its deadly work, and administered slaps that must have raised blisters. when i could control my laughter i told him that the mouse had escaped. i could not induce him to enter the cabin again. the nests of these mice are globular, but are varied to fit the surroundings. near the cabin they are made of bits of paper matted with 3 132 the white footed mouse cotton-batting and a soft wool manufactured by the mice from my old clothes. the nests remote from the cabin are made of bits of dried leaves, grasses, and plantdown. these last are usually placed in a tangle of catbrier. many of these nests are occupied through the winter. i examined one last week. it was about five inches in diameter, and was composed of bits of leaves and milkweed silk. it was rain and frost proof. i sometimes find nests in tin cans. once i found a nest in a paper bag. the paper bag was in a tangle of catbrier. nearly three feet from the ground, and doubtless was lodged where found by the wind. the mother-mouse is devoted to the welfare of her little family, which may number anywhere from four to ten. when the young mice are small they are raw-looking things, but are tough, wiry, and tenacious of life. at this stage, full-grown moles would destroy family in a few seconds, if it were not for the watchful care of the mother. as the young mice grow they change their it was 133 a hermit's wild friends @ the white fooled mousa coats to a dark lead color, which they retain until the first moult. the white-footed mouse will eat about everything edible found in the woods. it is fond of mushrooms, and never, like human beings, eats of the poisonous varieties. i am sorry to state that it will eat young birds if small and helpless. it eats insects, berries, seeds, nuts, bread, cheese, and all kinds of meat. it stores up food for winter in holes in the ground and in hollow trees and logs. the mice about my cabin store food in anything that comes handy. i sometimes find a shoe half-full of nuts and corn. the white-footed mouse makes an interesting pet when caged. one that reared a family in captivity afforded me many proofs of intelligence. when the cabin was too cold for the little ones she made them warm and cozy in a globular nest. if the temperature went up she removed the top of the nest, and if the heat from the stove fell directly into the into the cage she a 134 the white footed mouse piled up the surplus nesting material on the side to protect her young. the mole that i mentioned before, the one that scatters the mice, is a singing mole. he zigzags about the cabin floor, picking up crumbs, while he sings birdlike notes that are as sweet and distinct as the canary's low twitter. i see other moles, but i have never heard but this one sing. 135 the white jooted mouso vii. three years later the next spring, after my attempt to thin out the white-footed mice, the stoats returned. i did not molest them, and they reduced the number of mice in short order. mouse number two had a little family in a nest on a shelf. they were mice-babies, helpless and sprawling. they were dragged out of the nest by one of the stoats, and were killed one at a time. the stoat was obliged to make three trips to remove the pile of dead mice. the mother had escaped by way of the stone wall at the rear of the cabin. after the slaughter was over, she returned and did a lot of drumming. i think she was reproaching me because i did not drive the stoat away. it made me feel guilty, but i had hardened 136 three years later my heart, on account of a valuable manuscript which this mouse had purloined and reduced to scraps, with which to decorate her last nest. the following morning i saw the mother come into the cabin with a baby mouse in her mouth. i thought it might be one of her own dropped by the stoat. but i was soon undeceived. the mouse left, and soon returned with another little one. this time i examined the young mice. they did not belong to my mouse family. they were strangers to the old mouse cared for these babies as if they were her own. i expect that the stoats had killed the mother, and my mouse had adopted the orphans. the young mice increased in size rapidly, and soon took on the adult form and color. then i recognized them. they were the gray hesperomys, while my mice were the fulvous hesperomys. the first is found in deep woods, the latter near farm-buildings and in the neighboring woodlands. i don't know where their foster-parent me. 137 a hermit's wild friends the whitejooted mouse mouse. а found the little imps, but it was a sorry find for her. as they increased in strength, it was evident that they conspired to take possession of the cabin. they worked in concert and fought in concert. while they were yet small the two would attack a full-grown if it chanced to be an old male, the little imps were sure to get mauled, until they would flee to their mother for protection. when full grown, they proved to be a match, single-handed, for any mouse in the cabin. together, they were invincible. the cabin became a battle-field every night. after a few weeks the white-foots were completely vanquished, and left. the two warriors drove their foster-mother outdoors, then for three months held undisputed possession of the food supply. the white-foots are destructive gnawers, but the new mice could do more damage in one night than all the others could in a week. i had made a poor exchange. the two scamps were on friendly terms with me, and did not allow me to eat a meal without their 1 138 three years later company. they would come at my call, and would have proved desirable pets, if it had not been for the gnawing habit. i had made up my mind to kill them, for i knew it would be only a matter of time when they would destroy every book and paper in the cabin. i got rid of them, however, without resorting to violence. a young married couple from the city saw and admired the mice, and when i offered to give them away, gladly accepted the offer. i do not know what became of them, and do not care to meet any of their race. in a short time the white-foots returned to the cabin, and are with me now. the fostermother that was turned outdoors did not return. she was one of the missing, and so sacrificed her life, after all her care of two ungrateful imps. 139 the crow viii. the crow in my the intelligence of the crow is admitted by those who deny reason to the lower animals. this bird is so large and is so meddlesome in human affairs that he has forced mankind to acknowledge his intelligence. while i admire his ability to look out for number one, i do not believe that he is in any way beneficial to the farmer. opinion, he is a great deal blacker than he is painted by our wise men at washington. after a lifetime knowledge of the crow, with ten years' close observation of his habits, i have nothing to say in his favor. while farming in maine i was a sworn enemy of the crow. not because he pulled up my corn, thinned out my barley, and car140 louis a fueries kingbird. 年 ​1 1 { 1 the crow ried off my chickens; these things i could provide against; i was his enemy because he robbed birds' nests by the wholesale. it did not take me long to find out that this black imp prevented the increase of song-birds in cultivated fields and the adjoining woodlands. i brought with me my hatred of the crow when i dropped into the woods of cape ann, and for several years i made life miserable for his kind with trap and shotgun. ten years ago, influenced by the articles in forest and stream on game protection, i laid aside my gun and devoted more time to the study of the wild things. the crows got the benefit of this change. i should have continued my warfare if the crows had plundered the birds' nests in my vicinity. king-birds nested near my cabin, and during the nestingseason crows and hawks were very careful to give the locality a wide berth. at other times the king-birds did not go far from home to attack the crows, and the latter made themselves at home in my dooryard, after i had ceased to persecute them. 141 tije crow a hermit's wild friends crows possess a language which enables them to communicate to each other anything that relates to crow-life. they can hold long confabs, and then act intelligently from evident conclusions. in the years when i lived happily with my shotgun, before a divorce was decreed, i planted a bushel of potatoes in the woods on the west side of magnolia swamp. fire had cleared the side-hill, and the prospect of a crop was good. the crows gathered in some dead trees, out of gunshot, to criticize my work, and seemed to be highly elated. raw potatoes are not down on the crow bill of fare, so i thought there would be a great disappointment when they investigated my work. the second day after i had finished planting i visited the spot, and found that the crows had dug up every hill on the south half of the field. there were three pieces of potato beside each hill, so the crows did not dig them up for food. why they did so much hard work for nothing was beyond my knowledge of crow-life. i 142 the crow nearly surrounded the other half of the field with white cotton string, and retired to the swamp to await the crows. twenty minutes later a sentinel crow winged his way to a dead tree on the hill, and, after looking for enemies, called out, “ caw, caw, caw.” immediately eight crows appeared. they held a consultation, and it seems they decided that it was a good time to dig up the rest of my potatoes, for they started for the spot where they had left off. as this part of the field was under a high ledge, the crows could not see the string until they had passed the brow of the hill. the first crow over saw the string, and nearly turned a somersault in trying to stop his speed. he called out,“ cur-cur-cur. cur“ cur-cur,” and instantly every crow returned to the tree. for ten minutes a great confab took place. the crow that had discovered the string was eagerly questioned by the others, and replied in a hasty and excited after talking it over, a crow flew to the south end of the field, where he could look to the north and see the string. he re143 > manner. the crow a hermit's wild friends the crow turned and reported. another crow flew to the north end of the field and stationed himself in a tall pine-tree. this crow soon discovered that the string did not surround the whole field; there was a wide gap in front of the pine-tree. he called “ caw-caw-cawcaw-caw," and the crows flew down to the tree. they were told about the gap, and one crow boldly flew through and acted as sentinel from a tree in the potato-field. the other crows soon followed, and began digging up the seed-potatoes. i think they tasted of every piece, with the idea that somewhere i had planted something good to eat. i shot two of the crows and hung them in the potatofield, but a week later i found the secds dug up, with the exception of a few hills beneath the string the few hills left made quite a show two years later. they had produced a crop each year without being discovered by hunters. but when the weeds and shrubs made a rabbitcover, wild potatoes were discovered on that side-hill, and i was soon informed of the 144 ruffed grouse. the crow 66 the crow fact that the potato was growing in a wild state“ away back in the woods." i believe that crows destroy fully one-half the quail and grouse on cape ann. a woods fire south of my cabin burned the nest of a ruffed grouse late in the season. the grouse made a new nest north of my cabin, and one day i found four eggs in it. the next morning i heard a strange cry in the direction of the nest, and started to investigate. i took to the path at the rear of my cabin, and when i had reached the top of the hill i saw the grouse running toward me. she held one wing close to her side, but with the other she was striking savagely at two crows that hazed her as they flew above and around her. just as i came in sight of the trio, the grouse dropped an egg from under the closed wing, and one of the crows seized it and flew so near me that i could see the egg in his bill. the thing that impressed me most was the silence of the crows. not a sound did they utter. the scamps knew that i was near by, and would be warned of crow mischief if i 145 1 1 a hermit's wild friends 1 1 heard their cries. the cry made by the grouse was new to me. it was a wild cry in every sense of the word. the grouse, when she fled with her eggs, took the path to the cabin, and i think she did it for protection. last spring i saw something that added to my knowledge of crow intelligence. fuller brook runs past my cabin, and after losing itself in a swamp, takes up its course again between high granite hills, until it falls into the sea at fresh water cove. in the valley along the brook tall pine and hemlock trees make an ideal nesting-site for crows and hawks. last spring i was much interested in a red-shouldered hawk's-nest which was in this valley. there were two crow's nests some twenty rods farther down the valley. one of my visits found the male hawk at home, and when he discovered me he flew in circles above the trees, uttering the loud scream that can be heard for a mile or more. soon two crows came sneaking through the tree-tops to find out what was disturbing the hawk. the hawk flew to a tall pine, but continued his 1 1 7 146 the crow a loud 66 . cries after he had alighted. the crows flew to the same pine, and, taking a position near the hawk, began to talk to him in a low tone. it was evident that they were telling him that his loud screams would bring all the hunters of cape ann to the spot. the hawk continued to scream, and one crow, in tone, called out, caw-caw-caw-caw-caw." immediately five other crows appeared, and all attacked the hawk, striking at him with their wings until he ceased to scream. the crafty crows did not care about the hawk's nest, but they did not intend to have the hawk publish the fact. well they knew that a search would expose the two nests down the valley. the red-shouldered hawk seems to be too slow and clumsy to wage war on crows, and the birds nest near each other, without trouble, only as i have related. the crows in my locality have named me in the crow language. two caws is the way the sentinel announces my approach to his mates. 147 the crow a hermit's wild friends the crow means several years ago i had occasion to pass every night a spot in the woods where dead horses are buried. the crows would gather there nightly, but always had a sentinel out. the sentinel took up a position in a tall oak on a hill where he could overlook all the approaches. when everything was quiet the sentinel called out, “ caw-caw-caw," which “ all is well.” if a man approaches, the danger-signal is, “ cur-cur-cur," sometimes repeated, and it means “look out there.” it is uttered rapidly. i noticed one night that the crow in the tree, as soon as he saw me, called out, “ caw-caw, and in a short time repeated the call. he had told his mates that the hermit was coming. my path passed within fifty feet of the crows, but they did not fly away. they had long ago found that i was not to be feared. sometimes i had company, and the sentinel would then give the danger-call, “ cur-cur-cur," and the crows would fly away before we got in sight. i had this experience throughout the summer, so there could be no mistake. > а ) 2 148 the crow > this fall a young crow became quite familiar. he would call to me in the woods, “caw-caw," and often fly near me. the old crows seemed to think he was in danger, or they thought he was departing from the ways of the fathers, and they always drove him away. they would beat him with their wings until he was forced into flight to save himself. this young crow had found food in my dooryard, and had heard the older crows say that 66 caw-caw was harmless, so he wanted to be friendly, no doubt with an eye to the food supply. i experimented with this fellow, in hopes that i could tame him, and learn from him and his mates something of the crow language. as added to my knowledge of the young crow he proved to be a failure. i am now convinced that this youngster is not of sound mind. he utters the cry of a young crow, when calling for food, which shows that he has not acquired the crow language. the only exception to this rule is when he calls to me. somehow he has been taught by other crows 149 a hermit's wild friends the crow that my name is caw-caw,” and whenever he sees me he calls out in an eager manner. sometimes he steals away from his mates and comes to my dooryard. the crows hear him when he calls to me, and rush in, and with loud cries drive him into the woods. there is another crow that “ gobbles,” and i have made up my mind that he is unable to utter the common cries of other crows. a few years ago i followed this crow for two days. not a sound escaped him other than the loud gobble. after this, i saw many things that convinced me that the crow was deaf and dumb. there is another deaf and dumb crow about four miles away. he is located on the line between gloucester and essex. five years ago a mr. clark, a resident of gloucester, told me about the last-named crow. mr. clark was ninety years of age. he was as straight and vigorous as a young man, and possessed a fund of amusing stories. he told how, when he went to his farm and found the crows pulling up his grain, the sentinel would a 150 louis a fueries 66 the next sentinel takes up the call. the crow call out, “ clark, clark, clark," and then another crow would cry, “ bother-the-luck, bother-the-luck." in the winter months the crows visit the clam-flats for food. a sentinel is sent down to the woods, overlooking the flats, and when the tide goes out, this sentinel returns, and, flying in a circle above the pines, calls out “ caw-caw-caw," continuing the cry until he has completed the circuit. this cry can be translated into comecome-come,” or, “ clams-clams-clams.” anyhow, the crows understand, and a sentinel flies to a pine-tree just south of my cabin. another drops into a large oak-tree on the hill looking to the east. two more sentinels seek trees for observation, one near the clam-flats. the crow near the flats calls out caw-cawcaw," which means 66 all is well.” the next sentinel takes up the call, and thus it is carried to crows in the woods. the latter fly to the sentinel-trees, if there is nothing to create fear. if a man should approach either sentinel with or without a gun, the danger-cry 66 151 a hermit's wild friends would be rapidly uttered. this cry curcur-cur,” is usually quickly repeated, and the crows rush to the shelter of the pines. like human beings, crows have courts of justice. the jury, however, tries, convicts, and punishes the criminal. sometimes i have witnessed these trials. once, while sitting under a sentinel-tree, i saw six crows flying across the swamp, headed for the tree. five of the crows were striking at one crow that was evidently trying to escape. when the crows reached the tree, the criminal was surrounded by the others. this was not to his liking, and he flew to an upper limb. one of the crows said something to him, and he answered in a loud, defiant tone. for ten minutes the trial went on. each crow had something to say, while the criminal replied in the most aggressive style. at last the criminal seemed to be convicted, when he flew away with a string of caws that doubtless, in crow language, meant, “go to hades, the whole blooming lot of you.” one old crow shouted “ car-r-r-r-r," as much as to say, “ i told you ' 152 the crow > so.” the crows followed the criminal, and as they disappeared in the deep woods beyond the swamp, they were making it extremely warm for him. i do not know how the matter ended, but i am satisfied that the bad crow received severe punishment. i have read in books relating to natural history, that crows are in the habit of playing games. i can only say from my observation that crows take life very seriously. i have seen nothing like play in a lifetime of careful watching. courting is a serious business. the male rushes at his intended, mauling her, while he utters loud cries, in which he rolls his r's in the most approved stage style. when he has forced the young lady to say “yes,” they are mated for life. then he becomes tender in his attentions. he will sit for a half-hour or more, singing the crow love-song. it is not much of a song, but it is the best he can do. he draws his beak down to his breast while he utters liquid notes that remind one of the suction of a wooden pump . 153 the crow a hermit's wild friends this spring the kingbirds returned to bond's hill, and i hope they will nest near by. if they do, the crows and hawks will have to walk spanish. last season the crows destroyed many birds’-nests in the woods in the immediate vicinity of my cabin. one pair of robins had four nests looted. only two towheebuntings were reared, and two nests of the chestnut-sided warbler. escaped. the destruction in so small an area shows how fearful the havoc must be on a large territory. if the kingbirds do not nest near by, i shall continue the study of the crow at the muzzle of the shotgun, in defence of the song-birds that inhabit the woods around me. those that praise the crow can have but little knowledge of his destructive habits. i sleep in the open air eight months of the twelve, and the crows awake me each morning before it is fairly light. for a half-hour or more they keep up a conversation in the crow language. they seem to be debating and laying out a programme for the day. they must have a crow almanac, for they 1 154 the crow know. all about the tides. if the tide is out in the morning they seek the clam-flats without a report from a scout. at this early hour they make the flight without posting sentinels. if it is high water they go down to the seashore to see what the tide has brought in. it is generally supposed that crows utter but one note, or cry, a loud caw. the fact is the crow language is not confined to one note, for “ker” is heard as frequently as 66 99 caw. the cries of the crow can be modulated to express many of the feelings common to the human voice. in the old times, when i killed crows right and left, i often threw dead birds into my cabin dooryard. if a crow passed over, his sharp eyes always discovered his dead comrades, and he would immediately circle above the bodies, repeating several times a cry, ker-r-r-r,” which most vividly expressed horror and indignation. 155 the crow ix. life in the woods the first years of my hermit life were passed rambling the woods of ward eight, rockport, essex, and manchester. i bought a double-barrel shotgun, not on account of the game to be found in the woods, but because i was told of the wonderful duck shooting in ipswich bay. for three years there was a great supply of acorns, and gray squirrels swarmed in the woods of the cape. the next four years were years of famine to all animal life that depended on acorns. the gray squirrels died off by hundreds, and the second year the most of the survivors migrated. two years ago there was a great crop of sweet acorns, and some of the gray squirrels returned. as 156 life in the woods last year was a nut year for bitter acorns, the squirrels would have become plentiful if it had not been for the gunners. ward eight has been cursed by a state law. rockport and the seven wards of gloucester, on the east side of annisquam river, and the town of essex on the west, were given a close time on all kinds of land game for five years. ward eight was the only outlet for the gunners in a population of forty-five thousand. every living thing wearing fur or feathers was shot at, song and insectivorous birds as well as lawful game. almost total extermination has been the result of this unwise legislation. one of my first ventures was a flower garden. i had trailed a few vines over the cabin, and had planted a small bed of favorite garden flowers. the summer visitors offered to buy the flowers, and i saw an opening for another year. i cleared away a small spot for a garden, and made me a hotbed, so the next year, and for the seven following years, i drove a thriving trade in cut flowers. this a 157 a hermit's wild friends other way. flower business did not leave me much time for gadding the woods. the care and sale of flowers, and my last trip to ipswich bay, decided me to discard my gun. the study of the wild things at the muzzle of a shotgun did not give me the satisfaction i thought i could obtain in some i found the bay shooting was expensive, and the birds, which were mostly coots, were not edible so far as i was concerned. my last trip to ipswich bay convinced me that i did not care for such unsatisfactory dangerous sport. i had engaged a young man, and he had hired a gunning boat and decoys for one day. we embarked at the cut bridge about midnight. we rowed down the stream, and at daylight crossed the bar at the mouth of the river. while we were crossing the bar i saw several boats returning. i hailed the nearest to find out why they were coming back. “too much wind," was the answer. i should have turned back with the crowd, 158 61 shot two ducks. life in the woods but like most any other tenderfoot, i did not understand the danger. we anchored in the bay, and put out our decoys. i was pleased to see that we had the shooting to coot's head ourselves. not a boat was in sight. i shot two ducks, and we slipped our anchor and picked them up inside of five minutes. when we essayed to return to our decoys, i found that the wind was kicking up a rough sea. 159 a hermit's wild friends lif had encount some other i did r supper ov the record three doll i could e. to offset with my this gun. t i laid t i think we were over an hour getting back to the decoys. after this the wind increased, and the choppy sea begun to look ugly. the boat took in water, and we realized that we were in danger of being swamped at any moment. the young man wanted to leave the anchor and decoys, and make for the bar. i was ready to go, but refused to leave the decoys. i knew that i would have them to pay for, and there was a good reason for taking them on board: they would help to keep the boat afloat. the young fellow bailed the boat, while i pulled in the decoys. we got under way, and for two hours we had all we could do to keep our boat from going ashore on the rocks. we did not get to the bar. at the end of two hours there came a lull in the wind, and we gradually worked the boat toward the bar. when we saw a big wave coming, we swung the boat bow on, and thus kept from being swamped. after a terrible struggle, we crossed the bar and made fast to a boat-landing in the river just in time to escape from a fierce tornado. if we uneasy promise go out turn a to have of nig hardly wholly keen er wayway hid awa account lit 160 life in the woods 1 1 had encountered such wind while in the bay, some other fellow would have told this story. i did not get home until after dark. supper over, i turned to my note-book, and the record made was a sorry one. expense three dollars, without a pound of meat that i could eat, or the memory of sport enjoyed, to offset, and besides, i had barely escaped with my life. this i thought was due to my love of the gun. there was another waste of time which i laid to the door of the gun. i would feel uneasy mornings, until at last i would compromise with myself, by thinking that i would go out for two hours, and then certainly return and put away the gun. i am sorry to have to admit that it was usually the gloom of night that sent me back to the cabin. i hardly think that the gun should be held wholly guilty. my love for nature, and the keen enjoyment of finding wild flowers, little wayward brooks, or huge masses of bed rock hid away in the deep recesses of the woods, accounted for much of the time spent. how161 : a hermit's wild friends ever, i sold my gun, and did my hunting with note-book and pencil. the pupils from the high school botanical class flocked to the woods about my cabin in search for flowers to identify and mount. i was employed by the parents of some of these pupils to gather specimens and tag them with their latin names. this method saved the pupil a lot of trouble, but it did not tend to advance the knowledge of botany. it occupied some of my time in the spring months, and gave me the pleasure of searching the woods without thinking that i was wasting 1 my time. 11 it must be remembered that during my eighteen years of hermit life, i have been obliged to earn my living expenses, and to feed the wild things that come to my cabin dooryard as well. referring to my note-book, i find that the last item foots up nearly four hundred dollars, but there are some rebates. i mounted one raccoon, many birds and squirrels, the receipts for which lessened the debtor side of the ledger. 162 life in the woods i find that my note-book is filled with notes on flowers and other things besides birds. early in the spring, or at other times, when the frost was coming out of the ground, i noticed that the stones, or small rocks, in the grassy highway did not fit their beds. there would be a space around each stone; the width of the space would be gauged by the shape of the stone. if the stone was conical, the space would be quite noticeable. if round, the space was much smaller. i suppose the cause was expansion, owing to the freezing of the ground. it was the water in the ground that expanded, carrying the dirt and rocks with it. under the influence of a thaw, the rocks dropped back to their beds, leaving a space because the part of the rock above the ground is almost always smaller than the part underground. that is, a rock stands on its base and not on its apex. another thing that has puzzled me is the behavior of dead pine-limbs. one would suppose a dead limb ought to remain decently quiet and not move about like some living a the hermit's wild friends 163 a hermit's wild friends thing. i had occasion to make a path through a thick growth of small pines. the dead limbs extended on each tree from the ground to a height of ten feet. i broke off the limbs so i could pass under them without trouble. after the path was completed, it turned cold for two days. when i undertook to pass that way during the cold spell, the dead limbs were so much depressed that i was obliged to break the path anew. i experimented on dead limbs at different times, and found it was a fact that lifeless pine-limbs will fall in cold and rise in warm weather. i am unable to give a reason for this movement. on my way to the city, the first wild flower to greet me in the spring is the snowy white bloom of the shadbush, or june-berry, as it is called here. it grows in great masses all along the old highway. bond's hill is pretty well covered with a variety unknown to any botany. i have referred this variety of the amelanchier to some of our professors in botany. i suppose in time it will find its place in the 3 164 life in the woods botanical works. it grows like the dwarf blueberry, fruiting when less than a foot in height. some patches of this low variety cover two square rods or more. after the shadbush is in full bloom, the other early wild flowers, that grow beside the old road, come into bloom in rapid succession. as i pass along to or from the city, i see in the distance patches of white which, if i did not know better, would lead me to think that i had discovered some beautiful low white flower. when i reach the spot i find it is spring everlasting (antennaria plantaginifolia). i give the scientific name of this insignificant flower, because every spring scores of woodland ramblers bring it to me and ask its name. early in the spring the flower is a very good white, but as the season advances, it becomes a dirty greenish white. the stem is cottony and the leaves, when young, are covered with a silky wool. with age, the leaves become green above and grayish below. one should make its acquaintance early in the the hermit's wild friends e marrin 165 a hermit's wild friends spring, before other and better flowers become plentiful. there is a clump of bushes near the brook that attracts my attention early. it is the fly honeysuckle. the pale green leaves appear while other shrubs can boast only swelling buds. later, its slender branches are covered with honey-colored bell-shaped flowers. the flowers hang in pairs, and are airy and graceful. on a hillside, near the road, the slender but wiry wild columbine swings its chinese lanterns above its humble neighbors, the starflower and the windflower. near western avenue, where the bed rock overlooks the harbor, the cliffs are white with saxifrage. scattered along the old highway may be found the common cinquefoil. its yellow flower looks like a strawberry blossom, and strawberry blossom it is to most persons. if one is in doubt let him or her place the two side by side. the strawberry leaves are in three divisions, while the cinquefoil is in five. the stems of the strawberry are hairy, while the 166 life in the woods stems of cinquefoil are clean, brown, and wiry. the silvery cinquefoil grows all along the roadsides of western avenue, from the cut to the drawbridge. in late spring and early summer the viburnums afford a mass of bloom that makes the old road look like a cultivated shrub garden. here the wild roses are a blaze of color. i do not believe that there is another spot on earth where the wild roses can compete with those on cape ann. the city end of the old highway in midsummer is white with the fragrant bloom of the sweet pepperbush. then, too, the wild orange-red lily takes possession of the roadsides and waste places. it is marvellous, that for one hundred and fifty years, this deserted old highway has maintained an existence. brave old road! you are gullied by frost and flood; you are worried by catbrier and choked by brambles. you are cursed by poison-ivy, and blessed by climbing woodbine. by night, yours is the highway of the the hermit's wild friends 167 a hermit's wild friends 1 i skunk, the weasel, the raccoon, the fox, the mink, the woodchuck, and the rabbit. by day, the grouse and quail seek your grassy spots for food, and your tiny brooks for water. birds of all kinds nest and sing in the shrubby growth that borders your roadsides. may you never lose the wildness, which, for one hundred and fifty years, you have rescued from civilization. i have mentioned poison-ivy and woodbine. it is easy to tell one from the other. poison-ivy has three leaflets, and the woodbine has five. when leafless,, examine the method of climbing. the stem of the poisonivy is covered thickly with fine rootlets, while the stem of the woodbine is sparingly supplied with tendrils by which it clings and climbs. thoreau writes: " it takes a savage or wild taste to appreciate a wild apple.” again, “ what is sour in the house, a bracing walk makes sweet. some of these apples might be labelled to be eaten in the wind.'» i suppose my taste must be savage or wild,” for i do appreciate wild apples. i 66 а 66 168 life in the woods the hermits wild friends don't know the wild apple that thoreau describes, but those that grow lavishly in the woods of cape ann are not to be despised. i think i am safe in claiming that one-half of the wild trees bear sweet fruit. many of the other half bear cooking-apples as good, or better, than can be found in most cultivated orchards. i know of several trees that bear fruit resembling the baldwin in color and taste, and not much inferior in size. in a secluded spot, where a ledge on one side and a dense mass of catbrier on all other sides hides it from prying eyes, stands a wild appletree. its fruit has no peer in woods or orchard. it is large, with a thin skin greenishyellow in color. to the taste it is slightly acid, with a rich spicy flavor. only three wood-folk know the secret of this wild appletree. a grouse, a rabbit, and a hermit. the grouse nests just over the ledge, the rabbit has a burrow underneath the mass of catbrier, and the hermit nests in the open air, and lives close to nature, too. sometimes farmers with orchards offer to 169 a hermit's wild friends 6 load me with windfalls, and are incredulous when i tell them that i have an abundant supply of apples, as good as those on their best trees. i am the proud owner of an orchard as well as the farmer, and my orchard gives greater enjoyment. the farmer visits his orchard to see how the fruit is setting. it is a humdrum affair. he walks down this row and up that, so the inspection is soon over. it takes me several days to inspect my orchard, while each night i return loaded with wild flowers and experience. there are no stiff rows to follow. my orchard is laid out without regard to quadrangles or triangles. it is nature's plan, engineered on a grand scale, to supply the wants of the greatest number of her wild children, the mice, rabbits, grouse, robins, quail, squirrels, and woodchucks. where cattle are pastured in the woods, the evolution of an apple-tree, as described by thoreau, is going on now as it did in his day. during the eighteen years of my hermit life some of the trees have emancipated them! 170 life in the woods selves, and now toss their branches above their old enemies. the cattle, however, coolly appropriate the fruit of the trees they had so persistently tried to browse to death. 171 x. mr. and mrs. chewink it was a may morning, clear and warm, the time was half-past five. it was my breakfasthour and a pert chickadee had just whistled “tea's ready," to the other birds, when i heard in the bushes near by a bird voice call out “ chewink,” in answer to the chickadee. my breakfast-table was a dry-goods box and this morning it was under a pine-tree. a newspaper served for a table-cloth. breakfast under the pines was a grand affair, and i was sorry when a year later i had dropped the custom for a breakfast in the city. when i sat down to breakfast my woodland orchestra was in full swing. the musicians numbered one song sparrow, one robin, one chewink, or towhee-bunting, one catbird, three 172 mr. and mrs. chewink veeries, two wood-thrushes, and a chestnutsided warbler. while i was sipping my coffee, and reading in thoreau's “maine woods” how to make tea from wild stuff, i les de fras chickadee. 9 again heard the bird voice call out “ chewink.” i looked up and saw a female chewink on the end of the plank seat, not ten feet away. she had hopped into sight and had introduced herself by announcing her name. 173 a hermit's wild friends in some way, this little wild bird had discovered that i supplied free food to the wild things, and she had called on me to establish friendly relations. i threw a bit of cookie to her and it rolled to the ground. she hopped down, found the food, and ate it on the spot, then looked up for more. i gave her another piece which she carried to the bushes. my dinner hour was three o'clock p. m., two meals instead of the usual three. miss chewink was on hand and she was not alone. she had brought along two young gentlemen, who cared more about showing their fine clothes than they did about eating. they strutted around with their tails spread out like fans, and i was soon convinced that they were rivals. the little lady ignored them completely, while she dined with me as freely as if she was not a self-invited guest. i suppose it would be the proper thing to i describe my guests. the chewink, or towheebunting is nearly two-thirds the size of a robin. the male has a coal-black head, black wings and tail. below he is white with orange 174 wacon on kennedy 61 threw a bit of cookie to her. 1 1 mr. and mrs. chewink sides. his eyes are red like the dove's. the tail when spread is bordered with white. the female is a warm brown where the male is black, otherwise the sexes are alike. after dinner my guests departed. later i looked them up. the female was perched on a horizontal limb, while about ten feet away the two dudes strutted and spread their wings and tails, in an effort to affect the choice of the demure maiden. for three days the rivals showed off before the little lady in brown and orange. the morning of the fourth day only two of the birds came to breakfast. the little lady had made her choice, and was now a bride. the other suitor had disappeared, perhaps to look up a second choice. housekeeping was a failure with the newly wedded pair for two years. nest after nest was looted by snakes until the third year. that year the birds reared a family of four. mrs. chewink was very industrious, and worked early and late gathering straws, rootlets, and bits of weedstalk for a nest. mr. chewink turned out mr and mrs chewink 175 a hermit's wild friends to be a lazy, good-for-nothing, shiftless fellow. not even a feather did he carry to the new home. however, he had one redeeming quality, he could sing. somehow, his song seemed to fit into the glorious spring mornings, and the listener felt that it was in perfect harmony with wild flowers, with the drowsy hum of insect life and the tinkling notes of the woodland brook. when the little ones were out of the shell, mrs. chewink had all she could do to supply their wants. she carried bread from the dooryard, and gleaned bugs and beetles in the flower garden. i was deeply interested in the food selected by mrs. chewink. as for herself, she would never eat bread when she could get cup-cake. i expected that she would feed this favorite food to her babies, and that the sweet food would kill them, or make them sick, if no i watched carefully, intending to remove the cake before the little ones were injured. the morning, on which i had pitched to try the experiment, proved to be rainy. more. 176 mr. and mrs. chewink the wet grass and foliage made it difficult for the little mother to collect food, and i thought that that would cause her to fall back on the cup-cake. as soon as she found the cake, she stuffed herself and carried a load to her babies. i followed, and when i had reached the nest she was feeding the last of the cake. from what i saw, it was evident that she had divided the food fairly. i returned to the dooryard, and mrs. chewink followed me. she passed by the cake to load up with bread. the next trip was made up of bread. the fourth and fifth trips were gleaned from the flower garden. the sixth trip was again made up of cup-cake. the next trip she carried bread, and then i removed the bread. when mrs. chewink returned, she looked for bread, but did not offer to take cup-cake in its place. she flew to the garden and hunted up insects. i tried a great many experiments with this bird, and i found that she would not feed enough cup-cake to injure her babies. when they were older and stronger, she fed more cake to them. mr and mrs chewink 177 a hermit's wild friends here was a little wild mother that knew better than to feed to her babies food that she dearly loved herself. how did she know that such food would hurt them? well we know that the wild things manage their domestic affairs in a way best suited to their needs and natures. but it is only here and there that a human being can gain the confidence of the wild things so far as to share the secrets of their lives. mrs. chewink, like many human mothers, was overworked during the warm weather. often she would seek the shade for a few seconds' rest. her open bill and drooping wings gave evidence of how much she was suffering from the heat. all this time mr. chewink haunted the cool, shady spots, and left his clamorous family to the care of his overworked wife. the little ones increased in size very fast, and soon were as large as the old ones. one morning mrs. chewink brought the brood into the dooryard. i think she wanted to be near the food supply. cer1 1 1 1 178 mr. and mrs. chewink mr and mrs chewink tainly it lessened her labors. she had another object in view, which appeared later. two weeks passed, and one morning mr. chewink brought the young birds to the dooryard. i was much worried, for i thought that my little pet had been killed. i searched the shrub-land on the hill, and was delighted to hear her call. she was gathering material for a new nest. then i understood why she had brought her family to the dooryard. she had contemplated putting them under the care of her lazy husband, and she thought that he would not be overworked where food was so plentiful. the young birds did not take kindly to mr. chewink's care. when they found that he was their sole dependence, they made his life miserable. they followed him with open bills and auttering wings, clamoring for food. mr. chewink acted like a crazy bird. he would fly round and gather food and jab it into an open bill, often, in his reckless haste, knocking a little one off its feet. i pitied the poor birds, but there was a ludicrous side 179 a hermit's wild friends to the whole affair. it proved that bird nature and human nature are much alike. a little miss, who had come from the city with her parents, was much interested when i told her that the birds were mr. chewink's babies. she looked on while the babies clamored for food, and when mr. chewink knocked one of the little ones over in his rough, impatient way, the sympathetic miss cried out: oh, mamma, how cross he is! he is just like papa when the baby cries.” after awhile mr. chewink changed his tactics. i think he had grumbled to his wife, and had threatened to let the hawks get the little beggars, so she told him how to induce them to pick up their food. mr. chewink took the hint, and dropped food before each bird, and probably said, “ help yourself or starve.” the poor things did get right down hungry before they found out that they could feed themselves. another feature of bird life was brought to my attention two days before the second brood was hatched out. mr. chewink enticed the young birds away to a bird 180 1 . 1 mr. and mrs. chewink mr and mrs chewth resort. this resort is a place where there is food and water, and many birds that rear two broods take the first brood to the spot, so the mother-bird can feed the second family unmolested. mr. chewink visited the banished birds several times each day. the bird resort was near a little pond on my road to the city. one of the young birds was bright enough to remember me, and intelligent enough to follow me to the cabin. his father found him in the dooryard, and pecked and beat him and drove him into the bushes. but the plucky little fellow insisted, and remained in spite of the whippings he got from his father. i returned from the city one afternoon, and found a black snake had swallowed the second brood, and was sleeping it off on a sunny patch of bed-rock. i killed the snake. the next day the banished birds were brought back. mrs. chewink remained about the dooryard most of the time. she would go after berries with the rest of the family, but her stay was short. at meal-time she would hop on the 181 a hermit's wild friends ( 1 table and look the food over. if she discovered cup-cake, she helped herself without ceremony. after dinner, she would preen her feathers standing on a rock near where my writing-table stood. i liked to have her round, for she seemed to be more like a human being than a bird. after the breeding season was over, the old birds shed their feathers, and sorry-looking objects they were. mr. chewink appeared to hate the sight of his wife, and he abused her most unmercifully. he pecked her, and would not let her eat until he had satisfied his own appetite. at one time, i threw a bit of cooky to mrs. chewink, and it chanced to fall behind a box. while she was eating it, i heard the male calling from the bushes, “ towhee, chewink," and soon he came flying into the yard, to see, perhaps, if any dainty morsels were about. mrs. chewink left her cooky and sauntered from behind the box, as if there was nothing to eat in that spot. she made a great pretence of eating dry corn and flour bread, but i don't believe the artful thing swallowed a 4 1 182 mr. and mrs. chewink flew away. morsel. mr. chewink was just a bit suspicious, and hopped toward the box, but seeing his wife eating, he turned back to investigate. when he found she had only common food, he flew at her, pecked her severely, and then mrs. chewink returned at once to her cooky. i saw then that this wild bird could reason. she had exercised thought to control action, with a definite object in view. the first of november turned clear and cold. there was a hint of winter in the air by day, and the nights were frosty. the chewinks lingered awhile, but the cold was too severe for them, and at last it drove them south. the next spring mrs. chewink did not return. mr. chewink soon found a second wife. i do not know what became of my pet. the chewinks are shot in the southern rice-fields, and it is always uncertain about a particular bird coming back in the spring. association with my little bird for three seasons had led me to become so attached to her that her loss really gave me a heartache. mr. chewink did not return the next year, mr and mrs chewink 183 a hermit's wild friends 1 and i was not a mourner. he was tame enough to take food from my hand, although he would not hop on to the table, but his disposition made him distasteful to me. he abused his wives and children, and was as selfish as a hog. last year the chewinks did not rear a family, owing to the crows. the year before they were successful in rearing three babies from the first brood. the crows got the second brood. the intelligence of the young birds have caused me much surprise. i have made it a practice, while writing out-doors, to be well supplied with bird-food. usually there is a loaf of bread wired down in the dooryard, but the birds will not eat from it if i will throw to them bits of cooky, cupcake, or doughnut. the old birds hop out of the bushes, twenty feet away, and make a peculiar chuckling note, down in the throat, to attract my attention. if i throw food, they scramble for it. they will come to my feet for the food. when the three babies, mentioned before, were full-grown, they were $ 184 mr. and mrs. chewink mr and mrs chewink brought by the old birds to the bushes near the dooryard. the parents, both male and female, carried bread, and the food that i supplied, to the young birds. when all were satisfied, the whole family flew away to the patches of huckleberry-bushes. while writing one morning, i was surprised to see one of the young birds hop out of the bushes to eat from the loaf of bread. he soon tired of the bread, and hopped toward me. when he had approached within ten feet, he stopped, and made the same notes in his throat common to the old birds when attracting my attention. i threw to him a piece of doughnut, which he took to the bushes. three times he returned for food. that day the other two went through the same performance. did these birds learn the trick by watching from the bushes the manner in which their parents got the sweet food from me? or, did their parents tell them what to do? we must remember that these little wild things were only a few weeks old, and however we decide, it appeals to us as an exhibition of intelligence 185 a hermit's wild friends that would be wholly impossible to a human being of the same age. the english sparrow has not found its way to my cabin. i suppose it is too far in english sparrow. the woods for these city dwellers. some boys, of a sunday, brought to me a young english sparrow which they had rescued from a cat. they found the bird near the old barn on the hill just above western avenue. the bird 186 mr. and mrs. chewink mr and mrs chewink was injured in both wings, with body wounds beside. i thought the bird was dead, and placed it on a seat near a tree. shortly, a lady visitor said, “ your bird is coming to life.” sure enough, he had got on to his feet, but was sadly crippled. i gave him some crumbs, and he ate a hearty meal. it was evident that he did not intend to starve to death if he could get food. that night he hopped over to the cabin and climbed the banking to where he could get into a barberrybush. he could not move his wings, but his feet were all right. the next day he hopped to me for food and water. i fed him, then put him on a rock where he could find water for himself. he did not forget the spot. for three days he followed the same methods, sleeping in the barberry-bush every night. the fourth day, while i was feeding him, an old chewink hopped to the loaf of bread and called the sparrow. the sparrow did not respond at first, but after awhile hopped over to find out what the chewink wanted. he seemed surprised to find the bread, and began 187 a hermit's wild friends at once to help himself. the chewink called him into the bushes. i suppose he intended to give him an introduction to his family. the next day the sparrow came into the dooryard alone. he made for the bread and did not look at me. i tried to catch him, but he hopped into the bushes, apparently filled with terror. i think that old chewink had told the sparrow that i was a very bad man. the old fellow might have been jealous, and had frightened the young sparrow, so that he would fly from me in wild alarm. the next time the sparrow visited the yard the chewink was with him. they departed together, and three days later i saw the sparrow near the old barn. he was with other sparrows, but he knew me, and, more than that, he had lost his wildness. he would eat from my hand. it was evident that the chewink had piloted him three-fourths of a mile to his friends. the sparrow had to hop all the way. the old chewink must have exercised much patience to have accompanied the sparrow in such a slow way. how did the chewink know where 188 mr. and mrs. chewink to take the sparrow? did he do a deed of charity by restoring the lost one to his friends, or did he entice him away for selfish purposes? it is barely possible that he might think that ht i neohella sparrow. the sparrow would recover his wing power, and would go out and bring in his uncles and his aunts, so took him out by devious ways that could not be held in the memory. 189 xi. some of the wild things 1 on sunday, may 30, 1897, while the church bells were calling saint and sinner to worship in the city of gloucester, and a catbird's blithe music, supplemented by the silvery bells of a veery, was calling me to worship in my cabin dooryard, i turned to the path that leads to magnolia swamp. two years before, on the west side of the swamp, i had discovered a woodpecker's sap orchard. for two seasons i had carefully noted the work of the woodpeckers in their curious method of tapping trees, and i desired now to add to my knowledge by a few hours of observation. it was a glorious morning, bright with sunshine, tempered by a crisp air. it was one 190 myferguson kennedy “ found his owlship on a low limb." some of the wild things . of the few sunshiny days rescued from a cold, rainy spring month. the trees were forward, and for the most part covered with full-grown leaves. the white oaks were late, as usual, . their leaves were tiny, and at a distance looked to be a silvery gray in the sunshine. the hillsides west of magnolia swamp were lighted up by this immature gray foliage, while here and there the dark green of the pines afforded a pleasing contrast. i found the sap orchard deserted. the trees, red maples and canoe-birches, were dead or dying. the sapsuckers and their self-invited guests, the humming-birds, had drained the life-blood of their helpless victims. all of the maples were still standing, but many of the gray birches had been broken off by the wind just below the belt of punctures. while i was searching for another sap orchard, i saw a barred owl, with something in his bill, fly to a grove of small hemlocks. i i followed on my hands and knees, and found his owlship on a low limb. evidently this was his breakfast-hour. the thing in his bill 191 a hermit's wild friends proved to be a leopard frog. he was preparing to swallow the frog by crushing the bones of the legs and joints. he did not see me, or, if he did, he ignored my presence, and continued leisurely to prepare and swallow his breakfast. afterward he spent several minutes preening his feathers before settling down for a sunday nap. a pair of saucy chickadees, scouring the woods for a sunday breakfast, discovered the owl and gave the alarm. inside of two minutes i counted thirty-six birds, all called together by the cries of the chickadees. these birds included cuckoos, warblers, blue jays, thrushes, vireos, flycatchers, and buntings. how they did jeer and abuse the owl, but all were careful to keep at a safe distance. the blue jays seemed to be filled with fury, and if birds can swear, doubtless that owl listened to some very emphatic language. for twenty minutes that patch of young hemlocks contained noise and life enough to stock a first-class aviary. the owl seemed bored, but was apparently fearless. 192 vi lir on th to aw some of the wild things arnes ne, nd is thirty-two minutes after the first alarm, all the birds had disappeared, excepting two red-eyed vireos. the vireos continued to scold vigorously. the owl had intruded on their nesting-ground. not twenty feet away a 1m owl chased. a vireo's nest swung lightly from the horizontal limb of a red beech. it seemed to me that the owl suspected the presence of the nest, for he thrust out his head and swung it from side to side as if searching for something. after awhile he discovered the nest, and flew to the 193 a hermit's wild friends beech limb. when he had commenced to approach the nest by short hitches along the limb, the vireos changed their scolding to cries of alarm. immediately all the birds returned. again the owl was told that he was a robber and a great rascal by every bird in the grove. as he continued to approach the nest, i thought it time to interfere. “hold, there!” i shouted, and the effect on the owl was instantaneous. he stopped short, crouched on the limb, then twisted his impish face directly into the back of his neck, and glared at me with a frightened look in his wide-open eyes. after a brief inspection he tumbled forward off the limb, caught himself on his wings, and floated as noiseless as a feather into the dark shadows of magnolia swamp. i examined the vireo-nest and found it empty in fact, it was not yet completed. it was evident, from what took place, that birds of different species can communicate with each other. first, the chickadees call other birds to the 194 some of the wild things spot by cries that certainly are understood to mean danger. afterward, the vireos did the same thing. while the latter were scolding the owl, other birds paid no attention, but responded at once to their cries for help. after the owl had disappeared, the birds scattered as before. the blue jays and two thrushes stopped back to interview me, and find out if my intentions were friendly. when all the birds had disappeared except the vireos, i went in search of a new sap or·chard. i soon found a clump of red maples containing two trees that had been tapped by woodpeckers. the belt of punctures on both trees was nearly a foot in width, but the woodpeckers did not show up during my three hours' tarry. this woodpecker, the yellow-bellied (sphyropicus varius), does not nest on the cape, so had doubtless departed in migration, but three humming-birds were fighting for the sap-buckets, and a red squirrel settled matters 195 a hermit's wild friends by driving the hummers from one tree to the other. the red squirrel was a new feature in a woodpecker's sap orchard. he did not cling to one spot, as squirrels do when tapping for yellow bellied woodpecker. themselves, but instead moved rapidly around the tree, thrusting his tongue into the drills for the sweet sap. i suppose the squirrel owned the territory where the maple-trees grew, and was more than willing that the 196 some of the wild things woodpeckers should tap the trees for his benefit. the drills made by the woodpecker extended through the outside bark and into the cambium layer. from my observation with a good glass, during several seasons, i found that the woodpeckers were after the elaborated sap that descends from the leaves, through the inner bark, and did not extend the drills into the wood where they would reach the crude sap flowing up from the roots. the wisdom of this procedure was evident. the elaborated sap is far richer in nutriment than the crude sap, and the woodpeckers knew more about the growth of trees than many human beings, so worked understandingly. each drill is made deep enough to hold about two drops of sap. the upper drills are the only ones to afford sap, which proves that it is certainly the elaborated sap flowing down from the leaves that the birds get. i had read in works on ornithology that the woodpeckers tapped trees so that the sap would attract insects upon which they could 197 a hermit's wild friends 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 feed. also that the birds were after the soft bark, or cambium layer, for food. while the woodpeckers do catch a fly now and then, it is evident, even to a careless observer, that it is the sap that is sought. i have seen them eat small pieces of the cambium layer, but i think they did so because the soft bark was soaked with sweet sap. the three humming-birds made that little sunny glade in the forest as lively as a mexican fandango. the two males were jealous of each other, and both birds seemed desperately in love with the demure maid. she attended strictly to business by drinking from the sap-buckets left unguarded by the red squirrel. the male hummers spent most of the time dancing in the air. they took turns in madly pursuing each other; the pursued never turned tail, but flew backward with a swiftness that was marvellous. the buzzing of their wings and their shrill cries furnished the music for the wild dance. the humming-birds drink from the drills while poised in the air, but often alight and 198 1 h some of the wild things cling to the bark while drinking, the wings closed and silent. flies and hornets were in evidence, crawling on the bark of the maples, or flying around the drills. a hornet stung the squirrel on the ear. when i left, the latter was shaking his head and telling the hornets what he thought of them. when i returned to the cabin, i found a pair of catbirds in trouble. they nested in a dense mass of shrubbery about eighty feet from the dooryard. the male catbird met me some distance from the nest, and by his excited cries i knew that some bird enemy was near at hand. when i came in sight of the nest i discovered the trouble. a black snake was making his way through the bushes toward the nest, and the mother-bird was waging a fierce but fruitless battle. i killed the snake, which was over five feet in length. the nest contained four eggs. for the time being they were safe. in due time the nest contained four baby catbirds. one moonlight night, about ten 199 a hermit's wild friends o'clock, there was a great outcry from the old catbirds. i had gone to bed, in my hammock, in the open air, with but a roof over me to keep off the rain, so i could hear the birds and knew that they were fighting to save their little ones. before i could go to the rescue, one of the catbirds flew to the bushes within three feet of my head, and frantically called to me for help. when i came in sight of the nest i saw a snake drop to the ground. one of the young catbirds was missing. a hurried search beneath the bushes in the dim light was unsuccessful. the snake had silently and swiftly disappeared with his victim. the old catbirds were pets of mine of several years' standing, and the tragic fate of the baby-bird caused me to try to save the other three. i removed the nest and placed it in a covered box in the cabin. the catbirds followed me to the cabin door, but made no protest. the next morning before sunrise the birds awoke me by their cries. when i was dressing they spent the time flying to and fro, from cabin to hammock, calling to me to 200 some of the wild things a hurry up and bring out their babies. both birds had insects in their bills. i did not take the nest to the old spot, but instead placed it in a clump of bushes near the cabin. when i had secured the nest, the old birds gave the three babies their breakfast. this programme was followed day after day, until the young birds were old enough to fly. about two hundred visitors one sunday inspected the nest, and the old birds did not make a protest or show fear. they knew that i would protect their little ones. a clear case of bird intelligence. returning from the city, while the catbirds were rearing their young, i heard a great outcry from a number of birds in the cabin dooryard. at first i thought some bird enemy had destroyed the young catbirds, but i found them all right. just over the wall in the bushes was a nest of the veery. this nest was in ruins. that morning it had contained four newly hatched birds. while i was examining the nest, one of the catbirds flew to a bush near me, and raised an outcry to 201 a hermit's wild friends bee hunting attract my attention. i spoke to the bird, and immediately it flew to the old wall on the opposite side of the road. i went over, and saw the tail of a black snake hanging from the wall. i firmly grasped the tail, but could not pull the snake from between the rocks. i thought of a plan to get the reptile out. i pushed the tail into the wall, and when the snake had loosened his hold, by a strong pull i could gain a few inches. twenty minutes' hard work brought the snake out so i could grasp him by the neck. he coiled around my arm with such power as to stop the circulation. it reminded me of a wire rope tightened by machinery. i unwound the coils and took my captive to a large dry-goods box. i made a cage out of another box by putting wire netting over the top. i placed the box on its side on some stakes, and introduced the snake. he tried every inch of that box and netting for means of escape. two hours later he settled down for a good long sleep, and when he awoke he appeared contented. i offered him food, but he would not eat. for a month 202 ferguson kennedy 66 he coiled around my arm. 1 . 1 1 5 . 1 1 1 1 i 1 some of the wild things he did not eat or drink. i noticed that his skin was loose in patches. it was a month before the regular time for the black snake to shed its skin, but it was evident that this interesting event was about to take place. i put some rough rocks in the cage, and the snake pulled himself between them in such a way as to pull off the old skin. before this, the snake was totally blind. he shed the skin over his eyes, and his sight was restored. shortly after he had shed his skin he glided to the front of the cage and opened his mouth. i took this to mean food, and gave him a frog, which he swallowed. after this, whenever he was hungry, he would look at me with his mouth open. this snake was 'six feet and two inches in length, and large accordingly. his muscular power i had tested, and had found it to correspond to his size. it is singular how many persons there are that think a snake's tongue is a stinger. my snake would run his tongue through the wire mesh, and sometimes i would touch it with a finger. at such times, the most of the 203 a hermit's wild friends visitors present would cry: “look out, he'll sting you!” my snake proved to be fond of music. evenings i would play on the flute, while he would come to the front of his cage and listen. some tunes would excite him so he would glide about the cage. the swiss waltz would always set him a-going. shrill, discordant notes would send him to the darkest spot in his cage, where he would coil and remain so quiet as to appear lifeless. on the approach of cold weather the snake became torpid, and he was killed. some years, snakes, of all kinds indigenous to this climate, are numerous enough to destroy the nests of the small birds. therefore i kill the snakes that are bird-hunters, because i prefer birds to snakes. i have found that some snakes, that come to my dooryard for my pets, are so crafty as to make it nearly impossible to kill them. a big black snake often came down the hill to the cabin, and when he had reached a boulder he would look around to see if i was there writing. this snake had 204 some of the wild things 66 a saucy, independent way of looking at me, as much as to say, are you the hermit? " a movement on my part toward a club sent the snake into the bushes. throughout one season i tried my best to kill that black snake without success. the next year he did not appear. very few snakes came out of winter quarters that spring. another black snake had determined to swallow a pet toad. the toad was a monster, and had escaped several times, but his hind legs were badly scarred. the toad would come to me for protection. usually he would hop on to my feet when pursued. the snake was too crafty to come near enough for me to use my snake-club. i was telling some visitors from the city about the toad and snake, when one young lady expressed a strong desire to see a live snake. while we were talking, i heard the toad cry out, and i knew that the snake was after him. i told my visitors to keep quiet and they would see the toad come to me for protection. the young lady that wanted to see a live snake gathered up her cy 205 a hermit's wild friends skirts and fled down the old highway. the toad came in sight, dragging the snake, which was clinging to a hind leg. when the snake saw us, he dropped his hold but did not retreat. the toad hopped on to my feet, nearly exhausted. the snake must have been made bold by hunger, for he made a rush for the toad. my snake-club was near at hand, and he was soon killed. the young lady that fled would not return until fully convinced that the snake was dead. she did not see the snake when he was alive, for she fled when i said one was coming a garter-snake made a home beneath my cabin. he was too small to injure birds, so i did not disturb him. he became very tame during the summer. his hole was under the door of my cabin. i could sit in the doorway, and when he was passing in or out, he would stop for me to rub his head. the second year he had increased in size. there was a chestnut-sided warbler's nest near the cabin, containing young birds. i heard cries of distress from the old birds, and when i investi206 some of the wild things gated, found the garter-snake trying to get at the nest. i struck him with a small stick, and he hid in the weeds. that blow severed his friendship for me. if he returned to the cabin and saw me in the doorway, he would retreat until the coast was clear. twice more i caught him at the birds' nest. he escaped each time. he must have come to the conclusion that i was protecting the birds for my own eating, for he left them after that. the next year he ate a pet frog and robbed several bird's nests. he had moved to an old stone wall, and did most of his hunting by night. he tried to loot a catbird's nest, but the birds gave the alarm, and the moon helped me to find the marauder. one blow and it was all over. it would have been pleasant to study this snake, but i could not allow my pet birds to be so cruelly persecuted. 207 xii. cow-bird the instinct of the cowbird the books on ornithology tell us that the cowbird (molothrus ater) is a common summer resident of new england, without regard to locality. however true this may be as to other parts, it is a fact that the bird was unknown to me in penobscot county, maine. cowbirds are summer residents of cape ann, and i have studied their habits for years. i commenced by requiring answers to the following questions: why do birds, when victimized, rear the young cowbird? why does the young cowbird desert its foster parents to associate with its own kind? why do young cowbirds lay eggs in other 208 the instinct of the cowbird birds' nests, instead of building nests for themselves ? how did the cowbird acquire this unnatural habit? writers on the subject usually answer the first question by the term “ stupidity," and the other three by the word " instinct." in all my life i have never found the birds stupid. they are as intelligent as to the requirements of bird life as man is as to the requirements of human life. the theory of instinct is only a dream of the uninitiated. nature's children are never troubled by such nightmares. the most of our bird books have the earmarks of the library. an author may be familiar with a few birds studied afield, but the greater number are studied in the library. take the cowbird as an example. one author after another rings in the same old chestnut about the disreputable bird that lays its eggs in other birds' nests and deserts its offspring. these authors wind up by calling attention to the wonderful instinct that causes the young ترم ཀརྟེན 209 a hermit's wild friends cowbird to desert its foster-parents to associate with its kind. i will say now, that long before i had the opportunity to study the bird, i did not believe it possible for a young bird, by its own knowledge, to hunt up and associate with birds of its kind. that would be a miracle, and the days of miracles are passed. in my study of birds i have found that old birds educate the young, and i knew that the young cowbird was piloted by its mother, or the foster-parents turned it over to its kind to be rid of incumbrances. few writers have studied the cowbird through the nesting mr. john burroughs writes that he found small eggs in the path that had two pricks in the shell. afterward he detected the cowbird removing an egg from a bird's nest. mr. burroughs intimates that the cowbird did this to deceive the owners of the nest. they, finding the proper number of eggs, would not detect the fraud. i was sincerely grieved that a delightful writer on natural history should make such a break. his interpretation would endow the cowbird with a season. 210 the instinct of the cowbird keen reasoning power, and would make chumps of the others; too senseless to know their own eggs. in my observations, when the victimized birds return and find the alien egg, they exhibit great distress. my first study of the cowbird happened blue winged yellow warbler. in an unexpected manner. i was watching the nest of a pair of yellow warblers (dendroica æstiva) that contained two eggs. while the owners were absent i saw a cowbird flutter on to the nest and add her parasite egg to its contents. when the yellowbirds returned they at once discovered what had taken place, 211 a hermit's wild friends and acted as if wild with alarm and distress. for a half-hour the birds flew wildly about, uttering plaintive cries, after which they settled down on a twig, where they could overlook the nest. they now seemed less excited, and were evidently holding a consultation. after awhile they seemed to agree on a course of action, for the female went on to the nest and the male bird tried to sing away the trouble, but i thought his song less earnest than usual. no more eggs were laid, which was somewhat remarkable, as the yellowbird's number is usually four. i found the young cowbird hatched out just twelve days after the egg was laid. the next morning i found the two yellowbirds out of the shell. when the cowbird was two days old he crowded both the little birds out of the nest. when i found them, one was dead and the other gasping as if fatally hurt. while i was watching the latter, the motherbird appeared with an insect. she offered the food to the dying bird, and appeared greatly 212 the instinct of the cowbird cow-bird troubled when it was not received. after awhile she seemed to comprehend that the little one could not eat, and she fed the insect to the cowbird. before flying away, she returned to the gasping bird, and looked at it by turning her head from side to side, while she uttered a succession of low, plaintive notes. after this, both yellowbirds had all they could do to supply the black giant with food. when he was old enough to fly, or, at least, was completely feathered, his foster-parents coaxed him out of the nest after the manner of all bird-kind. birds know when their young are old enough to leave the nest, and withhold food until the little ones are downright hungry, and then tempt them out with a dainty morsel. while tempting the young cowbird from the nest, the yellowbirds made as much effort and appeared as joyous when successful as if the labor had been performed for their own bright-eyed, pretty birdlings. the young cowbird, when once out, did not return to the nest for shelter. his growing appetite taxed the strength of both birds to 213 mi st a hermit's wild friends cow-bird 1 the utmost. every moment of daylight was occupied in catering to his wants. one day i missed the female yellowbird, and, after a long search, found her engaged in building a new nest. she had forsaken her former charge. heretofore i have neglected to state that i often saw the mother cowbird. i think she visited the nest several times a day after the egg was laid. her frequent visits had accustomed the young bird to her presence, thus making possible what followed. after discovering the new nest, i looked up the young cowbird, and found the male yellowbird feeding him as usual, but not alone. the old cowbird was acting as assistant, as if just aroused to the responsibility of maternal duties. for several days both birds fed the young cowbird, after which the yellowbird spent much of his time with his mate, gradually deserting his charge, to return no more when the second brood was out. thus my observations had answered two questions; my first and second. my first 214 the instinct of the cowbird question, “ why the victimized birds rear the parasite?” was answered to my belief in this way: i believe that the yellowbirds had had experience with cowbirds before, and intelligently understood that they must sacrifice their first brood in order to raise a second brood unmolested. the actions of the birds when they discovered the parasite egg, their great distress, their consultation and prompt action, their neglect to lay the usual number of eggs can be construed in no other light. it is far beyond the province of instinct. my second question,“ why the young cowbird deserts its foster-parents? ” is already intelligently answered. it is no desertion. the foster parents turn over the parasite to its own mother, in a matter-of-fact way, and then go about their own affairs in peace. my third question, “ why do young cowbirds lay eggs in other birds' nests instead of building nests for themselves ? " when the cowbird was out of the shell, it was big and black. it was my first young cowbird, and i thought it was a male. i vino 215 a hermit's wild friends а made it a male in my note-book. while the bird was in the nest i fastened a bit of copper wire to its leg, and the next spring, when it returned, i found that the bird was a female. i saw her with another female, i think it was the mother, visiting birds' nests. so the young cowbird was educated to lay its eggs in other birds' nests. nest-building is educational and not instinctive. my fourth question could not be answered by observation. how did the cowbird acquire this unnatural habit? the answer to this question is not within the province of proof. it is fair to assume that the cowbird, in the distant past, reared its young in a nest of its own. it may have happened that some tragedy had deprived a family of young cowbirds of their parents. other birds may have reared the young ones until they were capable of providing for themselves. in migration all would remain together, but when nesting begun the young cowbirds would not be tolerated near a nest. 216 the instinct of the cowbird not educated in nest building, the female would fly to other nests to drop her eggs. other cowbirds may have adopted the same method, finding it pleasant to have the care of their babies shouldered on to servants, like some human mothers. however, the whole thing is mere speculation, and it is not worth while to follow it further. a few years ago a cowbird laid an egg in a chewink's nest.' the chewink visited my dooryard. i did not remove the egg, but watched for the cowbird. before the egg was hatched i shot the mother. i wanted to see if a young cowbird, reared without his own mother, would go out to the cow-pasture where there was a flock of old cowbirds. the chewinks reared the cowbird and three of their own babies. this was the first brood. when the mother chewink made a new nest, the father took care of the four little ones. before his mate hatched the second brood, he took his charge to a bird resort near a pond. this was near the cow-pasture, and the flock shy 217 a hermit's wild friends of cowbirds resorted to the pond for water. it gave the young cowbird a good chance to go with its kind. several times i saw cowbirds approach the youngster, but he always fled as if he thought that his life was in danger. he acted just as young tame crows do when they see other crows near them. that fall all the chewinks, that is, the old ones and the first brood, with the cowbird, remained about the dooryard until migration. the second brood of chewinks was destroyed by a snake, after which the first family was brought back. the next spring the cowbird did not return with the chewinks. as a matter of fact, only two of the five chewinks returned. i suppose the others were killed in the ricefields. i had wired the cowbird with copper wire, so looked for him in the different flocks in my locality. he was not to be found, and was probably shot because he was with the chewinks in the rice-fields. two years ago i found a cowbird's egg in the nest of a maryland yellowthroat. this nest was under a tussock of cut grass, just а 218 the instinct of the cowbird over a stone wall that enclosed the cow-pasture. as usual, it was the first nest of the maryland yellowthroats. the young birds, three besides the cowbird, were crowded out of the nest, but as luck would have it they fell into a cavity on one side of the nest, and were fed by the parents. i saw the mother cowbird feed her baby before he was out of the nest, and when he could hop about, his mother led him to the cow-pasture. afterward i saw her carry flies from the cows to her baby, which was in the bushes near the wall. i think the maryland yellowthroats covered their own little ones from the night air. perhaps one of them protected the cowbird. i did not see the foster-parents feed the young cowbird after he was able to leave the nest. i watched one morning for two hours, and saw the birds make many trips with insects, which they fed to their own birds. the cowbird was near at hand, over the wall, but the birds did not go near him. from my observations i am convinced that the cowbird does not desert its offspring, but, fi sony 219 a hermit's wild friends cow-bird instead, keeps an eye to its welfare, and ends by assuming the whole care of its food, and leads it to associate with its kind after it is large, or old enough to fly. i have a little bird friend, a chestnut-sided warbler, that nests near my cabin. three springs running i found a cowbird's egg in my little friend's nest. the first two eggs i threw out, but the third year i thought to try an experiment, the same that was afterward tried on the chewinks, and shot the mother cowbird. the cowbird was out of the shell before the other eggs had hatched. there were three eggs in the nest, and the young cowbird managed to break them. the chestnut-sided warblers had begun to feed the alien, but when they found the broken eggs, they deserted the nest and left the young cowbird to starve. they made a new nest not over three rods from the old one. sorry that i had shot the mother cowbird. it would have proved whether a cowbird would leave her offspring to starve, if deserted by the foster-parents. i was 220 the instinct of the cowbird ance. i have mentioned putting copper wire on the young cowbird's leg. this artifice was used on other birds as well. i could easily . identify my birds when they returned in migration. i put two turns of wire around a young robin's leg one spring. this robin was brought up by catbirds, with my assisti had removed a catbird's egg to a robin's nest, and a robin's egg to a catbird's nest. the crows destroyed the robin's nest, . but the catbirds reared their family. the young robin proved to be a male. he associated with the catbirds, and went south with them. he returned in the spring with the male catbirds. the females and young returned together about a week later. the young robin remained about the cabin and the little brook where the catbirds nested until the last of june. he had a favorite tree, an oak, where he would perch in the morning and attempt to sing. his song was made up from that of the robin and catbird. a curious medley. the last of june i missed the bird, exsy 221 a hermit's wild friends and looked for him in his favorite oak. i found his body lodged in a small hemlock beneath the oak. he had been shot while singing in his favorite tree. & 222 * xiii. bee hunting dee hunting i have made my title bee hunting, while i remember well that down in maine we used the term “ lining bees.” lining bees.” i was enthusiastic over the sport when farming in maine, and when i had located on cape ann, i searched the wild flowers for bees. i found bees enough, so made the attempt to find a wild swarm. all my efforts were unsuccessful the first year. my bees all lined to tame swarms in hives. the second and third years i found swarms, but they did not have much honey. these wild bees were in ledges, and the ants had found the honey and had appropriated the lion's share. in maine the bees resorted to hollow trees, mostly pine; and in the old days many farmers lost swarms, which helped to stock slik at 223 a hermit's wild friends bee hunting the woods. in any locality where there are large trees bees can be found, because some of the trees are sure to be hollow. the amount of honey made by a wild swarm will run from a few pounds to two hundred pounds. the size of the hollow in the tree regulates the amount of honey. if the hollow is large enough to hold the young bees, no swarm will be sent out, so a large quantity of honey will be stored. bee hunting is a sport that can be followed by any number of persons, without regard to sex. for pure enjoyment it is far ahead of golf. it can be followed without fatigue, and it allows plenty of time for social chats. a party could go out at ten o'clock, provided with a lunch, and could return in time for the six-o'clock dinner. the discovery of new birds or flowers might add much to the pleasure, and the uncertainty of the honey hunt would give zest to the sport. i will briefly give the method adopted by the best bee hunters. first, as to tools to work with. a compass and a hatchet will be . 224 bee hunting : necessary the hatchet is used in blazing trees. the most important thing is the beebox. this can be made from a wooden candy or lozenge box, with a slide. split the box half-way between top and bottom. place the top half on the bottom half with the slide down. connect the two with hinges. now you have a double box, hinged in the middle, with the upper part open. for a cover, set in a piece of glass just the right size, or you can nail on a wooden cover with a piece of glass inserted over a hole left for that purpose. it will be a good plan to make a new slide. it should be long enough to project four or five inchés when closed. you will need two or three pieces of breeding comb, empty of course. you should take along a bottle containing honey and water. one-third water. about two ounces of the mixture is enough to mix at one time, as it will sour in two days. if you use clear honey the bees will take up much time cleaning their legs and wings; it is too thick and sticky for good work. a light staff five feet in length, sharp poika 225 a hermit's wild friends bee hunting at one end and with a piece of thin board, say eight inches square, nailed to the other end, comprises your working outfit, except a good glass. you are now ready for the field. a hilly pasture is an ideal place for bee hunting, when it is surrounded by woodland. waste lands, where fire has killed the trees, and goldenrod grows abundantly, will be found to be the best location of all. when you get to the spot selected, set your staff into the ground ready for the bee-box. old bee hunters seldom use a staff, but depend on finding a stump or boulder for a box-holder. the staff is handy, for you may not find a stump or boulder near shade, or a spot where one can be seated in comfort. your box should be empty. pull the slide out, and open the box. when you find a bee on a goldenrod or other flower, quickly place the box over him, and close it. the bee will seek the glass. shove in the slide, and you have your first prisoner. now you must leave the slide closed while catching your second bee. when you have > 226 keriet bee hunting. bee hunting him in the lower part of your box, pull out the slide, and he will seek the glass with your first prisoner. push in the slide, and you are ready for the third bee. when you have caught five you would better stop, for if you carry bees too long in the box they will refuse to work. take the box to the staff. put a piece of comb in the lower half. turn on some of the mixture, then close the box. pull out the slide, and cover the glass with coat, hat, or hand. look every minute to see if the bees have gone down to the honey. when they are down, open the box gently, and stand back. as soon as a bee is full he will drop off the box and swing to and fro, until he thinks that he has fastened the spot in his memory. then he will begin to circle, to find landmarks, to guide him to the hive. his circles will increase in size and height, and he will soon be lost to the eye. it is not worth while to try to follow the bee's flight at this stage. after he has made two or three trips he will drop off the box, and go directly to the hive. he has got his landmarks any postita 227 a hermit's wild friends now. bee hunting other bees from the hive will soon be hunting along the line, for the first bees tell their mates of the find. if there is only a small amount of honey a few bees will seek it. enough bees will come to remove the honey in two days. if there is a large amount of honey about all the working bees in a swarm will turn out. i have taken a basket of comb from strained honey on to a beeline, and have had two quarts or more of bees on the comb at a time. i could walk slowly along the line, and the bees would come and go as readily as if i was stationary. it is a good plan to hang up a newspaper, or a flag of some kind, near the box. some hunters claim that the bees will find the box by scent, so use the anise bag. we will now return to the bee-box. there is a lot said about a bee-line, which is supposed to be a straight line, but the fact is, the bee flies in a wavy line. he drops off . the box and starts for the hive, swinging from side to side of an imaginary straight line. the swings will cover about thirty feet, but 228 bee hunting it is an easy matter to strike a centre. a bee can be seen for a long distance after he leaves the box. suppose you are on a hill, overlooking, to the westward, a valley covered with trees, and your bees go into, or over, the woodland. take out the honeycomb and leave it on the staff. if the box is sticky with honey, clean it with moss or leaves. now catch five bees as before. take them north sixty rods or more on a right angle line if possible. place your box on a boulder or stump, and let the bees go as before. before leaving the staff, take a good look along the line the bees are following. if you can . locate a tall tree on the west side of the swamp so you may know it again, you will find it useful. when the bees get to work on the new line look for your tall tree. if the bees go to the right of the tree, the hive is not in the valley. the only thing to do now is to move to the other side of the valley if there is open land, and proceed just as you did at first. if the hills beyond the valley are wooded, you will have to follow your first line. if you mit 229 a hermit's wild friends bee hunting can find the tall tree, it would be a good plan to go to it and set the compass, and begin to bush a path along the line. as you progress on the line, hunt all the trees on each side. if you can find an open spot anywhere, set up your staff and box. you might find that the bees were returning on the line, then you would know that you had passed the hive. if bees enter a piece of woods, and there is an open spot beyond, they can be started from the open spot to decide if they turn back or go on. it is unnecessary for me to go further into the details of lining. it is a poor hunter that cannot overcome obstacles that spring up in his way. when the tree is located, trouble begins. there are two ways of taking up the honey. one way is to plug the hole where the bees enter the tree, and then cut or bore a hole near the ground and insert the nose of an old teakettle filled with burning brimstone. the next day the bees will be dead, and the honey will be cool to handle. this is the method pursued by market hunters. i never took 230 bee hunting kindly to the method. another method followed is to put on gloves, and for the head a straw hat with wide brim. cover the hat with mosquito-netting long enough to be buttoned under the coat. this will prove a good protection against stinging. tie the trousers legs at the ankles, and you are ready to begin. while cutting down the tree you will have no trouble if the tree is large and the hole high up. after the tree is down, you will have to cut into the honey and split off the outside wood. the moment a blow is struck over the honey the bees will pile on you will have to brush them off, or you cannot see to chop. when the store is fully exposed, the bees will give up, and will begin to load with honey. then they are harmless, and will not sting unless jammed. as soon as the bees give up, you may remove your protection, roll your sleeves up, sit on the tree and help yourself to the choice bits. you need not feel nervous if bees are flying all about you. the fight is all out of them as soon as the honey is exposed. 231 to you. rater sity a hermit's wild friends bee hunting i forgot to say that when the first blow of the ax falls, after the tree is down, the fierce roar which the bees make would frighten a nervous person out of his senses. i have seen strong men cringe, and i can remember cases where fright led to flight. some persons are so nervous that they will not face the bees without protection. a friend that lived near my farm in maine, came to me one morning with the story of a wild swarm of bees, which he had not been able to find, although he had at one time a line to the hive. we started out to find this swarm the twelfth day of september. the eighth was noted for wind, and thousands of forest trees had been turned up by the roots. we found some bees near a highway. they went due west into or over a bad swamp the swamp was nearly two miles wide, with a bog on the west. the bog bordered pickerel pond on the south. we took some bees around the swamp to the open bog. we found that the bees kept on to the westward to a pine ridge. after hunting two hours, i 232 bee hunting found the hive. the tree was a pine, two feet through near the ground. the gale had broken it where the bees entered and so the part with the honey in it was on the ground. about a peck of bees had clung to the top of the stub. the ground around the tree was black with bees. the tree had split open and honey was slowly running out and dropping on to the pine needles. there were over two hundred pounds of honey in that tree when standing. the bees that were carrying away honey were mostly from tame swarms, but the woods were full of bees hunting for the store. i called my friend, and while he was coming i chopped out the honey. i did not disturb the comb, only to break off some to eat. the next day we returned in a team which we left in a clearing to the north and about one and a half miles from the honey. my friend was mortally afraid of bees. he swore that they would follow him into the house and sting him. i worked on the honey, filling buckets without protection. as it was a warm day, i worked bare-armed. the bees were completely harm233 amoher sitten a hermit's wild friends bee hunting it was less. my friend had on a close veil and two pairs of gloves, and all i could say had no effect. he swore the bees would sting him to death if he should remove his veil. he could not eat honey, and he was a great honey fiend. i would eat the best i could find before him, and chaff him all the time. at last he could stand it no longer. he took a sheet of wellfilled comb and started up the hill. his idea to get away from the bees, where he could remove his gloves and veil and enjoy a feast. inside of five minutes i was startled by a succession of yells that appeared to extend in a line from the top of the hill to the swamp. shortly a doleful voice called to me from the swamp. i went down and found my friend up to his hips in water. he wanted me to go up the hill and find his gloves and veil. i tried to have him come out, but he claimed that the beés had stung him until he was nearly blind. he told such a pitiable story that i believed him and hunted up his lost property. when he came to the edge of the swamp, i could 234 bee hunting not see anything that looked like stings on his face, and told him so. he had got his gloves and veil, so he simply grinned. when he undertook to eat his honey on the hill, bees that were hunting for honey had found him, and buzzed about his ears until he was completely demoralized with fear. they would not sting any one. my friend could have worked unprotected, just as i did, but his nerves would not permit it. there is another method of bee hunting which i must describe, or my article would be incomplete. this method is pursued late in the season, when bees cannot be found on flowers. pressed comb is burned to attract the bees. take some of this comb to the woods, where there is likely to be a swarm, and make a fire. heat two or three flat rocks, and use one at a time, sizzling the comb. have honey handy so the bees will find it when they follow the scent of the burning comb to the spot. this method is successful early in the season some years. а with arty 235 xiv. tiny in the series of nature studies, published in forest and stream's natural history columns, tiny was briefly introduced to the public. tiny is a red squirrel, the son of bismarck. the latter was a grizzled old warrior, the hero of many a fierce battle. why he gave the cabin dooryard to tiny is one of the mysteries of squirrel life. he had held it against all squirrels, red or gray, for ten years, and now gave it over to tiny to have and to hold, without reserve. a return to bismarck's life history may throw some light on this peculiar transaction. bismarck's family, april, 1900, consisted of a wife and four children. mrs. bismarck, at that time, left her children to the care of 236 tiny bismarck, and tiny her husband, while she made a new nest in which to rear another family. it was bismarck's duty to finish the education of the young squirrels and to marry off the daughters to young males of another family, and to locate his sons on territory which they would ever after own, and for which they would fight to the death. tiny was not half so big as his only brother. perhaps that was the reason why bismarck favored him, and brought him to the dooryard. it was an unusual act, for bismarck insisted that his sons should remain on the territory upon which he had located them. when tiny had acquired full possession, he proved to be a chip of the old block." his motto, “no, trespass,” was impartially enforced. he raced his brother, sisters, father, mother, as well as strangers, out of the dooryard, and fiercely attacked any squirrel that did not depart after the first warning. it was laughable to see bismarck, the grizzled old warrior, run as if for life when > 9 237 a hermit's wild friends bismarck and tiny caught trespassing by tiny. when tiny approaches through the tree-tops and finds a squirrel in the dooryard, he stops and sounds his war-cry. this cry is long drawn out, and is something like the buzzing of an old wooden clock when running down and striking the hours. after this warning, he makes a rush for the interloper, and if he catches him the fur flies. tiny had a lively experience with a wharfrat. the rat was a monster. what caused him to take to the woods is a mystery. probably he was a rat christopher columbus, and had started out to discover a new world. when he found my dooryard he seemed satisfied. from a rat's standpoint it proved to be “ a land flowing with milk and honey." wheat, corn, meat, bird-seeds, with no bloodthirsty human being to make life miserable. after two days of feasting the big fellow disappeared, to appear again three days later with a mate. doubtless the sly old rogue thought that he was able to sup238 tiny port a family on the fortune he had discovered in the woods. i trapped the small rat, but found the big one too crafty to enter a trap. at first the rat did his foraging in the night-time, so tiny had no chance to make his acquaintance. later he became bold enough to feed in the daytime, which, in the end, brought him in contact with tiny. i was talking to some visitors from one of the big summer hotels, telling them the history of the rat, while he was eating from a loaf of bread in the dooryard, when i heard tiny's war-cry. i told my visitors to look out for a hot time. tiny ran out on a limb about six feet above the rat, and told him in vigorous squirrel language that he was a thief and a robber. the rat looked up, wondering what the angry little animal could be, that was talking in an unknown tongue, and pounding the pine-limb with his hind feet. it never en-tered his head to be afraid of such an insignificant foe. tiny ran down the tree-trunk, landing on the ground not four feet from 239 a hermit's wild friends the rat. the latter stood on his hind feet and squealed a warning. a lady visitor urged me to drive the rat away. “rats are great fighters," said she. “ the poor little squirrel will be killed.” i offered to bet on the squirrel, but before she could answer, the fight was on. tiny caught the rat by the neck. for a few seconds all that could be seen was something brown whirling in a cloud of pine-needles. the rat soon found that his little foe was a cyclonic fighter, and he made desperate efforts to escape. he dragged tiny to a stone wall, leaving a trail of blood behind. when he entered the wall, tiny let go and returned to the bread and coolly proceeded to eat his dinner, none the worse for his fierce battle. the rat did not return. he either died from the effects of tiny's savage bites, or, if he survived, left in disgust. tiny was not always full of fight. he formed a friendship for a young towheebunting after a singular encounter. the bunting was eating from a loaf of bread, 240 marguson kenne 66 again the plucky little bunting set its wings and lowered its head.” tiny which was staked down in the dooryard, when tiny appeared. the squirrel thought that the bird would run away, but instead, the latter set its wings and lowered its head in preparation for battle. tiny was astonished. he sat up, folded his forepaws on his breast, and looked on the gamy little bunting with wide-eyed wonder. the bunting soon turned to the bread. tiny brought his forepaws down hard on the ground, evidently to frighten the bird. again the plucky little bunting set its wings and lowered its head. again tiny sat up and looked the little fellow over. this time there was a comical expression on the face of the squirrel that said as plain as words could tell that he appreciated the situation. that he admired the pluck of the bunting was evident by his action. he crept quietly to the opposite side of the loaf of bread, and allowed the bunting to eat unmolested. after this the two would eat together whenever they chanced to be in the dooryard at the same time. tiny did not allow other buntings near rouw 241 a hermit's wild friends line his food, and i thought he would forget his bird friend when the buntings returned in the spring migration, but not so. he knew his friend at once, and chuckled some kind of a greeting, while the bunting said something in bird language that seemed to my ears to express joy. the red squirrel is quick-witted and full of resources. if new and unusual conditions confront him he is equal to the occasion. i i have had proof of this hundreds of times. i will relate one instance: i feed hempseed to the birds. the red squirrels and chipmunks are fond of the seed, and unless i stand guard, will manage to get the lion's share. the chipmunks stuff their pouched cheeks, and would carry away a bushel every day if it was fed to them. when tiny is present, no squirrel or chipmunk dares to meddle with the food. he does not molest the birds, and i really think that he knows that the seeds belong to them. last fall i placed a wire netting over a shallow box, so the birds could pick out seeds, 242 tiny while the squirrels could not get their noses through the mesh. the chipmunks were puzzled, and one after another gave up in disgust, to fall back on bread and corn. when tiny found the box he got mad all through. he crowded his nose against the wire netting, biting savagely meanwhile. i laughed, and tiny instantly stopped his efforts and looked in my direction. all at once he got the idea into his head that i had blocked his game, and had caused the trouble. in three bounds he landed on the trunk of a pine-tree, and running to a limb just over my head, he told me in wicked squirrel language just what he thought of me. in his anger he pounded the limb with his hind feet, stopping now and then to charge down the tree-trunk, as if he were about to attack me. after ten minutes of this hot work he became quiet, except a sob, which he uttered from time to time. finding that i would not help him, he returned to the box. he tried the wire a short time, then sat up and folded his paws across his breast and fell into a towy 243 a hermit's wild friends 1 . 1 brown study. like a flash he came out of his trance, grasped the box, and turned it completely over, then he began to eat, saying something to me, while he jerked his tail in a defiant manner. after this, whenever he found seed in the box, he quickly turned them out. for a week or more i allowed him to have his way. i wanted my visitors to see how cute the little scamp could be on a pinch. later i drove stakes across the box to hold it down. i returned one day to find that tiny had managed to dig a hole beneath the box, and had gnawed through the bottom. i tried another scheme for the purpose of testing the intelligence of the squirrel. i stretched a cord between two trees, and halfway suspended a box open at the top. tiny saw the birds eating from the box, and he quickly understood that it was another device of mine to outwit him. he ran up one of the trees, and tried the limbs that hung over the bos. he soon found a slender limb that would bend under his weight and let him into the box. after he had used this highway several 1 а 244 tubes misguson kennedy "made his way to the box, hand over hand." tiny days i cut the limb away. when tiny found a fresh stub instead of a limb, he understood what it meant. he knew that i was the guilty one, and he swore at me, if a squirrel can swear, for twenty minutes. his next move was to investigate the line where it was attached to the trees. he thought he could reach the box over the line, and started out. when about a foot from the tree, the line turned, and tiny jumped to the ground. he tried this three times, and met with failure. the fourth time, when the line turned, he clung to it and made his way to the box, hand over hand. i thought he deserved a reward for his continued effort and intelligence, so since then i allow him to eat from the box whenever he feels like it. tiny made a cozy nest in november, of moss, leaves, and grass. it was in the top of a pine-tree that hangs over the cabin dooryard. some wretch shot this nest to pieces when i was absent. i returned to find empty shells in the dooryard, and fragments of the nest hanging to the tree. tiny made another ps 245 a hermit's wild friends nest in a near-by pine, and lives in it at this time. the past two winters tiny made his nest in my summer house. why he did not bismarck occupy the house this winter is a mystery. and perhaps he heard me say that i should take tiny down this house and put it into a new logcabin that i had in contemplation. tiny is a widower, and childless. his wife and children were shot to death by the gunners that swarm through the magnolia woods. i think bismarck is dead. in cold weather he made it a practice to sly up to the cabin, just at dusk, for a doughnut or a bit of bread. for some time i have missed him. i went to his nest, to find it shot to pieces. still farther away i found mrs. bismarck's nest in ruins, and silence reigned in that part of the woods. tiny is now an orphan, a widower, and is also childless. he occupies in squirrel life the same relative position that the hermit occupies in human life. tiny's misfortune has brought the man and squirrel a little nearer together. 246 tiny with few exceptions, writers on outdoor life make it a point to denounce the red squirrel. they claim that he is a nest-robber of the worst kind. the most of this abuse bears the earmarks of the library. one author copies after another, without knowledge of the real life of one of the most interesting wild things of the woods. reliable observers have related isolated cases of nest-robbing, by the squirrel, which we have no reason to doubt. i believe the thing is most unusual, and happens only when the food supply is cut off. if a squirrel in the spring is face to face with a famine, he might be tempted to kill and eat young birds. i have no record against the red squirrel, after eighteen years' observation here on the cape. in maine for fifteen years i saw squirrels plentiful enough on my farm. a small fruit orchard, near the farm buildings, usually harbored several squirrels. birds nested in the trees and reared their young unless a coon cat got them before they could fly. i never knew a squirrel to molest a birds' nest, and the a a а 247 a hermit's wild friends farmers of that town never complained of them, so far as i know. when we farmers i compared notes on bird destroyers we invariably agreed upon crows, snakes, and weasels. i have before me a book on nature, which contains an account of the red squirrel. the author tells in a delightful way about the wild things, but some of his statements are based on imagination instead of observation. he bitterly assails the red squirrel as a nest-robber, but some things in his story lead me to think he has culled the library for his statements. this story may fit a chipmunk: “ that the squirrel brought six chestnuts to his store, which he emptied from his 'cheek pockets.'” i venture to say, that no man living ever saw a red squirrel carry six nuts at one mouthful. this squirrel has no cheek pouches like the chipmunk, and usually carries one nut, seldom two at a time. the author has his very bad squirrel come to a bad end. he was killed by five or six robins while he was carrying off one of their fledgelings. it is an excellent representation of swift ret248 tiny in my ribution, but to anyone who knows the fighting ability of the little red whirlwind it can be taken with a grain of salt. it would be impossible for robins enough to gather around a red squirrel to kill him. cabin dooryard, while i have been writing this article, a desperate fight has taken place. ten crows, made bold by hunger, attacked tiny and tried to take possession of a loaf of bread. the squirrel never flinched, but stood over the bread, and whenever a crow got over the dead-line, filled the dooryard with feathers. i did not interfere, but saw the fight from the cabin window. the black rogues were obliged to retreat when tiny got downright mad. when the fight began tiny did not try to hurt the crows. he would run at one and allow him to hop into the air and take wing. it appeared to me that tiny was just scaring the crows away. when he found that they were in earnest, he got mad and made the feathers fly, and the crows had to leave to save their lives. i am writing natural history just as i find 249 a hermit's wild friends it, from observation of the wild things. to some of these wild things i am caterer, protector, and friend. they do not object to my presence when engaged in domestic affairs, so my ability to pry into their secrets is increased in ratio to the confidence accorded me. the red squirrel is one of the wild things which i have thoroughly studied because i have had the opportunity to do so. when a writer asserts that the red squirrel is a poor provider, and without family ties, i know that his observations have been haphazard, and that he does not understand the life history of the little animal of which he writes. the male squirrel assists his mate to fill a storehouse for family use and then hides stores for himself on territory which he owns. most observers see the squirrel hiding nuts here and there, and jump to the conclusion that he is improvident. when there are nuts the red squirrel lays up a store for his family and for himself, so that he and his family are well fed through the winter. there are no emaciated red squirrels in the spring, 250 tiny which tells the story of careful provision. the young squirrels do not provide for themselves, as soon as big enough, as stated by some writers. the young born in april remain with the female through the winter. the male has a nest of his own, but if the weather is very cold he stays in the home nest with his family. the nest is intelligently constructed and the materials used are selected from supplies near at hand. tiny's nest is made largely from moss that i use for packing. the nest is thatched with oak leaves so no rain can enter. sometimes it happens that wood-choppers cut a tree that contains a squirrel's nest. i have examined such nests. the inside is lined with milk-weed silk and fine shreds of yellow birch bark. there is always a surplus of this soft material, which is used to stuff into the entrance to the nest. the squirrels shut the outside door to keep out the cold. i once investigated a nest in the top of a pine-tree, when the thermometer registered zero, and found the entrance packed with soft material. the squirrels a 251 a hermit's wild friends knew all about cold weather, and had made arrangements to keep the nest warm, by laying one side material to close the entrance when necessary. when i see an unfinished dwelling-house and know that the family therein must suffer in cold weather, i think of the cozy dwelling that the red squirrel provides for his little ones, and i ask myself if the human being is the only intelligent animal in nature's catalogue? 252 xv. the chestnut sided warbler thursday morning, may 27, 1886, a small bird hopped out of the bushes into my dooryard. the bird was a female chestnut-sided warbler. she was collecting dry grass blades for a nest. may 27, 1897, the same little bird was in my dooryard engaged as before, collecting nesting material. eleven years had been credited to the past for man and bird. the man had not escaped the weight of the added years. deeper wrinkles and gray hair told the story, but the little bird, strange to tell, was apparently as blithe and young as on that thursday morning eleven years before. i provide an abundance of nesting material 253 a hermit's wild friends for all birds that frequent my cabin dooryard. the chestnut-sided warbler seemed to appreciate my motive and gave me her confidence in return. after the first year i could sit by her nest from the hour the first straw was laid to the day when the young were large enough chestnut sided warbler. to take wing, and she would go on with her domestic affairs without fear. during eleven years the bird has constructed thirteen nests. two nests were robbed by snakes and were replaced. no two of these nests were alike. all were loosely built, and with the exception of the last were 254 the chestnut sided warbler saddled on the forks of small bushes. the nest of 1897 was suspended between two shoots of a currant bush, about twenty inches from the ground. this was a new departure, and led me to have a picture made of the nest. there was a bunch of currants in the way and the bird fastened it to the side of the nest with spiders-web. the currants show in the picture. the book informs us that the nest of this warbler is never pensile, but if the nest in my currant bush was not pensile, what may we call it? it was fastened at the brim to two upright currant stems without support at the bottom. the brim fashioned first. it was composed of straws, shreds of cedar bark, and dry grass blades. the same material fastened to the brim and arranged to cross, thus forming the bottom and sides. the tying material used was spiders-web and silken threads from some cocoon unknown to me. the nest was lined with fine straw and horsehair. all the nests previously made by this bird contained a libwas was 255 a hermit's wild friends eral amount of plant down on the outside. this last nest was nearly wanting in plant down, although a good supply was in the dooryard. several years ago the bird saddled into the fork of a bayberry bush a bunch of cotton nearly as large as a baseball, and on this foundation erected a nest. i have records of four nests, including the last the one in the currant bush. this 1897 nest was three and one half inches in diameter by two inches in depth inside, and three and one half inches outside. the foundation was laid may 27th, and the nest was completed june 3d. it was then deserted for three days. the first egg was deposited june 6th, and thereafter one each day until the 9th, when four eggs made up the set. the fourth egg was pure white; the other three were white with a ring of reddish-brown blotches around the larger end. after the fourth egg was laid the bird remained on the nest nights, but during the daytime for three days spent the most of the 256 the chestnut sided warbler time gadding about. june 20th, i found one bird out of the shell and the next day all were out. the young birds are not fed until they are one day old. they are not great feeders like young robins, and the mother bird has an easy task to provide food. the birds grow rapidly. at first the mother can cover her brood while half hid below the brim of the nest, but before the young birds leave the nest she must stand with a foot on each side of the brim. july 2d the young birds were induced to leave the nest. on that day the mother bird did not feed the young birds, and i think they must have been downright hungry. later she tempted them with a plump insect, while the male fluttered about with cries of encouragement. soon one hopped out of the nest on to a twig and was quickly fed. the others took the hint, and all were soon out of the nest. most birds pursue the same method, and it reminds one of teaching baby how to walk. my little friend has had two mates since 257 a hermit's wild friends we became acquainted. she was made a widow by a prowling cat during the summer of 1896. the next spring she returned with a second husband. this newcomer resented any familiarity on my part. he seemed to think that i was too inquisitive, and made a great fuss every time he found me near the nest. frequently my little friend would fly at him and drive him away. she tried to make him understand that i was a welcome guest, but he never took kindly to my presence. in return i thought him most ungrateful, for i had killed one cat and two snakes to protect his family. my little friend holds my dooryard and immediate vicinity against all other chestnutsided warblers. if some other bird of the same species starts a nest, the little squatter tyrant drives the interloper away. she claims sway a circle about 200 feet in diameter, with my cabin for a centre. catbirds, towheebuntings and oven-birds and two ruffed grouse have nested on this claim, but for eleven over 258 the chestnut sided warbler years no chestnut-sided warbler has succeeded in preëmpting the claim. the chestnut-sided warbler is so conspicuously marked that a mere tyro in bird study cannot mistake it for any other member of the warbler family. the bright yellow crown, pure white under parts, and chestnut sides of the old birds are marks not to be mistaken. the young birds are yellowish green above and silky white below. an amusing thing happened here some years ago over a bird of this species. a lady caller, a summer resident, asked me for the name of a bird which often visited a tree over her sitting-room window. she claimed that the bird was pure white with red wings. i could not make her understand that there was no such bird in new england. “ seeing is believing,” she exclaimed, and i was invited to investigate for myself. while looking from the sitting-room window i saw the bird above my head on a twig. sure enough, he was a white bird with red wings. it was a chestnut-sided warbler. from distance the 259 a hermit's wild friends effect was enough like a white bird with red wings to deceive any one not well acquainted with bird life. looking up to the bird the chestnut sides resembled red wings. i sent the lady. into an upper room, where she could look down on her white bird, and she soon returned, and laughingly said, “i always knew that there were two sides to a story, and now i have just learned that there are two sides to a bird.” may 27, 1902, five years after the foregoing history was published, the same little bird hopped to my feet for nesting material. i gave her some cotton twine, cut to eightinch lengths, and she carried away two pieces. she flew to a small hollow about twenty feet south of my spring. i followed, and seated on a small boulder, watched the nest building for the next two hours. i could reach out and touch the bush that contained the nesting material, but the little mother paid no attention to my presence, only to turn a bright eye on me, after she had coiled a piece of string or blade of grass in the bottom of the 260 the chestnut-sided warbler nest. i think she wanted me to criticise her work. i usually told her that it was well done, and so it was. the bush was a sweet pepper bush, and the nest was saddled between the main stem and two twigs. when i first saw the nest it was but just begun. the bottom was a small wad of some gray material, which i found afterward was shreds of wool from an old gray coat that i had discarded. i placed grass and string on my knee and the bird's keen sight discovered it at once. she fearlessly hopped from a twig to my knee and examined the material. she was satisfied with the inspection and took three blades of grass to the rest. when she had coiled them, one stiff blade insisted on standing out straight. she put this in place three times, but it would straighten out each time. she flew away and returned immediately with some spider-web with which she fastened the blade of grass to one of the twigs. the male warbler swung from a twig over the nest and inspected the work. once he pulled out a piece of string and his wife 261 a hermit's wild friends caught him in the act, and flew at him in a great rage. i put my hand on the nest and she pecked my finger and scolded me roundly. after two hours' hard work, she was coaxed away by her mate and i returned to my writing. day by day i watched the nest building until it was finished, seven days after it was begun. it was lined with horsehair. the little bird spent most of the seventh day in shaping the nest. she would turn about, pressing the sides of the nest with her breast, until the whole nest was made firm and as round as an apple. the nest was deserted for three days before the first egg was laid. four eggs, the usual number, were laid, and then i found the mother bird on the nest toward sunset. for the next three days she did what all chestnut-sided warblers do, sit on the nest nights and roam about through the day. after this i always found her on the nest until the little ones i made up my mind to tame these young birds so they would come at my call. i bred some were out. 262 the chestnut sided warbler meal worms and began to feed them to the baby birds. the mother objected at first, but after awhile she appeared to know that i would not harm them, and she would look on while i was passing the worms to the birds. after the young birds were out of the nest, and flying around in the shrubbery, i would hunt them up. one bird would come to my finger to eat, but the others were shy and as they grew older they would not remain for the proffered worm. they all drifted away to the huckleberry fields and i lost them until nearly time for migration. then they came to the water in the dooryard to bathe. my tame bird would take flies and green worms from my hand as of old, but the three others preferred to feed themselves. when the birds returned in migration the next spring, i hunted high and low for my tame warbler but did not find him. the warblers that nest along the old road are quite tame for wild birds. they will come within four feet of an observer. they have attracted the attention 263 a hermit's wild friends of visitors by this trait. i think many of these tame birds are the descendants of my little bird friend that for sixteen years has consecrated my cabin dooryard. 264 blue jays. xvi. instinct instinct is the overworked and much abused word of many writers. as applied to the wild things, we often stumble on to the terms, instinct of direction, instinct of migration, instinct of song, instinct of nest building, and so on. webster gives several definitions as to the meaning of instinct. the following covers the ground: “ an instinct is an agent which performs blindly and ignorantly a work of intelligence and knowledge.” to gather acorns in the balmy days of october and store them for the cold of winter, is a work of intelligence and knowledge. can we believe that the blue jays and squir· rels perform this work blindly and ignorantly? 265 a hermit's wild friends if they do, then the storing of a single nut would be a miracle. watch a red squirrel while gathering acorns and note carefully his intelligent acts. if there is a clear spot beneath the oak he drops the acorns on to it, even if he has to carry each nut from one side to the other of the tree. note how carefully he selects the fruit: no wormy nuts are wanted. in fact, he exercises the same thoughtful care that a human being would exercise under like conditions. does he do the work blindly? instinct, as applied to the lives of wild animals, is such an elusive and meaningless term, that it is a pity it should be used so often by writers on natural history. the word “instinct ” savors of the supernatural, and was invented in ancient times to separate man from the brute, when the lower animals were supposed to lack reason. the word “ heredity” is a far better word, for it renders intelligible all of fact that the word “ instinct” implies, without resort to imagination and the supernatural. 9 266 instinct one it: 66 it is claimed by some writers that the sense of direction is an instinct which guides birds in migration. as writer states they may be frightened and become confused, as by being frequently shot at, but once beyond the danger-line, their instinct regains control, and they will resume their journey in a direct line for their ultimate destination, and that, too, without stopping to think which way is the right way." if this were true, if birds could launch themselves into the air and go south without thought, and, if turned aside, miraculously regain their course without a thought as to the right way, then indeed would i be forced to admit the supernatural, to acknowledge that the days of miracles were not past, but it would upset all my preconceived ideas of dame nature and her laws. really, before we resort to miracles to explain migration, would it not be well to turn to natural laws — laws that are explained by intelligent thought after careful observation ? 267 a hermit's wild friends i have ever found the birds as intelligent in relation to the needs of their lives as we are to our lives. migration is not an exception to the rule. if man migrates he does so intelligently. why not grant to birds the same faculty? for the sake of illustration we will take the swallows, birds known to all, and describe their method of migration. remember, that the old birds have been south, that they know the way and do not doubt their ability to pilot the young birds to the new home. they also know, from experience, the perils and hardships of a long flight while battling with wind and weather. full well they know that young birds, just out of the nest, would not last a day's flight if raw and untrained. so they intelligently proceed to train the young birds into a suitable condition. early in the morning, after the young are fed, they are marshalled along the wires and fences and drilled in the art of flying. at first they fly in small squads, just a family group, but later they gather into companies and 268 instinct if a genpractise until the companies are massed in one grand army corps. when the young birds are thoroughly drilled, that is, are hard of muscle and capable of keeping their place in the ranks, to touch elbows, as it were, the old birds are ready to lead the way south. to avoid straggling the departure is made in the night. up to this point we see no indications of instinct. the acts of the swallows are as intelligent as would be the acts of human beings under like circumstances. eral had raw recruits to deal with he would drill them just as the swallows drill their raw recruits. perhaps the manquvres of swallows gave mankind the idea of military tactics. when we consider the journey of these birds south, why should we claim that their acts are guided by a supernatural power? why not allow intelligence in flight as well as in preparing for flight? we can readily understand how the old birds, that have made several journeys and j 269 a hermit's wild friends must be familiar with all the landmarks, may make the journey without the aid of a supernatural power. we must remember that the sense of sight in birds is developed to a degree unknown to mankind. it often happens that i startle a ruffed grouse from its perch in the night. in such case it hurls itself through the shrubbery with amazing speed. when i think of the keenness of sight that enables this bird to avoid twigs and limbs, i know that my sight is nothing but blindness in comparison. some birds fly high, and the earth is like a map beneath them, with a well-defined line between land and water. birds that are familiar with the route ought to experience no difficulty in finding the way. even the limited sight of man would serve unless handicapped by a dark, stormy night. young birds left to themselves will not go south. young robins often get left in this vicinity. they are birds of the last brood usually; the parent birds are killed before the young learn to associate with the 270 instinct the way. flocks in the neighborhood. they stay through the winter because they have no knowledge of the south and no guide to lead ducks hatched under hens from wild eggs will not go south. i once lived near a farmer that hatched out six black ducks. the farmer did not feed them, and they lived through the summer on a trout brook. in winter they huddled into a fence corner under some shrubbery. they had no instinct to send them south, although their flight feathers were perfect; but they possessed intelligence enough to seek the cattle tie-up for warmth whenever they found the door open. it is assumed that the bee, the pigeon, and some variety of ducks, rise and circle in the air to leave landmarks “out of sight," so that this remarkable instinct may work more freely. would it not be well to apply natural laws to these cases? suppose we infer that these animals rise and circle to find familiar landmarks, just as a human being would act if he had the power of flight and had lost be 271 a hermit's wild friends his way: 66 human beings climb trees, when lost, to look for landmarks. why should we deny to bees and birds the very methods we make use of whenever the occasion requires ? as to bees, i do know that they circle to find landmarks. after years spent in hunting, or“ lining bees," as we call the sport in maine, i can speak with no uncertain knowledge. the power to circle in search of landmarks is limited. if a bee is carried too far from its hive, beyond its power to circle and find landmarks, it is lost and never returns to the hive. i have proved this time after time. the carrier-pigeon's power to circle is a most remarkable feature, but nevertheless it has its limit. pigeons that are used for long-distance flight are trained over the whole distance in short flights, so the bird may become familiar with landmarks. our dogs and cats that return to us when carried sightless to a distance, may return through the sense of smell. cape ann fishermen tell me that dogs scent the land fifty miles if we grant to animals the power at sea. 272 instinct i believe young of observation which we possess, and then take into consideration their keen sense of smell, we can account for many things that seem mysterious. however, dogs and cats are lost every day in the week. nest building is said to be instinctive, but i shall have to take exceptions to the statement. i do not deny that the art is hereditary, and that a young bird confined might essay to build something for a nest, but i do deny that the selection of straws is under the influence of instinct. birds examine the nest in which they are reared intelligently, and are educated by their parents in part in the selection of material. i once saw an old catbird give her young daughter a lesson in nest building. the young catbird had carried a large quantity of rootlets from my garden to a patch of catbrier. she had placed it so loosely that a good breeze would have upset the whole affair. while i was looking on wondering what the bird would do if the wind should rise, the old catbird, the young a ha 273 a hermit's wild friends bird's mother, happened along to inspect the work. the moment she saw the shaky structure she tumbled it on to the ground. then she laid a foundation that no breeze could dislodge. her selection of rootlets long enough to bridge the spaces was something wonderful. i did not see her make a mistake. if she picked up a rootlet a hair's breadth short, she dropped it for another of the right length. after she had laid a secure foundation, she left the young bird to her own skill and judgment. when the bird had completed the nest, it was as large as a four-quart it was made up of varied materials. newspaper and cloth afforded the larger amount. a departure was the skin of a garter snake woven into the brim. a few years ago i found a catbird's nest ornamented with a snake-skin, and the two instances are the only ones of all my observations. to read some of our books on ornithology, would lead one to suppose that birds of the same species constructed nests exactly alike, measure. 274 aruerlega wood thrush. 1 instinct but the fact is, that no two nests are alike. a bird will improve in nest building, usually, with age. i have a little friend, a chestnutsided warbler, that has constructed twentythree nests since i made her acquaintance. as i remember them the last nest is the neatest and most substantial. some have been made almost wholly of rags. chickadees have adopted cotton-batting, and call for it if i neglect to keep it in the dooryard. it often happens that birds select new material, if handy, instead of hunting the usual nest building material. if birds were guided by instinct and did not exercise reason, they would select the same nesting material year after year. the habit would be so securely fixed that the bird would not be tempted to use new material, no matter how plentiful or handy it might be. the fact that birds readily accommodate themselves to new surroundings, is proof positive that they possess the power to reason. i found a nest, last season, of the wood-thrush, which was a complete departure from the usual nest. the bulk of the wabbles 275 a hermit's wild friends | nest was composed of moss, sphagnum. it was placed on some bushes of the black-alder which the snow had bent down. instead of mud the bird had used a black soil, and the nest was lined with horsehair. the horsehair, moss, and black mold were all near the nest. if i had found the nest after the young had left it, it would have proved a puzzle for me. as it was, the old bird was on the nest when i found it and so gave me the clue. young birds are taught to sing by the old males. this is true of the birds that have come under ту observation. even the grouse teaches the young to drum. this is done soon after dark in the fall of the year. from my hammock i often hear these lessons. the old grouse makes the woods ring with his drumming. then he rests while the young grouse try a hand. their efforts are not a success, and the old bird again shows them how to do it. some nights this will go on for two hours. there is a test that any one can try, to 1 276 instinct prove that song is educational and not instinctive. go into the woods inhabited by the woodthrush, and sit down and listen. it will soon be evident that you have invited yourself to a bird's singing school. in a party of summer residents from magnolia, there was one lady who told me she had no patience with my views on song. that a bird would sing, anyway, because it had a throat adapted to song. she said that when i heard birds sing out of season, i would claim that they were teaching their young, when in fact they were only exercising their voices without a thought of teaching. when they were ready to return to magnolia, i offered to show them a path through the woods, a new way to them. when i had reached a spot where i knew there was a family of woodthrushes, i ordered a rest. when we had become quiet the old thrush tuned up and gave us the song. it is a short song, but loud, clear, and flute-like. there was wind, and the song appeared to be sweeter and no 277 a hermit's wild friends louder than usual. when the old thrush had ceased, one young bird after another took up the strain. some would give one note, others two or three notes. some notes would be hoarse, others would be shrill. after awhile the birds would forget the lesson and drop out one after the other. when all were silent, the old thrush would again give them the right pitch and tone, and again the young thrushes tried to imitate the singer. for two hours we sat there and listened. the lady had to admit that the old bird was giving the young birds a lesson. yet she claimed that the thrush was an exception. i was glad that she was ready to admit that one bird of a species was intelligent. i told her that when she had devoted two hours to all the other birds she would be converted to my faith. of all the thrushes the hermit is my favorite. not because he is a namesake, but for the reason that his is one of the beautiful bird-songs woven into the memory of my boyhood days. i see him here only in migration. the last of march or first of april, i see 278 mergusonkennedy the hermit thrush. instinct 66 the bird, and hear the sweet “ tu-le, tu-li-le.” a beautiful strain, but only the prelude to the true song, which is seldom heard away from their summer home. years ago i wrote the following description of the song of the hermit-thrush: to me the song of the hermit-thrush is the sweetest sound in nature. it is not a plaintive, pensive, or tender strain, but satisfies the senses and clings to the memory like the recollection of some great joy. “ i shall never forget a song i once heard in the woods of northern maine. i was in a bark-peeling camp at the time. a rainy day had sent the crew to their homes in the settlement until the next morning; and i was left alone. “ the rain poured down in torrents. the wind howled and roared through the tree-tops, flinging great sheets of water on to the bark roof of the camp. my spirits were depressed and gloomy. financial troubles, the loss of a cherished home, had disheartened me, and life seemed hardly worth living. 279 a hermit's wild friends 4 1 “ just before night the rain suddenly ceased. the sun burst through the clouds, and the wind completely died out. save for the sound of dropping water, the forest was silent and solemn. a glowing sunset, painting all the clouds of the western sky, aroused me from my miserable thoughts. just then the song of the hermit-thrush floated up from a neighboring swamp. clear and pure the flute-like notes slowly echoed through the silent woods. the moist and hollow atmosphere magnified the slightest sound, and i could distinguish the fine trills which form a part of this famous song. '0, phee-re-al, pheere-al!' represents the strain as near as i can give it in words. · i would that i were able to express in fitting language the feelings with which i am inspired when i listen to the song of the hermit-thrush. it satisfies my sense of the beautiful as no other song can. and yet i am never quite satisfied. there is something i do not understand. something beyond me, a shadowy mystery. after i have listened to 6 280 instinct the strain, and while its memory still lingers, i find myself longing to know the whole secret of its charm. however, years ago i settled the matter in my mind and note-book, as the following entry will show: the song of the hermit-thrush is the spirit of nature chanting the mystery of life. when the mystery is solved we shall understand the song.' day faded into twilight, and twilight into night, and still that exalted anthem solemnly pealed through the forest. it was after ten o'clock when the strain died out in a few broken notes. thanks to the hermit-thrush, my thoughts were turned into a new and healthy channel. i fell asleep that night on my fragrant bed of fir-boughs, at peace with the whole world.” 281 xvii. the chickadees the chickadees are with me the year through. in winter they collect into a flock and remain near the cabin, but when the snow departs, they drift away in pairs, in search of a good nesting site. from this time, until the young birds are large enough to fly, the chickadees come to my cabin in pairs. the domestic life of the chickadee overflows with love, joy, and devotion. these little birds when once mated are mated for life. there is no divorce in the bird family, from eagles down to humming-birds. it is a rare treat . to watch a pair of chickadees in the nesting i was walking along the old highway last season, when i heard one of my chickadees calling to me. this bird had a way of season. 282 the chickadees > calling “ dee, dee, dee” whenever she met me in the woods. i usually carry food along, and she would come to my hand and help herself. after she had satisfied her appetite, she flew down the side-hill to magnolia swamp. i followed her, and found her mate excavating a nest in a small dead paper-birch. i expect that his wife told him that i was coming, but he did not quit work for five minutes. when i had approached, he bobbed his head out of the entrance, but instantly returned to his work. when he did come out, he appeared hungry, and attacked a doughnut with vigor, winding up with hemp-seed. from the way the birds attacked food, it was evident that they would have had to seek the cabin soon, if i had not happened along. i talk to the chickadees as i would to human beings, so when i had seated myself on a boulder, within four feet of the nest, i told my friends that i was making them a friendly call, and begged them to keep right on with their work. the chickadees said something to me in reply, and may have understood a 283 a hermit's wild friends what i said to them, for they returned at once to enlarging the hole in the birch. the hole in the paper-birch, which formed the entrance, was one inch and one eighth in diameter, and round as it could well be. the depth was six inches, and the birds were at work in the bottom making the hole deeper. while the husband was eating his breakfast, the little wife was down in the hole, and i could hear the blows of her sharp bill. after breakfast, the husband flew to the entrance and called to his wife. she bobbed out and he bobbed in. instead of resting, she occupied the time with eating hemp-seed. at the end of three minutes, the mate appeared with a piece of dead wood in his bill. he flung the wood one side, and disappeared calling his mate. she flew to the entrance, and, clinging to the edge of the hole, she reached down inside and brought up a bill-full of chippings, which she dropped outside. this was followed up until the chippings were exhausted. then the male hammered while the female ate some more hemp seed. three minutes later he came away, 284 the chickadees out for a rest, and the female took his place. the birds appeared to work under a regular system, for the little wife came to the mouth of the hole and called her husband; he clung to the edge and reached inside for chippings, just as his wife did. the bird inside must have passed the chippings up to the bird outside. quite a scheme to save labor. from time to time i visited this nest to inspect the work. when the hole was about nine inches in depth, the birds put in the nesting material. if these birds had not become partly domesticated, the foundation of the nest would have been moss (sphagnum), with a lining of fur or grouse feathers. my chickadees have changed the nesting habit, using nothing but cotton-batting for foundation and lining. eight eggs were laid in this nest, and every one hatched. the flock of chickadees that have gathered at my cabin this winter for food will number about fifty. they are so tame that they enter the cabin and eat from the table. one bird has demonstrated to me that she possesses 285 a hermit's wild friends a keen memory and an intelligence that is phenomenal. for four winters she has made it a practice to rap on the window when she is hungry, or desires to come in the cabin. her method, followed each day, is peculiar. she raps if i am inside, and not otherwise. if i am sitting outside, she never approaches the window. it is evident that she raps to attract my attention. after rapping, she goes to the door and waits for me. if i do not respond, she returns to the window and raps again, louder than before. she waits at the door a short time, and if i do not come, she returns to the window and stays right there, and raps vigorously all the time. not only is it peculiar that she is intelligent enough to know that she can attract my attention, but it is also peculiar that she can remember from one winter to another how to go through the intelligent act. one of my bird-loving friends, the late “ frank bolles," for many years the secretary of harvard college, was telling me of the intelligence of the chickadees around 286 the chickadees ܀ chocorua. i told him that my chickadees could count four. mr. bolles laughed, and . said: “i am quite a bird crank, but i think i will have to draw the line at counting. what have you for proof?” i called his attention to the method employed by the chickadees when eating hemp-seed. not having the stout cone bill of the finch family, a chickadee was obliged to hold a seed between its toes and beat off the hull, to get at the meat. a chickadee would fly into the dooryard after a hemp-seed, then fly to a small twig, and, holding the seed between its toes, hammer away until the meat was threshed out. some of the old birds would carry away as many as four seeds. these birds let their brains save their wings. when a bird carried away four seeds, three were usually placed in the rough bark of a limb until wanted. i fed the chickadees, and a dozen or more were soon busy taking seed from the dooryard. a pet bird, of long standing, was pointed out to mr. bolles as one that could count four. the bird picked up four seeds, 287 a hermit's wild friends and flew to a limb over my head. near the bole of the tree she deposited three seeds, and took the fourth one to a small twig, about eight feet away. before she got through with the first seed, i pushed one of the three off the limb. mr. bolles scouted the idea that the bird would miss the seed on the ground. after the bird had disposed of three seeds, it hunted in the bark of the limb at first, and then dropped to the ground and found the missing seed. if two seeds were pushed off, the chickadee would hunt for both. mr. bolles admitted that the bird could count four, and possibly more than that number if it was necessary. mr. bolles was the author of several books on outdoor life. he possessed a delightful style, reminding one of john burroughs. i will quote from his book, “ from blomidon to smoky,” a record of a visit to my cabin: • i have a friend who lives alone, summer and winter, in a tiny hut amid the woods. the doctors told him he must die, so he escaped from them to nature, made his peace 288 the chickadees with her, and regained his health. to the wild creatures of the pasture, the oak woods, and the swamps he is no longer a man, but a faun; he is one of their own kind, — shy, alert, silent. they, having learned to trust him, have come a little nearer to men. i once went to his hut when he was absent, and stretched myself in the sunlight by his tiny doorstep. presently, two chickadees came to a box of bird-seed, swinging from the pinelimb overhead, and fed there, cracking the seeds one by one with their bills. then from the swamp, a pair of catbirds appeared, and fed upon crumbs scattered over the ground just at my feet. a chipmunk ran back and forth past them, coming almost within reach of my hand; soon after a song-sparrow (wabbles) drove away the catbirds, and then ( sung a little sotto voce song to me before helping itself to the crumbs. when when my friend returned, he told me the story of this songsparrow; how he saved its life, and had been rewarded by three years of gratitude, confidence, and affection on the part of the brave 289 a hermit's wild friends 1 little bird. he seemed fearful lest i should think him overimaginative in recital, so he gave me details about the sparrow and its ways which would have convinced a jury of the bird's identity and strong individuality. the secret of my friend's friendship with these birds was that, by living together, each had, by degrees, learned to know the other.” the chickadees are great bird-wags. in various ways they play tricks on other birds. when there is hemp-seed in the box, the chickadees are like a lot of children turned out of school. if a tree-sparrow happens along, he takes possession by driving the other birds away. a saucy chickadee will give the danger-call, which sounds to me like “ butcher bird, butcher bird." the tree-sparrow darts into the bushes and the chickadees pile onto the seed-box. the sparrow finding that there is no enemy about soon returns to the seedbox. inside of three minutes the same, or another chickadee, gives the alarm and away goes the sparrow into the bushes. this time he knows that he has been fooled, so when he 290 the chickadees comes back he chases the chickadee through the trees around the dooryard. the chickadee is too quick for the sparrow; he darts this way and that, laughing and shouting at the top of his voice. the other chickadees do a lot of laughing and shouting too, at the same time they attend to the seed-box. the sparrow always flies away when he hears the danger-call. i suppose he thinks it better to be safe than to be sorry. several years ago i placed a box in the top of an oak-tree, thinking that bluebirds might be induced to nest therein. while i was nailing the box to a limb, a pair of chickadees had overlooked the work. these chickadees were old friends, and naturally thought that i was making a nest for their benefit. the next day when i had returned from the city, i found the birds engaged in carrying cotton batting into the box. these chickadees were old and had made four nests, so the selection of a box and cotton batting was a marked departure from the regular nesting habit. while the little lady was sitа 291 a hermit's wild friends 1 ! 1 ting i made it a practice every day to climb the tree and offer her food. when i had turned the cover back the bird would flutter her wings as young birds do when begging food. but the little wife would take no food from me if her husband was present. she would call to him “chip, chip,” and he would hop to me for food. when he got it, he would feed his wife, while she fluttered her wings and acted like a young bird. when eight little chicks thrust up their open bills for food, the parents appeared brimful of joy and happiness. they rushed around in search of food, calling to each other all the time. i climbed the tree one day at noontime. the young birds were full grown. i took one in my hand and the mother said something to me in her language. i thought that she asked me if the bird was old enough to leave the nest. i told her it was, and the sooner they got out the better, for the nest was too small and was hot besides. that noon i went over to cedar swamp, and did not return until after sunset. when i had 292 the chickadees reached the cabin the chickadees hopped to my shoulder and in heartrending bird language tried to tell me that something had happened to their babies. i climbed the tree and found the nest empty. on a boulder i had placed a pair of rubber boots to dry. one of the boots was missing. two boys had robbed the chickadees and had carried away the young birds in the rubber boot. the bereaved birds remained near the cabin all night, and i did not sleep, because they talked to me in the most pitiful language i had ever heard from a bird. the next day i traced the wretched thieves, but the little birds were dead. before leaving the chickadees, i wish to mention something that has impressed itself upon my mind, during the last eighteen years. that is, that the chackadees would make desirable park-birds. compare these busy little birds with the english sparrow, and one can but feel sorry that we imported the alien, when we already possessed the native. a flock of my chickadees, if removed to boston common, would thrive and increase 293 a hermit's wild friends rapidly, and from a small beginning all the parks of the country could be stocked. the chickadees rear two broods in a season, usually eight in a brood. these birds hunt the trees for insect life, while the undesirable alien hunts the streets for indigested food. contrast the quarrelsome “chirps ” of the one, with the cheery “chickadee, chickadee” of the other. then the mating-song. how it would fit into the glorious spring mornings. this song is called the “phebe note of the chickadee " by many writers. the only reason that explains why this name clings to the chickadee's song, is that some early writer adopted it, and later writers followed suit without taking pains to investigate. there is as great difference between the two as there is between black and white. the song of the phebe-bird is in two notes, delivered in a querulous, plaintive tone, while that of the chickadee is in three notes, as loud and cheery as the whistle of whittier's “barefoot boy." “ tea's ready," it seems to say, with the accent on the first syllable. 294 xviii. triplefoot i opened up my cabin one winter morning, at daylight, to find the dooryard covered with two inches of light snow. a mass of fox tracks centred about a piece of meat, which was nailed to the trunk of a pine-tree. when the fox left, about daylight, it went down the old highway, and this is the trail it made: : ooo ooo 3) o o o a near two tracks started from cluster the meat, followed by a space, then three tracks followed by another space, and so on, in regular order, three tracks and a space. i had no difficulty in solving the mystery. triplefoot 295 a hermit's wild friends the fox had been trapped sometime in the past, and had regained its liberty by the loss of a foot. the space in the trail represented the missing foot. this fox was no stranger to my dooryard, and months before i had named her triplefoot, because she travelled on three feet. she had a charmed life, for the fox-hunters had failed in their efforts to shoot her, so far, although for over a year she was the only fox in this locality, and the hounds hazed her night and day. after breakfast i started on triplefoot's trail. there was a good tracking snow, and i was determined to trail the fox to her den. the trail led down the old highway, but turned off to visit solomon's orchard. this was a spot containing two ruined cellars, a large clump of barberry-bushes, and some wild apple-trees, descendants of a cultivated orchard. the fox did some foraging under the barberry bushes, and a drop or two of blood on the snow indicated that she was successful in capturing a wood-mouse. while i was looking for the trail out of the orchard, 296 triplefoot triplefoot i heard two hounds give tongue, and the tone told me that they were hot on the trail. these hounds had come up the old highway, and had struck the fox's trail just south of solomon's orchard. triplefoot had scented the hounds, and turned to the west, into magnolia swamp. i pushed my way through the dense shrubbery, the tracks of two dogs and a fox making a well-defined trail. the trail led through the swamp and over the ridge to wallace's pond. the trail crossed on the ice, and led me over magnolia avenue, just below the lily-pond. i had come to the conclusion that triplefoot was hunting water, so as to throw the hounds of the scent. the cold weather was against her. all the brooks and ponds were covered with ice. the trail, after it crossed the road, led along the ridges to mount ann. from this point the fox had shaped her course to coffin's beach. it was a long, weary tramp, but i had enlisted and was bound to see it through. when i had reached the sand dunes of coffin's beach, i found the snow had melted 297 a hermit's wild friends under the combined influence of sun and sand. here triplefoot had thrown the hounds off, and had left me out of the hunt, too. not a track could be seen in the shifting white sand. it was an old trick of the foxes, to resort to the sand-dunes, when there was a dearth of water. there was one of two things for me to do; give up the hunt and go home, or skirt the woods for triplefoot's trail, where she had left the beach. i decided on the latter course, and, as luck was with me, found the trail in less than ten minutes. the fox returned by way of mount ann and dyke's meadow, crossing magnolia swamp south of solomon's orchard, and took to the near the old quarry. the den was under a big boulder, and, strange to tell, was only eight minutes' walk from my cabin. it was dark when i found the den, so i had thrown away a whole day looking for a thing that was in my own dooryard, so to speak. triplefoot reared a family during the season. in april she stored two hens and a grouse in her den, so she would not have to hunt 298 triplefoot's den. triplefoot when her cubs were born. i saw the feathers of the fowls, and knew that the wise creature was putting food in cold storage for a day of need. when the fox cubs were old enough to come outside and play, i put in many hours watching them with a good glass. there was no time that i saw more than three, and i think that was the size of the family. there was a flat boulder over the den, which sloped from the ground upward. i was standing on this boulder one eve, when one of the cubs came out of the den, and was in the act of climbing the ledge when he saw me. he stopped, with his forepaws on the edge of the ledge, and coolly looked me over. after he had satisfied his curiosity he went into the den, and immediately returned with one of his mates. the little imp had probably asked his brother to come out and name the comical two-legged beast. the two cubs placed their feet on the ledge and looked at me for two minutes. they were not over six feet from me, and looked as fat and stocky as two young pigs. 4 299 a hermit's wild friends triplefoot triplefoot's life was one of worry and care, to say nothing about the danger from mankind and the hounds. she had to find food for her hungry cubs, and whichever way she turned, danger lurked on her trail. if she hunted for wood-mice, the hounds were there to pick up her trail. then she had to seek water to throw them off. it would not do to go to the den, where the hounds would soon dig out her little cubs, and shake the life from their tender bodies. if she turned to some poultry-yard, the chances were that she would find herself looking into the muzzle of the farmer's shotgun. she was desperately wild, and so were the little cubs when she was with them. a warning note from the mother worked like magic. the little ones would crouch and creep to the mouth of the den, and disappear as silently as three ghosts. i saw triplefoot return to the denone sunday morning, empty-handed. the cubs came out and whined pitifully when they missed the sunday breakfast. the old fox ordered them into the den, and then took the 300 triplefoot triplefoot path for fresh water cove. i knew that a large flock of hens ran in the bushes, near the highway, and triplefoot knew it, too. in twenty minutes she was back to the den with a large hen over her neck. she called her cubs, and tore the hen to pieces, giving each cub a piece, but reserving something for herself. the dining-room was about thirty feet west of the den. it was under some small hemlocks, and the ground was level and smooth. when all the foxes had had enough, there was a small piece left. triplefoot buried this piece under the oak leaves. there was one thing that puzzled me in triplefoot's way of hunting. i could not understand why she did not go after poultry every day. east, west, north, and south, there were flocks of fowls running at large, and it would be a trifling exertion to snatch one from the bushes at any hour of the day. triplefoot may have reasoned that a fowl now and then would not be missed, while a wholesale slaughter would attract attention, and send the farmer to hunting for the den. éeuro 301 a hermit's wild friends حیا سہی triplefoot's cubs were killed that fall and winter, and she was left childless. her mate did not den in this locality, and without doubt was shot, for triplefoot did not rear a family the next spring. it happened during my tramps in the woods that i often met triplefoot. she soon understood that i did not covet her glossy pelt, and she separated me from mankind in general. i have known her to remain at the den when she knew i was looking at her through a glass. she often led the hounds through my dooryard, and, if i was about, the hounds got turned off the trail. i saw triplefoot fool the hounds one fall. i was resting in the woods when i heard the hounds in magnolia swamp. i understood what was going on. triplefoot was trying to throw them off, but the dogs had a good scent, and all her efforts were useless. near where i was sitting there was a pine-tree i turned up by the roots. the trunk of the tree was about two feet from the ground, near the roots, but the ground fell off rapidly, so 302 mferguson kennedy she stopped to look around, and saw me.” triplefoot triplefoot the top, with the foliage, was over ten feet in the air. while i was listening to the hounds, triplefoot came in sight. she passed close to the leaning pine, and kept on over the hill. there was a small pond in the valley, below, and i thought triplefoot was going to the water to throw off the dogs. but i had erred. in a few minutes she returned, doubling on her trail. when she had reached the pine, she jumped to the tree, where it was four feet from the ground. she stopped to look around, and saw me. the wind was against her, so she had to be guided by sight. she seemed satisfied that the man hermit, for she went into the thick foliage of the pine top and awaited the hounds. the hounds passed by the tree without stopping, but returned after following the trail to water. both hounds passed by the tree, to return in a few minutes. one hound had a suspicion that the tree might harbor the fox. he put his paws on the tree-trunk, and smelt along as far as he could reach, then gave it up. triplefoot had been wise when she jumped was the 303 a hermit's wild friends to the tree beyond the dog's reach. after the hounds left, triplefoot came out of the tree and circled around me. she wanted to make sure that i was the hermit. i examined the pine-tree and found the bark much scratched, where triplefoot had jumped on to it. the evidence showed that she had frequently resorted to the trick, to throw off the hounds. i wish i might end the story of this little three-footed fox in some happy way, but truth has ordered it otherwise. she was shot when running before the hounds, but was not immediately killed. i found her dead body while skirting magnolia swamp. she had crawled under a boulder, and had slowly died from her wounds and exhaustion. i buried her, and was glad that her beautiful robe and her mutilated body would not be separated in death. the end. triplefoot 304 princeton university library 32101 058273747 1 8602 955 date issued date due date issued date due 117 3 3433 07485121 7 o ton halle + the effects of excessive parental indulgence, exhibited in the history of robert jones. by the author of stories about general lafayette, "train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it." to which is added, the hermit of coombsditch, and his dutiful grandson. founded on fact. by w. holloway. new york: published by n. b. holmes, no. 262 greenwich street. 1830. the ntv x public library b 338481b astor, lenox and tilden foundations 1946 l southern district of new york, ss. be it remembered, that on on the 7th day of july, a. d. 1830, in the fifty-fifth year of the independence of the united states of america, n. b. holmes of the said district, hath deposited in this office, the title of a book, the right whereof he claims as proprietor, in the words following, to wit: the effects of excessive parental indulgence, exhibited in the history of robert jones. by the author of stories about general lafayette. train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it.' in conformity to the act of congress of the united states, entitled, "an act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the time therein mentioned." and also to an act, entitled " an act, supplementary to an act, entitled an act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned, and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other prints." fred. j. betts, clerk of the southern district of new york. advertisement. the author of the following tale, deems it his duty to state, that the plan of it was suggested by an article in an english magazine; and that the language employed in that article has been used by him, so far as it could be made subservient to his purpose. robert jones. there lived, some years since, in the town of m, an old man, by the name of william jones. as he was an only son, he inherited from his father, who died when he was in his twentieth year, all his property; which, however, was not large, consisting of a comfortable house, situated some distance from the village common, a productive garden, and a small but well cultivated farm. the education of william jones, had been respectable; and, considering the natural kindness and social character of his disposition, it might have been expected that he would have early sought to become connected, and settled in life. this was the rather looked for by his friends, as his mother early followed her husband to the grave. but for reasons not now well understood, he continued single for many years. 1* robert jones. william jones was an industrious man; and, being, at the same time, frugal in his domestic economy, he yearly added to his little property, until, at length, he became moderately rich. he was, also, in the strict sense, a moral man. he had a sober air, was strictly honest and honourable in his dealings, and, in comparison with a majority of mankind, might be said to be exemplary. he was seldom absent from public worship, and was accounted, by the parish minister, at least a well wisher to the cause of religion. to the poor around him, he was ever kind; and, in respect to the benevolent objects of that day, manifested a becoming interest. in short, mr. jones was a morai man-a useful member of society, a lover of good order, and sincerely attached to the wholesome laws and customs of the land. but this was all. he was not decidedly religious. his speculative views of christianity, were correct. he believed the scriptures to be the word of god, and binding upon mankind. he was convinced that men generally err, in no small degree, in respect to their duty to god : robert jones. but then he had nothing of that deep sense of sin, which characterizes the true disciples of christ. he was disposed to think it enough, for one to observe a good moral life, and was sometimes heard to say, that he believed that all would be saved, who should try to do, upon the whole, as well as they could. years passed by, and, at length, found william jones on the other side of forty years of age. the day had long gone by, when his friends expected to see him settled in life, with a help-meet, and they seldom sèriously, or even by way of raillery, named the subject in his presence. strange things, however, sometimes occur in the world; and strange, indeed, it was thought, when a rumor began to go the village rounds, that william jones was partial to the parson's daughter. matilda evanson was, by several years, younger than mr. jones; but, for true excellence of character, she had few equals, if any superiors, in the village in which she lived. a pious father had early taught her robert jones. the great truths of the gospel; and, through the gracious influences of the spirit of god, she had become a pious and sincere follower of christ. in her life and conversation, she was so humble and consistent; in her disposition, so mild and gentle, that none could know her, and not highly esteem and love her. mr. jones, though he greatly respected mr. evanson, was not frequently a visiter at his house. indeed, he seldom went far from home of an evening, nor often in the daytime, except on business. it was impossible, however, that matilda evanson should escape the notice, or that her character should fail to command the admiration and respect of a man of the good sense of mr. jones. he sometimes saw her, and always with a satisfaction superior to what he felt, in the presence of other ladies. we will not detain our readers, with a minute account of the various circumstances which led to the marriage of william jones and matilda evanson. it is sufficient to say, that they were married; and set out with a fair prospect of at least as much prosperity, robert jones. as ordinarily falls to the lot of those who are thus connected in life. for some they were not disappointed. years, prosperity did attend them. their house wore an air of cheerfulness and contentment; and it was in the mouth of every one almost, "what a kind and clever husband the old bachelor proves;" for so william jones was long wont to be called, even after he had ceased to be a bachelor in reality. during the fourth year of mr. jones' marriage, william, the subject of this history, was born. i will not say that william's father acted childishly on this event, for his nature did not well admit of it: but it was evident, that his cup of earthly felicity was full. the mother's fondness, and she was a fond mother, was nothing, compared with that with which the father doated on his babe. he would rock its cradle, or hush it in his arms, or sing to it, by the hour. it was a song poured forth, not indeed by rule or art, nor so melodious, as is sometimes sung; but it was the lullaby of affection, and generally had its quieting effect. 10 robert jones. 寫 ​it was pleasant, on entering william jones' house of a morning, to witness this exhibition of parental love. the prattle of his boy did not indeed tempt him to neglect his business; but he was in consequence of listening to it, sometimes a half hour later in his field to work, than before he became a parent. and it was pleasant, too, to notice how, sometimes on his way home of an evening, he would stop and exchange a few words with an acquaintance, at his cottage door, attracted by the sight of some chubby boy, with whose short limbs and infant vigour, he would compare, in his mind's eye, the healthful beauty of his own little urchin. this fondness of the father towards his boy, naturally excited the most pleasing emotions in the heart of the mother. what mother's heart would not have been filled with delight? but, then, even at this early day, the source of her joy was, also, the source of no small anxiety. mr. jones' attachment to this idol of his heart, was early showing itself, in various little indulgences, which might, bye and bye, lead to its permanent injury. in her estimarobert jones. 11 the tion, and she was right, it was easier to prevent the restless and feverish spirit, excited in a child by indulgence, than to cure it, when it had been excited. she would, therefore, occasionally, in her mild and winning manner, chide her husband for his indulgence of robert -so the boy was called; she said she feared, that he might yet regret, that he did not sometimes deny the gratification of his childish wants. the kind remonstrance of mrs. jones, was not without its effect; but that effect was temporary. truth is, that william jones was a bachelor, of over forty years, when he became a husband, and still older when he became a father. william jones meant to be kind, and he was so to a fault. to cross his boy's inclinations, was only a task, and such a task as required a constant effort. but more than this, it was what he seldom did-we might with more truth say, never did, unless at the moment of receiving an admonition to that effect, from the anxious, but equally affectionate mother of the boy. 12 robert jones. one evening-it was a cold and dark and rainy night in the month of december, just as farmer jones was covering the fire on the hearth, a faint rap was heard at the door. "some benighted traveller, may be," said he, as he walked towards the door to open it. he turned the key, for he had already locked it; and opening the door, he observed a woman standing before him, carrying, beside a large pack, an infant of only a few months old. "the lord bless you," exclaimed the poor woman, who was a soldier's widow, returning from the wars, and the grave of her husband-"the lord bless you," again she exclaimed," may be, you'll give a lodging to a poor widow and her fatherless babe." “come in, come in," said farmer jones, whose heart was touched by the sight of the "fatherless babe;" (although, in general, he indulged no great regard for the tribe of idle beggars, who stroll through the country.) "come in, for it rains fast and is quite cold." robert jones. 13 the soldier's widow was, in reality, an object of pity; she was a good woman, and the daughter of sorrow and misfortune. she had followed her husband to the war, where he had fallen, as thousands fall, in the midst of battle. she was now returning, as fast as her feeble health would permit her, to her native town. in the early part of the evening, she had applied for lodging at several places; but, until she reached farmer jones', no one seemed disposed to befriend her. with some difficulty she entered the door, for she was much exhausted, and made her way to the half covered fire. her poor babe was still more exhausted than the mother. mr. jones soon kindled a good fire, while mrs. jones assisted the widow, in removing the wet garments of herself and child. "it's all for the best," exclaimed the poor woman, as she wrung the water from her abundant hair, her tears at the same time adding to the currents which fell upon the hearth. "it's all for the best. the lord reigneth, let the earth rejoice.” 14 robert jones. "i am glad to hear you say so," said mrs. jones, a tide of christian affection beginning to go forth towards the friendless widow. "i am glad to hear you say so all events are wisely ordered, though clouds and darkness sometimes cover the ways of providence." 66 37 indeed, his ways are not as our ways," rejoined the poor creature. “we read, many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the lord delivereth them out of all.' i. have seen many a day of trial, and many more such days, may be, are before me; but it is a blessed word which we readwhen thou passest through the waters, i will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee." """ during this conversation, which was continued for some time, the widow had dried her clothes before the comfortable fire which mr. jones had kindled. a bowl of warm bread and milk had greatly revived her exhausted nature, and she expressed her thankཨ ཐ ཨི ཨ robert jones. 15 fulness, that the lord had opened their hearts to save herself and child from perishing. it was now growing late. a flock bed was brought in, and laid upon the clean floor, near the fire; and the poor woman and her babe soon forgot their troubles, in a refreshing sleep which stole upon them. by the following morning the clouds had dispersed, and a milder temperature prevailed abroad. a warm breakfast, added to the unbroken sleep of the night, still further contributed to restore the strength of the soldier's widow. her babe, too, was equally refreshed. its playful smile seemed to bespeak its gratitude to its benefactors, while the mother herself was not forgetful in testifying her obligations to mr. and mrs. jones, and to the author of all good, who had moved their hearts in her favour. breakfast being ended, the widow made preparation to proceed on her way to her native place, which lay some miles from m-, "god speed you," said mr. jones, as she rose to go, at the same time accompanying his blessing with a small piece of money. 16 robert jones. "god speed you, and bring you safely to the land of your fathers." "and may the lord bless you, and your household," replied the widow. "cast thy bread upon the waters," added she." and after many days, thou shalt find it. who knows but the lord will enable me to requite your kindness some day hence. may be, may be," said she, with a more than ordinary emphasis, and with a kind of prophetic tone, as she walked down the steps, and took her way through the neat and pleasant yard, which surrounded the house. "6 may be." the words fell upon the ear of farmer jones, and for a time, made a strange impression upon his heart. the emphasis with which they were spoken, and still more, the strange and undefinable expression which sat upon the widow's countenance, as she pronounced the words, were calculated to make, at least, a temporary impression upon his mind. the impression was, indeed, temporary, though deeper than usual. it was mostly forgotten in the hurry of that day's business; robert jones. 21 and happy is it for a family of children, when both parents act in concert, in relation to this important duty. on the subject of the proper education of robert, she had often had long and interesting conversations with mr. jones. in her mild and courteous way, she had expressed her views, and urged his co operation with her in giving to robert a decidedly religious education. her husband was a man of too good sense and tender regard for his wife, not to listen with patience, and even with kindness to her suggestions; but, then, aside from an increasing fondness for the child, to which we have alluded, and which powerfully tempted him to an unjustifiable indulgence of the boy's wishes and whims, he would not, or at least, did not see things in the same light in which they were regarded by mrs. jones. he was far from wishing his son to become viciously disposed; he would have revolted at the thought. but, less conscious of the natural proneness of the heart to evil, he could not premise the danger which she saw, and to her womanish anxiety imputed anticipa22 robert jones, tions, which his notions of morality, but more his idolatrous attachment, rendered him in capable of realizing. the illness of mrs. jones naturally increased her affection, and her anxiety for her son. at an early period of her disease, though not inclined to despondency, she had expressed her conviction, that god was about to remove her, and she hoped would take her to himself. she watched the progress of her failing strength, with resignation to the divine will; but she could not but deeply feel the unguarded state in which she should leave her son. many were the tears which she shed. and what pious mother would not have wept? many were the prayers she offered "p; and what mother would not have prayed that god would protect her boy? one evening, it was when it was no longer doubtful to sober judgment, that the removal of mrs. jones to another world was not far distant. she requested, that mr. jones and herself might for a time be left alone. on the withdrawal of her friends, she called her husband, and requested him to take a seat by the side of her bed. robert jones. 23 "william," said she, putting her pale, and now almost icy hand within his. "william, i feel that my hour is nearly come. 1 had hoped to live for years for your sake, and that of our lovely boy but i cannot, must not, longer indulge the hope. god is summoning me away.. i feel," said she, “already, as if the shadows of death were setting in upon me. at this hour i need not assure you of my affection, nor of my hope that"-until this moment she had been calm and collected, and her utterance had been clear; but she was now approaching a topic too tender for her to touch upon with composure, a gust of tears flowed from her eyes. in agony, her husband had risen from his seat, he still grasped her hand, he bent over her emaciated frame, tears fell from his eyes, and mingling with hers as they fell, were a fit emblem of the current and harmony of their affection. he well knew what she would have said. "yes, yes," said he, "may god hear your prayer for me; may we indeed meet again, in the paradise of god." 24 robert jones. the kind emotions of her husband, the strong and emphatic, and as she hoped, devout prayer for their eternal union, which he had uttered, was indeed a balm to her agitated spirit. "oh!" said she, "my william, may heaven guide you into the way of truth, and prepare you for eternal glory." "but," continued she," there is still another subject, in respect to which, i wish to give you my dying counsel." upon this, mr. jones resumed his seat, and she proceeded. "i cannot express the pleasure which i feel, at the affection which you manifest for our lovely robert. oh! he is, indeed, a lovely boy! and would that it had been consistent with the divine counsels, that his mother might have been spared to assist you in bringing him up: but, no, it cannot be, that will soon devolve upon you. my dear husband! amidst all my anxieties, there is one which swallows up all the rest. i fear that very affection in you, which is so delightful to a mother's bosom. yes, william, i do fear that robert is the idol of your heart; that he is in god's place in your robert jones. 25 affections. and, do forgive me, my husband, when i say, that i fear, too, that that undue affection may prove his temporal and eternal ruin. i have often told you of your excessive indulgence. you seldom curb himseldom deny him-seldom admonish him. god says, 'train up a child in the way he should go, and"". in a whisper, only, did she finish the sentence, if she finished it at all. a faintness suddenly came over her. mr. jones hastily summoned her friends. they reached the bed-side, in season only to witness the expression of holy resignation and composure, which, even in death, dwelt upon her countenance. the death of such a wife, and under such circumstances, made, as it might well make, a deep impression on the mind of mr. jones. it was his solemn purpose, and who would not have formed such a resolution ?-to remember her dying counsel, and to carry into effect, what he well knew were her wishes, in respect to robert. from the night of her death, he took his little son to his own hed, and watched over him with all the kind3 26 robert jones. ness and solicitude of the most affectionate of fathers. we must pass over the circumstances of the funeral of mrs. jones, which was conducted with all that decent solemnity, appropriate to so solemn and affecting an occasion. when the solemnity was finished, mr. jones led robert to their now lonely dwelling. it was a vacant place. the hand of the destroyer had been there, and it made his heart desolate to think how lovely and important to his happiness she was, whose mortal part had felt death. the grief of mr. jones, however, could not be said to be excessive. he had, indeed, loved his wife, with a pure affection; but, somehow, he felt that a rich consolation was still left him, in his lovely robert. him he now regarded with a still deeper affection, and was uneasy if the boy were absent from him, but for a few minutes. early the following morning, an elderly widow, who had been used to cook his victuals, and set the cottage in order, before his marriage, came to superintend his domes robert jones. 27. tic affairs;-to take care of robert and his clothes, and to stand in place of a mother to the motherless boy. she was, indeed, a good and tender foster-mother, and a careful manager. but, at such an age, it was unfortunate, that it fell to the boy's lot to come under the care of one, who, by reason of her advanced years, and often infirmities, was less fitted for the charge than a person of fewer years. under a feeling of loneliness, which rather increased as months elapsed, mr. jones became more and more anxious to enjoy the company of his son. he was naturally a bright child, and his playful habits seemed to divert the attention of the father, from an inward sorrow, which often pressed heavily upon his spirits. robert, therefore, accompanied his father nearly every where, whither he went to the field, to the barn, to the village; in short, they were together by day and by night, at home and abroad, awake and asleep. within a year of mrs. jones' death, the health of robert became quite unsettled. 28 robert jones. instead of exhibiting a ruddy complexion, and a happy face, the indications of vigorous health, his countenance appeared languid, and listlessness marked all his conduct. this change soon attracted the notice of mr. jones, and all his anxieties were alive. without that experience, which fitted him to prescribe for robert, he, most unfortunately, by the course he adopted, only increased the maladies of the child, and laid the foundation-if his indulgence of robert had not already laid it-of evil habits, which he had occasion to lament to his dying hour. a strict injunction was now given to old jenny, the house-keeper, to attend particularly to robert's ails. this, jenny said she should do with great pleasure; "for," said she, "since the death of his poor mother, i have loved him as much, as if he were my own child." robert's health was now watched, both by jenny, and mr. jones, with redoubled care. every complaint, every ill feeling, was diligently listened to, and as diligently cherished. every want, too, was gratified, as far as it could be. robert jones. 29 elixers and cordials, of various kinds, were procured, and administered, as often as the worn-out jenny wanted some herself, or, as her fond affection for the boy seemed to dictate. instead of running about in the fields, and breathing the wholesome and bracing air of the morning, robert was permitted but seldom to go abroad, lest his feet should be wet, or lest he should play too much, and become too much fatigued. under such a regimen, it will not appear surprising, that the health of the boy should not improve. on the contrary, he became feeble, and emaciated. he was languid by day, and restless by night. at this point, mr. jones adopted a practice-a common practice, indeed, with many parents, but nearly as fatal, as it is common, of administering to robert, every day, and, at length, repeatedly every day, ardent spirits. little, thought mr. jones, will do him good. "it certainly will do him good," said old jenny, one day, when mr. jones suggested it, as a remedy for the feebleness of robert. "it will certainly do him much good," said α 3* 30 robert jones. jenny, at the same time thinking how much good a share of it would do herself. "it will prove," added she, "a cordial to his stomach. bless me! i wonder it was not thought of before." a jug was soon despatched to the village store, and came back well filled with that, which old jenny was quite sure, and which mr. jones thought it probable, might effect robert's cure. the administering of it, was chiefly left to jenny. hence, we need not say, that it was often administered; nor need we tell how much she prided herself in making his sling rich and good. the inquiries of mr. jones, as to the faithfulness of jenny, were often repeated; but fearing lest she should neglect her duty, he would, himself, often call robert to the pantry, and supply the supposed deficiencies of jenny. it will not be necessary to dwell upon the consequences of such a course. a habit was soon formed, and continued to acquire strength; a desire was created, which rendered robert restless, and, even at this early age, became clamorous in its demands. he robert jones. 31 i became feverish, irritable, and dissatisfied with all around him. the course pursued by mr. jones, in respect to robert, was not unknown to mr. evanson, the grandfather of the child, and his family. they saw the danger of the course, and it filled them with alarm. they kindly remonstrated with mr. jones, and begged him, as he valued the life of his son, and, especially, his spiritual and eternal interests, to adopt different measures. in a friendly manner, they warned him of the sad and certain consequences of this indulgence, and of habits thus formed in the morning of life. mr. jones was far from being an obstinate man; nor was he unwilling to listen to advice. but he could not see things as did others, nor could he realize the danger of which others, so often warned him. it was sufficient, he thought, that reason would act bye and bye. he was often heard to say, that when robert's mind became enlarged, and his principles established, he would doubtless pursue an honourable, and an upright course. little 32 robert jones. did he seem to understand, and it is an error which pertains to many parents, that it is easier to imbue the mind of a child with good principles, than to correct evil principles, when once formed and established. little did he seem to understand, that good principles must be planted, nourished, strengthened; evil principles, like tares, spring up spontaneously. they require nothing further, than to be left to themselves, to strengthen and mature. the natural consequence of the course adopted by mr. jones, in respect to robert, in connexion with the boy's feeble state of health, was the serious neglect of his early education. there was, indeed, a school kept on the village common, which, at intervals, robert attended; but without making much improvement. indeed, it was with reluctance, mr. jones consented to his going at all; and, for the past year or two, robert had not even attended a single month. at length, robert's health having become much improved, in consequence of some important changes, as to his diet, effected robert jones. 33 through the influence of mr. evanson, the eyes of mr. jones began to be opened, in a measure, to the dangers of robert's condition. "what am i doing to render my son useful and respectable in the world?" was a question which often occurred, and to which he could give no satisfactory answer to himself. he knew that his son was growing up in ignorance, and without proper restraint. he could, himself, perceive, that instead of finding it more easy to separate his son from him, it was more and more difficult. it was a point, however, which could be neglected no longer. he determined, therefore, to resist his affection for his son, so far as to send him to school, for a few years; and, at length, selected for him a grammar school, in the county town, about five miles from his own habitation, where the sons of respectable tradesmen and farmers were boarded and taught, upon moderate terms. accordingly, he went one day to the town, stated his wishes to the preceptor of the academy, and, having agreed upon the terms 34 robert jones. returned, resolved, in his own mind, to send robert to school the ensuing week. the greater number of the boys-those whose parents were dwellers in the town of bwere only day-boarders; but some, whose families lived at a greater distance, went home on saturdays only, to spend the sabbath day. this latter was the arrangement of mr. jones, in respect to robert. it was a comfort to him to reflect, that he should see his son at least once a week. several days elapsed, after his return from b, before he could gather firmness to name his plan to robert. twice or thrice he was upon the point of speaking of the approaching change, but something always occurred to defer the execution of his purpose. at last, seriously angry with himself, as he departed one morning to his labours, he deputed to jenny the task to which he felt himself unequal. robert was left at home to receive the communication; but after all, it was the secret hope of mr. jones, that robert's attachment to himself and home, would be found so great, as to prove an excuse for robert jones. 35 not carrying the contemplated plan into execution. all that day william jones wrestled with his feelings most manfully. it was noticed by the labourers, that he lashed his team with more than usual severity, and laid his hand upon the plough with more than ordinary power; but they were ignorant of the cause. the furrows that day traced, however, were the most uneven he had ever drawn, since the hour he had first guided his own plough on his own acres. he kept firm to his post, till the usual dinner hour, and even left the field with his labourers, without deviating from his accustomed firm deliberate step. but when they had turned out of sight to their own homes, mr. jones speeded on rapidly towards his cottage, till just within sight of it, he spied robert running forward to meet him. then again, he slackened his pace, for he was sure that robert's feelings, in view of separation, would be like his own. he was destined, however, to a sad and bitter disappointment. the merry urchin came bounding towards him, with more than 36 robert jones. his usual animation, and the first words he distinguished were, "father, father, i'm going to school!-i'm going to school!i'm going to town, father!-i'm going to school!—when shall i go?-shall i go tomorrow ?-shall i take my new clothes, father? and my hoop, and my lamb, and old dobbin ?" the words carried a bitter pang to the heart of the father. he could scarcely give credit to what he saw-to what he heard. was it possible, thought he, that this his only child, the creature whom he had loved more than any other, who had slept in his bosom and prattled on his knee, and won from him such fond indulgences, as he could scarce excuse to his own conscience; was it possible, that this darling of his age felt no pain, at the prospect of separation-could feel so much joy-could think at such a moment, only of play things? the countenance of mr. jones was unconsciously stern, and the poor child stood trembling before him; and yet he knew not why. at last, he softly whispered, approaching still nearer, snd looking earrobert jones. 37 nestly and fearfully in his father's face"shall i not go to school, then? old jenny said i should." the subdued tone, in which this last question was put, restored mr. jones to his softer feelings. "yes," he replied, taking the boy's band, and grasping it firmly within his own, as he led him homeward," yes, robert, you shall go to school-you have been kept too long at home-to-morrow is the sabbath-but, on monday, you shall go. on monday, my child, you shall leave your father." the emphatic manner, and the solemn tone in which this last sentence was uttered, touched the feelings of robert, who now burst into tears, and clinging to his father's arm, sobbed out—" but, you will go with me, father; and you will come and see me every day-will you not? and i shall soon come home again." these words were like balm to the distressed feelings of mr. jones. he caught up robert, and pressed him to his bosom ; and, as they now proceeded towards home, 4 38 robert jones. they reasoned together, and the father told his boy, how he should fetch him home every saturday, with dobbin; and how they should still go hand-in-hand to church on the sabbath; and how his lamb, and the grey colt, should be taken care of in his absence; and his hoop, and other toys, might be carried with him to school. the sabbath day passed as usual. by day-light, on monday morning, mr. jones awakened his boy hastily, and as cheerfully as he was able. old jenny was hurried in her preparations for breakfast, and, in completing the packing up of robert's box, and equipping him for his departure. breakfast was soon despatched, the wagon drawn out, dobbin harnessed, the box locked, and brought out; in short, every thing was now ready for a start. "and are you really going to leave us?" sobbed out old jenny-at the same time wiping away the tear now starting from her eye, with the corner of her apron; "and what, think you, will your poor dear father do? and what will old jenny do? oh! it robert jones. 39 will be so lonesome, these long evenings. but, the will of the lord be done." 66 whist, whist," said mr. jones: "what! would you break the boy's heart?" he need not say that he meant his own heart, rather than robert's. jenny, however, could not resist administering her sage advice" how that she hoped he would behave well, and make progress in useful larning, and take good care of his new clothes, and his new bible, and shun such boys as were wild, and idle, and wicked. you must think of these things," said jenny, "and may the lord bless you!" mr. jones now drove from the door, with his precious charge, with feelings, which we shall not attempt to describe. an hour and a half, for dobbin was now old and slow-paced, and, besides, mr. jones, had no disposition to get rid of his charge. i say, a full hour and a half was consumed, in arriving at the brow of the hill, which overlooked the town of b. as they began to descend the hill, robert was full of amazement. for the first time 40 robert jones. in his life, he saw a well-built, and compact village. the houses, the churches, markets, manufactories-all filled him with delight. he expressed his pleasure to his father, with great emphasis. "ay-it's all very fine, my man," said the father, shaking his head—“ a fine thing to look at, yon great city; and you have seen nothing like it afore, poor innocent lamb; but god keep you from the evil ways that are in it, and from the tents of the ungodly." the attention of mr. jones was soon diverted to a far different object. about half way down the hill, a green field presented itself, upon which stood, and had for years stood, a gallows; and the spot was known by the name of "gallows hill." on that spot, and around that fatal tree, the whole population of b, to which may be added hundreds, and perhaps thousands more, seemed now assembled. what could this mean? thought mr. jones. the countless multitude were still, and nearly as motionless, as if they had been only statues. mr. jones abruptly halted; at the same time, robert jumped up. robert jones. 41 and caught hold of his father's arm, filled with anxiety, at the serious expression of his countenance. a moment's further thought, brought an explanation.-"ay, i see how 'tis," said mr. jones; "the courts are ended, and there's an execution going forward." this is the end of those who forget god! dobbin was now again put in motion, and for once was urged on as fast as possible, with the hope of getting clear of the crowd, before the arrival of the sheriff, and the troops, who, at a distance, were seen slowly approaching towards the fatal spot, with the condemned malefactor. the father had no wish that his boy should, thus prematurely, behold a sight so awful. robert knew nothing of the cause of this; and his only feeling was that of curiosity, mingled, perhaps, with alarm, at being thrown into so vast a crowd. but, now, their onward progress became more difficult-almost impassable. the fatal cart was close at hand, and the curious people thronged about it, to catch a passing view of the condemned prisoner. it was in vain that dobbin was urged on, with 42 robert jones. voice and lash. it was necessary to halt, and, accordingly, the beast was turned a little out of the road till the cart should have passed. during this delay, mr. jones gathered from some of the by-standers, that the criminal, who was that day to meet an ignominious and untimely fate, was a mere youth-having barely attained his twentieth year.he had been a boy of fair promise, until seduced by bad company, he had grown wild and irregular; and, proceeding from bad to worse, had, at last, committed that crime, for which he was about to suffer, and which would surely bring down to the grave, with sorrow, the grey hairs of his unhappy parents, whose only child he was. "may be, they'll have to blame themselves for the ill deeds of their offspring," said mr. jones, unconscious of his sad indulgence of his own boy. "may be, they have fallen short of setting him a good example, and of laying upon him a salutary restraint: parents should look well to their children, and bring them up in the fear of the lord." robert jones. 43 "you're quite right there, master," replied a woman, who was standing near the wagon of mr. jones-" you're quite right; i always told 'em joe wanted a tight hand over him; but it's too late now.-god help 'em, poor souls, i say." this conversation was now interrupted, by the arrival of the cart, bearing the wretched criminal. the culprit was, indeed, a mere youth. he was tall and well made, and appeared worthy of a better fate. his complexion was fair. he had a noble foreheada noble countenance, and had given promise, before he went astray, of being eminently useful in the world. but, like thousands of others, equally gifted, he had mingled with evil companions, who had conducted him to ruin. for a few minutes after the arrival of the unhappy young man, the multitude became confused and agitated. a strong pressure was made to catch a sight of the wretched criminal. as that sight was obtained, they fell back. a solemn stillness soon pervaded the multitude. anguish was depicted on every countenance.. convulsive sobs were 44 robert jones. 1 heard on every side. what a pity it is, thought many a bosom, that one so young, so fair, so promising, the only child of his parents, a son of their old age, should come to such ruin as this-to the gallows. but guilt was there; the laws had been violated; justice must be done; an example must be made. we shall not detain our readers with any further account of this mournful scene.right glad was farmer jones, when the cart, with its miserable burden, together with the multitude, moved from the road sufficiently to give him room to pass. he was not backward in seizing the opportunity, and even urged dobbin forward so rapidly, as to put to, hazard himself and son. hitherto, not a word had passed between the father and son ; but, now, that the road was open before them, and they were about to enter the village, mr. jones summoned resolution to warn robert of the evils of vice, and the importance of shunning bad company. the occasion was a good one, and well had it been, had it been still better improved. robert jones. 45 but it was not in the heart of the father to dwell upon a subject, which would give pain to his darling boy. like many other parents, he indeed gave him a word or two of exhortation; but the thought of now being separated from his son, came in to distress him, and shut out a subject, which only added to his pain. a short time brought them to the building, where the school was kept; and, in a few minutes, robert was introduced to the master. mr. jones had previously settled the terms, upon which his son should become a member of the academy; he had little else, therefore, to do, but to deposit his charge, and be gone.. "god bless you, my son,' " said he, laying his hand upon the boy's head; and the next moment, he was in his seat again, and off, and round the corner of the street, and bending his way back to his lonely cottage, in the vicinity of m. although mr. jones had appeared in so much haste, on leaving robert, he was by no means in haste to get home that day. ĥe lingered in the village, hour after hour, to at 46 robert jones. tend to some business, which was really of little importance, and which, under other circumstances, would have detained him but a few minutes, if at all. the day had nearly closed, before he remounted his vehicle, and again put dobbin in motion. it was quite dark, before he reached the door of his own cottage. it was a cold evening, too—a cold, cheerless, bleak, march evening, and an east wind, with rain and sleet, had been driving in his face, all the way home. yet, he was in no haste to re-enter his comfortable home. some hearts may guess the reason, why he thus lingered-such as have felt the pang of returning to an abode, deprived of its richest comforts. at length, he entered the yard, and old jenny came hurrying out, at the sound of his return, with her humble welcome, and wonderment, at his long absence, and offers of assistance in unharnessing dobbin, that her master might the sooner come in and warm himself. her well-meant kindness, however, was declined; and when, at length, he came in, and she ventured a cautious question, as robert jones 47 how he left the dear child, he briefly told her to mind her own business, and ask him no questions. that evening, farmer jones ate no supper, though jenny had exerted herself to provide him a warm comfortable meal. at an early hour, jenny was dismissed to her bed, while, hour after hour, mr. jones sat wrapt in his own contemplation. what were his thoughts and feelings that night, may be guessed, by some hearts; but, perhaps, not fully conceived by any. it would be hard to say, whether the ensuing saturday was more eagerly looked forward to by father, or son. certain it is, that when the morning of that day arrived, mr. jones was in no less haste to be gone, than when he had harnessed old dobbin to the wagon, so expeditiously, on the preceding monday. but, when he reached the town of bit was still too early to call for his boy; so he trafficked away the intervening time, at different places, and, at length, drew up the wagon at the door of the academy, just at the moment that the boys had finished their 48 robert jones. saturday's dinner. robert heard the sound of the wheels, and, the next moment, was in his father's arms, and hugging him so tight round the neck, that the farmer was fain to cry out : 66 well, well, my man! but you'll not choke your old dad, will you? have you been a good boy, robert ?" robert replied, that he had; and, in truth, he might say so, and, to this, the master added his assent. the boy was soon ready with his little bundle of sunday clothes, and soon seated with his father, and, together, they were soon fairly out of band on their glad way to the cottage. we shall not attempt to describe robert's delight at the first sight of its curling smokenor how he miscalculated time and spacenor how he fidgeted up and down on the seatnor how he took a rock in a distant field for the grey colt-nor a flannel gown, hung out to dry, for old jenny herself-nor other blunders, quite as amusing; we shall leave all these things to be conceived by those, who have ever accompanied a lively urchin robert jones. 49 to his own home, on his first return, after his first week's schooling. we shall leave it to such, also, to picture to themselves the actual arrival-robert at home once more-scampering down the garden to see if his beans had come up—unhitching his hoop from the nail, and as soon flinging it aside to run and see whether the grey colt was in the adjoining lot-scrambling upon the back of his unbroken favourite, and soon tumbling off-all these antics, and a hundred more, we must leave our readers to conceive and supply. when evening came, robert was once more seated on his own little stool, beside his father, while jenny lit the candle, and brought out the cups and saucers, and set on the kettle and robert's own basin, full of the red cow's milk, set by for him at that evening's milking. the frugal meal being ended, mr jones took his pipe, as usual, and, we dare say, enjoyed it more than he had done during the whole long week. 5 50 robert jones. 66 "well, my lad," said he, turning to robert, as a large volume of smoke rose from his mouth-"well, and where are the sixpences i gave you on monday?" this was a question quite unexpected, and, for a moment, robert hung his head in confusion. why," said he," why, father-why-you gave them to me to spend, did'nt you?" 16 well," asked mr. jones, "and how have you spent them ?" "why, let me think, father"-and here he began counting over and over again upon his little fat fingers, sundry purchases of pies, gingerbread, marbles, and penny-worth's of brown sugar. but, with all his calculations, he could not account for the sum, which he had expended. he this was unexpected to mr. jones. could not approve of the manner, in which the money had been expended, and regretted still more that his son could give no better account of it. but he could not mar the little fellow's pleasure, just as he had returned to his father's house. in a softened tone, therefore, he only said, "well, robert, next time, you must spend your money in a better robert jones. 51 manner, and, i hope, you will be able to give a more accurate account how you have spent it." robert felt quite relieved, when the subject was dropped; for, though only a boy, he was conscious of having done wrong. of this, mr jones was equally satisfied, and well had it been, had he summoned the resolution to point out the fault, and warned him of the danger, of thus early doing what could not be approved. it was the foible—let us give the more appropriate name-the fault of mr. jones to doat upon his son too much to impart to him that advice, or to impose upon him that restraint, which was necessary to virtuous conduct in life. like many parents, he wished well to his child-indeed, for his happiness, he could have made any, and every sacrifice of personal ease and comfort-but then, he could not, or, at least, he felt that he could not, distress the boy so much, as even to chide him, nor even to warn him of his danger. this was, indeed, a foolish fondness a great parental failure; but how many parents, besides mr. jones, are charga52 robert jones. ble with a similar fondness-with a similar failure! the sabbath was past much like all former ones at the cottage; and, by the time it was half over, robert began to think of the morrow, and his return to school. on saturday evening, he wished, as he sat on his little stool, that he need not go again to the academy; but, now, he felt some less reluctance than on the preceding evening. when monday came, indeed, home was home again; and when the wagon was ready, robert ascended it rather dejectedly, consoling himself, however, with the thought, that saturday would come round again in five days. robert's calculations were correct for oncesaturday came in five days, and he was fetched home again, and again returned to all its delights. on leaving him at the academy the second time, mr. jones hesitated about giving him money, and, when he mentioned his reluctance, robert assured him, that this time he would keep it, or spend it only for things necessary. he might want some quills, or robert jones. 53 some paper, or, perhaps, a little ink, and something, too, to pay the penny-post, father, if you write me a letter. tion, the dictate of filial this last suggesaffection, as mr. jones hoped, decided the point, and several sixpences were soon safely stowed away in robert's pocket. on the following saturday, robert again came home, as already noticed, well pleased, once more, to see old jenny, and his grey colt, and to eat milk from his own basin, and to sit again on his own stool. at this time, robert gave, indeed, a somewhat better account of his money than before; but it was all spent, save a single sixpence. "and how have you spent the remainder," inquired mr. jones. why, he had purchased some quills"and-and-you know, father, you did write me a letter, and i paid for that, and i was glad, indeed, to receive it, and to hear that you was well; and, besides, i gave some to a poor woman. well, my lad," said mr. jones, "i am glad to hear so good an account-the filial affection, and the charitable disposition of the boy, making amends for 99 5* 54 robert jones. some little things, which might be wrong. thus ended this investigation, and well contented was robert, for he had concealed from his indulgent father, the improper manner in which he had spent a part of his money, in a neighbouring grog-shop, whither he had been conducted by some older associates, and, at whose instigation, he had purchased them a treat. we must not dwell too minutely on this part of our story. we will only say, therefore, that robert's eagerness to return to his home, and his former pleasures, gradually diminished, as he became more acquainted with his school-fellows; and he was more and more impatient to have the saturday holiday and the succeeding sabbath gone, that he might again mingle with his companions. unfortunately, as he grew older, and became more conversant with the wiles of the unrestrained and vicious, he became more expert in inventing excuses to his blinded father, and with more ease made unsuspicious demands upon his father for money. robert jones. 55 at school, he was soon praised by his play. fellows, for his independence and spirit-was courted and flattered; and, in short, was soon "up to every thing"-the leader of all conspiracies the foremost in all mischiefthe most enterprising in all dangers-and, what was more remarkable, the most ingenious at equivocation and invention, and even unblushing falsehood, in cases of suspicion or detection. at the same time, he learnt full well to conceal his improper behaviour, from his credulous parent, and to make him think, that he was, in reality, a sober and steady youth. this latter, mr. jones was willing to believe, and might have been offended had any one told him the reverse. or, had he been convinced, that robert's conduct was, in any given instance, unbecoming, he would have neglected to punish him; or, at least, have found so many mitigating circumstances, as to amount nearly to an apology. thus matters proceeded for several years; during which, robert was continued at school; for some time, at the academy at 56 robert jones. b, and, afterward, at his suggestion, at a still more distant school, which, he pretended to think, presented more advantages; but which, in reality, would furnish a better opportunity for," capital acting," without coming to the knowledge of his father. at this latter academy, the vacations were longer than at the academy at b—. it so chanced, on the occurrence of a vacation, that, on the very day of breaking up, there was a great military review in the place, which was looked forward to with much delight, by the boys whose parents and friends were resident there. these youngsters had often spoken to robert of the pleasure they should have, and one friend, in particular, had invited him, to go to his own house, and stay during the review. unluckily, it so happened, that the vacation occurred, and, of course, the review, at a most important season to mr. jones-just as his hay-harvest was getting in. he felt it necessary, therefore, to send word to robert to inform the master, that it would not be convenient to fetch him home on thursday, robert jones. 57 the day on which the vacation commenced, but on saturday. this was precisely what robert could have wished. he now arranged his plan, which was, not only to inform the master of his father's necessary detention, but to add, that the old gentleman had given him permission to spend the interval with his school-fellow. to this proposal, the master readily agreed, and robert took leave, with a promise to report himself at his usual lodgings, early on friday evening. he had fixed his plan for getting home, when the fun was over, and of so managing, that either the truth should not appear, or his father should see him appear so sober and attentive, as easily to forgive the fabrication. on departing, robert took good care to take with him his bundle of sunday clothes, and his whole hoard of pence and sixpences. mr. jones, meantime, got in his crops prosperously, and, early on saturday morning, set out with greybeard, as being now the better horse, to fetch robert home. 58 robert jones. arriving at d, where the academy, which robert now attended, was situated, he' knocked at the door of the master, and a servant girl, who opened it, inquired for his son. he was told, that robert was not there; but he insisted she was mistaken ; nor would he be convinced, until the master himself appeared, and related the circumstances of robert's going with his friend, at the parent's house of whom he now probably was, although he had promised to be back the evening preceding. mr. jones now proceeded to the place specified, not doubting but that he should find his son; but for once truly mortified, that robert had thought it necessary to deceive. but, thought he, as greybeard hurried forward, "after all, there may be some mistake in this matter. perhaps the master did not quite understand robert-no doubt, he can satisfactorily explain." with this thought comforting himself, he arrived, at length, at the residence of robert's schoolfellow. robert jones. 59 but the intelligence obtained there, was of a nature to create the most serious alarm. the parents of robert's friend, informed mr. jones, that his boy had accompanied their son home, when the school broke up on thursday morning-that, after dinner, the two boys had sallied out together to see the review, from which their son returned about dark, without his companion. they had inquired the reason of this, and learned, that the two boys had been separated the latter part of the day; but that, just as their son began to tire of looking for his school-fellow, robert touched him hastily on the shoulder, saying, a neighbour of his father's, who guessed he was playing truant, insisted on taking him home in his own wagon, and that he must go that moment. this was all the boy had to tell-and that robert vanished in the crowd so suddenly, he could not see who was with him. inquiries were now made in all directions, but in vain. the distracted father could only learn further, that his child had been seen by many persons at many tents and stalls; and, 60 robert jones. the at last, quite alone, in a show-booth, belonging to a set of tight rope dancers and circus riders, who had come to the place to exhibit, during the review. with some of these, he seemed to have made acquaintance, and," among them, he was last observed. performers had quitted the place the same night, and were probably, at a considerable distance. in what direction they had gone, it was difficult to ascertain. they had passed through the turnpike gate, about ten o'clock at night; but, beyond this point, no one could give any account of them. the distress of mr. jones, may more easily be imagined, than described. it amounted to agony. could he have purchased his son's immediate and safe return, with the loss of all his earthly substance, it would have been a glad exchange. there was, indeed, no positive proof, that the boy had left the place, with the itinerant troop. a rapid river ran by the town-there was a deep canal, also and then-the wharf-crowded with barges between which-but, mr. jones endeavoured not to brood upon such fearful robert jones. 61 imaginations. the next morning, by early dawn, he mounted the faithful greybeard; and, taking the most probable direction, pushed forward as fast as he was able. he was aware, that the troop were, probably, far in advance. he was much unused to travelling, especially on horseback; no wonder, therefore, that he was sorely jaded, both in body and mind, when he put up for the night, at a small town, about thirty miles from dhere he ascertained, that the troop had passed through the place, early in the morning of the preceding day-that while stopping to bait, they had talked of has their next place of exhibition; and had, in fact, struck into the great north road, when they proceeded on their way.he could obtain no intelligence, however, whether a boy, such as he described, accom panied the party. 9 to have ascertained the direction of the troop, was a source of no small satisfaction, though the uncertainty whether his son was with them, still caused him a heavy heart, 6 62 robert jones. about noon the following day, in mercy to his beast, as well as to recruit his own strength, he halted at a small inn, 'when, having unsaddled greybeard, and seen that he was taken care of, he entered the house, and called for refreshment. there were many persons drinking and talking in the place, and mr. jones failed not to make his customary inquiries, which awakened an immediate clamor of tongues-every one being ready with some information relating to the troop, mr. jones was in pursuit of. such was the confusion of voices, however, that he could gather nothing certain. at this moment, a chamber door opened, through which a woman entered the room, and, coming hastily forward, and laying her hand on mr. jones' arm, and looking earnestly in his face, exclaimed "after what are you asking, master? is it for a stray lamb you're seekingand hav'nt i seen your face before ?" jones shook like a leaf-like an aspen leaf, while the woman looked and spake thus thus earnestly-"have you have you found him?-have you found my boy?"-this was mr. robert jones. 63 you are a all he could stammer out. stranger to me; but god bless you, if you can give me back my boy."—"i am not a stranger to you, william jones; and i can give you back your boy; and the lord bless him, for your sake, for you saved me and mine, and took us in, and gave us meat and drink, when we were ready to perish. come your ways with me, william jones; but soft and quiet, for the child's in a precious sleep. he has come to hurt, but the merciful watched over him." so she led him softly and silently up a steep, dark stair, into a small upper chamber, before the window of which a checked apron was pinned up to exclude the full glow of light from the bed. softly and silently, with finger on her lip, she drew him on to the side of that humble bed, and there, indeed, fast locked in sleep, in sweet, untroubled sleep, lay the thoughtless boy, whose disappearance had inflicted such cruel anxiety and distress. the boy was sleeping sweetly; but his cheeks and lips were almost colourless. a thick, linen bandage was bound round his 64 robert jones. head, and, over one temple, a soft, fair curl, which stole out from the bandage, was dyed and stuck together with clotted blood. mr. jones shuddered at the sight; but the woman repeated her whispered assurance, that there was no serious injury. then the father knelt softly down beside his recovered darling; large tears rolled down his quivering cheeks, and, for the first time in his life, he poured out his whole heart in gratitude to his creator, in the presence of a fellow-creature. when he rose from his knees, turning to the woman, he softly, but solemnly said, "now, i see of a truth, that a man may cast his bread upon the waters, and find it again after many days. i gave thee and thine orphan babe a little food, and a night's shelter, and thou restorest to me my child. while william jones has a morsel of bread, thou shalt share it with him and he was as good as his word; from that hour, he was never known to turn away his face from any poor man. "" by degrees, all the particulars relating to robert's disappearance, and his providential recovery, were circumstantially unravelled. robert jones. 65 he had been accidentally separated from his school-fellow; and, while searching about for him, had wandered towards the place where feats of rope-dancing and horsemanship were exhibited. while here looking about, his appearance, which was sprightly, attracted the attention of some of the company, and he was invited to go in and see the wonders of the place. it was immediately whispered among them, that he would make a fine performer, and, accordingly, he was treated with much attention. one gave him a penny pie, and, another, a drop of something strong and good. he drank it with high relish, for, by this time, the love of strong drink had become deeply rooted; and then, the manager himself an artful, pleasant man, told him, if he liked, he should wear a blue and silver jacket, and ride a beautiful horse. that clinched the bargain, and, in perfect bewilderment, occasioned by gin, and flattery, poor robert suffered himself to be enrolled as one of the company. he was forthwith equipped in a fine blue dress, from the company's wardrobe, and in6* 66 robert jones. dulged with privilege, by way of experiment, of sitting on the back of a beautiful piebald. he was complimented for his good horse→ manship, and seemed at once to get into the good graces of his new acquaintance. sometime before night, however, under the influence of too much strong drink, robert was fast locked in so profound a slumber, that he stirred not hand or foot, till late the next morning; when he found himself lying on some straw, in a covered wagon, which was proceeding at a rapid rate, he knew not whither. several others were in the same vehicle; but still unconscious of what was going on about them. about ten o'clock in the morning, orders were given for a general halt. this took place in a verdant spot, by the road side, and was, in consequence of no inn being at hand, where the party could breakfast. it was con cluded, therefore, to stop, and refresh themselves with such provisions, as they had rather accidentally brought with them. the success of their late exhibition, at the military review, had, by no means, been such, robert jones. 67 a good deal as to sweeten their tempers. of ill feeling seemed to pervade the company, as they assembled on the green plat, and loud, and surly, and taunting accusations and recriminations, were bandied about; the most severe of which robert soon gathered, related to himself. it was obvious, that some of the party began to feel themselves in danger, for having enticed him away. others thought quite differently, and made light of the apprehensions of those, who feared any danger. from words, they proceeded to rough arguments; and, at length, something like a general battle ensued among them. in the mean time, robert, terrified, in view of the issue of this contest, while unobserved, seized an opportunity to secrete himself in one of the wagons. unfortunately, in his trepidation, he missed his footing, and fell headlong among the horses attached to the vehicle. the high-spirited animals, now terrified, began rearing and kicking, at a most furious rate. a blow from one of the horses' feet, struck the unfortunate robert, and, in a moment, left him a ghastly and 68 robert jones. bloody spectacle. this stilled the uproar of the contending parties. whatever had been their views of their past conduct, in relation to him, the panic now became general. the child had, apparently, ceased to breathe ; not the faintest pulsation was perceptible. the decision was instantly made to consult their own safety, by moving on as fast as possible, leaving the unhappy boy, who was pronounced quite dead, on the grassplat by the road-side. in two minutes, the troop were in motionin ten more, quite out of sight-and there lay poor robert, to all appearance, a corpse, and soon to have become one in reality, but for the providential intervention of that poor woman, by whom mr. jones was conducted to the bed-side of his recovered child. that woman, as she now explained to mr. jones, was, indeed, the soldier's widow, who, with her orphan babe, had owed to his compassion in her utmost need, the seasonable mercy of a night's lodging, and a wholesome meal; and she had never forgotten the name of her benefactor, nor thought of him without a robert jones. 69 grateful prayer. "it was my prayer, then," said she, "when i left your door, that i might be able to requite your kindness; may be, said i, god will give me the opportunity; he has now done it, and thanks to his name, that i was near to rescue your darling boy from a premature death." the "and how came you to be so near, and by what means did you know my boy?" widow explained, that she lived some miles distant; but that day, having occasion to come some miles from home, she discovered the poor boy by the way-side, in the condition before described. she approached him, and tenderly lifted his head to her bosom, and parted off the thickly clotted hair, and bound her own handkerchief about his bleeding temples. there was water within reach, with which she laved his face and hands, and had soon the joy of perceiving a tremulous motion of the lips and eyelids--and, at last, the boy breathed audibly, and his fair blue eyes unclosed, and he uttered a few words of wonder and distress; among which"oh, father father!" were the most intel70 robert jones. ligible, and to the woman's gentle inquiry of"who was his father? and did he live far off?" he answered faintly, that he was the son of william jones, who lived at the village of ma second fit of insensibility, succeeded those few words, but they were sufficient for the widow. providence had sent her to save (she trusted) the child of her benefactor, and all her homely, but well-directed energies were called into action. partly carrying him. in her own arms, and partly by casual assistance, she succeeded in conveying him to the nearest dwelling, that small way-side inn.there he was put comfortably to bed, and medical aid obtained promptly-the longer delay of which must have proved fatal. and, then, a message was sent off to farmer. jones, (a man and horse, for that poor wo man was a creature of noble spirit, and impatient to relieve the father's misery,) and, then, the widow quietly took her station by the pillow of the little sufferer. his head had undergone a second dressing, and the surgeon had pronounced, that all would go robert jones. 71 well with him, if he were kept for a time in perfect quiet. it need not be told, how rigidly that injunction was attended to, nor how carefully, when he was in a state to be removed, the father conveyed back his truant child to the shelter of his own peaceful cottage-nor how anxiously he was nursed up there to decided convalescence-nor how tenderly, when the boy was so far recovered, his father set before him the magnitude of his offence, and the fatal consequences, which had so nearly resulted from it. robert wept sore, and looked down with becoming humility, and promised, over and over again, and really with a sincere intention, never, never again to give his father cause for uneasiness, or displeasure. the appearance of penitence and humility which robert wore for a time, deeply affected the indulgent father, and even excited his pity. he was almost sorry-and, perhaps, quite sorry, that he had censured his son, and, by his softened tone, and gentle carriage, seemed to speak the language of penitence 72 robert jones. himself. it is the weakness, and folly, and sin, of many parents to undo the good effect of admonition, by following it with a double degree of lenity (than before.) instead of impressing children with the conviction, that their censure is just, and that they merit censure in a still greater degree, by a sort of flattery and unmerited praise for some trifling thing, they make children feel that they are the injured party. this was precisely the conduct of mr. jones; it need not be added, that his son was sufficiently sagacious to observe it, and now sufficiently artful to take advantage of it. some time after robert's complete recovery, he was again sent to the academy, where, for a season, he applied himself with some diligence to his books, and behaved with greater propriety. yet, this period was not long. idle and vicious companions beset him, and, to the temptations artfully spread before him, again he yielded. at home, however, he was cautious and correct-so cautious and correct, as not only greatly to please his father, but to lull him into a sad robert jones. 73 security. reports, indeed, not unfrequently, reached the village of m-, and were even communicated to mr. jones, of the wild and dissipated habits of his son; yet, he believed them not. or, if his fears were sometimes alarmed, the humble and modest deportment of his son, on his return from school, allayed those fears, and prevented that inquiry into his conduct abroad, which a less credulous and more watchful parent would have made. the truth was, that the fondness of the father for his son,-a fondness which commenced at the hour of his birth, and which had been increased by years of loneliness, had blinded his eyes to the faults of his child, and rendered him, in a great degree, incapable of censuring and punishing, as both reason and duty required. meanwhile, time travelled on; and, at length, the period arrived, when robert was to be taken from school, and put to business. he was, accordingly, placed in the countingroom of a respectable firm in the busy village of c. this was far from being robert's choice. he disliked the confine7 74 robert jones. ment of a dark, gloomy counting-house; yet, he consoled himself with the reflection, that many young men, so situated, were, nevertheless, very fine fellows, and contrived, at odd hours, evenings, and holidays, to indemnify themselves very tolerably, for their hours of confinement. he had great confidence, moreover, that good fortune would introduce him to some of those choice spirits, whose experience would initiate him into many useful secrets, robert's expectations were but too well founded. temptation lies in wait for youth at every turning and by-path; but, when youth starts with the design of voluntarily entering her fatal snare, the toils are wound about the prey with treble strength, and rarely, if ever, is it disentangled. robert was soon the associate and hero of all the idle and dissolute youth in c; the hero of every low, cruel, and debasing sport, that prepares the way, by sure and rapid advances, towards the jail and scaffold. nevertheless, for a considerable time, he contrived to keep up a fair character, with his employers. he was clear and prompt in the robert jones. 75 despatch of business; and, with a few exceptions, punctual to his office hours. beyond those seasons, their watchfulness extended not, and no glaring misdemeanor, on the part of their young clerk, had yet awakened any suspicions. at length, however, those suspicions were excited, and robert was watched. his evening haunts were discovered, and money, it was sometimes suspected, was purloined from the draw, to enable him to pursue his hitherto concealed course of low and debasing extravagance. it would be tedious, minutely to trace the progressive steps of his advancement in bold and wicked conduct. let it suffice to say, that, at length, he found it necessary not only to quit his employers, but to make his escape from c. on the eve of his departure, a plan was concerted by himself and other kindred spirits, which, having effected, they were hastily to take their flight to a far distant part of the country. at the breaking up of the meeting, at which this plan was concerted, robert found a few hours would intervene before the appointed time of carrying it into effect. as he passed 76 robert jones. from the secret haunt, the recollection of his father of his home-of the joys of his boyhood, experienced in that retired and rural spot, rushed upon his mind, and caused a transient horror at the appalling contrast. he paused a moment, and, the next moment, his resolution was formed. "i will have one more look," said he "at the old place, before i go. at least, i will have a last look at the outside of the walls--though i can't go in-i can't face the old man, before i leave him-he would not pass over what can't be undone and there's no going back now-but i will see the old place again." it was a sabbath evening, when this sudden resolution was formed, and so quickly was it carried into effect, that it wanted near an hour to midnight, when he reached the garden, which adjoined his father's cottage. it was a calm, delicious night, of ripening spring (so hushed and still, that you might almost have heard the falling showers of overblown apple blossoms.) robert lingered for a moment, with his hand on the garden gate; and while he thus tarried, was startled by a sudden, yet familiar sound, from the adrobert jones. jacent field. it was the (neighing) salutation of his old friend greybeard; who, having perceived the approach of his young master and old playmate, came forward, and poking his white nose through the fence, greeted him as we have stated. "ah, old boy! is it thou?" said the youth, in a low, hurried voice, as he stopt a moment to stroke the face of his faithful favorite."dost thou bid me welcome home, old fellow? well, that's something!" and a short, unnatural laugh, finished the sentence, as he turned from the loving creature, and, with quick, but noiseless steps, passed up the garden walk to the front of the quiet cottage. the prodigal gazed for a moment on the cottage, standing quiet as the grave-then stepped within the porch, and softly and fearfully, as it were, raised his hand to the latchwhich, however, he lifted not-only softly laid his hand upon it, and so, with eyes rooted to the ground, stood motionless, for a few minutes, till the upraised arm dropt heavily, and, with something very like a sigh, he turned my x 78 robert jones. from the door of his father's dwelling, to retrace his steps towards c-. yet once again, in his way down the garden path, he turned to look on the home, he was forsaking. for, at that moment, the evil spirit was subdued within him, and by the sparks of his better nature, which yet survived in his heart. the sight of that familiar scenethe fond greeting of his faithful greybeardthe thought for what purpose he was thereand of the old man, who slept within those silent walls-all crowded together, with softening influence, into the heart of that unhappy boy, as he turned a farewell look upon quiet cottage-just then, a sound struck his ear, he imagined, and he paused. "was it his imagination?" he listened. "it was a reathe lity." it was a faint, low sound, but it became more audible, and proceeded surely from his father's lodging-room. robert started "was the old man ill?" he questioned with himself "ill and alone!" he turned, and with quick step, proceeded to the window, and through the lattice, which covered it, cautiously looked into the room. he involuntary started back, and, for a morobert jones. 79 ment, a faintness came over him. his father was there-but his pillow had not been pressed that night-his father was there-oh! what an attitude! on his bended knees-in prayer-in prayer for his rebellious son. he had heard that day of his evil conduct, and he could no longer doubt it. his eyes were opened by the spirit of god to his own foolish fondness, to his unjustifiable indulgence of his boy. he had, that evening, looked back to the hour, when he was so faithfully and affectionately warned by his departing wife-and now he was employed, in the fervor of supplication, for his ruined child. it was a sight to strike daggers to the heart of the ungrateful boy; and he was, for a moment, self-convicted and self-condemned. but the tempter was at hand. just at that awful moment-that crisis of his fate, when the sense of guilt suddenly smote his heart, and the spirit seemed to whisper, "turnyet turn and live"-at that decisive moment, a low whistle, and a suppressed laugh, broke on his ear. he started; he sprung back; and, almost at a bound. he cleared the garden path, and was at a distance from the cottage. 80 robert jones. those awaited him at a little distance, whose ridicule he could not bear-with whom he had mocked at and abjured all good and holy things, and with whose desperate fortunes he had embarked his own. by some means, his visit to his paternal cottage, had become known to them, and they had followed, to prevent any interview, which might take place between the father and son. he soon joined them, roused his mind to cast off the impressions, which had been made upon him, and too well did he succeed. worse, that night, a deed was done of the darkest die. a robbery was committed, and a large sum of money obtained, and what was still a foul murder was perpetrated; though this last was not originally contemplated; nor was it the hand of robert which gave the fatal blow. before morning, the confederates had separated, each one seeking safety in a rapid flight. we left the father of robert pouring forth his supplications, in his own little cottage, and in his own little sleeping room. those prayers were not intermitted that night. he felt and confessed his frailties; and now robert jones. 81 pleaded, if it were not too late, that his son, his only son, might be saved from a ruin, to which his long continued indulgence had greatly contributed. he had determined to repair, on the following morning, to c, and to inquire more particularly into robert's conduct-to pay whatever debts he had contracted, and, having done so, to say, "my son, give me thine heart." with this determination, he left his room, and, having hastily despatched the morning's meal, he was preparing to depart, on his intended purpose; when the sound of approaching footsteps, and the swinging to of the garden gate, made him pause for a moment, with his hand on the latch. almost before he could lift it, the door was hastily thrown open, and three men stood before him. one of them stationed himself just without the threshold, while the two others stepping forward, threw down a warrant on the table, declaring that by its authority, they were empowered to make search for, and arrest the body of robert jones. the declaration fell like a thunder-clap on the ear of the unfortunate old man; and yet, 82 robert jones. for a moment, he comprehended not its full and fatal sense. he stood as if spell-boundas if rivetted to the floor. the officer proceeded to explain. he said, that in the execution of his duty, he must be permitted to make strict search over the cottage, and its adjacent premises, in search of his son-that in the course of the past night, the countinghouse of messrs. had been entered by means of false keys, and that considerable property in notes, gold, and plate, had been taken, and that the young man, who slept in an adjoining apartment, was found dead.-as yet, no traces of the route taken by the perpetrators of this horrid deed, had been discovered. yet it was certain, that robert jones was one of them, and circumstances rendered it probable, that he was one of the foremost. the miserable parent listened in silence to the officer's brief, and not exaggerated communication. he heard all in silence, with a steady brow; but with looks fixed upon the man with penetrating, though almost unconscious intensity, and, when all was told, bowing down his head, he waved his hand, robert jones. 83 saying, "it is enough, do your duty." he now seated himself in an old elbow chair, from whence he stirred not, and neither by word, look, or gesture, gave further token of concern, in what was going forward. when the ineffectual search was over, and the officers left him alone with his misery, he was heard to arise, and close the cottage door, making it fast with bar and bolt; and, from that hour, no one from abroad beheld william jones, till on the third day from that, on which his great sorrow had fallen upon him, he was seen slowly walking up the street of che appeared calm and composed; and yet he bent, as if the correcting hand of god was upon him. his calamity was now generally known; and, although it was well known that he had neglected his duty, in refraining to impose a salutary restraint upon his son, yet he was pitied, and many a hat was touched with silent respect, as he passed along. • was nothe object of his visit to cble. he was, by nature, as well as by habit, frugal, and, some might say, even parsimonious. but adversity had had a softening in84 robert jones. fluence. it was his first object now to satisfy the demands of trades-people, and other inhabitants of c, who had claims on his unhappy son, and, when that was done, he repaired to the banking-house of messrs. -. here, he ascertained the actual loss those gentlemen had sustained; and, although others had assisted in the perpetration, and partaken of the booty, with his unhappy boy, he insisted upon paying the whole loss himself, although he was obliged, for that purpose, to make sale of a few acres of his paternal farm. it lightened his beart somewhat, when this was accomplished, and again he returned to his own little cottage, there to mourn in secret over the wickedness of his son, and the imprudent fondness which had, he was now but too sensible, contributed mainly to the ruin which had come upon him. weeks slipped away-weeks-monthsa year-four years. four years had come and gone, since that day, left william jones a worse than childless father-the forlorn tenant of his paternal cottage, which, with its barn, outbuildings, and a few fields, was all that then remained of his former prosperity. robert jones. 5 $95 during this period, he had mourned in secret, and yet his cup of calamity was not yet full. the severest portion of his fiery trial, was still to be felt; the gold was yet to be more thoroughly refined, yea, proved to the uttermost. so necessary is it, in the view of providence, to chasten those, whom he would make his children, and, by means of chastisement, effectually to subdue them, that they may be partakers of his joy. he four years had now elapsed, yet william jones had heard no tidings of his unhappy boy. at length, a rumor reached him, that he had been seen in the neighbourhood, and, though greatly altered, and much disguised, some were quite sure, that it was he. had been observed in company with suspected characters. about the same time, also, several robberies were committed, and two houses broken open, under circumstances, which showed the burglars to be experienced thieves. the above rumors filled the unhappy father with a just alarm; and yet he was now, in a measure, prepared for the worst that might 8 36 robert jones. betide. still, it was difficult to endure the awful suspense. for many days and nights, he scarcely knew an hour of peaceful thought, or one of quiet slumber. however employed-in his cottage, or in his garden— if a passing cloud but cast its momentary shadow, he started from his task, and looked fearfully abroad for the feet of those, who might be swift to bring evil tidings. and, in the silence of the night, too, even the stirring of a leaf, or the creaking of some tree waved by the wind against the cottage, would start him from his uneasy pillow. and yet the morning would come-the cottage door would be thrown open, and no traces, no prints of his son's footsteps, could be seen. in this state of restlessness and anxiety, mr. jones ventured not beyond his own little territory. he was fearful what rumors he should hear towards the end of the second week, finding himself unmolested by fresh rumors, he began to take hope, that the suspicions which were abroad of his son's re-appearance, were ill-founded. he summoned resolution, therefore, to go to c—. robert jones. 87 as he turned the corner of market-street, into that where stood the court house, he observed an unusual crowd thronging the doors of the building, with an appearance of uncommon excitement. he involuntarily started from his seat, and a shudder run through his frame. "what could this mean?" he inquired of himself. "might was he yet it not be? oh! should it be ! to drink a cup of such bitter affliction as this ?" as he came opposite the building, he unconsciously drew up his horses, and gazed about him with troubled and bewildered looks. the old man was soon recognised by the crowd, and all eyes were even intently fastened upon him—a whisper went round, and a strange hush succeeded, and the people pressed back, as if to leave a free passage for his humble vehicle. a confused sound proceeded from the court house doors; and, at that moment, one or two persons from within spoke with the eager listeners on the steps and the words" prisoner," and "committed," smote upon his ear, and the whole flashed upon him. he started up, and leaped 88 robert jones. from his wagon, as he was able, and would have entered the hall of justice, but for a firm and friendly grasp, which forcibly withheld him. at this moment, a number of constables, and others, pushing aside the pressing crowd, descended the court house steps, and were seen conducting three prisoners. cold drops gathered upon the old man's forehead--he breathed short and thick, and his sight became misty and imperfect, as he strained his eyes towards the open door. the felons, hand-cuffed and guarded, followed; and, at length, came within his view. one was, indeed, his son! he clasped his upraised hands forcibly together, and, under the tortures of a mental agony, cried out, “ my god! it is he." it was a piercing cry. that prisoner started at the well-known voice, and, for a moment, seemed rivetted to the spot. but he was urged forward, and the prison doors soon closed upon him and his companions. we shall not relate the particulars of robert's wanderings, during his four year's absence; nor the circumstances which had robert jones. 89 brought him back to the land of his fathers. neither will we attempt to speak of those miserable weeks that intervened, between his commitment and his trial, for the crime of robbery and murder. still less may we venture to paint minutely the first meeting of parent and child, in such a place, and under such circumstances. at length, the day of arraignment came. to the charge of robbery, robert pleaded guilty; but, to the charge of murder, he pleaded not guilty, and this he maintained with inflexible firmness. on this charge, therefore, he was put upon trial. every circumstance appeared against him; and, though positive evidence was wanting, the minds of the jury were satisfied, and they rendered a verdict of" guilty." with unshaken fortitude, did the father attend upon the son, during his trial; and it was only when the judge arose to pronounce sentence, that he suffered himself to be led out of the room. days now rolled on; and, at length, that day approached, which was appointed for his 8* 90 robert jones. execution, and the execution of his companions, upon whom a similar sentence had been passed. the night preceding the fatal day, father and son spent together, in the same room of the prison. what there passed, may be conceived, but cannot be described. we shall not say, that the hardened heart of the child was broken; but it was, in a measure, softened. he listened to the prayers of his broken hearted father, and even wept when he heard the old man imploring forgiveness for his unfaithfulness towards his child. "oh!" said he, as he embraced his son, "had i sufficiently regarded the dying admonition of your fond and faithful mother-but it is now too late; may the lord even now remember her prayers, offered for her darling boy, and the flinty rock shall melt." the morning, at length, came; and, as the keeper entered the chamber, all was so still within, he thought both slept, the parent and the child. both had lain down together on a narrow pallet, and the youth's eyes were heavy; but, in age, the whole weight falls within, and presses not upon the aching eyerobert jones. 91 lids; so the old man slept not. the son's cheek was pillowed on the father's breast. one long, pale hand, was clasped within his father's-in that hard, withered hand, which had toiled for him so long. the hour arrived for the procession to move, and, as the father could not accompany his son, he grasped his hand, and, while tears fell fast and thick, they bid each other adieu. in a short time, robert jones stood on that same spot, where, years before, he had seen a fellow-creature ready to be launched into eternity. little did he then think, as he clung to his father's side, that a similar crowd would be gathered about him, and the same awful doom await him. the companions of his guilt met their fate first and now, he was brought to the platform, and the rope was already adjusting, when the sheriff was seen waiving his hand, and inviting the attention of the awe-struck multitude. he took a paper from his pocket, and requested silence. it was a pardon. executive clemency had interposed. since the trial of robert, it had been satisfactorily ascertained, by the confessions of his confederates, that it 92 robert jones. was not he that had committed the murder. in the robbery, he had participated, and the guilt of that was upon him. that guilt he had confessed, without trial. he was, therefore, pardoned; but, upon condition, that he should leave the country, never more to return. an expression of joy pervaded the multitude ; while robert, in the sudden transition of his feelings, from fear to hope-from the terrors of death, which were now upon him, to the blessings of a still longer existence, swooned and fell upon the platform. the requisite relief was soon administered, and he was again conveyed to the prison, there to await the sailing of a vessel, which should bear him, finally, and for ever, from his country. early in the afternoon, a horseman was seen pressing with great speed, along the road which led to the cottage of william jones. some benevolent citizens had despatched an express to convey the grateful intelligence to the old man, that his son was yet in the land of the living. for a moment, after the tidings were communicated, robert jones. 93 it seemed as if the immortal spirit had taken its final flight-he wept not, spoke not, moved not. the blood, however, which had stopped in its channels, again flowed, and consciousness, which seemed to have ceased, again returned. my son," at length he said, "is yet alive, i will go and see him before i die." 66 and he did see him, and in the same prison chamber they again. met, and there the old man again wept over his prodigal child-there again sought before an altar of mercy, pardon for himself and his erring boy. within a month, a vessel was ploughing the waters of the wide atlantic. on board the vessel that vessel was robert jones. arrived at her place of destination in safety, and landed the pardoned prodigal, in a foreign land. beyond this, we have nothing certain to record of him. it was, indeed, once rumoured, in after years, that a mother's prayers were answered-that some passages in the bible, which she had marked with her own hand, before she went to the grove, were the means of his conversion unto god; and it was told, too, that it was that bible, 94 robert jones. which she gave to him, and which she covered with green baize for her boy, and which the father put, with his own hands, into his chest, as the last and best gift he had to bestow, on the eve of his final departure. but we cannot vouch for the truth of these things. the rumour was never confirmed; nor yet was it contradicted but the father lived not to hear even of the rumour of these glad tidings; but went to the eternal world, there only to learn, what became of his son. yet the life of william jones was continued for sometime after the banishment of his son, and for a useful purpose. adversity, indeed, for a time, sat heavy upon him; but it was not unattended by the spirit of god. it softened his feelings; and, it was quite apparent, that under it, he was ripening for the kingdom of god. he knew that only a few more days, or months, remained to him on earth. these he employed in going about the village, and, drawn by his faithful greybeard, would sometimes venture as far as the village of cadmonishing parents to bring up their children "in the admonition of the lord," and robert jones. 95 how tender, and kind, and faithful, and affecting these admonitions were, they could tell who heard them; and it was often on his lips, that neither the husband, nor the wife, should hinder each other's prayers, nor thwart each other's counsels. "strive together," he would say, "for the grace of god, and if you are tempted to neglect your children, or to love them too much, or to indulge them too much, remember william jones, and his (sad example) calamity." one sabbath morning, william jones was missed at church, from his accustomed seat; and no soul that looked towards the vacant place, but knew immediately, that the old man was either sick unto death, or that he had already fallen asleep in jesus. when divine service was over, many persons bent their steps towards the lonely cottage, for it was known that (his faithful) jenny was absent on a visit to a neighbouring village and soon the general expectation was fully verified. the door of the cottage was closed and locked, and not a lattice was open. but prompt admission was effected, and there the venerable old man was found sitting in 96 robert jones. his old high back chair. he was sitting by his little table, and, on that table, was an unlit pipe, and an open bible, and one arm was resting on the table, and in his fingers he still held a pen, and, on a paper before him, he had been writing, and the scripture which he had written, was :-" train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." he had finished the inspired sentence, and this was the last of the mortal works of william jones. some of the people thought that he was still writing— but it was not so. that sentence was enough. his head was partly reclining on his breast; his eyes were closed; and, we trust, that, pardoned through christ, his chastened spirit had gained admittance into the rest of the blessed. the hermit of coombsditch, and his dutiful grandson. founded on fact. a lonely hermit in the vale of years.—campbell. it was on one of the bitterest evenings in the month of december, when the snow lay knee-deep upon the ground, and blotted out the wild features of a highly-diversified country, that the solemn toll of a small bell was heard from a neighbouring turret; when, out of the gate of a lonely cottage, which appeared like a snow-drift, on the side of the heath, issued a funeral train, consisting of a few villagers closely muffled up to protect them from the inclemency of the weather. the chief mourner, on this occasion, was an interesting boy, with flaxen hair, and fine blue eyes, rendered more lovely by being filled with tears. 9 98 the hermit of coombsditch. he appeared to be inconsolable. silent and slow they moved along, carefully picking their untracked way towards the old church yard, at the gate of which the venerable clergyman met them, and preceded the corpse into the little, low, cold church, whose windows were shaded with ivy, and its walls green with the damp of ages; and, at the conclusion of the appointed service, which was peculiarly solemn and impressive, the coffin was carried forth, and deposited beneath a large yew tree, which, being covered with snow, stood like a "sheeted ghost" beside the path-way. it had stood there time immemorial, and all around it "the rude forefathers of the hamlet slept." as the heavy mould rumbled upon the coffin lid, and the solemn words, "ashes to ashes, and dust to dust," were pronounced, the sobbings of that lovely boy became distressingly audible he could no longer restrain his emotions-he had lost his last relative-his tenderest earthly friend-to whom he was endeared by a thousand infantine recollections-it was his grandfather! he had lived the hermit of coombsditch. 99 to a great age-his history was a history of disappointment and sorrow, but his last end was peace." at the conclusion of the solemnity, the pious clergyman, who had always loved and admired the little mourner for his affection to his grandfather, endeavoured to soothe his sorrow with words of tenderness, and kindly supported him to the parsonage house, and committed him to the care of his amiable wife; while the few attendants on the funeral separated, and hastily returned to their respective homes. but who was the deceased, whose remains our imagination has accompanied to "the house appointed for all living?" it was poor old sylvester hazlehurst, better known by the name of the hermit of coombsditch. he had formerly been what is commonly called, in the country, a substantial man he had only one daughter, who married advantageously, at an early age; about which time, having become surety for a false friend, he fell into decay: but, being a man of the strictest integrity, he managed to satisfy the demands of all his credi338484b 100 the hermit of coombsditch. tors, and, collecting the wreck of his fortune, embarked for america with his beloved wife, where he purchased land to great advantage, and, in the course of years, repaired his shattered fortune, with which he resolved to return to his native country, and spend the remainder of his days in that "peace and quiet which he loved." with these pleasing anticipations, he took his passage in haste, in a vessel bound for england, and he hurried on board to make arrangements for the reception of his wife, who was hastily preparing to follow him. the vessel speedily and unexpectedly got under way, and stood out to sea; but the anxiously desired passenger had not arrived. neither supplications nor promises could induce the captain to send a boat on shore for her, for fear of losing a favourable wind. in this dilemma, it was suggested, that another vessel of the same name, was about to sail from the same port, and it was highly probable, that the good woman, in her haste to follow her husband, had inadvertently embarked in the wrong ship. in a short time, the vessel in question was recognised standing out of the port, as if anxious to join company the hermit of coombsditch. 101 with them. as he stood gazing in agonizing suspence, the vessel gained so fast upon them, that he could plainly perceive a female upon the deck, apparently in an imploring attitude, waving a handkerchief as a signal of her desire to be taken on board. he was convinced of the fatal error by which they had been separated. he answered her signal, and began to console himself with the hope, that when the wind should fall, an opportunity might be taken to send off a boat to get her on board. but the wind kept increasing from a gale to a hurricane, and the vessels were frequently hidden from the sight of each other in the 'trough of the sea. sky became terrific. lights were hung out, the stoutest hearts were impressed with the apprehensions of impending danger. but who can tell what were the feelings of the divided pair at this time? the night was tremendously dark; the rain fell in torrents; the thunder roared; the vessels were in mutual danger of falling on board each other, and were only distinguishable by the flashes the appearance of the when night closed in, signal guns fired, and 9* 102 the hermit of coombsditch. • of their guns from time to time, or the sheets of vivid lightning which illuminated their decks, and seemed ready to kindle their sails and rigging. at intervals, the rush of breakers warned them of being out of their course, and in the neighbourhood of some dangerous reef, or lee-shore. all night, the warning elements maintained the shock of conflict, and confusion reign'd; a thousand terrors brooded on the waves, to point the wand'rers to untimely graves. at the slow and heavy break of dawn, the tempest subsided; but not a sound was heard, not another sail was to be seen within the compass of the horizon. general apprehensions were entertained for the safety of the ship's consort; but, when the sun began to shoot its first long gleam across the waters, the only object they could distinguish, was the wreck of that unfortunate vessel floating by upon the waves. all fell upon their knees, and returned thanks to heaven for their preservation, save poor sylvester. he wept not! he prayed not! distraction laid his memory waste, mingling the present with the past; till dark oblivion came behind, to blot each record from his mind. the hermit of coombsditch. 103 though clear the skies, the horizon blue, nothing he heard-nor saw-nor knew t fate-struck he stood, and speechless, there,a moveless statue of despair? after the first emotions of agony had subsided, and all his hope had vanished, the unhappy man sunk into a state of insensibility, from which nothing could arouse him during the remainder of the voyage, and he became an object of general sympathy to the passengers and crew, who, in vain contributed all in their power to divert his mind, and miti gate his affliction. on reaching his native shore, his mind somewhat recovered its elasticity: he began to inquire for his relatives and friends, but most of them were no more. his daughter and her husband were both dead; and they had left behind an only child, named after the grandfather, sylvester, of whom some kind neighbour had taken charge. to describe the meeting of the grandfather and grandson, would be a fruitless attempt: we would rather imitate the painter who drew a veil over the countenance whose expression he could not delineate. from this interview, the child could not be induced to part with 104 the hermit of coombsditch. him. he became his only companion and chief solace; and, with the true spirit of a martyr, sacrificed the sweet days of childhood to his company and comfort. the hig. gler, the butcher, the baker, the pedlar, and the few market folks that passed, named the house "the hermitage;" for the owner was never seen beyond his garden stile; nor had his door hardly ever admitted a visiter, save the pious clergyman and his lady. his well preserved garments bore the stamp and fashion of earlier times, and he suffered his white beard to grow, till it,"low descending, swept his aged breast." it was said, he was never known to laugh: hence the few who ever caught sight of him, viewed him with a kind of mysterious reverence: but that little grandson never left his side, in sickness or in health, except when obliged to go on some necessary errand.he considered himself only a stranger, a sojourner upon earth, to which he had now but this one tie left to bind him, and hold him from heaven, where all his hopes centered. his sorrows had now softened into rethe hermit of coombsditch. 105 signation, and he found, in the stillness of retirement, consolations which the world knew nothing of to the lovers of activity and pleasure, their's would have appeared to be a monoto nous life; but they had enjoyments and recreations with which "a stranger could not intermeddle" morning and evening, from that lowly cottage, ascended the voice of prayer and praise: every season brought with it its employment; they never ate the bread of idleness. in the summer months, young sylvester was occupied in superintending the orchard, or cultivating the garden; while his aged grandfather sat under the shade of the large pippin tree, and directed his labours. here they watched the bees when they gave indication of swarming, and watered and cultivated the flowers from whence they derived their honey. their hours of relaxation were mostly spent in reading, of which the youth was passionately fond. the great hall window-bench was their library and book case, and the works it contained, were, a large quarto bible, adorned with copper-plates, the pilgrim's pro106 the hermit of coombsditch. gress, the whole duty of man, hervey's meditations, beveridge's private thoughts, robinson crusoe, the young man's companion, the remains of paradise lost, and the wreck of magazines, dictionaries, and school books. to such trivial sources, our young student owed the chief of his learning, and his knowledge; but he made the best use of what he knew, and devoted every thing to the gratification and consolation of him whose comforts were dearer to him than his own. as the good old man increased in years and infirmities, "he grew in grace." sometimes, he would say to himself, "i shall see her no more till the sea shall give up its dead," but he would soon check the repinings of nature, and resume that hallowed complacency of manners for which he had long been eminent. in his last moments, his orphan grandchild knelt at his bed-side to receive his blessing. then he poured out his heart in fervent prayer for his welfare, in the language of the patriarch of old :-"i die, but god will be with you," and will abundantly reward you the hermit of coombsditch. 107 for your tender and dutiful attachment to me. if you forsake not him, he will never forsake i confess with shame and sorrow, i you. have found it hard to trust him, but that time. is past-my only reliance now, is in the merits of the redeemer. mine has been a stormy and tempestuous life, but i have weathered the storm, and am now in view of that haven 'where the weary are at rest!' and, when the sea shall give up its dead,' i shall meet her again!"-he made an effort to proceed, but nature refused her office,-he sunk back, and expired, without a groan, or a struggle. 'tis well, amidst the storms of life, the care, the tumult, and the strife; when fails each human hope, and trustthere is a refuge for the just. here concludes the "eventful history of the hermit of coombsditch;" "but what," our youthful readers, will naturally ask, “became of his pious grandchild?" why, the pious clergyman, who consigned the grandfather to the tomb, having no children of his own, adopted him as his son. for many years, young sylvester enjoyed the melancholy privilege of planting flowers and shed108 the hermit of coombsditch. ding tears on his grandfather's grave; and, in process of time, his learning and piety advanced him to the pulpit of his excellent patron and foster-father, to whom he proved a worthy successor. thus the blessing of the dying grandfather descended upon the head of the dutiful grandson; and he received the temporal reward of his affectionate attachment and early sacrifices, in the satisfaction of his own conscience, and the love of all his parishioners. finis. vanderpool & cole, printers. war in peace: popery, puseyism. bible church-of-englandism. addressed to the people of england by one of themselves. london: hope & co., 16 great marlborough street. h i (1212 1 ख 21818, war in peace; popery, puseyism, church-of-englandism. a dramatic dialogue between three pilgrims and a venerable hermit. addressed to the people of england by one of themselves. london: hope & co., 16 great marlborough street. mdccclv. at vos dicite pontifices in sancto quid facit aurum ? nempè hoc quod veneri donatæ à virgine pupæ. quid damus id superis, de magnâ quod dare lance non possit magni messalæ lippa propago; compositum jus, fasque animi sanctosque recessus mentis et incoctum generoso pectus honesto hæc cedo ut admoveam templis et farre litabo. persii satira 11. war in peace. introduction. one evening, gentle reader, as i sat, and thought on this thing, and half-dream'd on that, my mind unconsciously began to trace the sects and superstitions of our race. mesmer appeared, and, dress'd in serge and hood, amidst a group of prostrate phantoms stood. did the old adder in the garden know, that through an apple mesmerism could flow? if so, he used it not "pro bono publico." thus musing, i was rapt into a trance, the visionary world seemed to advance, displaying clear to my astonished sight the mystic scene which i essay to write. critics, remit the rigour of your art, probe not too deep the language of the heart; i could not bear to see my native land betwixt the lord and baal wav'ring standoh! choose elijah's god, seek mercy at his hand! i. v sweet sang the birds, and brightly shone the sun, his sultry noontide heat scarce yet begun; the morning mist, by zephyr charmed away, showed where the cool luxurious landscape lay. i saw a road, divergent into three, marked by the branches of an aged tree, at whose gnarled trunk three pilgrims chanced to meet; and i beheld them cordially greet each other, ere they sought to rest their weary feet. 6 war in peace. ii. one looked the elder from his shaven crown, his sallow cheek, and uninviting frown, which he with ease could change into a smile, outwardly all nathaniel without guile. the next, although his head was not so bare, seemed to my mind as rev'rend with grey hair; his form was tall and portly, and he took no heed a gift-horse in the mouth to look, and "laisser faire" was written in his well-thumb'd book. iii. the third was young, and very clerkly dress'd, one from his intonation would have guess'd that sound to him was better far than sense, and to his mind of greater consequence. the guiding tree stood on a rising ground, with little hillocks dotted all around; . here they reposed, each choosing from the rest that mossy spot he thought would suit him best, when each in turn his fellow pilgrims twain address'd. war in peace. 7 iv. the tonsured pilgrim first took up the word, not loud but most distinctly was he heard: he said in britain, with an aching heart, he'd seen the catholics unjustly smart; rail'd at john knox and all his rabble rout, who turn'd queen mary to the right about, and dimm'd the brightness of her brilliant eye with his disgusting yell, "no popery! thus wringing from her bosom oft a bitter sigh. v. "" the sour old sinner, he would just as soon have tied a papist up as tied his shoon ; the vile plebeian name, john knox, indeed, his name and nature much too well agreed; and the grim puritans, with many a sect of blockheads, christened by themselves th' elect, who'd sing a psalm, and cut their neighbour's throat, in the same whining sanctimonious note, saying the sword of god and gideon 'twas that smote. 8 war in peace. vi. th' infernal "test act," which that truth withstood, that bread and wine turn into flesh and blood, and that the wafer, blest by priestly word, becomes the heaven and earth's incarnate lord, transferr'd supremacy in church affairs to those who never were ordained her heirs. must laymen dictate what the priest shall preach? meekly to learn is theirs, 'tis his to teach: the holiest of holies is beyond their reach. vii. oh! titus oates, leader of a foul crew of perjured hypocrites, who never knew remorse or shame, how can we e'er forget thee and thy cruel persecuting sect? and yet these english talk of liberty! good-make their irish brethren then free, oblige them not to pray for that they hate'tis right they should support the queen and state, but not a church which they like hell abominate! war in peace. 9 viii. the youthful traveller could not help confessing the sins of englishmen-but, by god's blessing, hop'd they would mend the errors of their way, and towards the altar turn them when they pray. 'twas his opinion that the prayers should be intoned, they sounded thus more heavenly; that babies' souls the act of sprinkling cleans, not step by step as gentle mother weans, but as by miracle the saviour intervenes. ix. christ's supper was to him his sacrifice, no place of worship ever could suffice, unless erected looking east and west: that was to him the trusty card'nal test ; the altar, too, should be with flowers deck'd and lighted candles heighten the effect; these were the customs when our church began. he only wished the flick'ring flame to fan, that so a stronger light may guide benighted man. 10 war in peace. x. each pilgrim now, except the stout grey head, had told his story, and his say had said; thus he commences-" friends, i wonder much that the report of england should be such as you deliver. i am native there, and vouch my fellows in their dealings fair: if aught they've erred, their leniency i blamethus has the tiny spark produced a flame, and thus a pope has dared to laugh us all to shame. xi. "give him an inch he'll take himself the ell; you grumble, 'send the heretic to hell.' i think, myself, religion should be free in mind, and thought, and true morality. but is not that too free where man is fain to save his soul by mere corporeal painwhere subtle priests man's death-bed fears may wake, and through those fears a cheaper market make, to barter for the heritage his kin should take? war in peace. 11 xii. "is that religion which denounces all who on their god without a proxy call, who seek his mercy, and to him confess their secret sins and inward wickedness? how can a mutual confidence arise. where wife and husband are domestic spies, where timid wives to grave confessors kneel, and all their conjugal affairs reveal, bursting through ties most sacred in mistaken zeal? xiii. "what pure religion says that orphans ought to be immured in nunneries, for nought except that priests may, by mock legal stealth, obtain th' inheritance of all their wealth? do they e'er strive to make a pauper nun? or after little pauper sisters run? but if a girl inherit land or gold, they'll take her young, and gradually mould her bias, or her fears, nor ever loose their hold,— 12 war in peace. xiv. "seclude her in a convent, feed her low, if her young blood with genial warmth do flow; bid her renounce all carnal appetites, and live alone for heaven and its delights. worn out at length, her o'erwrought powers fail, reason, alas! gives way-she takes the veil. ah, me, that veil it hides a tearful eye, beneath its folds is stifled many a sigh, born, like the youthful nun who breathes it, soon to die. xv. "with roman catholics the chiefest aim has ever been t' enslave, and not to tame. hoodwink the mind, the body must obey; confess that day is night, if so you say. with faith you need not fear the devil's grip, well oil'd ere death, you'll through his fingers slipdo evil that therefrom good may accrue, sin, but do penance, pay the priest his due, and then you're book'd for heaven-prepaid is stamp'd on you. war in peace. 13 xvi. "talk of our persecuting! all know well queen mary's reign, a diff'rent tale can tell of massacres! there's st. bartholomew, with scores of others, horrible as true; but as we all at issue seem to be, what say you, breth'ren, to a referee? an old recluse should hereabouts reside, fam'd for good deeds and precepts far and wide, to him let us repair, and our dissents confide." xvii. the frank suggestion pleased his rivals two, he leads, they follow-a dissolving view suddenly sets my dream-fraught brain before the hermit's rustic, unassuming door. on a low bench his aged limbs he rests, but, rising, welcomes his approaching guests. the spokesman brief prefers their common suit at large, and sev'rally the three dispute, he listening courteously 'till every tongue was mute. 14 war in peace. xviii. smiling around with calm majestic mien, lifting a brow though wrinkled, yet serene; his soft blue eye the gentle spirit showed, which doubly bless'd the gift his hand bestowed. then firmly thus :-" since you have chosen me with one consent, my friends, your referee, i will with faithful speech unfold my mind, not by god's help to any part inclin❜d, but as the merits weigh in strictest scale assign'd. "" xix. first, my grey-headed friend, to you i speak : you've been in faith too lax, in works too weak, too well contented with the layman's gold; your charitable actions are but cold. why in old england doth dissent abound, distributing so many schisms around? because dissenters go amongst the poor; they do not scorn t' unlatch the lowly door, console the sick man's griefs, and eke his slender store. war in peace. 15 xx. ""tis not this college with its formulists, nor that with all its learned dogmatists, empowers the heavenly message to declare which named man's slave th' almighty father's heir. your clergy are too highly taught to teach; ye can't descend, the poor can't mount to reach. st. peter's chair for ev'ry grade provides of penitents, enow of suited guides; through ear to heart the doctrine aptly worded slides. xxi. "you, my good youthful disputant, who see in making broad your own phylactery fair proof of grace—who zealous pains bestow, on genuflexions and on outward showyou've seized a shadow, but the substance lost, the gain how worthless! and how dear the cost! will he whom not th' unbounded heavens contain, to measure altitudes by inches deign? or hear because you chaunt the supplicative strain? 16 war in peace. xxii. "to sing withal supposes ear and voice, he blest with neither has an awkward choice; the english lack what's called the gift of song, to them doth skill in music scarce belong. then every parish church cannot afford a well train'd choir, to sing prayers to the lord; what if it could? whilst pious throats are bare of music;-is the congregation there to hear them sing, and not assist in fervent prayer? xxiii. "nor you, my tonsured visitor, deceive yourself to dream, these english will believe rome for her call, or dread her lightning's flash ; whip little boys, but spare adults the lash. the steady english, whilst they love to trust a worthy churchman, view with strong disgust ambition in the bosom dedicate to heaven's work; they'll kick at any rate against intruded rule of alien potentate. war in peace. 17 xxiv. "they would not that their orphan'd maids should be lured at their deaths into a nunnery. for mark the process :—whilst they swim in tears, the lady abbess soothingly appears; points up to heaven, bids them look for ease to her who can and will their grief appease. the blessed virgin, queen of heaven, whose love a treasure is, earth's idle joys above; apt is the hour the softened soul to mould and move. xxv. "in the wide world behold them sad, forlorn, poor little orphans, both their parents gone, whilst yet their tender hearts are fit to break, the priest approaches e'en for pity's sake. he tells them to be good and dry their eyes, to seek religious solace for their sighs; that if they're docile and his words obey, they'll meet their parents at an early day. he can by prayers abridge their purgatorial stay. 18 war in peace. xxvi. "now, as the streams of youthful passions grow, the priest directs them whither they shall flow; he speaks of christ and holy ardour shows, as he expounds his sorrows and his woes; directs their thoughts to fervent contemplation of heaven, or-if they wont obey-damnation ! thus is the mind by small gradations led, thus filled with fancy, thus on errors fed, and or the spirit's broke, or reason she has fled. xxvii. "they're taught with holy transport to desire the blessed warmth of christ's eternal fire, that so their hearts, with angel feelings bless'd, worked up to ecstasy, may mount in quest of that celestial never ending bliss, known but to those who taste the saviour's kiss; striving to roam in empyrean space, their minds unguided meet no resting place, and, giddy grown, forget the backward way to trace. war in peace. 19 xxviii. "is that religion which enlists the fears, and melts the maiden's gentle heart to tears, bids her fall prostrate wooden saints before, and not their god, but imaged men, adore— which on the fancy plays its magic spell, debasing heaven, etherializing hell? oh! fathers, mothers, ponder ere ye place those whom ye love beyond all earthly trace: convents and monasteries are the state's disgrace. xxix. "does god delight to see his gifts refused, not only set at nought, but e'en abused? does he desire that we should mortify our puny bodies which so soon must die? can that give pleasure to the god of grace which doth the body and the mind debase? or is that christ who died our souls to save well pleased to see us groan into the grave, shipwreck'd and swallowed up 'neath superstition's wave? 20 war in peace. xxx. "no, the great deity who gave us life, can surely not be pleased with mortal strife? the author of all good, he loves to see go hand in hand faith, hope, and charity. the first exalts the mind, and gives full scope, so that we ample room may find for hope, who bids us smile and look for better days, whilst charity her little store displays, and with 'good works' our sad and doleful fears allays. xxxi. "god made the green grass soothing to the eye, he gave us spring when birds sing merrily; the glorious summer and its glowing sun, with genial warmth to shine on ev'ry one; the autumn too, so that no sudden change of temp'rature our bodies disarrange, when winter comes with frosty air to brace man's limbs, and paint with ruddy glow his face. god gave us these things, good each in its proper place. war in peace. 21 xxxii. "he gave us also senses that we might enjoy these things in using them aright; then should not this beneficence divine deserve our praise, not lead us to repine, teach us to use those talents we possess, not thwart his views, and show our thanklessness? nature commands 'increase and multiply,' not 'shut yourself up in a nunnery ;' and, having spent a useless life, lie down and die. xxxiii. "your romish dogmas are a stumbling block, invented at man's better sense to mock. christ, ere he suffered, met a chosen few, who lov'd him, and he bade them then adieu. he brake the bread, and poured out the wine, and said himself that fruit was of the vine. how then could they both eat and drink their lord, whilst he himself presided at the board, blessing the simple food his words themselves record? 22 war in peace. xxxiv. "if he redeemed us at so great a price, that one atonement surely will suffice; whereas the papists make of none effect his death, they all his agonies reject; and every time they take their eucharist, recrucify indeed the very christ. 'tis a remembrance of his sojourn here, a token that the comforter is near, and ever ready to dry up the sinner's tear. xxxv. . "why should the virgin mary worshipped be? 'woman,' christ answered, 'what art thou to me?' and was her first-born mary's only child? or always she a virgin undefil'd? one might as well say at the marriage feast the water-pots were turn'd to gold at least, and that the spear which pierced our saviour's side by contact with his blood was sanctified. through him alone we're saved, else are his words belied. war in peace. 23 xxxvi. "that precept teaches sheer idolatry which inculcates that christ's divinity remain'd behind wrapped up in worn-out clothes, or that there's virtue in a dead saint's toes; and what's confession? but the jugglery of priests to build on man's credulity. "tis thus they learn his most besetting sin, and so instructed safely may begin to angle for him with a bait he glories in. xxxvii. "let us believe that god created all for some good purpose, be they great or small. whate'er the creed in conscience we profess, or right or wrong, we need not hope the less. if he see proper, we should understand who dwell in what is called a christian land. let us endeavour, with true christian art, by precept and example to impart the balm of comfort to, not strive to break, the heart. 24 war in peace. xxxviii. "alas, my friends! you christians persecute each other, and your precepts thus refute. combine together, join ye hand in hand, make of yourselves indeed a christian band; let useless forms to common sense give place, " do ye good works,' and trust to god for grace. in his good time, and as to him seem right, he'll shed on every soul his heav'nly light, and all your truly christian deeds god will requite. xxxix. "now fare ye well, think over what i've said, give ear to conscience, be by reason led, depart in peace, and whilst there yet is day, go each contentedly his chosen way; for night approaches, see the sun declines, e'en now it scarce the horizon's verge defines. if aught my strictures rankle in the breast of any one, i solemnly protest 'twas ye yourselves who sought-i spake at your request.” war in peace. 25 xl. methought they bade the good old man adieu, and in the distance soon were lost to view. they took three diff'rent roads, but i could see that one the young man took most probably from its direction very soon would end in bringing him to join his tonsured friend. i saw no more-yet, as the vision fled, a voice i heard, which echoes still-it said, "there must be pope or queen-the church must have a head." the end. ܀ 1 [ 36 285 ſ f i **** etittiințiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiite №！（~~~~№. ¿✉ae$§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§ № № 、。 ± ſae № № mºnºminiºn. ſº º º l rºni eerærerrrrrrrrſiiiiiiiiiiiſiiiiiiiitaem，iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiſiſ fiiiii hubbard imag. woy. … .º.o. &c. & 32. & 2% a q ***z’ * 2/ £% 2,224 ~~4… 2/ &2. %22.2, . ~~~ 7.2 & 22. & ...' ž4,”, az. a...?…, 2-y *...? / % //£30/ 2^ ż. 343. unparalleled suffer ings and surprising a d v ent u r es philip an englishman: containino, i. his conference with thoſe who four t he recites the moſt material ci that he was born in the pariſh of charitable contribution lockſmith. s ſ& j, § ſº, ºf å * f 3. ? – 1 & 172.3 ſº-º-º: o n t h e her mit’s solitude. ehold a man in his firſt claſs of years, when youthleſs ſports made way for growing cares, the chequer'd fortunes of a manly age, buſies reflecting ſenſe with thoughts more ſage: various affairs will cauſe a world of woes: then, in the fall of life, how ſweet’s repoſe ! the calm he now enjoys, makes full amends for all he felt—heav'n never ill intends; suff’rings are ſent to us from god above, to make us pračtiſe faith, and ſacred love, aw'd into patience, by freſh ſcenes of fate, we live too ſoon, and learn to live too late. in buſy worlds, and trading peopled towns, more faſt we fin, than fin itſelf abounds, in ſoft repoſe quarll empires does diſdain: free from diſquiet, ſolitude’s his gain. ... thoughts more ſublime, a haven more ſerene, may cauſe the ſplee nought e'er to vex him that may methinks i with him ſhare of and wiſh no better paradiſe t here’s not ambition with her gau . . . . 4...#3:38 ºnly train, nor envy trampling down the poor an 6 on solitude. nor avarice nor haughty pride invade, nor can remorſe his ſlumb'ring nights upbraid : in peace he reſts, unenvy’d or unknown, and pities monarchs on their toilſome throne. *tis with content quarll lives; he’s truly bleſs'd, has nought to dread, nor is with ought diſtreſs'd ; prays for his country, and its preſent prince, that he may reign in heav'n, when call'd from hence. there, in thoſe lonely ſhades, he juſt uproſe, a type of reſurre&tion to diſcloſe; ' a reſurre&tion from a wat'ry hell, where ſhoals of terror ſtrove which ſhould excel; a reſurre&tion, emblem of the laſt, which will recal our ev'ry guilt that’s paſt; drawing a glare of conſcience to our view, of horror for our fins, both old and new ; but ſo unſpotted in his preſent ſtate, i’d wiſh myſelf as happy; not more great : i'd know no change ; but, when god calls, obey, prepar’d in my account for judgment-day: then happy riſe from cares, and worldly toys, to more ſubſtantial and eternal joys. this honeſt hermit, at a tranſient view, seems to be born all precedent tº out-do. * something uncommon makes him wondrous ſeem : sound are his morals, drawn from ev’ry theme. thus from our engliſh her m1t learn to know, ..that early piety oppoſes woe. * sº the english hermit. * book i. * an account how mr. quarll was found out; with . a deſcription of his dreſs, habitation, and utenfils; as alſo his converſation with the perſons who firſt diſcovered him. having concluded all thoſe mercantile affairs, which i undertook, by this voyage, to negociate; and being upon my return for england, and windbound ; during my ſtay i daily walked about the ſea-ſhore. very early one morning, the weather being extremely fair, and the ſea wonderfully calm, as i was taking my uſual turn, i aceidentally fell into diſcourſe with a spaniſh mexican inhabitant, named alvarado; and as we were viewing the rocks which abound in thoſe ſeas, he deſired me to take notice of a vaſt long one about ſeven leagues from ſhore, which he ſaid, was ſuppoſed to incloſe ſome land, by its great extent; but the acceſs to it was very dangerous, by -ſon of the rocks, which reached ſo far under wa being in ſome places too ſhallow for boats, an 8 philip quarll. others too deep to ford over; and the ſea commonly very rough in that place, hitherto prevented farther reſearches, ſuppoſing the advantage which might accrue from the land, would not countervail the coſt and trouble of making it inhabitable; for that he and ſome friends had, on a fine day, as it now was, the curioſity to go as near as they could with ſafety, which was about fifty yards from the main rock, but were forced to return as unſatisfied as they went ; only, that he had the pleaſure of catching ſome delicious fiſh, which lay playing upon the ſurface of the water, having a rod in his hand, and lines in his pocket, being ſeldom without when he walks on the ſea-ſhore; theſe fiſh are ſomewhat larger than an herring in its prime, ſkinned like a mackerel, made as a gudgeon, and of divers beautiful colours; eſpecially if caught in a fair day; having ſince obſerved, that they are more or leſs beautiful, according to the ſerenity of the weather. the account he gave me of them excited my curioſity to go and catch ſome; and he being, as uſual, provided with tackle, we picked up a parcel of yellow maggots, which breed in dead tortoiſes upon the rock, at which thoſe fiſhes bite very eagerly. . thus equipped with all neceſſaries for the ſport, we agreed with a yº, one of the long-boat's crew, belonging to the ſhip i came over in ; whoſe . maſter being juſt come on ſhore, and not expected to return ſpeedily, he readily conſented to row us thi. ther for about the value of a ſhilling. being come to the place, we found extraordinary ſport; the fiſhes were ſo eager, that our fines were no ſooner in but we had a bite. *whilſt we were fiſhing, the young man that rowed us thither, eſpying a cleft in the rock, through which he ſaw a light, had a mind to ſee what was at the other fide; ſo put off his clothes in order to wade to it: thus, having taken the hitches of the boat, he gropes .# for ſure footing, the rock being very full of olćs, being come to the cleft, he creeps through, and in a ſhort time returns, calling to us with precipitation, which expreſſed both joy and ſurpriſe : gentlemen! gentlemen i ſaid he, i have made a diſcovery of a new land, and the fineſt that the ſun ever ſhone on : leave off your fiſhing; you will find here much better buſineſs. having by that time caught a pretty handfome diſh of fiſh, we put up our tackling, faſtened our boat to the rock, and ſo we went to ſee this newfoundland. º being come at the other fide of the rock, we ſaw as he ſaid, a moſt delightful country, but deſpaired going to it, there being a lake about a . at the bottom of the rock, which parted it from the land; for neither alvarado nor myſelf could ſwim : but the young fellow, who could, having leaped into the water, finding it all the way but breaſt§ we went in alſo, and waded to the other ſide, which aſcended gently, about five or fix feet from the lake, to a moſt pleaſant land, flat and level, covered with a curious graſs, and ſomething like chamomile, but of no ſmell, and of an agreeable taſte : it bore alſo abundance of fine lofty trees, of different kinds and make, which in ſeveral places ſtood in cluſters, compoſing groves of different heights and largeneſs. being come to a place where the trees ſtood in ſuch a diſpoſition as gave our fight a greater ſcope, we ſaw, at ſome diſtance, sº moſt delightful wood of confiderable extent. the agreeableneſs of the perſpective made by nature, both for the creating pleaſure, and condale *a* : ce of grief, to philip quarll. prompted my curioſity to a view of the delights which the diſtance we were at might, in ſome meaſure, rob . us of: but alvarado, who, till then, had diſcerned nothing whereby we could judge the iſland to be inhabited, was fearful, and would not venturefarther that way, leaſt we ſhould of a ſudden be ſallied upon by wild beaſts out of the wood; and, as i could not diſcommend his precaution, the thickneſs of it giving room to believe there might be dangerous creatures in it; fo he went ſouthward, finding numbers of fine trees, and here and there ſmall groves, which we judged to be compoſed of forty or fifty ſeveral trees : but, upon examination, we found it, to our great amazement, to proceed from only one plant; whoſe outmoſt lower branches, bending to the ground, about ſeven or eight feet from the middle ſtem, ſtruck root, and became plants; which did the ſame ; and in that manner covered a confiderable ſpot of ground; ſtill gº's leſs, as they ſtood fartheſt from the old ody. ? having walked ſome time under that moſt ſurpriſ. ing and wonderful plant, admiring the greatneſs of nature’s works, we went on, finding ſeveral of the ſame in our way, wherein haboured monkeys ; but their ſwift flight prevented our diſcerning their colours : yet, going on, we found there were two kinds; one having green backs, with yellow faces and bellies; the other grey, with white bellies and faces; but both forts exceedingly beautiful. . . at ſome diſtance we perceived three things ſtanding together, which i took to be houſes: i believe faid i, this iſland is inhabited, for, if i miſtake not, yonder are dwelling-places. so they are, ſaid alvarado; and therefore i don’t think it wiſdom to venture any farther, left they ſhould be ſavages and do philip quarll. ii us hurt; ſo would have gone back : but i was reſolved to ſee what they were, and perſuaded him to go on; ſaying, it would be time enough for us to retreat when we perceived danger. that may be too late, ſaid he for as evil does not always ſucceed danger, danger does not always precede evil; we may be ſurpriſed. well, well, ſaid i, if any people ſhould come upon us, we muſt ſee them at ſome diſtance; and if we cannot avoid them, here are three of us, and a good long ſtaff with an iron point at one end, and a hook at the other: i ſhall exerciſe that, and keep them off, at leaſt till you get away : come along and fear not. so i pulled him along. being come near enough to diſcern better, we found, that what we took for houſes were rather arbours, being apparently made of green trees: then, indeed, i began to fancy ſome wild people inhabited them, and doubted whether it were ſafe to go nearer; but concealed my doubt, left. i ſhould intimidate alvarado ſo that he ſhould run away, to which he was very much inclined. i only ſlackened my pace, which alvarado perceiving, imagined that i ſaw ſome evil coming, which he thought unavoidable; and not daring to go from his company, he only condoled his misfortune; he dearly repented taking my advice : that he feared we ſhould pay dearly for our filly curioſity; for indeed thoſe things were more like thieves’ dens, or wild people’s huts, than chriſtians’ habitations. by this time we were come near a ſpot of ground, pretty clear of trees, on which ſome animals were feeding, which i took to be goats; but alvarado fancied them to be deer, by their ſwift flight at our appearing : however, i fancied by their ſhyneſs; that we were out of the way in our judgment concerning 12 philip quarll. the arbours: for, ſaid i, if theſe were inhabited, thoſe creatures would not have been ſo ſcared at the ſight of men; and, if by nature wild, they would not graze ſo near men’s habitations, had there been any body in them. i rather believe ſome hermit has formerly lived there, and is either dead or gone. alvarado, who to that time had neither heard nor ſeen any thing that could contradićt what i had ſaid, began to acquieſce to it, and goes on. `, being come within reach of plain diſcernment, we were ſurpriſed : if theſe, ſaid i, be the works of ſavages, they far exceed our expert artiſts. their regularity appeared unconfined to the rules of art, and complete archite&ture without the craft of the artiſt; nature and time only being capable of bringing them to that perfeótion. they were neither houſes, huts, nor arbours; yet had all the uſefulneſs and agreements of each i having ſufficiently admired the uncommon beauty of the outſide without interruption, but rather diverted with the moſt agreeable harmony of various finging-birds, as perched on a green hedge, which ſurrounded about one acre of land near the place, we had the curioſity to ſee the infide; and being neareſt the middlembit, we examined that firſt. . it was about nine feet high, and as much ſquare; the walls were ſtraight and ſmooth, covered with green leaves, ſomething like thoſe of a mulberry-tree, lying as cloſe and regular as ſlates on a ſlated houſe; the top went up rounding like a cupola, and covered in the ſame manner as the ſides: from each corner, iſſued a ſtraight ſtem, about twelve feet higher, bare of branches to top, which were very full of leaves, and ſpread making a moſt pleaſant canopy to the manſions . 'º. * , , ; : r * : *::#;º t s > -ºtº philip quarll. 15 being full of admiration at the wonderful ſtrućture and nature of the place, we came to a door which was made of green twigs neatly woven, and faſteni. with a ſmall ſtick, through a loop made of the 3. in e. the door being faſtened without, gave us encouragement to venture in ; it being evident that the hoſt was abſent: ſo we opened it, and the firſt thing we ſaw, being oppoſite to the door, was a bed lying on the ground, which was an hard dry hearth, very ſmooth and clean : we had the curioſity to examine what it was made of, and found it another ſubjećt offidmiration. the covering was a mat about three inches thick, made of a ſort of graſs, which though as dry hay, was as green as a leek, felt as ſoft 3s the gs, cotton; and was as warm as wool : the bed was inade of the ſame, and in the ſame manner, but three times as thick; which made it as eaſy as a downbed; under that lay another but ſomewhat harder. at one ſide of the room ſtood a table made of two pieces of thin oak board, about three feet long, faſtened upon four ſticks driven into the ground, and by it a chair made of green twigs, at the door; at the other ſide of the room lay a cheſt on the ground, like a ſailor's ſmall cheſt; over it, againſt the wall, hung a linen jacket and breeches, ſuch as ſeamen wear on board ; on another pin hung a large coat, or gown, made of the ſame ſort of graſs, and after the ſame manner as the bed’s covering, but not above half an inch thick; and a cap by it of the ſame: theſe we ſuppoſed to be a winter garb for ſomebody. having viewed the furniture of the dwelling-place, we examined its fabric, which we could not find out by the outſide, it being ſo cloſely covered with leaves; , * we found it to be ſeveral the inſide being 5. *** i4. philip quarll. trees, whoſe bodies met cloſe, and made a ſolid wall, which by the breadth of every ſtem, we judged to be about fix inches thick : their bark being very ſmooth, and of a pleaſant olive colour, made a mighty agreeable wainſcotting ; the roof, which was hung very thick with leaves and branches, which reached from end to end, and were croſſed over by the fide ones that were woven between, which made a very even and ſmooth ceiling, ſo thick of leaves and branches, that no rain could penetrate. my companion’s uneaſineſs, expecting the hoſt’s return every moment, hindered my examining every thing more narrowly ; and having ſlightly looked into the cheſt, which lay open, wherein we ſaw nothing but ſheets of parchment, which his haſte would not permit me to look into, we went away. going out we ſaw at one corner of the room, behind the door, a couple of firelocks, the fight of which much alarmed my company, and, i muſt confeſs, ſtartled me ; for till then, i was inclinable to believe ſome hermit dwelt in the place: but finding arms in the room of a crucifix, and religious pićtures, which were the common ornaments of thoſe religious men, made me waver in my opinion ; and having taken the pieces in my hands, which, for ruſt, appeared not to have been fit for uſe for many years, renewed my former opinion ; ſuppoſing them to be the effects of ſome ſhipwreck, which the hermit found upon the rocks. but my company, perfiſting in their own, haſtened out, and would have gone quite away, without ſeeing any more, had i not, by many argue ments, made them ſenſible, that if thoſe arms had been intended for the evil uſe alvarado imagined, they would have been kept in better order; to which being obliged to acquieſce, he conſented to go and es: philip quarll. i 5 amine the other, it being as worthy of admiration as that we had ſeen, though quite of another nature, but much of the ſame height and make. the next we came at was covered with the ſame ſort of graſs as grew on the ground, which lay as even as though it had been mowed and rolled; behind it, were ſeveral lodges, made, as it were, for ſome dogs; but we neither ſaw nor heard any. having viewed the place all around, we poſted the young fellow with us at the outſide, to give notice when any body appeared, left we ſhould be ſurpriſed whilſt we ſaw the infide : ſo, having opened the door, which was made and faſtened after the manner of the firſt, we went in, expecting to find another dwellin place, but it proved rather a kitchen; there being no bed, but only a parcel of ſhells, of different ſizes, which we ſuppoſed to be applied for utenfils, ſome being ſcorched at the outfide; as having been on the fire, but exceeding clean within ; the reſt were, both inſide and outfide, as fine as nakes of pearl. at one end of the room was a hole cut in the ground like a ſtew-ſtove, in great kitchens ; about three or four feet from that there was another fireplace, made of three ſtones, fit to roaſt at ; in both which places appeared to have been fire lately, by wood coals, and aſhes freſh made. this confirmed my opinion, that it wasan hermitage. alvarado, who all along . feared we ſhould meet with men who would miſuſe us, was not a little pleaſed to find fire-places in room of beds, and kitchen utenfils inſtead of weapons. i hope, ſaid he, we are not in ſo great danger as i feared; here cannot be many men, unleſs they crowd together in yonder place ; and, if ſo they would have been here before now, had they been in the way. *his fears being in a great meaſure diſperſed, we look2 b 2 e 16. philip quarll. ed about more leiſurely ; and, ſeeing ſeveral ſhells, that were covered, on a ſhelf that lay acroſs two ſticks in the wall, which was made of turf, we had the curioſity to ſee what was in them; and found in one, pickled anchovies; in others muſhrooms, capers, and other ſorts of pickles. let them, ſaid i, be who they will that dwell here, i am ſure they know good eating ; and therefore, probably, may be no ſtrangers to good manners. upon another ſhelf, behind the door, lay divers forts of dried fiſhes; and upon the . #. ſtood uncovered, two cheſts with fiſh and fleſh in ſalt. . theſe proviſions being ſomewhat too voluptuous for an hermit, gave us room for ſpeculation. i have lived (ſaid alvarado) at mexico theſe ſix years, and have been at peru about twenty times, and yet never heard talk of this iſland; the acceſs to it is ſo difficult, and dangerous, that, i dare ſay, we are the firſt that have been on theſe fides of the rocks. i am very apt to believe, that a company of determined buccaniers, which are ſaid to frequent theſe ſeas, ſhelter here; and that the habitation we have ſeen, and this place, belong to their captain; and that the company reſorts in caves up and down theſe rocks. really i could not well gainſay it, it being too probable; yet i would not altogether acquieſce to his opinion, left he ſhould thereby take a motive to go away. before we had ſeen the other place. i muſt confeſs, ſaid. i, here is room for conjećtures, but no proof of certainty; however, let it be as you ſay, it is a plain. caſe here are none to diſturb us; therefore whilſt we have liberty, let us ſee the other place ; ſo we faſten-. ed the door as we found it, and went to the next, which was ſhut after the manner as the two preced ing, but made of quite different ſtuff; being a com philip quarll. 17 plete arbour, compoſed of trees, planted within a foot of one another, whoſe branches were woven together in ſuch a regular manner, that they made ſeveral agreeable compartments, and ſo cloſe, that nothing but air could enter; it was of the ſame height and bigneſs with the kitchen : which ſtood at the other end of the dwelling-place, which made a very uniform wing to it. the coolneſs of the arbour removed our doubts of its being another dwelling, unleſs only uſed in hot weather. f having ſufficiently viewed the outſide, we went in, and found ſeveral boards, like dreſſers, or tables in a pantry, on which lay divers broad and deep ſhells, as beautiful as thoſe in the kitchen ; in ſome of which was butter, in others cream and milk. on a ſhelf lay ſeveral ſmall cheeſes, and on others a parcel of roots like jeruſalem artichokes, which ſeemed to have been roaſted. all this did but confirm the opinion we were in, that it was no hermitage; there being ſufficient to gratify the appetite, as well as to ſupport nature. therefore not knowing what to think of the maſter of the houſe, we made no long ſtay, but concluded to haſte and get our fiſh dreſſed, it being near dinnertime; and as the trees ſtood very thick in land, and might conceal men from our fight till we came too near to ſhun them ; we thought it proper to walk on # the outfide, near the rocks, that we might ſee at ſome diſtance before us. walking along, a phlegm ſticking in my throat, i happened to havk pretty loud; the noiſe was anſwered from i believe twenty places of the rock, and in as many different founds; which alarmed alvarado, who ºok it to be a ſignal from men concealed up and # down the rock, not confidering the difficulty of their 2o philip quarll. to diſcern our ſpeaking engliſh, let fall a bundle of ſticks he had under one arm, and a hatchet he carried in the other hand, and runs to me, being next to him, embracing me, and ſaying, dear countrymen, for i hear you are engliſhmen, by what accident are ye come hither ? a place, the approach whereof is defended by a thouſand perils and dangers, and not to be come at but by a narrow eſcape of death. are ye ſhipwrecked 2 no, thank god, ſaid i, moſt reverend father; it was mere curioſity that brought us hither ; theſe perils, which you ſay defended the approach of this iſland, being abſent, by the extraordinary calmneſs cºf the ſea. but, if i may aſk, pray how did you come hither ? by the help of providence, replied the good old man, who ſnatched me from out of the ravenous jaws of death, to fix me in this ſafe and peaceable ſpot of land. i was ſhipwrecked, thanks to my maker, and was ſaved by being caſt away. i conceive, fir, ſaid i, you have been chaſed by ſome pirates, and eſcaped ſlavery by ſtriking upon the rocks, which ſurround this iſland: but now you have avoided that diſmal fate, embrace the lucky opportunity of getting away from a place ſo remote from human aſſiſtance, which your age makes you ſtand in need of. that is your miſtake, replied the old man : he who truſts in god, needs no other help. i allow * that, fir, ſaid i, but our truſt in god doth not require us to caſt away, or deſpiſe the help of man. i do not in the leaſt queſtion your piety, but miſtruſt the frailty of nature, and debility of age; therefore would have you come and live within the reach of attendance. you may without ſlackening your devotion, live in the world; you ſhall have no occaſion to concern yourſelf with any cares that may diſturb your [... thoughts. no, replied the old man ; was i to e made emperor of the univerſe, i would not be conphilip quarll. 21 cerned with the world again; nor would you require me, did you but know the happineſs 1 enjoy out of it. come along with me; and if after you have ſeen how i live here, you perſiſt in your advice, i will ſay you have no notion of an happy life. i have, good fir, ſaid i, already ſeen, with great admiration, your matchleſs habitation; but there are other neceſſaries your age requires; as clothes, to defend the . of the air; and meat ſuitable to the weakneſs of your ſtomach. that is your miſtake, replied the old man, i want for no clothes; i have a change for every ſeaſon of the year: i am not confined to faſhions, but ſuit my own conveniences. now this is my ſummer dreſs; i put on warmer as the weather grows colder; and for my meat, i have fiſh, fleſh, and fowls; and as choice as a man can wiſh for. come, you ſhall dine with me, and ten to one but i may give you veniſon, and perhaps a diſh of wild fowl too: let us go' and ſee what providence has ſent us. so we went to a wood, about a mile farther, where he had faſtened ſeveral low nets, in different gaps, in the thickſet; in one of which happened to be an animal ſomethin like a fawn, twice as big as an hare, the colour of a fox, and faced and footed like a goat. did i not tell you, ſaid the good man, i might chance to give you veniſon now let us look after the fowls. so we, ‘went a little farther, at a place where he had hung a long net between two high trees, at the bottom of which was faſtened a bag of the ſame to receive the fowls, who in the night, being ſtopped by the net, fluttered to the bottom, there alſo happened to be é. ... a couple of fowls, made like woodcocks, but of the bigneſs and colour of a pheaſant, were taken at the bottom of a bag. now ſaid the old man, theſe i have without committing the fin of bidding #, 22 philip quarll. leſs for them than i know they are worth, or making the poulterers ſwear they coſt them more than they did. well, now i may give you a diſh of fiſh alſo, it is but going half a mile, or thereabouts. there is no need, fir, ſaid i, for any more, there are but four of us, and here is proviſions for half a ſcore ; but if you are diſpoſed for fiſh, we have ſome in the boat on the other fide of the rock : it is but going for them. very well, ſaid the old man; it is but going about a mile, then ſtrip and wade over a lake, then climb up a rugged rock twice backward and forward, to fetch what we can have for only taking a pleaſant walk, all the while diverted with the ſweet harmony of a number of fine birds. look here : this complaiſance often puts men to a world of needleſs trouble : come, we will make a ſhift to pick a dinner out of theſe. sir, ſaid i, it is no ſhift where there is ſuch plenty. plenty 1 ſaid the old man ; why i tell ye, this is a ſecond garden of eden; only here is no forbidden fruit, nor women to tempt a man. i ſee, fir, ſaid i, providence ſupplies you plentifully with neceſſaries, if age does not deprive you of ſtrength. age | replied the old man, why i am not ſo old as that comes to, neither: i was but eight-and-twenty when i was caſt away, and that is but fifty years ago. indeed if i lived as you do that dwell in the wife world, who hurry on your days as if your end came on too ſlow, i might be accounted old. i do not gainſay, reverend father, but that you bear your age wonderfully well ; but a multiplicity of days muſt make the ſtrongeſt nature blind: yes, time will break the tougheſt conſtitu. tion, and by what you ſay, you have ſeen a confiderable number of years. yes, replied the old man, a few days have run over my head, but i never ſtrove to outrun them, as they do that live too faſt. well, ſays philip quarll. 23 he, you are a young man, and have ſeen fewer days than i, yet may be almoſt worn out : come, match this, ſays he. with that he gave a hem, with ſuch a ſtrength and clearneſs, that the ſound made my ears tingle for ſome minutes after. indeed, fir, ſaid i, you have ſo far outdone what i can pretend to do, that i will not preſume to imitate you. then i am afraid, ſaid he, you will prove to be the old man. well, then you, or your friend, the ſtrongeſt of you, fetch hither that ſtone; it does not look to be very heavy (pointing at a large ſtone that lay about two yards off) i will endeavour, fir, ſaid i, to roll it, for i dare ſay, it is paſt my ſtrength to lift it. so to pleaſe the old man, i went to take it up ; but could hardly move it. come, come, ſaid the old gentleman, i find that muſt be work for me. with that he goes, takes up the ſtone, and toſſes it to the place he bid me brin it. i fee, ſaid he, you have exerted your ſºft too often, which makes you now ſo weak: well, you fee the advantage of living remote from the world: had you had leſs of human aſſiſtance, i am apt to believe you would not want it ſo ſoon as you are likely to do. come let us make much of that little ſtrength we have left, taking neceſſary ſupport at proper times: it is now paſt noon; therefore let us loſe no time, but haſte home to get our dinner ready. so we went back to the place where the bundle of ſticks lay, which we made the young fellow with us carry, and went dire&tly to the kitchen; where, whilſt he made a fire, one caſt the animal, and the other two pulled the fowls. i am ſorry, ſaid the old man, you? muſt take that trouble; but your preſence has frightened away my ſervant, who uſed to do that work for me. . have you a ſervant, then, fir, ſaid i. yes faid he, and one a native of this iſland." then i find, º º 24 philip quarll. fir, ſaid i, this iſland is inhabited. yes, anſwered the old man with monkeys and myſelf, but nobody elſe, thank god: otherwiſe i can tell you, i ſhould hardly have lived ſo long. then, fir, ſaid i, i ſuppoſe that was it we ſaw run up a tree. yes, ſaid he, my, monkey like myſelf, loves not much company. pray, fir, ſaid i, how did you bring him ſo well command, as to keep him with you, when he h liberty to run away ? i wonder the wild ones : entice him from you. i had him young, replied the old man, and made very much of him, which thoſe creatures dearly love: beſides, when he was grown up, the wild ones would not ſuffer him amongſt them; ſo that he was forced to remain with me. i had another before this ; but he i may ſay, was ſent by providence, both to be an help and diverſion to me; §: he was ſo knowing that he took a great deal of labour off my hands, and diſperſed many anxious hours, which the irkſomeneſs of my ſolitude had created. it is now about twelve years fince; for i keep a memorial, which indeed i deſigned to have been a journal ; but i unfortunately let the regular order of the days ſlip out of my memory; however, i. obſerve a ſeventh day, and reckon the years from winter to winter; ſo i cannot well miſtake. one day, when i had roaſted a quantity of roots, which i eat inſtead of bread, having ſpread them on my table and cheſt to cool, in order to lay them by for uſe ; i went out, leaving my door open, to let having walked an hour or two, i returned home, where i found a monkey, whom the ſmell of the hot roots had brought; who during my abſence, had been eating. myºpreſence very much ſurpriſed him, yet * i.º.º. only diſcontinued eating, ſtarphilip quarll. 25 ing me in the face; the unexpečted gueſt at once ſtartled me, and filled me with admiration; for, certainly no creature of its kind could be compared to it for beauty. his back was of a lively green, his face and belly of a lively yellow ; his coat all over ſhining like burniſhed gold. the extraordinary beauty of the creature raiſed in me an ardent deſire to keep him; but i deſpaired of ever making him tame, being come to his full growth : therefore having reſolved to keep him tied, i went in and ſhut the door, the beaſt, which till then, had not offered to make his eſcape, appeared very much diſturbed, and ſtared about him for ſome place to get out at : perceiving his diſorder, i did not advance, but turned my jº to him; to give him time to compoſe himſelf, which he in a ſhort time did, as appeared by his falling to eat again ; which made me conceive hopes that i ſhould in time, make him familiar. having about me ſtale roaſted roots, which eat much pleaſanter than the freſh, and are leſs ſtuffing, i threw ſome at him, at which he ſeemed diſpleaſed, and ſtood ſtill a while, ſtaring in my face; but my looking well pleaſed, which i believe the animal was ſenſible of, made him pick them up, and fall to eating with a freſh appetite. i was overjoyed at his eaſy compoſure; ſo reached him water in a ſhell, that the want of nothing might induce him to retreat. i ſet it down as near him as i could, without diſturbing him, he came to it very orderly, and having drank his fill, he laid it down, and looked me in the face, careleſsly feratching his backfide ; ſeeing he had done, i adº vanced, and took away the ſhell, at which he never the forward diſpoſition of the beaſt towards a perfeet familiarity, made me gºla to ſtay within thº 28 philip quarll. and, from the very beginning, be ſo docile and tractable. o ! ſurely it was endowed with more than natural inſtinét 1 for perfeót reaſon was ſeen in all its aćtions. indeed i was happy whilſt i had him ; but my happineſs, alas ! was not of long ſtanding. as he ſpoke, i perceived tears in his eyes. pray, fir, ſaid i, what became of that wonderful creature alas! ſaid he, he was killed by monkeys of the other kinds, which fell upon him, one day, as he was going for water by himſelf: for the poor dear creature was grown ſo knowing, that if, at any time, either firing or water was wanted, i had nothing to do but to give him the bundle of cords, or the empty veſſel, and he would ſtraight go and fetch either: in ſhort, he wanted nothing but ſpeech to complete him for human ſociety. indeed, fir, ſaid i, i cannot blame you for bemoaning the loſs of ſo incomparable a creature; the account you give of him well entitles his memory to regret : but i hope this you have now, in a great meaſure, makes up your loſs. o ! not by far, replied the old man ; indeed he goes about with me, and will carry a faggot, or a veſſel of water, pick a fowl, turn the ſpit or ſtring, when meat is roaſting ; yet he is nothing like my dear beaufidelle; for ſo i called that moſt lovely creature; beſides, this is unlucky in imitating me, he often does me miſ¥ chief. it was but the other day i had been writing for fiv x hours; i had occaſion to go out, and happened to leave my pen and ink upon the table, and the parchment i had been writing on cloſe by it: *i was no ſooner gone, but the miſchievous beaſt falls ork, ſcribbling over every word i had been writand when he had done, he lays it by in the ºff, as he ſaw me do what i had written, and takes out another, which he does the ſame to, and ſo to f philip quarll. 29 half a ſcore more ; my return prevented his doing more miſchief: however, in a quarter of an hour, that i was abſent, he blotted out as much as i had been full fix in months writing. indeed i was angry, and would have beaten him ; but that i confidered my revenge would not have repaired the damage, but rather perhaps, add to my loſs, by making the beaſt run away. pray, fir, ſaid i, how came you by him 2 did he alſo give himſelf to you ? no, replied the old man, i had him young, and by mere accident, unexpećted and unſought for ; having loſt both time and labour about getting one in the room of him i had ſo unfortunately loſt. the old ones are ſo fond of their young, that they never are from them, unleſs in their play they chaſe one another into the other kind’s quarters, where their dams dare not follow them : for they are ſuch enemies to one another, that they watch all opportunities to catch all they can of the contrary ſort, which they immediately ſtrangle : which keeps their increaſe very backward, that would otherwiſe grow too numerous for the food the iſland produces ; which is, i believe the cauſe of their animoſity. 3. about eight years ago, which is the time i had this beaſt, i was walking under one of the cluſters of trees where the green fort of monkeys harbour, which being the largeſt and moſt ſhady in the iſland, i took the moſt delight therein : as i was walking, at a ſmall diſtance from me this creature dropt off a tree, and lay for dead; which being of the grey sind, made me wonder leſs at the accident. -i went and took him up; and accidentally handling his throat, i opened his windpipe, which was almoſt ſqueezed cloſe by that which took him, which my ſudden comin vented from ſtrangling quite. i was extremely wº 30 philip quarll. pleaſed at the event, by which i got what my paſt cares and diligence never could produce me. having pretty well recovered its breath, and 1 ſeeing no viſible hurt about it, i imagined that i ſoon might recover it quite ; ſo haſtened home with it, gave it warm milk, and laid it on my bed ; ſo that with careful nurſing i quite recovered him ; and with good keeping made the rogue thrive to that degree, that he has outgrown the reſt of his kind. no queſtion, fir, ſaid i, having taken ſuch pains with him, you love him as well as his predeceſſor. i cannot ſay fo, neither, replied the old man; though i cannot ſay but that i love the creature : but its having the ill fortune to be of that unlucky kind which was the death of my dear beaufidelle, in a great meaſure leſſens my affections. beſides, he falls ſo ſhort, both of his merit and beauty, that i muſt give the deceaſed the preference : and was it not for his cunning tricks, which often divert me, i ſhould hardly value him at all : but he is ſo very cunning and facetious, that he makes me love him, notwithſtanding i mortally hate his kind. i muſt divert you, whilſt dinner is getting ready, with an account of ſome of his tricks. being extremely fond of me, he very ſeldom would be from me, but followed me every where : and as he uſed to go with me when i went to examine my nets, ſeeing me now and then take out game, he would of his own accord, when he ſaw me buſy writing, go and fetch what happened to be taken. one day finding a fowl in the net-bag, he pulled it alive as he brought it home; ſo that i could not ſee any thing whereby to diſcern its kind. as ſoon as he came in, he ſet it down with ſuch motions as expreſſed joy; the poor naked fowl was no ſooner out of his clutches, but that it took to its legs, for philip quarll. 31 want of wings : its ſudden eſcape ſo ſurpriſed the captor, that he ſtood amazed for a while, which gave the poor creature time to gain a confiderable ſcope of ground ; but the aſtoniſhed beaſt, being recovered from his ſurpriſe, ſoon made after it: but was a confiderable time before he could catch it, having nothing to lay hold of; ſo that the fowl would ſlip out of his hands. the race held about a quarter of an hour, in which time the poor creature, having run itſelf out of breath, was forced to lie down before its purſuer, who immediately threw himſelf upon it; ſo took it up in his arms, and brought it home, but was not ſo ready to ſet it down as before ; for he held it by one leg till i had laid hold of it. i had a ſecond time as good diverſion, but after another manner. one morning early, whilſt i was buſy in my cottage, he went out, unperceived by me; and having been a confiderable time abſent, i feared that ſuch another accident had befallen him as that which happened to his predeceſſor; ſo i went to ſee after him, and as he would often go and viſit the nets in the woods, i went there firſt, where i found him very buſy with ſuch an animal as this we have here, which he found taken in one of the gap-mets, and being near as big, he kept him a great while ſtruggling for maſterſhip ; ſometimes he would take it by the ears, now . and then by the leg, next by the tail; but could not get him along : at laſt he laid hold of one of his hind legs, and with the other hand ſmote him on the back, in order to drive him, not being able to pull him along; but the beaſt being ſtrong, ſtill made towards the thickſet, where he certainly would have hauled the driver, had i not come up to help him. thus the old gentleman entertained us with his monkey’s tricks whilſt dinner was dreſſing. 32 philip quarll. the dinner being ready, we went to the dwellingplace to eat it, leaving the young fellow that was with us to attend the roaſted meat, while we ate the firſt diſh. -the old gentleman having laid the cloth, which, though ſomething coarſe, being made out of part of a ſhip’s fail, was very clean, he laid three ſhells on it, about the bigneſs of a middle-ſized plate, but as beautiful as any nakes of pearl i ever ſaw ; gentlemen, ſays he, if you can eat off ſhells, ye are welcome; i have no better plates to give you. sir, ſaid i, theſe are preferable to filver ones, in my opinion ; and i very much queſtion whether any prince in europe can produce ſo curious a ſervice. they may be richer, replied the old man, but not cleaner. the firſt diſh he ſerved was ſoup in a large deep ſhell, as fine as the firſt, and one ſpoon made of ſhell, which he ſaid was all his ſtock, being not uſed to, nor expecting company : however, he fetched a couple of muſcle ſhells, which he waſhed very clean; then gave alvarado one, and took the other himſelf, obliging me to make uſe of the ſpoon : ſo we ſat down, alvarado and 1 upon the cheſt, which we drew near the table, and the old gentleman (though much againſt his will) upon the chair. . . . . . . . . . . being ſat down, we fell to eating the ſoup, whoſe fragrant ſmell excited my appetite; and i profeſs the taſte thereof was ſo excellent, that i never eat any comparable to it at pontac's, nor any where before : it was made of one-half of the beaſt we took in the morning, with ſeveral forts of herbs which eat like artichokes, aſparagus, and celery; there were alſo bits of roaſted roots in it, inſtead of toaſted bread, which added much to the richneſs of it, taſting like chefnuts; but what ſurpriſed me the moſt, there were philip quarll. 33 green peaſe in it, whoſe extraordinary ſweetneſs was diſcernable from every other ingredient. pity, ſaid i, the acceſs to this iſland is ſo difficult; what a bleſfed ſpot of land would it make, were it but inhabited here naturally grows what in europe we plow, till, and labour hard for. you ſay, replied the old man, this would be a bleſſed ſpot of ground, if it was inhabited : now i am quite of another opinion ; for i think its bleſſings confiſt in its not being inhabited, being free of thoſe curſes your populous and celebrated cities abound in ; here is nothing but praiſes and thankſgivings heard : and as for nature beſtowing freely, and of her own accord, what in europe you are obliged, by induſtry and hard labour, in a manner to force from her, wonder not at ; conſider how much you daily rob her of her due, and charge her with ſlander, and calumny: do you not frequently ſay, if a man is addićted to any vice, that it is his nature, when it is the effect and fruit of his corruption ? ſo nature, who, attended the great origin of all things at the creation, is now by vile wretches, deemed in fault for all their wickedneſs: had man remained in his firſt and natural ſtate of innocence, nature would alſo have continued her original indulgence over him; we may now think ourſelves very happy if that bleſfing attends our labour which before the fall of man flowed on him, accompanied with eaſe and pleaſure. now theſe peaſe, which have ſo much raiſed your ſurpriſe, are indeed the growth of this iſland, though not its natural product, but the gifts of providence, and the fruits of labour and induſtry. i have tilled the ground ; providence procured the ſeed; nature gave it growth, and time increaſe : with ſeven peaſe and three beans, i have, in four years time raiſed ſeed enough to ſtock a piece of ground, out of which iga34 philip quarll. ther yearly a ſufficient quantity for my uſe, beſides preſerving freſh ſeed. no doubt, fir, ſaid i, but when right means are taken, proſperity will attend. by that time, having eaten ſufficiently of the ſoup, he himſelf would carry the remains to the young man in the kitchen, and fetch in the boiled meat and oyſter ſauce, which he brought in another ſhell, much of the ſame nature with that which the ſoup was ſerved in, but ſomething ſhallower, which eat as delicious as houſe-lamb. , having done with that, he fetches in the other half of the beaſt roaſted, and ſeveral ſorts of delicate pickles which i never eat of before, and muſhrooms, but of a curious colour, flavour, and taſte : theſe, ſaid he, are the natural produćt of a particular ſpot of round; where, at a certain time of the year, he #. he gathered, for the ſpace of fix days only, three fizes of muſhrooms : for though they were all buttons, and fit to pickle, by that time he had gathered all, he had alſo to ſtew, and ſome about four inches over, which he broiled, and they eat as choice as any veal cutlet. * . . . . . theſe pickles, fir, ſaid i, though far exceeding any i ever did eat in europe, are really, at this time," needleſs ; the meat wanting nothing to raiſe its reliſh; no fleſh being more delicious. having done with that, i offered to take it away, but he in no wiſe would permit me; ſo went away with it himſelf, and brought the fowls, at which i wi newhat vexed ; for i feared i ſhould find no roc y ſtomach for any, having eat ſo heartily of the meat; but having, at his preſſing requeſt, taſted them, my appetite renewed at their inexpreſſible jº,"; i fell to eating afreſh. * . having done with that diſh, the young man, hav* philip quarll. 35 ing nothing to do in the kitchen, came and was bid to take away and fall to : in the mean time, the good old man fetched us out of his dairy a ſmall cheeſe of his own making, which being ſet down, he related to us the unaccountable manner he came by the antelopes which ſupplied him with the milk it was made with ; which introduced ſeveral weighty remarks on the wonderful acts of providence, and the ſtrićtneſs of the obligations we lie under to our great benefactor; likewiſe the vaſt encouragement we have to love and ſerve god, the benefits and comforts of a clear conſcience, as alſo the ineſtimable treaſure of content: from that he epitomized the different tempers and diſpoſitions of men, much commending timely education as being a means to reverſe and change evil inclinations; highly praiſing the charity of thoſe pious people, who chuſe to beſtow good ſchooling upon poor folks’ children, before clothing, and even food; the firſt being rather the moſt neceſſary, and the laſt the eaſieſt to come at. . that diſcourſe being ended, he inquired very carefully into the ſtate of his native country, which, he ſaid, he left fifty years ago in a very indulgent diſpofition. i gave him the bett account i could at that time of all the tranſa&tions that had happened in england fince his abſence. the relation of paſt evils, faid he, are like pictures of earthquakes and ſhipwreck, which affect the mind but ſlightly ; and, though i think myſelf out of any prince’s power, yet. i ſhall always partake with my countrymen’s grief pray be explicit; what king have we now a complete patriot, and father to his ſubjećts, ſaid i : both tender-hearted and merciful, encouraging virtue, and ſuppreſſing vice, a promoter of religion, and an exaraple of charity. then, ſaid he, in a manner which 36 philip quarll. expreſſed zeal and joy, long may that pious monarch live, and his bleſſed poſterity for ever grace the britiſh throne and may old england, by its faithful obedience and loyalty, henceforth atone for its paſt rebellions, that it may remove that execrable reroach it now lies under! to which we all ſaid, amen. then he filled up the ſhell we drank out of, and drank good king george’s health, which was ſucceeded with that of the royal family, and proſperity to the church. thus ended a moſt delicious and ſplendid dinner, and a converſation both delightful and inſtructive: but, having not as then mentioned any thing about his own hiſtory, which i exceedingly longed to inquire into, i begged him to inform us by what accident he came thither, and how he had ſo long maintained a good ſtate of health. to which he anſwered, time would not permit him to relate his own hiſtory, being very long, and the remainder of the day too ſhort : but that he would, before we parted, give it me in writing ; having, for want of other occupation, made a memorial : but as to the maintaining of his health, he would tell me by word of mouth. the receipt, ſaid he, is both ſhort and eaſy ; yet i fear you will not be able to follow it: look, you muſt uſe none but wholeſome exerciſes, obſerve a ſober diet, and live a pious life : now, if you can confine yourſelf to this way of living, i will be bound, that you will both preſerve your health, and waſte leſs money : but, what is more valuable than *all that, you will not endanger your precious ſoul. i returned him thanks for his good advice, and promiſed him i would obſerve it as ſtriëly as i could. i am afraid, replied he, that will not be at all : you have too many powerful obſtacles, the world and the fleſh, from whom your affections muſt be entirely with3 philip quarll. 37 f take but your due, and never covet more. drawn, and all commerce prohibited which is morally impoſſible whilſt living : therefore, ſince you are obliged to converſe with the world, i will give you a few cautions, which, if rightly taken, may be of uſe to you. make not the world your enemy, nor rely too much on its fidelity. be not too free with your friend : repetitions of favours often wear out friendſhip. .. waſte not your vigour or ſubſtance on women, left weakneſs and want be your reward. secrets are not ſafe in a woman’s breaſt; it is a confinement the ſex cannot bear. país no contračt over liquor; wine overcomes reaſon and dulls the underſtanding. he who games puts his money in jeopardy, and is not ſure of his own. " " … there is but little honour to wager on ſure grounds, and leſs wiſdom to lay upon a chance. and in all your dealings take this for a conſtant he whom unlawful means advance to gain, inſtead of comfort, finds a conſtant pain : what e'en by lawful arts we do poſſeſs, old age and ſickneſs make it comfortleſs. be rul’d by me, not to increaſe your ſtore by means unjuſt, 'twill make you poor, i returned him thanks for his good morals, the copy of which i begged he would give me in writing, for my better putting them in practice; to which he reaht obſerve them ; and ap a confiderable beafter. ~~...~ %g ****5 tº **** * i was obliged to . ſh f , which e much ; for i was o taken wi , that if i had not had a º and mother, whoſe years required my preſence, ſpent the reſt of my days with him. i i my duty; but, after ged to yield º . ź preſſed my v. -ook my leave. the good ving my regret to leave him, could not to part with me. indeed, ſaid he, with . eyes, i ſhould have been very glad to have d a fellow-creature in th -x. § i adviſe you to of it is ſo dangerous * there§ he ſhow you ſome ol . robbed once by indians; villanouſly inveſ * by pirates; the rufi d to carry him away, like a ſlave, to their own c , and there make a ſhow of him, as if he had been a monſter. talking, we walked under ſeveral of the beforementioned cluſters of trees which proceed from one fingle plant: being come to one larger than the and which he ſaid he frequen º largeſt in the iſland; this, ſaid he, own branches, a whole acre of lan ral remarks on the wonderful works of nature ºn'virtués and properties as life happy. from that he m ions on the fatal effects of diſ 4o philip quarll. it again. with that he takes out of his breeches pocket ſome roaſted roots, which he commonly carried about him, to throw at them when he went that way, which made them leſs ſhy of him, having broken the roots in bits, he lay them down in their fight; for they on both ſides were peeping under the leaves of the trees where they harboured: then he cut a ſcore of ſticks, about the thickneſs of one’s finger, and near a foot and a half long, and lay them over the bits of roots: then we retired to ſome ſmall diſtance, and hid ourſelvs behind the trees. we were no ſooner out of fight but that they haſtened to the meat; the green monkeys having leſs ground to go, were at them firſt ; yet never ſtopt, but went on to hinder the other's approach, who vigorouſly ſtrove to gain ground. the ſtruggle was hard, and the vićtory often wavering : each party alternately gave way : at laſt the grey ſort kept the advantage, and drove their adverſaries back, who being come where the ſticks lay, immediately took them up, and charged their enemies with a freſh courage, i. a yielding army that has received new forces: thus, with their clubſters in the front, they fell on their adverſaries with great vigour, knocking them down like our engliſh mob at an election ; ſo drove them back again almoſt to their own quarters. in the mean time ſtragglers of both kinds, who had not joined with the main bodies of the armies, ſeeing the coaſt clear, and the proviſions unguarded, unanimouſly fell to plunder, and quietly did eat what their comrades fought for ; which the combatants peréeiving, left off fighting, and of one accord turned upon the plunderers, who, by that time having devoured the booty, left them the field without conys *š. tending any farthe philip quarll. 4 the battle being over, the old gentleman would have us to go on, leaſt, ſaid he, they ſhould fall to it again out of revenge; for theſe creatures are very ſpiteful. º s having diſperſed them by our advancing, as intended, we walked from under the trees at the outſide, to have a better view of the rock, which in ſome places, he ſaid, changes its form as one approaches it: and as he ſaid, being got clear of the trees, we ſaw at diſtance, as it were, a conſiderabic number of build-, ings, and here and there ſomething like iteeples, which repreſented an handſome city ; and ſeemingly the houſes appeared ſo plain, that had i not been appriſed of the illuſion, i ſhould have taken it for ſuch ; but alvarado and the young fellow, could not be perfuaded but what we ſaw were really buildings, and even in the iſland, though the old gentleman inade us itop awhile, the better to obſerve every thing ; then bid us keep our eyes fixed at what we looked at, and go on : we perceived every particular of what we obſerved to change its form ; that wilicia at firit ſeemed to be a fronting, ſhowed itſelf either ſideways or backwards: and ſo of every object, till being come at a certain diſtance, all the agreeableneſs of the proſpective, of a ſudden, turned into its real ſhape like a phantom ; which whilſt viſible, ſcreens that which it ftands before ; but, by its vaniſhing, leaves it diſcovered. * being come as near th it would permit, we coul could in the leaſt ſoften its ru more agreeable aſpect, than tho ſented in the pictures of ſhipwre the old gentleman thereu ad obſervations on the alterations that di d′ 3 42 philip quarll. upon objećts, and ſhowed how eaſily ºur organs of fight may be deceived; drawing from this inference, that we ºught not to be too poſitive of the reality of what we }. afar off, nor to affirm for truth that which we only heard of. º having ended that diſcourſe, he carried us to the other fide of the jutting part of the rock, which, advancing like a baſtion of a fortified wall, ſcreened from our eyes a ſecond piece of wonder; a fine rainbow, iſſuing, as it were, out of the mouth of a giant, lying on a rock, reaching quite over the lake; at the bottom of it i could not but ſtop to admire the various colours it conſiſted of, which far exceeding in beauty and livelineſs, any i ever ſaw in the ſky, i preſently imagined that it proceeded from the rays of the ſun falling upon ſome pond, or ſtanding water, whoſe refle&tions roſe and met the tops, which cauſed that beautiful circle. but alvarado, who, by what he had ſeen before, concluded that the iſland was enchanted, ſaid, it was another illuſion, which the place was full of ; and would have gone away, but that the old man fell a laughing, and ſaid, it is a fign you ſel. dom inquire into natural cauſes: well, do but come a little nearer to it; and you will find that which you term an illuſion, is the natural effects of all fountains when the ſun ſhines. being come to the place it proceeded from, it proved, as he ſaid, only a fountain, but of the cleareſt and ſweeteſt water that ever was taſted ; but the place it iſſued out of was changed from the likeneſs of a giant to that of ſome ſtrange fort of creature; which though having no particular reſemblance, yet would bear being compared to ſeveral different things. the old man’s a was, that it reſembled a whale ſpurting water out of one noſtril. alvarado, ſuppoſ* philip quarll. 43 ed it to be more like a horſe, or a cow; and rather the laſt, there being horns plain to be ſeen. for my part, i could find no proper ſimilitude to it, but that of an old ruined monument, which formerly they built over the heads of ſprings. timothy anchors (for that was the name of the young fellow that was with us) being aſked, what he could make of it? why really, ſaid he, nothing, unleſs it be an old patched-up pump that ſtands at the end of my mother’s court in roſemary-lane (which every ſpring runs out of itſelf;) which compariſon made us all to laugh. xthus we differed in our opinions as to the likeneſs, yet agreed, that it was the fineſt fountain, and the beſt water we ever ſaw or drank. what ſurpriſed me moſt, was, the force where with it ſprung from the rock that ſtood full five yards from the place it fell on, which was another ſubjećt of admiration; for certainly the arts of men could not have invented nor completed a more compačt or pleaſanter baſon, though it had been for a fountain to adorn a monarch’s garden : indeed there were no maſons, nor any expert artiſt’s exquiſite works to be ſeen, but a deal of nature’s matchleſs underſtanding : there regularity, dimenſion, and proportion, concerted to make it uſeful, convenient, and agreeable. the baſon was very near round, about eight feet. diameter, a bank around it near a foot high, and as broad at top, ſlanting gently at the bottom, both inſide and outfide, which made a moſt pleaſant and uniform bank, adorned with various ſmall flowers and herbs of divers beautiful colours, and moſt fragrant ſmells. = . w having viewed with pleaſur regularity in a wild and unin amazement ſuch place, i walked tay would permit: n. le an, taking me ſaid he, beſtowed e fertility of this # . tº # or that whic ent many hours in that rant; but have found #. i-pond, by no means ſtay, but takes his leave, ſaying, he was not very curious of ſupernatural things. supernatural, ſaid the old man, you cannot well callit, though to you it may be very amazing : it is therefore well deſerving your fight; i mean your hearing ; the eyes having no ſhare in the entertainment: we ſhall only ſing a few pſalms; i am ſure there can be no harm in that, but rather good, being an holy exerciſe in divine worſhip, in which all good ſouls ought to join. that may be, ſaid alvarado; but i love to ſee thoſe with whom i worſhip ; i do not think myſelf as yet company for ſpirits. as for your part, ſaid alvarado, (ſpeaking to me) you may do which you pleaſe; but take care your curioſity do not coſt you too dear. . tim and i will wait for you in the boat; but pray be not too long before you come. so &:::::::: the old gentleman thanks for his kin ſainment, they went away; at which the good man was much *:: what, b r friends imagine fºg. º --> ::::::3% wer thoſ n. echoes, that hitherto nothing but the almighty’s praiſes, º ‘ouſneſs, ſ aying, i thereof to : now, ſaid th and fing the hun fir, .." do not know § 3%;3% & 3%'.3% ovcc. to be fiſhes by their ſwimming n. o my thinking, looked like ſtars ſhooting from place to place in the ſky. having ſpent ſeveral minutes in admiring the ſurpriſing nature and beauty of the fiſhes i took notice of the pon v. which 48 philip quarll. providence; that if ever theſe writings ſhould have the luck to fall into the hands of men after my deceaſe, they might be an encouragement to the deſtitute, and a comfort to the afflićted, that he who rightly applies himſelf, and firmly truſts in the almighty, ſhall, at his extremity, find relief: and now my intent is in ſome meaſure anſwered, expe&ting you will reviſe and publiſh it when you come to old england. i muſt enjoin you not to give it out as my own dićtation, but an hiſtory taken from heads out of my memorial ; for i have been obliged to inſert particulars, and uſe ſuch expreſſions, without which the account i give of myſelf would have been imperfečt ; and which, being related as by me, may chance to be accounted ſelf-flattery, which is a cenſure i would willingly avoid. i told him he might depend upon it, i fhould always, and on all accounts, be very tender of any thing that could in the leaſt lefſen the merit of the ſubject, or tarniſh the luſtre of the hiſtory. with that the good man takes me in his open arms, and embraces me over and over with all the tendermeſs words and ačtions could expreſs; ſaying, with tears in his eyes, that my exit was a renewing of his paſt grief, and would for a confiderable time damp the pleaſures he before my coming did enjoy in his folitude; ſince now he again has had the comfort to converſe with one of his dear countrymen, after full §. fifty years being ſevered from human ſociety. the height of his grief having for ſome moments ſtopt the utterance of his words, he fighing laid his head upon my neck, ſqueezing me cloſe in his arms. this moſt tender and moving ačtion moved me to a reciprocal grief: never did any man reflect with mºre reluétancy than when i parted with that good •ld man, who having recovered in ſome meaſure his º philip quarll. 49 former firmneſs of mind, his foul being again reſigncd we repeated our embraces with a mutual affection. then i took my leave; but he would not part with me there ; he would by all means wait on me to the lake i was to wade over to come at the rock, on the other fide of which the boat waited for me : and when i came thither, he would alſo have waded over with me, that he might have the ſatisfaction of ſeeing me ſafe from the dangerous rock ; but i would in no wiſe permit him. thus having prevailed upon him to ſtay behind, i prepared to wade over : ſo after a few more embraces, i croſſed the lake, and came to my impatient companions, who received me with heavy reprimands for truſting myſelf ſo long alone with that necromancer; for nothing, ſaid they, ſhall ever perſuade me, a man can have ſuch plenty of dainties with only the help of nature: no, no, he may talk of providence as much as he pleaſes; he applies to the black art, and thoſe voices he calls echoes are his inviſible imps, which (if truth be known) are often employed in raiſing the wind, and cauſing ſtorms which render theſe ſeas often ſo dangerous: and it has been tibſerved, that few or no ſhips come near theſe rocks, and eſcape being ſtaved. for my part, i aſſure you i do not think myſelf ſafe, whilſt within the reach of his enchantments. with that he takes one of the oars out of young tim's hand, and falls to rowing. indeed, ſaid tim, as you ſay, he looked very much like a conjuror with his long hair and beard; and i believe he is conjuring now. see, here is bad weather coming ; let us make haſte from theſe rocks. . . . even as he ſaid, in ſhort, ſo it happened ; for in . a little time after the wind roſe, and the ſea began to be a little rough ; ſo that i was forced to take the hitcher, and with it “.the boat from the rocks, $o philip quarll. whither the waves very often drove us ; but, ſtanding out to ſea, the wind grew more calm, and fair for the continent : i took one of the oars, and by help of our ſail, in a ſhort time we got ſafe to ſhore; where being arrived very much fatigued, we put up at the firſt cottage, which was inhabited by an old man and woman, indians, where we dreſſed our fiſh, and went to ſupper; which was ſcarce over, but i was hurried on board, the wind being tacked about, and fair for our departure. we weighed anchor on the ſeventeenth day of may, 1724, and ſtood out to ſea, and ſailed ſouth and by eaſt till we arrived on the 26th at panama on terra firma, after meeting with ſome ſtormy weaºther. here we began to traffic, in our way home, or ſome corn, neceſſary for our following voyage ; *as alſo cotton, ſome metals, roſin, gums, and pepºper. our ſtay was not long here; for we failed from thence on the fifth of june, the wind being then very favourable : but we had not failed above twenty leagues, when we met with a violent ſtorm, which laſted ſomehours, and the wind blowing hard at n. n. e. we had the misfortune to loſe our ſurgeon, one john davis, who being imprudently upon deck was waſhed overboard by a prodigious wave coming in at the forecaſtle : our ſhip received no damage in that ſtorm, but our loſs of mr. davis was very great, and worſe than if any other man on board had been miffing; for we might alſo call him our chaplain, as a well as ſurgeon; and by his exemplary pious life, dur*ing the time he belonged to our ſhip, he might really be called a divine. he was a man, who as he told me, had been educated at hart-hall, qxon, in his early day *. and was deſigned for the ſacred robe; but biºgenius very much inclining to the pleaſant art philip quarll. 51 of phyſic and ſurgery, he afterwards made them his pračtice; but meeting with ſome misfortunes, about the 35th year of his life, he left england in the year 1711, and embarked aboard the john and mary for sº new england, where he lived till the year 1723, when our ſhip arrived at that country, at that time wanting a ſurgeon, for our own died juſt at our approach near the continent. our captain, on inquiry, hearing an excellent charaćter of mr. davis, agreed with him for our voyage till we returned back thither again. i think it but juſt to eternize his memory in theſe memoirs, and give him the chara&ter which he merited. # he was a pious good man, ſober, juſt, and virtuous ; ready to ſerve, but never to offend any man. his morals were inſtrućtive to all thoſe who knew him, and his conſtant exhortations (while onboard our ſhip) to frequent daily prayers, was the reaſon that we eſteemed him the doctor of our fouls, as well as ſurgeon to our bodies. nay, which is ſtill more, while he was with us, though he never entered intºſacred orders, yet he told us, he thought it his duty to give us the beſt inſtructions he was capable of, for the preſervation of our ſouls and bodies, both which were always in danger: and accordingly, after divine ſervice (as i may call it) was performed by him in a very ſolemn manner, he would frequently diſcourſe on the heinouſneſs of the fin of man, which occaſioncd the ſufferings of chriſt; on the terrors of hell, and the joys of heaven; as alſo on the glorious creation of: the world, ſetting forth the works of omnipotence inº very lively colours, telling the advantage, pleaſure, and beauty; that attended a godly life. sometimes. his diſcourſes would be on natural philoſophy, which were extremely well digº : at other times on forme ...º s” philip qu arl . of the ſciences, moſt of which he well und to which we gave very great attention, firous of ſuch uſeful knowledge: in ſhort, th. was greatly lamented by the captain as well as myſelf, and indeed by all the ſhip's crew ; for he was a man of a quick thought, and lively apprehenſion ; had an univerſal knowledge in things, entirely free from reſervedneſs, but of perfect humility and condeſcenſion, erſtood, and ----dear to all that ever knew him. thus, having given an imperfeót charaćter of that great man, to whoſe memory i owe ſo much, i ſhall proceed to a further deſcription of ou age. a to the coaſts on thoſe ſeas, i think it needleſs tº &#3 & § . any mention thereof, they having been gº ºg ſcrib hers ſcribed already by our modern geogr anywiſe uſeful to my purpoſe ; ſo th ly omit it, and only give an account o where we traded or touched at for freſh f 3. and emark what happ ed mo ice in our voyage home to england. : weather now proving more favourable, i be orials of my good old. . ing ſympathy did of his misfort could i leſs ſympat ermitical life. i hat he had lab amazed by this good man’s preet doned the world, content to live in leſome iſland, uninhabited by any m he has had the ſpace of fifty emplate on the follies an vils that attend this pºi 3.s abide and never deparl §.º. o peaceably 54 philip quarll. bit by one, and did not live above ſix hours after ; though his death had been prevented, i believe, had we not met with the misfortune of loſing mr. davis our ſurgeon. here, alſo we caught ſome mullets, and ſeveral forts of fiſh, extremely good, though unknown to us as to their names. in this iſland there is a creature which the indians call a mundago, but the spaniards a sloth, which i think is its propereſt name; for it is a creature which ſeems to ſleep as it walks, by its ſlow motion : and it is reported, that it eats the leaves of trees, which are its only food ; but is ſo prodigiouſly lazy, that when it has cleared one tree of its leaves, it will be almoſt ſtarved to death before it attempts to climb another: in ſhort, it is a very ugly creature, and ſeems to be of the monkey kind by its make, but its hair is thicker and longer, nor is it ſo agreeable to look at, and is different in its nature. here we alſo got freſh water and wood; for there are very good brooks on that iſland, and wood enough. while we lay near the iſland i went aſhore; and, in my converſation with a spaniard, he related to me the following account of one thomas jenkins, a lancaſhire man, who was boatſwain on board a merchant’s ſhip, whoſe name i have fince forgot, who was left on that iſland, and lived alone there two years and three months; but was firſt ſeen on that iſland by ſome indians who came from the main for oyſters and other ſhell-fiſh, which they frequently gather for the spaniards. he made his eſºcape from them, and hid himſelf in the woods; fear*ing that they would carry him to the spaniards; and, by that means, he might be made a ſlaye; chufing rather ſolitude, than to enter into bondage for his life. however, an engliſh ſhip trading on that coaſt, had notice of it from the indians; and, imagini that he might be an engliſhman caſt away, or philip quarll. 55 ſhore there (as he really was) by ſome pirate who had been on thoſe ſeas, they ſent their boat with fix hands, to the iſland, in ſearch of him. they took their ſpeaking trumpet with them, and, by that means, after about fix hours ſtay on the iſland, they found him out. he told them, that, at his firſt being ſet on ſhore upon the iſland, it ſeemed very melancholy and frightful ; when he begun to refle&t on the barbarity of the pirates, to leave him there without proviſions, or any manner of neceſſaries whereby he might ſupport himſelf (they leaving him only his wearing clothes, and his pocket-knife. if they had left him any fire arms and ammunition, his caſe would not have been near ſo deſperate; becauſe he then might have not only defended himſelf againſt any enemy, but likewiſe have killed ſome goats, or fowls, for his ſubſiſtence.) he alſo ſaid, that what made him very melancholy, was, to think his habitation, and place of abode, was where he could have no human ſociety, and in an iſland that he, at firſt, knew not whether there was any thing on it for his ſubſiſtence, as never being on that coaſt before. but the ſecond day of his being there, he took a ſurvey of the iſland, and found, that there were monkeys, goats, &c. and alſo good fiſh. he dreaded greatly the ſnakes, which were larger than he had ever ſeen before; however, as they endeavoured to get from him, he reſted pretty well ſatisfied; hoping there was no beaſt of prey to hurt him there; for fear of which, at firſt he climbed up into a pimento-tree * to ſleep. he was well pleaſed to find ſuch good ſhell" fiſh, which was the only food he lived on for the firſt five days; when, by accident, he caught a young kid, which very much rejoiced him : but he was at a loſs for fire tº dreſs it; till, having nothing to emproduced fire, he philip quarll. the thongs, three or four times doubled together, to ſ r ſole he spaniards told me, that he was ll inured to that way of life, when he was taken m the iſland, that it was a confiderable time before e could reliſh either . ºššš... ...; --~1. which was dreſſed on board the ſhip. spaniard an account of the hermit, to which he paid ºvery great attention. sº < ºš iving refreſhed ourſelves, we ſailed from ter a ſtay of three days only in the bay; it a pretty many goats from the iſland, and , or indian from thence we ſteered anaorn s, but, in our paſſage, met tournadoes, attended with very h we thought proceeded from their eatin of ſome young ſeals they had cau sbrazils, and proved very uſ but jung, for that to philip quarll. wont be troubled with the wantons, and play the trick your fifter juno did. pray, how does the child do 2 to which ſhe anſwered, it be ver well, but it cry, cry, ver much, great deal. well, ſays the captain ; but, diana, i ſent for you on another occaſion : do you not remember mr. davis, our furgeon and chaplain yes, ſays ſhe, me ver well know him; he give me vergret goot ſtuff (meaning a dram): but, ſays the captain, you know, diana, he was a very good man, and uſed to tell you your duty, and teach you how to ſay your prayers. yes, ſays ſhe, me ver well remember dat he be ver goot ma r. then, ſaid the captain, diana, what do you think being made a chriſtian, and chriſtened as we chriſ tians are 2 me mak chriſtian (ſays ſhe) hou? why, ſays the captain, you know mr. davis taught you o read, and you learned to ſay your prayers: they -fare very good prayers are they not ? to pray to god, yes, ſays ſhe they be ver goot prayers; me love dem vergret muſh. well then, ſays the captain, are you willing to be # and do as thoſe prayers learn you to do 2 yes, ſaid ſhe, me be always ver goot, me be verglad me learn me prayers, me learn more, me tank you. so by the captain’s advice, i read the public baptiſm of thoſe of riper years, and baptized her : ſhe anſwering the queſtions by the inſtructions of the captain; and we chriſtened her by the name of elizabeth, which was the name of our ſhip. as ſoon as the ceremony was over, the captain ordered elizabeth to dreſs the child in as decent a manner as ſhe could, and bring it to his cabin; in the mean time we drank the bottle of wine. as ſoon as the child was dreſſed, elizabeth carried it to the captain, who ſent for thomas higgins, and told him that diana was chriſtened, and that s º º * god to bleſs me with life, i will ſee to me (though i am not the father of it), was called antiope ; and they both went to of thomas. . . tº: the weather here was extrem philip quarll. he himſelf, and the lieutenant, were to ſtand godfathers: and that his ſon was to be chriſtened; and deſired to know what name ſhould be given to the child; to which he anſwered his own, viz. thomas. but i never ſaw ſuch an alteration in any man in my life, as i immediately obſerved in him. so ſuddenly it appeared, that it ſurpriſed us all. for he, who before was deječted, even to the greateſt degree imaginable, now appeared fully ſatisfied in his mind; and conſcience no longer ſeemed to fly in his face ; but he ; full of mirth and jollity. so by the captain’s chriſtened the child in a very decent mancaptain and lieutenant ſtood godfathers, izabeth ſtood godmother. when the ceremony was over, the captain ſaid, tom, as this child was begot on board my ſhip, and i am its godfather, and as it is now a chriſtian, i think it properly .# ſee it rought up in a chriſtian manner, which, i pleaſ, performed * ...&#.3. and not only that, but will take care of it, if it lives during my life, and ſee it well educated. so the captain ordered half a goat, to be roaſted ; and he, the lieutenant, and 1, with tom and elizabe t whom he permitted on that occaſion, ſupped table, and were very merry ; which ſo rejoiced £i zabeth, that ſhe, immediately after ſupper, related what had happened to her fellow negro-woman, which and told her, that her ſon was baptized b the aar me; but there were cold dews at night, ery dangerous; for three of our men 62 philip quarll. ... as we ſailed, on the twenty-fifth at night, the ſea very much ſurpriſed us, it ſeeming to be as red as blood; which occaſioned stephen jones, who was upon the watch, with ſome others, to call us up ; hey had never ſeen the like before. when we 1e upon deck, we ſuppoſed it to be a great quantiy of the ſpawn of fiſh ſwimming on the water; it being very fair. having paſſed the line, we made the galliapagoes on the fifth of july, where we anchored about a mile off the ſhore, in a good, ſmooth, g to ſail, we found that our ſhip had runk a leak; ſo that we were obliged to have one nd at the pump continually. before we had ſailed ºue e wind freſhened upon us, and the ſky sº us, which made us take in our topſails; afterwards we reefed our mainſail and mizen : -gan to rain, and poured down, º the ſea ſeemed as if it i fire, by the prodigious thunder and a being night, the elements over inary black at north-eaſt, and it movphilip quarll. “s head looked moſt diſmally black, but all around the horizon was as red as blood: the waves, which ſeemed to daſh againſt the clouds, by the violence of the wind, ſparkled like lightning, which, together with the thunder, made a terrible noife; at laſt, breakingi upon our deck, it carried away one of our ancho and we durſt not bring our ſhip to the wind, for fear of her foundering : it being dangerous, in a ſtorm, to turn a ſhip backward and forward; ſo we were obliged to lie in the trough of the ſea. but the wind n abating, we obſerved, to our great joy, a sanct at the top of our ſpindle: theſe c re, good ſigns, when ſeen aloft; but bad o nd denote a great ſtorm, when ſeen on the decks. it is a ſmall glimmering light, like a ſtar, when aloft; but when on the deck, it appears like a glow-worm. it is the opinion of mariners, that it a fort of jelly, incorporated by the wind, rain, ſe pours, and air ; becauſe it is never obſerv in ſtormy weather. we ſailed right before the wind, whic weſt, but were obliged to keep continua till the eighteenth day ; when we ma labos, about twelve at noon. that ſafe into the harbour, and anchored a thoms water, in clean ground, between iſlands : here we reſolved to careen our ſhip. ac cordingly, obſerving the time of high water, we put her into a cove, in the ſouthernmoſt iſland, where we hauled her up as far as we could on the land our carpenter and all hands ſet to work the nex º is barren, and without freſh water. f eral ſeals, ſea-lions, boobies, and p wl about as big as a duck, whoſe fl philip quarll re found a ſmall black fowl, which makes e ground to rooſt in at night, whoſe fleſh ry good; and a great many vultures and crows. had careened our ſhip, and were in readineſs to il on the twenty-fixth, and ſailed for the iſland ferindos, and made the middle bay on the ſeventh of auguſt, winter being juſt over there ; which continues only for two months, viz. june and july. we have verbal accounts here, of ſeveral men who have been left or caſt away, and have lived ſome time, and very well, on this iſland. here we mended. men who had been ill on our voyage, ~ ecovered their health ; for the green pimento diffuſed a very agreeabl refreſhing ſmell all e iſland. here we ſpent ſome time in taking | º lying water up, which od; we alſo boiled a confiderable nums, of which there are plenty here; we ty of young ſeals, which eat very well; are unwholeſome : and at the ſouth e found ſome goats, of which w y, which were excellent good. here of turnips and watercreſſes, which made the iſland ºf s ſent our boat on ſhor eople, from the ill. rom the french . . . 3. philip quarll. 65 ly ſharp, and really diſhoneſt ; for if they trade with you, and cannot get the advantage of you which they think you would have of them, they will ſnatch your we weighed anchor on the twentieth, and ſailed from hence round cape horn, in 51 degrees 15 minutes lat. as our pilot informed me, i being only a merchant on board, and therefore do not pretend to make a methodical journal, only as i promiſed to give account of the moſt material paſſages in our ge home. w d the cape the weather favoured us extremely, goods, and run away with them. and nothing happened, that was material, only that we were chaſed by a pirate ſhip for about twelve hours, on the twenty-ninth : but the night coming on, it favoured us ſo, that we loſt her. on the fourth of september we made faulkland’s iſland. here we ſaw a great number of porpoiſes, which often leaped out of the water, of an uncommon ſort. on the 5th we had the misfortune to have one of our men fall. -into the ſea, as he was throwing the lead; and he was drowned before we could give him any he we had very briſk gales at ſouth-weſt. we ſailed, and made cape st. antonio, near the mouth of the river de la plata in paragua, on the twenty-fifth, the wind ſouth by weit ; when we ſtood out to ſea, and made the iſle of grande, on the coaſt of brazil, on the twenty-ninth. we got a pilot, who conducted us into the watering-cove, at the inner weſternmoſt point of the iſland. in ſounding as we went in, w hardly met, in any place, with leſs than ten fathom water. the iſland is about nine leagues long, high land near the water-fide ; it abounds with wood, has monkeys, and other wild beaſts; plenty of good tim% ber, freſh water, and oranges and lemons. §§ ; 66 philip quarli. we had pleaſant weather, but extremely hot. we received a letter from our owners, commanding re good punch.) oyage from the galliapagoes, i applied myſelf to the peruſal of my good old man’s memoirs, which i took very great delight in ; and finding the whole ſeries of his minor years attended with ſuch a number of unaccountable accidents, hardly to be paralleled, i thought proper deſigned them to be publiſhed on my arrival in land, to digeſt them in a more regular manner t found the % ed nor diminiſhed; nor did i what he himſelf had wrote, life z nec to the accidents of ry : for his abſence from england ſo long as fifafioned him, in ſome manner, not to inted with the language as it is now by his living without any converſation had made him, in ſome meaſure, forher-tongue. though i really think, into confideration, that his account was d his life been publiſhed, as in have appeared very obſolete, , though ever ſo entertaining. ed all the paſſages of his firſt 'gether, and thought proper to § from his hermitical confinement nd, which at firſt fight appeared ſo full of , and nothing but a proſpe&t of the moſt miho me, and not to ſail for new england, as deſigned. we got beef, mutton, hogs, fowls, ſugar, rum, ions (ſo that now we did not want . m wrote in his manuſcript; but neither addthe leaſt vary from l § only i made ſome amendments which i thought art by themſelves, that part of his º philip qua rll. § dence, as a ſupporter of the diſtreſſed, but he found almoſt every thing neceſſary for human life on that ſmall iſland; and he, who then thought of nothing but immediately periſhing in the moſt miſerable condition, has lived, by the help of divine providence, in a ſafe and plentifulmanner; and is now ſo inured t unto, that he deſpiſes the populous world, and its vanities; he alſo confiders its pompous glory to be of no more ſubſtance than a ſhadow ; and that there is no felicity on earth, unleſs in ſolitude, . i likewiſe methodiſed his account, during his refidence on the iſland, in the former manner; and made another book, or part ; which with this account of my finding him on the iſland, and my conference with him, completes my deſign : ſo that it cannot be called an imperfect deſcription, but complet three books. so i return to my voyage. in our voyage from juan fernandos we f large bird, which is called an alcat ſpread their wings from eight to ten feet w ::::::::::: *% the brazils is a ſerpent called liboya, or the roebuck serpent, the report of which is incredible (in my opinion) but affirmed by ſome of the portugueſe; vi. drugs. we treated the portugueſe very civilly, whº ſupplied us with all things neceſſary for our uſe. dur. sing our ſtay here, there arrived a brigantine laden with negroes, for the golden mines. here four of our men, died, and ran away from us, the laſt c sh we had juſt occaſion to ful ź 68 philip quarll. get enough on their fide to over-power the captain and the party; and agreeing, among themſelves, that it was a very difficult matter to become maſters of the ſhip ; and, befides, confidering the hazard they run, in being puniſhed, after ſuch a ſevere manner as they ſhould be, if found out by any means, before they could accompliſh their deſign, or if they ſhould fail in their attempt; made them rather chuſe to deſert the ſhip, than continue any longer. though our captain was an extraordinary good man, yet rogues will be always employing their wicked thoughts; and neither clemency nor good uſage can make them perform their duty in their ſtations. the tenth of oétober, after having ſet antiope, one of our negro women, on ſhore, who refuſed to be chriſtened as diana was, we began to ſail, but kept elizabeth and juno on board; the captain reſolving that ſhe ſhould live with him as his ſervant; and by that means would bring up tom’s child: we did not meet with any thing very remarkable; but after about twenty-four hours eaſy ſail, we paſſed the tropic, and next day ſaw land. we ſtood from it ſouth ſouth-weſt, and had cloſe cloudy weather all night, with ſhowers of rain. when day broke, we ſaw aſcenſion iſland, at about a league diſtance; and about nine o'clock we came to an anchor. the ſea is here very deep. the next day we weighed anchor, and failing north north-eaſt, till the ſeventeenth, with a freſh gale at weſt ſouth-weſt, we croſſed the line. the next day an ugly accident happened; for we brought a young bear from mexico; and our men being often uſed to play with her and teaze her, it proved very fatal to one thady o’brien, an iriſh boy, of about fixteen years of age, who had been fretting the creature with a ſmall rope, which he made a s philip quarll. 69 nooſe to, and ſlipped her hind leg into it, and ſo worried her. her blood growing warm, and ſhe being enraged at his hunting her to and fro on the deck, where he happened to ſlip down; the bear immediately ſeized poor thady by the neck, with ſuch violence, that, before any body could deliver him from her paws, the poor boy’s throat was tore to pieces; ſo that he died inſtantly, º we ſailed but very ſlowly now, meeting with continual calms, and direéted our courſe for cape verde iſlands; but on the twenty-fixth we had a heavy tourmado, attended with lightning, which fell as if the element had been on fire; but it continued only for a ſhort time: afterwards the weather proved extremely fair, the wind being full ſouth. a ſailor going up to furl the main-top-gallant on º he third of no vember, in the morning ſaw land, and ſuppoſed it to be one of cape verde iſlands, bearing ..., diſtant about ſeven leagues, ſmooth water, and freſh gales: about four o’clock we bore north north-weſt, and went with an eaſy ſail till day-light, and made the iſland of st. vincent; when, about nine o’clock, we anchored in th where we rode till the next day; and then we went to st. nicholas, another, and one of the largeſt of th cape verdé iſlands. theſe iſlands are ſo called from cape verde in africa, and are moſtly inhabited by portugueſe. one of them is called sal: it derives its name from the prodigious quantity of f * naturally congealed in ſalt ponds. ther poor goats on this iſland, and ſome wild e bay in about five fathoms water, 7s philip quarll. in st. nicholas we traded with ſome of the spaniards for ambergreaſe; but they were fraudulent, having counterfeited it much. here are ſome vineyards, and plantations belonging to the portugueſe ; and wine, much like madeira, of a pale colour, alſo, and thick. the people are ſwarthy, and the inhabitants live ſcattering in the valleys. while we were at this iſland, we ſcrubbed our ſhip’s bottom, and dug ſome wells on the ſhore, where we got freſh water. here an ugly accident had like to have happened : for one of our men, going down into the hold with a candle, ſet fire to a bale of cotton, which, by his careleſſneſs, had like to have been the loſs of our ſhip: but, (thanks to god) it was diſcovered, by its ſmother, juſt before it began to blaze out; ſo that by immediate help, we got it extinsº gº. yº ſoon after we hoiſted it upon deck, for fear any of the fire ſhould remain, and revive again; and becauſe we would have it in mind, for our ſafety. . on the eighth we went to the iſle of mayo, another of cape verde iſlands, but made no ſtay. we ſaw at ſouth-weſt, the iſland del fuego, which is remarkable for being a volcano, or burning mountain, out of which iſſue flames of fire; but they are only diſcern. ed in the night, and then are ſeen a great way at ſea: yet there are inhabitants on this iſland (as i have bee inform the portugueſe of the iſland of st. nicho'd at the foot of the mountain, near the are, alſo, cocoa-nuts, plaintains, goats st. aritanio, another of the cape ! is a very large ſpider (as i was irong, that it i here are, alſo philip quarll. 7t pretty near the deck; and the wind blew ſo extreme: blown away. during the ſtorm, it rained e faſt, which continued for about four hours wild aſſes; likewiſe, ſalt-pits, where great quantities of ſalt is naturally made by the fun’s heat; with which they load yearly ſeveral ſhips, and are able to fell much greater quantities than they do, if they had but vent for it. having diſpatched dur affairs at the cape verde iſlands, we weighed with the flood, having a ſmall gale at ſouth ſouth-weſt: on the ſeventeenth it began to blow, and veered to the ſouth-weſt by ſouth. that evening we ſaw three ſail of ſhips at weſt northweſt, bearing, as we ſuppoſed, for the canary iſlands as well as ourſelves. the night coming on, which was extremely clear and fine, we paſſed the tropic about the break of day; ſoon after which we obſerved a north bank lying in the horizon. we then provided for a ſtorm, which thoſe clouds denote. the wind was at north-weſt. we brought the ſhip under our main-ſail and mizen only, and ballaſted our mizen ; but yet the wind and ſeas were too high for us, and every wave ſeemingly threatened to overwhelm us; ſo that we beat up and down with only our bare poles, which we feared would break in upon our deck, which muſt have foundered us, in caſe it had ſo happened : we alſo lowered our main-yard, and fore-yard down a port laſt, as i obſerved the ſailors called it, that i fierce, that we did not dare to looſe an . w y head-ſail all; for, if we had, they certainly wou ai ve been -> º º ained exceeding when it to get l changed, and was pretty calm ; and we beg everything in good order. the wind that evening changin, w # to ſouth-weſt, about fix the next evening fº iffe, at about nine leagues fiſh and a great deal 72 philip quarll. of ſea thiſtle ſwimming. we ſailed all night with a ſmall eaſy gale, and at break of day made the canaries: bearing north-weſt by weſt, about three leagues. we crowded all our ſail, and came to an anchor, in the harbour of santa cruz, in the iſland of teneriffe, on the twenty-firſt, in about thirty fathoms water, black ſlimy ground, about half a mile from the ſhore. the land being for the moſt part brettv high, it is very bad going aſhore here in boats 5 iding here are often obliged to put to ſea, or ſlip their anchors, by reaſon the road lies ſo open to the eaſt : ſhips are here ſupplied with good water between the coves, where they generally water. santa cruz, a ſmall town fronting the ſea, has two forts to ſecure the road: here ſome engliſh merchants ide, their houſes are low and uniform, covered with pantiles. here are oranges, lemons, and other fruits; alſo, flowers and fallading ; and a great number of pleaſant gardens. at oratavia, t try is ſo full of riſings and fallings, that fome to walk up and down in it : moſt uſed by them. here grows malmſey wine ; here are alſo cat sm wine; likewiſe, a great m orced to ſlip their cables, p , by reaſon of the winds, philip quarll 73 grows a tree; which being continually covered with clouds, from its leaves always drop great quantities of excellent water. theſe canary iſlands are commonly the rendezvous of the spaniſh weſt-india fleet, where they generally receive orders for unlading their wealth. . from the harbour of santa cruz we ſailed, on the twenty-fifth of november, to the canary iſlands: here the ſoil is ſo hat they have two harveſts in the year. its c --------j commodities are honey, wax, ſugar, and the beſt of wines; of which we took in a ſufficient quantity of each : here are, alſo, dragon’s-tree, which produces a red liquor called dragon’s-blood. theſe iſlands are exceeding wholeſome though they are inclinable to heat. ž having taken in the cargo which we deſigned from theſe iſlands, we ſailed from thence on the third of . december for the madeira iſland, with a fair wind at fouth ſouth-weſt, and ſaw ſeveral ſhips ſailing towards . : the next day at eight in the morning, we ma nd, which was the madeira, at about four s d came to an anchor: here are § rivers, which refreſh the country. it is a very beautiful iſland, exceedingly fertile, and produces excellent wine, which is very ſtrong. we nchored in the port; which reſembles an half moon, lot far from the town. near this iſland is another not ſo large as this (which is about fixty leagues i compaſs) called porto santo, which affords ſame commodities as madeira: here we to thirty pipes of madeira wine; and having ac d our buſineſs, we left that iſland on the tenth, and ailed for the lizard with a weſterly wind. we gº aſt, and the ſk a stressee º philip qi hard clouds, very thick, one by another which we imagined an approaching ſtorm : accordingly, we provided for it, by reeving our top-ſails, and took in our ſails as faſt as poſſible. the wind began to blow very briſk gale, and ſoon after the ſtorm began, the wind ſtill increaſed by ſqualls of rain and hail, which came very thick, and faſt, and the ſea ran very high; ſo that we were obliged to run before the wind. we hipped little or t h ſome waſhed into er deck; and the waves a dolphin was caſt thereon. blew very hard, but about eight hours aſ ated its fierceneſs, and then veered to the and the foul weather broke up, and we had ſmaller gales, with ſome calms, and fair weather. on the eighteenth the wind veered to ſouth ſouth-eaſt, which continued a briſk gale till the twenty-ninth, and we kept right before wind and ſea, the wind ſtill increaſing ; and we made the lizard on the twenty-ſeventh, at about t ºut 8. and ſtood in for the land, and came to a ~ º as i pro ai 3:32: o any bod # readers the an account of the birth and education of philip quarll ; as alſo, the moſt ſurpriſing tranſacti of his life, from his infancy to his being caſt º away. ; : * : *... . . . . . . . om the memoirs he gave to mr. edward perſon who found him on the philip quarll was bor st. giles, in the year 1647. quarll, formerly a maſter-buil himſelfi 76. philip q. ſhe and her poor yoke ere drudging to get him bread) to commit him to the care of one kind neighbour or another, for a ſmall confideration, till he could prattle, and go alone ; at which time ſhe him to ſchool to a good old almſwoman, where ontinued till he was fix years old. one day a neighbour who formerly had the care of the child in his mother's abſence, having contracted particular love for him, being a very pretty child; finding him, after ſchool time, fitting at his father’s door, takes him by the hand, and leads him to his mother, then at work, at an old lady’s houſe in greatruſſel-ſtreet. the houſekeeper, who was naturally fond of children, ſeeing this pretty child, takes him up in her ns and runs to her good old lady, who had juſt ded her cuſtomary private devotion. the child, whom the poor woman kept very neat , and clean, beyond what could be expected out of her ſmall gettings, was naturally very handſome ; being tall of his age, and well ſhaped; his features regular, and well-proportioned; his complexion fair; his hair long and curling; his countenance mild, and ſprightly; his behaviour gentle and eaſy; all which qualifications rendered him completely amiable, and made : old lady ive an inclination for him uncomfor a ſ r’s child, eſpecially of ſo mean a him, ſhe wiſhed he had y creature, though no kin to me by birth 2 land ſuitable to my inclination, has, by a related to me. hi philip quarll. ſhe could not refuſe; now i will give him education, the principal and moſt neceſſary care by which real love can be expreſſed to a child. so, having given orders that a good ſchool might be inquired after, ſhe put him to board to a maſter whoſe commendable charašter of inſtructing his ſcholars, in their duty to god and man, as well as in literature, had procured him a confiderable number of children of the beſt families. there ſhe intended to have kept him till he was, by years and learnin lalified for ſome genteel trade, intending to leave him in her will, forty pounds, to ſet him up, when out, of his time. -> * . . . . ; but now ill fate begins to ſhow its averſeneſs to poor phil.’s happineſs : the worthy lady di |denly, and was interred a few days after, to his . ſpeakable prejudice, and threatening ruin. but watchful providence, who had decreed him good, averted the apparent evil, and only permitted ſome § n to her purpoſes, the better to raiſe his er ſucceeding favours, when ſenſible of conceived a particular love for noh docility, and extraordihis ſcho ing) was ver ing to 78 iilip quarll. wither away for want of cultivation. thus having pondered awhile, love and charity, after a long ſtruggle with intereſt, gained the vićtory; the old man concludes to give him his learning, if his relations would only find him in board and other meceſſaries. … w this being concluded upon by both parties, phil. continued to go to ſchool for the ſpace of four years longer; during which time, he made himſelf a complete maſter of the grammar, writing, and arithmetic ; he alſo made a vaſt improvement in finging, having all that time been taught by a maſter, who attended ſome boarders three times a week; who, finding an extraordinary voice, and natural diſpoſition, 2. oy, took a fancy to teach him : ſo that phil. me reſpects, qualified to attend the ſchool, ature of uſher, had his age permitted it. but as yet too young to keep the ſcholars in awe, ich is neceſſary in a ſchool, the maſter only gave him his board, till the elder ſcholars left off and he was grown bigger ; intending then to allow him a ſufency to maintain himſelf, as others do in that ſtation. utill fate ſtill attends the boy: the good old an died in leſs than a twe th, and was ſucseeded by a ſuperannuate ‘miſt miniſter ; -, -º-º-º: ſchool as his predeant: ſo phil. was his poor mother poor phil, who had conceived a notion that there is a ſervitude and hardſhip entailed upon that ſtation, was very loath to reſolve upon entering into it; but as he was a very diſcreet boy, not inclined to play, as children commonly are, and ſeeing that there was 2. a neceſſity for him to reſolve upon ſomething ; to make his choice the more eaſy, he conſults the maſters’ nature and temper, rather than the goodneſs and profitableneſs of the trade: and as there lived in the neighbourhood a lockſmith, ever fince he was born, who being great with his father, would often play with him, when a child, and now and then give him farthings to buy fruit; he choſe to be bound to him ; which was done in about a month’s time. they both agreed wonderfully well, th % ing very kind and good-natured, and gent and careful ; ſo that thoſe fears of meetin hardſhips being diſperſed, he cheerfully w without thinking the time tedious. but this ha neſs though ſlight, is but of a ſhort laſting ; for the poor man, having been bound for a relation, who failed, had all his effects ſeized upon, and hi thrown into goal; and poor p in was obliged to come to his moth this accident was a vaſt diſ boy’s learning his trade, he bei his unfortunate maſter begging no other ; hoping every day to n and carry on buſineſ: want of employment, wo with neighbours’ children. one day, as he was playing at ce of his art. the ſpoke him of no confin to hope that he might g ſtopt a while, he took the being hot with running at a pump hard by. he g, do you mean to kill rink cold water now when with me, and i will give º: you ſhall only go a ſhort maſter the innocent boy nd if it’s not too far : b ad, not being uſed to ſtrong he, he fell aſleep on the bench e door upon him and not to awake him, home, having ſlept till it was dark, being afraid to anger his relations by ſtaying out late, contrary to his cuſtom, being uſed to orderly hours, and would have gone away, had not turner, whoſe projects would have been quite unhinged, uſed all the devices he was maſter of to perſuade é. ... firſt he beſpeaks a ſupper of that which the liked beſt, who fince his being come from the boarding-ſchool, had been uſed to none but coarſe meat, his poor parent’s ability affording no better: then, to divert away the time he intended to prolong till his opportunity ſuited, he told him ſeveral ſtories, and, moſt particularly, that of his pretended uncle’s unkindneſs to lock him out of doors, and of his cunning invention to get in at own time and unknown to him; but that afraid he muſt be forced to lie o would be his death, being not uſed to ſuc the poor tender-hearted boy, who could ſcarce forbear crying, whilſt he related this diſmal ſtory of his uncle’s unkind uſage, aſked him what was the matter he could not get in that night as well as at other times 2 becauſe, replied the ſly knave, the boy that uſed to let me in is fick of the ſmall-pox, a i have heard fince you fell aſleep. what! you get ſomebody elſe? ſaid fimple phil. i do that for you, if i could tell own home; for my mothel being obliged to anſwered the ſubt # * to ſtay. having releft countenance, repriof being drawn into bad o be more cautious for jeopardy, at by gained the : for wh ing no probability of £º ſtation he was e reſolved upon g wanting for that employment neither charaćter nor recommendation, which he was ſenſible would be a hard matter to get, by reaſon of this moſt fatal accident." thus having imparted his deſign to his loving mother, who, with much reluctance, acquieſced in his going from her, and leaving his native country, where ſhe once had hopes to ſet well ſettled; ſh with weeping eyes, impl ºrh and receive him into his proteć acquainted with no one that co him in that matter, ſh there, ſaid ſhe, you m who perhaps m dear child, all ou for : in the ge d cou n mother, and then to come home to him, at the ſign of the black-boy, near the iron gate; that he need bring no clothes with him, for he would provide every thing neceſſary for the voyage. -the overjoyed boy, having told his mother of his extraordinary ſucceſs, gave her the money, being in great haſte to return to his new maſter: ſo having embraced his tender mother, and ſhe her dear ſon, weeping over one another for ſome time, he leaves her at work. º º º º the good woman, though ſhe had all the reaſon in the world to be eaſy in her mind, that the boy was out of thoſe temptations which great want, and bad company, might lead him into, could not be reconled at his going fr r; but ſeeing no remedy, ſhe 3 cr fter him, accompanied with crow s of pr wers of tears re had bee him clothes and linen him a new cap-a-pee; a few days after ſet ſail phil, whoſe agreeable aſpećt m the love of the ſhip's crew, man at t urned n learned philip quarll. 85 ble of, whom he had often diverted with his finging during that voyage, allowed him ſailor’s pay the following voyage, which was ſoon after : for in leſs than three weeks time the ſhip was new laden, and ſet out again for the ſame place, and was gone as long as before ; at the end whereof it returned home richly laden, and in a ſhorter time than was common : which being put in the news, as uſual, prompted a certain number of drury-lane nymphs to go down to the place where they heard the ſhip was arrived ; ſuppoſing that the luſty ſailors, having a long time been confined to ſalt meat, would, at their arrival, being fluſh of money, purchaſe a bit of freſh at any rate. being come to gravefend, where the ſhip lay, t found according to cuſtom, the jolly crew in houſe, ſpending like aſſes, what they had ea horſes, even before they had received it. at the ladies coming, the elevated ſailors, who h been ſailing on ſalt water for the ſpace of three year. and fince ſet their brains floating in ſtrong drink, for fix hours, having loſt the rudder of their reaſon, ran headlong upon thoſe quick-ſands, where moſt of them loſt all they had, before they could get o the ingenious ladies, who had neſty, improved the abſence of th and, being very expert in the art º fell to examining the depth hallow-ora § fellow’s pockets; which finding very low, they were much diſheartened from going on, for fear of running aground. but, underſtanding that their ſhip had not yet been cleared, they caſt their anchor there, waiting for a freſh gale. 86 philip quarll. ful phil. behind: who, being a ſtranger to the game they were going to play at, did not dare to take a artner: but croſs fate ſtill attending him, a ſnare is laid in which he muſt fall. every man but modeſt quarll, being gone away with a wench ; one, being ſupernumerary, ſtayed behind. the crafty creature, who, from her firſt coming in, had fixed on the innocent young man for her quarry, kept at ſome diſtance from her comrades; waiting their abſence, to work her deſign. * * * unthinking phil. having no ſuſpicion of her cunattacks, ſtood no longer fiege, but capitulated at the rſt ſummons. it is true, ſhe was provided with § illery, as no fortifications againſt love could sº ; \ u rce the moſt ſtubborn to or at leaſt parley, which is a forerunner * , º º im, as being the firſt batteringthe ſex plants, when hey p a breach in sheart; ſhe charges y of engaging words, whilſt her looks º, having fixed her baſiliſk' 8 eyes upon h # ſuch prevailing terms, as no mony; which ; the chaplain of philip quarll. 87 ed with their miſtreſſes, and had diſmiſſed them with rough uſage, and ill language, of which threy generally are fluſh, when money is ſcant. the diſappointed wretches, ſeeing no redreſs for their treatment lately received, which they well knew roceeded from want of money, concluded upon ſtaying in that place till their ſhip was cleared; by which time their appetite being ſharpened again, and they fluſh of money, and hoping they ºº: chaps; they took a garret in a º ſhop, where they made ſhift to kennel together, and live upon ſhort commons. , , our new-married couple, whoſe money was but ſcanty, were alſo obliged to put up with indifferent quarters; but the hopes of receiving the poor huſband’s pay ſoon, and withal, the thoughts of be ed from a goal, which ſhe was in dange married, being the principal advantage ſhe p ed to herſelf by having a huſband, it made her now eaſy. but ſhe, and all the reſt of her companions, were diſappointed. the ſhip being unladen, the cargo proved damaged, by the leaking of the veſſel, which is commonly made good by the ſailors: ſo that, inſtead of three year’s wages being due, the poor men ſ § | pockets, and the latter to ſeek for cu their extravagance, and to º ho during the voyage, had ſaved a hich his maſter gave #. at fundry at the ſea, by the late accid fortune in another me 88 philip quarll. his crafty wife, who was, by her marriage, ſcreened from her creditors, depending upon her former occupation, indulged him in that reſolution ; ſo they ſet out with that little he had and arrived pretty bare. finding no friends in london, his maſter being dead whilſt he was at ſea, he reſolves to enliſt in the footguards for bread, having no other dependance ; ſo conſults with his ſpouſe about a lodging, till he had s: § or him. she, indeed, was beſt town, and knew of ſeveral that r ſtock and ſtation, but durſt go to none, having bilked moſt of them, and left a ſcore with the reſt. but lodging muſt be had before night; and the day was far ſpent; which ſet her a thinking, neceſſity being the mother of invention: and ſhe, as is peculiar to women of her employment, being well acquainted with it, was no ſtranger to ſhifts; and preſently finds one, ~ i having pondered for a ſhort time, ſhe concludes upon going to her laſt lodgings ; where though ſhe was confiderably in debt, ſhe queſtioned not but ſhe ſhould ſtill find a kind reception, and that her landlady, where ſhe had been about a fortnight, having #". over her debt, would at her coming ſlacken the ill opinion ſhe had conceived of her, and afford her kind uſage; ſo, having fixed a rendezvous for her huſband, ſhe haſtens there; where ſhe found, as was expected, the old woman as overjoyed as furo ſee her; and much more, when ſhe underſhe was married to a ſailor, lately arrived from e year's voyage ; who in a ſhort time, would tred, and that then ſhe would rub off her ſcore. ld . n thinking herſelf ſecure of her debt, philip quarll. 89. lodgings but in her houſe; that ſhe would make every thing as eaſy and convenient as ſhe ſhould deſire; being as welcome to ſcore, as with ready money. the ſubtle woman having gained her ends, goes and fetches her hu , whom the over-reached d woman receives moſt kindly, expreſ ºšj. a quartern of all-fours, the chief con b & houſe; that being drank, was ſucce cond, at the new tenant’s coſt; whic with a cheerful welcome to as many as encouraged the coming in of half a do theſe warmed the company, and particularl landlady; who having greeted quarll for hi iage, over and over, fell upon pi fe, whom ſhe had known for a long time; er all the encomiums that virtue itſelf cou his manner they lived about a fortnight, ſtill on ſcore, which increaſed very faſt, and no prof: of money, it obliged the landlady to put them hind ; often aſking when they expected the ſhip e c d. quarll, who diſcerned, by the cloud appeared over her brow, a th ning ſtorm of an harbour, . fate, a go º philip quarll. one day that he mounted guard out of his turn, being upon duty at the park-gate, next to chelſea, about ten at night, the place being clear of people, he fell a finging to divert melancholy thoughts, which ſolitude is apt to indulge : at that time happened to come by a colonel of the ſame regiment, who, being merrily diſpoſed, ſtopped for ſeveral moments to hear him fing: quarll, having made an end g, fell a whiſtling the tune; at which the ame to him, ſaying, how can you profane ſuch a fine tune with whiſtling, when you can fing it ſo well ? pray let me hear you do it once more, and grace it with that good voice nature has given you. quarll, having made ſome few modeſt excuſes, yields to his preſſing ſolicitations, and ſings the ...; over again, and with more care than before; which ſo pleaſed the gentleman, that he ſtood half with him aſking him queſtions : and being by formed whoſe company he belonged to, having conſent to be exchanged, he gives him five ſhillings to drink his health ; and charges him to come to him, at the mitre tavern, at charing-croſs, the next day eight of the cloc § and aſk for coloii. y went to the appointed; where he finds the coº with more civility and cor ſance 1 is commonly paid to men of his coat: defired him to fit down amongſt them, a w bing round once or twice, the colonel having his finging to the company, he was deſired he ſung to the colonel the night before ſhot told the gentlemen, he wi with half a ſcore more gentlemen, philip quarll. 91 his ſkill and voice, deſerved the honour of their hearing, and that he would do the beſt he could ; having, at their requeſt, drank another glaſs, he fung the ſong they deſired, to their great ſatisfaction and applauſe. . after a ſhort ſpace of time was ſpent in the praiſe of finging, and a talk of what an engaging accompliſhment it is, either in man or woman ; ſome of the company, holding that the charms of muſic are nº wife inferior to the power of love; it occaſioned a very agreeable debate, there being in the company a gentleman unfortunately under that circumſtance, who would give love the ſupremacy over all that can affect our minds : ſeeing that it ſtrips a man of the benefits of his own ſenſes, of the ſtrength of his reaſon, and foundneſs of judgment. no obječt is fair, but that whoſe idea hath impreſſed the mind; no harmony he it in the beloved voice, or that which founds its praiſe; dainties have no favour in the abſence of that which every thing reliſhes; the faireſt days are but dull, if not enlivened by the light of the charn er's preſence. :: . . .33% thus he run on, till the company, perce was beginning to be uneaſy, deſired quarl % entleman a love-ſong, who ſpoke ſo mu ; which he did, and pleaſed the lover ſo e the made him a preſent of half-a-guir tleman, who was altogether for muſic, h ked quarll whether he had any thing in t of it, having alſo his requeſt anſwered ; ma f the company crave a ſong in the com ited their inclinations; ſom 3. philip quarll. which being over, the company who had been ſo well diverted with quarll's ſinging, conſulted together to do him ſervice: and as he was well qualifie teach, they propoſed to recommend him ſch a gentleman in compan ing a fifter who in ed to learn, he writes a letter to her, defiring would make uſe of no other maſter; which letter was to carry the next morning : and as his regi tal clothes might leſſen her opinion of his meri bids him, before he goes, to call at his lodgings, and he would preſent him with a ſuit of clothes, which he wore but part of laſt ſummer, and therefore little the worſe for wearing. and, as he wanted but an hat to be completely dreſſed (having an extraord j of hair) another gentleman bid call on him for one; ſo that he had all he wante the gentleman having given him direéti go for the things, and the colonel his pron et him diſcharged out of the company he did at leaſt, to have him, exchanged into unexpected but lucky adventure, lik irpriſe unframed his reaſon, and makes ing happineſs. thus tranſported fore, and in a fair ećt o ſelf; he haſtens home, and in his n which he ought not to be ſeen there, obnoxious to moſt, and more eſpecia his landlady, who, till the xpect her money, thinkingh philip quarll. 93. being diſcharged, to go another voyage ; ſeeing him in that hope-killing dreſs, gave a ſhriek as if ſhe had ſeen the devil: ſlanders and abuſes, ſtriving for utterance, crowd in her foaming mouth ; and, like a id torrent, which, running from a large extent ſwells, and overflows its ks ; ſo her paſſions finding her mouth too ſmall a paſſage, breaks out through her eyes: thus, having ſhrieked out and roared awhile, which occafioned all her lodgers to come down, ſhe charges poor aſtoniſhed quarll with ſhoals of abuſes, in the vileſt and moſt inſulting terms that the moſt inveterate malice can expreſs. . thus having exhauſted her ſtock of ſlanders, her tongue having uttered all the evil ſhe could, ſhe ſet her miſchievous hands to work upon his wife ; who being come to ſee the occaſion of her ſhrieking, ſtood like ereft of her ſenſes: ſo having torn her head-clothes off her head, with words' ſuitable to the barbarous deeds, ſhe thruſt them both out of doors; which, though the rudeſt ačtion that could denote , the ºn. of her intended revenge, was to them, at that time, the kindeſt act ſhe could form. à that unexpe&ted treatment was no ſmall check to quarll's cheerful diſpoſition, but having confidered, that one time or other he muſt have ſtood the ſhock, rejoic º . it is over ; and, being free from the are of getting her paid, he has at that time nothing to think of but to find another lodging; which being th late to go about, he concludes to wait for morning at a certain cellar at charing-croſs, which is open all night. going along, ſhe mildly blamed him. for § 3. . dviſed coming in that dreſs, which, he e, could produce no better effect. to 94. philip quarll. º which he anſwered, he never could have wiſhed for better: for, by her turning him out of doors, ſhe had paid herſelf: which he would have done, had he ſtaid : but now he was come away, being provided, and in a bette he would have lodgings; ſo told her of the adventure, which much rejoiced her; and from that time made her reſolve to forſake her former way of living, which misfortunes only drove her to, being not .# by evi º as many are. the morning being c went to ſeek for lodgings, he went for was promiſed the evening before, which fitted if made on purpoſe, and made him appear as one of evil inclination, . whi ſt º the genteel employment he was recommended for. being new ſhaved and powdered, he went with the letter, according to order; and was received ſuitab to the recommendation given him. up, made him drink chocolate with -----> . avi is with him for a $ aving required a ſong, ſhe agr guinea a month, the uſual rate, and at entrance, as is common ; ſo beg nea unes. thus joyfully here he had ſpent the night d appointed to meet his wife, .*.*.*. rter of an hour, hoping ſhe haſ philip quarll. 95 him in ſo different a garb from that which ſhe left him in : which he perceiving, comes up to her, and takes her by the hand, going to aſk her the ſucceſs of her walk : but ſhe, putting it out of his power, in an angry manner, bidding him go about his buſiw having none with her, preventing his ſpeaking. his filence, which ſhe took to proceed from . neſs, occaſioned her looking . in the face ; in which diſcovering her dear huſband’s features to * * º handſomeneſs, his genteel clothes were n, ſhe was ſeized with ſuch a ſurpriſe, r ſpeechleſs for ſome minutes. , diſcerning her diſorder by the fading of her freſh complexion, was as much ſurpriſed as ſhe. thus trembling, he takes her in his arms: my dear, ſaid lat’s the matter? are you not well ? having ł her ſpeech, ſhe embraced him, ſaying, how , when my dear heart and ſoul app. words, and the return kindled love's fire in his hea ałł ardly can º his new thus, giving her a kifs, my love, ſ got me a lodging 2 yes, my dear, f wife; you ſhall ever dwell in my heart. to lie in your arms, anſwered he ; th e here. well, then ſaid ſhe, i hav 3|a. io having each of them 96. philip quarll. ſhe cavils with time for flying too faſt. whole days and nights are too ſhort for her to behold her dear. she continually bears his image in her heart, and wiſhes ſhe could for ever have him in her arms; which from that time ſhe conſecrates to chaſte embraces; devoting herſelf wholly to the diligent aſſiduous practice of the neceſſary qualifications in a wife, to render a huſband truly happy: the execution of which wiſe and virtuous reſolutions, gained her the º and fincere love and affection a really can ſhow or expreſs to a darling wife. they lived in that truly happy ſtate abº year; at the end of which, cruel fate, envious of his uncommon happineſs, moſt barbarouſly robs him of it, almoſt as ſoon as he had favoured its incomparable and matchleſs ſweets. one ſummer morning, loving and truly knowing her º delighted in flo eens, went to covent-garden, in order to buy ſo armiſh her windows and chimney, being the only g wanting to complete the neatneſs of which ſhe kept in the greateſt order. ng, ſhe moſt unfortunately met with the pernight, who deceived her out of her virtue, : rith whom ſhe had lived a confiderable time, in expectation of his fulfilling the promiſe he made her when ſhe put him in poſſeſſion of her maiden treaſure; ho being glutted with his ſacrilegious theft, moſt afely and ungratefully left her deſtitute. fain would ſhe have ſhunned the fatal principal and origin of her paſt misfortunes, and helliſh motive of her late evil life, ſhe mortally abhorred, and zealouſly renounced; but inexorable fate has decreed her ruin ; oid him, he oo near before ſhe philip quarll. 9. perceived him, and had hold of her hand, ere ſhe could ſhift it out of his way. ". being thus ſuddenly ſtopped by him, ſhe would have embraced the ſevereſt death, to avoid the vile ſeducer, by whom her innocence was firſt betrayed. the irreconcileable antipathy ſhe had conceived for the mortal enemy of her newly-retrieved virtue, being ſtartled at his terrifying appearance, ſet her whole lty in an uproar, and ſcares away her ſenſes; not word left her to expreſs her trouble. , s knight, whoſe late love for the fair sally, fe regular living had repaired thoſe charms her former lewd life had .# much damaged) was revived, and grown more paſſionate than ever, tering his hopes with the thoughts, that her preſent diſorder proceeded from joy and ſurpriſe, took the ortunity of an empty hackney-coach, which was º sy, to bring her to his lodgings: ſo, : ſtopped it, he puts in the poor diſpirited woma together inſenſible of what was done, or deſig , with the ſhaking of the coach tle ſpirit, and finding herſelf ſo m power, as aimed at her total ruin, ſhe g ºfhriek which occaſioned the coach to be fl ome people who were going by, but his he . ..", her ...'...." buſe till ſhe was entirely recovered, repr langer of expoſing herſelf by oppoſi tion, being then near a ſtreet had lived together a confiderable ſure pacified her; ſo "... h *.*. people wh 9s philip quarll. with all the marks of paſſionate love, ſwearing over and over, he was her ſlave for ever ; and that now rind fortune brought them together, none but death ſhould ſever him from the perſon he loved ſo dear; and that he would expire in thoſe ſoft arms, which often gave him life. theſe fond expreſſions which ſhe formerly had given credit to, are now upbraidings and reproaches for her too eaſy credulity, and only increaſed h red t for the deluder; which, at that time ght proper to conceal : thus, reſtraining h n, ſhe aſſumes a feigned calmneſs, and mildly returns him thanks for his love, which he cannot indulge, being married. married 1 ſaid he, and i living ! was not you mine : i was indeed, replied ſhe, bluſhing with anger and ſhame. but what was i? i tremble to think on it. why, ſaid he, my love and heart's delight, and ſhall be, whilſt breath keeps it in motion. oh! falſe man, ſaid ſhe, weeping moſt bitterly, reat not thoſe deluding words, which betrayed my come, ſaid he, ceaſe that flood which overny ſoul with the bittereſt of ſorrows, and ree moſt penitent of men from the crueleſt of : my ſubmiſſive obſervance of your inclinaall henceforth atone for all paſt given diſpleamean you, ſaid ſhe, as you ſpeak 2 by all ſacred, i do, replied he. then, ſaid sally, joyº, ſet me down here, and i’ll forgive what’s paſt. no, my dear, this being a requeſt i cannot in hot ant, i may, without breach of promiſe refuſe; ſt ſee you quite re-eſtabliſhed firſt. by this time the coach was arrived to the directed place, which proved to be an houſe where ſhe had laſt ºved with the knight ; which being open, and the philip quarll. 99 landlady at the door, obliged her to go in without *reſiſtance, fearing it would be no uſe, but rather prejudicial to her deſign : ſo ſhe quietly went in, hoping ſhe ſhould have a better opportunity to get away, after ſhe had made the landlady underſtand that ſhe was married. but the ſordid wretch, hoping the knight would lodge there again, who proved an extraordinary beneficial lodger before, went out of the room, and left her to his pleaſure. & , po, y, ſeeing herſelf at the point of being a ind time undone, there being no one to affiſt her within, nor hopes of any help from abroad, the room ſhe was in being backwards, next to large gardens, and diſtant from the houſe, and iºr. o hearing ; gives herſelf up to deſpair, ſeeking the portunity of laying hold of his ſword, on which ſhe was reſolved to fall, rather than yield to his adulterous deſires. thus, whilſt the knight was labouring to expreſs the height of his love, by the moſt endearing terms, and prevailing words, the moſt paſſionate lover could invent; ſhe, of a ſudden, ſnatche . ſword from his fide, and turned the point thereof wards her breaſt, in order to execute her though virtuous reſolution. what do you he, laying hold of her arm. to get myſelf at ſaid ſhe, which you baſely refuſe : ſo falls intº lent fit, which laſted ſome minutes; which wasn er over, but it was ſucceeded by another, and for the ſpace of three hours; at the end of which ſhe was ſo faint and weak, that her life was deſpaired of, and ſo continued all day : which made the knig . p 3& kni repent that he had forced her to ſtay, ſo m gainſt her will; heartily wiſhing that he knew where that he might ſend her home; which ſhe ico philip quarll. being not well enough to tell, the landlady, by the knight’s order, got the beſt room in the houſe fitted up for her ; and the bed being warmed, ſhe was carefully laid in it, and a doćtor ſent for; who having felt her diſordered pulſe, ſaid, her indiſpoſition proceeded from paſſion and grief; and ordered that ſhe ſhould be let blood, which would give her op; ::::::::... …?. w preſent relief. the phyſician was an no ſooner gone, but the ſurgeon was ſent f & 2 . form the doćtor's orders, which gave h eaſe, and in a little time cauſed her to laſted all the night. 3& &. ... , 3 this great and ſudden amendment much rejoiced afflićted knight, who made a vow not to e was reſtored to her wonted health ; night. . . . . . . . . , sally, whoſe good night’s reſt. ure recovered both ſtrength and in a ſtrange bed, and from he ſe, which did ! ſaid ſhe, by re! what fiends could rapouſe's arms then ſeeing bed-fide, ſhe gives a loud er ſaid ſhe, is it then by iſh ſtratagems that i am aga wer at which ſhe fell into —no, moſt virt • philip quarll. ioi by heightening her grief. oh! ſaid ſhe, with a freſh ſhower of tears, how can i now look my dear huſband in the face, when my very juſtification turns to my ſhame 2 the knight, who was in as great a conſternation as ſhe could be in, takes her hand, which lay motionleſs out of the bed, and, bathing it with tears, begs her to forbear terrifying his moſt penitent ſoul, promifing to rectify all paſt wrongs : you remember, my life, ſaid he, the vows i made when firſt you gave yourſelf to me: i renew them now, and would fulfil them, but that it would expoſe you to the rigour of the law : therefore i will only, for the preſent, ſettle five hundred pounds a year upon you for your till, by your huſband’s death, i am empowered to make you lawful miſtreſs of all my eſtate. pray, compoſe yourſelf, and ſedately confider on it, and, when 'tis come to a concluſion, i will attend for your anſwer: ſo withdrew for awhile. 3. this generous offer, expreſſing the fincerity of his love, for whom ſhe had formerly more than a common eſteem, in a great meaſure appeaſed her paſ offered atonement diſarms her revenge ; pleads for him ſhe had condemned, and blam ſelf for the crimes ſhe had charged him with. could i, ſaid ſhe, think my virtue ſafe in his on whom love has ſuch an aſcendant (which is itſel guilty of as many faults as it covers ?) if he went away with my heart, it was but a breach of truſt : beſides, his abſence was no flight, it being occaſioned by buſineſs. having made theſe reconcileable reflections, and being at the point of accepting his offer, conſcience ſtarts, an ofes her reſolution: her huſband ſtands in the way, rigged in al, thoſe engaging qualifica19, . philip quarll. # tions which had won her affection. this coming into her mind, in a manner ſcares away her reaſon; ſhe cannot help loving both : her love for the knight pleads ſeniority, and that for her huſband juſtice. the firſt is attended with intereſt, the laſt is prompt!--------. le debate is great, and both their : reaſon is called to decide the mat, which (as it is her cuſtom) ſedately ighed the cauſe, examined both accidents and incidents, at laſt ſeems inclinable to favour the love for the knight; but juſtice, who is always in th . will not refign it: peace and content, the only mosworth contending for, muſt be conſulted. they, being alſo cautious of giving a raſh verdićt, examined on which ſide they were in moſt ſafety: and, finding themſelves moſt ſcreened from upbraidings and reproaches (their mortal enemies for the knight) gas it on his fide. so juſtice, who ſeldom gets its du is forced to drop the cauſe, and tacitly withdrew. le knight’s offer, being the ſofteſt choice for an d quiet life, which ſhe could not reaſonably m her huſband doubtleſs would, from :cident, conceive an ill opinion of her virsh although at that time blameleſs, ſhe ity vindicate) having ſent for the to him after this manner: %. reaſon to repent my being too many vexations it had occaſioned ld i upon the bare repeating of expoſe myſelf to the ſame, you ; but blame me. indeed, dear sally, it interrupting her, i own you have ſuf3. ity; but i will this # r a lawyer, * º a : *. jº philip quarll. i. ders that a mercer ſhould be fetched for her, to ta. her choice of the moſt modiſh filks, and then for a filk night-gown, for her to wear till her clothes were made; as alſo for all manner of linen, ſhoes, and ſtockings. then having new rigged her from top to toe, now, ſaid he, my dear, you are entirely #. me directions that i may ſend your hu he can challenge as his own ; ſo writes letter : left the abſence of her, who unthinkingly gave herſelf to you for a wife (though not at her own diſpoſal, being mine before) ſhould cauſe you any ther trouble, theſe are to ſatisfy you, that i hav retaken poſſeſſion of my own; ſo ſend you back her lothes, as being all you can claim a right to. w i am yours, a having ſealed up the letter, and bundled, clothes, a porter was called, to whom orders given, to carry the bundle and letter, to the moſt perplexed and concerned quarll, who ſpent the night in unſpeakable torment. a thouſand diſmal acciracks for his tortured ſoul. he tumbles on his like an unmaſted ſhip toſſed about by a violent ſtorm, curſing the tedious hours for creeping thus in the dark night; taxing the ſun with ſloth, an with unkindneſs. thus, like one bereft o and quite void of reaſon, he ſnar re, philip quarll. forth its dawn, to proclaim its approach, he ſtarts from off the bed whereon he lay as if upon thorns, and like a madman, runs about to inform himſelf of what he dreads, more than death, to know. but, having ſpent ſeveral hours in diligent inquiry after lately befallen accidents, without hearing of any ; jealouſy creeps in, which in ſome meaſure removes his former fears, but nowife leſſens his pains he returns home as much racked as before. . being arrived, he finds on his table a bundle, and a letter, which his landlady told him were brought by a porter. his impatience to know the contents of :h were equal; but the bundle being more ſurpriſing o him, he precipitately opens it firſt ; which finding it to be every individual part of the clothes his wife had on the day before, when ſhe went out; with the ſurpriſe, he lets it drop out of his hands, and, like one thunderſtruck, remained ſpeechleſs for ſeveral minutes. then fetching a deep and heavy figh, attended with a ſhower of tears, he bitterly exclaims againſt himſelf for queſtioning the faithfulneſs of that love, of which he has now ſuch fatal proof. thus, concluding ſhe had drowned herſelf, and that the letter would inform him of the cauſe thereof : he takes it up, ſaying, o that thou hadſt been a timely forerunner of the fatal tidings thou art bearer of yet, for her dear ſake that wrote it, i will peruſe thee, though thy contents be but racks for me, and the moſt cruel tortures that ever were or can be invented. . but great was his ſurpriſe, when he found it to come from a man ; and inexpreſſible his confuſion at the contents : his ſenſes are all in an uproar; he s his eyes for not ſeeing right; his apprehenſion ing; his blind love taxes his philip quarll. io; reaſon with raſhneſs, the miſtaken expreſſions being but illuſions proceeding from an oppreſſion upon the intelle&ts : ſo lays down the letter till his diſturbed mind was better ſettled. yet he cannot be eaſy ; he muſt, with ſome other writing, try whether his eyes are ſtill defective : on which, finding no fault, he haſtily takes up the letter again; but alas! it was the ſame as before. my judgment, ſaid he, has been as much wronged as my love. so, after a few confiderations, calling to mind, that as an accident had procured her to him, he ought, without reluctancy, to ſurrender her again ; having made a reſolution never to venture any more on that uncerta ſtate, which commonly promiſes happineſs, but of. ten brings ſorrow : he ſhifts his lodging, and goes to live where he was unknown, the better to paſs for a bachelor ; in which free ſtation he enjoyed peace undiflurbed and pleaſures uncontrolled, for the ſpace of twelve months : but croſs fate ſtill purſues him ; he muſt again be fettered, and be t heavier chains than before. a ſecond mate is allotted him, who, though very chaſte, dooms him wretched, being ſhort of other qualifications neceſſary in a wife to make a man happy, this woman had been bred up from her infancy under the care of a lady, whoſe two daughters quarll taught to fing, and had lived with her in the ſtation of a chamber-maid, ever fince ſhe was big enoug officiate in that place; during which time, having behaved herſelf to her miſtreſs’ co had gaun2. ----> raffection ; ſo that thi d lady, being deſirš a woman, ſhe c 1 of, philip quarll. ſerved him ever ſince he came to her houſe, to carry and behave himſelf very decently. thus having declared her mind to her, who had already a great inclination that way, ſhe readily ſubmitted to her lady’s will, who promiſed to bring it about. § the good lady, having conceived the principal means to bring her deſign about, took the opportunity of quarll's next coming, to propoſe it to him, promifing to make her worth three hundred pounds, which was the only motive that could engage him to break the reſolution he had made. the young woman being alſo very agreeable in her perſon, and exaordinary obliging to him, he readily accepted the tct, . the old lady, having ſo far prevailed upon him, is reſolved to puſh on till quite concluded: ſo has them married in leſs than a week, and gave them lodgings in her houſe, where they continued but one month. the new-married wife, thinking herſelf in ſome meaſure, under confinement whilſt in the good lady’s houſe, to whom duty and gratitude obliged her to be more than indifferently obſerving, being likewiſe ſomewhat ambitious of living great, perſuades her huſband to take a fe, and furniſh it ; which being done according to deſire, they went away from the kind old lady to live by themſelves, without confidering the expenſe of houſekeeping, which they both, till then, had been ſtrangers to, but, in a little time, became too well acquainted with. ing the houſe dred pounds being gone in furniſhind paying two years’ rent, and as herſelf had but lately overto reduce his charges, and, some; ſo diſcharges the f philip quarll. to, perfluous ſervant, whoſe buſineſs was only to indulge her indolence, and increaſe her pride. that ſudden leſſening of her attendants checked her ambitious diſpoſition in ſuch a manner that it threw her into the ſpleen ; which was like to have coſt him more money in doćtors, than the ſervant’s wages which he endeavoured to ſave. being taken very ill, and knowing not what to complain of, a doćtor was granted at her importunity, rather than her need ; who, being come, and finding her indiſpoſition lie in her temper, more than a defe&t of nature, ordered her medicines to make them both in the ſame condition. " . . . º her ſtrength decaying, and the apothecary’s bill increaſing, which are the uſual effects of imaginary illneſs, made her huſband apprehenſive, that conſiderable charges might accrue from her fanciful and imaginary diſtemper, which he would not indulge ; and feared to check too ſuddenly, left it might produce ſome other ill effect : ſo, in compliance to her natural pride, he promiſes her going into the country, as being a proper expedient to ſave his money, and to be rid of a grunting companion, at leaſt during the ſummer. this propoſal, ſuiti mbition to imitate quality (who, for the generality, go out of town about that time of the year) was ſoon accepted of ; and that opportunity of being freed from one of the greateſt plagues which can befal a man, by him as º arll, having got her in the mind, was no wife diget it performed; but made diligent inquiry º n. in ace in the country, for s and cheapneſs; which being info ith takes a horſe; and having foun .3% old countryman, with his wife and daughter, in yorkſhire, whoſe diligent cares, and frugal living, whilſt young and ſtrong, had been rewarded with a moderate competence, to keep him from toiling when grown old: who, having d pleaſant and commo dious habitation, diſtant from meddling and inſpecting neighbours, and room to ſpare, were gry glad to a gentlewoman to board, bein em in their remote living, and therefore ſt upon no rate ; which fuiting quarli’s circumſtances and wiſhes, he began to conſult on means to keep his wife there for a conſtancy and as he well knew ſhe never would conſent, nor he be able to force her to it by violence, he applies to ſtratagems. thus, hav*ing given her the beſt charaćter he could to the old ſhe had one failing, but that it was nowife troubleſome, provided one give her her way: ſhe is very vapouriſh, and looks for great attendance : o dear! *"...","...","...'. philip quarll. io9 letters: i charge you, let her have no paper, only at firſt ; to write to me once, or twice, or ſo ; and that you will gueſs, when proper, by her railing, which will be a token of her being diſcompoſed : and, as for her diet, ſhe is ſomething dainty; but i fee you have plenty of poultry, which ſhe loves. well. o dear, fir, anſwered the old woman, have fiſh, fleſh, and fowl, when ſhe pleaſes have a fine pond in the ground, well ſtocked wi fiſh ; and cocks and hens enough, you fee, about the yard ; aſid for butcher’s meat, it it two or hours ride to the next town. so quarll having agreed beforehand, which he promiſe -boarded there, he returns to london, in order to fetch his wife; who having projected a greatneſs of iving in the country, which ſhe was diſappointed of n town, immediately inquired into the appearance of the houſe, the handſomeneſs of the lodgings, and the gentility of the neighbours: to which queſtions qu { care to anſwer ſuitable to her inclinaº : ncluded to go the next day, they went out to mak fion of ſuch things as cannot well be had in t y; as, nantz brandy, ratafia, uſquebaugh, co ocolate, and ſuch things as were neceſſary for genteel company. ing provided with every thing, they ſet out the next day; but as neither lodgings, houſe, or neighbourhood, anſwered her ambition, nor his comi dations, he contrived to arrive in the night, that ſhe might not find the deceit ; and as the good people of the houſe, according to direction, ſhowed h abundance of reſpect, giving her the title of 1 od ſupper being prepared, ſhe inquir the matter. the next morning q ſ one quarter io do whilſt ſhe 116 philip quarll. having repreſented to his ſpouſe, it would be of prejudice to him, if he ſtayed any longer from his ſcholars, having already loſt fix days, took his leave of her, and left her in bed, it not being her uſual time to riſe; ſo having promiſed to be with her in a ſhort time, to ſee how ſhe liked her lodgings, he returned ndon, having firſt renewed his charge to the :ople of the houſe, of giving her her humour; and, above all, not to let her go out alone, nor conſent to her coming up to london; which, in a little time, he queſ but ſhe would be very deſirous of §: omarll bein the old people, according to their charge, were extraordinary diligent and careful in pleafing their new lodger; who, finding her ambition gratified by their obſervance, kept in that day : but the next morning, having a fancy to walk out, the young woman of the houſe took her to ſee the ground and cattle which belonged to them, as being the principal things ſhe could ſhow her; there being neither houſe nor habitation, ºl, as it ºs w. rea ady to ſtar philip quai . 111 her home; where, being come, they would have laid her upon the bed; but ſhe, who took this act of their caution for an effect of their careful attendance, told them, that indeed ſhe could not find fault with them; and that her habitation might ſuit their birth; but really it did not hers, which her huſband very well knew ; and therefore ſhe never would * * him for bringing her thither, and that h ſoon know : ſo deſired them to give her pa ink, if the houſe could afford ſuch a thing. the good people, who had been cautioned to give her her humour in that at the beginning, having none at home, ſent the boy that attended their ſheep on horſeback to the next town for them; then, leaving her to compoſe herſelf, they retired to bewail among themſelves her misfortune, which they perceived to be the effect of pride, refle&ting upon the happineſs of their own condition, and the pleaſure of a contented life. . “* now, ſaid they, ſhe has been brought up in a where exceſs of pleaſure and luxury are made arriv but alas ! leir life is “vanity in faſhions, en “together with their inſepara gº “only contribute to make an unhappy life ith (*) are ſe s, for theſe reaſon ir any thing from his ry life. 2. and ery lively ideas is ſolitude. i i 2 ip quarll. “miſerable. here this gentlewoman wants for no “ manner of neceſſaries to make life comfortable, “but has rather a ſuperabundancy. could ſhe re“jećt that horrid pain cauſing quality of pride, and “learn a little humility, it is that brings content, and “ſweetens all the misfortunes of this life. how preferable is our ſtation to hers : how ſolid is the ure we enjoy in this ſolitary habitation, com* pared to the trifling joys the great ones poſſeſs in “the moſt populous cities o, happy fields, and fi“lent groves, where nothing but eternal rounds of “ pleaſure centre here no debaucheries, rioting, “faſhions, and luxurious entertainments ; no envy, “ of other’s good fortune, no drunkenneſs, ſwearing, “ and blaſpheming the mercies of the almighty god, “ever take place, as in flouriſhing cities: but pro“vidence gives us all things with a bountiful hand : “in ſhort, we have all we defire, and more than we “juſtly deſerve. here the beauteous birds, joyful“ly hop from bough, to bough, ſtretching their “ tuneful throats, and warble out melodious “to their great creator’s praiſe; wh “in harmonious echoes, repeat the ſame to the fruit“ful neighbouring val ere is nothing to be * ſeen or heard but u acclamations of praiſe “ to the great god of all things. this is the real “ſolid pleaſure: this it is that makes us perfectly hap“py. for how much more eligible is the company “of irrational animals, or even inanimate things, “ than the ſociety of men, who have diveſted them“ſelves of all things but ſhape, whereby to diſtin“guiſh them from the moſt deformed brutes, or, in“deed, from more horrible devils? this gentlewos tº *k, d of our ow º ºf philip quarll. 113 “ignorant; but now we may ſee, that happineſs “conſiſts not in riches, nor content in gaudy appa“rel.—but why do we tarry here 2. it is not pro“ per to leave the gentlewoman ſo long alone, left, “in one of her fits, ſhe ſhot herſelf a miſchief: “ therefore let one of us go to her.” so the good woman of the houſe went to finding her in tears, uſed all poſſible endea divert her melancholy, but all to no purpoſe ; for ſhe was interrupted by exclamations againſt, that villain that rogue her huſband. the good woman, º that words would not prevail, thought that a glaſs of ratafia might do better; ſo deſired her to comfort herſelf, and take a glaſs of her cordial ; to which ſhe ſoon conſented, and after that four or five more, which had the defired effect ; for her melancholy was by this time turned into the moſt violent fits of the ſpleen, and preſently into drowſineſs. the landlady perceiving her condition, deſired her to lie down, and refreſh herſelf by taking a little ſleep: on her bed, and watching her fo laying her d to ſleep, retired after ſhe had ſlept a very ſplenic humour why pen, ink, and pap ſaid the old woman, we did ſhip was awake; and we but i will bring it to you pr brought it. which ſhe no began to write the following don) would not kill me quick enough itſelf, that you have decoyed me to an hovel, the dullneſs whereof is ſufficient to make any well-bred dog pine itſelf to death ; here not being a rational creature to talk to, but the inſipid folk he hut ; who, being ſtript of their clumſy human ſhape, will be as complete br as their oxen and cows. pray ſee that you fo h fetch me hence, or expect to incur all the reſentment an injured wife can ſhow, as ſoon as arrived in london, where i ſhall ſurely come in a few days, though i was to travel all the way barefoot. yours, &c. mary quarll. this letter being wrote, the good people of the & 3. . . . .3 in a great conſternation, whether they ought to ſend it, or not; but, after ſome conſultation about the matter, they concluded it ſhould go, left her huſband ſhould take it amiſs. : quarll, who expected ſome ſuch letter from his haughty dame, as ſoon as ſhe had diſcovered the cheat, had, with a grea f judgment, prepared h o u! ſe w e r e ºg. itrun your reaſon, it § ſhould haſten ſending any more, ing, ſeeing it did above all thing not give them the ſlip tify them for their trouble. this obliging letter, together with a preſent pair of handſom en ſtockings, and lemon-colour ed gloves to the daughter, n the old folks’ affection, that t … º ſerving his order . different ſucceſs ; for, i give her opportunity of writaggravate her . fe had a quite inſtead of p g her into conſideration, it ſet her in ſuch a violent rage, as would ſcarce permit her to read it throughout: ſo tearing it to pieces, ſhe ſtorm it, conſider my circumſtances ! vile wretch 1 im behold my portion, ter a dwelling than a iately to the town, and -morrow ; for i get me a place in the ſtage agai will go and tear that villai the good woman w her thus deſpiſe her in a mile round; but a of her vapours, inſtead of vindic ough old and low built, v very convenient, t n. wiſhing it had b ſending to take } : º ed upon going the week followas again diſappointed, by one miſhap or om time to time : till at laſt ſhe beir giving of meaning to keep er there : th lved to go herſelf; but not knowing the way, ſhe defired ſomebody might be *ſent along with her; which they were ready to grant, ver had, being always out of the way, ºn, ſhe began to think ce r huſband to be rid of her g for her board and lodging, which d done before-hand, and agreed ſtay, which, very probably, might !d t nt him, by w ek out the it was a c with only he underſt ing b would direct her; but ºned of ſuch gilant to % 117 le by long experience knew, calls for her grand ſpecific ; and, after ſhe had drank threeor four refreſhing glaſſes, ſhe became more eaſy, and retired to reſt: when having ſlept a few hours, ſhe awakes ſomething better compoſed. thus confidering that all the reſentment ſhe was capable to ſhow could not mend her condition ; ſhe therefore concluded to make her landlord and landlady her friends, that if ſhe did not enjoy her liberty, as ſhe propoſed, ſhe might at leaſt enjoy a little more content in her confinement. * * thus ſhe reſolved, and indeed kept her reſolution a long time : laying aſide her haughty temper, and curbing thoſe violent paſſions ſhe had ſo long accuſtomed herſelf to, ſhe now bega ch more familiar and condeſcending, than w e had hitherto ſhown, to the great {. and ſurpriſe of the good people; who by this ſtrange alteration, were in great hopes her madneſs was wearing off; and, upon that account, were extremely induſtrious to humour her in every point; uſing her with all the good manners, they were capable of: which ſhe eaſily perceiving, thought to make uſe of their credulity to her advantage; for ſhe was a woman of quick penetration : and, finding how egregiouſly thoſe ignorant people had been impoſed upon, in relation to her phrenſ ans to regain her liberty was tone, and which ſhe º reaſe or recovery, ier ends for all their now the ſcene was entirely ed; the raving, proud, ill-natured gentlewoma ame the moſt pleafant, ſociable, and beſt-natured perſon they had ever met with : and they, who juſt before conceived ſo great a diſlike to her, were now ſo delighted with her company and converſation, that ſhe was leſs alone than formerly, they always contriving ſome diverſion or other to drive away her melancholy, and to prevent a relapſe; hoping d the welcome news of st recovery to her huſband: frequently pleatry tales, ſhowing her all the ardens, and orchards could afº: little contrivances to paſs the mile ſhe endeavoured to divert them al adventures of the londoners. this oft a whole month, with all the ſeemreimagin herſelf in no §.º.º.º.º.º...? o obtain ed in the 3. lewoman, w tions of his e dut > ligious woman, to church two or three times every day, where he was obliged conſtantly to attend her, and ſo much gravity not ſuiting his mercurial temper, ſoon obliged him to quit his poſt. but he, being an arch wag, and a ſly knave, ſoon advanced himſelf to be a footman to a young nobleman. here he began to ſhow his genius: for his maſter being a young gentleman very much delighting with love adventures, frequently iſe of him in thoſe caſes ; and, finding him to be of a ſharp, re eareful, and well ſkilled in taciturni him ſecret meſſenger in ordinar in which ſtation he behaved himſ having all the accompliſhments neceſſa ty a truſt, viz. ºvigilance, diſpatch, and theſe ſo well managed, that & itation, an f lat 12o º poſe, diſguiſes himſe man, and equipped his on purpoſe to make him venture. :: * § this place, where the wake was kept, was about ten miles from the nobleman's ſeat; ſo each mounted his horſe, and away they rode: when, being arrived at the town, nigh which they were to hunt their game, they both alight, and put up their horſes at an inn; and, having pulled off their boots, out they walk towards the pla rendezvous: as ſoon as they came within fight ice, they beheld the fields prettily beſpottet ifferent companies, at as many different diverſions. in one place a parcel of wreſtlers, eagerly contending, with broken ſhins, for a pair of gloves; in another, a company of cudgel-players, with battered ribs, fighting for a laced hat; ſome at one game, and ſome at another: but tom and his maſter, who cared for neither bro*...º.º.º. º: gºgº gº out ntry gentle: ſame garb, n in his adphilip quarll. at sº % to be at it. do you long to ſee what i will do? ſays the nobleman; why, i intend to work miracles; i ſhall make my nymph a goddeſs, before i leave her: well then, replied tom, i ſuppoſe i may take th privilege to make my girl a nymph, at leaſt. while they were thus talk ing, they ſtood like two hawks hovering over they prey, not knowing on which to fix their fatal talons, and the ruſtics ſtaring at them with open mouths, and diſtended noſtrils, not knowing what to think of them. at length mr. scrape, by tuning his melodious battered fiddle, ſummons all the girls to readineſs, each preparing her feet for the ſport; while every hob began to ſeize a partner, and tom and his maſter (in the mean time, you may be ſure) were not idle: for, offering their ſervice to a couple of pretty cherry-cheeked º: as tom called them, the innocent girls very gladly accepted their offers, little dreaming their wicked intentions; but the miſchief was, the nobleman had got the girl which tom had the moſt inclination to; which cauſed ſuch a ſecret envy in his breaſt, came the fatal cauſe of his unfortunate diſgrace. now the dance was begun with great fury on both firls romping and tearing, and the fellows ld hauling, and ſh º e ſo many mad devils, while t ſtrangers to ſuch kind of diverſion he country fellows mockfing, and ſeeing his i i22 philip quarll. upon them, and kiſſed them till they were almoſt ſtifled ; then hoiſting them up, extends his mouth to a full yawn, and laughs as loud, and with as great a grace, as any of them; while tom, to ſhow his aćtivity jumps about a yard high, always taking care to light upon ſomebody’s toes: which jº. put the whole company into a loud fit of laughter, except the perſon hurt; who, in compliance to the reſt, was obliged to put her mouth in a grinning poſture. . . . . thus they became the moſt facetious companions. imaginable (every one praiſing the two gentlemen’s good humour and activity) and, in ſhort, became the wonder of the whole company. but tom and his maſter, having tired i. and their partners ſufficiently, began to think of retiring, in order to freſh their wearied limbs; and, motioning the ſame nymphs, the poor girls ... accomem. now, they thought themſelves ſecure tended ſport, and condućted them, for to the inn where they had put up their philip quarll. is appear: the two girls, perceiving the time, defired leave to go home, which the nobleman abſolutely refuſed ; tom, thinking to make ſure of his game . upon the road, conſented to go with his partner ; which the other hearing, begged not to be left alone, but that ſhe might go likewiſe : the nobleman (thinking he had not brought her to the deſire ch) as heartily defired her to ſtay, vowing that nobody ſhould wrong or hurt her; but when the other gentleman returned (meaning tom) they would both condućt her home; ſo, by mere dint of argument, prevailed upon her to tarry till tom’s return. now tom, as ſoon as he had got from the town, began to attack his fort, which after a little parley, furrendered at diſcretion; ſo tom razed the walls to the ground, entered the caſtle, and took poſſeſſion of the city ; all which being tranſačted, he leaves her, promiſing to reviſit her the next day, ends haſty ſteps towards the inn, with a deal of impatience; muttering theſe words as he went : what a blockhead was i to let my maſter be too ni for me ! . ah! fool that naarſal wheth ſo ſaid, i 24 philip quarll. to tarry; telling her, he was a little tired with the walk he had taken, and wanted to refreſh himſelf: ſo defired her to ſtay, while he only took a glaſs, and he would go with her. the girl, very unwillingly, complied, and ſat down again. the nobleman finding tom had no mind to part with her, imagined he was bringing about what himſelf ſo long endeavoured in vain ; and therefore, pulling out his watch, he ſtarts up in haſte, and ſays he muſt needs go, for it was paſt the time that he promiſed to be at a certain place : ſo tells the innocent girl he very unwillingly left her ; but he hoped this would not break their new acquaintance, for he would pay her a viſit in a ſhort time, defiring to be excuſed for this time; and he believed he could prevail upon the other conduct her home. tom, who under* aming, follows him to the door, and there receives his charge, which was, that he ſhould bring her to a houſe they both knew, about three miles off, as ſoon as poſſible : ſo took his leave, mounted his horſe, and went thither, impatiently waiting for his prey. . now tom was extremely pleaſed with his maſter’s intentions, reſolving to put the bit upon the biter . . and, as ſoon as the nobleman departed, began to att he fortification with all the artillery wine and ſoft words could ſupply him with : but the defendant, proof to battery of this kind, held out nobly a long time, and moved ſtrongly for a ceſſation of arms, deus turns of intrigues, reſolved not to loſe his yeing well aſſured he ſh ing her to artith attack, which o cry for quarime ; and bega g that ſhe was o t philip quarll. 125 fuáded her to lie there ; aſſuring her, that he would fee her well provided for, and ſo, in ſhort, ſhe bluſh£ 3. . . . . .3: om having gained his point, orders a bed to be got ready ; and then defired his miſtreſs, who was, by this time, much overcome with wine and ſlet o go to bed. the poor girl (ſtill between d nd fear) knew not what to ſay, but, trem enies what her looks deſired ; and, after a many arguments on both fides, ſhe reſigns herſelf entirely to him. the ſly knave, joyful of his prey, condućts his miſtreſs to bed; but, as they were going, the old crafty innkeeper cries, in mere form, i hope, fir, that is your wife, for i would by no means have anything diſhoneſt done in my houſe. yes, yes, (ſays our rogue) you may aſſure yourſelf it wife, or elſe i ſhould not have offered to go to b with her, while the poor girl, hiding her face, up ſtairs as faſt as ſhe could. they had not been long above, when the nobleineaſy at their delay, returns to the inquires after the couple he left. why, hoſt, they are a-bed: a-bed ſays the noblem: a-bed | yes, anſwered he, it being too late to go home, they took up their lodgings here. whi they a-bed together? ſaid the gentleman. the innkeeper, i left them both together. bleman, hearing this, ſtood like one thund º his blood all in fion, very coolly inquired he had ſome b ntleman, and he e innkeeper, una 126 philip quarll. gentleman was returned, and wanted to ſpeak with him. tom not being yet undreſſe # # : : maſter’s fiery temper, and the juſt reſet ure to meet with, opens the window, % # * jumps, without ſaying a word; and, having bruiſed himſelf with the fall, lay ſome time upon the ground ; ill, recovering himſelf a little, he precipitately got over the garden wall, into which he had dropt from the window ; and ſcours over the fields as faſt as he could, without ever looking back. but having run himſelf out of breath, and thinking himſelf out of danger, down he fits, refle&ting upon his melancholy circumſtances. o miſerable wretch! ſays he, what have i done how dare i ever ſee my maſter, who always repoſed his truſt in me 2 and i, like a perfidious villain, to deceive him certain death attends me, if i go home ; and, if i tarry here there’s nothing but beggary or ſtarving; i have at once loſt all credit and reputation, and ſee nothing but ruin, unavoidable ruin. o woman, woman 1 eurſed beº g woman what an infinite number of miſare ye the ſource of 1 but why do i exclaim woman ſo innocent, and ſo charming, when traitorous deceiver, ſought nothing but her miſery o juſt heaven! it was you that ſaved impending ruin, and deſervedly threw all fatal ". myſelf: well, i will bear them patiently; load me with all the evils you can bring, ill they § * mount ſo high, you can lay no more. ravld curfing in this manner, d his ſpirits, fell aſleep. having ſlept ſome time, he awakes, ere he was. did i dream, ſays he, or luft certainly be true; i am the moſt breathing; the very ſame ruin, philip quarll. 127 the poor innocent girl, has juſtly fallen upon myſelf; and what is ome of her i know not, nor dare i to inquire; hope, as heaven has hitherto protected her, it will likewiſe preſerve her from the evil intents of my maſter. . reflecting upon himſelf in this manner, he walked about till day-light, not knowing what to do, or whither to go: he was now a great way from london, deſtitute of friends or acquaintance, little or no money in his pocket, and durſt not ſee his maſter. deſpairing in this condition, he ſaw a company of haymakers going to work; it being ſummer-time ; and reſolved to make one of their number if poſſible ; hoping by that means to keep himſelf from ſtarving, and work his paſſage up to london. . with this reſolution he attacks the haymakers, aſking them from whence they came, and whither they were going ; which they anſwered very civilly, telling him they came from london, and were going towards the north of england : ſo, being baulked in expectation of coming to london, along with im, he knew not what to do ; but at laſt reſolves to go along with them, hoping to meet ſomething in his way that might make his journey pleaſant; ſo tells them his reſolution to make one amongſt them : but they, ſeeing a man genteelly dreſſed petitioning. for a poor haymaker’s place, took him to be only in jett, and told him they ſhould be glad of ſuch a companion, if he ſpoke as he thought. he them the ſince ſaid they ſhould be very glad to ſerve eir maſter would be in the field by-and hire him, for he wanted hands : nd tarried till the old who, finding a well-dreſſed young fellow wanting employment of that kind, aſked him. * * ~~~~ ueſtions, which tom anſwered ve er, therefore, taking it only frolic, w not to baulk him, and ſo hired him, ſaying, go to work that very day, if he would ; but nting a fork, told him, that, as ſoon get his tools in readineſs, he would com a man to go to the next town to buy one, , as ſoon as brought, he falls to work very m went with them from place to place, conhimſelf to their cuſtoms in every point, a very merry companion, and much below . reſent life became much p mer, never inquiring after his y nor did he know wha at laſt, it fell to his lot to be h r , ſeeing worked for ; who, ſeein sº philip quarll. 129 time would certainly bring about his purpoſe ; which not long after happened in this manner: tom, during her alteration of temper, had more liberty of converſe than before ; and often diverted her with entertaining ſtories ; and one day, being alone with her, opened to her the whole ſeries of his paſt fortunes and misfortunes, which ſhe heard with great attention and pleaſure : for tom had never beore diſcovered himſelf to any ; but thinking to gain credit with this gentlewoman, made her only privy to it. when tom was gone, ſhe began to reflect on the fellow’s dexterity ; and believing him well ſkilled in all kinds of adventures, thought he might be a fit inſtrument for her eſcape, and reſolved to adviſe with him about it ; accordingly the next day took an opportunity to call him to her again, when ſhe was alone, deſiring him to divert her with ſome of his merry tales, telling him ſhe was then very melancholy. madam, ſays tom, i am ſorry i ſhould find you melancholy ; but i will do all i can to ple § ay, ſays ſhe, if you knew the occaſion of n lancholy, you would pity me, as well as bef but you cannot be ignorant what a priſoner i am made here, how conſtantly i am attended, and have ſcarce anything but brutes to ſpeak to ; i can aſſure you that this uſage is enough to make me as mad as the people take me to be ; for i never was brought up in this manner, which my huſband knows; it is only a contrivance of his to keep me here a c loſe priſoner, if poſſible; but i will deceive him; for if a woman’s invention can find any means to eſcap curſed place, he ſhall be ſure to ſee me in lo quickly, to his great mortification. the º and that §. º.º.º.º.º.º.º. rogue heard her very quietly, and tho e his deſired ends; ſo tells her your clothes, and everything you have a mind t hould be releaſed that very night, if ſhe pleaſed, and he himſelf would accompany her to london ; for he longed to be there again: ſhe was glad to hear him. ay ſo; and aſked by what means he intended to conher thence. o lord ſays he, eaſy enough; tell you how ; i’ll take a ladder and ſet it againſt your window, and ſo come into your room, and take ſend to london, and carry them to a particular ::::::::::::::::: of mine ; then i’ll come back and fetch ou, and condućt you to the next town, which is not a . r fix miles off, and ſtay there for the ſta coach, and ſo both go to london toget gentlewoman, willing to get her liberty at any agreed to the propoſal, only deſiring another day ook after all her things, and pack them up conv fe ſhe would not hurry herſelf, left they l, and ſtop her journey. " ſented to what fl.". and wiſhed f time ; which being come, and all s, he brings the ladder, and mounts »m ; while ſhe as readily del ll her baggage ready packed : reſentd uſed to enſcend the philip quarll; 131 to ſee what was the matter; and, perceiving the tlewoman’s window open, and a fellow running * : yard, cries out, murder . thieves | thieves! which alarmed the whole family; ſome geting pitchforks, ſome pokers; ſome one thing, ſome another, in order to ſcare the thieves ; but the old man, with his fowling-piece in his hand, lik commander, led the van, ſearching all his for thieves, and to ſee what he had loſt, c looking into every hole and corner, not advance too faſt, for fear of a ſurpriſe to mrs. quarll's room, whoſe window to her a long time; but heal d ſhe was murdered, and there loor, and ſearches the room ; b. mrs. quarll to be found; they ſtare not knowing what to think. however, had examined all the houſe, they boldly nt the thi 3. :eived ſomet 132 philip quarll. a-croſs theyard ſo ſwiftly. thus they diſputed a long time, but at laſt agreed that ſhe ought to be carried to bed again, and have care taken of her : and ſo carried her up ſtairs; and then went to finiſh their ſearch, while the good old woman and her daughter undreſſed her, got her to bed, and ſat up with her all that night. 2. after all was finiſhed, the old man, willing to know what quantity of men he had loſt, calls a general muſter; and, finding tom miſſing, wondered where he was got to, aſking if he lay at home that night; they told him no ; but they believed he was gone a ſweethearting. a ſweethearting ! ſays the old low, well, let him be there always; for he ſhall newer come hither again : how do i know but he has ſent the thieves to rob me, or that he is one of them himſelf? if he ever comes hither, i will turn him about his buſineſs as ſoon as i ſee him. but tomº underſtood better things than to come thither again; : knew the adventure would be blown, and then rtainly diſcarded with diſgrace; ſo make the beſt of what he had lever heard of again. n as come to her ſpeech, cone, and lays the blame upon ent her thither to be murad his deſired end, only that ſhe as tilt un, auſe of her own death. the old as ſoon as he knew the matter perfeółly, writes her huſband a full account of the whole ſtory; elling him he was in a fair way to loſe his wife : and t, if it ſhould ſo happen, he had no o d for her clothes, for ſhe l § hd tells him by what means. ad read the lett s very philip quarll. wife's folly; but reſolved, if ſhe recovered, ſhe ſhould tarry ſome time without clothes, which he knew would be puniſhment enough to her pride : ſo write back to them, that they ſhould take all poſſible to reſtore her to her health, and likewiſe to p any thing of that kind for the future; telling that in a little time he would ſend her ſome and make them amends for their trouble. bre ſhe perfeótly rec n. fore that time, her huſband had ſent her ſome new clothes, was, in a great meaſure, reconciled more eaſy in her mind than before. good people, whom ſhe trageous paſſion, were very and took that opportunity t eſs of her condition; bein well provided with all ne 134 philip quarll. mit to continue there till the fall of the leaf; againſt which time ſhe would contrive ſome way or other to go, if her huſband did not come for her. but quarll, who, ever fince her being in the country, had enjoyed the uncontrolled pleaſure of a fingle life, having no mind to interrupt them by her preſence, took care to ſecure her there ; ſending her guardians now-and-then freſh charge to be watchful over her, and a ſmall preſent to encourage them to it. º & te, who was ever averſe to his happia new interruption thereto. tlar neſs, ſug having given over houſe-keeping, happened to com and live at a mantua-maker’s, of vaſt buſineſs, and re. ed worth money. she was a ſingle woman, prethandſome, but intolerably proud and conceited; which was the cauſe of her being ſtill unmarried, thinking herſelf too good for any tradeſman, or any thing below a gentleman; which ſeeing no proſpect to eing already twice encumbered in the troublee of matrimony, and but juſt rid of his § o venture any more : fo ion ; but her love increaſ. ng taken notice of, ſhe was : to an old gentlewoman, who him ; who, having doubtphilip quarll. 135 leſs been in the ſame condition, was, by experience, capable to give her advice. . the old gentlewoman (as it is peculiar to them, when paſt the ſport themſelves, do love to promote it in others) took upon her the management of that affair ; and from that time watched the opportunity of ſpeaking to him, which was only in the morning before he went out, or at night when he came home, being abroad all the day beſide : fo, having reſolved upon it, the next morning ſhe leaves her own door open, which was oppoſite to his, wai ~~~~ :out, to invite him to a diſh of chocol had ready for that purpoſe. . having, according to her deſire, got him into her chamber, as he was drinking his diſh, ſhe feign of laughing. you wonder, ſaid ſhe, what it is i laugh at ; but, i dare ſay, you will laugh as we i, when you know : why, our man-hater is in lo at laſt ; in love up to her ears, re as you alive. our man-hater, madam . that : do not you know 2 repli landlady, who has refuſed ſo many how happily might that woman h might have rode in her coach years. was good enough for madam : this ha and that another: in ſhort none could is true, indeed, ſhe is very deſerving : th of her is in the fight, and that you know is agreeable : but did you ſee what a fine b you would be ready to run mad for her the fineſt leg and foot that ev rt, ſhe is fit for a king's em. s. ood properties beſides; and one above al ps you will ſay is the principal; ſhe ha a great *. % that will f philip quarll f, i dare ſay; i wiſh i knew on whom : ſt be ſome angel; for i have heard her find : with very handſome men that have addreſſed er: pray, did you ever obſerve any man to come ere? he muſt be the perſon; for all her concerns rith women. indeed, replied quarll, i never ; ſo have not an opportunity to make obſervabut i have, ſaid ſhe ; and made it my buſiº * yet never ſaw any man in this houſe you ; ſuppoſe you ſhould be he at , there is no danger, anſwered quar s refuſed ſo many rich matches, wil her mind on a poor finging-maſter. how do low that * replied the old lady : love comes y, and marriage by fate, and it may be yours i would have you cultivate § almoſt ſwear you poſſeſs; you le: here is an agreeable woman in iod buſineſs, a houſe well furniſhat money-bags well filled; now, if to make your fortune, here is a fair rll was ſa hilip quarll. 137 him her aſſiſtance. so he took his leave, and went about his daily affairs, leaving the management of that to her ; who immediately went to inform the amorous landlady of her ſucceſs. :-: quarll being returned at night, the old lady, purſuant to the buſineſs ſhe had taken in hand, follows him to the chamber, with the joyful news that ſhe had by her landlady’s bluſhing, diſcovered what her modeſty would have concealed ; that he was the man beloved; and, therefore, ſhe would not have him delay his being made happy : to whic nſwered, as ſhe had been the firſt cauſe of his happineſs, he left the accompliſhment thereof to her direction. well, then, ſaid ſhe, if i have the ordering of it ſhall be done next sunday, as being, of all the the moſt bleſſed day: and ſo bid him good night. the old gentlewoman, being made ſole directreſs : affair, was very diligent in the accompliſhment. thereof; ſo had them married on had propoſed. the buſineſs was done privat joy it produced could not be concealed : every body read bride in the new married wife’s face; ſo that greetings daily filled the houſe; which, for a month, was a reſidence for mirth; and, during the ſpace of a year, the feat of happineſs; peace kept the door, and plenty attended them. but churliſh fate, wh ever perſecuted him, would not permit that h ſtate to continue ; and, the more to aggravate hi loſs, makes love, the chief author of his ow the principal inſtrument of his ſorrow : jealouſy, the greateſt plague that can befal a married life, infects wife. she is upon thorns whilſt he is abſent, and ; :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: : fears of what he uneaſy when preſent, with th being often diſturbed, immediately taken up by nded with ruin, the de's ſurly fate. buſineſs hands, makes them negli: the huſband diverts his : drinks away her ſorrow money growing ſcant, credit muſt , being not redeemed, expoſes d filkman, with whom his wife deal arried, having received money, but marriage, and ſeeing her diſcontent, huſband (who appeared ſomething too ºº: 8 the occaſion ng in n from * philip quarll. 139 ing ſhe would, when cooler, confider of it, and be reconciled. º º but great was his ſurpriſe, when next morning, inſtead of his wife’s coming according to expectation, a judgment is ſerved upon the goods of the houſe, at the ſuit of an upholſterer; ſo the houſe being entirely unfurniſhed, he was obliged to ſeek new lodgings, . where he continued a full quarter without hearing of his wife. . quarll, hoping his wife had left hi neſt, indulges himſelf with the thought third time delivered from the greateſ that can involve a man; wondering how he c often fall into the ſame ſnare : three wives, ſai in three years 1 and every one equal plagues, thou of a different nature the firſt a whore, whom iw moſt luckily rid of by accident: the ſecond a proud lazy, indolent creature; ſhe by ſtratagem is ſecured and the third a conceited jealous wretch; to tentation i owe my deliverance. well, now once more free, i will take care how i hamper myſelf again : ſo makes a ſtrong reſolution, let what would happen, to live fingle from t * ...º. after. -but his reſolution, though ever ſo ſtrong, avert fate’s irrevocable decree: a fourth wife -im, which will bring upon him more e than he has yet gone throug ot only be broken, and his eaſe d uſt be in jeopardy, º a will his # 140 philip quarll. between quarll, who went for a bachelor, and her, being a widow : all the company liked the propoſal, and earneſtly urged on the match. quarll, being a briſk, handſome, genteel young man, which qualifications have a vaſt aſcendancy upon the ſex, eſpecially on widows, made a confiderable impreſſion upon the hoſteſs ; who, being already above forty, was willing to intermix her ſupernumerary years with thoſe of a huſband of a leſſer age : ſo, turning to jeſt what ſhe heartily wiſhed to be in earneſt, anſwers, in a joking manner, that mr. quarll doubtleſs had, before that time, made a better choice; ſo would hardly agree to their propoſal. a better choice i ſaid the gentlemen, i deny that : here is a handſome jolly woman, a noble houſe wellaccuſtomed, a cellar well ſtocked with good wine, and bags, doubtleſs, well filled with money : i ſay he cannot make a better choice, nor ſhall he make any other; ſo here’s to its good ſucceſs ; thus he drinks to her, who in a joking way, puts it about. the glaſs having been round, now, mr. quarll, ſaid the colonel, let us have a love ſong to conclude the matter. 3... . .3 . quarll, who thought the gentlemen had been but in jeſt, in his heart wiſhed it could turn to earneſt. the notion of a good eſtabliſhment, and proſpect of a confiderable advantage, having blanched over thoſe great obſtacles his preſent low circumſtances, and elewated condition, made him overlook, he did all he ſ g philip quarll. 141 which he offered to purchaſe her love. indeed, ſaid ſhe, in a pleaſant manner, i do not know what your thoughts may be ; but i never heard more agreeable expreſſions. well then, widow, ſaid theſe gentlemen, you cannot, in gratitude, and good manners, but anſwer them j. indeed, gentlemen, ſaid ſhe, 1 can ſay no more, but that they are mighty pretty words and charmingly ſung. well then, repli . colonel, i will ſay the reſt for you. the lover having expreſſed his º in ſuch ſoft terms, and engaging a way, you cannot, without doing violence t goodnature, deny him what he requeſts in a manner nor ſhall; i ſay the word : confirmed by all the company. to whic no anſwer, it was taken for granted. s age being concluded on, the next day was fixed 3 w reſolved not t 142 philip quarll. 38% not live any longer from him; ſhe muſt have him with her at any rate, and will not reſt till ſhe finds out his lodgings ; from whence ſhe reſolves to waſh all ſorrow away with her tears, and ſettle him again in her arms. so ſhe ſtraight goes to the tavern ſhe ſaw him come out of, ſuppoſing it might be a houſe he conſtantly uſed, on purpoſe to inquire where he lodged. : . the new wife who was then in the bar, to whom ſhe applied, perceiving her in ſome ſort of diſorder, was very inquiſitive to know her buſineſs; which the #." woman refuſing to ſatisfy her, ſhe told her that he lived there, and that ſhe was his wife; and there* eft to know her concern. at theſe moſt 3% ds, ſhe falls like one thunder-ſtruck upon the ground, deprived of all her ſenſes; and, for a confiderable time, lies as though bereft of life, § this dull ſcene turns the new wife's paſſion into commiſeration; and ſhe pities that misfortune which in her mind ſhe before condemned as a crime. this, ſaid ſhe, is a true fign of love, which a harlot is not capable of : i cannot blame her for loving him, but rather condole her misfortune. so, having ordered fair water and hartſhorn drops to be brought, gave ::...?....? ſome in a glaſs of water, which in a ſmall time fetched her a little to life; who, recovering, cried 5ut, had i not been ſo bewitched as to go from him, ould not have left me. theſe . rt e officious condoler into a reveng diately imagined ſhe had lately iſtre d, doubtleſs, woul philip quarll. 143 dam, replied the poor afflićted woman ; i am his lawful wife: ſo produces her certificate, (which ſhe happened to have about her ; ) which cauſed almoſt as much diſorder in the beholder, as ſhe herſelf was lately in. having recovered her ſpeech, which the late furpriſe had obſtructed, ſhe aſked her, in a violent paſfion, why ſhe had been ſo baſe as to give him the opportunity to come and cheat her, by her leaving him; for ſhe was his wife alſo : to which ſhe anſwered, that ſhe could not juſtify her going from him, though indeed ſhe had great provocation, he not proving the man ſhe took him to be. what replied ſhe in the bar, was he not man enough for you ? i think you are very hard to pleaſe: however, fince the deceit made you leave him, why do you diſturb yourſelf about him he has not deceived me; unleſs it be in having a wife before : but as you left him of your own accord, he had no more to do with you. no 1 replied ſhe, in a paſſion; but he ſhall find, and ſo ſhall you, that i have to do with him : ſo went away. § it being then about noon, his uſual time to come home from market, ſhe went into a public-houſe oppoſite to the tavern, there to wait his return, whi was a little after. as ſoon as ſhe ſaw him, him a call over. ... . . . . . . º.º.º. the ſin and unexpeace fight of th : on cle to the happineſs he then enjoyed, moſt bly ſhocking to him ; he wiſhed he ha th to have miſſed her; but to no purpoſe : lid no i44. philip:ouarll. fiery temper, was afraid ſhe ſhould break out in a paſſion in the ſtreet; which would have expoſed him, and brought it to his new wife's knowledge, being near home; ſo haſtens over to the houſe ſhe was in, ther coming ; and, judging his beginning aid her with i. elopement would, in ſome moderate her railing at him, he tells her, ters the room, i hope, madam, you have, by this time, found a man more to your mind. this was ſuffici provoke a milder temper to reproach in ºri lulterous marriage, of which ſhe was is but a fault, but his a crime : but not proper means to advance a rech was her intent, ſhe bridles her es her nature to a ſubmiſſion ; ſo *8. his feet and falls a weeping, owning ſhe had committed a fault, for which ſhe # *% . . . repented, and promiſed to atone b viour; calling heaven to witneſs moſt unhappy ſeparation. being of a compaſſionate flexible by her tears; ſo takes he his coat, as he was ſtepping into t the diſorder this ſecond ſurpriſe put : him to go again into the houſe he juſt came out f, ſhe immediately followed him, r iling as much as the . ion an & º after his prey, and pulls him b eaving in 146 . philip quarll. the following ſeſſions happening to be extraordinary great, by the vaſt number of criminals, his trial and ſeveral more, were put off till the next ; ſo that he was confined at the time he uſed to ſend the money for his wife’s board in the country: and, not daring to employ an acquaintance on that affair, left hey ſhould inquire into the occaſion of his ſending that money ; he defired one, who often came to vifit a priſoner, to do him that favour: which he readily promiſed, but did not perform : ſo that the people in the c were uſed to be paid a quarter * ::: * * : *::::::::::: q, were ter in arrears: which, with the boarder's preſſing importunity to come up to london, made them at laſt reſolve upon it ; where being arrived, they immediately inquired after the unfortunate quarll, whoſe impriſonment they ſoon heard of, as alſo of the cauſe thereof. v this did not a little exaſperate the already ſufficiently provoked inquiſitreſs; who, preſently imagining, with good reaſon, that his confining her i country was merely for that inten ſecute him according to the utmoſt rig till his trial came on ; and then ſhe ſhould he proſecutor, and, at her own diſcretion, e mean time, his firſt wife, who had lately been (the knight who kept her being not long vaſt fortune) having heard of ed for º co philip quarll. 147 of his preſent misfortune, reproached her with her leaving him, which was the original cauſe thereof. the innocent, yet guilty sally, whoſe inclination, diſpoſition, and reſolution, had been violated, related the diſmal account of her fatal raviſhment, and pleaded her cauſe with ſuch a prevailing eloquence, as new kindled his former love, and made him (though the ſufferer) give it on her fide. . being thoroughly reconciled, and having ſpent ſome hours in expreſſing both their griefs, they at laſt parted after a thouſand cordial embraces; and as ſhe was enabled, by the ſettlement the knight had made upon her, ſhe ſupplied him with money and neceſſaries during his confinement in newgate; and was with him conſtantly every day, almoſt from morning to night; and, when he was called upon his trial, ſhe attended in the court, more concerned than if ſhe herſelf had been arraigned. . . . . the ſeſſions being commenced, he was firſt called to the bar; his indictment being read, he deſired to be heard by hi 3.: … . . . . . . . . deponent, having proved her marriage, requi priſoner at the bar ſhould be obliged to live or allow her a ſufficient maintenance, as gº. ..... . . . . .º.º.; elongs to me, ſaid ſh firſt wife; ſo produces her certificate. a appearing, ſtartles both the judges, and the pri who thought her ſe. sally, who priority e ſo much pleaded for, thoug while to claim it, bei then had been filent, ſeein nſel; which was granted. the aired the i 48 . qu ar l l. ſeeing theſe women contending for that which begs to neither of them, i think myſelf º to claim my right: i am the firſt wife, and pleaſe y lordſhips. how a fourth wife, and indićted but rds, replied an old furly judge upon the bench, be known, he has half a ſcore ; i ſee it in his theſe ſmock-faced young fellows are ſo add by the women, that they have not power to rey thing. sally, who thought to do the pritaking the privilege of firſt wife into ing the ſucceſs of her good intent wn, but that the judges told her the proſecutrix, and was obligproſecution. this cauſed ſuch philip quarll. i49 if ſhe is his firſt wife that way, i dare ſay he is not her firſt huſband by many. so ſhe was hiſſed out of the court. then the judge addreſſing the next pretender, i hope, ſays he, yours lot prove a ſailor’s wedding, as hers did. a ſailor’s no, my lord, replied the ſecond wife; i have witneſſes enough to mine ; my lady firebraſs, with whom i lived, and her two daughters, ſaw me fairly married in st. martin’s church. how came it, ſaid the judge, you did not ſue him before he married the third wife 2 you ſhould have prevented his cheating any other poor woman. why, my lord, ſaid ſhe, i knew nothing of it: he kept me a priſoner in the country, at this good woman’s houſe, where he decoyed me, under pretence of being careful of me: i muſt go into the country for a month or two, to take the air; but when he had me there, there he kept me ever fince, charging the people of the houſe not to ſuffer me to come up to london, nor yet to go ing i was mad, becauſe i complained º ry pretty device replied the old judge. yes, my lord, cried out all the women in the court (who were come in gre hear a trial about a rape committed b a maid of fifty years of age) and a very bat dent, if not ſeverely puniſhed : ſhould this be ſuf fered, a poor wife will not dare to be out of º or complain, in hopes to be her huſband, under colour ſure of the country air, § ~ london. º º * § 3. the judges, preceden -------------iss philip quarll groan at their pleaſure, and alſo accept band's kindneſſes when offered. the court being filenced, the proceedings went on: dges having been ſpoken to by articular friends, who were related more favourable in their urly judge, with whom no of their huſ. the three wives then preſent having proved their marriage, the priſoner at the bar was aſked, what he had to ſay in his own defen in coming ag ſtrućtions . y unfit for me retireor her, § unfit for huma $ in great fury *: madneſs—my counſel ; i deſire, whom i have lived mi ther ſhe in all that ti ſymptoms of mad woman, ih cannot ſay 1, mad, but once. this letter, whic there, may be judge whether i d §. bei ad is, philip quarll. whether a man or woman's being frantic (which but few in this town are more or leſs) do impower either to marry again; and if they will allow that, why did he marry a third the ſecond is not mad. the fecond, replied the counſel, eloped, my lord, and was from her huſband half a year; and it is to be queſtioned, whether ſhe would ever have come near him, had ſhe not accidentally found this opportunity to trouble him. it is a plain caſe, my lord, ſaid another judge, the priſoner is guilty of the crime he ſtands indićted for; yet i do not ſee but that there is room for favour. his conſtitution perhaps may require a woman for the maintenance of his health, and his inclination is averſe againſt vile women : befides, my lord, we do not hear that he did cohabit or correſpond with more than one at a time ; and never ſought a ſupply till he was deſtitute. in my opinion, my lord, he may be favoured a little. the ill-natured judge told him very furlily, that the fact was plain; and that he was tried according to the laws of his country, and muſt expect to ſuffer the penalty of thoſe laws : but he could ſee no room for favour, unleſs his majeſty would graciouſly be pleafed to ſhow it him; and it was entirely out of his own power; ſo ſums up the evidence, and refers it to the º; and after having . ºverdićt, death. hing one another with offing their huſband, be relieved by man; in as recovered, went back to the priſoner a the court broke up : a carry him to newgat night. as ſoon as the k ed for pen, ink, an his colo and wrote the following letter t may it pleaſe your honour, "i am now under the terrible ſentence of con nation; i need not tell you upon fe being too well known to the v 1st philip quarll. head, nor moved his eyes, ſhe went ſoftly up to him, and ſpoke to him : he no ſooner heard her voice, but he ſtarts, and looks like one juſt awake from a dream; and then burſts into tears and could not ſpeak a word; which sally ſeeing, could not forbear weeping ; and fell upon his neck, deſiring him with all tenderneſs to ſtop the torrent; for ſhe had ſome joyful news to tell him. what joyful news, ſays he, can you bring a man under my wretched circumſtances? can anything elevate the mind whom heaven itſelf has contrived to depreſs : am not i the very out-caſt and ſcorn of providence 2 have not i been unfortunate from my infancy and why will you ſtill add to my miſery: it is you that now makes me wretched: had you not ſo compaſſiona ſiſted me in this my diſmal calamity with ſo much tenderneſs, i then willingly ſhould have left this hateful world, without thinking of you? but why muſt i make you the wretched partner of my misfortunes? it is that adds to my uneaſineſs. o that i had not ſeen you in theſe my laſt moments! sally, interrupting him, ſaid, come, talk not of laſt moments; you may yet enjoy many happy years ; your colonel has promiſed to uſe his utmoſt endea. vours to preſerve your life. i do not flatter myſelf with anything of that kind, ſays he, but if ſuch a ſhould happen, i am fully reſolved not to tarry in england, which has brought upon me ſo dire miſhaps. he colº t m philip . quar d l. * 1 55 as ſoon as come down, cries out, so colonel, what brings you here ſo ſoon 2 did you come to breakfaſt with me? the colonel ſeeing him ſo facetious and f. told him his meſſage. my lord, as ſoon as he heard it, anſwered, that upon his honour, he certainly would grant his requeſt; and made him ſtay to breakfaſt with him. . . as ſoon as breakfaſt was over, he took leave of his lordſhip, and away he comes to bring the tidings. to quarll, whom he found alone, sally having juſt left him. the colonel told him, he was ſorry to ſee him there, with other compliments uſual in ſuch caſes : and related to him the ſucceſs he had with my lord danby: ſo deſired him to be of good cheer. quarll fell at his feet, and expreſſing his gratitude in the moſt thankful terms imaginable; telling him, his life ſhould always be at his ſervice. his colonel, raiſing him up, told him he was very well ſatisfied : and, after a little more converſation, left him. sally, in the mean time, was not idle ; for ſhe went sh piece of plate, and preſented it to he might favour quarll in his rey: which had the defired effect: the recorder, th port to his majeſt for, when the deathw. lays after my lord danby proious pardon; which his philip quarll. very much damaged in the late ſtorm ; but about twelve o’clock the ſame night we came thither, a moſt violent hurricane blew in upon us, broke our cables and drove us aſhore; where again i loſt th ſhip and cargo, bi the men ſaved : thus i thin} i have been unfortunate ; but ſince they are paſt, n ink of them: we ſhall have a pleaſant voyage u ſay you have a mind to refide at . , where i muſt touch in my return, i would have tou lay out your money in the woollen manufacture and cutlery ware, w every good commoditie in thoſe parts. qua § and parted with him. 158 philip quarll. before the wind, in order to avoid being taken by thoſe infidels, who purſued them from four o’clock on friday morning, till ten at night the following sunday, at which time there aroſe a ſtorm; the ſky looked very black, the wind being at north-weſt, and clouds began to riſe and move towards them, having hung all the morning in the horizon: ſo that they took in their topſails, and furled their main-ſail : the ſea ran very ſhort and broke in upon their deck; however, they put right before the wind, and ſailed ſo for three weeks, when the de cape horn ; they had no ſooner got round the cape, but the wind veered to the ſouth, and it fell flat calm ; which continued for two days, when the wind ſprung up at ſouth-weſt, and they ſcudded before the wind very ſwift, and made an iſland whoſe name none of them knew, the ſhip having never been on the coaſt before; but there they found wood, water, and herbs of feveral forts, ſome ſeals and ſea-fowls. here they refreſhed themſelves for four days; and then weighed r, the wind being fair at full ſouth, and traded its on the coaſt of peru, chili, and mexit aquapulco they ſailed, having a freſh . e. they had not ſailed above one e wind veered to the ſouth-weſt, and int gale of wind; and there being a great ſea, ſo that their ſhip took in a great deal of water, the wind continuing two days increaſing to a very great ſtorm, which held for one day and two nights more; during which time they ed themſelves near ſome rocks. the ſtorm rathe reaſing, and ~~~~inº deſpaired of ſaving the ſhip ; philip quarll. iss order to cut down what ſtopt the working of the main-yard : but, by that time he was got up, there came a ſea which daſhed the ſhip to ſhatters againſt the rock; and with the violence of the ſhock, flung quarll, who was aſtride upon the main-yard on the top of the rock ; where, having the good fortune to fall in a cleft, he was hindered from being waſhed back again into the ſea, and drowned as every body were that belonged to the ſhip. quarll, in a diſmal condition, remained the ſucceeding night in the cleft, being continually beaten with the daſhing back the ſea, and being both bruiſed and numbed, pulled off his clothes which were dropping wet, and ſpread them in the fun ; and being over-fatigued, lays himſelf down on the ſmootheſt place of the rock he could find, being quite ſpent with the hardſhip he had undergone, and ſlept while his clothes were drying. his ſleep, though very profoun #. d, was not refreſh*ing : the danger he had been lately in, ſo ran in his mind, that grim death was ever before his eyes; which conſtantly diſturbed his reſt : but nature, wanted repoſe, would be ſupplied, though it be ken. having ſlept a few hours, he awakes al much fatigued as before, and faint for wal having taken none for thirty-fix having looked upon his clothe eived were not quite dry, he turned th fide to the fun, and laid himſelf down to ſleep ag im. he dreamt he was in a ter the clouds pouring down vaſt ſtreams of liquid fire, and the raging ocean all in flames. in this diſmall condition he knew not what to do; but ſpying ſome land, as he thought at a little d 2% ance from the ſhi p, dron of oil in a blaze, reſolved to try whether he could not jump aſhore; but juſt as he was going to leap, he ſaw a horrid frightful monſter, with glaring eyes, and open mouth run from the boiling fl and make at him to devo 1; which ſcared him he was very much terrified with ſtared about him in a frightful manevery minute ſome creature to devour º jº, tº d ſuch aſpects. oating, a n t sº º e more terº miſeries philip quarll. 161 ſeeking the ſalvation of my ſoul, i ſhould not have had the preſent opportunity of taking care of it. so, having returned thanks for his late deliverance, he reſigns himſelf to providence, on whom he fully relies; climbs up the rock, and being come to the top, ſees land at the infide, bearing both trees and graſs: heaven be praiſed ſaid he ; i ſhall not periſh upon the barren rocks : ſo made a ſhift to go down it, the weather then being calm. sº miraculous aćts being there. philip quarll. º t and cool, made, as it were, epoſe, and he being ſtill very much fatigued, prompted him to lie down and ſleep; during w his mind is continually alarmed with the frightfu e rolling waves, ſtretching out his h jouring to keep him r, and ſunk down m men calling f ing, here ſome float 3. # here others expi and having fixed upon one of the higheſt trees, he gets up as far as he well could, fearing ſome wild beaſt might devour him if he º: below: where, having returned thanks to heaven for his late deliverance, he commits himſelf to its care ; then ſettles, and falls to ſleep, and ſlept till hunger awaked him in the morning, having dreamt over-night of abundance of vićtuals, which é. fain would have come at, but was ke y a croſs cook, who bid him go and fiſh § which he anſwered that he was ſhipcked ; and had nothing to fiſh withal. well then, ſaid the cook to him again, go where thou waſt like to have loſt thy life, and there thou ſhalt find wherewithal to ſupport it. being awaked he makes refle&tions upon his dream, which, though he imagined it might proceed from the emptineſs of his ſtomach, being cuſtomary for people to dream of vićtuals, when they go to bed hungry, yet at that time it may prove ominous; ſo driven by neceſſity, and led by curioſity, he went to the ſame ſide of the rock he had been caſt upon; where having ſtood ſeveral hours without ſeeing ſhipping, --that might anſwer his dream ; the air comng from the ſea being pretty ſharp, and he faint, having taken no manner of food for near three days, he gave over all hopes of relief. thus ſubmitting himſelf to the will of heaven, which he ſuppoſed decreed a lingering death to puniſh him for his paſt fins, he reſolves to return where he lay the night before, and there wait for his doom ; but being ſtopped by a ſudden noiſe which iſſued from a .#. the rock, not far from where he ſtood, he had the curioſity to go and ſee what occaſioned it. & & º & eing come to the place he heard the noiſe pro, eed he ſees a fine large cod-fiſh near feet long, 166 philip quarll. which was lying down; and having much fatigued and haraſſed himſelf in hauling the heavy fiſh up and down the rock, he fell aſleep till the next morning ; during which time his reſt was very much diſturbed with the frightful dream of being attacked by a terrible monſter, ſuch as never was heard of, either for bigneſs or grimneſs; which purſued him, till .# gº run himſelf out of breath, he was forced to lie expoſed to his fury; but was prevented being devoured by a grave old gentlewoman of a moſt graceful and ma-. jeſtic countenance, at whoſe ſudden appearance the monſter fled. having recovered breath, and ſtrength to ſpeak, he returns the old lady thanks for his deliverance, and begs leave to wait on her home that he might know whither to come and pay his conſtant duty to her for this her late great kindneſs: to which ſhe anſwered, that ſh fixed in no particular habitation, but dwelt at every poor man's houſe; her occupation being to affilt the helpleſs, but not the ſlothful and negligent : that he ſhould ſee her again before it was long. mean time, ſhe bid him not go on in evil ways, but whenever overtaken not to deſpair; for ſhe was always at hand; nevertheleſs ſhe would not have him too depending. and ſo went away, leaving him very eaſy and pleaſed in his mind, that he had eſcaped ſuch vaſt danger. having ſl ly th he awoke in the morning philip quarll. pearance unavoidable, to keep him from deſpair in this his great extremity, promifing to be at hand upon occaſion ; yet would not have him neglect means to get away from a place where want threatens him : for though he might for a while ſubfiſt upon fiſh, wherewith he may be ſupplied, being ſurrounded by the ſea, yet he could not imagine which way he could be furniſhed with clothes and bed againſt the winter; for want of which he muſt miſerably periſh with cold, unleſs ſupplied by ſome ſuch diſmal accident as expoſed him to the want thereof, which he heartily j and prays may never happen. , having made theſe confiderations, he, on his knees, eturns kind providence his hearty thanks for all his mercies that had been extended to him ; begging the continuance of its aſſiſtance. then, as he took di rections from his dream, watching the opportunity of sº. away from that melancholy place, he goes her fide of the rock, to try if he could perto the ot ceive any ſhipping in fight. the wind being pretty high, fed his hopes that each ſucceeding hour would gratify his wiſhing look, with that objećt the preceding night could not bring # forth ; but was diſappointed. the night ing, kept back all probability for that t % ending on better ſucceſs the ne: ce he came ; and being hungr philip quarll. ed with the dread of thoſe hardſhips he muſt probably undergo, if obliged to continue there all winter, ſo ran in his mind, that they occaſioned ideas ſuitable to thoſe he had formed the day before: and cold beng the greateſt of his fears, it is alſo the principal that he was in a ſpacious place, paved with of a prodigious bigneſs, and ſurrounded h mountains of ice, which echoed with ſhivhe farther end § plexion w philip quarll. could have with that ſurly moroſe old fellow; when liſtening a while, he perceived ſhe was aſking boons. of him in the behalf of a vaſt number of all forts of creatures that attended her at ſome diſtance behind, which he refuſed in a moſt churliſh manner ; and as ſhe ſtill perfiſted in her ſuit, following him up and down, the ill-natured old man ſlily ſteps to the froſty mountain, and pulls down a large clod of j. ſtopped a gap therein, whence came a creature made and featured > º:... ::::: ſtrous fize and frightful aſpect; his exceſſive broad cheeks hanging down on each fide of his long piked belly hung down looking juſt like a ſail without wind. that monſter was no ſooner out, but from the ſpiteful old man to drive away and all her attendants; which word of command wa no ſooner given, but it was put in execution. having filled his ſhrivelled jaws with wind, which then out like ſo many kettle-drums, he falls a blow upon one of the hills of ſnow, and turns it into ath ſhower, which he drove with violence agai angel-lik º fled for ſh a thi helter. ~ º this barbarous treatment to the moſt deſervin creatures put him in amaze; to whom the ğ.º. (ſeeing he did not go with the g, doſt thou put me to del h i ke a man, but of a mon& chin, like two empty bladders; and his prepoſterous had orders the woman, w lve with violence againſt that e creature, and her clients, who immediately con tin . he rig he calls to mind, that philip quarll. thick: the place being fixed upon, he hews down ſome trees that grew in his way, and clears a ſpot of ground about twelve feet ſquare, leaving one tree ſtanding at each corner; and with the young plants he provided the day before, filled the diſtance between quite round, ſetting them about fix inches aſunder, leaving a larger vacancy for the door : his incloſure being made, he bends the branches a-top from both fides, and weaves them acroſs one another, making a cover to it; which being ſomething too thin, he 'laid other branches over, till they were grown thicker: having finiſhed the top, he goes about cloſing the fides; for which purpoſe, taking large branches, he ſtrips off their ſmall twigs and weaves them between º hey do é. ſheep-pens, then made a rd work : now, ſaid he, here is a houſe, e furniture ? this, indeed, may keep philip quarll. am, by providence, doomed to remain here ; ſo paſ ing at his return, to cut down a ſuf quantity of it to make mats that might ſe ſtead of bed and bed-clothes, . having looked hir leaſt pi ~ ºlº is a , ſuch want of, a ther was yet wa ployed the remº ſucceeding, h cut withal. t to ſpread and tur next tree, which, ha about it, all but part made a tolerable fork 174 philip quarll. that he had put him in a way to provide himſelf with bread, and that of a moſt delicious kind. as ſoon therefore as he had dined, he went out on purpoſe to dig a good quantity; but as he was going to the place where he had taken notice they grew pretty thick, he ſees a tortoiſe, of about a foot over, crawling before him : heaven be praiſed ſaid he, here is what will ſupply me both with vićtuals, and utenfils to dreſs it in : he ran therefore, and turned it on its back, to keep it from getting away, whilſt he went to fetch his hatchet, that he might cut the bottom ſhell from the top, in order to make a kettle of the deepeſt, and a diſh of the flat part. n. being tired of cod-fiſh, he dreſſes the tortoiſe, an animal ſeldom eaten but upon extremity, the fleſh ºthereof often giving the flux : nevertheleſs he ventured upon it, and liked it extremely, ſome part of it eating very much like veal; which at that time was a very great novelty to him, having eaten no freſh at for a long time before. happening to eat of the part of the tortoiſe which is the moſt feeding, and leſs hurtful, he was in no wife diſcompoſed; but, having boiled it -3. 2 w 3, ... taking tº gº, philip quarll. 175 which by that time was dry, he falls to work ; and a mat being the thing concluded upon, he twiſts his hay into ropes, the bigneſs of his leg ; then he cuts a pretty number of a.i. about two feet long, which he drives in the ground, ten in a row, and near four inches aſunder, and oppoſite to them ſuch another row at fix or ſeven feet diſtance from the firſt, which made the length of his mat; then having faſtened one end of his rope, to one of the corner ſticks, he brings it round the other corner ſtick, and ſo to the next at the other end, till he has laid his frame : then he weaves acroſs ſhorter ropes of the ſame, in the manner they make pallions on board with old cable-ends. when he had finiſhed his mat, he beat it with a lon ſtick, which made it ſwell up ; and the graſs being of a ſoft cottony nature, he had a warm and eaſy bed to lie on. the comfort and pleaſure he found on his ſoft mat (being grown fore with lying on the ground for the ſpace of a month and more) ſo liberally gratified him for the time and labour he had beſtowed in making it, that it gave him encouragement to go about another; a covering being the next neceſſary wanted; though the weather was as yet pretty warm, and a great meaſure, ſeaſoned by the hardſhips he ine through ; yet the winter approaching, and the preſent ſeaſon ſtill favourable for him to make proagainſt it, he goes and cuts more graſs; being made ready for uſe, he lengthens his loo allow for rolling up at one end, inſtead of a bolſt; and makes it §: than the firſt ; which he i tends, in cold weather, ſhall lie upon him inſt being provided with the moſt neceſſa wanted, he thinks on more conv 76 philip quarll. ing to make himſelf a table to eat his vićtuals upon, and a chair to fit on , having cut ſeveral ſticks about four feet long, rives them in a row a • -----*: *. § then takes ſmaller, whi way in the s … nterweaves n: having made the top, he it upon four other ſticks, forky at the upper end, g ſtuck in the ground at one ſide of his barthe height of a table; this being done, he º lches, ſuch as he judged would : and back of a chair, which he ound near his table; and having 1. , which grew to them, with from back to front, and acroſs again, he aller between, bottoming his ſeat; which awar. r ſucceeds, of a far ing, ſaid he, to ſheld to reſt this poor ſupport it? here philip quarll. 177, now being entirely reconciled to the ſtate of life providence, on whom he fully depended, had been pleaſed to call him to, he reſolves to make proviſion of thoſe excellent roots ; and with his hatchet he cuts a piece off a tree, wherewith he makes a ſhovel, in order to dig them up with more eaſe : with this inſtrument he went to the place where he had obſerved they grew thickeſt, which being near the monkeys’ quarters, they came down from off the trees in great numbers, grinning as if they would have flown at him; which made him ſtop a while; he might indeed, with the inſtrument in his hand, have killed ſe. veral, and perhaps have diſperſed the reſt: but would not : why, ſaid he, ſhould i add barbarity to injuſtice; it is but natural and reaſonable for every creature to guard and defend their own ; thi given them by nature for food, which i them of ; and fince i am obliged to get my ſubſiſtence, if i am decreed to be here another ſeaſon, i will ſet ſome in a place diſtant from theirs for my own uſe. ..º.º. . . . . . º. . . . . *:: * : 33 having ſtood a confiderable time, thoſe animals ſeeing he did not go forwards, each went and ſcratched up for itſelf, afterwards retiring: giving him the # opportunity to dig up a few for himſelf: and as he was not come to the place where they grew thick, he laid them in ſmall heaps as he dug them up; while thoſe ſly creatures would, whilſt he was digging up º-2 § * g the leaves, and ſteal them away : n. wh ing thoſe anima 17s philip quarll. " turally very cum ſhould dig them up, he comes the morning following to make for want of a ſack to put them in, ket, which he buttons up, and ties and as he had obſerved that every root had of little off-ſets hanging at it by ſm º " ed off his ſhirt alſo, of which he makes anot to put them in. being naked, all but his breeches, and the d ... ſ. and fill . k r but ſho phelip quarll. 179 often renders him ridiculous to the reſt of man --s th man, which now appeared in the ſtate he was firſt created in, and undiſguiſed by clothes, renew an image of that reſpect he has forfeited by his fatal tranſgreſſion, which ever fince obliged him to hide the beauty of his fabric under a gaudy diſguiſe, . *** kand generally obnoxious to all other creatures, # ing a pride of what he ought to be aſhamed of: adds he, fince my clothes bred the antipathy, i will remove that cauſe, which will ſuit both the nature of thoſe animals, and my own, circumſtances. from that time he reſolves to go naked, till the hardneſs of the weather obliged him to put ſomething on. ked up a ſufficient quantity of off-ſets to wo acres of land, he retur for thoſe poor animals, which attended h he was at work, without off bl ~ ** **** orth. work abou time to 18o philip quarll. and cluſters of houſes, with here and there a high ſteeple ſtanding above the other buildings; another place claiming a near reſemblance to a diſtant ſquadron of men of war in a line of battle ; further, it bears a compariſon with the dull remains of ſome ſumptuous edifice, ruined by the often repeated ſhocks of time, inciting the beholders to condolence for the loſs of its former beauty. at ſome diſtance from thence the proſpect of a demoliſhed city is preſented to the fight; in another place larger ſtones placed a-top of one another, impreſs the mind with an idea of the tower of babel; and on the right hand a moſt pleaſant land covered with beautiful green graſs like chamomile, and here and there a cluſter of trees, compoſing moſt agreeable groves, amongſt a vaſt number of fine lofty trees of divers heights and ſhapes, which ſtood more diſtant, whoſe irregularity, added much to the delightfulneſs of the place. as he was walking on, admiring all theſe wonderrks of nature, having caught cold (not being go naked) he happened to ſneeze oppoſite to a the rock, which hollowed in, after the manleneſs of the ſurpri les a ſecond time, by philip quarll. 181 if he had been in company with numbers of ſkilful and celebrated choriſters. 2 having ſpent a confiderable time there with much pleaſure, he proceeds in his walk, being reſolved to make that his place of worſhip for the future, and attended it twice a day conſtantly. about three or four hundred paces farther, havin turned on the other ſide of the getting-out part .# the rock, he was ſtopt a ſecond time by another ſurpriſing product of nature; a large ſtone, growing out of the rock, advancing quite over the lake at the bottom of it, repreſenting ſomething of a human ſhape, out of the breaſt whereof iſſued a fountain of exceeding clear water, as ſweet as milk, and, when looked at fronting, was like an antique piece of architecture, which in old times they built over particular ſprings ; and on the other fide appeared as if ſpringing out of the noſtrils of a ſea-horſe : theſe three ſo , very different, and yet compared likeneſſes, being offered by one and the ſame unaltered objećt, made him curious to examine what parts of every reſemblance helped to make out the others : and having ſpent a confiderable time in the examination, he found every thing which the front had likeneſs of, was employed in making the ſide-repreſentation, by being in ſome places ſhortened, and others lengthened, according to the point of fight. * . being ſatisfied about that ſubjećt, he enters up another as puzzling : the baſon, in which the fountain ram, which was about five yards diſtant from whence the water did ſpring, being but about nine feet y way, without any viſible place to evacuate impliment, and yet keeping the ſame height without daſhing or running over, although the ſtream that fell into it ran as big as his wriſt. having a 182 philip quarll. long time ſearched into the cauſe, without any ſatisfaction, he conjećtures it muſt make its way out ſomewhere underground ; ſo went on, till he came to the place, he had begun his march at, which ended that day’s work. . . having been round the iſland, which to the beſt of his judgment, was about ten or eleven miles in circumference, of an oblong form, going in and out in ſeveral places, extending from north to ſouth, the ſouth end near twice as broad as the oppoſite; he reſolves to employ the next day in viewing the inſide. . then recommending himſelf to providence, as he never failed to do, both morning and evening, he goes to bed; but not being ſleepy, the over ačtive ãº, in man roves from one ſubjećt to another: his mind runs from his preſent ſtation to his former, reaſſuming his paſt pleaſures, which he never muſt hope to meet with again, and calls in all the evils his preſent condition of life lays him expoſed to. theſe dull thoughts, quite diſlodge his late born hopes of heaven’s affiſtance, and ſhakes his future dependance on providence : he ſnarls and quarrels with his fate, and repines at his condition ; which not being in his power to mend, he wiſhes for eternal ſleep, to free #. mind of tumults and cares, which crowd upon him. . $: . sleep was granted him, but not reſt : his repining is chaſtiſed with terrifying dreams of the puniſhment he had been condemned to ; all his paſt troubles come upon him in the moſt grievous and ſhocking manner they could appear; his raging wives at once fall upon him, exerting their utmoſt malice and revenge, which he cannot avoid, but by embracing either an ignomimious death, or a ſevere and vile bondage. theſe philip quarll. 183 terrible aſpects put him in the ſame pains and agony, as if already feeling the aſſigned torment. 8. having in his dream, with hard ſtrugglings, eſcaped death, he finds himſelf in an exceeding hot country, his half naked body continually bending to the hard and dry ground, grabbling round a nauſeous weed for fulſome worms, every now and then laſhed by a croſs and ſevere taſk-maſter; who hurries him to work : in this great perplexity he cries out, oh, that i had ended my woeful days at the ſhameful gibbet ! ſure it would have been a milder fate at which he awaked in ſuch a conſternation, that it was ſeveral minutes before he could be thoroughly ſatisfied it was but a dream. having recalled his diſperſed ſenſes, he made this refle&tion: that it really was the penalty that he had been ſentenced to, and by providence preſerved from. setting then his preſent condition in oppoſition to that, he acknowledges his ingratitude, for which he ſecretly repents, and on his knees, with weeping eyes, aſks pardon, imploring the continuance of providence’s protection ; reſolving for the future, never to think or wiſh to change that ſtate of life it had pleaſed heaven to place him in ; wholly dedicating the remains of his days to god’s worſhip: holding henceforth, as ineſtimable, the happineſs of being freed from thoſe cares, which daily flew on them who are concerned with the world which might cool or ſlacken his duty to ſo great a benefactor . having entirely reſigned himſelf to the wi caſts off all cares, and baniſhes from h ld create any ; reſolving to e n. ºran between the intervals of time ed to divine worſhip, in the contemplat 184 philip quarll. %. the many wonderful works of nature, manifeſted in ſuch various manners all over the iſland. * so he walks along the land, which he found very level, covered with a delightful green graſs, and adorned with trees of divers forts, ſhapes, and height, inhabited with ſeveral ſorts of finging birds, of various colours and notes, which entertained him with their melodious harmony : in ſome places ſtood a cluſter of trees compoſing agreeable and delightful groves, proceeding from only one main body whoſe lower branches being come to a certain length applied to the earth for immediate nouriſhment, as it were, to eaſe the old ſtem that produced them ; and ſo became a plant and did the ſame. having for ſome time admired the agreeableneſs and curioſity of the plant by which nature ſeemed to give human-kind inſtrućtions; and looking about, if perchance he could find any thing in his way for his own proper uſe ; he took along with him a ſample of every different herb he thought eatable. croſſing the iſland in ſeveral places, he comes at a moſt delightful pond, about two hundred yards in length, and one hundred and fifty wide, with fine trees ſpreading their branchy limbs over its brink, which was ſurrounded with a beautiful bank, covered with divers kinds of flowers and herbs, ſo naturally intermixed, which completed it in ornament and conveniency, as though intend r more than mortals' uſe. . . . . . . . having walked ſeveral times around it, with much pleaſure he ſat down awhile upon its bank, to admire the clearneſs of the water, through which, to his great comfort, he w gneſſes. he aw many di ferent forts of fiſh, of various ſhapes, and colours : heaven be praiſed 1. e is a ſtock of freſh-water fiſh to ſ º if the ſea ſhould fail me. philip quarll. 185 being ſufficiently diverted with their chaſing one another, which were of many beautiful and different. colours, and made a moſt delightful ſcene, he proceeds in his walk, and goes to the ſouth of the iſland, where he finds another ſubject of admiration; a noble and ſpacious wood, whoſe ſhades ſeemed to be for the abode of peace and pleaſure : he walked round it with much delight, which made the time ſeem ſhort; yet he could gueſs it to be no leſs than two miles about. having viewed the outſide, whoſe extraordinary agreeableneſs excited in him an unſurmountable deſire to get into it. but here he was afraid to venture, left there might be deſtructive creatures; yet, having recommended himſelf to the care of providence, he ventured into it, finding ſeveral pleaſant walks, ſome ſtraight, edged with lofty trees, as though planted for pleaſure ; others crooked and winding, bordered with a thick edge of pimentos, which caſt a moſt fragrant , ſmell; here and there a cluſter of buſhes and dwarftrees, wherein ſheltered ſeveral kinds of wild beaſts and fowls. sure, ſaid he, this iſland never was intended by nature to lie waſte, but rather reſerved to be the happy abode of ſome, for whom heaven had a particular bleſfing in ſtore: here is everything ſufficient, not only for the ſupport, but alſo for the pleaſure of life; heaven make me thankful that i am the happy inhabitant of ſo bleſſed a land. being hungry, and tired with walking, he goes home, in order to get ſome vićtuals, and, having made . a fire, he boils a #. his ſalt fiſh with ſome roots; and then the herbs he brought with him, which proved of divers taſtes, and all excellent ; ſome eating like artichokes, others like aſparagus and ſpinage. now, ſaid he, what can i wiſh for more ?' here i * 186 philip quarlí. º poſſeſs a plentiful land, which produces both fowls, fleſh, and fiſh ; bears excellent greens and roots, and affords the beſt of water, which by nature was ordained for man’s drink. pomp and greatneſs are but pageantry, which often proves more prejudicial to the aćtor, than diverting to the beholder; eaſe and indulgence are apt to breed the gout, and various diſtempers, which make the rich more wretched than the poor: now theſe evils, thanks to my maker, i itand in no danger of, having but what is ſufficient, which never can do any harm. thus thoroughly eaſy in his mind, he propoſes to ſpend the afternoon at the outfide of the rock, in viewing the ſea and looking for oyſters; ſo takes in his hand his long ſtaff to grapple in holes ; and his breeches, which he ties at the knees, to bring them in. being come to a place of the rock he never had been before, he ſees at a diſtance, ſomething like linen hanging upon it ; which, when come at, he found to be the main-ſail of a ſhip, with a piece of the yard faſtened to it: alas! ſaid he, diſmal token of inſatiable ambition which makes men often loſe their lives in ſeeking what they ſeldom find ; and, if they ever do, it is commonly attended with a world of care. happy is he who limits his defires to his ability ; aſpiring not above his reach, and is, connature requires. then he falls a ripping the ſheet from the yard, which he finds in one place tied with one of his garters! (hav ºº::::::: * : 3:3: . of it for want of another ſtring) heaven be praiſed, , ſaid he, this is no effect of another ſhipwreck, but a t of the unfortunate ſhip, whoſe loſs was ption ; which refle&tion made him ſhed tented with what ed the ſail in pieces, he rolls them up philip quarll. 187 in ſuch bundles as he could conveniently carry, and lays them down till he had got a few oyſters, proceeding to grope in holes with his ſtick as he went oſlº --> . x:::: . about forty paces farther he finds a cheſt in a cleft of the rock, which had been waſhed up there by the violence of the late ſtorm: heaven ſaid he, more fatal effects of fate’s cruelty, and man’s temerity was the ſea made for men to travel on 2 is there not land enough for his rambling mind to rove 2 muſt he hunt after dangers, and put death to defiance : what is the owner of this the better for it now ! or who can be the better in a place ſo remote, and the acceſs to it ſo difficult being not to be approached but on the wings of providence, and over the back of death. now, was this full of maſſy gold, or yet richer things, i thank my god i am above the uſe of it; yet i will take it home : it was ſent hither by providence, perhaps for the relief of ſome ſo neceſſitated and deſtitute. then going to lift it, he could not ; therefore was obliged to fetch his hatchet to beat it open, that he might take away what w by degrees. having taken as much of the fail-cloth as he got, he went home, and fetched the tool, wherewith could conveniently carry, with the few oyſters he had he wrenched the cheſt open, from which he took a ſuit of clothes, and ſome wearing linen; theſe, ſaid he, neither the owner nor i want; ſo laid them down: the next thing he took out, was a roll of feveral ſheets of parchment, being blank indentures and leaſes; theſe, ſaid he, are inſtruments of the law, and ofte . miſchievous he 's mercies, and provid e º ne; ſo inſtead of being the ruin of ſo pplied to injuſtice; but i will alter their properties, and make them records of nce's wonderful libe188 philip quarll. they may chance to be the reclaiming of others. at the bottom of the cheſt lay a rundlet of brandy, a cheſhire cheeſe, a leather bottle full of ink, with a parcel of pens and a penknife : as for theſe, ſaid he, they are of uſe; the pens, ink, and parchments have equipped me to keep a journal, which will divert and paſs away a few anxious hours: as for the cheeſe and brandy, they will but cauſe me new cares : before 1 had them i wanted them not ; now the benefit and comfort i ſhall find in them, when gone, will make me hanker after them; i wiſh i had ftill been without them; but now they are here, it would be a fin to let them be loſt. i will take them. home, and will only uſe them at my need ; which will make them hold out the longer, and me grow leſs fond of them. w tº 3. . so, by degrees, he takes home the cheft, and what was in it; and now having materials to begin his journal, he immediately fell to work, that for want of other books, he might at his leiſure, peruſe his paſt tranſačtions, and the many mercies he had received from heaven ; and that, after his deceaſe whoever is direéted thither by providence, upon reading his wonderful eſcapes in the greateſt of dangers; his miraculous living, when remote from human affiſtance; in the like extremity, might not deſpair. thus he begins from his being eight years old (as well as he can remember, he heard an old aunt of his ſay), to the day of his being caſt away, which happened on the tenth of july, 1675, being then twenty-eight years of age, reſolving to continue it to his death. thus having written the preceding account of the ſhipwreck, and what had befallen him fince, to the finding of the cheſt which was on the fifteenth of september, 1675, he proceeds: but calling to mind his laſt philip quarll. 189 dream but one, which did warn him to make proviſion againſt winter, and the ſeaſon .# pretty far advanced, he gathers a ſtore of fuel and roots; begins to line the outfide of his barrack with a wall of turf, and lays the ſame at the top, to keep out the wet ; and as he now and then found ſmall ſhell-fiſh and oyſters upon the rock, he makes a bridge over the lake, which in warm weather he uſed to wade, that in the winter he might go over dry : ſo, having completed his bridge, which was made of two ſtrong poles, reaching from the land to the rock, and ſeveral leſſer branches laid acroſs pretty cloſe, he retires home, the day being far ſpent: the following night, being the eighteenth of september, there aroſe a violent ſtorm, attended with dreadful claps of thunder, which the many echoes from the rock rendered more terrible; and lightnings flaſhing in a moſt frightful manner, ſucceeding each other, before the preceding was well out of the ſky, which put poor loneſome quarll in a conſternation that (notwithſtanding his reliance on heaven’s protećtion) he would have given the world (had it been in his poſſeſſion) to have been within the reach of human aſſiſtance; ſolitude adding much to his terror and afflićtion. . . . . § ... the glorious riſing of the next morning’s ſun having laid the mortifying rage of the bluſtering winds, quarll, whoſe late alarm was hardly quelled, ſtill ſuſpećting its moſt reviving rays to be terrifying glances and flaſhes of lightning; but having lain awhile, and hearing no noiſe, but that which ſtill raged in his mind, was at laſt convinced the ſtorm was over; and to gets up with a reſolution to go and ſee if he c % n any effect of the late tempeſt. being come to the other fide of the indeed, ſurpriſing objects, h; 190 philip quarll. chief that was done, being the inhabitants of the ſea only, a vaſt number of which had, by the wind, been diſ-elemented; a quantity of ſtately whitings, fine mackerels, large herrings, divers fizes of codlings, and ſeveral other ſorts of fiſh, with a great number of ſhells, of different ſhapes and bigneſſes, lying up and down upon the rock. heaven be praiſed i ſaid he, inſtead of damage to bewail, what thanks have i now to return for this mighty benefit ! here the powerful agent of miſchief is, by kind providence, made a miniſter of good to me : make me thankful i am now provided for all the next winter; and yet longer; by which time i am certain to have a freſh ſupply. * he who, when in diſtreſs, to god makes his addreſs, and his bounties implore; is ſure and may depend, that relief he will fend, and at need help the poor. thus having taken up as many fiſh as he could hold in his arms, he carries them home, and brings his ſhirt, which he uſed inſtead of a ſack : ſo, at ſeveral times, he brought away all the fiſh, and as many of the ſhells as he had occaſion for ; of ſome of which he made boilers and ſtew-pans, of others diſhes and plates; ſome he kept water in, and others š lowing verſes to be the effect of my own brain, iſoproteſt, they are what i found in his memoirs, lemnly proteſt, the written with his own hand. . . . philip quarll. 191 fiſh in pickle; ſo that he was ſtocked with neceſſary veſſels as well as proviſion. being very weary with often going backwards and forwards with his fiſh, which took up all that day to bring them home, he fits down to reſt himſelf; and the rundlet of brandy lying by, he was tempted to take a ſup, which was at that time very much wanted, his ſpirits being very low : but was loth to taſte it, leſt he ſhould grow fond of the liquor, and grieve after it when gone: ſome moments were ſpent before he could come to a reſolution : at laſt having confidered the uſe of it, which ſuited the preſent occaſion, he concludes to take a dram, and to uſe it like a cordial, as it was firſt intended for ; but the veſſel, out of which he drank, being at his mouth, the cordial turns to a nećtar ; and one gulp decoys another down; ſo the intended dram becomes a hearty draught. the pleaſantneſs of the liquor made him forget its nature; ſo that poor, quarll, who had for the ſpace of near three months before, drank nothing but water, was preſently overcome with the ſtrength of the brandy, and fell aſleep in his chair, with the rundlet on, his bare lap, from whence it ſoon fell to the ground, and being unſtopt ran all out. w being awakened with hunger, having ſlept from . evening till almoſt noon of another day, º he knew not whether the ſucceeding or the next to it; ſeeing what had happened, he was forely vexed, and could have wept at the accident; but, confidering the liquor which occaſioned it, might perhaps, in time, have cauſed greater miſchief, he reconciled with the loſs, but could not with that of the right order of the days, which having entirely forgot, hindered the going on of his journal ; ſo was obliged to make only a memorial. that damage being repaired, another 192 philíp quarll. appears of a far greater conſequence; the sunday is loſt, which he had ſo carefully obſerved to that time: how can that be made up 2 now, ſaid he, ſhall i daily be in danger of breaking the ſabbath, knowing not the day. oh, fatal liquor that ever thou wert invented to cauſe ſo much miſchief murder, adulteries, and blaſphemies, are daily, by thy moſt pernicious uſe, occaſioned. but why ſhould i lay the blame upon the uſe, when it is the abuſe that does the hurt? and exclaim againſt a thing, which being taken in moderation, is of ſo great a benefit, reviving a fainting heart, raiſing finking ſpirits, warming cold and decayed nature, and aſſuaging ſeveral pains: ſo blames himſelf highly for gratifying his appetite with that wherewith he only ought to i. refreſhed nature; and fince that often miſguided faculty had prompted him to commit the fault, he dedicated that day, in which he became ſenſible of it, to prayers and faſting : and every ſeventh, from that he ſets apart for divine worſhip only, which he hoped would keep him from breaking the commandments, for keeping holy the ſabbath-day ; it being not certain, that the day appointed by the church for that purpoſe, was the very day god hath ſanétified for reſt : ſo went to the place where the echoes, in many different and melodious founds, repeated his thankſgivings to the almighty, which he had fixed upon to pay his devotion, a re ſpent the reſt of the day in prayers, and ſing pſalms. . . . . ... º. 3. … the next morning, having breakfaſted with ſome of his uſual b w sº |al bread, and a ſlice of the cheeſe he found *::: º sº º out curing nis * aid by as many, for the preſent philip quarll. 193 proves the fair weather to dry one part of the remainder, and keeps the reſt in pickle. the winter being near at hand, and the weather growing damp and cold, hinders him from his walks; ſo being confined within doors, he employs his idle hours in beautifying his utenſils, which were not to. be uſed on the fire, and beſtowed ſome pains in ſcraping and poliſhing the reſt of his ſhells, ſome as fine as though they had been nakes of pearl ; which made them not only more fit for their intended uſes, but alſo a great ornament to his barrack, which he ſhelved round with plaited twigs after the manner of his table, and ſo ſet them upon it. º thus he ſpent the beſt part of the winter, making no further remarks, but that it was very ſharp, attended with high winds, abundance of hail and ſnow, which obliged him to make a broom to ſweep it away from about his hut, which otherwiſe would have been damaged by it. % but ſhivering winter, having exhauſted his froſty ſtores, and weary with vexing nature, retired. boreas alſo, grown faint with hard blowing, is forced to retreat into his cave; gentle zephyrus (who till then kept up in his temperate cell) now comes forth to uſher in the blooming ſpring; ſo mildly ſlips on to inform nature of her favourite’s approach, who at the joyful news put on her gay enamelled garb and out of her rich wardrobe ſupplies all vegetables with new veſture, to welcome the moſt lovely gueſt. the feathered choriſters alſo receive new ſtrength; their tender lungs are repaired from the injuries the foggy and miſty air did occaſion; and, thus revived, are placed inious notes. lſo, whom bad weather had confined with194 philip quarll. in doors a confiderable time, which had in a great meaſure numbed his limbs, and dulled his ſenſes, now finds himſelf quite revived : he no longer can keep within ; the fair weather invites him out ; the ſinging birds on every ſide call to him; nature itſelf fetches him out, to behold her treaſures. ž having with unſpeakable pleaſure walked ſome time, diverted with the ſweet melody of various kinds of finging birds, and the fight of abundance of different ſorts of bloſſomed trees and blooming flowers; all things within the iſland inſpired joy ; he had the curioſity to go and view the ſea: ſo goes over his bridge ; and then, at the other ſide of the rock, where he finds more obječts, requiring as much admiration, but affording a great deal leſs pleaſure ; vaſt mountains of ice, floating up and down, threatening all that came in their way. theſe terrible effects of the winter, which to that time he was a ſtranger to, occaſioned his making theſe reflections: he, who on billows roves, riches or wealth to gain, is ever in danger, and labours oft in vain ; if fortune on him ſmiles, giving his toil ſucceſs, each day new cares ariſe, which mar his happineſs. the only treaſure, then, worth laying up in ſtore } isla contented mind, which never leaves one poor; he is not truly rich who hankers after more. so, having returned heaven thanks for his happy ſtate, he creeps to the north-eaſt ſide of the rock, at the foot of which lay an extraordinary large whale, which the late high wind had caſt there, and died for want of water. if this, ſaid he, is all the damage that has been done laſt winter, it may be borne + ſo philip quarll. 195 went down and meaſured the length of it, which was about thirty yards, and proportionable in bigneſs : there were ſhoals of ſmall fiſhes ſwimming about it in the ſhallow water wherein it lay, as rejoicing at its death : thus, ſaid he, the oppreſſed rejoice at a tyrant’s fall. what numbers of theſe have been deſtroyed to make this monſtrous bulk of fat . well, happy are they, who, like me, are under heaven’s government only. so with his knife, which he always carried in his pocket, cuts ſeveral ſlices off the whale, and throws them to the ſmall fiſhes, ſaying, it is but juſt you ſhould, at laſt, feed on that which ſo long fed on you : and as oil ran in abundance from the place he had cut the ſlices out of, it vexed him to ſee that waſted, which might turn to good money: but why, ſaid he, ſhould i be diſturbed at it what uſe have i for any providence takes none, it gives me all gratis. so goes on feeling for oyſters with his ſtaff, which he always walked with. % having at laſt found a hole, where by their rattling at the bottom with his ſtaff, he judged there might be a pretty many, he marks the place, and goes home to contrive ſome inſtrument to drag them up, being yet too cold for him to go in the water ; and as he had no tool but his knife and hatchet, both improper to make a hole in a board, as requiſite to make a rake, which was wanting for that purpoſe ; he beats out the end of his cheſt, in which there was a knot; ſo having driven it out, he faſtens the ſmall end of a pole to it. thus equipped, he went and raked up oyſters, which added one diſh to his ordinary, and ſauce to others; yet at length his ſtomach growing qualmiſh with eating altogether fiſh, and drinking nothing but water withal, he wiſhes he could have a little fleſh, which he might eaſily, there r 2 196 philip quarll. being animals enough in the wood apparently fit for food; but then he muſt deprive them of their lives barely to make his own more eaſy.` thus he debates with himſelf for ſome time, whether or no it would be injuſtice for him (who only by a providential accident was brought thither to ſave his life) now to deſtroy thoſe creatures, to whom nature has given a being, in a land out of man’s reach to diſturb : yet nature requires what ſeems to be againſt nature for me to grant: i am faint and like to grow worſe, the longer i abſtain from fleſh. having pauſed awhile; why, ſaid he, ſhould i be ſo ſcrupulous 2 were not all things created for the uſe of man 2 now, whether is it not worſe to let a man eriſh, than to deſtroy any other creature for his re# ? nature craves it, and providence gives it : . not to uſe it in neceſſity, is undervaluing the ‘i 't. > º -% . º 8 so, having concluded upon catching ſome of thoſe animals he had ſeen in the wood, he confiders by what means, having no dogs to hunt, nor guns to ſhoot: having pauſed awhile, he reſolves upon making gins, wherewith he had ſeen hares catched in europe: thus, taking ſome of the cords which he found with the ſail at the outfide of the rock, he goes to work, and makes ſeveral, which he faſtens, at divers gaps in the thickſet, within the wood, through which he judged that ſort of beaſt he had a mind for went. *impatient to know the ſucceſs of his ſnares, he gets up betime the next morning, and goes to examine them; in one of which he found a certain animal ſomething like a fawn, the colour of a deer, but feet and ears like a fox, and as big as a well grown hare: he was much rejoiced at his game, whoſe mouth he º philip quarll. 197 immediately opened, to ſee if he could find out whether it fed upon graſs, or lived upon prey, the creature being caught by the neck, and ſtrangled with ſtruggling, before it died had brought up in its throat ſome of the greens it had been eating, which very much pleaſed him ; accounting thoſe which lived upon fleſh as bad as carrion. having returned thanks for his good luck, he takes it home in order to dreſs part of it for his dinner: ſo caſes and guts it: but it proving to be a female, big with three young ones, grieved him to the heart, and made him repent making thoſe killing nooſes: what pity, ſaid he, ſo many lives ſhould be loſt, and creatures waſted one would have ſerved me four days; and here are four killed at once. well, henceforth, to prevent the like evil, i will take alive what i juſt want, and ſave all the females. so, having ſtuck a long ſtick at both ends in the ground, making a half circle, he hangs one quarter of the animal upon a ſtring before a good fire, and ſo roaſts it. #, dinner being ready, having ſaid grace, he ſet to eating with an uncommon appetite; and whether it was the novelty of the diſh, or that the meat did really deſerve the praiſe, he really thought he never eat any thing of fleſh, till then, comparable to it, either for taſte or tenderneſs. . . having dined both plentifully and deliciouſly, he moſt zealouſly returns kind providence thanks for the late and all favours received ; then purſuant to his reſolution, he goes about making nets, in order to take his game alive for the future; and as he had no ſmall twine to make them with, he was obliged to unravel ſome of the ſail which he luckily had by him ; and with the thread twiſt ſome of the bigneſs he judged proper for that uſe. ; r 3 198 philip quarll. having made a ſufficient quantity, he makes a couple of nets, about four feet ſquare, which he faſtens in the room of the killing ſnares, ſo retired, and reſolved to come and examine them every morning. several days paſſed without taking any thing, ſo that he wanted fleſh a whole week; which did begin to diſorder his ſtomach but not his temper : being entirely refigned to the will of providence, and fully contented with whatever heaven was pleaſed to ſend. one afternoon, which was not his cuſtomary time of day to examine his nets, being too viſible in the day-time for game to run in, he happened to walk in the wood, to take full dimenſions thereof, ſo chanced to go by his nets ; in one of which were taken two animals as big as a kid fix weeks old, of a bright dun, their horns upright and ſtraight, the ſhape like a ſtag and moſt curiouſly limbed, a ſmall tuft of hair on each ſhoulder and hip. by their horns, which were but ſhort, they appeared to be very young, which rejoiced him the more, being in hopes to tamethoſe he did not want for preſent uſe; ſo carried them home, joyful of his game, depending upon a good dinner; but was ſadly diſappointed: the animals he found were antelopes (calling to mind he had ſeen them in his travels) which proved both females, he had made a reſolution to preſerve. though they were too young to be with kid, and he in great need of fleſh, yet he would not kill them ; ſo, with cords, faſtens them to the outſide of his lodge; and with conſtant feeding them, in two months time made them ſo tame, that they followed him up and down; which added much to the pleaſure he already took in his habitation, which by that time was covered with green leaves, both top and ſides; the ſtakes it was made of having ſtruck root, and ſhot out young philip quarll. 199: branches; whoſe ſtrength increaſing that ſummer, to fill up the vacancy between each plant, he pulled up . the turf wherewith he had covered the outſide and top of the hut between them, to keep the cold out in the winter, % º, * * * * * * his former hut being now become a pleaſant arbour gave him encouragement to beſtow ſome pains about it towards the embelliſhment of it, which ſeemed to depend on being well attended. he reſolved * upon keeping it well pruned and watered, the better to make it grow thick and faſt, which anſwered his intent; for, in three years time, the ſtems of every plant that compoſed the arbour, were grown quite cloſe, and made a ſolid wall of about fix inches thick, covered with green leaves without: which lay moſt regular and even, and within had a moſt agreeable, ſmooth bark, of a pleaſant olive-colour. tº his late arbour being, by his care and time, and ature’s affiſtance, become a matchleſs lodge, as intended by nature for ſomething more than human gueſts, he now conſults to make it as commodious beautiful. here is, ſaid he, a delightful dwelling, warm in the winter, and cool in the ſummer; delightful to the eye, and comfortable to the body; pity it ſhould be employed to any uſe but repoſe and delight ! ſo reſolved upon making a kitchen near it. º thus having fixed upon a place convenient at the fide of his lodge, about fix feet from it, twelve in length and eight in breadth, which he incloſed with turfs' covered the outſide of his arbour, before it was that c ſufficiently thick to keep out the cold; then, having laid ſticks acroſs the top of the walls, which and ſo covers it, leaving an open place for the ſmoke o out. : 2o3 philip quarll. the outſide being done, he goes about infide neceſſaries, as fire-places to roaſt and boil at ; thus cuts a hole in the ground, at a ſmall diſtance from the wall, after the manner of ſtew-ſtoves in noblemen’s kitchens; then, at another place, he ſets two flat ſtones, about eight or nine inches broad, and one foot long, edgeways, oppoſite to one another ; near two feet aſunder; then puts a third in the ſame manner at the end of the other two; ſo makes a fire-place fit to roaſt at ; then, for other conveniences, he weaves twigs about ſticks, ſtuck in the wall at one ſide of the kitchen where he lays the ſhells fit for utenſils which both adorned and furniſhed it. 3. having completed that piece of work, he goes and viſits his plantations, which he finds in a thriving condition ; the roots being, in fix months time, grown from the bigneſs of a pea (as they were when #".) to that of an egg: his antelopes alſo were come to their full growth and complete beauty, which exceeded moſt four-footed beaſts ; having a majeſtic preſence, body and limbs repreſenting a ſtag, and the noble imarch of a horſe: ſo every thing concurred to his happineſs. for which, having returned his moſt liberal benefactor his grateful acknowledgments, he thinks on means to prevent any obſtructions that may intercept the continuation thereof ; and as the want of clothes was the only cauſe, he could think of, to make him uneaſy, having but the jacket and thoſe which were given him on board, to ſave his own clothes, which, when worn out, he could not recruit; therefore to accuſtom himſelf to go without, he thinks on thoſe he had, ſo takes away the lining from the outfide of his clothing, in order to wear the thickeſt in the coldeſt weather, and ſo ! ź philip quarll. 2oi thins his dreſs by degrees, till at laſt, he went quite naked. * having thus concluded, as being the beſt ſhift neceſſity could raiſe him, he falls a ripping his jacket, in the lining whereof he finds ſeven peas, and three beans, which were got in at a hole at the corner of the pocket. thoſe few made him wiſh for more, which he had no room to hope for, they being raiſed by ſeed, which the iſland did not produce : theſe few, ſaid he, which at preſent are hardly ſufficient to ſatisfy a woman’s longing, may, with time and induſtry, be improved to a quantity large enough to ſerve me for a meal; then lays them up againſt a proper time to ſet them ; ſo ſpent the remainder of that ſummer in walking about the iſland, watering his lodge, weeding his root. plantation, attending his nets, which now and then ſupplied him with an antelope or goat, to eat at intervals between, fiſh he commonly found on the rock fter high winds and ſtorms; never failing to viſit the ſea three or four times a week, according as the weather did prove ; thus diverting many anxious hours with the variety of objećts that element affords. sometimes he had the pleafare to ſee great whales chaſing one another, ſpouting large ſtreams of water out of their gills and noſtrils; at other times, numbers of beautiful dolphins rolling amongſt the waves; now and then a quantity of ſtrange monſtrous fiſh playing on the ſurface of the ſea, ſome whereof. had heads (not common to fiſhes) like thoſe of hogs; others not unlike thoſe of dogs, calves, horſes, lions, bulls, goats, and ſeveral other creatures: ſome chaſing another ſort, which to avaid being taken, would quit their element, and ſeek refuge in the air, and 2o2 philip quarll. fly ſome yards above the water, till their fins, being dry, obliged them to plunge in again. < theſe paſtimes being generally ſucceeded with bad weather, and dreadful ſtorms, checked the pleaſure they gave, with the dread of the evil that threatened to follow. thus commiſerating the caſe of thoſe whoſe misfortune it is to be expoſed to them ; having ſpent ſome time in refle&tion, he goes to his uſual devotion; and calling to mind, that in all that time he never ſaw a young fiſh in it, he conjećtured that ſomething might deſtroy the ſmall ones; and as he imagined ſo it proved ; for, at his approach, a large fowl flew out of the pond with a fiſh in its bill, being too large for it to ſwallow. … at that diſtance, the bird being alſo upon the wing he could neither diſcern the colour nor make ; but he had the ſatisfaction of diſcovering the cauſe why the fiſhes did not increaſe, they being devoure when young by that creature; which to prevent, f the future, he ſtudies means to kill the deſtroyer; nets not being proper inſtruments; it being requiſite for that purpoſe to have one all round, as alſo to cover the pond, which was impoſſible, by reaſon of its largeneſs; and a leſs being of no uſe; the birds not probably coming to one certain place. he wiſhed for a gun, and ammunition fitting, as being the moſt probable things to ſucceed; but no ſuch inſtrument being within his reach, he ponders again; during which time, a croſs-bow offers itſelf to his mind, but is as diſtant from his reach as the gun : it is true, there was ſtuff enough in the iſland to make many, but he had no tools but a hatchet and a pocket knife; wherewith, if he had made ſhift to cut and ſhape a bow, he could not make a latch and ſpring neceſſary to it; ſo he muſt not think of it : yet, a bow being philip quarll. 203 the only thing he could apply to, he goes about one forthwith. thus having picked a branch of a tree, which had the reſemblance of a yew, and as tough, of which they are ſometimes made, he, with the tools he had, made ſhift to make one, of about ſix feet long, and arrows of the fame, which he hardens and ſtraightens over the fire; then, having ſlit them at one end, about two or three inches, he ſlips in a bit of parchment cut ſharp at one end, and about three inches at the other; then ties the end cloſe to keep it in, which ſerved for feathers ; and, with the ravelling of ſome of the ſail, he makes a ſtring to it. thus equipped for an archer, wanting nothing but ſkill, which is only to be gained by pračtice, he daily exerciſes ſhooting at a mark for the ſpace of a fortnight : in which time he made ſuch improvement, that in three ſhots he would hit a mark of about hree inches ſquare, at near fifty paces diſtance. being ſufficiently ſkilled, he goes and lies in wait for his defired game; ſo places himſelf behind a tree as near to the pond as he could, whither the bird came in a few hours after. . the creature being pitched upon the bank, never ſtood ſtill, but kept running round, watching for a fizeable fiſh to ſwallow ; ſo that he had no opportunity to ſhoot: until having at laſt ſpied out one, it launched itſelf into the pond, but raiſed more eaſily, which gave him time to take more aim ; nevertheleſs he .# it, being in motion : but when come to the top, he ſtruck it through the body, as it opened . wings, and laid it flat on the other fide of the he took it up, wonderfully pleaſed at his good ſucceſs the firſt time of his practiſing his new acquired 204 philip quarll. art; yet, having taken notice of the bird’s beauty, he had a regret for its death, though he might in time have rued its living ; the ſtock of fiſh weekly decreaſing, by his own catching one now and then with a ſmall net he made for that uſe, when ſhort of other proviſions; and their recruiting prevented by that bird’s daily devouring their young. the inexpreſfible beauty of the feathers, which were after the nature of a drake, every one diſtinguiſhed from another by a rim round the edge thereof, about the breadth of a thread, and of a changeable colour, from red to aurora and green; the ribs of a delightful blue, and the feathers pearl colour, ſpeckled with a bright yellow ; the breaſt and belly" (if it might be ſaid to be of any particular colour) was that of a dove's feathers, rimmed like the back diverſly changing ; the head, which was like that of a ſwan for make, was purple alſo, changing moved ; the bill like burniſhed gold ; eyes li ruby, with a rim of gold round it; the feet ſame as the bill ; the fize of the bird was between a fºliº gooſe and duck, and in ſhape reſembling a having bemoaned the death of that delightful creature he carefully takes out its fleſh, which corrupting, would ſpoil the outſide ; then ń. the ſkin with ſweet herbs, which he dried for that uſe; and having ſewed up the place he had cut open, to take the fleſh out, he ſets it up in his lodge. . . . . . . his good ſucceſs in archery, made him love the exerciſe; ſo that what odd hours he had in the day (beſide thoſe he ſet apart for his divine worſhip, and thoſe neceſſary occupations about his lodge, plantations, and making remarks) he beſtowed in ſhooting at the mark; which in time made i.e.-philip quarll. 225 he hardly would miſs a ſtanding mark the bigneſs of a dove, at forty or fifty yards diſtance, once in ten times; and would ſhoot tolerably well flying ; having once occaſion to try it upon a monſtrous eagle, which often flew rounding over the place where his antelopes and goats fed, near his lodge, which he ſhot at, fearing it would damage them, and killed it with the ſecond arrow. summer being over, during which, having been much taken up about his habitation and plantations, he had neither time nor opportunity to make remarks, farther than it was ſome days very ſhowery, and for the moſt part generally very hot; but now the weather being grown ſomething cold, and the wind pretty ſharp, he muſt be obliged to put on ſome clothes to keep it off; being as yet too tender to go any longer without ; next, to provide for his antelopes againſt the approaching winter; ſo makes a lodge for them, at the backfide of his kitchen, with ſticks, ich he drove into the ground, about two feet from the wall, and then bends them about three feet from the ground, and ſticks them in the ſaid wall, and ſmaller branches he interwove between them ; he ſhuts up the front, and covers the top, leaving both ends open for the antelopes to go in and out at ; then lays graſs (which he dried on purpoſe) in the ſaid lodge, for them to lie on. thus, having dug up a confiderable quantity of roots, and being already ſtocked with ſalt fiſh, both dry and in pickle, he was pretty well provided, for his cattle and himſelf, againſt the enſuing winter, which proved much like the preceding one, only not ſo ſtormy. the ſucceeding ſpring having awaked ſlumber nature, and reviving what the preceding hard ſeaſon. had cauſed to droop, every vegetable puts on new 206 philip quarll. his new plantations, where he found his roots grown full as large as any of thoſe that grew wild. make clothing, and recovers their wonted beauty; each animal aſſumes freſh vigour; the beaſts in the wood leap and bound for joy, and each bird on the trees fings for gladneſs. the whole creation is, as it were repaired, and every creature decked with new life : love, by nature’s direétion, for the increaſe of every kind, warms their harmleſs breaſts: each animal ſeeks a mate ; our tame antelopes quit their abode, and range the woods, for the relief ordained to quell their innocent paſſion ; which being aſſuaged they return home, pregnant with young, to their maſter's great ſatisfaction ; who, having given them over, was doubly rejoiced to ſee them come again in an increaſing condition. heaven be praiſed ſaid he, i ſhall have a ſtock of my own ; and will not fear wanting. -so having made fitting preparations againſt their kidding, he goes and examines the improvement o me thankful! ſaid he i am now provided with all neceſſary food : i ſhall no more need to rob thoſe poor creatures of that which nature had provided for their own proper uſe. next he goes and views his ſmall ſtock of peas and beans, which he found in a very promiſing caſe ; ſo, whilſt the weather was fair, he falls to clearing a ſpot of ground to ſet them in, º as they increaſed. & turning up the gro ind, he found ſeveral forts of roots that looked to be eatable, ſome whereof were big as a large carrot, others leſs. he broke a bit of every one; ſome of which breaking ſhort, and eing ſtringy, he judges they might be eatable : ſmells them ; and finding the ſcent not to be ole, he taſtes them. me were ſweetiſh, philip quarll, so others ſharp and hot, like horſe-radiſh; and thoſe he propoſes to uſe inſtead of ſpice. sure, ſaid he, theſe being of a pleaſant ſcent and ſavour, cannot be of an offenſive nature ; ſo, having manured his ground, he takes a ſample of every root which he judged eatable, and boils them, as the ſureſt way to experience their goodneſs. . moſt of them proved not only paſſable good, but extraordinary ; ſome eating like parſnips, others almoſt like carrots, but rather more agreeable; ſome like beets and turnips; every one, in their ſeveral kinds, as good as ever he eat in england, but of different colour and make ; ſome being bluiſh, others black : ſome red, and ſome yellow; theſe, though not wanted, having ſufficient to gratify a nicer taſte than his, were nevertheleſs extremely welcome, being ſomething like his native country fare and proićt: ſo having returned thanks for this moſt agreeable addition to his ordinary, he ſets a mark to every herb which thoſe roots bore, in order to get ſome of the ſeed to ſow in a ground he would prepare ; ſo, being provided with fleſh, fiſh, herbs, and ſeveral forts of roots, he goes and examines what improvement his peas and beans have made ; which he found increaſed to admiration ; the ſeven peas having produced one thouſand, and the three be : hundred ; having returned thanks for that vaſt increaſe, he lays them by, in order to ſet them at a proper ſeaſon, as he had done the year before. by this time his antelopes had kidded, one of them. having brought four young ones, and the ſecond three; this vaſt addition to his proviſions very 1 reioic being ſure now not to want fleſ which before he was in danger of; finding but n any thing in his met : ſo makes account to s 2 . 2 og philip quarll. live upon two of the young bucks whilſt they laſted; killing one as ſoon as fit for meat, and ſo now and then another, ſaving only five to breed : one whereof ſhould be a male to keep the females in ruttingtime from the wood ; left, at one time or other, they ſhould ſtay away for good and all. the old ones being well fed, as he always took care to do, providing for them ſtore of thoſe greens he knew they loved ; as alſo boiled roots for them now and then, of which they are very fond ; the young ones throve apace and grew very fat; ſo that in three weeks time they were large, and fit to eat. he killed one ; which being roaſted, proved to be more delicious than any houſe-lamb, ſucking-pig, young fawn, or any other ſuckling whatever. having lived upon that, with now and then a little fiſh, about one month, which was as long as he could keep it eatable, having dreſſed it at two different times, five days’ interval; eating the cold remains in ſeveral manners ; reſerving one of the other two males for a time he ſhould be ſcanted, and in want of fleſh; but was unluckily diſappointed by a parcel of large eagles, which flying one morning over the place where the young antelopes were playing, being of a gay, as well as a&tive diſpoſition, who launched themſelves with precipitation upon the male he reſerved for time of need, and one of the females which he kept for breed; ſeeing his beloved diverters carried away by thoſe birds of prey, he runs in for his bow, but came too late with it, the eagles being orić. . . . . . .” . having loſt his two dear antelopes, eſpecially the :male, having doomed the male for his own eating, he hardly could forbear weeping, to think of their being cruelly torn topieces by thoſe ravenous creatures; philip quarll. 209 thus having for ſome time lamented his loſs, and bewailed their hard fate, he thinks on means to prevent the like evil for the time to come ; and as his bow was not always at hand, he reſolves upon making a net, and faſtens it between the trees he ſaw them come in at. tº the ſucceeding winter proving very wet and windy, gave him but little invitation to take his uſual walks : ſo having everything he had occaſion for at hand, he kept cloſe to his net-making; for which having twine to twiſt, and thread to ravel out to make the ſaid twine, kept him employed till the following ſpring, which came on apace. having finiſhed his net, and every thing which be-, longed to it, he goes and faſtens it to the trees, as he had propoſed ; then takes a walk to his new plantations, which he found in a thriving condition ; for which, and other benefits already received, he reſolves as in duty bound, to attend at his uſual place of worſhip, and fing thankſgiving pſalms, which the hardneſs of the weather had kept him from all the late winter; but it coming into his mind, that whilſt he was at his devotion, returning thanks for the fair, proſpect of a plentiful crop, his antelopes would break into the cloſe, the hedge being as yet too thin, and devour the promiſing buds, which are the principal occaſion of his devotion; this, not altogether improper confideration, puts a fad checkt igious intention; and though there a s tion to prompt him to the per ~ ** ----1:of his duty, yet he could not, with wiſdom, r hazard, out of mere devotion, to loſe ſo promiſing a crop, which he ſhould never be able to retrieve; a his ſtock offeed being then in graſs. 3. as he was debating in his mind betwee s 3 2 iº, philip quarll. and reaſon, whether the latter ought not to be a director to the former, he perceived his antelopes making towards the peas, whither they doubtleſs would have got in, had he not returned, and driven them another way : which accident convinced him he might find a more proper time to go about his devo. tion ; no man being required to worſhip to his prejudice: ſo having put off his religious duty till he had better ſecured his peas and beans, he cuts a parcel of branches, wherewith he ſtops thoſe gaps to prevent the creatures going in ; and having completed his work, he goes to his devotion, adding to his uſual thankſgiving a particular collect for his luckily being in the way to prevent his being fruſtrated of the bleſfing heaven ſo fairly promiſed to beſtow on his labours. having paid his devotion, he walks about the iſland, being all the way delighted with the birds celebrating their maker’s praiſe, in their different harmonious notes every thing in nature, ſaid he, anſwers the end of its creation, but ungrateful man, who, ambitious to be wife as his creator, only learns to make himſelf wretched. thus he walks till the evening, making ſeveral refle&tions on the different conditions of men, preferring his preſent ſtate to that of adam before his fall, who could not be ſenſible of happineſs, having never known a reverſe; which, otherwiſe, he would have been more careful to prevent. being come home, and near bed-time, he firſt eats his ſupper; then having performed his cuſtomary religious ſervice, he goes to bed; the next morning, after paying his uſual devotion, he takes a walk to his plantations, on which he implores a continuation of the proſperous condition they appear to he in ; next he goes to examine his nets, in which he philip quarll. 2 i i * finds a brace of fowls like ducks, but twice as large, and exceeding beautiful : the drake (which he knew by a coloured feather on his rump) was of a fine cinnamon colour upon his back, his breaſt of a mazarine blue, the belly of a deep orange, his neck green, head purple, his eyes, bill, and feet, red ; every colour changing moſt agreeably as they moved. the duck was alſo very beautiful, but quite of different colours, much paler than the drake’s. the diſappointment in catching thoſe delightful fowls, inſtead of ravenous eagles, as he had purpoſed, no ways diſpleaſed him, but he rather was rejoiced to have ſuch beautiful fowls to look at ; yet it went much againſt his mind to deprive thoſe creatures of their liberty (the greateſt comfort in life) which nature took ſuch pains to adorn ; but, ſaid he, they were created for the uſe of man : ſo in keeping them for my pleaſure they will but anſwer the end of their creation. their confinement ſhall be no ſtrićter than my own ; they ſhall have the whole iſland to range in. he then pinions them, puts them in the pond, and makes a baſket for them to ſhelter in, which he places in the branches of thoſe trees that hung cloſeſt to the water, taking particular care to feed them daily with roots roaſted and boiled ; and the guts of the fiſh, and other creatures he uſed for his own eating ; which made them thrive mainly, and take to the place ; ſo that they bred in their ſeaſon. the five antelopes had by this time kidded, and brought ſixteen young ones: his peas and beans alſo were wonderfully improved, having that ſeaſon enough to ſtock the ground the year following. thus he returtled kind providence thanks for the vaſt increaſe, and concludes to live upon the young antelopes : § 21, philip quarll. long as they laſted, reſerving only one for to fuck the old ones, to keep them in milk, of which he had taken notice they had plenty, deſigning to draw it daily for his own uſe; ſo that in a little time, he had enough to ſkim for cream, which he uſed for ſauce inſtead of butter, and made ſmall cheeſes of the reſt : now having a pretty ſtore of dairy-ware, he reſolves to make a place to keep it in ; the kitchen wherein he was obliged to lay his ſalt-fiſh (which commonly ſmells ſtrong) not being a proper place for cream and milk: for which end he makes a dairyhouſe at the other fide of his dwelling; with branches of trees, after the manner of the cloſe harbour, and thatches it over with graſs; which anſwering the kitchen in form and fituation, made uniform wings, that added as much to the beauty as conveniency of the habitation. having completed his dairy, he proceeds in his reſolution of making cheeſe, having learned the way in holland; and for want of rennet to turn his milk, he takes ſome of the horſe-radiſh-ſeed, which being of a hot hature, had the ſame effect: having curd to his mind, he ſeaſons it to his palate ; then with his hatchet, he cuts a notch round in the bark of a tree, about eighteen inches in circumference; and a ſecond in the ſame manner, fix inches below that; then ſlits the circle, and with his knife gently opens it, parting it from the tree: thus he makes as many hoops as he judged would contain his paſte, which, being girded round with cords to keep them from opening, . with the ſaid paſte, and lays them by till fit fills being done, which completed his proviſions, : returns thanks for thoſe bleſfings, which had been º trally beſtowed on him ; now, ſaid h º philip quarll. 2 i 3 be praiſed i exceed a prince in happineſs : i have a habitation ſtrong and laſting, beautiful and convenient freehold, a ſtore of comforts, with all neceſſaries of life free-coſt, which i enjoy with peace and pleaſure uncontrolled : yet i think there is ſtill ſomething wanting to complete my happineſs, if a partner in grief leſiens forrow, certainly it muſt in delight augment pleaſure. what objects of admiration are here concealed, and, like a miſer’s treaſure, hid from the world ! if man, who was created for bliſs, could have been completely happy alone, he would not have had a companion given him : thus he walks about thoughtful till bed-time. > in this diſpoſition he goes to bed, and ſoon fell aſleep ; the night alſo, being windy, added to his heavy diſpoſition : but his mind finds no repoſe ; it ſtill runs on the ſubject that took it up the day before, and forms ideas ſuitable to his inclination : and as ſolitude was the motive of its being diſturbed, he indulges it with the thoughts of company, dreaming that the fame of his ſtation and happy ſtate of life, was ſpread about the world; tha; it prompted a vaſt number of people, from all parts, to come to it, which at laſt induced ſeveral princes to claim a . right to it; which being decided by a bloody war, . a governor was ſent, who laid taxes, demanded duties, raiſed rents, and warns him to be gone : having fixed upon his habitation for himſelf to dwell in. being ſadly diſturbed, he cries out in his ſleep, this is a great puniſhment for my uneaſineſs : could i not be contented with being lord of this iſland, without provoking heaven to bring me under the power of ex' there happening a great noiſe, he ſtarts out of his ſleep, with the thoughts of hearing a proclamation : 214 philip quarll. and cried out, alas ! it is too late to proclaim an evil which is already come : but, being thoroughly awake, and the noiſe ſtill continuing, he found he had been dreaming, which very much rejoiced him : he therefore puts on his clothes, and haſteus to the place he heard the noiſe come from. being within forty or fifty yards thereof, he ſaw a number of monkeys of two different kinds ; one fort ſquealing and fighting againſt the other, without intermixing, but ſtill rallying, as they ſcattered in the ſcuffle, he ſtood ſome time admiring the order they kept in ; and the battle ſtill continuing as fierce as at firſt, he advanced to ſee what they fought about ; for he took notice, they very much ſtrove to keep their groun z ~ . the battle ceaſed; and the com. ſome diſtance, left the ſpot of ground, on which they fought, clear; whereon lay a confiderable quantity of wild pomegranates which the wind had ſhook off the trees the night before, and which were the occaſion of their ſtrife. * , . his coming having cauſed a truce, every one of thoſe creatures keeping ſtill quiet during his ſtay, he reſolved to make a ſolid peace ; and as that difference had ariſen from the fruit there preſent, to which he could ſee no reaſon but that each kind had an equal right; he divides it into two equal parcels, which he lays oppoſite to each other towards both the parties, retiring a little way, to ſee whether this expedient would decide the quarrel : which anſwered his intent, fe animals quietly coming to that ſhare next to them, and peaceably carrying it away, each to their quarters. this occaſioned ſeveral refle&tions on the ivolous, and often unjuſt quarrels that ariſe am rinces, which create ſuch bloody wars, as prove t philip quarll. 215 deſtruction of vaſt numbers of their ſubjećts. if monarchs, ſaid he, always ačted with as much reaſon as theſe creatures, how much blood and money would they ſave thus he goes on to his uſual place of worſhip, in order to return thanks, that he was free of that evil, the dream whereof had ſo tortured his mind; though he confeſſed he juſtly deſerved the reality, for his uneaſineſs in the happieſt of circumſtances. . having paid his devotion, he takes a walk to ſee how his peas and beans came on, which he found in a very improving diſpoſition, each ſtem bearing a vaſt number of well-filled pods. heaven be praiſed ſaid he i ſhall eat of this year's crop, and have ſufficient to ſtock my ground the enſuing one. . * thus being plentifully ſupplied with neceſſaries, and in a pleaſant iſland, every thing about him being come to perfection; his dwelling, which ſeems intended by nature for ſome immortal gueſt, being, by time, yearly repaired and improved, leaving no room for care; yet the unwiſe man, as if an enemy to his own eaſe, cannot be contented with the enjoyment of more than he could reaſonably crave, but muſt diſturb his mind with what concerns him not : what pity, ſaid he, ſo delightful a habitation, attended with ſuch conveniences, and fituated in ſo wholeſome. an air, and fruitful a land, ſhould at my death, loſe all thoſe wonderful properties, and become uſeleſs for want of ſomebody to enjoy them : what admiration will here be loſt for want of beholders! but what kind of man could i ſettle it upon, worthy ſo fine an inheritance 2 were it at my pleaſure to chuſe myſelf an heir, ſuch only appear virtuous, whoſe weak nature confides to chaſtity: every conſtitutio iſs: want of courage occaſions 216 – philip quarll. neſs, and lack of ſtrength good temper : thus virtue is made a cloak to infirmity : but why do i thus willingly hamper myſelf with thoſe cares providence has been pleaſed to free me of 2 3% % leave the miſer the knowing care, who'll ſucceed him, or be is heir ; that racks his ſoul with diſcontent, * left what he rak’d for ſhould be ſpent. his gold to him is far more dear, than all his friends or kindred near. thus he holds the iſland from providence : freely he bequeaths it to whom providence ſhall think fit to beſtow it upon : and, that his heir may the better know the worth of the gift, he draws a map of the whole eſtate ; and made an inventory of every individual tenement, appurtenances, meſſuages, goods and chattels, and alſo a draught of the terms and conditions he is to hold the here-mentioned poſſeſſions upon ; viz. imprimis, a fair and moſt pleaſant iſland, richly ſtocked with fine trees, and adorned with ſeveral delightful groves, planted and improved by nature, ſtored with choice and delicious roots and plants for food, bearing peas and beans; likewiſe a noble fiſhpond, well ſtocked with divers forts of curious fiſh; and a ſpacious wood, harbouring feveral forts of wild fowl and beaſts, fit for a king’s table. item, a dwell ing commenced by art, improved y nature, and completed by time, which yearly keeps in repair, as alſo its furniture. item, the offices and appurtenances thereof, with the utenſils thereunto belonging; which ſaid iſland, welling, &c. are freehold, and clear from taxes; in philip quarli. 27 --~~ no temporal dominion, therefore ſcreened from any impoſitions, duties and exactions: defended by nature from invaſions and aſſaults; guarded and fupported by providence : all which incomparable pof feſfions are to be held upon the following terms, viz. -º that whoſoever ſhall be by providence ſettled in this bleſſed abode, ſhall, morning and evening, conſtantly (unleſs prevented by ill weather or accident) attend at the eaſt-fide of this iſland, and within the alcove nature prepared for the lodgment of ſeveral harmonious echoes, and there pay his devotion ; finging thankſgiving-pſalms to the origin and director of all things, whoſe º *... º sº ſe praiſes he will have the comfº to hear repeated by melodious voices. next, he ſhali religiouſly obſerve and keep a ſeventh day, for worſhip only, from the riſing of the ſun until the going down thereof: therefore he ſhall, ... day before, make all neceſſary proviſion for that ay. -º that he ſhall, after any tempeſtuous wind ſtorm, viſit the ſea at the out-fide of the rock, at the eaſt, ſouth, weſt, and north ends, in order to affiſt ny one in diſtreſs. he ſhall not be waſteful of any thing whatſoever, eſpecially of any creature’s life; killing no more than what is neceſſary for his health : but ſhall ev examine his nets, ſetting at liberty the overplus of his neceſſity, leaſt they ſhould periſh r confinement. he muſt alſo keep every thing in the and cleanneſs he ſhall find them in ; till the ground yearly : ſet and ſow plants a for food in their proper ſeaſons. having written this at the bottom o 218 philip quarll. had drawn, being ſupper time, he takes his meal ; then goes to his evening devotion ; and after an hour's walk to his bed, ſleeping quietly all night, as being eaſy in his mind. the next morning he takes his uſual walks, and viſits his nets : in that he had ſet for eagles, he found a fowl as big as a turkey but the colour of a pheaſant, only a tail like a partridge : this having no ſign of being a bird of prey, he was loth to kill it ; but having had no freſh meat for above a week, he yields to his appetite, and dreſſes it, eating part thereof for his dinner: it was very fat and plump, and eat much like a pheaſant, but rather tenderer, and full of gravy. 3. though he was very well pleaſed with the bird he had taken, yet he had rather it had been one of the eagles which kept his young antelopes in jeopardy : but he could not deſtroy them with his net, which had hung a confiderable time without the intended ſucceſs, he projećts the prevention of their increaſe, by deſtroying their eggs, leaving his nets wholly for the uſe they had been ſucceſsful in ; and ſearches the clefts of the rock next to the ſea, where thoſe birds commonly build, where having found ſeveral ueſts, he takes away the eggs that were in them, being their breeding time, and carries them home, in order to empty the ſhells, and hang them up and do n his habitation, amongſt the green leaves ich covered the ceiling thereof; but having accin one, and the yolk and white thereof of a turkey, he had the curioſity to nd taſte it, which eat much after the mann’s : the reſt he ſaved to eat now and then ing thereby the damage they philip quarll. 219 might do him in time, and adding a diſh to his preſent fare. º ; in this proſperous way he lived fifteen years, find ing no alteration in the weather or ſeaſons, nor meeting in all the time, with any tranſactions worthy of record : ſtill performing his uſual exerciſes, and taking his walks with all the content and ſatisfaction his happy condition could procure ; entirely forſaking all thoughts and defires of ever quitting the bleſſed ſtation he then had in his poſſeſſion. thus having walked the iſland over and over, (which though delightful, yet the frequent repetitions of thoſe wonders it produces, renders them, as it were, common and leſs admirable) he proceeds to view the ſea, whoſe fluid element being ever in motion, daily affords new objećts of admiration. , , the day being very fair, and the weather as calm, he ſat down upon the rock, taking pleaſure in ſeeing the waves roll, and, as it were, chaſe one another; the next purſuing the firſt, on which it rides, when come at ; and being itſelf overtaken by a ſucceeding one, is alſo mounted on thus wave upon wave, till come to a bulky body, too heavy for herrnaſk fºr, bear, ſunk altogether: this, ſaid he, blem of ambition; men ſtriving to out are often undone. as he was making refle&tions on the en vanity and pride, returning heaven thanks th feparated from the world, which abounds i elſe ; a ſhip appears at a great diſtance, i not ſeen fince his ſhipwreck : unlucky i he, that thou ſhouldſt ever come int. ts! the ark, which gave the firſt noti … * philip quarll. ſtrućtion. having therefore returned heaven thanks for his being out of thoſe dangers, he makes a ſolemn vow, never to return into them again, though it were to gain the world : but his reſolution proved as brittle, as his nature was frail; the men on board ad ſpied him out with their perſpective glaſſes: ind ſuppoſing him to be ſhipwrecked, and to want relief, ſent their long-boat with two men to fetch at approach, his heart alters its motion: his from its common courſe ; his finews are ed; which entirely unframes his reaſon kes him a ſtranger to his own inclination ; ſtruggling with his wavering reſolution, occaa debate between hope and fear : but the boat being come pretty nigh, gave hope the advantage, and his late reſolution yields to his revived inclinations; which being now encouraged by a probable opportunity of being anſwered, ruſhes on to execution : he quitting all his former reliance on providence, together on getting away, bleſfing the lity of feeing his bleſſed country again, he freely quits and forſakes all njoyed 1. x gladly abandoning his in, and plentiful iſland: he thinks providence ; his mind is entirely taken yage : but diſappointment, which of greateſt probabilities, ſnatches ſuchand before he could graſp it, and inppoſedly infallible retreat : the boat oach him, by reaſon of the rocks into the ſea under water: boat for ſharp points and ºrdable, as well as unn philip quarll. to come at one another; the men, after they had ſtrove all they could, but to no purpoſe, ſaid ſomething to him in a rage, which he underſtood not, and went without him, more wretched now, than when he was firſt caſt away : his full dependence upon a retreat made him abandon all further reliance upon providence, whom then he could implore; but now, having ungratefully deſpiſed heaven's bounties, which, had been ſo largely beſtowed on him, he has forfeited all hopes of affiſtance from thence, and expects none from the world : thus deſtitute and in the greateſt perplexity, he cries out, whither ſhall i now fly. for help ? the world can give me none, and i dare not crave any more from heaven. o curſed delufion but rather curſed weakneſs, why did i give way to it. h lot enough of the world, or was i grown weary of being happy ſo ſaying, he falls a weeping ; could i ſhed a flood of tears, ſufficient to waſh away my fault or eaſe me of the remorſe it does create 1 but why does my diſtraćted fancy propoſe impoſſibilities? is not the ocean ſufficient to rid w }:us me of this wretched * then, adieu, infectiou world, thou magician of iniquity the thoughts of which are now more offenſive than the moſt nauſeous odour of an old ſepulchre. here he was going to caſt himſelf into the ſea ; but a vaſt large monſter, riſing out of the water, with its terrible jaw open, looking at him in a moſt dreadful ped the execution of his deſperate deſig appearing in a different ſhape than 1 to meet him in, frightens away his ref ing : i may, ſaid he, condemn myſelf; geance belongs to god alone who rejects no repentance, but always extends his mer. penitent; and ſince st. fter t º philip quarll. as, by repenting and weepgain into favour, i hope . e tokens of repentance will ed of, for ever divorcing myſelf from the and never thinking of its alluring pleaſures, deſpiſe them. and, for the better performance of that pious reſolution, he ſets that woeful day apart (in which he was about to commit the fatal deed) for prayer and faſting; thus he went home, and hav at nothing fince the day before, he ſpent he remainder of that in faſting and praying, finging ial pſalms till dark night, that nature urged the pains and labour he was at in the day, climbing up and down the rock, d in mſelf to and fro, to come at the boat, having very much racked his limbs; and the diſappointmer is full dependance on the late promiſing ſucceſs, as alſo the tormenting remorſe, and heavy gr his finful reliance thereon, much fatiguing 4. rena ereon, ſleep, which is ordained : §§§ º im: his thoughts are htful viſions; all his threatening their reim moſt was, the * t º effleſ, ſleep, rather more down, having ſtill the te i % ilip quarll ass a nation) terrible ºbjećt, as the moſt ſuitable to the barbarity of his deſign, to ſtrike into him that terror which the ſpecies of death he had fixed in could, not. thus having with tears acknowledged the enormity of his reſolution, he returns providence thanks for its ineſtimable goodneſs, who, (notwithſtanding his late moſt ungrateful elopement) preſerved him from eternal, as well as temporal ruin: hav. ing paid his devotion, and ſung a thankſgivinghe takes a little nouriſhment, his ſpirits being low with his paſt fatigue and faſting, and as he could not put out of his eyes the terrible aſpect of the monſter, which was beyond any chimerical conception, he reſolves to draw it according to the idea he had in his mind: perhaps, ſaid he, having often the repreſentation before mine eyes, it will make the objećt more familiar and leſs frightful. taking therefore pen and ink, and a ſheet of parchment, now, ſaid he, how ſhall i repreſent what is paſt imagination to conceive a form without likeneſs, and yet comparable to the moſt terrible part of every frightful creature ; a large head, reſembling that of a lion, bear in ending backwards; its fº darts, like a porcupine ; vaſt great g like a flint ſtruck with a ſteel; rfe, always ſnorting ; the mo and teeth of a panther; the fences and the tuſks of a wild boar; with ; like an eagle, 224 philip quarll. put him in the greateſt admiration ſure, ſaid he, if nature had a hand in thy making, it was to aſſemble, in one creature, all the fierceſt and dreadfulleſt animals that are moſt frightful and terrible ! now, perhaps, this being conſtantly before me, may come leſs in my mind. then fixing it againſt his wall, this, ſaid he, will alſo be a memorandum of my late vow, never to endeavour to wiſh to go from hence, whatever opportunity offers, though attended with ever ſo great a probability of ſucceſs, and proſpect of gain ; fully ſetting his whole mind and affection on the ſtate and condition heaven had been pleaſed to place him in : reſolving to let nothing enter into his thoughts, but his moſt grateful duty to ſo great a benefactor, who has ſo often and miraculouſly reſcued him from death. ~. *... thus having entirely baniſhed the world out of his mind, which before often diſturbed it, he limits his thoughts within the bounds of his bleſſed poſſeſſion, which affords him more than what is ſufficient to make his life happy; where plenty flows on him, and pleaſure attends his deſires ; bounding in all things that can gratify his appetite, or delight his fancy a herd of §º. bounding and playing about his habitation, divert him at home; and in his walks º he is entertained with the harmony of divers kinds of finging birds; every place he comes to offers him new objećts for pleaſure; thus all ſeems to concur in completing his happineſs. . . in this moſt bleſſed ſtate he thinks himſelf as adam, before :...' continue in its preſent condition; expected, that fair weather, which his beauty, will not change. the ſun muſt g no room for wiſhes, only that philip quarll. confideration muſt, for the preſent, admit ſome ſmall care: he is naked, and his tender conſtitution ſuſceptible of the cold ; therefore the clothes he was caſt away in being worn out, he is obliged to think of providing ſomething to fend his limbs from the hardneſs of the approaching winter, whilſt it is yet warm ; having conſidered what to make a wrapper of, he concludes upon uſing ſome of the ſame graſs he made his mats of, on which he lay, being ſoft and warm, very fit for that purpoſe ; of this he cuts down a ſufficient quantity, which, when ready to work, he makes ſmall twine with, and plaits it in narrow braids, which he ſews together with the ſame, and ſhapes a long looſe gown, that c him to the heels, and a cap of the ſame. .. by that time he had finiſhed his w weather was grown cold enough for hiſ 2. é the froſty ſeaſon came on apace, in which there fell ſuch a quantity of ſnow, that he was forced to make a broom to ſweep it away from about his habitation twice a day; as alſo the road he made to the places he had oecaſion to go to, toffing the ſnow on each fide, which, before the winter was over, met at top and covered it all the way; which obliged him to keep within for a confiderable time and melt ſhow inſtead :::::::::2323.::::::---------> might chance to 226 philip quarll. he having a mind to view the ſea, and being come to the outſide of the north-weſt end of the rock, fees at the foot thereof, ſomething like part of the body of a large hollow tree, the ends whereof were ſtopped with its own pitch ; and the middle, which was ſlit open from end to end, and kept gaping by a ſtick laid acroſs. à w this put him in mind of canoes, with which the indians paddle up and down their lakes and rivers; and being on that ſide of the rock next to the iſland of california, he fancied ſome of them were come to viſit this iſland, though not many in number; their canoes holding, at the moſt, but two men; and, for j , one only : yet, as ſome of theſe peoted great thieves, daily robbing one ens home to ſecure what he had : but it was too late : they had been there already, and had taken away the clothes he found in the cheſt; which being, by far, too little for him, hung careleſsly on a pin behind the door. had they been contented with that, he would not have regarded it; but they carried away ſome of his curious ſhells, and, what grieved him moſt, the fine bird he had taken ſuch pains to dreſs and ſtuff, and care to preſerve ; as alſo his bow and arrows., --having miſſed theſe things, which he much va ed, he haſtens to the outſide of the rock, with his long ſtaff in his hand, in hopes to overtake them before they could get into their canoe; but happened n orn to , they being already got near half a rock : yet they did not carry away ere ariſing ſome wind, it made the h, and overſet their canoe wi s in it was all loſt but the two indians, moſt dexterouſly turned it on its bottom again, a % philip quarll. 227. with ſurpriſing activity leaped into it, one at the one ſide, and the other at the oppoſite ; ſo that the canoe being trimmed at once, they paddled out of fight. *ing come to the outſide of the rock, he perceives at a diſtance ſomething like a large cheſt, but having no lid on it. taking that to be the product of ſome late ſhipwreck, he grieved at the fatal accident; how long, refle&ted he, will covetouſneſs decoy men to purſue wealth, at the coſt of their precious lives? has not nature provided every nation and country a ſufficiency for its inhabitants that they will rove on this moſt dangerous and boiſterous ſea, which may be titled death’s dominions; many periſhing therein, and not one on it being ſafe. . . xas he was bewailing their fate who he imagined had been caſt away, he ſees two men come down the rock, with each a bundle in his arm, who went to that which he had taken to be a cheſt ; and, having put their load in it, puſhed it away till come to deeper water ; then, having got in it, with a long ſtaff ſhoved it off, till they could row to a long-boat that lay at ſome diſtance behind a jutting part of the rock, which ſcreened it from his fight, as alſo the ſhip it belonged to. the fight of this much amazed him, and made him weaſe condoling others' ſuppoſed loſs, to run home and examine his own ; well knowing thoſe bundles, he ſaw carried away, muſt needs belong to him ; there being no other moveables in the iſland but what were in his lodge. , being come home, he finds indeed what he ſuſpected: thoſe villains had moſt ſacrilegiouſly rifled ant ranſacked his habitation, not leaving ſo much of the mats to keep his poor body from the g but could n winter gar his winter garb alſo is gone, and what elſe they could find for their uſe. . . , the loſs of thoſe things, which he could not be § thout, filled him with ſorrow ; now, ſaid he, i in my firſt ſtate of being; naked i came into the world, and naked ſhall i go out of it at which he fell a weeping. having grieved awhile, why, ſaid he, ſhould i thus caſt myſelf down 2 is not providence, who gave me them, able to give me more ? thus having reſolved before winter to repleniſh his loſs, he reſts himſelf contented, and gives the ruffians’ evil action the beſt conſtrućtion he could. now i think on it, ſaid he, theſe ſurely are the men, who, about twelve months fince, would charitably have carried me hence, for want of neceſſary implements; w, being better provided, came to accompliſh their hoſpitable deſign ; but, not finding me, ſuppoſing i was either dead or gone, took away what was here of no uſe : much good may what they have got do t as it w and may it be of as much uſe to them e. thus . graſs to dry, h or willing to go, they wi h they are feaſible i e goes up to them. . . . . ed, could not fly away as the n. as he thought they ervice, he could grudge philip quarll. them nothing, that would any-wiſe gratify ſo good an intent. but having returned them thanks for their good-will, he told them he was very happy in the iſland, and had made a vow never to go out of it. theſe being frenchmen, and of an employment where politeneſs is of little uſe, being fiſhermen, and not underſtanding what he ſaid, only laughed in his face, and went on to the purpoſe they came about: then having as many of the ducks as they could get, they proceeded towards the houſe where they had ſeen the antelopes; ſome of which not running away i. their approach, they propoſed to catch hold of ~ them. . . . . . . . . . being come to the place where they uſed to feed, which was near the dwelling, the young ones, not being uſed to ſee any men in clothes, nor any body but d o their maſter preſently fled; but the two old : which he had bred up, were ſo tame, that th ſtill ; only when the men came to them, they kept cloſe to him, which gave the men opportunity to lay hold of them ; when, notwithſtandin arli’s repeated entreaties, they tied a halter a and barbarouſly led them away. quarll was grieved to the heart to ſi ich he had taken ſuch care to bree º e become the principal part of his de followig him up and down; and which by their jumping and playing before him, often diſperſed melancholy thoughts; notwithſtanding all theſe endearing qualifications, thus hauled away, he weeps, and on --begs they may be left; and, though they unthis words, his ačtions were ſo expreſſive at had they had the humanity of canone another, they would have yieldan object as the pool broker philip quarll. ruarll was ; but the inflexible boors went on, cruelly hauling and dragging the poor creatures ; which as if ſenſible of the barbarity of the ačt, looked back to their afflićted maſter, as craving his aſſiſtance, which, at laſt, ſo exaſperated him, that he was ſeveral times tempted to lay on the raviſhers with his long ſtaff; but as often was flopt by the following confideration : shall i, ſaid he, be the deſtrućtion of my fellow-creatures, to reſcue out of their hands, animals of which i have an improving ſtore left, and deprive them of their healths, and perhaps of their lives, to recover what coſt me nought 2 let them go with what they have, and the merit of the deed be their reward. thus he walks about melancholy, bemoaning his poor antelopes’ fate, and his own misfortune : they were uſed to liberty, ſaid he, which now they are deprived of, and for which they will pine and die, which for their fakes, i cannot but wiſh ; for lif without liberty is a continual death. . as he was walking, thinking (as it is uſual, after the loſs of any thing one loves) of the pleaſure he had during the enjoyment, the ruffians, having ſecured the poor animals, came back with ropes in their hands. what do they want next 2 ſaid he, have not all they deſire? would they carry away my habitation alſo ſure they have no deſign on my p ſon : if ſo, they will not take it ſo eaſily as they my dear antelopes. thus he reſolved to exerciſe his quarter-ſtaff, if they offered to lay hands on him. the villains, whoſe defign was to bind him, and ſo carry him away, ſeeing him armed and reſolute, did not judge it ſafe for them to advance within the reach of his weapon, but kept at ſome di "vining how to ſeize him. quarll, who by their conſulting, g philip quarll. 231 deſign, not thinking proper to let them come to a reſolution, makes at the neareſt, who immediately takes to his heels; and then to the next, who immediately does the ſame : thus he follows them about for a confiderable time; but they divided, in order to tire him with running, till the night approachings and the wind riſing, made them fear their retreat might be dangerous, if they deferred it : ſo that they went clear away : which being all he deſired, he returned, as ſoon as he ſaw them in the long-boat, which they rowed to their ſhip, that lay at anchor ſome diſtance from the rocks. theſe wretches being gone, he returns heaven thanks for his deliverance; and as his bridge had favoured their coming, he pulls it off, and only laid it over when he had a mind to view the ſea, and goes home to eat a bit, having not, as yet, broken his faſt. having, therefore, eaten ſome of his roots and cheeſe, and being wearied with hunting thoſe boors, he conſults how to lie, his bed and bedding being gone, as alſo his winter-gown, and the nights being, as yet, cold : however, after a ſmall time of confideration, he concludes to lie in the lodge, which was left vacant by the ſtolen antelopes’ abſence; whoſe litter being made of the ſame graſs as his mats were, he lay both ſoft and warm. & * ... when laid down, being ſorely fatigued, he ſoon fell aſleep ; and as the plunderers had the preceding day took up his cares, they filled his mind in the night; he has them continually before his eyes, ſometimes with his beloved antelopes in their pilfering hands; at other times barbarouſly hauling them by their horns with a halter, which they ought to have about their own necks. theſe ačts of auſterity provoking his anger, and º him on to revenge, he age philip quarll. lifts his ſtaff, which on a ſudden is turned into hercules’ club: ſtartled to ſee that wonderful change, he ſtops from laying on the intended blow. reſcuing, ſaid he, my darling animals, i ſhall loſe my precious and ineſtimable peace of mind: what can atone for the life of man 2 whilſt he was making theſe refle&tions, the men got clear away with the fowls and antelopes, leaving him in deep melancholy : thus, as he was bewailing his loſs, calling to mind the agreeable paſtimes they had often been to him, and the many anxious hours he had diſperſed with their diverſion, a gentlewoman appeared before him, of a moſt agreeable yet grave countenance, dreſſed in plain dove-coloured clothes, in moſt places threadbare, and in others patched with divers ſorts of ſtuffs, yet genteel and becoming. he ſtarts at her appearance, wondering what ſhe could come for, having nothing more to loſe : i come not, ſaid ſhe, to ſeek ought from thee, but to reſtore what thou haſt loſt. he being overjoyed at theſe words, looks, expe&ting his beloved antelopes, and what elſe the men had taken away; but, ſeeing nothing, he thought the viſion proceeded from vapours, which the great grief for his late loſs had occaſioned, and falls a thinking, till he was a ſecond time interrupted by her, bidding him to look her in the face. be ſatisfied, ſatisfied, woman, ſaid he why, i neither thee, nor what thou meaneſt. well, then, replied le, i will inform thee of both : i am patience, whom 1 the world ſtrive to grieve, and whom none can : ; and what i promiſe to reſtore thee is cony after worthleſs philip quarll. 233 what happened the day before, he makes this application: this, ſaid he, is a check for my diſcompoſing that peace upon ſuch a frivolous account, which by providence was intended i ſhould enjoy, having ſupplied me with all neceſſaries to maintain it : he therefore makes a reſolution never to be vexed let what will happen; but with patience ſubmit to the will of god, who has the dire&tion of all things. then, having paid his uſual devotion, he goes into the kitchen, in order to breakfaſt, and afterwards to take his cuſtomary walk. whilſt he was eating, there aroſe a noiſe in the air, as proceeding from a quantity of rooks, jackdaws, crows, and ſuch like birds, whoſe common notes he was acquainted with ; and as the noiſe approached, he had the curioſity to go and ſee what was the matter, but was prevented by the coming of a large fowl, which flew over his head, as he was going out : he turned back to gaze at the bird, whoſe beauty ſeized him with admiration, the pleaſure of ſeeing ſo charming a creature quite put out of his mind the curioſity of looking from whence proceeded the diſagreeable noiſe without ; which ceaſing as ſoon as the bird was ſheltered, made him imagine thoſe carrion birds had been chaſing that beautiful fowl, which, ſeeing itſelf out of danger, ſtood ſtill, very calm and compoſed ; which gave him the opportunity of making a diſcuſſion of every individual agreement which compoſed ſo delightful an object: it was about the bigneſs and form of a ſwan, almoſt headed like it, only the bill was not ſo long, nor ſo broad, and red like coral; his eyes like thoſe of a hawk, his head of a mazarine blue, and on the top of it a tuft of ſhining gold-coloured feathers, which ſpread over it, hanging near three inches beyond, all around ; its * face, and part of its as philip quarll. neck, milk-white, curiouſly ſpeckled with ſmall black ſpots, a gold-coloured circle about it : its back and neck behind of a fine crimſon, ſpeckled with purple ; its legs and feet the ſame colour as its bill; its tail long and round, ſpreading like that of a peacock, compoſed of fix rows of feathers, all of different colours which made a moſt delightful mixture. having ſpent ſeveral minutes in admiring the bird, he lays peas, and crumbled roots, both roaſted and boiled, before it; as alſo water in a ſhell, withdrawing, to give it liberty to eat and drink; and ſtood out peeping to ſee what it would do; which being alone, having looked about, picks a few peas, and drinks heartily; then walks towards the door, in 5.compoſed and eaſy manner, much like that of a cock. -: • > -quarll, being at the outfide, was dubious whether he ſhould detain him, or let him go ; his affection for that admirable creature equally prompts him to both : he cannot bear the thoughts of parting with ſo lovely an object, nor harbour that of depriving it of its liberty, which it ſo implicitly intruſted him withal. thus, after a ſmall pauſe, generoſity prevails over ſelf-pleaſure: why ſhould i, ſaid he, make e of its refuge its priſon he therefore makes 'or it to go, which with a ſlow pace walks : ; and having looked about a ſmall time, mounts confiderable height, and then takes its courſe *... . ſ tion he adventure, which he judges to be a prognoſtic of ſome rebellion or revolution in europe: whereby having recommended his native country to &tion of heaven, begging a continu ad an end of thoſe unhappy diviſions, philip quarll. 235 often prove the ruin of nations; he goes and ſets down, in the memorial book, the tranſactions of that year, being 1689, and the fifteenth ſince his being in the iſland, which proved more fruitful in events than any of the preceding. the picture which he had drawn of the terrible ſea-monſter, being againſt his wall, having accuſtomed him to the frightful objećt . that conſtantly diſturbed his mind, he draws that of the two ruffians, committing their barbarity, an hangs it by the place; the idea whereof b ** him more terrible than the preceding, he could not ſuffer it to be long in his fight; but takes it down, and draws on the backfide of it, the villains on a gibbet: now ſaid he, this being what ought to be the end and explanation of the hiſtory, ſhall now be the right fide of the pićture. x there happening nothing the remainder of the year, worthy of record, he employs it in his cuſtomary occupations ; as pruning and watering his lodge and dairy, making his mats to lie on, as alſo his winter-garb ; every day milking his antelopes and goats; making now and then butter and cheeſe, attending his nets, and ſuch like neceſſary employments. º, º -> n. the mean time, the french mariners, who probably got money by what they had taken from him the year before, returned, it being much about the ſame ſeaſon; and being reſolved to take him away, and all they could make any thing of, out of the iſland, were provided with hands and implements to . a º to bind what they their deſign; as ropes to bi alive, and guns to ſhoot what they could it, faws and hatchets t down logwood il, pick-axes and ſhovels to dig up orris-roots, of worth, which they imagined the iſland 236 philip quarll. %. produced "likewiſe flat-bottomed boats to tow in ſhallow water, where others could not come ; and thus by degrees to load their ſhip with booty: but ever watchful providence blaſted their evil obječts, and confounded their devices, at the very inſtant they thought themſelves ſure of ſucceſs : the implements in a flat bottomed boat were towed to the very foot of the rock, by a young fellow, who being lighter than a man, was thought fitteſt to go with the tools, which pretty well loaded the boat. & their materials being landed, to their great ſatisaćtion, the men on board embarked in two more of the ſame fort of boats ; but were no ſooner in them, but a ſtorm aroſe, which daſhed their ſlender bottoms to pieces, and waſhed them into the ſea, in which they periſhed, overſetting alſo the flat-bottomed boat on ſhore, with the load, and the lad underneath it. the ſtorm being over, which laſted from abo eight in the morning till almoſt twelve at noon, quarll, according to his cuſtom, went to ſee if he could perceive any damage done by the late tempeſt, and if any diſtreſſed by it, ſtood in want of help. being at that fide of the rock he uſed to viſit, he could ſee nothing but a few fiſhes and ſhells the ſea had left in the clefts: if this, ſaid he, be all the damage that has been done, make me thankful; it will recruit me with freſh fiſh and utenfils. going to the n. w. part, where he ſees a battered boat, floating with the keel upwards, this, ſaid he, bodes ſome miſchief; but thought it not to be of any conſequence. having gone about fifty yards farther, he ſpies a ſmall barrel at the foot of the rock, with ſeveral planks and fragments of a ſhip, floating with the tide: alas! ſaid he, theſe are too evident proofs of a ſhipwreck, to lope otherwiſe. as he was looking | philip quarll as: about, he hears a voice cry out much like that of a man, at ſome diſtance, behind a part of the rock : being advanced a ſmall matter beyond where he was, heaven be praiſed i ſays he, there is ſomebody, whom i am luckily come to ſave, and he moſt fortunately come to be my companion ; i cannot but rejoice at the event, though i heartily grieve for the accident. haſtening to the place where he thought the cries came from, which, as he advanced, he could diſcern to be too ſhrill for a man's voice, certainly, ſaid he, this muſt be ſome woman by the noiſe. this ſets his blood a glowing, his heart alters its motion : now, ſaid he, joyful, providence has completmy happineſs : i ſhall have a companion, and a help-mate ; and goes on with freſh vigour, as though he had recovered ſtrength, and got new limbs. the rough and ſavage rock, which was before in a manr inacceſſible, is now made eaſy to walk : he bs the higheſt places with ačtivity, and goes down the ſteep as nimbly; and ſoon arrived where he judged the perſon to be yet, ſeeing nothing, but what he took to be a cheſt, began to be diſheartened: ſure, ſaid he, this is not a i. illuſion, to decoy my fancy after what is not to be had 2 thus his joy on a ſudden is turned into deep melancholy; but the creature underneath, who, having heard ſome noiſe near at hand, ceaſed crying, to liſten; yet ſeeing nobody come, cries out again ſomewhat louder than before. this revived him quite, and recals his hopes : it is a woman, ſaid he, and in that cheſt: when, going to break it open, he ſtops on a ſudden: what am i going to do? how do i know the cauſe of her being thus locked up : though women are, in a manner, become a merchandize, yet they never are packed , or cheſted; ſhe muſt be in there for a puniſh238 philip quarll. ment, which in ſome countries is inflićted on witches. the boy, who heard a voice, calls out in french, which quarll not underſtanding, he was afraid to let it out: but his mentioning chriſt being intelligible to him, made him change his opinion, for chriſt’s ſake, doth ſhe ſay ? that holy name witches ſeldom make uſe of: however, in that holy name i’ll let her out. if ſhe be under condemnation, was not i ſo 2 had ſhe by heaven been decreed to die, ſhe would not have been here. at, which words, with his ſtaff he endeavours to break that which he took to be the lid of the cheſt, but proved the bottom: and, as he was ſtriking, the boy underneath, calling to him to turn it up, thruſt his hand under the fide, which he perceiving, though he underſtood him not, ſtood ftill: finding his miſtake, this, ſaid he, is a flat-bottomed boat, ſuch as the frenchmen uſed the ye before, when they came and plundered me : no sam i ſafe, if i turn it up 2 doubtleſs they are come in great numbers. pauſing awhile, and the lad (whom he took to be a woman) ſtill continuing his moan, he was moved to compaſſion; and, having confidered the boat could not hold any great number, he ventures; let what will come on it, or who will be under, for the poor woman’s ſake i will relieve them, there cannot be many men. however, i will let but one out at a time : if he be miſchievous i am able to deal with him. x. . at this, he puts the end of his ſtaff where he had ſeen the hand, and lifts it up about a foot from the ground : out of the opening immediately creeps the boy, who on his knees falls a begging and weeping, expecting death every moment, as being the merited puniſhment for the evil purpoſe he came about. quarll, who expected there was a woman befid * philip quarll. 239 fearing the gap the youth came out at would be too uneaſy for her to come through, made motion for the boy to help him, in order to ſet the boat on its bottom; which he did. quarll, ſeeing the implements, inſtead of the woman, was as much vexed as diſappointed : his countenance changes; ſometimes he looks at the things, and then at the boy ; who ſeeing him appear angry, thought of nothing but preſent death, and again falls on his knees, holding up his hands, almoſt drowned in tears, begging for mercy in ſuch a moving manner, that q. could not forbear ſhedding ſome tears ; and though the late diſappointment of his propoſed happineſs, and the fight of the preparations made for his intended ruin, had moved him to anger againſt that mercenary nation, he helps the young fellow up by the hand; the night coming on apace, he takes one of the hets that lay by, and gave another to the boy, len falls a knocking the boat to pieces, and directed him to do the ſame ; which he accordingly did. the boat being demoliſhed they carried the boards up higher on the rock, as alſo the reſt of the things; left in the night ſome ſtorm ſhould riſe, which might waſh them back into the ſea; it being then too late to bring them away. having done, they each of them took up what they could carry, and ſo went home. the young frenchman, finding a kinder treatment than he either deſerved or expected, was extraordinary ſubmiſſive and tractable, which made quarll the more kind and mild; and, inſtead of condemning his evil attempt, he commiferated his .." and in room of reſentment ſhowed him 111. 2. ſs; thus having given him of what he had he puts him to bed in his lodge, wherein he his mats made up ; then went to * philip quarll. bed himſelf, but could not ſleep for thinking of his late diſappointment, which intercepted thoſe pleafures he ſo much depended on, thinking himſelf ſure of a female partner, who, in ſharing happineſs with him, would have much added to his bliſs. having toſſed and tumbled a conſiderable time, he begins to be heavy-ſpirited; nature is fatigued, and muſt be refreſhed : thus he falls aſleep; and, as his hopes the preceding day had indulged his deſire, his mind is ſo impreſſed in the night with the idea of a , female objećt, that he dreams he has her by his fide, condoling her for the dangers ſhe has gone through, congratulating her lucky eſcape, and greeting her happy arrival into ſo bleſſed an abode. | thus expreſſing his joy, in poſſeſſing the only objećt which could complete his happineſs, with all the ſoftneſs and eloquence the moſt paſſionatel reſs, he reaches out his arms to embrace the hantom his inclination had bred in his imag but having groped awhile, and finding nothing, out of his ſleep at this moſt ſhocking diſapaked, the late "deluſive pleaſures called he real, which he had formerly enjoyed, e did then hanker after ; what is man, hout that part of himſelf, out of which ~ : was ſtill wanting, till he had a woman to keep him company: in this melancholy diſpoſition he again falls aſleep, an afreſh ; in which his imagination gluts his inclination with thoſe pleate liquor to a man fick o , which ly for a minute quenches his he º the diſtemper, and at laſt deſtroys sº e wit made god m all the philip quarll. 241. ceſſive love is but ſhort lived; what is violent is not laſting ; time with pleaſure runs faſt away, but dwells long with ſorrow ; cares weaken love, and indifference breeds diſcontent; the jarrings follow, which introduce diviſion, the mother of poverty. º theſe diſmal accidents, incumbent to inconſiderate love, coming into the amorous dreamer's mind, his great heat being quenched, he took time to confider his condition ; and, ſeeing himſelf liable to them is ſtruck with ſuch a fear as blots all pleaſure out of his thoughts, and fills them with dread of future cares, which he unadviſedly run himſelf into, and all for the ſake of a ſhort pleaſure. starting out of his ſleep, at the approach of thoſe ſad troubles, he returns heaven thanks that it was v but a dream ; and begs pardon for having given ſo much way to the concupiſcence of fleſh ; getting up, ugh ſooner than ordinary, left he ſhould fall aſleep, and dream again of women. º having walked about till he thought it time for, the boy to riſe, he calls him up, and takes him to the place that he uſually went every morning and evening to fing pſalms; where the youth being come, and hearing ſo many different voices, and ſeeing nobody, •was ſcared out of his wits, and took to his heels, making towards the rock as faſt as he could : but as he was not acquainted with the eaſieſt and moſt practicable parts thereof, quarll had made an end o his pſalm, and overtook him before he could get the ſea-ſide, into which he certainly would hav himſelf at the fright; but quarll, who by the flaring, gueſſed his diſorder, not having the b of the language, endeavoured to calm him by his lºº rer, ºn tº or ºn; ..., a & * * * 242 philip quarll. iſelf; but could not keep off a violent fit, the fright occaſioned, which held him ſeveral minutes. the fit being over, he and the boy took away, at divers times, the remains of the cheſt, and what was in it, which they could not carry home the day before ; then taking up two guns, now ſaid he, theſe unlucky inſtruments, which were intended for deitrućtion, ſhall be d for the preſervation of at they were t king them to his lodge, he ſets them at each fide of the door : then being dinner time, he ſtrikes a light, and ſets the boy to make a fire, whilſt he made ſome of the fiſh fit to fry, which he picked up upon the rock the evening before; then takes dripping, he ſaved when he roaſted any fleſh, to fry them with. the boy, who had lived ſome time in holland, where they had uſed much butter, ſeeing dripping employed in room thereof, thought to pleaſe his maſter in mak ſome ; and as he had ſeen milk and cream in the bour, wanting a churn only, there being a indlet lying by empty, he takes out one of the fit, in which, the next day, he beat butter. ºuarll, ſeeing the youth induſtrious, begins to fanom his countrymen ; and, as ſpeech is one t neceſſary faculties to breed and maintain ok pains to teach him engliſh. ng acute and ingenious, was ſoon made it, and in fix months capable to ſpeak to what intent. the men, ſaid o as to give his maſter a relation of stwithſtanding the averſion he had conceivnation, ever fince the ill treatment he had # philip quarll. as ſtrous engliſh hermit, who ir and beard cover all his body, having got a great deal of money ſhowing them, encouraged others to come ; wher. upon ſeveral, joining together, hired a ſhip to fetch away the hermit, and what elſe they could find; therefore brought with them tools, and guns, to ſhoot what they could not take alive. barbarous wretches! replied he, to kill my dear antelopes and ducks pray, what did they intend to do with me * why, ſaid the boy, to make a ſhow of you. to make a ſhow of me ! sordid wretches 1 is a chriſtian then ſuch a rarity amongſt them 2 well, and what were the ſaws and hatchets for 2 to cut down your houſe, which they intended, to make a drinking booth of. oh, monſtrous ! what time and nature has been fifteen years a completing, they would have ruined in a moment: well, thanks to providence, their evil deſign is averted. pray, what is become of thoſe ſacrilegious perſons 2 they are all drowned, ſaid the boy. then, replies he, the heavens are ſatisfied, and i avenged : but how cameſ thou to eſcape 2 for thou waſt with them. no, replied the youth, i w upon the rock when their boat daſhed againſt was overſet with the ſame ſea, under the flat-l ed boat, where you found me. that was a happy overſet for thee. well, is there no gr due to providence for thy eſcape 2 due to sº sº. º. he, why, i thought you had ſaved you let me out. yes, replied q ſent by providence for that purpo kindly done too, ſaid the boy ; well, wher him, i will thank him ; doth he live her oor ignorant creature i replied quarll ; why is every where ; what i didſt th rovidence : what religion art thou. x 2 philip quarll. mean: i ar rman by trade, which my father lived by. well, ſaid quarll, did he teach thee nothing elſe? no prayers ? prayers replied the lad : why, fiſhermen have no time to pray: that’s for them who have nothing elſe to do : poor folks muſt work, and get money; that’s the way of our town. covetous wretches well, ſaid he, i grudge them not what they poſſeſs, ſince it is all the happineſs they aſpire at; but thou ſhalt learn to pray, which will be of far more advantage to thee than work, both here and hereafter : from which time he begins to teach him the lord’s prayer, and ten commandments: as alſo the principles of the chriſtian religion ; all which inſtructions the youth taking readily, won his affection the more : he likewiſe taught him to fing pſalms, which farther qualified him to be his companion in ſpiritual exerciſes, as well as in temporal occupations. . now, having company, he is obliged to enlarge his bed, the lodge being wanted for his antelopes htt breeding time : he adds, therefore, to his his other proviſions alſo wanting to be augl, and he having both tools and boards, out of boat, which he had taken to pieces, he and about making large boxes to ſalt ; then, with the boards that were table for the dwelling that he had for his kitchen ; as alſo ſhelves in the hat were made of wicker : then haved his ſhell utenfils, that were ſtolen the e, he was completely furniſhed with all f conveniences; and, providence ſupplying with other neceſſaries, there was no room philip quarll. 24; left him for wiſhes, but for thankſgiving, which they daily moſt religiouſly paid. in this mott happy ſtate they lived in peace and concord the ſpace of ten years, unanimouſly doing what was to be done, as it lay in each of their ways, without relying on one another. é. * * *...* º quarll, who before, thoug ſociety (the principal co bleſſed, now cannot expreſs his none in the world to be compared ing he might find no alteration unti § young man, not having met ſo many. * pointments in the world as he, had not quite with drawn his affection from it; his mind ſometimes will run upon his native country, where he has left his relations, and where he cannot help wiſhing to be himſelf: thus opportunity offering itſelf one day, as he went to get oyſters, to make ſauce for ſome freſh cod-fiſh which quarll was dreſſing, he ſaw at a diſtance a ſhip, at which his heart fell a panting ; his pulſe double their motion; his blood grows warmer, and warmer, till at laſt, inflamed with defi f : getting at it, he lays down the bag he brought to put the oyſters in ; as alſo the inſtrument to dredge them up with, and takes to ſwimming. the men on board, having eſpied him out, ſent their boat to take him up ; ſo he went away without taking his leave of him he had received ſo much good frº who, having waited a confiderable time, fearingſ accident would befal him, le. goes to ſeek for him; and being cº where he was to get the oyſters, he f inſtrument lie, and nobody with them, h ed ſeveral times without being anſwered, racking fears tortured his mind: ſometimes he d *%. º at the place the bag and x 3 246 philip quarll. ſº he is fallen into ſome hole in the rock, there being many near that place where the oyſters were: he therefore with his ſtaff, which he always carried with him when he went abroad, at the other fide of the rock grabbled in every one round the place ; and, , feeling nothing, he concludes ſome ſea-monſter had ºftolen him away, and weeping, condemns himſelf as the cauſe of this fatal accident; reſolving, for the future, to puniſh himſelf by denying his appetite; and only eat to ſupport nature, and not to pleaſe his jalate. having given over hopes of getting him again, he returns home in the greateſt afflićtions, reſolving to faſt till that time the next day; but, happening to look weſtward, in which was the point the wind ſtood, he perceives ſomething like a boat at a great diſtance: wiping the tears off his eyes, and looking ſteadfaſtly, he diſcovers a fail beyond it, which quite altered the motive of his former fear; ſaid he, hath devoured him ; it is too that he has villanouſly left me : but what could i expect of his ſon, who had proječted ſuch evil againſt me? so ſaying, he went home, and made an end of dreſſing his dinner; and afterwards hangs up the pićture which he had taken down upon his account, being a true emblem of what he deſerved ; reſting himſelf contented, being but as he was before, and raºr better ; fince he had more conveniences, and ls to till his ground, and dig up his roots with. § 3. . . ded himſelf to providence, he reand recreations, reſolving that pineſs for the future, being le temptation’s way, in which d daily lays the beſt men's ºne woºd at hopes in the duſt. philip quarll. 247 being again alone, the whole buſineſs of the houſe lies upon his hands, he now muſt prune and trim his habitation, that daily harbours him, being made of fine growing plants, which yearly ſhoot out young branches: this makes them grow out of ſhape. he muſt alſo till the ground; ſet and gather his peas and beans in their ſeaſon ; milk and feed his antelopes daily ; make butter and cheeſe at proper times; dig up his roots; fetch in fuel and water when wanted ; attend his nets; go eagle-neſting ; and every day dreſs his own vićtuals : all which neceſſary occupations, beſides the time dedicated for morning and evening devotions, kept him wholly employed; which made his renewed ſolitude leſs irkſome. and, having all that afternoon to divert his thoughts, admiring all the way the wonderful-works of nature, both in the ſurpriſing rocks which ſurround the iſland, and in the delightful creatures, and admirable plants, that are in it: being weary with walking, he returns home, thanking kind providence for ſetting him in ſo bleſſed a place, and in his way calls at his inviſible choir ; where, having ſung a thankſgiving pſalm, and his uſual evening hymn, he goes to ſupper, and then to bed, with a thoroughly contented mind; which occaſions pleaſant dreams to entertain his . during his ſleep, his fancy is delighted with bein in nature’s garden of pleaſure, where none but h friends are permitted to enter. . the place appeared very ſpacious, a mirable form; full of all ſorts of mature’s works, both animals, vegetables and minerals, every individual thing in perfection: and though ſome were diſtant, yet all appeared as at hand. * * the lofty trees, which ſtood on a level ground, cois, and of an ad248 philip quarll. , wered with curious graſs, embalmed with many different coloured flowers, exceeding in beauty any carpet that the moſt expert artiſt could make, ſpread their branchy arms over creatures of all kinds, which lay beneath their delightful ſhades: there the bold lion lies by the innocent lamb ; the fierce panther near the harmleſs ſheep ; the ravenous wolf with the mild goat; leopard and deer, tiger and hare, repofed together in peace; on the trees, eagles, vultures, falcons, and hawks, quietly perched with the turtle and the dove. theſe moſt agreeable objećts, joined with the delightful noiſe of the fountains falling into their baſons, and the purling ſtreams running their courſe, together with the various harmonious notes of divers kinds of finging-birds, put him into an ecſtaſy: ſure, ſaid he, this is the garden of eden, out of which unfortunate adam was caſt after his fall, as being a dwelling only for innocence. having walked a little way, there being on every fide curious lanes, every one affording new objećts of admiration, he comes to a walk, edged with orange and lemon trees, full of fruit and bloſſoms, at the foot of which was a narrow bank bordered with jonquils, tuberoſes, hyacinths, and other delightful flowers, both for fight and ſmell: at the end of it there was an arbour of the ſame, but ſo beautiful, at at firſt fight he took it for a tapeſtry the moſt xpert artiſt had exerted himſelf in making, to ſhow le curioſity of trade, and greatneſs of his ſkill ; in it there ſat three ladies of uncommon beauty: the mid§§§ who was the luftiett, appeared to be of a moſt ſedate countenance, a mo r of years, having both eſtabliſhed her ad ſettled her features: ſhe, at her right philip quarll. 249 hand, ſeemed to be of a weaker conſtitution; ſhe had in her hand an olive branch bearing fruit, which, when gathered, was immediately ſucceeded with bloſ. ſoms; ſo that it never was without the one or the other: the lady who ſat on the left-fide, was more jolly and gay, yet looked ſomewhat careful: ſhe had in her hand a long veſſel, broad at one end, and ſharp at the other, like a horn, bending towards the point, full of all ſorts of fruits. having ſtood ſtill a ſhort ſpace of time, looking at thoſe ladies, thinking it ill manners to interrupt their converſation ; they, perceiving his modeſty would not permit him to advance, roſe up, and went another way, to give him the opportunity of viewing the garden: he accordingly went quite round, till come to the place where he had begun his walk; where he ſaw a ſtately cock, of an extraord fize, ſtrutting from animal to animal, taking f oſt of them ſomething, whilſt they were aſleep; which having ſecured, he falls a crowing in ſuch a loud manner, that he ſtartled all the other creatures; which, being awake, and every one miſſing ſomething, challenged him with it; but he having crowed a ſecond time in an inſulting and daring manner, ſtrutted moſt haughtily away ; at which the loſers, being much offended, conſulted together on means to retake by force, what he had in ſo clandeſtine a manner taken from them ; chufing the lion for their director : but the watchful cock, whilſt they were indulging themſelves, carefully made ſufficient proviſions to maintain . what he had done, bid them all defianc º: there happening a great noiſe of waked him out of his dream; a preſſed with notions of war, it at with terror : but being ſomewhat ſquealing, it , ſeized him. ttled, and the 250 philip quarll. noiſe ſtill continuing, he perceived it proceeded from the two different kinds of monkeys in the iſland, which were fighting for the wild pomegranates that the high wind had ſhook off the trees the preceding -º * 1. night, which was very boiſterous. having gueſſed the occaſion of their debate, he gets up, in order to go and quell their difference, by dividing amongſt them the cauſe thereof: getting up, he opens the door, at the outfide of which an old monkey of each fort were quietly waiting his levee, to entice him to come, as he once before did, and put an end to their bloody war. . . . . . * he was not a little ſurpriſed to ſee two inveterate enemies, who at other times never meet without fighting, at that juncture agree ſo well. rifing fign of reaſon in thoſe brutes " * that m º which, is deciſion would compoſe their comrades nce, came to implore it, put him upon the fle&tions : would princes, ſaid he, be but reaſonable, as thoſe which by nature are irrational, how much blood and money would be ſaved having admired the uneaſineſs of thoſe poor creatures, which ſtill went a few ſteps forward, and then backward to him : he was in hopes to decoy one or both into his lodge, by throwing meat to them: but thoſe exemplary animals hearing their fellows in trouble, had no regard to their ſeparate intereſt, taking no notice of what he gave them; but moving to and º tokens of uneaſineſs they could exnoved him, that he haſtened to the preſence cauſed immediately a ceſſad each party moved a confiderable ir, waiting his ſharing the windne, they quietly took thath philip quare.l. 251 hich lay next each ki quarters. * , . . . . . . ; this accident which in ſome manner made out his dream of wars, brought it alſo freſh into his mind, which was full of cares, about his country, which he much feared, if any ſhould happen in europe, would be involved therein ; and calling to remembrance the indigent diſpoſition he left it in, he feared it would lay it open to ſome uſurping prince's power : but left farther ſpeculation ſhould occaſion evil prognoſtication to diſturb his peace, he leaves the event of all things to the direction of providence, and goes home to ſet down his dream, and the year he dreamed it, which was in 1690. fourteen years more being paſt, every thing keep ing its natural courſe, there happened nothing extraordinary, each ſucceeding year renewing the pleaſures the preceding had produced ; thunders and high winds being frequent, though not equally violent, he thought it not material to record them, or their effects; as blowing and throwing fiſhes, ſhells, empty veſſels, battered cheſts, &c. upon the rock ; only tranſactions and events wonderful and uncommon : and there happened a moſt ſurpriſing one a few days after, which, though of no great moment, is as worthy of record as any of far greater concern; being a wonderful effect of providence, manifeſted in a miraculous manner, though not to be ſaid ſupernatural. one morning, when he had roaſted a parcel thoſe roots, which he uſed to eat inſtead of bread, and this he commonly did once a week, it eating beſt when ſtale ; having ſpread them on his table and left to cool, he went out to walk, leaving his door. gå graced with all the greeabi d, and went to their different º 252 philip quarll. nature could adorn it with, to make it delightful; a graſs carpet, embroidered with beautiful flowers, of many different colours and ſmells, under his feet, to tread on ; before, and on each fide of him, fine lofty trees, of various forms and heights, clothed with pleaſant green leaves, trimmed with rich bloſſoms of many colours, to divert his eye; a number of various ſorts of melodious finging birds perching in their moſt lovely ſhades, as though nature had itudied to excel man’s brighteſt imagination, and exquiſiteneſs of art : yet all thoſe profuſeneſſes of nature’s wonders are not ſufficient to keep away or expel anxious thoughts from his mind. it runs upon his two dear antelopes, the darling heads of his preſent ſtock, which he took ſuch care to bring up, and were become ſo engaging, always attending him in thoſe fine walks; adding, by their ſwift races, active leapings, and other uncommon diverſions, to the natural pleaſantneſs of the place; which now, by their moſt lamented abſence, is become a dull memorandum of the barbarous manner in which they were raviſhed away from him. . in theſe melancholy thoughts, which his loneſomeneſs every now and then created, he returns home, where providence had left a remedy for his grievance: a companion, far exceeding any he ever had, waits his return ; which was a beautiful monkey of the fineſt kind, and the moſt complete of the fort, as though made to manifeſt the unparalleled ſkill of nature, is ſent him by providence, to diffipate his melancholy. … . . . . . § 3. being come to his lodge, and beholding that wonderful creature, and in his own poſſeſſion, at the fartheſt end of it, and him at the entrance thereof to oppoſe its flight, if offered, he is at once filled with joy. 2 2 º . . philip quarll. 253 and admiration: long, ſaid he, i endeavoured in vain to get one, and would have been glad of any, though of the worſt kind, and even the meaneſt of the fort: and here kind providence has ſent me one of unparalleled beauty. having a confiderable time admired the beaſt, which all the while ſtood unconcerned, now and then eating of the roots that lay before him, he ſhuts the door, and goes in, with a reſolution of ſtaying within all day, in order to tame it, which he hoped would be no difficult matter, his diſpoſition being already pretty familiar, little thinking that providence, who ſent him thither, had already qualified him for the commiſſion he bore; which having found . . out by the creature’s ſurpriſing docility, he returns his benefactor his moſt hearty thanks for that mira culous gift. * . this moſt wonderful animal having, by its ſurpriſing tractability, and good-nature, joined to its matchleſs handſomeneſs, gained his maſter’s love, beyond what is uſual to place on any fort of beaſts; he thought himſelf doubly recompenſed for all his former loſſes, eſpecially for that of his late ungrateful companion, who, notwithſtanding all the obligations he held from him, baſely left him, at a time he might be moſt helpful: and, as he fancied his dear beaufidelle (for ſo he called that admirable creature) had ſome ſort of reſemblance to the pićture he framed of him, he takes it down, thinking it unjuſt to bear in his fight that vile objećt, which could not in any wife claim a likeneſs to ſo worthy a creature as his beloved monkey. one day, as the lovely animal was officiating the charge it had of its own accord taken, being gone for wood, as wont to do when wanted, he finds in º 254 . philip quarll. his way a wild pomegranate, whoſe extraordinary fize and weight had cauſed it to fall off the tree : he takes it home, and then returns for his faggot ; in which time, quarll, wiſhing the goodneſs of the infide might anſwer its outward beauty cuts it open; and finding it of a dull luſciouſneſs, too flat for eating, imagined it might be uſed with things of an acid and ſharp taſte : having therefore boiled ſome water, he puts it in a veſſel, with a ſort of an herb which is of the taſte and nature of creſſes, and ſome of the pome#. º infuſe ſome time, now and then tirring it; which the monkey having taken notice of, did the ſame: but one very hot day, happening to lay the veſſel in the ſun, made it turn four. quarll, who very much wanted vinegar in his ſauces, was well pleaſed with the accident, and ſo continued the ſouring of the liquor, which proved excellent, he made a five gallon veſſel of it; having feveral, which at times he found upon the rock. having now ſtore of vinegar, and being a great lover of pickles, which he had learnt to make by ſeeing his laſt wife, who was an extraordinary cook, made of all ſorts every year; calling to mind he had often in his walks ſeen ſomething like muſhrooms, he makes it is buſineſs to look for ſome : thus he picked up a few, of which beaufidelle (who followed him up and down) having taken notice, immediately ranges about ; and being nimbler footed than his maſter, and not obliged to ſtoop ſo low, picked up double the quantity in the ſame ſpace of time ; ſo that he ſoon had enough to ſerve him till the next ſeaſon. 23. . his good ſucceſs in making that ſort of pickle, encourages him to try another; and, having taken notice of a plant in the wood that bears a ſmall green, s philip quarll. 255 flower, which, before it is blown, looks like a caper, he gathers a few ; and their taſte and flavour being no way diſagreeable, judging that when pickled they would be pleaſant, he tries them, which, according to his mind, were full as good as the real ones, and gathers a ſufficient quantity, with the help of his attendant ; ſtocking himſelf with two very pleaſant pickles ; but there is another which he admires above all : none to his mind, like the cucumber, and the iſland producing none, left him no room to hope for any ; yet (as likeneſs is a vaſt help to imagination) if he could but find any thing, which ever ſo little reſembles them in make, nature, or taſte, it will pleaſe his fancy: he therefore examines every kind of buds, bloſſoms, and feeds ; having at laſt found that of a wild parſnip, which being long and narrow, almoſt the bigneſs and make of a picklingcucumber, green and criſp withal, full of a ſmall flat feed, not unlike that of the thing he fain would have it to be, he pickles ſome of them ; which being of a colour, and near upon the make, he fancies them quite of the taſte. . . . his beans being at that time large enough for the firſt crop, he gathers ſome for his dinner: the ſhells being tender and of a delicate green, it came into his mind, they might be made to imitate french beans: thy are, ſaid he, near the nature, i can make them quite of the ſhape, ſo be they have the ſame flavour. *accordingly, he cuts them in long narrow ſlips, and pickles ſome, the other part he boils ; and there be-, ing none to contradićt their taſte, they paſſed current, for as good french beans as any that ever grew. the diſappointment of having ſomething more comfortable than water to drink being retrieved by producing, in the º, thereof, wherewithal to 2 . . . . . . .” 256 philip quarll. make his eatables more delicious, he proceeds in his firſt proječt: and, taking neceſſary care to prevent that accident which intercepted ſucceſs in his firſt undertaking, he accompliſhes his deſign, and makes a liquor no ways inferior to the beſt cider: ſo that now he has both to revive and keep up his ſpirits, as well as to pleaſe his palate, and ſuit his appetite. having now nothing to crave or wiſh for, but rather all motives for content, he lies down with a peaceable mind, no care or fear diſturbing his thoughts: his ſleep is not interrupted with frightful fancies, but rather diverted with pleaſant and diverting dreams; he is not ſtartled at thunder or ſtorms, though ever fo terrible, his truſt being on providence, who at ſundry times, and in various manners, has reſcued him from death, though apparently unavoidable ; being for above thirty years miraculouſly protećted and maintained in a place ſo remote from all human help and aſſiſtance. : yet notwithſtanding his firmneſs, and whole truſt on providence, he is obliged to give way to the weakmeſs of his nature : a #. and ſhocking noiſe is heard at a diſtance in the air, which, having reached the place where he ſtood, covers it with darkneſs for ſeveral minutes; at which he is ſo alarmed, that he thinks himſelf paſt all hopes; till the noiſe being ceaſed, and that which intercepted the light diſperſed, his ſcared ſenſes returning to their proper ſeat, and his ſtrayed reaſon recalled, he is aſhamed of the weakneſs of his faith, and begs pardon for his late miſtruſt of the continuation of providence’s protection, who had all along given him all imaginable reaſon to depend on it at all times: thus, having opened his door, he ſteps out to ſee if he could diſcover philip quarll. 257 the cauſe of the late moſt ſurpriſing and ſudden darkneſs, in a bright fun-ſhining day; which having found out by the vaſt number of dead birds of ſeveral kinds lying up and down the ground, he was ſeized with no ſmall amazement, though with leſs fear. from that moſt ſurpriſing aſpect he infers, there had been a battle of thoſe creatures in the air, the great number of which had occaſioned the late decreaſe. % > having made refle&tions upon that aſtoniſhing tranſačtion, he can draw from thence no other inference but a prognoſtication of dreadful wars in europe, from which he begs heaven to protećthis native country : and left the dead birds, that lay in great numbers, ſhould (with lying) infect the iſland, he and his monkey carried them to the other ſide of the rock, throwing them into the ſea; only as many of them as had ſoft feathers on their breaſt and bellies, he plucked away, to ſtuff a pillow for the beaſt, being a little too hot at nights for it to lie upon the bed. so having cleared the place, and being tired with often going up and down the rugged rock, he ſtayed at home the remainder of the day, and at night goes to bed; but, as the late omen of approaching evil had pre-occupied his thoughts in the day with cares concerning his country, his mind ran upon it in the night ; dreaming he ſees wives weeping, and melting into tears, taking their leave of their indul, gent huſbands; hanging, deſtitute of ſtrength, about their necks, whoſe grief weighed them to the ground. turning from that afflićting obječt, he ſees another as ſhocking; the old father, bathed in tears, embracing his only ſon, bidding him farewell, and, with him, all the comforts of this life, and ſupport of his age. moving his º: from that, they light 258 philip quarll. on full as bad a fight ; the tender mother ſwooning in her dear child’s arms, whom an inexorable preſsgang is hauling away. thus every face expreſſing grief for a relation, or a friend ; not being able any longer to bear theſe terrifying obječts, with which the town abounded, he betakes himſelf to the country; that, by keeping from the afflićted, he may avoid grief. having quitted the town, he finds himſelf on a fudden, in a place as full of terrors, where he ſaw itreams of reeking blood here and there; looſe horſes kicking and prancing about ; ſome dragging their late riders by the ſtirrups; others wounded, and their guts hanging about ; at a diſtance, crowds of men in flame and ſmoke, confuſedly moving like heaps of duſt in a whirlwind, leaving behind them, as they moved, vaſt numbers of men and horſes, both dead and dying; ſome without legs, others without arms and abundance with but one of each. w % at a diſtance from thence, ſome in purſuit of their enemies, hacking and cutting them down all the way before them, like wood for fuel; others, flying from being ſlain, caſt themſelves into rapid rivers, where they periſh by thouſands. : as he was looking at thoſe terrible objećts, he finds himſelf on a ſudden furrounded by ruſtical ſoldiers, holding their ſwords and bayonets to his breaſt, and aſking him, in a furly manner, whether high or low at which being very much ſtartled, not knowing what to anſwer, nor indeed what they meant, he told them, he was an engliſhman; which they appearing to be alſo, made him hope for better uſage; but they, ſeizing him in a violent manner, ſaid, he might be engliſh, and yet an enemy to the country. *then he awaked, in a wonderful fright; but, being philip quarll. 259 come to himſelf, he concludes, that his dream proceeded from his late ſurpriſe at the preceding day’s aſtoniſhing tranſačtions; therefore, having again recommended his country to heaven’s protećtion, he goes about making the bed for his monkey, as he had concluded on before, and with ſome fail-cloth, makes a caſe, ſtuffing it with the feathers he had ſaved for that purpoſe. the night being come, he lays the couching, which he made for the beaſt, by his own bed, and he very readily went to it, being very ſoft and eaſy. and, as cares for his country had in the day occupied his thoughts, his mind in the night is impreſſed with the ſubjećt, though not with ſo diſmal an idea as the preceding ; having ſince been diverted with fuch objećts as removed the terrifying aſpects which before offered themſelves to his imagination, which now is taken up with being in st. james’s park, where he had formerly taken pleaſure, and which he fancies had fince loſt many of its former agreeableneſſes. z as he was walking, a report was raiſed, that a certain great perſon (who, by his late great ſervices to the nation, had gained a title to the palace) was juſt deceaſed ; having, before his death, entailed the ſame upon a foreign prince, of great renown : the ſurpriſing piece of news occaſioned a ſudden alteration in every body’s countenance: ſome looked pale with grief, others red with wrath; every thing in nature ſeemed to expreſs a feeling for the loſs ; the trees ſhed half their virtues, and the graſs withered. this dull ſcene having laſted ſome ſmall time, the trees and graſs recover their former verdure, brighter than before; the lofty oaks, which he fancied bordered the mall, bore fine roſes in vaſt numbers. 260 philip quarll. this additional beauty in thoſe noble plants, already ſo famed abroad for their toughneſs and ſtrength, prompts people of all nations to come and refreſh themſelves under their lofty and refreſhing ſhades. having with great ſatisfaction admired the ſurpriſing improvement of the oaks, which, to his imagination, prognoſticated proſperity to the nation, he walks on northward, where he ſaw abundance of thiſtles, which made him wonder they were permitted to grow in a place where every thing ought to contribute to its agreeableneſs and pleaſantneſs; but, having confidered the ſtoutneſs of the plants, which denoted their being well-rooted, he judged it impoſſible to clear the ground: beſides, the bees loving to ſettle on them, and probably ſucking more honey from their bloſſoms than any more agreeable or ſweetſcented flower; for that reaſon, he imagined they were not gathered. walking back again, he meets with feveral noblemen, ſome with a blue cordoon, others with green, each with a gardening tool in his hand, going to turn up and till the ground, between that where the thiſtles grew, and that where the oaks ſtood : he was ſtartled to ſee thoſe great perſons, who hardly will concern themſelves with their own lands and poſſeſfions, labour to improve that wherein every private perſon had a ſhare. he ſtood ſome time, admiring their dexterity and readineſs at their own work; then walks on to the mall, which he found thronged with a multitude of people of all nations, every one having a roſe in his hand, wherewith they diverted themſelves as they walked. . * . . . --having gazed about him a confiderable time, he had a fancy to go and ſee how the noble gardeners went on with their work ; where being come, he s philip quarll. 26, finds, to his great admiration, the ground had been ſo wonderfully well manured, that the oaks and thiſtles had ſtruck their roots through it, and met ; ſo growing together, had produced a plant which bore both roſes and thiſtles, to every body’s wonder; which made the thiſtles ſo valued ever fince, that there are but few great or fine gardens, which have not more or leſs of them. his monkey, being ſtartled out of its ſleep, in a mighty fright, ran behind his back ſqueaking, and awaked him in the midſt of his amazement ; being exceedingly pleaſed with his late dream, of which he conceived a mighty good omen to old england, differing ſo much from the preceding, both in nature and fignification. . thus though earlier than he uſually roſe, he gets up to ſet it down, whilſt freſh in his mind, and alſo the year, being 1707, then takes a walk before breakfaſt, and the beaſt with him; which, being not yet recovered of its late fright, keeps cloſe to his maſter, every now and then looking behind, as though ſtill afraid; at which quarll concludes the creature muſt needs have been diſturbed in his ſleep, the night before, with ſome frightful dream ; which made him wonder that an animal void of reaſon, and incapable of refle&tion, ſhould be ſuſceptible of imagination. the day being paſſed without any extraordinary occurrence, he made no further remark, but followed his uſual occupation, and then went to his reſt, and the monkey to his new bed as the night before, which he took care to draw as cloſe to his maſter as he could ; then, having been twice or thrice about the room, examining every corner, he lies down, and ſleeps quietly till the dawning of the morning; at which time he ſtarts up again, as the night before. 262 philip quarll. quarlı, being a ſecond time awaked in the ſame manner, and much about the ſame hour, concludes the cauſe muſt proceed from the pillow, and reſolves to experiment it himſelf the next night ; at which time crowds of terrifying aſpects appear in his imagination which allure #. whole faculties, and ſet all his ſenſes in an uproar; his eyes are taken up with frightful objećts, and his ears filled with a terrible noiſe ; at which the reſt of his ſenſes have loſt their offices, and are become uſeleſs. being awake the next morning, he finds himſelf inclined to believe that the pillow had really ſome influence on his imagination ; but as one night’s experience was not a ſufficient ſolution to his inquiry in that ſupernatural operation, having often dreamed before he uſed the pillow, he reſolves to try it ſeveral nights ſucceſſively ; during which his monkey ſlept very quiet, and he as diſturbed. this works a great way towards the perſuaſion of what he had a #. fancy to believe; yet, to be better ſatisfied ºf the reality of it, he lays by the pillow for three or four nights together; during which time both he and the beaſt ſlept very quiet. this added much to his opinion, that evil effluvia iſſued out of thoſe feathers the pillow was ſtuffed with ; but as he formerly dreamed, and had many nights intermiſſion between thoſe that were entertained with dreams, he will once more try it, before he concludes that it is ſo ; thus puts it under his head again that night : and, as it was the laſt experiment, it proved alſo the moſt troubleſome, he being at that time terrified with more ſhocking obječts than the preceding ; which, though they repreſent fierce and bloody battles to his imagination, yet were leſs terrible to him having not, as yet, diſcerned his native %. %. philip quarll. 263 country engaged therein, whom now he finds to be the principal party concerned, on which all ſucceſs depends, and which cannot be ſtrove for without vaſt expenſes, and irretrievable loſs of his dear countrymen ; for which his heart bled as plentifully as for thoſe whom he dreamed he ſaw in their gore. having with terror and grief fatigued his eyes with the moſt ſhocking and afflićting effects of war, men and horſes lying as thick upon the ground as º in a meadow, and ſtreams of blood running like o many brooks, ſupplied by a ſtrong ſpring, he lifts up his eyes to heaven, imploring an end to that execrable devourer of mankind. and whilſt his eyes were ſtill fixed to the heavens, he ſees vićtory ruſhing through thick clouds of obſtacles approaching to her ; which having overcome, ſhe ſettled over the army his countrymen belonged to, over whoſe head ſhe ſhook and flouriſhed her colours, pointing at approaching peace, attended with plenty; but on a ſudden there aroſe an infectious miſt out of the ground, which cramping the engliſhmen’s hands, they could no more uſe their conquering arms, this fatal accident having both encouraged and ſtrengthened the enemy, they fell on the unfortunate remains of the army with unmerciful fury; who now having loſt all their ſupport and dependence, were moſt cruelly cut to pieces ; at which moſt diſmal and afflićting objećt he awaked : and though this dream was a ſufficient proof of the fea: thers’ influence, yet he cannot be ſatisfied but it muſt be ominous, having ſo much relation to the prºceding; therefore ſets it down with them; and, for a more certain convićtion of what he had all cauſe imaginable to believe, he is reſolved to try his monkey once more the night following: but the beaſt, who 264 philip quarll. had not yet forgot the uneaſineſs that the bed had cauſed him, choſe to lie on the ground; which entirely convinced quarll, that there was a malignant quality in thoſe feathers : wherefore he throws them into the ſea, and fills the caſe with a ſort of ſoft moſs, which grew at the bottom of a particular tree, on which the creature lay very quiet ever after. and as yearly ſtripping the eagles of their eggs had prevented their increaſe, it alſo favoured and advanced that of the creatures in the iſland, on whoſe young they fed ; ſo that the number of the wild monkeys i. conſiderably augmented, made their food ſcant, which cauſed them now and then to come and ſteal ſomewhat out of quarli’s ground. beaufidelle, whoſe good keeping and warm lying had made him thrive in bigneſs and ſtrength, exceeding his kind, finding ſome of them ſtealing his maſter’s roots beat them away; which obliged thoſe ſubtile creatures to come ſeveral together, the better to be able to encounter him; which quarll having taken notice of, and being willing to add a new ſport to his uſual diverſions, cuts a ſtick of the length and bigneſs that the creature could manage, which he gave him ; and, taking his own ſtaff, exerciſes it before him, and he did the ſame with his; and apprehending what uſe it was given him for, he had it often in his hands, and with it drove away the others when they came, though ten or a dozen together ; ſo that the roots were very well guarded by his continual watching ; which made thoſe ſly and ſpiteful creatures watch an opportunity to take him at a diſadvantage; thus finding him one morning as he was going for water by himſelf, as he was wont to do, and being then without his ſtaff, of which they ſtood in great fear, a confiderable number fell upon him, and ſo bit him 3 : philip quarll. 265 and beat him, that he lay as dead; but his maſter appearing, who, being uneaſy at his extraordinary ſtay, was gone to ſee what was the occaſion thereof, put them to flight; and they left the poor creature with juſt breath enough to keep his life in, and ſcarce ſtrength ſufficient to draw it. uarll, being come to the place where his beloved beaufidelle lay in a moſt diſmal bloody condition, could not forbear ſhedding tears to ſee him thus miſerably dying : but, finding ſtill breath in him, it gave him hopes of his recovery : and taking him up in his arms, with all the care he could, haſtens home, and gives him a little of the liquor he had made, which by that time had got both body and ſpirit; then having laid him upon his bed, and covered him with his winter wrapper, he makes a fire, warms ſome of the liquor and freſh butter, wherewith he waſhes his fores; ſo lays him down again, giving him all the careful attendance he could during his illneſs, which held but one week ; at the end of which he died, to his unſpeakable grief; who, from that time, grew ſo melancholy, that he had not the courage to go on with his memorial ; till having a moſt remarkable dream, about twelve months after, he changed his reſolution, and proceeds in his memoirs: and as he ſet down his dream, he alſo did the death of his beloved beaſt, it happening near the ſame time. , ; ... having ſpent the year but dully, for want of his diverting company at home, to put this as much out of his mind as he could, he walked the ſpare hours he had left from his uſual occupation. thus being one day ſomewhat fatigued, having loſt his wonted alacrity, he ſat down under the next cluſter of trees 266 philip quarll. # leaving the old #. ſtringing he came at ; and, being in a dull diſpoſition, was ſoon lulled aſleep, at a loneſome note of a ſort of a melancholy bird, which ſhuns other company (though of its own kind) at all times but in breeding times; which having placed itſelf in the thickeſt and ſhadieſt part of the grove, where quarll had made choice to lie, falls a ſinging his melancholy notes; which being ſuitable to his diſpoſition of both body and mind, ſoon lulled him aſleep; during which, he dreamed that he ſaw an old man fitting in a large circle, around which all the figns of the zodiac were, and the old gentleman appeared extremely buſy ſtringing of ſmall beads, ſome white and ſome black; and when he had ſtrung a certain number, he began another ſtring, and ſo on. he had the curioſity to tell how many he put on a ſtring, ſo keeps an account of the next he did begin, and tells ; fixty : having made as many of thoſe ſtrings as there were beads in each, he puts them together, and begins again to ſtring, mixing white and black as they came to his hand, twiſting every fixtieth ſtring in parcels, till he had made fixty of them, which he neatly plaits together, proceding as from the beginning, and makes twentyfour of thoſe plaits, which he weaves together, making a flat piece of bead-work, changeable upon black, which, when looked upon one way, ſeemed pleaſant; and being ſeen from another, as diſagreeable. he worked on till he had made three i. and fixtyfour ſuch pieces, then lays them up in a bundle, and goes to work again, beginning to itring as at firſt. * having looked himſelf weary with ſeeing ſtill the ſame, of which he could make nothing, he goes away, . . ſtring #. beads: who, ſeeing him go, lays by his work, and follows him ; and having overtaken him, aſked him what he had r 267 been looking at all that time he being ſurpriſed at the ſurly queſtion, modeftly replies he had been admiring his work ; in doing which he hoped there was no offence. no, ſaid the old man, provided thou learneſt ſomething by what thou haſt ſeen. to which he anſwered, it was impoſſible for him to learn ſuch a myſterious buſineſs with once ſeeing it done; ſo much leſs, being entirely a ſtranger to it. a ſtranger to it, art thou ? replied the old man, in a ſurly manner; and haſt waſted ſo much of my work : i am time, whom thou haſt often ill-uſed; and thoſe white and black beads, that thou haſt ſeen me ſtring, are good and bad moments, i crowd into minutes, which i link into hours; thus weave days, wherewith years are compoſed. thou haſt ſeen me complete the preſent, which is reckoned the year 1713. i tell thee, before the enſuing is ended, i will grace the britiſh throne with an illuſtrious race. to the end of kings' reigns; ſo vaniſhed. then he awaked in a great ſurpriſe, and goes home, pondering on his dream ; of which he inferred, that if there be any ſignification in the roving conceptions of the mind, this muſt prognoſticate the ſpeedy acceſſion of ſome great monarch upon the engliſh throne: ſo ſets down in his memorial, that moſt remarkable dream which happened in 1713; heartily wiſhing the accompliſhment thereof, for the quiet and proſperity of his dear country. * there happened nothing after for the ſpace of four years, but great thunders and lightnings in the ſummer, and abundance of hail and ſnow in the winter, with now and then ſtorms, which left ſeveral forts of fiſhes in the clefts and holes of the rocks, and ſometimes fragments of ſtaved ſhips, and battered caſks, and broken cheſts, with a plank, and ſuchz 2 268 philip quarll. like produćts of ſhipwreck, not worth recording : by which means for want of employment, he has ſeveral idle and fullen hours in the day-time, which his late beloved animal’s diverting company made ſlip away with pleaſure, and for want of which they now creep ſlowly on ; being loaded with dull and heavy thoughts, which made thoſe walks irkſome, he at that time took for eaſe; that by the diverſity of objećts abroad, his mind might be withdrawn from his anxious ſolitude. 3. having one day peruſed his memorial, as he commonly did once a year, the dream he had in 1713, wherein time predićted ſuch great happineſs to his country the enſuing, made ſuch an impreſſion on his mind that he always thought of it. accordingly, being walking, and the day proving extraordinary hot, he goes to ſhelter himſelf in one of his natural groves; where, having laid himſelf down on the graſs, he was ſoon lulled aſleep ; during which, the idea he had conceived of his former dream repreſented to his imagination a moſt majeſtic and graceful monarch, fitting on a magnificent throne, round which ſtood many delightful olive-plants, which much added to his luſtre. having, with a great deal of pleaſure, gazed at the moſt graceful countenance of the king, which denoted juſtice, equity, love, and clemency, he gave heaven thanks for the mighty bleſfing beſtowed on his country, coming away, in order to return to his iſland, with this additional happineſs to the many he already enjoyed. w being come from court, on his journey he meets the ſame old gentleman of whom he dreamed the year before; who, taking him by the hand, ſaid, philip quarll. 269 i find thou haſ best to ſee the accompliſhment of my predićtion. now, i’ll tell thee more : ere one thouſand ſeven hundred and ſixty is written, § > all diviſions, remember, will ceaſe in greatbritain. next, i will ſhow thee what i have done to ſecure the accompliſhment of my prophecy; then takes him to a high place, from whence he could ſee into the cabinets of all the princes in europe: in ſeveral of which, he took notice, lay a vaſt heap of rich and coſtly things, but confuſed, ſhapeleſs, and fit for no uſe; now, ſaid the old man to him, theſe are diſappointments and defeated projects, made to intercept what i determined ; then vaniſhes: at which he awaked, exceeding glad to find himſelf ſafe in his bleſſed iſland, and wonderfully pleaſed with his dream, which betokened ſo much good to his dear country. this was the concluſion of his records in 1724. * % ed. dorrington. finis, z 3 henry mozley has just published new editions of t h e follow in g excellent books : henry's expoſition of the old and new teſtament, with pračtical remarks and obſervations, to which is prefixed a brief sketch of the life of the author, 6 vols. 4to. boards, £6.6s. watts' pſalms and hymns, 3s.6d. g weſley's hymns, 3s. 6d. . new manual of devotion, 4s. new week's preparation, for a worthy receiving of the lord's supper, and a companion to the altar, 3s. owen’s twenty-five diſcourſes, adapted to the lord's supper, 2s. 6d. refle&tions for the ſeven days of the week, 4d. riſe, fall, and future reſtoration of the jews, 5sź. seaſons, or reſearches into the works of the creator, is. 6d. stretch’s beauties of hiſtory, or pićtures of virtue and vice, drawn from real life, plates, 5s. telemachus, by hawkeſworth, 2 vols. plates, 7s. the knowledge and pračtice of chriſtianity made eaſy to the meaneſt capacities, by biſhop wilſon, 1s. 6d. & venn’s complete duty of man, a ſyſtem of doctrinal and pračtical chriſtianity ; 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his food was the coarsest, his drink was the brook that near to the hermitage ran. he mumbled his prayers, and counted his beads, and scourged his flesh wi' twine, in the hope to atone for the sins of the soul by the body's doll and pine. and who was the hermit, and what were his sins, that merited penance so drear ?— list ye to the tale of a soothfast bard, and both shall quickly appear: the hermit had stood a noble earl in the presence of his kinghad gaily hunted the boar and the stag, and fought in the field and the ring. the hermit now so withered and grim, was an earl so fair to see, that there was no' a lady in a' the land but had sighed at the blink o' his e'e. 4 but the earl gave his heart to the fairest maid in the bounds of scotland wideto the sweet mary hay, the flower o' the don, and her father's hope and pride. but her father was no' a belted knight, but a man of low degree, and it grieved his heart his daughter's love for a noble earl to see. "there never cam' good o' a lordling's love for a maid so lowly born; he'll win your heart, and break your heart, and leave you the scath and the scorn." "o little d'ye ken, my father dear, this leal lord's love for me; he's won my heart, and he's sought my hand, and his bride i have sworn to be." and the earl so loved this lowly maid, that he gave her his lordly hand, and made her mistress of all his castles, and the lady of all his land. and time ran on till a year had gone, but never, by night or day, was the gallant leslie absent from the side of his mary hay. the noblemen round might look askance, their ladies might scoff and sneer; his mary was all the world to him, and he to her was as dear. 5 " till town and country, high and low, the truth must needs declare, that never, in palace, castle, or cot, had been witnessed a happier pair. but it fell on a day, a sweet summer's day, that there came, with white foam o'er, a steed with a royal messenger, and this was the message he bore: 66 boot ye ! spur ye! noble earl-— go saddle your steed and ride! for the english loons, with fire and sword, have crossed the border side. "and need have we of our bravest knights, and need of their stoutest men, and stouter or braver than you, lord earl, there's none in our royal ken." when mary heard this message read, her cheeks grew pale and wan, but when she saw her leslie's steed the tears in torrents ran. "o, let me gang, my leslie dear, your perils all to share ; i'll run a foot page by your side, the battle field i'll dare. when dangers flash around your head, i'll cry to heaven to save ; and if you're wounded in the fight, my care will cheat the grave." 6 "that never could be, my darling wifebut i'll not tarry long, for numerous are our scottish bands, their hearts are brave and strong. and soon we'll drive the english loons across the border side, and i'll bring fouth of southern spoil to deck my lovely bride." "i care no' for pearls, jewels, nor gold, nor robes of silken sheen, i'd rather have you, my leslie, safe, than the splendours of a queen.' "" lord leslie kissed her lips and cheeks, as pale as the lily flower; then bade her maidens bear her in, and tend her well in her bower. but when he rode from his castle door at the head of his warlike band, his mary hay was the saddest wife in all the scottish land. our scottish king his warlike bands led forth in gallant order, and drove the southern loons, like sheep, over the english border. then boldly marched on southern soil to pay them ill for ill, and drove the beeves from off their fields, and the sheep from off the hill. 7 and when he'd paid the knavish loons a penny for their plack, he led his troops with little loss and mickle plunder back. and feasted at the scottish court for thirty days and three, the noble lords who in the war had borne him company. and foremost in the field of fight, and foremost in the sport, the brave earl leslie bore the palm o'er all the scottish court. the lady arabella stewart, the daughter of a king, tho' her mother did not share a throne nor wear a wedding ring, cast eyes on this same noble lord in her royal brother's hall, and saw him, in face and courtly grace, the fairest of them all. and she has gotten her to the king, fallen low down on her knee"o royal lord, o brother dear, an asking grant to me!" "rise up ! rise up ! our sister dear, your asking you shall have, be it gold or gear, or house or land, or title, that ye crave." 8 "i crave nor title, house, nor land, i crave nor gold, nor gear, but it's all for a lord at your royal court that i plead in your royal ear. lord leslie he has ensnared my heart, by arts that i cannot divine; and i crave your aid, my sovereign liege, this witchery to untwine." "and if lord leslie has stolen your heart, this choice to him i'll gie, either to offer you marriage to-morrow, or else to be hanged on a tree." lord leslie sat and laughed and joked, in the midst of a merry ring, when word was brought him to repair to audience with the king. “there's a nobleman at our court, lord earl, partaking our royal cheer, who by wicked art has trepanned the heart of a lady that we hold dear. the lady arabella stewart, the fairest of our fair, has lost her heart, and to you, lord earl, deny it if you dare. but you are a true and a warlike lord, and this is the choice we'll gieeither to marry the lady we've named, or swing like a rogue on a tree." 9 "my liege my sire! my sovereign lord! i've used no wizardrie, and if i have won the heart of this maid, the prize was unsought by me. and if my choice be to wed or to hang, my sire, i must lose my life, for how can i wed lady arabel stewart, and leave a better-loved wife ?” “and who may be this wife, lord earl, that you hold so wondrous dear; and how does it chance that the lady's name should never have reached our ear?" "my wife is not sprung from noble sires-her kin are of low degree, but dear as a queen to her royal spouse is the choice of my heart to me." 66 a peasant can be but a leman, my lord, to one that is nobly born, and, the word of a king, you'll marry our ward, or swing ere a second grey morn!" the brave lord leslie left the king, a doleful man i ween; but a change took place in his comely face that day ere the fall of e'en. that day was holden a tournament, the queen was taken illand who but the lady arabel stewart was chosen her place to fill. io right well she played her queenly part, and charmed the hearts of a', but for every smile she gave the rest gave lord leslie twa. she when days had come and days had passed, lord leslie had no' swung, but for him and the lady arabel stewart, the wedding bells were rung. and he has gotten a trusty page his messages all to bear, and sent him on to mary hay to break the tidings with care. to offer her gold, to offer her gear, to offer her houses or landto tell her that she was free to love and marry a lowlier man. the news were said, the offers were made, and the salt tears did no' come; but she sat like a statue, or corpse of the dead, . as motionless, paly, and dumb. she never cast blame on her faithless lord, nor uttered one word to displease, but she drooped her head like a frost-nipt rose, and faded by slow degrees. and day by day she withered away, till the fell destroyer death laid his skeleton hand on her marble lips, and checked their quivering breath. ii now word's gone on to edinburgh town, and reached lord leslie's ear, that the cold earth lay on the mary hay whom he once had valued so dear. "o woe's me now!" lord leslie cried, as he tore his raven hair, "i've killed the fairest, dearest wife, that ever breathed northern air. love me lady arabel stewart! well may ye love me noo, for i've blighted the fairest flower of the north, and all for the sake of you! well may ye sigh, lady arabel stewart, and well may your tears be shed; but ye canna' bring peace to this perjured heart, unless ye bring back the dead!" lord leslie fled away from his home, and none knew whither he went; his lands fell in to his next of kin, and his gold by his lady was spent. but when years had sped, and his lady was dead, and his name forgotten 'mongst men, a 'hermit appeared in powis's grounds, and made him a sort of a den. he prayed, and starved, and scourged himself, till his lean frame leaner grew, but at last the curtain dropt on the scene, and then the truth we knew. i 2 for a scroll was found by the side of the corpse, and these were the words it bore: "this is the clay of leslie the earl, who sinned and suffered so sore." i've told this tale of the days of old in a simple, homely strain, but if it create one thought like this, it has not been told in vain : an honest, truthful, rightful course is the best for death or time, for present anguish and future woe are the offspring of vice and crime. 14 225 nypl research libraries 3 3433 06657947 9 nov 27 191 dol jomy :) ん ​ the paris spectator: or, l'hermite de la chaussée-d'antin. containing observationsrk etic mi upon parisian manners & customs, at the commencement of the nineteenth century. se jamy (victor jose translated from the french, by w. jerdan. {william ] in three volumes. vol. iii. philadelphia: published by m. carey, and wells & lilly, boston. 1816. b enox librar new york το francis freeling, esq. &c. &c. &c. my dear sir, • the hermit of the chaussée-d'antin having, since the commencement of, my translation, published another volume of his essays, and thus enabled me to add the following sheets to my original design, i consider myself entitled to seize the opportunity for a second dedication. i rather fear that this will be a trespass on you than on my readers, and my only apology shall be brevity, and the irresistible impulse which i feel to avail myself of, perhaps, the only chance i may ever enjoy, of so widely declaring how sincerely i participate in the general sentiment which your public and private worth inspires. but it is not beause your public life has procured you "golden opinions from all sorts of men :" the regard and esteem of the highest ranks in this country, and the love and gratitude iv of your inferiors-it is because in the social circle, as in the discharge of your official duties, your entire existence is filled with acts of kindness and beneficence; it is because you are so exemplary in the exercise of all the human affections which dignify man, that i am proud even were it to make an occasion on which i can join my voice to the testimony of all who have the pleasure of knowing you, and stating how grateful your friendship is to one, who is, dear sir, with the warmest feelings of esteem, your's most truly, wm. jerdan. little chelsea, august, 1815. notice for the third volume. the hermit of the chaussée-d'antin was, in the first instance, advertised to consist of two volumes, but the original author, having in the interim concluded his labours under this signature, and added another volume to his preceding publications, it became necessary to suspend the translation for a short period, and then to depart so much from the first design, as to bring the work in a complete form before the british public. these circumstances will account for the delay which has taken place in producing this publication, and it is hoped that the third volume, thus obtained, will be found to possess merit enough to plead its own cause. a 2 1 contents. f dedication notice macedoine somnambulism, and the abbé faria a hunting party revolutions of fashion an execution at the place de grève the races of the champ de mars a dinner of artists an evening of the great world my projects for the year 1814 the twelfth cake the gossips the egotists the painter's study the newsmongers the death of the hermit the hermit's testament page iii 9 19 28 48 78 88 98 116 126 135 145 155 165 175 185 195 1 t contents. t dedication notice macedoine somnambulism, and the abbé faria a hunting party revolutions of fashion an execution at the place de grève the races of the champ de mars a dinner of artists · an evening of the great world my projects for the year 1814 the twelfth cake the gossips the egotists the painter's study the newsmongers the death of the hermit the hermit's testament page 111 v 9 19 28 48 78 88 98 116 126 135 145 155 165 175 185 195 10 macedoine. curious to know the originals of this capital as its monuments. paris has lately suffered two irreparable losses of this order; the first, the celebrated chevalier de jean, so renowned for his courage and his creditors, his whims and his debts. true to the beau of the last century, you might find him every day at the palaisroyal, in tight speckled pantaloons, a horseshoe wig, and ready to give you the history of the pretty dutch jewess that he once set about converting. the other character, carried off still more lately from the curiosity of the amateurs, was the most renowned master of all our masters in feats of arms, old father donnadieu. for twenty-five years he took every day of his life, between two and three in the afternoon, four turns on the boulevart de la madeleine. he was distinguishable by the oscillations of his head, the immensity of his riding-coat, the enormousness of his cane, and the antiquity of his wig, that had fewer hairs than even his own skull. fifty years ago this man used to turn the heads of the handsomest actresses of the comedie italienne. to harangue upon the arts, without knowing a syllable of the subject, is one of our fashionable absurdities. derval and senneville are first rate professors in this. they have composed for themselves and their disciples a vocabulary of about a hundred words, by the help of which those "irrefragable doctors," decide without appeal. "style without colour, composition without harmony, い ​ macedoine. 11 incorrect drawing, want of light and shade;" this goes equally to criticism on a poem, a picall that ever comes ture, or a piece of music. in the shape of panegyric, no matter what may be the chef-d'œuvre, is equally comprised in the words, "elegance, vigour, grandeur." no doubt these gentlemen have taken the trouble of getting by heart the names of the greatmasters whom they cite in season, and sometimes not a little out of it: however i have some lingering scepticism about their infallibility, and am not much surprised that a delille, a gérard, or a cherubini, should now and then decline their jurisdiction. it is a great interval from "l'antre de procope" such as i remember it in 1754, to the magnificent rooms on the first floor of the palais royal, where the café de chartes occupies the floor below: "ce ne sont que festons, ce ne sont qu'astragales." "tis all festoon and ornament superb." gold, ebony, bronze, all are combined with exquisite taste. the bar, all mirrors, is perfect enchantment. the coffee, the dinner services, silver gilt, the cook an adept in "gastrology;" with all this one might be assured that this new establishment would turn out a fortune. but in paris, utility, luxury, convenience, even pleasure, are not always sure pledges of getting into vogue. like fashion, that depends on a caprice often beyond all calculation. 12 macedoine. the elegant public, for whose fickleness one thinks himself prepared, is often as much led by habit as the mob. it is often nothing but patience and repeated temptation that can break through the force of custom. they are pleased enough with the café on the ground floor, probably they cannot be prevailed on to be pleased on the first floor, probably they will never go up to try, in spite of the whole magic of promise and invitation. the cafés are in paris no longer what they were; the frequenters are almost made up of regular idlers and provincials, and except one or two of those houses, where good company still go by a kind of good luck, the others are not attended by fashionable people. in the days of louis xiv. those places were unknown; the rendezvous for even the first classes was the tavern. the young lords of the court, &c. then particularly distinguished the "cormier" and the "pomme de pin."they often slept in those places, and it was even the height of high life, which however men of common sense have in all ages despised, to present themselves at versailles, with the nose begrimed with snuff, and the drapery in a disorder which shewed where they had been. our fine women of the present day would probably not have much to dread from this kind of seduction. it is a long time since tavernhunting has been given over by them to justice, and probably many years will not pass before the public opinion, under their direction, will pass the same sentence on the café. * * macedoine. 13 m. azais is right. every thing has its balance; goods and evils. if i had the misfortune to buy, or the folly to read, an enormous volume, entitled *****, in which the author wastes 300 pages in 8vo. in comments on the fables of a good man, and in proving that there are (which i doubted before,) charming things in this work. if my passion for new books made me fall six months into a heap of typographic follies so overwhelming, i have to thank that passion for putting it in my power to appreciate, among the first, that history of the crusades with which m. michaud has just enriched our literature. no work for a long period has come forth with such advantage. the extreme interest of a subject, of which antiquity offers no model; the thoughts which it excites, the great names which it consecrates, and of which the majority belong to our own annals; the well-conceived plan, not led away by the spirit of system, not fettered by the spirit of party; the style solid, elegant, accurate; those are the qualities which strike me as eminently distinguishing a work whose composition must give m. michaud a leading rank among french historians. baursalt has written a "petite comedie," merry enough, called " words in fashion.". of these words, the greater part have disappeared from the dictionary, others by habit have been promoted to a right to figure there. we have gone through a neologic irruption, that had "left not a wreck behind." to the vol. iii. b 14 macedoine. mania of new words has succeeded in certain books, in certain theatres, in certain coteries, the abuse of two or three words, perfectly respectable in themselves, but become perfectly absurd by their employment. it is almost two or three years since the fashionable word was "nature." an amateur of the vaudeville made a collection of 226 couplets from pieces of that theatre, in which "nature," was the point. the word, however, lost its rank from the time that a balladmaker of the rocher de cancale parodied the mania in a song, of which, i can only remember the last stanza: in all the scribble that authors dribble, in all that quacks stretch on their backs; in all that women in tricks or trimming; above, below, display to beau; who's the great teacher? nature! nature! 'tis rather strange, they can't engage her, now and then upon the stage !* * dans tours leurs ecrits, nos auteurs tout l'éloge de "la nature!" dans leurs visites, nos docteurs font le procès a "la nature !" nos femmes pour l'habit les mœurs le rapprochent de "la nature!" mais en revanche nos acteurs s'eloignent bien de "la nature !" macedoine. 15 for the present day, "life" is the word of favouritism: it is almost impossible to conceive its service to our melancholy ladies, and what a multitude of fine things they can manage by the help of this fragment of sentimentality. "we go up, we go down the stream of “ life.”—“ life" sits lightly on us.-we reject "life."-the dream of "life;" the lingering on the borders of "life;" the waste of "life;" the despair of "life:"-and all this, after having in general taken their full share of "life," in the gayest sense of the word. "ab! how are you, my dear friend; what do you think of doing this evening?" "how can you ask: i am going to the odeon, of course. "and so am i."-" there is a new piece for to night, charmingly got up, as i am told."-"you do not mean to go there yetit is only four o'clock-come take a turn in the tuileries." "i have not a moment-i dine in the rue de condé, with a friend of mine, who has just lost his wife-the house is quite a solitude since she is gone."--" and do you dine there?"--"oh yes, it will be pleasant to weep for a moment with him; besides i will be there quite wound up for the new piece." "i shall go to the orchestra, try to keep a place for you, and we shall have our laugh together." i have not altered a syllable in this little dialogue, i call the parties themselves to witness the fact, 16 macedoine. last sunday, it rained a good deal. at five the croud were clustering about the theatre des varietes, while the unlucky calaches of the faubourg st. denis were returning empty, after standing all day on the place louis xv. to take the curious to st. cloud. the drivers looked sad at the crowd; at which the managers of the theatre looked gay; at the same instant, a puppet show-man was dividing the public curiosity with a mourning coach, which carried a poor bibliopolist who had died next door to the theatre. a wedding party were defiling in a train of carriages down the middle of the boulevart, and in one of the side alleys a sick wretch, was carrying in a litter to the hotel dieu! all those contrasts were gathered into the space of a few fathoms, and perhaps i was the only one who perceived that they had any thing of contrast in them. "i know so well the value of a character," (said e, some time before his death, to a woman of wit)" that to buy a good one, i would, with all my heart, give all that i am worth in the world." "you would never have made a worse bargain in your life," was the remark." how?""because if you had to day, the best reputation on earth, it would be gone in a fortnight." "cut and dry characters, things that nobody spares; come, how nobody knows, and gone, how nobody cares." "des réputations, on ne sait pas pourquoi," as gresset says. macedoine! 17 the world never saw before such a heap of those reputations. an exquisite review might be made out of those borrowed celebrities, the majority of which, have not so much as an excuse. caritides wrote a huge volume of commentary on the twenty-fourth ode of anacreon, which had after all but four verses, and this to prove to people who know nothing about greek, that he knew it marvellously. true, if this commentary is a chef d'œuvre, it is at least not that of an incog. for every body knows caritides. he is a member of twenty-two learned societies, he has titles, places, in short, he wants nothing, but,-merit! i have always in my mind the reputation which st. aulaire made out in a single stanza. and if the world will still hold him up in the niche where voltaire fixed him, i must resign in spite of boileau, the same favour for cotin; for after all, the abbé's stanza is fairly worth that of the marquis. yet without talking of reputations literary, political, scientific, &c. of which we can at least suspect the why, i must, however, without going beyond the spot, clear up the matter to myself. why mercour has got the name of a wit, and has lived for the last ten years on a single bon mot, of which it is not even now quite established that he is the father. why there is a general agreement to attribute the taciturnity of morneuil to his depth, when the innocent cause is simple poverty of ideas. the fact is, that society must have him a thinker. nature has made him only a dreamer-awake. b2 18 macedoine. i am more staggered with the propensity to undervalue the good where it is, than to conceive it where it is not. females are as much exposed to this as men. one passes for a woman of gallantry, of whom we should be hard put to it, to find a single adventure. another, with twenty lovers, manages to pass off as a prude. i cannot find out the way of explaining errors of this number, received in society as in controvertible truths, but by saying, that they are talked of for the first time before people who have no interest in giving them a negative; that they are often repeated by others who are concerned in giving them circulation, and in one word, that in paris there are "agencies for characters, just as there are agencies for marriages." 19 no. ii.-28th august, 1815. somnambulism, and the abbe faria. per amicitiam, divosque rogatus, ducere me auditum, perges quocumque, memento, nam, quamvis referas memori mihi pectore cuncta, non tamen interpres tantumdem juveris: adde vultum habitumque hominis. hor. sat. i. lib. 2. i have often inquired, but never obtained a satisfactory answer to the question, "why have that class of men whom the greeks denominated agyrte, the romans, circumforanei, and we, in rather a vague way, charlatans, always chosen france for the principal theatre of their quackery?" these persons do not think frenchmen greater fools than other people: should they be imagined less addicted to antiquated rules, more free from the prejudices of custom? they will answer themselves that they are always the last, if not to acknowledge, at least to adopt useful inventions. they will confess that christopher columbus in vain begged that he might be allowed the favour of discovering a new world for their advantage; that the vortices of descartes were maintained for half a century among them against the system of newton; that innoculation had during thirty years saved hundreds of thousands of 20 somnambulism, and the european lives long before it was with difficulty introduced into france; that even at this moment, a large proportion of the inhabitants of paris obstinately persist in drinking the impure water of the seine, in preference to the clear filtered beverage which they can procure at the same price; and, in short, that all innovation, bearing a highly-marked character for grandeur and public utility, has ever been in this country the object of the most inveterate and absurd opposition. it is however true that, in revenge, all futile follies, all extravagant theories, all ridiculous schemes, (provided they originate with foreigners) are sure to meet among us with favour, protection, and enthusiastic encouragement. from luc gauric to the abbé faria inclusively, i do not know a single foreign doctor, whether he has pricked for his dupes on our quays or in our saloons, whether he has had his companions in the shops or in the palaces, who has not found means to realise a sort of fortune in france. behold upon the place du louvre this famous doctor napolitano, rolling about in his open cabriolet, with his huge perriwig whitened with powder, his full scarlet coat trimmed with gold lace, his embroidered vest, rings upon every finger, and his ample ruffles of flanders lace; in what does he differ from this most illustrious cagliostro whom we have seen, at the close of the eighteenth century, boast, even in the oeil de bœuf*, the anti-chamber of the grand apartment at versailles, so called from the form of its windows. tr. abbe faria 21 at versailles, of being able to make the dead speak, and enrich himself by means of a phantasmagoria, which when some years after carried to perfection by robertson the physician, proved the ruin of that individual. the first and the boldest of the charlatans who have appeared in france is indisputably, cet ecossais celebre, ce calculateur sans egal, qui, par les regles de l'algebre, menait la france à l'hopital.* this prototype of all charlatans born or yet to be born, escaped from england, where he was condemned to be hanged, in a very few years changed his country, his religion, his condition, and his fortune. after having in vain endeavoured to introduce his system into every state in europe, he at last came to establish it in france: the result is generally known! succeeding the adventurer law, sprung up another adventurer of the name of willars, who made a rapid fortune of many millions (of francs) by bottling the waters of the seine, and selling them as an universal panacea, which would lengthen human life to the extent of at least a hundred and fifty years. the parisian wine-merchants are the inheritors of his secret, which they vend however under another name! * this celebrated scotsman; this unequalled calculator, who, by the rules of algebra, led france to the hospital. 22 somnambulism, and the bletton, acquainted with the miracle wrought by the water of the river, thought he might be as successful in drawing the element from its source. he announced the possession of a physical faculty peculiar to himself, by which he could discover, or rather perceive the existence of subterraneous springs, at whatever depth they might be situated, by means of a hazel switch and an able colleague. he succeeded in reviving for a considerable period this pretended science of rabdomancy, which an ultramontane quack had imposed upon the credulous in a preceding age. mesmer burst forth with greater eclat, and with more powerful means than his predecessors; and his triumph was less ephemeral. he had, if you would believe him, discovered a new agent in nature, which he called animal magnetism. the properties of this agent, by creating new affinities and new relations between men and things, produced miraculous effects. as magnetism operated chiefly upon the nerves and the imagination, our ladies were its earliest converts. the tub of mesmer became the rendezvous of beauties of the court and city : magnetism hatched vapours, spasms, nervous affections, of a thousand kinds; and these diseases of the imagination, which seized the physicians themselves, procured proselytes for the german doctor in the very bosom of the faculty. those who most obstinately denied the efficacy of magnetism, perceived however that it was not without its influence on our manabbe faria. 23 ners; that it brought into contact many persons who would never otherwise have been seen together; and that the virtue of the tub produced a wonderful effect upon the virtue of women. when the government thought it time to put an end to this comedy, they procured it to be represented on the stage, and the modern doctors threw into utter discredit the doctors of the day. this quackery of mesmerism, of which i recollect that doppat, the pupil of deslon who had himself been the disciple of mesmer, ingenuously said, "those who are acquainted with our secret, doubt it more than those who are ignorant of it," has given birth to somnambulism, for which, at this moment, the abbé faria keeps a school, to the great scandal of good sense, and of the philosophy which he professes. i was present at the sitting, that is to say, at the public mystification, which took place on wednesday last, in a house in the rue de clichy. i shall relate what i saw; it is impossible to represent the matter in a more ridiculous light. the apostle of somnambulism had chosen the school room of a house of education, as the theatre for the exhibition of his juggling tricks, in the execution of which, he is, as will be seen, far inferior to olivier. before the professor appeared, i examined the assembly; it was brilliant, numerous, and two thirds of it composed of women in the flower of their age. it was easy to see that the 24 somnambulism, and the greater proportion of them came to the place with very favourable prepossessions towards the new doctrine. i was placed near madame maur, and i could discover in that amiable person, the different characteristics which credulity, confidence, and persuasion, impart to the physiognomy. the abbé, accompanied by five or six young girls, appeared in the space reserved for him at one end of the apartment:-his complexion browned by the fires of the goa sun, did not detract from the regularity of his features; and i thought i could perceive that the most beautiful half of his auditory, seemed in this respect, to have no stronger prejudices than the tender desdemona. the orator commenced by a discourse in so grotesque a style, that it was necessary to be a frenchman, and to recollect that he who spoke was a foreigner, not to interrupt him at the end of every sentence, with bursts of laughter. the course of his ideas, unfortunately was no less ludicrous than the language in which they were expressed: it is almost doubtful, whether human extravagance could go so far. after an eulogium, emphatic to absurdity, on magnetism and its general properties, the professor laid it down as a principle that this mysterious agent was the basis of all instruction, the foundation of all sciences, the key to all human knowledge. before hearing this philosopher from the coast of malabar, who could have imagined that to magnetism appertains, not only the power of reabbe faria. 2,5 vealing to us the secrets of medicine; and the cause, the seat, and the cure of all diseases; but also that of enabling us to ascertain the configuration, the matter, the motion of the stars and the nature of their inhabitants? we may therefore make ourselves very easy on the subject of the future progress of medicine and astronomy; even morals need no longer trouble us, for magnetism will be found an ample substitute: "all the virtues are thence derived as well as all true knowledge, and political science, is itself subject to the action of this extraordinary principle." after this luminous definition of magnetism, m. faria addressed us on the subject of somnambulism, which is its immediate result. as far as i was enabled to ascertain from his unintelligible jargon, the state of somnambulism is for man, and especially for woman, the most consummately blissful ;-persons in the condition of somnambulism develope faculties and information, of the possession of which, they are utterly unconscious when awake, such as the gift of tongues, and the second sight; and what is still more wonderful, in particular cases, it even produces new organs. thus, one of his pupils had attained the peculiar endowment of reading in her sleep, by that part of the human body which the first created man and woman alone did not bring into the world. unfortunately the proof of this miracle was of a nature not fit for public exhibition! other experiments were presented. the four young girls were placed in a row, and the c vol. iii. 26 somnambulism, and the preliminary discourse of the master, had so excellently pre-disposed them to slumber, that the very moment the magnetic rod touched them, they were plunged into the most profound sleep. one of them in her nap, said she was thirsty: "what will you have to drink?" demanded the cajoler." sugared water." immediately he presented her with a great glass of clear water which he contented himself with magnetising, instead of sugaring. the little girl took the glass of water, drank it, and complained that it was too sweet. the abbé might have insisted a little upon the benefits which might be derived from magnetism at a period when sugar is so dear; but without noticing the objection made to him, he passed on to a second experiment. "this young person," said he, pointing to one of the sleepers, "does not, as you may readily believe, understand one word of latin. well! in the state of somnambulism, in which she at present is, you shall see that she can comprehend what is spoken in that language. to prove it :ars longa, vita brevis. answer miss, what is the meaning of these words?" "life is long and short!!" loud bursts of laughter broke out on all sides, and the sitting would hardly have been suffered to proceed, had not the motions and the cries of a third somnambulist fixed anew the attention of the assembly. "stop thief! murder! stop thief!" she exclaimed. the magnetiser questioned her." what is the matter?"-" a murder in the rue de cliabbe faria. 27 "are chy!" "who are the perpetrators?" "two men whom i can hardly distinguish!" they arrested?" "only one of them!" this trick would have excited a considerable sensation, had not many of the company been aware of an event which had taken place three hours before, of which the somnambulist and the professor, like other people, had learned the circumstances. the experiments of members paralysed and deparalysed at the word of command given by the magnetiser, finished by exhausting the patience, and disgusting the honest feelings of the spectators. at first, murmurs were heard; these were succeeded by hooting; next, they hissed the indian professor, who very dexterously accounted for the want of success which attended his efforts, hy declaring, that the presence of a single sceptic, was sufficient to neutralise the magnetic virtue, and confound the talent of the magnetiser. i have been desirous in this essay, to answer the reproach which has been applied to me, for not having heretofore, in a work dedicated to the delineation of living manners, devoted a page to the exposure of a doctrine so perfectly absurd and ridiculous. but there can be no danger of its coming into fashion, and we have no cause to apprehend that the steps of abbé faria will be followed by any other professors, 28 no. iii.-11th sept. 1813. a hunting party. -tu cede potentis amici lenibus imperiis: quotièsque educet in agros ætolis onerata plagis jumenta, canesque, surge, et inhumanæ senium depone camanæ cones ut pariter pulmenta laboribis emta. hor. ep. 18, lib. 1. yield to the solicitations of your friend, and when he takes out his dogs, his horses, his whippers-in, quit your serious studies to follo him; and allow yourself, like others, the pleasure of supping on your game. hunting, it seems, was his delight, his joy by day, his dream by night. somerville. after love, the chase is perhaps of all the pleasures of this lower world, that which has been most censured and most praised. plato calls it a divine exercise; saint augustin, a ferocious amusement; lycurgus recommended it to the greeks; moses forbade it to the jews; pliny assures us that it gave birth to monarchy; sallust wishes it to be abandoned to slaves; buffon would have it reserved for heroes. a hunting party. 29 these contradictory opinions would not have been expressed, but that under the same name, each speaks of a different thing; and this being the case, may they not all be equally entitled to credit. "it is necessary to preserve the flocks from the jaws of the wolf; to prevent animals from destroying the harvest; it is natural to nourish ourselves with the flesh of some, to clothe ourselves in the skins of others. in these instances then the chase is an useful occupation. "among noxious animals there are some to whom nature has imparted the highest degree of strength, cunning, and courage. to destroy these, it is necessary to combat them; and to master them, the hunter must often risk his life. the chase then becomes a noble amusement, and may in some respects be consider as a school for the military virtues. "but hunting now-a-days has scarcely any -object but to torment in a thousand ways innocent animals, which are carefully multiplied merely for the pleasure of destroying them. this exercise, which has always been the inheritance of certain privileged men, has become the source of much injustice and vexation. a love of the chase degenerates almost always into a passion; it becomes too often the sole occupation of him who gives himself up to it. it is said to improve the health, but it should be added, that it almost always leaves the mind uncultivated. the chase, viewed in this light, is an injurious and culpable amusement." c 2 30 a hunting party. thus it is, an action indifferent in itself, considered separately in its principle, in its practice, or in its abuse, may become an eternal subject of satire or of eulogy.-locke is right: -to avoid disputes on things, it will almost always be sufficient that we understand each other on words. whatever may be the antiquity, the nobleness, and the inconveniences of the pleasures of the chase, it is one of those which i have always found it most difficult to explain, even when i have given myself up to it with most ardour, by false shame, by calculation, or by suitableness. that which was at first but a simple repugnance, has resolved itself into a fixed aversion, from the date of my acquaintance with the baron de roncerolles. we met for our common misfortune, about thirty years ago, at the house of one of his relations, in the environs of dreux. the gothic chateau of m. de cériane, situated in the midst of one of the most beautiful capitaineries of the kingdom, was in autumn the rendezvous of all the hunters for thirty leagues round. on entering it, they made a vow to think of nothing but the chase: and even in the presence of ladies, their conversation was limited to that subject. the old commander, uncle to madame de cériane, whose age and infirmities confined him all day to a large high-backed chair in the drawing-room, knew no pleasure but that of maintaining the superior merit of falconry, (which he had the a hunting party. 31 honour of being the last to renounce in france) against roncerolles, who defended hunting with dogs, with all the force of his habits, and of his lungs. his erudition on this subject surpassed that of all the dorantes and of all the clainvilles* in the world. so long as he spoke, (and he desisted from speaking as little as possible) there was nothing to be heard but about the sole-pleine, the pince rondes, the biche brehaine, the dix-cors jeunement, the pied, and the contre-piedt, and all the other barbarous terms, which swell the nomenclature of modern hunting. if he happened to be interrupted for a moment, the old commander resumed the history and the eulogy of falconry; never failing to assert, in conclusion, that the decline of french gallantry ought to be dated from the invention of small shot. i one day could not help laughing at his peroration somewhat louder than usual. to expiate this offence, he made me endure a description of the finest bird hunts, from the reign of francis i. to the minority of louis xv. he maintained with the best grace in the world, that the education of the bird of prey, and war, were the only occupations worthy of a gentleman. he could not speak, without sighing, of those happy times, when to charm all the beauties of the court, it * characters in the fácheux and the gugeure, two french dramas. these phrases, applied to hinds, barren or with young, to stags, &c.-are not translatable. 32 a hunting party. was sufficient to know how to fly a falcon; to follow him with all speed; to make him return to the lure, and dexterously to place him on a lady's wrist. after francis i., whom he called the father of hunters, the monarch whom the commander honoured with the next place in his esteem, was the good king john, who was so passionately fond of the chase, that he knew no better way of amusing himself during his captivity at helfort, than to compose with gacé de la bigue, his chaplain, a poem on the art of the chase*, ad usum delphini. the commander had taken the trouble to charge his memory with fragments of it, which it afforded him no small pleasure to recite. this old man, whose head was well furnished with anecdotes and recollections, was listened to with some interest, while recounting his stories till the third or fourth time: but as to the eternal baron, (whom they had surnamed the syndic of insupportables) and who never spoke to you but of the different species of dogs-clairauds, mirauds, briffauds; of the manners of the kennel, and of the education of huntsmen; one could not escape ennui in his society, or the persecution of his discourse, without quarrelling with him (a precaution which i never failed to take, from the morning after my arrival at cériane, which however did not prevent our again meet"le roman des oiseaux," which the king wrote for the instruction of his son, philip, duke of bur gundy. c 4 # k a hunting party. 3.3 ing with reciprocal good will). from his exclusive passion for the chase, the baron derived this advantage, that he had less cause than others to mourn our domestic troubles. in the revolution he only saw an order to go and hunt somewhere else; and he found nothing to complain of on his return to france but the abolition of the ancient ordonnances, with respect to the waters and forests. after having lost sight of him for so long a period, i was less surprised than i might have been, to meet him lately while on a little journey to sologne. my old friend, madame de l**** is proprietor of a magnificent estate in that country, a few leagues from chambord, where, every year, at the commencement of the sporting season, her son assembles a numerous and brilliant company of amateurs of both i arrived there in the night of the 4th of september, and i left it eight and forty hours afterwards, satisfied with the scene of which in that time i had been a witness, and which i shall now endeavour to describe in a way as laconic as possible. sexes. the first person whom i encountered in the morning, on leaving my chamber, was the baron de roncerolles. he had been apprised of my arrival, and waited for me in the passage. we met like old acquaintances. he found out that i did not seem a year older than i was when he saw me last; i assured him that he looked fifteen years younger-and why not? time loses nothing by such assertions, and 34 a hunting party. they always give pleasure. the baron was in costume; an embroidered waistcoat, with stag's head buttons; a grey hunting cap; a little sporting knife;-in short, nothing was wanting to make his equipment complete. he had taken upon himself to make all the preparations for the next day's sport, and had just been determining on the rendezvous, and the haltingplaces. he attached, he said, the more impor tance to the success of that day's chase, as he had provided the equipage of young de l*****, and as general de g **** (the greatest sportsman in france) was to be of the party. the poor baron had to endure a sharp scolding at breakfast, for having taken it into his head to have a rehearsal of the horns on the terrace of the castle before noon, regardless of the ladies, who were still asleep after having played at cards till two in the morning. the remainder of the day he was perpetually in motion. he went from the kennels to the stables; he entered the names of the sportsmen ; gave his orders to the huntsmen and whippersin; and returned to the saloon to consult the barometer. the time for setting out was fixed for seven o'clock on the following morning. at five the baron was up, and had awaked every body in the chateau. after having been himself to couple the dogs, to separate the relays, and to place the old pack, at the entrance of the forest; he returned to the stables to saddle the horses and to harness the calashes, and have them brought 4 4 : a hunting party. 35 to the steps of the terrace. he at length returned to the castle, to commence the round of the corridors. nothing could be more amusing than to see him running from door to door; calling each lady by her name, telling each in particular, that the party only waited for her; and not giving himself a moment's repose, till all were assembled in the vestibule. he then mounted his horse, and made his troop defile before him. i accompanied them to the forest, saw them enter the wood to the sound of the horn and the yelping of the dogs, and then retraced my steps, peaceably to await their arrival at the chateau. towards three o'clock a great noise of horses and of carriages, announced the return from the chase, and i hastened to quit the library, to see the hunters take off their boots. i could not yet discover the baron, but i heard him hollowing and raving like one possessed of a devil, in the midst of the valets and huntsmen, while the ladies descending from the calashes, repeated with bursts of immoderate laughter"at fault*! at fault!" at these words, with which they saluted the baron on his entrance; he flew into the most ludicrous passion imaginable. "at fault!" repeated he, (gnashing his teeth, and wiping his forehead, without perceiving that he had taken off his wig with his cap,) have i come to this place to hear those words! -laugh as much as you please; the * buisson creux ! 36 a hunting party. affront is not to you ladies, but to me, who have been forty years a sportsman, and have a character to preserve. i would rather have received twenty stripes from a horsewhip across my back, than have experienced such humiliation. as for the rest;" (added he, walking off,)" if these gentlemen understood nothing of the chase, it is not at all astonishingwhere the devil should they have learned any thing about it ?" each retired to his apartment to rest himself and to dress. the dinner bell rang, and we all met at table; and some of the ladies, more fond of mischief than the rest, revived the conversation on the "at fault" of the morning, by maintaining that the mistake that had been made, was the error of the baron. "my error," exclaimed he, rising, "i will be judged by the general. i had fixed on my stag the evening before. it was a six antlered one. i drew the hounds on to the scent. the game starts. m. saint alphonso who is present, and had brought his pack with him, maintained from a view of his slough, that it was a full aged stag. i saw from that moment, that i had to do with a man who was a stranger to the first principles of the art. this is not surprising, where should he have learnt it?" (the company laughed.) "the pack of the chateau caught the scent-it is composed of forty dogs with fine noses, well matched and hunting in full cry; i was quite sure of it. the stag beat a long time about the wood. we traced him through his winda hunting party. 37 ings; at length we turned him out. we were then at fault. the pack of m. saint alphonso had got on a wrong scent. i wished to break the dogs off from it, and force them away-impossible! these babblers knew nothing of hunting." "where should they have learnt it?" asked the mistress of the house, and this was the signal for a general laugh. the baron nevertheless went on: "i wished to call them off; he maintained that we should follow them, and that his pack was in the right. the dogs parted, i backed the good and cried hourvari on the others. two rascals of huntsmen as knowing as their master, took upon themselves to sound their horns. the whole pack went wrong, the scent was altogether lost-the hunt was sent to the devil. now i would ask, who was in fault?" after this fine discourse, of which the ladies could understand nothing, the baron quite out of breath, resumed his seat. saint alphonso, who wished to defend his huntsmen and his dogs, displayed in turn his sporting erudition. the quarrel became very animated, the ladies who were amused by it, did all in their power to heighten it, and the general who had been made the umpire, disposed of the question, by proposing two new hunting parties, over one of which, each of the adversaries should preside. i took my departure without waiting to know who proved victor in the end. i shall now return to my subject, by transcribing one of the letters, which i received after vol. iii. d 38 a hunting party. writing my first essay on the chase. the only change i shall make in it, will be to omit some of the too flattering compliments which my correspondent has addressed to me. "paris, 13th september. «m. hermit, "your observations on manners, breathe fine morality, have an agreeable gaiety, and are written in an easy natural style. i delight much in reading them, and am sorry we have so long to wait for them. i could wish that after the example of your predecessor, addison, you would give us a paper every day, in which we could comment upon, and discuss your propositions, for one pointed essay, invites an answer, as a witty conversation invites us to take a part in it. i, for example, have many things to say to you on the subject of your little philippic against the chase. without saying so much about it, i am little less passionately devoted to it, than your baron de roncerolles. this taste is confirmed in me by gratitude, as you shall judge from my history. "educated in the country under the eyes of my father and mother, by a preceptor of merit, whose care was rewarded by the rapid progress of his pupil. on approaching my sixteenth year, my health became much impaired; i had palpitations of the heart, and my nights were sleepless. my mother, alarmed, consulted her physician on my case. he was a sensible man, and after a few questions, he called for a pen # n " 3 a hunting party. 39 and ink to write his prescription, which was as follows: "r. a double barrelled gun, a powder horn, a game bag, and a pointer, the whole to be taken every morning for four or five hours.' ye children of the cities, whom less innocent amusements occupy from the cradle, can form no idea of the first perfectly pure pleasure, tasted at an age when enjoyments of a different character are open to us. my delight in the chase partook of madness. each step of my dog, made my heart beat with violence, and i think, (god and the fair sex forgive me!) i have never felt, on arriving at the place of rendezvous with the woman i most loved, so much anxiety and rapture, as i have experienced when on seeing the hare or the fox quit the covert, to pass to the spot where i was squatting on the watch for him. i again tasted refreshing sleep: my health and gaiety returned, i finished my studies, and set off for my regiment. "we were then at war. i made three campaigns, and passed two winters in a good garrison; after which, thanks to the fatigues of the one, and the pleasures of the other, i returned to my paternal home, so reduced and so changed, that my parents hardly knew me. the doctor was called in again, an gave me the same prescription as before, your health is but slightly affected,' said he to me, 'it will be restored by moderate exercise, which is equally good to supply strength, and to consume excess · 40 a hunting party. of it.' i followed his counsel, and regained my youth. "i found myself so well, that i soon became passionately enamoured of a young lady in the neighbourhood, and it was not long before i discovered that i had a rival. my folly was such, that i gave myself up to despair. i became melancholy, hardly spoke, and could not eat. i passed the day in writing letters, which were not received, and the night, in wildly pacing my chamber, meditating scenes of romance, and projects of vengeance. as mad as orlando, i was lost in my passion as for an angelica and medora, if the dear doctor had not come once more to my assistance; love and jealousy! said he, i know of but one remedy for these fatal maladies.' death! the chase, zounds the chase. but i shall find no pleasure in it now.' it is not pleasure you want, but it is fa tigue. do you not see that the repose of your body nourishes the inquietude of your soul; the only cause of your present indisposition? exercise your limbs, that is the way to set your mind at rest, to restore your appetite, and to extinguish your passions. i resumed my gun; i again declared war against the rabbits, and before the close of the autumn, i was so well cured of my love for my fair neighbour, that i went to law against her for the right to a war6 ren. "some time after this, my father succeeded in marrying me to a rich and noble heiress. a hunting party. 41 my wife had great virtues and talents, but as a set off against these, her face was singularly plain, and her temper was excessively tiresome. i soon conceived an aversion for her, and unfor. tunately she felt for me a sentiment exactly the reverse. we understood each other on no one point, yet she undertook to coincide with me in every thing. if i took up a book, she read. if i approached the piano, she begged of me to accompany her; and as she had a habit of not singing correctly, though she was a great mu sician, she made my passion for music, a real punishment. i thought to escape by riding out on horseback, but she took no respite, and never quitted the riding school, till she had qualified herself to follow me. i hardly knew what saint to invoke, to help me out of this conjugal hell, when i happened to recollect the doctor and his panacea. from that time, i gave myself up without reserve to the only exercise my wife could not share with me. she wished to accompany me, but i led her so far so far, (as the fairy tales say) that she was obliged to decline such excursions, and thus the chase saved me once more. when i had thus exercised myself all day, i had a good excuse for silence and sleepiness at night. obliged to separate from me, she has created new occupa-* tions for herself, her tenderness has become more calm, and we have finished by living together in a very tolerable manner. "you will agree m. hermit, that with such reasons for loving the chase, i may be excused d 2 42 a hunting party. for taking upon myself its defence, and for endeavouring to remove from you those prepossessions, which you appear to entertain against this exercise. i have the honour to be, &c. the baron de la gibeciere." i have established a little tribunal, in which i have no functions to peform other than those of a mere recorder; i interrogate the parties, i publish the facts, draw my conclusions, and leave the decision to the public. my correspondent pleads in favour of the chase. he has ably set forth its advantages; i proceed to exhibit its inconveniences and folly.. some of my readers may perhaps still remember the abbé vincent, with whom a taste for the chase had become a real madness. after having for a long period sought the means of associating the decorum of his profession, with his ruling passion; he at length discovered them with the assistance of a skilful gunsmith in the rue de la harpe. this person invented expressly for the abbé, a gun, of which the breech took off, and could be put in the pocket. by means of an ivory knob, made to fit one end of the barrel, and a brass ferrule which went on the other end of it, the gun covered with a fine japan varnish, was presently transformed into a cane. the abbé with his cane in his hand, and a prayer book under his arm, a bob wig, and a violet coloured coat, used to leave paris every morning in the sporting a hunting party. 43 season, satisfied that in this costume he could only be supposed to be a curate of some neighbouring parish, returning on foot to his parsonage. no sooner did he approach a heath, a wood, or any other place stocked with game, than he put his gun in order; and drew from bis pocket a small spaniel of an excellent breed, which instantly went in quest of prey. ponto, with his nose to the ground, and wagging his tail, gave notice to his master that the game was at hand. the bird rose, a shot from the fowling piece brought it to the ground. the dog who carried it to the sportsman, was immediately put with the prize in his pocket, and the game-keepers who on hearing the report of the gun, were attracted to the spot, found only the abbé walking with a cane in his hand, and reading his prayer book. the ecclesiastical -poacher passed on to another estate, where he amused himself in the same way, and this he continued till he had filled his enormous pouch, which served him for a game bag. the rigour of the ancient ordonnances, restricted the rights of enjoying the sports of the chase, to the class of nobles and to the great land owners. these laws the peasant and the citizen could not but at much risk and peril venture to infringe. more conformable to the general, as well as to individual interest, the existing code allows every one after the harvest, to make war on the game on his own lands. from the beginning of the month of september the castles and country houses are 44 a hunting party. filled with sportsmen. they awake before daybreak; the guns, the game bags, the ammunition boxes are arranged at the door. they go from the village-their dogs open and disperse about the country, each seeking by sun-rise to discover the seats of the hares by the little vapour which rises from the place where they have passed the night. the alarm is given to the inhabitants of the woods-the dogs are in pursuit of them-the sound of fire arms suc ceeds, and the game bags are filled the rendezvous has been agreed upon-the breakfast hour arrives; all haste to share the bread, the dried tongue, and the veal pasty which the servants have been busied in providing. each gives and receives his share of eulogium and criticism. "such a prize has been missed by the fault of one person; one would give his best shot for that of his neighbour, whom he has seen bring down two partridges by a back-handed fire. another has made nothing but blunders; he is in ill-luck," (for sportsmen like gamblers, have their prejudices and their superstitions). breakfast being finished the ozier bottle which contains a little rum, passes from hand to hand, and is the signal for departure. they return to the field-the sun shines with all its force the heat is insupportable, it is a punishment to course the plain.-no matter, they have agreed to amuse themselves till four o'clock. it is yet but noon. the game seeks cover in the thickest bushes. the sportsman exhausted with fatigue, can find no more; and a hunting party. 45. looks in his turn for a commodious sheltering place. his gun placed against a tree, on which he hangs his game bag, his dog at his feet, he lays himself down for a nap, and sleeps; but the perpendicular rays of the sun, darting full on his nose, and the swarm of flies which walk over his face, soon awake him, and with eyes half open, he returns to the chase, and the carnage recommences among the rabbits and partridges. at length the village clock announces the hour of four, and the sportsmen assemble to make a triumphal entry on their return. the ladies seated round a large table in the dining room, receive the hunters, who proudly display the trophies of the day-quails, partridges, rabbits, and hares, which they present to them. it is there that the game is shared, and made into different parcels by the huntsmen-the presents are forwarded to their destination, and the cook of the house takes possession of the choice pieces set apart for the next day's dinner. buffon has declared himself the apologist of the chase. if we may believe him, “it is the only amusement which makes a diversion from business, the only relaxation without effeminacy, and the only one which affords lively pleasure without languor, without alloy, and without satiety." ladies have in france a decided aversion for this species of amusement, which appears to them destructive of all society, of all conversation, and of all sentiment, and which accustoms men to seek, removed from them, pleasures in which they cannot participate. 46 a hunting party. there is at least as much exaggeration in their complaints against the chase, as in the praises bestowed upon it by the philosopher of montbard. i should however have less difficulty in pointing out a motive for the one, than in offering a justification for the other. there is no defect, no excellence, no custom in france which is not parodied. the passion for the chase is travestied at paris in the most ridiculous manner, by some little shop-keepers. can there be any thing more grotesque than that honest grocer in the rue de la verrerie, whose shop is watched by a hunting dog, and who rising above the vulgar taste of his family, waits till sunday to course the fields, and takes the chance of killing a lark or a water-wagtail. how proudly does he walk through paris, his gun under his arm, his hunting cap on his head, his buff gaiters, and his sporting jacket, made at the expense of an old coat, the skirts of which have been cut off. how graciously does he smile on his neighbours! how loudly does he call after diana or castor, though the animal has not been a yard from his heels! at last, he has reached the plain of st. denis, pursuing from bush to bush, the woodpecker, the linnet, and even the tender nightingale, which he sometimes kills by chance with a random shot. but more frequently the whole morning passes away without his having to reproach himself with the death of the smallest bird. meanwhile the dinner hour approaches, and he knows that they expect the produce of his chase a hunting party. 47 at home, to make some addition to their humble bouilli. in this dilemma, the unfortunate sportsman resolves to repair to the palais-royal, and to hunt there, purse in hand, in the shop of a poulterer, from whom he purchases two partridges, which he puts into his game bag, taking good care to pull the feet through the meshes of the netting. the grocer then goes home, and with an air of triumph, presents to his wife, the partridges which he has shot. unluckily, however, a lusty country cousin, who comes every sunday to keep his wife company, causes her to remark that one of the birds has been caught in a net, and that the other exhales a high scent, which betrays the remote era of its death. 48 no. iv.-23d oct. 1813. revolutions of fashion. toute change-la raison change ausi de méthode, ecrits, habillemens systèmes, tout est mode. racine fils-epit. à rousseau. forms fluctuate still-resistless fashion's sway, arts, habits, wit, and wisdom's self, obey. je loue l'industrie d'un peuple qui cherche a faire payer aux autres ses propres mœurs et ses ajustemens; mais je le plains de se laisser lui-même si fort piper et aveugler à l'autorité de l'usage present; qu'il soit capable de changer d'opinions et d'avis, tous les mois, s'il plait à la coutume--on dirait que c'est quelqu'espèce de maniè qui lui tourneboule l'entendement. montaigne. i applaud the industry of a people that tries to make its own habits and manners pass current with the world; but i find fault with their suffering themselves to be entangled and blinded by the authority of the reigning custom. those who are capable of changing their whole system of opinions every month, as the fashion may be, are only to be spoken of, as labouring under a disease which perverts the brain. it is rather with a feeling of pleasure, than of vanity, that i find an enterprise prosper in my hands, in which so many men of merit have revolutions of fashion. 49 successively failed, during the last age: the small share of success obtained in their time by the spectateurs, observateurs, and epilogueurs of france, led many to imagine that our national vanity, revolted from this species of magic lanthern, by which a skilful moralist, more or less severe, might produce every week, a faithful picture of some of our vices, our occupations, and our follies. i imagine, on the contrary, that it is to a want of fidelity in these portraits, that we must ascribe the cold reception which they have hitherto experienced. l'abbé prévost, marivaux, and their imitators, have considered, if i may so express myself, mind and morals in an equal degree with manners, but they have not particularised the habits of their contemporaries; there is nothing determined, nothing of locality in their delineations: their site is every country; their personages are of every age-i confine myself to a less extensive circle; and in compensation for all the advantages which these writers possess over me, i shall excel them in that of fidelity, or at least in appositeness.-i design what i see; i trace characters which i have under my eye; and to be more certain of the resemblance, i cast my figures from living nature. my task, i confess, becomes every day more easy; and it frequently happens, that my correspondence supplies me with the germ, the matter, and sometimes even, as in the following letter, with the substance of my discourse. e vol. iii. 50 revolutions of fashion. "my dear hermit, " "i live secluded, unknown: i love to reflect, to observe; and as often as remarks occur to me, i amuse myself with noting them down; but as marmontel remarks, it is melancholy to contemplate a fine prospect, without being able to say to some one, what a fine prospect! it gives me pleasure on this principle, to communicate my ideas to you, and i set about it with less scruple, as, in consequence of your being totally unknown, you are not obliged to treat me with the slightest ceremony, but you may at once do justice on my letter, for any little fatigue it may occasion you, by throwing it into the fire. this premised, m. hermit, let us have some chat together. "tell me, if you know why my dear compatriots, whom voltaire in his moments of humour, called welches, but who are not the less celebrated for the excellence of their taste and the richness of their imaginations-why, i ask, are the french of all people, most apt to delight themselves with certain retrospects, with a set of reiterated ideas, so as to make the most ridiculous application of them to present customs and manners? are we children, who cannot admire any object, without wishing to lay hold of it? reason informs us that every people, every age, and every country, has its peculiar characters; that whatever we borrow from either, must be delicately modified, in order to avoid the fabrication of disgusting absurdities; and that servile imitation is the unerrevolutions of fashion. 51 ring sign of mediocrity. in proportion to the justice of this reflection we are astonished at the vicious extravagancies of fashion in france, during some years past.-after having been muffled up successively in egyptian, greek, roman, and asiatic rags, she now presents herself speckled with all the colours of chivalry. a little while since, we were enamoured of the antique, at present, nothing is endured but the gothic. i shall not examine whether, in character, we are now more essentially, knight'serrant, than we were formerly romans; i regard only the ridiculous side of our metamorphosis. i wish only to take off the habit, and it is not my fault, if, like the robe of the centaur nessus, it should stick to the skin. "i am intimate with a solicitor, who, in arranging the business of others, has done his own so effectually, as to have realised a considerable fortune, which he enjoys with his children and his wife. i know of no fault in the lady, except that of being the slave of fashion, nor can i accuse my friend of any weakness, except that of being, in this respect, the slave of his wife. nature has given him a thick, short person, and chubby cheeks; he wears spectacles, and false hair, flying on each side of his head like pigeon's wings. i leave you to imagine the figure he must have made, during some years in a bed-chamber, furnished entirely a la grecque, and ornamented on each side with basso relievos, representing the adventures of the gallant alcibiades. it is still more. 52 revolutions of fashion. judicrous when one calls to mind the canopied bed, shadowed by a cloud of muslin, and sustained by swans and cupids, where i have been accustomed to see him every morning, in a wove cotton night-cap, and an indian dressing gown. "i visited him on my return from a very long voyage. in six years, twenty ages had passed over his house. i found him in a library, the windows of which, in arabesque, admitted but a doubtful and fatiguing light through their vitriolated colours. his books (all on legal subjects) were ranged on lacquered shelves, surmounted by escutcheons, on which one was surprised to meet with such devices as the following: la science est folle parole; ne suivons que d'amour l'ecole! leave science to the pedant fool; be joy your study; love, your school. or:amour abat orgueil des braves! valour itself submits to love. or :tout pour les dames! all for the ladies; and other conceits of a similar kind. i fixed a day to dine with him, en famille, and the family was assembled on my arrival, in the saloon, and revolutions of fashion. 53 formed one of the most grotesque groups i ever beheld. my friend's father, in a flowered drugget, and a large curled wig, was seated in a kind of curule chair; the master of the house, who had an engagement with his wife, to a nobleman's route in the evening; was dressed altogether in the french style; he was seated, or rather squatted on a very low ottoman, which extended all round the saloon. the lady, in a medician robe, had an indian shawl wrapt round her arm; her daughter was habited in the greek, her son in the english costume, and the younger children in that of the mamelukes. "i had hoped to console myself for the capricious fluctuations of fashion, in contemplating the immutable beauties of art. i had left our school of painting at its most flourishing epoch, when david, gerard, and girodet had revived these fine forms, and that grand style of antiquity, of which, i am an idolater. i entered a saloon; i saw nothing but gothic monuments, obscure arches, women buried in velvet, and men imprisoned in steel. i stopped with the multitude, before a picture, in which every face, masked in a visor, left me nothing to recognise for a human countenance, except the squinting eyes and flat nose of our gallant duguesclin; a personage whose virtues were better adapted for historic illustration, than his features for pictorical effect. i had once repeated, with a lively author, whom idleness, unluckily, had led to the muses: who will e 2 54 revolutions of fashion. 6 deliver me from the greeks and the romans!! i now exclaimed, on recollecting myself: who will deliver me from the french knights-errant!' * • "i had not indeed, found shelter from their attacks, when i set out on a country excursion, proposing to visit a friend who possessed a small estate at some leagues distant from paris. i learned that he had sold this agreeable property, in order to purchase an old castle, the cradle of an illustrious family to which he had taken it into his head that he was related. thi ther he had repaired to celebrate the majority of his eldest son. i proceeded, not in the highest spirits, for this noble mansion, situated at the extremity of lower britanny. i arrived, after having been overturned three times in the neighbourhood of quimperlé. it took me a quarter of an hour to wind round a pinnacled wall, flanked with towers and turrets: i at last found the draw-bridge, which i passed without opposition, though somewhat disconcerted at not having an esquire to sound a horn. i announced myself to the governor's only servant, who was dusting his master's coat in the armoury. after a long circuit through the obe scure corridors of this yast edifice, i found m. n*** in an apartment, of which most of the rafters were naked; it was ornamented, however, with family portraits, and some black leather chairs, on which it was necessary to mount in order to look out of window. our conversation during two days, turned on the nobility revolutions of fashion. 55 and traditions of the place. he gave me an airing in a calash, drawn by the horses of the farm, on a plain where jousts and tournaments were formerly held. in a superb chapel, half of which had recently tumbled down, i heard mass from a priest, whose chasuble was made out of an old piece of utrecht velvet. we dined tolerably well with the mayor, a justice of the peace, and a tax-gatherer, in what was formerly called the servant's hall; i slept, as well as may be imagined, to the music of owls and rats, in an old bed, with flowered hangings, in which, it seems, the constable de clisson formerly reposed; and i resumed with infinite satisfaction, my route to paris, cursing the coldness of my imagination, which rendered me more sensible of the absurdity resulting from an incongruous association of things, than of any interest attached to the times, the persons, and the recollections which they recal. a. p." this letter, the malice and the gaiety of which i leave my readers to appreciate, will serve as a preface to a very short dissertation on fashions, in which i propose to pass in rapid review, the principal revolutions which they have undergone in france, and the absurdities which they have successively introduced in their train. among other contrasts which compose the french character, the most striking and inex~ plicable, is that taste for variety, and that pas56. revolutions of fashion. sion for routine, which our nation only has found the secret of uniting. it is from this compound principle that we change the form of our habits and our furniture, two or three times in an age; and that half paris still prefers to drink at the same price, the brackish water of the seine, to water which has been crystallised. we are discussing, however, the question of fashion, not of routine, and we will not wander from the subject. if we wish to form an idea of the different revolutions of our costume since the origin of the monarchy, it is in the museum of the petits-augustins, that we ought to commence our study. we there perceive that the roman chlamyde, the coat of the sicambres, and the amice or hood, formed during two or three ages, the vestments and the headdress of the early french. in these distant times, the different classes of society were distinguished by the amplitude, the quality, and the trimmings of the chlamyde, the form of which, towards the end of the seventeenth century, began to exhibit a visible alteration. silk was exclusively reserved for princes and persons of the highest distinction: the inferior orders were restricted to the use of camlet and woollen. as far as we are enabled to judge from some shapeless monuments of art, (replunged at this period into barbarism) which furnish us with the only authorities we can collect respecting these remote ages, our ancestors manifested the same inconsistency of revolutions of fashion. 57 | taste, with which their descendants have since been so loudly reproached. that protection demanded by industry, and the just bounds within which luxury ought to be restrained in a poor state, had fixed the attention of the sage louis ix. "it is proper," said that prince in his instructions to his son, "that every one should dress according to his condition. a man whose only object is to please his mistress ought to be handsomely attired; and his general appearance should be such that old people shall not reproach him with ostentation, nor young ones with meanness.” philip le bel, in the following age, revived in full vigour the ancient sumptuary laws, in order to repress the luxury of the bourgeoise, who affected at this time an equality with the court chariots were interdicted to the bourgeoise women, and they were forbidden, under the penalty of fines, to be attended with wax torches when abroad at night: furs of certain qualities and jewels were reserved for the nobility: gilt girdles became the exclusive appendage of courtezans, and honest women consoled themselves by repeating the proverb, "bonne renommée vaut mieux que ceiture dorée." “a good name is better than a gilt girdle.” this sumptuary law has been exploded, and we have retained the proverb, but without making any deductions from it. a man of letters and of wit (this expression involves no 58 revolutions of fashion. pleonasm) started, some years since, the ingenious idea of composing a history of france in ballads, not according to the project of certain hungry poetasters who propose to reduce into doggerel rhyme and set to the airs of the pontneuf, the elements of grammer, of physic, and even the articles of the civil code; but in combining by an historical commentary the various songs, carrols, and satirical couplets, which have appeared at different periods of our history, and which are connected with its principal events. the satire ménippée contains a great number of satirical couplets, to which we are indebted for a multitude of anecdotes respecting the league, which we should in vain search for any where else. the mazarinades are the true memoirs of la fronde, and have this advantage over all others, that they render us, as it were, contemporary with that epoch of intrigues, by trasporting us into the midst of those personages who acted the principal parts in it. an universal history of fashions, executed on the same plan, would undoubtedly be one of the most interesting and original works which has yet been published. nor can the slightest imputation of frivolity be attached to such a subject, considered in its necessary relationship to manners, to laws, and the general spirit of ages and nations. in contemplating the orientals, under a burning sky, covered with pelisses, shawls, and stuffs of all kinds; in observing their feet, revolutions of fashion. 59 which play in their ample slippers, may we not pronounce, without farther investigation, that these are a lazy and indolent people? who cannot perceive in the dutchman, in his blue compact habit, in his round unpowdered wig, the man of economy, laborious, and destitute of imagination? in the hungarian, beneath his rich and martial costume, a character fierce and independent? is not the ancient greek dressed, or rather ornamented, in habiliments most favourable to beauty, the proper representative of a people who held the sceptre of arts? if the character of nations discovers itself in their fashions, we may likewise recognise in them the grand epochs of their history. among ourselves, for instance, does not every revolution in manners reflect itself in our habits?— during the first ages, charlemagne, who appears with his hair cropt square across his neck, with a woollen tunic embroidered with silk, a sheep-skin mantle clasped after the manner of the roman emperors, and with sandal shoes; does not this combination suggest to us the idea of barbarism, mingled with an impression of high cultivation? are we not taught to recognise in him the conqueror who assumed the title of augustus, and who appropriated for sale the eggs of his poultry-yard, and his garden-vegetables? in the days of feudalism, when war was the only science, and when there was no rank below nobility, men were clad in iron, and women in their husband's coats of one side of a petticoat, of a lady of the arms. 60 revolutions of fashion. house of dreux, was occupied by a martlet, and the other by a crescent gules checked with ermine. women, if we may so express it, lived under the buckler which defended them. during the succeeding ages, the progress of arts and intelligence exhibited itself in the reigning modes, which were characterised by an elegant capriciousness, a species of pomp, the offspring of chivalrous imagination, and of spanish genius modified by french taste: and this composed, at the time of francis i., the most picturesque costume which this nation has ever adopted. louis xiv., whose personal character had so much influence on that of his age, accomplished at the expense of taste, but to the great advantage of the nobility and of gravity, a complete revolution in the fashions of his time, wherein majesty did not always display itself divested of charlatanery.-after him, both manners and habits lost their nobility, and retrograded from simplicity: the spirit of society made great progress, urbanity began to generalise, but public manners grew corrupt, and those licensed freedoms which good taste condemns became established. the french costume, short and scanty, preserved nevertheless something of elegance. in proportion as the different classes confounded themselves with each other, good sense, good taste, and the distinction of manners disappeared from society, and an eccentricity in fashion preceded by some years that more serious extravagance, which the nation was preparing itrevolutions of fashion. 61 self to exhibit. while the men, less culpable in the interim, equalised themselves by the frock, the women emulated each other in selfdisfigurement, by the immeasurable height of their head-dresses. the revolution arrived: superfluous ornament was then so retrenched that the body was left almost naked; in the same degree that the moral licentiousnes of the times discovered the vices of the soul. in the immense picture of great events, produced by little causes, fashion necessarily occupies a considerable place. one of the greatest misfortunes which france has had to lament, the divorce of louis le jeune, from elinor of guyenne, resulted from the fashion, which this prince wished to introduce, of shaving his chin and cropping his head. the queen, his wife, who appears to have possessed, with a masculine beauty, considerable acuteness of intellect, observed with some humour, that she imagined herself to have espoused a monarch, not a monk. the obstinacy of lewis in shaving himself, and the horror conceived by elinor at the sight of a beardless chin, occasioned france the loss of those fine provinces which constituted the dowry of this princess; and which devolving to england by a second marriage, became the source of wars which desolated france during 400 years. among many other subjects of hatred which the french nation bore to charles the bald may be counted the singularity which he affected in his dress. his greek habits completed his alienation from the hearts of vol. iii. f 62 revolutions of fashion. his subjects; and were in part the cause that no one exerted himself to punish the crime of the jew sedecstas, who poisoned him. it is principally on the hair of the beard that the caprices of fashion, among us, are exercised. short and long locks, the beard thick or shaven, la royale or le barbichon, mustachios turning up or down, all these modes, which have varied the french physiognomy into a hundred different appearances, are of illustrious origin; the close-crops of the reign of francis i. were occasioned by a wound which this prince received in the head, and which obliged him to have his hair cut off. the beautiful hair of louis xiv., when a child, introduced the use of peruques with long floating curls. the enormous wigs which succeeded to these, which were adopted by all europe, but which have now become a mere appendage of the magistracy, were invented towards the end of the seventeenth century, by a celebrated wigmaker, named duviller, in order to conceal a slight inequality in the shoulders of the dauphin. hy mustachios were elevated into a great importance, in the sixteenth century. the spaniard borrowed on the credit of his mustachios, and the frenchman swore by them. "i have great esteem," (says an author of this period) " for a young man, who is anxious to equip himself with a handsome pair of mustachios, and who considers that time well employed, which he devotes to their cultivation; in proportion as he revolutions of fashion. 63 attends to them, his soul will be capable of great and heroic actions." mustachios, on the contrary, seem to have been considered by the historian, grainger, as a sign of declination. the beard," says he, "degenerated into mustachios under the reign of the two charles's of england, and disappeared entirely with james ii., as if its destruction had been allied to that of the house of stuart." the strength of the stuarts, might perhaps have lain in their beards, as that of samson did in his locks; nevertheless, we may be permitted to believe that the talents and valour of the prince of orange, and the extreme weakness of his father-in-law, contributed to the ruin of this family, at least in an equal degree with the discredit which its chief had attached to mustachios. a multitude of volumes have been written on head-dresses and beards; and this part of our fashions has been followed in all its variations; these researches, which have been of considerable utility to artists, have not supplied any assistance to the historian. the best thing which was ever said on the subject of beards, is that of henry iv. "the wind of adversity has blown on my beard." fashion is the empire of women-it owns no law but their caprice; but the extravagance of its fluctuations has not always been reconcileable to the strictest idea of delicacy. i shall cite, among many examples of the fantastic taste, that event which brought into vogue, under 64 revolutions of fashion. another name, the colour called the yellow-leaf, which until then, had been held in excessive contempt. the archduke albert besieged ostend in 1601; the infanta isabella, his wife, daughter of philip ii. made a vow, which would not, probably, have come into the head of as frenchwoman; it was, that she would not change any of the vestments which she then wore, until the place was taken, the siege lasted three years and seventy-eight days. such a lapse of time must have occasioned a singular alteration in the whiteness of the linen worn immediately next the skin; and the archduchess never quitted it, conformably to her vow, until the day that she entered the city. her courtiers equally officious, and equally ingenious, perhaps, with those of the grand lama, adopted and brought into vogue, under the name of isabella, a colour which recalled, as often as it met their eye, a most agreeable image. the use of bracelets, of necklaces, and of ear-rings (the only ornament common to all females of every age and of every nation) was universally adopted during the reign of charles vii. agnes sorel was the first in france, who employed diamonds for this purpose. isabeau of bavaria, who had extremely handsome shoulders, had at the same time, too much volatility to conform herself to the guimpe, or nun's handkerchief, which was worn in the french court, at the time she arrived there. it is to this beautiful and vicious queen, that we might ascribe the honor of those robes, revolutions of fashion. 65 0 " open on the back, which the present age has improved to such an extent, as to justify isabeau from that reproach of indecency which her contemporaries lavished upon her. henry ii., from a contrary motive, in order to conceal a scar which he had received on his neck, the origin of which, he apprehended, might expose him to contempt, or rather, in order to escape contempt altogether, invented the ruff; and the women, always in extremes, adopted, but with excessive exaggeration, the mode which the prince had introduced. catherine de medicis made it her principal ornament, and some years after, a queen of the same house, mary de medicis, without diminishing the amplitude of the ruff, gave it a direction more favourable to a display of the neck; she bequeathed her name to this article of dress, which was revived with extraordinary eclat, by the french ladies at the commence. ment of the nineteenth century. this ornament, common to both sexes at the time of the medicis, was adopted by all europe. john stowe, an english author and tailor, has left some invaluable memorials respecting the fashions of his country, he says, “at this epoch, the reputation of a young cavalier consisted in the size of his ruff, and the length of his rapier." the reign of henry iii. was that of perfumers; this effeminate prince who passed every day, four hours at his toilette, and who slept in prepared gloves, in order to give delicacy to f 2 66 revolutions of fashion. his hands, found it easy to disseminate his own taste for cosmeticks among the women, and that multitude of young voluptuaries who reigned in his name. the italian perfumers were at that time the most celebrated; numbers came to settle at paris; and this art, so highly esteemed and contributing so much to the enjoyments of the orientalists, was there carried to a perfection, which, notwithstanding all their efforts, the teissiers, the fargeons, and the ribans, have not been able to attain. . one of the most ridiculous adjuncts of the female toilette in former times, the vertugadin, originated during the sixteenth century: it was ridiculously imagined to give elegance to the shape by rounding the hips, and the women, in compliment to their modesty, called it virtue garden, corrupted into vertugadin. this embellishment, abandoned for more than an age, reappeared in full splendour, under the name of the panier; this was the name of a solicitor who died at that epoch, and some élégantes took this method of immortalising his name by an absurdity. this panier enveloped all the women in europe. addison dilates on the subject with no less wit than severity: he compares the monstrous superfluity, to those sacred enclosures of the african nations, in the centre of which, we discover, enclosed by seven or eight circumvallations, the god, who, after all, is nothing but a diminutive ape. this pleasantry has so much spirit in the original text that i will transcribe it. revolutions of fashion. 67 "when i survey this new-fashioned rotunda, (the paniers in question) i cannot but think of the old philosopher, who, after having entered into an egyptian temple, and looked about for the idol of the place, at length discovered a little black monkey, inshrined in the midst of it, upon which he could not forbear crying out: what a magnificent palace is here for such a ridiculous inhabitant." i shall now speak of recent and existing fashions, with some details, in their relationship to taste, manners, and local affinities. after having thrown a rapid coup-d'œil over the principal revolutions of france, since the foundation of the monarchy to the present times, i arrest ny course for a moment at the eighteenth century; of which i have seen the larger half, and to the follies of which, i recollect with some compunction, i did all in my power to contribute. during the latter years of louis xivth., the court subjected to the immutable ordinations of etiquette, conformed itself to the manners of the prince, and the gaiety of fashion, was supplanted by a disgusting formality. the old noblemen felt no inclination to revive a costume contemporary with their youth and their glory; the young ones were fearful of hazarding the slightest change, under the eyes of a suspicious monarch, who considered every species of innovation as an insult to his authority, or at least, as an indirect satire on those customs which he himself had originally established. thus, on 68 revolutions of fashion, one side, the fear inspired by the king; on the other, the excessive prudery affected by madame maintenon, subjected for some time, both the court and the city to a sullen uniformity, the most intolerable yoke which could possibly have been imposed on the french nation. on the death of lewis xiv. the proteus of fashion burst his fetters, and established himself at the court of the regent. the duke of or leans retained in his mature age, the propensities of his youth, and himself gave the signal of that sudden revolution, which was immediately effected in costume and in manners. the young gentry immediately exchanged their large doublets, and long skirts, for the polish cloak and the turkish vest; they passed from the church to the tavern, from the sermons to the operas, and honoured themselves with the appellation of roues, to which we can ascribe no other meaning than that of the punishment which their debaucheries frequently merited.* the bon ton, at that time, was to pass the day in a tavern, and to present themselves at the "ceil-de-bœuf," flushed with wine, and their noses covered with snuff. the toilette grew almost obsolete amidst this systematic derange. ment; stockings drawn on athwart the leg, ruffled lace, and a disordered head-dress, formed for a red-heeled petit-maitre, the last degree of elegance and polished manners. *the punishment of the wheel, but roue, in the dictionary of the academy is explained to be the familiar appellation for a person devoid of principle. revolutions of fashion. 69 this revolution in system, contributed more than any thing else to that inundation of false taste, which overwhelmed both fashion and the arts during the reign of louis xv. the scandalous fortunes amassed by financiers, gave birth to the most enormous absurdities: these upstart gentry, having risen for the most part, from the dregs of society, imagined themselves imitating the manners of the court, while they adopted its vices, and exaggerated its luxuries. under a habit, bedizened with gold lace and embroidery, heaped on, without taste, and without selection, the farmer-general felt himself an important personage, but he was still only a turcaret. in order to conceal, as much as possible, those traits, of which nobility was not the distinctive character, they invented the perruque, à la financière; by which the head was, in some degree enveloped in a triple row of buckles, knots, and curls. that practice, the most absurd and unaccountable of which we have any record, the practice of wearing powder began at this epoch. the young duke of fronsac, (afterwards marshal richelieu) was the first who adopted it. dress, at the same time, began to lose something of its amplitude, cuffs gave way to laced ruffles, the frill was substituted for the band, and stockings rolled over the knee, remained in the world, as on the stage, the exclusive appurtenance of extreme old age. suppers formed, at that time, the fashionable repast; those of the regent, at the palais70 revolutions of fashion. royal, were distinguished for spirit and gaiety, yet were regulated by a species of etiquette, which excluded that liberty, or in other words, license, which this prince, sufficiently amiable in other respects, associated with his pleasures. in order to disengage himself from the vestige of restraint, he substituted for the grand suppers of the palais-royal, the little suppers of the luxembourg, where his daughter, the duchess of berry did the honours a little too gaily. this retreat at the luxembourg, of which we will not stop to consider all the conveniencies, gave, i believe, the first idea of petites maisons, of those pretended and mysterious asylums, where pleasure, it was imagined, had been secured by the expulsion of ceremony; where domestics had been excluded in prudential precaution; and in fine, where the fugitive sought concealment, like the galatea of virgil, in order to be seen more effectually. whatever was the origin and purpose of these petites maisons, they gave birth to an evening deminegligè, of which the male head-dress, was analagously, a hat à la jaquet, and that of the women, (in derision, no doubt) the cap of minerva. the painter, boucher, had too much influence on the fashions of his day, to allow us to forget him in a history of their revolutions. his pictures, the extraordinary popularity of which, may give some idea of the state of degradation into which the arts had fallen in france, were, during more than fifteen years revolutions of fashion. 71 (from 1724 to 1740) the sole authorities of fashion. this affected painter, who was most ridiculously called the painter of the graces, became the oracle of all the pretty women of this epoch, each of whom endeavoured to model her appearance by some figure in his pictures. they imitated the capricious draperies, of purple, pink, and grey stuffs, in which boucher dressed up those puppets, which he denominated shepherdesses. this was the time for pompoons, furbelows and for trinkets of all kinds, with which female costume is incumbered. in order to form a just idea of the bad taste of those times, it is only necessary to give a glance at the general collection of head-dresses, and the assemblage of french fashions, formerly at desnos'; and even now consulted with avidity by the curious. the rage for knick-knacks extended itself through all the empire of luxury: the women were all enraptured with chinese monsters, japan vases, lackered toilets, tapestries in camaieu, cut parterres, and lap-dogs. boucher, whom the king had nominated his first painter, by way of recompensing him, no doubt, for having painted his portrait as hercules, with an eagle on his head, might boast of having given the tone to his age, and to have corrupted the arts in all their departments. his style, unfor tunately is not the only memorial which he has left of his influence. 72 revolutions of fashion. the use of powder introduced innumerable alterations in the head-dresses, both of men and women. towards the end of the reign of louis xv., the men, familiar at court, wore their hair buckled and tied behind with a simple ribband, which allowed it to float over their shoulders. some elegantès accustomed themselves to tie it up during the morning, in a purse of black taffeta, to which they gave the name of the bag, and this, at last, formed part of a full-dress. the bag varied its form and colour; sometimes it exhibited itself at the tuileries, in a sky-blue or rose colour: the bourgeois restricted themselves to the crapeau, a little round purse, which confined the hair close to the head. while the men displayed in their head-dresses, the various inventions of the horse-shoe, (coiffures en fer à cheval) the pigeon's wings, the hundred curls, and the cavalier's wig; the women exceeded them in an absurdity, the privilege of which they preserved to themselves. the famous leònard has immortalised it— > en portant jusque'au ciel l'audace des coiffures. raised the audacious head-dress to the sky. at this time, (in 1775) women were obliged to remove the cushions from the seats of carriages, in order to find room; and they took especial care to enter head-foremost, lest any accident should happen to the coiffure; several pleasant caricatures appeared on the subject, in one of which, we see a gallant, who knocks out revolutions of fashion. 73 the top of a coach gateway, for the purpose of introducing into his hotel, a lady whom he had under his arm. in another, a set of fire-men are playing their engines in order to extinguish a conflagration, which has burst out in one of those gigantic head-dresses. here the coiffure mounted on a double ladder, had the appearance of a hedge-row of elm trees. there, that of a young sportsman, exploring the summit of the head-dress, in search of the birds inhabiting it, as in a lofty forest. leonard held the title of hair-dresser to the court: it was established that no lady should be presented unless he had dressed her hair, and had received from her a douceour of ten guineas, mysteriously presented: this was the price which he expected for the stroke of his comb. a geometrician calculated, that a lady's face occupied exactly the centre point, betwixt her feet, and the summit of that edifice of hair, which surmounted her head. this curious scaffolding gave way all at once, and little bonnets, whose nomenclature alone would fill a volume, succeeded with the rapidity of that caprice which gave them birth, and which determined their duration. every new event exploded the preceding fashion. the romance of paul and virginia, brought into vogue the creole head-dress, and the success of la folle har amour, gave birth to the hat, a la nina. vol. iii. g 74 revolutions of fashion. the revolution commenced, and fashion enjoyed a kind of saturnalia: we met in the same saloon, the bourgeois in an embroidered habit, the marquis in a frock, the petit-maitre, en chenille (caterpillar), the anglican in boots; women en levite, en pierrot, en caraco, and in longtailed robes. terror, in a red bonnet, soon simplified the costume; and the carmagnole was admitted as a habit of luxury, among a nation of sans culottes. the first moments of tranquillity, re-illumined the torch of pleasure, and gaiety was the only impulse. the balls of the hotel de richelieu, the concerts of feydeau, the fêtes of garchi, and of the pavillion d'hanovre, witnessed the resuscitation of our élégantes in the greek costume, and the young men assumed the headdress of the roman emperors. at length, after the costumes of all nations, ancient and modern, had passed before us, during the space of a few years, our women appear to have selected whatever is most agreeable from each, for the formation of their own. i except, however, the chinese head-dress, the immeasurable height of which, deprives the head of all proportion and grace; and imposes a penance on every man who has the misfortune to be placed at a spectacle, behind one of those demielegantes, who have lately adopted this miserable caricature. the reigning fashions, although partially imitated, as i have said, from originals too remote, leave us little to wish, since they have. revolutions of fashion. 75 been adopted with reference to our habitual feelings, our manners, and our climate. perhaps one would wish a little more of the ideal. a refined morality is estimated, in our modern imaginations, before every thing, and we exact, from whatever lays claim to the homage of our adıniration, the charm of delicacy and mystery. when a female betrays, in every step she takes in the street, the beauties of her person, does she not, in part, divest herself of her influence? a long civilisation renders us difficult to please every charm which a woman reveals, every veil she discards, may be considered as an attraction sacrificed. i speak here in the interest of love, which can never be separated from that of modesty. the greatest inconvenience in the reigning fashions, is the expense they occasion. luxury, though perhaps essential to the state, ought not be considered an obligation of custom. it is injudicious to make the cachemire shawl an indispensable appendage for every woman, or the lace veil for all young wives: i do not like to see at a spectacle, the wife of a merchant, glittering in as superb a set of diamonds as the marchioness in the adjacent box, to whom, she probably sold a dress during the morning. women, it cannot be denied, pay more attention to their intellect, at present, than formerly: how is it then that their expenses are increased in so alarming a proportion? here, a woman who, herself, nurses all her children, ruins them by her luxury: and the bills of le 76 revolutions of fashion. • roi produce, at least as much trouble in affairs of house-keeping, as love-letters could do. if women only adorned themselves, as heretofore, for the purpose of pleasing the men, i would take on myself to convince them, i, who am in the secret of these things, that so much expense is useless; that men take no account but of such ornaments as are becoming, that they understand what pleases, and not what it is necess ry to admire; that a little grace, wit, and amiability, which cost nothing, charm them infinitely beyond jewels and embroidery, which occasion ruin. but what purpose does all my discourse answer? women, at present, dress for-women; the toilette is nothing more than the instrument of a cold ambition which they exercise on each other, and as these ladies are, in general, sufficiently difficult to convince on the subject of their respective attractions, they have resorted to an infallible criterion for establishing their superiority-the price of a shawl or a diamond. the male habit in france, is, what it has constantly been since the reign of henry iii. inclusively, (whatever change it may have undergone) scanty, incommodious, and ungraceful it has besides, in my eyes, the inconvenience of confounding all ranks and all professions; this perhaps may be a prejudice peculiar to my age, but i cannot see what utility can result from the pretensions of persons to a distinction to which they have no right; it appears to me, too, that an equality of costume revolutions of fashion. 77 tends to create an ambition in many to rise above their condition, since a similarity of habit contributes to preserve that esprit de corps, so necessary in all professions. the magistrate, in long locks had more gravity; the physician, in a black robe, and a large wig, would not have dared to jest at the pillow of a dying man; the sword worn by the courtier, enforced on him a law of politeness; and the venerable habit peculiar to the ecclesiastic exacted from him the greatest circumspection in his conduct and conversation. if an epoch be objected to me, in which it was different, it was at a time when society was tending towards its destruction, and i find in it the proof, not the refutation of an opinion, which i maintain after duclos and st. fois. it would be worthy of the age in which we live, to create a national costume, which should re-establish those gradations, and which, more favourable to the exterior of men, should associate for women, the forms most favorable to beauty, such as would impress respect, and preserve to them the prepossessions of imagination. g 2 78 no. v.-10th nov. 1813. 10th an execution at the place de greve, d'un spectacle cruel indignement avide, turbulent, curieux avec compassion, tout un peuple s'agite autour de la prison: etrange empressement de voir des misérables! on hâte, en gemissant, ces momens formidables. volt. tancrede, act. 3. sec. 3. with barbarous haste, with tumult fierce and loud, round the dire scaffold throng the curious crowd; they pant for blood, and urge with furious breath the destin'd hour to feast their eyes with death. i had occasion to remark, in my last essay, that particular contrast in the french character, constituted by a love of novelty, and an attachment to custom. this strange contradiction, though equally strong, is perhaps less offensive, at the first glance, than that of excessive politeness, and of ferocious curiosity, for which the people, and principally those of this capital, have at all times been distinguished. in fact, what different ideas must suggest themselves to two strangers, one of whom had only seen the parisians at the opera; the other, only in traversing the city along the quays, on the an execution at the, &c. 79 day of an execution at the place de grève? what must the last imagine, on finding his carriage arrested, at every instant, in the midst of an immense crowd pressing round the hotel de ville and the palais de justice; in hearing the confused and tumultuous shouts of the populace, which are raised pretty nearly in the same degree, whatever be the circumstance which occasions them? this stranger, who sees on the road the ar tisan quit his shop; the bourgeois forget his dinner-hour; women stationed at the windows; others mingled in the crowd, with which the quays and the bridges are covered; the taverns and public houses filled with guests; must not this stranger, i say, imagine himself arrived at paris on the day of a grand solemnity? suppose also, that he questions his postillion, and is informed that this concourse of people, that all this eagerness is for the purpose of enjoying the last agonies of an unhappy wretch, condemned to execution; would not the traveller, in order to reconcile the traces of civilisation he had observed, with such barbarous habits— would he not be justified in believing himself in the midst of a horde of savages, recently established in the capital of a civilised nation? curious to observe a little nearer this multitude of the borders of the seine, he descends, mingles among the crowd, and addressing him self to one of the inhabitants of la grève, he inquires what was the use of those piles of wood-work which are now being pulled down, 80 an execution at the and which appear to have belonged to some grand construction; the person replies, that these vestiges formed part of a vast wooden edifice, which had been erected a fortnight since, for the purpose of public rejoicing.-and this other building of smaller extent, which they prepare on the same spot? that is a scaffold, where we shall see, precisely at four o'clock, a well-known individual, who has been tried and convicted of assassination. i imagine that at this response, the stranger must say to himself, "what! the inhabitants of this good city erect then, in the same place, ball-rooms and scaffolds! they mingle, in idea at least, the sounds of a violin and the cries of a malefactor! they appoint, at the same time, and in the same place, fêtes and executions! i have deceived myself, these persons are not savages; they are fools." i have often made this reflection, which i here ascribe to my traveller; and i never pass the place de grève, without trembling at this terrifying contrast, the image of which is always before my eyes. this place, the name of which revives the most odious recollections, was, at the commencement of the 14th age, appropriated to the execution of criminals. it is painful to learn that innocent blood was the first which flowed here. an unhappy female heretic, named margaret porette, scarcely thirty years old, was burnt here in 1310, for having written, that the soul, absorbed in god, is at the height of every virtue, and has nothing more to do: and that when a cerplace de greve. 81 tain degree of virtue is attained, one cannot go beyond it. four hundred years afterwards, another female was allowed to utter, with impunity, nearly the same absurdities four ages hence, and perhaps we shall run the risk of being burnt, for denying the evidence of the same propositions; so unerring is human reason! so infallible is human justice!-previously to this execution, criminals were put to death in the market-places, which still participated, during more than an age, with la grève, the miserable prerogative of scaffolds. in this last place, were decapitated, in 1898, the two augustin monks, who had engaged, for a large remuneration, and on the penalty of their lives, to cure charles vi. of an incurable malady, with which he was struck. the two friars lost their heads, and the king did not recover his own. the last execution, which took place in a market-place, in 1477, was that of the unhappy duke of nemours, whose children, placed on the scaffold, by order of the cruel louis xi., were covered with the blood of their father. this unfortunate man was conducted from the bastile to the place of his execution, on a horse, caparisoned with black. since that epoch, every sentence of death, passed at paris, has been executed at the place de grève. in coming, some days since, out of the hotel de ville, i stopt for some moments on the steps; when i found myself assailed, all at once, by a multitude of ideas and of painful recollections. i imagined that i had under my 82 an execution at the eyes, the scaffold where a brave general perished so miserably, surrounded by the beaumonde, who came to have the pleasure of seeing his head fall; that enormous gibbet where the unfortunate favras was one of the first to pay his life for his unalterable fidelity. i contemplated, with shuddering, this hotel de ville, the witness of so many crimes and so many executions. i ran over, in idea, the sanguinary records of la grève, where i read with horror the names of ravailhac, of brinvilliers, of damien, of cartouche, and all the frightful succession of human atrocities. every kind of crime-robbery, assassination, poisoning, parricide, sacrilege, finds there its ignominious illustration; and according to the remark of the judicious author of "essays on paris," all the monsters who have figured at this place, would form an assemblage more numerous than any one of those which have been collected at their execution. these melancholy ideas, on which my mind engaged itself involuntarily during the rest of the day, continued to occupy me in the evening, when i met dr. m., one of those men, who, as sterne says, "seek the north-east passage of the intellectual world, to expedite their arrival at the land of science." this learned physician, the great enemy of systems, and of speculative theories, has occupied himself, during six years, on a work" on the affinities of physiology and morals," in the execution of which, he spends great part of his time in priplace de greve. 83 sons, in order to collect his facts, to multiply his authorities, and to extend his experience. the interest of the science, and the constant preoccupation of a single idea, protects him from any painful feeling, and even from the ridicule sometimes excited by the diligence he uses to be present at the apprehension of great criminals, to follow them before the tribunals, into the prisons, and even to the foot of the scaffold, at the risk of being confounded with those unfeeling idlers, who seek, indifferently, a spectacle at la grève or at tivoli. persons who are accustomed to confound the words and ideas of sensation and of sentiment, who take no account of the strength of will and the force of habit, would find it difficult to believe the sensibility of a man, who makes it his task to watch, in the heart of a condemned criminal, the last sighs of hope, and to observe human nature at war with the idea of destruction. the doctor explains extremely well, and proves still better by his practice, that the operations of the mind and the movements of the soul are not on the same principle, and ought not to be judged of by the same results. mr. m. concluded, while yet arguing, by making me promise to attend him the next day to the conciergerie, to see the assassin laumond, previous to the hour of his being brought forth for his execution. the doctor was exact; but at the moment of setting out, i felt a compunction at heart, which would have made me renounce my pro-94 an execution at the ject, if i had not been ashamed of exposing all my weakness to a man who would not have done honour to my sensibility. we departed. on the road, he recounted to me the frightful details of the murder committed on the fruiterer of verneuil street. the unhappy being whom we are going to see," said he, in finishing his narration, " is a new proof, in support of a truth which i shall exemplify by his whole career it is, that the door of a gaming-house is one of the gates to the gibbet. during fifteen years that i have studied, that i have been making observations on great criminals, i have scarcely seen any who have not been seized, either with the dice or the cards in their hands." without giving me time to object to what i might consider exaggerated in this assertion, he applied the principle to the whole life of this laumond, whom he described, even in his childhood, abandoned to that love of gaming which he retained during his whole career, in public places among children of his own age, who played the prelude to the same vices, in yielding to the same inclinations." in turn, a bad son, a bad husband, a bad father, i should have concluded," continued the doctor," from the details only of his private life, that the head of such a man must be consigned to the executioner before the age of thirty. one thing only surprises me," added he, "it is, that a wretch whose crime evinced so much weakness, should have had the courage to dispense with the privilege of pleading not guilty, to place de greve. 85 dispute with justice those hours of agony, and which the law grants the criminal; we scarcely meet with one victim in a thousand who has the resolution to refuse this cruel benefit." we arrived at the prison, and we had great difficulty in traversing the court, where twenty thousand persons waited, with impatience, the moment of execution. the entrance of the conciergerie has nothing repulsive except in the idea attached to it. after having passed under the fatal archwway, guarded by a piquet of soldiers, appointed as an escort to the criminal, we presented ourselves at the wicket, which opened at the voice of the doctor. the silence of death reigned, already, within those vaults, elevated on the site of the ancient palace of our kings: the frightful dungeons, by which we were surrounded, formed, heretofore, part of the apartments which saint louis inhabited. this court, which the criminal paces, revolving his past crimes, or where, perhaps, some innocent sheds his tears in secret, is the same inclosure where king charles v. assembled his council; where the princes of the blood, and the nobility of the kingdom, net to discuss the interests of the people, and the necessities of the state. we were between the two wickets, in the parlour of the wardour's office, whither the criminal was about to be brought. exactly at half-past three, when the serjeant of the imperial court arrived, in order to conduct him to the place of execution, the door of a long obscure corridor opened with vol. iii. h 86 an execution at the a great noise, and the assassin, laumond, appeared between the executioners; not having on the earth, from which he was about to disappear, any other creature who interested himself in his fate, except the virtuous ecclesiastic, whose holy office is to administer consolation to despair, and present hope to repentance. there are emotions, of which, we cannot give an idea, even after having felt them: such are those produced by the sight of a being who breathes, who thinks, who moves, who is in full possession of his faculties, physical and moral; and who in a few minutes will present only the image of death,-will be nothing more than a corpse. i wish in vain, for the power of expressing that which passed within me at the sight of this unfortunate, whose hair fell beneath the fatal scissars, and whom the executioners stripped, after having tied his hands. in contemplating him, standing on a stool, his eyes haggard, his head reclined on his breast, every muscle of his body in convulsive agitation, the assassin disappeared; i no longer saw any thing but a man, and sentiments of horror gave way to those of pity. the bell tolled four. at this signal of death, the gratings flew open: he again saw the sky; he found himself, once more, in the midst of men, from the number of whom he was already proscribed. he mounted into the car of infamy, amidst the noise of imprecations, with which his appearance inspired the multitude, and which accompanied him even to the scaffold, erected in place de greve. 87 the place de grève, which he had more than once traversed, in meditating, perhaps, the crime for which he was about to receive punishment. after the criminal's departure, the doctor conducted me to the keeper's apartments, where we found, in a saloon agreeably decorated, a young person who was taking a lesson in music, and who sung in a sweet voice, accompanying it with the piano, the ballad of "the beautiful country of spain." this near approach of objects so contrasted, of a vile assassin and a young girl, full of grace and innocence; of a gloomy dungeon, and a musical saloon; of the noise of chains, and a song of love; furnished me with a source of reflections which i need only hint, to suggest a similar train to the imaginations of my readers. 88 no. vi.-25th sept. 1813. the races of the champ de mars. quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum. virgil. de leurs pas bruyans battant les champs poudreux, d'un tourbillon de sable obscurcissent les cieux. delille, eneide 8. beating the ground, their burning feet gives rise to clouds of dust which darken all the skies. fas est ab hoste doceri. horace. it is sometimes useful to receive lessons from an enemy. one of the most remarkable chapters of the immortal work of m. de buffon, is that on the horse. this the eloquent writer describes as the most brilliant conquest which man has made over nature; and nobody, after reading his admirable description of the manners of that noble creature, can be astonished at the rank assigned to him by his historian. "in all ages races of the champ de mars. 89 and in every nation of the world," says an english author*, "horses have enjoyed a very high consideration. every body knows that darius was indebted for the throne of persia to the neighing of his horse, which by-the-bye, has made some of those who rail at the facts and exploits of antiquity say, that it might have been as well to suffer the false smerdis to reign, as to supersede him in this manner. bucephalus shared with alexander the glory of his conquests. it is a well established fact, that a roman emperor wished his horse to be named consul; and it has been generally admitted, that that dignity would have become the animal quite as well as the diadem did his master."but without going back so far, and seeking so high for the titles of this beautiful quadruped, let us examine him in that exercise in which he displays to the greatest advantage the valuable qualities of which he is possessed. * adam fitz-adam, author of a periodical work called "the world." author.-mr. jouy seems not to be aware that adam-fitz-adam was the assumed name of mr. moore, the editor of this periodical pubfication, the contributors to which were very nume. rous; comprehending, in addition to mr. moore, h. walpole, mr. w. whitehead, mr. goventrye, mr. j. wharton, mr. j. tilson, mr. dodsley, mr. duncombe, sir c. h. williams, mr. parratt, mr. roberts, the earl of corke, mr. cambridge, the hon. mr. boyle, mr. cole, mr. r. berenger, mr. loveybond, mr. garrick, mr. j. g. cooper, jun. mr. marriott, mr. herring, mr. soame jenyns, mr. mulso, sir. d. dalrymple, mr. ridley, mr. moyle, mr. gataker, mr. burgess, and several anonymous correspondents.---translator. h 2 90. the races of the. the english are unquestionably, of all ma dern people, those who have given their attentention to the care of horses with most success. if it is doubtful whether they have yet brought this race of animals to perfection, it is certain that they have singularly improved that breed, which they designate (principally on account of its swiftness) the race horse. two great means have conducted them to this result; the scrupulous attention with which they apply themselves to establish in the most authentic manner the origin of the race horse; and the institution of the annual meetings at newmarket, &c. the english have borrowed from the arabs the use of genealogies of horses; to establish which, they require evidence better supported, and proofs more numerous than they formerly demanded at the installation of a canon of lyons, or a knight of malta. the taste or rather the passion for horses, which was extinguished in france with the use of tournaments, revived towards the middle of the last century, and it is from that epoch that they date the first experiment of races, in imitation of those adopted in england. this attempt was made in consequence of a wager laid at fontainbleau (during a journey of the court) by an english gentleman whose name i cannot at this moment recollect. he had betted a thousand louis, that in two hours he would perform the journey from fontainbleau to the barrière des gobelins, and he won by some minutes. in the year following, a great french champ de mars. 94lord, on his return from england, (where louis xv. represented him to have been to learn to take care of horses) succeeded in procuring an exhibition of races in the plain des sablons.he endeavoured to provide for their periodical return, but this project was not carried into effect till many years afterwards, when the races of the wood of vincennes were established, which had no object of public utility or national glory in view, since all the horses which ran were brought from england. in instituting annual races, where none are admitted but native horses, and where a prize is given to the winners to indemnify them for their trouble and expenses, the government hoped to excite a spirit of emulation in the proprietors, to bring to perfection the excellent species of french horses. the progress made in a short time renders it impossible to doubt, that the end proposed will be soon attained, and that we shall equal, if not surpass, our neighbours. every civilised nation has a degree of superiority over others, which in some respect distinguishes it; and among many advantages of which the english gratuitously boast, they may establish a just title to one, in the excellence of their stud. this concession i lately made to m. de mairieux, an old anglomaniac of my acquaintance, who is never weary of speaking of the excellence of their grooms, of the cleanliness, convenience, and even the elegance of their stables, and especially of all the minute 92 the races of the attention which is bestowed upon the breeding of the horse in england. i happened to hear a long account, connected with this subject, of a three months' journey which my friend made on the other side of the channel, in the course of which "he bought an old devonshire stallion, which he has just succeeded in smuggling over, and out of which, eight or ten years ago, he might have got some fine colts. he has attended the races at new-market, where he betted ten guineas with the lord mayor's butler; he has visited the stud of mr. brindley; rode a horse belonging to the prince of wales, and made an acquaintance with the duke of york's stable-keeper." it may easily be conceived, that a person with such connexions, and such prepossessions, had some difficulty in persuading himself to accompany me on sunday to the races of the champ de mars. “what can one see here in amusements of this description," said he, " after being in england?" the weather was beautifully fine; he thought he might as well walk there as any where else, and therefore suffered himself to be prevailed upon, and we set off from the coffee-house, where we had breakfasted together, to go to the champ de mars, in the midst of an immense crowd, journeying the same way. we for the first time crossed the river over the bridge of jena, that chef-d'œuvre of art, which the good parisians en oy with indifference, r "et comme accutum s de areils présens.” "as if accustom'd to such glorious gifts." champ de mars. 93 ds 3. i think it is impossible for imagination to form a more magnificent and animated picture than that furnished by the splendid esplanade of the military school, at the moment when the people, in immense numbers, crowded towards it on all sides, to take their places on the terrace, which bounds the enclosed circle. some one near me (he was misinformed i hope) said it was in contemplation to level the earth, and to destroy this vast amphitheatre, which was raised in eight days by the labour of the entire po. pulation of paris, for the memorable federation of 1790. we have so often had occasion to appreciate the advantages of a place so admirably fitted for national fêtes, that it does not seem to me at all probable that this levelling project will be adopted. while the crowd arranged themselves on the ground, the calashes, curricles, buggies, and vehicles of all descriptions, were placed in order along the avenues at the extremity of the champ de mars. the space specially reserved for the race was marked by posts fastened with ropes in the form of a gate. the centre was occupied by spectators on horseback; two tents were opened to persons who had cards of invi. tation; a third more elegantly decorated, was prepared for his excellency the minister of the interior, the judges of the course, the inspec tors of the stud, and the jury of admission. my friend mairieux, quite astonished at the beauty of the coup d'œil, confessed to me, shaking his head, that new-market was far from offering 94. the races of the to the eye so imposing a spectacle. forced to admire the general aspect of the scene, he indemnified himself by censuring the details of it, and he spared at most not more than five or six of the horsemen among those who travelled over the circle; and who successively became the objects of his criticism. "one was mounted on a short-tailed horse, caparisoned like that of an hussar; another trotted in the english way on a flat saddle, with a fly driver, a velvet chabraque of a crimson colour, and a bow upon his horse's tail. this one curvetted on an english saddle, with ornaments on the bridle, the crupper, and the martingale; that galloped a contre pied with impenetrable assurance." all these perversions of costume amused my companion much, who ridiculed equally the riders and their horses. "these were not well formed; those had a bad gait; the others were of no breed. it was easy to perceive from the trot of some, that the modest animals had just quitted the pole of a hackney coach or the shaft of a demi-fortune (a one-horse carriage), to figure on the course as riding-horses, and it could be seen that others, in attempting to gallop, vainly endeavoured to bring back the recollection of their youth." it was four o'clock-the moment at which the race was to commence approached; the horses had been examined by the inspectors, and admitted to be french. the jockies, with their saddles under their arms, dressed in their caps and satin jackets, after having been weighchamp de mars. 95 ed according to custom, finished saddling their horses, and inspected every part of the harness. at length the signal for starting was given, and we hastened to take our stand on a hill, about a hundred toises from the winning-post, in the midst of a worthy family which had been assembled there ever since the morning. the chief member of the house lost no time in letting me know that he had been for the last thirty years a seller of lemonade on the boulevart beaumarchais. the hobby of this good man, who had probably in the course of his life, seen few horses but those of the brewer, who brought him once a week his cask of beer; his hobby i say, was to speak of racing against time in technical language, of which he knew not the meaning, with an assurance extremely ludicrous, to every one but mairieux, who was only occupied in furnishing him with the proper words. it is probable that the lemonade merchant would have finished like larissole by sending his instructor packing, but happily a general cry announced the commencement of the race. two beautiful horses mounted by jockies, who were dressed the one in blue, the other in yellow, ran the first heat with a rapidity at which my companion himself was surprised. the second was not so soon performed, which caused him to pronounce that our jockies did not know their trade, and that those of england were very careful to husband the strength of their horses for the last moment, when they approached the goal. however this may bc, the 96 the races of the yellow jockey finished his career in four minutes and forty-eight seconds; got in twelves seconds before his rival, and was proclaimed the winner of the first race. in the next contest between two mares, the blue jockey had the good fortune to get in twelve seconds before the other. the third race, in which many horses were to run, particularly attracted my attention. i surveyed with extreme pleasure some of the most beautiful animals of the creation, displaying all the suppleness of their muscles, and all the vigour of their nerves, to establish their superiority, of which they seemed to appreciate the advantage. i observed the address and the skill of those who mounted them, and who so largely participated in their success; but what ever attention i gave to the spectacle before my eyes, i was very far from taking as much interest in it as the daughter of the lemonade seiler, near whom i found myself, and whose anxiety and pretty face, had before attracted my notice. this young woman, her eyes fixed on the arena, could not help exclaiming in a tremulous voice," there he is, father-there he is" as she saw a young man in an orange. coloured jacket, mounted on a mare whose ar dour promised well, pass by like lightning"ah! yes it is francis," said the father, with an air of indifference; "it is friend francis," repeated the mother in a lower tone, taking the hand of her daughter; and thel ittle shawl over the bosom of mademoiselle louisa was i champ de mars. 97 m perceived much agitated; a blush covered her cheeks, and her eyes were suffused with tears. at the end of the first heat, francis was left several toises behind by one of his rivals. my pretty neighbour respired with difficulty: her father declared, with a loud laugh, which he meant to be satirical, that "francis would not win the race." madame herbert, his wife, said that they should see," and my friend with a loud voice offered "to bet two to one on the jockey in the orange jacket." this speech was requited with a look of which francis might have been jealous. mairieux was right; in the middle of the second heat, the young man had recovered his lost ground, and collecting for a last effort all the strength of his mare, which he had skilfully managed, he darted, if i may be allowed the word, to the goal, which he reached three seconds before the rival by whom he was most closely pressed. i leave the reader to judge with what pleasure mademoiselle louisa heard the name of the victor proclaimed. i did not quit the herbert family till i had learnt the nature of the interest which they took in the success of francis, nor without complimenting his daughter on a triumph, of which they confessed she was to be the prize. on leaving these good folks, we dined at the house of a restarateur of gros caillou, where i made some notes, and collected some observations which may find a place in a future paper. vol. iii. i 1 98 no. vii.-3d oct. 1813. a dinner of artist's. qu'il est grand, qu'il est douz de se dire à soimeme <je n'ai point d'ennemis, j'ai des rivaux que j'aime; je prends part à leur gloire, a leurs maux, a leurs biens: les arts nous ont unis, leur beaux jours sont les miens. c'est ainsi que la terre avec plaisir rassemble, ces chênes, ces sapins, qui s'élèvent ensemble; un suc, toujours égal, est préparé pour eux : leur pied touche aux enfers, leur ci me est dans les cieux; leur tronc inébranlable et leur pompeuse tête résiste, en se touchant, aux coups de la tempête: ils vivent l'un par l'autre, ils triomphent du tems, tandis que, sous leur ombre, on voit de vils serpens se livrer, en sifflant, des guerres intestines et de leur sang impur arrosser leurs racines. volt. disc. en vers. jealousy in the arts, is the vice of mediocrity. this has been said, i believe, and experience proves it to be true, with some few exceptions, which rather confirm, than militate against the general rule. the four greatest poets in the age of louis xiv., moliere, boileau, racine and la fontaine, lived long togea dinner of artists. 99 ther in the strictest intimacy, and always met once a week with lully, mignard, and dufresnoy. chapelle, one of the corypheuses of the modern sect of epicureans, the brothers brossins, so well known for their devotion to goodliving, counsellor brilhac and many other distinguished persons, at the same epoch established a weekly dinner party at the pomme-depin (pine apple) of which we may form some idea, by reflecting that "les plaideurs" and "le chapelain decoiffée,"* were chiefly composed at these jovial entertainments. from this period we may date the clubs of artists and amateurs, which were so common during the last age, and which have been continued under different names, even to our times. the first of these which enjoyed a great reputation, is the famous society of the temple, (societé du temple) where the grand prior congregated on stated days, all that paris then boasted in literature and the arts. some years afterwards, was formed, under a regimen equally gay, but far less luxurious, the society of the cellar, (societé du caveau) among the founders of which, were piron, duclos, fuselier, the younger crébillon, boucher, rameau, bernard, and collé. never did humour, spirit, and taste, erect a more singular tribunal of criticism. its decisions were pronounced in songs, and often too, upon the productions of its own members. the triumph of the ridicu*two well known works, 100 a dinner of artists. lous, the absence of all pretensions, the difficult union of bitter malice with an unalterable security of intercourse, very speedily advanced the caveau to high celebrity. persons of the first distinction, even the count de maurepas himself, at that period, prime minister, solicited the favour of being admitted. after the dispersion of the associates of the caveau, m. pelletier, the farmer-general, established a dinner at his own house, many of the old visitors of which, still survive, and can remember having seen sterne and garrick during their abode in paris. at a later period, the societies of the vaudeville, and of the modern caveau, by attaching too much importance to the dishes at their table, and giving too much publicity to the manifestation of their pleasures, seem to have had less regard for their enjoy. ments than for the fame of their cook, and the notoriety of some of their members. the disagreeable rule which imposes on every member the task of writing a poetical tribute, the rivalry, and its immediate consequence the jealousy, which rarely fails to spring up between men who cultivate the same branch of litera ture, and wrestle always on the same ground, too often put self-love to the rack, and excite bickerings destructive of harmony, gaiety, and social happiness. perhaps it is essentially necessary to a society of this sort, desirous of preserving all these advantages, that it should be composed of men, whose talents, wit, and situations in life are of various kinds, so that supea dinner of artists. 101 riority in different lines may not become the object of direct comparison, nor the pretext for undue usurpation. there exists in paris the model of an union of this description. the estimable body of artists who have founded it, meet every fortnight to an unceremonious dinner, in a retired place, just calculated for a company of twenty-five persons, among whom are poets, musicians, painters, performers, sculptors, and even a physician, who is not sorry to find occasional opportunities to join such agreeable society. far from inviting the attention of the public, which might be a feather in their cap, but never is an addition to pleasure, these amiable companions have the more wit in consequence of their making the less parade of it, and the greater enjoyment of their natural gaiety, from having no one challenged by their ostentation to keep a register of their follies. poetical impromptus are instantly set to music by the composer, executed by the singer, and sometimes suggest to the painter the idea of a caricature. but these productions, the offspring of jocund hilarity, vanish with it, and have no object beyond that of agreeably filling up the hour which gives them birth. i met a neapolitan gentleman, some time ago in the country, with whom i had formerly became acquainted at the house of his father, the marquis of caraccioli. he had conceived a very high opinion of the french artists of that period, and with many demonstrations of plea1 2 102 a dinner of artists. er. sure, recalled to my recollection, the delightful spring of 1765, which we had spent with madame de lyonne at epinay, where vernet, lagrenée, coustou, souflot, lekain, caillau, sedaine, and grétry passed several weeks togeth"i have travelled through every country in europe," added he, "and have seen nothing for spirit and amiable qualities united with talent, which could be compared to that assemsemblage of celebrated artists. the model is lost even in france, and it is very doubtful if it will ever be found again." as a complete answer to this declaration, i invited my neapolitan friend to dine one day at la g *** when a meeting was certain. i conducted him to a traiteur's of unostentatious appearance, but to whom his guests remained constant as a recompense for services which he had rendered them in less happy times. the eating-room was decorated with simplicity, but with taste; the table served without extravagance, but with abundance. during the early part of the repast, we were occupied with news relating to the republic of arts:-the sale of a picture, a new piece, the annunciation of a concert, the death of a distinguished artist, became in turn, the subject of a conversation, upon which the stranger, beside whom i was seated, had oftener than once occasion to remark with what grace, ease, and learning devoid of pedantry, many of the company expressed their sentiments. the conversation insensibly ceased to be general, and i had an opportunity of answer" a dinner of artists. 103 ing the questions which he asked, respecting the different persons in whose society he was placed without knowing them but by reputa tion. "what," said he, "is that great young man who speaks little, but whose remarks are extremely pertinent, to all the points which are discussed? he hardly appears to be above thirty-five years of age, notwithstanding this enormous club depending from his powdered grecque of very ancient date !"-"that is one of our most esteemed painters. though still young, he already enjoys a brilliant and merited celebrity. finer in colour than in design, he follows the example of rubens, whom he appears to have taken for his model. he has, as you remarked at the late exhibition, something of the exuberance of fancy, and of the firmness of pencilling, which distinguish the chief of the flemish school, into some of whose blemishes he also falls. he is a man of retired habits, laborious and unassuming, and without further experience of the world than may be gathered from the windows of his painting room. "on the right of this painter, you doubtless recognise the greatest of our tragedians. hearken to his reasoning on the subjects of his profession, and you will not be surprised at the superiority he has attained. the study of a new part absorbs him for three whole months; for he is not content with simply becoming master of the poet's verse, he must be able to identify himself with the character; and the astonishing illusion which he has produced in 104 a dinner of artists. many of his representations, is no less to be attributed to the severity of manners and costume which he has introduced upon the stage, than to his genius and the vast resources of his incomparable talents.-removed from the cares, the toils, and the thoughts of the theatre, he presents himself to you in no other light than as an amiable man, and sometimes even as a great child, whom the slightest matter distracts or disquiets.""tell me quickly, i beseech you, whether or no i am deceived in the opinion i have formed of that man in the chesnut coloured coat, who does the honours of one end of the table with so awkward an air?""you are speaking of the most able man in france; and you will acknowledge the truth, when apprised that this stranger, (whom prussia gave us) has for twenty-five or thirty years been enthroned on his own proper authority, in full controul over the fine arts, which he never cultivated, of which he understands nothing, and which he has nevertheless succeeded in rendering tributary to his sovereign will. you find him here, because he is to be met every where, where there is a good dinner, a good bargain, or a good dupe to make." 66 opposite manlius is one of our modern orpheuses. this excellent composer has in in some of his works combined the beauties of gluck and piccinni by adopting a system in which their separate styles are reconciled and blended in a natural manner. he is among the a dinner of artists. 105 ! small number of those who so agreeably suit the words of the writer to the notes of the gammut, and who are listened to with equal pleasure in a church and in an orchestra. his character is worthy of his genius and talent *** i am interrupted to allow you to hear an anecdote told with much wit and originality, by one of our painters, whose production you admired above all the other pictures." how! is that the french vandyke, to whom i know nothing comparable in the present day, nor superior in antiquity, for truth, elegance, variety of form, beauty of flesh, grace of composition, and grand taste in his accessary parts?"-"it is the same, and i perceive that i have nothing to teach you on the subject of his works; i may add however, that they have bestowed upon him a fortune, of which he makes the most noble use: his house is the rendezvous of talents of every kind, and he there sets the example of that honourable brotherhood which it is less rare to see subsisting among artists, than among men of letters." "the person whose sallies and calembourgs* provoke such continued bursts of laughter on the other side of the room, bears a name famous in painting. his father, whom you formerly knew, and from whom he has not at all degenerated, participated with m. de bievre the sceptre of calembourg, a matter which did * equivoques founded generally on the ambiguous meaning of the words played upon. 106 a dinner of artists. not prevent him from producing some masterpieces. his son has turned to advantage his passion for horses, which he paints to a degree of perfection unattained by any of his predecessors in the art. the picture of a battle which he has finished, assures him a distinguished rank among the best painters of this class. this artist has discovered the secret of supporting a celebrated name, and of transmitting it to his son, who promises to pursue a brilliant career on the course where his father and grandfather are so illustrious." "tell me if this fat fellow in a green coat, who is always laughing, and laughing by himself, be very merry? is his physiognomy, so round and open, very indicative of frankness?" "you have guessed rightly this man, in spite of his natural mask, is sour, envious, and deceitful. he is a master-mason who gives himself out for an architect, and who has been taken for such at a time when he thought himself happy in being permitted to sleep in the street. he has built some houses for fruiterers in the faubourgs, patched up some barracks in la cité, and has fully convinced himself that he is a mansard. what more would he gain were he really so? he has realised a fortune, and would in his retreat enjoy repose, comfort, health, all the good things of life which so rarely fall to the lot of true merit, if the low jealousy with which he is tormented, did not doom him to eternal suffering on account of the success and happiness of others." a dinner of artists. 107 "would you like to contemplate a frank and easy gaiety, superior endowments in a benevolent nature, a soul elevated without pride, and ability without presumption? look at the little man on my right hand who sets about telling you a story of no more consequence than nothing, in which every word is a pleasant trait, every gesture a piece of humour. he has been long united in friendship with the great painter whom you have surnamed the french vandyke, and this connexion, to which the love of the arts seems to impart a new charm, is the source of numerous actions performed under circumstances equally honourable to the one and to the other." "it is long since i partook of so agreeable an entertainment," (said my neapolitan, laughing heartily at the story of a gascon emigrant, which one of the party was telling in a most witty and original manner;)" and that which strikes me as very honourably distinguishing this association of men of talents, is a reciprocal good-will which appears to exclude every feeling of self-love."" don't trust to that," answered i; "in point of fact, with regard to self-love, we possess that here as well as what may be better take a good look at this great boy who is balancing himself upon his chair, with an air of so much no-meaning. he has found out the way, (and that was not very easy,) to have more vanity than merit. his politeness is of a kind which warns you to be off your guard against him; his self-complacency and 108 a dinner of artists. his notions of his own perfections are so immovably fixed, that he is more surprised than angry that any other person should become the object of culogy in his presence ;-he has, it is said, critics in his pay, whose pens he directs, and with the assistance of whom, he deals blows upon his rivals, the more dangerous from his knowing better than any one else, the side on which they are vulnerable;-but it would not be difficult to persuade me that self-love and the love of the arts were so identified in him, that he only deemed it the discharge of a duty to both, to say all the good possible of himself and all the evil possible of others. he is a man to drive the most experienced flatterers into despair; because, let them praise him as highly as their powers extend, they never can go beyond the excellent opinion he entertains of himself. "as if it were in contrast to a character so peculiar, we might fancy that chance alone had not placed near him, that young man so modest in demeanour, and so distinguished for ability. his début has been marked by a triumph, the more flattering since his own competitors have proclaimed it. i recal to memory this circumstance alike honourable to the young artist and to his rivals; but with so potent a stimulus to emulation, is he not subject to a heavy accusation for the afflicting indifference, to which he has abandoned himself, and which robs france of the chefs d'œuvre which so brilliant an essay entitled her to expect? perhaps a dinner of artists. 109 he thinks he has done enough for his fame; perhaps (for even modesty has her self-love) he fears that new efforts might not carry him beyond his first attempt; perhaps in fine, (and this supposition is the most probable, for sensibility the source of great talents, is also the source of mortification,) perhaps some secret sorrow destroys all the energy of his soul? there are moments when the utmost that it is in our power to do, is to live."—" i observe a little lower down, a man who seems to me to acquit himself very gaily of that obligation. what a full-blown face! what an air of health, of happiness?""that is a fellow of spirit, who, in a blessed hour, proposed to himself this problem, which he has so ably resolvedto reconcile the taste for literature with the pur suit of wealth. he cultivates a branch of commerce, the products of which are indebted to the arts for increased value and perfection, and he renders the luxury of europe tributary to french taste and industry. "his neighbour, by an effort more generous, has in many cases, sacrificed his interest, to his fame. worthy competitor of etienne and of plantin, he does honour to a name already famous in the typographic art, which he has carried to perfection by the most useful and ingenious inventions. the monuments which he has reared to the latin and french classics, confer on him as a printer, a reputation, to which as a learned man and an author, he had before a good right to aspire;-a reputation vol. iii. k 110 a dinner of artists. that exalts still higher the renown for probity by which he would be distinguished, even at the era when that virtue might happily be more common than it is in our time." "what is he almost opposite to you, whose physiognomy possesses, i can't tell what of the sardonic, which imparts an expression quite peculiar to features in other respects altogether insignificant?"-" that is a man of literature, well informed, very malignant, and very amiable; qualities which seem incompatible; and the combination of which is one of the mysteries of his character. endowed with an original turn of mind, he possesses the avidity without the relish for celebrity; he renounces the tranquillity which he loves, and disdains the glory which he pursues. without making himself master of any thing, he aspires to the possession of every thing, in order to have the privilege of appreciating the merit and the exertions of those whom success renders proud. the interval which separates ignorance from knowledge, (the folly of fine wit,) does not, if we may believe him, appear long, but to the eyes of the vanity which measures it; and the reputation of a rich man excepted, all the others, according to him, might purchase themselves a name, and are almost always paid more than they are worth." "this personage is one of that class which we, like the english, call characters; intercourse with such a man could not fail of being amusing; and when one is not a dinner of artists. 111 his dupe, i imagine one must be charmed to be his accomplice." "observe, i beg of you, that other original of another kind, who harangues for a quarter of an hour in a nasal and sententious tone.". "who? that thin man, who is every minute adjusting a very youthful perriwig, upon a pretty old head?"" the same; he is a lachrymose composer whose name is of equal value to a drama. all his divisions breathe sentiment and truth, and though his contemporaries deny that he is acquainted with the first rules of his art, he has found means to be extravagantly successful. never will he lend himself to any subject which is not most strictly moral, and he very recently refused to set an opera to music, the heroine of which, presumed to marry without the consent of her parents. "he has composed a collection of psalms for the use of schools, among which is a duet between vice and virtue, which he proposes should be sung every year at the renewal of the classes, instead of veni creator. as there are people who permit themselves to laugh at this moralist in counter-point, it may be proper to inform them that his works have gained him more than the chefs-d'œuvre of gluck and of sacchini ever acquired for their immortal authors." our conversation was at this moment interrupted by the youngest of the company, who rose, and said in a loud voice, displaying at the 112 a dinner of artists. same time a sheet of paper, which i had seen passing during an hour, through many hands at the further end of the chamber, "gentlemen, i offer you this for a voluntary subscription; the produce is destined for the widow of an estimable artist, whom you all knew, and who has left no inheritance to his children, but the remembrance of his talents and his virtues." "adopted," was the cry from every quarter. "i will take charge of the engraving," said, as he emptied his glass, a fat man whom i knew by his alsacian accent. "at six francs each impression," "and i subscribe for four," added the neighbour of the engraver as he signed the paper, which was in a moment covered with twenty-five or thirty signatures. the sketch was passed round with the list: nothing could be more ingenious than this humorous composition, in which some originals, ridiculously notorious, are represented with the heads of animals, which, without borrowing any thing of the resemblance of portraits, wittily lead to a knowledge of the characters. my companion, who greatly admired this clever design, liberally subscribed for twenty copies. "i ought to inform the gentlemen who subscribe," added a little man, (as round as a ball, wiping his mouth.)" that they will receive gratis with the engraving, an explanation in a ballad which i shall have the honour to sing to them at the dessert, if god grants me life till then ;-for it has been foretold me that i shall die before the end of a dinner." a dinner of artists. 113 the promise of the little man was received with acclamations of pleasure: "there," said my companion, "is a figure which ought to be painted in every eating-room, to create an appetite."" you will add, when you have heard him, and to inspire joy. this is from his superiority our singer. he sings from instinct, and bears about songs, as the good man bears about fables. with a great deal of wit, a perfect. natural organ, and an everlasting fund of good humour, he might already perhaps have reaped the harvest of his talents, if less intimate with low life, he had more rarely borrowed its disgusting jargon." "i am not the only italian here, if i may judge by a particular accent which strikes my ear, and reminds me of my cara patria." "the person you point out to me, holds the foremost rank in his profession. a worthy rival of servandoni, in that department of painting which is connected with the stage, he has often carried the magic of decorations to that pitch at which illusion appeared to be confounded with reality. born with genius, with that vivacity and richness of imagination which at once embraces all that can be done for a subject, it is probable that he would enlarge the limits of an art, the rules of which retard its progress, if circumstances put it in his power at the same time to execute his vast concep. tions, and to develope all the resources of his rare talent." -k 2 114 a dinner of artists. "i notice near my countryman, a little old man, whose few grey hairs hardly cover the nape, but whose eyes still sparkle with intelligence: if this be not a statuary, i am but an in different observer of mankind." "he is indeed one of the modern phidias, to whom our school boasts the justest title. to his noble chisel was reserved the glory of modelling the features of the patriarch of ferney, of whom he never speaks but with that sympathetic ve neration, and that enthusiasm which a sculptor like him ought to feel for such a model. "without quitting this corner of the table, give a glance at that big man with white hair, whose facial angle forms an acute angle of about sixty degrees, and whose flat nose extends it. self upon his upper lip."-"so far as i can judge of this little face, buried between two enormous shoulders, there is something exotic in the features of which it is composed.""he is a native of the shores of the baltic and a passionate admirer of the works of art which the last age produced, and which i greatly fear will not be bequeathed to posterity. his first visits to paris, whither he was led by his master passion, were directed to our chief painters, whose port-folios he ransacked, and purchased at high prices all that they contained, which seemed worthy of a place in his collection. a taste of this prominent nature which does not correct itself within a certain period, generally becomes a mania. that of our amateur reached such a pitch as to destroy his fora dinner of artists, 115 tune, which passed entirely from his strongbox to his port-folio, in the shape of fifty enormous cartoons, in which all his wealth is comprehended. even now, he encroaches on his pleasures, and even on his necessaries, in order to increase this immense collection. whereever you meet him, you are certain of finding him with a drawing under his arm, going to, or returning from the purchase of some crocade of carracchi or paul veronese, without dreaming that he is applying to this acquisition, the money which was destined to pay his rent, or his taylor's bill." the dessert and the champaigne were served; the servants retired; our momus chaunted his song, to which the immoderate laughter of all the company served as chorus. it was nine o'clock when we rose from table, delighted with the guests, and more convinced than ever, that the persons who are best acquainted with the enjoyments of life, are those, who at the same time cultivate the arts and friendship. å 116 no. viii.-23d nov. 1813. an evening of the great world. combien d'oiseaux de différent plumage, divers de goût, d'instinct et de ramage, en santillant, font entendre, a-la-fois, le gazoullis de leurs confuses voix. volt. epit. en vers. la ville est partagée en diverses sociétés, qui sont comme autant de petites républiques, qui ont leurs dois, leurs mœurs, leurs usages, et leur jargon. la bruyere, caract. that which was true in the days of la bruyere is still true in our time, though with a few modifications. at the period when this immortal writer published his caracteres, every one of the little republics of which he speaks, had its own distinct territory, separated from others by unchangeable boundaries; and so great was the difficulty of communication between them, that they scarcely knew each other but by hearsay. towards the close of the last century, political convulsions overthrew all these barriers, and the new order of things which replaced them, has left on the interval of separation, a gentle declivity, by means of which an evening of the great world. 117 an easy intercourse is established. in my youth, rich women sometimes mounted step by step, to the highest rank; but then it was upon a bridge of gold. under the sanction of the name they had purchased, they appeared at court; next day they were to be found in the midst of their families surrounded by vulgar domestics; they had been out of their proper sphere the day before, and fancied themselves out of their proper sphere the day they were in it. vanity, which plays so distinguished a part in society and in societies, is very obvious even in the titles it assumes. in every city, a certain number of a privileged class of men and women who associate together, call themselves the world. in paris the world is divided between the fashionable world and the great world*. bon ton is the arbitress of the one; etiquette is the queen of the other: with some slight shades of difference, their usages are the same. company and the spectacles occupy there, the great part of the life of a man of the world: the first of these recreations constitute for him days of guests, and days of custom (de jours priés et de jours d'habitude.) in both, freedom and confidence generally give zest to repasts at which old friends meet together at the same table. these dinners possess nothing in common with formal parties, where the master of * le beau monde, et le grande monde. 118 an evening of the a house, of which one does not often know who is the mistress, receives, as at an ordinary, a crowd of people, who being at a loss how to pass the evening, begin it with him at the dinner hour. set dinner, and evening parties, are now, as i have at all times seen them, a sort of lottery, in .which lucky chances are not the most commonly met with; of which those most frequently complain, who put nothing in, and those who have already made a fortune by them. even i, i have witnessed and i lament those charming suppers of other times, rendered, i am ready to acknowledge, more delicious from my then enjoying a young spirit, a vivid imagination, and an excellent appetite. "o! such society as that of madame d'epinai," (said honest merville to me!) "never shall we look upon its like again! don't you remember in particular, one fête which she gave us in '57 ?"—" i remember that you were at that period about twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, and that your connexion with the beautiful emily de r*** began that day."-" eh! my god," continued the old president d'abancourt, "you recal to my memory those ravishing evenings of madame de forcalquier, where carmontelle composed his first proverbs."-" gentlemen," interrupted a third," speak of the suppers of madame de la popelinière; where could you meet, i do not say at this era, but within the period of your remembrance, such an assemblage of men of high station, of men of litera great world. 119 ry attainments, and of eminent artists?-and those of pelletier whom you have not remembered at all!--and those of madame de la reynière where i saw touzet for the first time!-touzet, that prince of mystificators, whose talent was displayed in a vein of pleasantry of that kind, the loss of which we ought not perhaps to regret." this little colloquy took place last saturday, at the countess eliza de fontbonne's in the faubourg saint-germain, where a party of acquaintances, about my age, had got together a full hour before dinner was announced. the countess was still at her toilette, and the count had not returned from st. cloud. we chatted as we stood round the fire place, and i had taken up the defence of modern times which the president d'abancourt was lashing without mercy, when the mistress of the house, in all the pomp of dress and beauty, appeared to plead its cause. madame de fontbonne took her station at the chimney corner in a fateuil reserved for herself alone. i may remark, by the bye, that this custom of keeping a particular place and seat for the mistress of the house, is now very old; the bon ton,-even politeness makes it a law not to offer it to any other female, whatever may be her rank and quality; a very advanced age and the title of maréchale alone, formerly authorised an exception to this general rule. by degrees the young people and the ladies. arrived; those being early or late in proportion 120 an evening of the to the importance which they wished to attach to themselves, or the effect they desired to produce. the first occupation or the latter, (after embracing or saluting the countess according to the degree or nature of their intimacy with her) appeared to me to be, as in times past, the examination and criticism, each with her neighbour, of the dress of all the others. i had already noticed a lusty baroness de sarnet, whose deep coloured robe, and chinese headdress, contrasted most shockingly with her years, her figure, and the marked expression of her countenance; the pretty madame de l*** of whom i have often spoken in these pages, was two seats apart from the lusty baroness, to whose chair she advanced, and complimented her in the most obliging tone, upon the elegance and good taste displayed in her dress. i passed behind the fateuil of madame de l***, and whispered in her ear with unaffected pas sion, "quoi! vous avez le front de trouver cela beau." "what! have you the impudence to think that becoming." "my good man," answered she laughing, "go back to your cell; read your bruyere over again, and you will learn the occasion on which a woman may praise the toilette of her rival." this word rival demanded an explanation, for which i will take another opportunity. great world. 121 the conversation which precedes a grand entertainment is usually confined to the common places of politeness, to observations upon the weather not remarkable for depth of research, and to remarks upon new plays and spectacles. about seven o'clock the count returned from st. cloud, and with much grace apologised to the ladies for his detention. a quarter of an hour after, it was announced that madame, the countess was served. every body rose; the president, who is always the last to renounce old customs, offered his hand to his cousin madame de l ***, to lead her to the dining-room." willingly," (said she to him in a low voice, as she accepted his hand), "but i give you fair notice, my dear friend, without establishing it as a precedent; for these gallantries are not the fashion any where but at the place-royale." "so much the worse for the faubourg saint-germain," replied the presi dent. the mistress of the mansion having regulat ed the seats of honour, next herself and her husband, by designating by name the persons who were to fill them, the rest of the company placed themselves as conveniency directed. the president sat down by me. i had detected the glances of a timid and discreet intelligence between a certain auditor and a very handsome little prude, whose motions i was watching for my own private guidance. at the crisis of sitting down to table, she raised her large blue eyes towards the young gentleman, who pruvol. iii. l 122 an evening of the dently kept himself disengaged, and then bent them sweetly upon the empty chair at her side, and that which being also next to mine, the president unluckily took possession of. the auditor understood every thing to a miracle, and hurried to seize a place which, doubtless, no man could occupy without tasting equal pleasure and advantage. "if you are, by chance, still one of this world forty years hence," said i to the president, "consult this little lady who will then probably be a devotee, and this auditor who will then perhaps be a magistrate; you will see if they do not talk of the dinners of madame de fontbonne, as you were not long since talking to me about the suppers of madame forcalquièr." it would be absurd to expect any general conversation at a ceremonious dinner; which it is almost as ridiculous to give, as to raise your yoice at, and endeavour to fix the attention of forty persons, the majority of whom you hardly know it is therefore a matter of necessity that you enter into chat with those, near whom chance has placed you. after having listened, during the two first courses, to the grumbler d'abancourt on my right, who was even unwilling to acknowledge our progress in the ingeni ous arts, as demonstrated by an examination of the exquisite fashion of the plate, the beauty of the candelabras, the elegance of the centre ornament, the brilliancy of the glass, and in a word, the rich variety of so many objects in which the luxury of the banquet was comprisgreat world. 123 ed, i addressed myself to my neighbour on my left, and it was not long before i discovered how much reason i had to lament that i had so long delayed availing myself of so pleasant an entertainment. never was the boldness of folly displayed to my eyes under a shape more comic, under features more congenial with the gross soul of which it bore the impressions. the sénéchal of the comedy of originaux, is but a faint copy of this burlesque personage. one trait of his conversation will suffice for a specimen. he was telling me of the mortification which the marriage of one of his nephews had occasioned him. "do you know," added he, “that the girl whom this ass has been persuaded to marry, has nothing, that which is called nothing, neither physical nor moral. as for the physical, she is ugly; and as for the moral, she is not worth a farthing.' "" coffee was taken at table. on entering the drawing rooms where the lighted incense pots exhaled all the perfumes of the east, we met a number of persons who had assembled in consequence of invitations to spend the evening. the crowd soon became so dense, that it was indispensably necessary to break the circle of women, by distributing them round the tables where different games were played. when the parties were arranged, the countess passed on to the gallery where m. de fontbonne was walking and discussing matters with some great personages. she whispered something to him, and went out accompanied by two or three la124 an evening of the dies, without any body, except myself perhaps, noticing her absence. she returned in about an hour. "how has grassini sung," said i to her, in a way not to be heard by any one but herself. "who told you that i had come from the bouffons, wicked argus?""the fashion, madame, which would not have failed to exclaim loudly against you, had you not shewn yourself to-night in your box."" well! you have guessed rightly. i have been hearing two scenes of horaces; the music is charming; this is my critical opinion: grassini is admirable; she is the only italian singer (at least of all that i have heard,) who possesses any thing beyond a throat. i came away after the fine air, frenar vorrei le lacrime, which she sung in a style perfectly ravishing." at the end of the games, which finished before eleven o'clock, m. carbonelle sat down at the piano. the music was fine, and at times it might have been confessed that parts of didon, armide, and the danaides could support a comparison with pirrothe the destruzione di gerusalemme, with other masterpieces of the same kind and country. about midnight they would play at proverbes; in an instant a little theatre was constructed at one end of the gallery. they began with the enragé, an old proverbe of carmontelle's, and concluded with the songe d'un honnête homme*. this little piece which *this species of amusement consists in getting up a sort of play improvisatore, which is founded upon a 1 great world. 125 formed part of a collection published last year by madame victorine m ***, under the title of soircés de société, possesses all the merit which can belong to a production of the kind,-truth, nature, and grace. supper followed this entertainment. very few of the company sat down to table; others were served with ices and punch; and about two o'clock when i left the rooms, (as much gratified as a man of my time of life could be, with an evening so noisy,) there still remained some gamesters, female as well as male, who beheld with pain, the approaching decision of their last rubber of whist, an enjoyment in which the whole business, pleasure, and hope of their lives is involved. proverb given as the subject for developement. when ably sustained it produces more amusement than may at first be anticipated.-t. l 2 126 no. ix.-6th jan. 1814. my projects for the year 1814. the hermit and his physician. vitæ summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam. hor. ode 4. lib. 1. la vie est courte, ne portons pas trop loin nos espérances. life is short, let us not extend our hopes too far. the hermit, (after a fit of coughing.)"without doubt, my dear doctor, old age is a very fine thing, but you must own it has many inconveniencies." the doctor." cicero, as you must remember, could find but four trifling ones. first. it prevents us from acting. secondly. it brings infirmities in its train. thirdly. it estranges us from nearly all the pleasures of life. fourthly. it brings us nearer to death." the hermit." as we range under one or other of these classes nearly all the troubles of life, you must allow these small inconveniencies are equivalent to a great number of others. a my projects for the year 1814. 127 nevertheless, cicero might have added by way of supplement-the temper which age gives us, the gaiety which it takes from us, and the continual restlessness in which it holds us." the doctor.-"this querulous reflection which your illness, and not your age suggests to you, loses all its authority in the mouth of a man, whose example is a decisive refutation of bis opinion. i have been acquainted with you these twenty years, and (setting aside a fit of the gout or rheumatism,) i never saw you of a more even temper, and possessed of greater ease and gaiety, or of a more philosophical tranquillity of mind." the hermit. “an exception does not destroy a rule, even where it is as complete, as you seem to believe; but the fact is, that if i wished to convince myself of the weakness of my moral and physical faculties, i should discover proof of it in a new frame of mind, against which i struggle with all the energy of my character; and which manifests itself in a sort of repugnance that from time to time breaks out, even towards the very things which i love, and am accustomed to. these books which surround me, to which i owe, not the most striking, but the sweetest pleasures of my life-i look at them, at times, with the eye of the senator, pococurante.* i say to myself, as i glance over this pile of paper, (the contents of some of which are not worth the cost of binding,) * a person in the romance of candide. 128 my projects for the that these four or five thousand volumes, would, according to the calculation of the learned bishop of avranches, be reduced to a small duodecimo. if they contained only things true or useful, or such as had never been written before." the doctor." that's your disease." the hermit." my business with those whom i love most, is often a trouble to me. the slowness, and dotage of my old servant, become insupportable to me." the doctor." that's your disease." the hermit." i am as much astonished as if i had just made the discovery, that there are so many fools, blockheads, and knaves in the world." the doctor. -"that's your disease." the hermit.—“ my disease! my disease! you treat me like the géronte of légatairemy disease! 'tis the register of my baptism." the doctor." not at all; old age is a relative term. one man of seventy-four years of age is younger than another at fifty. you are not yet old; you are ill; your nerves are bad." the hermit." how i should laugh were it not for the fear of my cough! to ascribe to me the disorder of a languid girl! you would be somewhat embarrassed if i were to ask you to explain this nervous disorder." the doctor."i should explain it to you as the physician in molière explains the virtue of opium, and my definition must not be laughed year 1814. 129 at, for as doctor pangloss assures us, there is no effect without a cause. it is not given to physicians or even to philosophers to know all things." the hermit." if you are not acquainted with the cause of the evil, how can you cure it?" the doctor." as i grow wheat without knowing how it springs up; as i prescribe a medicine without knowing how it operates." the hermit." i am then nervous: well be it so. what is to be done in this case?" the doctor." resume during the winter an exercise which you have omitted for some months, and as soon as the first birds announce the approach of spring, leave paris and take a little tour." the hermit." do you know, my dear doctor, that among other complaints which i have against hippocrates and his clan, (complaints which i will one day explain to you with frankness,) one of the greatest, is the custom of paying no attention to the state and situation of the sick man, in prescribing the remedy. nothing, in my opinion, is more absurd than these general directions in medicine. i shall never be reconciled to your profession till i see it practised with reference to individuals, and not to the species. to order a poor devil of a tinsmith of the rue des prouvaires, who gains a crown per day by his work, to apply himself to a regimen of quinquina wine to cure himself of a fever;-is it not to bid him make his will?, 130 my projects for the to prescribe to the wife of a churchwarden of the parish of st. jacques-du-haut-pas, the waters at toplitz, for the purpose of putting her in a situation to become a mother ;-is it not to condemn, without mercy her husband to die without heirs? your directions to me are much of the same kind. i have become a her mit and you bid me run over the world. appointed observer of the parisian manners, can i fulfil my task on the banks of the loire, on the mountains of dauphiny, or on the plains of languedoc?" the doctor." this is just the point to which i wished to bring you. why do you think yourself confined in your observations on our manners to the walls of the capital? are all frenchmen in paris? many of your correspondents have already asked you the same question. let paris be the centre of your operations; let all your ties like those of arachne meet in one point; nothing can be better: but enlarge your web, fasten the threads to our provinces, and (to continue the comparison to the end) at the slightest sensation you feel, come out of your hold and seize your prey, even at the very extremity of your toils." the hermit."i have thought of this more than once, but our romance writers, and our dramatic poets have already said so much on the follies of the country ***** the doctor." as of the follies of the marais, by hearsay, and without the smallest regard to the changes which time and circum" year 1814. 131 stances have wrought there. besides, there is a point of view more useful, and more general, in which the country has never been examined, and which you may take up. the shades of colour which distinguish the manners, customs, and habits of different parts of france: these are things which it is important to know and to compare, sometimes for the amusement, and yet oftener for the instruction of the capital." the hermit.-"i begin to think, my dear doctor, that your prescription is not impracti cable, and i am almost determined to undertake, at the return of the lovely season, some excursions in the different provinces, when i shall take care, as you may very well suppose, to travel incognito. once agreed on the project, let us talk of the means of executing it. i am not sufficiently active to set out like j. j. rousseau, with a stick in my hand and carrying my baggage. i am not young enough to ride on horseback, nor rich enough to travel post." the doctor." there remains still, that which is the best mode for a man who leaves home to see others. the public stage, a diligence, a packet-boat, a coche d'eau, are excellent cabinets of observation; the models thrust themselves as it were under the eyes of the painter, and i need not attempt to inform you what may be drawn from such situations." the hermit." there is another point settled! now my dear doctor, where i shall go? this is a day for submission to my physician: 132 my projects for the write me down an itinerary in the form of a prescription; this will afford you an opportunity to dilate on climate and temperature; two words which play a great part in the faculty's dictionary, when at a loss what to say. the doctor." it is fortunate for you i am more your friend than your physician, or else *****" the hermit."i feel the full force of this quos ego. no matter doctor; present the cup, and like alexander i will drink without hesitation." the doctor."i return to your imputation, and i ask whether it be possible for a man of sense to push obstinacy so far as to deny the influence of climate." the hermit." i deny it not doctor, i only doubt it. i know very well that the author of the spirit of the laws, whose authority is certainly of great weight with me, has said, that climate may be distinguished by degrees of sensibility, as well as by degrees of latitude :-that he believes he can discover in the geographical positions of different countries, the origin of the qualities and defects of their inhabitants but experience, whose authority is superior even to that of montesquieu, has demonstrated to me, that the same country in a few ages, has been successively inhabited by a people the most brave, the most enterprising, the most free, and by a people the most cowardly, the most lazy, and the greatest slaves on earth. i have seen, in contradiction to his system, war: year 1814. 133 like caffres under the equator, and timid laplanders near the pole in a word, doctor, nothing appears to me less established than this influence of climate about which so much is said." the doctor." as to morals, say as much as you please, 'tis no affair of mine. i don't disturb myself with seeking whence come the vices of men, i look only to the origin of their diseases; and this same experience, which you are continually invoking, convinces me that the examination of the climate is justly, one of the fundamental laws of hygeia. this question is, however, idle here. when you walk in your room, it matters not how long or how broad it is, or which side of it is north, east, west, or south; you will travel as you walk, to change air, to take an exercise which is useful to your health; you will never stop more than three or four days in a place, and it is therefore quite indifferent whether you direct your steps one way or another. you may take that road which is most agreeable to you." the hermit."this is what i call talking like a friend; your brother doctors are not always in the habit of speaking either so clearly or so laconically." the doctor." there are professions, such as ours and your own, in which one must sometimes speak so as not to be understood. reduce a lawyer to the simple discussion of a fact. take from him his citations, his ampli. fications, his exordiums, his perorations, and vol. iii. m 134 my projects for the year 1814. see what would become of the eloquence of the bar. desire a journalist to insert nothing of the truth of which he is not convinced, to praise nothing which is not worthy of estimation, to censure nothing which he does not understand; take from him the report of yesterday, the erudition of to-day, and the interest of the morrow, and see what would become of the daily papers, even the gazette de santé." the hermit." of health ?" the doctor." even the gazette of health; though there you will find more learning, more truth, and above all, if i dare mention it, more wit than in this or that journal, calling itself literary." the hermit.-"take care, take care doctor; if you throw stones into our garden we will shower a whole quarry into your's." the doctor."your stones will kill nobody." the hermit." i wish i could say as much for ****coughs." the doctor." there is a good fit of coughing in expiation of your sarcasms against medicine. do you remember that molière is dead?" "" the hermit. i will give you this evening a place to see le malade imaginaire.' the doctor." adieu, my good hermit." the hermit." adieu, malignant doctor." the doctor."i recommend you, for your catarrh, my pectoral syrup and the apozem according to my prescription." the twelfth cake 135 the hermit." i will follow it, and am at your mercy. adieu my friend." the doctor, (returning.)-"on consideration, neither syrup nor apozem! keep yourself warm and drink plentifully of barley water." no. x-15th jan. 1814. the twelfth cake. fabam mimum agunt. cicero.. ils tirent le gateau des rois. they draw the twelfth-cake. customs. i have often wished that the prejudices of a people should not be confounded with their the former cannot be avoided with too much perseverance; but it is seldom that any thing is gained by the destruction of the latter. every prejudice is born of a vice; every national habit takes its rise from a virtue. the demonstration of this truth would make this discourse a chapter of morality, but trop de morale entraine trop d'ennui, 136 the twelfth cake. too much morality brings with it too much ennui; i leave, therefore, the principle to itself, and pass on to those feasts in the course of the year, which i count among the number of old customs, whose venerable authority i see, with regret, grows weaker every day. this taste was implanted in me from my earliest youth, by one of my maternal uncles, the prior of armentières, who spent with my father all the time which he did not pass at his priory, that is to say, about eleven months and a half in each year. he had an apartment on the second floor, of which his library occupied the greater part. on a sort of table, à la tronthin, on which he wrote, i still see, in a little cabinet of ebony, a calendar for his own use, which he made up himself at the beginning of every year, and inscribed according to the order of their dates, with the feasts and birthdays of all his relations, friends, and even acquaintances. on the arrival of such a day we were sure to receive a bouquet of flowers, for the most part accompanied with a piece of poetry, or a couplet, in the form of a compliment. that which he did for others, he exacted for himself in so absolute a manner, that he disinherited one of his relations for having neglected to write him a letter on the opening of a new year. my uncle, although he exaggerated the importance of these and similar duties, had ideas on this point not far removed from sound morality. i remember in a little comedy, which he composed the twelfth cake. 137 on this subject, one of the persons of the drama abused this submission to childish customs. tous ces grand mots ne m'en imposent guère; c'est à l'abus, d'abord, qu'on déclare la guerre; mais l'usage y tenait; on le laisse déchoir, et l'usage détruit, entraine le devoir; voila, monsieur, comment avec de telles phrases, de la société l'on sape enfin les bases. how many examples did he not cite to us of quarrels made up, and lawsuits between relations terminated by these unions of families which custom formerly prescribed, and which now hardly seem to be tolerated. twelfth day, shrove tuesday, st. martin's day were all then domestic feasts, at which young people found those pleasures and enjoyments for which they are now obliged to look elsewhere. my uncle, the prior, was acquainted with all the minute ceremonies of these feasts, and applied his whole attention to their observance. on such days he invested himself with full authority as master of the house; ordered the repasts, took charge of the invitations, appointed the place of every body at table, and observed that every thing was done according to his rules. of all our family feasts, that of twelfth day was in his eyes the most important, and therefore it was always celebrated with peculiar pomp. the remembrance which i yet retain of it never permits me to read without sentiments of the most lively emotion, the charming descripm 2 138 the twelfth cake. tion which m. de chateaubriand has given us of this ancient festival, at which i have so of ten assisted. the family was numerous, the parlour for the company was large: i alone am left of all those who partook the good cheer! "unsophisticated minds," (says the author of the genius of christianity)" can never recollect without sympathy those hours of relaxation, when the family assembled round the cake, which suggested to the mind the presents of the magi. the grandfather, during the rest of the year secluded in the retirement of his apartment, appears on this day like the divinity of the paternal hearth. his grandchildren who have for some time past thought of nothing but this festival, climb his knees, and awaken again in him all the memory of his youth. the countenances of all exhibit_gaie›› ty; the hearts of all are light; the room for the entertainment is decorated, and in honour of the day every one appears drest in his newest habiliments. amidst the jingling of glasses and bursts of joy, the lots of this ephemeral dignity are drawn, and a sceptre is gained which weighs not too heavy for the hands of the monarch. sometimes a little trick is practised which, redoubling the mirth of the subjects and exciting the complaints of the young sovereign alone, elevates to the throne the daughter of the host and the son of a neighbour lately arrived from the army. the young pair blush, as if their crown embarrassed them; the mothers laugh, and the grandfather with a full & the twelfth care. 139 goblet drinks to the new queen. the curate, who is at the feast, receives for the purpose of distribution, with other assistance, the first part, called the poor's piece. old games and a dance, at which some aged domestic supplies the place of musician, prolong their pleasure, and the whole family, nurses, children, tenants, servants, and masters, mix promiscuously in the mazy wanderings of the ball." i could not deny myself the pleasure of bringing before my readers this lovely picture, full of gracefulness and truth, though at the hazard of a comparison of which i feel all the disadvantage. i was reading a few days since the passage which i have just cited to a mr. fergus, a scholar, more estimable than orthodox, with whom i had formerly studied, and who did not approve of m. de chateaubriand's having given to christianity the honour of an institution evidently borrowed from the greeks and romans. "what the devil," said he, knitting his large black eyebrows, "does he talk to us of the magi and their presents for, when discoursing on a custom whose profane origin is so well known to us? who is there that is not acquainted with the amusement of the king of the bean derived to us from the romans, when the children, during the saturnalia, drew lots for the part of the king of the festival. this custom of the bean, to trace it still higher, goes back to the greeks, who made use of beans in the election of their magistrates. we have trans140 the twelfth cake. planted to the beginning of january a fesat which the ancients celebrated towards the end of december, in the winter solstice, and which the romans, if we may believe lucian, strabo, and vossius, had borrowed from the persians. the election of this temporary king was made at table, as with us, but after having been treated during the short term of his reign, with all the respect and regard due to his rank, the ephemeral monarch was hanged, to terminate the feast. it is proper, however, to add, that he was chosen from among the class of slaves, and still oftener from among the criminals." "i know very well," (answered i to my learned friend in us,) "that by dint of learning, the charm may be taken from every thing; but i must own that one of the best written discourses on the origin of the king of the bean would never amuse me half so much as one of those domestic meetings which have latterly become too unfrequent." "among the company you keep," interrupted m. fergus; "for my own part i have only to choose among three parties to which i am invited for this evening, to draw twelfth cake, at one of which i can answer that you will be extremely well received, if you like to accompany me." he mentioned m. bruno, another old schoolfellow, with whom i was some time a boarder at m doppi's, rue mazarine. we left the school together, myself to go to college; m. bruno to follow the profession of his father, a the twelfth cake. 141 linen-draper, at the golden fleece, in the rue des marmouzets. we had not seen each other for more than twenty years, but i had always dealt with him, and i knew he retained some friendship for me. i did not hesitate, therefore, to take fergus at his word. it was four o'clock when we arrived at this dean's of the ancient shrievalty. we found the good old man in a room over the shop, which a fashionable merchant of the rue vivienne would be in these times ashamed to call his anti-chamber. he was seated by the fireside in a large arm-chair, of utrecht velvet; a. little child on his knees, and two others seated on the ground, who displayed to grand-papa their punchinellos, their chinese monkeys, and their leaden soldiers, which they had received as new year's gifts. a young girl of sixteen or seventeen, assisted an old servant to lay the cloth.-m. charles bruno, the younger son, was reading a newspaper, in a loud voice at the window, while an old aunt cut slips of paper of various colours. to put round the bottom of the candles. the nestor of the city merchants received me with open arms, and presented me in the most friendly manner to his family, by whom i was greeted in the same affectionate style. it may very well be believed that in the conversation which followed in the chimney-corner between the three old schoolfellows, m. doppi was not forgotten, and that the phrase, do you remember? occurred more than once in our " 142 the twelfth cake. discourse. the rest of the company came in order; the first was m. boutard, son-in-law of m. bruno, and one of the most famous lacemakers in the rue des bourdonnais; he brought with him two of his children. m. boutard is a very proper man, and has no other fault than that of a little too much vanity, on account of the attention he pays to the church of st. opportune, of which he is the eldest church warden. the abbé daillot nephew of the patriarch, and vicar of st. magloire, came next; he was followed by m. melchior bruno, captain of the veterans of the barracks notre dame des victoires, who gave his arm to madame boutard and her daughter, a little brunette of the most lively figure. dinner was served; we waited only for m. daumont, an old clerk of m. bruno, and a most intimate friend of the family.-mademoiselle françoise bruno, the aunt, begged her brother to sit down to table, according to the old axiom: that waiting prevents one from eating, but eating does not prevent one from coming. her advice was followed. the grandfather's armchair was placed at the head of the table, the back to the fire. every one stood by his chair, while the father of the family said grace, and seated themselves as soon as he set them the example. a small table for the children, of which aunt bruno had the direction, had been prepared in one corner of the room. daumont came in just as the soup was removed; he announced himself with a loud ** the twelfth cane. 143. 1 jaugh, with which i observed he always preceded his jokes, "i see you have waited for me as the abbé waits for his monks," said he, shaking the hands of the company round, without omitting myself, though i was a stranger to him. the abbé answered him by a tarde venientibus ossa, which produced some mirth. the tureen being carried away, a twelfth cake was brought before madame boutard who did the honours of the table, on which she bestowed her benediction, tracing there the sign of the cross, and then cut it into eighteen parts. the youngest of the company came forward, which gave the vicar an opportunity of putting in a surgat junior, of which, he seemed to take himself a good part. the cake was covered with a napkin, and the dish having been turned round two or three times to prevent all idea of fraud or favour, the child distributed the portions. the first drawn was that for the poor; this was immediately given to the vicar, with the alms which every one hastened to subscribe; the grandfather was served second; in respect to my age, and being a stranger, i had the third part, in which was discovered the bean. my election to the sovereignty of the feast was announced by a round of applause, to which succeeded reiterated exclamations of vive le roi. i was respectfully invited by my new subjects to make choice of a companion who should share with me the splendour of my exalted dignity. i cast my eyes on mademoiselle rose boutard, who seemed however to be 144 the twelfth cake. less sensible of the honour of enjoying a throne than displeased at quitting her seat by her young cousin bruno. the dinner was gay, even a little noisy, and the cries of, the queen drinks, the king drinks, resounded through the whole repast. the precaution which the wise fergus had taken to bring half a dozen of excellent bourdeaux wine with him (a precaution which nobody valued more highly than the captain) succeeded in putting friend daumont in high spirits, and the vicar took care not to lose so fine an opportunity as when he emptied his glass to his uncle's health, to tell us. "bonum vinum latificat cor hominis." during the dessert, according to custom, we proceeded to choose the great crown officers, and every body admired my penetration, when i choose m. boutard my minister of finances; daumont master of the household; captain melchior commander in chief of my armies; abbé daillot, my grand almoner, and madame bruno maid of honour to the queen. these appointments being complete, the grand almoner, the minister of the finances, and the master of the household, roared out a bacchanalian song, after which the queen and her little cousin sung under my royal nose a duet so tender and passionate, that with a prince less mild than myself the singers would have fared but badly. coffee was served in the chimney corner; some neighbours came in to join the family, and i took advantage of the preparation for a loto table, to slip from the company, fully the gossips 145 resolved to return on the following sunday, to visit my happy subjects, and close my peaceable reign. no. xi.-3d february, 1814. the gossips. vivendum recte est cum propter plurima tunc his præcipue causis, ut linguas mancipiorum contemnas : nam lingua mali perpessima servi. juven. sat. 9. let us live irreproachably if it be only to despise the prattle of servants, for there is nothing worse than the tongue of these people. madame choquet, my house-keeper (whom i mentioned in describing my cell) is not yet fifty-four she wears very well for her age, and with the exception of her sight, which fails her in a slight degree, she enjoys all her moral and physical faculties. that which she esteems as the most important, and makes the greatest use of, is her speech. a happy formation, seconded by long exercise, has enabled her to find out the way to speak a great deal, very fast, and very long, without fatiguing herself, and what is more, without much fatiguing her hearers. n vol. iii. 146 the gossips. she is the daughter of an old coachman to the duke de villeroy, and was born in his hotel in the year 1760. at fifteen she was admitted among the women of the duchess, who some few years afterwards, married her to m. choquet, the son of her swiss, then serving in the regiment of the french guard, in the company of st. blaucard, and esteemed the handsomest corporal in the company. m. choquet at the revolution entered into the line with the rank of sub-adjutant, and had it not been for a wound, which he received at the battle of jemappe, and which compelled him to relinquish the service, he would not have been reduced to the necessity of giving lessons in fencing, at fifteen sous per lesson. madame choquet has not been more fortunate, and after losing her mistress, not having resolution to derogate from her function, by taking the place of lady's maid, she accepted a situation as portress, which she retained five years: but as ambition in every state increases with age, looking at the produce of her economy, which amounted to not less than 1200 livres, she determined to establish herself as a mantua-maker. heaven has prospered her endeavours, and madame choquet is at this moment mistress and proprietor of one of the smartest work-rooms to be found between the rue st. lazarre and la petite-pologne. this is, in a few words, the history of my house-keeper. i must have an exceeding bad memory, if i did not recollect it, after it has the gossips. 147 been so often related to me for these ten years 1 past. this little history is, however, only a necessary introduction to the prattle with which this accomplished model of parisian gossips entertains me every morning; a small specimen of which i will lay before my readers. they will not find much connexion, nor perhaps much sense, or much indulgence for a neighbour; but the custom of reading our daily papers will doubtless have familiarised them with this fashionable babble. madame choquet comes to me every morning at nine, and begins her business, by preparing my breakfast; during this meal and while my room is put in order, she favours me with these monologues with such a most inconceivable volubility of tongue, as entirely to set all short-hand writers at defiance. * as i listened to her last monday i took a few notes to assist my memory-madame choquet began : "perhaps, sir, you don't find your cream so good as usual; upon my word, 'tis no fault of mine: clara did not come to day, and for a very good reason, she has just lain-in; poor woman, this is her seventh; 'tis her husband's present every nine months whether he is at home or abroad. but good often comes out of evil. madanie dumont, the notary's wife, has given her her child to nurse. you'll ask why so rich a woman does not nurse her child at home; this was her intention, but it is not on account of any 148 the gossips. suspicions in the head of her husband, because colonel dorfeuil, madame dumont's cousin, who had his arm broken in germany last year, has come to reside with them till it is healed; so far is that from being the case, that m. dumont has caused the child, whom he is not very fond of, to be sent out to nurse. perhaps he is not wrong, but you'll say the world is so wicked! "that's what i said the other day to the portress who told me the story-my dear madame barbotin," said i, "if you'll attend to me, look after your gate, and never mind what passes among the lodgers; but this good woman can't resist it, she must gossip. heaven knows there is no want of subjects in the house she lives in; it is so large-fifteen families! 900 francs, at a penny in the pound, without reckoning christmas-boxes * * * *. there are very few such doors in paris. heaven grant madame barbotin may profit more by my advice, than madame badureau, portress at m. beaubois ! "that woman was really the gazette of the parish. not a single thing was done in the house, with which she did not acquaint her neighbours. but for her, who would ever have known that m. beaubois owes his place solely to the interest of his wife! she was thought to have come of a good family, and behold ye, i find she was a dancer in germany, where she had been the ruin of, i don't know how many barons. she must have ruined a great numthe gossips. 149 ber to make a fortune. she has made her's, and m. beaubois, who was in want of a security to get him the place he solicited, married her without examining any further than her strong box. fine news! such a thing was never heard of. the portress learned the history through a brother of the lady's, a fine boy who fell in her path one morning, and who was sent away pretty quickly, as you may very well guess. they procured a custom-house officer's place for him at the other end of the world, and paid all his travelling expenses. some people say he really was her brother, and some say he was no more her brother than you or i. it is nothing to me, and as the proverb says, 'every one for themselves, and god for us all.' "there has been so much talk about this foolish portress, who was turned away for spreading scandalous reports, that she has never been able to get another situation, and is now living upon her daughter mariette, who is nurserymaid to a senator. she is a pretty girl, i had her with me two years as an apprentice. she was to have been married last year to a charcoal factor at port st. nicolas. an excellent business, where one knows nothing! the young man made at least a hundred louis a year. the match went off; but whose fault was it? why her mother's. she permitted her daughter to go one sunday to la chaumiere alone with her intended. a young a tea garden. n 2 150 the gossips. mean girl of eighteen, without experience! she did not know the difference between the night before marriage, and the day after; not that i to say -heaven forbid——but certainly in my time girls were married, and before they went to paphos, to tivoli, or to chaumiere. balls champêtres have ruined every thing. "it is very true, city balls are now not much better. witness twenty pretty misses that i could mention, who never fail to attend every one, and are not married a bit the more for that: i name nobody, but see what has happened to your neighbour's daughter. she will one day be rich: she is now pretty. for these ten years she has been called the best dancer in paris; she has danced with all the young men of the capital: how many offers of marriage has she had? not a single one; and why? because they avoid girls who dance too well; because it costs more to take a wife five or six times a year to a ball, than to keep two children; because the love of dancing does not agree with the cares of house-keeping, without mentioning many other reasons, which you can very easily divine." madame choquet made a pause here, and as she perceived i was about to take advantage of it by edging in a word, "i beg pardon for interrupting you," continued she, "but i must ask permission to leave you a little earlier today than usual. i have not a moment to lose. i am going to a wedding, if you must know ***. the gossips. 151 yes, really to a wedding! did you never observe a young girl who sometimes comes with me, little henrietta, the daughter of a master butcher a few doors from us. one of the richest in paris. he might have done as many others do, who have not half his fortune, placed his daughter in a smart boarding school, given her masters, and in a word, have made a fine lady of her; but courtois had some good sense; he had his daughter taught to read and write, and placed her with me to learn needlework. these two years that she has left me, she has been at the head of her father's house, and keeps his books as well as the best of clerks could do. with her twenty years, her pretty features, and her crowns, henrietta has not, as you may very well believe, wanted admirers. she has refused, that is to say, her father has refused for her, a notary's clerk, a clerk in the customs, a lamp contractor, and a grocer in la rue de la verrerie, who counted on her portion to restore his credit. m. courtois has cast his eyes on the son of a cattle dealer of poissy. after the nuptials, the good man will leave his shop to the children, and retire to his farm in the pays d'auge, where, by way of doing something, he will occupy himself in fattening oxen. "to day is the betrothing; i must not fail to be there. i have made the bride's linen: it is worth seeing all in dozens, and so good, and so fine! the father has spared no expense. the young man is a strapping good looking 152 the gossips. lad. he has made two campaigns, but this has not prevented him from providing a substitute, for whom he has paid two thousand crowns. "i must leave you to go and dress the bride, -i understand such things a little,-i have not been a lady's maid for nothing. there will be some talk about the nuptial feast, i assure you: a hundred covers at the feu eternel on the boulevart du jardin de plantes. i know many folks in this part of the world who will not be very well pleased at this marriage. it is enough that things are well done to excite the spleen of the envious. already satirical verses are written upon it. i have some of them in my pocket. one says that good-man courtois, will hardly know himself in a merry making; that it is a long while since he has treated his customers; and a thousand other such foolish pleasantries, which don't prevent his being a very good fellow, very serviceable, and one whose only fault is that he bestows his kindnesses in the wrong place. i know something of him; he has just raised my rent, and at the same time has forbidden the goods of an old musician to be sold who lives above me in his house, and who owes him five or six quarters. whence comes such a preference? because i am worth something, and the other has not a sixpence. but why hasn't he a sixpence ? because, instead of attending to his scholars, since the death of his wife, he passes all his time at coffee-houses playing at dominos. for the gossips. 153 ( it is well said, that a woman is the treasure of a house ****” the tongue of madame choquet is like a coach wheel, which inflames and heats by the rapidity of its motion. the more she speaks the more she warms, and the less possible it is to foresee the termination of, or to stop such a torrent of words :-but fortunately for me and for the ceremony which awaited her, my servant came in as usual, and hastily interrupted her in the middle of her harangue: he knows as well as myself the danger to which we are exposed by permitting her to finish it. madame choquet, after addressing me with the customary final question, "is there any thing more i can do for you, sir ?" retired, dropping me a very low curtesy, and leaving me well convinced that if (as some learned man says) a woman's tongue is her sword, she was full as well qualified to give lessons in fencing as her husband. 154 no. xii.-12th feb. 1814. the egotists. moi! moi! dis-je, et c'est assez. corn. médée. myself! myself! i say, and that's enough. there exist in nature two opposite forces, denominated centripetal and centrifugal, whose laws, discovered by huygens, and applied by newton, govern the physical world. the first of these forces carries forward all bodies in motion, towards one common centre; the second repels them from it: the harmony of the universe results from the happy combination of these two powers. the same theory may be applied to the organisation of the social system. patriotism and egotism supply the functions of the central forces: the one seeks to assimilate itself with the public interest, from which the other as constantly endeavours to abstract itself. the happiest society is that wherein the equilibrium betwixt these two impulses, is best established. i advance this proposition without considering the immediate inference which may the egotists. be deduced from it, or the manner in which i may be applied to the time and country in which we live. it is unjust, in my opinion, that egotists, the breed of whom (not to say the family) increases to such an alarming extent, should affect to consider montaigne as their patron. the author of the essays did not hesitate to avow, that he belonged to that sect of amiable idlers who make happiness consist in that repose of body, that tranquillity of soul, which their master, epicurus, assigns to his indolent deities. montaigne himself informs us, that his proper employment, in this life, was to live in careless relaxation, idly rather than busily; but how can we accuse him of egotism who, of all writers, has spoken best on friendship, because he described what he felt? of all the passions, of all the sentiments of which the human heart is susceptible, friendship is perhaps the only one which precludes egotism. to love, is in some degree to change one's existence, it is to live in another, for another; it was not (adds montaigne, in speaking of his union with la boëtie,) any particular impulse which determined me, it was an undescribable quintessence of all, which having possessed itself of my will, led it to incorporate, and to lose itself in her's. the reputation of egotism, which has been conferred on this philosopher, has the same foundation as his glory. those essays have been condemned, while admired, in which he talks to his readers about his person, his predithe egotists. his diseases, his virtues, and his demontaigne has proposed for his object study of the human heart, to be more ceran in his observations, he made them on himself; he speaks of his vices and his merits with the same freedom; he frequently exhibits himself as a proof, but never as an example. it has frequently been attempted, but always without success, to introduce the egotist on the stage. fabre, who has painted him in the most odious colours in his philinte (which is not that of moliere, whatever may be said), has given this personage but a secondary rank, and only employs him to relieve the beautiful character of alceste. barthe, though possessing much wit, has produced but a mediocre comedy on the same subject; cailhava has been equally unsuccessful, and the egotist yet remains to be pourtrayed: it is unfortunate that we should want painters for such a picture, at an epoch so prolific in models. in reading the works of port-royal, we know not which most to admire, the vast acquirements of these pious ecclesiastics, or their affecting modesty. in considering that these immortal productions, emanating from this school of taste and reason, were presented to the public with a respectful deference, it is impossible to refrain from laughter at the doctorial pomposity so often affected by the journalists of the day, without any other title to the confidence of their readers than the impertinent monogram affixed to their articles? who can help laughthe egotists. 157 ing at their eternal repetitions of, i know, i suspect, i contend, and i affirm. ah! gentlemen, the pascals, arnaults, nicolles, and lancelots, said modestly: "we believe, it is our opinion.” they thought the custom of speaking to the public in the first person, proceeded from that principle of ridiculous vanity, which they had proscribed under the name of egotism (an energetic word with which they enriched our language). pascal goes yet farther, he pretends " that a christian ought to avoid altogether the use of the pronoun i; that the slightest obtrusion of personal importance is alike incompatible with christian humility and the laws of politeness." it must be acknowledged, that in this respect at least, we have never been less religious or less polite than at present. during a long time, the revolution has been the emissary which we have charged with the full weight of our iniquity: of all the evils for which it has been made responsible, that of having augmented the number of egotists, has been, perhaps, the most fully confirmed. those who acted in it, as well as those who suffered, seem to have learned, as a general maxim, that the most certain resource is that which is found in one's self; and the devotion best recompensed, that which we cherish towards our own persons. how many, at this time profess aloud that they regulate their conduct on this ungenerous principle, which many indeed, have acted on before, but which at least, they did not so openly avow. vol. iii. 0 158 the egotists. i was once acquainted with a m. d'argeville, an officer of dragoons, who lived very pleasantly among his comrades, without any other secret, than that of neither conferring or receiving a favour from any person whatever. nature had not made him an egotist; he had become so, by system, in consequence of two or three unlucky adventures, which appeared to him to have equally originated in the integrity of his heart: he had lost his best friend, by having rendered him an essential service in lending him an essential sum, which he was unable to reclaim but by quarrelling with the borrower. in attempting to arbitrate one affair of honour, he made himself two; from one of his adversaries he received wound which confined him six months to his bed; he killed the other, and was, in consequence, obliged to quit his country for two years. some other misfortunes of the same kind had sufficed to extinguish his natural benevolence: in order to destroy these feelings, he had adopted principles to which he so firmly adhered, that he would neither have lent a crown to his brother, nor have uttered a word to save the lives of two of his comrades: he frequently repeated that, "in this world it was necessary to centre oneself within a circle of not more than two feet diameter." it is painful to reflect that one of our most celebrated wits and distinguished philosophers, -that fontenelle, whose long life mus!, of all others, have furnished a train of experience in the egotists. 159 the human heart; it is painful, i say, to think that this so celebrated man, was tainted, or rather contaminated with egotism, to such a degree as to have sanctioned, under his name, that anti-social aphorism, that there is no perfect happiness without a callous heart and a good stomach. this expression, which might have escaped the ingenuity of an egotist, or even the caprice of a philanthropist, could not have acquired a dangerous authority, except in the mouth of at man whose brilliant and fortunate career supplies in the opinion of many persons but a long commentary on it. among the famous egotists of the last age, we cannot forget the marchioness deffant, who during the last month of the life of her old friend, the president henault, passed all her evenings with him.-she made her appearance at madame de forcalquier's; every one concluded that the president was better, but on his health being inquired after, "alas!" said she, "i had the misfortune to lose him this morning, or you would not have seen me here." every one knows the reply made by colardeau, when dying, to his friend barthe, who requested his opinion on his comedy of the selfish man, which he came to read at his pillow, "you may add an excellent trait to the character of your principal personage," replied colardeau, 66 say that he obliged an old friend, on the eve of his death, to hear him read a five-act camedy." 160 the egotists. i should compose a book, instead of a paper, did i attempt to trace, even in outline, the different portraits of egotism, for which society, through all its gradations, supplies me with models. i shall confine myself to one only, which i have accurately observed, and which appears to me to have attained perfection, or rather to have reached the ideal deformity of a defect, to which i know few vices which are not preferable. saint-chaumont has arrived at the age of forty, without having formed an idea, or felt one sentiment estranged from his own person. in order to give full force to that expression, que le moi dans sa bouche a plus d'une syllable. myself, with him, exceeds a single word. he always takes care to couple it with i; i, myself, begin all his phrases; he knows no evils but those which he feels, no gratifications but those which he enjoys: if he is abroad, and it rains? the shower, he is convinced, falls only for him; is he on foot in the streets? he cannot conceive why carriages are tolerated; is he in a carriage? he complains of the rigour of the police, which does not allow foot-passengers to be run over with impunity; all his actions, thoughts, and opinions, are so many answers to those questions which he continually addresses to himself: "what inconvenience will it occathe egotists. 161 sion me? what advantage shall i derive from it? in what way can it serve me ?" saint-chaumont has, in the world, the repu tation of an honest man: what then is the value of his word? one of his friends came to advertise him, one evening, that he should have occasion for him at seven the next morning, on an affair in which his entire fortune, his happiness, and that of his family, depended. the appointment is precise, and one half-hour of delay will annihilate all his hopes. saint-chaumont promises to be exact; but he never gets up until nine o'clock: he runs a risk of discomposing himself for the whole day, by an infringement of any of his habits. at eight he is still in bed: his friend arrives, presses, conjures him; he rises, but he never goes out fasting; his physician has interdicted him from it, on penalty of a frightful head-ache: he must fortify himself against the cold; puts on wrappers, double waistcoats, and stuffs his ears with cotton; he sets out, gets into a coach, arrives; the affair was terminated two hours ago; the ruin of his friend is completed. "what!" says saint-chaumont, "it was really a great pity to make one get up so early!" last year we were visiting together in the country; one evening, the son of the master of the house, taking a walk in the park, fell into an empty well, the top of which they had neglected to cover, and dislocated his ancle. the gardener announced the accident; some ran to assist the young man, others prepared a mattrass 02 162 the egotists. in the saloon to receive him. on this mattrass saint-chaumont sunk down in a swoon; several pressed round him, administered hartshorn, and his spirits began to revive. some one, who mistook the cause of this fainting-fit, thought to tranquillise him by assuring him that the accident was less serious than had been imagined, that the youth had not broken his leg. very good," said he, "but i am not the less shocked at the danger i have run; i was yesterday evening walking in the same place, and the very same accident might have happened to myself." these two characteristic traits of a perfect egotist, render it unnecessary that i should exhibit him in less important particulars; at table, either at home or abroad, always helping himself to the best dishes; at the play, always occupying the best place in the box, without regard to age, rank, or even sex; in the drawingroom, standing in front of the chimney, monopolising the fire, perfectly regardless of the inconvenience occasioned by its privation to others. at whatever time, in whatever attitude, we observe him, we find him always occupied with himself when awake, and dreaming of himself when asleep. if my readers desire to see a finished picture of egotism, they will find it in the following fable, by m. arnault, in which a most ingenious comparison is expressed with great conciseness, energy, and elegance : the egotists. 163. le colimacon. sans amis, comme sans farnille, ici-bas vivre en étranger; se retirer dans sa coquille au signal du moindre danger; s'aimer d'une amitié sans bornes, de soi seul emplir sa maison; en sortir, suivant la saison, pour faire à son prochain les cornes ; signaler ses pas destructeurs par les traces les plus impures; outrager les plus tendres fleurs par ses baisers ou ses morsures; enfin chez soi, comme en prison, vieillir, de jour en jour plus triste : c'est histoire de l'egotiste, et celle du colimaçon. the snail. with friends, with family unblest, condemn'd alone to dwell; if danger's least alarm molest, he shrinks within his cell. sole tenant of his narrow walls; his self-esteem profound; he issues when the season calls to join the insects round. impure his track, he winds his way among the shrubs and flowers; the fairest his selected prey, he taints them or devours. 164 the egotists. grown old, like captive mop'd and wan, forlorn at home he lies: thus, snail-like, lives the selfish man, and like a snail he dies. in this charming fable, every line is a thought; a thing worth remarking at a time. when ideas are so unusual and verses so abundant. 165 no. xii.-26th feb. 1814. the painter's study. nec desilies, imitator in artium. hor, ars. poet. do not pique yourself on too scrupulous an imitation the word artist is of modern creation, at least in the sense in which it is employed at present; it is useful and convenient; it applies extremely well, and generally, to all professors of any art whatever; but in these latter times we have strangely perverted it. in the course of a revolution which tended to equalise, or rather to annihilate all distinctions, it has been made a synonyme to the term artisan: it now serves, by courtesy, to designate the condition of a multitude of persons, who have not the slightest pretensions to it. m. gérard is a painter, m. houdon is a sculptor, m. méhul is a musician, m. talma is a tragedian; messrs. so and so, the decorators of chinese recesses, the third violin in the orchestra of l'ambigu, the noble father of the troop of montargis, are all artists. it is useless to dispute merely about words; but when words have a dangerous influence on things, it becomes necessary to re166 the painter's study. strict their application. the facility with which this title of artist is conceded to all who arrogate it, contributes more than we imagine to augment that crowd of young people of both sexes, who after having vegetated some years in the classes and painting-rooms of the academy, leave it with a title which they choose rather to retain without profit and without honour, than to descend from by applying themselves to some useful occupation, better suited to their abilities. thence comes that multitude of daubers, whose framed and glazed specimens diversify the arcades of the palais-royal; thence that swarm of unfortunates who are obliged to skulk in the suburbs, who speculate on the sale of a romance or a waltz, and who attend the season for balls, of which they compose the orchestra, as their sole resource to pay their lodgings, and discharge their tailor's bill. i met the other day, at the sale of m. de l's pictures, the young st. charles, the son of an eminent watchmaker. he recollected and accosted me. in reminding me that i had formerly introduced him to m. vien, he brought to my recollection that the restorer of the french school had often assured me that this young man could never succeed in painting and that i had more than once strongly recommended him to betake himself to that employment which had rendered his father respectable. tormented by his ambition for the vocation of an artist, he paid no regard to my advice, and took at his own expense a journey the painter's study. 167 to rome: whence he had returned about four years. judging, probably, that the meanness of his habit could give me no very brilliant idea of his finances, he took great pains to assure me that he was the most fortunate man in the world, and made me promise to come and see him. i found him in one of the garrets of the palais-royal; he presented his wife to me, a young villager, he informed me, from the province de caux. i confess, i could not help forming a different conclusion respecting her origin. every thing, in this miserable retreat, bore the appearance of disorder and of poverty, which a varnish of luxury rendered still more insupportable. to divert my attention from the noise and sight of a couple of dirty children, who were fighting with a dog in this small chamber, which served at once for a kitchen and a study, the artist requested me to remark the magnificent coup-d'œil which he should enjoy, he said, if some good incendiary (by disencumbering him of an opposite house of seven stories high) would remove the only obstacle to the finest prospect imaginable. he at last shewed me his pictures and designs, neither of which contradicted the prediction of m. vien; all, nevertheless, were chefs-d'œuvre in the eyes of their author, who only waited for a peace with england, to transport this precious collection to london, where he anticipated a certain fortune. "in the mean time," he said," he lived as an artist, proudly strug168 the painter's study. gling with the inconvieniences which sometimes assailed him, and submitting without shame to the necessity which even obliged him to degrade his noble pencil, by painting the petty figure of a travelling lemonade-merchant, or the plebeian profile of a toyman of the gallery des bons enfans." it was now too late to attack his resolution. what, therefore, could i do better than commend his philosophy? on quitting this artist, i went to visit a painter, in order to measure at one coup-d'œil the immense distinction between them. m. n, after having gained the grand prize, and made the tour of rome, where the finest models had matured his talents, has returned to his own country, and announced himself by a chef-d' œuvre. this young man is gifted with one of those intellects, glowing with genius and pregnant with imagination, whence issue those poetic creations which take possession of the heart, without even appealing to the ordeal of the judgment. his rivals applauded his success, the government encouraged him by giving him important commissions, and the prettiest women of paris, to whose preference he is not insensible, contend for the privilege of supplying models for his pencil. m. nresides in the faubourg st. germain, in a small house, which he has himself decorated with great taste, and of which his painting-room occupies the principal part: it is truly a sanctuary of the arts, where disorder reigns without confusion: canvasses and sketchthe painter's study. 169 · es are disposed on the easals, beautiful casts after the antique, among which we recognise the torso of the vatican, the heads of the apollo and of the antinous, are ranged in gradation; armour, and modern arms, with draperies of different kinds are thrown on a circle of chairs, in the midst of which stand two long figures, one representing a knight of the fourteenth century, armed at all points; the other, an elegant french-woman of the nineteenth, in a costume which combines the grace of the antique with the charm of modern fashion. a small library, supported by egyptian pedestals, contains two or three hundred select volumes, among which we remark, in the first range, the works of leonardo da vinci, of the abbé dubos, of winkelman, of montfaucon, the ruins of herculaneum, &c. delille takes his place in his quality of pictorial poet: and le sage, fielding, richardson, and la bruyere, are not forgotten, as the painters of manners. the historic painters of france have disdained, during a long time, to exercise their talents on portrait. m. n. does not consider himself degraded in exercising that branch of the art which enhanced the reputation of vandyke, of titian, and even of raphael himself. his study was filled with portraits, the greater number of which remained for a partial re-touching of the draperies, a part of his employment which he consigns to his pupils. the first which attracted my attention represented a member of the mayorality, whose fivol. iii, p 170 the painter's study. gure was not decidedly ignoble, nor announced a man absolutely imbecile; the original of this portrait had come to town for the purpose of obtaining the post of a counsellor of the prefecture, and he was anxious to compensate the loss of his silver wand, by the addition of an embroidery of blue silk to his cloak; moreover, as monsieur the counsellor was willing to perpetuate to his family the remembrance of his former dignity, he hit on the expedient of having his scarf painted on the back of the elbow chair in which he was sitting. "this subject," said m. n. -, shewing me another portrait, "has occasioned me excessive embarrassment. the original is a foreign petit-maitre, whom two or three simpletons have rendered popular in paris, during some weeks past. we have had eight grand consultations to discover some method of exhibiting at once the order of st. wladimir and the chamberlain's key, with which this hyperborean lovelace is decorated. the problem, you will allow, must have been sufficiently dif ficult; since one is worn behind, on the left side the other in front, on the right: i have decided the difficulty, as you see, by placing before my model, a glass à la psyche, which presents him at the same time in a double aspect." while we were engaged in this amusing review, the clock struck twelve; the hour at which our apelles commenced his sittings. the painter's study. 171 i was about to withdraw : " wait a moment," said he, "i expect some originals who are worth knowing; you may have the pleasure of seeing and hearing them, by stepping into this cabinet, from which you may retire whenever you please, by the door which leads to the little stair-case. a carriage stops at the door; those are the models of a family-picture, the head of which is m. le baron coquard de la grivaudière; i shall say nothing to you, either of his rank or his talents: hear, see, and judge for yourself." from the centre of my observatory, i saw advance, or rather roll into the room, an immense rotundity, surmounted with a human head; this was m. the baron: the baroness was one of those personages who would not disparage a company of grenadiers. her figure was regularly insipid; her arms bony, her feet large, and her bosom flat. nevertheless, i should not be surprised if she passed in the world for a fine woman. her two children were of sufficiently amiable appearance, being but slightly equipped with the masculine graces of their mother. "here we are," said the baron coquard (as he gave his witchourat and his lady's tippet to a servant in a bran-new livery) " but be quick sir; when people pay as i do, they have a right to expect to be served both well and expeditiously."-" let us set about composing the groupe," replied m. n" have you any particular ideas on this subject?"—“ideas! i have a thousand; but i give the preference to the 172 the painter's study. most simple of them. you shall paint me in my park, fishing with a rod and line in my great basin; and you must take particular care to shew one of the wings of my house. i shall bring you a plan of it; but, above all things, let the water i am fishing in be as clear as crystal; i have a particular reason for it." "and you, madam-" "i wish to be painted at the foot of mount vesuvius, at the moment of an eruption, explaining that inexplicable phenomenon to my chil dren-'tis an historical fact."" very well, but how am i to paint in the same picture madam, the baroness at the foot of vesuvius, and monsieur the baron on the border of his basin, in his estate at brie? we have, like the dramatists, our three unities, and that of place is what we are least permitted to violate."-" with good perspective," replied m. couquard, “you may do any thing. make what arrangements you please, i shall not give up my mansion.". "and i stick to vesuvius," said the lady. "i see but one mode of reconciling these things; i will paint madame in a summer-house (on the brink of the canal in which monsieur is fishing) and shewing to her children a coloured print of vesuvius, in which they shall be all three represented conformably to historical fact." "very good!" cried the baron, “folks will be puzzled to make out the meaning of it!" after half an hour's sitting, which enabled the painter to prepare his sketch, the financial baron departed, resigning his place to an authe painter's study. 173 thor, who sat for his portrait, in order to have it engraved as a frontispiece to an ancient edition of plutarch, which he had encumbered with insignificant annotations. this ridiculous pedant, well known for his fatuity and his outrecuidance, felt convinced that his image in copper-plate would have a marvellous effect at the head of an assemblage of illustrious men. a young lady now made her appearance, whom i should have taken for the model of gérard's psyche, if the ravishing expression of her large blue eyes had not apprised me that love had already passed through them. i could not cease admiring the delicacy of her figure, the blooming freshness of her complexion, a thousand graces already formed, and others just expanding. the painter surpassed himself; the portrait, now nearly finished, approached the perfection of the original. after this beautiful creature had sate some minutes:-"my husband," said she with a timid and embarrassed air, "intends coming to-morrow to fetch my portrait; i request, sir, that you will find some pretext to detain it, and make a copy of it, which i design" (her voice became less firm)—" "for a friend whom you wish to surprise?" continued the painter rapidly.--" yes, sir, one of my earliest friends.". "we are accustomed to these little secrets of friendship; and on your's, you may be perfectly easy.""i request, sir," added she, with more confidence, "that the copy be so like the original portrait that it may be mistaken for it."" it will be p 2 174 the painter's study. mistaken for it, madam; i engage it will be mistaken for it." m. n uttered these last words with a peculier smile, and a blush in the young lady's cheek, explained to me the malignity of it. the other personages who succeeded to the sitting-chair, were without physiognomy: i soon left them to contemplate the lay-figures. 175 no. xiv. 12th march, 1814. the newsmongers. pereant qui nostra ante nos dixerunt. prov. lat. perish those who anticipate us in telling the news. scire tuum nihil est, nisi te scire hoc sciat alter. persius, sat. 1. it is nothing to know a thing, unless others are sensible that we know it. one of the most general and whimsical propensities of the human mind, is the avidity we have for hearing and disseminating news: est natura hominum novitatis avida*. i recollect to have heard it said by one of the noblest and most enterprising characters of the last age, "i must have adventures, no matter whether bad or good; i can never sleep con. tentedly unless i am in the gazette.” * human nature is eager for novelties. 176 the newsmongers. how many persons, with some sincerity, might make the same avowal! this curiosity, without object, and usually without profit, exalted in some people to almost an habitual mania, constitutes that race of newsmongers, which it is necessary, in order to distinguish accurately, to divide into three classes. the park newsmongers, the tavern newsmongers, and the newsmongers of the drawing-room. les nouvellistes de jardin, de café, et de salon. the first of which, the celebrated metra, and the abbé trente-mille-hommes, were formerly the prototypes, occupies itself exclusively with politics. the second embraces politics, and the literature and news of its department. the third forms the most eminent class of newsmongers; its forte is every thing, and its jurisdiction without limits. among the numerous successors of those two accomplished cracovistes, whom i have just mentioned, one of the most distinguished is the indefatigable rigolet. he is up before seven in the morning; after having interrogated his milk-woman respecting the force and march of the enemy, he hastens to the tuile. ries to inspect the journals: these he reads from one end to the other, very frequently without perceiving that he is but repeating the text of what he read in the moniteur the preceding evening. the two following hours he passes the newsmongers. 177 at the place du carousel, waiting the arrival of the couriers: by the gallop of the horse, by the very attitude of its rider, he has already divined the nature of the despatches, of which he speaks forthwith, with as much assurance as if they had been addressed to himself. his ear catches a distant report; it must be the cannon of the invalides! fortunately the wind blows another way, scarcely permitting him to hear it, he therefore still retains the hope of being able to recount the victory, announced by this signal, as a special piece of intelligence. he now proceeds to the italian boulevart, to expatiate with two other profound politicians, who rendezvous there every day at the same hour. here they arrange the principal facts which they are to put in circulation during the day; and in order to avoid the geographical errors, which such gentlemen frequently commit, they are careful to consult one of those maps of the theatre of war, which are sold in the print-shops. the crowd surrounds them, and rigolet, a toothpick in his hand, and his spectacles on his nose, continues, nevertheless, to point out the points occupied by the armies, and the position which each of them ought to take up, in order to avoid an inevitable defeat. i was a witness some days since, of one of those military dispositions, and could not help hinting to general rigolet, that he had drawn up his army in order of battle in a river, which he had mistaken for one of our great roads. their materials collected, and their memory well 178 the newsmongers. charged with the names of towns and villages, of army-corps and generals, whom they defeat and disperse with the greatest facility, our three newsmongers in chief separate and take their stations, one at the luxembourg, another at the palais-royal, and the third at the tuile ries. this last post, the most important of the three, is confided to the redoubtable rigolet. at about two o'clock, no matter what weather, we are sure of finding him at the petite-provence, in the midst of a circle of old politicians, uttering his random and ridiculous discourses on the interests of the belligerents, on the cossacks, the allies, and the levy-en-masse, and figuring on the table with his umbrella stick, the dispositions of a battle which must certainly take place in a few days, and of which he is the man to announce beforehand all the particulars, the number of prisoners, of killed, wounded, and missing. notwithstanding the respect in which his decisions are held, doubts are sometimes suggested as to the authority of his information. on such occasions, nothing can be more ridiculous than the tone of superiority he affects, and the sapient and mysterious air with which he exhibits a letter from his son, an army commissary, who ought," (adds he, with a smile of disdain and irony)" to know the movements of the army which he provisions." if this irrefragable authority does not immediately silence his opponent, the president rigolet puts up his spectacles; coldly salutes the company, and marches off, to the great mor the newsmongers. 179 tification of this auditory of fly-catching politicians, who listen to him with their ears pricked up and their mouths open. before he returns home to dinner, he never neglects to call at the exchange, and in the state of the stocks, whether high or low, he always finds fresh confirmation of his intelligence, and a new argument to support his conjectures. i stept by accident, the other night, into a coffee-house at the foot of pont-neuf, which i had never entered before: (i say it with shame, i, who from taste still more than habit, pretend to know paris, at least as well as the late hurtaud, the lexicographer, whose dictionary, whatever louis xv. might have said of it, is a very incomplete inventory of this capital.) the café manoury, (so it is called) retains something of the gothic, which could not but have an agreeable effect to a man of my age; here is neither bronze, gilding, nor crystal; instead of granite or mahogany stands, there are large oaken tables, with slabs of red marble, and the good banquets of the arras tapestries, furnish as heretofore, the interior of the apartment; the bar is occupied by a corpulent man, who by his dexterity in breaking sugar, seems to have passed at least twenty years in that employment. the excellent coffee, served with great attention in cups of old china, which, notwithstanding their thickness, contained a considerable quantity-altogether contributed to transport me back to the days of my youth, and the 180 the newsmongers. people who surrounded me, were calculated to prolong this pleasing illusion.-i thought at one moment that all the old politicians of the arbour of cracovie, of the great alley of the palaisroyal, and the cellars of procope, had risen to rendezvous at the café manoury, where i recognised to my great surprise, the originals of three little designs which i had bought in the morning of martinet. being tired of listening to disquisitions on the war, i quitted the politician's corner, and approached a table where five persons were listening to a sixth, with an eagerness of curiosity which exhibited itself in their figures, in traits more or less ludicrous. the oratorical newsmonger was a furrier living in the rue bertin-poirée; before i had been advertised of it by one of my neighbours, i had divined his profession, which indicated itself in his witchourat of cotton velvet, doubled with an old foxskin fur, and in his little sable muff, which betrayed the marks, of at least, fifteen years service. this parochial newsmonger related without once stopping, (and without any other transition than the words, "you bring to my recollection," addressed to persons who had not opened their mouths,) an accident which had happened to one of his lodgers, who had nearly been suffocated by the fumes of charcoal; an adventure which had occurred the same night in a house in the rue de la monnaie, where the principal lodger returning home to escort a party of ladies to the café conti, had mistaken the newsmongers. 181 > for a robber, and given in charge to the watch, a young man, a shopkeeper in the neighbourhood, who had come to present a bill to his wife. our furrier afterwards entertained the little assembly with the organisation of the national guard, in which he was about to be promoted to the rank of a serjeant; with the arrest of a young person who had furnished an apartment on credit, on the promise of a lieutenancy of dragoons; with the bankruptcy of a dealer in earthenware, in poulies street, who had nearly three hundred pounds on his books; with a duel fought with swords by two water-carriers, and finally with an account of a sermon to be preached by a canon of notre-dame at st. germains-l'auxerrois during the passion week. let us leave these bourgeois newsmongers, whose insipid absurdities have so long supplied food for our theatres, and celebrate a more important personage of this kind; my readers have already glanced their eyes on cleon. this perhaps is the most communicative creature in the world: the pleasure of hearing and of telling something new, is in his estimation, the greatest gratification which it is possible for a human being to enjoy he scribbles forty notes a day, runs from anti-chamber to anti-chamber, from toilette to toilette: he goes from the tuileries to the exchange, from the exchange to the tortoni coffee-house, and makes more noise in the evening, in a saloon, with the news he has collected, than the public crier in announcing vol. iii. ૨ 182 the newsmongers. two victories. like a certain quadruped, to whom, in his voice and ears, he likewise bears some resemblance, he finds an aliment in every thing, et brouté egalement le chardon et la rose. brouzing alike the thistle and the rose.. he knows of no evil but those things with which you are already acquainted, nor of any good but that of which it is in his power to inform you. he acquaints you with the same satisfaction that a province is exposed to famine, or that it is enriched by an extraordinary abundance; that lima has been swallowed by an earthquake, or that new islands have been discovered in the ocean: he brings you with the same eagerness, the news, that your only daughter is safely brought to bed, or that your son has been wounded in the last battle. he never fails to be at the first representation of a new piece, and hurries out before the conclusion, in order to be the first to announce its success or condemnation. after having exhausted all the topics of public interest, and displayed all his letters respecting them, cleon commences the chapter of anecdotes: "madame n is going to take the waters, for a complaint on which her physician himself is afraid to pronounce decidedly. a court intrigue, (of which he was undoubtedly the instrument) will shortly involve a charming woman in insurthe newsmongers. 183 mountable ridicule.-a literary man has communicated to him, in confidence, a satire like one of juvenal, of which, cleon furnished him with the principal traits. a celebrated dancer has changed since yesterday, the cypher on her carriage it is feared that she will finish at last, by exchanging it for a number.-a woman hás been delivered of a child with four hands, in a house where a famous critic lies on his deathbed, &c. &c." next to public events, the kind of intelligence which cleon most delights to traffic in, is the reputation of women; in three evenings, this drawing-room cossack will find the means to sacrifice, without mercy, the reputation of thirty mothers of families. but in a deficiency of other victims, this magnanimous newsmonger does not hesitate to acquaint you with the good turns done him by his own wife; with the reasons which induce him to expedite the marriage of his daughter, and with the indiscretion which has occasioned him the loss of his best friend; in fine, the idea of his own death would not be at all afflicting to him, if he could find some means which would enable him to disseminate the mournful tidings of it himself. this character of the newsmonger, which has not yet been introduced on our stage, has been sketched in the excellent comedy of the school for scandal, by sheridan, the english orator. in this piece, two newsmongers relate to the friends of an injured husband, that 184 the newsmongers. he, instead of compromising his conjugal dishonour by a legal process, has fought a duel with his wife's gallant: the fact is undoubted; both them attest it; but the one believes that the affair was determined with swords; the other, more positive, insists that it was decided with pistols. he gives by way of proof, the details of the encounter, which took place in an apartment. the husband received his adversary's bullet in the middle of the thorax, while his ball, less dexterously aimed, after missing the lover, struck a little bronze statue of shakspeare, passed out at the window, and wounded a postman who was coming up to the house with a letter from northampton. these gentlemen had only made a trifling mistake, no such combat had taken place; they are set right, by the husband, who assures them of it himself, in addressing to the newsmongers of the l'ecole de médisance, this line of our menteur les gens que vous tuez se portent assez bien. the persons you kill are perfectly well. 185 no. xv. 23d april, 1814. the death of the hermit. vixi et quem dederat cursum fortuna peregi. i have lived; i have finished the task which nature assigned me. the moment is come. i feel that i shall not survive this day, and i avail myself of an effect of my fever, which supplies my blood and spirits with a degree of activity, to trace the last lines which will fall from my trembling hand. in that hour when we must resign whatever has been bestowed on us, when no source of satisfaction remains to us, but that which results from the good we have done, or which we may yet be capable of doing, i shall let no thought escape which my feelings may have carelessly suggested, and which has not been sanctioned by reflection. in drawing, about a year since, the painful picture of the departure of la chaine, i spoke of a young man, of prepossessing appearance, whose eyes were suffused with tears, and whose muscles were in convulsive agitation. this young man, whom i may now be permitted to q 2 186 the death of the hermit. designate more explicitly, was named rateau, and was formerly a subaltern in the parisian guard. he was implicated in the conspiracy of mallet, an attempt, the avowed object of which, did not justify its temerity. condemned to a worse punishment than death, he was sentenced for life to the infamy of the gallies. let me be allowed to exert a dying voice in his favour, and to invoke in his behalf the beneficence, the justice of a prince, whose benefits preceded his presence, and whom heaven restored to his country to repair every injury, and to alleviate every misfortune, * "wednesday, 22d april, 1814. + "the hermit of la chaussée-d'antin is no more at four yesterday evening, he closed his eyes in the sleep of eternity, having attained the age of seventy-three. as the hermit has become by accident a public character, and as his essays have had considerable success in the world, i considered it my duty, in quality of kinsman and executor, to give some account to his friends, (among whom he always felt pleased to reckon his readers) of the last moments of a relative, whose memory i have so much reason to cherish and revere. i imagined likewise, that these details, in which his characteristic discernment may be so clearly recognised, the death of the hermit. 187 would not be misplaced at the end of his speculations on manners. "i was less alarmed than i ought to have been at the progress of a malady, of which my uncle himself had informed the public, and the assurances of the physician had contributed, equally with my own observations, to disarm any apprehension as to the results. the hermit spoke of his approaching dissolution with so much freedom, nay, sometimes with so much gaiety; i remarked so little alteration in his features, so little diminution of his moral or physical faculties, that i persisted in believing that the idea which exclusively occupied him, was nothing more than the text of one of his subsequent essays. "it was only on sunday last, on finding at his bed-side a notary, to whom he was dictating his will, that i found myself assailed with presages, the impression of which, i could not controul my feelings sufficiently to conceal-" my dear ernest, (said he with a smile full of sweetness) every thing surprises you, because you do not prepare yourself for any thing: call to mind the judgment you once passed on madame lineuil,* and do not give way to immoderate grief, because you have flattered yourself with hopes which it was unreasonable to indulge. to die, is one of the clauses in the contract of life, and i have been fortunate that my * in a preceding number of the hermit de la chaussée d'antin. 188 the death of the hermit. hour for its fulfilment has been somewhat procrastinated, since it has enabled me, before i close my eyes for ever, to witness the dawning of a day, which appeared to be finally extinguished, or which, at least, seemed destined never more to rise for me. if nature had left to my own choice the moment for paying this debt, could i have selected a better? i have seen, contrary to all probability, the accomplishment of that grand restoration which is preparing new ages of prosperity for my country; i enjoy in anticipation all the advantages reserved for my successors, with the certainty of not becoming a witness of the last struggles of ambition, folly, and intrigue; struggles which may yet be made to retard the re-establishment of an order of things where probity and merit will constitute the only claims to the estimation of the country and the favour of the prince. i admire as a man, the singular example of magnanimity displayed by an alexander, who may truly be denominated the great, and it is only as a frenchman that i have some regrets in contemplating events which militate against the glory of my country, whose immediate consequences, perhaps will not be unmingled with mortification, and whose advantages will not be reaped without more than one sacrifice." "the physician arrived at the moment when my uncle, animated by what he called his prophetic spirit, began his course of predictions: he imposed silence on the sick man, and obliged him to allow his body some repose, forbidthe death of the hermit. 189 ding him to exercise his head. the hermit entrusted me with some billets to deliver, and requested me to return early the next morning. it was in vain that i insisted on passing the night with him; he would not permit it. "in the morning, notwithstanding all my diligence, i found myself preceded in my visit by madame l*** my uncle's most intimate friend, of whom he has frequently made mention in his essays: her presence appeared to have reanimated him, and my hopes began to revive. "the morning was serene: the hermit received several visits, read the journals, and introduced himself a discussion on public affairs, the consideration of which had exclusively occupied him since the commencement of his illness. "it will readily be believed," said he, "that my opinions, at this time, are disinterested, and that my wishes are unmingled with ideas of personal advantage. there can be no repose, no possible happiness for france, but in the bosom of that monarchichal constitution which montesquieu has described with so much eloquence, and whose advantages are practically exemplified in a neighbouring nation." the chevalier de n contended against this proposition, and spoke in favour of a pure, that is to say, an absolute monarchy, in the tone of a man who repeats a lesson, half learned, and who imagines himself supporting principles while he is but defending his prejudices. ah! m. 190 the death of the hermit. le chevalier,' replied the hermit to him, 'for heaven's sake, do not be more a royalist than the king, it is he himself who requests it of you your actions and your exhortations will be vain, the age will take its course, and we have no alternative but to go along with it; you will never again able to persuade any one, that despotism, even under a good prince, is not the worst of all governments. in proportion as the french cherish the bourbons, whom the bounty of heaven has restored to them, they will find a security for their throne, even in the very principles which reversed it: this security can only emanate from a state of things which identifies, in some sort, the nation with the government; which confirms the royal authority, and guarantees public liberty; which places the independence of the tribunals above all fear or influence, and which establishes at the same time the responsibility of ministers and the inviolability of the monarch. maintain, above all the rest,maintain, with certain legal restrictions, that liberty of the press, the value of which was sufficiently demonstrated by the pains which buonaparte took to suppress it. from that day when the right of thinking is repressed, when perhaps a book has no chance of appearing without having been degraded or mutilated by the censor, the debasement of the nation is completed, and tyranny no longer knows a limit: thence we may date that deluge of absurdities, of crimes and illusions with which france has been inundated during ten the death of the hermit. 191 years, and which resulted not less from the imbecile credulity of the people, than from the unprincipled audacity of the government. we may apply to its chief, that expression of luis de haro, the spanish ambassador at the conferences of the pyrenees, when his opinion was asked of cardinal mazarin: "he was a great man," replied he, "but he had a great fault, which was, that he was always endeavouring to deceive every body.” "i saw that my uncle had greatly fatigued himself with speaking. madame lmade me a sign to withdraw two or three interlocutors who unmercifully persisted in the dispute; i was obliged to call the doctor to my aid. he entered, saluted the company with a true hippocratical gravity, approached the sick man, felt his pulse, considered a moment, took a pinch of snuff, and then politely adjourned the assembly, with the exception of madame l, myself, the chevalier, and the doctor himself, whom my uncle detained to dinner. "the doctor expressed concern. not act like children,' said my uncle, but express ourselves candidly. it is well understood, doctor, that your theories are defective, and that in spite of you or me, death must soon overtake us; let us then endeavour to submit to this necessity as easily as possible: 'let us 55# "pompa mortis magis terret quam mors ipsa." *the pomp of death is more terrible than death itself. 192 the death of the hermit. as you well know. i have yet some days before me, i wish to enjoy them entirely; i shall get the start of you: i request therefore, that you three will not distress yourselves; we will once more dine together.' "without attending to the remonstrances of the doctor, he gave orders to have the table laid by his bed-side, and during the repast, apparently in better spirits than we had seen him a long time, he talked of nothing but the miracu lous event of the restoration. the good hermit drank a glass of burgundy to the health of louis xviii, and the peace of the world, and requested me to sing, during the dessert, some spirited couplets which had lately been addressed to him by an amiable correspondent of the caveau moderne. "towards six o'clock, my uncle experienced a crisis, which made him request to have a few minutes interview with madame l, alone. fifty years since,' said he to her with a smile, i should not have ventured to demand this favour, and you would have felt some scruple in granting me a tête-à-tête equally innocent time has singular privileges." "i was recalled in about a quarter of an hour. madame l was seated before an open seeretary, and held in her hand a little ebony coffer with steel fastenings; with this she withdrew, endeavouring to stifle her sobbings, and requesting me not to quit the patient until her return. the death of the hermit. 193 "this lady had scarcely left the room when my uncle felt another convulsion, less violent, indeed, than the former, but which terminated in a long fainting fit. i called the doctor with a cry of terror; he adopted means to reanimate his patient, and assured me, by way of restoring my spirits, that there was not yet any danger. "the doctor is right' added the hermit, who had heard his last words-there is no danger. that evil cannot be very formidable, which is the last; and to judge by the trial i am about to make, it is very easy to die. the soul of an old man escapes easily; as it was observed by seneca, it is already on the brink of his lips. i continue to study myself in these last moments, and it is not without satisfaction that i find myself on the point of ceasing to do what i have been engaged in doing so long. of what should i complain? is it not as natural to die as to be born? and do not all the paths of glory and of fortune terminate at this point? in calculating the general term of life, i have lived several years at the expense of others, i have no longer any reasonable wish to form, nor any other prayer to address to heaven than my nunc dimittis. ( "adieu, my friend,' continued he, in a faultering voice, we shall see each other again to-morrow, i hope, and you will know my last intentions.' vol. iii r 194 the death of the hermit. "the next day, tuesday, the hermit slept, almost without interruption; during the ensuing night he was agitated, but without pain. on wednesday morning he wrote some linesthose which i have affixed at the top of this article-i had not closed my eyes during three days, and i slept on a sofa in an adjoining chamber; at about a quarter past four in the afternoon i was awaked by madame l, who announced to me, her eyes overflowing with tears, that my uncle was breathing his last; he opened his eyes, turned them on madame land myself with an expression of ineffable tenderness, turned his head on the pillow, and died. "ernest de lalle." 195 no. xvi. 30th april, 1814. the hermit's testament. relinquendem est mart. ep. 44. all must be resigned. the custom of making wills must be a very ancient one, if we may judge by that of noah, cited by eusebius, the principal ordinances of which have been preserved to us in the chronicle of the monk cedrenus. i know that several authors have contended against this right, in virtue of which a man disposes of those possessions which can no longer appertain to him when he shall have ceased to exist. i am of another opinion: it appears to me to be a natural and simple provision, that we should be. stow on others the goods we possess, on the condition that they shall not take possession of them until we ourselves have resigned them, and i should have no difficulty in proving that custom is, in this respect, perfectly in unison with reason, justice, and morality. in order, as far as possible, to put this last act of my will out of the reach of that chicane which so fre 196 the hermit's testament. quently introduces itself between two interpretations, i have taken the precaution to make what is called an olographic testament; and to ordain as the first clause, that whatever done shall raise the slightest difficulty on all, or any part of the said testament, shall forfeit, by that act, all advantage resulting from benefactions made in his favour. let such a regulation as this be generally adopted; let it be made an indispensable preamble in all acts of this nature, and we should prevent an infinite number of disgraceful lawsuits, by stopping up the source of them. seeing that i bequeath to my nephew, as the most valuable part of the inheritance i transmit to him, the reputation of an honest man, which i have laboured to sustain during sixty years, i demand from him that he defend it unguibus et rostro, against those associations of bravoes, newly re-organised, who attack and maltreat with indiscriminate ferocity both the dead and the living. i declare that i quit this world in full expectation that i am entering on a better; a thing which must appear excessively probable, even to the most incredulous, at least if he have passed, like me, seventy-five in this. nevertheless, as we ought, as far as we can, to die in peace, even with those with whom we have lived at war, i sincerely ask pardon of all the hypocrites i have unmasked, of all the intriguers i have exposed, aud of all the fools i have had the misfortune to laugh at; on my own part, i forgive all who have treated me the hermit's testament. 197 with envy, hatred, or ingratitude, and all the libellers who tormented my life as much as they were able; i say nothing of some faithless beauties who caused me much uneasiness in my youth; each has, in turn, forgiven the other. i require that all my papers, without exception, shall be transmitted to my old friend charles de l, who, after having extracted from them what he shall judge worthy of the public, or of a friend's port-folio, shall himself commit the remainder to the flames. by this arrangement i obtain the right of previously disavowing all posthumous memoirs, all inedited correspondence, and other publications of the same kind, which the gleaners of literature may think proper to publish under my name. i should do an injustice to my friend in forbidding, by a special interdict, the publication of my private letters. we have too often protested against that violation of the most sacred of sanctuaries; against that indelicacy which makes the public the confidant of our most secret affections, of the unreserved confessions of two souls expatiating in mutual freedom, to have the slightest apprehension of exciting that scandal after my death, which is attached to the letters of mirabeau, those of mademoiselle de lespinasse, and many others. i do not forbid the compilation of a complete edition of my works, if the risk be warranted by iny bookseller and the public; but i insist that, my portrait shall i not be placed at the head of it; that is a species of vanity of which cerr 2 198 the hermit's testament. tain persons would have cured me, granting i had been originally infected with it. i please myself with the idea of preventing the journalists from diverting themselves with the socratic turn of my nose, and the chinese character of my eyes. if, notwithstanding, the bookseller shall insist on the portrait as an indispensable adjunct, i beg that the artist may be requested to furnish a costume more conformable to my character than my profession. i have often laughed at seeing bertin sighing forth an elegy in a dragoon's uniform; at gilbert, wielding the lash of satire, in a bag-wig: and at buffon explaining the mysteries of nature, in an embroidered coat and laced ruffles. i expressly forbid my executor to sell my furniture by auction. i could never contemplete without extreme disgust that eager crowd of persons whom a notice affixed to a piece of carpet has drawn into a house of mourning, into the midst of a family in tears, in order to dispute for the spoils of the dead. in consequence, i direct my nephew to divide between my servant paul and mrs. choquet, my housekeeper, such of my old moveables, as he may not reserve for his own use. i leave to my nephew in succession, as i received it from my uncle, the prior d'armeytières, my large arm-chair, with morocco cushions, which he is not to banish from his dressing-room, on the penalty of insulting the memory of his forefathers in giving himself the habit of reposing on it an hour or two every the hermit's testament. 199 day, he will be continually reminded of some old ideas of probity and morality attached to it, by which, as occasion serves, he may regulate his actions. i recommend equally to the piety of my legatee, the eighteen family portraits which i bequeath to him. many of them are from the the hands of great masters; there are two by mignard, three by rigaud, one by raoux, and four by latour. if my grand nephew should ever be tempted, in an hour of necessity, to put up his ancestors to sale, i recommend him to read over a certain scene in the school for scandal, which, perhaps, may induce him to alter his resolution. i give to the wife of my friend charles de l, my portrait at length, which she has frequently demanded of me, and which i was determined to refuse while living; for this reason, that it is a striking likeness, and a monstrous caricature. death will efface the ridicule and enhance the value of the resemblance. item. i give to paul all my wardrobe; the articles it contains are so plain that he may wear them without impropriety, and their style is so antique that they may soon become fash.ionable. my books are chiefly surcharged with notes, and are neither sufficiently rare nor curious to tempt the amateurs. if my executor should determine on selling them, he will be obliged to treat with the second-hand booksellers; by which means i shall at least escape that biblio200 the hermit's testament. graphical celebrity, which consists, in having one's name exposed in a collection of catalogues, by the side of those filheuls, la ceus, bellangers, and other illustrious and unknown worthies, who have no other reputation than that of their libraries. i give to my housekeeper my kitchen furniture; requesting her in return to forgive me for having spoken a little freely of her in a discourse, intituled, the gossipings of my housekeeper, which has not yet been published, but which will appear in the last volume of my collection of observations. i give to the said dame choquet a portrait of the virgin after raphael, which she has long coveted, and which, as she has observed a hundred times, will look extremely well at the foot of her bed,: between her crucifix and her holy-water pot. item. i give her a year's wages. i wish that no billets should be sent apprising persons of my death; those who are interested in it, will hear of it soon enough; those who are not, have no occasion to hear it at all. i desire that the ceremony of my funeral may be conducted with the utmost simplicity; that i may be borne directly from my own house to the church, and from the church to my final abode, without stopping the hearse before the theatre du vaudeville, where i recollect to have had a piece brought out twenty years since; nor even before the office of the gazette de france, where i once took up my literary residence, lest they should command the hermit's testament. 201 some one of the establishment to pronounce my funeral oration. p seeing the instability of our modern cemeteries, and that another has taken possession of the only place in the burying-ground of montmartre which i had a wish to occupy, i request dr. nto employ some method, supplied by his art, to reduce my body, as promptly as possible to a skeleton, so that i may be admitted, immediately, and without passing through the gradations of the sepulchre, to the catacombs, where i bespoke a place two years since in a walk i took with madame de sezanne.— once there, i am certain i shall not be again dislodged; i have never been fond of removals. i desire that paul may remain in my nephew's service, unless he should choose to retire to my farm in normandy; in either case, i give and bequeath to him a pension of 300 francs, besides 200 francs for mourning, which he may wear in colours, should he like that better. item. i give to this good and faithful domestic the time-piece fixed up in my alcove, which he has kept in order during thirty years. item. i give to my excellent friend, charles de l, in memory of our long friendship, which commenced in india, an engraved ruby, which was presented to me by hyder ally, after the invasion of the carnatic. i have worn it ever since. this memorial will be found attached to my watch chain. item. i give to madame la little black coffer, with steel fastenings, the key of which 202 the hermit's testament. has been a long time lost; and i request that she will not open it until the expiration of one year after my decease. item. i give to the poor inhabitants of the little town of nwhere i was born, the sum of 1500 francs, which the curate of the place will take the charge of distributing. my debts discharged, and the provisions of this testament fulfilled, i leave the rest of my estate, real and personal, to my grand nephew ernest de lallé, whom i nominate at the same time my executor. written and signed by my own hand; enjoying the full exercise of my intellectual faculties, at paris, in my hermitage of la chausséed'antin, this 28th of march, 1814. e. j. the hermit of la chaussée d'antin. the end. དྲ།། he ד h 黑道 ​ 1 l 1 the new york public library reference department this book is unde no circumstances to be taken from the building 1915 jul c sep 1 3 form 410 feb 2 1910 e the new york public library reference department this book is under no circumstances to be taken from the building 1315 jul sep 1 3 orm 410 461 135 nypl research libraries 3 3433 07485577 0 ncl goldsmith ין ncl goldsmit i la 1 1 1 ncl goldsmith. w dock oliver goldsmith the poetical works of dr. oliver goldsmith, retaliation, miscellanies, containing his deserted village, traveller, hermit, bea prologues, epilogues, songs, elegies, epitaphs, &c. &c. to which is prefixed the life of the author. dublin: printed by charles downes, 3, whitefriar-street. 1802. the new york public library 26588b astor, lenox and tilden foundations 1939 l u the life o f dr. oliver goldsmith. † oliver goldsmith, fon of the reverend charles goldſmith, was born at elphin, in the county of rofcommon in ireland, in the year 1729. his father had four fons, of whom oliver was the third. after being well inftructed in the claffics, at the fchool of mr. hughes, he was admitted a fizer in trinity-college, dublin, on the 11th of june, 1744 while he refided there, he exhibited no fpecimens of that genius, which in his maturer years, raiſed his character fo high. on the 27th of february, 1746, o. s. (two years after the regular time) he obtained the degree in thefe memoirs, which were publiſhed in london foon after the death of dr. goldſmith, were feveral miſtakes, with respect to our author's age, the time of his admiffion into the college of dublin, &c. which are here corrected from accurate information. (iv) degree of bachelor of arts. soon after he turned his thoughts to the profeffion of phyfic; and after at tending fome courfes of anatomy in dublin, proceeded to edinburgh, in the year 1751, where he ftudied the feveral branches of medicine under the different profeffors in that univerfity. his beneficent difpofition foon involved him in unexpected difficulties; and he was obliged precipitately to leave scotland, in confequence of having engaged himſelf to pay a confiderable fum of money for a fellow-ftudent. a few days after, about the beginning of the year 1754, he arrived at sunderland, near newcaſtle, where he was arreſted at the fuit of one barclay a taylor in edinburgh, to whom he had given fecurity for his friend. by the friendſhip of mr. laughlin maclane and dr. sleigh, who were then in the college, he was foon delivered out of the hands of the bailiff, and took his paffage on board a dutch ſhip to rotterdam, where, after a fhort ftay, he proceeded to bruffels. he then vifited great part of flanders; and after paffing fome time at strafbourg and louvain, where he obtained a degree of bachelor in phyfic, he accompanied an engliſh gentleman to geneva. it is undoubtedly a fact, that this ingenius, unfor. tunate man made moft part of his tour on foot. * he left countries wear different appearances to travellers of different circumſtances. a man who is whirled through europe in a poft. chaife, and the pilgrim who walks the grand tour (v) left england with very little money; and being of a philofophical turn, and at that time poffeffing a body capable of fuftaining every fatigue, and a heart not eafily terrified by danger, he became an enthuſiaſt to the defign he had formed of ſeeing the manners of different countries. he had fome knowledge of the french language, and of mufic; he played tolerably well on the german flute; which from an amuſement, became at fome times the means of fubfiftence. his learning produced him an hofpitable reception at most of the religious houfes that he vifited; and his mufic made him welcome to the peaſants of flanders and germany. "whenever i approached a peaſant's houſe towards night fall," he uſed to fay, "i played one of my most merry tunes, and that generally procured me not only a lodging, but fubfiftence for the next day but in truth" (his conftant expreffion) " i muft own, when. ever i attempted to entertain perfons of a higher rank, they always thought my performance odious, and never made me any return for my endeavours to pleaſe them." : on his arrival at geneva, he was recommended as a proper perſon for a traveling tutor to a young man, who had been unexpectedly left a confiderable fum of money by his uncle, mr. s * **** *. this youth, tour on foot, will form very different conclufions. haud inexpertus loquor." goldſmith's "prefent state of learning in europe," 1759. (vi) youth, who was articled to an attorney, on receipt of his fortune determined to fee the world; and, on his engaging with his preceptor, made a provifo, that he fhould be permitted to govern himſelf; and our traveller foon found his pupil underſtood the art of directing in money concerns extremely well, as avarice was his prevailing paffion. during goldfith's continuance in switzerland, he affiduouſly cultivated his poetical talent, of which he had given fome ftriking proofs at the college of edinburgh. it was from hence he fent the firft fketch of his delightful epiftle, called the traveller, to his brother henry, a clergyman in ireland. from geneva mr. goldfmith and his pupil proceeded to the fouth of france, where the young man, upon fome difagreement with his preceptor, paid him the fmall part of his falary which was due, and embarked at marſeilles for england. our wanderer was left once more upon the world at large, and paffed through a number of difficulties in traverfing the greateſt part of france. at length, his curiofity being gratified, he bent his courfe towards england, and arrived at dover, the beginning of the winter, in the year 1759. his finances were fo low on h's return to england, that he with difficuity got to the metropolis, his whole ftock of cash amounting to no more than a few half-pence! (vii) half-pence! an entire ftranger in london, his mind was filled with the moſt gloomy reflections in confequence of his embarraffed fituation! he applied to feveral apothecaries in hopes of being received in the capacity of a journeyman, but his broad iriſh accent, and the uncouthneſs of his appearance, occafioned him to meet with infult from most of the medicinal tribe. the next day, however, a chymift near fiſhftreet, ftruck with his forlorn condition, and the fimplicity of his manner, took him into his laboratory, where he continued 'till he difcovered that his old friend dr. sleigh was in london. that gentleman received him with the warnieft affection, and liberally invited him to fhare his purfe 'till fome eſtablifhment could be procured for him. goldfmith, unwilling to be a burden to his friend, a fhort time after eagerly embraced an offer which was made him to affift the late reverend dr. milner, in inſtructing the young gentlemen at the academy at peckham; and acquitted himfelf greatly to the doctor's fatisfaction for a fhort time; but, having obtained fome reputation by the criticifins he had written in the monthly review, mr. griffith, the principal proprietor, engaged him in the compilation of it; and, refolving to purfue the profeffion of writing, he returned to london, as the mart where abilities of every kind were fure of meeting diftinction and reward. here he determined to adopt a plan of the ſtrictest economy, and at the clofe of the year 1759, took (viii) took lodgings in green-arbour-court in the old bailey, where he wrote feveral ingenious pieces. the late mr. newbery, who, at that time gave great encouragement to men of literary abilities, became a kind of patron to our young author, and introduced him as one of the writers in the public ledger, in which his citizen of the world originally appeared, under the title of "chineſe letters." * 0 fortune now ſeemed to take fome notice of a man fhe had long neglected. the fimplicity of his character, the integrity of his heart, and the merit of his productions, made his company very acceptable to a number of reſpectable perſons, and, about the middle of the year 1762, he emerged from his mean apartments near the old bailey to the politer air of the temple, where he took handſome chambers, and lived in a genteel ftyle. the publication of his traveller, his vicar of wakefield, and his hiftory of england, was followed by the performance of his comedy c * during this time (according to another account) he wrote for the british magazine, of which dr. smollet was then editor, moſt of thofe effys and tales, which he afterwards collected and publiſhed in a ſeparate volume. he also wrote occafionally for the critical review; and it was the merit which he difcovered in criticifing a deſpicable tranſlation of ovid's "fafti" by a pedantic fchool-mafter, and his "enquiry into the prefent state of learning in europe," which first introduced him to the acquaintance of dr. smollet, who recommended him to feveral literati, and to most of the bookfellers by whom he was afterwards patronized. d me sch tor? ( ix ), · comedy of the good-natured man at covent garden theatre, and placed him in the firſt rank of the poets of the preſent age. another feature in his character we cannot help laying before the reader: previous to the publication of his deferted village, the bookfeller had given ut him a note for one hundred guineas for the copy; me which the doctor mentioned, a few hours after, to air one of his friends, who obferved it was a very great 5, fum for fo fhort a performance. "in truth," replied a f goldſmith," i think fo too, it is much more than if the honeft man can afford, or the piece is worth; i fe have not been eaſy fince i received it; i will therened fore go back and return him his note:" which he actually did, and left it entirely to the bookfeller to the pay him according to the profits produced by the fale of the poem, which turned out very confiderable. vrom ard ment our doctor, as he was now univerſally called, had a conftant levee of his diftreft countrymen, whoſe wants, as far as he was able, he always relieved; and he had been often known to leave himſelf even without a guinea, in order to fupply the neceffities of others. during the laft rehearſal of his comedy, intitled, she stoops to conquer, which mr. coleman thought 1 en would not fucceed, on the doctor's objecting to the -ich repetition of one of tony lumpkin's fpeeches, ho b being ( x ) being apprehenfive it might injure the play, the manager, with great keeneſs replied, "pha, my dear doctor, do not be fearful of squibs, when we have been fitting almoſt theſe two hours upon a barrel of gunpowder." the piece, however, contrary to mr. coleman's expectation, was received with uncommon applaufe by the audience; and goldfmith's pride was fo hurt by the ſeverity of the above obfervation, that it entirely put an end to his friendſhip for the gentleman who made it. notwithſtanding the great fuccefs of his pieces, by fome of which, it is afferted upon good authority, he cleared 1800l. in one year, his circumſtances were by no means in a profperous fituation! partly owing to the liberality of his difpofition, 'and' partly to an unfortunate habit he had contracted of gaming, with the arts of which he was very little acquainted, and confequently became the prey of thoſe who were unprincipled enough to take advantage of his ignorance. juft before his death he had formed a deſign for executing an univerfal dictionary of arts and sciences, the profpectus of which he actually printed and diftributed among his acquaintance. in this work feveral of his literary friends (particularly sir joſhua reynolds, doctor johnſon, mr. beauclerc and mr. garrick) had promifed to affift, and to furnish him with articles on different fubjects. he had (xi) had entertained the moft fanguine expectations from the fuccefs of it. the undertaking, however, did not meet with that encouragement from the bookfellers which he had imagined it would undoubtedly receive; and he uſed to lament this circumſtance almoſt to the laft hour of his exiſtence. he had been for ſome years afflicted, at different times, with a violent ftranguary, which contributed not a little to imbitter the latter part of his life; and which, united with the vexations he fuffered upon other occafions, brought on a kind of habitual defpondency. in this unhappy difpofition he was attacked by a nervous fever, which being improperly treated, terminated in his diffolution on the 4th day of april, 1774, in the forty-fifth year of his age. his friends, who were very numerous and refpectable, had determined to bury him in weftminſter abbey, where a tablet was to have been erected to his memory. his paul was to have been fupported by lord shelburne, lord louth, sir joſhua reynolds, the hon. mr. beauclerc, mr. edmond burke and mr. garrick; but from fome unaccountable circumftances this defign was dropped, and his remains were privately depofited in the temple burial ground. * b 2 as * a ſubſcription, however, has fince been raiſed by his friends, to defray the expenfe of a marble monument which is now executed by mr. nollikens, an eminent ſtatuary in london (xii) as to his character it is ftrongly illuftrated by mr. pope's line, "in wit a man, fimplicity a child." the learned leiſure he loved to enjoy was too often interrupted by diftreffes which aroſe from the openness of his temper, and which ſometimes threw him into loud fits of paffion; but this impetuofity was cor. rected by a moment's reflection, and his fervants have london, and is placed in weſtminſter-abbey, between gay's monument and the duke of argyle's, in the poet's corner, with the following latin inſcription, written by his friend dr. samuel johnſon: olivarii goldsmith, poete, physici, historici, qui nullum fere scribendi genus, non tetigit, nullum quod tetigit non ornavit: sive risus essent movendi, sive lacrimæ, affectuum potens at lenis dominator: ingenio sublimis, vividus, versatilis, oratione grandis, nitidus, venustus: hoc monumento memoriam coluit sodalium amor amicorum fides, lectorum veneratio. in hibernia natus mdccxxix elfinie eblane literis istitutus: londini obiit mdcclxxiv. (xiii) have been known upon theſe occafions, purpoſely to throw themſelves in his way, that they might profit by it immediately after; for he who had the good fortune to be reproved was certain of being rewarded for it. his difappointments at other times made him peevish and fullen, and he has often left a party of convivial friends abruptly in the evening, in order to go home and brood over his misfortunes. the univerſal eſteem in which his poems are held, and the repeated pleaſure they give in the perufal, are ftriking proofs of their merit. he was a ftudious and correct obſerver of nature, happy in the ſelection of his images, in the choice of his ſubjects, and in the harmony of his verfification; and, though his embarraffed fituation prevented him from putting the laft hand to many of his productions, his hermit, his traveller, and his deferted village, bid fair to claim a place among the moſt finiſhed pieces in the english language. as different accounts have been given of this ingenious man, the writer of thefe anecdotes cannot conclude without declaring, that they are all founded upon facts, and collected by one who lived with him upon the moſt friendly footing for a great number of years, and never felt any forrow more fenfibly than that which was occafioned by his death. t on the death ог dr. goldsmith, by w. woty. adieu, fweet bard! to each fine feeling true, thy virtues many, and thy foibles few; thofe form'd to charm e'en vicious minds,—and thele with harmleſs mirth the focial foul to pleaſe. another's woe thy heart could always melt : none gave more free,—for none more deeply felt. sweet bard, adieu! thy own harmonious lays have ſculptur'd out thy monument of praiſe : yes, thefe furvive to time's remoteit day; while drops the buſt, and boastful tombs decay. reader, if number'd in the mufes' train, go, tune the lyre, and imitate his ſtrain; but, if no poet thou, reverfe the plan, depart in peace, and imitate the man. poems by. dr. goldsmith. 7 ** ** a prologue written and spoken by the poet laberius, a roman knight whom cesar forced upon the stage. preserved by macrobius. * what! no way left to fhun the inglorious ſtage, and fave from infamy my finking age. scarce half alive, opprefs'd with many a year, what in the name of dotage drives me here? a time there was, when glory was my guide, nor force nor fraud could turn my ſteps afide; unaw'd by pow'r, and unappal'd by fear, with honeft thrift i held my honour dear: a but * this tranflation was firſt printed in one of our author's earliest works, "the prefent state of learning in europe." 12mo. 1759 2 but this vile hour difperfes all my ftore, and all my hoard of honour is no more; for ah! too partial to my life's decline, cæfar perfuades, fubmiffion must be mine; him i obey, whom heav'n itſelf obeys, hopeleſs of pleafing, yet inclined to pleaſe. here then at once i welcome ev'ry ſhame, and cancel at threeſcore a life of fame; no more my titles fhall my children tell, the old buffoon will fit my name as well; this day beyond its term my fate extends, for life is ended when our honour ends. the double transformation. a tale. secluded from domeftic ſtrife, jack book-worm led a college life; a fellowship at twenty-five; made him the happieſt man alive; he drank his glafs and crack'd his joke, and freſhmen wondered as he ſpoke. such pleaſures unallay'd with care, could any accident impair? could cupid's fhaft at length transfix, our ſwain arriv'd at thirty-fix? o had the archer ne'er come down το ravage in a country town! or flavia been content to ſtop at triumphs in a fleet-ſtreet ſhop; o had her eyes forgot to blaze! or jack had wanted eyes to gaze; o!-but let exclamation ceaſe, her prefence baniſh'd all his peace. so with decorum all things carry'd; mifs frown'd, and bluſh'd, and then was-married. a 2 need 4 need we expoſe to vulgar fight the raptures of the bridal night? need we intrude on hallow'd ground, or draw the curtains, clos'd around? let it ſuffice, that each had charms : he clafp'd a goddeſs in his arms; and though ſhe felt his ufage rough, yet in a man 'twas well enough, the honey-moon like light'ning flew : the fecond brought its tranſports too. a third, a fourth, was not amifs; the fifth was friendflip mix'd with bliſs; but, when a twelvemonth pafs'd away, jack found his goddeſs made of clay; found half the charms that deck'd her face arofe from powder, ſhreds, or lace; but ftill the worſt remain'd behind, that very face had robb'd her mind; skill'd in no other arts was ſhe, but dreffing, patching, repartee; and just as humour rofe or fell, by turns a flattern or a belle. 'tis true fhe dreſs'd with modern grace, half-naked at a ball or race; but when at home, at board or bed, five greafy night-caps wrap'd her head. could fo much beauty condefcend to be a dull domeftic friend? could 5 could any curtain lectures bring to decency fo fine a thing? in fhort, by night, 'twas fits or fretting; by day, 'twas gadding or coquetting. fond to be ſeen, ſhe kept a bevy of powder'd coxcombs at her levy: the 'fquire and captain took their ſtations, and twenty other near relations; jack fuck'd his pipe, and often broke a figh in fuffocating ſmoke; while all their hours were paſs'd between infulting repartee or ſpleen. 2 thus as her faults each day were known, he thinks her features coarfer grown ; he fancies every vice fhe fhews, or thins her lip, or points her noſe: whenever rage or envy riſe, how wide her mouth, how wild her eyes! he knows not how, but fo it is, her face is grown a knowing phiz; and, though her fops are wond'rous civil, he thinks her ugly as the devil. now, to perplex the ravell❜d nooze, as each a different way purſues, while fullen or loquacious ftrife promis'd to hold them on for life, that dire difeafe, whofe ruthlefs power, withers the beauty's tranfient flower: lo! 6 lo! the fimall-pox, whofe horrid glare levell❜d its terrors at the fair; and, rifling every youthful grace, left but the remnant of a face. the glaſs, grown hateful to her fight, reflected now a perfect fright: each former art ſhe vainly tries to bring back luftre to her eyes. in vain ſhe tries her paſte and creams, to ſmooth her ſkin, or hide its feams; her country beaux and city cousins, lovers no more, flew off by dozens: the 'fquire himfelf was feen to yield, and ev❜n the captain quit the field. poor madam now condemn'd to hack the reft of life with anxious jack, perceiving others fairly flown, attempted pleafing him alone. jack foon was dazzled to behold her prefent face furpaſs the old; with modefty her cheeks are dy'd, humility difplaces pride; for taudry finery is feen a perfon ever neatly clean; no more prefuming on her fway, she learns good-nature every day; serenely gay, and ſtrict in duty, jack finds his wife a perfect beauty. a new simile, in the manner of swift. long had i fought in vain to find a likeneſs for the fcribbling kind: the modern fcribbling kind, who write, in wit, and fenfe, and nature's fpite: 'till reading, i forget what day on, a chapter out of tooke's pantheon, i think i met with fomething there, to fuit my purpoſe to a hair: but let us not proceed too furious; firſt pleaſe to turn to god mercurius; you'll find him pictur'd at full length in book the fecond, page the tenth: the ftrefs of all my proofs on him i lay, and now proceed we to our simile. imprimis, pray obferve his hat; wings upon either fide-mark that. well! what is it from thence we gather? why thefe denote a brain of feather. a brain of feather! very right, with wit that's flighty, learning light; such 8 such as to modern bards decreed: a juft compariſon-proceed. in the next place, his feet peruſe, wings grow again from both his fhoes; defign'd, no doubt, their part to bear, and waft his godſhip through the air; and here my fimile unites, for in a modern poet's flights, i'm ſure it might be juſtly ſaid, his feet are uſeful as his head. laftly, vouchfafe t'obſerve his hand, fill'd with a fnake-incircled wand; by claffick authors, term'd caduceus, and highly fam'd for ſeveral uſes. to wit-moft wond'roufly endu'd, no poppy water half ſo good; for let folks only get a touch, its foporific virtue's ſuch, tho' ne'er fo much awake before, that quickly they begin to fnore. add too, what certain writers tell, with this he drives mens fouls to hell. now to apply, begin we then; his wand's a modern author's pen; the ferpents round about it twin'd, denote him of the reptile kind; denote the rage with which he writes, his frothy flaver, venom❜d bites; an 9 an equal femblance ſtill to keep, alike too both conduce to fleep. this diff'rence only as the god drove fouls to tart'rus with his rod, with his goofequill the fcribbling elf inftead of others, damns himſelf. and here my fimile almoft tript, yet grant a word by way of poſtſcript. moreover, merc'ry had a failing: well! what of that? out with it-ſtealing; in which all modern bards agree, being each as great a thief as he : but ev'n this deity's exiſtence, shall lend my fimile affiftance. our modern bards! why what a pox are they but ſenſeleſs ſtones and blocks. b a description of an author's bed chamber. where the red lion ſtaring o'er the way, invites each paffing ſtranger that can pay; where culvert's butt, and parfon's black champaign, regale the drabs and bloods of drury-lane; there in a lonely room, from bailiffs fnug; the mufe found scroggen ftretch'd beneath a rug; a window patch'd with paper, lent a ray, that dimly fhew'd the ſtate in which he lay ; the fanded floor that grits beneath the tread; the humid wall with paltry pictures ſpread: the royal game of goofe was there in view, and the twelve rules the royal martyr drew ; the feafons, fram'd with lifting, found a place, and brave prince william fhew'd his lamp black face: the morn was cold, he views with keen defire the rufty grate unconſcious of a fire: with beer and milk arrears, the frieze was fcor'd, and five crack'd tea cups drefs'd the chimney board; a night-cap deck'd his brows inſtead of bay, a cap by nighta ftocking all the day! the hermit. letter. to the printer of the st. james's chronicle. sir, june, 1767. as there is nothing i diflike fo much as newspaper controverfy, particularly upon trifles, permit me to be as concife as poffible in informing a correfpondent of yours, that i recommended blainville's travels, becauſe i thought the book was a good one; and i think fo ftill. i faid, i was told by the bookfeller that it was then firſt publiſhed; but in that, it ſeems, i was mifinformed, and my reading was not extenfive enough to fet me right. another correfpondent of yours accuíes me of having taken a ballad, i publifhed fome time ago, from one* by the ingenious mr. percy. i do not think there is any great refemblance between the two pieces in queftion.-if there be any, his ballad is taken from mine. i read it to mr. percy, fome years ago; and he (as we both confidered theſe things as trifles at beft) told me, with his ufual b 2 good * the friar of orders gray." reliq. of anc. poetry," vol. i p. 243. 12 good humour, the next time i ſaw him, that he had taken my plan to form the fragments of shakeſpeare into a ballad of his own. he then read me his little cento, if i may fo call it, and i highly approved it.-such petty anecdotes as theſe are ſcarce worth printing: and, were it not for the bufy difpofition of fome of your correſpondents, the public ſhould never have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or that i am obliged to his friendſhip and learning for communications of a much more important nature. i am, sir, yours, &c. oliver goldsmith. 66 the hermit. a ballad. turn, urn, gentle hermit of the dale, "and guide my lonely way, "to where yon taper cheers the vale, "with hoſpitable ray. "for here forlorn and loft i tread, "with fainting ſteps and flow: "where wilds immeafurably ſpread, "seem length'ning as i go." "forbear, my fon," the herinit cries, "to tempt the dang'rous gloom; "for yonder faithleſs phantom flies "to lure thee to thy doom. "here to the houſeleſs child of want, "my door is ftill; open "and tho' my portion is but fcant, "i give it with good will. "then turn to night, and freely ſhare "whate'er my cell beftows; "6 my rufhy couch and frugal fare, "my bleffing and repoſe. "no 14 "no flocks, that range the valley free, "to flaughter i condemn : "taught by that power that pities me, "i learn to pity them: "but from the mountain's graffy fide "a guiltless feaſt i bring: "a fcrip with herbs and fruits ſupply'd, "and water from the ſpring.. "then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; "all earth-born cares are wrong: "man wants but little here below, 66 nor wants that little long." soft as the dew from heaven defcends, his gentle accents fell: the modeft ftranger lowly bends,. and follows to the cell. far in a wilderneſs obfcure the lonely manfion lay; a refuge to the neighb'ring poor, and ftrangers led aftray. no ftores beneath its humble thatch requir'd a mafter's care; the wicket, op'ning with a latch, receiv'd the harmleſs pair. and 15 and now, when bufy crowds retire to take their evening reſt, the hermit trimm'd his little fire, and cheer'd his penſive gueſt: and ſpread his vegetable ſtore, and gaily preſt, and ſinil'd; and, ſkill'd in legendary lore, the ling'ring hours beguil❜d. around, in fympathetic mirth, its tricks the kitten tries; the cricket chirrups in the hearth; the crackling faggot flies. but nothing could a charm impart to footh the ſtranger's woe; for grief was heavy at his heart, and tears began to flow. his rifing cares the hermit fpy'd, with anfw'ring care oppreft: "and whence, unhappy youth !" he cry'd, "the forrows of thy breaſt? "from better habitations ſpurn'd, "reluctant doſt thou rove; "or grieve for friendſhip unreturn'd, "or unregarded love? alas! 16 1 "alas! the joys that fortune brings, "are trifling, and decay; "and thoſe who prize the paltry things, "more trifling ftill than they. "and what is friendſhip but a name, "a charm that lulls to fleep; "a fhade that follows wealth or fame, "and leaves the wretch to weep? "and love is ſtill an emptier found, "the modern fair one's jeſt: "on earth unfeen, or only found "to warm the turtle's neft. "for fhame, fond youth, thy forrows huſh, "and fpurn the fex," he ſaid: but while he spoke, a rifing bluſh his love-lorn gueſt betray'd. surpriz'd he fees new beauties rife, swift mantling to the view; like colours o'er the morning ſkies, as bright, as tranfient too. the bafhful look, the rifing breaſt, alternate ſpread alarms : the lovely ſtranger ſtands confeft a maid in all her charms. "and, 17 "and ah! forgive a ſtranger rude, "a wretch forlorn, fhe cry'd: "whoſe feet unhallow'd thus intrude "where heaven and you refide. "but let a maid thy pity fhare, "whom love has taught to ſtray; "who feels for reft, but finds deſpair "companion of her way: "my father liv'd befide the tyne, "a wealthy lord was he; "and all his wealth was mark'd as mine, "he had but only me. "to win me from his tender arms, "unnumber'd fuitors came; "who prais'd me for imputed charms, "and felt, or feign'd a flame. "each hour a mercenary crowd "with richeſt proffers ftrove: "among the reft young edwin bow'd, "but never talk'd of love. "in humble, fimpleft habit clad, "no wealth or power had he: "wiſdom and worth were all he had, "but thefe were all to me. c «the -18 "the bloffom op'ning to the day, "the dews of heav'n refin'd "could nought of purity difplay, "to emulate his mind. "the dew, the bloffoms of the tree, "with charms inconftant fhine; "their charms were his, but, woe to me, "their conftancy was mine. "for ftill i tried each fickle art, importunate and vain; 66 "and while his paffion touch'd my heart, "i triumph'd in his pain. "till, quite dejected with my ſcorn, "he left me to my pride; "and fought a folitude forlorn, "in fecret, where he died. "but mine the forrow, mine the fault, "and well my life fhall pay ; "i'll feek the folitude he fought, "and ftretch me where he lay. "and there forlorn, defpairing hid, "i'll lay me down and die: "'twas fo for me that edwin did, "and fo for him will i." 66 "forbid 19 "forbid it, heaven!" the hermit cried, and clafp'd her to his breaft: the wond'ring fair-one turn'd to chide;'twas edwin's felf that preſt. "turn, angelina, ever dear, "my charmer turn to fee tam "thy own, thy long loft edwin here, "reftor'd to love and thee. "thus let me hold thee to my heart, "and ev'ry care refign, "and fhall we never, never part, "my life-my all that's mine? "no, never, from this hour to part, "we'll live and love fo true: j 1 "the figh that rends thy conftant heart, "shall break thy edwin's too. 1 8 a +34 # an elegy on the death of a mad dog. good people all, of ev'ry ſort, give ear unto my fong; and if you find it wond'rous ſhort, it cannot hold you long. in iflington there was a man, of whom the world might ſay, that ſtill a godly race he ran, whene'er he went to pray. a kind and gentle heart he had, to comfort friends and foes; the naked ev'ry day he clad, when he put on his cloaths. and in that town a dog was found, as many dogs there be, both mungrel, puppy, whelp and hound, and curs of low degree. this 21 this dog and man at firſt were friends; bur when the pique began, the dog, to gain his private ends, went mad and bit the man. around from all the neighb'ring ſtreets, the wond'ring neighbours ran, and ſwore the dog had loft his wits, to bite fo good a man. the wound it feem'd both fore and fad, to ev'ry chriſtian eye; and while they fwore the dog was mad, they fwore the man would die. but foon a wonder came to light, that ſhew'd the rogues they lied, the man recover'd of the bite, the dog it was that dy'd. 1 4 stanzas l on 1 18 woman. i f when lovely woman ſtoops to folly, and finds too late that men betray, what charm can footh her melancholy, what art can wash her guilt away? the only art her guilt to cover, to hide her ſhame from ev'ry eye, to give repentance to her lover; and wring his bofom-——is to die. 11 the gift: to iris, in bow-street. reet? covent-garden. say, cruel iris, pretty rake, dear mercenary beauty, what annual off'ring ſhall i´make expreffive of my duty? my heart, a victim to thine eyes, should i at once deliver, say, would the angry fair one prize the gift, who flights the giver? a bill, a jewel, watch or toy, my rivals give and let 'em. if gems or gold, impart a joy, i'll give them-when i get 'em. i'll give but not the full-blown roſe, or rofe-bud more in faſhion; such fhort-liv'd off'rings but difclofe a tranfitory paffion. i'll give thee fomething yet unpaid, not lefs fincere than civil: i'll give thee-ah! too charming maid, i'll give thee to the devil. epitaph ον dr. parnel. this tomb, infcrib'd to gentle parnel's name, may fpeak our gratitude, but not his fame, what heart but feels his fweetly moral lay, that leads to truth thro' pleaſure's flow'ry way? celeſtial themes confefs'd his tuneful aid; and heav'n, that lent him genius, was repaid. needlefs to him the tribute we beſtow, the tranfitory breath of fame below: more lafting rapture from his works ſhall riſe, while converts thank their poet in the ſkies, the deserted village. το sir joshua reynolds, dear sir, i can have no expectations in an addreſs of this kind either to add to your reputation, or to eſta. blifh my own. you can gain nothing from my admiration, as i am ignorant of that art in which you are faid to excel; and i may lofe much by the feverity of your judgment, as few have a jufter taſte in poetry than you. setting intereft therefore afide, to which i never paid much attention, i must be indulged at prefent in following my affec tions. the only dedication i ever made was to my brother, becauſe i loved him better than moſt other men. he is fince dead. permit me to infcribe this poem to you. how far you may be pleaſed with the verfification and mere mechanical parts of this attempt, i don't pretend to enquire; but i know you will d object 26 object (and indeed ſeveral of our beſt and wifeſt friends concur in the opinion) that the depopulation it deplores is no where to be ſeen, and the diſorders it laments are only to be found in the poet's own imagination. to this i can ſcarce make any other anſwer than that i fincerely believe what i have written; that i have taken all poffible pains, in my country excurfions, for thefe four or five years paft, to be certain of what i allege, and that all my views and enquiries have led me to believe thoſe miſeries real, which i here attempt to difplay. but this is not the place to enter into an enquiry, whether the country be depopulating or not; the difcuffion would take up much room, and i fhould prove myſelf, at beft, an indifferent politician, to tire the reader with a long preface, when i want his unfatigued attention to a long poem. in regretting the depopulation of the country, i inveigh againſt the increaſe of our luxuries; and here alfo i expect the fhout of modern politicians against me. for twenty or thirty years paſt, it has been the faſhion to confider luxury as one of the greateft national advantages; and all the wifdom of antiquity in that particular as erroneous. still, however, i muſt remain a profeffed ancient on that head, and continue to think thofe luxuries prejudicial to ſtates, by which fo many 27 many vices are introduced, and by which ſo many kingdoms have been undone. indeed fo much has been poured out of late on the other fide of the queſtion, that, merely for the fake of novelty and variety, one would fometimes wiſh to be in the right, i am, dear sir, your fincere friend, and ardent admirer, oliver goldsmith. d 2 the deserted village. sweet auburn! lovelieſt village of the plain, where health and plenty chear'd the lab'ring fwain, where fmiling fpring its earlieft vifit paid, and parting fummer's ling'ring blooms delay'd. dear lovely bow 'rs of innocence and eafe, seats of my youth, when ev'ry fport could pleaſe, how often have i loiter'd o'er thy green, where humble happineſs endear'd each ſcene! how often have i paus'd on ev'ry charm, the fhelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, the never-failing brook, the bufy mill, the decent church that topt the neighb'ring hill. the hawthorn-bufh, with feats beneath the fhade, for talking age, and whifp'ring lovers made! how often have i bleft the coming day, when toil remitting lent its turn to play, and all the village train, from labour free, led up their fports beneath the ſpreading tree; while many a paftime circled in the ſhade, the young contending as the old furvey'd ; and many a gambol frolic'd o'er the ground, and flights of art and feats of ftrength went round. and ftill as each repeated pleafure tir'd, succeeding sports the mirthful band infpir'd ; the 29 ap the dancing pair that fimply fought renown, by holding out, to tire each other down; the ſwain miſtruſtleſs of his ſmutted face, while fecret laughter titter'd round the place; the bafhful virgin's fide-long looks of love, the matron's glance that would thofe looks reprove. theſe were thy charms, fweet village! fports like thefe, with fweet fucceffion, taught ev'n toil to pleaſe; theſe round thy bowr's their chearful influence fhed, theſe were thy charms, but all thefe charms are fled. sweet fmiling village, lovelieft of the lawn, thy fports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; amidft thy bow'rs the tyrant's hand is feen, and defolation faddens all the green : one only mafter grafps the whole domain, and half a tillage ftints thy fmiling plain; no more thy glaffy brook reflects the day, but, choak'd with fedges, works its weedy way; along the glades, a folitary gueft, the hollow founding bittern guards its neft: amidst thy defart walks the lapwing flies, and tires their echoes with unvary'd cries. sunk are thy bow'rs in fhapelefs ruin all, and the long grafs o'ertops the mould'ring wall, and trembling, fhrinking from the ſpoiler's hand, far, far away thy children leave the land. ill 30 ill fares the land, to haft'ning ills a prey, where wealth accumulates, and men decay; princes and lords may flouriſh, or may fade ; a breath can make them, as a breath has made : but a bold peafantry, their country's pride, when once deftroy'd, can never be ſupply'd. a time there was, ere england's griefs began, when ev'ry rood of ground maintain'd its man; for him light labour ſpread her wholeſome ſtore, juft gave what life requir'd, but gave no more: his best companions, innocence and health, and his beft riches, ignorance of wealth. but times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train ufurp the land and difpoffefs the fwain ; along the lawn where fcatter'd hamlets rofe, unwieldy wealth, and cumbrous pomp repoſe; and ev'ry want to luxury ally'd, and ev'ry pang that folly pays to pride. thefe gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, thofe calm defires that afk'd but little room; thofe healthful fports that grac'd the peaceful ſcene, liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green; thefe, far departing, feek a kinder fhore, and rural mirth and manners are no more. sweet auburn! parent of the blissful hour, thy glades forlorn confefs the tyrant's pow'r. here 31 here, as i take my folitary rounds, amidft thy tangling walks, and ruin'd grounds, and, many year elaps'd, return to view where once the cottage ftood, the hawthorn grew, remembrance wakes with all her buſy train, swells at my breaſt, and turns the paſt to pain. in all my wand'rings round this world of care, in all my griefs-and god has giv'n me ſharei ftill had hopes my lateſt hours to crown, amidft thefe humble bow'rs to lay me down; to hufband out life's taper at the cloſe, and keep the flame from wafting by repofe : i ftill had hopes, for pride attends us ſtill, amidft the fwains to fhew my book-learn'd ſkill, around my fire an ev'ning group to draw, and tell of all i felt, and all i faw; and, as an hare whom hounds and horns purfue, pants to the place from whence at firſt ſhe flew, i ftill had hopes my long vexations paſt, here to return-and die at home at laft. o bleft retirement, friend to life's decline, retreats from care that never must be mine! how bleft is he who crowns in fhades like thefe, a youth of labour with an age of eaſe; who quits a world where ftrong temptations try, and, fince 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! for him no wretches born to work and weep, explore the mine, or tempt the dang'rous deep; no 32 no furly porter flands in guilty ftate, to fpurn imploring famine from the gate; but on he moves to meet his latter end, angels around befriending virtue's friend; sinks to the grave with unperceiv'd decay, while refignation gently flopes the way; and all his profpects bright'ning to the laſt, his heav'n commences ere the world be paſt! ; sweet was the found, when oft at ev'ning's clofe, up yonder hill the village murmur roſe ; there, as i paft with careleſs ſteps and flow, the mingling notes came foften'd from below the fwain refponfive as the milk-maid fung, the fober herd that low'd to meet their young; the noify geefe that gabbled o'er the pool, the playful children juft let loofe from ſchool; the watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whifp'ring wind, and the loud laugh that fpoke the vacant mind; thefe all in fweet confufion fought the fhade, and fill'd each pauſe the nightingale had made. for now the founds of population fail, no chearful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, no bufy fteps the grafs-grown footway tread, but all the bloomy flufh of life is fled. all but yon widow'd, folitary thing, that feebly bends befide the plaſhy ſpring; she, wretched matron, forc'd, in age, for bread, to ftrip the brook with mantling creffès fprcad, to 33 to pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, to feek her nightly fhed, and weep 'till morn; she only left of all the harmleſs train, the fad hiftorian of the penfive plain. near yonder copfe, where once the garden fmil'a, and ſtill where many a garden flow'r grows wild; there, where a few torn fhrubs the place difclofe, the village preacher's modeft manfion 10fe. a man he was to all the country dear, and paffing rich with forty pounds a-year; remote from towns he ran his godly race, nor ere had chang'd, nor wifh'd to change his place; unfkilful he to fawn, or feek for pow'r, by doctrines faſhion'd to the varying hour; far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, more bent to raiſe the wretched than to rife. his houfe was known to all the vagrant train, he chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain," the long remember'd beggar was his gueſt, whoſe beard defcending fwept his aged breaſt ; the ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; the broken foldier, kindly bade to ſtay, sate by his fire, and talk'd the night away; wept o'er his wounds, or tales of forrow done, shoulder'd his crutch, and fhew'd how fields were won. pleas'd with his gueſts, the good man learn'd to glow and quite forgot their vices in their woe; e careless 34 careleſs their merits, or their faults to ſcan, his pity gave ere charity began, thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, and ev❜n his failings lean'd to virtues fide; but in his duty prompt at ev'ry call, he watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all. and, as a bird each fond endearment tries, to tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the ſkies; he tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. befide the bed where parting life was laid, and forrow, guilt and pain, by turns difmay'd, the rev'rend champion flood. at his control, defpair and anguifh fled the struggling foul; comfort came down the trembling wretch to raife, and his laſt fault'ring accents whiſper'd praife. at church with meek and unaffected grace, his looks adorn'd the venerable place; truth from his lips prevail'd with double fway, and fools who came to fcoff, remain'd to pray. the fervice paft, around the pious man, with ready zeal, each honeft ruſtic ran; ev'n children follow'd with endearing wile, and pluck'd his gown, to fhare the good man's fimile. * his ready fimile a parent's warmth expreft, their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares diftreft ; to 35 to them his heart, his love, his griefs were giv'n, but all his ſerious thoughts had reft in heav'n. as fome tall cliff that lifts its awful form, swells from the vale, and midway leaves the ſtorm, tho' round its breaſt the rolling clouds are ſpread, eternal funfhine fettles on its head. befide yon ftraggling fence that ſkirts the way, with bloffom'd furze unprofitably gay, there, in his noiſy manſion, ſkill'd to rule, the village mafter taught his little ſchool; a man ſevere he was, and ftern to view, i knew him well and ev'ry truant knew ; well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace the day's difafters in his morning face; full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee at all his jokes, for many a joke had he; full well the bufy whiſper circling round, convey'd the diſmal tidings when he frown'd; yet he was kind, or if fevere in aught, the love he bore to learning was in fault; the village all declar'd how much he knew ; 'twas certain he could write, and cypher too; lands he could meaſure, terms and tides prefage, and ev'n the ſtory ran that he could gauge : in arguing too, the parfon own'd his ſkill, for ev'n tho' vanquifh'd, he could argue ſtill; while words of learn'd ftrength, and thund'ring found, amaz'd the gazing ruftics rang'd around, ê 2 ar 36 and ftill they gaz'd, and ftill the wonder grew, that one fmali head could carry all he knew. but paft is all his fame. the very ſpot where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot. near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, where once the fign poft caught the paffing eye, low lies that houfe where nut brown draughts infpir'd, where grey beard mirth and fmiling toil retir'd, where village ſtateſmen talk'd with looks profound, and news much older than their ale went round. imagination fondly ftoops to trace the parlour ſplendours of that feſtive place; the white-wafh'd wall, the nicely-fanded floor, the varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door, the cheft contriv'd a double debt to pay, a bed by night, a cheft of draw'rs by day; the pictures plac'd for ornament and uſe, the twelve good rules, the royal game of gooſe; the hearth, except when winter chill'd the day, with afpen boughs, and flow'rs and fennel gay, while broken tea-cups, wifely kept for fhew, rang'd o'er the chimney, gliften'd in a row. vain tranfitory ſplendour! could not all reprieve the tott'ring manfion from its fall! obfcure it finks, nor fhall it more impart an hour's importance to the poor man's heart thither no more the peaſant fhall repair, to fweet oblivion of his daily care; i no 37 no more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, no more the woodman's ballad fhall prevail; no more the fmith his duſky brow ſhall clear, relax his pond'rous ftrength, and lean to hear; the hoft himſelf no longer fhall be found careful to fee the mantling blifs go round; nor the coy maid, half willing to be preft, shall kifs the cup to paſs it to the reſt. yes! let the rich deride, the proud difdain, thefe fimple bleffings of the lowly train, to me more dear, congenial to my heart, one native charm, than all the gloſs of art; spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, the foul adopts, and owns their firſt-born ſway; lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, unenvied, unmolefted, unconfin'd. but the long pomp, the midnight maſquerade, with all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, in thefe, ere triflers half their wiſh obtain, the toiling pleaſure fickens into pain; and, ev'n while fashion's brighteſt arts decoy, the heart diftrufting-afks, if this be joy. ye friends to truth, ye ftatefmen who furvey the rich man's joys encreaſe, the poor's decay, 'tis yours to judge, how wide the limits ſtand between a fplendid and an happy land. proud fwells the tide with loads of freighted ore, and fhouting folly hails them from her fhore; hoards, 38 hoards ev'n beyond the miſer's wiſh abound, and rich men flock from all the world around. yet count our gains. this wealth is but a name that leaves our uſeful product ftill the ſame. not fo the lofs. the man of wealth and pride 'takes up a ſpace that many poor ſupply'd; space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, space for his horfes, equipage and hounds; the robes that wraps his limbs in filken ſloth, has robb'd the neighb'ring fields of half their growth; his feat, where folitary ſports are feen, indignant fpurns the cottage from the green; around the world each needful product flies, for all the luxuries the world fupplies. while thus the land, adorn'd for pleaſure all, in barren fplendour feebly waits the fall. as fome fair female, unadorn'd and plain, secure to pleaſe while youth confirms her reign, slights ev'ry borrow'd charm that dreſs fupplies, nor fhares with art the triumph of her eyes; but when thoſe charms are paſt, (for charms are frail,) when time advances, and when lovers fail, she then fhines forth, folicitous to blefs, in all the glaring impotence of drefs. thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd, in nature's fimpleft charms at firſt array'd, but 39 but verging to decline, its fplendours rife, its viftas ftrike, its palaces ſurpriſe; while, fcourg'd by famine from the fimiling land, the mournful peafant leads his humble band; and while he finks, without one arm to fave, the country blooms-a garden, and a grave. where then, ah! where fhall poverty refide, to 'fcape the preffure of contiguous pride? if to fome common's fenceleſs limits ſtray'd, he drives his flock to pick the fcanty blade, thofe fenceless fields the fons of wealth divide, and ev❜n the bare-worn common is deny'd. if to the city fped-what waits him there? to fee profufion that he must not fhare; to fee ten thouſand baneful arts combin'd to pamper luxury, and thin mankind; to fee each joy the fons of pleaſure know extorted from his fellow creature's woe. here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, there the pale artift plies the fickly trade; here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps difplay, there the black gibbet glooms beſide the way. the dome where pleafure holds her midnight reign, here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train ;. tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing fquare, the rattling chariots clafh, the torches glare. sure 40 sure ſcenes like theſe no troubles ere annoy! sure theſe denote one univerſal joy! are theſe thy ferious thoughts?-ah! turn thine eyes, where the poor houſeleſs ſhiv'ring female lies. she once, perhaps, in village plenty bleft, has wept at tales of innocence diſtreſt; her modeft looks the cottage might adorn, sweet as the primroſe peeps beneath the thorn; now loft to all; her friends, her virtue fled, near her betrayer's door fhe lays her head, and, pinch'd with cold and fhrinking from the fhow'r, with heavy heart deplores that luckleſs hour, when idly firft, ambitious of the town, she left her wheel, and robes of country brown. do thine, ſweet auburn, thine, the lovelieſt train, do thy fair tribes participate her pain? ev'n now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, at proud mens doors they aík a little bread! ah, no. to diftant climes, a dreary fcene, where half the convex world intrudes between, through torrid tracks with fainting ſteps they go where wild altama murmurs to their woe. far different there from all that charm'd before, the various terrors of that horrid ſhore; thofe blazing funs, that dart a downward ray, and fiercely fed intolerable day; thofe 41 thofe matted woods, where birds forget to fing, but filent bats in drowſy cluſters cling; thoſe pois'nous fields, with rank luxuriance crown'd, where the dark ſcorpion gathers death around; where at each ſtep the ſtranger fears to wake the rattling terrors of the vengeful fnake; where crouching tigers wait their hapleſs prey, and favage men more murd'rous ftill than they; while oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, mingling the ravag'd landſcape with the fkies. far different theſe from every former ſcene, the cooling brook, the graffy veſted green, the breezy covert of the warbling grove, that only ſhelter'd thefts of harmleſs love. good heav'n! what forrows gloom'd that parting day, that call'd them from their native walks away: when the poor exiles ev'ry pleaſure paſt, hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their laft, and took a long farewel, and wifh'd in vain for feats like thefe beyond the weſtern main; and fhudd'ring ftill to face the diſtant deep, return'd and wept, and ftill return'd to weep.. the good old fire, the firſt prepar'd to go to new-found worlds, and wept for other's woe, f 2 but 42 but for himſelf, in confcious virtue brave, he only wifh'd for worlds beyond the grave. his lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, the fond companion of his helpleſs years, silent went next, neglectful of her charms, and left a lover's for a father's arms. with louder plaints the mother ſpoke her woes, and bleft the cot where ev'ry pleaſure rofe; and kift her thoughtleſs babes with many a tear, and clafpt them clofe, in forrow doubly dear; while her fond huſband ftrove to lend relief in all the filent manliness of grief. o luxury! thou curft by heaven's decree, how ill exchang'd are things like theſe for thee! how do thy potions, with infidious joy, diffuſe their pleaſures only to deftroy! kingdoms by thee, to fickly greatneſs grown, boaſt of a florid vigour not their own. at ev'ry draught more large and large they grow, a bloated mafs of rank unwieldy woe; till fapp'd their ſtrength, and ev'ry part unfound, down, down they fink, and ſpread a ruin round. ev'n now the devaſtation is begun, and half the buſineſs of deftruction done; ev'n now, methinks, as pond'ring here i ſtand, i fee the rural virtues leave the land. down 43 down where yon anch'ring veffel fpreads the fail that idly waiting flaps with ev'ry gale, downward they move, a melancholy band, paſs from the ſhore, and darken all the ſtrand; contented toil, and hofpitable care, and kind connubial tenderneſs are there; and piety, with wiſhes plac'd above; and ſteady loyalty, and faithful love. and thou, fweet poetry! thou loveliest maid, still firft to fly where fenfual joys invade; unfit in theſe degen'rate times of ſhame, to catch the heart or ftrike for honeſt fame; dear charming nymph! neglected and decry'd; my fhame in crowds, my folitary pride. thou fource of all my blifs, and all my woe, that found'ſt me poor at first, and keep'ft me fo: thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, thou nurfe of ev'ry virtue fare thee well; farewell! and, o! where'er thy voice be try'd, on torno's cliffs, or pambamarca's fide, whether where equinoctial fervours glow, or winter wraps the polar world in ſnow, still let thy voice, prevailing over time, redreſs the rigours of th' inclement clime: aid flighted truth, with thy perfuafive ftrain; teach erring man to fpurn the rage of gain; f 2 teach 44 teach him, that ſtates, of native ftrength poffeft, though very poor may ſtill be very bleft; that trade's proud empire haftes to fwift decay, as ocean fweeps the labour'd mole away; while felf-dependent pow'r can time defy, as rocks refift the billows and the ſky. epilogue to the sisters. what! five long acts—and all to make us wifer! our auth'refs fure has wanted an adviſer. had the confulted me, fhe ſhould have made her moral play a ſpeaking maſquerade; warm'd up each buftiing fcene, and in her rage have emptied all the green-room on the ſtage. my life on't, this had kept her play from finking; have pleas'd our eyes, and fav'd the pain of thinking. well, fince the thus has fhewn her want of ſkill, what if i give a maſquerade ?i will. but how? ay, there's the rub! [paufing]-i've got my cue: the world's a maſquerade! the mafquer's, you, you, you. [to boxes, pit and gallery. lud! what a group the motley ſcene diſcloſes! falfe wits, falfe wives, falfe virgins and falfe ſpouſes! stateſmen with bridles on; and, cloſe befide 'em, patriots in party-colour'd fuits that ride 'em, there hebes, turn'd of fifty, try once more to raiſe a flame in cupids of threeſcore ; thefe 46 theſe in their turn, with appetites as keen, deferting fifty, faſten on fifteen. mifs, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, flings down her fampler and takes up the woman: the little urchin fmiles, and ſpreads her lure, and tries to kill, ere fhe's got power to cure. thus, 'tis with all-their chief and conftant care is to feem ev'ry thing-but what they are. yon broad, bold, angry fpark, i fix my eye on, who ſeems t' have robb'd his vizor from the lion; who frowns, and talks, and fwears, with round parade, [mimicking. looking, as who fhould fay, dam'me! who's afraid? strip but this vizor off, and fure i am you'll find his lionſhip a very lamb. yon politician, famous in debate, perhaps, to vulgar eyes, beftrides the ſtate; yet, when he deigns his real fhape t' affume, he turns old woman, and beſtrides a broom. yon patriot too, who preffes on your fight, and feems to ev'ry gazer all in white, if with a bribe his candour you attack, he bows, turns round, and whip-the man is black! yon critic, too-but whither do i run? if i proceed, our bard will be undone ! well then, a truce, fince the requeſts it too ; do you fpare her, and i'll for once ſpare you. song. memory! thou fond deceiver, still importunate and vain, to former joys, recurring ever, and turning all the paſt to pain; thou, like the world, th' oppreft oppreffing, thy fmiles increaſe the wretch's woe! and he who wants each other bleffing, in thee muſt ever find a foe. song from the oratorio of the captivity. the wretch condemn'd with life to part, still, ftill on hope relies; and ev'ry pang that rends the heart, bids expectation rife. hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light, adorns and chears the way; and ſtill, as darker grows the night, emits a brighter ray.. the traveller, or a prospect of society : a poem. first printed in m,dcc,lxv. to the rev. henry goldsmith. dear sir, i am fenfible that the friendſhip between us can acquire no new force from the ceremonies of a dedication; and perhaps it demands an excuſe thus to prefix your name to my attempts, which you decline giving with your own. but as a part of this poem was formerly written to you from switzerland, the whole can now, with propriety, be only inſcribed to you. it will alfo throw a light upon many parts of it, when the reader underſtands, that it is addreffed to a man, who defpifing fame and fortune, has retired early to happineſs and obfcurity, with an income of forty pounds a year. g i now 50 of i now perceive, my dear brother, the wifdom your humble choice. you have entered upon a facred office, where the harveft is great, and the labourers are few; while you have left the field of ambition, where the labourers are many, and the harveſt not worth carrying away. but of all kinds of ambition, what from the refinement of the times, from different fyftems of criticism, and from the divifions of party, that which purſues poetical fame is the wildeft. poetry makes a principal amuſement among unpoliſhed nations; but in a country verging to the extremes of refinement, painting and mufic come in for a fhare. as thefe offer the feeble mind a lefs laborious entertainment, they at firſt rival poetry, and at length fupplant her; they engroſs all that favour once fewn to her, and, though but younger fifters, feize upon the elder's birthright. yet, however this art may be neglected by the powerful, it is ftill in greater danger from the miftaken efforts of the learned to improve it. what criticifms have we not heard of late in favour of blank verfe, and pindaric odes, choruffes, anapefts and iambics, alliterative care and happy negligence! every abfurdity has now a champion to 51 to defend it; and as he is generally much in the wrong, fo he has always much to fay; for error is ever talkative. but there is an enemy to this art ſtill more dangerous, i mean party. party entirely diftorts the judgment and deftroys the tafte. when the mind is once infected with this difeafe, it can only find pleaſure in what contributes to increase the diftemper. like the tyger, that feldom defifts from purſuing man, after having once preyed upon human fleſh, the reader, who has once gratified his appetite with calumny, makes, ever after, the moft agreeable feaft upon murdered reputation. such readers generally admire fome half witted thing, who wants to be thought a bold man, having loft the character of a wife one. him they dignify with the name of poet; his tawdry lampoons are called fatires; his turbulence is faid to be force, and his phrenzy fire. # what reception a poem may find, which has neither abufe, party, nor blank verfe to fupport it, i cannot tell, nor am i folicitous to know. my aims are right. without efpoufing the cauſe of any party, i have attempted to moderate the rage of all. i have endeavoured to fhew, that there* may be equal happineſs in ſtates that are differently g 2 governed 52 governed from our own; that every ſtate has a particular principle of happineſs, and that this principle in each may be carried to a miſchievous exceſs. there are few can judge better than yourſelf how far theſe poſitions are illuſtrated in this poem. . i am, dear sir, your moſt affectionate brother, oliver goldsmith. 1 ( 0 the traveller. remote, unfriended, melancholy, flow, or by the lazy scheld, or wand'ring po; or onward, where the rude carinthian boor againſt the houſeleſs ftranger fhuts the door; or where campania's plain forfaken lies, a weary waſte expanding to the ſkies; where'er i roam, whatever realms to fee, my heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee; still to my brother turns with ceaſeleſs pain, and drags at each remove a length'ning chain. eternal bleffings crown my earlieſt friend, and round his dwelling guardian faints attend; bleft be that ſpot, where chearful gueſts retire to pauſe from toil, and trim their ev'ning fire; bleft that abode, where want and pain repair, and ev'ry ſtranger finds a ready chair; bleft be thofe feafts, with fimple plenty crown'd, where all the ruddy family around laugh at the jefts or pranks that never fail, or figh with pity at ſome mournful tale ; or prefs the baſhful ſtranger to his food, and learn the luxury of doing good. but 54 but me, not deftin'd fuch delights to ſhare, my prime of life in wand'ring ſpent, and care; impell'd, with ſteps unceafing, to purſue some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view; that like the circle bounding earth and fkies, allures from far, yet, as i follow, flies; my fortune leads to traverſe realms alone, and find no fpot of all the world my own. ev'n now, where alpine folitudes afcend, i fit me down a penfive hour to ſpend; and, plac'd on high above the ſtorm's career, look downward where an hundred realms appear; lakes, forefts, cities, plains extending wide, the pomp of kings, the fhepherds humbler pride. when thus creation's charms around combine, amidft the ſtore ſhould thankleſs pride repine? say, fhould the philofophic mind diſdain that good which makes each humbler bofom vain? let ſchool-taught pride diffemble all it can, theſe little things are great to little man ; and wifer he, whoſe ſympathetic mind exults in all the good of all mankind. ye glittr'ing towns, with wealth and fplendour crown'd: ye fields, where fummer ſpreads profufion round; ye lakes, whofe veffels catch the buſy gale; ye bending fwains, that dreſs the flow'ry vale; for me your tributary ſtores combine: creation's heir, the world, the world is mine. as 55 as fome lone mifer, vifiting his ſtore, bends at his treaſure, counts, recounts it o'er; hoards after hoards his rifing raptures fill : yet ftill he fighs, for hoards are wanting ftill; thus to my breaft alternate paffions riſe, pleas'd with each good that heav'n to man ſupplies; yet oft a figh prevails, and forrows fall, to fee the hoard of human blifs fo fmall; and oft i wifh, amidſt the ſcene, to find some ſpot to real happineſs confign'd, where my worn foul, each wand'ring hope at reft, may gather blifs to fee my fellows bleft. but where to find that happieft fpot below, who can direct, when all pretend to know? the fhuddering tenant of the frigid zone boldly proclaims that happieſt ſpot his own; extols the treaſures of his ftormy feas, and his long nights of revelry and eaſe: the naked negro, panting at the line boafts of his golden fands and palmy wine, baſks in the glare, or ſtems the tepid wave, and thanks his gods for all the good they gave. such is the patriot's boaſt, where'er we roam; his first, beft country ever is at home; and yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, and eftimate the bleffings which they fhare, though patriots flatter, ftill fhall wifdom find an equal portion dealt to all mankind; as 56 as different good, by art or nature given, to different nations makes their bleffings even. nature, a mother kind alike to all, still grants her blifs at labour's earneſt call; with food as well the peafant is fupply'd on idra's cliffs as arno's fhelvy fide; and though the rocky crefted fummits frown, theſe rocks, by cuftom, turn to beds of down. from art more various are the bleffings fent; wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content, yet thefe each other's power fo ftrong conteft, that either feems deſtructive of the reſt. where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails, and honour finks where commerce long prevails: hence every ſtate to one lav'd bleffing prone, conforms and models life to that alone. each to the fav'rite happineſs attends, and fpurns the plan that aims at other ends; 'till, carried to exceſs in each domain, this fav'rite good begets peculiar pain. but let us try theſe truths with clofer eyes, and trace them through the proſpect as it lies: here for a while my proper cares refign'd, here let me fit in forrow for mankind; like yon neglected ſhrub at random caſt, that fhades the ſteep, and fighs at every blaſt. far 57 far to the right where appennine afcends, bright as the fummer, italy extends; its uplands floping, deck the mountain's fide, woods over woods in gay theatric pride ;while oft fome temple's mould'ring tops between, with venerable grandeur mark the ſcene. could nature's bounty fatisfy the breaſt, the fons of italy were furely bleſt... whatever fruits in different climes are found, .. that proudly rife, or humbly court the ground; whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, whoſe bright fucceffion decks the varied year; whatever ſweets falutes the northern ſky with vernal lives, that bloffom but to die ; thefe here difporting own the kindred foil, nor aſk luxuriance from the planter's toil ; while fea-born gales their gelid wings expand to winnow fragrance round the ſmiling land. . but fmall the blifs that fenfe alone beſtows, and fenfual blifs is all the nation knows. in florid beauty groves and fields appear, man ſeems the only growth that dwindles here. contrafted faults through all his manners reign; though poor, luxurious; though fubmiffive, vain; though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue, and ev'n in penance planning fins anew. and evils here contaminate the mind,. that opulence departed leaves behind; h for 58 for wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date, when commerce proudly flouriſh'd through the ftate; at her command the palace learnt to rife, again the long-fall'n column fought the ſkies; the canvafs glow'd beyond e'en nature warm, the pregnant quarry teem'd with human form, till, more unfteady than the fouthern gale, commerce on other ſhores difplay'd her fail ; while nought remain'd of all that riches gave, but towns unmann'd and lords without a flave: and late the nation found with fruitlefs fkill, its former ſtrength was but plethoric ill. yet, ftill the lofs of wealth is here fupply'd by arts, the fplendid wrecks of former pride; from theſe the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind an eafy compenſation ſeem to find. here may be ſeen, in bloodlefs pomp array'd, the paſte-board triumph and the cavalcade ; proceffions form'd for piety and love, a miſtreſs or a faint in ev'ry grove. by ſports like theſe are all their cares beguil❜d, the fports of children fatisfy the child; each nobler aim repreft by long controul, now finks at laſt, or feebly mans the foul; while low delights fucceeding faft behind, in happier meannefs occupy the mind: as in thoſe domes, where cæfars once bore ſway, defac'd by time and tott'ring in decay, there' 59 there in the ruin, heedlefs of the dead, the fhelter-feeking peaſant builds his ſhed, and, wond'ring man could want the larger pile, exults, and owns his cottage with a ſimile. my foul turn from them, turn we to furvey where rougher climes a nobler race difplay, where the bleak swifs their ftormy manfion tread, and force a curlifh foil for feanty bread; no product here the barren hills afford, but man and ſteel, the foldier and his ſword. no vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, but winter ling'ring chills the lap of may; no zephyr fondly fues the mountain's breaft, but meteors glare, and ftormy glooms inveft. yet ftill, ev'n here, content can fpread a charm, redreſs the clime, and all its rage difarm. tho' poor the peafant's hut, his feafts tho' fmail, he fees his little lot the lot of all; sees no contiguous palace rear its head to fhame the meanneſs of his humble fhed; no coftly lord the fumptuous banquet deal to make him loathe his vegetable meal; but calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, each with contracting, fits him to the foil. chearful at morn he wakes from ſhort repoſe, breafts the keen air, and carols as he goes; with patient angle trolls the finny deep, or drives his vent'rous plough fhare to the fteep; h 2 0 60 or feeks the den where ſnow-tracks mark the way, and drags the ſtruggling favage into the day. at night returning, ev'ry labour ſped, he fits him down the monarch of a ſhed; smiles by his chearful fire, and round furveys his childrens looks, that brighten at the blaze; while his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, difplays her cleanly platter on the board: and haply too fome pilgrim, thither led, with many a tale repays the nightly bed. thus every good his native wilds impart, imprints the patriot paffion on his heart, and ev❜n thoſe ills, that round his manſion rife, enhance the blifs his feanty fund fupplies : dear is that flred to which his foul conforms, and dear that hill which lifts him to the ftorms; and as a child when fcaring founds moleft, clings cloſe and cloſer to the mother's breaſt, so the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar, but bind him to his native mountains more. such are the charms to barren ſtates affign'd: "their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd. yet let them only ſhare the praiſes due, if few their wants, their pleaſures are but few; for every want that ſtimulates the breaſt, becomes a fource of pleaſure when redreſt. whence from fuch lands each pleaſing ſcience flies, that firft excites defire, and then fupplies; unknown 61 unknown to them when fenfual pleaſures cloy, to fill the languid paufe with finer joy; unknown thofe powers that raife the foul to flame, catch every nerve and vibrate through the frame. their level life is but a mouldering fire, unquench'd by want, unfann'd by ftrong defire; unfit for raptures; or, if raptures cheer on fome high feſtival of once a year, in wild exceſs the vulgar breaſt takes fire, till, buried in debauch, the blifs expire. but not their joys alone thus coarfely flow; their morals, like their pleaſures, are but low; for, as refinement ftops, from fire to fon, unalter'd, unimprov'd, the manners run; and love's and friendship's finely pointed dart fall blunted from each indurated heart. some fterner virtues o'er the mountain's breaſt may fit, like falcons cow'ring on the neſt: but all the gentler morals, fuch as play through life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way; thefe, far difpers'd, on timorous pinions fly, to fport and flutter in a kinder fky. to kinder fkies, where gentle manners reign, i turn; and france diſplays her bright domain. gay fprightly land of mirth and focial eafe; pleas'd with thyſelf, whom all the world can pleaſe; how often have i led thy fportive choir, with tunelefs pipe, befide the murmuring loire ! where 62 where fhading elins along the margin grew, and freſhen'd from the wave the zephyr flew; and haply, though my harfh touch, falt'ring ftill, but mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's ſkill; yet would the village praife my wond'rous power, and dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour. alike all ages. dames of ancient days ; have led their children through the mirthful maze and the gay grandfire, fkill'd in geftic lore, has frifk'd beneath the burthen of threefcore. so bleft a life theſe thoughtleſs realms difplay thus idly bufy rolls their world away. theirs are thofe arts that mind to mind endear; for honour forms the focial temper here. honour, that praiſe which real merit gains, or e'en imaginary worth obtains, here paffes current: paid from hand to hand, it fhifts in fplendid traffick round the land: from courts, to camps, to cottages it ſtrays, and all are taught an avarice of praiſe : they pleaſe, are pleas'd; they give to get eſteem, till, ſeeming bleft, they grow to what they ſeem. but while this fofter art their blifs ſupplies, it gives their follies alfo room to riſe; for praiſe too dearly lov'd, or warmly fought, enfeebles all internal ſtrength of thought; and the weak foul, within itſelf unbleft, leans for all pleaſure on another's breaſt. hence 63 hence oftentation here, with tawdry art, pants for the vulgar praiſe which fools impart. here vanity affumes her pert grimace. and trims her robe of frize with copper lace; here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, to boaſt one fplendid banquet once a year: the mind ſtill turns where fhifting fashion draws, nor weighs the folid worth of felf applauſe. to men of other minds my fancy flies, embofom'd in the deep where holland lies. methinks her patient fons before me ſtand, where the broad ocean leans againſt the land, and, fedulous to stop the coming tide, lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. onward methinks, and diligently flow, the firm connected bulwark feems to grow; spreads its long arms amidſt the watery roar, scoops out an empire, and ufurps the ſhore; while the pent ocean, rifing o'er the pile, sees an amphibious world beneath him fmile; the flow canal, the yellow bloffom'd vale, the willow tufted bank, the gliding fail, the crowded mart, the cultivated plain: a new creation reſcu'd from his reign. thus, while around the wave-fubjected foil impels the native to repeated toil, induſtrious habits in each bofom reign, and induftry begets a love of gain. hence 64 hence all the good from opulence that ſprings, with all thofe ills fuperfluous treaſure brings, are here difplay'd. their much lov'd wealth imparts convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts: but view them cloſer, craft and fraud appear; ev'n liberty herſelf is barter'd here. at gold's fuperior charms all freedom flies; the needy fell it, and the rich man buys; a land of tyrants, and a den of flaves; here wretches feek difhonourable graves, and calmly bent, to fervitude conform, dull as their lakes that flumber in the ftorm. heavens! how unlike their belgic fires of old!" rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold: war in each breaft, and freedom on each brow, how much unlike the fons of britain now! fir'd at the found, my genius fpreads her wing, and flies where britain courts the weſtern ſpring; where lawns extend that ſcorn arcadian pride, and brighter ftreams than fam'd hydafpis glide. there all around the gentleft breezes ftray, there gentle mufic melts on every ſpray: creation's mildeſt charms are there combin❜d, extremes are only in the maſter's mind! stern o'er each bofom reaſon holds her ſtate, with daring aims irregularly great; pride in their port, defiance in their eye, i fee the lords of human kind paſs by; intent 65 intent on high defigns, a thoughtful band, by forms unfaſhion'd, fresh from nature's hand; fierce in their native hardiness of foul, true to imagin'd right, above controul, while ev'n the peaſant boaſts theſe rights to ſcan, and learns to venerate himſelf as man. thine, freedom, thine the bleffings pictur'd here, thine are thofe charms that dazzle and endear; too bleft indeed, were fuch without alloy, but foſter'd ev'n by freedom ills annoy ; that independence britons prize too high, keeps man from man and breaks the ſocial tie; the felf-dependent lordlings ſtand alone, all claims that bind and ſweeten life unknown; here by the bonds of nature feebly held, minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd. ferments arife, imprifon'd factions roar, repreft ambition ſtruggles round the ſhore, till over wrought, the gen'ral ſyſtem feels its motions ftop, or phrenzy fire the wheels. nor this the worſt. as nature's ties decay, as duty, love, and honour fail to fway, fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, still gather ſtrength, and force unwilling awe. hence all obedience bows to theſe alone, and talent finks, and merit weeps unknown; till time may come, when ftript of all her charms, the land of ſcholars, and the nurſe of arms, where noble ſtems tranfmit the patriot flame, where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame, i one 66 one fink of level avarice fhall lie, and ſcholars, foldiers, kings, unhonour'd die. yet think not, thus when freedom's ills i ftate, i mean to flatter kings, or court the great ; ye pow'rs of truth that bid my ſoul aſpire, far from my boſom drive the low defire; and thou, fair freedom, taught alike to feel the rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry ſteel; thou tranfitory flow'r, alike undone by proud contempt, or favour's foft'ring fun, still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure, i only would reprefs them to fecure: for juft experience tells, in ev'ry foil, that thofe who think muft govern thoſe that toil; and all that freedom's higheſt aims can reach, is but to lay proportion'd loads on each. hence, fhould one order difproportion'd grow, its double weight muſt ruin all below. o then how blind to all that truth requires, who think it freedom when a part aſpires! calm is my foul, nor apt to rife in arms, except when faſt-approaching danger warms : but when contending chiefs blockade the throne, contracting regal pow'r to ftretch their own; when i behold a factious band agree to call it freedom when themſelves are free; each wanton judge new penal ſtatutes draw, laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law; the " 67 the wealth of climes, where favage nations roam, pillag'd from flaves to purchaſe flaves at home; fear, pity, juftice, indignation ſtart, tear off reſerve, and bear my fwelling heart; till half a patriot, half a coward grown, i fly from petty tyrants to the throne yes, brother, curfe with me that baleful hour, when firſt ambition ſtruck at regal pow'r; and thus polluting honour in its fource, gave wealth to fway the mind with double force. have we not feen, round britain's peopled fhore, her uſeful fons exchang'd for uſeleſs ore? seen all her triumphs but deftruction haſte, like ftaring tapers bright'ning as they waſte; seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain, lead ftern depopulation in her train, and over fields where ſcatter'd hamlets rofe, in barren, folitary pomp repofe? have we not ſeen at pleaſure's lordly call, the fmiling, long-frequented village fall? behold the duteous fon, the fire decay'd, the modeſt matron, and the bluſhing maid, forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train, to traverſe climes beyond the weſtern main ; where wild ofwego fpreads her fwamps around, and niagara ftuns with thund'ring found. ev'n now, perhaps, as there fome pilgrim ftrays thro' tangled forefts and thro' dang'rous ways; i 2 where 68 where beafts with man divided empire claim, and the brown indian marks with murd'rous aim; there, while above the giddy tempeft flies, and all around diſtreſsful yells ariſe, the penfive exile, bending with his woe, to ſtop too fearful, and too faint to go, cafts a long look where england's glories fhine, and bids his bofom fmpathize with mine. vain, very vain, my weary fearch to find that blifs which only centers in the mind : why have i ftray'd, from pleaſure and repofe, to feek a good each government beſtows? in ev'ry government, though terrors reign, though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws reſtrain, how fmall of all that human hearts endure, that part which laws or kings can cauſe or cure. still to ourſelves in ev'ry place confign'd, our own felicity we make or find: with fecret courfe, which no loud ſtorms annoy, glides the ſmooth current of domeſtic joy. the lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, luke's iron crown, and damien's bed of ſteel, to men remote from pow'r but rarely known, leave reaſon, faith, and confcience all our own. retaliation: † a poem. of old, when scarron his companions invited, each gueſt brought his diſh, and the feaſt was united : if our (1)landlord fupplies us with beef and with fiſh, let each gueſt bring himſelf, and he brings the beſt difh : our (2) dean fhall be venifon, juſt freſh from the plains; our (3) burke fhall be tongue with a garniſh of brains; our † dr. goldsmith' and fome of his friends occafionally dined at the st. james's coffee-house-one day it was propoſed to write epitaphs on him. his country, dialect and perfon, furniſhed ſubjects of witticifm. he was called on for retaliation, and at their next meeting produced this poem. (1) the maſter of the st. james's coffee-houſe where the doctor, and the friends he has characterized in this poem, occafionally dined. (2) doctor barnard, dean of derry in ireland. (3) mr. edmund burke, member for wendover. 70 our (4) will fhall be wild-fowl, of excellent flavour, and (5) dick with his pepper fhall heighten their favour: our (6) cumberland's ſweet bread, its place ſhall obtain, and (7) douglas is pudding ſubſtantial and plain : (8) garrick's a fallad; for in him we fee oil, vinegar, fugar and faltnefs agree: to make out the dinner, full certain i am, that () ridge is anchovy, and (1) reynolds is lamb; that (2) hickey's a capon, and, by the fame rule, magnanimous goldsmith, a goofberry fool. at a dinner fo various, at fuch a repaſt, who'd not be a glutton, and ſtick to the laſt? here, (4) mr. william burke, late fecretary to general conway, and member for bedwin (5) mr. richard burke, colle&or of grenada. (6) mr. richard cumberland, author of the weſt-indian, faſhionable lover, the brothers and other dramatic pieces. (7) dr. douglas, canon of windfor, an ingenious scotch gentleman, who has no lefs diftinguiſhed himſelf as a citizen of the world, than a found critic, in detecting feveral literary miſtakes (or rather forgeries) of his countrymen; particularly lauder on milton, and bower's hiftory of the popes. (8) david garrick, efq; joint patentee and acting manager of the theatre royal, drury-lane. (9) counsellor john ridge, a gentleman belonging to the irish bar: (1) sir joshua reynolds, prefident of the royal academy. (2) an eminent attorney. 71 here, waiter, more wine, let me fit while i'm able, 'till all my companions fink under the table; then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head, let me ponder, and tell what i think of the dead. here lies the good (3) dean, reunited to earth, who mixt reafon with pleaſure, and wiſdom with mirth : if he had any faults, he has left us in doubt, at leaſt, in fix weeks, i could not find 'em out : yet fome have declar'd, and it can't be denied 'em, that fly-boots was curfedly cunning to hide 'em. here lies our good (4) edmund, whofe genius was fuch, we ſcarcely can praiſe it, or blame it too much; who, born for the univerfe, narrow'd his mind, and to party gave up what was meant for mankind. tho' fraught with all learning, yet ſtraining his throat, to perfuade (5) tommy townshend to lend him a vote; who, too deep for his hearers, ftill went on refining, and thought of convincing, while they thought of dining; tho' equal to all things, for all things unfit, too nice for a ſtateſman, too proud for a wit: for (3) vide page 69 (4) vide page 69. (5) mr. t. townshend, member for whitechurch. 72 for a patriot too cool; for a drudge, disobedient; and too fond of the right, to purſue the expedient. in fhort, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, fir, to eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. here lies honeft (6) william, whofe heart was a mint, while the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in't ; the pupil of impulfe, it forc'd him along, his conduct ſtill right with his argument wrong; still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam, the coachman was tipfy, the chariot drove home; would afk for his merits? alas! he had none; what was good was fpontaneous, his faults were you his own. here lies honeft richard whoſe fate i muſt figh at; alas, that fuch frolic fhould now be fo quiet! what ſpirits were his! what wit and what whim! (7) now breaking a jeft, and now breaking a limb! now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball! now teazing and vexing, yet laughing at all! in fhort, fo provoking a devil was dick, that we wiſh'd him full ten times a day at old nick; but, (6) vide page 70. (7) mr. richard burke, vide page 70. this gentleman having flightly fractured one of his arms and legs, at different times, the doctor has rallied him on thofe accidents, as a kind of retributive juftice for breaking his jefts upon other people. 73 but, miffing his mirth and agreeable vein, as often we wiſh'd to have dick back again. here (8) cumberland lies, having acted his parts, the terence of england, the mender of hearts; a flattering painter, who made it his care to draw men as they ought to be, not as they are. his gallants are all faultlefs, his women divine, and comedy wonders at being ſo fine; like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out, or rather like tragedy giving a rout. his fools have their follies fo loſt in a crowd of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud; and coxcombs alike in their failings alone, adopting his portraits are pleas'd with their own. say, where has our poet this malady caught? or, wherefore his characters thus without fault? say, was it that vainly directing his view to find out mens virtues, and finding them few, quite fick of purſuing each troubleſome elf, he grew lazy at laft, and drew from himſelf? here (9) douglas retires from his toils to relax, the fcourge of impoftors, the terror of quacks: come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines, come, and dance on the fpot where your tyrant reclines: k when (8) vide page 70. (9) vide page 70. 74 when fatire and cenfure encircled his throne, i fear'd for your fafety, i fear'd for my own; but now he is gone, and we want a detector, our (1) dodds fhall be pious, our (2) kenricks fhall lecture: (3)macpherſon write bombaft, and call it a ftyle; our (4) townshend make ſpeeches, and i fhall compile; new (5) lauders and bowers the tweed fhall crofs over, no countryman living their tricks to diſcover; detection her taper fhall quench to a ſpark, and scotchman meet scotchman, and cheat in the dark. # • here lies (6) david garrick; deſcribe me who can, an abridgment of all that was pleaſant in man; as an actor, confeft without rival to ſhine; as a wit, if not firſt, in the very firft line: yet, (1) the rev. dr. dodd. (2) mr. kenrick read lectures at the devil tavern, under the title of "the school of shakespeare." (3) james macpherfon, efq. who lately, from the mere force of his ſtyle, wrote down the firſt poet of all antiquity. (4) vide page 71. (5) vide note to page 70. (6) vide page 70. 75 yet, with talents like thefe, and an excellent heart, the man had his failings, a dupe to his art. like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he ſpread, and beplaſter'd with rouge his own natural red. on the ſtage he was natural, fimple, affecting: 'twas only, that, when he was off, he was acting. with no reafon on earth to go out of his way, he turn'd and he varied full ten times a day: tho' fecure of our hearts, yet, confoundedly fick, if they were not his own by fineffing and trick: he caft off his friends, as a huntſman his pack, for he knew when he pleas'd he could whittle them back. of praiſe a mere glutton, he fwallow'd what came, and the puff of a dunce, he miſtook it for fame; 'till his relifh grown callous, almoſt to diſeaſe, who pepper'd the higheſt, was fureft to pleaſe. but let us be candid, and ſpeak out our mind; if dunces applauded, he paid them in kind. ye (7) kenricks, ye (8) kellys, and (9) woodfalls, ſo grave, vhat a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave! k 2.. how (7) vide page 74. (8) mr. hugh kelly, author of falfe delicacy, word to the wife, clementina, school for wives, &c. &c. (9) mr. william woodfall, printer of the morning chronicle. 76 how did grub-street re-echo the fhouts that you rais'd, while he was be-rofcius'd, and you were be-prais'd! but peace to his ſpirit, wherever it flies, to act as an angel, and mix with the ſkies: thofe poets, who owe their beſt fame to his ſkill, shall ſtill be his flatterers, go where he will. old shakespeare, receive him, with praiſe and with love, and beaumonts and bens be (1) his kellys above. here (2) hickey reclines, a moft blunt pleaſant creature, and flander itſelf muſt allow him good-nature: he cheriſh'd his friend, and he reliſh'd a bumper; yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper. perhaps you may ask if the man was a mifer? i anſwer, no, no; for he always was wiſer. too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat? his very worft foe can't accufe him of that. perhaps he confided in men as they go, and fo was too fooliſhly honeſt? ah, no! then what was his failing? come tell it, and burn he was, could he help it? a ſpecial attorney. ye. here (3) reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, he has not left a wifer or better behind; (1) vide page 74. (2) vide page 70. (3) vide page 70. his 77 his pencil was ſtriking, refiftless and grand; his manners were gentle, complying and bland; still born to improve us in every part, his pencil our faces, his manners our heart: to coxcombs averfe, yet moft civilly ſteering, when they judg'd without ſkill he was ſtill hard of hearing: when they talk'd of their raphaels, corregios and ſtuff, he fhifted his (3) trumpet and only took ſnuff. (3) sir joshua reynolds was fo remarkably deaf as to be under the neceffity of using an ear trumpet in company. postscript.* here whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, though he merrily liv'd, he is now a (1) grave man: rare compound of oddity, frolic and fun! who reliſh'd a joke, and rejoic'd in a pun; whofe * after the fourth edition of retaliation was printed, the publiſher received the above epitaph on mr. caleb whitefoord, from a friend of the late doctor goldſmith. (1) mr. w. was fo notorious a punfter, that doctor goldſmith uſed to fay it was impoffible to keep him company without being infected with the itch of punning. 78 whoſe temper was generous, open, fincere ; a ſtranger to flatt'ry, a ftranger to fear; who ſcatter'd around wit and humour at will; whofe daily bon mots half a column might fill : a scotchman from pride and from prejudice free; a ſcholar, yet furely no pedant was he. what pity, alas! that ſo lib'ral a mind should fo long be to newſpaper effays confin'd; who perhaps to the fummit of fcience could foar, yet content "if the table he fet in a roar;" whofe talents to fill any ſtation were fit, yet happy if woodfall (1) confefs'd him a wit. ye newſpaper witlings! ye pert fcribbling folks; who copied his fquibs, and re-echo'd his jokes ; ye tame imitators, ye fervile herd, come, still follow your maſter, and viſit his tomb: to deck it, bring with you feftoons of the vine, and copious libations beftow on his ſhrine; then ftrew all around it (you can do no leſs) (2) crofs readings, hip-news, and mistakes of the prefs. merry (1) mr. h. s. woodfall, printer of the public advertifer (2) mr. whitefoord frequently indulg'd the town with numerous pieces under thoſe titles in the public advertiſer. 79 760 merry whitefoord, farewel! for thy fake i admit that a scot may have humour, i had almoſt ſaid wit: this debt to thy mem'ry i cannot refuſe, "thou beft humour'd man, with the worft "humour'd mufe." on a beautiful youth struck blind by lightning. imitated from the spanish. sure 'twas by providence defign'd, rather in pity than in hate, that he ſhould be, like cupid, blind, to fave him from narciffus' fate. son g. * ан h me when fhall i married be ?· lovers are plenty; but fail to relieve me he, fond youth! that could carry me. offers to love, but means to deceive me. but i will rally and combat the ruiner: not a look, not a fmile fhall my paffion diſcover, she that gives all to the falfe one purſuing her, makes but a penitent, and lofes a lover. "sir, "i fend you a fmall production of the late doctor "goldſmith, which has never been publiſhed, and which "might, perhaps, have been totally loft, had i not fecured "it. he intended it as a fong in the character of mifs "hardcaſtle, in his admirable comedy of "she stoops "to conquer," but it was left out, as mrs. bulkley, who "played the part, did not fing. he fung it himſelf, in "private companies, very agreeably. the tune is a pretty "irish air, called the humours of balamagairy, to which "he told me he found it very difficult to adapt words; but "he has fucceeded very happily in thefe few lines. as i "could fing the tune, and was fond of them, he was fo "good as to give me them, about a year ago, juft as i was "leaving london, and bidding him adieu for that ſeaſon, "little apprehending that it was a laft farewell. i preſerve "this little relic, in his own hand-writing, with an affec❝tionate care. "i am, sir, "your humble fervant. james boswell. a sonnet. weeping, murmuring, complaining, loft to ev'ry gay delight: myra, too fincere for feigning, fears th' approaching bridal night. yet why impair thy bright perfection? or dim thy beauty with a tear? had myra follow'd my direction, she long had wanted caufe of fear. l 1 epilogue το she stoops to conquer. ell, having ſtoop'd to conquer with fuccefs, and gain'd a huſband without aid from drefs; still as a bar maid, i could with it too, as i have conquer'd him to conquer you : and let me fay, for all your refolution, that pretty bar-maids have done execution. our life is all a play, compos'd to pleaſe, "we have our exits and our entrances." the first act fhews the fimple country maid, harmleſs and young, of ev'ry thing afraid; bluſhes when hir'd, and with unmeaning action, "i hopes as how to give you fatisfaction." her fecond act difplays a livelier fcene,th' unblufhing bar maid of a country inn, who whiſks about the houſe, at market caters, talks loud, coquets the guests, and fcolds the waiters, next the ſcene ſhifts to town, and there fhe foars, the chop-houfe toaft of ogling connoifieurs. on 83 on 'fquires and cits fhe there difplays her arts, and on the gridiron broils her lover's hearts and as the fmiles, her triumphs to compleat, even common council-men forget to eat. the fourth act fhews her wedded to the 'fquire, and madam now begins to hold it higher; pretends to tafte, at operas cries caro, and quits her nancy dawfon, for che faro. doats upon dancing, and in all her pride. swims round the room, the heinel of cheapfide: ogles and leers with artificial fkill, } 'till having loft in age her power to kill, she fits all night at cards, and ogles at ſpadille. such, thro' our lives, the eventful hiſtorythe fifth and laft act ſtill remains for me. the bar-maid now for your protection prays, turns female barrifter, and pleads for bays. l 2 stanzas on the taking of quebec. amidst the clamour of exulting joy, which triumph forces from the patriot heart; grief dares to mingle her foul-piercing voice, and quells the raptures which from pleaſure ſtart. o, wolfe! to thee a ftreaming flood of woe, sighing we pay, and think e'en conqueft dear: quebec in vain ſhall teach our breaſt to glow, whilft thy fad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear. alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled, and faw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes : yet they ſhall know thou conquereft, though dead since from thy tomb a thouſand heroes riſe. the haunch of venison; a poetic epistle to lord clare. thanks, my lord, for your veniſon; for finet or fatter never rang'd in a foreſt, or ſmoak'd on a platter ; the haunch was a picture for painters to ſtudy, the fat was fo white, and the lean was fo ruddy: though my ftomach was fharp, i could ſcarce help regretting, to fpoil fuch a delicate picture by eating: i had thoughts, in my chamber to place it in view, to be fhewn to my friends as a piece of virtu; as in fome irifh houfes, where things are fo fo, one gammon of bacon hangs up for a ſhow : but, for eating a rafher of what they take pride in, they'd as foon think of eating the pan it is fry'd in. but hold let me paufe don't i hear you pronounce, this tale of the bacon's a damnable bounce; well, fuppofe it a bounce-fure a poet may try, by a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly. but 86 but, my lord, it's no bounce; i proteft in my turn, it's a truth-and your lordſhip may afk mr. burn. § tale as i gaz'd on the haunch, i thought of a friend that was trufty and ftaunch; so i cut it and fent it to reynolds undreft, to go on with my to paint it, or eat it, just as he lik'd beſt. of the neck and the breaſt i had next to diſpoſe; 'twas a neck and a breaſt that might rival monroe's. but at parting with thefe i was puzzled again, with the how, and the who, and the where and the when. there's h-d, and c-y, and h-rth, and h-ff, i think they love venifon-i know they love beef, there's my countryman higgins-oh! let him alone, for making a blunder, or picking a bone, but hang it to poets who feldom can eat, your very good mutton's a very good treat; such dainties to them their health it might hurt, it's like fending them ruffles, when wanting a ſhirt. while thus i debated, in reverie center'd, an acquaintance, a friend as he call'd himſelf, enter'd ; an under-bred, fine ſpoken fellow was he, and he fmil'd as he look'd at the venison and me. what have we got here?-why, this is good eating! your own i fuppofeor is it in waiting? why § lord clare's nephew. 87 why whofe fhould it be? i get theſe things often ; some lords, my acquaintance, that ſettle the nation, are pleas'd to be kind-but i hate oftentation. cried i, with a flounce, but that was a bounce: if that be the cafe then, cried he, very gay, i'm glad i have taken this houſe in my way. to-morrow you take a poor dinner with me; no words i infift o'nt-preciſely at three: we'll have johnfon and burke, all the wits will be there, my acquaintance is flight, or i'd aſk my lord clare. and, now that i think on't, as i am a finner! we wanted this venifon to make out the dinner. what fay you?-a pafty, it fhall, and it must, and my wife, little kitty, is famous for cruft. here, porter-this venifon with me to mile-end no ftirring i beg-my dear friend my dear -friend! thus fnatching his hat he brufht off like the wind, and the porter and eatables follow'd behind. left alone to reflect, having emptied my ſhelf, and nobody with me at ſea but myſelf;" * tho' i could not help thinking my gentleman hafty, yet johnfon and burke, and a good veniſon paſty, were • see the letters that paffed between his royal highneſs henry, duke of cumberland and lady grofvenor.-12mo. 1769. s8 were, things that i never diflik'd in my life, tho' clogg'd with a coxcomb, and kitty his wife. so next day in due fplendour to make my approach, i drove to his door in my own hackney coach, when come to the place where we all were to dine, (a chair lumber'd cloſet juſt twelve feet by nine:) my friend bade me welcome, but ftruck me quite dumb, with tidings that johnſon and burke would not come, 113 for i knew it, he cried, both eternally fail, the one with his fpeeches, and t'other with thrale but no matter, i'll warrant we'll make up the party with two full as clever, and ten times as hearty. the one is a scotchman, the other a jew, they both of them merry, and authors like you the one writes the snarler, the other the scourge some thinks he writes cinna-he owns to panurge. while thus he deſcrib'd them by trade and by name, they enter'd, and dinner was ferv'd as they came. at the top a fried liver, and bacon was ſeen, at the bottom was tripe in a ſwinging tureen; at the fides there was fpinnage, and pudding made hot; in the middle a place where the paſty—was not. now, my lord, as for tripe it's my utter averſion, and your bacon i hate like a turk or a perfian; so 89 life. y his app coac rogue, 11 w with his long-winded fpeeches, his fmiles and his ni dy brogue, and, madam, quoth he, may this bit be my poiſon' prettier dinner i never fet eyes on : a pray, a flice of your liver, tho' may i be curft! ould but i've eat of your tripe, 'till i'm ready to burft; the tripe, quoth the jew, with his chocolate cheek, ›urge nurge. i could dine on this tripe ſeven days in the week : thrale i like thefe-here dinners fo pritty and ſmall; party, but your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at all. arty. oh! oh! quoth my friend, he'll come on in a trice, he's keeping a corner for fomething that's nice: there's a pafty--a pafty! repeated the jew; i don't care, if i keep a corner for't too. what the de'il, mon, a paſty! re-echo'd the scot, name, though fplitting, i'll ftill keep a corner for that. we'll all keep a corner, the lady cried out, we'll all keep a corner was echo'd about. while thus we refolv'd, and the pafty delay'd, with looks that quite petrified, enter'd the maid; a vifage fo fad, and fo pale with affright, wak'd priam in drawing his curtains by night. not. but we quickly found out, for who could miſtake came. fion, her? me qu so there i fat ftuck, like a horſe in a pound, while the bacon and liver went merrily round : but what vex'd me moft, was that d-'d scottiſh yo en, ; nade gan; that he came with fome terrible news from the so baker; 26588 m 90 and fo it fell out, for that negligent floven, had fhut out the paſty on ſhutting his oven. sad philomel thus--but let ſimiles dropand now that i think on't, the ſtory may ſtop. to be plain, my good lord, it's but labour miſplac'd, to fend fuch good verſes to one of your taſte; you've got an odd fomething-a kind of dilcerninga reliſh-a tafte-ficken'd over by learning; at leaſt, it's your temper, as very well known, that you think very ſlightly of all that's your own: so, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amifs, you may make a miſtake, and think ſlightly of this. the clown's reply. john ohn trot was defired by two witty peers to tell them the reaſon why affes had ears? "an't pleaſe you, "quoth john, "i'm not giv'n to letters, nor dare i pretend to know more than my betters; howe'er from this time i fhall ne'er fee your graces, as i hope to be fav'd! without thinking on affes." edinburgh, 1753 epitaph on edward purdon..ti here lies poor ned purdon, from miſery freed, who long was a bookſeller's hack; he led fuch a damnable life in this world,i don't think, he'll wifh to come back.. + this gentleman was educated at trinity college, dublin; but having waſted his patrimony, he enliſted as a foot foldier. growing tired of that employment, he obtained his diſcharge, and became a fcribbler in the newspapers. he tranflated voltaire's henriade. m 2 an elegy on the glory of her sex, mrs. mary blaiże, good people all, with one accord, lament for madam blaize, who never wanted a good word— from thoſe who ſpoke her praiſe. the needy feldom paffed her door, and always found her kind; she freely lent to all the poorwho left a pledge behind. she ftrove the neighbourhood to pleaſe, with manners wond'rous winning; and never follow'd wicked waysunleſs when ſhe was finning. at church, in filks and fatins new, with hoop of monftrous fize; she never flumber'd in her pewbut when ſhe ſhut her eyes. her 93 her love was fought, i do aver, by twenty beauxs and more; the king himſelf has follow'd herwhen ſhe has walk'd before. but now her wealth and finery fled, her hangers-on cut ſhort all; } the doctors found, when he was deadher laft diſorder mortal, let us lament, in forrow fore, for kent-ſtreet well may fay, that had fhe liv'd a twelve-month moreshe had not dy'd to day. the logicians refuted. in imitation of dean swift*. logicia ogicians have but ill defin'd as rational the human mind: reaſon, they ſay, belongs to man, but let them prove it if they can. wife ariftotle and smiglefius, by ratiocinations fpecious, have ftrove to prove with great precifion, with definition and divifion, homo eft natione preditum ; but for my foul i cannot credit 'em; and muſt in ſpite of them maintain, that man and all his ways are vain ; and that this boafted lord of nature, is both a weak and erring creature. that * this imitation having originally been adopted by mr. faulkner as a genuine poem by swift, it has been reprinted in every fubfequent edition of the dean's poems; and was not difcovered till it was too late to take it out of the prefent edition. 95 " that instinct is a furer guide, than reafon-boaſting mortal's pride; and that brute beaſts are far before 'em, deus eft anima brutorum. who ever knew an honeft brute, at law his neighbour profecute, bring action for affault and battery, or friend beguile with lies and flattery? o'er plains they ramble unconfined, no politics diſturb their mind; they eat their meals, and take their ſport, nor know who's in or out at court: they never to the levee go to treat as deareſt friend, a foe: they never importune his grace, nor ever cringe to men in place; nor undertake a dirty job, nor draw the quill to write for bob. fraught with invective, they ne'er go to folks at pater-nofter-row: no judges, fiddlers, dancing mafters, no pick-pockets, or poetaſters, are known to honeft quadrupeds; no fingle brute his fellows leads. brutes never meet in bloody fray, nor cut each others throat for pay. of beafts, it is confefs'd the ape comes neareſt us in human ſhape; like man he imitates each faſhion, and malice is his ruling paffion: and 1 96 but both in malice and grimaces, a courtier any ape furpaffes, behold him humbly cringing wait upon the miniſter of ſtate: view him foon after to inferiors aping the conduct of fuperiors: he promiſes with equal air, and to perform takes equal care. he in his turn finds imitators; at court, the porters, lacquies, waiters, their maſter's manners ftill contract, and footmen, lords, and dukes can act, thus at the court, both great and ſmall, behave alike, for all all. ape finis. d.c t 1 wimi iv iv 161 nypl research libraries 3 3433 11219 2756 1 7938 (o'flaherty) trifles in poetry. 1 trifles in poetry, including hermits minstrelsy. by charles o'flaherty. jaques,—"will you sit down with me, and we two will rail against our mistress, the world, and all our misery ?"— orlando,-"i will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom i know most faults." jaques, "the worst fault you have is to be in love." orlando,—“it is a fault i would not change for your best virtue.” as you like it. numm dublin: printed for the author, by r. carrick, 29, bachelors'-walk. -0001821. 25741a hodges 29 0.19 2-1 preface. were the following trifles worthy of such a distinction, they should be dedicated to her "who has the softest mein, and sweetest eyes, that e'er were seen. fully aware, however, that any portion of merit, which even my little volume might, by possibility, possess, comes in "such a questionable shape," that the offering would be unworthy of the shrine, i shall not brighten one page of it with a name on which mine eye might, delighted, rest; thus teaching my heart one lesson of practical philosophy, perhaps the most difficult,-that of self denial. the following unpresuming trifles are now submitted to my indulgent friends only, amongst whom some of them have already obtained pretty general circulation; particularly those written for convivial parties: many of the following, have also appeared in the dublin morning post, and all, with two or three exceptions, were written on the impulse of the moment. no. 2, clarendon-street. 1st dec. 1821, c. o'f. the indulgence of the reader is requested for such typographical errors as occur in the following pages:in the extract from nourenhi, page 15, the seventh line should read "she'd start at each soft "whisper" of the wind." in the "lines spoken by mrs. edwin," page 43, the word "with" is omitted in the eighth line, which should read this heart felt more than sympathy "with" you." in page 57, the eighth line should read "since all i suffer "comes" from all i prize." in page 75, the word "breath" occurs in the third and fourth lines for "breathe." there are doubtless other inaccuracies, which the reader will please correct. 1 contents. love and folly, serenade, "the moon-beam trembles o'er the lake,' stanza's, "my weeping maid," air from an opera in m. s. "in early youth," an address written for private theatricals, stanza's addressed to a lady, "go, woman,' go," extracts from nourenhi, an eastern tale in m. s. a valentine, addressed to hermits minstrelsy, no. 1, "the hermits invocation to the evening star," stanza's "ah why did i e'er gaze," lines sent to a friend on the morning of his marriage, stanza's, "sweet maid tell me why,”, fragment, stanza's, "i will not ask to press that cheek," hermits minstrelsy, no. 2, "the hermits philosophy," page 2 3 7 12 17: · 19 21 24 26 33 36 · 38 stanza's, "how oft, my love, when thon hast slept," 40 a additional lines to the epilogue to the wonder, "6 spoken by mrs. edwin, iu the character of violante, on the night of her benefit, february, the 11th 1818. through the glen where mary stray'd,” thespian thoughts, stanza's, "when young affections impulse brings,” hermits minstrelsy, no. 3. "blue devils chased out of ireland by st patrick," · 43 · 4.4 · 45 extract from "sketches in wicklow," in m. s. descriptive of the vale of ovoca, 50 51 53 the mountain hether, lines addressed to ing train," .* 56 "if sorrows weep57 59 stanza's "i twin'd a wreath for mary's brow," stanza's, written on leaving dublin, "without a single hope to cheer." 61 hermits minstrelsy, no. 4, "the pilgrims matin song," 62 lines, written at lough dan, county wicklow, "mary, without a thought of thee," 64 66. stanza's, "oh! if those hebe charms of thine," hermits minstrelsy, no. 5, "the hermits welcome," 67 impromptu, written in the pit of the theatre, during the representation of the opera, "love in a village,' "9 stanza's, written at roundwood, county wicklow, "by vartreys banks i wander'd lone," · 69 69 70 elegiac. stanza's, "oh! when my restless spirits' fled," 71 hermit's minstrelsy, no. 6, "the hermits vesper song," 12 1 impromptu, "why is love like a potatoe?" stanza's, written at roundwood, county wicklow, "ah! what avails th' unvarying thought?" stanza's, "though hope has rung love's passing bell," hermits minstrelsy, no. 7, "the pilgrims chant," polacca sung by braham, in the serious opera artaxerxes, stanza's, "pale gleams yon wakeful, midnight star," hermits minstrelsy, no. 8, "when life's youthful pleasures first waken the senses," 9 "forget me not," from an opera in m. s. stanza's, "i once had launch'd a little bark," hermits minstrelsy, no. 9, the "eronauts," sonnet, "dear mary, 'tis no easy task,” 73 74 75 76. 78 79 80. 81 · 82 83 86 serenade from an opera in m. s. "list to the lay of love," · hermits minstrelsy, no, 10, "the loves of judy rooney, and looney connor," elegiac stanza's "alas! that the visions so fondly we cherish," 888888 87 88 90 stanza's" though fate's dark storms around us low'r" 91 hermit's minstrelsy, no. 11, "biddy maguire of ballinaclash," stanza's "this rose which i have pull'd for thee," "those chatt'ring belle's," stanza's "come, dearest, here's the path to love," stanza's, "farewell!-the storm has past," stanza's, "oh! tempt not thus my heart to stray," 92 95 96 97 89 99 stanza's, "when the bright sun of love has set," stanza's, written in the vale of ovoca, "here, 'mid ovoca's peaceful vale," · elegiac stanza's, "avaunt ye idle terrors of the brain," sonnet, "the sandal," 100 101 105 106 107 hermit's minstrelsy, no. 12, "the humours of donnybrook fair," an address written for the first appearance of a friend, at the theatre royal, · 111 serenade, "the tears of night have long since wept," 113 hermits minstrelsy, no. 13, "mr. and mrs. paddy murphy's visit to dublin," · an address spoken by mr. farrell, at the theatre royal, on the night of his benefit, stanza's, "her soul-inspiring harp is mute," · 114 117 118 hermits minstrelsy, no. 14. "the hermits medley," 119 lines sent to a friend on the morning after a party, 124 to julia, "how swiftly flew the hours away,' · 126 trifles in poetry. love and folly. as love one sunny morning lay on rosy banks reclining, and in his wild and wayward play, for time, fresh chaplets 'twining, a maid tripp'd by, with laughing eye, each smile to love a treasure; 'twas folly sought the god, who thought the maidens' name was pleasure. his captive senses soon she led, (but who that lov'd could blame him?) and then, true woman, swift she fled, for folly well might claim him. too soon he flew, again to view those eyes, his hearts' undoing; "ah! hapless child, by smiles beguil'd, 'tis folly you're pursuing !" b 2 trifles in poetry. they travers'd hill and valley, still he wander'd on delighted, nor miss'd his bow'rs of peace, until he found himself benighted. no friendly shed, the earth his bed, • vain, vain each hope he cherish'd, and that drear night, exhausted quite, love, led by folly,-perish'd. serenade. the moon-beam trembles o'er the lake, yet silence reigns within thy bow'r, awake, dear maid, awake, awake, 'tis now the promis'd hour. the partial ray that faintly gleams, like mem'ry's fondest vision seems, as o'er the lake serene it beams, reflecting many a flow'r! arise, dear maid, for zephyr's sighs, that waft along the moon-lit grove, but whisper soft, "arise," "arise," then could'st thou love, reprove? the bird of night, on yonder spray, that warbling, pours his plaintive lay, in each fond note but seems to say, 66 awake, arise to love!" & trifles in poetry. 3 stanza's. my weeping maid forbear, 'tis vain to grieve at fate, come let us, love, the worst await, then cease, my weeping fair; for oh! that soft, appealing look, my heart, but ill indeed could brook. what, tho' thy cheek is pale, yet like the lily fair, what, tho' no roses linger there, to meet the summer gale; yet thus, when ruder charms have flown, thus, thus i feel thou'rt more my own. then come my weeping maid, and i will whisper peace, and bid thy bosom's anguish cease,. and feel in tears repaid; nor once thy gentle heart reprove, or blame the tears whose source is love! b 2 trifles in poetry. air, from an opera in m. s. in early youth when life is new, c and hope's bright ray delighteth, the trusting heart enjoys the view, nor fears the storm that blighteth ; but when those sunny hours are o'er,` to such a gloom they leave us, we feel that life can charm no more, when hope could thus deceive us. an address, written for private theatricals. 'ere yet the classic drama had refin'd, in semi-barbarous ages, rude mankind 'ere unborn talent yet had infant birth, when intellectual darkness reign'd o'er earth, and genius, dormant, lay in death-like sleep, like pearls in ocean, buried vast and deep; what was the spell that could, ev'n then, convey, of reasons' clearer light, one meteor ray? what was the charm that could dissolve the gloom? whose was the pen that could lifes' page illume? oh! 'twas the drama's power, 'twas shakespeares' pen, that taught mankind to think and feel as men, trifles in poetry. 5 that led them on, with feelings scarce defin'd; to own with truth th' omnipotence of mind, promethean like, its fire from heaven stole, and prov'd to man, th' existence of a soul. if such its pow'r, forgive us, amateurs, pleasure our hobby, we but aim-at-yours, and having mounted our accelerator, we've gain'd your smiles, what recompense were greater? for where thalia holds her sportive court, the graces, rich in loveliness, resort, and every smile, from lips like theirs, conveys, a bliss alike beyond reward or praise.* and yet the stage is not the only school, where men, and women too, have played the fool; look through the world, you'll find, through mirth or gloom, all dress for characters they but assume: thus they who strut, quite " a la militaire." tight stays, loose morals, and false whiskers wear, half fierce, half feminine-yet what more odd is, ladies seem now, sweet souls, to have no bodies still spoil'd by fashion, though by nature grac'd, profuse of charms, there yet appears no waist. i've seen a vain coquette well act her part, and shun the youth who won her virgin heart, still trifling on, with those she most despis'd, to pain the constant heart that most she priz'd! i've seen a prude at church (nay, do not doubt,) look so demure, you'd think she was devout, and yet her thoughts were not of heav'nly birth, but, like her downcast eyes, were fix'd on earth! b 3 6 trifles in poetry. i've heard a poet rail at love and wine, and all the "follies" of th' immortal nine ; i've heard à soldier own he was afraid, but then, 'twas of the frowns of some fair maid; i've heard a starch old maid avow, and that's more strange, "a vast antipathy to cat's!" all this was acting, (bell rings) but the prompters' bell, has warn'd me hence, and so, kind friends, farewell! for whilst i'm prattling here, those folks behind, may raise a dust, the curtain, and the *wind! the farce of the night was raising the wind, trifles in poetry. 7 stanza's addressed to a lady, "rebellious hell if thou can'st mutiny in a matrons veins, to flaming youth, let virtue be as wax and melt in her own fires! shakespeare. increase and multiply, is heav'ns command; and that's a text i clearly understand. " pope. "i never knew a woman but loved our bodies, or our souls too well, each master whim maintains its hour of empire, and, obstinately faithful to its dictates; with equal ardour, equal importunity, they teaze us to be damn'd, or to be sav'd." go, woman go;horace walpole. -since thou can'st break the dear, yet fatal spell, that lured those hearts, too fond and weak, thine harshly to repel; the rose of innocence, that shed o'er thee its purest charm, lies dead:to thee, and it, farewell go, woman go!thy pow'r is o'er, we feel we ne'er can love thee more! 8 trifles in poetry. oh! once thy smiles appear'd so chaste, they shed a hallow'd light, as cynthia's rays, that o'er some waste, dispel the shades of night; thus, o'er the waste of life, thy smile, could sorrow of its sighs beguile, it shone so purely bright; and virtue's self, such smiles might wear, thy bosom seem'd so cold, so fair!yet oh! since thus each social tie that bound thee to thy friends, since ev'ry link without a sigh, thy worse than folly, rends; since friendship, o'er thy fallen fame may weep, yet with thy dear-bought name just indignation blends!since in thy veins, such fires can burn, go, go!-but ne'er again return !— of woman's love, 'twere vain to speak, but where was woman's pride? say-can the lily of thy cheek thy conscious blushes hide? oh! love's pure flame, indeed were dim, since hymen's torch is lit for him who claims th' unblushing bride!no, no,pride ne'er belonged to thee, thine was a heartless vanity! trifles in poetry. yes!-fall'n, for ever fall'n art thou, yet had love led the way, we should not feel as deep as now tho' thou hadst gone astray; oh! had thy heart, with feelings fraught with purer thoughts, its impulse caught from love's too tempting ray,we still might weep for that lost gem, yet pity, while we should condemn ! but now, without that meteor light that love sheds o'er our path,when erring hearts from youth unite, such merit not man's wrath :but thou art no confiding maid, nor woman's weakness, can'st thou plead, thou second "wife of bath; 99 blush, blush,-thus of thy pride bereft, if yet the blush of shame be left! and he, thy groom, thy chosen one, this lord of thy desires; this star of love, whose radiance shone, to light in thee such fires; ey'n him, whom thou wilt "husband" call, ev'n him thou'lt loath, this god of all, when passion pall'd expires! when reason re-assumes her sway, thou'lt cast this "loathsome weed" away! 10 trifles in poetry. yet such the force of woman's wit, on scripture thou would'st call, and deeply vers'd in holy writ, thou'st palliate thy fall!and turn each passage various way's,. and dwell on ev'ry doubtful phrase, and quote th' apostle paul! nay, impious, call on heaven's creed, to sanctify a shameless deed! ta' ephesian matron, true to him, who slept within the tomb, with cheek as pale, and eye as dim, wept in that house of gloom, and all companionship forswore, and vow'd to love, to live no more, but share her husband's doom; yet for her paramour, his corse was sacrific'd without remorse! no relic's of a purer love wept o'er her widow'd knee, no higher duties vainly strove to make wild passion flee; and he, whose sighs in softest breath, stole o'er her bosom,slept in death: she felt alone,————and free! but thou, without remorse or dread, would'st wrong the living and the dead! *see petronius arbiter trifles in poetry. 11 oh! why not roam to that fam'd isle* where paphian temples rise, where woman's wild and wanton smile love's deity may prize? no passion's need be there restrain'd, there too, religion's name's profan'd in mock'ry of the skies; the sacrafices they allow, are such, a fitting priestess, thou! yes, roam, no matter where, but ne'er to those fond hearts return, who hold thy mem'ry still too dear, tho' thou those hearts may'st spurn; whilst we, still, still to friendship true, some faded rose-leaves here shall strew, fit emblem's o'er thine urn; and deeming thee as dead, shall weep in sorrow o'er thine early sleep!— go, woman, go! since thou wilt breakthe dear, yet fatal spell that lured those hearts, too fond and weak, thine, harshly to repel; the rose of innocence that shed o'er thee, its purest charm, lies dead, to thee and it, farewell;go, woman, go,-thy power is o'er, we feel we ne'er can love thee more!* cyprus 12 trifles in poetry. extracts from nourenhi, an eastern tale in m. s. she was a form of life and light, t that, seen, became a part of sight, and rose, where'er i turn'd mine eye, the morning star of memory!— byron. "twas morn and radiantly the sun arose, tinting the eastern land with golden hue, awak'ning nature from her soft repose, while o'er the vales of candahar, heav'n threw its look of love, from skies of clearest blue; now young nourenhi from her turret tow'r look'd forth, scarce heeding that too lovely view, nor mark'd she, night's cold dew-drop on each flow'r, was dried by heav'ns own warmth, in that auspicious hour. why from her lattic'd casement looks the maid ?— is it to gaze upon the cloudless sky?— is it to view the last few stars that fade, or muse upon the hir* that murmurs by ?— why bends she thus her eyes to earth? and why do those two lovely lips still falt'ring move, checking the half breath'd, and unconscious sigh ?oh! can she have a thought she would reprove, whose bosom scarcely knows, as yet, the name of love? * the hir, a river of persia, which passes through the province of candahar, aud is called after a town of the same name (hir) in the province of kerman. · trifles in poetry. 13 1 nourenhi, couldst thou think 'twas to behold the stranger youth who seem'd to live in thee, oh! had thy gentle heart its secret told, how would'st thou weep in loves' captivity? yet though that heart is now no longer free, and though thy thoughts to him, still, still recur, unknown the cause, or tears thy lot should be; yet still thou hast not pow'r from thence to stir, but at thy lattice muse, and view the flowing hir. for there the stranger in the mornings rov'd, and on its winding banks hath often stray'd, and look'd, and sigh'd, and gaz'd, as though he lov'd, and turn'd his speaking eyes unto the maid; and in the turret she hath still delay'd, unknowing why, yet wanting pow'r to go, soft pity for the grief his mein betray'd; still kept nourenhi ling'ring; for deep woe, his clouded brow, his air, his gesture seem'd to shew. like zephyrs breathing sighs that, trembling, steal along the surface of the wat'ry deep, so soft her murmurs, they but scarce reveal, a love too pure to speak, too strong to sleep; no more her heart its peaceful calm may keep, no more its wonted peace her soul may feel, wild wishes fill her breast, she wakes to weep, her heart nor knows what yet that heart doth ail, nor owns that it hath yet a throb 'twould fain conceal. c 14 trifles in poetry. oh! happy, blissful state of youthful love, when the wak'd soul first trembles o'er a sigh, when the fond heart would fain each throb reprove, when virgin love, first lights a virgin's eye; ah! happy then if tranquilly to die, and meet with purer souls in spheres above; to beam, 'mid seraphs thron'd in peace, on high, ere yet with wilder throbs the breast might move, or lawless passion teach the yielding soul to rove. nourenhi's thoughts so chaste, her soul would start, and fly in terror, had the maid once known 'twas love that triumph'd o'er her youthful heart, and flutt'ring held his soft, his envied throne; his little wings now nearly useless grown, or way'd to fan the flame, not to depart; nor could the maid, nor would she now have flown, though yet her soul, unus'd to guile or art, felt not 'twas love that caus'd the painful, thrilling smart. new hopes, new fears in soft confusion rise, she knows not why, yet blushes tinge her cheek, oft to the earth she bends her lovely eyes, and falters when she but essays to speak; 'mid solitude she now doth vainly seek, the lost repose she dearly, now, may prize, too soft to spurn the god, to fly too weak, to shades of soft retirement now she hies, nor knows that, nurs'd by thought, young love is fed on sighs. trifles in poetry. 15 the pure expression of her heav'n-lit face, brought forth to light each thought that sway'd her mind, each feeling of her breast, you there might trace,'twas a retreat where innocence lay shrin'd; yet now a passion vague and undefin'd, disturb'd that bosom, late the home of peace, she'd start at each soft wisper of the wind, and now her cheeks cold paleness would give place, to tints of warmer hue, the next sound would erase. the dark, long lashes of that speaking eye, now fringe those brilliant orbs of liquid light, and o'er that brow the lilies tint doth lie, beneath each raven tress more purely white, like "unsunn'd snow," amid the shades of night; ah ! who, unmov'd, such matchless charms might spy, or gaze untouch'd on eyes so darkly bright, on cheeks ting'd with the rose's softest dye, nor yield to charms like these, the tribute of a sigh. · oh! there are chords around the human heart, that but once touch'd, awake a painful thrill, call forth a pang that mocks the despots art, that has the pow'r to more than kill; pang, this chord once press'd, think'st thou 'tis in mans' will, his writhing features in a smile to wear, a if he should feel what i have felt,-feel still, then, if 'tis not enough to end his care, it proves this truth, that man may yet outlive despair. c 2 16 trifles in poetry. ask me not of the past,-'twere vain to speak, but read my suff'rings in my features gloom, read there,-oh! stubborn heart, thou woulst not break, though all thy hopes lie buried in her tombshe's dead!-but think'st thou i could weep my doom? think'st thou that i could lose my grief in sighs? no! though this heart scarce in my breast had room, no wretched tear from nature's kind supplies, reliev'd this madd'ning brain, these burning eyes. my morn of life is o'er, and through its noon,, the dark'ning shades of eve, are gath'ring fast; what is existence, but a wretched boon, a breath man wastes in sighs, 'till all is past ?— the few bright moments of our youth, which cast some sunny rays to guide the wanderer on, are joy's phosphoric lights, which seldom last beyond the instant of their flashing; gone, ere yet the heart's aware such meteors have shone. trifles in poetry. 17 a valentine. valentines day, feb. 14, 1815. sweet maiden! if the votive strain, that i have wak'd in follys' hour, oh! could it, but for moments gain from thee one sigh or smile, no pow'r on earth, could make me e'er resign the hope to be thy valentine! who is there that unmov'd could view • thy many bright and blooming charms, thy pouting lips of vermil hue, and the rich heav'n within thine arms, when ev'n thy ringlet's playful 'twine, has bound to thee, thy valentine !thine eyes that like twin stars appear, shooting their rays of liquid light throughout loves planetary sphere, 'till phœbus, envious, visits night, they lead the heart i thus consign to thee, thy faithful valentine!c3 18 trifles in poetry. } thy bosom,but i dare not speak of heav'n itself, -its charms are such, -----words applied here, indeed were weak, for 'tis a theme i must not touch,— forgive this wand'ring tongue of mine, and pity, love, thy valentine !oh! why assume a coldness now ?— there needs no prophet to presage, the health that glows upon thy brow, (. too soon must fell the chill of age; then while youth, beauty, still are thine, enjoy them, with thy valentine!in after years, when youth has flown, and time has clipp'd love's wanton wing, say, how cans't thou in age atone, if thou'st mispent life's genial spring ? then might'st ev'n thou, in secret pine, and where would be, thy valentine?ev'n now our moments fleet away, then oh! while youth yet, yet, is ours, 'twould be but wise, whilst here we stray, to strew the path of life with flow'rs; that path might lead to bliss divine, if trod by thee, and valentine !-trifles in poetry. 19 oh! think me but some pilgrim faint, who breathes to thee his murmur'd pray'r, be thou my tutelary saint, and ah! what saint is half so fair ?love is my idol, thou'rt love's shrine, then let me be, thy valentine! this hermit's minstrelsy, no. 1. the hermit's invocation to the evening star." a duett. air," fly not yet. oh! when the star of evening beams, and when the moon-light faintly gleams, we hermits then, from slumbers creeping, thus, our holy vigils keeping; chace the hours of night. 'tis then, that pleasures roses wreathing, strains of rapture softly breathing; oh! 'tis then, that, free from sorrow, hours of bliss from night we borrow— hours of pure delight! bright star, bright star, thou, who yet doth shine so clearly, thou whom maiden's love so dearly, shed thy partial light! 20 trifles in poetry. let drowsy mortals court the day, and pass, in sleep, those hours away; that wiser souls, in mirth employing, wake from slumbers, life enjoying, music, love, and wine; tho' hermits we, 'tis here you'll find us, staff and scrip are left behind us ; and our cell with joy is ringing, whilst with one accord we're singinganthems to the vine! pale star, pale star, 'tis to thee, soft-beaming hesper, we will breathe our evening vesper oh! still deign to shine!* • the above duett was written for a convivial society, called "the hermits," of which the author was a member. it was the the hermit's charter song, and used to be sung in their cell by messrs. r. and s. at the hebdomal meetings of that society. all those under the head" hermits' minstrelsy,” were written for the same society. trifles in poetry. 21 stanza's may, 30th 1815. "how beautiful she was! the hue of her cheek was like the fruit-tree blossom, and her eye shone matchless in its brightness !". barry cornwall. ah! why did i e'er gaze on that soft eye of blue ?1 might have known, its rays of such a heav'nly hue, must this weak heart subdue; yet lost amid love's maze, i fain would pass my days, in thinking, love, of you!oh! would it not be wise, from charms like thine to fly, nor, if my peace i prize, a second venture try ?and yet so weak am i,' i still must court those eyes, where so much danger lies, and hope, and fear, and sigh!22 trifles in poetry. yet let me not repine, perchance i yet may see, one lovely smile of thine, unclouded light on me; and ah! if such from thee, might ever yet be mine, all else i could resign, thy love alone to be!and if my pen could trace, and if, my mary, thou would'st let me sing each grace, which binds me to thee now; if thou woulds't this allow, then smiles from that bright face, would fear and doubt displacé, if thou woulds't hear my vow!oh! could i have the pow'r, but equal to my will, i'd cull a lovely flow'r from -'s verdant hill: i'd shield it from the chill, when winter's blasts should low'r, and each fond, fleeting hour, should add to passion still! trifles in poetry. 23 23 transplanted to these arms, i'd wear it in my breast, its gently-budding charms, should to this heart be prest; securely it might rest, safe from all rude alarms, for love, ev'n fate disarms, 'mid bow'rs by beauty blest !oh! all its sweets i'd sip, and in transporting bliss, my ever ready lip, should dwell upon its kiss; and if in joy like this, my soul might hope to dip, such blissful partnership, sure would not be amiss. then mary, if the strain which will not brook control, oh! could it hope to gain the look that might console, then hours on hours might roll, and gods should think me vain, whilst thou alone shoulds't reign, the empress of my soul!24 trifles in poetry. lines sent to a friend on the morning of his marriage, "the treasures of the deep are not so precious, as are the concealed comforts of a man lock'd up in womans' love!" "health to my friend!" whose genial prospects glow in all the sun-shine love's pure joys bestow, whose fondest wish, oh! rare, ev'n here is crown'd, where love its recompense has seldom found, whose rays of happiness, together blend, in rain-bow hues of bliss.-"health to my friend!". "tis now some years, since first, in youths' fair morn we trod lifes path of flow'rs, nor felt a thorn, for us, the varied seasons seem'd to bring but varied pleasure, each returning spring still wafting in its fresh and perfum'd sigh, some promise of a joy, long since gone by!— such were our days of boy-hood, wild and bright, whilst our young hearts throbb'd only with delight, as time, with wings untir'd, still realis'd the evanescent hopes that most we priz'd, whilst newer pleasures, followed pleasures flown, we bless'd this lovely world, we thought our own, and hail'd the smiles of light that phoebus threw, like those, to whom the sense of life was new. ev'n i, in hours like these, have felt delight, ere yet hope's blossoms met untimely blight, ere yet my tranced soul, in passion's strife, woke to the sad reality of life!trifles in poetry. 25 yet while some folly, which my weak heart wooed, with wild enthusiasm i pursued, your calmer eyes could steadier paths discern, whilst i, no more a boy, have much to learn, whilst i, a hapless wanderer, still remain a broken link in life's endearing chain, which o'er the heart where pure affection lies, and ev'ry pulse throbs true to nature's ties, has pow'r omnipotent, to rule or bind each hope, thought, wish, and passion of the mind!thus then, of hope's bright promises bereft, with nothing, save distracting mem'ry left, i seek in pleasures sphere, still vainly sought, a respite from that mental madness, thought!— but hence with gloom, be mine the task to greet my youths' companion with a strain more sweet, pale melancholy hence, with sadden'd smile, ere hymens torch shall light your funeral pile. the god of love, with psyche, his young bride, oe'r nuptials of the heart should still preside!her sweetest flow'rs, for thee shall flora wreathe, and zephyrs, o'er the chaplet, softly breathe,. while seraphs hov'ring o'er, on poised wing, a sweet epithalamium shall sing, attentive echo shall the strain prolong in each soft cadence of the bridal song, and ev'ry bliss, whilst love or life endures, that waits on love or life, my friend, be yours!p. s. i trust for auld lang syne, that you'll excuse a muse, that possibly may not amuse. d 26 trifles in poetry. stanzas. july 4th 1815. "there is a sort of pleasing, half guilty blush, when the blood is more in fault than the man;'tis sent impetuous from the heart, and virtue flies after it ;-not to call it back, but to make the sensa tion of it more delicious to the nerves:-'tis associated." sterne. 1 1 sweet maid, tell me why from your love thus you fly, and of hope nearly leave me bereft ; nor deign, ere you go one smile to bestow, to cheer the fond heart you have left ?---yet is it not vain still, still to complain, with thy smiles in remembrance before me? love, i cannot resist, but must cease to exist ere i cease, my sweet maid, to adore thee! oh! would that to thee i might now bend the knee, and express all this bosom is feeling; nor attempt once to rise 'till you'd pity my sighs, and sure, love, you'd not keep me kneeling!trifles in poetry. 27 and while on my knees, if it would not displease, i'd pray without any restraint; and low at your feet "ave mary," repeat, and you'd be my dear little saint!and there i'd remain 'till you'd pity the pain, that you cause to this suffering breast; nor from that spot move 'till you'd feel for your love, and your eyes softly tell me the rest! for you could impart such bliss to this heart, since peace from my bosom has fled; that anguish must fly from the beam of that eye, such rapture thy glances might shed. oh! thus, o'er and o'er, 'twere bliss to implore, for one lock of thy dearly priz'd hair ; one bright, glossy tress were sufficient to bless,if you'd deign nature's blessings to share. d2 28 trifles in poetry. but should blushes rise from thy cheeks to thine eyes, my feelings could not bear control; but within these fond arms, i'd circle thy charms, and kiss thee,i would on my soul!and as each soft blush would increase, with the flush that thy dear little heart would be in; i'd tell thee in sooth, and tell thee, with truth, that not to kiss thee, were a sin!for the glow on that cheek nature's language doth speak, and 'twere folly her law to resist ; then mary, let mine, press those two lips of thine, for believe me, thou'rt made to be kiss'd!sure you could not suppose that the colour, which glows on thy sweet little, beatiful lip; should remain still unpress'd, and the lover unbless'd, who would sigh all its sweetness to sip!— trifles in poetry. 29 29 nor could you think me such a stoic, to see a maid, that e'en hermits might fire; but think i must long by persuasion, or song or all possible means to get nigh her!and if i should try, (just between you and i,) to whisper a word in her ear; then much i might tell of my loving so well, was i sure there was nobody near !yet i fear whilst i'd speak, that that soft blooming cheek, would attract those attentive lips to it; just to take a small kiss, from my dear little miss, aye! 'tis twenty to one but they'd do it!for freely i own, so wild am i grown, and this heart such a warmth has got in it; that whenever i view such a hebe as you, i'm bewilder'd, in less than a minute. d 3 30 trifles in poetry.. those bright-beaming eyes, have ta'en by surprise, this heart, which throbs most when 'tis nearest, the bosom, where dwells, (sure 'tis love thus impels,) the one that on earth it holds dearest. yet what can i do, shall i give it to you?perhaps you could keep it in order, oh! was such a maid sure to perfect its cure, i'd pray that kind love might reward her!oh! it ne'er could repine if 'twas once placed next thinė,would you grant but its loving petition; yet there's no knowing what the poor thing would be at, it is in such a longing condition!then my sweet little soul, as our youthful hours roll, let's thus enjoy life's sunny weather; for 'twere pity to part mine, from your little heart, so e'en let them ramble together. trifles in poetry. 31 and should mine go astray, yours might point out the way, and bring it back, love, to its duty; yet it never could slip if once press'd to that lip, inspir'd, thus by youth, love, and beauty. and could you excuse this flight of my muse, a muse that would still fly to you; let it peacefully rest on that beautiful breast, if you've any compassion, pray do!for tho' folly may seem to govern the theme; yet believe me it prompts not one line; oh! could folly soar to features, that bore the stamp of an image divine?— no! love is the child, as playful, and wild, as the mountain breeze kissing the rose; 'tis he that inspires my soul with desires, and robs this poor heart of repose!32 trifles in poetry. believe me 'tis he so wanton and free, that makes me still think of the bliss, in those beautiful arms, and all the bright charms, this moment love fain would be kissing. 'tis he that takes aim, with his darts tip't with flame, oh! would that the urchin might lose 'em ; he causes those sighs for the rapture, that lies a rich mine of bliss in thy bosom !— then look on me, love, with an eye like a dove, and let this poor heart, when 'tis weary, forget all its woes, and softly repose, on thy dear little bosom, my mary !--trieles in poetry. 33 fragment. "see in her cell sad eloisa spread, propp'd on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead!-" pope. ask the pale nun, who wastes her bloom of youth amid a convent's solitary gloom, ask her, "does real happiness dwell there?',who, forc'd perchance, by mandates harsh, to quit a world she scarce had seen, seeks through the aisle, but vainly seeks, the peace that's fled her breast; perchance her happiness was offer'd up a sacrifice, at pride's unworthy shrine!if so, poor maid, thy heart may yet awake to nature's genial throb, if yet that heart hath slumber'd in a calm unknown to love. thy bosom yet may glow for joy's resign'd, resign'd for ever, ere those joys were known, thy soul may sigh for hopes for ever crush'd, and life, to thee must prove a dreary void." or if, oh! if her plighted vows were giv'n, to some fond youth who liv'd for her alone, who dar'd in extacy to press those lips, that breath'd the vow of constancy and truth; sealing the bond of ever faithful love with nature's holy, pure, and sacred kiss. the veil that hides her beauty from that world she still regrets, envelopes not her mind; whilst memory and solitude combine to keep one form still present to her view, d 34 trifles in poetry. her orisons are breath'd in prayer for him, thought, "busy thought," still roves on pinions free and sighs are wafted to her distant love. her heart, this moment wak'd once more by hope, the next, struck down by fell and dark despair! thus by the adverse winds, some hapless bark, (the wreck of what she was, and wearied out long struggling with a fate she could not shun,) is rudely driven on some desert coast!— like thee, perchance, she calmly sail'd through life, and, on the oceans heaving bosom borne, whilst prosp'rous breezes fill'd each swelling sail, steer'd to the port, to which her wishes turn'd. like thee, perchance, in sight of land, she hail'd the joyous hour, she saw the distant speck enlarging on her raptur'd view, 'till fate destroy'd her hopes, as she had murder'd thine. and can the solitude that reigns around, can the cold shrine, or cemetary's gloom, beneath whose shade, some monumental urn, informs the stranger, "here a sister lies!"can scenes like these, or thoughts which they inspire, restore composure to thy stricken soul? no! no.-the hope were vain; thy peace has fled, nature outrag'd still, still asserts her rights, and hope, despair, and piety, and love, maintain a dreadful conflict in thy breast. dost thou reflect that she, perchance ev'n she, whose ashes moulder in yon dreary spot, had once a heart like thine, as much alive to all the fine pulsations of the soul?trifles in poetry. 35 perchance like thee, torn from her hopes of bliss, she early fell a victim to her doom, and thou in hers, mays't read thy hapless fate. perchance by desperation sway'd, death's cold embrace she sought!—ev'n thus some maniac wretch, rushes with giant strides to alpine heights, and standing on some rock's extremest point, exulting views the grave he madly sought: beholds with triumph the abyss below, that desperate journey to another world, which once began, he never can retrace: but what that world is, or heav'n or hell, or who, with outstretch'd arms, awaits below eager to catch his swift-descending soul, at best is doubt!-eternity lies there; he seeks not to know more,with desp❜rate stride, he takes the fatal leap, and as he falls despair laughs wildly o'er the tomb of hope!— the yawning gulph re-echoes to that cry, and as it rings discordant from its depths, the raven, scared, shrieks as it flies th' abyss, leaving its gloom to silence and to death!36 trifles in poetry. stanza's. july 18th 1815, "no disguise can long conceal love where it really is, nor feign it where it is not." rochefoucault. i will not ask to press that cheek where roses with each other vie, nor will i, in thy glances seek a look might bid me cease to sigh; i will not ask one lock of hair, that hair that waves so wild and free, nor will i, ev'n in murmurs dare to whisper all i feel for thee !— yet think not, that i could not prize the freshness of thy rosy lip, nor, when inspir'd by laughing eyes, not warmly wish thy kiss to sip ;but think, how dear to me each tress that waves, that graceful brow above, and think how much this heart must bless, the eye that beams one look of love.and oh! think not, because my tongue hath left its tale of love untold; think not thy hebe charms unsung, think not my soul to love so cold; nor think, because i do not speak of love to thee, that love is less,oh! why should i my silence break, when words could not my love express?— trifles in poetry. $7 when thro' the long and sleepless night, my weary eyes at last may close, ev'n then, in visions warm and bright, my soul is robb'd of its repose; ev'n then each feeling of my breast, unbounded, flies to love and thee, whilst thou cans't still enjoy that rest, that you and love have stol'n from me. oh! could my love its warmth impart, a love too tremulously fine, oh! could'st thou know this faithful heart, thou'dst feel its every throb is th ine ; yet though thy bosom still is cold, nor feels, nor owns one throb for me, yet thou cans't not from me withold, the luxury of loving thee!— ་་་་་ e 38 trifles in poetry. hermit's minstrelsy, no. 2, "the hermit's philosophy." air-"molly malone." let hermit's still cling, to fancy's bright wing, and jovially singthro' life's fleeting day, nor let us repine, when mirth, music, and wine, all united combine, to enliven our way. but oh! let it be ours, to gather the flow'rs, that bloom in the bow'rs, of pleasure and love, they are fools who refuse 'em, the sweetest, we'll choose 'em, to deck the fair bosom, that softly may move; whilst woman, dear woman, may smile. whilst woman, &c. trifles in poetry. 39 66 should a hermit espy, woman's soft-speaking eye, ah! should he not sigh, to the silent appeal? or like parthian knight, should he conquer by flight, and flee from her sight, should a hermit not feel? no!-may woman still spurn him, whose soul would not burn, each warm throb to return, with the fervor of truth ; may he who would measure, his moments of pleasure, ne'er feel life's best treasure, in beauty and youth in woman, dear woman's bright smile; in woman, &c. then let mirth and wine chace, gloomy cares faintest trace, and smiles light the face, of each hermit to night; let our maxim still be, to be joyous and free, and with soft harmony, blend convivial delight. e 2 40 trifles in poetry. then, oh! let not a thought, but with rapture be fraught, for 'twere worse than a fault, to let care cloud the brow, or anticipate sorrow, and grieve for the morrow, when 'twere wiser to borrow, our happiness now, in woman, dear woman's bright smile. in woman, &c. stanza's july, 26th 1815. "see, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!" shakespeare. how oft my love, when thou hast slept, have i beneath thy window crept, how oft has love its vigils kept, and breath'd its sighs to thee?— whilst thou, unconscious love was near, hast pass'd those hours, to lovers dear, in tranquil sleep, devoid of fear, nor thought of love or me!trifles in poetry. 41 how oft my love, when peace had shed her genial influence o'er thy bed, when ev'ry warmer thought had fled, if love could thee, forsake ;how oft have i, my lovely maid, much wish'd to breathe a serenade, but faith was more than half afraid that other's might awake? last night i saw that form, that face, oh! 'twas but for a moments space, yet mem❜ry still, will long retrace the look 'twill ne'er resign; and think whose soft hand 'twas, that drew the envious curtain shading you, and closing heav'n upon my view? ah! mary, it was thine !sure dearest, sure, it was not fair, when nought but love was waking there, and i abroad at midnight air, with hope, with love elate, sure 'twas not fair to draw between, that love-resisting, muslin screen, and thus to close the blissful scene, and leave me to my fate!e 3 42 trifles in poetry. yet calmly you retir'd to rest, with peace an inmate of thy breast, thy glowing cheek, in slumbers press'd thy soft, thy downy pillow; (oh! how that cheek in beauty glows!-) in slumbers still thy bosom rose, though you, while courting soft repose, left me to seek the willow!the heav'ns with glitt'ring stars were bright, i gaz'd upon the moon's soft light, i blew a kiss,i bade "good night"!unheard, unfelt, unseen; yet still i linger'd, still i stay'd, for hope with love still, still delay'd, i turn'd to go,i bless'd the maid,but curs'd the muslin screen! trifles in poetry. 43 additional lines to the epilogue to the "wonder,” spoken by mrs. edwin, in the character of violante, on the night of her benefit, february, 11th 1818. when late, some few moons' since, this beating heart, would fain, to you, its farewell thanks impart, methought one tender feeling i could trace shading the sun-bright smiles that lit each face, like those soft clouds that make their silent way, ting'd with the splendours of the god of day!— perhaps it was but thought, yet oh! if true, this heart, felt more than sympathy you. oh! no, no pen, no language has the pow'r to speak the thrilling anguish of that hour, as my heart, full to bursting, sunk so deep, 'twere some relief from agony, to weep, for then my sad farewell was meant sincere, though tempted to return to friends so dear. oh! since your shamrocks wild, have kiss'd my feet, a presage of this welcome, warm and sweet, your native kindness has with truth imprest, green erin's emblem in my grateful breast!44 trifles in poetry. through the glen where mary stray'd, a canzonet. music by t. robinson. through the glen where mary stray'd cherishing love's deep dejection, the fairy scene i long survey'd, hallow'd thus by young affection. the grotto here, the cascade higher,the rustic, alpine bridge above it, if wand'ring eyes that scene admire, oh! mine, for mary's sake, must love it !-the gushing waters cooling sound, the breath of zephyr fresh and airy, the very birds, nay all around, seem'd but to breathe of love and mary !— when absence such a scene endears, we find a charm in melancholy, thus love could linger there for years, yet mary, this, the world calls folly!the wither'd leaves of autumn fell like early-blighted hopes around me, as love traced her, who with love's spell, by mem'rys magic power bound me !but vain ev'n mem'ry to impart one joy to cheer a life so dreary, peace-hope-all lost-this broken heart, the only relic left of mary !— 17th september, 1819. trifles in poetry. 45 sir, thespian thoughts. to the editor of the dublin morning post. if these trite thoughts, which from my calm retreat i send per dundrum penny-post, should mect, (i've paid the postage,) ev'n your toleration, then grant them, mr. editor, (1) emancipation: that is, allow them liberty to roam on freedom's, (paper) wings, far, far from home, poor children of the brain, he who begot 'em sends them 'mid critic cavillers, odd rot 'em, to" strut and fret their hour upon a page," their aim, the morning post, their theme, the stage; i "push their fortunes," from my peaceful arbour, and date this, from "my cottage, windy harbour," a home of wind, well suited to light words, which yet to them a home no more affords, but, traversing the earth, (as thoughts are free,) they leave dundrum to goats, to girls, and me. leaving our youths companions, is a grief so pure, so sacred, we scarce wish relief from that sensation, which, (though pain,) endears each friend who claims the tribute of our tears. 'twas so with them, they cast a wistful look on mrs. norton's goats, the mountain brook, and found, in ev'ry look, fresh cause to grieve, and when at last, they took a final leave, mov'd like a post, (the penny 'twas that bore them,) dundrum behind, "the world was all before them." (1) and 'twere good policy, from man to's brother, that he who merits one, should meet with th' other. 46 trifles in poetry. the urchins are but wild, and though i send 'em, 1 own i can't say much to recommend 'em ; perhaps you (justly) think, i first should show, sir, some "higher flights," nay term me but a proser, and closing on my "thoughts" your press diurnal exclude them from the columns of your journal. yet when of literature the very lees float idly, (rest longinus,) shall ev'n these poor lines be now rejected ?-'twould disclose a sad partiality for frantic prose. too steep parnassus' hill for me to climb, i aim not, sir, at poetry sublime, but send you, writ in haste, my "thoughts in rhyme." a theatre !-oh! 'tis a classic dome raised to the gods on high,-the muses homeapollo's temple, where the graces meet, and (2) seraphs breathe in airs "divinely sweet," where his, (apollo's) triumph (3) still is kepta cradle where the infant shakespeare slept;a theatre !-why'tis a mart for fame, the bazaar of true genius: there a name, the poet, actor, painter, all may raise their first, their best reward, a nation's praise. (2) who is there, having "music in their souls," that has not listened to kathleen o'more with breathless attention and delight? 1 (3) in the musical afterpiece of midas. trifles in poetry. 47 yet "there be players that i have seen play," of whom, perhaps, the best that we can say is, that they keep their station, like the domine,(4) 'mid-way betwixt thalia and melpomene; no smiles or tears are theirs-they stand aloof, as though the hearts they bore were passion proof, the scene, or grave, or gay-such but perplex it, and we feel grateful-when they make their exit.(5) but then our dramatists-oh! in these isles there lives not one can claim thalia's smiles; and he, (6) whose name shall live on history's page the first, the last menander of the age, stands bright and lonely,(7) as a land-mark, placed by genius, to direct a people's taste. (4) the gravity of domine sampson, never fails to excite the laughter of the audience, his effort at being "hilarious," is most doleful mirth. it has been said, that the gravest bird is an owl, the gravest beast an ass, and the gravest man, a fool! if so, we should hang up philosophy.' 29 (5) actors of this description on the boards of a regular theatre, remind me of the weeds that grew on the monk's grave, which, in the language of sterne, "had no business there." (6) the late richard brinsley sheridan. "9 (7) the censure implied here is not meant to apply to the tragedies of the present day, some few of them are worth reading; but where is the living dramatist on whom thalia smiles?-it would be a truly melancholy task to take a review of our modern comedies and farces, adapted as they are to the coarse stomach of john bull, and consisting of such productions as love and gout, exchange is no robberry, too late for dinner, where shall i dine? and a long et cetera of imbecile attempts at humour, "weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable.' aladdin, professing to be no more than show, is really preferable to such abortions of the brain. but we have opera's too, yes, we have the slave for instance, which is, with the exception of anziko and coanza, (another slavish thing, which was doubly damned at the crow-, street theatre, having been attempted a second night, after the "deep damnation" of the first,) the most contemptible production that the bad writers of the present day have yet produced. 48 trifles in poetry. our theatre (8) has op'd, howe'er, and we feel grateful to our present patentee, for his not introducing gas,(9)—it shews us he'd not distress our lungs, or curl our noses.(10) being merciful, i shall not lay much stress upon george coleman, esquire's, damn'd address of genius so devoid, nay not one spark, it seem'd as purchas'd in an english market. "go george, i can't endure you,”—mend your pen, or, as atonement, never write again. "something too much of this,"i fain would speak of those who die some twice or thrice a week, of those who try to make the " barren” laugh, (but we export our corn, we import chaff,) 1 (8) the new drop-scene is classical and elegant; of the proscenium i shall not speak, as i am convinced it is but temporary, but it is with regret i perceive that there is no green curtain; nor has there, as yet, been a green cloth spread for tragedy, perhaps being the colour of my country, makes me miss these theatrical requisites the more; but i am compassionate, "sir, as well as patriotic, and it goes to my heart to see that interesting and promising young actress, miss kelly, throw herself on the bare boards. another matter of deep regret is, that the dublin theatre has been left for the two last years without an actress to take the lead in high comedy. for "even such a time" have the ladies townly, teazle, and contest, the widows belmour, cheerly, and bell bloomer, and the mesdames violante, juliana, and belinda, been, to us, in a state of somnambulism. (9) wax-lights are far more elegant than gas, besides a central chandelier, however splendid, gives to a theatre too much the appearance of a circus. (10) the smell of gas is very offensive. trifles in poetry. 49 of those who execute a song, nay all that "fret their hour" within the thespian hall; (11) but i must check at once my feather's flight, it was a goose's,that with which i write, "sans doubt," perhaps, you'll say no matter, i can bear the winged shaft that i let fly; but have nor time, nor room, left for a word, the post-boy being booted, and be-spurredi must make up "my thoughts;" so here they go, and am, windy harbour, 14th february, 1821 your most obedient, curio* (11) it may not, perhaps, be out of place to mention here, that i saw two farces "enacted" on one night at the rotunda theatre; they were is he jealous? and the rendezvous. the bills of the day announced mrs. humby as the rose of both; this announcement was perfectly correct. *the foregoing appeared in 'the dublin morning post, shortly after the opening of the new theatre royal 50 trifles in poetry. stanza's. "poets in youth, generally become philosophers as they advance -we grow chilly when we sit out "our fire." in years;when young affections impulse, brings one bounding throb of gladness, when heart to heart still warmly clings, nor thinks such fondness, madness,→ ere hope has borrow'd times swift wings, or mem❜ry yields but sadness!— oh! then the dream of youth how bright, life's morn how fair,how dark the night!-well may we those pure hours regret, when joy came uninvited, and hearts congenial oft have met, that now are disunited :when life's young pulse throbb'd wild, ere yet hope's blossoms all are blighted!yet such man's destiny, and vain th' attempt, to break misfortune's chain!it is entail'd, ev'n at our birth, though smiles we vainly borrow, that all alike who tread this earth," must wake at last to sorrow, still following close, to-day's wild mirth, the anguish of to-morrow!— his birth right then man should not scorn, for he's the heir of sorrow born! trifles in poetry. 51 hermi's minstrelsy, no. 3, blue devils chased out of ireland by saint patrick. afr patrick's day.” sung in the refectory, at the supper given by the hermits, on the night of the 16th of march, 1816, to usher in the morning of the anniversary of their patron saint with becoming devotion. the supper tables were tastefully decorated with a profusion of shamrocks. -000 come, jolly old hermits, while others may sigh away, ours be the hope that's awaken'd by joy, for with the blue devils, the devil may fly away, so imps, big and little, take warning; we hermits, enjoy such a moment as this is, and welcome with rapture each soul-beaming smile, sorrow we banish, and care too must vanish, with pale melancholy, and all such like folly, unfit for the hermits of this verdant isle, who sit up all night, to catch the first light, that breaks in, on st. patrick's morning.. (chorus)-fol, lol, de rol, lol, &c. 12 52 trifles in poetry. as st. patrick, one morn, in bed lay a thinking, of this thing,—and, that thing—and many things more, while as yet, a few stars in the heav'ns were winking, the arch of green erin adorning; he jump'd out of bed in the devil's own hurry, and into his breeches his two legs he thrust, blue devils to chase, and, och! hone, such a race, was ne'er seen since that day, when he shewn them some play, before the old boy, faith they flew like the dust, says the saint, "now," says he, "musha, bad luck to me," "but you run well this patrick's morning."— (chorus)-fol, lol, de rol, lol, &c. oh! give me a shamrock, i'll pour a libation, to brighten the plant, that st. patrick upheld, a symbol of union and love to our nation, bidding hermits all discord be scorning; our cell, shall ne'er echo to one note of sorrow, while here we sit merrily taking our tea, and tho' reason may fail in, a true bacchanalian, yet joy shall ne'er leave us, nor sorrow e'er grieve us, • while thus we can pour out the native roscrea, for erin gives birth to genuine mirth, on st. patrick's day in the morning! (chorus)-fol, lol, de rol, lol, &c. trifles in poetry. 53 extract from "sketches in wicklow,' iń m. s. descriptive of the vale of ovoća. ' addressed to "if woman can make the worst wilderness dear, think, think what a heav'n she must make of cashmere ! "amid the many lovely scenes that grace moore "> thy mountains, wicklow, there lies one more sweet to contemplation's eye, more sought by those,· the feeling and the pure, whose hearts may claim a sense of kindred with that lovely vale, more rich in all the softness of repose than all beside!——it breathes of tenderness,´› to me 'tis dearer far than those wild views: that strike the sense with wond'ring admiration, yet leave the heart, that truer test, untouch'd !—— embower'd amid the shade of trees, that live along the mountains side, and flow'rs, that yieldtheir lavish fragrance to the breath of morn, (to nature grateful for a home so sweet,) this valley lies.'tis nature's paradise; a second blooming eden, where fall'n man, in "seeing what he sees," more deep must feel· a vain regret at having lost the first!a western tempe, where th' enthusiast, sooth'd by the scene, and "charm'd to poetry," may drink from the pure fount of inspiration!— + f 3 54 trifles in poetry. there, in that vale of soft tranquility, fann'd by the fragrance, wak'd by zephyr's sighs, whilst heav'n its golden rays of glory shed, i've wander❜d by the gentle avon's banks, and, lost in thought, have mark'd its silent way, through the soft bosom of that peaceful glen, where, wedded to ovoca's rippling stream, 1 together they have pass'd their destin'd course, 'till lost in the eternity of ocean!alone amid a solitude so sweet, with nought of wordly cares to break the spell, the heart, nor silent there, but oh! most eloquent, i've mus'd upon the lesson nature taught !— there fancy form'd a cottage of content, where love and peace might dwell;-a hebe there, it were a bliss so pure, so exquisite, might tempt a hermit to abjure his vows, to share with her, her cottage and her heart!and cold must be his heart, that would not turn, at twilight hour, to the expanse of sky, viewing each distant planet as a world, and whilst one full sensation of delight would thrill his soul with feelings scarce defin'd, worship the star that lit him to his love !— oh! in a scene so form'd by natures hand for bliss, the very home of happiness, where is the heart could throb with one regret for the world's wilder joys ?-forgotten all : trifles in poetry. 55 and man, when wand'ring here, taught by the birds, (themselves untaught, tho' not less sweet,) like them must breathe his song of gratitude to him, who form'd the sweet retreat; which echoes still, as day declines, to the clear vesper hymn, pour'd by the warblers of the sylvan scene. their orisons at early morn they pay, in the wild strains that charm the list'ners ear!"tho moons on moons in endless' change may roll, this valley still shall wear, unchang'd, its smile, and 'mid its roses wild, and myrtles sweet, the same soft sense of harmony pervade !→→→→ ling'ring we turn, as loth to quit a scene where all the souls best sympathies are wak'd, where those who 'neath misfortunes heavy hand have sunk o'erpower'd, could they still feel, would find their sorrow sooth'd to sadness.'twas of thee i thought,and with a wish to bear my grief's to some more wild and more congenial spot, i sought lough dan, and in that gloomy lake as in a mirror, saw my woes reflected!" 56 trifles in poetry. the mountain hether. music by t. robinson. sung by mr. mckeon, of the theatre royal, at the anacreontic society. olt! fly my jessy, fly wi' me, an' thus thro' life we'll wander, a heart is a' love offers thee, the world contains nae fonder. nae gowden store, nae flocks have i, nae lands to win your mither, then fly wi' me, my jessy, fly across the mountain hether!oh! come my jessy, leave em a', an' love shall light each morrow, for thy young heart is not of snaw, an' mine has lov'd thro sorrow!come,-close i'll hold thee to this breast, an' shield thee from rude weather, an' sweet shall be my jessy's rest,. tho' on the mountain hether!yon evening star shall be our guide, the path lies straight before us, come, jessy, come,the world is wide, see hesper hovers o'er us!i'll fold my plaid around thy form, an' sweet we'll rest together, nor feel the wind, nor fear the storm, upon the mountain hether!trifles in poetry. 57 lines addressed to "ah! me, for aught that i could ever read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth:-but either it was different in blood; or else misgraffed in respect of years; or else it stood upon the choice of friends: or if there were a sympathy in choice, war, death, or sickness did lay seige to it." shakespearl if sorrows weeping train might wait on joy, or love, too fondly cherish'd, peace destroy, if aught of ill could emanate from thee, whose heav'n-born smile 'twere happiness to see; if, to the blush that brightens beautys cheek, the source of sorrow, not in vain we seek, some paradox in erring nature lies, since all i suffer, come from all i prize!'tis "passing strange," the form to man most dear, the houri of his hopes whilst wand'ring here, she, who to tardy time lends love's swift wings, ev'n she to whom his heart most fondly clings, should thus, by wayward fate, be doom'd to be th' unconscious, lovely cause of misery!ah! why will mem'ry still recur to hours, when hopes bright rain-bow rose o'er loves sweet bow'rs? why, why, tenacious of the past, still turn to weep in secret o'er affections urn, seeking the treasur'd relic's buried there, tho' guarded by the demon of despair?there was a star that o'er my path still shone, that most of all heav'ns lights i've gazed upon, 58 trifles in poetry. that but to view its distant glories shine, and catch those smiles of light, that once were mine, that but to feel, beneath its rays so bright, the consciousness of living in its light, was to this heart, a bliss intense, yet pure, too sweet for earth, too perfect to endure.oh! it was as a centre to my soul, a sun, round which my ev'ry thought would roll, a source of life, and light, and warmth, that shed around this ardent heart, ere hope had fled, that sense of being, which through joy or strife, once felt, for ever influences life!yet true, its last few, fading beams that fell, could ne'er the gloom around that heart dispel,, but gave to light in all the truth of grief, the sorrows, beyond pity or relief!so, when portending clouds the skies deform, some vessel struggles with the angry storm, vainly, yet proudly, buffeting the waves, those restless cemetaries, wat'ry graves, a nameless wreck, without, or sail, or mast, a victim to the storm, she sinks at last !— yet when the tempests' o'er, the winds subside, and morns soft blushes meet the tranquil tide, when the suns splendours with returning day, o'er the calni bosom of the waters, play, in beams of brightness, lovely to behold, whose very touch is warmth, whose hue is gold, still, still they light on the dismasted deck, and all the horrors of the hapless wrecktrifles in poetry. 59 5.9 thus, tho' the radiance of thy smile may throw its bright effulgence o'er the deepest woe, unfelt its warmth, like moon-beams o'er a tomb, which cheer not there, where all around is gloom; oh! thus its lovely light, reveals at best the wreck of happiness, within this breast, yet fails, one joyous feeling to impart, to this devoted, lost, and broken heart!— stanza s. "then listen, and lay your white arm mid'st the branches, thus (sweet contrast!) and your head against this trunk, and clear your marble forehead from those thick and shadowy tresses. so, your eye bent tow'rds me: how bright it is!-and like the glow-worms light, shines most methinks, in darkness. listen now; but 'tis a melancholy song: 'twas framed when once i thought i had lost you," barry cornwall. i'twined a wreath for mary's brow, whilst bright her eye of beauty beam'd, and breathing o'er it loves pure vow, in tenderness i thus exclaim'd :"oh such a chain was made for us, and still should bind hearts form'd like ours, when ev'ry throb through life, should thus inhale the breath of flow'rs!"60 1 trifles in poetry. she took the wreath, but e'er the dews by mornings genial warmth were dried, the violets lost their brighter hues, the roses wither'd, droop'd, and died!"and thus," i cried, "will love awhile like flow'rs in sun-shine freshly bloom, and thus will droop, and thus beguile, love's light and changeful plume! 'twas folly,-yet i griev'd to see, the plants that i had rear'd with care, should prove, with april smile, to me at once so fleeting and so fair :with nature i have vainly strove, the leaves ere this have long decay'd, i should have known, that woman's love, and summer flow'rs, will fade!-trifles in poetry. 61 stanza's. written on leaving dublin. "the world, in my imagination, is divided only into two regions that where she is, and that where she is not," / rousseau. without a single hope to cheer, from ev'ry joy estrang'd, bereft of all could make life dear, my very nature chang'd,o'er earth's wide, wild, and weary waste, reckless of all i roam, since fate, life's path for me has traced, which leads to sorrows home!when lighter hearts, and happier friends, shall live beneath thy smile, when flatt'rys incense, soft ascends, to win, to lure, beguile,when pleasures round, or folly's whim, assail thy gentle heart, oh! wilt thou give one thought to him, whose pulse of life thou art ?— g 62 trifles in poetry. one lovely flow'r, of all beneath the heav'ns, one flow'r alone, i thought to twine into a wreath, which love might call his own.throughout all nature's wide parterre, in youths most sunny hour, i've priz'd o'er all, that blossom fair, and worshipp'd love's own flow'r. hermit's minstrelsy, no. 4. the pilgrim's matin song. written for the hermits first pilgrimage to the co. wicklow, june 9, 1816. air" a rose tree in full bearing." when morning's rays first breaking, come faint and feeble o'er the hill, when night's pale stars yet waking, thro' clouds of light, are glimm'ring still; when th' untrim'd lamp, expiring, tells pilgrims of the wane of night, when moonbeam's are retiring, we journey by that doubtful light. trifles in poetry. 63 our pilgrimage beginning, with hermits early matin song; each brother blithely, singing, we cheerly pass the hour's along ; and when the night is closing, and tears of dew, the heavens weep, on beds of heath reposing,. each pilgrim sinks in tranquil sleep. and should our weary way, be o'er paths by feet but seldom worn, and should some mountain hebe, with rustic charms those paths adorn; shall we be deem'd unholy, if, with a pure, devoted zeal, we bend in homage lowly, and at the shrine of beauty kneel ? this world's a desert only, where man, the pilgrim's born to roam, his journey drear and lonely, but woman's bosom is his home; her sunny smiles befriending, like rays from heaven, make him blest, whene'er, his sorrow's ending,, life's pilgrim seeks that place of rest. g 2 64 trifles in poetry. lines written at lough dan, county wicklow. addressed to "she bade him wait, be silent, and forget such nonsense :-he heard this, and, lov'd her yet; he lov'd-oh! how he lov'd. -his heart was full of that immortal passion.' barry cornwall, thus scan mary, without a thought of thee, my life, my love, my destiny, oh! think'st thou, could mine eye the solitude of lone lough dan?— oh! think'st thou, could i hither roam, to sorrows most sequester'd home, nor feel, depriv'd of hope and thee, its gloom a fit abode for me?. what, tho' some year's are o'er, since first thy smiles that ruling passion nurst, which, like the lightnings flash, illumes the very spot that it consumes; which hurls its vivid fires, that throw a wild sublimity round woe, leaving the blasted heart in gloom with desolation for its doom; yet thus, of happiness bereft, 'twill, with the wreck of passion left, still wildly, madly cherish there, the darker feeling of despair!-trifles in poetry. 65 yes! there's a feeling of the heart, when nought on earth can peace impart, when respiration's drawn by sighs, which, half suppress'd, relief denies ;→→ 'tis that depression of the mind, when sorrow's in the breast enshrin'd, when, churlishly, the heart would keep its anguish to itself, and weep in tears of blood, that would but trace, the sorrows they could not efface !— oh! think'st thou, could i wander here, to regions such as these; so drear, so desolate the scenes they shew, nor feel a fellowship with woe?— forget thee!yes, when lone lough dan, shall meet with smiles, th' intruder, man.when lugnaquilla's snow-crown'd head, shall bow to hear his lordly tread.when peace shall +luggela forsake, and quit the bosom of its lake, then shall i feel from anguish free, then shall i cease to think of thee!* lugnaquilla, the highest of the wicklow mountains, towers above a lofty range, situated about five miles to the s. w of glandalough. + luggela, in the county wicklow, celebrated for the beauty of its scenery; nature may be said to repose on the bosom of its lake, so "stilly calm" is all around.—ône might almost imagine it was formed as a retreat for the spirit of solitude, surrounded as it is by an immense range of lofty mountains, that form a perfect and natural amphitheatre. g 3 66 trifles in poetry. stanza's. "oh! teach me how i should forget to think." " shakespeare. oh! if those hebe charms of thine, have rais'd a passion known to few, if yet this heart, at beautys shrine, has pour'd its vows, fond, warm, and true, if passions wildest thrill was mine, when loveliness first met my view; let ev'n its wild excess, attest who loves thee fondest, truest, best! in years to come, when other ties, shall bind thy heart, unthought of now, should he, whose pure, impassion'd sighs were giv'n to thee,-oh! say would'st thou,should he then stand before thine eyes, with sorrow stamp'd upon his brow,oh! would'st thou, in that hour, repress one sigh for so much wretchedness?— one lov'd, last relic, still i wear, one amulet, so dear thou art, one talisman of love i bear, with which fond mem'ry will not part ; no! mary, no ;-i could not tear thine image from this ruin'd heart, where yet it lies in-urn'd, a dear memorial of a love sincere!trifles in poetry. 67 hermits minstrelsy no. 5. the hermits welcome. written for the hermits' annual commemoration, sept. 7, 1816. ་་་་ recitative. "muse of the hermits, leave parnassus' height, and to our cell, oh! take thy wonted flight; "yet ere thou comeṣt, bathe thy brilliant wing, "in the fam'd waters of castalia's spring!" air-"paddys wedding." ye souls so bright, who worship night, enjoying hermits revelry, come sing the strain of joy, again, inspir'd by mirth and jollity. for tho' the sun his race has run, what tho' his glorious course be past, yet from yon skies, shall stars arise, and thro' the gloom their radiance cast. then seize the wine, to bathe the shrine of mirth, that shall our cares dispel: for while we live, we freely give, a welcome to the hermits cell. 68 trifles in poetry from realms above, the god of love, descended once on erin's shore ; he wander'd wild, a truant child, and vow'd he'd leave this land no more. "i'll pass my hours, "in wreathing flow'rs, "for erin's gen'rous sons," said he, "nor sigh for skies, "but here i'll prize, "the land of hospitality!" then seize the wine, to bathe the shrine 1 of love, that shall our cares dispel, for while we live, to him we'll give, a welcome to the hermits cell! our scrip, tho' spare, we hermits share, our berries wild, and oaten-cake; for what our board can e'er afford, the weary traveller shall partake. and like that dome, the wanderers home, our cell shall prove a *choultry here; * a choultry is a public building erected near the road, and devoted solely to the use of travellers of all ranks; they are very numerous in the east, particularly over the whole continent of india, and as the building of them is deemed an act of great piety, a rich native is generally anxious to erect, or contribute to the crection of one, before he dies. trifles in poetry. 69 where laymen all, may freely call, and share with us the hermits cheer! then seize the wine, to bathe the shrine 1 of mirth, that shall our cares dispel ; for while we live, we freely give, a welcome to the hermits cell. impromptu, written in the pit of the theatre, during the representation of the opera, "love in a village. " addressed to miss rosetta b what was it could my thoughts engage, where woman still with woman vied?— was it rosetta on the stage? no! 'twas rosetta by my side !— 70 trifles in poetry. stanza's written at roundwood, co. wicklow. “thou'rt gane awa frae me, mary.”— burns. by vartreys banks i wander'd lone, whilst thought look'd back from mem'rys throne, and mused on hours, for ever flown, since we're doom'd to sever!--my heart, while it may vainly swell, has felt, and feels, this truth too well, yet asks, "will fate those clouds dispel ?"mary never, never amid those trackless mountains wild, i've gazed around, and sadly smil'd, whilst thy lov'd charms, still time beguil'd, dear,-ah! dear as ever. in fancy beaming bright, as when they first inspir'd my votive pen ;ah! will those hours return again? mary, mary,never!ཨ་་་་ trifles in poetry. 71 elegiac stanza's. "dark tree, still sad when others grief has fled, the only constant mourner o'er the dead." byron. oh! when my restless spirits' fled,— when my imprison'd soul is free, then let me rest my weary head, beneath yon waving cypress tree. there, in that peaceful solitude, let me find rest when life is o'er, no wordly passions there obtrude, there loves wild throb is felt no more. nor oh! let footsteps rudely tread, to spoil the tint that nature gave, or crush the wild flow'r on that bed, should it yet blossom o'er my grave. but let some youth, if such there be,whose love, like mine, has long been tried ; let him that e'er has lov'd like me, carve on the tree," he lov'd and died!" ་་་་་་་ 72 trifles in poetry. hermits minstrelsy no. 6. · the hermit's vesper song. air-"shawn bwee," ye anchorites all who have offer'd up vows, to pay true devotion to momus, invoking the god to join our carouse, with t'other bright youth, mr. comus. let us now, while the sun of enjoyment shall rise, full and bright at this o'erflowing brimmer; emulate those choice spirits that rove thro' the skies, while hermits, like them, full of whim are. (chorus) follol de rol lol &c. the goddesses too, and their beautiful zones, what hermit could ever resist them; with lips, such as venus de medici owns, too happy the god that has kiss'd them. oh! could they be tempted on this earth to dwell, we'd worship them then as our duty; while their splendour would form, in the hermits drear cell, a bright constellation of beauty! (chorus) fol lol de rol lol, &c. trifles in poetry. 73 diana herself thought the clouds were too cold, and when night o'er mount latmos was closing, enamour'd descended, unseen to behold her shepherd endymion reposing; then oh! still may woman resemble miss di, and with smiles cheer the hearts that adore her; when in such a chaste maid from her own native sky, she has such an example before her! (chorus) fol lol de rol lol, &c. impromptu. 'why is love like a potatoe ?" said jane, to the gardener pat, who was working hard by, "faith miss," replied paddy, "the reason is plain, they're indigenous plants, and both shoot from the eye!" h 74 trifles in poetry. stanza's. written at roundwood, co. wicklow. "the lady of his love re-enter'd there, she was serene and smiling then, and yet she knew she was by him belov'd:-she knew,, for quickly comes such knowledge, that his heart was darken'd with her shadow, and she saw that he was wretched.". byron. ah! what avails th' unvarying thought, that turns with truth to thee? what, life itself?nought, mary, nought, it bears no charm for me! the flow'rs that hope strew in my path, though faded; once were sweet, 'till fate, with unrelenting wrath, proclaim'd, we ne'er may meet!— the heav'n of life thus overcast, with clouds, that, low'ring, shed their darken'd shadows, but to blast the heart whose hopes are dead; lone, joyless now i tread this earth, unmov'd ev❜n by despair; since life, to wretchedness gave birth, and both i'm doom'd to bear! trifles in poetry. 75 stanza's. "there is not a day in which your figure does not appear before me; your conversations return to my thoughts; and every scene, place, or occasion, where i have enjoyed them, are as livelily painted on my mind, as an imagination equally warm and tender, can be capable to represent them." pope, to lady mary wortley montague. tho' hope has rung love's passing bell, tho' hope has prov'd untrue, yet breath dear maid, one last "farewell," oh! breatheone last "adieu :” on earth, perchance, we ne'er may meet, yet still, belov'd, 'twill be a bliss to me, divinely sweet, to live for love and thee!4 could not my "minds eye," rest on you, my heart should turn to tears; but mem'rys ray still pierces thro' the vista of past years !— thus life itself;-which else were nought, ev'n life shall prove to me, a bliss, when pass'd in one long thought, dear, lovely maid, of thee!·000 h 2 76 trifles in poetry. hermit's minstrelsy, no. 7, the pilgrim's chant. written for the hermits' pilgrimage to the hill of howth, july 7th 1816, being the second for the season. air," the young may moon." arise, ye hermits-morning's ray has tinged the darker clouds with grey, then oh! 'tis time yon hill we climb, our pure devotion there to pay; for see you not, what streaks of light, beam o'er the hill of howth so bright, while "dalkey's isle," now seems to smile, reliev'd from shades of sombre night! and see, enrich'd with golden hue, the "mugglins" meet our holy view; while "ireland's eye," is just hard by, and keeps an eye out for pilgrim's too; as storms of life, the hermit's brave, so calm the "mugglins" meet the wave; for they, with pride, repel the tide, and fearless view the ocean-grave! trifles in poetry. 77 the spirits that skim along the deep, and weary mariners' sing to sleep, have sigh'd the tale, along the gale, "their carnival here the hermit's keep; " and all the little sprites that roam, by moonlight o'er the water's foam, their scallops would bring, as a pure offering, and feel with the hermits' quite at home! *the staff, the scrip, the sandal, and the scallop, were emblematic of the pilgrim; while this kind of devotion was in favour, love intrigues were frequently carried on under that disguise, hence many of the old ballads and novels made pilgrimages the subject of their stories. the scallop was one of the essential badges of their vocation, for the chief places of their devotion being beyond sea, or on the coasts, the pilgrims were accustomed to put scallops upon their hats, to denote the intention or performance of some vow. н 3 78 trifles in poetry. oh! glory in thy brightest hours. a polacca, music by w. o'rourke. sung by braham, in the serious opera " artaxerxes. " oh! glory, in thy brightest hours, it never yet was thine, to shew such sweet, and blooming flow'rs, as love and hope entwine ;the wreath that binds the warriors brow, may shed a splendour there, the hero, while the vanquish'd bow, the wreath unstain'd may wear ; but glory, in thy brightest hours, it never yet was thine, to shew such sweet, and blooming flow`rs, as love and hope entwine. 000 trifles in poetry.. 79 > stanza's. "oh! many a lone and lovely night, it sooth'd to gaze upon the sky; for then i deem'd the heav'nly light, shone sweetly on thy pensive eye!"byron. pale gleams yon wakeful, midnight star, when, near the close of night, aurora's bright and rosy car, heralds the morning light; and paler still that star appears, whene'er a partial ray, beams brightly o'er nights dewy tears, to usher in the day. thus mary, i, the long, long night, my weary vigils keep, so pale seem i at dawning light, when unrefresh'd by sleep; and as that star still paler seems, when nights dark shadows fly, so 'tis with me, when brightly beams the sun-shine of thine eye. ·000 80 trifles in poetry. hermits binstrelsy. no. 8. when life's youthful pleasures first waken the senses. air,-langolee. when life's youthful pleasures first waken the senses, when the pulse of the heart is alive but to joy; when each beam of the morning its brightness dispenses, and sheds some new charm fate can never destroy; when the hopes of the bosom with rapture are springing, when the heart, peals of joy, to the senses is ringing, when each hours happy change, fresh enjoyment is bringing, then love has no sorrow, and life no alloy ! when the lip that we love, o'er the virgin kiss trembles, when eyes that we worship, our fond looks return; oh! we feel that the bright sun of love then resembles, the rays of that sun in the heav'ns that burn; but oh! blest is he, who life's blisses partaking, may ne'er from the dream of enchantment awaken, to sigh for the hopes that have left him forsaken, to worship and weep o'er cold memory's urn! yet tho' life, love, and hope, may too often deceive us, when souls such as ours together are met, when we drain the bright goblet, reflection must leave us, and wine, for a while, teach our souls to forget; then we grieve not, the smiles that we once felt delight in, the look from those eyes, whose chaste beam must enlighten, shall never again, our lone path of life brighten, when hope's brilliant visions for ever have set. ་་་་་་ trifles in poetry. 81 forget me not. from an opera in m. s. forget me not my lovely maid, but let thy thoughts still turn to me, remember, love, tho' roses fade, yet other flow'rs i've pulled for thee; for thee alone i live, i breathe, and care not, tho' by all forgot, so thou wilt weave for me a wreath, then, dearest maid, forget me not! forget me not,-forget me not, my lovely maid, forget me not! forget me not, tho' parted yet, oh! still the conscious bliss is mine,to feel, that i can ne'er forget, the form i worship as my shrine. then cherish, love, the simple flow'r,* the flow'r whose happy, happy lot, is still to bloom with thee its hour,then, dearest maid, forget me not. forget me not,-forget me not, my lovely maid, forget me not! -000the flower" forget me not.' 82 trifles in poetry. stanza's. "a wand'ring bark, upon whose pathway shone,, all stars of heav'n, except the guiding one!"mooee. i once had launch'd a little bark, and in it all my worth consign'd, nor thought alas! of billows dark, nor fear'd the angry, faithless wind';: but soon 'twas dash'd upon a rock, and sunk; to rise again, ah! never, too weak to bear the storms rude shock, 'twas lost for ever!that little bark, was ev'n my heart, which on the sea of life i cast; with pride i view'd it then depart, the storm was disappointments blast!my ev'ry hope, with fancy deck'd, i put on board,-return they'll never, the rock was fate, on which 'twas wreck'd, and lost for ever!trifles in poetry. 8$ hermits minstrelsy. no. 9. the eronauts. air.—“ the irish phantasmagoria.” oh! did you not hear of the famous balloon, sing farina na, sing farina ne, how sadler shook hands with the man in the moon, sing farina na, sing farina ne, the mob was so eager, the sight to behold, such noddies, and jingles. and carriages roll'd, and myself run so fast, faith i caught a big cold, (spoken) that very nearly spoil'd my singing"chick a chee ouralee, fa, lal de ral, lal de ral le." the day was so hazy, 'twould hardly go up, sing farina na, sing farina ne, so to keep out the cold, faith myself took a sup, sing farina na, sing farina, ne, and soon the two heroes were lost in the fog, they reckon'd no mile stones-but fell in a bog, and both were ask'd home by a true irish dog that sung "chick a chee, ouralee," &c. 84 trifles in poetry. 'twas night when they follow'd their four-footed guide, sing farina na, sing farina ne, the door of his cabin stood smiling so wide, sing farina na, sing farina ne, that each wisper'd th' other, "we now have the odds," "this visit is better than that to the gods;" so the dog stirr'd the fire, and put down a few sods, singing, "chick a chee, ouralee," &c. when the blazing turf warm'd the wanderers' legs, sing farina na, sing farina ne, the dog did the honours-but they did the eggs, sing farina na, sing farina ne, but first they drank, out of the real innishone, the health of the dog, and they then drank their own, and bless'd their kind host, who such favour had shewn, with his "chick a chee, ouralee," &c. in the morning then, after their rural shake down, sing farina na, sing farina ne, to the village they walk'd, for a carriage to town, sing farina na, sing farina ne, and says sadler, "we surely may now travel post, "for there's you, and there's i, and the third is our host, "and sure among three 'tis a trifle at most." we'll sing "chick a chee, ouralee," &c. trifles in poetry. 85 in a post-chaise and four, then they gallop'd away, sing farina na, sing farina ne, and wherever they came sure the mob did "huzza,” sing farina na, sing farina ne, for jowler was placed, the two heroes between, and the ship-wreck'd balloon, on the roof it was seen, so they made no delay, until in college-green* they sung, "chick a chee, ouralee," &c. *the above was written on the ascent of messrs. sadler and livingston, from richmond barracks, when they descended at night in the bog of allen, and were rescued by a dog. i 86 trifles in poetry. sonnet. 99 "i have a passion for the name of "mary,' for once it was a magic sound to me; and still it half calls up the realms of fairy, where i beheld, what never was to be: all feelings changed, but this was last to vary, a spell from which ev'n yet i'm not quite free." "love, my mary, dwells with thee, on thy cheek his bed i see.' "" moore. byron. dear mary, 'tis no easy task, to guard a soul like mine from fancy's magic spell, a soul which yet, ev'n yet, would fondly dwell on hopes from which it has been long debarr'd: to me then, dearest, it were doubly hard to view once more hopes bright, uncertain beam, or touch upon the sweet, the dang'rous theme, since fate, through life, my happiness has marr'd! i would, yet dare not, speak, for though my heart might prompt my pen some sweet truths to reveal, yet oh! believe me, it could ne'er impart to thee one half of all that heart could feel: on this one theme, my feelings still are such, i must be mute, or say, perchance, too much!trifles in poetry. 87 serenade. from an opera in m. s. list to the lay of love my fair, list!dearest maid,-oh! list to me, for zephyr's wing that fans the air, shall waft the strain of love to thee; then let the star-light of thine eyes, a radiance thro' the night impart, and give,-oh! give, unto my sighs, one ray of hope to cheer my heart! list to the voice that softly steals, along the sighing breeze of eve, list to the strain that thus reveals a love that never can deceive. then let the star-light of thine eyes, a radiance thro' the night impart, and give,-oh! give, unto my sighs one ray of hope to cheer my heart! i 2 88 trifles in poetry. hermits minstrelsy. no. 10. the loves of judy rooney-and looney connor. air-"nancy dawson." "if you have tears prepare to shed them now." och! judy rooney, neat and tight, shakespeare. ་ twas she first gave my heart delight; in bed i staid, awake at night, a thinking of her beauty; for oh! her eyes such conquest draws, that she has gain'd the world's applause, and judy plays with hearts like straws; with which, a knot*, but few tie! resolv'd to speak my mind, one day i sought miss rooney where she lay, reclining on a cock of hay, her cheeks so rosy red, gra; say's i, "och! judy give relief, for love, that universal thief, has nearly kilt myself with grief, unless with me, you'll wed, gra." the only inference we can draw from this argument is, that although miss rooney flirted with many, yet such was the peculiar attraction of her charms, that she still held her power over all; and that though 'tis as easy for a flirt to tie the nuptial knot as to twist straws; yet, with such, both are equally fragile. mr. looney connor was certainly possessed of some penetration, tho' like all lovers, he deemed his own case an exception to the general rule.editor. trifles in poetry. 89 the live-long night, the ne'er a wink i get, but still of you i think,— since sorrow's dry, myself must drink, then bid not looney part you; for since my heart to you has flown, my night-cap, it has useless grown, so e'en take that, they're both your own, my night-cap and my heart too. with that, the soul, she smil'd to hear her lovely self, to me was dear, and judy's smile, brought hope, to cheer the faithful heart of looney; upon the hay, i bent my knee, "your night-cap, you may keep," says she, "but t'other trifle leave with me, "your own true judy rooney!"so then i threw my cap* at care, and, no one but ourselves being there, 'i just made bold, to kiss the fair, while blushes crowded on her; with down-cast eyes, she sigh'd a pow'r she own'd-of youth's i was the flow'r, and judy rooney, from that hour, is mrs. looney connor!* quere---does mr. connor mean his night-cap? 1 3 90 trifles in poetry. elegiac stanza's. "how richly were my noontide trances hung with gorgeous tapestries of pictur'd joys!" alas! that the visions so fondly we cherish young. in youths happy morn, should, ere noon, fade away, and the hopes we so ardently dwell on, should perish and leave not one charm to enliven our way. oh! 'tis thus that the day-dreams of youth oft deceive us, and prove but chimera's dissolving in air, they're bright while they last, but too often they leave us, the lost, wretched victims of grief or despair. alas! for the youth, who looks on to the morrow, and thinks the bright sun on his prospects shall shine, oh! what are his pangs, if he wakes but to sorrow, a sorrow as poignant, as lasting as mine?— for oh! the bright visions of life fondly courting, i sank in the trance of enjoyment to sleep, 'till fate with my happiness cruelly`sporting, destroy'd the illusion and left me to weep! n trifles in poetry. 91 stanza's. tho' fates dark storms around us low'r, and clouds obscure the path of life, thy smile of love hath still the pow'r, to bind me to this vale of strife; the worlds harsh frowns this heart can bear, all,-all;-and uncomplaining ache; too early nurtur'd by despair, for earthly storms to bid it break !— yet since thy heart, still, still i share, 'twere more than impious to repine, since yet thy gentle soul can dare to love a fate as dark as mine; like that mild plant,* which, thro' the day blooms fair, yet scentless to the light, which, tho' it shrinks from noons bright ray, yields all its perfume to the night!— yes, yes,-when lighter hearts had flown, and mine had felt misfortunes chill, in that dark hour, thine, thine alone, of all that throbb'd, was faithful still; when standing, thus, 'mid ruin hurl'd, thy love, ev'n then, pure, ardent, free, could reconcile me to a world, which still was dear, possessing thee! ·000 the "night-scented cyclamen," which has no fragrance in the day, yet an agrecable odour at night. 92 trifles in poetry. hermits minstrelsy. no. 11. biddy maguire of ballinaclash.* air" paddy o'doody's description of pizarro.” 'twas at ballinaclash lived sweet biddy maguire, as neat a young creature as man could desire; oh! such was my love for this girl i ador❜d, when i sigh'd in my sleep, they all told me i snor❜d, for biddy maguire-biddy maguire, sweet biddy maguire of ballinaclash, "ah! go 'long, ye gossoons," then says i to the wags, "don't think that you're talking to one of your gags, "faith paddy is not such a gom of an elf, "but to know if he snor'd, he must hear it himself," "for biddy maguire," &c. than straight to the darling on sunday i goes, resolv'd to unburthen to her all my woes; and, says i, "if a lover should sigh thro' his nose, 66 pray what is the cause?"-" pho, 'tis love i suppose," says biddy maguire, &c. * ballinaclash, a village situated in the remote part of the county wicklow, a little beyond rathdrum, and adjoining the meeting of the waters, and vale of ovoca. trifles in poetry. 93 "then biddy maguire," says i, "this is the case, "in my sleep still i see your own elegant face; "and with both my eyes shut, if i see you astore, "with my ears open, sure i should hear if i'd "snore!" sweet biddy maguire, &c. then biddy and i went together to mass, and may be she did'nt outshine ev'ry lass; oh! she look'd so divine, and she pray'd so devout, that faith i scarce knew what myself was about, with biddy maguire, &c. returning from chapel, not over ten mile, she hopt like a leprechaun over each stile : and love with myself being busy the while, i caught hold of her apron, and then caught a smile, from biddy maguire, &c. 1 now biddy had got a most beautiful blush, oh! she was the girl took the rag off the bush ; so what to no body myself would impart, i told to the soul, 'twas the state of my heart, for biddy maguire, &c. "i've a cabin," says i," tho' 'tis not over big, "i've a small taste of ground, would give grass to a pig, "i've a two-legged gander, a hen, and a drake, "and sure i've myself, that would die for your sake, sweet biddy maguire, &c. 94 trifles in poetry. "and sure all i have, won't i share it with you, "for your eyes, biddy jewel, have pierc'd my heart thro'; "and you look so engaging, i vow and declare, "that i'd just like to try to-a-get a young heir," with biddy maguire &c. "ah! then fie for shame, paddy," says biddy to me, "how can you be after, a making so free; "for father o'dogherty says it's a shame, "to go give yourself heirs, without giving your name, to biddy maguire, &c. "by my soul," then says i, "sure the priest must be right, "so my name, tho' it's paddy, i'll give you this night; "and faith 'tis but little the worse of the wear, "so come, 'ere the clergy is off on his mare," come biddy maguire, &c. then biddy and i, both together were tied, oh! she made a most monstrously beautiful bride; so i bought some white ribbon, to make a fine sash, for my elegant biddy of ballinaclash, my tight little biddy, my sweet little biddy, my beautiful biddy of ballinaclash! trifles in poetry 95 95 stanza's this rose which i have pull'd for thee, and now so bright appears, which seems from nature's dew-drops free, this morn was bath'd in tears; but soon thy genial smiles restore its bright, its native bloom, it lives for thee;it weeps no more, but sheds a sweet perfume! but when 'tis placed in that lov'd breast, oh! then it beams more bright, and smiles, when thus supremely blest, thro' dewy tears of night; for ev'n this flow'r thy smiles can prize, when cherish'd by thy kiss ; it lives some moments blest, and dies in extacies of bliss!oh! would my heart was such a flow'r, that it might thus obtain, one fleeting, yet one blissful hour, for a long life of pain; if thus, thy kiss i dared to sip, and like this rose be blest, i'd breathe my soul upon thy lip, and die upon thy breast!96 trifles in poetry. 56 those chatt'ring belle's. air-"the bells of st. petersburgh.” those chatt'ring belles, those chatt'ring belles, what "stories strange," their prattle tells, of fashion, folly ;-yet all own, who hears those belles, admires their ton!— 1 untam'd by man, their tongues still wag, untir'd by time, their tongues ne'er lag, their mill-clack goes,-caps serve for grist, they chatter, o'er a game of whist !— and so 'twill be, 'till all are gone, for womens tongues will still ring on; and she, who in that peal excels, ranks first amid those chatt'ring belles !* * can i be excused for attempting a parody on that exquisite song of moore's, "those evening bells"?—i believe not. trifles in poetry. 97 stanza's. "the day, like a fair beauty, is clear and dazzling; but the night, like a brown one, more soft and moving.---the night has somewhat of a more melancholy air than the day, we fancy that the stars march more silently than the sun, and our thoughts wander with the more liberty, whilst we think all the world at rest but ourselves:---lovers, in their songs and elegies, address themselves to the night; it is the night that hears their complaints, it is the night that crowns their joys." fontenelle. come, dearest, here's the path to love, 'tis strew'd with blooming roses, come, let us thro' elysium rove,.. while nature yet reposes; yon bow'r shall prove to us a shrine, we'll worship venus, kneeling, my trembling lip shall tell on thine, the bliss my soul is feeling!oh! haste, dear girl, while mortals sleep our fleeting joys we'll borrow,— come let us thus our vigils keep nor wait th' uncertain morrow; the veil of night has thrown a shade, then haste to me, my treasure, ev'n hesper winks, then come dear maid, this hour was made for pleasure. k 98 trifles in poetry. stanza's "a man of sense may love like a madman, but never like a fool." rochefoucault. "'tis all too late,-thou wert, thou art the cherish'd madness of my heart!" byron, farewell!the storm has past, the thunder-cloud has burst, the hopes that i have fondly nurst, have wither'd in the blast!— though life's by gloom o'ercast, • 'tis well to know the worst ; 1 to feel, though by existence curst, it may not, cannot last!— yes! i have flown to wine, and join'd the festive throng, and madly thought the spell of song, could conquer pangs like mine!— yet vainer to repine; or do, to love, such wrong,, for oh! the heart despair makes strong, still in despair 'tis thine! trifles in poetry. 30 99 stanza's. oh! tempt not thus my heart to stray, nor seek a heart like mine to gain, uncheer'd by loves auspicious ray, whose only sense of life is pain :— 'twere treasure thrown away, to give thy smiles to him whose hearts not free, for she, for whom alone i live is lost to me!oh! give thy smiles to some fond youth, whose bosom all thy bliss can share, whose hearts the seat of love and truth, whose soul can shield thee from despair!but if a cruel fate is thine, and hope, love's rose-bud, disappears, then, lady, then it shall be mine, to dry thy tears. ་་་ k 2 25741a 100 trifles in poetry. stanza's. addressed to "i have heard, or read somewhere, of a gentleman who had some genius, much eccentricity, and very considerable dexterity with his pencil. in the accidental group of life into which one is thrown, wherever this gentleman met with a character in a more than ordinary degree congenial to his heart, he used to steal a sketch of the face, merely, as he said, as a nota bene to point out the agreeable recollection to his memory. what this gentleman's pencil was to him, is my muse to me; the verses that i write to you, being a memento exactly of the same kind that he indulged in." when the bright sun of love has set, and hopes last ray draws to a close, oh! can the soul its warmth forget, and calmly sink into repose? burns. no! no, tho' nought but darkness reigns, tho' hope's last fading beam is o'er, the heart that lov'd, unchang'd remains, tho' hopes no more!— no more the sun of love shall rise, to cheer for me life's changeful morn, no more shall clear and cloudless skies, my lonely path of life adorn: the sun of love has reach'd the west, its latest ray for me is o'er, and now this heart seeks but for rest, since hope's no more. trifles in poetry. 101 st anza's. written in the vale of ovoca. "there nature seem'd to trace, as if for gods a dwelling place, and ev'ry charm and grace had mix'd within the paradise she fix'd!"byron. "sweet vale of ovoca how calm could i rest, in thy bosom of shade, with the friends i love best; where the storms which we meet in this cold world, should cease, and our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace! " moore. here 'mid ovoca's peaceful vale, loves chosen, calm retreat, here, where remembrance ne'er can fail, to treasure mem'ries sweet; where nature ever wears a smile, the suff'ring heart to sooth,-beguile; here, where the waters meet; here, maid belov'd, that peace i've sought, which time, nor change of scene has brought! k 3 102 trifles in poetry. my mary!-but alas! that name, affection must resign, since hope, to love admits no claim, i dare not call thee mine.and yet, this breaking heart, still true to love, to anguish, and to you, would yield its peace for thine, and joy to see, how heav'n should bless, with fost'ring hand, thy gentleness !— yet dearest, that, oh! that thou art, that term belongs to thee; nor can, ev'n love like mine impart, the all that thou'rt to me! yes! thou'rt my fate, my life, my love, my heav'n on earth, my hope above, nor can my soul e'er see in other worlds, such perfect bliss, as sharing thy young love in this! yet dearest, should remembrance bring, -ev'n yet, one transient thought, of him, whose heart thro' life shall cling, to her, thro' life it sought; oh! banish from thy gentle breast, a thought so inauspicious, lest with sadness it be fraught, nor let a cloud so dark, obscure a life so blameless and so pure! trifles in poetry. 103 forget how i have lov'd ;-forget the love i bear thee now, think not of one so lost, nor let the winds repeat my vow; and i will learn to smile, and bear still uncomplaining, that despair, which, chas'd from off my brow, love ne'er shall shew to thee, but keep within this bosom buried deep! to look into thine eyes; to see the soul that beams from thence, to catch one look of love from thee, bright with intelligence; to hold thee to the heart, to hear thy whisp'rings only meet the ear, this, this were bliss intense ;— but not for me,-no! not for me, who best feels what that bliss must be ! oh! had i lov'd thee less,-through all the sun-shine of past years, had fate, but why lifes dream recal? hopes rain-bow set in tears! my heart was early taught the grief of loving, now its sole relief, thoughts which ev'n love endears, nor would my heart one thought restrain, though retrospection brings but pain! 104 trifles in poetry. mary! i leave the vale, to take my station once again, (bearing a heart that will not break,) amid my fellow men.farewell ovoca's rural shade, farewell the hill, farewell the glade, the mountain, and the glen! farewell each scene, to me how dear; oh! would my heart was buried here! 26th september, 1821. trifles in poetry. 105 elegiac stanza's. avaunt! ye idle terrors of the brain, to me in vain ye say that death's a foe; is he an enemy who stills our pain, and calmly bears us from a world of woe? from me, that dreaded king of terrors, death, no cherish'd bliss, no social tie can rend, and when he claims this worthless, fleeting breath, he wears the aspect of a long sought friend!bereft of her whose smiles would chace distress, alone must i the cold worlds tempests brave, oh! surely then my grateful soul must bless, the hand that bears me to the peaceful grave. 66 for death but stills the tumults of the breast, he whispers to the soul, 'tis sweet to die," and calmly bears us to that "house of rest," where, slumb'ring in their shrouds, our fathers' lie. ·000106 trifles in poetry. 66 sonnet. the sandal." as *rhodope had wander'd towards the shore, bright sol, so warm had shed his beams around, and urged too by the solitude profound, she sought to bathe;-the garments that she wore upon the beach she left, whilst hover'd o'er joves bird, who seiz'd her sandal as it lay, and with the precious trifle flew away; nor bird, nor sandal, rhodope saw more!her lovely bosom, rising o'er the wave, seem'd to repel the am'rous tide, which shed a brighter lustre ev'n than nature gave; she rose, like venus from her crystal bed; and when she miss'd the trifle, little thought that with the sandal, she a kingdom bought!-000 * rhodope was a celebrated courtezan of greece, and was with æsop, at the court of the king of samos. she was carried to egypt by xanthus, where her liberty was bought by charaxes of mitylene, the brother of sappho, who was enamoured of, and married her. he soon squandered away all his possessions on her, and reduced himself to poverty. she then sold her favors at naucratis, where she collected so much money, that to render her name immortal, it is said, she erected one of the pyramids of egypt. ælian relates, that as rhodope was one day bathing, an eagle carried away one of her sandals, and dropped it near psammetichus, king of egypt, at memphis. the monarch was struck with the beauty of the sandal, strict enquiry was made to find the owner, and when rhodope was at last discovered, psammetichus married her. some authors suppose there were two of the name. trifles in poetry. 107 hermit's binstrelsy, no. 12. the humours of donnybrook fair. air" the athlone landlady." oh! 'twas dermott o'nowlan m'figg, that could properly handle a twig, he went to the fair, and kick'd up a dust there, in dancing the donnybrook jig, with his twig, oh! my blessing to dermott m'figg! when he came to the midst of the fair, he was, all in a puagh, for fresh air, for the fair very soon, was as full as the moon, such mobs upon mobs as were there, oh! rare, so more luck to sweet donnybrook fair. the souls, they came crowding in fast, to dance while the leather would last, for the thomas-street brogue, was there much in vogue, and oft with a brogue the joke pass'd, quite fast, while the cash and the whiskey did last ! 108 trifles in poetry. but dermott, his mind on love bent, in search of his sweet-heart he went, peep'd in here and there, as he walk'd thro' the fair, and took a small taste in each tent, as he went, och! on whiskey and love he was bent. and who should he spy in a jig, with a meal-man so tall and so big, but his own darling kate, so gay and so neat, faith her partner he hit him a dig, the pig, he beat the meal out of his wig! then dermott, with conquest elate, drew a stool next his beautiful kate, "arrah! katty,” says he, "my own cushlamachree," "sure the world for beauty you beat," "complete," "so we'll just take a dance while we wait!" the piper, to keep him in tune, struck up a gay lilt very soon, until an arch wag, cut a hole in his bag, and at once put an end to the tune too soou, oh! the music flew up to the moon! trifles in poetry. 109 to the fidler, says dermott m'fig, "if you'll please to play "sheela na gig,” "we'll shake a loose toe," "while you humour the bow," "to be sure you wont warm the wig" "of m'fig," "while he's dancing a tight irish jig!" "but," say katty, the darling, says she, "if you'll only just listen to me," "its myself that will shew," 66 billy can't be your foe," "tho' he fought for his couzin, that's me," says she, "for sure billy's related to me!” "for my own couzin-german, anne wild," "stood for biddy mulroony's first child," "and biddy's step-son," "sure he married bess dunn," "who was gossip to jenny, as mild" “a child,” "as ever at mothers breast smil'd!" "and may be you dont know jane brown," "who serv'd goat's whey in sweet dundruin town," "twas her uncle's half brother," "that married my mother," "and bought me this new yellow gown," "to go down," "where the marriage was held in miltown!" l 110 trifles in poetry. "by the pow'rs then," says dermott, "tis plain," "like a son of that rapscallion cain," "my best friend i've kilt," "tho' no blood there is spilt," "and the devil a harm did i mean," "that's plain," "but by me he'll be ne'er kilt again!" then the meal-man forgave him the blow, that laid him a sprawling so low ; and being quite gay, ask'd them both to the play, but katty, being bashful, said "no," "no!"-"no!"yet he treated them all to the show ! trifles in poetry 111 an address, written for the first appearance of a friend at the theatre royal. like a young eagle, soaring to the skies, who dares on sol, to fix his dauntless eyes, and, scarcely fledg'd, aspires his daring flight, to brighter regions of celestial light; so i, as yet unskill'd, would fain pierce thro' the clouds, that would obscure my anxious view, and while hope's ardent thrill, each care beguiles, fly to the warm, bright sunshine of your smiles!here let me pause, whilst, (with no birds-eye view,) my heart shall treasure ev'ry smile from you; from you, whose voice, the very breath of fame, once shed a halo o'er a garricks' name, whese plaudits, (while some thespian stars you've rear'd) a cooke, a kemble, and a kean, have shar'dhow then can i, a novice in the art, to you appeal, nor own a beating heart? oh! think not that unmov'd, i wander here, my bosom's throbs, betray my boding fear, your smiles alone can calm that bosoms swell, your favour only can those fears dispel :say, may i hope, his hapless fate to shun, who seiz'd the_radiant chariot of the sun, whose mad ambition, taught him to aspire, to guide yon glorious orb of living fire, who dar'd, presumptous, seek the realms above, 'till, check'd in his career by 'vengeful jove, l 2 112 trifles in poetry. he fell to earth, while yet with pride elate, dash'd from the topmost pinnacle of fate?— oh! let me not from this bright sphere be hurl'd, flung from your favour to some meaner world; judge not severely my advent'rous whim, nor let me, dreadful thought, be damn'd like him; yet he, poor, hapless youth, had still the odds, who coped with one, whilst i fear many gods: but while the *goddesses around me smile, i "laugh to scorn," each petty fear the while, "my bosom lord sits lightly on his throne," chased by a cheering smile, each fear has flown; yes, yes, the fair still leniently decide, they, gentle souls, still lean to mercy's side, then hold your †censures, pause ere ye coudemn; yor ye, true sons of erin, lean to them!oh! ye just gods, look down propitious here, nor let your omens dire, invade mine ear, calm, calm those sounds, that here must cause such dread, hurl not your wrath at this devoted head, your thunders cease, that here each bosom awes, unless, indeed, they're "thunders of applause!"• looking towards the boxes. † addressing the pit, * to the upper gallery... trifles in poetry, 113 serenade. the tears of night have long since wept, yet still, along the grove, she comes not :-can the maid have slept, forgetful of her love?unheard by her are zephyr's sighs, unheard her lover's strain, "awake, dear maid,-awake, arise, for love this hour doth reign. to those who love, how dear the night; how dull the busy day ;how sweet seems cynthia's soften'd light, that guides a lover's way: and dear that star in moon-lit skies, to those who 'neath it rove !then wake, dear maid, awake, arise, 'tis now the hour of love.— ls 114 trifles in poetry. hermits minstrelsy. no. 13. mr. and mrs. paddy murphy's visit to dublin. air," "what call have you to me, ned 1 : madge murphy and i, being bent on stravaging, from galway set out, with the young gossoon teague, in a monstracious hurry, to see this fine city,-oh! sure then they've made of sweet dublin a pretty shew but as teague drove the pig, and the pig he got fatagued, we'dropp'd them with madge's third cousin, one pat o'dood, and barefooted trudg'd on, thro' all sorts of weather, yet to prove we had brogues, we talk'd irish together, and then we sung fol de rol, lol de rol, &c. 2 och! the ancient ould trees, once the pride of st. stephen, that grew round the square call'd the green, straight and even, were mow'd by the scythe of some silly projector, who stirr❜d their old stumps, because he knew no better: and where once the parliament house shew'd its head to us, though like other great absentees, it has fled from us, in college green now, though it once was the pride of it, there's nothing left but a big bank at one side of it. oh! how can i sing fol de rol, &c. trifles in poetry, › 115 " there hair-dressers, styled, a la francaise, frizzeurs, barbarize all blockheads;-no reflections on yours:but it prove that of brains, they'd no more than teague's pig, or they, ne'er would announce their "superior wiggery!" men will sail in the sky, there,-and walk upon twater, faith its madge was astonish'd, and happy i brought her, for old scratch himself sure was ne'er such a place in,why we saw a man ride with his gig in a || basin ; oh! its then i sung fol de rol, &c. there music the rage is, with justice all prize it, so thrilling a science that ev'ry one tries it, to shake on each note, little miss will endeavour, flat or sharp 'tis quite natural, miss is so clever ; yet the audience were tired at the theatre lately, with "bruce's address," though they lauded it greatly,no need of a voice now to sing; oh! no, damn it, you're better without any, then you're an amateur, fit to sing fol de rol, &c. * messrs. sadler and livingston's balloon's for instance. mr. kent's aquatic velocipede.. t mr. brady's marine chariot was exhibited at the basin at blessington-street. 116 trifles in poetry. and tyrants were murder'd, i've instances ample, think of richard the third, who was made an example, though very few pitied him, not ev'n madge, tho' she said she ne'er saw such a desperate tragedy !we saw dwarfs, and she-giants, and lions alive, o, these last being (irish manufacture, they thrive o; and dancing dogs there made a spell at their letters, and monkies were ev'ry night aping their betters, and striving to sing fol de rol, &c. s polito's lioness whelped twice, whilst here; once in dublin, and once at her summer residence in donnybrook. trifles in poetry. 117 an address. spoken by mr farrell, at the theatre royal, on the night of his benefit, saturday, 28th of june, 1817. but hence with *mimic art,-to nature true, i fain would pour my gratitude,-to you!my gen'rous patrons, vain the task, to seek the language of a throbbing heart to speak ; vain,-vain to think, by words alone, to shew the boundless debt of gratitude i owe; to tell those feelings of the lab'ring breast, that may be felt, but cannot be express'd; no! no, th' attempt, as vain, i must resign, but think, oh! think, those grateful feelings, mine!→ oh! when i turn mine eyes, delighted, here, to gaze on this too brilliant hemisphere, set round with stars, whose ever-varying light, shame the pale planets of the colder night, my rapt soul dwells with transport on the view, and pays that homage here, so justly due! believe my thanks, my heartfelt thanks, sincere, to those kind friends, who gen'rously appear, to recognise the claims of erin's son, with smiles, that seem to say, "our favor's won.” oh! let me cherish still those smiles dear light, that lured me first along a path so bright; that caught my youthful soul, as by a spell, in fond remembrance, here they long shall dwell, with the full feeling, i can ne'er impart, enshrin'd, and sacred, in this grateful heart!— ·000 * the address was spoken immediately after imitations of dif ferent performers." 118 trifles in poetry. stanza's. her soul-inspiring harp is mute, her sweetly-breathing song is o'er, the chords of her neglected lute, are wak'd to music's sound no more; no more her smile shall shall beam, to cheer, anothers visionary woe, no more from her, shall pity's tear, the souls best, brightest dew-drop flow !— but oh! her tears shall be repaid. by those of mem'ry, softly shed, a grateful off'ring to her shade, bedewing oft her "narrow bed;" and yet her harp, shall wake again, the winds of heav'n shall kiss each string, it yet shall breathe an ærial strain; and cherubims her dirge shall sing!trifles in poetry. 119 hermit's instrelsy, no. 14, "the hermit's medley." written for the hermits farewell supper for the season, (in consequence of summer pilgrimages being propo. sed,) given on the night of the 11th of may, 1816. airfarewell, but whenever you welcome the hour." farewell for a while to each soul-cheering night, that shed o'er the hermits such beams of delight; that lent joyous moments whilst laymen have slept, as thus we, true hermits, our vigils have kept; those hours may air," round about the may-pole." run away with melancholy, blows'd and bluff, huff, gruff, gloomy enough; check the sighs of sorrow at ev'ry puff, huff, gruff, air," he that has the best wife." but let ev'ry man, take off his ptisan, clear a bumper to some joyous girl; and while at love's shrine, let nectar divine, set hermit's poor heads in a whirl, brave boys; set hermit's poor heads in a whirl! 120 trifles in poetry. ‚—" my lodging is on the cold ground.” air,for the fowl's not yet born, nor the pig's not well bred, that shall take from our stomach's the whet; but you'll find, if they live to be dea-a-a-ad, they shall smoke on the hermits board yet! air," planxty connor." (2nd part.) oh! give me a wig 'till i toss it, or steep it in punch for a posset; while time yet allows, we'll have a carouse, and the devil take him who would cross it! air," garry owen." then hey for the country, when city sport fails: when we meet the sweet souls on the brow of a hill; then may be we wont dip our beaks in their pails, while mirth acts as guide to our pilgrimage still. air," over the hills and far away." hermits then from matins free, this only shall their penance be, to take their pick with quin at bray, o'er the mountains far away. (chorus)-o'er the mountains far away, full of frolic, full of play, we'll help the girls to make the hay, o'er the mountains får away. trifles in poetry. 1211 air, "take me, jenny." then rosy misses, playful kisses, hermits will be tasting; hours unenjoy'd, or not employ'd in pleasure,-is time wasting! air" since laws were made for ev'ry degree." and "waste not your time," is a maxim that we, as hermits, should keep with solemnity; so to make the most of't we'll be merry and free, in our cell; tho' philophers argue that wisdom gives birth to happiness-if it inhabits our earth, let them keep the wisdom, and we'll keep the mirth, in our cell! air," the time i've lost in wooing." for who from mirth would run, sir, or lose à bit of fun, sir, so here we'll stay, 'till morning's ray, and serenade the sun, sir; (chorus)we'll have a bit of fun, sir; we'll serenade the sun, sir; so here we'll stay, 'till morning's ray, and serenade the sun, sir. m 122 trifles in poetry. air,-how happy could i be with_either." for where is the use of repining?should hermits their pleasure control?while you glass then with nectar is shining, take it off, and 'till shine thro' the soul! air-"rule britannia." when bacchus first with heavens choir, descended from his starry reign; apollo struck the sounding lyre, and bacchanalians sang this strain: "rule, ye hermits," "ye hermits rule the night," "for hermit's ever wait morn's light." (chorus)"rule, ye hermits, &c. finale. air," god save the king." god save our noble chair, god save our noble chair, god save our chair; soberly may he sit whilst the bright rays of wit, flash from each true hermit, to cheer our chair! trifles in poetry. 123 oh! father philip rise, scatter his enemies, philip the bold; make ev'ry hermit's foe, at our chair's foot, lie low; and as we've chair'd him, so he shall be poled! god save our noble chair, long live our noble chair, god save our chair; to him fresh jugs we'll bring, mirth o'er those hours to fling; whilst with one voice we sing, god save our chair. (chorus)-god save our noble chair, &c. $ m 2 124 trifles in poetry. lines. sent to a friend on the morning after a party. accept the tributary thanks we owe, all in return that hermits can bestow. for hours, that lent to life's dull round a charm, on meeting kinder souls, with hearts so warm :'tis hospitality's pure spirit breathes, a gen'rous impulse o'er the flow'rs she wreathes, and borrows each warm gift the gods allow, to place the chaplet on her erin's brow!— yes, erin, yes, this virtue is thine own, and long as feeling hearts preserve their tone, long as thy shamrocks wild shall kiss the air, long as thy sons are brave, thy daughters fair, long as thy harp shall sigh some plaintive strain, so long this virtue shall with thee remain, shedding its genial influence around, o'er each green sod that blooms on irish ground. yet you must own that it was rather strange, that mirth and music could make such a change, that you, oh! wonderful, at once could shew, five hermits on "the light fantastic toe," tripping along, sans care, to measures light, nor 'till the break of day, ere bade "good-night." nay, singing too,not hymns, but such warm rhymes, as knights to ladies sang in former times, nor supping from their scrip, on bread so spare, but something better, faith, than hermit's fare. trifles in poetry.. 125, sure you must think that hermits had no hearts, or else had power to repel the darts, "" that flew from eyes of blue so "purely bright,' as shed a lustre o'er those hours of night,. from souls, with forms so fair, and hearts so light. how many hebe's there the eye might view, with vermil lip, and cheek of rosy hue, with bosoms fair, and eyes, whose soul-felt glance, might well, a hermit's untaught heart entrance, whose waving locks in wild luxuriance flew, as in the lively dance, their ringlets threw a charm, that more enhanc'd the lovely view. sure 'tis no wonder mahomet should bring, ev'n half the world, his praise alone to sing, and eastern princes bend the stubborn knee to him, who holds forth such felicity! for me, if houri's such as these should stand, with brightly-beaming eye, and ready hand, i'd own the prophet must be all divine, and bend a hermit's knee at mecca's shrine ! yet ev'n in this, my solitary cell, where now, secluded from the world, i dwell, ev'n here, the mem'ry of some smiles may live, and give to sorrow, all such smiles may give; the mem'ry of those happy hours, shall shed, a gentle peace around my lonely bed, like seraphs flitting o'er my couch, they'll roll, and yield their soft enchantment to the soul! 126 trifles in poetry. * to julia. * how swiftly flew the hours away, when night had giv'n thee to mine arms, as oft i've turn'd the votive lay, a tribute to thy youthful charms, and held thee to a heart, all thine;oh! in those hours i little thought, a time would come, with anguish fraught, when thy lov'd charms i could resign! those, julia, those were hours of bliss, when dwelling on thy rapturous kiss, in playful mood, i oft would sip, the vows of truth from off thy lip, still prizing this, the bliss of blisses, at once to take thy vows and kisses! go, faithless girl, for from this hour the dream of bliss is past;-'tis o'er:this heart disowns, disclaims thy pow'r, and now we part, to meet no more; fly, perjur'd maid, nor vainly seek, my heart in thraldom still to keep, for tho' 'twas once all, all thine own, and throbb'd, vain girl, for thee alone, yet still, 'twould sooner break, than be thus wounded in captivity. trifles in poetry: 127 1 i would forget thee!-but the mind, omnipotent, will still recur, to hours and scenes gone by; and find some spell to lead the heart to her, who first awoke its pulse; thus through the lapse of years, thought turns to you!thy likeness, julia, still beguiles my heart at times of half its care; the artist truly pencil'd there thy features, but a look of thought, o'erclouds them,-oh! in vain he sought to trace, and it is well,-thy smiles; i would not have thee smiling now, as if in mockery,-no! that brow of care, my heart can better brook, yet once, 'twere weakness,-yet i took the bauble once, and meant to break the trifle into pieces then, and would, but that i look'd again, and saw thy young and blooming cheek, (and miss'd the smile you used to wear,) and then the tress of that dark hair, through which my fingers oft have stray'd,i should not look on those, they stay'd my hand, perchance my heart was weak, that could not then such vengeance take. oh! julia, too, too well you knew, how my young heart was fix'd on you, 128 trifles in poetry. my ev'ry look this truth had shewn, and yet, to shew thy sov'reign pow'r, o'er triflers vain, for many an hour, you'd slight that heart, all, all thine own!that heart whose pulse was constancy, that ev'n thy folly scarce could sever its hopes of bliss, of bliss in thee, yet now those hopes it must forsake, and own, though owning it should break, julia, 'tis lost to thee, for ever! finis. the new york public library reference department this book is under no circumstances to be taken from the building form 410 jul 2 1953 294 nedl transfer hn 1wda a sons * * oss na stoss rose so 3/ را forrig, 2.4, -27770 book c 1 3 . 1 1 1 olirt. 現​05-05e,幾 ​ radclytic els new york : lea vitt, publisher, 好​eo. nos. 49 mercer and 455 broome street. the mo 88 ros. take this sweet flower, and let its leavo beside thy heart be cherished nearwhile that confiding heart receives the thought it whiupers to thine oar. new york: geo. a. leavitt, publisher. k08138 harward college library sheldon fund july 10, 1940 contents. 282 9 . . the barons tow. by miss power the sisters of albano. by the author of frankenstein. florence iioward; or, two days in a life. by mrs. 19 walker. . 40 tiie trial of iiusbands. 58 86 parted for ever. by the author or iiyde nogent. the first-born. by j. forbes dalton, esq. the widow's song. by t. k. hervey, esq. 94 98 the hermit and the pitcher. by mrs. sr. siyox. 101 . the retired merchant. . 103 morning. by miss phede carey. 107 the desolation of ytchtene. a remarkable passage in the romance of history. · 109 address to night. by l c. levin. 12c an evening at home. by kate sutherland. 121 the widow's mite. 129 the first oration. 130 why dont he come! 133 s oontents. beautiful thoughts. from miss bremer pao1 · 134 141 rememberest thou me by wm. h. carpenter visit to father mathew. by col. wm. sherburne. 142 remembrance. 145 poetry of mr. haynes bayly. 0 140 157 • 158 the three orphans. by miss exxa hemple. farewell. john bicker, the dry dominie of kilwoody. the widow to the bride by mary n. meigs. 159 · 186 the iiungarian wife by mrs. m. e hewitt. 188 the burial at sea. by rev. theo. ledyard cuyler. • 189 never give up. 197 195 the wild-wood flower. by mrs. mary arthur. my own fireside. 199 . the christmas party. by kate sutherland • 200 the strawberry girl; or, the old pocket pistol. by bro. prince. 213 the author's benefit. by b. b. blank, gentleman de jure 235 the baron's vow. by miss power. in one of the finest and most ancient castles on the banks of the rhine, dwelt the baron von leyden. the chateau, together with a considerable portion of the surrounding country, had descended to him from a long line of ancestors, whose services with the sword had rendered their names celebrated in the annals of many ages; but the descent in the instance of the present baron had not been direct from father to son. he was the younger of two brothers, by about ten years ; and when, during the life of their father, alberic, the senior, had, at the age of five and twenty, gone off to foreign wars, his brother, then just fifteen, had so urgently prayed to be allowed to accompany him, that at last the baron reluctantly yielded his consent, and the brothers departed together. in due course of time, the good old baron von leyden finished his mortal career; and his son, alberic, who was 1* b 10 the baron's vow. still in foreign lands, was declared heir to all his estates. news had arrived at the castle, some months before this event, that the young alberic had taken to himself a wife, of the dark-eyed maids of italy; but since then no intelligence had been received of either of the brothers, and it was not even known whither the fortunes of war had taken them. at length came accounts, stating that alberic had fallen by an unknown hand, and that his young wife, on receíving the news of his death, had perished in giving birth to a child, who had only survived the mother a few hours. rupert, the younger brother, who had now attained the age of four-and-twenty, was therefore the undisputed possessor of the castle von leyden, and his return to his paternal domain was daily expected. but years passd by, and the baron von leyden came not to claim his property : foreign lands seemed to have given him a distaste to his own ; and his tenants and retainers murmured at being thus neglected, and obliged to continue in listless idleness, while the lord who ought to have led them, protected them, and administered even-handed justice and rule over them, spent in far countries the substance their labor procured for him. but he came at last, and great were the rejoicings that hailed his arrival. twenty years had passed since he had last crossed the threshold of his father's hall, and none could have recognized in the dark, swarthy, military-looking man, the joyous, light-hearted, fair-haired stripling, whose merry laugh and bounding step had shed mirth through the gloomy castle, and brought smiles to the stern lip of many an ancient warrior ; for rupert's frank and generous temper, warm heart, and high spirit, made him the baron's vow. 11 the darling of every inmate of the castle ; while alberic, whose disposition was haughty and somewhat passionato and overbearing, was more feared and less loved than his younger brother, but years had wrought even more than their accustomed changes in the baron von leyden ; all the gayety of former days had fled, and was replaced by a sort of hardy recklessness of manner, only varied by occasional fits of gloom : but his actions were most commendable ; his charities unbounded. possessed of great wealth, much of which he had acquired abroad, he had the means as well as the power to do good; and two days of every week was the great hall of the castle thrown open for the reception of the poor, the aged, the pilgrim, and the traveller: here they rested, and were provided with a substantial meal; while the baron himself, declaring that he had taken an oath to that effect, always placed the first dish on the table, and invited his poor guests to sit down to the repast. winter had set in ; out of doors, cold reigned supreme : biting blasts-glittering icicles—snow, rendered crisp and dry by intense frost-congealed rivers—“motionless cataracts," proclaimed hoary winter's sovereignty ; while within castle hall and peasant's cot, the blazing hearth or tile stove seemed to bid defiance to his power. a large party of wanderers from many quarters were collected within the hall of the castle von leyden ; near the fire were seated some of those who had arrived the latest, and who had not yet entirely recovered from the effects of the intense cold : among these were two persons who had entered the castle together, and who were evidently fellow-travellers. the one was an old hoary-headed man, on whose wrinkled brow 12 the baron's vow. time and grief had traced many a furrow; the other, a young woman, who, though fatigue and sorrow had done much to efface the lines of beauty, still evidently possessed charms, that in happier circumstances might excite no common degree of admiration. in her arms was an infant, of some ten or twelve months' old ; and on this child, the eye of the young mother rested with an expression of anxious love and care that no weariness nor suffering could destroy ; and, when comforted by the genial heat, and soothed by the soft voice of its youthful parent, it gradually sunk into a peaceful slumber, she smiled through her grief, and, ad'dressing the old man, whom she called father, in italian, directed his attention to the sleeping babe. soon there was a stir in the hall, and many a hungry glance was directed to the door, as the baron von leyden, bearing a vast dish containing a formidable piéce de resistance entered, followed by three or four servitors similarly laden. placing his burden at the head of the table, the baron invited the hungry travellers to sit down to their repast, a request which it was by no means necessary to repeat; but as the old man led her he called daughter to the table, the baron, starting suddenly, and gazing for a moment with looks of astonishment and anxiety, hastily turned and left the hall. meantime the guests did ample justice to the substantial fare placed before them ; the health of the baron was drank with many a joyous repetition, and cold, hunger, and fatigue, were for the moment forgotten by the greater number of the party. the repast was nearly concluded, when a message arrived, requesting the attendance of the old man and his . the baron's vow. 13 a daughter in the baron's closet. they instantly proceeded to obey the summons, the page leading the way: arrived in the room, the baron hastily rose from his seat, and, addressing the old man, said that he wished to speak to him for a short time alone, and begged that his daughter (he pronounced the word inquiringly) would leave them for a few moments; she was accordingly shown into an adjoining apartment, and they were left together. there was a pause for some instants : at length the baron, advancing to where the old man stood, threw off his hat, and turning full to the light, addressed him in a voice of suppressed agitation, “do you know me now, pietro ?” he said. santa maria !” exclaimed the venerable man, starting back in amazement, “it is it must be—signor rupert! at last have i found you! now no more will my agatha be a houseless wanderer! no more will pain and hunger and fatigue gnaw away her young life! now i may die--die happy and contented, that she has found a home!” and old pietro fell on his knees, and wept like a child. the baron gently raised him, and desiring him to be seated, proceeded to ask him a train of questions, which led to an explanation. but ere he begins, we must also explain, in a few words, some of the preceding events. the wife of pietro had been the favorite attendant of the lady teresa, the bride of alberic von leyden : she had reared her from childhood, and when her lady married, had, with pietro, her husband, continued in the service of the young couple, and had followed their fortunes to the last. for a year all went on smoothly and happily. alberic 14 the baron's vow. and his bride were devotedly attached to each other, and young rupert seemed to love his brother's wife as warmly and sincerely as he would have done his own sister ; while she regarded him in every respect as a brother. the three were in the frequent habit of wandering about in the neighborhood of the place where they lived, either on foot or on horseback ; but latterly teresa had been compelled to give up these excursions, as she expected shortly to become a mother; and the brothers used to go out, sometimes together, but most frequently one at a time, while the other stayed to enliven the solitude of teresa. on one occasion, however, they both went to attend a grand chasse that took place at the castle of a neighboring knight; they were to return at a certain hour, and teresa, feeling unusually well, resolved to walk a short distance to meet them. she set out alone, refusing the company of either of her attendants, and took her course towards the forest, through which she knew their road lay. an hour passed away without bringing home the party ; a second glided by, and when the third was some way advanced, pietro and his wife started forth in quest of the wanderers. following the path their mistress had taken, they proceeded for some distance without finding any traces of her, till at length-oh, horror !—they suddenly came upon what appeared to be the lifeless corse of their beloved lady! marianna, her faithful attendant, threw herself on her knees by the body, raised the fair, drooping head—chafed the cold hands, and at length succeeded in restoring life to the senseless form she supported ; meanwhile pietro had gone to pocure a litter, and she was carried home and placed, almost lifeless, on the bed. from the baron's vow. 15 that bed she never rose again : during the night she gave birth to a daughter, which she only survived a few hours ; but before she breathed her last, she confided to marianna the following tale :-she had gone, she said, to meet her husband and his brother, and had just come in sight of them; but, before they saw or recognized her, a body of four or five men rushed from the wood, struck down her husband and carried off his brother, in spite of all resistance : at this sight she had fallen senseless, and remained until she was discovered. she charged marianna that, if her child survived, she should adopt it as her own, and that if ever any inquiries were made of it, she should declare that it had died immediately after its birth. she would give no reason for this desire, but she pressed it so urgently on her faithful attendant, that she could not refuse to comply with the last wishes of her dying mistress. soon after the hapless young mother breathed her last, and she and her husband, whose body was found in the wood, with the mark of a grievous blow on the temple, were buried in the same grave ; pietro and marianna (to whom she had given all the little personal property that had belonged to herself and and her dead lord) took charge of her infant, whom they christened agatha, and reared her up with their own boy, antonio, who was some four or five years her senior. years rolled by, and when the maiden had attained her seventeenth year, she married the playmate of her childhood, and thus doubly cemented the bond that united her to those who had been to her as her own kin. but alas ! a fearful and ravaging sickness broke forth ; hundreds fell sacrifices to the destroying disease, and marianna and antonio were among the victims. agatha, who & 16 the baron's vow. was now a mother, in one night saw herself a widow, and her hapless babe an orphan. she and pietro fled the scene of past happiness and present anguish—the scene where naught but death and poverty and disease reigned around. the old man considered that, with his wife, had expired the vow made to preserve secrecy as to the existence of agatha ; and he resolved to take her to her father's land, and to seek a home for her among some of that father's kin. with this intention they set forth, and wandered on till accident led them to the castle von leyden. such was the substance of the tale pietro related : the 1 baron listened with profound attention to the close, and then, with visible effort, proceeded to give his explanation. “listen, pietro,” he said impressively, “ for i am now about to tell thee, that which no human being but myself even suspects. that fatal day, when returning from the hunt with my brother, (heaven grant rest to his soul!) a deer sprang from the thicket; we both fired; the deer fell -the shot was an unusually long one--and each claimed the praise of having killed him. we were equally positive; neither would yield; and a hot dispute arose. you remember my poor brother's violent temper: in a moment of fury he struck me, i returned the blow; he staggered -i ; and fell. in an agony of terror and remorse, i flung myself on my knees beside him. i raised him up-i called on him, in terms of passionate grief and affection, to speak to me-to forgive me! all was vain, he was dead—and i was his murderer! i now recollect that at the moment he fell, i heard a scream, but in the agony of the instant the circumstance was scarcely observed ; alas ! it must have been the scream of teresa—she then had witnessed the a > 1 the baron's vow. 17 death of her husband by the hand of one whom she had ever loved as her own brother! when i discovered that life had indeed departed, i fled from the spot like one distraught ; but i did not leave the neighborhood entirely till i could hear the fate of teresa. with much difficulty i learned the birth of her child, and the death of both it and the mother. i was then trebly a murderer! life had lost all that could render it endurable ; and i rushed into every danger, with the frantic hope that i should never come forth alive; but i escaped all the storm—the fightin each peril i seemed to bear a charmed life, and passed through all unscathed. then i thought that kind providence had preserved me for a better end—i resolved to return to the vast possessions now become mine, and there to spend the rest of my life in acts of charity, as some atonement for my past guilt. among other penances, i im. posed upon myself that of ever placing before my humble guests the first dish at each repast, and never allowing any excuse to interfere with this duty; and to this, worthy pietro, do i owe the recognition of thee, and of my brother's child, whose singular likeness to her mother first led me to believe that the grave had not swallowed up all that were of my own blood.—now shall she be to me as a daughter, and in the light of her love shall my last days be bright.” thus spoke the baron ; and the tears that sparkled on the sleeve of his dark doublet, told what varied emotions had been excited in his breast during the recital. it were little needed to give the sequel of the tale : the gentle agatha, who never knew her uncle's involuntary crime, loved and tended him as a daughter ; and in her 18 the baron's vow. fond attentions, and in the caresses of her child, he once more found the peace so long denied him. old pietro became also an inmate of the castle von leyden, and passed his last days near his daughter-in-law and grandchild. now was explained to him the reason why the lady teresa had so urgently insisted upon the existence of her child being denied ; she had seen her husband fall by the hand of his brother, but, knowing that the blow had been provoked, and the consequence unintentional, she did not wish to bring the offender to punishment: still, though willing to screen him, she could not bear the idea that, some day, her child should fall into the hands of him by whom its father met his death, and be dependent upon him for protection. the sisters of albano. is fhs sisters of albano. ry the author of frankenstein, it was to see this beautiful lake that i made my last excursion before quitting rome. the spring had nearly grown into summer, the trees were all in full but fresh green foliage, the vine-dresser was singing, perched among them, training his vines; the cicala had not yet begun her song, the heats therefore had not commenced ; but at evening the fireflies gleamed among the hills, and the cooing azilo assured us of what in that country needs no assurance, fine weather for the morrow. we set out early in the morning to avoid the heats, breakfasted at albano, and till ten o'clock passed our time in visiting the mosaic, the villa of cicero, and other curiosities of the place. we reposed during the middle of the day in a tent elevated for us at the hilltop, whence we looked on the hill-embosomed lake, and the distant eminence crowned by a town with its church. other villages and cottages were scattered among the foldings of mountains, and beyond we saw the deep blue sea of the southern poets, which received the swift and immortal tiber, rocking it to repose among its żu the sisters of albano. > devouring waves. the coliscum falls and the pantheon decays—the very hills of rome are perishing, but the tiber lives for ever, flows for ever, and for ever feeds the land-encircling mediterranean with fresh waters. our summer and pleasure-seeking party consisted of many: to me the most interesting person was the countess atanasia d-who was as beautiful as an imagination of raphael, and good as the ideal of a poet. two of her children accompanied her, with animated looks and gentle manners, quiet, yet enjoying. i sat near her, watching the changing shadows of the landscape before us. as the sun descended, it poured a tide of light into the valley of the lake, deluging the deep bank formed by the mountain with liquid gold. the domes and turrets of the far town flasheừ and gleamed, the trees were dyed in splendor ; two or three slight clouds, which had drunk the radiance till it became their essence, floated golden islets in the lustrous empyrean. the waters, reflecting the brilliancy of the sky and the fire-tinted banks, beamed a second heaven, a second irradiated earth, at our feet. the mediterranean gazing on the sun-as the eyes of a mortal bride fail and are dimmed when reflecting her lover's glance-was lost, mixed in his light, till it had become one with him. long (our souls, like the sea, the hills and lake, drinking in the supreme loveliness) we gazed, till the too-full cup overflowed, and we turned away with a sigh. at our feet there was a knoll of ground, that formed the foreground of our picture ; two trees lay basking against the sky, glittering with the golden light, which like dew seemed to hang amid their branches-a rock closed the prospect on the other side, twined round by creepers, and the sisters of albano. 21 redolent with blooming myrtle—a brook crossed by hugo stones gushed through the turf, and on the fragments of rock that lay about, sat two or three persons, peasants, who attracted our attention. one was a hunter, as his gun, lying on a bank not far off, demonstrated ; yet he was a tiller of the soil ; his rough straw hat, and his picturesque but coarse dress belonged to that class. the other was some contadina, in the costume of her country, returning, her basket on her arm, from the village to her cottage home. they were regarding the stores of a peddler, who with doffed hat stood near: some of these consisted of pictures and prints—views of the country, and portraits of the madonna. our peasants regarded these with pleased attention. “one might easily make out a story for the pair,” i said : “his gum is a help to the imagination, and we may fancy him a bandit with his contadina love, the terror of all the neighborhood, except of her, the most defenceless being in it.” “you speak lightly of such a combination,” said the lovely countess at my side, “as if it must not in its nature be the cause of dreadful tragedies. the mingling of love with crime is a dread conjunction, and lawless pursuits are never followed without bringing on the criminal, and all allied to him, ineffable misery. i speak with emotion, for your observation reminds me of an unfortunate girl, now one of the sisters of charity in the convent of santa chiara at rome, whose unhappy passion for a man, such as you mention, spread destruction and sorrow widely around her." i entreated my lovely friend to relate the history of the for a long time she resisted my entreaties, as not run, 22 the sisters of albano. a self ; willing to depress the spirit of a party of pleasure by a tale of sorrow. but i urged her, and she yielded. her sweet italian phraseology now rings in my ears, and her beautiful countenance is before me. as she spoke the sun set, and the moon bent her silver horn in the ebbing tide of glory he had left. the lake changed from purple to silver, and the trees, before so splendid, now in dark masses, just reflected from their tops the mild moonlight. the fireflies flashed among the rocks; the bats circled round us ; meanwhile thus commenced the countess atanasia : the nun of whom i speak had a sister older than heri can remember them when as children they brought eggs and fruit to my father's villa. maria and anina were constantly together. with their large straw hats to shield them from the scorching sun, they were at work in their father's podere all day, and in the evening when maria, who was the elder by four years, went to the fountain for water, anina ran at her side. their cot—the folding of the hill conceals it—is at the lake side opposite ; and about a quarter of a mile up the hill is the rustic fountain of which i speak. maria was serious, gentle, and considerate ; anina was a laughing, merry little creature, with the face of a cherub. when maria was fifteen, their mother fell ill, and was nursed at the convent of santa chiara at rome. maria attended her, never leaving her bedside day or night. the nuns thought her an angel, she deemed them saints ; her mother died, and they persuaded her to make one of them ; her father could not but acquiesce in her holy intention, and she became one of the sisters of charity, the nun-nurses of santa chiara. once or twice & year, she visited her home, gave sage and kind advice to the sisters of albano. 23 anina, and sometimes wept to part from her; but her piety ; and her active employments for the sick reconciled her to her fate. anina was more sorry to lose her sister's society. the other girls of the village did not please her; she was a good child, and worked hard for her father, and her sweetest recompense was the report he made of her to maria, and the fond praises and caresses the latter bestowed on her when they met. it was not until she was fifteen that anina showed any diminution of affection for her sister. yet i cannot call it diminution, for she loved her perhaps more than ever, though her holy calling and sage lectures prevented her from reposing confidence, and made her tremble lest the nun, devoted to heaven and good works, should read in her eyes, and disapprove of the earthly passion that occupied her. perhaps a part of her reluctance arose from the reports that were current against her lover's character, and certainly from the disapprobation and even hatred of him that her father frequently expressed. ill-fated anina! i know not if in the north your peasants love as ours; but the passion of anina was entwined with the roots of her being, it was herself: she could die, but not cease to love. the dislike of her father for domenico made their intercourse clandestine. he was always at the fountain to fill her pitcher, and lift it on her head. he attended the same mass; and when her father went to albano, velletri, or rome, he seemed to learn by instinct the exact moment of his departure, and joined her in the podere, laboring with her and for her, till the old man was seen descending the mountain-path on his return. he said he worked for a contadino near nemi. anina sometimes wondered that 24 the sisters of albano. vere he could spare so much time for her; but his excuses were plausible, and the result too delightful not to blind the innocent girl to its obvious cause. poor domenico ! the reports spread against him too well founded : his sole excuse was that his father had been a robber before him, and he had spent his early years among these lawless men. he had better things in his nature, and yearned for the peace of the guiltless. yet he could hardly be called guilty, for no dread crime stained him ; nevertheless, he was an outlaw and a bandit, and now that he loved anina these names were the stings of an adder to pierce his soul. he would have fled fom his comrades to a far country, but anina dwelt amid their very haunts. at this period also, the police established by the french government, which then possessed rome, made these bands more alive to the conduct of their members, and rumors of active measures to be taken against those who occupied the hills near albano, nemi, and velletri, caused them to draw together in tighter bonds. domenico would not, if he could, desert his friends in the hour of danger. on a festa at this time—it was towards the end of october-anina strolled with her father among the villagers, who all over italy make holiday by congregating and walking in one place. their talk was entirely of the laddri and the french, and many terrible stories were related of the extirpation of banditti in the kingdom of naples, and the mode by which the french succeeded in their undertaking was minutely described. the troops scoured the country, visiting one haunt of the robbers after the other, and dislodging them tracked them, as in those countries the sisters of albano. 25 they hunt the wild beasts of the forest, till drawing the circle narrower, they enclosed them in one spot. they then drew a cordon round the place, which they guarded with the utmost vigilance, forbidding any to enter it with provisions on pain of instant death. and as this menace was rigorously executed, in a short time the besieged bandits were starved into a surrender. the french troops were now daily expected, for they had been seen at velletri and nemi; at the same time it was affirmed that several outlaws had taken up their abode at rocca giovane, a deserted village on the summit of one of these hills, and it was supposed that they would make that place the scene of their final retreat. the next day, as anina worked in the podere, a party of french horse passed by along the road that separated her garden from the lake. curiosity made her look at them; and her beauty was too great not to attract ; their observations and addresses soon drove her away--for a woman in love consecrates herself to her lover, and deems the admiration of others to be profanation. she spoke to her father of the impertinence of these men, and he answered by rejoicing at their arrival, and the destruction of the lawless bands that would ensue. when, in the evening, anina went to the fountain, she looked timidly around, and hoped that domenico would be at his accustomed post, for 'the arrival of the french destroyed her feeling of security. she went rather later than usual, and a cloudy evening made it seem already dark; the wind roared among the trees, bending hither and thither even the stately cypresses ; the waters of the lake were agitated into high waves, and dark masses of thunder-cloud lowered over the hill-tops, > 2 26 the sisters of albano. c giving a lurid tinge to the landscape. anina passed quickly up the mountain path ; when she came in sight of the fountain, which was rudely hewn in the living rock, she saw domenico leaning against a projection of the hill, his hat drawn over his eyes, his tabaro fallen from his shoulders, his arms folded in an attitude of dejection. he started when he saw her; his voice and phrases were broken and unconnected ; yet he never gazed on her with such ardent love, nor solicited her to delay her departure with such impassionate tenderness. “how glad i am to find you here !” she said ; “i was fearful of meeting one of the french soldiers : i dread them even more than the banditti.” domenico cast a look of eager inquiry on her, and then turned away saying, “sorry am i that i shall not be here to protect you. i am obliged to go to rome for a week or two. you will be faithful, anina mia; you will love me though i never see you more ?" the interview under these circumstances, was longer than usual ; he led her down the path till they nearly came in sight of the cottage ; still they lingered ; a low whistle was heard among the myrtle underwood at the lake side ; he started; it was repeated, and he answered it by a similar note; anina, terrified, was about to ask what this meant, when, for the first time, he pressed her to his heart, kissed her roseate lips, and with a muttered “ carissima addio,” left her, springing down the bank; and as she gazed in wonder, she thought she saw a boat cross a line of light made by the opening of a cloud. she stood long absorbed in reverie, wondering and remembering with thrilling pleasure the quick embrace and impassioned tae sisters of albano. 27 farewell of her lover. she delayed so long that her father came to seek her. each evening after this, anina visited the fountain at the ave maria ; he was not there ; each day seemed an age; and incomprehensible fear 3 occupied her heart. about a fortnight after, letters ar ived from maria. they came to say that she had been ill of the malaria fever, that she was now convalescent, but that change of air was neccessary for her recovery, and that she had obtained leave to spend a month at home at albano. she asked her father to come the next day to fetch her. these were pleasant tidings for anina ; she resolved to disclose every thing to her sister, and during her long visit she doubted not but that she would contrive her happiness. old andrea departed the following morning, and the whole day was spent by the sweet girl in dreams of future bliss. in the evening maria arrived, weak and wan, with all the marks of that dread illness about her; yet, as she assured her sister, feeling quite well. as they sat at their frugal supper, several villagers came in to inquire for maria ; but all their talk was of the french soldiers and the robbers, of whom a band of at least twenty was collected in rocca giovane, strictly watched by the military “we may be grateful to the french,” said andrea, ' for this good deed : the country will be rid of these ruffians." “true, friend,” said another; “but it is horrible to think what these men suffer; they have, it appears, exhausted all the food they brought with them to the village, and are literally starving. they have not an ounce of 28 the sisters of albano. a 66 maccaroni among them; and a poor fellow, who was taken and executed yesterday, was a mere anatomy; you could tell every bone in his skin.” there was a sad story the other day,” said another, “ of an old man from nemi, whose son, they say, is among them at rocca giovane; he was found within the lines with some baccala under his pastrano, and shot on 66 the spot.” > “there is not a more desperate gang,” observed the first speaker, “in the states and the regno put together. they have sworn never to yield but on good terms: to secure these, their plan is to waylay passengers and make prisoners, whom they keep as hostages for mild treatment from the government. but the french are merciless : they are better pleased that the bandits wreak their vengeance on these poor creatures than spare one of their lives.” “ they have captured two persons already,” said another ; "and there is old betta tossi half frantic, for she is sure her son is taken : he has not been at home these ten days." "i should rather guess,” said an old man," that he went , w there with good will : the young scapegrace kept company with domenico baldi of neini." “no worse company could he have kept in the whole country,” said andrea; “domenico is the bad son of a bad race. is he in the village with the rest ?” “my own eyes assured me of that,” replied the other. "when i was up the hill with eggs and fowls to the piquette there, i saw the branches of an ilex move; the poor fellow was weak perhaps, and could not keep his hold; presently he dropped to the ground ; every musket was ) a the sisters of albano. 29 a > levelled at him, but he started up and was away like a hare among the rocks. once he turned, and then i saw domenico as plainly, though thinner, poor lad, by, much than he was, as plainly, as i now see-santa virgine ! what is the matter with nina ?” she had fainted ; the company broke up, and she was left to her sister's care. when the poor child came to herself she was fully aware of her situation, and said nothing, except expressing a wish to retire to rest. maria was in high spirits at the prospect of her long holiday at home, but the illness of her sister made her refrain from talking that night, and blessing her, as she said good night, she soon slept. domenico starving !-domenico trying to escape and dying through hunger, was the vision of horror that wholly possessed poor anina. at another time, the discovery that her lover was a robber might have inflicted pangs as keen as those which she now felt; but this, at present, made a faint impression, obscured by worse wretchedmaria was in a deep and tranquil sleep. anina rose, dressed herself silently, and crept down stairs. she stored her market-basket with what food there was in the house, and unlatching the cottage-door issued forth, resolved to reach rocca giovane, and to administer to her lover's dreadful wants. the night was dark, but this was favorable, for she knew every path and turn of the hills ; every bush and knoll of ground between her home and the deserted village which occupies the summit of that hill : you may see the dark outline of some of its houses about two hours' walk from her cottage. the night was dark, but still; the libeccio brought the clouds below the mountairitops, and veiled the horizon in mist ; not a leaf stirred ; ness. 30 the sisters of albano. her footsteps sounded loud in her ears, but resolution overcame fear. she had entered yon ilex grove ; her spirits rose with her success, when suddenly she was challenged by a sentinel ; no time for escape ; fear chilled her blood; her basket dropped from her arm ; its contents rolled out on the ground ; the soldier fired his gun and brought several others round him ; she was made prisoner. in the morning, when maria awoke, she missed her sister from her side. i have overslept myself, she thought, and nina would not disturb me. but when she came down stairs and met her father, and anina did not appear, they began to wonder. she was not in the podere; two hours passed, and then andrea went to seek her. entering the near village, he saw the contadini crowding together, and a stifled exclamation of "ecco il padre !” told him that some evil had betided. his first impression was that his daughter was drowned ; but the truth, that she had been taken by the french carrying provisions within the forbidden line, was still more terrible. he returned in frantic desperation to his cottage, first to acquaint maria with what had happened, and then to ascend the hill to save his child from her impending fate. maria heard his tale with horror ; but an hospital is a school in which to learn self-possession and presence of mind. do main, my father,” she said ; “i will go. my holy character will awe these men, my tears move them ; trust me, i swear that i will save my sister.” andrea yielded to her superior courage and energy. . the nuns of santa chiara when out of their convent do not usually wear their monastic habit, but dress simply in a black gown. maria had; however, brought her nun's . 66 you rethe sisters of albano. 31 66 habiliments with her, and thinking thus to impress the soldiers with respect, she now put it on. she received her father's benediction, and asking that of the virgin and the zaints, she departed on her expedition. ascending the hill, she was soon stopped by the sentinels. she asked to see their commanding officer, and being conducted to him, she announced herself as the sister of the unfortunate girl who had been captured the night before. the officer, who had received her with carelessness, now changed countenance ; his serious look frightened maria, who clasped her hands exclaiming, “you have not injured the child ! she is safe?” she is safe--now,” he replied with hesitation ; "but there is no hope of pardon.” “holy virgin have mercy on her! what will be done to her ? » “i have received strict orders ; in two hours she dies." “no! no !” exclaimed maria impetuously, “that cannot be ! you cannot be so wicked as to murder a child like her.” “she is old enough, madame," said the officer, “ to know that she ought not to disobey orders ; mine are so strict that were she but nine years old she dies.” these terrible words stung maria to fresh resolution : she entreated for mercy; she knelt; she vowed that she would not depart without her sister; she appealed to heaven and the saints. the officer, though cold-hearted, was good-natured and courteous, and he assured her with the utmost gentleness that her supplications were of no avail ; that were the criminal his own daughter he must enforce his orders. as a sole concession, he permitted her to see her sister. despair inspired the nun with energy; she al32 the sisters of albano. most ran up the hill, out-speeding her guide; they crossed the folding of the hills to a little sheep-cot, where sentinels paraded before the door. there was no glass to the windows, so the slutters were shut, and when maria first went in from the bright daylight she hardly saw the slight figure of her sister leaning against the wall, her dark hair fallen below her waist, her head sunk on her bosom, over which her arms were folded. she started wildly as the door opened, saw her sister, and sprung with a piercing shriek into her arms. they were left alone together : anina uttered a thousand frantic exclamations, beseeching her sister to save her, and shuddering at the near approach of her fate. maria had felt herself, since their mother's death, the natural protectress and support of her sister, and she never deemed herself so called on to fulfil this character as now that the trembling girl clasped her neck; her tears falling on her cheeks, and her choked voice entreating her to save her. the thought-0 could i suffer instead of you was in her heart, and she was about to express it, when it suggested another idea, on which she was resolved to act. first she soothed anina by her promises, then glanced round the cot; they were quite alone : she went to the window, and through a crevice saw the soldiers conversing at some distance. “yes, dearest sister," she cried, “i will -i can save you-quick-we must change dresses—there is no time to be lost !—you must'escape in my habit. “and you remain to die?" they dare not murder the innocent, a nun! fear not for me,i am safe.” anina easily yielded to her sister, but her fingers 66 the sisters of albano. 33 trembled ; every string she touched she entangled. maria was perfectly self-possessed, pale, but calm. she tied up her sister's long hair, and adjusted her veil over it so as to conceal it ; she unlaced her bodice, and arranged the folds of her own habit on her with the greatest care—then more hastily she assumed the dress of her sister, putting on, after a lapse of many years, her native contadina costume. anina stood by, weeping and helpless, hardly hearing her sister's injunctions to return speedily to their father, and under his guidance to seek sanctuary. the guard now opened the door. anina clung to her sister in terror, while she, in soothing tones, entreated her to calm herself. the soldier said they must delay no longer, for the priest had arrived to confess the prisoner. to anina the idea of confession associated with death was terrible ; to maria it brought hope. she whispered, in a smothered voice, “the priest will protect me—fear not -hasten to our father !" anina almost mechanically obeyed; weeping, with her handkerchief placed unaffectedly before her face, she passed the soldiers ; they closed the door on the prisoner, who hastened to the window, and saw her sister descend the hill with tottering steps, till she was lost behind some rising ground. the nun fell on her knees, cold dew bathed her brow, instinctively she feared: the french had shown sinall respect for the monastic character ; they destroyed the convents and desecrated the churches. would they be merciful to her, and spare the innocent! alas! was not anina innocent also ? her sole crime had been disobeying an arbitrary command, and she had done the same. “courage !” cried maria; “perhaps i am fitter to die 2* > 34 the sisters of albano. than my sister is. gesu, pardon me my sins, but i do not believe that i shall outlive this day !" in the mean time anina descended the hill slowly and tremblingly. she feared discovery—she feared for her sister--and above all at the present moment, she feared the reproaches and anger of her father. by dwelling on this last idea, it became exaggerated into excessive terror, and she determined, instead of returning to her home, to make a circuit among the hills, to find her way by herself to albano, where she trusted to find protection from her pastor and confessor. she avoided the open paths, and following rather the direction she wished to pursue than any beaten road, she passed along nearer to rocca giovane than she anticipated. she looked up at its ruined houses and bellless steeple, straining her eyes to catch a glimpse of him, the author of all her ills. a low but distinct whistle reached her ear, not far off ; she started—she remembered that on the night when she last saw domenico a note like that had called him from her side ; the sound was echoed and re-echoed from other quarters ; she stood aghast, her bosom heaving, her hands clasped. first she saw a dark and ragged head of hair, shadowing two fiercely gleaming eyes, rise from beneath a bush. she screamed, but before she could repeat her scream three men leapt from behind a rock, secured her arms, threw a cloth over her face, and hurried her up the acclivity. their talk, as she went along, informed her of the horror and danger of her situation. pity, they said, that the holy father and some of his red stockings did not command the troops : with a nun in their hands, they might obtain any terms. coarse jests passed the sisters of albano. 35 arms. as they dragged their victim towards their ruined village. the paving of the street told her when they arrived at rocca giovane, and the change of atmosphere that they entered a house. they unbandaged her eyes : the scene a was squalid and miserable, the walls ragged and black with smoke, the floor strewn with offals and dirt ; a rude table and broken bench was all the furniture ; and the leaves of indian corn, heaped high in one corner, served, it seemed, for a bed, for a man lay on it, his head buried in his folded anina looked round on her savage hosts : their countenances expressed every variety of brutal ferocity, now rendered more dreadful from gaunt famine and suffering. o there is none who will save me !" she cried. the voice startled the man who was lying on the floor ; he leapt up-it was domenico : domenico, so changed, with şunk cheeks and eyes, matted hair, and looks whose wildness and desperation differed little from the dark countenances around him. could this be her lover ? his recognition and surprise at her dress led to an explanation. when the robbers first heard that their prey was no prize, they were mortified and angry ; but when she related the danger she had incurred by endeavoring to bring them food, they swore with horrid oaths that no harm should befall her, but that if she liked she might make one of them in all honor and equality. the innocent girl shuddered. . “let me go,” she cried ; " let me only escape and hide myself in a convent for ever." domenico looked at ber in agony. “yes, poor child,” he said ; "go, save yourself : god grant no evil befall you ; the ruin is too wide already.” then turning eagerly to his comrades, he continued—“you hear her story. she was 36 the sisters of albano. " to have been shot for bringing food to us : her sister has substituted herself in her place. we know the french ; one victim is to them as good as another : maria dies in their hands. let us save her. our time is up; we must fall like men, or starve like dogs : we have still ammunition, still some strength left. to arms ! let us rush on the poltroons, free their prisoner, and escape or die ! ” , they needed but an impulse like this to urge the outlaws to desperate resolves. they prepared their arms with looks of ferocious determination. domenico, meanwhile, led anina out of the house, to the verge of the hill, inquiring whither she intended to go. on her saying to albano, he observed, “that were hardly safe ; be guided by me, i entreat you : take these piastres, hire the first conveyance you find, hasten to rome, to the convent of santa chiara; for pity's sake, do not linger in this neighborhood." “i will obey your injunctions, domenico," she replied, “but i cannot take your money, it has cost you too dear : fear not, i shall arrive safely at rome without that ill-fated silver.” domenico's comrades now called loudly to him; he had no time to urge his request ; he threw the despised dollars at her feet. nina, adieu for ever,” he said ; may you love again more happily!” “never !” she replied. god has saved me in this dress ; it were sacrilege to change it ; i shall never quit santa chiara.” domenico had led her a part of the way down the rock; his comrades appeared at the top, calling to him, 66 > 66 the sisters of albano.. 37 “gesu save you!” cried he ; reach the convent. maria " shall join you there before night. farewell !” he hastily kissed her hand, and sprang up the acclivity to rejoin his impatient friends. the unfortunate andrea had waited long for the return of his children. the leafless trees and bright clear atmosphere permitted every object to be visible, but he saw nc trace of them on the hillside; the shadows of the dial showed noon to be past, when, with uncontrollable impatience, he began to climb the hill, towards the spot where anina had been taken. the path he pursued was in part the same that this unhappy girl had taken on her way to rome. the father and daughter met ; the old man saw the nun's dress, and saw her unaccompanied ; she covered her face with her hands in a transport of fear and shame ; but when, mistaking her for maria, he asked ; in a tone of anguish for his youngest darling, her arms fell ; she dared not raise her eyes, which streamed with tears. unhappy girl !” exclaimed andrea, “where is your sister ?” she pointed to the cottage prison, now discernible near the summit of a steep acclivity. “she is safe," she replied ; " she saved me, but they dare not murder her.” “heaven bless her for this good deed !” exclaimed the old man fervently ; “but you hasten on your way, and i will go in search of her." each proceeded on an opposite path. the old man wound up the hill, now in view, and now losing sight of the hut where his child was captive : he was aged, and the way was steep. once, when the closing of the hill hid the point towards which he for ever strained his eyes, a single shot 66 38 the sisters of albano, was fired in that direction; his staff fell from his hands, his knees trembled and failed him ; several minutes of dead silence elapsed before he recovered himself sufficient. ly to proceed. full of fears he went on, and at the next turn saw the cot again. a party of soldiers were on the open space before it, drawn up in a line as if expecting an attack. in a few moments from above them shots were fired, which they returned, and the whole was enveloped and veiled in smoke. still andrea climbed the hill, eager to discover what had become of his child : the firing continued quick and hot. now and then, in the pauses of musketry and the answering echoes of the mountains, he heard a funeral chant ; presently, before he was aware, at the turning of the hill, he met a company of priests and contadini, carrying a large cross and a bier. the miserable father rushed forward with frantic impatience; the awe-struck peasants set down their load—the face was uncovered, and the wretched man fell lifeless on the corpse of his murdered child. the countess atanasia paused, overcome by the emotions inspired by the history she related. a long pause ensued : at length one of the party observed, “ maria, then, was the eacrifice to her goodness.” “the french," said the countess, "did not venerate her holy vocation ; one peasant girl to them was the same as another. the immolation of any victim suited their purpose of awe-striking the peasantry. scarcely, however, had the shot entered her heart, and her blameless spirit been received by the saints in paradise, when domenico and his followers rushed down the hill to avenge her and themselves. the contest was furious and bloody ; twenty the sisters of albano. 39 " french soldiers fell, and not one of the banditti escaped ; domenico, the foremost of the assailants, being the first to fall." i asked, “ and where are now anina and her father?” you may see them, if you will,” said the countess, on your return to rome. she is a nun of santa chiara. constant acts of benevolence and piety have inspired her with calm and resignation. her prayers are daily put up for domenico's soul, and she hopes, through the intercession of the virgin, to rejoin him in the other world. “ andrea is very old ; he has outlived the memory of his sufferings ; but he derives comfort from the filial attentions of his surviving daughter. but when i look at his cottage on this lake, and remember the happy laughing face of anina among the vines, i shudder at the recollection of the passion that has made her cheeks ſale, her thoughts for ever conversant with death, her only wish to find repose in the grave.” ( florence howard; or, two days in a life. by mrs. walker. “look on this picture, and on this." siiakspeare toe experience of most persons will attest that it is not the events of months, or even weeks, which govern the character of their lives; but rather, that they take their hue of good or evil from the action of days, often of hours. who, when memory rushes over the records of the past, does not seize on some brief yet special points in time, which seemed like the landmarks of destiny to conduct him to the goal of weal or woe ! the story which i am about to narrate is one of the instances where life might be said to be divided into two days, concentrating in the one the essence of earthly happiness, in the other that of misery. florence howard was the only daughter and heiress of one of the richest and noblest of the aristocracy in ——shire. that beauty which in this country so pre-eminently, i had almost said exclusively, belongs to high birth, had, in a very remarkable manner, been bestowed upon her. a 春 ​ painted by stephanoit. engraved by o. pelton 1 . 'i. ' i܂ . ܕ ܀ ; ,"; ;;i ' 1 , , ., ܐ ! ܙ (: ' ' :) 1 ' ܢ ܢܬ ','4. . f"; ܕ ܐ ܂ (.܃ ܃܇ '_'« ܕ florence howard. 41 small, exquisitely-shaped head, fair, ample brow, and large, deep blue eye; a complexion with the smoothness and faint blush of early infancy; an unusual quantity, for an englishwoman, of the brightest of chestnut hair ; and a form which canova might have taken for the model of his venus, so luxuriously yet delicately was it moulded; were the claims which she advanced to that supremacy in loveliness which the men eargely demanded for her, and which even her own sex conceded, without attempt at disputation. nor was she only in external semblance perfect. of as rare a quality were her heart and mind. so essentially gentle, almost humble; was she, so unelated by the extrinsic advantages surrounding her, so warm and generous in every impulse, so noble in conception, so utterly unsullied by any, the slightest, admixture of meanness or deception, that they who had the best opportunity of observing her, could but regret that a nature so finely wrought should be given to one of earth's denizens, doomed, as all are, to perpetual collision in their sojourn here with the grovelling and the base. her intellect only required exercise for its development, to have won admiration for its grasp and power. it need not be said that, with all these attractions, the hand of florence was the object of anxious rivalry among many competitors. too much beloved by her mother, her only surviving parent, to sway her in her inclinations, she was left to the full indulgence of her own taste in the selection jf the object on whom to bestow her affections, and she was precisely the most improper person to be trusted with 50 hazardous a responsibility. undoubting of evil, over42 florence howard. flowing with all that ardor, one of youth's most beautiful characteristics, which confides with fond and earnest trustfulness in the excellence of mankind, she was ever ready to be the dupe, as it were, of her own perfections, by investing others with those attributes of virtue which she herself possessed. she had read of grief and crime with sceptical incredulity. living in an atmosphere of unclouded joy, which had never been dimmed by the presence of pain or sorrow, the tales which occasionally reached her of the existence and consequence of sin in the world without, appeared but as the exaggeration of fable or the distortions of malice. such was florence howard when i was first introduced to her. a few weeks afterwards, the busy tongue of rumor informed me that she had at length smiled on the homage of one of her worshippers, and was the affianced bride of sir loftus fitzgerald. the courtship ard preliminaries having been arranged at vienna, little was known in the neighborhood of the merits or defects of her betrothed husband, beyond the fact that he was the scion of a noble irish family, and not overburdened with the gifts of fortune. they, however, who had seen him, represented him as being equal in personal endowments to florence herself, combined with manners the most dazzling to a creature of her temperament—reserved and cold to others; to her soft and conciliating in the highest degree. it was determined that her nuptials should be solemnized on the day that she attained her majority, now but a short period distant. those persons who have lived in a country village, must be quite cognizant of the “note of preparation heard on every side, when any of the principal inhabitants florence howard. 43 a are about to perform that most serious act in life's drama --marriage. it will, therefore, be readily conceived what activity, what excitement, what joyous yet restless anxiety, reigned in every house and cottage, when it was formally announced that the star of the county, the idol of her tenantry, and the richest heiress within a hundred miles, had fixed the day for plighting her faith, and stamping with the changeless fiat of bliss or sorrow the remainder of her life. i recur to the time, and it seems as if i could now see the eager, important-looking faces of the villagers, hurrying to and from howard park to their.dwellings, all accessory in some way or other to the approaching festivities, and each deriving individual though temporary consequence from their connection with it. cattle were to be fattened for slaughter, trees to be felled for bonfires, all the gardens for miles round to be laid under contribution to furnish garlands for the occasion. these and a thousand other employments gave to the quiet village of woodfield all the stir and merriment of a country town on the eve of an election, without its defacing adjuncts of brawling and intoxication. the eventful day at last dawned, and the heavens could not have worn a lovelier aspect, or earth shown a fairer surface. the season, june, was rich in the full flush of summer luxuriance; the air had that clear, transparent buoyancy which, not often breathed in our climate, is felt by us, when it is bestowed, as so very a blessing, that the spirits of all are involuntarily elevated. every breeze inhaled came loaded with such excess of fragrance from the ten thousand blossoms waving around, that it had been oppressive, but for the singular freshness mingled with it > 44 florence howard. the sun lighted up every nook of the wide-spreading forest which skirted howard park; and never did its glory shine en so matchless a specimen of nature's workmanship as the heroine of the day, the heiress and the bride. that woman must be plain, indeed, if, arrayed by the hands of a “devy," with the delicate auxiliaries of brussels lace and white satin, added to the adventitious charm associated with her position, who does not dress into a pretty bride at twenty-one. how, then, did florence appear ? i actually started as if i had seen some fairy creature as i beheld her. with the simplicity and piety of her character, she refused to be married by special license in her own drawing-room, preferring to come to that altar where, in infancy and youth, she had performed the rites of religion, and there, in the sight of god and man, record her vows of allegiance to the husband of her choice. the peasants, who had probably never gazed upon so costly a toilette, surveyed her with astonishment; and, when she lifted the bridal veil, and gave her young cherub face to view, forget, ting the solemnity of the place, they burst into loud, undisguised admiration. she uttered the responses clearly and firmly; and i almost fancy i can still hear that low, sweet voice, which, even in its gayest tones, had a touch of sadness in it. she looked radiant with happiness; yet, when sir loftus placed the ring on her finger, his hand was wet with the fast-falling tears which gushed from her eyes, and which even yet filled them, when we retired to the vestry; and this gave rise to a remark from him, which, though spoken playfully, grated on my ears with peculiar harshness. "i hate to see women cry-even you, florence ; i can a 6 florence howard. 45 scarcely stand it !” were the first words breathed by the bridegroom to his bride. i confess it cost me a struggle with temper to avoid some comment on so abrupt a speech. she, true to her meek and loving nature, hastily wiped away her tears without reply. but with woman's unerring tact, having observed the effect which the little circumstance had made on me, she whispered, “why do you not scold me for crying ? it seems ungrateful to providence, when i am so very, very happy! we returned from the church to her home over a path literally strewn with flowers. the peasants, in their best attire, lined each side of the road, and poured forth warm and hearty blessings on her as she passed. and well did she merit their prayers and benisons, for there was not a cottage on her estate that she had not personally visited ; nor from any had the cry of pain or sorrow ever appealed in vain. a fête champêtre, in a style of magnificence commensurate with the occasion, was given at the park; and, so universally beloved was she, that i do not think the hateful taunt of envy mingled with one of the congratulations offered by her assembled guests. it is rarely given to man or woman to live a day of such unalloyed felicity. the wife of the inan she fondly . loved, the mistress of enormous wealth, the idolized child of a doting mother, life lay before her, in imagination, one line of unbroken sunshine. her pure, warm heart, full of gladness, communicated a portion of its intense happiness to all who approached. the old became younger as she drew near—the sad, gay. even while i write, i fancy i can again hear her clear, musical laugh, as she flung back he shower of roses which her juvenile companions, in play> 46 florence howard. ful frolic, crowned her with. their blushing leaves looked pale by her cheek, which the excitement of the day had tinted with the deepest glow, and which the long auburn ringlets, sweeping over and descending nearly to her waist, could not quite conceal. never did i see human happiness so beautifully and vividly depicted as in the face of florence howard on that her wedding-day. the radiant yet sportive expression, the entire abandonment of the soul to the bliss of the moment, the concentrated look of full and perfect content, all spoke the felicitous harmony which reigned within. but i must not linger over this period. the breakfast was finished, the travelling carriage at the door; and, amid the tears of many—the blessings of all—she set out for milan. it was early in the morning of a dark winter's day ; the ground was covered with snow, which fell thick and fast; and the streets of paris were almost utterly deserted. uncongenial as the weather was, a lady, whose delicacy of appearance seemed ill able to combat with the elements, was yet seen hurrying along. she held in her arms a little girl about two years of age, while a fine boy a year older a clung to her hand. she bent her steps to the poste restante, and inquired in an eager voice for letters. the mail from england was not yet ready for delivery, and she retraced her path to the rue des lombards, and entered a house where she occupied a small apartment. the room was meanly furnished, destitute of every accessory of luxury, deficient almost in those of comfort and necessity one article only, quite out of keeping with the rest of the . florence howard. 47 appointments, struck the eye. it was the picture of a gen. tleman, admirably painted, in an elaborately embossed gold frame, suspended over the fireplace; on it the gaze of the lady instantly fixed itself. “no letter yet! and i must bear another intolerable hour of suspense and agony! god give me strength to endure this wretchedness, and keep my mind from frenzy ! oh, loftus.! loftus ! in mercy write to me!” and in an attitude of wild supplication, she flung herself before the picture, while the hoarse, choking sob of anguish convulsed her frame. the children gazed on her with that affecting look of earnest wonder and scrutiny with which infancy ever beholds any violent exhibition of suffering. the little girl, flinging her tiny arms around her mother's neck, lisped in broken accents, “oh, dear mamma, do not cry so-papa will be sure to come. he has promised little florence a doll from england, and papa must not tell a story, must hc, my own mamma ? no, sweet child, he ought not-he will not. loftus, dear boy, what hour did the church clock chime last ? my head is so giddy i cannot count the time." “ it was nine, mamma.” " then the letters must now be ready." and slıe again hurried with her children to the post-office. this time her application was successful. she received a large packet of letters, tore them open with frantic impatience, read them, staggered a few paces forward, and, with one loud, piercing shriek, fell senseless to the ground. i was sitting in the apartments which i occupied in the hotel meurice, in paris, when the garçon came bustling 48 florence howard. into the room, to tell me that an english lady, as her dress and contour indicated, had fallen in a fit in the street. i waited not to ask particulars, but hastened forth. when i reached the spot, i found that she had been conveyed to a neighboring surgeon's, still in a state of stupor. i followed. those about her were using stimulants to restore her to consciousness. oh that return of consciousness ! to the wretched how awful is it! for a while we refused to believe in this new calamity ; we would fain force back the dial of time, and make it point where it did only one little hour ago : then we strive to wrestle with the weight that has fallen like an avalanche on the mind ; we seek to hurl it from us—to walk again in peace and freedom : vain effort! the fiat has gone forth for us to suffer, and, though every heartstring may quiver with agony in the conflict, we cannot flee from the encounter. branded in ineffaceable characters on my own brain is the image of that poor young creature, as i entered tho shop ; she was slowly recovering, seated on a low stool, her body rocking backward and forward with dull, monotonous movements. she opened her eyes and looked about with à quick, restless glance, which had all the glare of delirium without its vacant apathy. she shed no tears; but a gasp, between a sob and a groan, occasionally heaved her bosom, and disturbed the muscles around her small exquisitely-chiselled mouth. one hand was pressed tightly against her forehead ; in the other, the letters she had received were firmly clenched, and the surgeon informed me that she had grasped them with unrelaxing tenacity, during the whole time of her swoon. we were thus left in ignorance of the origin of that earthquake of passion, be. florence howard. 4s neath whose throes she had sunk. that the shock had been mental there could be little doubt; and this, if possible, riveted more strongly the chain of interest which insensibly linked me to her. for what is the acutest bodily pain but a grain in the balance compared with the intolerable anguish of grief's colossal machinery, playing against the heart and brain ? there is something to my feelings inexpressibly solemn in viewing any one stricken by a special visitation of providence. i carry out my sympathy even to inanimate nature : i never look upon a tree scorched and shrivelled by the thunderbolt from on. high, but my attention is imperatively arrested, my reflections become sad and serious. its companions, perchance, are flourishing around, still revelling in the sunshine, still tossing their green heads to catch a kiss from every passing breeze, while it stands a blasted monument of the wrath of heaven. but, when the victim selected for punishment is taken from my own order of intelligence, when i see a being before me like myself, far better, it may be, chosen out and smitten to the earth by the chastisement of deity while i stand unscathed, my sensibilities are aroused—how keenly and my soul filled alike with mysterious wonder and humility. the fair creature before me, what had she done to be thus afflicted ? still in the early summer of existence, gladness should have filled her breast, bloom freshened on her cheek. yet she lay before me, crushed and wan, with the succor of strangers only to support her from without, and a mine of exhaustless wretchedness within why was this? we cannot fathom the inscrutable purposes of the omnipotent; be it ours to acquiesce in them, meekly and unre3 50 florence howard. piniugly, unquestioning their wisdom, confident in their mercy. to still the passionate cries of the children on beholding the state of their mother, they had been taken up stairs, where the wife of the surgeon, with that ready humanity which french women possess in an eminent degree, was caressing them into silence. but their mother was now restored to perception, and with it came the evidence of their absence. with strength which, in contrast with her preceding feebleness, seemed supernatural, she sprang from her seat, pushed aside the persons who were bending over her, exclaiming, in a voice whose tone thrilled every one present, “my children ! my children ! where are they?” they were quickly placed in her arms, and an hysteric laugh of frightful gaiety greeted their appearshe was now sufficiently recovered to be placed in a fiacre, and driven to her lodgings. the surgeon, whose interest in her was only less intense than my own, insisted on accompanying her; and i promised at his suggestion to visit her again in two hours. i lounged in the interim to the louvre, but in vain did the treasures of art present themselves to my eye; my every thought was preoccupied by remembrance of the scene i had witnessed. the form of the lovely, fragile sufferer was ever before me. it seemed, too, that her features were familiar. they haunted me like a dream of the past; but identity came not with the vision. one moment i fancied i had seen her in the ionian isies, where my health had obliged me to pass the last four years, and from which i was returning, taking paris en route. then again she recalled the beautiful lady fitzgerald. but she it could ance. florence howard. 51 a scarcely be, for though no accounts of her had reached me during my sojourn in greece, still she was too fixed in position to associate, even in possibility, with the poor faded being i had lately seen. yet it was strangely like her, and i almost regretted that i had obeyed the surgeon's order to retire into the inner shop during her resuscitation, as he was fearful lest the presence of so many strangers might exasperate her nervous excitement ; otherwise there would have been opportunity for mutual recognition. but it was chimerical to suppose this. it was doubtless one of those casual resemblances which sometimes come across us to perplex and baffle memory. i returned to the surgeon's ; he had just arrived from mrs. gordon, for so he told me she was called. he gave fearful report. she was externally calm and collected, but his experienced eye could detect, through the artificial trammels she had placed on her manner, the vehement struggle of the inner mind. he considered her tottering on the very verge of insanity. he urged me instantly to visit her, and offer the plea of my sex and country to induce her to confidence. i proceeded to her residence, and was admitted. at sight of the picture of sir loftus fitzgerald, which hung over the chimney-piece, i literally stood aghast, for it all but determined my fears that it was indeed his wife whom i had recently seen. i was not long in doubt. she entered from an adjoining room, looked at me with surprise and earnestness, called me by my name, and burst into tears. i did not attempt to stem the gush of feeling from which i hoped for relief to her overwrought brain. during its indulgence, i had fuil leisure to observe the almost miraculous havoc which four 52 florence howard. years had wrought on her person. she was thin to atten. uation; her hair was banded back, and showed her once fair, round cheek hollow and sunken ; her large, lustrous eyes, by their size and brilliancy, seemed to make yet more conspicuous the ravages of suffering in the rest of her face. her brow once smoother than the polished marble, ploughed by the furrows of care, was now defaced by wrinkles. her figure, though its graceful symmetry nothing could destroy, retained but the outline of its former perfection. even her hands, once so remarkable for their beauty, had lost their fair texture and delicate plumpness, and looked thin, feeble, and sickly. her mouth only was that of other days—a model of expression and beauty. the torrent of her sorrow at length found pause ; and, well divining the ansiety which devoured me to learn what vicissitudes had brought thus lowly in station and broken in spirit, one whom i had last seen surrounded by grandeur, beaming with felicity, she murmured in a low, indistinct voice, “ you must indeed wonder to see me thus. it is a long, wild story: will you listen to it? it is well that some one should be the depository of my wrongs; and i thank heaven for the contingency that has brought you near me this day. the hour may not be far distant when my beloved children may want a protector.” and she shuddered “ as she spoke. it is unnecessary to say with what eagerness and sincerity i offered my services, or with what variety of emotion i listened to the following narrative. “i will endeavor to be brief and coherent : but my head is strangely confused. you know that immediately after my marriage, we proceeded to milan. a few—a very few months elapsed before the conduct of sir loftus began florence howard. 53 to change. all his love and devotion were gone, and succeeded by coldness and indifference. you know my temper is not violent--you will believe, therefore, that i bore the alteration uncomplainingly, though i was sick-how sick ! --at heart. my station in society compelling me to be much in public, we were necessarily but little alone, and that little he abridged by every device in his power. . " this continued for a year. i became the mother of that boy. his unkindness amounting to inhumanity, during my illness, even my attendants commented on. still i reproached him not: it is not invective that will restore affection. we left milan, and took a palazzo at naples ; and here ”—and her whole frame was convulsed, and for a while she was unable to proceed), “here it was the abyss of that misery opened on me which has so utterly and fatally ingulfed me! there was a lady at naples—miss lascelles ; i thought her my friend ; she was an old playmate, and i rejoiced to see her. she was with us constantly, and i was glad at the attention my husband paid her, for, poor fool that i was ! i believed it indirect kindness to myself. but soon it became of such a nature, that it had been degrading to myself to witness it. hoursdays elapsed, and they were out alone together. oh ! how i shudder when i think what burning, maddening moments of torture i counted over ! passions, more fierce , and devastating than the volcano near me, raged in my bosom. i knew the man i worshipped—may god forgive me! i fear with sinful idolatry—while i was pacing my lonely chamber, deserted and wretched, was caressing another. sometimes i imposed on myself the sight of this. it was less intolerable than the thick-thronging fancies 54 florence howard. 6 which swept over my brain during their absence. but i could not long bear it. the intimacy between them became matter of such public animadversion that i forbade her my house. from that hour he was almost a stranger too. even the birth of his little girl sufficed not to draw her from his side. “at this time a new and singular evil threatened me, the realization of which has precipitated me from affluence to poverty. a claimant to the estates which i possessed made his appearance. it was the son of my father by a woman in the west indies. i knew not of his existence ; but, as if fate had determined to task me to the uttermost limits, he came at this epoch. i cannot explain—my head is too bewildered—all the causes which had kept him so long away. enough ; he produced a certificate of his mother's marriage. sir loftus, who depended so much on the gratification of the senses for enjoyment, regarded the menace of loss of wealth with peculiar apprehension. he met the claim at first with derision, then with the fixed determination to resist it to the utmost. on me he heaped every species of abuse and violence, accusing me of having duped him. the man withdrew not his pretensions. leaving me here, sir loftus proceeded to england. legal authorities were consulted, and a trial followed, in which the jury awarded a verdict to our opponent. we were thus in a moment given over to poverty. all the long arrears of rent were demanded. the property which had accrued to me from my dear mother's death-how often have i blessed heaven that she lived not to see her child's sufferings !availed not to meet this : my jewels were sacrificed, and i, > 66 florence howard. 55 the heiress of tens of thousands, forced to employ my musical attainments to procure subsistence for myself and my children. “i have not told you that i found sir loftus, after my marriage, to be deeply involved in debt ; and he had long since squandered at the gaming-table the patrimony which he possessed. he returned with miss lascelles living openly as his mistress. i saw him but rarely-his time was divided between her and frascati. yet, even yet, i hoped to reclaim him. i would have forgiven him, and he had been dearer to me in poverty than wealth : but it was not to be. with what delight would i have labored for him day and night, if his smile had brightened my scanty meal ! riches i did and could surrender unrepiningly; but, oh ! the idol whom i could have prayed or defied heaven for, i could not renounce—him, the one love of my youth, of my life! with all his frailties, still was he dear to my fond heart—still was he my husband, whom i had knelt with at the altar, and swore to obey till death. i fear i sinned, for my excess of love has brought on me my doom of woe. “one morning, about four weeks since, he received letters from england, which strangely discomposed him : he said his presence was instantly necessary in london, and, without bidding me farewell, without one kiss, he set off in the diligence.” here she became so fearfully agitated that i urged her to cease. “no, no,” she vehemently answered ; "it is coming to an end-it is all coming to an end. i heard nothing till this day. i had letters—one from my solicitor: he tells (and she grasped my hand tightly, while her wild haggard looks filled me with alarm) “ that--that sir lofme' 56 florence howard. 1 tus is a married man-has had.a wife and family for years ; and i, wretched creature, have been but his paramour ! my children, my poor children, they, too, will have the brand of infamy stamped on their brows—they are illegitimate!” and her ashen cheek became streaked with a crimson light. “but that is not al;' and her large eyes had a look of fierce despair, and she shrieked, rather than spoke, the other words : “i had another letter ; it was from him, my husband—oh, no ; i have no husband ! i was but his mistress. he wrote from liverpool. he tells me that he supposes i shall commence proceedings against him ; but he cares not, for he is sailing for america-and not alone. she—the woman-my friend, goes with him, and he intends to marry her as soon as he lands. and he says he never loved me-he only married me for my fortune ; and i have bartered my all of happiness here, perilled, it may be, my soul hereafter, for one who never loved me. how shall i live? the finger of scorn will point at me, the laugh of derision greet my approach. where shall i hide ? i have no money, no character, no name!” and she groaned aloud. for some time i had watched her with foreboding apprehensions. as she uttered the last words, she started up, and rushed to the window, and, had i not caught her by the robe, would have dashed herself into the street. i seized her hand, and her screams were heart-piercing. “off, let me go ; i will—will die !” the violence of her cries brought up the inmates of the apartments below. it was but too evident that her senses were gone, and that strong coercion was necessary. i sent for the surgeon. 2 florence howard. 57 he pronounced her immediate removal to a lunatic asylum compulsory ; and, when the night of that eventful day closed over her unhappy head, she was an inmate of la salpêtrière, a raving maniac. there she remains to this hour, 58 the trial of husbands. h3 trial os pussanos. 2 in the year 1789, a year memorable for the first tremblings of the french monarchy, all milan was in a tumult of another kind—six months of joyous expectancy, followed by six months of gay gossip. so runs the world. so runs the world. while one half of it is looking for comets and convulsions, battles and bulletins, the other half is thinking of balls and suppers. every royal and noble head in france was pondering how long it was to be on its own shoulders, at the moment when every head male and female in the grand duchy of milan was pondering whether velvet or silk was the more captivating ? whether the austrian hat with gold lace, or the sforza bonnet with heron plumes, was the more exquisite ? the gentlemen curling their raven moustaches into the most heart-touching curls; and fifty thousand female bosoms of the handsomest dimensions panting with the ambition of fifty thousand alexanders for the conquest of all mankind. but, what was the spell fixed upon all the sons and daughters of the grand duchy at this moment ? those vb, had the fortune to promenade near the governor's the trial of husbands. 59 palace, on the evening of the 1st of june, might have formed some remote conception of the cause. there was an unusual crowd in front of the superb and well-known portal. the multitude were making merry with all the merriment of an italian populace. a tyrolese mountebank, attracted by the same instinct with which flies are attracted to honey, was performing his wonders in the great square ; a group of calabrese dancers were figuring under the strada of the colonnade; a party of pilgrims returning from the apennines had made their halt to see a little of the world before they climbed the mountains of the tarentaise ; and a huge monk, the most stupendous of his species, was haranguing from a little portable pulpit on the vices of the age. gluttony was his theme, and he roared out ruin against all full-feeders with all the remaining energy of a voice stifled with good living, and gesticulated with all the animation left to him by a stomach worthy of an elephant. the crowd around him was especially gay. they abandoned the other exhibitors to thin audiences, and with infinite peals of laughter pronounced the preacher the most capital farceur of them all. but, as the twilight of that luxurious clime began to clothe the battlements and cupolas in violet, the signs of high festivity became more conspicuous in the viceroy's mansion. the windows began to blaze with illumination ; rich transparencies, emblematic of the combined glories of austria and italy, now covered the walls ; banners spread their embroidered folds upon the languid and dewy wind. the concourse of equipages soon poured into the courts; and the harmony of the fine orchestra of the palace was heard performing “god save the emperor,” a sign that the 60 the trial of husbands. viceroy had entered the salon, and that the ball was on the point of beginning. still it was obvious that there was something wanting the national anthem was concluded ; à pause followed, the anthem was renewed. some one was clearly waited for, who suspended all the pleasures of the fête. at last, a distant shout told that a personage of peculiar importance was at hand. a carriage rushed along, with four barbary horses as swift as stags, and with one of the royal couriers in front, to announce the coming ; and the glimpse which the last gleam of day allowed of its inmate, showed that that inmate was well worth waiting for. it was the equipage of the spanish ambassador; and bore, like a triumphal car, his lovely daughter, the senora carolina, countess of medina sidonia, to victory-victory over rival beauties and haughty nobles, over knights and generals, over statesmen grown old in the harness of diplomacy, and, as universal envy declared, over the grim heart of the austrian viceroy, the archduke himself. a flourish of trunpets, as the young beauty ascended the magnificent staircase, followed the shout which the populace had given, as they saw this far-famed paragon descending from her carriage. a buzz of admiration received her on her entrance into the salon de danse ; and the smile that softened the rigid outlines of the viceroy's iron couutenance was noted down in the deepest recesses of many a highborn and angry heart for retribution. shall we describe her beauty ? it is impossible who could ever describe beauty ? the color of a lip or a cheek may be described. even the glancings of a fine eye may be told. but what shall tell the union of mind . the trial of husbands. 61 and feature, the electric flash of the soul lighting up the countenance, the language that wants no words to express the deepest of all thoughts ? no; that is impossible. who can scribe what none can define ! a look penetrates the soul ; a feature fixes its portrait on the memory for ever; the glance of a moment is treasured in the heart for years on years. how are those lovely, powerful, and most dangerous of all things to be transferred to the cold and slow characters of the human hand ! at some future time man may have the faculty of transcribing them; but it must be when all his faculties are etherealized, when he can speak the language of spirits, when his hand can stamp the image of his thoughts with the vividness of creation, when his pen flows, penetrates, and flames with the brilliancy, the swiftness, and the power of the lightnings. la carolina was young; but she was beyond the feeble girlhood which has not yet combined the intellect with the countenance. on this day she was one-and-twenty. her intellect lived in her fine features. if she had been silent, moveless, spellbound, she would have made one of the loveliest pictures of the rich beauty of the south. but, when was she ever seen thus ? when she spoke, moved, or looked, there was but one imperfect word to express her animated loveliness ; and that word was fascination. the ball was, of course, superb. the archduke's at-' tentions were unremitting, and la carolina received them with the grace and ease natural to her rank, and the consciousness that it was the natural homage to her beauty. yet there were times, even during this brilliant fête, when the sparkling of her eyes lost its lustre, her cheek had a 62 the trial of husbands. paler tint, and she seemed to forget even that she was dancing with the brother of an emperor. but every thing comes to a close in this world ; the dawn breaking in through the high casements of the ball-room, and betraying the artificial colors of many a noble cheek, warned the majority that a speedy retreat was indispensable. illustrious mothers and daughters wrapped themselves up in their shawls, rushed out in a torrent of high blood and brilliants, flung themselves into their equipages, and scattered away to all points of the horizon like ghosts at sunrise. the magnificent halls were soon as empty as a cathedral ; last came the countess de medina sidonia, led down the staircase by the viceroy himself, surrounded by an emulous cortège of nobles and militaires, received with a shout by the populace, who had lingered through the night to see her departure, and then whirled away by her four dashing barbs with the speed of a vision. it was the next evening, when her noble father, the duke de medina, entered her apartment, and, with an animation which put his ambassadorial solemnity in considerable danger, ex· hibited to her the fruits of the night's triumph. four letters were laid by him on the table. the duke was haughty by habit, pompous by office, but affectionate by nature. he never could resist a smile from his daughter and who could resist the witchery of that smile ? the letters bore the crests of four of the noblest names in italy—one being the archduke's. “my dear father,” asked la carolina,“ what am i to do with those formidable papers ? i thought the despatches were meant for you." “in this instance, my dear girl," said the ambassador, the trial of husbands. 63 > they come from a higher court than ambassadors have any thing to do with, and are authorized by a more imperious commission. they are direct despatches from cupid, and sealed with the hearts of the viceroy of the milanese, and the three counts calderone, castelli, and barante.” la carolina took up the archduke's letter ; it contained a proposal of marriage. she handed it to her father, with the words : “his highness does me infinite honor, but he dances too ill for me ever to marry him.” “preposterous !” said the grave ambassador. " the truth is,” said la carolina, “that the arch“ duke, having had two wives already, is too experienced in the ways of women for me ever to have the control, which i think essential to the happiness of a wife. another point is, that he is something older than my dear father, and, as i never loved age in any instance but one, never expect to love the archduke ; and the third is, that i am determined not to have him.” the duke remonstrated. but la carolina had one arrow still in store. “my dear father, my spanish blood will not suffer the degradation. if the archduke were as young as he is old, as gay as he is grim, and as witty as he is solemn, i should not have one of the house of hapsburg. they are scarcely five hundred years known. am i to degrade the pedigree that dates from the romans, the line of pelayo, and the true heirs to the crown of spain, by an alliance with a family of whom the world knows nothing, but that they have thick lips, speak teutonic, and are emperors of germany ?” the arrow hit the mark, and that mark was in the very centre of the proud spaniard's soul. the archduke's lette! i can 64 the trial cf husbands, was flung into the fountain, that threw up its sparkling waters along with the perfume of a hundred exotics round the young beauty, like incense on the shrine of an idol. the next three letters were then discussed. the count calderone first came under inspection ; he was a spanish grandee, of immense fortune. castelli was a neapolitan, dated his descent from the norman invaders of sicily. barante was a roman, with a pedigree sufficient to overwhelm the whole herald's college, and crowded with cardinals and cæsars. la carolina made but a single remark on them all. “those proposals,” said she, “would be quite charming, if i were to marry pedigrees, and be in love with gentlemen's grandfathers.” the ambassador, however was not to be so easily tamed on the present occasion. “you act unjustly both to your suitors and to me; a proposal refused without a reason is an insult. you have seen those young noblemen where noblemen ought to be seen ; you have danced with them, talked with them, and, for any thing i can tell,' added he with a smile, "have even given some of them reason to think that you thought them very captivating fellows.” “ that i deny,” said la carolina coloring. “i never stooped so to honor any human being. the admiration was lost on me ; but where is the necessity for my marrying at all. i am infinitely happy at the present moment: what can be more cruel than to take the bird from the wing, and put it in a cage ? i have every enjoyment that life can give, and i cannot discover how they would be increased in the slightest degree hy my having to consult the frowns of the trial of husbands. 65 a any grandee, count, or baron, in this world of folly. and why may not i, my dearest father,” said she, fixing her dark eyes swimming with sudden tears, on his softening countenance, “live as i have done already, be like the bee, or the butterfly, extracting sweets from every weed of life, or fragrance from all its roses ? let me but remain as i am, and i shall not have a wish unfulfilled.” the daughter and heiress of the duke of medina sidonia must marry," replied the grandee. the most illustrious rank of spanish nobility must not be left in the hands of strangers. i must see my daughter the head of noble house ; my son-in-law shall be the man on whom you will fix; he shall take the name of my family, and the line of a hundred generations shall not perish through the romance of a young lady, who thinks herself too handsome and too happy to do her duty to her ancestry and to spain.” the dialogue continued for some time, the young beauty arguing, and the statesman being still more determined. “ but, my dear father," at last said carolina, “suppose that the whole three should be unworthy of your name, that they should be guilty of the follies and vices which would tarnish your honor, and that the only result of this hasty alliance, should be regret that it was ever made.” “well, then,” said the ambassador, “the whole three are not likely to be equally involved. make me this stipulation, that, if there be one of them in whom you can detect neither vice nor folly, him you will allow me to present as your husband.” “but suppose, my lord duke,” said she, “that, with > 66 the trial of husbands. 7 all his virtues, he should be a dull bookworni, or a bigot, will you not allow me to reject him ? " ” “granted,” said the father. the tête-à-tête broke up. la carolina adjourned to ner toilette, to receive the most celebrated modiste of milan, with the most tasteful dress ever worn at court. the ambassador went to his closet to write a despatch, settling the next election to the popedom. the three suitors were informed, that on that day threc months the duke of medina sidonia would have the honor of returning a definite answer to their proposals. they were alike astonished, indignant, and submissive. the will of la carolina was as little to be contested as her beauty. the dialogue between the fair object of the general admiration and the duke, secret as it was, had transpired, according to the custom of courts, within the next four-andtwenty hours. before the week was over, it was the talk of all italy, and the trial of husbands” entered so much into the gay, witty, and censorious gossip of that most gossiping of all countries, that the three suitors must have been men of stone or steel to bear it; publicity was flung upon them like a shower of vinegar; they went with all the speed of post-horses far beyond the gates of milan. the count calderone was a lover of pleasure. but he had the singular faculty of his nation of concealing all his vices under an air of gravity. on returning to andalusia, he sent for his confessor, determining to make a vow for the next three months against every favorite offence of his nature. the confessor came, and the expedient proposed was that, by the assiduity of his attendance on the count, . 66 a ) the trial of husbands. 67 he should be enabled to give credentials of conduct capable of satisfying all the scruples of all the dukes and countesses of christendom. the count was an habitual gamester; the first act of his confessor was to make a formal demand of all the cards and dice in the castle; they were sealed up, and the virtue of their master was secure. but not even priests can guard against accidents. before the week was out, the confessor was thrown from his mule, and received a contusion which confined him to his bed. the melancholy news was brought by a young monk, whom the reverend father had deputed in his place to take the confession. the young monk was a melancholy object of conventual austerity ; his countenance was the very color of the clay which the fraternity dug every morning in token of their graves ; his frame seemed exhausted with watching, his eyes half closed, and his voice hardly above a whisper. if maceration of the flesh were virtue, the young monk was a saint already. calderone looked upon him with compassion. when the confession was over, and the certificate was written, he pressed him to take some refreshment. the monk lifted up his eyes and hands in solemn protestation. water was his sole refreshment, bread his luxury. he tasted slightly of both and withdrew. the count followed him with his eyes, as he moved slowly down the wooded steep which led from the castle into the lovely and garden-looking plain ; then, turning to a sumptuous board, up, like a true epicurean, to the pleasures of the table. the monk renewed his visit and the count his confession weekly for a month. " i am weary of this,” said the count one day: "regave himself a i 68 the trial of husbands. verend father, this seclusion is horrible, i have nothing to confess ; now, if i were in milan, the matter would be dif; ferent--i should probably have a great deal.” “myson,” said the monk,—"? for, young as i am, i am entitled by the grace of our church to call you so,-i agree with you that solitude is not your place. your rank is made for the public eye, your talents are made for public life, and your virtues are now so far confirmed, that you might defy all the temptations of the earth without danger.” the count hesitated. he gazed in the sallow visage. reverend father,” said he, “i have known a good deal of the world in my time, and for one man ruined by timidity i have known a hundred undone by presumption. besides, i have but two months more to wait. no! i shall not go to milan." “wisely thought of,” said the monk ; " and yet, my lord, vigorous minds, like yours, are entitled to despise the common fears of mankind. the man who in a solitary castle achieves virtue, is only like the prisoner who in his dungeon does not abuse liberty. the reason is, beause he cannot help it. monk as i am, i say that such is the chief i virtue of our monks; but a spanish noble ånd soldier conquering temptation, in the most tempting city in the world, has gained a laurel which he may lay at the feet of the proudest beauty of the earth, and proclaim himself a conqueror.” next morning the monk received a message from calderone, stating that he had received letters, which made it of the highest importance that he should immediately return to milan, and of course, dispensing with the services of the reverend father for the time. the trial of husbands. 69 the count castelli had spent the interval in a different way. indolent by nature, he was incapable of the rigid determination of his rival ; he sent for no confessor, but, hiring a villa near portici, collected round him a bevy of actors and opera-sirgers, with whom he gave little dramatic fetes, enjoyed pleasure parties on the water, and employed all his abilities to kill the tedious time. from one vice, however, he was exempt ; the love of wine is not a neapolitan propensity, and, in the midst of all the gayeties of life, he .was untouched by the temptations of bacchus. but his delight in the drama was excessive ; the interludes ; performed by the neapolitan peasants are sometimes remarkable for their humor; and one evening, as he was returning to his villa, he found the avenue blocked up by a crowd of the populace, laughing, talking, and gesticulating, in the highest possible state of enjoyment. a fellow, personating a dalmatian mountebank, was performing his pantomime on a temporary stage erected in front of the mansion. his figure was extraordinary; he seemed bent to the ground with age, yet his springs and dances recalled those of a monkey in his native forest, and he wreathed his deformed frame with the flexibility of a serpent. his humor was equally singular. speaking the patois to perfection, he carried on a running fire of dialogue with the populace, by which he made so many hits at the national absurdities, the characters of the leaders of fashion, and even the sacred persons of the monks themselves, that the multitude were kept in a continual roar. castelli stopped his chariot and listened, until night fell, and like a curtain covered the performer, the audience, and the stage. the count had a supper party that night; the pantomimist 70 the trial of husbands. a was taken into his carriage, and brought home with him as a choice novelty of the evening. but, if he had amused the populace, he still more amused the party; he spoke half a dozen patois of half a dozen languages; touched half a dozen instruments, if not with perfection, at least with skill; told piquant anecdotes of half a dozen caurts ; and, but for the hideous ugliness of his countenance, would have made half a dozen conquests among the beauties of the supper table, probably to be rewarded by as many swords in his midriff, from the hands of their acknowledged lovers. the evening was too delightful not to be repeated. the presence of the pantomimist became as necessary as lamps to a theatre; politics to superannuated bachelors ; a circle of listeners to a professed wit; a handsome confessor to ladies who have once been handsome themselves ; cards and cardinals to royal mistresses turned devotees ; scandal and champagne to the flatness of high life ; showers ; of billets-doux to refresh the fading sympathies of exhausted belles ; ribbons, orders, and the opera, to counts and kings -or, last and first, his mirror to the gay and showy count castelli, whose daily investigation satisfied him that wrinkles might be kept at a much greater distance by due skill, than many of his less polished contemporaries supposed. a succession of frolics, such as only neapolitans can invent or perhaps enjoy, drove ennui to an immeasurable distance. yet one evening the pantomimist was actually caught in the fact of committing a tremendous yawn ! the whole circle stared. he had never been in higher oddity. he denied the charge with his usual address. but eyes and ears, however unbecoming it may be to use such things at court, are much confided in and considerthe trial of husbands. 71 2 a ably used in private society. the charge was proved. and the gayest.of all grimaciers was so much overpowered by the proof, that he was almost dull for the evening. this was not to be borne. castelli summoned him to a private audience, and at length wormed the secret out of his soul. “ all is delightful here, monsieur le comie,” said he, with strong symptoms of the fatal yawn again. but variety is charming; i have been here a week already." “but i have been here two months," said the count, “and, what is worse, have to remain here a month more.” “and what power on earth,” said monsieur allegranti, pleasantest of men and mimes, “could have compelled you to such a horrid necessity ?" “ the power that compels, alike, the beggar and the king; a woman,” was the answer. “i must remain here on my good behavior for three mortal months; or beyond getting into some of those abominable scrapes into which youth, fortune, and good looks are continually leading a man in courts and cities.” the count spoke the speech in front of a huge venetian mirror, which gave him smile for smile. the mime laughed in his face, and, with a keen sparkle of his singularly sparkling eyes, said, “well, monsieur, as i am not under a vow to play the hermit, i shall make my way to the first city i can find. as for the woman in questiontrust me, i know the sex tolerably—and, if she is a daughter of eve, she will think ten times as often of you, if she hears that you have been so unable to abide the agonies of absence, that you are in the next street to her, playềng all kinds of frolics—the maddest of wþich she will invariably > 72 the trial of husbands. set down to passion for herself—than if you lived like a sheep upon one of your hills, or wore a head the length of st. dominic's. to-morrow i march for milan, where i have an engagement to play at the opening of the opera house. la scala for ever!” to-morrow saw the count's establishment scattered, like so many doves from the dovecot; and a large group of its fairest joining with him in the conviction that to live out of the sounds of the violins and pirouettes of that magnificent salle d'opera, was one of the impossibilities of this world. the count barante was a diplomatist. and he had taken his measures with professional sagacity. by bribing the favorite domestic of la carolina, he had obtained a knowledge of all her movements; and, as the movements of a woman and a beauty, are not quite so regular as those of the copernican system, he had contrived to puzzle himself to the most hopeless degree. he was informed that she received letters, visits, and persons. on each and all the diplomatist hung conclusions. he must return from rome. but the young and lovely countess seemed made to perplex calculation, as much as she charmed hearts, and he soon found that to catch a serpent by the tail, or to extract sunbeams from the rose, was an easy task compared with the daily problems supplied by the loveliest creature in the world. but to investigate these bewitching difficulties was impossible at that distance. and the dexterous count had found the means of a public mission to the court of milan. but a month remained. the story of his rivals was perfectly known to him ; for a the trial of husbands. 73 what must not be known to a person of so much sagacity, and with so much secret service money at his disposal ? he knew that calderone had returned incognito from spain, and was employing his leisure hours at one of the most private gaming-houses in the city. he had, in person, too, been present at a private masquerade, where castelli, between love and wine, had performed some antics worthy of the galleys. time is tardy to every man who expects any thing, except to the man who expects to be hanged. but even to the fortune-hunter, tardiest of all, he still gets over the course. the three months came to an end. a week before their close, barante waited on the duke. ambassador with ambassador, the formalities of diplomacy were practised with the usual gravity. but when the first parade was over, and they began to talk common sense, the baron stated in decisive words that the fair carolina naturally fell to his lot, if she was to wed neither a gamester nor a bacchanal—“both my supposed rivals,” said the count, with a glance of triumph,“ sustaining those characters in the most approved style.” very extraordinary !” said the duke, "for if there were any two noblemen in italy untouched by those vices, i should have pronounced the counts calderone and castelli to have been the men." “ you shall have proof,” was the answer. " do me the honor to come to a fête at the palace of the roman legation on this day week, and your excellency's eyes shall have full conviction. should the lady carolina do me the honor to grace our party, my pleasure and her proof, too, will be complete.” > 6 74 the trial of husbands. the evening came; the fête was showy. "all the rank, beauty, and fashion of milan,” in the court phrase, 6 were assembled.” the time of the probation had expired, and the counts calderone and castelli were the observed of all observers, for their dress, address, and jewels. . the count barante had the higher excitement in his countenance and figure, of hope assured. the duke of medina sidonia figured in all his brilliants of every order of spain and italy—a walking effigy of diamonds and ribbons. but he had by his side a brilliant, than which no man had ever worn a brighter on his bosom ; his daughter, la carolina, magnificently attired, looking lovelier than ever ; and, to the surprise of all who knew the history of the rivals, her fate, and the evening, looking the very picture of unembarrassed beauty. this produced a prodigious variety of conjectures. women of the first fashion are not always the first to be embarrassed at any thing; and there were belles present, and very handsome ones, too, who might have protested against being charged with a blush of surprise or sensibility since their cradle. but, a night on which their fate was notoriously to be decided !-a night on which depended a residence for life, and whether that residence was to be in andalusia, naples, or rome !-a night on which depended whether one's “cavalieri serventi” were to be solemn spaniards, brisk sons of the campagna felice, or cardinals, to the end of the chapter of accidents; all the considerations that make matrimony a business of thought might be expected to have given the dazzling physiognomy cf la carolina at least the air of thinking. and this was the more likely, from her having been occasionally seen at the trial of husbands. 75 : other times to look the picture of irresolution; her splendid eye suffused with sudden dimness, her cheek like an autumnal rose, her words like those of a mind straying far away from the showy circle round her, and touching on deep and involuntary remembrances of remote lands, and years past and gone. but on this night all was the extreme of the contrast. not a shade passed over the brightness of her brow; she danced, smiled, and spoke with equal animation : the archduke hovered round her once more, and the three rivals silently agreed that in the possession of this captivating being he should be master of a prize worthy to excite the rivalry of archdukes. at length the grand business of the night commenced, which, in every land, is the supper. the archduke led la carolina to the seat of honor, a distinction which inflamed the bosom of every fair lady present against the lady, and added to the old unpop ularity of austrian dominion amongst the gentlemen the supper was superb; all the virtuosi of milan filled the orchestra, and banti, then the most exquisite singer in the world, poured her mellifluous strains like another nightingale through the pauses of the harmony. but even the fairest of the fair will grow weary of wit and iced champagne; the strains of banti ceased, the chariots were ordered to the door, the ambassador and la carolina were already bowing their way out of a circle of retiring nymphs and statesmen, when barante came up and whispered in his excellency's ear, “now for the proof !” he touched a spring in the wall, and the duke and his daughter found themselves in a small apartment, with two or three dresses thrown upon the chairs. “will your > a 776 the trial of husbands. 2 66 excellency and the countess," said barante, "condescend to put on these disguises for a moment, and follow me ? " he then led the way through a suite of chambers to a low recess, hidden by a curtain. here, your excellency, you will see one of the suitors for the hand of this fair lady. you dislike the character of a gamester, i presume? here see the count calderone, who professed such abhorrence of this vice, engaged with a set of the most desperate gamesters in milan. i marked him returning from the supper table, with some characters like himself; the palace of the embassy, your excellency knows, has communication with several of the surrounding casinos, and you will find that the cavalier calderone, unable to restrain his most dangerous propensity, even with so high a prize before him, is now deep in play. . you will have only to use your own eyes." la carolina drew back. but the duke, observing to her that their dominos perfectly concealed the persons of both, led her forward. two or three groups were seen engaged in play. at last, in an obscure corner of the dim apartment, they observed calderone, his face corivulsed with agitation, and his hands grasping the dice-box in the nervous agony of a man who was on the point of throwing his last stake. he threw, glanced at the dice, and exclaimed that he was undone. at that moment the duke advanced. calderone looked up in astonishment and horror as the duke drew the mask from his face, and stood transfixed at the consciousness of the discovery. his antagonist in the game had fled. ‘you see now !.” said barante. and before the spaniard could recover from the surprise, the group had passed > the trial of husbands. 77 into another apartment. the scene here was of a different order. it was one of carousal. at the head of a small table, surrounded by faces flushed with intoxication, sat castelli, preparing, goblet in hand, to answer the challenge given to him by one of the company, to drink a bottle of champagne at a draught, in honor of the "fair countess of medina sidonia." the handsome features of the bonvivant were evidently fevered by the excesses of the night. la carolina shuddered as she saw him take the goblet in his hand, and fill it to the brim. startled at seeing so hideous a spectacle of voluntary idiocy, she would have almost implored him to lay it down ; but in the next moment the count, lisping out her name in accents of confirmed intoxication, put the goblet to his lips, swallowed it, and after an imperfect attempt either to speak or stand, fell back senseless in the chair. this is my abstemious rival,” said barante. sume, my lord duke, the trial is complete ? let us leave this scene of abomination. my gondola is on the canal." they embarked, landed, and passed into an apartment whose coolness and elegance formed a striking contrast to the scenes which they had left behind. la carolina, pained and exhausted, threw herself into a seat by the casement, which let in the delicious air of the garden. there was now but one stranger in the room; a figure dressed in the costume of the roman embassy. “i demand,” said the count, “the performance of your excellency's promise, the hand of the countess carolina." his excellency looked at the stranger sitting at the table. “he will be no hindrance to our communication," said barante; "he is only my secretary, and is indeed come here by my own 66 “i pre78 the trial of husbands. request to settle all the preliminaries of the important transaction between us." the secretary suddenly raised his head from some occupation which he was busily pursuing, and on being introduced to his excellency, apologized for not having perceived him before, owing to the nature of his occupation. “i have been copying,” said he, “ some verses, which perhaps his excellency would wish to see, as they are in honor of the illustrious lady his daughter.” “ah ! then you write verses ? ” said the duke. “i have not that honor," said he ; "the subject is toc high for me—they are the count barante's.” “what ! the count an author?” said the duke. “yes,” said the secretary ; "he has devoted himself, within the last month, to the art of poetry, and produced several exquisite sonnets on the charms of the countess of medina sidonia." during this dialogue, barante had approached the lady, and poured out his compliments, delicately giving way for his panegyric at the table; where the duke was poring earnestly over a succession of lines ; and, if the physiognomy of an ambassador was ever made to tell any thing, surprise, contempt, and anger, successively passed , over his features. at length she heard the murmured words,—“detestable stuff !—who could ever have thought that the man was such a fool !—meagre conception ! deplorable nonsense ! the sonnets were successively thrown upon the table. “those performances may not suit your excellency's taste," said the secretary, in a low tone. " but to so eminent an authority in diplomatic literature, i have the honor the trial of husbands. 79 of submitting in this paper a criticism by the count on an anonymous volume, entitled “the alliance of spain and the popedom;' which has so lately appeared, that it may possibly have escaped your excellency's notice.” the duke's bosom, rigid as it was by the formalities of sixty years, yet throbbed with sudden sensitiveness ; for what girl at her first ball, boy on his first school day, or aidede-camp on his first mounting the staff coat and feather, ever equalled the mingling of rapture and fear that thrill through the most veteran maker of books at the sound of one of his own productions ? the duke's feelings were not long kept in suspense. the criticism was a labored, acute, and contemptuous attack on all the statements, arguments, and principles of his volume. the publication, as being without the duke's name, had been handled as the work of some hired scribbler, whom barante recklessly described as equally destitute of truth, sense, and information. the blood of the spaniard might be hot, the pride of the grandee might flame, but the wrath of the author was a burst of lava. when was it otherwise ? walking over to the astonished roman, criticism in hand, he charged him with a deliberate intention to insult his honor as a member of the diplomatic body, and his feelings as a man. the outbreak was tremendous. the secretary was sought for by the vengeful eye of barante. but he had been wise in time, and disappeared. the count was not a man to swallow the whole torrant of scorn. swords were drawn, and the screams of the countess, the rush of the servants to the door, and the general tunult, aroused the whole population of the palace 80 the trial of husbands. amongst the rest came in calderone and castelli. the warlike part of the affair, of course, could not now be proceeded in: but recrimination, wonder, and inquiry supplied its place with clamor enough. the counts finally and severally came to the conclusion, that they had been calumniated in the grossest possible manner, besides being betrayed on that particular night into situations and circumstances of which it was perfectly impossible to account, except by intolerable perfidy, or palpable magic. ambassadors, profound as they are, may be puzzled ; and the duke of medina sidonia himself seemed to be extremely in this predicament, when the door opened and a monk walked into the midst of the declaimers. the effect on calderone was electric. “will the count calderone," said the ecclesiastic, in a solemn tone, "venture to deny that his favorite vice is gaming, his favorite game hazard, and that no farther back than this evening he staked his last ducat on the die ? “ villain ! you tempted me, first and last,” was the only exclamation of the astounded spaniard. “ there,” said the monk, unfolding a paper, "give up your pretensions to this lady, and i give up the bond for the surrender of your estates.” calderone nervously grasped at the paper, and rushed out of the room. the monk next fixed his full, dark eye on castelli. the count was now sobered, and his stern look repaid the gaze with fierce defiance. “monk,” said he, “i know your tribe. you may play tricks with fools and cowards, like the blockhead whom you have just frightened out of the room, but beware of knavery with me. i solemnly declare before this company that i have never seen the fellow's mortified visage before." 6 > the trial of husbands. 81 a a a smile passed over the monk's features as he drew the cowl from his head, and threw a glance in the count's eyes. " the punchinello, corpo di baccho !” exclaimed the count, suddenly bursting into a roar of rage. “scoundrel of scoundrels, what brought you here ? allegranti himself, or il diavolo ?” the monk made no other reply than twisting his features into another grimace, which actually convulsed the count with laughter. “stop," he cried, "for the sake of st. januarius, stop, or i shall die. diavolone, if you make such another face again, i shall have you assassinated for finishing the days of a nobleman." the whole room joined in the laugh, as the monk, slowly turning round the group, gave them all an evidence of his extraordinary talent. "your excellency,” at length said castelli, in a voice exhausted with convulsive merriment, "i have nothing to say in the way of excuse. you see what this rascal is. he would tempt st. anthony to run away with st. bridget, or make st. francis drink like a fish. ha, ha, ha : let me say but another word. he tempted me from my beverage of oranges and iced water to champagne and chambertin. in his pleasantries i forgot this lady, myself, * and the world. i am fit only to be a bon-vivant, and if the villain will only come and dine with me once a week i shall make him my heir, provided he does not kill me with laughing before i have time to make my will. duke of medina sidonia, countess carolina, fairest of all countesses, and you, noble ambassador of his holiness, i have the honor to bid you all good night. i must laugh and drink, or die." castelli sprang to the door, and vanished in a moment. 4* 82 the trial of husbands. . “and by what title am i to address you, sir ? : haughtily said barante, at length recovering from his surprise. “you have detected two fools, who had not strength of mind enough to hide their absurdities for an hour toge. ther. i presume you pride yourself on so prodigious an exploit ; but i am not to be trifled with. by what right have you entered this palace ? " by the request of the count barante himself,” said the monk, as he threw the gown from his shoulders, and, altering his countenance, stood before the group in the secretary's costume. “what, andreas !” exclaimed the count, starting back. what son of beelzebub have i been entertaining ? i suppose, spadocino, you have made fine work of your portfolio ? the secrets of the embassy were in caztal hands." “i never betrayed any of your excellency's secrets,” said the secretary in a dry tone, “but your sonnets, which your excellency was, i presume, proud to acknowledge, and your criticism, which could have belonged to no genius inferior to your own.” “ mille diavoli !” exclaimed the count, clapping his hand on the hilt of his rapier. “who are you ?” the demand was echoed by the duke. ia carolina's eyes sparkled with tenfold brilliancy. a smile was on her red lips that would have awoke all but the dead ; and the little jewelled foot hung in air, as if she were about to step forward ; though whether to throw herself into the young secretary's arms, or to fly from him, must be left to the fancies of young beauties with their lovers standing at bay before them > the trial of husbands, 83 66 my lord duke, i owe that answer only to you,” said the handsome youth, with a flush which gave additional expression to a noble countenance. “i am the count orazio de gusman, your relative, and descended from the high ancestry of the sidonias. i loved your daughter, but, doubting whether she would do me the honor to acknowledge my love, i determined to follow her to milan. i there found that her hand was solicited by three individuals of superior opulence. bụt, i knew two of them to be profligates by nature, and hypocrites by habit. i made my way into their society. as a monk, for assuming which disguise i have purchased absolution this morning, i found out the gaming propensities of calderone. as a mime, i brought the bacchanalianism of castelli into full display, for which i shall buy absolution to-morrow. to complete my work, i brought them back to milan, where temptation and detection were equally inevitable.” “ bravo ! " exclaimed the duke. “bravo !” echoed the attendants, with italian freedom. “ bravissimo !” said not the charming tongue, but said with tenfold eloquence the flashing eyes of the young countess. orazio turned to barante. “this noble person,” said he, “will, i trust, excuse my development of his poet'ua! and critical powers. as his secretary, i was acquainte l not with his vices, but with his virtues; not with his infidelity to the countess carolina, but with his fidelity to the muses ; not with his love of the die, but his love of the laurel; not with his passion for the bowl, but-4" “ mille diavoli!” screamed burante, cutting sh 'rt the > . 84 the trial of husbands. speech, “i wish you were in the belly of vesuvius. what a measureless blockhead i was, to have any thing to do with you ; duke of medina sidonia, it was this traitor that tempted me first to write sonnets; it was his atrocious sycophancy that persuaded me to think myself a second petrarch ; the unlucky volume itself that ruined me was put into my hands by this scapin. may he be in the bottom of the liparis ! to-morrow i shall throw up my enbassy, and never return to milan for the next thousand years." the count sprang from the spacious casement down the marble steps of the parterre, and vanished among the shrubs of the garden. the lovers gazed after him from the saloon. the duke had gone to the table where the papers still lay, and was profoundly busy in gathering every scrap that touched on his authorship, and tearing them into a million fragments. never was criticism more thoroughly extinguished. in the mean time, what was the occupation of the two lovers? it is impossible for us to tell. the night was lovely, the garden lovely, and the moon, as she sailed.over the pure azure above, was lovely. all might fạirly be objects of contemplation. yet we cannot tell whether they saw any one of the three. there are times in this world when people see without using their eyes, and hear without a word being spoken. whether the low sighs which both uttered fom time to time were telling of the happy arts with which orazio beguiled his rivals, or the anxious interest with which la carolina heard of his progress ; or whether they told of things beyond the moon, or whether they were sir,ply the relief of hearts overloaded with de. the trial of husbands. 85 light, are totally beyond our knowledge. but, the intense gaze which the lover fixed on the blushing beauty, her eye fixed on the ground, her faint effort to withdraw her exquisite form from the arm that clung round it, and the ono long and fond kiss, that seemed as if it communicated the soul of one to the other, looked like happy passion. and, what has earth nobler, lovelier, or more happy ? *86 zarted for ever 1 parted sor sver. by the author of hyde nugent. > on é certain part of the coast of france there is an island of peculiar loveliness, which, par distinction, i may call the isle of roses. always bright, blooming, and verdant, its climate iş perpetual summer; while its landscape, though in miniature, presents to the eye a scene of mingled wood and rock, shady dell, and grassy glade, in such profusion of wildness, that it seems as if nature had resolved to show there was still a paradise upon earth. its shore is broken into sequestered bays between jutting cliffs of no great height, some of which are tufted with overhanging wood, with here and there a spring gushing through, and finding its way to the sea. surrounded nearly by reefs of rocks in the distance, it has ever been a sort of scylla to man, and is only accessible on one side, by which approach the few wants of its happy, though small colony of inhabitants, are supplied from the main land. the goodly report i had received of its solitude, and almost nullity of visitors, induced me to seek the shades of parted for ever. 87 the isle of roses. here, thought i, if on earth, the weary may indeed be at rest; or the lover of nature may follow her in all her luxuriant glee, and fanciful wanderings, without fear of inquiry from the curious, or molestation from the officious. the only habitable house, however, for an englishman, was that which i occupied ; having been before tenanted by an english family, who, from particular reasons, had lately left, after making it one of the most comfortable anglo-french residences i ever met with. accident had once thrown me into their society on the continent. · travelling in the southern parts of europe in search of health, lost more to mind than body, though its cause is of little moment here to tell, it was my study to avoid the society of strangers, and especially that of my own compatriots. at one place, however, i was so kindly treated by the inmates of a house in which i was for some time staying, that one evening i could not resist their solicitations to accompany them to the réunion of a few friends. “i shall at least meet no english there," i thought; but i was mistaken ; and it happened that those whom i did encounter, excited in me a greater degree of interest than at the time i was willing to allow, even to myself. these were sir george m and his daughter, i believe an only child. i was not introduced to them, i did not wish it ; but the wandering air of abstraction which hung about the unhappy-looking girl, beautiful as she was, made me inquire of my friend, madame de twhat might be the cause. a french woman delights in a love-tale, and next to being herself the heroine, she loves to be the raconteuse. a french woman likewise tells a great deal, i will not say > 88 parted for ever. > in few words, but in a short time. without, however, at. tempting to repeat her story, i will merely give the substance, which was as follows: like myself, an invalid wandering in search of the lost treasure, the baronet was accompanied by his daughter; and, vieux militaire, as he was, by an officer of rank who had for some time been on his staff, a young man not only of great mental accomplishments and personal graces, but also of high moral reputation. the baronet was fond of a quiet life, so was his daughter, and so was colonel gand agreeing so perfectly, no wonder that they were charmed at discovering in the isle of roses a retreat so exactly suited to their tastes. the general, who as well as a baronet, was a branch of one of the most ancient and noble families in england, was possessed of a highly aristocratic mode of thinking and acting. he was, however, exceedingly absent and careless of what was done, provided that views of family interest or connection were not interfered with. he was withal a little tormented with that most distinguished of diseases, the gout. when a boy, col. ghad been taken by him on his staff, at the request of parliamentary friends; and as he rose in life and succeeded to fortune, the general had become much attached to him ; but the latter never forgot, that on the score of family, his aide-de-camp dared not look back one generation. imprudent man, then, to allow a friendship to commence between two young people, which would never with his consent be sealed by an indissoluble union. the consequences of their residence in such a beautiful retirement, thrown together as they were, without any other society whatever, parted for ever, 89 his anger may and aided by a foreknowledge of each other, might have been easily foreseen. they became devotedly attached, and the stronger their love, the greater the fear that its discovery should be a death blow to their hopes. each day increased this feeling. colonel gknew from sir george's ideas and connection, that there was not the shadow of a chance of any proposal being for a moment listened to. his altered and melancholy air, and the frequent sighs that escaped the unhappy eleanor, at length excited a suspicion on the baronet's mind that all was not right; and on suddenly asking his daughter if any thing preyed upon her mind, he surprised her into a full confession. be conceived. it had never struck him as possible, that eleanor m-, with so much noble, and even a few drops of royal blood in her veins, could ever think of a man whose family was not even of yesterday; which term only conveys the mind as far back as the seventeenth century. colonel g was of no family, in fact. all the blood of the conqueror's contemporary rushed at a fearful rate through the vessels of his descendant on the discovery of the truth. but why should i describe the anger, the inflexibility, the harshness of one party, the tears, the prayers, the sorrows of the second, or the offended dignity, the regrets, the explanations, the departure of the third ? these followed in quick succession; but after the parting of the lovers, or rather the separation, had taken place, for they were not allowed to see each other, and the despondency of the beautiful eleanor, from which no exertions on her father's part could rouse her, was complete, was he satisfied—was he made hap90 parted for ever. pier? never could he be ; nor was it any consolation to him to know that his own imprudence had caused his daughter's misery. this historiette sufficiently accounted for the wild and distracted air of la belle anglaise; who, the picture of despair, yet obliged by the general to go into society, was, to her infinite unhappiness, still the point of attraction for all the gallant men in the room. and here i might enter into a description of her beauty, but what would it avail ? for one only might those deep blue eyes again be kindled into animation, those lips be induced to wear a smile. a time might come, but the sternness of her father's look at present seemed to deny all hope. yet was there occasionally a momentary gleam of affectionate solicitude in his glance, though, on a sudden, some recollection seemed to cross his mind, and the knitting of his brows gave a hardness to the countenance, which, to a keen observer, told of inflexible decision. unhappy man! thy want of foresight has broken the hearts of two who were dear to you, and blasted the happiness of thine own. i was much interested by madame de t—'s story; moreover, the deep seclusion which her description of the isle of roses led me to believe it possessed, prompted my traget thither. i found it all i wished. here i was completely shut out from the world, and might, but for the restlessness of a diseased mind, have there ended my days. a slight circumstance, however, again induced me to wander forth. there was one apartment in my house to which i had taken a particular fancy, and used it as a breakfast room, it was not what we should style a parlor, being something parted for ever. 91 between the french salon and the english rooins sc designated ; a degree of perfection to which my predecessor had brought it. jasmines and roses peeped in at the windows, which communicated with what may scarcely be térmed a garden ; for that is too regular a sounding title for the wild and beautiful flower-grounds they opened upon. its cheerfulness and sunny aspect was by degrees drawing me out of the morbid melancholy which had for months beset me. there was a style of elegance in the italian marble chimney-pieces and other furniture still left, which bespoke the taste of the late occupant. there were also some fine pictures still hanging to the walls. there was a harp-key, probably mislaid when packing up, and heaps of music; some pencil drawings in a bold masterly hand, and several books, with other things, which were to have been sent afterwards, but my housekeeper declared she had as yet had no opportunity. i cannot say that all these gave me much comfort. i was beginning to grow nervous from constant thinking of the uninterrupted happiness of those who had so lately enjoyed every comfort and luxury in the beloved society of each other. at length i almost transferred the case of colonel gto myself; and though this sympathy in some measure made me forget my own grief, it worried me beyond endurance, and soon came to a climax. ranging up and down the room one morning, i espied i on a shelf, which had before escaped me, a heap of papers. these turned out to be old gazettes, full of orders in council and military promotions; but between their leaves had crept something of much more interest ; namely, two or three songs.* written in a hand of which the beauty and 92 parted for ever. delicacy of the characters easily betrayed by what fingers the pen that traced them had been guided. they were italian, save one, which, though now seldom heard, has acquired the deathless fame a production of the author of marmion" must ever hold. there was a portion of this which increased my melancholy sympathy in the fate of the lovers to an extraordinary degree, and it was the first line that caught my attention, << from his true maiden's breast, parted for ever." i suddenly threw down the song, under the most painful feelings, and wandered forth into the grounds, for i almost fancied myself—such an effect has loneliness upon the mind—in the company of the trio by whom that room had been occupied. but wherever i went, still was their story before me; the "early violet” dying, reminded me of the death of their hopes, and the sound of the “far billow" through the deep groves caused a sigh for happiness and peace that could be known but in the grave. reader, i know not the fair eleanor ; i had seen her but once, yet i will confess to you, that when i took my way through the beautiful sunny solitudes and fairy glades, which her foot had lately pressed, i could not help feeling as much interest in her fate as though i had been intimate with her all my life. here was her own secluded bath, covered in and shaded from view, in a clear sandy bay of the sea-shore ; there was her garden, there her green and gravel-walks, and the flowers which herself had planted ; but the hand that checked their luxuriance, and tended their growth, was with them no more. from the . shore, led up a winding path, whose turns might scarcely > parted for ever. 99 be perceived from the thick-flowing shrubs and evergreeng that hung or protruded from its banks. vegetation was growing rank, and nature seemed droopingly. to inquire for the fair and taper fingers, that, till lately, had controlled her too forward family. in short, every place told of her: and fancy, or a diseased imagination, worked upon by all these trifling circumstances, hurried my departure from the isle of roses; for in every ramble i was perpetually haunted by the recollection that it had also been a favorite resort of those who were now " parted for ever.” 94 the first-born, . 93 first-sorn. by j. forbes dalton, esq. hope and fear, philosophers say, checker our lives like night and day; and so, perhaps, they usually may. . but pleasanter far are feelings between, like the summer sunset and twilight scene, when the brilliant heavens are all serene, and the earth is clad in her darkest green, and we quietly gaze in deep delight, with our hopes and our fears all out of sight, not wishing for day nor dreading the night. now, in such a mood, for about a year, it might have been less, but 'twas very near, had our good yeoman lived. for why ? he'd won the maiden of his choice, his hopes and fears had all gone by, he'd nothing left but to rejoice. a tiie first-born. 95 and that he did in such a style, it would have cheered your heart to see ; he seemed to live on mary's smile, and laughed with such a boyish glee. how rapidly time sped his flight ! he loved as when love first began, she was his whole and sole delight, and mary loved her “own good man." a happier home, a happier lot, they both declared the world had not. but hope and fear, long driven away, both came back on the self-same day. mary was ill and kept her bed, john felt a very odd pain in his head, which his sister said was merely a whim, and nobody else seemed to care for him. for there came an old lady who bustled about, and contrived very soon all his household to rout. for, although not a lady of high degree, that she deemed herself mistress 'twas easy to see, yet, though ever in motion, still quiet was she, as she glided along and appeared to be engaged in some awful mystery. how mary was, john wished to know ; the nurse declared he must not talk; fle paced his parlor to and fro, there,” she said, he “must not walk," but " 96 the first-born. he sat him down and laid his head upon his palm—all—all alone ; his manly. heart o'ercharged with dread, yet dared he scarcely sigh or groan. yet might he breathe a silent prayer to him who can in silence hear; he did—and lighter grew his care, and hope resumed the place of fear. he listened, gazing on the floor, strange fancies o'er him "coming thick," while the old clock behind the door had never seemed so slow to tick. and thus his anxious watch he kept,. oft murmuring his loved one's name, lonely as though the household slept, till from her room a low sound came. 'twas scarcely sound—but like the fall of fairy footsteps gathering round; then whispering soft-then silence all, as though 'twere hallowed ground. then broke the spell—not with a word, but an infant's cry. how it made him start i he listened, and he thought he heard an echo in his heart. the first-born. 97 'twas nature's voice. that feeble cry awoke paternal love and pride; feelings with death alone to die, yet still he trembled for his bride ; till his sister tripped in with a whisper of joy, saying, “ mary is well, john, and so is your boy." ) it now only remains of our first-born to state what is told so exceedingly well in our plate. his aunt and the nurse in his long-clothes arrayed him, and then in the arms of the latter they laid him ; and so, in due form, to his father conveyed him, and with high approbation and smiles surveyed him, (as the painter's talent hath deftly portrayed him) while they both ostentatiously displayed him, as highly delighted as though they had made bim. 98 the widow's song. the widow's song. by t. k. hervey, esq. oh ! this world is a wide one-for sorrow or joy-and where in this world is my own sailor-boy! with his loud ringing laugh, and his long sunny hair, do they play on the breeze yet, and float through the air ? is there any bright land, mid the lands of the earth, that holds the lost child of my heart and my hearth ? i have sat by the fire, when the old men have said there be eyes of the living that look on the dead; oh! tell me, ye seers, in your search of the tomb, do you find my fair son in its valleys of gloom ? is there any pale boy, with a look of the sea, mid that people of shades, who is watching for me? oh! that morn when he left us ! —mine eyes are grown dim, and see little that's bright, since they looked upon him ; the widow's song, 99 and my heart, in its dulness, hath learnt to forget, but the light of that morning shines clear to it yet ; no record is lost of the far sunny day when passed my fair boy, like a spirit, away. we waited-how long !—but we waited in vain, and we looked over land, and we looked over main ; and ships-oh! how many came home from the sea, that brought comfort to others, but sorrow to me; in all those gay ships, oh ! there answer was none to the mother who asks if she yet have a son! and we fed upon hope, until hope was denied, till our health of the spirit it sickened and died ; and his father sat down in his old broken chair, and i watched the white sorrow steal over his hair, and i saw his clear eye waxing feeble and wild, and the frame of the childless grew weak as a child ; and the angel of grief, that o'ershadowed his brain, now wrote on his forehead, in letters of pain ; and i read the handwriting, and knew that the breast of the weary with waiting was going to rest ; so he left a fond word for the lost one-and i,.. i linger behind him, to tell it my boy! shall he come to his home-perhaps sickly and poor, and meet with no smile at his own cottage-door! shall he seek his far land, from the ends of the earth, and find the fire quenched on his once happy hearth! none to love him in sorrow who loved him in joyob ! i cannot depart till i speak with my boy! 100 the widow's song. i have promised to wait—i have promised to say what grief was his father's at going away. will he come ?—will he come ?-oh! my heart is grown old, and the blood in my veins it runs languid and cold; and my spirit is faint, and my vision is dim, but there's that in mine eye will be light yet for him! they tell me of countries beyond the broad sea, where stars look on others that look not on me, where the flowers are more sweet and the waters more bright, and they hint he may dwell in those valleys of light, that he rests in some home, with a far foreign bride : oh ! this world is a wide one-why is it so wide ? a but they surely forget, which my sailor does not, that i'm sitting whole years in my lone little cot; he knows-oh! he knows, if i may, i shall wait, till i hear his clear shout at the low garden-gate ; oh ! weary of life, but unwilling to die till the latch has been raised by my lost sailor-boy! i believe that he lives were he low in the mould, there's a pulse in my heart should be silent and cold, that awoke at his birth, and, through good and through ill, hath played in its depths, and is playing there still ; when its star shall have set, then that tide shall be dry, and the widow be sure where to look for her boy! the widow's song. 101 oh ! will he come never !-lost son of the sea ! i hear a low voice that is calling for me : it comes from that spot, the dark yew-trees among, where the grave of thy sire has been lonely too long, a voice like a spirit's—i come—oh ! i come ! hath he met my lost child in the land of the tomb ! i shall know !—but, if not, if he comes to the door, when the voice of his mother can bless him no more, some finger shall point to the pathway of tombs, where my boy may come up to our mansion of glooms, and i think i shall hear his light tread o'er the stones, like the sound of the trump in the valley of bones ! the hermil and rhb pirbhibr. by mrs. st. simon. he who bids adieu to the world, and retires into the wil. derness, does not for that reason become a saint; for so long as the inclination to evil dwells in the heart, temptation from without is easily found and sin is committed. experience taught this to the man of whom an old story gives account. this man was by nature prone to sudden bursts of passion, but instead of seeking the cause of this fault in himself, he cast the blame upon the man who excited him to anger, and he thought102 the hermit and the pitcher. . a “ if this is so, the world is an injury to me, and it is better that i should leave it, rather than lose my soul.” he withdrew, therefore, into the wilderness, and built himself a hut in the midst of a wood, close by a spring; and the bread that he ate was brought daily to him by a boy, who had been directed to place it upon a rock, at a distance from the hut. and thus all went well for several days, and he thought that he had become the most mild and even-tempered man in the world. one day, he went, as usual, with his pitcher to the spring, and placed it so that the water might run into it. but as the ground was stony and uneven, the pitcher fell over. he placed it upright again, and more carefully than before; but the water, which spouted forth irregularly, overturned it a second time. then he angrily seized the vessel and dashed it violently upon the ground, so that it broke in pieces. he now remarked that his old anger had broken forth again, and he thought“ if that is the case, the wilderness can in no way profit me; and it is better that i try to save my soul in the world, by avoiding that which is evil, and practising that which is good.” and he returned again into the world. observe—there are evil inclinations which may quered by avoiding the occasions which call them forth, and there are others which must be vanquished by resistance. but to perform either, we need not fly from the world, but from ourselves only. be conthe retired merchant. 103 thr rbrired merchanr. a london merchant engaged in mediterranean commerce, had successfully prosecuted his business and amassed, what all merchants desire, an ample fortune. his, indeed, was a princely one. he had purchased a large and beautiful estate in the country, and had built and furnished a splendid mansion in town, on the surrey-side of the river, and now that he was verging towards sixty, he concluded to retiro and enjoy the remnant of his life in peaceful leisure. he negotiated for the sale of his abundance-making business, and sold it for another fortune. he then retired. he was a bachelor. he had his halls, his parlors, dining rooms and drawing rooms, his library and cabinets of curiosities. the floors were covered with the most mosaic specimens of brussels or of turkey carpetings—the furniture was of the most complete and exquisite selections—the walls with splendent mirrors and with classic paintings were adorned—and fine linen decorated all. carriages, horses, grooms and servants, were at his command. books, pictures and engravings were at hand to interest him. the daily and the weekly papers, and the periodicals, brought to his table all the news of the great world, and his friends and his acquaintanco paid him homage. how happy must the man be, who has all this ! he was not happy. he had no aim, no motive. the 104 the retired merchant. zest with which he read the papers when he was a merchant, he had lost, now he had ceased to be engaged in commerce. a storm, a fleet, a pestilence along the mediterranean shores, was full of interest to him before, because he had investments there. now, they were of no consequence to him. the views and aims of government, were watched by him before, with searching scrutiny, because his destiny was bound up with theirs. the parliamentary debates were of the greatest consequence before, as indicating british policy; but that to him now ceased to be an object of importance.his fortune was achieved—his course was run-his destiny fulfilled. soon, every thing and place appeared to him, one uniform and universal blank. his beautiful apartments were unused -his carriage and horses unemployed—his books unread his papers were unopened-his meals untasted—and his clothes unworn. he had lost all enjoyment of his life, ana contemplated suicide. saturday night arrived, and he resolved on sunday morning early, before the busy populace were stirring, he would make his way to waterloo bridge, and jump, or tumble off, into the river. at three o'clock, he set out on his final expedition, and had slowly reached the bridge, the shadows of the night protecting him from observation, when a figure stood before him. amazed at being seen by any one, he turned out of his path, when the figure crouching low before him, revealed a tattered, miserable man, bearing his head in abjectness. “what are you doing here,” inquired the retired " merchant. the retired merchant. 105 a c > “i have a wife and family, whom i can't help from starv. ing, and i am afraid to go and see them. last night i knew they would be turned into the streets,” replied the man. take that,” replied the merchant, giving him his purse, with gold and silver in it—thinking to himself, “how much more useful this will be to him, than in my pockets in the water." “god bless you, sir-god bless you, sir,” exclaimed the man, several times—kneeling before the astonished merchant. “stop,” said the merchant, “ do not overwhelm me so with your thanksgivings—but tell me where you live.” 66 ' in lambeth, sir.” “ then why are you here this morning,” said the merchant. “i do not like to tell you,” said the man. “i am ashamed to tell a gentleman like you.” “why so ?”' replied the merchant. “well, sir," replied the man, “ as i had not a single penny, and did not know how to get one, i came here to drown myself, although i knew 'twas wicked !!! the merchant was astonished and appalled, and after a long silence, said, “ my man, i am overwhelmed with wealth, and yet i am so miserable, that i came here this morning for the same purpose as yourself. there's something more in this than i can understand at present. let me go with you, and see your family.” the man made every excuse to hinder the merchant_but he would go. “have you lost your character ?” said the merchant. " “no sir,' replied the man, " but i am so miserably poor 106 the retired merchant. the man, and wretched—and for anything i know, my wife and chil. dren may be turned into the street." • why are you out of work and pay ?" resumed the mer. chant. “i used to groom the horses of the stage coaches,” said "but since the railroads are come up, the coaches are put down, and many men, like me, have no employment.” they plodded on their way, two miles of brick and mortar piled on either side. at last they came to a third-rate house, when a rough, common-looking woman was opening the door and shutter. as soon as she saw the man, she let loose her tongue upon him for all the villany in the world, but something which passed from his hand to hers, hushed her in an instant; and observing the merchant, she courtesied to him civilly. the man ran up stairs, leaving the merchant and woman together, which gave the former an opportunity to make inquiries. having satisfied himself that want was the crime of the family, he told the woman who he was, promised to see her paid, and induced her to set on and cook a breakfast for the family, and supply them with any thing which they needed. the man returned, and the merchant went up stairs, to see, for the first time, a wretched family in rags, dirt, and. misery. he cornforted them with hope of better days, and bidding the man take a hasty meal below, took him with him, and helped with his own hands to load a cart with bed, bedding, clothes, furniture and food, for the family. the man was gone, and the merchant for the first moment, reflected on all that had passed. he was relieved of his morning. 107 . misery, by doing something for another, and out of mere selfishness, he resolved on doing good to others, to prevent the necessity for drowning himself. he employed the man in his stable, removed the family near, and placed them in a cottage, sending the children to school. soon he sought out misery to relieve, and was led to consider the cause of all misery-sin. he turned to god and found him-and sought to turn his fellow sinners. he aided every good word and work, and was the humble teller of his own humbling story. he had been a merchantman seeking goodly pearls—and having found the pearl of groat price, he went and sold all that he had, and bought it-and the retired earthly merchant became an active heavenly merchant. morning by miss.phebe care y.. sadly, when the day was done, to his setting waned the sun; heavily the shadows fell, and the wind, with fitful swell, echoed through the forest dim, like a friar's ghostly hymn. a 108 morning. mournful on the wall afar, walked the evening sentry stár; burning clear, and cold, and lone, midnight's constellations shone; while the hours, with solemn tread passed like watchers by the dead. now at last the morning wakes, and the spell of darkness breaks, on the mountains, dewy sweet, standing with her rosy feet, while her golden fingers fair part the soft flow of her hair. with the dew from flower and leat flies the heavy dew of grief ; from the darkness of my thought, night her solemn aspect caught; and the morning's joys begin, as a morning breaks within. 2 god's free sunsnine on the hills, soft mists hanging o'er the rills, blushing flowers of loveliness trembling with the light wind's kisgucom oh! the soul forgets its care, looking on a world so fair ! a morning woos me with her charms, like a lover's pleading arms; soft above me bend her skies, as a lover's tender eyes; and my heavy heart of pain, trembling, thrills with hope again. . 1 i d. roberta, es t. w51mone, sculp! the desolation of ytchtene. 109 rhb desolation of yrchirie. a remarkable passage in the romance of history. “the memorial tree,” from which the arrow of sir walter tyrrel glanced, and beside which the king lay extended on the ground, is now exceeding old, and scarcely a trace remains of its former greatness. it stood in this wild spot, (the new forest) when the stern decree went forth, which enjoined that throughout the whole extent of the southwestern part of hampshire, measuring thirty miles from salisbury to the sea, and in circumference at least ninety miles, all trace of human habitation should be swept away.william the conqueror might have indulged his passion for the chase in the many parks and forests which anglo-saxon monarchs had reserved for the purpose, but he preferred rather to have a vast hunting-ground for his “superfluous and insatiate pleasure" in the immediate neighborhood of winchester, his favorite place of residence. the wide ex. panse that was thus doomed to inevitable desolation was called ytene or ytchtene; it comprised numerous villages and homesteads, churches, and cestral halls, where saxon families of rank resided, and where an industrious population followed the daily routine of pasturage and husbandry. a large proportion had been consequently brought into cultivation ; yet sufficient still remained to afford a harbor for 110 the desolation of ytchtene. numerous wild animals. this part comprised many sylvan spots of great beauty, with tracts of common land, covered with the golden blossomed gorse, and tufts of ferns, or else with short herbage, intermingled with wild thyme. noble groups of forest-trees were seen at intervals, with clear running streams, and masses of huge stones which projected from among the grass. the sun rose on the morning of the fatal day in cloudless beauty, and fresh breezes tempered the heat, which, at harvest-time is often great; the people were already in the fields, and the creaking of heavy-laden wagons was heard at intervals, with the sweeping sound of the rapid sickle. in a moment the scene was changed. bands of norman soldiers rushed in and drove all before them. they trod down the standing corn, and commanded the terrified inhabitants of hall and hut, to depart in haste. more than one hundred manors, villages, and hamlets were depopulated, even the churches were thrown down—those venerated places, where the voice of prayer and thanksgiving had been heard for generations. he who passed the next day over the wide waste, saw only ruins black with smoke, trampled fields, and dismantled churches. here and there broken implements of husbandry met the view, and beside them, not unfrequently, the corpse of him who had dared to resist the harsh mandate of the conqueror. females, too, had fallen to the earth in their terror and distress, and young children were in their death-sleep, among the tufts of flowers where they had sported the day before. many stately buildings were pulled down at once; others, having their roofs thrown open, were left to be destroyed by the weather, and hence it got seldom happened that a stranger, in passing through a the desolation of ytchtene. 111 meadow into one of those shady coverts, which still varied the aspect of the country, forgetting, 'in the freshness and the loveliness of all around him, the terrible undoings of previous days, might see through the undulating branches of the trees, the walls or roofs of houses, which looked as if they had escaped the general ruin. they stood, apparently, in the midst of cultivated fields, occasionally by the road side, and their pointed roofs were covered with the vine or honeysuckle. on a nearer approach the illusion vanished, not a sound disturbed the silence of the place; the houses which looked so inviting when seen at a short distance, showed that the hand of ruin had done its work. the doors were broken open, the windows dashed in, the roofs were open to the winds of heaven, and the little gardens overrun with weeds. the ruins of an antique abbey were often close at hand, with its richly painted windows, broken through and through; or, perhaps, the shattered walls of some hospitable dwelling, in which a saxon thane had resided. a where the labor of man has ceased, vegetation soon asserts her empire, and fields, when left to themselves, become, according to their soil, either wild or stony, or else covered with a dense growth of underwood and tall trees. such was che case over the wide expanse which had been rendered desolate ; the spaces of common ground, with golden blossomed gorse and wild thyme, continued such as they had been, but trees grew thick and fast, the beautiful groves became woods in the course of a short time, and the once cultivated country was rapidly absorbed in the wilderness portions of ytchtene. the memorial tree,” which now stands lone and a 112 the desolation of ytchtene. a a seamed, was then a sapling, for such we may conjecture to have been the case, according to the well-known longevity of forest-trees. three events of great interest are associated with it—the making desolate a wide extent of country ; the death of the proud norman, by whose command the work of ruin was achieved ; and the untimely end of his successor. had the history of william i. been written with reference to his private actions, it might be noticed that a tissue of domestic sorrows succeeded to the laying desolate of ytchtene. his wife matilda died a few years after, and his fair daughter gundreda, the cherished one in her father's house, was cut off in the flower of her youth. he saw with grief the jealousy that subsisted between his sons william and henry; and during the time that duke robert, his first-born, continued an exile and a fugitive, richard, his second son, was gored to death by a stag, as he was hunting over the wide expanse which his father had depopulated. men spoke of the sad event as a just punishment on him who had respected neither the lives nor feelings of those who once had dwelt there. some said, this is but one; we shall see others of his family to whom the forest will prove fatal,' and they spoke true. war was declared with france, and the king shortly afterwards departed for the continent. the object of the expedition was expressly to take possession of the city of mantes, with a rich territory situated between the epte and the oise. the corn was nearly' ready for the sickle, and the grapes hung in ripening clusters on the vines, when the fierce king ordere1 his men to advance on the devoted territory; when in the bitterness of his spirit he marched his cavalry through the desolation of ytchtene. 113 a the corn-fields, and caused his soldiers to tear up the vines and cut down the pleasant trees. mantes could offer but a weak resistance, and the town was set on fire. riding beside the ruined town, to view the misery which he had wrought, the horse of the norman conqueror trod on some hot cinders; the frightened creature plunged violently, and the king being unable to retain his seat, fell to the ground. the injury which he sustained caused him to be carried in a litter to a religious house, in the neighborhood of rouen, where his array was encamped, for he could not bear, he said, the noise of the great city. it was told by those who were present at the time, that although he at first preserved much apparent dignity, and conversed calmly on the events of his past life, and concerning the vanity of human greatness ; when death drow near, the case was otherwise. he then spoke and felt as a dying man, who was shortly to appear before the tribucal of his maker, there to render an account of all the deeds which he had done, of all the gifts committed to his carc, of his riches and his power. his hard heart softened then, and he bitterly bewailed the cruelties which he had committed. one morning early, the chief prelates and barons received a summons to assemble with all haste in the chamber of the king, who finding his end approach, desired to finish the settlement of his affairs. they came accordingly, though the day had not yet dawned, and found him with his two sons, henry and william, who waited impatiently for the declaration of his will. “i bequeath the duchy of normandy," said he, "to my eldest son robert. as to the crown of england, i bequeath it to no one, for i did not receive it, like 114 the desolation of ytchtene. 66 the duchy of normandy, from my father, but acquired it by conquest and the shedding of blood, with mine own sword. the succession of that kingdom, i therefore, leave to the decision of the almighty. my own most fervent wish is, that my son william, who has ever been dutiful to me in all things, may obtain and prosper in it.” “and what do you give me, o my father ?” impatiently cried prince henry, who had not been mentioned. “five thousand pounds weight of silver out of my treasury," was his answer. but what can i do with five thousand pounds of silver, if i have neither lands nor a home?" be patient,” rejoined the king, "and have trust in the lord; suffer thy elder brothers to precede thee—thy time will come after theirs.” on hearing this, prince henry hurried off to secure the silver, which he weighed with great care, and then provided himself with a strong coffer, having locks and iron bindings to keep his treasure safe. william, also, staid no longer by the bed-side of his dying parent; he called for his attendants, and hastened to the coast, that he might pass over without delay to take possession of his crown. he, whose sword had made many childless, was thus deserted in his hour of greatest need by his unnatural sons. his last sigh was a signal for a general flight and scramble. the knights buckled on their spurs, and the priests and doctors, who had passed the night by his bed-side, made no delay in leaving their wearisome occupation. “to horse ! to horse !” resounded through the monastery, and each one galloped off to his own home, in order to secure his interests or his property. a few of the king's servants, and some vassals of minor rank staid behind, but not to do honor to the desolation of ytchtene. 115 a the poor remains of him who had been their king. they spoke loudly and trod heavily, where but a short time before men would scarcely have dared to whisper ; where the noiseless step and hushed sound, told the rank and sufferings of him, whom now the voice of seven thunders would not wake. they proceeded without remorse to rifle the apartinent both of arms and silver vessels; they even took away the linen and royal vestments, and having hastily packed them in bundles, each man threw the one, which he secured, upon his steed, and galloped away like the rest. from six till nine the corpse of the mighty conqueror lay on the bare boards, with scarcely a sheet to cover him. at length the monks and clergy recollected the condition of the deceased monarch, and forming a procession, they went with a crucifix and lighted tapers to pray over the dishonored body. the archbishop of rouen wished that the interment should take place at caen, in preference to his own city, it being thought most proper that the church of st. stephen, which the king had built, and royally endowed, should be honored with his sepulchre. arrangements were made accordingly, and the corpse being carried by water to caen, was received by the abbots and monks of st. stephen. mass was performed, the bishop of evreux pronounced a panegyric on him who had borne the name of conqueror while living, and who had done great deeds among his fellow-men, and the bier on which lay the body of the king, attired in royal robes, and being in no respect concealed from the view, was about to be lowered into thc grave, when a stern voice forbade the interment. shop," it said, “the man whom you have praised was a rob. ber. the very ground on which we are standing is mine; 66 bi116 the desolation of ytchtene. 1 and this is the site of my father's house. he took it from me by violence to build this church upon its ruins. i reclaim it as my right, and in the name of the most high i forbid you to bury him there, or to cover him with my glebe.” the man who spoke thus boldly, was asseline fitz-arthur. he had vainly sought for justice from the king while living, and he loudly proclaimed the fact of his injustice and oppression, before his face, when dead. many who were present well remembered the pulling down of fitz-arthur's house, and the distress which it occasioned, and the bishop, being assured of the fact, gave his son sixty shillings for the grave alone, and engaged to procure the full value of his land. one moment more, and the corpse remained among living men; another, and it disappeared in the darkness of the tomb, and the remainder of the ceremony being hurried over, the assembly broke up in haste. barons and men-at-arms were assembled in malwoodkeep, at the invitation of william rufus, who proposed to hold a chase, and to follow the red-deer over the wide hunting-grounds, where once stood the pleasant homes, which his father had rendered desolate. william was preparing for the chase, when an artizan brought him six new arrows. he praised their workmanship, and putting aside four for himself, he gave the other two to sir walter tyrrel, or, as he was often called, sir walter de poix, from his estates in france, saying, as he presented them, “good weapons are due to him, who knows how to make a right use of them.” many of the younger barons were already mounted, and their horses were curvetting on the grass, as though they partook the desolation of ytchtene. 117 of the impatience of their riders, while every now and they the blast of the hunter's horn, in the hand of some young squire, gave notice to those within that the sun was already high. all was gaiety and animation, and boisterous mirth within and around malwood-keep, when a stranger was seen approaching through the forest, grave, and yet in haste. ho spoke as one who had business of moment to communicate, and which admitted of no delay, but his look and voice sufficed to check the eagerness of those who sought to know whence and why he came. he told the king, when admitted to his presence, that he had travelled both far and fast; that the norman abbot of st. peter's at gloucester had sent to inform his majesty how greatly he was troubled on his account, for that one of his monks had dreamed a dream which foreboded a sudden and awful death to him. “ to horse !" hastily exclaimed the king, “ walter de poix, do you think that i am one of those fools who give up their pleasure or their business for such matters ? the man is a true monk, he dreameth for the sake of money; give him an hundred pence, and bid him dream of better fortune to our person.” forth went the hunting train, and while some rode one way, some another, according to the manner adopted in the chase, sir walter de tyrrel, the king's especial favorite, remained with him, and their dogs hunted together. they had good sport, and none thought of returning, although tho sun was sinking in the west and the shadows of the foresttrees began to lengthen on the grass, at which time an hart came bounding by, between the king and his companion, who ytood concealeil in a thicket. the king drew his bow, but 118 the desolation of ytchtene. the string broke, and the arrow took no effect; the hart being startled at the sound, paused in his speed, and looked on all sides, as if doubtful which way to turn. the king, meanwhile gazing steadfastly at the creature, raised his bri dle-hand above his eyes, that he might shade them from the glare of the sun, which now shone almost horizontally through the forest, and being unprovided with a second bow, he called out “shoot, walter, shoot away!" tyrrel drew his bow, but the arrow went not forth in a straight line, it glanced against a tree and struck the king in its side-course against his breast, which was left exposed by the raised arm. the fork-head pierced his heart, and in an instant he expired. sir walter flew to his side, but he saw that his master was beyond all human aid, and mounting his horse he hastened to the sea-coast, from whence he embarked for normandy. he was heard of soon after, as having fled into the , dominions of the french king, and the next account of him was, that he had gone to the holy land. rufus had left the bed-side of his dying parent while life still lingered, intent only on obtaining the english crown; he even left the care of his interment to the hands of strangers, for it does not seem that he at all concerned himself about the matter. now then was he also left alone, in the depth of the still forest. his companions in the chase were eagerly following their amusement, and chanced not to pass where he was lying. at length the royal corpse was discovered by a poor charcoal-burner, who put it, still bleed ing, into his cart, and drove off to winchester. the intelligence soon spread, and henry hastened to seize the treasures that belonged to the crown, while the knights, who had the desolation of ytchtene. 119 re-assembled at malwood-keep, thought only how the accident might affect themselves; no one caring to show respect to the remains of the unhappy monarch, with whom they had banquetted the evening before. it was afterwards observed by many, that as the corpse of the conqueror lay extended on a board, with scarcely a vestment to cover him, so, by a reasonable coincidence, the body of his unnatural son, unwashed, without even a mantle, and hideous to look upon, re, mained in the cart of the charcoal-burner till the next day, when it was conveyed in the same condition to the cathedral church of winchester. there, however, some faint show of , respect was paid to what had been a king : it was interred in the centre of the choir, where, as wrote the chronicler of this sad history, many persons looked on, but few grieved. it was even said by some, that the fall of a high tower which covered his tomb with ruins, showed the just displeasure of heaven against one, who having deserted his dying parent, sought not to repair the evils which he had done, who, neither acting justly nor living righteously, was undeserving of christian burial. : a 120 address to night. address to vight. by l. c. l e vin. hail, goddess of the gloomy hour! i love thy faint and lonely ray; thy deepest shadows please me more than all the gorgeous light of day. i love thee when the vault of heaven with lightning fires is sheeted o’er, and field and forest, thunder riven, quake with the elemental roar. i love thee, too, when not a breath breaks thy expressive stillness; wbcta it seems as if triumphant death reigned over all that once were men. oh! let intrusive memory lose all thoughts of objects felt or seen, and fancy paint in quaintest hues, what ne'er will be nor e’er has been. i'll think my soul, in ages past, was tenant of some brighter sphere; and for some dark transgression, cast to work its absolution here. but, day appears—my fellow men rise up, like monsters from their lair; i see myself like them, and then, think my lot hopeless, and—despair. an evening at home. 121 ay evening at home. by kate sutherland. a "not going to the ball ?" said mrs. lindley, with a look and tone of surprise. " what has come over the girl ?” i don't know, but she says she's not going." " doesn't her ball dress fit ?" “ yes, beautifully.” “ what is the matter, then ?" “indeed, ma, i cannot tell. you had better go up and see her. it is the strangest notion in the world. why, you couldn't hire me to stay at home.” mrs. lindley went up stairs, and entering her daughter's room, found her sitting on the side of the bed, with a beautiful ball dress in her hand. “ it isn't possible, helen, that you are not going to this ball ?" she said. helen looked up with a half serious, half smiling expres sion on her face. “ i've been trying, for the last half hour,” she replied, “to decide whether i ought to go, or stay at home. i think, perhaps, i ought to remain at home.” i “but what earthly reason can you have for doing so? don't you like your dress ? » “o yes ! very much. i think it beautiful.” 6 122 an evening at home. “ doesn't it fit you ?” “ as well as any dress i ever had.” are you not well?” “ very well.” “then why not go to the ball? it will be the largest and most fashionable of the season. you know that you know that your father and myself are both going. we shall want to see you there, of course. your father will require some very good reason for your absence." . helen looked perplexed at her mother's last remark. “ do you think father will be displeased if i remain at home?” she asked. “ i think he will, unless you can satisfy him that your reason for doing so is a very good one. nor shall i feel that you are doing right. i wish all my children to act under the government of a sound judgment. impulse, or reasons not to be spoken of freely to their parents, should in no case influence their actions." helen sat thoughtful for more than a minute, and then said, her eyes growing dim as she spoke, “i wish to stay at home for edward's sake.” “ and why for his, my dear ?” “he doesn't go to the ball, you know.” “ because he is too young, and too backward. you couldn't hire him to go there. but, that is no reason why you should remain at home. you would never partake of any social amusement, were this always to influence you. let him spend the evening in reading. he must not expect his sisters to deny themselves all recreation in which he cannot or will not participate.” an evening at home. 123 a a “ he does not. i know he would not hear to such a thing as my staying at home on his account.” “ then why stay ?” because i feel that i ought to do so. this is the way i have felt all day, whenever i have thought of going. if i were to go, i know that i would not have a moment's enjoyment. he need not know why i remain at home. to tell ι him that i did not wish to go will satisfy his mind.” “i shall not urge the matter, helen,” mrs. lindley said, after a silence of some moments. “ you are old enough to judge in a matter of this kind for yourself. but, i must say, i think you rather foolish. you will not find edward disposed to sacrifice so much for you.” “of that i do not think, mother. of that i ought not to think." “perhaps not. well, you may do as you like. but, i don't know what your father will say." mrs. lindley then left the room. edward lindley was at the critical age of eighteen ; that period when many young men, especially those who have been blessed with sisters, would have highly enjoyed a ball. but edward was shy, timid and bashful in company, and could hardly ever be induced to go out to parties with his sisters. still, he was intelligent for his years, and compa, nionable. his many good qualities endeared him to his family, and drew forth from his sisters towards him a very tender regard. among his male friends were several about his own age, members of families with whom his own was on friendly terms. with these he associated frequently, and, with two 124 an evening at home. or three others, quite intimately. for a month or two, helen noticed that one and another of these young friends called every now and then for edward, in the evening, and that he went out with them and staid until bed-time. but unless his sisters were from home, he never went of his own accord. the fact of his being out with these young men, had, from the first, troubled helen ; though, the reason of her feeling troubled she could not tell. edward had good principles, and she could not bring herself to entertain fears of any clearly-defined evil. still a sensation of uneasiness was always produced when he was from home in the evening. her knowing that edward would go out, after they had all left, was the reason why helen did not wish to attend the ball. the first thought of this had produced an unpleasant sensation in her mind, which increased the longer she debated the question of going away, or remaining at home. finally, she decided that she would not go. this decision took place after the interview with her mother, which was only half an hour from the time of starting. edward knew nothing of the intention of his sister. he was in his own room, dressing to go out, and supposed, when he heard the carriage drive from the door, that helen had gone with the other members of the family. on descending to the parlor, he was surprised to find her sitting by the centre table, with a book in her hand. “ helen! is this you! i thought you had gone to the ball. are you not well ?” he said quickly and with surprise, coming up to her side “i am very well, brother,” she replied, looking into his face with a smile of sisterly regard. “but i have concluded a an evening at home. 124 to stay at home this evening. i'm going to keep your com pany." “ are you, indeed! right glad am i of it! though i am sorry you have deprived yourself of the pleasure of this ball, which, i believe, is to be a very brilliant one. i was just going out, because it is so dull at home when you are all away.” so “i am not particularly desirous of going to the ball. little so, that the thoughts of you being left here all alone had sufficient influence over me to keep me away.” indeed! well, i must say you are kind.” edward returned, with feeling. the self-sacrificing act of his sister had touched him sensibly. both helen and her brother played well. she upon the harp and piano, and he upon the flute and violin. both were fond of music, and practised and played frequently together. part of the evening was spent in this way, much to the satisfaction of each. then an hour passed in reading and conversation, after which, music was again resorted to. thus passed the time pleasantly until the hour for retiring came, when they separated, both with an internal feeling of pleasure more delightful than they had experienced for a long time. it was nearly three o'clock before mr. and mrs. lindley, and the daughter who had accompanied them to the ball, came home. hours before, the senses of both edward and helen had been locked in forgetfulness. time passed on. edward lindley grew up and became a man of sound principles—a blessing to his family and so. ciety. he saw his sisters well married ; and himself finally, led tf the altar a lovely maiden. she made him & 126 an evening at home. ) truly happy husband. on the night of his wedding, as he sat beside helen, he paused for some time, in the midst of a pleasant conversation, thoughtfully. at last, he said, , “do you remember, sister, the night you staid home from the ball to keep me company ?” “that was many years ago. yes, i remember it very well, now you have recalled it to my mind.”: “i have often since thought, helen,” he said, with a serious air, “that by the simple act of thus remaining at home for my sake, you were the means of saving me from destruction." “ how so?” asked the sister. )) “i was just then beginning to form an intimate associa tion with young men of my own age, nearly all of whom have since turned out badly. i did not care a great deal about their company; still, i liked society and used to be with them frequently-especially when you and mary went out in — • the evening. on the night of the ball to which you were going, these young men had a supper, and i was to have been with them. i did not wish particularly to join them, but preferred doing so to remaining at home alone. to find you, as i did, so unexpectedly, in the parlor, was an agreeable surprise indeed. i staid at home with a new pleasure, which was heightened by the thought, that it was your love for me that had made you deny yourself for my gratification. we read together on that evening, we played together, we talked of many things. in your mind i had never before seen as much to inspire my own with high and pure thoughts. i remembered the conversation of the young men with whom ] nad been associating, and in which i had taken pleasure, an evening at home. 127 with something like disgust. it was low, sensual and too much of it vile and demoralizing. never, from that hour, did i join them. their way, even in the early stage of life's journey, i saw to be downward, and downward it has ever since been tending. how often since have i thought of that point in time, so full-fraught with good and evil influences. those few hours spent with you seemed to take scales from my eyes. i saw with a new vision. i thought and felt differently. had you gone to the ball, and i to meet those young men, no one can tell what might not have been the consequence. sensual indulgences, carried to excess, amid songs and sentiments calculated to awaken evil instead of good feelings, might have stamped upon my young and delicate mind a bias to low affections that never would have been eradicated. that was the great starting point in life-the period when i was coming into a state of rationality and freedom. the good prevailed over the evil, and by the agency of my sister, as an angel sent by the author of all benefits to save me. like helen lindley, let every elder sister be thoughtful of her brothers at that critical period in life, when the boy is about passing up to the stage of manhood, and she may save them from many a snare set for their unwary feet by the evil one. in closing this little sketch, we can say nothing better than has already been said by an accomplished american authoress, mrs. farrar. “so many temptations,” she says, “ beset young men, of which young women know nothing, that it is of the utmost importance that young brothers' evenings should be happily passed at home, that their friends should be your friends, 128 an evening at home. that their.engagements should be the same as yours, and that various innocent amusements should be provided for them in the family circle. music is an accomplishment, chiefly valuable as a home enjoyment, as rallying round the piano the various members of a family, and harmonizing their hearts as well as voices, particularly in devotional strains. i know no more agreeable and interesting spectacle, than that of brothers and sisters playing and singing together those elevated compositions in music and poetry which gratify the taste and purify the heart, while their fond parents sit delighted by. i have seen and heard an elder sister thus leading the family choir, who was the soul of harmony to the whole household, and whose life was a perfect example of those virtues which i am here endeavoring to inculcate. let no one say, in reading this chapter, that too much is here required of sisters, that no one can be expected to lead such a self-sacrificing life ; for the sainted one to whom i refer, was all i would ask any sister to be, and a happier person never lived. to do good and to make others happy was her rule of life, and in this she found the art of making herself so. “sisters should always be willing to walk, ride, visit with their brothers; and esteem it a privilege to be their companions. it is worth while to learn innocent games for the sake of furnishing brothers with amusements, and making home the most agreeable place to them. .... “i have been told by some, who have passed unharmed through the temptations of youth, that they owed their escape from many dangers to the intimate companionship of affectionate and pure-minded sisters. they have been saved from a hazardous meeting with idle company by some home h. warren epide 1:11e widow's mite. 129 engagement, of which their sisters were the charm; they have refrained from mixing with the impure, because they would not bring home thoughts and feelings which they could not share with those trusting, loving friends; they have put aside the wine-cup and abstained from stronger potations, because they would not profane with their fumes the holy kiss, with which they were accustomed to bid their sisters good-night. the widow's vitr. it is the fruit of waking hours when others are asleep, when moaning round the low thatched roui the winds of winter creep. it is the fruit of summer days passed in a gloomy room, when others are abroad to taste the pleasant morning bloom. 'tis given from a scanty store and missed while it is given : 'tis given—for the claims of earth are less than those of heaven. 130 the first oration. the first oration. no puba a temperance society was to be formed in lyonville, and of course there must be an address from some one. lic lecturer happening to be in the place, those engaged in getting up the meeting pitched upon a young man named agnew for the purpose, and, despite of all objections and remonstrance, extorted from him the promise to act as orator for the evoning. agnew had talents, was a good talker and a warm advocate of the temperance cause. but he had never spoken in public beyond an occasional argument in a debating club, and very naturally had many serious doubts as to his success. he had only three or four days for the work of preparation. at first he tried to write an address; but he failed in this altogether. he had not the faculty of thinking with his pen in hand. then he turned his subject over and over again in his mind, lying awake upon it half the night, and going out into the fields early in the morning to exercise himself in reading aloud or speaking, to an imaginary audience, the oration he had composed. these performances were, upon the whole, quite satisfactory to the young orator; and by the time the meeting was to be held, he felt fully prepared to do both himself and his subject àmple justice. the first oration. 131 on the evening in question, the little village-church was filled to overflowing. for the three hours previous to the time when he was to open his address, agnew had been repeating it over and over again, in order to have every word perfect in his memory. but as the period drew near, he felt more and more nervous. there was a weight on his breast, and a dry, choking sensation in his throat. on entering the church, and finding it so crowded with spectators, agnew's knees began to tremble; and when he searched about in his mind for the opening portion of his address, it was no where to be found. seating himself on the platform temporarily erected for the purposes of the evening, he awaited, in a state of nervous anxiety, the conclusion of the preliminary ceremonies, still searching, but in vain, for the clue to his oration. not a single portion of his intended speech could he remember, try as he would to recall it. at last the time came. there was deep hush of expectation through the assembly. all eyes were upon him. rising, in the trembling hope that, at the last moment, his speech would come, he said, with as steady a voice as he could assume, “mr. president" just at that moment, the door of the church opened, and a man who sold liquor and had done more to corrupt and demoralize the young men of the village .than any one in it, entered, and, with a look of defiance, walked boldly down the aisle, and took his seat just in front of the young speaker. as he did so, he perceived agnew's embarrassment, and gave a chuckle of enjoyment. 132 the first oration. mr. president,” said the speaker, as the liquor-seller thug noted his confusion. his voice was steadier than before. “it is related, that, in old times, when the sons of the lord came up to worship, satan came also.” he paused, looking steadily at the tavern-keeper; and the eyes of the whole congregation followed his gaze. “ it is also said,” he continued, “ that there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth. happily, satan cannot now appear among us in bodily form. many who have served satan, however, are here, but i sincerely trust as the repentant sinners over whom heaven rejoices." thus opening, extemporaneously, he continued, turning his reference to the liquor-seller to such good account as to disarm his resentment, while he deeply interested both him and the whole audience. his address was most admirable, yet not a line of what he had prepared was uttered. when he sat down and the pledge was presented, the old liquor-seller was the first to sign. so much for agnew's first oration. he has made many since ; but none that will be e remembered in lyonville as long as bis maiden speech. s. a. pp 5 .. why don't he come. 133 why don't hb gomb. why don't he come ?—the morning light, in amber rays, break from the east; he said he would come back last night, nor tarry at the midnight feast. ah, that the revel and the song should lure him from my smiles away, the vigil why did he prolong in politician's idle fray ? when the last evening's hymn was sung, my babes a wondering silence kept, and with his name upon its tougue, each little innocent has slept. until the waning moon was high, a silent watch i here did keep; but slow, the long, long hours went by, and i retired, alone to weep. i see him not-he little knows the pain this faithful heart must feel : oh, that his own may find repose, nor be consumed by party zeal. the sun is up—yet he comes not, to light with joy our peaceful home; these revels are with ruin fraughti wonder why he does not come! mwosa 134 beautiful thoughts. brautirui thoughts. from miss br e mer. > christmas in sweden.—how cold, how gloomy it is ! the window-panes are covered with ice; the morning twilight extends its hand to the evening twilight, and the dark night entombs the day. in norland, however, the mid-day has a few bright moments ; the sun sheds still a few feeble beams, then he quickly disappears and it becomes dark. farther up in the country people know nothing more of day-the night endures for months. they say in the north, that “ nature sleeps,” but this sleep resembles death ; like death, it is cold and ghastly, and would obscure the heart of man, did not another light descend at the same time--if it did not open to the heart a warmer bosom and animate it with its life. in sweden they know this very well, and while every thing sleeps and dies in nature, all is set in motion in all hearts and homes for the celebration of a festival. ye know it well, ye industrious . , daughters of home, ye who strain your hands and eyes by lamplight quite late into the night to prepare presents. you know it well, you sons of the house, you who bite your nails in order to puzzle out "what in all the world” you shall choose for christmas presents. thou knowest it well, thou fair child, who hast no other anxiety than lest the christ. beautiful thoughts. 135 ! man should loose his way and pass by thy door. you know it well, you fathers and mothers, with empty purses and full hearts ; ye aunts and cousins of the great and immortal race of needlewomen and workers in wool-ye welcome and unwelcome uncles and male cousins, ye know it well, this time of mysterious countenances and treacherous laughter! in the houses of the rich, fat roasts are prepared and dried fish ; sausages pour forth their fat, and tarts puff themselves up; nor is there any hut so poor as not to have at this time a sucking-pig squeaking in it, which must endeavor, for the greater part, to grow fat with its own good humor. it is quite otherwise with the elements at this season. the cold reigns despotically; it holds all lifo fettered in nature; restrains the heaving of the sea'a besom ; destroys every sprouting grass blade ; forbids the birds to sing and the gnats to sport; and only its minister, the powerful north wind, rolls freely forth into gray space, and takes heed that every thing keeps itself immoveable and silent. the sparrows only—those optimists of the air--remain merry, and appear by their twittering to announce better times. at length comes the darkest moments of the year, the midnight hour of nature ; and suddenly light streams forth from all habitations and emulates the stars of heaven. the church opens its bosom full of brightness and thanksgiving, and the children shout, full of gladness, “ it is christmas! it is christmas !" earth sends her hallelujah on high! " and wherefore this light, this joy, this thanksgiving ? "a child is born!” a child! in the hour of fight, in " a lowly manger, he has been born ; and angels have also sung, “peace on earth !" this is the festival which shall be 136 beautiful thoughts. celebrated-and well may ye, you dear children, sound forth your cries of joy! welcome, even though unconsciously, the hour in which this friend, this brother; was born to you; who shall guide you through life, who shall lighten the hour of death to you, and who one day shall verify the dreams of your childhood; who shall stand beside you in necessity and care, and shall help to answer the great questions of life. rejoice, ye happy children, whom he blesses ! rejoice, and follow after him! he is come to lead you and all of us to god! there are inexhaustible, love-inspiring, wonderful, entrancing thoughts, in which man is never weary of plunging. the sick soul bathes in them as in a bethesda, and is made whole--and in them the healthy find an elevating life's refreshment. of this kind are the thoughts on that child his poverty, his lowliness, his glory.! fathers of families.—thou who sittest at thy table like a thunder-cloud charged with lightning, and scoldest the wife and the cook about the dinner, so that the morsel sticks in the throat of the mother and children-thou who makest unhappy wife and child and servants—thou who preparest for every dish a bitter sauce out of thy gall-shame and indigestion to thee! but—honor and long life to a good stomach, and especially all good to thee who sittest at thy table like bright sunshine ; thou who lookest round thee to bless the enjoyment of thy family—by thy friendly glance, thy kind speech, callest forth sportiveness and appetite, and thereby lendest to the gifts of god a better strength, a finer flavor than the profoundest art of the cook is able to confer upon them-a beautiful thoughts. 137 honor to thee, and joys in abundance. may good-will ever spread the table for thee; may friendly faces ever sit round thy dishes. honor and joy to thee! nature.—the wind on the sea, the air on the mountain, the sea-like sound in the wood, the fresh, fresh breath of nature, which expels care and refreshes life—i praise you ! who has not felt himself elevated when he has returned from the house of mourning, from the impure atmosphere of society, and from the exhaustion of business ? wonderful, powerful, care-free life in the air, in the water, and in the earth! mighty nature, how i love thee, and how gladly would i lead all hearts to thee! in hostility to thee, le is a burthen ; in peace with thee, we have a presentiment of the repose of paradise. thy storms sound through the immortal harps of ossian and byron ; in the songs of the seal heroes in the romances of the north, breathes thy life. the feeling heart owes to thee its best and freshest sentiments. to her also who pens these lines hast thou given new life. her soul was sick to death, and she cast herself on thy bothou didst raise her up again ; she received power to lift herself up to god. selfishness and egotism.-it is indeed a terrible sight, that of a man who has so completely smothered every thing divine in his nature, that nothing remains but a horriole egotism. to such a one nothing is sacred ; to accomplish his will and to satisfy his humor, he hesitates at none, no, not the most criminal means, and finds a pleasure in making himself a tormentor. the far north.—so poor, so waste, so gloomily does nature here present herself—monotonous, but great! great, som. 138 beautiful thoughts. a since she is eternal, without change, without disquiet. proud and immovable in her poverty, she casts from her the industry of men, the affluence of agriculture, and renounces every joy, but at the same time every fetter. she turns away her countenance from life, draws the winding-sheet around her, and seems to rejoice herself in everlasting repose. life's moonlight.—there is also a moonlight in human. life-a moonlight in the hearts of men. it ascends cheerfully after a disquieting, stormy day. it has the reconciling of fight and shade; a bright twilight; a still melancholy; a soft slumbering of feeling; a wo—but it also is a benefit : then are shed quiet tears, gentle and refreshing as the dew upon the scorched-up valleys. often, however, is it a long time before this repose, this heavenly light, descends into the heart; often is it tempested so long. the bridal hour.—we array ourselves for marriages in flowers ; and wear dark mourning-dresses for the last sorrowful festivity which attends a fellow being to his repose. and this often might be exactly reversed. but the custom is beautiful—for the sight of a young bride invites the heart involuntarily to joy. the festal attire, thọ myrtle wreath upon the virgin brows; all the affectionate looks, and the an. ticipations of the future, which beautifully accompany herall enrapture us. one sees in them a new home of love raised on earth ; a peaceful noah's ark on the wild flool of life, in which the white dove of peace will dwell and build hier nest; loving children, affectionate words, looks, and love. warm hearts, will dwell in the new home; friends will enjoy themselves under its hospitable roof; and much beautiful activity, and many a beautiful gift will thence go forth, anul beautiful thoughts. 139 full of blessing diffuse itself over life. there stands the young bride, creator of all this—hopes and joys go forth from her. no one thinks of sufferings at a marriage festival. and if the eyes of the bride stand full of tears; if her cheeks are pale, and her whole being—when the bridegroom approaches her, fearful and ill at ease-even then people will not think of misfortune. cousins and aunts wink at onc another and whisper, “i was just so on my wedding-daybut that passes over with time!" does a more deeply and more heavily tried heart feel perhaps a sigh arise within, when it contemplates the pale, troubled bride, it comforts itself, in order not to disturb the marriage joy, with, “o that is the way of the world !” misfortunes.-when a heart breaks under the burden of its sorrows—when sickness strikes its root in wounds opened by pain, and life consumes away slowly to death, then none of us should say that that heavily-laden heart should not have broken ; that it might have exerted its strength to bear its suffering. no; we would express no word of censure on that prostrated spirit because it could not raise itselfbefore its resurrection from the grave. but beautiful, strengthening, and glorious is the view of a man who presents a courageous and patient breast to the poisoned arrows of life; who without defiance and without weakness, goes upon his way untroubled; who suffers with! out complaint; whose fairest hopes have been borne down to the grave by fate, and who yet diffuses joy around him, and labors for the happiness of others. ah, how beautiful is the view of such a one, to whom the crown of thorns becomes the glory of a saint ! 140 beautiful thoughts. a ;ا i have seen more than one such royal sufferer, and have always felt at the sight, “oh, could i be like this one-it is better than to be worldly fortunate!” but i must here remark a difference. there is a misfortune in which we see a higher hand, an inevitable fate; it is like a thunder-stroke out of the clouds. but there are suf. ferings of another kind, of which the torture resembles a perpetual needle-pricking. these proceed from the hand of man; these arise in families, where married people, parents, children, only live one with another to make home a hell : there are the plagued and the plaguers ; it were difficult to say which are most worthy of pity—the unhappy ones ! the first kind of misfortune is most easy to endure. it is much, much easier to suffer under the hand of god, than under that of man. lightning from above gives death, or light and exhilaration ; the prick from the hand of man wastes away like a slow cancer; it embitters the heart-bitterness is the simoom of life ; where it blows, there exists a desert. but even here, is there a means of deliverance. there is an angel-patience which blunts the wounding point, which sanctifies the sufferer under his pang, and at length improves others by this means. there is a socratic courage which converts all xantippean shower-baths into refreshing rain; there is a hero-mood that breaks the chains which it finds too heavy to be borne. many a tormented one proves himself, but he proves himself before a higher eye; he may, if he will, prevent his heart becoming embit; tered, for that is the worst that can happen to him. a rememrerest thou me. 141 renem berbst thou je, by wm. h. . carpenter. i loved thee when thou wert a fairy thing of less than sixteen summers; and thy form was as a flower of beauty's fashioning, bright in the sunshine, drooping in the storm. thy laughing eyes were of that deep clear blue, in which the soul was seated like a star, throned in its kindred heaven.--i would strew gladness around thee, fair one! though afar our streams have parted, ne'er to mingle more. thou hast encircling thee in thy bright home the fond ones of thy girlhood,--and thy door still looks on scenes where once we loved to roam ; (i bless thee, dearest !) and thy golden tress lies even now before me, and is wet with tears that come from memory's fount and press its spirit depths full sadly.—where we met, is pictured to the sense; the bower, the beechen tree, on which our names were graved ; the little stream, that gliding onward mingled with the sea; the sun just setting, while his crimson beam, falls slantingly upon the tiny sail that gems the still blue waters. thon art there, and i'am by thee, and thy lashes veil the tears that glisten through them; while a prayer comes whispered from thy lips—bless thee! bless thee i that prayer was breathed for me and—this is but a dream of what hath been. 142 visit to father mathew. visit ro barier yarhew. by col. wm. sher burne. . on leaving the beautiful and chaste city of dublin, which may be ranked second only to the city of edinburgh for its magnificent mansions, i was presented with letters to the very reverend theobald mathew at cork'; to the earl montagle, late chancellor of the british exchequer and member of the house of lords, residing near cork; to the lord high sheriff of the county of cork; and numerous others of equal rank and standing in ireland, all of which placed me in a position, while on my rambles over an island so enchanting in prospect, clime and soil, to the traveller, made me forget the famishing thousands, or my danger as a foreigner travelling amid subjects armed at every point and ripe for rebellion, incendiarism, and bloodshed. yet, after a pleasant jaunt, by railway and coach, i arrived in safety at the city of cork, and took my quarters at cotton's imperial hotel. the following morning i called to deliver my letters of introduction and pay my respects to father mathew, (so termed in ireland,) whose humble abode i found a few squares from the hotel over the lee in a narrow, obscure street. in front of the house was a large number of the poor, waiting to have an opportunity to see the great apostle of temperance and obtain the usual morna visit to father mathew. 143 ing blessing, with something also to keep them from star vation. making my way through the motley crowd, amid a hundred cries of "a penny, your honor, in the name of god !” i gave the usual summons, and was invited into the office of the good father's private secretary, on the right of a narrow passage, the floor of which was covered with straw, thrown carelessly down, for the purpose, as i was afterwards informed, of letting the poor mendicants wipe their feet of the mud brought in from the street before entering the office. the secretary, on learning my object, my letters and country, expressed much regret that father mathew was absent from town on a mission of mercy; but said that he would return that evening, and hoped i would leave my letter and card, as he would feel rejoiced to see and take by the hand a citizen from a country that had saved millions from starvation by its most generous sympathy in the great time of need. soon after breakfast the next morning, while reading the morning paper near the front window in the parlor, a cab drove rapidly up the street and reined up at the imperial; and while gazing out to see a large number of the poor irish in front and around the cab, i was aroused at the entrance and announcement of mine host of the name of father mathew, who, with all the courtly grace of a finished gentleman, bade me welcome to ireland, and regretting that his absence on the day previous had deprived him of the plea. sure of welcoming me at his own domicil. the deep-felt gratitude, towards the american citizens, he expatiated upon until tears filled his eyes ; and when describing the horrors of the famine and what he had seen and passed through during 144 visit to father mathew. a my astonthat awful visitation of providence, it seemed completely to unman the good father, who rose, and with measured steps walked the room for a while in silence, apparently to recover his agitated feelings and change the too-painful subject. on the taking leave, he said, with his usual bland smile, while holding my hand, that he should expect me to dine with him on the next day with a few select friends, to whom he should be pleased to introduce me. on waiting on the good father to his cab we found, still collected, a large number of the poor, who, on his approach, knelt on the pavement to ask a blessing as he passed out to enter his carriage. many followed the carriage some distance up the street. 'i had the impression, like thousands of others, that father mathew was a small man, of advanced age, and ishment was great on seeing a gentleman in the prime of life, of true chesterfieldian grace in every movement, and with handsome form and features. father mathew may be termed one of nature's true noblemen. his dress was a suit of black with small-clothes and boots of high polish up to the knee, when in the street or making short visits; in private, at home, he wears a well-made neat shoe, after the style of the old english gentleman. at the humble residence of the apostle of temperance, on the next day, i was introduced to the lord mayor, severai of the corporation and two or three priests. we dined in the same room in which we all met, and when dinner was announced, father mathew did me the honor of placing me at his right hand with the lord mayor on his left. we had an excellent dinner, with pure water; tea and coffee followed while the dessert was on the table, a part of which had been remembrance. 145 sent from the united states by a lady as a present to father mathew. all the time we were at the table, a constant crowd of the poor destitute irish were in front of the house, looking up to the windows, most anxiously wishing for some of the crumbs that fell from the good father's table. while sipping our coffee, father mathew rose and whispered me to excuse him for a few minutes. his object was, to order his servant-man to divide all that was left of the dinner among those who crowded the door in front, as far as it would go, and then to request them to return to their homes and he would see them another time; all of which was fulfilled, and all left on their way rejoicing, blessing the name of father mathew. remembrance. .. 'tis something, if in absence we can trace the footsteps of the past: it sooths the heart to breathe the air scented in other years by lips beloved, to wander through the groves where once we were not lonely; where the rose reminds us of the hair we used to wreathe with its fresh buds—where every hill and vale, and wood and fountain, speak of time gone by, and hope springs up in joy from memory's ashes 7 146 poetry of mr. haynes bayly. pobtry of mr. haynbs bayli. a the songs of mr. haynes bayly have been the most popular of our times next to those of moore. they are things generally slight in substance, yet invariably elegant and pleasing. some are airy and cheerful beyond even mr. moore's best ditties of the same kind; others express, in a manner which the public felt to be original, the pathos arising from some of the less happy relations which rest beneath the smiling exterior of refined society. from a memoir prefixed to an edition of mr. haynes bayly's lyrical works, published by his widow, we learn that he was connected by birth with the aristocracy of england, and the sole heir of a gentleman of property near bath, who had pursued the business of solicitor in that city. by a fate rare with poets, he was nurtured in the lap of luxury; but it will be found that misfortune claimed her own at last, and that his latter years were spent under the pressure of difficulties which seem next to inseparable from literary avocations. he was an inattentive school-boy, preferring, even at seven years of age, the business of dramatizing stories from his picture-books to that of mastering his tasks. he composed verses under the age at which pope and spenser attempted them. educated at winchester school, he was devoted by his father to the legal profession ; but it was found impossible to confine him to poetry of mr. haynes bayly. 147 such duties, and after a severe struggle with the paternal wishes, he was allowed to study for the church. this was a voluntary-assumed pursuit, but it did not prove the less uncongenial when tried; and, finally, it seems to have been found by all parties that it was vain to prevent the subject of our mémoir from giving himself entirely to that for which his faculties seemed primarily fitted-elegant literature. while he was studying at oxford, he formed a 'fond attachment to a fellow-student who fell into consumption and died. at an early age of the youth's illness, his sister, who resided at bath, ventured on the somewhat extraordinary step of corresponding with mr. bayly, to ascertain her brother's real state ; for the accounts which had hitherto 2 reached the family were only calculated to excite alarm without giving satisfactory information. this increased the interest which our poet felt in his friend's condition, and he soon gave himself entirely up to the duty of watching beside his sick-bed. he used to read to him for hours during the intervals of the slow fever which was consuming his life. he soothed him in the hour of pain and suffering, and at the last closed his eyes in peace. his whole conduct, and a monody in which he expressed his feelings on this occasion, make manifest the extreme kindness of nature which distinguished mr. bayly. afterwards, his acquaintance with the young lady was renewed at bath, whither he returned immediately after the decease of her brother. he was overwhelmed with thanks for his attentions to the lost one by the bereft family, and invited constantly by the afflicted parents to fill the vacant seat at their table; in short, he soon became as one of themselves. the sorrowing sister poured forth her grief: 148 poetry of mr. haynes bayly. the poet sympathized, and “pity is akin to love.” it was certainly not surprising that an attachment begun under such circumstances should have strengthened daily; and when the lover declared his sentiments, it of course became necessary to inquire into the probability of his being able to raise a sufficient income to allow of their marrying with prudence. mr. haynes bayly was entirely dependent on his father, who was not then disposed to come forward for such a purpose. the young lady had nothing of her own, and her father, colonel would not make any settlement on her. how were matters to be arranged? they were both too wise to think of living upon love, and, after mutual tears and sighs, they parted-never to meet again. the lady, though grieved, was not broken-hearted, and soon became the wife of another. mr. bayly fell into deep melancholy, to alleviate which he was induced to make a journey to scotland. it was at this time, and with reference to his own feelings, that he wrote his well-known song, “ oh, no! we never mention her;" also one less known, but per. haps more remarkable for the generosity of its sentiments :i never wish to meet thee more, though i am still thy friend ; i never wish to meet thee more, since dearer ties must end; with worldly smiles and worldly words, i could not pass thee by, nor turn from thee unfeelingly with cold averted eye. i could not bear to see thee 'midst the thoughtless and the gay; i could not bear to view thee, decked in fashion's bright array ; and less could i endure to meet thee pensive and alone, when through the trees the evening breeze breathes forth its chnerless mnan. poetry of mr. haynes bayly. 149 for i have met thee 'midst the gay, and thought of none but thee; and i have seen the bright array, when it was worn for me; and often near the sunny waves i've wandered by thy side, with joy that passed away as fast as sunshi rom the tide. but cheerless is the summer! there is nothing happy now; the daisy withers on the lawn, the blossom on the bough: the boundless sea looks chillingly, like winter's waste of snow, and it hath lost the soothing sound with which it used to flow. i never wish to meet thee more, yet think not i've been taught, by smiling foes, to injure thee by one unworthy thought. no—blest with some beloved one, from care and sorrow free, may thy lot in life be happy, undisturbed by thoughts of me. a year spent in scotland, and a subsequent gayer residence in dublin, re-established the poet's spirits, and he now began to publish his songs. returning, in 1824, to his father's house of mount beacon, near bath — being now twenty-seven years of age—he formed a new attachment, equally peculiar in its circumstances, but more fortunate in the event. he was introduced by a friend at an evening party given by mrs. hayes, whose soirees at bath were frequented by the talented, the young, and the gay. mrs. hayes had an only daughter, who, having heard with delight the ballad of “ isabel,” expressed the greatest anxiety to see its author; the friend just alluded to being one of miss hayes's suitors, was requested by her mother to convey an invitation for her next.party to the beau ideal of her daughter's fancy. the appointed evening arrived—the poet saw, and was fascinated with miss hayes; and, on conversing with mrs. hayes, discovered that she and his own mother had been friends and schnol-fellows in their young days, 150 poetry of mr. haynes bayly. this circumstance laid the foundation of an intimacy which ceased only with his life. his friend was then little aware that he was introducing to her, whose hand he himself was seeking, her future husband; for so it proved. he came, he saw, but did not conquer at once ; for the young lady, though she could not but acknowledge that mr. haynes bayly was very charming and agreeable, was novertheless disappointed at not finding him exactly what her youthful imagination had portrayed. seeing, therefore, that he was “ épris," without her having any intention of captivating him, she persuaded her mother to shorten their stay at bath, and take her to paris. mrs. hayes reluctantly complied, as she much wished her daughter to encourage mr. haynes bayly's suit; but when she found her daughter's mind was set on going abroad she wisely allowed her to do 80; for miss hayes, when absent from the poet, missed his witty and delightful conversation and his attentions, which were entirely devoted to her, so much, that her mother's wish was more forwarded by absence than it would have been had she remained at bath. mr. haynes bayly was, however, not discouraged by her intended departure—as appears from the poem addressed to her, of which the following is a specimen : 3 oh! think not, helena, of leaving us yet ; though many fair damsels inhabit our isle, alas! there are none who can makc us forget the grace of thy form, and the charm of thy smile. the toys of the french, if they hither are sent, are endeared by the payment of custom-house duties. ) poetry of mr. haynes bayly. 151 ah! why do not duty and custom prevent the rash exportation of pure british beauties? say, is there not one ('midst the many who sighed to solicit your favor)—one favorite beau ? and have you to all, who popped questions, replied, with that chilling, unkind monosyllable—no? your mansion with exquisite swains has been thronged, with smiles they approach you, in tears they depart; indeed, it is said that a man who belonged to the tenth, sighed in vain for a tithe of your heart. and are you still happy? could no one be found whose vows full of feeling could teach you to feel ? a girl so expert at inflicting a wound, should surely be now and then willing to heal. then leave us not; shall a foreigner own the form we have worshipped as if 'twere divine ? no, no, thou art worthy a briton alone, and where is the briton who would not be thine ? the pair were made happy by wedlock at cheltenham, in 1826. the heir of a wealthy gentleman, and united to an elegant woman who had also considerable expectations, there seemed every reason to augur for haynes bayly a long course of happiness. they spent part of the honeymoon at lord ashtown's villa at chessel, on the southampton river; and here occurred a little incident which gave rise to the most popular of the poet's songs : a large party was stay 152 poetry of mr. aynes bayly. ing at lord ashtown's, and the day before it broke up, the , ladies, on leaving the dining-table, mentioned their intention of taking a stroll through his beautiful grounds, and the gentlemen promised to follow them in ten minutes. lured by bacchus, they forgot their promise to the graces, and mr. haynes bayly was the only one who thought fit to move; and he in. about half an hour wandered forth in search of the ladies. they beheld him at a distance, but pretending annoyance at his not joining them sooner, they fled away in an opposite direction. the poet, wishing to carry on the joke, did not seek to overtake them; they observed this, and lingered, hoping to attract his attention. he saw this manquvre and determined to turn the tables upon them; he waved his hand carelessly and pursued his ramble alone ; then falling into a revery, he entered a a beautiful summer-house, known now by the name of butterfly bower, overlooking the water, and there seated himself. here, inspired by a butterfly which had just flitted before him, he wrote the ballad, “i'd be a butterfly.” he then returned to the house, and found the ladies assembled round the tea-table, when they smilingly told him they had enjoyed their walk in the shrubberies excessively, and that they needed no escort. he was now determined to go beyond them in praise of his solitary evening walk, and said that he had never enjoyed himself so much in his life ; that he had met a butterfly, with whom he had wandered in the regions of fancy, which afforded him much more pleasure than he would have found in chasing them; and that he had put his thoughts in verse. the ladies immediately gave up all further contention with the wit, upon his promising to shon poetry of mr. haynes bayly. 153 them the lines he had just written. he then produced his tablets, and read the well-known ballad, i'd be a butterfly, born in a bower, to the great delight of his fair auditors. it should perhaps be here remarked, that the poet foretold his own doom in this ballad; for it will be seen by his early ; death, that his nerves were too finely strung to bear the unforeseen storms of severe disappointment which gathered round him in after years. on the same evening he composed the air, to which mrs. haynes bayly put the accompaniments and symphonies, and it was sung the following evening to a very large party assembled at lord ashtown's, who encored it again and again. for several years mr. bayly lived in the enjoyment of the utmost domestic happiness. possessed of fortune, brilliant talents, and manners universally pleasing, no lot could apparently have been better cast. although not called to literary exertion by necessity, he wrote and published many beautiful lyrics, which generally attained great popularity : he composed a novel, the aylmers, which met with success--and began to write for the ståge. at length, in 1831, came the blight of misfortune. a bad speculation of his father's and his own in coal mines, and the faithlessness of the agent upon his wife's property in ireland, reduced him to comparative poverty. the fine nervous system of the amiable poet was ill calculated to bear up against such calamities : for a time, his spirits were so sunk, that he was totally unable to command his mind to literary composition. a short residence abroad served to restore him in some degree, and > 154 poetry of mr. haynes bayly. he resumed the pen with feelings which he has embodied in an address to the spirit of song i welcome thee back as the dove to the ark : the world was a desert, the future all dark; but i know that the worst of the storm must be past, thou art come with the green leaf of comfort at last. around me thy radiant imaginings throng, i welcome thee back again, spirit of song' i welcome thee back, and again i look forth with my wonted delight on the blessings of earth; again i can smile with the gay and the young ; the lamp is relighted, the harp is restrung. despair haunts the silent endurance of wrong; i welcome thee back again, spirit of song ! some deeper feelings which still abode with him are ex. . pressed in a birth-day ode, which he soon after, in pursuance of a custom, addressed to his wife :oh! hadst thou never shared my fate, more dark that fate would prove; my heart were truly desolate, without thy soothing love. but thou hast suffered for my sake, whilst this relief i found, like fearless lips that strive to take the poison from a wound ! my fond affection thou hast seen, then judge of my regret, to think more happy thou hadst been, if we had never met. poetry of mr. haynes bayly. 155 and has that thought been shared by thee? ah no, that smiling cheek proves more unchanging love for me than labored words could speak. but there are true hearts which the sight of sorrow summons forth ; though known in days of past delight we know not half their worth. how unlike some, who have professed so much in friendship's name ; yet calmly pause to think how best they may evade her claim. but ah! from them to thee i turn; they'd make me loathe mankind; far better lessons i may learn from thy more holy mind. the love that gives a charm to home, i feel they cannot take; we'll pray for happier years to come, for one another's sake. from this time mr. bayly's life was in a great measure that of a man writing for subsistence. in this new character he exhibited marvellous industry, insomuch that, in a few years, his contributions of pieces to the stage had amounted to no less than thirty-six, while his songs ultimately came to be numbered in hundreds. but severe literary labor, united to corroding anxieties, proved too much for his delicate frame, and he sunk, in 1839, under confirmed jaundice. he lies buried at cheltenham, under a stone which his friend theodore hook has thus inscribed :-" he was a kind 156 poetry of mr. haynes bayly. parent, an affectionate husband, a popular author, and an accomplished gentleman.” most sad it is to reflect how he thus came to realize his own playfully-expressed wish :what, though you tell me each gay little rover shrinks from the breath of the first autumn day! surely 'tis better when summer is over, to die when all fair things are fading away. some in life's winter may fail to discover mears of procuring a weary delayi'd be a butterfly; living, a rover, dying when fair things are fading away! the poems and songs of mr. haynes bayly will not be entitled to a high place in the literature of our age'; a certain air of insubstantiality attaches to them all; the pathos rarely goes down to the springs of the human feelings, and the humor scarcely exceeds the playfulness which marks elegant society in its daily appearances. yet, considering, him as what he really was, the poet of modern fashionable life, he must be allowed the merit of having reflected this successfully, both its gravities and its levities. he must be allowed, moreover, to have possessed in an eminent degree the comparatively rare power of producing verses which readily danced along in connection with music. withal, an amiable and virtuous nature shines throughout all his varied compositions. the three orphans. 157 here iz e233 ob 2.h a 2 s. by miss emma hemple. dreaming of the shadowy past and the future, dim and vast, in the sun-set hour so fair, mused the orphan sister there. on her brother's laughing brow lingered not a shadow now; and the baby, clasped from harın, fondly, on her weary arm, only saw a world of light, wrapped in beauty soft and bright. they were happy_dreaming not of their thorny checkered lot ; all forgetful of the days when a mother watched their playı, and their father smiled to hear happy voices greet his ear ; when the tempter had not come darkening their peaceful home, and the ruin was unwrought which the poison cup had brought then in memory floated by that dear mother's sunken eye; household comforts, one by one, parted with, till all was gone, and their mother drooped and died, and their world grew drear and wido, 158 farewell. and no loving, sheltering arms, folded them from outward harms; and there came no warm caress, the peor orphaned ones to blesg. in the dreaming orphan's heart all these shadows bore a part; yet a hope was blent with all-god, who “ sees the sparrow's fall,' will not let those children know all the bitterness of wo. and her heart, so warm and true, will be mother, sister, too; hoping on and hoping still, through all sorrow, care and ill. ears wil, it hath a sad, sweet sound_" farewell." when loved lips murmur it; for 'tis the breaking of a spell we fain would bind us yet. then fades love's rapturous mystery, and slowly move the loitering hours; for bleak and bare reality usurps the realm of flowers. --1 ܠܐ i'll . مه اخم * کی painted by t john bicker. 159 oh bigker, she dry dominie of kilwoody. “de'il break your leg if ye get out over this door, the night, to any of your drunken companions. do ye think i am to be getting out of my warm bed, to be letting you in at a’ the hours of the night, i wish the first drop of whiskey ye tak, wad gang like boiling lead down your throat.” ' such were the mild remonstrance and exclamation of scolding tibby to her husband, john bicker, the dry schoolmaster of kilwoody. john answered with great mildness : “ah, tibby, the whiskey's nae so strong now-a-days, woman; its mair like water than onything else. ye ken this l; morning, davy and i drank a whole mutchkin afore breakfast and were ne'er a bit the waur of it." “the mair's the pity,” retorted tibby," the de'il's ay good to his ain, but out of this house ye shall not stir till morning!” 'ony ower the way to saunders glasses," returned john; “i gave davy and rob my hand, that i would come, and i'll nae stay very long : indeed i maun gang, tibby.” “ye'll gang ower my back, then,” exclaimed tibby, placing herself between john and the door, “and ye'll get the mark of my ten nails as deep as i can houk in yer face. i'm ower easy and good natured with ye, ye vagabond, and that's the way ye leave me to gang after your drunken sand beds, that would soak in as muckle whiskey as would fill our goose 66 160 : john bioker. dub; ne'er-do-weels, that have their stomachs paved wi' whin stanes.?" john stood and wriggled his shoulder, and scratched his head, at this announcement of a determined blockade. he tried to appease the enemy, but in vain. he knew his own strength, but was unwilling to exert it. a vigorous attack would have in a moment procured him his liberty; but this, john was afraid would be attended with too much clamor ; and perhaps be productive of consequences he might after. wards be sorry for. he, therefore, determined to call off the attention of his infuriated spouse by a seeming acquiescence, and so take advantage of some lucky opportunity of effecting nis escape. but this system of tactics had been tried ton often before, and tibby seemed determined it should not succeed this time, as she cautiously barred the door of their little cottage, and placed herself so as to have full view and command of that weak part of the garrison. john was turn. ing, disconsolate, to the fire-place when his feelings were roused to the full pitch of resolution by the voice of a friend on the outside. " john, we're biding for you; what keeps you, mon ? " it was the voice of david gourlay, and the sound was irresistible. john flew to the door, which he unbolted in a twinkling, burst from the enraged grasp of his wife, who fell upon the threshold in the momentary struggle, and, ere she could recover the use of her tongue or her limbs, the schoolmaster of kilwoody, nimble as the mountain-deer, bounded over the hills with the all-inspiring emotions of newlyrecovered liberty, and anticipations of social delight. tibby, seeing all her plans frustrated and her determinations a john bicker. 161 : thwarted, con.d only give vent to her feelings in iinprecations against her husband, and the direst wishes as to his fate. “i wish he may never enter this door again alive,” she ex claimed. “may i have the satisfaction of stretching him on his dead-dale. i hope this nicht he'll taste his last drop of whiskey in this warld. it wad gi' me the greatest pleasure that on sabbath next he was laid in the kirk-yard of kilwoody, the graceless wretch !” here she sobbed with passion. “o that i saw him in his dead claes, and the black bits of boord on ilka side o' him." the day had been moist and warm, but, towards evening the clouds began to discharge their contents in torrents and one of those sudden transitions, from mildness to the most piercing cold took place, which are so often wofully felt by the valetudinarian about the close of autumn. john, however, (the hero of our tale,) was snug and comfortable in the warm corner of saunders glasse's clean sanded parlor, where every fresh potation of whiskey toddy seemed to inspire him and his companions with warmer and more affectionate regard for each other. the solitary song gave way to the universal chorus. the storm that raged without, was lost in the joyous uproar which expressed all the rapture of social feeling within. long before midnight, john and his four jovial companions had vowed to stand by each other, “come weal, come wo." scolding wives, squalling children, to-morrow's labor, tomorrow's care, were all forgotten and the hour of parting, like the hour of death, if it crossed the imagination for a moment, was chased away by the loud sounding laugh, the cordial shake of the hand, and the fresh flowing bumpers. 162 john bicker. scolding tibby, as the only gratification of revenge which was in her power, bolted carefully the door, moved all the pieces of furniture which were portable, to strengthen the fortification and went to bed at an early hour, vowing that her drunken husband should find no shelter within his house from the howling storm which now threatened, every moment, to overthrow their little dwelling. wakeful to enjoy the success of her manoeuvres, tibby did not sleep; she listened, with the utmost anxiety, betwixt every pause of the hurricane, and watched for her husband's return, that, if possible, she might add insult and reproaches to her merciless refusal of admittance. the hour of one had tolled its solitary note from the parish kirk of kilwoody, when the attentive ear of tibby distinguished the sound of some one fumbling about the door in search of the latch. it was the next moment gently lifted, but the door still remained immoveable; a knock was then heard, but still tibby kept silent. aperite portum! open the door,” cried the dominie, in a tone, which, evidently, showed the state of inebriety in which he had returned. the vengeful denial stood trembling on tibby's lip, but she repressed it, rightly judging the silence with which she treated his request would add to her petitioner's embarrassipenit. with the exultation of successful revenge, she heard his knocking, his threats, and his entreaties, and so callous was she to his sufferings, that in a short time wearied with the tumultuous passion to which her mind was a constant prey, she fell fast asleep. about six in the morning she was awakened by the sound of several voices at her door, and, ere she could half dress john bicker. 163 (6 66 herself to appear with decency, she distinguished, amid a confusion of tongues, the alarming expressions of: “ay, ay, he's gone at last. wae's me, john, it’s an awfu' thing! at yer ain door too, stiff and cauld: it's an awfu’ thing !" tibby removed the barricading and opened the door. she pierced among the small crowd, which was now fast increasing, and beheld her husband lying without sense or motion on the ground. “ john! john!” she exclaimed, with terror, “dinna lay there, mon; come to yer ain warm bed, i didna mean to hurt ye.” “nae bed will ever warm him,” exclaimed one of the bystanders; "a dreadful life ye led him, in this warld; and i'm sure he canna be waur used in the neist.” tibby stood motionless, whilst two or three of the stoutest young fellows in the crowd carried the body within doors and laid it on the bed. there never waur sic a nicht under heaven,” exclaimed one, “as last nicht; none but the heart of a monster wad have refused shelter to a dog in sic a storm.' 6 oh !” cried another," she'll find a judgment come ower her afore she dies; it's to be hoped honest john's now in glory; but as for you, ye limmer, an awfu' end will be seen of you." tibby was not of a disposition to allow herself to be baited, thus, with. impunity; and put to her shifts, she stoutly defended herself. “ it was a' owing to his drunken, graceless ways,” she retorted, “i told him how it wad be, and i did a' that i could a . 164 john bicker. to keep him froin that den at saunders glasse's; but it was ordained to be the death of him." " that's a mair sensible word,” said willy clew, the weaver, who was also an elder of the kirk, “that's a mair sensible word, than i wad have expected o'ye; for if providence, for its ain ends, ordained that john bicker was to die, no a' the warm firesides between this and loch leven wad hae saved him, had he been put just in the middle o' them.” every body assented to the truth of this sage observation, and tibby, by the lucky hint, obtained a respite from farther animadversion on her conduct. the visiters, one by one, dropped off, eager to enjoy the momentary attention they · might command by being the first to communicate the dreadful event, to the quidnuncs of the parish of kilwoody. all the old women, as they sipped a little glass of comfortable aqua-vitæ raised their eyes to heaven and inveighed most bitterly against the sin of drunkenness. the wives, in many an energetic lecture, set forcibly before their husbands' eyes the dreadful fate of the dry dominie, and the men retorted that it “could not be all the whiskey in saunders glasse's change house that could have affected the well-seasoned stomach of johnny bicker; but that he owed his death, poor man, to that termagant cat-o'-thunder, his wife, who had left him exposed, all night, to sic dreadfu' weather.” there are some consciences, which have so much antipathy to the stings of self-reproach, that, let their actions partake of ever so much turpitude, the most innocent, and even the most praiseworthy motive is assigned to them. tibby was one of this class; and, to hear her expressions, as she undressed the inanimate body of her husband, one could not john bicker. 165 have supposed that her obstinacy had had the smallest share in his destruction. “ wae's me, john, you wad na hae come to this untimely endif ye had ta’en the advice o’your ain tibby. ye wad hae stopt, comfortably, by your ain cosie fireside, and no tempted providence at a' the hours o' the nicht; weel did i ken that nae good could come of it, and muckle wark i had, to try to keep ye at hame. but no; ower my back ye wad gang!" tibby was here interrupted in her cogitations by auld alice, who had been summoned thither by the rumor which, by this time, had obtained a pretty extensive circulation. this withered sybil had been so long accustomed to all the paraphernalia of mortality, that deaths and funerals were the chief sources of her enjoyments. alice kept an exact register, in her own mind, of all that had died, or were likely to die, in the parish of kilwoody; could name all the otherwise unrecorded tenantry of the churchyard, and, as if she expected to survive all the present generation, was at no loss in assigning, even to every living inhabitant, his or her future cold and narrow mansion. indeed, the region of death seemed to be the element in which she lived. with a ready tact, and handiness of manner, which showed that her heart went with her work, she closed the dying eyes of one, stretched out another, decently, on the board which, in scotland, is called the “dead dale," and which is placed under the corpse previous to its coffining: and dreased a third in the fancifully cut and ornamented garb of the grave, the work of her own taste and ingenuity, which alas! was only to be exhibited for a moment and withdrawn 166 john bicker. from mortal sight forever. an expected death produced a feeling of calm satisfaction in the mind of alice; but a sudden event, of the kind we have just related, seemed to be a supernumerary favor conferred by fortune, in her kindest moments. alice, therefore, no sooner heard of the circumstance, than she flew to offer her services. while she kindly enquired into the particulars of the affair, her interrogatories were mingled with the sagest reflections on what she termed the workings of providence, and many a wistful look she cast to the bed, eager for the signal to begin her operations. “a we drap of water, tibby; and just tak’ the chill aff it. a bonny, weel formed corpse as e'er i saw, sin’ the day tam mickleson drapped aff. haud ye up the jaw bone, till i fasten this firmly about the lugs. that's richt. na, na, you mauna tie it there; pit the bonny locks just aneath the nicht-cap. i wish we had the dead dale here, for we canna straught him weel without; a' the joints get sae stiff. if they be supple the morn's morn, l’se tell you what, it's a sure sign they'll be mair wanging the gate he's gane afore the year be out." alice had thus far proceeded, when they were joined by a much less disinterested visiter, tam mowat, the wright, by whom all the coffins in the parish of kilwoody had been made, to measure, for the last twenty years, for he kept none of those ready-made articles which are to be seen in many of our cities requiring only to be lined and finished off at an hour's notice. the bracing air of kilwoody, in spite of two edinburgh medical professors who had lately set up, to amend the constitution of its inhabitants, seemed so obstinately favorable, at loost to the corporeal sanity that tam mowat, with john bicker. · 167 . the assistance of an apprentice or two, could execute any order as soon as wanted. the personage we have mentioned spoke very kindly to the widow and still kindlier to auld alice, whom he considered as a kind of jackall to his profession. he had called, he said, only to see his honest, worthy neighbor, after the woful and melancholy accident. 6. there was nae a man in the parish,” he said, “ he was mair fond o’than mr. john bicker; and he believed there was nae another man of sic learning left in a' kilwoody; but this,” he added, “is betwixt oursels, and ye need tak’ na notice o' it." tibby assented to the truth of all these encomiums, yet still the man of wood had the mortification of not being nearer his purpose. after as many hints and manoeuvres, as might have been beheld with admiration by a city dealer, tam ventured to hope, that his auld friend wad be decently interred, becoming the respectable manner he had aye lived in.” . " 'god forbid he shud na,” rejoined auld alice, “and i'll see the grave houked, myself, in the nor'east corner within a fit o' babby wishart's head stane. they never liked yin anither when living, but they'll sleep quietly thegither for a' that.” the wright, without any further orders, took out his rule und began to measure the length of his old acquaintance. “a sax feet coffin will be just the thing,” said he, and“five feet and a half," interrupted tibby, “ john was only five feet and a half.” “ i'm no one,” answered the wright, “ that likes to stint > (6 а 168 john bicker. a a let me see, things; i aye mak' it a point to give a corpse plenty of room. it's a hard thing that a man's to be strautened in his coffin, whate'er he was in the warld. what age will i call him?" “twa-and-thirty, next september,” answered tibby, " “and be sure you mak’ it strang and firm." “leave it a' to me," returned thomas, who was impatient to take his leave, having accomplished the end of his visit. the two ladies, however, insisted upon his taking a glass previous to his departure. in a few minutes after, the dead dale arrived, and alice, with alacrity, pursued her willing task. she stretched the feet nearly parallel te each other, laid the hands by the side and spread the fingers open ; then, laying a sheet over the whole body, she placed a plateful of salt on the stomach to keep of the influence of any evil spirit. refreshing herself with a dram, she took her leave, assuring tibby that she would return in the evening, to watch the whole night by the side of the corpse, an attention which the country people in scotland never omit paying to their deceased friends. in our large cities there are two ways of being carried to cur long, last home. in a hearse with nodding plumes, attended by our friends, in mourning coaches, or borne upon the shoulders of undertaker's porters, followed in regular files by all those whom duty and affection summon to the melancholy office. in scotland there is a third, the only one practised among the poorer class; the coffin is laid upon two or three poles, which are supported on each side by the friends of the deceased, who, alternately, relieve each other, until they arrivo at the grave. john bicker. 169 a when a scotchman dies, his relations think they cannot show a greater mark of iespect to his memory, than by securing a numerous attendance at his funeral. for this purpose, they immediately order circular letters to be printed. t).ey bear the signature of the nearest relative or friend and ar drawn up in formal terms, announcing the fatal event, the ; tine and place of interment, with an invitation to attend the funeral. these letters are sent to every person with whom the deceased is supposed to have had the most distant acquaintance, so that it not unfrequently happens that, amongst the crowd which accompanies a man to his grave, there are found some who had scarcely any knowledge of his person. on the day of interment, as the persons invited are too numerous to be admitted within doors, they wait in the street. each is dressed in a complete suit of black, so that it is, in general, necessary, for the pettiest tradesman or mechanic, supposing him to be a man in a settled line of business, to be provided with this article, (colored clothes being considered inadmissible and indecorous,) as it may chance for him to be invited to twenty of these occasions in the course of a year, many of which he may find it imprudent to decline. the funeral is seldom delayed beyond the third day. after the crowd have waited for some time, the coffin containing the body, is brought out and placed with the feet forward. the nearcst relations gather round the head, and the rest follow, promiscuously, without any order or solemnity, some talking over the news of the day, or, between every pinch of snuff, relating anecdotes of the deceased. in this manner they advance to the place of interment. no clergyman is seen in official attendance, no burial ceremony is performed ; the body 8 170 "ohn bicker. is let down into the grave; the company uncover for a moment, the aperture is closed up, and all but the immediate friends of the deceased disperse to their respective homes, none, but the latter description of persons returning to the desolate mansion. it may be proper, also, to remark; that in no case are women allowed to accompany even the nearest and best beloved of their friends. to return to the thread of our story. alice was punctual to her appointment, and tibby, feeling little inclination to sleep, became the partner of her vigils. the large eight-day clock, which had clicked for many a year in the farthest corner of the parlor, had been, as is customary on such occasions, condemned to temporary silence, and the tabby cat, who had hitherto roamed unrestrained was, by alice's direction, imprisoned in a solitary out house. tibby and her friend sat themselves down on each side of a comfortable fire, and, placing the large family bible on the table between them, they . read, or endeavored to read, chapters, alternately, wisely passing over the hard names which now and then occurred, neither of them being great adepts at dissecting polysyllables. this, together with a little village scandal, a ghost story or two and now and then a small drop of comforting liquor, enabled the ladies to pass the night without much uneasiness. the next day, at noon, tibby was rather surprised at the entrance of two clean, neat, and rather fashionably dressed young men, who, uncovering as they approached, with a great deal of politeness informed her, that they were messrs. cronic and mcgruel, surgeons and apothecaries from edin. burgh, who had lately commenced practice in the parish of kilwoody, and that they had called to solicit her permissiop john bicker.. 171 to view the body of her husband. tibby, unable to divine the cause of what she considered their singular curiosity, would fain have denied their request; but she was not a little abashed by their manner, which, though gentlemanly, was familiar and confident. she, almost involuntarily, muttered some term of acquiescence. the two esculapian philosophers approached the bed, and touched the body in several places; their observations and remarks were made, according to tibby's report, in latin : at least, what, to her, seemed just as intelligible. by their manner, however, she guessed that they differed in opinion; but after a few minutes of words contention, they fixed upon a method of elucidating the subject; a method, which, as there is no such thing as a coroner's inquest in scotland, they knew could only be put into practice by the consent of tibby. this was, to examine the interior of the deceased, to search for the cause of his sudden departure; the body exhibiting appearances by no means common in apoplexies. tibby no sooner heard this request, than she lost all the respect with which she had hitherto treated them. she flew into a violent rage, and, being joined by auld alice, who that moment entered with part of the grave paraphernalia, and who soon understood from the ejaculations of her friend the cause of the dispute, such a clamor ensued, that the two galens of kilwoody thought it best to make a timely retreat. “what !” cried alice, “gie honest john bicker to the doctors, like a hangit man, for a’ the edinburgh collegeners to glowr into the inside ohim !" “god keep us a?,” added tibby, “what the de’il do they want to see? our john was shaped like ony other decent 172 john bicker. mon. i'se warrant there were nae follies about him, mair than about ony other.” “never mind, davy gourlay and saunders webster," answered alice, “will sit up the nicht to see that nae harm happens to the gude mon, and we'll have a gude deep grave houked for him, the morn's mornin. i never thought those doctor chiels ower canny. there's saundy gordon, he's been cloghering and spitting his insides out for thae twa or three years, and they've been aye gieing him this bottle and that bottle. ouch dear, i think it's fleeing in the face of providence; and the doctors will have it a' to answer for, some ; day." on the morrow, which was the day appointed for the interment, the sable crowd, as is usual on such occasions, assembled. about half an hour previous tam mowat had arrived with the coffin. the body had been dressed with great neatness by the dextrous hands of auld alice; a glass of wine was handed to each of the few persons who had entered the dwelling, and tibby was desired by the wright to take the last look at her inanimate husband. it was then that the emotions, which she had hitherto succeeded in suppressing, became irresistibly manifest. she was for a few minutes convulsed with sobbing; this was luckily succeeded by a plentiful shower of tears, and—but we did not set out with the intention of writing a pathetic story: suffice it to ay, that the dry dominie was soon enclosed in that narrow boundary, which, but for a short time, prevents us from mingling with our kindred earth. the sad reliques of mortality were borne to the door; the velvet mort-cloth, as it is called in scotland, was thrown over it, and the procession, john bicker. 173 moving on, .soon arrived at the church yard of kilwoody, alice watched it from the window and was not a little sur. prised at observing the two surgeons, messrs. chronic and mcgruel among the crowd of mourners. she was morally certain that these gentlemen were not in the number of the invited; but she deferred her comments on this singular circumstance to a more convenient opportunity. the reader, perhaps, may have already guessed the motives of the above named gentlemen, in endeavoring to ascertain the exact spot of interment. the difference of opinion which had arisen between them at the house of john bicker, had continued on their way home, and, like all other disputes, had ended in confirming each party in his own particular opinion. as they had been disappointed in their application to make a regular dissection, they were determined that the dry dominic of kilwoody should again visit the upper air. in the larger cities of europe or in some of our own, as new york, &c. &. workmen might have been easily found to effect this premature resurrection ; but, in scotland, we believe the offer of future independence could not have bribed the poorest peasant to the sacrilegious operation. the two men of science, therefore, 'were resolved, in the “witching time of night,” to take the labor upon themselves; and, accordingly, being provided with a pick-axe, shovel and some other implements, they, about an hour after midnight, set out with caution and noiseless footsteps, through the village, to violate the spot where so many generations of the natives of kilwoody had, hitherto, rested in peace. the church-yard of kilwoody was situated on a rising ground which seemed to have been fashioned by art for the 174 join bicker. purpose for which it was then employed. it was surrounded . by a wall on the outside, nearly ten feet high, but little more than half that height in the interior. in some places, where this wail had been broken down, it was repaired, like many of the fences in scotland, with rough, unshapen stones, the argular points of which, rudely fitting together, served to give it some degree of solidity without the use of mortar. we may here remark that the barren appearance of these fences, frequently impress the english traveller in this country, as well as in scotland, accustomed as he is, to the verdant enclosures of his own country, with an idea of sterility, which is, by no means, justly imputable to the soil. the night was serene and mild; but the multitude of stars which spangled ! the deep blue sky, made it lighter than the two surgeons wished for. shrouded in thick great coats and fur travelling caps, and bearing the implements for disintering the dominie, they soon arrived at the church-yard, where the rough protuberances of the uneven walls enabled them easily to reach the top. having attended the funeral for the sole purpose of noting the situation of the grave, they had no difficulty in immediately commencing their labor. this was comparatively easy, as the earth still lay loose and-light; yet, ere they had arrived at the coffin, the tender skin of their hands, unaccustomed to such friction, began to convey no very pleasant sensation. they persevered, however; and, at last, had the satisfaction of hearing, by the hollow sound, that they had reached the surface of john bicker's narrow dwelling. in a little time, they cleared the whole extent, and with their tools, wrenching open the lid of the coffin, soon effected the resur rection of the dominie. john bicker. 175 “where is the bag ?” said one, to the other ; and it was soon discovered that each had carelessly depended on the nther for the provision of this necessary article. this was vexatious; for the risk of detection in the conveyance was thereby considerably increased. however, they were forced to trust to that good fortune, which had hitherto favored their enterprise, and, placing the body carefully on the grass, at some little distance, by the side of a distinguishable tombstone, they began, with alacrity, to re-fill the grave with earth , and again make up the hillock, neatly covered with turf, which, to the eyes of a whole contemporary generation, marks the peaceful resting place of even the lowliest and humblest of the scottish peasantry. while they were employed in this operation, and had nearly completed their labor, they were alarmed by the sound of a deep, hollow groan. it broke, for a moment only, the surrounding stillness; and, indeed, passed away almost asquick as the instant of its perception. the two surgeons, however, started up, stared aghast at each other, and, without utter, ing a word, listened most attentively. their whole souls for some moments seemed to be in their ears; but all was silent. 'did not that seem like a groan ?” muttered mcgruel. "hush!” replied the other, catching hold of his friend's hand. they again bent themselves in the attitude of listening; but all was still—the air was even calmly still, and they again began to adjust the turf. “it must,” said chronic, in a low tone, “have been the sighing of the wind among the tombstones; and yet, in my ear, nothing could sound so like a groan." 176 john bicker. “let us make what haste we can,” returned his friend, “there may be other living creatures beside ourselves, even ir. the precincts of this church-yard.”' the moment their work at the grave was completed, they carried the body to the wall. there, placing a rope under the arm-pits, they slid it gently down the deep exterior; and, leaving it there, leaped back into the church-yard to secrete their tools in the corner of a dilapidated tomb, which, at a very remote period, had contained the bones of some favorite retainer of the ancient barons of kilwoody. every thing being prepared for their departure, mcgruel first mounted the low wall, at the spot where he had deposited the corpse of the dominie. previous to his meditated descent on the outside, he darted his eye through the gloom below, as if measuring the extent of the leap, when suddenly uttering an exclamation of terror or surprise, he rushed back to his friend. “gracious god!” exclaimed the amazed surgeon," he is moving from the wall !" his companion, inspired more by curiosity than alarm, looked immediately over, and to his utter astonishment, beheld john bicker, the dominie, seated, as well as he could distinguish, at some little distance on the ground. “i must be certain,” said chronic, “that this is no delusion. follow me." so saying, he leaped from the wall and was immediately imitated by his companion. they ran to the spot, and, without giving themselves time for reflection, grasped the dominie in their arms. “ are you really a living man ?" said mcgruel, with great earnestness. john bicker. 177 " “ where am i ?" returned the dominie in a low, languid and feeble voice, which marked the extreme degree of debility to which he was reduced. " thank god!” answered chronic, “we have come to deliver you from a death, at which the imagination shudders. had we been but a few inoments later you might have suffered the short but horrid consciousness of being in the grave." the dominie by his actions seemed unable to comprehend the meaning of their words, and appeared nearly fainting, when the two surgeons placed to his mouth a bottle of wine which they had brought as a cordial for themselves. the few drops he swallowed revived him, and mcgruel disrobing himself of his great coat, wrapped it carefully round him. whilst they were about this charitable act, john bicker, by the feeble light, perceived the habiliments of mortality with which he was clothed, and, with a shuddering of horror, demanded an explanation. “ there is time enough for that,” replied the surgeons, • when you are more recovered. try if you are able to walk, with our support; we shall conduct you to our home, where you shall obtain the quiet repose and invigorating medicines you seem so much to need. the dominie felt sufficient strength to move along, leaning on the arms of the two surgcons. on their way they gave him a full explanation of the causes of his late condition; a narrative to which he listened with the deepest interest, intermingled with those shuddering emotions, which we feel on looking back at any dangerous situation in which we have been placed, our deliverance from which has been effected neither by our own wisdom nor courage, but by a fortunate circum. 178 john bicker. stance upon which we could never again depend. it was at this moment that his new friends took an opportunity of setting forth to him, the necessity, the importance, and the llessings of temperance. it is needless to detail, to the reader, what was said on the subject, but every word sank deep into the heart of the dominie. with a mind capable of higher pursuits and an elevation of ideas, inspired by the partly classical education he had received, he now felt a loathing at the vulgar and sensual debauchery, into which the ardent sociality of his temper had seduced him. this frame of mind was, no doubt, strengthened by the recollections, which momentarily pressed upon his imagination, of the horrid fate which seemed to have been averted from him by a special interposition of providence. “ i'll make nae solemn promises,” said he, as he raised his eyes to the multitude of stars which bespangled the deep, dark azure sky; i'll make nae solemn promises to heaven, for that, perhaps, would be a presumptuous confiding in my own strength; but let thae bonny, twinkling lights bear witness, at least, how i wish to become an altered man." “this, to you,” replied mcgruel, " is a new starting post of existence; let every step of your future course be in the path of prudence and virtue." the dominie seemed absorbed, for a few moments, in deep abstraction. he had, evidently, made up his mind to some resolution which he did not then disclose; he only ended his reverie by the exclamation, “ all believe me dead; and but to one i shall be dead !” on their way to the dwelling of the surgeons, they necessarily passed the public house of saunders glasse, where the john bicker. 175 schoolmaster had so often rioted away his substance and so lately endangered his existence. it is hard to describe the shuddering of horror with which he approached the place this was not a little increased by the sounds of jovial merri-' ment, that arose from the drunken crew.within. begging his new friends to stop, for a moment, he applied his eye to a broken part of the window shutter and beheld his former companions, with joined hands, in a circle, round a large bowl of punch, reeling and shouting, with all the vociferation of delirious inebriety. the effect of this scene was heightened by the sable garb of mourning, still worn by the party, all of them having been, the preceding day, at the funeral. the dominie, at this moment, could not resist the opportunity afforded him, of endeavoring, however ludicrously, to effect the reformation of his former associates. raising his well known voice as much as his slowly-recovered strength would permit him; the surgeons having, previously, thundered on the window shutters, with their fists, to command attention, he thus addressed them : 6 besotted drunkards! is the little reason that god has given you, so puir a gift, that you find your greatest pleasure in its destruction ? winna my awfu' fate warn you? maun i come frae the grave to preach, to you, repentance ?" the momentary silence which followed this address was soon interrupted by drunken davey gourlay, who, striking his fists with great vehemence on the table, exclaimed, “may i taste never anither drap, if that binna · johnny bicker's voice and, dead or alive, de’il may caie, we'll drink thegither;" so saying, he snatched up one of the bumpers staggered towards the door, and the party on the outside 66 180 john bicket. > say! 9 might have soon been detected to have been of this carth's gross substance, had they not, immediately, withdrawn. drunken davey, disappointed in finding the object of his search, staggered back again. “it was johnny bicker's voice i'll swear,” he exclaimed, “but what the de'il did ho !” the whole company with the exception of saunders webster, expressed their total want of recollection; the latter, hiccoughing as he spoke, asserted that he remembered it perfectly well. “we were a' desired,” said he,“ to take a warning that 66 people of reason had the gift of getting drunk in the grave.” “the very words !” vociferated all the party, “for mind ye,” added drunken davey, “the ither warld is the land of spirits, and as this is britain, why it maun be british spirits, the very words saunders glasse has painted aboun his door." the accuracy of davey's logic, was, without farther examination, taken for granted, the party again filled their bumpers and, as far as their growing insensibility would allow, the former scene of thoughtless uproar was resumed. the two surgeons, without farther interruption, conducted the revived dominie to their genteel, clean, and comfortable dwelling. having supplied him cautiously with nourishment, they caused a bed to be prepared for that repose, which was chiefly wanting for the recovery of his strength. in a few moments he fell into a deep sleep and his attentive hosts, who visited him from time to time, beheld, with satisfaction, that his slumber was of a kindly nature which promised speedy renovation to his languid frame. he continued in this state john bicker. 181 he arose, ز the whole of the day and it was not till evening that he awoke, wonderfully refreshed in body and mind, when he bethought himself of putting in practice the project he had conceived in the early part of the morning. dressed himself in clothes which had been left for that purpose in his bed-room. fearful lest his new friends would oppose what they might consider his premature departure, he stole, softly, to the door; and, hoping to escape unperceived in the increasing darkness, cautiously crept along, taking the nearest way to his own home. tibby had, that evening, twenty times oftener than was necessary, stirred the large coal fire, till it blazed in the chimney, and trimmed the lamp, which hung over the mantle piece. she had busied herself all day to get rid of the uneasy thoughts which oppressed her; and during day-light, assisted by the kind condolence of her neighbors, she had pretty well succeeded; but towards evening, as these visitors departed, ! the dreary sense of her hopeless, lonely situation, almost overcame her. among the peasantry of scotland, the widow is supposed to possess a sacred claim on the good will and attention of all that surround her. heaven is supposed, peculiarly, to interest itself in her cause, consecrating her blessings and avenging her injuries; yet with all this, tibby, when necessarily left alone, felt as if the world did not now contain one being in whose interests she could participate. she looked around her, till every object that met her eye seemed to lay its heavy load upon her heart. she gazed at the glowing embers of the fire and hardly felt the scalding tears which trickled down her cheeks. she now turned to the bed, which, but yesterday, had exhibited the most mourn. 182 john bicker. ful spectacle she had ever beheld. a nearer object now moro deeply interested her, the vacant chair at the fireside, where her husband had held his seat, by prescriptive right; a magisterial throne, which tibby, amid all her rebellions, had never dared to usurp. it was now empty and, as if to get rid of its forever hopeless vacancy, with despairing sobs, she threw herself into it. the consciousness that she had been, to say the least, unkind and unrelenting, tore her heart with agony. “oh! that he had died in peace with me,” cried she. “if i could hae seen him but for a moment. he was ower kind to me and i did nae deserve it—but nae matter,” she added, bursting into a flood of tears, “it winna be lang afore we lie in ae cauld grave thegither." at this moment the sound of some person at the door assailed her ear; but, how was she astonished, when she heard the well-known voice of her husband, saying: “ dinna be frightened, tibby! dinna be frightened, my woman!" she started from her seat and, looking round, beheld him within the threshold. tibby trembled with agitation, without the power of uttering the faintest cry of terror. “dinna be frightened,” reiterated the dominie, "dinna be frightened, my lassie; not for the warld's wealth wad i harm ye.” saying these words, he made a motion to approach nearer, when, with 2 confused idea of supernatural danger, tibby snatched up the large family bible which lay upon the table. the sacred volume is, in scotland, supposed to be the most effective shield with which a guiltless heart can be guarded in john bicker. 183 the dangerous intercourse with disembodied spirits, and tibby grasped it firmly in her arms. she fixed her eyes, intently, on her husband's countenance and saw it not only beaming with affectionate regard, but that there was nothing the least unearthly in its appearance. she soon found herself so far rocovered, as, with faltering voice, to mutter something which seemed an inquiry as to the object of his awful visit. “ye ken, tibby my dear,” said the dominie, “ye ken that your father, a wee while afore he died, sold a' his kye, and gev you the siller, now ye never wad tell me where ye had hid it: this is my first business wi' ye, my woman.” “ there, there," said tibby, pointing with eagerness to a corner under the farthest bed-post; “fifty-four pounds, saxteen shillings.” john easily found the money, and, securing it in his pocket: “now, tibby,” said he, “gie me your hand; will ye gang alang wi' me?" “no! no !” replied tibby, while an icy coldness ran through her veins, “no! not till god's time come.” “but i'm alive, woman," returned the dominie, “ alive and as well as ever i was in my life. i was only in a fit; the doctors got me out of the grave;-convince yourself that i > 2 am alive.” ere tibby was aware, she felt one of her hands grasped in both those of her husband. “do you not feel,” he added, “ that i am flesh and blood ?” tibby's terror yielded to the conviction of her senses, as she suffered her husband to impress the warm kiss of affection on her lips. 184 john bicker. > 2 “i am a reformed man, tibby,” said he. “i see the folly, the madness of my former conduct" “and i see the cruelty of mine," interrupted his wife, as she hung upon his shoulder. “let us leave this place, for ever," returned the dominie; my former worthless associates believe me dead, and we canna hae a better opportunity of parting wi' them; with this little money we'll gang to edinburgh and begin some line of business, where, if industry, frugality and temperance, ever meet their reward, we maun thrive. greet nae mair, tibby, dry your e'en; will ye come wi' me ?" “oh! to the warld's end," was the ready answer, and they both immediately set about making preparations for their departure. the silver teaspoons, marked with husband and wife's initials joined in an involving cypher, the guidman's watch, articles which are hardly ever wanting in the dwellings of the scottish peasantry, were casily stowed about their persons, and the more ponderous part of their property tibby, by her husband's direction, transferred in writing to the care of the two surgeons. thus prepared, they set out, the darkness of the night favoring their concealment and were soon arm ir. arm, with the most vivid hopes and ardent resolutions, on the great road to edinburgh. early next day, the whole village of kilwoody was not a little alarmed by the news of the disappearance of the dry dominie's widow. it was sagely conjectured, that the apparition of her husband had in revenge for her usage of him carried her away, bodily, to the other world. the whiskey topers at saunders glasse's had some confused remembrance of having seen or heard the phantom john bicker. 1.85 a a on the way to its unhallowed purpose, while not a few of the old women, on being made acquainted with the circumstance, perfectly récollected perceiving an extraordinary blue flame, the preceding evening, hovering around the dominie's dwelling. some had even heard what they called an “awfu' and indescribable noise,” which must have taken place at the moment when the vengeful spirit flew through the air with his prey. auld alice blessed herself that. john bicker could have no quarrel with her, as she had made his grave clothes of the neatest pattern, and tam mowat, the wright, protested that wherever the soul of the dry dominie might then be, he was sure his body was safe betwixt “sax good pieces of wood as ever were planed.” john bicker and his wife, on their arrival at edinburgh, rented a small store in the grass market, and laid out their little sum of money in dry goods and hosiery. . they wrote an account of their proceedings, to their friends, the two doctors, who feeling a wish to promote their interests, furnished them with recommendations to several respectable persons. this increased their business and credit and every day saw them making gradual advances to a comfortable independence. john soon transferred his stock to larger premises in the lawn market. the rest of his history may be related in a few words. he at last settled near the tron kirk, at the time when the line of houses in high street joined that edifice, the south bridge not being then projected. having been fortunate in his spéculations as a wholesale merchant, he was chosen one of the baillies of the city, [this office is nearly the same as that of alderman in new york.] in this honorable situation, he acquitted himself 186 the widow to the bride. with impartiality and considerable talent, and those who beheld him in the municipal chair, dressed, officially, in black, with the golden chain of dignity and the medallion of justice depending from his neck, could never have recognised in the grave magistrate, the drunken, dry dominie of kilwoody. to widow to see o fee bbids. by mary n. meigs. i saw thee wedded, lady, at the altar's holy side, as with roses ’mid thy shining hair thou stood'st a happy bride. the soft light o’er that joyous band, a tender radiance shed, while priestly word and marriage ring proclaimed thee duly wed. i saw the wedded, lady, with the love-light on thy brow, and i caught thy low-breathed hispaa of the holy marriage vow, and by the quick pulsation in my bosom's inmost coré, i knew thy heart was throbbing, as it ne'er had throbbed before. the widow to the bride. 137 i saw thee wedded, lady, and my thoughts went roving back to a bridal day, which long ago, illumed life's sunny track; when, like thyself, i vowed to love through weal and wo for lifo, and with the golden circlet, claimed that sweetest name, of wife. . oh! marvel not, if, ʼmid the smiles that graced thy nuptial hour, mine eyes were wet with burning tears which fell like summer shower : it was not envy of thy lot, nor sorrow at thy bliss; • i would not that thy cup of joy one shining drop should miss. but oh! 'twas memory, memory's power, which thus my spirit bowed, i knelt again as once i knelt, and vowed as once i vowed. methought i stood as thou didst stand, the loved one at my sidethen looked upon my darkened robes, the widowed, not the bride! yet, lady, though my heart was sad. as sad it oft must be,. heaven's best and holiest benison, 'twould still call down on thee: joy to the bride! love's brightest vreatb for thee may true love twine, and be thy wedded life as vlest, and oh ! less brief, than mine. 188 the hungarian wife. esit ng abia wie : by mrs. m. e. hewitt. wake! hearts beloved ! the midnight stars move, hushed, through yonder sky; love's hand hath loosed thy dungeon bars, love bids thee wake and fly! a swift ship goes across the main, free shores our coming wait; our land still wears her galling chain, our homes are desolate. yet still our hearts give out the cry, as from the battle's van, hungaria! hungaria! death to the austrian !" 66 ah! what avails the burning word that stirs the soul of life? our wounded country bears her sword all broken from the strife. the austrian and the muscovite have woven wide her pall, and the moslem's bond-word holds, to-night, her glorious sons in thrall. haste ! haste, beloved ! and still our cry, in yon blest land shall be hungaria! hungaria ! our home, and liberty ?” 06 the burial at sea. 189 the burial assa, by rev. t ii e o 1, e dy ard cu y l e r , > a great many temperance stories have already been written ; some humorous, and some pathetic; some fictitious, and some, like the following, “ founded on fact.” many of the ablest pens in our land have been employed in portraying the miseries and the fate of those who “tarry long at the wine; who go to seek mixed wine." it may seem, therefore, highly presumptuous in me to ask the reader to give me his attention while i tell him, in a very few words, my temperance story. one evening, as i was coming out of the harbor of liverpool, on board the noble packet ship — i stood, leaning over the railing of the quarter-deck, watching the steerage passengers, as they were cooking their suppers in the midships below. it was a picturesque sight. as the small peat fire in the brazier threw its flickering light on the wild, ragged group, i was strongly reminded of the gipsey gaugs that still infest some of the rural districts of england. most of them were irish; but i could detect occasionally the burly face of 1 the english peasantry; and there was an old german, in close scull-cap and long, blue gown, who sat stirring his porringer, like some alchemist over his magic bowl. just bụneath where i stood, i noticed, particularly, a pale, delicate woman, bending over the fire, preparing her humble 190 the burial at sea. meal. sometimes she would turn around, and listen to a rough, red-faced man, who addressed her in no very gentle tones; and sometimes she would stop to play with two rosy ; children, who sat by her on a chest. her form was slender, and she had once been handsome; and there was an unmistakable air of refinement in her gentle manner, and the attempted neatness of her coarse dress, that made her, among the squalid objects around her, like wordsworth's peasant girl, “a sunshine in the shade.” a sunshine in the shade.” when their scanty meal was ready, she took the youngest child by the hand, and beckoned to the surly fellow behind her, who followed her down the gangway, swearing fiercely as he went. a flattering prospect, thought i, for this delicate creature, who is doomed to leave home and kindred in the tender keeping of such a brute. a porcelain vase would as well be trusted in the hands of a savage! for a young wife and mother to go far from her native land into the wilds of an american forest, is hardship enough, even with the best of protectors; but a drunken husband “who can bear ?" for some days after, i noticed, by his unsteady gait and rude treatment of every one who approached him, that he was continually under the excitement of drink, of which he had smuggled a considerable quantity on board. this was once very common, especially among the irish emigrants, whose generous liberality to the seamen sometimes endangered the safety of the ship. but, thanks to a merciful god, who has sent to suffering ireland the great apostle of temperance, this evil is well-nigh done away, sad the emigrants from that country are now remarkable for their quietness and sobriety. the burial at sea. 191 a this man, i observed, from the effect of continued intoxication, soon became quarrelsome; and, one day, in the heat of a scuffle on the forecastle, he was pitched upon the main deck, and his head struck upon the iron cable coiled over the windlass. he was taken up insensible; and a physician, who happened to be among the cabin passengers, was called 'down, and pronounced his recovery hopeless. in the evening, i went down to visit him. a steerage is at best but a noisome place—to a sick man, it must be a very “black hole of calcutta.” the squalid beings who herded together in the same cabin, were gathered in silent groups at the farther extremity, and many had retreated to the main deck. he was in the last stages of a violent fever, accompanied with a most frightful delirium. over his poor pallet, bent ono woman—the same delicate form i had noticed on the first evening; and in the intervals of his paroxysm, her deepdrawn sighs could be distinctly heard. it was nothing to her . now that he had so lately abused her, and reviled her, and even cursed her, while performing for him offices of kindness. he was in his dying agonies; and she was his wife, and that was enough. i could be of no service there, and the scene was too much for me to bear. when i returned to the saloon of the vessel, handsomely garnished and brilliantly lighted, and found my fellow-passengers lounging on the sofas, with a novel in their hands, or gathered around the whist-table, laughing and jesting, i was forcibly reminded by the contrast of the strange world in which we live, where joy and sorrow are brought into startling proximity; and where, as in a great city, there is often but a thin wall separating the travails of birth from the 192 the burial at sea. gayety of the bridal party and the still chamber of death. the next morning, when i came on deck, i observed an unusual soberness on every face. a group were collected around the mainmast, gazing silently at some object on the deck below. i came up behind them, and looking over the railing, i"felt that it was a corpse!” after the summary fashion on board ship, it was inclosed in blankets, bound around with coils of rope, and stretched upon a plank. to the feet, a large weight was soon attached, and the whole was then swung over the ship's side and made fast with ropes. as soon as breakfast was conoluded, the boatswain piped all hands to the burial. the steerage passengers were seated on the long-boat and the water-barrels, and the cabin passengers were gathered on the quarter-deck. when the poor widow had come forward, and taken her seat on a little cabin-stool set for the purpose, with her two children by her side, the captain commenced reading the burial service. that nobly eloquent service never sounded to me more solemn. when the captain had concluded the words, “we therefore commit his body to the deep,” the signal was given. a heavy plash was heard, and the unsightly mass sunk "like lead in the mighty waters.” there was a general rush to the ship's side, as soon as the plunge was heard: but a few bubbles merely were seen rising to the surface—the only memorials that shall ever rise to mark his resting-place. during the day, the wind died away, and by night we were perfectly becalmed. i passed the evening, as i did many while at sea, in walking the deck, and enjoying the calm quiet of an ocean solitude. not a breath of air was stirring. the sails were idly flapping against the mast, as the ship . the burial at sea. 193 . swung slowly to and fro on the long glassy swells. the moon had just risen from the bosom of the sea, and poured its broad stream of light, which played and flashed on the slow undulations of the waters. while i stood watching this . peculiarly beautiful appearance of the rays upon the ocean, which every one who has been to sea must have observed, i saw a female come up from the gangway, and, creeping up upon the pile of spars where the body had laid, sat down and · gazed intently down into the water. it was the poor widow. she had no grave to go to; she could only look upon the treacherous sea, which had so suddenly swallowed up all that was left of him she had so long loved. when i looked at the heart-stricken woman, solitary and forlorn, bereft even of her“ broken reed,” and left with her helpless children, alone, in the middle of the wide ocean, my heart ached for her. to my mind, the miserable object which had been so unceremoniously cast away, seemed scarce worth a tear. not 60 to her. he was her husband, th: father of her children, who had not yet sinned away all her early love, and whose degradation and wretched end drew forth all her compassion, and united it to the inextinguishable affection of the wife. her case excited great interest among the passengers, who, as a substantial proof of their sympathy, raised a handsome sum to defray her immediate expenses on arriving in a strange land. when i took her this tribute of their sympathy, i asked her some questions relative to her circumstances and her history. this she willingly gave me. it was the old familiar tale—beginning with the golden days of her girlish love; the vows plighted before the altar of the 9 194 tie burial at sea. village church ; and the little ivied cottage, with its woodbine trailing over the door, and contentment seated by its humble fireside. there, she was as happy as the day was long. then came the temptation—the fatal first glass, offered by an old comrade, was soon followed by the second, and this sooner still by the third ; and, before he was aware, he had become a confirmed drinker. she saw it, and warned; but it was too late. and then came upon her the long agony. which no one who has not felt it knows; the days which brought no light, and the nights which brought no rest; the hours of weary watchfulness; the hopeless labor from morning till night, watered by many an unbidden tear; the slow ooze of the heart's blood, drop by drop, wrung forth by the iron hand of despair! all his cruel treatment, and all his negleot, she bore with a woman's fortitude; and, woman-like, she returned caresses for every blow. at the end of five years, everything was gone. the landlord, who had borne with him very patiently, at last informed him that, as there were so many sober men out of employment, he could not afford to employ a drunkard. there was no resource but the workhouse and the beadle ; and i do not wonder that these have terrors, even for the most miserable. her brother had left england when he was a boy, and was now in a comfortable “ situation" in the city of new york. thither their landlord offered to send them, if they were willing to go. this kind offer they gladly accepted; and the snug cottage, and its ; woodbines, and its once happy fireside, were, with many lingering looks, left behind them for ever. the painful sequel of her story i have already given. the rest of my homeward passage was, as such a passage the burial at sea. 195 a should be, delightful. the first sight of the neversink hills, rising above the monotonous waste of waters, threw me into raptures. all day long i sat on deck watching the familiar objects, as they gradually came in sight; and never did home scem half so dear to me. the bay of new york never was half so beautiful ; and the white cottages on the banks looked like miniature pasteboard creations, after being so familiar with the heavy stone structures of old england. the last gasp of a wind which had been dying all day, had just borne us within the narrows, when a steamboat hove in sight to take us to the city. we had been telegraphed, and all expected friends. the poor widow, who had been invited, as a mark of respect, to take her place, when she chose, on the quarterdeck, came to me, and asked if i did not think her brother might be on board? i told her that perhaps he did not know when she was coming; but when the boat drew alongside, and she looked hurriedly over the mass of strange faces, she appeared much disappointed. i suggested to her that she might not know him after an absence of so many years. yes !” said she, in surprise. “he was a brave lad, and as handsome as ye ever saw. poor fellow ! the day before he went away, he took out of his earnings, and bought me this ring. isn't it very pretty ?". i could not deny the beauty of a brother's gift, plain as it was, though it doubtless shone as brightly in her eyes as if it were set with diamonds. as the news-boats came round us when we entered the harbor, the simple-hearted woman was on the look-out for her “brave lad” in each of them, little thinking that by this time he was grown into a care-worn man. it was night-fall when the ship rounded to the wharf; and 66 oh, 196 the burial at sea. the officers of customs forbade us to remove our luggage until the next morning. before i left the vessel, i looked about, among the hurry and confusion, for the friendless woman and her children ; and it was some time before i found her, sitting in one corner of the dark steerage, with one of her childrer sleeping in her lap, and the elder weeping in sympathy with her mother's grief by her side. she had hitherto borne her trials with wonderful composure ; but the sense of her utter forlornness in a strange land, with no one to care for her or her fatherless children, was too much for her broken spirit, and she sobbed aloud. i could do nothing for her ; i could only get a promise from the captain to see that some temporary provision should be made for her, if no friends appeared ; and i stepped ashore more thankful, i trust, than before, for the home to which i was coming. some will read this simple narrative, perhaps, and feel an increased sympathy for the suffering condition of the english poor, which, even under such circumstances, makes them seek an asylum three thousand miles across the sea. some will see in it only a beautiful exhibition of female constancy and fortitude. but there is a deeper moral still. it only unfolds another page in that great record of sin, and sorrow, and shame, caused by the damning vice of intemperance. it is but a story of every-day life. the contrast between the happy peasant girl in her ivied cottage and the desolate widow, homeless and forsaken, weeping at night over her fatherless children in a strange land, is a contrast that is prebented on almost every page of that accursed volume. many & sad record, indeed, has been washed out by the tears of timely repentance; but the volume is not yet full! while the never give up. 197 thirst for gain shall prompt man to pander to his brother's appetites, and while an absurd custom maintains its cruel tyranny, there are many dark pages yet to be written. it was a great relief to me, next morning, on going down te the ship, to hear that a well-clad, honest-looking fellow had presented himself at the gangway as her brother, and had taken her to his own home. what has become of her since, i have no means of knowing ; but if this book should ever fall into her hands, she may find it hard to restrain a tear when she reads my temperance story. hever give up, never give up! there are chances and changes, helping the hopeful a hundred to one; and, through the chaos, high wisdom arranges ever success, if you'll only hope on. never give up! for the wisest is boldest, knowing that providence mingles the cup; and of all maxims, the best as the oldest, is the true watch-word, never give up. 198 the wild-wood flower. the wild-wood eiw32, el by mrs. mary arthur. far down and away in a shadowy place, where the sunshine crept in faintly, and the vines swept low with a drooping grace, and the leaves were still and saintly ; where the wind forgot its rushing tones, and whispered softly past, though out on the hill-side its voice was wild, and the skies were overcast: there-passing a happy life away, drinking the morning dew, and making fragrance all the day, a sweet wild-wood flower grew. through all its life no human eye had ever bent above it. but it caught sweet glimpses of the sky, and learned from these to love it. and when leaves were parted o'er its head, the sun-touch brought it bliss, and it quivered down to its glowing heart, at its brightest, faintest kiss ; for the little flower had never heard of the wide world's light and stir, and she dreamt in her happy simple joy, that the sun was bright for her. but their came one day to the forest dim a woodman stout and bustling, and the pleasant quiet soemed naught to him, or the wind's uncertain rustling : my own fire side. 199 he peered about among the vines with a searching prying eye, and he crushed the moss with a heedless tread, and dashed the trailers by ; 'till he found at last what he came to seek, a sapling straight and tall, and the trunk he broke, with a heavy stroke, and laughed to see it fall. down-down with a sobbing, thrilling crash, with its treasures clinging o'er it, and light few in with a blinding flash, and scared the shades before it. a wide quick gleam, around-abovethe little flower fell, and she saw that the sun, her own dear love, kissed every flower as well : and the leaves pressed close on her burning heart, and she bowed her pallid head, and before the day had passed away, the wild-wood flower was dead bly own fibisid, a gentle form is near me now; a small white hand is clasped in mine; i gaze upon her placid brow, and ask what joys can equal thine : a babe, whose beauty's half divine, in sleep his mother's eyes doth hide; where may love seek a fitter shrine than here-my own fireside ? 200 the christmas party. the geristmas par22 by kate sutherland. christmas had come round again_merry old christmas, with his smiling face and wealth of good cheer; and every preparation had been made by the arlingtons for their annual christmas party, which was always a gay time for the young friends of the family. some hundreds of miles away, in a quiet new england village, lived mr. archer, an uncle of mr. arlington. he was a good man; but being a minister of the old school, and well advanced in years, he was strongly prejudiced against all “fashionable follies," as he called nearly every form of social " recreation. life was, in his eyes, too solemn a thing to be wasted in any kind of trifling. in preaching and praying, in pious meditation, and in going about to do good, much of his time was passed; and another portion of it was spent in reflecting upon, and mourning over, the thoughtless follies of the world. he had no time for pleasure-taking; no heart to smile at the passing foibles or merry humors of his fellowmen. such was the rev. mr. jason archer-a good man, but with his mind sadly warped through early prejudices, long confirmed. for years he had talked of a journey to the city where his niece, to whom he was much attached, resided. this purpose was finally carried out. it was the day before the christmas party. 201 christmas, when mrs. arlington received a letter from the old gentleman, announcing the fact that she might expect to see him in a few hours, as he was about starting to pay her nd her family the long intended visit. “uncle archer will be here to-morrow," said mrs. arlington to her husband, as soon as she met him after receiving her letter. “indeed! and so the good old gentleman has made a move at last?" “ yes; he's going to eat his christmas-dinner with us, he says." " 66 yes; “so much the better. the pleasure of meeting him will increase the joy of the occasion.” “i am not so sure of that,” replied mrs. arlington, looking a little serious. “it would have been more pleasant to have received this visit at almost any other time in the year.' “why so ?” “you know his strong prejudices?" “oh, against dancing, and all that ?" he thinks it a sin to dance." “ though i do not.” “no; but it will take away half my pleasure to see him grieved at anything that takes place in my house." “ he'll not be so weak as that." “he thinks it sin, and will be sadly pained at its occuris it not possible to omit dancing for once ?" “at the party to-morrow night ?" 66 yes." mr. arlington shook his head, as he replied “don't think of such a thing. we will receive him with rence. 202 the christmas party true kindness, because we feel it towards the good old man. but we must not cease to do what we know to be right, thus disappointing and marring the pleasure of many, out of deference to a mere prejudice of education in a single person. when we go to see him, we do not expect that any change will be made out of deference to our prejudices or peculiar opinions; and when he comes to see us, he must be willing to tolerate what takes place in our family, even if it does not mert his full approval. no, no; let us not think for a moment of any change in affairs on this account. uncle archer hasn't been present at a gay party nor seen dancing for almost half a century. it may do him good to witness it now. at any rate i feel curious to see the experiment tried.” mrs. arlington still argued for a little yielding in favor of the good parson's prejudices, but her husband would not listen to such a thing for a moment. everything, he said, must go on as usual. “a guest who comes into a family," he remarked, “should always conform himself to the family order; then there is no reaction upon him, and all are comfortable and happy. he is not felt as a thing foreign and incongruous, but as homogeneto break up the usual order, and to bend all to meet his personal prejudices and peculiarities, is only to so disturb the family sphere as to make it actually repellent. he is then felt as an unassimilated foreign body, and all secretly desire his removal." “but something is due to old age !" urged mrs. arlington. “yes; much. but, if age have not softened a man's prejudices against a thing good in itself, i doubt very much if & deference to his prejudice, such as you propose, will in the ous. the christmas party. 203 she was least benefit him. better let him come in contact with a happy circle, exhilarated by music and dancing; and the chances are, that his heart will melt in the scene rather than grow colder and harder. the fact is, as i think of it more and more, the better pleased am i that uncle archer is coming just at this time." but mrs. arlington felt troubled about the matter. early on christmas morning the old gentleman arrived, and was welcomed with sincere affection by every member of the family. mr. and mrs. arlington had a daughter, named grace, who was just entering her eighteenth year. gentle and affectionate in disposition, and drew to the side of uncle archer in a way that touched the old man's feelings. he had not seen her before this, since she was a little girl; and now, he could not keep his eyes off of her as she sat by him, or moved about the room in his presence. “what a dear girl that is !” was his remark to her mother many times during the day. “she's a good girl," would simply reply mrs. arlington, speaking almost without thought. grace was a good girl ; her mother felt this, and from her heart her lips found utterance. it seemed, all through the day, that grace could not do enough for the old man's comfort. once she drew him into her room, as he was passing her door, to show him some pictures that she had painted. as he sat looking at them, ho noticed a small, handsomely bound bible on her table. taking it up, he said “do you read this, grace?" “yes," she replied; “ every day.” and there was such q > 6 204 the christmas party. a light of goodness in her eyes, as she looked up into his face, that mr. archer felt, for a moment or two, as if the countenance of an angel was before him. “why do you read it ?” he continued, after a pause. “ it teaches us the way to heaven," said grace. “and you are trying to live for heaven ?" “i try to shun all evil as sin. can i do more ?" all the minister's creeds and doctrines, and confessions of faith, which he had ever considered the foundations upon which christian life was to be builded, seemed, for a moment or two, useless lumber before the simple creed of this loving, pure-hearted maiden. to seek to disturb this state of innocence and obedience by moody polemics, he felt, instinctively, to be wrong. > “perhaps not,” was his half abstracted reply; perhaps not. yes, yes; shun what is evil, and the lord will adjoin the good.” “yes, yes; she is a good girl, as her mother says," was frequently repeated by uncle archer during the day, when he would think of grace. evening caine, and young and old began to gather in the parlors. the minister was introduced to one and another, as they arrived, and was much gratified with the respect and attention shown to him by all. grace soon drew around him three or four of her young friends, who listened to what he had to say with an interest that gratified his feelings. nothing had been said to grace of her uncle's prejudice against dancing; she was, therefore, no little surpriscd to see the sudden change in his manner, when she said to a young lady in the group around him-the christlas party. 205 come! you must play some cotillons for us. we're going to have a dance." after going with the young lady to the piano, and opening it for her, grace went back to her uncle, whose face she found deeply clouded. “aint you well, uncle ?" she asked, affectionately, “o yes, child, i am well enough in body,” was replied. 5 but something troubles you, uncle—what is it ??? by this time a number of couples were on the floor, and at the moment a young man came up to grace, and said “shall i have the pleasure of dancing with you this evening ?" “not in the first set,” replied grace; “but i will consider myself engaged for the second, unless you can find a more agreeable partner.” “do you dance, then ?" asked uncle archer, gravely, after the young man had turned away. “dance ?" grace was in doubt whether she had clearly understood him. “yes, dear.” “certainly i do, uncle. you don't think there is harm in dancing ?" “i do, my child. and, i am sure that, after what you said about reading your bible and trying to live for heaven, your admission greatly surprises me. religion and dancing ! how can they have an affinity ?" " good and evil can have no affinity,” said grace, in reply to this remark. “evil, i have always understood to be in a purpose to do wrong. now, i can dance with a good purpose ; and, surely, then, dancing cannot be evil to me.” 206 the christmas party. “dance with a goor purpose! how can you do that, my dear ?" “ i have often danced with the sole end of contributing my share to the general enjoyment of a company." “strange enjoyment !" sighed the old parson. the timing of steps, and the orderly movement of the body in concert with musical harmonies, often affects the mind with exquisite delight, uncle. i have enjoyed this over and over again, and have felt better and happier afterwards." “ child! child !” replied the old man; “how it grieves me to hear you say this." “if there is sin in dancing, uncle,” said grace, seriously, “ tell me wherein it lies. look at the countenances of those now on the floor; do they express evil or good affection ?here, as i have been taught, lies the sin.” it is a foolish waste of time,” returned the old man; ba foolish waste of time; and it is an evil thing to waste the precious time that god has given to us.” we cannot always work or read. both mind and body become wearied.' “ then we have time for meditation." “but even thought will grow burdensome at times, and the mindsink into listlessness and inactivity. then we need recreation, in order that we may afterwards both work and think better. music and dancing, in which mind and body find an innocent delight, effect such a recreation. i know it is so in my case; and i know it is so in the case of others. you do not say that dancing is a thing evil m itself ?! “no.” this was admitted rather reluctantly. 66 the christmas party. 207 " then if it be made to serve a good end, it is a good 66 thing." “but it is often made to serve evil,” said the minister. “ then it is an evil thing,” promptly answered. grace; and so every good gift of heaven may be made an evil thing to those who use it for an evil purpose. you know it is said that a spider extracts poison from the same flower where the bee gets honey. the deadly nightshade draws life from the same rain and sunshine that nourishes and matures the wheat, from which our bread is made. it is the evil purpose, uncle, that makes a thing evil.” “could you pray on going to bed, after an evening spent in dancing ?” asked the old man, confident that he had put a question that would clearly show his niece her error. to his surprise, grace answered, with a beautiful smile on her face “o yes; and i have so prayed, many and many a time; 0 ; not failing to return thanks for the pleasure i had been permitted to enjoy." “ thanks for mere carnal pleasure !” “all things are good that are filled with good affections," said grace. “we are in a natural world, where all pleasuro , and pain affect us in the natural degree most sensibly. we must come down, that we may go up. we must let our natural joy and gladness have free course, innocently, that they may be changed into a joy that is higher and spiritual. is it not so, uncle ??? now, the old man had not expected to find such a nice head on so young a body; nor did he expect to be called upon to answer a question, which came in a form that he was not prepared either to negative or affirm. he had put all natura) > 208 the christmas party. > pleasures under the ban, as flowing from the carnal mind; and, therefore, evil. as to filling natural pleasures with spiritual life, that was a new position in theology. he had preached against natural pleasures as evil, and, therefore, to be abandoned by all who would lead a heavenly life. before he could collect his thoughts for an answer satisfactory to himself, two or three ladies gathered around them, and he discreetly forebore to make any further remarks on the subject. but he felt, as may be supposed, very uncomfortable. after the first set was danced, one of the young ladies who had been on the floor, and who had previously been introduced to the old gentleman by grace, came, with color heightened from excitement, and her beautiful face in a glow of pleasure, and sat down by his side. mr. archer would have received her with becoming gravity, had it been in his power to do so; but the smile on her face was so innocent, and she bent towards him so kindly and affectionately, that he could not find it in his heart to meet her with even a silent reproof. this young lady was really charming his ear, when a gentleman came up to her, and said, “anna, i want you to dance with me. “with pleasure,” replied the girl. “you will excuse me for awhile, mr. archer,” said she, and she was about rising as she spoke, but the old man placed his hand upon her arm, and gently detained her. “ you're not going to leave me?" “no, not if my company will give you any pleasure,” replied the young girl, with a gentle smile. " please excuse me. this she addressed to the person who had asked her to dance. he bowed, and turned away. > the christmas party. 209 “i am glad to keep you by my side,” said mr. archer, with some seriousness in his manner. “ and i am glad to stay here,” was promptly answered, “if my company will give you any pleasure. it does me good to contribute to others' happiness." the old man was touched by this reply, for he felt that i was from the heart. it sounded strangely to his ears from the lips of one who had just been whirling in the mazy dance. “there is no real pleasure in anything selfish," he remarked. “yes, you say truly, it does us good to contribute to the happiness of others.” “for this reason,” said anna, “i like dancing as a social recreation. it is a mutual pleasure. we give and receive enjoyment." the old minister's face grew serious. “i have been to three or four parties,” continued the young girl," where dancing was excluded, under some strange idea that it was wrong; and i must say, that so much evilspeaking and censoriousness it has never been my lot to encounter in any company. the time, instead of being improved as a season of mental and bodily recreation, was worse than wasted. i know that i was worse instead of better on returning from each of these companies, for i insensibly fell into the prevailing spirit.” that was very bad, certainly,” remarked mr. archer, before whose mind arose some pictures of social gatherings, in which had prevailed the very spirit condemned by his young companion. “but i don't see how you are going to make dancing a sovereign remedy for the evil.” “it is not a sovereign remedy," was answered, “but it is a 210 the christmas party. > > ooncert of feeling and action, in which the mind is ex. hilarated, and in which a mutual good-will is produced. you cannot dance without being pleased, to a greater or less extent, with your partners on the floor. often and often have i had a prejudice against persons wear off as we moved together in the dances, and i have afterwards discovered in them good qualities to which i was before blinded.” “uncle," said grace to the old man, just at this moment, bending to his ear as she spoke, and taking his hand in hers, --“come! i want to show you something." grace drew him into the adjoining parlor, where another set was on the floor. two children, her younger brother and sister, were in it. “now, just look at ada and willy," whispered grace in his ear, as she brought him in view of the young dancers. ada was a lovely child, and the old uncle's heart had already taken her in. she was a graceful little dancer, and moved in the figures with the lightness of a fairy. it was a beautiful sight, and in the face of all the prejudices, which half a century had worn into him, he felt that it was beautiful. as he looked upon it, he could keep the dimness from his eyes only by a strong effort. “is there evil in that, uncle ?" asked grace, drawing her arm within that of the old man's. “is it good ?” he replies. it is good,” said grace, emphatically, as she lifted her eyes to his. mr. archer did not gainsay her words. he, at least, felt that it was not evil, though he could not admit that it was good. 66 yes; the christmas party. 211 spite of the dancing, which soon ceased to offend the good old man, he paesed a pleasant evening. perhaps, he enjoyed the christmas party as much as any one there. nothing was said, on the next day, by any one, on the subject of dancing; though mr. archer, especially, thought a great deal about the matter. some ideas had come into his mind that were new there, and he was pondering them attentively. on the third day of his arrival, he had a severe attack of rheumatism, from which he suffered great pain, besides a confinement to his room for a couple of weeks. during that time, the untiring devotion and tender solicitude of grace, touched the old man's heart deeply. when the pain had sufficiently abated to let his mind attain composure, she sought to interest him in various ways. sometimes she would read to him by the hour; sometimes she would entertain him with cheerful conversation; and sometimes she would bring in one or two of her young friends, whom he had met at the christmas party. with these, he had more than one disrussion, in his sick room, on the subject of dancing, and the old minister found these gay young girls rather more than a match for him. during a discussion of this kind, grace left the room. in her absence one of her companions said to him “grace is a good girl.” a quick light went over the old man's countenance; and he replied, with evident feeling“good? yes; i look at her, sometimes, and think her · almost an angel.” she dances.' the old man sighed. 212 the christmas party. " she is a christian.' “i wish there were more such in the world,” said he unhesitatingly. “and yet she dances." “my dear child,” said mr. archer, turning with an affectionate smile towards his young interlocutor," don't take such an advantage of me in the argument.” “ then it is settled,” was continued, in triumph," that if dancing is not a christian grace, a maiden may dance and yet be a christian ?" “god bless you, and keep you from all the evil of the world,” said the old man, fervently, as he took the young girl's hand and pressed it between his own. “it may be all " right! it may be all right!” " grace came back at the moment, and he ceased speaking. from that time the venerable minister said no more on the subject, and it is but fair to believe, that when he returned home he had very serious doubts in regard to the sin of dancing, which had once been as fairly held as if it had been an article in the confession of faith. > the 213 strawberry girl. #hb strawberry girl or, the old pocket pistol by bro. prince. * you go on your visit to-day, brother frank, i understand, and i want the keepsake you promised me;" said ann linden, a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked girl of sixteen, to her brother, who was fixing a pocket pistol, while around him lay a pair of ball-moulds, a shot-pouch, and a powderflask. “but o, mercy! what are you doing? you are not going to take that old pistol with you surely, dear, dear brother?" “yes, but i am, sis.," replied he. “this old pistol, as you call it, i expect will be the means of making my for.. i tune." > “be the means of your death, more likely, i am afraid," retorted she, sorrowfully. “o, don't take it with you, brother---some accident may happen ; it may burst, or go off and kill you." frank linden stopped a moment and looked up at his sister, who stood by his side, and he saw tears standing in her eyes. “why, ann!” said he, “what dangers you imagine you need not fear,--the old pistol will never do any hurt to 214 girl. the strawbf rr y me. > i have not yet loaded it or fired it; but thought i might, when i got to my uncle's in the country. but here, you may take a lock of my hair for the keepsake, if you are afraid you will never see me again ;” and he laughingly held his head towards her. heaven forbid that i should never see you again,” replied ann; “but, brother, that would be a choice keepsake," and she took her scissors, which hung by a steel chain from her belt, and clipped off a lock of frank's hair, the longest she could find. “there," said she, "i will " keep that until you get married and make your fortune, and then give it to your wife, if that old pistol does not make a cripple of you and prevent such an event. i do wish you would throw the useless, dangerous instrument away.” “ann, i tell you this old pocket pistol will be the means of affording me a great deal of pleasure, and the instrument, perhaps, of making my fortune. remember, sis., what i tell you;” and he continued his work of cleaning and fixing it. his sister turned and left him, saying she could not conceive what pleasure could be derived from an old pocket pistol ; nor any prospect of its being the means of making his fortune, or any other person's. frank and ann linden were the son and daughter of a respectable upholsterer in new york, who, though not rich, yet was well off and doing a comfortable business. frank was about twenty years of age—had graduated from col. lege, and, ere he commenced the study of law, a profession be intended to pursue, was going to spend a few weeks in 1 the strawberry 215 girl. the country, at his uncle's, living in the interior, near the pennsylvania line. fishing, hunting and rambling through woods and fields, he was not much accustomed to; yet he anticipated fine sport, and left home in goods spirits for an absence of four weeks. the old uncle whom he visited had no children, and had been a widower for some ten or twelve years, having with him, as housekeeper, a widowed sister of his deceased wife, a mrs. jones, who had one daughter about the same age of frank, named elsie jones. the old gentleman, frank's uncle, received him with all the hearty welcome of a man fond of his relations, and more particularly so, as frank was a favorite, being named after him. he had not seen him for some years, and was surprised at viewing a handsome, stout-built young man, large enough, as he said, to lift a barrel of cider into the tail of a cart, or to mow all day; and he chuckled and laughed, as he turned him round, exclaiming, “ frank, my boy, you are stout enough for a farmer !” no doubt i am, uncle,” replied frank, “ and you will find i can do justice to farmer's fare, likewise ;." as just at that minute mrs. jones announced that dinner was ready, and he followed his uncle to the table, where a large dish of beef and pork, with sundry kinds of vegetables, such as turnips, potatoes, and cabbage, were smoking by its side the uncle had no fault to find with his nephew for not doing ample justice to his table, as a day and a night's rido over a rough road, and several hours' fasting, had, though he was somewhat fatigued, given him a fine appetite. a 216 girl. the stra w berry after dinner, the old gentleman retired and took a nap, and frank sauntered off into the fields, and from thence strayed to a piece of woodland, through which murmured a purling brook, where, on the margin, he seated himself, watching the little ripples of the stream, and noticed occasionally the darting glimpse of a speckled trout, which seemed to catch his shadow, and then vanish from his sight. for some time he amused himself in looking at the stream, and in witnessing also the gambols of a gray squir rel, that alternately leaped from the trunk of a fallen tree that was near, and then ascended the body of one that was standing, and after an absence of a moment, would be seen again on the fallen tree. he thought of his pocket pistol, and wished he had brought it with him, imagining he might shoot the nimble animal. at length he arose, and, crossing the brook, wandered through the woods until he came to a large tract of cleared land, at the extremity of his uncle's domains. as he leaped from a fence into an open field, he heard a sudden scream, when, looking forward, he saw a young girl, with her hair streaming from her head and her bonnet hanging from her neck, running as if for life, uttering loud, piercing cries; in one hand she held a basket, and in the other a stout stick,-behind her, from the distance he was off, he could see nothing. her screams, however, aroused him, and he sprang forward to meet her. as they neared each other, he discovered an enormous black snake, of the racer breed, with his head erect; he had a white ring around his neck, and was close upon her. the snake a the 217 strawberry girl. seemed to move with velocity, about one-third of its length erect above the ground. its eyes shone like two sparks of fire, and with mouth open and forked tongue protruded, it seemed intent on its victim. frank had never seen a snake of this species before ; but he knew their bite was harmless, yet their powerful coil dangerous. the young girl, who, he thought, might be about fifteen or sixteen years of age, appeared frightened almost to distraction. she was pale and colorless, and scemed ready to drop to the earth, as he came up and sprang between her and the snake, seizing the stick from her hand as he passed. a few feet only separated the girl from the swift serpent as he jumped between them; and ere he was aware of it, the reptile was coiling around one of his legs, and winding its way up his body. frank linden was unused to fear, and in imaginatior. always thought he could face anything; yet a cold kind of feeling ran over him for an instant, at the discovery that the snake was coiling around him; but he recovered himself in a moment, and boldly seized the serpent below the head with one hand, with a view of destroying it in his nervous grasp. on seizing it, the snake instantly uncoiled itself . from his leg, and in spite of his exertions gradually worked itself through his firm grasp, by immediately coiling its lower part around his arm, winding its folds so tight as to pain him. throwing down his stick, in vain he strove to tear the reptile from his arm with his other hand ; for its tenacious grasp baffled all his strength in the effort. as frank sprang past the girl, she had stopped and 10 a 218 the strawberry girl. iurned round, and stood panting from the exertion of running: gazing, with horror depicted on her countenance, at the sight of the snake writhing and struggling in his iron grasp. finding he could not tear it from his arr, frank felt for his pocket-knife; but with one hand he could not open the blade, and he held it towards her, requesting that she would open it. trembling, she approached, and putting her basket on the ground, took the knife from his hand and opened the blade. in the mean time, frank grasped with both lands the snake, that was gradually slipping through his clutch. the young girl's terror in a measure seemed to abato now; and as he held the reptile with both hands, he directed her to cut it from his arm, when in an instant she inserted the blade of the knife between one or two of the coils, at once severing the snake into three parts, which relaxed its tenacity, and fell to the ground, when frank threw the part remaining in his hands also to the earth, and soon dispatched all remains of life in the dissevered pieces. he had now time to look at the girl, to whose rescue from a horrid death, perhaps, he had so fortunately arrived. she was neatly dressed in a home-made striped frock, fitted to her light, graceful form, leaving her neck bare, except what was covered by the cape of her sun-bonnet, which was made of the same material with her frock. her dark, expressive eyes now glistened with pleasure, as he stepped towards her and took up her basket, which he discovered was nearly the strawberry girl. 219 a full of delicious-looking strawberries, which she had been gathering without alluding to the recent scene, he emilingly complimented her on her success in gathering so many luxurious berries, and taking three or four out, he ate them, praising their flavor. still holding her basket, he then civilly re. quested that he might carry it, and see her safe to where she was going the crimson that mantled her face and neck vied with the color of the fruit she had been picking, as she curt. sied and thanked him, modestly yet timidly replying that she was so frightened that company home would be a favor; and frank took the artless girl's arm, put it within his, and they crossed the field together towards the road that bounded the farm of his uncle. “where did you gather these delicious berries, miss ?" asked hat; “pardon me, i do not know your name, or i should address you by it.” julia sefton is my name," she quickly replied. live a short distance down the road,—the strawberries ] gathered in the field adjoining the one you saw me in, which i was crossing, intending to carry them to elsie jones, for the nephew of mr. linden, who, she told me, he expected this evening from new york, to pay him a visit. they are quite a treat to people from the city.” “indeed! then, miss julia, these strawberries were ! intended for me ; for my name is frank linden, and i am the nephew of mr. linden, to whose house you were going.” julia blished and looked down, casting a side glance at 66 we a 220 girl. the strawberry him, rather pleased, though a little confused at what she had said ; and she tried to mend the matter, by saying that elsie jones was going with her,—but when she called in the morning she cou¥d not go, and begged of her to bring some, if she gathered any. frank laughed, and told her she could go with them yet to his uncle's-saying he should certainiy now claim a part of her berries. “and cannot you eat them at my mother's just as well ? we have some maple-sugar and sweet cream; and mother, ; i know, will not be offended at my bringing you there, seeing you have been so kind to me. you will go, won't you, mr. linden ?" asked she, looking earnestly and innocently up into his face. call me frank linden, julia! i am not old enough to be a mr. yet. yes, i will go to your mother's with you ; but you need not tell her about the snake, because i am afraid she will not let you go after berries again," said he, smiling at her earnest,tender of hospitality to him. “o never fear that, mr. frank !” quickly returned she, .“ mother will let me go ;” and her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “ there! there is mr. again! do call me plain frank, and leave the mr. off!” exclaimed he, looking coaxingly at her. "well, then, frank! frank linden! which shall i call you ?-tell me?” asked she; and for the first time her shrill laugh rang loud over the fields. “it is so odd to call a man only just by his plain, first name !" a 1 the strawberry 221 girl. “but julia,” said he, “i am no man yet, and plain frank suits me best. my sister ann always calls me so ; and now i am away from home, i want some one to remind me of her. i think your red cheeks and your eyes resemble hers very much." “do they?" answered she, “then i will call you frank;" and she blushed, she knew not why, as they passed along. julia was pretty, and the excitement of the scene sho had passed through, and the exercise of running, together with the warm weather, had given an additional color to her fine-formed countenance, which, when she was smiling, showed two rows of regular, beautiful white teeth, peeping from between a pair of cherry lips, while a slight dimple danced on one of her fresh blooming cheeks. frank, as he gazed at her, was completely struck with surprise at seeing so much real beauty in the country. he thought his sister handsome; but julia was more pretty, just then, in his eyes. as they walked on, they talked of wild-flowers and birds, honey-bees and grey squirrels, until they came to the fence by the road, where they could see the little white house, the residence of mrs. sefton, julia's mother. it was partly hid by several large trees, but one white end was peeping out through the foliage. here frank was going to set the basket down and help julia over the fence; but she withdrew her arm from his, and stepping on a piece of board that rested on one of the lower rails, lightly sprang over into the road, and laughingly reached out her hand, telling him she would help him over. he declined her gallantry, however, but handed her the 222 girl. the stra "berry a basket of strawberries, and clambered over, evidently evincing that he was a novice at the leaping of fences in the country. a moment or two now brought them to mrs. sefton's house; and julia, pushing open the front door, took frank into the best room, and handing him a chair, hastily untied her sun-bonnet and threw it on the table, requesting him to raise one of the windows, while she would call her mother. frank did as he was requested, and, seating himself, took a survey of the humble apartment. in one corner stood an old-fashioned clock, which was ticking away, the hour hand pointing to nearly five. eight or ten common wooden chairs, painted black and flowered with yellow, were set round the room; between the two front windows hung & mahogany-framed looking-glass, with a landscape-painting at the top, and over the whole of which was a piece of green gauze. in the fireplace on one side of the room was a large bunch of green ivy-bushes, interspersed with wild-flowers, and on the bushes were fastened about a dozen blown eggshells, that had been dipped in melted bees’-wax, looking yellow, and presenting the appearance of lemons hanging among the green leaves. on the mantle-piece were two brass candle-sticks, which shone like burnished gold; and standing by the jambs of the fireplace stood a pair of brassheaded shovel and tongs, and within the jambs were a pair of andirons with urn-shaped brass tops. a home-made, striped rag-carpet was on the floor ; and under the looking glass stood a cherry table, with a polish of bees'-wax, shining equal to any modern high-finish ; while in one cora the strawberry 223 girl. ner of the room stood a bureau or desk, it answering the double purpose, and on the top of which was a book-case about half filled with books. these articles, and an oldfashioned, round-top stand, with a large family biblo covered with green baize, constituted all the furniture of the best room. a coarse painting of a man in the olden costume of small clothes, shoes with large buckles, ruffled wristbands to his shirt, and a long-waisted coat with enormous large buttons, was hung on the whitewashed wall on one side of the room, while over the mantel-piece were two or three dingy gilt frames, hanging against the chimney, containing profiles cut from paper, and placed on black silk, showing the side of the form of faces. frank had scarcely cast his cursory survey over the room, when julia again made her appearance, accompanied by her mother. the old lady was dressed in a dark-colored calico frock, over which was a check apron, tied around her waist. she wore a common, middle-aged-woman's cap, and though her countenance looked care-worn and somewhat old, yet there were traces of beauty still remaining on her face. as she entered the room, frank arose, and was introduced to mrs. sefton by julia ; the old lady curtsying and smoothing down her starched apron, as she took a seat opposite him. mrs. sefton, like many other ladies, was talkative; she remembered his father and mother—when they were married—what a pretty little boy he was when a baby-how handsome his father used to be, and thought he resembled bim uncommonly. all of which frank listened to, and 224 girl. tie strawberry laughed, and humored the old woman, praising her nico little house, and complimenting her daughter julia. in the mean time julia had changed her home-made frock for a neat calico one, and was seen flying round in the adjoining room; and in a few moments came in and moved out the cherry table, spreading over it a table-cloth that vied in whiteness with the pure snow, and as if by magic, soon had it covered with tea-things, with the accompaniments of a blue bowl of rich cream and a large dish of strawberries; and frank observed that her hair, which had hung in dishevelled tresses when they arrived, was now neatly combed and hanging in ringlets over her neck and shoulders, with a fresh-blown rose pinned among a cluster of curls on one of her temples. julia, i see, has set the table,” said the old lady, adι dressing frank; “her strawberries will be a treat to you, i suppose;" and leading the way, they sat down, julia pouring the tea, and helping him to strawberries and cream. to say that frank linden did not enjoy himself, would . be belieing his looks and feelings—he was perfectly enraptured ; and after spending a pleasant hour, he rose to depart. julia accompanied him to the door, and he made her promise that on the morrow she would be ready to go with him and gather strawberries, provided her mother had no objections. on frank's return to his uncle's, the old gentleman was inquisitive to know where he had been; but frank evasively answered, telling, however, all the places he had wan. a the 225 str a w berry girl. a dered over, at the same time studiously avoiding all mention of his adventure with julia sefton. it leaked out notwithstanding, the next day, by the way of elsie who early called on julia to go after berries, and he artlessly told her about the snake scene, and of frank's accompanying her home. every pleasant day for a week or two frank, julia and elsie were off gathering strawberries. each had a basket, and elsie competed with julia in gathering the greatest quantity, always getting her basket full first, not so much from her being more expert, as from other little circumstances, such as, that if julia camo across a spot where they were thick, she called frank, (who not being very expert, filled his basket slow,) and directed him to the thickest clusters; and then half joking, and half from some other cause, he would occasionally take a handfull from her own basket and put them into his; and again she frequently had to stop and listen to some little story of his ; and sometimes, when picking side by side, she was obliged to playfully push frank away, as his fingers were sure to come in contact with hers and take hold of them, pretending he thought them berries, while she would stop and box his ears for taking her hand for the vines. every rainy and unpleasant day frank was sure to go a fishing in the brook which ran along near mrs. sefton's house, and to be gone all day; yet he never catched a chub or trout, but might have been seen, instead of being on the margin of the brook angling for fish, to be sitting alongside of julia in the loom where she was weaving, helping her tie 226 the strawberry girl. the threads, fix the quills in the shuttle, and occasionally · wanting to whisper something in her ear, because he pretended the loom made such a noise he thought she could not lear,-always making a mistake in getting his mouth to her ear, by placing it to her lips; and when he went away, would always brag to mrs. sefton how much julia and himself had wove. but the old lady averred, that with all his help, julia did not weave scarcely any when he was there; and occasionally scolded her when she went into the room and saw how little she had accomplished. • at length the four weeks of frank's visit to his uncle expired, and he was to go the next morning. he never knew so short a month, and julia, who dreamed and thought of nothing but frank, wondered why he should stay 60 short a time. 6 then i shall never see you again, cousin frank,” said julia, when he told her he was going; for they had added the endearing name of cousin to each other, for that kind of relationship that existed between them, or as a substitute for a more tender title. “and you will forget your cousin julia when you get to the city. i wish you had never come to visit your uncle !” and she lcaned her head against his breast, with both arms around his neck. “i shall never forget you, cousin julia," replied frank, pressing her to his bosom. have you no relations in the city that you may one day visit ? because then i might see a you." > “ alas! i know not,” sobbed the poor girl ; “but then if i had, it would not be like seeing you here,-and then i т.н е 227 strawberry girl. am a poor girl, and you will move among the rich. it is right i suppose for us now to part; but, frank, you will sometimes think of me, won't you ?" and she looked up into his face, with tears streaming down her cheeks. “ yes, i will think of you, and love you too,” answered he, kissing the tears from her face. at length he bade her farewell, telling her always to remember him, and that he should never forget her. the next day, by the roots of one of the large trees in front of their house, on the spot where she had parted with frank, julia found a pocket pistol. she knew it belonged to him, for it had the initials of his name “f. l.” rudely marked on a little silver plate on the stock. she took it and put it in her trunk, resolving to keep it until she again saw him. it would be a kind of remembrance, though she felt she needed nothing just then to keep him in her recollection. a little wad of paper was stuffed in the muzzle of the pistol, which julia discovered when she put it into her trunk, and as it was probably put there by frank, she did not remove it; as every thing now that related to him in her possession was a treasure to her. julia's parents were english, who had come to this country early, and located on the spot where her mother now resided. they were poor, and she was their only child. mrs. sefton had been a widow about a year, her husband having for some years before his death been cut of health, so that when he died there was little left for his wife and daughter. they, however, managed to live in the same house, and by industry and economy, with the help 228 girl. the strawberry > of a cow and about a couple of acres of land, got along quite comfortably. this was their situation when frank linden became acquainted with julia. about one year rolled on after frank linden made his visit to his uncle. he had commenced the study of law, and amid his studies, amusements, and pleasures in the city, thought but little of julia sefton. it is true, occasionally some little circumstance would remind him of the artless, pretty strawberry girl who had so enraptured him, and for the first time enlisted the feelings of love in his breast; and though at such times some misgivings of conscience would come over him, for awakening in her gentle bosom hopes of his lasting attachment, yet he exeused himself, and would as much as possible banish the recollection of her from his mind. when he first returned from his visit, he spoke in rapture of julia to his sister ann, and described her as one on whom his memory would linger with delight. she joked him frequently of his country love, and often reminded him of the extravagánt encomiums he bestowed on her; and then all the dear recollections of his visit and julia sefton would rise up before him, and he would laughingly tell ann that julia would one day, perhaps, become her sister. in the mean time julia, by the way of elsie jones, who still resided at frank's uncle's, learnt that he was studying law; and though she never expected to see him again, she continued to cherish his image in her recollection. one day she was unusually depressed in spirits,--her mother had gone to assist a neighbor, in whose bounty they the 229 strawberry girl. were continually sharing; and she was left alone at home. she went to her trunk for something which she wanted, and in removing some articles to find it, lifted out, accidentally, frank's pocket pistol, which lay among them. it fell on the floor and suddenly exploded, startling her so much, that it was some moments ere she recovered herself sufficiently to pick it up. she never dreamed when she put it there that it was loaded; and the thoughts that something serious might have occurred made her feel thankful that she had escaped injury. picking up the pistol from the floor, she stood looking at it, as she had frequently done when visiting her trunk; and she thought of frank, until the tears filled her eyes. all at once the smoke of burning paper arrested her attention, and she discovered that the wadding that had been discharged from the loaded instrument was smoking in one corner of her room. she instantly ran and put it out, and looking on the floor, near the now extinguished wad, saw the little roll of paper that was in the muzzle of the pistol. looking at it a moment, she carclessly picked it up, and discovering that there was printing on it, unrolled the kind of stopple and stood by the window, listlessly glancing her eyes over what was on it. it seemed to be a piece of an old newspaper, torn from among the advertisements that had been printed a year or two previous. as her eyes thoughtlessly ran over some of the old notices, they rested on the following: “ information wanted !-information is wanted respecting the whereabouts or place of residence of one leander sefton, and his wife and child, who emigrated to this country from england some years 230 girl. the strawberry since, the place of their location not being known by their friends any one knowing the family will confer a favor on them by sending information to this office, or the family themselves will learn something of great importance to them by calling at no. – broadway, new york.” this, in addition, was duly signed and dated as a public advertisement. what could it mean? the information required most certainly alluded to their family. julia was not born when they came to this country, but she had frequently heard her father and mother talk of their friends in the old world, regretting that all communication was suspended, and they and their connexions were buried to each other. she read the notice over and over again, and longed for her mother to come home. as it drew towards night, she stood in the door and watched for her coming, and so impatient was she, that minutes seemed as hours to her. at length, julia discovered ner mother far up the road, slowly wending her way home, and she could not wait until she arrived, but ran off to meet her. the old lady saw julia running towards her, and could not for her life imagine what was the matter. julia soon, however, came up, and in hurried accents communicated the contents of the advertisement she had discovered. mrs. sefton was surprised beyond measure. there could be no doubt but that they were the persons sought for. her husband, she knew, was a connexion of a wealthy family of the same name in england, and in his sarly days it was supposed that he would inherit an estate the 231 strawberry girl. of some thousands on the death of an uncle ; but that uncle they heard had died, and it was said that he left the property to another. after a day or two advising, it was decided that julia should proceed to new york, and make application at the place designated in the advertisement; and accordingly preparations were made for her to go on the important expedition. unused to travelling and inexperienced, julia knew nothing of the ways of the world. there were four passengers in the coach in which she took her passage to new york, all males, two of them rather aged, and the other two were young men. her youthful appearance and pretty looks attracted attention from the young mon; and unprotected as she was, her situation made her feel unpleasant after an hour or two, however, one of the elderly gentlemen, a quaker, who lived in the city, seeing how she was situated, felt interested for her, and kindly took her under his charge, benevolently paying every attention to her she needed during the numerous changes and stoppings; and they reached the city the next day in the morning, stopping at the stage-house in the bowery. here her quaker friend, after getting a room for her accommodation, and having her trunk carried to it, left her; and julia retired, that she might, after taking some refreshment, be ready to go out, and transact the business of her journey. she soon finished her toilet operation, and partook of a comfortable breakfast. the room she occupied looked into > 232 girl. the strawberry the street, and was over the stage-office; and just as she had got ready to go out, she heard voices below, one of them saying, “here, take my card up to her—i know it must be , , a lady i have seen!” and in a moment more she was surprised by a servant at her door, who entered and handed her a card, with the name of " frank linden” written on it. “o, where is he?" she involuntarily exclaimed, as she saw the name; and confused and overjoyed, she looked at the servant entreatingly. “he is below, miss," answered the servant. 6 shall i send him up ?” “o, do!” she hastily and innocently replied, and the servant stared at her and left the room. “how fortunate this is ! ” joyfully murmured she to herself; and in an instant more the door was thrown open again, and she was in the arms of frank linden. frank had been walking that morning, and accidentally stopping at the hotel after the stage arrived, saw the name of julia sefton on the book, as taken from the way-bill, and had immediately inquired for her. it took but a few moments for julia to tell frank what brought her to the city,—the circumstance of her discovering the notice on the piece of old newspaper, and the probability that it was for them, the name of her father, and the other members of the family in number, all corresponding. after the excitement of their meeting had a little sub. sided, frank accompanied julia to the place mentioned in the stka w berry girl. 233 the advertisement; and hearing the particulars, his surprise and joy were scarce less than hers on finding that the fact was, a large legacy in funds had been left to her father in england, -in case of his death it was to go to his heirs, of which julia was the only one. after putting her business in a proper train, frank took julia home to his mother and sister, introducing her, relating the object of her visit to the city, her success, and the prospect of her becoming an heiress to a splendid fortune. the linden family received julia as the acquaintance of frank, tendering her the hospitalities of their house, and paid her every attention in their power; and as she had necessarily to stay in the city a few days, she made their house her home. frank's law studies, somehow, for a few days failed to draw him to the office; he found it more pleasant to be sitting with his sister ann and julia than to be poring over blackstone,-he was attending a suit at home, and he gained his cause; for, ere julia left, they had exchanged vows. the morning after frank had won his suit, as he was making a confidant of his sister, alone by themselves, julia accidentally came into the room, just as ann was saying to her brother, “ and where is that old pistol, that has blown to light the fortune of your beloved ?" “ay, where is my pistol, julia ?" asked frank, looking towards her, “ i told ann that it would be the instrument of making a fortune.” julia blushed at the tell-tale looks of frank, as she ro 234 girl. the strawberry plied, “it has indeed been a fortunate instrument,” and she went to get the pistol out of her trunk. julia did not return home unaccompanied ; and on frank's third visit to see his uncle, some few months after, she returned to the city with him as his bride. ann, who had now indeed got a sister in frank's pretty strawberry girl, as she embraced her as his wife, delivered over the lock of hair, saying, “here, julia, is your husband's keepsake to me. i was to hand it over when he got married.” julia took the lock of hair, kissed and returned it again to ann, saying that as she had frank himself, she could well spare that much of him, requesting her to keep it in remembrance of her brother and for her sake; and laughingly clipping off one of her own golden curls, which she presented, told her she could now have a part of each, hoping she would never love them less for the keepsake. frank linden finished his law studies, and became quite eminent at the bar. in after years, when a group of young black-eyed, cherry-cheeked lindens were fondling around him, and julia, one of them, said, “ come, pa, tell us a pretty story," he related the preceding; and when they had listened, and asked the name of the story, he laughed and sent them to ask their blushing ma, telling them he believed it was called “ the strawberry girl, or the old pocket pistol." the author's benefit. 235 records of literary life. no. i. the author's beybeit. by b. b. blank, gentleman de jure. 66 66 а “why don't you try the stage, blank ?" said a fortunate son of commerce to an unfortunate son of commas, with whom the good and great man had once most graciously condescended to pass the evening and partake of a bottle of wine. i have tried it,” was the laconic response of the man of letters. you got the piece brought on the stage, didn't you ?” os i did." “ then, of course, you had a benefit ?" “i had, and such a benefit, too, as i shall not be likely to forget.” “what do you mean, blank? the piece wasn't damned, surely, on the author's benefit night?" “worser than that,' as the fat boy said." 66 worse than that! it couldn't be worse than that. damnation is the climax of all misfortunes either in this world or the next. but drop your mysticisms, and let us hear all about it, at once.' “i cannot promise you all ; but you shall hear a part. > ور 236 the author's benefit. but before beginning, and while there is yet time to recall your rash request, i give you notice that a whole composed of many such parts, would, as the yankee says, be “pretty considerable.' so, if after this warning, you persist in your rash request, your anger and your énnui be upon your own head." “be it so, only proceed—i am becoming interested.” “he that will to cupar, maun to cupar,' saith the proverb; so here goes : “i believe i never told you that, in the course of my literary career, i had once been a journalist. no matter. i couldn't make it go, and that would be an end of it, only that i believe that you could not well understand how i fell into the one walk, without knowing something of how i'fell out of the other. in my mind my connection with the press and my connection with the stage are so indissolubly connected that i could not conveniently think or speak of the one without thinking or speaking of the other. you cannot understand why this should be the case at present, but you will fully appreciate it by and by. “you no doubt recollect the case of mr. weller's friend, the cobbler, who had been ruined by having had money bequeathed to him. i always thought his case a strange one, but i consider my own quite as strange. i lost public confidence by convincing the public that i was honest. we hear a great deal almost every day about honest and independent journals. believe me, my dear sir, there is no such thing in existence. the possession of such a phenomenon would make a nonentity of a nabob in a single the author's benefit. 237 6 year.' my own party admitted that i was a clever enough writer, but decidedly too candid for a politician, while our opponents denounced me day after day, as a daring and dangerous incendiary; at once an enemy to society and a traitor to the commonwealth. it could not be that they attached to myself personally, or to the press under my con. trol, sufficient importance to justify such incessant and systematic persecution; but their object must have been to stab the party, to which i had dedicated my services, through the side of its too fearless champion. our folks, however, were too wide awake' to give them the chance, for they prudently and quietly washed their hands of a concern that they soon perceived was calculated to do them more harm than good.—thus rendering the prayer of the philosopher,' to be saved from his friends,' entirely superfluous so far as they were concerned ; they having effected that consummation for themselves, without any necessity for providential interference. “ there is, i believe, no species of infatuation short of absolute madness to compare with the unyielding perversity that prompts the proprietor of a falling newspaper to persist in its publication. neither the desertion of his last friend, nor the absorption of his last farthing, can admonish him to pause in his suicidal career; but led on by a sort of mocking monomania (for it cannot properly be called hope,) similar to that which clings to the culprit at the gallows foot, he persists from day to day, till either the mill-agent refuses another ream of paper, or the sheriff lays hands upon the press. and, indeed, even then, it is ten to orie, 6 . 238 the author's deepi1. that his diseased imagination will present the vision of some great capitalist or influential politician, coming and asking what is the matter, and, upon learning the state of the case, laughing at the very idea of permitting such a print as the to go down for the want of a few thousands. “it was during the exhaustion that is almost certain to succeed one of those terrible and mysterious paroxysms, that i first thought of writing for the stage. the severe regimen prescribed, not by an eminent physician, but by an empty purse, had completely reduced my malady and restored my reason. actuated by the instinct of selfpreservation, i had rented an apartment at three dollars per month, which, though it might have been amply carpeted by and ordinarily-sized shawl, was to suffice, in its own proper person,' for sitting-room, sleeping-room, library, office, and study; not to mention (for, in truth, they were scarcely worth mentioning, its additional duties in its capacity of pantry, kitchen, and cellar. it was therefore in the most picturesque and secluded nook of this most picturesque and secluded mansion, that, polishing and combining the fresh and vigorous conceptions of genius by the most mature judgment and severe artistic skill, i produced the immortal work that was destined to "accrue to my benefit, in fame and fortune, in the manner following: “the fate of my journal, though it had not much shaken my own faith in my own abilities, in the abstract, had nevertheless inspired me with doubts as to the capacity of the public to appreciate my talents. with becoming 6 the author's benefit. 239 6 * modesty i concluded that the latter were of too high an order to be properly estimated by any save the most enlightened portion of the most enlightened community; and it was therefore with considerable misgivings as to its fate, first with the manager, and subsequently with the managed, that i began and finished what i believed in my own heart to be a perfect gem of dramatic art. “how i lived, or rather how i existed, during the period of its creation, would, if faithfully and forcibly communicated to the public, confer a benefit upon medical science and domestic economy, compared with which the author's benefit would be almost as nothing.* my books, wearingapparel, &c., remained at the residence of the only relative who had latterly taken any interest in my affairs, and with whom i had been occasionally stopping during the last days of my unfortunate newspaper. my uncle (for in that relation did the kinsman in question stand to me), though a good enough sort of man in his way, and not wholly indifferent to the claims of ordinary poverty, had but little sympathy for absolute destitution. therefore to wait upon him, in person, haggard and empty-handed as i then was, would, i was well enough aware, be much more likely to excite his indignation than to inspire his pity: and i had sufficient experience of the prying and not over delicate temperament of the testy old gentleman, to convince me * i migkt, at some time, have been tempted to reveal the secrets of my prison. house, but for two causes, one of which was, that i did not believe society had merited such a service at my hand ; and the other was not merely an apprehension, ; but a positive conviction, that the speculators in breadstuffs would have the reccrd curned by the hand of the common hangman. 240 the author's 'benefit. that before surrendering my property to any third person whom i might depute to receive it, he would demand an amount of satisfaction which i was not just then in a condition to afford. so that even the miserable resources which i might otherwise have derived from these last remnants of my property were thus effectually cut off; and i was left to the operations of providence on the better feel. ings of the better few of my former non-paying subscribers: for it is but justice to the upper or more patronising class of my friends and supporters to state, that they had, with a delicacy of feeling that does them eternal honor, latterly avoided me altogether. with the tact peculiar to refined and cultivated minds, they must either have concluded that, in my altered circumstances, their presence would be mortifying to my pride, or else that their countenance, at such a juncture, might inspire hopes that it would be equally disagreeable to combat and imprudent to realize. but to proceed with my story. like the criminal whose trial approaches, my excitement became intense, as my drama began to approach its close: but when, through the agency of a friend, it was eventually placed in the hands of a manager, and when some days had elapsed without my hearing anything on the subject, my hopes and my agitation began to subside together. “in the meantime my every resource had become exhausted. another instalment of rent was, for some days, due, and my landlord, though still modest, was evidently becoming melancholy. winter had fairly set in; and i had warmed myself by the last fagot that my last farthing the author's 241 benefit. > > had purchased;' and was cold again. 'every person and every occurrence seemed to conspire against me. ever a dog, probably discovering through the a-cute-ness of his noble instinct,' that i was a person to be 'put down,' had contributed his mite to that consummation, by tearing the skirt off my only coat. “ while my affairs were thus evidently approaching a crisis, i had one morning quite unexpectedly found a sixpence in the pocket of an old vest, and as there had been a heavy fall of snow the night before, i was just calculating (now that i had the power of making a choice) whether it would be better to buy arsenic, and stay within doors, or borrow a shovel, and start out and try my fortune as a cleaner of sidewalks. the instinct of gentility which had once been the most potent ingredient in my composition, and which even yet was not wholly eradicated from my systern, at once suggested the preference of dying like a gentleman to living like a sweep. it (the instinct aforesaid) moreover insisted, that when men and angels had abandoned me, there was one who had not; but with the consideration of a brother, had furnished me with the means of reaching himself, where there could be little doubt i would meet a hearty and warm reception : and that to appropriate the remittance to any other use, than that contemplated by the , generous donor, would be, at once, an act of black ingratitude and of base dishonor. “ considering the late scarcity of specie on the premises, and the care with which every receptacle of that description of property had been cleaned out, the turning up of the 6 11 242 the author's benefit. sixpence could scarcely be attributed to anything short of supernatural agency. and taking it for granted that some power had miraculously interfered, the sum remitted was so much worse calculated to procure a meal than to purchase a medicine, as to indicate clearly enough that my unknown benefactor had made the advance for the purpose of enabling me to terminate rather than protract my miserable existence. if the amount had been fifty, or even twenty-five cents, there might have been some room to doubt the exact intentions of the giver, but as it was, there was nothing to leave the mind in any sort of suspense as to the meaning. at least so it appeared to me, and in vindication of the faith that was in me, i had already reached the street, when what would undoubtedly have been the last stage of my mortal pilgrimage, was suddenly interrupted by a boy's stopping me to inquire for the residence of a mr. blank. i told him that i was the person whom he sought, and hastily requested to know his business. he as hastily produced a letter which he said was from mr. the manager to whom had been submitted my play, and handing it to me took his leave. “what mysterious and inconsistent creatures we are ! an hour before i could have put a loaded pistol to my head, or a poisoned cup to my lip, with an unshrinking purpose and a steady hand, and now my agitation was such that i was scarcely able to break the seal of a letter! i did, however, break it at last, and learned from its contents that my play had been accepted, and that my presence was required at the theatre, the next morning, for the purpose > the author's benefit. 243 of hearing certain suggestions in regard to some slight alterations that the manuscript required before being placed in the hands of the actors. on the whole the communication was as gratifying as i could have desired, unless it had actually covered a remittance. the temperature of my room rose at least thirty degrees in as many seconds, and before the hour was out, i had about as much idea, either of becoming a suicide or a sweep, as i had of inflicting personal chastisement on the man of the moon. “the sudden change in my prospects affected not only a very perceptible revolution in my own bearing, but also in that of my friends. they were all so glad : though it was nothing but what must have been expected. they had known all along that a man like me could not be long kept down. by the way, it was probably this conviction that prevented them all from offering me the slightest assistance to rise. but now that i was upon my legs, there was no lack of hands to brush the dust off my garments, and thereby obliterate all indication of my recent fall. didn't i want money, was the demand of one. didn't i need a regʻlar new fit-out o'clothes,' was the question of another. like the erudite and excellent jedediah cleishbotham, i partook, in a 'moderate degree,' of the good things offered by both ; and before even the week, whose beginning had 1 witnessed my all but confirmed resolve of quitting the world entirely, had fully reached its close, i had taken, as it were, , a new lease of existenco; and, vanity apart, was already about ás favorable a specimen of the ex-journalist as you would be at all likely to encounter. so that, on the whole, > 244 benefit. τ η ε author's it is but justice to the unknown benefactor, already referred to, to admit, that whatever might be his 'intentions,' whether, as mr. free would say, "vartuous' or otherwise, his trifling donation had, for so far, been fortunate to me, or at least coincidentally the precursor of a very uncommon run of good luck. “ the incessant vigilance of the energetic and experienced manager was not long in bringing my fate, as a dramatist, to the test of a fair trial; and as it is rather the effects of the speculation upon the fortunes of the author, than a particular history of the production itself, that i propose to communicate, i will let it suffice to state, that the charge of the press, and the verdict of the play-going public (the judge and jury in such cases), were as favorable as i could have either reasonably hoped or desired. the piece had a good run, as it is called, for several successive nights; and at length the managerial conscience came to the conviction that it was now time that the originator should derive some advantage from a speculation, for so far, sufficiently successful. “in accordance with this praiseworthy conviction, the author's benefit' was announced in due form; and apart from the habitual and well-known good nature of the general public on such occasions, i had reason to believe that there were certain circumstances. involved, calculated to render such benefit what, i believe, is technically denom. inated a 'bumper.' “ i have already intimated my high admiration of the refined and unobtrusive delicacy that had, almost uniformly. the author's benef 245 t. 6 marked the course of my friends towards* me, subsequent to the fall of my unfortunate journal, and also of the ready and generous outburst of satisfaction with which i was welcomed back to their circle the moment that there was even a prospect of my being able to enter it on terms that would not be humiliating to myself. but, strange to tell, there were others who, either from their natural distrustfulness, could not, or from their instinctive hatred of whatever is lofty and refined, would not, see the matter in the same light in which i viewed it; and some of these even carried their scepticism or their malice so far as to publish a series of very ungenerous and offensive strictures upon the relative position of 'shakspeare and his friends,' in one of the most meddling and, i am sorry to say, not the least influential, of the daily papers. now, whatever may have been the amount of my indignation at this daring invasion of the sanctity of private friendship, i could not but foresee that, so far as my coming benefit was concerned, it must be, on the whole, beneficial. in the first place, it was salculated to give the affair an unusual degree of notoriety; and, secondly, if there were any of my friends who felt that their conduct had, in any degree, justified the malice or misconception to which it had been exposed, the ' benefit' was sure to be seized by them as an easy and graceful opportunity of quietly giving the lie to the insinuations of their traducers; as it afterwards ens abled them to say, or, what was still better, enabled others . the word 'towards," as it occurs in the text, is, of course, not to be "taken in its literal sense ) 246 the author's benefit. 6 to say for them, “ if the friends of mr. blank, knowing that they had a gentleman to deal with, did not impertinently invade the sanctity of his humble retreat during his temporary obscurity, had they not, when a legitimate and appropriate opportunity of bettering his circumstances, without wounding his feelings, presented itself, come to the restue, as friends ought ?' and that i had not overestimated the circumstances, public and private, that bore favorably on the coming event,' i had the satisfaction of seeing amply demonstrated, by the presence, at an early hour, of, perhaps, one of the largest and most respectable audiences ever convened on the mere occasion of a common theatrical performance. “ i need not say that, during an existence much more frequently and deeply marked by disappointment and humiliation than by honor and triumph, this was the proudest moment. but a moment, and a moment only, it was destined to be; for after two or three manifestations of impatience by the audience for the rise of the curtain, the manager presented himself, and after expressing his own extreme sorrow and mortification at the circumstance, stated that the person who had hitherto so successfully represented the principal character in the new piece had recklessly, and, he might add, criminally rendered himself en. tirely unfit for appearing before them on the present occasion; and as a proper substitute could not now be obtained, he proposed, with their permission, to offer for their present amusement something else ; and that the consummation of the highly meritorious purpose which, to their great honor the author's benefit. 247 6 6. had brought them together in such multitudinous numbers, would be postponed till some more fortunate occasion, when he hoped to be able to obviate the very possibility of further disappointment. “a murmur, evidently of dissatisfaction, was the only response : and thus ended the first act,' if not of the new play, at least of the kindred drama of "the author's benefit. “ if the evil genius' that had, almost from my childhood, dogged my footsteps, baffled my energies, and thwarted all my better purposes, was still, as it would seem, resolved to exercise its sinister influence in my affairs, it was evident that the energy of my new colleague, the manager, would give it something to do. true to his late promise, the bills soon again announced the author's benefit in imposing form, with the additional, and highly important announcement, that the principal character was to be sustained by -, a new theatrical star whose effulgence had lately burst upon and dazzled an astonished and admiring · world. “from all this you will perhaps conclude that if the evil genius aforesaid, had had any agency in making the man, who should have appeared on the former occasion, 'uncapable,' its geniusship had proved itself as shortsighted in its malignity as if it had been an ordinary mortal ; as the circumstance had only the effect of removing an ordinary performer, to have his place supplied by one who brought to the task all the talent and eclat of a distinguished master. be this, however, as it may, such were the promising, nay mr. 6 248 the author's benefit. even highly imposing auspices under which my second benefit, or rather the second section of my benefit, was ushered in. “ with the view of having a quiet and uninterrupted opportunity of observing the general effect of my own handiwork, and especially of discovering now near the performers would come to the realization of my own conceptions of the respective characters, i made my way, with some difficulty, to a box opposite the stage, and took my seat close beside a genteel and intellectual-looking man, when the commencement of the play at once attracted all my attention. “the early part of the performance, which, of course, was merely preliminary, passed off pleasantly and popularly enough, but on the first appearance of the strange actor, i was astonished to find that the applause which greeted his advent was mingled, or rather accompanied, with unmistakable manifestations of a very different character. “ what is the meaning of this? i mutterd to myself, but loud enough, it would seem, to be heard by my quiet neighbor, who replied by asking me if i had not been prepared for something of this sort. “i answered in the negative. 6. then you have not read this morning's?' “i had merely glanced over a portion of its columns, but had not had leisure to read it with any attention. "you are not then aware,' continued my new acquaintance, that this strange actor is accuscd of having, on a tertain occasion, offered a wanton and public insult to our the 249 author's benefit. as this." country;* ard that consequently his sojourn amongst us is not likely to be either a pleasant or a profitable one. for my own part, i must confess myself one of that unpopular class, known as lovers of law and order, and would, at present, much rather be allowed to enjoy the play, in which i feel already interested, than witness any insult to the national honor avenged on such an occasion, and in such 1 manner, 66 there was no time for further comment. every portion of the densely crowded house was now in one tremendous uproar : one party going for the play and the player, and the other (the more formidable and reckless, if not the more numerous one) equally intent to cut short the career of both. “as i have neither leisure, inclination, nor ability to give even a faint description of the scene that ensued, i shall substitute for the attempt, one, or rather both, of the somewhat trite, but still serviceable phrases, which the 1 * as, in this age of literary scepticism, there might be found some even of so "little faith” as to doubt the authenticity of “the author's benefit,” and to regara it rather as a clumsily-concocted romance, than as a simple and genuine sample of auto-biography, narrated, as itself declares, for the temporary amusement of a friend, and afterwards committed to writing, at his request : and as such "unbe. licvers,” in attempting to sustain their imputations by "internal evidence,” would be likely to point to the circumstances detailed in this part of the narrative as bearing too striking a resemblance to those connected with the tragedy of astor place, for mere coincidence; i therefore most solemnly declare, that, so far from such resemblance, which i readily admit, being entitled to any weight as an evi. donce against the genuineness of the whole, the work, if i may so dignify it, was in manuscript, with those incidents which are now resemblances included, at least nighteen months before the unfortunate event that made them such occurred. the futhor 250 . the author's benefit. 6 6 6 > (6 wisdom of our ancestors' has left for such case made and provided'-namely, that the scene in 'question is much more easily imagined than described ;' and to be duly appreciated must have been really seen.' “you will now perceive what, as an old dramatist, i did not choose to put you in possession of, by an undramatic anticipation—namely, that in standin' trait,' and in the transfer or substitution thereby effected, my 'familiar spirit, as i may well call it, had in no degree invalidated its claim to be considered a 'cute genius' as well as an evil' one. its (for a time) "hidden purpose’ in that transaction is now, i think, sufficiently apparent. “as might have been expected of a person so well accustomed to failure and disappointment, i was now pretty thoroughly convinced, that whatever notoriety, or, if you please, immortality, i might have derived from my benefit, it was likely to be a misnomer in the general and most important acceptation of the term. i had, moreover, learned with astonishment, but from a source whose purity i had no reason to doubt, that the foundation upon which i had lately erected my hopes of pecuniary salvation was, unless on the very surface, a mere "bed of sand :' in other words that my friend and patron, the manager, though popular and plausible in his manners, had hitherto so managed matters' that all the advantages of every speculation in which he engaged, had uniformly accrued to himself; and all the disadvantages as uniformly to his less fortunate colleagues. “ the pressure of necessity, almost the only motive power 2 the author's benefit. 251 that could ever give me either energy or alacrity, and aided, es it now was, by the torture of suspense, impelled me to seek an immediate interview with his managerial highness, and to come to a fair, or even an unfair understanding with him at once. and having obtained the desired oppor. tunity, i began by declaring my entire conviction that the difficulties that had hitherto surrounded our connection were entirely owing to the visible ill-luck that had, with scarcely an interval, haunted myself and my affairs from my childhood till the present hour; and that such being my conviction (a conviction sustained alike by former experience and recent occurrences), i could not, in honor or justice, persist in involving a more fortunate patron, who had endeavored to serve me, in consequences which, i was aware, had their root in my own sinister and mysterious destiny.-that the early success of the piece was, at least, presumptive evidence that, so soon as my immediate or pecuniary interest should ccase to be involved, the ordinary tide of fortune, which had been temporarily affected by such interest, would return to its accustomed channels, and to the ordinary performance of its natural ebbs and flows.-that i was, there. fore, come to ' renounce forever' all further interest (pecuniary, of course) in the affair ; and that for such renunciation i was willing to accept the nett proceeds of the house, on either of the evenings which had been set apart for my benefit. “of this not apparently unreasonable proposal, however, the manager did not at all approve, though there was nothing in such disapproval that appeared either unreasonable in 6 252 benefit. the s author 6 6 itself or uncomplimentary, so far as i was concerned. the author's benefit;' he was resolved, should have, at least, another chance. its abandonment at such a point, and under such circumstances, would, he argued, be as undignified as injudicious, and altogether such a concession to the threats of a 'cloudy morning' as he was neither accustomed nor disposed to make. moreover, the adoption of such a course would, he insisted, be especially unjust to me, so far as my literary reputation was concerned. my friends had never yet had an opportunity of judging of my production, and as nothing but the fact of the pecuniary interest of their friend being involved could ever bring them out in such numbers as they had before congregated in, they would never have such an opportunity as would be afforded by another benefit. furthermore, the slander or misconception which had been the cause of the late disturbance had been fully and satisfactorily explained, and those very persons who took a lead in that disgraceful affair were now most anxious for an opportunity of obliterating the recollection of the part they had acted, by rushing into the opposite extreme. so that the piece would still have the advantage of the distinguished talents of which it was so likely to be deprived. “ the 'manifest destiny' apprehension upon which i had mainly rested for a justification of my intended course, he absolutely laughed to scorn; declaring his perfect willingness to incur his share of the consequences, though my ministering angel' should do its worst. in short, he wag resolved that my adjourned benefit should be immediately the author's benefit. 253 announced; and as i had no plausible ground for further objection, announced it was. “i recollect having once met a very worthy clergyman, at the house of a widow whose first husband had been shot dead by robbers at her side, in the bridal chamber, during the honeymoon, whose second, scarcely two years afterwards, had broken his neck by a fall down stairs; and the question having arisen as to the probable fate of the third (for she was still young, handsome, and comparatively rich, and therefore not likely to be a widow long), the clerical opinion was, that, as the third time was the charm, the natural, or rather supernatural, conclusion would consign him to the gallows.' “i should be sorry to do the motives of any, but more especially those of my own friends, the slightest injustice; but in view of the fact that the latter had already acquitted, nay, more than acquitted, themselves honorably as to any claim that i could have had upon them, i cannot even yet wholly banish the suspicion that it must have been some such presentiment as the foregoing, in regard to the final result of this my third attempt to wrest fame and fortune from the grasp of fate, that could again bring them out, as they did come, in even more overwhelming numbers than on either of the former occasions. and as to the general public, all the anticipations of my far-seeing colleague secmed even more than realized. the house, as i have just intimated, was not only crowded to an uncomfortable and even dangerous excess, but hundreds, as i was told, had to go away without being able to gain admittance on any terms. the 254 the author's benefit. 6 reception of the formerly obnoxious actor proved that the reaction upon which the manager had calculated was not only extensive but complete; and as, little to the credit of human nature, men are generally more ready to respond to the new-born admiration of converted opponents than to reward the tried fidelity of older friends, the personage in question seemed to outdo himself, or at least to soar far above even the most extravagant anticipations that had already been formed of his talents as an almost unrivalled artist. “ the piece had reached the crisis of development, and the excitement, of course, was at its highest pitch, when, preceded by a slight but perceptible disorder on the stage, the appalling word ' fire ! fell upon our ears, with all its terrible significance. the scene that followed i leave to your own imagination; and if it can vividly depict the state of things that might be naturally supposed to occur, if, by some powerful intercession or special act of divine grace and mercy, all the inhabitants of the lower regions were allowed one minute, and no more, to escape from their hitherto hopeless captivity, by two or three narrow and difficult points of egress, you may come near realizing a scene in a theatre,' such as the most incessant and enthusiastic play-goer had, perhaps, never witnessed before. “ with the most horrifying sights and sounds stunning my already half-stupified senses, i was borne in the direction of one of the doors, where, for a time, i believe, i struggled as desperately as the best; but an overwhelming wave of the maddened multitude pressing on from the rear, i experienced a crushing sensation, such as might have been 6 a the author's benefit. 255 produced by some powerful machinery, and then, no doubt much to my immediate ease and comfort, lost consciousness altogether. “when i recovered my senses, i found that i was again within the classical retreat that had witnessed, in my regard, the early coyness and subsequent condescensions of the dramatic muse. i had, perhaps fortunately, still retained possession of it, though for some weeks past a sojourner at one of the fashionable hotels, the proprietor of which had, as pecksniff would say, very naturally failed to recognize me when presented in the forlorn condition in which i had been picked up in the street. and hence, to borrow the language of commerce, i was still to be found at the old stand.' “i had, it appeared, been recognized by some friends of the stiff,* who, in the confusion, had providentially stumbled upon me as i lay in the gutter, nearly naked, entirely insensible, and apparently dead. yes, my dear sir, such is the instability of human greatness! in such deserted and inglorious condition was i found in the immediate vicinity of my recent triumphs; nay, upon a spot to which i must certainly have been borne upon the shoulders of a shouting multitude ! “in perfect accordance with, and confirmation of, my theory, that i was another tineman, upon a small scale, and that the blows that had, of late, so mysteriously fallen upon those by whom i was surrounded had been covertly ' . * the phrase applied by the elder free, in his official communications, tc denota the nearest of kin or connexion to the deceased. 256 benefit. the a uthor's aimed at myself, i learned that, of the sufferers by the late catastrophe, i had the honor of being the chief. by a dispensation which, under the circumstances, was as miraculous as it was merciful, no one, save myself, had sustained serious injury. i did, it is true, hear of one old lady who pertinaciously clung to the idea that she had been trampled to death; but as her case presented none of the usual symptoms of such a fate, and as the medical authority was moreover decidedly against her, she secured but few adherents to her opinion, and was compelled to retire, in disgust, to her former home, where she was said to have made a desperate but ineffectual attempt to terminate an existence, thus unnaturally forced upon her, by swallowing a strong dose of warm brandy and oysters. “ to say that the fire at the theatre had ended, as it began, in smoke, would be claiming for it no exemption from the ordinary fate of fires, as most, if not all, others do the same ; but it had differed from the generality of its class in the somewhat important particular of having at no time emitted any fiercer or more destructive property. so that the manager, with his usual good fortune, had escaped comparatively scathless; a circumstance at which i heartily rejoiced, not more for his sake than my own; as he had, therefore, no pretext, if he should chance to desire one, for withholding at least a portion oi the proceeds of the strange, strangely-protracted, and strangely-terminating beneſit, which, with all its strangeness, had, undoubtedly, produced sufficient to benefit somebody. who that fortu. date somebody was eventually to be, was now the question the author's benefit. 257 and a question which the temper exhibited by certain gen. tlemen, who had lately honored me with a succession of calls, was likely to bring to a somewhat innmediate issue. “ as i think your interest in the whole affair must, by this time, be pretty well' used up,' i will not trouble you · with a particular account of the number and variety of my attempts to impress upon my late colleague the unequivocal justness of my claims, and what was still more important, to inspire him with a disposition to settle them. let it suffice to say, that they were all entirely fruitless. indeed it would appear that, as his special mission was to manage others, he had, to prevent mistakes, been endowed with the prerogative of being entirely unmanageable himself. “he did not, however, go so far as to absolutely deny that i had claims; but that he also had claims must not be forgotten. he had had losses too, for which he must be indemnified, in the first place, and as the extent of those losses could not yet be ascertained, i must rest contented, at least, for the present. with the truthfulness of his intimation that the extent of his losses in the transaction was somewhat hard to ascertain, i was perfectly satisfied. but the resting contented was not quite so easily realized,' with my house, which should have been my castle, at least two-thirds of the day in the undisputed occupation of my creditors. “howsever,' as an old friend of mine used to say, at the end of some five or six weeks after the fire, and like a patient and discreet, but withal dignified plenipotentiary > 258 . the author's benefit. who has vainly exhausted every legitimate means to obtain a peaceful recognition of his country's claims, i brought the fruitless negotiation to a close, by formally demandingnot my passports, but what in my case was perfectly identical-my manuscript. “ the bearer of this, my last diplomatic note, returned with an intimation that the great man would himself call upon me in the course of an hour; and to this one promise he was faithful. " at about the termination of the stipulated period, a rap which told of offended dignity as plainly as a rapa could, raised me from a sort of half-slumber, half-reveriv, to which i was then subject; and on my uttering the words, come in,' the manager, more richly dressed, and altogether more dignified and imposing in his appearance than i had ever before seen him, entered the room. offer of a seat he paid not the slightest attention; but broke in by remarking that he had had the honor of receiving a note from me. “yes, i had taken the liberty of writing for the purpose of recovering my manuscript. 66. there it is, then !'. he rejoined, flinging, as he spoke, a package, which i had not till then observed, directly in my face, and after regarding myself and my humble residence with a momentary but deliberate look of the most withering contempt, turned towards the door, which, from the very limited dimensions of the apartment, was, of course, not far distant. but near as it was, he was not destined to reach it in to my the author's benefit. 259 safety and in triumph. stung to absolute madness, by the first gross insult that i had ever received, and that, too, offered by one who had already so deeply wronged me, i seized a heavy walking-stick which i had used since my accident, and which therefore lay on the table before me, and with one blow brought the strong and proud man prostrate and bleeding to the floor. but no wonder that that blow told: it was the expression—the embodiment of the indignation and revenge of a spirit long irritated, and now wantonly outraged. “i am confident that, even in my frenzy, i did not repeat the blow, and when my excitement had sufficiently passed away to allow me to contemplate the effects of my unwonted fury, i saw that my enemy was still prostrate and motionless. at first i did not feel any great apprehensions as to the consequences, knowing, as i did, that he was an extremely strong, robust, and healthy man, in the prime of life, and had received but one blow of an ordinary-sized stick, wielded by an arm that had never been a strong one. but when eventually becoming alarmed at the length and unbroken stillness of his swoon, i stooped down to examine his condition more closely, i found that, though there was still something like warmth in the vicinity of the heart, the extremities were cold and pulseless, nay already stiffeningthat-father of mercy-he was dead ! distracted as i was, i had presence of mind sufficient to induce me to take my hat, and to put the few shillings i possessed in my pocket; and i had also the courage to tell the nearest apothecary, with what degree of composure i 260 author's benefit. the know not, that an accident had occurred at no. st. where his services might be required. "my wisest course would now have been to deliver myself up at once to the proper authorities, and declare the truth, which both the appearance of the room and of the deceased, as well as what was known of both our characters, would have strongly corroborated : and as there had been but one blow struck, and that in the heat of passion, and under strong provocation, my punishment might have been a comparatively light one. but though the propriety of such a course may possibly have presented itself to my distracted and terrified imagination, it could have no effect; as flight-flight and distance from that fatal room and its silent inhabitant, were the absorbing ideas of my mind and the sole impulses of my actions. and so powerfully and rapidly did they impel me, that, without other agency than that of my own weak limbs, unnerved, as they were, by recent illness, and still more recent and exhausting excitement, before that fatal day had terminated in midnight, i was at least forty miles both from my victim and the scene of his sacrifice. and it was now, in the deep solitude of the dark forest, and in the unbroken stillness of midnight, that i had first leisure and power to compute the full advantages which i had actually derived from my benefit ; and the results of my calculation were-bankruptcy, fugitation and murder, in possession; and in reversion, or prospect, the gallows and a dishonored grave! “having thus, as i trust, convinced you, that my connection with the stage was somewhat more interesting than the author's 261 benefit. 6 advantageous, and that i have no great reason to anticipate any very brilliant results from a renewal of it, i would now dismiss the subject with, as the orators say, 'returning you my most sincere thanks for the patience with which you have heard mo throughout.' but as you may, perhaps, be still somewhat curious to know how it is that i am again in the same city where i was the agent in so terrible and tragical an occurrence, and free, and even apparently willing to avow the act, i will, with your permission, endeavor i to account for the circumstance, in as few additional words as possible. “ know then, that, after a pilgrimage of some weeks, eleven successive nights of which i had passed under the blue vault of heaven,' which, both for my own sake and that of poetry, i am sorry to say, did not always look so blue as i sometimes did myself, under its influence, * i came to a place in what was then the western wilderness, where some hundreds of men were engaged in digging a canal. by a singular coincidence certainly, the contractor to whom i applied for employment chanced to be an old friend and even a distant relative of my own. and despite the disguiso that i had intentionally assumed, powerfully aided as 6 * in addition to some two or three ordinary thunder-storms, i had, during this more interesting than altogether agreeable portion of my experience, not merely the privilege of beholding, but the honor of encountering one of those magnificent outbursts of natural temper' called tornadoes, which, in my own presence, and in a moment, reversed the position of the largest trecs, and, as i was told, in the neighboring valleys brought navigation to such a pitch of perfection and con venience, in a few hours, as enabled the denizens of the favored region to embark from their sleeping-room windows, and, in some i istances, from their very lied vides ! 262 author's benefit. the it was by the effects of the trials through which i had recently passed, he knew me at once. and when, in very natural and unſeigned surprise, he asked me what, in the name of misfortune, could have brought me there, and in such a plight, as i was never a good hand at a lie, and as ] had moreover full faith in his friendship and honor, i, without hesitation, confessed to him the whole truth. "i will not, of course, in what was to be but a sort of verbal postscript, inflict upon you a treatise on the pleasures of canal-digging in the wilderness, but will let it suffice to say, that both my employer and co-laborers (for which may god bless them !) did all within their power to render it to me, forlorn fugitive that i was, as endurable as possible. “i had, i should suppose, been some three weeks laboring in my new vocation, when i was one night, at a late hour, aroused from a troubled sleep to learn that the general wished to see me immediately, in his own tent. “that my retreat had been discovered was the only natural conclusion, and if escape were still possible, my present city of refuge,' humble and unenviable as it certainly was, must be exchanged for a state of much greater precariousness and still more utter desolation. time, however, that i had reached my immediate destination, i had regained my wonted composure, and was pretty well prepared to encounter the very worst. at all events, i was not in hands to trifle with my suspense, and soon learned the cause of the unwonted summons. a son of my friend and employer had just arrived from the seaboard, and had brought him a number of newspapers, in one of 6 by the the author's benefit. 263 ,narwhich he had accidentally discovered a paragraph which he believed of sufficient interest to me to justify an invasion of my repose. he pointed it out, and it read nearly as follows: 6. unparalleled baseness.-our readers need not be informen that, some six weeks ago, that emperor of dramatic purveyors, rowly escaped falling a sacrifice to the fury of one of his bards; but they may not be aware that when it was discovered that the vital spark was not wholly extinguished, he was, for the sake of greater convenience, removed to the hospitable residence of his friend mr. where his wants and wishes were not only anticipated by the numerous and wellqualified officials of that magnificent establishment, but where his recovery was facilitated by the active and unwearied superintendence of certain members of the family : and of a surety, it will be news to most of them (and news that they will scarcely be willing to credit) when they learn that the author of such munificent hospitality has been rewarded by the recipient with the seduction of his beautiful, highly accomplished, and hitherto amiable and virtuous wife. such, however, is undoubtedly the fact. the guilty couple departed for europe in the havre packet of saturday, and the most unfortunate and deeply-injured husband is to embark for london at noon to-day. “ as our paper is just going to press, we have neither room nor leisure for comment, but will return to the subject to-morrow.' the state of my feelings, after perusing the foregoing, would furnish an important proof, if proof were wanting, of how completely circumstances can alter cases. almost from my very childhood i had regarded gross breaches of confidence and hospitality as the most unmitigated indignity that could be offered either to god or to society; and now an absolute devil, nay the very fiend whose special mission it was to suggest anıl mature the whole transaction, could not have gloated over that paragraph (the formal record of his own success with such unmingled ecstasy as i did 66 264 benefit. . the author's and is there any one so stupidly insensible as to wonder that such should be the case? whatever might be the extent of my future misfortunes, and certainly my prospects wero none of the brightest, the brand of cain was at least removed, and i might again turn my footsteps towards the haunts of civilization, and look, without terror, upon the face of my fellow-man.” “ that is a good story, blank : at least too good to be lost. what will you take for putting it into manuscript ?” " the honor conferred by the request is more than sufficient recompense. it shall be done." “nonsense, man! do as i tell you, and you shall be paid in something more convertible than honor. by all accounts, you have had enough of that sort of payment already." whether the request was merely a delicate method of offering assistance, or was made with the purpose of introducing me to the notice of some of his literary friends, i know not, and am not likely to know. before the mission, trifling as it was, was executed, he who had given it was not in the way either to explain his purposes or to fulfil them. he was no more—at least in america; and as he had either neglected or forgotten to mention my case to those who were competent to act for him, the manuscript of “ the author's benefit” might have shared the obscurity of many others of its humble and unknown kindred, but for what, i much fear, will be found to be the too favorable opinion of the distinguished gentlemar under whose aus. pices it is now given to the public. i ! } 1 1 4 141 frederick gordon а.rman п christmas 1926 g , 1. и се... 9 to fumor from au luche con 3 т. с merry christmas 1920 g to hunior chapman from on luche lucle on е can ... о | public library astor, lenox and tilden foundations r l ܠܠܠ an fr menel. “what's the matter?" cried the hunter. fairview boys at camp mystery or the old hermit and his secret by frederick gordon pseud. author of " fairview boys afloat and ashore, " "pairview doyi ok laqle mountain," "faibview boys and their bivali," ma. illustrated charles e. graham & co. newark, n.j. new york 1 the new york public library 190533 1 astor, lexox and tilden hoi'ndations r 1941 1 books for boys by frederick gordon fairview boys series ulustratod. prico, por volumo, os conto, postpaid. xairview boys afloat and ashore or, the young crusoes of pine island fairview boys on eagle mountain or, sammy brown's treasure hunt fairview boys and their rivals or, bob bouncer's schooldays fairview boys at camp mystery or, the old hermit and his secret fairview boys at lighthouse cove or, carried out to sea copyright, 1914, bi graham & matlack hairview boys at camp mystery contents pagl chapter i. the earthquake 7 ii. the first snow & 14 iii. sammy has an idea . 22 o 31 iv. a queer sight v. winter fun 40 vi. a fine chance 48 vii. at camp mystery 56 . viii. the old mansion 62 ? . 70 ix. sammy's queer find x. the mysterious room . 77 84 xi. the strange hermit . xii. into the drift 93 o ioi xiii. helping the hermit . . xiv. the boiling spring xv. end of camp mystery 109 $ 119 1 c. dottiershor cond2 a c g. made in u. s. a. fairview boys at camp mystery chapter i the earthquake » > “there's jed burr!” coming back to school; eh? then he can't be suspended any more.' “no, he isn't. but i wish he was. there's sure to be a lot of trouble now, and i was thinking how much more fun we could have with him away.” three boys stood talking together in the school yard, where many children were waiting for the final bell to ring to call them to their studies. the three boys were looking at a larger lad, who was walking slowly along the gravel path. “he looks to be the same bully as ever," said bob bouncer, one of the three boys. "i guess he is, too,” added frank haven. being suspended can't have changed him much.” “well, if he tries any of his mean tricks on me," spoke sammy brown, “i know what i'll do!” what?" asked frank, as he turned about to face the larger lad, so as to be ready, in case of any sudden attack, of the kind for which jed burr had a reputation. “what'll you do, sammy?” " i'll have him arrested! i'm not going to stand for any more of his games!" 7 و در 8 fairview boys at camp mystery " i'm with you!” agreed bob. “but maybe we could play a trick on him first. he's played so many mean ones on us. “now don't start anything," advised frank, who was more quiet than either of his two chums. “if we begin, the blame will be on us. “we'll let jed alone if he lets us." “he doesn't seem to be going to do anything," added sammy. “maybe he's going to behave better this term.” “i hope so," returned frank. “well, let's go in. doesn't our room look dandy, since they fixed it up after the fire?” " i should say sol” cried sammy. “and miss williams brought a fine lot of pictures for the walls. it's more like the parlor at home than a classroom." “yes, and miss williams isn't like some teachers, either," went on frank. “she's as kind as can be." the three boys strolled toward the schoolhouse, which had opened for the fall term after some delay, caused by a fire. now the building, in some parts, was altogether new, and all the rooms had been redecorated and painted. the structure had also been made larger. well, i'm glad, in some ways, that school's begun again,” said sammy. “though vacation was lots of fun.” “yes, we can have some good times in school," agreed frank. “and there's that clubroom your father fixed up in the barn for us," put in sammy. “that sure was good of him, frank. we can have fun there, if we can't at school. and i'm going to do a lot of training in our club gymnasium, too, this winter.' “huh! you train!” laughed frank. first we know you'll be off to the mountains, looking for more buried treasa ure." "aw, you're always casting that upl" grumbled sammy. : the earthquake а a "still, you must give bob credit for finding your father's jewelry that the tramp hid down in the schoolhouse well." “that's right,” agreed frank. “and you found miser dolby's pocketbook. oh, say, look! there goes jed into the principal's office! i guess something must be going to happen." “i know all about it!” exclaimed a voice back of the three boys. they turned quickly, to see nellie somers. “tell us about it!” begged sammy. he and his chums so much wanted to know the story of the suspended boy coming back, that they did not mind asking a girl about it. "jed has promised to be a better boy," said nellie, glad that she had a chance to give some information. “the school board considered his case, after he took the spelling list out of miss william's desk, and said he couldn't come back until he promised to be good. at first jed wouldn't, but he finally did, and he has to apologize to the whole school this morning. then he can be in his class again." “oh hol” cried sammy. “so that's what makes jed so quiet!” "no wonder he didn't try any tricks,” added frank. “he sure will feel mean to have to get up before the whole school,” added bob bouncer. “come on in. it's almost time for the last bell.” good-bye!” cried nellie, as she ran on to join her girl friends. it was the first day of the new term, and there was more or less confusion. and since it was the first day, no one wanted to be late. also the talk of jed's apology had spread, and everyone wanted to see what would happen. into the school trooped the boys and girls, laughing and talking. many looked about to see the changes made since the fire. as sammy, frank and bob started up a short flight > 10 fairview boys at camp mystery of steps to their room, they were startled to hear a banging noise above them. they looked up, and saw johnnie jones, one of the fattest little chaps in the school, start to roll down. he had stumbled at the top step, and had fallen head over heels. “ look out!” cried bob. “hold fast!” advised sammy. catch him!” called frank, and this was the best advice of all. “get together," went on frank to his chums, “and we'll hold him when he gets here." they were now about half-way up the flight of steps, and, forming themselves into a solid body, as though about to stop a rush in a football game, they braced themselves to catch fat johnnie. with a bump and a bounce he landed against them, and in another moment frank had set the little fellow on his feet again. “there you are, johnnie!” said frank, while sammy and bob brushed the dust from his clothes. “you aren't hurt; are you?" johnnie gasped once or twice, opened his mouth as though to howl, and then, thinking better of it, closed his lips again. no, i'm not hurt!” he said bravely. “ he's too fat to get hurt!” laughed bob. “you're like a rubber ball; aren't you, johnnie?" “i-i guess so,” answered the little fellow, “but i don't want to bounce down stairs again!” the three chums laughed at him as he started up the stairs once more, and they kept close behind him, but he did not fall again. into their classroom went bob, sammy and frank. other hoys and girls were already there, and more came in. miss > the earthquake ii williams was there to meet them with a smile. she was a very pretty school-teacher, and her pupils loved her. soon the final bell rang, and then the children from the different rooms marched into the one, big main hall, or auditorium, where the morning exercises were held. there were many new pupils present this first day of the term. there was singing, the reading of the bible, and prayers, , and then mr. tetlow, the principal of the school, greeted those present. he spoke of the fire, and what had happened . at it, and mentioned the delay in opening the school. he welcomed all who had now come, and said he hoped they would all study hard to make up for lost time. “and now,” went on the principal, “i have something not so pleasant to say. but it has to be done, and it may be for the good of all of us. one of our pupils was suspended last term for doing something wrong. we all do wrong sometimes, but if we are sorry for it, and try not to do it again, we should be forgiven. and so i hope when you hear jed burr say that he is sorry, you will all forgive him, and be friends with him again. now jed, let's get it over with,” and he smiled at the former bully, who sat in a front seat. the principal wanted to make it as easy as he could for the lad. jed was very red in the face as he shuffled up to the platform. he hung down his head, and no one could doubt but that his punishment was hard. he stood for a moment before all the school, getting very red in the face. “well,” said mr. tetlow, kindly, “ go on, jed. just a few words, to tell us you are sorry. "i-i-eri done wrong,” stammered poor jed, “and i'm sorry for it!” the principal stepped up beside him. “that is enough,” he said. “you did very well, jed. now 12 fairview boys at camp mystery we will let bygones be bygones. you may all go to your classes." sammy, bob and frank, with the others, marched out. the little scene in which jed, their former enemy, had taken part, had made them do some hard thinking. they were glad they had not been called on to stand up and apologize to the whole school. soon lessons were under way once more. miss williams gave a little talk to the pupils in her room, explaining the new work that was to be taken up that fall and winter. “ it will be harder than that which you had before the fire,” she said, “but you know we have to go ahead in this world. it will not do to stand still. i will help you all i can. “ you will notice that i have hung some pictures on the walls. they are to help you in your lessons, for it is sometimes easy to understand a thing when we see a picture of it. i have other pictures to bring when we need them.” sammy brown suddenly thought of something. he raised his hand to show that he wished to speak. what is it?" asked miss williams. “we've got some pictures in our clubroom,” said sammy. "i could bring them. there's a football game picture, and a lot of baseball players, and a man hunting, andsammy saw a smile on miss william's face, and paused. “that's very nice of you, sammy,” she said, kindly, “and if we need that sort of pictures you may bring them. but i'm afraid our lessons won't be about baseball or football. you'll get enough of those games out of school. now we will begin un the geography lesson. i want you to look at this picture over here. it showsbut miss williams did not say what the picture showed, for at that moment there was a low, deep rumbling that seemed to go all through the school. the building shook and the earthquake 13 come on, trembled. then the rumble grew to a roaring sound, and the building vibrated still more. the windows rattled as if the glass would break. several girls screamed. the boys leaped from their desks. “ it's another fire!” yelled sammy. " it's an explosion!” shouted bob. “no! it's an earthquake!” exclaimed frank.“ everybody! get out before the school falls on us!” and he made a rush for the door. “stop!” commanded miss williams sharply. boys, you are forgetting yourselves. let the girls go first!” and, while the rumbling continued, and the building still shook, the boys held back, while the girls rushed from the room. chapter ii the first snow the whole school was in excitement. from all the rooms the boys and girls were rushing out, not stopping for their hats or coats. frightened teachers, and the excited principal, were trying to quiet them. for everyone felt sure the school building was going to fall, and all wanted to get out as quickly as possible. "now, boys, you may gol" said miss williams, when the girls were out of her room. some of the boys started, but frank haven, taking his place at the door, cried: “no, miss williams, you go first!” she gave him a glance that showed how much she appreciated his thoughtfulness for her, but she said quietly, though her lips trembled: “no, frank. i am like the captain of a ship. i will stay until the last. but, oh, do hurry out!' hearing this two other boys made a rush. “that won't do!” cried bob sharply. “you'll all get in a jam on the stairs." “that's right!” exclaimed sammy. “form in line, as we " always do at fire drill!” “good!” cried miss williams. “ready! ready! in line! march!” her sharp command had a good effect, and the boys marched 14 the first snow 15 > out in order. sammy and his two chums came íast, and miss williams followed them. the rumbling and shaking of the building still continued, and now dense white clouds could be seen coming from the basement. “ she's on fire again!" cried sammy, as he and his chums reached the yard safely. " and she'll burn up!” added bob. the school yard was filled with excited children, the teachers urging them to get as far away from the building as they could. "is everyone out?” asked the principal. “teachers, look at your different classes and see!” this was done quickly. oh dear!” exclaimed miss watson, teacher of the kindergarten. “oh dear!" " what is it?" someone asked. " johnnie jones -he isn't here!" at that instant, through a cloud of smoke in front of the window of the kindergarten room a face could be seen. it was that of johnnie jones. he's in there!” gasped his teacher. “i'll get him!” shouted the principal. “get the children farther off!" “now, let me get him-please?” cried another voice, and jed burr, the bully, who had apologized that morning, sprang forward and went back again into the building which it was feared would fall at any moment. “i can't let him do that!” murmured the principal. “i must go after both of them." but before he could do this jed came out again, carrying fat little johnnie jones in his arms. “i got him all right!” shouted the former bully. “you're a brave boyl” cried mr. tetlow. 16 fairview boys at camp mystery just then the janitor of the school came up out of the basement. “ it's all right!” he cried, through a white cloud of steam. “ i have fixed it! i'll tell you all how it happened.” “is the earthquake over?” asked sammy. "it wasn't an earthquake," said mr. hobb, the janitor. “ come here, and i'll tell you about it.” and while the frightened teachers and pupils are gathering back in their rooms, the danger being over, i will take a few moments to tell my new readers something about the boys and others who are to have parts in this story, and also something about the previous books in this series. to begin with, i think you already know my three heroessammy brown, bob bouncer and frank haven. though i have named him last in this case, frank was generally the leader in anything he and his two chums did. bob and sammy thought there was no one in the world like frank. sammy was rather more quiet, and his mother said more thoughtful, but if this was so, it was only because sammy was always thinking up something to do. he was quite a reader, and liked stories of mystery, and buried treasure. he was always sure that some day he would find a hidden store of gold, or make some big discovery. bob bouncer was a different sort of lad. he was full of fun, not to say mischief, and when he was around one had better look out that he did not find a funny note pinned to his coat-tail or else watch out that he did not discover a stone dropped into his pocket. but, though bob played many jokes, they were not mean or cruel ones. the three boys lived in the town of fairview, on the shore of rainbow lake, a large body of water, in the centre of which was an extensive island. the first book of this series was called “the fairview a the first snow iż boys afloat and ashore; or, the young crusoes of pine island.” in that i had the pleasure of telling how the three chums went out on the lake in the puff, a sailboat owned by george haven, frank's brother. they did not know much about boats, and the result was that the puff was wrecked near pine island. the boys managed to get on this body of land, and there they lived, until rescued, in real robinson crusoe style. in the second book, called “the fairview boys on eagle mountain; or, sammy brown's treasure hunt,” i related how the lads set off on a tour of discovery. sammy brown had come across some curious papers in his home attic, and was sure they told of hidden treasure. so the party set off for eagle mountain, and what they did there, and how the treasure hunt ended, you may read of in the book. “ the fairview boys and their rivals; or, bob bouncer's schooldays,” is the name of the third volume. in that you can find out all about the many things bob and his chums did; how they got the better of a mad bull, how they had fun in the woods, and how it was that jed burr came to be expelled. then came the robbery of mr. haven's jewelry store, the fire in the school, and the finding of the jewelry down in the well, where the thief had thrown it. and the fire, as i have related, was the cause of the school not being opened on the regular day in the term. which brings us down to the present time. “ was there a fire?" asked mr. tetlow, the principal. “no, not exactly a fire," answered the janitor," though the trouble was caused by a fire." and there wasn't any earthquake?” asked sammy. he was rather disappointed, to tell the truth, that there had been nothing as big and sensational as an earthquakc. 18 fairview boys at camp mystery > a “nary an earthquake,” went on mr. hobb, who was rather pale. “indeed everyone had been greatly alarmed. but the building shook!” declared nellie somers. “it certainly did,” agreed miss williams. “i thought surely it was going to fall down.” “and i thought jed was going to fall down with me,” spoke up johnnie jones. “he shook me up and down.” i couldn't help it,” said jed, with blushing face. “you're $0—50 fat." “i guess i am,” sighed little johnnie. well, jed, it was one of the bravest acts i have ever seen, declared the principal, and jed blushed with pleasure. it seemed that he wanted to make up for his mean tricks in the past by showing that he could be a hero when he desired. now i'll tell you how it was," went on the janitor. “yes, do,” urged mr. tetlow. “we don't want it to happen again." by this time the excitement had quieted down. there was no more smoke, and there was no smell of fire. “i had started up the new heating boiler to try it,” explained the janitor. “we didn't exactly need steam on today, though it is a bit cold, and it looks like snow. but i thought i'd try the new steam plant, so i built a fire in the boiler. “i left it going and went off to do some work in another part of the school, and i guess i forgot about the steam. anyhow, all at once i heard the roar and the rumble, and i felt the building shake. i knew right away what had happened, and i ran down cellar. i didn't even stop to explain to anyone." “well, what did happen?” asked the principal. “why, the safety valve got stuck, and when the pressure got too heavy it wouldn't let the steam escape. so the pipes, all through the school, were filled and the pressure was so the first snow 19 strong that they commenced to shake and tremble. that made the building vibrate, and the boiler began to rumble and roar, too. “i was afraid it might blow up, so down i rushed and opened the safety valve that was stuck shut. that let out the steam, and the pressure in the pipes went down. and that's all." oh, yes, " it was enough," said miss williams. “so that white cloud was steam, and not smoke from a fire?” yes, ma'am," answered the janitor, “it was only steam. “is the safety valve all right now?” asked mr. tetlow. indeed !” exclaimed the janitor. “i fixed it. i should have looked at it first, but it slipped my mind. i'm sorry." well, it's all right, as long as no one is hurt," said the principal. “and now, as we have had so much excitement, i hardly believe that you children could do well with your lessons this morning. it is eleven o'clock now, so i will dismiss you all until this afternoon. come back when come back when you have had your dinners." there were cries of delight at this, and the boys and girls hurried back into their classrooms, after their hats and coats, for the weather seemed to be getting colder. sammy and his two chums passed close to jed burr as they went in. then sammy did a kind act. will you shake hands, jed?” he asked of the former bully. “ that was a fine thing you did.” jed blushed. aw, that was nothin'," he said. “there wasn't “ there wasn't any danger." “ but you didn't know that," returned frank. “i'd like to shake hands with you, too." 20 fairview boys at camp mystery > “ so would i," added bob bouncer. “i guess we'll all be friends now, after this." “ i've turned over a new leaf,” said jed, when they had shaken hands with him. “ i'm not going to bother you fellows any more." “that's good," spoke sammy, for jed had been a sore trial to them, and to many other small lads of fairview. and we'd be glad to have you around to our clubhouse whenever you want to come,” added frank, kindly. “thanks,” said jed, gratefully. after bob bouncer had discovered mr. haven's jewelry hidden in the well, following the schoolhouse fire, the merchant had offered bob a reward of a hundred dollars. but bob's father would not let him take it, so mr. haven used the money in fitting up, in his barn, a fine clubroom and gymnasium for bob and his chums. talking over the accident to the steam boiler, and making merry that they had had such a short morning session, the boys and girls hurried along on their way home. sammy and his chums walked together, and, every now and then, sammy , would look up at the sky. “what are you planning now?” asked bob, giving sammy a sly punch in the ribs. “studying how to make an airship?" and he winked at frank. aw, let me alone,” begged sammy. “can't i look at the weather if i want to?" “sure," agreed bob. but what makes you so serious about it?" " i'm thinking it's going to snow," answered sammy," and i'm going to get out my sled, when i go home, to be ready for it. i've got to get the rust off the runners." “snow !” cried frank. “it won't snow to-day." but it did. before school was out that afternoon the white the first snow 21 flakes began coming lazily down, and the children, looking from the windows, felt merry at the prospect of a storm. snow is so different from rain. almost everyone is happy and jolly when it snows, but miserable when it rains. “say, it's going to be a good storm all right!” cried sammy, as he and his chums came out of school when lessons were over for the day. “it's three inches deep now, and falling fast." “yes, we'll have to get out our snow-shọes if it keeps on, laughed bob, as he slyly dropped some snow down frank's neck. “ouch!” cried frank, squirming about as he felt the coldness down his spine. “ i'll wash your face for that, bob bouncer!! he raced down the street after his fun-loving chum, but before he reached him he saw something that made him stop. this was the sight of an elderly lady walking carefully along, just ahead of him, through the snow. as frank came up behind her her saw her fall heavily, and lay quite still in a heap on the sidewalk. here you go, fellows!” cried frank, to bob and sammy. “we've got to help her—come here!” 22 chapter iii sammy has an idea “ maybe she's deadl" gasped sammy brown, as he reached the side of frank, and looked down on the motionless old lady. “there you go!" cried frank, half angrily," always thinking something like that. why should she be dead?” “she fell heavily enough,” said bob. the snow's awful slippery. maybe her leg's broken.” “that's more like it,” said frank. “now we've got to take her into one of these houses. can we carry her?” “i guess we'll have to," said bob. “there doesn't seem to be anyone else around just now. can we lift her?" at that moment the elderly lady who had fallen tried to get up. her eyes, that had been closed, were opened, and she looked very pale. are you hurt? ” asked frank, anxiously. “we'll help you get up, and carry you into one of these houses." he gazed up and down the street as he spoke. there were no other persons in sight, and the accident had happened at a place where there were only a few houses. had there been stores nearby someone might have come out at once to help the old lady. “i don't believe i am badly hurt,” she said, with a smile. “i thought at first my leg was broken, but i'm sure, now, it is not, though it may be sprained. i slipped and struck my , head when i went down. i must have been unconscious for a few seconda " 1) 82 0417 tirutti 1/1" 11 p. menet "are you hurt?" asked frank. tork astu& lenix and tiloen foundators l sammy has an idea 25 “you were," said bob, who had once seen his mother faint. "now, if you'll let us, we can carry you to the nearest house, and get a doctor.' " i'm sure i'm very much obliged to you nice boys," spoke the elderly lady, “but i do not believe you can carry me. i am pretty heavy.” “we're strong," declared sammy. “we play football!” he added, proudly. “well, i think i can walk,” the lady went on, “though i may have to lean on your shoulders. i should not have come out without my rubbers to-day, but i did not think it was going to snow. i guess winter has set in now, and i rather dread it.” the boys thought this strange. to them winter was one of their jolly seasons, when they had much fun. they did not stop to think that the poor and the old do not like the hard cold of winter. if you will let me take hold of your hands," went on the elderly lady, “i think i can get to my feet. then you may be able to help me to one of those houses.” she held up her hands as she spoke. sammy took one and frank the other, while bob lifted her at the shoulders. “now!” she exclaimed, in a stronger voice than she had used before, “all together, and i'll be up! the boys pulled and pushed, and slowly the old lady was gotten to her feet. she swayed unsteadily for a moment, and leaned heavily on frank. just then, a window in the nearest house was opened, and a woman, leaning out, called : bring her right over here, boys. i'll look after her. i'll come and help you. are you much hurt, mrs. blake? i just happened to see you." * no, thank you, i'm not much hurt. i think i'm all other " 26 fairview boys at camp mystery 2 a « her except perhaps for a strain, or some bruises," was the answer. “i have good helpers, you see. don't come out in the storm. . they can get me to your house." are you mrs. blake?” asked sammy, quickly. “that is my name," was her answer, with a smile. "i guess my mother knows you," went on sammy. name is brown." oh, are you mrs. brown's boy?" exclaimed mrs. blake. i thought i knew your face. well, i'm real glad to see you. and are these your brothers?” “no'm, they're my chums," answered sammy. “do you feel all right now?” “yes, only a trifle dizzy. i'll be better when i rest a bit in mrs. handee's house. now let me see if i can walk.' she found that she could, by going slowly. the shock of her fall was passing off, and by leaning on the shoulders of bob and frank, while sammy carried her bag and umbrella for her, she made her way to the house where the woman waited with the door open. mrs. handee came down the front steps to help mrs. blake up, and soon the elderly lady was sitting comfortably in an easy chair befoke the fire. “my!” exclaimed mrs. blake, leaning back comfortably. “this has been quite an experience for me," and she looked at the three boys, who did not know exactly what to do, now that they had come in. “i never fell before-not since i was a girl, and i guess i've forgotten how to do it." “you were lucky not to have broken some bones," spoke mrs. handee. “are you sure you don't want the doctor?" ? “we'll go for one!” offered sammy, eagerly. “oh, no, indeed, i don't want one,” declared mrs. blake, with a laugh. “i'll be all right soon, and able to go home. my daughter will be worried about me. my, how it snows!” sammy has an idea 27 > and she looked out of the window where could be seen a perfect cloud of white flakes coming down. “yes, i think we're going have a regular old-fashioned winter,” said mrs. handee. “i dread it, too. now i'm going to make you a nice hot cup of tea. will you boys have something to eat?” she asked. sammy and his chums looked at one another and their faces got rather red. “if-if you please,” said sammy, “ i'm not allowed to have strong tea.” “me either!" added frank and bob. “bless your hearts! i didn't mean tea!” laughed mrs. handee. “it is not good for growing boys, unless it's very, very weak, and then it isn't tea. i meant to give you some bread and jam. do you think you could eat it?" " could we?” murmured sammy. just try us, mrs. handee!” exclaimed frank, and, with another laugh, the lady of the house went out to the kitchen. "well, i'm sure i can't thank you boys enough for what you did for me,” said mrs. blake, after a pause. “it wasn't anything,” replied bob. oh, yes, it was, too!” she insisted. “i thank you very much, and i want to tell your mothers what nice boys you are. lots of young folks now-a-days don't think, or care, anything about the old folks. seems to me, now, that i've often seen you three boys around fairview together; haven't i?" and she looked at them closely. “yes'm, we're generally together," replied sammy. “do you go camping together?" asked mrs. blake. oh, yes, often," spoke frank. “and once we were all wrecked together on pine island," added bob. « you don't tell mel” exclaimed mrs. blake. « on pinc (6 28 fairview boys at camp mystery > > island? why i have a brother there. peter jessup is his name. he's quite a hunter, too. he lives at the far end, near woodport. have you ever been there?" no, we were down at the other end," said frank. “ then perhaps you did not meet my brother?” ? no, not that we know of," answered sammy. " i'm sure he'd be glad to see you,” proceeded mrs. blake. “he is fond of boys. when he was young he was just like you, always going off on hunting or fishing trips. if ever you go to pine island again i wish you'd call on him. i'll write him a letter, explaining how kind you have been to me, and i'm sure he'd be glad to see you at his hunting cabin.” “ has he a hunting cabin?" asked bob, his eyes shining in delight. “ indeed he has, with lots of skins, and deer horns and the like of that in it,” said mrs. blake. “of course he did not get them all around here, for game is rather scarce. but he lives the life of a hunter still, sleeps in a 'bunk' as he calls it, and all that. he even cooks over a campfire in the summer.” “oh, i wish we could go there!” sighed bob. " i'm sure you'll be welcome," spoke mrs. blake. and then mrs. handee came in with the tea for her elderly guest, and the bread and jam for the boys, and that they enjoyed it i am sure i need not say. "well, i think i will be able to go along now," said mrs. blake, after a pause. “that tea made me feel much better." “are you sure you can go?" asked mrs. handee. “it's quite a step to your daughter's house." “oh, i can do it," was the answer. “my leg is much better, and i only have a slight headache. i thank you very much. as for you boys, don't forget to come and see me, and i'll tell , you more about my brother peter. i'll be sure to write to him and tell him you're going to digit him. a sammy has an idea 29 “ we'll go if we can," said frank. sammy brown seemed to be thinking deeply on some subject. the boys said good-bye and went out into the storm. the snow was still coming down, and they wanted to play in it—to make balls to toss at one another, to roll in it, to jump over and into the drifts, to roll big balls as the foundation for a snow house. there was nothing more they could do for mrs. blake, she said, and she would soon start for home herself. so sammy, bob and frank hurried away, promising to call on the lady to whose aid they had come. "are you really going?" asked frank of his chums, as they walked on through the snow. “i mean to her house?” “of course we arel” cried sammy. “i want to meet her brother the hunter; don't you?” “i guess it would be nice,” agreed frank. “nicel” cried sammy. “say, . say, i guess you don't know what might happen if we went to see him; do you?” “you mean we might shoot a bear or a deer?" laughed frank. “no, i don't mean anything like that, for now there aren't any such things on pine island. but you know we never have been up at the far end of the island, and we might find_" oh, i know what he's going to say!” cried frank, as he threw a snowball at a boy going down the street. “you're thinking we can find some treasure there; eh, sammy?" “well, we might!” insisted sammy, not minding the laughs of his chums. “that part of the island is lonely enough for treasure. but i had another idea.' say, you're full of 'em to-day!” remarked bob. “let's hear it,” suggested frank. 30 fairview boys at camp mystery “well, you know there's supposed to be a queer old hermit up at the far end of the island,” went on sammy. “ a hermit?” cried frank. “yes, a strange old hermit, with a long white beard, and i've heard it said that he has some secret he's trying to hide. if we go there we might find out the secret. now what do you think of that for an idea?" demanded sammy, eagerly. chapter iv a queer sight sammy's two chums looked strangely at him. he returned their gaze steadily . "well," he said, defiantly, “it's truel what makes you look at me that way?” “ha! ha!” laughed frank. “he's the same old sammy, isn't he, bob?” “that's what he is! always thinking he's going to find a treasure, and if he can't do that he trots out an old hermit. go on, sammy, can't you scare up a ghost while you're at it? the ghost of pine island! go ahead, make up something about that." sammy brown turned squarely about, and walked away from his chums without saying a word. for a moment frank and bob looked after him, and then they looked at one another. “there he goes,” exclaimed frank. “and i guess he's mad, too,” added bob. “but i didn't mean anything." “neither did i!” " let's call him back.” “let's go after him! ” thus bob and frank spoke, one after the other. then bob cried : “i say, sammy! come on back! wait a minute. we didn't mean anything." 31 32 fairview boys at camp mystery but sammy kept on his way, never turning his head to look back. on he plodded through the snow that was still falling. he's real mad this time,” said bob. “yes, i guess we'll have to apologize, same as jed burr did,” agreed frank. " come on!” together they raced after sammy, and, catching up to him, they grasped him by either arm. they spoke quickly and eagerly by turns. “we didn't mean anything." “we were only fooling." maybe there is a hermit on pine island after all.” "we-we apologizel” burst out frank. he said it in such a comical manner that sammy, hurt as his feelings had been, could not stand out against his chums any longer. a smile came over his face, and then bob and frank laughed too. “ all right, sammy,” declared frank. "we believe you. tell us about the hermit. maybe we can go up there and see him.” “and about the ghost, too,” added bob. “there isn't any ghost that i know of," cried sammy, quickly, “and i didn't mention any." “ bob means the hermit,” said frank quickly, winking at his chum to show that he must not speak of that subject again. “ tell us about the hermit, sammy.” well, i'll tell you all i heard," went on the lad who so loved to dig after mysteries. “it was benny lane, the cripple boy, who told me. i was walking along with him one day, about a week ago, and we saw old silas dolby, the miser, just ahead of us. i just happened to say that mr. dolby lived like a hermit, and benny said that it was so, for his uncle had once seen a hermit." and of course that set you going right off," spoke bob. > a queer sight 33 “yes, it did," answered sammy. “i asked benny where his uncle had seen the hermit, and ben said it was on pine island. that was the first i ever heard of one of those men being there, so i asked all i could about it. “benny didn't know much, but he said his uncle had been out fishing one day, and stopped off at pine island to eat his lunch. he was almost through, when an old man, all stooped over, and with a long white beard, came out of the bushes, shook a stick at benny's uncle and told him to get off that part of the island, as he owned it." did he go?” asked frank. “ yes,” went on sammy, “ for the hermit acted dangerous. ben's uncle thought maybe he might be an escaped lunatic. so he got into his boat, the hermit watching him all the while, and rowed away.” “ and what became of the hermit?" asked frank, always eager for details. “ he disappeared into the bushes again,” said sammy. "i didn't tell you fellows anything about this, for i knew you'd laugh. then, when mrs. blake just now told us about her brother living on pine island, and when she said we might go to see him, i thought i'd tell you about the hermit. but you didn't believe me.” oh, but we do now!” said frank, quickly. “ and is he hunting after a buried treasure?” asked bob. he began to think there might be more, after all, to sammy's story than he had at first thought. “i don't know, for sure, anything about a treasure there,” said sammy, remembering how he had once started on a treasure hunt, which had ended in the finding of only a pocketbook with memorandum papers in it. and this belonged to miser dolby. but there was something else of value in the wallet, so, after all, sammy's hunt amounted to something. 34 fairview boys at camp mystery > well, we might go up to the island, and see the wild hermit, anyhow," suggested frank. “that would give us something to do when we get a day or so of vacation.' “ the only trouble is that the lake will soon be frozen over,” put in bob. “we could skate over,” suggested sammy. “that's right, we could!” cried frank. “we'll do it!” ” “what do you s'pose the hermit lives on the island for?” asked bob. “and why didn't we see him when we were wrecked there?” “i don't know,” replied sammy. “maybe he likes to be lonesome, or else maybe no one wants him to live near them. he may be sort of wild.” “ i should think he was, if he drove benny's uncle away,” came from frank. “we'll have to be careful if we meet » > him." "that's right," agreed sammy brown. the boys kept on toward their homes, meeting with many of their friends on the way. there were several snowballs thrown, all in good fun, and some of the boys proposed to make a snow fort, and have a regular snowball fight. the next day, after school, the fort was built in a vacant lot. then the boys divided into sides, one party getting inside the fort, and the other, outside, trying to capture it. the three chums decided it would be more fun to storm the fort, so they joined the outside forces. the battle lasted for some time, and many snowballs were thrown back and forth. “come on, now! charge on the enemy!” cried frank, when he thought he saw a good chance to take the fort. he led the charge, and with such good effect that the fort was captured, and he and his chums left in possession. then gal win uu luni mului de lux riigfinch the battle lasted for some time. tatn? 1612k puri!! b astir lex and tiluen foundations k l a queer sight 37 " > the battle turned about, and the snowball fight began all over again. several days of winter fun passed. the boys and girls went coasting before and after school, made snow-men and rolled large snowballs. the weather was pleasant, and just warm enough so that the snow would pack well. one day mrs. blake called on mrs. brown, to thank her for the way in which sammy and his chums had helped her. "your son and his chums are very bright and good boys,” said mrs. blake, who had gotten over her fall in the snow. “i have written to my brother, peter jessup, about them, and he says anytime they want to visit his end of pine island he'll be glad to look after them.' “that is very kind of him," said mrs. brown,“ but sammy and his two friends go off now on more strange trips than i think is good for them.' oh, pshaw!” exclaimed mrs. blake. boys will be boys! let 'em roam, i say, as long as you know where they are, and that they are safe." "well, i guess if they get the chance they'll go," laughed , mrs. brown. they generally get what they're after. i'll tell them of your kindness." when sammy and his chums heard of what mrs. blake had said, and of the invitation of mr. jessup, the hunter, they grew excited at once, and wanted to start for pine island the next day. but there was school to be thought of, and they, as well as the other pupils, had missed considerable on account of the delay caused by the fire. “besides, it's winter now-not summer," said mrs. brown, “ it would not do to go to the island in winter." "oh, yes, it would,” cried sammy. “we could dress warm.' 38 fairview boys at camp mystery > besides," said frank, “mr. jessup had a warm cabin." well, you'd better wait,” suggested sammy's mother, and they had to do so. but, about a week after this, there came a cold spell of weather and the lake was frozen over. when frank awoke one morning he looked out of his window, and saw a sheet of ice on rainbow. “oh, fine!” he cried. “now for some skating!” he took his skates to school with him that morning, as did sammy and bob, and during the noon recess the chums, and several of their friends, tried the ice. it was smooth, and thick enough to be safe. “let's skate over to pine island after school is out!” proposed sammy. " i'm with you!” cried bob. and i'll go too,” added frank. “maybe we'll see the hermit.” they said nothing to their companions about their plans, but when school was dismissed that afternoon they put on their skates and started across the frozen lake. they felt sure they could reach the island and get back home before dark, and each had received permission to go skating after school, though the island was not mentioned. it was glorious fun on the ice. for some time the three chums found themselves in the midst of their skating companions, but they soon left them behind, and, a little later, were nearing pine island. make for the upper end," advised sammy. “that's " where the hermit will be, if he's anywhere." but though they had had good luck up to this time, bad luck now set in. first the skate of one of the boys would become loose, and he would have to stop and tighten it. then the same thing would happen to another. so they were > a queer sight 39 delayed, and it was almost dusk when they came opposite the far end of the island. this was a place they had seldom, if ever, visited. > > " “well, here we are at last," said sammy. “i'm going to , take off my skates and go ashore a while. my feet ache.” “we really ought to go back," said frank, slowly. “it's " getting dark, and if we're as long going home as we were coming it will be after six when we get in. the folks will worry. oh, well, we won't stay but a minute—just to rest,” said bob. “i'm all out of wind." “well, all right," agreed frank. so they took off their skates and walked on the island. it was covered with snow, and curiously still and silent. "i wonder where mr. jessup has his cabin?" spoke sammy. " probably well inland,” said frank. hark!" cautioned bob. there sounded a rustling in the bushes just ahead of the boys, near a clump of trees. something moved. "maybe it's a bear!” exclaimed sammy. a “huh! like the one you thought you saw before, only it was a dog!” laughed bob. “forget it!” grunted sammy. he did not like to be reminded of that. “look!” suddenly exclaimed frank. with trembling finger he pointed straight ahead. it seemed as if a snowbank was moving. and then the boys saw a queer sight. a shaggy head of white hair, and a long white beard rose up almost in front of them. the hair and beard framed a scowling face, that glared directly at the three boys. quick! run!” cried sammy. “it's the wild hermit of pine island!” a > chapter v winter fun a for a moment, in spite of sammy's warning, neither of his chums was able to move. nor, for that matter, was sammy either. as snakes are said to charm birds by looking at them steadily, so the sight of the old hermit, if such he was, seemed to charm the three boys into standing still there in the snow on the shore of pine island. it was rather a scary scene, with dusk falling, amid a silence that was more startling than noise would have been. the old man rose up from the snow-covered bushes, seeming to tower more than six feet in height. he looked steadily at the boys. then sammy found his voice again, and yelled: “come on, fellows, run!” “that's right! i'm with you!” added frank. and by this time bob bouncer had gotten over his first fright, so he, too, added his voice to those of his chums. “ hit him!” he cried. “throw a snowball at him!” “don't you dare do it!" came from sammy. “that'll make him awful mad! run for all you're worth!” this seemed the best advice, for really the old man, in spite of his long white hair and beard, that made him look something like the pictures of santa claus, had not a kindly-appearing face. he scowled, as though very angry at the boys. as yet he had not said a word, only, as he rose to his full height, he made a move as if to come from behind the bushes, back of which he seemed to have been hiding. 40 winter fun 41 “ here he comes !” yelled sammy. come on, fellows i ” " they needed no other warning. the three boys took to their heels, and crashed over the snow and bramble-covered ground to the edge of the frozen lake. “you'd better get away from here!” yelled the strange old man after them. “if i catch you around here again, i'll-" but the boys did not stop to hear what he would do to them. they did not even stop to fasten on their skates, but ran over the ice, slipping and sliding. “is—is he coming?” gasped bob. “i don't know. look back and see for yourself,” said sammy. bob did so, but as one cannot very well run over slippery ice and look backward at the same time, what happened to bob can be easily imagined. down he went in a heap, rolling over and over, and sliding along as well. "hey, fellows!” he cried. “don't leave me. help! he'll get me sure! stay with me!" his appeal touched the hearts of his chums. “we can't leave him like that!” said frank. “no,” panted bob.“we'll have to stay with him." “ they slid along, unable at first to stop on the slippery ice, and then they slowly came to a halt. turning, they went back to pick up bob, but he had already scrambled to his feet, and was running after them. he isn't coming,” said frank, catching sight of the strange man, standing on the shore of the island, near where the boys had landed. “i guess he isn't going to chase us." " it's a good thing, too,” panted bob. “why?” asked frank, with a smile. “because if he'd come after me i'd have hit him with my skates; that's what i would!” boasted bob. > > 42 fairview boys at camp mystery what did you run for then?” asked sammy. “ 'cause you fellows did. think i was going to stay there all alone and tackle him? i was not! so he isn't coming after us; eh?” “no, there he stands,” answered sammy, peering through the darkness. they could just make out the old hermit, and as they looked they saw him shake his fist at them. then he disappeared behind a tree. “well, come on, let's get on our skates and make for home," proposed frank. “it's getting late, and the folks will be worried.” " that's right,” agreed sammy. “but i guess, after this, you fellows will believe what i tell you about hermits andand things; won't you?” "well, you were right about the hermit,” admitted frank. “he sure is there. but that doesn't say there's treasure on the island.” “ treasure! of course there is!” insisted sammy. “did you ever know of a hermit where there wasn't treasure? that's what hermits are for—to guard a treasure.” “well, maybe," said bob, slowly. anyhow if there was treasure on the island, i wouldn't want to hunt for it if that terrible old man was guarding it." "i would," spoke sammy, bravely. “maybe he doesn't look so scary by daytime. i'm coming up again.” " i'm not!” exclaimed bob. but none of the boys knew how soon they would again visit pine island, nor what strange adventures they would have there. they soon had their skates on, and struck off across the frozen lake toward fairview and their homes. it grew darker and darker, but presently the stars came out, and as the ice was glaring white they did not have much trouble seeing their way. winter fun 43 reaching home, they found their parents just beginning to get alarmed about them, fearing there had been some accident on the ice. the boys told of their adventure, but in their own homes, with the lamps lighted, and warm fires glowing, the encounter with the hermit did not seem so terrible as it had at the time it happened. “if i see him again i'm going to speak to him," declared sammy. “i'm going to ask him why he doesn't want anybody on that part of the island.” “better not,” advised sammy's father. “he may be harmless if let alone, but his mind may be diseased, and if you annoy him he might do you some harm.” “well, i'll ask mr. jessup, the hunter, about him then," decided sammy, and his father thought this might be all right. there were happy days in fairview now. winter had set in to stay, it seemed, and there was skating and coasting enough to satisfy everyone. sammy and his chums told their friends of their trip to pine island, and of having seen the hermit, and several of the smaller boys of their acquaintance shivered with fear. a number of the larger boys, including jed burr, at once said they were going up and see if they could not find the hermit themselves. jed burr, i might say, was quite a different boy now. he no longer was a bully, tormenting those younger or weaker than himself. his suspension, and the apology he had had to make, seemed to have taken good effect on him. then, too, he was looked upon somewhat as a hero, from having gone back to rescue the little boy at the time when it was thought the school was going to be toppled over by an earthquake. “i like jed now,” said sammy, one day. “so do i,” added bob. 44 fairview boys at camp mystery "he's real kind,” said frank. “yesterday i had to bring home from the store a heavy basket of potatoes. jed met me and carried it for me." and jed himself was glad that he had "turned over a new leaf.” he was finding out that it is more fun, in the end, to be good than to be bad. and jed's teacher was glad, too, for he gave her less trouble. so, as i say, jed and some of the bigger boys in the school, having heard of the experience of sammy and his chums, had decided to go to pine island, to see if they could not find the hermit. “will you come along, sammy, and show us where you saw him?" asked jed. “ i will, if bob and frank will," was the answer. but bob and frank would not go, and sammy would not go without them. so jed and his chums set off by themselves on their skates for pine island. they were gone nearly the whole of one saturday, but when they came back they were disappointed, for they had seen nothing of the hermit. "i guess you fellows dreamed it,” said jed, with a laugh. “ or else you saw shadows on the snow.” “ we did not dream it!" declared sammy. “and can shadows holler at you?” bob wanted to know. “no, but maybe you heard an echo," suggested jed. “there couldn't be any echo unless somebody said something," spoke frank, “and we heard that hermit speak as plain as anything, and we weren't saying a word.” well, it's queer we didn't see him," returned jed. several days passed-days filled with many winter joys. sammy and his two chums made themselves skate-sails. they took some sticks, and stretched cloth over them, something between the sail of a boat and a kite in shape. then, holding these sails in their hands, they would let the wind blow them a winter fun 45 over the ice. thus they could skate without getting tired out. then there were sleighing parties, and coasting races on the big hill back of the schoolhouse. sammy and his chums made themselves a bob, by fastening two low clipper sleds together with a long plank. it had a steering wheel, and a bell that sounded, as the bob went down hill, to warn everyone to get out of the way. more snowball battles, and the building of snow houses and snow-men made up other fun for the boys and girls. " i'm going to make the biggest snow house that ever was put up in fairview!” exclaimed sammy, one day. like everything else he did, or had a part in, sammy wanted his undertakings to be out of the ordinary. all right, we'll help you," said bob and frank. they started the snow house in sammy's yard, as he had proposed it. a dozen large snowballs were rolled, and put in line on four sides of a square. these were to be the walls of the house. the walls were made quite high. then inside of them was piled all the snow the boys could gather. they cleared the ground for some distance about the house, and sammy's father said if only they would work as hard cleaning off the sidewalks in winter, they would be doing a good thing. but cleaning sidewalks isn't any fun," declared sammy, and his chums agreed with him. they were going to make a big snow pile inside the walls of balls, and then hollow it out, leaving a roof of snow on top. this would be the house. besides the door, by which the snow would be shoveled out, there were also to be windows. all went well for a time. then, when the house was nearly finished, sammy's father came out to look at it. "you're making your roof too thin, boys," he said. “it will fall in on you. “oh, i guess not!” boasted sammy. “we want to have the " walls and roof thin, as that gives us more room inside." а 46 fairview boys at camp mystery well, you mind what i'm telling you,” said mr. brown. hardly had he spoken when sammy, who was using his shovel to scrape some snow from the ceiling of the house, sent his shovel right through the roof. “oh!” he cried. he did not have a chance to say anything more, for, just then, the whole roof fell in, burying himself as well as frank and bob out of sight. “i told you so!” cried mr. brown. however, little harm was done, as the roof was too thin to hurt any of the boys. they began to dig themselves out, with mr. brown's help, and soon were outside the ruins of their snow house. “that's too bad,” said bob. " it sure is," agreed frank. “and it was all my fault," admitted sammy, with a sigh. “never mind,” went on bob.“we can put boards across the walls, now, for a roof, and cover them with snow." “i think that would be the safest plan,” spoke mr. brown. the boys had much fun after that, in their snow house. say, when are we going to take another trip to pine island, and look for—" began sammy brown one day, about a week after the falling in of the snow house roof. “were you going to say look for the hermit?” asked bob, with a laugh. “no, i meant mr. jessup, the hunter. i think it would be jolly to go up and camp there." “it would,” agreed frank. “ but we have to go to school. it wouldn't be much fun just to go for one day. i'd like to a stay a week.” “well maybe we could go when the christmas vacation comes," suggested sammy. “i'm going to ask my folks, any. 6 how." winter fun 47 “ so will il” cried frank. " and i,” added bob. they were on their way home from school that afternoon, talking over the proposed trip to pine island, when, as they came within sight of rainbow lake, sammy uttered a cry. “look!” he exclaimed, pointing. “the ice must have all melted. there's a sailboat on the lake!” sailboat! that isn't a sailboat!” said bob. “no, it's an ice yacht!" cried frank. “come on down and let's see who has it. maybe they'll give us a ride." the boys broke into a run, and soon saw that what frank had said was true. it was an ice-boat-one built with runners, like big skates, and a sail, fixed on a mast, standing up in a platform-shaped like a triangle. the boat was skimming swiftly over the ice. “say, that's all rightl” cried sammy. “i'm going to make one of those!" “there he goes again!" laughed frank. “well, i am you'll see!" went on sammy. “come closer, and we'll look how they're made. that seems to be a new kind.” the three chums went out on the ice toward the skimming boat. suddenly there was a cracking sound, a deep boom, like a shot from a distant cannon, and a wide crack appeared in the ice, just in front of the ice-boat. before those aboard could turn aside, the front part of the craft had slid into the cold waters of the lake, and several figures were seen floundering about. “come onl” cried sammy, breaking into a run. “we've got to help save them!” a chapter vi a fine chance the boys, following sammy, broke into a run. with anxious eyes they looked toward where the ice-boat had broken through a great crack in the frozen surface of rainbow lake. “there's somebody climbing out!" cried frank, as he saw a figure pull itself up on the side of the overturned boat. “but there are some others there!” exclaimed sammy. “we've got to save them all! there's nobody else around!” it was true. that part of the lake was deserted at this moment. how are we going to save them?” asked bob, as he plodded on. i don't know how, but we've got to do it!” panted sammy. “don't go too close, or the ice will give way with us,” cautioned frank. "i was thinking of that," answered sammy. they were now nearing the boat. part of it rested on firm ice, but the front part sagged into the water, and the sail was half covered. sitting astride of the side of the craft was a boy whom sammy and his chums recognized as jed burr. “anybody else there?" cried sammy, as he came to a stop, and looked at the ice to see if it would be safe to go further. “yes!” cried jed, as well as he could from shivering, for he was wet through, and very cold. “hank blair is there, and jim eaton!” 48 a fine chance 49 > can you get 'em out?" asked sammy. “shall we run for help?” “time help gets here they'll be gone!” groaned jed. “oh, why didn't i see that crack?" “help! help us out!" came faintly from the black water that could be seen through the opening of the ice. sammy and his chums, looking under the mast of the overturned ice-boat, saw two forms struggling in the water. their hands clung to the edges of the ice, only to have it break off in their grasp. then they would bob under again. “we've got to save them!” cried sammy. “we can't!" moaned bob. “let's go for help!" “can you reach them?" asked sammy of jed, paying no attention to what bob said. “ i could if i had a rope to throw to them. but i can't get a rope! oh, what shall i do?” sammy was doing some hard and quick thinking. something like a rope was needed so that jed could hold one end and throw the other to the floundering lads. a rope? where could they get one now? true there were ropes on the iceboat, but they could not be reached. “i have it!” cried sammy. “our book straps! quick, fellows, take the straps off your books!” it was a bright idea. the straps were the very thing needed. . now it happened that sammy and his chums had very long book straps, much longer than were really needed. they were at least a yard in length, and often only a few books were carried in them. but the boys had a habit of also including their skates, and other playthings, in with their books, so they declared that long straps were needed. frank and bob at once grasped sammy's plan. in a trice they had loosed the buckles, and handed him their straps. 50 fairview boys at camp mystery he fastened the three together and thus had a leather rope almost ten feet long. “that's the idea!” cried jed, still shivering on the side of the ice-boat. “i can reach 'em with that!” “you'd better-better reach us—s-s-s-soon!” called jim eaton, his teeth chattering with cold. that's—ri-ri-right!” shivered hank blair. “have you out in a jiffy now!” called jed. “throw me the strap, sammy!” i'll bring it to you,” said sammy. “no, don't. it mightn't be safe. the whole boat might slip into the water." so sammy tossed the three straps, fastened together as they were, to jed, who caught them. the next moment, holding firmly to one end, jed swung the other to hank. hank grasped it and carefully began to pull himself forward so he could reach the edge of the ice-boat. a very little help, from a person on a solid place, will allow a person in the water to lift himself up. the water buoys him, so to speak. you boys . who have been in swimming know that if you keep low in the water you can support yourself by merely placing one finger on the edge of a pier or a boat. it was so with hank. slowly, by means of the straps, he was pulled up until he could grasp the ice-boat. “i-i'm all right now," he panted. “get after jim!” he released his hold of the strap, and it was tossed to jim. and not any too soon, either, for jim could not hold on much longer. he was weak from the cold. but he, too, was soon safely towed to a place where he could grasp the half-submerged ice-boat. all three was now comparatively safe. “now look out!" called jed, as he threw back to tommy mo mb il li. menal. sammy tossed the three straps, fastened together. pelic astor, lox and tiles boundations l a fine chance 53 » the buckled straps. " i'm going to work my way to the solid ice, and you two fellows follow. can you do it?" “we've got tol” cried jim, desperately. “go ahead—i'm with you!” exclaimed hank. slowly jed edged his way to where the stern of the iceboat rested on the solid, frozen surface. in a few seconds he was in safety, though he was wet and shivering, and his clothes were beginning to freeze to him. “come on!” he called to hank and jim, and they followed, but more slowly, for they were quite exhausted. but soon they, too, were safe. oh, i'm so glad!” cried sammy brown. so am i!” echoed his two chums. and maybe we aren't also, youngsters!” chattered jed. “we won't forget this on your part!” “ i should s-s-s-say n-n-n-not!” stammered hank. " those straps saved our lives!” well, you'd better run home as soon as you can," advised frank, “or you'll catch your death of cold.' “that's good advice," said jed. “come on. we can leave the ice-boat where it is for a while. i'm going to run and see a if i can get warmed up. see you later, sammy!” he set off on a trot toward shore, his two soaked friends following. sammy and his chums remained to look at the iceboat. some men and boys came up then, too late, however, to help in the rescue. then the men got ropes and pulled the ice-boat up on the hard surface, whence it was hauled to where it was kept tied up. some of the ropes had broken, so that it could not be sailed. sort of a queer accident,” remarked jerry grow, who, with his dog prince, had come up with the crowd. " those fellows could have sailed almost anywhere else on rainbow lake and not gone through. but they had to pick out a spot 54 fairview boys at camp mystery a over a spring, where it never freezes very thick, and of course they went through. there ought to be a mark put up here to warn ice-boats and skaters to keep off.” “we'll put one up,” said sammy, and a few days later they did mark the danger spot in the ice. it had frozen over again, and could not have been noticed except for the red box which sammy and his chums placed there. thus further accidents were avoided. as for jed and his companions, prompt action saved them from anything worse than slight colds. they got home, took hot baths, drank plenty of hot lemonade and, in a day or so, were out again. it appeared that the three larger boys had bought the iceboat at second-hand from a man in another town. it was the first time they had tried it that they sailed over the thin ice, and went in. “but it won't happen again,” said jed to sammy, when he and jim and hank again met the three chums. “thanks to you chaps we'll know where the danger spot is now.” and thanks to them that we're not down there under the ice now," added hank, with a slight shiver. “that's right,” chimed in jim. say, any time you boys want a ride in our ice-boat, let us know." “sure enough!” exclaimed jed. “maybe you fellows would like to take a sail. it's perfectly safe on the lake now, and we've fixed the boat where she was broken that day.” “is the ice safe?” asked sammy. sure," answered jim. “it's frozen ever so much thicker than it was the day we went out, and besides, we won't go near the danger spot. don't you want to come for a trip? ” fellows, i've an idea!” cried sammy, looking at his chums. what, another?” asked bob. , a a fine chance 55 “ yes," went on sammy, with a grin. “this is a fine chance for us. christmas vacation starts next week. why can't we go to pine island on the ice-boat, camp there a few days with mr. jessup, and have jed come back for us—that is if he will?" and he looked at the former bully. of course we'll come for you!” he exclaimed. “we'd do anything for you boys. we'll take you to pine island any time you say!” “ then it's all settled!” spoke sammy, though it was far from that. “we'll go camping with mr. jessup, and—we'll find out the secret of the old hermit,” he added in a whisper to his chums. chapter vii at camp mystery and a “ sammy, do you really think we can do it?' “how did you happen to think of it?” thus frank and bob questioned sammy as they walked away from jed and the larger boys, after getting the promise of the use of the ice-boat any time they wanted it. “of course i think we can do it," answered sammy. i don't just know how i happened to think of it, except that i knew if we did go camping on pine island we'd have to take some extra clothes with us, and maybe something to eat, and we couldn't very well do that and skate. so i thought of the iceboat. it'll hold a lot.” “ it's a fine idea!” exclaimed frank. “ now the next thing is to see if our folks will let us go." the boys were a little worried about that part of the program. true, they had been in a number of adventures of late, and their parents had not objected to their going off on several trips during the summer; trips, too, that kept them away over night. but now it was winter, and sleeping away from their warm beds might mean severe colds, if nothing worse. so all three of the boys were a bit doubtful about being allowed to go. i'll tell you what let's do," proposed sammy. “what?" asked frank. 56 a at camp mystery 57 “let's go see mrs. blake,” he went on. "we'll tell her we want to go up and call on her brother. she said he'd be glad to have us, and we'll get her to ask our folks if we can't go. they'll be sure to let us then.' good idea, sammy!” cried frank. “i believe that will work!” declared bob, slyly sticking out his foot to trip up sammy. but the latter was too quick for him, and it was bob himself who went down in a snowbank. “ i—i'll wash your face for that!” he cried, as he scrambled to his feet and made a rush for sammy. but at that instant old mr. dolby, popularly called a miser, came unexpectedly along, and bob ran full tilt into him, knocking him down. “whew!" whistled frank. “now you have gone and done " it!” the miserly old man struggled to his feet. all the boys were afraid to go near to help him, for fear he would use his cane on them. “ah, ha!” he spluttered as he got up, brushing the snow from his clothes. “ah, hal up to your old tricks again; are you? knocking folks down! i'll fix you for this! i'll have you all arrested, that's what i will!” he shook his cane at the frightened boys. “i–i didn't mean to!” faltered bob, as he picked up the angry man's hat and gave it to him. “didn't mean to! humph! that's what ye allers say! but i'll have the law on ye jest the same! i'll have ye all arrested! look at my hat-all snow!” it'll brush off,” said sammy. "hold your tongue! don't speak to me!" snapped the angry man, as he stalked off down the street. " i'll attend to your cases." for a moment the three chums remained looking after him. 58 fairview boys at camp mystery then, as he noted the direction taken by the miser, frank said anxiously: “he's going toward the police station. maybe he will have us arrested." “he can't have you two taken in," said bob. “ i'm the only one that knocked him down." "huh! s'pose we'd let you stand it all?" demanded sammy. “we'll all stick together. but come on. there's no use waiting for trouble. if he does make a complaint let the officer find us. i'm going home and ask my mother if i can go to pine island." he turned aside, but stopped a moment later to pick up a paper from the snow. he unfolded it and exclaimed: whyl it's a check—a check for ten dollars, and it's for mr. dolby! he must have dropped it." “say! this is just the thing!” cried frank, with ready wit. “let's run and give it to him. maybe he won't be mad then." there was no need to race after the old miser, for a moment later he turned the corner, coming toward the boys. he seemed very much in a hurry, and quite excited. “have you found it? did i drop it here? if you boys have found it and don't give it up," he spluttered. “is this it?" asked sammy quickly, holding out the check. the miser fairly snatched it from the boy's grasp. “that's it! where'd you get it? you must have took it from my pocket when you knocked me down!” the peevish man exclaimed. we did not!” cried sammy, in righteous anger. "we found it in the snow where it fell. and knocking you down was an accident." perhaps the miser realized this, or perhaps the joy at find. at camp mystery 59 ing the ten dollar check he thought he had lost made him more humane. at any rate he growled out: “well, maybe you couldn't help it. but you boys shouldn't be so rough. i won't have you arrested this time, but i will next. i'm an old man, and i can't stand bein' knocked around rough-like. here—here's a penny for you for findin' my check," and he fumbled in an old wallet. “no, thank you!” exclaimed sammy, turning aside. “we don't want any reward." ” “oh, all right," said the miser, and with a sigh of relief he put the cent back in his purse. “ boys have too much money now-a-days as it is." he shuffled off, followed by the indignant glances of the lads. “ isn't he the limit!" murmured frank. "he sure is," agreed bob. “you want to stop your fooling, bob," advised sammy. “you nearly got us into trouble." “ all right-i'll be good,” promised the fun-loving bob. but his chums knew that it would be only for a short time at best. however, they were used to it now. the three soon forgot the little happening with the miser, in their hurry to get home and find out if they could go camping on pine island. school would close for christmas in a day or so, and there was much to do to get ready. it was no easy matter for the boys to get their parents' consent to the trip. they had to "tease" very hard. but their plan of getting mrs. blake to put in a good word for them was not in vain. “of course you ought to let the boys go," she said, when she called in turn on mrs. bouncer, mrs. brown and mrs. haven. “my brother will be delighted to see them, and he'll take the 60 fairview boys at camp mystery best of care of them. it will do them good. they're only boys once, and they have studied well this term." ” so it came about that permission was given. the boys were to take along plenty of warm clothing. as for food, mrs. blake said her brother had plenty in his cabin. she had written that the boys were coming, and he had laid in a good stock of provisions. “hurray!” cried sammy, when the matter was settled, “we can go!" arrangements were made, and jed and his larger chums promised to take the three boys to the island on the ice-boat. the lake was frozen over thickly now, and there was no danger. school closed, christmas came, with all its joys, and two days after the holiday the little party of three, in charge of the older boys, set off on the ice-boat. it was a fine sunny day, though cold, and there was a good wind, so they were only a comparatively short time in getting to the upper end of pine island. as they neared the dock in front of the cabin where mr. jessup had his camp, sammy and his chums kept a bright lookout. none of them admitted as much, but they were all thinking they might see the mysterious hermit. “there's your friend, i guess,” said jed, as the ice-boat came up into the wind, and headed for the dock. “that's mr. jessup waving to you. i know him.” a tall man, with a gun under his arm, was standing on the , edge of the little pier that extended out into the frozen lake. “yes, that's him," said sammy, who knew the hunter from the way in which mrs. blake had described her brother. “i wish we were you chaps," spoke jim eaton. “you'll have no end of good times here." 1 1 'at camp mystery 61 “that's what they will," added hank. but neither they, nor sammy and his chums, dreamed of the queer, as well as good, times in store. the ice-boat came to a stop, the three small boys got off, and the craft veered away again. “well, boys, glad to see you!" called mr. jessup, cordially: as he met them. “welcome to camp mystery!" . chapter viii the old mansion sammy brown and his chums looked queerly at one an. other. then they glanced at mr. jessup. he smiled as he peered at them from under his shaggy eyebrows. “camp mystery, did you say?" asked sammy, wonderingly. “ that's what i said," was the answer. " but don't get frightened, i don't believe the mystery will hurt you.” “is there really a mystery?" asked sammy, eagerly. “ is there a—a ghost-or something like that? mr. jessup laughed heartily. “no need to ask your name," he chuckled. “you're sammy brown? my sister told me all about you.” sammy blushed. “well-er-well,” he stammered, “i only thought “no harm done at all!” went on the hunter, still laughing. my sister said one of you boys was always on the lookout for something strange, like buried treasure, or a lost diamond mine. well, we haven't got either of those things on this end of pine island, whatever they may have down below. but that's how i guessed your name, sammy. “and now let me see, you ought to be bob bouncer, by rights," and he looked at bob with his head on one side. how about it?" “that's my name," admitted the owner of it. > 62 the old mansion 63 "i thought so. then of course, as you're the only one left," he said to frank," you're mr. haven's son.” “ how did you guess my name?” asked bob. “oh, my sister said bob was the one with a twinkle in his cye that meant mischief. you've got it, so you're him. i hope you don't cut-up too much. i don't mind sitting down on a pin once in a while, but i don't like to find mud turtles in my bed" “i don't do any of those things!" cried bob, in confusion. “no, i s'pose you don't, but it's just as well to warn you, and by the merry twinkle in mr. jessup's eyes the boys knew he was only joking. "now then,” he went on " forward for camp mystery! got all your luggage?" all we need, i guess," answered sammy. each of the boys had a good-sized valise. “ but what makes you call your place camp mystery?” asked the lad. your sister didn't say anything about that.” “no, for it's only lately that i've had occasion to call it that. you see but mr. jessup was interrupted by a crashing sound in the underbrush at one side of the path, and from the bushes there was shaken down a shower of the light snow that had fallen the night before. “look out!” cried frank, starting back. maybe it's him!” added bob. “don't run!" advised sammy. mr. jessup stared in surprise at the three lads, but before he could ask them the reason for their strange remarks there burst out from the bushes a fine hunting dog, who ran straight for the man, wagging his tail in delight. “oh, so there you are, maybel” exclaimed mr. jessup. “ i was just wondering what had become of you." 64 fairview boys at camp mystery, is that your dog?” asked sammy. “ did he make that noise?” inquired frank. “yes. what did you think it was—a ghost?” mr. jessus wanted to know. once more he looked strangely at the boys. wewe thought," began bob, and then he glanced at sammy, as if asking him to explain the thoughts of his chums. “oh, you thought maybe it was the mystery; is that it?" ? mr. jessup wanted to know. “no, it isn't that. the mystery, if that's what i am to call it, doesn't make that much noise. it's a very quiet sort of a mystery; the one in my camp." the boys were puzzled. clearly there was more than one queer thing, to be gotten to the bottom of, on pine island. the dog was frisking about, soon making friends with the boys. “quiet now, maybe," cautioned the hunter. "we can't scare up anything to-day. down, sir!" “is—is his name maybe?" asked bob, thinking there might be a joke attached to the animal's title. it is,” said mr. jessup. “you see i call him maybe because when we go out hunting-he and i-maybe we'll have luck, and maybe we won't. it's been mostly not, of late, though maybe my luck will change, now that you boys have come. “but come. tell me what you thought it was when you heard the dog make a noise in the bushes." “and then will you tell us what the mystery is?” asked sammy. “of course. i'll tell you first, if you like. to be brief i've been missing things from my camp-food mostly, though the other night one of my best blankets was taken. and the funny part of it is that i can't get a trace of the thief. things disfrom camp, and sometimes when i'm asleep. it's all quite strange, so that's why i call this camp, away appear when i'm the old mansion 65 " mystery. i wish i could find out who is at the bottom of it." sammy was eager to relate his story now. “ perhaps we can tell you!” he eagerly exclaimed, when mr. jessup nodded to show that he had finished. “it must be the hermit who's taking your things.” if he and his chums expected mr. jessup to show surprise at the mention of the hermit they were disappointed. mr. jessup only shook his head. “so you've seen him, too,” he murmured. “he's showing himself more often of late. i hope he doesn't get into trouble.” who?” asked frank. " the hermit.” “oh, then you know him?" asked sammy. his expected surprise had amounted to nothing. he was rather disappointed. “oh, yes, i know him," admitted the hunter,“ but that isn't saying i know what he's up to. that part is queer, i admit." , “who is he?" asked sammy, and he briefly told how they had encountered the strange old man, with his white hair and beard. “well, his name is franklin addison," answered mr. jessup, “and he has been here for some time. just when he came i don't remember, but i know i ran across him one day, and he ordered me off the island. of course i didn't go, owning considerable land here. so i stood my ground, and explained matters. “then mr. addison grew more reasonable. he told me he had come to live here to be away from the world, and he showed me a little hut he had made for himself, on a small piece of land he said was his. a poor enough place it is, but he seems to like it. since then, though we haven't met often, we have been better friends. i let him alone, and he lets me alone. he lives about a mile from here, in a lonesome place. a 66 fairview boys at camp mystery "what he is doing here i can't make out. maybe he's here for his health. there are some folks, you know, who believe in getting off alone like that, and living as much out of doors as they can.” “i thought maybe he was the mystery,” explained sammy, " and that he had been taking your things.” “no," answered the hunter, “mr. addison wouldn't do a thing like that. he has often asked me for food, and i have given it to him. then again he has given me money to buy things for him when i go to the mainland. he isn't the thief, i'm sure.” “maybe it's a bear-or some wild animal,” suggested bob. “ i wish it was ! ” exclaimed the hunter. “ if it was maybe we could get it-maybe and i. but there are no animal tracks, and anyhow the biggest beasts here on pine island now are foxes. no you'll have to guess again, boys." “well, it will give us something to look up,” said sammy. “we can solve that mystery, and the one about the hermit, a too." a he was quite delighted over the prospect, as his chums could easily tell by the light in his eyes. give sammy a mystery, or put him on the trail of buried treasure, be it ever so small, and he was happy. “well, come on to camp mystery," suggested mr. jessup. you must be hungry-i know i am." with maybe, the dog, running on ahead, and the hunter and the boys bringing up in the rear, the little procession started off along the snowy trail. they went on for perhaps a mile, when, through the trees, the boys caught sight of a large house—a mansion in size. “is that your cabin?" asked sammy. “no, my shack can't compare with that in build," answered the hunter. “that's an old deserted mansion. it used to be a “ it's big!” r. mench “is that your cabin?” asked sammy. " the new york pi blic library astr, lexox and til en foundations r l the old mansion 69 sort of hotel, or boarding house, but it hasn't been used as such in a good many years. it didn't pay. “i'm a sort of care-taker of it, and i have one or two rooms fitted up that i use when my shack gets filled. but the rest of the place is deserted, except for the bats and rats.” the boys came to a stop in front of the old house. it was bare and gaunt, and looked lonesome. on most of the windows the sagging shutters flapped dismally. somehow there seemed an air of mystery about the place. sammy brown's spirits rose. "fellows!” he cried, "maybe the mystery is in here!” chapter ix sammy's queer find > i “ ha! ha!” laughed mr. jessup. “my sister was right about you, sammy! you're always on the lookout for something odd.” sammy was a little put out by the attention he had drawn to himself. but for all of that, he was not going to back down. “well,” he said, “i only thought that if queer things had been going on around your camp, mr. jessup, maybe the person who had been taking your things would be hiding in here." so you're sure it's a person, and not a ghost; eh?” asked the hunter, with a smile. “i don't believe in ghosts," delared sammy. “good boy! neither do i. but i'm sorry i can't agree with you that the mystery is in this old mansion." why? " asked sammy, who liked to stick to a point. “ because the hermit and i, so far as i know, are the only ones on this part of the island. if there was anyone else here maybe would have routed him out long ago; wouldn't you, maybe?” the dog barked, and wagged his tail. but sammy brown was not satisfied. the old mansion, that had been used for a hotel, when the upper part of pine island had been a summer resort, looked strange enough to hide any sort of a mystery, and the boy made up his mind he would get at the bottom of this one. 70 sammy's queer find 71 > oh, yes, "we've got two things to do while we're here," sammy told himself. “one is to find out who has been taking mr. jessup's stuff, and the other is to find out what the hermit is doing here." instead of being worried over the seemingly hard work, sammy brown was delighted. it gave him a chance to do something, and this always pleased the lad. “well,” said mr. jessup, after a pause, there's no need of staying here unless you want to. better come on to my cabin, and we'll have a meal. then you can unpack, and get your bearings. are you warm enough?” indeed!” exclaimed frank. “mother made me put on my heavy clothes.' “well, it's a good idea, for it often gets quite chilly on the island. now then, forward march!” sammy hung back a little. “what's the matter?” asked mr. jessup, looking at him. "do you see anything?” "no," was the answer,“ but i'd like a chance to go through that deserted mansion.” oh, you'll get it all right enough,” the hunter promised him. “i've got to straighten up the few rooms i use in a day or so, and you boys can help. “you see,” he explained, “ i'm expecting a company of gentlemen up in about two weeks to stay a few days, and there'll be more of them than i can keep in my cabin. so i've got to use a few rooms in the old mansion. i'll have to clean them up a bit though, first.' “maybe we'll be in the way then,” suggested bob. “ bless your heart, no! they're in no hurry to come, and i'm going to give you boys a good time first, just as i promised my sister i would. you did her a good turn, and this is the only way i can pay you back. > 72 fairview boys at camp mystery “so don't worry. stay as long as you like, and you'll have all the chance you want, sammy, to go through the old house. you won't find anything, though, i'll wager." sammy said nothing, but he made up his mind that if there was anything in the deserted mansion that would solve the mystery he would find it. a short time later mr. jessup's cabin was reached. it stood in the midst of a grove of trees, and through them a glimpse could be had of the frozen lake. this part of the island was separated from the portion where the boys had played robinson crusoe by a wide stretch of marshland. “which way is the hermit's cabin from here?” asked ” sammy, when he and his chums had put away the clothes they had brought in their satchels. “right back of here," answered mr. jessup. “but i wouldn't advise you to try to find it alone. there's a bad, swampy bog near it, and you might get mired.” wouldn't it be frozen over now?” asked frank. "no; and that's the funny part of it. that bog never freezes, even in the coldest weather. it's down in a sort of valley, and it's protected. so keep away from there unless i'm with you. there's another reason, too, for not looking up mr. addison." “what is it?" asked sammy, while the other boys waited cagerly for the answer. "well, he's a queer sort of man," went on. mr. jessup. “he doesn't like company, and he even objects to me, sometimes, though i seldom bother him. just how he would take to you boys i don't know." “he didn't take to us at all the first time he saw us,” spoke bob. “ i should say not!” cried frank. “he ordered us away.” “and we went-in a hurry," added sammy. > sammy's queer find 73 a a “ yes," remarked the hunter, with a smile. “then i'd give him a wide berth. i don't just know what his rights are on this island. i know he doesn't bother me, and he keeps off my land, except when he wants to borrow something, or have me buy food for him. so i don't bother him, and i'd advise you boys to do the same." “all right,” answered sammy. he did not exactly promise, and the truth of the matter was that he made up his mind to find out more about the queer hermit, as well as about the mystery and the deserted mansion, as soon as he could. and his chums felt the same way. well, anyhow, we're here!” exclaimed sammy, a little later, while they sat about a campfire in front of the cabin, and ate the meal which mr. jessup got ready. “we're here, and we're going to have some fun!” " that's what we are!” cried frank. “what can we do first?” well, i'm going to do a little hunting for rabbits this afternoon,” said mr. jessup. “you boys can come along, if you like." fine!” cried sammy. “i wish we had guns and could hunt,” said sammy. “you're a bit too young for firearms," said the hunter. “later on, when you grow up, you can have 'em, and i'll show , you how to shoot.” with this the boys had to be content, though it must be confessed they looked on with eager and envious eyes while mr. jessup got his gun ready for the little expedition. maybe, the dog, as soon as he saw the preparations, frisked about in delight. he barked, and ran to and fro from the cabin, as if asking everyone to hurry. “all right, old fellow,” said mr. jessup, soothingly. we'll soon be with you." 9 74 fairview boys at camp mystery pine island, as i have said, was a large one in the midst of rainbow lake. years before, many years, when only the indians roved about that part of the country, it had been part of the main land, so scientists said. they had located a reef in the lake, and their explanation was, that, through the raising of the waters of the lake, the point of land became surrounded by water, and was made into an island. it had happened suddenly, and many large, wild animals, as well as some smaller ones, had been trapped there. in time the wild animals, such as deer and bears, had been killed off, and were never replenished. but the small game, such as rabbits, squirrels, opossums and raccoons, were still rather plentiful. the island was protected by game laws, now, so that the supply was not killed off. then, too, there was some valuable timber on the island, and mr. jessup cut that in the summer when there was no hunting. he floated it down to fairview where he sold it. off through the snow-covered woods started mr. jessup and the boys, with maybe frisking about here and there, trying to scare up a rabbit or a partridge for his master to shoot. for a time luck was poor, and then some pheasants were flushed, and mr. jessup brought down two fat ones. “hurray!” cried bob.“now we'll have a fine dinner!" ! later on the hunter got two fine rabbits, and oh! how the boys wished they were big enough to have guns! " i'm coming up here every hunting season, as soon as i'm old enough to shoot!" cried frank. “so am i!” exclaimed sammy and bob. as he did not shoot game to sell, and as he had enough for present needs, mr. jessup, as all good hunters do in such cases, ceased the use of his gun. with his rabbits and pheasants on his back he led the boys on the return trip. as they came to the old mansion, sammy asked: > sammy's queer find 75 > > “ could we go in now, mr. jessup, and look around?” “i guess so," he answered. “but don't stay too late. it gets dark early now, you know. i'll keep on to my cabin.” eagerly the boys entered the old deserted house, mr. jessup letting them take his key. as he had said, they found several rooms fitted up with beds, and a few pieces of furniture. these were the apartments used by those of the hunting parties who could not find bunks in the cabin. now let's begin at the top of the house, and work down, proposed sammy, when they had looked about the lower floor. maybe we can find something of the mystery." “maybe—the dog-yes," laughed bob. "oh, you just wait!” exclaimed sammy. “i'll find some" thing yet.” but it did not seem that he was going to, at first. room after room was deserted, the once gay wallpaper hanging in mouldy strips. broken shutters flapped in the wind, and there was ruin on all sides. in some rooms were bits of broken furniture, and in others only heaps of rubbish. “ i shouldn't like to stay here,” said bob, with a little shiver. me, either," added frank. they were up in the top story now, and had found nothing. "well, i suppose we may as well go down," spoke sammy, in disappointed tones. “there's nothing here." “ unless it's in one of those secret rooms you read about," said bob. “this mansion looks old enough to have one of those.” sammy did not reply. he was looking at a spot on the wall, and suddenly he put forth his hand and pressed on a carved bit of moulding. to his surprise, as well as to the surprise of his chums, the wall seemed to slide away. there was a rumbling sound, and a hole came into view. > > 76 fairview boys at camp mystery then, as the boys' eyes became used to the gloom, they saw that they were looking into a room of the existence of which they had never guessed. “ look!” cried bob excitedly. “sammy's found it—the secret room!" “yes, and see what's in it!" cried sammy, as he pointed to a heap of odd-looking objects in one corner. “fellows, maybe this is the mystery!” chapter x the mysterious room the boys hung back for a moment on the threshold of the room sammy had so strangely discovered. truth to tell they were a little afraid to enter, and no one could have blamed them. for surely there were some queer looking objects in the secret apartment. that it was a secret room, intended to be hidden from the ordinary person going through the old house, was plain. as one looked at the wall, before sammy had pushed on what must have been a secret spring, it did not seem different from the rest of the building. there had been a little piece of carved wood sticking out, and this must have worked on some springs and levers to slide back the hidden door. “say, this is great!” cried sammy, delighted at his discovery. “ it sure is,” agreed bob. “how'd you come to do it?” “i just happened to,” answered sammy. “i saw that carved wood bulging out, and it looked as though it was meant to press on. so i did.” “you're a great one!” cried frank. “you're all the time talking about finding something mysterious, but it never before amounted to anything. this time you did hit it, sammy brown!" “and i guess you fellows won't laugh at me any more; will you?” "i won't,” said bob, with a sigh, wishing he had discovered the secret room. 77 > 78 fairview boys at camp mystery 1 “and look what's in there, fellows ! ” went on sammy. maybe now we can find out how and who has been taking mr. jessup's stuff!” there was indeed an odd collection of things in the secret room. besides a bed, table and some chairs, there was on the floor, and on the wall-shelves, some tubes, with shining pieces of glass in the ends. there were tin boxes, springs, long pieces of wire, black wooden boxes, and many other strange things. one of the tubes, with a glass in the end, seemed to be pointed directly at the boys, like some strange gun. “come on, let's go in!” urged sammy. “let's see what those things are.” for a moment his two chums looked at him, and then frank said: “do you think it's safe to go in?" “why not?” asked sammy. “well, that door might suddenly slide shut while we were in there, or there might be a false bottom to the floor, and we'd drop through, or something like that,” suggested bob. “huh! you're as bad as you say i am, in thinking up things!” cried sammy. “i say let's go in. we can put a stick, or something, across the sliding door, so that can't go shut on us." “well, maybe that's all right," agreed bob. but it sure would be hard luck if we got caught in here. no one would ever know where to find us." “that's right,” admitted sammy, and, for a second or two, he was almost ready to give up the adventure. but his desire to see what the strange things were was so strong that he decided, by taking care, it would be all right. oh, come on, fellows,” he exclaimed. “let's take a chance! i'll fix the door.” they found a piece of a broken shutter which they wedged > a the mysterious room 79 across the sliding doorway so that, even if they, or someone else, accidentally touched the hidden spring which sent the door to and fro, they would not be trapped. “there, i guess that's all right,” cried sammy. “now come on in!" but bob still hung back, though sammy stepped across the door sill. well, what's the matter now?" asked the discoverer of the hidden room. “ i'm thinking that the floor might give way,” faltered bob. “nonsense!” exclaimed frank, taking sides with sammy. " it must be solid, or how would it hold up the tables, chairs and the other things? i'm going in.” bob would not be left behind, in the mysterious old house, so he followed his chums into the room. they advanced cautiously, and listened closely. there was no clicking sound, that might tell of hidden machinery. pshaw! it's all right!” exclaimed sammy, presently. “now to see what those things are." “who do you s'pose put 'em there?” asked frank, as they advanced toward the odd collection of things on the table. “ counterfeiters!” exclaimed sammy, promptly. “ counterfeiters!” cried frank. “what do you mean?" ? “just what i said," answered sammy, with a calm smile, as though he knew it all. “this is a hidden place where some nen have been making false coins, and maybe bad paper > a money too.” “you mean money that's no good?” asked bob. . “sure," replied sammy. money that looks good, but which isn't-counterfeit money. i've read a lot about it. fellows, we have discovered a counterfeiters' den!” sammy's chums looked rather frightened. it did seem as though they had stumbled upon some strange“ den.” a 80 fairview boys at camp mystery “well, if counterfeiters work here, where are they, and where is some of the false money? " asked bob.“ i'd like to see some.' “ pooh! you don't s'pose they'd leave it around loose; do you?” asked sammy. “they go out to spend it. that's probably where they are now. we'd better hurry and look around, and then we can go back to town and tell the police!” frank looked as though he did not quite agree with sammy. it was often this way with the excitable small chap. he saw some things and imagined the rest. but in this case it was different. he had really discovered a secret room, and this was more than his chums had done. perhaps, after all, he was right about the counterfeiters. the boys advanced farther into the room. a nearer view of the strange tubes, with the glass in the ends, showed the latter to be large and bulging, like the lens of a bull's-eye lantern, or an automobile lamp. attached to the tubes were black boxes, with a number of springs and levers fastened to them. “hal i know what these arel” cried frank. “they're telescopes, that's what they are. this isn't a counterfeiters' place at all. it's where one of those men live who look at the stars—astro—astoroh, you know what i mean,” he added quickly. astronomers,” said bob. “that's what it is, sammy.” “ it is not!” declared sammy, quickly, bound not to give up his sensational idea. “those may be telescopes all right, but if they are, the counterfeiters use them to look and see if the police are coming." say, maybe that's right,” agreed frank, with a look of admiration at sammy. “i never thought of that.” " pooh! i did!” exclaimed the lad who had found the secret room. he was not going to lose any chance of showing the mysterious room 81 off, now that he had the opportunity. “that's what they " are telescopes for spying out when the counterfeiters are at work.” there were several small windows in the secret room, and they were rather high up from the floor. in fact sammy and his chums had to drag out boxes to stand on, in order to see above the sills. they paused a moment in looking over the strange apparatus to glance at the furniture in the room. as i have said, there was a bed, a table and several chairs. the bed did not look very nice, being covered with old blankets and some cut-up bags for covers. but it appeared to have been slept in, and was not actually dirty. in fact it was no worse than the place where the boys had slept when they were wrecked on the other end of pine island in the summer. “i wonder if they live here all the while?” spoke bob. “i guess they stay here when they're not away getting rid of the bad money,” said sammy. “ they may come back any minute. we'd better be getting out of here!” “let's look around a little more," proposed bob, who was getting braver now. “what can you see from the windows?” the boys looked out. the windows of the secret room gave a view of only a dense mass of trees, and it was plain that this was the reason no one had ever found the apartment before. that side of the old mansion was opposite a deep and seldomvisited part of the woods. well, we'll look at the counterfeiting machinery a little more, and then we'll go,” suggested sammy. “we'd better tell mr. jessup about this, and he can get the police after these fellows." this seemed good advice to his chums, and they went back again to the table and shelves where the apparatus was spread out. they now examined it all more closely. 9 82 fairview boys at camp mystery » better not touch anything," advised sammy, as bob put out his hand to examine one of the tubes with glass in the end. 'why not?” was asked. “because you might get a shock.” "a shock? how do you make that out?' "why there's some electric batteries attached to the things," said sammy, pointing out the dry cells in their red pasteboard boxes. “that's right,” agreed frank. “they're the same kind of batteries jerry grow has in his motor-boat. and they cari give you a fierce shock, too.” what, those little things? ” asked bob, in surprise. “sure," spoke sammy. “you see the batteries aren't so strong in themselves, but when you run the current through a production coil“ induction coil-not production,” corrected frank. “well, induction coil then,” went on sammy. “when the current from the electric battery goes through that, it gets stronger, and it sure does hurt.” “i know it does,” agreed bob, “ for i got stung once on jerry's boat, when he was putting in some new batteries. oh, i won't touch these!" look as they did at the strange apparatus, the boys could not understand what it was for, unless, as sammy said, it was used for making false money. of course the chums had never seen any machinery for that purpose, and had no idea what was necessary. but sammy's idea appealed to them. “ i guess we'd better be getting out now,” said frank, after a bit. “i shouldn't like to be caught here." “me either!” agreed bob.“ let's go." the boys started out of the mysterious room, excited over their strange find, sammy in particular. this trip to pine the mysterious room 83 island was going to be more sensational than their previous one. they were sure of that. “what'll we do about the door; leave it open?” asked frank. “no, we'll close it," decided sammy, “that is if we can. then the counterfeiters won't know we've been here, and they'll come back to their den, and we can help the police > capture them.” “that's the way to talk!” cried bob. “you're all right, sammy!” and then something happened. how it came about none of the boys knew, but sammy admitted afterward that he must have touched one of the wires, or springs. at any rate there was a blinding flash, a great cloud of white smoke shot out, and a loud boom. “an explosion!” yelled sammy. they're shooting at us!” cried bob. come on-get out of here!” gasped frank, as they made their way through the blinding and choking vapor to where they imagined the secret door to be. chapter xi the strange hermit “ come on, fellows, this way!' no, over this way!' “i tell you the door's here!” thus cried bob, sammy and frank as they stumbled about in the mysterious sinoke-filled room. they banged into the bed, tripped over chairs, and slammed into the table. “look out, don't go near those things again!” warned sammy. “we won't-if we know it!” panted frank. " where is that door?" “maybe—maybe the explosion slid it shut!” cried bob. this thought caused terror in the hearts of the boys until sammy with a joyful cry, shouted: “ it's all right! here's the door still open! come on!” out they rushed, following sammy's lead, for the smoke had now cleared away enough for them to see in the dim room. they never paused to take away the piece of broken shutter that held open the secret sliding door, or panel in the wall. they had no desire, now, to leave things as they had found them, in hopes that the mysterious person, or persons, who used the strange room, would come back, unsuspecting, and be caught. all the boys cared about now was to get away. down the attic stairs they rushed, and they never paused until they were safely out of the old house. then, some distance off, the fright left them, and they halted to look back. 184 1c there was a blinding flash. r l the strange hermit 87 “what happened?” panted sammy. “ it was an explosion,” decided frank. “no, those counterfeiters must have come back and shot at us,” gasped bob. “go on! you're worse than sammy," said frank, who was more calm than his chums. “it was some sort of explosion. maybe it was powder the men left there, or it might have been some of the chemicals they use, in whatever they do, whether it's making bad money, or something else. anyhow it was just an explosion. there was no one in that room but ourselves." “well, i guess that's right,” agreed bob, when he had thought it over a bit. “but who exploded it?' " “maybe i did,” admitted sammy, slowly. “i know just before that flash and puff came, i touched one of the wires on those telescope things. there was a click, and it went offall at once!” “i should say it did," spoke frank. “it went off fast enough.” “and there was an awful lot of smoke!” added bob. well, i'm glad we're out of the place,” said sammy. come on, now, it's getting late, and mr. jessup may be worried about us. we'd better go tell him about what we found. “and then get the police after those counterfeiters,” said bob.“ they had no right to explode stuff at us that way.” “well, they may claim we had no right to go in their room,” went on frank, “but i guess they won't—that is if we get them. well, come on. “ i'll tell you what let's do,” proposed sammy. “let's see if we can locate the windows of that room from the outside. we might want to point out to mr. jessup where they are.“ “that's a good idea,” agreed frank, > » 88 fairview boys at camp mystery but it could not be done, for the boys found it impossible to get through the thick underbrush on that side of the old mansion. they might have managed it in broad daylight, but it was now getting dark, and they did not want to take any chances. “the best thing we can do," said sammy, “is to go to mr. jessup right away, and tell him about what happened. he'll know what's best to do." to this frank and bob had no objection, and with a last look at the queer old house, the boys found the trail leading to camp mystery, and hurried along it. on the way they talked over what they had seen and what had happened to them. try as they might, they could not explain it. sammy was sure they had discovered a counterfeiters' den, but neither frank nor bob would admit that this was positively so, though they agreed that it all looked very strange. frank did not say so, but he kept thinking that so many queer things which sammy had discovered had turned out to be only commonplace after all, that now he feared this one would, also. still he had to admit that the finding of the secret room was rather strange. “ there's the cabin!” exclaimed sammy, as they came in sight of it. “ yes, and there's maybe, the dog, but i don't see any signs of mr. jessup,” spoke bob. “i guess he's inside, getting supper," suggested frank. “i hope he is—i'm as hungry as one of the bears that used to live on pine island.” “ so am i," admitted bob. “i'd like some nice hot pancakes, the kind mr. jessup makes, and some of his baked potatoes." don't talk about it, i'm so hungry!” laughed frank. " » the strange hermit 89 they kept on toward the cabin. maybe rushed out to meet them, barking and wagging his tail, to show how glad he was to see them. but mr. jessup did not appear. somehow a sense of fear came over the boys. they did not know why, but the strange experience they had just gone through had made them nervous, and not seeing mr. jessup at once, added to their fears. “i wonder where he can be?” asked sammy, looking around the cabin. there was no sign of their friend. maybe he's off hunting,” suggested frank. “why, he just came back from a trip,” spoke bob. “i guess you forgot that." “i sure did,” admitted frank. “but so many things have “ happened in the last hour that it's no wonder. there's the game he shot,” and he pointed to the rabbits and the birds. “yes, and there's a note on them!” cried sammy. “fellows, it's for us. look it's addressed to the 'fairview boys.' i'll read it." which he did quickly enough. the note said: > dear boys: i have been called over to the mainland to see my sister. she was taken suddenly ill. i will be back before long. don't worry, and get the best supper you can. i know you can cook it. peter jessup.” for a moment the boys felt much disappointed, and not a little alarmed. then their spirits rose. “well, it's too bad mrs. blake is sick,” said sammy, slowly, “but i guess we can manage without mr. jessup. we sure can get up a good meal. there's plenty of stuff.” “and we'll have roast pheasant and stewed rabbit!” cried bob, who was fond of eating. “no, we'd better leave them until mr. jessup gets back," » 90 fairview boys at camp mystery > suggested frank. “i don't believe he'd like us to touch his game. he'll probably be back before it gets very late.” “and maybe he'll be hungry too,” said bob.“we'll cook enough to save him some.” “ then let's get right at it! " suggested sammy. “those counterfeiters will have to wait," and he laughed. all the boys were feeling better now, especially since they were in their own camp. and if mr. jessup was not there, they had good old dog maybe, who frisked about, glad of the company of the boys. it must have been hard for him to stay behind when his master left. sammy and his chums were soon busy over the meal. they had been camping before, several times, and were getting to be quite expert. one made the fire, another got the meat and potatoes ready, while frank opened a can of baked beans to warm in a frying pan over the stove, the fire being made there instead of outside, though later the boys intended to kindle a camp blaze in front of the cabin. well, this is something like!” exclaimed sammy, as they sat about the table, after supper, the lamp glowing on their shining faces. “that's right!” said frank. “it's nice and cozy in here," agreed bob. they had kindled a fire outside, and sat about that for a while, waiting for the sound of mr. jessup's return. then as it grew later, and colder, they went inside. “he may not come until nearly midnight,” said sammy. “oh, well, we won't sit up for him," suggested frank. “ i'm tired and sleepy. i'm going to turn in soon. maybe will stand guard for us, won't you old fellow?” the dog barked his answer. a fire was kindled on the hearth, and the boys sat about this for a while, talking over what had occurred since their arrival > the strange hermit 91 " let's get > at camp mystery. then, as they were very sleepy, they locked up, leaving maybe stretched out before the glowing fire, and turned into the bunks. contrary to their expectations, nothing happened all night. in fact they did not wake up until morning, when the sun was streaming into the cabin. then sammy jumped up, looked at the clock, and cried : after eight; and mr. jessup isn't home yet!” maybe his sister is worse,” suggested frank. breakfast, and then we can decide on what to do." they made a good meal, and then, after talking matters over, they made up their their minds that the best thing to do would be to take a walk about the island. if they saw no signs of mr. jessup by noon, they planned to go over to the mainland, and perhaps give up their camp at mystery, to go home. “for, though we'd like to stay here alone, first rate," said sammy, our folks might not like it, or think it safe. they let us come because they thought mr. jessup was going to be with us, and if he isn't, we ought to go home.” 'i s'pose so," sighed bob,“ but it's mighty jolly here.” “even with the old hermit, and the counterfeiters,” spoke frank. "oh, the old hermit never will bother us,” declared sammy. “and maybe the counterfeiters have been gone a long time.” “and maybe mr. jessup will send someone to stay with us, if he can't come back himself," went on bob. could stay all right.” "say, that would be fine!” cried frank. “it may happen, too. we'll wait a bit about going back.” they decided this would be a fair thing to do, and, after putting the cabin to rights, after their morning meal, and planning what they would have for dinner, they set out for a tramp about the island, maybe the dog going with them. » > 66 then we a 92 fairview boys at camp mystery > they went on for half a mile, when bob, who was in the lead, suddenly stopped, and called out: “there's somebody moving over there!” “over where?” asked sammy. there," answered bob, pointing to a clump of trees, at the foot of which was a bank of snow. “i just saw a man. . ” “maybe it's mr. jessup," spoke frank. "i hope so," murmured sammy. “i'd like to get after , ' those men who live in the secret room.' and then, as the boys watched, the figure of an old man came out from a clump of bushes. the man had a long white beard, and white hair, and as he came into a little opening he looked in the direction of the boys. “ the old hermit!” whispered frank. “there he is!” and, as the boys looked, the aged man, about whom there seemed to be such a mystery, shook his fist at them, and than disappoared behind a clump of bushes. chapter xii into the drift « that sure was him!” “yes, he's the old hermit!” “i wonder what he's up to now?" in turn sammy, bob and frank spoke, as they looked toward the place where the aged man had disappeared. they could still see the bushes shaking as he forced his way through them. “i wish it had been mr. jessup,” said sammy, and he could not help sighing a bit. “yes, we need him," added bob. “but we'll do the best we can. if he doesn't come by night, i s'pose we'll have to go back home.” “and i sure will hate to do that,” put in sammy brown. 'maybe there'll be a way out." for a moment the boys looked at one another, and then at the spot where the hermit had vanished. maybe barked once or twice, and then began running about, as he had been doing ever since he came out with the boys, hoping perhaps to scare up a rabbit. sammy was doing some hard thinking. his eyes blinked fast, as they always did when he had several ideas going through his mind at the same time. suddenly he exclaimed: fellows, are you with me?" .“ with you? in doing what?" asked frank. “in following that old hermit?” i want to see where he goes." 93 94 fairview boys at camp mystery "do you neither bob nor frank answered for a moment. well, he's probably going to his cabin, or cave, or whatever he lives in,” bob finally said: “we know about where it is, and i don't see any good in following him. he might get mad at us." “ he probably would,” said sammy. “but getting mad wouldn't hurt us. i'd like to see where he goes.” “why?" asked bob. “i have a certain reason,” went on sammy. know, fellows, the hermit may be the-counterfeiter! ” " what!” cried bob. “do you mean that?” inquired frank. “well, i'm not sure, of course," went on sammy. “but he might be, you know." “yes, of course," laughed frank, “and the time we thought we had struck a bear here, it might have been one, onlyit wasn't!" “oh, well, of course anyone can make a mistake," said sammy. “and i'm not saying i'm right. only it's worth trying; isn't it?” “ "well, maybe so," replied frank, slowly. “all i want to do,” went on sammy, “is to follow the old ” hermit, and see what he does. if he goes toward the place where we found the secret room, and the queer things, we'll know he has something to do with them.” “maybe," put in frank, with a laugh. he did not always agree with sammy. "oh, of course, i'm not saying for sure,” went on the other. “but will you come?" “ i don't mind,” spoke frank, after a few moments’ thought. “but we'd better not go too close." “ that's what i say,” added bob. “he might try to harm > a us." into the drift 95 “we've got maybe with us," said sammy, boldly. “ i'm not afraid.” and so the boys decided on sammy's plan, little thinking what would come of it. they could no longer see the hermit, but they thought they could trace which way he went by following the tracks in the snow. “besides, we have the dog with us," added sammy," and he can follow. he can track the hermit just like he does a rabbit.” the boys went on cautiously. they did not want to get too close to mr. addison, who, though he was an old man, might be one who was very easily made angry, and who might work some harm to them. in fact they already knew that he lost his temper easily. for perhaps half a mile they followed the tracks of the aged man through the snow. this was easy to do since he tramped over a place where the white crust was unbroken by other footsteps. the dog, too, led them by sniffing at the trail on the ground. but they had had no sight of mr. addison since he had disappeared into the bushes after shaking his fist at them. “he isn't going toward the old house,” said sammy, after a bit. “no, he's heading in the wrong direction for that,” added frank. “maybe he's going to his own cabin.” "if he does,” spoke sammy, “we won't follow him there." " , the boys were now some distance away from camp mystery. they had occasional glimpses of the frozen lake, but they had not seen any figure bearing a likeness to mr. jessup, skating over it. the hunter was probably still with his sick sister, they thought, and they did not quite know what to do. 96 fairview boys at camp mystery а а a “look out for yourselves here, fellows,” said sammy, as they came out into an opening in the woods. what's the matter—did you see the hermit?" asked frank. “no, but there's a big cliff here, and we might slip over. “let's have a look," suggested bob, pressing forward with frank to where sammy stood on the edge of a cliff which was about ten feet high, going down steeply into a little valley. suddenly, as the boys were looking over into a big drift of snow below them, they heard a noise behind them. there was a rush of feet, and maybe, the dog, barked furiously. then the harsh voice of the hermit cried : “follow me, will you? i'll teach you to do that! you'll be sorry you ever tried to find out my secret!” before the boys could defend themselves, or make a stand, the furious old man rushed at them. with extended hands he pushed bob over the cliff into the deep bank of snow below. “look out!” yelled frank, as he saw his chum disappear. hey! what are you doing that for?” demanded sammy. i'll show you! i'll teach you to follow me!” snarled the old hermit. “down you go! all of you!” he pushed frank over the cliff also, the boy struggling to keep his balance. but over he went, head first. “don't you dare touch me!” cried sammy, getting ready to defend himself. yet he knew he could do nothing against the angry hermit. “i'll fix you!” cried the old man. “you let me alone!" pleaded sammy. “sic him, maybe!" he cried, to the dog. indeed the hunter's dog needed no urging. at the first sign of the old man maybe had rushed at him. now he was tugging at his coat-tails as though to stop him from pushing the boys over the cliff. but the man was strong, and paid no ma wenc? he pushed frank over the cliff also. тек 1. "ox and tinin if r l into the drift 99 attention to the dog, dragging him along over the slippery snow. “there you go!” cried mr. addison, and with that he shoved sammy down into the big snowdrift. “there!” muttered the hermit, with a hard smile on his wrinkled face. “now i guess them boys won't find out my secret!” 'and he walked away into the woods, the dog barking after him. as for the fairview boys, they were more frightened than hurt. true, they had been pushed down some distance, but they fell into a soft bank of snow, and, except that it got down their necks, and up their sleeves, as well as into their boots, they were in no danger. it was like falling into a feather bed. whew! what happened?” gasped bob, floundering about. "i guess we happened-or it happened to us!” said frank. “where's sammy?' “here i am,” cried that small hero. “he pushed me, too.' i " say, he ought to be arrested!” exclaimed bob, angrily, as he flopped about in the snow. " what did he do it for?” “said we were following him," answered frank, as he wiped the snow out of his face. “well, i guess we were, all right," admitted sammy. but he had no right to be so mean.' where did he go?” frank wanted to know. "i–i didn't stop to look," admitted sammy. “it all happened too quick for me.” "same here,” laughed bob.“now i wonder if we can get " out of here?” it was not as easy as it seemed at first, for the little valley into which the boys had been pushed by the angry hermit was filled with snow, and they sank in it above their waists. 1505538 > 100 fairview boys at camp mystery but they floundered on, and were slowly making their way out. they were getting quite tired, however, and might have sunk down in the snow, and have taken severe colds, had their struggle lasted too long. suddenly bob cried out. “ hark!” he called. it's a dog barking,” said sammy. “yes, and it sounds like maybe," added frank. see, there he is!” cried sammy, “and he's got someone with him!” “it's mr. jessup! hurray, now we're all right!” yelled bob, with delight. “now we'll show that hermit what's what!” chapter xiii helping the hermit mr. jessup, with his dog floundering in the snow ahead of him, came toward the boys, who were still stuck in the snowbank, though slowly getting out of it. “what's the matter?” cried the hunter. “what happened to you? you ought not to go in a place like that!” “we couldn't help it!” exclaimed sammy, with a laugh. “we were pushed in!” “pushed in?” exclaimed mr. jessup. “what in the world . do you mean, sammy?” “help us out, and we'll tell you," suggested frank. . “we're tired out trying to wade through the deep snow.' “i guess that's right,” admitted mr. jessup. “i had better . be helping you instead of talking. come on, maybel” with big strides the hunter came on. to him the drift gave little trouble, though for the small boys it was all they could do to wade through. but now they had help. mr. jessup had a pair of snow-shoes strapped to his back, though the crust was not thick enough to allow him to use them. they would come in useful as snow shovels, though, and he at once took them for that purpose. “here you go!” he cried to bob, who was nearest him. “catch one of these shoes and help dig a path. i'll dig one to meet with yours, and when you get out here, where the snow isn't so deep, you'll be all right.” hurray!” cried sammy, glad that everything was more pleasant now. ioi 102 fairview boys at camp mystery “is your sister better?” asked frank, while bob used the snow-shoe as a shovel, the hunter doing the same with the one he had. “yes, much better," was the answer. “i was sorry i had to stay away all night, and i kept thinking, up to the last minute, that i could get off and come back to you. that's why i didn't send anyone to keep you company. “and finally, when my sister was well enough for me to leave her in the care of some neighbors, it was too late to start for pine island. but i made up my mind that you boys would be all right, and i didn't worry. you were all right, weren't you, except for what happened to you just now?” “yes,” said sammy, eager to tell the story of the mysterious hidden room, and the strange things in it,” yes, we're all right. nothing happened during the night, and we got along fine. maybe was good company." “i thought he'd be, and that's why i made him stay when i was called away," said the hunter. but he did want to come with me." while the boys and mr. jessup were talking he and bob used the snow-shoes as shovels, so that, in a few minutes, the boys were out of the drift, and on level ground where the snow was only up to their knees. now then,” said mr. jessup, with a grin, as he looked at them, “ i'm ready to hear your story. how did it all happen, and who pushed you into the drift?” “ the hermit!” cried the three boys at once. what! you don't mean mr. addison?” asked the hunter, in surprise. “that's who it was," said frank. “well, why did he do such a thing as that?" asked mr. jessup, in surprise. “i've known him for sometime, and, except that he was a bit odd now and then, he never acted that helping the hermit 103 way. i always thought him quite gentle, except that he would order people away from his cabin. did you do anything to him?" for a moment the boys did not answer, and then sammy, knowing that it was best to tell everything, said: “well, we followed him, that was all. we wanted to see if he was going to the big house." “you followed him; that was all?" “ yes, sir." “ and what did he do?" well, he got out of sight, and we were trailing him," explained bob. " then we came to that cliff and we were looking over, down into the pile of snow, when, all of a sudden" he rushed out on us from the bushes,” continued frank, and he" pushed us down, one after the other,” said sammy, taking up the story. “ and he said he'd teach us to follow him and try to find out his secret." “hum, he said that; did he?”mused mr. jessup. “well, i'm afraid he must be out of his mind. i've been thinking that for some time, and now i'm sure of it. he must be crazy, or he wouldn't do such a thing as that. he must have been quite angry at you, and it's lucky he did nothing worse than shove you into a snowbank. “now i advise you boys not to go near him again. if you see him as you walk about the island, don't notice or speak to him. that will be the safest way. so you followed him, and he thought you were after his secret; eh? he hasn't any secret, as far as i know. poor old man, he certainly must be crazy. i'm sorry for him. but, boys, did you have any special . object in following him?" again the three chums looked one at the other. " (104 fairview boys at camp mystery “you'd better tell, sammy,” said frank, at last,“ you made the find, you know." “what's this?” asked mr. jessup, in some surprise.“ have you boys a secret, too? ” and he looked curiously at them, while maybe frisked about, barking and unable to understand why his master would not take after a rabbit he had driven from its burrow. “yes, we did find something strange in the old house," said sammy. “we discovered a secret room, and in it is an outfit of counterfeiters, mr. jessup!” “and they shot at us!” cried bob. “and you ought to have seen the smoke!” added frank. the hunter looked from one to another of the boys, as if unable to understand what they were saying. he might have thought they were playing a joke on him, but their faces were too serious for that. “ secret room!” he murmured. counterfeiters! they shot at you!” “yes, and we thought the hermit might be the counterfeiter, so we were following him to see if he went to the old house," said bob. “whew! this is getting worse and worse! ”exclaimed the hunter. “i guess you'd better begin at the beginning, boys, and tell me all there is to tell. old mr. addison a counterfeiter! i can't believe it." “this is the way it was,” began sammy, and then he told of the exploration of the old house, after the hunt of the day before, and how, most unexpectedly, he had pressed on the spring that opened the panel or door of the secret room. “and you should see the things in it!" put in bob, as by turns the boys described the queer instruments. " and then that flash and boom!” cried frank. “it was terrible!” helping the hermit 105 “ it must have been,” admitted the hunter. “but i own up that i am puzzled. i never knew there was a secret room in i the old house, and i thought i'd been all over it. . as for those things you tell about-well, i guess i'll have to look at 'em myself.” mr. jessup did not say so, but the truth of the matter was that the boys had talked so fast and so excitedly, and had interrupted each other so often, that they had not given a very clear account of the things they had seen. then, too, as is the case not only with boys, but with grown-ups, no one ever sees the same thing the way another person would. the boys gave as good descriptions as they could of the queer objects in the secret room, but each one put in something a little different, until it was no wonder that mr. jessup was puzzled. “now i'll tell you what," he said. “we'll go back to camp mystery and figure this thing out. i guess i didn't name it out of the way when i called it mystery,' for it's more mysterious than ever now. “but we'll get to the bottom of it sooner or later. i'll have a look at the things in that room. maybe i can find out who has been taking my grub. you weren't troubled while i was away last night! were you?" "no," answered sammy, “nothing happened. we slept “ fine.” “i thought you would be all right,” went on the hunter. “i came skating over to the island a little while ago, and went right to my cabin. you weren't there, but pretty soon in came maybe, and he acted so strange that i was afraid something had happened to you. he pulled at my coat, and would run on a little way, and then stop and bark, just as if he was telling me to follow him, and he really was, as it happened.” “ he must have gone for help for us!” cried frank. 106 fairview boys at camp mystery > . “that's what he did,” replied the hunter. “he led me right here, and i can tell you i was a bit scared when i saw you floundering in the snow. i'm glad you're all right.” sure we're all right!”cried sammy, “and i'd like to go to the old house right away, and find out what all those things mean. if that is a counterfeiting den we can have the men arrested; can't we?” he asked. mr. jessup laughed. “well, sammy," he said, “ of course if there are counterfeiters here they ought to be taken in, i s'pose. but i never heard of any, and there's been no bad money circulating around pine island or fairview, as far as i know.” “i told him they weren't counterfeiting things,” said frank. “you just wait!” exclaimed sammy, mysteriously. he was sure his find was going to turn out big this time. “well, we'd better get back to the cabin and prepare to look into this thing,” suggested the hunter. “i want to think it over a bit. by the way, was there any sign of anybody having been in that room lately? " “ you couldn't tell—the bed looked as if it had been slept in," said bob.“ but there must have been someone hiding there, or else how could he have shot at us?” mr. jessup shook his head. i'll admit it's a puzzle, so far," he said. “but after i see it i may be able to explain it all. come along." they headed back for the cabin, the boys talking on the way of the many things that had happened since coming to pine island. mr. jessup said he had heard no special news in fairview. he had not sent any word to the parents of the three chums, fearing they would worry about the boys staying alone all night. “ and it turned out better that i did not,” he said. they were nearing the cabin of camp mystery, and mr. " helping the hermit 107 jessup was pointing out to the boys a trail that led from his place to the cabin of the hermit. “but i wouldn't advise you to follow that trail after dark, unless you know it pretty well,” he said. “why not?” asked bob, always looking for reasons. “because that bog, that i told you about, is on both sides of the trail at certain places, and it's dangerous. i often wonder why old mr. addison built his cabin so near the bog. it's true there are some good springs of water near it, but i'd rather be on higher ground, and carry my water a way. so don't travel that trail except in daylight, boys." they promised to be careful, and walked on, looking curiously back toward the dangerous bog. suddenly frank, who was in the lead, raised a hand to order a halt and silence. “what's up?" asked sammy. “ listen!” said frank. all heard a deep groan. “ someone's there!” exclaimed bob, pointing to a clump of bushes just ahead, and to one side of the trail. maybe it's a-bear!” faltered sammy. “nonsense!” exclaimed mr. jessup. "that's a human voice. hello, there!” he cried. “who are you? what do you want? has anything happened? answer!” maybe it's the counterfeiters," whispered sammy. the dog was barking excitedly. “come here!” commanded mr. jessup, and then, as the groan sounded again, he went forward. parting the bushes he looked ahead and cried out: “ boys, it's mr. addison—the hermit, and he seems to have fallen and hurt himself! come here and we'll help him!” the three rushed forward. there on the ground, under the bushes, where there was no snow, lay the old man. he seemed 108 fairview boys at camp mystery to be unconscious and it was his queer breathing that made the groaning sound. boys, see if you can't get him out of there, into a more comfortable place," said mr. jessup. “i'll run to the cabin for a folding stretcher i have, and i'll also get some medicine. see if you can get him out. i'll be back in a few minutes." chapter xiv the boiling spring mr. addison was a full-grown man, but he was quite old, and not very heavy. in fact he was so light that the three sturdy boy chums easily carried him out from under the bushes to a cleared place along the path. the hermit only moaned a as he was moved, and remained unconscious. “let us take off our coats, fellows," suggested sammy. ' “we'll spread them out on the snow, and make a bed for him.” the day was quite warm, so the boys would not be likely to take cold from removing their coats, and soon they had made a more comfortable place for the aged man than the bare ground on which he had fallen. "i wonder what could have happened to him?" said bob. “he must have fallen, and hurt himself," spoke frank. but neither his arms or legs are broken, as far as i can tell.” i guess , it's his head,” remarked sammy. “probably that's what makes him senseless. i wish mr. jessup would hurry back.” “and to think that a little while ago he pushed us into a snowbank!” murmured bob. “he couldn't do it now." “no," said sammy, softly. “poor old man! i guess he's . i had lots of trouble." indeed, as the aged hermit lay there on the boys' coats, which they had partly folded over him, his face showed many wrinkles of care and suffering, as well as of age. truly, 109 iio fairview boys at camp mystery a he did not seem to have had a very happy life, and in their hearts the boys easily forgave him for what he had done to them. “here i am!” exclaimed mr. jessup, as, followed by his dog, he came up the path. over his shoulder he carried a folding stretcher, consisting of two poles with a broad canvass piece in between. on this the hermit could be placed, and, by means of the handles, he could be easily carried. “ i'll give him a little spirits of ammonia first,” said the hunter. “that is good when a person has fainted. then we . can decide what next to do. it may be that we'll need a doctor." he mixed some of the ammonia in a glass, with a little water, and managed to get some between the lips of the old hermit. but it did little good. the aged man only moaned feebly and did not open his eyes. "i guess we'd better carry him to his cabin,” said mr. jessup, after a few minutes. “it's farther than it is to camp mystery, but if he wakes up, and sees himself in a strange place, it may have a bad effect on him. we can easily carry him to his own cabin." this they did, the hunter taking one end of the stretcher, and two boys taking turns at the other end. in this way they were soon at the place where the hermit lived. the cabin was rough enough on the outside, but the interior was clean, and nicely arranged. the poor old man lived very simply. he was placed on his bunk, and then mr. jessup, who knew a little about medicine, tried to bring him to his senses. it seemed to be of no use, however, and finally the hunter said: “ boys, i think i'd better skate over to the mainland, and bring back a doctor. i wouldn't like poor mr. addison to die. a 11 titiatiti | trimili s rec the kettle was put on. the nw york pil; library ti ne and 7. fais itons l the boiling spring 113 a you're not afraid to stay here with him; are you? i'll leave maybe with you." “afraid? of course not!” cried sammy. it was broad daylight. why should they be afraid? true, the mysterious old mansion was not far away, and the strange things in the secret room had not been explained. but the boys made up their minds they would not be alarmed. “i'll come back as soon as i can," said mr. jessup. “if he wakes up you might give him a drink of water. or you could make coffee. you know how, and i see he has the things here. yes, a good strong cup of coffee might help him. now don't worry. maybe, you're to stay with the boys." the dog whined, and evidently wanted to go with his master, but he obeyed well, and, with a bark of protest, he lay down on the cabin floor. mr. jessup, who had his skates with him, started for the lake, intending to skate to the mainland after a physician. he could come back with the doctor in a cutter, for the ice was thick enough to bear the weight of a horse. left to themselves, the boys sat in the cabin with the old, unconscious man. he breathed heavily but did not open his eyes. once in a while he groaned. “i wonder if we hadn't better make the coffee,” suggested bob, after a bit. “ if he could take some of that he might feel much better." “good idea,” said sammy. “let's start a fire. it's cold in “ here, anyhow.” there was a stove and an open fireplace, the latter in the other room of the cabin. some logs were set aglow on the hearth, and a roaring blaze kindled in the stove. the kettle was put on, and soon a fragrant pot of coffee was ready. the boys were talking over whether they had better not try to get some of the hot beverage between the set lips of the 114 fairview boys 'at camp mystery aged man, when there came a sudden knock on the cabin door. “who's that?" whispered frank, startled. “ it can't be mr. jessup, back already,” remarked bob. no, he'd walk right in,” said sammy. the knock was repeated. "see who it is," spoke bob. i'll go,” said sammy, and he went to the door. he saw a young man standing there—a young man he had acver seen before, as far as he knew. the stranger's face was a pleasant one, and he smiled at the boy. “well,” said the visitor, “i don't know you, and it's rather odd to see mr. addison having company. is he in?” “yes," said sammy, “but he's hurt." he noticed that the caller had a pair of skates in his hand, showing how he had reached the island. “hurt!” exclaimed the young man. “ and just when i come to bring him good news! let me see him, please.” he quickly entered the cabin, and bent over the form of the hermit on the bunk. the boys looked on in wonder. who could this stranger be? the young man seemed to know something about the duties of a doctor, for he rapidly felt about the aged man, for signs of broken bones, and then, finding none, passed his hand over the sufferer's head. “ah, there's the trouble,” he said. “he's had a bad knock there, but it doesn't seem to be serious. i think he'll soon come around. you have coffee?" and he sniffed the air. “good and hot!” answered sammy. “let me have some," suggested the young man, and some was given him in a cup. holding the aged man up in one arm, the young man managed to get some of the hot coffee down his throat. it did good at once, for mr. addison opened a the boiling spring 115 his eyes, looked strangely about him, gazed in seeming wonder at the boys, and then looked at the young man who was supporting him. “it's all right, uncle frank,” said the stranger. "you're all right. you had a little fall, and these boys must have brought you here. but you're not hurt to speak of, and i bring you good news.' good-good news,” faltered the old man. “you bring me good news, ed?” “yes, the very best. the land is now yours. i have here all the papers. you don't need to live here any longer to claim it. you can come home with me. i have the deeds to the land." “ and the spring—the boiling spring—is the medical spring mine?” gasped mr. addison. he seemed to be getting better very quickly. “the boiling spring is yours," the young man assured him. “now take it easy-everything is all right.” "oh, i am so glad—so glad!” murmured the old man, sinking back on the bunk. “now i won't have to worry about anyone taking my secret away from me. oh, everything is all right now," and he sighed in contentment. ” "take a little more coffee," urged the young man whom the hermit had called ed. “it will do you good.” it really seemed to, for soon the aged man was able to sit up, again. he looked at the boys strangely, and they did not know what to do or say. they wondered if the hermit would try to drive them away. “ are—are you the boys i pushed over the cliff?” he asked. “yes," replied sammy, and he wondered how the old man could explain his queer action. . “well, i—i'm sorry i did it,” went on the hermit. “you " « > 316 fairview boys at camp mystery > see i was a bit excited. i thought you were following me, trying to steal my secret. but you can't get it now. i own the i land. you have the papers—the deed, ed?” he asked eagerly. “yes, uncle frank, here they are," and the stranger gave a bundle of documents to the old man, who eagerly looked them over. “ yes—yes,” he said. “it's all right. i have a clear title to the boiling spring. and now i'll explain. but in the first place, how did i get here? i seem to remember falling down he paused for an answer. “you did fall,” said sammy. “mr. jessup and we boys found you under the bushes, and we carried you here. he has gone for the doctor." hum, yes. that's very good of him—and you, especially after the way i treated you. but i hardly knew what i was doing. but i don't believe i need a doctor. i'm all right.” he really seemed so, and was able now to walk slowly about the cabin. “i remember what happened,” he went on. “i was going down to the shore to see if you were coming, ed, for you had promised to be here to-day, when i slipped and fell. i must have struck my head on a stone, for it all got dark, and i didn't remember anything else until i saw you giving me coffee. all the rest is a blank.” “well, you're all right now, uncle frank,” was the answer. “ i suppose i'd better tell you who i am," the newcomer went on to the boys. “my name is edward houghton, and mr. addison is my uncle. i have been doing some legal business for him for some time, and now it is all finished.”' “and the medical boiling spring is my property!” cried the hermit. “yes, it is your property,” said his nephew. > the boiling spring 117 “and you and i will get rich!” the old man cried, enthusiastically. “i hope so," spoke mr. houghton. “you certainly have suffered very much to get your rights. but it is all over now.” the boys were quite puzzled by this talk, but it was soon to be explained. there was the jingle of sleigh bells from the direction of the lake, and soon was heard the approach of footsteps. "it's mr. jessup!” cried sammy. and so it proved. he had brought the doctor back with him in a cutter. “i'm much obliged to you, mr. jessup," said the old hermit, “but i don't believe i need the doctor's services." however, as long as he's here, better let him look you over,” suggested mr. houghton. the medical man said, beyond a hard blow on the head, which had made him unconscious for a time, mr. addison was not hurt. “ i'd stand another blow on the head for the sake of my fine spring,” said the hermit, and he laughed. he really seemed quite a different man now. his face was kinder, and the boys were no longer afraid of him. "i guess you'll have to explain,” suggested mr. jessup. “what is it all about, and what do you mean by your boiling spring, mr. addison?” “come with me, and i'll show you," said the hermit. with slow steps he led the way to a little glade, not far from his cabin. there the boys saw a strange sight. in spite of the fact that it was winter, and that snow was on the ground, there was a spot of green grass and ferns to be seen, surrounding a boiling and bubbling spring of clear water. and from the water a little cloud of steam arose. “ there she is!” cried mr. addison. “there's my boiling spring, and the waters of it are the best thing in the world for > 118 fairview boys at camp mystery rheumatism. i know, for i've cured myself, and cured others. i discovered the spring by accident, and i worked hard to get title to the land it's on. now i have it, and i'm going to bottle those waters and sell 'em. i'm going to be rich! i'm not going to be a hermit any longer,” and he seemed ten years younger. chapter xv the end of camp mystery “well,” said mr. jessup slowly, “ this may be all clear to you and your nephew, mr. addison, but it's like greek to me. if you wouldn't mind explaining“of course i'll explain," said mr. addison eagerly. sammy hoped something would be said to clear up the mystery of the strange room in the old mansion. “first of all,” said the hermit, “ i want to tell you boys how sorry i am that i pushed you into the snow. i was all excited when i saw you following me, and i really didn't know what i was doing. you see i had been expecting my nephew for some time, and when he didn't come i was afraid something had happened so that i couldn't get the spring i had tried so hard for. so first i want to beg your pardon.” “oh, that's all right,” said sammy, easily. “it was as much our fault as it was yours. we had no right to follow you, and really we weren't hurt a bit.” “i'm glad of it,” said the old man. “well, to begin at the ' beginning. some months ago, when i was walking over this island, i found this boiling spring. it was in a place few people would visit, and i guess that's why it was never talked i of before. for a good many years i have had the rheumatism, and i've tried all sorts of cures. just by accident i thought of trying this spring water, as i could easily tell that it had some sort of medicine in it. “ i took some home, and in a few days after taking it i felt 119 a i20 fairview boys at camp mystery better. then i made more tests, and i was sure i had found a cure for some of the worst kinds of rheumatism. then i decided to try to get possession of the land on which the spring was. “this was not easy, as the title was in dispute. but i got my nephew to help me. in order that no one else would claim the spring, i decided to put up a cabin near it, and live on the land until i could buy it. this i did, and i became a sort of hermit. i was so afraid someone would discover the secret of the spring that i drove away anyone who came near. in that way i suppose folks began to think i was crazy, and a sort of crank. “but i did not care. i wanted to get title to that spring, for i knew i could sell the waters and get rich. and now i can. my nephew has brought me the final papers, and the spring is mine. i am going to form a company, and bottle the boiling water. of course it won't stay hot, but it will be just as good, for it can be heated before being swallowed. “so i'm no longer the hermit of pine island. i'm going back where i belong, and i'll let others do the work. and i'll say this, mr. jessup, if ever you get the rheumatism you can have free all the water from my mineral spring that you want." “thank you!” said mr. jessup, with a laugh," but i hope i'll never have the rheumatism. but if i do i'll use your spring water." “i had a hard time getting the final papers,” said mr. houghton, “and that's what took me so long. but now, uncle, the boiling spring is yours, and you needn't worry any , more. " how can it be hot water in the winter time?” asked bob. “well, that's one of the mysteries of nature," said the former hermit. “i suppose the waters must come from deep > > the end of camp mystery i21) down in the earth, and the wise men tell us that inside the earth are raging fires. i don't know about that, but i do know my medical spring will cure rheumatism. and i guess now, everything is explained.” no, not everything," said sammy quickly. " eh?” asked the old man. “we found a secret room in the old mansion,” went on sammy," and it's a counterfeiters' den, i'm sure. we thought you were going there, mr. addison, that's why we followed you. “and while we were in there," sammy went on, " there was an explosion. we thought someone was shooting at us, and we ran out. that has to be explained yet.” “that's so!” exclaimed mr. jessup. “i've got to look into that." mr. houghton laughed. " it won't take much of an explanation to do away with that mystery,” he said. “if you'll come with me i'll show you all about it. i fancy you stumbled across one of my fads. will you come, uncle frank?" no, i'll go back to my cabin," was the hermit's answer. i'm going to pack up and go back to the mainland to live, now that my medical spring is safe." “ then the rest of us will go,” suggested the young man. they left the little glade where the hot spring made grass grow in the middle of winter, and soon reached the hermit's cabin again. he went in there, while sammy and his chums, with mr. jessup and mr. houghton, kept on to the deserted mansion, telling the hermit they would soon be back to look after him. the doctor, whom mr. jessup had brought, had gone back to the mainland in his cutter. “shall we go right in?” asked sammy, when mr. hough> 122 fairview boys at camp mystery ton and the others reached the old house, and prepared to enter. “of course—why not?” inquired the young man, with a smile. well, i was thinking that the counterfeitersmr. houghton laughed. “i'll explain all that,” he said. the place of the secret room was soon reached. it was just as when sammy and his chums had rushed away from it after the explosion that had so frightened them. the sliding door was still wedged back with the piece of shutter. mr. houghton went over to the table on which was piled the strange apparatus. he moved some of the wires and springs. “look out!” cried sammy. “you may get shot!” “no danger!” laughed the young man. “i fancy you boys set off the flashlight, and there isn't another." “flashlight!” cried sammy. “yes, that was what made the smoke and explosion,” said mr. houghton. “you touched the spring that worked the electric battery, and the current set off some flashlight powder in a box. it did make quite an explosion, i fancy.” “but what was flashlight powder doing up here?” asked mr. jessup. “i was trying to get some night photographs of bats," explained mr. houghton. “you see all this apparatus is just some photographic cameras, set to work automatically. i fancy i have the pictures of you boys on the plate, instead of the bats,” and he smiled at the three chums. “photographs!” cried sammy. " cameras !” exclaimed bob. “aren't these things telescopes?” asked frank. the end of camp mystery 123 > > “and isn't there any counterfeiting plant?" sammy wanted to know. “nothing half as sensational as that," answered mr. houghton, with a hearty laugh. “this is only my new apparatus for having animals take their own pictures.” for a moment there was silence, and then sammy, in a queer sort of voice, murmured: stung again!” all his mystery had vanished into thin air. “make animals take their own photographs; eh?” said mr. jessup. “that's rather odd." “oh, it is often done,” said mr. houghton. “all , you have to do is to set your camera in the woods after dark, near where you have noticed marks of a raccoon, muskrat or other wild animal. you put a string across the path the animal usually takes, and in the dark it runs into the string and breaks it. this sets off a flashlight which makes the place as light as day. the breaking of the string also opens and closes the shutters of the camera, and so the animal takes its own picture. i've been doing it for some time, and had good results. i left my cameras, flashlights, batteries and so on here, in the hope of getting pictures of bats, but i guess i'll have to try again.” “so that's what it was that exploded,” said sammy“flashlight powder?” “that was it,” said mr. houghton. “you see i happened to discover this secret room by accident. i was going through the old mansion one day, thinking it would be a good place to get bat pictures, and i found the secret chamber. so i fitted it up as a room where i could sleep when i had to. often i would take my cameras out in the woods and leave them there until nearly morning. then i would get up and go bring them in. i did not want to disturb my uncle so i 124 fairview boys at camp mystery a stayed here. i fancy the secret room must have been built by the man who put up the old mansion, for his own use." “i think so,” agreed mr. jessup. “ he was a queer character anyhow. and to think i've been in and out of the old place so much, and never found the secret room!” " it was pretty well hidden,” said mr. houghton. “well, , i don't imagine i'll use it any more. i'll try for bat pictures somewhere else. besides, if my uncle's mineral spring turns out as well as he thinks it will, this place may become a summer resort, and the old mansion could be made into a hotel for people who want to take the rheumatism cure.” “but there's one thing i don't understand," said mr. jessup, “ and that is who took my grub." “i think i can explain that, too,” spoke mr. houghton. “i had hired a young man to assist me, in my photographic work, but when i found out he was not honest i discharged him. i saw him come along one day with a strip of bacon, and a long pole with a hook on the end. he said he had hooked the bacon.” “and so he hadl'cried mr. jessup. “that was one of the pieces i missed.” “ the fellow must have stood some distance away from your cabin, and caught the string of the bacon in the hook on the pole,” said the photographer. “that's why you never saw any footmarks." “then this is the end of camp mystery,” said sammy, faintly. "that's right!” cried frank. “i told you there weren't any counterfeiters." “well, there might have been," returned sammy. and he wondered why the others laughed. but it was really the end of camp mystery. the hermit's secret had been the warm, medical spring, and now that he 1 > the end of camp mystery 125 had full title to it he need not worry any more, nor drive away those whom he thought might try to cheat him out of the property. mr. houghton had explained the queer machines in the secret room, and had told how he used to photograph wild animals at night. a few days afterward he showed the boys how he set the cameras in the wood, with a string which the animals themselves would break, thus setting off the flashlight and taking their own picture. mr. jessup made some inquiries, and found out that the secret room in the old mansion had been built by the former owner of it. he had no particular use for it, but it was just a notion on his part to have it made. mr. houghton had accidentally discovered it, just as sammy had done. as for the young man who had taken things from mr. jessup's camp, he was not heard of again. after all, he had not taken a great deal, and his plan of using a long pole with a hook on it explained why he had never left any marks. he could reach in the window or door of the cabin when mr. jessup was away, and get what he wanted. he had been in the habit of staying in the secret room when mr. houghton did not sleep there. “well, as long as everything is explained, we may as well go back to camp,” said sammy, when they left the old mansion. “yes, i guess so," agreed mr. jessup. “you boys are eni titled to some fun after your hard work.” “yes, and they're entitled to more than that,” said mr. addison, a little later. "i owe them something for helping take care of me," and some time afterward, when the mineral spring company was formed, he sent each of the boys a nice present. “well, now we'll take it easy," suggested sammy, when 126 fairview boys at camp mystery they got back to the hunter's cabin, late that afternoon. “we'll " go skating and coasting, and “ fishing through the ice," added mr. jessup. “i've had that in mind for you for some time." “say, this trip to camp mystery is all right!” cried frank, with a laugh. “i wonder if we'll have as much fun as this next winter?” “more i hope,” said sammy. “but summer will come before winter." and what the chums did the following summer may be learned by reading the next volume of this series, to be called “fairview boys at lighthouse cove; or, carried out to sea.” in that we will meet all our young friends again. in the days that followed sammy and his chums had many good times. they roved about the island with mr. jessup and watched him at his hunting. they had many good meals, too. mr. addison left pine island, now that he had possession of the spring, and one of the members of the company he had formed took up a residence in the cabin. but there was no further trouble. the mystery had been solved. “come on for a skatel” cried bob, one afternoon. only have a few more days here." “that's right-and then school once more!” exclaimed sammy. and as the fairview boys are starting off on the glittering ice, we will take leave of them. " we > the end. the tommy tiptop series by raymond stone tommy tiptop baseball nine and his raymond stone a new series for outdoor boys, that fairly bristles with boyish bumanness. the writer has so grasped the spirit that as he takes one through tommy tiptop's career as a little organizer of games and clubs and always a leader of the loys that he must be a dull boy who will not be proud of making tommy's ecquaintance. or, the boys of riverdale and their good timeo or, afgreat victory and how it was won (or, jolly times on the ice and in camp tommy tiptop and his baseball nine tommy tiptop and his football eleven tommy tiptop and his winter sports tommy tiptop and his boat club tommy tiptop and his boy scouts tommy tiptop and his great show or, the young hunters of hemlock island or, the doings of the silver fox patrol or, raising some money that was needed questo size, 128 pages, 8 full-page illustrations, cover stamped in three colors price 75 cents per copy. por sale at all book stores or send postpaid upon receipt of price by the pablishers charles e. graham & co. newark, n.j. new york the trippertrots series by howard r. garis author of the famous “bedtime stories” ! these stories have been told over the telephone nightly to thousands of children. the urgent demand has led us to publish them in book form for the first time. get acquainted with the trippertrots, you will not regret it. read how they ran away and how they got back, the wonderful things they saw and the wonderful things they did. they will grip you and hold you interested and amazed to the very end. the three little trippertrots how they ran away and how they got back again the three little trippertrots on their travels the wonderful things they saw and the wonderful things they did both volumes uniformly bound in cloth with beaatiful colored picture on cover. 8vo size, 160 pages, 12 full-page illustrations, four of them in color. price $1.5 each. , for sale at all book stores or sent postpaid upon receipt of price by the publishers. charles e. graham & co. newark, n. j. new york 1 355 nypl research libraries 33433008142667 series ustand cemperancegales ४।। the new york public library astor, lenox and tilden foundations the james black collection presented by the national temperance society january 1917 chalis vt? 1 1 james black library. no....... the new york public library astor, lenox tilden foundations pusa/wcm-5c frontispiece. page 7 james black library. no...... the standard series temperance"; "ales. 10. all-typore boston: jenry 4. young & co. no. 13 bronfield strret. the new york public library astor, lenox tilden foundations matei / 1 the hermit of alcombe . alimentare by mary dwinell chellis, “author of "bill drock's investment,” “old doctor's son," “mark dunning's enemy," &a nor henry a. young & co. boston: the new yor: public librar: 90547 astor, lenox and tilden foundation r 1918 entered according to act of congress, in the year 1871, by henry a. young & co., jo the office of the librarian of congress, at washington. the hermit of holcombe . acco chapter i. fill high the glass with ruby wine, and shout the praises of the vine; drink, till forgotten care and ill, drink, till each pulse shall feel the thrill; but know, for this, stern judgments wait, and he who drinks must bide his fate. ook, hal! rip van winkle must have fallen asleep, for the second time, among these hills; and just waked up. see! there he comes, down the street." rip van winkle, indeed,” was the reply. only he lacks the ruddy face and stout 6 the hermit of holcombe. figure of a dutchman. here, crombie, who is that coming down the street?" “ mr. wolcott, the hermit, as he is called. he must be out on special business, or he wouldn't be dressed in that style. haven't you seen him, before ? i forgot, though, you are new comers. mr. wolcott is one of the institutions of holcombe. an old school gentleman, but a little flighty;" and the speaker touched his forehead, as he said this. “he is looking his best to-day ; probably going to the bank, for his monthly allowance. it is after hours, but they always accommodate him. he must have spent too much time in polishing his buckles ;” all which only served to stimulate the curiosity of warren lewis and harry manson. a coat of ancient fashion, short breeches and long stockings, knee-buckles and buckled shoes would have made mr. wolcott a conspicuous figure, without the military hat, the hermit of holcombe. 7 which was the crowning glory of his wardrobe. tall and stately, although age had set its seal upon him, he walked slowly down the street, bowing ceremoniously to all whom he met. “ he must have learned his manners in good society,” remarked warren lewis. “ did you see how polite he was to that old woman? we must ask aunt ellen about him. i thought i had seen all the wonders of holcombe, long ago !” “ how long ?” was asked in reply, as the two young students passed through an open gate, to a large old-fashioned house, over which aunt ellen presided. she was standing on the piazza, looking weary and sad, yet smiling, as they approached. “ is ellis suffering much this afternoon ?" asked harry, forgetting, for the moment, mr. wolcott, and his quaint dress. “ yes, he has suffered very much," an8 the hermit of holcombe. swered the lady. “he has been wishing he could go out under the trees; and it does seem hard that he must be denied all boyish sports.” “ it is too bad,” said warren lewis. “ and he could be such a splendid scholar, too. one of the fellows told me he'd begun to study latin with uncle paul.” “ yes, he had; and sometimes he studies it for a little while, now, when he feels like applying himself. he has been more restless than usual, to-day. i hoped your uncle would come home early." “you are very tired, aunt ellen." “i believe i am, and a little dispirited," was the reply.” mrs. farley was more than a little dispirited. her boy, upon whom she doted, and for whom she had dreamed of a future, bright only as may be, in a mother's dream, was to be a cripple. for hours, he would > > 1 the hermit of holcombe. s lie, with his head thrown back, unnaturally, and his thin lips quivering with pain. that day the hours had seemed longer, and the pain harder to bear than usual. he grew restless; fretting at confinement, and longing for change. “ if father would only come. do see if he is coming, mother,” he said ; and it was for this mrs. farley had gone out upon the piazza. “ uncle will be late to-night," remarkec harry manson. “ some gentlemen called just before the close of the last recitation. don't you think ellis would let me bring him out of doors ? i am very strong, and i am used to carrying my sister. she says i carry her better than father. please, when i come down stairs, you come out of the room, and i think i can coax him to let me try.” “i wish you could, harry. it would be 10 the hermit of holcombe. a such a relief; but if he should consent, you may, sometime, find your kindness over. tasked. i used to carry ellis, myself, until your uncle and the doctor forbade it.” harry went to his room, and returned, presently, looking so fresh and strong, that the very sight of him was a tonic. he wore dressing-gown which ellis particularly admired, and an embroidered velvet cap which his invalid sister, sadie, had given him the day before he left home. 6 will i do?” he asked, as he passed his aunt in the hall, and the next moment he was standing by ellis. “oh, dear! i hoped it was father,” said the boy. i want to go out of doors." “ can't you ride in your carriage ?” 6 no; i'd rather lie here,” he answered, impatiently. * it hurts me to ride, and it never was half so good as riding in father's how nice you look," he added 9 66 arms. the hermit of holcombe. 11 66 seeming for the first time to observe his cousin's appearance. “ i'm cross to-day, cousin harry, and i know it's wicked; but it seems as though i couldn't help it;" and two large tears rolled down the pale cheeks. “i don't wonder you feel so," was the kind reply. “you are tired of staying in the house. sadie gets tired very often, and then i carry her in my arms till she gets rested." “ but i thought cousin sadie was a young lady; and you are only a large boy.” “a pretty large boy,” replied harry, laughing. “i am nearly as tall as your father, and sadie is a very small young lady. so it is easy for me to carry her.” “ is she as heavy as i am ? " “i presume she is. she is five years older than you. let me lift you, and see which is the heavier." > > > 12 the hermit of holcombe. 66 put your 2 66 i “ but won't you hurt me, cousin harry ? everybody does, except father and mother.* “i don't think i shall hurt you, ellis ;” and the young man bent over the couch, upon which rested his cousin. arms around my neck. there, now did i hurt you?” “ not a bit," was the joyous answer. guess you've learned how. you didn't pull me any where." “i guess i have learned. i have carried sadie a good many miles in my arms. now, where would you like to go?” 66 under the trees. i want “well, what do you want ? just imagine that i am a good fairy, able to grant anything > you desire.” 1 “ i want to go down to the pond; but it's too far for you to carry such a heavy boy.” 66 we'll see about that. we can take it easily." the hermit of holcombe. 13 > all this time, harry had been pacing the room with a slow, measured tread, soothing by its very uniformity. “now, do you think you will trust me to carry you out of doors ?” he asked. “ i guess i will, cousin. i feel better, already, and i am going to love you, ever so much. i didn't want to have you and cousin warren come here. did you know it?" “ how should i?” was the evasive reply. " why didn't you wish to have us come?” 56 i'm ashamed to tell; but i will, though, because mother says we feel better, when we confess we've done wrong. i was afraid father and mother wouldn't think so much of me, after you come. i was foolish and naughty; but i shan't do so again. “i guess you won't, ellis. suppose we go and find your mother. aunt ellen; two boys walking on one pair here we are, 14 the hermit of holcombe. 6 ob of feet; and if you will walk with us, we shall have no trouble.” “oh, mother!” cried the lame boy “ cousin harry carries me every bit as well as father does. he learned how, carrying sadie. good afternoon, cousin warren.” “good afternoon," answered the young 66 you are really getting up the world. i must take lessons of hal, so i can carry you myself. he is considered a wonderful nurse at uncle manson's. sadie says he never gets tired.” “ aren't you getting tired ?" asked ellis, when they had been out of doors a short man. in time. “not at all,” was the reply. “you are not so heavy as sadie. we must go to the pond, now we are so near. are you com fortable ?" “ yes, indeed ; and a pair of wasted arms were twined more closely around the good cousin's neck. > the hermit of holcombe. by the pond there were some rustic benches, and here, the whole party were resting, when professor farley found them. “ as the house was deserted, i came in search of the inmates," he said. “i could not avoid being late, although i supposed ellis would be impatient to see me. but i see that he has transferred his allegiance to harry.” “i was impatient to see you, father, and i am ever so glad to see you, now," responded ellis, from his new resting place. “but isn't cousin harry real good, to carry me ?" “ very good, and i am very much obliged. but i will relieve you now, harry." “not unless ellis prefers that you should. it seems like home, to have some one in my arms, and i am not so tired as you." ellis did not care to change, and the pro fessor had the privilege of resting. > > the hermit of holcombe. i saw a friend of yours, as i was coming home,” he remarked to his wife. " mr. wol. cott is out, in court dress, and he enquired for my lady, with as much gallantry as could any knight of the olden time. i invited him to take tea with us; but he thought his business would detain him until too late. he may come, however, and perhaps we had better return to the house. the young gentlemen can stay here, longer, if they choose.” “ i want to see mr. wolcott, if he comes," said ellis, quickly. 66 that must be the man we saw when we were coming home,” remarked warren lewis. 66 crombie said his name was wolcott. he is, certainly, a striking looking person.” “ a wreck of a noble man," was the response. “an old man, too, although he stands erect as most of our young men.” > the hermit of holcombe. 17 an6 but how came he to be as he is, now?” asked harry. “ it is a long story, in its details," swered the professor. “failure in business, woman's treachery, and intoxicating drink, have wrought his ruin. i will give you his history, sometime.” “there he is, coming now," exclaimed ellis; and truly there was the very man, of whom they were speaking. he had accomplished his business before seeing professor farley ; but it was his way to talk of pressing engagements, and urgent business. “ i hope i am not intruding,” he said, removing his hat, and bowing so low to mrs. farley that his lips nearly met her extended hand. 66 the professor invited me to his house, and i anticipated so much pleasure in coming, that i postponed my business." 66 and we are very glad to see you, only 18 the hermit of holcombe. 66 6 mr. sorry we were not in the house to welcome you," was the reply of his host. wolcott, these are our nephews, warren lewis, and harry manson, who have come to study under my tuition.” “ very happy to see you, young gentlemen,” was was the response, as the speaker bowed with flattering deference. 66 you could not find a wiser teacher, or a more delightful home." it was then ellis' turn to be noticed, and he had no reason to complain of neglect. the odd visitor complimented, pitied, and amused him, in such strange fashion, that he could hardly restrain a hearty laugh. “i am very glad to see you," said the boy, frankly. “i haven't been very happy, to-day, until cousin harry brought me out here." “why not happy ? ” was asked. “because i couldn't get up and walk, the hermit of holcombe. 19 just where i wanted to. if i could only walk and run like other boys, i should be happy.” “ you see, ellis makes the same mistake as many grown people. he thinks his own troubles the severest of any,” remarked the professor; and then added, before a reply could be made, “ perhaps we had better go to the house. i am sure my wife is thinking of tea.” “are you ready to go, ellis ?” asked his cousin. “ yes; but would you rather have father (เ carry me?” 56 no. when i am tired, i will find a way to dispose of you,” was the reply. “warren, you can walk on as fast as you please. we propose to be slow and stately." tea was served in mrs. farley's best style, and her guest adapted himself to his surroundings with ease and grace. he talked 20 the hermit of holcombe. upon various subjects, intelligently and well. occasionally, there would be a slight hesitation, or short pause; but beyond this, there was nothing to indicate a diseased brain. ellis, bolstered up in a large chair, which had been constructed expressly for him, enjoyed the entertainment so much, that he forgot his helplessness. “isn't he the funniest man, father ?” was the exclamation, so soon as the family were left by themselves. “ he is very strange,” was the reply. “i have rarely seen him appear so well as he has this evening. he must have been on short allowance for liquor, lately. to-morrow he will probably be intoxicated.” “what! that man get intoxicated !” exclaimed harry manson.. “ certainly. does it seem strange to > you?" the hermit of holcombe. 21 “ yes, sir. he is such a fine scholar, and so intelligent; how can he stoop to intoxication ?” “ in the same way which others do. but it is a terrible desecration in his case. he is a graduate of old harvard, and was one of the most promising young merchants of boston. now, he lives in a tumble-down cottage, half a mile from any other house. to-day, he appears like a gentleman ; to morrow, he may be as beastly drunk as the most degraded sot in town. he has drawn his monthly allowance, and will have the means of gratifying his appetite.” to a questioning glance from his nephews, the professor continued : -“he has wealthy 6 relations who provide for him. he draws a sum, each month, more than sufficient to meet all necessary expenses ; but i presume he sometimes suffers for the want of suitable food. i have seen him, myself, when he had been fasting.”. in reply > 22 the hermit of holcombe. “ he ate a lot of supper, to-night,” said ellis, whose whole attention had been ab sorbed in the conversation. “ we were glad to have him,” responded mrs. farley, with a slight accent of reproof. “yes, mother; but i thought perhaps he had been fasting, as father said.” “ very likely, ellis. he spends most of his money soon after he gets it, and then manages as he can.” “but can't he be made to do differently ?” asked warren lewis. “it seems as though he might be influenced in some way.” " it does seem so, when you take an abstract view of such a case. but i know of only one way in which he could be influenced. if he was confined, where he could never act freely, he would not use intoxicating liquors. his friends have thought of this; but, on the whole, consider it best to leave him as he is. in one sense, he the hermit of holcombe. 23 has made a wreck of himself, and his course seems inexcusable; in another, he deserves sympathy rather than condemnation. when the firm, of which he was a member, failed in business, he lost everything, while his partner was enriched ; and in less than a year this partner married the lady to whom mr. wolcott had been engaged for some time. this occurred forty years ago; and since then he has been a wretched, restless man. most people consider him insane. i am not sure in regard to that; but it is certain that he lacks both faith in god, and a sense of his own responsibility. had he possessed these, in the outset, hard as it might have been for him to bear the dis. appointment of all his hopes, he would have endeavored to do his duty, and thus found peace and contentment." for a while no one made any response to this. mrs. farley, whose sympathies were 24 the hermit of holcombe. strongly enlisted for the unfortunate man, could only have expressed her sympathy; while her nephews would have considered it boasting, to say what they really thought. “he was a fool," at length said warren lewis. “no need of being a drunkard, because every thing don't go right. he couldn't have had a very strong mind, to begin with.” “ you might say that in regard to every one who does wrong,” replied his uncle, smiling, a little sadly, at the self-confidence thus expressed. 66 we all yield to temptation, when we ought to stand strong. i suppose you have seen instances of such weakness." “ yes, sir, i have ; and been myself an instance,” answered warren, with a blush. 6. but mr. wolcott's case is different. te has wasted his whole life. i shouldn't do that.” the hermit of holcombe. 25 66 and “i know you would not deliberately resolve to do that,” was the reply. i much doubt if any one so resolves. it is giving way, inch by inch, which brings us into danger; and it is refusing to do the duties of each day which makes life a failure.” “ but what if we can't do anything ?” asked ellis, looking at his father, with sad, earnest eyes. “we can do something, my boy," was the quick, cheerful reply. “if nothing more, , we can be patient and hopeful, even when suffering; and we can be grateful for all the blessings which god gives us. mr. wolcott thought he had nothing to live for, when he lost his money, and the woman he loved; but he might have had a happy life, for all that, if his heart had been right. now, i have given quite a lecture, young gentlemen. i think it will be sufi suppose 26 the hermit of holcombe. ficient for once, and my boy is getting tired. i can tell by the flush on his cheek. don't you think we had better go to your room, ellis ? " “yes, sir, i am tired; but i want to ask you some questions about something i read in my new book, to-day. perhaps i could have made it out myself, if i hadn't been so impatient. it has been one of my wicked days, but i mean to be better tomorrow." mr. farley went out with his son, and harry said, 6 do tell us more about mr. wolcott, aunt ellen. who keeps his house for him ?” “ he is his own housekeeper,” was the reply. 6. the woman who lives in the nearest house cooks most of his food, and puts his house in order, whenever she has an opportunity. sometimes, he asks her to do this; but generally, she sweeps and scrubs the hermit of holcombe. 27 66 when he is away. if he is in what he calls bad spirits, he fastens the house to prevent her getting in; so that, often, there is no cleaning done for weeks. 6 why don't his friends take him away, and oblige him to live decently ? ” they have wished to do so, but he prefers to stay here. when he first came into town, he boarded at the hotel, and did some writing. he posted books, and kept the bank accounts, until he drank so badly that he could not be trusted. then his friends bought and furnished the house where he lives, and where he will probably die. he refuses to have any repairs made, and clings to every old garment as though far better than new. the suit he wore to-day, is kept carefully locked up in a large trunk, and his fancy for wearing it seems, to me, more like insanity than anything else i have observed in him. perhaps you would like 28 the hermit of holcombe. to visit him some day. it is a pleasant walk to his house; and if you should find him sober, he would be very entertaining.” not long after this, the two cousins decided to spend a half holiday in exploring the country, and visiting mr. wolcott; anticipating both pleasure and instruction. through the village they walked rapidly, then, more slowly, pausing occasionally to catch a view of some distant mountain, or the gleaming of a tranquil lake. “ we must have come nearly two miles,” at length said harry. 66 uncle said the hermit's house was a little back from the road, on the right hand side, and surrounded with old apple trees.” yes, all that,” was the reply. “another thing, he said we should see it from the high hill. this one we are climbing is high enough for the site of an ob servatory. and look, there it is. the > 66 top of the hermit of holcombe. 29 roof covered with moss, and part of the windows boarded up. that must be the place. i wonder if we shall find the old gentleman at home." the house was reached. they rapped loudly; but no one responded. again they rapped, with no better success. they went to another door; but this, like the one they had already tried, was secured from within. “ he must be gone. i am tired enough, though, to rest, and may as well rest here as anywhere,” said harry, suiting the action to the word, as he seated himself upon a partly hewn log. warren proceeded to examine the outside of the dwelling they wished to enter; and after being lost sight of by his cousin, for a few minutes, returned to say, in a low tone, " mr. wolcott is at home, and i have seen him." “ where?” was asked, quickly. 30 the hermit of holcombe. “ on a bed. i looked through a crack in the shutter, and it's my opinion he's drunk. there's a jug in the chair beside the bed, and he looks like a drunken man. come and see him." > 66 but what if he should see us ? we can't get out of sight if he does; and it would be an awkward scrape to be caught.” "no, danger of that. i tell you he's drunk. come along and see for yourself.” they went to the backside of the house. and through an opening in the window shutter, saw the old man, clad in soiled and ragged garments, extended upon a bed, the covering of which was scarcely less soiled and ragged. the floor of the room was strewn with rubbish, and tracked with mud. “ terrible !” exclaimed harry, in a loud whisper. “i have a great mind to break open the door, and rouse him. he may die here alone. perhaps he is dead already.” the hermit of holcombe. 31 was a woman “ no, he isn't dead. hear him breathe ; and they stood there, listening eagerly, while he was unconscious of their presence. time passed unheeded. " i believe i will go in," said harry. “ better not do that,” replied some one behind them. “ i did not intend to listen,” added the woman; for it who had spoken. “i've been on the lookout all day, to see if anything was stirring down here; and when i saw you come, i thought i'd come too. 'twouldn't do the least good in the world, for you to stir he'd only rave round and tear everything to pieces. i'm used to him, and know about how he'll act." “but it don't seem right to leave him here in this condition, all alone,” was urged in reply. “i know it," answered the woman, moving away from the window. “i used to think him up. 32 the hermit of holcombe. something might be done for him, but i've learned better. the last time his sister was here, she said he must live and die in this way. are you when he's dead drunk, he calls it forgetting his troubles, and says that's all the happiness he has. acquainted with him?" “ we have seen him but once,” was the reply. “he took tea at uncle farley's, last week." and you are the young men he met there. that was the day he got he hain't been sober, much, oh, yes. his money. since then. he won't let me into the house, and that's the reason it's so dirty. poor man! i pity him, but i can't help him." “ how long will he lie, as he is now ?” "i can't tell. when he comes to, enough to know anything, he'll drink as long as there's any liquor in the jug; and when the hermit of holcombe. 33 can > that's gone, he'll be pretty near crazy, for a day or two. oh, it's a dreadful way to live. i tell my boys i'd rather they'd die, than grow up to drink liquor. young men think they stop, when they're a mind to, but they find when they try, that liquor's got the upper hand. i don't suppose there's one in our academy any more promising than mr. wolcott was, when he was of their age. he's got all kinds of outlandish books, and was called a great scholar; but he's nothing but a poor, miserable drunkard, after all. there, do exfor running on somehow, when i get to talking about that man, i don't know when to stop: and i've been a good deal anxious, this day or two. seems to me he's got almost through.” by this time they had reached the road, where they separated ; but warren observed that, after standing, seemingly irresolute, for a time, the woman retraced her steps. cuse me so. 34 the hermit of holcombe. 66 if we haven't learned a lesson this afو۱ ternoon, we must be duli scholars," remarked harry manson. “ i have learned a lesson,” was the reply. 66 what is it?” “ not to give up for trifles. i've made up my mind what i want to do, in this world, and i calculate to persevere, let come what will. i'm going to be a wealthy merchant, and if i fail once, i'll try again, and keep trying, till i succeed. if any girl , cares more for somebody else than she does for me, she'll be just welcome to go where she pleases, and no hearts broken, either. what lesson did you learn, hal ?” “i learned that there is danger in moderate “i know what you are going to say,” interrupted warren, impatiently. “i don't believe you've seen anything or anybody, for the last three months, without reading a the hermit of holcombe. 35 temperance lecture. i'm not sure but you find lectures in stones, and running brooks.” "i do,” was the response. “ running brooks are eloquent with the praises of water, and stones bear a dumb testimony to the grandeur of firmness. if i am to be a physician, i must be well taught. i don't mean, however, to make myself tiresome to you. i know we don't think alike about some things; but you can't deny that such sottish drunkenness as mr. wolcott's is terrible.” > “ i don't want to deny it, hal. it seems as terrible to me, as it does to you; and 1 hope you'll excuse me for speaking hastily. i'm not half as good as you are, and everybody knows it. i have an abiding sense of your superiority." “ why, cousin warren." " it's the truth, hal. do you suppose i've forgotten that you saved me from dis36 the hermit of holcombe. grace, last spring. you've saved me, too, from doing wrong a good many times, just because i should be ashamed to look you in the face, afterwards." “and somebody else has saved me,” was the cheerful reply. “sadie has been my good angel. she is so sensitive and conscientious, i could never do anything to annoy or grieve her. i might have many bad habits, but for her. one who uses tobacco or liquor is never welcome to her, and i wouldn't lose her kisses, for all the jollifications in the world. it was the desire to relieve her sufferings, that made me think of studying medicines.” " you are half a doctor, now. such a nurse! you'd receive a diploma from any hospital in the country. for my part, i don't see how you can like to stay with sick people. sadie is the only invalid i can toleerate, except ellis.” the hermit of holcombe. 37 “i am glad you can tolerate them,” re sponded harry manson, thinking how often sadie had said, “what should i do, if you were like warren!' “i like to be with sick people, if i can do them good. i mean to talk with mr. wolcott about drinking, and if i can't persuade him to give it up, perhaps i shall learn something that will be of benefit to others. i want to be a physician for both minds and bodies.” “ you are the strangest fellow, cousin hal. here you are, only seventeen years old, talking like an old man. i should n't wonder if you should go as a missionary to the sandwich islands. "twould be in keeping with some things i've known of you, and i've no doubt you'd win hearts for yourself, if not souls for christ.” “ hush, warren. you are touching sacred things with careless hands." “may be i am, hal; though i didn't think 88 the hermit of holcombe. of it. but, before you go, you must see me well settled in business. you know you're expected to keep me in the way i should go. if i was like ellis!” “ what if you were ?” "i should wish to die." “ are you sure ?” asked harry, seriously. « life is sweet." “not if we can do nothing but suffer, and be a burden to others." 66 but ellis is not a burden. neither is sadie. and they may do more good, in their weakness, than we, with our strength." “either of them will do more good than 1,” was the response. 66 as for you, you are a model young man; while it is hoped that i shall catch something of your goodness, by > reflection." not often was warren lewis in such mood; but while under its influence, nothing was too extravagant for him to say. dowered richly, the hermit of holcombe. 39 by nature, and wanting for nothing which money or friends could give, it seemed strange that, so young, he should have aught to regret, or those who loved him aught to fear. but, as he said, his cousin had once saved him from open disgrace, and often saved him from wrong doing, by the force of example. mortified, whenever he thought of this, and impatient at the temperance lectures, which seemed to him to be preached in season and out of season, he expressed himself bitterly. " i'm ashamed of myself, hal,” he exclaimed, after a short silence. the lesson you learned this afternoon, was plainly. writ." 66 it seemed so to me, was the reply. “but let us talk of something else. we shall have letters from home this evening, i, a long one from sadie. i wish i had her in my arms this minute.” 40 the hermit of holcombe. 66 “how you do love that girl, hal! do you expect to love another?” may be. yes, i hope so. i can't help it, if i see one as lovable." letters were found and read before the cousins entered their uncle's house. no sooner was their step heard in the hall, than ellis called, “please come here, cousin harry, and tell me all about mr. wolcott. you said you would.” " and i will, as soon as i have disposed of a quantity of dust for which i have no use,” was the reply. it was a sad story he told, interrupted by frequent ejaculations, and expressions of regret. “oh, mother, what makes god let him do so ?” asked the invalid boy. "i don't know, my child," she answered “ he is not obliged to do so." the hermit of holcombe. 41 “ no, mother; but you say,” “don't go to philosophizing,” interrupted harry, smiling. “wait a while before you try to understand the mysteries of providence. one thing we all know. we are never obliged to do wrong." “we know more than that," added mr. farley, joining the group. “we are always under obligations to do right, no matter how strong the temptation to sin." “but, uncle, do' you believe mr. wolcott has moral strength to resist the temptation to drink liquor ?” “i believe he had the moral strength, and could have it again, if he would seek it at god's hands. but it is a fearful thing to fight the battle of life with our natural powers weakened by indulgence in sin. it is easy for many to be temperate ; but it would be like plucking out his right eye, for mr. wolcott to be so. yet he must 42 the hermit of holcombe. pluck it out if he would escape an eternity of misery. school duties and home pleasures occupied every day; but “the hermit” was not forgotten. harry manson still wished to visit him, and improved the first opportunity for so doing. going alone, he encountered the old man, looking so pale and dejected that his heart was touched. “good afternoon, mr. wolcott," he said, politely. “how do you do, to-day ?” this salutation failing to elicit a reply, it was repeated. “i'm wretched, young man," was hissed, rather than spoken. “do you know what it is to be lashed by furies, and chained to the rock, where vultures feed upon your vitals? do you know what this is ?” “i hope no one knows that," answered harry. "i know. shall i tell you what it is the hermit of holcombe. 43 like?” and the speaker's eyes glared fearfully. “ no, don't tell me that. let us talk of pleasant things. tell me how the sun shines, and the birds sing, and flowers · blossom,” was the soothing reply. “i have walked from the village to see you, this afternoon." “what do you want of a wretch like me ?" “i came to learn wisdom," said harry, going nearer to his strange companion. “ uncle farley says you are a fine scholar. professor farley. you are acquainted with him,” added the young man. yes, yes, he is one of my friends, and i may have seen you,” answered mr. wolcott, with a perplexed air. “i am his nephew, harry manson, a student, and i saw you at his house." happy to see you ;” and “ yes, yes. 44 the hermit of holcombe. there was a decided change in the manne of the speaker. “i had a bad night, last night, and my head isn't quite right yet. excuse me for not recognizing you. i would invite you to my house, but mrs. scott is cleaning there. please to be seated upon this flat stone. 1 hope your uncle's family are well as usual. the illness of their son is a great affliction ; but they bear it cheer. fully.” “ yes, sir; and ellis is very patient. it is a pleasure to be with him.” “ you were carrying him when i first saw you.” “ yes, sir. i am accustomed to carry my sister, who is an invalid, so i have learned to be a very good nurse.' "i was a good nurse once, myself. but you see i've forgotten all that. yes, all that,” was repeated sadly. “i suppose life looks bright to you, and you have some grand ambition.” > the hermit of holcombe. 45 > “i have a purpose,” replied harry. i intend to study medicine, and be a good physician.” “then tell men to let alone the accursed drink, that ruins both soul and body,” exclaimed mr. wolcott, with startling energy. they say there is a hell, where lost spirits wail forever; but i tell you there is a hell, here, in my breast, where the worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.” the speaker sprang up, threw his arms about wildly, and seemed in the frenzy. of delirium. “sit down, sit down," said his young friend, gently. 6 uncle sent you some new papers; he thought you might like to read. i'm afraid you're not feeling well, to-day.” “i'm in torment!” was the reply. “the devils filled my house last night, and to-day they fill me. and i'm burning up with them. oh, for some brandy to quench this fiery thirst.” 46 the hermit of holcombe. > “let me bring you some water," said harry. • water! give water to children, but give nie brandy." “ but it hurts you to drink brandy, mr. wolcott. please don't drink any more," urged his companion. “you wouldn't feel this burning thirst, if you'd give up the use of all intoxicating liquors. do be persuaded.” ” “you preaching to me, young man!” and there was such ineffable scorn in these words, that he to whom they were addressed, was fain to hide his head for very shame. preaching to me, when you know no more than the winds which sweep through the forests. i know. yes, i could preach so the very devils could hear and tremble. i could tell you of a boy who dreamed as bright dreams as you, till the demon took possession of him. i was that boy, and all the years we have struggled and fought, till now the fight 66 you the hermit of holcombe. 47 is almost over. and the demon will win! yes, he'll win! what are you going to do about it, young man? what are you going to do? did you ever see the wine sparkle, when bright eyes challenged you to drink ? don't drink it! for god's sake, and for your soul's sake, don't! look at me! see what it has done for me! and a false woman, false as the sparkling wine! there's nothing true, but heaven; and heaven's gates are closed for such as me.” “ prayer and repentance will open them,” said harry manson, unable to keep silence. “i pray! i repent!” was shrieked, in reply. the demon holds me fast. there's only death and damnation for me. but for you, if you look not upon the wine when it is red, there is life and salvation. salvation. will you heed the warning? will you heed it?” "yes, sir, i will," was the reply. “and 66 you _" 48 the hermit of holcombe. “will fight it out, bravely, this demon and i; we'll fight till he conquers, and then i shall die." “ die! die!” repeated the old man, and strode away the fight was, indeed, “almost over.” the demon conquered; and only one short month after this, the burial service was read, at the grave of henry wolcott. chapter ii. youth presses on with eager feet, till pausing, where the two ways meet, which challenge every humau soul, to life of weakness or control. the choice is made, the die is cast, and coming years outweigh the past. > pre you glad you went to see mr. wolcott, that last time ?” asked ellis farley, looking up into his cousin's face. “ very glad,” was the reply. “i wanted to do him good, and i tried.” “but you didn't, cousin harry. i heard father say that mr. wolcott hadn't been sober for more than three weeks; so your going didn't do any good." “ it did me good, ellis. it made me strong49 50 tiie hermit of holcombe. er. i wouldn't risk a glass of wine, now, any sooner than i would drink poison. i couldn't help wishing, to-day, that every student had heard what that old man said, the last time i saw him, alive." ” “you might write it out, and read it to them, cousin harry. some folks that come here drink wine, and i've heard them tell mother it would do me good. but she don't give it to me, and when i grow up, i shan't drink it." “what is it you shan't drink, when you grow up ?” warren lewis, just entering the room, asked this question. “ i shan't drink wine,” replied the boy. harry says he wont, and you wont, either, will you cousin warren ?” a clouded brow, flushed cheeks, and flashing eyes, betrayed far more feeling than the occasion seemed to warrant. "i can't tell what i shall do,” was the constrained answer. 66 the hermit of holcombe. 51 “ there is no harm in drinking wine, moderately." “ there may be.” “why, mother, how still you came !” ex: claimed ellis. “i didn't hear your step. did you mean to surprise us ?” “no, my dear, i was not even thinking of you, till i heard warren's remark." “ and i wasn't thinking of you, till i heard you answer him. i don't very often forget you, when i'm awake, but i did this time. has father come ?" “no. i left him talking with our minister.” “ were they talking about mr. wolcott ?" “i presume so," answered mrs. farley. “every one seems to be talking of him, since his death." “it would be a wonder if people could talk of anything else, this day of all others,” said harry, earnestly. “his history seems too strange to be true. if i had read it, i should > 52 the hermit of holcombe. suppose it to be over-drawn. i shall never see any one drink a glass of wine without recalling his words and appearance, the last time i saw him. he might have been mad; but there was method in his madness." another temperance lecture, from which warren lewis escaped, so soon as civility would allow. mrs. farley looked after him, anxiously. he was the son of her brother, and she wished to see him upright in all things. for harry she had no fears. his mother being her only sister, she knew much of him ; but outside the home circle, no one could really appreciate his goodness and truth. his father trusted him, implicitly, his mother and sisters well nigh worshipped him ; while his young brothers thought hal “the most splendid old fellow in the world.” some of his friends thought it strange that he should choose a profession which would give so small opportunity for the display of brilliant talents, the hermit of holcombe. 53 but he had chosen, deliberately, 66 others may talk, while i work," he was accustomed to say sadie, his invalid sister, three years younger than himself, had reason to rejoice at this decision, since it made him a more tender and observant nurse. he had already read many medical works, and improved every opportunity for gaining medical knowledge. neither himself nor cousin caring for a college course, they had come to study under the direction of their uncle, professor farley; reciting with some of his public classes, in addition to receiving private instruction. harry manson had no definite plans in regard to the time he should spend in study; but his cousin thought two years would suffice. the latter was troubled when he went to his room, after receiving his aunt's quick rebuke. she was right and he was wrong; hence his trouble. 54 the hermit of holcombe. he took from his pocket a note which had peen given him an hour before, but which he had forgotten until this moment. it contained an invitation to meet some students for the purpose of forming a club, for mutual improvement. “mum's the word, on your honor. burn this after reading." this was the conclusion, suspicious in itself; and still more so when connected with the fact that it bore no signature. warren lewis did not even know from whom he > had received this strange note. a crowd was around him when it had been thrust > into his hand ; yet the place and time of ; meeting was designated, so there need be no mistake, “i say, hal, can you keep a secret ?” he asked, when his cousin came into the room. “i can, when i have one to keep. i'm not given to gossiping," the hermit of holcombe. 55 > “ well, have you a duplicate of that ?” “ no," answered harry, glancing care lessly at the paper extended to him. “ever seen anything like it before ?” “i guess not. 61 but stay. i've seen the handwriting before." 66 where?” “on the blackboard, last week.” “ you are right," exclaimed warren. “i understand it all now : and i know why i was honored with the mysterious thing. i'd give it to you for perusal, if it didn't put me upon my honor. fudge on the honor, though read it, and help me keep the secret." “ improvement!” said harry, with a sneer, after reading it. 66 the secret is safe with you don't intend to go ?” “of course i don't,” was the reply. “i'll burn the note, and see what comes of it.” nothing came of it to the speaker; but me. 56 the hermit of holcombe. near the close of the school term several students were expelled for disorderly conduct, and with their departure the club ceased to exist. some one had been disappointed in counting on warren lewis. meanwhile, he had spent the time profitably, and christmas found him and his cousin in their city homes. such welcomes and congratulations as both received might have turned older and wiser heads; yet their homes were very different. two sisters older than himself, greeted warren lewis with true, sisterly affection. his father and mother looked at him with pride. the idol of their hearts, they hoped and believed all things good for him, notwithstanding some youthful follies. “ most ready for business, my son ?” asked mr. lewis, rubbing his hands, in a way peculiar to him, when he was in good humor. “i don't think i am quite fitted for business, yet,” was the reply. the hermit of holcombe. 57 66 “ well, well, time enough yet. no hurry. time enough for study and business both. i've got along pretty well without much book knowledge ; but i want you to do better than i have. there's harry, now, don't care for much besides sick folks, and books. it seems strange to me; but he's a splendid fellow, though." “ yes, sir; and sure to make his mark in the world. cut out for a doctor, too, if ever anybody was. aunt ellen says he has done more for ellis, since he has been there, than their physician. he has a way of exorcising pain, and soothing irritated nerves, without seeming to make any effort." " and ellis is better ?” “yes, sir, very much better than he was last summer. he can stand on his feet, now, and the day before we came away, he took a few steps, with harry's assistance. it tired him very much, of course, but he 58 the hermit of holcombe. > 66 hard case. was delighted, and aunt ellen really cried for joy.” “ glad to hear he is better," said mr. lewis. “but i suppose he will be a crip. ple.” “yes, sir, the doctor thinks so." but your aunt ellen will make the best of it, and so will her husband. i am glad my children are so healthy and handsome," added the fortunate man, with a hearty laugh, which seemed contagious, so quickly was it echoed. “you flatter us,” exclaimed one of his daughters. “do i? well, i have just as good a right to flatter you as some other people i know of;" and again the hearty laugh rang out. “we are going to have a christmas dinner in the old english style,” remarked this happy father soon after. “roast beef, plum pudding, and whatever else your mother and the 66 the hermit of holcombe. 59 cook see fit to give us. the girls are talking about holly and evergreen ; but i don't know much about such things. i've read of mistletoe, though ; and when i was a young man, i used to wish i had a bough to hang over your mother's head. there now, wife, you may have the floor, and say anything you please.” mr. lewis was so happy in having his family once more together, that he was excusable for being undignified. his wife, less demonstrative, felt quite as much ; rejoicing more in the contents of a letter she had received from mrs. farley, than in the presence of her son. he had done well ; never deserving reprimand, while at holcombe. for this she was very thankful ; although she knew he had been so guarded from temptation, his own strength was scarcely tested. a grand christmas dinner, in the old english style, was not to her taste; but 60 the hermit of holcombe. yielding to the wishes of her husband and daughters, she had commenced preparations. there was choice wine in the cellar to be used on this occasion, “ of course," said mr. lewis. “who ever heard of a christmas a dinner, without wine ?” he asked. “i presume many people have heard of them,” was his wife's reply. 66 but even if there never had been one, that would be no reason why we should have wine." “ i wish you wouldn't oppose me in this, wife,” exclaimed mr. lewis, a little impatiently. “i always yield to you, because i know you are wiser than i am; but i've set my heart upon this dinner, wine and all. there can't be any harm in drinking wine once a year. i'm getting to be a regular teetotaler, under your influence, he added, pleasantly. you don't suppose i'd get drunk at my own table, do you ?” “i don't suppose you'd get drunk any. the hermit of holcombe. 61 6 corner. where ;” and mrs. lewis looked full in her husband's face as she said this. “i believe that danger was past years ago, thank god. but we must think of others; your sister's family never use wine. even the smell of it is disagreeable to sadie. and husband, you sent warren to brother farley's, to keep him out of the way of temptation.” “ i know it, wife. i know it. i see your you'll drive me to the wall, and make me give up, as usual.” “but, husband, you know i never wish to oppose you in anything. i only do it when duty compels me." “ i do know it, my dear. you are the best wife in the world. if it hadn't been for you, ten chances to one but i'd been wandering round the country a miserable drunkard. i do hope warren will get just such a woman as you are for a wife. he's too much like me in some things. that's the trouble with him." 1) 62 the hermit of holcombe. the day before christmas, sadie manson was talking with her mother, in regard to the proposed dinner. “it will be beautiful there, , and i shall be very glad to go, if they don't have wine,” she said, without looking to see who had just opened the parlor door. “ what's that, puss? you'll be glad to go if they don't have wine?” and there stood uncle lewis before her. “they wont have a drop of wine,” he continued, rubbing his hands. “ the mistress of ceremonies has forbidden it, and the master never opposes her. there's a lesson for you, sadie. now, my wife and i don't always think alike; but she's always right, and some way i'm ashamed to stand out against her. never scolds, you know, but talks what she means, and looks right straight at me, and the minute i see the tears in her brown eyes, i'm ready to go down on my knees to please her. see if you can manage your husband as well, girl. if you the hermit of holcombe. 63 can, there will be one good man in the world, while he lives. i was a wild fellow when your aunt took me in hand. i only wonder she had the courage to do it ;” and as john lewis said this, there were tears in his honest blue eyes. “there, i guess i've talked enough about that. where's harry?" “gone out with the children, to look in the shop windows, and see what there is to be seen.” “i'm sorry for that. the girls want him, at our house; and warren was so busy, i volunteered to get out of the way, and came after him. about where do you suppose i could find him?" “i can't tell you,” answered his mother, “ after giving the children their treat, he was going to see a poor boy, on cady street.” “poor boy!” repeated mr. lewis, with a grimace. “i suppose he's sick, or lame, or something the matter." > 64 the hermit of holcombe. co a “yes, he is very much like ellis farley," was the reply. 6. his mother washed for me, last summer, and told me about him. she is too poor to pay for proper medical advice, and harry went there, yesterday. he thinks, perhaps, he can help him in some way.” no doubt of it, sister, and i think i might help a little. here's a five dollar bill to buy a christmas dinner for the poor woman. i want everybody to have a good dinner, tomorrow.” “ such sights and sights of beautiful things,” as the children had seen, and “such nice presents” as they had bought for the poor boy harry had gone to see. “ i tell you, mother, he'll need a pretty big stocking to hold them all,” said one. “harry bought some flour, and a chicken, and some potatoes, for his mother. don't you believe they'll be real glad? we went clear to the door, to help carry the things; > the hermit of holcombe. 65 but harry said we'd better not go in. isn't he the splendidest fellow in the world ? 1 mean to be just like him, when i grow up. wouldn't you, sadie ?” 6 i'd be as near like him as i could, was the sister's reply. “uncle lewis has been here and gave mother five dollars for johnny's mother; so they'll have a happy christmas." “ and we'll have a happy christmas, too,” chimed in two or three voices. 66 uncle lewis found us in one of the stores, and he told us about it. he rubbed his hands all the time, just as he does when he feels real happy; and he said we ought not to eat a mouthful of breakfast, to-morrow." “ and so you propose to fast until dinner,” remarked sadie. “no, sister, i don't believe i shall," was the reply. “i think i must have a few griddle cakes.” and as the speaker had an unusual fondness for such cakes he was cheered, noisily.” > 6 а. 66 the hermit of holcombe. а the cousins waited long for harry manson, who came at last, to say that he could not come before. he was very sorry, but the poor boy he had visited needed so much care that he could not leave. “what a wonder you are!” said his cousin mildred. “i'm not sure but i should send for you, myself, if i was sick. i really believe you have done more for sadie than all the old doctors.” « i have done what i could," was his response. 6 however, as i am not making a professional call, do please set me to work.” yes, give him something to do, and keep him out of mischief,” added warren, who was engaged in festooning evergreen. at this, mildred and harry left the room; and not until the next day, when some mock viands were served at dinner, did any one but the cook suspect how they spent the evening. mr. lewis, who always enjoyed a practical 66 the hermit of holcombe. 67 joke, when no one was harmed thereby, rubbed his hands more briskly, and laughed more heartily than ever. the children shouted, and a vote of thanks was tendered to those who had thus contributed to the general amusement. it was a christmas not soon to be forgotten. the poor woman to whom timely assistance had been rendered, and the child whose sufferings were relieved were, perhaps, happier than those who needed no assistance. johnny talked, constantly, sometimes, of the nice gentleman who was going to make him almost well, and sometimes of the presents he had received; while his mother rejoiced in the gladness which made him half forget present discomfort and pain. “i shan't be lonesome a bit, when you are gone away to work, now," he said, “i shall have so many pretty things to look at, and so many books to read. aint it 68 the hermit of holcombe. sure good, mother? and then to think they should all come when you felt so bad. i wish i could see that boy that's lame, just like me; and i do hope my nice gentleman will come again to-morrow.” his hope was realized; and more than before that he should be cured, his delight was unbounded. he had gazed at the same narrow strip of sky, counted the same dingy windows, and looked down into the same dirty alley, until the thought of ever going beyond them seemed like a dream, too bright to be realized. “i shan't mind a bit, if the boys do call me crutchy and limpy,” he remarked in the evening, after what was to him, a long silence. my gentleman said i must be patient and gentle; and he said he'd tell me about a poor lame boy, every bit as poor and lame as i am, that made a smart man. if i could only work enough to take care the hermit of holcombe. 69 of you, it would be so nice. ask god to help me, so i can, won't you, mother? my gentleman said i must ask him; but you're so much larger, he'll hear you first. you will ask him, won't you, mother?” mrs. carr did not reply immediately. in the struggle for daily bread, she had neglected prayer, until she dared not now present her requests to god; but when the question was repeated, she answered, “ yes, child, i will try.” christmas vacation was not long; but before returning to holcombe, harry manson had the pleasure of seeing mrs. carr in more comfortable quarters. she was established in two sunny rooms, the chief attractions of which, in johnny's eyes, were the broad window ledges, upon which were some plants. “a garden, too,” he exclaimed, when he first saw them. “oh, mother, ain't god . 70 the hermit of holcombe. good to let us have all these nice things ? and ain't you good, too, my gentleman?' turning to harry, who looked scarcely less happy than this boy, cradled in his arms. “i want to do something for you. can't i?” “ yes; you can be patient and pleasant, and try every day to improve; you must read a little so you may be a good scholar, by and by; and you must do just as the doctor tells you, even if it does seem hard.” through the influence of harry, a skillful, kind-hearted physician had consented to take charge of his protege, and there was a prospect of better days for one whose whole life, thus far, had been full of suffering. again, at holcombe, there were long talks about johnny carr; ellis farley wishing to be told everything in regard to him. does he look ?" was one of the many ques« tions asked. “any like me?" 6 how the hermit of holcombe. 71 “not at all,” was the reply. “he has black eyes and black hair.” “ then he looks like cousin warren," remarked ellis. « oh, no; answered harry manson. “only the color of their hair and eyes is the same. johnny's face is very thin, and he has a half-starved look. he has lived all his life in close rooms, where there was neither sunlight nor air. i suspect he has been hungry, sometimes. his mother is very poor.” i am. then he is a great deal worse off than why, i never wanted anything in my life, that would do me good, but what father or mother gave it to me. i wish i could send johnny some of my things. but you don't mean he shall be hungry any more, do you ?” “ i don't mean he shall,” was the reply. 6 the boys are going to look after him, and > 72 the hermit of holcombe. > his mother will have plenty of work. uncle lewis, too, will do something for him." “ can cousin sadie go to see him ?” asked ellis. “ i am afraid not, this winter,” replied her brother. “ she can't go up-stairs, very well, and johnny lives up-stairs. by next spring, we hope she will be stronger.” “and then she is coming to see me," exclaimed the child, with sudden animation. « and i shall tell her how good you are, and how much i love you. i wish you would stay here, always.” before leaving home, warren lewis had visited johnny carr, and given substantial evidence of thoughtful kindness. his sisters, too, were interested in him; and not a letter was received, by the cousins from home, during the winter, but contained some mention of the carrs. when the spring opened, there had been such decided improvement in the hermit of holcombe, 73 johnny, that he was able to walk a little, with the aid of crutches; and so happy was he, that had a general shout of derision greeted his appearance on the sidewalk, he might have mistaken it for a disguised welcome. the welcome, however, was not disguised. he had made friends with the boys of the neighborhood; any one of whom was glad to do him a favor. it was a great day for him, a when standing on a level with others, he felt the soft spring breezes fanning his face. and “my gentleman” had wrought the wondrous ' change for him. “just the best gentleman in the world,” as he told sadie, when she called upon him, previous to going to holcombe, for the summer. “ tell him i love him, wont you ?” said johnny, looking at sadie, wistfully. “ and that other gentleman, that brought me the books, i love him, too. mother says, perhaps 74 the hermit of holcombe. > i can do something for them, when i grow up." all this was repeated at holcombe; and although warren lewis smiled at the thought of this poor boy ever being of service to him, he appreciated the gratitude thus expressed. the summer passed delightfully. sadie manson was able to study some hours of each day, and ellis grew so much stronger that he seldom needed to be carried, “as a baby." a warren laughingly told harry that his occupation was gone, unless some new case should present itself. 6 it's rather hard on hal,” he said, one evening, when all were in merry mood. “his arms are empty, and just now, having no particular trouble with me, his mission, as a philanthropist, is nearly ended.” “ not yet well commenced,” was the reply. “i see plenty of opportunities for philan thropic efforts.” > the hermit of holcombe. 75 “i retract hal. i had forgotten that a physician is a philanthropist, by reason of his profession. sadie, do you know that father wants hal to go into business with me? he offers to furnish the capital, and divide the profits between us. i wish you'd persuade the doctor to accept.” but sadie only shook her head. she had heard the matter discussed at home ; and although this offer was one of rare generosity, mr. manson was not inclined to urge its acceptance by his son. “hal would make a first rate merchant," continued warren. “he's a grand financier.” “ necessity is a good teacher," replied harry, smiling. “i have a limited amount of money at my disposal, from which i wish to realize as much as possible.” “ if you had said that you wished others to realize from it, as much as possible, you would have come nearer the truth." > 76 the hermit of holcombe. so these cousins dwelt together in the best possible terms, while two years passed. the time seemed short as they looked back, and there were many regrets at leaving holcombe. harry manson expected to return again, for a few months; but warren lewis was through with study. 6.you have done well,” said his uncle, when they were about to separate. “i have only commendation for you ; but the best of your moral strength is yet to come. it has been easy for you to do right here. it may be very hard for you, under different circumstances. the temptations most likely to come are those most difficult for us to resist; and you, like all who have lived before you, will need the safeguard of heartreligion. remember this, my boy, and don't . trust your own strength. it would give me great pain, if either you or harry should go wrong." to us the hermit of holcombe. 77 66 > “ no danger of him, sir," was the reply. “i'd vouch for him, anywhere, and as for ; myself, i intend to do about right." three months were given to visiting and travel ; after which mr. lewis and his son talked earnestly of business. “i am willing to work,” said the young man in answer to a remark made by his father. 66 don't spare me any more than you would an ordinary clerk “i know i ought not to," was the reply. “hard work is the best thing to keep young folks in the right track. hard work and your mother kept me where i belonged. i am glad i can do more for my children than my father could for his; but it didn't hurt me to be poor. it's given me a kind feeling for other boys that have to make their own way. i've an eye, now, to johnny carr. when he's ready for work i calculate to help him along. he has a clear head for such a boy; and the doctor says, he'll come out all right, except limping a little.” 78 the hermit of holcombe. “ yes, johnny told me so the last time i saw him," answered warren. “he says he don't care for limping, either, if he can only get over the ground. no danger but he'll keep his feet moving, and his eyes open. i never saw such a change in any one as there has been in him. i should hardly know him, but for his eyes.' “ and you could never mistake them, anywhere,” said mr. lewis. “he's going to be a fine looking man, if nothing happens to him. you had better go in and see him occasionally. sadie looks after him; but she has other poor children on her hands, and we better help johnny ourselves." warren . lewis entered his father's store, and applied himself to business ; shirking no duty, and claiming no privilege on account of his position. those who looked to see him supercilious or arrogant, were agreeably disappointed. at his post, early and late, nothing escaped his observation. the hermit of holcombe. 79 “i'm disappointed in our boy, wife,” said mr. lewis, after warren had been in the store about four months. “ how? why?” asked mes. lewis, anxiously, before her husband's hearty laugh dispelled her fears. “i didn't expect he'd take to work and business very well, at first; but mr. jewett says he's the best clerk we ever had;" and as mr. jewett was senior partner of the firm, he was qualified to judge. “i always knew there was enough to him to make most anything; but i was a little afraid he'd take a wrong tack. he can't do anything by halves; and i believe 'twould kill me if he should turn out as some of our young men do. but there's no danger now; and i tell you, wife, it's a great relief to me to know it." mrs. lewis could not be quite so sanguine, when she remembered her son's former indiscretions; yet she rejoiced in the present, and hoped for the future. 80 the hermit of holcombe. meanwhile, the fashionable world was in the midst of a gay season; and warren was invited, with his sisters, to numerous parties where few refused the sparkling wine. mildred lewis was willing to be singular that she might restrain her brother; while fanny, the elder and more worldly sister, yielding to family influence, never drank wine in his presence. the father thought all this unnecessary, but accustomed to trust the judgment of his wife, uttered no protest. “ it is well enough now,” he reasoned with himself. 66 when warren is older he will do as others do, and have judgment to know when he has gone far enough.” some bantering there was, some challenges, and some smiling invitations not easily resisted; but the young man parried these lightly, without claiming that he acted from principle or previous decision. he had not forgotten mr. wolcott's terrible career, or the the hermit of holcombe. 81 > 66 it may pledge made by harry manson after the last interview with this unhappy man. “ i shall never while i live drink a glass of wine; and i will do all in my power to prevent others drinking.” “ look out, hal, you may wish to break that pledge,” he had then said. be for your interest to do so.” “ never!” was the decided reply. “never for my best interest. i wish you would make the same pledge, warren. it would be worth a fortune to you.” “pshaw! that's your way of talking ;” answered the cousin. “i shall bind myself by no such promises. it's too childish for one who expects to live among men of the world. nobody but you would think of such a thing." “i've heard of others;" harry said. • and more fools they. i don't intend to join their ranks,” was warren's response. > 82 the hermit of holcombe. 1 it was not, then, because he was pledged to abstinence that he refused to drink wine; but because he had a fancy for so doing, at this time. he had no fears of becoming a drunkard, under any circumstances; and although he seldom argued with harry, he thought so much feeling fanatical and foolish. yet there was his mother agreeing with harry; and sadie, carrying the matter still further. she did not hesitate to say that she considered liquor drinking the greatest evil in the world. warren was learning to love this cousin, so pure in her beauty and goodness; and denied himself many a fragrant cigar, that he might feel at liberty to seek her society. no smoking was allowed among the students at holcombe ; but at home this indulgence was not under ban. mr. lewis, being himself a smoker, rather enjoyed his son's companionship in the habit. the hermit of holcombe. 83 “my gentleman ” was away during the winter; but in his absence johnny was comforted by frequent visits from young mr. lewis, whose interest in the grateful boy increased with each visit. it was a pleasure to see the pale face flush, and the dark eyes flash beneath his gaze. a pleasure, tuo, to listen to the honest outpourings of a warm affectionate heart, rather than a dull round of civil speeches, containing neither wit nor wisdom. “i'm learning as fast as i can," johnny's oft-repeated assurance. 66 miss sadie says if i am good, i shall have a house all my own, when i grow up. i can earn it. does it really seem as though i could, mr. lewis ?” he asked. “ it seems to me as though you could," was the reply. " don't you believo every thing that sadie tells you ?” “ yes, sir; indeed i do,” answe; ed the was she says > > 84 the hermit of holcombe. boy. “she tells me a great many things; and i believe every word; but to believe that i shall ever have a nice house, all my own, is too much. i told mother it was just like a fairy story, the way we live now; and that would be too good.” no wonder the child thought the change in himself and his home like a fairy story. when in the spring, paul and george manson invited him to walk with them to one of the public parks, and he could go dressed so that they were not ashamed of him, he no longer doubted miss sadie's prophecy. as it chanced, he saw other boys who were lame; but of all, he thought himself happiest. no one called him “ crutchy," while " many smiled upon him, reflecting the bright emile which lighted up his own face. “ we might go round hy uncle lewis' store, on our way home, if you aren't too tired,” said paul, after a time. the hermit of holcombe. 85 6 oh, i ain't a bit tired,” was the reply ; and soon after three boys looked in at the open door of a large establishment, where clerks and customers discussed the market value of various kinds of goods. a lad was running from one to another, intent upon obeying orders, and all too much occupied to notice the young visitors. “we can go in, if we don't get in the way,” said paul, stepping inside the door. “ there's cousin warren," he added, in a whisper. “shouldn't you like to be in that boy's place ?” asked johnny, when they had stood there for a few minutes. “i don't think i should,” was the reply. “i'd rather be out doors than shut up in the house. but he likes it.” to paul and his brother this busy scene was nothing new ; but to their companion it was another glimpse of the fairy land of which he dreamed. 86 . the hermit of holcombe. . “ what are you going to do when you grow up ?” he asked, as they walked slowly home, and was not surprised at the answer that they should do just what brother harry thought best. holding an office which demanded his whole time and energy for the discharge of its duties, mr. manson was only too glad to trust the judgment of his eldest son in various matters pertaining to the interests of his family. and harry was equal to the emergency. his abounding health, energy, cheerfulness and goodness, fitted him to bear responsibilities. “ the more the better," he was accustomed to say laughingly, seeming to banish pain and anxiety with his hearty words and magic touch. when he was at home, each day was counted a holiday. greatly to the delight of all, he remained at home for several months, pursuing his studies, and making the hermit of holcombe. 87 some trials of professional skill. johnny was taken under his especial care; and many another, poor and lame, learned to look for his coming as the weary look for rest. ambitious to excel in his chosen profession, he allowed nothing to distract his attention. his old companions complained that he gave them so little time; while his cousin protested that he was more of a philanthropist than ever. you ought to be the pioneer in some great reform, hal," he said. 66 your name should go down to posterity, linked with some grand work for the amelioration of human guilt and human suffering.” “if i may but do the work, another may bear the name," was harry manson's sincere answer. “ perhaps i shall come to you for money to help carry out my plans, yet. you know my silver spoon was plated while pure metal.” yours was of 88 the hermit of holcombe. “i hope to have my spoon of gold instead of silver, sometime," warren responded. “do you know, hal, i mean to be a very rich man.” “and a very good one?” was asked in reply. “oh, i mean to do about right," the young man answered. “i don't make any pledges ; but i expect to come out as well as those who do. a man of the world should govern himself according to circumstances. now don't look at me that way, hal,” he added, reproved by his cousin's glance. "you know i mean to be honest and honorable, and all that, if i don't draw the lines quite so straight as you do. i don't think any one has had reason to complain of me, since i left holcombe.” “no, warren; every one commends you, ; and i hope to see you one of the merchant princes of the country. but i do wish you the hermit of holcombe. 89 would draw some lines a little straighter." both understood what lines were intended, yet neither would speak more plainly. 1 chapter iii. the ways diverge; it may be far one sees, beyond the guiding star; yet still it shines, serene and bright, though passing clouds obscure its light; and blest are they who, trusting god, walk firmly in the narrow road. ix years had passed; and in his native city few doubted that warren lewis would reach the goal of his ambition. old men wondered at his prudence, young men at his application. his father was so proud of him, his mother so fond, and his sisters so confident, that where he was concerned they seldom questioned. his father's only regret in regard to him, 90 the hermit of holcombe. 91 was that he remained unmarried, when he ought to have a good wife, and a home of "his own. > > 66 “i don't see through it,” said mr. lewis. “ the boy can't have been refused, any. where, can he?" 6 i've never thought so," was the reply of his mother. “ because you were determined to marry when you were only twentythree years old, you seem to think every young man should follow your example." no, wife, not quite so bad as that,” said her husband, catching the mischievous twinkle in her brown eyes. “i was determined to be married when i was twenty-three, and the only thing about it i'm sorry for, is that i wasn't married sooner. but here's warren, with income enough to support a wife in good style, and not a sign of his being married as i can see, though he is most twenty-seven years old. i wish i knew 92 the hermit of holcombe. what's the matter. i've tried to talk with him about it, but he always dodges the subject." warren lewis had not been refused, in the common acceptation of that term ; but he had been wise enough to see that an incipient passion for his cousin sadie would never be returned, and governed himself accordingly. when rallied upon his bachelorhood, he answered according to his mood, gayly or gravely, as suited him ; while only harry manson suspected the truth. his sisters married, and established in happy homes, had maneuvered, in a quiet way, to lure him into matrimony, but as yet, with no prospect of success. he seemed to think only of buying and selling. he devoted little time to travelling; but an opportunity for a western trip presented itself, which he was glad to improve. some business in one of the lake cities required the hermit of holcombe. 93 attention, and he was chosen to transact it. “ act according to your own judgment in the matter," said mr. jewett, the day before he was to leave. we trust you implicitly, and shall be satisfied with whatever you think best to do. those western men are shrewd and sharp; but they go a little too fast, sometimes. i'll risk you with them, . though. take your own time and enjoy it.” “ yes, sir," answered warren, gratified , with the gentleman's expression of confidence, and anticipating much pleasure in the trip. he wished his cousin, dr. manson, to accompany him, and had urged it, until convinced that no urging would avail. the doctor could not be absent from his patients, for so long a time, without injury to his profession; and moreover, his silver spoon was l only plated, even now. many responsibilities had come to him ; > 94 the hermit of holcombe. > all of which he had borne bravely and cheerfully; but now, sorrowing for the death of his wife, it was hard to be either brave or cheerful. the fact that consumption had marked her, as its victim, before he had ever seen her, made his grief no less poignant. he had loved and cared for her, with the utmost tenderness; his love making more beautiful, a life already beautiful in itself, and giving him a rare, sweet experience he could never forget. he needed change and rest; but he denied himself these, as he often denied himself, when duty and inclination were at variance. seldom now, did he presume to caution or counsel the cousin, whose hand was still outstretched to receive a golden spoon. man of the world," was a phrase often upon the lips of this young merchant; while he prided himself upon the coolness of his calculations, and the certainty of their results. 66 a the hermit of holcombe. 95 as the representative of a wealthy eastern firm, he was welcomed in the west, by business acquaintances, who offered him every civility. he was welcomed to their homes; he inspected their stores, and listened to enthusiastic descriptions of the resources of their country. “ it's a place for a young man to make money,” was the concluding remark of many with whom he conversed; and this did not fail of its intention. long before he had accomplished the purpose of his visit, he began to question seriously if it was not the place for him. he was a partner in the firm of “ jewett, lewis & son ;” but here, in a new country, he could make bolder. ventures, with less competition. he was charmed with everything he saw. there was more room than in the east. the business men were younger, more sanguine, and more daring. nothing occurred to impress him unfavorably; and 9 96 the hermit of holcombe. he returned home, with somewhat extravagant ideas of himself, and the section of country he had visited. in transacting the business, entrusted to him, die had done better for the firm than was expected. mr. jewett, with whom he was a great favorite, complimented him, in unmeasured terms; adding carelessly, “ didn't get the western fever out there, i hope.” “i am afraid i did," was the reply. 61 feel some symptoms of it. i am satisfied that is just the place for me. there is a good opening for our business, in any one of the western cities i visited ; and with my knowledge of it, with the capital we have invested here, i could make twice the profits.” “ perhaps you could, but there would be some risks.” answered mr. jewett. 66 we are doing a good, safe business; and in time, you'll come in for a large share of it. we the hermit of holcombe. 97 can't spare you any way. remember that, and don't let the fever run too high." thus mr. jewett dismissed the matter; 66 and am i saw but his partner found it more difficult. you think you can do better there, than here," said mr. lewis to his son, when the subject was under discussion. 66i sure that i can,” was the reply. “i can do a great deal, with small capital, and in a few years, build up an extensive business. i have thought it all over, and calculated the chances, carefully. young men there, not thirty years old, who have already made large fortunes; and i understand business much better than they did, when they began. i've set my heart upon going there, father.” “so i see,” replied the father, sadly. “i'm sorry for it, and i'm afraid your mother will think it's a bad move. if she does, i wish you'd hear to her. i never did anything 98 the hermit of holcombe. against her advice, without being sorry for it." 66 “ but mother understands nothing about this,” replied warren, smiling. " she will see but one side of the question, and wish me to remain at home.” “ and i wish it, too,” said mr. lewis. “i thought you considered yourself permanently established here." “so i did, father. but my western trip has entirely changed my ideas. i could do a great deal better there, while you and mr. jewett are perfectly able to carry on the business here. we could help each other too, in the way of trade, and so all be benefited. you would see the advantage of the change, for any other young man." “perhaps so," was the reply. “but money isn't the only thing in the world, worth having.” when warren lewis appealed to his 66 the hermit of holcombe. 99 mother, he found that she had considered the question, not only upon one side, but all sides. his presence at home, was very dear to her, yet she was ready at any time, to sacrifice her own preference to his best good. she listened to him patiently, expressing no doubt of his judgment, or ability. “you see, mother, i could get rich there in half the time i can here;” he said at length. “ that is very probable, my son,” she replied. “but there are some things better than riches; and i am, by no means sure that you are the right one to go west. in some respects your principles are not 80 firm as they should be." the young man understood this. his mother was a christian; and he knew that far more than she desired for him any earthly good, did she desire that his life might be approved of god. often had she 905477 100 the hermit of holcombe. told him that religion was the only safeguard against temptation; yet he had perfect confidence in his own powers of resistance. of course he conformed his habits to those of the society in which he moved. bound by no pledges, he acted according to circumstances; and truth to tell, had preserved more of uprightness and honor than is usual for those who adopt his motto. but his mother saw danger. she knew his weak points, and dreaded the temptations to which he might be exposed in a different position. dr. manson, too, shared the mother's anxiety. he knew, even better than she, how a clearheaded, shrewd business man could be transformed into a reckless, over-confident speculator, yet warren lewis might escape the danger which threatened him, amid new surroundings and under new influences. most of his acquaintances would have ridiculed the idea of danger. the hermit of holcombe. 101 certain it was that the experiment would be made, sooner or later, and his moral strength really tested. his father accustomed himself to the thought of living without his son, until he came to think more of the advantages of the proposed plan, than of it's disadvantages. • the distance between us wont be very great, ,," he said to his wife. “ after all, i can't blame the boy. what is called the west now, is going to be the very centre of our country; and there's no doubt but it's the place for a young man to make his mark. warren has made up his mind to go, and i shan't oppose him any longer. i'll do the best i can for him, and then he must do the rest for himself. i wish though, he was going to take a good wife with him. such a girl now as sadie, would be sure to keep him right, just as you have me. and that makes me think, from some thing 102 the hermit of holcombe. her mother said to me, this morning, i expect she is going to be married, before long.” “yes, she is,” answered mrs. lewis. 66 and i think the man who is to be her husband is as nearly worthy of her, as any mortal can be.” a “he's a widower, i hear," said mr. lewis. “ yes; but no worse for that,” was the reply. “i have been waiting to congratulate her." the gentleman, who would have considered it a compliment to be thought nearly worthy of sadie manson, was a friend of her brother's; and one whom harry thoroughly trusted. having learned this, her uncle was ready to offer his congratulations with those of his wife. “ so you are going to leave your father and mother, after all the trouble they've had in bringing you up,” he remarked to sadie, when next they met. “that's the the hermit of holcombe. 103 way; just as soon as children get to be of any use to us, they are off with some stranger or other, who, likely, don't care half so much for them as we do. what do you think of that, miss ? perhaps you haven't thought anything about it, but i have. both of our girls are gone, and warren just ready for a start; so wife and i have got to keep house alone, same as we did at first.” a long speech this ; but everybody knew uncle john was in good humor; he rubbed his hands so briskly, and laughed so heartily, at the close of his speech. “ then warren is really going," said mrs. manson, while sadie attempted no reply to her uncle's address. 6. yes, and pretty soon, too,” was answered. “he received a letter, last week, that settled everything, and i suppose he'll leave us by the first of next month." it was no time, then, to expostulate ; but 104 the hermit of holcombe. 66 harry manson could not allow his cousin to go, without making one more effort to change his views in regard to wine drinking. he was moved to repeat the questions which, with such startling earnestness, had been asked by the hermit of holcombe, -“what are you going to do about it, young man ? what are you going to do? did you ever see the wine sparkle when bright eyes challenged you to drink ?” and then the warnings:“don't drink it. for god's sake, and your soul's sake, don't.” "i have always wished that you had been with me the last time i saw mr. wolcott," said dr. manson, breaking the silence which followed this repetition. “ and i am glad i was not,” replied his companion. “i never had any fancy for listening to the ravings of a madman. i more than satisfied to take them at am second-hand.” the hermit of holcombe. 105 > “but there was method in his madness," responded the doctor, without appearing to observe the implied censure. 66 you know that his intemperate habits were the cause of his ruin. a false woman and wine wrought his destruction." “ and you really believe that, hal ?” “i know it,” was answered, seriously. “ well, perhaps you are right, though i am disposed to question it. it's my opinion the never had a very strong mind. one woman is not all the world, and a glass of wine is not the most dangerous of comforters. you see, wolcott ought to have gone to work with double energy, after he failed. he might have retrieved his fortune, if he was half as smart as his friends pretended. depend upon it, there was something wrong about him to begin with. wine is good in its place; and as most people drink it, the best way is to drink with them, man 106 the hermit of holcombe. and say nothing about it. i suppose it's bad for some weak-headed ones, but they must look out for themselves." “ and you don't believe in trying to save them, warren ? you can't mean that. i have more faith in your good sense and good feeling, than to believe you mean what you say.” “ well, well, hal, i won't quarrel with you, for your good opinion of me, though i can't agree with your quixotic notions. i am willing to admit, however, that you are better than i. do you think there is danger of my being ruined by wine ?” and the question was asked confidently, as though but one reply was possible. of course you expect me to tell the truth,” said harry. 66 of course; and still the same confidence was manifested. “ then i tell you, honestly, that i think there is danger, cousin warren.” و the hermit of holcombe. 107 “hal manson, how dare you say that to me?” exclaimed waren lewis. “ because you asked me what i thought, and i would not wrong you by telling a falsehood. you can afford to hear the truth." “i can't afford to be insulted," was the reply. then, in a different tone, was added, “oh, hal, how could you say that? do you really believe it?" 6 i do,” answered the doctor, sadly. “i know you drink wine.” " but never to excess. i drink with others a matter of civility; and sometimes i feel the need of a little stimulant.' “oh, warren, has it come to that?” 66 come to what? i don't see anything that demands such a look of holy horror. one would think i had confessed myself guilty of murder. i am able to regulate my own habits; and it is nothing strange for one to require stimulants. don't you ever make use of them in your practice ?” as 108 the hermit of holcombe. “i never prescribe them for people in good health,” was the reply. 6. you need stimulants no more than i do." “well, old fellow, don't look at me in that way," said warren lewis. "i don't want to quarrel with you, just as i am going away. if we can't think alike about every. thing, we can at least agree to think differently. that old hermit's ravings must have turned your brain a little, on the subject of wine drinking. i believe in what some call an elegant use of wine ; but i abhor drunkenness with my whole soul. why, doctor, there is hardly a business man in the city, would adopt your extreme whims. father is very temperate, but then, it is to please mother." dr. manson walked across his office floor, looked from the window a moment, and then reseated himself with the air of one who had made an important decision. > the hermit of holcombe. 109 66 you have spoken truly of your father," he said. 66 your mother's influence saved him from threatened ruin. i have heard aunt ellen and my mother say, that but for his wife their brother would have been a drunkard. i would not have spoken of this, under other circumstances. i would give the best years of my future life to be assured that you would forswear wine drinkink.” > 66 “ i will forswear it, whenever i am injured by it,” was the reply. “at present i am in no danger;" and there was a coldness in this speech, which grated harshly on the listener's ears. • it is time for me to go, good-bye, doctor.” “good-bye, cousin warren.” their hands met. “ you're a good fellow, hal," warren lewis felt constrained i wish i was as good as you are ; but we must each of us go his own way. to say 110 the hermit of holcombe. if i needed a friend, i'd trust you against the world. thank you, too, for all you've done for me; and do try to think of me, at my best, even if we don't agree about everything.” “i shall always think of you, at your best, warren, and if i can ever be of service to you, you have but to command me. goodbye.” one went out, strong in health and ambitious projects, confident of his ability to win a princely fortune. the other, looking forward anxiously, feared that manliness might be wrecked, ere the fortune was won. warren lewis stopped for a night at holcombe, on his way west; and there expressed his hopes and wishes without reserve. still the same. money, position and influence, were talismanic words for him. “ go west with me, and i will make a merchant of you,” he said to his cousin ellis. the hermit of holcombe. 111 2 " but i don't wish to be made into a merchant,” answered ellis, laughing. 66 thank you, all the same, but i have no vocation for making money. i prefer a laboratory to a counting room, and retorts and crucibles to bills and ledgers.” “ then you are really to be a chemist.” “yes, a chemist, a naturalist, and perhaps a star-gazer. you see i have a variety of tastes; and father allows me to indulge them all, if i don't confine myself too much in doors. next winter i am going to spend a few weeks at uncle manson's, and then cousin harry is to introduce me to some gentlemen who will teach me more than i can learn here." well, everybody to their own work,” responded the young merchant. “there's hal, doing his work so cheerfully, that i must admire him, while i wonder that he can tolerate such a life.” > 112 the hermit of holcombe. “i think everybody must admire cousin harry,” ellis replied. 66 it seems to me he is nearly perfect. so good and loving; and yet so brave and strong. i was so sorry that he must lose his wife, when if anybody deserved a happy life, he does.” “ yes; but he knew his wife would live only a short time, when he married ; so her death was not unexpected. not many men would have married as he did. didn't you think it strange, aunt ellen?” added warren, turning to mrs. farley. "not after seeing amy, and knowing as i did, that she as good as she was beautiful. it was like harry to love her, and had it been possible for human skill to save her, she would have glorified his life. harry takes high rank as a physician, already. we owe him a great deal for what he has done for ellis." 2 was > “and there is johnny carr, the most the hermit of holcombe. 113 grateful fellow you ever saw in your life, and bidding fair to make a very smart man. my gentleman, as he calls harry, gets most of the credit for this. johnny has been in our store for more than a year, and i mean to have him west with me, sometime. he is to be depended upon." johnny carr had heard of this plan for himself; and with the eagerness, natural to his age and temperament, accepted it as sure to be realized, if his mother could be persuaded to go with him. he would never leave her while she lived. his highest ambition was to provide for her, so that she could dress handsomely, and fold her hands in elegant idleness. he had whiled away many a weary hour, in picturing to himself the home he would make for the dear, good mother, who had worked so hard for him. she, poor woman, felt herself amply repaid for all her labor, when she saw her son > 114 the hermit of holcombe. among his fellows, so slightly lame, that it was hardly observed, and knowing as she did, that he was worthy of confidence and respect. he had earned money in different ways, before entering the store of mr. lewis ; but there he received regular wages, and thought himself on the highway to fortune. warren was missed at the old stand ; yet gradually, matters adjusted themselves to the new order of things, and business went on as before. at the same time, a young merchant made his bow to a western community, and solicited a share of their patronage. his store was well located and judiciously stocked; while the gentlemanly proprietor was always visible to customers. he understood his business, and was not above giving it his attention. of course he would succeed, as everybody said. people were not long in concluding, also that he would be popular in society. 2 > the hermit of holcombe. 115 there was just enough of reserve in his manner, under some circumstances, to inspire faith in his prudence. mr. lewis visited his son at the end of six months, and was half inclined to become a western merchant himself. “now, father, don't you believe what i told you ?” was the question often asked him. “i believe you did well to come here,” was the reply, upon one occasion. just the place for you; and if i was ten years younger, i'd come here myself. people move pretty fast, though ; and i can't help thinking some of them live too fast. your mother wouldn't approve of some things i've 66 it's seen.' “ probably not,” responded warren, with a blush, conscious that his father was observing him closely. “but with the romans, one must do as the romans. mother's code of morals is very strict." 116 the hermit of holcombe. i wish you “none too strict, my son. had such a wife as she has been to me.” “i wish," commenced the young man, “but no matter. there is something of more importance i wish to talk about, with you.” buying, selling, and the chances of a rise in the market were the most important subjects of which they talked ; and when the visit had ended, mr. lewis felt confident of his son's future. they had disgreed upon only one point. the father wished to retain the services of johnny carr; while the son wished to secure them for himself, offering to pay twice the wages the young clerk now received. “i don't think his mother will be willing he should come," said mr. lewis, senior. “ she could hardly live without him, and it is too much to expect her to come here. i wish for your sake, however, that you had the hermit of holcombe. 117 him, in place of that pale faced clerk of yours. i don't like the looks of that face. if the owner don't drink too much wine, and smoke too many cigars, i'm mistaken in my judgment of him." “i am afraid you are right, father, and i have cautioned him once. but it don't seem to be my business, as long as he never gives me any cause for complaint, here in the store. he is a good salesman, and strictly honest, so far as i can see. i don't want johnny in his place; but i am getting to need another clerk, and can afford to pay one good wages. i must write to him about it, and if he comes, that will make room in your store for paul manson.” the letter was written, within a few weeks; but before it reached its destination, there was no mother to be consulted. she had died suddenly, and johnny, left alone, desired to go to warren lewis. of course dr. man118 the hermit of holcombe. son read the letter, and considered the expediency of acceding to its request. his protege was really a remarkable boy. the discipline of suffering and patient waiting had developed traits of character, rarely seen in one so young. he had the implicit faith in god's wisdom and justice which most people learn to exercise only after long lives of change and trial. it was this faith which gave to him such earnestness of purpose ; and which moved him to do, with his might, whatever his hands found to do. this faith, too, enabled him to bear the loss of his mother, with christian resignation. dr. manson thought of all this ; giving him full credit for the sincere piety which manifested itself in the faithful discharge of every day's duties. but was he so armed against temptation, that he would not fall into its insidious snares? would he resolutely close eyes and ears to the fascinations, which lure the hermit of holcombe. 119 o you > 80 many to destruction ? was it safe to test his strength, where weakness would prove his utter ruin ? the doctor forgot that any one waited for him to speak, until reminded by a slight movement of his companion. “i was thinking," he then said. would like to go west.” “ yes, sir. but i promised mother i would do as you think best; and if you say i ought i not to go, i will stay where i am.” “ contentedly?” “yes, sir," was said, after some hesitation. “ young mr. lewis wants me, and i should like to work for him ; but i can stay here." 2 66 and do you think it will be as easy for you to do right there as here?” “i hope so, sir. at any rate, i must do right, whether it is hard or easy. i promised mother" but here tears choked his voice. "oh, dr. manson, i can never forget what 120 the hermit of holcombe. 66 she was a she told me, and what i promised her the day before she died," he continued. said i might tell you. my father drunkard,” he half whispered. “it was that made mother so poor, and me so —” he did not complete the sentence. his friend had suspected the truth; and knowing that children are often cursed by the sins of their parents, did not need that more be said. “i promised her i would never, never, never taste a drop of liquor, so long as i live. she made me repeat never three times, and call god to witness my promise. i never have tasted a drop of liquor, and now i never shall." “but if you were in a large company, where everybody else drank wine, and you were urged to drink too, what then?” " i should keep my promise, of course. do you think i wouldn't?" “no, john. i believe you would keep the hermit of holcombe. 121 your promise. but most people would ridicule you for such abstinence. warren lewis drinks wine, without scruple.” “ but he isn't a drunkard.”. “no; he is a temperate drinker. i presume he would be considered a very temperate drinker. most of the young men, with whom you will come in contact, will probably urge you to drink with them." “ but i shan't drink if they do urge me,” said john, decidedly. “i shan't mind what they say, either." long, dr. manson and his companion talked; the latter revealing, with every word, some warning given by his mother. in her last hours, mrs. carr had spoken freely of many things, in regard to which john had often wondered. her history was like that of many a woman, who, bound to one, every way unworthy of her, is dragged down from one degree of wretchedness to 122 the hermit of holcombe. > another, until death releases her from slavery only love for her child made existence tolerable. for him she worked when she would not have worked for herself: her heart growing harder, with each succeeding year, until she made the acquaintance of mrs. manson. since then, everything had changed. religion had beautified her life, making her home the very gate of heaven, through which she passed to that upper home, where comes neither sorrow nor sighing. it seemed to dr. manson, as he listened to a recital of her last counsels to her son, that she had left nothing for another to say ; and although he ventured some suggestions, which were kindly received, he felt them to be unnecessary. then they came back to the question to be decided. should john, as his companions were learning to call him, go west ? objections lost their significance, when considered in connection with the the hermit of holcombe. 123 > pledges he had given, and the principles he had adopted. “ you may be able to serve my cousin in other ways than as a clerk," said the doctor. i know you will have his best good always at heart." “yes, sir, i will,” was the reply. “i will pray that he may become a christian. next to you, i owe more to him than to any one else, except my mother. he has been very kind to me." a call for the doctor's professional services interrupted this conversation, and in the days which intervened, before john carr left for the west, there was opportunity for little more than an exchange of good-byes. warren lewis welcomed the young man, explained his duties, and assured him that he would soon feel quite at home. " a little strange at first,” said the merchant. 6 you'll miss mr. jewett, and father ; > 124 the hermit of holcombe. but we get more elbow room here, and live faster than they. do.” john was quick to learn his duties, and ready to perform them ; but there was some difficulty in regard to his boarding-place. he was not satisfied with the one which had been provided. indeed, after a short . trial, he refused to be associated in any way, with those into whose society he was thrown. he could not tolerate the roystering manners and questionable conversation of young men, who thought themselves his superior, because they knew more of vice and dissipation. his employer had not thought of this want of sympathy, although he reproached himself for thoughtlessness at the first mention of john's dissatisfaction. “of course you shall change,” he said. “i wish you to be contented and happy, and if you can't be so, in one place, you must in another. but really, i don't know how to select for > the hermit of holcombe. 125 name. you. suppose you try for yourself. in a few weeks you will learn enough of the people and places, about you, to make a proper selection. don't get homesick, jolinny,” he added, addressing him by the old “i know you must be lonely.” poor john was almost ready to wish himself back in the old place. he was so lonely; a stranger in a strange city. he had left a pleasant circle of acquaintances; while here, he was only “ mr. lewis' clerk.” “ a real parson,” said one of his fellow boarders, who might profitably have copied his example. “ he'll get over that,” said another, laughing scornfully. “don't you believe it,” was the reply. any fellow that can read his bible and pray before folks, as he does, without blushing, don't get over it so easy. i tell you he's a real puritan, dyed in the wool. but he's 66 126 the hermit of holcombe. smart though. jefts says he is posted in business. got eyes in the back side of his head, too; and it's my opinion he'll use them to good advantage." jefts don't like him ; does he ?” “yes and no, both. he can't find any fault with him, any more than we can; but the whole story is, he aint one of our kind. mr. lewis would trust him against anybody." “ well, never mind that. we've talked enough about carr for once. he's well enough in his place, and that's an old fashioned prayer meeting ;” and this last remark, which was thought to be very witty, called forth a shout of laughter. had john carr heard it, he would have said, with a pleasant smile, “you are right in regard to the prayer meeting. it is just the place for me.” while his character was thus discussed, he was in his place; at home, with christians. joining with them in prayer the hermit of holcombe. 127 and praise, he felt himself no longer alone. kind faces beamed upon him; and stranger though he was, a bond of fellowship was acknowledged. for a few days he boarded in the house with mr. lewis, where, being the youngest of the family, he was treated with great consideration. after this, having become acquainted with a young man, of like tastes as his own, who lived with his mother in a pleasant part of the city, he preferred a home with them; and arrangements being made satisfactory to all, he took possession of a room, which had been fitted up expressly for him. “ contented now?” asked his employer, soon after this change had been affected. “ · yes, sir, i am,” was the reply. “mrs. barton seems almost like my own mother, and i feel perfectly at home.” “i am glad to lear that,” responded mr. ܪ ܐ 128 the hermit of holcombe. lewis, heartily. “i ought to have remembered that you are different from most others of your age.” “how am i different, sir?" asked john. “ i hope i am not less willing to work and do my duty." " you are more willing to do your duty, and just there is the difference,” was answered. “i congratulate myself upon having one clerk i can trust, without reserve. i know you miss your old friends, but i intend to do well by you, and you will soon make other friends. i suppose you hear from paul manson." “ yes, sir ; and he likes his place in the store very much. he can be trusted anywhere." 6 i know he can. all of aunt manson's children are models of truth and sincerity. the doctor was always a wonder in that way.” the hermit of holcombe. 129 “ he is so good,” was the reply. “i remember just how he looked, the first time i ever saw him. my gentleman seemed to me an angel then. paul says he has so much business, he hardly gets time to eat or sleep; and his mother thinks he ought to go away and rest. i wish he would come out here." • we must invite him to come, when we can make a better display of goods and profits,” said warren lewis. “by the way, did you see jefts, last evening?" “ no, sir; i never saw him in the evening,” replied john. “i thought he didn't look quite right this morning, when he came in. did you observe it?" continued the merchant. “ yes, sir; and i heard him say he had a severe headache.” “i presume he had. i wish you conld manage to talk with him about some of his habits. he is very active, and i should be > 130 the hermit of holcombe. sorry to part with him ; but i am afraid he is injuring himself.” mr. lewis knew what he professed to fear ; yet he would not speak more explicitly. albert jefts was never absent from the store, during business hours, and never remiss in his duties. if dissipated, as no one could doubt who saw him, he, as yet, held himself in check, with a firm hand. having few sympathies in common with him, the new clerk had been satisfied to meet him on strictly business terms. when alone, john carr thought of what had been said, wondering if it were possible for him to influence this young man to live differently. in less than a week, albert jefts came into the store a full hour later than usual. his face was flushed, and his eyes were bloodshotten. when walking, he sometimes reached out his hand, as if for support. often he the hermit of holcombe. 131 raised his hand to his forehead, as though brushing from it something which troubled him. he paused abruptly in what he was doing, his mind seeming to be pre-occupied. as the day wore on, he appeared less able to control himself; but business crowded, and mr. lewis had no time to look after his clerks. about one hour before the store was to be closed, a customer came in to say that the goods he had just received were not such as he had bargained for. “ they come short both in quantity and quality.” the complaint was made to mr. lewis. 6. the mistake shall be rectified,” he said, blandly. “you shall have no cause for dissatisfaction. it is the first complaint of the kind, i have heard ; and i will make sure of its being the last.” so far as the customer was concerned, this difficulty was easily settled ; but the clerk who 132 the hermit of holcombe. had caused it would be held to strict account. no questions, however, were asked, until the next morning, when jefts was summoned to the private office of his employer. "i made the mistake yesterday,” said the young man, hurriedly. “my head was wrong, . and i ought to have been in bed, instead of being here. i am very sorry for what happened, and hope you will pardon me. i believe it is my first offence.” yes, it is," answered the merchant, surprised at this abrupt confession, made before a charge had been preferred. “i am quite ready to pardon you; but if you were unable to attend to your duties, you should have given yourself a day's rest. i am afraid, jefts, that you are living too fast. i wish you would do differently." “ yes, sir; i must do differently. are you satisfied with me here ? " “certainly. yet i should be sorry to have i 66 the hermit of holcombe. 133 another mistake like that of yesterday. i think we understand each other." “yes, sir;” and jefts bowed himself from the room. in his confusion, be stumbled upon john carr, who apologized for being in the way. “i was in the way myself,” he replied. “i believe i am in everybody's way; and in my own, most of all." this last was said so bitterly, that john caught the hand of the speaker, and held it fast, saying, “can't i help you? i wish i could. i have needed so much help myself, that i am always wishing to help others." “ but what if i don't need help?” asked jefts, in a tone the coldness of which belied the expression of his face. “ you are different from other people, if you never need help,” was the reply. “i am different ;” and the laugh which i supplemented this was as full of bitterness and mockery as that of any sin-hardened wretch 134 the hermit of holcombe. , > no more could be said at that time ; but at night, john carr walked down the street with albert jefts, although aware that his company was not desired. twice they encountered a flashily-dressed, sinister-looking man, who bowed with easy confidence at each meeting. who is he?” asked john. “ would you like to make his acquaintance ?” was asked, in reply. “he is an , admirer of young men, if they have plenty of money. pardon me," added the speaker, . changing his tone, “ i am out of sorts, this evening. that man is a scoundrel ;” and he " glanced around furtively, as though fearing to be overheard. “ he looks like it,” said john. “i have no wish to make his acquaintance. i only thought it strange that such a man should bow to you.” “ you'd think some other things stranger still. but, carr, what are you going this way the hermit of holcombe. 135 for? you'll have a long walk, before you get ? to your boarding-place; and i don't think my company is so agreeable that you can care for it.” > 6. i don't think you are well to-night,” was the evasive reply. “i am able to take care of myself, at any rate; and you might as well let me go,” answered jefts. " i've no doubt you mean well; but you can't help me." “i can pray for you.” 6 carr, do you pray t?” “ yes ;” and the earnest face grew still more earnest. and do pray. else, how could i live ? " the two young men were standing at the corner of a retired street, during the last of this conversation, and john carr was about bidding his companion good-night, when he saw the man who had been called a scoundrel, coming toward them. “there he is. 66 661 can, again.” 136 the hermit of holcombe. “ yes; the villain! i wish to heaven i could be rid of him. he will drive me to desperation. come to my room if you've nothing better to do. he is waiting to see me alone.” another bow, with a smile which " was meant to be insinuating, and the scoundrel passed them. " i believe he is the devil in disguise, and a thin disguise, too,” said jefts, in a low tone. they walked on in silence, until their destination was reached. jefts unlocked the door of his room, the air of which was foul with the fumes of tobacco and liquor. “horrid, isn't it ?” he exclaimed, throwing open the windows, and clearing a chair, which he offered to his guest. “i had forgotten things . were so bad, or i wouldn't have asked you to come here. i don't suppose you'll wonder at my headaches, after this.” "i wonder that you can live,” was the frank reply. “how can you ?” the hermit of holcombe. 13" “oh, i've got used to it. we all have to.” this was said with affected carelessness; but the speaker was in no mood for trifling, as his next remark proved. " now, carr, we are alone, and the door is locked. i believe my head is tolerably clear, too; and if you have no objections to talking, i should like to know what made you come my way to-night, instead of going to your boarding-place." so much depended upon the reply to this, that time was taken for consideration. “do you wish me to tell you the truth?” at length asked john carr. • yes," and there was such intensity of expression in this single affirmative, that it needed no repetition. " because i thought you were unhappy, and i longed to do something to help you. i didn't like to intrude myself upon you, but there was no other way; you wouldn't 138 the hermit of holcombe. > i am ask me to walk with you. i couldn't sleep last night, for thinking of you; so i prayed that your heart might be inclined to me." “ have you a father and mother, carr?” “no, i am an orphan. my mother died about four months ago." “ have you any sister ?” “ no; neither brother nor sister. alone in the world. mr. lewis was very kind to me, when i was a poor, lame boy ; and that is why i came here to work for him. everybody has been kind to me.” “ and you have been kind to yourself,” said albert jefts. “i am an orphan; but i have a little sister who loves me better than all the world beside. if it hadn't been for her, you wouldn't have seen me in the store to-day. look there,” and he pointed to a vial marked " laudanum." " i intended to drink that last night, but the thought of daisy prevented me." > al olis . mussez dssc “ why, you would not kill yourself!” page 139. the new york public library astor, lenox tilden fondations the hermit of holcombe. 139 “why! you wouldn't kill yourself!” cried john, in a tone of horror. “i wished to kill myself,” was the cool reply. “it would have been the best thing for me; but little daisy would miss her darling brother, and bad as i am, i couldn't leave her. i do need a friend,” was added after a short pause. " but i don't see how you could help me, even if i should tell you all.” for the next quarter of an hour, only sobs were heard in that room. not a word was spoken until john carr said solemnly, “let us pray.” kneeling, he urged that all sins might be forgiven, and all sorrowing hearts comforted. he prayed, too, most earnestly for the friend whose path was beset with dangers. “do trust me," he said to this friend, when he rose from his knees. “i will," was the welcome response. “ god has sent you to me.” 140 the hermit of holcombe. hour after hour went by; and still the two remained in close consultation. no one was admitted, although there were several calls for mr. jefts. at first he talked, while his companion only listened. he told his story; the story of thousands of the young men of our country, differing perhaps in its details, yet the same in substance. wine drinking and card playing had been his ruin. moderate drinking created an appetite which demanded gratification. small sums of money were staked to give zest to the game of cards. the fact that he had an income, independent of his salary, made him a desirable companion for such as waste their time in riotous living. lower and lower he had fallen, until in an evil hour, maddened with liquor, and a sense of his own degradation, he staked his entire property. a professional gambler, with the manners of a gentleman, won the game, the hermit of holcombe. 141 yet with rare generosity, allowed him one more opportunity to retrieve his fortune. again he lost, to find himself in the power of one, merciless as the grave, and more cruel than death. never, in all his downward career, had he wronged his employers. his keen sense of honor, which dissipation had not destroyed, prevented this. but now he must have money, and trusting to his previous honesty to screen him from suspicion of intentional wrong, he had delivered the goods of which complaint was made. if the goods were accepted, as according to contract, he intended, in some way, to secure the profits of the transaction. but this scheme failed, in the outset, and as he told john, he was thankful that it did, let come what might; adding, “i have no doubt that i should have betrayed myself before i was through with it. “ now, i have told you all, and you can't 142 the hermit of holcombe. help me. that scoundrel has me fast, soul and body; and there is no way of escape. you can't help me, carr. i know you would, if you could. could. i don't think i'd have told any one else.” how john carr longed for the presence and aid of dr. manson. then he thought of his employer, and said, “go to mr. lewis, and tell him all about it. he can help you.” “ and so lose my place. indeed, i can't do that. you don't suppose he'd ever trust me again.” “i think he would,” replied john. “i am sure he would,” was added, directly.“ let me tell him.” "i can't, i can't !” exclaimed albert jefts. “don't ask me to do that. carr, i , charge you, as you hope for heaven, never taste of wine. it has rnined me. oh, daisy, darling, if it were not for you, i would end my wretched life this very night.” 66 the hermit of holcombe. 143 > “and are you prepared to die ?” asked his companion, with streaming eyes. “prepared to die! prepared to die!” re peated the wretched man. " for god's sake, don't ask me such a question. i am prepared for nothing. tell me what to do.” o promise me never to touch wine or cards again, while you live, and ask god to help you keep the promise.” “ bless you for saying that, carr. i'll make the promise, and do my best to keep it. but you don't know what i have to fight against,” he added, after a short “ it's of no use ; i should only perjure myself, and i've enough to answer for already. i can't give up drinking. let me go my own way, carr. it won't be long, and there isn't enough good left of me to be worth saving.” but john was not thus to be dismissed. having found the way to the heart of his companion, he continued to plead, until the de short pause. 144 the hermit of holcombe. sired promise and permission were given. prayer consecrated new resolutions, and hope once more illumined a pathway, beset with danger. chapter iv. the ways diverge; one path is wido, with flashing lights on every side, whose fitîul gleams but half reveal the dangers darkness would conceal; yet still moves on the careless throng, with laugh and jest and mirthful song. nly the servants were astir in the house, when a rap on the door of his room roused warren lewis from his morning slumbers. 66 what is wanted ?” he asked. “i wish to see you,” was the reply. “ oh! johnny, is it? i will see you in a minute ;” and wondering much what could have brought him at so early an hour, mr. lewis admitted the visitor. “ any trouble, johnny ?” 145 146 the hermit of holcombe. 66 7 “yes, sir; i came to talk with you about , i mr. jefts. he is in trouble, and thinks there is nobody to help him; but i told him you could,” was the straightforward reply. “i know you would be kind, as you always are. you won't send him off, will you ? ” “not unless he has done something for which i ought to dismiss him.” “ but if he has done wrong, and is sorry for it, you won't send him off. you know we all do wrong, sometimes, mr. lewis.” “ yes, johnny, i know it, and i'll remember it. but i don't know what jefts has done yet. did he send you to me ?” no, sir, i begged him to let me come. i i have been with him ever since we left the store, last night.” “ hav'n't you been to your boarding place ? ' “no, sir, i couldn't leave jefts, and i didn't care for anything to eat." " and havn't you eaten anything since you left the store ?” > the hermit of holcombe. 147 "no, sir, but no matter about that. i want you to treat jefts just as you would treat me, if i was in his place. he has no father or mother; only a little sister, who would be so grieved, if he was disgraced. you will help him, wont you ? ” “ i will do all in my power to help him," said mr. lewis, seriously. “now, tell me , what help he needs.” john commenced speaking; but was soon interrupted. "i wish you would send jefts to me. tell him to come, and we can have everything settled before night. that rascally gambler shall give up every claim he has upon him. and johnny, you go home and get some breakfast. mrs. barton will be anxious about you." albert jefts was in an agony of suspense, during the absence of his friend. one moment he hoped, the next he despaired. now ruin stared him in the face, then, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, he looked for. 148 the hermit of holcombe. > ward to a happy, honorable life. everything depended upon an interview he regretted, so soon as he was left alone. but the first glance at john's face reassured him, and preparing to answer the summons of mr. lewis, he said, “i am going to tell the whole truth and accept my fate. nothing can be worse than what i have suffered the last week. if i am not in the store to day, come here this evening.” yes, but i am sure you will be in the store," was the cheerful reply. “i am going with you to see that you find the way." he went to the door of mr. lewis' room, waited to see that the young man was cordially received, and then hurried to his boarding place. albert jefts made a full confession of his misdeeds ; keeping back nothing, palliating nothing. “i don't suppose you'll want me in the store any longer,” he said, with great > the hermit of holcombe. 149 66 effort, after waiting in vain for some response to his communication. “i wouldn't have you leave, upon any account," answered mr. lewis. “excuse me. . i was considering how to deal with romney. we must find a way to get back your notes, and save your property.” “and are you going to forgive my dishonesty ?” certainly. you were sorely tempted, and we are none of us perfect. never mention it to me again. i shall trust you in the future, as i have in the past. come into the store, this morning, as usual ; that is, if you are able to come. you are not looking well. take a glass of wine. it will do you good.” no, sir. i have promised never to taste of wine again. it has been the curse of my life.” mr. lewis stayed his hand at this, saying, 150 the hermit of holcombe. 66 " then you do well to abstain from it. it has never injured me. when it does, i shall follow your example. did you fast last night?” “ yes, sir, but i never thought of it. i was too wretched to care for eating. i don't care for breakfast, either.” but you must eat, nevertheless. when did you see romney ?” “ last evening. he passed me on the street three times, and came to my room afterwards; but i wouldn't admit him. he wishes to leave town, and is anxious for a settlement." " tell me where to find him, and i will settle with him, if you will give me authority.” the merchant's sympathy was strongly enlisted for his clerk, at the same time that his sense of justice was outraged by the conduct of romney, the gambler. asking the hermit of holcombe. 151 neither pledge nor promise, he counseled moderation and temperance. his companion would go further. abstinence and temperance should be synonomous terms. moderation should be constant self-denial. “i'll not dispute the point with you,” said mr. lewis. “ if you err, it is on the safe side; and every man must judge for himself. if total abstinence is necessary for you, you will do well to abide by it." “ it is necessary for me; and begging your pardon, mr. lewis, i think it is necessary for most people,” was the reply. as may be imagined, albert jefts cared no more for eating than he did the previous evening. yet he made his appearance at the breakfast table, and thus avoided disagreeable questions. he restored his room to something like order, congratulating himself that his supply of liquor and cigars was exhausted. on his way to the store he 2 152 the hermit of holcombe. countermanded an order given the previous day; and then felt that he was fairly committed to an entire change of habits. in his sorrow and remorse he had hardly thought of what this change might cost him. the battle with his appetite, the ridicule of old companions, the lassitude which would be sure to oppress him; all these he had forgotten. morning, noon, and night, there would be the restless craving for an accustomed stimulant. how long the torment might endure, he knew not. days, weeks, and months might go by, and he never at rest. it did not occur to him, however, that he could perjure himself; that he could, at any moment, turn back to the old way. his pledges had been made too solemnly for this. there was only one path for him, if so be, god should spare his life. in his walk, he encountered john carr, who said, cheerfully, “you are early, this morning.” the hermit of holcombe. 153 “ yes. there is a great deal to be done at the store to-day, and i told mr. lewis i would do the work of two. he is to be away part of the forenoon." “ and everything is all right, jefts ?” " all right," was the response. 66 sometime, i will tell you more.” before night, there was more to tell. mr. romney had been visited, and induced to relinquish his claims against albert jefts. at first, he refused to do this; but finding himself confronted with the law, he made a virtue of necessity, and at parting bowed politely, expressing the hope that his friend, mr. jefts, would be satisfied with the arrangement. alone, he ground his teeth in impotent rage, vowing vengeance upon those who had thus outwitted him. “ you must be on your guard,” remarked mr. lewis to his clerk, after reporting his “romney is an unscrupulous vil success. 154 the hermit of holcombe. lain. he'll have his eye on you, and if you fall into his clutches again, he'll not allow you to escape." “i shouldn't deserve to escape," answered jefts, in a husky voice. 66 how can i ever repay you for saving me from him this once ? i could go down on my knees to thank you.” “no! no!” exclaimed mr. lewis, his own voice faltering, as he prevented his companion from falling at his feet. “give me your hand, and let us be friends for life." did warren lewis think of danger, that evening, when, after draining one glass of rich, red wine, he denied himself the second, which his appetite craved ? did the possibility that this appetite might, one day, become his master, suggest itself? if so, he banished the thought, as unworthy of one who held his destiny in his own hand. he knew how his cousin, dr. manson, would regard him ; but this cousin was over-scrupulous. the hermit of holcombe. 155 yet not more so than john carr, who, having commenced a good work with his fellow clerk, resolved to persevere. temptation which could not be avoided, must be met and resisted; but it is no part of wisdom to court temptation. at the instance of his newly-found friend, albert jefts decided to withdraw himself from the influences which had surrounded him, and mrs. barton consented to receive him into her family. no secret was made of the reasons which induced him to make this change; and sneer as they might, not one of his acquaintances but honored him for abandoning a career which tended to ruin. “ let him go,” said one, with a mocking laugh. “there are enough of us left. he always fetched up in the middle of a jollification, declaring he had gone far enough. for my part, i think we are well rid of him. spent most of his money, if i'm any judge. romney got a good share of it." > 156 the hermit of holcombe. left us. success. “i'm sorry if he did,” said another, with an oath. “jefts is too good a fellow to be fleeced by that scoundrel. he was the best of us all; but i can't say i'm sorry he's there are enough of us to go to the devil, without him. let us drink to his may he never taste wine, while grapes grow and water runs." a strange sentiment was this, for such a company; but the more incongruous, the more jolly; and nothing could have been received with greater favor. yet scarcely had the empty glasses rung upon the table, when one ventured to prophecy that jefts would be with them at their next meeting. “don't you believe it ?” was the exclamation, in reply. “he ain't made of that kind of stuff. i've seen him. but what need of telling? you'll find out what he'll do. there ain't one of us can begin to match him, where will is concerned. he'd the hermit of holcombe. 157 die before he'd drink again; and i wish i had the pluck to follow his example.” this last remark was greeted with strong expressions of dissatisfaction. a second desertion from their ranks could not be borne ; and loud were their songs in honor of the jolly god at whose shrine they worshipped. “ a short life, and a merry one,” they shouted, little dreaming of the woe pronounced upon those who tarry long at the wine ; and seeing not the hand-writing on the wall, which doomed one of their number to an early and sudden death. scarce two weeks from this time, he whose laugh rang loudest, and whose glass was oftenest drained, in a fit of intoxication, missed his footing, and falling a great distance, was crushed out of the very semblance of humanity. “a sad providence," this death was called ? but it was a providence for which the victim himself was account 1.58 the hermit of holcombe. able. such suicides are frequent in our land: how frequent, will be known only when all secrets are revealed. oh, who will sound the note of warning, which echoing from headland to mountain peak, sweeping from the bleak fields of the north to the fair savannas of the south, shall rouse us, as a people, to a sense of our danger! often was harry manson moved to such a cry as this. often did his heart stand still, for very horror, at the crime and misery wrought by the demon of intemperance. in high life and low life, in stately mansion and crumbling hovel, were traces of its presence. still, men talked of moderation, selfcontrol, and manly freedom, as opposed to abstinence and conscientious regard for the good of community. as a physician, dr. manson saw the skeleton in many houses; sometimes concealed by > > the hermit of holcombe. 159 > heavy folds of damask, and silken drapery: and sometimes, alas, hidden only by such flimsy screen as woman in her poverty and degradation might interpose. wherever he went, he was the champion of temperance; using authority, where this was fitting, and persuasion when he had no other resource. in his home, his father's house, he was as ever its pride and joy, although each day renowed his sense of personal bereavement. his brothers, emulating his virtues, gave promise of usefulness in their chosen vocations. uncle john lewis said paul was a perfect treasure,” and sure to be a successful merchant. george, too, was winning his first laurels. and the sisters. harry said they were the dearest in the world; and he, surely, had some opportunity to know whereof he affirmed. to mrs. lewis, they were as daughters, seldom a day passing when her lonely house 160 the hermit of holcombe. was not gladdened by their presence. «1 believe i shall adopt you,” she said, during one of their visits. “ but, auntie, then there will be no girls at home. what would father and mother and brother harry do without us?” “i don't know," was the reply. “i was thinking only of myself. i wish warren had been contented to stay with his father;” and this wish, so often expressed, was supplemented with a sigh. she could not sympathize with her husband's ambition that their son should amass a princely fortune. she cared little for this, if he might be but good and true ; and know; ing his habits, it was not strange that she wished him near her. “ but he writes you so often," suggested nellie. “ and such nice, long letters,” added mary. “ then john always speaks of him, in his > the hermit of holcombe. 161 letters to paul. you know he can make money so much faster there, than he can here. why, auntie, i think it is almost the best thing in the world to have just as much money as you want to do good with. cousin warren can help all the poor people, when he gets rich." yes, child," answered mrs. lewis, cheerfully. “but rich men are not always generous.” “i know it, auntie ; but we expect cousin warren will be generous. john says he is just as kind as he can be." “and john knows of course. you don't suppose that boy could be mistaken, do you ?” “not in this case," replied mary with a blush. “ i should trust his judgment.” . “yes, dear, and i hope it will never fail himself, or you." john carr had a strong incentive to make the most of his opportunities. there was 162 the hermit of holcombe. no engagement of marriage between mary manson and himself; but each had looked into the other's heart, and seen the idol, there enshrined. the doctor, too, had a shrewd suspicion of there mutual love; and smiled approval, although he had not been consulted. the fact that john's mother had been a a poor woman, and himself, at one time, the recipient of charity, was counted no disgrace by those who knew his true nobility of character. in his present position, he might . have ignored the past; but whenever poor child needed encouragement, he was ready to tell of his own privations and struggles. albert jefts heard his story; wondered at his indomitable energy, and admired his firm principle. “i have wasted so many years !” said this young man, with a sigh. “ and yet they never leave me. i could almost welcome the hermit of holcombe. 163 do you death to rid me of them,” he added, in a lower tone. “you have no ghosts to haunt you carr. thank god for that. i never thought to come to this. i remember how my father talked to me, before he died; urging me to be a christian, and do my whole duty in the world. mother, too, dear mother,how she loved and trusted me. know, carr, i never tried to deceive her but once in my life. i am thankful for that. i was so wretched, then, i thought i should never be happy again.” it was in one of the dark hours that these thoughts claimed utterance; but presently, light shined through the darkness. mr. jefts did not need to be reminded of his pledge, or urged to its fulfillment. after a few days of intimacy, his friend never doubted his integrity of purpose or strength of will; but there was often need to rouse him to a more cheerful view of life. 164 the hermit of holcombe. in the store, his services were invaluable, and gradually the look of dissipation faded from his face. his old companions, despairing of his return to former habits, avoided him. mr. lewis took occasion to express gratification at the change in his appearance, and the young man, having at heart the best interests of his employer, replied, “i have gained much, since i abandoned my cups. nothing could induce me to go back to the old slavery. i am ready to join carr, in preaching total abstinence.” “preach away," was the laughing response. i am not going to discourage you. if there is any one to be pitied, it is the slave of appetite; and too many of our young men are bound, hand and foot. some who were my class-mates in school, might better be dead than as they are.” warren lewis' first visit home, was made sooner than he had anticipated. he could 2 the hermit of holcombe. 165 leave his business in good hands, and there were many whom he desired to see. perhaps pride had something to do with this; for he · had prospered beyond his most sanguine expectations, and received the congratulations of his friends, with the air of one accustomed to success. 9 a little slow seemed the familiar city, as he contrasted it with the hurry and bustle he had left. 6 come out west and wake up,” he said to one and another. 66 there is room enough this side the rocky mountains, and you will breathe freer than you can here." “ but you get your growth here,” remarked mr. jewett, smiling at the enthusiasm with which the west was extolled. training in the east." “ yea, sir; but i'm fast getting westernized,” tas the reply. “western society is the progressive element in our body politic, and sure to make its mark." 6 you had your 166 the hermit of holcombe. us. " perhaps so. i've no wish to disparage any part of our country; but if moderation don't come with age, there'll be shipwreck somewhere. don't go too fast yourself; and don't persuade all the young men to leave i didn't think it very neighborly when you sent for john, though paul fills his place. they are both fine young fellows." “yes, sir; and john's business tact will make his fortune.” “something more than tact, there," said the elder man. • johnny is as straight-forward and honest as the sun. dr. manson has had a good deal to do with the making of his character; and the doctor understands > 66 such business." “yes, sir. hal is a splendid fellow, with a wonderful knowledge of human nature; but this would be a queer world, if everybody adopted his notions." “ it would be a blessed good world,” rethe hermit of holcombe. 167 sponded mr. jewett. “people could go to heaven on their own merits. i wish all the doctors in the country were like him. he prescribes for soul and body.” warren had the most profound respect for ais cousin ; yet it was but natural that he should stigmatize as “notions, principles so opposed to his own practice. he knew better than any one else, that his habits, so far from improving, had deteriorated. there was much in his daily life which hal would condemn. he expected remonstrance and rebuke, when they should meet; but not a word of rither was spoken. the most cordial greeting, the most affectionate interest, but no warning the cousins met in company, where one drank wine without the apparent notice of the other; and at no time during this visit did the doctor obtrude his “ peculiar notions." too wise to do this, when they 168 the hermit of holcombe. 1 1 were sure to be disregarded, he trusted that his silence would be rightly interpreted, as indeed it was. “hal thinks me incorrigible," said warren lewis to himself, with some bitterness of feeling 66 but i will show him that my doctrine is as good as his. i can drink moderately. i will drink moderately.” strange that he should think it necessary so often to repeat his resolution. mr. lewis, senior, was gratified with the attentions and compliments bestowed upon his son; assuring his wife that they were two of the most fortunate people in the world. · plenty of money, good children, and nothing to trouble us. by this time, you are ready to give up worrying about warren,” he said, with a smile which bespoke his own confidence. “i must leave him with god," she an swered, seriously. 66 the hermit of holcombe. 169 much the same she had said to her son, as they talked of the future, refraining from an expression of her deep solicitude. was he not self-accused, as he stooped to kiss the quivering lips of this christian mother, knowing as he did that his welfare was dearer to her than her own life! the short visit was soon ended. the > (6 young merchant turned his face westward, impatient for the excitement of business. reaching his destination, he found that nothing had been neglected during his absence. there were no mistakes to be rectified, no discrepancies to be explained. “i might as well have remained away longer,” he said, laughingly. “i don't see that i am needed. everything in order, and none of you looking overworked. made good sales, too. there is nothing like having faithful clerks." “ temperate clerks,” suggested john carr, quickly. 170 the hermit of holcombe. “well, temperate clerks, if you like that better,” replied mr. lewis, pleasantly, although manifesting some annoyance. we all believe in temperance.” “ yes, sir; and we must practice it.” john carr was privileged. “you were rather severe, considering that mr. lewis allows himself to use liquor,” said albert jefts to his friend, that evening. “i only spoke the truth," answered john. “ we are temperate, and we ought to be temperate. i wish he never would taste of liquor again; though i don't suppose there's any danger of his being a drunkard. if i thought there was, i'd beg of him to make the same promise we have.” “ there is no danger of his being a drunkard, at present," replied jefts; and here the conversation was interrupted. soon after his return, there were rumors that warren lewis devoted himself to a the hermit of holcombe. 171 young lady, who was spending a few weeks in the city with some friends. absorbed in business as he had been, he now found time to pay her the most assiduous attention, and there was reason to believe that his bachelor days were numbered. some real or fancied resemblance to sadie manson, first attracted him, and made him desire an acquaintance with the lady in question. marion gregory was a lovely girl, gentle and affectionate, yet possessing the elements of a strong character, which might, or might not be developed according to circumstances. accustomed to defer to her parents on all occasions, secure in their love and consideration, she knew little of the doubts and trials which sometimes perplex those who act more independently. she had seen little of society, in the common acceptation of that term, and wus, therefore, in danger of accepting as genuine whatever miglit please her fancy. 172 the hermit of holcombe. mr. lewis was endorsed by her friends. he was an enterprising merchant, honorable and respected, an eligible match for any young lady. “ you may think yourself a happy girl, if he asks you to be his wife," said one of marion's cousins, when warren lewis was under consideration. "he is a general favorite, and besides, he comes of a good family; so there's no danger of being mortified by outlandish relatives. his father is a fine man, as i know, and he says himself, that his mother is the flower of the family.” marion made no reply to this ; yet one who saw her blushing face would not have attributed her silence to indifference. “i declare, i believe he has offered himself, already. has he, marion ?” 6 no." “ then he ought to," was the mental rejoinder. > the hermit of holcombe. 173 the gentleman had no reason to fear a rejection of his suit; yet whenever he thought of asking marion gregory to be his wife, he felt a distrust of himself, which was entirely now. she was pure and unsuspecting. was . he worthy to take her life into his keeping ? she, at least, believed him worthy; and without fear or misgiving, accepted him as the arbiter of her destiny. her parents must be consulted ; but this was a mere form, as they could not fail to be pleased with their daughter's choice. the course of true love flowed smoothly. no one objected to the match, unless it might be some who envied the parties. mr, and mrs. lewis were delighted at the prospect of their son's marriage, the latter considering this nothing less than a positive assurance of ultimate success. he reasoned that warren's wife would be so wise as to know the right, and so judicious as to influ174 the hermit of holcombe. > > ence her husband. " warren will hear to his wife," he said, cheerfully. “i hope so," was the reply of mrs. lewis, who understood the disposition of her son far better than did his father. “i know he will, wife. haven't i always heard to you ? generally, i mean,” he hastened to add. 66 don't i know that i am indebted to you for being what i am, and haven't i told our boy so a hundred times ? ” mr. lewis said this looking lovingly into the brown eyes, which were growing misty with tears, at length exclaiming, “ there, now, what bave i said wrong?” “nothing wrong, john. i only hope our boy will be as kind a husband as you have been." mrs. lewis seldom addressed her husband as john, and when she did so address lim, it was the signal for what he termed “a general break-down' on his part. it made him > > t 1 the hermit of holcombe. 175 young again, and he must needs caress and pet her, as he had done in the days of their courtship. perhaps it was this which kept the love ever warm in his heart, and made him so kind and tender a husband. warren's letters home were more frequent than ever, despite the care of a rapidly increasing business, and the new interests which engrossed his attention. he had so much to say to his mother. he wished he could see her, and talk over his plans. he was going to have a home, keep house, and so start fair in married life. marion preferred it, as well as himself. when the wedding day was appointed, invitations were forwarded to many friends; but as the happy pair would go east, directly after their marriage, it was thought best to await their arrival. john carr had written to paul manson that they would all love miss gregory, so they were prepared to welcome mrs. lewis 'most cordially. 176 the hermit of holcombe. 3 warren lewis was very proud of his bride, as he presented her to his relatives, and saw the admiration they did not care to conceal. his father adopted her at once with such hearty kisses as made her look shyly at her husband, who said, laughing, “ all right, 'my dear. you will get used to father's kisses. he has been in practice a good many years." “ yes, sir, i have,” replied father, rubbing his hands. “i intend to keep in practice, too, as long as i live. thank god, i've a wife of my own to kiss;” which fervent ejaculation put everybody in the best possible humor. uncle manson's family were next in consideration to the immediate home circle, and with them the new cousin was affectionately received, and warren warmly congratulated. others beside himself saw the resemblance between sadie and marion, and which the ladies pronounced mutually flattering. the visit was necessarily short; but mrs ) the hermit of holcombe. 177 . warren lewis observed some things which she afterwards recalled as worthy of consideration. she knew that her husband drank wine ; indeed she had sipped a little herself, to keep him company; but neither at his father's or uncle's, was there wine upon the table. in other places, where wine was furnished, she noticed, also, that no member of either family tasted it. in her innocence and ignorance, she had never given a thought to the habit of using intoxicating liquors, except when moved by some exhibition of drunkenness. mrs. lewis, senior, wished to speak of it, but fearing the effect, decided to keep silence. one of the sisters, however, did say, in a tone of affected carelessness, “ allow no rival in the wine cup. lay your commands upon warren, if need be.' the young wife asked no explanation, quite unable to comprehend the strange words. · 178 the hermit of holcombe. > “i only mean that you must warn him against too free indulgence in wine,” was the reply. “ we believe in total abstinence.” “i to warn my husband,” thought marion lewis. “was he not stronger, wiser, and more experienced than she. in short, was he not her superior ? was she not to trust him in all things, finding her whole happiness in loving and being loved ? no question of rights or responsibilities had ever disturbed the even tenor of her life. she had promised to obey, without one consideration of the promise ; knowing only that her whole life was gladly merged in that of another. lay her commands upon her husband! never! presume upon her own judgment, in opposition to his! this was simply preposterous. he was to be the guide of her life, and the rule of her obedience. the strongest antireformer could have taken no exceptions to her ideas of wifely duty :-or, rather, to the the hermit of holcombe. 179 vague sentiment which is so often mistaken for an intelligent and positive idea. only a moment did she think of the remarks which had been made. her husband claimed attention, and she forgot all else in her admiration of him. dr. manson was studying her character closely; not because he believed the responsibility of his cousin's life to be in her hands, but because he wished to know how far she could be made to depend upon herself. warren lewis had committed himself to a definite course of action, long before marion gregorý had crossed his path a bad woman might precipitate his career; yet a good woman would find it difficult to effect any material change. fortunately, for her present peace, his wife did not dream that any change was desirable. “ you are going to see your aunt ellen," said mr. lewis, to his son, when the latter > 180 the hermit of holcombe. had been speaking of an immediate return to the west. “i believe i must," was the reply. 661 should like to have marion see holcombe, and i wish to go there too, myself. uncle paul and aunt ellen were very kind to me, when i was there. i feel under great obligations to them, whenever i think of them. and ellis, how good and patient he was. he is going to be somebody, after all.” “ yes, indeed," answered mr. lewis. “he will be one of the first in his line. so the doctor says, and he is a good judge. ellis has been here part of two winters, and everybody liked him. why, he has lectured already; and only twenty years old. that is doing pretty well. you wouldn't mind his lameness now, when he walks slowly. the doctor says he will grow stronger, too." * and the doctor is good authority," was the laughing response. “i hear him quoted wherever i go." ” the hermit of holcombe. 181 “and you'll continue to hear him quoted. that's my mind. i am proud every time he calls me uncle. i guess i think enough of my own boy, too." “ i reckon you do, father. i never was jealous of hal; and it would be foolish to commence now, when i am having everything my own way. there is room enough for us both in the world.” “and would be if you had both settled at home. your mother aint quite suited to have you so far off; but she'll feel better about it, now you've got a good wife. nothing to fear for him,” thought the father, as his son went out of the room. not long after this, dr. manson met him, and stopping to speak, was made aware that he had been drinking wine. some expression betrayed this knowledge, and warren lewis hastened to explain. “the fact is, hal, i called on a friend, and we had a pleasant 182 the hermit of holcombe. > chat over a glass of wine ; or rather, over two glasses. i should know that look on your face, if i should see it in batavia. i've seen it too often in the days of auld lang syne. “ so often, that you never wish to see it again.” “well, to tell the truth, i don't. but 1 hope to see you a thousand times. give yourself a little rest and take a look at our great country. here you have plodded away until you are growing old before your time.” “am i?” was the smiling reply. “then i trust i am growing old in a good cause. how soon do you leave us ? ” “ tomorrow, i think. i have decided to go to holcombe, and my business needs attention; although jefts and carr are very efficient." > the doctor knew of jefts; of the straits in which he had been placed, and of his rethe hermit of holcombe. 183 form. john carr had written a long letter, giving account of this friend and asking some advice. indeed, albert jefts was indebted to dr. manson for counsel, which had proved of great value. “ how soon will john come this way?” was asked, in response to the merchant's last remark. “i have no means of judging. he often speaks of his friends here; but he seems well contented, and anxious to learn all he can of business. he is genuine. no sham about him. a little too serious, perhaps; but he enjoys being serious." 66 he has had a serious life for one so young “yes, and it's not strange that he remembers it. my sympathies were never so moved for any one, as they were for him the first time i saw him. it seemed almost wicked that child should suffer so." > 184 the hermit of holcombe. a “it was wicked,” said the doctor, decidedly, “there was a cause for john's suffering. his father was a drunkard ; and the sins of fathers are visited upon the children. no man sinneth to himself alone.” “hal managed to preach a sermon after all," mentally ejaculated warren lewis, as he walked on. “i knew he would, though i couldn't tell how. pity he couldn't be a little more liberal.” holcombe came next; and there stood aunt ellen on the piazza, looking much as she had years before, when she waited for two school boys, who were sure to receive from her a smiling welcome. “my wife, aunt ellen,” said a familiar voice; and marion lewis was welcomed with the cordiality to which she was accustomed. a rare specimen of moss was brought to ellis, yesterday, and he persuaded his father to go with him in search of more this after 1 the hermit of holcombe. 185 66 > noon," said mrs. farley, when her guests were seated in the parlor. • they expected to return before you would arrive." “ we shall excuse them,” answered mr. lewis. 66 is ellis as enthusiastic as ever ?” “i believe he grows more enthusiastic every day," was the reply. 66 we were afraid his enthusiasm would overtax his strength; but there seems little danger, now.” “i hear a good report of ellis. i can hardly realize that the helpless boy i used see here, has grown to be so fine a scholar. he must be careful not to overtax his strength, and so miss the goal of his ambition. our country can boast of but few who have distinguished themselves in the path he has chosen. why, my dear, this cousin of ours counts every stone a gem,” added the speaker, turning to his wife, who had taken no part in the conversation. s aunt ellen, do you think that an exaggera. tion ?” to 186 the hermit of h olcombe. before a reply could be made, professor farley and his son were seen coming up the walk. “i am sorry not to have been at home to receive you," said the former, after the first greetings were exchanged. 66 ellis would follow the boy who undertook to find some curious mosses; and the way was longer ; than we expected. i hope we shall be excused for our seeming want of courtesy.” of course, the apology was accepted ; warren lewis asking in what direction they had been. “ out by the old hermit's house; and from there across the fields to that strip of woodland which runs north and south. we rode to the house, and made the rest of the distance on foot.” " and quite a tramp you have had is that old house standing now? the first time i saw it, it looked ready to fall.” “yet it stands, though time and weather the hermit of holcombe. 187 have done their work upon it. it will last many years longer if left to the natural course of decay.” “ does any one live in it?” 5 no; mr. wolcott was its last occupant. the present owner gives no attention to it.” “ some people say the house is haunted,” added ellis. “ the children of the neighborhood are afraid to go past it after dark. they think the old man stands by one of the windows.” “do you remember him, cousin ellis ?” “perfectly,” was the reply. “i used to think it a rare treat to have mr. wolcott come here. to my childish eyes, he was quite a wonder. he ought to be immortalized either with brush or pen." 66 and his fate should serve as a warning to all young men ; remarked professor farley. “i believe he was the most entire wreck of manhood i have ever seen.' 188 the hermit of holcombe. "and what of his relatives?" asked warren lewis, anxious to avoid a discussion of the causes of this wreck. 6. his sister's death occurred soon after his own, and it was more than two years before there was any settlement of his affairs. then a nephew came, sold the house, and whatever furniture there was worth removing, was given to the woman who had done mr. wolcott's cooking. his books are in my library, and ellis appropriated some mineral specimens. but i forgot that you were here when he died. you must have known this before.” 6 i was here when he died," was the reply. “ but there was no disposition made of his effects, at that time, and i have never thought to ask about them since. my interest in him was not so great as the doctor's. hal was perfectly wild over him, about the time of his death." “i shall be curious to hear the story of this hermit,” said mrs. lewis. the hermit of holcombe. 189 “ it is too sad for you to hear,” responded her husband, kindly. but for all that, she heard the story from ellis farley, and pondered much upon it. upon their return from this trip, mr. and mrs. lewis found that her father had purchased a desirable house, which he presented to his daughter as a wedding gift. he also provided the means for furnishing it, and arranged for the yearly payment of taxes. this last, which seemed entirely unnecessary, provoked some discussion between mr. gregory and his son-in-law; but the father insisted upon carrying out his original plan. “ it is what i always intended to do,” he said. “ it is part of marion's portion of my property ; and she may as well have it now as any ; time. if you should be unfortunate in business, you would still have a home.” “but i hope not to be unfortunate,” was the reply. > > 190 the hermit of holcombe. a “ we all hope so; but the chances of trade may make a man poor, when he least expects it; and it is always pleasant to live in a house of your own." this could not be denied; and yet if his father-in-law had wished to assist them, the gift of a few thousand dollars to himself would have been more acceptable. warren lewis did not say this. he probably would have denied that such was the fact; but that, in some way, he felt injured was very apparent. married and established in a home which should be to them the dearest spot on earth, these two commenced a new life. what should this life be ? what record would be made by the coming years ? husband and wife would have answered these questions, confidently; one secure in his own strength, the other trusting a love it would have been impossible for her to doubt. friends, too, would have answered, confithe hermit of holcombe. 191 dently. was he not honorable and upright ? was she not affectionate and true ? chapter v. days fly apace. years come and go, each laden with its joy and woe; each bearing some new gift of grace, or bringing back some pale, dead face, to haunt the feasts, which love may spread, and fill the heart with fear and dread. decade of years. thousands of days, each one numbering its full measure of hours. how long seems the time, in anticipation ! how far off seems the tenth anniversary of a marriage, a death, or a victory! it is well we cannot see the end from the beginning, else should we faint and falter, ere half the race was accomplished. but if, while choice remains to us, some magic hand could, 192 the hermit of holcombe. 193 for a moment, lift the veil which now conceals the future, should we not hasten to retrieve mistakes already made ? if we could see the disastrous results of a chosen course of conduct, should we not at once abandon it? so we think ; but certain causes will produce certain effects. men do not gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles. yet some, who, in business transactions, are shrewd, far-seeing, and consistent, are strangely at fault in regard to their moral well-being. the weak and ignorant do well to be guarded ; but they are above such need. restrictions and pledges may be necessary for some ; but not for them. warren lewis was one who considered himself entitled to freedom, in all things ; and certainly, if pecuniary success could give warrant for this, he had some right to claim it. the first year of his marriage was unusually favorable for business. he was prosperous, and his home pleasant. 9 194 the hermit of holcombe. but in that home was, even now, a cause of difference between husband and wife. mrs. lewis was, by no means, what would be considered an advocate of temperance. in her father's house, wine and other liquors were occasionally placed upon the table, and she would not have objected to this, at her own table. she did, however, object to the constant appearance of wine, and at length made some remonstrance. “ and you really care about it,” said her husband, smiling, surprised though he was. yes, i do,” she replied, earnestly. "i am sorry if you do," he answered. “i must have a glass of wine, with my dinner. don't trouble yourself about it, marion." this was all. her first attempt to influence her husband had not been so successful that she would wish to repeat the experiment. she lastened to make amends, as best she might, for having annoyed him slightly. 66 66 everso the hermit of holcombe. 195 (( john carr and albert jefts, with another young man in his employ, were invited to dine with him. knowing well that wine would be refused by, at least, two of his guests, he offered it as he would have done without this knowledge. one accepted ; but in speaking of it afterwards, this young man said the acceptance was a mere act of courtesy, on his part. “i don't care for liquor,” he added. “i can drink, or let it alone. i thought mr. lewis would be better pleased, if i drank with him." “i don't really think he was," answered john carr, frankly. “i advise you, as a friend, not to drink again with him. jefts and i never drink, under any circumstances. it is against our principles and our pledge; and i am sure mr. lewis has more confidence in us, than he would have if he didn't know this.” > 56 but he drinks himself. it is no worse for others than for him.” 196 the hermit of holcombe. 66 i know it. but because he does wrong, there is no reason why we should.” two years passed, and after repeated invitations, the mother of warren lewis decided to visit him. there was a grandchild, a handsome boy, anxious to make her acquaintance, the happy father wrote. “ we must go now, wife," said mr. john lewis, when this news was received. "i can leave the store as well as not, and mary manson can help you get ready. i shouldn't wonder if she would like to go with us; and i mean to ask john when he calculates to come after her. everything will go right there." mrs. lewis found the journey very fatiguing; but the welcome she received, compensated for all previous discomfort. if the baby was not anxious to make her acquaintance, he was quite willing to do so; and nothing could have been more pleasant than her first entrance into her son's house. the hermit of holcombe. 197 > he was stronger than when she last saw him. “getting to be solid and substantial," . he said, with a laugh. “i am following in father's footsteps, and fancy i look quite fatherly myself.” “i think you do,” replied mr. lewis, senior. “ that boy of yours looks to me worth raising ; and i hope he'll live to be as much of a comfort to you, as you are to me. i believe it would have killed me, if you had gone wrong. when i sent you to holcombe with harry, i was so anxious about you, i could hardly attend to my business. now, thank god, i have nothing to trouble me.' at dinner, "grandfather” drank to the health of the child who was to bear his name. “will you join us, mother?” asked warren lewis. no, my son,” she replied. “you know ” that i never drink wine, and i am sorry that 66 66 you do." 198 the hermit of holcombe. > “ but you see father sets the example,” said her son, resolved not to take the matter seriously. “ it looks to me like his yielding to a temptation which you have prepared for him,” replied the mother. “we must discountenance this,” she added, turning to her daughter-in-law; and then to avoid further discussion, began to speak upon another subject. she did not, however, thus dismiss a matter which seemed to her of great importance. alone with her husband, she again brought forward the arguments he had so often heard ; with the additional one, drawn from the force of example. the following day, the elder mr. lewis took occasion to repeat this conversation to his son, adding, “ i told your mother i wouldn't drink wine again while we are here, and you better not have it on the table.” “ but i always have it on the table," was the hermit of holcombe. 199 the reply. : “ mother is foolish about this, and i wonder that you allow her prejudices to influence you.” “ warren, do you know that you are talking about your mother; for me, the best woman in the world ? don't ever speak of her again in that way. i don't doubt but she is right about this, though i don't see it in the same light she does. she always has influenced me and she always will.” seldom did he speak so seriously. the tone of voice in which his son's remarks were made troubled him quite as much as the remarks themselves. it was cold and careless. warren, seeing that he had offended, made haste to apologize, paying such tribute to his mother's worth, as quite appeased his father. he yielded, also, the contested point, solacing himself with the thought that abstinence at the table did not impose abstinence elsewhere. having yielded, he was too thoroughly a 200 the hermit of holcombe. gentleman and too dutiful a son to manifest any annoyance at the change. mrs. lewis, or “grandmother," as her husband called her, teazingly, spent most of the time with her daughter-in-law and the baby, assisting in the care of the latter, while giving to the former much advice and instruction, in regard to her new duties. “ it is so pleasant to have you here,” said marion, after one of the long talks, in which each had expressed her thoughts and feelings frankly. “my own mother has not been able · to come since baby was born, and i needed some one to advise me. warren is always kind and good; but sometimes mother seems to me the best friend, after all." 56 yes, my dear, i have thought that, many times. my mother died when i was very young, and i have always missed her. i am glad if i seem to you like a mother. warren's wife would be sure to find a warm place the hermit of holcombe. 201 66 in my heart; yet i should be sure to love you, if you were not his wife. i wish you to be happy and satisfied in your life. so many people are unhappy and complaining, wretched themselves, and making others wretched. i wish i could help them all to do better." “ i hope you don't think i am complaining," said marion, as she drew her chair nearer to the kind woman. • no, my dear; that description does not suit you. i was thinking of others whom i have known. you seem satisfied with your life.” “ indeed i am," was the reply. “ could i help it? haven't i the best husband, the dearest baby, and the pleasantest home in the world ?” “i hope you think so," answered the mother. “it is a sad day for any wife, when she thinks otherwise. her husband may not be best to any one else ; but he should be to 6. how 66 а. 202 the hermit of holcombe. her, even though she knows he is far from perfect.” “i thought my husband perfect,” said marion lewis, smiling and blushing, yet with an undertone of sadness. “ and i know you have learned your mistake, long before this, my dear child. i could have told you that. my love for him never made me blind to his faults." “ i was glad to have you say what you did about wine, the first day you were here,” remarked the younger lady after a short silence. “i prefer not to have it upon the table, constantly." “i prefer not to have it at all. i believe in entire abstinence from everything which can intoxicate, and never allow any kind of liquor upon my table. i know how warren feels about this, and don't blame you for anything he does," the mother hastened to add. “he is not alone in his opinion; but i know that the hermit of holcombe. 203 i am right. many young mothers think they need stimulants to keep up their strength, but it is a great mistake: sometimes, a fatal mistake for both mother and child." please tell me all about it,” said marion, looking earnestly into the face of her companion; and mrs. lewis being glad to comply with this request, the subject was plainly and intelligently discussed. once, during this visit, the mother attempted to remonstrate with her son; reminding him that the relations he had assumed involved him in new responsibilities. the fact that he lived for others as well as himself, made it obligatory upon him to live at his best. he listened respectfully, answered kindly, and yet was wholly unmoved. he was sure that he was the best judge of what was right for himself. “ if i ever see the necessity of changing my habits, i shall do so,” he said new 204 the hermit of holcombe. “i hope you will learn to trust me some day, mother;” and she could only hope that her fears for him were groundless. in his intercourse with business men, mr. lewis was more than once tempted to regret the promise of abstinence, which he held himself in sacred honor bound to respect. yet, when the visit was at an end, he looked back with far more of satisfaction than he could otherwise have done. john carr was a frequent guest at the house of his employer, while these dear old friends were there. welcomed as one of the family, he talked freely of his prospects and plans. his love for mary manson was no longer a secret; neither was it a secret that they would be married, whenever he could provide for her a suitable home. to mrs. lewis, he confided his doubts and misgivings. he wished to give mary as good a home as she would leave. the hermit of holcombe. 205 > > “ what do you mean by as good a home ?” was asked with a smile. “do you mean as large a house and as much furniture, or a place where she can be as happy and as tenderly loved as she is now?" “o mrs. lewis, we shouldn't need as large a house as mr. manson's.” “i don't think you would,” was the reply. “ and i advise you as a friend, to come on and talk with mary about it. come to our house and consider yourself one of the family. you have worked too long, and need rest. warren must spare you a few weeks.” about two months after this, john cari astonished his eastern friends by appearing among them, when they supposed him far away. some thought he was so much changed as to need an introduction ; but all welcomed him with flattering cordiality. in the store, mr. jewett fairly monopolized him ; anxious to hear of the west, in general, and his own fortunes, in particular. 206 the hermit of holcombe. 66 66 going to settle out there, sometime, 1 suppose," said the old merchant. “yes, sir, i hope to." i well, success to you there, though i think we could have done well enough by you, if you had stayed with us. don't try to lead away paul. he is the main-stay of our establishment. suppose young lewis is doing a good business." “yes, sir. he has a large trade, and a profitable one. there is every prospect of his being a wealthy man.” “ that's what i've heard, and i don't see any reason why the prospect shouldn't be realized. he has good habits, and is a shrewd manager. honest, too, if he is what he used to be." “ no one doubts his honesty," replied john carr. “his word is as good as his bond, and his clerks are required to follow his example.” و > the hermit of holcombe. 207 mrs. john lewis could not speak of her anxiety in regard to her son; but dr. manson had no scruples against enquiring of his habits. was 66 he is not a total abstinence man," the answer given. “i wish he was; although he may never be really the worse for drinking. i mean he may never be a drunkard. it don't seem possible that he can be ; but i have heard you say that every moderate drinker is in danger.” “that is true. every year's observation confirms me in the belief. i should consider any member of our family on the sure road to ruin, if indulging in the use of wine. i. never would give mary to you, if i did not know you to be a teetotaler. my sisters shall not be cursed with drunken husbands, if any foresight of mine can prevent it. i tremble for warren lewis and his wife, whenever i think of them." a 208 the hermit of holcombe. “ they seem very happy," said the doctor's companion. “mrs. lewis is a lovely woman, and mr. lewis is very much respected. as for his drinking, he only follows the almost universal fashion in our city. jefts and myself are wonders of temperance, and should be greatly ridiculed, if we were not so independent." “ i believe you were never afraid of ridicule, john.” “no, sir. when i hopped about crutches, it didn't trouble me to be laughed at. i knew i was doing my best; and so i try to do my best now, let people say what they will. how strange it seems that i should be able to walk and work as i do! but for you, i should have been a miserable cripple all the days of my life. i realize my obligations to you, more and more. yesterday i went past the old house in which we used to live, and looked up to the window on tae hermit of holcombe. 209 to me. through which i got my only glimpse of the world ; and then all your kindness came back i remember the first time i saw you, and some of the things you said. my gentleman, as i used to call you, seemed to me like an angel." “i am very far from that,” was the reply. “i am only a weak, erring man; yet god knows i wish to do my work in the world, faithfully. it is strange to me that so many forget they are living for eternity. this life is so short and eternity so long, common prudence would dictate a regard for our eternal interests. i have just come from the dying bed of a young man, who has literally killed himself. he is no older than you, and he ought to have lived to a good old age ; but his habits have ruined him soul and body. he was beyond the reach of human skill when he sent for me. i have many such cases ; but you don't need to hear of them.” 210 the hermit of holcombe. with the full approval of her parents and brother, mary manson had pledged herself to share the fortunes of john carr, quite ready to accept an unpretentious home, which should be guarded by love and tenderness. after the above conversation, this home formed the subject of discussion. “i am sure no one could love mary more truly than i do,” remarked john carr, with much emotion. 66 but i often think i am unworthy of her, and wish i had millions of money to lavish upon her, as an expression of my love.” i don't think she would be any happier for that,” replied her brother. “money is of little value compared with unvarying affection and unswerving integrity. mary is a true woman, and neither of you will be happier for postponing your marriage until you have acquired a fortune. not that we are anxious to be rid of mary,” added the doctor after a pause. the hermit of holcombe. 211 > “i know you can't be," was the quick response, made with such earnestness as to provoke a smile. " it makes me very humble before god to think he has granted me so happy a life; and i will make mary happy if my love can accomplish it. you will come out, sometime, and see how we with me, live.” “ indeed i will, john; and now i will leave you, to visit patients." everything was settled. another year, he would claim his bride ; and with this hope in his heart, the young man returned to business jefts was still with him, although contemplate ing a change. “ carr, i wish you would go into partner ship with me,” he said, one evening, when they were together. “i have been thinking about it while you were gone, and i am sure we could do well to set up for ourselves, and not interfere with mr. lewis, either. we 212 the hermit of holcombe. could make a speciality of some kind of goods he is anxious to give up, and by perseverance, secure a monopoly of the trade. i ought to do better for myself than any one can do for me; and there is nothing like striking at the right time. what do you say ?” “ i say i should like it, if i had the necessary capital," answered carr. “but i have ,. only a few hundred dollars." “and a good knowledge of business," added his companion. “that counts for a a good deal, in a new undertaking. i will put in what i have, and we will divide the profits fairly. what say ?” “i don't know what to say, jefts. i am as anxious as anybody, to get ahead in the world." “of course you are, and as deserving. i will explain my plan, and then you can tell me what you think of it." the plan was well ” laid, and not difficult of achievement, provided the requisite energy was applied. the hermit of holcombe. 213 “ but mr. lewis will hardly be willing to spare us both,” said john, after expressing his entire approval and confidence. “ i think he will make no positive objec tion," was the reply. “he is too fair a man a for that. he knows, too, that i have intended setting up for myself, whenever there should be a favorable opportunity. talk with him about it." “what! my right hand and my left hand both!” exclaimed warren lewis. “that is 66 too much. i knew jefts would leave me be fore long; but i calculated on you. i don't see how i can get along without you, johnny." the old name revived old memories, and a sense of his indebtedness to this friend, for a moment, quite overpowered the young man. " mind you, i don't say you can't leave,” added the merchant, suspecting how it was with john. "i don't intend to be selfish in this matter. i'll consult your best interests, 214 the hermit of holcombe. and some time, before long, i'll have a talk with jefts.” this settled the matter, and mr. lewis, acknowledging that what was decided should be done at once, provided himself with clerks to take the place of those who were to leave. to them he said, “do as well for yourselves as you have done for me, and you cannot fail to succeed.” there was no interference with his business on the part of the new firm. he was glad to drop some kinds of goods from his list, recommending his customers to patronize an establishment where they would be sure of fair dealing in close quarters, doing their own work, and keeping their own accounts, the young men tried their abilities, with no expectation of becoming suddenly rich. they would work their way, steadily and surely ; content with small profits, and at first, if need be, with the hermit of holcombe. 215 small sales. didn't it seem like a fairy tale to john carr, when he reviewed his past life, and thought of the fairy princess, waiting to share his home? don't think i shall be unhappy, because i cannot live in a palace," wrote mary manson to her lover. 66 we will not have a poor home, even if it is humble. no home can be really poor, where there are love and kindness.” every one who had known john, rejoiced in his good fortune. his partner and himself were agreed as to all business matters. “ a rare partnership,” said mr. lewis, when speaking of them. “i prefer doing business alone; but they seem animated by the same spirit. out of the store, they are inseparable; and there is no danger that their friendship will ever change. fine young men,” he added. “a little straight-laced, compared with most others; but erring on the safe side.” है 216 the hermit of holcombe. perhaps the speaker thought of himself, as le said this ; remembering the entreaties of his wife that he would indulge less freely in the use of wine. perhaps, too, for a moment, he questioned if it might not be better to heed her entreaties. but presently he banished the thought as unworthy; although he loved his wife, and prided himself upon the fact that she wanted for nothing which money could purchase. and she? sometimes she chided herself for the fears which would intrude to mar her happiness. then, she was ready to believe her husband's judgment so superior to her own, that she must be wrong. she would resolve to be silent upon the disputed point; and so far succeeded that she seemed to forget it. not so, however. she observed closely the habits of those whom she met in society. moreover she remembered the advice of the hermit of holcombe. 217 66 mother lewis, and allowed herself no in dulgence which could injure her child. her husband, laughing at her “squeamishness,” was obliged to yield, when his mother was quoted as authority. “hal has been talking to her," he said. .“ and the doctor certainly ought to know,” was the reply. " i think he does know almost everything connected with his profession; but like many other wise people, le rides a hobby.” this was the manner in which warren lewis usually spoke of his cousin, except in the presence of john carr, when he omitted all qualifying clauses. a year's experience proved that albert jefts had not miscalculated ; and having been prospered thus far, the young merchants ventured to assume new responsibilities. they rented a cottage containing two tene. ments; and each brought a bride to preside 218 the hermit of holcombe. 1 over the small rooms. daisy jefts, now a grown young lady, having been left alone by the death of aunt desire, came too, and was welcomed by all. there was to be a servant in each kitchen; for so had the gentlemen decided; but mary manson, now mary carr, insisted upon ruling supreme in her “ own kingdom ;” and mrs. jefts soon followed her example. mary's home was very different from that of her cousin warren, where money was spent without stint. yet she did not envy marion lewis. she saw the restless anxiety which even now began to tell upon the appearance of the young mother, and readily divined the cause. the baby, john lewis, junior, was a treasure in himself; healthy, handsome and good-humored; well managed and tenderly loved. “ you look like a temperance boy,” said mary to him one day, when he was about two > years old, the hermit of holcombe. 219 told me. “ temperance boy," he lisped in reply; clapping his hands and laughing merrily. “i hope he will be a temperance man," said his mother. “i never thought much about temperance, until since he was born. mother lewis talked to me when she was here, and i've tried to manage him as she i haven't tasted of wine since she was here, though warren thinks me too particular and says i need it sometimes. we don't want it, do we, darling ?” she added, clasping her child in her arms and covering his face with kisses. “mamma cry,” was the little fellow's response, wiping away the tears for which she apologized, by saying that she was a little nervous. often was this excuse made when tears could not be repressed ; and as one after another was added to the number of her loved ones, baby lands still sought to remove the 220 the hermit of holcombe. traces of these tears. at the tenth anniversary of her marriage, she was the mother of four boys. how happy she had been when standing at the altar, she had pledged herself for life to one whom she thought the embodiment of manly perfection. “poor child !” as mother lewis said. she had learned her mistake. her husband was a wealthy merchant, whose business was well managed, and whose gains were sure. he was respected, honest, and as the world goes, honorable. a genial man, too, accomodating himself to circumstances, he made a host of friends. hospitable and proud of his family, it was his pleasure to entertain company, both friends and strangers. he was not disposed to find fault with his wife ; but he did wonder that she should so soon have lost the blooming beauty and sprightly manners which had first attracted the hermit of holcombe. 221 him. “marion has changed a great deal,” he said to himself, as she passed through the room in which he was sitting. 66 i wonder but just then he caught a reflection from the mirror opposite. he, too, had changed. his face was full and flushed, his figure far too stout for elegance, and even his hands had a gross, puffy look. he went nearer to the mirror, and took a deliberate survey of himself. " hal told me the truth," he thought. " i drink too much liquor; i ought to give it up. i made a mistake in the beginning. simpleton ! " he exclaimed, a moment after. “ as though i could expect at forty to look like a young man. i have had my day of good looks, and must depend upon something else, now. i've money enough, and there's more to be made. i'm well enough. hal don't know everything, if he is such a famous doctor; and that glass magnifies wonder. fully." 222 the hermit of holcombe. so he comforted himself in regard to his own looks; but the pale, tired face of his wife haunted him. he contrasted it with the beaming countenance of his cousin, mary carr, who was far more beautiful, in her matronly grace, than she had been, when she answered to the name of mary manson. the compariwas not flattering to marion lewis, although her life had been exempt from toil, while mrs. carr had done much of houseson hold labor. mr. lewis was thinking of this, as his wife again passed through the room in which he was sitting; and he was half inclined to address her upon the subject. it might have been better had she done so ; for she did not hesitate now to speak frankly, whenever occasion seemed fitting. thus far she had her boys under control; but soon,she dared not think how soon, they would look to their father's example as the rule of their lives. the hermit of holcombe. 223 they saw the sparkle of the flowing wine, say their father as he drank it with such avidity as betrayed the cravings of his appetite; and she knew all this could not be without effect. yet she never spoke of this. neither did she complain of the fitful temper of her husband. he protested that he was not injured by the use of alcoholic liquors, because he had never been really intoxicated, and was still a clear-headed business man. but at forty, a man may well look to his ways, whether they be good or whether they be evil; for in one form or another, retribution is sure, soon, to overtake him. if warren lewis was clear-headed, it was only after the morning stimulant, which his system demanded to give it tone, for the business of the day. infirmities crowded fast upon him; induced, not by hard work, but hard drinking, as dr. manson had told him in plain lan guage. 224 the hermit of holcombe. never intoxicated! it would have been nearer the truth to say that he was never thoroughly free from the influence of liquor. late at night, early in the morning, at lunch, at dinner, and often with friends, le drained the glass of its fiery contents. was this moderation ? so he claimed, when talking with his cousin, who, notwithstanding the wearing life of a physician, looked quite ten years lis junior, and gave no sign of physical weakness. nothing annoyed warren lewis so much as to be reminded of his infirmities, either by the sympathy of his wife, the careless remarks of an acquaintance, or his own feelings. hc wished to celebrate the tenth anniversary of his marriage, and in uncommonly gracious mood, allowed his wife to make all necessary arrangements, without dictation or interference on his part. left to consult her own wishes, she invited only the families of the hermit of holcombe. 225 albert jefts and john carr, insisting that every member should be present, even the babies. she said, laughingly, that the chil dren would form the most important part of the company, as they certainly did, so far as numbers were considered, counting nine, who seemed to wear their best manners, with their best frocks. the dinner, too, was according to mrs. lewis' taste, without wine. everything passed off pleasantly; the guests wishing their host and hostess many returns of the happy day. “ times have changed since i first became acquainted with you,” said mr. lewis to john carr. “these youngsters remind us that we must soon make room for them, on the stage of action. i must acknowledge that it makes me feel rather old, to think that i am the father of four boys, growing as fast as mine do.” 226 the hermit of holcombe. 66 at any “i believe i feel younger for being called father," was the cheerful reply. mary and i have no idea of being set aside as old people, for a long time to come. we calculate to celebrate our golden wedding in this world if providence permits. rate, we intend to live out the full measure of our days and make each one of them happier than the one preceding. you see we have great expectations." “ yes, i see, johnny. that name hardly suits you now.” "i think it does, mr. lewis. mary calls me so, sometimes, and the name pleases me wonderfully.” “ you are having a first rate trade this season," was the next remark of the host, addressed to albert jefts. “ yes, sir, better than at any time before,” was answered. are in a fair way, now, and but for home influence, should 66 we the hermit of holcombe. 227 enlarge our housekeeping accommodations, to correspond with those of our business. mrs. carr clings to the cottage; and my wife is pretty sure to think as she does. so carr and i make a virtue of necessity, and submit.” “ you needn't imagine that i shouldn't like a large house with all the modern conveniences,” exclaimed mary carr, coming to her own defence. 6. to be sure i should like it, just as well as anybody. but we are comfortable where we are ; and there is great pleasure in making one's home rich, without being luxurious. sometime, when we can better afford it, i may perhaps be the mistress of a larger establishment." “how bright and cheerful cousin mary is," said warren lewis to his wife after their guests had left. “ she would make any home rich only with her presence.” yes,” replied marion, wearily. “i al 66 228 the hermit of holcombe. most envy her constant flow of spirits. she is a very happy woman." “i don't see as she has any more to mako her happy than thousands of other women, was mr. lewis' response. “of course, her husband loves her, she is provided with all the necessaries of life, and her children are bright and healthy; but you are better off than she, marion." “am i? i have enough of wealth and luxury, and i do believe i do believe you love me, warren." have you ever “ love you, marion ! doubted it? i know i am irritable, sometimes, and speak as i ought not to; but it is because i have so much business on my mind, that little things annoy me. i wish you to have everything you can desire, and i shall always love you. of course i shall." as he said this, he imprinted a kiss upon her lips; and, alas ! revealed the fact that he the hermit of holcombe. 229 had indulged in his usual potations, although there had been no wine at dinner. involuntarily his wife shrank from him, and then, with a sudden effort, returned the kiss. “ how strange you are this evening, marion!” he exclaimed. “ you are tired, and need rest. i have some papers to look. over, and you had better retire early." the merchant went to his library, and did, indeed, examine some papers, although to little purpose. some influence made him think of sadie manson ; her beauty, purity, and goodness. what would she say, could she sec him now? he had not met her since soon after her marriage ; but mary had re ceived a letter that morning, announcing her intention to visit her western friends. she with her husband were coming in a few weeks. if he could make an excuse for absenting himself from the city during her visit, some 230 the hermit of holcombe. awkward explanations might be avoided. she would look steadily into his face, catching the very light of his eyes, and speaking so earncstly, that he could not but give heed to her words. she would observe the change in his appearance, and too wise to be deceived, would attribute it to the true cause. he pushed from him the papers which should have received attention, drank a glass of brandy, and through this medium, took a more cheerful view of his condition. he closed his eyes, that he might think more freely, when, like a shadowy phantom appeared the hermit of holcombe. not dressed in courtly garb; but as harry manson had scen him, just before his death. his long hair seemed swept, ever and anon, by the wind, his pallid face grew luminous, and his tall figure assumed gigantic proportions. warren lewis sprang to his feet, trembling with excitement. why did the old man thus the hermit of holcombe. 231 confront him ? for more than a score of years, harry wolcott had rested in a grave on the sunny slope of one of new england's hills. what had he, now, to do with the prosperous western merchant ? with an impatient gesture, and an expression of contempt, mr. lewis left the library, wishing he had never heard of the “old vagabond.” the very effort to forget the strange appearance, which he knew was but a weird fancy of his own disordered brain, fixed it more decply in his memory. it haunted him, after he laid his head upon the pillow; and not until the following day, when engrossed in business, was it really forgotten. had he been truly wise, he would have heeded the warning thus given ; but blinded to his best interests, he went on as before. mr. and mrs. yates, the latter known to my readers as sadie manson, came as was expected, and in john carr's home there was > 232 the hermit of holcombe. great rejoicing. the children, charmed with the beautiful lady they were taught to call auntie, were hardly more demonstrative than their father. it was one of the happiest days of his life, when he welcomed his friend and sister to his home. cousin warren, too, having come up from the valley of humiliation, was quite ready to greet the visitors cordially. at his own suggestion, wine was banished from the table whenever they shared the hospitality of his house; although he called himself a coward for thus yielding to a silent influence, when he refused to listen to his wifo. mrs. yates did not speak to him of his habits, which were only too apparent, despite the slight effort made at concealment; but with her sister she talked frankly. not?ing be done?” was the question she often asked, only to receive the same disheartening reply. “john ought to remon 66 cap the herriit of holcombl. 233 > strate with hiin," she said, at length. he, certainly, might do it.” “ he has attempted it several times," answered mary. 66 but it is useless. warren professes to believe that he is not injured, and is impatient of any interference. harry told hiin he was killing himself; but that did no good. john thinks he drinks more wine and brandy now, than he ever did before." " and his wife must bear it,” was said in reply. “she looks far too old for her years. i pity her. she cannot be happy." “no, she cannot." i have seen her when it was impossible for her to make any pretensions to cheerfulness. i know she has many fears for the future; and i long to comfort her. warren has accumulated property rapidly, and is confident that he shall continue to do so. reverses would be very hard for him.” 234 the hermit of holcombe. 66 “i think of his children,” said sadie. “those four boys will soon need a father's training. i must remind him of that before i go, if nothing more. it will be a terrible thing if cousin warren should add his name to the long list of drunkards. i used to think i had some influence over him, and i must make one effort to save him.” the day this decision was expressed, mrs. yates went to the house of her cousin, and meeting him in the hall, averted her face to escape his liquor-tainted breath. embarrassed at the unexpected meeting, in his present condition, he saw her expression of disgust, and interpreted its meaning. “i have not been feeling well to-day, so was obliged to have recourse to a stimulant," he said, with some hesitation. “i believe you don't like stimulants. if i remember right, you were fastidious in regard to them.” “ and have not changed,” was her frank 66 the hermit of holcombe. 235 6. we > reply. “i enjoy the fragrance of flowers, but the sickening fumes of liquor are unendurable to me. i wish you were as thorough going a teetotaler, as i am.” “ that is not strange,” he replied. all fancy our own way to be best. but come into the parlor,” he added, recovering selfpossession. “ marion has gone out, but i will do my best to be agreeable.” “and doubtless you will succeed,' responded his cousin, accepting the invitation. “i must ask you if you really believe what you said a moment ago. do we all fancy that our way is best ?” “of course we do,” was the quick reply. “if not, we should change our course. self ishness would prompt us to that.” 66 so it would seem. but do you believe that all people do as well for themselves as they might, or even as well as they know? the drunkard knows he is ruining himself, 236 the hermit of holcombe. yet refuses to give up his cups ; and the moderate drinker knows that abstinence would be better for him; yet he resolutely ignores it. i think you will need to qualify your statement, cousin warren.” “ as you please,” he answered, with forced gayety. “i was always ready to acknowledge myself beaten, when we disagreed in the old days; and you have not changed, that i can claim superiority.” “but i have changed," said the lady, seriously. “ all these years have not passed without doing their work upon me, as well as you. you and i are not the same as . when we last parted. we are placed in different circumstances, with increased responsibilities.” the street door opened, and there remained but a moment when she could speak without reserve. hurriedly she mur mured, “pardon me, cousin warren, but i must remind you that you are risking the the hermit of holcombe. 237 7 interests of your own soul, and the happiness of your family, by the use of intoxicating drink. do look to god for strength, and lead a better life." marion lewis, recognizing the voice of the speaker, entered and bade her welcome, while the host bowed himself from the room, pleading a business engagement. “ like sadie," he thought. well, i expected something of the kind, and am glad it is over.” but it was not over. her words sounded in his ears wherever he went; and for a time he forgot the specious fallacies with which he was accustomed to deceive himself. better than any other did he know how near he stood to ruin; yet, strange infatuation! did not amend his ways. “ you are not angry with me, cousin warren," said mrs. yates, as he held her hand at parting “no, cousin sadie," he answered. could never be angry with you." 661 chapter vi. ah me! what bitter tears are shed, when mourn the living for the dead; but tears, more bitter, dim the eyes, when gazing with a sad surprise, on one, we counted true and just, trailing his manhood in the dust. he firm of jewett, lewis & co., was still prosperous. paul manson, the junior partner, filled the place which had been vacated by his cousin ; and realized the fondest expectations of his friends. uncle jolin thought him second only to warren, while others considered him superior. “our boy,” mr. lewis called the merchant, whose shrewd schemes made him conspicuous, even where daring enterprise was the rule. 238 the hermit of holcombe. 239 talking with his wife, the father allowed himself to dwell, with the greatest compla cency, upon “our boy's our boy's” success. “ bids fair to be worth millions," he would say, rubbing his hands. mrs. lewis endeavored to respond heartily to such remarks of her husband; yet he observed that she always offered some qualification. this, however, he attributed to motherly anxiety, and gave it no special consideration. often urged to visit her son, she had done so but twice during twelve years of his married life. she preferred seeing him, with his family, in her own home; but when five children claimed the care of her daughter-inlaw, she prepared for a third visit. everything was in readiness ; but a slight illness prevented their leaving home from one day to another. “nothing serious. we skall start in a day or two,” said mr. lewis, 240 the hermit of holcombe. > confidently, when asked in regard to the liealth of his wife. but to the surprise of all, except the sick woman herself and dr. manson, this illness terminated fatally ; and instead of welcoming his parents, warren lewis received a telegram, announcing his mother's death, and the utter prostration of his father. expect me at the earliest possible moment,” he telegraphed, in reply, and took the first train east. no delays occurring, and every connection being made, he arrived in his native city sooner than he was expected. excitement and grief, with the fatigue consequent upon such rapid travelling, so effected his nerves, that he found it necessary, as he said to himself, by way of apology, to resort to stimulants. at first, in consideration of circumstances, sparingly; then more freely, until he reached home in a state, which, with some, would have been considered intoxicathe hermit of holcombe. 241 tion. yet in the general sorrow and sympathy, this was not observed. his father threw himself into his arms, clinging to his neck, and weeping like a child, whlie he sobbed out the mother's name in the most endearing terms. they wept together, until, exclaiming, “ this is more than i can bear,” he rushed frantically from the room, only to be followed by his daughters, who in vain prayed him to be calm. the son, unable to control himself, continued to weep, until mrs. manson and mrs. farley, who were present, appealed to him, when, with a mighty effort, he repressed his tears. “ it is not strange that your mother's sudden death should move you deeply," continued mrs. farley. “it is a severe affliction to us all ; but your father needs your support. everything has been done, without consulting him, and the funeral will take place to-morrow morning, if agreeable to you. the doctor 242 the hermit of holcombe. thought it ought not to be delayed lunger; and we depended upon his judgment." couldn't he save mother ?” was asked, quickly. “no human power could save her," was the reply. "i have no doubt that his skill, with the blessing of god, has prolonged her life several years, but she knew her days were numbered.” > “ then why did not others know it ? ” “ because she preferred they should not. she said it would do no good. your father would have been wretched, and she was satisfied that the doctor understood her case. he thought she might recover from this attack, until a few hours before her death; and then she desired that no despatch be sent you, while she lived." by this time, mr. lewis returned to his son, who endeavored to comfort him. you are all good and i love you,” said the brokenthe hermit of holcombe. 243 hearted man. “but none of you know what my mary was to me. i would have given up every dollar of my property, and worked like the poorest man to support her, if so i could have purchased her life. 0 warren, how can i live without her!” it was terrible to witness his grief. as friends came in they expressed their sympathy as they had done before, only to be answered with tears and lamentations. at last, came dr. manson; and he seemed to have some influence over his uncle. the greetings between the cousins were short and subdued, yet warren lewis shrank from the scrutinizing glance he received ; and later when consulted in regard to arrangements for the funeral, was ill at ease. asking of his mother's disease, he ex. pressed a regret that he had not known of it, while she was living. “ it would have made you no happier," 244 the hermit of holcombe. was the reply. “i have made her disease an especial study for years, and i honestly believe nothing could have prolonged her life. we all know we must die; and if our work here is well done, it makes little difference what is the cause of our death. your mother had done her work well. she was a christian; and in her last hours had faith to believe she should meet her entire family in heaven.” thus much said, the listener was left to his own reflections. no one in the house cared to eat; but the doctor insisted that all should take their places at the table; and after, when they left the dining-room, he said, “if i “ if i may be allowed the suggestion, i would propose that you retire early. i am sure that cousin warren needs rest; and uncle must sleep if possible. i will spend the night here, and render any assistance that may be needed." gladly would he have prevented a visit to the hermit of holcombe. 245 the chamber of death ; but failing in this, he could only seek to shorten the painful sce le and soothe the grief thus renewed. with his uncle, this was very difficult; but at length, he had the satisfaction of seeing him sleep quietly. attention was then given to warren, who seemed every moment to grow more restless. “you must have rest," said his cousin. “i don't feel tired," was the response. “i have hardly slept, since i heard of mother's death, and my eyes feel staringly open.” “they look so," answered the doctor. '. “if " you will take my advice, you will close them as soon as possible.” 66 i don't want to close them. to tell the truth, hal, i'm terribly nervous. mother's death, and my hurried journey has quite upset me, and i don't feel like myself.” of course these had some effect; but warren lewis deceived neither himself nor his 246 the hermit of holcombe. cousin, when he said this. the latter was a little nervous himself, until he knew that the family, generally, had retired, when he almost compelled warren to go to the chamber allotted him. not a moment too soon was this effected. “ hal, that old hermit haunts me. look! see his eyes, and his long hair, streaming in the wind! take him away! for god's sake, take him away! what has he to do with me?' “i will take him away. he shan't trouble you,” said dr. manson. “ just get ready for a night's sleep, and i will take care of him." “you're a good fellow, hal. you were always a good fellow; and now if you'll give me a glass of brandy, i won't trouble you any more. but see! there is the old man!” he added, pointing to a corner of the ! “ can't you send him away ?” > room. n “hal, that old hermit haunts me. 29/12 rassell vrichards un sc 19 page 246. the new york public library astor. lenox tilden found. tic the hermit of holcombe. 247 yof, yes," was answered, soothingly. "lie down, and he will go.” with trembling hands and quivering limbs, the wretched man obeyed; yet still the spectre haunted him. the doctor, prepared for this, gave him a powerful sedative, and awaited the rezult. here was one who should have been in the very vigor of manhood, prostrated, not by grief, as was his father, but by a poison which, while working slowly, works surely. just across the hall, in a luxuriously furnished chamber, lay the form of his dead mother; but he did not think of her. groans, tears and shrieks, stified by the stern commands of one who understood how to use authority, betrayed his suffering. in his madness, he would spring to elude the grasp of his enemy. as a last resort, another sedative was administered, and the spell broken. an hour's careful watching discovered no > 248 the hermit of holcombe. sign of returning excitement, and warren lewis was left alone. thanks to the knowl. edge and caution of his cousin, not a sound had been heard outside the room, which might not be attributed to ordinary conversation. a few hours' sleep prepared the doctor for the duties of the morning. as he hoped, his uncle slept the entire night, and was quite calm, as he came into the parlor, enquiring for warren. “ he is not up yet, i think,” was the reply. i “ i will go to his room, and see;" and glad of an excuse for so doing, dr. manson sprang up the stairs, and called to his cousin. " come in. i'm glad it's you, hal. i wanted you.” “ how do you find yourself this morning, cousin warren ?" “in poor condition, hal. condition, hal. i must have some brandy. is there any in the house ?" brandy is not kept in this house,” an. the hermit of holcombe. 249 swered the doctor. • your mother didn't be66 lieve in it." 51 know she didn't, the dear, good woman; and here a burst of tears interrupted the speaker. “ but whether i believe in it or not, i must have some this morning. look at me, and you will see that i need it. i promise, sacredly, to drink only enough to steady my nerves. you may give it to me yourself.' ” it was no time for the necessary medical treatment to give strength to shattered nerves; and prepared, even for this emergency, the doctor soon produced a glass of brandy. “drink that,” he said ; adding, “ you should not receive it from my hands, under any other circumstances. but now, there seems to be no alternative." the glass was drained eagerly, and with the exclamation, “ not half enough, hal,” returned for more. “wait!” was the reply. “you are far 250 the hermit of holcombe. gone, if that is not enough. i must go down and report to your father. in five minutes i will return." “ give me more brandy before you go;” but dr. manson did not seem to hear this plea, as he left the room. “is warren sick this morning ?” asked mr. lewis, anxiously. “he is not feeling very well,” replied the doctor. “his long, hurried journey would try the strength of any one. but he will be down soon.” “ poor boy! i know it must be hard for him. i seem to forget everything but my own trouble. i have hardly thought of my children's loss. oh, mary, come back to us!” and the bereaved man opened his arms, only to fold them again wearily upon his breast. “ where's the brandy, hal? i looked for it every minute you were gone,” was the exclamation which greeted the doctor, upon rethe hermit of holcombe. 251 > 66 > > turning to his cousin's room. 66 give it to me, or i shall die! there's the old man, in the corner, pointing his finger at me." stop that folly!” was said, sternly. 6. there is no old man in the corner. how do you expect to go through the day, unless you can control yourself, here in your room ? i shall give you one more glass of brandy, and take care to keep the rest out of your way.” the door closed upon warren lewis, and he was left alone for a moment; while he strove, with all the force of will he could command, to recover composure. of humiliation and shame, he had little sense ; so overpowered were these by the maddening fancies he could not repress. another glass of brandy, and his hand was firm, his brain comparatively clear. “ take this, also,” said the doctor, giving him a colorless powder; adding, “ you will do well enough, now, if you let liquor alone. 252 the hermit of holcombe. 1 but if you drink another drop to-day, i'll not be responsible for the consequences.” no one of those who greeted this man, in the family that morning, suspected what he had suffered during the hours since they parted. without embarrassment, he replied to enquiries concerning his health ; acknowledging that he had been very much fatigued and his nerves somewhat unstrung. “i don't wonder. it was very hard for you,” said his father, pityingly. it was a sad day for the relatives and friends of her whose death had made them mourners ; but i will not linger over the funeral, or the closing of the coffin-lid upon the dear face which would be seen no more on earth. john lewis felt that he had drained the cup of sorrow to its very dregs. yet the wife of his love had gone where there is neither pain nor sickness, sorrow nor sighing. often had she talked of this the hermit of holcombe. 253 66 i know you ren. apper home, while he but half comprehended the happiness she expressed. will come to me in heaven;" she had said, as he bent to catch her last words. “and warren. tell him " what could he tell ? to harry manson 66 was confided the important message for warwhether she would have repeated it to her husband, at last, no one would ever know. how desolate seemed the house, , when night drew its curtains around it! “i can hardly realize that mother is really dead ;) said the son, after a silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock, or a whispered remark from one of the grandchildren. “ it can't be! it can't be !” exclaimed the father, springing to his feet and pacing the l'oom, hurriedly. 66 how am i to live without her ? what shall i do ?” every one was relieved by the appearance of dr. manson who soothed his uncle, as no 25+ the hermit of holcombe. other could; speaking calmly and cheerfully, yet with no lack of sympathy. “ i believe you have great magnetic power,' remarked warren lewis, when alone with his cousin, later in the evening. “i wish i possessed ten times what you give me credit for having," was the reply. “ why?” was asked, quickly. so that i might influence you, cousin warren. i am shocked at your condition. i have a message from your mother which i may as well deliver, now. she never spoke of your habits to others; but with me she talked freely. she said, “tell warren he must give up the use of wines and brandy or be ruined body and soul. tell him he must give it up, or ruin the happiness of his wife and children. then urge him by every possible motive to heed the warning.' i have delivered your mother's message. now, shall i appeal to you as she desired ? " . 6 the hermit of holcombe. 255 warren lewis longed to rush from the room and thus avoid further comment. but it was his dead mother who spoke to him through another's lips. it was his dead mother who had charged another to warn him of peril and danger. “ it's of no use, hal,” he said, at length. “i love my mother and honor her memory; but stimulants are a necessity to me. i could i never get through my business business without them." 6 and how long do you expect to get through with them ?” an impatient gesture was ignored by the questioner, as he waited for the reply, “i don't know." “ you might make an estimate sufficiently accurate for practical purposes. at least, i could do so, with my knowledge of the human system.” “i am not a physician, hal. i can't be -256 the hermit of holcombe. expected to know as much of such things as you do." “ of course not, cousin warren. but you must know that your powers of endurance are giving way rapidly. you had an attack of delirium tremens last night.” “for god's sake, hal, don't use that term in connection with me. i know i was > nervous; but it couldn't have been so bad as that." “ it was so bad. have you ever had such an attack before ?" a negative was the only reply, and the doctor continued. "have « you had any symptoms of such an attack ? has the old hermit appeared to you before?” "once before,” was said, after some hesitation. “i don't think it strange that he has. you talked so much about him for months when we were at holcombe, that he haunted me even then. i never could understand your taking such an interest in that poor, demented wretch." the hermit of holcombe. 257 6 because he was such a poor, demented wretch, when he ought to have been one of the grandest men of his time. it seems strange that a man who might command success in any position, should become the slave of a debasing appetite; yet he is not the only instance of such slavery. but i have wandered far from my starting-point. i must tell you, cousin warren, that you are liable, at any time, to suffer as you did last night, unless you change your manner of living. a few such attacks, increasing in severity, would leave you in a sad condition. i know you are impatient at this talk," dr. manson continued. “ i know i am presuming as perhaps no other one of your friends would dare presume ; love for you and for your dead mother move me to do this. what can i say to make you realize your danger? do you know it?” he asked, in an excited tone, which made his companion start with surprise. but my 258 the hermit of holcombe. “i know more than you can tell me; but i still have confidence in myself,” was the answer given to this question. " it may be that you have, this evening; and the speaker resumed his natural tone. “but last night and this morning your confidence was in brandy." “ hal, you torture me!” cried warren lewis, wildly. “what would you have?” “i would have you for ever abjure the use of all intoxicating liquors, regain your health, and live to a good old age, respected and happy. oh, warren, do be persuaded, before it is too late. think of your accountability to god.” “ you know i will not bind myself with pledges, hal. i will never do that. it is too childish.” “ childish !” repeated dr. manson, scornfully. “in every business transaction, you bind yourself by some pledge. in every friendship, pledges are made or implied. say the hermit of holcombe. 25€ you are determined to go on as you have commenced; but don't say that pledges are childish.” the man thus addressed replied as best he could ; and the conversation was continued, until, convinced that no good would be effected by further discussion, the doctor rose to leave. clasping the hand, and looking steadily into the face of his cousin, he said, “i promised your mother i would appeal to you, by every motive man holds sacred. tell me, warren, if i have redeemed that promise. if you are ruined, shall i be held guiltless ?” yes, hal, yes! god bless you!” and for a moment all that was noble in the nature of warren lewis, struggled for ascendency. “i shall think of what you have said. goodnight.” “good-night, cousin warren. i shall never allude to this subject again, unless you desire it; but i shall never cease to pray for you. 66 260 the hermit of holcombe. god bless you, and keep you from all evil.” thus they parted. the morrow brought its cares and responsibilities. mr. lewis could not stay in his old home; yet refused to go with either of his daughters. mrs. manson invited him to spend a few weeks with her; but this he was not pleased to do. at length, his son proposed a long visit west; and the family seeing no objection to such an arrangement, were rejoiced when he decided to go. this decision was no sooner announced to dr. manson, than he wrote a long, confidential letter to his sister and her husband. “i must say that i think brother harry is troubled without cause, this time,” she remarked, after reading the letter aloud. “ perhaps not," answered her husband. * you may be sure he understands uncle johr far better than we do." the hermit of holcombe. 261 marion lewis welcomed her father-in-law upon them. > 66 affectionately, tears expressing both sympathy for him, and sorrow for her own loss. the children divided their attention between papa and grandpa ; winning smiles from the latter, despite his heavy heart. “five noble boys,” he said, looking fondly “ you ought to be a happy man, warren. "i am afraid you will find me tiresome,” he added, turning to his daughter. my wife was everything to me, as you are to your husband, and i am afraid of going wrong without her. she was my conscience." “father, you will take a glass of wine," said warren lewis, as they sat at the dinner table the next day. “no, i think not,” was the reply. mother never liked to have me drink it." “but you need it, now, as a medicine. you said you felt better for it, on your journey." 66 your > > 262 the hermit of holcombe. “yes, i did. it seemed to put a little life into me; but i don't wish to get into the habit of drinking it. this was said listlessly, as though drinking or not drinking was of small consequence; and a little more persuasion silenced all scruples. “marion, do you never taste of wine?” “ never!” she replied, emphatically; and a glance from her husband prevented further remark. “i seldom drink it," remarked the old gentleman. “but coming out here, i don't know how i should have kept up without an occasional glass of wine.” “ he wouldn't have drinked it, if mother had been with him," thought marion, with difficulty repressing the words which sprang to her lips. how she longed when alone with him, to unburden her heart, and beg him never to > the hermit of holcombe. 263 taste wine again at her table. but fear that he would betray her interference kept her silent, while day after day, both father and son drank wine in her presence, and in the presence of her children. how could a man do this while mourning the loss of one whose whole life had been a protest against such indulgence, and who, as he often said, had saved him from a career of dissipation! i cannot tell. i only know that so it was; until mary carr, aware of the fact, no longer wondered at her brother's anxiety. 66 what can we do ?” she exclaimed, after returning home from a dinner at her cousin's. “ it made me shudder to see uncle john drain his glass. and how warren has changed! did you notice how he looked, to-day?" “ i always notice his looks,” was the reply. “ he is growing old too fast.” 264 the hermit of holcombe. “ and marion, too, john. i tell you that she has more trouble than she allows any one to see.” “ mr. lewis is considering a new speculation,” said john carr, after a short silence. “he didn't speak of it to-day, as i hoped he would ; but uncle john told me about it. he has enough business on his hands, now, and i am growing anxious in regard to his health. he must break down soon, if he goes on at this rate.” mary, knowing what was implied by this last remark, asked no questions. her anxiety, just then, was for her uncle rather than her cousin; and this anxiety was increased when told by the former that he had some thought of making the west his permanent residence. " i don't think i would,” she said seriously, in reply to this. “why, mary, wouldn't you like your old uncle for a neighbor ?” the hermit of holcombe. 265 “ yes, sir; but it would never seem like home to you here." “ it will never seem like home, anywhere," he responded. “i can't go back to the house i where i lived so many happy years with my wife. i can't do it,” he repeated. “it unmans me to think of it. i haven't any heart for business, either. i believe i can endure life here, with warren and his family, better than anywhere else.” “ but what would mr. jewett and paul say to your leaving the store ?” asked mary, in her surprise, with no definite thought of what she was saying. they can do well enough without me," he answered. “ paul could manage the entire business alone. my daughters don't need me,” added the lonely man, sighing as he thought of her whose life had so long formed a part of his own. what shall i do but stay here? can you tell me, mary ?” 266 the hermit op holcombe. she wished to say, “ go back and do your duty;" but then would come the question, “what is my duty ?” and this she was not prepared to answer. the speculation in which warren lewis proposed to engage, fascinated his father, who was only too ready to consider his judgment infallible. “ shall you invest with your son ?” john carr ventured to ask, when this speculation was under discussion. “ i am thinking of it,” was the reply. " to tell the truth, john, it makes little difference to me what i do. i am interested for a little while; but it is all over, when i think of my wife. i must get throngh the rest of my life, some way.” “ yes, uncle john, and you must get through eternity, after this world." “ yes, yes,” he replied. “i wish i was sure about that, john. i never could feel as > 66 the hermit of holcombe. 267 mary did, and since she left me, it is all strange and dark.” well might john lewis say his wife had been his conscience, and in one way he had trusted too much to her. she supplied the religious element in her family, praying for and with her children, while their father bade them look to her for instruction. the daughters became christians. the son, engrossed in worldly pursuits, was in danger of forgetting the prayers learned at his mother's knee. was he also in danger of forgetting his mother? he would have been indignant, had any one suggested the possibility of this; yet he dishonored her memory, with little compunction. he had tempted his father to drink wine, constantly repeating the temptation, until persuasion was unnecessary. justice, however, compels me to say that the message delivered by dr. manson, and the appeal accompanying it, did have the effect 268 the aermit of holcombe. to make warren lewis very wretched, for several days. some things he had before seen but dimly, now stood out in bold relief; and he denied himself the unlimited iudulgence to which he was accustomed. he could not think of total abstinence. it would involve an utter prostration of his powers, both mental and physical ; and yet he knew there would come a time, when often had he reached this point in his conclusions; and as often refused to see the end. his wife no longer remonstrated with him, or, indeed, replied at all when he was in his worst moods. it seemed to her now, that she could bear anything from her husband, if his father was not injured. danger threatened and she was powerless to avert the blow. his visit had been extended long beyond what was expected, when entering the room she usually occupied with her children, mr. the hermit of holcombe. 269 lewis surprised his daughter-in-law weeping. "why, marion, dear, what is the matter?” he exclaimed. “ nothing, only i am tired and a little nervous," she replied. “tears are sometimes a great relief to me." • but it hurts me to see them,” was the reply. “i always felt myself responsible for every tear my wife shed. now she has gone, i have nothing to live for but my children, and they have enough without me." “oh, no, father. we should miss you sadly. we all wish to make you happy." “i know it, marion, and you have done me good since i came here. i don't know but i might be interested in business again, if i should be with warren. would you be willing to have the old man stay?” “ yes, father, if you could be happy with us." “i could be happier here than anywhere 270 the hermit of holcombe. else," replied the old gentleman; and after this, weeks lapsed into months, without any definite arrangements for return or permanent residence. his house was occupied by dr. manson and the lovely woman whom he called “ wife.” a second wife she was; yet in the rich maturity of his manhood, he gave her all of devotion and tenderness her heart could crave. every one rejoiced at his marriage, and this occupation of uncle john's house had been proposed by its owner, so that he need feel no care in regard to it. the furniture remained as it had been arranged by his wife, and he was pleased to have it so. dr. manson often thought of his uncle, wondering if it was well with him ; while mary wisely or unwisely forbore to write anything which would cause anxiety. 66 what good would it do?” she asked her husband when he once suggested it. 66 uncle john the hermit of holcombe. 271 6. but can't be placed under guardianship, and warren is nearer to him than harry. he has a right to invest his money as he pleases, and to eat and drink what he pleases. i wish marion would speak to me about it. then, perhaps, something might be done.” at length marion did speak. “i don't know as i ought to tell you," she said, sinking into a chair, after their first greetings. i must tell some one or i shall die. o mary, thank god there is no wine-drinking in your house. it is a curse, the deadliest curse; and then the speaker's voice was choked with sobs. "i have come to see if you can help me.” fatigue and excitement here so powered her that she required support to prevent her falling. lie down and rest," said mary, tenderly. “ tell me anything you please; and be sure i will find some way to help you.” over272 the hermit of holcombe. with sighs and tears and groans a story was told, the like of which has been told by many a heart-broken wife and mother. a husband, honored and respected by the world, was an exacting tyrant at home. “i don't know how it is that he controls himself before father,” said marion. « but , he does; and usually before me. sometimes he seems so unhappy, that i pity him more than i blame him; and i know he is fast wearing himself out. in his sleep he talks of an old man with streaming hair and flaming eyes. he starts and shrieks, until i think every one in the house must hear him. yet i could bear that, if it was not for father. he is learning to love wine. i have watched him, and i can see it. he has been here almost four months, and he ought to go home. he talks of selling out his business and spending his life here ; but it will kill me if he does, and, and "here her voice . the hermit of holcombe. 273 > fell to a whisper,—“ he will be a drunkard.” mary carr had said this often to herself; yet shuddered as she heard it said by another. she was unable to command her voice for a reply. marion looked up sadly, asking, “ can't you help me ?" “i will try,” answered mary, with great effort. “ if harry was only here, he might influence uncle john. i have thought of talking to uncle john, myself.” “did you ever say anything to warren about drinking as he does ? ” after all, the thought of her husband was uppermost in the mind of marion lewis, as this question plainly showed. “ it would do no good,” answered mary. “ john has talked with him, several times; but cousin warren thinks he knows best. may i tell john what you have told me ?” “ yes,” was the reply, after some hesitation. “some one must help me, and i know i can trust your husband.” 66 274 the hermit of holcombe. 2 back to her home went marion lewis, with heart somewhat relieved, and courage strengthened, by this interview. such a beautiful home as was hers! how could its inmates be otherwise than happy ? additions had been made to the house, until it would be hardly recognized as the same into which a happy bride had been ushered. ance. so far off seemed that day, it was sometimes almost lost from sight; then it would reappear vividly, as if to mock the wretched wife. she had intended to talk frankly with mother lewis, hoping for counsel and assistnow she must seek these elsewhere; and contrary to her intention of bearing her troubles alone, she had made a confidant of mary carr. matters were worse than john had feared, although he considered himself well acquainted with his old employer. “you must do something,” said his wife. 6. uncle must go home, and warren must be reformed.” the hermit of holcombe. 275 “easier said than done,” was the reply. “ uncle john may be managed, but warren will do as he pleases. suppose we go there this evening." this suggestion was carried out, but mr. warren lewis was spending the evening with some gentlemen at one of the hotels. “ another speculatiun, uncle john ?” asked his niece. something of the kind,” he replied. "a great railway project is under consideration. things move pretty fast, out here. perhaps i may catch some of the wide-awake spirit myself,” he added, rubbing his hands in the old fashion. “i believe i have talked more about railways to-day, than in any month of my life before;” and by the brightness of the speaker's eyes, and the flush upon his cheeks, john carr knew the talking had been enlivened by drinking. before leaving, the visitors proposed that 276 the hermit of holcombe. uncle john should spend the following day with them. “ come early, and take breakfast with us," said mary, cordially. 66 we will have it half an hour later than usual, and i will make the muffins myself, if you will help 9 eat them." 66 “agreed," was the reply. “i will come. but you must have breakfast at the usual hour. i am an early riser.” the next morning, mr. lewis was at john carr's an hour before the time appointed, and his niece was about to greet him playfully, when she noticed his worn and haggard looks. “ what is it?" she asked. “ are you sick ? have you heard bad news ?' “ both," he answered. “ i am heart sick and i have heard bad news. i want john." john came, and the old man prayed for help, even as his daughter had done, the day before. “my boy is a drunkard ! did you know it, john ?" 66 the hermit of holcombe. 277 6. he “ not quite so bad as that,” was answered, soothingly. “he don't practice total abstinence, but i should be sorry to call him a drunkard." “ but he is," persisted the father. abuses his wife and never hears to her advice. he didn't come home till midnight, and — “ he had taken too much wine," added john carr, without waiting for the sentence to be completed. “a great deal too much. we had a dreadful night. he was a perfect madman, and i don't think it was the first time he has been so. his mother used to worry about him ; but i never have since i sent him to holcombe with harry manson. i wish harry was here. seems to me he could do something ;” and at this mr. lewis broke down, utterly weeping without restraint. can't you help me, john. i can see, now, that warren has changed in many ways. oh, i 278 the hermit of holcombe. would rather see him dead than as he was last night. my boy a drunkard! it will . kill me. i am glad his mother didn't live to know it. yes, john, i am glad. she could never have borne it. i'll see you again to-day, john, but i must go home to marion, now. she needs me.” “ see mary, first," said the younger man. she will be disappointed if you go so soon.” “you must stop until after breakfast,” said mary, coming into the room. 66 it can be ready in a few minutes, and we will eat before the children come down.” mr. lewis, of course, said he did not care for breakfast; but he could not withstand mary's pleadings, and the three were soon seated around a well spread table. the hostess compelled herself to eat, and persuaded uncle john to follow her example ; yet it was by no means a cheerful meal. " i suppose, now, you are willing i should the hermit of holcombe. 279 > one go,” remarked mr. lewis, absently, when they rose from the table. “ it may be best that you should go,” answered mary. then clasping both his hands, she added, “if you would make me promise, uncle, i should be a great deal happier.” "i will promise anything in reason,” he replied, stooping to leave a kiss upon her forehead. “ then promise me not to drink any wine to-day. you wouldn't if aunt mary was with you." a deathly pallor overspread the face of john lewis. his breathing was quick and labored. “ what have i done!” he cried. “ mary, my mary, forgive me!” and he raised his hands, imploringly. “never again! god help me! never again! mary carr, for speaking to me. it was time, i must go to marion," and before another word could be spoken, he was gone. ܕ bless you 280 the hermit of holcombe. even the servants looked strangely, in the home of warren lewis that morning. a spell seemed upon all in the house. doors were opened and closed, noiselessly. there were whispered consultations in the kitchen, and anxious glances in the breakfast room. of course, the servants had known that their master was no saint; yet they had never seen him intoxicated. • i don't believe it, now,” said one. “ you can believe or not,” was the reply. “ i tell you he lumbered up-stairs last night like any drunken man, and his tongue was running till most daylight. the old gentleman went to see what was the matter. humiliated, indeed, was the merchant, when he realized what had occurred. cursing himself for a fool, he yet blamed his wife for not having in some way, concealed his folly. 66 father will think me a great deal worse than i am,” he said, in a morose tone, after the hermit of holcombe. 281 being assured that his own boisterous demonstrations had roused his father. “we got so deep in business that i drank more than i ought to ; and that is all there is to it." that was only the beginning, as his wife might have told him; but adhering to her self-imposed silence, she made no reply. “why don't you say something ?” he demanded sternly. 6. you would drive any man desperate, with your tears. i've had enough of them." oh, would he never stop! what could she say to soothe his irritated feelings ! past experience had taught her many bitter lessons; and she choked back the sobs which must not be heard. her husband had never struck her; but this morning she feared even : that, and felt a sense of relief when she closed the door upon him, and went to meet her children. how she managed to control herself at 282 the hermit of holcombe. breakfast, she did not know. everything seemed vague and dreamy. she saw, as not seeing, and heard, as not bearing. yet she attended to the wants of all, with the same gentle courtesy as usual ; and while forgetting her own needs, was solicitous for others. from the breakfast room warren lewis went directly to the library, and throwing himself into a chair, considered what he should do. he knew his father would demand an explanation of his conduct; and for the first time he felt his father's presence a burden. moreover he fancied that his wife had looked upon him coldly; and he recognized the possibility of losing her respect. as for himself, he was in no condition to attend to business. he heard his children in the hall, talking with their grandfather; and presently some one asked admittance. the hermit of holcombe. 283 ness. “ come,” he said. the door opened to admit five boys; the youngest cradled in the old man's arms. 66 a committee of the whole,” he exclaimed, with forced cheerful“ this is an unexpected pleasure. 66 what matter of importance is now under consideration ?" “ not any, father,” replied john, the eldest boy. grandpa thought it would be nice, to come in all together. so we did, baby and all." 5 and isn't it nice, my son,” grandpa hastened to add. " don't you think we look well, together? for my part, i am proud of these boys, and hope they will make good, true men; such men as their grandmother prayed they might be. i tell you, warren, we ought to be a great deal better ourselves." “ certainly. we are none of us perfect," was the reply. “i hope my boys will de right." > 284 the hermit of holcombe. . “ then you must set them a good example a man has no right to expect his children to be better than himself.” “i mean to be good,” now chimed in some young voices. “mother says we must, and she knows," added john, decidedly. grandpa did not care to prolong this visit; yet soon after leaving the room, with his companions, he returned alone; and looking at his son sadly, said, “i never thought to see my boy a drunkard. god forgive me, if i failed to do my duty by you. i would rather see you in your coffin, than as i saw you last night.” it cost the speaker a terrible effort to say this; how terrible, one might guess by the great drops of perspiration upon bis forehead, and the agonized expression of his face. conflicting emotions prevented the son's replying, until silence became painful, and he was about to make some further re> the hermit of holcombe. 285 marks, when warren said, in a husky voice, “i never thought to hear my father call me a drunkard." 6 but it is true, my son.” 66 it is not true ;” and now the voice was clear and distinct. “no man shall say that ; not even my father. i told marion you would think me a great deal worse than i am ;” and here followed a detailed account of the previous evening's entertainment. of course everything was shown in its best light, yet the father saw no reason to retract his obnoxious statement. he talked long with his son, acknowledging his own weakness, and early indiscretions. “your mother saved me," he said. have wondered how she dared to trust me; but she did, and i tried to make her happy. i shouldn't have been fit to live, if i had ever spoken to her, as you speak to marion. you will lose your wife, unless you treat her differently.” 66 > 286 the hermit of holcombe. “ lose her! how?” asked warren lewis, startled at the very thought of such a calamity. 6 she will die, and thus you will lose ber." chapter vu. high noon of life. the brightest days, the grandest work, the noblest praise should crown this noon, and make it blest, beyond all time of toil or rest; and woe to him who dares misspend the years on which such joys depend. or weeks, it seemed that the prophecy was about to be fulfilled. marionlewis was prostrated with an illness from which even her physicians thought it impossible that she could recover. unconscious of what transpired around her, there were days when she never ceased to moan piteously, except when under the influence of stupefying drugs. sometimes she murmured softly, as if hushing an infant to rest. then 287 288 the hermit of holcombe. she would call for her own dear mother, who, long before, had gone to dwell with the angels. her husband, tortured with remorse and fear, longed to implore her forgiveness; but whenever he came into her presence, she turned from him as from an enemy. mr. gregory visited his daughter, and, shocked by what he saw and heard, administered a severe rebuke to his son-in-law. apologies were useless. nothing could excuse the ill-treatment of such a wife, and the wretched husband attempted no justification of his conduct. that he should ever be forced to make the confessions which he did! that he should . ever bow his head for very shame, and beg to be spared further reproach ! if marion dies, i will never forgive you! never !” said mr. gregory, with fearful emphasis. “she ought to have denounced you, years ago!" the hermit of holcombe. 289 my readers will please remember that the man who cowered beneath these words was a wealthy merchant, holding various offices of trust and emolument. in society, he was generous, courteous, and genial. at the head of an extensive business, he was in pecuniary matters, honorable and upright. all this he was, and yet, at the same time, he was a drunkard. he did not drink the coarse, cheap liquors with which poor men satisfy their depraved appetites. he did not curse and swear at the street corners,oh, no! he was a man of refined tastes. only the best would be tolerated by him; and he walked the streets proud of his position. his father's entire property was small, compared with his own; while his yearly income would have seemed to many, a fortune in itself. “do you suppose hal would come, if i should send for him?" he one day asked his cousin, mary carr. 290 the hermit of holcombe. “he would come, if it was possible for him to do so," was the reply; and in less than an hour, dr. manson received a despatch, summoning him to the bedside of marion lewis. a letter, giving an account of her sickness, had reached him the day previous; and this with his anxiety for his uncle, decided him. he left his patients in the care of another, and started at once; hoping to benefit his friends in more ways than one. “bless you for coming, hal! thank god you are here!” were the greetings which told how earnestly his presence had been desired. while resting, for a little, before seeing the invalid, he learned what he could of the symptoms and progress of her disease. “ you will save her life," said his cousin, questioningly. “i will do what i can," he answered ; and applied himself to the task with untiring > the hermit of holcombe. 291 devotion. watching and waiting, consulting , with others, yet relying upon his own judg. ment, he was, at length, able to say that there was a prospect of recovery. then every one in the house breathed more freely. a burden was lifted from every heart, and other interests were considered. in a long, confidential talk with his uncle, dr. manson was assured of many things he had before suspected. “i pity marion, and i wish i could help her,” said the old man, tears attesting to his sympathy. “she has a hard lot to bear with her husband, if he is my son. i wish i could take her and her children home with me, and make them happy. you must talk to waryou know how better than i, and if any one can influence him, you can. i am thank ful his mother didn't live to see this day. it is bard enough for me. but i must tell you how wrong i have been. i am going home as ren. 292 the hermit of holcombe. 66 you and soon as marion is better,” he added, after a long silence following his confession of the sin into which he had fallen. "i don't seem to have much to live for; but if your wife will stay with me, i will try to do my duty; and -and i want to be a christian, harry. you don't think it's too late for that." “never too late, while life remains," was the answer. “i have prayed that you might be brought to this, uncle john. i know how tonely you are, and how desolate your life seems; but god knows best what we need to draw us to himself." notwithstanding the oft-repeated request that he would urge his cousin to reform, dr. manson felt himself pledged to silence. he knew by the haggard face and bloodshotten eyes, that a terrible penalty was paid for sinful indulgence, yet his lips were sealed. silence, however, thus enforced, had its > the hermit of holcombe. 298 own language, more eloquent than words; a dumb reproach, to which no reply could be made. the cousins talked freely upon other subjects; sat at the same table, and loved each other none the less, that they were drifting wide apart. indeed, it is possible that their affection deepened, as they realized this. certain it is that harry manson never felt more solicitude, or prayed more earnestly for any friend, than he did for warren lewis. the children, too, how his heart yearned over them. “ i believe my mission is so far accomplished that it will be best for me to leave in the morning,” he said, at the close of a day, when mrs. lewis had shown such improvement that there seemed little danger of a relapse. “ you must prescribe for me first," re sponded his cousin, after some hesitation. "i have more confidence in you than in any one else, and i need medical treatment." 294 the hermit of holcombe. “ what can i say?" asked the doctor, after listening to a fearful category of infirmaties. “you know what has brought you to your present condition; and there can be no permanent relief, without — " “without what?” demanded warren lewis, impatiently. “speak out what you mean. the truth won't hurt me." “i wish it might do you good," was the reply, made in a serious tone. "i can tell you nothing which i have not told you before, you must reform, or die the death of a drunkard. medicine will have little effect upon you, until the cause of your disease is removed.” “ i have been more temperate since mother died,” was said, after a somewhat prolonged silence. “i indulged too freely, one evening in company, but i have been punished for that, and am not likely to offend again, in the same way. tell me how much or how little stimulant i can take with safety.” the hermit of holcombe. 295 “ not a drop, cousin warren. nothing but total abstinence will save you;, and that should be adopted soon. if you will follow my prescription faithfully, i think you can regain both mental and physical strength. the old hermit will cease to haunt you, and you may yet be a happy man." 66 who said the old hermit haunted me?” asked warren lewis, in an excited tone. “ i did not need that any one should say it," answered dr. manson. “i have seen you , close your eyes, as if to shut out some disagrecable sight, or turn aside to look from a window, when i knew, by the expression of your face, that you saw what you did not wish > to see.' “ it's true, hal. no use for me to deny it, although i know i am a fool. i see the old man everywhere. sometimes his hateful face comes between me and my children; and sometimes it stares at me, from my ledger." . 296 the hermit of holcombe. * cousin warren, do you remember that you have often said you would give up the use of liquor, whenever you were convinced that it injured you ? has not that time come? do you doubt my word, when i tell you you are killing yourself?” “no, hal, i believe every word you say. i wish to god i had never tasted of wine; and yet, it will kill me to give it up. i can't do it, hal. i don't know as i have the power; and the proud man pressed his hands to his forehead, in the vain effort to still the throbbings of his brain. “i never dreamed i should come to this. think of it, hal; i have been 'prospered in everything except myself.” hal had thought of it sadly, and could not find it in his heart to congratulate his cousin upon the accumulation of property. he did what he could in the way of prescription, hoping some good might be effected ; yet knowing well that this depended upon the will and conduct of another. the hermit of holcombe. 297 “ i will try to do as you tell me,” said warren lewis. “i dare not promise more than that. if i am saved, it will be through your influence. if i am lost, i alone shall be guilty.” when dr. manson left, every member of the family felt that a tower of strength had been removed. he was so cheerful, even the servants caught something of his spirit, and rejoiced to do his bidding. for each and all, he had a kind, hearty word. as he had predicted, the health of mrs. lewis continued to improve ; and when able to join her children, she was so thankful for having been spared to them, that she could not murmur at her lot. the world did not seem wholly dark; although for her the brightest dream of woman's heart had faded. she would not look back, but prayed for strength to go forward. she had leaned upon an arm of flesh; henceforth, she must 298 the hermit of holcombe. depend upon one able to save to the utter. most. 66 let her husband had asked pardon for his unkindness; acknowledging his fault so humbly, that the very humility pained her. us never speak of it again," she said, after assuring him of her entire forgiveness “ perhaps i have been too sensitive. we can both try to do better in future; and remembering that he was annoyed by tears, she repressed so far as possible, every appearance of emotion. he would have been better pleased had she thrown herself into his arms, and wept without restraint; but she could not know this. desiring to act in accordance with his wishes, she assumed a calmness she was far from feeling mr. john lewis remained until he saw his daughter attending to her ordinary duties, and then he, too, went to his eastern home. the hermit of holcombe. 299 “ you can depend upon me, always,” the old man had said to marion. “ if you need a friend send for me. we neither of us know what the future will bring; but you and i must do our duty, even if it is hard. if your happiness depended upon my wishes, you would be a happy woman.” to warren he spoke differently; entreating that the past might suffice for wrong doing. when gone, the son was more than ever absorbed in business. the speculation in which he had engaged, demanded attention. to be carried through successfully, it must be well managed; and he had too much at stake not to realize this. his health was good, as he assured every one who ventured a question upon the subject; and there certainly was a decided improvement. there was a change, too, in his habits. no wine at dinner, and no fault-finding. he manifested more fondness for his children, and 300 the hermit of holcombe. addressed his wife kindly. john carr hoped for a radical reform in his friend; and mary, glad to transmit the good news, wrote her brother to that effect. six months went by. warren lewis considered himself a redeemed man, although he did occasionally drink a glass of wine. he made no disclosure of what he suffered from the cravings of appetite. indeed, he would have denied that he suffered at all; yet it is true that he often endured the most intense torture. his will was strong, as he proved, day after day; and it would have been comparatively easy for him to forego entirely the use of intoxicating liquors. he could do it, as he acknowledged to himself, with conscious pride. why did he not do it ? perhaps the very success of his present course made him less inclined to this. business called him from home, as he announced to his wife. “how long will you be gone?” she asked. the hermit of holcombe. 301 > “i can't tell," he answered. “ certainly not longer than is necessary. i will write to you, if i am gone more than a week.” she asked no further questions, and her husband did not explain his business; but john carr knew that the grand speculation in which he had embarked, threatened to prove a failure. mr. lewis had been chosen by those associated with him, to investigate the matter, and act as he judged best, for all concerned. “ i don't like the looks of things for that company,” said albert jefts, a few days after ೩ the merchant had started on his mission. “i wish mr. lewis was at home; i never fancied his going. no good will come of it.” ** you and mary are inclined to look on the dark side,” was the reply of john carr. won't hurt mr. lewis to lose a few thousand 9 66 66 it dollars." “in one way it will not. a few thousand 302 the hermit of holcombe. dollars, more or less, would not effect hig style of living, or his business.” “of course not. he is beyond that, and i am thankful. i should be sorry to have him meet with any reverse. mr. jefts was quite willing to change the subject of conversation, since the expression of his fears would have no influence upon the point at issue. mrs. lewis received a letter from her husband. he could not tell when he should return; but there was no cause for anxiety in regard to him. he might go further west. after this letter was dispatched, warren lewis could hardly have told what it contained. he was in a state of great excitement. he had accomplished nothing he desired. there still remained a possibility of doing this, by extending his journey, and he prepared for another effort. yet he was despondent; easily depressed by every un the hermit of holcombe. 303 1 favorable report; and in no condition to act wisely. a brave heart is in itself a pledge of success; but this he lacked. he knew that his business at home required attention. care pressed heavily upon him. as was natural to one of his previous habits, he had recourse to stimulants to supply courage and strength ; and the result was what might have been expected. so soon as convinced that the scheme which had seemed to promise so much would return far less than had been invested, he was completely prostrated. yet, still desirous of reaching home, as soon as possible, he turned his face eastward. brandy kept him equal to traveling, for twenty-four hours; and then he was seized with a delirium, which left him no power of choice. the country was new, and the hotels, by no means first class; yet accommodations were found for him in one somewhat better 304 the hermit of holcombe. than the average. he was among strangers ; but, fortunately, one of his traveling companions was able to give his name and vouch for all expenses incurred by him. still more fortunate was it that, later in the evening, a surveying party came in to pass the night, and obtain supplies. with them, was one whose clear-cut, intellectual face stamped him as a scholar, rather than an ordinary worker; and whose enthusiastic comments upon what he had seen, bespoke him a lover of nature. “ well, professor, are you going on with us?” asked one of his companions. “ certainly," was the reply. “i am equal to long tramps and camping out, so long as i can get plenty of pure air and clear, cold water." “got a doctor among you ?” the landlord had been called from the room; and on his return, asked this question. the hermit of holcombe. 305 “there's the professor, about half a doctor,” answered one. • he can manage any ordinary case.” 6 then i wish he'd try his hand on a man up-stairs. something's got to be done, or he'll tear the house down, in some of his tantrums. he's a stranger to me, left here by the stage ; but somebody said he was rich, and told his name.' 66 what is his name?” “ lewis.” 66 show me to his room, and i will do what i can for him," said the man, who had been called half a doctor. “i am a good nurse, > at least.” “ the man's pretty crazy," the landlord remarked, as they went up the stairs. “reckon he's a high liver, when he's at home.” never was a meeting more unexpected than this, when ellis farley grasped the hand of his cousin. “ you, my cousin!” exclaimed b06 the hermit of holcombe. the delirious man. “i don't believe it. you you ? can't fool me. cousin ellis was lame. couldn't walk a step, when the old hermit made us a visit. you don't know anything about him. no, you don't. the old fellow is my particular friend. look at him, over there in the corner! you see him, don't don't talk much; but stays right along, and keeps jolly.” “ i see you, cousin warren. you must have been dreaming. how came you out in this country?” “how came you out here?” was asked, in reply. “i believe it is ellis, after all. they call you professor, now, don't they ?” “some people call me so. i came out here to study nature a little; and i am very glad our party found it convenient to spend the night in this house. else i should probably have missed you." mr. lewis, roused for a little, made a great > the hermit of holcombe. 307 effort to control himself, and talk coherently; but this was impossible. he complained of headache and feverish thirst. he asked for brandy; then demanded it; and, at length, swore that no one should keep it from him. “hal has no right to treat me as a child," he cried. “i'll do as i please, and drink what i please. and you old fellow, over there, better keep out of my way,” he added, shaking his fist towards a corner of the room. ellis farley had never seen such a case as this : but he understood it, sufficiently, to know that his cousin was suffering from an attack of delirium tremens. his medical knowledge was only such as is gained by observation, and the practice which usually falls to the best nurse of a traveling party. he had not expected such a call as this; and doubting if he was equal to the occasion, was about to ask if a physician could be obtained, when brandy was again demanded. 308 the hermit of holcombe. “ shall i bring some ?” asked the land lord, who had been standing just outside the door. “no, sir. bring my knapsack, if you please ; and a glass of cold water.” it required both persuasion and force to induce mr. lewis to swallow the potion prepared for him, although assured it would do him good. he accused ellis farley of attempting to poison him, declaring that what he had taken was liquid fire. his ravings were frightful and disconnected; yet the old hermit and hal seemed first in his thoughts. at length he slept; starting, muttering, and shouting, until his delirium exhausted itself. by this time, it was nearly morning, when his cousin obtained a few hours' rest. this meeting necessitated a change in the professor's plans. he could not go on with his party, as he announced at the breakfast the hermit of holcombe. 309 one, 66 9 table, greatly to the disappointment of all concerned. “ and the best of our route before us,” said 56 i don't see how we can do without you. we might wait a day.” “ you need not do that," was the reply. “ it is quite possible that i shall go home with mr. lewis. unless he improves very much i must, and trust to joining you again somewhere this side the mountains." they did wait, however, one day. but the sick man could not be left. neither was he in any condition for for travelling; so that several days went by, wearily. “ it seems strange that we should meet out here, cousin ellis, when i supposed you a thousand miles away,” he said, in answer to some remark. “there was a providence in it," his cousin replied. “i must have been sent here for the purpose of meeting you ; and i am very glad 310 the hermit of holcombe. it was so. you needed some one to take care of you.” “ yes, and need still more. i must get home as soon as possible. can you go with me ?" “ whenever you are able.” “ then let us start to-morrow," was the response. “i know you have sacrificed your plans, to stay with me, and i am very grateful. i can never repay you ; but what i can do, i will. i used to think money would buy everything.” “ not everything, cousin warren. health, strength and happiness are not to be bought with silver or gold.” “ if they were, i should be a richer man than i am now; although i am poorer by some thousand dollars, than i was six months ago. my journey out here has been a waste of time, and i must go home.” “but vou are in no condition to travel,” و the hermit of holcombe. 311 said ellis farley. 66 you must wait until you are stronger.” “i must be strong," was the reply, and remonstrance was useless. the next morning, he resumed his journey. that he was suffering, his looks plainly showed ; yet he made no complaint. eating little and drinking much, he succeeded in reaching home, with his companion. seventy years seemed to have been added to his age, during his absence ; and he had hardly returned the greetings of his family, when he begged to be allowed to rest. “i have had a hard jaunt, as you know,” he said. “i shall be better to-morrow; but now, every noise distracts me.” ellis farley was welcomed cordially, and urged to prolong his stay. mrs. lewis was very grateful for his kindness, and so far as dollars and cents were concerned, he was generously remunerated, although refusing to > 312 the hermit of holcombe. accept half which his cousin wished him to receive. “ you ought to stop and allow your friends here to become acquainted with you,” said mary carr. “i consider myself neglected by my relatives. father and mother think i am so far away, they can come but seldom, brothers and sisters make the same and my excuse.” > " then you must make amends, by visiting them,” was the reply. “i do visit them, but not so often as i should, if my husband could spend time to visit with me. we are such an old-fashioned couple, that we don't like to be separated ; and the happy laugh told that, to one at least, life had not been a disappointment. “ then you wouldn't like to have cousin john spend his summers, exploring forests and climbing mountains, while you remained at home.” the hermit of holcombe. 313 indeed, i wouldn't. 1 should insist upon going with him.” “ so my wife said, before we were married, cousin mary; and some of my most pleasant excursions have been made with her. i think we are as old-fashioned as you; although we live differently. my pursuits take me from home, more than i could wish. john is a model family man; and for that matter, he ought to be.” “ so ought others. i wish cousin warren was more like you and john. he has done better for the last few months,” she hastened to add. “but i never feel that he is quite safe.” it was a great mortification to mr. lewis to confess that his journey had been unsuccessful, and the speculation of which he had been so confident, a failure. his loss was insignificant, compared with his means; but there were others, who had trusted his judg 314 the hermit of holcombe. ment, upon whom the loss would fall heavily. he shrank from seeing them; yet, when in made a frank statement of the case, acknowledging that he had been deceived. their presence, > the meeting of the company was a severe tax upon his strength ; occurring, as it did, when he ought to have been under a physician's care. wine enlivened the occasion, while men drank to hide their chagrin and disappointment. warren lewis intended to drink sparingly; but prudence was forgotten. at a late hour, he was taken home in a carriage. his friends said he was ill; his enemies would have said that he was intoxicated. his wife did not send for medical assistance. she was stronger than she had been, when this occurred before, and moreover, dr. manson had instructed her how to meet such an emergency. with steady hand she the hermit of holcombe. 315 prepared the draught which she pressed to his lips; speaking firmly, when he declined it, and conquering by her very calmness. it was dreadful to do this ; but necessity knows no law. the next day, the merchant could not leave his room. suffering intensely, and craving what he knew would aggravate his sufferings, peace and happiness seemed infinitely removed from him. his nerves, quivering at every breath, protested against the unnatural sensitiveness to which they had been reduced. over and over again, he cursed his weakness. his business required attention, and he must go to the store. so he said to his wife, and attempted to rise from the bed, which he, at length, succeeded in doing, with her assistance. “ poor marion !” he added, looking at her, pityingly. “i never thought i should lean upon you, in this way. i have made a mis 316 the hermit of holcombe. > 66 you take somewhere in my life. i wish i could rectify it, for the sake of us all.” “i think you could rectify it,” she answered; and the tears would come despite her efforts to restrain them. “ poor marion !” he said again. deserved a better husband than i have been. and my boys ought to have a better father. i know it, as well as you do. here his speaking was interrupted by a paroxysm of pain, and he called for a remedy which he kept constantly at hand. for the first time, however, it produced no effect, and he was obliged to return to his bed. he suffered mentally, as well as physically. mind and body reacted, each upon the other; and like a child, he desired the presence of some one who would give him sympathy. . he begged his wife not to leave him, and at last broke down so entirely, that he wept. “i wish hal was here,” he said, after a the hermit of holcombe. 317 short silence. “i need him. no one else 66 > can do me any good," he added, when it was proposed that the family physician be called. hal understands my case. a few hours later, however, it became absolutely necessary to have some medical advice; and for the time, relief was gained, mr. lewis was again seen in his store, attending to business and professing to be well. yet his friends were not deceived. john carr, who was always anxious in regard to him, advised that he devote six months to the recovery of his health. “ and what should i do?" asked the elder merchant. 66 how should i set about it?” “ take your family, and go east,” was the reply. “put yourself under dr. manson's care, and follow his directions, implicitly. my word for it, you'll take a new lease of life. that is what i should do, if my health was like yours.” 318 the hermit of holcombe. tell me. "your health will never be like mine, john you began right, and when you are of my age, you will be in the very glory of your life. i have lived too fast, stimulated too much; and there was a sad cadence in the voice which uttered this. “i am now paying the penalty. i know it better than any one can i hope my boys will do as you have done. john, you will be a friend to my boys." “ yes, sir; i love them now, next to my own children; and i have not forgotten your kindness to a poor, lame boy, who was almost a beggar." “ not very near to being a beggar now, john,” was the response, made with affected cheerfulness. “ no, sir. but i never see a poor boy, looking as though he was hungry, without thinking of the days when i lay bolstered upon the bed, longing for mother to come and give the hermit of holcombe. 319 me something to eat. poor mother! how hard she worked to take care of me! i assure you, poor children appeal to my heart, as they never can to yours. i have twenty boys in my sabbath school class, every one of them as destitute as i was; and i hope to make good men of them. i have all their names on my temperance pledge." “ that is right, john. i used to think but no matter. i shall be getting tedious, unless i stop where i am. preach temperance to my boys as much as you please. i will think of your proposition, if i find myself getting worse.” dr. manson was constantly advised in regard to his cousin's health. he knew of the meeting with ellis farley. the details of this had been given to him, with such minuteness, that he comprehended it all ; and it was at his suggestion that warren lewis was in vited to spend several weeks in the old home. 320 the hermit of holcombe. your health was the letter containing this invitation was received when the merchant had been confined to his house for two days; and his wife, who had been previously consulted in regard to such a visit, urged its acceptance. “ let us go,” she said. “ you ought to give up care for a while. you can have the benefit of dr. manson's skill, and is now the first consideration. let us go as soon as you are able to ride." “ but my business. what of that ?”. asked ; and the wife supposed that this was the cause of his hesitation. he would have said to any one that business kept him at his post; yet in his heart he knew it was not so. he cared for his pecuniary interests. the ambition which had moved him, when younger, still held its sway. . but money was not counted against health. oh, no! he would have given half his fortune for the strength which had been his ten years before. the hermit of holcombe. 321 another motive influenced him. he was now free to drain the poisoned cup, whenever appetite overmastered his will, or circumstances seemed to demand it. in his father's house, and under his cousin's care, he could not do this. the veriest drunkard who wallowed in the gutter, was not a more abject slave than he who had so often boasted of his own strength of purpose. he was sometimes so goaded almost to madness, that but for his family, he would have been temp?ed to forego everything, like the hermit of holcombe, and drink until he died. he debated long. john and mary carr implored him to go to his father's: his wife made preparations for so doing, and at length his physician said his life depended upon it. then his cousins proved themselves friends indeed. mary was willing to take four of his boys into her family, and although her father could not consent to being separated from 322 the hermit of holcombe. them, her kindness was none the less appreciated. john accompanied him the entire journey, guarding against every annoyance, and making the trip one of comparative comfort. having been expected, everything was in readiness for them; the doctor himself meeting them at the depot. acquaintance was to be made with a new cousin, yet she seemed more like a sister than a stranger, as she welcomed both parents and children. “i am glad you have come,” said the father, looking anxiously into the face of his son. “i want you all to be comfortable, and consider this as your own home, while you remain. harry and jane proposed leaving me, when you decided to come; but i wouldn't hear to that." “ we thought it might be more pleasant for you, if we were away,” added mrs. manson ; but it certainly would not have been, as both mr. and mrs. lewis hastened to say. > the hermit of holcombe. 323 it was necessary that the invalid should و seek rest at once; and he was assisted to his chamber, where nothing which could add to his comfort was wanting. few questions were asked, although dr. manson allowed no movement or expression of his cousin to pass unnoticed. “ i shouldn't blame you, hal, if you refused to do anything for me,” was said, at length. “i have come to you, as a last resort.” “ you are not the only one who has done that,” replied the doctor, cheerfully. “i consider every such instance a compliment to my skill. but you must rest, now. . . tomorrow morning, we will see what can be done for you.” “ how is warren ?” asked the father, when he met his nephew, in the parlor. “very tired,” was the reply.” a night's rest will refresh him, so he will be more comfortable. we must give him time to recover from the fatigue of his journey." > 324 the hermit of holcombe. “fle has borne the journey much better than we feared," added john carr. “he seems stronger than when we started." later in the evening, john told his brotherin-law that the physician who had attended warren lewis said decidedly there was no reason to expect his recovery ; adding, “i knew he must give up the use of liquor, before he could be cured. i was sure he would never do that, at home." “ but since i saw him, he has drinked less than for some time previous.” “yes, much less. but he has drinked enough to injure him; and if i am not mistaken, he has had one or two attacks of delirium tremens, within a month. not very severe, perhaps, but bad enough. if you can save his life, you will effect a wonderful cure.” the doctor shook his head, as he replied, “i could have saved him six months ago, if he had followed my advice." ܪܐ the hermit of holcombe. 325 by the next morning, the family seemed comfortably established, the children, especially, -enjoying grandpa's house, and grandpa's society. their father had so long held himself aloof from them, complaining that their noise was troublesome, they hardly missed him. he did not appear at breakfast, and it was more than an hour after the morning meal, before he was ready to see his father. “i am sorry to see you in this condition," said the old man. “ and i am sorry to be in this condition,” was the reply. “i expect hal will bring me round, all right, in a few weeks. if not” – here he paused. “ if not, what, my son ?” “i must bear it,” was answered, after what seemed a long silence to him who waited. “i have brought this upon myself,” continued the invalid. “of course you know . that.” " 326 the hermit of holcombe. “i thought so, my son;" and these words came slowly and painfully. “ it is so; and now the mistake of a life time must be repaired. hal is to help me, and i am to do in all things as he tells me. no more wine or brandy for me, whether my life be long or short.” hal, as his cousin called him, fearing the effect of a prolonged conversation, interrupted this interview, and his uncle gave place to him. then followed a thorough examination of the patient; which completed, the cousins looked thoughtfully at each other. “ tell the worst, hal," said warren lewis, in a husky voice. “i have no wish to be deceived.” 6. you should have come to me three if you are ready to months ago ; but now, “i am ready to do anything, anything," was the exclamation which interrupted this the hermit of holcombe. 327 remark. “only save my life. you may order anything i shall eat or drink, and come what may, i will obey you. lying here last night, with the old hermit staring at me, i thought over my past life, and saw it in a new light. i have been all wrong. i have not lived as i should, and now i am not fit to die. pray for me, hal. pray that i may be such a christian as my mother was.” since warren lewis finally decided to come home, a new spirit had taken possession of him. he had thought seriously of death and eternity, and thus his life assumed deeper significance. dr. manson did not say he could restore him to health, neither did he discourage all hope. he did, however, recommend that business be so arranged, it could be settled by another, without sacrifice. “ it is always best to be prepared for the worst,” he added, by way of softening the 328 the hermit of holcombe. > blow he had given. “ perhaps your business . is never at loose ends, cousin warren.” “ i don't intend it shall be at loose ends," was the reply. “ but there are some things i should prefer to settle myself. i have never made a will, and it is best that i should do so now. every man ought to do it, when he is in full possession of his faculties." the will was made with all due formalities. john carr bade his friend farewell, and returned home. one day went by after another, while few beside dr. manson and his patient dreamed of the suffering endured in that luxuriously furnished chamber, where a naturally vigorous constitution combatted the weakness and disease induced by the use of intoxicating drinks. bitterly did warren lewis repent of his sin and folly. enduring physical pain, which was one prolonged agony, he was at the same time tormented with strange, frightful fancies. the hermit of the hermit of holcombe. 329 holcombe was his constant companion, until, gradually, he ceased to be so much annoyed by the pale, care-worn face. this was a part of his punishment, as he said to his cousin, who sought to rid him of the haunting presence. the old man looks at me more kindly than he did. after all, i have done but little better than he. strange we can't see where we are wrong, until too late. it is too late for me; isn't it, hal ?" this question had been often upon his lips, yet remained unspoken, while friends hoped for his recovery. never, since he had looked into the eyes of her he had called wiſe, and told her she must die, had it been so hard for dr. manson.to speak the words which precluded further hope. " i fear it is too late, cousin warren. i have done my best ; but you should have come to 66 me sooner.” 330 the hermit of holcombe. 2 > > “i know how it is, hal. i have killed my self. how long shall i probably live ?” 66 that i cannot tell. you may live for weeks, and you may be called suddenly." 66 oh, yal, it is hard to die so," murmured she sick man, grasping the hand which was outstretched to him. 66 it is hard to leave my wife and children ;” and the hot tears soursed down his cheeks. “ god pity them, and care for them better than i have done. and father! how can he bear it? will you tell him ? oh, if i had only pledged myself to abstinence, when we were at holcombe, this would not have come upon me. pray, now, that i may be prepared to die. you will be a friend to my boys, hal. don't leave me,” bu added, as his cousin turned from the bed. “warion will come when you go, and she must not ste ne yet. pray with me, hal." at such a time, the christian comes to god, the hermit of holcombe. 331 with no formal petition. from the very depths of his heart, ascends the earnest cry for help; while the all merciful, looking down compassionately, hears and answers. dr. manson remained upon his knees, until he felt that a blessing was given. then, rising, he resumed his seat, and spoke of what most concerned his companion. it was a sad day for all. the father was not surprised, when told that his son must soon die, although he had hoped otherwise. “i must bear it,” he said, with quivering lips. “ help me, harry. i shall depend upon you, and warren must prepare to die. i think he has been different, since he came here,” remarked the old man, looking wistfully into the face of his companion. “ he is different,” was the reply. “i trust “ he will be prepared to go home in peace.” marion lewis thought she had schooled herself to bear whatever might come; but the 332 the hermit of holcombe. blow fell heavily. small consolation was it that an ample support was secured to herself and children. she cared only that her husband should live. forgotten were the years of disappointment and anxiety, when his presence had sometimes inspired her with fear; and as she expressed her grief, he learned how fond and true a heart he had wounded. for what? that he might show his manly independence. that he might drain the glass with others, and enjoy the momentary exhilaration of a quickened pulse and stimulated brain. on the other hand, that he might be tortured with racking pain and weird fancies ; and at last, bid adieu to the fair earth, while life's duties were but half accomplished. he saw it all now, and wondering at his perversity, asked god to forgive his great sin. he consulted with his father, in regard to his children ; desired above all things, that they should avoid the danger into which he the hermit of holcombe. 333 had fallen. he wished dr. manson to be their guardian, yet deferred to his wife, and she, with a readiness which showed it had beer. before before considered, assented to the arrangement. mr. gregory had married not long after the death of his first wife, and with new claimants upon his love, might not give to marion so much of sympathy and assistance as she would require. but here, in the home where her husband had spent most of his early days, there was room for all; and, as grandfather lewis said, a vacancy which no one else could fill. so this was decided ; and there remained only some business arrangements to be completed. from his sick bed, the merchant dictated various letters, and until three days before his death, interested himself in everything pertaining to the settlement of his estate. we might linger over these last days, dur334 the hermit of holcombe. ing which the dying man exhibited a calmness in marked contrast to the agitation of those about him. i might describe the parting with loved ones, record the words of admonition spoken to his children, and paint the final death struggle. but last days, sad partings, and death triumphs come alike to us all. it is not from these, but from the lives i have sketched, i i would have my readers learn a lesson. in a wretched cellar, where never a ray of sunlight penetrated the gloom, a beggar died, and there were none to mourn his loss. a long cortege of mourners followed the body of warren lewis to its resting-place, where trees waved and flowers bloomed. there were many to honor his memory, and speak of his virtues. but so surely as the beggar had fallen a victim to intemperance, had this man signed his own death warrant, the hermit of holcombe. 335 when he refused to forego the use of intoxicating drinks. was it well to do this? when, to live at one's best, insures true success, is it not worse than folly to barter all, for a mere caprice of appetite or fashion ? by the death of his son, mr. john lewis was once more placed at the head of a family, and well did he fulfill the trust he had assumed. dr. manson, the nominal guardian of his grandchildren, gave them counsel from time to time; but it was the mother's influence which, above all, molded their characters. when the eldest was fifteen years of age, a sealed envelope was placed in his hand, as a legacy from his father. this contained a long letter; and if anything had been wanting to confirm him in habits of temperance and self. control, the words he read supplied this need. there were four other sealed envelopes ; 336 the hermit of holcombe. but only three of these were opened. the youngest child died before attaining the age of fifteen, and dr. manson, knowing the temptation to which he was peculiarly exposed, counted his death a blessing. mrs. lewis lives to see her remaining sons among the noblest and best, serving god faithfully, and repaying her care, and devotion. their grandfather, too, having passed the allotted age of man, by nearly a score of years, rejoices in his boys, and half forgets there was another more nearly related to him. 20 the new york public library reference department this book is under no circumstances to be takon from the building form 410 ! james black library. no.... 329 digitized by the internet archive in 2016 https://archive.org/details/hermitofrocktale00sadl_1 / / / t) jfll (flllcci 0 the hermit of the rock. a tale of cashel. by mrs. j. sadlier, author of ••the blares and flanagans,” “new lights,” “bessy conway,*' “elinor preston,” “confederate chieftains,* * “ old and new,” etc. etc. etc. dublin: m. h. gill & son, ltd., so upper o’connell street. printed and bound in ireland by :: :: m. h. gill &* son t :: :: ltd . ;; jo upper o’connell street :: :: dublin contents chap. page i. hallow-eve in bryan’s cottage, , . . 5 ii. hallow-eve at esmond hall, . , . , 18 iii. shaun the piper, . . . 3 . . 31 iv. bryan’s stations, 44 v. mary hennessy has a visit, and bryan another, . 57 vi. a day at esmond hall, . . . . ,70 vii. murder and mystery, ..... 83 viii. the events of a night, ..... 96 ix. uncle harry has an adventure, . . .109 x. a morning on the rock, . . , .122 xi. the ride home, ...... 136 xii. a wake and what befel thereat, . . .150 xiii. a sunday evening at esmond hall, . . . 163 xiv. miss markham’s story, ..... 176 xv. midsummer-eve on the rock of cashel, . . 191 xvi. sunset on the rock, and phil moran’s story, . 204 xvii. inner life in effingham castle, . . . 219 3 4 contents. chap. page xviii. kate costelloe, ...... 231 xix. an apparition at rose lodge, . . . .244 xx. who killed mr. esmond, .... 260 xxi. phil moran tries his luck, .... 275 xxii. the countess of effingham, .... 287 xxiii. more visitors to the rock— the conjurer, . , 299 xxiv. the close of this eventful history, . , ,313 the hermit of the rock. 4 chapter i. hallow-eve in bryan’s cottage. a raw, cold evening was that of the last day of october, in the year 18 — , a short time after the memorable “year of emanci pation ” — as the twenty-ninth year of this century is distinct ively called amongst the catholic people of ireland. the crops were all gathered in from the rich level fields around the city of cashel — the last potato-heap was covered out of doors, and the last load of that valuable esculent garnered in for present consumption in the farmer’s household. the rich man’s barns and haggards were full, and so were his byres, while even the poorest cottier had his slender stock of potatoes and turf stored away — his sole provision for the coming winter. the ancient city of cashel, shorn of its former splendour, and dwindled down, in the vicissitudes of time, to the dimensions of a moderately-sized country town, lay dull and indistinct at the foot of the old rock which sheltered it from the increasing violence of the wind that came sweeping from the north over the far-spreading plain. and the rock itself loomed in soli tary grandeur over the silent town, crowned with the solemn mementoes of departed glory, the ruins of many a stately edifice of other days, whose shattered walls were traced in broken and irregular lines against the grey lowering sky. the piles of masonry, so varied and distinct one from the other in the light of day, were merged in one dark solid mass as the evening mist 5 6 the hermit of the rock. gathered thick and heavy around them on their rocky perch. but still, like a spectral head, rose over all the weird pillar-tower, lone “ chronicle of time/’ keeping ward ever, through the garish day and the still night-watches, over the buried dead who sleep around and the ruins of ancient art — the proud halls of the mighty and the calm homes of the just. the lights in the city came out one by one, twinkling like stars through the gathering gloom. so, too, in the group of mud cabins that cower immediately beneath the great rock, in unsightly contrast with the mouldering monuments of human grandeur towering above. each in succession gave its faint glimmering light to the dull wintry eve, but still the rock remained shrouded in darkness ; the royal palace of munster’s kings and the lordly dwelling where princely ecclesiastics ruled of old are dark and silent now as the graves that contain the ashes of their lords ; nor light nor sound comes forth from the ancient abbey that stands close by, all alike wrapped in the solemn mystery of the past, typified by the deepening gloom of the hour and the silence of death that reigns for ever in the lonely place. the last tint of daylight was vanishing from earth and sky when the door of the smallest and poorest of the cabins at the foot of the rock was opened with a quick, eager motion, and a woman might be seen in the aperture, her small figure dimly revealed by the light of a resin candle, which flickered through the smoky atmosphere of the miserable hut. throwing the skirt of her blue drugget gown over her head, she made one step beyond the threshold, then stopped as if checked by a strong and sudden impulse. she cast a half-frightened, half anxious look at the frowning vyalls above, and then a longer and more earnest one at the iron gate leading up the steep ascent to the ruins, muttering drearily^ to herself, “ isn’t it a quare night for any christian to be up there — of all places in the world? sure, i know well nothing good can come of it, and many’s the time i tould him so, the witless crathur ! ” as she stood in an attitude of fixed attention, with eye and ear strained to the uttermost, there came from the neighbouring town certain loud noises like the banging of doors rapidly and often repeated. shouts of laughter and merry voices came hallow-eve ln be van’s cottage . 7 loud and distinct to the ear of the lonely watcher. a change came over her withered features as she listened, and a smile of strange meaning, half sorrow, half mockery, wreathed her thin pale lip, and shone in her dulled eyes. “ ay, sure, it’s hol’eve night ! ” she muttered, “ an’ the fun is beginnin’ already ! the boys an’ the girls are abroad in the streets playin’ their hol’eve thricks. they’re pullin’ their cabbage-stalks now in the dark, to see whether their sweet hearts ’ill be crooked or straight ; an’ they’re standin’ outside the doors wid their mouths full of water listenin’ for the first name that’s spoken within. an’ some of the girls are washin’ their shifts, i’ll go bail, at the south-runnin’ water below ; an’ it’s them will spread the fine supper, when the rest o’ the house is all asleep, to see who’ll come in to eat it, an’ to turn the shift that’s a-dryin’ by the fireside. vo ! vo ! vo ! it’s little they think of the throubles that may be in store for them ! it’s little i thought of them, aither, when i was like them ! an’ many’s the thrick i played of a hol’eve night, — an’ didn’t i see — och, didn’t i — didn’t i — oh, wirra ! wasn’t my stalk always the straightest and purtiest h it was — it was — but what came of 1 — 0 lord ! what came of it i ” forgetting apparently her interest in the eock, whatever it might be at that hour, she wrung her hands, and, bursting into a passionate flood of tears, retreated into her dismal dwelling, and hastily closed the door, still repeating to herself in the same wild way, “ what came of it all ? what came of it all 1 ah ! ” she suddenly added, with a startled glance around the smoky hut, “ what better could come of it ? didn’t i rake the haystack in the divivs name the very last hol’eve before — before ” — she did not finish the sentence, but, squatting down by the smouldering fire on the hearth, she clasped her hands in front of her knees, and her head sank on her chest in an attitude of helpless, hopeless, incurable woe. the woman was first aroused from her lethargy by the raising of the door -latch, and then she started up with the energy and vivacity of youth to accost an old man, much older than herself, although she too was, or appeared to be, in close proximity to the vale of years. “ wisha, bryan cullenan !” said she, “ what sort of a man are you, at all, that you’d think of stayin’ up there among the 8 the hermit of the rock. dead afther the stars are in the sky of a hol’eve night there isn't man or woman in tipperary that 'id do it except your four hones ! ” excited as she was, she did not forget the old man’s comfort, such as it was. she was down on the hearth blowing the turf fire with her apron, and, seeing it begin to emit a cheerful blaze, she drew over to the hearth a small and very rickety table, barely large enough for two cups and saucers, two plates, a third cup containing some coarse brown sugar, a diminutive milk pitcher minus the handle, and a plate containing a tempting pile of the ever-welcome potato-cake cut in triangular slices, being the four parts of a small circular cake, each piece slit in two and carefully buttered. a small white loaf, a much greater delicacy, stood also on the table. this was “ the big supper ” of hallo w-eve, and the old man’s dim eyes brightened as he watched the preparations, for tea and white bread were luxuries seldom seen in that poor dwelling. slowly old bryan took his seat on a low stool by the fire, and, leaning over it, spread forth his hands to catch the welcome heat. he seemed to have forgotten the abrupt question which had greeted his entrance, but it was not so, for when the woman began to repeat it in a sharper tone, he raised his head, and, looking at her with a somewhat sagacious smile, said, “ you think i’m losin’ my hearin’, cauth, aroon ! but i’m not, thanks be to god ! i heard what you said, mavrone, but i wonder at you to say it. sure, you know well enough that every night is the same up there,” — pointing upwards with his thumb. “do you think them that are abroad on hol’eve night has power to go next or near the holy walls and the blessed graves on the rock of cashel ? ha ! ha ! ha ! ” he laughed or rather chuckled in a faint wheezing voice, “ i’d like to see them showin’ their noses where so many saints lie waitin’ for the last trumpet — it wouldn’t be for the good of their health if they did, and they know that well. fairies, indeed, on the rock of cashel ! ha ! ha ! there’s sperits enough there, i’m thinkin’, to keep the place to themselves ! ” “ christ save us ! ” said cauth, setting down the little black crockery teapot on the table with a haste that came near up setting all, — “ christ save us ! ” and she crossed herself with a visible shudder, “ can’t you let the sperits alone ? ” hallow-eve in bryan's cottage. 9 “ what harm am i doin' them, aroon ? ” asked bryan innocently. “ who says you're doin' them harm ? " cried cauth tartly. “ but don’t be talkin' about them ! you're enough to frighten one out of their wits, so you are ! sit over now an' take your supper." “ i will, avourneen, an' god bless you ! but what makes you so feard of the sperits, cauth ? did you ever see one ? " “ see one ? " and cauth shuddered again. “ if i did it isn't alive i'd be now. can't you talk of something else, you con thrary ould man you ? " “what will i talk of, then?" said bryan, with a sort of solemn humour that contrasted oddly with the churchyard gravity of his look and manner. “ what will i talk of. cauth?" “ i was askin' a while agone what kept you so late on the rock the night ? " although cauth said this, it was evidently more to change the topic than from any interest in the probable answer. her eyes were fixed gloomily and vacantly on the blazing turf before her, and her thin lips kept moving as though she were communing with herself. but bryan was never the quickest of perception, so he heeded not the other's abstraction, but answered in good faith — “ i was workin' ever since i went up this mornin' at the archbishop's tomb in the choir above. there was some bits of the beautiful carving gone off the front of it this time back, an', as luck would have it, i found some of them among the rubbish. so i was fittin' them in here an' there, an' " — “an' you're a great fool for your pains!" broke in cauth, starting suddenly from her reverie with the air of one who would fain get rid of her own thoughts. “ now what good does it do for you to be spendin' your time up there from mornin' till night, an' sometimes from night till mornin’, in that fearsome ould rookery, where there's nothing but stones and bones and grey walls ? " “woman! ” said bryan, with a sudden assumption of dignity and a solemnity of tone that awed cauth into wondering silence, — “ woman j what’s that you say ? who are you that 10 the hermit of the rock . dares to speak so lightly of god’s holy place, an’ the consecrated walls, an’ the bones that will come together an’ rise in glory at the day of j udgment ? — why wouldn’t i look after them, for if i don’t who will ? ” “ well you said it, bryan cullenan ! ” murmured cautli, her head drooping on her chest, and her hands clasped convulsively as they rested on her knees, — “ well you said it — who am i? — ay, who am 1 ? there’s times when i hardly know myself.” it might be that the old man was accustomed to these fits of abstraction and abrupt changes of manner in the one companion of his solitary life, for he answered soothingly, as though he spoke to a little wayward child, “ well, never mind, cauth, never mind. i’m so much of my time all alone on the kock above, with only shadows round about me, that i ’most forget how to speak to flesh and blood like myself. but why don’t you take your supper, cauth ? ” “i’m not hungry,” was the curt reply. “ but you know it’s hol’eve night, cauth, an’ you can’t but eat something, if it was only for company-sake, an’ in honour of the night. why, the fairies you were talking of a while ago ” — “no, i wasn’t talkin’ of them — will you whisht now, bryan? or you’ll get yourself into trouble this blessed night. fair may they come and fair may they go ! sure, myself wouldn’t make so free as to mention their name good or bad. but as for eatin — i couldn’t do it, bryan, i couldn’t — my heart is too full thinkin’ of the days that’ll never come back, an’ — an’ ” — she stopped, reached out her hand, and, taking the cup of tea that stood untasted on the table, gulped it down with feverish avidity ; then, pressing her eyelids very close together, she forced back the tears that were gathering in her eyes, and started to her feet, exclaiming — “well! there now, haven’t i the poor memory of my own? sure, i’ve something better than tay for you, bryan ! ” going to a little alcove in a corner of the hut, cauth drew out, with an air of great importance, a black bottle, which she placed on the table with a dreary attempt at a smile, saying at the same time, “ if you’re done with them things, bryan, i’ll take them away.” bryan nodded assent, with his eyes fixed inquisitively on the bottle. hallow-eve im bryan’s cottage. 11 n what’s in it, cauth 1 ” he at length inquired. “ some of the best potheen in tipperary, bryan, an’ you’re to drink the master’s health in it this good hol’eve night. them’s the orders. an’ see here, bryan ! ” — taking a small paper package from the cupboard, — “ here’s lump sugar, no less; for the young mistress said, with a sweet smile on her face, that old bryan — meaning you, av coorse — must have his punch the night as good as the master himself. the lord’s blessin’ on her every day she rises ! ” “wisha, amen, cauth, amen, from my heart out!” said the old man, with a fervour little to be expected from him, a gleam of joy brightening his aged eyes at the thought that, poor and old and lonely as he was, there was one amongst the rich and the young and the happy that did not forget him amid all the luxurious festivity of her own stately mansion. oh, how glad the rich can make the poor ! “ was she here the day, cauth ? ” said bryan, more cheer fully than his wont. “ no, but she sent for me this mornin’, an’ gave me as much tay and sugar as ’ill do us every day for a month, an’ this bottle for you, bryan, on account of it’s bein’ the night it is, an’ the lump sugar to sweeten the punch. an’ see here — maybe you don’t call them hol’eve apples?” as she drew forth a tiny basket of the finest russetins — or, as she called them, “ rusty coats,” time out of mind the favourite hallow-eve apple in ireland. “ isn’t god good to us, cauth ? ” said the old man, drawing his stool once more to the fire, with the cup of punch in his hand (bryan’s cottage contained nor glass nor goblet), cauth opposite with another cup containing a small quantity of the same exhilarating beverage — it was seldom either indulged, or cared to indulge, in the dangerous luxury for which mankind is indebted to john barleycorn. “ isn’t god good to us, cauth, to send us such a friend as the young mistress ? an’ see what a fine load of turf we have by us — enough to put us over christ mas, anyhow. it’s dan o’connell we may thank for that, an’ a trifle i’ve by me ever since for a sore foot. ah, then, did i ever tell you, cauth, of the day i showed him over the rock?” cauth answered in the negative, expressinga wish at the same time to hear all about it. turning to a pile of turf, in the 12 the hermit of the rock. corner behind her, she replenished the fire, and with a well worn heather besom swept up the ashes from the hearth. “you mind the day, cauth?” — cautli nodded assent, — “it was one of the brightest and purtiest days that came in sep tember, and i was hard at work scrapin’ the moss out of the letters on king cormac’s tomb, — you know where it is, cauth, just in between the wall of his own chapel, god rest his soul ! an’ the cathedral, — well, i was workin’ away as hard as i could, sayin’ a trifle of prayers, too, for the good king’s soul, though thinkin’ to myself that it’s little need he had of them, most like, when somebody says, just right behind me, 4 hillo, bryan ! you’re at your old trade still, i see ! ’ an’ i started like, an’ dropped the chisel out of my hand. when i turned about, who should i see but the counsellor himself, as large as life, looking down at myself with that comical look of his that would make the dead in their graves laugh if they could only see it. he had two gentlemen with him, an’ i knew in a minnit that one of them was tom steele, for i seen him with him once afore. so i gets out from my crib as fast as i could, an’ i takes off my hat an’ makes the best bow i was able, an’ says i, 4 you’re welcome back to cashel, counsellor ! ’ “ 4 thank you kindly, bryan,’ says he. ‘ i see you haven’t forgotten me.’ “ 4 forgotten you 2’ says i back again. 4 sure, that’s what no one ever does that once gets an eyeful out of you.’ 44 with that the counsellor laughed again, and the other gentlemen laughed too; and says dan to me, ‘well, bryan, for a man that’s so much alone you keep the use of your tongue to admiration. but come, can you spare time to show us through the place? you know when i was here before i hadn’t time to see half what was to be seen.— it was when i came down to one of those murder trials in clonmel,’ says he to the strange gentleman, ‘and i was hurrying back at full speed for a general meeting of the association that was to come off next evening ’ — but what’s the matter with you, cauth ? ” seeing that she laid down the cup and leaned back against the wall. 44 there’s nothing the matter with me,” said cauth testily, though her pale lips could scarce articulate the words. the next moment she sat up as before, and motioned for bryan to go on with his narrative. hallow-eve in bryan's cottage. 13 “ well, i will, cauth, i will ; but i'm afeard you're not able to sit up — you look as pale as a ghost." “ can't you go on with your story an' never mind me ? you were saying the counsellor asked if you could spare time to take them through the ould place." “yis, an' of coorse i said i'd be hard run for time if i couldn't take him over the rock. * my work,' says i, ‘ can stand — there's no one to hurry me, an' i've my life long to do it.' “ ‘ very true, bryan,' says the counsellor, as we turned into the ould cathedral. 4 do you know, steele,' says he to tom, ‘ that this is our irish old mortality*?' — let me see, was that the word*? — yis, that was it, old mortality, — 4 this, 'says he, nodding his head at myself, ‘this is our irish old mortality.' with that the gentlemen looked at me and smiled at one another, an' though i didn’t know from adam what old mortality meant, i thought it couldn't be anything bad, or he wouldn't say it, so i took off my hat again and made a very low bow. ‘your honour,' says i, ‘is very kind an' condescendin’ to speak so well of a poor ould crathur like me.' “ ‘ not at all, bryan, not at all,' says he. ‘ you're a great man, and a useful man in your own way, and, moreover, you and i are, to some extent, fellow-labourers.' them were his very words, cauth, as i'm a livin' man this night. “ * why, dear bless me ! how can that be *? ' says i, lookin' at him close to see if he was makin' fun of me or not. “ ‘ because,' says he, ‘ bryan, you and i are both working for the future of our country — we are both clearing away the rubbish of ages — both working for the honour and glory of the old land!"' “ wisha, bryan, did the counsellor say that*?" “as true as you're sittin' there, cauth, he said them words 1 an' don't you think but it made my heart jump with joy ? i declare the tears came into my eyes so that i could hardly see the way before me, an' i 'most forgot what i was about, till the counsellor says, with that fine hearty laugh of his, ‘ why, bryan cullenan, where are your wits gone? i think i must turn guide myself. where's this myler m‘grath's tomb is?' an' he walked straight to it, an' began to explain the inscription on it to the other gentlemen. i had no need to speak a word there, for they all knew more about the archbishop than i did 14 the hermit of the rock. myself. but they wanted to take a rise out of me , i could see that, an’ so tom steele says to me in his big voice, ‘bryan,’ says he, ‘do you know that myler m‘grath was the first protestant archbishop of cashel ? ’ “ ‘ i do, your honour,’ says i ; ‘ i knew it ever since i was the height of your knee.’ “ ‘ how does it happen, then, that you take such good care of his tomb as i am told you do ? ’ “ ‘ for a very good reason, your honour,’ says i, lookin’ him straight in the face, ‘ because he recanted his errors before he left this world, an’ had all the rites of the church.’ “ ‘nonsense, man ! how can you be sure of that?’ “ ‘ how can i be sure of it v says i. ‘ your honour might as well ask how can i be sure that the blessed sun will go back the night to set where he set last night, behind the mountains westward ? only i’m sure, an’ double sure, that the archbishop died a good catholic, do you think i’d sleep many’s the summer night, as i do every year of my life, right here in the choir beside his tomb 1 ’ “ ‘ bravo, bryan, bravo ! ’ cried the counsellor and the other gentleman, clappin’ their hands, and laughin’ till you’d think they’d split their sides. ‘ what do you think of that, friend tom ? come, come, now ! look bryan straight in the face an’ tell him old myler did right to “ conform ” to the religion pre scribed by the virgin queen, or wrong to return to catholic unity when he felt himself at the gates of death ? speak now, my man of steel ! or ever hereafter hold your tongue ! ’ “ ‘ pshaw ! ’ says tom, turnin’ on his heel an’ walkin’ away down the aisle, ‘ let the old hypocrite lie where he is — be that where it may ! it matters little now to us when he was right, or when wrong ! ’ at this the others laughed again, an’ myself was afeard they’d make him angry ; but they knew him better than i did, for when the counsellor called after him to come back an’ look at one of the old monuments in the wall before they’d leave the choir, he went back as cheerful as could be, an’ looked just the same as if nothing at all had happened. so i took them all round an’ showed them everything i could think of, an’ by the time we got to the old tribute-stone near the gate, with st. patrick risin’ up from it on one side, an’ the crucifixion on the other, they were all purty well tired, i’m hallow-eve in levan’s cottage. 15 thinking and down they sat on some big stones that were lyin' a one side on the grass, just where they had a fine view of the whole, an' a beautiful sight it was, too. the sun was beginnin’ to decline westward, an' the shadows of the grand ould walls were all around us, with here and there the shape of a window or a door of clear sunlight shinin' like yallow goold on the green grass. then the counsellor pointed out to the others all the fine elegant arches, both round and pointed, as he said, an' the pillars within an' without, an' the beautiful mullions, as he called the stone divisions where the windows used to be, an' he spoke of the carvin' over the doors, an' told the meaning of everything, just all as one, cauth, as if he was at the buildin' of it all; an' they talked a long while about the ould round tower, an' what it was for, an’ one said one thing an' one another, but the counsellor said it was easy to see what it was built for, an' that was to keep the rich vessels of silver an' goold belongin' to the church in the ould war-times. ‘don’t you know,' says he, ‘ that there's an underground passage from the church to the tower — well, doesn't that prove what i'm saying to be true ? where would be the use of constructing an under ground passage,' — that wasn't the word he said, cauth, but i disremember the other — i know it began with sub — something or another — no matter, anyhow, i suppose it means the same as underground, — ‘where would be the use,' says he, ‘of constructing an underground passage to the tower through the solid rock, if it wasn't for the purpose i have mentioned?' the others seemed to give in to that, an' after discoorsin’ a while longer, ihey stood up to go. they turned to take another look at the duld walls, an' sure enough i never seen them lookin' so grand or so beautiful. the counsellor's face would do you good to see it, cauth, as he watched the sunshine dancin' and glancin' hither and thither among the broken arches, an’ the pillars, an' things, an' says he then, takin’ out a fine elegant white silk handkerchief out of his pocket, an' wipin' the tears from his eyes, says he, as if partly to himself, ‘ and such is ireland — grand and venerable even in decay — cashel is ireland — ireland is cashel — royal still, though their greatness be of the past. but their glory shall not fade for ever. look at the sunbeams on the old walls,' says he, turnin' to the other gentlemen, — ‘ well, even so it is with our native land ; the light of hope has never left her, and 16 the hermit of the rock. now the sun of prosperity begins to shine again on her mountain tops. and it will continue to shine — mark my words — when the darkness of night has settled down for ever on haughty england, her oppressor ! ’ them were the words he said, cauth ; for i kept sayin’ them over and over to myself, by night an’ by day, ever since, till i’ve got them by heart like a gossoon lamin’ his task. there’s ne’er a time i look up at the ould walls over my head, espaycially when the sun is shinin’, that i don’t think of dan o’connell, an’ somehow or another his words keep singin’ in my ears for all the world like one of columbkill’s prophecies. but the best of it all was what he said to myself at his off-goin’. ‘ bryan,’ says he, — ‘ bryan cullen an ! you have a great name, — your namesake, king cormac cullenan, was a good king and a great bishop in his day, — i’m proud to see that you take such care of these noble ruins. it is a good work, bryan, and a pious work, too — and god will bless you for it, and the saints of erin will shield you from all ill. farewell, bryan ! if we never meet again on earth, put up a prayer now and then for dan o’connell, while you tell your beads here among the tombs of the holy dead.’ with that he slips a bright goold guinea into my hand, to buy my winter’s turf, he said in a whisper. the other gentlemen gave me a half-crown apiece, so i made a good day’s work of it in regard to money ; but i didn’t care for that half so much as i did for the honour of showin’ cashel to counsellor o’connell, an’ hearin’ all the fine beautiful words he said about the ould place that my heart is centred in. i forgot to tell you, cauth, that he took another grand rise out of mr. steele as they were just leavin’ the rock. i didn’t know till then that he was a prodestan, which, indeed, is a mighty odd thing to me, an’ him such a darlin’ fine gentle man, and a great friend of the people. “ ‘ tom,’ says the counsellor — it’s the member for clare, i hear they cali him now, — ‘tom,’ says he, pointin’ his finger down at the great new church — the bishop’s church — in the town below, — ‘tom, do you know how that came to be built?’ ‘no,’ says tom, ‘i do not.’ ‘well,’ says the counsellor, winkin’ at the other gentleman, — i never can remember what name they gave him,— ‘ it was built because the road up to the rock here was too steep for the protestant archbishop agar to drive his carriage up, and i suppose himself was too fat to walk hallow-eve in bryan's cottage. ll it, though it is only a few perches, as you may perceive. so he goes to work and puts up that grand building below there, * or got the government to put it up for him. the roof was taken off this cathedral on the rock to make lead water-pipes out of, or something of the kind, and from that day to this it has been going to ruin. see what it is to be fat, tom ! — archbishop agar’s fat cost this noble old building its roof.’ mr. steele got very red in the face at that, and says he, ‘if i had my will of that old chap, do you know what i’d do with him ? i’d put him on bread and water the rest of his days, by way of penance, then he’d soon be able to walk up here, and a little farther, too, if need were — the old vandal ! ’ says he, mighty angry ; and at that the others laughed till the tears came into their eyes.” here cauth started to her feet and looked wildly around, putting back her long grey hair from off her ears to listen. “ha! ha!” she cried, “i hear them now! that’s john’s voice ” — “ what john ? who do you mean ? ” said bryan. “ i hear nothin’, barrin’ the wind screechin’ round the ould walls on the rock above. sit down, cauth, sit down, — or maybe you ought to go to bed. i’m afeard you’re not well.” “ don’t tell me,” said cauth, with a vehement gesture; “if that isn’t the caoine, i never heard it. i say it’s that and nothin’ else — and there’s men’s voices in it, too ! 0 lord ! will i hear it for ever — for ever?” she buried her face in her hands, and was silent. accustomed as bryan was to the solitude of death and the grim presence of dread mortality in its relics, there was some thing in cauth’s voice and manner that made him shiver with an undefined sense of fear. he did not dare to rouse her from her lethargy, of whatever kind it was, but as soon as she raised her head again, he renewed his request that she would go to bed, which she did very soon after, without any allusion to what had passed. chapter ii. hallow-eve at esmond hall. we will now take the liberty of introducing the reader to the drawing-room of esmond hall on that same hallow-eve night, where the “ young mistress ” so gratefully and often mentioned by bryan and cauth was entertaining with modest though lively grace a numerous circle of visitors, all more or less con nected with the family. nothing could be more cheerful than the aspect of the spacious and lofty room, with its bright coal fire, and its crystal chandelier shedding down a flood of warm light on the gay company, the bright-hued velvet carpet, the handsome modern furniture, rosewood and marble of the latest dublin style, the piano — one of broadwood’s grand — with its showy keyboard open to view, and near it a harp which could be set down for no other — even without hearing its silvery tones — than one of “ erard’s best.” a beautiful dog of the king charles breed lay on the soft rug outside the fender, his long silken ears of glossy black reflecting the bright glow from the massive grate. the crimson curtains w t ere closed over the tall windows, hanging in heavy folds to the floor, and the lofty mirrors flashed back the gay scene with its richly-varied hues, its light and life and beauty. the “ wind of the winter night ” howling without, served but to increase the luxurious sense of comfort within, and its plaintive cadences and loud fierce swells were little heeded by the company assembled in mrs. esmond’s drawing-room. and yet some of the guests were grave and far from young. one in particular — a stout, portly man, with short neck, square shoulders, and large globular head — would have given you the impression of a harsh, stern man as he looked at you from under his protruding brows with a glance 18 hallo w-eve at esmond hall 19 half inquisitive, half defiant. this personage, attired in top boots and knee-breeches of drab cassimere, with a bottle-green frock coat, black velvet vest, and scrupulously white neck-tie, occupied the seat of honour, a large gothic arm-chair near the fireplace, with cushions of crimson velvet. he was addressed by both the lovely young hostess and her frank-looking, handsome husband as “ uncle harry,” and his presence on that occasion seemed somehow to be regarded as a very special favour. then there was his wife, a rather favourable specimen of the irish lady of the last generation ; though somewhat stiff and formal, there was nothing forbidding in her long, thin features, and she seemed to listen with complacency, if not with any great degree of sympathy, to the joyous badinage of her younger relatives. this lady was “ aunt martha.” then there were sundry cousins, male and female, comprising a young attorney, a physician whose diploma was dated within the year, and another of some ten or twelve years’ standing in the good city of cashel. the last-named gentleman, dr. o’grady, had a fair-faced little wife in that goodly company, and the former, dr. hennessy, a sister, some years younger than himself, a gay, light-hearted brunette, whose saucy though good-natured repartees contributed largely to the general amusement. mary hennessy was a bright-eyed, handsome girl, with an inexhaust ible fund of good humour, and her presence was everywhere greeted as heaven’s sunshine — warm, genial, and enlivening. two other young ladies were there, connections though not relatives of the esmonds, one of whom, bella le poer, was a distant relation of the elegant lady blessington, and the other, harriet markham, a pale and very interesting girl, a recent convert to catholicity, belonging to an old but much-reduced queen’s county family. this young lady was engaged as governess in the family of a certain noble lord whose princely mansion rises but a short distance from cashel, almost in the shade of old killough. there was, too, a vinegar-faced old maid, the sister of uncle harry, familiarly called “aunt winn,” whose natural acerbity of temper acted as a whetting-stone to the lively humour of the youngsters, and gave them no small entertainment. altogether it was a pleasantly-constituted party, each one marked by strong peculiarity of one kind or another, the ages 20 the hermit of the rock. and characters and professions happily assorted, and, to crown all, each known to the other in all their prominent traits of character. tea had been served in the drawing-room, and as the hallow-eve sports were to come off before supper, the matter now in hand was the order to be observed. after some good humoured discussion, the company all adjourned to the ball room, the smooth oaken floor of which better suited that evening’s entertainment than the rich carpet of the drawing room. the youngsters were all in a state of excitement that was in itself happiness. though all far superior to the superstitious belief of the peasantry in the fateful character of hallow-eve, or the possibility of obtaining on that particular night a glimpse of life’s untrodden path, they all, as a matter of course, assumed the greatest anxiety to “ try their luck” in accordance with the spell that ruled the hour. every face was brimful of serio-comic importance, under which each contrived to manifest a laughing incredulity, that reduced the power of fairydom to a mere myth, and the hallow-eve observances to a pure frolic. first came the melting of the lead in a grisset, and the pouring thereof through the wards of a key by each unmarried person in succession. this ceremony gave rise, as usual, to the most unbounded merriment, on account of the ludicrous com binations presented by the charmed lead in the various shapes it assumed falling into a shallow dish of water through the ring aforesaid. truth to tell, the shapes were of that nonde script kind which might be construed into anything, and in that consisted the charm, for each one’s lot was, therefore, predicted from the lead in the way most likely to promote the general amusement. thus, mary hennessy’s “ cast ” was inter preted by all present into a tailor’s scissors, bella le poer’s a printing press, and harriet markham’s a ship’s rudder! it is to be remarked that the hallow-eve lead is much more given to emblems of handicraft than any other,— it seldom meddles with the professions, though once in a while, by way of variety, perhaps a pen or a compass, perhaps a telescope, is discovered amongst the motley forms into which it resolves itself in its passage through the key. much amusement was afforded the young people on that particular night by the result of aunt hall ow eve at esmond hall. 21 winn’s experiment, which was declared, after a minute and most careful investigation, to be a fiddle, indicating either a dancing master or an itinerant performer on that favourite instrument. this announcement was received with unbounded applause* and followed by the most uproarious mirth. “aunt winn is going to have a fiddler! — good gracious! good gracious ! ” cried mary hennessy ; “ then we shall do nothing but dance all year round ! ” “ uncle harry, do you hear that 1 ” said bella, in the good natured expectation of bringing a smile to the face that even then was grave. “ i am not surprised,” was the answer ; “ i always thought that winn had a decided turn for music.” “bravo ! bravissimo ! ” cried the young men, clapping their hands, while the fair girls around made the roof ring with their light-hearted laughter. even aunt martha, uncle harry’s staid and sober helpmate, smiled condescendingly at the odd conceit ; but aunt winn herself was highly offended, and said she deserved no better for allowing herself to be made a fool of. the very curls on either side of her high, narrow forehead — they were barrel curls of fair rotundity — seemed to swell in sympathetic indignation, and her long, thin nose assumed an alarmingly sharp point, as she rose from her seat and declared her intention of returning to the drawing room, as “ people there didn’t know how to conduct themselves.” the angry spinster was, with no small difficulty, prevailed on by the host and his gentle wife not to break up the party. “for you know, aunt winn,” said mrs. esmond in her sweetest tones, “ we could never think of remaining here, any of us, and let you sit alone in the drawing-room, — on a night like this, too,” she sportively added, “ when the fairies are all on the alert to catch unwary mortals.” “nonsense, henrietta,” said her husband gaily; “aunt winn wants only a little coaxing. come, come, my fair aunt ! i will take you under protection for the rest of the evening,” and, drawing her arm within his, he led her back to her seat with a half smile on her face and a look of heroic determination on his, as though meaning to convey to all concerned the strength and firmness of his purpose. 22 the hermit oe the rock. a suppressed titter went round in acknowledgment of harry’s comic powers, and the lead having gone its rounds, another ordeal was instituted for the trial of each one’s fate. four plates were set on a table, one of which contained clean, another muddy water, the third some fresh clay, and the fourth a ring, drawn from the taper finger of mrs. esmond. the ring, in being handed to dr. hennessy, who arranged the plates, dropped by accident into the clay, whereat mrs. dr. o’grady uttered an exclamation of horror. all eyes were immediately turned upon her, and every one asked what was the matter. “ oh, nothing, — nothing at all,” said she in a faint, languid tone, looking quite overcome at the same time ; “ but, dear me ! dr. hennessy, how could you be so awkward ? you ought to have known better ! i really can’t forgive you ! ” “ forgive me for what, madam ? i would willingly ask your pardon if i only knew the head and front of my offending. will you have the goodness to enlighten me thereupon ? ” “ some other time i will, but not now. mrs. harry esmond, if i were you i would not have given the ring off my hand for any such purpose, and ” — here she stopped, and after glancing at the fair hand and then at the ring, turned up her eyes and raised her hands, with a gesture that said ever so plainly, “ well ! anything to equal that ! ” it was now mrs. esmond’s turn to inquire somewhat earnestly, “ what do you mean, mrs. o’grady ? ” ‘ ‘ mean ? why, i mean that you did very wrong to give your wedding-ring for such a purpose. any other would have done as well.” “and pray, where’s the difference?” laughed mrs. esmond, but her voice trembled a very little. “ what harm does it do the ring ? ” “ jsto harm to the ring , child ; but — but — i wouldn’t have done it, that’s all ! ” this trifling episode was little heeded by any of the others, and harry, if he had noticed it, would doubtless have quizzed mrs. o’grady unmercifully for her old-world notions, but some how the ill-timed remark of that sharp-sighted lady made an impression on the mind of her to whom it was addressed, which her reason strove in vain to combat. the impression w t as not weakened by the succeeding incidents of that evening. hallow-eve at esmond hall, 23 the sports went on. each of the young people was, in turn, led blindfolded to the table, and shouts of laughter greeted their groping efforts to make for the clean water and the ring. the clay, emblematic of death, and the muddy water of marriage with a widow or widower, as the case might be, were, as a matter of course, anxiously avoided. some did happen on the muddy water, and that was the signal for increased merriment. the attorney was one of them, avhereupon the other young men clapped their hands and cried simultaneously, “the widow gartland — the widow gartland!” “by jove !” added harry esmond, “you’re a lucky dog, after all, phil moran.” “that’s to be tried,” said dr. o’grady, with emphasis. “ money is not always luck, and there’s many a bitter curse on that same money of old gartland’s. i’d rather work my own way in life and trust to providence than start on a fortune that was wrung from the heart’s blood of the poor.” “that’s because you’re a fool,” said uncle harry senten tiously. “ money is money, and what is more, money is power. if i were a young fellow like moran, with a fair chance of success, i’d go in for gartland’s houses and lands — and money too — with a heart and a half. as for the curses ” — he smiled scornfully — “ i’d take them by way of mortgage ! ” uncle harry was a privileged person in the circle, and was tolerated, on account of his age, in a latitude of tongue accorded to no one else. the doctor contented himself, therefore, with a smile of peculiar meaning ; whilst moran laughed, and said it was time enough to balance the pro and con of that question when one had an interest in it, which, on his honour, was not his case. “ mary ! mary ! take care !” now burst from the eager circle round the table, — mary hennessy was trying her fortune, and her hand was hovering near the plate which contained the fateful clay. old and young gathered round, for mary was the favourite of all, — every eye followed the motions of her fingers as though fate indeed hung in the balance, — again and again was the warning given, half jest, whole earnest, to take care, yet still mary’s hand, slow and wary, and moved away for a moment, ivould return to the forbidden spot. all at once, harry esmond extended his hand playfully, crying, “nonsense, 2r the hermit of the rock. mary ! that’s not the plate for you!” but instead of drawing her hand away, as he intended, it so happened that his and hers both came down together on the damp, dark earth, and mary’s cry of terror, whether real or assumed, was echoed by mrs. esmond. harry was at her side in a moment, laughing at her childish folly, and, shaking his finger at mary hennessy, who was herself a shade paler than usual, he declared it was all her fault, giving it, moreover, as his opinion that she had managed to see under the bandage, and, with her usual love of mischief, persisted in choosing the clay just to frighten them all. “upon my honour, harry esmond !” cried mary, shaking back her long curls and looking at him with a saucy smile, “you are not improving in politeness since your marriage. to accuse me — mary hennessy — of practising deceit in a matter, positively, of life and death ! come, come, now, i think we have all had our turn at the plates.” “all but aunt winn,” put in moran slyly. “ aunt winn wants no more turns — she thanks you,” was the ancient maiden’s tart rejoinder, and she drew herself up t<r her fullest rigidity. “every one hasn’t your luck, phil moran, in regard to the muddy water — or the rusty gold the doctor was speaking of a while ago.” this speech was loudly applauded, the more so as it made the lawyer look a little sheepish ; and, much mollified by the success of her well-aimed shaft, aunt winn smiled a vinegar smile and nodded her head several times with great self complacency. perhaps gentle mrs. esmond was not sorry that supper was announced at that particular moment, and she took uncle harry’s offered arm with right goodwill ; while harry, ever free and easy, followed with that gentleman’s grave helpmate ; and moran went up with a dancing step to make his salaam to mary hennessy, with whom he joined the order of march to the tune of “the rakes of mallow,” humming at the same time loud enough for all to hear — “beauing, belleing, dancing, drinking, lived the rakes of mallow.” “ what a grave and reverend signor — -for a lawyer ! ” said sprightly mary hennessy. “ do you ever expect to wear the ermine, or cover those locks of yours with wig judicial v 9 hallow-eve at esmond hall. 25 “ undoubtedly, fair lady ! thicker heads than mine have worn that venerable coiffure. only you take the taming of me,” he said, lowering his voice to a half whisper, “and you shall see me grave enough for anything.” “ oh, you incorrigible scion of the law ! ” said mary, with her clear, musical laugh, “what a left-handed compliment you pay me ! let me only have the taming of you and you would be grave enough for anything ! angels and ministers of grace ! heard any unfortunate damsel ever the like of that ? ” “ well, but — yes or no?” “no, decidedly; i leave you to old gartland’s gold, — the lord forgive me,” she added, with sudden seriousness, “for naming the dead so lightly ! ” “who were you naming, then?” said her brother from behind, as they entered the spacious dining-room where supper awaited them. “will gartland, or who?” “what a good guess you are, maurice!” said his sister evasively; “you should have been born in new england instead of old ireland.” mary hennessy raised her eyes as she said this, and en countered the stern gaze of uncle harry, who had just taken his seat near the head of the table at the right hand of the youthful lady of the mansion. she blushed consciously, without knowing why, and the man of law, seeing the blush, and mis taking the cause, interpreted the same in his own favour. a regular hallow-eve supper graced the w r ell-spread board. some of the dainties there were common to rich and poor that night, whilst others were only to be seen on the tables of the rich, though proper to a festival celebrated in every homestead from cape clear to fair head. of the former class was the indispensable dish of “ caulcannon,” the plates of oaten cake, thin and white and crisp, and the tall crystal fruit stands filled with magnificent apples, the orchard’s pride. to the latter class belonged the hallow-eve goose, cooked to its highest perfection, and the rich variety of nuts, walnuts, filberts, almonds, which the poor scarce knew even by name, with the delicately-flavoured hazel-nut so common in irish woods. this is, after all, the ilallow-eve nut joar excellence , for it alone borrows a charm from the fated night, and indicates — or is sup posed to do so — the secret motions of lovers’ hearts when placed 26 the hermit of the rock , in couples on the hearth within burning reach of the heat from the fire. the hallow-eve nuts and the rosy-cheeked apples wherein the curious damsel stuck her ten new pins — throwing the tenth one away — to place it under her pillow, hoping to dream of the fated one who was to tread life's path with her ! — oh, who that grew to manhood or womanhood in “dear old ireland, gay old ireland," land of love and of all things genial, has not watched with eagerness the capricious movements of those hallow-eve nuts, as they sat side by side on the well swept hearth before the clear turf fire, representing two of the company present, or, just as often, two who were absent ! — what a host of bright illusions rise before the world-weary heart as memory touches on those festive hours, with the harm less mirth, the gleeful sport, that youth alone can know in perfection ! what troops of loved ones, dead or distant, rise before the dreaming eye of irish readers at thought of the halloweve sports! — some — oh, many! to be seen no more on earth, — brightest and gayest and fondest, too, — others whom time and the cold, harsh world have changed almost to stone! we ask ourselves have these scenes all passed away? are we, indeed, in a new world , with an ever-yawning gulf between us and the past — the storied, poetical, old-world past ? such thoughts as these were all unknown to the gay party round the esmond supper-table that hallow-eve night, for the sports and the joys of the past were still present with them — even the oldest there had not outlived the joyous celebration of “ the year's stepping-stones," as some one has quaintly called the old festivals. during supper the conversation turned again, by some singular chance, on old will gartland, who had, in his day, enjoyed the unenviable character of being the worst landlord in the county, — or, at least, in the barony, — for, truth to tell, few of the landlords of tipperary county were, in that day, remarkable as good ones. for some cause known to himself — and, it might be, to some of the others too — this disparagement of the departed spouse of the rich widow was particularly distasteful to uncle harry. some contemptuous allusion having been made by dr. hen nessy to that defunct individual, whom he styled “ the oppressor hallow-eve at esmond hall. 27 of the poor,” uncle harry filled his glass to the brim, and, standing up, said with angry vehemence, turning his scowling glance on hennessy — “ i drink to the memory of that much-calumniated man — he was my friend and neighbour for nigh thirty years — we all knew him, all shared his hospitality — i give, then, the memory of william gartland ! ” he drained his glass to the bottom, but no one followed his example — every glass save his own either stood un tasted or was turned down empty. “so none of you will drink my toast ?” said uncle harry, with a heightened colour on his face. “will not you, harry esmond ? ” “excuse me, uncle,” replied the nephew, his handsome face flushed with generous indignation \ “i had no respect for the man when living, nor have i for his memory when dead. the best thing you can do for one like him is to leave his memory where his body lies — ‘unwept, unhonoured ’ — in the earth on which his soul grovelled during life.” “ bravo, esmond ! ” cried hennessy and moran, clapping their hands, while dr. o’grady, less demonstrative, slapped the table gently two or three times with his right hand by way of approval, with a quiet “ hear ! hear ! ” “upon my honour, gentlemen,” said uncle harry, with difficulty restraining his passion, — “upon my honour, i take this conduct of yours as very unkind — very disrespectful to the zlead, and certainly not complimentary to the living, as far as i’m concerned.” then, as if hoping to soften the matter, he added, “ ladies, what say you ? ” the ladies, as if by tacit consent, left the answer to mary hennessy, who was not slow in giving her opinion. “for once i entirely agree with the gentlemen. i’d as soon drink old chadwick’s 1 memory as old gartland’s — sooner, indeed, of the two, inasmuch as gartland, being, or professing to be, a catholic, was the more inexcusable for his cruel oppression of 1 mr. chadwick, the agent of a large estate in tipperary, was shot a few years before in broad daylight, near the ruins of holy cross abbey, while superintending the erection of a police-barrack, which his own heartless tyranny, and that of others in his position, alone rendered necessary. 28 the hermit of the rock. his catholic tenantry. i have myself seen too many of the victims of his pound-of-flesh exactions not to hold his memory in something very like abhorrence. i tell you, sir, the whole world will one day cry out shame on the cruelty and injustice of — some irish landlords.” “ you do not include all in your fierce anathema,” observed uncle harry, with forced composure. “ certainly not, mr. esmond ! ” — she usually called him, like the others, uncle harry, — “ god forbid i did — under this roof/” and she looked with moistened eyes at the young master of esmond hall, who was famous throughout the county as one of the best landlords in it. harry blushed like a young maiden at this delicate allusion to his well-known standing with the people, whilst his uncle prepared to astonish the company by an out-and-out defiance. “well,” said he, after draining another glass, and setting it down with most convincing energy, — “well, good people, once for all, i tell you this — i despise the people too much to regard what they say of me, and i’d just as soon have their bad word as their good word any day in the year. i know they look on their landlords as their natural enemies, and, like cowards as they are, conspire in secret to injure them all they can, even where they don’t go the length of murder now there’s myself, for instance, — you all know that i’m not a bad landlord — never was — though i don’t say what i will be, — well, you know how often my cows have been houghed, my haggard burned, and various other outrages of a similar nature perpetrated on my property. how can i speak well of my tenantry what kindness do i owe them ? i tell you i hate them — hate them all — man, woman, and child ! ” “and maybe they don’t hate you /” said a deep, hoarse voice not heard before at the table. it certainly came from none of the guests, and all eyes were turned on the butler, the only servant in the room, but he was pouring out a glass of water for mrs. esmond, so it could not possibly be him. still, uncle harry was determined to try. “ do you hear, you fellow ? — i say, niece, what’s your butler’s name ? — pierce ! — exactly ! — i say, you pierce ! did you speak to me just now ? ” “ is it me spake to your honour 1 ” the butler replied, in such hallow-eve at esmond hall. 29 a thin, weak voice that every one laughed heartily — it was so totally unlike the voice heard but a moment before. “do you think i’d make so free as to spake to a gentleman unless he spoke to me ? i’m a poor boy, and i don’t know much, sir, but as little as i know, i know my place when the quality’s to the fore. bedad, i do, your honour ! ” “ where did the voice come from, then? would you have us believe, you rascal, that it came from the ceiling ? ” “ wisha, how can i tell where it came from?” was the innocent and half-bashful answer, in a sort of whining tone ihat was indescribably ludicrous when compared with the stalwart proportions of the man. “ sure, nobody wonders, your honour, at anything they hear — or see, aither — on a hol’eve night.” the rest of the company all laughed at this sally, but uncle harry did not laugh. he seldom did laugh, and he was nowise disposed for laughing then. he fixed his stern eyes for a moment on the butler’s somewhat stolid features, and somehow, as he looked, the expression of his own face changed and his look became more earnest. at last he said through his closed teeth, “if i had my horsewhip near me, my good fellow, i’d find a back to lay it on, without going far from where i sit ! ” “ uncle harry,” said the host, in accordance with a sign from his wife, “ we’re waiting for you to fill your glass — i’ve a toast to give. are you ready? i see you are. well, here’s may we all be alive and as merry as we are now next hallow-eve night !” the toast was drunk with all the honours, and it seemed to restore the general good humour — even uncle harry so far forgot his previous irritation as to sing, at his niece’s request, “ one bumper at parting,” written by moore, to the lively air of “moll roe in the morning.” nobody ever sang that song, henrietta esmond said, half so well as uncle harry ; and, as if catching the inspiration of the gay, dashing music, her own sweet voice mingled with his when he came to the beautiful words — “the sweetness that pleasure has in it is always so slow to come forth, that never, alas ! till the minute it dies do we know half its worth. 30 the hermit of the rock. but time, like a pitiless master, cries ‘ onward ! ’ and spurs the gay hours, for never does time travel faster than when his way lies among flowers.” then every one that could raise a note joined in the chorus, and “ hearts were light, and eyes were bright,” as the company left the table to finish the evening in the more refined amuse ments of the drawing-room. meanwhile, the storm without increased its fury, the leafless branches of the trees swung like skeleton limbs in the fierce blast, and doors and windows creaked in dismal consonance to the wild music of the winds that came sweeping down from the stern old eock, to rush in unimpeded fury over the broad plains of tipperary away to the far galtees and the distant hills of clare. but little cared the joyous party assembled in esmond hall, for as none of the guests were to leave till morning light at least, what was the storm to them, or the witches and fairies who that night bestrode the blast? the louder the wind blew, the more merrily “laugh, and song, and sparkling jest went round/ — the host and hostess merriest of all the circle. chapter iii. shaun the piper. the next day being all saints’ day — hollantide day amongst the irish peasantry — was, of course a holyday, of obligation. the tardy winter’s morning rose clear and cold. the high wind of the previous night had dried up the clammy earth, and towards morning a sharp frost began to whiten the bare brown pastures and stubble-fields, giving the first positive indication of the near approach of winter. the red light of the dawn was just appearing over the killough heights eastward when old bryan cullenan might be seen wending his homeward way from the chapel where he had just heard mass, through one of the narrow by-streets leading off from the main street of cashel. the old man was alone, as usual, and as he paced with slow and uncertain steps the rough pavement of the old borough, his head and shoulders bent slightly forward, and his hands crossed at the wrists in the loose sleeves of his coarse and faded brown coat, — of that make known in the rural parts of ireland as a w big-coat” — with a large cape, namely, and a small collar turning over it, — his sharp and rather wasted features composed and thoughtful, and his grey, sunken eyes fixed on the ground as if in meditation, he looked the solitary man he was. the men and women he met all accosted him with kindness and respect, and the children as he passed smiled, and whispered to each other, “there goes bryan, the old man of the rock!” the urchins regarded him with a sort of feeling that was not fear, but rather something more akin to reverence. the noisiest and most mischievous of them all kept silent and demure while bryan was in sight, and it was a notable fact that no one living remembered to have seen an ash-bag appended to the rear of bryan cullenan on an ash wednesday. that exemption, 32 the hermit of the rock. which he shared with the priests, speaks volumes for the high estimation in which the hermit was held by the ragamuffins of cashel town, who, like all other ragamuffins in irish towns, take a malicious pleasure in carrying out the title of the day, by ornamenting the coat-tails and other such rear appendages of the passers-by with tiny paper bags filled with ashes. which one of our irish readers can boast that during their irish life they went to chapel and got home again on an ash wednesday without hearing from some one passing by the sly announce ment — then a startling one, too — “ you have got an ash-bag on your back ” ? well, bryan cullenan enjoyed, as we have said, this very important immunity, with others of a similar nature, from the juvenile inhabitants of cashel, which was the more remarkable on account of the old man’s self-imposed office of expelling all such intruders from the sacred precincts of his domain on the rock. going home from mass that hollantide day, bryan was moving along at a pace somewhat quicker than usual, with that sliding gait peculiar to the aged, saying his prayers the while for the repose of the souls who were that morning recom mended to the charitable remembrance of the congregation. amongst them was one which would single itself out in bryan’s mind from all the others, as if demanding special attention, and though bryan prayed fervently for all, he did, undoubtedly, offer up an extra pater and ave for that soul in particular. it was kathleen martha, the mother of a poor family whom all the countryside knew to have been ejected off the lands of harry esmond, senior, of rose lodge, some two or three weeks before. the case of these murthas made a great noise at the time, from the exceedingly trying circumstances in which they were placed. the father of the family, a thatcher by trade, had fallen off the roof of a house he had been thatching, full three months before, and had lain ever since in a helpless condition, one of his thighs having been broken, and also his collar-bone. he was a poor man, just barely supporting his family by his daily labour, and having no time to cultivate a farm, he was obliged to plant potatoes by “con-acre” in mr. esmond’s ground, and to rent a small adjoining cottage from the same wealthy pro prietor. well, it so happened that tim murtha’s long illness, and the want of earning consequent thereon, had completely shaun the piper. 33 ruined his poor family. his wife could not leave him to go out to work, even if work were to be had, and the children — three girls and one boy — were too young to be of any service ; the doctor had to be paid, and that even could not have been done were it not that the neighbouring farmers made up the amount amongst themselves ; the potatoes, what remained of them, were seized by mr. esmond’s bailiffs for the “ con-acre ” money, and the pig that was fattening for the next fair in cashel was sold at auction, with a goat that used to give the children milk, and a little kid, whose gambols often made them forget the hunger that was wasting away their young life. all was gone, — poverty was becoming starvation, and still, on his bed of pain, lay the so-lately strong man, his heart torn with anguish at the sight of his heart-broken wife and her thin, pale little ones cowering over the smoky embers of some brambles which the children had picked up around the fields. nor food nor drink did the cottage contain, except the can of cold water that sat on a table where the “ dresser ” used to be, — the “ dresser” itself was gone, with the pewter plates and dishes and wooden vessels, which it had been poor kathleen’s pride to keep “ like new pins.” only the shelter of the roof remained to the desti tute family, and that remained not long, for on the very day that tim murtha crawled out of bed for the first time, mr. esmond’s bailiffs came with certain members of “ the crowbar brigade,” turned tim out on the wide world, the helpless father, the frail, drooping wife, and the wan, emaciated little children, and levelled to the ground their poor but well-loved dwelling, because “ his honour didn’t want such cabins so near the big house,” and was glad of the opportunity to get rid of one of them. prayers and tears and expostulations were all in vain — tim murtha knew that well, so he neither wept nor prayed, but sat, with his terror-stricken family clinging around him, on a large flat stone which kathleen’s feeble arm had helped him to reach, watching with stony eyes the work of demolition that left them all houseless on a chill october day. he thought with a swelling heart of the time when his own hands built that little cottage to bring kathleen home to — a bonny bride. he thought of the light heart that was in his breast then, and the bright hopes that danced before his eyes like fairy visions. 3 34 the hermit of the rock. scarce ten years had passed since then, and lo ! the bright hopes were fled, — hunger and cold had their grasp on his heart, and, worse still, on the hearts of kathleen and her children, — and the walls that had witnessed their humble joys, and the years of comfort his honest toil had earned, were now ruthlessly battered down before his eyes and erased from the face of the earth. what other thoughts came into the tortured mind of tim murtha, to the tune of the crashing walls and the falling rafters of his home, god — and the devil — only knew. that night the forlorn family were sheltered under the roof of a kind neighbour, himself a poor cottier too, and next day a few of “ the boys ” came together and threw up a shed against the side of the old rock amongst the huts where bryan had his home. not quite three weeks had passed since the murthas were evicted from their old homestead, and now kathleen was dead, and gone to rest. many a visit old bryan had paid to their dreary place of refuge during those long tedious weeks, and, truth to tell, two bright half-crowns had passed, at as many succeeding visits, from his pocket to that of tim murtha. that was a crown of “ the counsellor’s guinea,” but what of that'j — “if it helped to keep the life in the poor things, it couldn’t be better spent.” oh, how bryan rejoiced then that he had divided his share with those who were more in need than himself ! but still he kept thinking of the solemn words of the priest who said mass that morning : “ and , brethren , i recommend to your prayers , in a special manner , the sold of kathleen murtha .” “ah!” said bryan to himself, “there’s where god’s holy church differs from the world. the poor are her care, and the more despised they are by the rich and the proud of this world, the dearer they are to the heart of that good mother — if they only lived as christians. well, that’s one comfort, anyhow ! ” he said, as he reached his own door, which was opened by cauth with great alacrity, that singular specimen of womankind having been anxiously awaiting his coming. “ an’ what is that ? ” said cauth, as she stooped to blow up her smouldering fire ; “ what’s the comfort now 2 ” (t why, just this, cauth,” said the old man, taking his seat shaun the piper . 35 by the welcome fire that was now beginning to blaze up cheerily, “that the poor have one friend that never deserts them — a powerful friend, too — aid that is religion ! if it wasn’t for religion, an’ the good, kind priest that brings her smile with him to the hovels of the poor, how could you, or i, live at all — or poor kathleen murtha, that’s gone home now 1 what would become of the poor, cauth, if it wasn’t for religion, and the hopes she keeps alive in their hearts ? ” bryan, from his solitary habits and his almost uninterrupted communion with the spirits of the dead, in the relics of their mortal bodies and the mouldering works of their hands, had acquired a certain solemnity in the expression of his thoughts which at times amounted to dignity. his speech was, moreover, thickly strewn with metaphor, and assumed now and then quite a poetical character. this was only, however, when the old man spoke in irish, which he generally did with cauth ; but even his english was rather choice, from his frequent communication with the gentlefolks from abroad who visited the ruins on the rock. his grave and sometimes even lofty thoughts cauth could not, of course, understand, but his style of talking, when he did talk freely, commanded her entire admiration, and caused her to look upon the aged hermit as something far beyond the common run of people. be it known to the reader that bryan and cauth did not stand to each other in the relation of hus band and wife, as might be supposed ; they were strangers to each other only a year or two before, when bryan, at the recommendation of mrs. esmond, and with her kind assistance, commenced housekeeping, with cauth as femme de charge , for before that time poor bryan had not a roof he could call his own, and spent most of his nights as well as his days amongst the lone mansions of the dead on his beloved rock, coming down only to hear mass on sundays and holydays, and to receive from the willing hand of charity the little sustenance which he required. it was only when the inclemency of the weather drove him for shelter to the plain below that he ever asked a night’s lodging. he used to say himself, when any one expressed surprise at his remaining over night on the rock, that he had the grandest sleeping-room in all ireland, and that was “in the king’s own house.” but it was not in the old palace of the munster kings that bryan cullenan oftenest 36 the hermit of the rock sought repose ; he preferred the choir of the old cathedral, just by the tomb of myler m‘grath, or the shade of the deep saxon arch that separates the nave from the choir in cormac’s chapel. as for cauth, old bryan knew no more about her than just what he saw. who she was, or what she was, she carefully kept to herself ; and bryan, being nowise addicted to curiosity, seldom thought of what there was peculiar about her manner, unless when some wild expression, to him unaccountable, set him thinking of the probable cause of her odd ways, and the strange fits of moody thought that would come upon her at times without any apparent cause. her humour was somewhat caustic that hollantide day, and she snapped at bryan like a cross cur when he alluded so feel ingly to kathleen murtha’s deserted state. “ she wasn’t trustin’ to the priest, anyhow,” said she, stopping a moment with the skillet 1 in her hand, from which she was pouring out on a wooden trencher the stirabout 2 intended for bryan’s breakfast — her own share being left in the pot. “ an’ sure i know that well, cauth,” said bryan, with much feeling ; “ sure i know who made her bed an’ kep’ her clane an’ comfortable ever since she came about the rock — oyeh ! one ’most as poor as herself,” he added as if to himself. “ ’deed, then, it’s little i could do for her,” made answer cauth ; “ but there was them that could an’ did give her com fort — may they never know the want of it themselves, i pray god!” “ an’ who were they, cauth? ” “ that’s a saycret, bryan,” said cauth, a little softened; “but — but — i think you might guess.” bryan looked up from his stirabout at the shrewd, keen looking face of cauth, and his old eyes twinkled. “ i think i do, cauth, i think i do.” “well, if you do, keep it to yourself, for if it came to the ears of some people — you know who i mane — it ’id make bad blood betwixt them all — so the darlin’ says herself, an’ she’s fearful of havin’ anybody’s ill-will, espaycially when it's in the family.” 1 an iron pot of the smallest size is so called in ireland. 2 oatmeal porridge. shaun the piper. 37 “ ail more’s the pity, cauth, that it is in the family ! i declare that man’s a disgrace to all belongin’ to him.” “ ay, an’ if it wasn’t for them he’d a got his oats long ago ! ” said cauth, with bitter emphasis. “ whisht, whisht, cauth ! don’t say that ! ” cried bryan quickly, and he glanced around as if fearful that some one might possibly be within hearing. “ but i will say it, bryan ! ” said cauth doggedly ; “ an’ i say, too, that there’s many a one has got settled with before now that wasn’t any better entitled to it.” bryan dropped his spoon and looked up again ; his pale, wrinkled face was flushed, and a light was shining in his aged eyes that cauth had never seen there before. “ woman ! ” said he in a grave, solemn tone, “ who has made you the judge of that man’s, or any other man’s, evil doings ? there’s one above that’ll judge us all.” as if a blow had stunned her, cauth dropped heavily on the stool beside her, and buried her face in her outspread hands, murmuring in a half-audible voice, “who am i? ay, sure enough, who am i to judge any one ? oh, wirra ! it’s myself can tell that ! ” bryan, alarmed as he always was by cauth ’s strange solilo quies, began to express his sorrow for what he had said, assuring her that he didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. “ but then, cauth, i couldn’t listen to the words you said and hold my peace. no, cauth, i could not, i could not ; for murder is murder, be it as it may, an’ the lord in heaven says, ‘you shall do no murder.’ ” at this cauth started to her feet, and flung back the long grey hair that had fallen from under her close linen cap. “ an’ who has done murder, bryan cullenan? — who has shed blood? you needn’t look at me with them ould fiery eyes of yours — as if there was blood on my hand — see there ! see there ! ” and she stretched both her hands towards him, but suddenly drew them back and sank again on her seat, with a low, plaintive moan and a shudder. “ christ save us ! ” ejaculated bryan in an undertone ; “i b’lieve it’s losin’ her senses the woman is ! i’d best get out of her sight, i’m thinkin’.” unnoticed by cauth, he reached for his hat, where it hung on 38 the hermit of the rock. a peg, and, softly opening the door, left the cottage. he was taking his way, as usual, towards the eock, and had already reached the gate leading into the hallowed enclosure, when the cheerful sound of the bagpipes struck upon his ear, and the old man paused with his hand on the latch to await the approach of the wandering minstrel, in whom he recognised an old friend. surrounded by a troop of ragged urchins, for whose special entertainment he evidently blew his chanter at that particular moment, the piper, a little old man of threescore-five or there abouts, moved along with the slow pace peculiar to his tribe, gladdening the hearts of his juvenile audience — and most likely his own to — with “the keel of tullochgorum.” ever and anon his course was impeded by the rushing and crushing of the young tatterdemalions who formed his guard of honour, each one trying to make his way nearer to the great centre of attrac tion ; little scrupulous, moreover, as to the means emploj^ed, so that “ kicks and cuffs were more plenty than ha’pence, ” as the piper good-humouredly observed. but still he played on, the crowd increasing by little and little as the cortege passed along, the merry heart of the old man growing lighter and lighter, and his music cheerier, as the acclamations of his noisy escort grew more and more uproarious. now and then the music ^would suddenly cease, and the piper’s voice make itself heard in tones of remonstrance rather than rebuke. “ah, then, childer, how can i play if you don’t keep off my elbow ? see that, now ! — bad cess to me but you’ll break my pipes, so you will ! well, now, i tell you this, if you don’t keep off o’ me i’ll not play another tune, and that’s the end of it, now ! ” but it was not the end of it, as the young rogues well knew by old experience ; for the piper’s face belied his words, and the more he protested against playing any more, the faster and merrier went the pipes, amid the joyous shouts of the rosy urchins, who went frisking like kids to the sound of the music. it required more than a passing glance to make a stranger sensible of the fact that the merry face of the piper wanted the light of the eyes, for the organs themselves, clear, full, and blue, gave no other indications of the visual darkness than a tremulous motion of the lids which might possibly have pro ceeded from some other cause. but then there was a little dog, shaun the piper. 39 a wiry, hard-favoured terrier, which trotted along a pace or two in advance of the piper, to whom it was evidently bound by affec tion still more than by the cord, one end of which encircled the neck of the animal, whilst the other was fastened to the button hole of its master’s old frieze coat by a piece of stick run through inside the garment ; patiently and gently the dog moved on, suiting its pace with wonderful sagacity to that of its master, and maintaining a sort of official gravity that was proof against every trial, the effect, doubtless, of long familiarity with the noisy plaudits that usually followed the performance to which he probably considered himself a party. it was clear, then, that the piper was blind, and it was also clear that his privation sat lightly upon him, even with the weight of his sixty odd years and his houseless, homeless poverty. shaun the piper was, indeed, one of the happiest men in all ireland, for, like the claddagh boatman in the ballad — his heart was true, his wants were few, and his pipes made him welcome wherever he went to a night’s lodging and the best fare the peasant’s cot or the farmer’s house afforded. even his dog — misnamed frisk— was as welcome a visitor as himself, especially to the junior members of the humble households where he oftenest sought rest and shelter. shaun, like most persons suffering under a like privation, had a wonderfully keen sense of hearing, and could tell people by their voices just as others do by their faces. he also knew with unerring precision every foot of ground in tipperary, and could make his way, with frisk alone, through many parts of limerick, clare, and waterford. he had even crossed the knockmeledown mountains, and extended his “tramp” into cork ; but somehow frisk’s sagacity failed him there, and the pipes never seemed to sound the same, and shaun made up his mind that he and frisk had better keep to “ the old art,” so they never crossed the wild mountains again. but we have left our friend bryan standing too long at the gate, especially as the weather was cold and the iron latch felt like ice under his hand. a grim smile puckered his visage as he watched the triumphal approach of the minstrel, who suddenly stopped short in the middle of a bar and turned his sightless eyes towards the rock. 40 the hermit of the rock. “childer,” said he, “we ought to be near the gate now. i wondher is ould bryan cullenan alive yet ? ” “ oyeh ! it’s himself that is. sure, he'll never die.” “alive? why wouldn’t he? sure, he’s a ghost himself, if there’s one on the rock.” “whisht, you sprissawn ! there he is at the gate.” here the crowd of chattering gaffers fell back right and left to make way for bryan, who came forward with outstretched hand to greet his old acquaintance. “ you’re welcome back to cashel, shaun ! ” he said in irish. “ i needn’t ask how you are, for your face tells that story, and your foot is a’most as light as it was five-and-twenty years agone, when you danced the foxhunter’s jig for the quality the night of the ould master’s wedding. frisk, my poor fellow, i’m proud to see you again ! ” frisk acknowledged the compliment by wagging his tail demurely. “ wisha, bryney the rock, is this yourself?” was the piper’s hearty response, as he eagerly seized and warmly shook the old man’s hand. “ i was just a-thinkin’ to myself that if you were still above ground i’d soon hear your voice. well, i declare i’m glad to see you ! ” he forgot that he didn’t see him, but the mischievous elves around, all eyes and ears, quickly detected the slip of the tongue. “ oh, murdher ! do you hear what he says ? — he’s glad to see him ! ” this was the signal for a roar of juvenile laughter, that drew a half-angry rebuke from shaun and a whole-angry one from bryan, both of which only tended to increase the merri ment of the waggish crew. “ put up your pipes, shaun,” said bryan, “ and come in and have some breakfast. i’ve a little place of my own now.” “ do you tell me so, bryan ? and where is it, agra ? ” “ only a step or two back from here. come, now ! be off home with you, childer ! shaun will play no more this bout.” this unwelcome news had to be repeated by shaun himself before it was received as true, and even then the youngsters were not got rid of till the door of bryan’s cottage hid the piper, his pipes and dog, from their eager sight. shaun the titer. 41 “ that was a pleasant night you were speakin’ of, bryan,” iaid shaun as they entered. “but 1 didn’t know that you were there.” “ ’deed an’ i was, then, — wasn’t the whole country there ? an’ full an’ plenty there was for every one. a darlin’ fine young gentleman the ould master was then, — the heavens be his bed this day ! for it’s himself was always a good friend to the poor, an’ liked well to see them about him.” “ pity all the esmonds weren’t like him ! ” said the piper, with a sudden change of manner. “ his son is as good as ever he was,” said bryan, as he took the pipes and placed the piper on a stool near the fire. “but his brother isn’t,” returned shaun, with a degree of excitement altogether unusual. “if there’s vengeance in heaven it’ll come down on him, as sure as his name is harry esmond ! ” “ pooh, pooh, shaun ! don’t be so hard on the ould gentle man ! — don’t now, and god bless you ! for i don’t like to hear anything bad laid out for one of his name. they’re a good stock, you know yourself.” “i do well, bryan, an’ that’s the very raison why ould harry shouldn’t act as he does. a body doesn’t wonder at the upstarts that’s takin’ the place of the rale quality to be hard on the ould tenants, an’ trate god’s poor like dogs, but i tell you, bryan, it’s against nature for an esmond to make a brute of himself.” “a brute, shaun ! — oh vo ! vo ! what’s cornin’ over you?” “ i say he is a brute, bryan, take it as you will ! if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t turn the piper from his door, and kick the piper's dog.” this last came out with such strong emphasis that it was clearly the greater offence of the two. “an’ did ould mr. esmond do that?” questioned bryan anxiously. “ he did bryan, as i’m a sinner ! an’ if i was to die on the roadside of hunger — myself an’ erisk — i wouldn’t cross his threshold again. never fear but the grass ’ill grow green enough on that same threshold, maybe afore you or i goes home yet.” “cauth,” said bryan, for the first time addressing the old woman, who sat a silent listener in the chimney corner, — “cauth, 42 the hermit of the rock, have you anything for shaun to eat and drink ? — -the best you have isn’t half good enough for him.” “ cauth ?” repeated shaun, catching at this first intimation of another being present, — “an’ who is cauth, if it’s a fair question ? ” bryan would have been puzzled to answer, but cauth relieved him of the task. “ one that knows you well, shaun, an’ danced many’s the time to your music years and years agone, near the foot of slievenamon, eastward.” there was an evident attempt at disguising the voice, but it could not deceive shaun. he started, turned his head quickly towards the speaker, and said in a voice very different from his usual tone — “ slievenamon? no, no — not there ! the lord save us all ! what brings you here — all the way from ” — “sit over an’ take some breakfast,” said cauth quickly; “ there’s a cup of tay that’ll do your ould heart good, an’ some white bread from the big house. god’s blessin’ on the giver, an’ that’s young mrs. esmond herself ! come, frisk, good dog ! here’s some could stirabout for you , an’ milk too, my poor fellow.” “the milk isn’t as plenty with you now, my woman, as it used to be,” said shaun in a low voice, as bryan placed him at the little table. a change had come over the buoyant spirit that even the snows of age could not chill, and shaun was many degrees paler than when he entered the cottage, while the happy smile had vanished from his face. words seemed hovering on his lips which he did not care to speak, and troubled memories were evidently at work in his usually tranquil mind. cauth, too, appeared ill at ease, watching the piper’s face with a keen, scrutinising glance, and shrinking fearfully as often as he opened his lips to speak. bryan noticed all this, and when shaun, having finished his scant breakfast, observed that it was time for him to be moving, the^ old man rose with alacrity, saying that lie ought to be on the rock long ago, there was always so much to be done there and only him to do it. as the two old men left the cottage together, cauth followed them to the door. “ so you’re goin’, shaun, without as much as sayin’ ‘ god be with you ! ’ ” shaun the piper. 43 “ i declare an’ so i was, ” said he, turning back his head. “ well, god be with you ! ” but he did not offer his hand. “ will you keep my saycret ? ” whispered cauth ; “for god’s sake do ! ” " i will — god pity you ! ” and shaun was gone. i chapter iv bryan’s stations. it was not to scrape the moss from the tombs and headstones, or to replace the precious fragments rent by time and the piti less elements from the ancient sculptures, that bryan cullenan wended his way to the ruins on the rock that cold november day. he did not forget that it was the feast of all saints, and therefore a holyday of obligation ; but somehow he never felt perfectly at home anywhere else, and had always a misty notion that when he was not there he ought to be, and was pretty certain of being wanted. it is true the rock had few visitors at that season, but still some there might be, and who so well as bryan could tell them all about the old place, and the great sights that used to be seen there in the old, old times 1 then, if nobody chanced to come, bryan was never at a loss for employment, for he told his beads over and over for all sorts of pious intentions ; and when he was not telling his beads, why, then his thoughts were his best companions — to borrow a phrase of his own, quoted in turn from an old story with which all of us were familiar in days of childhood. in the solitude of the ruins, which to many would have been insupportable, bryan found his peace and happiness ; on work ing days, working as though his subsistence depended on it, from early morning till late night, beguiling his self-imposed task the while with prayer or meditation, or mayhap the crooning of an ancient hymn, generally in the old celtic tongue that best befitted the solemn ruins dating from celtic ages. the calls of nature were seldom pressing on old bryan, whose attenuated frame required but little sustenance, and even that little he could dispense with for the better part of the twenty four hours without much inconvenience to himself. this was partly the effect of long habit, and partly of forgetfulness, in 41 bryan's stations. 45 the strange preponderance of the spiritual over the corporal in his nature during his solitary hours on the rock. once or twice it happened that he had been disturbed in some quaint old-world reverie by the officious kindness of cauth coming up to summon him to his morning or noonday meal (it was only in broad daylight that cauth would venture to set foot on the rock), so he charged the old woman never to trouble him again on any account “ in regard to the eatin’ or drinkin’, for when he was hungry he’d go down himself.” cauth was fain to submit, for the old man had such a way with him, as she said to herself, that nobody cared to contradict him. “it’s doatin’ the crathur is,” was her final conclusion on that, as on many other occasions ; “ an’ i suppose there’s nothin’ for it but to let him have .his way.” so bryan ever after had his way as far as his solitary life on the rock was concerned. the hours of that holyday passed away all unnoticed by bryan. according to his custom on such days, he made what he called his “stations,” beginning at the image of st. patrick on the great stone by the gate, and ending at the spot where the high altar of the cathedral once rose in all the grandeur of archiepiscopal pomp. bryan had marked out for himself in the circuit of the holy places fourteen stations, corresponding with the stations of the cross, following, as he was fain to hope, the course by which the sacred host was carried in procession in the grand old times when the archbishops of cashel were kings of munster, and princes carried the canopy that covered the king of kings. long time the old man paused and prayed in the beautiful choir of cormac’s chapel, where the altar stood of old — again at the tomb of the holy founder, close by the chapel wall — then on to the chapel of the apostles, roofless and bare, yet still decorated with the sculptured images of the twelve apostles. there, tradition says, stood, ages since, “a fair statue of a bishop,” whom ancient chronicles point out as david mackelly, archbishop of cashel, who died in the middle of the thirteenth century, “ and was buried in the little chapel of the apostles.” from there passed bryan to the old abbey, whose once noble church was a goodly resting-place for the blessed sacrament in those grand processions of old time, when mitred abbots and cowled monks graced the choir stalls, and the stately cloisters 46 the her mil of the rock echoed to the fall of many feet. hero was a place to pause and meditate — here where so many holy monks and sainted abbots slept the sleep of peace. last of all was the cathedral, with its long line of buried archbishops, many of whom are still known by name to the people and their memory fondly cherished. there was angus, the holy prince, whose conversion from paganism by st. patrick himself is still the theme of the winter’s tale by the cottage hearth, on account of the marvellous faith of the royal convert, what time he suffered the point of patrick’s iron-shod staff to penetrate his foot without a murmur or a groan, deem ing it part of the baptismal rite. there was cormac mac cullenan, the holy prince-bishop, who rebuilt st. patrick’s old church and erected that chapel which still bears his name, a miracle of ancient art. there was archbishop o’hene, of whom chronicles tell that he was “ the fountain of religion in the western parts of europe ; ” and there was archbishop o’dunan, known to his own and after ages as “ the most pious man in the western world there was archbishop maurice, to whose learning and wisdom even the welshman, cambrensis, bears witness, albeit that he spoke his mind rather freely to that worthy on one memorable occasion, when, giraldus having taunted the irish with having no martyrs, the prelate replied : “though our country be looked upon as barbarous, unculti vated, and cruel, yet they always have paid reverence and honour to ecclesiastics, and never could stretch out their hands against the saints of god. but now there is come a people who know how, and are accustomed to make martyrs. henceforth ireland, like all other countries, shall have hers.” (well you said it, maurice of cashel, many a martyr ireland has had since !) there was archbishop o’heney, legate apostolic in ireland, and author of the life of st. cuthbert of lindisfarne , whom he proves to have been an irish saint ; 1 there was richard o’hedian, one of the greatest prelates that ever swayed the crozier of cashel, the restorer and renovator of all the buildings on the rock, the founder of the hall for the vicars-choral ; the st. laurence o’toole of cashel, the prelate 1 it is worthy of remark that benedict xiv., in his decree regarding the offices of irish saints, also mentions st. cuthbert as one of the national saints of ireland, bryan's stations . 47 who was impeached by john gese, the protestant bishop of waterford and lismore, in thirty articles, the principal of which were : “ that he made very much of the irish and loved none of the english and furthermore, “that he gave no benefice to any englishman, and advised other bishops to the like practice.” bryan cullenan could not have enumerated the great archbishop’s claims to the admiration of posterity, but he knew him, by tradition, as one who stood up manfully for the old race ; with all munster he loved and reverenced his name, and the place of his sepulture in the old cathedral was one of the hermit’s favourite shrines. the tomb of myler m‘grath, though from its position in the deep choir it often sheltered the old man’s rest in the warm nights of summer, was yet not one of his stations ; for even if the apostate prelate did recant his errors on his bed of death, he was still “queen bess’s bishop” to all the county round, and no man or woman in' ormond wide ever breathed a blessing on his name. the stain of apostasy was not to be effaced from the memory of an archbishop by the private recantation of public errors persisted in for years. ho, no ! — prayers might be said for the repose of that late repentant soul, and many a one bryan did say with that intention, but no prayers were offered up by him or others at the tomb where “the first protestant archbishop of cashel” had mouldered into dust. these tombs, with the old altar sites, were bryan cullenan’s stations, but these were not all the christian heroes whose memory gilds the ruined fanes of cashel. some of the greatest and holiest of the archbishops gave up their souls to god far away from the sacred rock, and ever as bryan knelt before the forsaken spot where of old they ministered at the altar, he would murmur to himself, “an’ sure they’re not all here, the more’s the pity ! isn’t there archbishop o’hurley, the holy martyr, that suffered death and torture for the faith, that was buried in saycret somewheres near dublin'? 1 ay, an’ many another holy bishop that died in france and spain in the time of the troubles ! well, it’s a folly to talk ! england has a deal 1 the martyrdom of dermot o’hurley, archbishop of cashel, in the reign of elizabeth, was accompanied by circumstances of the most revolt ing cruelty. he was bound to a stake, his arms and legs covered over with pitch, salt, oil, and sulphur ; fire was then applied so slowly that 48 the hermit of the rock. to answer for, an’ it’s the black reckonin’ she’ll have to pay when her day of reckonin’ comes ! ” “but, ochone ! ” bryan would sigh, as he sat himself down on the projecting base of a noble column in the aisle, after finishing his stations, and fixed his sorrowful gaze on the shattered walls of the choir, where the winter wind was making sad music as it swept in eddies through the breaches time had made, — “ ochone ! it’s a hard thing to think that england wasn’t the worst after all. wasn’t murrogh of the burnings worse than any sassenach of them all ? an’ him of the rale ould stock, too, with brian’s own blood in his veins ! och, wirra, wirra ! to think of him havin’ twenty priests dragged from behind the holy althar, where they were hidin’, and butchered like sheep there right in front of it — not to speak of the three thousand people he burned up in the town below ! well, well ! if there’s justice in heaven, murrogh o’brien, you have a low place in the pit of hell ! still,” recollecting himself, “ they say he was sorry for it all before he died — an’ turned catholic, too. well, maybe he did, — god’s grace can soften the hardest heart, we all know, — but if murrogh of the burnings died a good christian, it was a meracle an’ nothin’ else. i declare to my heart if lie's in heaven i’d as lieve not see him — i’d sooner have somebody else convaynient to me there — god forgive me ! ” then bryan would endeavour to bring himself to more christian sentiments with regard to murrogh, but do as he would he never could school his lips or his rebellious heart to pray for his soul’s repose. “if it be true that he died a catholic,” said bryan to himself, “ then he gets his share of the church’s prayers, an’ can do without mine — well for him ! for i’m afeard if he had no others, he wouldn’t get many from me — barrin’ i jist was sartin sure that he had no one else to pray for him. a body couldn’t be too hard that way to any poor soul that stood in need of their prayers. oh, musha ! the lord have mercy on all that’s puttin’ their punishment over them, either in the other world or this ! an’ sure, that reminds me, the morrow is all souls’ day, an’ i must make the stations for the holy prelate was kept several hours in torture. he was then placed on the rack, and still persisting in his refusal to acknowledge the supremacy of elizabeth in spiritual matters, was taken to st. stephen’s green and there strangled. bryan's stations. 49 them. i’ll warrant there’ll be plenty o’ them about me here the night — the poor sorrowful crathurs ! please god, i must be down for first mass in the mornin’, an’ to make my little offerings with the rest.” so passed the day— the evening fell, the early evening of dull november, yet bryan was still at his dreary post, though the drizzling rain coming chill on the blast had driven him hours before to the safe shelter of cormac’s chapel, the stone roof of which was proof alike to wind and rain. as the shadows deepened around him, where he sat under the deep arch of the portal, and the stony faces on the corbels looked grimmer and quainter through the mist, and the pillars of the blind arches within the building, but dimly seen from the entrance even in broad day, receded, as it were, from bryan’s view into the darkness that enveloped the nave and choir, the old man felt an awe creeping over him that still was not fear. it was the vigil of the dead, and with the shadows came the spirits, as bryan firmly believed. but they were not spirits that bryan feared — they were only “ poor wandering crathurs lookin’ for help,” and what help bryan could give them he cheerfully gave, in accordance with the spirit of the church whose solemn commemoration of all souls in the propitiatory sacrifice was next day to gladden the suffering spirits of the middle state — be their place of punishment where it might. to any other than bryan cullenan the sense of solitude and of supernatural presence would have been overwhelming, but to bryan it was far otherwise — silence and solitude were his dream of life, and his intimate communion with the dead, and entire devotion to their memory, raised him far beyond the vulgar fear of the supernatural which superstition loves to cherish. “ ha ! ha ! ha ! ” laughed bryan low to himself, “ to think of that foolish cauth tellin’ me not on any account to stay on the bock this evenin’ after nightfall ! — as if i’d be afeard of them anywhere, or as if they’d do me any mischief ! aren’t they about us everywhere as thick as the grass in the fields, an’ still no body sees them, the crathurs, or hears them aither, — it’s little they throuble us, after all. why, then, now what can that be ? there’s no livin’ bein’ barrin’ myself that ’id be on the eock at this hour. it must be something else.” 4 50 the hermit of the rock. rising from his seat, bryan stepped out, regardless of the rain, and strained his ear to listen. the sound was, at first, a low moaning, and bryan whispered softly to himself, “ that’s some poor wanderin’ sperit, anyhow. there’s heavy trouble on it, i’ll go bail. ” all at once a soft, plaintive voice was heard singing in irish a ditty well known in munster, and these were the words in english — “ i could wander through the streets hand-in-hand with my true love, i would sail the salt sea with no fortune hut your love ; my nearest and my dearest i’d leave them for ever, and you’d raise me from death if you said ‘ we’ll ne’er sever ! ’ ” “well, that’s a quare ghost!” said bryan, moving a little farther in the direction of the voice. “ i believe it’s in the tower it is.” he moved cautiously along by the end of the great church, — the round tower standing at the angle of one arm of the transept as cormae’s chapel nestles in the shade of the other, — but had not gone many steps when he again stood still, for the mournful caoine was rising fitfully on the breeze, and the clapping of hands was heard, and sighs and moans that seemed to come from a breaking heart. “ christ save us ! ” ejaculated bryan, and he crossed him self devoutly, “it must be the banshee ! maybe it’s a warnin’ for myself ; sure enough, the banshee follows the cullenans ! oh vo ! vo ! isn’t that a sorrowful cry ? ” he was yet speaking, when the invisible singer broke again into a wild strain of music and sang, still in irish — “gladly, 0 my blighted flower, sweet apple of my bosom’s tree, would i now stretch me in your dark death-bower, beside your corpse, and lovingly kiss your brow. but we’ll meet ere many a day, nevermore to part, for even now i feel the clay gath’ring round my heart. ” 1 mangan’s translation. bryan's stations. 51 “ ah ! ” said bryan to himself, “ i know now who it is — it’s neither ghost nor banshee, but mad mabel. poor thing ! poor thing ! where is she, at all ? ” it must be owned that bryan’s step was somewhat quicker after making this discovery than it was when he expected to see the banshee ; he speedily turned the angle of the transept wall, and there, crouching at the foot of the old pillar-tower, was a female figure, only to be distinguished from the dark objects around by the light colour of her garments. neither the dark ness nor the rain appeared to disturb the unhappy being who had chosen a place so lone and drear for her wild and mournful minstrelsy. “ wisha, mabel, my poor girl ! ” said bryan, tenderly raising her from the wet ground, “ what on earth brought you here such a night as this ? ” “ husht ! husht ! ” she replied in a cautious whisper, putting her mouth close to bryan’s ear. “ they told me he was here, hidin’, you know, hidin’. isn’t this holy cross ? ” “no, no, mabel; this is cashel— the rock of cashel, you know ; ” and, encircling her frail form with his arm, he hurried towards the gate, anxious to get her housed with cauth in his own cottage. “ cashel ? ” she repeated in a whisper ; then, as if the name awoke an echo in her darkened mind, she sang a snatch of an old song, to the air of “the girl i left behind me ” — ‘no more — no more in cashel town i’ll sell my health a-raking, nor on days of fairs rove up and down, nor join the merry-making. “whisht ! there’s the peelers — they’ll hear you ! — and listen hither, honest man ! — if they do, they’ll hang you — they hang everybody ! ” then all at once she broke out again with — “the bansha peelers were out one night on duty on patrolling, 0 ! they met a goat upon the road, and took her to be a stroller, 0 ! “good man, why don’t you sing? — he used to sing, you know ! but did you hear that he was dead ? ” she peered 52 the hermit of the rock. into bryan’s face through the darkness, then, pushing him away with a force that made him stagger, she cried, with a disdainful laugh — “get away with you, now! you’re ould, an’ he’s young — will you not be botherin’ me with your palaver ? oh, wisha ! i never hear his voice now, at all ! where is he ? — ay, that’s it — he’s at holy cross — all alone by himself, they tell me, an’ that’s why i want to go ! an’ i must go, too, an’ be there afore the clock strikes twelve the night. let me go now — you see i can’t stay at all, at all ! — oeh, among the green bushes he’s waiting for me ! ” bryan had purposely kept silence, fearing lest the sound of %n unfamiliar voice might frighten her so that his feeble arm could not longer hold her. but still he kept on his way, whilst the rain fell faster and heavier each passing moment. they had now reached the cottage, at the door of which stood cauth waiting anxiously, as on the previous night, for bryan’s appearance. she was just commencing with — “why, then, bryan ” — when the old man brushed past her with mabel into the house. “wisha, bryan! who’s that you have with you?” cried cauth, following them in; but no sooner did her eye fall on the pale face of the maniac, looking ghostly through the long damp tresses that hung over it in wild disorder, than a livid pallor overspread her own visage, and she shook like an aspen leaf. meanwhile, bryan had seated the miserable creature in the chimney corner, and, although the fire was blazing brightly, he threw on some additional turf, which latter act, not being agreeable to cauth, served to arouse her from her momentary stupor. “now, then, what did you do that for?” she said sharply enough, considering that the turf was unquestionably bryan’s own. “wasn’t the fire good enough? one ’id think you had a turf -stack back o’ the house.” “never mind, cauth, never mind — god is a rich provider. come and see to poor mabel — can’t you put some clothes on her till you dry these duds she has on ? she’s ’most dead with the eowld an’ wet, you see.” “cowld — eowld ! ” muttered the girl, crouching over the bryan's stations. 53 fire, and shivering all over as the kindly warmth reached her emaciated frame through the wet garments that clung around her. “why, then, to be sure, i’ll put dry clothes on her,” said cauth, with a strange mixture of compassion and peevishness in her tone and in her face; “do you think i’m a turk or a haythen that i wouldn’t? but where did you come across her ? ” “ on the rock above, an’ sure it was the blessin’ o’ the world that i happened to be there at the time. she might have been out all night under the rain, an’ maybe it’s dead i’d find her in the mornin’. see how god takes care of them that can’t take care of themselves ! praise an’ glory to his name — he does!” it was no so easy matter for cauth to get the necessary change made in mabel’s apparel. she could not persuade her to leave the fire, and although bryan went out of sight behind the jamb-wall, so as to leave the place to themselves, the diffi culty still existed. the girl had taken it into her head that some sinister motive prompted the disrobement, and she re sisted with all the strength that madness gives. “if it’s going to hang me you are,” said she, freeing herself with a sudden jerk from the restraint of cauth’s arm, “ there’s no need for you to strip me, sure ! — can’t you hang me with my clothes on ? ” cauth tried to expostulate, but her voice failed her, and a convulsive shudder passed through her frame. the senseless prattle of the maniac was either striking some chord in her own heart, or exciting her compassion to an intolerable degree. she silently renewed her efforts, however, to take off the wet clothes, and finally succeeded, owing mainly to their tattered condition. but still, to the last, mabel kept grumbling and protesting. “ tut, tut ! you bould jade ! isn’t it ashamed you ought to be to strip a dacent girl that way ? be off with you now ! — not a tack more you’ll get off — not a tack ! oh, murdher ! isn’t she the robber, all out ? ” when the warm, dry clothes were once on, however, mabel’s tone changed. she began to feel the comfort, and a smile overspread her wan features as, looking down at the red 54 the hermit of the rock. drugget petticoat which cauth had put on, she said to bryan, who had just resumed his place at the fire — “ there now, you see, i’m ‘ petticoat loose / ’ 1 — i tould you so, but you wouldn’t b’lieve me ! don’t be afeard, ould man, i’ll not hurt you! but don’t stop me — don’t, an’ god bless you ! for i’m on my way to holy cross to see him , you know , ail’ i must be back at the hill before cock-crow. there, look at her!” pointing with a giggling laugh at cauth, who had dropped almost fainting on a seat, — “she’s afeard of the ghost, you see ! — she thinks petticoat loose ’ll hang her — ha ! ha ! ha ! maybe she will. she hung me onst — that i mayn’t sin, but she did ! — an’ i’m walkin’, walkin’ ever sence, an’ will till the day o’ judgment.” “ the lord save us ! ” muttered cauth ; “ she’ll be the death o’ me this night, if i stay in the one house with her ! any way, i must get the supper for them.” the supper was got accordingly — tea and oaten bread for mabel, porridge and milk for bryan, in which cauth made a show of joining him, but it w t as plain that the appetite was wanting to her. mabel, on the contrary, swallowed her supper greedily, and with evident relish of the tea, then a luxury little common amongst country people in any part of ireland. “tay ! ” said mabel very softly, looking at the liquid in her cup, — “ i like tay — i get it up at the hall.” then, as if the name had brought a thought into her mind, she turned to bryan with quite a confidential air, “jerry pierce is at the hall now — you know jerry ? — he’s not hung yet — but ould mr. esmond says he’ll hang him, an’ tim murtha, an’ every nody — an’ then’on’t they hang him? — maybe they ’on’t — no, no, jiey don’t hang the quality — it’s shoot them they do ! ” and she lowered her voice to a hissing whisper that froze the blood in the veins of those who heard her. “you needn’t look at me so, honest man ! for it’s truth i tell you — they do shoot the gentlemen by times ” — “ whisht, whisht, mabel ! ” said bryan in a tone of great 1 a ghost, known by this appellation, was the terror of the tipperary peasantry of that neighbourhood for years before and after the time specified — perhaps is still, for aught we know. the scene of her peram bulations was a bare bleak hill, a few miles from cashel, bryan's stations . 55 alarm, knowing that walls have ears sometimes. “you said you liked tay — give her another cup, cauth.” but mahel would persist in the obnoxious theme, tea or no tea. “ did you ever hear of ould chadwick — didn’t they shoot him— didn’t they, now 1 ? mara said they did. an’ listen hither,” — pulling bryan’s head close to her,— “he said it was him— you know who i mane — there ! don’t say a word for your life — but there ivccs blood spilled, now — that’s god’s truth — an’ sich hangin’ you never seen as there was after it ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! they thought to hang me too, but i hid behind king donogh’s tomb in holy cross abbey abroad, an’ that’s how they missed of me, you see ! — but they cotched him — an’ they hung him, for all his purty red cheeks an’ his yalla hair. och ! what colour was your true love’s hair, and what clothes did your true love wear? a green silk jacket, this maid replied, and his yallow hair to his belt was tied.” a groan from cauth here drew bryan’s attention, and a glance at her face was sufficient to show him that something unusual was the matter with her ; she sat with her distended eyes fixed on vacancy, her lips and cheeks as bloodless as those of a corpse, and her hand extended as if in the act of pointing at some object. “ blessed mother ! ” cried bryan, “ what’ll i do with her at all ? it’s dyin’ she is, as sure as anything ! cauth ! cauth ! what’s cornin’ over you, woman 1 ” and he shook her gently, but for some time received no answer. mabel, as if conscious that something was wrong, crept to her side, and began stroking down her hair, murmuring, “ poor thing ! poor thing ! did they hang somebody from you ? cry now ! why don’t you cry ? i used to cry long ago, but i can’t cry now ! — i can only laugh — and sing — och ay ! — i sing my bonny bunch of locher, 0.” cauth’s features began at length to relax, and, heaving a long, deep-drawn sigh, she shuddered, looked at mabel, and covered her face with her hands as if to shut out the sight of her. “ bryan,” said she in a choking voice, “ i can’t stand it any 56 the hermit of the rock . longer ! we must either get her to sleep, or i must leave the house — she’d have me as mad as herself before an hour.” “ well, i declare,” said bryan in a whisper, “i feel mighty quare myself, listenin’ to her. do, an’ god bless you ! try an’ get her to bed — you can put her in mine, an’ i’ll sit up all night, for it wouldn’t be safe for us both to go to sleep ; she might burn the house on us, so she might, for i’m afeard it’s not much she’ll sleep.” with much persuasion mabel was induced to go to bed, and, once down, she slept soundly, contrary to the expectations of her host. after a good-natured dispute about which of them should occupy the second bed, bryan’s firmness prevailed, and poor cauth stretched her length on the straw pallet, not to sleep, but to rest her weary limbs. chapter y. mary hen ness y has a visit, and bryan another. it was drawing towards christmas— that is to say, about the middle of december, when four gentlemen sat together over their wine in the comfortable dining-room of an old-fashioned house in friar street, in the good city of cashel. one of these was dr. ilennessy, the host of the evening ; other two, dr. o’grady and attorney moran ; while the fourth was a tall grey-haired man of portly presence, whose garb, as well as his manner, indicated the priest. he was, indeed, the parish priest of cashel, and a dean, moreover, of the archdiocese. a grave and reverend man he was, stern enough, too, at times, but at heart the kindest of human beings, as the poor of cashel and its vicinity knew full well. to all the oppressed of the country round dean m‘dermot was a tower of strength, for the highest and proudest of their oppressors not seldom quailed before his scathing irony and the indomitable energy with which he defended the rights of the poor and the powerless. far and near he was known as the protector of the widow and the orphan, the friend of the friendless, and the terror of the wicked. the fiercest faction-fight that ever raged in the streets of the old borough was suspended, at least for the time being, oy the sound of the dean’s voice, or even the news of his approach. nay, the very children in “ the chapel ” were so struck with awe when at the “ catechism ” on sunday afternoon he made his appearance amongst them, that their tongues were tied with fear, and the well-conned answers died away on their lips as he passed along the line abruptly questioning each in turn with characteristic abruptness, tapping his top-boots the while with the end of his ridingwhip. yet how dear he was to the hearts of his flock, young and old, the traditional respect still paid to 58 the hermit of the rock. his memory, after the lapse of many years, is the best and most convincing proof. the dean was not much given to what are called the pleasures of the table, but he did occasionally enter tain some of his principal parishioners at dinner, and could not refuse, perhaps would not if he could, accepting their hospitality in return. such was the venerable gentleman who occupied the head of dr. hennessy’s table that day, a privilege everywhere accorded to him, and, indeed, to irish parish priests generally, amongst their own parishioners of the middle class, especially where the guests are but few and all of the same circle, as was the case on that occasion. mary hennessy and bella le poer, who had been of the party, had retired a little before, leaving the gentlemen to their politics and their wine, as mary laughingly observed. “now, mind,” said mary to her brother, opening the door again for a moment, — “mind and don’t stay long here, for, you know, the esmonds and mrs. o’grady are coming to tea. excuse me, dean ! ” she added, with a bright smile, “ i forgot, for the moment, that you were present — so in your hands i leave my request.” the dean smiled assent, and the roguish face vanished from the door, the owner of it humming “di tanti palpiti ” as she and bella ascended the stairs arm-in-arm. leaving the young ladies to amuse themselves in the drawing room pending the expected arrivals, we will return to the gentlemen in the parlour. resuming a subject which had been previously under discussion, dr. o’grady said — “it does strike me as something odd that these agrarian murders, so to speak, are of more frequent occurrence in our county than, perhaps, any other in the kingdom. can you account for it, dean, you that knows the country so well 1 ” “ i account for it in this way,” the dean replied, “ that perhaps there is no county in ireland where so little justice has been dealt out to the people in times past, and, i am sorry to say, in times present. the natural consequence is that the oppressed have fallen, in the lapse of years, into an ugly habit of administering justice themselves — or what they consider justice — after their own wild fashion. they have long ago found out that the law is not for them, but their oppressors, therefore they fling it to the winds — excuse me, mr. moran ! — mary hennessy has a visit. 59 and take vengeance as their motto. it is much to be deplored, undoubtedly, but is not the hard-heartedness of the landlords also to be deplored, and the blind infatuation that hurries them on to their doom'? all the fearful examples of swift and terrible revenge which their own eyes have seen will not induce them to treat their unhappy tenants, when in their power, with less rigorous severity.” “i believe you are right, dean,” said dr. o’grady. “if there weren’t some such infatuation over them, surely the fate of chadwick, shot down in broad daylight before several witnesses, would alone be a sufficient warning to them.” “for my part,” said the host, “i only wonder there aren’t more of the landlords shot. upon my word and honour i do ! and i think the ‘tips,’ bloody and all as they are, are not half so bad as people make them out. if they were, do you think will gartland would have died in his bed ? — or — others we jcnoio have escaped so long, with so many curses hanging over them, like the sw r ord of damocles, ready to fall at any moment ” “take care, doctor, take care!” said the dean, with a certain solemnity of tone that impressed the others; “such subjects are not to be treated lightly — or, indeed, at all. murder is always heinous in the sight of god, and no circumstances can justify it. mr. moran, may i take the liberty of asking why you seem so unusually grave this evening ? is there anything particular coming off at the sessions to morrow that you are meditating a speech — come, how is it?” “ hear ! hear ! ” from the two doctors, and the younger pushed the decanter towards moran, gaily saying, “ cheer up, phil ! cheer up ! — all’s not lost that’s in danger, you know.” “well, i don’t know,” said moran significantly, “what or who you may consider in danger, doctor, but i really do believe there’s some one in danger not many miles from here. dean, you do me more or less than justice ; i could not, if i would, fix my mind on my pros and cons in any purely professional matter, where ‘the feast of reason and the flow of soul’ are both at my command. the fact is, i have been in low spirits all day, and cannot, for the life of me, shake off a depression that is altogether unusual with me.” 60 the hermit of the rock. “ nonsense, man!” cried the lively host; “ you’ve been listening to mad mabel to-day till you’ve got her notions in your head. come now, out with it ; aren’t we all to be hanged — hanged by the neck till we’re as dead as — as brian boroinihe 'l eh, phil ? ” and he assumed a look of comical gravity that made every one smile, even the lawyer himself. “ you are an incorrigible wag, maurice,” said moran, still in the same grave tone ; “but — laugh as you may at the absurdity of the thing — i confess poor mabel’s jabbering has disturbed me more than a little this very day.” “ why, how is that, moran ? ” inquired the dean, more earnestly than might be expected. moran looked round before he answered, to see that no servant was in waiting, which having ascertained, he said, “ i know i may speak in this company with perfect safety what i have to speak. know then, all, that i much fear there is some mischief brewing in this neighbourhood.” he paused and looked from one to the other, as if almost uncertain whether he ought to proceed. sundry exclamations of surprise followed, and the dean begged to know on what grounds moran rested his opinion. “ i am almost ashamed to tell you,” said phil, lowering his voice ; “ and yet i will, for i feel anxious to impart my harass ing thoughts to those in whose prudence and discretion i have unbounded faith. you must know, then, sirs, that my house keeper, honora quin, is a great favourite with poor mabeh who spends hours together chattering in our kitchen, and crooning her snatches of old songs. well, to-day she came early in the forenoon, and remained most of the day with honora. by some chance she found her way into the dining-room while i was at lunch, and do as i would, i could not get rid of her. you know how lugubrious is her usual style of talking, poor thing ! and usually people do not much mind her, fortunately for themselves, but to-day she let fall words again and again which could not fail to arrest my attention.” “ ha ! ha ! ha ! ” laughed hennessy ; “ well, that is rich ! — mad mabel’s words arrest a lawyer’s attention ! after that we need wonder at nothing, surely.” “you may laugh, maurice hennessy, but i cannot, i assure you,” mary hennessy has a visit 61 “pray go on, mr. moran,' ” said the dean very gravely. “ what were the words that excited your apprehension 1 ” “ they were these, 5 ’ — and moran’s voice again sank to a scarcely audible whisper, — “ ‘ ould esmond must be shot ! ’ ” “ good god ! ” exclaimed the dean in horror and amazement, while the blanched faces of the two doctors showed that the words had a tremendous meaning even on the lips of a maniac. “ these words, you will all allow, were quite suffi cient to startle any sane man having any knowledge of certain matters.” “ undoubtedly, moran, undoubtedly ; but what more did you gather from the unhappy creature’s ravings 1 ” “ not much, my dear dean, except that the frequent men tion of holy cross abbey, and twelve o’clock at night, might lead us to suppose some connection, or give some clue to the manner in which the unfortunate girl came to hear such omin ous words — if hear them she did.” here the door was suddenly thrown open, and mary hennessy entered, followed by bella, both girls strangely excited, as they threw an eager, searching glance around the room. “ he is not here, then ! ” said mary, pale as death. “ i told you so, bella ! — i told you that was nothing earthly.” “ why, mary, what’s the matter with you 'l ” cried her brother. moran, almost as pale as herself, fixed his eyes on her with anxious scrutiny, but said nothing. “ who are you looking for ? ” “ harry esmond,” said bella, answering for her friend. “has he not been here ” “ why, of course not,” cried dr. hennessy, with a very poor attempt at cheerfulness. “ what the deuce put that in your heads, you pair of goslings 'l ” “ tell him, bella — i can’t ! ” said mary, sinking heavily on a chair. “ hot here,” she repeated, — “ not here ! ” her voice becoming fainter and fainter ; “ well, that is something strange ! ” “ my dear young ladies,” said the dean, “will you tell us what it is that has disturbed you ? — you seem quite agitated.” “ it would be strange if we were not,” said bella, “ consider* ing what we have seen.” 62 the hermit of the rock “well, well,” cried hennessy, “what did you see? your own shadows on the wall, i daresay.” “no, doctor,” said bella, with solemn earnestness, “ it was not our own shadows — except either of them could take the likeness of harry esmond .” “harry esmond? nonsense ! — begging your pardon, bella.” “ but how was it, miss le poer?” said dr. o’grady. “was it young harry you saw, or old harry ? ” “ young harry. we were sitting chatting by the fire in the drawing-room, i with my back towards the door, when all at once mary called out, ‘ i declare there’s harry ! come, come, none of your tricks, now ! you shan’t frighten us this time. where’s henrietta?’ i turned my head, and, sure enough, there stood harry esmond looking in at the door, which he held half open. the light of the fire shone full on his face, and i thought i never saw him look so grave. that, however, did not surprise me, knowing what perfect command he has of his features, and supposing him bent on frightening us girls.” “did he not speak?” “speak, mr. moran? no, indeed , he did not! ” dr. hennessy burst into a loud laugh. “ of course he did not ! i know well it was a shadow you saw. one of those dim, uncertain shadows which are only seen by firelight. ha ! ha ! ha ! one of the poets — cowper, i think — describes them most graphically,” and he recited, with theatrical emphasis, those lines from “the task”— “but we perhaps the glowing hearth may satisfy awhile with faint illumination, that uplifts the shadows to the ceiling, there by fits dancing uncoutlily to the quivering flame.” “i admire your smartness, doctor,” said bella coldly; but such was not our shadow, seeing that it was not 1 uplifted to the ceiling,’ nor did it dance , couthly or uncouthly ; but when mary and i ran to the door, the figure glided away before us with a slow and noiseless step, we following all the way, till it opened the dining-room door and walked in. i had to support mary along the hall, for she would have it that it was harry’s fetch we saw, whilst i maintained that it was harry himself, playing off one of his practical jokes at our expense. but if none of mary hennessy has a visit. g3 you saw him corns in here,’ whereas we both saw him enter the room, then the case is clear — it was his fetch we saw, believe it who may or may not.” “ it is very strange,” said the dean, whilst the other gentle men looked at each other in silence, probably connecting this singular apparition with the dark revealings of mabels madness. “ it is certainly very strange,” he repeated ; “ but still, young ladies, i cannot help thinking that it might be the effect of some mental hallucination. probably you had been talking of grave subjects, if not of supernatural appearances — come now, was that the case ? ” “ i solemnly assure you it was not,” replied the young lady ; “ on the contrary, dean, we were as merry as possible, and talk ing of something that made us both laugh heartily. were we not, mary 1 ” “ of course we were, my dear. but there is no use saying any more about this affair. i should not like either harry or henrietta to hear of it — henrietta especially, for i know it would frighten her dreadfully. the more so, on account of our seeing the fetch after dark, which, you know, is said to denote death to the person so seen. my god ! ” and she passed her hand over her brow, as one who would dispel some hideous dream. the gentlemen were unwilling to admit, even tacitly, the supernatural character of the appearance ; they would fain have laughed the girls out of their conceit, but somehow none of them felt disposed to laugh, though even that they would fain have concealed one from the other. the dean proposed that they should adjourn to the drawing-room with the ladies, a motion which was eagerly adopted. moran drew mary’s arm under his ; and hennessy, bowing with mock ceremony to bella, asked with a dandified lisp if he might be allowed the unparalleled honour of escorting her upstairs. “just for this once,” said the saucy girl, with an air of haughty condescension. “well, this once is all i ask— now,” said the merry doctor ; “but — hillo ! there’s music — shaun the piper, as i live ! never came piper in better time ! what say you, fair ladies ! shall we not have him upstairs for the evening ?” “ of course we will, maurice,” said his sister, “ after he has 64 the hermit of the rock. had some needful comfort for the inner man. how lucky it was that he came just now ! ” “ and how soon he let you know of his arrival ! ” said moran. “the jolly old dog ! what a budget of fun he is, to be sure !• — and what fun he can squeeze out of those pipes of his ! there’s ‘ the rocky road to dublin 9 for us ! — won’t we trip it on the light fantastic toe by and by 1 — that is, with the dean’s per mission.” “my permission would not be wanting, mr. moran, were i here, but the fact is, i must be at home before your dancing will be likely to commence. i have something to do this evening that cannot be deferred.” moran looked anxiously in his face ; so did dr. o’grady, and a meaning glance was exchanged between the three. nothing more was said, however, and just at that moment a loud knock at the hall door announced the arrival of the expected visitors. a moment, and the full, rich voice of harry esmond sounded cheerily in the hall in cordial greeting. his fine face was all in a glow after his evening ride through the frosty air, and his brown silken hair, slightly disordered, was carelessly thrown back from off one temple, leaving the outline of his head and face clearly defined. it was a fine head, not exactly indicative of the highest intelligence, but well formed withal and firmly set ; whilst the face, decidedly handsome, after the saxon rather than the celtic type, was expressive of everything frank, manly, and generous. he was tall — that is to say, rather above the middle height, with a figure uniting strength and grace to a degree rarely seen. “ who have you here, maurice ? ” said esmond, as he hung his coat in the hall. “ i am delighted to see, or rather to hear , that you have shaun the piper for one individual. how the fellow does bang off that merriest of tunes!” meaning “the wind that shakes the barley,” which shaun was then giving out in glorious style, probably hearing the gentlemen in the hall. “ that’s so like you, harry,” said his friend, catching, as he always did, the gushing gaiety that came spontaneously from esmond's heart. “ you asked me a question, and rambled on to something else without waiting for an answer. we have only moran and o’grady, and miss le poer— that is, for the evening. the dean dined with us, but i am sorry to say he cannot mar v henness v has a visit. 65 remain much longer. he has some business to attend to at home. your aunt and uncle are coming, though, and my flame, of course.” “ your flame ? i should like to know who that is — eh, maurice ? ” “ why, aunt vinegar, to be sure — i beg a thousand a year — i mean aunt winifred.” “well, well, mocking’s catching, my fine fellow! you’ll have a flame some of these days, take my word for it, cool as you are now.” “and pray how cool is that, master wiseacre?” “a few degrees above zero, anyhow.” they entered the drawing-room at one door as pretty mrs. esmond, with mary and bella, entered at 'another. it was hard for the girls to look at harry esmond with anything like composure, remembering what they had seen, yet they managed to conceal their feelings tolerably well on the whole. yet when esmond took mary hennessy’s hand he missed the brilliant smile that had often cheered his heart, and, starting, he looked in her face. “mary — mary hennessy — are you quite, quite well?” he asked. “ quite, quite well,” she answered, forcing a smile. harry shook his head, took her two hands in his, and looked at her more earnestly, then sighed and turned away, evidently not satisfied. before the elder esmonds made their appearance the dean retired, much to the regret of the company, after exchanging a few pleasant words with shaun, who was by that time installed in the wide lobby near the drawing-room door. “when are you coming to our house, shaun? — you’re for getting us altogether these times.” “ wislia, long life to your reverence ! it’s an ill day i’d forget you , anyhow. but, to tell you the truth, your reverence, mrs. dwyer is mighty stingy at times, an’ as cross as an ould cat, savin’ your presence, sir.” “ pooh, pooh, man ! never mind mrs. dwyer — when she’s out of humour, laugh her into it; and as to the stinginess,” he laughed good-naturedly, “ we can easily manage that. be sure you come, now, before you leave the neighbourhood, for i want 5 66 the hermit of the rock. to hear some of the old airs that no one in tipperary can play like you.” “ glory to you, father m‘dermot ! it’s myself ’ill give you the best in the pipes. i’ll be over, your reverence, some day this week, god willin’, an 7 i’ll make a day of it when i do go, if it was only to spite mrs. dwyer.” so saying, shaun struck up “the priest in his boots ” as the dean descended the stairs with his host, and the other gentlemen clapped their hands, crying, “ bravo, shaun ! bravo ! that was well-timed, anyhow.” when the venerable clergyman mounted his horse at the door, dr. hennessy, from the steps, called out, “ safe home, dean ! god be with you ! ” and the dean answered, “ your wish is a good one, doctor, and i thank you. fare-you-well ! ” it was not homeward the dean turned his horse’s head. following friar street a little farther, he turned off in the direction of rock gate, and rode slowly along, carefully noting the cabins on either side, till at last, seeming to have found the one he wanted, he stopped at the door, and, without alighting, knocked several times with the butt end of his whip. no sound came from within, no light was seen to glimmer in the miserable hut. all was dark and silent as the grave. “ this is strange,” said the dean to himself half aloud. “ can they have left here ? and yet where would they go to ? ” “true for your reverence — where would they go to?” said a deep voice so close to the horse’s side that the priest started. the night was pitch dark, rendering objects invisible at any distance, and a thin coat of snow lay on the ground, sufficient to deaden the sound of approaching footsteps. “but they are gone, that is clear,” said the dean ; “perhaps you can tell where to ? ” “ is it me, your reverence 1 oh, bad cess to the one o’ me knows a thing about them ! it’s like they took to the road 1 at last, the crathurs ! — sure, it’s starvin’ they wor here, for all the help they got now and then from one an’ another.” “ and pray who are you that seem to know so much about their affairs ? ” “ oh, begorra, your reverence ought to know me well, any how ; sure, it was yourself that christened me.” 1 to take to the road means, in irish phraseology, to go out begging. bryan has a visit . 67 “yes, but that don’t answer my question as to who you are.” “does anybody hereabouts know where they’re gone to? well, your reverence, if anybody does, it’s ould bryan cullenan — bryney the eock, you know — himself an’ themselves were as great as pickpockets. i’ll show your reverence bryan’s little place — it’s only a step from here.” “ if you don’t tell me this instant who you are,” said the dean sternly, “ i’ll lay my whip over your shoulders. what’s your name, i say, and where do you live? as for bryan’s cottage, i can find it out myself.” “well, in regard to the whip, now, i’d be sorry to put your reverence to so much trouble, so i’ll be biddin’ you good-night, an’ it’s sorry i am to see you on a foovs errand 1 ” “what do you mean, you rascal?” said the dean, waxing wroth, and carrying out his threat at the same time, as he thought. but his whip only fell on empty space, and a low mocking laugh sounded in his ears, as if from the rear of one of the adjacent cabins. muttering to himself, “ what a change tyrannical oppression will make in a man or a people !” the dean took his horse by the bridle and went straight to bryan’s cottage, which was only a few yards distant. a light was dimly visible through the solitary pane of glass that served for a window, and it so happened that, approaching the door, the dean cast a glance on the interior. what was it that fixed his eye, and made him look long and earnestly ? the only figure visible was that of cauth, who sat sewing near the stand that held the “rosin slut,” as the peasantry call the resin candle. bryan, if there at all, was concealed by the jamb-wall. a thrill of some strange emotion passed through the stalwart frame of the priest as he gazed on that shrivelled hag, for such she seemed, and he said to himself, “merciful providence! how came she in bryan’s cottage? — and she seems quite at home. surely the old man cannot know — he may, though, for he is a singular man in his way, and might do such a thing. well, unless he speaks of it himself, i will not, that is certain ! but it is very, very strange.” he knocked at the door, and bryan himself came to open it. great was the old man’s surprise when he saw who stood with 68 the hermit of the rock. out, yet he answered the dean’s “ god save you, bryan ! ” witn a cheerful “ god save you kindly, your reverence ! is it you that’s in it, sir ? ” “and who else would it he?” said the dean of cashel, stepping in, whilst bryan took hold of the bridle. “ will i tie the baste to the door-post, your reverence?” “no, no, bryan — no, no ; i have only a moment to stay.” “well, but i can’t leave the door open on your reverence such a night as this, an’ if i shut it, maybe the baste would run away.” the dean looked round ; cauth had retreated into the farthest corner of the cabin, where the hazy light scarcely pene trated. “ i merely wished to know,” said the priest, lowering his voice, “ if you can tell me where the murthas are gone.” “ gone, your reverence ? ” said bryan, much amazed ; “an’ do you tell me they are gone ? ” “certainly; i have been knocking repeatedly at the door of the hut where they had taken shelter, and i find it is entirely deserted. do you know anything of them?” “oh, the sorra thing, your reverence, the sorra thing. god help them ! what’s come of them, at all ? sure, it’ll come down hot an’ heavy on them that brought them to this ! ” “ hush, bryan, hush ! ” said the dean solemnly ; “ those things must be left to the great ruler of all. it is not for you or me to judge our fellow-creatures. so you don’t know any thing at all about tim, or where he’s gone to ? ” before bryan answered he looked cautiously out into the darkness, peering on every side, as if to make sure that no one was within earshot. he then moved close to the dean, and, motioning for him to bend down his head, whispered in his ear— “i’ll tell your reverence what i wouldn’t tell the face of clay barrin’ yourself. tim is not the man he used to be, at all, at all, an’ i’m afeard there’s something running in his mind this time back that’s not for the good of his sowl ! ” he stepped back a pace, and the two exchanged a look of solemn import. “ it was that very thing brought me out to night,” said the dean in an undertone. “ i have heard things that troubled me not a little, and 1 thought i would make an effort to prevent bloodshed.” bryan has a visit. 69 bryan shook his head. “ fm afeard the art i man can’t do it — but if anybody can, in coorse it’s you, if you can only get speech of them.” “which i now begin to fear will be no easy matter. well, good-night, bryan! we must only do our best, and leave the rest to god.” so saying, the dean mounted his horse, and had just ex changed a last kind greeting with the old man, when a hoarse voice spoke in the hearing of both, though where it came from they could not ascertain, and it said — “go home, dean m £ dermot, and let justice take its coorse — you might as well think to soften that kock there as the hearts of them you’re looking for this night.” “god bless us ! ” cried bryan, “ who can that be ?” “ friend,” said the dean, addressing the invisible colloquist, “ it is an evil purpose that shuns the eye of god’s anointed minister. could i but speak even a few words with those persons to whom you have reference, it might be their own salvation, temporal and eternal.” a scoffing laugh was the only answer ; and the dean, seeing that nothing could then be done, reluctantly took his way homeward, leaving bryan as ill at ease as himself, though he tried to conceal it from cauth, who, strangely enough, made neither remark nor inquiry as to the object of the dean’s visit. chapter vi. a day at esmond hall. two days before christmas, the inmates of the cabins at the foot of the rock were thrown into a state of commotion by the sight of the esmond carriage stopping at bryan cullenan’s door. the handsome brown livery was well known in the neighbourhood, and many heads were popped inquiringly out of doors to see what was going on. mrs. esmond herself was in the carriage, looking ever so pretty in her cottage-bonnet and black lace veil, with her two beautiful children, a boy of four and a girl of two years old. but, alas ! there was nothing to be gathered from what took place. the footman knocked at the door ; cauth came out and dropped her curtsey ; mrs. esmond leaned forward, smiled graciously, and said something in a low voice ; whereupon cauth curtsied again, and the carriage rolled away. this was the dumb show of the affair, and the curious neighbours dreamed of nothing more. yet there was some thing more, which heard, would have set them all on the alert. “ what time will you be at home, ma’am? ” said cauth to mrs. esmond in the very lowest whisper ; “i want to speak to your self very particular.” the lady, with a look of surprise, named the hour, and cauth made a hasty retreat into the hut, as the elegant cortege moved away. she never exposed herself much to the prying eyes of her neighbours, and managed her affairs so that she was seldom abroad in daylight. mrs. esmond had appointed four o’clock that afternoon for cauth’s visit, and, punctual to the moment, cauth was in wait ing, not in the kitchen, which she carefully avoided, but on the gravel walk that swept up in two segments .of a circle from the gates to the hall-door, around a smooth sward, in spring and summer of velvet sheen, tastefully interspersed with the choicest a da y at esmond hall. 71 flowering shrubs. but the turf was brown and bare that winter day, and the shrubs and plants were carefully covered to protect them from the blighting effect of the frost. the trees in the surrounding copse, too, were leafless all and bare, except where the dark green of the fir and the still darker holly stood out here and there from the sylvan desolation with the cheerless and sombre effect of light glimmering through darkness. on the gravel walk, then, cauth took up her station, right in front of the parlour windows, which opened on a lightly-trellised verandah, as did the library on the opposite side of the hall. during the few moments that cauth stood there, her face con cealed in the hood of her cloak, she communed with her own thoughts in a way peculiar to herself. “ isn't it a sorrowful thing, then, to see the flowers all faded and gone, and the trees bare, and the grass withered ? ay, winter's a poor time — a poor time ! but there's a winter that's worse than that — fareer gar , there is ! the spring 'ill come in a little time, and the purty flowers 'ill all pop up their heads again, and the green 'ill come back to the fields an' to the trees, and everything 'ill bloom so beautiful — even the very grass on the graves ; but the green will never come back to my heart, nor the sun shine upon it aither. all withered — withered — and dead ! ochone ! if a body was dead, it 'id be the less matther ; but a dead heart in a livin' body — ch vo ! vo ! vo ! how does one live, at all ? by god's mercy, sure ! and nothin' else, to give crathurs time to make their pace with him. ah ! there she is, the darlin', makin' signs to me from the window. och, wirra ! why wouldn't i do it — why wouldn't i ? sure, i’d be the greatest villain on ireland's ground if i didn't ! — and i will do it if i lost my life for it." with these singular words she ascended the steps, and before she had time to ring, the door was opened by mrs. esmond herself, as though the lady had some vague suspicion that cauth did not care to be seen by the servants, at least on that occasion. “ don't you think i’m a little of a witch, cauth ? " said mrs. esmond, with a smile, as she pointed to one of the high-backed gothic chairs which graced the spacious hall. “ wisha, how is that, ma'am 1 ?" “why, you see i guessed that you would as soon not see anv of the servants just now." 72 the hermit of the rock. “well, sure enough you guessed the truth, ma’am. how’s the master 1 ” “he’s very well, i thank you.” “the lord keep him so ! och, amen ! from my heart. why, ma’am dear ! sure, it isn’t givin’ me all this you’d be ? ” looking at some silver pieces which mrs. esmond had placed in her hand. “ yes, yes, cauth ; that’s all for you — you can provide with it what you require for christmas. old bryan must not want the little comforts needful to his age — nor you either, cauth. but hush ! here comes mr. esmond — i hear his step on the gravel walk.” “then listen to me, ma’am !” said cauth, standing up, and placing her head close to that of mrs. esmond : “ there's them of the name that has need to keep indoors afther dark — you know who i mane ! ilusht now ! not a word, for god’s sake ! — you don’t know the risk i’m runnin’ in sayin’ so much — not a word to any one, barrin’ the master, an’ let him give a hint where you know as fast as over he can — but god love you, an’ don’t bring my name in, one way or the other ! ” and, with a warning gesture to mrs. esmond, who seemed to have lost the power of speech, cauth drew her hood over her face once more, and passed out with a low curtsey and a “ god save your honour ! ” to mr. esmond, whom she met on the threshold. harry esmond came in brimful of a steeplechase that was to come off next day a few miles from cashel, but when he looked at his wife, wondering at her unusual silence, the ruddy hue faded from his cheek, seeing the unwonted paleness of hers and the agitation visible on every feature. “why, henrietta, my love, what’s the matter?” and, taking her hand tenderly, he drew her into the parlour. “ is that old woman a fortune-teller, or has she been predicting evil things for you ? sit down and tell me what means this agitation so unusual with you ? ” “harry,” said his wife, as the colour came slowly back to her cheek, “that woman is no fortune-teller, but she has spoken words that have a strange and awful meaning.” “indeed?” said harry, wi'dh a somewhat incredulous air. “and what were thev, pray?— or are you at liberty to repeat them?” a day at esmond hale 73 “ i am — to you ! they are these : * there's them of the name that has need to keep indoors after dark! — you know who 1 mean ,’ the woman added, and ‘let him / meaning yon, ‘give a hint where you know as fast as ever he can/ those were the words, harry. what do you think of them ? ” “ i think of the whole affair this, that my dear henrietta is more of a simpleton than i ever took her for. who is this woman ? ” “that i am not at liberty to tell you,” said mrs. esmond, smiling at the word “simpleton,” as her husband supposed she would. “but, harry, i cannot view this matter as you do. you and i both know that the person evidently meant has enemies, and, what is worse, deserves to have them; believe me, then, this warning is not to be slighted, inasmuch as it must be kindly meant, and i must insist on your going this very day to give the hint as desired.” “nonsense, child! how could i bring myself to convey such a message ? you know the supreme contempt he has for the country-people generally, and i should only get laughed at for my pains — perhaps told to mind my own business.” “and what if you do? consider the possible alternative !— think how you would reproach yourself if anything did happen which you, by this trifling act, might have prevented ! harry, you will not refuse me this favour ? ” and, taldng his two hands, she looked up so beseechingly in his face that he could no longer resist. “well, i will go after dinner — it is now half-past four.” “nay, you shall go now — you can dine at the lodge — they dine at five too, you know.” “well, i must say you are a provoking little sample of womankind,” said harry, with his habitually gay laugh ; “ but if it be so, why, it must, that’s all ; ” and he rang the bell. the tall butler appeared so very suddenly that his master said, with some surprise, “why, pierce, where the deuce did you come from ? ” “oh, sure, i was just on my step to the hall-door, your honour. didn’t the door-bell ring first ? ” “not that ive heard. you had better go and see if any one is there.” 74 the hermit of the rocil pierce went accordingly, opened the hall-door, and looked out, then returned with a face of artless innocence. ‘‘well, pierce,” said his master, laughing, “did you see any one ? ” “ wisha, no, your honour ! ” and he rubbed his elbow after a fashion he had, and looked as foolish as might be ; “ still, i’d take my book oath on it that i heard the big door bell ringin’ ever so loud ; but, sure, it must be in my own ear it was. ochone ! maybe it’s a dead-bell 1 i heard ! ” why should words like these make mrs. esmond start? that she could not explain even to herself, yet so it was, and by some strange association came into her mind the mysterious voice heard at the supper-table on hallow-eve night. but none of these thoughts or fancies troubled the bright surface of harry esmond’s soul as he said to pierce — “tell mulligan to get the roan mare saddled as fast as possible.” “ the roan mare, sir ? i will, your honour ! — she’ll be out in a jiffy.” and pierce moved away as rapidly as his natural sluggishness of motion permitted. the roan mare, however, was not “ out in a jiffy,” but was, on the contrary, so long in making her appearance that mr. esmond, good-humoured as he was, began to lose patience, and, opening the door, went out on the steps just as mulligan, the groom, hove in sight from the rear with the handsome roan. “what the deuce kept you, mulligan?” said the master, slightly annoyed; “here i have been waiting full twenty minutes.” “twenty minutes?” cried mulligan, a loud-spoken, red faced man, yet fresh and honest -looking withal, — “twenty minutes, your honour ? oh, then, wait till i lay my eyes on that lazy larry,” meaning pierce. “ why, your honour, it’s not over five minutes since he came to me with the word.” “and what was he about ever since i sent him? ” “ slin-gin’ about, i suppose, as usual. he said he was lookin’ for me around the stables, but if he looked in the right way he needn’t have looked long ! ” 1 there is a very common superstition amongst the lower classes in ireland that the sound of a bell within the ear denotes an approaching death in the family. a day at esmond hall. 75 “ well, well, let it pass now/’ said mr. esmond ; “ every one is not so smart as you, tom ! — it doesn’t matter so much after all. good-bye, henny ! ” and, vaulting into the saddle, he kissed his hand to his wife, who stood at the door watching him with a mixture of pride and fondness in her soft eyes. “ so you’ll dine at the lodge, harry ? ” “ of course i must, although i shall be half an hour late — riimporte — i fly on my lady’s errand dinnerless, as becomes a knight sans peur et sans reproche. farewell, sweetheart ! ” “how, be home early, harry!” called the sweet voice from the door as he rode away. “ nine o'clock, or never i ” was the strange answer that came clearly back on the evening breeze. the dinner was served as usual that day at the hall, and pierce, in his waiting-jacket of blue striped jean, was, of course, in attendance. his mistress felt the loneliness of the table weighing upon her like a nightmare, and, anxious to be alone with her loneliness, she dismissed pierce with the first course. but pierce still lingered, on one pretence or another, arranging and disarranging the glasses and plate on the sideboard, placing and displacing chairs, etc., till at length mrs. esmond said again — “that will do, pierce, that will do ; you can go now.” <c if it ’id be pleasin’ to you, ma’am,” said pierce, “ i’d make bowld to say a few words to you.” “on what subject, pierce?” said his mistress, looking up in surprise. “well, ma’am,” said pierce in his sheepish way, “it’s about tim murtha’s people — i know you wor kind and good to them when their trouble was the sorest.” “ but what of them now, pierce ? — i heard to-day that they had left the neighbourhood.” “well, it’s so said, ma’am.” “do you know where they’re gone to?” “ oyeh ! is it me ? sure, it’s take to the road they did, for tim wasn’t able to work or want, you see, an’ they couldn’t be always livin’ on charity.” “ of course not, pierce ; but it is to be hoped that poor tim may soon be able to work again. there was no need whatever of their ‘taking to the road,’ as you say, and i am very sorry indeed to find that they have done so.” 76 the hermit of the rock “ god bless you, ma’am ! an’ it’s tim that knows your goodness well ; but sure, he couldn’t stay in the place at all, ma’am— he was warned off ; ” and pierce’s voice grew husky. “warned off, pierce? what do you mean by that?” said mrs. esmond, much surprised. “ why, i mane, ma’am, that mr. esmond of the lodge — that’s their landlord, ma’am — sent for tim about a week ago, but tim wasn’t able to go, so he sent him word by his scotch steward that if lie didn’t clear off from about cashel altogether before the week was at an end, he’d have him put in a tight place. poor tim wanted to know the raison, but sawney was mighty short, an’ would only tell him that for the raison he ought to know it best himself.” “my god!” murmured mrs. esmond, and she raised her tearful eyes to heaven. “but surely, pierce, tim was not the fool to heed such a warning as that ? he was not latterly on mr. esmond’s property.” “in coorse he wasn’t, ma’am.” pierce paused a moment, then suddenly added, “tim is a mighty paceable man, ma’am, an’ he thought for quietness’ sake he had bettei do as he was bid. he’s a quiet, harmless crathur, mrs. esmond, that ’id do anything at all — anything at all for pace.” there was something in the tone of the man’s voice as he spoke these words that drew mrs. esmond’s eyes to his face, and she could not help noticing its singular expression. the usually stolid features were gleaming with a lurid light, a fierce intelligence, that vanished as quickly as it came even whilst the lady gazed in silent wonder. somehow her heart sank within her, but she strove to appear calm. “are you any relation of tim’s?” asked mrs. esmond, partly to break the silence, which she felt painful. “ is it me, ma’am ? oh, the sorra drop’s blood i’m to him ; that i mayn’t sin if i am ! but he’s a fellowcrathur, you see, mrs. esmond ; an’ we were neighbour boys, too, reared at the door with one another, an’ it goes hard on me to see him tlirated like a dog, or worse — a dog, inagh ! ” he added, with a bitter laugh that sounded strangely hollow; “oh, bedad, it isn’t the one way the gentlemen uses their dogs an’ their tenants ! ” “pierce,” said his mistress, “i am surprised to hear you a day at esmond hall, 77 talk so. what have ‘the gentlemen ’ ever clone to you that you should speak so hard of them ? ” “ not to me, ma'am ! oh no, i declare they never done me either hurt or harm, but that’s bekase i fell in with the right sort. if they were all like the masther here, they might thravel the counthry night or day without any one hurtin’ a hair o’ their heads. it’s little need there ’id be for police-barracks an’ all sich things ! — oh no, ma’am ! if there wasn't chadwicks there ’ id be no graces — or, aither, if there was law for the likes o’ tim murtha — which there isn’t ! — then crathurs wouldn’t have to take the law in their own hands; for, mrs. esmond,” and he drew so near her, and spoke so low, that she shrank back affrighted, — “mrs. esmond, ma’am, it’s the last thing with one of us — i mane the poor — when ice think of sheddin ’ blood, or talcin' away the life that we can't give back!" awed by the solemnity of the man’s tone and manner, mrs. esmond sank back almost fainting in her chair, and, covering her eyes with one hand, motioned him with the other to leave the room. “i’m goin’, ma’am,” said pierce; “but before i go, be pleased to let me say one word more. if i thought i had offended you by what i said, i’d go down on my knees to ax forgiveness, for it’s you that has the good wish of the poor, an’ the good word, an’ the masther too, lord’s blessin’ be about him ! ” “then why speak those horrid words to me?” said mrs. esmond faintly. “for a raison i have, ma’am, that i can’t tell you now ; but don’t be scared, mrs. esmond, don’t now, an’ you’ll obleege me ; for if all tipperary was swimmin’ in blood, you and yours 'id walk drysliod ! i’m goin’ now, ma’am, as you bid me, an’ all sorts o’ luck attend you till i see you again ! don’t fear for mr. esmond — that’s the masther, ma’am ! ” “fear?” cried mrs. esmond, starting up; “why should i fear for him ? ” there was none to answer the question. pierce was gone, and mrs. esmond felt sick at heart, oppressed with strange and gloomy forebodings. she was roused by a sad, sweet voice singing without, the sound evidently approaching the house — “come, all ye fair maids that do pass by, help me to mourn for my sailor boy !” 78 the hermit oe the rock. mrs. esmond went to the window, glad of anything that might change the current of her thoughts, though the words that were sung were too much in unison with them to he at all cheering. “ i shouldn’t wonder if that were poor mabel,” she said to herself with tender pity. it was mabel, now sitting on the lowermost step, singing like a lark — “and still i’ll bunch my violets, and tie them with the locher, o!” oh, the exquisite music of that old air, as it gushed from the unconscious heart of the maniac ; but anon it was changed for another far more sorrowful, but still more touchingly beautiful — one that is on every lip in upper and lower munster — “ shule, shule, shule agragh ! time, alas ! cannot ease my woe, since the lad of my heart from me did go. “gone! ay, sure enough, he’s gone!” muttered the forlorn wanderer, “ but he said he wouldn’t be long — that he’d only go down a start to holy cross abbey, where some one was going to be hung ! — “ocli, oft i’ve sat on my love’s knee, and many a fond story he told to me — he said many things that ne’er will be — shule, shule, agragh ! “ an’ didn’t he tell me about the shootin’, too ? — ha ! ha ! in coorse he did ! — but he said it was ould chadwick, you know, an’ they said it was ould esmond ! ” here mrs. esmond opened the door, with a face of ashy paleness. “who said so, mabel? come in, my poor girl.” mabel went accordingly. “now, tell me who said it was ‘ould esmond ’ ? ” using her own phraseology. “why, the men in the abbey that dark night — don’t you remember? — the dead were a-listenin’ to them as well as the livin’ ; but i wasn’t livin’, you know,” she added confidentially ; “ they hung me that time with patrick.” “ indeed ? ” “ay, did they, an’ i’m walkin’, walkin’ ever sence, an’ will till the day o’ judgment — ocb.i ’m tired walkin’, that’s what lam!” a day at esmond hall. 79 “ you had better go to the kitchen, mabel, and get some dinner.” “ i will, ma'am ; ” and away she went singing — “ och ! i'm the girl that makes the stir from cork along to skibbereen — a ” mrs. esmond looked after her with a smile of ineffable pity, and then hastened to procure some warm clothing for the poor creature, saying to herself as she did so, “ if she would only keep it ; hut, of course, she will not. i believe i have covered her half a dozen times. however, she must not go shivering from this door on a winter's day." the servants were ordered to bring mabel upstairs when she had had her dinner, which being done, mrs. esmond's own fair hands clothed her from head to foot in comfortable winter gar ments. mabel appeared to watch the progress of her toilet with great complacency, and when it was done mrs. esmond said — “ you feel better now, mabel, don't you ? ” a smile was mabel's answer. “ what do you say to me for dressing you in those nice warm clothes, mabel ? " said the lady, with a view to ascertain whether she felt or understood the change. mabel looked at her earnestly— very, very earnestly — as though she were trying hard to arrange her thoughts for utter ance, then said slowly and distinctly — “that no one belongin' to you may ever be hanged — or shot ! " she added, as if correcting herself. mrs. esmond, with a cry of horror, told the servant to take her away, and to keep her over night, if possible. “ god bless you, ma'am ! you've a purty face, anyhow," said mabel, with a low curtsey, as the girl took her arm gently to lead her away. the next moment she broke out into the wild death-song of the peasantry, clapping her hands and bend ing forward as if over a corpse. it was a positive relief to mrs. esmond's over-wrought mind when the unhappy creature was removed from her sight, but dolefully came back to the lady’s ears the sad strain she sang in irish as she paced the long and echoing hall — “ fast-flowing tears above the grave of the rich man are shed, but they are dried when the cold stone shuts in his narrow bed.” 80 the hermit of the rock. “may the lord preserve him , anyhow!” sighed mrs. esmond, half ashamed of the fears that were gathering shape and form within her heart, at all times painfully susceptible of impressions from without. then, as the firelight danced and flickered amongst the shadows on the wall in the darkening room, officious memory brought back the cabalistic sports of hallow-eve — the clay and the ring — her wedding-ring — and the gloom that then, for the first time, fell on her spirits like a funeral pall. anxious to dispel these sombre fancies, that were preying like vampires on the springs of life, and exciting her brain beyond endurance, she started up and hastened to the nursery, hoping to find in the cheerful prattle of her little ones the peace that solitude denied. she was not disappointed ; for, after spending the evening with the children, and printing a farewell kiss on the rosy lips of each as they were laid for the night in their little cribs, she descended to the parlour with a lighter heart and a more hopeful spirit. it was past eight o’clock, and she rang to order supper for half-past nine, saying to herself as she pulled the bell, “ that will be time enough, for i know he dined late at uncle harry’s.” the housemaid appeared, received the order for the cook, and also for the butler. “i’ll set the table myself, ma’am,” replied the girl, “for pierce isn’t within.” “not within ? and where is he ? ” “ not a know i know, ma’am, but he went out just after cornin’ down from you that time, an’ he never came back sence. we all thought you had sent him of an errand, maybe.” “ i did not,” said mrs. esmond, relapsing into her so-lately overcome disquietude, “ and i wonder he would think of going out without so much as asking permission. well, go down, jane, at all events, and set the table, and tell bessy to make haste, so that supper will be ready just to the moment.” the girl curtsied and withdrew. mrs. esmond took up a book and tried to read, but read she could not ; listlessly she turned over the leaves of a london magazine, till she came to some fine lines of john malcolm’s on “ presentiment of death.” there she stopped and read, and read again, these stanzas in particular arresting her attention — a day at esmond hall. 81 it comes, eclipsing pleasure’s beams, a shadow from the future cast ; tis secret in its source as dreams, and traceless as the blast. it comes, the dark, mysterious mood, — the prophet-spirit shades the mind, which trembles, as autumnal wood that 4 ‘ shakes without a wind ! ” “ the prophet-spirit ? ” repeated mrs. esmond. “ i wonder if that be not the spirit that has been shaking my very soul these last weary hours !” she shuddered as she spoke, the book fell from her hand, and she sat for some moments with her languid eyes fixed on the pretty timepiece set in the belfry-tower of a miniature cathedral on the mantelshelf. the cheerful sound of the small pendulum concealed within the tower was the only sound that broke on the stillness of the too-quiet room, and its pleasant tic-tic was more than usually distinct, when, all at once, the sounds ceased, and the hands stopped precisely at the moment of half-past eight. “ well, that is strange ! ” muttered mrs. esmond. “ i saw harry wind it up this morning, and i never knew it to stop in that way before. ” she was so absorbed in her own feverish thoughts, however, that she forgot to set^the timepiece a-going, so the pendulum stood still, with the hands pointing, like skeleton fingers, to half -jpast eight i time grew drearier every moment, and every moment mrs. esmond’s anxiety increased; nine o’clock by her watch, yet still harry came not. a moment or two after, a horse’s hoofs rang on the gravel walk without — a fervent “thank god!” escaped her pallid lips. she would have hastened to the door, but her limbs refused to carry her, and she sank again on the sofa, with her eyes fixed on the door. it opened, but instead of her husband appeared mulligan, the groom. one glance at his face was enough. she started up, and, clasping her hands, cried, “ for god’s sake, mulligan, what’s the matter 1 ” “ oh, ma’am dear, don’t be frightened, — we don’t know what has happened — but — but ” — “ but what ? — why don’t you go on 1 out with it, man, whatever it is ! ” “you heard that horse cornin’ to the door there a minute ago ? 5 82 the hermit of the rock. — well, ma’am, it wasn’t the roan, it was one of ould mr. esmond’s steel-greys ” — “ well, and who was the rider?” “ there was no rider , ma’am! — but och ! ma’am dear, mind it wasn't our roan ! ” “nine o'clock, or never /” muttered mrs. esmond. her head sank on her chest, and she would have fallen fainting to the floor had not mulligan caught her in his arms. his cries soon brought assistance, and, leaving his mistress to the care of her terror-stricken servants, he hurried away to get the coachman and some of the neighbours to go with him along the road towards rose lodge to see if anything was wrong. chaptek vii. murder and mystery. mrs. esmond was slow in recovering from that swoon, and even when consciousness did return, strength was sadly wanting. mind and body were both prostrated, as if by some violent shock, and when her attendants proposed to her to retire to her chamber for a little while, she passively con sented, whereupon two of them supported her up the stairs. they could not induce her, however, to lie down ; throwing herself on her knees beside her bed, she bowed her head upon it in silent prayer, and so remained till the girls, fearing that she had fainted again, gently touched her arm. she looked up with a wintry smile on her pale features. “ never fear, peggy ! i’m not dead ! ” the words came out, as it were, with a spasmodic effort, and a dreary emphasis on the pronoun i. “ oh, girls, let us pray — let us all pray together ! ” and they did pray, the girls awed by the strange composure, the unnatural calmness of their mistress, at a moment when they could hardly restrain themselves from rushing out to join the search which they felt was going on. half an hour might have passed thus, when the door-bell rang. mrs. esmond started to her feet, gasping for breath— strove to speak, but unable to utter a word, pointed to the door. the girls understood her — one of them hurried down stairs, but did not return. strange sounds were heard in the hall, as if of heavy feet shuffling along, and whispering voices, and stifled groans and sobs. still mrs. esmond moved not, though the flitting colour on her cheek, and the fearful intensity with which her eyes rested on the door, showed the awful struggle between fear and hope that was going on within. 88 84 the hermit of the rock. “ma’am dear,” said the remaining servant, “what can it tte, at all ? will i go an’ see ? ” “ go ! ” the word escaped from between the firmly com pressed lips, as though the speaker were scarcely conscious of its import. the girl darted off like a lapwing, and she had hardly time to descend the stairs, when a piercing scream echoed through the corridor. “ha! that’s nora’s voice! i knew it!” said mrs. esmond to herself, — “my god! i knew it ! ” and she fell senseless on the floor. when she again opened her eyes on surrounding objects, all the women servants of the household were around her, engaged in various efforts for her recovery, one slapping the palms of her hands, another bathing her temples, whilst a third had her almost choked, holding burnt feathers under her nose. her first look of wild inquiry was answered with a chorus of sorrowful ejaculations that confirmed her worst fears. it was but the work of a moment to spring out of bed and dash the officious attendants to one side and the other. “where is harry?” cried the half-crazed wife ; “where is my husband ? — dead or alive, let me see him ! ” no one spoke, but on the instant came from the adjoining room the most sorrowful death-cry that ever thrilled mourner’s heart. guided by the sound, mrs. esmond flew to the door, which was closed, but paused before she attempted to open it, her face like that of a sheeted corpse, and the cold dew oozing from her pallid brow. “ ma’am dear, don’t go in ! ” whispered one from behind ; “ for god’s sake, don’t ! ” a scornful laugh was the answer, the door was flung open, and mrs. esmond stood in the presence of her husband, but not as she parted from him some hours before. dead and cold he lay, in the clothes he had worn all day, the blood slowly trickling from a bullet wound in his temple, showing all too plainly the manner in which he had met his death. at the foot of the bed sat mad mabel, crooning her song of woe, and rocking her body to and fro, in dismal accordance with the wild strain she sang so piteously. mulligan and two or three other men who were in the room drew back as the door opened ; they need not have done so, for their presence was unheeded by her whose soul was that moment crushed as by arx avalanche. murder and mystery, 85 mrs. esmond stood beside the bed, looking down on the heap of clay that was her husband, but no sigh, no sound, escaped her. every faculty of her being seemed paralysed, every limb, every feature, as it were, petrified. her silence at such a moment was something wholly inexplicable to the simple hearts around, and the stony rigidity of her living features was more awful to their eyes even than the ghastly presence of death. people held their breath, as though fearful of disturbing a silence that yet was terrible to all. looks of pity were exchanged, and gestures of horror, but not a word spoken. even mabel had ceased her wailing, and sat looking very earnestly at the motionless figure on the bed — from that her eyes wandered to the strangely-altered face of mrs. esmond. all at once she rose softly from her seat, glided like a spirit to her side, and, throwing her arm round her neck, began to pat her cheek with her cold hand, saying at the same time in a tone of tender pity — “ cry now ! why don’t you cry ? poor thing ! poor thing ! ” as if mabel’s voice had broken the mighty spell that kept her senses in thrall, mrs. esmond started into sudden life, threw up her arms wfildly, and uttered a scream so piercing, so full of anguish, that it rang in the>ars of those who heard it for many a long day after. disengaging herself from mabel’s encircling arm, she threw herself on the body of her husband and wildly called upon his name, kissing his cold lips again and again, as though hoping to restore their warmth. in vain, in vain ! then she laid her hand on his heart, but no, no ! all was still — still as death could make it. yet she could not, would not, believe that death ivas there. how could she realise it to herself that the stark form before her was that of her young husband, who had left her but a few short hours before in all the buoyancy of youth and health and happiness ? harry dead ! harry esmond dead ! ho, no ! it could not be — it must be a dream, a horrible dream. turning for the first time, with her hand still on esmond’s heart, her eye ran round the room till it rested on the blank, terror-stricken face of mulligan. in low, cautious tones, as if fearing to awaken the sleeper, she said, with frightful calmness — “mulligan, he is not dead — he cannot be dead ! go directly for dr. o’grady and dr. hennessy,” 86 the hermit of the rock . “ they’ll be here presently, ma’am,” said the poor fellow, trying hard to keep in the tears that were choking his utter ance ; “ there’s two messengers gone for them before we — we — brought the poor master home.” again mrs. esmond bent down and touched the lips of her beloved and laid her trembling hand on his heart, then took up the hand that hung down over the bedside and felt for a pulse ; when all this was done, the last spark of hope seemed to die out in her heart — with the stiff, cold hand pressed to her bosom, she turned again to mulligan, and cried in a tone of heart-piercing anguish — “ oh, mulligan, mulligan ! who had the heart to kill him ? ” this was the signal for a general outburst of lamentation ; the grief and pity so long restrained now broke out in tears and sobs. “ay, you may well cry!” said mrs. esmond; “you have all lost a good friend i but oh, harry, harry ! what is any one’s loss to mine ? ” and, starting to her feet, she wrung her hands in anguish. no tear escaped her burning eyelids, and she felt as though her brain were all on fire. “ mulligan ! ” cried she again, with a wildness that alarmed every one, — “mulligan! i asked you before whose work is this*? where did you find your master ? ” “ och, god pity me that has to tell it ! ” said mulligan. “sure, w*e found him” — here a burst of tears interrupted the sad tale — “sure, we found him lying on the roadside about half way between here an’ the lodge. as for them that done the deed — well, god knows — god knows ! ” “ it’s little matter to me,” said mrs. esmond drearily, as she wiped away with her handkerchief the blood that disfigured poor harry’s dead face — that face late so comely and so cheer ing. “ a time will come for all that, — now it is enough for me to know that i am a widow and my children orphans this dismal night — that i have lost the dearest and best of hus bands, and my children the best of fathers ! oh, harry, harry ! is that you that lies there so stiff and cold ? — you that gave life and light to all around you ? — oh no, no ! it cannot be you ! ” and, raising his head on her arm, she looked with piteous earnestness on his face. “alas ! yes, it is harry esmond — it is my husband ! but you cannot be dead, harry ! murder and mystery, 87 oh no ! you cannot be dead ! speak to me, harry ! — oh, in mercy speak to me — or i cannot — cannot live ! ” “ you must get her away — at once ! ” said dr. o’grady, who with dr. hennessy just then appeared at the door, both panting with excitement, and pale with horror. “ oh, maurice, what a sight ! ” he whispered to his friend. “ poor, poor harry ! i fear there is little chance of our doing any good — but come, now ! be a man, and brace yourself up, that we may at least do what we can.” the servants were all in motion in an instant, and the sound of the doctor’s familiar voice aroused the unhappy lady. turn ing round with a ghastly smile on her parted lips, she said — “come in — come in — you’ll not disturb mm i oh, dr. o’grady, dr. hennessy, look what they have done to poor harry ! — he never met you without a friendly smile and a kind word ; but he’ll never smile again — he’ll never reach the hand of welcome any more ! — look here ! ” and, pointing to the wound on the temple, from which only an occasional drop of blood now oozed thick and dark, she fell fainting on the body of her husband. “it is just as well,” said the elder practitioner. “now take her to her own room as gently as you can, and lay her on the bed.” it was no easy task to unwind her arms from around the body, but it was at length done, and the doctors proceeded to discharge their melancholy duty, having first cleared the room of all except mulligan. a very few moments served to convince the doctors that harry esmond was, indeed, no more. “ that bullet did its work well,” said hennessy, as the two stood beside the bed looking mournfully down on the dead. “ the lord have mercy on your soul, harry esmond ! i didn’t think you had an enemy on earth ! merciful heaven, o’grady ! who could have done such a deed ? ” “mulligan,” said dr. o’grady, turning to that faithful servant, “they tell me you found him.” “ wisha, then, i did, sir ! ochone ! ochone ! i did ! ” “where? and how?” mulligan described the place exactly, and the position in which he found the body. 88 the hermit of the rock. “and was there no trace of the murderer 1 is there no clue to guide us — i mean the law — in bringing the wretch to justice ? ” mulligan was silent, but the next moment he said musingly, as if to himself, “ how did he come to leave the roan behind, i wondher?” “ what’s that you say, mulligan ? ” said hennessy quickly. “was it not his own horse he rode h ” “ well, that’s what i’m not able to tell you, sir, but i know it was one of ould mr. esmond’s horses — the steel-grey — that galloped up to our stable this night without a rider — an’ it was our own roan mare that the masther took with him.” hennessy and o’grady looked into each other’s eyes, as if each sought to read the other’s thought. “has uncle harry been sent for*!” asked o’grady. “ho, sir.” “ send pierce off immediately, then.” “ pierce, sir — is it pierce $ ” and mulligan began to rub his elbow. “yes, pierce. you cannot go — you are wanted here, as the oldest servant of the family.” “well, but, docthor dear, i can’t send pierce, for pierce isn’t in, or hasn’t been since half-past four or five.” there was something in the tone of these words that made the gentlemen start and look fixedly at the groom. mulligan’s eyes sank consciously beneath their gaze. all at once dr. o’grady’s hand fell heavily on his shoulder. “ mulligan, there is something on your mind that you do not care to tell. but you need not fear to tell us, for you will have to tell all in a court of justice, and that before long. tell me now, had this man pierce any grudge against mr. esmond ? ” “not against my master, sir ! 0 lord, no, sir, i’ll take my oath he hadn’t ! there was no one had any grudge against him ! — vo ! vo ! how could they ” “and yet they shot him!” said hennessy, with stern em phasis ; “ they have killed one of the best landlords in tipperary — one of the best friends the poor had — after that, who can ever say a word in their behalf ? my poor, poor harry ! i thought you could travel the county over by night or day without any one touching a hair of your head ! — and to think murder and myster v 89 that others who did oppress the poor are alive and well, and you lying there dead — shot down like a dog in the flower of your youth — my noble, generous, whole-souled harry ! — you that always stood their friend when they most needed one ! ” “well gentlemen,” said mulligan, wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his jacket, “it does look very bad — very, very bad at this present time — an’ if any one done that deed a purpose — i mane if they kneiv who was in it — i’d disown tipperary for ever an’ a day ” — both gentlemen turned at this and fixed their eyes on mulligan. there was a deep meaning in his eyes, no less than in his words. “ so you think, mulligan,” said o’grady slowly and thought fully, “that there might have been a mistake — a fatal mistake, if so 1 ” “ i’ll lay my life on it, sir ! ” said the groom, with honest warmth. “i wouldn’t believe the bishop — no, nor the pope himself, if he said it, that my master was shot a purpose. ho, sir ! it’s bad enough, god knows, but it isn’t as bad as that ! ” “well, well, it makes little difference, after all, how he came by his death ; he is dead, god help us all this night ! may the mother of sorrows comfort his poor wife, and protect his little orphans ! ” o’grady’s voice faltered as he thus spoke, and it was only after clearing his throat several times that he said to his brother doctor, “ of course, nothing can be done here till the inquest is over. we must send at once to notify the coroner;” and he raised his handkerchief to his eyes. professionally cold and calm as o’grady was on ordinary occasions, he was here a very child. mulligan was accordingly despatched with the awful intelli gence to the coroner of mr. esmond’s murder, — awful, indeed, for dr. , then coroner for that district of the county tipperary, was himself a personal friend of the deceased gentleman. when the doctors found themselves alone together, hennessy laid his hand on o’grady’s arm and said, “how tell me, o’grady, what is your opinion of all this ? ” o’grady lowered his voice to a whisper as he replied, “ my opinion is that ” — he did not finish the sentence, for the door opened and uncle harry made his appearance. without speak 00 the hermit of the rock. ing a word, but merely nodding to the doctors, the old man approached the bed, and looked long on the lifeless form of his nephew. no outward sign gave token of what passed within, but those who watched with intense interest the bearing of that stem man under so terrible a trial, did see what they never forgot, the mighty workings of a hard, proud heart, writhing under the lash. the face was only partially seen to them, but even that partial view was not needed, for the swollen and throbbing veins on the great thick neck, and the heaving of the broad chest, sufficiently indicated the storm of passion that was raging within. at last he turned and looked from one doctor to the other with heavy, bloodshot eyes, glaring fiercely from under his bushy brows. “ so they’ve killed poor harry ! ” said he in a hoarse, guttural voice. “ so it appears, mr. esmond,” sadly said o’grady. “ well, there’s what it is to be ‘ a good landlord ’ ! ” there was a fierceness of sarcasm in these words that cannot be described. “if it was /, now, that lay there instead of harry, people would say, i suppose, that i deserved what i got — ah ! the villains ! the black-hearted, cowardly villains ! it’s little i regard them ! ” “ take care, mr. esmond, take care ! ” said hennessy. “ with that sight before you, how can you speak so ? ” “ and why not t’ said esmond fiercely. “ because, mr. esmond,” said hennessy, drawing near to him, and looking him steadily in the face, “ because that bullet may have missed its mark ! .no man ever meant to shoot young harry esmond ! ” the old man started as if an adder had stung him. a ghastly paleness overspread his face, and a brighter glare flashed in his eyes. “dr. hennessy,” he stammered out, “ what do you mean 1 ” “ i mean just what i said,” replied the doctor slowly and emphatically, “ that my poor friend never incurred the fearful penalty he has paid. excuse me,” said the doctor to o’grady, “ i will go and see how poor mrs. esmond is.” “you are impertinent, sir! — you forget yourself!” hissed the old man between his teeth. murder and myster v 91 “no, sir, i do not forget myself, or you either!” and so saying, hennessy left the room. as he passed along the corridor to the remote apartment whither mrs. esmond had been conveyed, he encountered more than one group of the servants with certain women of the neighbourhood whom the news had already reached. every soul of them was in tears, and their groans and lamentations attested the sincerity of their sorrow. some had stories to tell of dreams they had dreamed about the poor dear master, or the mistress, god save her ! or of “great trouble and confusion about the big house.” and sure they knew well there was something going to happen. others had been favoured with warnings of divers other kinds, all of which were now interpreted in the awful death of “ the master ” so dearly loved by all. the cook was trying hard to make herself intelligible through the sobs and tears that choked her voice, while she set forth her claims to supernatural enlightenment. “ sure, didn’t i know ever since hol’eve night that somethin’ or another was goin’ to happen ? ” “wisha, how is that, molly dear?” and all the rest dried their eyes, and held their breath to listen to one so well entitled to speak. molly then told, with sundry additions, the affair of the ring — the wedding-ring and the clay. when molly had enjoyed sufficiently the simple wonder of her auditors, she proceeded to cap the climax with her own experience. “but there was something more than that,” said she, “ that nobody seen bailin’ myself an’ nancy there.” “the lord save us, molly, achree ! what was it?” “afther they wor all gone to bed that night, myself an’ nancy bein’ the last in the kitchen, we thought we’d rake the ashes smooth to see if there ’id be any feet cornin’ or goin’. we waited to try the salt, too, so we put a thimbleful fornenst every one in the house, standin’ on a plate in a cool place, an’ off we went to bed.” “well, molly, an’ what came of it? ” “ as true as i’m a livin’ woman this night, an’ the master a dead man, — lord receive his sowl in glory ! — there was the mark of a foot in the ashes — a man’s foot, too, an’ for all the world about the size of his, an’ it turned to’st the door.” 92 the hermit of the rock . “ the lord between us an’ harm ! ” “ an’ when we went to look at the salt, behold you, there was one thimbleful broken down, an’ melted like, an’ the others all standin’ as straight as when we left them. now that’s as thrue as you’re all standin’ there, an’ if you doubt my words there’s nancy kenny can tell you the same.” nancy groaned in corroboration, and another took up the dismal theme of the warnings. it was very remarkable, how ever, that in all their grief for the good master they had lost, little was said of the manner of his death, and nothing whatever of the perpetrator of the deed — whoever that might be. when dr. hennessy knocked at the door of the room where mrs. esmond was, it was opened by mrs. o’grady, and he found within mrs. esmond, senior, and aunt winifred, all three having come with uncle harry. mary hennessy, it appeared, was so overcome by the dreadful shock that she was utterly unable to follow the dictates of her heart in hastening to the side of her so awfully-bereaved friend. to the doctor’s inquiry of how she found herself, mrs. esmond replied, in low, faint accents, “ oh, there is no fear of me — i am well enough — too well ! but, dr. hennessy,” she added, with sudden animation, raising herself from her reclining posture in a large arm-chair, — “ dr. hennessy, do tell me, has that man pierce yet returned ? ” “ i believe not. but why do you ask ? — did you want him ? ” “ want him h ” mrs. esmond repeated, with a visible shudder; “ oh no ! no ! no ! the sight of him would be death — death — death ! ” and, moaning piteously, she fell back again in the chair. “ why, surely, mrs. esmond,” said the doctor, “ you cannot suspect him ? — what motive could induce him— or, indeed, any one else — to commit so black a crime ? ” “ i know not, doctor, i know not ; but ” — and the unhappy lady paused, gasping for breath — “ but from something he said to me just before leaving the house — and after my poor — my poor harry was gone — i fear — oh, i am almost certain that he aad — at least — something to do with it ! ” she could say no more. the horror of this announcement blanched every cheek, and the ladies were, for once, struck dumb. it was only for a moment, however, for, long before the doctor could make up his mind as to what he should say, i; unt winifred broke out with— murder and mystery 93 “ la me ! we might have known there was something bad about the fellow ; don’t you remember the voice we heard on hallow-eve night ? ” “ yes, and that sad affair of the ring, my dear mrs. esmond,” subjoined mrs. o’grady ; “ you know i told you that you should not have given your wedding-ring for such a purpose ! my dear, it was very thoughtless of you to do it — indeed, indeed it was ! my ! my ! my ! who could have foreseen this ? — though i must say that 1 had a sort of presentiment that night that something very bad was going to happen. poor dear harry ! ” and, taking out her handkerchief, the sympathising friend buried her face in its snowy folds. the elder mrs. esmond, who sat quietly with her niece’s hand clasped in hers, here made a sign to the doctor to get the others out of the room. “ my dear mrs. esmond,” said dr. hennessy, anxious him self to rid her, if possible, of these job’s comforters, “had you not better lie down on the bed, and remain quiet a while ? i see you are completely exhausted. aunt martha will stay with you, and mrs. o’grady and aunt winifred can go downstairs and attend to the household affairs. the people are already crowding in, and the house will be full of guests before morning.” the proposal was eagerly accepted by the two active ladies, who immediately retired, brimful of importance. it was hard, however, to persuade mrs. esmond to remain where she was. “ oh, dr. hennessy ! — oh, aunt martha ! ” she sobbed, “how can i stay here — and harry so near me — dead ? — oh no, no !— i cannot — cannot stay ! ” and she rose from her seat, notwithstanding the gentle efforts of aunt martha to prevent her. “ now, aunt martha, do not — do not ask to keep me ! ” she faltered out in tones of piteous entreaty ; “ he will not be long with me — let me look upon him while i can ! — while i can ! oh, aunt martha, aunt martha ! what will i do at all ? ” a wild burst of anguish followed, and mrs. esmond, trembling and exhausted, was easily prevailed upon to resume her seat. it appeared to the sympathising friends who watched her so tenderly that there was in her mind, and hovering on her lips, something which she could not put in words. aunt martha, kind and prudent, guessed it. 94 the hermit of the rock. “ my poor henrietta,” said she, “ you are thinking of — of — the laying out — but that cannot be done to-night.” “and why not?” cried mrs. esmond, with a start. the old lady was silent, but the doctor spoke — “well, you know, my dear mrs. esmond,” coughing slightly to gain time, “ there is a certain — ah ! — investigation to be made — before — before anything of that kind is done ” — “ oh, you mean the inquest ? ” said the widow, seized with a sudden tremor ; “i had forgotten that — my god ! my god ! ” “ what if you took her to see the children ? ” whispered the doctor to aunt martha as he turned to leave the room ; “ the sight of them might soften her heart and make her weep — then all were well : but i fear this horrid wildness — this dry, feverish agony.” . at this juncture the door opened and uncle harry joined the group. the meeting between him and the heart-stricken widow of his murdered nephew was strangely silent and solemn. in silence the old man took mrs. esmond’s hand and squeezed it very hard ; in silence he seated himself by her side, drew a long, long breath that ended in a sigh, then looked through his half-closed eyes first at his wife, then at dr. hennessy, and last of all at his niece. as for mrs. esmond, she appeared but little consoled by his presence, and a darker shadow seemed to gather on her face since his entrance. she returned his greeting with her wonted gentleness, but remained silent. “my dear niece,” began uncle harry at length, “this is an awful visitation that has come upon us all. who could have thought that such an end awaited our poor harry ? ” a voice here spoke from the shade of the high and richly curtained bed — “ they said they’d do it — an’ they did ! — they said they’d hang — no, shoot tmld esmond ! ” “great god! who is that?” exclaimed uncle harry, while his wife turned pale as death, and dr. hennessy, approaching the spot whence the voice appeared to issue, led mabel out by the hand. “ i knew r it was poor mabel,” sighed the younger mrs. esmond. “but how came she here?” said uncle harry testily. “she must have got in when you did,” observed dr. hennessy, “ for i know she wasn’t in the room before.” “don’t mind her,” pleaded mrs. esmond, reaching out her murder and mystery. 95 hand to mabel; “she was the first to cry over — over — him that's gone ! that’s a good girl, mabel ! don’t be afraid ! ” and she smoothed down the dark dishevelled tresses that hung over the girl’s shoulders. “i’m afraid of him/" said mabel, pointing to uncle harry, who was regarding her with one of his keen, scowling glances. “that’s ould esmond, you know,” in a half whisper to mrs. esmond, “and they said he was a born devil/" “ hush, hush, mabel ! ” whispered mrs. esmond eagerly. “ let her say on,” said uncle harry sternly. “ who said i was a born devil, mabel?” “why, the men in the abbey that dark night — an’ listen hither — they said they’d kill you ! — ha ! ha ! i knew they’d do it! — it’s well it wasn’t hang you they did — they hang every one, you know — barrin’ the gentlemen — but they shoot them ! ha ! ha ! ha ! — an’ that’s all the same — but, ochone ! the purty young gentleman in the room above, what made them shoot him ? sure, he never done anybody any harm ! — och, it’s once 1 had a true love, but now 1 have none ! ” this allusion to her husband’s fate, accompanied as it was with so touching a tribute to his goodness, went straight to mrs. esmond’s heart, and drew a torrent of tears from her eyes, to dr. hennessy’s great relief. “ but who were the men ? ” persisted uncle harry, his brow darkening more and more every moment. “wisha, how could i see in the dark?” was the answer. “ ask jerry pierce up at the big house, and maybe he'll tell you ! he's kate murtha's born brother , you know ! augh ! let me go now — i want to see the young master. ochone ! ochone ! the black day it was when anybody made that hole in his purty white forehead ! ” dr. hennessy flew with great alacrity to open the door for the wayward girl, and away she went along the corridor, crying and clapping her hands in all the wildness of sorrow. “ there’s a terrible meaning running through her incoherent ravings,” said uncle harry, with stern emphasis ; “ we must have her before the coroner in the morning. come, doctor, let us join the gentlemen ; ” and, taking hennessy’s ar^m, they left the room together. chapter viii. the events of a night. the next day was christmas eve, and after that came christmas day, but the christmas joys were clouded in many a household in and around cashel by the awful death of the county’s favourite, the gay, the generous, the all-beloved harry esmond. the comforts that surrounded many an otherwise cheerless hearth that christmas-tide were the gift of him and his gentle wife, and how could the poor forget that there was sorrow at “the big house,” yea, the heaviest of all sorrows ? they could not forget, and they did not forget, that one of the noblest gentlemen in tipperary lay cold and dead that day, that a blight had already fallen on the young life of their most bountiful benefactress. few houses there were in all the countryside in which the rosary was not said those nights for “ rest to the poor young master’s soul,” and many a fair frolic was “ nipped i’ the bud ” by the timely admonition of some grave senior, “ wisha, how could you think of the like an’ the young master a cowld corpse the day ? — och ! more’s the pity.” and when st. stephen’s day came, and the “wren-boys” perambulated the town and its vicinity bearing that diminutive specimen of the feathered tribe aloft in triumph amongst green boughs ornamented with gay streamers, the rollicking, noisy crowd hushed their obstreperous mirth whilst they passed in front of the hall. “whisht, now, boys! whisht! bad cess to you! don’t you know what’s in there ? — hot a word, now, not a word for your lives ! ” “ och ! then, sure, it’s the first time we ever passed that door without a big piece o’ silver ! — god rest his soul that’s gone ! ” such were the exclamations that stopped the bellowing mouths of the juvenile mob, but the seniors of the troop need scarcely the events of a night. 97 have uttered them, for the youngest there would have neither laughed nor sung whilst passing the house of death — that one, east of all. a few perches past the esmond gates, however, and the wild chorus rose higher than ever— “the wran, the wran, the king of all birds, st. stephen’s day was caught in the furs ; although he is little, his family’s great, rise, fair lady, and give us a trate ! ” this refrain , repeated in recitative with the utmost rapidity of utterance by some scores of squalling voices, was anything but musical in its character, yet heard from afar it was not without a certain wild melody, like the murmur of waves on the sandy beach. as “ a lay of the olden time ” the “ song of the wren/’ importunate to some, was right welcome to others, bringing back longvanished scenes, and the simple joys of other years when life was warm and young. the mourners heard it, and it made their sadness deeper yet, by contrast with the bright, untroubled past ; faint and far it came to the ears of the new-made widow and mary hennessy, where they sat, hand locked in hand, beside the bed whereon lay the shrouded form of harry esmond, now decked in the mournful habiliments of the grave, awaiting its burial on the morrow; then did the two pale friends look into each other’s eyes, and the weight of present woe crushed heavier on their hearts as memory brought back the merry christmas-times that, for one of them, at least, were to come no more. the same thoughts came back with the same familiar sound to maurice hennessy on his daily rounds, and to phil moran at his desk, and he dropped the scroll over which he had been musing — it was the official report of the coroner’s inquest — and a shadow fell on his thoughtful brow, and the tears welled up from his inmost heart as he murmured, “ poor, poor harry ! friend of my boyhood’s years, how often have we laughed together at the merry pranks and mischievous drollery of the wren-boys ! they will miss your open hand to-day ! so they ought ! so they ought ! ” he added, starting up and pacing the room to and fro with hasty strides ; “ they’ll all miss him, and that not to-day or to-morrow either— and that they may, from my heart out ! when any one could be found amongst them hardened enough to murder young harry esmond, 7 98 the hermit of the rock. they deserve the worst that can come upon them ! such a deed is enough to draw down a curse on the whole country ! ” “ true for you, sir ! ” said his clerk, a thin-faced and rather cadaverous individual, who had the ungainly peculiarity of never looking any one straight in the face. “ if it had been the old gentleman, now, a body wouldn’t have cared, but his tenantry hadn’t that good luck ! ” “good luck, you rascal?” said his master, turning sharp round ; “ how dare you say such a word in my presence ? ” “why, then, upon my credit, sir, i meant no offence,” whispered the clerk ; “ but if it was old esmond that got the bullet in place of master harry, i’m thinking, sir, there would be more dry eyes than there is the day.” “ silence, sir ! ” shouted moran. “ don’t let me hear any more of such talk, but go on with what you are doing.” “ i will, mr. moran ; but, to tell you the truth, sir, if it was the old fellow that was popped, i wouldn’t make out the warrant so — so cheerfully.” “ cheerfully, you villain ? why, you look for all the world like a hangman ! — or rather, like one whose own neck was in danger ! ” “oh, god forbid, sir, god forbid ! ” and the cadaverous clerk, whose name was ned murtha, put up his skinny hand to his neck, as if to make sure that it was not in danger. “ but then i wish mr. boland had got the warrant made out at home.” “ and why so, pray ? ” “well, you see, sir, it’s the first warrant of the kind i ever made out, and i can’t — i can’t warm to the job, at all, at all ! ’deed i can’t, sir ! ” “ nonsense, man, nonsense ! don’t you think the fellow that shot harry esmond deserves to swing for it ? ” “ i know, sir, i know, but then — but then i don’t care to have a hand in any one’s death.” “ go on with your work, i say ! — no more idle prate — there is no time to be lost.” moran seated himself at his desk, bent again over his papers — silence reigned for a few minutes, when an exclamation from ned made the lawyer turn quickly, just in time to see that eccentric individual throw down his pen and jump from his perch on the high office-stool, the events oe a night . 99 “confound it, ]sted ! what’s the matter now?” cried the attorney. “well, it’s a folly to talk, mr. moran,” said ned, looking every way but at him ; “ i can’t nor i won’t write them words, sir, in regard to jerry pierce 1 ” “you will not, eh % ” “no, sir ; i wouldn’t do it for all you’re worth ! it’s against nature, so it is ! ” “ and why against nature ? ” “because, mr. moran, jerry pierce is a first and second cousin of my own, and — and — 0 lord ! if it was only the old fellow he had shot — no, no — i didn’t mean that, mr. moran ! i didn’t, indeed, sir ! for i won’t believe he shot e’er a one, at all, till i’m full sure of it. but don’t ask me, sir, if you please, to make out the warrant — jerry and myself are too near akin, sir, for vie to do it, let it be as it may. and besides, jerry saved me a horsing 1 oust, when we were at school together, by reason of taking the fault on himself to screen me, and he as innocent as the child unborn.” poor ned took out a blue handkerchief spotted with white, and giving it a very determined shake before he applied it to its legitimate purpose, blubbered out, “no, mr. moran! i can’t do it , sir — if i lose my place for it ! ” “ well, well, ned, you shan’t lose your place for it,” said moran, coughing down his emotions — lawyer as he was, there was a large infusion of the milk of human kindness in his heart. “ go and tell brannigan to come here — he’ll make out the warrant, and you can copy that deed he was going to commence. hurry, now, hurry ! ” “i will, sir,” said ned, but he only said it, for his journey to the next room occupied considerably more time than the distance seemed to warrant. “ned murtha,” said moran to himself, as the door closed behind him, “ there’s more of a heart in that ungainly body of yours than i ever gave you credit for.” 1 all our readers may not understand the nature of the service ren dered on this occasion. in country schools in ireland when a boy was convicted of any capital offence, he was hoisted on the back of another boy, and castigated to the master’s “heart’s content.” this punishment was technically styled horsing . 100 the hermit of the rock. the reader will see from this that a warrant had been issued immediately after the coroner’s inquest for the arrest of “ jeremiah — commonly called jerry — pierce , late butler at esmond hall.” the verdict on which this warrant was founded could nowise have been returned but for the evidence of mrs. esmond touching the mysterious words of pierce, and his no less mysterious conduct on the fatal day of the murder — this, coupled with his sudden disappearance, furnished very strong presumptive evidence that, if not the principal in the atrocious crime, he was, at least, cognizant thereof, and, there fore, accessory. it was an awful suspicion, considering the relation which had existed between the supposed murderer and his victim — the unvarying kindness of the master and the apparent fidelity and gratitude of the man. in fact, no motive could be assigned for the perpetration of so foul a murder, and hence it was that the whole country cried shame on the murderer, and one general feeling of horror and of indignation pervaded the minds of all. bich and poor were alike interested in this mysterious murder — the rich naturally inferring from it that no man’s life was safe amid a population so prone to deeds of blood that not even the best of landlords was safe from their capricious malice ; the poor, on the other hand, lamenting the loss of their generous friend and most bountiful benefactor, the darling of every heart, and filled with shame and confusion to think that a man could be found in tipperary to shoot him in cold blood. “one of themselves, too,” — that was the worst of it. there had been murders committed even in that part of the country, where the murderers were regarded with compassion rather than abhorrence, because they had but executed the general thirst for vengeance on some hard-hearted, tyrannical landlord* the scourge of his miserable tenantry, and the avowed enemy of the people ; — in this case, however, there was no sympathy for the murderer — all the popular feeling was against him; in all that eastern district of tipperary there was not man, woman, or child who did not execrate the deed, praying with all the fervour of grateful love for the repose of mr. esmond’s soul, and that god might comfort his desolate widow and her unconscious orphans. of the many humble homes to which the untimely death of young harry esmond brought tribulation, there was none the events of a night. 101 where grief weighed so heavily as in that of bryan cullenan. the news had come like a thunderbolt on cauth and bryan, and both equally felt the crushing blow, but its effect on each was diametrically opposite. bryan hastened at once to the hall, “ satisfied himself,” as he said, “ with a good cry over the poor young master,” and prayed long and fervently beside his cold remains, the tears streaming from his aged eyes on the bridgetine beads he was telling for the repose of that dear soul. during the three days and nights that the vigil of death was kept in esmond hall, bryan spent the greater part of his time there, now giving out the rosary and the litanies amongst the country-people who thronged the kitchen and the servants’ hall, now kneeling, absorbed in pious meditation, beside the state bed on which the body was laid out, that mournful privilege being tacitly conceded to the old man of the rock. cauth, on the contrary, never went near the house of death. a certain gloomy wildness seemed to have taken possession of her, and she talked incoherently to herself with the strangest gesticulations. that was only when alone, however, for to bryan she was unusually silent all those dreary days. once, when the old man asked, was she not going up “to see the poor young master before he was laid in the cold clay, where none of them could ever see him any more,” she turned on him sharply with — “don’t be botherin’ me, bryan cullenan ! what for would i go up there ? ” “ wisha, cauth ! what for does any one go up there?” said bryan, much amazed. “myself thought you had a great wish for the quality at the hall ! ” “who says i haven’t?” she returned still more sharply. “ go your ways, now, bryan, an’ let me alone ! i hate to hear people makin’ fools o’ themselves, talkin’ of what they know nothin’ about.” poor bryan was fain to do her bidding, and “went his ways ” to the rock, wondering much what manner of woman cauth might be, who, professing so much love and gratitude for “the young mistress,” appeared yet so little touched by the dread sorrow that had come upon her. “ ay, go your ways, ould man ! ” said cauth, when she found herself alone; “it’s little you know about them you’re 102 the hermit of the rock . leavin’ behind. oh,” she moaned, “if i hadn’t gone next or nigh them ! if i hadn’t loaded them with blessin’s, maybe this heavy curse wouldn’t have come down on them ! sure, i might a known how it ’id be ! — why wouldn’t i go an’ see him, inagh ! och, then, god help your wit, you poor foolish ould man ! isn’t it on my two knees i’d walk from here to there, an’ back again, if it could do himself or herself any good — but, fareer gar/ it couldn’t ! — no ! no ! no ! it couldn’t, an’ it ’id break my heart entirely to see my poor darlin’ young gentleman lyin’ there kilt an’ murdhered fornenst my eyes ! it would — it would ! och ! the black villain — the black villain ! sure, the devil himself had a hand in him, or he couldn’t do the likes o’ that — he couldn’t spill the blood of one that never done any one any harm — one that had the blessin’ of the poor, an’ the good wish of high and low ! ” that night when the iron tongue of midnight had told twelve, it so happened that bryan cullenan found himself alone for a short space with the sheeted dead. the ladies and gentlemen were taking some refreshment in the next room, and mrs. esmond had been prevailed upon with much ado to lay down her weary head, even though sleep, that ever forsakes the wretched, and “ flies from woe,” was little to be expected for one so utterly woebegone. all at once bryan’s solemn meditations were rudely inter rupted by the sight of a tall figure standing by the bed, wrapped in a greatcoat, the cape of which was thrown over the head after the manner of a hood. bryan’s heart sank within him, and his tongue clave to his palate, so that he could not speak, even if he would. with his eyes starting from their sockets, he watched the motionless form, as it stood with head bent forward, and hands — they were large, bony hands, too — clasped tightly together, back side up, as they hung at arm’s length in front. the attitude was one of mournful contempla tion, but no sound was heard, not even a sigh from the unseen lips. but as bryan gazed with his heart in his eyes, he saw some sudden emotion shake the huge frame of his mysterious fellow-watcher — one long low moan was heard, like the wail of a tortured spirit, and the figure, turning towards bryan, raised a the events of a night 103 finger in admonition and passed slowly from the room. oh, the horror of that moment ! the icy shiver that ran from the old man’s heart through every vein of his body, as, glancing up into the face which he supposed was that of a supernatural being, he recognised the murderer — jerry pierce ! bryan used to say in after days that he often wondered how he got over the fright of that moment. he whose days, and nights too, were not seldom passed amongst the dead — he that could sleep contentedly amongst the graves on the desolate bock of cashel, no whit alarmed by the possibility of some of their occupants revisiting the glimpses of the moon,— he was paralysed with terror by the sight of that mortal man. his first impulse was to cry out and give the alarm now that he found his tongue unloosed from the spell of that dread presence ; but bryan was a cautious man, an exceeding cautious man, and he made it a rule in every emergency to “ think twice and speak once,” so he thought twice then, and concluded — just as “ the quality” came in again from the other room — firstly, that there was no great chance of catching pierce by that time, and secondly, that it might be the death of the young mistress if she came to hear that the murderer of her husband had been there in the silent midnight to look upon the lifeless remains of his victim. so bryan crept from the room unnoticed by any one, and was making his way to the kitchen, when in the hall he found a crowd assembled round one of the maid-servants, who seemed obstinately bent on fainting away directly, from which overt act divers of her fellow-servants, aided by a number of the wake people from below, were violently endeavouring to dissuade her. “ och ! let me alone ! ” hysterically cried, or rather sobbed, the entirely overcome damsel, as she wriggled and twisted in the arms of the sympathising assistants; “sure, i’ll never be the better of it — never — never ! — och ! i’ll faint* — i’ll faint ! ” “ wisha, don’t now ! don’t, achree ! — you’ll be over it soon, please god ! — it’s only a wakeness.” “ what did you see, a colleen ? ” “ och ! och ! what did i see ? — why, i seen — i seen — jerry pierce ! ! — och ! i’m goin’— i’m goin’ ! ” 104 the hermit of the rock, exclamations of horror were heard on every side. “jerry pierce ! ! the lord in heaven save us ! — ah, then, where did you see him, acushla?” “i met him — on the stairs -abroad — cornin’ down — an’ the cape of his big-coat up over his head — oh ! oh ! — an’ his eyes lookin’ at me like — like live coals ! ” “ oyeh ! it’s his fetch she seen ! ” — ran round the circle in a loud whisper, — “it’s well if she does get over it, the crathur !” “ there, there ! she’s goin’ ! ” “ if she is, she can use her feet well — and her tongue too,” said bryan to himself as he passed on towards the kitchen, cruelly in different to the precarious condition of the fainting fair one, hut much occupied with the thoughts of the apparition which had frightened himself no less than her. notwithstanding bryan’s silence, the news soon spread all over the house, and every soul in it, with the single exception of its widowed mistress and uncle harry — of whom all stood in too much awe to tell him anything — had heard the awful tale of jerry pierce’s fetch being seen walking about the house. then did mary hennessy and bella le poer remind each other of the shadowy form they had seen only ten or twelve days before, and, coupling that with this, they shudderingly concluded — as did most of those at the wake — that this appearance was possibly in advance of the wretched man’s impending doom. there was another that saw jerry pierce that night — -a comely, dark-liaired damsel, by name celia mulquin, who kept house for her uncle, a road contractor, named larry dwyer, within a stone’s throw of the esmond gate. the uncle and his two strapping sons were long since abed and sleeping soundly, as evinced by the somewhat unmusical chorus executed in trio by that number of nasal organs on the loft which covered “ the room,” — another over the kitchen being celia’s sleeping apart ment, both reached by a ladder ; the middle space, or that end of the kitchen where was the fireplace, shaded from the door by the jamb-wall, had no covering over it but the thatch and wattles of the roof. celia was sitting in a very desponding attitude before the yet unraked fire, looking with fixed, unconscious eyes down into the red greshaugh , the ashes of the burned sods which had all day long made “the back” for the light “slane turf” that formed the events of a night 105 the fire. it was hard to say what celia was thinking of just then, but it must have been something very painful to her heart, judging by the paleness of her round fair cheek and the sad expression of her soft blue eyes. by and by the vacant look vanished, and a world of sorrow was suddenly in motion all over the girl's smooth features. tears began at length to moisten her eyelids, and, raising the two corners of her checked apron, she held them to her eyes, her chest heaving violently under the coloured kerchief so modestly folded over it. suddenly she started, turned her head in the attitude of listening, then stood up and crossed herself, her eyes fixed with a frightened look on the little window that pierced the front wall of the house a few feet from the ground. “ christ save us ! ” muttered the girl ; “ who can it be at this dead hour o' the night ? — why, sure — sure it can’t be him 1 ” the pallor deepened on her face, but she stepped on tiptoe to the window ; nothing was there to be seen but the pitchy darkness of the night. a tap was now heard at the door, and thither went celia with the same stealthy pace. putting her ear close to the door, she listened for a repetition of the sound — it came not again in the same form, but a voice spoke through the keyhole — “ celia darlin’, won’t you let mein? if you’re by yourself, do, for god’s sake ! i want to speak to you.” celia knew the voice, and it brought the rich colour back to her cheek, though the flush passed away as quickly as it came. for a moment she stood irresolute, but her soft woman’s heart prevailed, and she opened the door with as little noise as possible. jerry pierce stood without, but the next moment he stood within, close by the jamb-wall. the girl retreated as far as the front wall would let her, but that was only a few feet. “ celia,” said the man in a thick, hoarse whisper, “ are you afeard of me too ? ” “ i’m not afeard of you,” she answered in the same low tone; “ i know you’ll not harm me; but — but — oh, what — what brings you here, you poor misfortunate man ? ” “ bekase i’m hunted like a wild baste already, an’ they’ll be apt to hunt me down soon, an’ then i could never say to you what i must say, dead or alive. are they all gone to bed ? ” 106 the hermit of the rocii “ hours an’ hours ago — don’t you hoar them snorin’ j ” “ may i sit down, then, for a little start by the fire ? ” whis pered the deep voice ; “ i’m shiverin’ with the cowld, celia, an’ it’ll be long, long before i see your face again — maybe never ! ” the girl could not resist this sorrowful appeal, so, placing the light in a position which threw the broad fireplace and the greater part of the kitchen in shade, she proceeded to hang a thick cloth before the window, so that none could look in from without, and then placed a low seat for j erry in the corner just by the jamb. taking her own station on the oppo site side of the fire, she sat with her eyes cast down, .her cheek and lip pale as ashes, and her clasped hands resting on her knees. for a few moments both were silent, pierce cowering over the fire, while his large limbs trembled, partly with cold, partly with misery and desolation. “ maybe you’re hungry ? ” questioned the girl in a choking voice, without raising her eyes, and without naming his name. a sort of low, convulsive laugh gurgled in the man’s throat as, starting at her voice, he replied, “no, i didn’t come here to ask charity; i had my supper — thanks to them that gave it to me.” “ well, what — what — did you want with me!” still without looking up. “ want with you ? ” repeated the man in a half -angry tone, but the next moment he added somewhat more mildly, “ oyeh, celia ! it’s althered times with us when you’d ax me such a question. but och ! och ! sure, the faut isn’t yours, mavrone mavrone, it is not ! ” “ i ask you again, what did you come here for ? ” “ i’ll tell you that — do you believe me guilty of what’s laid to my charge ? ” “ how can i efo'sbelieve it ? ” asked celia sadly. “ an’ och ! och ! but it’s the hard thing to think that — that ” — “ that what?” “ that you’d be guilty of the likes of that.” “ but you think i am ? ” “ wisha, god help me ! what can i think t” and the tears began to fall unheeded from celia’s eyes. in a moment pierce was beside her, and would have taken her hand, but that she stoutly resisted, drawing her seat away from him with a look that was partly fear, partly anger. the events of a night . 107 “ don’t — don’t — lay a hand on me, unless you want to kill me too ! ” she was sorry for the word almost before it had passed her lips, hut she made no effort to recall it. its effect on pierce was like that of a stunning blow ; he was struck dumb, and for a moment could only look at the terrified girl with eyes of blank bewilderment. at last he sighed, and that sigh passed shivering through his whole body, his blue lips parted, and he said, clasping his hands together, and letting his head fall heavily on his chest, “ then i am— i am — a murderer ! ” when he raised his head again, there was a ghastly smile on his face, and he looked more like a corpse than a living being ; his hands were clasped tight across his breast, as though to restrain its wild throbbings ; it was some moments before he could speak, gasping for breath the while, celia watching him with eyes distended by horror and amazement. at last he spoke in a hissing whisper that made the blood curdle in her veins — “ well, now, that's what brought me here the night ! ” “ what ? ” “ why, you know the promise of marriage that’s betwixt us — well, i came to give mine back — it’ll soon be all over with me , an’ i don’t want to have you afeard of me cornin’ back on account o’ the promise — when — when — i’m gone ! ” 1 celia mulquin leaned forward and looked into his eyes with a wild, searching gaze, — as she looked, her features gradually relaxed, her lips parted with something like a smile, if a smile could come at such a moment. slowly, very slowly, she spoke — “ i’ll not give you back your promise, then ; for, livin’ or dead, jerry pierce, if i don’t marry you , i’ll marry no one else. if that’s what you came for, you have your answer ! ” jerry pierce sprang to his feet with an energy that frightened poor celia. a gleam of wild, passionate joy flashed across his features like red lightning over the black thunder-cloud. “ i have my answer,” he said in the subdued tones that 1 this superstition is common in all parts of ireland. if one of two betrothed lovers die, it is considered as certain as anything, not of faith, can be, that he or she will haunt the living party to the promise until it be cancelled between them. 108 the hermit of the rock caution required, — “ i have my answer, an’ i’ll go ! now i can face death, an’ shame, an’ all that’s before me ; for i know there’s one true heart that — that loves me still, black and odious as i am ! god be with you, achorra macree ! ” " whisht, whisht ! ” said the girl earnestly ; “ how dare you name that holy name ? ” “ i can dare more than that,” was the answer. he stooped towards her, and, before she could prevent him, kissed her pale lips once, twice, thrice. “ don’t be angry, celia, that’s the first kiss, and maybe the last, but it isn't the kiss of a murderer ! — you’ll think of them words, darlin’, an’ they’ll comfort your poor heart when i’m maybe swingin’ on the gibbet ! ” he was gone before celia could make herself conscious of what he had said. chapter ix. uncle harry has an adventure. at the chapel door in cashel on the following sunday there was a crowd gathered, after last mass, discussing, of course, the murder of young mr. esmond. there generally is a crowd after mass, i am forced to confess, at every church and chapel door, discussing all manner of topics ; hut on the day in question the crowd was even greater than usual, and there was no diver sity in the subjects under discussion — all were chattering away for dear life on the one engrossing theme of the murder, all the more engrossing for being horrible, and, moreover, mysterious. many were the wild and strange rumours already afloat in relation to the murder and its probable causes, for people will have causes for everything, and where there are none on hand, they will make them to order. some would have it that pierce had an old spite against master harry since one day long ago he was out following the hunt as a game-boy, and the young master said or did something to him that was rankling in his mind ever since, till he got the chance of being revenged. others always knew, they said, that there was something very bad in that jerry pierce; whilst others went further still, and said, with a sagacious wink or a shake of the head, that there was “ a bad drop in them pierces altogether.” this capped the climax, the more so as it was something entirely new, for the pierces, though poor cottiers from father to son, had always been in good repute with their neighbours, and this was the first actual blemish on their fair name. but there are always people ready, on such occasions, “ to help the lame dog over the stile,” as they say in ireland, which means, in plain english, to speed an ill story on its way. “ when a man's down, down with him,” i? the common order of things, and that in more countries than 109 110 the hermit of the rock. our dear celtic ireland. there are lame dogs in every country, and charitable people in abundance to “ help them over the stile.” but to our story. the dean himself had spoken for a full hour after mass on the awful crime just committed in their midst, the disgrace of which fell, he said, on the whole community, until such time, at least, as the murderer was brought to justice. he had warned the people against aiding or assisting in concealing him from the officers of the law, saying that his crime was of the most revolting character, without one extenuating circumstance to lessen its enormity in the sight of god or man. he had paid an affectionate tribute to the virtues of the deceased gentleman, and spoke even with tears of the loss he was to the whole country both as a landlord and a magistrate. “ when young harry esmond,” said he, “was on the bench, the poor man always knew he had a friend that would see justice done him ; and as a landlord,” said he, “ where will you find his equal? — which of you, his tenants, ever went from his office door with anything but a blessing on your lips? well, he is gone ; this upright magistrate — this kind, easy landlord — this honourable, noble-hearted gentleman is gone from amongst us — cut down in the pride of his manhood, in the bloom of his youth, like a young tree lightning-blasted. and, alas ! alas ! that i should have to say it ! — cut down by the hand of violence — the red hand of murder ! — oh, horrible, most horrible it is to think of, for if people stay their friends and benefactors, what can be said in their favour? nothing, nothing; they close the lips of their friends, and make their name odious to those who know them not. murder is always abominable in the sight of god, and on no account justifiable. there are times, however, when people will pretend to make excuses, and soften down the horror of the crime by alleged provocation of one kind or another; but here, as you all know, there is, or can be, no palliation of a deed which stands out in the calendar of crime as a black and brutal murder. as for the perpetrator of the deed, may god convert him, and bring him to a sense of his wickedness before justice overtakes him, as it surely will, even in this world, if there be a just god in heaven ! and mark well my words— the man or woman that has act or part in concealing that unhappy man from the officers of justice uncle harr y has an ad venture. 1 1 1 will be accountable for it before god and the laws of his country ! ” this discourse, as may well be supposed, had made a deep impression on the minds of all, and, in fact, closed every heart against the murderer. and so, as i said before, every tongue was loud in con demnation of the crime, whilst showing cause for its com mission. all at once, a little old woman in a red cloak, with the hood drawn over her face, stumped out from the midst of the crowd, and stood on the open green with both hands rest ing on her stick, regarding the different speakers with a strange expression of scorn on the only part of her face that was visible beneath the hood. after listening a few moments longer, she broke out into a shrill, derisive laugh that immediately drew all eyes to her strange figure and stranger attitude, and it so happened that the clatter of voices ceased at once, and a hush fell on the so-lately noisy crowd. “ ha ! ha ! ha ! ” laughed the hag again, “ much you all know about it ! — jist as much as the crows that are makin’ game of you up yondher in the trees ! — ugh ! ugh ! ugh ! go home about your business, i’d advise you, an j let the poor boy alone that never done you any harm ! — ugh ! ugh ! ugh ! isn’t it funny to hear people talkin’ of what they know nothing about? but i tell you again ’’—and she raised her stick and pointed it at the crowd — “ let jerry pierce alone, or ye’ll not be thankful to yourselves ! ” away she hobbled, leaving her hearers bewildered and con fused, for a whisper had run through the crowd while she spoke — “ it’s the fairywoman of the hill ! christ between us an’ harm ! ” a heavy shower of rain could not have dispersed the crowd more quickly than the sound of that woman’s voice ; but as they scattered in all directions through the town and the adjoining country, groups might be seen here and there with their heads together, and in low, cautious tones might also be heard as the parting salutation — “ so it’s best take care, any how, an’ not anger her a in the course of that sunday afternoon, mr. and mrs. esmond of rose lodge paid a visit to their widowed niece, with whom aunt winifred had been staying ever since the 112 the hermit of the rock. fatal night that had quenched in blood the light of esmond hall. mary hennessy and bella le poer were also there, to mrs. esmond’s greater consolation, for their tender and judi cious kindness was balm to her bruised and broken heart. no visitors were as yet admitted, save only the nearest relatives, and the house, late so full of life and animation, was gloomy as a funeral vault. the very servants, as they glided around in their deep mourning costume, were grave and sad as mutes at a funeral, and the merry voices of the children were hushed and silent. as for the fair mistress of the mansion, no smile had yet crossed her visage, and but few words escaped her bloodless lips, as she lay from day to day in her high-backed chair, a pale drooping flower, fading slowly away in the sight of the two devoted friends who watched her with more than sister’s love. as on that first dreary night, the presence of uncle harry seemed somehow to discompose her, though she evidently strove to hide her disquiet, fearing, doubtless, to give him pain. but her tell-tale features refused to keep the secret, and the old man’s keen eye speedily detected the emotion she vainly sought to repress. declining mrs. esmond’s faint in vitation to remain for dinner, he rose abruptly, saying to his wife — “ come, martha, it will be night before we get home.” he glanced at the timepiece over the mantel. “ why, how is that, henrietta? — your clock is not going.” “ no,” said mrs. esmond, with more energy than she had of late manifested; “it stopped, i suppose, when harry’s heart did, and it shall never go again — at least, while i am its owner.” “what ! do you mean to say it stopped at that hour , on that night ? ” and he pointed to the hands. “my eyes saw it.” “great god! it was about the very moment /” and the old man leaned on the back of a chair for support, his eyes still fixed on the timepiece. “ you think so, uncle ? ” “there is no doubt of it,” said aunt martha, her face pale as ashes. “it was about eight o’clock when he left our door, and half an hour would likely have brought him to— to — the fatal spot.” uncle harr v has an ad venture. 1 1 3 “ true ! — -most true ! ” murmured uncle harry, as if to him self. “ but tell me, uncle,” said mrs. esmond, with a spasmodic effort, “ how it happened that it was your horse my poor fellow rode at the time, instead of the roan mare he took from here ? ” “ oh, that, my dear, is easily explained,” uncle harry care lessly replied. “the roan got lame with him on the way, and when my groom came to examine how it was, he found that a nail in one of the fore-shoes had pierced the hoof, and the animal was in downright pain, so we had to send directly for the blacksmith to take off the shoe, and a hard job it was to get it off. of course harry had nothing for it but to leave her behind, and take one of my horses.” “dear me!” groaned aunt winifred, “it was most unfor tunate.” “what was?” said her brother snappishly. “why, the change of horses, brother! you know there is such a thing as luck, after all, and i do think that grey of ours was unlucky to poor harry ! — i shall never go out with her again — never — never ! but, mercy on us ! you needn’t look so cross ; one would think you meant to bite my nose off!” “ho danger of that, winny,” said her brother maliciously; “ my chance of getting you off my hands is small enough now without taking so unnatural a means of spoiling your beauty ! good-bye, henny, my poor child ; try and keep up your heart as well as you can.” “ i will, sir,” was the dreamy, listless answer, as the mourner received and returned aunt martha’s kind farewell greeting. as for miss esmond, she stiffened herself to the rigidity of a colossal poker, and, not deigning to notice her brother’s parting nod, extended the long fingers of her right hand to her sister in-law, saying as she did so — “well, martha, my dear, though he’s my brother, i must say that you have got the greatest bear of a husband in all tipperary. you have indeed ! ” at another time this little manifestation of temper on the part of aunt winifred would have given much amusement, but there was none to notice it then, and in grave silence the party separated 8 114 the hermit of the rock. the early night was already close at hand when mr. esmond stepped into the gig where his wife was already seated. as he took the reins from mulligan, he placed a half-crown in his hand, which mulligan acknowledged by a very low bow and a “ long life to your honour, an’ safe home, sir ! ” then, lowering his voice, he added, “ i’d make the bay step out, your honour, if i was you — there do be ghosts an’ things abroad afther dusk, an’ you’ve a lonesome bit of a road before you. safe home, sir ! ” he said aloud, and, making a sign to mr. esmond to say nothing, he hurried off to open the gates, then bowed again as the gig rolled out on the high road, and distinctly uttered the words, “take care ! ” “what did mulligan say, my dear?” asked mrs. esmond when they were fairly started. “ he said to-morrow would be a fine day,” replied her husband with characteristic gruffness, as he leaned forward to apply the whip to the shining flanks of his horse, though the animal needed no such hint to make haste home. mrs. esmond made no further attempt at conversation, and the ill-matched pair were whirled along for a mile and better through the chilly air of the winter evening without again exchanging words. both were wrapt apparently in their own thoughts, and gloomy thoughts they were, too, for neither could forget that about the same hour less than a week ago, one near and dear to them left his home in happy unconsciousness that he was to see it nevermore. as the evening shades fell colder and darker on the wintry landscape, the sense of loneliness began to press on the stout heart of mr. esmond, and he was glad to break the silence that he now felt oppressive. he addressed some trifling observation to his wife, but had not yet received an answer when the horse, shying at some object on the roadside, pricked up his ears, tossed his head, and began to prance in a backward direction that was anything but safe, seeing that a gravel-pit full of yellow muddy water bounded the road at that particular spot. mrs. esmond’s scream of terror frightened the animal still more ; back — back he went, notwithstanding the desperate efforts made by the strong arm that was urging him forward ; back — back he reared, till the wheels of the gig were within a foot of the water edge. mrs. esmond, crying, “ holy mary ! uncle harry has an ah venture, 115 mother of god ! pray for us ! ” was about to throw herself out of the gig at all hazards, when a tall man appeared at the horse’s head, laid hold of the bridle, and with one jerk, and a soothing “wo! wo!” drew the frightened animal out on the road, the gig lumbering heavily at his heels. the fervent thanksgiving that escaped from mrs. esmond’s ashy lips was for once echoed by her husband, with a hearty acknowledgment of the timely assistance that had saved them both from an awful death. “ you have saved our lives this night,” said he. “ undher god, sir — undher god,” put in the tall man, stooping to pick up a bag he had thrown from his shoulder. “ oh, of course — of course ! — that’s understood. but who and what are you? tell me that before you go, for if i live i’ll reward you well.” “ i’m not goin’ yit,” was the answer ; “ i’ll walk a little ways farther with you, for fear the baste might shy again, or some thing.” “ but who are you ? what is your name ? ” “well, my name isn’t worth your honour’s knowin’, but i’m the poor man that asked charity from you there back o’ the hill, an’ didn’t get it.” “ my god ! ” murmured mrs. esmond in an audible whisper, and she pressed close to her husband as the tall beggarman appeared at her side of the vehicle. “ don’t be afeard, ma’am ! ” said he in a voice that sounded as if it came from a barrel ; “ any company’s better than none sometimes — especially on a lonesome road of a dark night.” mrs. esmond said no more, and the sturdy beggarman trudged along, staif in hand, by her side, keeping pace with the horse even at a brisk trot. the few belated stragglers who passed along one way or the other, exchanging a brief salutation with the self-appointed guide, passed cheerily on, most of them whistling some lively air, as if to counteract the sombre influ ence of the hour. on and on went the gig, and on went the tall beggarman beside it, bag on back and staff in hand. the one half of mr. esmond’s homeward road was already passed, when the horse pricked up his ears again, glanced fearfully at one side of the road where stood an old limekiln, its rude masonry partly con 116 the hermit of the rock cealecl by the overhanging branches of a huge alderbush. in an instant the beggarman had hold of the bridle, and his strong arm speedily brought the scared animal to subjection. a slight noise was heard as it were in the kiln — a dark form was visible for a moment, one word issued from the throat of the man at the horse’s head — the word was “ remember !” — in the twinkling of an eye the figure vanished, and the horse sped lightly on his way. mrs. esmond breathed more freely, she knew not why. a little farther on, the beggarman stopped, and laid his hand on the rein. “ you’ll soon be at home now, mr. esmond,” said he in his deep, guttural tones ; “ the baste won’t shy any more, i’m thinkin’, so i’ll be biddin’ you good-night; an’ it’s one advice i’ll give you, never refuse a poor man or a poor woman a charity when they ask it for god’s sake, — an’ listen to what i’m goin’ to say, your honour,” — he leaned over the wheel and spoke in a whisper, — “you’re the last man in tipperary that ought to be out afther nightfall. now go your ways ! ” “but, my very worthy fellow,” said mr. esmond, “will you not tell me to whom i am so deeply indebted this night ? ” “maybe you wouldn’t thank me if i did,” said the man gruffly; “ask me no questions and i’ll tell you no lies. go on now, as fast as you can, or maybe there’s worse than a quarry before you ; an’ mind what i tell you — be merciful to the poor, or their curse ’ill fall on you where i can’t save you ! ” bounding like an antelope over the ditch, he disappeared, and it is hardly necessary to say that mr. esmond’s bay flew home at a gallop. the first act of mr. esmond after reaching home was to send post-haste for the dean and attorney moran. pending their arrival dinner was served, but seldom was meal less honoured at the well-appointed table of rose lodge. the old gentleman was far too much excited to think of eating ; with his bushy brows knit together, and his sharp grey eyes fixed in moody thought, he sat leaning back in his chair, scarcely deigning to answer the repeated entreaties of his wife to eat something. at last, seeing that the lady had finished her very slight repast, he said, pushing back his chair with characteristic brusquei'ie, “if you’re done now, martha, i wish you would uncle harr v has an ad venture . 117 have those things removed i wonder how people can eat under such circumstances.” mrs. esmond made no reply — she was, indeed, a most submissive wife at all times ; the dishes were removed, and fruit and wine placed on the table. the old gentleman drank off a glass of madeira, then looked at his wife and said — “that was a confoundedly queer chap, that beggarman ! — didn’t you think so, martha ? ” “ i really can’t say, my dear, what i thought of him, or of anything else at the time, i was so frightened.” “ what ! ” said the husband ironically ; “ at the prospect of a cold bath? well, i own it wasn’t over inviting such a night as this. but you know that chilling prospective was only for a moment.” “was there no other danger but that of the quarry?” said mrs. esmond pointedly. “ oh, true, there was the limekiln, — but that needn’t have shocked your weak nerves, seeing that there was no fire in it. they couldn’t roast you, you know, without fire ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! ” a second and a third glass of the sparkling madeira had somewhat exhilarated the old man’s spirits, though his humour was still bitter. “i am sorry, my dear,” said mrs. esmond quietly, “that i can’t compliment you on your wit. now, i think i wasn’t the only one whose nerves , weak or strong, were shocked on this occasion.” “ of course not, my dear; there was the horse” — “well, what was it that frightened the horse first and last?” “ i’m sure i can’t tell — except it was a ghost ; horses, you know, can see a spirit where human optics are at fault.” the cool sarcasm of mr. esmond’s tone and manner did un doubtedly ruffle his wife’s temper not a little. that amiable gentleman took sufficient pains on all occasions to show his unbounded contempt for female understanding generally, which he was wont to epigrammise by grammatical comparison as weak —weaker — weakest. but, for reasons sufficiently clear to herself, mrs. esmond was more than usually susceptible to his pointless sarcasm. 118 the hermit of the rock . “ harry,” said she, with much earnestness of look and tone, “if i were alone, i, for one, would not have been afraid of either the living or the dead.” “ zounds, madam ! what do you mean by that ? ” cried her husband fiercely. “no blustering, harry — no blustering ! ” said his wife calmly but firmly. “ what i mean to say is this, that my fears were for you,” — drawing back and pointing at him with her finger, — “not for myself. i feared that the blow might fall this time roller e it was meant to fall before ! you understand — i see you do; i will therefore leave you to your own thoughts, which may, in your case, be the best companions, commending to your further attention the old adage, ‘ it is ill playing with edged tools.’” before mr. esmond had recovered the effect of this stunning blow, the door-bell gave intimation that one or both of the anxiously expected visitors had arrived, and mrs. esmond vanished by one door as the dean and the man of law entered by another. mr. esmond, recovering by a violent effort from the stunning effect of his wife’s home-thrust, advanced with outstretched hand to greet his guests. “well, mr. esmond,” said the dean, when, having warmed his hands over the fire, he turned and faced his host, “ you see we have promptly obeyed your summons, though, as regards myself, i would rather have waited a little, seeing that i had but just returned from a sick call, some three miles away.” “ i’m very sorry indeed,” said mr. esmond, “ but my business is very urgent, and would not by any means wait.” “well, what is your business?” and the dean exchanged a significant glance with moran, who had coolly taken his place at the table for the refreshment of his inner man, — “ what is your business, sir ? it must be of grave importance when you send in all haste for the priest and the lawyer.” “ it is of grave importance — the very gravest importance, dean m‘dermot ! ” emphatically said mr. esmond, as he threw himself back in his chair opposite the dean, and looked first in his face, then in moran’s, to see how they took this startling announcement. “do you know that i have discovered the existence of a conspiracy ? ” uncle harr y has an ad venture. 1 1 9 “ a conspiracy, mr. esmond 1” cried his hearers simultane ously. “yes, a conspiracy !— a conspiracy against me— -harry es mond, of rose lodge ! — a conspiracy to taka away my life — to murder me ! ! ” “ bless me, mr. esmond, you astonish me!” said the dean. what moran would have said we know not, for it so happened that he was seized just then with a troublesome fit of coughing that made him very red in the face, and obliged him to apply his handkerchief to his eyes very suspiciously often. “ i thought i should astonish you,” went on mr. esmond, wholly absorbed in his own ideas. “but you will be more astonished when i tell you that i have a strong suspicion, almost amounting to certainty, that my poor nephew fell a victim to this same diabolical agency.” “ ah, indeed ? and what reason have you to think so 1 ” the half-credulous look vanished from the dean’s massive features, and moran’s cough suddenly ceased to trouble him. “ sit down, dean, and i’ll tell you all about it, then let you and moran judge for yourselves.” the details of the evening’s adventures were listened to with much interest by the two gentlemen, a glance of surprise being exchanged between them at certain points of the narrative. “now what do you think of that?” said mr. esmond in con clusion. “am i, or am i not, justified in thinking that there is a conspiracy on foot to murder me , as my nephew has been murdered, in cold blood — in fact, to exterminate the esmonds ? what say you, dean ? what say you, moran ? ” the priest shook his head and replied that he did not see how that followed from the premises. “you would have much trouble to make out your case, my dear sir, in a court of law,” said moran. “ for my part, i see no proof whatever of a conspiracy in what you have been telling us.” “indeed? well, i must say your faculties are more obtuse than i ever supposed they were. and you, dean ! i am astonished that you do not see further into this affair ! now, what is your opinion of that beggarman ? ” “why, upon my word, mr. esmond,” the dean replied in the 120 the hermit of the rock. caustic tone he could well employ at times, — “ upon my word, i think him a very fine fellow, and that on your own showing. you don’t mean to find fault with him, do you, for saving your life ? ” “ saving my life, indeed 1 i tell you that was all a sham !” “ then your horse must have been in the fault.” “pshaw! the horse 1 ? — who frightened the horse? tell me that, now ! ” “ why, perhaps the beggarman — or his bag ! ” “yes, that may do for the quarry, but then there must have been another individual, with or without a bag, in waiting at the limekiln ! ” “very true, mr. esmond — very true;” and the dean began poking the fire with a meditative air, while moran took out his note-book and wrote, more, apparently, to satisfy the self opinionated old man than from any necessity there was to commit the affair to paper. “ humph ! humph ! ” soliloquised moran as his pen flew over the paper with professional rapidity; “let us see now how the case stands. mr. esmond deposes that being on his way from esmond hall to eose lodge, his horse took fright, and by a retrograde movement towards a stone quarry in the vicinity would have precipitated deponent and his wife thereinto, had not a beggarman, minus bag, caught hold of the bridle, and per suaded the obstinate animal to resume his onward course. is not that right, mr. esmond ? ” “perfectly correct, sir — perfectly correct.” “ whereanent said beggarman, plus bag, walked by the side of the gig till a certain limekiln was reached, where and when deponent’s horse took fright again, when said beggarman, with felonious intent, as deponent sayeth, did again take forcible possession of the reins, and enunciating the remarkable word * eemember,’ whether addressed to the horse or some unknown individual deponent sayeth not — not having the fear of god before his eyes, did feloniously lead the animal some distance on his way, then and there feloniously betaking himself to parts unknown — all which facts do clearly indicate in the mind of this deponent a dangerous conspiracy against his life. am i still correct, mr. esmond ? ” “ yes — on the whole ; but — ahem ! ” pulling up his collar, uncle harry has an ad venture . 121 and establishing his head therein with a vehement jerk, “pray, mr. moran, what is your own opinion of the matter ? ” “my opinion,” said moran gravely, “is, that you owe your life twice to that same beggarman during that short journey ! ” “and yours, dean?” “ precisely the same as mr. moran’s. no reasonable doubt can be entertained that your life was in danger from some con cealed enemy, and that you owe your safety, and perhaps that of your wife, to the protecting presence of that mendicant ” — “ oh, hang the mendicant ! ” angrily broke in esmond. “ if i don’t clear the country of these sturdy bang-beggars before i’m many weeks older, never call me an efficient magistrate —that’s all!” “well, moran, after that we may go, i think,” said the dean, rising, as did moran, both looking the indignation they felt. “we have learned two useful lessons to-night, one of which is never to save any one’s life without permission asked and received; the other is, never to obey a summons from rose lodge without a written certificate of actual necessity. a good evening, mr. esmond ! ” and, declining all entreaties to remain longer, the gentlemen mounted their horses and bade adieu to rose lodge. chapter x. a morning on the rock. january passed away with its cold, clear days, and february duly fulfilled its allotted task of filling the dyke; snow had fallen in unusual quantities, making the farmer’s heart glad with the prospect of rich fields and abundant crops. the first days of the month were so mild and fair that the country people were no little alarmed, because of an old saying amongst them that all the months in the year curse a fair february. st. bridget’s day, the first of the month, was a dry, sunny day, only just cold enough to make outdoor exercise agreeable, and as soon as old bryan could get “ a mouthful to eat ” after mass, he went up to the rock to make his “ stations,” which having done, he went about his work of restoration, talking to him self as usual. he had no lack of employment that day, for a storm which had raged with great violence for full twenty four hours in the last week of january had covered the surface of the sacred enclosure with fragments from the ruins. not withstanding that bryan had been labouring for some days to repair what he could of the damage, many stones lay scattered around, some whole, some broken in their fall, while amongst them were seen not a few fragments from the rare old sculp tures on the walls and arches ; here a leaf from a tall corinthian column, there the round cheek of a stone cherub from one of the corbels of the arches; again, the corner of some mural tablet, or a piece from a monumental slab which, split for long, had at length yielded to the might of the storm, and, wrenched from its home of ages, was hurled from on high to swell the heap of rubbish on the floor of nave or chancel, aisle or tran sept, as the case might be. everywhere these wrecks of the recent storm met bryan’s eye, not so numerous, it is true, as 132 a morning on the rock 123 they had been, but still enough to make the old man’s heart ache, the more so as many of the fragments were far beyond his power to restore, on account of the height from which they had fallen, and their hopelessly shattered condition. “well, well,” said bryan, “patience is a virtue, an’ if i can’t replace them all, sure i will a good many of them. so in honour of the blessed and holy st. bridget, i’ll begin my work this day.” with all the ardour and energy of “ sweet five-and-twenty,” bryan addressed himself to that labour of love, which to any other but a man of primitive faith and primitive simplicity would have appeared insufferably tedious, but to him who had grown grey in the loving service of the saints of cashel, pre serving their monumental remains as far as one poor solitary mortal could from the devastation of wind and rain — to him it was happiness purer than the coarse, carnal-minded worldling ever knows to set about repairing the effects of every passing storm that shook the sacred walls of cashel. after working a while in silence, bryan began, as he often did, to croon an ancient ditty, on this occasion an old carmelite hymn, known and sung in every rural district of ireland to the old, old air which moore has w t edded to the sweetly tender song, “ come rest in this bosom ” — “ och, when the loud trumpet sounds over the deep, and wakens each nation out of their long sleep — och, it’s then you’ll see thousands come crowding along to the valley of josapliat, it’s there we’ll all throng. mavrone ! what a sight that’ll be ! — an’ maybe cashel won’t turn out the grand company entirely ! if they’ll only let poor bryan cullenan jist walk behind them, a long ways off, when they’re on their march to the valley — well, sure, it’s great presumption for me to think o’ the like, but somehow i think they’ll all have a gragli for poor bryan, that used to keep the weeds an’ the long grass from chokin’ up their tombs, and take care of the fine ould walls they built to the glory of god in the ancient days of erin — och, there you’ll see carmelites in glorious array, and we wiil be with them if we work our way. 124 the hermit of the rock. well, that’s a fine promise, anyhow ! god grant us grace to ‘ work our way ’ ! ” another while of assiduous work and silent meditation, and then bryan commenced again, to another old-world air both sad and dreary — “ down by killarney’s banks i strayed, down by a floating wave, a holy hermit i espied, lying prostrate in his cave. well, now, that must be a fine place for a hermit ! ” solilo quised bryan ; “i declare but it must. they say that kil larney is a wondherful place, with wood and water to no end, an’ mountains, an’ rocks, an’ all sich things — an’ fairies that bates the world out for the antic tricks they play, an’ the sweet music they make in the bright moonlight nights when the ladies an’ gentlemen do go out a-boatin’ on the lakes. i often heard the quality that comes here on their tower talkin’ about it, till my ould heart would be jumpin’ out o’ my mouth ; and then i’d begin to think of the ould hermit — what a fine time he had of it there, an’ what a fine place it must be to make one’s soul in ! — his eyes ofttimes to heaven he raised, and thus exclaimed he, 1 adieu, adieu, thou faithless world, thou ne’er wast made for me ! ’ poor man ! poor man ! that must have been when he was dyin’, i suppose. och ! an’ sure it is 6 a faithless world ’ ! ” and bryan sighed dolorously; “jist go no farther than the poor young master — to think of him bein’ shot like a dog, an’ by them that was on his own flure, an’ eatin’ an’ drinkin’ of his share for months and months ! well, sure enough it was a horrid mur der,” he went on, though in an undertone ; “ in all my born days i never heard the likes of it. och ! my poor young gentleman ! but it was* the hard, hard thing for any one to take | your life, an’ you so young, so handsome, an’ so good — so good ! the lord receive you in glory this day, i pray, through the in tercession of the blessed an’ holy st. bridget. as for him that cut your days short — well, well, i’ll leave him to god — he’s bad t enough as he is, an’ i’ll only pray that the good an’ merciful god a morning on the rock. 125 ni ay bring him to repentance ! it’s mighty strange that he can’t be taken, an’ the people all again him as they are ! — to thee, dear lord, we recommend our brethren late departed ; grant that their souls may ever be amongst the saints and martyrs ! 0 virgin mother, intercede ! protect them by your banner, and help them at the judgment-seat. 0 lord, have mercy on them ! 1 amen, amen, sweet jesus ! espaycially him that was taken so sudden! — och! och! an’ more was the pity!” he muttered low to himself. the heavy sigh, or groan, that accompanied the words was heard, though not the words themselves, by two young ladies who had just reached the spot, all unnoticed by bryan. “bryan,” said one of them, the taller of the two, “i would wager a trifle that i know what you are thinking of.” the old man started as though a cannon were discharged close to his ear. turning hastily, he looked at one and the other of his visitors, then smiled and took off his hat, and bowed very low. “well, i declare, miss mary, but you took a start out of me — you an’ miss power ! but long life to you both ! sure, it’s always proud i am to see you, espaycially up here on the rock w r here i’m in a manner at home. but in regard to your knowin’ what i was thinkin’ of, bedad, if you do, you bate the women of mungret all to nothing ! ” “ the women of mungret ?” repeated mary hennessy, for she it was, as may be supposed, whom bryan addressed as “ miss 1 the air of this old hymn of the people is exceedingly solemn and beautiful. there is some reason to think, however, that neither it nor the hymn is extensively known in ireland. the author heard it once, many, many years ago, in her early days, under circumstances that fixed its wild, sweet melody in her fancy for ever after. passing with some friends the “ chapel” of her native place — which stood in a solitary and beautiful spot on the outskirts of the populous town — one fine summer’s evening when day was fading into night, she was surprised to hear the sound of music from within, a thing by no means usual on week-days. entering, she found a few pious persons singing this old hymn for the dead, and as the solemn chorus echoed through the deserted chapel in the silence of the shadowy twilight, the effect was indescribably fine. 126 the hermit of the rock. mary.” “well, i have often heard of the women of mungret, but i really never thought of asking what manner of women they were whose wisdom has come down to us in the form of a proverb. can you enlighten us on that point, bryan h i know you are a sort of walking repository of ancient lore.” “ well, it’s a folly to talk, miss mary, a body does see an’ hear a sight o’ things in threescore-and-ten years, but the most of what i know of £ ancient lore/ as you call it, i larned here among the ould walls, from hearin’ the quality talkin’ of all such things when i do be showin’ them round the kock.” “well, i suppose you can tell us all about the women of mungret and their wisdom , can you not ” “ in coorse i can. but i’m ashamed to see you an’ miss power 1 standin’ so long on your feet ; if it was summer-time, now, you’d be at no loss for a sate,” and he glanced mournfully around on the fragments of plinth and capital that strewed the nave of the cathedral. “ oh, never mind us,” said the young ladies in a breath ; “ we’d as soon stand as sit. but pray go on with your story.” “well, miss mary, i’ll tell you the story as i heard father heenan of ivillenaule tellin’ it to two english gentlemen one day here on the kock. a long time ago, when there was a great college here at cashel, an’ another at mungret, in the county limerick, westwards, there was a power of fine larned men in both places, but mungret got the applause all over ireland, an’ even beyond sea everywhere, for the wonderful great skill they had in all sorts of lamin’, espaycially what father heenan called the dead languages. myself doesn’t know what in the world sort of languages them can be — barrin’ they’d be what the priests spake to the evil sperits when they’re layin’ them in the ked say, or anywhere. anyhow, that’s what father heenan said, i’m sartin sure of that. well, mungret bein’ famous for the dead languages, an’ the fame of that house bein’ noised abroad, as i told you before, the heads of our college here — that’s cashel — took a notion that they’d send some of their best men to mungret below, to try the skill of the people there, or whether it was true what every one said about them 1 so the country-people always called the le poers, and that, i believe, was the origin of the name lower , now so common in the south of ireland. a morning on the rock. 127 in regard to the dead languages. so when the head men a mungret got word of what was goin’ on, they were a little daunted, you may be sure, for fear their students wouldn’t he able to answer all the questions that ’id be put to them, an’ that they’d be ruined entirely, an’ disgraced for ever, in regard to the dead languages , so well becomes them, doesn’t they dress up some of the best of the students in women’s clothes, an’ some of the monks, that were great larned men entirely, like plain countrymen goin’ to their work, an’ they sends them all off to scatter hither an’ thither along the road that the cashel men were to thravel on their way there. well, what would ye have of it, but when the fine venerable ould gentlemen from cashel got within three or four miles or so of mungret, an’ began to ask how far they had to go, or maybe which was the way, when they’d come to a cross-roads or the like, they were always answered in the dead languages ” — “ oh, nonsense, bryan ! ” cried miss hennessy a little im patiently ; “ the dead languages are greek and latin, and some others not spoken now.” “well, well, miss, i suppose you know best,” said bryan submissively; “anyhow, there wasn’t a man or woman they spoke to but answered them in ” — “ greek or latin.” “ in greek or latin, then, if that’s what the dead languages manes, — so the gentlemen from cashel here began to look at one another, an’ shake their heads, an’ at long last they put their heads together, an’ says they, ‘ where’s the use in our goin’ to mungret, when all the country-people around the abbey — even the very women — speak the dead — ahem ! — greek an’ latin — as well as we do ourselves ? what chance would we have with the monks and the students ? maybe it’s worsted we’d be our selves instead of puzzling them.’ so with that they turns on their heel an’ comes straight back to cashel without ever goin’ next or near mungret ” — “ and so ” — “an’ so, ever since then, miss mary, it’s a byword in the place, you're as wise as the women of mungret , more by token they weren’t women at all, but fine well-spoken young students that were great hands entirely at the dead languages , an’ i suppose the livin' too — if there be such things ” 128 the hermit of tiie rock i at this the young ladies laughed, assuring bryan that there were such things as living languages — “and what is more, bryan, ” added bella, “you are speaking a living language yourself.” “is it me spa-kin’ a livin’ language ” and the old man turned on the fair friends a look of simple wonder that much amused them, accustomed as they were to his guileless ways. “ oh, now i see it’s makin’ game of me ye are — as, in coorse, you have every right to do — me spakin’ a livin’ language ! — well, now, if that doesn’t flog all ! as if i could spake any language, either livin’ or dead.” the lesson which our hermit might have received in the interesting science of philology was prevented for that time, at least, by the arrival of another party, whose advent appeared to throw the young ladies into a pretty little state of excitement, a nervous tremor, as it were, that would have puzzled any observant spectator. the party consisted of a pale, lady-like young person, very plainly attired, two pretty little damsels of some ten and twelve respectively, a comely gentleman with a fine pickwickian cast of countenance, a very white cravat, in the folds of which his soft fleshy chin, or rather chins, lay snugly imbedded, and an exceedingly smooth suit of black, the nether garments of that demi-length vulgarly called knee breeches, with, to all these attributes of respectability super added, a goodly rotundity of that central region of the human corpus which in shakespeare’s “justice ” was said to be “ with good capon lined ” — whatever the lining might have been in the case before us, the exterior was undoubtedly both “ fair and round ; ” lastly, there was a tall, dignified personage of some thirty-eight or forty years, not remarkably handsome, yet strik ingly noble in appearance, and with just that set of features which ordinarily express both superiority of intellect and that consciousness of the same which in some faces might be set down as approaching to superciliousness ; this, however, was by no means the case in the very marked face of the gentleman in question, whose manners withal were singularly unpretending, though marked by a certain degree of reserve, and a coolness that might or might not be constitutional. this personage was no other than the earl of effingham, the fat gentleman, rev. mr. goodchild, his chaplain, the two little girls, his daughters, a morning on the rock . 129 lady ann and lady emma cartwright, and the young lady, their governess, miss markham, whom our readers will remember as forming one of the pleasant party assembled on hallow-eve night under the hospitable roof of esmond hall. “ bryan,” said miss markham, after she had shaken hands with the other young ladies, “ these gentlemen are desirous of seeing the ruins. will it be convenient for you to show them now ? ” and she smiled in her pensive way, well knowing that bryan lived for nothing else but to take care of the ruins and to “ show ” them. “wisha, then, it is convaynient, miss markham, an’ why wouldn’t it ? what am i here for only to show the place to the ladies and gentlemen when they come on their tower ? ” “ my very worthy old man,” said the rosy chaplain, whose enunciation of syllables and final letters was remarkably full and distinct, — “ my very worthy old man, i am told you are something of an antiquarian.” “ an antiwhat, your honour ? ” “an anti-quarian,” repeated the chaplain slowly and with great complacency. “ i presume you know what that is?” “well, no,” said bryan, with a gentle shake of his old head, “ i can’t say i do. maybe it’s anti-trinitar-ian you mane, sir ? ” he slowly added, as his thoughts reverted to the hedge-school of his childish days, and the word that looked so awfully grand and terrifically long at the head of the much-dreaded words of seven syllables somewhere near the end of his “universal .” 1 the ladies all smiled, and even the grave dignity of lord effingham was put to the test ; but the good parson would have there and then undertaken to enlighten bryan on the difference between “antiquarian” and “ anti trinitarian ” had not the peer nterposed. “we have heard,” said he, “that there is no one now living who knows so much about these magnificent ruins as you do — that is, if you are the hermit of the rock.” “well, your honour,” said bryan bashfully, “i b’lieve there’s 1 the universal spelling-book of the last generation — in ireland, at least — still traditionally remembered in connection with “the town in danger of a siege,” the edifying history of “tommy and harry,” and that graceless “boy in the apple-tree” who would not yield to moral suasion. 9 130 the hermit of the rock. some that calls me so, but it’s only a nickname, sir, that the quality gave me, for i’m no hermit, at all, you see, or anything in the wide world but a poor ould man that takes care of the ruins here, an’ shows the ladies an’ gentlemen through the place when they come from furrin parts or anywhere to have a sight of it.” the two little girls had been eyeing the hermit with much curiosity, and the elder of the two suddenly exclaimed, loud enough to be heard by all present — “ la, miss markham ! what a very funny-looking old man he is ! and don’t he speak queer 1 ” how much further the young lady would have committed her party there is no saying, for miss markham, with a crimson cheek, drew her to her side, with a whispered “fie, lady ann ! fie, fie!” that effectually silenced the young chatterbox for that time at least. “ miss markham,” said the earl, with a grave smile, “ you forgot to introduce your young friends.” “excuse me, my lord, for i am sometimes forgetful,” — she did not say what was really the case, that she could not well have taken the liberty of introducing friends of hers to him, — “permit me now to repair my unaccountable oversight.” the peer bowed with lofty grace to miss hennessy, more condescendingly to miss le poer, whose name arrested hia attention. “ le poer ? ” he repeated, as his eagle eye scanned her girlish features ; “ what ! any relation to the ever-charming countess of blessington ? ” “hot much of a relation, my lord,” said bella, blushing to find herself for the first time in her short life in actual parlance with a peer of the realm ; “ there is a relationship, i know, but of what degree i do not know.” “be it as it may, i am pleased to make your acquaintance, miss le poer,” was the courteous reply, as the party prepared to follow bryan, the chaplain, note-book in hand, close at the old man’s side. “ how we shall have some fun,” whispered harriet markham to her young friends ; “ the chaplain, bless his heart ! is some what of a character in his way, and cherishes, moreover, a supreme contempt for all things popish. it is, i believe, a grievous thorn in the good man’s side that the primary eduea a morning on the rock. 131 tion of the ladies cartwright is entrusted to one who has lapsed from anglicanism and turned her back on the thirty-nine articles ! do but listen to him and bryan ! ” “friend cicerone” began the law church chaplain, “i presume you have many distinguished visitors here from time to time ? ” “well, we do, then, have some very grand people now an’ then,” rejoined the hermit ; “ but my name isn’t chris-rooney, or chitch-rony, or whatsoever that was you said, — it’s cullenan, your honour — bryan cullenan ! ” with strong emphasis on the name. “but, my good friend, you mistake me,” said the reverend gentleman apologetically ; “i did not mean to address you by name just then ; i merely said cicerone , which means a guide.” the explanation appeared to satisfy bryan, who was now putting on his official dignity. “who was the greatest personage you ever had here? you have had the primate, i suppose? — i mean the protestant primate, of course.” “is it him? is it ould beresford ? oh, then, much about him, an far less ! ” cried bryan indignantly ; “ it’s betwixt two minds myself was when the ould rap was here, whether i’d show him the place or not, an’ i put a penance on myself for doin’ it ! — primate, inagh ! it’s the hopeful primate he is ! ” 1 a low titter was heard in the rear, speedily suppressed, how ever, on the part of the young ladies by a side-view of the earl’s face, graver and darker even than its wont. lord effingham was a staunch supporter of “the establishment.” “ my good mr. cullenan,” said the chaplain, his nose swelled with anger, yet his voice over-exceedingly calm, — “my good mr. cullenan — my very respectable old anchoret ” — “ i tould you before,” said bryan, with a testiness foreign to his nature, “ that my name was bryan cullenan — now i tell it 1 most of our readers are well acquainted with the obnoxious character of the beresfords and the hatred with which they are regarded by the peasantry, not only of munster, where they are chiefly located, but of all parts of ireland. indeed, their possessions were scattered all over the country, and their character was everywhere the same. the late marquis of waterford was, with all his wildness, the best beresford amongst them, and with all his faults he was rather a favourite with the people. to his credit be it said, he was far from being; a bad landlord 132 the hermit of the rock. to you onst for all ! — for a big man you have a mighty short memory ! now, to save you the throuble of askin’ any more question? about the grand people that was here in my time, i’ll jist tell you who was the greatest man i ever showed over the eock — an’ that was dan o' connell!” “dan o’connell?” cried mr. goodchild, recoiling from bryan as if he had suddenly put forth the horns of beelzebub. “you must be losing your senses, old man ! ” “’deed, then, i’m not, your honour ! sure, the world knows that the counsellor is the greatest man in all ireland, barrin’ the bishops an’ archbishops — that’s our own, i mane, an’ it isn’t much time they have to be travellin’ about, seein’ sights — they have something else to mind, god help them ! another great man we had here one day was father tom maguire — in coorse your honour has heard of him — him that had the great discus sion with pope — pope and maguire, you know ? ” “i know nothing about the man,” fibbed mr. goodchild, with the petulance of a very froward child . “ oh, naughty mr. goodchild ! ” whispered harriet to mary ; “ only hear what he says ! — he knows nothing about father tom maguire i ” the chaplain had evidently got enough of bryan’s company so he turned away to examine, as he said, the architectural features of the building. “mind your steps, then,” quoth bryan, “for if you don’t you’ll be apt to get a toss over some o’ these stones that the storm brought down the other night.” then, stopping for a moment to look after the parson, he said, as if to himself v “well, now, where in the world did he come from? sure, 1 thought every one knew father tom maguire ! he’s a mighty quare ould gentleman, anyhow, whosomever he is ! ” they were now in the chapel, and bryan pointed out to the earl — the ladies were all familiar with the scene — the place where the high altar stood of old, and near by, the tomb of myler m‘grath. “was he not archbishop of cashel?” said the earl “well, he was, an’ he was not,” replied the hermit. “ how is that, friend ?” “ why, your honour, he was only queen elizabeth’s arch bishop, an’ in coorse queen elizabeth had no more power than a morning on i he rock. 13o you or i to make a bishop, let alone an archbishop — -so we never give him anything but ‘ myler m ‘gratia/ an’ that same is too good for him, for he was a disgrace to his name, on account of sellin’ his faith for a good livin’. still, there’s some people says that he came back afore his death, so we pray for his poor soul, hopin’ that god may forgive him his sins, an’ espaycially the shame an’ the sorrow he brought to all good christians ! the lord forgive him, an’ i forgive him, poor unfortunate man ! but isn’t that a fine elegant tomb they put over him *2 ” “ very fine indeed, for the time at which it was erected.” “ there’s none of our own bishops here that has so fine a one, an’ more’s the pity,” said bryan mournfully; “but no matter for that, they don’t need anything like that to keep them in the people’s minds. they’ll never be forgotten, anyhow ! husht, now ! ” and he lowered his voice to a whisper, and made a sign to the children to be silent; “this is the place, your honour, where the holy sacrifice used to be offered up, so i never allow any noise to be here.” when they left the chancel he said aloud, “ where the verbum caro factum used to be said for hundreds an’ hundreds of years ” — the old man bent his knee at the awful words, as did the three young ladies — “ there ought to be silence for ever — an’ there will, too, while god spares me life. a time will come when the altars will rise again on the rock of cashel, an’ the unbloody sacrifice of the new law will be offered here again, an’ psalms will be sung, an’ organs play, an’ the people that will see that day will rejoice, for ireland will then be a nation again, and cashel may be ‘ cashel of the bishops,’ though it’ll never be ‘ cashel of the kings ’ any more !” as the old man thus spoke, his aged eyes flashed with a strange and fitful light that gradually illumined his whole features, a flush suffused his hollow cheek, and a smile, as it were, of exultation wreathed his pale lips. his look was fixed as if on some point far off in the future, and the whole character of the face was so transformed, as it were, by the proud vision passing before the eye of the spirit, that it was hard to re cognise the meek, subdued, and somewhat emaciated face of old bryan. the ladies glanced instinctively at the earl ; he was regarding the old man with a look of surprise mingled with curiosity, whilst even the children pulled miss markham’s sleeve on either side and pointed in silence to the strange old 134 the hermit of the rock man, the like of whom they had never seen. the rapt expression, however, was visible but for a moment — gradually the light faded away, and the smile vanished, and bryan said in his usual tone, as if to himself — “ my old bones will be white and bare by that time, an’ my soul with god, i humbly trust — well, no matter, though til not be here on earth to see it, i’ll see it from above, an’ that’ll be better, for there i’ll have the holy saints of cashel all before me in their heavenly glory ! there’ll be no murroghs there ! ” he added, addressing his listeners in the same calm, solilo quising tone, — “no, nor any harrys, or elizabeths, or oliver cromwells ! that’s one great comfort, anyhow ! — ice'll have heaven to ourselves / ” “ who do you mean by ive, bryan? ” said the earl. the old man looked up in the cold, dark face of the speaker and scanned it for a moment, then glanced significantly at the young ladies, whom he knew to be catholics, shook his head, and replied evasively — “ why, then, all good christians , please your honour ! ” the earl smiled, — his smile was very pleasing as it shone for a moment on the dark, well-formed features, — but he made no further remark. the chaplain now rejoined the party, taking care, however, to keep at a safe distance from bryan, and they made the circuit of the sacred enclosure, examining everything worth seeing, and listening with marked surprise — on the part, at least, of the earl and his chaplain — to the explanations of old bryan, so beautiful in their simplicity, yet so learned in their admirable reconciliation of all the splendid monuments with the purposes of catholic worship in the grand old ages of the past, with which the old man seemed as familiar a* though he had in the body witnessed their glories. even the ultra-protestant goodchild heard with amazement the simple eloquence which faith and fervour, more powerful than rhetoric, gave to the tongue of the old cicerone . “ i am told,” said the earl, as the party emerged from the last of the buildings, and stood on the verge of the rock, looking out over the magnificent plain, — “i am told, bryan, that you spend whole days here working amongst these ruins, endeavour ing to preserve them from the ravages of time, without any hope df remuneration.” a morning on the rock 135 “ an’ what better work could i be at 1 ” said eryan sharply. “ as for payment, what payment could i get here that i’d care anything about ? — i’ll be paid in heaven, please the lord ! ” and, reverently baring his aged head, the old man raised his eyes upwards with an expression that faith and hope could alone impart to the face of man. “you sleep here at night, too, sometimes h ” “ it’s the place i like best to sleep in.” “ and you are not afraid ? ” “afraid?” repeated bryan, with a look bordering on con tempt. “well, now, that’s a good joke, anyhow! — afraid on the rock of cashel ! — athen, where would a body be safe if it wasn’t here on st. patrick’s rock, with these consecrated walls about one, an’ the holy dead below, an’ the voices of saints singing hymns an’ psalms all about one in the darkness of the night — how could i be afraid on the rock of cashel by day or by night ? ” with these words ringing in their ears, the party bade adieu to the strange old man, with a gratuity from the earl that astonished his simple heart chapter xi. the ride home. as our party stood for a moment enjoying the fair prospect ere they descended from the rock, old bryan, having carefully hidden away his golden treasure from the eye of day, called after the young ladies, with all of whom he was familiar from their frequent visits to the ruins — “take care, ladies, that none of ye’d be tempted, standin there, to take the leap that queen gormlaith did once upon a time ! 75 “ why, what leap did she take, bryan 3 ” “well, i can’t tell you that, miss mary, bekase why, i never heard it myself, but she took a great leap here at cashel — maybe from the side o’ the rock, for all as i know ; she must ha’ been a great leaper that same queen gormlaith, for the ould chronicles tell that gormlaith took three leaps, which a woman shall never take [again], a leap at ath-cliath [dublin], a leap at teamhair [tara], a leap at caiseal of the goblets over all.” 1 at this the ladies laughed and the gentlemen smiled. “and pray, bryan, who was this queen gormley ?” asked mary hennessy. “ wisha, then, miss mary ! — unless she’s far belied, it doesn’t .natter much who she was, for by all accounts she was no great 1 “ annals of the four masters.” according to these famous annalists, this gormlaith (pronounced gormley) was daughter of a chief of offaly, who died a.d. 928, and wife of a danish king of dublin, aulaf or auliffe by name. o’donoghoe, in his memoirs of the o'briens , says that she had the great monarch brian boromhe for a second husband, and was repudiated by that good prince for her shameless immorality. 136 the ride home. 137 things. they say she was brian boromhe’s second or third wife, an’ that he had to put her away clane and diver on account of the bad life she led. sure, it’s easy jcnoivn she wasn’t a dacent woman, or it isn’t leapin’ she’d be, the tory ! like a lump of a gossoon, or a wild goat ! ” “i see you are no admirer of female gymnastics, bryan,” said lord effingham, with a smile, as the young ladies walked on in silence, not caring to notice bryan’s concluding remark. “ i’m no admirer,” quoth bryan, “ of anything fay male barrin’ what’s dacent an’ proper.” it is hard to say what meaning the old man attached to the word gymnastics. perhaps he understood it in the same sense as biddy moriarty, the pill lane fishwoman, did o’connell’s hypothenuse or parallelogram in his memorable mathematical scolding match with that renowned vendor of “dublin bay herrings” and other piscal edibles. “your honour, sir,” said bryan, after coughing in vain once or twice to arrest attention, “ maybe you’d be good enough to let me know who you are, for i’m sure it’s none o’ the common sort you are, anyhow.” and he stood with his hat in his hand, sharp and cold as the day was. “why, bryan,” said miss markham, “ i thought you knew all the quality for miles around. this gentleman is the earl $>f effingham.” “ the earl of effingham 1 ” cried bryan, in a state of ludicrous amazement, — “ the great english lord from the castle below 1 — an’ me talkin’ to him just all as one as if he was only a bit of a buddagh ! ” “ never mind, bryan — never mind,” said the earl, with kind condescension; “you said nothing but what was very polite.” “ barrin’ to the ould gentleman here ; ” and bryan nodded over his shoulder towards the chaplain, who was loitering a pace or two behind, examining the ancient tribute-stone, with the rude sculptures thereupon. “ now, might a body make free to ask who is he ? ” on being told, bryan nodded sagaciously, and smiled to himself. “ ay, ay ! i might ha’ known he was some kind of a preacher — he looks for all the world as if he was fed on 138 the hermit of the rock, lady farnham’s fat bacon ! well, god be with your honour’s lordship, anyhow ! sure, i often heard people say that you were a rale gentleman every inch of you, only mighty grand, as in coorse you ought to be ! isn’t it a beautiful fine country around here, my lord ? i’m sure you never seen the beat of it in england beyant.” “ well, i cannot say i did, bryan, though we have some ‘ beautiful fine countries ’ in england too ; ” and the earl smiled. “you have'j well, see that, now ! but i was goin’ to tell your honour’s lordship that for all so rich a country as you have before you now, an’ all the fine cattle an’ sheep that’s grazin’ in it, there was a time, they say, when it was all as one as a desert.” “ oh, you mean, probably, the very early times before the country w r as settled 1 ” “no, my lord, i do not; i mane the days of queen elizabeth, or, as we always call her, queen bess — that’s ould harry’s daughter, your lordship knows — the vargin queen — ahem ! as cobbett calls her — did you ever read cobbett’s reformation , my lord ? ” “ i believe not.” “ oh, well, now, see here, that’s the greatest book that ever was prented — it ’id be worth your lordship’s while to read it, an’ then you’d know all about queen bess an’ her ould baste of a father, harry the eighth.” “i shall certainly pay my respects to mr. cobbett at the first opportunity,” said the earl, with imperturbable gravity. “ queen elizabeth was a great benefactor to ireland,” said the chaplain, his short nose curling upwards in evangelical anger; “she did more to pacify this country than any sovereign that ever reigned in england.” “well, i declare, now,” said bryan, eyeing him with a half comical look, — “ i declare, now, if your reverence — ahem ! was tellin’ lies all your life, you’re tellin’ god’s truth now — queen bess was the greatest hand at pacifyin’ ireland that ever tried a hand at it — barrin’ oliver cromwell ! sure, didn’t bess pacify the country abroad fornenst us there to that degree that they say there was scarce the lowin’ of a cow or the voice of a ploughman to be heard from the far end of kerry to the gates the ride home, 139 of cashel. now, that’s what i call pacify in’, your reverence, bekase, you see, where the people’s all dead there’s sure to be pace an’ quietness — an’ for that very raison the rock of cashel is the quietest place in all munster ! oh, bedad, yis, they might all throw their caps at the vargin queen for pacify in’ — herself an’ noll, the divil’s butcher ! ” “ oh ! oh ! oh ! ” said mr. goodchild, holding up his hands in pious horror ; “ of a surety the poison of the adder is on this man’s lip, and the sting of the wasp under his tongue. hear how he blasphemes the holy ones of god ! ” “ i deny it, sir,” said bryan, with sharp emphasis ; “i deny that queen bess an’ oliver cromwell were the holy ones of god — it’s you that’s blasphemin’ to say the like ! ” “oh, popery! popery!” groaned the chaplain, as the earl took him by the arm and hurried him down the steep descent ; “oh, popery ! what a foul-mouthed beast thou art — yea, verily, the beast of beasts ! — my good young lady,” to miss mark ham, “i am extremely sorry for having been induced to visit this popish place, the locum tenens whereof is a most violent and rabid papist.” “now, pray, mr. goodchild, do not blame me,” said harriet, with mock gravity, throwing at the same time a sly look at her friends; “you know that so far from ‘inducing’ you to visit the rock, which is, i admit, a very exceedingly popish place, i warned you over and over that old bryan would most probably try your patience. did i not, my lord ? ” and she turned with downcast eyes to the earl. “you certainly did, miss markham,” his lordship gravely replied ; “ i can bear witness that you gave mr. goodchild fair warning of what he had to expect from the hermit of the rock. you know, my dear sir, old bryan is somewhat of a character ” — “ excuse me, my lord, but his name were better briar than bryan ! — old briar ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! ” the really good-natured chaplain laughed till his fat sides shook at what he considered his excellent pun, and the smile that appeared for a moment on every face he complacently accepted as the tribute of general admiration. all at once came back his usual placidity. “you seem thoughtful, miss markham,” said he, the large expansion of his heart taking in at the moment all mankind, even a 140 the hermit of the rock. votary of rome, — “thinking, doubtless, of the woeful doom that hath falleu on yonder stronghold of superstition ? ” “not exactly,” said harriet, with much coolness; “i was thinking, rather, of that celebrated juvenile ‘little johnny horner ’ on the memorable occasion when he sat in the corner, eating his christmas pie. you cannot but remember, my dear sir, the highly poetical lines that follow — he put in his thumb and took out a plum, and said, ‘ what a good boy am i ! ’ how ineffably gracious the face of johnny horner must have looked then ! — just like yours, my dear mr. goodchild, under the happy consciousness of christian perfection.” the compliment was not so graciously received as it ought to have been, and the young ladies remarked with suppressed glee that the chaplain moved away soon after from miss markham’s vicinity, devoting his attention to the children, who, in all th<? buoyant freshness of life’s early spring, were gambolling in advance of the party, commenting in their own way on the new and strange objects that came under their eyes. at the foot of the hill the carriage was found in waiting and, declining with thanks the earl’s polite offer of “setting them down,” mary and bella turned off in the direction of gallows hill. “ what ! going to visit the fairywoman? ” said harriet, with a meaning smile, as she glanced towards the clay mansion of that potent charmer, partially visible from where they stood, its low thatched roof dotted here and there with the green of the darnel and the chickenweed, while a tufted sallow pro jecting over the one gable which protruded into view from behind a shoulder of the hill, gave it a picturesque and shady look. “fie, fie, harriet!” was the half serious, half playful answer of mary ; while bella only shook her little clenched fist at the speaker, tossed back her saucy curls, and with a smiling bow to the party in general, tripped after her friend. “ what charming young ladies your friends are, miss mark the ride home. 14! ham ! ” said the chaplain, anxious, no doubt, to exhibit his good taste. “ they are well enough — for romanists,’’ was the arch reply. “ what a superb group of ruins ! ” said lord effingham, glancing over the bold outlines of the towering walls, so stately even in decay. “after all, the past greatness of ireland can not be treated as a myth whilst such monuments as these remain to attest it.” “ pooh, pooh, my lord ! what are those ruins compared with the acropolis or the colosseum” — “ or the pyramids ” suggested the earl, by way of capping the climax, and he smiled at the eagerness with which the good man hastened to throw cashel in the shade. “ or the pyramids — precisely, my lord ! or any other of the great relics of the past. but then, how could it be ex pected that an insignificant little island like this should produce anything very great p’ “well, i must say,” replied the earl, with caustic humour, “that to be ‘ an insignificant island,’ ireland has done wonders in the way of producing things great. now, i am decidedly of opinion, my dear sir, that those buildings on the rock of cashel, so varied in their character, so massive in their construction, so romantic in their situation, so impressive in their solitary grandeur, and so mournful in their utter ruin and desolation, tre no whit inferior in interest even to the acropolis itself — or, indeed, to any ruin or ruins with which i am acquainted.” harriet markham raised her eyes to lord effingham’s face for one moment, and a smile of wonderful sweetness brightened her pale, spiritual features ; her lips parted as though she were about to speak, but, blushing, as it were, at her own boldness, she resisted the impulse, and turned her eyes again on the weird old walls now draped in the gorgeous noontide rays of the clear, cold february day. “i am bound to submit to your lordship’s judgment,” said the obsequious chaplain, “ but i confess i was not prepared to near such — such ” — “such classico-heretical opinions'? — say on, and fear not! well, my very dear and reverend friend, even at the risk of being set down as a heretic against the received principles of taste, i am free to admit that christian ruins are at all times 142 the hermit of the rock. more interesting to me than those which date from pagan times and were associated with pagan worship. ” “ pardon me, my lord ! ” said the chaplain, his rosy face waxing crimson red ; “i should like to know what other than pagan worship was practised there % ” pointing backwards to the rock. “nay, mr. goodchild,” said the earl very gravely, “with all the corruptions attributed to the roman church — mind, i say attributed , miss markham — i believe it cannot be denied that she is a christian church.” “a christian church?” said harriet, her eyes flashing with the fire of a spirit that would no longer be restrained, “ say rather, my lord, the christian church ! the church that has risen like the sun over the ruins of paganism — the church that unites all the ages and all the nations in one eternal act of homage to the almighty ruler of the world. look there, my lord ! ” and she cast a glance of withering scorn on the crest fallen pillar of the law-church ; “ you admire those ruins as noble monuments of ancient art, attesting the former greatness of a now impoverished people — but think, my lord, of the ages that look down from those shattered walls, from the height of yon pillar-tower, and the glories that gild them with ever lasting fame. and the memories of cashel are christian memories, mr. goodchild — at least, what history and tradition have both preserved. that mystic tower may, indeed, date from pagan times, and probably does, but all the other buildings are of purely christian origin, save and except the royal palace of the munster kings. and, indeed, for ages long th6 very princes who ruled in cashel were consecrated bishops.” a contemptuous “ humph ! ” from the chaplain and a cold “ indeed ? ” from the earl would have discouraged a less ardent spirit than that of harriet markham ; but the effect was directly opposite on hers, for the bright intelligence that burned within her was lit at the lamp of faith, and where the honour of re ligion was concerned she was all life and warmth. here her country and her faith were both in question, and she could not sit by a passive listener. yet she spoke with a modesty and a womanly grace that at once disarmed angry criticism. “if your lordship has no objection,” said she, looking timidly at the stately peer, “i will bring from the treasure-chamber of the ride home, 143 the past, for mr. goodchild’s edification, a very few of the christian memories connected with yonder ruined shrines. ,> the earl bowed assent. the chaplain groaned in spirit, but, seeing there was no alternative short of actual rudeness, he pre pared himself to listen, fortifying his mental position with a pinch of lundy foot’s best. their little ladyships, delighted at the prospect of a story, bestowed sundry caresses on their “dear, sweet, darling miss markham,” who, smiling on her pupils, entered at once on her task. what harriet told is known, we hope, to most of our readers, so we shall not follow her in her rapid and picturesque descrip tion of the historic glories of cashel. she told of st. patrick, how he founded the first christian church on the eock, which was royal even then, and in the shade of the old pillar-tower, which had in still earlier ages “ reared the sacred flame,” rose the cross-crowned roof of the christian temple. of angus she told, the royal convert of patrick, with his childlike simplicity of faith and most excellent humility ; of cormac the king bishop, of whom the ancient annals say that “his loss was mournful, for he was a king, a bishop, an anchorite, a scribe, and profoundly learned in the scotic ( i.e . irish) tongue,” — cormac the historian, the elegant scholar — but, alas ! the too gentle and too-yielding prince, persuaded by ambitious courtiers to enter upon the dangerous trade of war in defence of his dominions, in which bloody contest he lost his life, and ireland, in him, one of her greatest sons. and of flaherty, his successor, harriet told, who, having been one of the ill advisers of the late king, was so stricken with sorrow and remorse, seeing the evil which his counsels had mainly brought upon the land and the people, that he speedily laid aside his episcopal office and his royal state, flung from him the mitre and the crown, and, retiring to an abbey which he founded in a wild and lonely spot on a small island in a lake (now a bog), 1 he there ended 1 the abbey of monahinch, even the ruins of which have now almost disappeared, was still in tolerably good preservation when dr. ledwich wrote, some sixty or seventy years since. according to that and other antiquaries, the abbey must have been both grand and beautiful, pre senting many features of extraordinary interest. it was situate on the confines of queen’s county and tipperary, but chiefly in the latter county. ilf the hermit of the rock. his life in the austerity of penance common in those days of faith and fervour. “ if your lordship will take the trouble,” said harriet, “to look into ledwich’s antiquities o f ireland , at 4 monahincha,’ you will be repaid, i assure you, by the very interesting account he gives of the enormous labour and industry evinced by the monks in conveying the materials for their magnificent structures not only from the opposite side of the lake, but from a considerable distance inland, the island being then only accessible in canoes, hollowed, he says, out of ex cavated trees. you will then, i think, admit that the monks of those mediaeval times could not have been so lazy as people would have us believe.” blushing at her own earnestness, harriet stopped short, and glanced furtively at her auditors. there was a smile on mr. goodchild’s face, a smile half benevolent, half incredulous, and he was tapping his snuff-box with prodigious energy and determination, as though the king-abbot of monahinch were bodily encased therein, and the punishment of his folly had devolved on the worthy chaplain. lord effingham’s haughty lip was curled with something very like a sneer as he coldly replied — “i should not have thought you were so much of an anti quarian, miss markham. your reference to ledwich is quite superfluous after your own learned description. why, you can really draw ‘sermons from stones,’ if not ‘books from running brooks.’ ” there were two islands in the lake, now a bog, and on each was situated some of the monastic buildings. one was called the men’s island, and contained an abbey and oratory ; the women’s island contained a small chapel ; and a locality on the firm land, exterior to the bog, con tained a second abbey. “sculpture,” says ledwich, “seems here to have exhausted her treasures. a nebule moulding adorns the outward semi circle of the portal, a double nebule with beads the second, a chevron the third, interspersed with the triangular frette, roses, and other ornaments. it is also decorated with chalices artfully made at every section of the stone so as to conceal the joint. ... by some accident ashen keys have been dropped on the walls of this building ; in a number of years they have become large trees. their roots have insinuated into every crevice, burst the walls everywhere, and threaten the whole with ruin.” henca the almost total disappearance of these interesting structures. ledwich further says, “adjoining the abbey, on the north side, was the prior’s chamber, which communicated with the church by a door with a gothic arch.” the ride home . 145 “ my lord,” said harriet, reddening to the very temples, “ i know it is not now the fashion for ladies to devote attention to such matters, much less to speak of them, but my father was a votary of the past, and whether it be for good or ill to me, his only daughter, i was early imbued with his passionate love for ancient lore and the glories that perish not with time. an antiquarian i am not, my lord, in the sense in which you apply the word, but simply a lover of the storied past, especially of this my native land. you, an englishman, can scarcely under stand the love that we irish cherish for c our own loved land of sorrow/ the fond pride with which we turn ever to the departed glories of the fair land, and dream of chieftains, now forgot, who beamed the foremost then in fame ; of bards who, once immortal deemed, now sleep without a name. ” “englishmen, like other men,” the earl replied, “can understand many things for which they do not get credit. but pray, miss markham, is your cashel chronicle at an end ? ” “i see our journey is, at all events,” rejoined the lady, with a smile of doubtful meaning. “i regret to deprive mr. good child of the martyrology of cashel — and cashel has literally a martyrology. i am bound to crave your lordship’s pardon too,” — her look was very arch just then, — “ for i know you would have been much entertained by the account of the various tortures and punishments, pains and penalties, inflicted on divers of the archbishops of cashel by act of parliament” “ some other time,” said his lordship, with an ironical bow. “ ah ! at our next visit to cashel, perhaps,” blandly suggested goodchild, rubbing his fat hands in a small ecstasy at what he considered a capital hit. he, of course, interpreted lord effingham’s coldness according to his own wishes, and measured his impressions of cashel by his own. perhaps he was right, perhaps wrong. the carriage had just turned into the long and shady avenue *eading to the castle — shady even then, if not with the fresh foliage of the sycamore, the beech, and the poplar, at least with the shadow of the dark*hued “ evergreen pine,” the laurel, and the dapper spruce, planted at intervals along the double row of io 146 the hermit of the rock. tall shade-trees that bordered the noble avenue. all at once the little girls broke out into divers exclamations of wonder. “oh, do look, papa! — miss markham, see! see! — oh dear! what strange people ! ” following the direction of their eyes, harriet saw moving along on the sward that fringed the carriage-way on either side two figures, in whom she at once recognised mad mabel and shaun the piper. “and, dear ! dear ! what an ugly little dog ! ” cried the little lady ann, meaning poor frisk, who was trotting in advance as usual. “if your lordship has no objection,” said harriet, “the young ladies may now have a specimen of rustic minstrelsy. there is the famous shaun the piper, and if you will only have the goodness to tell william to drive slower, i know he will ‘give us a tune/ as he says himself.” the check-string was pulled accordingly, and the carriage rolled slowly along the level avenue till it came within a few yards of shaun, when he all at once struck up “the wind that shakes the barley ” with a vigour and spirit that made the horses prick up their ears and champ their bits as though they felt very much inclined to try what they could do at a reel. “ what barbarous music ! ” said goodchild ; “ it is only fit for savages ! ” “it is good enough, surely, for ‘wild irishry ’ !” said harriet with a smile ; then, leaning her head out of the window, she accosted the piper — “many thanks, friend, for your music. where may you be going now ? ” “ wisha, then, i was goin’ to try my luck at the castle. i never was up there, at all, at all, an’ they say there’s a fine darlin’ lady in it a-tachin’ of the lord’s daughters, that’s a great friend entirely to the likes of us, an’ mighty fond of the ould music.” “well, that is true enough, shaun, but the lady of whom you speak may not be at liberty to draw ‘ the likes of you,’ as you say, about the house, seeing that she is only employed there.” “ oh, miss markham, do have him come ! — oh, pray do ! ” cried the two little girls in a breath. “ papa, mayn’t he come? we shall be so delighted ! ” the ride home, 147 “be delighted, then!” said the earl, smiling down in the eager little faces upturned to his. “ give him a general in vitation,” he said, addressing miss markham. “lord effingham says you will be welcome at the castle whenever you choose to come,” said harriet to the piper. “ and is the lord here himself ? an’ maybe you’re the beauti ful young lady that loves the ould ancient music ? ” “ the lord is here,” laughed miss markham, “ and i am the lady that loves the old music — but as for the beautiful lady, i am sorry to say we have no lady of that description in effingham castle.” “ now, don’t say that, miss ! don’t say that,” cried shaun, with much quickness. “ sure, i know by your voice you’re as fair an’ as sweet as the flowers in may. long life and success to your ladyship ! ” “you see, my lord,” said harriet, “our irish piper has the peerage at his finger ends ! but what have you to say to lord effingham, shaun?” “ ’deed, then, i’ve nothing to say to him but what’s good, an’ very good. sure, only he’s the right sort of a gentleman he wouldn’t have the good wish of the people as he has, an’ them iiot knowing much about him, at all, at all ! ” “there, my lord, there’s a specimen of irish heart-logic for you,” said harriet archly. “i accept the compliment,” said the earl, “and i thank you, friend, for your good opinion. the gates of effingham castle shall be always open to you and that four-footed friend of yours.” “i humbly thank your lordship,” said shaun, with his lowest bow, and the blood coursed merrily through his old veins, and the lightness of long-vanished youth was in his step for the moment as he moved on playing “ planxty drury.” “but who is the girl?” said lord effingham, struck with mabel’s sad and singular appearance. harriet sighed as she turned her eyes on the poor witless creature, who had been watching the inmates of the carriage with the closest attention and in very unusual silence. “ah ! that, my lord, is a poor wreck of humanity — the people call her mad mabel. she is a minstrel too, in her way. why so silent, mabel ? have you no news for me ? ” 1 48 tiie hermit of the rock. “oh, wisha, news? — what news 'id i have? but they're goin’ to hang jerry pierce — -did you hear that?" “ is it possible, mabel ? ” “ it's truth i tell you, — an’ listen hither," coming over close to the carriage, “ celia mulquin an’ me is goin’ away together to the well o’ the world’s end — you know where that is ? och, no ! that isn’t it," she added in a desponding tone ; “ sure, it’s down at holy cross patrick is, an’ i dunna where they’ll put jerry pierce when they hang him — maybe in that dark vau’t where they put young mr. esmond." the carriage stopped, as if the coachman wanted to let those within have the full benefit of mabel’s wild prattle. all at once shaun changed the gay fantastic measure of his “ planxty " for the love-sweet “ shule aroon," and mabel, catching up the strain, sang in her dreamy, unconscious way — “ och ! if i was on yonder hill, it’s there i’d sit and cry my fill, till every tear would turn a mill, as’ go dhi mo vourneen slaun. 1 oyeh ! it’s little i cry now ! i used to cry a long time ago before they took him away from me, but the tears are all gone —all gone. come now, shaun ! let us be off," and she seized the piper by the arm ; “the fun ’ill be all over before we get to holy cross, an’ i want you an’ me to dance a jig on king donogh’s tomb the night — no, behind it, where i hid from the men that killed ould esmond ! — ha ! ha ! they wanted to kill me that time, but i was too many for them ! — so now, shaun, put the best foot foremost, — step out, man ! — augli ! maybe it’s goin’ to hang that purty lady in the coach they are — or shoot her, or somethin’, an’ then she’ll be walkin’, walkin’ ever, like me an’ celia mulquin. ochone ! but i’m tired, tired — an’ my heart is sore ! " there was a mournful pathos in the tone and the words that drew tears to harriet’s eyes. “a strange being, that," said the earl carelessly, as the carriage rolled away. “ an irish blanche , my lord, — her story much the same, only sadder still." 1 and may my love come safe. the ride home, 149 “ by her madness hangs a tale, of course % ” “ a tale 1 — ay, a tale of horror, of blood, and of ” — “ of love stronger than death ?” subjoined lord effingham, with a chilling smile that was more than half a sneer. “ yes, even of that, my lord,” said harriet promptly. “ it were worth the hearing, if so,” said the peer in the same ironical tone. “ i see the children are dying, as you ladies say, to hear the story. could you not gratify their curiosity some of these first evenings — when mr. goodchild and i are within hearing — and mrs. pakenham— if in humour to listen ? ” “ most willingly, my lord, if mr. goodchild will promise to keep awake to hear me ? ” “ my dear miss markham ! ” — began the chaplain, by way of entering a protest against the implied charge. “my dear mr. goodchild, i freely forgive you for steeping your senses in sweet forgetfulness during my late prosy narrative,” said harriet, with a smile, — “on condition, however, that you lend me your ears, as marc antony says in the play, when i come to unfold the sad tale, not exactly of poor mabel's wrongs, but of her sorrows.” the chaplain, ashamed of being so literally “caught napping,” the more so as he detected an incipient smile on his patron’s face, was but too well pleased to get rid of the subject with an unconditional promise. the carriage stopping just then, mrs. pakenham’s portly figure was soon visible in the vestibule of effingham castle, and poor mabel was, for the time, for gotten in the important business of “ lunching,” for which the drive through the frosty air and the long visit to the rock had duly disposed the party. chapter xii. a wake and what befel thereat, the weeks and months rolled by, the snows of february and the winds of march and the soft dewy showers of april had all passed away, and still jerry pierce was a wanderer on the earth, with the brand of cain on his brow, eluding the vigilance of the police, in what way no one could tell, notwithstanding that a tempting reward had been offered for his apprehension, and to all appearance the popular feeling was as strong against him as it ever had been. it was the last day of april, the charmed may-eve, and the little boys and girls were abroad in the dewy meadows gathering the golden may-flowers to strew before the house-doors for the welcoming of the summer . 1 in the grey light of the closing evening sat cauth by the door, with her stocking on her arm, listening to the pleasant sounds from the fields and meadows, and ever as she plied her needles muttering drearily to herself, as was her custom when alone. “ wisha, but it’s merry ye all are now,” she said half aloud “as merry as crickets! — that’s right! go on with your galli vantin’, make the best of it while ye can ! — i’ll go bail ye’ll not be so merry this night twel’month — some o’ ye, anyhow ! ah, the poor foolish crathurs! isn’t it badly off they are to know what’s before them? — most o’ them ’ill know it time enough ! ” “that’s the truest word you ever spoke,” said a man who just then stood on the threshold before her ; “ it’s little pleasure 1 in ireland the summer commences with the merry month of may — the spring with february and candlemas day, as the feast of the purifi cation is there called, from the blessed candles then distributed amongst the people. 150 a wake and what be eel thereat 151 they’d expect in this world if they knew it as well as you and me, cauth.” “well, i declare you have the odds o’ me, honest man!” gaid cauth, startled a little by his sudden appearance. “that may be,” said the man gruffly, “but it’s askin’ your help i am, for god’s sake, an’ it matters little whether you know me or not. i know you , at any rate.” “ wislia, god help your wit, poor man ! ” said cauth in a softened tone, “ it’s little i have to give any one. it’s a sign you don't know me, though you say you do, when you ask me for charity.” “much or little, you can give something, an’ you must, too, for i have a sick child at home — at home” he repeated, with something like a chuckling laugh, — “ a motherless child, too, without a bite or a sup to give her, an’ she cryin’ for somethin'" to ate. they tell me,” he added, with hysterical wild ness, — “they tell me it’s the hunger o’ death that’s on the darlin’ ! woman ! woman ! give me somethin’ for her, if it’s only a mouthful ! ” “ oh vo ! vo ! ” said cauth, rising quickly ; “ sure, i’d keep it out o’ my own mouth an’ give it, if that’s the way it is with you ! ” and, going to the little alcove, she took out a piece of oaten cake, then poured some buttermilk into a porringer ( i.e . tin cup), and gave it to the man, who had stepped inside the door, and stood shivering in his tattered garments waiting to receive the precious aliments, miserable though they were. “ there’s the best i have for you,” continued cauth, as the man put the bread in the wallet that hung empty over his shoulder ; “ if it was a little while agone, i could give you somethin’ better, but, ochone ! since the black sorrow came on the poor mistress at the hall above, there’s many a thing we miss that we used to have. it’s the good lady she was, all out, till that curse-o’-god villain murdhered the darlin’ young master, but sure, sure, we couldn’t have the face to go next or nigh her now ! go your ways, honest man ; an’ as i gave you that charity in the honour o’ god, i lay it on you to say a pather an’ ave for mr. esmond’s sowl.” “don’t be layin’ anythin’ on me!” said the man fiercely. “ i’ll say no pather an’ aves for the bit that’s to save my child’s 152 the hermit of the rock life. that’s the laste i may have ! ” and he was rushing out of the hut when cauth caught him by the arm. “ you’re a bad man,” said she, “ or you wouldn’t say the likes o’ that ! ” “ wisha, thank you kindly,” said the man in a tone of bitter mockery, “an’ sure it’s a good ivoman yourself is, ,” he named a name in a low, guttural whisper, and then darted off, leaving cauth like one spellbound. long she stood looking vacantly down on the floor, her features fixed and rigid, and her long skinny arms hanging, as it were, powerless by either side. at last she staggered to her seat near the door, and, heaving a deep-drawn sigh, leaned her head against the wall. “ och, then,” she murmured sadly, “ them that ’id tell me of a may-eve long ago that it ’id ever come to this with me ! sure, nobody knows what’s before them. but i thought — i thought i could hide myself here, an’ i see i can’t ! i believe there’s no rest for me aboveground ! ” she was roused from her dreamy cogitations by the sound of mabel’s wild, sweet voice singing outside — “ och ! beware of meeting rinardine all on the mountain high ! wisha ! what’s come of all the snails 1 an’ the ne’er a bit o yarra can i find, at all, an’ they tell me it’s may-eve, an’ what’ll i do for the yarra ? ” 1 “ lord save us ! ” muttered cauth; “ there’s that poor cracked mabel ! i hope it isn’t in here she’d be cornin’ ! the lone some crathur ! it’s lookin’ for the yarra she is, an’ the snail 1 oyeh ! oyeh ! see how she gropes along on the ground — she’s for all the world like a ghost ! — an’ worse than a ghost she is to me!” and she shuddered as she watched the spectral-looking figure gliding in a stooping posture through the deepening shades in her search for the charmed plant. 1 the pulling of the yarrow after nightfall is one of the principal “charms” proper to may-eve amongst the peasant girls of ireland. another is placing a snail (also captured after the stars are in the sky) between two plates, in hopes that during the night it would trace in snail hand the initial letters of the fated name on one or other of the plates. all these may-eve “tricks,” like those of hallow-eve, are of purely pagan origin, the first of november and the first of may being the two great festivals of the year amongst the pagan irish. a wake and what befel the re a t. 153 “ the sight of her makes me shiver all over,” said cauth, 4 ‘ an’ when she gets a-talkin’ about things, it makes me ’most as mad as herself to hear her ! she’ll not get in here the night, that’s for sartin ! an’ it’s a hard thing, too, to shut her out bekase she’s afflicted ! but sure, i can’t help it — i wouldn’t do it if i could ! ” and so saying, she softly closed the door, whilst mabel went on with her fruitless search, singing the while™ “ he says, my purty fair maid, i like your offer well, but i’m engaged already, the truth to you to tell, unto another damsel who is to be my bride, a wealthy grazier’s daughter down by the shannon side.” the next moment, as usual with her, the strain was changed to that most doleful ditty — “och ! it’s on the banks o’ cla-dy i’m told he does remain !” — perhaps more in accordance with her own wild and gloomy fancies. later in the evening, when the full moon was shining down in silvery splendour on the old eock and the ivied ruins and the richly-varied plain stretching far and away beneath, mad mabel stole with a creeping pace to the door of larry mulquin’s cottage, and, raising the latch, glided in. celia was alone, spinning by the fire, her father and brothers being gone respectively “on their cail-lie.” 1 there was a troubled look on celia’s face, and the rich bloom had faded from her cheek; ever as her foot turned the wheel, and the delicate flaxen thread passed lightly through her fingers, a deeper shade fell on her shrunken features, and the tremulous motion of her lips denoted the workings of the heart within. so wrapt was she in her own sad thoughts that she heeded not the raising of the latch, and the first intimation she had of mabel’s presence was her squatting on the floor beside her, looking silently up in her face through the dishevelled tresses of her long hair. a low scream escaped celia at the sudden appear ance of the ghostly face and figure, but, instantly recognising mabel, she drew a long breath, and forced a smile that was ghastly on her face as sunlight on a new-made grave. 1 i.e, to a neighbour’s house to spend the evening. 154 the hermit of the rock. “ wisha, mabel ! is it you that’s in it ? — the ne’er a bit but you took a start out o’ me ! ” “ husht j ” whispered mabel, raising her finger, “ don’t say a word for your life — the peelers are out, you know, this purty moonlight night, looking for jerry pierce an’ every one;” then, forgetting her own injunction, she began singing — “ och ! it’s ziy delight of a shining night in the season of the year.” celia shook like an aspen leaf at the mention of pierce’s name, and she cast a shrinking look around. “ take care now, mabel, what you say ! ” she whispered, but remembering how useless it was to warn the poor creature of anything, she adopted the wiser course of turning her atten tion from the dangerous subject. “ what did you come here for, mabel?” said she very gently. “ did you want to speak to me?” “look here,” said mabel, “ see what i brought you.” and opening a dock-leaf she held in her hand, she showed its contents to celia, looking eagerly up in her face the while, as if to note her satisfaction. “ it’s may-eve, you know.” “ ah, poor mabel ! ” sighed celia, and she sadly shook her head ; “i want no snails now, nor yarra neither. no, nor the may-dew . 1 all that’s past an’ gone ! ” “but don’t you want to see jerry’s name on the plate jist for oust before they hang him ? ” celia, with a groan and a shudder, covered her face with her hands, murmuring, “ mabel ! mabel ! for god’s sake hold your tongue ! ” ‘•'i will, avourneen, i will,” said mabel, rising. “so you’ll not take the yarra, afther me goin’ out a-purpose to pull it for you?” “ yis, yis, i’ll take it,” cried celia, snatching it from her, in hopes of getting rid of her the sooner. “ an’ you’ll put it under your head, achree ? an’ you’ll see 1 another beautiful and highly poetical custom of the irish peasant girls is that of gathering the first may-dew to bathe their faces. for that purpose they go out before .sunrise on “ may -morning” (as the first morning of the fair month is distinctively styled) and gather the dew from the leaves and flowers. a wake and what be eel thereat 155 the beautiful fine drame you’ll have about the hangin’. they wouldn’t let me see patrick hanging you know,” she added confidentially, “ but maybe they’d let you go and see jerry when it comes his turn. if they do, be sure an’ bring me with you, for i think it’s the greatest thing in the whole world to see any one a-hangin’. och ! och ! ” she added, with a piteous moan, “ i wish they’d hang me at onst, an’ be done with it, for i’m tired walkin’, walkin’ ever, and never gettin’ to my journey’s end.” “where are you going now, mabel?” celia asked, moving with her towards the door. “i’m goin’ to the graveyard, to see if jerry be there, an’ if he is, i’ll tell him you want him.” “ to the graveyard, mabel ? — lord save us ! what ’id bring him there?” celia asked, affrighted, without waiting to think of the folly of heeding mabel’s wild ravings. “ well, i wasn’t spakin’ to him that night i seen him at the vau’t lookin’ at the letters on the front of it. you mind that night, celia? it was a purty bright night, for all the world sich another as this. the sperits were all out that night in the purty moonlight, an’ patrick an’ myself walked round an’ round the ould walls an’ the graves on the rock above, an’ then we went down to hore abbey, an’ we sat discoorsin’ there a while about one thing an’ another, an’ watchin’ the fairies divartin’ themselves, an’ chasin’ one another in an’ out through the ould windows an’ arches an’ things, an’ then, mavrone ! off we went to holy cross, but jist as we got there the cock crew, an’ poor patrick had to go, — but listen hither, celia ! he said jerry pierce was goin’ to be hung some o’ these days, an’ then you an’ me, an’ jerry an’ him, an’ all the rest o’ the sperits, ’id have the finest times you ever seen ! och, well ! i must be goin’ — it’s tired i am — tired, tired — an’ the heart athin me is as heavy as lead — it’s a load to carry, so it is ! i wish jerry pierce hadn’t shot the purty young gentleman, an’ made that ugly hole in his white forehead — och ! what made him do it, at all ? ” so saying, poor mabel glided away noiselessly as she came, leaving celia well pleased to get rid of her (to her) torturing prattle, which had somehow renewed all her troubles in her mind, and left her a prey to the most excruciating misery. 156 the hermit of the rock. still the silent moon shone down on the slumbering earth as calmly as though no stormy passion, no gnawing grief, was at work amongst the children of men. but the world never sleeps, and the peaceful sheen of the cold pale moonbeams as they rested on the earth and on the dwellings of men, was but a mockery after all. beneath the glittering guise which nature wore that night the tide of human life was rushing on, and hearts were throbbing in the wildness of grief, and burning with the fever of mighty passion. leaving the old borough behind, with all its quaint and pic turesque irregularity of outline, and its striking contrasts, and the shadows lurking amongst its silent avenues, we will take our way up the side of gallows hill to the mud cabin beneath the alderbush, where the fairy-woman dwelt in charmed soli tude, her lonely hut fenced round, as it were, by popular superstition. on ordinary occasions neither bolt nor bar secured the door, a latch with a string being more than suffi cient for the exclusion of all without and the protection of all within. indeed, there was little in the place to tempt cupidity. the hut was divided midway by a partition of wattles covered with clay, which partition being only the height of the side wall, left all the space to the roof open, and gave access to the little room beyond simply by cutting itself some three feet short, leaving the breadth of a doorway at one end. the outer apartment was the kitchen, if kitchen it could be called. it had neither jamb-wall nor hob, the only provision for making fire being a few large flat stones loosely laid on the clay floor, an opening in the roof above giving egress to the smoke, or at least as much of it as chanced to take an upward direction. a small pile of dry brambles lay in one corner, but the fire on the hearth at this time was composed of a species of fuel probably only known amongst the peasantry of ireland. a quantity of “ seeds,” that is to say, the outer husks of the oats, was heaped on the stones against the blackened wall ; the front of the heap was burning, emitting a much more cheerful blaze than might be supposed from the nature of the fuel, and close by sat the hag who owned the cabin, stirring in the fresh “ seeds ” from time to time with a primitive sort of tongs formed of a piece of iron hoop bent in two and brought almost close together at the ends. beyond her, next the wall, were two little children, a a wale and what befel thereat 157 boy and a girl, cowering over the poor substitute for a fire, their half-covered bodies and their pinched faces conveying a picture of the dreariest and most abject destitution. a ghastly light was thrown on the group from the inner chamber, where a still more pitiable sight was visible through the doorless aperture in the partition. on a straw pallet, which usually served for the fairy-woman’s couch, lay the dead form of a young child, the face only visible over the wretched covering of the poor bed. and a face of touching beauty it was, in its sweet repose, though sadly pinched, and stamped with that premature oldness so often seen in the children of the very poor. but the pale golden hair that shaded the small fair fore head and the delicate outlines of the marble-like features made a picture fair though sad to look upon. death had there nothing repulsive, nothing stern ; it was the image of rest, tranquil, happy rest, no more. not such was the face of the solitary watcher by that bed of death — a man of spare proportions, haggard features, wild and restless eyes, and shaggy brows knitted into an ominous frown. the garments of the man had been patched in many places, but other rents here and there showed either the want of a friendly hand to mend the tattered garment, perhaps the increasing neglect that follows and accompanies increasing misery, perhaps both. the man was the same who had asked and received charity from cauth, but the charity had come too late. his child was dead when he returned all panting and eager with his poor prize. one heavy groan was all that escaped him when his eye fell on the dead face ; but, handing the bread and milk to his remaining little girl to divide between herself and her brother, who was still younger, he drew a stool to the bedside, and muttering, “ thank god she’s gone at last ! ” he had never stirred from the same posture all the long hours that had come and gone since then. a resin dip was burning beside the bed in one of those stands impro vised for the purpose, rising some three feet from a wooden block that rested on the floor. bare and unsightly were the clay walls of the little room, unrelieved by even one article of furniture, save and except the straw pallet and the round three legged stool on which sat the desolate father. all was poverty, sheer, unmitigated poverty, in its most cheerless aspect; yet 158 the hermit of the rock \ there was one redeeming quality in the squalid misery of the place, and that was its remarkable cleanliness, truly remarkable under the circumstances. all at once the door opened, and another man made his appearance, stooped as if beneath the weight of years, yet of stout proportions withal, judging from the faint light in the cabin. the stoop soon vanished when once the door was closed, and the children uttered an exclamation of pleasure that drew a sharp rebuke from the ancient crone. she turned her head, however, and nodded to the new-comer with a curt salutation in irish. “ is tim within ? ” “ athen, why wouldn't he? — nelly's dead.” “dead?” cried the man, with a sudden start, — “little nelly dead ? you're not in earnest, vanithee ! ” “ maybe i'm not — go in there an' see ! ” pointing to the inner room. the children began to cry, but were speedily silenced by a threatening gesture from the hag. the man passed on into the room. “i’ll slip out now, childer,” whispered the old woman to her young companions ; “ i didn’t care to go and leave him by himself with the corpse, but i’ll go now an' i'll see if i can't get somethin’ to lay her out in. mind you don't let the fire out till i come back ; ” and, wrapping her old red cloak about her, she left the cottage. a tall and sinewy form was that of the man who now stood beside the wretched pallet, looking down on the little wax-like image so ineffably calm and serene. the father had only noticed his entrance by a listless nod, and then sank again into his gloomy reverie. “ poor nelly ! ” said the tall man, as he wiped away the fast falling tears with the sleeve of his old frieze coat, — “ poor girleen ! is that the way with you ? ” after a moment's silence he spoke again. “well, tim, maybe it's best as it is. god is good to us, afther all ! ” “good to us?” cried the other fiercely. “where's the good ness, i'd wish to know ? it's aisy for you to talk, that doesn't know what a father's heart is ! ” “ maybe i do as well as you ! if i hadn’t a father's heart a wake and what befel thereat 159 myself for these poor childer, i wouldn't he the man i am the night, an' i think you ought to know that.” the other started to his feet, his face, late so pale, flushed crimson red. “ there it is again, now ! ” he said in thick, guttural tones ; “ will you never be done talkin’ that way ? ” “ i wouldn’t talk that way, tim, only you take it out o’ me. you’re a mighty quare man, now, that’s what you are. but there’s no use talkin’ an’ wranglin’. when did nelly die ? ” “there a little while after dusk, when i was down about the town tryin’ to get a mouthful for her to ate. she died of hunger at last ! ” his look grew darker and fiercer. “ that’s another nail in his coffin ! there’s nora yit, an’ patsey, i’ll go bail they’ll both go like their mother an’ nelly— an’ when they do we'll clinch all the nails — ho ! ho ! ho ! ” and the man laughed with horrible glee. “tim! tim!” said the other, “what’s cornin’ over you, at all?” “ oh, the sorra thing’s cornin’ over me — i’m in my parfit senses, an’ sure you can’t say i’m talkin’ rashly when i tell you i’ll wait till the childer’s all dead wid hunger an’ want before i settle with them that killed mother an’ childer both. sure, if i waited till i’d be dead myself, there ’id be nobody •hen to do the business.” “ tim murtha ! ” said his companion, fixing his eyes on him with a wild and troubled look, — “tim murtha! the hand of fiod is heavy on us ! blood is blood, an’ the stain of it can never be washed away, an’ the voice of it cries from the ground for vengeance on the murderer ! ” a change came over the haggard face of tim murtha. slowly he turned on the speaker, and the two stood looking into each other’s eyes with a strange and ghastly meaning. at last tim murtha spoke, and his voice was strangely hollow. “blood is blood, i know, but revenge is sweet ! ” “ god forgive you, tim ! you have a heart as hard as a stone ! now, i’d give all the money i ever seen, an’ twice as much more, if that deed wasn’t done yit, an’ you're only thinkin’ of ” — “ nobody doubts you,” said tim, with scornful emphasis ; “ it’s your own neck that’s throublin’ you, an’ not the deed i why 100 the hermit of the rock don’t you get out of the way altogether, like a man, an’ not be hangin’ about here like a moth round a candle, till they cotch you at last, an’ then your life isn’t worth a pin ? but i know what you’re up to ! ” “you do ?” “i do — as well as if i was standin’ within you.” “ out with it, then 1 ” “no, i won’t; but mind, i tell you, jerry pierce, i’ll be even with you if you think to play any of your tricks on me ! ” it was jerry pierce himself who stood there listening, with a thundercloud on*, his brow and a lurid lightning in his eye. a storm of passion was raging in his heart, and his very brain throbbed and burned like molten lead ; his huge frame shook like an aspen leaf ; he darted one fiery look at tim, and the man shrank back affrighted. his momentary terror brought pierce back to recollection, and he smiled a grim and bitter smile. “no wonder you’d be afeard,” said he, “ of jerry pierce the murderer. but don’t fear,” he added in a softer tone, “i wouldn’t touch a hair of your head for all the goold in the queen’s mint — an’ all on the ’count of the weenie crathurs that she left behind her. poor nelly!” and, stooping down, he kissed the little dead face, while his tears fell over it like rain, — “poor little darlin’! you that i loved best among them is gone now, but i wouldn’t hurt your father, nelly, or the man that owned your poor mother ! ” “ give us the hand, jerry ! ” said tim in a choking voice. “ i know the thruth’s in you, afther all ; but why, why don’t you get out o’ the way ? sure, you can’t expect to escape for ever, an’ you keepin’ under their very nose.” “ never you mind that,” pierce replied. “ i’ll live till my time comes, in spite of them all. but why isn’t the pool darlin’ laid out ? ” “for the best o’ raisons,” said tim, with his ghastly smile, “ because there was nothin’ to lay her out ini “ it’s not so now,” made answer the vanithee from behind ; she had entered unperceived by either of the men. “ get out of the way, now, till i do what’s fit to be done.” “ what are you goin’ to do ? ” “what’s that to you, tim murtha? do what i bid you, an’ that’s all ! ” a wake and what befel thereat 161 just as the men went into the kitchen, a low tap was heard at the door, and tim murtha, much excited, would have pushed jerry back into the room, but the old woman told him shortly to “ let him be.” “ do you think any one is cornin’ here afther him ? ” she added, with the proud consciousness of power. “ go an’ open the door — it’s ned murtha that’s in it.” sure enough it was ned murtha, and tim and jerry ex changed looks at what they supposed the supernatural knowledge of the vanithee. it never occurred to either that she had her self apprised him of what had happened and therefore expected him to come. as ned turned after closing the door, his eyes fell on j erry pierce, and the colour instantly forsook his face. “the lord in heaven save us, jerry!” he said in a low, cautious whisper; “is it here i have you? why, it’s out o’ your mind you are to be goin’ about this way ! ” “never mind, ned— never mind,” said pierce, with bitter emphasis ; “ they can but hang me, afther all, an’ they can’t do that, aither, till my time has come ! but what brought you here ? did you hear of poor nelly’s death ? ” before ned could answer, the vanithee came out and told them all to go in and see the corpse. at the same time she threw some brambles on the fire and put over it the only cook ing utensil she possessed, a small iron pot, full of water, saying that she must make some “ tay.” “tay?” repeated tim murtha, — “where did you get tay*?” but the rare luxury was quickly forgotten in the surprise of seeing his little girl laid out in a white shroud, a neat cap on her head, and a snowy sheet covering the bed, whilst two mould candles were burning in brass candlesticks on the stool hard by. the father was evidently pleased ; his pale, emaciated cheek was flushed with joy, and a light seldom seen there, shone in his sunken eyes. “what do you think o’ that?” said the fairy-woman, look ing up in his face with very natural exultation. “well, i declare that’s great,” said tim. “where in the world did you get all the things ? ” “ it’s no matter to you where i got them ” — “where would she get them, why!” said ned murtha, doubtless with a good intention, “barrin’ from mrs, esmond — the ould lady,” ii 162 the hermit of the rock both pierce and the vanithee tried to stop ned’s tongue by signs ; but all in vain, ned would have his say. the effect on tim was terrible. his face was livid in a moment, and his whole frame trembled with passion. “ is it true what he says ? ” said he, turning to the old woman with forced calmness ; “did you get these things out o’ that house?’ 1 ’ “ why, then, i did — god reward her that gave them ! ” “ an’ you went to his wife to beg a shroud for my child, that he was the manes of starvin’ to death, an’ her mother too?” “ well, i did ; why, an’ who else ’id i go to, barrin’ young mrs. esmond, an’ she’s too far away ? ” “ take them every stitch off of her ! ” “the lord save us, tim ! are you out o’ your mind?” “ take them off, i say ! ” “ i wouldn’t do it for all mr. esmond’s worth ! is it to go strip the dead you’d have me ? ” “i’ll do it, then !” and, dashing away with maniac strength even the powerful arm of jerry pierce extended to prevent him, he tore the sheet off the bed, and, what was still more awful, the shroud off the body, and even the little cap off the poor dead child. the candlesticks he hurled to the floor, regardless of the mischief that might possibly follow, then told the old woman to stop her screeching and light the resin candle, and put the old “duds ’’again on nelly. “an’ only for fear o’ settin’ the place on fire i’d make a bonfire of them things,” said he ; “ but mind the first thing you do in the mornin’ is to take them back where you got them, an’ tell what you seen me doin’ now ! ” “ oh, you unnatural man, you ! ” cried the vanithee ; “ that was worse than all ! you’re a hay then, so you are, an’ a turk, an’ you’ll never have a day’s luck as long as you live ! the curse o’ god ’ill come down on you hot an’ heavy for that black deed ! see there ! you have frightened ned and jerry out o’ the house, an’ no wondher ! ” it was true enough ; when the men saw that he was not to be prevented from carrying out his fell design, they both rushed from the room and from the cabin, fearing to look on such a sight of horror. but tim murtha only smiled a ghastly smile, and said, “let them go! — do as i bid you!” and the vanithee was fain to obey him without further parley. chapter xiii. a sunday evening at esmond hall. the young may moon was shedding her mild radiance into the spacious parlour, or rather saloon, in esmond hall, where the family were assembled one fair sabbath evening with nearly the same party of friends as we first saw together there on hallow eve night some six or seven months before. uncle harry and his wife and aunt winifred had dined at the hall, and moran, and the hennessys, and the o’gradys, having all dropped in during the afternoon, had willingly accepted mrs. esmond’s invitation to remain for the evening. harriet markham was there too ; indeed, she made it a rule to spend part of every day with mrs. esmond, whose grief, never violent or demon strative, had now assumed the form of gentle melancholy, which those who knew her best expected to continue during her life. it was touching to see the meek, uncomplaining sadness that marked her look and voice and manner, yet she seldom or never recurred to the subject of her loss, and when the kind friends around strove to cheer and amuse her, she smiled her appreciation of their kindly efforts. but it was easy to see that sorrow had set its seal on her whole nature, mind and heart and all, and, as it were, dried up the well-springs of life and hope and joy. yet she loved to have her friends around her, and listened with apparent interest to all they had to say. the day was fading into night, and the moonbeams mingled faint and fair with the light of parting day, gradually dispelling the shadows of the twilight and ushering in the starry hours. harriet markham and mary hennessy had been giving an account of their meeting on the rock some months before on st. bridget’s day, and the lively fancy of the young ladies had vividly portrayed, to the great amusement of the company, the 108 164 the hermit of the rock \ meeting of two extremes in bryan and mr. goodehild. the gentlemen laughed heartily at bryan’s caustic replies to the bland, smooth chaplain. “ that was very good,” said moran ; “ but not quite so good as the same gentleman’s encounter with the fairywoman.” “how was that?” said maurice hennessy. “why, did none of you hear of it?” no, none of them had. “well, it seems the old dame manifested a touch of humanity some three weeks since, when somebody’s child died in her vicinity under circumstances of great misery. she came down from her perch late at night to beg what was necessary for laying out the corpse.” “i remember the night well,” said aunt martha; “it was the child of that poor man tim murtha that was dead, and she died of misery and want, as the old woman told me.” “nonsense, martha! ’’said her husband angrily. “i think you ought to know that murtha better than to believe all you hear of his destitution. he’s a lazy, good-for-nothing vaga bond, that’s what he is ! if he were not, would he take the bag on his shoulder and go begging from door to door, as i hear he does ? if i happen to get my eyes on him, upon my honour i’ll hand him over to the police as a vagrant ! ” “ shame, shame, harry ! ” said his wife. “ do not, for pity’s sake, talk so wildly ! why, to hear you, one would think you were the greatest tyrant in the whole country ! ” “and, begging your pardon, madam, what do 1 care what one thinks ? ” “well, well, mrs. esmond, don’t mind,” cried moran; “ pray continue. what more were you going to say ? ” “ oh, nothing, mr. moran, nothing — only that the old woman came to our house one evening late, as you say, and, telling me what had happened, asked me for a sheet and a shroud in which to lay out the poor child.” here her husband started angrily to his feet. “and you gave them, of course ? ” “ certainly i did. would you have me refuse such a petition?” “then, madam, you did what you had no right to do, knowing the feelings with which we are all regarded by those wretched creatures. i forbade you before to give anything a sunda y evening at esmond hall. 165 whatever to these people, and i think i had a right to expect that my command would have been obeyed.” “not where christian charity is concerned, harry, — assur edly not ; you know yourself as well as i do that neither you nor any one else has a right to command anything contrary to the law of god and the law of nature.” “why, aunt martha,” said hennessy, adopting the com mon appellation by which she was known in the esmond family, “ i gave you credit for more penetration than i see you have. now, don’t you see that uncle harry is only joking'?” “ joking ? ” repeated the old man, with his wonted vehemence when excited, — “joking, did you say, hennessy'? a pretty subject for joking, truly ! now, my wife knows as well as i do how much cause we all have to love these wretched people, who, after all their hypocritical lamentations for our murdered harry, will not give up his murderer to justice ! ” “stop, stop, for god’s sake!” cried dr. o’grady; “see what you have done now ! ” and, following the direction of his finger, all eyes were turned on young mrs. esmond, who had fallen back fainting in her chair. “i don’t care,” said the harsh old man ; “'she’ll get over her hysterics. but i tell you all, over and over again, that if the people about here weren’t as bloodthirsty as himself, jerry pierce would be long ago in the hands of justice.” the ladies would fain have persuaded him to retire, fearing the effect that the very sight of him might have on mrs. esmond when she began to recover, but not one inch would the old trojan move. “ humph ! ” said he ; “ one would think i had medusa’s head on my shoulders ! henny is not such a puling baby as to be frightened at my old phiz.” “ oh, you shocking man ! ” cried aunt winifred, as she knelt in front of the death-like figure of the young hostess, holding a bottle of sal-volatile to her nose, while mary hennessy and mrs. o’grady rubbed her temples and hands with eau de cologne, — “oh, you very shocking bad man ! you grow worse and worse every day ! you’ll be the death of us all — as you ivere of poor harry ! ” she added, letting her voice fall a very little. “what’s that you say, winny'i” 166 the hermit of the rock . “she says, my dear,” said his wife, with an admonitory glance at her sister-in-law, — “she says we had better all keep quiet till henny recovers.” “she does, eh*? — why doesn’t she keep quiet herself, then, by way of good example ” the doctors thought it the better way to have mrs. esmond removed to her own room till such time as she had thoroughly recovered, naturally fearing the effect of uncle harry’s harsh and careless brusquerie. in a few minutes the ladies all re turned, with the exception of mary hennessy, bearing mrs. esmond’s compliments to the gentlemen that she hoped to meet them all at tea, if they could only continue to pass the inter vening time agreeably. “in that case, moran,” said hennessy, “let us hear how the fairy-woman served parson goodchild. did she cast her spell on that portly person h ” “ you shall hear. it so happened that on the night to which reference has bten made, the reverend gentleman, being ‘home ward bound’ from the rector’s, where he had been dining, was riding along at a brisk pace towards the castle, his mind probably full of the tales of blood and murder he had heard from the sapient rector and his guests, who were always sure to be the truest of ‘true blue,’ — in other words, staunch haters of popery, and pillars of the new keformation established some years before by the far-famed lady farnhaiu on the double basis of blankets and fat bacon. as young douglas says in the play— yon moon which rose last night round as my shield, had not yet filled her horn, when by her light stepped forth, from the shadow of the tall white-thorn hedge, not a band of fierce barbarians from the hills, but a decrepit old hag wrapped and hooded in a red cloak. the horse was a little startled, perhaps so was his rider, but he managed to keep the animal in subjection, and was fain to con tinue his way. such, it appeared, ‘was not the intention of the ancient dame, who, suddenly extending her stick towards him, croaked out the remarkable words — “ ‘ stop, i command you 1 * a sunda v e vening at esmond hale 167 “ all aghast and bewildered, the chaplain stopped, wondering much what was to fohow. perhaps he had some misgivings that he had before him a robber in disguise. “‘my good old woman/ said he, 4 what is your purpose? what do you want ? ’ ‘“i want some money for creatures that’s a’most dead with hunger and want.’ “ ‘ oh, certainly/ quoth the chaplain, much relieved ; ‘it is at all times a pleasant duty to relieve the wants of our fellow creatures ; ’ and out of his vest-pocket he took a silver sixpence, and handed it to the old woman, saying with a smile that he probably thought worth another sixpence at least — “ ‘ now go, my poor old woman, and provide what is needful for your suffering friends or relatives. i rejoice in the oppor tunity you have given me this night of alleviating, in some measure, the sorrows of the poor.’ he pulled the reins and was moving on, when the hag hobbled after him and again commanded him to stop, which he did, as it were, mechanically. “ ‘ an’ is this what you’re goin’ to give me, after all the talk ? ’ said she, looking up in his face. “ ‘ my good old woman, that is really all the small change i have got.’ “ ‘ why, then, the curse o’ cromwell on you, you ould stall fed bullock ! isn’t it great good that ’id do any one ? ’ cried the dame, much excited. ‘ keep it, an’ make much of it — i’d scorn to take it ! ’ and she flung the coin up in his face. “‘old woman/ said the parson, surprised out of his bland acquiescence, ‘how dare you thus insult a minister of the gospel?’ “ a scornful laugh cackled in the hag’s throat. ‘ minister o’ the gospel, inagh ! you mane the divil’s gospel, if there is such f> thing ! you talkin’ of relievin’ the poor ! i’ll go bail it’s not much one of you ’ill give to the poor, barrin’ you want to buy their sowls like cattle, at so much a head ! then you’d find small change , an’ large change too ! oh, you set of schamin’ vagabonds ! it’s little pace or comfort there ever was in the country since the first of you came into it ! go your ways now, an’ may god give you the worth of your charity here an’ hereafter ! ’ “ the biting sarcasm with which these words were uttered is beyond my power to convey, but the chaplain felt it keenly, i can 168 the hermit of the rock tell you, and his feelings are easier imagined than described when he heard the hoarse, asthmatic laugh with which the crone greeted his departure as she stood in the middle of the road looking after him. she was not long alone in her merriment, for a person who happened to come within earshot during the colloquy, but had purposely kept out of sight, just then stepped out on the road, and, slapping the victorious emulator of biddy moriarty approv ingly on the back, laughed right heartily at the parson’s defeat, and gave the rough but good-hearted old dame a trifle of change that proved a more acceptable offering than that of the extra generous and more than charitable churchman.” “ and the person 1 ?” “the person, maurice, was phil moran, your humble servant to command.” “and pray how came you there? ” “ i have half a mind not to answer you, my good fellow, but on second thoughts i will, being duly mindful of the maternal legacy of mother eve to her daughters, some of whom i have the honour to address. know, then, that i, like the rev. mr. goodchild, was on my return from a dinner party, and having but a short distance to go, and the weather being fine, both went and came on foot. i had sam elliott with me till he turned off at his own avenue, and while i stood a few moments admiring the fine effect of the moonbeams falling through the arching branches of the trees that lined the short avenue, i heard the clatter of a horse’s feet coming up the road ; it proved to be the portly chaplain ; and so it was that i, being myself in the shade of the oaks that guard the elliott gate, saw and heard what i have had the honour and happiness of relating for the entertainment of this worshipful company. now, miss markham, what do you think of my old woman as compared with your old man ? ” harriet, like all the others, had been much amused by moran’s droll description of “ the encounter,” as he called it. “really, mr. moran,” she said, laughing, “your old woman beats my old man hollow, and i think between the two they have given our worthy chaplain a thorough understanding . of what it is to ‘play with edged tools.’ had she only the traditional blanket instead of a red cloak, your dame, as you describe her, might very possibly be the identical old woman a sunday evening at esmond hale 169 who, once upon a time, was ‘going to sweep the cobwebs off the sky/ ” “if she didn’t sweep the cobwebs off the sky,” laughed i)r. hennessy, “ i’m entirely of opinion that she swept them off goodchild’s brain. upon my honour, she must have knocked his wits into a cocked hat. excuse the vulgarism, ladies, but the fact is, vulgarisms are confoundedly convenient at times to a fellow like me, whose thoughts are often gone a-woolgathering just when he wants to use them.” “if i had my will,” said mr. esmond, “i’d make short work of that same fairy-woman, as they call her. i’d have her sent to botany bay or fairy land — i would ! it’s positively a disgrace to the country to tolerate such old beldames as she in their nefarious practices — trading on the besotted prejudices and blind credulity of the people. i wish i had only been in goodchild’s place; i’d have whipped her within an inch of her life, the ill-conditioned hag ! ” before any one had time to answer this characteristic speech, a request was sent up from mulligan that his honour, mr. esmond, would be pleased to step out to the stables to see the poor roan that had something the matter with her, the creature ! and the farrier was there, and he’d like to speak to his honour about the beast before he went. thereupon mr. esmond hurried off in much anxiety for the health and safety of poor harry’s favourite saddle-horse, which was, of course, highly prized by all the family. his wife took the opportunity of his absence to express her fear that sooner or later something bad would come of his tyrannical treatment of the poor, and his harsh, overbearing manner. “ how, i am going to tell you all,” she said, lowering her voice, “what i would not dare to tell him, knowing that it would but exasperate him the more against these miserable creatures. you heard how he blamed me for giving those things to that old woman for the laying-out of tim murtha’s child, — well, he little knows, and i trust he will never know, that the man tore that shroud and that sheet from off his dead child when he learned who it was that gave them ! ” exclamations of horror were heard on every side, and the ladies all, but especially mrs. o’grady and aunt winifred, spoke loud in execration of the unnatural deed. 170 the hermit of the rock " but liow did you come to know this, my dear mrs. esmond ? ” inquired harriet markham. “ or have you reason to believe that it really did occur ? ” “ i cannot possibly doubt it,” was the reply, “ seeing that the old woman brought back the things i had given her next day, and told me what had taken place. you may be sure i was dreadfully frightened, and, indeed, i cannot get the thoughts of it out of my mind ever since. it was so very awful, and gives one such an idea of the man’s ferocity — i am sure, sure that the man who did that is capable of any atrocity.” “if it were that horrible pierce, now, that did it, one would not be so much surprised,” said aunt winifred, “ but i really didn’t think there were two such human fiends to be found in all tipperary. oh dear ! what is going to become of us if such men are prowling at large ? — no one’s life will be safe, after a while.” “ bless me ! ” sighed mrs. o’grady ; “ who would have thought that the doom foreshown on hallow-eve night would have fallen with such crushing weight, and so very soon ? ” “ doom, indeed ! ” repeated her husband. “ .now, do you mean to say, mrs. o’grady, that you really were, or are, so foolish as to put faith in those childish superstitions practised by the young on hallow-eve, or any other eve'$ if you do, you’re more of a fool than i ever took you to be.” “well, doctor, i really wonder at you to talk so,” rejoined the wife, “ after seeing what we have all seen since that memorable night.” “ memorable fiddlestick ! would you have us believe, now, that it was because poor harry esmond put his hand in the plate of clay that night that he was killed ? ” “not because, edward, — oh, of course not because of his doing so, — but you cannot deny that it looked very much like a warning of what was to happen.” “ i do deny it, mrs. o’grady ; for if it was a warning for harry, it was also one for mary hennessy, and what harm has come to her ? ” “ humph ! ” said maurice hennessy, turning from a window where he and moran had been standing in earnest conversation. “ i’d be much obliged to you, ma’am,” addressing mrs. o’grady, “ if you’d keep those dreary notions to yourself. now, to my a sunday evening at esmond bald 171 knowledge, your gloomy suggestions on that same hallow-eve night rankled so in poor mrs. esmond’s mind that she felt miserably depressed at times from that night forth — to an extent, indeed, that injured her health considerably, the more so as she tried to conceal what she now believes to have been a presentiment. ” “dear me, dr. hennessy, what a thing for you to say ! ” said mrs. o'grady, averting her head with a slight shudder, while her husband clapped his hands and cried, “ hear, hear i bravo, hennessy ! ” “now, i must request, my dear mrs. o’grady,” went on maurice, “ that you never mention that silly affair again, for if mary be once put in mind of it, there is no knowing but she might begin to fancy herself ‘ doomed,’ and take on to moping and pining, which might eventually accomplish your fairy warning — or what shall i call iff? ” “ why, my dear doctor,” exclaimed mrs. o’grady very innocently, “you needn’t be the least afraid of mary pining away on that account, for i give you my word, i’ve been trying ever since harry’s death to convince her that we had a fore warning of it that night, and if you’ll believe me, she only laughs at me.” “ well, well ! ” cried hennessy, more annoyed than he cared to show ; “after that, i need say no more. that beats banagher, and banagher beats — we know who.” dr. o’grady and moran laughed heartily at the blank amaze ment visible on hennessy’s face, and the former gentleman subsequently told him, with as much gravity as he could assume, that there was more than that in his “little wifie” for the taking out. “if you press her a little,” said he, “you would be apt to find out that there isn’t a thing occurs to herself or any one she knows, of which she hasn’t had warning one way or another. do you know, it often occurs to me that she must have some sort of telegraphic communication with the other world. it was only the other day, when i was sent for to father maguire below, for a bad cold he got, that she told me she knuw something was going to happen to poor father maguire, and that she was sure he’d never leave his bed.” “well?” said more than one of the listeners, with ludicrous anxiety. 172 the hermit of the rock “well, a hot bath and a good active cathartic falsified mrs. o’grady’s prediction, and placed my reverend friend on his legs as stout and staunch as ever. i’m afraid the telegraph wire was broken that time — eh, susan ” the laugh that followed drove mrs. o’grady fairly from the room. she made her exit in double-quick time, on the pretence that she was going to see how mrs. esmond was. “well, now,” said aunt winifred, raising her eyebrows very high, and straightening her long back to the most perfect perpendicular possible, — “ well, now, you needn’t laugh so much, after all, about mrs. o’grady ’s ‘ warnings.’ i tell you there are warnings given, and i’ve had them myself before our dreadful misfortune came upon us.” “ is it possible, miss esmond ? ” said harriet, with assumed earnestness, while the others exchanged looks and smiles. “yes, indeed, my dear, it is both possible and true. for many nights before poor dear harry’s death i heard a drop falling — falling — -just outside my room door. and then the death-watch — why, i used to hear it night after night at my bed-head just as plain as if my watch were there, which it was not, you know, for i always leave it in the watchstand on the toilet..able.” “ well, that is really astonishing,” said harriet, endeavouring to keep from smiling, aunt winifred’s predominating acid being now too well known in the circle to permit any jocose liberties in her regard. the gentlemen suddenly remembered that uncle harry was in the stables, and thought they would go seek him there, as the tea-bell had just rung, and mrs. esmond and the other ladies were descending the stairs, mary hennessy’s pleasant voice being heard in a tone of playful remonstrance. the gentlemen had not yet returned from the stables when dr. o’grady was summoned to a patient some miles away towards killenaule, and having to go home for something he required, mrs. o’grady preferred going with him, feeling probably a little sore from the wound that had been inflicted on her oracular dignity. yery sad and very pale was mrs. esmond when she took her place that evening at the tea-table, but, looking round on the kind, dear friends whose faces expressed the sympathy they did a sunday evening at esmond hale 173 not choose to speak, she smiled and made an effort to appear cheerful, that the shadow of her grief might not fall on them. uncle harry was unusually silent during the earlier part of the meal, and at last the young men began to rally him on his taciturnity. “ may i venture to ask what are you thinking of, mr. esmond ? ” said hennessy ; “ the advance on fat cattle, or the next presentment before the grand jury — eh?” “ or the chances of getting the 4 bang-beggars ’ banished to parts unknown % ” said moran, looking with sly meaning first at uncle harry, then at his wife. “ the bang-beggars ? ” repeated the doctor, catching the ex pression of moran’s face; “why. what should mr. esmond have to do with them ? ” “oh, we know that ourselves,” replied the lawyer; “don’t we, aunt martha?” mrs. esmond smiled her acquiescence, but her husband was in no humour for smiling. “how, i tell you what it is, phil moran,” said he, setting his cup down in the saucer with a force that much endangered the safety of that particular piece of mrs. esmond’s fine old dresden, “ i’d thank you to crack your jokes on proper sub jects, and that is not one, whatever you may think to the contrary. i consider it a very serious business — very serious indeed, involving, as it does, the very lives of the landowners of this country.” “hot a doubt of it, mr. esmond, not a doubt of it,” said moran very gravely, “and for that very reason i naturally sup posed you might be occupied in devising ways and means to get rid of a fraternity so dangerous to the community.” “you were mistaken, then,” said uncle harry gruffly ; “i was just thinking of poor henny here.” “ of me, uncle ? and, pray, what were you thinking of me ? ” “ why, i was just thinking that you will never have peace or rest in your mind until that wretch pierce has paid the penalty of his crime.” every eye except mrs. esmond’s was turned reproachfully on the harsh old man, and a murmur of surprise and indignation ran round the table. mrs. esmond started as if an adder had stung her, — her face was pale and red by turns, and the tears gushed to her eyes. 174 the hermit of the rock . “mr. esmond,” said she, her voice and her lips trembling, — “mr. esmond, i know not what i have done that you should inflict so cruel a punishment upon me as to tear open so rudely and so unnecessarily the yet unhealed wound in my poor heart. god forgive you — god forgive you ! ” “well, upon my word, mrs. harry esmond junior,” said the old man, with a raised voice and an angry look, “ i didn’t ex pect to hear you talk so. i see you are all just the same at bottom, let the top be ever so smooth and smiling. there’s a touch of the tiger in every mother’s daughter of you ! ” “ for shame, harry — for shame ! ” cried his wife. “that’s right, harry!” echoed his sister; “give us all a specimen of your politeness. show how amiable you can be when you like ! ” “mr. esmond,” said the young widow, addressing him slowly and distinctly, “what you have said i think it my duty to answer, and i will, though it tear my heart-strings asunder. know, then, that i do not desire to have the*— the guilty person brought to justice.” “ you do not ? ” “ko — god forbid that i should ! i pray every day that he may escape the penalty of his crime, as you say, for the sacrifice of his life would not give me back what the grave has taken from me. let him live and repent. god will deal with him in his own wise way, and in his own good time. vengeance is his, not mine.” she rose, and, taking mary’s offered arm, passed from the room. tea was just over. the carriage came just then for miss markham, and the rest of the company did not long remain. before they left the dressing-room, however, the young lady of the mansion had heard from aunt martha the strange and pitiful story of tim murtlia’s misery and his gloomy desperation. “and where is the unfortunate man now?” she asked, with tender sympathy. “ that 1 cannot tell you, my dear,” said aunt martha, as she drew her sable boa around her neck and took up the capacious muff of the same costly fur. “ he and his family were in the hut of that old fairy-woman, as they call her, when the child died, — so she told me when she came herself to ask the sheet and things, — but it is quite impossible to say where such a sunda y e vening at esmond hale 175 poor wanderers are to be found at any particular time. they are hardly ever two nights in the same place, you know ; for if they get one night’s lodging for god’s sake, they think it enough in one house, and travel on next day till nightfall brings them to some hospitable door, perhaps miles away from their shelter of the night before.” “ then you think, my dear aunt, that there would be little use in trying to find this poor man out? indeed, i feel very anxious about him and his family — their case seems so very hard.” “ it is hard, henrietta, very hard ; for the wretched man has, as i am informed, never entirely recovered the effects of the long illness following on his fall. they say he is a most pitiable object, and i would be most happy to do what i could for him and his poor children, but, you see, lie will accept no assistance from me, and your uncle, on the othe hand, will not allow me to give it.” “ poor miserable creatures ! ” sighed the gentle mourner ; “their lot on earth is surely a hard one. god help the poor ! ” “ my poor henrietta,” said her aunt, as she kissed her at parting, “in all your own sore affliction your heart is not closed against the sorrows of others. and yet there are those who would be scandalised to hear of your expressing sympathy for any of these unfortunate people.” “ say no more of that, my dearest aunt,” was the earnest reply ; “ why should i blame all for the fault of one ? i cannot, and i will not, be scandalised who may ! good-night, dear aunt ; may god bless and protect you from every danger 1 ” chapter xtv. miss markham’s story. a week or two after that evening at esmond hall, harriet markham sat by the bow-window of a summer-parlour in effingham castle, looking out with pensive eyes on the richly variegated landscape presented by the fine old park, with its hill and dale, and wood and water, for a fair lake slumbered in its “ bosom of shade,” visible from that end of the castle where harriet sat. the scene was more beautiful far to the eye than if day in its pride had arrayed it, and, as she watched the blue mist curling upward from the lake in delicate forms of beauty, her graceful fancy fashioned them into naiads and fays, the guardian spirits of the silvery waters. then her thoughts began to wander back into the past, and the shadowy forms of other years crowded around, mingling with the mists of eve, their voices whispering, as it were, in the low soft zephyr that so gently murmured by, stirring the leaves oil the branches outside as with the breath of life. notwithstand ing her flight into the realms of fancy, harriet was not alone ; the earl and mr. goodchild were playing chess at the farther end of the room, and near by sat mrs. pakenham, a large, handsome woman of very mature years, and slightly overdressed, watching the game with much apparent interest. the little girls had made their curtseys some time before and retired with their nurse, who was an elder sister of celia mulquin — this en parenthese. “take care, my lord,” said mrs. pakenham, who, being a cousin-german of lord effingham, had kindly taken charge of 170 miss markham's stor z 177 his splendid menage since the death of the countess some two years before, — “ take care, my lord ! there goes your knight ! — you have need to look after that castle ! what were you thinking of that time ? ” “that is easy told,” said lord effingham; “i was thinking of an air i heard that poor maniac sing on our return from the rock last spring. do you remember it, miss markham ? ” “ excuse me, my lord,” said harriet, with a start and a blush ; “i — i did not hear what you said.” the earl repeated his question, and then hummed the first part of the air. it was “ shule aroon.” “it were strange indeed, my lord,” said harriet, smiling, “if i did not remember that . it was one of the airs that oftenest soothed my infant slumbers.” “i know not why it is,” said lord effingham, “but ever since it seems to haunt me like a voice from the world of spirits. it is, indeed, a fine old air. do you know the words, miss markham ? ” “ i know one set of words, my lord, but perhaps not the best, for there are several versions of 4 shule agra ’ and ‘ shule aroon/ — as it is indiscriminately called, — sung here in munster ; most of them are in irish, and can hardly be rendered into good english so as to preserve the exceeding beauty and simplicity of the original. the words i have are a sort of free translation, the refrain being still sung in the old musical language of the gael.” “ you would oblige me much by singing the song for us,” said the earl, whereupon the honourable mrs. pakenham drew up her portly form in loftiest state, and looked the contempt for irish music which she cared not at that moment to express in words. miss markham bowed her acquiescence. mr. goodchild subbed his fat white hands, and smiled and nodded, and asked if he should not have the honour of fetching the guitar. “no, no, mr. goodchild — many thanks for your politeness,” said harriet, laughing at the odd association of ideas; “the guitar and my old song would make strange discordant melody together — to borrow a lull for the occasion. here is the song, 12 178 the hermit of the rock . my lord.” and she sang with all the sweetness and simplicity of the true ballad style — “oil, have you seen my norah fay? she’s left me all the sad long day, alone to sing a weary lay ; go dhi mo vourneen, slaun ; shule, shule, slnile aroon ; shule go sochir agus shule go cune, shule go tlieiv dorris agus eilig lume. as’ go dhi mo vourneen slaun. you’ll know her by her raven hair, her deep blue eye, her forehead fair, her step and laugh that banish care ; as’ go dhi mo vourneen slaun. in form you may her semblance find, but none like her, of womankind, if you can see her heart and mind ; ■ as’ go dhi mo vourneen slaun. oh, bring to me my norah fay, for hours are days when she’s away ; the sun looks dark, and sweet birds say, go dhi mo vourneen slaun,” etc . 1 “ mercy on me, what a barbarous tongue ! ” said mrs. paken ham. “ how in the world can you articulate such harsh, guttural sounds ? ” “ just as easily as i do the improved saxon which now forms our vernacular. y"ou think the gaelic a ‘barbarous tongue/ my dear mrs. pakenham, and yet that ‘barbarous tongue/ which ought to be still the vernacular of the irish people, was once the language of a highly-civilised nation, spoken alike by king and chief, and warrior-knight and noble lady. the bards of erin in the long-past ages moulded it into forms of rarest beauty, and men who were great lights in their generation made it the vehicle of their thoughts and their lofty inspirations.” “ dear me ! i should not have thought so,” said mrs. paken ham, with an extra assumption of dignity, “ but i suppose you know best, miss markham. how stands the game, my lord ? ” “ oh, the battle is fought and won — for once mr. goodchild has carried the day. miss markham, you were kind enough to 1 the above is mr. and mrs. hall’s translation of one version of “ shule aroon.” of the irish chorus i have elsewhere given a translation. miss markham's story 179 promise to tell us the story of mad mabel. suppose you told it now to while away the hours ? ” “ with much pleasure, my lord,” harriet replied, “ and the more so, as lady ann and lady emma are not present ; for, although they have frequently reminded me of it, i have purposely refrained from gratifying their curiosity, as the story is not exactly one that would benefit them to hear. the tragical scenes i am about to describe as briefly as i can are, alas ! but too common in this unhappy country, and are to some extent, perhaps, irish, owing not so much to the natural ferocity of the people as the unsatisfactory relations between landlord and tenant.” “why, miss markham,” said mrs. pakenham, opening her eyes to their fullest extent, “you don’t mean to say you are going to entertain us with ‘ a tale of irish peasant life,’ do you ? ” “i would not, on any account, think of doing so, mrs. pakenham,” said harriet, “were it not lord effingham’s wish to hear it. so, with your permission and mr. goodchild’s, i will proceed at once, promising, at the same time, for your consolation, to make the story as short as possible.” “miss markham is very good,” said bland mr. goodehild, and he folded his plump hands athwart his goodly paunch with an air of meek resignation that was altogether impressive. the honourable mrs. pakenham took up a chinese fan that lay on a spider-table near, and commenced fanning herself with great force and admirable dexterity. “ your lordship has doubtless heard,” said harriet, “ of the murder of mr. chadwick? i believe almost every one has heard of it, either at the time it occurred or since.” lord effingham replied that he had not only heard of the murder, but had known mr. chadwick, who had been for a short time a sort of under-agent on his irish estates, before he got pro moted to that situation which subsequently cost him his life. “ then your lordship probably knows what manner of man he was, and how little calculated to win either love or respect from the people over whom he was placed in ‘ brief authority.’ ” “it was precisely on account of his excessive harshness, amounting at times almost to brutality, that i was finally obliged to supersede him in his office,” replied the earl. “ 1 had heard so many complaints of his tyrannical treatment of 180 the hermit of the rock. the tenantry that i could not possibly allow him to continue it longer.” “well, my lord, there is reason to fear that his more recent employer cared little how he treated the tenants provided only he squeezed the money out of them. he appears, indeed, to have had a carte blanche , as most irish agents have, in regard to the means to be employed for that end. and yet it is said in the neighbourhood, by way, i suppose, of giving the devil his due, that mr. chadwick was not so excessively severe in exacting the payment of rent as many others who are permitted to live on in their heartless oppression of the poor ; but some how his manner of dealing with the tenants and the peasantry in general was most insulting ; he neither understood nor cared to understand the peculiar sympathies or antipathies of the people amongst whom he lived, and was, therefore, continually treading on their corns, as the vulgar phrase goes, taking no pains at any time to conceal his contempt for them, and though fully conscious that he was an object of hatred to them, taking every opportunity of openly breathing defiance. he was a man of large, unwieldy proportions, as your lordship doubtless remembers, and i have been told that on some occasions, when he had a large number of the peasantry around him, he would say in a scoffing tone, as he rubbed down his huge frontal, puffing the while like a juvenile whale, ‘ you see i’m growing fatter and fatter every day. i’m thriving on your curses, i believe/ then the rustic dissemblers around would glance furtively at each other, and force a laugh, and say, ‘your honour is mighty pleasant, so you are, an* fond of crackin’ your jokes — more power to you, sir, for that same/ but deep in their hearts were rankling the imprecations that fell on them from his foul tongue, and the bitter mockery and contempt wherewith he treated them on all occasions.” “ upon my honour, i do not wonder at his treating them so,” said mrs. pakenham, all at once renewing the fanning process which she had perhaps unconsciously suspended. “i really think they deserve no better.” the earl cast one of his black looks on his stately kins woman, and she was silent. harriet resumed, with a heightened colour— “there is no knowing how long this might have gone on, miss markham's story, \ 181 had not mr. chadwick commenced building a police-barracks at rath cannon, adjacent to holy cross abbey, and only a short distance from thurles. he was in the habit of boasting in all companies, and even to the people themselves, that he was the man to keep the bloody tips in order, and that he was going to have a police-station at rath cannon for the very purpose of watching them. now this, in the peculiar state of the country, and for reasons known to themselves, was just what the peasantry least wished for, and, recognising in this new move yet another and more convincing proof of mr. chadwick’s hatred of them, and, moreover, an open defiance of them, they accepted the challenge, and swore to each other, in their secret meetings, that chadwick must die." “ what a horrible set of wretches ! ” cried mrs. pakenham, now fully absorbed in the narrative. “ what fiends incarnate they must be, and what a cowardly set, moreover, to conspire for the murder of one man ! ” “ my very dear mrs. pakenham,” said the chaplain, “ if you knew this unhappy country better, you would wonder at no act of baseness or cruelty on the part of the people — especially here in tipperary.” “ you are scarcely just to this ‘unhappy country/ mr. good child,” said harriet, looking at him in a way that made him feel rather small, as the phrase goes ; “ even as regards tipperary, your assertion is by far too general and sweeping.” thereupon the good man began to justify himself. “ i pro test, miss markham,” said he, with intense earnestness, “ i did not mean to censure the people — the romanists, namely, of this most miserable country ”— at this the earl smiled, and harriet laughed. “ why, my dear good sir,” said she, “you are making matters worse instead of better. just allow me, pray, to continue my story, and i will take your explanation for granted.” “ permit me to ask one preliminary question, miss mark ham,” said lord effingham : “ how can you account for the widespread conspiracy entered into by the peasantry for the execution of their diabolical purpose 1 ” “very easily, my lord. by the simple fact that the con spiracy already existed in the form of a secret organisation, having revenge for one of its principal objects. they called it, 182 the hermit of the rock. and probably believed it, justice — acting on the assumption, not always unfounded, that there was no justice for them in the law-courts of the land ; that the oppressors — excuse me the harsh word, my lord, i do but borrow it from tlieir phraseology — that the oppressors had the laio in their own hands, and diat they had to look for justice to themselves alone. there was a time when this was true to the very letter, but the mis fortune of the people is that they do not see how times have changed in the country, that a more enlightened spirit is abroad amongst the gentry, and that justice is now to be found on the bench — that, in fact, the partisan magistrate of a former age is now almost the exception to the general rule, and is frowned down by the majority of his brethren on the bench. however, old prejudices, long and fondly cherished, are not easily eradicated from the minds of the illiterate, and, more over, there are always some designing knaves interested in their perpetration, so it is that many of our poor people are led blindfold into these dangerous societies formed amongst them for w r hat they consider self-defence. many, too, who are naturally peaceable and well-disposed, are actually forced, by the most dreadful threats, to join these associations, against their own honest convictions, and against the positive and most solemn prohibition of their church.” “ it is truly a lamentable state of things,” said the earl, “ and the worst of it is, that legislation has no power to reach the evil.” “none whatever, my lord. human legislation will have little effect amongst irishmen, who set divine legislation at defiance. where the efforts of religion fail to make them wiser or better men, no human power can do it. however, as i had the honour of telling your lordship, it was in the mid night assemblies of these misguided men that the death of mr. chadwick was resolved upon. the only difficulty was then to find executioners for their horrid resolve. for some days this ivas a difficulty, for mr. chadwick was knowrn to have his house well provided with arms, and, moreover, to carry arms on his person wherever he went. it was the old story of the cat and the bell. things did not long remain in that state, however, for before the grand meeting of the secret conspirators one night, in a wild gorge of the keeper mountains, appeared a miss markham's story. 183 stalwart young fellow, patrick grace by name, who enjoyed the reputation of being an avenger of wrong and the sworn foe of the tyrannical landlords. without any sort of hesitation he declared his willingness to undertake the execution of the dread sentence pronounced on mr. chadwick, provided he were left to do it in his own way and at his own time. of course his proposal was eagerly accepted, for, though young in years, patrick grace was strong in courage and in resolution. he had so many times proved his prowess in one way or another against the landlords that he was looked upon as a champion of the people’s rights. a rustic don quixote he was, ready to do and dare all things for ‘the cause.’ a deplorable instance he was, too, of that perverted sense of justice which i have endeavoured to describe. what made him still more popular amongst the people was his remarkable personal beauty, accompanied by great sprightliness of manner, and that whole-souled generosity which, above all other qualities, finds its way to the irish heart. such was patrick grace when he presented himself to execute the popular vengeance on mr. chadwick — the admiration of the women and the envy of the men in his own class, and the pride and boast of all. but though the rustic adonis danced with all the pretty girls, and applied ‘ the blarney ’ with skill and effect, he had already made his choice from amongst them, and, as the old ballad says — placed his affections on a comely young dame. and like that same ‘ comely young dame,’ sung by her enamoured swain under the poetical title of the ‘rose of ardee,’ and therein familiar to every rustic singer in many parts of fair ireland, the object of patrick grace’s love was straight, tall, and handsome in every degree ; in fact, just the one to catch and fix the affections of a ‘roving bachelor,’ 1 if they ever were to be caught or fixed. she was an orphan, and lived as a servant in the house of a comfortable farmer, where she was treated, as is usual amongst that class here in ireland, as one of the family. grace was a son of the 1 miss markham here had reference to the name of one of the liveliest and most popular dance-tunes ever “screeved'* on an irish fiddle. 184 the hermit of the rock. family, and during the pleasant evenings that followed the days of toil, the youth and the maiden, thrown together in the heart-opening sunshine of rustic merriment, found themselves, they scarcely knew how or why, bound together by the ten derest bonds of loyal and true affection. and if ever the course of true love did bid fair to run smooth, it was for patrick grace and this rustic beauty, who was soon his be trothed bride, their marriage being only deferred till a mud-wall cabin was put up to shelter their household gods.” “dear me, miss markham,” said mrs. pakenham, yawning wearily, “ what a very tiresome story ! ” “ i cannot agree with you, via belle cousine” said lord effingham ; “i find it extremely interesting. pray proceed, miss markham.” “ it has a peculiar interest for me,” said the grave chaplain, “from the insight it gives into the atrocious immorality of the romish system.” “i am not aware that it does give any such insight,” observed miss markham. “i have shown, on the contrary, that the ‘ romish system/ as you say, so far from encouraging men in these secret combinations and lawless courses, is at all times engaged combating their evil passions, and endeavouring with all its might to suppress those occult associations which are ruinous to the faith and morals of any people, but doubly so to a catholic people, because they withdraw them from the saving influence of religion, and from the life-giving sacraments of the church, in which they are not allowed to participate. do i make the matter intelligible to your lordship i see mr. goodchild is in the condition of those who, being ‘ convinced against their will, are of the same opinion still/” the earl bowed affirmatively, and smiled at the keen sarcasm, which mr. goodchild, luckily for himself, did not seem to understand, probably in blissful ignorance of the gist of the old adage quoted by harriet. “ pray go on with your story,” said the somewhat petulant mrs. pakenham ; “ supper will soon be on the table.” “well, patrick grace was, of course, loudly applauded, and his proposal eagerly accepted, by the secret conclave, few of whose members would have cared to risk their precious lives as he did for the common good,” miss markham's story. 185 “ and did he do it, miss markham?” exclaimed mrs. pakenham in a state of breathless anxiety. “did he do that wicked act ? ” “ he did,” said harriet, her voice sinking beneath the weight of horror and of shame, — “ he did ; he promised to kill the obnoxious agent, and he kept his ivord.” there was silence for a moment, and then harriet resumed, as by an effort — “the young betrothed of patrick grace knew nothing of what was going on ; fearing, perhaps, her importunate entreaties not to imbrue his hands in blood, or run the risk of losing his own life to do the will of others, he would not venture to see her till after the deed was done, and then, he expected that, so far from blaming what he considered his heroic and patriotic act, she would be the first to applaud his self-devotion.” “but where — when — how did he accomplish the awful deed ? ” cried mrs. pakenham. “ he probably waylaid the unfortunate gentleman in some lonely spot under cover of the night,” suggested mr. goodchild. “ he did no such thing, reverend sir. if you will have the goodness to listen, you shall hear what he did. one day, when the great broad sun was shining overhead, mr. chadwick was superintending the erection of the constabulary-barracks before mentioned, talking in his loud, domineering way to the men employed on the work, and little dreaming that his last hour had come, when the daring youth who had undertaken the execution of the fearful sentence secretly pronounced upon him, walked deliberately up, with a pistol in his hand, and shot him with so sure an aim that he fell dead to the ground.” a groan of horror escaped from the lips of mrs. pakenham — she could not speak ; the chaplain was little less agitated. lord effingham alone preserved his composure. “ what ! ” he asked, “in the presence of the workmen ?” “even so, my lord, and of the passers-by, relying, doubtless, on the hatred wherewith mr. chadwick was regarded by all the surrounding peasantry, and fully as much, perhaps, on the secret organisation which underlay the whole strata of society. he very naturally thought that no one would venture to give evidence against him for fear of their terrible revenge. and, indeed, it seemed at first as though he reckoned not without 186 the hermit oe the rock. his host, for he walked away after doing the deed unmolested by any one. one man only, a mason who was standing by mr. chadwick’s side at the fatal moment, exclaimed, perhaps involuntarily, ‘ god forgive you, patrick grace ! ’ but grace little heeded the words, his conscience being perfectly at rest with regard to the nature of the deed he had just perpetrated, and no thought of personal danger from the recognition ever entering his mind.” “ what a frightful perversion of mind ! ” said the earl. “ and especially of the irish mind. if your lordship only knew as i know the intensity of horror wherewith the irish, perhaps more than any other people, regard the commission of murder , you could then understand, in some degree, how great must be the provocation, how fierce the excitement that closes their hearts to pity.” “well, well,” said mrs. pakenliam, with an impatient gesture, “ we can dispense with all that. but what came of it? — did the horrid wretch escape? did no one give evidence against him ? ” “ that is just what i am going to relate,” said harriet, with a quiet smile, and she resumed as follows : “ as may be supposed, grace, having no fear of being brought to trial, took no pains either to conceal himself or deny the commission of a crime which he considered as an act of retributive justice. the news of the tragic event spread like wildfire through the country, and when the veil of darkness covered the earth, the conspirators came together in their secret haunts to meet their emissary and congratulate him and themselves on his successful attempt to rid them of their detested enemy. when asked if he thought any one had seen him doing the deed, he answered carelessly, ‘ why, then, to be sure, didn’t all the men that were workin’ on the buildin’ see me ? but what of that — sure, i knew before i went every one that was in it, an’ they’re all the right sort. philip mara was standin’ right alongside the ould chap when i paid my respects to him, an’ more by token he said, “ god for give you, patrick grace ! ” when he seen chadwick failin’.’ so far all was considered safe, and patrick grace was the idol of the hour, and enjoyed for the time, in his own limited sphere, all the glory of a conqueror. short indeed was his unhallowed triumph. early next day he was arrested on the deposition of miss markham's story. 187 philip mara , and whilst he and his fellow -conspirators cursed the traitor, as they chose to call him, and breathed the most terrible threats against him and his, they little knew what an agonised struggle the worthy mason had undergone before he decided on giving information in the case. mara was an up right, honest, right-thinking man, with intelligence somewhat in advance of his class, and, above all, a deep sense of his obliga tions as a christian, which would not permit him to keep so atrocious a crime secret. and so it was that, trampling under foot all the suggestions of fear and prudence, and most probably encouraged by the advice of his venerable pastor, the brave man did what he considered his bounden duty, and gave information to the nearest magistrate concerning the murder of mr. chad wick. the storm of indignation that burst forth amongst the peasantry on hearing of what they considered mara’s treachery is beyond all conception. those who were, like himself, under the strong influence of religion, secretly applauded his self devotedness, and prayed that god and the blessed virgin might save him from the deadly vengeance of ‘ the boys 9 who held the whole population in terror. but these kindly sympathisers, being the most orderly and virtuous portion of the community, naturally shrank from incurring their enmity by any public expression of their sentiments ; whereas the friends and up holders of the imprisoned grace were loud and vociferous in their denunciations of the ‘informer,’ as they chose to call him. indeed, there would have been little chance of grace’s convic tion on poor philip mara’s testimony had he been left at large, but the government had prudently provided for his safety by keeping him in safe quarters under a strong guard till the time came for the trial, viz. the summer assizes, then not far distant. fear and terror then took possession of the friends of grace, lashed to fury by the consciousness of their inability to save him ; but amid all the raging storm of public and private excite ment, which his family largely shared, there was one gentle heart that uttered no loud complaint, but pined away in sad, heart-w r earing anxiety, with scarce one gleam of hope to keep the life-current flowing. that one was the betrothed bride of patrick grace. and when at last the dreaded day came, and the unhappy culprit stood at the bar, in the pride of youth and manly beauty, firm and undaunted as though the shadow of the 188 the hermit of the rock. gibbet fell not athwart him, it was hard to look on him and believe him guilty of so heinous a crime, so cold-blooded a murder. his ‘ sweetheart/ as they would say themselves, was not present, being kept away from the court by her friends almost by main force, and the fact of her being absent from the family group, whose presence his keen eye soon detected, was an inexpressible relief to the doomed prisoner, though the sight of her, as his heart whispered, would have been to him as dew to the parched flower. yet he was glad — oh, how very glad ! — that she was not there to see him a manacled felon at the bar, charged with a fearful crime which he well knew was about to be proved home against him. and it was proved home, and notwithstanding all the professional skill of the eminent lawyers engaged for the defence, and the audible sobs and groans and piteous entreaties for mercy, which all the exertions of the police could not silence in the body of the court, the awful sentence of death was pronounced on patrick grace, unanimously found guilty of the murder of mr. chadwick. then the fiery spirit of revenge burst forth from the ashy lips of the yet undismayed prisoner, and he said, when permission was given him to speak, 4 before a twevmonth passes til have revenge in my grave.’ many a heart echoed those fatal words that day, and swore that so it should be. the sentence was that the prisoner should be hung by the neck till dead, on the very spot where his crime had been committed. and so they reared the dismal gibbet within sight of the grand old pile beneath whose ruined walls the royal o’brien who raised it to the honour of god sleeps in peace, ‘his warfare o’er/ — and much warfare did king donald wage, for he was a man of might in his generation, and a thorn, moreover, in strongbow’s side. it was a strange scene, — the noble ruins and the sculptured tombs, and the forgotten graves of the dead of other years, — and the rich level fields heavy with the unreaped grain, and green in the freshness of irish verdure, —and the seething, surging, heaving multitude topping ditches and walls and trees and every spot that could give a view of the doleful spectacle, — and high over all the dreadful apparatus that was to launch into eternity the pride of tipperary peasants. the place immediately round the gallows was occupied by a large body of constabulary, their bayonets glittering in the sun, and their dark green uniform miss markham's story. 189 strongly contrasted with the many-hued frieze coats of the country-people in the crowd outside their serried circle. much anxiety was felt amongst the people generally as to whether grace would die penitent or impenitent ; the good hoped the former ; the had, and especially his brethren of the secret society, the latter, for they would consider it a triumph for the enemy and an indelible disgrace to them if he ‘ gave in 9 at the last moment and 4 didn’t die like a man.’ fortunately for his own eternal welfare, young grace had been brought to a sense of his condition before god, and when he appeared on the gallows with the priest by his side, — while breathless silence chained the lips, and touched the hearts of all, — he spoke in a clear, firm, manly voice, and expressed his heart felt sorrow for the awful crime which he was now to expiate with his life, asking god’s pardon, and the pardon of all good christians, and, moreover, warning all who heard him to beware of the evil course which had brought him to that untimely and ignominious end. this was a stunning blow to his late associates, but to his nearest and dearest, and to all pious christians, it was both joy and triumph — the triumph of religion over irreligion and impiety. but just as the young man ceased to speak, and the priest withdrew from the lapboard, one wild scream of heart-piercing anguish rose from the outskirts of the crowd, then a shriek of maniac laughter, and people were seen to carry away a fair young girl, whose wild gestures and wilder cries, mingled with strange fits of laughter, told too plainly that there, indeed, was ‘ a mind o’er thrown.’ it is hardly necessary to say that this unhappy young creature was the affianced bride of patrick grace.” “ but how did she come to be present at such a moment! surely her friends might have anticipated such a result.” 4 ‘it is probable that they did, my lord, for they had kept her at home under a close watch, but by some means she eluded their vigilance and arrived just at the fatal moment.” “and she is ” — “mad mabel. you may judge what her beauty must once have been when you see how much of it still remains.” “ poor thing ! ” said lord effingham in a tone of sincere 190 the hermit of the rock. compassion, — “poor thing, what a hard fate is hers! — a young and a loving heart so early blighted ! ” “it was very sad,” sighed mr. goodchild,— “very sad indeed !” and he refreshed himself with a pinch of snuff. “ it was worse than sad,” said mrs. pakenham, rising, “ it was horrible; and pm sure i don’t know how you could sit to hear it out, my lord. i hope, miss markham, when you next undertake to tell us a story, it will be of a more entertaining kind. now let us go to supper.” “ but what about the promised revenge ? ” said the earl to harriet, as he gave his arm to the elder lady, who was looking her loftiest at the moment. “ that is a tale in itself, my lord ; and one more tragical even than this. it would be the death of mrs. pakenham to hear it.” “ pray do not tell it, then,” said the chaplain, as he offered his arm, with a very low bow, and they all proceeded to the supper-room. chapter xv. midsummer-eve on the rock of cashel. it was midsummer-eve, and the sun of the longest day had just sunk beneath the western horizon ; star after star came out in the blue heavens above, and fire after fire dotted the broad plain below, as if a brighter reflection of the pale light shed down from the glorious canopy hung on high. these were the bonfires which on st. john’s eve make all ireland glad and bright, the young uproarious in their harmless mirth as they dance in merry circles round “ the bonfire,” and the old sad amid the festal joys as they talk to each other of “ auld lang syne,” and the summer days when they were young, — young and blithe and light-hearted as those who have now taken their places around the midsummer-eve fires, just as those christian fires in honour of st. john, and symbolising the light of christianity, have replaced the ancient “fires of baal ” lit on the same charmed eve on the hills and in the valleys of ireland, where the sons and daughters of the land once rever enced in those “ sacred fires ” the image of their most potent god, even the great bel. half sad, half gay was the chat wherewith our old friend bryan cullenan and his friend shaun the piper beguiled the tranquil hour as they sat together under the shattered arch of what was once the grand portal of the cathedral. the noises of the old borough and of all the merry dancers at the fires round the base of the rock came softened to the ears of the two old men, and the soothing influence of the hour brought that ineffable calm to their hearts which only the contented, trusting, simple christian can experience here below. earlier 191 192 the hermit of the rock. in the evening it had been shaun’s intention to visit some of the bonfires, with a lucrative object in view, but, as time wore on, and he and bryan exchanged reminiscences of their boyish days, and of friends long dead, and joys long vanished, shaun gave up the notion of going to the bonfires : “ for,” said he, “ it wouldn’t be worth my while, maybe, for all i’d make, to be trampin’ round from one to another, an’ that’s what i’d have to do to make anything at all ! so if i’d do with it, i’ll do icithout it, an’ any way i’m not badly off at the present time, thanks be to god almighty ! now, only it ’id be drawin’ them all about us from below, i’d give you a tune or two that ’id warm your poor ould heart.” “oh, not here, shaun agra, not here,” said bryan in a deprecating tone ; “ why, you don’t know who’d be listenin’ to you ! ” and he dropped his voice almost to a whisper, and cast a furtive glance around. “ an’ what do / care who’d be listenin’ to me ? ” said merry hearted, fearless shaun. “ there isn’t one buried on the rock o’ cashel, i’ll go bail, that wouldn’t have a gra for the ould piper that never did man or mortial any harm, but makes pleasure an’ innocent divarsion wherever he goes. you needn’t be squeezin’ my arm, now, bryan; for i’m sure there never was priest or friar, or bishop aither, on irish ground — barrin’ them big buddaghs of english bishops, an’ who cares about them? — that hadn’t an ear an’ a heart for the ould ancient music.” “ athen, shaun, will you howld your whisht ? ” said bryan in a low troubled voice. “ i’ll tell you, there’s some o’ them round us now ! you’re bringin’ them out o’ their graves with your foolish talk.” this staggered shaun a little. “wisha, bryan,” he whis pered, “how do you know that? do you see anything?” and he began rolling his sightless eyes around as though they too could penetrate the deep recesses of the ruins. bryan made no answer ; his eyes, wide distended, were fol lowing a dark figure that had glided out from the farther end of the palace, across the little open space towards the south transept of the cathedral, close to which stands the pillar-tower, the old man held his breath to listen, but no sound could he distinguish within or around the buildings save the dull midsummer-eve on the rock, 193 flapping of the bat’s wing and the light breeze rustling in the ivy on the walls. “ is there anything wrong wid you, bryney ? ” whispered shaun anxiously. “well — no,” hesitated bryan in the same low tone; “but, some way or another, shaun, ever sence the poor young master came to his end in the way he did, i feel as if there was some thin’ over me ; an’ there’s times when i’m a little daunted to be out afther nightfall, barrin’ i’m up here on the rock.” “ wisha, bryan, it isn’t afeard of his ghost you’d be ? ” said shaun in a tone of anxious inquiry that had fear at the bottom of it. “no, it isn’t himself i’d be so much afeard of seein’ as his murderer ! ” the last word was whispered in shaun’s ear, and it made the piper shiver all over. “ i think i’d never get over the sight of him now, for i seen him onst sence he done the deed, an’ i wasn’t the betther of it for many’s the day afther.” “ you seen him onst, bryan? — no, but did you?” “as plain as i see you now, an’ as close to me, too, in a manner. christ save us ! what’s that ? ” a cold, heavy hand was laid on the old man’s shoulder, and, starting up, he saw a tall dark figure close by his side, the eyes looking down on him from under a cap or hat that seemed to his excited fancy of wonderful shape, and one, moreover, that “ would fit finn maccoul,” — at least, so thought bryan. it was, or appeared to be, precisely the same figure that had glided through the evening shadows a little before, and, moreover, if bryan were not much mistaken, he had seen it, or something like it, more than once of late flitting far off behind the pillars, or under the arches, when the night shadows began to fall, or the moon’s pale ray lay cold and ghastly on the place of death. “ in the name o’ god what are you ? ” said bryan, starting up from under the stony hand, every hair on his head beginning to stand on end. “ spake, i command you, in the name o’ the father, son, and holy ghost.” instead of answering, the figure glided away as noiselessly as it came ; but bryan, anxious for the honour of the rock, where a ghost had never crossed his path till these latter days, and determined to sift the matter to the bottom, so as to ascertain what manner of spirit it was that made bold to show itself in 13 194 the hermit of the rock that holy place, hastened after the apparition with all the speed he could make. “ for god’s sake, bryan, who are you talkin’ to ? ” cried shaun, forgetting his caution in his increasing apprehensions. “ bryney, i say, bryney ! ” raising his voice still higher ; “athen, why don’t you answer me!” all was silent, and, as the echo of his own voice died away amongst the ruins, a chilling sense of loneliness fell like a pall on shaun’s heart and mind. “ i vow to god he’s gone ! ” said he, after feeling with his hand in the place where he knew bryan had been sitting; “it’s a trick he’s playin’ on me, an’ nothing else. wisha, who’d think bryney the rock had so much fun in him? well, he can’t frighten ??ze, that’s one comfort, an’ to let him see that, i’ll give him a tune — it’ll pass the time bravely, an’ keep up one’s heart a bit till my ould chap comes back, for afther all it is a lonesome place, an’ that’s god’s truth. here goes, now.” and so saying, shaun blew his chanter, and struck up “the dusty miller” with a hearty goodwill, and a lusty vigour that brought out the merriest tones in his bag, and made his own heart as light as a feather. “ i’m thinkin’ that’ll chase the ghosts, anyhow,” quoth shaun, warming more and more at the exhilarating sound of his own music. “now we’ll give them ‘haste to the wedding!’” and no sooner said than done. “well, it’s a folly to talk,” said he, “there’s a power o’ fun in these same ould pipes o’ mine. hoogh ! shaun, your sowl ! it’s a pity you’d ever die ! ” his music and his self -laudation came to an end together, when bryan rushed up breathless, and, seizing the chanter with no gentle hand, pulled it from between his fingers, saying, “are you mad, shaun? or what’s cornin’ over you, at all, to gc playin’ up your jigs an’ reels among the dead on the rock o cashel ? didn’t i tell you not to do it ? ” “you did, an’ then you goes off wid yourself an’ laves me here all alone wid my pipes, an’ sure, what could i do but make them spake to keep me company ? if i done any harm, it’s you’s to blame. i didn’t expect you to do the like, bryan cullenan, an’ you my sister mary’s sponsor, god rest her sow in glory — och, am-en this night ! ’ midsummer-eve on tee rock. 195 “ i couldn't help it, shaun,” said bryan, his voice trembling with some new and strange emotion. “you couldn’t help it ? — athen, how is that, bryney*” said shaun in his natural tone of easy good -humour; anger or vexation was but a ripple on the surface of his tranquil mind. “an’ now i think of it, didn’t i hear you talkin’ to some one there a while ago ? ” “ in coorse you did,” said bryan as composedly as he could ; “ an’ if you were anywhere convaynient, many’s the time you’d hear me talkin’ when there’s ne’er a one but myself.” “i know that,” replied shaun; “but there’s two ways of talkin’, an’ more, too, if it goes to that. come now, bryan, tell the truth, didn’t you see or hear something that time % ” “wisha, the ne’er a thing worse than myself,” returned bryan evasively; “maybe it was them weary bats i was talkin’ to, for they do be flyin’ about me here in the dusk when i’m at my night-prayers, or maybe sittin’ thinkin’ of one thing or another — sometimes they’ll come flappin’ their wings in my very face, the misc7wevous crathurs, that you’d think it was makin’ game o’ me they wor. but hadn’t we best be gettin’ doavn off the rock, shaun agra? it must be gettin’ late, for i see most o’ the fires are dyin’ out.” shaun assented in a tone of abstraction very unusual with nim. he was not satisfied with bryan’s explanation, and wondered much that his old friend would have any reserve with him. “ howsomever,” said he to himself as the two iescended the steep road from the old palace to the gate, 4 it’s like hedoes it for the best — maybe it’s afeard of scarin’ me he is, on account o’ me bein’ out so often afther nightfall.” the bare supposition was more than sufficient to clear shaun’s tunny old brow of the light cloud that had settled on it, and io ! richard was himself again. “in coorse you’ll come home with me,” said bryan, as v having locked the gate, he took hold of shaun’s arm. “no, no,” cried shaun hastily ; “ i’m obleeged to you all the tame, bryan, but i’d sooner go somewhere else.” “ why, then, what’s that for ? ” “och,” replied shaun evasively, “sure, i know you haven’t any room to spare.” “there’s room enough for you , anyhow,” said bryan some 196 the hermit of the rock what testily ; “ but if you don’t want to come, you can’t say but you were asked.” now shaun had a reason for declining the offer which he could not, or would not, tell bryan, yet he felt that some reason he ought to give, and he was casting about in his simple mind what he had best say. all at once a voice spoke near him, almost at his elbow. “ i thought you weren’t cornin’ down the night — it’s a wondher you did, aither.” shaun uttered an exclamation of terror, and came near dropping his pipes in his fright. “why, shaun, what ails you, man?” said bryan soothingly. “ sure, it’s only poor cauth that came up the road to see if i was cornin’.” “ i know — i know,” stammered shaun, gasping for breath, “ but it took a start out o’ me to meet her in this lonesome place — i mane — i mane — to meet any one at all of a suddent that way.” the shudder that was creeping through shaun’s sturdy frame was not lost on either of his hearers. a kind of nondescript sound, neither laugh nor cry, but something between the two, was heard to escape from cauth’s lips, and, drawing closer around her the skirt of her drugget gown which she had turned up over her head, she muttered some unintelligible words, and hurried away towards the cottage. “ is she gone ? ” whispered shaun. “ she is, avick ; but what in the world came over you that time ? — sure, it isn’t afeard o’ cauth you’d be ? ” “ well, i dunna how it is, bryan ; of coorse i’m not afeard of anybody, leastways her, but then it’s aisy takin’ a start out of a poor dark crathur like me.” “but where are you goin’ to lodge the night?” inquired bryan, himself no little disturbed by what had passed. “ at johnny farrell’s there below, if you lead me to the do >r, for god’s sake.” “ it’s myself ’ill do that, shaun, if you didn’t ask me, at all,” said bryan, and they walked on in silence for some five minutes, when he spoke again : “ shaun,” said he, “ there’s something about cauth that’s mighty quare : you know more about her than i do — i see that — an’ i’d be very thankful to you if you’d tell me what and who she is.” midsummer-eve on the rock, 197 “ it wouldn’t do you any good if i did,” replied shaun quickly. “ but i’ll tell you what i’ll do,” and he laughed good humouredly ; “ i will tell you what i know about cauth if you’ll tell me what you seen and heard this night on the bock above ? ” “ well,” said bryan evasively, “sure, i seen, for one thing, the best hand at ‘the swaggerin’ jig’ in all tipperary, an’ the pipes he has that can’t be bate any more than himself ; an’ as for hearin’, why, upon my credit, shaun, i heard what i never expected to hear on the bock o’ cashel if i lived to the age of mathusalem, — an’ what no one ever heard there before, i’ll go bail, — that’s ‘bobbin’ joan’ an’ ‘haste to the wedding.’ i’ll warrant you, it ’ill be all over the town the morrow that music was heard on the bock the night, an’ they’ll be all full sure it was nothing earthly that was in it.” “ an’ there was something there that wasn’t earthly,” put in shaun. “ how, wasn’t there, bryney ? — yis or no, like a man ! ” “ well, not that / seen or heard.” “bryney,” said shaun, lowering his voice to a whisper, “ take care, now, what you say — did you, or did you not, see young mr. esmond’s ghost ? ” “mr. esmond’s ghost?” said bryan, with a start; “why, what in the world put that in your head ? ” “well, but did you see him?” “did you see him?” retorted bryan. “how, you seen him jist as much as i did, an’ that’s god’s own truth. here we’re at johnny farrell’s now — but stop a minnit, shaun ! — now ’on’t you tell me afore we part what you know about cauth ? i declare i’m beginnin’ to be a little daunted myself on account of the quare ways she has. maybe it isn’t safe to have her in the house — eh, shaun ? ” “ pooh, pooh, bryan ! don’t be makin’ a fool of yourself — she’ll not hurt you ! ” “ but did she ever hurt any one ? ” “ wisha, bryney the bock, you foolish ould man, you ! do you think it’s murdher any one she’d do? hot but what there’s people that does worse ” — “worse than murdher, shaun? why, what worse could they do ? ” “ many a thing, bryan — many a thing ; though god forbid 198 the hermit of the rock. i’d ever be the man to make light of murdlier , still i say there’s as bad things done — ay, and worse, that there’s no law for, aither ! god be with you, bryan, an’ i wish you may never die, or nobody kill you, till you catch me again, afther dark, on the kock o’ cashel ! ” when bryan entered his own cottage, he found his frugal supper awaiting his coming, consisting of some few potatoes, kept hot in the skillet beside the brusli-fire, and a noggin of fresh buttermilk standing on the little table. cauth was sitting on her “creepy,” both her hands tightly clasped around her knees and her eyes fixed in moody thought on the faintly-flickering blaze emitted by the crackling brambles on the hearth. as bryan entered, she broke into a somewhat angry apostrophe addressed to a harmless cricket who was warbling his merry solo in some crevice about the hearth. “ wisha, weary on you for a one cricket ! it’s aisy seen yoi^ have little to trouble you, or you wouldn’t be ever an’ always deevin’ my ears wid that sharp voice o’ yours that goes through my very head ! ” “athen, cauth,” said bryan, as he took his seat at the table, and, blessing himself, began his supper, “what harm does the poor cricket do you ? — it’s often i’d wish there was a cricket near me on the kock above. i think it’s great company to hear the weeny crathurs singin’ their little song, divartin’ themselves down among the ashes.” “ humph ! ” said cauth, “ i wouldn’t doubt you. but never mind the cricket now — i’ve news for you the night.” “ you have, now? — and what is it, aroon ? ” “ the young mistress was here the day, an’ she wants me to go up the morrow to the big house, an’ blamed me for not goin’ this while back.” “wisha, cauth, are you in earnest?” said bryan, laying down his noggin, his mouth and eyes wide open to catch the answer. “arrah, maybe it’s jokin’ i am!” said cauth, with bitter irony. “ i tell you she was here, an’ that’s all about it. but och, och ! it’s the sore change that’s in her since i seen her last — she looks twenty years older, you’d think, — an’ sure, sure, that 8 no wondher— didn’t myself grow twenty — ay, thirty years older in one week ? — oyeh ! it’s me knows what heavy midsummer-eve on the rock. 199 grief can do ! ” and she shook her head drearily, her gaze still on the fire, or rather on vacancy. “ an’ dear knows but hers was a heavy grief, cauth. but wouldn’t it be a quare thing, now, if there was them above ground that has as sore a heart about that same murder as she has, god bless her for ever ! ” cauth started from her reverie and gave bryan a look that, as he afterwards said, “was as good as a process”— (a law term this, non-irish reader !) “ well, bryan, you do bate all, sometimes, wid the foolish words you say ! — now, who could have as sore a heart for the loss of him as his own darlin’ wife, that was the flower o’ the world wid him, an’ him the same wid her ? hut, tut, man ! let nobody ever hear you say the likes o’ that again ! it’s aisy seen you have no gumption in you, anyhow, or you icouldn’t say it.” “well, now, see here, cauth,” said the old man meekly, “i know one that went to lough diar-og for the good of his sowl not many weeks ago, an’ them not a drop’s blood to him, aither. how, what do you think o’ that*?” “wisha, what could i think, barrin’ that them that did it must have had a great wish entirely for the poor master ? how, if it was one of his own a body wouldn’t wondher, but a stranger to do it was past the common altogether. the lord reward them, whoever they wor that done it, for sure it must be some holy pilgrim or another — maybe barney byrne ? ” " ho, it wasn’t. guess again.” “ well, maybe it was susy eooney ?” “ho, it wasn’t any pilgrim at all, but”— “ but who ? ” “ why, jerry pierce ! ” and he lowered his voice to the lowest pitch. “jerry pierce?” repeated cauth, jumping fairly from her seat, and in so doing upsetting the skillet, whereupon the few potatoes remaining in it ran helter-skelter over the floor in all directions, — “jerry pierce?” and she crossed herself as bryan had never seen her do before. “ how dare you mention his name to me, the curse-o’-god villain ? him to go to the island ! i wondher he wasn’t afeard o’ bein’ swallowed up in the lake ! — sure, i’d be there many’s the day ago myself, only for fear of vexin’ the lord more an’ more, goin’ among good christians 200 the hermit of the rock . in that blessed an’ holy place, where the best that goes has to walk barefoot all the time they’re in it.” “well, be that as it may, cauth, what i tell you’s true — with all the watch that’s on him, that same man made his way to lough diar-og, 1 with the intention i tould you.” “an’ how did you know that?” asked cauth sharply. ~*did you see him ?” “ it’s no matter whether i did or not, — if i didn’t see himself, i seen them that did.” “ bryan cullenan,” said the woman, her eyes flashing with a strange and lurid light, “ you’re not the man i took you for, or it isn’t colloguin’ you’d be with mr. esmond’s murderer ! i thought, if it was true to you, there was no one worse agin him than yourself. i vow to god, if i could only get wind of where he’s to be found, i’d go myself an’ give information to the magisthrates, though i wouldn’t take a penny of the reward, but jist to put him in the way of gettin’ what he desarves. hangin’ would be too good for the villain, an’ i’d be glad to see him strung up like a dog the night before the morrow ! ” “i wouldn’t doubt you,” said a deep voice from outside, speaking through a chink of the frail door, — “ i wouldn’t doubt you, kate costelloe ! you’re an old hand at that business, — but you'll not hang jerry pierce /” the turbulent spirit of the dame was fairly overcome by this mysterious salutation ; she sank breathless on a seat. bryan lost not a moment in opening the door, muttering to himself as he did so, “well, if lie's a livin’ man this night, that’s his voice.” whoever it was, there was no one to be seen outside, though the moonlight was shining full on the road, revealing in all the distinctness of “garish day ” the jagged outlines of the great rock, the wall, and the overhanging ruins. “he’s not there, anyhow,” said bryan, coming back and addressing the old woman, who had by that time recovered her momentary faintness; “but whoever he was, he seems to know you.” “he does,” she replied doggedly. “ and is it thrue, then, that you’re ” — 1 this is the way in which the word derg in this name is always pronounced by the peasantry. midsummer-eve on the rock. 201 “ kate costelloe i ” she said, with a look and tone, as it were, of defiance. bryan was silent for a few moments, during which he sat looking thoughtfully down on the clay floor, the woman watching him with a sort of lynx-like scrutiny. at last he spoke, but without raising his eyes : “ why didn’t you tell me before who you wor ? ” “don’t you hear it time enough v* “well, that’s true, but still” — “ but still you’d rayther have known before that you had kate costelloe on your flure ? well, that’s a droll thing, too, for i thought there wasn’t man or woman in tipperary that ’id care to have my four bones undher the roof wid them.” this she said in a tone of bitter mockery, but all at once her sharp features assumed a softer expression, her pale lips quivered with a tremulous motion, and she said, as if to herself — “ an’ sure, what wondher is it ? i am a fearsome thing, an’ there’s no one more afeard o’ me than i am myself — och, och ! ” and, laying her hands one over the other on her heart, she groaned heavily, “ och, och ! but it ’id be the aise to me if this weary heart ’id break at onst ; but it ’on’t do that, for it’s as hard as a stone — ha ! ha ! ” and how dreary was her laugh, “sure, i needn’t tell anybody that , for the world knows if i hadn’t a hard, hard heart i’d never a’ done what i did.” “well, well, cauth — or kate, or whatsomever you are.” “ call me cauth still, for fear of any one hearin’ the other name — an’ besides, i don’t want to hear it myself — oh no, no ! ” she added, with sudden wildness, “ anything but that— anything in the world wide but the one theij used to call me.” she covered her face with her hands and lapsed into stolid silence. “well, cauth,” began bryan again after a long pause, “i know there’s many a one wouldn’t wish to have you next or nigh them, but — but” — he drew a long breath — “i see you’re sorry for what you done, an’ — an’ — til not be harder on a fellow-crathur than god almighty is. but what brought you here at all ? ” “ay, that’s the question,” said cauth, raising her face from between her hands, her eyes again flashing that angry fire. “ you want to know what brought me here? i’ll jist tell von then : i couldn’t stay where i was, an’ the people all knowin 202 the hermit of the rock me, an’ where i’d have a chance of seein’ the ould man pinin’ away, lonely an’ lonesome, wid the staff gone from his ould age, — an’ knowin’ who took it — knowin’ who took it ! — ochone, ochone ! wouldn’t i thravel on my knees to africa to get out of his way, an’ to hide myself where nobody ’id know me ? ” “ and that’s why you came to cashel all the way ? ” “an’ what else ’id bring me? i thought that nobody ’id know me here, but i see i was mistaken — an’ sure, i might ha’ known that i couldn’t hide myself, — no matter where i’d go i’d be found out, an’ the shame taken out o’ me. 0 lord ! 0 lord ! is there no place where the sinner can be at rest ? ay, there’s one place — one place” she added solemnly, — “one place where the broken heart is at rest, an’ shame an’ grief an’ trouble are never felt any more — that place is the grave — the quiet grave under the green sod ; but sure, we must wait for that rest till god plases — we can’t cut short the life that god gave us ; no matter how miserable it is, we must live it out till our time comes ! — an ’ we will, too , — we’ll fight the battle out, come what will, an’ bear the burthen to the last.” there was a hectic flush on her cheek and a bright light in her eyes as she raised them to heaven, and bryan thought as he watched her that the very features changed before him, and the face was not that of old cauth, but another and a fairer. it was the strong spirit of faith that shone there triumphant over despair. “cauth,” said bryan, “don’t fear that you’ll ever want a home while i have one ; it’s a poor one, to be sure, but you’re as welcome in it as the flowers of may ” — “an’ you’ll promise me that you’ll never tell who i am — unless i give you lave ? ” “i will, cauth. there’s my hand on it.” “ god bless you, bryan — god bless you ! ” said cauth, wit\ touching fervour; “it’s a comfort to know that there’s one creature on the earth that doesn’t hate poor kate costelloe.” here a loud, sharp knocking at the door cut short any further conversation. cauth started up, alarmed ; but bryan, calm as ever, telling her not to be afraid, went toward the door and asked who was there. “it’s me — don’t be botherin’ me with your questions, but let me in.” midsummer-eve on the rock 203 the voice was that of a female, and bryan opened the door without further parley. an aged crone hobbled in, and it was with no very pleasant feeling that bryan discovered under the hood of her red cloak the fairy-woman. by an involuntary movement cautli retreated, as she thought, out of sight, into a dark corner. not unseen she went, however, for the uncouth visitor, striking her stick on the ground, called out in a tone of the sternest authority, “come out here, kate costelloe, an’ put some milk in this can for me. come out, i say ; where's the use o’ you hidin' from me ? ” the woman came forth at a snail's pace, and took the tin vessel which the other held out, trembling the while like an aspen leaf. “well, i’ll give you all i have,” she faltered out, “ but that isn’t much. there it is, now, an' much good may it do you.” “i don't want it to do me good,” was the sharp reply; “it isn’t for me it is, at all, but for tim murtha, that's down with the faver.” “tim murtha?” cried bryan. “the lord save us, honest woman, is it in earnest you are ? ” “ if you come up to my fine elegant house on gallows hill above, you’ll soon see whether i’m jokin' or not. i tell you the man took bad this mornin' from the fair dint o’ hunger an' misery — not but that he'd ha' got enough to keep life in him self and the childer, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to go out and ask it, barrin' of an odd time afther night, and though i was willin’ to share the last bit i had wid him an' the poor motherless childer he has, all i could get wasn’t enough to give four of us a male a day, so it's starvin' we all wor, for tim wouldn't let me go ask the good bit an' sup where i knew i’d get plenty if i went.” “an' is he very bad?” said bryan anxiously. “not as bad as he will be, but he's bad enough, an’ it’s my opinion he will never stand on green grass, — but i must hurry back with the milk to make whey for him. my blessin' an' the blessin' o' god be in the place o' what you gave me.” and away she stumped with her knotty stick, leaving bryan and cauih full of compassion for the misfortunes of poor tim murtha. chapter xvi. sunset on the rock, and phil moran’s story. the first july sun was sinking behind the western rim of the mountains that gird the golden vale, when the effingham carriage was again in waiting at the foot of the rock of cashel, whilst a liveried groom led a handsome saddle-horse to and fro, the noble animal nowise content, it would seem, with the restraint imposed on his light and agile limbs. on the rock above, the earl, mrs. pakenham, miss markham and the children, with a widowed sister of lord effingham, recently arrived from england, were listening with more or less attention to some of bryan’s old-world legends. it was partly to show the antiquities on the rock to lady pemberton, the earl’s sister, that the party were there on that occasion, and partly because lord effingham wished to pay the place another visit before he left for england, which he proposed doing in a few days. it so happened that, whilst bryan was entertaining the party with his curious descriptions and quaint reminiscences of persons and things, another party came to claim his services as guide, and in the new-comers harriet recognised with pleasure the two mrs. esmonds, mary hennessy, and bella le poer, with uncle harry and attorney moran as escort. miss markham at once excused herself to her own party, and joined the others in their exploration of the ruins, which she soon understood was proposed at this particular time for the special benefit of young mrs. esmond, with a view to divert her thoughts even for a while from the dreary circle to which they were now so long circumscribed. “ bryan,” said miss markham, smiling, “you can continue to give your undivided attention to lord effingham and the sunset on the rock 205 ladies — i will endeavour to supply your place to that party just arrived, who are my particular friends.” “but who are they, miss markham?” inquired bryan anxiously, as he put up his hand to shade his failing eyes from the slanting beams of the fervid sun. “oh, it’s the esmonds, bryan, and miss hennessy and miss le poer, and mr. moran. you know some of them know the bock almost as well as yourself, so between us we shall manage to do the honours to those who are not so familiar with the ruins.” so saying, away she went, and after her tripped the two little girls, never so happy as in her company. for some time the two parties moved in different directions over the bock, but in the hall of the minstrels in the old palace they chanced to meet, and as lord effingham was already acquainted with miss hennessy and miss le poer, — the latter of whom he took care to present to his sister and mrs. pakenham as a cousin of lady blessington, — a general introduction followed, and the interchange of courteous but distant civilities being duly gone through, the company pro ceeded together to examine what yet remained to be seen, forming themselves naturally into such groups as taste or sympathy dictated. for some time the earl, with lady pemberton on one arm and mrs. pakenham on the other, accompanied mr. esmond, leaving the other ladies to the frank good offices of phil moran, who, for some cause probably known to himself, was in extra good-humour that evening, and more than ever disposed to make himself generally agreeable. find ing that mr. esmond, with all his first show of brusquerie , was really a gentleman and a man of some parts, not by any means unacquainted with the ways of their world, the two stately dowagers began after a while to unbend somewhat in his regard, and at length condescended to accept his careless invitation to go back and look at some of the sculptures in cormac’s chapel which seemed to have escaped their aristo cratic attention. by some chance harriet found herself alone, gazing with delight on the glorious expanse of country that stretched around and beneath her. eastward, gently sloping from the town upwards, lay gallows iiilh and summer hill, and green 206 the hermit of the rock. killough, while farther to the east rose the lordly slievenaraon, and beyond it, closing in the far perspective, the undulating and softly rounded hills of kilkenny reposed in their summer freshness, tinged with the faint flush of the warm sunset. far to the north lay the slievebloom mountains, and nearer the shaggy outlines of the devil’s bit hills, their wild valleys rest ing in shade; from these the eye passed on to the keeper mountains, which look down on limerick vales, and thence wandered afar to the clare highlands beyond the upper shannon ; westward the lofty hills that cross the country from the lower shannon stretched away north to king’s county, and as if springing from them in the far south the castle oliver mountains, with the magnificent galtees standing in front of them on the great champaign country nearer to the bock of cashel. dim and far were some of these mountain ranges, yet in the clear atmosphere of the summer eve, with the rich rays shining down on them, their outlines were clearly visible to harriet’s practised eye. nearer, in a southerly direction, and more distinctly revealed, were portions of the knockmeledown and the monavoilagh mountains, and then back to the base of the bock the admiring gaze wandered over the luxuriant plains of tipperary, with all their wealth of wood and water, fruit and blossom, dotted with towns and hamlets, with here and there spacious demesnes encircling lordly man sions, such as effingham castle and the picturesque dwellings of the gentry. and bright through these lovely scenes wan dered the silvery suir, winding its way to the distant ocean. it was but a moment and the eye took in all this wondrous panorama of richest bloom and stateliest grandeur and most luxuriant beauty, and a pensive shade stole over harriet’s thoughtful face as she prepared to rejoin her companions. she was arrested by lord effingham’s voice speaking near her, so near that she started, seeing which the earl smiled, though his smile was scarce perceptible. “ what a scene for a painter’s eye ! ” said he, glancing over the splendid panorama. “it is, indeed, my lord, a fair scene for painter or for poet,” harriet replied ; “ yet i was just thinking of what an irish poet has sung of the mournful associations that sadden our loveliest scenes,” and she repeated that verse of moore’s — sunset on the rock. 207 u then if, while scenes so grand, so beautiful, shine before thee, pride for thine own dear land should haply be stealing o’er thee, oh, let grief come first, o’er pride itself victorious — thinking how man hath cursed what god has made so glorious. ” “ truly it is a fair land,” said the earl thoughtfully, “ and a fertile land too, — strange that misery should be the lot of multitudes of its people.” “to you, lord effingham,” said harriet, with an earnestness of look and tone that surprised her auditor, — “to you , i should think the causes, or rather the cause , of this so strange anomaly might be plainly manifest ; but ” — she blushed, smiled at her own thought, and said in a tone of assumed levity — “but here i am talking in a way that must give your lordship a poor opinion of my modesty — to say the least of it. but the truth is, my lord, that i am somewhat of an enthusiast in my love of this native land of mine, once so great, now so fallen — so rich in memories, so rare in beauty, so pitiable in misfortune.” “ i can understand your enthusiasm,” said lord effingham ; “ perhaps were /, like you, of irish birth and irish breeding , i might feel somewhat as you do.” harriet was silent a moment; but, as though feeling the silence awkward, she hastily resumed, in a somewhat subdued tone — “there, in the vale below us, is ilore abbey, once a famous dominican establishment, and a dependency of the great abbey of cashel, the two houses being connected, it is said, by a subterraneous passage ; some miles beyond lies holy cross, perhaps one of the most beautiful ecclesiastical ruins in the empire, built by donogh o’brien, the warlike king of munster, for monks of the cistercian order; and beyond that again, away to the northward, on the confines of the king’s county, lies storied toomavara, where of old the knights templars had a preceptory, the ruins of which are now barely visible. alas ! the soil of ireland is covered, from the centre all round to the sea, with remains of ancient greatness, attesting her historic fame,” 208 the hermit of the rock. lord effingham’s answer, whatever it might have been, was prevented by the approach of mr. esmond and the elder ladies, obsequiously followed by bryan. “ we were looking for you, effingham,” said lady pember ton in her cold, listless tone. “but lord effingham was not looking for us,” pointedly said the honourable mrs. pakenham. “certainly not, mrs. thomasine pakenham,” said the earl very composedly. “ i was well entertained by miss markham’s account of the antiquities scattered over the wide plain before us. and i was about to observe, when you came up, what a pity it is that this fine county of tipperary, with all its beauty and fertility, and wealth of old renown, should yet rest under the black cloud of murder and assassination.” “very true, my lord, very true,” cordially assented mr. esmond. “and poverty, my lord,” subjoined moran, who had just come up with his party in time to hear the earl’s observation. “ mr. esmond can tell you that the greatest plague of tipperary is beggarmen — tall strapping fellows who patrol the country by night and by day with bag on back and murderous designs in heart.” “ pshaw ! nonsense ! ” said mr. esmond. “ don’t mind moran, my lord; he is always midway between jest and earnest.” “ well, but you won’t pretend to deny, will you, that you have been waging a sort of crusade against the men of the bag and staff ever since a memorable night when one of them — saved your life h ” “and another wanted to take it. well, i don’t deny it phil — i mean mr. moran ; you know i never deny the truth but with all my crusade, as you call it, and the active exertion of the entire magistracy of the county, we have never been able to catch that atrocious criminal, jerry pierce.” “ho, but you caught a brace of beggarmen, and committed them as vagrants — that was doing something pro bono publico.” lord effingham, who had been listening attentively to this characteristic dialogue, now asked mr. esmond how it happened that the murderer of his nephew had so long eluded the pursuit of the law. as he spoke, his eye fell on old bryan, who had sunse1 on tile rock 203 dirust his face amongst the group with a look of intense anxiety on his shrivelled features. after satisfying himself that his niece was not within hearing, — a fact which lord effingham had ascertained before putting the question, — “ oh, that’s easily understood, my lord,” replied uncle harry ; “ it’s all owing to the d d conspiracy— i beg your pardon, ladies — that exists amongst the peasantry. a conspiracy for purposes of assassination, and also for purposes of concealment. see how things went at the time of mr. chadwick’s murder.” “yet there was found a man, one of themselves,” said moran, “ to give honest testimony against the murderer at all risks to himself.” “humph ! and see what came of it ! hadn’t philip mara to be sent out of the country after the trial ? — and you know your self, phil moran, how it ended with his family.” “ apropos to philip mara,” said lord effingham, “miss markham some weeks since gave us an interesting account of that tragical affair in which he played so prominent a part, but she intimated, if i remember right, that the tragedy did not end with the execution of the unhappy grace.” the three young ladies were at this time exploring with mrs. esmond amongst the ruins. a shade fell on moran’s face as he replied — “ alas ! yes, my lord, that was but the second act in a bloody four -act tragedy, the effects of which are still felt in the country like the last throes of an earthquake. the first act was the murder of chadwick — the second, the hanging of grace.” “ and the others 1 ” “it would, perhaps, trespass too much on your lordship’s patience were i to tell.” “ i should like to hear it,” said the earl, “if mrs. pakenham and you, caroline,” — to his sister, — “ have no objection.” “certainly i have none,” said lady pemberton, with a sort jf incipient attempt at animation ; “ i should like, of all things, to hear an irish story.” “ and when you have heard it, my lady, you’ll never want to hear another irish story, i can tell you that,” said mr. esmond, as he walked away to join the younger ladies. “ is the gentleman angry 1 ” said lady pemberton, looking after him with a look of languid surprise. *4 210 the hermit op the rock. “not at all, madam,” said moran very gravely; “on the contrary, lie is particularly amiable just now.” the court lady raised her eyebrows — perhaps shrugged her shoulders a very little a la franfaise , and, seating herself on a prostrate pillar, prepared to listen to the “ irish story,” to which mrs. paken liam could not in politeness object, so she took a seat beside her cousin. “the story is not long,” said moran, “otherwise i would not consent to inflict it on this company,” and he bowed slightly, “under these circumstances. but, to commence my story where i infer from wliat your lordship said that miss markham ended hers, at the execution, namely, of young grace : the feeling of execration wherewith mara, the informer, as they called him, was regarded by the great majority of the country-people can be best understood by the fearful revenge planned and executed under the auspices of the same dangerous association which had authorised the death of the unfortunate mr. chadwick. enraged that philip mara had been sent by the government beyond seas, where their power could not reach him, they resolved that he should still suffer in his nearest and dearest, and swore a terrible revenge against his three brothers, who were all, like himself, masons by trade, and, moreover, engaged as he had been in the erection of the fatal barracks at rath cannon. quietly and sternly did these dark conspirators proceed to the execution of their fell purpose. the maras were all decent, respectable men, and men, moreover, who, being under the saving influence of religion, kept them selves carefully aloof from the demoralising influence of the secret organisation, which like a mighty serpent had wound itself round and over the bone and sinew of the country, the stalwart labouring classes, crushing within them every higher and nobler instinct, and changing with its poisonous breath the best feelings of their nature into bitterness and gall. united they were amongst themselves, as all christian families — and, indeed, most irish families — ever are, and were always happiest when together; so it was that the three brothers, with a young apprentice of theirs, were returning from their work one fine evening in the early autumn, little thinking of the doom that was impending over them, when, from a place of concealment where the gang had iain in wait sunset on the rock. 211 since early morning, eight well-armed men darted on them. quick as lightning the maras fled, and from their perfect knowledge of the neighbourhood two of them managed to escape the murderous attack, as did also the apprentice ; the third brother, daniel, frightened and bewildered, instead of trusting to his heels and his ingenuity, like his brothers, took refuge in the house of a widow close by, and the murderers, forcing their way after him, killed him without remorse or pity, laughing to scorn his piteous entreaties. it may be that the delay occasioned by the murder of the unfortunate daniel facilitated the escape of his two brothers, who succeeded in getting away from the country.” “ what an awful state of affairs !” said lord effingham ; while the ladies held up their hands and averted their heads in horror. still, they wished to “hear it out,” especially lady pemberton. “you may well believe,” resumed moran, “that the news of this barbarous murder, even less justifiable than that of mr. chadwick, because wholly unprovoked on the par* of the victim, threw the whole country into a state of the most fiolent excitement ; proclamations were issued, offering rewards, —even a sum of two thousand pounds was offered for any information that might lead to the apprehension and convic tion of the murderers, — still, no one came forward to claim the reward ” — “why, that is precisely the case now with regard to the murder of mr. esmond,” said lord effingham, with some sternness. “you say no tangible evidence has yet been ob tained to throw light on that revolting crime, and, for aught we know, the murderer may be prowling round the neighbour hood in wait for some other opportunity of popping a landlord. i see plainly that the people do connive with these wretched criminals, and make common cause with them ; how could they, otherwise, elude the vigilance of the police, and baffle the power of the law 1 ” “in the case of mara, my lord, the non-detection of the criminals for so long a time is easily accounted for, as the mis guided people made it a point of honour to conceal those whom they looked upon as the champions of the people's cause and the ministers of popular justice ; but as regards the 212 the hermit of tiie rock. murder of mr. esmond the case is widely different, and i know the perpetrator of that crime is as much abhorred by the peasantry as by any class in the community. the feeling against him is strong and universal, and i can nohow account for the delay in his apprehension, except it be that he has managed to leave the country. now, however, that the solicitor general has come down to investigate the affair, something may be done to bring the assassin to justice, if he be still within reach of its arm.” the sun was just setting, and his last rays fell at the moment on the mullioned window of the cathedral, where a man’s face was distinctly visible to the earl and mr. moran, shaded by the peak of a cap, yet still broadly marked with an expression of mingled cunning and drollery that would have delighted hogarth. the vision was but momentary, and the exclama tion that hovered on the lips of the two who alone saw it was suppressed by a mutual glance of admonition. the earl was surprised — the attorney more than surprised ; but, fearing the effect on the ladies, they made no remark, and moran resumed his story, just as mr. esmond and the ladies made their appearance once more, attended by bryan. “there is no knowing,” said moran, “how long the murderers might have escaped were it not that a young fellow named fitzgerald, a well-known leader of ‘the boys,’ being taken up for highway robbery, in order to save his life, forfeited to the law, turned state’s evidence, and gave such information relative to the murder of daniel mara — in which, it appeared, he had been a principal actor — that several persons were at once arrested, either as principals or accessaries to that awful deed. the first brought to trial were two men named walsh and lacy, the latter a remarkably handsome and intelligent young man, well dressed and altogether respectable in appearance, with nothing in his aspect to indicate the evil qualities that had led him to the commission of such a crime. the case, as stated for the crown by the solicitor-general, disclosed some facts that evidently startled the prisoners. it was shown that these men, with some others, had been brought from a distance, by the friends and relatives of grace, to do the deed, and that it was to have been done a week earlier, but for some cause which kept the unconscious maras at home from their work that day, sunset on the rock, 213 and thus compelled their assassins to await their opportunity for some days longer. it appeared that, on the following sunday, the entire band of conspirators met at the house of a farmer named jack keogh, in the immediate vicinity of the barracks, and were there hospitably entertained, a female relative of keogh's, who was also his housekeeper, waiting on them at table. early next day they all proceeded to a woody hill called ‘ the grove/ which overlooked the new barracks, and where arms had been secreted ready for use. whilst lying there, waiting for the time when the doomed brothers would leave off work, refreshments were brought them by the same woman who had waited on them the previous day at jack keogh's. now, amongst the party secreted there with such murderous intent were the two sons of keogh, both of them fine young men in the bloom of life, the prop and stay of their old father and the pride of his heart. one of them in par ticular, john, the elder of the two, was a man of powerful frame and unusually tall stature, with a placid, good-natured look and comely, well-formed features. though not so neat or trim as his brother, who was of much smaller proportions, j ohn keogh was a man to be signalled out in a fair or market as a fine specimen of that bold peasantry — a nation’s pride, which, once destroyed, can never be supplied. well, these two brothers had been arrested, with many others, for the murder of daniel mara, and the main point now was to procure sufficient evidence to convict them all. it is true fitz gerald swore quite enough to hang them, and another of the band, named kyan, had also turned king's evidence, but both being informers, or, as the people call them, * stags,' there was still a hope cherished by the prisoners and their friends that some other evidence than theirs would be required where so many lives were at stake. it was, therefore, with a sort of dogged indifference that the prisoners in the dock, walsh and lacy, appeared to listen to the elaborate statement of the learned counsel for the crown, and his recapitulation of the evidence which the two ‘informers' were to give. all at once, however, mr. doherty paused an instant, and then, turning towards the dock, held up his hand and mentioned a name — the name of another 214 the hermit of the rocr. witness — it was that of the housekeeper and relative of jack keogh who had brought food and drink to the murderers whilst they lay in wait for their victims, and who had heard all theii plans on the previous day at keogh’s house. the mention of her name had a terrible effect on the prisoners, and, indeed, on nil the country people present , her position in the keogh family being well known, her intimate acquaintance with all the circumstances preceding and succeeding the murder, made her a most formidable witness; whilst at the thought of her going against her people — for, of course, the evidence that criminated walsh and lacy involved the conviction of the young keoghs and many others — ‘ curses, not loud, but deep/ were heard on every side, mingled with expressions of pity for the prisoners. it was here ‘ oh, vo, vo ! they’re done for now, anyhow ! ’ there it was ‘well, well! afther that who’ll thrust anyone?’ ‘ their own flesh and blood ! oh, wirra, wirra ! ’ still, it was hoped, and all but believed, that kate costelloe would not do so foul a deed, and this hope buoyed up the prisoners and their numerous friends amongst the audience, even whilst the two informers and other witnesses of minor details gave their sworn testimony. at last came the moment when kate costelloe was called, and instantly a dead silence fell on the court ; — the bench — the bar — the dock — the hall — all remained in speechless, breathless suspense, for all alike felt that in all probability the issue of the trial — the fate, not only of the prisoners in the dock, but of all who were yet to be placed in it, including, of course, the two keoghs — all depended on the evidence of this woman. as the moments passed slowly away, and the death like hush continued unbroken, and no kate costelloe appeared, the hopes of the prisoners and their friends rose higher and higher ; all eyes were eagerly turned on the door by which the witnesses were introduced, and the intensity of suspense was becoming painful even to those least concerned in the issue — when, all at once, the fatal door opened, and a small female figure, closely veiled, was seen to enter, carried, as it were, by two persons, who supported her on either side — she was evidently unable to support herself. a groan of fierce execra tion burst from the crowd in the body of the court-house — the glow of hope died away on the faces of the prisoners, and they stood looking down with ghastly eyes on the diminutive sunset on the rock. 215 creature that was being placed on the table with their life resting on her word. never did stranger apparition burst on a court of justice or occupy a witness-table. so struck, indeed, were even the officials themselves, that for some moments no effort was made to elicit the woman's testimony, and she stood there, a veiled, muffled figure, far below the ordinary stature of women, her hands, which alone were visible, white and clammy and rigid as those of a corpse, and no motion in her frame except once that a visible shudder shook her whole body— such a shudder as accompanies and precedes the parting of soul and body. at length the veil was removed from her face, and such a face as that was ! i am sure no one that saw it then will ever forget it. the features might once have been fair to look upon, but they were then almost hideous in their ghastliness — the closed eyes sunk far into their sockets, the lips drawn apart in livid paleness, and scarcely a breath of life stirring the pulses of the corpse-like frame : as the head rested on the shoulder, a mass of long black hair fell in wild disorder from under the bonnet or hood, adding to the wanness of the face and the ghastliness of the appalling figure. it was some time before the wretched creature could be brought to answer the questions put to her, and then only when water had been sprinkled several times on her face and applied to her parched lips. when she did speak, her voice was scarcely audible, and it was only by a single word at a time, and that at intervals perhaps of some moments’ length, that she was got over the first prelimin ary statements, and on at last to the scene in the grove, when she brought refreshments to the party waiting there. but when she was asked to identify walsh — the first of the prisoners — and the wand was placed in her hand for that purpose, she seemed to relapse into her former death-like torpor ; the same process had to be gone through to revive her, and some began to hope that she could not identify walsh, having never seen him except on that one occasion. at the agonised request of the prisoners, a number of others were brought from the gaol and placed in the dock , 1 so as to give them at least a chance. 1 in shell’s sketches of the irish bar (edited by dr. shelton m'kenzie) there is a very interesting account of this famous trial. speaking of the introduction of these prisoners, the author says : “ it was now four o’clock in the morning ; the candles were almost wasted to their sockets, and a 216 the hermit or the rock. then was the witness again called upon to identify the prisoner walsh.” the whole party on the rock had now gathered round the narrator ; every face expressed more or less interest, though to some of the listeners the story was not altogether new. when moran paused, as if to take breath, mrs. pakenham and lady pemberton simultaneously exclaimed, “ well, and did she do it?” “she did, after another terrific struggle with herself that was visible to all the court. j ust as she was placing the rod on the head of walsh, a female voice in the court called out, ‘ oh, kate ! 7 and the cry seemed to act on the miserable creature like an electric shock. still, she did her awful duty, and was borne from the table and from the court more dead than alive. walsh and lacy were accordingly convicted, and in a day or two after the two keoghs were placed at the bar, and kate costelloe was called and brought forward as the last and best witness for the prosecution. people thought that although kate had been terrified into giving testimony against the other prisoners, she would never be either forced or persuaded into swearing away the lives of her own relatives, with their vener able old father sitting near the dock, full in her sight. she did it, nevertheless, and, strange to say, with more firmness than she had before manifested. with all her faculties plainly on the alert, and a quick, sharp intelligence in her eyes and in all her features, she gave her evidence clearly and methodically, and deliberately placed the fatal rod on the heads of the two dim and uncertain light was diffused through the court. haggard ness sat upon the spectators, and yet no weariness or exhaustion appeared ; the frightful interest of the scene preserved the mind from fatigue. the dock was crowded with malefactors, and, brought as they were in order that guilt of all kinds should be confused and blended, they exhibited a most singular spectacle. this assemblage of human beings laden with chains was, perhaps, more melancholy from the contrast which they presented between their condition and their aspect. even the pale light which glimmered through the court did not prevent their cheeks from looking ruddy and healthful. they had been awakened in their lonely cells in order to be produced, and, as they were not aware of the object of arraying them together, there was some surprise mixed with fear in their looks. i could not help whispering to myself as i surveyed them, 4 what a noble and fine race of men are here, and how much have they to answer for who, by degrading, have demoralised such a people ! ’ ” sunset on the rock. 217 young men, which was the more remarkable that whispers had been afloat, oven in the court-house, that there was between her and the elder of the brothers a tie stronger than blood— a love that was the growth of years.” “ love 1 ” cried several of the ladies in a breath, — “ love ? impossible ! how could she love the man whose life she swore away ^ ” “she did love him, then !” spoke a little woman who had joined the group a few minutes before, her presence unnoticed in the absorbing interest of the story, — “ if ever woman loved man, kate costelloe loved john keogh.” every eye was instantly turned on the speaker, but her features were concealed by the deep hood of her grey cloak drawn closely over her face; one was there who could have told who she was, but he remained silent— as did most of the party gazing on the strange figure before them. at last moran and mr. esmond spoke together — “ how did it happen, then, that she swore against him, if she loved him as you say ? ” “god knows that — and she knew it — and john keogh knew it too ! but it’s no business of yours, and if you take my advice you’ll say no more about it, any of you. go home wid yourselves, and don’t be draggin’ the dead out o’ their graves for no raison in life only to make fools o’ yourselves, talkin’ of what you know nothin’ about. get away wid you, now, out o’ this, or maybe there’s some o’ you’ll get what’ll not be for the good o’ their health before they’re much oulder.” there was no use trying to reason with a creature who was set down by all present as insane. the two parties had, more over, seen all they could possibly see for that time ; they there fore retired from the rock, leaving the supposed maniac to share its solitude with bryan, who, as usual, conducted them to the gate with bows and thanks for the several gratuities given him. any questions they might have been disposed to ask concerning the hag in the cloak were prevented by the con tinued presence of that interesting person, who followed them to the very gate, laughing occasionally in a hoarse inward way that confirmed in every mind the conviction of her insanity, and made some of the ladies no little anxious to have the gate 218 the hermit of the rock, between her and them. the gentlemen exchanged looks and smiles amongst themselves, but said nothing to renew the subject of moran s story, as they exchanged their parting com pliments at the gate, and the two parties went their several ways. chapter xvii. inner life in effingham castlb. in the drawing room at effingham castle the conversation that evening turned principally on the wild and gloomy tale heard on the rock-— a tale so illustrative of the darkest phases of tipperary life. mr. goodchild was already in possession of the facts, hut he took occasion to expatiate in his own smooth and unctuous way on the deplorable state of a country where such things could be done under cover of a system — where murder was as familiar to the people as the air they breathed, and human life of no account whatever. “ the people,” said he, “ are all leagued together for the worst of purposes— the overthrow of the landed proprietary — extermination is their object, and i am of opinion that nothing less will content them than the death of every landlord in the country. truly, it is an awful state of things.” harriet smiled, and bent her head over a volume of en gravings that lay open on the table before her. lord effingham said with his usual coldness, amounting almost to austerity of manner — “ do you not think, mr. goodchild, that the landlords them selves may be in some measure to blame % ” “not to any great extent, my lord, — oh, certainly not: wit ness the murder of mr. esmond, who was considered one of the very best landlords in tipperary.” “yes, but that was an exceptional case; the rule is, as i understand, that those landlords who have been murdered were all more or less obnoxious to the people for their oppressive exactions and their harsh treatment of their tenantry.” “ but surely, my lord, that does not justify murder — even 219 220 the hermit of the rock. admitting it were just as your lordship seems to have beer informed ? ” “ nothing justifies murder,” said lord effingham, with stern emphasis ; “ but it strikes me, mr. goodchild, that the very league which you say exists to an alarming extent amongst the peasantry goes to prove that there must be some radical fault on the part of those who have immediate authority over them, and i think it is well worth considering what chain of circumstances it is that has so hardened the hearts of these people, and perverted a nature not in itself wicked or ferocious — how it happens, in short, that the peasantry of tipperary, so warm-hearted, so susceptible of kindness, so keenly alive to justice or injustice, have become so bloodthirsty as it would seem they are — so ready to take life themselves, so prone to sympathise with others whose hands are red with the blood of their fellow-men.” the chaplain took out his box and refreshed his nasal organ with a pinch of snuff, shook his reverend head, and declared that “ he had never viewed the matter in that light, — had never given much attention to the history of ireland, — but he thought the cause of all these evils was undoubtedly to be found in the pernicious and soul-debasing doctrines of home, to which those unhappy people were so incurably addicted.” “for shame, mr. goodchild!” said harriet markham, her eyes flashing with the contempt and indignation she could not help feeling. “ how often have i explained to you that it is not because of their romish belief, but in despite of it, that the catholic peasantry of this and other countries do at times take the law into their own hands '? were they not addicted to the doctrines of which you speak, you may take my word for it that fsuch bloody acts of revenge would be ten to one — ay, twenty to one what they now are.” “my dear miss markham,” said the chaplain, with his most insinuating smile, “ i have an insuperable aversion to contra dicting a lady, but really — ah ! — really ” — “ my dear mr. goodchild,” put in harriet, by way of filling up his hesitating pause, “ i know there are many persons who are afflicted with a dreadful obliquity of vision in matters irish or catholic. if such be your case, i regret it exceedingly, and will charitably suppose that you never even heard of the mighty inner life in effingham castle. 221 and incessant struggle everywhere going on between — between the catholic church and all manner of secret organisations, from freemasonry to ribbonism, and all between.” “ what a dreadful country to live in ! ” said lady pemberton to her brother. “i wonder how lady jane will like it?” “ like it, indeed?” cried mrs. pakenham, with a toss of her stately head. “i wonder did lady jane ever like anything beyond herself ? ” “ i should hope she did,” quietly and somewhat sarcastically said lady pemberton, with a glance at the earl, who, however, appeared to take no notice. the next moment he turned his keen, piercing eyes on miss markham, and said rather abruptly — “what a singular old woman that was who broke in so unseasonably on mr. moran's narrative ! do you know any thing of her?” “ i am not sure that i do, my lord, but i rather suspect. for the present, however, i may not say more.” “an old woman?” exclaimed the chaplain, — “what old woman ? ” “not your old woman, mr. goodchild,” said harriet, with a meaning smile, — “ at least, i think not.” the ladies looked surprised, but the chaplain looked as tounded, and blushed like a very schoolgirl under harriet's mischievous glance. “ mr. goodchild's old woman ? ” said mrs. pakenham, laugh ing, — “and pray who may she be?” “ not one of the weird ‘ sisters three,' madam, ‘who met macbeth upon the heath/ but probably an irish kinswoman of theirs on whom our worthy chaplain has been experimentalising of late — shooting her with a silver bullet , i believe, — or how was it, mr. goodchild ? ” “i protest, miss markham,” stammered the chaplain, his professional gravity entirely at fault, — “i protest — i do not understand the allusion.” “ oh, fie, mr. goodchild ! fie, fie ! ” and harriet raised her finger admonishingly and smiled archly. “ you do not mean to deny that you met somebody ‘ on the heath ' — well, not exactly ‘ on the heath,' but — somewhere between this and the glebe-house ? ” the hermit of the rock 222 the chaplain looked more and more confused, the ladies more and more delighted at what they saw was a good joke, and more and more urgent with miss markham to let them into the secret. just at that moment lord effingham rose, and, saying he had letters to write, withdrew. harriet glanced timidly up as he passed her, and was not surprised to see a deeper cloud than usual on his brow and a sterner look in his dark, proud eyes. half an hour after, harriet having gone to her own apart ment for a book, chanced to pass the library, the door of which was ajar, and by the dim, subdued light from a study-lamp at the farther end of the spacious room, she saw lord effingham sitting at a table, his thoughtful brow resting on his hand' and a look of care and weariness impressed on every feature. harriet stopped involuntarily, with the thought uppermost in her mind, “neither rank nor riches give immunity from care.” it so happened that lord effingham raised his eyes at the moment, and looked towards the door just as harriet was gliding away. rising hastily, he came to the door, and said, “miss markham, will you have the goodness to favour me with a few moments’ conversation 1 ” “ certainly, my lord,” said harriet, with an effort to assume a composure which she did not feel, her mind being full of the idea that the earl was not pleased with the freedom she took in rallying his chaplain, with a still more painful fear natural to a delicate mind that her having passed at that particular moment might be construed into prying curiosity ; in short, she felt troubled and unhappy, and her face — ever the index of her thoughts — told all too plainly what was passing within. she saw that her discomposure was not unnoticed, and that very consciousness increased it considerably. the earl regarded her a moment with a smile so sad that she could have wept under its strange and softening influence, but she mastered her emotion and looked up with as calm a mien as she could command. “my lord,” she began, with some hesitation, “you will pardon me if i say that i thought you seemed somewhat displeased by my thoughtless badinage in relation to worthy mr. goodchild.” an involuntary smile flitted over her face as she spoke the name, but, casting her eyes down with a demure expression, she stood awaiting the answer. it was longer inner life in effingham castle. 223 delayed than she expected, and, looking up in some surprise, she found lord effingham regarding her with the same mourn ful smile. “ witchcraft ! ” he muttered in a tone that was not meant for her ear, yet she heard the words distinctly, — “ witchcraft ! ay, there is witchcraft that even silver bullets cannot reach. miss markham,” he said in his usual voice and manner of cold impassiveness, — “ miss markham, you were much mistaken in supposing that i resented your — your playful attack on my reverend friend — which i considered perfectly fair. were i disposed for badinage , i might perhaps say that he was more to be envied than commiserated under such an attack.” miss markham smiled, and acknowledged the courtly compliment by a slight inclination. “ but,” continued his lordship, “that was far from being the subject on which i wished to speak with you— you are probably aware of the object of my ap proaching visit to england ? ” “ i cannot say i am, my lord,” said harriet after a pause, during which she ran over in her mind certain words that had fallen from lady pemberton and mrs. pakenham, together with certain preparations going on around the castle. “i wonder at that,” said the earl, “knowing how difficult it is for ladies to keep secrets. you must know, then, miss markham, what perhaps you should have known before, as a valued friend rather than the mere preceptress of my children,” — miss markham bowed somewhat haughtily, — “in a word, i am about to fulfil a matrimonial engagement, entered into some months since, with the daughter of an english marquis.” “the lady jane , i presume, whose name i heard this evening for the first time ? ” “ the same,” said lord effingham, with a scarcely perceptible tremor in his voice. “your lordship does me honour,” said miss markham, look ing up with a gracious smile, — “an honour for which i feel deeply grateful — believe me, i do.” she was about leaving the room when the earl's voice arrested her steps, and she returned to where he stood. “ i have yet another word to say,” — he paused, then hastily added, “i wish to know, miss markham, whether you will itill remain with us— that is, with my little girls ? ” 224 the hermit of the rock. “ i see no reason why i should not, my lord,” said harriet proudly ; “ my position in the earl of effingham’s family will be in no degree changed, i should think, by the advent of a countess of effingham,” and she smiled with an archness that well became jier. “unless, indeed,” she added quickly, “her ladyship may object to having the young daughters of the house of cartwright educated by a catholic. in that case, my lord,” she said, with much earnestness, “i will rely on the friendship you do me the honour to profess for me to give me timely notice.” “rely,” said lord effingham, with more warmth than was usual to him, “ on all that i can do at any time to shield you from aught that would in any degree compromise your dignity — your self-respect. i know the innate nobleness of your mind, and rest assured, miss markham, it shall never be subjected to any trial under my roof.” “i thank you, my lord,” said harriet, her voice slightly tremulous ; “ you give the best proof of your good opinion in entrusting me with the education of your dear children, and it shall be my ceaseless endeavour to form their minds to the best of my poor ability, and make them such as i know you would wish to have them. in that way, at least, i can repay your lordship’s kindness to — a penniless orphan whom fate has throwrn almost on your bounty ! ” the last words were spoken with that peculiar archness which gave such a charm at times to harriet’s speaking features, and, bowing with the grace which marked her every action, she was leaving the room when on the threshold she encountered mrs. pakenham and lady pemberton. “dear me ! ” said the former lady, with a sudden change of countenance; “we were not aware that your lordship was engaged — that is, we thought you were writing letters, and came to ask if you would spare time to join us at supper. i see miss markham has been beforehand with us.” “you are mistaken, madam,” said harriet coldly; “lean lay claim to no such amiable intention. i was merely passing the library on my way upstairs for a book i wanted, when lord effingham, seeing me pass, requested to speak with me on a matter of business, and i stepped in.” “and i.” said the earl, “owe you an apology, miss mark inner life in effingham castle . 225 ham, for i just now recollect that i had not the politeness to offer you a seat. the business on which i wished to speak with miss markham affects us all, i should hope. i was desirous of ascertaining, before any further changes take place here, whether we might count on the continuance of her in valuable services in regard to ann and emma.” lady pemberton, who much resembled her brother in character and disposition, and also in appearance, turned at once to harriet and said, with a courteous smile, “ surely miss markham would not think of leaving her young charges at a time when, perhaps, they most need her kind and judicious care ? ” “ that was precisely what induced me to ask her, caroline,” said lord effingham. “well, it is very true,” said mrs. pakenham, a little maliciously, harriet thought; “with all her beauty and sprightly grace, i fear dear lady jane is not exactly the type of a good stepmother.” “excuse me, thomasine,” said lord effingham in his coldest and sternest accents, “ i cannot permit such an inference to be drawn from what i have said. your remark is altogether superfluous, and entirely irrelevant to our purpose. i asked miss markham a simple question, and she gave me a simple and direct answer — i am glad to say, in the affirmative.” “well, well,” said mrs. pakenham a little testily, “now that the matter is arranged to general satisfaction, i presume your lordship will honour us wi&i your presence during the remainder of the evening — and in the first place, to supper?” harriet heard no more, for she quietly made her escape, and took refuge in her own apartment, there to muse in silence and alone on what she had heard and seen during the last quarter of an hour, for no longer time had passed since she left the drawing-room. short as the time was, and unimportant what had occurred, she somewhat felt as though a page had been written in her life’s record, and a strange feeling was knocking at her heart, but of what kind she cared not to examine. was she humbled or exalted in her own estimation? was her peace more or less than it was an hour before ? these were questions that she did not trouble herself to answer, but, smoothing as she best might the fair surface of her sweet face, i5 226 the hermit of the rock she descended to the drawing-room, just in time to bring up the rear of the party on their way to supper. she had ascertained on her way down that the little girls were already in bed and locked in the blissful unconsciousness of childish slumbers. the conversation during supper was lively and animated, and harriet markham was the gayest of all. still, it could not have escaped an observant eye, if any such were on her, that her cheek was paler even than usual, and her eyes burning with an inward fire. no one seemed to notice anything unusual in her tone or manner, though all felt the ineffable charm that hung around her. lord effingham, indeed, took little notice of anything ; silent and abstracted, though condescendingly polite as usual, he seemed occupied with serious thought, and took little part in the conversation. he complained of a headache and retired early. as harriet caught his parting glance, she said to herself, “there is a load of care on that proud, cold heart — there is sorrow in the troubled depths of those deep eyes. does he feel — even he ? ” the remainder of the evening passed away without anything particular, but harriet learned for the first time that lady pemberton was to remain at the castle during the earl’s absence, to preside over the general preparations, and also to receive the young countess on her arrival. the little party broke up early, and harriet markham, with an exquisite sense of relief, locked the door of her spacious and elegant apartment, and threw herself in an arm-chair near the one large window of a boudoir connected with her chamber which qommanded a prospect of that mingled wildness and beauty that most impress a lofty, imaginative mind. the curtains were as yet un drawn, and the lady-moon shed her heart-soothing light into the small apartment, so graceful in its furniture and decoration, so meet for the inner home — the retreat, as it were, of a being so solitary in her heart’s life as harriet markham. so she lay in that delicious sense of rest , and the no less delicious sense of solitude — of loneliness — which casts its spell over the world weary heart and the tired brain when the deep hush of the solemn night is around, and the noisy, frothy, hollow, heartless world shuts its bleating mouths for a while, leaving the deep heart to commune with its own thoughts, to indulge for a space its earnest longings, to drink in the beauty of earth and heaven, inner life in effingham castle . 227 and commune with the dead of other years, or the loved and far removed. such are the moments happily described by the sweetest of modern poets — when lost in the future the soul wanders on, and all of this life but its sweetness is gone. and harriet markham felt the charm of the hour and the scene, and her soul was upraised to that heaven which the eye of faith can see afar off through the blue ether of the midnight sky — for it was verging on midnight. all at once a footstep sounded on the verandah beneath her window — a light but measured step, and harriet’s heart beat — not with fear — as she bent her head to listen, and furthermore raised the window just enough to admit a sound from without. the measured footfall continued — to and fro — now broken and irregular, now firm and distinct, like that of a sentinel on duty. occasionally there came to the ear of the lonely watcher another sound, like that she might have heard in dreams — it was a voice, deep, full, yet subdued, humming as if for no listening ear, but the singer's own heart. oh, how eagerly did harriet listen to catch the low but musical tones, and an inexplicable feeling of delight en wrapped her senses as she recognised the air, and the words too — “oh, bring to me my norah fay, hours are days when she’s away.” the voice ceased, but oh, the passionate yearning that was in the rich, soft tones ! never had harriet heard the charm of “shule aroon” brought out with such effect, and she listened with all the intensity of her heart to hear the sweet sounds again. softly she murmured to herself— “oh, not more welcome the fairy numbers of music fall on the sleeper’s ear, when half awaking from fearful slumbers, he thinks the full choir of heaven is near.” “ who can it be ? ” was the next thought. “ that was no rustic — oh no, no ! then who can be within the castle grounds at this lone hour ? ” then came from below the sound as of a deep, thrilling voice speaking in an audible whisper, and to harriet’s excited fancy it sounded almost close to her ear. 228 the hermit of the rock “ 0 night ! what anguish do yon shroud full often ! — 0 moon ! what sights you witness in your unclouded path through yon glorious heavens! — 0 heart! throbbing, bursting heart! why not break and be at rest ? ” why was it that, unknowing who the speaker was, harriet markham bowed her head on the window-ledge and wept tears that seemed to flow from her inmost heart? a strange, weird thing is human nature, and a stranger thing is the human heart ! as an eolian harp to the voices of the wind, so does the heart respond to the yet more variable tones of human feeling, human sympathy, human suffering. long did the slow and measured tread break the stillness of the night, and by some strange fascination harriet remained with her head resting against the window till the sound ceased, and the earth below was silent as the glittering stars above. then, alone with the night, her mind and heart gradually resumed their usual tone, and, gazing upwards on the “ spangled heavens,” that “ shining frame,” which, in the language of the poet, their great creator’s praise proclaim, her thoughts assumed the form of meditation, and in the con templation of things divine she speedily lost sight of the thorns and briars that strew the path to those eternal mansions where joy ineffable for ever reigns. calmly and hopefully she knelt to perform the last sweet exercise of the christian’s day, and having offered her heart to the god who made it, and to mary the mother of faithful souls, she resigned herself to sleep — the tranquil sleep of an untroubled conscience. during the days that intervened between that night and lord effingham’s departure, his lordship spent the greater part of his time in his study, a small and very pleasant room adjacent tc the library, and opening on the verandah already mentioned. a solitary ride in the afternoons alone broke the monotony of his seclusion, yet when the family assembled at table there was no perceptible difference in his manner, always calm and cold and self-possessed, at times a little abstracted, but never discourteous to those around. on the day before that fixed on for his departure, he approached the bow-window in the sitting-room, where harriet occupied her favourite seat, her fingers engaged on some one of inner life in effingham castle. 229 those pretty trifles the use whereof would puzzle any of those “lords of creation ” whom “men we call,” while her eyes wandered ever and anon to the graceful scene of woodland beauty spread out in fair array before the window, and nearer, where her young pupils were amusing themselves with hoop and skipping-rope on the smooth sward outside. “miss markham,” said the earl, so suddenly that she started, and, blushing, looked up in surprise, — “miss markham, there was one trifling incident of our last visit to the rock which i forgot to mention since, though i have thought of it many times. rut why that look of surprise ? ” he added, with a smile of peculiar expression. “ does my voice grate so harshly on your ear v 1 “not at all, my lord,” said harriet, recovering her composure, and smiling pleasantly ; “but — but — i did not think your lord ship was so near, and i was just completing the erection of a superb chateau en espagne ” — “ indeed ? it were worth something to know what manner of edifice that was which so graceful a fancy piled in airy space.” “ architectural details are seldom interesting, my lord. but may i venture to ask what was the incident to which your lordship referred just now ] ” lord effingham mentioned the face which he and mr. moran had both seen at a window of the old cathedral, adding that he could not help associating it in his mind with the singular apparition of the old woman in the cloak. “what is your opinion, miss markham'?” harriet mused a moment before she replied in a thoughtful, hesitating tone, “ that there is some mystery about both these appearances, my lord, i have not the smallest doubt, but what they indicate — especially the face which showed itself so suddenly, and so suddenly vanished, in such a place — is more than i can imagine, — perhaps it were even unwise to say it if i could.” “it is a strange country,” was the earl’s remark, as he turned to lady pemberton, who was reading at another window in the room, and asked if she would ride out with him before dinner — a proposal which she smilingly accepted, then left the room to don her hat and habit. she was quickly followed by lord effingham, and in a few moments harriet heard their horses’ 230 the hermit of the rock feet prancing away over the gravelled surface of the avenue. rising, she went to a window and stood a moment looking after them, till their stately figures were hidden from her view by a turn in the road, then, muttering to herself some inarticulate words, she went upstairs, and having tied on a broad-leaved straw hat, went out to join the children at their play. at length the day came for lord effingham to leave for england, and, after taking a tender and kind farewell of his children, his sister, and mrs. pakenham, he shook hands with mr. goodchild and miss markham with about the same degree of cordiality, and stepped into the carriage that was to convey him to dublin. it was early morning, and harriet retired to her own apart ment to spend in commune with her own thoughts the hour that yet remained to her before entering on the duties of the schoolroom. the first object that met her eye was a little bunch of pansies, freshly gathered, their rich petals moist with the dew of the morning ; they stood in a small crystal vase, but taking them up to inhale their fragrance, wondering at the same time what kind hand had gathered for her those flowers to memory dear, she all at once perceived a scrap of paper twisted round their delicate stems ; with a trembling hand she took it off, and, carefully smoothing it out, found these lines written on its fair surface — i have sweet thoughts of thee ! they come around me like the voice of song ; they come like birds that to the south belong, and wear a gayer wing and brighter crest than those that on the rooftree build their nest, they come more tender, beautiful, and bright than any thoughts that others can excite ; they tell me gentle tales of thee and thine, of gems of truth that in thy spirit shine, of goodness, purity, and holy zeal, that can for others earnest pity feel ; of all things beautiful in soul and heart — and such they tell me ever that thou art. c< the voice of the pansy” murmured harriet, with a proud and happy smile, her pale cheek flushing with a crimson glow ; yet when she descended to the schoolroom the flush was gone, cheek and brow were paler than ever, and her eyes were red and swollen, as if with much weeping. chapter xviii. kate costelloe. a day or two after lord effingham’s departure, harriet markham and mary hennessy, walking out to enjoy the cool freshness of the evening, so grateful after the excessive heat of one of the hottest of the dog-days, stopped at bryan’s cottage, where cauth sat knitting by the door, as usual. it was not the first time that either had been there, and the old woman seemed glad to see them. hastily bringing forward the only two seats besides her own that the cottage afforded, she wiped them carefully with her apron, and invited the young ladies to sit down, adding, “ it’s not often we see the likes o’ you here, an’ sure, it’s the great honour entirely ye do me.” “cauth,” said miss markham, after the young ladies had exchanged significant glances, — “ cauth, i hope you understand that miss hennessy and i wish you well, and take a great interest in both you and bryan ? ” “wisha, then, it’s myself knows it well,” said cauth, “an’ good raison i have, too, for it’s ever the kind, soft word ye both had for me, not to spake of the help ye gave me many’s the time when, only for ye, i could hardly have the bit or sup before that poor simple ould man that ’id starve to death afore he’d go out to ask it, on account of the forgetful way he has wid him.” “well, then,” resumed the young lady, “you will not suspect us of being actuated only by prying curiosity when we come to ask you a few questions about yourself % ” “ about me ? ” cried cauth, dropping her knitting and turn ing on them with a face as pale as ashes. “ ah, then, miss markham — ladies dear ! — what questions would ye be puttin’ to me ? — god help me ! ” 232 the hermit of the rock . both young ladies applied themselves to reassure her, and told her that they came to her purely as friends, and that whatever she told them would be kept an inviolable secret unless she gave them permission to divulge it at any time, or to any person. “well, an’ what — what do you want to know?” she exclaimed in a husky voice, and with a sort of desperate resolution. before answering, harriet rose and closed the door, at which cauth nodded assent. “ cauth,” said miss markham, her voice more deep and solemn than usual, though perhaps she knew it not herself, — u cauth, was it you that broke in on mr. moran’s story a few days ago on the rock ? now answer me truly, as you hope for mercy hereafter.” “ there’s no gettin’ over that,” said cauth gloomily, as if to herself ; “ when you ask me that way, i can’t deny the thruth. it was me, miss markham, and who else would it be ? ” “i thought so, and so did miss hennessy, but we never breathed a word of our suspicions to any one, — that is,” she added, after a pause, recollecting what she had said to lord effingham, — “ that is, to any one who knows you even now, or in any way that could make you known. now, having told us so much, you will not, i think, refuse to tell us more ? are you, or are you not, kate costelloe ? ” at the sound of the name the unhappy woman dropped her head between her knees as suddenly as if she was shot through the brain, one heart-piercing groan escaped her, and then all was silent for a few moments, during which she might have been supposed dead were it not for the quivering motion per ceptible in all her members, and the quick, irregular breathing that denoted her inward agony. at last she slowly raised her head, and, fixing her heavy, bloodshot eyes on her interrogator, said, “ 1 see there’s no use in hidin’ it any longer, — the earth or the say ’on’t hide murder — an* sure, that was murder — the worst of murder ! i am kate costelloe ! ” and, as if relieved to get over the confession, and feeling herself a freer woman, she sat up erect in her seat and looked the young ladies alternately in the face, — i am kate costelloe . is that all you want to know ? ” kate custelloe. 233 “ we want to know nothing that you do not want to tell us,” said harriet, “but”— “but you'd wish to know why i did it, an’ all about it,” broke in kate, with that keenness of perception which belonged to her strange character. she laughed — a low, inward laugh, as it were in scorn, fixing her eyes moodily on the ground the while, and the young ladies began to fear that her next move would be to open the door and bid them walk out. they were mistaken, for she looked up with a milder expression, and said in a voice low and mournful — “ there's not many livin' i’d tell it to, miss markham ; but i'll tell it to you , an’ miss mary, bekase i know you have the heart to feel even for me, bad as i am — an' sure, sure, but i'm bad enough ! ask me any question you like an' i'll answer you, no matter what it is.” “tell us, then,” said mary hennessy, seeing that harriet shrank from putting the question, “ what was the motive that induced you to give testimony against your own friends and relatives ? ” “friends and relatives'?” repeated kate, with strong and disdainful emphasis. “ god help your wit, child ! — that wasn't the worst of it, though it was bad enough, too. that wasn't what tore the heart out o’ me, an' left me ever since without e'er a heart, at all.” “ what was it, then ? ” whispered harriet, awed by the intensity of passion that breathed in every lineament of the withered face before her. “ what was it ? — ha ! ha ! ha ! — what was it ? ” and, thrust ing out her head till her face almost touched that of harriet, — though both young ladies drew back instinctively, — she said in a low, hissing whisper, “ it was the love that was in my heart for john keogh ! ” “you loved him?” exclaimed both her hearers in the same subdued tone, — “you loved him, yet you hung him — and his brother too ? ” the woman drew back, raised her head to the highest, and flashed a look of fierce intelligence into the eyes of her astonished hearers. “ay, i hung him ; but i couldn't help it — it was his own fault. i didn't want to hang e'er a one — e’er a one, at all — an' them , leastways ; but he took it out o' me — he dared 234 the hermit of the rock. me to do it ! ” slowly she arose from her seat, and stood look ing down at her silent and, as it were, spellbound auditors, with the eye and mien of a pythoness. “ ay, he dared me to do it — and i did it,” — her voice sank to a hoarse whisper, — “ but i wouldn’t have done it, even for that, only he taunted me with — with — no matter what, but i knew it was his sin and shame as well as mine — an’ i knew how many bitter tears i cried many’s the night an’ many’s the day for that same misfortune that came over me — an’ then i thought of all the promises he had made, an’ broke them all — an’ how i forgave him everything, everything, everything, bekase i loved him — an’ how i kept my shame an’ my sorrow locked up in my own heart, an’ never said a hard word of him even to his own father, ever an’ always hopin’ for the best ; but when he said that word to me, before he was taken, when i tould him that i had his life, an’ patrick’s life, in my hands, an’ asked him wouldn’t he put the marriage ring on my finger — when he said that word to me, back again, an’ made as little o’ me as if i was the dirt undher his feet, — then,” she almost shrieked, throwing up her arms like a maniac, — “ then — then the love went out o’ my heart, an’ i said to my self, though i didn’t say it to him, ‘if you had fifty lives, they’re not worth a sthraw — the gallows is your doom 1 1 that was the last sight of him i ever got, till i seen him in the dock, an’ then i made him shiver with the one look i gave him when i put the rod on his head — ha ! he looked at me then with such a pitiful look in his eyes, all as one as if he said, ‘kate, is it you that swears my life away?’ but i didn’t care for his looks then, — that time was past, — an’ i did what was in my mind to do, an’ in my heart, an’ showed him what i could do when i was put to it, though he thought i’d never bring myself to do it. och ! och ! och ! sure, it was no wondher he’d think it, for he knew how i loved him ! — fareer gar , he did ! ” and, breaking into a passionate flood of tears, she sank heavily on her seat, burying her face in her hands. harriet and mary exchanged glances — they dared not speak, fearing another outburst of passion from the unhappy woman ; they would gladly have effected their retreat, but they could not bring themselves to leave the poor creature without a word of consolation, so they sat patiently and silently awaiting the moment when the calm would follow the storm, in order to say kate costelloe, . 235 some words of kindness and encouragement before they left the unfortunate victim of passion to the companionship of her own dreary thoughts. they rose, nevertheless, and the motion, slight as it was, brought kate back to consciousness. 44 i see you’re for goin’, ladies,” said she, rising too ; “ an’ sure, it’s glad you’ll be, i know myself, to get me out o’ your sight. the lord in heaven forgive me ! ” — she raised her clasped hands and swollen eyes to heaven, — 44 the lord in heaven forgive me ! sure, it’s thinkin’ of my poor sov/1 1 ought to be, an’ askin’ pardon night an’ day on my bare knees for all the harm i have done. och, then, ladies dear, isn’t it a poor thing an’ a misfortunate thing to forget god ? — for, sure, when we do once there’s no tellin’ what we’ll come to, — them that ’id tell me onst that i’d ever do what i done, or be the thing i am this night, oyeh ! but it’s me that ’id give little ear to them.” 44 but, kate ” — 44 call me cauth, , if it’s plasin’ to you, miss. i’d wish to for get, if i could, that i ever was kate costelloe.” 44 well, then, cauth, what was it brought you to this part of the country, for i know the sad events to which we have been referring took place in another part of the county ? ” “ why, then, i’ll jist tell you that, as if i was at the priest’s knee this minnit. i couldn’t bear to live where i knew every body hated the ground i walked on. besides that, the ould man was there — the lonesome ould man, that never raised his head afther hearin’ the sentence, but went about like a wanderin’ sperit among the good christians that had the heart to pity him. the sight o’ me would a’ kilt him entirely, so i left the place altogether, and came where i thought nobody ’id know me. but sure,” she added, “ there wasn’t even that comfort for me , — i’m as well known here as the town-pump, god help me ! — an’ if i happen to say a sharp word to any one, it’s nothing but 4 kate costelloe ’ here an’ 4 kate costelloe ’ there wid them all round, till i’d sooner be dead than livin’ — if it wasn’t for my poor sowl ! ” 44 speaking of that,” said mary hennessy, 44 does the dean or father sheehan know who you are ? — have you been to your duty since you came here ? ” 44 well, to tell you the truth, miss, i was not. many’s the time i got ready to go, but somehow or another, the shame 236 the hermit of the rock always got the better o’ me, an’ though i knew well enough it was the evil sperit that was keeping me back, i couldn’t bring myself to go.” suddenly the latch was raised, the door was flung open, and in the aperture stood, leaning on her staff, an old woman in a red cloak, whom harriet recognised at once as the original of moran’s graphic sketch of the reverend mr. goodchild’s courte ous friend of argentine notoriety. peering up into the faces of the two young ladies, as she stood resting both hands on her staff, her little black eyes began to twinkle with a brighter meaning. “ ho ! ho ! ” she croaked. “ i came here to invite kate costelloe up to my place — and a nice place it is, too,” — she paused, and the pause was filled up by a despairing groan from kate, — “not that i expected much from her , for, like myself, she isn’t much the bettlier of all the bad she has done in her time, — but here’s two grand ladies — one of them from the lord’s castle beyant, no less, an’ the other dr. iiennessy’s purty sister — an’ the world knows that’s what she is, only not so pale or so grand lookin’ that way as the other— bekase why, th$ ouldquality blood isn’t in her— the blood of the markhams that were great people onst, an’ even in my own memory.” these latter clauses of the speech were spoken in an undertone, and by way of soliloquy, though they reached every ear within hearing, as the acrid dame probably intended they should. “ come now, ladies,” — and she pointed with her stick over her shoulder, — “come and see the fine sight 1 have at home for the quality. come, when i bid you ! ” she added in a tone of authority ; “ i leant ye up above there at my castle, an’ i know there’s naither o’ yell be sorry for cornin’ when you get up.” “my good woman,” said mary hennessy, after exchanging some whispered words with harriet, “ we have no objection to go with you, if we can really do you or any one else a service. but we should like to know where, or for what purpose, you would have us go.” “ah, then, where would you be takin’ them to?” said cauth in a confidential whisper. “ to the house above, to tell their fortunes,” was the short, ironical answer. “ now, don’t be keepin’ me here, i tell ye, but come along this minnit, — do ye think it’s for harmin’ ye i’d be?” kate costelloe, 237 “i think ye’d best go,” whispered cauth. “she has odd ways wid her by times, but her hark is worse than her bite — she’ll do ye no harm, i’ll go bail.” this and their own reflections decided the young ladies to follow the crone, who was already hobbling down the road, nothing doubting, it appeared, that they would comply with her singular mandate. cauth stood at the door looking after them till they had all three disappeared at a turn of the road ; she turned then, and looked up at the rock, wondering whether bryan would come down to his supper, yet hardly expecting that he would, the night being so rarely beautiful. “well, to be sure, but it’s the quare life he leads,” said she to herself, “ scrapin’, an’ sweepin’, an’ patchin’ up ould walls all day long, an’ every day of the week, jist as if he was paid for it, — which he isn’t, an’ never will be — in this world, anyhow, let it be as it may with the other. och, och ! see what it is to have a good conscience ! — it’s aisy seen that poor bryan never harmed the livin’, or he’d be more afeard o’ the dead. now there’s me, an’ barrin’ it w t as in broad daylight, an’ plenty o’ company to the fore, i darn’t set my foot up there among the graves and tombstones, an’ the ould crazy walls that’s in it — nor i ivouldn’t , if they gave me the best estate in tipperary. ochone ! it’s the dismal place to spend one’s nights an’ days in. but sure, afther all, didn’t i hear father riordan — • god be good to him !— tellin’ on the althar one sunday, many’s the year ago, about st. anthony, how he went an’ lived among the tombs, jist to be away from the livin’ altogether, and wash his hands of the dirty, wicked world. an’ all the fine ould hermits his reverence used to tell us about, when we w r ere lamin’ the catechise in the chapel — ould ancient men with great long 5 cards, that went aw r ay to the desert to live all alone with god, or in caves in the rocks, or mountains. well, it’s a folly to talk, but i think our bryney is jist as good a hermit as any of them, barrin’ that he hasn’t the beard. i’m sure he prays as much as e’er a one o’ them, an’ even the odd night that he’s in his bed, don’t i hear him, when he thinks i’m asleep, prayin’ for the sowls in purgatory, an’ for the convarsion o’ sinners? — an’ sure, myself begins to cry when i hear that, thinkin’ that tm the greatest sinner goin’. but whisht ! who’s that?” she had just perceived a female figure, with a shawl drawn 238 the hermit of the rock. closely around her head, moving stealthily in the shadow of the bock, on the opposite side of the road, moving in the direction of the gate leading to the sacred enclosure. the motions of the person, whoever it might be, were so cautious, so stealthy, that it was quite clear to any observer that there was, there must be, some strong motive for concealment, and cauth stood leaning forward, peering with her keen dark eyes into the deep gloom after the object of her curiosity. moved by some unaccount able impulse, she at last followed her with the same stealthy pace ; on and on moved the silent and muffled figure, on and on moved cauth after her, as if impelled by invisible agency, till the gate had opened and closed a second time, with a few moments’ intermission, and both were within the sacred precincts, gliding up the steep ascent to the once stately portal of the cathedral. here cauth’s courage failed her ; she remembered her soliloquy of a few moments before, and all the terrors of superstition, heightened by the fears of a troubled conscience, came back with overwhelming force. frightened even at her own boldness, she stood in harrowing uncertainty as to what she had best do ; advance she dared not, and retreat was little less formidable, — if she could only reach bryan, but god knows where bryan was, as she said to herself, and to raise her voice on the eock of cashel, with the dead all around her, was something not to be thought of. timidly and fearfully she glanced around, almost certain that some shape of horror would present itself to her aching eyes. in her terror she had half forgotten the immediate object of her almost involuntary intrusion on the lone place of death ; she had vanished from her view round an angle of the palace wall, but all at once she caught sight of her again, crossing the broad strip of moonlight to the hall of the vicars-choral, then gliding along by the wall of the cathedral — where buttress and buttress alternately seemed framed of ebon and ivory, as the light figure flitted past them. cauth watched her with fear-distended eyes, the cold sweat oozing from every pore of her body, and her tongue, as it were, glued to her burning palate. all at once another figure appeared on the scene, and to cauth’s inexpressible relief it proved to be bryan. some what encouraged by the sight of another living creature, and kate costelloe. 239 that, too, the good old guardian of the ruins, she drew back a little farther into the shade, where she could see what passed, herself remaining unseen ; for she began to suspect, seeing bryan and the supposed ghost approaching each other, that it might after all be a creature of flesh and blood like herself. then came distinctly to her ear the following colloquy : — “ why, an’ is this yourself, celia ? what in the world brings you here, my poor girl, at this time o’ night ? ” “i wanted to see him” was the reply in a low, earnest whisper that only half reached cauth’s ear. “ him ? — why, who do you mane ? ” “ nonsense, bryan ! you know well enough. he’s here now — i know he is — an’ i must see him ! for god’s sake, bryan, don’t be keepin’ me ! ” and the voice spoke louder, in increas ing agitation. before bryan could answer, a man’s arm was stretched out from one of “ the broken arches, black in night,” that yawned close beside them, and, catching the female by the arm, whis pered a word that arrested the scream on her pallid lips. then bryan and the young woman entered the arch, and cauth managed to get so near them, creeping along in the black shadow of the walls, that she could hear their low, cautious tones as they all three conversed in whispers. “jerry,” said the girl, her voice trembling with eagerness, “for the love of god get down to the vau’ts or somewhere; the peelers is out lookin’ for you, with that stag, m ‘go wan” — “ well, an’ what if they are ? weren’t they often out before, an’ they didn’t catch me yit ? ” “ ay ! but m‘gowan ! — an’ you know there’s some great crown-lawyer or another down from dublin.” “ so i hear.” “ so you hear ? — an’ is that the way you’re takin’ it, an’ me ’most frikened out o’ my wits? if you heard about the counsellor, maybe you didn’t hear what m‘gowan swore? ” “no. what did he swear ? ” “that you were hidin’ somewheres about the bock.” “there now, jerry, didn’t i tell you that?” said bryan anxiously. “ i knew it ’id be found out at last that you were here, an’ now i’ll have the whole country again’ me for harbourin’ — for harbourin’ ” — 240 the hermit of the rock “ a murderer,” put in the other, with some bitterness, — “out with it, bryan, like a man ! ” “ well, it’s an ugly word -to say, anyway, but you know what i mane — an’ the raisons, too, that made me give in to you, — but what will the people say ? yo ! vo ! myself an’ the rock’s disgraced for ever.” “never mind, bryan,” said the other man quickly; “you done it for the best, you know yourself, an 7 god knows it, an 7 i know it too, bryan, an 7 it’s hard if we don’t clear you an 7 the rock between us three. never mind, bryan; you stood my friend when i most needed one, an’ you’ll not be sorry for it. go home now, celia astore, an’ make your mind aisy — with god’s help an’ bryan cullenan’s they’ll not catch me this time aither ; i could hide here for a month, if all the peelers an’ the army from here to clonmel was afther me, barrin 7 they’d blow up the rock entirely. there’s so many vau’ts an’ places that nobody knows anything about, barrin 7 bryan an’ myself, that got into the knowledge of them this while back. so go home, darlin’, an’ don’t be frettin’ ; if m‘gowan an 7 the peelers comes here afther me, there’ll be the greatest game of hide-an’-go-seek that ever was played about cashel town, or rock aither. 77 “ob, oh, oh ! the lord save us ! 77 and celia began wring ing her hands. “ arrah, jerry, what’s cornin’ over you, at all? is it losin’ your senses you are, to be talkin’ that-a-way ? och wirra, wirra ! what’ll i do, at all 1 ” “ why, you foolish girl, it’s you that’s losin’ your wits. i tell you i’m no more mad than i ever was in all my life. go home now, when i bid you, but take care would anybody see you goin’ down from here at this hour o’ the night. but that’s true. tell me before you go, did you hear since mornin 7 how poor tim murtha is ? ” “well, no, jerry, i didn’t hear. god help him for one mis iortunate man, but it’s him has the hard times of it one way an’ another, an’ a harmless poor crathur he ever an 7 always was. 77 “true for you, celia. i suppose, now, you’re thinkin’, only you don’t wish to say it, that it’s strange how god afflicts the innocent, and lets the wicked escape— at any rate, for a while? come now, can’t i guess well ? ” kate costelloe . 241 the girl was silent and a little confused, seeing which jerry laughed a low, bitter laugh. “ i knew it,” he said, “but still i don’t wondher at it — amn’t i odious before god an’ man, an’ how could i expect any one to excuse me, or to feel for me ? go home now, an’ god be with you ! ” so saying, he plunged into the inner darkness, and celia saw him no more. she was turning to address some agitated words to bryan, when from out the same darkness came a melancholy voice, singing— “out of lady nancy’s there grew a red rose, and out of lord lovell’s a briar — iar — iar — and out of lord lovell’s a briar.” “lord bless us, who’s that?” cried celia, staring into the thick gloom. “ why, don’t you know the voice ? ” said bryan. before celia answered, cut glided a ghastly figure wrapped in what appeared to be a sheet — a winding-sheet it was to celia’s affrighted fancy. but lo, a look at the face, only partially visible under the shroud-like covering, reassured poor celia ; for it was mad mabel, who went on quite uncon cerned with a snatch from another old ballad, no less quaint and sad than the other — “ my father married me to a knight, my stepmother owed me at a cruel spite — she sent three robbers that very night, they robbed my bower, and slew my knight. u “ celia mulquin, i want to tell you a saycret ! ” and she put her head close to that of the shrinking girl. “ i’m goin’ to bring petticoat loose to friken them all here — husht ! i’m thinkin’ she’s in there now,” — peering curiously into the ruined aisles, where the moonbeams were now falling in silver sheen through slender shafts of shapely stone, by foliage tracery combined. 14 didn’t you hear something ? but maybe it isn’t her — hush — h-t ! ” — holding up the attenuated finger of one hand, while the other held the ghostly drapery under her chin, — “ husht ! maybe it’s patrick that’s in it, or walsh, or lacy, or one o’ the keoghs.” 16 242 the hermit of the rock a wild scream of horror suddenly broke the awful stillness of the dreary place, and whilst all the three, even mabel, were struck dumb with amazement, not to say fear, cautli emerged from the shade of a buttress, and joined the group, catching old bryan by the arm with convulsive energy, and a force that made his frail body quiver. before any one had time to speak, she was drawing bryan towards the gate with a strength which he could not resist, at the same time urging the others to follow. “ come on, now, i tell you,” she cried, in great excitement ; “ let us all get out o’ this before worse comes of it. celia mulquin, it’s you i may thank for all this.” “ me, cautli ? why, dear bless me ! what did i do ” “ you know well enough what you did — an’ more’s the shame an’ the disgrace for a dacent girl like you to be runnin’ aftlier a murdherer — ay, an’ the worst of murdherers, too ! i wouldn’t b’lieve it, celia, no, not if it was sworn to me on all the books that ever was shut an’ opened, that you’d be havin’ anything to say to that unlucky vagabone, jerry pierce ” — “whisht, whisht, cauth ! somebody ’ill hear you.” “no, i’ll not whisht, bryan cullenan, an’ i tell you it’s a sin and shame for ye both to be keepin’ him from the gallows where he ought to be many’s the day ago. if god spares me till the morrow mornin’ i’ll go before a magistrate, an’ i’ll go bail i’ll put them in the way of catchin’ him.” “god forgive you, honest woman ! ” said poor celia, as they stopped for bryan to lock the gate. “i’m not an honest woman !” said cauth fiercely, “but i’m a thankful woman, an’ i’ll hang the murderer of mr. esmond if it cost me my life.” “ god in heaven forgive you ! ” said celia again, and she burst into tears. “never mind her, celia,” said bryan soothingly; “she only wants to frighten you. doesn’t she know, an’ don’t you know too, that jerry pierce is not fool enough to stay long in the same place ? the country’s wide, an’ it’s hard to say where he’ll be the morrow night, or the morrow mornin’ aither. so go your ways home, my poor girl ! an’ sure, it’s my heart bleeds to see your father’s child in sich sore trouble.” kate costelloe. 243 “much about her trouble,” said cauth, as she entered the cabin, ‘ ‘ what is it to mrs. esmond’s 'l ” “are you goin’ to take mabel home with you ?” said bryan, seeing that celia had taken the poor maniac by the arm. “ in coorse i am, bryan, if she’ll only stay when i get her there.” “poor jerry pierce!” muttered mabel, as they went off together; “she’ll hang him, i know well, an’ then myself and celia ’ill be walkin/ walkin’ till the day o’ judgment all alone — alone — alone 1 ” chapter xix. an apparition at rose lodge. it was no idle threat of kate costelloe’s that she would give information to a magistrate of having seen jerry pierce on the rock, and it was with great difficulty that bryan could persuade her from going off at once to rose lodge with that amiable intention. “do you think,” said she, “that fm goin’ to screen th<s villain that dipped his hands in the blood of the poor young master? if i did, wouldn’t i be jist as bad as he is, an’ worse, too, in a manner? now, i tell you, bryan, there’s no use talkin’ to me, an’ it makes my blood boil, so it does, to hear you tryin’ to excuse the bloodthirsty villain ” — “ i’m not tryin’ to excuse him — how could i ? ” “well, how came you to harbour him on the rock above, as i see you did? tell me that, now, you hard-hearted, un grateful ould man, you ? ” “ god forgive you, cauth aroon,” said bryan mildly, “ for all the bad names you’re callin’ me ! sure, if the man did hide himself of a time on the rock, it wasn’t me that harboured him. scores of people might hide in the crypts an’ places away underground without me ever seein’ or hearin’ one o’ them. an’ another thing, i’ll warrant you jerry pierce has more gumpshin in him than to go tell me or any one else what place he was hidin’ in.” “well, anyway, i hope it’ll never come to mrs. esmond’s ears that he teas up there ” — “ an’, to be sure, it’ll come to her ears if you go an’ tell the ould gentleman. but, anyway, say your prayers an’ go to bed, an’ maybe you’ll not be so hot on it in the mornin’ as you are now. pray to god to direct you ! ” he was going to add, 244 an apparition at pose lodge. 245 “ i think you ought to he the last woman to do such a thing, afther all the misery you brought on yourself before,” but, knowing by experience the probable effect of any such allusion, he prudently kept the thought to himself. next morning cauth declared her intention of going to rose lodge, and all bryan could obtain from her in the way of concession was a promise not to go till after nightfall. “ very good,” said he, “an’ til go with you myself for com pany.” so the matter rested between them for that day, and bryan went up to the rock, after swallowing a hasty breakfast. we will now introduce the reader to the parlour of rose lodge on the evening of that same day. it was a pleasant loom on the first floor; and the breath of flowers, the faint sweet perfume of the jessamine and the honeysuckle, was wafted in from the creeping plants trained around the windows, mingled with the rich odour of mignonette and wallflowers in tasteful green boxes on the sills. the evening sun was sinking, and the evening breeze was sighing amongst the leaves and flowers, giving a tremulous motion to their fantastic shadows within the room. without, all was peace — within, trouble and unrest, for of those assembled in that handsome apartment perhaps not one at that feverish moment enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour. there was the master of the house striding to and fro the room with that quick, irregular pace which denotes not thought, but passion. there was his wife watching him with anxious eyes ; and aunt winifred, rigid as ever, but with more colour than usual on her cheek, while a certain twitching of the mouth and a tremulous motion of the eyelids denoted some inward emotion not very common with her. opposite her, near one of the windows, sat young mrs. esmond, in her deep mourning robe and widow’s cap, her eyes red with weeping, and her lips and cheeks colourless as those of a marble statue. her tearful eyes were fixed on a half-length portrait of her husband which nung on the wall opposite, and gradually her look became abstracted, as her thoughts wandered back into the blessed past — the sunny years and days of “long ago.” and mary hennessy was there, and dean m‘dermot, the latter evidently trying to reason mr, esmond out of some desperate purpose. 246 the hermit of the rock \ how anxiously aunt martha kept glancing from one to the other, hoping, doubtless, from the friendly remonstrances of the good pastor what she could not dare to attempt herself. as yet his arguments appeared to have had but little effect. “ i tell you, dean,’ 7 said mr. esmond, stopping suddenly in his march, and planting himself before the priest, with his thumbs in his vest-pockets, — “ i tell you there’s no use trying to persuade me from it ! i know it’s matty there that put you on the scent, and it may be that she and you are both right, but i’ve made up my mind, and the pope himself wouldn’t persuade me from it. i’ll go out this night, with m‘gowan and the police, come what will, and see if we don’t trap the fellow ” — “ but, mr. esmond ” — “not a word, dean, not a word, — begging your pardon, and meaning no disrespect, none whatever, — but i’m of opinion that if i had gone out myself now and then from the first, the villain would have been caught long ago. i know my duty, sir, and i mean to do it. yes, sir, i mean to do it ; for the blood of my murdered nephew cries to me from the ground, and sleep or rest i cannot take for thinking of him. blood must have blood, and it is a crying shame that the hardened ruffian who so wantonly shed my poor harry’s should have so long escaped detection, and that at our very door, as people say — why, it makes me mad — yes, sir, mad — to think of it ! ” “well, but, my dear harry” — began his wife; but he quickly stopped her. “ silence, you, matty, — one’s enough at a time, you know.” “i was going to remind you,” said dean m‘dermot, “that we do not any of us wish you to desist from any lawful means of securing the arrest of the unhappy culprit — that is, if he be still in the country, which i doubt.” “ in the name of god, then, dean m‘dermot, tell me what you do wish ! ” cried mr. esmond almost fiercely. “i have told you, sir,” was the calm but dignified answer; “ i have endeavoured to prove to you that your going out with the police and this informer ” — “ informer? what do you mean, sir?” “well, we shall not quarrel about a word,” said the dean, smiling ; “i mean this new witness you have got. i have endeavoured to prove to you, i repeat, that your going out at an apparition at rose lodge. 247 the head ot the party was by no means necessary, and might possibly be a very dangerous proceeding on your part.” “ oh, as for the danger,” said the old man curtly, “ that’s my own affair. ill attend to that. so, if you have no other reason to advance, i will bid you good-evening at once, as m ‘go wan and mr. moran and some others are waiting in the office.” “ oh, uncle harry, uncle harry,” said the young widow, speaking for the first time, “ i beseech you, risk not your own life in perhaps a vain effort to arrest the — the ” — sobs choked her voice — she could say no more. “ let him go,” said miss esmond, with bitter mockery, — “ let him go, — of course he has his life well insured. he knows he has the goodwill of the people, and probably thinks that if any danger did threaten him, some stalwart beggar would haply advance to the rescue.” “for mercy’s sake, winifred, don’t speak so ! ” whispered her sister-in-law. just at that moment, and whilst mr. esmond was clearly meditating some savage retort on his sister, the door opened, and in walked phil moran, followed closely by just such a “ stalwart beggar” as miss esmond’s biting sarcasm had indicated. every one looked astonished, the more so as the man kept his caubeen on his head, as though he had been my lord kenmare himself. 1 moran anticipated the angry question that was coming in thunder from uncle harry’s tongue. “ here is a man,” said he, “ mr. esmond, who wants to see you on business so import ant that it will not brook delay.” “and why the d 1 don’t you take him to the office? don’t you know well enough, moran, that this is no place for business ? ” “well, to tell the truth, i didn’t bring him here. he came into your office with that queer genius of a clerk of mine, ned murtha, whom i left in my office hard at work, and, 1 there are few of our readers, it is presumed, who are not aware of the high privilege enjoyed from time immemorial by the barons of kenmare, that of remaining covered in the presence of royalty — the reward of some leal service rendered in the stormy days of old. 243 the hermit oe 1he rock according to ned’s statement, he is prepared to give evidence against ” — “ against jerry pierce ! ” cried mr. esmond, coming eagerly forward. “ why, that’s capital good news, upon my honour ! ” and he rubbed his hands fast and furiously. “ we’ll have no lack of evidence now. but tell me, honest man, why did you not come forward before if you knew anything about this wretched business 1 how did it happen, i say, that you kept the secret so long ? ” “i’d keep it longer,” was the gruff answer, “if it wasn’t for the reward. i may as well tell you the thruth at onst.” “ what a barefaced villain ! ” whispered moran to mary hennessy, beside whom he somehow managed to find himself. “ there is something in his voice that i don’t like,” was the young lady’s reply at the same time. the younger mrs. esmond turned to the window to hide her tears, and perhaps still more to avoid seeing the man, whose presence was distasteful to her, she knew not why. luckily for her purpose, mad mabel suddenly appeared outside, and, after glancing with the wild look of her unhappy class at each of the persons within the room, her eyes rested on the beggar man, and she sang in her usual way — “one of my false comrades did me betray, and for one bare guinea swore my life away.’* “ hush ! hush ! ” said mrs. esmond in her sweet, gentle voice. “ ocli ! why wouldn’t i sing, ma’am ? sure, it’s ‘ the croppy boy,’ you know — in new geneva this young man died, and in killeevin his body lies ; all ye roman catholics that do pass by, pray the lord have mercy on the croppy boy ! poor patrick ! sure, i pray for you, anyway — och ! no, i don’t — i can’t pray now, at all — five hundred pounds then they would lay down, for to see me walkin’ through wexford town. ah ! the poor croppy boy ! sure, they hanged him, aftlier all, an’ they’ll hang j erry pierce, and what’ll celia do then ? ” an apparition ai roae lodge. 249 “will you send her off out of that?” cried mr. esmond, stamping his foot in a towering passion. “don't be angry with me, mr. esmond,” said mabel, with a frightened look. “ sure, / didn't say i'd kill ould esmond that night in the abbey — it was tim murtha, an' — an' ” — here she was dragged away by a gardener, whom mrs. esmond had seen passing, and beckoned to approach for that purpose. “ speak out, you, fellow ! ” said mr. esmond, his face some what paler than usual, and a visible tremor in his voice. “ what’s your name, in the first place ? cbrcfound you ! why don't you answer me ? — who are you ? ” and, in his eagerness to know, he caught hold of the man's coat by the collar and gave him a shake. “ take your hand off my collar, mr. esmond,” replied the man in a tone half fierce, half sullen, “then i’ll tell you who i am.” the hand was removed accordingly, and he moved a step or two back, then said in a loud, distinct tone — “i'm jerry pierce! i heard you were goin' out wid the peelers to take me, so i came to save you the trouble.” the sound of his familiar voice, evidently disguised before, and the mention of a name so hated by all, had the effect of an electric shock on all present. the dean started to bis feet, and opened his mouth to speak, but remained as if spellbound by the man's audacity. one simultaneous shriek burst from the ladies, and young mrs. esmond fainted away in her chair. as for uncle harry, stout and stubborn as he was, he reeled back some paces, till the dean caught him by the arm ; every drop of blood forsook his cheek, and his eyes rested with a wild and haggard stare on the face now exposed to view by the removal of the caubeen. before another word was spoken, the parlour door opened, and a servant appearing, said that the old man of the rock, and a woman he had with him, wanted to see his honour on very particular business. “ let them go to — halifax ! ” cried mr. esmond, his rage concentrating on the unhappy man who stood so unblushingly before him. “you’d best let them in,” said pierce coolly. “ i b'lieve it’s cornin’ to lodge information agin me the woman is — to let you know where you'll find jerry pierce.” 250 the hermit of the rock. “ silence ! ” roared mr. esmond, and he motioned to the ervant to show bryan and cauth into the office. “ why not have them in here, harry ? ” said miss esmond. “ay, that’s always the way with you women,” snapped her brother; “you want to see and hear everything.” “well, i confess,” said dean m c dermot, “i was just going to make the same request ; however, if you have any particular objection ” — “none in the world, dean. though i really cannot under stand why any of you should wish to have these old people brought in, you shall be gratified by a sight of them. show them in, dick. mr. moran, have the goodness to send word to the barrack for captain dundas to send some men immediately.” “well, if it’s plasm’ to your honour,” said pierce, twirling his hat between his hands and looking at it sheepishly, “i would wish to have the business settled as soon as convaynient — in regard to the reward that’s promised for the takin’ of j erry pierce.” the ladies, more than ever disgusted by the man’s audacious hardihood, raised their hands and eyes in horror, and uttered exclamations of terror and amazement, with the exception of young mrs. esmond, who, having somewhat recovered, stood up, and, taking mary hennessy’s arm, prepared to leave the room, carefully avoiding the sight of pierce. moran, as if for getful of the important commission given him, stood motionless in his place ; uncle harry, between rage and astonishment, found himself incapable of uttering a word; dean m‘dermot stood with folded arms watching the unhappy criminal from between his half-closed eyelids with an undefined expression of intense interest. as mrs. esmond passed him with tottering steps, he calmly and quietly laid his hand on her arm and said in a significant tone — “ i think you had better remain.” “ oh, dean, i cannot — i cannot ! — it would kill me — indeed, indeed it would ! oh, my god ! ” and she burst into a passionate flood of tears, “ to think of me being in the same room with the murderer of my darling, darling harry ! ” “but, sure, you’re not, mrs. esmond dear ! — sure, you’re not an apparition at rose lodge. 251 in the same room with him, at all ! ” it was pierce himself that spoke, and his voice was broken and tremulous. “ oh, the mur.dherin’ villain, hear to what he says ! ” cried cauth from the corner where she and bryan had placed them selves, — “the murclherin’ villain ! isn’t it a wondher the earth doesn’t open an’ swallow him up afther tellin’ that black lie, %n’ his reverence to the fore, an’ the poor mistress ? ” “silence!” cried again the stern voice of mr. esmond; “leave the wretch to me.” “well, but, your honour, mr. esmond,” persisted cauth, “ doesn’t the whole counthry know he done the deed ? an’ didn’t i come here myself a purpose to let you know that i seen him last night on the bock above? an’ wouldn’t i a’ travelled every fut o’ the road to dublin an’ back again, to prove agin him, the unlucky vagabone ? ” mr. esmond was turning fiercely on bryan to ask how it happened that pierce came to be seen on the bock, when he and all present were struck dumb with amazement by the sudden change that had come over his niece. from the moment that pierce spoke those strange words she had stood as if transfixed, her soft hazel eyes dilating with wonder as they penetrated farther and deeper into the soul of the sup posed murderer of her husband, through the big bold eyes that never quailed a moment under that searching glance, but seemed rather to invite it. there the two stood — face to face — immovable — mute as statues — gazing into each other’s eyes, whilst nor word nor breath from any of the spectators broke the awful silence. at xast mrs. esmond drew a long sigh, like one recovering from a swoon, her pale lips opened, and some broken, tremulous words were faintly heard — “do you mean to say, jerry pierce, that you are not the murderer of my husband ? ” and pierce answered with the same unshrinking confidence, “ i do, mrs. esmond — that’s what i mane to say, an’ i take god to witness this blessed day, — an’ sure, his beautiful bright sun is goin’ down there behind the mountains,” he raised his arm solemnly and held it aloft, — “that what i say is truth an’ no lie ! ” “great god! is it possible ?” cried miss esmond. “dear! dear ! ” said he? sister-in-law. mary hennessy said nothing, 252 the hermit of the rock. she was too much intent in watching the principal actors in the deeply-exciting scene. moran rested his hand on the back of a chair, in a position to examine pierce’s countenance, him self partially hidden by the goodly bulk of mr. esmond. the latter stood trembling like an aspen leaf with the fierce passion that was brewing within him. “then you didn’t murder him, jerry pierce 1” said the widow in softening accents, — “you didn’t murder your good master ? ” “if you don’t b’lieve me, ma’am,” said pierce, the tears choking his utterance, “ ask his reverence there — i’ll engage he doesn’t misdoubt my word.” almost involuntarily every eye was turned on the dean, and mrs. esmond in particular fixed an anxious look on his bene volent face, where some deep emotion was setting every muscle in motion. “i believe him, mrs. esmond,” said the venerable man, with that calm dignity which never forsook him ; “i believe in my heart he tells you what is true.” “/ don’t believe him, then,” cried mr. esmond vehemently ; “i’d as soon believe the father of lies, that was a murderer from the beginning ! ” his voice was hoarse, and his fac<? livid with rage. “ i tell you both he’s an incarnate fiend, that same jerry pierce, and it’s burned he ought to be — burned instead of hanged. but hanged he’ll be, if there’s law or justice in tipperary ! i’d — i’d hang him myself if there was no one else to do it. i would, by ” — the oath that was on his foam ing lips never passed them — it died away unspoken, beneath the stern glance of the dean. “well, all / can say is this, mr. esmond,” said pierce in a firm, manly tone, “ that if you knew but all, you’d be the last man alive to say that of jerry pierce.” “ what do you mean, you villain ? ” thundered the enraged magistrate. here the elder mrs. esmond uttered an exclamation of sur prise and looked significantly at moran. “i mane this, your honour — that only for poor jerry pierce, villain an’ all as he is, you wouldn’t be here now to call him so, but moulderin ’away in the vault above, beside my poor dear master — god rest his soul in glory 1 ” an apparition at rose lodge. 253 “ this is more of your atrocious lies ! ” cried mr. esmond. “ do you take me for a fool, you scoundrel ? ” “ well, i don’t, mr. esmond, bekase them that ’id buy your honour for a fool, ’id be apt to lie a long time out o’ their money. howsomever, you ought to remember me of all people, for if i hadn’t been out on my tlu’amp the night your horse wanted to put you an’ the mistress in the quarry beyant, an’ one that wasn’t a horse, but a poor heart-broken man, had a pistol in his hand at the limekiln , i’m thinkin’ it’s little trouble the world ’id be to you now. an’ listen hither, mr. esmond,” he added slowly and emphatically, “ that pistol was the very one that shot your nephew , — the light of heaven to his soul! — an’ the same hand that pulled the trigger that black an’ dismal night was goin’ to pull it then, an’ would, too, mr. esmond, only for the voice that said ‘ remember 1 ’ and that voice was jerry pierce’s.” various exclamations of astonishment escaped the listeners, the younger mrs. esmond alone remaining silent. she had sunk on a chair opposite pierce, and sat with her hands clasped and her head bowed down beneath the crushing load of newly revived sorrow. “ do you hear that, mrs. esmond i ” whispered mary hen nessy. “ you see it wasn’t poor pierce that did it, after all.” “i heard it, mary, i heard it,” she listlessly replied; “ but it makes little difference to me who did it. some one did it— that’s certain.” for several moments mr. esmond and jerry pierce stood looking at each other in silence — the one with a look of blank amazement, in which a certain tinge of incredulity was strangely mingled — the other with the same unshrinking confidence with which he had before confronted the widowed wife of young harry esmond. the dean and moran exchanged significant glances, intimating to each other the prudence of keeping silent for the present. when the old man spoke again his face was paler than its wont, and there was a husky tone in his voice, yet he laboured hard to keep up his usual sternness of voice and mien. “i know it doesn’t hurt you much,” said he, “to trump up a story ” — “ harry,” said his wife, suddenly breaking silence, “ he didn’t 254 the hermit of the rock. trump up that story, anyhow, — he saved our lives that night, as true as he’s standing there. i suspected as much the moment he came into the room in that costume, and i would know among a thousand the tone of the voice that uttered that word 4 remember i ’ for it has rung in my ears ever since, sleeping and waking.” 44 and who was he,” resumed mr. esmond in the same half incredulous tone, as if scarcely noticing the interruption, — 44 who was he that, according to your showing, would have made away with another of the esmonds? you are not going to keep liis secret, are you ? ” there was a long pause, during which the heavy features of jerry pierce were convulsed as by some inward struggle. every ear was strained to catch the answer, every eye was fixed on the man’s face — even henrietta esmond had started into sudden animation as the important question reached her ear, and she leaned eagerly forward, with her very soul in her eyes. moran and the dean shifted their positions so as to get a fuller view of pierce’s countenance, but neither spoke. slowly at last spoke jerry pierce, and his lips and his cheeks were ashen white as he hissed out the name of tim murtha, then covered his face with his hands, as though to conceal the shame of that moment. 44 tim murtha ! ” was repeated from mouth to mouth in tones of horror and disgust, while each one looked into their neigh hour’s face to read the effect of the announcement. 44 take care how you answer me, fellow !” said mr. esmond speaking with difficulty, some strange emotion quivering in his frame ; 44 are you sure — sure it was tim murtha?” 44 as sure as i am that there’s a god in heaven !” answered pierce solemnly and reverently. 44 dean, or you, moran, question him,” said the old man in a choking voice. 44 1 — i can’t go on with it and he sat down beside his niece. the dean motioned to moran to speak, for even he was more agitated than he cared to show. moran bowed assent. 44 then we are to infer from what you say,” said he, 44 that it was tim murtha who shot young mr. esmond ? ” 44 wisha ! god pity him an’ me, it was, sir ! ” — and the tears an apparition at rose lodge . 255 came trickling from between the big, hard, sinewy fingers that still covered pierce’s agonised face. moran raised his hand gently to enjoin silence on the listeners. “and what motive,” said he, “induced him to perpetrate so foul a murder 1 ? what ill feeling could he have against mr. esmond ? ” here mr. esmond raised himself in his chair and fixed a look of searching scrutiny on pierce. and pierce, before he answered, turned a deprecating, almost a compassionate look on the old man. “he had no motive, at all, in killin’ him , mr. moran,” he slowly replied, “ nor no ill-will that ever man had, — an’ he no more meant to kill him that night than he did to kill me or you.” “ great god ! how was it, then ? ” “ he mistook him for another.” “ ha ! ” cried miss esmond, starting to her feet, “ i knew 7 it — i knew that no one ever meant to kill our darling harry.” “ glory be to god ! ” cried cauth, advancing a step or two from her corner. still the widow stirred not, nor did mr. esmond. “ but how — how,” said moran, after an embarrassed pause, — ‘how did — such a mistake occur?” jerry pierce avoided looking at mr. esmond, though he felt jhat his piercing glance was on him, reading his very soul. “it was the horse he rode — an’ the name he had — that caused his death — an’ saved another ! ” “merciful heaven!” cried aunt martha, as her own secret misgivings and the often-hinted suspicions of her sister-in-law were thus to the letter justified. moran came to a dead pause, turned a troubled, anxious look on mr. esmond, and seemed as if uncertain v 7 hether he ought to continue. “go on,” said mr. esmond, rightly interpreting his hesitation. “ pardon me, mr. esmond,” said the kind-hearted lawyer, would it not be better to postpone the further hearing of this strange and mournful tale ? ” “go on i tell you,” was the stern reply. “ask him how 256 the hermit of the rock. it happened. it will all he soon known to the whole country.” “ you hear what mr. esmond says ? ” said moran, addressing pierce. “i do, sir, an* if he wants to hear it i’ll tell it, though i’d sooner not.” but still he hesitated, looked askance at young mrs. esmond, wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his coat, coughed, looked again, then fairly burst out crying, and said as well as he could for the choking in his throat, “ there’s no use try in’ any more — i can’t do it — an’ the mistress to the fore ! — i can’t — it ’id kill her dead, so it would ! ” mrs. esmond raised her head and looked at him with a ghastly smile, as she replied, “ no fear of that, pierce ! — it is pretty hard to kill me ! — and i must hear what — what you have to tell, one day or another, so in god’s name tell it now while i am able to listen.” here the tramp of marching men was heard outside ; the parlour door was opened stealthily, and the cadaverous visage of ned murtha made its appearance, followed by his lank body. he looked at no one, seemed to think of no one, but jerry pierce, who stood near the door, and to him he whispered in a tone of horror and alarm — “the peelers, jerry! — the peelers is without, an’ sargint eellett ! ” “well, what o’ that?” said pierce, though his cheek blanched at the dreaded name. “didn’t i know they’d be takin’ me, an’ didn’t i give myself up ? ” “sure i know, jerry dear — i know; but — och, och ! lord help us ! ” “ leave the room, sir ! ” cried mr. esmond sternly. “ how dare you come in here unbidden ? ” “ perhaps it were well to let him remain,” suggested moran ; “we may want him.” “humph! want him? ’’’growled the surly old man, not in dissent, however. “ go on, you, pierce ! — mr. informer, i suppose we may call you now — giving up your associate in crime to save your own worthless life — eh ? ” the evil spirit was coming back on him, and pierce glared on him like a tiger preparing for a spring. fire flashed from his eyes, and his face was suffused with a burning glow. words an apparition at rose lodge. 257 sharp and bitter were on his lips, when young mrs. esmond rose, and, approaching him, to the surprise of all present, laid her hand on his arm. “ pierce,” said she, “ there’s something telling me that you have spoken truly denying the murder of my poor husband — if you were not accessory to it, tell us, i beseech you, what you know about it, and how you came to know it.” “ i will, ma’am, as i have god to face, i’ll tell you all about it,” said pierce, more firmly than before, as though braced up to greater hardihood by the wanton attack of mr. esmond. “i said before that it wasn’t my poor master tim murtha meant to kill, but ” — “ but his uncle 'l ” put in mr. esmond, with a bitter sneer. “ you’ve jist guessed it, mr. esmond,” said pierce, turning on him almost fiercely ; “it was his uncle an’ nobody else. an’ if the truth was known, maybe it was no great wonder. any how, the whole country knew that tim had it in for you, an’ maybe more than tim, for that matter.” “ villain ! scoundrel ! ” cried mr. esmond, starting up in a rage. “ take it aisy now, mr. esmond,” said pierce coolly, and with an impressive motion of his hand, “ if you want to hear the story before i’m taken off to gaol. don’t be callin’ people sich ugly names till you know whether they desarve it or not. i said every one knew that tim had it in for you, an’ i was tryin’ all i could to put the evil thought out of his head, but jist as soon as i’d get him persuaded to lave it all in the hands o’ god, mr. esmond here was sure to do something to stir up his blood worse than ever ” — the old gentleman was again breaking in with a fierce objurgation, but the dean, laying his hand on his arm, begged him to remain quiet, or that otherwise they might as well give up hopes of hearing the sad details. “ he never got right over that hurt,” resumed pierce, “ an’ so he wasn’t able to work, an’ there was nothing for it but to go out an’ take to the road at onst, an’ when himself an’ the childer ’id be goin’ their rounds he met mr. esmond of an odd time, an’ though he never asked him for anything — he’d scorn to do it — still he always gave him the height of abuse, an’ called him a ‘ lazy dog,’ and all sich names, an’ many’s the time i7 258 the hermit of the rock . he threatened to horsewhip him, till at last he had the poor fellow ’most beside himself, an’ he said the two o’ them couldn’t live any longer, that one o’ them must die ! well, afther that, sure myself was night an’ day on the watch for fear he’d have the misfortune to do it, and things wore round till that unlucky day that the poor master went to rose lodge ” — “merciful heaven !” cried young mrs. esmond; “he went at my urgent request to warn his uncle of the danger to which he was exposed.” “i know that, mrs. esmond. it was cauth there that told you of it, and cauth can tell you who told her , and put her up to tell you.” “well, sure enough it was your four bones, jerry pierce,” said cauth, with a groan ; “ there’s no denyin’ that, anyhow ! ” “an’ i was watchin’ tim all that day,” went on jerry, “an’ havin’ others watchin’ him too, both him and ould mr. esmond — ay, an’ the young master too, for some way or another i had a fear over me about him, though i couldn’t tell what it was for, or how it came. at last, when it was wearin’ on near evenin’ i made up my mind that i wouldn’t stand it any longer, but i’d go to tim an’ get him to go with me, himself an’ the childer, to some other part o’ the counthry, where i’d work for them all, an’ keep poor tim out of the way of doing the bad that was in his heart to do.” “and that was the object of your leaving, jerry?” said mrs. esmond in a tremulous voice. “surely it was, ma’am; but, as i said, there was something over me, and when i heard that the master — god rest him! — was goin’ to rose lodge, well, do you know, but my flesh began to creep, an’ i went out to mulligan, an’ says i to him, ‘ tom, i’m afeard there’s something bad goin’ to happen ; ’ an’ mulligan laughed at me, an’ says he, ‘ i have to go in to give the bit of this bridle a rub, for it isn’t as bright as i’d wish, an’ do you be gettin’ the roan saddled while i’m away, for you see the master’s in a hurry.’ ‘ i will,’ says i, an’ sure enough i tried to do it, but somehow i was so through-other in myself, an’ my hands was tremblin’ to that degree, that i couldn’t get on as i’d wish, an’ when tom came in a great hurry to take out the roan, he was as mad as a march hare when he found i hadn’t it done, an’ i b’lieve it’s angry enough the poor master was at havin’ to an apparition at rose lodge. 2 59 wait so long. well, lie got off, anyhow, an’ afther i went in an’ said some words to the mistress before i’d go, i went off as fast as my legs ’id carry me towards the lodge. not a sight o’ tim could i see up or down, an’ there i kep’ walkin’ backwards and forwards along the road near the lodge, sometimes takin’ to the fields for fear any one ’id notice me, till at last it came on night, and then says i to myself, 4 he!\ 1 not be goin’ out the night, i’m thinkin’, when he wasn’t out before ; an’ sure there’s no danger of my master, anyhow,’ so with that i was makin’ the best o’ my speed to larry mulquin’s, where i had a little business o’ my own, when, jist as i got to mr. elliott’s gate ” — here a singular interruption took place, the nature of which we will describe in our next chapter. at the window again appeared mabel, chanting still the tragic fate of 44 the croppy boy “five hundred pounds then she would lay down, for to see me walkin’ through wexford town. farewell, father, an’ mother too, sister mary, i have but you — 44 och, wirra ! there’s the peelers ! ” and, with an unearthly scream of terror, she fled like a lapwing. chapter xx. "who killed mr. esmond. jerry pierce had just reached the most critical point of his narrative, as we have seen, when loud voices were heard in the hall, the door was flung open, and an old woman in a red cloak planted on the floor, first herself, then her staff, with angry determination, and a fierce exultation that was explained by the sheepish look of a servant in livery, who had been vainly endeavouring to keep the dame from entering the parlour. “be off wid yourself, now ! ” cried she, turning and shaking her stick at him ; “ you don’t know what it is to anger me, but i’ll make you know it afore you’re many days oulder ! — be off now, when i bid you ! ” and she slammed the door in his face, then turned again and faced the company, her two hands resting on her stick, and her keen old eyes peering sharply from under her deep hood. “where’s jerry pierce?” said she. “i want jerry pierce.” “ here i am, vanithee,” said pierce, close beside her ; “ what’s wrong wid you ? ” “ there’s nothing wrong wid me ” she said, drawing close to him, and looking up in his face with an undefinable expression of interest; “but there’s everything wrong wid you , an’ i come to stand your friend, bekase i know you want one. what are they all doin’ here ? and what’s the peelers doin’ there abroad ? they didn’t take you, did they?” “ho; but i took myself, vanithee — i gave myself up.” “ god help you, then ! for it’s you was the foolish man to do it — you’ll be sorry for it, mind i tell you, an’ i often tould it to you before. but, past counsel past grace” her# mr. esmond rang the bell furiously, and ordered, the 260 who killed mr . esmond. 261 servant who appeared to remove the woman immediately. hearing that, she faced him like a lioness. “no, nor you’ll not remove me,” she cried, mimicking his tone. “here i am, an’ here i’ll be as long as lie's in it,” nodding sideways to j erry pierce. “ when he goes i’ll go, an’ not till then.” “ we shall see that. tell sergeant kellett to send in some of his men.” this soon changed the woman’s tone, and she addressed her self in piteous terms to those present. “ oh, mrs. esmond, you were always good to me — an’ the poor young madam ! oh, ma’am dear, sure, you' 11 not be hard-hearted, anyhow ! — ’on’t you put in a word for me ? 0 lord ! here they’re cornin’ ! father m‘dermot, i know you’re not pleased with me, an’ sure it’s little wondher, god he knows ; but i’m not so bad as they say, your reverence ! och, take pity on a poor ould erathur, an’ don’t let the peelers take me !-— i want to stay wid jerry here.” “but, my good woman,” said the dean kindly, but coldly, “what business have you here? this is no place for you, and you ought to know that.” “ and sure i do know it, your reverence, sure i do know it well — but isn’t it my own son that’s here to the fore, an’ the peelers abroad to take him for murder — though he’s as innocent of it as the child unborn ! ” “you his mother? you jerry pierce’s mother?” was heard on every side, and no one appeared more surprised than jerry himself, who was actually struck dumb with amazement, and stood looking at the woman with eyes wide distended. the door opened, and mr. esmond made a sign to the two policemen who appeared to take the old woman from the room. involuntarily j erry pierce put his great strong arm round her, and her piteous cry drew an earnest remonstrance from the ladies. dean m c dermot approached mr. esmond and whis pered a request that the wretched creature might be suffered to remain, whilst moran took it upon himself to dismiss the policemen, telling them to remain in the hall. none of these movements escaped the keen eye of the vanithee, and as moran passed her she whispered, without moving her head, “ come to my house this evening after dark, and i’ll tell you something you’ll be glad to hear.” he turned 262 the hermit of the rock. in surprise to look at her, but she was looking another way. “if you are to remain, then,” said mr. esmond sternly, “mind you don’t open your mouth to speak — if you do, out you go, and off to the black hole.” “ long life to your honour, i’ll be as quiet as a mouse ! ” jerry pierce was then ordered to resume his sad tale, which he did in these terms — “i said i had just got to mr. elliott’s gate, an’ you all know what a dark place it is on account o’ the big trees that spreads out over the road — well, something put it into my head to stop a little so as to take a look round, for the moon was jist be ginnin’ to rise, an’ it was as purty a night as ever you seen. you’d wondher how any one could have murdher in their heart sich a night as that ; but, ochone ! the divil cares little for purty nights or purty days ! well, anyhow, i was only a rninnit or two standin’ wid my back to one o’ the gate-piers, when i hears a horse’s foot cornin’ dashin’ up the road from rose lodge, an’ says i to myself, ‘ if the master’s above ground now that’s him/ an’ sure enough it was, an’ didn’t my heart jump to my mouth when i seen him as plain as i see any of you now, an’ sure enough he was goin’ like the wind, ’most at a gallop ” — “my poor darling ! my poor harry !” sobbed mrs. esmond; “ true enough you said it, * nine o'clock or never ! ’ ” and she buried her face in her handkerchief. the other ladies were all in tears. “jist as he passed me,” resumed jerry, “i heard a voice among the trees sayin’, ‘there’s the roan now, an’ harry esmond — but stop, stop ! it’s young harry ! ’ the last words came too late — a shot was fired at the sound of the name — and before i could get out a word i heard my poor master sayin’, ‘ my god ! i’m killed ! ’ and he fell sideways off the horse ; but he didn’t fall on the ground — i cotched him in my arms ! ” here poor jerry’s voice failed him, and, after many ineffectual efforts to master his emotion, he burst into tears and cried as if his heart would break. isto one spoke — the mighty grief of some, the deep sympathy of others, the compassion of others, kept all silent. at last pierce spoke again, after clearing his voice divers times — who killed mr. esmond. 263 “ the horse galloped away towards the hall, an’ i sat down on the roadside and laid my poor master's head up again' my breast an' strove all i could to bring him to ; but sure, what could i do when death was there? — all i could do was to staunch the blood wid a bit of a liandkercher i had, — an', indeed, i have that same liandkercher away in a little box wid his blood on it, —the vanithee can tell you that, — an' i mane to keep it, too, though it's a poor keepsake, but it's all the keepsake poor jerry pierce has. well, while i was sittin' there, afeard to lave him for fear there might still be a chance of him cornin' to, who should start out to me but tim murtha, an' he says to me, 4 why, sure, sure, it isn't your master 'id be in it ? ' an' says i to him, 4 it's nobody else that’s in it, god look down on his poor wife this night, an' the little weeny crathurs he left afther him ! — an’ god forgive them that spilled his blood ! for it's the heavy curse i’m afeard '11 come down on them ! ' to tell god's truth, poor tim was as much troubled as i was in a manner, an' he didn't attempt to deny that it was him done it, but all the satisfaction i could get out of him was that it was ould harry esmond he meant to shoot. 4 but do you think he is dead ? ' says he, loanin' over him. 4 as dead as a door nail,' says i, 4 god help us all this night ! ’ 4 amen ! ' says he, 4 amen ! an' sure, god he knows i'd sooner be lyin' there where he is this night, than to think i'd have the hard fortune to shoot him ! but och, och ! it was all the fau't of that unlucky bird, thady mulrooney, that i set to watch for the ould chap.' (don't be vexed at me , mr. esmond, i'm only sayin’ what he said.) ‘but,’ says i, ‘you misfortunate man, didn't you know the master was at rose lodge, an' that it wasn't likely the ould gentleman 'id be goin' to the hall at that hour o' the night ? ' ‘well,' says he, 4 1 declare to you, jerry pierce, i didn't know your master was at the lodge, however i chanced to miss seein' him, an' the groom at the lodge tould thady, an' him ladin' the roan up an' down, that mr. esmond was goin' to the hall, an' thady never thought of askin' which he meant* knowin' well that the roan didn't belong to young mr. esmond ; sure, myself never misdoubted but it was the ould lad was goin,' an' i thought i'd do the business at onst an' have it over.' " here the widow's emotion became so violent that she was 264 the hermit of the rock. taken from the room by mary hennessy and aunt martha, both of whom soon returned, as she begged to be left alone. “go on with what you were saying,” said mr. esmond sharply; “we have no time to wait for your crocodile tears to dry ! — go on, i say.” “ ah, you ould rap ! ” muttered the vanithee between her teeth ; “ it’s a pity it wasn’t you was in it, an’ not your nevy ! ” “ now, i’ll tell you what it is, mr. esmond,” said pierce, with manly firmness, “ if you don’t keep your tongue off me, i’ll keep my mouth shut, an’ you may bring in the peelers as soon as you like.” “pray go on, pierce,” said dean m‘dermot, anxious to prevent mr. esmond from speaking the still harder words that were on his lips. “i will, your reverence, when you bid me,” said pierce, “but i wouldn’t do it for him. anyhow, there isn’t much more to tell. i was tryin’ hard to get tim away before any one ’id come, but someway or another i couldn’t get him insensed into the danger of stayin’ there ; he was so stupefied when he seen what he had done, an’ that mr. esmond wasn’t cornin’ to, that you might as well talk to a big stone, an’ i was ’most out o’ my mind wid grief an’ trouble, dreadin’ every minnit that somebody ’id come an’ catch the misfortunate man, an’ still watchin’ for some one to help to take the poor master home. god only knows what i went through in that little while, till tom mulligan an’ barney breen came up on the look-out for mr. esmond. they w t ere passin’ us by, as one or two others did before, on account o’ the dark shadow of the trees over where we were, when i called out to them, an’ they came over, an’ och, och ! but there’s where the cry in’ an’ clappin’ of hands was, when they found the poor master, that we all had our hearts in, lyin’ there dead — dead — dead in my arms. an’ when they asked who done it, at all, sure myself, thinkin’ to screen poor tim, said i didn’t know, that it was somebody from behind the fence, what do you think of tim but he spoke out an’ said, ‘now, don’t be tellin’ lie*s, jerry pierce! — you know well enough who done it. it was me ,’ says he to tom ; ‘ i’m the unlucky poor crathur that shot him— thinkin’ it was the ould fellow i had, on account o’ the horse, — / shot him, an’ i’m willin’ to die for doin’ it, for hangin’ is too good for me!’ who killed mr. esmond. ^65 v youll not die now, then/ says tom mulligan back to him; * i see plain enough that it wasn’t him you meant to shoot, an’, any how, it wouldn’t bring him back to life. so go off wid yourself, now, an 3 quit the country as fast as you can, you poor, un fortunate man ! — god forgive you this night, for you’ve done a bad deed ! — but i’m not the man to prove agin you when i see you’re troubled enough.’ barney breen said the same, an’ be tween us we persuaded tim to go off an’ hide somewhere till we’d see how things ’id go. * och, och ! ’ says he, goin’ away, ‘ if it was only the ould fellow was in it, what ’id i care — what ’id i care ? — but him of all men — him that was so good an’ kind to every one!’ well, sure, tom mulligan wanted me to go back home wid them, but i tould him what i had in my mind in regard to doin’ for my sister’s poor little orphans, an’ that now they’d need some one to do for them more than ever they did, on account of their father havin’ to go away from them altogether. ‘ but,’ says tom, ‘ if you don’t come home,’ says he, ‘ an’ if you keep out o’ sight that-a-way, how do you know but it’s yourself they’d be suspectin’ v ‘ is it me ? ’ says i ; c is it anybody ’id suspect me of shootin’ my own master, an’ the best master, too, that ever a poor boy had ? — oh, bedad, tom/ says i, ‘ there’s nobody ’id be fool enough to think o’ that.’ ‘ i don’t know/ says he, shakin’ his head. so then i ups an’ i tells him how i wanted to screen poor tim on account o’ the childer, an’ made him an’ barney promise that they’d never let on that they knew anything at all about who fired the shot, or how it happened, until i’d give them lave. tom was mighty loath to promise, but at last he did. and then he says to barney, 6 barney/ says he, ‘run across the fields there to jack phelan’s an’ tell them what has happened, an’ let them bring the wheel car wid some straw an’ a quilt or somethin’ over it. och, wirra, wirra ! ’ says he, ‘ but it’s the poor home-cornin’ for the master — the glory of heaven to his sowl this night ! ’ so with that we heard some of the others that were out on the sarch cornin’ up the road, an’ i got away into the wood afore any more o’ them ’id see me. sure enough, next day the whole countryside had it that it was jerry pierce shot mr. esmond, an’ though it was worse than death for me to lie under sich a black deed, an’ to have people cursin’ an’ hatin’ me for a murder i had no more to do with than the priest of 266 the hermit of the rock. the parish, still i made up my mind — ay, an’ i swore it. too — that td never make any one the wiser for what i knew myself, an’ that i’d get away out o’ the country as soon as i could, if tim ’id only stay wid the childer an’ keep his own saycret. it was hard to get tim argued into it, but still i did, myself an ned murtha, my cousin there, an’ tim’s cousin too,*— an’ he can tell you as well as myself that it’s god’s truth i’m tellin’ ye all.” “an’ sure i can, jerry,” blubbered ned, his eyes streaming over ; “ an’ sure, mr. moran — long life to him! — can bear witness that i gave him a hint of it when he wanted me to make out the warrant for you, jerry. but i wouldn’t make it out, j erry. i couldn’t write a line of it, if i was torn in pieces for it, bekase i knew it ’id be a black sin, an’ a burnin’ shame.” “i remember your strange conduct very well, ned,” said moran kindly, “and even the hint you speak of — a hint that often puzzled me then and after. so, jerry, you got tim per suaded to keep his secret and remain in the country ; but how did it happen that you remained yourself too, as it appears you did ? ” “well, i’ll jist tell you that, sir,” pierce promptly replied. “ somehow or another i always had a sort of a notion that god would see me rightified in his own good time, an’ there was some i didn’t care to lave behind me.” here he began twirling the caubeen again. “ an’ another thing, mr. moran, that made me stay here wid my neck in the halther was the black thought that was still in tim murtha’s mind.” he glanced at mr. esmond, and saw that there was a thunder-cloud on his brow and a livid lightning in his eyes. but -still he went on — “i have tould ye already how i saved mr. esmond’s life twice in one night, but i didn’t tell ye that there was another night, when he knew nothing about it, that he was jist as near death as he was that night, only for one that dashed the pistol out of tim’s murtha’s hand, an’ knocked himself down — that was me again, an’ it happened the very night, mr. moran, that you were part of the way wid his honour there, cornin’ from dr. hennessy’s in cashel, till you turned off from him at the cross-roads.” here looks of surprise and consternation were exchanged between esmond and moran, but neither spoke, and jerry who killed mr. esmond. 267 went on : “ god himself only knows how grieved i was for the poor master, an’ the mistress, an’ her little orphans. i was walkin’ round an’ round the outside o’ the house, like a ghost, the first night o’ the wake, watchin’ my opportunity to slip in an’ get a sight of him before he’d be put in the coffin, an’ at last i ventured in ” — “ liar ! ” cried mr. esmond furiously ; “ you impose on our indulgence in listening so long to your lying story.” “ i’m no liar,” said jerry proudly ; “ an’ i think there’s one in this room that seen me there that night.” here bryan cullenan advanced, and, placing himself between mr. esmond and pierce, raised his hand solemnly and said — “ before god, mr. esmond, i tell you he speaks the truth. i was kneelin’ beside the bed that time when the quality all went into the other room abroad, when j erry pierce came in, wid the cape of his coat over his head, an’ stood a little while lookin’ at the corpse, an’ heavy grief was on him, i could see that, though the life was ’most scared out o’ myself, an’ me takin’ him for a sperit till i got sight of his face at his off goin’ ; an’ another thing i can tell you, mr. esmond, that jerry pierce went to the island an’ made his station there for the benefit of his poor master’s sowl. how, what do you think of that ? ” “i think you’re an old fool to believe it, that’s all.” “ mr. esmond,” said dean mjdermot, “ it is not for me to say whether a man is guilty or innocent, when i only know him in the confessional, but i can certify that jerry pierce did go to loch derg this summer, and with the very intention bryan has just stated.” “ wisha, glory be to god ! ” cried cauth again from her corner, and she clasped her hands and looked upwards. “ how,” said the vanithee, with an exulting nod and a fierce look at mr. esmond, “ there’s a nut for you to crack. liar, inagh ? it’s yourself is the liar to say it to one that never tould a lie — never, never ! ” with difficulty the excited old woman was silenced by the pitying kindness of the dean and mr. moran ; as for esmond, he looked from one to the other with a glazed and half-conscious stare that was more frightful than his previous burst of passion. 268 the hermit of the rock. “and do you really mean to say, pierce,” said moran very earnestly, “that you have borne for so long a time the shame and the obloquy of such a crime, merely to screen the father of your sister’s children ” “that’s what i say, mr. moran, an’ as i have god to face, i say the thruth.” “ and were you never tempted to betray him all that time, or rather, to clear yourself ? ” “ god knows i was, many an’ many’s the time ! he had an ugly way wid him of late, poor tim had, an’ he’d say things to me that ’id cut me to the very heart, but then i forgave him, for i knew it was the trouble that done it all. the night he tore the things off his dead child bekase mrs. esmond gave them, i was mad enough to kill him ” — “ how — what ? ” cried mr. esmond. “what’s that you say 1 ” mrs. esmond by a look and a sign warned pierce to give no explanation on that point, but mr. esmond imperiously re peated his question, and whilst pierce was hesitating, looking from one to the other, uncertain how to act, the vanithee burst into a wild and rapid description of the awful scene, calling on ned murtha to verify her account, which he did. the hearing of this strange tale of deadly passion had a different effect on mr. esmond from what his wife, at least, expected. during the recital he stood with his eyes cast down, his chest heav ing, and the muscles of his face working after a strange fashion ; when the cracked voice of the fairy-woman ceased, and ned murtha had confirmed her wondrous tale, the old man sank heavily in his chair, and heaved a long deep sigh then closed his eyes wearily. meanwhile moran hastened to finish the examination, if such it could be called. he suddenly assumed a sternness little usual with him, and said to pierce — “and are we to understand that after all this forbearance and patient endurance, you have at length made up your mind to turn king’s evidence against tim murtha, and give the gallows its due ? ” pierce’s face was crimson in a moment. he turned on moran with the fierceness of a roused lion, while the aged crone at his side laughed loud in scorn. “ mr. moran,” said pierce, “you’re a gentleman, an’ i’m only who killed mr. esmond. 269 a poor man — a very poor man. you can say what you like to me, so, but it’s aisy seen you don’t know much about me, or you wouldn’t say the likes o’ that. no, sir, i’m not turnin’ king’s evidence, for only i know that tim murtha is out of the reach of the law, it isn’t here i’d be now.” “why, where is tim murtha?” “ oh, bedad, sir, that’s more than i can tell,” said pierce, with a grim smile ; “ but anyhow, he’s where the peelers can’t catch him ” — “ why, surely the man is not dead, is he ? ” “he is, sir — as dead as ever you or i’ll be. he died last night of the faver, an’ more by token, he left it on me be fore he died, that i’d come this very day an’ give myself up, an’ tell all about the murder. the vanithee here, that says she’s my mother, though i never knew i had a mother livin’, — which is remarkable, but i suppose she knows best, — myhow, her an’ ned murtha was to the fore when — when tim lied.” “ that tim murtha is dead,” said mary hennessy, “ i can bear witness, for miss markham and myself were conducted yesterday evening by this good woman, whom pierce calls the vanithee, to her little cottage on gallows hill, where the poor fellow had died a little before in the greatest misery and desti tution.” here mr. esmond groaned audibly and moved un easily in his chair. “and do you mean to say, jerry,” said mr. moran, “that you would never have given information against murtha had he still lived ? ” “ is it me, mr. moran,” and pierce turned on him with a flashing eye and a burning cheek — “ is it me ’id give information against my sister’s husband, an’ the father of her poor little orphans? — no, not if i was to be hung myself for the murder, — an’ sure, that same was what i laid out for myself, an’ nothing else ! ” “and you were content to bear all the shame of so foul a crime rather than betray the real culprit?” “well, i’ll not say i was content , your honour! — oh, bedad, i wasn’t content at all, for it went to my very heart to have e’er a one, an’ especially the poor dear mistress, thinkin’ me guilty of aich a crime — me of all men livin’, — but still i’d 270 the hermit of the rock. rayther lie under it than have poor kate’s little ones left with out their father. that was the short an’ the long of it, an’ i’d have died without ever let tin’ on who done it.” “then you would have died with a lie in your mouth ?” it was the dean who spoke this. “no, your reverence, i wouldn’t— hut vd have kept my mouth *huty an’ then i’d tell neither lies nor truth. but in regard to mr. esmond — that’s my master — barrin’ mrs. esmond herself, [’ll take my book oath on it there wasn’t one livin’ that his death was so sore a crush to as it was to me. an’ sure, didn’t i watch the vault ever since he was put into it, an’ keep the grass smooth an’ green on the top of it above, an’ the place all about it as clane as a new pin ? an’ didn’t i say my prayers there for his poor sowl, many an’ many’s the night when you were all asleep in your beds ? ” “poor jerry!” said young mrs. esmond, who had entered just in time to hear the last words, — “ poor jerry ! how much we wronged you ! and how glad i am to find not only that it wasn’t you — one of our own household — that — that fired the fatal shot, but that no one ever meant to kill my dear husband. it is true my loss is the same, but it is something — oh, much, much ! — to know that he was not killed designedly.” “and pray, madam, where’s the difference?” cried mr. esmond sharply. “ didn’t the villain mean to shoot me> only he happened to shoot harry instead? wasn’t his crime all the same ? tell me that, now ! but i see how it is, — / — see — how it is,” — and his passion began to rise — “ my life is of no account amongst you — if i had been shot, as the villain intended i should, i don’t believe one of you would have cared a rush ! well, here i am, you see, in spite of the murderous crew, and for all jerry pierce’s fine story i’ll have blood for blood before all’s over. now that his partner in crime is out of the way, he thinks to get out of the scrape by lying, but he’ll find that lying won’t save his neck.” “but if he has good evidence, mr. esmond,” suggested moran. “ he evidence ? ” repeated the old man scornfully. “ he has no evidence that will be worth a button — that i’ll answer for ! ” “haven’t i tom mulligan an’ barney breen? — you’re for gettin’ that, mr. esmond.” who killed mr. esmond, . 271 here the sound of carriage wheels was heard without, and aunt winifred, going to the window, said, “‘talk of — some ivdy, and hell appear/ — there’s tom mulligan now, come with ihe carriage for henrietta.” “bring him in, then, at once,” said young mrs. esmond. “but do you hear, you, pierce,” said mr. esmond, “not a word — not a look at mulligan — mark me, now ! ” pierce had only time to nod assent when the door opened, and in came tom mulligan, looking confused and bewildered. he had heard nothing of what had occurred till he drove up and saw the police at the door, then learned from a groom, in answer to his brief inquiry, that “jerry pierce was within.” that was the amount of his knowledge when the summons to the parlour came to complete his bewilderment. what he saw there was not calculated to reassure him. his eye fixed first on his former fellow-servant, and he involuntarily exclaimed — “ah, then, jerry, my poor fellow, is this the way wid you at last ? — sure, didn’t i tell you how it ’id end if you didn’t take advice ? ” pierce made no answer, but mr. esmond called out in his sternest tones— “never mind pierce, but tell us what you know of the murder of your master.” this put mulligan all in a tremor. “ is it me, your honour ? — is it me know anything of the murder ? — lord save us an’ bless us ! what ’id i know of it ? ” “ come, come, now, mulligan, tell the truth,” said mr. moran gently but firmly. “we know that you have some knowledge of how it happened, and we must hear it.” still mulligan spoke not — his great round eyes vainly seeking some instruction from those of jerry pierce, but jerry pierce took care to look every way but at him. “dolt!” cried mr. esmond, stamping on the ground, “why do you not speak ? ” “why, then, that i mayn’t sin, mr. esmond!” began poor frightened mulligan, then, by a sudden impulse, he addressed himself to jerry — “wisha, jerry, man alive! what’ll i say at all?” “tell the truth, every word of it,” said pierce in his deep, 272 the hermit of the rock rpiiet voice, “ as if you were goin’ before your god ! tim's dead note himself , an’ he laid it on me to tell all.” “tim’s dead?” shouted mulligan, much excited; “an’ they can’t hang you bekase you’re as innocent as the child unborn ! oh, then, it’s myself ’ill tell every word of it now — an’ no mistake \ ” “compose yourself now,” said dean m‘dermot, “and tell us what you saw and heard the night you went out to look-< look for your master.” “ i will, your reverence ; i’ll tell it word for word as if it was at my confession i was.” he then proceeded to narrate the occurrences of that fatal night as far as they came under his knowledge, and his account was found to tally in every, even the smallest particular, with that of jerry pierce. with the single exception of mr. esmond, all present testified their satisfaction, and openly expressed their conviction of pierce’s innocence. true to his own harsh character, mr. esmond gruffly com manded mulligan to leave the room. the poor fellow obeyed, not unwillingly but very timidly. as he closed the door he heard pierce say, “mr. esmond, i hope you’re not vexed with mulligan?” “ that’s my business — not yours,” was the answer. “have you any more to say ? ” “not a word, your honour — not a word more.” “ in that case, moran, you may as well tell the sergeant to step in.” here an angry chorus of remonstrance arose from the ladies. “my goodness, harry! you’re not going to send him to prison ? ” said his wife. “ if you do, i’ll never forgive you, harry esmond, never — never ! ” cried miss esmond. “dear me, mr. esmond, how could you think of such a thing ? ” from mary hennessy. henrietta esmond arose, though with difficulty, from her seat, her face now pale, now flushed — every eye was fixed upon her as she crossed the room in the now deepening twilight. she stopped in front of jerry pierce, and then spoke in a voice broken and tremulous as the ripple of the ocean wave — '‘jerry pierce,” said she, “as the party most concerned in who killed mr. esmond. 273 the sad story you have told — as the widow of harry esmond— i think it right to assure you that i believe every word you have spoken ; i believe you did what you could to avert the dread catastrophe which your fears foresaw, and for that you will accept my heartfelt thanks. i knoiv , too, that but for you, another esmond would have gone to his account as suddenly as my poor husband— for that too i thank you ” — she paused, and dean m‘dermot spoke. “and for the honour done our common nature by your heroic fortitude — your generous devotion to your guilty relative and his family — i thank you, jerry pierce;” and taking his hand he shook it warmly, whilst the tear that trembled in his eye told the depth and sincerity of his emotion. “ well,” said kate costelloe, coming forward, “ if everybody thanks him for something or another, i have to thank him for not killing the young master , because there’s one black villain less than i thought. and, j erry pierce, before all the quality, i humbly ax your pardon for all i said to you, and all the hard names i called you this while back, an’ for cornin’ here a purpose to get you taken.” “an’ was that what brought you here?” screamed the vanithee. “ oh, the curse o’ the crows on you for an ould rap ! wasn’t it enough for you to hang” — “mother! mother!” said jerry pierce, laying his hand on her mouth, “ don’t talk that way. let the poor woman alone ; sure, she was only doin’ what she thought she had a right to do— an’ she would, too, if i had been guilty, as she thought i was — let her alone now an’ for ever ! ’* “i will, jerry. i will, aroon, when you bid me,” — and the crone wiped her eyes with a dilapidated old apron ; “ but— but ” — she darted a fiery look at cauth — “ but— til not forget it to her ! ” “couldn’t i say a word, mr. esmond?” inquired bryan timidly. “yes; what have you got to say? but mind, pve a crow to pluck with you for harbouring jerry pierce on the rock when you had every reason to suppose him guilty of horrible murder.” “ but sure i didn’t suppose him guilty, mr. esmond,” said bryan anxiously; “indeed, i didn’t, your honour! he knows 18 274 the hermit of the rock. himself that the first time i got sight of him there i was frightened 'most out o’ my wits, jist for fear he’d be hidin’ him self there. i followed him from place to place among the ruins till i came on him at last, an’ then he tould me how it was — only makin’ me promise that i’d never give information again’ poor tim. from that out, i own i did give him the run of the rock, an’ i’m not sorry for it now, though i ask your honour’s pardon, mr. esmond, if you think i done wrong.” “ humph ! i see i’m left in a minority of one,” said mr. esmond, looking round with a scowl of defiance; “still, i’ll do my duty. here, sergeant kellett,” — that personage had just appeared at the door, — “here is your prisoner,” pointing to pierce, who made no effort at resistance as the rigid policeman placed his hand on his arm. “go home, mother,” said he to the old woman, “and don’t fear for me — if man is ungrateful, god is not, and he’ll protect me ! hot a word, now — for my sake, i ask it.” he was led away to prison in virtue of the warrant issued months before for his apprehension. the party left behind were proceeding to comment on the strange scene just witnessed, lamenting in no measured terms that jerry pierce should have been sent to prison. they were silenced by a stern “it couldn’t be helped,” from mr. esmond, who soon after left the oom, and appeared no more that evening. chapter xxl phil moran tries his luck that same night, when the stars were in the sky and the shadows deep and dark on the earth, a gentleman knocked at the low door of the fairy-woman’s hut. no answer was re turned. the knock was repeated, and, after another brief delay, the door was opened very softly, and the stooping figure of the vanithee was visible by the dim light from the crackling brambles on the hearth. “so you came?” said she. “well, stay where you are — there’s death and poverty inside, an’ maybe the faver too — so don’t come in.” stepping out on the road, she closed the door after her, and moved close up to her visitor, who was no other than phil moran, as the reader will probably have surmised. “well now, vanithee,” said the lawyer, dropping his voice to a whisper, “ what have you got to say to me ? — or was it to me you spoke when you said ‘ come to my place this evening’ 1 i had half a mind not to come, but still i thought i -would — though it does seem foolish, after all.” “foolish, inagh?” said the hag sharply; “maybe you’ll not think it so when you hear w t hat i have to tell you, an’ it’s only a word or two.” “in the name of god, what is it, then?” “ put down your head here, an’ i’ll whisper it in your ear you don’t know who may be listenin’.” smiling to himself at the absurdity of his position, and rathei by way of humouring the old woman than anything else, the ^oung man bent his head to a level with her face, and she whispered ‘ something in his ear, then drew back and fixed her keen eyes on his face through the gloom of the summer night, as if to mark the effect of her words, 275 276 the hermit oe the rock and the effect was like magic. moran started, gasped foi breath, and caught the hag by the arm with a force that made her reel. “ say that again ! ” he exclaimed in a thrilling whisper ; “ or did i hear you right ? ” “ you did — an’ 111 not say it again — i said it onst, an’ that's enough.” “but how — where — when — i mean, how do you know that ? ” “ 'no matter to you how i know it. if you don't find it true, never b’lieve me again — that’s all. you put in a word for me this evenin' at the lodge below, an' i thought i’d do you a good turn. away wid you now from here, an' see if you don’t find my words come in true. if they do, i know you’ll be thankful to the ould vanithee, an' i hope you’ll do what you can for that poor boy of mine.'' “in any case, my good woman, i will do that; but have no fears for him — with god’s help there is no doubt but his innocence will be established.'' “ god bless you for that word, anyhow ! " and, dashing away the tears that were gathering in her eyes, the old woman hobbled back into the hut, leaving moran to retrace his steps down the hill in a state of mind very different from that in which he ascended it. whether it was accident or design that led his steps to the old house in friar street it is not for me to say ; but it so hap pened that some twenty minutes after, attorney moran plied the heavy, old-fashioned knocker on dr. hennessy’s door with such good effect that admission was almost instantaneous, and our friend was ushered into the parlour, where, “ as luck would have it,'' he used afterwards to say, mary hennessy sat alone, with a volume of lingard’s england in her hand, and a cloud of some kind shading the sunny brightness of her features. very natural was the inquiry, “where is maurice?'' and no less natural was the answer, “ gone to kilbraa, or somewhere there, on professional business.'' but not so natural was the pause that followed, a pause which seemed rather embarrassing to both, though why it should be so nerhans neither could tell. phil moran tries bis luck 277 at last moran spoke. “ perhaps i ought to apologise, mary — miss hennessy, i mean — for interrupting your studies. may i ask what you were reading ? ” “a very sad story,” said mary, drawing a long breath, as if much relieved, “the story of that unhappy wife and most admirable woman, catharine of arragon. what a strange fate it was that gave her to that inhuman monster, henry the eighth ! ” “very strange indeed,” said moran, so absently that mary smiled; but the greater his abstraction the more rapidly she talked on, gliding from one subject to another, in the vain hope of drawing him into conversation on some ordinary topic. the piano stood open, and all at once moran said— “it’s a long time now since i heard you play, miss hen nessy, — won’t you play something now, pending maurice’s return ? ” “ certainly, mr. moran,” was the cheerful answer, though the round, rich voice trembled a very little. several pieces were played, — noisy, showy pieces, too, — and then mary turned with an arch smile on her face and asked, “ how do you like that, mr. moran 1 ?” “i don’t like it at all, miss saucebox,” said moran, laughing, “and you know that as well as i do. why not play some of my old favourites, and keep those show-off affairs for those who like them ? ” “true enough, mr. moran, if i only could remember your favourites — what were they ? — oh, now i have one ! ” and she started off at the full speed of her nimble fingers with “ i’m the boy for bewitching them ! ” at which moran laughed heartily, and said, “ i wish i teas the boy for bewitching them — i know one i’d bewitch, anyhow.” is it possible ? ” “ it is possible, miss prim ; and i have just made up my mind to try my luck this very night, and know for certain what i have to expect.” “as how?” “ as how ? oh, the pretty innocent ! mary hennessy can’t possibly guess who it is that has stolen the heart out of phil moran ! now seriously, mary,” — and he drew his chair nearer to the music-stool on which she sat, — “now seriously, how long 278 the her ml 2 of the rock. is this to go on? you know as well as i do that i love you better than i do myself, and yet you continue to appear as innocent of the fact as — well, no matter what ! but human patience — even phil moran’s patience — can’t possibly last for ever, and i’m determined to know the worst, or the best, before i leave this house to-night.” mary laughed, but she blushed too, and besides, her laugh was not the light, careless, ringing laugh that was wont to come straight from her merry heart. “by jove!” said phil to himself, “the hag maybe right after all,” and his eye brightened and his fresh cheek grew ruddier still. “ mary,” said he, “ i know you’ll not deceive me, but give me a straight answer to a straight question.” “i’m entirely obliged to you for your good opinion, mr. moran,” archly said mary, and she began twisting the hand kerchief in her hand into various comical shapes. “you are, eh? — well, i hope you’ll prove yourself worthy of it. now, answer me this little question — what do you think of phil moran ? ” “why, of course, i think very well of him,” laughed mary. “ he’s a good fellow enough in his way — for an irishman — and as a limb of the law ” — “ but what would you think of him for a husband ? ” and phil shut one eye inquisitively, and turned his head to one side. “ oh, a husband ? that is quite a different thing. having never seen the gentleman in that capacity, i am not prepared to give an opinion.” “well, but, badinage apart, mary, i wish to know what i am to expect at your hands. it is for you to make me the happiest or the most miserable of men ? will you share my fortunes for good or ill ? can you love me ? ” the colour came up brighter than ever in mary’s face, and she cast her eyes down to hide the moisture that began to suffuse them. “ mr. moran,” she said, “ if you come to speak so seriously, i suppose i must answer you as seriously. i do not think i cai? love you in the sense to which you allude — but be content with friendship , and i will love you — yes, as a brother.” “friendship?” quoth phil in huge disdain; “who cares for phil moran tries his luck 279 friendship 1 in the sense to which you allude * — ahem ? eut i’ll tell you what i’ll do — no, confound it ! i can’t tell it — but i’ll make tom moore tell it for me ; ” and forthwith he began singing in a voice that was pleasant to mary’s ear, from the many pleasant associations connected with its rich liquid tones — “*a temple to friendship,’ said laura, enchanted, ‘i’ll build in this garden, the thought is divine.’ the temple was built, and she now only wanted an image of friendship to place on the shrine. “just like you, mary ! she flew to a sculptor, who set down before her a friendship the fairest his art could invent, but so cold and so dull that the youthful adorer saw plainly this was not the god that she meant. “ just like me, mary ! ” “a novel refrain you are adding, surely,” said mary, with a smile bright as a houri’s. “ never mind, it suits my purpose. ‘oh no, then, i never could think of enshrining an image whose looks are so joyless and dim, but yon little god upon roses reclining, we’ll make, if you please, sir, a friendship of him ! ’ “ shall i go on?” “as you will, mr. moran.” “the bargain was struck, with the little god laden she joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove, — ‘farewell !’ said the sculptor; ‘you’re not the first maiden who came but for friendship and took away love ! ’ “ now, what if the image you have enshrined should turn out, after all, to be the sly ‘ little god upon roses reclining,’ instead of the other, ‘whose looks are so joyless and dim,’ — eh, mary? suppose you look into the shrine in the grove, and by the light of my burning heart examine the features of the image afore said ? ” mary laughed again at the oddity of the conceit ; she paused a moment, looked down on the floor, coloured violently, tapped with her little foot on the carpet, and at last looked up in moran’s face with the brightest smile in the world. 280 the hermit of the rock. “well?” said phil, smiling too, and managing to get possession of her hand. “well, i’ve been to the shrine you speak of” — “ and there you saw ” — “no, i didn’t! there’s knowledge for you! be good enough to convey yourself home now, phil moran, for another word i shan’t speak to you to-night — except two — good-night ! cm revoir ! ” and before moran had recovered from the bewildering effect of her words, and still more of her looks and gestures, she had bounded off like an antelope, leaving the delighted lawyer to compose his thoughts at leisure, and bless his stars and the fairy-woman to his heart’s content. he was too happy just then for ordinary conversation, so, leaving a message for maurice that he would see him some time next day, he retired to in dulge the thick-coming fancies which the newly-awakened hope of happiness will conjure up at eight-and-twenty ! a happy man was phil moran that night, and as his eye scanned the uncertain future, not one cloud could he detect on his life’s horizon. all was fair and bright and glad as the image that smiled over all. that same evening, about the same hour, harriet markham and lady pemberton were walking to and fro in the verandah off lord effingham’s study, engaged in that desultory sort of conversation common between persons whose minds have but small affinity one to the other. a sort of intimacy had sprung up since the earl’s departure between the two ladies, notwith standing the ten or twelve years of seniority on the part of the noble widow. her ladyship seemed to have taken a fancy to her brother’s governess, especially since she found that the markhams were not unknown to heraldry, and had quarterings on their shield from the peerage itself. lady pemberton had been speaking of her brother’s late wife, and she said, “view the matter as i may, i cannot see how fergus ever came to marry her. it is true my father had arranged the affair for him when he was still a minor, and i suppose he had not the courage to resist, for my father was a man who ruled all around him, if not with a rod of iron, at least with a strong hand. poor priscilla was a dismal creature, pretty and gentle, but a dreadful bore on account of the con phil moran tries his luck. 281 firmed hypochondria that had taken possession of her. to tell you the truth, my dear, we were all glad — that is, myself and the other members of the family — when priscilla, countess of effingham, was consigned to the tomb of the capulets, piously hoping, of course, that the poor dear soul had found beyond the grave the rest and peace which her own dreary temperament denied her here. as for my brother, no one knew how he felt, for he kept his thoughts and feelings to himself. i hope sincerely that neither of the children will resemble their mother, though i sometimes think that emma looks like her, and has some of her odd ways, as far as such a mere child can have them.” “well, of course i cannot say,” observed harriet, as if to fill up the pause, “ what resemblance lady emma bears to her mother, but i think her, on the whole, an amiable child, though more shy and sensitive than her sister.” “the worst of it is, however,” resumed lady pemberton, “ that there seems to be as little chance for happiness, as far as my brother is concerned, in the alliance he is forming himself as there was in the one over the forming of which he had little or no control.” “ does your ladyship really think so ? i sincerely hope you will find yourself mistaken.” “ possibly i may, but i fear — oh, i very much fear. it is true lady jane de montford (they're an old norman family, that of the marquis ) is a beauty, and somewhat of a wit, — no very great recommendation, i think, for a woman, — i believe she loves my brother as much as she can love any one, but — but — i fear she is not the woman to make him happy ; in the finer qualities of mind and heart i believe her sadly wanting. however, time will tell — there is no help for it now,” she added in a melancholy tone. there was a long pause ; then harriet said, with some hesitation — “did i understand your ladyship to say that lord effing ham’s name is fergus?” “ certainly, my dear, that is his name. why do you ask ? ” “because the name — excuse me, lady pemberton — is so very irish , so peculiarly irish, indeed i might say.” “oh,” said lady pemberton, with a careless laugh, “you do 282 the hermit of the rock. not know, then, that our mother was irish ? — yes, and very irish, too, — descended, i believe, from some old milesian family, and very proud, i assure you, of her ancient lineage. fergus was her fathers name, and had been a favourite name in the family since the deluge for aught i know ; and, truth to tell, my very dear and right noble brother has not his name for nothing. with some of the more amiable traits of my father’s sternly commanding nature — the old danish norman-english type — he has in him many of the most prominent characteristics of the celtic people — so my father used to say, when he meant any thing but flattery. for me, i never gave much attention to the distinctive traits of one people or the other, but i know that the very qualities my father complained of in his heir were pre cisely those that endeared fergus to all our circle — wider then than it is now.” as if the last words had awoke in her mind a train of sad dening thought, lady pemberton lapsed into silence, and harriet, equally thoughtful, made no effort to resume the conversation. the night-breeze began to wax chill, and the stars twinkled brighter through the clear, cool air, so after a few turns up and down the verandah, lady pemberton proposed to return to the drawing-room, where they had left mrs. paken ham and the chaplain hotly contesting the honours of the chessboard, to the great amusement nf a young clergyman whose first sermon, delivered in cashel cathedral on the previous sunday, had quite won mrs. pakenham’-s heart, and the hearts of ever so many other dowagers. a clerical petit maitre , he was one of those pulpit orators so happily described by the trenchant satire of cowper’s verse — first we stroke an eyebrow, next compose a straggling lock ; then, with an air most gracefully performed, fall back into our seat, extend an arm, and lay it at its ease with gentle care, with handkerchief in hand depending low. whether this delicate pillar of the church by law established was or was not aware of miss markham’s being a catholic, he seemed well inclined to cultivate her acquaintance ; but harriet, with the perversity natural to her wayward sex, shunned the super-elegant minister in the same proportion that he sought phil moran tries his luck. 283 her . it is probable that with cow per, in the passage before cited, she thought to herself — in man or woman, but far most in man, and most of all in man that ministers and serves the altar, in my soul i loathe all affectation. ’tis my perfect scorn, object of my implacable disgust. but whatever she thought, she certainly bade lady pember ton good-night at the drawing-room door, and sought in the quiet of her chamber the more congenial company of her own thoughts. long she sat in pensive musing, her head leaning on her hand, whilst many a troubled thought flitted over the fair surface of her face, like shadows from the summer clouds falling on the hills and valleys of some lovely landscape. once or twice a pearly tear stole from under her closed eyelids and rolled unheeded down her cheeks, but all at once she raised her head, and, pushing back from her damp brow the rich tresses of her braided hair, she cast her eyes upwards, and remained a moment absorbed in mental prayer, then rose, and, going to the window, gazed out upon the night, where only the stars and the dark canopy they studded were visible. the solemn night was before her, in the majesty of darkness and of silence 1 and her finely attuned nature quickly rose above the transitory things of earth in the awful presence of the dread unseen. alone with the mysterious presence which pervades the universe, self was forgotten, only heaven and its interests remembered, peace like the halcyon descended on her soul, and a strange, undefinable hope diffused a softened light over the deep recesses of her pure and gentle heart. she was roused from her calm and soothing reverie by a low tap at her chamber door, which hastening to open, she found the nurserymaid, ellen mulquin, with another young female wrapped in a light shawl. “i hope you’ll excuse me, miss markham,” said ellen, dropping a curtsey, “ but this poor sister of mine wouldn’t be aisy, at all, till she’d get spakin’ to you the night, an’ i know you’re so good an’ so kind that you’ll not be angry with us for cornin’; for, indeed, miss, it’s in the height o’ trouble poor celia ia,” 284 the hermit of the rock. “ angry ? why, how should i be angry ? ” said harriet very gently. “ come in, girls, and let me hear what your trouble is.” “oh, not me, miss markham — i can’t stay,” said ellen; “ i have got something to do for the young ladies, and i must be off. celia can tell you herself all about it. go in, alanna ! an’ don’t be afeard to open your mind to miss markham.” the timidity that at another time would have deterred celia from “opening her mind ” to “a rale lady like miss markham” now vanished quite in the presence of the sore trouble that was tearing her very heart. “oh, miss markham dear,” said, she, before harriet could speak a word, “can’t you do anything, at all, for poor jerry? sure, the peelers took him at last, an’ he’s in gaol, an’ i’m sure they’ll hang him, for all he’s as innocent of what they lay to his charge as the child unborn. can’t you do anything for him ? i’m sure you can if you’ll only try, an’ if you do, you’ll have my blessin’, an’ the blessin’ of god, every day you rise.” so eager and so rapid was poor celia’s utterance that miss markham could not put in a word till the girl’s voice failed her for want of breath. “why, my poor girl,” she hastened to reply, “this is, indeed, bad news. but tell me, how did it happen? how and where was j erry arrested ? or are you sure he was arrested ? ” “sure, miss markham? — sure? oyeh ! it’s me that is sure ! — doesn’t the whole country know it? — an’ wasn’t i at the gaol myself tryin’ to see him, an’ the hard-hearted villains wouldn’t let me get one sight of him ? oh, wirra, wirra ! what’ll i do, at all, at all, at all ? ” and the tears gushed in torrents from her eyes, and she wrung her hands in all the wildness of despair. “do try and compose yourself, poor girl ! ” said miss mark ham, her own eyes full of sympathetic tears. “ you have not told me when and where j erry was arrested ? ” “och, sure, that’s the quarest thing of all,” said celia, restraining her emotion with wonderful quickness; “sure, he wasn’t arrested at all — he arrested himself ! ” “ arrested himself ? — what do you mean ? ” “why, miss, he went to rose lodge, his own four bones, an’ gave himself up, an’ tould the ould gentleman an’ the rest o’ the quality all about how it happened.” “well, that is very strange,” said the young lady thought phil mop an tries his luck 285 fully ; “ that would lead one to suppose that he might not be guilty, after all.” “an’ sure he isn’t guilty, miss markham!” cried celia eagerly ; “ sure, i knew that long ago ! ” “you did 1 ? — and pray how did you know it?” celia’s face was scarlet in a moment, and, casting her eyes bashfully down, she began pulling at the fringe of her shawl with great industry and perseverance. “well, you see, miss,” she stammered out, “ he came to see me when he was on his keepin’ — a couple o’ nights after it happened.” “ oh, he did, eh ? ” and harriet smiled pleasantly. “well, he did, miss, in regard to a few words that had passed between us — he came to give me back my promise, thinkin’ i’d be sorry i ever gave it.” “ and did you take it back ? ” “ is it me, miss markham ?— is it me take it back ? — oh vo ! that ’id be too hard entirely on poor jerry, an’ somethin’ tellin’ me all the while that maybe he wasn’t so bad, after all, — oh no, miss ! i tould him that if i wasn’t ms wife, i’d never be any other one’s.” “ and you believed him, of course, when he told you he was not guilty ? ” “i did, miss,” and celia raised her head and looked the young lady full in the face ; “i did believe him, for the raison that i never knew him to tell me a lie — an’ the way he said it made me surer again that it was the truth ” — here she stopped, blushed deeper than ever, and again cast down her eyes. “why, how did he say it, celia?” “ well, you see, miss,” — the voice fell to a broken murmur, — “ it was the first time he ever made so free as to kiss me — an’ — an’ — he kissed me then for the first an’ last time, as he thought, an’ says he, ‘ celia, that’s not the kiss of a murderer ! ’ an’ sure, myself knew well he wouldn’t say that only it was true ; an’ ochone ! but them words took the heavy load off o’ my heart, an’ from that forrid i thought i could bear the ivorst ; but sure i can’t — sure i can’t, i see now, for ever sence i heard of him bein’ in gaol my poor heart is flutterin’ like a bird, an’ i’ve no more strength in me than a little babby. oh, miss markham dear ! ” she cried, with passionate eagerness, “ do you think 286 the hermit of the rock. they’d have the heart to hang him? — do yon think the$ would ? ” “ my poor girl,” said harriet, with the tenderest compassion, “ the law has no heart — knows no pity ; if he were found guilty of such a crime, there would be small chance of mercy for him in this world. but do not despair, celia. i have great hopes, from his giving himself up, that he is, as he says, inno cent, though, if so, it is very, very strange that he kept out of the way so long ; however, i sincerely hope that all will come right in the end. as for my doing anything for him under present circumstances, it is quite impossible, but i will see mr. esmond to-morrow and ascertain how he feels towards pierce, or whether he still believes him guilty.” “ god in heaven bless you, miss ! pm sure your word will go far wid the ould gentleman. i’ll go home now wid a lighter heart than i came, an’ that you may never know what a sore heart is, an’ that happiness may attend you here an’ hereafter, is my prayer now and for ever ! ” “ i thank you kindly for your good wish,” said harriet as the girl left the room. when the door closed after her, she sighed deeply, and murmured softly as she turned away — “ ‘ that i may never know what a sore heart is ! ’ — a kind wish, my poor girl ; but it comes all too late — happiness i must try to win for hereafter, by ceasing to look for it here.” chapter xxii the countess of effingham. one of the last days of july was drawing to a close, when harriet markham sat with old bryan on the steep brow of the rock of cashel, looking dreamily out on the far-stretching landscape, where the blue mists of evening were coming up from the spacious plain and the rich holmes by the silvery suir, and the far-off mountain valleys. the old man had been telling her some of the old-time legends she loved so well to hear, and the charm of their wild romance was diffusing itself like the shadowy mist over the fair scene below and the solemn ruins around. it was no uncommon thing for harriet to find herself alone with old bryan on the lonely rock at the solemn hour when night begins to weave her spell of awful silence ; at that charmed hour she most loved to hear the hermit tell of “ the sainted men of old,” whose memory lingers round the ruined fanes of cashel, where their mortal bodies returned to dust. the monotonous tone of the old man’s feeble voice had such an effect on her sensitive mind as the hum of bees, the falling of water, or the rustling of leaves ; there was a ghostly sound, too, in its hollowness that was inexpressibly solemn, reminding the hearer that it, too, would soon be lost in the everlasting silence of that place of death — it, too, would speedily join the voices of the past, to be heard no more of mortal ear. it was a dead voice issuing from living lips, and that fully as much from bryan’s constant habit of self-communion, and his intimate association with the dead, as from the weight of years that was bending him earthward. that particular evening he had been talking more even than : sual, and harriet, intent on listening, forgot the long walk she jad before her, nor heeded the gathering shades. all at once 287 288 the hermit of the rock. bryan started, turned his head in the direction of the gate, and appeared to listen anxiously. “what's the matter, bryan?" said the young lady, a little startled by his manner ; “did you hear anything ?" “ why, then, i did, miss markham — didn't you v* “i cannot say i did." “ well, i did — i heard the gate opened and shut — very easy, like. if you wouldn't be afeard, miss markham, i'd go an' see if any one came in." “ well, i don't think i should be afraid to remain here," said harriet, smiling ; “ but i have already stayed too long, so i shall accompany you to the gate, and be so far on my way." “very good, miss harriet; an' after i have taken a look around, i'll go with you down the road." they had only gone a few yards, and were still in the shadow of the cathedral wall, when bryan, with a sort of stifled cry, darted off in another direction, and harriet was left alone. wondering at bryan's sudden disappearance, she stood looking after him, when a voice, a familiar voice, spoke near her, and, turning with a start and an exclamation of terror, she saw before her a stately figure with hand outstretched to greet her. “ my lord ! — lord effingham, you here ! — or is it, indeed, you?" “ that is to say," said the musical voice, in which harriet could not be mistaken, — “that is to say, am i lord effingham in the flesh, or only in spirit ? compose yourself, my dear miss markham, and, in proof of my corporeal identity, there is my hand." “ but who would have thought of seeing your lordship here ? when did you arrive ? " “about half an hour ago." “and you left — left them all so soon? why, really, my lord, i am so surprised — so astonished — clo pray excuse me ! — but you here, of all people — when i thought you in england ! " here old bryan approached at full speed, talking audibly tc himself about the noise he had heard, and wondering who it was that made it. he was steering right for the spot where he had left miss markham, when he came full against lord effing ham, and started back in amazement, whereat the earl laughed good-humouredly, and harriet said — “do not fear, bryan; it is lord effingham back from england.'* the countess of effingham. 289 “ lord effingham ? ” repeated bryan, and his bald brow and thin white locks were instantly bared to the first beams of the rising moon, — “ lord effingham ? mercy on us ! was it him opened the gate there now*?” “ it was not, my friend ; it was the reverend mr. goodchild, who accompanied me. there he is,” pointing to the goodly figure of the parson, just becoming visible oh the steep ascent. “would you have the goodness to entertain him a few moments while i speak with your friend, miss markham ? ” bryan looked a little surprised, but he said very politely, “ with all the pleasure in life, my lord ; but he’s a mighty quare ould chap that same mr. goodchild, or badchild, or whatsomever he is.” and away he posted to meet the chaplain. “miss markham,” said the earl, “ i should like to say a few words to you before we return to the castle. will you honour me with your attention ? ” “certainly, my lord,” harriet replied as calmly as she could, wondering much the while what lord effingham could possibly wish to say to her at such a time and in such a place. she took his offered arm, and they moved on a few paces to an open spot, where the moonlight slept in hallowed sheen on the tombs and headstones and the long dank grass waving so mournfully in the gentle breeze. bryan and the chaplain were still in sight, but not within hearing. with a beating heart harriet waited, but as if to break a silence that embarrassed her she said— “i hope, lord effingham, that it was not in search of me you came hither at such a moment? i should feel quite ashamed if i thought so.” “ feel ashamed, then,” said the earl gaily; “for much as i admire these noble ruins, it was certainly not to visit them that i left the castle almost immediately after reaching it.” “and — the countess? — what will she think?” said harriet, more and more puzzled. lord effingham smiled, and answered somewhat evasively, “ i did not wait to ask her opinion — at a future time i will. but time presses, my dear miss markham, and i must seize the moment so happily afforded me to speak to you on a subject that will perhaps surprise you.” he paused a moment, then quickly resumed — “i have a proposal of marriage for you.” 19 290 the hermit of the rock. “ for me, lord effingham 1 — a proposal of marriage for me?” “ yes, for you. but why tremble so?— you are pale, too, — is it, then, so formidable a thing to be asked in marriage, and for one who will, i am sure, devote his whole life to make you happy ? one who knows and loves you as the heart can love but once — as i should have done,” he said in a lower tone, “had fate so willed it that i were free.” “ lord effingham ! ” said harriet, withdrawing her arm quickly, while the blush of wounded modesty rose to her cheek, “am i to understand that you came here to insult me?” “ assuredly not, miss markham. were i capable of insulting any lady, or wounding her delicacy, it avould be strange, indeed, if i pitched on you , and that, too, when i come com missioned to offer you the hand and heart, rank and fortune, of my best and dearest friend.” “but who is that friend, my lord?” said harriet haughtily “i know of no friend of your lordship’s who could possibly pretend to my hand and heart — rank and fortune have i none ! ” “ and yet so it is,” said lord effingham ; “ i cannot now tell you who it is : suffice it to say he is neither old nor ugly, stands in good repute amongst his fellows, and, finally, has both rank and fortune to lay at your feet, which he has commissioned ms to do ”— “and why you, my lord? — why not himself?” “that he will explain at the first opportunity, but there are certain reasons which debar him, for the present, from the happiness of addressing you in person ” — “if he loves me, as your lordship says, he may find it no very great happiness to address me in person. i cannot but feel highly honoured by the commission your lordship has deigned to accept in my regard, but ”— there was an acerbity in the young lady’s tone that did not escape her noble com panion, and he quickly subjoined — “but you do not feel at all inclined to accept the proposal?” “decidedly not, my lord; poor as harriet markham is, she knows what is due to a lady, and cannot forget the blood that is in her veins.” “there spoke the sister of frederick markham,” said the earl, as if to himself, and he smiled with strange meaning. the countess of effingham, \ 291 harriet caught his arm suddenly, and, gasping, looked up in his face. “my lord, did i hear aright? did you speak of frederick markham ? ” “ i did, and much cause i have to remember him. he saved my life once, at the risk of his own, when we met by accident amongst the bernese alps, near the foot of the jungfrau. did you never hear him speak of lord milford ? ” “ surely i did, my lord — oh, many, many times. if the earl of effingham and the viscount milford of poor fred’s acquaint ance are one and the same, i believe your lordship and he finished your tour together after the little adventure in switzerland?” “we did, and our intimacy ripened into a friendship as last ing as it was sincere. poor markham ! all the years that have passed since his untimely death have not effaced his memory from my heart ; and when i learned accidentally that you were his sister, i regarded you in a different light — as one, in short, who had a right to my friendship and protection.” “i am infinitely obliged to your lordship,” said harriet in a voice quivering with strong emotion. “ oh, frederick ! ” she cried, clasping her hands in a sudden burst of passionate sorrow, — “oh, frederick, my dear, my only brother! what a lonely lot mine has been since strange hands laid you in your far indian grave ! excuse me, my lord ! ” and by a violent effort she recovered her composure ; “i owe you an apology for this childish outburst of feeling, but the sudden revival of old and very sad memories, long buried in my heart, overcame me quite for the moment. may i beg to know if your lordship has anything more to say, as i am anxious to return to the castle as speedily as possible ? ” “are you, then, afraid to remain a few moments with me, even though we be not alone ? ” “and if we were alone,” said harriet markham, drawing her self up with the lofty dignity of virtuous womanhood, her eyes flashing with the proud spirit of her race as she fixed them on lord effingham, — “and if we were alone, why should i be afraid? the man lives not on earth whose presence harriel markham would fear— and you, lord effingham, least of all.” “i thank you,” said the earl calmly; “i rejoice to know that i am honoured by your good opinion.” “nevertheless,” said harriet again, “there is something due 292 the hermit of the rock, to appearances — no one can afford to despise them, a woman least of all. and then,” she added in a playful tone, “ being a daughter of eve, i have a natural desire to see the fair brow that is to wear the effingham coronet through life.” she was moving hastily away in pursuit of bryan and the chaplain, who were only a few yards distant, — disputing, as usual, to judge by the high pitch of their voices, — wdien lord effingham laid his hand gently on her arm, and said in a low, earnest tone — “ you have not told me what i shall say to my friend ?” “say to him, my lord, that the orphan daughter of sir everard markham is not to be wooed at second-hand.” “ but you will see him soon, and hear him plead his own cause.” “ even then he would plead in vain.” “you cannot possibly know that till you have seen and heard him.” “ i do know it, my lord ; and if you have that friendship for me as captain markham’s sister which you do me the honour to profess, you will best prove it by telling your friend that i cannot receive his addresses.” “and, as a friend, may i venture to ask why you are so determined ? is your heart, like that of sarah curran, buried in the grave of some loved and lost one ? ” “ i know not, my lord, of any right you have to put such a question,” said harriet, with a quiet assumption of dignity. “ i have given such answer as i deemed fitting ; your friend must expect no more.” “miss markham,” said the earl, after a moment’s silence, “ i hope you are not displeased with me for having undertaken this embassy ? standing here amongst the graves of the dead, with yon fair moon shining down like the eye of heaven upon us, i solemnly assure you that your peace of mind, your honour, your happiness, are as dear to me as if i were — your brother — more i cannot say.” “ i believe you, my lord,” said harriet, with a radiant smile ; then, as they hastened to rejoin the chaplain, she added in a lower and more subdued tone, “and now for the lady jane that was, — lady effingham that is, — i hope she is not over-much fatigued to see me ? ” “ i hope so,” was the reply, and no more passed on the subject. after settling, to bryan’s satisfaction at least, the dispute the countess of effingham, 293 going on between him and the chaplain, — which proved to be on the alleged banishing of the toads and serpents from the irish soil by st. patrick, — the earl offered his arm to miss markham, and the little party left the rock to bryan and the dead. as they descended the steep path, the radiant beauty of the moonlit sky attracted their attention, and lord effingham laid, pointing to the fine aurora borealis that was shooting its splendours athwart the northern sky — “does not that remind you, miss markham, of scott’s vivid description of just such a scene 1 — the monk gazed long on the lovely scene, then into the night he looked forth, and red and bright the streamers light were dancing in the glowing north. so had he seen in fair castile, the youth in glittering squadrons start, sudden the flying jennet wheel and hurl the unexpected dart. he knew by the streamers that shot so bright that spirits were riding the northern light. apropos to the immortal ‘lay,’” he added, “you, our fair friend, seem to have adopted with regard to cashel the advice of the scottish poet as regards melrose, namely, to ( visit it by the pale moonlight,’ and, moreover, to ‘ go alone the while ’ to ‘ view st. patrick's ruined pile ’ ” — “ and,” said harriet promptly, as she gracefully pointed to the solemn monuments of the long-past ages that rose in lonely beauty on either hand, — “ and may not i too, with justifiable pride — home returning, sooth ly swear, was never scene so sad and fair? ah, would that some irish poet, great as he, might one day do for st. patrick’s of royal cashel what scott did for st. david’s of fair melrose ! ” “pity it was,” said lord effingham, “that moore did not attempt some such thing — though, if he had, cashel might gain little in prestige , for moore was not the antiquarian that scott is, and to do anything like justice to these magnificent ruins a wealth of antiquarian lore were indispensably necessary. but tell me, miss markham, since when have you cultivated these solitary habits ? ” 294 the hermit of the rock “ ever since i have been — in the vicinity of the rock of cashel.” a smile shone for a moment on lord effingham’s face — he had noticed the slight pause in harriet’s answer, and gave it a meaning which might have escaped a less keen observer. “it is well you did not say, since you came to effingham castle.” “and why, my lord?” harriet asked in some alarm, and, raising her eyes to his for a moment, she found the earl regarding her with a searching look that brought the blood to her cheek she knew not why. “you ask me why?” his lordship said, with a pleasant smile. “ because it would speak but ill for the social qualities of the inmates of the castle w t ere you driven to seek entertainment where the owlet hoots o’er the dead man’s grave. what say you, mr. goodchild? this question concerns you amongst others.” “i — i beg your lordship’s pardon,” began the chaplain, “but really i — i did not catch the purport of your lordship’s remark.” the purport being caught, the worthy gentleman began earnestly to protest that he, on his part, had at all times done his utmost to entertain miss markham, and if he had not more entertained her the fault was hers, not his. “ nay, more,” said he, with a touch of solemn humour little expected from him, — “nay, more, my lord, my reverend brother, lately arrived in the parish, good mr. featherstone — a very proper and well favoured young gentleman, who, moreover, much resembles absalom of old in the quality and quantity of his hair — would willingly have assisted in making the castle agreeable to miss markham ; but truly his efforts, however laudable, seemed as entirely thrown away on the young lady as though he were old philemon goodchild instead of master chester featherstone.” a careless inquiry from the earl as to the qualifications oi this new inmate of the rectory, whom he had not yet seen, brought out a playful sketch of his personate from harriet, from the chaplain some critical observations on the manner and matter of his preaching, and by the time the latter were ended, our little party had reached the castle. as they approached the door, harriet’s heart began to beat fast and faster — a strange tremor the countess of effingham. 295 was creeping over her ; she longed to see the new lady of the mansion, and would have given much to have had an oppor tunity of questioning mr. goodchild as to what manner of person she was, hut the presence of the earl forbade any such attempt, and she was forced to remain on the tenterhooks of curiosity, without even a hint of what was passing in her mind. it might have been that lord effingham felt the tremor of the hand that rested so timidly and lightly on his arm, for just as they reached the upper one of the broad white marble steps that led up to the lofty vestibule of the hail, he stopped an instant, looked in harriet’s face and smiled. oh, how that smile humbled the sensitive girl ! yet she could not tell v r hy, even to herself. she would have withdrawn her hand as they entered the hall, but lord effingham held it fast, and, with that strange smile on his face, led her on, almost mechanically on her part, across the tesselatecl floor, and up the grand stair case, to a small apartment opening on the drawing-room. no one was yet visible, and harriet felt more and more overcome by some undefinabie emotion — secret in its source as dreams, voiceless as the past. the colour came and w r ent on her cheek, and tears filled her eyes, though she dared not let one escape from under the burn ing lids that were studiously cast down to conceal them. “ i think w r e may find her ladyship here,” said the earl in a careless tone, and he opened the door. no one was there, but voices were heard in the adjacent apartment, and lord effing ham said, “have the goodness to remain here, miss markham, and i w r ill bring my lady-love ” — “ oh, my lord,” said harriet, without raising her eyes, “ that would scarce befit our relative conditions. if you would do me the honour of conducting me to where lady effingham is, i shall be too highly favoured.” “i see you are very anxious to make her acquaintance,” said lord effingham, still smiling ; “i must therefore procure you that pleasure at the earliest possible moment.” it appeared very strange to harriet, and embarrassed her more than a little, that the earl still lingered, regarding her changing features with the keen scrutiny of one who would read her heart. a burning blush kindled on her cheek, and 296 the hermit of the rock. her eyes involuntarily sought the ground. she felt the piercing glance that was on her, and she was vexed she knew not why, yet neither did she know what she ought to say, and so she remained silent. at last lord effingham spoke, and his voice was not so firm as usual. “ miss markham, you desire to be presented to lady effing ham, do you not? favour me with your hand, and i will lead you to her.” the hand was given, though with a look of wondering surprise, and the earl, leading her up to one of the large venetian mirrors that occupied the panels of the wainscoting, bowed with mock ceremony, and said, pointing to her own graceful figure on its brilliant surface, “ there is the countess of effingham that is to be — with miss markham’s gracious permission. there is, or shall be, no other.” “ my lord ! ” said harriet, the crimson blush on her cheeks giving place to a ghastly paleness, as she turned with a start and fixed her eyes on the now earnest face that was regarding her with a look of ineffable affection, — “ my lord, what am i — to understand — from this?” “that as i owe my life to frederick markham, so shall i owe my happiness to his sister, if she deigns to bless me with her hand.” “ then — yon — were not married in england?” “ certainly not. lady jane, taking umbrage at my long delay in going to claim her hand, thought proper to revenge herself by making herself the lawful property of a certain captain of the guards who had been dancing attendance on her handsome ladyship for full three weeks, and i, finding the family overwhelmed with grief and indignation, retired in apparent discontent, with what real satisfaction — with what an exquisite sense of relief — even you cannot understand until you have fathomed the depths of my heart. say, harriet, have i rightly interpreted the emotion that you laboured so hard to conceal ? have you guessed the secret that for months has been the charm and the torment of my existence ? ” by this time harriet found herself the occupant of a fauteuil y though of how she got there she had no very clear idea ; the whole was so like a dream that she could not realise her position. with a sort of half-conscious look she had turned the countess of effingham. 297 to lord effingham and listened in mute wonder; his last question seemed to restore her to full consciousness — the warm blood rushed to her face, crimsoning lip, cheek, and brow, but she did not immediately reply, and lord effingham spoke again in a tone half sportive, half serious. “ if i cannot say with sir nicholas, the royal standard bearer, in the ballad, after the woeful day of marston moor, i come to thee a landless man, i can say what i would give half my lands were it otherwise than it is to say now, ‘ i come to thee a wifeless man/ — will you wear the rejected coronet 1” and he smiled. “ will you accept the heart and hand i am now free to offer h ” “ the coronet i value little,” said harriet, covering her eyes with the only hand at her disposal. she paused a moment, then hurriedly added in a lower tone, “ the heart and hand i value more than lady jane could ever have valued them ” — ashamed of even this admission, harriet would have made a hasty retreat, but retreat was just then impossible, and during the next five minutes she heard words, burning words, never to be forgotten — words that were stamped in golden letters on the tablet of her heart, to shine there while life remained. short as the time was, it sufficed to lay bare to the eager eyes that watched her varying features the innermost depth of harriet markham’s heart, and to draw from her lips the timid con fession that her life would have been a blank, a dreary waste, had lord effingham brought back with him his english countess. “ then you approve of my taste ] ” said the earl, as they rose to rejoin the company in the drawing-room, and he glanced at the brightly smiling image in the mirror. “i thought you would,” he added, with a look that covered harriet’s face with blushes. then, bending down his stately head, as he drew her arm within his, he whispered — “oh, bring to me my norah fay — hours are days when she’s away.” “i see you have not forgotten that simple ballad,” said harriet, with a thrill of joy as she thought of the lone night watch beneath her window. “ oh no, nor the pansies, — you remember them y do you ? ” 298 the hermit of the rock a look of radiant happiness, of unutterable affection, was harriet’s answer as they entered the drawing-room. the party there wore evidently prepared for what was coming, and when lord effingham led harriet to lady pemberton, saying, “ caroline, you have been long years without a sister — there is one whom i commend to your sisterly affection — love her first for my sake, you will soon love her for her own,” lady pemberton received the blushing girl with a kindness that won her heart for ever, but without any surprise. mrs. pakenham was barely civil, freezingly cold, in fact, and supercilious ; mr. goodchild blander and smoother than ever, and as jubilant, honest man, as though he had himself been the winner of so fair a prize. it was not till the following morning that the two young daughters of lord effingham were made acquainted with the turn affairs had taken ; and if aught were wanting to com plete harriet’s happiness, it was the delight they manifested on learning that they were to have for their “ new mamma,” not “ that nasty lady jane,” against whom they seemed to have cherished a most unaccountable prejudice, probably from mrs. pakenham’s persistent habit of enlarging on that lady’s bad qualities, leaving what good there was in her entirely in the shade, but “ their own dear, dear miss markham.” the truth was, as regarded the children, that plarriet had learned to love them for their own sakes, perhaps, too, for their father’s, and as a natural consequence they loved her in return. she had devoted much attention to the training of their minds and the cultivation of their naturally good dispositions, and already her assiduous cares began to bear good fruit in the minds and hearts of their little ladyships. the only clouded brow in effingham castle during the happy days succeeding the earl’s return was that of the hon. mrs. pakenham, who lost no opportunity of hinting at parvenues, or tendering her unsought opinion on unequal marriages, mesalliances , and so forth, to the great amusement of those most concerned. it seemed so difficult to please mrs. paken ham in a wife for the earl of effingham. if lady jane’s levity and heartlessness had been her theme before, want of position, etc., w r as now a more crying sin. poor mrs. paken ham, how are the mighty fallen ! chapter xxiii more visitors to the rock— the conjurer. the days were gliding on swiftly towards the auspicious one that was to make harriet markham countess of effingham, when one fervid noon the earl surprised his lady-love in close colloquy with no less a person than the old man of the rock in a shady part of the avenue not far from the castle. “ how now, fair lady/’ he smilingly said ; “ i did not expect to see you abroad at this sultry noontide hour.” “ that is because your lordship is not acquainted with my peculiar habits. i have been walking some time to and fro in this refreshing shade ” — “ musing slow, a la ‘ saint or moralist/ rtest-ce pas ? ” “ i know not that, my lord, but musing or not, when our good hermit here made his appearance, with an invitation to visit the rock this evening for a very special purpose.” “ and what may the purpose be ? ” “that he will tell you himself,” said harriet, as she took the earl's arm and returned his beaming smile. “i shall be glad to hear it,” was the gracious reply. “but first i would have you put on your hat, bryan ; even under this leafy screen the dog-star is not to be trusted.” “ many thanks to your lordship for your mighty great con descension,” bryan returned, with a very low, and indeed a very polite bow, “ but i couldn’t rest contented wid my hat on an’ the best of quality to the fore. neither sun nor wind ever does ould bryan cullenan any harm.” “ well, then, be so good as to let me hear why it is that you wish miss markham to visit the rock this evening.” “ oh, that’s aisy done entirely, your lordship,” — another low bow. “ sure, it’s in regard of a fine ould gentleman from foreign 299 300 the hermit of the rock, parts somewhere, that’s on the rock ’most all day. i declare to your lordship he’s one of the finest ould gentlemen i ever laid eyes on, an’ all the time i’m on the rock, an’ all the ladies and gentlemen i seen there in my time. it does my ould heart good, so it does, to hear him talk about the place, an’ i declare he knows more about it himself than i do, an’ he tould me things concernin’ it that i never knew myself.” “ is it possible ? ” “ it’s truth i’m tellin’ your lordship, an’ i tould miss mark ham the same before.” “ yes, bryan, but you have not told lord effingham what your private opinion is in relation to this remarkably * fine old gentleman.’ ” here bryan hesitated. “ well, you know, miss markham, i’m not sure about that, an’ maybe it isn’t right for me to say it.” “ let me say it for you, then. you must know, my lord,” — turning to lord effingham with that look of arch intelligence that at times lit up her features, — “ you must know, my dea* lord, that our friend here can in no other way account for this unknown old gentleman’s wonderful knowledge of matters appertaining to cashel save only by the supposition that his knowledge is supernatural. he therefore concludes that he must be some ‘great conjurer or another from beyond sea.' " “and he wishes you to see him?” “precisely, my lord.” “ and you purpose going ? ” “ i do — on one condition,” the last words in a lower tone ; “that is, provided your lordship will summon courage to brave the awful presence of the conjurer.” “doubt not that, lady mine,” the earl returned in the same tone ; “no more solitary rambles now, even on the sacred rock. happiness, you know, was born a twin, so i claim my share of your enjoyments.” “ at what hour do you think we shall be likely to see your old gentleman, bryan ? ” said harriet, with grave composure. “ oh, bedad, miss, you can’t go wrong for the hour, for i’ll go bail you’ll find him on the rock go when you will. sure, he was there early this mornin’ with a company of ladies and gentlemen, an’ then he came back again all alone by himself, more visitors to the rock. 301 an’ spent as good as three hours with me, lookin’ at everything, and huntin’ every hole an’ corner, sometimes talkin’ to himself, sometimes to me, an’ more times sayin’ nothing at all to any one, but standin’ leanin’ on a staff he has, or sittin’ down on a big stone, lookin’ at the arches an’ pillars, an’ the ould ancient carvin’ that’s on the stones, till you’d think he’d never take his eyes off o’ them. dear knows, i don’t know what to make of him, an’ still my heart warms to him if he was fifty conjurers on account o’ the great conceit he has in the ould walls and things.” “very well, bryan; we shall make it a point to see your conjurer some time this evening. good-morning.” and tak ing lord effingham’s arm, harriet said in a low voice, as they turned their faces towards the castle, “i think i know the precise time when we shall be sure to meet this new acquaint ance of bryan’s. if he be, as i suspect, some enthusiastic antiquarian, after spending most of his day on the bock, when the gay beams of lightsome day gild but to flout the ruins grey, he will most probably desire to visit it by the pale moonlight. we shall have no difficulty, i think, in inducing lady pember ton to go with us.” “ hot the smallest, i will answer for it,” said lord effingham, with a pleasant smile ; “ caroline is a true woman in the quality for which good mother eve was most remarkable. say nothing of it, though, to mrs. pakenham, who, entre nous , is never any very great acquisition — least of all to an exploring party. but lo ! here she comes, stateliest of dowagers, and a thunder-cloud on her brow, i protest ! let us turn up this path — i do not think she has seen us,” harriet was silent, wondering in her own happy heart at the sportive gaiety which now marked lord effingham’s manner in his intercourse with her, whilst to others he was still the same. then she thought of his early characteristics, as described by his sister, and her heart swelled and her cheek glowed at the thought that she alone had the key to the inner nature of one so calm and cold and passionless to the outer world. 302 the hermit of the rock. as lord effingham had expected, lady pemberton was delighted with the account of bryan’s mysterious visitant, and all anxiety to get a sight of him. in the flush of this new excitement, trifling as it was, her usual listlessness vanished quite, and her brother remarked with a smile, half sad, half tender, “ my poor caroline, i see you are still the same after all that has come and gone.” the sun’s last rays had faded from the parched earth that july evening when the effingham carriage stopped at the gate leading to the ruins, and our party of three, ascending the steep and rugged way to the cathedral door, were guided thence by the sound of voices to cormac’s chapel, where they found a lady and gentleman busily engaged in examining the quaint, rude sculpture round the arch of the portal, consisting of a double line of bead and zigzag moulding — if that term can be applied to stone. it was easy to see by the wondering look on old bryan’s face, as he stood silent and obsequious a few paces in the rear of his visitors, that the tall old man with his fine massive head, sparsely covered with silver-grey hair, and shaggy brows of the same colour protruding far over eyes that twinkled like stars with the changeful emotions of the mind was no other than “the conjurer.” who the lady might be or whether she had been summoned from the aerial world by his potent art to give record of the men and women of other times, was, of course, beyond the power of speculation truth to tell, if she had been brought into existence by the magician’s w r and, he might have summoned a fairer shape to hold commune with on the solemn kock, amid the shadows of the past. the strangers were not long unaware of the new arrivals; for bryan, feeling a little nervous about his position as the evening shadows thickened, began to look anxiously for the coming of the expected visitors, whose presence might protect him from any malpractices on the part of the conjurer. “ well, i declare,” quoth bryan, “that’s great ! ” “ what is great, my friend ? ” said the old gentleman. “why, your honour, if here isn’t lord effingham himself, an’ his sister, a grand lady, too, an’ miss markham. well, to be sure, isn’t i % the greatest of luck that brought them now, more visitors to the rock. 303 just in time to have a talk wid yourself, sir, an* this elegant fine lady ? ” with the dignified ease and courteous familiarity with which well-bred persons are wont to make acquaintance, the parties exchanged salutations, smiling all round at bryan’s odd intro duction. the ice of formality was not there to be broken, for each saw at a glance that the others were of their own order, and probably of their ow t n peculiar tastes in a greater or lesser degree. no introductions took place at first on either side, save the characteristic one of old bryan, but all were prepared to be pleased with the others, and pleased they were. the conversa tion, before confined to the strange lady and gentleman, with an occasional word from bryan, at once became general, and the supposed conjurer resumed the thread of his observations. “ i was just observing, my lord,” he said, addressing lord effingham, “ that this chapel cannot be so old by a century or so, as irish antiquarians would make it appear. i do not think that the king-bishop, cormac maccullenan, could have been its founder.” “indeed? and what grounds have you for disputing a fact so generally received as i believe that is ? ” “that i will soon show you,” and, moving round to the lateral door, he pointed to a half-effaced, yet still plainly discernible sculpture on the lintel. it was that of an archer in the act of drawing his bow— the old english crossbow. “your lordship sees that rudely-sculptured figure? — know you that such was the cognizance of stephen of blois? ” “ i have read that such it was, but i should not have remembered it in this connection.” “ that is because your lordship has not studied with attention the chronicles which time has traced on mouldering walls. now we know that stephen of england ended his mortal career in the year of grace 1101, or thereabouts, whereas cormac of cashel departed this life on the bloody battlefield of movling in the year 903, nearly two hundred years before.” here was heard from old bryan that indescribable sound emitted by irish mouths amongst the peasantry when anything strange or marvellous falls under their senses. it is enunciated by striking the tongue sharply but slightly against the roof of the mouth. 304 : the hermit of the rock. “ thu ! thu ! thu ! — well, if that doesn’t bate all ever i heard!” “so you infer from this heraldic device,” said lord effing ham, “that the name cormac’s chapel is a misnomer ?” “not exactly; it might have been built by another cormac, though not, i am persuaded, by the great cormac to whom it is popularly attributed. that it is no older than the days of good king stephen i am entirely of opinion. be that as it may, however, it is a rare gem of mediaeval art. it is, in all respects, one of the most interesting architectural remains i have any where seen, as the entire group exceeds in diversity of interest anything of the kind in these islands.” “i am glad to hear you say so,” said harriet markham, her face expressing the joy of her heart. “and why so, my dear young lady'?” the old man asked, regarding her with a look of kindly scrutiny from under his half-closed eyelids. “why, because, in the first place, i see your tastes are antiquarian, that you speak from knowledge, and — are not an irishman.” “you are right, young lady, in both surmises. i have devoted some attention to the lore of ancient days, and i have not the honour of being a native of your beautiful island, yet i am fain to declare that i hold it in high esteem, for very many good reasons. cashel i have long desired to visit, though i honestly confess i had no adequate idea of what it really is.” “i told you so,” said his lady-friend, “and i saw you were somewhat sceptical about it. for my part, i have no very great affection for ruins — of any kind.” “ of course not, of course not,” said the cheerful old man ; “ nobody ever accused you of such a weakness. my good friend here, lord effingham, and ladies, though a very worthy person in the main, has no respect whatever for other people’s hobbies, though, between ourselves, she mounts one herself of an odd time, and ambles off at the quietest pace imaginable. her hobbies are all agricultural and — shall i say it ? — utilitarian. is it not so, my fair friend?” “it is; if to live in the present and for the present be utilitarianism, then i am a utilitarian, and i only wish i could more visitors to the rock, 305 get more of my countrymen and countrywomen to live less in the past and in the future, and more in the realities of the present.” “yes, yes, more of political economy and less of poetry. we know you, chere amie t most amiable of philanthropists that you are ! ” “permit me one remark,” said harriet markham, “before you dismiss the subject. a thoroughly catholic people, like the race that inhabits this island, can never be taught political economy in the sense you speak of, because they cannot, if they would, concentrate their thoughts on the present. they must live in the past and in the future, for the past is their pride, the future their hope, whilst the present is with them but as the connecting link between them.” “very true, my dear, very true,” said the old gentleman, with an approving nod and smile ; “ i don’t think a malthus or a harriet martineau would ever find favour in this old-w r orld country of yours. eh, maria?” and he looked at his friend with a humorous smile. that bustling little personage, already moving away, made answer, “ possibly not — but perhaps worse doctrines than theirs may prevail in this same insula sanctorum. hay, young lady, you needn’t look at me so — i do not mean religious, but only social and political doctrines. but come,” to her friend, “ let us be moving, unless, indeed, you propose remaining all night, meditating, like hervey, ‘ amongst the tombs.’ ” “and that i would not mind doing,” he replied, “ would this good hermit of ours but keep me company.” “ the lord in heaven forbid ! ” said bryan, with such simple fervour that every one laughed. “ why, how is that ? ” said the old gentleman. “ i am told it is nothing new for you to spend the night here as well as the day.” “do you not know that he takes you for a conjurer?” whispered lord effingham. “i should not be surprised if it were so,” the other replied in the same tone; “he is a glorious old fellow — quite a study in himself.” “ a second old mortality ? ” asked the earl, with a significant look ; whereupon the stranger laughed and said “ almost, but 20 306 the hermit of the rock. not quite/’ then nodded and turned again to the examination of the architectural details before and around him. for some time the party walked on in silence, each one lost, apparently, in their own reflections ; at last the supposed con jurer, having stumbled over a fragment of stone, stooped and picked it up, then examining it by the clear light of the full moon, he said to bryan — “this is a piece of that tomb in the chancel within — arch bishop m‘grath’s.” bryan eagerly pounced on the precious fragment, expressing his wonder that it came to be outside the walls, and muttering to himself a “ christ save us ! ” as he glanced furtively at the dreaded stranger whose knowledge of the place so far exceeded his own — at least, so he thought. meanwhile, the unconscious object of his terror went on discoursing of all he saw, and of all he thought, admiring, explaining, expatiating, and delighting his wondering auditors. “now, my lord effingham,” said he, stopping in a place which commanded a view of the entire group of buildings, “can anything on earth be grander or more solemn than this ? said i not well that nothing within the british seas can compare to it — iona of the hebrides, perhaps, excepted ? look, my lord, at the group, as it stands, — look at the diversity, yet complete ness of the whole, the court, the fortress, the abbey precincts, the graveyard, the bishop’s seat, all in one enclosure, perched in isolated grandeur on the summit of this singular kock. see, there r tends the palace where the brave dalcassian princes of munster ruled with right royal sway ; there minstrels swept the sounding string in praise of beauty and of valour — the hall of the minstrels still is there, though its voices are now but the mournful sighing of the wind through the ivy that drapes its walls. hushed is the harp of the tune ful gael in the palace of their kings. yonder is the hall of the vicars-choral, erected by the good archbishop o’hedian for the prebends of his cathedral ; there is the cathedral itself, majestic even in decay, its altar gone, its glory vanished for ages, only death and ruin within and around it, where stately prelates and stoled priests ministered of old, and men and women wept and prayed and were forgiven. where the banners of the blessed saints waved over long processions round the more visitors to the rock, 307 aisles and along these paths, naught now is seen but broken walls and clustering ivy, and the dreariness of desolation — year after year ’tis crumbling, and heavily the loose stones fall. long grass and fern hang clustering above the tombs without the wall. then yonder is cormac’s peerless chapel, sheltered by the arm of the cathedral transept, and bidding defiance to the stern warfare which time wages ever on the works of man : safe in the solidity of its quaint masonry, it escapes the ruin that is falling deeper year by year on the statelier edifice which has so long sheltered it from wind and weather. then the little church of the apostles, smaller still than cor mac’s chapel, with the twelve venerable figures rudely yet not unskilfully carved on its dilapidated stonework ; and as if to crown the interest of the group — to close the solemn record — this mysterious pillar tower rising over all, pointing back to the very night of time, to a period long anterior to christianity, and to a race of men whose history has perished from the land, except in so far as the lone cairn on the green hillside or the spectral tower bears record of their passage.” “and the abbey,” suggested harriet, when the old man paused, “you would not willingly omit the cloisters yonder from your enumeration.” “ if i did,” the stranger replied, with his benignant smile, “it were like leaving the colosseum out of a description of eome, or the temple of the sun out of palmyra. that abbey has occupied a good part of the time i have spent on the eock ; for, independent of the interests attached to it as the home of generations of good and holy men, cistercians and dominicans (for i find it belonged successively to both), i was endeavouring to find the entrance to the subterraneous passage which is said to have connected it with hore abbey, yonder in the vale.” “ and did you succeed ” inquired lord effingham. “alas! no, my lord,” and he shook his head; “such good fortune is not for me, and seeing that this worthy man whose days and years are spent amongst the ruins has never been able to discover it, i am bound to believe that such passage never did exist, save in the legends of the country.” 308 the hermit of the rock. “ i’ll not give in to that, anyhow,” said bryan stoutly, his ire a little roused at this attack on one of the standing traditions of the place ; “ since the memory of man, or long before it, nobody ever said the likes o’ that, for sure every one knows the passage is in it, only we can’t happen to light on it ; an’ sure, maybe there’s good raisons for that same,” he added significantly. “and what do you suppose the reasons to be?” inquired the old gentleman. “why, then, maybe it’s there where the ould monks hid away all their goold and treasures at their off-goin’, and then don’t you think but they’d build up the openin’ to keep people from findin’ it out?” another reason bryan had, which he chose to keep to himself, deeming it unfit to make the sasse nach quality as wise as himself in the matter, and that was that the passage was closed by powers supernal to reserve it as a hiding-place for the persecuted catholics of the neighbourhood in some of those desperate emergencies to which the finger of prophecy — local and legendary prophecy — points for aye as awaiting the oft-tried children of the soil. “what wonder is it,” said lord effingham, after a short silence, “that the catholic people of ireland are so wedded to their own religious belief ? with such monuments as these ever before them, how could they forget the faith of their fathers, associated as it is with all the past, and interwoven with the history of their race ? ” “and with all their hopes for the future, my lord,” added harriet quickly. “ were it not for this one ray of light, shining ever from the veiled future through the portals of religion, how could they have journeyed so patiently through the dark ness of many ages of suffering and desolation ? faith alone it is that has cheered their dreary path of life — given them strength to live, and courage to die when life itself was a lingering death, and death the last act in a lifelong tragedy.” “ i believe you are right, young lady,” said the old gentleman, and a thoughtful, even a melancholy look settled on his features. “ it may be that the possession of this strong, hopeful faith more than counterbalances the many hardships which have fallen to the lot of the irish people.” “hardships, inagh?” put in bryan almost indignantly; “athen, only for them maybe so many wouldn’t go to heaven, more visitors to the rock 309 an* when they get there isn’t it all past ? — much about the hardships, an’ far less ! — doesn’t every one know that no one can get to heaven without sufferin’, an’ sure, the blessed and holy scripture itself tells us that? if it wasn’t the will of god, do you think england could ever have kept us down as she has done, starvin’ crathurs off the face of the earth when there’s full an’ plenty for them to eat, an’ givin’ them only the height of bad usage when a body ’id think that it ’id be for her own good to have them better off? god knows what’s best for us, an’ he can change his hand in his own good time, an’ raise up them that suffered so much for his sake, an’ bring england as low, maybe, as she ever brought poor ireland. he has great power, the god we serve — praise and glory to his name for ever ! ” and bryan went on in advance of the others, shaking his head defiantly and muttering to himself, “ sure, god loves them he chastises — the whole world knows that.” the old gentleman stood looking after him with a good natured smile on his large features. “what a glorious old fellow that is,” said he, turning with a smile to his lady-friend ; then, lowering his voice, he added, “i have had the richest treat all day in his company. he is an antiquarian by nature, if you can understand what that is, devoting his life to the care of these magnificent ruins, yet actuated chiefly by pious venera tion for the sacredness of the place. he is to this catholic necropolis what old mortality was to the graves of the scottish covenanters.” the last remark was overheard by miss markham as she and lord effingham came up close behind. “ what a pity it is,” said she, “that ireland has no scott to make her natural beauties or her ancient monuments classic, as that great master has made those of scotland. the same elements of romance are here — the same wealth of legendary lore— the same loveli ness of lake and river, wood and mountain — the same diversity of races in her history — the same intestine wars” — “ and a much more poetic temperament in her people,” added the stranger earnestly. “in all and each particular, ireland presents as rich a mine for the novelist as ever did scotland, and i marvel much that no great national writer of fiction has yet n>en above your horizon. why, this cashel alone would furnish material for a first-class historical tale. a world of 310 the hermit of the rock romance lies sleeping amongst these ruins, were the dry bones but imbued wfith life by the wand of imagination.” “ and who so fit to do it as — the conjurer — a cousin-german, i suspect, of the renowned jonathan oldbuck of monkbarns?” archly said harriet; whereat the strangers both laughed, and the old gentleman, tapping with the glove he held in his hand the fair cheek of the young lady, said, “ were i thirty years younger, i know who might, could, and would be a conjurer , and furnish a type for the heroine of a tale of cashel — one that might have inspired the minstrel’s lay, and nerved the warrior’s arm, and made pious souls more pious still by word and by example.” lord effingham smiled fondly on the blushing girl at his side, and expressed his hope that one day or another might be given to the world a grand historic novel illustrative of the history and antiquities of cashel. the two strangers smiled on each other, and the lady said, “what think you, signor conjurer 1 ?” “nay, my friend, i should rather ask you that question,” the old man said evasively. “ i am almost angry with certain persons of my acquaintance for neglecting cashel so long.” “ ah, but you know the c certain persons } are not the persons to treat that subject effectively. their prosy ethics would make dry work of the shadows you spoke of a while ago.” “ i know not that,” said the old man, with a thoughtful shake of the head ; “ yet still, every one has their forte , and perhaps yours is not the poetry of history. we will see, however, what can be done for cashel, at least, pending the appearance of the national novelist who is to complete the work of sydney morgan and maria edgeworth ! ” “thanks,” said the lady; “our visit here has not been for nothing.” the evening was now far advanced, and the visitors prepared to leave the kock, the strangers, especially the old gentleman, with evident reluctance. he requested bryan to come forward, and, having placed in his hand a silver crown, told him he need not fear to keep it. “so you’re no conjurer, after all? ” eagerly asked bryan. “ i can lay claim to no such honour.” “ who on earth are you, then ? — for if you’re not a conjurer, more visitors to the rock. 311 you’re something past the common altogether, an’ i’d be entirely obleeged to you if you’d tell me your name.” “i know not that the knowledge would benefit you much,” said the kindly old gentleman, with his humorous smile ; u sucli as it is, however, you are welcome to it. i am sir walter scott — and this lady, my very dear friend, is called miss edgeworth . good-bye, bryan ; and i hope you will not forget the conjurer, who, at least, can never forget cashel and the hermit of the rock .” 1 bryan was not very profuse in his expressions of gratitude, but he raised his hand to wipe the tears from his eyes, and retreated to the rear to hide the emotion for which he could not account. he had never heard of sir walter scott or maria edgeworth, but, as he had said before, his heart warmed to the amiable antiquarian. when the two parties now exchanged their formal yet very cordial greeting, it was found that lord effingham and miss markham had both guessed the identity of the distinguished strangers. “i began to think,” said the earl, “that old bryan was not so far wrong, after all. i suspected that his conjurer might prove to be the wizard of the north.” and he bowed with courtly grace. “and i,” said harriet, “over and above the testimony of the printed likenesses i had seen of the author of waverley , made up my mind full soon that if the host of abbotsford were above ground he was on the rock of cashel this very night — and miss edgeworth too ! ” and she bowed to the lively little lady, who was talking with quick, animated gestures to lady pemberton. the authoress of castle rachrent nodded her head and smiled, then resumed the animated account she had been giving her silent but admiring listener of some amusing incidents in the tour from edgeworthstown thither, which she and sir walter, with some other friends, had made in company, 1 it is well known that sir walter scott, on the occasion of his visit to cashel, in the summer of 18 — , was so impressed by what he saw there, during a two-days’ stay in the vicinity, and after a minute and critical examination of the ruins, that he declared his intention of making it the subject of a novel. unhappily, the intention was never carried out. would that it had ! 312 the hermit of the rock lord effingham would fain have persuaded the distinguished strangers to go at once to the castle, but that they declared impossible for that evening, as the other members of tlieir party having gone to visit other places in the vicinity, would naturally expect to find them at the hotel in cashel where they left them. “ in that ease,” said the earl, “ we will hold you excused, on condition that the whole party dine with us to-morrow.” to this a right willing assent was given, and the effingham carriage rolled away towards the old borough, bearing to the quiet inn two personages whose names will live while ireland and scotland have a literature to boast of. chapter xxiv. the close of this eventful history. courteous reader, my tale is almost told : we have reached the term of a journey which i meant to make a pleasant one for you. i know not how far i have succeeded, but you will, i hope, give me credit for the intention. before the curtain falls on the widely-diversified group of characters i have placed before you, many things remain to be told, in brief. the last scene of the drama is closed, but i must crave the reader’s kind attention while i tell how harriet markham discovered that the “ pro posal ” conveyed through lord effingham was hut a ruse to sound the depths of her heart ; how lord effingham, after two weeks of blissful preparation, placed his coronet on the brow of harriet markham, with the express understanding that he was to continue the study of catholic doctrines, already privately commenced ; how, after a few months, the newspapers chronicled the fact — in terms varying with the party and denominational views of the several writers — some that the earl of effingham had “gone over to rome,” others that he had “embraced the holy catholic faith,” 1 etc. etc . ; how phil moran, in due time, led mary ilennessy to the hymeneal altar, accompanied thereto, on their own account, by dr. maurice ilennessy and bella le poer, who had been carrying on a little affair of the heart “on the sly,” as mary said, for some months previous to the happy event, which came off in form of a “double 1 to those who might he disposed to object to lord effingham’s con version, we will “vouchsafe ” so far as to remind them that the conversion of an irish earl is nothing new, — even later than the period of our story, the earl of dunraven, whose principal seat is at ad are, county limerick, became a convert to the catholic faith. it was but the other day, more over, that the marchioness of downshiro, an irish peeress, was received into the church. 313 314 the hermit of the rock. marriage ” in cashel church, under the ministry of dean m‘dermot. how the trial of jerry pierce came off at the clonmel assizes, in presence of a vast multitude, comprising the highest and the lowest in “ sweet tipperary;” how old harry esmond astonished the whole country, and none more so than his own kith and kin, by giving his testimony in favour of jerry pierce, and expressing his opinion that he was really as innocent of the crime as he professed to be ; how the sturdy old trojan was thenceforward regarded with little less enthusiasm than jerry himself; how jerry, being honourably acquitted, was “ chaired” — i.e. borne on men’s shoulders — through the streets of clonmel, and the hills around re-echoed with the wildest shouts of joy and exultation ; how mr. esmond, on approaching his own residence, was greeted with a similar ovation, the horses being taken from his carriage, and he con veyed to rose lodge in triumph, amid the vociferous cheers of the multitude ; how, from the steps of his hall-door he made a speech as remarkable for its characteristic brevity as dean swift’s famous charity sermon. “ i see i was mistaken in you,” said he to the assembled peasantry — “in fact, did you gross injustice. i promise, therefore, to be from this day to the last day of my life what i never was before — a good landlord ! ” he kept his word, and ever after, people used to say that the loss of one good esmond gained them another, just as good a magistrate and as good a landlord as ever he was. to none was this change more gratifying than to henrietta esmond, who could now look up to her husband’s uncle as a friend and a protector. she had no immediate relatives of her own, and had from the first attached herself to the esmonds — at least, the ladies of the family, who were all, aunt winifred by no means excepted, as kind to the orphan-heiress as heart could wish. miss esmond, with all her peculiarities of character, was in the main a good soul, sound at heart, and the occasional acerbity of her temper never led her so far as knowingly to inflict pain on any one. indeed, the good old lady was rather a favourite with all the family, — even her brother, on whose corns she trod the often est, had a very sincere affection for “ winny,” and on ordinary occasions seemed rather amused than otherwise by “her little odd ways,” as he was wont to call them. as years rolled on, the hopes and affections of all the esmonds were centred in the the close of this eventful history, 315 little son and daughter of their lost harry, and the children amply repaid their mother’s devotion and the tender care of their uncle and aunts, for they grew up full of promise, bright and beautiful as fair flowers opening to the sunbeams. surrounded by none but the kindliest and most healthful influ ences, their good qualities were all largely developed, and their bad ones repressed, if not overcome. but in all the tranquil happiness that marked her life, and made the days like one long summer-noon, mrs. esmond never lost sight of her irreparable loss — never forgot him who was her first, last love — him whose bright young life had been so cruelly extinguished — not quietly into the silent grave stealing, but torn like the blasted oak, riven away. the heart-crushing load of grief that had bowed her to the earth during the first months of her widowhood yielded gradually to the soothing influence of time, but the tender melancholy that took its place never passed away, and although it could not be said of the gentle henrietta, as it was of henry the first of england, after the loss of his son and daughter at sea, that “ she never smiled again,” it was nevertheless true that, as the poet sings of the fair queen of scots in holyrood palace — the touch of care had blanched her cheek, her smile was sadder now, and so it was her life long till she left this weary world to join her loved one beyond the skies. it remains to tell how jerry pierce wed his faithful celia, and took up his abode with her in her uncle’s cottage, as neither could think of leaving the old man lonely in his age, his boys having taken to themselves helpmates some time before, and gone housekeeping on their own account. by the generous kindness of young mrs. esmond, the vanithee — now no longer the “ fairywoman ” — and the two orphan children of the unhappy tim murtha were established in a comfortable little cottage, with a potato garden attached, close to that of larry mulquin, and it was jerry’s pride and pleasure to cultivate, before and after working hours, his mother’s little spot of ground, from which he managed to raise not only an abundant supply of the favourite esculent, but of other vegetables, which added 316 the hermit of the rock . considerably to the comforts of the little family. a few fruit bushes were there too, and some flowers annually obtained from the gardeners at the lodge or the hall, for jerry pierce and his family “had the run of both houses,” as the worthy fellow used to .boast with innocent and very justifiable pride. indeed, it was well known to all the countryside that jerry and all belonging to him were under the special protection of the esmonds, and “were sure of never knowing a day’s want.” it was much to mr. esmond’s praise that he lodged a small sum of money in bank for the murtha children, to lie with accumulated interest till such time as they were come to an age to be settled in life. in the light of an awakened conscience he saw that the misfortunes of the murthas were all due to him, in the first place, and that thus by a terrible but just retribution he was indirectly to blame for the untimely death of the nephew whom he had loved as a fond father might love a dear and only son. in this, as in all the important acts of his later years, he was guided by the wise paternal counsels of lean m'dermot, then as ever the common father of all his people, their friend, their guide in matters temporal no less than spiritual. poor mabel, after wandering around holy cross and cashel for a few more weary years, died at last in the vanithee’s cottage, well cared for during the long illness that closed her mortal life by the kind hands of celia pierce and her mother in-law, and provided with comforts and even delicacies from rose lodge and esmond hall. many an hour did the ladies from both houses spend by the bedside of the interesting maniac, and their charitable cares were rewarded by a lucid interval of some hours immediately before the poor girl’s death, during which she received the last sacred rites, then died in full consciousness, with the holy names on her lips, mingled with a prayer “for poor patrick’s soul,” and a blessing on the kind friends, high and low, who had made her path to the tomb a pleasant one. she was waked for two nights, and amongst the crowd of friendly neighbours that filled the house “inside and outside,” as jerry pierce said, was shaun the piper and his dog frisk, the former entertaining all that came with the best music in his pipes and the best jokes in his budget of fun. and it was the general opinion that shaun “kept them all alive* betwixt himself and the pipes, more the close of this eventful history. 31? power to them.” at our last hearing of shaun he was himself alive and merry, minus poor frisk, however, who went the way of all dogs a year or so after mabel's wake, and was laid at rest “under the greenwood tree” by the kindly “neighbour boys,” friends of shaun and admirers of his dog’s fidelity. ned murtha, sheepish and awkward as ever, was nevertheless making his w t ay in the world better than might be expected when last heard from. he had attained the honourable post of confidential clerk to attorney moran, and was said to have “money in the bank — enough to keep him all his days.” kate costelloe, ever the same wayward, moody creature, remained in dutiful attendance on bryan cullenan, the comforts of both duly cared for by the pitying kindness of “ the young mistress,” as kate persisted in calling her. the woes of squalid poverty thus happily banished from their little cabin, the two old people jogged quietly on together — contentedly on bryan’s part, for bryan was always contented — with dogged tranquillity that was not resignation on the part of kate costelloe, whom no effort of her kind protectress could draw from her lifelong stupor of dull remembrance. life was to her but a dreary blank — no hope for the future — no joy in the past — nothing but gloom and drear despondency, save where an occasional glimpse of the bright world beyond the tomb came like a far-off gleam of light making the surrounding and nearer darkness all the more sensible. there came a time, however, when the benign influence of religion reached the stubborn heart of kate costelloe, and by slow degrees the crust of dark despair and stolid misery crumbled away, and the far-off light came near and nearer in the wake of true contrition, till at length the unhappy woman raised herself from the earth on which she had so long lain grovelling, and dared to look her transgressions in the face, not as she had been wont to do, as merely bearing on her own fate, but as violations of the divine law. from that moment her life was one long course of penance,-— not of idle, unavailing regret, — and when her day of life was ended, she departed in the hope of a joyful resurrection, purified by years of patient suffering and the fervour of sincere conversion. lastly, we are bound to put on record how it fared with old bryan cullenan in the closing years of his mortal life. we have failed in portraying his worthy character if the reader 318 the hermit of the rock. requires still to be told that the old man lived in peace with himself and all the world to the last hour of his life. “ the peace which surpasseth all understanding” had its throne in his heart of hearts, and even had his life been more chequered than it was, had the trials and vicissitudes of man's fallen state and its many tribulations fallen to his lot, bryan cullenan would still have enjoyed that inward peace which is the most priceless of all blessings — yea, more precious than the gold of ophir, or the gems of eastern mines. calm and serene as a summer evening sky, his days glided by on downy pinions, unmarked in their tranquil passage. with but one worldly object in view — the preservation of the ruins on the rock from the slow but certain ravages of time, and the ruder and swifter destruction dealt by the hand of man — bryan's devotedness to that self imposed task increased with every passing year, till at length he remained at his post night and day and in all weathers, coming down only to hear mass, or comply with his other religious duties. his kind friends — and they were many — often visited him on the rock, and took care that he wanted for nothing, but he never now went to any of their houses as he sometimes did in former days. alone with god and the hallowed memories of the place, he spent his last years, wasting his little remaining strength and the last expiring energies of his nature in the service of the saints of cashel, keeping watch and ward over their mouldering fanes, their neglected shrines. stoutly and bravely did the lone old man battle with the all-subduing power of decay, vainly striving to arrest its pro gress, yet working ever, despairing never — satisfied when he could but replace a fallen stone, clear away the rubbish that will accumulate in places abandoned to the empire of ruin, or pick the moss that ventured to make its appearance amongst the half-effaced letters of the quaint latin inscription on the tomb of some venerable “man of eld,” prelate, priest, or warrior prince. and ever as he worked he held communion with the spirits of the place, and pondered over the solemn teachings of mouldering bones and grinning skulls. shunning more and more the company of his fellow-beings, bryan looked with greater yearning day by day and year by year to the invisible world on whose threshold he stood. silence and solitude were his sole delight, and the voices of earth grated harshly on his the close oe this eventful history, 319 ear. yet his outward bearing was unchanged, and the few kind friends who would not be kept from visiting him were always sure to find on his face the same calm smile, on his lips the same fervent blessing. the grosser elements of his body evaporated, as it were, by slow degrees, and only the shell remained. the joints were stiff and the limbs feeble — the infirmities of age began to prevail over bryan’s hardy nature. a ghostly sight he was in those latter days, for his form was bowed and bending, his fleshless hands were thin and spare, and the light of his eyes was all but quenched. yet still he worked on at his cherished task amongst the graves and the tombs and the dreary ruins — on, on to the last. but the end came. one grey cold day in autumn, old cauth ascended to the rock, hoping to induce bryan to eat some little delicate morsel which she had prepared with anxious care ; she found the old man on his knees in the chancel of the cathedral, dead and cold — his beads in his hand and the large crucifix appended to them clasped close to his breast. he had fallen forward, and so lay before the place where the high altar had been of old. great was cauth’s sorrow, but still she consoled herself with the thought, “he was at his duty a sunday last, and sure, anyhow, it’s the happy change for him — the lord have mercy on him ! ” so died the hermit of the rock, and they made him a grave amongst its honoured dead, and laid him down to rest for ever in the scene of his pious labours. but after him, for years long, the sacred ruins were left to the undisputed power of decay; no man was found to take the place which death had left vacant ; storm and tempest aided the gradual process of decay — the stones fell and there was none to replace them ; the long grass waved unheeded on the place that had been the holy of holies, and the green moss crept slowly over the names of the illustrious dead, and the people of the neighbourhood used to say with sorrowful em phasis, as they pointed to the sad ravages of time and neglect, “ och, it’s aisy seen, sure, that poor bryan isn’t on his feet — if he could only see the ould place now, it ’id break his heart, so it would. it’s a wonder he can rest in his grave and thing3 goin’ to wrack and ruin that-a-way all around him.” 320 the hermit of the rock. for years long it almost seemed to tliem as though the old man ought to return to save the ruins from the destruction to which they were evidently hastening, but he came no more ; the grave had claimed its own, the farther shore was gained, and even the departing glories of the holy place could not waken one throb in the dead, cold heart of the hermit of the rock. peace to his soul for ever ! the end ■ t * . ♦ % boston college 32836 5 4.in 8/16: h 42 engaging the hermit kingdom: u.s. policy toward north korea hearing before the subcommittee on asia and the pacific of the committee on international relations house of representatives one hundred fifth congress first session february 26, 1997 printed for the use of the committee on international relations pennsylvania state university libraries feb 3 1998 . documents collection u.s. depository copy u.s. government printing office washington : 1997 44–152 cc for sale by the u.s. government printing office superintendent of documents, congressional sales office, washington, dc 20402 isbn 0-16-055902-2 committee on international relations benjamin a. gilman, new york, chairman william goodling, pennsylvania lee hamilton, indiana james a. leach, iowa sam gejdenson, connecticut henry j. hyde, illinois tom lantos, california doug bereuter, nebraska howard berman, california christopher smith, new jersey gary ackerman, new york dan burton, indiana eni f.h. faleomavaega, american elton gallegly, california samoa ileana ros-lehtinen, florida matthew g. martinez, california cass ballenger, north carolina donald m. payne, new jersey dana rohrabacher, california robert andrews, new jersey donald a. manzullo, illinois robert menendez, new jersey edward r. royce, california sherrod brown, ohio peter t. king, new york cynthia a. mckinney, georgia jay kim, california alcee l. hastings, florida steven j. chabot, ohio pat danner, missouri marshall "mark" sanford, south earl hilliard, alabama carolina walter capps, california matt salmon, arizona brad sherman, california amo houghton, new york robert wexler, florida tom campbell, california steve rothman, new jersey jon fox, pennsylvania bob clement, tennessee lindsey o. graham, south carolina bill luther, minnesota john mchugh, new york jim davis, florida roy blunt, missouri jerry moran, kansas kevin brady, texas richard j. garon, chief of staff michael h. van dusen, democratic chief of staff subcommittee on asia and the pacific doug bereuter, nebraska, chairman james a. leach, iowa howard l. berman, california dana rohrabacher, california eni f.h. faleomavaega, american peter t. king, new york samoa jay kim, california robert e. andrews, new jersey matt salmon, arizona sherrod brown, ohio jon fox, pennsylvania matthew g. martinez, california john m. mchugh, new york alcee l. hastings, florida donald a. manzullo, illinois walter h. capps, california edward r. royce, california robert wexler, florida mike ennis, subcommittee staff director richard kessler, democratic professional staff member dan martz, counsel heidi l. hennig, staff associate (ii) contents witnesses page 5 9 20 23 26 mr. charles kartman, assistant secretary of state for east asian and pacific affairs (acting), u.s. department of state ........ ...... dr. kurt campbell, deputy assistant secretary of defense for east asian and pacific affairs, u.s. department of state the honorable james r. lilley, director, institute for global chinese affairs, university of maryland ....... dr. roy richard grinker, associate professor of anthropology and international relations, george washington university mr. robert a. manning, senior fellow, progressive policy institute appendix prepared statements: mr. charles kartman dr. kurt campbell hon. james r. lilley dr. roy richard grinker mr. robert a. manning .... additional material submitted to the record: statement submitted to the record by mr. kim ...... statement submitted to the record by mr. gilman, chairman, committee on international relations 37 46 51 57 67 80 81 (iii) engaging the hermit kingdom: u.s. policy toward north korea wednesday, february 26, 1997 house of representatives, subcommittee on asiaand the pacific, committee on international relations, washington, dc. the subcommittee met, pursuant to notice, at 1:35 p.m. in room 2172, rayburn house office building, hon. doug bereuter (chairman of the subcommittee) presiding. mr. bereuter. the subcommittee will come to order. i think we will be joined by the ranking member shortly. i think we are in good fortune because, as i understand it, all votes are complete for the day so we may be able to proceed through this hearing without interruption. i hope that is the case. the subcommittee on asia and the pacific meets today to examine u.s.-north korea relations. some of you may recall that this was the subject of the subcommittee's very first hearing in the 104th congress. that_timing reflects the priority representative howard berman, the ranking democrat, and i placed on the importance or concern we had regarding the situation on the korean peninsula in 1995. now, in the 105th congress, the situation in north korea with respect to u.s. relations with the dprk remains just as troubling. in the past few days, we have seen headlines regarding massive food shortages in north korea, and the united states formed a major food assistance initiative. it also seems that the north participated in briefings by americans and south koreans about the nature and method of post-wartime talks. there is startling news about recent high-level defections and the serious allegation that former defectors have been targeted for assassination. much is happening with regard to what some call, and we are calling today, maybe with a little bit of overkill, the “hermit kingdom.” and yet we still know almost nothing about this secretive and almost completely isolated nation. most of what we do know is alarming. north korea remains perhaps the most volatile, belligerent, and dangerously unstable nation in the world. pyongyang continues to allocate significant and disproportionate levels of scarce resources to its million-man-plus army. pyongyang's nuclear activities have been so alarming that it has spurred an international effort to provide north korea reactors in return for the capping of their petroleum production facilities through the korean energy development organization (kedo). (1) 2 even if one answers american and international concerns about the north korean nuclear program, there is still north korea's ongoing missile, chemical, and biological weapons programs and its continued export of terrorism. almost as disturbing as the external threat is the security threat posed by north korea's unstable domestic situation: threat of either starvation, implosion, or external belligerence. the floods of 1995, some of which i saw when i came to visit you, mr. kartman, do not appear to have abated. indeed, the floods may have accelerated. it certainly does not appear that the north korean government can any longer meet most of the basic needs of the population. supreme leader kim's irrational behavior continues to raise questions about who really is in control and for how long. compared with these woes, u.s. policy toward the north has evolved with considerably less fanfare. yet dramatic changes in u.s. policy have indeed occurred. just last week, and i regret to say as far as i know prior to consultation with the congress, the state department announced its decision to provide $10 million in food assistance to the north. i would note that in an era when the united states is closing aid missions—aid missions in nations that are our friends and allies—assistance to north korea is increasing by leaps and bounds. indeed, between funding kedo, grants of food aid, and funding the return of the remains of american mias from the korean war, north korea is one of our largest aid recipients in asia. it is entirely legitimate, i think, for congress to ask, what is going on here? what are we trying to achieve with this assistance? what are our policy objectives and how are our current policies and tactics going to allow us to achieve those goals? certainly this member has, as a matter of fact, spent his entire congressional career seeking to ensure that food assistance goes to the truly destitute, but it is fair to ask whether north korea could exist without external assistance; isn't it? i would note this is a tottering regime with a million-man army still aimed directly at u.s. troops across the dmz. is assistance going to the north korean military or the starving citizens? do we or other organizations get accurate accounts of where the food is going? and what are the limits of our largesse? the current $40-million world food program commitment to north korea, of which the recently announced $10 million u.s. contribution is a part, will only make a small dent in north korea's overall need. since the root problems of a totally inefficient state and agricultural system are not being addressed, are we to assume that we will be asked to provide food assistance again and again and again? i would tell our administration witnesses that these are not intended as hostile questions. rather they are legitimate issues that have to be explained to us and the american people whom we represent. as the clinton administration pursues its north korean policy, we want to play a complementary role. i think we do, and i know i do. the american people have a right to know, however, what they are getting for our money. don't the american people and doesn't 3 the international community not have a right to expect fundamental changes from the pariah state in return for our largesse? we are fortunate to have the right people from the administration to respond to these and other questions that my colleagues and i might have. i am delighted to introduce charles kartman, acting assistant secretary of state for east asian and pacific affairs. secretary kartman is very capably serving in that capacity until this congress confirms a successor. mr. kartman has big shoes to fill. i observed your work while you were serving as the deputy chief of mission for our ambassador in seoul. i have no doubt that you are up to that challenge, and welcome today. dr. kurt campbell is the deputy assistant secretary of defense for east asian and pacific affairs where he has been the pentagon's point man on issues related to continued u.s. presence on okinawa. many of these personnel would be called upon to defend south korea should the worse-case scenario come to pass. dr. campbell testified before the subcommittee twice in the 104th congress, and his testimony has always been forthright and he has helped make important contributions to our understanding of the activities under his area of responsibility. i am going to introduce briefly the people who serve on the second panel as well. we have an extraordinarily capable panel of private witnesses. i am pleased we will be able to welcome the honorable james r. lilley. ambassador lilley has enjoyed a long and distinguished career in public service, including service as our ambassador to the people's republic of china and republic of korea. he has taught at johns hopkins and harvard university, and the american enterprise institute. also, he is presently the director of the institute on chinese affairs at the university of maryland. robert manning is the senior fellow of the progressive policy institute at the gaston sigure center at the george washington university. a prolific author, mr. manning has written some of the most provocative pieces on the strengths and weaknesses of u.s. policy in northeast asia. and dr. richard grinker teaches at george washington university where he has developed a unique expertise related to north korea. he has conducted detailed interviews with virtually all defectors who have fled from the dprk. i look forward to hearing what lessons they are able to draw from these defectors, particularly your ideas, dr. grinker, as to the possibility or difficulty of reunifying north and south korea. dr. grinker also serves as a senior fellow at the atlanta council. gentlemen, your written remarks on this panel and the second will be inserted in their entirety in the record. therefore, i would ask you to limit your oral statements to no more than 10 minutes. that will allow a maximum amount of time for questions for this panel and the succeeding one. i have no doubt our colleagues have a number of questions. i would like at this time, however, to recognize the distinguished ranking democrat member of the asia pacific subcommittee, my colleague from california, mr. berman. mr. berman. thank you very much, mr. chairman, and once again, for the second week in a row you are holding an extremely 4 timely hearing on a critical front-page issue, the situation on the korean peninsula. since the agreed framework was signed back in october 1994, our relationship has been noted for, that is, united states and north korea, for its fits and starts. clearly, engaging north korea has been every bit as difficult as first anticipated. each step forward has brought two steps backward. the recent defection of north korea's deputy premier and the reaction by the north to the debacle of its spy sub running aground in the south by first hostility, then apology, are all indications of tears in the tenuous fabric of north korean unity. some fear and some welcome these relationships as a sign that the north korean regime may be imploding. the lid on what was once known as a hermetically sealed country is slowly being pried open as a result of the administration's policy helped by the considerable progress made in implementing the agreed framework. on tuesday kedo announced that it would be sending a seventh site survey team to the north for a 5-month geological investigation relating to the eventual construction of light-water reactors. kedo has added a number of new members to its board last year, including the european union (eu). it delivered 500,000 metric tons of fuel oil last year to the north without significant diversions and made five phone calls with the north essentially agreeing to the framework's implementation. the decision last week by both south korea and the united states to provide emergency food relief to women and children is another example of how the internal situation in the north has forced it to accommodate the rest of the world. the foreign food monitors, iaea inspectors and kedo officials are now maintaining a permanent presence in pyongyang. none of this has been easy. critics of our policy have a point when they argue that we give more assistance to the north, a nation with which we remain officially at war, than to most of our asian friends. critics also point out that we must also be wary of allowing the north to drive a wedge between south korea and us, losing sight that our real objective is the eventual democratic reunification of the peninsula. as chairman bereuter just mentioned in his opening comments, this regime could not continue to exist without our assistance. these are real issues. i look forward to the hearing: mr. bereuter. thank you very much, mr. berman. that will be the order i would be happy to hear from other members and i call first on the vice chairman, peter king, the gentleman from new york. mr. king. i commend you for holding the hearing and look forward to the testimony of the witnesses. mr. bereuter. on the democratic side, mr. hastings. mr. hastings. mr. chairman, i, too, commend you for holding the hearing and would defer to the question period any statement that i might make. mr. bereuter. very well, thank you. mr. kim. mr. kim. mr. chairman, thank you. again, i commend you for holding this hearing. i would like to make a brief statement. i would like to ask unanimous consent that my full statement be included as an official opening statement. 5 mr. bereuter. without objection, that will be in order. mr. kim. again, i commend you and welcome all our outstanding witnesses today. i would like to hear from you on certain concerns that i have. again, more detailed questions will be forthcoming. there are a lot of things happening right now, and i read today that our embassy in beijing recently denied a visa to one of the highest ranking central committee members in north korea, and he got very upset. he said he is going to boycott all the u.s.-dppk activities. i don't understand why we did that. that is kind of an embarrassment. second of all, regarding all this humanitarian support we give to north korea, i understand most of it has actually been funneled to military assistance. that is another one i am concerned about. there are a lot of them; i am just highlighting those things that we can address during your testimony. also, i understand the defense minister just died a couple of days ago, and this mr. hwang is trying to defect to south korea. what does all this mean to north korea? are they collapsing? i understand kim jong-il is trying to strengthen its inner circle. why? does that mean they are ready to attack the south? there are many, many issues that i am very much interested in and i hope you can address those issues. thank you, mr. chairman. [the prepared statement of mr. kim appears in the appendix.] mr. bereuter. mr. capps, the gentleman from california, for any opening statement or comment. mr. capps. i do not have an opening statement, but i know how critical this subject is, and i am looking forward with great anticipation to the testimony of our expert witnesses. thank you. mr. bereuter. thank you very much. mr. kartman and secretary, we are ready to hear from you. please proceed as you wish. statement of charles kartman, acting assistant secretary of state for east asian and pacific affairs, u.s. department of state mr. kartman. thank you, mr. chairman. it is a pleasure and an honor to represent the department of state before your committee. permit me to introduce mark minton, director of the office of korean affairs. he was the lead negotiator in our discussions in december in new york with north korea that resulted in resolution of the submarine incident. i appreciate this opportunity to discuss our policy toward north korea. our overall goals have been, and remain, to build a durable peace on the korean peninsula as a key contribution to regional security and stability and to facilitate progress by the korean people themselves toward a peaceful national reunification. even in this past week, we have seen signs that our efforts are bearing some fruit. secretary albright just met with korean and japanese leaders in seoul and tokyo. as you know, we consult regularly with both of those governments to ensure that our north korea policy remains tightly coordinated. i am pleased to note the success of secretary albright's visit to seoul, especially in promoting that objective. 6 ) at the top of the agenda in the secretary's meetings with president kim young sam and foreign minister yoo jong-ha was a discussion of pyongyang's agreement to sit down with the united states and rök on march 5 to hear our joint briefing on president clinton's and president kim's proposal for four-party peace talks. this latest development builds on several years of u.s.-rok cooperation in diplomatic efforts, beginning with negotiation of the october 1994 agreed framework and continuing with the fourparty peace proposal of last april. it will extend to the groundbreaking for the light-water reactor (lwr) project in north korea scheduled for this spring. this will replace the current north korean nuclear reactors with a safer type. our security alliance with south korea remains at the heart of our policy on the peninsula. it has weathered nearly five decades of challenges and changes. as you know, the october 1994 agreed framework negotiated by ambassador bob gallucci froze the north korean nuclear program and brought that phase to a close. the next phase of our efforts to engage the north centered on a proposal made jointly by the two presidents, president clinton and president kim, for four-party peace talks. next week's joint briefing will, we hope, lead to discussions involving the north and south as well as the united states and china for a reduction of tensions on the peninsula and the establishment of a permanent peace mechanism to replace the 1953 armistice. let me recap the current status: the freeze on north korea's nuclear facilities has been in place since 1994 and is being continuously monitored by the international atomic energy agency (iaea), as well as by our own national technical means. regarding north korea's spent fuel, which contains material that could be used to build nuclear weapons, a team of experts led by the department of energy is in north korea even as we speak. the team works 12 hours a day, 6 days a week to put this material into safe storage under iaea safeguards. the task is now more than half done and should be completed this year. the spent fuel will remain subject to monitoring by the iaea until it is shipped out of the dprk permanently. the agreed framework also provided that the united states would lead the organization of an international consortium, kedo. kedo currently has 11 member states and has received contributions from over 21 countries. i would like to highlight eu's recent decision to join kedo as the fourth member of its executive board, along with the united states, the rok, and japan. eu's commitment to contribute $20 million annually to kedo over 5 years has helped put kedo's finances on a more solid basis. unfortunately, kedo is still running a deficit in its heavy fuel oil funding account, largely because of the initial shortage of funding in 1995 and 1996. kedo has already negotiated five protocols with north korea regarding the lwr supply agreement. they define the terms and conditions for the reactor construction. kedo has also sent six teams of technical experts to north korea to gather necessary geological, environmental, and structural information about the pro7 posed lwr site. the teams consisted of u.s. and japanese, but mostly south korean experts. a seventh team will travel to north korea on march 1. final preparations for construction should be made in the next few months, with groundbreaking to begin as early as this spring. although the republic of korea and japan will shoulder most of the cost of the multibillion-dollar project, continued u.s. funding for kedo activities, primarily heavy fuel oil deliveries, remains an indispensable element in the viability of the project. two days after the joint briefing next week on the four-party talks, i will meet with the same north korean delegation to discuss the range of bilateral issues between our two countries. among the issues i will raise are our efforts to recover the remains of korean war-era mias, our proposals to end north korean development and export of missiles and missile technology, and implementation of our agreement to exchange liaison offices in washington and pyongyang. i will touch on each of these. dr. campbell will describe our efforts to recover the remains of our servicemen, but i would emphasize that we consider this a top priority. u.s. negotiators met with north korean officials in april 1996 to discuss our concerns about development, deployment, and proliferation of north korean missiles. when i meet with north korean officials next week, i will propose a date for the next round of talks on this important subject. finally, conditions appear to be improving for the establishment of liaison offices. a full-time diplomatic presence in pyongyang would give us a first-hand perspective on the situation there and improved access to north korean officials. it has long been evident that north korea seeks more normal economic relations with the united states. in january 1995, as pyongyang began to cooperate in implementing the agreed framework, we took steps to permit u.s. companies to provide direct telecommunications services between the united states and the dprk; to allow the import of magnesite from the dprk; to reduce the restrictions on financial transactions not involving the dprk government or its entities, and to authorize the licensing of u.s. business transactions that further kedo's construction of the lwrs in north korea. on december 30 of last year, we approved a license for a u.s. firm to pursue a commercial deal to sell north korea up to 500,000 tons of grain. (negotiations to conclude this deal on a commercial basis have not yet been successful.) we will consider further sanctions-easing measures as north korea makes progress on issues of concern to us. on a purely humanitarian basis, the united states has participated in international efforts to alleviate the suffering of north korean civilians affected by recent flooding and food shortages. including our most recent donation, we have provided $18,425,000 in cash and in-kind support for emergency relief assistance-basically, medical supplies and food—over the past 2 years. these were in the american tradition of providing assistance to people in need without regard to politics. our most recent donation, included in the figure i cited, was a $ 10-million in-kind contribution to the u.n. world food program's 8 february 12 emergency appeal. this will be administered through u.n. agencies with staff in north korea. the world food program (wfp), will monitor the distribution to ensure that the assistance reaches its intended civilian beneficiaries, many of whom are children. the wfp appeal is designed to get food in the pipeline now for delivery to those most vulnerable to the threat of famine, especially children under the age of 5. the republic of korea has also announced that it will contribute $6 million. japan has made major contributions in the past few years and is considering doing so again, and australia announced on february 21 that it would donate $2 million. i would like to mention the incursion into south korean waters of a north korean military submarine and the crew's infiltration into south korean territory. a massive manhunt by rok security forces eventually tracked down the infiltrators, but the submarine incident left many dead and threatened to derail the agreed framework and dim prospects for the reduction of tensions on the peninsula. the unprecedented statement of regret made by the dprk last december promised that this kind of incident would not recur. it laid the groundwork for a resumption of our efforts to improve the situation on the peninsula. if north korea clearly calculates its own interests and opts for greater cooperation, including with south korea, we can make significant progress. north korea's economic difficulties have created opportunities for diplomacy, but they also pose dangers. although we do not believe that the collapse of the dprk is imminent, its desperate economic situation cries out for immediate action by the north, both internal reform and greater, positive contact with its neighbors, especially south korea. there are indications that kim jong-il will assume his father's titles of president and of secretary general of the korean workers' party sometime in the second half of this year. while this will formalize his assumption of power, we do not expect north korean policy or decision-making to change significantly. in summary, although there is clearly a long way to go, i am cautiously optimistic about our effort to promote lasting peace on the korean peninsula. this effort has been closely coordinated with the rok and japan. it has at its foundation the u.s.-rok security alliance and our commitment to deter north korean aggression. it seeks to reduce tensions but insists on the principle of reciprocity enshrined in the agreed framework. it recognizes the long-standing american tradition of offering assistance to needy people regardless of the political views of their leaders. and it offers the ďprk a way out of its current predicament through responsible engagement with the united states, the rok, and the international community. our effort to promote peace is not an easy task, but i believe this objective and the unattractiveness of all other approaches make it the responsible and proper course. thank you. mr. bereuter. thank you very much, secretary kartman. [the prepared statement of mr. kartman appears in the appendix.) 9 a mr. bereuter. now we will hear from dr. curt campbell, deputy assistant secretary of defense for east asia and pacific affairs. statement of kurt campbell, deputy assistant secretary of defense for east asian and pacific af. fairs, u.s. department of defense mr. campbell. in the interest of time, i will take your suggestion and submit my full testimony to the record and just spend a few minutes to highlight a few points, if i may. first of all, we at the department of defense fully support the state department's diplomatic outreach. we believe that that outreach must be based on a very firm foundation of cooperation and consultation with our republic of korea allies. we have a long-standing military alliance with the republic of korea. it is perhaps one of the most integrated, closely working military and security alliances that we have with any country. american soldiers, sailors, and marines serve under rok military commanders and vice versa. we train extensively. we have a series of robust exercises that take us through every aspect of military training, and we consult very regularly. i would like to just highlight three specific activities that we are involved in that touch on some of the points that each of the congressmen has raised. on a daily basis, i want to assure the committee that we could not be in closer consultation on the status of the threat that faces us in north korea. there is no place in the world that we watch more carefully. we have a whole series of indicators in terms of military preparedness, unusual military activities in the north which we follow very, very carefully, and literally on an hourly basis north and south korean officials are in close consultation. we have also been engaged, as you all know, obviously, the last several years in terms of upgrading both american and rók forces to meet the threat that is posed against us over the dmz. we have attempted to integrate the capabilities that we saw so forcefully demonstrated during the gulf war into our forces deployed in south korea. second, i want to brief you very generally about steps that we have taken with our rok allies and also with other countries in the region to prepare for the unexpected. clearly, our hopes are that the diplomatic initiatives undertaken by the department of state will be successful but, of course, our job in the department of defense is to prepare for unforeseen events so we are in close consultation very regularly with our rok allies about potential and unforeseen developments in north korea. and the last point that i want to highlight is that we are also engaged in an intensive effort with the rok to talk about our relationship over the horizon. what i mean here, of course, is that our intention is to stand by the republic of korea not just now and in the past as we have done but into the future, because it is our belief that a strong and enduring relationship between the republic of korea and the united states is in the interests of the united states, in the interests of korea, and in the interests of the region as a whole. 10 and with that, mr. chairman, i will stop and look forward to taking questions from the members. thank you. mr. bereuter. thank you very much, dr. campbell. [the prepared statement of mr. campbell appears in the appendix.] mr. bereuter. i will begin the questioning. i would like to start with respect to the three-party briefing. about the recent north korean claim that the united states, “promised a simultaneous deal,” with respect to food aid and the joint briefing session. was there a promise and what was this promise about if there was, indeed, a promise, the link between food and the joint briefing issue? secretary kartman, i think it is the right question for you. mr. kartman. thank you, mr. chairman. there were a number of topics in the discussions in december. you are referring to a commercial transaction for which the north koreans asked us to approve a license. we did approve that license, but we made it very plain to them that we had no further role and that any deal would have to be negotiated between the company concerned and themselves. we made that plain to them over and over again. there was no deal to provide food for their attendance at the briefing. mr. bereuter. all right. i think that no one on capitol hill has explored yet, at least publicly, the eu's participation in kedo. i haven't seen any coverage of it. i have a couple of questions in that respect, secretary kartman. will the eu have the same status as the other three board members? that is the first question. second, how much will the eu contribute, for what period of time, and for what purposes? particularly, will the eu participate in funding the light-water reactor or just the kedo administrative and interim energy costs? have the europeans received construction and other contracts as a price for their participation in kedo? and finally, how would european participation in construction of the reactor affect the project and the roles of the south koreans and japan? i think that is more than enough to fill the time available here. can you try to address those questions, and i will refresh your memory if you need to. mr. kartman. we, of course, welcomed the decision by the eu to join kedo. the eu has committed not only to make an interim contribution of about $13. million in 1996 but also to make a $20million contribution in each of the next 5 years, for a total contribution of $113 million. (the eu has provided smaller contributions in the past.) the eu requested a place on the kedo executive board, and we agreed. the question of the eu's status on the board was the subject of some discussion. it entailed a change in the kedo charter to account for an expansion of the board. we expect that decisions will continue to be made by consensus, but that the special equities of the three founding members will be taken into account. we can discuss that further, if you wish. we and our partners, korea and japan, are satisfied that this will not affect our leading roles in kedo. 11 mr. bereuter. even though you take these special considerations into account when reaching consensus; is that right? mr. kartman. yes. the eu's share of the work will be transparent, of course. everything will be up for bidding. members of kedo' will be looked at with special care, but the bidding process will be transparent. eu members will not receive any advantage over korean or american companies. mr. bereuter. thank you very much. mr. berman. thank you very much, mr. chairman. for a while now critics have been very concerned that the administration would totally focus on the nuclear arrangements and ignore a whole series of other issues which you have touched upon in your discussion of bilateral and multilateral efforts that are going on now and have been quite evident in the news. i think it seems to me that the argument that the administration's focus is too narrow is no longer a valid argument,we will hear from outside witnesses after this panel finishes about the way you are going about it, and we will be very interested in hearing their thoughts. but it seems like you have talked about a whole broad range of issues from exporting missile technology to remains of u.s. soldiers that go way beyond just the freezing of the north korean nuclear program. ambassador lilley in his prepared testimony makes some assertions which i think i should ask you and give you a chance to deal with because otherwise you will be gone and i think it would be important to hear your information on this. he says that the north koreans have not provided adequate information to allow the rest of the world to assess the true extent of their needs, yet the united states has been generous. so my questions to you are: are you confident that the north koreans have provided sufficient information to justify our providing $10-million worth of food aid? second, can you confirm-i think he makes a point in his testimony that north korea has substantial crop insurance, i guess with čloyds of london, that that is a resource they could be going for assistance and have they been? do they have this insurance? have they been receiving crop insurance payments to cover the losses in their own crop? what about a third assertion that is made is that the north koreans have meaningful investments in western enterprises and private capital markets. do we have information about that? anything you can share with us on those assertions we would appreciate hearing it. mr. kartman. i used to work with jim lilley, so i am always careful of being seen as disagreeing with anything he has said. în fact, i usually don't. the premise is correct; the quality and inclusiveness of information about north korea is limited. however, regarding the food situation, we have seen a change in north korea. it is more open to intrusive investigation by international organizations; even american experts have gone into north korea to see the situation firsthand. while this is sort of a hard analysis, the situation is certainly no longer completely opaque. 12 related to the question of insurance, north korea has several sources for addressing its food needs, as it has acknowledged. the principle source is probably traditional grain suppliers, including russia, eastern europe, and especially china. i expect that such a relationship, at least with respect to china, will continue. north korea also has the opportunity to acquire substantial food assistance from the republic of korea and, possibly, japan. to do so, it must acknowledge its needs in a government-to-government setting and ensure that the aid providers are treated properly. there are also commercial markets. if the north koreans had, for instance, insurance money, they could purchase food commercially. i cannot go into detail regarding insurance, because it involves proprietary information. it involves, however, considerably less money than has been reported in the newspapers. the insurance companies themselves are very careful not to provide more than the north koreans can justify. finally, there is the international aid effort. it provides only a small fraction of the total north korean need. the united states plays a leading role in that effort, but we provide only a fraction of total international aid contributions. mr. berman. north korean enterprisesmr. kartman. i am not aware of such investments. when we have found north korean transactions going through american financial institutions, we have frozen them. millions of dollars are involved; these assets remain frozen. mr. campbell. may i make a followon point to support mr. kartman's point? congressman berman, the important thing to keep in mind about the economic importance of north korea and its importance with the international community is that since 1990, since essentially the collapse of the soviet bloc, we have seen probably the greatest decline in economic performance in north korea of almost any country in the world. if you look at the same time that we have been involved in our diplomatic interaction, the kind of assistance that we are talking about has had more diplomatic significance, symbolic occasionally, than fundamental economic significance. if you look into the future in terms of what would be necessary, in terms of working with north korea, there are several factors we would have to focus on before we contemplated the international community, our friends in south korea, the united states, and others before we contemplated fundamental engagement in north korea. no. 1, we have to see a fully consistent open dialog between the north and south in which north korea participated fully and freely. no. 2, we would need to see significant structural and political reform in north korea in which the diversions and the distortions were ended of the kind we see in any social system. the last is fundamental that we would also need to see some steps toward confidence-building measures, because it is difficult to imagine a fundamental extensive economic engagement when the north koreans have the ability to inflict unacceptable damage not only on u.s. forces who are deployed but to our rok friends and allies in the south. 13 mr. bereuter. the time of the gentleman has expired. we may have time for another round. i am calling on members as they appeared. the gentleman from california, mr. kim, is recognized. mr. kim. thank you, mr. chairman. i do have a quick half dozen questions. i expect brief answers, almost yes and no type. the first question i have is that i hear that on march 5th you are going to have four-party peace talks, joint meetings. what do you expect at that meeting? what is your agenda? mr. kartman. on march 5, the united states and the rok will brief north korea about our proposal for four-party talks. our agenda is simply to convince north korea that it should attend the four-party talks. mr. km. that is it? mr. kartman. yes. mr. kim. my second question is—you mention on page 6 that you are going to ease the sanction measures as far as recognizing north korea as an independent nation. are you going to stop halfway? what direction are we heading in right now? mr. kartman. a very complex set of sanctions has been applied to north korea. the trading with the enemy act, terrorism sanctions, missile proliferation sanctions: all apply. we have lifted a small set as part of the agreed framework negotiation. other sanctions could only be lifted as the north koreans address issues of concern to us. for instance, terrorism sanctions would be lifted if north korea met our concerns in that area. the situation is the same with missiles. the trading with the enemy act is more difficult to address. north korea remains in a state of legal hostilities with the united states, which must be resolved in peace talks. sanctions will not be lifted piecemeal just to reward north korea for maintenance of past agreements. mr. kim. mr. kartman, did you also mention that the collapse of the dprk is imminent—you don't believe it is imminent. if i can ask a different tone of questions-does that mean that north korea's military engagement to the south may not be imminent, also? mr. kartman. i said we do not see signs that a collapse is imminent. mr. kim. there is no relationship between that and military engagement? mr. kartman. north korea's economic difficulties and food shortage have been exacerbated by the loss of its strategic rear area, its historic alliances. the north's overall weakness has become very profound and, in a sense, even destabilizing. the north koreans’ awareness of their own weakness seems to have driven them to seek a new arrangement. they appear to put great emphasis on improving relations with the united states as the key element. we have, of course, declined to do this in a strictly bilateral way: we insist that it must be done in concert with our ally on the peninsula, the rok. this is why we made relatively little progress in the political area. now, however, the north koreans may be acknowledging that they have to enter into a process in which the rok is at least an equal partner with the united states. mr. kim. mr. chairman, i am going to reserve my questions for the second round. 44-152 97 2 14 i mr. bereuter. i thank the gentleman for his courtesy. the gentleman from california, mr. capps. mr. capps. i have learned a great deal today, and i have a suspicion that this is a topic to which the committee is going to turn over and over again. i think this is an ongoing kind of discussion. i have some confusion—i think it finally comes down to what the u.s. diplomatic and political posture toward north korea really ought to be, if there is any possibility of revising that posture at the present time. the reason i bring that up is that i think we can approach korea in two ways: we can talk about it as being a threat. we can also see it in terms of its weaknesses—in terms of famine, the lack of support for political order, all of the things you referenced in your testimony. and yet at the same time, the korean situation came about because of a civil war that happened during a cold war and the cold war is now increasingly gradually disappearing; there are realignments between nations. i guess this would be my question: do you foresee any possibility in the future whereby there may be a reunification of the two koreas? that may be too speculative to ask, but should the united states be taking a greater initiative during this time of political realignment to modify our posture toward both south and north korea? mr. kartman. thank you, mr. capps. we are always skeptical about north korea. we have acknowledged freely that we do not know enough about the country. we do not know how they make decisions or what their motives are. we have tried to engage them, but our engagement remains extremely limited. therefore, everything that we have done, including the agreed framework, is based upon the principle of reciprocal and simultaneous movement. we go only so far, then stop to evaluate if the other side is still in compliance. we assume that the north koreans are doing the same thing, because they probably do not trust us any more than we trust them. we also use these opportunities to recalibrate and consult with our allies, especially the rok. i mentioned in my opening statement that we actively support the goal of peaceful reunification on the korean peninsula. you asked how this might be achieved. the only answer i can give is that this is up to the korean people themselves. both sides on the korean peninsula have advanced proposals from time to time. they have points in common and can be roughly characterized as proposals for confederation leading to full unification. it has always been clear that there was no way to get there from here without a very intense dialog between the two sides. there was such a dialog in late 1991 and early 1992. it broke down over the nuclear problem. it is implicit in the four-party peace talks approach. we would like to see elements of that dialog restored and perhaps even break off and gain new life. as to the question of modifying our stance toward either or both of the koreas, i believe that our relationship with the rok should not be modified. any hint that we were doing so would probably do very great damage to the trust between us. 15 but as regards to modifying our relationship with north korea, we have been doing this very gradually since the first “modest initiative” under the reagan administration in 1988. this involved talking to the dprk, a country with which we had had no discussions at all prior to that initiative. mr. campbell. congressman capps, if i could fill in or add on to what chuck kartman has stated. at the heart, at the center of our conundrum in terms of confronting the challenge posed by north korea, north korea does possess the weaknesses that chuck kartman has very clearly discussed, and those are growing. but at the same time north korea possessed the capability with, for instance, their artillery, the largest collection of artillery of its kind anywhere in the world; on a short notice they could roll out and fire that artillery into south korea and inflict great damage, tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of casualties. at the heart of our engagement is a recognition of that contradiction. history teaches us that the most dangerous period in international relations is during periods where regimes feel a sense of pessimism and a sense that they have no options. and it is at those times where regimes contemplate lashing out. i think one of the most important things, in addition to having a strong policy of vigilance for deployed forces and a powerful partnership with our rok allies, we must also inform our north korean interlocutors that there is another way out. mr. bereuter. thank you, gentlemen. the time of the gentleman has expired. the gentleman from new york, mr. king, is recognized. mr. king. thank you. i would address this question to either or both. on the issue of the recent high-level defector from north korea, can you update us on the current status of that defection? also, whether or not you consider this to be in any way destabilizing to the situation, and also whether or not this will cause any contemplated change related to the u.s. troops. mr. kartman. i will begin but leave the last part of your question to dr. campbell. mr. hwang jang yop was a senior party theoretician who played a very important role in the creation of the philosophy of juche on self-reliance in north korea. it is almost a state religion. hwang's defection is too recent to draw firm conclusions. he is still in the south korean consulate in beijing. south korean officials had begun discussing his case with chinese officials, but those discussions were interrupted by the death of deng xiaoping. i expect that they will resume shortly. i have no reason to believe that they will not end satisfactorily, but they may take a while longer. mr. campbell. congressman king, on the subject of the military developments since the defection, let me give you a sense of what we see both in terms of the north and south. as i indicated, we could not be watching the situation more closely. those of us both at the departments of state and defense receive almost hourly updates about any potential change. we have seen no sign of any changes in the north korean military status or training that would lead us to any sense of alarm 16 at this juncture. in fact, when you look at the so-called signal list of all the various things, readiness, military movements, unusual communication, they are all at green, except for one, and that is yellow in terms of unusual changes or moves in the leadership; witness mr. hwang in the south korean embassy in china and some recent deaths in the senior north korean military elite. at the same time in south korea, our forces are vigilant but not in an unusually high state of alert. rok police and some military units in the capital in seoul have been placed in a higher alert particularly for potential north korean teams that may be thinking about certain kinds of retaliations in the capital. but other than that, we can report that the situation is as normal as it can be on the korean peninsula. mr. king. thank you very much. thank you, mr. chairman. mr. bereuter. i am going to take questions from other members if they have them, and i will conclude with one or two myself. mr. kim. i do have a couple of questions. dr. campbell, you mention about this defector, which i understand is a pretty high-ranking official, i am sure we can learn quite a bit from this situation. on the mia situation, can you tell me, are you going to set a high priority on the mias when you have a chance to hear from him? i don't think we have addressed that issue. mr. campbell. that is a two-part question, congressman kim. let me just give you an answer to the first part. we are obviously, as our rok allies are, extremely interested in all of the information that mr. hwang, can provide us about the inner workings of the most secretive and difficult to understand regime in the world, and we are obviously working closely with our rok interlocutors about this. i should also say that in terms of kinds of information that we would want to talk to them about, our interests and curiosities, there are no bounds. we are interested in all subjects including the question you raised on mias. i would just tell you since you raised it in your opening introduction that the department of defense has three critical criteria as we contemplate the question of pow/mia efforts. as you know, the dialog with north korea began fundamentally in 1990 when representative sonny montgomery brought back five remains from north korea in may 1990. we have had significant discussions and exchanges and remains work with north korea since that time. we have three efforts that we are primarily engaged with. no. 1 is onsite work in north korea in places where we think there might be remains that can be located and identified. no. 2, our archival work, much along the lines of the archival work we had done in vietnam for years trying to get a sense of where fallen comrades might be located and, third, of course, we are pursuing aggressively the reports that you refer to, mr. kim, concerning live pow/mix sightings. that is a high priority for us. mr. kim. i do have a couple of questions of mr. kartman. i want to go back to the visa denial question which you didn't address. i understand it is a very high-ranking supreme people's council member and i understand we denied a visa to come to america. what is the reason behind it? 17 mr. kartman. i believe you are referring to a proposed visit by mr. hwang earlier? mr. kim. that is correct. mr. kartman. we did not deny a visa; in fact, we never received a visa request. however, this was during the difficulty over the submarine incident, and we certainly did not encourage north korea to believe that under such circumstances senior officials would be welcome to come to washington. mr. km. i understand as part of his framework agreement, north korea will be allowed to establish a liaison office either here or new york city. is that done? mr. kartman. liaison offices will be established in capitals when technical issues are resolved. these involve our ability to provide support to our liaison office and the north korean selection of a suitable site and finding the wherewithal to pay for it. we have not reached a conclusion, but there are no large issues involved. a mr. kim. thank you, mr. chairman. mr. bereuter. you are welcome. the gentleman from american samoa or the gentleman from california, do you have any questions? the gentleman from american samoa. mr. faleomavaega. could i defer? i can't pass? mr. bereuter. i have questions if you would prefer to take a minute. the gentleman from california. i do have two areas of questions, then we will come back. the last questions are from the gentleman from american samoa. dr. campbell, i have questions for you. answer as many as you can in open session. if there are some that you can't, you don't need to identify which ones they are. we will try to have a closeddoor session. these relate to military capabilities. i am going to ask you all the questions, so if it is less clear about which you don't want to answer, it is ok. does north korea continue to export material essentially for the construction of ballistic missiles and, if so, to whom are the supplies intended? does north korea continue to export materials essentially for the construction of chemical and biological weapons and, if so, to whom? which country? how heavily involved are the north koreans in the issues of precursor materials? and finally, it would appear that the united states was surprised over north korea's use of submarines for reconnaissance and infiltration in the south. that may or may not be correct but that is one assertion. are we prepared so that we can detect such activities in the future? have we changed anything, without you commenting on the changes we may have made? mr. campbell. thank you, mr. chairman. as you foresaw, there are a couple of issues here that i would feel a bit uncomfortable discussing in an open setting, but let me do my best to answer a few that you have raised. on the question of ballistic missiles development in north korea, an external behavior, this is a subject of very real concern for us in the u.s. government. it is one of the reasons why we have begun or attempted to begin a dialog with our north korean interlocutors on this subject. it is a serious subject, and i will say that we don't see any signs yet of any north korean intention to move 18 ahead in a way that we are comfortable with but it is an issue that we want to work on more fully in the future. i can talk to you more fully about this in another setting. on the question of submarine and other activities, we have fairly clear knowledge of certain kinds of assets that the north koreans have developed over the years. as you know, mr. chairman, they have placed a very high premium on surprise and special operations and a variety of other quick strike capabilities. we follow those carefully the submarine was not a surprise in the sense that the capability exists. indeed, many countries have that capability. i think the concern, of course, here is that that kind of activity which we think was primarily associated with reconnaissance obviously has the potential to cause much higher concerns. it is a violation of armistice and is extremely destabilizing in terms of the kinds of confidences that will be necessary for a dialog between the north and the south. on the other issues that you raised in terms of chemical/biological precursors, i would like to beg them off now and we would be happy to come back in another setting to address them more fully, also with the assistance with our friends from the intelligence community. mr. bereuter. very well. finally, secretary kartman, i have conveyed to the state department the concerns of the republic of korea about the shipment of low-level nuclear waste from taiwan to the republic of korea. and as i understand it, the preliminary arrangements had been made by taiwan to ship such low-level waste to north korea. i guess i would ask this question: has the united states expressed concerns to taiwan about that shipment? does this signify the beginning of a larger trade or political relationship between north korea and taiwan? does it open the door for other countries to send low-level waste and perhaps waste of higher radioactivity to the north koreans? mr. kartman. thank you, mr. chairman. this is a thorny issue for which there are few precedents. we have discussed the issue with the authorities on taiwan. we have raised with them environmental concerns and concerns about the safety of shipping and storage. we have discussed with them the standards that should be met with respect to iaea inspection and monitoring, and we have raised with them the concerns of other countries in the region which should be satisfied before proceeding whether the arrangement is an element of what might be an expanding relationship between taiwan and north korea is impossible for me to say, frankly. each country has its own reasons for wanting to proceed with an arrangement of this sort, which may be a sufficient explanation for why they would explore it. the taiwanese need storage for nuclear waste. we could urge them to look elsewhere, but the need remains. for its part, north korea needs the hard currency that taiwan has offered for the deal. mr. bereuter. would you urge them to construct their own if they are very good at construction? 19 mr. kartman. taiwan, you mean? mr. bereuter. yes. mr. kartman. we believe that would be an appropriate solution. mr. bereuter. thank you. the gentleman from american samoa, mr. faleomavaega. mr. faleomavaega. thank you, mr. chairman. mr. secretary, i guess you have seen several articles in the media concerning the serious situation of hunger in north korea, and i would like to ask, as to the accuracy of this information conveyed by the north korean government. is there really a very serious problem with this? do we have ngo's or international associations or groups currently in north korea that can verify the seriousness of this problem or is it becoming a political football? mr. kartman. thank you, mr. faleomavaega. this seems to be a real food shortage, one that has been coming for several years. in fact, there was a substantial shortage during the last 2 years due to severe flooding. the consensus is that there is probably a 2-million ton shortfall this year between north korea's needs and its own production. as i explained earlier, however, north korea has a variety of potential sources for meeting its needs, only one of which is the international aid community. we support the provision of food aid to meet these needs, particularly for those who are most vulnerable in a famine, but we also expect north korea to look to some of the other possibilities, including the commercial purchases. mr. faleomavaega. do we have an accurate estimate? are we looking at starvation with basically children; do we have any numbers to that effect; how many people are going to starve to death if we don't help north korea, and at what point in time is it critical that they have these shipments of food items? do we have a good overview of that? mr. kartman. there are no absolutely firm numbers. we do, however, have fairly strong anecdotal evidence that many people have already starved in north korea, and may be starving now. in the aggregate, it may reach into the thousands. certainly, if there were a famine this spring when food reserves will have run out, those most vulnerable will be very young children and very old people in communities where emergency supplies would have the hardest time reaching, in addition to the fact that floods decreased north korea's overall ability to produce food, and the deterioration of its economy has reduced its ability to purchase food on the international market, the overall difficulties appear to have weakened the food distribution system within the country. even when there is food, it does not always reach people. this puts premium on the role that the international aid community might be able to play. wfp, for instance, has the ability to distribute and monitor food in certain areas. mr. faleomavaega. our chairman caught my attention with the previous statement about north korea and taiwan's efforts to look at the problems affecting nuclear waste and transfer. i suppose that is what we are trying to work out. i just returned from the pacific and there is a gentleman out there by the name of mr. alex copsen who is putting together a 20 joint multibillion-dollar business venture with russian and american support and they think they can find a nuclear waste dump somewhere in the pacific? i just wanted to know if the administration or the state department are aware of these efforts to establish a multibillion-dollar nuclear waste dump somewhere in the pacific. maybe secretary campbell can help me out. are you aware that mr. copsen's initiative is going my way, going to palmyra atoll and wake island? i wouldn't be surprised if he was talking to the taiwanese and north koreans. maybe he could answer this: why is the pacific always being made the dump site for anything that is nuclear? i note my time is over, but i would be very curious. maybe mr. copsen can take his idea to the north koreans. maybe they can set up a nuclear dump site over there. mr. campbell. i have never heard of this particular idea. we hear a lot of ideas in asia. i have not heard this one. i would say that the general trends, however, in terms of interests in nonnuclear issues and both in terms of the south pacific nuclear free zone which you know well, other initiatives, the end of nuclear testing, it has become an issue of serious diplomatic dialog throughout the asian pacific. so, congressman, i would only say on that particular point, i think the trends are going in the other direction. in fact, there is greater attention to it, greater concern not to repeat some of the mistakes of the past. so i am more comforted by the political developments in all countries in the asia pacific. mr. faleomavaega. thank you. and i look forward to working with you. i have never met mr. copsen and i look forward to seeing his face here in washington. thank you. mr. bereuter. i think these are rumors floating just to keep your adrenaline level up. gentlemen, thank you very much for your testimony today. we appreciate your help and look forward to being kept informed on issues. thank you. i would like now to call the second panel who have been waiting patiently. i had previously given a more complete biographical introduction for the three distinguished panelists so i will forego doing that a second time, but if they will come forward and take their places at the table, we would like to hear from you. the first of our distinguished panel will be the honorable james r. lilley. i have introduced him more completely before, but suffice it to say while he is the director for the institute for global chinese affairs at the university of maryland, he has been the ambassador to the people's republic of china, and it is nice to have you back. the written testimony of all three of you, gentlemen, will be made a part of our record in its entirety and you may proceed as you wish. thank you. statement of james r. lilley, director, institute for global chinese affairs, university of maryland mr. lilley. thank you, mr. chairman. as you know, i was called out about a half an hour ago by a phone call from somebody who had just gotten back from north 21 korea, who was raised in korea and speaks fluent korean and was up there with 12 other people, several of whom spoke fluent korean and had been up there a number of times before. and he said to me, i want to get one message across to you, and he left there on february 1st before the changes in command that we just saw, and he said the north koreans are very unstable. they are mutually suspicious, uncertain about their roles in the system. he said he heard this from certain vice ministers and others who confided in him; he speaks korean. he reiterated that this was a very serious problem. the second point he made was he tried to get out to see so-called malnutrition, starving north koreans and they wouldn't let him do it. so he said, we went to a senior diplomat and talked to him. he had been there a long time, he speaks korean and he said, i think they are playing the game of exaggerating the food problems to get aid. so i give you this anecdotal evidence. we have had anecdotes before about this and what the ngo has said and what other people say. the jury is out on how bad the situation in north korea really is. i think you have to be very skeptical about what they are trying to do and what we are being told. the situation was poor, electricity went out, obviously energy shortages. nobody is trying to say it isn't in bad shape; it is in very bad shape. but i think you have to watch this starvation food thing very carefully. that is my first comment. my second comment, i would like to just say that of all the stops that madam secretary albright stopped, i think her korean one, in my view, was most successful. she did two essential things. she put her finger on north korea as the problem. there was none of the "equivalence” which has beset us before. an unfortunate statement was made at the time of the submarine incident, that both sides had to restrain themselves. the timing wasn't good and the choice of words wasn't good. but i think secretary albright laid it right on the line. there is a problem in the south korean relationship, the bedrock on which we must develop the policy in the peninsula. i was told by my korean friends that they looked forward to her trip with great anticipation because of her credentials, and they saw the prospect of a new beginning. i am quite optimistic about that. the questions i don't think were dealt with adequately in the last session were where is north korean money going? you don't know whether it is being smuggled out to western europe. you don't know how much insurance money they have got. you don't know the amount of remittances they are getting from japan. you haven't got a good handle on how much money is going to the military budget, how much they spent on stadiums, hotels, roads that go nowhere, the foolish social engineering that they have carried out. their own money is being spent in large sums. we have got to pin this down. where are these guys spending their money? because this affects our security. if you can't get them nailed down or our people nailed down on this one, you are flying blind and you are playing a very dangerous game. 22 we do have indications, as i am told by my friends in the governi ment, that they did increase the pace of military activity last year from a very low point. but i think it is rather ironic that some of our american friends keep talking about north korea lashing out using artillery pieces being moved quickly up to the dmz and which are able to kill tens of thousands in seoul. do you really want to feed the people who can do this quick operation? is that really in our interest to do that? i ask you. other areas i think are in my report i will just sum up by saying i do make six policy recommendations. the key, of course, the alliance with south korea, which, again, ms. albright has stressed, and i think it is very important, and the two other witnesses do, too. the second is the credible deterrence to any kind of north korean military action. and i have said this again and again, so at the risk of being repetitive, the only message these people understand is a clear, firm, authoritative statement that they will be destroyed if they ever attack. i think president clinton made a statement like that back in 1993. i think secretary perry reaffirmed it in 1994. but i think you have got to make it clear, not loud, not public, that there is a no-force option, take force off the table. lashing out is not an option for north korea. it is better to be sick than dead and i don't think (if you look at the korean history), their moves are irrational. they are usually calculated, whether it is tunnels under the dmz or assassinations in burma or blowing up ka-858 or the axe murders, they are calculated moves. i think they work on calculation and you have to base most of what you do on that assumption. but you must also take care of the variable of irrationality in terms of a very solid message that there is a noforce option. i do not think you can get away from the idea of reforming their economy and their agriculture. you have got to do this. this has to be part of the formula. the one thing i have heard is that despite the problems they have and the power shortages, there is no move to genuine reform. there is no talk of looking for reform solutions outside juche (self-reliance) yet. it should come. it has to come. if you don't start them on some kind of road on agricultural reform with the chinese example, then you are just throwing money down a black hole. finally, i would just leave you with these questions: again, i stress the first question, how does north korea spend its money? second, what weapons of mass destruction have they hidden away? you did not get an adequate answer on proliferation. i think you also have to get right to the core problem of what they have hidden. we have kicked this down the road. you never can let up pressure to get answers to this. third, who is the leadership and what do they want and how do they achieve it—the high-level defector in beijing is available; i believe he should be able to answer some of these questions. you have got to formulate these responsible and effective policies after looking at what this man says. we may have a breakthrough in information which should help us answer some of the key questions. i will mention two issues that come to my mind out of the previous testimony. first of all, there seems to have been a deteriora23 tion in the intelligence exchange. i know kurt campbell says exchanges take place every day, every hour. but i get a different story. i think you should look into that. a second one is tripartite talks. the north koreans have looked for tripartite talks for about 20 years and they finally got them. will they stretch these talks out because this humiliates the south? watch this one very carefully. it must lead to four-part and then two-part talks between north and south. finally, i think we should ask ourselves who is backgrounding the american press that south korea is part of the problem? somebody in our administration repeatedly goes to senior correspondents in the washington post; new york times and unloads on south korea. who is doing that? thank you. mr. bereuter. thank you for your strong and succinct summary. [the prepared statement of mr. lilley appears in the appendix.] mr. bereuter. mr. berman. mr. berman. mr. chairman, i just wanted to apologize to our panelists. just in the last couple of minutes you raised a lot of interesting questions which i would like followup on. one of the next witnesses is the one that i personally requested appear and i would be very interested in hearing what he has to say. i have an appointment with the state department on asian issues which can't wait, so i have to go, and i apologize for missing this. i will try to get back before it is over but this is not a walk out. i think the belief is that what is going to be said, the rest of this panel is not very important. i do think it is. mr. bereuter. thank you, mr. berman. your colleagues under, stand that problem all too well. mr. bereuter. next we will hear from dr. roy grinker, associate professor of anthropology and international relations, george washington university. dr. grinker, you may proceed as you wish. statement of roy richard grinker, associate professor of anthropology and international relations, george washington university mr. grinker. mr. chairman, members of the committee, thank you for the invitation to speak to you today. i would first like to simply make a correction. i appreciated your generous opening remarks. i have interviewed many defectors but not all of them. most of my interviews take several hours, and there are several hundred defectors. i would also like to point out that although this hearing is specifically about u.s. relations with north korea, i am going to speak about both north and south korea because i believe that any policy toward north korea is also a de facto policy toward south korea as well. south korea risks repeating two mistakes made by germany prior to their unification: failing to discuss practical and specific dimensions of unification until after it occurs and ignoring the extent to which half a century of division can produce profound social and cultural division differences between two sides of a nation. 24 germans have been fortunate that unification there was not accompanied by violence, but on the korean peninsula where north and south are still technically at war and where it seems that preparations are being made more in the direction of war than in peace, more long-term planning is necessary. moreover, planning is important because south korea's financial resources are limited in comparison to those of the former west germany, and north korea's economy is demonstrably weaker than that of the former east germany. the fact is that unification will occur. it will occur someday because koreans want it to. it is a sacred goal. it is especially important to the millions of people whose families continue to remain divided. but unification could also have profound local, regional, and global repercussions. i want to stress that unification is not the end game. it is a beginning. in both the united states and south korea, the majority of policy studies do not articulate a means to achieve a coherent policy toward the korean peninsula or a policy consensus between the únited states and south korea. this is a special problem today as relations between the united states and south korea appear increasingly strained. although unification could be considered largely an internal korean matter, u.s. policies have a major, if sometimes unwitting, effect on prospects for unification. events on the peninsula affect u.s. interests in east asia. i recognize that many south koreans express the worthy hope that the united states will have little role in the economic and defense policy of a unified korea. indeed, unification is often equated in south korea with independence from the united states and other foreign powers. however, the enormous costs and complexities of unification make it inevitable that external assistance will be needed even if it is confined only to international financial assistance. a coordinated policy is needed to help the two countries integrate their interests. it seems reasonable to consider the appointment of an american envoy or coordinator whose job is devoted solely to korea. and that is what robert gallucci once played in this role. such positions are ordinarily created in times of crisis. let us have this structure in place before a crisis, political or diplomatic, occurs. the importance of limiting north korea's nuclear buildup is not difficult to explain to the american people. however, explaining to the american people the continued presence of u.s. forces in south korea, especially if they are actively threatened, and the likely cost-sharing necessary in any unification scenario, no matter how soft the landing, requires a more substantial investment in u.s. policy toward korea. now before talking about the defectors, i would like to give three examples of ways in which a little bit more attention to the coordination of u.s. and south korean policy can minimize the miscommunications between the two sides. first, south korean scholars and policymakers seldom differentiate between peace and unification because from the south korean perspective the two are inextricably linked. when the united states speaks about peace without also speaking about unification, a 25 some south koreans interpret this to mean that the united states wants to preserve the status quo. second, the united states and particularly the media have on a number of occasions attempted to assuage the south koreans by saying, look, in effect you have won. you have achieved more than north korea in every facet of life. again, this statement is interpreted by some to mean that the united states is content with the status quo for korea. south korea responds in effect by saying, if this is the case, then where is our reward? by which they mean unification, the reuniting of families, and autonomy. third, there remains considerable disagreement for miscommunication about the portion of the geneva agreement framework in which north korea agrees to a dialog with south korea. there is less than adequate clarity in the united states on the question of whether kedo constitutes that dialog. from the south korea perspective, it is safe to say that it does not. let me now speak about the defectors, about two dozen of whom i know fairly well and i have interviewed since 1993. we should pay particular attention to them because their experiences suggest to us that unification will not be a simple act of integration or assimilation. despite the presence of about 700 defectors, we know very little about their adjustment to south korean society. the conventional wisdom in south korea is that north koreans remain frozen by communism and that, when the north korean state dissolves, north koreans will thaw out and emerge as pure koreans to be assimilated or absorbed into south korea. defectors i know tell me that north koreans in north korea are uncomfortably aware of this expectation and tend to equate unification with the southern conquest of the north. most of the north korean defectors with whom i am familiar are not doing well in south korea. in addition to feeling isolated, some feel they are treated less well than foreign guest workers. many are distressed by what they perceive to be a general south korean perspective that nothing is worth preserving in north korea. when they do not achieve economic success, they become anxious that they have nothing to show their relatives for the pain they caused them by defecting. they are accused in south korea of having no loyalty to family. having lived only in a communist regime that made so many decisions for them, the defectors are beleaguered by the everyday choices that they confront. many find it difficult to marry. they suffer extraordinary guilt about the plight of their families, and i can talk about this further in the question-and-answer period but i see my time is moving on. what also became clear in my work is that defectors are simultaneously loyal to south korea, yet remain tied to the north. as one defector put it quite tellingly, "i guarantee you there is no defector in south korea who did not weep when kim il sung died.” korea's attempt at homogeneity cannot be reconciled with real social, economic, and political differences. it will produce costs, whatever the peace dividend. the range of possibilities is staggering: social unrest, discrimination, massive unemployment, revenge attacks, political strife, conflicts over land claims. we should not 26 is up. assume that north korean defectors will ever be replicas of south koreans, any more than one might assume that rich and poor south koreans, male and female south koreans, and south koreans from the southeast and southwest, are identical to one another. i will be glad to answer more questions on this, but i see my time thank you very much. mr. bereuter. thank you very much. [the prepared statement of ňr. grinker appears in the appendix.] mr. bereuter. now i would like to hear from robert a. manning, senior fellow at the progressive policy institute. mr. manning, you may proceed as you wish. statement of robert a. manning, senior fellow, progressive policy institute mr. manning. i want to thank you for the opportunity to appear here, and i want to commend you for holding this hearing on the korean predicament. as you indicated, my full statement will be included in the record. i just want to make a few brief remarks and hope we can have an interesting discussion. let me start by saying it is difficult to disagree with what i came across in the form of a statement by former assistant secretary of state, winston lord, that the korean problem is, “perhaps the most urgent security challenge facing the administration anywhere in the world.” a scenario of either desperate explosion or implosion in north korea involving military conflict would have an enormous impact on the u.s. position in east asia, a korea shock which could well alter the geopolitical equation of the asia-pacific. recent events that have been alluded to—the north korean submarine incursion and the defection of hwang jang yop, and the looming specter of famine—all underscore the volatility of the situation in korea. you may recall after last year's flood and famine some senior officials were suggesting that collapse was imminent. kim jong-il is still around. some of them are not. while one cannot rule out such a possibility, i want to stress that there is no basis for making such a judgment and certainly it would be irresponsible to base american policy on such an assumption. the immediate question of food aid which has been raised is really the tip of the iceberg of a profound policy challenge far beyond meeting the north koreans who will likely face starvation in coming months. as my colleague, jim przystup, and i wrote recently in the washington post, the issue is not just the present emergency but a long-term structural dilemma that has to do with a failing state that threatens vital american interests. with an already poor agricultural sector, structural damage and floods, north korea will face food deficits of more than a million tons a year for the rest of this century. however the united states and its allies respond to the current emergency, this problem must be viewed in the larger policy context. the goal of u.s. policy in korea should be to reduce the north korean military threat and facilitate north-south reconciliation. and i am not talking about 27 vacuous terms like dialog and engagement, but results. i think there is a paucity in that regard. the agreed framework on the nuclear issue was an important step forward in threat reduction. it has so far succeeded in shutting down the nuclear weapons program. in my full testimony i provide an assessment of the nuclear situation. let me just say here that the bottom line is that it should stand to fall on its own merits and thus far north korea has been largely cooperative and congress would be wise to continue providing adequate funding for the nuclear project. i would stress here that our share is minute compared to that of our japanese and korean allies, and if we reneged on our part of the deal, the billions of dollars they are committed to coming up with may be at risk. but the north korean military threat, no matter what happens on the nuclear front, still remains. the proposed four-party talks offer the hope of addressing the larger issue. but i want to caution you that a peace treaty with north korea is not necessarily in the u.s. or the south korean interest unless it is part of a larger process of radical cuts in conventional military forces. this leads me to the larger question of u.s. strategy. one reason we have witnessed the absurd specter of the pathetic stalinist dinosaur dictating the diplomatic agenda to the world's single superpower is that pyongyang has a clear, consistent strategy. it seeks a strategic relationship with the united states as a buffer against absorption by the south, to legitimize itself in the international community and to obtain economic aid and investment. viewed in this light, many of what we often consider bizarre or erratic acts are really tactical moves aimed at forcing an american response while probing to see how much it can get. it also helps explain why pyongyang has resisted dealing with seoul. the four-party talks initiative proposed last april marked the first time in 4 years that the united states set the agenda and the north was put in a reactive mode. this or some other negotiating framework can offer the prospect of embedding a nuclear deal in a larger policy. the united states and south korea owe pyongyang the answers to some key questions. precisely what kind of behavior do we want from north korea and what will the united states, rok, and japan do if nam yang performs according to our wishes? the dprk's behavior suggests that some of these tactical moves have been aimed at forcing the answers to such questions. at present, there is little evidence that either seoul or washington have considered answers to these key questions. the problem, in my view, is trading security for economics. in my testimony, i have outlined in some detail a road map of reciprocal steps which i believe offer the best chance of avoiding a tragedy in korea. i would also urge congress to press the president to appoint a special envoy modeled on the role that dennis ross has played in the middle east peace process to be the point man in korea and of the relevant players in northeast asia. in my view, this would be the best assurance of guaranteed sustained top-level attention to the korean problem at a time when the administration has an ambitious european agenda and a dearth of high-level asian expertise. thank you for your attention, and i welcome your questions. 28 i mr. bereuter. thank you very much for your testimony, and to all three of you for your testimony. [the prepared statement of mr. manning appears in the appendix.] mr. bereuter. the ideas that you explain in the latter part of your paper deserve to be further explored by this panel. i call first on mr. kim for questions that he might have. mr. kim. thank you, mr. chairman. ambassador lilley, so glad to see you again. you mention that you talked to someone who just came back from north korea and he told you that north korea is really unstable. that isn't the way i understood the previous panels; it seems to me they have a different opinion. that is the problem i am having, conflicting information; it seems to be a conflicting policy. yet the administration keeps saying that any collapse of north korea is not imminent. i wanted to know how they got their conclusion, but they had no answer. i am not sure where we stand. i am not sure i really understand north korea. one side says we are continually monitoring. the other says we don't know anything about north korea. this is my frustration. and these four-party peace talks we talked about that were initiated by this committee, were a congressionally-driven initiative. it was not by the administration. my question to you is, you mention to watch out for this food shortage. it could be overly exaggerated. we are officially denying any kind of assistance but turn around and give the rice to the north koreans through the united nations—of which we provide more than 90 percent. we have no way to monitor whether the rice is actually given to needy people. we have strong evidence that that rice has been converted, shifted to military use to strengthen the military so they can attack south korea, so to speak. whatever little we give, what kind of assurance, mr. lilley, do we have to make sure that is actually going to starving children? mr. lilley. that is a very good point, mr. kim. i was in the intelligence business for many years and we have to wrestle with inadequate information. you never get as much as you want. in this particular case, it seems to me some people have been hiding behind the lack of information. and we have had a whole string of defectors from north korea, and now we have gotten a very high-level one sitting there in beijing. we have also had this north korean who handled the money in berlin for high-level north koreans. he told us about the deposits which our friends in the state department had no details on. didn't they find out where the money went? what banks was it in? i would think this would be point one. why do they duck this? it seems to me, then, you would have some handle on where their money outflow is going. i would say, again, i think hwang jang yop probably can explain it best. this is the man i think who should be the key to a lot of information when he starts to sing. and i imagine perhaps one reason they may be holding him in china is that they are holding his departure over his head. he may not get to seoul if he doesn't cooperate. maybe that is an inducement for him to cooperate. i don't know, but that is an old intelligence trick. 29 he is the man who should begin to answer questions on a macroeconomic level. what the north koreans are really doing with their money and what they are doing in terms of diverting money and rice to the army. what is really happening inside. that is why i say you should be formulating policies quickly on new information, not necessarily on past judgments. of course, it is very hard for any of us to say no to humanitarian aid when children are starying. on the other hand, you know, and i have been there and i have seen the opulent life-style of the north korean elite, and you get these stories of remi martin brandy flowing into north korea and the various other indications of what they do with the money that they get, maybe $700 million from japan if this were taken away from the high-level hierarchy and put into feeding the children it could probably take care of the problem for some time. these are the problems we don't wrestle with. and it seems to me what hwang jang yop said is that, yes, things are unstable, people are disillusioned. there is a sense that the regime is shaking, it has lost its credibility because it can't feed its people. on the other hand, he said there is no more brutal system in this world. and to go against that system means you are dead. i don't think there has been any indication that anybody has been able to crack that system. so i am saying, yes, you could say at the same time that there is disillusionment, a lack of confidence in the regime, defections. at the same time the regime has an iron grip on the throat of the people. and, therefore, hwang jang yop had said there will not be a collapse in the short term. mr. bereuter. thank you. the other gentleman from california, mr. capps. mr. capps. i made a comment after the first panel that i think this is a topic to which we will be returning, going over this matter again and again. i am going to ask a question that i think may sound like an odd question to be asking, but i want to preface it by explaining some of the background here. i think we have a situation like where we are talking about sort of a hermit country where there is self-imposed isolation, and we are asking the question what can the possible outcome be looking down the road a ways. what can we expect to happen there or what can we hope will happen there? the only way that that can be answered is to understand the mind, the mentality, the collective consciousness of the people. and the only way to defend that kind of isolationism is to have support for it among the people themselves, unless it is being completely imposed by a small group of leaders. anyway, this is my question, dr. grinker; it comes to you. you made the comment that unification and i have to say that i am looking to unification as a possibility for the future-unification is a sacred goal. could you expand on that a little bit? is it a sacred goal of both north and south? sacred goal of only the south? because i am having a difficult time reconciling that with the idea that a people can live in that kind of isolation and not be prompted toward unification. 44-152 97 3 30 mr. grinker. thank you for the question. i think it is a very important one. one of the things i would stress about having done a considerable amount of work in korea is that it is very difficult to talk to people in korea about the possibility that korea will not unify or that unification is not a good idea. the moment something achieves that level of being sacred, it becomes removed from debate and contest. so within south korea the topic of unification is one that is so important that it is, in effect, almost unspeakable. one cannot debate unification in south korea to the degree to which one would expect in a society that holds such a sacred goal. i have never heard anybody say to me that they did not want unification and that that should be revealed. it is a very dangerous thing to say that. having said that, let me comment that one of the most profound and salient conceptual distinctions in both south korea and north korea, in my opinion, is the distinction between the people and the state. this is one people and two states. unification is the unification of the people so that they will be under a single state. this is one way in which we can understand what seem to us to be inconsistencies. for instance, how will south korea talk about north koreans as being their brothers and sisters? is it that the people are innocent but the state is guilty? when kim hyun hi was arrested and then pardoned for bombing the korean airlines, it was the state which was evil while she was innocent? and i think it will be interesting to see how the high-level defector, hwang jang yop, is dealt with. there are stories beginning to emerge in the korean media that he needs to be given some sort of immunity, but it will be also interesting to see how many people call for criminal charges to be brought against him for the continuation of division in the north korean regime. mr. capps. could i do a followup? i find the distinction between people and state to be very helpful. the question becomes in the u.s. diplomatic dealings with both koreas, can that distinction be invoked at that level? and if so, can the united states deal with people as against state? what i am actually looking for here is a mechanism to be able to think through some way in which the situation might be clarified and some way in which the united states might help that situation get beyond the kind of stymied obstacle-laden character that it has at the present time. i think something along those lines would be helpful. mr. grinker. i don't think at this point i can provide you with a mechanism, but i can provide you with a little bit more information that might be a step in that direction. let me say that i am not a policymaker, although i am interested in analyzing policy. one of the fundamental problems of any sort of diplomacy, it would seem to me as an outsider to diplomacy, is the identification of who the interlocutors should be. this is a fundamental problem in south korea. is it the people or is it the state that is responsible for forming policy, for achieving unification, and for speaking with the north? 31 the tremendous conflicts that have occurred when individuals have struggled to cross the border illegally into north korea from the south highlight this problem. particularly the students have preyed on this people-state distinction, and they have been pretty heavily criticized by the korean media. i think that one of the ways out of this dilemma is to recognize that sometimes u.s. policy does not appreciate that distinction so, for instance, if a south korean makes a nasty comment about the north korean regime, that is one thing. if the united states does, that may be quite another because the south korean might feel his brothers and sisters are being characterized as evil. or, for example, we might look at the common american assertion that south korean policies about food aid to north korea are inconsistentthat, on the one hand, the south koreans refuse to give much aid, and, on the other hand, they say that these are their brothers and sisters. this is explained by the people-state division as well, for one must not reward the state but one must also feel compassion for the people. i think if one understands that distinction, a whole lot of the inconsistencies fall into place. mr. bereuter. thank you very much. mr. gilman has a statement. i would ask unanimous consent that it be made part of the record. without objection, so ordered. [the prepared statement of mr. gilman appears in the appendix.) mr. bereuter. the gentleman from american samoa, mr. faleomavaega. mr. faleomavaega. thank you, mr. chairman. i would like to say to ambassador lilley that my only regret is that our friends from the administration are not here to respond to some of the very basic and fundamental questions that you raise. . certainly it may be the fault of this member and maybe the committee for not being as thorough or comprehensive in asking the very questions that you raised earlier. i see a similar situation where our policymakers have failed to obtain these kinds of answers to the fundamental questions underlying our policies. this was the very thing that led us to the vietnam crisis. out of ignorance or because our intelligence community did not give lbj the proper counsel or advice, it led us into a very serious problem. i see your concerns about north korea and i hope, mr. chairman, that perhaps we as the committee can frame the very questions that ambassador lilley raised and present it to our friends downtown for some answers. i think from a layman's perspective what prompted north korea to look into the nuclear option was that it felt threatened by the fact that south korea and the united states had a very strong security alignment. they probably had a good guess that we had nuclear weapons in south korea, if i may speculate as to what prompted the north koreans to get into the nuclear race. my question is where do we go from here if, in fact, we have a very serious problem of starvation that dr. grinker might call a people problem and not a state problem. i suppose this is tied to ambassador lilley's question, do we know where the money is being spent? that will answer whether there really is a starvation problem or whether it is because of the poor allocation of resources 32 if, in fact, millions of dollars are being donated from countries to give north korea assistance. i hope dr. manning can give us some guidance. could you give us a better perspective in terms of this subject of starvation? are we in it for real or are we spinning our wheels, or does the administration not have enough information to make a policy decision on it? mr. manning. mr. manning. the best information i have is there is a serious problem with people facing starvation, but i would also note that as ambassador lilley points out, they spend money on all kinds of things. my understanding is they have stepped up the tempo of military operations; they have chosen guns over butter on their own accord. again, it is hard for me to see why it is our fault and we have to fill the gap. it is a troubling situation. and it is also why i have tried to argue that we have this incremental bureaucratically separate track policy, and it needs to be integrated into a comprehensive approach. i think the north koreans, frankly, would look forward to kind of a road map that said to them if you do x, y and z, we will do x, y and z because right now they don't know what the answer to the question is. if you recall, during the tortuous negotiations that led to the nuclear agreement, they did these things that looked bizarre to us. they threatened to pull out of the npt. they pulled the core of the reactor out. in retrospect, what i would argue is that they were essentially saying, if we trade in our nukes, what do we get for it? up until the time they pulled the core of the reactor, the answer from the state department was, you get a higher-level meeting. that is an absurd answer if you are a country that is on the brink. on this larger question, my concern for american interests is how do we reduce the threat to our troops and our allies? that should be our focus. if we can do that, then i am prepared and the south koreans should be prepared to be rather generous. i have advocated, for example, opening up a korean reconstruction window in the world bank, lending to those institutions helping to facilitate economic reform. all of those things are fine. but our concern—what we are getting now is they keep coming to us and getting something for nothing. and my question is, we are going to have this problem ad infinitum? where do we draw the line? i don't believe we can go on like this. so i think you have got to put it in that context. the other thing i want to stress is we have experience in communist countries. we saw the great leap forward in china. we saw it in the starvation in the ukraine in the 1930's. starvation does not necessarily mean political instability. but you have to ask the question who gets the food that they have? it is not going to be the enemies of the regime, i can assure you. mr. faleomavaega. this was also a part of the problem, and correct me if i am wrong, but there was a sense of resentment on the part of our south korean leaders for not being consulted. is that a proper way to proceed? mr. manning. no. the problem is once the administration defined it as a nuclear problem rather than a korea problem, the greater the situation when north korea held all of the cards, they 33 manipulated it and consciously isolated south korea. so if you are south korean and you are watching bob gallucci and his north korean counterpart determine his future, and this is what you are seeing on tv every evening. so of course you get resentment built up. that is why up until january 20th, 1993, we had a policy that was consciously designed to facilitate parallel movement. we would not move with north korea until there was movement between the north and the south. if you recall in january 1992, arnold kanter was the under secretary, and that is still the highest level contact we have had with north korea. we met with them after they committed themselves to the iaea, after they signed a whole series of sweeping accords for reconciliation between north and south korea. that is, in my view, still an adequate framework if the political will were there to implement them. and so that kind of framework for negotiation has been missing, and i think that is what has fueled this tension in the u.s. and south korean relationship. mr. faleomavaega. thank you, mr. manning. thank you, mr. . chairman. mr. bereuter. you are welcome. we do have a good suggestion to follow up on any questions that ambassador lilley has suggested were not addressed to our witnesses and we will work on it. i have about three questions that i would like to address to ambassador lilley and mr. manning, perhaps, dr. grinker, you will have some views on these, too, and if you do, please volunteer. first, your assessment about who is really in charge, in control in north korea. is kim chong-il, the de facto head of state? how influential is the north korean military? that little combination of questions first, then i will move on to my second area, if i have time, and third. mr. lilley. i think we have gotten an awful lot of information on what is happening in north korea through the years through our monstrous collection apparatus of technical collection-human collection, defectors, recruitment of agents in place. we have a lot of data. freight cars full of it. the question is how to crystallize this and answer the question that you asked, the gut question, i haven't read all the information but this is my sense of it, kim chong-il is not only in charge, he is the cult of personality. they have got to have him because he is the old man's son. it goes right back to tan gun, the founder of korea 5,000 years ago. same thing with tan gun's son. they have got to have kim jong-il for legitimacy. they find that he is a flawed person, and this has emerged from the long delays in putting him on center stage. this comes from report after report we have on his performance, erratic, emotional, brilliant, eccentric. it is a dilemma for the leadership. they need him, but he is not what they want; he is not his father. their whole purpose is to stay in power. that is the number one priority. therefore, the military, the party, the bureaucracy have to work together to keep this man, kim jong-il propped up. they have deep cleavages. we know this from the russian expert, mansuron, who served many years in pyongyang. 34 a number of people have served up there for years who spoke korean, knew korean history and culture and knew korean factionalism. this is all a matter of record how the north operates. there are arguments among themselves day and night but they also know how to play us. they will get one of your esteemed congressmen up there and they will put on a stage show for him about factionalism and whisper in his aide's ear saying there is a simple scenario of the good guys versus the bad guys. it is a shadow play with the paper dolls that the americans understand and then come up with an instant analysis. mr. bereuter. ambassador lilley, on crucial military deployment issues, would it be the military that makes the decision or kim chong-il? mr. lilley. my sense is that the military makes the decision and gets his stamp of approval. he would have no choice but to agree. mr. bereuter. who else? anyone among you would like to contribute answers to this question? mr. manning. i would basically concur with ambassador lilley. it is clearly the case that the military has a larger political role than it did when kim il-song was alive. we don't know the inner workings, and i am not going to pretend to tell you i do. we have seen a lot of anecdotal evidence in that regard. mr. bereuter. my next question is, can we use food aid to leverage change in their economic policies? if the united states is attempting to use such leverage, do we have a strategy to do so? do you discern any strategy? mr. lilley. i think both bob and i have talked to this point and i find it essential that we appreciate that the north koreans don't understand it when you give them something for nothing. they think you are an imbecile. here they are spewing out invectives on us every day, threatening to turn seoul into a sea of fire, stiffing you on a whole series of things, and then demanding more aid. mr. bereuter. you don't think we are exercising leverage? mr. lilley. i think we may be now. i am beginning to see the sun come up. i think i am beginning to see people make the connection. as bob suggested, i have heard also from defense department colleagues the other day in a private luncheon, that they are beginning to figure out some hard ways we can get mutual balance force reduction under verification and the confidence-building measures in return for food aid. i think this has to go hand in hand with food aid. i know it is sort of the mantra. food aid is unconditional when it is for humanitarian purposes. we should not make linkage. but north korea is not somalia or rwanda. this is a very powerful military force with its gun at your head. it seems to me you have to develop a different strategy. you have to assess that gun at your head. when the north koreans threaten to lash out, we tend to throw more food at them. this lacks a certain logic. and i believe it was kevin sullivan of the washington post who pointed out the other day in an article that you are not going to take care of the military threat with food aid. it will be there 10 years from now because it is useful to the north. it seems to me you have to tie it in, whether it is implicit or explicit, to force re35 duction and non-use of force. this is for the diplomats and negotiators to work out. mr. bereuter. mr. manning. mr. manning. i would put it in a slightly different way in terms of not so much food aid but what does north korea want? we have some sense of that at this point; do they want foreign aid, foreign investment, more trade? they would like to join the world bank? the asian development bank? they need enormous amounts of investment in infrastructure and so on, and the question is, we create an incentive structure that creates a political environment that says to them, you want this stuff, you can get it. there is a price. you can't maintain the military threat and all the rest. and you are going to have to define the choice and let them make the choice. that is all you can ask a policy to do. i am troubled because we haven't, as i mentioned earlier, we haven't done that. the north koreans come to us and say, ok, we are ready to deal; what do you want us to do? the answer is, well, we will get back to you on that because we don't know and neither do the south koreans have an offer. i think for all the alleged consultation and all the time in meetings and so on, i am troubled by the fact that we don't seem to have a clear idea of what we want them to do. and i think if we did that and laid out this kind of a road map, and as my former boss, jim baker, might do, give them an 800-number and if you want to do this, fine; if you don't, have a nice day. because at the end of the day you can't save them from themselves. they have to make these choices. mr. bereuter. do any of my colleagues have a final question to add? mr. lilley. could i add one thing, mr. chairman? bob touched on this. i think it is important to look at the lessons of history. china had a food problem in 1958 of monumental proportions, caused by lunatic social engineering, and some natural disasters; 30 or 40 million people died. but foreign observers claimed there was no famine. all i can say is watch out for the foreign militant who comes back and tells you after a month in that country what it is like. they were dead wrong in china. the chinese didn't get any aid, and by 1978 deng xiaoping came along and reformed agriculture and it just took off. that is one. let's look at (and i am indebted to my colleague, nic eberstadt here) another one in 1921, a starving ukraine in russia. hoover, who was an excellent administrator, went in there to run a food program. maybe he wasn't the greatest president, but he was a very good administrator. he took our food program, and he said he didn't want any nonsense from the communist party. he ran the program and he saved probably 5 million lives. and they were looking for a soviet moderate to come out of this and who do they get? joe stalin. you come in there, you do the right thing, you save the people's lives. you can't anticipate results. the arithmetic is there, how many lives saved and how many did stalin eventually kill? i think when you get involved in these very complex situations like north korea where the stakes are very high and you have got foreigners running around telling you the way things are in north 36 korea, you have really got to get at the basics of what is actually happening. mr. kim and mr. berman have raised those questions. i really think we have a chance to get at some of the answers now, a as we have got this defector, hwang jang yop. let's get him over here as fast as we can and really try to understand this situation. mr. bereuter. thank you. mr. kim, did you have a final question? mr. kim. yes. mr. lilley, i really enjoyed you very much. i do have one last comment and question about this fear of being involved in a war. a lot of south koreans are afraid that the north koreans are pushed against the wall and they have a choice: either sit there and starve to death or attack the south. either option is a deadly option and a lot of south koreans fear that might happen, maybe they will engage in war. do you have any opinion on that? mr. lilley. i guess i go back to this statement, mr. kim, that you have got to work very hard to take the force option off the table, and you may think that that is dreaming, but i think that is america's role in the far east. we take the war option off the table in the taiwan strait, in the south china sea, korean peninsula because power is our trump card. mr. kim. shouldn't the policy have been to try to please both parties? america has been overly friendly to the north and sometimes the south and back and forth and it's not clear which policy we have-a solid policy? mr. lilley. i would say we have two good events that have occurred recently. we got hwang jang yop, the high-level defector, and secretary madeleine albright came with a fresh look. i would keep an open mind and let those two things work out. i have some confidence that things will get better. mr. bereuter. gentlemen, thank you very much for your testimony and for sharing your thoughts with us in response to our questions. it was very helpful to us. i appreciate the time you devoted to it. thank you very much. the subcommittee is adjourned. [whereupon, at 3:50 p.m., the subcommittee was adjourned.) 37 house international relations committee subcommittee on asian and pacific affairs february 26, 1997 u.s. policy towards north korea testimony of charles kartman acting assistant secretary bureau of east asian and pacific affairs department of state 38 mr. chairman, it is my pleasure to represent the department of state before this committee today. i appreciate this opportunity to discuss our policy toward the democratic people's republic of korea (dprk). our overall goals in this policy are to build a durable peace on the korean peninsula as a key contribution to regional stability, and to facilitate progress by the korean people themselves toward national reunification. even in the past week, we have seen signs that our efforts are bearing fruit. as you may know, i returned monday evening from seoul and tokyo, where i accompanied secretary albright in her meetings with korean and japanese leaders. central to our strategy for managing north korea is our commitment to consult regularly and closely with our south korean allies, to ensure that our north korea policy remains tightly coordinated. i am very pleased to note the success of the secretary's visit to seoul in promoting that objective. at the top of the agenda in the secretary's meetings with president kim young-sam and foreign minister yoo jong-ha was a discussion of a significant development in our policy toward north korea pyongyang's agreement to sit down with the u.s. and rok on march 5 to hear our joint briefing on president clinton and president kim's proposal for four party peace i will discuss this proposal at greater length in a moment, but i wanted to cite this tangible evidence of recent success of our policies in engaging the dprk and encouraging inter-korean dialogue. this latest development builds on several years of us-rok cooperative diplomatic efforts, beginning with negotiation of the october 1994 agreed framework, continuing with the four party peace proposal of last april and extending forward to the groundbreaking for the light-water reactor (lwr) project in north korea scheduled for this spring. in a broader sense, of course, these initiatives are rooted in the us-rok alliance, which has ensured stability on the korean peninsula since the korean war. in this longer term perspective, our security alliance with south korea remains at the heart of our policy on the peninsula. our joint ability to deter north korean aggression is stronger than ever. as members of this committee know well, the u.s.-rok alliance has weathered nearly five decades of challenges and changes. the republic of korea, which emerged from the korean war in ruins, has built itself into a vibrant democracy with a robust economy. the u.s. is rightly proud of the role we have played in this process by ensuring the security of our ally. we are also convinced that our efforts with south korea to promote a lasting peace will contribute to 39 2 the eventual reunification of the peninsula. from deterrence to engagement for decades after the korean war, our north korea policy consisted of a critical but still one-dimensional task -to deter renewed north korean aggression. the end of the cold war changed the situation on the korean peninsula, and we and our allies in south korea have adapted to the new realities. working together, we have supplemented our deterrent capability with diplomatic initiatives designed to draw the north out of its increasing isolation and encourage it to become a responsible member of the international community. it is useful to note that the process of moving from stark confrontation to dialogue with the dprk has a bipartisan history of some nine years. in 1988, under the reagan administration, the u.s. undertook what was termed a "modest initiative" to open the window for greater contact with pyongyang. the next phase came in january 1992, when, during a period of improved dialogue between south and north korea, the bush administration hosted the first-ever meeting between senior u.s. and dprk officials in an early effort to address our concerns with the north's nuclear program. that phase of diplomacy, hit high gear when my good friend ambassador bob gallucci reengaged the dprk on the nuclear issue in 1993. negotiated in close consultation with our south korean and japanese allies, the october 1994 agreed framework not only provided a means to address our concerns about the north korean nuclear program, but also laid out a structure to pursue our other diplomatic objectives with the dprk. the next phase of our efforts to engage the north is centered on the proposal made jointly by president clinton and rok president kim in april 1996 for four party peace talks. in a major step forward in this process, next week, on march 5, i will sit down with a south korean deputy foreign minister to brief a delegation from the dprk on this proposal. this joint briefing will, we hope, lead to discussions involving the north and south, as well as the united states and china, concerning a reduction of tensions on the peninsula and the establishment of permanent peace to replace the 1953 armistice. the_agreed framework: nuclear aspects allow me first to discuss the current status of the nuclear aspects of the agreed framework. most significantly, this agreement, if fully implemented, will both bring the dprk into full compliance with its nonproliferation obligations under the non-proliferation treaty (npt) and require the north to go beyond those obligations by dismantling its existing nuclear facilities. in return the north will be provided with interim energy, in the form of heavy fuel oil, as well as two proliferation-resistant, light-water nuclear reactors. 40 3 the first step in moving towards eventual dismantlement of the north's existing nuclear program is a freeze on its key existing facilities. that freeze has been in place since november 1994 and is being continuously monitored by the international atomic energy agency (iaea) as well as by our own national technical means. in addition, the iaea is currently engaged in negotiations with the north to prepare the ground for eventually instituting safeguards on its nuclear program. under the agreed framework, the north will forego the right to reprocess spent fuel and will, instead, safely store and eventually transfer existing fuel to another country. i would note that existing fuel contains material which could be used to build nuclear weapons. thanks to the hard work of a team of experts led by the department of energy, which is in north korea working 12 hours a day, six days a week, the task of putting this material into storage under iaea safeguards is more than half done. actual canning of the spent fuel began on april 27, 1996, and is planned to be completed this year. upon completion of canning activities, the spent fuel will remain at the spent fuel storage basin at nyongbyon where it will continue to be subject to monitoring by the iaea until it is shipped out of the dprk. the agreed framework also provides that in return for the freeze and dismantlement of the dprk's present nuclear program, the u.s. will organize under its leadership, an international consortium to finance and supply two light-water reactors (lwr), as well as the heavy fuel oil shipments, to the dprk. under american, south korean and japanese leadership, the korean peninsula energy development organization (kedo) has grown into an important arm of our countries' coordinated diplomacy. kedo currently has eleven members, spread over five continents and has received international contributions from over twenty-one countries. i would like to highlight the european union's (eu) recent decision to join kedo as the fourth member of its executive board. this has increased kedo's standing as a truly global organization. the eu's commitment to contribute $20 million annually to kedo over five years has also helped put kedo finances on a more solid basis. the combination of new eu funding, our regular contribution to kedo and those of other countries, is critical, particularly in insuring kedo's heavy fuel oil deliveries to the dprk. has made steady progress in financing those deliveries and has met the obligations of the agreed framework. nevertheless, kedo is still running a deficit in its oil funding account, largely because of the initial shortage of funding, in 1995 and 1996. we will continue our efforts, in close cooperation with other kedo members, to effectively deal with this problem. i would note that these deliveries are essential to the integrity of the nuclear freeze since they help compensate the dprk for the loss of energy production from nuclear reactors which were 41 4 under construction before the agreed framework. i would also note that kedo is taking steps to ensure the proper use of this fuel by the north and that we are following this situation closely. kedo has accomplished much in preparing for actual construction of the lwr project. it has negotiated five protocols to the lwr supply agreement which define the terms and conditions for reactor construction. it has sent six teams of technical experts to the dprk to gather necessary geological, environmental, and structural information about the proposed lwr site in the dprk. these teams have consisted of u.s., japanese, and south korean experts. a seventh team will travel to north korea on march 1. final preparations for construction should be made in the next few months with groundbreaking on the project to begin this spring. i would add that, as the lwr project progresses, north korea's contact with the world and with the rok will rapidly increase. most specialists working on the project will be rok citizens and south korea's national power company kepco is the prime contractor. already, it has facilitated north-south contact through almost constant kedo-dprk negotiations at kedo headquarters in new york and through the regular visits of south koreans, under kedo sponsorship, to the north to prepare for the reactor project. although the rok and japan will shoulder the bulk of the responsibility for the multi-billion dollar construction costs for the lwr project, continued u.s. funding for kedo activities, primarily heavy fuel oil deliveries, remains an indispensable element in the viability of the project. the agreed framework: enhancing north-south contact in addition to providing a means of freezing, and eventually eliminating, north korea's indigenous nuclear program, the agreed framework called on the u.s. and dprk to improve bilateral relations in tandem with resolution of issues of importance to the u.s. the pace of change will depend, of course, on the degree to which the dprk is prepared to move further along the positive path on which it embarked with the signing of the agreed framework. a key element, which at our insistence was written into the agreed framework, is the expectation of progress in north-south relations. in our subsequent diplomatic contacts with the dprk, we have stressed consistently and frequently the necessity of such contact. this is both the most important and the most difficult goal in the entire enterprise, but even here some progress has been achieved. here i would again call your attention to the sustained and business-like contact between north and south koreans within the framework of kedo. this contact will increase markedly as the lwr project begins on the ground later 42 5 this year. as i mentioned earlier, the north's agreement to attend the joint briefing on the four party peace talks is another significant step in achieving this goal. us-dprk bilateral business two days after the joint briefing on the four party talks, accompanied by officials from the defense department and the national security council, i will meet with the same dprk delegation to discuss the range of bilateral issues between our two countries. among the issues i will raise in that meeting are our efforts to recover the remains of korean war-era mias, our proposals to end north korean development and export of missiles and missile technology, and implementation of our commitment to exchange liaison offices in washington and pyongyang i will leave to dr. campbell to describe our efforts to recover the remains of u.s. servicemen who died in north korea during the korean war, but i would emphasize that we consider this an extremely high priority issue. i would only add that the expansion of contacts into the military area is a positive development that can only help the process of opening north korea. in april 1996, u.s. negotiators met with dprk officials to discuss our concerns about north korea's development, deployment, and proliferation of missiles and missile technology. as the agreed framework is allowing us to resolve our concerns about proliferation of nuclear materials, we hope that these talks will ultimately resolve our concerns about these dangerous and destabilizing weapons. putting an end to these threats is a top u.s. priority. when i meet with north korean officials in new york next week, i will propose dates for the next round of talks on this important issue. when we signed the agreed framework, we agreed to exchange liaison offices -the lowest level of diplomatic representation between countries -as soon as technical issues could be resolved. although some of these matters remain unresolved, including arrangements for supplying and supporting our office in pyongyang and the north's ability to find suitable offices in washington, conditions appear to be improving for the realization of this commitment. the establishment of these small-scale offices would be of practical benefit to both sides. we are very grateful to sweden for its willingness to act as our protecting power in the dprk, but as american citizens increasingly visit the dprk -as journalists, academics, humanitarian relief workers or specialists in the canning, remains, or fuel monitoring projects -we feel the need to be able to provide them directly with consular protection and support. a full-time diplomatic presence in pyongyang will give us a first-hand perspective on the situation and provide 43 6 us with improved access to north korean officials. and it will facilitate the kind of diplomacy we have had to undertake through cumbersome methods until now, such as our efforts in december to resolve the submarine incident. in recognition of the progress made on issues of concern to us, we have taken a number of modest steps to ease economic sanctions against the dprk. in january 1995, as pyongyang began to cooperate in implementing the agreed framework, we took steps to permit u.s. companies to provide direct telecommunications services between the u.s. and the dprk, to allow the import of magnesite from the dprk, to reduce the restrictions on financial transactions not involving the dprk government or its entities, and to authorize the licensing of u.s. business transactions that further kedo's construction of light-water reactors in the dprk. on december 30, 1996, we approved the license of a u.s. firm to pursue a commercial deal to sell north korea up to 500,000 tons of grain, consistent with our policy of sympathetic consideration of all applications for provision of foodstuffs on commerical terms. however, negotiations to conclude this deal on a commercial basis have not yet been successful. we will consider further sanctions-easing measures as north korea makes progress on issues of concern to us. humanitarian aid on a strictly humanitarian level, the u.s. has participated in international efforts to alleviate the suffering of north korean civilians affected by recent flooding and food shortages there. including our most recent donation, over the past two years, we have provided $18,425,000 in cash and in-kind support for emergency relief assistance -basically, medical supplies and food -for the north. for the north. these contributions have been made in the spirit of the american tradition of providing assistance to people in need, without regard to politics. our most recent donation was a $10 million in-kind contribution to the un world food program's february 13 emergency appeal. the delivery of our contribution -a corn-soy blend used as a basic food for infants and nursing mothers, as well as rice and corn will be administered through u.n. agencies with staff in north korea. the wfp, which will monitor the distribution of our contribution, has demonstrated its ability to ensure that assistance reaches the intended civilian beneficiaries, many of whom are children. the latest un world food program appeal, even if fully subscribed, will only meet 5% of the north's estimated 2 million ton shortfall of grain this year. however, the appeal is designed to get food in the pipeline now for delivery to those most vulnerable to the threat of famine. the prospect of widespread hunger or even famine this spring creates the possibility of unrest, dislocation of north korean civilians in search of food, and other difficulties. 44 7 the u.s has not acted alone in providing humanitarian assistance to the dprk. the republic of korea has announced that it will make a $6 million dollar contribution. japan has $ made major contributions in the past few years, and is considering doing so again. australia announced on february 21 a donation of over $2 million to the latest appeal. many other countries have also contributed to this international relief effort. next steps experience has taught us that it is difficult to predict the pace of progress in our dealings with north korea, and events can move quickly on the korean peninsula. steady progress on the implementation of the agreed framework and halting steps toward dprk acceptance of the four party talks suffered a setback last autumn with the incursion into south korean waters of a dprk submarine and the infiltration into rok territory of north korean military personnel. a massive manhunt by rok security forces eventually tracked down the infiltrators, but the "submarine incident" left many dead, threatened to derail the agreed framework, and dimmed prospects for the reduction of tensions on the peninsula. as i mentioned, persistent diplomacy by the u.s., in close coordination with the rok, resulted in the unprecedented statement of regret made by the dprk last december and laid the groundwork for a resumption of our efforts to improve the situation on the peninsula. if north korea clearly calculates its own interests and opts for greater cooperation, including with the rok, we can make significant progress. inevitably, challenges will continue to crop up. some of these obstacles are foreseeable -others will arise without warning. north korea's economic difficulties have created opportunities for diplomacy, but they also pose dangers. although we do not believe that the collapse of the dprk is imminent, its desperate economic situation cries out for immediate action by the north both for internal reform and greater positive contact with its neighbors. there are indications that kim jong-il will assume his father's titles of president and secretary general of the korean workers' party sometime in the second half of this year. while this will formalize his assumption of power, we do not expect north korean policy or decision making to change significantly. at the same time, we believe that these dire prospects are pressing the north korean leadership to review its traditional isolation, a development we, the rok and others want to encourage. we do not seek to perpetuate the system there, as some suggest. but as the north chooses between the kinds of changes that serve our interests and a fate that awaits it if 45 8 it refuses to change, we also are not anxious to face these costs and risks if we can avoid them. we are assessing the impact and implications of the recent defection of hwang jang-yop, the senior north korean ideologist, whose case, we trust will be resolved peacefully by china and south korea in accordance with international practice. in summary, although there is clearly a long way to go, i am cautiously optimistic about our effort to promote lasting peace on the korean peninsula. this effort has been closely coordinated with the rok, japan, and our other friends and allies in the region and around the world. it has at its foundation the u.s.-rok security alliance and our commitment to deter north korean aggression. it seeks to reduce tensions , but insists on the principle of reciprocity enshrined in the agreed framework. it recognizes the long-standing american tradition of offering assistance to needy people regardless of the political views of their leaders. and, it offers the dprk a way out of its current predicament -through responsible engagement with the u.s., the rok, and the international community. our effort to promote peace is not an easy task, , but i believe this objective, and the unattractiveness of all other approaches, make it the responsible and proper course. 46 statement by dr. kurt m. campbell deputy assistant secretary of defense (asian and pacific affairs) hearing on us policy toward the korean peninsula subcommittee on asia and the pacific house committee on international relations february 26, 1997 mr. chairman, members of the subcommittee, i welcome the opportunity to represent the department of defense in this hearing on us policy toward the korean peninsula. i would begin my statement with recognition of a fundamental point--the forty-three year old us alliance with the republic of korea has been a profound success and continues to serve as the foundation for a broad, solid bilateral relationship. the peace and stability fostered by our close security ties have greatly benefited both countries and contributed to the economic prosperity and democratic development of south korea and the entire asia-pacific region. south korea has risen from the devastation of the korean war to become a regional and global model. in economic terms, the rok has built the eleventh largest economy in the world. politically, the south has made impressive progress in instituting democratic practices across the spectrum of government, from the local to the national level. while the lion's share of credit rightfully goes to the rok population in achieving these political and economic milestones, the us security shield has no doubt been indispensable in providing south korea the breathing space to pursue its impressive development course. 1 47 the security relationship has by no means been a one-way street. the usrok alliance has significantly bolstered us strategic aims in promoting regional stability and economic prosperity as well as reassuring all countries that the us is committed to an active engagement policy toward asia. in deterring aggression from an often unpredictable and highly-militarized north korea, the us has helped create an environment in which developing asian states could pursue a political and economic course compatible with american values and beliefs, this is particularly true in the case of south korea. as a result, the security alliance between the us and the republic of korea is more than a treaty commitment--it is a close, mutually beneficial partnership built on a shared stake in democracy and free markets. our alliance is an essential element of the strategy for achieving our longstanding security goal--a non-nuclear, peacefully reunified korean peninsula. even after the north korean threat passes, the us intends to maintain a strong defense alliance with the rok, in the interest of regional security. the need for a combined us-rok military command and force structure to protect our common values is more compelling than ever. today the united states and south korea confront twin security challenges on the korean peninsula-deterrence of armed conflict and preparation for crises short of war. on the first challenge, north korea's large conventional military forces continue to threaten the security of the republic of korea. two-thirds of its 1.1 million military personnel are positioned within 100 kilometers of the demilitarized zone, with a substantial artillery force capable of striking seoul with little advance notice. in addition, north korea possesses missile and other weapons 2 48 programs that heighten concern over its intentions. the us and rok continue to focus their security cooperation on deterring the use of this military capability, whether in an all-out attack on south korea or in a more limited military provocation. let there be no doubt that deterrence is our first priority. should deterrence fail, we will prevail militarily on the peninsula. at the same time, deteriorating economic conditions within north korea and the recent defection of a senior dprk official raise questions about future developments in the north. therefore, it is only prudent for the us and rok to consult closely and be prepared for a range of contingencies that may occur on the korean peninsula. without a close defense alliance between the us and south korea, we would not be able to respond effectively to these challenges to our security interests. it is also important in a time of transition and uncertainty that we give no signals to north korea that the calculus of the us-rok security relationship, which has served us so well, is changing. we must strongly counter any perception in pyongyang that it can drive a wedge between the us and rok on security issues. us-rok combined forces are better-equipped and more ready now than at any time in the history of the alliance. but maintaining capable and ready forces is a constant process. the us is engaged in ongoing efforts to modernize its peninsular force of about 37,000 military personnel with the latest military equipment, including ah-64 helicopters, bradley fighting vehicles, global positioning system receivers, frequency hopping radios, and a pre-positioned heavy brigade set. these measures have been complemented by rok efforts to outfit its m with the most modern tanks, armored personnel carriers, self-propelled howitzers, and 3 49 fighter aircraft. the rok commitment of resources to defense has been impressive, with over 21 percent of the most recent government budget devoted to the military. the rok maintains 670,000 personnel in uniform and has pledged more than $1 billion in cost-sharing support for us military forces on the peninsula from 19961998. our security objectives in korea have been greatly aided by diplomatic breakthroughs during the past several years. in particular, the engagement process begun by the us-dprk agreed framework, which froze the north's nuclear program and its destabilizing potential, has defused the most immediate source of tension and deflected what could have been a military confrontation with north korea. with the agreement and our underlying security commitment, we have preserved stability on the peninsula and created an opening to pursue other issues of concern, the most important of which, north-south dialogue, is the foundation for a stable, long-term peace on the peninsula. other bilateral issues that we have pursued include missile proliferation and the recovery of korean war remains. the agreed framework has also provided greater access to north korea and some north-south contacts. the defense department is making a three-pronged approach to north korea to account for those missing from the korean war. first, we have made progress in recovering remains from the korean war, completing one joint operation in july 1996 that yielded the remains of a us serviceman who was positively identified and buried by his family. second, we hope to conduct archival research in north korean records before undertaking additional remains recovery operations later this year. third, we continue to seek answers from north korea and other sources on any reports of live americans detained in north korea. please be assured that the defense department is committed to pursuing this issue vigorously with the north. 4 50 permanent peace on the peninsula will be accomplished only through diplomatic/political means, and the agreed framework begins that process by laying a groundwork for uncoerced reconciliation between south and north korea. we must recognize, however, that this agreement is an initial step in a long and difficult course. our desire for a long-term, stable peace on the peninsula will not be realized overnight, but that reality does not diminish the value of current initiatives toward north korea. the alternative could very well be direct conflict with the north, which would take a devastating toll in lives and resources. for this reason, it is important а for the us to back the agreed framework, and the international consortium that implements its provisions, with the resources that will permit it to succeed. until north and south korea find a peaceful solution to their differences, we remain committed to the terms of the 44-year old armistice agreement. the armistice agreement and its mechanisms must remain until an appropriate arrangement supersedes them. only south and north korea can resolve the division of korea; therefore, replacement of the armistice by an appropriate agreement can come about only through direct dialogue between south and north korea. the us, while addressing near-term security concerns, has worked hard to promote such a dialogue. 5 51 statement of ambassador james r. lilley before the house of representatives international relations committee subcommittee on asian and pacific affairs february 26, 1997 i am pleased to respond to the subcommittee's request for views on north korea. secretary albright's visit last week to south korea demonstrated that we have a chance for a new beginning in america's relationship with our most endangered ally. south koreans expected that because of her background, her reputation for toughness, her inherent anti-communism and her record of articulating allied interests at the united nations, she might reverse the deterioration in american-south korean relations. their hopes were realized to an extent when she said that progress on the peninsula depends on how much the north recognizes the severity of its predicament and that the us-south korean relationship was the bedrock for a korean peninsula peaceful solution. that constitutes a clear and refreshing statement from this administration. the north must come to grips with its situation. its people are starving, and even the most privileged among their elite are beginning to question the validity of their corrupt totalitarian ideology. “can we call people sane when they talk of having built a utopia for workers and farmers when the workers and farmers are starving?” wrote kim jong il's tutor hwang jang-yop last week as he sought asylum in south korea's embassy in beijing the spate of high-level changes taking place in pyongyang these days suggest he is not the only high-ranking official challenging the logic of the destitute regime. at the same time that kim jong il professes to support a red banner ideology of self-reliance, his officials are judged on their ability to beg for food from international organizations. they make desperate pleas for aid while clinging to a propaganda posture that extols failed leadership and threatens terrorism against their presumed enemies. by all accounts, the economy of the north is indeed collapsing, and starvation is widespread. accordingly, the united states, which has little reason to sustain the regime, has pledged to send $10 million worth of grain, and south korea, which has even less reason to aid its belligerent enemy, has pledged another $6 million. japan is expected to contribute generously as well to the international effort. these contributions will not solve the north's problems, however, they are intended as a "bandaid.” much will be said about guaranteeing that the food gets to children, civilians and the elderly instead of to the military. but, regrettably, all too little will be said about using this aid to persuade the north’s leaders to reform their system. 52 2 the north needs systemic agricultural and economic reform. they must break away from the concept that self sufficiency in food equals security in food. the basic fundamentals of their juche philosophy are wrong. they cannot grow what they need. in the past two years, floods have complicated their ability to grow food, but they have not caused the famines. north korea's policies are to blame for pursuing a path to certain defeat. the regime would be wiser to recognize that the way out requires both economic and agricultural reform. north korea has resources, including coal, other minerals, and magnesite which is increasingly valuable to high-tech industries. earlier in this century, it also had industry. the economy of the north can be turned to produce more than the regime's officially-sanctioned smuggling effort in drugs and weapons. in any reunification scenario, the north is expected to provided labor rather than food. its economy should be structured to provide resources and exports with which to fund purchases of food for their population over the past two years, the united states provided food assistance to north korea on four occasions to combat widespread damage caused by flooding. while supplying food aid is a noble, humanitarian gesture, the issue is so emotionally charged that it is easily manipulated by the cynical regime. the north koreans have not provided adequate information to allow the rest of the world to access the true extent of their needs, yet the united states has been generous. the total amount of us money spent on relief has already reached $8.2 million. recent floods doubtlessly eroded topsoil, but they may have been a financial windfall to the regime. south korean sources have reported that the north may have received up to $130 million in crop insurance from private insurers, including lloyd's of london. the total value received by north korea is unclear, but we do know that one reinsurance broker disclosed involvement in a compensation deal valued at $25 million. north korea's reluctance to disclose insurance payments makes sense when viewed in light of the statements of north korean defector choe su-ung. choe was once one of north korea's elite, having graduated from kim il-sung university and managed a north korean joint venture in london. he says north korea's overseas officials were instructed by pyongyang to play up the food situation in north korea. in addition, choe handled large sums of money for the north korean elites, investing in western enterprises and markets. the united states has also funded $26.5 million in shipments of heavy fuel oil, starting in 1994. the department of energy was authorized another $17.7 million to secure weapons-grade material from possible misuse. there was a $2 million cash payment to north korean officials to buy their assistance in recovering remains of american mias. another $8.2 million in food aid was sent to relieve north korea of its food shortages. in total, the united states has already given north korea well over $50 million. this is largely in consideration for their pledge to halt a nuclear program that 53 3 north korea itself should have wanted to shelve because of its consequences for north korea's environment. north korea is now a major recipient of american foreign aid. how north korea spends its own money gives us a certain perspective on why we should be careful how we spend ours. first, consider the north’s investment in its military. according to defense department estimates, north korea spends 25-30% of its gnp on its armed forces. compare that with the united states, which spends roughly four percent of its gnp on defense. north korea is the world's most militarized economy, absorbing one of every five men of working age, and directing resources to unproductive projects such as a series of underground tunnels underneath the demilitarized zone. four such tunnels have been discovered and as many as 20 more may exist. these tunnels were dug at enormous cost, to carry out a war of infiltration and aggression against south korea. in addition, north korea has massive reserve stockpiles of ammunition and pol, estimated at one million tons each, which it continues to expand despite tremendous cost to its economic structure and hardship to its people, according to a defense intelligence agency report of 1995. north korea still persists as a global security risk. north korea's ballistic missile program dates back to the late 1980s. north korea's scud bs have a range of 300 kilometers and can reach as far as kunsan air base in south korea. the 500 km range of the scud c can cover the peninsula, and has a 700 kg warhead. additionally, north korea has produced a medium-range (1000 km) no-dong missile with a 1,000 kg warhead, and two long-range missiles are under development: the taepo dong i and ii, with ranges of 1500 km and 2000 km respectively. in 1987, the dprk sold scud bs to iran, and in late 1990, scud cs as well. north korea's production capability for the no-dong missile is stalled, so the department of defense has concluded that anticipated sales of that missile to both iran and libya have been shelved. it shipped scud missile materials to egypt this past spring, a clear violation of the mtcr and the 1990 us antiproliferation laws. these missiles have a range of 300 miles -and can easily reach israel. north korea, according to acda, exported $90 million worth of arms in 1993, a significant sum. were the proceeds of these sales used to buy food for north korea's people? we do not know. a recent report done jointly by the center for nonproliferation studies in monterrey and the center for contemporary international problems in moscow has said that north korea has been on a military shopping spree in russia, china, pakistan and india. it charges the north is upgrading its mig-21s with more powerful engines and navigational equipment from india. pyongyang has, the report claims, asked india for russian-made systems, including russian air defense systems, “tunguska” anti-aircraft systems, submarines, landing ships and automatic infantry weapons like “kalashnikov” machine guns. 54 4 the north’s counterproductive spending does not end with the military. millions are spent on self-glorifying, economically disastrous government projects while north korea's citizens are told to eat less every day. north korea has sacrificed the livelihood of its citizens in order to finance a personality cult centered on late president kim il-sung. after the death of former president kim il-sung, the presidential palace was remodeled to house the embalmed body, costing the government nearly $83 million dollars. the embalming itself, according to the etar tass news agency, cost $6 million. in 1989, north korea hosted the world festival of youth and students. having lost face to south korea, which successfully carried out the 1988 international olympic games, north korea imported 1,000 mercedes-benz automobiles to shuttle around guests for its festival. north korea spent hundreds of millions of dollars for a sports stadium and for a 105-story pyramid-shaped hotel, which is unfinished, abandoned, and now scheduled for demolition. pyongyang built this structure at a time when city hotels were operating at much less than capacity. the north korean newspaper pyongyang times of north korea provides us with interesting insights into where our taxpayer dollars end up -helping to build a 100,000 square meters plaza and a 300 meter covered walkway to commemorate the second anniversary of kim il-sung's death in 1996. hundreds of thousands of elaborately trimmed granite slabs decorate this gigantic monument. and we also have the monument to victory over the american imperialist aggressors, built in 1993 -a gigantic socialist facade with a 150,000 square meter plaza. the united states should not lose sight of the nature of the regime we are dealing with, as we seek to prove america's characteristic generosity and respect for international obligations. the regime has made little progress toward peaceful north-south dialogue. on june 25 of every year, including this past one, pyongyang has launched a month-long propaganda campaign aimed at generating and deepening hostilities toward the united states and south korea. in north korean newspaper editorials, the government maintains that the united states initiated the korean war to “conquer asia and the whole world.” in a similar vein, north korea moved to renourice its obligations under the armistice that ended the north korean war in 1953. it continues to denounce south korea in the most virulent terms as a war maniac and puppet. it seems to me we could be more realistic about how we manage taxpayers' funds. the united states needs to be circumspect about throwing money down north korea's black hole. efforts guided by humanitarian impulses do not always produce humanitarian results. as my colleague nicholas eberstadt recently reminded us, soon after the bolsheviks took control in the soviet union, famine there compelled american attention. no less a figure than herbert hoover led an american relief effort (1918-1923), helping presumably moderate leaders of the new political elite deal with the food shortages caused by communist policies -one of these presumed moderates was joseph stalin. at its 55 5 peak, the russian relief organization was said to feed 10 million people per day, there is no doubt that its saved countless lives. but it also laid the foundation for lenin's new economic policy, stalin's rise to power, and stalin's policies of forced collectivization, which may have caused the loss of substantially more lives. the situation in north korea, like that of the soviet union in the 1920s, is what is now termed a “complex humanitarian emergency” by international aid workers. as scientific as the term sounds, it is a euphemism for situations in which humanitarian needs are certain and severe, but no one dares say that the solution is the replacement of the regime responsible for causing the crisis. our policy should be focusing on ways of promoting real, long-term change on the peninsula, not throwing money at an unfriendly totalitarian regime. money without reform just leads to recurring hand-outs. the agreed framework is front-loaded to favor pyongyang, and won't guarantee nuclear transparency for another decade or longer, but there are benefits, and the united states should stand behind its commitments in this agreement. we don't, however, have to match north korea's profligacy dollar for dollar in order to do it, and we should monitor our efforts and demand a substantial quid pro quo. i suggest that there are six points that should guide our policy: we need a stronger, more comprehensive joint policy with south korea. bringing the alliance together behind a common strategy must be our first priority. we have to discard the moral equivalence that marked secretary warren christopher's misguided comments last fall after a commando team was delivered by a north korean submarine to swarm across the countryside murdering south korean citizens. secretary albright seems to recognize how damaging her predecessor's comments were, and seems to understand the strategic consequences of such gaffes. nothing is to be gained by seeking favor with the north at the south's expense. we also have to establish at the outset that we base the allied approach on a credible deterrence. we must continue to send a clear, unambiguous signal that any war will lead to the north’s destruction. in spite of the foul rhetoric that characterizes the north’s diplomacy, they recognize the cost of pursuing what they claim to be willing to do forcing reunification through war. they stop short of pursuing their threats because they know they will encounter overwhelming opposition. the consequences of war must always be made clear to them. it can no longer be used as a bargaining chip to get concessions. a major policy goal of the united states should be the reform of north korea's agriculture and economy. that is an objective that we share with china, japan, and south korea. if the regime were not so mesmerized by its own ideological 56 6 propaganda and its desire to stay in power, it would be an objective of north korea as well. we have to realize that throwing money at them without conditions merely makes us feel good and lines the pockets of north korea's elite. china, with its own track record of spectacular agricultural reform -from collectivization to private initiative -is clearly the key. north-south dialogue must be resumed, and should be built on the north-south agreements reached five years ago. two agreements, the reconciliation and denuclearization agreements reached between north and south in 1991 and 1992 serve as the bases of achieving unity, peace and stability on the peninsula. pyongyang balked at implementing these agreements, especially when inspections conducted under the agreements uncovered the fact that pyongyang had produced weaponsgrade nuclear fuel. but the agreements remain as the basis for resumed north-south talks. we should also push for confidence building measures between the north and the south. this can include conventional force reduction under verification and withdrawals of troops from the demilitarized zone, the establishment of hot lines, exchanges of observers, and notifications of exercises. south korea now maintains 90% of the allied forces along the dmz, so the north has plenty of incentive to make this a topic for bilateral north-south talks. within the context of these points, we should proceed with funding for the korean peninsula energy development organization (kedo), the most positive aspect of the agreed framework which the administration signed with north korea in october 1994. we should maintain the organization, live up to our commitments, and use the organization to monitor the north’s compliance with the agreement. we should not focus so closely on the 1994 agreement, however, that we forget north korea's longer standing commitment to allow full challenge inspections by the international atomic energy agency which insists north korea has not lived up to its obligations. secretary albright seems to have passed the first test presented by the crisis on the korean peninsula. she has reaffirmed the primary importance of the alliance and called upon the north to recognize what it needs to do. calling upon north korea to get a grip on its predicament suggests that she is also capable of getting a grip on american policy and improving and strengthening our position on the peninsula. james r. lilley is director of the institute for global chinese affairs at the university of maryland, and an adjunct fellow at the american enterprise institute; he served as assistant secretary of defense for international security affairs, november 1991january 1993; ambassador to china, 1989-1991; and ambassador to the republic of korea, 1986-1989. 57 testimony of roy richard grinker, ph.d. associate professor of anthropology and international affairs the george washington university senior fellow, atlantic council of the united states of america before house committee on international relations subcommittee on asia and the pacific prepared statement february 26, 1997 58 mr. chairman, members of the committee, thank you for the invitation to speak to you today about trends and projections that involve relations between north and south korea. i should note at the outset that my views do not necessarily represent those of my university or the atlantic council. my testimony is based on research i conducted over the past several years. part of the research was federally funded through the united states institute of peace. i also note that, although this hearing is about u.s.-north korean relations, i will speak about both north and south korea. i believe that any policy toward north korea is also, de facto, a policy toward south korea. as an anthropologist, my research addresses the cultural dimensions of a question of profound importance: how can south koreans prepare for korean unification? as one component of the research, i have interviewed many north korean defectors living in seoul and its outskirts in order to develop an understanding of what unified korean society might look like. but i am also concerned with another question, perhaps more , relevant for this committee: how can the united states prepare for korean unification? i will speak first, then, about how bilateral relations between the u.s. and south relate to unification, and second about the lessons we can learn from defectors. 1 if american military and policy analysts are correct in their assessments of the dprk's collapsing economy, koreans in both north and south may soon face dramatic change and stand on the brink of unification. everyone would like to see a smooth transition to peace and unification, but in order to ensure such a transition the u.s. and the rok need to ivordinate policy for unification and mitigate the possibilities for miscommunication. coordination between the united states and south korea is made difficult, however, by a limited amount of research conducted within south korea on 59 unification, and within the united states on the role of the u.s. in unification. moreover, within south korea there is little public discussion of detailed unification issues, and although politicians call unification korea's "paramount goal," they seldom provide details. south korea risks repeating two mistakes made by germany prior to unification: failing to discuss practical and specific dimensions of unification until after it occurs, and ignoring the extent to which half a century of division can produce significant social differences between the two sides of a nation. germans have been fortunate that unification was not accompanied by violence; on the korean peninsula, where south and north are still technically at war, more long-term planning is necessary. planning is especially important because south korea's financial resources are quite limited in comparison to those of the former west germany, and north korea's economy is demonstrably weaker than that of the former east germany. the fact is that korean unification will occur someday because koreans want it to. it is a sacred goal for all koreans, and it is especially important to the millions of people who remain separated from family members and hometowns. but unification could also have profound local, regional and global repercussions. unification is not the end-game. it is a beginning. one approach i would advocate includes u.s. rok policy coordination that will not only help the rok prepare for unification, but will also help the united states make inter-agency preparations for the range of contingencies in this volatile region, including the sudden collapse of the dprk, the status quo, and gradual unification, among others. in both the u.s. and rok, the majority of policy studies on korean issues concern north korea's nuclear buildup and the geneva agreed framework, and do not articulate how the u.s. can achieve a coherent policy toward the korean peninsula or a policy consensus between the u.s. and the rok. this is a special problem today, as south korean-u.s. relations appear increasingly strained. although unification can be considered to be a largely internal korean matter, united states policy has a major, if 60 sometimes unwitting, effect on prospects for unification. events on the peninsula affect u.s. military, political, and economic interests in east asia, and the words and actions of the united states government directly influence north-south relations. i realize that many south koreans have the worthy hope that the u.s. will have little role in economic and security policy in post-unification korea -indeed, unification is often equated with autonomy and independence from the united states. however, the enormous costs and complexities of unification make it inevitable that external help will be needed, even if the help is confined to international financial assistance. a u.s.-rok coordinated policy, not simply a consultative process, will help the two countries integrate their different interests, and might also help the u.s. government to more clearly articulate u.s. goals in northeast asia. the importance of limiting north korea's nuclear buildup is not difficult to explain to the american people; however, the presence of u.s. forces in south korea, especially if they are actively threatened, and the likely cost-sharing necessary in any unification scenario (no matter how soft the landing), requires a more substantial korea policy than is currently available. coordination may also require that the president appoint a special envoy or coordinator so that greater attention is given within the administration to policy coordination, a role that ambassador robert gallucci once played. it is clear that both the united states and south korea have put considerable effort into the push for four-party talks, but at this point there is no single individual or office to which koreans can direct their communications. kedo is currently the only arena in which the u.s., south korea and north korea communicate with one another on a regular basis, but kedo involves a limited number of issues, however important they may be. positions such as special envoys and coordinators are often created in crisis situations. let us have a structure in i place before a crisis occurs. among the other benefits of a coordinated policy is that it would shift american and korean foreign policy perspectives to longer-term security and economic concerns, such 61 as post-unification coordination. specific data, such as defector materials, have to be analyzed not only for what they tell us about north korea but for what they tell us about the integration of south and north korean labor in a unified korea. information on north korea needs to be analyzed not only for evidence of current north korean agricultural losses and impending economic collapse, but to develop strategies for dismantling or preserving different components of the north korean economy. other data from north korea, especially those pertaining to labor, industry, and infrastructure, need to be analyzed in terms of the contribution or harm of a unified economy to south korea, the united states, and korea's asian neighbors. for example, the south korean economy needs to be equipped to deal with north korea's overproduction of heavy machinery, and underproduction of valuable minerals such as anthracite, zinc, and iron ore. longer range policies aimed at ensuring economic prosperity in the region may also require that bilateral u.s.-rok and u.s.-dprk talks be refigured in terms of a multilateral defense policy, thus securing a more flexible defense, greater and more secure access to markets, and at the same time preventing the dprk from excluding the rok from international diplomatic and trade negotiations. another advantage of coordination is that south korea and the united states need to determine their shared and diverging interests, as well as minimize unnecessary distortions. let me give three examples of how the united states' commitment to south korea is interepreted in south korea in a way that diverges from the united states' intentions. all three examples illustrate how many in south korea have come to believe that the united states is content with the status quo of a divided korea. first, south korean scholars and policy makers seldom differentiate between peace and unification because, from the korean perspective, the two are inseparable. it is undoubtedly in the interests of the united states to secure peace in korea, for trade and security reasons, but a divided korea does not necessarily, and under all circumstances, go against u.s. interests. this perspective is often misinterpreted by south korea to mean 62 that the u.s. wants to preserve the status quo. indeed, i believe that this distinction between peace and unification is a potential point of conflict between the united states and south korea. second, united states officials have on a number of occasions attempted to assuage south korean concerns about their future by saying, "you have won. you have achieved more than north korea in every facet of life." again, this statement is easily misinterpreted as the support of the status quo. south korea responds by saying, "if we have won, where is our reward?" by which they mean, the unification of the two koreas that will finally end the war, reunite our families, and give us sovereignty and autonomy. third, there remains considerable potential for miscommunication about that portion of the geneva agreed framework in which north korea agrees to a dialogue with south korea. south koreans with whom i speak are concerned that the united states believes kedo represents a dialogue between south and north korea. statements i have heard off-the-record lead me to share south korea's concern that there is less than adequate clarity in the united states government on the question of whether kedo constitutes a dialogue. from the south korean perspective kedo is not dialogue. unfortunately, "dialogue," as it appears in the agreed framework, is neither specified nor given conditions or timing. moreover, the agreed framework does not link dialogue to any other part of the agreement. 2 let me now address the issue of defectors. they are a model -the only model -for predicting future social problems in a unified korea. despite the presence of about 700 defectors in the south, whose travails suggest some of the social problems facing a unified korea, almost nothing has been published in the korean language about their adjustment to the south. few scholars address the social and 63 cultural differences between north and south koreans. the reason for this absence of research is that differences between north and south korean people are usually attributed only to the north korean state. south koreans therefore know very little about the lives of the north korean people. the conventional wisdom -wrong in my view -is that north koreans remain frozen by communism and the north korean state. according to this perspective, when the state dissolves, north koreans will thaw out and emerge as true koreans -to some extent even more pure in their korean identity than many of the south koreans, who feel that they have been corrupted by westernization. in other words, unification is largely conceived in south korea as the assimilation or absorption of north koreans into south korea. south koreans who speak and write about unification expect unifomity and homogeneity if not in the immediate future than within a limited number of years. cultural differences are glossed only in negative terms, as there is no positive conception of diversity or plurality in south korea. although the south korean government has recently abandoned the frequent use of the korean term for "unification by absorption," this remains the dominant hope in south korea, and the defectors i know tell me that north koreans in north korea are uncomfortably aware of this expection. defectors are important to study for two reasons. first, they can provide valuable information about north korea. my personal opinion, however, is that the most valuable information they provide concerns the potential integraton of north and south korean society, rather than the north korean leadership. i base this opinion, in part, on the fact that most defectors have not lived in the innermost circles of north korean politics, and so actually know very little about the north korean leadership. second, defectors are the only tangible evidence we have for potential social and economic conflict within a unified korea. both korcus continue to perpetuate a myth of sameness that cannot be reconciled with more than fifty years of division., and the defectors are a good model for predicting that the myth will not become a reality. 64 another reason why the defectors have been seldom analyzed for what they tell us about the future is that current unification scenarios are lacking in an important respect: they are all founded on the premise that unification itself is the endgame, with little or no attention paid to the consequences. indeed, few korean scholars or policy makers study unification as a point of origin, or as a process that requires planning for the long term. even helmut kohl's administration in west germany, which framed german unification strictly in material terms, did not foresee the widespread costs, and dissatisfaction with unification. although early in his administration president kim young sam ordered several government agencies to analyze social aspects of unification, they have not cooperated with one another, and their results are unavailable for government or public discussion. the central conundrum about unification in all of these discourses today is that unification prospects are associated primarily with the future of the north korean economy, and are not linked to social issues; it goes something like this: if north korea is made more economically healthy, then unification is less likely; yet, if the north korean economy collapses, then unification is more likely to occur but with devastating economic effects. korea's myth of homogeneity cannot be reconciled with real social, economic, and political differences that will produce costs, whatever the peace dividend. the range of possibilities for social conflict and discrimination, massive unemployment, revenge attacks, political strife, and economic crisis, is staggering. if there is a massive movement of people from north to south, what will south korea want the united states to do? if there is a massive movement of north koreans into china, what will china do at its border? another question that needs to be considered is how the north and south can be integrated socially and economically when there are so many ticavages, such as between the southeast and southwest, within south korea itself. these cleavages are exacerbated ? by the absence of a concept of diversity or plurality in korea. because there is little 65 interest in or acknowledgement of diversity, some of the most important questions about korea's future are impossible to ask: how are south and north koreans different? and how will these differences express themselves in a unified korea? 3 most of the defectors with whom i am familiar are not doing well in south korea. in addition to feeling isolated, they feel they are discriminated against, especially in relation to other defectors. some believe they are treated less well than foreign guest workers. many are distressed by what they perceive to be a general south korean view that nothing in north korea is worth preserving. when they do not achieve economic success they become anxious that they have nothing to show their north korean relatives in the future for the pain they caused through their defection. they are accused in south korea of having no sense of loyalty to family. and of course, even raising families and thinking about families is quite different in north and south. north koreans do not keep genealogies or worship ancestors as south koreans do; south koreans do not have the t'akase or day care centers that north koreans have. having lived only in a communist regime that made so many decisions for them, the defectors are beleagured by the everyday choices they confront. they have a hard time reading korean newspapers because they never learned to read chinese characters. many find it difficult if not impossible to marry, they suffer guilt about the plight of the families they left behind and have few friends; about half are unemployed. they are angry that the south korean government will not give them a role in shaping unification policy or beginning a dialogue on the social dimensions of unification. they are often fearful that they will become the objects of revenge attacks committed by south koreans. ironically, in the wake of the assassination attempt against the defector yi han yong, the defectors now appear more fearful of attacks by north koreans. 66 what also becomes clear in my work is that defectors are simultaneously loyal to south korea and yet proudly tied to the north. after all, even south koreans who are descended from northern hometowns feel themselves connected forever to the north -not, of course, as a different country, but as a place of origin. this was brought home to me by a defector who said, "i guarantee you there is no defector in south korea who did not weep when kim il sung died." it would be a mistake to assume that north korean defectors will ever be replicas of south koreans, any more than one would assume that poor and rich south koreans, male and female south koreans, south koreans from the southwest and from the southeast are identical to one another. i hope that north koreans who come to south korea will be treated in a way that does not discard the 50 year history of nearly 30 million north koreans in monolithic terms as evil or wrong, and does not simply denigrate north koreans as simple, brainwashed followers of a political cult. south koreans have begun a discourse on the north korean people. footage from north korean news broadcasts is now aired, middle school textbooks now approach the topic of difference and are in fact critical of the pejorative term ichilgam (sense of cultural difference), and specifically different attitudes towards work, and just a few months ago on television, two koreans, one a north korean defector and the other a south korean comedian (both, incidentally, named kim yong), performed a stand-up comedy routine about their cultural differences. it remains a significant problem that all north korean magazines, newspapers, films, etc. remain classified. north koreans can help make korea a greater political and economic power, but the chances for success are much less, and the chances of social and economic disaster much greater, if the south does not begin to talk about the north korean people, and offer a plural society in which they can one day live. 67 danger and opportunity on the korean peninsula: challenges to u.s. policy testimony of robert a. manning senior fellow progressive policy institute before the house of representatives committee on international relations subcommittee on asian and pacific affairs february 26, 1997 68 introduction mr. chairman, members of the committee, i am grateful for the opportunity to appear here today. i want to commend the committee for focusing this timely hearing on the korean predicament. it is difficult to disagree with former assistant secretary of state winston lord's assessment that the korea problem is,"perhaps the most urgent security challenge facing the administration anywhere in the world." recent events—from the north korean submarine incursion into south korea last september, to the recent defection of hwang jang-yop, the highest ranking north korean official ever to do so, and most immediately, the looming specter of widespread famine all underscore the volatility of the situation in korea. it is difficult to overstate the risk to american lives and interests and those of our south korean allies posed by the heavily-armed standoff in korea. one must hope that president clinton's new foreign policy team devotes the amount of sustained top-level attention to managing the inevitable transformation of the korean peninsula which it merits. it should be a top national security priority. a scenario of either desperate explosion or implosion in north korea involving military conflict would have an enormous impact on the u.s. position in east asia, a "korea shock" which could well alter the geopolitical equation in the asia-pacific. mr.chairman, i believe we may be approaching a turning point in korea, a moment of perhaps of heightening danger but also of new opportunity. i say this based not on the idea that the collapse of north korea is necessarily near, but on the premise that desperation tends to focus the mind. and in a word, desperation may best characterize the opaque regime in pyongyang. pyongyang's willingness to attend the us-rok joint briefing in new york next week and its consideration of participating in broader four party talks are a measure of what might be termed necessity as the mother of cooperation. for this reason, i would to take the opportunity here to outline what i think are common misperceptions about north korea and its behavior. i will also touch on what i view as inconsistencies in american policy, and suggest approaches for u.s. policy which may offer the best chance of success. there are some fundamental questions that should be 69 examined: how is it that this pathetic stalinist dinosaur has been able to control the diplomatic agenda in recent years? why do we have an economic embargo against the dprk which prevents them from selling goods to buy food, even as they are one of the largest recipients of u.s. aid in east asia? do we want to engage and open up north korea or isolate it and squeeze it until it breaks? is the dprk a partner in non-proliferation or a rogue state? current issues let at the outset touch on one pressing issue of the day that reveals much about the desperate situation in north korea and much that is troubling about our dealings with pyongyang: emergency food aid. there is little doubt that thousands of north koreans face starvation in coming months, as the recent un appeal suggests. this is in part the result shortages from two years of horrible floods, but also reflects the larger problem of a failing totalitarian state whose economy, and particularly whose agricultural sector, is in shambles. beyond the 1.8 million ton grain shortage north korea faces this year, it faces shortages of at least 1.2 million tons a year for the next several years. the issue is not just an emergency now. after six consecutive years of negative growth which has contracted its economy by some 30%, there is a longer-term dilemma of how to deal with a failing state that threatens vital american interests. america has a noble tradition of humanitarian compassion. but unlike starving angolans and sudanese whom we fed, north korea literally has a gun at our head even as it begs for relief. moreover, given the persistent and growing needs of north korea, where do we draw the line? after all, the same north korean system which threatens american troops and our south korean allies is also responsible for the tragic situation facing thousands of its people. indeed, my information is that despite looming mass starvation, pyongyang has this year stepped up its military operations, choosing guns over butter. one lesson that should have been learned from our recent experience in somalia is that there is rarely a purely humanitarian issue. while the immediate situation may warrant emergency food shipments, the u.s., south korea and japan should place the food issue in a larger framework of policy towards north 70 korea before delivering any massive food transfers. japan has large rice surpluses which are more expensive to store than to donate, and seoul has also hinted that it would consider providing large-scale food aid under certain circumstances. in sum, this food question underscores the need for a more comprehensive approach to the korea problem. until very recently, policy has been focussed on—if not defined by—the issue of north korea's nuclear weapons program. the move toward four party (u.s., china, south korea, north korea) talks, though still vague of purpose, offers the prospect of embedding the agreed framework in a larger policy designed to reduce the north korean military threat and foster north-south reconciliation, while regaining control of the diplomatic agenda. assessing the nuclear accord let me also briefly comment on the october 1994 agreed framework which has shut down north korea's known nuclear weapons program. this first ever deal between the us and north korea has been viewed skeptically by many in congress. i believe this is an understandable consequence resulting from the character of the totalitarian regime in pyongyang, less than ideal consultation by the administration, and the absence of a larger strategy to deal with the conventional military threat from the north. the nuclear issue is but one aspect of a larger korea problem. but the risk both to the non-proliferation regime and to regional security of a dprk with an on-going nuclear program, one that three years ago was on the verge of expanding, is substantially grave that the nuclear accord should stand or fall on its own merits. on its own terms, the nuclear accord has been largely successful. the north korean nuclear program has been frozen. the fuel rods from the reactor core which it had removed, with enough plutonium for 3-4 bombs, have been canned. the korean energy development corporation (kedo), ably directed by ambassador steve bosworth and his team, have negotiated detailed arrangements to begin constructing two light water reactors (lwrs) in north korea. pyongyang has generally cooperated, allowing us officials wide access to its nuclear site at yongbyon. there has even been a significant amount of dialogue between north and south korean officials within the kedo process. moreover, as the principal channel for diplomacy between the us, south korea and north korea, and as the source of 71 500,000 tons of heavy oil annually, north korean officials appear to display a sense of investment in the nuclear accord. nonetheless, implementation has thus far not been problem free. negotiating the detailed agreements and protocols for the massive $5-$6 billion lwr project have been tortuous. moreover, the international atomic energy agency (iaea) has complained that north korea has given less than full cooperation in preserving its past nuclear activities. this may have created new difficulties for iaea efforts to determine the dprk's true nuclear history at the point in implementation of the accord three or four years hence when full compliance with iaea obligations is required for delivery of critical nuclear components. this will also be a prerequisite for a u.s.-north korean nuclear cooperation accord to allow american companies to participate in the lwr project. compliance by both sides in regard to the non-nuclear aspects of the accord has been sorely lacking: pyongyang has not pursued north-south dialogue, and the u.s. has neither substantially loosened or lifted the trade embargo nor opened a liaison office in pyongyang. on balance, however imperfect, the nuclear accord appears to be achieving its basic purpose, and i would urge congress to appropriate the roughly $25-million for heavy oil to meet u.s. obligations. failure to meet our end of the bargain would likely have a spiral effect in seoul and tokyo, who bear the lion's share of the burden, some $3.5 billion and $1 billion, respectively. the accord could easily unravel, and remove what relative stake north korea has in cooperation, which despite periodic provocations and mini-crises has, again, in relative terms, provided a modicum of crisis stability. beyond the nuclear issue the problem is less with the agreed framework than the inability thus far of both seoul and washington to build on the accord and create an incentive structure to reduce the north korean conventional military threat and place north-south reconciliation at the center of diplomacy. indeed, even north korea's statement of regret issued new year's week was done via u.s. mediation with no direct contact with south korea. it must be said that in light of the chronic problems facing north korea as a dilapidated economy and anachronistic totalitarian state, it is possible that no policy, however well-conceived and well-executed may 72 succeed in saving north korea from itself. without question, a world without north korea would be desirable. but the risk that pyongyang would not go quietly into the night as did the east german regime, but would engage in at least "sue for peace" military action suggests that it would be less than responsible stewardship of the national interest not to actively pursue diplomatic efforts at gaining a "soft landing" and gradual reunification process, so long as such efforts are underpinned by credible deterrence. indeed, the logic of the nuclear deal was in essence, a quid pro quo: pyongyang would trade its ultimate insurance policy, its nuclear weapons program, for a new economic and political engagement with the u.s., south korea and japan. it suggested, in effect, the first phase of a bail-out for a failing state. the implicit premises of the deal were: on the north korean side, it needed economic aid, trade and investment to revive its moribund economy as key to its survival; and on the us-rok-japan side, the desire to avoid both a war or a collapse and achieve a 'soft landing and gradual reunification process drove a logic of magnanimity. the implicit assumption of the nuclear deal was that it would serve to catalyze the broader possibilities of multi-faceted economic and political engagement of pyongyang with the international community. there should be a valuable lesson about dealing with north korea from the nuclear accord. starting from the reality of credible u.s. deterrence ruling out force as a viable option, when a package was put on the table which took into account legitimate north korean concerns, however convoluted the process, they did respond positively life after the agreed framework yet as the agreed framework has unfolded, it does not thus far, appear to be following such a script. the underlying premise -that pyongyang viewed an opening of its economy to foreign investment aid and trade as the least bad choice of a menu of unappealing options—now appears highly problematic. unlike china and vietnam -and even less so than cuba -north korea has only experimented at the margins with economic opening. it has thus far sought to limit such involvement to isolated locales, particularly rajin-sonbong in the far northeast corner of the country, around which it has built a barbed wire fence symbolizing its larger fears of a trojan horse in its midst. it has not embarked on internal market reforms comparable to either china or vietnam. it appears that the north korean elite knows that its 73 system is broken, but does not know how to fix it without taking unacceptable risks to its hold on power. put another way, pyongyang is aware that our incentives may be poison apples, and is reluctant to take a large bite. thus the north seeks to open up only at the margins, willing to take only minimal risk to its political system and obtain all investment and aid possible, but only on its terms. this appears a kind of "muddle through" strategy. the challenge is whether any incentives can persuade pyongyang that taking such a risk is the least bad choice it faces. similarly, on the u.s. and south korean side, policies designed to put north korea on life support have not been systematically pursued. if our goal is to open up the north, why have an embargo? this is at bottom, the result of north korean behavior and the residue of four decades of confrontation. seoul has allowed only modest and tightly controlled business involvement with the dprk. north korea's strategy of forging a strategic relationship with the u.s. and a lack of clear direction in south korean policy has made it difficult for any genuine north-south reconciliation to occur. under pressure from a reasonably skeptical congress suspicious of the agreed framework and from seoul to go slow, clinton administration efforts to move towards more normal economic and political relations have thus far been minimal. u.s. policy into 1997 has been limited to a narrow interpretation of the agreed framework, essentially little beyond organizing the korean energy development organization (kedo) and the supply of heavy oil to north korea. apart from $10 million in emergency food aid and an easing of restrictions on ngos to engage in humanitarian activities in north korea, little movement has occurred. there has not been any substantial easing of the trade embargo against north korea, nor has pyongyang been removed from the list of nations supporting terrorism, and the exchange of liaison offices promised in the nuclear accord has bogged down in diplomatic detail. at the same time, north korea's economy continues to deteriorate. since 1991, north korea's downward economic spiral has continued with few signs of positive economic trends. devastating floods in 1995 and 1996 not only resulted in a 1.2 million ton grain shortage, according to the un food program, but caused long-term structural damage to food-growing areas. north korea will face a similar shortfall in 1997 and probably for the rest of this 74 century. there are increased reports of major factories shut down or operating at low capacity as well as frequent power outages, a deteriorating infrastructure and a breakdown in its centralized system as regions and factories with anything to sell have been allowed to try and barter their goods for food at the chinese border. i would add here parenthetically that china last year appeared to have made a strategic decision to renew political, economic and military ties to pyongyang, including as much as 500,000 tons of food aid. beijing's desire to defer if not avoid instability, potential refugee flows, and a democratic, free market unified korea allied to the united states on its border helps explain such a choice. preparing for the endgame: soft landing or implosion? the danger is that unlike east germany, north korea may not go quietly. seoul, washington or tokyo have only recently begun to prepare for any sudden change in the status quo. episodic discord over the issue of humanitarian food aid highlights the difficulty in coordinating policies. and regardless of any initiatives, at the end of the day, there is no guarantee that north korea's future can be decided by external actors. while there is widespread international consensus that a soft landing and gradual reunification process is the preferred outcome, it appears increasingly difficult to obtain. in the optimal scenario, reunification would be a multi-stage process, beginning with modest confidence building measures and an emphasis on economic cooperation. the december 1991 north-south agreement on reconciliation and cooperation offers a more than adequate framework for such a process, with various joint commissions overseeing each realm of interaction. accelerated economic activity along with social and political interchange such as exchanges of divided families, mail and phone communication would occur in the initial phases. in the military realm, agreements on a hotline, notification of exercises, and a talks on a pull back of troops and artillery to an agreed distance from the dmz might be an initial phase of csbms. the larger question of a major reduction of conventional forces, perhaps modeled on the experience of the conventional forces in europe (cfe) would be substantially more difficult. such an arms reduction process would be more likely to begin in a way that could make progress in a second phase of this reconciliation process. 75 similarly, in the areas of economic, social/cultural and political a first phase which one can consider beginning in 1991 and lasting for perhaps another 1-2 years would include initial tentative movement. seoul, as it appears poised to do, could raise the $5 million limit on direct investment. seoul and pyongyang might agree to request a korean reconstruction fund be created as a window in either the world bank or asian development bank. initial cultural exchanges—sports, dance, arts, film—might occur. efforts to allow pyongyang to host some of the 2002 world cup events might also be of symbolic value. in the second phase, there would essentially be qualitatively and quantitatively, more of the same. more economic involvement, more social/cultural exchanges, wider contact and progress on confidence building measures and arms reductions. the assumption here is that this process would produce enough tangible benefits to strengthen the pyongyang regime such that any dangers to it from the shattering of social myths would be offset by the material progress resulting from its opening. this might then provide a new sense of legitimacy by performance, enabling the regime to, in effect, forge a new social contract based on the concrete benefits to north koreans everyday life and a looser authoritarianism by the state. this is roughly what has occurred in china, and to a lesser degree, in vietnam. the third stage would be one variation or another of the confederal models which have been proposed by pyongyang, seoul (and by opposition leader kim dae jung). broadly it would be a version of a "one country, two systems" model. again, the premise here is that the dprk economy is revived sufficiently to sustain north korea as a functioning entity. discussion of the details of the various confederation proposals is beyond the scope of this paper. but initially it would permit both korea to maintain their respective political systems and military forces, gradually moving towards unifying them. perhaps an inter-korean parliament which might over time merge with the north and south's respective legislatures there would initially be the outward symbols of unification, one national flag, one olympic team, one asian games team,etc. at a latter point in this stage, there might be a merger of foreign embassies and joint diplomatic representation.. how probable is such a best-case scenario? it is difficult to gauge, but judging from the reluctance of pyongyang to pursue wider economic openings, internal market-oriented 76 reforms and even things such as family exchanges, it appears that the fear of not being able to control any opening up is a significant,and perhaps insurmountable impediment. while there are signs of incremental change, and certainly a new openness to foreign investment and trade, the regime's behavior suggests that it believes the extreme closed nature of north korean society is viewed as key to its rule. the question would be whether it has or can reach a state in which the benefits of pursuing such a strategy would be outweighed by the risks of implosion? while this is not impossible, it is difficult to view it as highly probably unless there is a rapid and radical change in pyongyang's economic policies, both domestic and international. the structure of the dprk economy bears more resemblance to the industrial economies of communist eastern europe than to china and vietnam. thus would likely require "shock treatment" to resuscitate its moribund economy. this would be even more difficult to achieve than the type of initial reforms which china or vietnam have implemented and would almost certainly have dire political consequences for the ruling elite in pyongyang. thus, it is possible that the regime might offer "too little, too late," to turn its situation around. to achieve a soft landing requires above all, a level of comfort and trust between north and south korea that is difficult to imagine at present. behind pyongyang's resistance to serious north-south reconciliation is a problem of legitimacy. if the north abandons its confucian-leninist ways, or more precisely "kim il sungism," what is the basis of legitimacy of the north korean state. certainly not performance. to overcome this problem requires a psychological transformation beyond the "zerosum" psychology of the past four decades. in short, it would require the rok to become a "good winner" and the north to be a "good loser." the us and rok must find a way to assuage the dprk fear of absorption. if that is possible than a soft landing either under the scenario described above, or by a form of "peaceful implosion," a variant of what occurred in places such as german y or romania might theoretically be possible. but such an outcome means, as winston churchill advised half a century ago, "in victory, magnanimity." what is to be done? 77 as a practical matter, the us and rok need to transform the dynamics of diplomacy with the dprk. the absence of a clear sense of strategic direction has made it easier for the north to set the agenda. it makes no sense for a desperate failing state to be calling the shots. this is in part because it has a clear strategy: forge a strategic relationship with the us as a kind of security blanket or buffer against absorption from the south. one reason we go through the continuing cycles of crisis is because structurally this strategy can not work, the us will not trade the rok for north korea. yet it continues to create deep strains in the usrok alliance. moreover, the lack of a clear sense of direction in u.s. diplomacy, a sense of what the endgame is, tempts pyongyang to take provocative actions, to shake the tree, if you will, and see what falls down. there is a compelling need for a sort of roadmap, a coordinated gameplan between the us and rok, and then with japan. such an approach was successful in creating a confidence-building process which led to normalizatison of relations with vietnam—even though hanoi never formally accepted the idea. this means creating an incentive structure such that there are reciprocal steps taken by the dprk and by the us-rok-japan. the broad trade-off is security for economics. the u.s. goal should be to reduce the north korean military threat--artillery, scuds, chemical weapons, and ultimately, major conventional force reductions. if the military threat is neutralized, the urgency of the problem diminishes sharply. in return, the us-rok-japan would at each step provide various blandishments: lifting the us trade embargo, some level of rok and japanese investment and/or aid. the four party talks or an alternate multilateral framework would be an appropriate forum for such a political process. one notional step might be "norms for norms." that is to say, in exchange for north korean compliance with the mtcr, accession to cwc, and biological weapons treaty the us would lift the embargo, the dprk could join the world bank and asian development bank, perhaps apec. a korean reconstruction window at the world bank could be opened focused on economic reform of both industry and agriculture and to which europe and japan could contribute. failure to embark on such a larger strategy in which to embed the nuclear accord will likely mean it will not be sustainable. growing pressures from the congress, korean national 78 assembly and japanese diet continue to put kedo at risk. north korea will balk and likely provoke mini-crises. this leads to another, and perhaps more likely scenario, an implosion. this is a collapse resulting from internal social and political convulsions. there are at least two variations on this theme, a collapse of regime and a collapse of total state authority. both could grow out of failed efforts by pyongyang to achieve a soft landing. either could evolve а over the next 2-5 years if we continue in the current incremental "muddle through" mode. contingency planning notwithstanding a historical pragmatic "can do" tendency in american thinking, the reality is that not all problems have good solutions. at the end of the day, one can not save a failing state from itself. even the best policy, adroitly implemented, can only create political circumstances which make it as easy as possible for pyongyang to make the desired choices. certainly four decades of confrontation can not simply be erased from korean or american minds by policy decree. this suggests a compelling need for accelerated and more in-depth policy coordination and contingency planning. one problem on the american side is that korea has been treated as a second-tier issue. there is no surfeit of asia hands in senior policy-making positions in the administration. the issue has not received sustained week-to-week high-level attention necessary to manage the korean peninsula commensurate with the geostrategic stake for us interests in the pacific. witness the freelance diplomacy done at various points—however positive the results—by former president carter, and then congressman bill richardson. is this the best way to conduct foreign policy? the new clinton administration would be well advised to appoint a special ambassador, an equivalent of dennis ross's role in the middle east, for the korean peninsula, a person of prominence with bipartisan credibility and stature in the region, who answered directly to the president and secretary of state. this is more likely facilitate better policy management and less misunderstanding and tension between the us and rok as well as better coordination with surrounding major powers (china, japan, russia). there is precedent here. in 1994, the president elevated senior negotiator robert l. galucci to the title of special coordinator, reporting directly to the president. when galucci 79 left the government, no equivalent role was designated in the state department. moreover, if the four party negotiating process begins in earnest, it would be extremely demanding for the assistant secretary for east asia and pacific affairs to manage the process as well as the rest of their portfolio. it would be wise to appoint a special negotiator for such talks, one carefully selected in consultation with congress. the us and rok must have a candid dialogue about what strategic choice to pursue: either squeeze the dprk until it collapses or a strategy designed to put the dprk on life support. thus far, we have in essence been doing both at the same time. one partial explanation for what we perceive as erratic north korean behavior may be a lack of clarity of purpose on our part. the u.s. and south korea owe north korea the answer to some core questions: precisely what behavior do we want from north korea, and what price are we collectively prepared to pay we get it? there is little evidence that either washington or seoul have a considered response to those questions. a if the proposed multilateral talks do occur, there is some question as to whether a peace treaty with north korea is in the interests of washington and seoul. if such a treaty is merely a paper commitment it could well be counterproductive. if by a peace treaty we mean revising the armistice agreement, and signing a treaty at the end of a process of radical conventional force reductions, then perhaps a grand bargain providing economic blandishments and security assurances as a quid pro quo for major reductions in the military threat is worth pursuing. at the same time, contingency planning for massive refugee flows should be quietly pursued in discussions with japan and china, and russia. this is the immediate contingency problem. at the same time, planning for the initial steps in picking up the pieces in the event of implosion must be very quietly, but candidly discussed: is it simply an internal korean affair? does seoul want or need international help, financial or otherwise in the reunification process? failure to step up to these sorts of questions will likely result in attenuation of the us-rok alliance at the expense of both korean and american interests, and perhaps even the stability of northeast asia.. 80 jay kin congressman jay kim february 26, 1997 asia/pacific subcommittee opening statement i am very pleased that we are here today to discuss the timely issue of u.s. policy toward north korea. north korea is one of the world's last true communist states -isolated in a region of the world where explosive free market economies are the order of the day. the communist regime in pyongyang continues to rule its people with an iron fist. finally, however, we are starting to see signs of fissure from within the current north korea, symbolized by the defection of the ideological father of north korean communism. the current famine in north korea appears to be reaching epidemic proportions. one report has the amount of food per person at barely one half of the amount in ethiopia during their famines of the 80s. after many years of isolation, a combination of eroding support from the former soviet union and china, as well as two years of floods, have forced north korea to enagage the international community in order to feed its citizens. this engagement provides the united states a chance to finally bring the north koreans to the bargaining table on a number of important issues, including nuclear weapons proliferation, north-south peace and international arms sales. the current geopolitical climate provides the administration a unique opportunity to achieve some of our long-held goals in dealing with the north. we have tried for a long time to maneuver the north to the bargaining table to hold talks with both us and the south, i hope the administration can take advantage of this opportunity and finally succeed in achieving some of our policy goals. most importantly we need to bring pressure on the north to sit down and talk with the south and to negotiate a permanent peace and once and for all bring an end to the 40plus years of hostilities along the dmz. 81 statement chairman benjamin a. gilman subcommittee on asia and pacific “engaging the hermit kingdom: us policy towards north korea” 26 february 1996 1:30 pm mr. chairman, thank you for calling this timely and important hearing on north korea and allowing me to say a few words. as you are all aware, much has transpired recently on the korean peninsula and it is important that we avail ourselves and the public of the significance of these events. this panel of esteemed experts will clearly shed much light on a very difficult subject. i thank all of you for your willingness to appear before us today. the korean peninsula and its security is of vital importance to the national security of the united states, our south korean allies and to east asia. many consider the korean peninsula to be one of the most volatile places on earth--most of this can be 82 attributed to the totalitarian regime in north korea. from the grounding of a north korean submarine off the coast of south korea in september --to the agreed framework-to the four party talks-to the world food program's appeal for famine relief, the united states is increasingly involved with the reclusive regime in pyongyang. and as we observe the ending of the three year mourning period of kim il sung's death this year and the anticipated official ascendancy of his son kim jong ii, it is judicious and prudent that we pause and review our relations with north korea and plan a strategy for the future which will lead to a peaceful, democratic and reunited korean peninsula. this hearing is certainly a step in that direction. mr. chairman, thank you again for holding this hearing and for the continued excellent work you and your staff do on the asia-pacific subcommittee. thank you. 90000 penn state university libraries isbn 0-16-055902-2 9 "780160"559020 a000031632485 89 253 ity library 1 067178747 fibrary of nov tam tvm dei sub numine viget princeton university. annie rhodes gulick and alexander reading gulick memorial fund the victim of intolerance, &c. the victim of intolerance; or, the hermit of killarney. a catholic tale. by robert torrens, major in the royal marines, ** he was for ever beating himself against the bars of his cage; and such is the power of passion over reason, that neither the exercise of his penetrating and vigorous understanding, nor the experience of constant failures, were sufficient to prevent him from wasting his strength in an idle endeavour to pass the magic circle which law and custom had drawn around him.'' vol. ii. · london: printed for gale, curtis, and fenner, paternoster-row, 2 1814. w. flint, printer, old bailey, londoa. the victim of intolerance, &c. chap. i. no ? came over frederick russel, the father of julia, is the lineal descendant of one of the english adventurers, who, in the reign of henry the second, to ireland under earl strongbow. heir to considerable possessions, he was exempt from the necessity of following a profession; adhering to the religion of the state, he was subject to none of those exclusions which affected his fellow sub. vol. ii. on yang paalinly ece 2.in es7012 2 , eras victim of intolerancejects of other persuasions, and was permitted to exercise his genius uncontrolled. at an early age he entered upon public life. his first election, which was sharply contested, had nearly exhausted all the money which could be raised on an entailed and involved estate, when an elderly lady, a friend of his father's, advanced the sums necessary to continue the poll, and thus obtained for him the great object of his ambition, the representation of his native county. he attached himself zealously to the irish whigs; but his marriage, which took place about this time, is to us more interesting than his political connexions, and we must go back a little to trace the circumstances which led to it a novel se. early in life, a tender and romantic attachment was formed between the elder mr. russel, and the beautiful louisa, the lady by whose assistance frederick's election was cured. a train of the most calamitous events prevented their union. severe and inflexible, the father of louisa had promised her to another; and, deaf to her entreaties, and unmoved by her tears, he sternly commanded, that she should accept for a husband the person he had chosen. she had refused to comply, and for her disobedience, was confined in a distant and hitherto uninhabited part of the mansion, in which the family resided. for many months louisa remained a prisoner in her father's house, b 9 4 victim of intolerance, preferring the horrors of solitary confinement to the arms of a man she could not love. at length the stern heart of her father appeared to relent; he unbarred the door of her prison-house, and suffered her once more to walk at large, and breathe the air of liberty, rendered by novelty more sweet. she now wandered fondly through the scenes, which had cheared her in happier days; she renewed her acquaintance with every tree and every flower, and viewed, with the feelings of a friend, each ob. ject that reminded her of past felicity. one evening when a sweetly melan. choly reverie rendered her inattentive to the succession of space and time, she strayed a considerable distance from home, and encountered, by accident, the object of her heart's 1 a novel. 3 regard. the meeting was delightful. each poured into the bosom of the other the treasured tenderness of a long long absence. mr. russel, in all the eloquence of devoted passion, urged an elopement and clandestine marriage. at that moment of wildered feeling, of melting tenderness, she was unable to say no to the beloved of her heart : yet a sense of duty still weighed upon her mind; she hesitated, she requested time for consideration. this was granted ; they separated, promising to meet each other the next evening, on the same spot, and at the same hour. no sooner was she alone than loui. sa began to reflect on theimpropriety of an elopement, and to condemn herself for not having given the clandestine 6 victim of intolerance, union, proposed by her admirer, a decisive, and prompt denial. though her father had been harsh and tyrannical, she could not consider herself as absolved from the duties of a child; though she had refused to accept a husband, at his dictation, she did not feel herself justified in marrying contrary to his commands. at the appointed hour she went to the appointed place, not to concert the means of escape, but to make known her determination never to consent to a clandestine marriage. as she approached the place of meeting, louisa perceived through the gloom of evening two men crouching in a thicket beside the path she had to pass. they were armed; she heard them say to one another-" it is she, a novel. 7 let us be resolute, and the business will be soon dispatched.” terrified at these mysterious words, louisa at. tempted to fly; but the villains, with the suddenness of lightning, leaped from their lurking place and seized her. in accents indistinct from horror, she pleaded for compassion. they desired her not to be alarmed, and declaring that they would execute their purpose with all possible decorum, hurried her into a lanę, and from that to the high road, where a chaise and four were waiting. they forced her into it, and after they had mounted their horses, which were also in readiness, the whole went off at full speed. events so sudden and unaccount. able deprived louisa of the power of $ victim of intolerance, >> recollection, and she sat in a kind of wildered and waking dream, while she rapidly receded from her father's house. a length she recollected herself, and starting from her stupor she exclaimed, “ good heavens, what can all this mean! why am i hurried from my home? where am i going ? she looked wildly round, and, for the first time, discovered that she had a companion in the carriage. more terrified than ever, she shrunk back upon the seat, until the moon, which now shed its pale and sickly light upon the world, relieved her from the thick coming fancies of nameless horror, by enabling her to ascertain that this companion was a female. freed from the immediate apprehension of the worst of evils, louisa a novel. 9 now ventured to address her unknown associate, and to supplicate that the mysterious adventures of the night might be explained.“ bless'us,” replied a voice harsh by nature, and querulous , “ how squeamish and timorous young women have now-a-days become. i can remember the time when a lady did not think it such a desperate misfortune, to be run away with, by a man who loved her.” from age, “run away with ; for what purpose, and by whom am i run away with ?” perhaps you can guess for what purpose girls are generally run away with ; and, as for the person, if you are not sufficiently acquainted with him at present, you will by and by. for my part, i know nothing of the business, except that the steward, b5 10 victim op intolerance, 1 when he ordered me to attend, told me, as a great secret, that a sweet young lady had agreed to meet master at nine o'clock to night, and to run off with him; that master, knowing you to be timorous and wavering, had prepared every thing to force you away, in case you should change your mind; he himself gallopping off, to get an old mansion that is on his estate ready for the performance of the marriage ceremony, while two friends, who volunteered their services on the occasion, engaged to meet you in his stead, and, willing or not willing, to bring you after him. so, my lady, it is foolish for you to distress yourself after this manner. you will soon be the wife of a worthy gentleman, and as you will be forced into the marriage, your father cannot a novel. $ 11 be displeased with you, and will give you a fortune to clear off the incumbrances on the estate, and enable us all to live as the family did in former days.” as her companion spoke louisa concluded, that mr. russel, doubtful of being able to obtain her consent to a clandestine union, had taken the desperate resolution of carrying her off by force. indignation took possession of her soul. she exclaimed, “ he has forfeited my esteem, he has torn himself for ever from my heart.-after this treatment his wife i will never be.' 66 “ some hours hence," returned the old woman, you will think differently. i was run away with myself, 12 victim of intolerance, and know how women feel and act on such occasions. it is just now fiftyone years since i was a smart country lass in the county of tipperary. my father had a snug little farm, and, as i was an only child, the neighbours thought i should have a fortune. so terrence mahoney, as clever a lad as ever handled an oak stick, made love to me. my father, who wanted to make a gentlewoman of me, would not consent. terrence cared little for that. one dark night he came about twelve o'clock at the head of fifty boys, broke into our house, tied my father neck and heels, and carried me off to the mountains. by the time he had had me in his possession a week, i began to love him, and thought i might as well make an honest wo. man of myself. so the priest was sent + a novel. 13 1 1 1 for and we were married. my father knowing that i could not help what had happened, was glad to get his child back again, and forgave terrence for my sake. we lived happily together for thirty years ; our sons were the finest fellows in all the county, and the brave boys got rich wives, as their father did before them. god rest his soul! i wish he was now alive, and that we were both young again, that he might run off with me once more !” this discourse produced some alteration in the mind of louisa. the first burst of indignation began to subside, and such was her entire esteem, her devoted attachment to mr. russel, that notwithstanding the violence she had suffered, she could 14 victim of intolerance, scarcely believe it compatible with his nature to treat a woman injuriously. she suspected, that, for the distressing occurrences of the night, she must have been herself partly to blame; she recalled the conversation of the preceding evening, and searched the records of her memory, believing that, unintentionally, she must have let fall some expression authorising her lover to adopt the violent measures, which she condemned. at length she almost ceased to condemn him. she reflected on the unalterable happiness of living with the man she loved, and her heart half thanked him for compelling her into measures, which a sense of duty would not have suffered her voluntarily to adopt. while louisa thus balanced bea novel, 15. tween tenderness and anger the carriage suddenly stopped, the door in an instant was thrown open, and she was led through gothic, half ruined passages to a spacious and brilliantly illuminated chamber. а priest in the sacerdotal vestments stood in readiness, the opened book lay upon the table. “ lady,” said the clergy man as she was led up to the place where he was stationed, “ we have waited for you long, and hope there may be no further delay to our proceedings. you are completely at our mercy; no human aid can come to you. resistance can only lead to aggravated violence. if you wish to preserve all that is most dear to your sex, you will immediately acquiesce in becoming the wife of the man who loves you.”-louisa' made no reply; 16 victim of intolerance, tally, “ she mused a moment on the forlornness of her condition, and then said menmy father will never believe that force has been employed to bear me from the protection of his roof. should i return to him he would close his doors against me for my supposed disobedience, and the apparent impropriety of my conduct; my resolves are over-ruled by fate; there is nothing left for me but to become the wife of russel.” as she thus mused compliance, a servant announced from without “my master comes.” quick footsteps were heard to echo in the passage, the door opened suddenly. the priest took up the book, louisa averted her head, covered her face with her drapery, and stood ready to sink into a novel, 17 1 the earth with a thousand contending emotions, as her lover approached her side. she felt her hand gently pressed, she heard her name pronounced, but not in the expected accents of the man she loved ! she turned round astonished; petrified with horror she beheld the hated form of the person whom her father would have compelled her to marry when louisa had recovered from the first impulse of surprise, she disengaged her hand from the grasp of this often rejected suitor, and exclaimed, “ audacious villain ! was it you who brought me here ?" 6 louisa,” he replied sternly, it was i who brought you here. i overheard your converse with my rival about an elopement; heard you appoint the 18 victim of intolerance, time and place for the next interview, and determined to disconcert your schemes. while a trusty friend hung pertinaciously about russel, until the promised hour was past, two others lay in wait for you at the place appointed, and bore you to this mansion, where you see every thing was prepared for your reception. but we waste the golden opportunity, , you must now become my wife.”, دو “ never, while i hold existence; never." 4 you had best recal those words." they are irrevocable while i hold existence i never will be yours.” “ that shall be determined speedily. let every one withdraw, nor dare; until i call, to interrupt our conversation." his mandate was obeyed; he left alone with دو was a novel. 19 louisa. she supplicated, but it was in vain ; she poured out the indignation that laboured at her heart, but it was of no avail. he seized her with an herculean grasp; with a force that rendered resistance hopeless he hurried her along, and placed her beside him on a sofa. louisa, i love you to distraction, and no earthly power shall withhold you from being mine. but the terms of your being so, i leave to your own choice. then make the election: it rests with your. self whether you are to be my mistress or ' my wife." unable to pronounce the dreadful alternative she sat in the 'silence of despair. he seized her rudely, her shrieks brought no one to her aid ; the force supplied by desperation was quickly spent ; and she sunk, incapable of another 20 victim of intolerance, de 1 sc ai of struggle. her unrelenting oppressor with increasing ardour pursued his horrid purpose. starting convulsively from a swoon of terror and despair, she had just strength to strength to pronounce, spare me, and i will become your wife.” “ swear to be my wife and i will desist: the book lies by your side, swear, swear it instantly.” she seized the book in an agony of despair, and took the oath required. : he suffered her to rise. after adjusting her dishevelled dress he stamped violently on the floor. the attendants entered with the priest at their head, the marriage ceremony was instantly performed, and louisa was borne to the bridal bed, a legal victim in the arms of him she hated. me su th 01 pre de the carrying off of louisa, and a novel . 21 man her compulsory union with a whom she had repeatedly rejected, did not make so much noise in the neighbourhood, as might have been expected. the father, who desired beyond all things to see his daughter married to her present husband, was soon reconciled to his son-in-law; and such was the exemplary conduct of the fair upfortunate, that the world never suspected the violence she had suffered, and believed, that in marrying, she had merely complied with the wishes of a parent. her sense of duty was of the most elevated nature, and in some cases, almost approached to a moral superstition. she incessantly struggled with herself to accominodate her feelings to her fate, and to perform, without repining, the duties of that station in 1 7 42 victim of intolerance, which the great disposer of events had willed she should be placed. widely different were the feelings of her disappointed lover. as soon as he could disengage himself from the officious intrusion of the person, whom his rival lad employed to detain him, mr. russel hurried to the place of appointment. it was considerably past the promised hour, and, believing that louisa, piqued at . his breach of punctuality, had returned to her father's house, he execrated the occasion of his delay. the next evening, and the next, he returned to the same spot, and in hopes of seeing his soul's beloved, lingered in all her favourite walks. at length he heard that she was from home, and never suspecting the fatal occasion of a novel, 23 her absence, imagined that her father having discovered their secret interview, had privately conveyed her to a distant part of the country, and again confined her. but while her distracted lover thus deceived himself, and moved heaven and earth to discover the place of her fancied imprisonment, the marriage of louisa was announced. she returned in company with her husband, and took up her residence at her father's house. the feelings of russel it would be impossible to describe. ignorant of the fatal necessity which had compelled louisa to become the wife of another, he believed her to be false and unstable. he execrated the sex ; he hated all the women in the world. but his resentment was quickly 24 victim of intolerance, lim 0 changed into profound compassion. he learned that his louisa had been forced away. while paroxysms of rage transported him to madness, he heard that, to avoid violation, she had been compelled to marry where she hated. he breathed revenge, he determined that his villain rival should not live. he penned a challenge; but, as he went out in quest of a friend by whom to convey it, he chanced to meet louisa on a solitary and pensive walk. taken by surprise she was unable to conquer her emotions, and hung fainting on the bosom of her lover. she was recalled to recollection by the frenzied vehemence of russel, who; while he imprinted anguished kisses on her pallid cheek, poured forth.imprecations against the villain, that by fraud and violence, had deprived the n and son hoopt which then su which solemn his ha band, a: infant. reste seance. of elo trestin success tepeatec teir vo lang tid trea tol, a novel . 25 him of the idol of his soul. from the mysteriousness of his manner, and some dark expressions which he dropt, she guessed the purpose on which he came. she shuddered ; then summoning all the resolution of which she was mistress, extorted a solemn vow that he would never lift his hand in violence against her husband, against the father of her unborn infant. restrained from his meditated vengeance, mr. russel began to think of eloping with louisa, and of thus wresting from his rival the fruit of his successful fraud. he wrote to her repeatedly, imploring her to recollect their vows of everlasting love, and urging her to fly from a wretch who had treated her with such barbarity. vol, ii. с victim of intolerance, وو “ louisa,” he would say, “the marriage contract into which you have entered was compulsory, and therefore cannot, either in the eyes of god or man, be binding. it is to me that your fidelity is due, to me your first, your holiest vows were plighted; consenting angels witnessed the mutual compact, and registered the union of our souls in heaven. then shall a human ceremonial put asunder those whom god and nature have joined together? oh! louisa, fly from the violator whom you misname your husband, and come to me, your legitimate partner, your spirit's spouse ; oh come to me, that i may atone to you for all that you have suffered, that i may chase away the recollection of what is past, and wipe all tears for ever from your eyes. a novel 27 to these proposals louisa returned a decided and indignant negative. “ the ceremony of marriage,” said she, " which i have performed, may be a civil contract, and not binding, because it was compulsory; but i have entered also into an holy engagement from which nothing can absolve me. when i became the possible parent of the little innocent yet unborn, i contracted an obligation to co-operate with its father in providing for its happiness. any proceeding which would prevent or obstruct this co-operation would be a breach of a sacred stipulation. though there were no human institutions to maintain the sanctity of marriage, yet every separation inconstancy, which interfered with parental affection and parental care, would be a vioor c 2 28 victim of intolerance, lation of nature's most sacred law. never 'speak to me again of love. farewell! if you do not forfeit my esteem by urging me any further to viojate my duty, i shall cherish for you a tender and eternal friendship.” hopeless of winning louisa to a compliance with his wishes, russel now determined to seek, in change of scene, a mitigation of his sorrows. he retired to the continent, and resided there for twenty years; but he never forgot louisa, never loved again. at length he returned to his native land, and be held her once more. time had taken something from the loveliness of her form, but nothing from his regard. her heart too was still unchanged. she received him with a melancholy joy: as she pressed the hand of her a xovel, 29 first, her only love, the spring time of life seemed to return on her again. her heart, worn out with sorrow, cherished the tender recollection ; and now that revolving years had calmed the riots of her pulse, she permitted a friendly intercourse, which might have been dangerous to their virtue before " the life of life was gone. each recounted to the other the events which had occurred, and the feelings which had arisen during absence. with all the anguish of affectionate sympathy mr. russel listened to the sorrows of the woman whom he had once passionately loved, whom he now tenderly esteemed. her husband, a domestic savage, had always been tyrannical and harsh. when she imagined herself pregnant 1 '30 victim of intolerance, she was deceived ; she never had a child; never lost in the delightful feelings of a mother, she was unable to escape from the recollection of the misfortune that had united her to a partner not congenial to herself. some time passed away in this friendly intercourse, when mr. russel, though he never could love another, began to entertain thoughts of marriage for the purpose of having a descendant to inherit his estate. he communicated his intentions to louisa, and she approved of them. “ marry, my dear friend,” said the amiable woman; " happiness consists in having objects of affection; and, for your :children, i think i could feel the tender solicitude of a mother." . a novel. 31 mr. russel did not select a partner for the beauty of her form, or for the superior accomplishments of her mind. the young lady whom he chose had no such recommendations ; she was plain, she was without fortune, but she was connected with, she was esteemed by louisa. yet louisa as the day appointed for the marriage ceremony drew near, almost repented of the approbation which at first she had bestowed on russel's choice. she endeavoured to suppress the preposterous jealousy, she struggled to controul emotions which she blushed to entertain ; it was impossible. she could not but recollect that she once expected to be the wife of russel; she could not blot from the tablets of her memory the thrilling tenderness, the intoxicating dream as92 victim of intolerance, sociated with such an expectation. the idea of being a mother, the feel. ings of maternal love, no longer came in aid of virtue, and restrained the wanderings of a heart too tender for her peace, of a bruised and afflicted heart, that had long endured the disconsolate widowhood of having no object on the earth to love. it perpetually recurred to her how happy she would have been, if placed in the situation her friend was about to fill. the marriage ceremony took place; and that night, imagination became the master faculty of her soul. by a strange kind of sympathy, she heard the endearments breathed forth by her former lover, and felt the caresses which he bestowed upon another. she turned to her husband, and forced à conversation in hopes of dissipata novel 93 ing her thick coming fancies --but it would not do-she dreamt she was the bride of russel. in less than twelve months after this marriage, frederick russel, the father of julia, was born. such an occurrence was not sufficiently novel to excite.attention; but louisa's being, at the same time, delivered of a daughter, was an event that appeared almost miraculous. though soon after her marriage, louisa imagined that she was as women wish to be who love their lords,” yet, during twenty years that she had lived with her husband, there never was, in reality, any prospect of her becoming a mother. she had for a considerable time given up the hope of having a child, and when at last she found c 5 34 victim of intolerance, herself pregnant, her surprise and joy were excessive. as she gazed upon it, recollections of her early love stole upon her heart, and she pressed it to her bosom with more than ther's fondness. but this was not all, another source of gratification awaited her. a moas the children of russel and louisa grew up they were constantly together, and seemed to inherit an ardent attachment for each other. this attachment the parents studiously encouraged. “ frederick and eliza," they would fondly predict, will love each other as we have loved; but no parental controul shall condemn them to separation and sorrow. our dear children shall be happy, and we ena novel 35 joy, through them, the felicity, which, in our own persons, we were not permitted to attain." love is a free affection of the soul, that refuses to conform to the dictates of another's will,-it arises from involuntary associations, from unforeseen congenialities of mind, and seldom grows up between those who have been brought together by contrivance, and design. as frederick russel approached to manhood he ceased to feel for eliza that exclusive regard which had marked their childhood. he loved her, but it was with a brother's love. the dream of young desire did not associate itself with the companion of his infant sports. his ardent enterprising spirit spurned the shackles of controul, and long36 victim of intolerance, ed to launch into the world, and to be the creator of its own felicity. eliza was of an opposite character. gentle, complying, and passively conforming to every impression, her ideas and inclinations flowed in whatever channel her parents and instructors happened to prescribe. the violent and despotic temper of her father, the perpetual solicitude and interference which her feeble state of health rendered necessary in her mother, in. terdicted, or superseded the exereise of her own faculties, and at length destroyed whatever mental energy she might have derived from nature. she became the implicit creature of education. she was told to be fond of frede. rick, and she was fond of him. she learned that he was intended for her 1 novel. 97 future husband, and, if a languid dream of love floated for a moment in her fancy, with his image it was constantly connected. she went into public : the regular beauty of her features, and the gentle languor of her air, excited that feeling of compassion which is so much akin to love, and obtained for her many admirers. but she received their attentions with cold indifference; she never felt that there was in the world any person except frederick whose sex differed from her own. the elder mr. russel never suspected that tþere was little congeniality betwixt the disposition of his son, and that of the wife he had elected for him. so entirely did he love, so perfectly esteem louisa, that every 38 victim of intolerance, # thing with which her ideà happened to associate appeared in his partial eye clothed in perfections not its own. everything she wore was the mosttasteful of its kind; every thing she said conveyed a meaning and a pathos which no other human being was capable of conveying. eliza bore some resemblance to her mother ; from imitation she had caught something of her manner, and of her peculiarities of expression; and on this account, mr. russel imagined that she was the most lovely of her sex, and took it for granted that she possessed all her mother's accomplishments and genius. his son was now of age, and he urged him to enter into the union which had so long been the object: of his dearest wishes. a novel. s9 frederic, whose ruling passion was ambition, had little inclination to marry,and still less to marry with eliza; but he could not give a positive denial to the long cherished project of the most affectionate of parents ; he could not break the heart of the devoted eliza, by disclosing the afflicting truth that her love met no return. but wishing to put off the evil day, and hoping that something might turn up to relieve him from the distressing dilemma in which he was placed, he requested a little delay for the completion of his studies. his studies were at length compleated; he became a candidate for the county, and, in the bustle of election business, found another excuse for the postponement of his marriage. 40 victim of intolerance, ů of 애 ​hu de ha but, as was before mentioned, his funds were inadequate to carry on the protracted contest, and louisa, whose husband had been years deceased, came forward, under the impression that frederick was soon to be her son-in-law, and advanced a sum which enabled him to carry his election. having received this important obligation from the mother, frederick felt himself bound, both by gratitude and honour, to give his hand to the daughter. the marriage ceremony was immediately performed. s f di 01 se { 21 if frederick russel did not enjoy with eliza all the happiness of which bis ardent and susceptible nature was capable, he suffered as little pain as it was possible for a refined and cultivated nind to feel, under. a. id fo c a novel .41 union not dictated by love. his partner did not aid his favourite pursuits, but she never obstructed them. her love amounted to a species of idolatry. she looked up to her husband as to a being of a superior order, and whatever administered to his happiness she gladly acquiesced in. so far from expecting that he would devote himself to her society, and from expressing discontent when his public avocations for the greater part of the year deprived her of his presence, she received with thankful gratitude whatever portion of his time it pleased him to afford her. placid and unambitious, she thought that whatever is, is right. she rejoiced in her husband's excessive passion for politics, and considered the interest and occupation which public 42 victim of intolerance, business afforded him, as the happy means of preventing his ardent and adventurous spirit from seeking in other objects that congeniality of soul, that glow of sympathy, which. she was indistinctly conscious he could not find at home. it was impossible for frederick to act unkindly to such a woman. he closed his eyes upon her imperfections; he turned from the defects of her understanding, and dwelt upon the unequalled goodness of her heart : and, when an unavailing regret would come, when he felt the inanity of her conversation, or sighed involuntarily for the reverberation of delight, the enlarged interchange of ideas and emotions which multiplies existence, and lifts us to the verge of heaven, he 1 1 a novel 43 would drown such dangerous reflections in political contest, and in advocating those principles in which he supposed the welfare of his country to depend. at length the birth of à son, and soon after of our lovely julia, filled his heart with all the de. lightful solicitude of parental affection, and caused him to rejoice and exult in the hour when he gave his hand to eliza. but the joy arising from these happy events was long overcast by the death of his venerated father. the faithful louisa did not long survive the man whom she had once ardently loved, ever tenderly esteemed. she expired, requesting that her remains might be committed to the same grave with his, and under the full assurance that, in a 44 victim of intolerance, happier world, they would meet to part no more, 1 the father of our julia now found himself at the head of a commanding fortune. the money he obtained in right of his wife cleared off the incumbrances of his hereditary estate, and enabled him to lead the county in which his property was situated. but though the great natural influence which he derived from the possession of property was seconded by very considerable political talents, mr. russel never acquired that share in the administration of affairs which it was his great ambition to obtain. he was too independant for a courtier, too moderate for a popular leade er. a stedfast adherent to the ancient p8 t 1 ic a novel 43 whig aristocracy, which, though formerly high in character and power, had now been deserted by the people, and overborne by the increasing influence of the crown, he found himself, after years of strenuous exertion, as distant as ever from the elevation he pursued. amid all his disappointments, mr. russel consoled himself with the idea, that, when the alarms of one party, and the excesses of another, should sufficiently subside to enable the community to appreciate and enjoy the rational liberty which their forefathers had bequeathed to them, his darling boy, freed from the vexatious hindrances by which his own progress had been obstructed, would pagg to the highest honors of the state. 46 victim of intolerance, indeed the extraordinary talents which his son, at a very early age displayed, seemed to justify every expectațion that the partial parent entertained of his future eminence. these talents were cultivated and improved by the most finished education europe could afford. his mind was early furnished with the stores of classic learning, masters were procured to instruct him in the languages, the manners, and the laws of the principal -european states, wbile his father undertook to be his preceptor in what. ever related to the history, the literature, and the interests of his native jand. he was taught the graces of elocution, and made to declaim on the public measures of the day. while mr. russel, urged by family a novel.. 47 5 f e 1 pride and ambition, spared neither pains nor cost in maturing the talents of his son, and viewed the boy as an intellectual prodigy, an embryo statesman destined to confer blessings on his country, julia was comparatively neglected, and her parents never suspected that she possessed a genius superior to her brother's. it was indeed impossible for her parents to behold, without delight and pride, the angelic sweetness of her face, and perfect symmetry of her form, but, dazzled by the fine wrought casket, they neglected to notice the gem without price which it inclosed. julia was instructed in every exterior accomplishment which could heighten the effect of her personal charms; but she was a female, she could never become of any political importance, and it was therefore deemed 1 48 victim of intolerance, ) superfluous to bestow much pains in the cultivation of her mind. i several circumstances highly favourable to the growth of genius, atoned to julia for the absence of direct instruction. little attended to by her father, and seldom controuled by her indolent and indulgent mother, she roamed a lovely wood nymph, through the lawns and picturesque domains, until she could bound with the elasticity of the fawns, her playmates. while her brother grew pale and languid from study too intense, vivacity glistened in her eye, and health strewed new-blown roses on her cheek : while he was prescribed lessons little calculated to fix the attention, or excite the ardour of a youth, she, uncontrouled, regaled ai 1 ch li a novel. 49 on whatever was most likely to wake the fancy or to touch the heart. she inhaled inspiration with the freshness of the morning, with the soft falling dews of evening she drew in delicious languishment. she marked the brightening rays of the sky, she watched the stealing progress of the year, and looked through nature up to nature's god. a mind so ardent, so tremblingly alive to each fine impulse, was calculated, whenever circumstances should excite the necessary degree of application, to make a rapid progress in literature. julia discovered that the indulgence and liberty which she enjoyed arose, in a great degree, from the indifference of her parents. her affectionate heart was pierced with vol. ii. d 50 victim of intolerance, pc joe der fen anguish, and, imagining that her brother was better beloved than herself, because he had made greater progress in learning, she determined to insure the affection of her father and mother by acquiring the attainments they so much esteemed. she applied to study with her characteristic enthusiasm : and one of her brother's masters, who, at her solicitation, undertook to instruct her, ventured to pronounce that she would soon be the better scholar of the two. ac to rat ot to wa ad tea ber 1 ord though julia made a rapid progress in literature she failed to attain the end which she proposed to herself as the reward of successful exertion. her father, finding his consort deficient in intellectual endowments, and considering the value of litera. å novet. 61 ture to consist in its subserviency to political pursuits, entertained a very low opinion both of the female understanding, and of the utility of female talents : her mother, a passive machine, adopted all his prejudices, and the mortified julia discovered, to her sorrow, that the attainments by which her brother excited the admiration of his parents, were, in her, unnoticed. it grieved her to the heart to think that her devoted affection towards the authors of her life met no adequate return; and, often while the tear of sensibility trembled in her beauteous eye, she has said to her brother,“ how happy you must feel at being loved so tenderly!” the partiality which mr. russel and his wife suffered to appear in their be: c2 7 52 victim of intolerance, haviour to their children was not suffi. cient to interrupt the cordial harmony that, from the period of infancy, frederick and julia had entertained for each other. envy was a passion which the breast of julia could not harbour : it might in truth be said of her," that without one jarring atom she was formed.” her gentle spirit sympathized with all that lived. she would weep over the mutilated insect; forgetful of her personal gratification, she has liberated her favourite bird, when told it was unhappy in confinement. the sensibility of julia was not of that modern species, which, unmindful of human misery, lavishes all its compassion on the irrational creation. the sufferings of her fellow beings seized irresistibly on her heart, and a novel. 53 of the poor, every thing in human form had in her a sympathizing friend. she seemed a celestial visitant commissioned to pity and to save; the guardian angel « that watched and wept, that prayed and felt for all.” i never knew a being that entered so promptly, so completely into the feelings of another; or that, in the devotedness of sympathy, became so unmindful of self and all its narrow views. . julia at an early age displayed other qualities which are rarely found to associate with a fancy so inspired, and a heart so warm. discretion was throned upon her placid brow, and, when placed in any situation of difficulty, her tones were spoken with a judgment decisive and self-balanced. ever without strength of constitution, 54 victim of intolerance, or energy of mind, her mother, as she advanced in life, became gradualmore delicate and inert. far from being able to watch over her daughter with maternal guardianship, she looked up to julia for assistance and advice, and committed to her the management of all her affairs. hence this lovely girl, at an age when the generality of young women are studi. ously restrained from deciding and acting for themselves, was perpetually called upon, not only to regulate her own conduct, but to preside over the whole economy of her father's household. the consequence was, that her judgment, constantly exercised, acquired strength beyond her years, and formed a sufficient coun. terpoise to those powers of fancy and that susceptibility of heart, which a novel 55 otherwise might have hurried her into the most fatal indiscretions. the health of mrs. russel gradually declined ; and often for a week together she has been confined to her room, under a most melancholy debi. lity both of body and mind. it was on one of these occasions that i first became acquainted with my cousin julia. when i entered the room she had taken her station by the side of her afflicted parent. i beheld, with mingled wonder and delight, a lovely young creature of about fourteen, renouncing all the lively amusements natural to her age, and voluntarily immuring herself in a sick chamber, watching the looks, and, with anxious solicitude, anticipating the wish. es of her mother. as i observed her 56 victim of intolerance, not only preparing the food, and, with her own hand, administering the medicine which had been prescribed, but in the most soothing accents, reviving the drooping spirits of the patient, and ministering unto a mind diseased, i regarded her as a being scarcely human, and hailed her as my bosom's chosen friend. with increasing intimacy my attachment for julia increased. the infantine simplicity of her manners, and the unequalled susceptibility of her heart, at first concealed from me the strength of her understanding, and suggested the idea that she was badly calculated to jostle through a deceitful and unfeeling world. i had a thousand solicitudes on her account, which the conduct of her well mean. a novel, 57 ing, but injudicious mother, perpetually tended to increase. destitute of all mental energy, or internal re. source, she called upon her daughter for amusement; and without the aid of julia, was unable to fill up the craving void of a wearisome and unenjoyed existence. too languid to read for herself, she got julia to read aloud; too destitute of understanding to comprehend or relish works of instruction, novels were perpetually called for. thus to keep up the flagging spirits of an infirm and languishing parent, my amiable young friend was driven to give her days and nights to the trash of the circulating libraries. just between the woman and the child, and possessing a glowing fancy, and a heart, tremblingly alive all o'er, she was of an age and temper to rena d 5 58 victim of intolerance, 66 ah, my der such a course of reading peculiarly hazardous. i felt a thousand disquietudes on her account. lovely friend,” i would say mentally, though nature strung your nerves to the enjoyment of ardent felicity, i have melancholy forebodings that the joy which now sparkles in your eye, and the complacency that plays in the dimples of your fascinating smile, will be succeeded by sorrow and discontent. the books you are compelled to read will represent the world in false and deceitful colours; the first person whom your beauty and accomplishments attract, your heated fancy will adorn with all that you have admired in the heroes of romance; and the world will appear the paradise of love : your lot would be happy could this delusion last, but a noyel. 59 this is next to impossible. it is a thousand to one that you will, on an intimate acquaintance, find the object of your affections a different person from what you imagined him to be. after a delightful dream you will wake to sad realities. the world, so late the paradise of love, will seem a joyless blank, a dreary wilderness; and though a sense of religion, a senti. ment of honor, will for ever withhold julia from attempting to retrieve, in illicit love, the mistake of a first and over hasty choice, yet in bitterness of heart she must repent of it; and, with unavailing anguish, sigh after the happiness, which, with a partner congenial to herself, she might have enjoyed and communicated.” but while i pursued these reflec畫 ​ 60 victim of intolerance, tions, and indulged these fears, it was myself, not julia, that lay under a delusion. whilst i trembled lest my dear friend might be exposed to the evil which an excessive addiction to novel reading had brought on some of my acquaintance, i failed to notice that soundness of judgment, and those peculiar circumstances which preserved her from danger. as julia had studied the classics with her brother, and had formed her taste by the most perfect models of literary composition, the herd of writers who supply the annual demands of the circulating libraries excited disgust more frequently than pleasure ; while the im. pression which a well written work of fiction is calculated to make on a mind of sensibility and taste, was considerably impaired by the manner in a novel. 61 which she read. she took up her book, not to gratify herself, but to amuse her mother ; she would lay it aside, in the midst of a most interesting passage, because her parent, weary of hearing, required some other service at her hands. hence she could scarcely ever enter upon a favourite author, at those auspicious moments, when the mind, disengaged from every other pursuit, yields itself to the impression the writer intended to produce, and become entranced and spell-bound by the magic of his genius. nor was this all. whenever julia came to a passage which contained the flights of an inspired fancy, or the persuasive eloquence of an impassioned heart, her mother, destitute of all relish for this higher 'species of composition, would desire her to 62 victim of intolerance, skip the description and the sentiment, and pass on to the story. she would do so for her parent's gratification, turning down the page, that she might afterwards recur to what she considered as the most interesting parts of the book ; but when she had finished the task her filial piety imposed, fatigued with reading, she would join in the sports of her bro. ther, or walk forth to muse in solitude on the loveliness of nature, res membering the dangerous passages no thus from a variety of circumstances julia read all the love-tales of the circulating libraries, uninterested and uninjured. 1 more. one morning i called upon my dear friend just as a new set of books had been brought in. curiosity prompt. a novel 63 ed me to look over the title-pages, and i saw, with soine alarm, “ rousseau's eloise.” having once witnessed the effect which this fascinating, but dangerous production, had produced on some young persons who had obtained it clandestinely at the boarding-school, my solicitude for julia rose to a painful height; and as she was, at that time, finishing another novel to her mother, i requested she would lend me the eloise ; she complied. i carried the book home, and committed it to the flames, by this unfortunate interference with the pursuits of julia, i increas. ed the danger which i intended to remove, the mother, having heard me ask to borrow the eloise, imagined that it was a novel of more than 64 victim of intolerance, usual interest, and, though the name had escaped her feeble memory she frequently asked for the book i had taken. it was sent for several times, and, when not returned, the poor invalid, who required incessant amusement “ to help through the long disease her life,''expressed impatience at the disappointment. ever eager to comply with, to anticipate the wishes of her afflicted parent, julia endeavoured to procure from the neighbouring libraries another copy of the eloise : the work could not be obtained in english; but one of the booksellers happened to have the original; and as julia was mistress of the french language, she determined to gratify her mother's curiosity by an extemporary translation. to do this, so as to keep up the attention, and a novel 65 excite the interest of her auditor, required that she should previously study her author and make herself fully acquainted with his meaning. thus her days and her nights were devoted to the pages of rousseau. what was at first performed as a task of filial duty, soon became a delightful recreation ; and while she entered with the deepest sympathy into the feelings and misfortunes of eloise, or dwelt on the generous and fervid passion of st. preux, she forgot her meals, she resigned repose, and, wafted in spirit to the scenes of consummated love, she became insensible to every object that was present to her senses. at length, overpowered by her emotions, she would fling the magic book aside, unable to proceed; then recollecting that she had some household business 66 victim of intolerance, to perform for her mother, she would dispatch it hastily, and, resuming her favourite author, would lose herself again in passion's dream. mrs. russel, whose blood had at all times crept indolently through her veins, was incapable of forming a conception of the impression which the captivating eloquence of rousseau was calculated to make on a heart so warm, and an imagination so active as julia's. for my own part, though destitute of my young friend's creative fancy, and exquisite tenderness of soul, i comprehended her character sufficiently to be aware that this fas. cinating writer must produce a strong, a lasting impression on her mind; and when she wrote to me saying she had read the new eloise in the original, a novel. 67 i was prepared to discover a considerable change in her manners and opinions. i was not deceived. julia not only lost the unembarrassed freedom of one scarce conscious of her sex; she became skilled in all the varieties of the tender passion, a believer in the omnipotence of love. one morning, when we were alone together, the conversation turned upon the affairs of the heart, and julia expressed her conviction that, in ardent and susceptible natures, the tender passion was an irresistible impulse which it was idle to endeavour to controul. as i heard her give utterance to such sentiments, i imagined that all my fears were realized ; and, with more warmth than was usual to me, passed a condemnation on the fatal 68' victim of intolerance, that, my writings of rousseau. julia seemed astonished; and, as soon as i had ceased, desired me to descend from general censure, and to point out the specific crimes of which her favourite author had been guilty. dear friend," i replied, “ is a task of no great difficulty. rousseau has been so little careful to conceal his errors that the most superficial perusal of his works is sufficient to convince us of their evil tendency. in his eloise he has represented the passion of love as possessing a degree of force and permanence, which, in real life, was never known. while reading his over-charged descriptions, our heads turn round with notions of celestial charms, and expectations of felicity which can never be realized on earth, imagination dwells on this delightful a novel. 69 dream; the heart languishes and dies away with tenderness unutterable, and the delicious poison spreads through all the functions of the soul. love then appears an emanation from the deity : to resist it appears not only a hopeless, but a sacrilegious task; and too often the hapless victim of deceitful eloquence and prostituted ge. nius, resigns herself, without an effort, to destruction.— i can by no means agree with the strange opinion of rousseau, that the girl who reads his eloise is lost; but, without incurring the hazard of reputation, i think i may assert that a more dangerous book cannot be put into the hands of a young female." “in making that assertion,” returned julia eagerly, “i apprehend that you o victim of intolerance, incur the greatest hazard of refuta. tion. indeed it appears to me that, your premises are all incorrect, and your conclusions the reverse of truth. in the first place rousseau has not re• presented love as possessing a force and permanence unknown in real life: on the contrary, though he has traced the progress of that passion in more glowing colours than any other writer, he has still fallen short of nature ; he was unable to describe all that the heart is capable of feeling. surely when you look around, and recollect that some have died for love and some gone mad, you must acquit rousseau of having dealt in overcharged descriptions. i must also deny that these descriptions, such as they are, have any of the pernicious effects which you suppose. a novel. 71 they were necessary to give us a knowledge of ourselves, and forewarn us of the strength of our emotions, and of the impossibility of finding any motive of sufficient force to coun. terbalance love. indeed, instead of having found rousseau the most dangerous author that could have been put into my hands, i have derived the most useful lessons from his writings. before i read the eloise, i was a stran. ger to my own heart ; and never hav. ing reflected on the necessity of guarding myself against forming an attachment with an unworthy object, or under improper circumstances, might have unwittingly entangied my-, self in the most dangerous connexions. · but i see the sands and sunken rocks on which the virtue of such multitudes has perished---i have 72 victim of intolerance, obtained an empire over my own affections, and, if i err, my error will be voluntary and without excuse.” “ my dear julia,' i exclaimed, you have fallen into a strange inconsistency. you talk of the impos. sibility of finding any motive of sufficient force to counter-balance love, and yet speak of having obtained an empire over your own affections. surely if you regard the tender passion as an emanation froin the deity, an irresistible impulse, you cannot consider the errors into which it may lead you as voluntary and without excuse.” “ in my manner of expressing myself there might have been some ambiguity; but there is no inconsistency, a novel 73 in the sentiments which i maintain that love is an instinctive feeling of our nature; and, when it once takes possession of the heart, cannot be controuled. but before it esta. blishes its dominion, we may ward it off, and arm ourselves against it. when i spoke of having an empire over my affections i only meant that by cautious vigilance, i could remove the causes which call the passions into play. i alluded to prevention not to cure; i did not say, i could controul an emanation from heaven, an irresistible impulse, but that i could refrain, in time, from the intoxi. cating cup, which, if once swallowed down, must hurl reason from her seat. what inconsistency, my dear cousin, is discoverable in this ?” vol. ii. 1 74 victim of intolerance, “ i believe i must acquit you of the charge ; but descend, julia, from figurative language, and in plain prose, and by a practical illustration, inform me how love can be prevented from taking possession of the heart." “when any individual begins to excite in us a peculiar interest, may we not avoid his society; and, when in absence, his idea obtrudes upon the fancy, may we not, by resorting to some occupation or amusement, divert the attention to other objects ?" “ we certainly can do both of these." “ then if this interesting person is no more seen, no more thought of, is it not impossible that the emotions a xovel .875 i which he excited should acquire permanence; that his image should become associated with our tenderesť feelings, and reign in our hearts the object of the most delightful, the most dangerous of passions?" 1 “ it is not possible. i acknowledge that in the first instance we may prevent the growth of love; but it excites my surprise that yoni should have learned such a lesson from the writings of rousseau. of all the books in the world i should think the new eloise the least calculated to teach a young girl the propriety of shunning a dangerous acquaïntance, and banishing him from her thoughts, lest her feelings, associating with his image, should become too highly wrought for the controul of reason." . e' 2 76 victim of intolerance, “ i am of a different opinion. the eloise does not indeed contain any formal precepts for preventing the growth of an attachment; but it delineates the progress of our feelings, it displays the irresistible force of love, and shows us that if, under improper circumstances, our affections are engaged, virtue will inevitably be lost. from this conclusion it is obvious, and unavoidable that, with unceasing vigilance, we should guard the avenues to the heart; and since it is hard to combat, learn to fly.” but, julia, this is a conclusion which rousseau neglects to draw.” 6. that is of small importance; he has furnished me with an important fact in the history of my own mind; a novel, 77 and to him, therefore, i am ultimately indebted for all the practical rules which from that fact i am able to deduce. rousseau in warning me of the extent of my danger, set me upon reflecting on the means of escaping it. i therefore owe him an important obligation. the strength of a woman resides in the knowledge of her weakness, and she who imagines she can safely parly with temptation is undone." here our conversation closed. all my objections had been obviated, and i stood in a pleasing reverie, at a loss whether i should most admire the ingenuity with which julia defended her favourite author, or that, purity of heart which nothing could corrupt, and which, from the most dangerous 78 victim of intolerance, writings, and even from the propensities of a constitution susceptible and tender to excess, drew prineiples in aid of virtue, she possessed, beyond all the beings i ever knew, the art of converting evil into good. whether in her intercourse with the world or with books, she made all that was excellent her own, and, by an involuntary effort of innate purity, threw off whatever was allied to vice. bad example and pernicious precepts had on her no influence; she was “like the fair flower that opes its lucid form “ to meet the sun, and shuts it to the storm." julia was now to be admonished that in this world happiness is not always apportioned to the degree of moral desert. her brother's constia novel. 79 tution, which had never been robust, was irrecoverably injured by his scdentary habits, and excessive application. he had entered college, and passed his first examinations with unprecedented eclat; but just as his parents began to look forward, with confidence, to the completion of their long and fondly cherished hopes, he exhibited the symptoms of a confirmed decline. medical assistance was resorted to in vain, yet the doting father, unable to support the idea of losing his beloved boy, yielded himself a willing dupe to the treacherous disease, and, while the lamp of life was rapidly consuming, pertinaciously believed in his recovery. one evening when the family had assembled in the sick chamber, the afflicted youth sat up in the bed supported by pillows. he con80 victim of intolerance, versed cheerfully with his father; unconscious of his approaching end, he jested with his tender nurse, his beloved sister julia. though the flesh was wasted from his bones, a deceitful rose blushed upon his cheek, and his eye beamed with unusual lustre. he called for something to eat, and, for the first time for many days, swallowed, a few mouthfulls with an appetite. transported with joy, the ' father sunk upon his knees, and pour. ed forth his gratitude to the almighty for what he conceived to be the symptoms of returning health. a shriek from julia recalled him to himself, and, frantic, he started from the ground. the child of his adoration was stretched motionless upon the bed ;---his gentle spirit had passed without a struggle to its kindred a novel . 81 skies...here i must pause.--i canpot paint, i cannot bear to think of the heart-rending anguish, the dumb despair that followed. unutterable sorrow seemed to have suspended animation. for many days no word was spoken, no business done ; all was still as death, save when the sob of agony burst forth, -all silent as the grave. ; a considerable time elapsed before this afflicted family began to recover from the stupor of despair; but af length the speechless paroxysms of grief subsided into a composed and settled sorrow; and the relatives of the deceased were heard to pour forth their lamentations for their irreparable loss. in mourning for his son, the father would mingle the repimings of e 5 82 victim of intolerance, 1 disappointed 'hope, and the irritation for humbled pride. "my prospects of aggrandizement,” he would exclaim, " are now closed for ever, and there is nothing in the world for which i have a wish to live. he who was the pride of my heart is gone. there is no one to inherit my fame, or reyive the influence which age and sorrow will quickly compel me to resign. the very name of my family will become extinct, and i must pass from existence without leaving a trace behind to say that i have been." the grief of the desponding and broken-hearted mother was of a character very different. she was without ambition ; the love of glory she never felt. in her own person she a novel. 83 had little relish for the enjoyments of life; forgetful of herself, she lived but. for her husband and her children. accustomed to consider every event, not as it acted on her own feelings, but as it affected the man she idolized, when the first bursts of anguished sorrow had subsided, she mourned for her husband's loss rather than for her own. the extinction of the family name, the passing from existence without being remembered any more, were, in themselves, events of little interest ; but her husband thought otherwise, therefore she deplored them ; and, with a mother's anguish for a beloved child, mingled a sympathetic sorrow for the disappointed hopes and ruined prospects of the father. 84. victim of intolerance, , with the sorrow of the affectionate and feeling julia no other sentiment was mingled. she had loved her brother for himself alone, and when she pressed him to her heart, where every kind emotion reigned, she never thought of the figure he was calculated to make in the world, or adverted to the gratification which his advancement would confer upon her father. now no idea was present in her mind, except that the beloved companion of her youth, was gone, never to return. retiring from society, she indulged each recollection, and dwelt on every object which brought her brother to her mind. the books he had admired were ever in her hand, the scenes where he had strayed became her favourite haunts. as she shrunk from every eye, and buried a novil85 . . : herself in the solitudes of the impervious grove, she dwelt upon his image, and pictured to herself his parting smile, until in the delusions of fancy, his spirit seemed to hover by her side. she heard his footstep on the rustling leaf, and mistook the whispering echoes for his voice, though her eyes no longer beheld him, and his impalpable form evaded her embrace, her soul was conscious of his presence, and she felt the conviction that, in a happier world, she would recognize the brother she adored. as with deepest sympathy, i contemplated this angel in distress, i received the impressive, the im. portant lesson, that virtue never can be rendered completely wretched. every kind affection, each sublimer hope associated with and sanctified 86 victim of intolerance, her affliction. hers was the joy of grief; hers was the luxury of woe, and she would not have exchanged her solitude and sorrow for all the inirth and pleasure which the world could afford. this fond enthusiast, by constantly dwelling on ihe idea of her brother, and recurring to every thing he had said or done, gradually acquired his voice and manner, and fell insen. sibly into those trains of thought that he had delighted to pursue. the father noticed her growing resemblance to his departed son: he took a melancholy pleasure in observing every inflection of voice and turn of expression which brought home to his recollection the idea of him whom he was to see no more. ho 1 a novel. 87 > fixed his heart on julia, for her brother's sake. *as mr. russel sought the society of his daughter, and led her into conversations which recalled the idea of his darling boy, he perceived a thousand traits of genius which he had before overlooked; and discovered, with astonishment, that notwithstanding the superior attention which had been bestowed upon her brother's education, she surpassed him both in talents and in knowledge. charmed with the flights of her creative fancy, or struck by her acuteness and depth of thought, he pressed her to his bosom with mingled exultation and delight. but faine, pride, and political ambition would mingle with his parental feelings, and, while 88 victim of intolerance, ! gazing on julia' with growing admiration and love, still he muttered forth repinings because she was a daughter. how unfortunate," he would murmur, " that so fine a genius should be lost to society by being bestowed upon a female ! if julia were of a different sex, her talents would lift her to the highest stations in the country, and, while contemplating and promoting the advancement of my child, i should enjoy, in the sympathy of parental affection, that elevation and distinction which from a combination of unfortunate circumstances i have not, in my own person, been able to obtain. i should transmít to posterity an honored name, and the worthies of a future age would catch emulation as they traced, in the historic page, the actions of my son. . a novel 89 but now i must go down in obscurity to the grave, my estate will pass into another family, my name will become extinct, and on the page of my country's history, there will be no record to tell that i have been." in this manner mr. russel became his own tormentor, and though envied by every parent for being the father of such a child as julia, yet consumed his days in unavailing repinings because she was not a son. at length the ambitious father con. eeived the idea of marrying julia to some young man of genius, who on receiving her hand would consent to take the name of russel. the mother, whose protracted sorrow for the death of her son had, in part, arisen from the disappointment of her husmin 90 victim of intolerance, band's fondly cherished hopes, heard with a lively pleasure, of which her languid temper was rarely susceptible, the arrangement by which mr. russel proposed to mitigate his regret on account of julia's sex, and to gratify the family ambition that had become the master passion of his heart. in the habit not only of conforming to her husband's wishes, but of adopting his opinions, and rendering all his inclinations hers, mrs. russel never imagined that the affections of julia might interfere with her father's plans. never thinking or acting for herself, she had lov'ed, she had married the person selected by her mother, and thought that all dutiful children would be inclined to do the same, 3 a novel 91 one day, after having, in a languid yet pleasing reverie, mased for some time on the accomplishment of her husband's plan of family aggrandizement, mrs. russel turned suddenly to julia, and said, “ i long, my beloved child, until your father realizes his project, and selects some youth of promise for your husband.” to julia, who knew nothing of the intentions of her parents for the disposal of her hand, this address appeared incoherent; and without mak. ing a reply, she gave her mother a look of tender solicitude and surprise. the mother repeated the wish, and julia then answered mildly, but with firmness : “my dear mother, it . is for me to select a husband, and for you and my father to approve. i shall never suffer myself to become attacli92 victim of intolerance, . ed tọ a person whom my parents think unworthy; and i am confident that they are so affectionate and just, that, under this limitation, they will give me full liberty to think and act for myself in an affair on which all the happiness of my future life depends. she who loves without the consent of her parents, swerves, in some sort, from her duty as a child ; but she that marries, merely in conformity to the dictates of another's will, renounces the allegiance which she owes to nature." the mother did not attempt to combat the opinion of her daughter, but she was shocked, she was grieved, a tear of affectionate sorrow trembled in her eye as she reflected that her husband might again be exposed to the bitterness of disappointed hope. a novel. 93 the solicitude which mrs. russel felt on account of her husband was heightened by the conviction that she was soon to be taken from him. her grief for the loss of her beloved son had heightened the low and lin. gering disease which had long preyed upon her strength and spirits, and she felt that her dissolution was at hand. the last seenes of her life resembled those by which they had been preceded: meekly resigned to her fate, and unmindful of every thing that immediately afflicted herself, her fears were for those she loved; her sorrow was a sympathetic emotion called forth by the grief which she imagined her husband was to feel. the rest. lessness of ambition, and the bitterness of party strife had impaired, but not destroyed the goodness of : 94 victim of intolerance, heart for which mr. russel was, in early youth, conspicuous. in the society of his wife he had never received a high species of enjoyment, but the benevolence of his nature prompted him to disguise his feelings, and he carefully concealed from her the mortifying truth' that she was not essential to his happiness. she fondly imagined that his heart was all her own. the general sweetness of his manners, his esteem for her unoffending goodness, and his cordiality for the mother of his children, she believed to be the proofs of love: the tears which friendship and compassion shed, she mistook for the heart. rending, the hopeless sorrows which burst forth at the prospect of having a' kindred soul, a second self torn away from us for ever; her approacha novel. 95 ing death was chiefly dreadful, because she imagined her loss would plunge her husband in despair, one evening, while julia sat by the bed-side, she pressed the hand of her sorrowing child, and said, “i feel that my earthly race is nearly run. when i am gone, be affectionate to your father, and endeavour to lighten his distress. julia, you are his last remaining hope. when your brother died, his affection, his parental exultation, and his prospect of leaving an honored name behind him, were all transferred to you. if you should ever act contrary to his wishes, he. will sink to the grave in disappointment and despair:” she was unable to proceed, her tongue refused its office --her eyes closed slowly, and *4 96 victim of intolerance, a long, a dreadful pause ensued. at length a paroxysm of strength returned; she raised herself from the pillow, and grasping the arm of her daughter, cried, “ julia, before i leave the world i have one request to make ;--swear you will comply with it.” “oh, my mother, i would yield my life and soul to minister unto your peace:---as i hope for our reunion in a happier world, your desire shall be obeyed.” “ then marry the man whom your father may select.” “ i will, my mother.” faintły ejaculating, now i die in peace," nrs. russel sunk backward, and never spoke again. julia fell by the bed-side, and lay, to all appearance, as lifeless as her parent. i was absent from my beloved friend a novel: 97 at the time she received this most af ficting stroke; and the performance of some indispensable duties preventing my going to her for several weeks, i was relieved on this occasion from witnessing the first bursts of heartrending affliction. the instant that it was in my power, i hastened to console her. our meeting at first renew. ed the violence of her sorrows, and as she hung upon my neck, she sobbed out, “mary ann, when i last embraced you, my mother was alive.” i mingled my tears with julia's, and my sympathy was consolation. i had not been long with julia before she made me acquainted with the vow which she had made to her dying mother, to marry whatever person her father might select for her. i exvol. ii. 98 victim of intolerance, pressed my regret that such a vow'had been either exacted or given ; when julia, interrupting me, said in a tone that seemed to indicate some displeasure, “surely you cannot suspect me of a wish to evade the last command of her to whom i owe my life." "i am convinced you will never entertain a thought of swerving, in the slightest particular, from the solemn promise which you gave your mother. all i apprehend is, that in fulfilling it your own peace may be wounded. i tremble lest the person whom your father may select for husband be the man of julia's heart." " in order to perform my duties in their full extent, i must make him so." is it possible to do this ? can we bring our affections under the controul of authority, and fall in love by a volun. may not your " but & novel. 99 tary effort ?» 66 i believe we may exert a considerable controul over our own hearts. love is indeed an instinctive feeling implanted in us by nature, but the object towards whom this feeling is directed depends upon circumstances and associations which are, to a certain extent, in our own power. when thrown into the society of a man who is peculiarly pleasing, by shunning his company, and pursuing occupations which will banish him from our thoughts, we may prevent the instinct of nature from associating with his image. in like manner, if a person is presented to us for whom we feel no predilection, we may remain in his presence, and think of him when the dream of tenderness steals upon our senses, until his image mingles with all the secret wishes of f 2 . 100 victim of intolerance, the soul. · i am convinced that my father will never select for me a man of contemptible 'understanding, or an unfeeling heart; and if he should be only moderately sensible, moderately good, i am so inclined to tenderness, that i am certain i shall love him. every kind, every warm feeling of my heart i will endeavour to connect and associate with his person; my fancy shall clothe him with all that i admire and adore; and if i cannot love him for what he is, i will love him for what i imagine him to be." " but, julia, can this mechanical attachment be lasting ? if you cheat yourself into love, will not time and familiar intercourse remove the de. ception, and render you unhappy ?" á novel. 100 " i would shut my eyes against the truth, and before it could have time to force itself upon me, the feelings of a mother would probably come in aid of virtue.” “ in aid of your happiness, julia ; your virtue can never be in danger. دو " because, my dear friend, it never shall be tried : should i be : unhappy in the marriage state, i would studi. ously avoid the society of every man whose conversation and manners were more pleasing than my husband's ; for i am fully persuaded, that, when we suffer our affections to be engaged, we resign our self-command, and that the woman who braves temptation is undone.” by conversations of this nature, and 1 109 victim of intolerance, 1 } the lapse of time, julia was gradually drawn from the recollection of her sorrows, while my admiration for her talents, and esteem for her virtues perpetually increased. a person of such various intellectual powers, and admirable moral endowments, i had never known. every question that arose she analized and examined in all its bearings; every difficulty in which she was placed served but as an excitement to her virtue. the more difficult her duties became, the more perfect was her self-command. if she had any error in speculation, it was that of attributing an overveiling influ. ence to the passion of love. if she had a practical fault, it was an exces. sive humility and distrust of herself, an unwarranted apprehension that it might be possible for the feelings of a a novel 103 heart tuned to soft luxury to overcome, in any situation, or under any circumstances, her unrivalled sense of rectitude. jubia now presided at her father's table, and regulated his domestic affairs. she went into public, and universal admiration followed her. but though “ she filled each youth with love, each maiden with despair, her own heart remained untouched, and she never found it necessary to practise her prudential maxims, to check, under unauthorised circum. stances, the progress of the tender passion. with you, o'connor, it has been otherwise. your person, your mind, and, above all, the singular coincidence which has place in many of your opinions and feelings, excit104. victim of intolerance, ed in her bosom an interest unknown before. she felt it would be impossible to continue in your society and keep her affections disengaged." she has, therefore, studiously avoided your company. but this mode of proceeding, which, with the generality of young women, would be a manifestation of dislike, is, in julia, a proof that you are held in the highest estimation. if i have been at all successful in ex plaining the motives and the situation of this admirable girl, you will immediately perceive that what has occasioned your despondency is, in fact, a ground for consolation. but without her father's fullest approbation she will never suffer you to speak again of love, she will seldom ven-' ture into your presence. all your hopes of success, therefore, depend on a novel 105 mr. russel. he will be in town in a few days; you shall have frequent opportunities of seeing him, and should you be fortunate enough to conciliate his good opinion, and to obtain his sanction for your addresses, the hand, the heart of julia will be yours.” here mrs. o'neil concluded. i had no words to express my gratitude, my joy. i rose from my seat in silence, and retired to muse on all that i had heard, rea i 5 jog victim of intolerance, chapter il. while in the solitude of my chand. ber, i retraced each circumstance of the narration i had heard, hope and joy became my companions once again. seented to re-ascend from the dark and sickly caverns of despair, to in bale the invigorating breeze, and meet the beams of heaven. fancy awoke again ; the light that fell upon futurity passed through imagination's prison, and gilded all to come. julia was already mine, and i enjoyed in anticipation all i could conceive of heaven. to the prudent and the calm, who a novel. 107 are content to float “ on listless sa. tisfaction's torpid stream," my feelings, upon this occasion, may wear the colour of extravagance, and they will be unable to comprehend how i could, upon causes so slight, and with a transition so rapid, now plunge in the frozen ocean of despair, and now range the summer isles of hope. could my language convey even a faint conception of the face, the form, the voice of julia; could i make known the language of her eye, the fascination of her smile, the nameless grace, the immaterial charm that dwelt around her, an adequate cause for my most ardent feelings would be found. but it is not possible to give a description of her i loved, and i must account for the ardour of my emotions from the previous state of my own 108 victim of intolerance, mind, not from presenting to the reader : an 'image of the transcendant excellence of the object, by which these emotions were called forth. i was from nature susceptible and ardent, and this original temperature of soul all the circumstances of my education, and all the events of my life had contributed to increase. the idol of the tenderest of mothers, my heart early received the impress of humanity; the pride, and hope of a venerable sire, chivalrous and romantic in the highest degree, the softness of my temper became associated with a fervour and energy of spirit that spurned all controul. in addition to all this, in my progress through life, the natural order of the passions had been in'verted. i did not begin to love at that early age, when every object, wearing a novel. 109 1 the charm of novelty, attracts a portion of attention, and calls off the susceptible mind from dwelling too 'intensely on one idea; or when the duties of a profession, or the desire of distinction, might prevent the tender passion from acquiring an exclusive empire in the soul. after having visited various scenes, and been long an actor on the theatre of life, when to me there was 'nothing new beneath the sun, when business was unnecessary, and no hope remained to reexcite ambition, then, for the first time, i felt what it was to have an attachment of the heart. every other passion was extinguished, and i lived to love alone.: with such a temper, and under such circumstances, the instincts of 110 victim of intolerance, nature becoming exclusively associated with a single object, i should probably, whatever might be the merit of this object, have loved intensely. but the object of my love was julia, the foremost woman of the world, “ the cunningest pattern of excelling nature;” and whoever could have approached the place made sacred by her presence, or drank the air embrosiated by her breath, would have instantly understood why, in relation to her, fear was agony, and hope was rapture. but wherefore do i endeavour to account for the fervenmy emotions ? i was in love with julia, and the wonder is, that i felt so little not that i felt so much, cy of a considerable time elapsed before the ardour of my feelings was suffi. & novel. 111 ciently subsided to enable me to reflect with calmness on the narrative i had heard, or to examine the foundation, on which my hopes of felicity were built. at length my ideas acquired distinctness and arrangement. i reviewed every scene which julia had passed through, and, as it were, identifying my mind, and blending my soul with hers, i traced the progress of her ideas, and almost became conscious of her feelings. 'imagination figured out her form through each successive stage of life. now i beheld her clothed in the smiles of infantine innocence; now, wild and unrestrained as the fawns, her playmates, she bounded across my mental vision; and now i saw her half unconcerned, half afraid, shrinking from she knew not what, and just between the woman and the child." 112 victim of intolerance, while julia's witching form, advancing to maturity, dwelt within the chambers of my fancy, the intellectual and moral qualities which, at the same period, rapidly unfolded themselves, were 'suggested to my recollection.. an imagination that seized and combined whatever was beautiful or grand in the creation, a sympathy that communicated, as by an immaterial nerve, with every thing that lived, seemed to impart to her feelings an enthusiasm not to be controuled; while the selfgoverning power that perpetually led her back as she appeared prepared to burst away beyond the limits of decorum, gave the impression of some super-human influence, and caused me to regard her, not as belonging to this earth, but as some celestial visitant that sojourned for a season here. a novel. 1113 . even when i retraced more accurately the narrative of mary ann, and was enabled to explain, on natural principles, what i at first regarded as a moral miracle, my admiration' did not abate. on the contrary this union of ardent feeling and of perfect self-controul, excited a higher species of admiration when i regarded it, not as a prodigy of which i could give no explanation, butas something brought about according to the natural order of causes and effects. i perceived that julia was not in possession of any occult, mysterious principle, stemming, i knew not how, the torrent of the passions, and rendering the tempests of the soul subservient to her will; but that, aware that our emotions and feelings are the motives of our actions, and that the strongest ever must pre114 victim of intolerance, vail, she traced the laws of thought, watched over the associations which combine the elements of the passions, and acquired power over herself by removing the causes which might have given undue preponderance to any particular motive or affection. she did. not, like the mad empiric, tempt destruction by pretending to controul the laws of nature: she availed herself of their operation to effect what she desired. the elements of the pas. sions were so many forces in her hand, which she combined and directed as she willed. she could, in a moral sense, " with franklin, grasp the lightning's fiery wing." while this train of thought passed through my mind, every circumstance in the conduct of julia which had fora novel. 115 merly given me uneasiness, now appeared a ground of hope, and minis. tered to the gratification of self-love. julia, it appeared, avoided my society, not because i was indifferent, but because she apprehended i might interest her heart. she sought an intercourse with others, to break the associations, and dissipate the feelings my presence had occasioned. i seemed to be rejected, because i was almost beloved. the exultation of soul which descended upon me as i cherished the hope that i might be beloved by julia, it is impossible to describe. while i regarded my own powers in connexion with the effect they had produced on this all-accomplished girl, they seemed to acquire a force of which i 116 victim of intolerance, had never before been conscious. from the reflective, the creative sympathy of love, my character became what julia imagined it to be. my soul conformed to her brightest conceptions of it: whatever she believed that i might do, i acquired the power of accomplishing; to rise in her good opinion was to be elevated on the scale of being while in the delusions of my waking dreams, i imagined that julia might be' mine, i became reconciled to the world, and in charity with all mankind, i felt solicitous' to shed around me the happiness, that glowed within my heart. the ardent affection with which julia had inspired me, gave a feeling of diffusive kindness towards every thing that wore a human form, a novel 117 to partake in all her affections, i passed, in thought; beyond the limits of this world; formed to myself some images of the brother that was the companion of her childhood, and of the mother over whom she had watched so tenderly, until i felt a mysterious bond of affection uniting me to the sainted spirits she had loved on earth. for the o'neils, i felt a double friendship, because they were the friends of julia ;-towards the father, though as yet unseen, i cherished a filial affection,-an affection mingled with awe and terror. my fate hung suspended on his will : he must approve before julia would begin to love; bis word was to elevate me to heaven, or' to hurl me to hell. my mind, which, dwelling exclu. 018 victim of intolerance, sively on the favourable circumstances of my situation, had been stimulated by hopes unduly sanguine, now that my train of thought turned to the chances of obtaining the father's full assent, relaxed from its elevated tone, and was sinking into a state of pain. ful solicitude when a servant entered and put a letter into my hand :.it was from mrs. o'neil-it invited me to dinner to meet the father of julia, who had arrived in dublin the preceding evening. i embraced with avidity this opportunity of being introduced to mr. russel, and with feelings of lively gratitude towards the considerate friends who had made this arrangement for me, drove to their house at the appointed hour. julia and her father had arrived before me; i was presented to the table as the intimate a novel 119 friend of the q neils, and, for the first time in my life, trembled before a fellow man. julia seemed more heavenly than ever :-her gentle manners, the sweetness of her smile, the softness of her voice, stole away the soul from the recollection of a jarring world, and breathed a celestial tranquillity around her. everyone who addressed her she shewed an unstudied and unostentatious solicitude to please, while amid her general attention it was easy to discover the peculiar anxiety with which she watched the looks of her father, and the dexterity with which she led into trains of agreeable thought as his brow occasionally contracted, or his features wore the expression of impatience. when dinner was announced, i led her from the drawing room, and the unembarrassed calmness with which she accepted my offer120 victim of intolerance, ed hand that throbbed and trembled at her touch, gave me the conviction, not quite satisfactory to self-love, how entirely she had established her empire over her own heart, and how completely the growth of her affections would depend on the favourable impression i should be able to make upon her father. during dinner little passed. mr. russel did not appear to be quite at ease, and his lovely daughter was employed in watching his looks, and in endeavouring to draw him into a more cheerful train of thought. the subject of the weather happened to be mentioned. julia's countenance lit up, and her eye beamed more brightly, while turning to her father, 'she said with emotion, “ oh, sir, did you ever behold a serener atmosphere; or a a novel 121 happier aspect both of earth and heaven, than that which was presented to us as we drove into town this evening?" he smiled assent, and she continued, " the sun set with indescribable magnificence, and left " air, earth and ocean blazing all around.” gradually the resistless flood of light subsided. no cloud moved across the heavens ; not à breath trembled on the waters --all was silent, all was still, and nature seemed to pause, 06 while pensive twilight on her dusky car, " caine slowly on to meet the evening star," the sweet enthusiast blushed as she became conscious of the inspiration which had seized her, and was silent, mrs. o'neil pressed vol. ii. g 129 victim of intolerance, her hand, with a smile of encou. ragement and complacency. from the countenance of the father the clouds of anxiety passed away, and the beams of fancy seemed to shed on him a momentary illumination, while le replied, “ my julia; it was indeed a lovely and romantic evening. i observed the western gale gradually subsiding into a calm, and before we drove into the town gentle breeze blew from the eastward—the packets from holyhead,” he continued, turning to a gentleman who sat near him, " which have been so long detained, will now arrive, and we shall learn how the english house of commons divided on the important question which was to come before it." i gazed in astonishment at this strange transition of а. a novel 1.2$ thought. mrs. o'neil, with that sportive irony which characterized her manners, said, well, mr. russel, there never yet was so determined a politician as yourself. the vicissitudes of the season, and all the dread magnificence of heaven, you contemplate only as they appear to have some remote connection with affairs of state; and the beauties of nature, even when described by julia, have, in your mind, some unaccountable connection with the strength of parties. but as the conversation of your fair daughter may not be so well calculated to excite in all the gentlemen present, feelings connected with the english house of commons, the ladies had better leave you to yourselves.” mrs. o'neil rose to retire, and on mr. russel's g 2 194 victim of intolerance, wishing to prolong“her stay, and in a strain of high-toned gallantry, for which, when he was not absorbed in politics, his manners were conspicuous, soliciting forgiveness for having imparted to the conversation a turn uninteresting to the ladies, she gaily resumed, “ you are forgiven, mr. russel ; and you are to consider our withdrawing a little prematurely not as a symptom: of lingering displeasure, but as a mark of my highest favour. i invited you to-day to partake of an intellectual banquet, the uninterrupted enjoyment of which i can no longer delay. our friend, mr. o'connor, is as great a politi-cian as yourself, and as he has served. during the campaigns in holland, you will be able to converse together on your favourite topic, the disa novel. 125 asters of the war.” : mrs. o'neil turned to me with a significant and encouraging smile, and, as the ladies .retired, julia's confused and hurried -manner convinced me that, like myself, she saw through the motive that had induced our friend to introduce me so pointedly to the notice of her father. scarcely had the door closed upon .the ladies when mr. russel placed himself in a vacant chair close to where i sat. it was the most awful moment i had ever known. i was to converse on political topics with a man devoted to politics, and wedded to a certain system of opinions. on this man's favour, too, my des. tiny was hung; and if i disturbed 126 victim of intolerance, his pre-conceived ideas, and thus excited his disapprobation, i felt i was undone. i sat in a state of painful suspense, afraid to speak, and uncertain how to answer any en. quiries that might be made. at length my mind assumed a tone of independence and energy, and i said mentally, “my all is at stake, and i must play a bold decisive game. were i to dissemble my sentiments, my conversation would prove uninteresting and cold, and from being over fearful to offend, i should lose the capacity to please. if i do not make a strong impression in my fa'vour, julia cannot be mine. i must give utterance to all that i imagine to be true ;-i must pour forth the -native feelings of my heart." a novel 197 this train of thought inspired me with confidence. mr. russel, drawing his chair close to mine, said with a tone of enquiry, that he understood i had served with our army on the continent; and i replied with rapidity,“ i went out a military enthusiast-i returned disgusted with war, and convinced of the necessity of peace.” “ it would have been well for england, for europe, if the minister who first plunged us into a war with revolutionary france had never been born." i returned, “i entirely agree with you. france has ever been greatly superior to england in physical force ; but the moral power inseparable from 128 victim of intolerance, freedom, has, notwithstanding her deficiency in extent and population, given the latter country, in all former contests, a proud ascendancy. now the minister, in going to war with revolutionary france, flung this ad. vantage away. ignorant of those moral powers which, far more than physical force, render one nation superior to another, the period he selected for the commencement of hostilities was the most inauspicious that could possibly have been chosen. an incoherent dream of liberty, and the passions excited by political convulsion, imparted to the french character an unusual energy, and, for the moment, rendered them as much our superiors in moral power as they naturally were in physical force.we plunged into war under circuma noyel. 129 stances which rendered success impossible.” as i spoke the father of julia hung upon my words with eager approba. tion. when i had ceased, an elderly gentleman, who sat at some distance, said, “ mr. pitt did not select the period of the revolution as the most proper for engaging in hostilities : --the war was forced upon him. had we remained at peace with france, our own country would have been the theatre of a sanguinary revolution.” this," i resumed, " is the only possible excuse which the friends of the minister can plead in justification of his revolutionary war; and it rests upon two assumptions which have g 5 130 victim of intolerance, not yet been proved. it is still a contested point whether, when this war was declared, there was any immediate danger of a revolution at home; and it admits of much controversy whether, if the danger actually existed, it might not have been shunned by other means than those of hostilities with france. the minister, therefore, to say the best of him,encountered certain defeat abroad, in order to shun doubtful disturbances at home.” my antagonist referred to some proofs of the revolutionary and republican doctrines which were assiduously diffused among the people ; and he had scarcely ceased when mr. russel took up the debate with emotion. “ it is impossible to reprobate a novel 131 too strongly that system of modern philosophy which strikes at the prina ciples of morality and religion, and which would not only inmediately subvert the glorious constitution under which this country so long has flourished, but, mediately, undermine it by alarming the friends of rational freedom, and rendering them, in their dread of anarchy, the supporters of a minister who is making rapid strides to the establishment of absolute power. but let it not be said that this minister went to war for the purpose of counteracting the revolutionary principles which, by their reaction, fixed him more firmly in place. as long as they had any chance of becoming ascendant in the country, he preserved a mysterious silence. while the great leaders of opposition divided -192 victim of intolerance, upon french affairs, he kept cautiously aloof, and it was not until the tide of public opinion was completely turned in england, that he warred against the principles of the gallic revolution. if he could not grasp those general principles of our nature, which gave one people the ascendancy over another, he at least was dexterous in resorting to expedients for giving permanence to his power. * but, ." i resumed, “ were we to admit all that the friends of mr. pitt have urged,were we to allow, in the fullest extent, that he was compelled to go to war to counteract french opinions, and prevent a revolution in this country, he could not be acquitted of being ignorant of the a novel, 198 great principles of military policy, and of plunging his country into a species of contest in which success was unattainable. the events of her wonderful revolution, rendered france as superior to us in moral energy as she had ever been in physical force. if, under this circumstance, it was absolutely necessary that we should go to war with her, an able war minister would have conducted the contest in such a manner as to give the r.ew-born energy of our rivals least scope for action; and would, on the first possible opportunity, have terminated hostilities. national enthusiasm may, almost instantaneously, put forth numerous armies ; but to train a population to nautical affairs, and suddenly to put forth numerous fleets, is what national enthusiasm 194 victim of intolerance, is unable to effect. the war which arose out of the french revolution we should, therefore, have rendered exclusively maritime ; on our native seas success was certain. the navi. gation of our coasts being more intricate, and dangerous than that of france, our seamen possessed more intrepidity and enterprize : and in consequence of our more extensive commerce, a greater portion of our population was skilled in nautical affairs. hence, notwithstanding the enthusiasm imparted by their revolution, we continued to be, upon the waters, superior to our rivals in moral power, while, in physical force, the advantage was also on our side. as far as related to naval war,we possessed every thing which can render one people superior to another, and success a novel. 195 was as necessary on the ocean as it was hopeless on the continent. we should have swept the flag of the republic from the face of the waters: we should have wrested the colonies from her grasp: and, with flying squadrons and floating armies, have threatened along her whole line of coast. but projects in which success might have been certainly and easily obtained, were not suited to the genius of our heavenborn minister. he sent armies into holland, he formed coalitions, he subsidized all europe, and, with assumed omnipotence would have plucked is. lands and continents from their foundations to precipitate them upon devoted france. but unfortunately he understood not the laws of human nature. like the heated vapour, france gave a resistance which increased with the increasing pressure. the national 196 victim of intolerance, enthusiasm which, if left to itself, would have gradually subsided, or been consumed in domestic contentions, was converted into an ardent spirit of military adventure that threatens to subdue the world.” “ your views respecting the war," exclaimed mr. russel, “ are more enlightened than any i ever heard expressed. i claim you for my friend. surely every one who hears you speak must become solicitous to see these mad hostilities concluded, and the blessings of peace restored.” " i fear, my i went on with confidence-julia seemed already mine. dear sir, the period is fast approaching when peace will be unattainable. when we contemplate the position, the resources, and the population of a novel: -137 f. en os, of to d 1 1. france, and, above all, when we consider the ardent spirit of military adventure into which her revolutionary enthusiasm has madly been converted, it seems almost self-evident that, while jealousy rules the councils of europe, she must go forth conquering and to conquer. the ancient governments of the continent, fettered by many of the forms, but possessing none of the spirit of the feudal times, in barren splendour, feebly wait their fall.' each successive coalition, unless formed on better principles than preceding confederacies, will but accelerate the period when france shall become paramount in europe, and when, commanding all the naval means of the continent, she may build ships to any extent she pleases, and will require nothing but seamen to enable her to rival us on the seas. € 138 victim of intolerance, . when this period, therefore, shall have arrived, if we should terminate hostilities, her commerce will, of course, revive, her population will acquire skik in nautical affairs, she will speedily be enabled to put forth fleets far more numerous than ours, and become as ascendant on the waters as she now is on the land." “ to what a dreadful crisis have we come," cried mr. russsel ; “ war being hopeless, while peace would be destruction. the minister should expiate his political crimes upon the scaffold. what was said upon the establishment of american independence, applies more justly to the administration of mr. pitt,and now, in truth, the sun of england's glory has gone down for ever.” a novel : 199 he now, “ o sir," i exclaimed with enthusiasm, never let such a sentiment again escape you. the sun of england's glory has not set. indeed, in dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds;' but soon the transit will have passed ; and his full radiance light the world again. france has outstripped us on the continent of europe, because the events of her mighty revolution gave a sudden impulse to the national mind, and rendered her as superior to us in moral power as she had ever been in physical force. but the energy of a revolutionary paroxysm is necessarily of short duration. the military democracy of our rivals is rapidly sinking into a military despotism,and she must speedily lose that ardent tone of public feeling which can be kept alive 140 victim of intolerance, only by the possession of civil liberty; while, fostered by equal laws and regulated freedom, our national character will retain its elevation and vigour, and we shall again be superior to the slaves of france in all, that can render one nation ascendant over anon ther. then may some minister, more fortunate or more able than mr. pitt, adopt with confidence an energetic line of military policy, and restore his country to her proper station among the nations— yes, some master spirit will yet assume the guidance of affairs; some second marlborough wrest from ambitious france the hope of universal monarchy.” >> here i paused, the political turn of the conversation had deeply interested me; and, as i had ever been accusa novel. 141 tomed to do, i gave utterance to my sentiments without waiting to consider whether they were such,as would conciliate or offend my hearers. hearers. but no sooner had i ceased, than i recollected that in advocating the vigorous prosecution of the war, i might have seemed to approve the measures of administration, and counteract the fa. vourable impression i had so recently made on the father of julia. i was agreeably deceived. the impossibility of obtaining a secure and honourable peace, and the accumulated burthens, which protracted hostilities must lay upon the people, furnished mr. russel with new topics of declamation against the minister, who had madly plunged us in an interminable contest; while the prospect held out that we might ultimately become as142 victim of intolerance, cendant over france in the senate of the nations, soothed the national and patriotic feeling, which, though obscured by the violence of party spirit, never ceased to animate his heart. again he complimented me on what he was pleased to term my original, and profound political views ; already he anticipated the period, in which a minister more able, or more fortunate should, when a favourable conjuncture offered, obtain the mastery over france. in the sanguine reveries of hope, his party seemed invested with the guidance of affairs, and himself possessed of that influence in the state, which it had been the ceaseless, but unavailing, effort of his life to obtain. mr. russel was attached to social pleasures, and when engaged with a novel. 143 company which he liked, sometimes circulated the glass too freely. on the present occasion the ardour of , conversation had rendered him unmindful of the quantity of wine he swallowed, and, on joining the ladies, he was just sufficiently animated to forget reserve, and give his thoughts and feelings words. as we entered the drawing-room he hung upon my arm, still enumerating the benefits, which would result from the whigs coming into power, and complimenting me on my original and enlightened yiews. my zealous friend mary ann, who sat on a sofa with her lovely cousin by her side, as she perceived mr. russel discoursing with me so earnestly, smiled with exultation and delight; then, turning to julia with an enthusiasm which she 14 victim of intolerance, rarely evinced, said, in an amiable whisper, “ i knew o'connor would succeed. he has made conquest of the father's understanding as instane-; ously as he touched the daughter's heart.''julia blushed, and seemed as delighted as her friend. at length mr. russel turned to o'neil, and i placed myself between mary ann and julia. the smiling angel shunned me no longer, yet she was conscious, timid, silent. emotion throbbed in every vein, and thrilled at every nerve; but it was emotion too ardent, too refined for utterance. i breathed the'air, that had been breath-; ed by julia. i felt but one sensation ; the time that elapsed seemed but one instant. when julia's carriage was announced she leaned upon myarm, and i a novel. 145 conducted her to it. she bade me good night.'in tones of softest music.-i. pressed her hand, the pressure was returned. who can sleep when joy dilates the heart; when hope, from her romantic prism; sheds on all our future paths the colouring of heaven ; when the soul, almost unbodied, holds sacred commune with some kindred spirit; and, from its self-derived emotions, receives the consciousness of immor tality, who would " steep his senses in forgetfulness?" "as julia's chariot rolled away, i retired to my chamber, not to sleep, but to indulge love's visionary wake. fulness. i barred my casements, and drew my curtains close around, excludvol. ii: h 146 victim of intolerance, ing light and sound, that in the abstraction of darkness and of silence, fancy might present my angel's image to my mental eye. her gentle voice : still sounded in my ears, my hand still felt the pressure she had given, and all my pulses throbbed. it seemed that the sound of her footsteps was on the floor.-her witching form was before me.--her breath played upon my pillow.---surely in absence souls can hold communion, and this was more than fancy. if it was not reality i was mad. if no hand-maid spirits surrounded me this night, and brought my julia to my side, and ratified our nuptial vows in heaven, then the creations of imagination ceased to be distinguishable from realities, and i had lost my reason. a novel, 147 chap. iii. the sentiment with whichjulia had inspired me had associated itself with every feeling, and blended with the essence of my soul. the delirium of he night was not the effect of a transitory impulse of passion, and when i arose in the morning, my train of thought still continued to be romantic, visionary, tender. still my julia was in my mind's eye, and still did my spirit feel conscious of her presence, all that i had heard her speak h 2 victim o intolerance, was repeated in the ear of fancy :--each motion, each attitude, imagination pictured forth. her eye beamed full upon me, i saw the smile that stole away my heart. having thus lived over the past again, i darted forward to futurity, and wandered in elysian bowers with her whom i adored. remote from a jarring and obtrusive world, in peace-i ful and secluded vales we talked the flowery hour, and plighted vows of everlasting love. she already was my bride, already was a mother, and a tear of anticipated tenderness for the child of julia trembled in my eye. it seem ed that we advanced into the vale. of years, that our forms decayed, and our corporeal vigour passed away, while affection-triumphed over. náa novel, 1. 1149 ture's fall, and our love remained as indestructible as the soul from whence it sprung. in this waking vision i seemed to pass the precincts of this world, and rising from the tomb, recognized my julia in the realms of rest. amid the sainted spirits she appeared the fairest and the best, and i felt that i must love her while everlasting ages rolled. while in this manner i gave imagination the loosened rein, and in the delirious reveries of love darted beyond the boundaries of mortality and time, and hailed my julia in the world unknown, my servant entered announcing mr. russel. even this recal to the realities of life was painful. for the interruption of anticipations so rapturous, even the kind considera. 150 victim of intolerance, tion of my julia's father, with all the favourable omens it conveyed, could not immediately atone. besides, mr. russel was not the companion with whom, at this instant, i was calculated to converse. his heart had been early blighted by the frost of an uncongenial union; and the dreams of love, and the visions of enthusiasm, were to him as the wanderings of a mind diseased. his presence chilled me. i trembled test the almost uncon. querable repugnance which, at such a moment, i felt to political discussion, might render me incapable of discoursing on his favourite topics, and cause him to abate something of that high estimation of my talents which he had expressed the preceding day. it, however, occurred most fortunate. ly, that he had many, engagements on lin a novel 151 his hands that morning, and that he had only time to repeat his wish that we might be better acquainted, and to request that i would wave all ceremony, and meet the o'neils at a family dinner with him next day. i expressed my ready assent, and, on retiring, he shook me cordially by the hand, and said, “ of your talents i have already had .ample proof; of your principles the friendship of the o'neils is a sufficient surety. short as our acquaintance has been, you have obtained a high place in my esteem, and it is therefore that i treat you with the uni. ceremonious freedom of a friend," i was again alone, and under the influence of the most pleasing impressions. i had recovered, however, from 152 victim of intolerance, my mental intoxication, and was enabled with some degree of sobriety, to reflect on the probabilities of success, and on the means i possessed of im. proving them. it was evident that to julia i was not indifferent, and in gaining the favour of the father, on which the progress of her affection must depend, i had succeeded with a rapidity that surpassed my most sanguine expectation. the o'neils, who were in the entire confidence of mr. "russel, were devoted to my interest. success seemed certain, seemed almost attained.--i was again about to yield myself up to anticipations of love, of future and eternal bliss, when i recollected that i might endanger all that had been done if i continued to indulge a train of thought and a tone of feeling incompatible with the dis1 4 novel. 153 cussion of the favourite topics of theinveterate politician, on whom my hopes were hung. i took up the political publications of the day, and, with forced and painful application, pursued a course of reading which had once delighted me. when i reached mr. russel's the next day, i found that mary ann had already arrived, and that she was alone in the drawing-room. i was glad of this.i had many acknowledgments to make, and a thousand questions to ask. with that frank and cordial manner which characterised her intercourse with those she loved, and which made the heart feet at home in her presence, she congratulated me on the very favourable impression which i had made on the father of 1 5 154 victim of intolerance, my friend. julia, and warmly participated in all my hopes of ultimate success. “i knew," she cried, “ mr. russel would be pleased with you; you are in every respect the person he would like to select for a son-in-law. i already regard you as the betrothed husband of oh ! love, as it must exist between such characters as o'connor and julia, will be a subject of delightful contemplation. i shall regard you as ethereal natures sent to sojourn with us for a season. i will observe your feelings, that i may gather some conception of those more refined and more intense affections which shall exist between my husband · and myself when, in the bowers of paradise, our spirits purified and disencumbered, shall meet in perfect union." in this manner mary ann's ardent af1 a novel: 155 fection for her friend would give a new impulse to her calm and complacent temper, and render her, at times, an enthusiast. she related to me instances of the exquisite tenderness of julia's heart, and of the luxuriant sallies of her fancy, and proved what i believed before, that she at least was an ethereal nature, sent as a sojourner in this lower world, to give us an anticipation of the society of heaven, in while her name was thus 66 upon our lips, and her image in our hearts," she entered. she was not aware that i had been invited by her father, and on seeing me with mary ann, she made a sudden pause, while her beauteous countenance beamed with sura prise and pleasure. we entered into conversation, but her mind seemed 156 victim of intolérance, "not in tune with mine. as "mary ana had, a little before, caught her enthusiasm and pathos, so she no! ex-. changed characters with her friend, and, while i was too deeply happy to be gay, spoke with a cheerful and sportive raillery which appeared to indicate a heart untouched. i was disappointed—i was grieved.mary ann perceived my uneasiness, and archly whispered, “as birds, with instinctive artifice, flutter along the carth; to decoy us from the precincts of their nests, so nature teaches us weak women, by light excursions of the fancy, to keep the conversation at a distance from those subjects, which might lead to the tender secrets of our hearts.” julia overheard her, and, while her countenance flushed with sweet confusion, cast a look $ a 1959 novel. 66 ܘ: of gentle reproach upon her friend. forgive me, il angel julia;” cried "mary ann, fondly embracing her, s under any other circumstances, i would not have spoken thus, but *surely you need not continue to act on the defensive with your father's chosen friend." i heard not the reply which julia whispered to ber friend ; we 'were joined by the rest of the party, and dinner was announced. this] evening, as at my friend o'neil's, the conversation, as soon as the ladies had' withdrawn,' turned 'exclusively on politics. an elderly gentleman, who sat near the head of the table, was as 'strenuous an adherent of the ministry, as mr. russel was of the opposition, and the argument between them was conducted 158 victim of intolerance, with considerable heat.news had lately arrived that in the english parliament a measure of finance had been adopted, the effect of which would be considerably to discourage the export trade of ireland, and mr. russel con: tended that the agriculture and manufactures of the country would consequently be ruined, while the other maintained that the measure in question would tend to increase the na. tional prosperity. “ ireland,” said the former," though possessed of every advantage of soil and situation, and containing the most dense and hardy population in europe, has been so fet. tered and unnerved by a ruinous system of commercial restriction, that in wealth and prosperity, she has continued inferior to many countries, the natural resources of which have been a novel 159 comparatively few. the financial measures now adopted will counteract the benefits about to arise from the unrestricted trade so recently obtained, and perpetuate the national calamity and degradation.” “ i am unable to discover,” replied his political opponent, “ how this financial measure can counteract the effects of our free trade : and granting that it did, it by no means follows that it would perpetuate the calamity of the country. commerce is not a source of wealth. every article that satisfies our wants, or gratifies our desires, is ultimately derived from agriculture ; and possessed, as we are, of a fertile soil, and numerous population, an impassable wall of brass might 160 victim of intolerance, be drawn around. the island without -injuring its prosperity." 1 manufactures and commerce ino source of wealth !" resumed mr. russel, with'evident tokens of surprise. “ surely you argue upon an assumption which is not only inconsistent with historical, but with existing facts. tyre and carthage, venice, genoa, and holland, have successively. become the most opulent states in the world, and this, not from the produce of their territories, and from agricultural pursuits, but from skill in manufacture and enterprize in commerce." ". i mean not to deny the fact," rea turned the other drily; " that these states attained a very considerable dea novel 161 gree of opulence ;? but every particle of their wealth, though they might have immediately obtained it by rapine, by tribute, or by commerce, was brought into existence by agriculture. when the farmer takes a piece of ground from the land proprietor, he must, in addition to all the expences of cultivation, obtain from his fields a net surplus produce to pay his rent. the rent of land, therefore, is a new creation of wealth. it exists after the seed and capital expended are replaced, and over and above the subsigt. . ence of those employed in cultivation. this cannot be said of manufactural industry: the manufacturer does no more than add to the rude material the subsistence he consumed while working on it. no surplus.is 162 victim of intolerance, produced, no new wealth brought into existence. commerce, in like manner, produces nothing : it is a mere transfer of commodities. when i give a horse for a pipe of wine, two articles already in existence change proprietors, but no new creation of commodities takes place. in fact, the proposition which asserts that agriculture is the only source of wealth, admits of rigid demonstration, · commercial nations do, indeed, acquire wealth ; but they acquire it at the expence of the agricultural states by which they are surrounded. when holland, for example, carries for prussia, she expends, we will suppose, a thousand quarters of corn in building shipping and subsisting mariners, and, in return, receives one thousand two a novel. 163 fundred quarters. holland, therefore, by this transaction will be two hundred quarters of corn richer than she was before, but prussia will be two hundred poorer. in the use of shipping, and in the labour of seamen, she would have received to the value of a thousand quarters; but she would have given away one thousand two hundred. hence, we perceive that in commerce the gain of one nation is the loss of others," “ to apply,” he proceeded, " these first and simple principles of political æconomy to the measures of finance lately adopted in england, it is evident that were these measures to discourage, as perhaps they may, our exportation of certain articles to that coun161 victim of intolerance, try, we should receive a benefit, and 'not an injury, england is a manufacturing and commercial country, and therefore, in all the commercial transactions between us, she must acquire wealth at our' expence. this is, unfortunately, completely exemplified in the effects of the free trade, for which the irish so long and so loudly clamoured. our'exports and imports have very considerably increased, but the national distress has increased also. a considerable time after the free trade was obtained, and while a period of universal peace gave that measure full scope to operate, the attorneygeneral was compelled to declare that the peasantry of munster, 'paying. enormous 'rents for their lands, and receiving only sixpence per day for a novel 165 their labour, could no longer exist in the 'extreme distress to which they were reduced. thus the people, irritated and deceived by the declamation of faction struggling for power, at one time destroy the capital which should give them employment, and, at another, clamour for a commerce which, by occasioning an increased exportation of produce, brings them to the verge of famine." mr. russel did not possess that clear conception of the question, that instinctive discernment which would have enabled him to detect the sophistry of his antagonist. he had studied the financial and commercial regulations of all the european nations; he was acquainted with the produc166 victim of intolerance, tions and wants of most countries ; and could bring forward, in support of his opinions, an uncommon portion of accurate and useful knowledge ; but it was the knowledge of details and of particulars. with the science of wealth he was wholly unacquainted, and he was unable to overthrow the arguments of his dexterous opponent, by disproving the principle he assumed, and by pointing out the nature and extent of the benefit which commerce bestows on nations. with heat of temper he repeatedly asserted, that agriculture is not the only source of wealth ; and was as repeatedly called upon for the proof on which that assertion was grounded. at length i took part in the conversation, and said, “ it does not appear to me that mr. russel is called upon to å novel. 167 prove, in order to establish his positions, that agriculture is not the only source of wealth. this proposition, though not indeed self-evident, is yet so obvious, and so conformable to every day's experience, that it may safely be taken for granted. indeed, the difficulty of proving that agriculture is not the only source of wealth, can only arise from its being one of those common propositions, the evidence of which we never ex: amine, because we never expect to : hear them denied.” with a supercilious air the elderly gentleman turned to me, and said, some of the most profound philosophers of modern europe have demon, strated that agriculture is the only source of wealth ; and if my inode of 168. victim of intolerance, 1 putting the argument be, únintelligi.. þle, i must refer you to the volumes of the french economists." i replied, in a tone of calm indiffe. rence, “ i am aware that the french economists attempted, and pretended to demonstrate that agriculture is the only source of wealth'; but not only is their conclusion in opposition to experience, but the fallacy of the reasoning which supports it may be in stantly detected." “ as the question cannot be decided by assertion, it will save much time if you will prove that agriculture is not the only source of wealth." “let us suppose," i rejoined," a country situated, in some respects, a novel 169 like the island of otaheite. the earth produces nutritious plants spontaneously, the waters abound with fish, the flax plant grows wild as in new zealand. is it not evident that, in this country, the labour employed to appropriate and prepare the productions of the land and water, would supply all our wants, and gratify many of our desires ? food, clothing, habitation, furniture,-nay, many of the embellishments and luxuries of life, might exist in considerable abundance, though agriculture should be quite unknown. agriculture, therefore, cannot be the only source of wealth." mr. russel evinced the highest satisfaction at this view of the subject. his. antagonist observed peevishly; vol. ii. i 170 victim of intolerance, ? “we have no concern with countries circumstanced like otaheite. in civilized states, where tillage and manufactures are established, all revenue is derived from agriculture, and the artizan does no more than bestow on the raw material a value equal to that of the substance he consumed.” “ you gain nothing," i replied with vivacity, " by giving up your general proposition, and limiting it to civilized states. for, in these, the artizan does more than add the value of his subsistence to the raw material. be. sides giving the agriculturist a full equivalent for the produce of the earth, which they consumed while at work, the manufacturers must fabricate many articles for their own consumption. the weaver, for example, besides prea novel 171 paring cloth for the purpose of purchasing food from the farmer, must also prepare clothing for himself and his family, and purchase from the neighbouring artizans various articles of necessity and convenience. now it is plain that whatever articles the manufacturers fabricate beyond what is necessary to purchase the food which they consumed while at work, is, even on the principles of the econo. mists, a species of wealth brought into existence by manufacturing industry. it remains after all the expences of its production have been replaced, and is as much a new creation as the surplus produce of the soil. all this argument of the economist turns upon the supposition that the manufacturer consumes a quantity of subsistence equal to the additional value which he 1 2 172 victim of intolerance, bestows upon the raw material. but this never is the case. the manufaca turer besides replacing to the agriculturist the value of the provisions he consumed, and besides fabricating various articles for himself, must prepare commodities in order to pay the rent of the house in which he lives, and, in this manner, furnish, no less than the former, a net surplus revenue to the land proprietor." mr. russel had been extremely disconcerted at the plausible eloquence which had been employed to justify the measures of the ministers whom he hated ; and the attack made upon his own party for obtaining a free trade for ireland; excited a degree of indig. nation' against his elderly guest, which it required all his natural politeness to a novel. 173 suppress. these uneasy feelings serryed but to heighten his gratification at the unexpected turn i had given to the argument. when i ceased, he first regarded me with a species of astonishment; and then, after appearing to pursue a rapid and interesting train of thought, he turned to me again, and smiled with the affectionate pride, the cordial triumph of a parent. i recol. lected the words of my friend mrs. o'neil, that it was his intention to select for the husband of julia some young man whose political attainments he approved and admired. hope die lated my heart. the present scene faded from before me, while with an ardent anticipation, i darted forward to the felicity i seemed destined to en joy. 174 victim of intolerance, i continued in this delightful reverie until the ladies requested our company in the drawing-room.the house of mr. russel might almost have been considered as a debating club, where the most eminent politi. cians of dublin assembled to discuss affairs of state. we found a large party in the drawing-room ; the ladies, with the exception of mary ann and julia, who attended to the guests, were amusing themselves with cards, while the gentlemen stood in groups conversing on the measures which were supposed to be so injurious to the commerce of the country. onjoining them, mr. russel introduced me in flattering terms, and related the conversation which had taken place in the diningroom. so," cried one of the gentlemen, whoseemed conspicuous for viva1 a novel . 175 city and spirit, “the disciple of quesnoi has at length been silenced, driven from his fortresses of sophistry, and subdued by the very weapons at which he imagined himself so dexterous.sir," continued he, bowing to me, “i am rejoiced to see you amongst us. one political economist, acting unchecked, is insufferable ; but when two come together, there is some chance of their neutralizing each other. uno restricted commerce will no longer be demonstrated to be the cause of national distress ; nor surrendering our export trade to the caprice of the english minister, proved by uncontrovertible arguments to be the best means of giving employment to our population," • gentlemen,” cried my political 176 victim of intolerance, 1 antagonist, unwilling to acknowledge himself defeated, “ the conversation which took place below stairs is entirely misunderstood. nothing was there said, and i submit that nothing can be said, to disprove that commerce is a mere transfer of commodities already in existence, and, therefore, incapable of creating wealth. what one country gains by trade, some other country must lose. our com. mercial intercourse with england has ever been against us, and it must be evident to any person acquainted with the subject, that if the measure of the minister check our exportation to that country, we shall receive a benefit, not an injury." “ more demonstration from old quesnoe,” cried our facetious compaa i a novel 177 nion.“ young dr. smith, cannot you favour us with a reply ?” « the reply is obvious," i return ed; "it lies on the very surface of the question. when we consider commerce as a mere transfer of commodis ties, and leave out of the calculation the effect it has in establishing divi. sion of employment, and augmenting the productive powers of labour, we take a narrow and inadequate view of the question. nature, by giving to different districts different soils and climates, has adapted them for different productions. one tract of land is peculiarly fitted for the growth of grass ; another seems as exclusively destined for the production of corn. in one country the vine grows luxuriantly, while the animals which feed upon i 5 178 victim of intolerance, its pastures have but a poor and scanty covering ; in another country, the grape ripens but imperfectly, while the fleeces of the animals it feeds furnish the materials for clothing in abundance. now it must be obvious to the most inattentive observer, that, by the estàblishment of a territorial division of employment, in these districts, and in these countries, the productions of the earth will be multiplied to an almost incalculable extent. if we sow corn on the arable land, and feed cattle on our pastures ; if we cultivate the grape beneath a congenial sky, and breed sheep where their fleeces will be abundant; then shall we enjoy more corn and cattle, more wine and clothing, than if we reversed the order of nature, ploughing up our meadow ground, and laying our arable lands à novel 179 under grass'; turning our vineyards, into sheep-walks, and sheep-walks into vineyards. but it is evident that, without trade and commerce,wes hould be unable to establish these territorial divisions of employment, which so greatly augment production. if the holder of pasture land could not exchange his cattle for corn, he would be compelled to counterwork the in. tentions of nature, and grow corn in grounds peculiarly adapted for grass. and if the owner of a vineyard could not obtain, in return for his surplus wine, the woollens of which he might stand in need; he would be under the necessity of converting a portion of his vineyard into pasture lands for sheep.” . > “ from this statement, it is to be 180 victim of intoleránce, hoped, that the utility of commerce will be sufficiently manifest. it assists every man in availing himself of the dexterity and skill which he may have acquired in any particular calling, and promotes the cultivation of the earth in a manner suitable to the climate and soil of different districts, and of different countries, and by both these operations, increases, to an extent not easily to be calculated, the wealth of the community in which it is encou. raged." “ it is impossible," rejoined the elderly gentleman, with evident marks of disappointment and vexation, " to discuss this question in a public company, and on the present occasion i must be content to prove the justness of my opinion, not by abstract argua novel 181 i mentation, but by a reference to facts. after ireland obtained a free trade, her exports and imports increased with a rapidity unexampled in the history of commerce. the consequence has been, that the national distress increased in an equal ratio. while the ad. vocates of unrestricted commerce were pluming themselves in their exalted wisdom and patriotism, mendicity and wretchedness spread throughout the land, and the king's attorney general, in the debate on the riot of the white boys, was compelled to declare that the peasantry of munster, paying enormous rents for their farms, and receive ing only six-pence a day for their labour, were no longer able to exist in the extreme distress to which they were reduced." . 182 victim of intolerance, 66 the increased distress which ireland suffered after she obtained a free trade, was produced,” i rejoined, “ by a very different cause. the population of ireland increases with a greater rapidity than that of any european country, and, as appears from a mass of official returns, doubles itself in a period of forty-five years: hence, though, upon our obtaining a free trade, a great increase took place in our exports and imports, and the mass of our wealth was wonderfully enlarged, yet no amelioration was produced in the condi. tion of the people. every year there was a greater quantity of subsistencethan the year preceding; but then this subsistence was divided amongst a greater number of persons, and no individual found his share of the ne. cessaries of life increased. the de a novel 183 mand for labour was increased, but then the supply was increased in an equal ratio, and no augmentation in its price obtained. indeed, while subsistence and population were increased in an equal ratio, the number of labourers unemployed, or inadequately rewarded, must necessarilyhave augmented. for if in any district the demand for labour is such as to give occupation to one thousand persons, while the supply of labourers amount to eleven hundred, then it is plain that one hundred persons must'remain unemployed. now let the demand for labour graduallyincrease untilit can afford occupation to two thousand, while the labourers, keeping the same ratio of increase,swell to two thousandtwo huna dred. hence, then, though the funds 18+ victim of intolerance, for the maintenance of labour are doubled, there will be two hundred persons out of employment instead of one hundred. the wealth of the district will have been doubled, but mendicity and wretchedness will have doubled also. hence we clearly perceive how the improvements in agriculture and commerce, which the free trade bestowed upon ireland, have been accompanied with an aggravation of the national distress. but this, instead of being a justification to the english minister for tampering with our commerce, would, were he acquainted with the structure of society in genéral, and with the state of ireland in particular, be a solemn and awful warning not to interfere with the industry and subsistence of a country already groaning un! a novel. 185 der all the miseries of redundant popu. lation.” the company, who were almost all attached to the opposition, loudly applauded these observations. my opponent declaring that he would no longer argue before auditors so prejudiced retired from the room, and the conversation ceased to turn upon political topics. mr. russel joined mrs. o'neil, who was his near relation and for whom he entertained the highest affection and respect. i had made a deep impression on him, and, as i afterwards learned from mary ann, my praise was the lavish theme of his discourse. “ your friend mr. o'con. nor," he cried, “is a most extraordi. nary young man, a master genius; and 1 136 victim of intolerance, وو in the discussion of political questions, i am unacquainted with his equal." " yes,” rejoined my partial friend," he is indeed an extraordinary young man,” and, as she spoke, she looked towards julia, who leanedupon her arm; "he can speak with every tongue, to every purpose. » as mr. russel turned round to address the rest of the company, he observed not the blush that glowed upon his daughter's .cheek. i advanced and occupied the seat beside mary ann, which he had vacated. julia still remained with her arm linked within her friend's. she conversed with confidence and freedom. the distinguished favour which her father had avowed for me had evi. dently caused her to relax from that rigid guard which she had lately main. & novel. 157 tained upon herself. an imagination delicate and varied, gave a colouring, a relief, a picturesque expression to every thing she said; while from tho shade of a nature timid and retired, flashes of enthusiastic feeling would occasionally burst forth, striking the understanding by surprise, and pene trating at once into the heart. i was kindled, i was inspired; i was about should her father approve, could julia love me?" but the expression faltered on my tongue, and julia, receding a little from my side, whis. pered to mary ann, unconscious that i heard, “ if i tarry here too long, my heart will not wait the sanction of my father. there is no safety but in flight. she vanished from before me; but the whispered accents of the sweet enthu. to say, 188 victim of intolerance, siast still sounded in my ear, and brought hope's warm vision to my heart. that evening she re-appeared no more, and i retired, exulting in the past, and anticipating the future. a novel. 189 chap. iv. the season was now far advanced, but amid the fading bloom of autumn, the “ sear and yellow leaf,” the air retained unusual mildness, and “ parting summer's lingering smile delayed.” the affectionate mary ann, ever solicitous to promote my interest' with mr. russel and the peerless julia, formed a rural party to visit the adjacent seat of a nobleman; and take a lo190 victim of intolerance, mantic repast in the domains. mr. russel could not be prevailed on to accompany us, and at this i secretly rejoiced. only awake to the charms of nature, and to the luxuries of soft delight, had he proposed to converse with me, my thoughts would perpetually have strayed from the dry details of political discussion, and inattentive and embarrassed, i should have lost something of his good opinion, and no longer appeared to possess those attainments which had called forth bis approbation and esteem. besides, i longed to gratify my taste ; to indulge the flowings of my soul unchecked, to yield myself to happiness without one uncongenial sentiment to interrupt the train of thought, and break the unity of the emotion which nature and julia would inspire. it was not a novel. 191 my desire to tell the tale of love, or, as yet unsanctioned, to solicit to be loved again. i desired to contemplate the beautiful and grand in the society of one tremblingly alive to each fine im. pulse, to watch the cmotions that dilated her, and, by the inspiration of sympathy, to have them reflected back into my bosom. the morning broke on an unclouded sky, and all things seemed conspiring to gratify my wishes and to ininister to happiness. after a delightful drive through scenery varied and picturesque, we arrived at our destinațion ; and, by the contrivance of my ever faithful mary ann, julia was comimitted to my care as we rambled through the lawns, the gardens, and the woods. thig pressure of her 192 victim of intolerance, le arm, as it rested within mine, was a talisman that waked to double life each function of my soul. all nature seemed to smile; the hills, the vales, the woods, “ to me were opening paradise.” my nerves were tuned to thrilling languishment; my pulses, as they throbbed, had a consciousness of pleasure; the air that i inhaled felt pregnant with delight, and life was luxury. 0 3 & th fe th t li a 1 the scenery which spread before us was the most picturesque 1 had ever witnessed. autumn had diffused her rich and varied tints upon the woods ; the thinned and falling foliage exposed the light and shadow as it fell between the trees; innumerable vistas formed by ever-varying slopes, and by the clumps that shaded them, opened to the eye, ic h td a novel. 193 and were lost in interminable distance; while a blue transparent mist rested upon all around, and gave a visionary indistinctness to the scene. i expressed to julia the effect it produced upon my fancy. i endeavoured to communicate the train of thought that glided in a kind of delightful delirium through my mind, and sought to in. fuse the complacent emotion that thrilled within my soul. but while i imagined she felt what i was feeling, that we glowed with one sensation, i lifted my eye to hers, and saw she was unmoved. i was strangely disappointed. i know not that i ever experienced an event more contrary to that which i expected. as if she had neither a heart to feel, or a fancy to be inspired, julia rejected the beantiful and picturesque, and fixed her 1 vol. ii k 194 victim of intolerance, attention on every circumstance that was uninteresting and trivial on the scene before us. she spoke of the woods, in reference to the period of their growth, and the domestic purposes to which the different trees were applicable; and the shrubs and plants that were scattered around in wild profusion, suggested observations relating to the classifications of the botanist. i scarcely could believe that it was julia's voice i heard ; and, while she spoke much, i answered in monosyllables. at length as we wound round the brow of an acclivity, a stream, now falling over rocks, now spreading in astill expanse, now hid behind the woodlands, and now breaking forth and gleaming in the beams of the declining sun, opened suddenly upon us, and gave to the a novel. 195 scenery a picturesque magnificence which may be imagined but not ex. pressed. an exclamation of delight escaped me. julia enquired in what district the river rose, and at what point it fell into the ocean. i made her no reply, but after a lorg pause of disappointment and chagrin, said, “julia, your fancy sleeps to-day.” “ it does not sleep, it is imprisoned.” the vivacity with which the reply was uttered seemed to indicate more than was avowed; but her meaning was hid from me. i was disappointed; i was hurt; and after we had sat down to some refreshments, i felt no sorrow to see the parties distributed anew, and mary ann committed k 2 196 victim of intolerance, to my care. i was anxious to tell my' story to this cherished friend, and to receive from her lips the consolation and encouragement i had so often experienced may you not,” said mary arin, when i communicated the reason of my uneasiness,“ may you not diseover some cause, different from that of insensibility and caprice, why julia should sometimes regard the beauties of natural scenery without enthusiasm “o yes; a taste so excellent, an imagination so sublime, 'may select the choicest features of a thousand scenes, and combine in one ideal landscape the charms of the world. hence she will often be uninterested by those a novel, 197 aspects of nature which, however beautiful in themselves, appear to disad-' vantage in contrast with her bright creations." “this cause is very flattering to julia, but i could assign another fully as flattering to yourself. before we set out this morning, julia said she wish*ed to avoid taking your arm during our rural rambles. i told her that as her father evidently preferred you to all the other men of his acquaintance, this excessive caution was unnecessary. her objection, however, was repeated, and i replied that i was queen of the amusements of the day, and would exercise my authority without restrictions; that if her father would ác. company us, i would permit him to carry on a political debate with you ; 198 „victim of intolerance, but if, as i feared, he should refuse to become one of my subjects, then it was my will that she should be your companion. on this she acquainted me that i might govern her external movements, but that she would retain her empire over all within, and regulate her ideas and feelings as she pleased. if i walk with o'connor, said the lovely girl, nature shall not * be beauty, to my eye, or music to my ear." 1 “ is this, my dear friend, account. ing for the insensibility of julia in a manner flattering to me; and can i feel gratified, that in my society, and in mine alone, she should neither have a nerve to feel, nor a fancy to be inspired , a novel. 199 " you an enthusiast, and hesitate to believe that love can do all things, reconcile contradictions, effect impossibilities, and cause a woman to feel least when she is interested most." " dear mrs. o'neil,be moreserious, and more explicit.?' "then, mr. o'connor, julia regards you as a dangerous magician, bearing about a spell which might suspend her reason and deprive her of her self-controul. she therefore places herself on her guard against your amulets and charms. this morning she told me that if she gave way to the reveries of fancy, and yielded her soul to the emotions of beauty and delight, while your mind kindled into similar enthusiasm, and felt a congenial glow, the 200 victim of intolerance, cords of sympathy would all be touched; each image, each sentiment, as it arose on your mind, would call forth · a representative on hers, until both glowed with one sensation,-until your spirits mingled, and she could no longer refrain from loving you. while in your society, therefore, she determined not to give fancy the reign, nor her feelings the mastery ; but, while contemplating objects exhibit. ing the beautiful and picturesque, to fix her attention on those uninteresting features of nature which were uncalculated to suggest a romantic train of thought, or to impart emotions too much allied to tenderness. i smiled at my lovely friend as she made this communication. her father has said so many things to me in your favour, that i considered her precautions to guard a novel. 201 herself against an attachment sanctioned by his authority, altogether unnecessary; while i discredited her power to shut her eyes and her heart to the images of beauty and the emotions of sympathy. she has exerted a degree of self-government, which, before this experimental proof came to my knowledge, i deemed incompatible with human weakness. but surely my disappointment in this respect should not be a source of uneasiness are you not treated with sufficient consideration? can self-love receive a higher gratification than that which must arise from being considered dangerous by julia ?” i felt that it could not. i thanked my ever kind and considerate friend for the cheering communication she had made. breaking from behind a transitory cloud, to you. k 5 202 victim of intolerance, the beams of hope seemed brighter than before. 1 as evening closed in we drove back to town, and i accompanied mary ann and julia to the residence of the for. mer. on entering we found mr. russel and mr. o'neil engaged in a têteà-tête conversation over their claret. the father of my soul's adored received me with a smile of gladness, and, pressing my hand within his, seated me beside him. his nephew, mr. neville, whom i had seen in the ballroom on my first introduction to julia, had made one of our rural party, and had also returned home with mrs. o'neil. he was a young man of quick and brilliant parts, but rendered him. self ridiculous by foppery and a love of display. in dress he went to the a novel. 203 fashion's last extreme; in conversation he was pedantic and paradoxical. such, indeed, was his unbounded fondness for notoriety, that he would court ridicule and censure rather than pass unobserved. for the sake of singularity, and to display his learning and acuteness, neville would frequently direct his attacks against religion. he was peculiarly fond of producing his sceptical arguments before his uncle, who, irritable in temper, and unexercised in metaphysical subtilties, could not detect the errors of his sophistry, and left him an easy victory. on the present occasion he went further than usual ; denying the existence of a deity, and wielding the arguments of atheism with much dexterity. mr. russel asserted 1 20+ victim of intolerance, with some heat, that in every age, and in every country the belief of invisible intelligent power with the first advance of reason ; that it was a part of our constitution, and that he who pretended to deny the existence of a first cause could not be met io argument, any more than the person who should refuse to admit self-evident propositions. the young sophist, far from being silenced by this remark, was delighted at having drawn his uncle into a dis. cussion, and in a triumphant tore replied, “ a first cause, so far from being suggested necessarily by the ex. ercise of our faculties, is what we are absolutely, incapable of conceiving. nay, to our understandings the idea of one first cause seems to involve 1 a novel. 205 a contradiction. that which we call a first cause must be self-existent, for if brought into being by any thing else it could not be an original cause. hence, the idea of a first cause necessarily involves the idea of a self-existent uncaused being, and this at once overthrows the whole argument of causation; for, if the deity can exist without a cause, the planetary system may exist without a cause also, and it is quite as easy to conceive an eternal succession of ideas and volitions as a divine mind.” he ceased, and mr. russel, turning to me, said, “ i trust.my friend o'connor is as good a metaphysician as he is a politician, and that he will put this prating boy to silence.” “ from all that i have heard of mr. o'connor's powers,” replied nevillé superciliously, 66 i am convinced that he is not su. 1 206 victim of intolerance, sense.” mean. perstitious, and thaton religious topics he thinks with me.” “ indeed, mr. neville,” i returned, “ you are exceedingly mistaken. at an early period of life i was lost, like yourself, in the trackless labyrinths of scepticism, but fortunately i discovered a clue which led me back into the paths of common “ of vulgar prejudice, you if the existence of a deity were capable of demonstration, such men as locke and clarke would have demonstrated it; but their arguments are on this subject entirely inconclu sive ; and surely it cannot be called common sense to believe that of which we can obtain nd proof." " i admit that the arguments of locke and clarke are inconclusive; nay, i will go further, and grant you that the existence of a deity is not capable of bea novel. 207 ing demonstrated, but it is not therefore the less true, or the less worthy of belief." "not true, or the less worthy of belief! while you continue to maintain contradictions you must excuse me if i decline to argue.” on saying this neville rose from the table around which mr. russel, o'neil and myself had been conversing, and in triumphant exultation, seated himself with mary ann and julia. our little party was disconcerted. surprise, disappointment and vexation were depict. ed in the countenance of mr. russel. my friends the o'neils evinced a deep concern that the favourable sentiments respecting me seemed in this all-important quarter to have received a check. the expression of julia's countenance i saw not. her head was averted, and she turned with trembling hor208 victim of intolerance, ror from her cousin neville, who tauntingly asked if she would any longer believe in a great pervading cause ? daring this scene i was the only person who retained composure. mary ann, observing my serenity, and perceiving that i smiled at the triumph which neville had so hastily assumed, recovered her wonted gaiety, and said, " i have but little skill in the science of intellectual war, yet i think that general neville, instead of coming off victorious, has, with prophetic caution, retired from before a fortress, the artillery of which would speedily have destroyed him. o'connor, you are the most candid man in all the world, and speak the truth even if it is against yourself. has neville argued successfully on the existence of a deity." a novel. 209 “ no, my worthy friend. he has, on the contrary, shewn himself wholly ignorant of the bearings ofthe question, and of the inductive process by which alone we can arrive at any conclusion respecting matters of fact. i felt he was in error, though i could not express the how and the where in your metaphysical technology.” o on this mary ann turned to neville, who unconscious of what had passed, was still importuning julia, and, taking his hand, said gaily, “my dear cousin, on any other subject, and be. fore any other auditors, i should not be so unkind as to recal you from the paradise of fools. i have not yet resigned my authority as dictatress of he day, and you must therefore renew the sports of intellectual gladiatorship, 210 victim of intolerance, and answer such arguments as your opponent may advance, before you can be granted the honours of a triuniph." “ i shall endeavour to obey you, returned neville, resuming his seat at the table; “but as mr. o'connor is not prepared to support the reasoning of our most celebrated theists, and as hé even acknowledges that the existence of a deity isincapable of demonstration, on this intellectual gladiatorship, i shall be only contending with a shadow. what have i to oppose ? what have i to refute ?" " it is abun. dantly evident," i returned, that no persons can argue together, who are not agreed on some principles of belief, and who do not mutually acknowledge some self-evident proposition of 1 a novel. 211 ultimate fact, beyond which there can be no appeal." “i acknowledge all self-evident propositions as principles of belief, and of course admit every conclusion which, by a process self-evident in all its steps, can be deduced from self-evident propositions." “ this is, indeed, a mitigated scepticism; but do you not acknowledge some other principles of belief? if your chair were to break from under you, do you not admit that you would be precipitated to the floor?" “ yes, experience convinces me of this." 212 victim of intolerance, does notexperience also convince you that the sun will rise to-morrow?" “certainly." “ here, then, you acknowledge a principle of beliefvery different from self-evidence ; you admit the facts which, by a process of inductive reasoning, can be shewn to be conformable to experience.” "i admit whatever is conformable to experience ;, but we can have no experimental knowledge of deity, and, therefore, all this conversation is una connected with our argument.” " here i must differ from you. experience is the foundation of all our . a novel. 213 reasoning respecting matters of fact. the question whether there be a deity or not, is a question of fact. it must therefore be determined by that deductive reasoning from which our conclusions respecting matters of fact are derived. if mr. locke or dr. clarke had attempted to demonstrate that the sun will rise to-morrow, then pretended demonstration would have been defective, if not absurd; but their applying to a question of fact, a species of reasoning belonging exclusively to the relations of number and quantity, would not, whatever errors they might have fallen into, lead us to doubt the continuance of the course of nature. in like manner, when theists pretend to demonstrate the exist. ence, and atheists the non-existence of a deity, the mind arrives at no con. 214 victim of intolerance, clusion, except that both are equal. ly ignorant of the principles of accurate and philosophic logic.” this, mr. o'connor, is travelling into a new field. we must keep to the question. the existence of a deity, as i have already said, does not come within the sphere of our experimental knowledge, and, therefore, cannot be decided by that inductive reasoning which is the foundation of our conclu. sions respecting questions of fact.” “ here, then, we join issue. i contend that the existence of a deity does come within the sphere of our experimental reasoning, and can be proved by an induction as clear, and as perfect, as any question of fact can possibly admit." a novel. 915 " this is no more than assertion. shew the inductive process; trace the steps by which the mind arrives at the knowledge of a fact so singular.” “ this is easily done. in human affairs universal experience informs us that order, regularity, and means concurring to an end, are connected with intelligent power. hence, whenever we see order, regularity, and means concurring to an end, we instantly, and with the greatest certainty, deduce the existence of a designing mind. when i find bodies of troops marching from different quarters to a certain point, arriving there about the same time, and furnished, during their route, with regular quarters, and supplies adapted to their wants, i have the fullest assurance that all these concurring circum216 victim of intolerance, $ stances were not the result of accident, but that some prince or minister designed and directed the whole. on seeing ships, from various nations, arrive at a commercial city, and freighted with articles exactly according to the wants and desires of its inhabitants, we have an irresistible conviction that somewhere or other, there are merchants who understood the nature of the market, and regulated the supply accordingly. now similar effects always suggest similar causes. finding in human affairs that regularity, order, and the concurrence of means to an end are inseparably connected with intelligent power, or a designing mind, when a similar order, regularity and concurrence are presented to us in the operations of nature, the understanding, by a process the most a novel. 217 natural and obvious, deduces' an invisible intelligence as the author and director of the whole." 66 the or1 “ but," objected neville, der and regularity which we discover in the universe may be accounted for without supposing the existence of in. telligent power.” “ if this were to be admitted it could not in the least in validate the argument drawn from drawn from experience. a just philosophy never attempts to account for the works of nature, by supposing or imagining any principle or power, the existence of which is not established by direct ex-, perience or a full induction; it as certains by careful observations some general fact, and refers to this the parvol. ii. l 218 victim of intolerance, ticular appearances which it would explain. the newtonian philosophy would not be overthrown if some ingenious conjecturer should hit upon an hypothesis different from gravitation, by which the motion of the heavenly bodies might possibly be regulated.” surely you do not mean to com. pare the species of argument employ. ed by the theists with the clear, the accurate, the unanswerable argumentation of newton!” “ 1 do. the mental process by which we arrive at the belief of invi. sible intelligent power, or deity, is precisely similar to theinductive reasoning of our great philosopher newton, who, finding that on ourglobe the principle of gravitationcaused all bodies to approach a novel. 219 towards the earth, and indeed towards each other, according to a certain law, was led to conclude that this principle might extend to the moon, and to all the material bodies of the planetary system. on observing the heavens, he discovered that the planetary motions corresponded exactly with the motions which the principle of attraction would occasion in bodieš placed respectively as they were in space. hence, the induction was full and complete, that the principle of attraction experienced on this globe extended to all the heavenly bodies, and regulated the movements of the planetary system. the theist, in like manner, learning from experience the existence of intelligent power, and seeing it, in all the affairs that come within his ob. servation, produce order, regularity, l 2 220 victim of intolerance, and the concurrence of means to ends, naturally concludes that intelligent power may extend to other departments of the universe, and exist in agents, which come not within the sphere of his perceptions. he looks through nature and discovers, though in an infinitelyhigher degree, an order, a regularity, a concurrence of means to ends, similar in character to that which, in human affairs, he finds inseparably connected with intelligent power. hence, by an induction as full and complete as can possibly be conceived, he arrives at the fact, that intelligent power pervades the universe." او 45 " but newton reasons on mathematical principles. his arguments are demonstrative." a novel. 221 6 * in all that relates to number and dimension, and in all that respects the periods of motion, and the orbits described, the reasoning of newton is, indeed, demonstrative. but then his whole system has its foundation in matter of fact. when it is once ascertained that all bodies approach each other according to a certain law, from this fact' conclusions strictly mathematical may be drawn; but the fact itself cannot be demonstrated : it is known from experience and induction. the superstructure depends on the foundations. all the demonstrations of mixed mathematics rest upon the facts which are ascertained hy induction. the discoveries of newton, which the atheist admits, are supported by a species of proof precisely analogous to that, which esta222 victim of intolerance, blishes the existence of a deity,which he denies. this is highly inconsistent. if you doubt the being of a god, you should also doubt whatever else depends upon inductive reasoning. you should admit that matter of fact is in. capable of proof." neville, absorbed in thought, made no reply. julia and her father seemed still to listen to my discourse, and, and after a pause, i resumed. $ “ but there is one great and striking difference between the reasoning of theism, and that of the principia. the induction which refers the principle of gravitation, experienced in our globe, to the other masses of matter diffused throughout the universe, a novel. 223 and which explains, by it, the various phenomena of the solar system, however full and convincing when once unfolded, remained unknown for almost six thousand years, and required the sublimest exertion of intellect to reach it. on the contrary, the induction that refers to the invisible intelligent power, the order and arrangement observable in nature, is so obvious and direct, that it has been made in the earliest and rudest periods of society, in almost all ages and all countries. whenever man rises a few steps above the brute, then the belief of deity exists. the knowledge of a deity is not, indeed, an innate instinctive principle of our constitution, because it requires a certain intellectual process to attain it. but then this process is so easy, and so short, that the 294 victim of intolerance, first unfoldings of the mind suggest it; and our religious sentiments, like the acquired perceptions of sight, though at first requiring an exercise of the judgment, are so easily formed, and so instantaneously suggested, that we forget to trace their progress, and mistake them for original impressions. hence the atheist is enabled to con. ceal from himself and others his ignorance of the human mind. the religious sentiments, whose progress he cannot trace, and the elements of which he is unable to analize, he denominates prejudices, and then, with preposterous presumption, endeavours to overthrow them by demonstrative reasonings, which, however admirable in their proper sphere of number and extension, are wholly inapplicable to inductive philosophy and questions a novel. 225 of fact.” again i paused, but no one spoke, and i resumed. “ i am not entitled to pass judgment upon atheists, for i once was one. but the ardent spirit of enquiry which occasioned me, at first, to doubt, led me, at length, to more clear convictions, and a firmer belief. escaping from the trackless desarts, the wilds of scepticism immeasurably spread, the order, the arrangement, the harmony of nature touched my heart again. new born beauties smiled in every scene, an informing spirit breathed in every grove. i no longer regarded myself as an unconnected atom floating for a moment on the troubled waves of chance. i felt that i was a link in being's chain, a part of an ordered whole,"performing allotted functions, acted upon and actl 5 226 victim of intolerance, ing. new sympathịes inspired, new affections warmed me. my sentiment of awe for the creator caused me to respect his creatures; and all the af. fections that connected me with man, carried my spirit to his maker. he who would look upon nature with a cheerful, or on humanity with a benevolent eye, must cherish religious sentiments. i speak from sad experience. infidelity is cold, disconsolate, and unsocial." 1 again i ceased to speak, and looked round upon my auditors. neville appeared to be struck,and lost in thought. mr. russel exbibited an impression of profound attention, and of deep complacency. exultation lighted up the countenance of mary ann,while julia, sitting by her side, and with her arm resting on the shoulder of her friend, a novel. 227 raised her mild expressive eye to heaven, and, absorbed and wrapt, seemed in communion with that unseen power, of whose existence i had presumed to speak. the subject had warmed, had inspired me, and less encouragement would have induced me to proceed. “ when the belief of invisible intelligent power has once been formed, we are led, by a natural and easy transition, to conceive, that when the visible body perishes, the invisible intelligence that pervaded it may continue to exist. indeed, the belief in a future state of being has been al. most as universal as the belief in the existence of a god, and the induction which leads to it is almost as oh vious. my friend lies cold and motion, less in death,. . the form remains ; 928 victim of intolerance, 1 the features arë, as yet, unchanged ; but where is the intelligence that lately lit them up? o where is that which heard me when i called; which felt iny feelings, and returned my love! it is fled, it is gone. but whither has it fled, and where does it reside? i will seek it in its favourite haunts. i will meet it in the grove where we have strayed. surely it will hear me still, and still return the love it has inspired. when the earth is veiled in night it will be when abstracted from the idle tumult of the world, in solitude and silence it will hold communion with my spirit. thus nature speaks; thus, in all ages, has she spoken. by a process obvious, and almost instinctive, the anguished heart gathers consolation, and the ardent affection which for a season had been plighted heres near me. a novel. 229 attains the hope of being renewed hereafter. and does philosophy destroy this hope ? does she withdraw each sun-beam from the heart of sorrow, and fix the tears of love in despair's eternal frost? ono; she is not this unrelenting enemy to man. her genuine lesson strengthens the hope which uninstructed nature gave. she retraces the inductions, which, formed when the understanding is unable to attend to its own operations, are often in danger of being mistaken for irrational impulse, or the prejudice of education, and gives the seal of conviction to our instinctive and unpremeditated judgment. no particle of matter perishes. the elements of things, whatever form they may assume, or into whatever combination they may enter, continue in substance 230 victim of intolerance, the same; and uniform experience convinces us that, in the natural world, no particle or atom that has once exist. ed can ever cease to be. hence, finding that all things which come within the knowledge of the senses, are indestructible, the mind is led to believe that things which affect not the senses are indestructible also. that which is solid and extended, is ever during ; that which feels and thinks, we natu. rally conclude to be the same. uniform and universal experience assures us that the essence of body cannot perish; and it is the legitimate deduction from this experience, that the essence of mind is immortal. when the visible form of my friend moulders and melts away, and the particles that composed it evade my senses, i know that, in aerial fluid, it escapes aloft, retaining a novel. 231 all its attractions, and forming other combinations ; and when his superior part no longer operates upon my mind, through the organic medium with which it was conjoined, the legitimate induction from experience is, not that this superior part has perished, but that it has passed to other spheres, where all its functions and affections are retained, and where it may again unite with those it loved on earth. “ if the inductive reasoning, which leads to the idea and belief of a future state, seem less obvious, and less close than that which establishes the existence of a god, the deficiency is amply made up by other inductive processes, which, starting from different points, lead us to the same result, 232 victim of intolerance, " when we contemplate the sensitive creation, we find that the most admirable harmony prevails; that wherever a desire exists, there something is provided to gratify it; and that every instinct that is implanted leads its possessor to something connected with its well being. now,is thedesire of immortality the only desire for which no gratification is provided? is the impression, that the friends we loved have an existence after death (for this impression, if it result not from a clear and legitimate induction from experience, must be instinctive,) the only natural impulse that is without an object, and that leads to nothing ? if a new material substance were presented to me, i should, without examination, confidently conclude that it possessed a specific gravity; and, if a novel. 233 asked my reason for doing so, i could only answer, because all other matter that has come under my inspection has possessed this property, and because i cannot get rid of the inductive process, that the new substance possesses it also. in like manner, if, amid the sensitive creation, i discovered a new instinct, i should as confidently expect that it pointed to some attainable object connected with the well-being of its possessor; and if asked to assign my reasons for such expectation, i could only answer, that all other instincts, which had come within my knowledge were but means adapted to an end, and led directly to the attainment of the object at which they ained. hence we see that the moral inductions of natural religion are completely analogous to the physical inductions of natural science. the con294 victim of intolerance, nexion of invisible intelligent power with the order and regularity observable in the universe, is as certain as the connexion of the principle of gram vity with the movements of the planetary system; and the immortality of the mind a legitimate deduc. :tion from the indestructibility of the body. if, as far as our experience extends, the desires resulting from the constitution of our nature, have corresponding objects adapted to their gratification, then have we a full induction, that those we love on earth may be re-united to us in another world.-o yes; the brother of my soul, the parent that guided my paths with the ceaseless solicitude of love, are not torn from me for ever. in the solemn stillness of the evening, their voices meet my ear; in the visions of the morning, their forms glide before a novel. 235 me;-in the abstraction of solitude, my soul feels conscious of their presence : and who will tell me that these suggestions were given to deceive; that the instinctive inductions of the heart are false? for aught that the sceptic can disprove, our departed friends may now be employed in offices of love, o yes; in forms more attenuate than the viewless air, at this instant they may hover round us, conscious of, and rejoicing in the ardent, the eternal love we bear them." here i ceased. a thousand tender recollections rushed upon my mind, and my emotions were heightened until they suspended utterance. i did not feel alone. julia hid her face in the bosom of mary ann, and, in all the joy of grief sobbed forth, “ mother! brother! your gentle spirits live ; 1 236 victim of intolérance, you hold communion with your sister and your child.” the tears of tender pleasure trembled on the cheek of mary ann, while she folded the fond enthusiast to her heart. neville rose abruptly from his seat, seized the hand of julia, and said, with a pathos we did not know him to possess,“ i have been wrong ; never will i speak lightly of religious sentiment again.” julia raising her head from the bosom of mary ann, gazed on him with a look of divine complacency. she threw her beauteous arms around his neck, and, unable to give language to what she felt, leaned on his shoulder and indulged his tears. mr. russel viewed this scene with deep emotion. the early feeling which many circumstances had contributed to destroy, seemed, for a moment, to a novel. 237 return. " the mother tongue of the heart” became intelligible to him again. “o'connor," he cried, “ the understanding and the feelings are subject to your sway. while you have put my nephew to silence, you have called all my sorrows up afresh. i had once a son. he was the idol of my heart, the hope and glory of my soul. if he had lived, he would have been of your age. if the promise of his youth had been fulfilled he wouldhavebecome what you are.” aftera pause he clasped my hand affectionately, andcontinued, “o'connor, since the first day i saw you, you filled me with a mingled sentiment of regret and pleasure,-of despair and hope. as i contemplated your merits, i became more awake to the extent of the loss i had sustained, while i fondly cherished the expectation that, in 238 victim of intolerance. ور you, this loss, in a certain sense, might be repaired. when we are more composed i shall have much to say to you. o'connor, i wish i could call myself your father.” as he spoke this, i started from my seat with agitation that chained my tongue, and almost suspended respiration. al ready i regarded myself as russel's son, as julia's husband. i shook in every limb. unable to controul the mingled feelings that rushed upon my soul, i retired from the company abruptly, that the turbulence of anticipated happiness might subside in solitude. end of the second volume. w. flint, printer, old bailey, london. 1 1 princeton university library 32101 067178747 this book is due 2009 the hermit of cheverley wood les an anacer imin the hermit of 7:3154 cheverley wood, and other poems. by emma c. wait. london: ranken & co., drury house, st. mary-le-strand. 1873. drury house london.w.c to my dear mother and sisters, who have so affectionately tended me through years of suffering, this volume is lovingly and gratefully inscribed. behold the chalice of my deep affliction is brimming o'er with added drops of joy, and flows to you from out the fragile crystal in waves of love that time can not destroy. contents. the hermit of cheverley wood . saint elsie's well in loving memory the wood violet my life autumn a midnight cry lines to my brother-in-law. the workman's evening rest teddy's ship . divided lives the path by the river my saviour the stars a birthday wish. called away . the heart's complaint margaret an acrostic baby's pet lamb. the rustic seat the dying girl's messenger of peace page 1 35865 33 61 67 68 70 71 75 79 81 83 85 86 87 58338 89 90 92 93 vi contents. sonnet. the moon. recollections of bamborough castle. the night watches the voice of the sea retribution what i ask little minnie το a cry for patience by the sea the bachelor's mission ioi 102 104 109 iio 112 114 115 117 119 120 121 123 124 125 127 129 134 136 138 139 140 140 141 143 146 lines on hearing of the death of a once dear friend 148 ― good night there is a spot a happy heart the sabbath day strangers now my baby the marks of age friendship and love sunset. farewell · • · the way to a baby-girl brave and true geraldine · cut down my heart. the dawn of love • • • • · • • • • · • • page 95 · 96 98 contents. vii my dear old songs sonnet to the nightingale a birthday prayer isabel. old letters magdalen sleep au revoir on the death of a dear sister a message sent by flowers. evening shadows. a bay-leaf • nowhere to lay his head out in the cold thy name hope's whisper may come, see the place. withered flowers. heaven my beau idéal • • · · • • • · • • 170 171 172 173 174 176 . 178 180 · • • page 150 151 152 153 154 156 158 159 161 163 164 167 168 the hermit of cheverley wood. the sun had ris'n, his golden light had bathed the earth in beauty bright; the dewdrops sparkled on each tree, the little birds sang merrily, as to its very utmost speed a horseman urged his panting steed. both horse and rider told that they had travelled far since yesterday. they both looked wearied, yet they pressed onward with an unchanging zest. one glance the rider caught at last of beauties through which he had passed. he'd reached the summit of a hill, and now he bade his horse stand still, that he might for a moment view the scene that ever sweeter grew, b the hermit of as now the sun's rich tinted beams were thrown across clear winding streams, which through a vale meandered on. the scene was fair to look upon; it touched his heart, his hat he raised, and god he humbly thanked and praised. a moment thus, and then once more he pressed on quickly as before. a noble wood now came in sight, its trees had reached a lofty height, their leaves were dancing to the song of sighing zephyrs borne along; the air was filled with melody, from birds that flew from tree to tree, so ready in their freedom sweet with swelling notes the day to greet. reaching the margin of the wood, the noble rider once more stood, but not to gaze on earth or sky; another sight had met his eye. a man, with flowing beard and hair, knelt in the attitude of prayer ; his eyes were closed, his hands were clasped, while at his feet a greyhound basked; a long low whine, as of reproach, it gave upon the knight's approach. cheverley wood. 3 startled, and like a stag at bay, the man arose, to calmly say— "ah! stranger, hast thou lost the road? well, turn thee unto my abode, "tis but a hut of meanest kind, but food and rest you there will find; your dress is travel-stained i see, pray, stranger, deign to follow me; the best i have i'll give to you, your steed shall have refreshment too." the stranger bowed and smiled assent to that kind offer kindly meant. "is there no village near?" he said, following where the strange man led. "ah, no mine is the only home for miles, whichever way you roam; for years i've lived here all alone, my dog my one companion." "what!" cried the youth, the strange recluse of cheverley— him who so long has baffled well "and do i see those who have sought where he could dwell? they've sought him on each peaky height, each cavern searched dark as the night, so curious were they; can it be that thou to whom i speak art he?" 4 the hermit of 4 "yes, i am he," the man replied, as slowly now he turned aside from the wide path which they had trod into a narrow winding road. most beautiful it was and fair, a place that spoke of tender care; a tiny brooklet wound along one side of it with babbling song, and there deep in the lonely wood the hermit's hut in view now stood. the stranger started in surprise at the fair sight that met his eyes. it was not rude as most huts are, but sweet with many a flowery star. the trees there had been cut away that there might fall the light of day. some plants, too, grew in that wild haunt, which would supply his simple want. "welcome!" the hermit said, as wide he threw his little door aside. the stranger crossed the threshold, then he turned to his strange host again— "it is not poverty indeed that forces thee this life to lead," he said, for his bright eyes had caught some treasures that are dearly bought. cheverley wood. сл 5 a book-shelf hung behind the door containing much of rarest lore: pens, ink, and paper lay around, and some deep books most richly bound. the hermit pointed to a chair, then quickly brought his humble fare— a loaf of bread, some fruit and winefrom which he oft was wont to dine. "eat, eat, my friend," he calmly said; "the board is small and poorly spread, yet still your strength it will restore ere you the road must take once more." "thanks, thanks!" the youth exclaimed; "and while i feast wilt thou the time beguile by showing me this mysterythat here a man like thee i see, of courtly mien and learning greatwilt thou the tale to me relate?" a look of sadness overcast the hermit's face, but soon it passed, and then it wore its wonted calm, with stately grace he raised his arm. "never before," he said, "have i related my life's history; but as you ask me for the tale the past for you i will unveil." 6 the hermit of a moment's pause, then he began his story sad, and thus it ran :— "you see me in this humble home, yet i was once a priest of rome. the mother church from earliest youth to me seemed goddess of the truth: its laws i kept, its dress i worei loved them in those days of yore. one night, the solemn service o'er, i walked along the sacred floor;i thought i was alone with god, as slowly through the aisles i trod. the church was dim but for the light of candles on the altar bright; the smell of incense filled the air, as though fair flowers were growing there. a rustling sound fell on my ear, i turned and saw a lady near. she pressed toward the altar rail, once there she threw aside her veilthe youthful beauty of that face would need a poet's pen to trace. she seemed in grief, for there she leant as if in deep abandonment. i knew she'd come for priestly aid, so after due observance made cheverley wood. 7 unto the cross as i passed by, i moved towards her silently, and drew aside a crimson fall revealing the confessional. into its sacred precincts she quickly arose and followed me. 'daughter, we are alone,' i said, and laid my hand upon her head; then she threw off her heavy cloak, and strange wild words from her there broke. it was so strange a tale to tell, it fell upon me like a spell; though years have passed since that occurred i can remember every word :— 'most holy father!' thus she said, 'a friend while on her dying bed besought me, oh! so earnestly, that i would stay and watch her die. although her faith was not like mine, the mission seemed to me divineto minister to one i loved, who would from me be soon removed. i stayed with her from day to day, and watched her gradual decay; my prayers unto our lady rose, that she would bless that soul's repose. 8 the hermit of and while i sat that loved one near her dying words fell on my ear: 66 adell," she said, with sinking voice, "my passing spirit would rejoice if for a moment i could think my words would turn you from the brink of that dark gulf on which you stand. here, darling, take my wasted hand, and listen while i once again swear to you that your faith is vain. you pray unto the virgin mild, she cannot save, perverted child; 'tis but by faith in god's dear son that ever heaven can be won; your purgatory is a mytha priest's invention for therewith they are enriched at your expense— it will not stand the light of sense. your many prayers will not avail; when once the soul has passed the veil it passes to its god who gave it life, and who alone can save. jesus has come, and he for us hath giv'n his life upon the cross, that he might save us from all sin,— through him we free salvation win. cheverley wood. 9 your church this truth doth never teach, such simple faith it cannot reach. adell, throw off your slavish chain, it will be your eternal gain. see what my faith has done for me: i joy in my extremity; i feel at death no dark alarms, i'm safe in christ's protecting arms. adell, my adell" but her breath was spent by fast approaching death; a smile o'er every feature stole, while from the body passed the soul. father, to thee i now confess, nor would i make my sin seem less : while listening to my dying friend a subtle power seemed to descendsomething that plainly showed to me i worshipped a false deity. affrighted from the room i fled, i knew not where, so great my dread: a low sweet voice seemed calling me, "throw off the yoke of papacy." my steps were guided to a room where many lights threw off its gloom; a book lay open-to engage my thoughts i stooped and turned a page. 10 the hermit of father, 'twas the forbidden book on which my eyes were turned to look. something impelled me to remain, i read it o'er and o'er again; and now, wherever i may be, the words i saw are still with me: they sometimes give me hope, and then they plunge me in despair again. say, father, is my sin too great to be forgiven? i fear no fate, no awful penance, if at last thou wilt absolve me from the past.' stranger, i heard her voice implore for absolution, but forebore to exercise my priestly power; for, strange to say, within that hour a feeling stirred within my soul which was beyond my own control. a veil seemed lifted, and i saw the church of rome my eyes beforenot as i saw it in my youth, but robbed of all its fancied truth; its outward grandeur still it bore, but it was rotten at the core. with tender words the young adell i sent from me, and then i fell cheverley wood. ii prostrate in that confessional, and doubt hung o'er me like a pall. at length this darkened soul of mine caught one fair glimpse of love divine; i searched the book from day to day, at last i found the living way; and then i sought the fair adell, the glorious news that i might tell. i told her that her lips had shown the truths that now i longed to own,oh how i wondered that so long i'd lived content among the throng of those in darkness, side by side, who superstition deified. poor child! although she had confessed, her spirit still could find no rest; and as my words fell on her ears, her soul found sweet relief in tearsthere was no doubt that god had moved those thoughts that would not be reproved. i walked with her o'er bible ground, and soon she peace and joy had found. amid my new-found peace i was troubled at heart for one great causehow should i to the church make known that i its faith had from me thrown? 12 the hermit of * * * * one night while sitting wrapped in thought, a message unto me was brought; at church my presence was desired, then quickly i myself attired. as i approached the sacred porch i saw the glare of many a torch, dark scowling visages they showed, faces i knew with anger glowed. a moment only did i doubt, then with an inward prayer devout i passed them, strode along the aisle, but no face met mine with a smile. there hundreds of my brother priests waited for me like maddened beasts; there was no doubt the truth was known, the traitor never has been shown. i was arraigned before them all, and made to answer every call; yet i stood strong through faith in god, whose son through paths of suffering trod. i heard a murmur in the throng, i turned, and rudely borne along, i saw sweet adell's graceful form facing the darkness of the storm. cheverley wood. 13 they marshalled her unto my side, and then together we were tried. but, oh! it was unequal play, they would not hear what we might say, but scorned the tale we had to tell, and shameful words upon us fell. the priest's anathemas were hurled against the flag we had unfurled; we stood and heard the awful blast of excommunication passed. stranger, i think i could have borne to have been subjected to scorn, had but that lady by my side been safe from that fierce sweeping tide. but, oh how hard it was to bear, to know that all she too must share. yet still her firm faith wavered not as slow we turned us from the spot; a thousand eyes upon us gleamed, a host of unsheathed swords they seemed. 6 fly with me, adell,' then i cried; 'my life shall shield thee at my side: god will his outraged saints defend, and will us succour quickly send.' i took her hand, we walked along, the centre of that seething throng; 14 the hermit of but at the door appalled we stood, the crowd seemed thirsting for our blood. a choking sob broke from adell as we were greeted with a yell; the shrinking maiden tightly clung to me as oaths were at us flung. the moon had ris'n, and calmly shone our poor defenceless heads upon; we felt the crowd around us press, that moment's horror who can guess? we could not move but where they led, and soon i saw their purpose dread; we were by them to be expelled from that great city, which still held our many dear ones-all the cost of faith we felt when they were lost. but yet we were most strangely calm beneath the wild, uplifted arm of those whose curses, dark and deep, might well have made e'en angels weep. we reached at last the city's gate, amidst that mob infuriate; once we had gained a country lane, the crowd streamed slowly back again. but not without a parting stroke, the worst that malice can evoke: cheverley wood. 15 a stone from some malignant hand, thrown from that now retreating band, whizzed sharply past me through the air, and struck poor adell's temples fair; without a moan she forward fell upon the breast that loved her well. i laid her gently down, and tried to staunch the wound, both deep and wide; but all my efforts to restrain that crimson tide were all in vain. alone and helpless in the night, i watched her life-blood flowing bright; i cried to god in my despair, that adell might not perish there. the sound of wheels then reached my ear, and soon a vehicle drew near; the kindly driver gave me aid, and adell soon was in it laid. i do not know how far we went, her precious life seemed well nigh spent ; at last we gained a widow's door, who well was known to me before. she kindly welcomed us, and soon sweet adell rallied from her swoon; a faint smile crossed her lips again, 'i'll trust him still, though he has slain.' 16 the hermit of those were the only words she spoke, her heart was stricken sore, and broke; her name has been of no renown, but now she wears a martyr's crown." the hermit paused, his face was bright as from some strange seraphic light; a low sob from the stranger broke, then once again the hermit spoke. with gentle hands the greyhound's head he fondly stroked, while thus he said"the very night that adell died i found my greyhound at my side; his scent had traced me through each street, and found at last my safe retreat. he gazed at me as if he knew the awful scenes i had passed through; and from that hour unto this date we never have been separate. i laid poor adell in her grave, where sighing trees above her waveher young life had been full of care, but recompense was waiting there." the hermit raised his earnest eyes, and pointed upward to the skies. * * * * * cheverley wood. 17 "though crushed and wounded, yet my faith survived that youthful martyr's death; i questioned not almighty power to bring some good from that dark hour. 'oh! be it mine now to proclaim the saving power of jesus' name!' 'twas thus i spoke, i longed to show the joys which through salvation flow. but, ah! how little did i think how soon my eager heart would sink! i was pursued-go where i would, the curses of the church withstood all my best efforts, all were foiled, my fellow-men from me recoiled. the church of rome no mercy knows, its priests are ever deadly foes to those who have cast off its faiththeir vengeance follows them to death. i had much wealth, yet i could find no peace or comfort in my mind, for everywhere i turned i saw the look of hatred as before. at last the deep unceasing strife drove me to seek a hermit's life; i coveted its sweet repose, far from the reach of all my foes; с 18 the hermit of and for my lonely home so free i chose the wood of cheverley. i built this little hut, and then my peace and joy came back again. your eyes have seen my ample store of modern and of ancient lore, and though so far from humankind, i study to enrich my mind; my lonely home to me is dear, i think i love it more each year. 'tis five miles to the nearest town, and when my scanty store runs down, then frip and i the journey take, our little marketing to make. though now my dog is growing old, yet in the chase he still is bold; he brings me many dainties rare, and equally the dish we share. i always seem to think that god has marked my solitary road, for in a special manner he doth condescend to dwell with me. fair visions float about me oft, while sitting in the twilight soft; my adell comes to me again, shining with light from yon bright plain. cheverley wood. 19 perhaps her angel form will come at last to take my spirit home; her martyr's crown i then shall see shining in heaven's radiancy." the hermit ceased, the stranger's eyes were fixed upon him in surprise; the thrilling sweetness of his voice like music made his heart rejoice. "oh, let this story be proclaimed," in eager tones the youth exclaimed; "come forward to the world once more, the tale shall spread from shore to shore. thy princely words so simply grand will stamp its truth in every land; all rome shall quake, a blow 'twill be struck at the root of popery. thou think'st that i mistook my way that thou hast seen me here to-day? but, no! this secret way i took simply because we dare not brook the wrath of priests, should it be seen that private meetings i convene. i'm one of a small christian band who've risen in this darkened land; the gospel seed 'tis ours to cast, hoping to see some fruit at last : 20 the hermit of the crafty priest's unerring eye seems to be on us constantly. i was despatched with greatest speed, because there now is urgent need that all of us to-night should meet to ask god for his guidance sweet. oh, come with me, and let the ring of thy rich tones glad tidings bring!" he pleaded hard and earnestly, but the recluse of cheverley thus made reply unto the youth whose eyes were opened to the truth :stranger, i think it is god's will i should remain a hermit still; though from the world so far away, i am not idle night or day. i've concentrated all my powers of intellect through lonely hours, in writing out in more detail the past that now i do unveil. 66 i often pray god to inspire and touch my pen with living fire; and watching it as quick it flew, i've felt that it had work to do. may it not be that god has sent me into this retirement, cheverley wood. 21 far from the world's engaging strife, to write the story of my life, that in my solitude he might shed o'er my words his holy light to quicken them, that they may roll black clouds of doubt from many a soul? if it be thus, say, stranger guest, shall not my hermit's life be blest? is it not sweet to think that he looked down and saw my misery, and seeing all my tears and pain, hath turned them to eternal gain? i am no vain enthusiast, yet thoughts like these cannot resist. in darkness lies great ancient rome, thrown from the height of each proud dome; it seems as though deep curses lay upon this land that owns the sway of him who ever claims to be earth's one infallibility. i think god's mercy is so great that it will even penetrate into this land of errors deep, waking dead consciences from sleep. were things not working to that end when he did sweetly condescend 22 the hermit of to open eyes so dark as mine unto the truth that is divine? i led the people far astray; and thus, perhaps, the first faint ray of christianity must shine. through all the woes that have been mine; and from my adell's grave shall rise a holy offering to the skies: hereafter, from that sacred place, many shall their salvation trace,— the story of her faith in god shall light poor sinners on the road. stranger, i think that rome at length will rise in grand triumphant strength, shake off the chain she's worn so long, and learn to sing the glad new song; that through her ancient streets there'll be a sound of gospel liberty. thus if i can so plainly see the way marked out by god for meif the great work on which i've spent the energies which he has sent, is destined to effect some good unto the church where once i stood, then wherefore should i now resign the noble task that has been mine? cheverley wood. 23 thy words, brave youth, have shown to me that he is working mightily towards that end for which i've striventhat rome may see the light of heaven. the knowledge that thy little band has risen in this darkened land, proves that the seed-time has begun which must unto the harvest run. no, stranger, no! i do not burn unto the world once more to turn. my calm life has unfitted me for wrestling in its troubled sea; my work approaches now an end, and then i think that god will send a messenger to bear me hence, to find with him my recompense." the stranger stood in wonder great, to hear the hermit thus relate that through appalling earthly strife he'd found the mission of his life, while with prophetic language he foretold the future destiny of that great city, which as yet its former ways could not forget. each word he spoke seemed to the youth to bear the impress of the truth. 24 the hermit of "most noble hermit!" thus he said, "i thank my god that he has led my steps unto this lonely place, one of his holy saints to trace. thou sayest truth, the world's dark sea is no fit place for such as thee; life's battles now for thee are o'er, and thou hast been a conqueror ; henceforth there is laid up in heaven a crown, which will to thee be given. oh, sir! i will not longer ask thee to perform so hard a task, as once again the sword to wield upon the world's great battle-fieldfar better that thou should'st have peace until thy earthly labours cease. but, ah! i would this now implore, that i might come to thee once more: i fain would sit low at thy feet, and listen to thy words so sweet. list'ning to-day, thy every word my inmost soul has strangely stirred. oh! do not this fond wish restrainsay, may i seek thee here again?" a smile stole o'er the hermit's face, giving to it a nameless grace. cheverley wood. 25 66 'stranger," he said, "i cannot bear to cast away so sweet a prayer; yes! come to me, if i can give strength to your faith that it may live. now that the sympathetic cord is touched, i know it will afford bliss that i have not known for years, to speak again with one who wears the armour of our captain high, whose name we seek to glorify. stranger, whenever you may come, you're welcome to my lonely home." the youth arose; his fine dark eyes showed forth his joy without disguise, as to the hermit gently he gave thanks for all his courtesy. "the road," he said, "i now must take, 'twill shorter seem for this sweet break; it will not be ere fall of night the distant city i will sight." the hermit with a gentle sigh, now that the parting drew so nigh, arose, and silently once more threw open wide his little door. with friendly words their way they took until they reached the tiny brook, 26 the hermit of near which the stranger's horse was tied, close to the welcome water's side. refreshed and strengthened by the food he had received, the brave beast stood, waiting to hear his master's call, ready unto his work to fall. once more emerging from the wood, those new-made friends together stood. "god bless thee, stranger! may he meet with thee to-night with counsel sweet. i pray him that thy little band may swell until through all the land the tidings glad of christ shall come as freedom to benighted rome. and if we meet on earth no more, we'll meet upon the heavenly shore; there'll be no bar to friendship there where peace and love are everywhere." the hermit's tender, last farewell upon the youth most sweetly fell. "farewell, farewell!" he cried, "and soon thou'lt see me; with the next full moon i'll find my way once more to thee within the wood of cheverley." he mounted then his faithful steed, and bade him go with greatest speed; cheverley wood. 27 and with a smile both sad and bright the youth rode quickly out of sight, leaving the hermit to his fate, so lonely and so desolate. * * * * three weeks had passed, when once again the stranger travelled o'er the plain : the sun was high in heaven ere he had reached the wood of cheverley. he'd noted well the path his guide had taken by the sweet brook-side; he tied his horse to the same tree; from it the hut he now could see. he hurried on and reached the door, knocked, each time louder than before, but no response the youth could win, so at the last he ventured in. oh! what a scene there met his sight, in the fair morning's golden light! upon his couch the hermit lay, his face turned to the light of day, lifeless and cold-while at his head his greyhound, too, lay cold and dead. the hermit's face was all serene, as if sweet thoughts his last had been; 28 the hermit of his hands were clasped, as if 'twere given that praying he should enter heaven. the stranger sank upon a chair, stunned by the sight so sad yet fair. how terrible it seemed that one should die untended and alone! he who the highest gifts possessed had passed in solitude to rest,— yet, no the hermit's lonely road was cheered and lighted by his god. at length the youth glanced sadly round: in ample order all was found; upon the little table nigh an open note soon met his eye. these last words were addressed to him, and penned with eyes fast growing dim; the lines sometimes he scarce could scan for blinding tears, but thus they ran :"ah! stranger, when thou com'st again, the sight of me will give thee pain; for then my spirit will have passed unto its promised rest at last. but do not grieve-earth's work is done, and heaven's glories now are won. does it not seem that it was true what i that morning told to youcheverley wood. 29 that god designed the work that i have carried on unweariedly? my manuscript is in the press, and he will give it rich success. my adell came to me to-night, clothed as an angel, oh! so bright; a beaming look was in her eyes, as pointing upward to the skies, she seemed to beckon me away unto the realms of endless day. her fancied presence does not go, but moves about with motion slow, as though she waited for command to bear me to the heavenly land; and so i seem to know that i will soon be in eternity. one grief within my heart is found, that i must leave my faithful hound to perish near me in his grief, which will i know find no relief. stranger, if haply thou should'st come ere he has died, oh! take him home, and love him for the hermit's sake,— wilt thou this kindness undertake? it is so sweet to feel the breath of love that's faithful unto death. 30 the hermit of i've often wished that i might lie at adell's side, where the soft sigh and murmur of the self-same trees might tell our sad tale to the breeze. but now i do not even seem to care for that once cherished dream; what matters it where bodies lie, when souls have met again on high? look out some lowly spot where i may rest in sweet obscurity; my book will bear my real name, upon my tombstone place the same. and now once more a last farewell! may god's sweet spirit with thee dwell; in those few words so widely framed all earth's best blessings there are named. grieve not, for now at rest will be the strange recluse of cheverley." the very gate of heaven it felt unto the youth as there he knelt, asking for guidance from above, and strength from never-failing love, to carry out each simple plan laid down by that now sainted man. and after prayer, no more cast down, he rode back swiftly to the town; cheverley wood. 31 told all the tale to christian men, all things were quickly settled then. the youth himself set out to trace the martyred adell's resting-place : it was not difficult to find, for there, where flowers were entwined, a simple cross her sweet name bore, with date of when she reached that shore where now they two together stood, all purified through jesus' blood. and so those men devoutly brought the hermit to the grave he sought, and laid him by sweet adell's side; thus was his last wish gratified. the day had passed, when that small band received a note in some strange hand: its contents were a great surprise, a noble cheque there met their eyes; its signature was bold and free, the hermit's name of cheverley was thus revealed—the name so long omitted from the world's gay throng. this was the last work he had done before his earthly course was run,fit ending to a noble life: noble because through all its strife 32 the hermit of cheverley wood. he had looked up in faith to god, and with humility had trod the path assigned to him in love, to fit him for his life above. and often hath the stranger stole, with chastened gladness in his soul, that he might sit where peacefully sleeps the recluse of cheverley. his life has fled, but still we find the fragrance from it left behind, as flowers that are dead and gone in perfumed sweetness still live on. saint elsie's well. 33 saint elsir's well. the soft, sweet radiance in the west threw o'er the earth a mystic light; but nowhere did its glory rest, with such array of colours bright, as o'er the vale of coresleigh. the sunset, lingering with a smile, lit up the vale's fair scenery— none sweeter in our lovely isle. a little village slept beneath the shelter of the grand old hills, whose brows were crowned with purple heath, and o'er whose sides a hundred rills came rippling with a happy song, as though rejoicing that their course was thus to gaily creep along to join the stream, whose only source had ever been those secret springs ;that stream that o'er its pebbly bed with low-voiced music softly sings, as like a gleaming silver thread d 34 saint elsie's well. it winds about with gentle flow, kissing with dewy lips the sweet fair flowers that near it trembling blow, in simple grace, in that retreat. the house of god, with tap'ring spire, stands on a distant flower-clad hill; its bells, like poet's sweetest lyre, the troubled heart can strangely still; for through the trees their music floats out clearly, and the stirring strain is caught by echo, and the notes flow softly through the vale again. the pretty churchyard gently slopes, and many a simple stone proclaims the dear and fondly cherished hopes that perished with those sainted names. sweet coresleigh! thy peacefulness seems now as though no other scene had left its mark of wretchedness to mar thy beauty so serene. but as the canker-worm will steal into the heart of roses fair, and eat till withered leaves reveal the enemy that's hiding there; saint elsie's well. 35 so into thee long years ago the canker-worm of sorrow crept, and stopped not in its work of woe till over thee had rudely swept a bitter tale of grief and wrong. ah! how it comes to me once more while roaming thy sweet scenes among, remembrance of those days of yore. methinks 'twas just an eve like this, the king of day low in the west, departing in a trance of bliss, his glowing mantle on his breast, when through the quiet village strolled a maiden sweet and fair to see, and slowly through the haze of gold that lay upon bright coresleigh, struck out upon the path that led up to the church, through pastures sweet, where wild flow'rs on their grassy bed talked of their gladness at her feet. not lighter seemed the tiny wing of songsters on their happy way than she, whose swift elastic spring scarce left a mark upon the way. 6 saint elsie's well. she onward went until she passed the churchyard gate o'ergrown with moss; but where a line of yew-trees cast their shadow while their branches toss, the swiftness of her footsteps waned, and slowly by the wall she trod until a narrow path was gained— the entrance to a lonely road that wound along the hill's sweet brow, and led to a secluded spot where many a village lover's vow had sweetly charmed their humble lot. and now upon the list'ning ear, sweet as the gentle love-bird's call, the low, soft plash of water clear sounds from a tiny waterfall, that over many a smooth-worn stone runs rippling from the well-spring deep, upon whose placid breast is thrown wild flowers that near it sweetly creep. beneath the willow's shade a seat direct from nature's hand is seena shadow from the noontide heat, a grateful rest at eve serene. saint elsie's well. 37 'twas that fair spot the maiden sought, but swifter than her tiny feet that hour another one had brought unto that sweet secluded seatone whose strong arms about her thrown told well unto the trembling maid, the love as tender as her own that sometimes made her heart afraid. for, ah! she could but faintly guess at what his station was, for he with care (though all in tenderness) had kept his birth in secrecy. so she but knew that they had met as strangers one short month before, and felt she never could forget the love now hers for evermore. with fond caress the lovely face he drew to him, that he might trace beneath its innocent disguise the love that lay in those dear eyes, and in the mantling blushes bright, that seemed to catch the rosy light of yon fair sunset, dying now behind the dark hill's lofty brow. 38 saint elsie's well. but as the moments wore away, taking with them each crimson ray, a shadow o'er the sweet face stole, reflected from her inmost soul; for on her gentle heart there fell from the dear lips she loved so well, the tidings that another day must find him far from her away. lost now the music of the sweet, clear water trickling at her feet; unheeded, too, the lovely scene that fair a moment since had been; the soft wind sighing through the vale seemed but to tell again the tale of sadness that had o'er her swept, as through the trembling trees it crept. but as the sweet stars after rain will pierce the clouds and shine again, so elsie's stricken heart once more beat with the joyousness of yore, as from the lips she thought so true a tale of fairy brightness grew. why linger on each tender word that her pure soul so deeply stirred? enough that on the morrow morn they stood before god's altar one. saint elsie's well. 39 each solemn vow to elsie's heart seemed but the song "we need not part"; and at her handsome bridegroom's side she went away a happy bride. but elsie recked not of a heart she left behind in coresleighone fighting with its cruel smart, and writhing in its agony. but so it was a village lad, who long had loved fair elsie well, and waited patiently and glad, that he might of his passion tell, until a home he should prepare fit for so sweet and fair a wife: and now a stormy cloud of care had fallen on his blissful life. he did not grieve as some men grieve, but with a violence unblest, he called on hatred dark to weave her deadly web within his breast. he called for vengeance from a god whose sweetest attribute is love, and sought through every path he trod his shattered hopes to disapprove. 40 saint elsie's well. but all in vain his burdened soul sought refuge in so wild a way; his heart refused the strange control, nor would his reckless will obey. the summer flowers had drooped and died, the warm south winds no longer sighed through the sweet vale of coresleigh, with their soul-stirring melody ; but now the snow-clad hills were seen, where heath and flowers had lately been,— when like a sunbeam o'er the place came once again fair elsie's face. but not the elsie of the past, for with the halo wealth had cast about her, every charm of old was multiplied a hundred-fold. upon her now were always seen jewels and silks of richest sheen ; but underneath the costly dress her heart of loving tenderness was all unchanged, the poorest child in all the village, when she smiled, felt that she was its friend, and came its loving worship to proclaim; saint elsie's well. 41 and with one heart the village rose, and welcomed her to its repose. but as the weeks and months went on, and found sweet elsie all alone, a feeling sore and sad to see crept through the vale of coresleigh. 'twas but the faintest breath at first, but soon the startling question burstwhere was her husband now that she was lonely left?-oh! could it be a tale of shame, that elsie's brow so pure would brand for ever now? ah! surely not, 'twas said-but when the weeks rolled slowly on again, there rose once more the doubt and fear, as elsie's trying time drew near and brought no husband to her side, eager to claim his cherished bride. a little babe at length was pressed with fondest welcome to her breast; 'twas then that those about her heard from elsie's lips the first sad word :"would that my bertrand had been here!" fell wearily upon the ear. 1: 42 saint elsie's well. "and where is bertrand," questioned one, "that thou hast been so long alone?" then with a tearful joyousness, stroking her babe with fond caress, sweet elsie gently spoke of him in words that made their eyes grow dim. she told how she, his happy wife, had found that bertrand's noble life was promised to fair england's queen, to guard our isle; that he had seen two battles fought, and that great fame now rested on his ancient name,— that name which every simple heart remembered, with a sudden start of joy, as england's hero great at the last battle, when the fate to human eyes of our proud land had seemed to be within his hand, and he with courage would not yield, but took possession of the field. but all unlikely did it seem, and wild as fancy's wildest dream, that ever one so great as he should linger on at coresleigh, climbing the hills at elsie's side, and at the last make her his bride. saint elsie's well. 43 ah, no! each loving heart there felt the cruellest wrong of all was dealt unto poor elsie; and her eyes pierced through the kindly-worn disguise. of soothing words and comfort given, and felt as if the light of heaven had suddenly gone out-as though. to her the heaviest load of woe that ever had been borne before had come; but she in silence bore the doubt, for with the faith of youth she staked her all on bertrand's truth. she uttered no reproach, but she grieved much, though it was silently; and on her infant's face oft fell great glistening tears, that nurses tell unhappy omens are for they foretell its death not far away. — but what of that poor village lad, whose love for elsie had so sad an ending? he had been away, almost unheard of, since the day that elsie faded from his sight, and left him in such gloomy night. 44 saint elsie's well. but it was known that he had gone, her face once more to look upon : he vowed with fearful oaths that he would not return to coresleigh till he had seen her, and had brought upon her every vengeful thought that had been cherished in his heart, when rudely forced from her to part. but, as unmindful of his vow, stephen returned to it once more; but, ah! he knew the secret now, that elsie lived there as before, and the deep hatred of his soul seemed only wilder grown with time; the zeal with which he sought the goal was worthy of a task sublime. but as the fiercest flame will yield to water's power, when o'er it thrown, and as the conqueror on the field has wept for fallen foes unknown; so the first sight of elsie's face quenched in his heart the sinful fire; and with a sigh he wept to trace a grief so heartfelt, so entire, saint elsie's well. 45 that it was leaving signs of care upon the pure and noble brow that he had left so sweetly fair. forgotten then each angry vow, and all the love he felt for her in the dear happy days of yore, returned his blighted heart to stir, and bring him peacefulness once more. and once again the summer fell upon sweet coresleigh, and bright grew the flowers, as though to tell their joy that past was winter's night. but, ah! the gladness all around found no response in elsie's breast; the grief she felt was too profound to let her troubled heart find rest. the fearful sting of doubted fame rested upon her, while she knew the author of her fancied shame was proudly honourable and true. sorrow was seen upon her face, nothing her sadness could beguile; but when her babe, with infant grace, into her eyes would sweetly smile, 46 saint elsie's well. then o'er the lovely face would sweep the sunny brightness of the past; her rippling laughter soft and deep was. only on her infant cast. "why is she thus ?" would stephen ask, and village tongues the tidings told, their heartfelt grief, the kindly mask, they threw on her so dear of old. in silence deep the tale he heard, but it was that dread calmness found above volcanoes, ere is stirr'd the burning lava that around will one day desolation cast: beneath his silence who could guess lay the dark seeds whose flow'rs would blast his hope of heaven and happiness? as time wore on a greater grief fell on th' already stricken heart: poor elsie's babe, that tender leaf, was blighted, and the bitter part was hers to see the blossom droop, and watch while it so silently broke from its stem-the fragile loop that held its life gave way, and she saint elsie's well. 47 was left in utter loneliness. ah! who can add aught to the blow that fell upon her?-who can guess what this last bitter drop of woe was to the gentle heart, that had so long wept sorrowfully for the absent one. ah, no! too sad would be the task, no earthly lore could picture it; but the deep eyes of sympathy, with clearer view, will see the grief that speech defies, or feel by pangs that once it knew. poor elsie, in her sorrow deep, had but one solace in her life, and she this hope would fondly keep, that bertrand still would claim wife. his but, ah! 'twas sad to see the face so bright of yore grow pale and stillto see her move about the place, her daily routine to fulfil. the only peace she seem'd to feel was at the hour of sunset sweet, when she would to the old well steal, and sit her down upon that seat 48 saint elsie's well. that eloquently spoke of him whom now she could no longer see; and there with cup full to the brim, she prayed, "god send him back to me!" and nightly 'neath the willow trees, poor stephen stood her prayer to hear, that sweetly as the evening breeze fell on his jealous list'ning ear. but elsie's drooping energy was roused again. o'er coresleigh there swept a scourge of deadly kind; and while it reigned the strongest mind in terror quailed, and felt afraid to move where stricken ones were laid. but elsie, with no fear of death, shrank not away from tainted breath, but moved about from bed to bed with gentle smile and quiet tread, that cheered the weary hearts of all who living saw their dear ones fall. and like a spring of water clear to thirsty souls did she appear; for bending o'er them oft she told the bible story, sweet of old; saint elsie's well. 49 she held the lamp upon the road, and showed the sinners' way to god; until the lonely river-side of death was reached, she was their guide! a power seemed giv'n her from above, to carry out her work of love: and as the patient, lovely face was seen about the stricken place, and as her voice, so sweet and low, seemed softening each heavy blow, then there arose in coresleigh a whisper spoken reverentlythat elsie was a saint that heaven had unto them most sweetly given. and as the sickness fell away, 'twas said by them from day to day, that elsie's prayers at sunset's hour had brought from heaven all-healing power. and as they watched her night by night climb at that hour the grassy height, and take her way to that lone well, each simple village heart would swell to think that such a tide of strife had fallen on saint elsie's life. e 50 saint elsie's well. the autumn wind sighed mournfully about the hills of coresleigh; the sunshine resting on the leaves a darker crown for summer weaves. but though the winds at eve grew cold, still faithful elsie as of old crept wearily, with pallid face, unto her much-loved trysting-place. and ever at the well would she gaze through the sweet vale wistfully; watching for one that had not come, as he had said, to take her home. and as she sat there in the haze cast from the gorgeous western blaze, one evening, while her heart felt chill with hope deferred, yet hoping still, there fell upon sweet elsie's ear something that brought the ready tear to her sad eyes. 'twas but the sound of quick, light footsteps on the ground; but, ah! the tumult in her breast! she stirred not for a moment, lest the sound so sweet should die away. but as they nearer came, and they grew more familiar still, a cry broke from her, and the glowing sky saint elsie's well. 51 what now seemed swimming wildly round, while she sprang to her feet, and instantly was caught in bertrand's arms. the doubt that lay on her pure brow? 'twas but as naught the silent kiss of strangely-mingled pain and bliss swept all her misery away, and left her now in cloudless day. in utter silence moments sped with lightning wings, when bertrand said"my elsie, can it all be true that i am here, and with you, too? my wife, one sentence to me speakgive me the welcome that i seek." 66 bertrand, my bertrand! thy dear name seems all my trembling lips can frame: but do my clinging arms not tell my joy at thy return full well ?” 'twas thus she spoke: not at the first will the deep flood of mem'ry burst; but each word, as a tiny spring, will others in its sweet course bring. but while they sat beside the well, and twilight came, 'twas hers to tell of their fair blossom now at rest, and spend her grief upon the breast 52 saint elsie's well. so true that, with emotion deep, he could with her still sadly weep for the dear little one not seen, whose life so like a flower's had been. then it was his turn to unfold his soldier life, so free and bold, in foreign lands far o'er the sea, where he had longed for her to be; but, with true love's unselfishness, he would not risk her tenderness in that hot clime. but as that word fell softly from him, something stirred behind them, 'neath the willow's shade, and he, with soldier's swiftness, made a sudden spring, as though he thought some enemy's retreat he'd caught. bertrand, that sound was but the breeze sighing softly among the trees;" thus elsie spoke, and, smiling, he remembered with new ecstacy 66 that he was now on english ground, where lurking foes are seldom found. but there's no land, however great, where are not found revenge and hate: saint elsie's well. 53 men who would scorn a traitor's part hug things as vile within their heart. and so it was when bertrand's ear had fancied that a foe was near, 'twas all too true, for crouching there was stephen in his wild despair. for that sad story's low refrain was beating in his fevered brain: he still believed it true, and all the passions that men's minds enthral were stirred in him, when there he saw the villain upon whom he swore to be revenged. he watched them meet, with fondest love, in rapture sweet: he saw the noble, manly breast that gave to elsie heavenly rest. his shattered mind no more could bear, but with a cry that rent the air a loaded gun, with steady aim, he fired; and, with the fatal flame, fled with a swiftness born of fear, and stopped not till the village near he met with friends, to whom the tale, with frenzied words, he did unveil. and as they turned towards the hill stephen his course continued still; 54 saint elsie's well. and from that night no man could trace in all the world his resting-place. how true the deadly shot had been was quickly in its victim seen, for in a death-like swoon he sank at elsie's feet upon the bank. "bertrand, my bertrand!" elsie cried, with blanched lips, kneeling at his side: her heart within her seemed to die as from him broke no moan or sigh. she prayed aloud in accents wild that god would look on her his child, and help her in that hour of need, and succour send to her with speed. "hast thou," she asked, "this fond joy given to us but newly to be riven ? " and as she prayed, upon her ear fell the sweet sound of voices near; and then she knew each heartfelt word that she had prayed, in heaven was heard. ah! who shall say the father's ear is closed when trembling ones draw near, to tell their sorrow at his feet, and ask for strength their griefs to meet? saint elsie's well. 55 and now a yellow moon hung high in heaven's blue starry canopy, throwing her light upon the place where bertrand "lay with upturned face. ghastly, yet nobly grand, was he who by an unknown enemy was thus cut down at elsie's side, in manhood's prime, fair england's pride. though rough the hands of elsie's friends, yet kindly hearts them softness lends, as bertrand's wounds they seek to dress, with touching care and tenderness. they brought clear water from the well, and as in sparkling drops it fell upon his face, a low deep sigh broke from the warrior wearily. "bertrand! oh, bertrand! only speak to me, or else my heart will break!" that was poor elsie's cry, and he moved once again her face to see; and, like a lightning-flash, his mind turned where his heart was fondly shrined. elsie, my wife!" he said; but, ah! 'twas only like some midnight star, "6 56 saint elsie's well. that swiftly shoots across the sky, bright but a moment to the eye; for her he then no longer knew. and as he fainter, weaker grew, his wand'ring mind was with his men upon the battle-field again; and as he cheered them on, each word the hearts around most deeply stirred: then through the stillness of the air there went a melting, low-voiced prayer:father, i lift my heart to thee in thanks for this great victory! how valiantly thine arm doth fight for those upon whose side is right! now let me touch proud england's shore, and give me back my wife once more." and with these words brave bertrand's soul had reached the christian soldier's goal. 66 ah! how the simple hearts were wrung as elsie to his cold form clung, her face upon his bosom pressed, even in death her sweetest rest. "dear elsie, come with us," one said, gently stroking the prostrate head; saint elsie's well. 57 but elsie spoke not, and in fear the others tremblingly went neardrew to their arms the stricken one, to find sweet elsie's spirit gone. too much the blow for that fond heart, already wounded with the dart of grave suspicion on each face that met her in her native place, mixed with the thrilling joy that they, standing around, heard bertrand say"my wife!" with lips that scarce could frame the holy sweetness of that name. too late they heard the truth, for now in vain they hung o'er elsie's brow; weeping that they a doubt had thrown. upon the life so saint-like grown, that even now her lying there seemed but heaven's answer to a prayer to take her from the earth away, where life would be but one sad day to her, when bertrand now was gone, leaving her in the world alone. and from the day that side by side bertrand and elsie had thus died, because so long her nightly prayer for him and them was offered there, 58 saint elsie's well. they gave the well sweet elsie's name, and healing virtues for it claim. this is the tale, fair coresleigh, that thy sweet vale brings back to me; and this the tale that near the well the evening zephyrs sadly tell, while through the willow trees they seem to chant a holy requiem. but still ev'n it can not efface the sweetness from that lovely place; but rather like a picture found, whose subject through the dark background comes out in stronger force and power, 'tis brighter seen through that dark hour: and those who visit coresleigh, its wond'rous loveliness to see, still hear the village people tell the story of "saint elsie's well." miscellaneous poems. in loving memory. 61 *a ganing hrmarywith letters deeply cut in love i would record thy name; to thee a tribute such as this were sweeter far than fame. my father! oh, how precious is thy sacred name to me! i try to be resigned, yet grieve with deep intensity. years have rolled on, but sadly yet i miss thy kindly face, thy cheerful voice, thy much-loved form, from its accustomed place. i grieve for thee when music sweet falls gently on my ear; for it recalls the tunes i played, that were to thee so dear. 62 in loving memory. i miss thee at the evening time, when i could come and rest, in playful, loving confidence, my head upon thy breast. how often are my weary eyes heavy with unshed tears, while looking wistfully away to other, happier years! a deep, deep sorrow has been mine since our last sad embrace; and passionately my heart cries out once more to see thy face. 'tis but in moments of despair i cry out in my pain; in calmer hours i would not ask to have thee back again. for then hope whispers to my soul, in heaven we two shall meet; then separation will but make re-union more sweet. the wood violet. 63 what sweeter tribute to thy worth could e'er be paid to thee, than that thy children hold thee still in loving memory ! the wood biolet. shrinking modestly from sight, nestling 'neath the green leaves bright, watered by the dews of night,— oh! sweet violet, all unseen, careless of the world's gay sheen, thou art blooming, fair, serene : 'midst the woods, where wand'ring feet, guided by thy fragrance sweet, find at last thy safe retreat. little floweret, pure and fair, with thy pearly petals rare perfuming the lonely air,— 64 the wood violet. let my life like thine be found shedding sweetness all around, then with joy it shall be crowned. though like thee i live apart, fain i would some wounded heart draw to mine and heal its smart. little flower, you do not know of the lips oft pressed in woe to your cup of purest snow. but my bosom by its own knows the pain that, hopeless grown, fain would hide its grief alone; and i would stretch out my hand through the lonely sorrow-land, telling some i understand. thus like thine my life would be fragrant in obscurity, sweetness flowing out from me. my life. 65 my fitr. the twilight falls about me here, kneeling with tight-clasped hands; peering with tear-dimmed eyes into the past dear sunny lands of hope and love, where once i stood with shy, expectant feet, waiting with eager, wistful gaze my future life to meet. it seemed a path of roses fair that stretched before my eyes; with fountains clear of love and joy, o'erhung with cloudless skies. the song of birds made melody through all the shining way; i longed to start upon the road that so inviting lay. i started off with prospects bright upon the world's wide track; and now, with twilight falling round, i'm kneeling, looking back. f 66 my life. but, oh! the difference between my girlhood's fancied road, that lay so temptingly in view, and paths that i have trod. i plucked the roses, but i felt the thorns that 'neath them lie; i drank at founts of happiness, and felt the springs grow dry ; i heard the melody of birds, that seemed so sweet of yore; i felt the fondest ties of life that charmed the road before. but, ah! i saw them one by one fade from my yearning sight, and sad and desolate my life was left in gloomy night. in ruins lay the structures fair that were of life a part, after the sudden shock that caused the earthquake of my heart. but often in the twilight hour, with gentle touch and kind, i search the ruins of the past, my buried joys to find; autumn. 67 i look with tender, loving gaze upon the scene of strife, and sigh that only joys long dead are left to me of life. autumu. the summer wanes, and from the flowers the petals noiseless fall; the leaves are fluttering from the trees, at autumn's silent call. the sun has tinged the luscious fruit with dusky blushes bright; the warm, soft winds have softly woo'd the summer birds to flight. the sea-bird, with a lazy sweep, skims o'er the sapphire sea, resting a moment on the waves, soothed by their melody. 68 a midnight cry. a hush seems over everything throughout the sultry day, as though all nature mourned to watch the summer's sad decay. and shall an autumn like to this fall o'er my sunny way ? shall that one time be all that's left of youth's sweet, happy day? 'tis sad to think the flowers of bliss their petals sweet may cast; that scattered leaves, so perfect once, may tell me of the past! ah! who shall blame us if we draw the nectar from the flowers that bloom around us in our youth, when hope and trust are ours? a midnight ery. out of the depths of anguish and despair, while midnight darkness in my soul doth reign, lord, hear my cry, my pleading words of prayer, and 'midst afflictions do thou me sustain. a midnight cry. 69 thou knowest, lord, how hard it is to bear this scorching trial of my faith by fire; alone i could not stand, but with thy care i feel that i have all i can require. oh! do thou come with sweet and holy calm over the troubled waters of my soul; and may thy presence be the heavenly balm whose healing influence will make me whole. oh let me hear those blessed words of thine"let not your heart be troubled or afraid,”— then may this weak and trembling heart of mine be strengthened by thee and be not dismayed. behold, o lord! thou knowest well the pain that has evoked this bitter, wailing cry: wash thou and cleanse me from each guilty stain, my sinful heart renew and sanctify. shine forth amid the darkness of the night which overwhelms my soul, and o'er me fling some gentle ray of thy celestial light, and with new faith to thy dear cross i'll cling. 7༠ lines to my brother-in-law. eines to my brother-in-haw, on receiving a present of growing plants. i thank you for the flowers that you in thoughtful love have sent to me; i'll watch them growing with delight, and you in them will often see. how many things surrounding me remind me of the friends i love; there's scarce a thing my eyes rest on, but some one's thoughtfulness can prove. it pleases me to see my plants put forth their leaves so fresh and green ; they open up a vein of thought, myself and much-loved friends between. receive my thanks then for your gift,'twas kind of you to think of me: while lying here 'tis sweet to know i'm held in tender memory. ―――― the workman's evening rest. 71 the workman's burning best. "the sun is sinking now, my bairns, father will soon be here; there, climb the window-sill to watch, and tell me when he's near. "and i will put the rasher down, and cut his rounds of bread; it pleases him when he comes home to see his tea all spread." 'twas thus the comely mother spoke, and with a merry shout the children gladly clambered up, and eagerly looked out. and through the little cottage home the mother softly went, upon her face while at her work a smile of sweet content. "mother, father is coming now!" the children's voices cry; and what a scene of bliss to greet the weary labourer's eye!72 the workman's evening rest. the rosy face of wife and bairns, the clean hearth, spotless white; the tempting rasher toasting well, before the fire so bright; the earthen teapot on the hob, the snow-white home-made bread. and when he takes his seat, and grace has reverently been said, the children round the table come, their joy a sight to see, the youngest of them taken up upon the father's knee. and as the meal is going on, 'mid talk and laughter light, each little mouth before him there must taste the father's bite. then after tea the eldest boy will fill the short clay pipe; while little bessie mother helps the things to wash and wipe. the workman's evening rest. 73 and while the father smokes his pipe, wee jean will fetch her stool, and earnestly with father's help will learn her tasks for school. while at a little table jack and will are busy, too: and may, the youngest of them all, is with her toys in view. then all of them, their books laid by, walk through the garden trim; there's not a peer in all the realm but well might envy him. and on the railings neighbours lean, and talk with language calm, of church, and state, and parliament, or of war's wild alarm. but as the twilight deepening falls round the little band, the father turns towards the house, a child in either hand. 74 the workman's evening rest. and when the lamp is trimmed and lit, the parents take their place; and all the children gather round with all-inquiring face. then god's good word is read aloud, and plain are made things deep; but ere the word and prayer are done wee may is fast asleep. and each in turn the little ones are laid upon their bed; when from a drawer the work is brought, the needle and the thread. and quick the mother's fingers fly, though she has worked all day; the stock of frocks and coats all seem so soon to wear away. but though her needle quickly goes, she still has many a word to say, about events that have at home or work occurred. teddy's ship. 75 and looking round his cottage home, within the workman's breast is stirred a prayer of thankfulness for his sweet evening rest. trudy's ship. "auntie, i launched my little ship into the stream to-day; a number of boys assembled to watch it sail away. "and, auntie, lucy christened it, she called it 'prince of wales'; you cannot think how nice it looked, with all its outspread sails. "and the silken flags you made me were streaming out so grand, as amid the boys' loud cheering i thrust it from the land. 76 teddy's ship. "auntie, i wish you had been there, but, ah! you see you lie upon your couch from year to year, and all life's joys go by. "but still you listen patiently to what you cannot see; oh how i wish that you were strong and healthy, too, like me." "oh! teddy, do not weep for me," i to the boy replied; for he, with merry eyes grown dim, had knelt down at my side. "but tell me of your ship's first cruise, was it sea-worthy found? there, tell me of its journey, dear, did it not run aground?" quickly his tears were chased away, as with an ardour bright he sketched the trial trip for me, and brought it to my sight. teddy's ship. 77 "with steady course the 'prince of wales' sailed down the little stream, until it reached the broken bridge, and there a floating beam "lay in its way, and, auntie dear, it struck against the wood; but bounding back it then went on, but soon once more it stood. 66 this time it was some weeds that caught it in their tangled mesh; but the brave ship broke through them all, and onward sailed afresh. "we followed it as on it went, but, oh! does it not seem absurd, that its next rock was just some daisies in the stream? 66 some children playing on the bank were trying them to swim; but with one stroke the 'prince of wales' capsized their barges slim. 78 teddy's ship. "and after that no obstacle came roughly in its way, and so my ship came back to land. the victor of the day." "well, teddy dear," i said, "it seems a prosp'rous trip indeed, with but a beam, some weeds and flowers, its fair course to impede. "but while you have been telling it, a thought has come to me, that like your ship your life may be upon the world's great sea. "like it i think you'll sail away from all you so much love; and only god, my boy, can tell, what rocks to you may prove. "teddy, ambition's voice will urge you on to seek renown; but on that rock the human ship oft strikes, and then goes down. divided lives. 79 "yet there are evils less than that may lead you far astraythings that look small as weeds and flowers may tempt you from the way. "oh! when your fairy bark is launched, take god along with you; for on the voyage of life he is the only compass true." "oh! auntie," whispered low the boy, "please pray to god for me, that he may come and guide my bark across the world's wide sea." divided lives. i never see a yawning gulf through which dark torrents rush ; i never see a waste moorland through which the wild-birds brush; i never see a sullen tarn which no sweet mountain rill can waken from its sluggish calm, but with a painful thrill 80 divided lives. i think of our poor wasted lives, so wrecked and barren grown, because they are now passed apart, each travelling on aloneso far away from that bright path that love had opened up, and which we fondly hoped to tread when bliss had filled our cup. stern duty with its shadow dark frowned down upon our way, and there was nothing left for us but sadly to obey. 1 so with a mighty crash our hopes were swept along life's stream, and crags of wild despair shut out our young life's happy dream. what though upon those frightful rocks some lovely blossoms blow, still, still between their outstretched armas the deafening torrents flow; and though our poor divided lives so calm and still are seen, we cannot bridge the yawning gulf that frowns our hearts between. the path by the river. 81 the bath by the river. down by the winding river, where trees meet overhead, and green leaves gently quiver, and flowers their fragrance shed, a shady path is lying, so lovely and so fair,. where summer breezes sighing make music in the air. there birds are ever singing throughout the live-long day, while through the tall trees winging their careless, happy way. there the blue forget-me-not in beauty shows its head; graceful ferns in that sweet spot bend o'er the violet's bed. the fox-glove and the primrose and daisies stud the grass, with the hyacinth that grows wild in that lonely pass. g 82 the path by the river. soft moss and lichen creeping about the tree's dark roots; the ivy's tendrils sweeping amid the fresh green shoots. it takes a moment only to bring anew to me that shady path so lonely, its every flower and tree. i seem again to listen, the quiet river's flow; to see the sunlight glisten, to feel the soft winds blow. the lights and shadows falling once more about me seem ; the ringdove softly calling i hear in my sweet dream. for, ah! it is but dreaming, that spot is far from me; the river brightly gleaming i never more may see. my saviour. 83 nor watch the wild flowers growing, nor hear the birds' clear song, nor feel the soft breeze blowing, nor roam those trees among. but though my eyes should never behold again that scene, my memory constant ever will keep it fresh and green. my saviour. they crowned thee with the piercing thorn, they dressed thee, in their bitter scorn, in robes that earthly kings had wornoh, my saviour! they spat upon thee, bent the knee to thee in mock humility, yet no complaint escaped from theeoh, my saviour! 84 my saviour. they led thee forth thy cross to bear, while shouts of hatred rent the air, my weeping eyes behold thee thereoh, my saviour! despised and scorned, in anguish deep, i see god's anger o'er thee sweep, and tears of penitence i weep— oh, my saviour! each shameful, deep indignity, this weight of woe and misery, i know that thou didst bear for meoh, my saviour! thy life and death hath given to me the hope of immortality, my sin-bound soul thou hast set freeoh, my saviour! to sit thus at thy blessed feet, clothed in thy righteousness, 'tis sweet to feel thy sacrifice completeoh, my saviour ! the stars. 85 thy cross is now thy crown, and fair, yea, brightest of its jewels rare, men's ransomed souls are sparkling therethe stars. i lie and watch the stars arise, softly lighting the evening skies; and, oh! i think their gentle light makes more holy the silent night. oh, my saviour! in their pale depths again i see the dear ones loved and lost to me. fond eyes that once looked into mine, seem watching me in love divine. 86 a birthday wish. when weary, sad, and sore opprest, i look above and long for rest, the sweet stars tell a wondrous tale, of one whose love will never fail. pale, quiet stars, fair gems most bright, softly cheering the lonely night, while watching here your light serene, sweet thoughts of heaven from you i glean. birthday wish. dear one, i ask not first for thee health, happiness, or friends; but for an acquiescence sweet in good or ill god sends. called away. 87 does it seem hard i do not ask for thee earth's choicest flowers? alas! too well i know their worth when come life's darkest hours. i wish thee all, both health and friends, for having them we're blest; but placing sweet submission first, i know i ask the best. called away. not with a hasty summons, not with a wild alarm; not with a voice of terror, not with a threat'ning arm; but through long years of suffering, a voice from day to day is ever sweetly calling me from you far away. 88 called away. although the summons parts us, oh let me, let me go; the weary pain attending my life you do not know; nor guess the failing faintness that grasps my heart and will 1; you only feel, beloved, you love me fondly still. you think of happy moments, when i could share with you the glowing dreams, so life-like, that opened to our view; and grieve because no longer i care with you to stay, because i am so ready the summons to obey. my dearest, oh! you know not my love for you so deep, that with my arms about you i fain would fall asleep. to you earth's best affections their fondest tribute pay, in thanks that on your bosom i am thus called away. the heart's complaint. 89 the heart's complaint. oh! foolish heart, be still, be still, and do not so complain; cease thy repinings and thy cries, thy throbbings are in vain. thou sighest that in all the world thou canst no refuge find; the love of self doth so absorb the feeble human mind. thou mournest that thy wealth of love is carelessly thrown by; while flattery and outward show are held in honour high. thou weepest that the metal true should be o'erlooked so long, while so much current coin is false and made the theme of song. thou thinkest, "ah! how quick am i to note all sterling worth! yet i am passed unheeded by, uncared for on the earth." ༡༠ margaret. thou grievest much that thou art left upon thyself to prey, while hearts not half so true as thee are sought for every day. but comfort take, poor troubled heart, there is a world in view whose pure inhabitants can judge between the false and true. αν margaret. acrostic. my gentle margaret, my pearl! a noble dignity of thought r ests on thy brow so fair and pure, g raced by a sweetness that hath caught a lustre from another sphere, rich in its influence when seen; e ach graceful motion of thy form to me suggests a pearl-a queen. baby's pet lamb. 91 baby's tri lamb. oh! gentle creature, pure and spotless white, the sight of you can fill my eyes with light; my baby's pet and plaything all in one, how oft with joy your sports i've looked upon! your bells would wake my darling from his sleep, and o'er his crib he'd rise to slyly peep: and then, at sight of you, his laugh would ring so loud and sweet, that it would quickly bring my loving mother-feet unto his side, to find his merry eyes with laughter wide. oh! pretty creature! how his little face would press against you in a close embrace and with one dimpled arm about you thrown he's wandered in the paths that you have shown, returning with you decked in bright array with flowers he had plucked upon his way. oh! wearied playmates, lying down opprest, a picture fair of innocence at rest! no dearer object roams about our home, naught nearer to my baby's heart can come : even in sickness he will ask for you, ; will fret and cry if you are not in view you seem to be of baby's life a part, and his pet lamb is dear unto my heart. 92 the rustic seat. the bustir brat. you'll not forget the rustic seat where we have sat to-nightwhere you have pledged your love to me, and filled my soul with light. you'll see it as it is just now, beneath this spreading tree; and often seek our trysting-place in thought when far from me. you'll sometimes steal a quiet hour in your proud city home; and memory will bring you back the scenes through which we roam. you'll see the landscape clear and soft, with the rich sunset's hue, the far-off golden harvest fields, the river winding through. you'll see again yon little gate, at which we say "good-night"; and i will i not have a place in your sweet fancy's flight? the dying girl's messenger of peace. 93 ah! yes; i know that you once more will seek this meadow sweet, because you know that i will wait at this lone rustic seat. oh! love, how hard it is to say farewell to you to-nightto feel that when to-morrow comes you will not glad my sight! distance will part us for a time, but here in thought we'll meet, and sit again with love-clasped hands upon this rustic seat. the dying girl's messenger of jearr.* "open the window wide, mother, my breath is going fast; then sit beside me, for i fain would see you to the last. * while a young believer in christ lay dying, a white pigeon flew through the open window and circled round her, flying instantly out again, when she touchingly remarked that it seemed to her as a messenger of peace. 94 the dying girl's messenger of peace. "only a little longer now, till my last sigh has flown; then i shall be, oh, solemn thought! before the great white throne. "i think i should be still afraid to meet god face to face, but that upon my forehead soon my saviour's name he'll trace. "ah! that will be a magic plea, for when he sees that name, for jesus' sake i know that he my pardon will proclaim. "then thousands of angel voices will sing a glad new song, their welcome to the ransom'd soul that swells their countless throng." and as she spoke a pigeon white fluttered against the pane, entered, and hovered o'er the girl, and then flew out again. sonnet. 95 "mother," whispered the dying girl, "i've not one doubt or fear; kiss me, oh! kiss me, for i feel that death is very near. "i think that snowy pigeon was a messenger of peace!" a saintly smile stole o'er her face, her soul had found release. souurt. to ambition. faithless ambition, how you lure deluded victims to their fate! what hardship will they not endure while for the goal they eager wait? you tempt them with the luscious fruit that hangs upon the tree of fame; they think not of the fickle root that crumbles ere they carve their name. 96 the moon. they onward press with all their might, nothing shall stop their steps they vow; they think to climb parnassus' height, but stumble ere they gain its brow. none ever reach ambition's height, for to man's wild, unconquered will there's ever greater things in sight, that prompts him to continue still. the hoon. softly rising in her beauty comes the radiant queen of night, flinging o'er the heaving ocean vivid rays of silver light. and the dancing, restless waters, lapping gently, seem to sing; telling sweetly of their gladness, like some joyful living thing. the moon. 97 over mountains, over valleys, softly too her light she throws ; and each fairy scene of nature in her magic beauty glows. scenes that seemed to us perfection in the sunny morning light, find a new and tender beauty bathed in moonlight clear and bright. with the mountain's stately grandeur, see, it shows each tiny rill; floods the fair lake's placid bosom, lights each dim and distant hill. shining through the trellised casement of the happy and the gay, where each pleasure seems but greater than the joy of yesterday. looking down on scenes of darkness, haunts of misery and sin, as if trying wretched outcasts back to purity to win. h 98 recollections of stealing into rooms of sickness, where fond hearts are full of care; with low sobs of deep emotion, she is warmly welcomed there. hearts alike in joy or sadness love to watch her gentle light; nothing speaks more sweetly to us, whether life seems dark or bright. pale and calm, in beauty sailing, throwing out her silver sheen, what is sweeter in creation than the evening's radiant queen? becollections of bamborough castle. upon the turret of that lordly castle, tow'ring grandly far above the wave-beat shore, i stood, with the white moonlight falling round me, list'ning to the mighty ocean's ceaseless roar. bamborough castle. 99 i saw a scene of fair, enchanting beautyfar below the village slept in peacefulness; over half the houses sombre shadows fell, over others moonbeams hung in mute caress. beyond the houses i saw the dear old church, standing erect like a sentinel of god, keeping a watch o'er his most holy dead sleeping quietly beneath the fresh green sod. slowly i turned, and another fairy scene of rich magnificence burst upon my view: the sea, with crested waves rolling to the shore; and strange, wild phantasies from its music grew. far beyond, amid the waters' vast expanse, the grey, rocky chain of the "fern islands" stood; signal lights from both the watch-towers far and near shot out their brilliance o'er the moonlit flood. the mighty sea, with its borrowed silver breast; ships, like phantom creatures, fading from my sight: all these seem to whisper of a hand divine, whose great power hath formèd everything aright. 100 recollections of bamborough castle. soon that scene of beauty from my fancy fled, and in place of it there came one wild and dark: a fierce, tempestuous sea there dashed around with cruel force against a foundering bark. and while thus i stood i almost seemed to hear wild, despairing cries across the waters float: all hope seemed dying within the sailor's breast, when, through that dread sea, there came a little boat. who were its brave crew? young sturdy englishmen, whose stout hearts would tremble not at that wild shore ? no, an old, old man and maiden fair were all the hands that guided and plied the heavy oar. on, on they came, unfaltering in their course, undaunted by waves, that rolled like mountains high, until they had reached the stranded vessel's side, amid the soul-stirring shouts of victory. oh! noble heart, that within grace darling's breast beat bravely high in that island home unseen! how sweet for thee the memory of the deed that crowned thee proud northumbria's heroine ! the night watches. ioi* oh! surely that scene was what i needed most when wearied and sad i to that turret stole; sad with useless dreams of a too happy past, wearied with the restless longing of my soul. thus in nature's peaceful works god spoke to me, giving holy calm unto this troubled breast, and strengthened i looked away from that bright scene, unto some sweet future day of perfect rest. the hight hatches. what though the night be long and dreary? thou'rt still with me; thou never canst grow faint and weary of watching me. o lord! thine eyelids never slumber, so thou canst see the reason of my mournful number of praise to thee. 102 the voice of the sea. thou know'st that i am faint and weary, oh! send thy light to cheer the hours so long and dreary, throughout the night. if it is thy will, oh! give me rest, nor let we weep; gather me gently unto thy breast, and bid me sleep. thus within thine arms, for jesus' sake, oh! let me lie throughout each night, till i awake with thee on high. the haire of the bra. oh! what are you saying, restless sea, as you break on the yellow sand? what is the tale you are telling me, as you roll o'er the pebbly strand? the voice of the sea. 103 i watch as you dash against the rocks, with a kind of wild despair; and the feathery spray from the sudden shocks rises high into the air. i have listened to the soothing sound of the waves on summer days; and still to my ear a voice is found in the music of your lays. are you sympathising with the pain that has fallen upon my life? are you wailing out a low refrain to my heart's never-ceasing strife? o sea! with the wild yet tender tone, how you speak to my bursting soul ! what do you say in that strange deep moan that seems out of your depths to roll? do you tell of noble forms that lie now at rest 'neath your shining waves? or do you repeat the dark lone cry that has echoed over their graves? 104 retribution. i fondly list to you, o sea! and almost do i seem to hear a message from you unto me"trust thou in god, and do not fear." retribution. i did not know how much i loved until it was too lateuntil the words were said that wrenched our two lives separate. i was so full of girlish pride, he seemed as nought to me compared with those who courted me with subtle flattery. i was accustomed to the praise of those i mixed among; and fretted that he did not choose to join the giddy throng. retribution. 105 i knew that i was beautiful, and, oh! i grew so vain; i hated him because he would my vanity restrain. he paid no court to all my wealth, nor praised my features fair; but spoke of beauties of the mind. as gifts he thought more rare. at last my wilful heart resolved that he should feel my power, and every art i knew was then directed to that hour. but while i strove so eagerly for my much longed-for prize, my every better thought rose up my conduct to despise. i often saw his earnest eyes with scrutinising gaze fixed on my face, as though he failed to understand my ways. 106 retribution. but my unholy efforts soon were crowned with rich success; he pleaded that i would be his with words of tenderness. and then with scornful, cold disdain his love for me i spurned; and in his wounded pride and love, he slowly from me turned. but, oh! i did not guess the truth while framing that resolve; i little thought my cruel game my own heart would involve. but so it was-as soon as he had turned from me away, i felt my arts to win his love had been indeed no play; for i had learnt to love him with a deep, undying love, which only needed absence now its depths and strength to prove. retribution. 107 ah, me! why did i not confess the wretched truth to him? he would have pardoned all, if but my eyes with tears were dim. i longed to do so, but i felt instead of dark despair, his outraged heart would grieve that i had even once reigned there. i knew he would not waste a thought on one so false as i; he was so true, i felt he must despise me utterly. far better that my poor false pride had been at once destroyed, than that my life should now be passed with all this aching void. i waited with a hope untold trembling within my breast, that he would learn the hidden truth, and then we should be blest. 108 retribution. but, oh! how useless was that hope! he never came again; from that sweet dream i woke to all the weariness of pain. before no human heart could i my bitter grief betray; but often do i lay it bare before the twilight gray. i love that hour, because it wraps me in its own soft shade, and seems to give me strength to bear the burden on me laid. but when i turn again to all the gorgeous scenes of night— the crowded rooms, the busy dancei sicken at the sight; because i miss one noble form, and with a gasping cry i often turn my face away, and wish that i might die. what i ask. 109 i cannot change my love for him, though years above me roll; the sad effects of that mean act are left upon my soul. what i ask. axak what care i whether eyes be brown or grey? or what care i should they be black or blue? the only thing i ask for is that they should show a heart beneath that's warm and true. what care i whether lips have every curve that marks them perfect in the artist's eye? i only ask that they shall never swerve from speaking out the truth in purity. what care i whether hands be soft and white, or whether they be perfect in their form? i only ask to feel the hand-clasp tight that cheers the soul amid earth's rudest storm. iio little minnie. einle hinnie. minnie and i were walking out through meadows sweet and gay, and while we strolled a poor dead bird upon the path there lay. my darling gently lifted it, and tears stood in her eyes. "" auntie," she asked, "have birds got souls? do they live in the skies?" "no, dear," i said, "they have not souls." "but, auntie, tell me why god has not given these pretty things a soul as well as i?" "i'd like if you could understandtry, darling, if you canthat man alone was made for god, and birds but made for man. little minnie. iii "god gave such pretty things to make the earth look sweet and fair, that men might feel his love for them while they are living there. 66 but, minnie, when we go to heaven we'll have no need of these, because what we shall see and hear our hearts will wholly please." with wistful eyes the little one looked up and said to me61 ah, yes! but would they not make heaven more lovely still to see? "i know i'd like to see them there, and this is what i'll do: when i have got to heaven i'll say, 'please let the birds come, too. "they made the world so very bright while singing in the air, and little ones like me would watch them flying everywhere."" i12 το with simple words deep truths i sought in minnie's heart to place; the childish gravity of thought in her was sweet to trace. 66 auntie," she said, "how strange it is, god always does what's right, even when he forbids the birds to see heaven's holy light! "i think i must just trust to him, he is so good and kind, and think that all not found in heaven is far best left behind." ex i do not care to think how long it is since last we met, because those bygone, happy years i never can forget. το 113 it seems to me but yesterday when we so often strayed, through many a quiet country lane, wrapped in the evening's shade. together we have often watched the sun die in the west : do you remember how my hand in yours would fondly rest? and how, through silent eloquence, our throbbing hearts would speak? no deeper, holier language our trusting hearts could seek. i would not like to think that you could e'er forget those days, though other eyes than mine may droop beneath your ardent gaze. no broken vows have parted us, but duty, cold and stern, has barred for us the shining path for which our spirits yearn. i 114 a cry for patience. oh! whether sweet the future is, or lone and dark for you, you know that still, though far apart, one heart to you is true. a cry for hatirure. oh! give me patience, for my life is full of ceaseless pain; and by thy mighty power do thou my weary soul sustain. thou seest that my fragile bark hath oft seemed near the shore; yet some fresh wave hath cast it back to waters deep once more. so long have i been tempest-tossed, that i am in despair; the haven is so close, and yet i cannot enter there. by the sea. 115 thou hast appointed months and years of pain to be my lot; my faith is weak, oh! strengthen me, that i may murmur not. my heart is overwhelmed, o god! give patience unto me; teach me to do thy holy will, whatever it may be. give me to feel that i am loved, though chastened sore of thee; then i will smile amid my tears, and suffer patiently. by the sea. looking out with eager eyes at the sunset's crimson dyes, oh, what dreams before me rise! 116 by the sea. those bright beams around me cast shadows of a recent past, far too bright and fair to last. gentle eyes of deepest blue, lips of coral's richest hue, oh! that you should be untrue! dancing waves with foaming crest, dashing on in wild unrest, sunset in such glory drest! what is all this scene to me? sunset's glow and moaning sea mock me with their constancy. who can tell the heart's dismay, when its idol falls away, slowly crumbling into clay? better had i once stood by in heartrending agony, and had seen my loved one die! the bachelor's mission. 117 the bachelor's hission. alas! this weary search for wives, it seems the mission of our lives: we want them more than beautiful, we want them more than dutiful but yet these qualities must be among the many we would see. 'tis sweet to see a pretty face, and form whose every step is grace; 'tis pleasant also when you know for you the soft cheeks warmly glow. beauty hath charms, but there must be more than an outward symmetry. the ladies say we do not know what we are seeking, for we go so lightly past them one by one, general lovers, loving none; but they are wrong-we know too well, and we can find few suitable.. we do not merely want a wife to share with us the joys of life, 118 the bachelor's mission. but also that in hours of need she may our weary footsteps lead; but, ah! our very restlessness proves that we meet with no success. but more, still more-we wish to find one with so exquisite a mind, that while her thoughts exalted rise, the meanest thing she'll not despisea mistress for our dwellings who in ruling is both just and true. we want a counsellor and friend upon whose word we can dependone whose soft hand will give us ease when we are sick, whose smiles will please, and whose soft footstep in our room will drive away its dreary gloom. we want a woman tender, fair, one fit a mother's name to bearone whose devotion all can see, who gently rules her family; from whom no angry word is heard, whose sweetness is a household word. good night. [19 there are such women still we know, hid by so much of outward show; can it be wondered, then, that we continue searching faithfully, or that we quickly turn away from ladies of the present day? so long as fashion reigns around, so long will bachelors abound. good light. the sun has set, the flowers sleep, the stars have ris'n their watch to keep; the little birds have winged their flight,beloved one, good night, good night! i cannot see thee, gentle one, but prayers for thee to heaven are gone; i 20 there is a spot. sweet angels watch thy slumbers light,beloved one, good night, good night! there is a spot. there is a lonely spot where oft my thoughts in sadness turn, where woodland flowers in beauty grow, where runs a rippling burn; where birds sing gaily in the trees, whose laden branches wave with the soft breath of every breeze, above my darling's grave. a simple cross reveals the name of her, who now at rest sleeps on unconscious of my love, with sweet buds on her breast. a trailing flower has crept along, and twined about the stone; a rose-bush droops, as if ashamed its beauty there to own. a happy heart. 121 the hill slopes gently, and the church throws down its soft'ning shade. upon the spot where she i lov'd was long since sadly laid. by mem'ry's aid i often steal back to that spot so fair, and all my pain is fresh and new for her that's lying there. i seem to lay again my cheek upon the marble cold, and mourn anew the severed ties, the dearest earth can hold. oh! bitter, bitter is my grief, years have not made it less, for still my heart clings to that spot with mournful tenderness. a happy heart. why should i be sad when others are gay? oh! why should i weep my short life away? 122 a happy heart. ah! do not tell me that joy is fleeting, with all things so fair my senses greeting:the warm sunshine, the fragrant flow'rs, the rippling stream, the shady bow'rs; the gentle murmur of the breeze, sighing softly among the trees. oh! do not chide me, i cannot be sad, with all things around me to make me feel glad; e'en when the green leaf has gone from the tree, still in the winter 'tis summer to me ;a voice seems whisp'ring to me then, "the trees and flowers will bloom again;" he only weeps who sadness feels, so happy smiles my bliss reveals. the sabbath day. 123 the sabbath bay. welcome, sweet day of rest, the one in seven which, thanks to thee, o god! whispers of heaven; speaks of a home above, where by his wond'rous love sin is forgiven. speaks to our fainting hearts burdened with care, "oh! come ye to the cross, and leave it there!" oft may we hear his voice, and at the sound rejoicé there to repair. then we shall surely know the joy of rest, and shall lean trustingly on jesus' breast; there, oh how safe we'll be to all eternity, for ever blest! 124 strangers now. strangers how. your arms have been about me thrown, your lips have pressed my brow; my head has lain upon your breast, but we are strangers now. our lips have whispered loving words which seemed a solemn vow; but, ah! wherever we may meet we are but strangers now. how often when the sun was high, beneath some shady bough your liquid voice has read to me! but we are strangers now. yes, strangers now-but, oh! how sad these words seem to my heart! for when i see you even yet my pulses thrill and start. my love for you was true and deep, you called it into life; you kissed my lips the night i vowed. that i would be your wife. my baby. 125 i watched your eyes that seemed to speak with true love in return; the priceless treasure of a heart you only won to spurn. for soon you grew both cold and strange, the love died from your eyes; not once to spare my breaking heart did you the truth disguise. you did not notice that my step, once light, grew sad and slow; you cared not that my cheeks grew thin and lost their healthy glow. and then at last your fickle heart threw off each solemn vow; and so wherever we may meet we are but strangers now. baby. baby, little baby, gone, for ever gone; all your pain is over, ceased your pit'ous moan. 126 my baby. baby, little baby, how i watched and wept, while god took my jewel, and the casket left. baby, little baby, home seems sad and still : who could think a babe so large a place could fill? baby, little baby, no more patt'ring feet waken mother early with their music sweet. baby, little baby, no more prattling play, all your joyous laughter now has died away. baby, little baby, grandma tells me oft, you are with the saviour, in his bosom soft. the marks of age. 127 baby, little baby, that is my belief; yet i think he will not chide a mother's grief. baby, little baby, he is good and kind; rather, broken hearts he'll tenderly upbind. baby, little baby, we shall meet again; in that land where cometh neither death nor pain. the harks of agr. i love to see the snowy hair about the brow of age; it seems like an interpreter of all the life's long page. 128 the marks of age. in it i always seem to trace the story of the past; for is it not like blossoms nipped by winter's cruel blast? i love to search the furrows deep that stretch o'er brow and cheek; my fancy calls them battle-fields, and there i warriors seek. i see the hopes long struggled for, with youthful strength and might, and they but seem to me like scars, an earnest of the fight. i look into the eyes now dim, and, ah! they seem to say that they have toiled through weary pathsthank god, now far away: and now have reached a peaceful shore, where neither hopes nor fears have power to stir their care-worn souls, nor move their eyes to tears. friendship and love. 129 i ponder o'er the trembling lips, that now no longer speak in wrath or scorn, but tenderly breathe out the love we seek. oh! how i love the aged heart where now no passions live, and reverence the silver crown that age and sorrow give! friendship and four. a battle was waging two monarchs between, the fire was the hottest, that ever was seen. each wished to assert his supremacy high, and each thought that with him the vict'ry would lie. k 130 friendship and love. the names of the warriors were friendship and love, and bravely they struggled the strongest to prove. those mighty combatants. fought not with bright steel, but with a sharp weapon that thoughts can reveal. 66 'friendship, give up the fight,” sweet little love said; indeed, it is useless attempting to spread your new-fangled notions, for all men can see that you in creation rank second to me." 66 "no, love," replied frendship, "you say not the truth, because i am constant in age or in youth: while you are so faithless, that if but a word is spoken in anger your whole soul is stirred. friendship and love. 131 "you're up in arms quickly, and cast off the chain, that hearts should bind firmly in pleasure or pain; you throw away lightly the sweet cup of bliss,who would not choose friendship to love such as this? "no fond protestations i make such as you; i do not require them, to prove myself true." "but, ah!" said love brightly, "that still does not show that you are superior. let you and i go "quickly throughout the world, and then you will see that earth's greatest power most surely is me. you'll see how my subjects will all own my sway; how gladly they hasten my laws to obey." 132. friendship and love. "i never will own it,” dear friendship replied; "too much of your gambols i've seen at your side. you flatter your subjects with joys that you bring, and leave them to wander as blind as their king." "oh, friendship, you know not the bliss that i give," was love's ready answer; "fond hearts in me live. now pray do not envy the reign that is mine; believe what i tell you, my joys are divine." the battle grew fiercer, when, placid and calm, sweet peace, like an angel, with uplifted arm, lighted upon the scene, and with but a word settled the hot dispute those warriors had stirred. friendship and love. 133 "dear friends," said peace softly, "you two mighty powers have opened a question that's lasted for hours, of which shall be greatest; now how it can be that either can claim it i do not well see. "for your close connection is patent to all; without one the other most surely would fall. one is the foundation, upon which is reared the fabric of either, as oft hath appeared. "if love is the temple, then friendship the stone that firmly upholds it, and gives it its tone. if friendship, then love will security give ;rest assured that together you two friends should live. 134 sunset. "well, peace," said love gently, "you've said what is true; i know that i'm strongest when friendship's in view." "and with love i'm firmest," then friendship replied; "so let us in future be seen side by side." sunset. clouds of glory sailing slowly onward to the glowing west; clouds of purple, clouds of amber, darker ones with fleecy crest ;all combine to lend their beauty to that gorgeous western scene, where the sun in all his splendour dies in glory calm, serene. sunset. 135 like a king in royal garments seems the setting sun to me; crimson, gold, and purple blending in the choicest harmony. and he casts his rich reflection o'er the clouds as on they press; giving brighter, deeper lustre to their own fair loveliness. sinking lower, ever lower, slowly fading from my sight, he disappears, but leaves behind a richly tinted track of light. soon my busy fancy wanders far away, now he is gone, to that fair celestial city which he needs not shine upon. and this hour of solemn grandeur softly stirs my soul to prayer, that when for me life's sun has set i may find an entrance there. 136 farewell. farewell. i do not ask another word from thee: the 'witching spell thy presence cast about me now is fled; but though our love is lying cold and dead, oh! say farewell! we stand unmasked, our natures true unearthed, and now we see, in place of fancied love, a dreary waste; there is not even one congenial taste "tween me and thee. i thought each aspiration of my soul in thee had met; i crowned thee king upon my heart's high throne, and thou hast reigned there, unrebuked, alone, where thou wast set. but now with ruthless hand i cast thee down, whom once i loved; how beautiful my idol seemed, and fair, of pure material and beauties rare, yet worthless proved! farewell. 137 you said you loved me-that the sweetest dreams of all thy life were realised when, with quivering lip, i let the promise from me softly slip to be thy wife. but now thy treachery is all revealed, my panting heart weeps in self-pity, while it scorns the lies that you have spoken with both lips and eyes,— oh let us part! i could have pardoned all except deceit, but not that wrong: you kissed me, and each kiss was false, and now i'll feel their sting upon my lips and brow my whole life long. but still in pity for what once has been, though like a knell it sounds upon us both from that dark height of outraged pride on which we stand to-night, oh! say farewell! 138 the way. the hay. if i can only hear thee say, "this is the way," then, lord, whate'er the path may be, i will obey. dark, dark it hath been and dreary, affliction's night, yet in its deepest gloom i've felt all must be right. to thy most gracious promises my weak faith clings; redeemer of my soul, hide me beneath thy wings, until this storm be overpast, its shadows flown; the seed of sorrow then shall spring to bright flowers grown. jesus! dear saviour of the world, thou lamb of god! oh! leave me not an hour alone upon the road. to a baby-girl. 139 but guide my 'falt'ring steps each one unto that rest, where weary heads a pillow find upon thy breast. to a baby-girl. oh! come to the green fields, baby mine, cowslips and daisies there i will twine into a wee crown for thee to wear, over your sweet brow and flaxen hair; yes, i will crown thee, my little queen, surely a fairer never was seen. then i will seek all over the field a little sceptre for thee to wield; and after thy heavy task is o'er, i'll teach thee to walk on earth's soft floor, watching your tottering steps each one, after i leave thee to walk alone; and my reward for all this shall be to see how you laugh and coo at me. victoria more like a queen may seem, bnt over my heart you reign supreme. 140 geraldine., brave and trur. lines written for a gentleman's album. be brave and true-these noble words should be ambition's highest aim; they bear the choice, delicious fruits which cluster round a good man's name. the footprints of the brave and true are left upon the world's rough way, and serve as guides to falt'ring steps, that might without them turn astray. our station may be high or low, still let us keep this end in viewthose only can be trusted in who strive to be both brave and true. eeraldine. sweet as the summer breeze, sweet as the fair june rose, sweet as the fresh green trees, sweet as a babe's repose: cut down. 141 sweet as the rippling sea, sweet as the moon's soft sheen,— sweet as those things to me art thou, my geraldine. sweet as the mountain flower, sweet as the dewdrop bright, sweet as the twilight hour, sweet as the stars of night: sweet as the lark's clear song, sweet as the dawn serene,— sweetest among this throng art thou, my geraldine. cut bown. written on the death of m. a. m. cut down in the morning of her fresh young life, ere her soul was wearied with the world's sad strife. 142 cut down. cut down like the lilies lying on her breast, fading in her sweetness to eternal rest. cut down, oh! so gently, like a falling leaf; as the leaves her life was, beautiful but brief. cut down, with no evil in her guileless heart, every kind of sorrow from her life apart. cut down-weep not wildlyhush thy sobs awhile; look upon that sleeper with her heavenly smile. cut down, but each feature speaks of deep, sweet peace; let that give you comfort, let your mourning cease. my heart. 143 cut down, not in anger, but in god's great love; he has called her to a fairer home above. cut down like a blossom from its parent stem, she is now a jewel in christ's diadem. my heart. you ask me to open the door of my heart, that thus you may enter and search every part; i'll open the portal obedient to you, but, ah! i would rather have hid it from view. 144 my heart. there, roam through its cloisters, each aisle you may tread, waking sad memories that long have been dead. you'll see there spots of green as onward you steal, and as you move nearer they graves will reveal. but, ah! you can guess not at what they contain; they are the hopes of years deep buried in pain. oh! place your feet gently as onward you move, the spot is so sacred to friendship and love. see, high above each grave there hangs a pale light; by it you'll read the pain thus buried from sight. ah! have your eyes grown dim? i'll kiss off each tear, that each cherished record to you may be clear. my heart. 145 no other form than mine hath knelt here before; no footsteps have echoed upon this lone floor; but now i'm guiding you through each lonely cell, showing without reserve the tenants that dwell. but, dear one, do not weep— between those dark graves the sea of peace runs down, and each green mound laves; sometimes it overflows, until i can see fond dreams of other years returning to me. even in this sad heart hope's light is not dead; the fair bird in radiance its sweet wings outspread; and, oh! it soared to you and whispered its tale; what will the answer be? shall love prevail? l 146 the dawn of love. is my heart too gloomy a place for your rest? your love would lighten it, and i should be blest. what though the graves are green, oft watered by tears? may not fair blossoms grow, and hide them with years? what you will come to it and reign there as queen, over the ruins grey, where sadness has been ? god bless you, my dearest! how sweet it will be to owe my life's brightness to one dear as thee! the bawn of four. i watched the soft eyes drooping their silky fringe, resting on the velvet cheek of rosy tinge. the dawn of love. 147 the childish laugh no longer fell on my ear, and she would sit so silent when i was near. if but a flower i gathered and threw away, her gentle eyes would linger near where it lay. did our hands meet a moment, ah! then a blush would sweep o'er cheek and temple with vivid rush. the tender lips would quiver if but to me she spoke, however formal the words might be. as roses seem the sweetest 'neath pearly dew, so with love's veil upon her she sweeter grew. 148 on the death of a friend. beneath the rosy curtain of shy reserve, love's coming day was peeping, i could observe. i gently stirred the curtain, my thoughts to prove, and i was blest in watching the dawn of love. lines on hearing of the death of a once dear friend. ir is so sad for me to know the eyes once sweetly blue and bright, that sparkled so in days of yore, are shrouded now in death's dark night. so piteous too to think that now the wealth of shining golden hair is simply braided from the brow, that was so purely white and fair. on the death of a friend. 149 that all the rich vermilion hue has faded from the rounded cheek; how strange the laughter-loving lips no longer to the loved ones speak! it seems unnatural that she should now be lying cold and still, who was so full of health and life, and hearts with merriment could fill. 'tis ever sad to hear that one we love has said farewell to earth, but saddest when a babe is left helpless and motherless from birth. o once dear friend! i mourn thy death, and i will cherish warm and true the memory of bygone years that brings our friendship back to view. and i will pray thy little child may be the shepherd's tender care; that he may guide its path to heaven, that you may meet together there. 150 my dear old songs. my bear di8 songs. dear, dear old songs, how sadly you recall the happy days for ever past and gone, when i could warble out your pretty thoughts, and give a simple joy to every one. how oft i've seen the ready smile appear when i have sung a gay and lively strain! and quite as often i have seen the tears o'erflow, when i have sung of grief and pain. and yet, although that time is past and gone, i love to think that once my voice was sweet; that i have used the talent that god gave, so that it pierced the feelings' deep retreat. it casts a holy glow about my past to know the treasure that i once possessed, although it gives a keen edge to my pain to find it now so sadly laid to rest. would that again my voice might stir the hearts of those i love! ah! then my songs should be with fuller, sweeter words, and holier theme, set to a deeper flow of melody. sonnet. 151 dear, dear old songs, that once i loved to sing, you touch my mem'ry with a soft, sweet strain; but though so sweet, alas! those songs of old bring also sadder mem'ries in their train. bouurt to the nightingale. o little bird! whose wondrous notes in melting sweetness round us floats in the hushed silence of the night,that hour when fancy wings her flight and soars through regions clear and high, and liquid as yon cloudless sky, in which the moon and starry throng seem list'ning to thy tender song. ah! how those notes can stir my soul, as from thy tiny throat they roll in a wild flood of melody, rising and falling ceaselessly! 152 a birthday prayer. now with a deep outburst of praise, now with the sweetest of love's lays, but ever thrilling, ever clear, to the enraptured list'ning ear. o songster sweet! the thoughtful mind in thee a lesson deep can find: that not in lovely forms alone are virtues fair to look upon; thy quiet plumage hides a gift that every human soul can lift. and so, beneath a homely face, is ofttimes hid the lovely grace of truth, that gem within the breast, which having we are sweetly blest. birthday trager. dearest, i pray that you may have this sweet foretaste of heaventhe power to feel the love of god in gifts withheld or given. isabel. 153 isabel. on a mossy bank she sat, beside a rippling stream, whose waters clear reflected the morning sun's bright beam. "oh! sad, sad heart!" she said, "my every hope has fled; i now but ask for peace, until thy beatings cease." on went the shining streamlet, with not a moment's rest; sweet buds, and blossoms sailing upon its gleaming breast. "oh! stricken heart!" she cried, 66 bliss is to thee denied; no buds or flowerets fair e'er come to claim thy care." still dancing, gurgling ever, the rippling stream goes on, regardless of the echo it gives to that sad moan; 154 old letters. "oh! weary heart," she asked, "shall sweet peace come at last? or is it still for me to bear pain silently." the murmur of the brooklet now seemed a sweet low song, telling her how grand it is to suffer, and be strong; "oh! heart," she sobbed, "look up, i'll drink my bitter cup, though tears are falling fast, and peace will come at last." did fetters. i watch them burning slowly one by one, those still dear relics of a love now lost, alas! the hand that penned them ne'er will know the bitter pain her broken vows have cost. old letters. 155 i read them ere i give them to the flames, and tears-though manhood crowns my browwill start, as some stray speech replete with love i see, that makes it harder still from her to part. ah! here is one, and in it lying still a gift of love-a lock of soft brown hair; no, no, i cannot burn this little curl, the pain would be too great for me to bear. and here is this one, it shall never go, for on it there are marks that once were tears; until my dying-day this shall remain in sacred memory of former years. i think she loved me once, for i recall those lustrous eyes, so full of truth and love; and feel again her little soft white hands caressing mine, her love and joy to prove. but never more shall our hands meet again, nor shall i see again that beauteous face; i could not bear to look upon it, if not free her every passing thought in it to trace. 156 magdalen. i watch them burning slowly one by one, each line, each word, e'en to the name i see ; and by each bitter pang that rends my heart, i know i've felt love's stern reality. magdalen. see that wasted, drooping frame, bowed with sense of sin and shame, feebly breathing out thy name. jesus, save her. at thy cross behold her stand, grasping it with trembling hand, though her brow yet bears a brand. jesus, save her. • oh! how hard the road she's trod, from a life of sin to god, burdened with guilt's heavy load. jesus, save her. magdalen. 157 see her torn and bleeding feet. of her heart an emblem meet, penitence to thee is sweet. jesus, save her. watching that lone sinner there, listen to her humble prayer, stealing through the midnight air. jesus, save her. "save me! oh, eternal son, take away the ills i've done, look in mercy me upon." jesus, save her. "wash away sin's crimson dyes, by thy one great sacrifice." hear her heavy moans and sighs. jesus, save her. prayer like this ne'er rose in vain, to the lamb who once was slain; make, oh, make her pure again! jesus, save her. 158 sleep. by lone dark gethsemane, by thy cross on calvary, jesus, by these things i see thou wilt save her. slerp. sleep, welcome sleep, when the tired eyelids close, when the 'soul forgets its sorrow, in calm repose. sleep, grateful sleep, to the weary toil-worn frame; a potent spell is found in thy mysterious name. sleep, soothing sleep, to the fevered throbbing brain, when health, through thy sweet vale, once more flows back again. au revoir. 159 sleep, dreamful sleep, when another world unfolds its mystic charms, and with its spell our spirit holds. sleep, peaceful sleep, when our daily cross laid down, in thy soft arms we change it for a glowing crown. sleep, blessed sleep, when the soul has passed away, waking to all the glories of eternal day. au braair. not now good-bye, my best beloved, but only "au revoir"; after to-night you'll be my own, and we shall part no more. 160 au revoir. my heart's glad song, sun, moon, and stars seem ever echoing; and every hour that passes by, new brightness seems to bring. i even seem to tread the earth with a new buoyancy; i never knew until to night how dear you are to me. oh! let me see those gentle eyes, what in them glist'ning tears? surely they cannot mean that you have fear for future years. no, no, that jealous doubt is past, look up, and let me see the happy gladness of my heart, reflected, love, on thee. i pray that to-morrow morning, no tears may stain your face; that i may see your sweetest smile amid your clouds of lace. death of a dear sister. 161 that will be the happiest moment, the proudest of my life; when from the altar i shall turn, claiming you as my wife. du the brath of a brar sister. we cannot yet restrain the grief that reigns within our breast, but still 'tis sweet to think of her, the weary one at rest. we would not call her back again from all the new-found bliss that now is hers, in yon bright world, after the pain of this. but still, but still our hearts are sore, the wound is fresh and deep, and though we try to joy with her we also mourn and weep. m 162 death of a dear sister. god hath implanted in our hearts the precious germ of love, and will he chide us that we now its mighty nature prove? ah, no! he makes our grief his own, he knows 'tis hard to part from earthly dear ones, and he sends sweet comfort to our heart. he bids us look beyond the grave to heaven, the home that he hath purchased for us by his pains, and death on calvary. he knows the slough of dark despair through which our spirits wade, he wept himself beside the tomb where one he loved was laid. and so he gently pleads with us his promises of love, that broken families on earth are formed anew above. a message sent by flowers. 163 oh! may he give us faith to raise our eyes by weeping dim, and tearfully in hope resign our dear lost one to him. we know she'll safe with him remain, and on a heavenly shore we trust that through our saviour's blood, we'll meet to part no more. rssage brut by flowers. a pansy, a rose-bud with moss round its leaves, and sweet purple lilac, my hand fondly weaves; a jonquil, and hawthorn, a blue-bell, and fern i add, that my message you quickly may learn. 164 evening shadows. with these a peach blossom and balsam i'll send; a sprig of dark ivy will then sweetly blend; a cedar and bay leaf together shall be, and in these few flowers my message you'll see. eurning shadows. evening shadows gently falling steal into the cheerful room, and i sit and watch my darling, in the twilight's mystic gloom. with her first-born tiny treasure sleeping softly on her knee, that is now the sweetest picture that the whole world holds for me. evening shadows. 165 but the flick'ring firelight shows me that her thoughts are far away, and i fondly try to follow in the paths where now they stray. and i fancy she is thinking of her short and sunny life, of her home in happy childhood, where i sought her for my wife. there she sees her gentle parents, brothers, sisters, friends so true, each one as a panorama passing swiftly in review. sunny slopes and verdant meadows, where her childish games were played, with the tiny babbling brooklet where her feet so oft have strayed. shady lanes and leafy hedgerows follow in her thoughts' sweet train, and the sound of merry voices echoes over all the plain. 166 evening shadows. and once more she is among them, as in happy days of yore, never dreaming for a moment that those days for her are o'er. but a sigh from that sweet sleeper calls her back again i see, for she starts and quickly glances from the little babe to me. i wonder if 'tis hard to wake from that dream of childhood's hours, to feel that she belongs to me, that this little child is ours. ah! that thought lives but a moment, for her hand steals into mine, and her gentle eyes are beaming with the mother-love divine. i do not grudge her looking back on her pure life's even flow, but love to watch her fair young face with each tender mem'ry glow. a bay-leaf. 167 for when i took her from her home she was but a child in years, and well i know that now for me she must taste life's earnest cares. while the twilight softly deepens, drawing her unto my breast, i feel that in life's light or shade my fond heart is strangely blessed. bag-erat. "i change but in dying!" beautiful thought brought by a leaf to me! i gather the lesson so simply taught of truth and constancy. sweet leaf, i ask from thee this task, speed fast from me, and silently tell him whose faith in me's relying, in thine own words, "i change but in dying!" 168 nowhere to lay his head. but linger a moment, beautiful leaf: there is a lovely flower which entwined with thee will in words still brief, gladden a lonely hour. near me there grows a sweet moss-rose: a bud will say, with trembling lay, "i love thee!" and you, so sweetly vieing, will say, "i love, and change but in dying!" howhere to kay kis krad. nowhere to lay his head! o god! the wealth of sadness that those words contain! alone upon the earth he trod, there was no solace for the saviour's pain. nowhere to lay his head! and yet he loved to give to others peace and rest; his griefs he ever could forget in giving joy unto some other breast. nowhere to lay his head. 169 nowhere to lay his head! ah, no! without a shelter from the tempest strong; yet he was ready still to go through boist'rous seas, to cheer a doubting throng. nowhere to lay his head! but oft he prayed at night upon the mountain-side for those who, now on pillows soft, should one day claim him for their heavenly guide. nowhere to lay his head! it seems as though our ruined souls this truth must win from all our vain and earthly dreams, to hate the very name and sight of sin. nowhere to lay his head! oh, think! creator of the universe was he, who snatched us from the fearful brink on which we stood, above a yawning sea. nowhere to lay his head! until it lay at rest within the lonely tomb, and then, through god's most holy will, the sinner had escaped his awful doom. 170 out in the cold. but in the golf. out in the cold, watching the while the favoured ones sunned in thy smile. hungry at heart, shivering with pain, fiercely the storms within me reign. out in the cold, far from thy side, bearing my grief in silent pride. cold as the snow thine eyes to me, thy lips and words an icy sea. out in the cold, throbbing with pain, more piercing than the pelting rain. thy name. 171 weary and worn my sad eyes fill, while in the cold i watch thee still. thy hame. why is it that i always blush at mention of thy name? how is that no other words can move me quite the same? why is it that my heart beats fast, and that my eyes grow soft, if but the whisper of thy name is from me borne aloft ? how is it that i seem to walk in fairy paths of light, if but thy name has echoed o'er where all around is night? 172 hope's whisper. why is it that my joyous heart with rippling bliss o'erflows? if but thy name is linked with mine, ah! who my rapture knows? why is it that no other life seems half so fair as mine? oh! 'tis because thy heart's my own, and all my love is thine. hour's whisper. what is this sweet and gentle voice, like music in my ear, stealing through midnight's dreary gloom, my lonely heart to cheer? it is a voice i have not heard through years of weary pain; and, ah its tender tone brings back the dear old times again. may. 173 how sacred i have ever held remembrance of the past, though every flower that bloomed in it has from my path been cast! this voice takes not away the pain of all those weary years; nor does it teach me to expect a life exempt from cares. but list'ning to its soothing tone, clouds from my heart doth roll; and once again i recognise hope's whisper to my soul. jag· blue eyes smiling, all hearts wiling, love beguiling, lovely may. fair hair streaming, in light gleaming, bright gold seeming, witching may. 174 come, see the place. red lips pouting, your words doubting, at facts scouting, daring may. watch her tripping, rose trees stripping, sweet buds nipping, childish may. romping, laughing, always chaffing, life's joys quaffing, that's my may. comr, brr the larz. come, see the place where jesus lay, behold, the stone is rolled away; "the lord is ris'n," the angels cry, "by his great power and majesty." come, see the place. 175 come, see the place-though holy ground, yet all who will may gather round; none too guilty to be denied, for sinners christ was crucified. come, see the place-his empty tomb, a place of joy has now become; for, stooping down and looking in, we see atonement made for sin. come, see the place, and let us try to understand this mystery ; god reconciled through christ to us, whose sins have nailed him to the cross. come, see the place--what matchless love god's gift of his dear son doth prove! for this to live, for this to die, that he might sinners justify. come, see the place, and let us raise our hearts to him in thankful praise for his great love so freely giv'n, to purchase for us life in heaven. 176 withered flowers. withered flowers. 'tis only some withered flowers i am holding in my hand; withered and dead, yet they are tied by a little bright blue band. how these faded flowers remind me of my golden dreams long past; when my life was bright, and sorrow had no shadow o'er me cast. ah! fain would my memory linger on that fair and sunny shore; but later years have sadly dimmed the vision so sweet of yore. the hand that placed these once fair buds in mine, as a pledge of love, no longer holds it in the clasp that our hearts could strangely move. withered flowers. 177 ah, no like this little bouquet, our deep love faded away; and crushed, my once bright heart was left, on the morning of life's day. i will not blame him, but how sad it is upon looking back, to see the fairest flowers of life lying withered on its track. though fairest, they are not the best, the hearts that are once thrown by may bloom with a deeper beauty, although they were left to die. i know not why i have treasured these poor little faded flowers, they come as low-voiced messengers, of those vanished happy hours. i know that i am happier now, with these dead flowers in my hand, than when i stood with him, once dear, in the glory of love's land. n 178 heaven. but into my full and happy life runs the stream of memory still; as rivers must owe all their depth to many a rippling rill. beauru. oh! heaven, heaven, beautiful place, where saints behold their redeemer's face; the city whose strong foundations sure throughout eternity shall endure. oh! heaven, heaven, thy streets of gold gleam with a beauty all untold; thy pearly gates, and thy jasper wall, have god and the lamb to light them all. oh! heaven, heaven, thy crystal sea flows gently beside the healing tree; where the feet of saints enraptured stray, happy and blest through the endless day. heaven. 179 oh! heaven, heaven, where heave no sighs, nor teardrops are seen in mourning eyes; where no more sorrow nor pain shall come, nor death shall enter that peaceful home. oh! heaven, heaven, if all thy light comes out from the throne so pure and white; how could i bear before it to stand, but for the touch of my saviour's hand? oh! heaven, heaven, when shall i see the glory that is awaiting me? oh! when shall i touch thy streets of gold, gathered at last to the shepherd's fold? oh! heaven, heaven, amid the throng of angels singing the glad new song; how i shall gaze on each shining face, the friends of my earthly life to trace. oh! heaven, heaven, then shall appear the reason for all my trials here; and i shall wonder i so repined, when all my sorrows are left behind. 180 my beau ideal. oh! heaven, heaven, no night is there, no darkness falls on the city fair; 'tis sweet to think of the bliss that waits the soul that passes the pearly gates. my ran oral. he must be very noble, who could win this wayward heart; he must be one who takes in life an active, zealous part. i do not mean that he must be high on the steps of fame; i only ask that he shall bear a bright untarnished name. he must be the companion of all the true and brave; one quick to stretch a helping hand, less gifted ones to save. my beau ideal. 181 i care naught for his outward form, but, oh! he must have eyes that speak nobility of soul, to which i fain would rise. he must be one to whom i could look up with honest pride; one who, in rising higher still, would keep me at his side. who would not look with proud disdain on woman's intellect; but share his deepest thoughts with me, as if i could reflect. he must be one i knew full well was mine both heart and soul; and one who would not scorn to feel a woman's sweet control. but one whose manliness was such, that none could think that he would weakly to my will submit, should we not quite agree. 182 my beau ideal. ah, no! i have no deep dislike to feel a ruling hand; but he must be one who in love would issue his command. yes! he must be all this to whom this wayward heart of mine would ever owe allegiance sweet, or could itself resign. ranken & co., printers, drury house, st. mary-le-strand, london. 201 241 isd (philadelphi waln "1 ן' 1 yo not edi c pub c 7796 hermit in philadelphia. joseph perot 725 the containing some account of second series.. young belles and coquettes; elegantes and spoiled children; dandies and ruffians; old maids and old bachelors; dandy slang and lady-slang; morning visits and evening parties; dress and ornaments; female slanderers and male exquisites; long branch letters and prices current; lotteries and quacks; billiards and pharo; gambling and sporting; elections and amusements; theatricals and horse racing; wife selling and betting; boxing and cocking; dog fighting and bull baiting, &c. &c. &c. 66 you speak o' the people, as if you were a god to punish, not a man of their infirmity! coriolanus. you think this cruel?--take it for a rule, no creature smarts so little as a fool. <6 se by peter atall, esq robb waln editor of the hermit in america," and author દ of american bards" and sisyphi opus or touches at the times. · 99 pope. викресть philadelphia: published for the author by j. maxwell and moses thomas, and by haley and thomas, new york. 1821. the new york public library : 168380 astor, lenox and tilden foundations, 1000. *372au7 /a yam vn 14. irt 1 vrassli contents. preface. chapter, 1. coquettes, dandy slang, 2. 3. female slanderers, 4. fashionable conversation, 5. philadelphia amusements, spoiled children, elections 6. 7. 8. lotteries and quacks, 9. letters from long branch, 10. foreign follies, page. 7 20 32 47 63 83 98 112 127 146 1 1 preface. my venerable friend, the hermit of guiana, has not yet returned from the arctic expedition in which he so rashly engaged, nor have the english discovery ships thrown any light upon the subject. it is a reasonable conclusion, that he has succeeded in reaching the entrance of an interior world, at the north pole, and been prevented, by the reclosing of the passage, from returning to that in which he was born. in memory of him who may at this moment be in another world, without death or decay, i have arranged a portion of extensive notes taken at various periods, and offer them to the public, under the title of the hermit in philadelphia;-promisingshould the path thus marked out by my old friend, be adorned with the flowers of benevolence, and smoothened by the kindness of encouragement,-to pursue it so b vi preface. long as it may afford a moment of amusement, or a mite of instruction. if it can cheat from the heart of sorrow one pang of its misery, or beguile the hours of sickness with one moment of forgetfulness,-but, above all, if it can point out to youth, the follies and seductions of fashion, it will afford a full recompense to the labours of the author, and a soothing reward to his heart. peter atall. the hermit in philadelphia. chapter i. coquettes. o! that deceit should dwell in such a gorgeous palace! shakespeare. away,-away,-you're all the same; a flattering, smiling, jilting throng! oh! by my soul, i burn with shame to think i've been you're slave so long! moore. there is not a being in society, however destitute may be his condition, who does not, at some period of his life, look forward, with anticipated delight, to the enjoyments of matrimony;-and i do not admire the cold heart, that in its progress towards maturity, has never felt the pangs and the endearments of love. bachelors are never formed by nature: if we could penetrate the 8 coquettes. secret annals of those solitary men, and lay open the various causes that have influenced their destiny, a black catalogue of female heartlessness and depravity would stand forth in their vindication. we e are indebted to the female sex alone, for the great body of bachelors, although individual character, depressed circumstances, and cold blooded temperament have all had a similar effect, in a more limited degree. when the young blood flows in our veins, like the spring-tides from the mountains, every drop is impregnated with the nectared succulence of love:-woman is the fairy form that delights and brightens the visions of our youth; we feel that -'the world was sad-the garden was a wild, and man the herinit mourned till woman smiled;' we gaze upon her as upon a superior being; we honour her as the last, best gift of god's creation-we love her as the guardian of our childhood,—the fountain of our hopes, the day-spring of our happiness,— the solace of our misfortunes. she is the guiding-star that brightens the gloomy vista of life; our hearts would sicken without the balm of her affection, and our veins beat coquettes. 9 feebly without the impulse of her love. without her, sickness would assume new horrors, and sorrow clothe itself in new torments; happiness would live only in the grave; and the joys of this world be but the anticipations of a better. we look towards her as to a blessed asylum planted by heaven in the wilderness of the world, to which we may flee in the days of our affliction. such is woman adorned with the loveliness of her purity;-such are our early associations, when the mind slumbers in confidence, free from the canker of suspicion, and resting in the bliss of its ignorance: too noble to raise the veil that covers her deformity, the day-dreams of our happiness are not shrouded by the horrors of its reality. but-in an evil hour-that veil must be withdrawn, and lo! coquetry springs forth clothed in a bright garment, glittering with tinsel; honey hangs on her pouting lip,wormwood and gall rankle in her heart; her step is soft and light as that of flora wooing zephyr o'er the enamelled lawn; her eyes are brightened with the seducing fires of love, or clouded in languishing fondness; the brilliancy of the rose spreads its temptb 2 10 coquettes. ing lure on her dimpled cheek, or it is tinged with the soft shades of affected sensibility. she bears in her white hand a slender net, woven from stratagems and intrigues;-casting it among a swarm of deluded worshippers, they fall prostrate at her feet, overwhelmed with madness, slavery and despair!* when the veil is thus removed, is it wonderful that the soul of man is palsied by the contemplation of her deformity?—that the fountains of affection no longer flow, and the fires of love are quenched forever? coquetry is the formation of célibataires: in many hearts, the feelings that flow in unison with love, like the blood of our veins, are paralysed by one atom of pollution, and no stimulant-however active-can apply warmth to their inactivity. to learn to hate, we must first learn to love; the chords of our affections must be expanded in bliss, and snapped in the perfection of its enjoyment. when the flowers of love are trodden down, they wither in hopeless putrefaction; blighted in their bloom, their fragrance ripens not into maturity; no seed * altered from the french. coquettes. 11 falls to the ground, and gives life and animation to the germe of expectancy. the temple of our hopes crumbles into dust, and the ruin of its altar is the companion of its violation. when the feelings of man are thus agitated, they too often subside in invincible hatred towards the objects that proved the creation and destruction of his happiness: he looks upon the whole sex as agents of desolation, and abandons the heartlessness of their affections for a life of solitary deprivation. celibacy in a man, therefore, proceeds in a great degree from the depravity of the other sex; and that depravity principally arises from coquetry, a crime lightly estimated in fashionable life, but pregnant with evils and corruption. i will not proceed so far as a worthy old bachelor, who,-tracing almost every worldly evil to the wiles and influence of coquetry,-positively declares that it has done more than fire, famine, or the sword, to retard the progress of civilization, by restricting that of population!—but i conscientiously believe, that light and trifling as it may appear amid the glare of a ball-room, and the fascinations of fashion, its 12 coquettes. destroying influence has overstep'd the boundaries of this world, and condemned its victims to the torments of eternity. often has the malefactor in his cell, traced the germe of his destruction to the soulless blandishinents of woman;-often has the criminal on the scaffold, mourned over the maddening artifices that gave the first impulse to his guilt; and often has the victim of intemperance, in the horrid moments of self-possession, cursed the overwhelming deceit that drove him into guilty forgetfulness. miss heartstone ranks among the number of my acquaintance, and some twenty years ago, was the most beautiful belle, and most determined coquette in philadelphia. two score years have revel'd on her charms, and the frost of as many winters has nipped the bloom of her beauty. she anticipated the common course of nature, and became-in effect,-an old maid at five and twenty. gifted with talents to command, and beauty to allure, she passed the youthful years of her seclusion in acquiring the embellishments of art; her best days were consumed in giving to her natural charms a pliancy and polish to dazzle and destroy. coquettes. 13 : the induration of her heart kept pace with the embellishment of her person;-every smile studied before her mirror, every attitude practised on her ottoman, gave new hardness to that moral petrefaction. at length she burst forth like a new light upon the world of fashion; the moment of triumph came that was to repay whole years of labour; the stream of fashionable pilgrimage flowed to her feet, and crowds of worshippers flocked to the shrine. they found 'more bitter than death the woman, whose heart is snares and nets, and her hands as bands.' universal encouragement begot numberless admirers, who gave vigour to her vanity, and incitement to her pride: the fires of ambition gained new force by the universality of success, and every new victim gave a correspondent momentum to her agaceries. many fell at her feet,-vowed eternal attachment,-were positively rejected,-and never troubled themselves more about the matter. others were transformed into puppets, of which she guided the wires, and threw them into the most ludicrous or awkward shapes, according to her caprice: she rejected their protestations with affected 14 coquettes. sensibility, and encouraged their renewal with the sweetest smiles;-she paralysed them with the frowns of her displeasure, and elevated them with the artful glances of benignity. others pursued a manly course of conduct, and conscious of the rectitude of their own minds, confided securely on the honour and virtue of their mistress: they were discarded and became-bachelors. four times was miss heartstone induced, by the depravity of her disposition, to surrender her counterfeit affections to the importunity of her lovers, and four times did she burden her own soul with the guilt of their destruction. i knew mr. trustall well. he was a young man, to whom education had given a noble mind, and nature, a manly person. an affectionate son,-a kind brother,—a steadfast friend,—a boon companion, and an upright man, he worshipped miss heartstone with all the energies of a justifiable idolatry. the day of union was appointed, and he looked towards it as to the hallowed epoch of his happiness;-it never dawned for him. the night previous to that long-wished for day, a projected revolution took place in the affections of miss heartstone, and trustall was discarded: reacoquettes. 15 ▬▬▬▬▬ son resisted the shock in vain, and the frenzied lover rushed into eternity. the torments of the suicide,-the curses of the mother, the despair of the father, the agony of a desolated family,-rest upon the coquette! of the remaining accepted lovers, all formed to adorn the brightest circle of society, one abandoned the sorrowful scene of his despair to become a wanderer on the face of the earth, and the others plunged headlong into the vortex of dissipation to drown the pangs of disappointment in the debauchery of despair. their follies,their miseries,--and their crimes,—rest upon the coquette! there are few passions more ungovernable than love, and none more ridiculous: however afflicting may have been our own experience, we are always disposed to ridicule a fellow-sufferer, and, forgetting the extent of our own feelings, despise the unmanly excess to which he may be driven. how formidable a weapon, then, is this passion in the hands of an unprincipled coquette!-for, where there is coquetry there is no good principle: a virtuous coquette is a contradiction in terms. by its 16 coquettes. agency, she not only destroys happiness, but confers contempt; she not only sports with the best feelings, but throws them open to the ridicule of the world. but the fate of coquettes is as fixed as their crimes; there is an ebb and flow in the opinion of the world that cannot be resisted, and miss heartstone found herself gradually gliding towards the ocean of insignificance. the death of trustall completed her downfall, and she found herself alone in the meridian of life: hated by the envious,---pitied by the good,--laughed at by the thoughtless, and despised by all,----her only refuge was obscurity, her only companion, unavailing remorse. such are the consequences of a crime, now comprehended among the accomplishments of the fashionable world, and--if my young friend dashall is worthy of belief,absolutely reduced to fixed rules and principles! ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ there are particular allurements, according to this authority, adapted to the various habits and temperaments of the subjects to be operated upon. if it is a timid, bashful youth who requires a large share of encouragement, he is assailed with the smilecoquettes. 17 direct, the tip-of-the-fan-positive, and the squeeze-of-the-hand-absolute:-but, if it is a forward, self-important "ruffian" he is coerced with the answer-laconic, the shake of the head doubtful, and the frown emphatical! not less system is developed in the grand act of enticing a new dangler: the coquette then throws her beautiful form into the favourite position, assumes a most interesting melancholy, and clouds her pretty face in a languor la plus touchante. having reclined long enough to attract the attention of the new gudgeon, she begins to throw out the bait: a pretty, neat, little foot and ankle peep out from beneath furbelows and flounces;a white kid glove is drawn off to display a perfect arm of polished ivory;-a riband is loosened, and the most enchanting curls fall in profusion over her snow-white bosom. she contrives continually to meet his eye, as it were by accident, and her own are as often cast down in modest confusion, while her lovely cheeks are suffused with blushes. these stolen glances generally prove successful, but in case of failure, new schemes are adopted. the belle springs from the couch, assumes an air of the most lively c 18 coquettes. animation; decks her features in fascinating smiles, chatters with every body, laughs at nothing, trips gayly across the room, and drops her glove en passant at the foot of the hero! such a ruse-de-guerre is usually decisive; but if the seducing smile that accompanies the "positively, sir, i am afflicted to trouble you," is only answered by a cold bow, the case begins to wear a very alarming appearance. the harp, or the piano, is the next resort, and if the pointed looks, that accompany the languishing expressions of an italian canzonetta amorosa, produce no effect, the attempt is considered absolutely desperate, without the vulgar and mortifying alternative of a common, formal, unsolicited introduction: some obliging friend furnishes the means, and once in actual contact, the new cicisbeo speedily becomes a slave. but the great desideratum among coquettes is to alienate the affections of gentlemen contracted in marriage, particularly if the objects of their choice be affected prudes; or, in other words, modest and unassuming in their manners. every allurement that can possibly pass through the lenient ordeal of fashionable opinion is calcoquettes. 19 led into action, and every minor consideration swallowed up in the primary object of success: if crowned with conquest, nothing can exceed the delight and exultation with which they look down upon the beings, whose hearts they have rendered desolate. the sorrows of the subject impart a melancholy hue to my feelings, that can only be obliterated by the contemplation of woman in her purity. yes! i must pay them the tribute of this truth,-that they are the soul of all social enjoyment, and that every thing languishes beyond the sphere of their delightful influence.* * but, to the mother, and to the father, and to the poor deluded child, let it be a solemn consideration, that whosoever blasts the happiness of her fellow creatures, shall not only suffer punishment in this life, but in that which is to come. wo to thee that spoilest, and thou wast not spoiled; and dealest treacherously, and they dealt not treacherously with thee! when thou shalt cease to spoil, thou shalt be spoiled; and: when thou shalt make an end to deal treacherously, they shall deal treacherously with thee!'+ *van braam. isaiah, chap. 23, v. 1. chapter ii. dandy-slang. here are a few of the unpleasantest words that ever blotted paper. shakspeare. fops may have leave to level all they can, as pigmies would be glad to top a man. dryden. the game of billiards is an innocent and healthful recreation, invented by the french, and popular throughout all parts of the world where americans or europeans have become domesticated; in canton, we even find chinese players and markers. it requires a cool temperament and a steady hand, which are, perhaps, sufficient reasons to prevent general excellence. as success is little dependent upon chance, it bears a character infinitely more respectable than the more common---because more convenient---games of dice and cards: the same power to defraud does not exist, because dandy-slang. 21 every player knows the strength of his own game, and can easily discover that of his antagonist; there is no dependence upon hazard, by which good fortune may place the inexperienced on a footing with the more expert. in some of our sister-states, this amusing pastime is regularly licensed, but in this virtuous city it is placed beyond the pale of the law: nothing can more strongly mark the folly and inutility of such a prohibition, than the great numbers which exist, unofficially but not unknown. the main objection is the danger of leading young men into habits of idleness, drunkenness, and gambling, and if no other existed, it is conscientiously sufficient to warrant a relative prohibition. but distinctions should be made, by which the innocent might escape the destruction of the guilty. there are many rooms into which boys are never admitted, although others could be pointed out, crowded with children, who seem to have stepped from the nursery into the billiard room. merchant's clerk's, school-boys, and apprentices abandon their own duties, and the interests of their masters, to loiter and gamble away their youth among sharpers and billiard-markers:---c 2 22 dandy-slang. puffing tobacco, sipping toddy, and playing pool, when they should be casting up accounts, solving problems, or making shoes! these tables ought to be suppressed. among the records of thirty years ago, we find, in a periodical publication, a satirical attack in commendation of the virtues of a billiard table, characterised as 'a new refinement' in the 'manners of our city." "there is something,' says the moralist, in it, peculiarly adapted to the happy political constitution of the state. it reduces all to a public level. the sot, merchant, cobbler, captain, blacksmith, spruce gallant, pick-pocket and jockey, are all hail fellow well met, and agreeable to the true spirit of republicanism, merit is the only true criterion of eminence.' this description is adapted, without alteration, to many rooms now existing in this city. my cousin, tom dashall, volunteered his services as a guide to the most fashionable rooms, where there are no low tables expressly adapted for children, none being admitted excepting those who are full-grown. it is my favourite amusement, and i felt some curiosity to observe the manners of the company, which--he took care to indandy-slang. 23 form me--consisted entirely of 'regular built kiddies.' tom is one of the fraternity, a little addicted to the bottle, more to the slang, and, according to his vocabulary, ' up to any thing.' 6 c i warrant the bang-ups have crooked their elbows' quoth tom, as we walked down chesnut street, about eight o'clock in the evening; all been in for a dinner-party; blue as razors no doubt;-drunk as wheelbarrows,-fuddled,-and corned.' 6 i knew tom to be, in some respects, a temperate bang-up: this specimen of verbal moderation was therefore well calculated to increase my desire of hearing the dialect of the ultra-fashionables. we arrived: the rooms were crowded with gentlemen, but a great proportion of the company appeared to be connected. my companion was joyfully saluted: c tom my old boy, tip us your daddle.' 'tom, my old crabby, give us a shake.' tom, my old hearty, hand us your paw.' "tom, my old cock, lend us your finger.' 'what the devil's the matter, tom? look pale about the gills;-under the hatches, ch?' you 'no, jack;-regular as a book.' 24 dandy-slang. 'what say you to a whet, dashall?----a little cup of the creetur?-some of the doctor?-a stiff flip?----come, don't sham abram;----down with the heel-tap.' i was now formally introduced-one of the party handed me a chair. 6 -come, sir;----bring yourself to an anchor;----all free and easy here;----been out to dine; a little blue;-regular blow-out;head-ache in the morning;-no harm to cogue a few.' my attention was soon attracted by the voices of the players. 'i'll take my bible-oath that was a fair carrom;-hole the white'beat all hollow' "cut the light red fine in the side, carrom on the white, and make five in the corner'—'d—n me, that stroke went against the grain'-' always under the land, by saint patrick'→ look out for your apple-cart-up a slim pine, by jupiter-up a gum-tree, by jove'-'lord! just saved my bacon' jumped out of the pocket, by heavens'boh! that's my eye, betty martin'an elegant six'---aïl luck, by old harry'---i boned you there, my boy' you stand no more chance than a cat inwithout claws'----dead hazard'---6 6 'mark up nine' now you walk the --dandy-slang. 25 " chalk follow up the deep red'---beautiful stroke'---common as a barber's-chair, or a turnpike-gate'-'the jig's up'--' ha! you burnt your fingers' overboard! by moses' now you may go to grass''walk in and see the bear dance'-' come, my cock of the walk, play on cock particular stroke, i should say--don't' claw off, bill'---'that's a cooler'-'don't crow yet'-'that's a damper lord! what a scratch' it's all dickey with you' that's the dandy'-'i'm dish'd,-done-up' -any man that holes such a ball, would rob a church! you want more elbow grease-lord! how he nicks'em''i hav'nt got the gage'-' james price, what a stroke' gingerly there to work'-' o! you hav'nt caught a gudgeon;-i'm no flat sharp's the word' very like a whale'—' poh! you've no gumption' bear a hand'-'it's time to hop the twig; i'll draw in my horns' " c i caught you nappingbeat you before you can say jack robinson; done up in a jiffy'-' here's a pretty kettle of fish!"'— 'what a swinger! now you're keel-hauled' come, knock under-take care you don't change your note'--' in for the plate, by all that's lovely'-'blast it! i must 1661 — ---———— 26 dandy-slang. rub up' you've caught a tartargame, by jupiter;-never play with old stagers-down with the spanish--down with the derbies-down with the dustrouse out your gelt---out with your goldfinches--out with the shiners--out with the chink;---lord! how i fleece young pigeons.' the loser ripped out a volley, deposited his stakes, and with a very genteel oath, swore he had the snuffles,-could'nt play worth a d-n-and must go home and live on adam's ale and aqua pumpaginis!'devilish sorry for it tho!-had an assig. with a quicunque vult--a snug little cindergabbler-a pretty respectable sort of a slewer!-must look out for a barrel fever;winter caterwauling cursed unhealthy;--too cold to study astronomy---d. i. ó!---the blood made his leg and staggered out of the rooms. 'he lifts his hand to his head, pretty of ten;' said one. c he has a rum phiz;' said another. 'he looks like a body of divinity bound in black calf;' continued a third.----(the absentee was dressed in a full suit of mourning.) --dandy-slang. 27 'he squints like a bag of nails;' said a fourth. 3 he grins like a basket of chips;' cried a fifth. 'he always seems as busy as the devil in a high wind, or a hen with one chicken;' vociferated a sixth. c 'he's a cunning shaver'---a little cut over the head'---a poor dab'---looks as pleasant as the pains of death'---' always a drop in his eye---drunk as an emperor.' fortunately for this respectable character, another of the bang-ups,--recollecting an eng gement with a tormentor-of-cat-gut who was to select him a new cremona----left the rooms. ▬▬▬▬ c ، c 'dick's off too!--half seas over, i fancy' --looks as if he had been fed with a fire shovel; always sporting his ivory'knowledge-box very small idea-pot cursed empty!---always putting in his oar' wants pluck' a regular guzzler always hard at it'---a blue greenhorn'---a frequenter of hot-water conventicles a drinker of scandal-broth'---a hanger-on to bracket-faced, carotty-pated, gravy-eyed ape-leaders!---a mutton headed aminidab---in love with miss graveairs; c c " 6 bus ---28 dandy-slang. looks as if butter would'nt melt in her mouth, yet i warrant cheese would'nt choak her!! 6 a little goose-berry eyed or so;'---' all the crack, pon honour----promised to call in the cushion thumper when dick sowed his wild oats.' ——— some poor damsel, who had offended the honourable fraternity by refusing to dance with one of its members at that time barely. able to stand, afforded the next subject of conversation. in the opinion of some she was affectedly decent in her dress;----others swore the major part of her body was not covered at all! one declared she danced like a ditch-digger--another, that she moved like a parson! she was red haired---snub-nosed----gimblet-eyed---rake-toothed---chicken-breasted-eel-shaped---baker-kneed-mammoth-ankled-and club-footed!!—with a parchment-skin, scraggy-fingers, and a cracked voice! such a volley of epithets seldom before came from the lips of man, interlarded with the most fashionable and popular oaths---which i cannot repeat: bacon-faced-bran-faced-brazen-faced -weasel-faced-cribbage-faced---beetleheadedbottle-headed-buffle-headed,-and chuckle-headed!!! and, finally, they dandy-slang. 29 31 all agreed that she was half-horse, half-alligator, and a little bit of a steam-boat! ، c billiards at length became fatiguing. there was a fine looking young gentleman stretched on a sofa behind me, picking his teeth, and slapping his new coronation pantaloons with his glove; another sat at the opposite end, puffing a cigar and half-asleep. what do you say to a flirt?' said the first. 'pharo?' inquired the other. ay, ----old flirtaway's----let's have a flyer if you're flush.'----that fellow's an old bruiser; he'll wet his thumb and slip a card like lightening;----i hate to be bubblea; ---every time i buttered a bet, it was a flemish account;--besides i've other fish to fry, and can't go the company; we're nuts for the bank.' 'nonsense!' replied the first; i put it into 'em handsomely, the other night;--walked in with an odd ten, counted the bank, and eyed the banker devilish sharp;-sat down;----smacked it into pot----turned up doublets and lost half-turned up six and lost all;---down with another;----won;---touched him a parolet behind the knave, ----won;----gave him a sept et le va,----won; ----a quinze; et le va,won;----a trente et le va,----won----d----d near losing in hockd 390 dandy-slang. ley;----gave the cards a flirt and a cut;risked all for a soixante et le va!----won!---broke up the bank in one deal and a quarter, and marched off with a cool six hundred in my pocket! what do you think of that? was'nt that a bone-setter, my boy?' well, let's be off;'----and away went the pigeons. c --"rouse out your fidlers' money, and knock off the score;' said a spruce young blade, throwing his cue on the table.---now for a swig-must keep up the steam:-who'll raise a breeze? kick up a dust? and play the d-l?----come, boys, for a cruise? no, flats in co.--all up to a thing or two----ripe for fun----hot-water conventions or ballumrancums.' t this proposition precisely coincided with the general disposition, and the whole bevy departed, talking about tivoli, vauxhall, south-street and female-gas-inhalers. tom, with great difficulty, was permitted to accompany me home to supper: he was declared to be a cow-hearted flincher who would rather provide for his bread-basket, than risk his noddle in a row!----a stuffing night of the trencher, who would rather eat welch-rabbit than swig blue-ruin;----and a dandy-slang. 31 chicken-hearted renegado, who would snore it quietly in bed, while there was a chance of having his peepers plumped by a bully, or his calabash cracked by a watchman!! chapter iii. female slanderers. whose gall coins slanders like a mint. shakspeare. the flour consumed, the best that now i can, is e'en to make my market of my bran. wife of bath. i was sitting, the other morning, in the parlour of mr. single, a bachelor about five and forty years of age, according to rational calculation, and about five and thirty according to his own. he is a determined hater of children, an enthusiastic admirer of women, a sworn foe to matrimony, somewhat testy, a moderate petit-maitre, but withal, a sensible man: his distinguishing error is an unbounded veneration for the opinion of the world. 'i must sell off!' said he;-'i can never endure house-keeping another year; there female slanderers. 33 is perpetual discord among the servants, and a house keeper is as bad as a wife;old, ugly and crabbed!' "you should make a more agreeable selection.' 'and afford a dish of scandal for every tea-table in philadelphia?—i should be the tittering-stock of every young lady, and the target of every old one in the community! with such a house-keeper as you recommend, every handkerchief i might purchase would be transformed into bibs and tuckers, and every piece of muslin, into baby-clothes! if i were dying i should be afraid to summon a doctor, and if i were naked i should be afraid to buy linen!--no, no, mr. hermit, if you would escape the argus eyes of our antiquated virgins, or the bohea animadversions of our prying matrons, it is impossible to be too vigilant: a pretty young house-keeper would destroy the reputation of the most immaculate bachelor in town; our only safety consists in positive deformity or hopeless antiquity.' the bell rung, and a blooming young damsel was ushered into the room. — 'i am informed, sir, you wish to hire a chamber-maid.' d 2 34 female slanderers. 'sit down, child:-but i always require good recommendations.' 'i have never been out to service as yet, because i always lived at home, sir.' "at home? where is your home, child?' 'in the country, sir;-but times are getting hard, and i came to town for work, sir.' 'no recommendation, eh?—are you sure you are sober?' 'not always, sir.' 'not always!' 6 no, sir, i can't help laughing sometimes; -but i am always sober in church, sir." < and honest? "the little country girl fingered the corner of her handkerchief. 'why, yes, sir; john promised to marry me next week.' 'going to be married!-go,-go, child, we can never agree:-never, never!" the disappointed girl withdrew without further remark. is it possible, mr. single,' said i, 'your only objection to this girl is her intended marriage?' yes, sir;-if i engage that servant, a man, of whom i know nothing, will become female slanderers. 35 in part, if not wholly, domesticated in my house; and, if i keep her long enough, it will be over-run with children!-with children!! by jupiter, think of that, mr. hermit:-squalling and bawling from morning 'till night-pap-cups, cradles and rockingchairs!-a second pandemonium! and what think you the world will say? what oceans of tea will be quaffed to the manes of my reputation! what mountains of buttered toast will be destroyed for my destruction! what myriads of old maids will hold forth in my condemnation!' 'really, mr. single, you attach too much importance to the bad opinion of the world: it is, at best, but an uncertain criterion, too often founded upon rumour or malevolence, and always warped by prejudice.' the bell sounded again, and a large black negro-wench bounced into the room. master, want a maid?' 6 the usual routine of questions was proposed, and ended in the production of a soiled piece of paper, purporting to be a recommendation of dinahto the office 3 of house-maid. 'what is your other name, dinah? 'i always goes by the name of dinah, 36 female slanderers. sir; when i were young, master called me dinah sleek, but when i went to live with john, i went by john's name, sir; and when john went to sea, i took peter's, sir----and when peter died, timothy and me was married, sir, after a way, sir.' what way was that, pray?, 'we swore to be married, sir." c and where is mr. timothy at present?' 'poor tim is put to picking oakum, sir, on suspicion of stealing, sir!-and i was cleared, sir.' 1 really believe mr. single was disposed to engage this hater of matrimony according to the rules of the church, when our ears were assailed with the loud cries of a child, near the door of the room. mr. single seemed electrified; the yell of an united body of choctaws, cherokees and chickasaws, or a band of chinese musicians or a dilletanti horn blower, could not have produced a more astonishing effect. "what-what-what's that?' he at length vociferated. 'it's only nell,' tranquilly replied the sooty damsel; 'i always takes my child wherever i goes to sarvice.' female slanderers. 37 'woman! begone!' roared forth the bachelor in tones of thunder, that drove the poor girl trembling to the door. 'a child! mr. hermit;' said he, in some degree regaining his composure; 'a black child! lord, lord! what would they say to that? don't i look black in the face already? have'nt i got a wooly kind of a sheepish look?-o! how tender is the reputation of man! "this infatuation, mr. single, is absolutely farcical, and the more you indulge in it, the more ridiculous and miserable you will become. why, sir, i would rather laugh the world to scorn, and set the whole tribe of tea-drinkers in utter defiance, than be so preposterously fettered. i would rather sport a dozen mistresses, be the father of twenty children, and place one of them at the elbows of the twenty most determined old-maids in christendom! i would rather scour the world for the prettiest house keeper in existence, and make my house the rallying point of beauty! if your reputation is firmly established, you have nothing to fear: those who delight in scandal, if truth fail, will resort to falsehood; and those, whose opinions you ought to value, are sufficiently 38 female slanderers. assured of the fact, never to give credit to these tea-drinking-juntos, even when they happen to speak the truth. if the reputation of a man is subjected to the examination of a body of disappointed old women, it will always be condemned: if his character is faultless, ingenuity will furnish defects; and if he sins at all, his errors will be magnified into crying crimes, and distorted into the most hideous shapes: no acknowledgment of guilt, no reformation, however sincere, will weigh one scruple in the balance. they ferret out and hunt down the whole sex, to revenge on their descendants the bad taste of those forefathers, who condemned them to sip solitary tea in this world, and lead apes in the next.' 'but, mr. hernit, i am an unfortunate instance of worldly persecution: in my earliest days, if a fracas occurred at the theatres, i was pointed out as its author, although an unconcerned spectator;—if some baby-faced boy reeled home from a dinnerparty at which i was present, his indignant mamma branded me as the seducer of her soft headed son;-if a supper-party terminated in boisterous and ungentlemanlike riot, the whole fault rested on pilgarlic;female slanderers. 39 if a noise was heard at midnight in the streets-if a watchman's head was broken -if bells were rung-if knockers were sounded-if windows were smashed-if squibs and crackers were let off-if signs were torn down-if rattles were sprung,jack single was always the delinquent; if some overgrown calf lost his weekly allowance at sixpenny loo, and sneaked home blubbering to his papa, he was solemnly cautioned to avoid jack single;-if chance or politeness bade me escort some fair damsel from an evening party, and i innocently offered her my arm, the proposal was distorted into serious professions, and i was thenceforward denied admittance into her house! if i looked at a lady, her mother trembled,-if i spoke to her, she fidgetted, -and if i danced with her, she took her home! if i entered a book-store for a new publication, it was to purchase cards, and if i joined a dinner-party at rubicam's, i was a frequenter of taverns.-if i was seen in the street at an early hour in the morning, i had not been at home all the night,—if i made my appearance late in the evening, i intended to remain out 'till next morning,and if i only appeared at meridian, i had 40 been dissipating all the previous night, and sleeping all the morning! i became at last even a bug-bear to frighten children, and my horrid name superseded all the estabilished horrors of the nursery;-if i made two morning-calls at the same house, the cautious mother eyed me with suspicion, and one evening visit was fatal in all cases. nay! if i walked with a young lady in broad day-light, her afflicted parents entertained serious ideas of sending her immediately to the magdalen asylum!—you may ask me what monstrous crimes i had committed to merit such aversion? i answer, none; many follies, but no crimes. it was, however, my unfortunate lot, to be selected as a fit subject for maiden and matronly dissection: i was served up amid parfait amour, noyau, cognac, holland gin, macabau, pecco-souchong, and buttered rolls, at all the scandal-festivals in the city. the french never cooked eggs in as many shapes as i appeared upon the tea-tables:madame parisot never cut the pigeonracter was cut up:-monsieur marinot wing' with as much dexterity as my chaever hashed sausage-meat with as much cety as my reputation was hashed! it female slanderers. female slanderers. 41 was peppered and salted-smoked blackfried to flinders-stewed to tatters-frittered to flitters-boiled to rags-roasted unmercifully, and devoured voraciously! the toothless gums of the operators seemed to imbibe a new maxillary impetus, and no cannibals ever regaled with more savage delight. at length the dish became stale, and new food being obtained, i was permitted, mangled and torn, to enjoy a portion of rest. time poured its balsam into my wounds, and many heads of families, who had been led astray by the blue-stockings, began to think i had been abused. they found their daughters were as immaculate as ever, that their sons were not ruined,—and that other people, besides jack single, played cards, drank champaigne, and made noises in the street: they discovered, moreover, my positive aversion to matrimony; that the bare mention of marriage made me shudder--that i positively groaned at the idea of a christening,---and, that the cries of a child were to me aversion upon aversion; a cheese,----a cat,---a breast of mutton,----the grinding of knives, and the snuff of a candle!'----owing to this revolution of opinion among the least prejudiced 6 e 49 1 female slanderers. matrons, i gradually regained the situation which i now hold in society; and my persecutors were, at length, compelled to chime in with the general voice, and reinstate me in their favour. but i am regarded by them as a culprit whose reformation has originated from necessity,----liable and willing to relapse: every eye is on the alert, and the slightest pecadillo would destroy me. necessity forces me to be the slave of centenary viragos, and resist all selfish considerations to deprecate their wrath. whatever may be my inclination, i am obliged to attend morning, afternoon and evening service on the sabbath, lest i should be anathematised as an unbeliever. if my cursed stars produce a rencontre with one of these antique virgins in the street, i must parade by her side, whilst every body we meet thrust their tongues in their cheeks, or their handkerchiefs in their mouths, to avoid laughing in my face! fifty times have i been dragged into an apothecary's shop in search of lavender compound, mintwater or stomachic elixir! often have i sneaked into a perfumer's to purchase a pot of pomatum, or a grisly frizette! and still nore frequently our only purchase has been a female slanderers. 43 a row of pins at a milliner's, or a pennyworth of rappee at a tobacconist's!----and then i am obliged to dance attendance at their evening levees;---to bellow into the ears of deafness 'till my own are deafened with the noise;----to stare at the viscous eyes of deformity 'till streams flow from mine own, in very sympathy;----to listen to some phthisicky septuaginarian until i wheeze like a broken-winded hack-horse! -to hear toothless mumbling till my own teeth chatter in symphony!--to pat lapdogs--talk to parrots---wind cotton-stir the fire-play with monkeys-ring the bell -fill pin-cushions-stroke cats-thread needles-snuff candles-read the bibleand play chess!-sometimes the penance is still greater, and i am unmercifully consigned to purgatory in company with three of the sisterhood at a whist-table! no imagination can fancy its horrors; one shaking like an aspen leaf, with the palsy; -the second groaning with the dyspepsia; -and the third black in the face with a church-yard cough! all adorned with snuffy mustachios, smelling of hollands, and mumbling out gutturals with a vile twang of the nose! and such select conversation;44 female slanderers. each vieing with the others in the extent, and danger, and disagreeableness of their several complaints, and extolling their fafourite remedies. 'patent specific ointment,' circassian eye-water,' 'mahy's plaster cloth,' 'dr. robertson's celebrated stomachic elixir of health,' 'dr. robertson's celebrated gout and rheumatic drops' and 'dr. robertson's patent stomachic bitters,' 'dr. dyott's anti-bilious pills,' 'dr. godbold's vegetable balm of life," vegetable nervous cordial,' and cordial of all kinds;-pills, potions, lotions and boluses,—all are expatiated upon. food of every description is analysed, condemned and recommended;-some is heating-some chilling, and some indigestible!-can you wonder then, my dear sir, that i am misera ble?' < 6 'i am indeed astonished,' was my reply: 'not more that a man of sense should be so inconceivably deluded, than that any being in the world, however destitute of capacity, should surrender his ease and happiness into the hands of superannuated slanderers,-of wrinkled mummies, and senseless, toothless, heartless, old women. do you believe the opinion of society is grounded upon their assertions? or, if you are in fact innocent, female slanderers. 45 that the croaking and chattering of a gang of shrivelled spinsters can filch one atom from your good name? no, mr. single, if you continue under the guidance of this infatuation, you will assuredly become contemptible; in the early part of your life, you have committed errors sufficiently notorrious to give probability to reported failings, of which you were actually innocent: at present, female machinations cannot prove injurious for want of an impetus. abandon these detractors at once, and confine your associations to that great and happy majority of ladies, who have benevolence enough to overlook the foibles of youth, and sense enough to respect the reformation of riper years. follow this course, and you may defy the whole host of blue-stockings: let it no longer be said, that any man breathing is humble enough to pin himself to the apron-string of a peevish, testy, dissappointed old maid! i would have every petticoat-pensioner thrust out of manly society, and every slave to public opinion consigned to a rice swamp;-for, believe me, however miserable the alternative, i would rather be a slave inthewes and sinews' than in soul.' e 2 46 female slanderers. mr. single, as i rose to depart, promised reformation, with a discouraging shake of the head. chapter. iv. fashionable conversation. now, god help thee, poor monkey. our sensibilities are so acute the fear of being silent makes us mute. shaksp. cowper. the chief aim of fashion is to create distinctions by which her children may be separated from the canaille; and this endeavour has not only been exercised in the nomenclature of dress, and the invention of peculiar terms for the benefit of particular associations, but in the general conversation of society. it must be affectedly laconic, extensively vapid, and extremely incomprehensible: the ancient meaning of words, or that appropriated to them by johnson, and other vulgar lexicographers, must be, as much as possible, distorted, and so introduced as to give a signification entirely differ48 fashionable conversation. ent from the one thus established: for the sake of elucidation, i extract a few items of a fashionable glossary published in a periodical magazine: at home-the domestic amusement of three hundred visitors in a small room to yawn at each other. not at home-sitting in your own drawing room. bore-every thing that a person dislikes: it also means any person who talks of religion. coach-man-a great or accomplished gentleman. dress-half-naked. day-night: or strictly speaking, from 10 p. m. to 6 a. m. husband--a person to pay your debts. home-every one's house but your own. honour-standing fire well. highly-accomplished-reading music well; painting flowers for the border of a screen, and a talent for guessing charades. matrimony-a bargain. modest-sheepish. religion-occupying a seat in some genteel church. fashionable conversation. 4.9 dining-out-getting drunk. love-dollars and cents. these are but a small proportion of the various significations attached to certain words in the glossary of fashion. pronunciation is even more important than the due observance of the new meaning of words. the acme of this art is to give every word a slight foreign utterance, such as in the letter a, which should always be pronounced broad, as aw: it is better, in this respect, to follow the italian method. every sentence must be pronounced in a slow, drawling tone, which may be readily acquired by visiting the theatres; as, • iee sauighe fore the pleesures ofe an ex-cur-sion toee the buor-ders ofe the o-ce-an.' there are certain words,-a few of which i subjoin-which must always be pronounced according to fashionable rule:-viz: duty tune sky master can't fortune kind now djuty. tshune. skeei. mauster. caunt. fortshin. keeind. neauw. 50 fashionable conversation. girl new guide geeirl. neeuw. geeide. interesting intristing. speerete. tirrant. birron. spirit tyrant byron moore more. southey sutthy, &c. &c. with attention to these suggestions a belle may soon make herself unintelligible to the vulgar classes. a novel proposition has been made by a modern writer in england, which might be adopted very beneficially in this city: he advises an addition to fashionable phraseology altogether new and delightful. having no doubt witnessed the voracity with which fruits are, generally, devoured, he recommends a nosological arrangement by which the fair sex may allude to all species of fruits, without the vulgar necessity of assimilating their expressions to those appellatives used by market-hucksters and green-grocers! as for example: will you allow me, madam, to help you to a cramp in the stomach?'-i insist, sir, upon your trying some of that cholera morfashionable conversation. 51 bus.'do let me send you some of this summer-complaint.'colonel, there is a fit of the gout before you; do help yourself." -my dear, you will find that stomach-ache delicious'--&c. &c. &c. nothing could be more novel and unique than this new language, which would also serve as an effectual mark of distinction between gentility and vulgarity! in france communications are made by means of flowers, and it is certainly time that fruits should assist in upholding the temple of fashion. conversation in the street, in these 'dull, piping times of peace,' is reduced to a regular system: the same questions and answers pass and repass, and there is always the same solicitude to escape from-as there was a few years ago to meet with a fellow lounger. at that time our gallant tars on the ocean, and our bleeding heroes on the land, afforded a buoyancy and animation to their countrymen at home, which created absolute surprise, and gave a charm to the des@uvrement of fashion, which seemed alinost unnatural. our dandies skip'd nimbly about the streets, and boldly accosted each of their acquaintance with an inquisiстанда 52 fashionable conversation. c tive have you heard the news?'— but now (with the exception of a slight impulse given by the influenza, and the queen's trial;) street conversation has reverted to the old channel, and is, in substance, as follows: adams and brooks (meeting.) a-(advancing as if he could not help it.) how d'ye do brooks? b.-very well, thank'ee; how do you do? a.-very well, thank'ee;-mrs. brooks well? b.-very well, i'm much obliged t'ye. mrs. adams and the children well, i hope. a.-quite well, thank'ee. (here brooks, having to speak next, gives his neck-cloth a twist, and looks about a little.) b.--rather pleasant weather to day. a. yes;--but it was cold in the morn ing. b.-yes, but that we must expect at this time o' year. (another brief pause;-neck cloth twisted and switch twirled.) a.-seen smith lately? fashionable conversation. 53 b.-no, i can't say i have. (this can't say is a very characteristic phrase in english discourse: implying that the speaker prefers truth even to the comfort of having an answer to give, and that he wishes to heaven he could say it.-brooks luckily recollects, that if he has not seen smith, he has seen thompson.) b.--(in continuation.) but i have seen thompson. a. indeed! and how is he? b.-very well, thank'ee. a. i am glad of it.well-good morning. b.-good morning! c having thus recorded the truly fashionable conversation of the streets, it may be useful to give a slight sketch of those visits, fashionably called morning calls.' the uninitiated believe, with great simplicity, that whatever they may happen to see or become acquainted with during a morning call is the result of accident alone!--for how could it be otherwise, as the ladies are not acquainted with the precise time at which their visits are to be made? alas! the cre* english magazine. f 54 fashionable conversation. dulity of the world! can any being, admitted into the circles of fashion, believe that when he surprises a belle in her morning dishabille, she is not fully apprised of its advantages? or, if he sees more of a pretty neck and a beautiful arm than is usual in such cases, that their possessor is not entirely conscious of their effects? or, if he discovers the elegante at her piano, that she is not well aware of her superior execution and melody of voice?--yet some of my elderly acquaintance have been ridiculously deceived by these appearances, and one of them, in particular, actually made an abrupt retreat, from the laughable idea that he had mistaken the hour of the day, and his fair hostess had only half completed the labours of her toilet! ( the fact is, that among truly fashionable people, there is almost as much preparation for morning-visits as for any other description;--at least as much as for thes dansants,' if not bals parés.' their nature depends entirely on the whims or accomplishments of the ladies. beautiful workboxes are arranged so as to convey the idea of domestic industry;-a half-finished card rack, or a cottage sketch, lies in an entifashionable conversation. 55 cing situation on a table covered with fanciful designs, crayons, and paint-boxes;a beautifully written piece of music ornaments another table, together with a double-flageolet, a lute, or a guitar;-the whole duty of woman, glass's domestic cookery, blair's sermons, and the last new novel, are scattered over the ottoman;—the harp is so arranged as to endanger the neck of whoever enters the door, and the piano stands open, decorated with the last fashionable bravura. the belle--when the knocker sounds-has a gold thimble on her finger, and is working most assiduously a beautiful flounce with a golden-eyed-needle -one sister flies to the card-rackanother seizes the music-a third rushes to the piano-a fourth accompanies her on the harp---and their good mamma begins most devoutly to read the sermons of dr. blair!--at this moment the visitant is ushered into the room, and finds himself in the midst of the most industrious, interesting, accomplished, and moral of all domestic circles. he admires the open-stitch-work of one, extols the painting of another, praises the musical excution of a third and the musical voice of a fourth,-and, above all, re56 fashionable conversation. verences the religious solicitude of the careful mother. he departs with these flattering impressions:-the work boxes are stowed away, the harp set in its corner, the piano shut down, dr. blair tossed into the novel-closet, and the flounce, the card rack, and the music carefully disposed of till the next morning;-as they are all destined, for at least one season, to serve as standing ornaments, and inanimate aids-de-camp during such morning-calls as may occur within that period. the conversation of morning calls is also arranged and conducted with proper order and regulations, of which the following is a comprehensive detail. (mrs. and miss fixwell discovered, the former reading 'the abbot,' and the latter working a lace-cap.) enter mr. sheepish (he makes a bow and sits down.) s.-hope you have been well, ma'am, since i had the pleasure of seeing you? mrs. f.-extremely well, sir. s.-and you, miss fixwell? miss f.-very well, i thank you, sir. (a short pause.) fashionable conversation. 57 mrs. f.-your mother is well, i presume, sir? s.-very well, i thank you, ma'am. miss. f.-your sisters all well, sir? s.-very well, i'm much obliged to you. (another pause.) s.-have you had the prevalent influenza, ma'am? mrs. f.--a slight attack, sir;-it is a very disagreeable complaint. s.-yes, ma'am. miss f. have you escaped it, sir? s.—no, ma'am; i had it severely for several days; but i hope you did. miss. f.-no, sir; i was not so fortunate. (a long pause, during which mrs. f. fingers the leaves of her book, miss. f. makes a few stitches, and mr. s. plays with his watchchain.) s. very fine weather, ma'am. mrs. f.--extremely so:---but i am afraid we shall have some rain. miss. f.---i certainly hope not. (mr. s. now begins to be very uneasy, looks frequently towards the door, and crosses his legs alternately.) f 2 58 fashionable conversation. mrs. f.i expect, sir, the theatre will open in a few days. s.-yes, ma'am. miss f.-i understand it is beautifully ornamented. s. so i understand, ma'am. (another tremendous pause;-just as mr. sheepish has summoned resolution enough to rise from his chair, mrs. f. speaks and he sits down.) mrs. f.-i presume, sir, we shall have a gay winter, owing to the number of marriages. s.-i presume so, ma'am. miss f.-do you go to miss danceit's ball, next week? s.-i hope to have that pleasure, ma'am. (miss f. now begins to look astonished, and mrs. f. yawns audibly; mr. s. re-echoes it from sympathy.) miss f.-were you at any of the watering places last summer? s.---at long branch, ma'am, for two or three days. mrs. f.--which do you propose visiting next summer, sir? s.----positively, ma'am-not yet decided. + fashionable conversation. 59 (at this critical conjuncture new visitors arrive, and mr. s, taking advantage of the bustle, makes a bow, and exit.) the conversation of evening parties is so diffuse, owing to the size of those assemblies, that it would be impossible to condense it in a dramatic shape; this diffusion consists, however, more in the expression than the nature of the subject. in one corner we hear a dissertation on long branch, yellow springs and schooley's mountain, and having escaped into another, are edified with remarks on bedford, balston, and saratoga. one talks of passaic falls, and another of the falls of niagara;-the convenience of the delaware steam boats is applauded by one gentleman, and the accommodations of the hudson steam boats by another; some canvas the merits of the last new fashion, while others form conjectures of that which is expected;-one lady talks of the author of guy mannering, and another of the author of waverly;-some admire the fineness of the day, others predict a storm on the morrow, and all make the weather the leading subject of conversation;-on one side you hear a discourse concerning 'fugitive pink for occasional ef60 fashionable conversation. 6 fect;' on the other, 'beautiful carmine for morning bloom;' before you is an élégante elucidating the advantages of attitudinizing,' and behind you are a few damsels whispering about circassian corsets for reforming busts.'-one prude is shocked by the lowness of the upper part of one lady's dress, and another condemns the height of the lower part of another's;----one group of exquisites expatiates upon the merits of a famous trotting mare, and another applauds the performances of an equally famous running-horse;--one body of belles are delighted with the concert of miss boudet, another talk in raptures of mrs. french, and a third chatter in amazement about the wonderful little lewises;----here a snug coterie are ridiculing the petticoat-trousers of the gentlemen, and there a band of ruffians are quizzing the light drapery of the ladies; in one place, the dissipated and immoral character of mr. soakit undergo strict scrutiny, and in another, miss flirtal is condemned to a like examination;-at one end of the room it is announced, that mrs. burnwell's house had nearly taken fire, through the negligence of a servant, and in less than five minutes, you are informed at the other ( fashionable conversation. 61 މ end, that the house was totally consumed, and that mrs. burnwell, her six small children and her favourite lap-dog, perished in the flames!! a new comer mentions a report of bonaparte's escape from st. helena, and in a few moments, you are confidentially informed (from undoubted authority,) that he is seated on the throne of france! a quidnunc hazards the idea, that the conviction of the queen would be attended with serious civil commotions, and you can barely walk across the room, before you are positively assured, that a revolution has taken place in england, george the fourth been beheaded, and mr. brougham appointed protector of the commonwealth!! if a lady mentions the marriage of a friend, you are speedily informed that fortune has crowned the bliss of the affectionate pair in the shape of a lovely child;if you excuse the absence of an individual on the score of a slight head-ache or toothache, in a very short time you are surprised to understand, that he is at the point of death,' and 'not expected to live 'till morning;'--and if a belle be confined with indisposition to the house, she is without delay consigned to the tomb of her fathers. < ―――― 62 fashionable conversation. such are the leading topics of tea-partyconversation, and such the delights of tea-parties; they may assuredly rank among the worst gradation of miseries that afflict the sons and daughters offashion. so much, howe-ver, has been said about fashionable squeezes and routs, that it is unnecessary to argue in favour of large parties and small rooms, which is a great desideratum: the goule of the désert is not more frightful to the persians than a small tea-party to the votaries of fashion. when we consider the nature of these squeezes as well as their conversation, we may well exclaim with madame de stael, dans vos routs le corps fait plus de frais que l'esprit.' 6 with respect to the superior volubility of the female tongue at all parties, we have very satisfactory information: in buxton's hebrew lexicon, chap. 9. p. 228, (according to a friendly adviser,) it is recorded that eve's name is derived from a word which signifies to talk; and, according to the opinion of the rabbis, there were twelve baskets of chit-chat which fell from the heavens, and the women picked up nine of them!' 6 1 chapter v. philadelphia amusements. sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens, 'tis just the fashion. as you like it. ha! then comes thronging many a wild desire, and high imagining, and thought of fire! then, from within, a voice exclaims' aspire!' rogers. there is perhaps no city in the world, of equal extent, more deficient in public places of amusement than philadelphia: their introduction has been greatly retarded by the tone of sentiment introduced with the primitive settlers, which has to the present time continued to produce a decreasing ef fect; but it will hardly be denied, that every successive aberration from the manners, customs, and morals of our forefathers, has been attended with a correspondent decline in the virtues and happiness of society. 64 philadelphia amusements. in those happy days of primitive simplicity, every family, in itself, was a theatre of enjoyment; fictitious excitements were not wanting to increase the pleasures of society, because every individual relied upon his own resources, or the family circle to which he was attached: the domestic fire-side was, to them, a never failing source of pleasure, where the whole family assembled, with great regularity, in the evening, to knit stockings, enjoy religious conversation, and read a chapter in the bible. if it became necessary to pay a neighbourly visit, every individual joined in the unusual exertion: the visitation commenced at 10 o'clock of the morning, and ended with the going down of the sun. at 9 o'clock the whole city was wrapt in profound slumbers. tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur cum illis: our present young gentlemen retire to rest about the time our forefathers were accustomed to rise; breakfasts have usurped the place of ancient dinners in the same ratio as the latter have taken the stations of ancient suppers. broad-brim hats have got into disrepute, and buckram suits come to be very pleasant objects of ridicule; plain longeared muslin caps, high neckerchiefs, and philadelphia amusements. 65 long drab petticoats, afford vast amusement to our present race of damsels, twenty of whom might very decently (par comparaison) be clothed with one single maidenly dress of the olden time.' 6 at that blessed epoch it was little less than profanity, even to offer an ear to the public gaze, excepting through the doubtful texture of leno-muslin; now, the main test of fashion is the greatest exhibition of the natural surface of the body, without any defending covering at all. long sleeves, and sleeves of all descriptions are nearly extinct;—white sattin has been substituted for linsey-woolsey, and sky-blue gauze for snuff-coloured bombazet. in fashionable life, neckerchiefs are by no meaus indispensable, and even the main article of female dress has suffered very material diminution. however great may be these changes, nothing has deteriorated more than the manners of young people, as connected with courtship. in ancient times, when a youth imbibed a secret yearning towards a damsel, he arrayed himself in his sunday suit, lengthened his features to a due degree of solemnity, put a bible into his pocket, and sallied forth to the mansion of his beloved; g 66 philadelphia amusements. every thing then depended on a sonorous, well-modulated voice, and an orthodox twang of the nose; if he succeeded in preaching himself into the good graces of the young woman, (there were no ladies in those days,) he took unto himself a wife; but if all his efforts proved unavailing, he betook himself home, and studiously endeavoured, by family practice, to make himself competent to renew the attack with more probability of success. the course pursued by modern dandy suitors is radically different; so far from being burdened with a pocket-bible, a bare allusion to such an article would prove decisively fatal. he anoints himself with double distilled lavender water," puts on his most enchanting smile, claps his right hand to his heart, breathes a soft sigh and a preparátory hem! and begins a long course of disconnected, common-place, silly rhodomontade, which is continued until the lady is wise enough to laugh in his face, or foolish enough to offer him her hand. in the first instance, he whistles a cotillion, wishes her a very good morning, and d-ns her thenceforward on all improper occasions: if he marries, he becomes her slave philadelphia amusements. 67 during the honey-moon, and makes her miserable during the remainder of her life. it would require a volume in itself to trace the long series of changes which have taken place since the foundation of our city, and at length originated, among other luxuries, the desire of fictitious pleasures, emanating from public spectacles and amusements. there are few institutions of this nature which do not, in a greater or less degree, affect the purity and morals of society. our citizens, however, have not yet acquired that depravity of taste, which can endure those of the worst nature, and, fimited as the number fortunately is, a great proportion of our exhibitions produce little or no evil effect. at the present time two dramatic companies exist in philadelphia;-the winter tivoli theatre, and the theatre, walnut street. the former consists principally of performers too inferior to be admitted on the boards of more regular threatres, or too well satisfied of their own abilities to be degraded in the capacity of mutes and sceneshifters, whilst they may figure as first-rates in prune street: this minor institution, although fitted up with peculiar taste and 68 philadelphia amusements. neatness, is in fact adapted, both in quality and price, to those classes, without whose support it would entirely fail in opposition to the walnut street theatre. the splendid preparations made by the managers of the latter establishment, and the anticipated arrival of mr. kean, will afford attractions to the lovers of the drama, during the ensuing season, little less inviting than those arising from the masterly delineations of george frederick cooke. to the introduction of stage-players our worthy progenitors were particularly opposed, and many obstacles were encountered before they became perfectly naturalised amongst us: it is a question of much doubt whether the amusement or instruction derived from their introduction are sufficient to compensate for its attendant evils. the fair penitent' and miss in her teens' were the first theatrical performances attempted in philadelphia, on the 15th day of april, 1754. a building, originally used as a store-house, was the place of exhibition, situate on the east side of water, near pine streets. another, better adapted to the purpose was soon after erected, by the same company, at the southwest corner philadelphia amusements. 69 of cedar and vernon streets. great influence was used to prevent a continuance of theatrical exhibitions, and many petitions were presented to the legislature upon the subject. friends (quakers) were uniformly opposed to them: in 1754, the synod of presbyterians united their influence with the popular prejudices, and petitioned the governor and legislature to prohibit all theatrical performances.* the sons of thespis enjoyed a humorous and satirical revenge, by immediately announcing for exhibition the tragedy of douglass, by the rev. mr. home, minister of the kirk of scotland.'+ mr. hallam, (commonly called the father of the american stage,) in conjunction with mr. henry, erected the south street theatre, some time before the revolutionary war: during the latter period, the whole theatrical corps sought refuge in the west indies, but on the declaration of peace returned to this country. no exhibition, however, took *in the year 1818, visiting theatres, as well as public balls, gaming and horse racing, were forbidden by the convention of the protestant episcopal church of virginia. † picture of philadelphia; et seq. g 2 70 philadelphia amusements. place for a number of years, owing to prohibitory state-laws. in 1791 the new theatre, chesnut street, was founded, and, when the building was completed, a company from london under the direction of mr. wignel, commenced their career in the winter of 1793-94. in 1805 it was considerably enlarged and improved, and in 1820 burnt to the ground. the existing company, under the direction of messrs. warren and wood, have consequently been compelled to engage the olympic theatre, walnut street, as the only building suitable to the purpose; it was built in 1809 by messrs. pepin and breschard, and adapted solely to equestrian performances; in 1811, it was greatly improved by the addition of a theatre to the circus, after the model of sadler's wells, and the depth of the building increased from one hundred to one hundred and forty feet: its dimensions on walnut street (eighty feet) continue the same. the present alterations, by which it is fitted for dramatic representations alone, are said to be honourable to the taste and enterprise of the managers: the amphitheatre is converted into a spacious pit, the heavy dome has been removed, and philadelphia amusements. 71 the stage been considerably enlarged. as the losses incurred by the destructive fire in chesnut street have not diminished the exertions of the managers, it is reasonable to anticipate an extensive display of fashionable patronage, during the ensuing season. ، a curious evasion of the law prohibiting theatrical performances, was made use of in boston, before its repeal in 1793, about which period the first theatre was opened in that city. the performers published bills of the following description: on monday evening will be delivered at the exhibition room in broad alley, a moral lecture, enforced by the affecting history of jane shore, which will be alternately recited, by messrs. harper, powell, &c. &c: the evening's exercises to conclude with an amusing lecture in the facetious narrative of chrononhotonthologos!' concerts rank next to theatricals in fashionable estimation, although we certainly have but a moderate proportion of catalinis: political orations, in this land of the patriot,' are also fashionably attended. 'cotillion parties,' strictly speaking, are not of a public nature, as subscriptions are sought by invitation, and not demanded by 72 philadelphia amusements. right: the gloominess of the times, spreading over every section of society, has even annihilated, for the present winter, those agreeable assemblies. vauxhall and tivoli constitute the gardens of the city; they owe no support to the patronage of fashion, and are consequently in a languishing condition. the museum, chesnut street, is a favourite resort among strangers, during the day, but owing to the heterogeneous nature of the visitors, it is in general avoided by the better class during the evening.-that in market street, is well enough adapted to the company by which it is supported. there is an exhibition occasionally offered to the public, at which many fashionable gentlemen are to be seen: it consists in witnessing the follies of our fellow-creatures in a state of intoxication, not occasioned by the inordinate use of ardent spirits, but the more effectual fumes of nitrous oxyde gas. according to hand-bills circulated through the city, the fair-sex has imbibed a portion of the exhilirating-mania, and those who are philosophical enough to be the nightly witnesses of its marvellous effects on the constitution of man, may now have an opphiladelphia amusements. 73 portunity of forming a comparative estimate of its results on the constitution of woman: it will be necessary, however, to enter a den of iniquity, and view the 'last, best gift of god' in the congregated odiousness of her depravity. have the constitutional authorities no power to check public scenes of immorality in whatever shape they may appear? mr. southey said-foolishly enough-he supposed the air of the highest heaven to be composed of nitrous oxyde: if such actually be the case, there is not a sensible man who has witnessed its effects in this world, who can feel any desire to undergo them in the next. this poisonous preparation sets in motion the worst, or the most ridiculous passions of the heart, manifested either in turbulence and violence, or in simple laughing, and finical dancing! it overturns the rational faculties, and takes away all selfpossession; its pleasures consist in a state of forgetfulness similar to that produced by excessive intoxication:-in one word it transforms a reasonable being into a frenzied maniac. the academy of the fine arts, sully and earle's gallery, west's painting, the 74 philadelphia amusements. court of death, the capuchin chapel, the danae, ariadne, and in general such transient works of art as may happen to possess merit, or provoke curiosity, may be added to the number of attractions operating upon the world of fashion. 1 ladies of ton frequent few other public places-excepting the streets-than those already enumerated. public balls, however, (restricted to invited subscribers,) usually close the festivities of the 22d of february, a day sacred in the annals of our history. this meagre catalogue of amusements comprises the whole resort of fashionable circles, during the winter months, independent of private parties, which are sufficiently numerous, and, owing to the limited sphere of the first classes, generally composed of the same individuals. the atheneum is a favourite resort for gentlemen: the greater part, however, confine their literary researches to the columns of the newspapers, which are collected from all quarters of the continent, as well as from europe. the trial of the queen of england has given new attractions to this thriving institution, in the shape of english philadelphia amusements. 75 newspapers, containing the most indecent and offensive examinations that ever disgraced the annals of a british parliament. in our plebeian estimation, it is a most impudent attempt to repudiate the wife of such a man as george the fourth, on the score of inconstancy; and i think few disinterested persons on this side of the atlantic will refuse to agree with an eastern editor, that if the criminality of the queen is incontestably established, it will precisely qualify her for the company of her royal consort. a re-union might possibly create some confusion in the domestic arrangements of the marquis of hertford, but it is more probable a family understanding would take place, resulting in the appointment of count bergami to a distinguished situation in her majesty's house-hold. he might be nominated first lord of her majesty's bedchamber, and perform the duties of his station, without fear of a milan commission, or the non mi ricordos of perjured italians. on the other hand the king would be relieved from the dread of encountering new lord yarmouths in the new perambulations in which he would be compelled to engage! 76 philadelphia amusements. the philadelphia library would be a fruitful source of amusement and instruction to the fashionable circle, if literature had not, in general, been denounced as 'excessively vulgar,'-always excepting works of fiction and the drama: in some instances, however, la belle assembleé and ackerman's repository are translated from the black cases of the library, to the satin wood table of a belles boudoir. but the extensive dissemination of knowledge and praise-worthy habit of reading, originating from this useful institution, have been of immense consequence to a great proportion of our citizens. the plan of the library was suggested by dr. franklin, and carried into effect in the year 1731. the trifling sum of one hundred pounds, collected by subscription, was the foundation of the present library, now containing-together with the loganian-about thirtythousand volumes! a charter of incorporation was obtained from the then proprietaries of pennsylvania in 1742, and a coalition took place in 1769 with various other detached library-companies, existing in philadelphia.* the funds arising from the an*preface to catalogue. 1 philadelphia amusements. 77 nual payments of stockholders are devoted to the purchase of american productions of merit, and the importation of foreign books, under the direction of gentlemen, whose activity and intelligence have greatly contributed to promote the interests of the institution. in all societies, however, there are busy, meddling men, who are never satisfied without obtruding themselves into public notice, however ill-qualified they may be to undergo public examination; rather than remain in the safety of obscurity, they encounter the dangers of popular ridicule, and by dint of perseverance, positively conpel their fellow-citizens to recollect there are such beings in existence; 'half wits are fleas, so little and so light, we scarce could know they live, but that they bite.** this spirit has been, on several occasions, excited in opposition to the present directors without having produced any effect on the good sense of the stockholders, who are too well satisfied with the flourishing condition of the institution, and the long tried ïntegrity of their delegates, to gratify a petty ambi* dryden. h 78 philadelphia amusements. tion, by hazarding a change in the direction. cocking, to which english ruffians are so generally addicted, is limited to a very small number of philadelphia fashionables: several cock-pits, however, exist in the neighbourhood of the city, under the superintendence of men, who have nothing further to dread from the opinion of the world. towards a certain quarter, there is one of higher rank, to which some of our aspirants have the misfortune to belong: this barbarous predilection subsides with the rude passions of youth, and i do not know one veteran cocker to disgrace the character of our city. the savage pleasures of public pugilism would probably agree with the creed of fashion, were it not for the benevolent intervention of the law: philadelphia has never yet been disgraced by a regular setto, and since the disappearance of benson, the art itself has not been supported by a resident professor. i am not included among those fastidious gentlemen, who are virtually opposed to the whole science of pugilism: on the contrary it is, in my view, a manly exercise, conducive alike to safety and philadelphia amusements. 79 health. the lower orders of society, by habits of labour and education, are compara tively gifted with a muscular strength, which cannot be obtained in the lap of luxury and indolence; to this corporeal superiority is too often joined a low-bred insolence, and a disposition to insult and abuse those who are their superiors in all other respects. the dissemination of the pugilistic art, not attainable by the lower classes, would in the course of time, gradually place the weak on a footing with the strong, and finally extirpate, by means of manual examples suited to the capacities of the delinquents, the overbearing impertinence of hack-drivers, wood-sawyers, carters, and dray-men. tobacco-smoke would not be puffed in the faces of our ladies at every corner, nor whitesilk-stockings jostled into the gutters, by every athletic and malicious porter. the aristocracy of fashion and gentility would be more clearly recognised, and the farce of relative republican equality cease to ornament every ragged vagabond with the same attributes as a gentleman. stumporators may persuade the outlaw or the renegado, that the moment he sets his foot upon our shores, he is made equal to the 80 philadelphia amusements. best blood of the land, but in all civilised societies, an aristocracy must and will exist, either founded on letters, family, or fortune: it is either a de jure, as existing in great britain, or a de facto aristocracy, as existing in this country; and the power thus enjoyed by blood, by riches, and by learning, is as extensively exercised, and produces as great an effect over the minds of the lower orders of people. horse racing is interdicted by law, although the respective courses at germantown and bristol have, within a few years, been devoted to that amusement;-perhaps innocent and serviceable in itself, no feelings of gratification, no improvement in the breed, can at all compensate for the wide encouragement to intemperance and gambling afforded by the sufferance of turfsmen. private trotting matches are more frequent, being confined, in general, to thriving butchers, industrious bakers, designing tavern-keepers, and gentlemen horse-jockeys. hunting is quite incompatible with the delicacy of high life, although a club of enterprising gentlemen formerly supported a philadelphia amusements. 81 kennel of fox-hounds in the neighbourhood of this city. sporting, which is decidedly too fatiguing to be endured by the pampered frames of our exquisites, is more generally known in theory than in practice: platina-bushed, double-twisted barrelled, patent-breeched fowling-pieces, with water-proof, rolling locks, hair-triggers, and all other modern improvements, patent double shot-pouches, beautifully ornamented two-poundpowder flasks, and capacious game bags, with all manner of apparatus, are generally included among the paraphernalia of a philadelphia blood. he is followed by a brace of lazy, fat, pampered pointers, branded of course, and talks most knowingly of rightand-left shots, winging grouse, and earthing partridges: but this constitutes the extent of his knowledge, and if the necessity of preserving some degree of consistency, or the charms of a sporting frolic-which are most powerful-force him annually into the field, he always contrives to associate with more experienced marksmen, and practical sportsmen, who are benevolent enough to support his credit by concealing his defects. although he may not have bag'd a single h 2 82 philadelphia amusements. bird, he returns home loaded (according to sporting rule,) with his proportion of the general prey, talks most valiantly (according to sporting rule,) of having missed but one bird in fifteen successive shots, and does not (contrary to sporting rule,) recover from the exertion of following his companions, for some weeks to come: the whole apparatus is then carefully deposited in a secure place, until the next annual excursion. such is a brief outline of a portion of those amusements, by which the idle child ren of fashion are relieved from the constant empire of ennui, and which contribute to the important object of killing time.' 6 chapter vi. spoiled children. shaksp let me have a child at fifty. as with soft accent round her neck he clings, and cheek to cheek her lulling song she sings, how blest to feel the beatings of his heart, breathe his sweet breath, and kiss for kiss impart. rogers. children are pretty much the same all over the world: it is in their education alone, that a great variation is originated, which grows with their growth, and strengthens with their strength. separate a chinese infant from its parents at the moment of its birth, nurture it in a christian country, confer upon it a careful education, and it will be in vain to search for any characteristic marks of its nativity; indeed, the change of climate, of manners, and of customs, would in some degree destroy even the singularity of personal distinction. $4 spoiled children. it is doubtful whether-laying aside constitutional defects,-one being is brought into the world, gifted with higher powers than another; or, what is precisely the same thing, ordained and predestined to excel when it has just reached the threshold of life. poeta nascitur non fit is, according to my view, a very absurd maxim, notwithstanding the counteracting testimonies of bloomfield, or hogg, or cleveland, or clare: some peculiar infantine association of ideas, perhaps not clearly comprehended by themselves, are the acting principles which form poets of nature; at an age when the mind is susceptible of every impulse, and open to every impression, it may receive, from a particular conjunction of circumstances, a distinct bias which will remain its distinguishing feature through life;-but its origin is not in the womb. the bodily disposition has a material ef fect on that of the mind; nor is it confined to the infant alone, which is often destined, through the defects of its parents, to eke out a life of miserable inutility. but this is confined solely to whatever effect may be produced by the inheritance, or casual possession of bodily indisposition, acting upon the spoiled children. 85 mental feelings of the infant through the first stages of nature, and acquiring strength as it progresses towards maturity: a youth of suffering seldom fails to produce a melancholy, a testy, an impatient, or, perhaps, a criminal disposition. yet the mental temperament of the parent can have no influence over that of the child; it might as well be said that a highwayman and a murderer produce highwaymen and murderers,-that a judge produces a lawyer, or a professor of physic, a young apothecary: all these offspring may, in all probability, follow the steps of their fathers, naturally receiving a pre-disposition to embrace the course of life, in the daily contemplation and knowledge of which they have been educated. the sons of seamen generally become sailors, and a flourishing cordwainer bequeaths his. stock, customers, and talents to his posterity;-yet cabin-boys and shoemakers are made, not born. but, notwithstanding the universality of this bias, it may be superseded by others, sufficiently powerful to overcome every obstacle to their expansion, and force the possessor from the paternal path; it is confined to no particular station, and equally sways the peasant and the prince,86 spoiled children. the maker of kingdoms, and the maker of shoes. it is originated by a peculiar series of impressions, adapting the tone of, and operating upon minds, free from countervailing dispositions. this inclination of the mind, so mysteriously received and so powerful in its operation, is the acting principle that enobles or degrades man; it leads him along the path of fame and virtue, or seduces him into the by-ways of shame and wickedness; it bids him plod along through life without an effort, or urges him to rise above the level marked out to him by the situation of his progenitors; it makes him happy or miserable, great or insignificant. the offspring of the wisest men have been consigned to the cells of a hospital, or loaded with the curse of hopeless idiotism; the children of the best fathers have perished in the gloom of a prison, or amid the horrors of a public execution. the sons of parents "broad-blown in crimes," have shaken off the seeds of corruption, and stood forth in the loveliness of virtue; and the unlettered boor, or the mechanic without one idea elevated above his handicraft, have given life to constellations of the first magnitude in the sphere of literature. spoiled children. 87 if we look back to the early days of gifford, the elegant translator of juvenal, the accomplished satirist, we find he was a shoemaker! if we look among the dramatic writers, we find that holcroft was a shoemaker! if among the poets, bloomfield was a shoemaker! if among the stars of oriental literature, dr. carey was a shoemaker! however difficult it may be, either to particularise the exact period of acquired predisposition, or analyse the secret operation, or describe the almost imperceptible causes that influenced the adoption of a mental bias so opposite to their actual situation in life, and induced them to encourage, by subsequent education, the propensities of their minds, it appears more probable that such was (and ever will be) the case, than to believe it accompanied them into the world. such is the importance of early attention to the education of children, and such are the solemn duties attached to the situation of a parent i have been led to make these observations after a short visit to a young cousin of mine, with a good husband, a fine looking boy, and a charming little girl. i love children, and their innocent prattle, and can 88 spoiled children. make all due allowance for the vehemence of their uncontrolled passions; but if there is any thing in human nature, calculated to strengthen the vows of a bachelor, it is a spoiled child! my cousin harriet, some six years ago, was the soul of gayety: she was not quite eighteen, beautiful as hebe, and as much admired as penelope. her life had been a soft dream, in which bright and happy visions floated in endless succession before her: she trod upon flowers, and lived upon their fragrance. sorrow was known but in name, happiness revelled in continued reality: her sparkling eyes had never been quenched in tears, nor her blooming cheeks blanched in suffering. she was the centre of attraction-the toast of the town-the focus of admiration-the rallying point of fashion. her power was undisputed, and crouds of suitors bowed before her. -these were the halcyon days of her life, when the buoyancy of youth was rendered more elastic by the animation of unruffled spirits, and the invigorating influence of universal admiration. she married:-and a brighter dawn never ushered a happier pair into the morning of spoiled children. 89 life. adored by each other, beloved by all, and revelling in riches, they entered the matrimonial career. but i pass over the earlier stages of their happiness: so blissful was their existence, they scarcely seemed to live: it resembled a long trance, opening to their view the beauties and the holiness of a better world. when the beautiful harriet placed a lovely babe into the arms of its fond father, one might have thought that the spirits of angels had descended among the little group, so perfect was their happiness. alas! that it should have been the germe of its destruction. little alfred was the delight of his young mother, and the pride of his young father; he was a prodigy in size,-a miracle in beauty; such blue eyes had never been seen, and such fat cheeks had never been created. half a dozen aunts found as many distinct marks of personal excellence, and thrice the number of cousins recorded their testimony in favour of the incomparable baby. such a heavenly disposition had been hitherto unknown: if he fretted, he was certainly sick, and if he laughed, he was certainly dandled and pestered until he fretted. whether awake or asleep, his anxious mother was in continual apprehension: if he would not sleep i 90 spoiled children. at the usual time, some horrible accident had deranged his nervous system, and if he would not wake, an unnatural torpor was apprehended. if the door was opened in july, he was guarded by a cashmere shawlif in december, by the addition of two fur mantles: if he sneezed, he was imprisoned in the nursery for a week, and if he coughed, two physicians were immediately called in! time passed along, during which the once gay and fashionable harriet was a voluntary prisoner in her own house, subjected to a thousand needless alarms, and dispirited by a constant succession of maternal, but misplaced anxiety. confinement blighted the bloom of her cheek, and sleepless nights dimmed the lustre of her eyes: she seemed alive only to the health and safety of her first-born; fancied ills created a regular state of apprehension, but when sickness actually appeared, her feelings were frenzied. alfred, however, survived the attacks of disease, and-still more astonishing-the kindness of his nurses: during this period he triumphed over the measles, and the hooping-cough-was vaccinated-had the croupe twice, and the mumps once-sneezed and coughed sundry times-cried alspoiled children. 91 ways-and had several attacks of pain in the stomach. the fond mother has enabled me (in common with her acquaintance,) to be thus particular, as the plague in london, the cholera morbus in bengal, or the yellow fever in philadelphia, are not more religiously remembered, or solemnly alluded to, than the sufferings of little alfred. young as he was, he had occasioned much domestic disquiet. a dozen nurses had administered to the wants of the precious infant in as many months. one was discharged for giving him burnt pap;-another for scratching his arm with a pin;—a third, for treading upon his silver rattle, which occasioned a severe fit of crying, supposed to have caused a slight inflammation in one of his eyes;--a fourth, for immoderate eating, supposed to have imparted a gross habit to the infant, and occasioned a small pimple to appear in the corner of his mouth;-a fifth for permitting the child to cry several minutes without calling its mother;-a sixth, for crossing the street with alfred in her arms (a carriage being in sight,) contrary to express orders;-a seventh, on account of the ugliness of her face, which might convey a correspondent impression to the 92 spoiled children. susceptible features of the baby;--an eighth, for a visual obliquity, which harriet imagined little alfred sometimes endeavoured to imitate;--a ninth, for having been crossed in love, and thereby rendered unfit to afford that cool and refreshing sustenance adapted to the preservation of health;-a tenth, for having drawn a prize in a lottery, producing, from excess of joy, an equally prejudicial effect; the eleventh died of a consumption, brought on from sudden change of diet from fat pork, raw cabbage, and dough dumplings, in the country, to water-gruel, panado, and chicken-broth, in town, at that time considered indispensable in promoting the health of the child;-and finally, the twelfth was turned out of doors, for removing a white-damask-double counterpane from the cradle, one hot evening in august! nor were these evils limited to the nurses: several footmen were discharged on various accounts; one for slamming a door and irritating the baby's nerves;-another, for neglecting to remove a boot-jack, which might have overturned the nurse had she passed at that time with alfred in her arms;—and a third for washing the outside of the windows while alfred was in the room. one spoiled children. 93 cook-maid was dismissed for having overloaded the child's stomach with a mint-drop, and a poor coachman lost his place, because he suffered a pair of young mettlesome horses to break their walk while alfred was in the carriage. even his mother's sister had nearly fallen into disgrace, because she would not permit him to play with a new lace veil, and his uncle jack was hardly forgiven, for refusing his jewelled chronometer. it was a general rule, as he advanced in years, to allow him to follow his own will: he had every thing he cried for, and he cried for every thing. his young mother established it as a principle, that opposition would only increase the violence of his temper, and that concessions would tend to produce that happy equanimity attendant upon gratified desires; besides which, violent fits of crying were destructive to health, and sudden gusts of passion might rupture a blood vessel. the father is a sensible man, and after the lapse of three or four years, the first burst of paternal feeling having considerably subsided, he began to consider the necessity of imposing a salutary restraint upon the headstrong passions of his son. the task was i 2 94 spoiled children. difficult, and when, after repeated efforts, he absolutely forced himself to apply manual chastisement, the fond mother looked upon him with horror and disgust: the sobbing child was taken to her bosom, loaded with maternal regrets and caresses, which at length were re-echoed by the repentant father, and was thus encouraged by every thing but words, to commit the same faults for which he had been punished. new outrages, however, called for a repetition of chastisement: the father corrected, the mother consoled, and the child sinned again. at length the birth of a daughter furnished new claims to the attentions of harriet, who, by occasional punishment, had already begun somewhat to coincide in the opinions of her husband, relative to the management of her son. but before this union of sentiment was effected, the ungovernable boy had inflicted many a severe pang in the breasts of his parents. they-who loved so affectionately, that their very existence seemed to centre in each other-were not proof against the frailties of our nature. often did the big tear roll down the cheek of harriet, as her husband expatiated upon the folly and criminality of indulging the way-ward spoiled children. 95 passions of youth, and the heavy responsibility attached to the mother, who nurtured and fomented the evil seeds of her child's disposition; and often did the contracted brow of the father frown upon the wife, whose maternal solicitude deprecated the cruelty and inutility of infant correction. but those moments were like black clouds passing over a bright moon; for a moment all is dark, but light bursts forth again in renovated splendour. but alas! the clouds grew darker and less fleeting. the daughter was educated in the footsteps of the son; her sex demanded the most careful attentions, and as a “first daughter," she was most dear to the heart of her mother. the father remonstrated,the mother was inexorable. the son now callous to punishment, peevish in his disposition, ungovernable in his passions, regardless of truth, eternally in mischief, an annoyance to the whole household, the dread of visitors, was in vain pointed out as a warning beacon. the disposition of a female would preclude the possibility of a like result; her sex would not endure a mode of treatment that might have been advantageously applied to the son: and in fine, the father, more -―― 96 spoiled children. than half disposed to indulge his newly awakened feelings, surrendered in part to the arguments of harriet, and the little amelia bids fair to become a second alfred. but this continued mismanagement was not conducted without repeated altercations, and the happy couple, who once looked upon a difference of opinion as beyond the regions of possibility, are now involved in the most trifling disputes. poor harriet casts many a lingering glance towards those youthful days, when her will was absolute, and the lustre of her smile was reflected from a thousand admiring adorers; when one glance from her blue eye, or one word from her coral lips, were gifts precious as the mines of potosi! hanging over the couch of a sick child, or soothing the passions of a spoiled one, she often meditates on the "olden time," when free as the breeze of heaven, she laid down to rest only to awaken to a new day of happiness and triumph. the lustre of her eye is fled; the rose is withered on her cheek; her lip is pallid, and neglect has fixed its empire in her whole person. spiritless and wretched, the morning of her days is wasted in unavailing respoiled children. 97 pentance. the affections of her husband gradually weakened, the offspring of their union converted into sources of discord and desolation; the past, all felicity, and the future, all pain, the once blooming belle is but the shadow of her former self. —— i leave this subject to the serious consideration of all parents, confident as i am, that it is oftentimes in an early stage of childhood, that the mind of man receives that important pre-disposition, commonly called a natural faculty, which is to be his ruling star through the night of this world, and lead him to distinction or disgrace. "he that spareth the rod hateth his son; but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes." chapter vii. elections. thy frank election make; thou hast power to chuse. shakspeare. so did this town, with steadfast zeal, weave cobwebs for the public weal, which when completed, or before, a second vote in pieces tore: they met, made speeches, full long-winded, resolved, protested, and rescinded: addresses signed, then chose committees,*** m'fingall. when the passions of party are excited, the annual election in philadelphia becomes a scene of violent commotion. a large proportion of our citizens being opposed to the late system of non-intercourse, the embargo, and subsequent war with great britain, the contemporary elections were attended with peculiar animosity, and not seldom disgraced with fighting and bloodshed. mobs composed of the dregs of each party, 1 elections. 99 and encouraged by more respectable partisans, paraded the streets, and too often transformed the theatre of elective franchise into a reversed aristocracy, where the supreme power was lodged in the hands of the mobility! peaceable citizens were driven from the ground, or quietly surrendered their privileges, rather than hazard the dangers of the fray. at that time if men cried aloud for peace, they were "traitors;" and if they opened their mouths in support of war, they were "war-hawks:" french interest swayed the man who cursed the orders in council, and british gold lined the pockets of him who condemned the berlin and milan decrees. those troublesome times have gone by, and our elections are now conducted with a goodly proportion of moderation, manually speaking; but verbal altercation and abuse suffer little or no diminution. curiosity has often tempted me to examine into the whole routine of elections: with the view of accomplishing this object, i attended the preparatory ward meeting, voted at the ward election, and pursued my final researches at the general election in october. it was a fatiguing task, but patience 168380 100 elections. and perseverance bore me along; not a few patriots have gained a seat in the common council itself, by following, during some eight or ten years, the very course i have adopted; indeed i received a pretty broad insinuation from a respectable foreigner, that a few years perseverance might place me in the road to preferment, in the capacity of a member of the committee of vigilance. pursuant to public notice, i attended the meeting of citizens residing in our ward, at the house of mrs., and was ushered into a room somewhat larger than an ordinary clothes-press. the meeting had been organized, and consisted of the chairman and secretary, together with two quiet looking gentlemen, modestly seated in a corner. the chairman having stated the object of the meeting, expatiated at considerable length upon the proud rights of american freemen, and the glorious immunities of universal suffrage, during which the secretary fell asleep, and the two gentlemen went to the bar to talk with the landlady, over a pot of beer. he at last came to a conclusion in the following words:-"yes, gentlemen, it is indeed a proud source of congratulation, that in this favoured land of liberty, every elections. 101 individual, acknowledging allegiance to the government, is interested in the appointment of its officers; that every office, however important, is either directly or indirectly filled by the mighty will of the sovereign people: therefore, gentlemen, it becomes my duty to submit to this respectable meeting, the appointment of two inspectors and one assessor for this ward." the violence with which his fist-clenched in oratorical energy---came in contact with the table, roused the meeting, and the absentees, finding the oration was concluded, returned to their stations among the citizens of the ward. "il a traité cela bien au long;" said the frenchman, taking a pinch of snuff. "who shall nominate the inspectors?" demanded the chairman. "the chairman," quoth the secretary. i mentioned the name of an old and respectable inhabitant, but the chairman shook his head significantly. a decent pause ensued, when the chairman nominated the secretary: another decent pause, and the secretary nominated the chairman. "shall these be inspectors for the ward?" said the chairman. k ! 102 elections. one of the meeting nodded his head, and the other chimed in. "who shall be assessor?" again inquired mr. chairman. not a word!-the question was repeated; still not a word; and for three very sufficient reasons. one of the meeting was an irishman, who did not know an individual in the ward, the other was a frenchman, who did not comprehend a syllable that was spoken, and as for myself, the bad success of my first nomination gave me no encouragement to hazard a second. • at length the secretary nominated the chairman's brother, and the appointments were complete, excepting a committee of vigilance, consisting of fifty! it required considerable exertion of memory on the part of the chairman and secretary, but they at length filled up the number, among which were my two fellow citizens: the forward spirit i had manifested at the commencement of the business deprived me of the honour of an appointment. cigars" the never failing accompaniment of all american assemblies"-and a bottle of wine, had been called in, and the monthly magazine. elections. 103 officers of the meeting ought, in all conscience, to have liquidated the bill: the merry son of erin, however, (upon a motion for adjournment, made by the secretary, and carried by the chairman) finished the bottle, while the ex-president deposited the remaining cigars in his pocket. "helas!" cried the citoyen, “notre pays ici se trouve dans une situation affreuse;mais, enfin, c'est un pays de cocagne!" the next morning at breakfast, i observed the proceedings of the preceding evening in the papers, comprehending an analysis of the chairman's address, delivered "to a large and respectable meeting of the inhabitants of ward!!" i afterwards learned the same address had been annually delivered for many years, by the same worthy chairman. the steps of the common political ladder in this city, are, to a certain height, gradual and easy of ascent: a wide gap then intervenes, which few adventurers are able to surmount; the great majority fall through into their original nothingness, or if they gain a precarious grasp, are readily shaken off by the next more competent competitor. after reaching the acme of city legislation, 104 elections. this unfortunate gap opens before a seat in the legislature of the state, and the next breach becomes almost impracticable. the progress of a philadelphia politician is guided by system: at an early age the adventurer becomes the constant attendant of constable's elections and ward meetingscomes to be a member of committees of vigilance is the most industrious ticketfolder on the committee-parades the election ground with placards-distributes tickets-rides about in carriages papered over with caricatures and party manifestos-bullys his adversaries, and contrives to get a black eye or a broken head!-after a time he attracts the attention of the incumbents, who from time immemorial, have annually filled the offices appertaining to our city districts, and comes to be a clerk and a secretary: his views now begin to expand, and he is racked with all the torments of political jealousy: he takes especial care to be first comer at all public meetings, that he may possess at least that claim to the office of secretary. if a rival succeeds, he passes a sleepless night, and if his ambitious projects are realised, he rises at day-light to see his name in the morning papers. elections. 105 " he now possesses an excellent chanceprovided he is a bon vivant-of becoming a clerk of the general election and dining in the state-house-hall; and should any of the incumbents happen to leave this world of misery, he may possibly step into their shoes as a judge of the ward election or inspector of the general. there are now two courses to be pursued, equally calculated to promote the end in view. should the aspirant, be a prudent young man, he assumes a sanctimonious exterior, writes religious tracts, and prates about the abolition of slavery. he attends all charitable meetings, becomes a member of the orphan asylum, and a distributor of wood, subscribes to the house of industry, and ladles out soup to the poor: he ferrets out families in distress-furnishes them with petitions and subscribes his own name in large characters at the head of the list: he becomes guardian of the poor, manager of the alms house, and contributor to the hospital. he insinuates himself into all charitable associations as manager, secretary, or treasurer, and manages to appear continually in the daily prints in some benevolent k 2 106 elections. capacity: he contributes to all beneficent purposes of a public nature, if he has any money, or contrives to become the collector, if he has not where-withall to make himself munificently notorious. he will kick a beggar out of his house in private, and take him by the hand in the street. all this appearance of sanctity readily imposes upon the religiously-inclined members of society, who are pretty generally more conversant with the mysteries of the next, than the wisdom of the present world. the influence of a moral and religious man is secretly felt even by the profligate, and however unwilling he may be to acknowledge the ascendency of virtue, he is more or less guided by it in his public demeanour. the political candidate having procured the support of the better part of the community, finds himself in the broad road to preferiment, and (provided his hypocrisy continues undiscovered,) becomes a law-maker in the capitol at harrisburg, or a city regulator in the state-house at philadelphia! the other method is of a contrary nature, and should either be prefered, is perhaps most likely to ensure success. the candidate must then frequent ale-houses, be elections. 107 6 a constant attendant at taverns, and not even consider himself above water-street oyster cellars and tippling shops: he must become the boon companion, and hail fellow well met' of every blackguard in southwark, moyamensing and penn:-learn to become an expert dog-fighter, and delight in bull-baiting;-canvass the merits of an ox with every butcher in spring garden, and talk about cattle-fodder and calves with every booby in the neck;-he must study the history of the four kings,' and be 'cheek-by-jowl,' 'cap-in-hand,' and 'handto-fist,' with every black-leg in the city; -he must attend scrub races, wink at his neighbour's wives, fondle his friend's daughters, and swear like a trooper!a knowledge of cock-fighting is indispensable; he must be an old cocker,know how to handle his cock,-fight halfa-dozen mains per week,-be his own matcher and feeder, keep a regular stive, -and talk about gaffs and slashers, blooming stags and shropshire reds like the manager of the cock pit royal! he must be a bruiser' withal, and up to all the slang of the fancy!-mill his man, fib his nob, spill claret, darken day-lights, and plump peepers! c c -108 elections. -he must furthermore learn to play allfours, checkers, chuck-penny, snake, and shuffle-board,--lose with a pleasant oath and never win when he can avoid it. he must attend all political meetings, and, if he be a lawyer, never fail to make a speech; if he be not gifted with ideas to compose, or ⚫oratorical powers to deliver an oration, he must cryay' to every thing in a sonorous tone of voice, and on proper occasions, hurra! like a cossack.-in fine he must laugh with fools, talk with scoundrels, shake hands with every body in a shabby coat, and walk arm in arm with every body in shirt-sleeves!' by these various means he gains an ascendency over the dissolute and idle, which is skilfully and by degrees extended to hetter classes, and finally secures to him an office of honour, or,--what is more enviable -of profit. at length the day appointed for the ward election arrived, and i attended punctually at 2 o'clock to assist in choosing its judges; the real minority proved triumphant, owing to the introduction of auxiliaries, drawn off* from the over-plus of a neighbouring ward. nothing material occurred during the day, elections. 109 excepting the close examination of persons who had never lived out of the ward, and the easy acceptance of others who had never lived in it. my two old acquaintances plied their tickets at the door, jabbering their respective tongues with a consequential vivacity. the second tuesday in october ushered in the day of the general election, when every man entitled to record his vote, or likely to be accepted, abandons his daily vocation to regulate the affairs of the nation. it is a scene of bustle and animation: the healths of the favourite candidates are quaffed as long as their names can be pronounced, and politicians expatiate on their merits, as long as they can find any one to listen to them. flags are displayed at the various rendezvous, where any man may get drunk gratis-provided he votes the right ticket:' placards surmounted with ludicrous and slanderous caricatures are posted up at the corners, directing their abuse according to the principles (i mean political,) of the inventors; one tears down, whilst another posts up--and both are knocked down in the scuffle: the best invented falsehoods are published in manifestos, as they 110 elections. excite more irritation from their plausibility. * the man, whose wife and children depend upon the daily, labours of his hands for support, leaves them without bread to discuss the domestic vices of some unpopular candidate;—the drunkard hiccups forth a moral lecture on his dissipated course of life, and the official defaulter proclaims the rottenness of his political principles. the deeds of his childhood, the errors of his youth, are all set forth in terrible array; beardless politicians magnify into crying crimes, faults that were committed before they were born, and gray headed officehunters condemn errors in which they participated. patriotic americans, born in all the countries of christendom excepting america, convert the theatre of election into a lively representation of the tower of babel. " as there appeared to be no serious disturbance, i mingled in the crowd, and soon found myself among a knot of politicians. by the powers! and it's the land of fradom, any how.' 'parbleu! you may say dat, mon ami;it is de country of l'indépendence.' elections. 111 # "cot pless her! this is the crand tay for the free-porn people!' 'if sic a day as the like could shine i' the north of england, it would mak the blude o' the borough-mongers a wee bit colder, i'm of opinion.' c hurra! fur fintlee!-mit goot mens on de dicket, and goot offishers in de stade, we are de habbiest beebles in de worlt.' 'hand the most brave and honourable! -ou would we hever ave hasserted hour hindependence, hor umbled the hovergrown hinsolence of hold hengland with-hout bravery and honour? libertad y indépendencia para los americanos!' 'richessa, felicita e fama per sémpre!' -french,--welch,-scotch,irish,dutch, english, spanish,--and italian americans!i registered my vote in favour of the old revolutionary patriot, returned home, retired to bed, and dreamed of a cuckoo's nest. chapter viii. lotteries and quacks. then is an ape, a doctor to such a man. shalesp. go teach eternal wisdom how to rulethen drop into thyself and be a fool. pope. as it regards the spirit of the crime, quack medicines are as much instruments of murder as the dagger of an assassin, and lotteries as much gambling as pharo or vingt-un. in fact there is more probability of escape in the first instance, and less chance of loss in the second. the man who undergoes a course of quack-medicine, might as well swallow aconite, or arsenic; and he who adventures his capital in a lottery, might as well cast it into the high-way. their food is the lives and fortunes of men. lotteries and quacks. 113 lotteries are the only legalised species of gambling in this city, solely excusable by the end for which they are instituted; but the end cannot justify the means. is that church holy, which is built upon the hard earnings of seduced and disappointed poverty? can that monument be an honourable memorial, which owes its elevation to the mite of the poor man, wrenched from his suffering family, by the seductions of its projectors?-better would it be that not canal should ever flow through our state,that no monument should ever be instituted, -that no church should ever be erected, than that it should be done at the expense of public morals and private happiness. i̇f, therefore, we examine minutely into the nature of lotteries, we find the only plea that can be advanced in their justification, is the beneficial purposes for which they are created. but the admission of such a doctrine would subvert all our established principles of equity and morality, becauseif once admitted-its circuit cannot be restrained, and it would operate with equal force in all cases. false reasoning may build up plausible excuses for the commission of every species of vices and crimes. l 114 lotteries and quacks. " the evils of horse racing, and the immorality of turf-gambling are palliated by the improvement of the breed;-bull-baiting imparts new juiciness and tenderness to the food of man;-and even cocking, the most barbarous of all amusements, is gifted with hypothetical advocates: weighed, however, in the balance of reason and fact,' says mr. william henry scott,' it is attended with the least cruelty of all our diversions; i shall be very expeditious with my proof. the game cock is kept in a state of happiness and comfort, until the day of battle, he cannot then be forced, but in fighting is actuated by his natural instinct--is, in fact, gratified; and if he fall by his adversary's weapon, he is the sooner out of the sense of pain!*-infanticide may find its supporters among followers of the stagyrite, and parenticide be an act of mercy towards the gray hairs, and venerable feebleness of our fathers! any individual might feel himself justifiable in imitating the cobler of messina, who reformed the morals of the city by assassinating all those who, according to the test of his own judgment, were deserving of scott's british field sports. lotteries and quacks. 115 punishment. in fine, the attainment of a beneficial object would be sufficient to justify the means, however morally flagitious they might be. from those who are conscientiously opposed to gambling in a general sense, i would demand, in what peculiar principles does a lottery disagree with the worst species?-the primordeal features are the same, the progressive interest is at best equal, and to a certain extent, the consequences are uniform: but the question naturally arises, if such be its unison with the worst species of gambling, in what degree is it excelled by the best? such is the extent and variety of this vice, that a graduated scale of games and gaming, scientifically arranged in distinct classes, could alone convey an idea of the various degrees of guilt attached to its commission. the dowager who plays picquet for an eagle, cannot be compared to the father of a family who gambles for a thousand: the gentleman who wins a few dollars at a loo-table, must not be estimated by the standard of the sharper, who entices youth, revels upon inexperience, and sends ruin and desolation to the mansions of happiness! 116 lotteries and quacks. the arguments in favour of fair gaming when opposed to lotteries, consist,-1. in the respective chances-2. in the want of correspondent inducements, and-3. in the comparative limitation of its effects. firstly, with regard to the chances, on which point little need be said. the risk at fair gaming is equal, or if it vary, it is attributable to superior skill or science: in certain games, strictly speaking of chance, there is no distinct advantage. in lotteries the chances are, in general, as two or three to one against the adventurer, (embracing the whole body of minor prizes,) and as the drawings proceed, a progressive increase in the value of the stakes continues that advantage; but laying aside those minor prizes,— the gaining of which incurs the loss of a high per centage on the original stake, and which are, in fact, almost invariably re-invested with additional loss,the chances against success are almost incalculable. with respect to the second objection, our daily papers are crowded with overwhelming evidence: every allurement that can be supposed to operate upon the good and bad, the old and young,-the rich and poor,--the male and female,--is thrown out; lotteries and quacks. 117 the bait is gilded with all the fascinations of false reasoning and buffoonery, to attract the wise man and the fool: even the sanctity of the scriptures is made subservient to the cause of legalised gambling;' cast thy bread upon the waters and after many days thou shalt find it again!' the third argument is equally unanswerable. the vice of illegal gaming is, from its nature, limited in extent; but legalised lottery gambling insinuates itself into all the ramifications of society;-ten, fifteen, or twenty thousand individuals are interested in the sortilege! there is no boundary to its influence; it enters the palaces of the rich, and the cabins of the poor;-it leads the man of fortune into temptation, and adds new pangs to the delusive anticipations of indigence;-it originates and foments, under legislative sanction, a spirit of gaming which gradually extends itself into the most prejudicial forms;-it entices the inexperienced into speculative trials of the doctrine of chances, proved and tested in all the manifold shapes of gambling;—it deceives the indigent, and leads them to depend upon hopeless expectations, for that support and sustenance which should spring l 2 118 lotteries and quacks. from the industry of their habits, and the labour of their hands. if we look around among those fortunate adventurers, who have gained the principal prizes of a lottery, how few do we find resolute enough to resist the sudden shock of their good fortune! riches easily attained, are heedlessly squandered: the man who, never having possessed fifty dollars, finds himself the master of fifty thousand, looks upon it as a mine of wealth which can never be exhausted; accustomed to subsist by the earnings of daily toil, he possesses few mental resources to relieve the ennui of an idle life, and resorts to the gamingtable for a continuance of good fortune, or to the bottle for amusement. elevated, in point of fortune, to a sphere beyond the limits of his manners and education, he strives to outrival those, who owe to their birth the advantages which he does not possess; he endeavours to emulate in magnificence and prodigality, the example of the great: he becomes the prey of designing satellites, who revolve round the sun of his riches. at length his treasures become exhausted, he is abandoned by the sycophants of his prosperity, and sinks below his original level, lotteries and quacks. 119 corrupted in morals and in health: the decline of his fortune increases the irregularity of his habits, and he becomes the victim of ebriety and disease. such are the rich, that have abundance and enjoy it not.' these remarks are not intended to injure individuals: lottery brokers are not those, to whom they are adapted; they are only the instruments by which the machinery of legislative gambling is set in motion, and consequently objects of secondary consideration; there are among that class, as amongst most others, many estimable men. i am thank heaven!-little skilled in pharmacy, and utterly unable--for which i am less thankful,-to distinguish quack mixtures from regular physic;-poison by courtesy from poison by law!--but i verily believe the title of m. d. is not, in all cases, an absolute obstacle to empiricism, and that there are in the world many physicians, with diplomas in their pockets, not more worthy of trust than a german horse-doctor, or a london veterinary surgeon! with this lack of knowledge, it would savour of presumption, to stamp the character of quackery on all the infallible remedies 120 lotteries and quacks. which are offered to the world; i have therefore resolved, without hazarding a judgment upon their merits, to select as proper instruments of elucidation, such stuffs as are not officially recognised by the university professors, and owe the major part of their renown to the circulation of the newspapers. let us exempli gratia--select a certain patent specific ointment, (price $1) which may nevertheless be a very successful remedy; according to certain certificates, with certain names in due form attached, it ought to be classed amongst the most invaluable treasures of the pharmacopolist. it cures the worst felons or whitlows in 48 hours! and is, moreover, "a certain remedy for those obstinate diseases, some of which have so long baffled the skill of medical science,"chilblains, burns, scalds, tetters, sprains, bruises, rheumatism, tumors, sore legs, ulcers, and white swellings! but a few certified facts are worth whole volumes of words. it has carried happiness and health into the most unfortunate families: a hapless housekeeper had a wife with a "mortification in her arm," a son with a "mortification in his ear," a daughter with lotteries and quacks. 121 66 "scalded arms and hands," a boarder with a sore leg," and withal, a neighbour with a burnt child!" what a congregation of troubles! but behold the result: the all-powerful unguent was applied, and the wife's arm cured, two or three plaisters saved the son's ear, and in fifteen minutes the daughter recovered the use of her hands! the boarder's case was more desperate; his sore leg was of long standing, and had baffled every application that had been made; so hopeless, indeed, was it, that he actually "offered to serve his master one year over his time, if he would by any means get it cured!" luckily for the master, he had heard of the patent specific ointment,—and less than "one pot" made the leg "perfectly sound in a short time!" the cure of the neighbour's child was not less wonderful; its neck and shoulders were dreadfully scalded, so that "in taking off its linen, the skin adhered to it in several places:" a plaister was applied, and in "ten or fifteen minutes". it was "perfectly easy and resumed its little play!" but the sphere of its usefulness has not been circumscribed to any particular family. a certain farmer had been afflicted with 122 lotteries and quacks. 6 6 6 'an ulcerated sore leg' for more than fifteen years,' and three boxes of the ointment made it sounder than ever! another sufferer was troubled with a painful ulcer,' originated from a severe fit of sickness, experienced about 20 years before;' less than two boxes cured him! a third patient was attacked with a 'violent rheumatic pain in the ankle,' (which his physicians shrewdly 'suspected to be the gout,') and one plaister cured it in a few hours! 'a black man' chanced to be somewhat worsted in combat with some man of his own colour,' who so grievously ill-treated one of his knees,' that he was obliged to take to his bed,' where the poor man'lay six weeks without ever moving the affected limb: his physician 'nearly gave him out,' and he was in 'a hopeless condition;' his master at length procured a few boxes of this grand restorative, which, (of course) soon effected a cure! a fifth example of complete restoration, was a man 'violently attacked with what he supposed to be a large number of biles,' but his physician, being of a different opinion, 'called them carbuncles:' every body who saw him, thought he must certainly die, as he had been dealt with for a length of time by 6 ( lotteries and quacks. 123 physicians! one box of the ointment, however, enabled him in a few days,' to prosecute his usual employment in perfect health! the little son' of a gentleman, 'burnt his hand badly with a hot shovel;' the ointment was applied, and in the course of two minutes, the pain left his hand, and the skin never came off nor blistered!" ، but it is useless to multiply examples: the following certificate alone would afford the most satisfactory evidence of its sanative powers. 6 sir-iran a large pitch-fork through my foot, which, from the loss of blood, and pain, disabled me from walking. i immediately applied your ointment, which enabled me to go to work next day.** " far be it from me to disparage the authenticity of these miraculous certificates: on the contrary, i take honour to myself, for propagating, according to the best of my abilities, the knowledge of the patent specific ointment. it would require considerable time and labour to analyse the system of puffing, adopted by those medical gentlemen, who * 6 copied verbatim. 124 lotteries and quacks. are too independent to encounter the irksomeness of collegiate studies, and to whom nature has been sufficiently lavish to obviate the necessity of a collegiate examination: but in very truth-if that quality appertain to all the puffs in question,—our weekly bills of mortality must be swelled out by the ignorance and incapacity of regularly educated physicians! from what other cause can consumption,' (that scourge of the human race,) claim its melancholy precedence, when we have a surgeon-dentist, within the very walls of our city, who never failed in 'the most hopeless cases' to effect a permanent cure in thirty-four days?'-why should the cholera morbus claim so many victims, in the very teeth of dr. robertson's celebrated stomachic elixir of health? why is not death stripped of its prerogative by dr. godbold's vegetable balm of life? if the college of physicians, for the sake of supporting and perpetuating the profession, criminally unite in opposition to the earthly immortality assured to us by the physicians of nature, not for all this land would i be guilty of so deep a sin.' to descend to matters less important than life and death, i would seriously demand of lotteries and quacks. 125 all old maids, (worth $2) by what fatal chance they permitted the bloom of their cheeks to fade, having it in their power to possess the fragrant balm of iberia? and alas! the cruelty of mothers, who can tranquilly confide the sufferings of their children to the frail prescriptions of the family physician, when they might buy a box of dr. robertson's infallible worm destroying lozenges! the tooth-ache may no longer afflict that patient man, who reads the learned essays of b. w-11--ms, or purchases the infallible tooth-ache drops of dr. d-tt! midnight students, armed with a bottle of circassian eye water, may no more dread the sufferings of a visual inflammation; and all scotland may experience a glorious constitutional revolution, through the medium of patent itch ointment. there is a species of genuine quackeryfor, ignorant as i am, i do not pretend to assimilate that quality with the remedies alluded to-which cannot be justified either on the score of decency or truth, set forth in hand-bills posted at the corners, and staring our wives and daughters in the face, with monstrous capitals and shameless expresm 126 lotteries and quacks. sions. i make no remark on the bare-faced extent of their professions, and the melancholy results of their ignorant prescriptions. it is the notorious impudence, and knavish impertinence, which thrust their vile impositions into notice, and transform the columns of our papers, and the corners of our streets, into agents for the propagation of immodesty and deceit, to which i call the attention of the father, the husband, and the brother. i know not whether such impostors are worthy of legislative consideration; whether our city legislators should suppress the publication of their vulgar placards, or whether the knaves should be sentenced to a horse-pond, and drummed out of the city by the verdict of the posse mobilitatis: i make no exceptions, from the fortunate practitioner, who rolls in his chariot, and deals out wholesale destruction, to the peddling pedestrian who travels with his physic on his back. i might now deliver a serious moral lecture on the guilt, and the dangers of quackery; but i am contented with saying unto those who are deluded by its seduction, in vain shalt thou use many medicines, for thou shalt not be cured.' 6 chapter ix. letters from long-branch. too much of water hast thou, poor ophelia! shakespeae. not youthful kings in battle seized alive, not scornful virgins who their charms survive, not ardent lovers rob'd of all their bliss, not ancient ladies when refused a kiss, not tyrants fierce, that unrepenting die, not cynthia, when her mantle's pinn'd awry, e'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair, as thou, sad virgin! ** pope. by one of those rare chances, which sometimes guide the destinies of things as well as men, a number of epistles written at long branch, have found their way into my hands: of those which i have selected for my present purpose, one was addressed to my cousin dashall by a brother "blood,"--a second, to dashall's sister, by a charming "belle,' a third, to a maiden aunt, by a sister sufور 128 letters from long-branch. ferer, and a fourth, to my friend positive, by the father of the family. from harry wildair to dick dashall. my dear dick, writing, you know, an't exactly the thing-always find it curs'd hard work to get through-never wrote but three letters in my life; one to the old-man, from college, to show my hand-writing, and get some cash(could'nt read it by-the-by;)-another to old tom stirrup, about a gray 'racker'(had to call tho' to know what it meant)— and the third, about love to a young lady, who thought it was a quiz!-devilish good, eh? was'nt it? we came to an anchor at renshaw's about a week ago, two days sail from trenton; turn'd in at parker's, mess'd at colt's neck, and brought up here at 8 o'clock in the evening;-old chariot rumbled like a thundergust-not quite so quick as lightning-two miles and a half an hour by roskell!-travelling with women a devilish bore--mothers, sisters, and old aunts, the very devil--fathers not over agreeable. aunt tabitha groaned the whole way about a box of anti-bilious letters from long-branch. 129 pills, left by mistake at trenton;--sister frank had a touch of the sea-sickness from riding backwards; and the old gentleman, not over-pleased with the expedition, bawled out every five minutes to the coachman to drive slower! had to carry aunt tab's lap-dog-fell asleep-let it fall overboard-yell'd like an indian-darn'd sorry it was'nt killed--no more bore. took another nap while auntee roused out a lecture. trod on the old man's gouty toe-gave me a d-n, and told me i ought to be ashamed to irritate a parent, and cause him to make use of improper language!-thought it was queer, but can't argufy. nothing to do--opened a bundle-pulled out a greasy night-cap-aunt tab's:-saw a pair of tight woollen drawers-sister frank's: all asleep-fair chance-peep'd again. one bottle peppermint water, asthmatic elixir, magnesia, anti-dyspeptic drops, rappee snuff, pack of cards, flannel petticoat, rheumatic tincture, new wig, false teeth, two love letters from philip gobble, dated 1779, pocket razors, shaving soap;-aunt tab's!-hoffman's anodyne, opium pills, laudanum, eau de cologne, windsor soap, corsets, whalem 2 130 letters from long-branch. bone, pot of rouge, pommade double à la rose, tooth-brushes, tooth-picks, and toothpowders, tweezers, false-curls, visiting-cards, lip-salve, court plaister, huile-antique, eyeglasses, eye-water, milk of roses, oil-clothcap, dimity jackets, small-clothes;-sister frank's! saw some books: pocket hoyle, the christian's companion, joe miller, the book of common prayer, cooke on apoplexy, carlisle on old age, the devil upon two sticks, colebs in search of a wife, buchan's domestic medicine;-aunt tab's! roderick random, memoirs of lady hamilton, little's poems, ovid's art of love, dream book, the victim of sentiment, spirit of the book, philip's speeches, maid with seven lovers; sister frank's! auntee woke-caught me with a strengtheningplaister in one hand, and a row of false teeth in the other!-regular blow-up--pretended to fall asleep, and so came off second best. * and so, dick, we dragg'd along and brought up safe at the branch. curs'd stupid-girls too shy-married women most agreeable--privileged characters--leave their brats at home, and go to watering places to flirt with the young men-send their husbands back to take care of the children.-pla letters from long-branch. 131 comfortable thing to be matronised by married ladies-no scandal, and hear all the young ladies' secrets. no amusement here; will you believe it, dick? not even a billiard table! hardly kill time-can't bathe-water too cold, and surf curs'd terrifying; can't walk on the beachsand shocking, and monstrous fatiguing. watch for the white-flag-ladies in the surf-peep over the bank to see 'em diphorrible objects-quite shocking, dick, i aver!--oh! entirely offensive!-look more like macbeth's witches than nymphs of the ocean--(learn'd that at the play-house) bathing too masculine for ladies-inakes the hair harsh--lips too pale--deadens the eye! look like chamber-maids walking down to the beach-no corsets-loose gowns---soiled stockings-old shoes-no ruffles--callico shawls-ordinary bonnets--o! dick, it is positively affecting to see the metempsychosis--i mean metamorphosis, or some such word! in the morning take a touch of loo; poor sport-no high-flyers----hang out at the colony to keep clear of the old-ones----must take a mint-julap---sea air requires it. dinner bell rings-fat lobsters-lean crabs132 letters from long-branch. horrid oysters-excellent fish-no sheepshead-bad beef-good mutton-so-so claret, and d-d fine madeira! women sit too long-want a cigar and can't go it-drink a bumper all round-get a little blue-girls want a frolic-jump into a jersey fish wagon-rattle off to deal, black point, edenton, or the light house-get back an hour after sun-set-old ones look black-young ones look wise-devilish glorious, dick, to be knocked about in a hard going wagon with a spirited girl along-side. tables cleared away-ball opens-few dancers-no band-one poor blackey, half barber, half fiddler!-only think of that, dick, and weep!-shaves and scrapes in the morning, and scrapes half shaved in the evening!-dancing poor work in hot weather ladies look à la graisse-perspire shockingly-spoils gloves--moistens cravals-don't feel comfortable-too much evaporation-soon done-up. ten o'clock-ladies retire-devilish glad-club meets----regular chairman-hold court-make speeches--try offenders--quiz green-horns-no skulkers-no bed-goers-committee of disturbance rouse 'em out-sing songs-no excuse-a song or six bumpers-punish the letters from long-branch. 133 bottle--smoke cigars-drink brandy--get tight-kick up a row-break chairs-slam windows-huzza!-play the devil, and go to bed at four o'clock in the morning! yours my old cock, henry wildair. from frances wildair to anna matilda dashall. dearest anna, it appears to be an age since i parted from the dear companion of my youth; every moment of absence more strongly proves how miserable and wretched i should be without you. do tell me how your brother dick is? and what he is doing? dick is a sad fellow; but i dote upon wild young men to distraction; they always make good husbands.how extremely happy should i have been with the society of my dearest anna; what a terrible disappointment, that your old aunt should die at such a time!-if she had only died last fall we should have been so happy!—i did think, however, my dearest girl, that when we arrived at long branch, there would have been attractions sufficient to en134 letters from long-branch. tice your brother dick to that place,-he is such a friend of harry's you know! don't for the world tell dick that i have mentioned his name: i am sure, if i did not know your love for the best of brothers, i should never have thought of him! do tell dick this is the most agreeable spot on the face of the earth;-a million times pleasanter than philadelphia: the young men are in raptures! tell him they have a regular club which meets every night at 10 o'clock, where they enjoy themselves excessively in smoking and singing, if one may judge from the noise and laughter.o! i have the strangest thing to tell you about a song that we overheard one of the gentlemen sing! indeed, the one we learned at boarding school is nothing to compare to it! and what makes it the more surprising is, that the singer is the most timid-bashful-modest young man in the house, and can scarcely speak to a woman. lord! i wonder what he is afraid of! you cannot possibly imagine the exquisite delight there is in bathing: we huddle on any old things-nothing but a gown and shawl, and a pretty large bonnet to hide one's face you know, and walk through the midst letters from long-branch. 135 of the gentlemen down to the bathing house: i often take a sly peep, and they seem as if they would look through one! then there is such laughing, and quizzing, and giggling, while we are arranging our bathing-dresses; such hints, and witty remarks about every thing under the sun: and when i enter the surf, i am in an agony of delight! the water comes up-and up-and up-and feels so queer, you can have no idea of it without taking a dip: and then we go in with a man! nothing on earth on, but our bathing-dresses!-but they always fix upon some old good-for nothing married man: is it not enough to provoke a saint, when there are so many fine, active young men, who would volunteer their services in a moment? i often remain a whole half-hour in the surf, for no earthly purpose, but to watch them peeping over the bank! don't you think dick would delight in it? i have not time, at present, to tell you all about our delightful excursions through the country in pleasant little jersey wagons; three on one seat, gentlemen and ladies! and our agreeable balls, and a thousand million things,-in my next • 136 letters from long-branch. believe me, my dearest anna, such is the devotedness of my attachment, that i could write to you forever-but i am obliged to quill a ruffle for the dance this evening, and must therefore conclude. your adoring friend, frances wildair. n. b. you cannot imagine how attentive a fine young gentleman from new york has been to me this afternoon. i am quite certain, if i thought you would mention this to dick, i should not sleep a single wink! p. s. i open my letter to inform you it is confidently whispered that missand mrs.-, purposely walked to the beach while the gentlemen were bathing! i wonder how dick would look in the water! f. w. > from tabitha twist to deborah dolittle. dear deborah,what will this world of sin and transgression come to at last? alas! deborah, in the days of our youth, the restraints of maidenly decorum were the sure safeguards of our sex, but in this degenerate time they are laughed at and destroyed. letters from long-branch. 137 · the blood will run coldly through your immaculate veins, while i relate the awful accident that lately occurred to your unfortunate friend; never shall i forget it: no! so long as memory holds her seat, the horrors of that moment will shed their gloom over the evening of my life! three long days have elapsed, and my nerves still remain in a most lamentable condition: *** with a trembling hand i confide my sorrows to your condolence. innocent as the tender lamb, and confiding in virgin simplicity, i was seduced by the entreaties of the young women to venture into the rolling waters of the ocean, and accompanied a large party to the bathing house, for that purpose. in arranging my bathing-dress, the unhallowed gaze of youth mantled my cheeks with burning blushes, and i stood trembling amid the tittering of youthful depravity. i was led to the brink of the ocean by a tall, muscular woman, and soon found myself enveloped in its waters; i had not ventured to raise my eyes from the ground during our passage from the bath-house, for o! deborah! those feet which never before had seen the light of the sun, were now polluted with insinuating n 138 letters from long-branch. sand before a numerous assembly, in broad day-light!!! but the feelings of self preservation at length prevailed over the modesty of nature; every wave that rolled over us augmented the intestine congregation of saltwater, and respiration became difficult not being able to articulate, i cast a supplicating look towards my hardy companion, and -saw the beard of a man!!!! gracious heavens! deborah, i was in the arms of a man! i was half-covered with water in the embraces of a man!-nay, i had been concealed from the light of day amid the darkness of the waves, in the company of a man! not decently clothed in the starched head-dress, and maidenly attire of a drawing room, but crowned with an oil-cloth-cap, and covered with a green-baize chemise loosely fastened around my throat! heavens if that-but i forbear; * * * * * imagine, o! deborah dolittle, the horrors of that moment! you know (for we were born in the same year,) that from the days of my infancy, no man but poor philip gobble has ever laid his profane hands on my person: how often has my mother declared, that in the moinents of childhood, i scream* * * letters from long-branch. 139 ed with virtuous violence, if any man dandled me in his arms, excepting my father or my brother! for sixty years have i been a terror to all men but philip gobble! alas, poor philip! he died of a broken heart occasioned by excessive drinking brought on by his misfortunes, and my maiden heart lies entombed with him in christ church burying ground! but to return to my narrative. had it not been for the cold water i should certainly have fainted: desperation gave me new life; i sprang from his arms,-rushed out of the water,-flew to my chamber, -threw myself on the bed,-and burst into a flood of tears! during the remainder of the day, i remained alone, endeavouring to wipe off the contamination of the body by the purification of the mind; i carefully read the 7th chapter of 1. corinthians, especially the 34th verse, and particularly examined dr. bolus on sympathetic affections, and corporeal contagion. however, at the earnest solicitation of my neice, i descended to the sitting-room in the evening, and joined a whist-table, after having recruited my spirits with thirty-three and a third drops of laudanum. my ears 140 letters from long-branch. whizzed with water, my lips tasted of salt, the old rheumatic affection appeared in my right hip, and i was considerably incommoded with a slight attack of the asthma. i entered the room with unbending dignity, and cast my eyes around with the proud consciousness of insulted virtue: all the pert misses tittered at the poor object of my wrath, who stood with his face in part covered, while streams of penitence rolled from his eyes! this affecting sight only increased the mirth of the thougthless young sinners, but as he never omits showing the same symptoms of repentance, whenever we chance to meet, i think it proper, after a suitable trial, to extend to him the mercy of my pardon. if it were not for the memory of poor philip gobble, i might almost be induced, in order to quiet the conscientious scruples of my own heart, and the scandalous insinuations of the world, to resign to him the whole of that person, which was innocently polluted by his embrace! i attempted to remonstrate with brother anthony on the impropriety of the mode of bathing adopted by the young women, but he instantly flew into a violent passion, and finished a most barbarous lecture by telling letters from long-branch. 141 6 me i was an old fool,' and had no reason to be afraid of a man, in or out of the water! such is the cruelty of brothers-in law after the death of their wives: if poor sister betty had lived, he would not have dared to treat me so abominably. it was my intention to give you an account of the stupid balls, and the insufferable conduct of a mid-night club, established at this place, but must defer it to another opportunity: it is really surprising what pleasure can arise from jumping about the floor on a hot august evening, to the tune of a cracked fiddle; or why rational beings do not prefer resting comfortably in their beds, to sitting up all night singing and carousing. indeed it is almost impossible to rest quietly at night, and if we do not speedily return home, i certainly anticipate an attack of the nervous fever, or diagnostics of hypochondriac affections: the continual aid of hypnotics has alone enabled me to sustain nature, but they will speedily fail, unless i am supplied by your kind attention to the enclosed list of articles, which you will be affectionate enough to despatch by the first fish-wagon. your friend, in years and in love, tabitha twist. 1 n 2 142 letters from long-branch. list of articles enclosed. 30 opium pills-2 grs. each, (in case of sickness!) 6 bottles genuine aqua vitæ, (for the cholic!) 1 case containing 12 bottles hollands, from the large closet in my bed-chamber. (for brother anthony!) 2 quarts irish whiskey. (for punch for harry!) 2 bottles noyau. (for frances!) 1 pound macabau. (for myself!) a razor-strop. (to sharpen scissors!) the last new novel. (for frances!) taylor's sermons. (for myself!) 6 packs playing cards. (for the company.) t. t. from anthony wildair, esq. to peter p. positive, esq. esteemed peter, your's of 29 ulto. came regularly to hand, and contents noted. the aspect of affairs in this quarter of the world is by no means on a par with that of philadelphia; the exchange is decidedly for the worse. letters from long-branch. 143 the chief commodity of this market appears to be fresh fish, although there is something doing in black-berries and whortle-berries; of course i except the agricultural interest as a distinct and irrelative concern. philadelphia is the chief vent for the staple article of commerce, to which place it is exported in wagons, which sometimes return, freighted with various articles for home-consumption; in most cases, however, the returns are made in specie. the quality of the fish, upon arrival at your market, principally depends upon the luck of the fisherman here, and the time occupied in transportation; large fish are most in demand, and fresh-fish command the highest price. any orders you may be good enough to favour me with, shall be punctually fulfilled, and the highest possible discount obtained for cash payments. by the steam boat from new york, i have received papers to the 2d. inst. inclusive, by which i observe no material change has taken place in that market. enclosed you have prices current to which i beg your attention, and have this day drawn on you at sight, favour of robin roughhead for $165 22, say one hundred and sixty-five dollars and twenty-two cents, 144 letters from long-branch. which be pleased to honour, and place the same to account of your obedt. humb. servant, anthony wildair. long branch prices current. very abundant and vorafish-sharks, cious particularly the females. young and abundant. poor and plenty. a plentiful supply of all ages. of strong flavour. black-fish, crabs, fat and numerous. n. b. these fish are all kept alive at this market. flesh-belles, piece widows, sheepshead, toad fish, flat-fish, old maids, piece married women, chamber maids, house maids, cook maids, nurses, &c. &c. 820 to 50.000 per in demand. $5 to 10.000 do. plenty, 25 cents per very plenty. cheap. according to quality. a good supply. 1 letters from long-branch. 145 dandies, married men, stocked. bachelors, sundries.-dinners, breakfasts, 50 50 all in market damaged. 50 cents per piece middling. ditto-good. ditto-middling. 25 per bed-excellent. $30 per 1000-bad. $2 per bottle-middling. ditto-good. none in market. $3 long branch, august 1820. anthony wildair. suppers, lodging, segars, claret, madeira, fiddlers, · · a mere drug. completely overchapter x. foreign follies. what, quite unman'd in folly! how arts improve in this degenerate age! peers mount the box, and horses tread the stage! whilst waltzing females, with unblushing face, disdain to dance but in a man's embrace! shakspeare. sheridan. the prevalent disposition to imitate the manners of europe, has caused the introduction of many frivolous customs and amusements into our city; and a continued desire to vie with the fashionable folly of high life, is kept alive by the puppyism of finical foreigners, as well as the correspondent habits of those 'monkeys who have seen the world,' and return home to instruct and ridicule 'the natives.** * it is, however, highly honourable to the character of our city, to find these travel'd gentlemen, in general, free from the vicious morals and manners of the old world, foreign follies. 147 but, notwithstanding the desires of the beau-monde, there is still sufficient sense existing among the community at large, to prevent the introduction of foreign folly in its full extent. ridicule is a powerful corrective of fashion, and it is only by gradual steps towards the pinnacle of exquisiteness, that it can be avoided: too sudden advances cannot be endured in this city, although a slow progress may be made with impunity. as this will, beyond all doubt, eventually result in the wholesale importation of fashion and folly in all their manifold shapes, it may not be uninteresting to take a slight view of those, which will probably be among the first to be domesticated. notwithstanding the spring fashions of miss tardy, or the fall nouveautés of madame beauchamp, there is great room for improvement in our magazins-de-modes. our men-monkeys of the millineries have much to learn, not only in the art of selling, but of naming their commodities; they are not yet acquainted with the importance of a name, through which an ivanhoe cap of black tulle, and geranium sattin might command double the price of the same article with a less emphatic appellation. 148 foreign follies. highwaymen, and house-breakers have invented a language of their own,-turfsmen, cockers, and pugilists have their distinct dialect,-dandies and ruffians possess their appropriate slang,-and belles and élégantes enjoy the mysterious expressions of mistress bell, the presiding goddess of the great london magazin-de-modes. the knowledge of the latter tongue has not kept pace with that of the preceding in this country, but its gradual introduction affords good grounds of belief, that our ladies will soon be endowed with a faculty of speech, so exclusively devoted to their benefit: notwithstanding my years, i may yet witness the refinement attendant upon a female slang vocabulary. i expect to enjoy those happy days, when a belle caunot ride in her landau vis-à-vis, without a beautiful shagreen gros de naples pelisse of a pale pink colour, trimmed with narrow marabout down, and lozenge puffs of pink sattin!-when she cannot promenade without a bonnet trimmed with a double row of cockle shells cut in bias, real norway doeskin gloves, and polonese half-boots lined with silk plush, and trimmed with astracan fur!-when her walking-coat must be a turkish pelisse-coat of lavender sattin, lined foreign follies. 149 with chincilla fur, and trimmed with white swan's-down, or a levantine pelisse of violet colour trimmed with feather silk!—when she cannot enter a ball-room without peach-blossom sattin, carreaux à la chinoise, fastened with pagoda buttons, or tuckers of white crape in folds, fastened in puff divisions by bows of white love!!-when her pretty feet must be ornamented with white sattin sandal slippers, and her pretty shape with a corsage à luis quatorze, or an arcadian jacket!-when her white neck must be adorned with an english antique triple ruff of white crape, or a chinese collar with pagoda points!-when her parasol must be of neptune blue, her hair en camille, and her person covered with henrietta points and mosaic gauze!!when she dare not appear in the side-boxes without an opera toque turban of ponceau velvet, or a theatre cornette of fine figured blond net and sattin!-when, in fine, the covering of her head must be a caledonian cap with a westminster college crown, or a mexican turban with the peruvian border plume of the brightest scarlet! what a brilliant display of fashionable phraseology will then attract the gaze of votaries: instead of the vulgar, comprehensive name of bonnet, we shall have madras, 0 150 foreign follies. sultana, batavian, cleopatra, venetian, and flora turbans! persian, mary-stuart, floralia, vevai, tyrolese, and aladdin caps! prussian, virginia, and sicilian vesper hats! flora wreaths, cornettes à la matrone, chapeaux à la comtesse, oriental diadem head dresses, and czarina coronets!-bonnets will no longer be known, excepting among the ignorant canaille. the hymeneal pelisse of mrs. bell will attain undoubted popularity,--and our artists be favoured with a classification of colours hitherto unknown;--cerulean, ethereal, lapis, castillan, celestial, royal, and queen'seye blue! canary yellow! spanish snuff! pomona green! persian lilac! peach-blossom! red-currant! morocco brown! london smoke! and dead leaf! if, in the application of these abstruse terms, i have committed errors, let the impossibility of procuring a lexicon of fashion plead in my behalf: like the creole of the west indies, the jargon of yorkshire, the jabbering of gascony, or the tongue of the cherokees, it is only by personal instruction that a philologist can be initiated into the mysteries of the language. under such circumstances, if my 'doing into enif foreign follies. 151 ، , glish' has in some instances been erroneous, i am not to be adjudged equally culpable with the sapient author of la cuisiniere bourgeoise, who in his enumeration of english dishes, includes rosbif-de-mouton à anglaise, and rosbif-d'agneau à l'anglaise!'-nor am i equally reprehensible with a translator of the same nation, who transformed love's last shift, into la dernière chemise de l'amour!-nor with that london'doer into english' of a french chemical work, who made persian precipitate out of la précipitation per se!--much less can i be compared with that literary german, who declares in his translation of the french dictionnaire biographique, that the anniversary of the death of charles the first is still observed in england by a young general!!! (in the french it is par un jeûne général;-by a general fast!)--nor am i on equal ground with the erudite editor of the courier françois, who in acknowledging an extract from the independent whig, called it 'peruque l'indépen dente! but to return from this long digression; the time may yet arrive when we shall soar above european examples, and become bo152 foreign follies. + na-fide inventors. our washington crape à la veuvage, mississippi caps á la bourgeoise, and fur mantles à la chickasaw, may, at no distant period, furnish models to mrs. bell herself! we have as choice a collection of sonorous appellatives as all europe can produce; let us have our monongahela corsages, our rappahanock cornettes, and our ompomponoosock diadems! the first step of our progress towards this desirable object may be traced in the ladies' pocket book for 1821: not only are the fashions for that year' set forth in a prefatory plate containing four female figures, but the beau-monde is officially made acquainted with the fashionable waltzes and country (contra) dances for the present season: among these i joyfully recognize the philadelphia steam boat, the cadets, north point, washington hall, return from balston, and trip to the shore, as well as others, which may vie in nomenclature with the most polished effusions of english mâitresde-danse: such as the blinker, the grasshopper, the cat and the kettle, love and luck, bulls and bears, shuffle and cut, charley chuff, and moping muggins! • foreign follies. 158 we may even open a new path in the gardens of fashion, despise all the funda mental rules of the boudoir, and emulate the example of the noted cherubina! our belles may fold themselves in rolls of transparent drapery, without drawing-strings, without hooks, and without pins! and why should we not establish a mourning à les etatsunis? must we forever dangle at the skirts of european fashions? is not the mourning of syria, cappadocia, and armenia, skyblue? that of egypt, yellow? that of ethiopia, gray? and that of china, white? why, therefore, should we be restricted to the black habiliments of europe, when the inhabitants of every other continent in the world, have their peculiar and characteristic drapery of wo? let us then have orange, fawn-colour, lilac, buff,--or any thing but black! diderot says, 'when writing on women, we should dip our pens in the rain-bow, and dust each word with the powder of a butter-. fly's wing;' but diderot and myself being, in certain cases, of a different opinion, and rain-bows as well as butterflies, somewhat scarce at this season of the year, i may be allowed, without profanity, to use the como 2 154 foreign follies. mon implements of writing. indeed, i very much question whether monsieur diderot himself would have been at such considerable pains, in describing the naked snake women of japan, the almehs of grand cairo, the destroying mothers of the jarejahs, or the nymphs of covent-garden! let us now proceed to a brief examination of the various fashions, and fashionable articles, which are yet to be introduced upon a large scale, into our happy metropolis. in the first place, our ladies-for many of them actually require it-should without delay patronise the armenian divorce corset, which according to the inventress, possesses the following attributes: 1. it gives to the bust, grace, elegance, and ease:-2. an effect to dress, unknown in this, or any other country, and a form to the back, most surprising:--3. it is devested of the trouble of lacing:-4. it may be put on and completely adjusted momentarily, and without the aid of any individual!-the latter quality is invaluable, as it respects our male exquisites, who may now wear corsets without even the knowledge of their body-servants. the ladies chapeau-bras, and english witzchoura might also be introduced at the foreign follies. 155 same time, and those dames who are unfortunately très embonpoint would find great relief in the bandage corsets, or the elastic supporting belts. foreigners have always abused the bad complexions, and bad teeth of american women: even that 'little esop of love,' that 'sprite of a man,' that 'little luxurious humming-bird of his species'-thomas moore, esq. indulged in a personal attack, notwithstanding his own dwarfish stature, weak eyes, and aukward demeanour.' c 'what pity, blooming girl! that lips so ready for a lover, should not beneath their ruby caskets cover one tooth of pearl; but like a rose beneath the church-yard stone, be doom'd to blush o'er many a mouldering bone!* the attack on our belles' complexions is more general and quite as abusive. the only feasible method by which these satirical assaults can be avoided, is without delay to introduce the invaluable works of epistle to lord forbes;-a ridiculous medley which the fame of its author cannot rescue from contempt. the ensuing note is appended: 'polygnotus was the first painter, says pliny, who showed the teeth in his portraits. he would scarcely, i think, have been tempted to such an innovation in america.' 156 foreign follies. art, which uphold the superiority of the fair sex in europe. let our belles abandon the use of vulgar charcoal, and all other dentifrices of domestic manufacture: let vegetable tooth powder, aromatic tooth paste, and malabar dentifrice be forthwith imported from london; if these do not suffice, let asiatic powder, oriental vegetable antiscorbutic dentifrice, and verdigonian odoriferous and abstersive tooth paste, be added to the order: and, to those who are in want of those necessary articles, i would recommend an immediate application to monsieur faleur, or monsieur de lafons, of london, who can supply them with improved mineral teeth, of the very first quality. artificial palates may also be procured from the same ingenious dentists! if my countrywomen follow this advice, thomas moore, esquire, will be compelled to say, in the words of a much better poet: her breath was sweeter than the morning gale stolen from the rose, or violet's dewy leaves; her ivory teeth appear'd in even rows, through lips of living coral!' to insure the truth of the first part of this quotation, it would be adviseable to procure foreign follies. 157 a respectable supply of cachou-de-rose, and acidulated rose lozenges. the want of brilliant complexions, calculated to rival those of european ladies, is wholly inexcusable, considering the facility of attaining them. it is incomprehensible to me, that a single freckle should exist, since the composition of lily paste, milk of roses, white imperial powder, and eau aromatique de montpelier!-or that any morphew should be seen, since the promulgation of the rouge de sultane, the botanic cream, and the chinese fluid! if our ladies want bloom on their cheeks, it is the result of their own negligence; can they not procure the sicilian bloom, and the botanic bloom, and the bloom of ninon? the liquid bloom of roses, and the imperial liquid bloom of the east? but even should all these resources fail, they may place implicit reliance on the fleur-de sultane, 'for creating an instantaneous, lasting, and enchantingly youthful colour on the cheeks and lips.' ' this invaluable and unrivalled production,' besides approximating beyond parallel to the perfection of nature,' and 'giving the appearance of the most exalted beauty,' maintains its envied appearance in the greatest 158 foreign follies. perspiration in the most heated assemblies!!!-when we join to these numerous advantages, the ambrosial soap, the abyssinian flower soap, and the elysian balsamic compound soap, all so easily attained by our élégantes, it will be impossible ever again to pardon chapped lips, or a freckled face! indeed, the time may arrive, when our heroic countrywomen, like the celebrated actress, (mrs. oldfield,) shall, amid the agonies of dissolution, order their waiting-maids to paint their faces, that they may not shock the spectators after their deaths! or be as fashionably collected as madame de charoiais, a lady of the same profession in france, who when dying was with great difficulty persuaded to take the sacrament without rouge; not being able to resist the solicitations of her confessor, she at last consented to wipe it off; but in this case,' said she to her women, 'give me some other ribbons; you know how horribly ill yellow becomes my complexion!' c as there is not a reasonable termination to the long catalogue of artificial beauties, which have so lamentably depreciated the appearance of american women, when opposed to those of europe, i will confine my foreign follies. 159 further remarks on the subject to the hair, which constitutes an important part of female general beauty. in the fashionable circles of great britain there are few ladies, and perhaps not a single truly exquisite gentleman, with red hair!-but in this country, we are continually shocked by its outré and fiery appearance. good heavens! ladies! for what purpose was grecian water, or persian water, or vegetable dye, or chemical cream, or poudre unique, or l'olio novello, or indelible fluid, or rowland's essence of tyre, composed, if you refuse to change that terrific colour into a beautiful brown, or an enchanting black,' and 'communicate to the ringlets a beauty, luxuriance, and duration, before unknown?" ( to those who are already in possession of hair of fashionable colours, let me seriously recommend atkinson's fluid, extract of roses, macassar oil, and verdigonian oil of persia, together with pommade régénératrice, and pommade divine, and the constant use of p. burgess and co's superior improved patent penetrating hair brushes! it is the application of these valuable articles, which gives to british hair its enviable superiority; and the easy communication be160 foreign follies, tween the two countries affords every opportunity to our ladies, of possessiug similar advantages. there is one great misfortune, which often mars the beauty of the prettiest faces and necks in the world, by placing on those surfaces an undue quantity of hair: a female with a beard is a kind of lusus natura, and can hardly be endured in the paths of fashion. such things are unknown in europe, praised be the moretian tablet, and the genuine roseate powder of mr. hubert! let us never again behold a shaggy neck, or a bearded chin, among the belles of our city, for should the specifics already pointed out fail in effect, trent's depilatory will remove the deformity in a few minutes,' or the poudre subtil in ten minutes at most'!! c c let me conclude this subject with mr. rowland's eloquent address to the fair sex.' 'say, what does most adorn the fair? a copious, charming head of hair; ringlets form'd with taste and grace which spread a lustre o'er the face, produced without much care or toil by using rowland's fained macassar oil, which as revolving years go round, more excellent and good is found. foreign follies. 161 illustrious sussex-royal caroline, as patrons to this oil combine, and with imperial russia's mighty lord, their splendid, gracious patronage afford; and when the hair is red or gray, which all approve not to display, rowland's essence of tyre's efficient power will change the colour in an hour!"* having thus given a brief outline of the improvements that are necessary to place our ladies on a level with those of europe, who **** to surprise us spread the borrow'd flags of white and red,? let us examine a portion of the general customs and amusements of the haut-ton, in which we have not yet been wholly, or at all, initiated. but let it not be supposed, that because i have particularly alluded to the fair sex, i entertain the slightest desire * for the benefit of those immaculate donna attempatas (who will not sit next to a man at table lest he should touch them with his knee) i cannot forbear pointing out the means, by which they may repair the miseries occasioned by tight shoes, during their youth. they may at once get rid of those maidenly evils yclept corns, bad nails, callosities and bunions, by the application of the anti-callosity, or russian corn and bunion plaister; or by a communication (enclosing a one pound note) directed to that eminent chiropedist, mr. laidlaw, number 9, new north street, red lion square, london. p 162 foreign follies. to debar the other, from the advantages of innovation: far from it; a change depends as much upon aspiring maccaronis-those neat, little men of très grande espèranceas upon female élégantes: they must annihilate scratches, and let curling locks, and soft, smooth, exquisitely blooming cheeks, be their manly passports into the society of fashion. with regard to public amusements, our taste and variety are lamentably deficient. even our theatrical exhibitions are dull, vapid, and uninteresting when compared with those of europe: instead of four-footed varieties, we are compelled to slumber over the dull representations of shakspeare, and when we might have elephants, camels, welltrained dogs, and dancing bears to enliven the scene, we are pestered with the morality of young, or the long speeches of otway! why do we not emulate the thespian pleasures of europe? at the franconi circus in paris, macbeth and othello have been converted into pantomimes!-and in another town of that kingdom, the death of abel' was advertised to be performed in the costume of the times! whether this exhibition ever took place, does not appear, . foreign follies. 163 but a piece performed in puris naturalibus would indeed be a novelty, worthy of emulation. in europe, any notable occurrence is speedily represented on the boards of a theatre, and if it is one, by the recollection of which the feelings of affection and kindred are harrowed up, it inevitably proves profitable. the celebrated murder of fualdes was not only dramaticised on the french theatres, but produced at covent garden under the title of proof presumptive, or the abbey of san marco.' our own monster of the deep has had the honour of being represented at the surrey theatre, by the name of 'the sea serpent! or harlequin yankee.' let us then follow these examples: if the son, or brother, or father of any affectionate family in this city should be assassinated, let us keep the remembrance of the deed in the minds of his weeping relatives, by its representation in walnut street! let every circumstance of popular notoriety be adapted to the stage, and let the harlequin yankee' be surpassed by a farce called the milan commission, or royal adultery:'-the villa d'este, or 164 foreign follies. the happy courier;the mysterious corridor, or the two bed chambers!' 6 let us no longer endure the exhilirating gas of dr. p-n, or the leger-de-main of mr. stanislaus, but cause to be imported the more refined amusements, attendant upon fire-eaters' and human-salamanders.' every body has heard of the famous mr. powell---of senor lionetti, or the incombustible spaniard,and of the more modern wonders of signora girardelli, and ivan ivanitz chabert. i feel mortified that our enfans-de-mode should soberly sit gaping at incombustible fire works, or the manufacture of a pan-cake, without heat, in a gentleman's hat, when they might be delighted with the supernatural powers of monsieur chabert. when they might see that extraordinary fire proof" forge a bar of red hot iron with his feet-undergo the torture by fire as used in the spanish inquisitiondrink boiling oil-drop burning sealing-wax on his tongue-eat burning charcoal-inspirate the flame of a torch-bathe his feet with boiling lead-pour it into his mouth with his hand--pour the strongest aqua-fortis on steel filings, and trample on it with his bare feet -rub a red-hot shovel on his arms aud legs ، foreign follies. 165 -pour vitriol, oil, and arsenic into the fire, hold his head in the flame, and inhale the vapours-eat of a lighted torch as if it were sallad and, finally, pour aqua-fortis on a piece of copper in the hollow of his hand!! yet john bull has witnessed these things! so numerous, in fact, are the improvements that our circle of fashion must attain, and not only attain, but support by its countenance and example, that it would be a hopeless task to attempt a regular detail: the only method that can be adopted is to present a general, and in part disconnected, outline of those which happen first to present themselves before me. c horse-racing requires little comment, as it is already as extensively practised as the lenity of the law will admit of; but we are wofully deficient in a knowledge of horseflesh,' and it will require a long series of years before we can hope to rival the earl of coventry or mr. weston, who, though unfortunately blind, were the two best judges of horses in the kingdom of great britain! they not only bought their own, but selected the horses of their friends: 'of the figure and anatomy they correctly judged by feeling, and of the several paces by their · p 2 166 foreign follies. quick sense of hearing!! these gentlemenjockeys have completely distanced even miss mcevoy of liverpool, who although totally deprived of sight, astonished honest john bull, by distinguishing colours by the touch! but they have not equalled their extraordinary countryman william mcgilvray, who although entirely sightless, informed the owner of a fine horse that the animal was 'blind of one eye,' although he (the owner) with all his visual faculties had not been able to discover it!+ our ladies should soar above the vulgar exercise of chesnut street promenades, and either learn the broad sword exercise from mrs. williams, or despatch a mission to signora chili the celebrated roman female fencer, who actually vanquished the most expert amateurs at 'mr. angelo's rooms in bond street,'-for the benefit of the lower classes they ought furthermore to institute regular smock races,' or, if they are ambitious enough, by a bold step, 6 * this wonderful lady is said to feel the hour of the day through the plate of a watch-glass, and to distinguish colours and objects reflected by a mirror;' thus having an optical organ in the skin of the fingers, hands, &c. &c.!' · monthly mag. january, 1817. 1 1 foreign follies. 167 to outdo even the élégantes of london, contend for the prize themselves. such a pastime affords infinite amusement, not only by the graceful and interesting appearance of females in the attitude of running, but by occasional falls, calculated to add considerably to the interest of that appearance: i have little doubt, after a few trials, it would become all the rage,' and that patent bounding corsets, winged bonnets, and atalanta robes would speedily rival the various nouveautés, which i have enumerated. c our belles are also deficient in donkey riding, horse-racing and hunting: as patterns by which these accomplishments may be acquired, i would recommend brighton or margate visitors in the first instance,lady thornton* in racing,-and the countess * this enterprising lady was not at all fastidious, either in the choice of place, or competitors; on the contrary she rode over public courses; and against common jockeys. at the york race course, (after having put four hogsheads of côte rotie' into her wine-cellar, and added about $13,000 to her pin-money, by mr. bromford's declining to ride,') she started against mr. buckle, the jockey, well known at new market, as a rider of the first celebrity,'pushed forwards,'—and ‘came-in in a style far superior to any thing of the kind ever before witnessed, gaining her race by half-a-neck!'—she rode ' louisa, sister to kill-devil, by 6 168 foreign follies. c of derby (said to be the most dashing female rider' in england) in hunting. i have already said, that our only hope of being able to compete with transatlantic refinement, is to model our habits and manners according to the european standard: we have examples suited to all classes of society, and to all ages. our most venerable and dignified judges on the bench, if they are real followers of fashion, will lose nothing of their dignity, even if they should be induced to array themselves in petticoats! did not lord erskine, once lord chancellor of england, at 70 years of age, elope in a pelisse, a large bonnet, and a veil, to gretna green, with his housekeeper? and is not this one patrician example enough, in all conscience, to vindicate à like measure in a plebeian?' our reverend divines may certainly possess the same privileges as their brethren in europe: 'here,' says the monthly review, pegasus, out of nelly,' and (for the information of our ladies,) was dressed in a purple cap and waistcoat, nankincoloured skirts, purple shoes, and embroidered stockings:' it was no doubt necessary, to produce effect, to have the latter, (as the most prominent article of dress,) of the finest texture and materials. 1 ▸ i foreign follies. 169 'hunting-parsons, shooting-parsons, and even boxing-parsons are by no means rare:' and have they not the example of that christian divine, the rev. w. b. daniel, who published a large book in three volumes octavo, pp. 1627, price 5l. 5s. title 'rural sports' about hunting, shooting, and fishing?' 6 our military heroes ought to emulate the honours of colonel thornton, and write a splendid sporting' quarto, as a relief from the sterner duties of war: like him they might issue 'general orders' every morning to their sporting suite, and record, with circumspect fidelity, the various actions of the day. 6 6 the practice of introducing a woman into society as your wife, which confers the double benefit of saving the nuptial expenses, and being able to get rid of her without difficulty, also remains to be generally introduced: but cannot a commoner' be sheltered by even one corinthian' example? lord hawke publicly declared a certain lady, whom he led into the circle of fashion, to be the bona-fide lady hawke, when lo! a 'public notice' appeared in the papers, stating the soi-disant lady hawke to be actually one mistress corri, the wife of a musical composer!' 170 foreign follies. c in vocal music, also, we are but miserable proficients, as may be better learned from the history of mr. francis hughes, a gentleman belonging to the royal chapel, who had a very strong counter-tenor voice, and could with ease break a drinking-glass by adjusting his voice to the tune of it, and gradually increasing it to the greatest possible degree of loudness!! such is the powerful effect of concord in great britain!--in this country, according to the quarterly review, we 'tolerate no music except psalm-singing, and love no poetry above the pitch of a tabernacle hymn!' mr. gifford probably received this information from the veracious mr. weld, who, among other american monsters of various species, describes the miraculous moschetoes which bit through the boots of general washington! there is an important fashionable amusement, which, although partially adopted, has by no means attained a respectable footing in this country: it is technically termed bibliography, or bibliomania. bibliography,' says a writer in the new monthly magazine, 'so much the vogue now in this country, does not appear to have made a corresponding progress in america:' of the foreign follies. 171 nature of this amusement, a correct idea may be better formed by an example selected from among the noble peers of great britain, which i trust my fellow citizens will see fit to follow--as far as their fortunes will allow. at the sale of the duke of roxburg's library, a warm contention was entered into between the marquis of blandford and earl spencer, which should be the fortunate purchaser of il decameroni di boccacio, the only perfect copy known to exist, being there offered for sale. the dispute occasioned great anxiety, when the marquis having bid 2260 pounds sterling, ($10,044,44!) the noble earl gave in,' and the former came off in triumph." to use the narrator's own words, the engagement was very fierce, and at its termination, there was a general huzza! the marquis afterwards declared, that he then had in his possession a copy of the work, but as it wanted five leaves, 'it was his intention to have gone as far as 5000 pounds,' rather than not obtain a complete one!--the marquis of blandford, and earl spencer are both descendants of the great marlborough, who, being likewise accustomed to fierce engagements,' has thus ( 6 172 foreign follies. transmitted the blood of the mirabels' to his posterity! there is a certain method of getting rid of a troublesome wife, which, if introduced into this country, would save the time of the legislatures, as well as the trouble and uncertainty of praying for divorce. it has stood the test of many years trial in england, as may be seen by a few among the numerous examples which have occurred in that happy country: these are selected at nearly stated intervals, although i have not thought it necessary to retrograde more than the fourth part of a century. i am aware that much opposition may be expected from some part of our female votaries of senta, but there is still a respectable proportion, who would be nothing loth to experience the benefits of the custom. on the 12th of june, 1797, a man who had been two months married, offered his wife for sale at smithfield market, then and there fastened with a rope to the railing: a dealer in flowers having bid two dollars and a half, he became the purchaser, and received, together with the woman, 20 pounds in bad half-pence! foreign follies. 173 " on the 11th of march, 1803, another discontented husband, led his wife to sheffield market, with a rope fastened around her waist, and publicly announced that he wanted to sell his cow! a butcher officiated as auctioneer, and knocked her down for five dollars! on the 27th of march, 1808, a third dealer in human flesh, sold his wife at the market house in brighton, to a fisherman, for four dollars and forty-four cents, and a blunderbuss! on the 11th of april, 1817, the exhibition of the sale of a wife took place at dartmouth, where a brute dragged his wife to the public quay for sale. she had been married twelve months, was not quite 20, and could scarcely be sustained from fainting, as her husband dragged her along: she was purchased for ten dollars by her 'first sweetheart!' in may, of the present year, (1820,) we find by the monthly magazine, that the practice remained in full force: lately, at the market cross in leeds, a man led his wife * in a halter, and sold her for one shilling and six-pence,' or about thirty-three cents! q 174 foreign follies. it would be an easy matter to multiply examples, but as they are only intended to instruct american husbands, and teach them the european mode of divorce, those already recorded will prove amply sufficient. it may be well, however, to remark-lest i should be accused of offering the worst features of the case-that from the records of westminster hall, and the periodical works, newspapers, &c. &c. published in england, within a single year, thirty-nine cases of wives exposed to public sale, like cattle at smithfield, have been collected, as well as fifty-two cases of what used to be politely termed in former times, a téte-à-téte, eighteen of which were of titled ladies,-together with sixty-eight elopements!* how many sales of wives by private contract, according to the fashion of mr. and mrs. trent, in fielding's amelia, occurred during the same period, cannot be ascertained. i do not, however, pretend to affirm, that no instance of this highly useful custom has happened in these states: on the contrary, there have been few better markets for white females than our own independent presiden* united states and england, p. 59. foreign follies. 175 tial nursery! in the first days of that colony, ' on the motion of sir edward sandy, treasurer of the company in london, ninety girls, young and incorrupt, were shipped off in one consignment, by the grace of god, and in good condition' to virginia, and 'sold for the benefit of the company, who had never speculated in so marketable a commodity. the price of a wife was at first an hundred pounds of tobacco,--but rose by degrees to an hundred and fifty; tobacco being worth three shillings a pound: a wife, at that time, was consequently worth precisely one hundred dollars! but--to descend to modern times--we find with surprise, that some tennessee wives are about equal in value to the far famed circassians, and worth, upon an average, about one hundred and fifty times as much as a smithfield beauty!-a persian prefers the charms of a georgian, and examines her 'points' with great minuteness; he selects a slave with a rosy, or carnation tint on her cheek,-dark hair,-large, black, antelope eyes, and arched eye-brows,small nose and mouth,--white teeth,-long neck,-delicate limbs,—and small joints: for -176 foreign follies. a young one of this description, he pays about 350 dollars. i venture to say, that western speculators would have no objection to select their purchases by the same standard, although i have not the means of ascertaining whether the object of the following paragraph was actually gifted with similar inducements; it is given on the authority of the monitor, a paper printed in franklin county, tennessee: a few days since (august 1818;) a man sold his wife in this county for 325 dollars! various, indeed, is the value of woman, dependent upon the whims and peculiarities of time and country. one individual adorns them with ㅋ ​'amazing brightness, purity and truth, eternal joy, and everlasting love,' whilst another declares they are only fit "to suckle fools, and chronicle small-beer!' a chinese beauty of number one, is worth about $1000;-of number two, $500;-of number three, $100;—and an ugly, or deformed woman, only $50: if they are blessed with small feet they will command 50 to 100 foreign follies. 177 per cent. advance!* the women of the marquesas are bartered for old iron;—the primitive damsels of virginia were valued at one hundred dollars;--a tennessee lady brought three hundred and twenty-five;-georgian beauties sell for three hundred and fifty;a good, robust, well-formed, black, breeding, congo-ess is, perhaps, equally valuable;the ladies of nicobar may be purchased for a leaf of tobacco;-those of thibet for pure civility; and those of smithfield for two shillings and six-pence sterling, or fifty-five cents and an half!-such are the fluctuations in price with regard to this valuable commodity. there are three 'bang-up' amusements, which it is absolutely necessary to domesticate before we can conquer the desoeuvrement of high life, or be at all worthy of european fashionable consideration. these are, 1. betting: 2. cocking: and 3. boxing. *i do not include the higher mandarins, nor principal hong merchants, who often give an enormous price for a beautiful, or highly accomplished concubine;-but these are the current prices, received from an intelligent outside merchant. in china, young girls of beauty are selected and purchased by regular traders, who educate them for the use of the powerful and opulent. vide voy. a pekin, tome 2, p. 292-van braam. vol. 2, p. 181, staunton, vol. 2, pp. 366, 512.-barrow, pp. 145, 519, 595,-du halde, vol. 1. p. 205. q 2 178 foreign follies. betting, with the exception of cards, is almost exclusively confined in this city to elections, probably because betting on the result of an election is prohibited by an express law. i am rejoiced, however, to be informed, by the following extract from the sporting magazine, that an occasional instance of spirited betting does occur in philadelphia: 'bold betting.' 'a person in philadelphia bet 500 dollars that he would go into the mayor's house, give him a blow, and retire without molestation! having told him his object, he gave him a smart slap on the shoulder, and was committed to prison!* a few more examples of this nature would gain us some respectability in europe,-for is it not shameful, that all the bets won and lost in the city of philadelphia since the revolutionary war, do not equal the amount paid in one day at tatersall's? 'it is supposed by the best judges on the turf, that 300,000 guineas (one million and an half of dollars!) were won and lost at epsom, and paid at tatersall's on the following monday! is it not afflicting that all the stakes sporting magazine. www. * foreign follies. 179 deposited in all sections of the united states during one year, does not, perhaps, amount to one half the sums betted in the city of london alone, during the same period, which (according to mr. colquhoun) have amounted to 31,111,111 dollars and 11 cents, besides 13,933,333 dollars and 33 cents, for fraudulent insurances on lotteries ?* *by the following information, derived from the biblio. theque historique, we find that our french rivals are not less triumphant: budget des jeux publics. etat des frais annuels des jeux de paris. 7 tables de trente-un. 9 de roulette. 1 passe dix. 1 craps. 1 creps. 1 biribi. 20 periodon these 20 tables are distributed about paris; the established stake varies from a napoleon to a sous, so that every man may find a table suited to his fortune. current expenses of these establishments 'bail' to the government bonus for the bail' " · leaving a clear profit of it appears from documents, that the average gain of the tables is 800,000 francs per mo. or · · francs. 1,551,480 6,000,000 166,666 7,718,146 per annum. 9,600,000 francs 1,881,854 and 180 foreign follies. 6 let us then imitate these brilliant specimens of bon ton,' and instead of our renshaws and rubicams, our strattons and sixtes, forthwith establish models of the far-famed brookes and boodles, and tatersalls and whites of london! it is a fact which no sophistry can invalidate, that until we are enterprising and spirited enough to hazard bets on the most outré and novel experiments, we can never cope with our english rivals: even in the common art of pedestrianism we are but ignorant tyros. let a few examples bear witness to the fact. the celebrated pedestrian, mr. barnet walked 1500 miles in 32 days; and not satisfied with this feat, actually completed the distance of 1000 miles at the rate of 1 1-2 miles per hour, commencing at the first of every successive hour! a mr. eaton gained 1500, by walking 2000 miles in 2000 half-hours, beginning at the first of every successive half-hour! mr. edward miller walked 100 miles in and yet, in spite of this unanswerable logic of figures and facts, there are every day fresh victims, who are infatuated enough to believe that it is possible to counterbalance the advantage which the bank possesses, by a judicious management of the power the player has of altering his stake.vide the diary of an invalid, p. 506. foreign follies 181 23 hours 54 minutes!-and a mr. wilson walked the same distance in 24 hours, with ease, at yarmouth races, for 500 dollars! a champion pedestrian' has offered to stake 12000, that he would walk 4000 miles in 2000 successive hours!-(this feat would require 83 days, and 8 hours for its performance!) crisp the pedestrian walked backwards seven miles in one hour and ten minutes! on the 24th april, a boy ran nearly 60 miles by the side of a stage-coach in 6 hours 25 minutes, having performed eleven miles in the first hour! but some of our scrupulous exquisites may object-in principle! to following examples emanating from the canaille; to dissipate these honourable scruples (which, however, need not prevent betting on the results,) let us select one or two from among british military pedestrians. captain barclay performed 1000 miles in 1000 successive hours, at one mile the hour, and gained such universal fame, that he is immortalised by the nomenclature of that particular feat, thenceforth called the great barclay match!** * this immortal pedestrian has elicited new scintillations 182 foreign follies. lieutenant brooke of the royal regiment of horse guards, a famous pedestrian, walked 50 miles in 9 hours 58 minutes, and ceeding 50 miles further, performed the 100 miles in 24 hours and 18 minutes! prothe delicacy of our aspirants may therefore be conscientiously dispensed with. c it cannot be denied, as in the subjoined instance, that fatal accidents will occasionally happen, but such individual misfortunes cannot be put in competition with the general gratification of society: mr. graves, aged 21, landlord of the lamp tavern, undertook for a wager of 120, to walk eighteen miles in three hours; on his return he was unable to proceed when within 3 miles of completing his task, and within 35 minutes of the time allowed. he was immediately conveyed to a tavern, and medical aid was obtained, but to no effect; he died the next morning! as to betting performances in general, a great deal depends upon their variety, without which they cannot be considered 'exactly the thing:' a few brief examples will of betting genius; he undertook for a large wager, to beg during six weeks as a common mendicant! foreign follies. 183 serve as a guide to the uninformed on this side of the atlantic. mr. pheps medley, a respectable tradesman, bet 120 to 15, that he would drag half a hundred-weight of iron 1400 yards up a hill with a rope of that length, in the space of six hours, which he performed in two hours! a good deal of money was lost on this occasion.' this was a very novel idea of the respectable tradesman,' and betrays a mind well versed in betting ingenuity. ¿ the hostler of the dragon inn at harrowgate also elucidated talents of this nature, not expected from a man in his situation: he undertook for a wager of one guinea, (moderate enough!) to drag a heavy phaeton three times round the race course in six hours, and performed his arduous undertaking in 2 3-4 hours! lord gwydir had a french cook gifted with like accomplishments. he won a considerable wager by rolling a piece of wood, like a trencher, four miles in ninety-nine starts! two countrymen in england also invented a betting novelty. they placed 100 potatoes separately in a row at one yard distance from each other, and stationed a bas184 foreign follies. ket at one yard from the first potatoe; which. ever could gather up his 100 potatoes first, by depositing each one separately in the basket, to be entitled to the stakes, being 5 guineas. the conqueror completed his task in 38 minutes having gone nearly six miles! to how much better purpose might our farmers employ their time in thus gathering a few hundred potatoes, than in planting, weeding, and hoeing whole acres! mr. usher, clown to the theatre, set off in a machine like a washing tub, drawn by four geese, from below southwark bridge, and passed under four bridges to cumberland gardens; the geese were harnessed to a pole. on his arrival he offered to bet 100 guineas that he would return in the same manner. two noblemen, oppressed with the ennui of travelling, at length resorted to a novel amusement, by betting 11000 on two drops of rain rolling down the glass of the coach! one of these peers, a few days before lost 12000, on a maggot race. a respectable gentleman of cambridge undertook, for a considerable sum, to walk 12 miles on stilts, his feet being elevated one foreign follies. 185 1 yard from the ground, which he performed in 3 hours and 53 minutes! i will conclude these specimens of variegated betting with the feats of certain gentlemen of the medical faculty. two medical gentlemen undertook to walk a certain distance in three hours, stopping at every public house on both sides of the road, (22 in number!) and drinking halfa pint of porter at each, which they performed within five minutes of the time allowed, having swallowed ten quarts and two pints of beer! mr. j. b. gilbert, surgeon in his majesty's service, for a wager of 31 guineas, undertook to take out 18 teeth, more or less carious, from patients selected for that purpose, without the aid of any instrument_or force, with his fingers only, and unattended by pain, in 24 minutes! he completed his task in seven minutes! this is acknowledged by all to be one of the most novel and ingenious bets ever officially recorded; but, when i consider the professional skill in itself, i am almost willing to believe the newspaper-professions of our dentists and surgeon dentists. r 186 foreign follies. with respect to cocking we have much to learn, but as the rudiments of the sport are pretty well known, and there would be little difficulty in acquiring its practice in the neighbourhood of spring garden, or the purlieus of feather hall, the only thing to be recommended is its general introduction under the sanction of the civil authority, according to the custom of england, where cock-pits exist, in various towns and cities, under the immediate patronage of the respective corporations;-for example, the corporation cock-pit of metropolitan canterbury!-i believe, however, that interesting scene of destruction, the welch main, has not been got up in any of our private cockpits. as it will be the first step towards a permanent domestication of this amusing and humane pastime, and is, moreover, the very essence of fashionable cocking, a brief description will be necessary: 'it usually consists of eight pair of cocks, who fight till one half are killed; the conquerors are then pitted against each other, 'till only four being left alive, these are again matched, and two being slain, the survivors are, by an excess of barbarity, again set to fight; so that of the whole sixteen there remains but one alive! we must, at least, respect foreign follies 187 the tender feelings of this writer, notwithstanding he is so outré as to stamp a welch main with the stigma of barbarity! in the sight of fashion it is unequivocally the most delightful and interesting amusement, with the exception of prize boxers; we naturally feel more gratified when the actors are human beings, like ourselves! of all the resorts to which british fashion owes its present superiority, pugilism possesses the greatest claims to our attention; not that private pugilism, which might be useful in self-defence, but public prize boxing, an art of such mighty power, that it elevates the coal-heaver, the publican, the porter, or the negro,—who happens to possess muscular strength, large bones, and a thick skull-into the society of rank and fashion. crib and molineux, by virtue of this art, could ride in the coaches of nobility, and hang upon the arms of titled ' corinthians; yet crib was a tavern-keeper, and molineux a black-man! however, in some cases, it was very doubtful which party was most disgraced by the association. let us then arouse from our inactivity, and become followers of the fancy: let us become knowing-ones, learn how to hedge off, and make ourselves proficients in sets188 foreign follies. to. let us peel for action,-make play,throw about our handfuls of bones,-make our adversaries kiss their mother earth with their crupper-bones,-thump them in the optics,--find out their victualling-offices,---crossbuttock 'em neatly,---give it to 'em in the breadbasket,-knob 'em, fib 'em and mill 'em,be bang-up to the weaving-system,—and perfect adepts in ruffianing bouts! laying aside the gratification arising from prize boxing, it ought to be encouraged from patriotic motives: mr. windham, the parliamentary advocate* of bull baiting, boxing, and other sports of similar features, attributes the support of british courage to the general influence of ferocious customs: -and the great lord wellington derives the origin of good swords-men from cudgel playing! a grand match of single stick playing took place at sallford, 'principally this illustrious statesman,' whose matchless eloquence caused the benevolent bull baiting bill of sir richard hill to be laughed out of the house of commons,' supported the pugilistic art on christian, humane, and national grounds, as a substitute for maiming encounters, and the stiletto of other countries! but what says the quarterly review, a few years after the circulation of this sophistry? assassination has become dreadfully frequent among us.* qu. rev. july, 1813. c foreign follies. 189 c at the suggestion of the illustrious duke of wellington,' who declared that it had materially tended to promote and establish the great superiority of our gallant countrymen in the use of the broad-sword: 'it was consequently determined by many distinguished characters to make it an annual meeting:' nineteen heads were broken on this occasion! c there can be no doubt that the frequent recurrence of scenes, such as i will now present, will be attended with the most salutary consequences, by strengthening the feelings of the rising and risen generation, and making them familiar with suffering and blood, without which they can never be good soldiers, or great heroes: the battle of waterloo might have been lost but for the indirect assistance of bull-baiting, boxing and single-stick! let me now present a few pugilistic examples: the first battle of tom oliver, a renowned pugilist, was with a stone mason, who, after a year and a half suffering, died from the injury he then received! but the murdered mason at length found an avenger in the person of one carter, who entered the lists with the redoubtable oliver, r 2 190 foreign follies. ' in the 32nd round, he (oliver) was taken out of the ring in a kind of stupor, and completely deprived of vision. the swelled appearance of his head beggared all description, and his body and back were shockingly lacerated all over, from his struggling so much upon the ropes: he was taken and put to bed at longtown, four miles from the ring, and in consequence of the vast quantity of blood he had lost, added to his exhausted state, the surgeons who were called in, deemed it highly dangerous that he should be bled!" randall and turner, two professors of the fistic art, afforded the fancy considerable amusement in the neighbourhood of london, in december 1818; there was some disappointment, however, excited by the death of the queen, on which account the exhibition was postponed from tuesday to saturday! notwithstanding it was only 21 miles from london, as saturday is a day of business in town,' it was only attended by about twenty thousand people!! at the close of the 7th round randall showed such specimens of an english bull-dog, and so exchequered turner's head, that it exhibited one mass of claret!!! this crack specimen of an english brute, continued his advantage in the c 1 foreign follies. 191 c next round, and split the bridge of his adversary's nose;' after this he made another tremendous right-handed hit upon the nose, and the blood flew up to a tremendous height, and scattered about on the outside of the ropes!" in the 19th round, poor turner was bleeding copiously inwardly,' but manfully 'stood up until the 38th round, when randall finished him by a flush knock-down blow, in two hours and twenty-two minutes!' 6 according to the fickleness of fortune, which in the first place revenged the death of the mason on oliver, we now find that this same mr. turner had fully compensated for the sufferings he underwent through the last mentioned battle in 1818, by not only defeating, but absolutely beating one curtis to death, two years before! after a most dreadful encounter, mr. curtis was at last reduced to a wretched condition; 'on being placed on his second's knee, his head lolled on one side, he was in a state of darkness and insensibility, and unable to come again.' in a few hours he died! and an inquest was held upon the body; the surgeon who had been employed, declared that his patient was totally insensible, his head a complete mass of blood, and not a single feature 192 foreign follies. • distinguishable! what was the result? instead of being manacled, and confined in the cell of a murderer, the prisoner was adjudged guilty of manslaughter only, after a consultation of twenty minutes, and suffered to go at large under the care of an officer. what a delightful resource would a similar occurrence prove-in the vicinity of philadelphia! it would give animation to our morning-calls, and evening conversaziones for a month! our newspaper editors would receive great benefit in the shape of moral reflections, religious thoughts, epigrams, and epitaphs, our lawyers would be amusedand our judges enlivened with an interesting case of public murder!-let us then have our mendozas, our gullys, our cribs, and our carters! such is one of the main supports of british courage, according to mr. windham and his followers, which concurred to uphold its invincibility during the late war, more especially at new orleans, baltimore, on the frontiers of canada, and the high seas in general. in our present state of barbarity, pugilism in this country scarcely ranks above that of italy; foreign follies. 193 their hands fair knocks, or foul, in fury rain, and in the tempest of by-blows and bruises, not a stray fisticuff descends in vain, but blood from eyes and mouth and nostrils oozes: nor stop they there, but in their phrenzy pull at whatever comes to hand,--hair, nose, or gullet."* there is, however, one practice in vogue among a few miserable wretches on the banks of the ohio, called gouging, which is patriotically believed to be of domestic origin. i am sorry to destroy even this slight claim to originality; but a certain dr. bardsley, of manchester, has unfortunately composed an essay, which entirely destroys our claim to that decisive invention: it was written for the express purpose of recommending the art of boxing, as the best means of preventing the prevailing practice of biting, gouging, mutilating, and murdering.'t-the quarterly review and dr. bardsley are decidedly at variance, as the former has defined gouging to be a diabolical practice, which has never disgraced europe, and for which no other people (but americans) have 6 a name.' the gouging system of our kentucky brethren has been described by many travel* rose's letters from italy.-trans. of battachi. + port folio, 1816. et seq. 194 foreign follies. c lers. that arrant fugitive, squire janson, declares, that he actually saw a crowd applauding a fellow while he held up his antagonist's eye in his hand!"* according to weld, the traveller of moschetoe-memory'the combatants pride themselves upon the dexterity with which they can pluck out an eye, bite off a nose, (vide the manchester battles,) or break a jaw (remember molineux!) with the kick of their foot!' ashe chimes in; 'in roughing and tumbling, it is allowable to peel the skull, tear out the eyes, and smooth away the nose!' the rev. mr. morse swells out the chorus; 'in coming to close quarters, each endeavours to twist his fore-fingers in the ear-locks of his antagonist. when these are fast clenched, the thumbs are extended, each to the nose, and the eyes gently turned out of the socket! a writer in a periodical work of this city, for may 1787, thirty-three years ago, affirms that he saw one man throw another down, and in an instant thrust his fingers into both eyes, pluck them out, and throw them upon the ground!" the sufferer-of course-had c * stranger in america, p. 302. + weld's travels, vol. 2, p. 300. ashe's travels, vol. 2, p. 28, foreign follies. 195 'a wife and six small children,' solely dependent upon the labour of his hands.'finally, mr. john palmer, who had much better avoid a second tour through that section of the union, makes the following remarks. the question is generally asked,— "will you fight fair, or take it rough and tumble? i can whip you either way, by g-d!" the english reader knows what fair fighting is, but can have little idea of rough and tumble; in the latter case, the combatants take advantage, pull, bite, and kick, and with hellish ferocity strive to gouge or turn each others' eyes out of their sockets! 6 ' the inhabitants of england, however, are not quite so ignorant of rough and tumble' as mr. palmer pretends to believe. 'in some parts of lancashire,' says dr. bardsley, man-slaying is a common practice. the object of each combatant in these disgraceful contests, is to throw each other prostrate on the ground, and then with hands and feet, teeth and nails, to inflict, at random, every possible degree of injury and torment."' in very truth, these men of lancashire bear a strong resemblance to the gougers of kentucky! 196 foreign follies. ( 6 at one assizes, no less than nine persons were convicted of manslaughter, originating from these rough and tumble' encounters, a specimen of which i now offer, that completely sears the laurels of our western boatmen. it appeared in evidence, (at the manchester sessions) that two persons upon some trifling dispute at a public house, agreed to lock themselves up in a room with the landlord, and "fight it out," according to the bolton method. their contest lasted a long time, and was only terminated by the loss of the greatest part of the nose, and a part of an ear belonging to one of the parties, which were actually bitten off by the other, during the fight. the sufferer exhibited at the trial part of the ear so torn off; and when asked by the counsel what had become of that part of his nose which was missing, he replied with perfect naïveté" that he believed his antagonist had swallowed it!!"-such are the words of dr. bardsley, who further declares, that he has witnessed, in more than one instance, the picking up in the streets, lacerated portions of ears and fingers, after these detestable and savage broils!' foreign follies. 197 in the lively amusement of cruelty towards animals, we have made considerable progress. our city councils authorise an annual massacre of our faithful and affectionate companions and protectors, the dogs; and at other times their ears and tails are lopped off according to the taste of the owner: our butchers are admirably skilled in tormenting calves and sheep before they are slaughtered, and our rising generation well versed in hunting cats, and shooting into flocks of ortolans and black-birds. but, not only from the evidence of our own senses, but the testimony of english writers, our greatest improvement in this branch has been confined to the horse. of the truth of this position, we may, in a certain degree, judge for ourselves, by inspecting the oyster equipages at spruce street wharf, the rozinantes of the wood-carts in all quarters of the city, and the miserable display of hackhorses in dock street: but, considering the authority, we should be cautious in admitting the whole truth of the subsequent statement, relative to this topic. extravagant praise sometimes borders upon irony, and we ought never to permit our self-love to get the better of our senses; as we are quickly s 198 foreign follies. approaching the elevated situation of our mother-country in this important particular, we have no need of foreign encouragement to hasten our advance. "this instance of more than savage cruelty was exercised on a poor horse, which the americans had made use of all day in carting their plunder, and in the evening, whilst still tackled to the cart, tied him to the end of a dwelling house then in flames, and amused themselves in looking at the poor animal making vain efforts to get loose: but there he was burnt, and his bones seen there by the writer of this account! 'oh! horrible! oh! horrible! most horrible!' ' shakspeare. when, where, or by whom, this exquisitely original cruelty was performed does not appear, but i cannot refrain from extracting the remarks of the writer, (or rather author,) as a burst of eloquence, the more astonishing as it is found in the pages of the sporting magazine! 'gracious heaven!-(a pause:)—it harrows up our very soul to reflect on such diabolical barbarity, that men should have waded so far in blood, (of a horse,) as to treat foreign follies. 199 all moral feeling with contempt-to tie a useful animal to the stake*-to exhibit all the outward signs of pleasure-to exult with ecstasy on witnessing the horrid and appalling convulsions, which nature vainly made to escape from being burnt to death! --such wretches ought to be scouted from off the face of the earth, and branded with the opprobrious name of infernal, to proclaim their passions to those nations (in the other world) who shall receive such abominable delinquents!!!! bless me!-this must have been written by counsellor phillips! it reminds me of our own martial parollo, who offered a resignation to his commanding of ficer, concluding in the following words: 'and when this mortal part shall be closetted in the dust, and the soul shall wing its flight to the regions above, in passing by the pale-faced moon, i shall hang my hat on brilliant mars, and make a report to each superlative star! and arriving at the portal of heaven's high chancery, shall demand of the attending angel to be ushered into the presence of washington!!'-this is very like irish eloquence. * the orator has here committed a discrepance, as the original place of torture appears to have been a house. 200 foreign follies. but alas! we are compelled, in almost every particular, to succumb to british superiority. one might have thought that roasting a horse would form a very ingenious climax to cruelty, and that our countrymen had, at length, succeeded in surpassing their transatlantic rivals: but no!-our roasted horse vanishes before a roasted man!! how difficult indeed is a positive approximation! if we gouge the eye of one man, they bite off the noses and ears of half a dozen!-if a semi-savage on the frontiers shoot the indian assassin who has burnt his dwelling and murdered his family, the roads of england swarm with high-waymen who will blow out one's brains for half-a-guinea! --if an ill-bred, unfeeling carter overloads his wood cart, the prince regent's foxhounds are 'blooded' by dislocating the leg of an innocent deer!-if we roast a horse, they roast a man!! the history of the horse is recorded without name, date, or location, but the history of the man is contained in blackwood's edinburgh magazine, of which the following are the precise words: 'on friday (april 1818.) the deceased called borrowman, having approached the foreign follies. 201 spot in the muir of dumbarton where some men were engaged in smuggling, they at first gave him whiskey, which he drank in large quantities. they then stripped him naked, and having rubbed his body with whiskey, they set him on fire, and tortured him in the manner of the american indians. he survived only 24 hours!" respecting the treatment of the horse in england, lord erskine declared, in the house of peers, that he could bring the most unexceptionable testimony to their lordship's bar, to prove the existence of such practises as were a disgrace to humanity,to a civilised nation; one barbarous practice was the cutting and tearing out the tongue of so noble an animal as the horse.' he also observed that they were bought up by dealers in horse-flesh, not to be killed at once for their skins and flesh, but to be literally starved to death, that the market might be gradually fed!"-in the mean time the poor animals even 'gnaw each other's manes from hunger!-even the sporting magazine, that official organ of fashionable cruelty, declares, that the places of these dealers are ' dens of famine, animal misery, and c $ 2 202 foreign follies. torture, which might make humanity weep tears of blood!" nothwithstanding the progress of this refinement, it is, in our country, generally confined to the lower classes, but if i produce no less an example than the mighty monarch who now fills the british throne, our men of the ton' can have no hesitation in extending its improvement. < some years ago, the prince regent's foxhounds were taken out to be blooded to their new game: two couple of the stag-hounds accompanied them. a stag was turned out from a cart, whose leg had been dislocated, in which agonising state he ran an hour and three quarters, and was taken beyond hartford bridge! this account may be found in that same sensitive sporting magazine, which contains the marvellous history of the roasted horse. in dog-fighting, we have many blackguards and butcher's-boys who take great delight; but-except in private places, where no general gratification is afforded, nor betting carried on, there are few gentlemen independent enough to patronise that noble amusement, so well calculated to improve the breed, and add new strength and valour foreign follies. 203 6 6 to the canine defender of man! in england such effeminacy of taste is not the fashion.' a desperate battle took place at ridgeway, near plympton, devon, between two celebrated bull-dogs, severally belonging to colonel berkeley, and mr. benjamin, umbrella-maker of plymouth. after a ferocious contest of one hour, in which mr. benjamin's dog was nearly torn to pieces, the victory terminated in favour of colonel berkeley's dog. the colonel went to the ground in his coach, drawn by four grays, accompanied by three or four gentlemen, and a lady!! and mr. b., attended by a friend, followed in his gig. the scene of battle was thronged by a great assemblage of distinguished characters!" bull-baiting has, of late years, fallen into disrepute: i perfectly remember the frequent occurrence of this delightful sport, near the turnpike gate on the ridge road, and can only account for its annihilation in two ways, -fear of the law, and the want of fashionable impetus. i, however, trust, when we consider the superior flavour afforded to our beef-steaks by the emollient exercise of bull-baiting, together with the pleasures of witnessing the hercu204 foreign follies. lean defence of that noble animal, that our legislature will at least, (according to english custom) wink at its commission, and our young men institute regular associations for its support. the more i examine into the subject, the greater becomes my national jealousy, while witnessing the guilty supineness of my countrymen, and the mighty superiority of great britain. let us take example from the annual bull runnings, and bull baitings of tutbury and stamford;-let us emulate caleb baldwin, bull-baiter, of tothillfields, westminster! but it will be necessary to describe the tutbury and stamford customs to which i allude, commencing with the former, and making use of all possible brevity. the tutbury custom is of great antiquity, being connected with the endowments of the priory, the superior of which was obliged on a certain day, on the morrow after the assumption of the blessed virgin,'to deliver either a bull or 40d. in money to the 'king of the minstrels,' who was accompanied by every minstrel in the honour of tutbury,' which comprehends the counties of stafford, derby, nottingham, leicesforeign follies 205 6 ter, and warwick. after the dissolution the custom was entailed on the possessors of the priory. on the appointed day a bull was turned out from the gates of the priory having the tips of his horns sawed off, his ears and tail cut off, his body smeared all over with soap, and his nose blown full of beaten pepper! if any of the appointed pursuers cut off a piece of his skin before he could reach derbyshire, he became the property of the king of the minstrels, but if he reached there sound and uncut, he again reverted to the lord-prior. in the first case he was collared and roped, and so brought to the bull-ring in the high street at tutbury, and there baited with dogs.** c many alterations in this usage took place at subsequent periods, and it was a few years ago, entirely abolished by the duke of devonshire, the grantee of the priory estates. the stamford bull running and baiting is still continued, (1816) of which the following is a concise account: a certain earl of warren in the time of king john, having accidentally witnessed the confusion and uproar occasioned by the hunting of a mad 6 *popular pastimes, p. 22. 206 foreign follies. bull through the streets, was so pleased with the sport,' that he gave certain meadows, in perpetuity, to the butchers of the town, c upon condition that on the anniversary of that day, viz, exactly six weeks before christmas, they should forever provide a mad bull for the continuance of the sport.' 'in the modern practice, the shops and houses are all shut up, and all the avenues of the town closed, when the bull is turned out; the poor animal is then pursued by dogs, men, women and children, with a din that might rend 'heaven's concave,' till with their bull-clubs, sticks, staves, &c. the skin and flesh are literally separated from his bones! 6 such are the english butchers' of stamford, and such is the amusement of which we are deprived by our own inactivity! o! that one of our members of congress would imitate the example of that enlightened statesman'-william wyndham esquireand cause boxing, bull-baiting, and bearbaiting to be considered essential in forming the character of the people, and giving strength of feeling, and valour to the rising generation! without this, we can never cope with the children of stamford. < foreign follies. 207 i cannot close the subject of bull baiting without recording a most novel improvement, invented by the men of staffordshire; let us extract the words of dr. bardsley himself, from nicholson's philosophical magazine for 1806: at a bull-baiting in staffordshire, after the animal had been baited with single dogs, he was attacked by numbers let loose upon him at once. having escaped from his tormentors, they again fastened him to the ring; and, with a view either of gratifying their savage revenge, or of better securing their victim, they actually cut off his hoofs, and enjoyed the spectacle of his being worried to death on his bloody and mangled stumps!!'-well may we repeat the quotation of the historian of the roasted horse, 'oh! horrible! oh! horible! most horrible!' i have already written enough to show the vast difficulties that must be encountered before we can reach the pinnacle of european fashion, and the prospect is positively disheartening. why do we not abandon our gum-ticklers and phlegm-cutters,-our cocktails and clearcomforters, our anti-fogmatics and gall208 foreign follies. breakers,* and get drunk as they do in england at a 'jockey' or a 'tally-ho club?' or dine like lord byron, on the wing of a partridge, * i cannot resist the introduction, in this place, of an extract from the lecture of dr. mitchell, a dignified professor of physic in new york, who has thus ridiculed the various denominations and classifications of drinks,--with a true professional accuracy and dignity. antifogmatics, &c. &c. popular remedies against external and internal fogginess. genus 1st. gum tickler warms the gums, and removes bad taste from the mouth, after sleeping. species 1st. glass of gin. 2nd. dram of bitters. 3d. raw slings, or any other good stuff. (alcholic.) 4th. small horn of distilled cordial. to be taken immediately on awakening, or at farthest, on getting out of bed, to be repeated pro re nata. should there be no fog in the morning, take the preventive, lest there should be one in the course of the day. genus 2d. phlegm cutter, for cleansing away the mucus that lines the throat, and removes thickness and hoarseness from the voice, and renders breathing and swallowing easy. species 1st. egg-nog made pure. 2nd. mint-julip stiff. 3d. brandy-sling, pretty well to the northward. 4th. holland twist, not too weak, lest the water should curdle the phlegm. to be taken as the fog may indicate, toties quoties, between dressing and breakfast. genus 3d. gall-breaker, challenges the grand enemy the bile, or calls the bitter foe to health to come forth from his lurking hole to a place where his forces may be broken in fair action. foreign follies. 209 and two bottles of port? or-for either extreme is equally 'the go'-feast, like a lord mayor on green fat, calipash, and calipee, moistened with prince-regent?* let our sober members of congress evince some scintillations of spirit, and emulate the hicc species 1st. grog (rum and water) one to two, to overcome the insipidity or bad taste of the water. 2nd. flip (rum and beer) heated with the red poker until it foams. 3d. sampson, rum and cider stewed over the coals. 4th. toddy, grog and sugar with pulp of roasted apples. 5th. punch, toddy with lemon juice, not too strong of the water. 6th. bishop, rum and wine, for the benefit of both. 7th. doctor, rum and milk, diffusible and permanent stimuli. 8th. cocktail, rum and honey, to combine sweetness with strength. to be taken as the state of the weather may require, during the continuance of the fog. genus 4th. clear comforter, employed when the feebler agents fail to resist sufficiently the intensity of the fog, without and within. species 1st. tincture of bark, by the gill. 2d. spiced wine, with ginger, hot, and qualified by whiskey. 3d. cure-all, rum and brandy, 4th proof, equal parts, heated so as to simmer, and stewed with a spoonful of red pepper to take off the chills. whiskey punch, so named from the fondness of 'an illustrious personage' for that liquor; if the same rule of t 210 foreign follies. cupping honours of pitt and dundas, in the house of commons! our ladies, too, have a glorious opportunity of signalising themselves, by encouraging the art of painting, after the fashion of the water cress girl, and lady hamilton: instead of these novelties, among the fair sex, we are pestered with dr. m-l's erudite account of the somniferous rachel baker, or a prosing editor's history of that wonderful old spinning woman-sally babb! heavens! what a contrast-lady hamilton and rachel baker!-the water cress girl and sally babb! if our ladies could be induced to follow the footsteps of the british fair, we might have our erskines and our garrows, our currans, and our phillips' and be amused with the horrors of a fire-side desolation, or laugh when the bright temple of anticipation falls smouldering into the burning whirlpool of reality!! christening were extended in the ratio of the 'fondness,' we should have but one name for all the liquors in the world--but water! 'who holds more wine than others can, i count a hogshead-not a man.' randolph. foreign follies. 211 i am well aware of the difficulties that oppose the introduction of many fashions from one country into another, arising from the different feelings and manners of nations; and that causes which originate them in england might have a very different effect in this country. a queen of france discovered a flea upon her arm, and a king of england, a more troublesome insect on his plate; but mark the different effects produced at st. cloud, and at st. james. the french belles immediately invented a fashionable couleur-de-puce, but all the attendants on english majesty were compelled to wear wigs! our english origin, similarity of language, and above all, our determined taste for british inventions, tend to destroy such obstacles. if our belles are so unfashionable as to plead the opposition of their worthy mammas, as an effectual obstruction to fashionable notoriety, they may with perfect propriety, not only advocate their wishes on the broad ground of an improvement in the state of society, but refer such unconscionable parents to the days of their youth, when they were decorated with broad-hoops,' and c 212 foreign follies. "bell-hoops, high-heads' and 'low-heads!" when--according to a writer of that time,'the wool which might cover the legs of hundreds of the poor, was deviated from that use, and manufactured into odious bustlers!''the bustler must yield to the feelings of humanity;' continues the indignant moralist, excepting, with due charity, the cases of aged matrons and antiquated virgins,' on account of their 'frigidity." after premising that this fashion reigned in the good city of philadelphia about thirty years ago, let me describe the origin of bustlers, for the sole benefit of those young ladies who are subjected to the censures of their mothers, either for immoderate lacing,-for using steel supporters instead of whalebone, or for wearing corsets at all. in the year 1783, a german luchess visited london, adorned with a jutting magnificence, which engaged the attention of the ladies of that court, who forthwith put the inventions. of their mantua-makers to the torture, to discover some habiliment which might convey a correspondent protuberance to their own persons. a woollen bolster, called the bustler, was accordingly manufactured, being named after the fashionable duchess foreign follies. 213 who had been gifted with natural endowments to excite the envy of the british fair;and our mothers soon introduced the fashion into this country. c the old critic who abuses our ancestors, also attacks their enormous hats bedizened with a profusion of ribands and feathers,'so that upon the whole, (as the reviewers say) our élégantes may, with great success, vindicate the symmetrical perfection of corsets, by reviling the horrid rotundity of bellhoops and bustlers. if their mothers, according to immemorial usage, preach about the growing degeneracy of fashionable customs, let their daughters remind them of ancient fashions; not only of the old ludicrous accoutrements of a philadelphia belle, but of all anterior customs. let them call to their remembrance the gay ladies of the fourteenth century, who (according to knyghton) were used to dress in parti-coloured tunics, one half being of one colour, and the other half of another;their lirripoops or tippets, very short;--their caps remarkably little, and wrapt about their heads with cords;-their girdles, and pouches ornamented with gold and silver, and wearing short swords, called daggers, before t 2 214 foreign follies. them, a little below their navels!' sometimes these damsels wore head-dresses enormously high, rising almost three feet above their heads, in the shape of sugar-loaves, with streamers of fine silk flowing from the top of them to the ground!' if any unfortunate 'bang-up' has an illnatured, old-fashioned, preaching, papa, let him justify his exquisiteness by referring to the reign of edward the third; for, although in all human probability he never before heard of such a person, he may be assured that i do not magnify the fashionable oddities of that period. a beau then 'wore long pointed shoes, fastened to his knees by gold or silver chains;-hose of one colour on one leg, and of another colour on the other;short breeches which did not reach to the middle of his thigh, and remarkably tight;a coat one half white, and the other half, black or blue;-a long beard;-and a silk hood buttoned under his chin, embroidered with grotesque figures of animals, &c. gold, silver, and precious stones.' what reasonable father can now impugn the moderation of the present day?* * i of course allude to the moderation of all countries; for however strange may be the garniture of an english fop foreign follies. 215 the origin of many fashions, which might otherwise have been ridiculous enough, pleads forcibly in their behalf. are we not patriots enough to admire the fashionable gentlemen of that court, who with one accord arranged their heads in such a position as to assimilate to, and conceal the defect of his majesty, who had a wry neck? or those faithful subjects who instituted high cravats, because their royal master had a scrofula in the neck? should we not admire the benevolence of fashion, which (in the invention in 1820, it is somewhat less ridiculous than that of the 'olden time.' to prove this assertion, i take advantage of the following extract from the letter of an american lady in london, descriptive of a dandy lord, and dated about two months ago. i was in hyde park on sunday. it was crowded with fashion. lord petersham is the blood of the day. he is the most complete show i ever saw. he wears large mustachios, a beard or tuft on his chin, very high collar to his shirt, a black cravat tied in a large bow where the ruffles should be, a white dress, resembling a carter's frock, and over that a black jemmy coat, almost off his shoulders, with his coat sleeves turned half way up his arms, his wristbands covering his hands. he wears a very small hat, with a very low crown, and a small rim, just to cover the top of his head, and a bouquet before him completes this object. he has a little footman, in white livery, by his side. he bawls out, "how are you," so loud, you can hear him almost over the park. his face is as yellow as a pumpkin. he attracts general attention, and whenever he stops, he is surrounded.' ( $ 216 foreign follies. of large bonnets,) coincided with the views of an unfortunate countess, who, with a most enchanting mouth and chin, had lost an eye by the small-pox? and with exemplary kindness, followed the example of a noble lady, who, being afflicted with a swelled face, inclined her bonnet till one side touched the shoulder, and thus concealed her deformity?-our ladies may, therefore, with impunity, institute such novelties as they please, without fear of subjecting themselves to ridicule from the other side of the water. the invention of woman is so varied, that i do not pretend to dictate any new method of attaining fashionable pre-eminence; but it is only by a decided revolution of established rules, that permanent fame can be acquired. for example, let our belles condemn corsets, and symmetry of form; they will have the whole faculty of physic to support them in the first measure, and no less a personage than the king of great britain as an ally in favour of embonpoint! they are fortunately in possession of the means of acquiring it, according to the custom of fattening turkish beauties: they must use no exercise, live in dark narrow rooms,' lie on soft cushions,' eat nothing but maize soup,' and " foreign follies. 217 keep 'strict silence!' the latter would, of itself, be enough to hand the memory of the taciturn inventress down to the latest posterity!* with domestic concerns, our true élégantes should never interfere; it is a pre-eminent token of vulgarity. let rubicam roast canvass back ducks, broil bull-frogs, and stuff ortolans; and let kitchen-wenches beat trifles, strain jellies, and make blanc-monge; -let mrs. glass, or mrs. carter, or monsieur viard-le cuisinier impériale'dive into the mysteries of gastronomy, but never let our belles be transformed into femmes-de-bouche and cook-maids! for myself, i would rather never behold a roasted turkey at christmas, or a plum pudding at yearly meeting, than suppose the *i will merely glance, at present, at the introduction of that innocent custom, called 'bundling' and 'tarrying;'— which, according to liancourt, is the effect of the purest manners and most innocent intention:' and according to doctor burnaby, of simplicity and innocence!' before such an amusement could be tolerated, it would be necessary to introduce the ruffianos and cavalieres serventes of italy; and our belles should be taught to sport double entendres like a parisienne,-be as plain spoken as the ladies of naples!--and practise the straddling stride' of the women of london and novogorod!--vide johnston's travels in russia, p. 221. 218. foreign follies.. taper fingers of beauty had stuffed potatoes into its craw, or been contaminated with the beating of its eggs, or the vile mixture of its batter! i would rather feed upon the beef steaks of abyssinia, the bird's-nests of pulo penang, the cat-soup of china or the puppy-broth of malta, than owe my existence to the degradation of a woman! dr. cooper says 'the waste and inelegance of an american kitchen is horrid! and a female writer exclaims in a tone of simple pathos, 'alas! how seldom, in this country, do we meet with good drawn-butter!-if this waste and inelegance' cannot be remedied, or the drawn-butter' improved, without the instrumentality of an american lady, may our culinary abodes remain in the like situation ad infinitum! c there is one strong objection to female duelling, or it could perhaps be introduced with notorious success: if our demoiselles adopted the practice of the celebrated french female antagonists, it would have a very serious effect on the manners and conversation of many male aspirants, who would be so intolerably fearful of committing themselves by a lapsus linguæ, or an unavoidable mistake, that they would either visit sub siforeign follies. 219 lentio, or abandon the society of women altogether. taking every thing into consi deration, it would be preferable-notwithstanding the following english example,—to avoid its introduction;-for, should it be attempted, many of our exquisites would be absolutely condemned to a living purgatory! in every glance of beauty's eye they would see the flash of a pistol, and in every word from her coral lip, recognise the sound of a blunderbuss! what a revolution would be effected: we should be afraid to gaze with admiration on the features of a beautiful girl, lest she should knock us down for our impertinence; and tremble in making more than one visit during a season, lest we should have our brains blown out for intentions which we never harboured! "two ladies in high life, having had a dispute at the princes' féte, a challenge actually ensued, and the parties proceeded to kensington gardens with their female seconds, who took with them a brace of pistols each, in their ridicules. the seconds having charged, by mistake put in the balls first. the amazons afterwards took their ground, but missed fire, when their differ220 foreign follies. ence was adjusted by the interference of their mutual friends."* as our ladies are yet to be made acquainted, in general, with the art of horsemanship, i would decidedly recommend, to the aspiring, the adoption of the cougnantainsecouima method, which not many years ago, was practised by the ladies of france, who wore buff-small-clothes, and half-boots, covered with a garment buttoned before, to open occasionally like a gentleman's waistcoat.' the danger and inelegance of the present mode of riding, are too apparent to be particularly noticed, and owe their origin solely to the fickleness of fashion, by which they may with equal justice be destroyed. if our primitive parents had taken a promenade à cheval, can any one believe that adam would have endangered the safety of his beloved eve, by permitting her to ride on a tottering and dangerous foundation, whilst he was secured in a firm and well-balanced position? certainly not. let our ladies, then, emulate the amazonians, and rival the intrepidity of the calmucks! our gentlemen, themselves, are not very english paper. c foreign follies. 221 c expert reinsmen,' and i verily believe the majority are so ignorant as not to know the difference between a buxton bit and a charlton bridoon! it is time to shake off this apathy: let our clever ones' delight in the music-of-the-bars,' and endeavour to take off the shine' from the barouche' and "four in hand' clubs!-cut out the eye of a fly, and bring blood' with every backhander! 6 c ( c c ، ، forgetfulness is also the essence of fashion. you should never remember a friend in misfortunes, or a benefactor in poverty; the oftener you call a person by the wrong name, the more notorious you will become. there is some art, however, in managing a real fashionable want of memory; you should always mistake a beautiful young girl for some shrivelled mummy of antiquity; ask a bride just married how her sweet little baby comes on;'-and affectionately question some disappointed old maid about the health of her husband. if an acquaintance has just lost his wife, you should not fail to inquire after her health, and if a disconsolate lover has just been jilted, be sure to ask him the time of his intended marriage. always request a divine to play ، u 1 222 foreign follies. cards, and even go so far as to whisper a double entendre into the ear of a gentleman, and solemnly protest you mistook him for miss such-a one. never permit a blooming petit mûitre to approach you, without saluting him by the name of the most deformed and disagreeable gentleman of your acquaintance. ask a dandy when he intends to publish his next sermons, and beg every theological writer you meet with to play vingt-un, and how he was pleased at the last horse-race! if you meet a modest votary of the muses who has just appeared in hot pressed twelves,' rail most vehemently against the production-condemn it as poor, native trash--a perfect narcotic --a deep shock-an utter horror'—and a vile bore; and after pronouncing him a dull, inanimate, monotonous mannerist, earnestly beg his pardon for not having before recognised the author. in fine, a real élégante must posses as treacherous a memory as the irishman who made the following note in his mem. book; 'passing through dublin, to remember not to forget c miss * to ** *1, * marry but it is not in high life alone that such improvements must take place, as will eleforeign follies. 223 vate our fashionable character to the proper heighth. tailors must be men-mercers;-milliners, marchands-de-mode;-barbers, perfumers;--shoe-blacks, marchands-decirage,*-coachmen, grooms;--waiters, valets;-chamber-maids, femmes-dechambre;---and cook-maids, culinarygoddesses! our servants must attain a perfect knowledge of single and double-raps, as well as a certain fashionable impudence and non-chalance, peculiar to a london lacquey; who, in our present state of degeneracy, would be kicked out of any gentleman's house in philadelphia before he had been domesticated ten minutes!-one of these independent gentlemen has, by an advertisement in the morning post, given a fair insight into the character of his fraternity; after offering his services as a groom, he informs the public, that as he never lived with any but gentlemen of the greatest respectability, he hopes none but such will apply! c * these gentlemen ought, moreover, never to use any other professional ingredient but real japan genuine water-proof patent leather-preserving chemical blacking. 224 foreign follies. 6 our cinder-wenches, however, (if mr. janson is worthy of belief!!!) have already manifested some dawnings of spirit, which may in time communicate itself to their fellow-domestics. i called,' says he, at the house of an acquaintance; a maid servant opened the door-"is your master at home?"-"i have no master"-" dont you live here?"-"i stay here"-" and who are you then?" "why, i am mr. -'s helpi'd have you know man, that i am no sarvant; none but negers are sarvants?"*____ nor are certain descriptions of tradesmen, and others, entirely debarred from the advantages likely to accrue from the general introduction of english customs. our grocers would be especially benefited by adopting the profitable plans of their brethren in europe. they may learn to manufacture teas from sloe-leaves, alder leaves, white-thorn leaves, and ash leaves:-to dry those intended for black tea, on an ironplate, and colour them with logwood;—to bake those intended for green tea on copper* stranger in america, p. 87.--if such a conversation ever took place, which is not very probable, squire janson's repulse was, perhaps, as much owing to his fugitive character, as to the impudence of the servant. foreign follies 225 sheets, and colour them with dutch pink and verdigris! they may make flour and mustard answer all the purposes of flour of mustard, while yellow ochre can, with great profit, be mingled with ginger, and rape seed with pepper! they are already well enough versed in doctoring brandy, gin, rum, and whiskey! our wine-dealers (if it is actually wanting,) may also acquire a profitable experience in doctoring their wines. they may colour their red-wines with brazil wood, alum, and husks of alder berries, and bilberries; and give them a fine astringent taste with oak-wood saw dust, and husks of filberts: if they wish to clear muddy whitewine, let them use gypsum or lead; and bitter almonds will afford it a most delicious nutty flavour. port may be flavoured with seeds of raisins;-and to inexperienced doctors, i would recommend in general, sweet * so long ago as 1783, the report of a committee of the house of commons, stated the quantity of factitious teas then manufactured per annum, to be four millions of pounds, being more than half the usual quantity imported into this country per annum, and about equal to the whole consumption of the united states!-in london there are established manufactories of these teas. † accum on culinary poisons. et seq. 226 foreign follies. briar, oris root, clary, cherry laurel water, elder flowers, and abundance of cider! c our bakers, no doubt, are well enough acquainted with the properties of alum, if we may judge from the difference existing between their bread, and that substantial substance manufactured in our private houses. all is not gold that glitters,' or, in other words, it is not always the whitest that is the best bread. however, there are still advantages to be appropriated to their share: they perhaps little know, that from the use of subcarbonate of ammonia, they can actually manufacture white, firm, and sweet bread from sour flour!!-and immensely benefit themselves by the simultaneous incorporation of pipe clay, chalk, or potatoes! our brewers-if some of the beer of our public houses is to be the test,—are perhaps better acquainted with their own interest than is generally imagined: but, to the ignorant, i would remark, that ginger root, coriander seed, and orange peels, will give a goodly flavour to beer!-that quassia, wormwood, and capsicum impart a fine bitter taste(and that cocculus indicus is an exceeding pleasant narcotic for porter and ale! without entering more fully into foreign follies. 227 their particular uses (which a knowledge of the purposes to which they may be applied renders unnecessary,) i will merely mention the names of molasses, honey, vitriol, grains of paradise, liquorice, and opium! it is indeed time our brewers should be acquainted with bittern, multum, and black extract. nor shall our little dairy maids be wholly neglected: to them i recommend the very advantageous mixture of arrow root or rice powder with their cream!* in concluding this chapter, let me once more exhort our exquisites, if they do not individually wish to be pointed out as a 'rara avis in terris,' to introduce the noble exercises of england,-fox-hunting, hare-hunting, and stag-hunting;--shooting, fishing, and horse-racing;—bull* such are a small proportion of the frauds committed in london; the extent to which they are carried in other articles, such as drugs, medicines, jewellery, &c. almost exceeds belief. in mr. accum's treatise on adulteration of food, &c. &c. &c. we find the following monstrous list of articles, which are daily sold in london in a sophisticated, and in most cases, poisonous state: viz. anchovy-sauce, beer, brandy, bread, catsup, cayenne-pepper, cheese, coffee, confectionary, cream, mustards, drugs, gin, lemon-acid, lozenges, malt-spirits, mustard, olive-oil, paints, pepper, pickels, porter,printing-paper, rum, soda-water, soap, black and green teas, vinegar, and wine! 228 foreign follies. baiting, bear-baiting, and badger-baiting; --grey-hound-coursing, single-stick, and cricket-wrestling, boxing, and pedestrianism;—hoaxing, betting, and cockfighting! the end. 555m 1 1 j t i 289 pr university libraries te ohio state university librarie ohio state university libraries the ohio state unive vers/7 pa he ohio state university libraries -tate university libraries an s. rs pag heart breckle hard 1823. the ꮋ ꭼ ꭱ mit in the country; or, sketches of british manners, " quite weary grown? of all the follies of the town, and seeing in all public places, the same vain fops, and painted faces." soame jenyns. a new edition, in three volumes. vol. iii. : london: printed for henry colburn & co. 1823. pr 4970 1114 h45 182.3 v.3 london: printed by cox and baylis, great queen street. contents of vol. iii. 57 page scotland, ....... 1 the scottish emigrant, 17 society in edinburgh, ....... 31 sunday evening amusements, 43 truth and taciturnity, ... lady grizelda m‘tab's ball, 69 scottish discretion, 83 a cockney in scotland, 93 hogmany; or, new year's morn in edinburgh, ......113 twal o'clock, 127 the scot's fire-side. new year, ......135 northern votaries of bacchus, 145 ...... ..... ..... iv contents. page .... ...... ....155 171 ...... ......183 193 .....205 auld lang syne, the foy, the draje,...... highland hospitality, gregor m gregor's welcome, ...... highland sporting, a dandy in the highlands, the highland outlaw, highland friendship, a highland regiment's return, 215 ......225 her) 237 ....251 261 vol.ii page ...155 171 ...183 193 ....205 215 the -..225 hermit in the country. 237 ..251 261 n° l. scotland. vol. iii, b their groves of sweet myrtles let foreign lands reckon, where bright-beaming summers exhale the perfume ! far dearcr to me yon lone glen o'green brecken, with the burn stealing under the lang yellow hroom; far dearer to me yon humble broom bowers, where the blue bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen ; for there lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, a’ listing the linnet, aft wanders my jean. burns. scotland. of all the countries under the sun, there is not one whose natives have the amor patriæ more deeply impressed in their bosoms than the scots. added to this love of country, which identifies the inhabitant of the soil with the soil itself, which makes its interest and its glory, its fame or its misfortunes, personal—the scotchman has the love of home beautifully interwoven with his feelings, inalienably mingled with his sympathies, ever present to his mind, constituting the goal of his career, the term and reward of all his actions. b 2 4 scotland. this innate principle exists in other nations. the advantages of many countries cause their children to pine for them when absent. the caledonian has not these inducements : yet he prefers his desolate muir, his bleak mountain, his sepulchral pine, his purple heather, and his humble hut, to fertility, cultivation, the vineyard and the palace; and, although his interest may plant him elsewhere, his heart still sojourns at home. but his independent spirit never allows him to be a burthen to his family, or an unproductive inhabitant of the soil. hence is he more frequently found selfbanished to the remotest quarters of the globe, than any of his fellow subjects. to the army and navy scotland furnishes more than an equal proportion of members, comparatively to her population. these circumstances arise from that real amor patriæ, and sense of domestic duty, which sharpen the endeavour, and nerve the arm to endure any hardships scotland. 5 or perils, in order to acquire a com. petency, and to assist aged and unprovided relations, as well as with the view of returning, one day or other, to the natale solum, there to spend the wellearned price of honourable labour, and there, in credit and consideration, to close this earthly career. does the caledonian, like other emigrants, turn his back on his country, adopt foreign habits and affections, deny his paternal soil, naturalize himself any where, and, becoming a fixture of any spot, cry un. feeling!y, “ ubi bene, ibi patria ? -no, no. he quits his country with more regret than any other inhabitant of the civilized globe; his heart, untravelled, ever points to home. in the remotest parts of the world, his mountain, his strath, his lake, his glen, his rock, and his paternal roof, are ever present to his mind. should he expire in pennsylvania, or end his career in madras, you will find him a lochaberian american, or a mid-lothian indian. he b 3 6 scotland. possesses a soul eudued with fortitude, a body formed for labour and longsuffering,-a strong hope which leads him on to the most arduous enterprizes, and stimulates energies which, when roused, are astonishing. and to what do this hope, this patience, and these energies, refer? the thoughts of a return to his native land; the encouraging expectation, after. a life of hardships, of fatigues, of dangers, and of difficulties, of struggles by land and sea, of warfare betwixt life and death, to lay him down amidst the purple heather and “lang yellow broom" of his progenitors, peacefully to close the scene in the arms of his dear parent scotia, to recline his weary head on her maternal bosom, and " to be gathered to his forefathers." : even in the battle strife, it is "home" that inspires his soul and nerves his arm. when a commanding officer wished to drive the finest body of french grenadiers -a part of buonaparte's select guard,from a street of fuentes d'honory, which scotland. 7 > strikingly resembled a well known one at glasgow, where many of his men had been raised, he had only to exclaim,“ lads, will ye let them keep the gallowgate!”-and instantly the french were swept before them like the wreck before the tempest of heaven. when at waterloo, the remnant of scottish royals formed the astonishing resolution of attacking, though on foot, the mass of the french cuirassiers, it was one sentiment, one shout" scotland for ever !" which achieved that immortal triumph. my military relation conversing one day on the peninsular war with a companion in arms, happened to mention the love of country, and expatiating on the beauties and the comforts of old england, observed, “i dare say, donald, you very often think of your home too, though less rich in produce and felicitous in soil ?" the enthusiast, a lad of about nineteen, replied, “o my ain hame! what else is there worth thinking of, then? i can see at this moment b 4 8 scotland. be thes wo plat che dole doit frog die my faither's hoose, the rough greyhound at the door, and ilka glen and burnie, about the place. a’ are dear to me; an it maks my heart warm, when i think on them. what else is't that encourages a man to earn a hard livelihood in order to haud up there without the turmoil o' getting ane's ain bread! an what maks fatigues an dangers easy, but the hope of so easing our aged years ?” here the drum beat to arms, and donald jumped up, snapping his fingers and singing the reel o'tulloch-gorum. but. this was all honest pride, and not thoughtlessness or insensibility; for he wanted to conceal the full tide of affection that was swelling in his eye, and he turned hastily, whilst the tears were (to use his own phrase) rapping down his cheeks;-no man did his duty better. after the battle of waterloo, i inquired of a roxburghshire private, of the ninetysecond, whether the regiment did not arrive fatigued on the field, so that it did not ]] ។ "i the al w & il scotland. 9 come fresh into action. aye,” replied the soldier, “we were wearied eneugh, , that's true; but whan we heard the pipes play up, an' our lads cheering, we were as light fitted as linties, and we louped on the enemy, as though we war rinning a race to a wadding !--the pipes and the cheering, brought home before us in every note, and every man felt the necessity of doing his duty from affection more than from either glory or interest.” poor sandie (for that was his name) was wounded in the thigh, of which he complained not. “i did not mind that,” said he : “only i thought it hard to be cut an' hacked by a french dragoon after i was down. sandie himself was too noble to act thus with a fallen foe. “ and what thought you when you were down?" said his interro. gator. “i dinna ken, sir," replied he, “if it was na' whether i should ever see my puir mither again, and whether wullie (my brither) wha's in the grey's, was hurt or no!" b 5 10 scotland. whilst i was in france, i became acquainted with a worthy old caledonian, who had been absent from home for thirty years. trained from his infancy to the noble profession of arms, he had been bandied about in the four quarters of the globe, gathering laurels and bleeding for his country, until the short peace of amiens ; when a desire to revisit france, a where he had been educated, induced him to disembark on her shores. the bad faith and perfidy of the government detained him a prisoner, until liberated by the conquering arms of the allied powers; when, however, he was so ill in health that he could not be removed. in a few short months, war broke out again : and he again drew his sword for the honour of his country. during this very long lapse of time, every relative whom he had in the world was swept off from the stage of life, either by the destroying hand of war, by sickness, or by old age; and as this worthy man had scotland. given up his share of inheritance to an aged mother, and to advance his numerous brethren in their professions, he found himself alone on earth, and without any other provision but the hardearned half-pay on which he had reluctantly retired. in his language and appearance he had also become a complete foreigner, and he had no intercourse, direct or indirect, with the highlands, his native place; no share of property therein, no apparent cause for interest in it. he had formed many friendships from his earliest childhood, to the present date, in france, and was very highly considered there, and much courted by the people, among whom he seemed a complete fixture; living in the south with so much order and economy, that his small pittance procured him the luxuries of life, and gratified every wish in a mind natuturally prudent and moderate. nor was his heart a stranger to a tender impulse; but the refinement of honour forbad him b 6 12 scotland. to ally to his poverty her whom he loved, and to run the risk of ushering into life a numerous and portionless brood, the fair object of his affection being completely dependent on her family. this circumstance probably tinged his mind with a little me. lancholy, and increased his studious turn, in pursuing which he acquired no common share of science and information. a strong mind and a wholesome philosophy in time enabled him to surmount his feelings, and produced a calm after the first love fever of the brain. age now came on apace, chilling the ardour of departed youth ; prudence and self-knowledge taught him that he was no longer an amatory subject; thus making celibacy not only supportable, but even de. sirable. he had therefore every thing to make life happy; tranquil habits, the treasure of knowledge, mental enjoyments, self-esteem, the respect of others, a good constitution, morality, and a competency in a cheap and fruitful country, whose cliscotland. 13 mate and features far transcended those of cold and wild caledonia. yet was he ever restless and uneasy. this restlessness and discontent, moreover, increased with his years; and at last he fretted himself into ill health and habitual melancholy. attached to him by his merit, his kindness and his urbanity, i felt' anxious to remove his complaint, and to." pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow." i accordingly touched as delicately as possible on his situation, and made an unqualified offer of service. he seemed backward, nay almost ashamed to state his case. "at last he confessed that he was home-sick, and that although he had no family, no relations, and no home, his heart was in his native hills, and he could not be easy without revisiting them. this uneasiness gained ground daily, and was the more de structive, because he had a very unpromising prospect of indulging this irresistible besoin du coeur. " these sunshine views," said he to me scotland. ވެ one day, are too fine for me; they are like the gaudy trappings of a courtly dame, which we admire without taking an interest in ; far dearer to me would be the sterility of the land of the gael, my rugged rocks, sharp precipices, lone glens, and homely whins. could i climb' my native mountain, i think that i should breathe new life; i cannot bear the idea of falling in a foreign land, instead of laying me down on the blooming heather, during the brief remnant of my fading existence, and of taking up my narrow bed there at its close !” whenever he could speak of scotland, the crimson of his cheek increased; whenever he took up his burns or ossian, tears fell from his eyes; for with all this love of country, the distance of eight hundred miles, and the scanty means of his retrenchments from half-pay, threw powerful obstacles in the way of his wishes. i lost not a moment in offering him a place in my carriage to london; and he lost not a moment in embarking for leith. scotland. 15 arrived there, he set out on foot with an old highland veteran, who had served in many campaigns with him, and whom he found by accident. he arrived safely in the land of heather; and although some of his reminiscences must have been mingled with regretful sorrow, 66 vincit amor patriæ." the comfort of treading his native land preponderated. his maladie du pays is cured ; and he promises to live to a good patriarchal age, and to be gathered to his forefathers, at the close of a ong and honourable life. these instances of patriotic enthusiasm are engraven in my heart, amongst many others, and i trust that they are registered in a more imperishable record than that of the hermit in the country. | nº li. the scottish emigrant. ( what is the worst of ills that wait on age? what stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? to view each loved one blotted from life's page, and be alone on earth, as i am now. byron each friend by fate snatch'd from us, is a plume plucked from the wing of human vanity. young. the scottish emigrant. we have considered that ardent love of country which actuates the caledonian, and inspires his efforts to attain, abroad, the means of enjoying retirement and social happiness at home. let us now examine the qualities by which he is enabled to accomplish these objects. tlie mind of the caledonian is peculiarly active,-a calmness of reason, a coolness in difficulties, temperance, privation, self-controul and patience strongly characterize him. these are quite national qualities. he has also another very useful virtue, which his enemies misrepresent 20 the scottish emigrant. 1 1 1 and deem servility, namely, a praiseworthy submission to circumstances, which makes him preserve discipline, order, and subordination, with fortitude and without murmuring : but if he observes a profound silence, a tame resignation to fate or fortune, it is not that his mind is grovelling, but that true wisdom dictates such conduct. no man is possessed of a finer sense of feeling, of honour, and of honest and noble indignation, than he; but e he well knows that discipline is as essential as valour in arms; and that obedience and subordination in every walk of life are as indispensable as his other high qualities of incorruptible fidelity, and indefatigable industry. by these means. do we so often see him rise to the head of his profession; and in commerce, become a partner in that house where he has served, frequently, in the most humble capacity. 'tis not to intrigue (the true caledonian is ill fitted for that) but to this steady line of conduct, the scottish emigrant. 21 that he owes bis rise and advancement in life; for an employer of any kind, a commander, or a commercial man, will naturally feel safe in promoting and confiding in one whose prudent guidance of his passions, whose temperate use of power, whose studious and persevering habits fit him for arduous exertion, and render him trust-worthy in situations of high confidence; insomuch, that even those who entertain a prejudice against his country, are won and converted by his habits and deserts. amongst these qualities, perseverance is one of the most valuable and characteristic. as the perpetual drip of water faling on a huge hard stone, though dissipated and defeated every moment, constantly renews its feeble attack, and in time subdues the apparently impenetrable mass; so the caledonian swerves not from his purpose although his endeavours are again and again brought to nothing; but time, and courage, and patience at length 22 the scottish emigrant. find their way through all obstacles, and make their due impression in the end. the highlander possesses this virtue in an eminent degree. hence, as a friend or a partisan, he is a rock; in love and in affection he is as immovable as his native mountains; in honesty and in adherence, in respect and fidelity to his chief, he is a tower of strength and support. the story of disappointed donald furnishes a faithful picture of this persevering temper. donald became early enamoured of the lovely margaret, the youngest daughter of the head of the clan's numerous family: donald was himself not only a clansman, but a kinsman. his father had been a captain in the army; and the affection of the clan for their successive chiefs had for centuries known no wavering or diminution. wherever the chief turned his views, those of donald's family were directed to their support and furtherance. donald was beloved by all around him, young, handsome, and brave; but he had one the scottish emigrant. 23 66 fault in the eyes of the world-he was poor! the lovely margaret was not insensible to donald's merit; but she dreaded her father's anger; and donald dared not for his life to anger the laird." it was too great ambition for him to look so high without a fortune to back his pretentions ; he therefore conceived the design of selling his ensigncy, and of braving death and danger in the most unhealthy climes, in order to acquire that fortune, which might enable him to support his chieftain's daughter in a manner suitable to her rank. donald accordingly left the sash and gorget, the high-plumed bonnet and waving plaid, “ with all the pomp and circumstance of war,”-divorced himself from a profession which was dear to his heart, and for which he seemed peculiarly fitted, "'* * the story of come out, donald, and be hanged quietly, and dinna anger the laird,” is too well known' to need repetition in this place. 24 the scottish emigrant. to toil and drudge, to struggle with and surmount innumerable difficulties, in order to amass what might place the object of his idolatry upon the eminence he thought she deserved. it may easily be supposed that donald never mentioned his intentions to the laird, but quietly and resignedly put on the galling yoke under which he was to struggle for fortune and independence. he bade adieu to the lovely margaret. often did poor donald whistle to himself on his stormy passage : “oh! poortith cauld, and restless love, “ ye rack my heart between ye.” time rolled on, and with it increased donald's endeavours,-they were assiduous beyond description. to every danger he opposed the fond hope of his fair reward; to every reverse he applied added courage and augmented energy. sickness, shipwreck, scorching heat and sleepless nights, fatigues and hardships, all yielded to his the scottish emigrant. 25 conquering love and herculean industry. during his absence he corresponded with his beloved, and he felt a secret pride in transmitting repeated presents to his chief; being gratified to an immeasurable extent at their finding favour in his sight, and paving, as he hoped, the way to the hand of her for whom he toiled. the period at last arrived, when possessed of a handsome fortune, he was to return to his native shore, and to pour out his treasure on the shrine of love,-to make at the chaste altar of hymen the offering of a brave and spotless heart. how did the fever of expectation burn in his veins as he drew near to the british shore! his passage had been long and perilous ; it was now. above three months since he had heard from her whom he loved., disembarked, he travelled night and day towards his home, his heart swelling and throbbing with exulting, yet with anxious glow. how proudly he contemplated the fabric vol. iii. с 26 the scottish emigrant. of his industry! how exultingly he looked over his treasure ! not like the miser,-it was for one dearer than himself. how many things he thought and said, and meant to say and do! what attentionswhat devotion hung on his lips, and dwelt in his imagination ! how many privations had he endured for the happy moment which he thought at hand! they were repaid tenfold in his mind. what were such sacrifices for all-powerful love? they were passed, and he felt ready to endure them again and again. like the merchant, who sees his treasure near the shore, then founder and perish in his sight, at the very instant that he conceived it had made the land, --so donald returned with swelling hope and aching fondness to behold margaret--the bride of another! what were riches now to him ? for what had he escaped shipwreck and disease? for what had he endured heat and cold, fever, hardship and humiliation ? for what had he left that tented field to the scottish emigrant. 27 which he was an honour ?--for nothing but dire disappointment, blighted hope, and faded prospect. margaret was grateful for his preference-but she had changed her love; and what was gratitude to him? an insult to his fidelity. he accordingly sojourned but a short time in the scene of his happier youth, and then expatriated himself for life. instances of matchless faith and fidelity like donald's occur most frequently in the highlands, from the highest to the humblest classes. the poor gentleman devotes half his life to obtain wherewith to return home, and to seek his reward in the arms of immutable affection. the climatestruck soldier or sailor collects his little all, after a life of hardship, for home and his sweetheart. i knew a young man, who, not daring to avow his passion for his patron's daughter, went out to india in a medical capacity; and thence, having amassed a considerable fortune, returned in order to make proposals for the object c2 28 the scottisii emigrant. of his affections, but (not having thought ; it honourable to spoil her fortune by engaging her promise until he was enabled to provide nobly for her) he found her disposed of to a poor officer. not long surviving, he left his property to her and her children. the poetical effusion subjoined originated in a more fortunate, and, i believe, more common result of scottish perseverance and constancy. there are but few margarets, though many donalds ; for the sentiment of truth and attachment is as firm in the one sex as in the other, according to the observations of the hermit in the country. the banks of the spey. a soldier of fortune, wi' naething but youth, a sword, and a heart fu' of spirit and truth ; 'twixt glory and love scarcely daring to chuse, my country first ca'd me, i could nae refuse. the scottish emigrant. 29 yet i lingered, sair hearted, -for ah! i was wae to leave the green banks o' the sweet-flowing spey. my knapsack was empty, my bosom was fu', my love for my jennie was constant and true ; · an' i swore that for ever as pure it should be, as the clear crystal drops that fell fast from her ee'; for jennie was greeting, whilst mither did pray, when i tore myself aff, frae the banks of the spey. 'midst perils unnumber'd and rough paths to fame, i toil'd, aften longing for jenny and hame. yet, jennie, i surely unworthy shu'd be, were i fauss to my king, to my country, or thee! with this thought my warm bosom no fear could betray, could i live, and disgrace thus the banks of the spey? return'd to my country, arriv'd from afar, i've brought back my honour wi' many a scar, as poor as i went, but my wants are but few, for riches wi' honour hae nothing to do. oh! ye pow'rs, wi' what raptures once mair did i stray, on the sweet daisied banks o' my dear native spey. c 3 30 the scottish emigrant. i found my ain jennie as tender and kind, as when i first left the dear lassie behind. she's now a' the treasure and joy o' my life, my mistress, my friend, and my bonnie wee wife; and we hope we shall aft see our bairnies at play, in their infantine years, on the banks o'the spey. samme . ç life , wee nie 25 at pleri the best n° lii. society in edinburgh. c4 but let us try these truths with closer eyes, and trace them through the prospect as it lies. goldsmith. i've been at drunken writers' feasts, nay been bitch-fou' 'mang godly priests, w' rev’rence it spoken ; i've even join’d the honor'd jorum, when mighty squireships of the quorum their hydra-drouth did sloken burns, 1 1 1 society in edinburgh. a man who travels through a country with the broad eye of curiosity fully expanded, but with only few human sympathies and affections, may well be fastidious: he may find scotland cold, barren, and ungenial; and the sovner he turns his back upon her, the better for both. he has already turned his back on social life: : therefore bon voyage, any where he pleases. a traveller of this description once found out that scotland was far inferior to england; that edinburgh was not london ; that scotsmen were very free in shaking hands with strangers (this might be making c5 34 society in edinburgh. free with themselves in some instances); that the ladies talked in a high key, that the women were garrulous, that public places were ill frequented, that the prevalence of black coats made all assemblies look like funerals; that if a man neither wanted law, physic, nor the benefit of the clergy, he had nothing to do in the edinburgh “ at homes," “ conversaziones," or ," balls; that the sunday was a day of mourning, and the kirk-going folks looked not only as if they were going to a burial, but as if they were going to bury themselves. it is, however, not very difficult to explain all these imputations on the caledonian, and to account for the habits and the state of society in his metropolis. and, first, the scot is naturally drawn towards the stranger; he meets him in the attitude of kindness; he receives him in the ; pure language and deportment of hospitality; when he opens his hand to him, his house is equally the welcome place of his reception; nor does he take half his life to. society in edinburgh. 35 get acquainted with him; therefore he shakes him by the hand, and takes him to his confidence, as far as is necessary for all the purposes of festivity, and for all the ends of general society. there is also another reason for this giving of the hand in token of welcome and of protection. the remains of old border-inroads, and the enbers of the feudal system, have made this pledge a habit; and no where is the pledge more faithfully kept than in scotland. where is there a firmer ally, a more devoted partisan? now, we should like to be informed, what there is either immoral or indecorous, in a custom which unites the links of the social chain still closer, which reminds us of being all brethren of the same great family, and which cultivates urbanity until it produces friendship, and matures friendship until it grows into the plenitude of the warmest philanthropy? we may also ? ask, whether the travelling stranger has not, in other countries, frequently felt the c 6 36 society in edinburgh. want of being taken by the hand? whe: ther he has not suffered under a nationa) prejudice against him? the honest scot has himself often severely felt this, whilst he is too generous to retaliate on his neighbours. secondly: as to the ladies talking in a high key, it requires very little observation to know that each country has its music, its accent, and its dialect; and not only every country, but every county. edinburgh has, of course, its vernacular-not worse than that of london ; but, in the first circles the travelled scots are the same as the people of fashion every where else, -not less gentle, not less prepossessing, but rather kinder and more urbane than most of their neighbours. it has been observed, and with truth, that the parents of some the most elegant women in scotland are somewhat less refined, have the scottish accent in speaking, and have not had the advantages (if such they be) of dancing waltzes, of wear-society in edinburgh. 37 ing turkish trowsers, and of giving masquerades and“ at homes ;” but, as an offset for these deficiencies, these worthy domestic matrons are less acquainted with gaming, and with crim. con. trials than their more dasbing sisters of the south: these respectable mothers of families have had less intercourse with warmer climates; and the continent being so long shut up, maternity and the passage of the meridian of life have taken from them the taste for going abroad, and have denied them the levity of french manners, and the pastiche hump on their backs; having no protuberances but such as graceful and bountiful nature may have given them for her wisest purposes. the reason why the public places of edinburgh are not thronged as they are in london and paris, is, that the industry and economy of the middling and lower orders of society impose a self-controul upon them, which nearly excludes the 38 society in edinburgh. latter,* and compresses the former within discretion's bounds, which induces them to frequent the theatre and other places of public resort, only when peculiar merit is in the performer, or in the piece performed. as to the higher classes, they make their brief appearance at fashion's haunts and in fashion's late hour, like the beau monde elsewhere; whilst the thin assemblies in public amply increase the influx of company in private parties, which are no where more numerous, more festive, or more general, than in edinburgh. even in the middle class, the family dinners and extensive friendly parties exceed those in london, if we bear in mind the riches and the population of the two cities : and with respect to the votaries of bacchus, i fear they cannot complain of auld reekie, for i • the unfrequency of robbery, house-breaking, &c. in edinburgh, may probably be accounted for by the spirit of self-denial, in this and other pleasures above the reach of the lowest classes. society in edinburgh. 39 am of fergusson's opinion, who says“ i'm fain to think the joy's the same in london town as here at hame, whar folk o'ilka age and name, 'baith blind an' cripple, forgather aft-o fy for shame! to drink and tipple.” 9 i am sorry that the black coats of professional men should have caused dark reflections to the fastidious traveller : but in a town which is the centre of science, and where the students of the grave and learned professions are in such numbers, it would be hard to change their wise and sober habits, and still more unjust to exclude them entirely from society, although i am aware that learning and morality are no very welcome guests in the haunts of levity and inordinate gallantry. the charge against the features of the scottish sunday has less of falsehood than the other accusations. there would be no harm in a more cheerful appearance of devotion; there are even scriptural authori40 society in edinburgh. ties which inform us, when we fast and pray, not to assume the external display of either : but sandie is a quiet, grave, discreet chield, and he too has his little quo. tation, in support of his sabbath gravity. moreover, this accusation does not fall upon the ultras in fashion, any more in edinburgh than elsewhere. lastly; in answer to a remark, on the mad and melancholy seasons of the year in edinburgh, a very few words are necessary, in many countries there is a carnival : the scot has his. the humbler class has its saturnalia confined to the daft days, which conclude the one, and commence the other year. in the higher classes, the winter begins with their session of parliament, and their amusements proceed with that winter, even more faithfully than in the great metropolis ; for, when may lengthens the day, and the face of nature invites man to contemplate her works--when the country smiles, and the nights are contracted, zociety lets down the fever of dissipation society in edinburgh. 41 by air and exercise, and the rational scot is loth to close his lattice on the sun, or to consume so much of his time in sleep, in table excess, in morning orgies, or in walks and rides after dark. his habits and his purse, his education and his economy, have rarely permitted him to sleep in the afternoon before breakfast, or to dress two hours by candle-light for a dinner party. he is content that elsewhere the soi-disant fashionable should leave the primrose to wither in the rural scene, and turn his back upon the violet, for the dust and rattle of coaches in town; or, after a look at some watering-place, just arrive in time for the memento mori of the fall of the leaf, drawing the sad yet salutary reflection which it offers, as opposed to the adjourned dissipation of afternoon breakfasts, and eight o'clock dinners, and potent libations in the country! to the lover of nature and of science, to the scholar, the sage, and the philosopher, the decision of the two modes of living is left by the hermit in the country. n° liii. sunday evening amusements. obvious her goods ; in no extreme they dwell, – there needs but thinking right and meaning well. pope sunday evening amusements. that sunday was, in every christian country, designed to be chiefly dedicated to the praise of the creator, none of my readers will, i trust, deny. its second object was, for the repose and relaxation of the laborious part of the community, who work for the rich and the great during the six other toilsome days of the week. different countries, however, have various modes of hallowing and occupying this hebdomadal feast. the question, therefore, is, which is the most consistent with religion and morality, and most calculated to make men happy ? 46 sunday evening amusements. on the continent, the religious ceremonies are scarcely closed, when balls, plays, nay even masquerades succeed them. in many places, the shops are entirely open: in others, they are only half closed. mum. mers and mountebanks, tooth-drawers and ballad-singers, fill the market places ; and all is broad, popular, and unbecoming mirth. those who wish to justify such customs, assert, that all this is done for the innocent recreation of the hard-working classes, and that it is fit that they should have their amusements, as well as the rich and noble of the land. i have no hesitation in joining in this assertion, were their amusements of a tendency to ameliorate their condition and improve their morals. as it is, all comment would be superfluous: the error must strike every one. in scotland, on the contrary, the sabbath exhibits a busy scene of exterior and of not unostentatious piety. all is churchgoing, hymu chaunting, long faces, and sunday evening amusements. 47 crowded streets; the women servants bearing the open profession of their faith, namely, the bible, in their hands, often to very unhallowed roofs, and carrying it and the psalms of david, as it were, in triumph, to their respective conventicles. all public places are forbidden; dancing and music, even in private, are mortal sins; the organ itself offends the presbyterian ear; and the ordinary way of closing the day, is by sleeping over the sacred volume, whilst the soi-disant liberals indulge in the pleasures of the table, and substitute spirituous for spiritual comforts. the pious intentions of our neighbours cannot be blamed, nor can any one help praising their strict enforcement of the respect due to the sabbath ; but to clothe religion in mourning, is as much against its real interests, as it is to render sacred truths so terrific, and fraught with gloom, that they lose their natural, gentle, mild, peaceful, and consoling qualities. this excess of the external of piety is at the 48 sunday evening amusement3. same time very apt to introduce hypocrisy as its companion, and to lead to the indulgence of private voluptuousness, in the place of public relaxation and de. cent mirth; for a glass at a public house not unfrequently leads to more than a peccadillo, under the influence of bacchus and of venus. in england, public walks and gardens are open on a sunday, which invite the humbler citizen to amusement and recreation. the charms of music are every where added to religious ceremony. vocal, and even instrumental sounds, are rarely forbidden at the festive board, or in the family circle; and, in the highest classes, private concerts are frequently given on this day. our late venerable monarch set the ex. ample of having them composed of sacred music only; but the example has not been generally followed. the propriety of the . former cannot be doubted, although we can see no transgression in listening to sunday evening amusements, 49 the notes of haydn and mozart, nor of attending to the enchanting harmony of italian vocal music, or to the innocent, yet bewitching strains of the harp, unconnected with either church service or oratorio, after the hours of religious worship. in a number of very great houses, however, it has become fashionable to have private card parties, and thus to kill time, as they call it, and beguile the dull sunday evening. some are more or less public; some more or less of a gaming nature ; whilst the gouty general, or the superannuated right honourable old maid snarls over a chess-board, or dozes at a piquet table. where avarice, the rage for play, extravagance, or ill-nature, reign not at such boards, we have perhaps no right to interfere ; but certainly where heavy losses or gains, head-ache, heartache, and loss of time occur, the passa tempo is criminal; and indeed, it must be acknowledged, that even in their most harmless form they give bad examples to vol. iii. d 50 sunday evening amusements. domestics, and by keeping them late up, destroy their lawful sabbath, and bring the day itself into painfulness and disrepute. we now come to another mode of passing the sunday, which is considered as a very innocent one. a circle of young people, most of whom have been abroad, meet at a dinner, or at an evening party, on a sunday. the circle is small, friendly, and unceremonious. the company consists of both sexes. averse to cards, and divided in opinion, whether cousin harriet may play the piano, whilst the young party waltzes; the noes, strengthened by mammas and aunts, outvote the charming minority, and it is settled, after the showing off of the best family player in a concerto, that the young folks shall play at forfeits, either in the shape of questions and commands, dumb crambo, bout rimées, cross-questions, or any other form. the forfeit gives the principal zest to this amusement; and here is struck the imsunday evening amusements. 51 perceptible spark which may grow into an unconquerable flame-here the seeds of passion, more diminutive than the acorn which is destined to be the monarch of the wood, and the imperious ruler on the ocean, are first sown. warm looks, gentle touches, impressive squeezes, palm meeting palm, and foot encountering foot, heightened complexions, swelling bosoms, glistening eyes, mute confusion, or whispered freedoms, all play their dangerous parts. preferences are demonstrated, and weaknesses are betrayed, which have had the most serious results. these “ petits passe-tems de la société” carry the incautious and unsuspect. ing a great way. under the cover of a question put round, strange things are said. under the sanction of a forfeit, dangerous ideas may be raised. some arch trick played, or some innocent salute given to a cousin, or to the intimate friend and fellow collegiate of a brother, is but the fore-runner of a serious attachd 2 52 sunday evening amusements. ment-perhaps a very unfortunate one. rings and lockets, gloves and bosom-knots are lost and won, like favours given and received; so that it is not quite impossible, that, with the pledge, the heart may be forfeited too, and that the reputation may be in equal jeopardy with the gage detained nor do these infantine amusements end here. when the evening is over, thought continues its work in the brain; nor does discreet silence place her seal upon either the youth's or the maiden's lips. heated imagination retraces the scene, heightens its colours, and extends its influence; confidential avowals are made, projects are formed, and plans arise in the thoughts; realities follow ideal matters ; sleepless nights and waking uneasiness, novel reading, and love-letter writing, are on many occasions the followers of the sunday evenings's simple and harmless amusements. whether so much importance ought, or sunday evening amusements. 53 ought not to be attached to these seeming trifles, i leave to the candour of the youths of both sexes who practise them. for the most part they are of foreign introduction, but have not lost in their effect and application by british performances. on the contrary, the minds of our fair countrywomen are tenderer, and more romantic than those of the attractive and provoking gallic fair ; and these petits jeux are of course more dangerous to them. without further remarks on all these modes of passing sunday, i shall now state that of an old friend of mine; and the reader may choose which of them he pleases. after the hour of morning church, which he always attends with real devotion and pleasure, my friend pays visits to such of his acquaintance as are confined by sickness, or to whom his visits may be of utility, either as a giver of advice, a reconciliator, or a dispenser of pecuniary d3 54 sunday evening amusements. service. in fine, whether he takes a ride, or walk, in as retired a route as he can find, at half past five he assembles in his library a select party of men of science and of artists, foreign as well as native, amongst whom are some in unprosperous circumstances, whose views he forwards, and whose comforts he increases, to the utmost of his power. at six precisely the dinner is served, at which cheerfulness, hospitality, and instructive conver. sation reign. every servant but one is dismissed to take his pleasure until eleven at night; the servant in waiting coining on duty only at the removal of the cloth, and having had a previous part of the day for his relaxation. at ten, coffee is served in the library, and the conversation assumes a literary turn. the party separates at or before midnight, and disperses mutually satisfied. the interests of literature, and the welfare of mankind, form the prime objects of this cheerful yet learned assembly, and both these ends are benefited by it. sunday evening amusements. 55 i war not on any man's faith ; but i think that he must be scrupulous indeed, who can find any thing useless or detrimental to society in such a division of time, or in such a sunday evening as this which i have described of my friend's, and which i have often shared in, at his elegant house in st. james's-square, when he has been in town, and at his still more elegant, though less splendid retreat in surrey, when i have chanced to be the hermit in the country. d 4 n° liv. truth and taciturnity. d 5 nor yet the tenty curious lad, who o'er the ingle hings his head, and begs of nei'bours books to read, for hence arise thy country's sons who far are spread, baith bauld and wise telford, truth and taciturnity. truth and taciturnity are the favourite qualities of the scot. he values them for two reasons: first, on account of their intrinsic worth, and secondly, on account of their great utility to himself. he is a lover of truth, because, in the long-run, truth is easiest and best. on the one hand, it does him credit; on the other, it saves him from many scrapes and exposures, into which more dashing characters, who hazard their reputation from the ambition either of being witty, or of appearing greater than they really are, so frequently fall. with the scot, truth and silence play d 6 60 truth and taciturnity. into each other's hands, because where the truth is hazardous, silence is certainly most safe. but silence has another excellent property: it is like a negative virtue, which assumes the shape of an active and actual good quality ; for it makes a man appear by turns, well-bred, sensible, brave, moderate, and well informed on subjects of which he is totally ignorant. a very unequivocal proof of real goodbreeding is the knowledge of“how to listen to another." « il sait écouter,” is a bright and rare quality in a frenchman; to him « il sait se taire is a sort of a boast. amongst the ladies it would be a vain one; but there is nothing more amiable than bestowing the silence of attention on a person who is speaking. if the speaker be an aged person, there is almost a religious duty in it; if of higher rank than ourselves, it is a courtesy,--perchance a painful one, yet it is a necessary sacrifice to polite society; should the orator be able to in: struct or to edify us, the task of silence is truth and taciturnity. 61 repaid tenfold; if he be an ignorant coxcomb, we may still learn one lesson from him, namely, to avoid similar empty garrulity; if we punish self-love, by not taking the lead in conversation, we at least obtain time to reflect on what may be proper to sav, or not to say, at an after period. in an argumeut, the man who is to make the reply has a great advantage, from his adversary's laying open his game to him, as it were ; and on this account sandy likes to wait a wee, until he has thus made himself doubly master of his subject; imprimis, from his own foreknowledge of it, and next, from the errors of his opponents. one day, as i was getting my hair cut by a more than usually prattling scotch hair-dresser in edinburgh, he informed me, that when he was in london, he saved up a good purse in order to see every thing, and taking a very handsome wardrobe with him, a gold watch, a ring 62 truth and taciturnity. and a quizzing-glass, he passed a whole month in a boarding-house, as a private gentleman of fortune. " how did you manage that, mac?" said i, almost ready to add, “ for thou art a scandinavian, and thy tongue betrayeth thee.” “why, sir,' " replied he, with a transient blush, but with the determined lines of reflection on his countenance, aware of his mean stature and broad dialect, “i was aye dressed in mourning, and i seldom or ever opened my mouth at table.” this confirmed me in my former opinion of scottish prudence and taciturnity, and of the intimate connection of the two. touching truth, when it is dangerous, the scot either looks significantly without speaking, which you may interpret as you please; or, he affects not to understand you, that he may make no answer ; or, finally, he walks off unoffending, and without uttering a word.— the highlander, for instance, is a sad hand at speaking english, when it may commit him ; but truth and taciturnity. 63 when it is to answer his purpose, he will run on fast enough, should it cost him all the pantomimic possible in order to be understood, or expose him to laughter by mistaking the masculine for the feminine gender, just as ignorant john bull does in french; for the highlander calls his firelock and his claymore she, as well as his house and his bagpipe, although his wife be he, probably from wearing the breeches, whilst he wears the kilt. but, after all, what right has a foreigner to know these distinctions ? if the scot, either highlander or lowlander, be forced to make an answer, when he understands not the business before him, or when the measure is fraught with peril to himself or his employers (for he is faithful to both), he will give such a reply as shall throw you off your guard, or go to work in such a circuitous way that there is no getting round him. :i remember a highlander, who spoke very few words of english, being sentry 64 truth and taciturnity. on a fort. his orders were to allow no one to pass without giving the countersign. the fort major approached him and demanded entrance. lachlan m’lachlan knew him ; but yet his orders were positive, and lachlan “buid to be cautious," “to inak sicker,” so he pretended not to know him. on demanding the countersign, the fort major told him that he had forgotten it; but as he must know his person, he might let him pass. lachlan réplied in a stern tone, and with a violent grunt at the end of his sentence--an ough, meaning “there's for you! take your answer! do you take me for a novice ?” (for these highland expletives are more expressive and significant than the greek ones). “i know no-body,” laying great stress on the last word. "i am the fort major," replied the other, in a tone of expostulation, "weel,” said lachlan, in a cool and discreet tone; sir, it will be a vary guid place, but you'll no win in the night without the counter> 66 i dare say, truth and taciturníty. 65 sign." lachlan proved to be right; and was highly commended by the fort major himself, the ensuing day. a proof of discretion, even in a person of deranged intellect, occurs in the instance of lord ---, who, after having made the tour of europe, swore that there was not such a soil, a garden, a house, fruit, flowers, or any thing else abroad, as he had on his estate in scotland. coming to the article of grapes, " you'll surely give them up to france ?" cried his numerous opponents. he here saw derision in every countenance. coming to the recover, therefore, he observed in a douce discreet tone of voice, by no means; but, gentlemen, i premise by telling you that i like them a wee sour :" the whole of the sentence syllabled and quietly drawn out in the urbane tone of gentle and arch persuasion. but, to conclude, nothing can be a greater instance of the silence, the solemn deliberation, and reflective property of the $cot, than the answer which another 66 66 truth and taciturnity. scotch peer, now no more, made to an account of the ingratitude of a person towards him. the speaker gently touched on the magnitude of the injury: the peer appeared unmoved. encouraged by the absence of passion and indignation, the former proceeded to state the acts of ingratitude: the peer was silent. he next ventured to detail the personalities : not a muscle of the peer was deranged. his gross abuse of his lordship: still no reply. the injury intended was lastly fully detailed: his lordship yet remained wrapt in silence and reflection. the informant now pondered as to what was to be the result of this information :-was the peer's silence that true revenge which collects all its forces ere it proceed to deliberate on punishment was it the pause of doubt? was it a pardon of the offence? contempt ? stupefaction ?-it was none of them, it was wisdom and circumspection. the peer, at length, broke silence with a sigb; yet it was a sigh of unsuffering trutii 67 and taciturnity. 66 ” composure; it was more full of pity for the offender, than for the offended. i cannot, for the life of me," said he," think why this man should slander me thus, for i do not recollect ever doing him a service in my life." he made no further observation on the subject ; but took his measures against his man. this was, perhaps, better than giving way to passion ; yet, though not remarkably irritable, i fear his example would scarcely have been followed, in an instance of similar provocation, by the hermit in the country. nº lv. lady grizelda m'tab’s ball, where yet the title stands in tarnish'd gold. pope. t i 1 1 1 lady grizelda mʻtab's ball. 66 “what will your ladyship have for din. ner ?” said jessy, her female factotum, with a hungry look and a broad anxious eye. parritch,” replied lady grizelda, in broad scotch; not that she could not talk as high english as any one, but that when she meant to be kind and condescending to her inferiors-to persuade the lower order, or to be confidential and without pretensions, she stooped to the vernacular of auld reekie. humph,” quoth jessy, whose interior echoed the word in a hollow tone : for jessy, as well as her lady mistress, had had an egg and a glass of toast 66 a 72 lady grizelda m'tab's ball. and water for dinner the day before,-jessy's toast differing a little from that of her mistress, for lady grizelda's was burned bread immersed in the limpid stream, whilst jessey's was pure callar water, and her toast was “the de'el tak thae quality goings-on." now, it must be made known to the reader, that this day was the vigil of a grand ball to be given by her ladyship to all the beauty and fashion of edinburgh, and all her numerous quality cousins and companions; not forgetting the law-legion which came in by dozens, like clauses in a deed or agreement, to swell the list and to increase the expense. three hundred cards of invitation had been issued on this important occasion; and her house had literally been turned inside out, in order to prepare it for this grand let-off, the report of which, lady grizelda was aware, would spread far and near. three weeks had been occupied in ma. king ornamental knick-knackeries for her lady grizelda mótab's ball. 73 suite of fanciful apartments, ornamental hangings, transparencies, arches of evergreens, festoons, drawings, chalkings, &c. and three nieces were all this time employed in uniting the efforts of their taste to give effect to this fancy scene. no money was spared upon the occasion; al. though dealt out with economy, and made to go the further by the loan of the united plate of six cousins, and by her floors being chalked by a poor relation. lady grizelda had much to accomplish by this ball and supfer; for, first, it was long talked of, and must answer all expec. tations ; secondly, she had the honour of her title and noble family to support,--albeit the former rested upon courtesy, and the latter was supported by government pension, yet there was nobility and antiquity enough in both, and neither must be disgraced. six suits of livery were, therefore, pulled out of an old chest, aired and brushed up, and were to be made to fit five mercenary flunkies, in addition to her lavol. iii. e 74 lady grizelda m'tab's ball. dyship's old family footman, page and butler-being one and the same representative of servitude in the house. the drilling of the liveried recruits was left to andra ; and the table turn-out was all rehearsed in models and ticketed cards, by way of dishes and supper ornaments, by the commander-in-chief (lady grizelda) and by her three female aides-de-camp. above all, andra was ordered to speak high english in announcing the nobility a they arrived; and his repeating lieutenant, a smart footboy out of place, was instructed to give audibility to each title of marquess, earl, lord, lady, sir alexander, the baron (a law lord), and even to the private gentlemen bearing the names of their estates, even should the estate be sold, because a name goes a great way; for instance, dalmaglashing, balmagash, lavrock hill, stoney castle, tinabyers, glenburnie, invercraigie or new park!-why, the gentlemen would be nothing without them! but it is high time to introduce our realady grizelda m'tab's ball. 75 a der to lady grizelda. her ladyship stands about five feet ten and a half in her shoes, is as upright as a serjeant's pike, as thin as a hard run greyhound, and has so strong a profile, and so national withal, that it resembles one side of a lochabar battle-axe. if high cheek bones are marks of being high bred and born, her ladyship has the highest pretensions on that head, and-as to points about her, she is all points together. a supercilious look indicates the quality of old maid, who has either entirely overlooked our sex (perhaps from retaliation), or cannot stoop to the ordinary race of beings. a flaxen wig surmounting her argent crest (once fire red) completes her picture. the ball-night now arrived, and a fast preceded it, in order to make her three nieces the fitter for dancing, to keep her domestics active and keen, and hersel' cool and collected. the frugal egg and toast and water was the family fare. indeed, andra had been so egged on this week, e 2 76 lady grizelda mʻrab's ball. 'that he felt scarcely able to bear the yoke of servitude. the maids too had nothing but a shake down for their couch, all the furniture being displaced. a couple such balls would have proved fatal to her ladyship's domestics. at eleven o'clock at night, a blaze of light and an open door, proclaimed that her ladyship was at home; and by midnight, a e battalion of chairmen showed to all the town that lady grizelda m‘tab received company. the party was divided into three orders of beings; the professionals, the moderés, and the ultras of fashion. the black corps of law and physic looked deadly to purse and constitution; they mustered very strong, and were made up partly of relatives, and partly of entertaining friends. the moderés were antiquated nobility and decent gentry of the old school, who dropped in at or before eleven; and who came to take à hand at cards, or to see their children and grandchildren dance, and to shake lady grizelda m'tab's ball. 77 hands with some threescore cousins and connections with whom they are certain to meet. the ultras were the travelled nobility of the country, together with their shades and imitations, their sycophants and copies, who served as caricatures to these living pictures of haut ton and elegance. these arrived from midnight until two in the morning, and came only to lounge, to waltz, and to cut up their acquaintance. the ultras' ladies' heads were built up in such castles of braids, hair-bows, ornamental combs, brilliant crescents, (no conjugal reflections, this ornament being one of the east and not of the north,) feathers, flowers, &c., that the small women were extinguished under them, whilst the materialists were like elephants bearing castles. when the magnificent suite of apartments was filled, the ladies with their tower head-dresses recalled to mind the tower of babel; for there was a variety of tongues, the broad scotch of the antiquaries, the half and half of the moderés, the e 3 78 lady grizelda m'tab's ball. 1 lisp, the insipid, the draw), and the hyperenglish of the ultras and their followers. the leading features, however, of the society were winning smiles, modest beauty, engaging deportment, and numerous families. nowhere was more agility displayed than in the youthful dancers. sun-bright eyes, with complexions which to look on was to love, contrasted by raven or dark auburn air, were frequently apparent in the mazes of the dance : such northern lights are attractive beyond expression. next came the mild, the humid, full blue eye, with glossy light-brown hair, and that complexion of repose, whose quietude tells the heart that its best interests lie there, that there its affections may rest, nor seek for further happiness. lastly, the november tints of declining flora, blooming in neglect, like wall-flowers beyond the reach of hymen's hand, stood, statue like, against the hangings of the apartment, glared the forced smile, pouted the faded lip, joined lady grizelda métab's ball. 79 mentally in the dance, or accepted, with urbanity and gratitude, the hand of the elderly advocate, the juvenile complaisant clerk to the signet, or the related hangeron student. now turn to the groupes of lookers-on, the knots of criticisers, and the files of connoisseurs. quizzing-glasses are up; and looks fall upon ankles, ivory necks, and well-turned shoulders. what an ordeal for the fair to pass through? some dance with all their hearts, and some with all their minds. the untravelled caledonian maid is nature's child : she shines the terpsichore of the reel. the travelled, practised beauty, studies each attitude and glance, and conquers in the artful waltz. returned emigrants strike in the quadrille; whilst the moderates do their best in the english country dance. and now the supper is announced ! what buzzing, what arming, what seeking of partners, and what looking out for table companions! how are the eyes at work! e 4 80 lady grizelda mʻtab's ball. wa hope, fear, delight, anxiety and doubt, all reign in this little moment.— the supper is of the best. it is well chosen and befitting the table of a person of quality. the wines are exquisite; but the lady grizelda is not obtrusive in pressing them on her male friends. an ultra remarks, that the champagne has the taste of revenez-y; and the ill-natured ones say, that the negus is ter-proof. but barring these two remarks, every one goes away at day-light, delighted with the urbanity, the kindness, the welcome, and the hospitality of their lady hostess, who has put herself to no inconsiderable expense to please her friends.nor was the féte without its effect; for some made mischief, and some made matches, in consequence thereof. gang to bed, children,” cries her ladyship, to her household troops, giving them a glass of wine each. they retire with a sigh. a great load is off their minds, a very little one is on their stomachs.-now do her ladyship and nieces collect the ends lady grizelda mótab's ball. 81 of wax tapers, the fragments of the feast, and unite the remains of bottles in comely decanters for another day, this will be a rare week for the calls of country cousins ! and they will not fail to make kind enquiries after her ladyship's health. the carnival will be short, and lent must succeed it. well, it was one happy night! one splendid banquet! the wish to please overcame, upon this occasion, every other passion ; and, after all, what are lady grizelda's reflections after this costly treat? what the difference betwixt herself and the most expensive dame at the west end of the british metropolis ? the former can reflect with satisfaction on having made a return to her numerous entertaining friends, can flatter herself with standing on the record of fashionable parties, without any injury to herself or to her neighbours. a higlıland visit, or a prolongation of abstinence, will soon make up the expenditure of the feast; whilst lady squander is ruining e 5 82 lady grizelda mộtab's ball. herself by her parties in quick time, and will either fall a self-devoted victim at the altar of fashion; or visit the continent, until time or death wipe off her debts, and leave her unpaid tradesmen literally “ to pay the piper” of her fancy ball. how many have thus closed a bright but brief career, within the remembrance of 66 the hermit in the country ! nº lvi. scottish discretion. e 6 for the future be prepared, guard wherever thou canst guard; but thy utmost duty done, welcome what thou canst not shun. follies past give thou to air, make their consequence thy care : keep the name of man in mind, and dishonour not thy kind. kurns. scottish discretion. among the virtues of the caledonian, there is one which is almost of a negative kind, since it has for its basis self-interest and self-love ; and yet it screens the possessor from many exposures, from many expenses, and from many difficulties. dis, . cretion is its name,-not taken in the literal sense in which the englishman understands it, but extended generally over the scottish character, not merely for the purpose of using prosperity with moderation, or of observing secrecy with fidelity, but for many other ends of national convenience. 86 scottish discretion. a man is recommended as a lover because he is "a discreet lad.” now it is not in order that the caledonian lassie should trust him o'er muckle, or abandon herself beyond the bounds of prudence to him, for she too is a discreet lass; but because a discreet lad will be a discreet husband, and take good care of the main chance. he will also use discretion in every thing connected with their mutual interests. however they may differ at home, he will be discreet enough not to let the report go abroad. if he err for a moment, he will be too discreet to let his wife know it; and “what the eye don't see, the heart cannot grieve at," or, as the italian says, " peccato celato e mezzo perdonato.” sandy and sandy's wife are liable to frailties; but they are aye o'er discreet to trouble their neighbours aboot it, or to expose their follies in the meridian of notoriety, as english and irish fashionables do. generally they are good domestic scottish discretion. 87 . he slips and excellent matrimonial characters ; and when they are not so, why they "make believe," as the children say. again, the caledonian loves the bottle in moderation, and would give and take good cheer if in his power; but he is too discreet to be caught in scrapes like our ruffians and rakes of fashion. awa aye discreetly, and never quarrels about paying the reckoning, as pat indiscreetly does. he's too weel bred to dispute aboot treating, too discreet to outrun the constable, and too cautious to let the constable outrun him. he is too moderate to be a laughing-stock in his cups, and too honest to pay the reckoning " with a sprig of shilelah and shamrock so green;" which is sometimes pat's way of club-ing for the bill. the word discreet, again, applies even to his loyalty ; for he is too discreet to expose the honour of his country, go where he will; he would not affront auld caledonia, nor affront himself for a' the world. 88 scottish discretion. the laugh seldom goes against sandy ; or, if it does, he finds his interest in the thing. the west briton, the cambrian, the country bumpkin, let out their ignorance, and make their blunders in town; but if sandy disclose his seeming ignorance, it is to the best advantage: if sandy seem simple, it is because simplicity is most advantageous, and pays best upon the occasion. sandy's love for his country often keeps him dumb, for fear of bringing discredit. on his native toon and his native tongue; but he makes up for his silence and reserve by keen observation, and diligent listening ; both of which he turns to his own account in future, and to the honour and benefit of his natale solum. in praising, he is no niggard, for there he runs no risk ; but in condemning, in innovating, in rallying, he is very prudent. in advice, he is cautious also, for there great discretion is necessary; and a discreet body never gives gratuitous advice, never scottish discretion. 89 a ventures on this most slippery ground, without being sure of receiving either the meed of praise, or the remuneration of service. the caledonian is seldom satirical, because he is too steady and discreet to be mercurial; he has more d'à-plomb than levity, and he has the good sense to know that “a wit's a feather.” he has judgment enough to be aware that a wag has few friends, and perhaps deserves but few, for he spares neither friend nor foe in his rage for playing upon his companions, in his ambition of eclipsing his f-llow men. the discretion of sandy aye leads him to feel his way, ere he broach a new opinion ; ere he venture on a subject which may be hazardous in a general mixed company. so cautious, so cool, so quiet, and gentle, is the caledonian in leading, so modest in remark, that if he saw your house were on fire, he would strongly suspect something combustible about the dwelling! if a man in company commit 90 scottish discretion. himself, so as to talk like a maniac, and to deliver sentiments offensive to all around, sandy would strongly suspect “ that the gentleman was in a mistake." this discreetness (as he sometimes calls it) does not proceed from timidity, but from circumspection; for, to be taken by surprize is what a good general always avoids; and although his heart and hand are as firm and as kind as any man's, you must give the countersign before you open either, and, wheu applied to,“ he will , tak a thought” before he answer you ; and, as the scot is gifted with second sight, another man's second thought becomes twice two, his fourth reflection. seldom or never is sandy severe at the expense of a countryman; more for fear of libelling old scotland, than of affronting the man. to turn a scot into ridicule is coming too near home, it might, by a ricochet, and by a recoiling action, light upon himself. nay more, he honestly dislikes the measure, and feels for his country scottish discretion. 91 brother as for himself. however, when he sees the vein of humour run that way, when the tide is so strong that he cannot stem it, so as to keep a brother above water (which, by the bye, is very amiable) he will cunningly take the caledonian in his own hands, for fear he should be more roughly used by a stranger. a scottish recruit once joined the army at bombay; and when we say a scottish recruit, we mean a greenhorn of an officer. he was troubled with a cutaneous distemper, of what nature matters not; and (as he had heard of the thing in india) he complained of the prickly heat. the english and irish officers laughed; and the surgeon looked quizzing-like. sandy mögregor, an officer of rank, present, had a feeling for the young man (who afterwards turned out a most valuable officer); and he was apprehensive lest he should be too much played upon by the young ones. he, therefore, took the joke upon him. self, and took his countryman in his own 92 scottish discretion. hands, in order to turn off all national reflections. “i strongly suspect," said the veteran, " that you brought that heat a' the way from speyside ; but you young lads are aye sleeping in strange beds, and lying wi' strangers, instead of keeping discreetly at home.” this was completely averting the shaft of ridicule; and every one was disappointed, except the recruit, who received a favour and an useful lesson at the same time, the hermit in the country. nº lv1i. a cockney in scotland. pleased to have left yon sable cloud, that buries millions in its shroud ; alas! they toil, the sons of care ! and never breathe the purer air. fawkes. a cockney in scotland. i am so partial to scotland that i always peruse even the humblest tribute in its praise with great pleasure. a couple of letters on the subject having accidentally fallen into my hands, i accordingly lay them before my readers, that they may sympathize in the delights of a cockney, escaping from the noise and dust of cheapside, to freedom and fresh air in the land of cakes and heather. the hermit in the country. letters from mr. peter prig, traveller to the house of clumph and company, to his friend in london, dear john :what an advantage travelling gives a man over his neighhours ! 96 a cockney in scotland. a fellow who stands like a fixture behind his compter has no chance of enlarging his mind, whilst the traveller, who shakes off the london dust from his trowsers, divests himself of prejudice and the vernacular tongue together, and becomes, not a citizen of london, but a citizen of the world. i was never so much convinced of this, as after sojourning awhile in the caledonian metropolis, that emporium of science, the great northern mart, as we say. how you untravelled cocknies do mistake the scot! you think sandy a heavy, uncouth, uncultivated, sly creature: he is nothing of all this. well then, you consider the aberdonian to be a sharp, tricky, slippery, selfish fellow: this is equally false. he may have a bit of these ingredients in his composition; but he is just as honest as ourselves--much pleasanter and easier to deal with : but that's not to my purpose,-sink the shop ! on my first arriving on the scottish borders, i was brimful of prejudice, and was á cockney in scotland. 97 me come, ben." prepared to quiz sandy, as much as i could; and to mark his decided inferiority to ourselves. how my heart and my reason smite for such an unworthy thought! kindness and hospitality bave taken their revenge of me, in this point. the first savage sound which assailed my ears, was for this familiarity i took the liberty of observing, that i did not stand nick-names, that i was neither ben nor dick, and that i thought the address more free than welcome. the chambermaid stared; she was a pretty girl; and blushing modestly and enchantingly, she replied, “ i hope, sir, no offence; will you step in to the fire?” “no, my dear;" replied i, “ for if i did, i should burn myself; and as it is, i am between two fires,-a noble one of scotch coal, and your bright eyes, which is the most ardent of the two ?” “what's your wull?” replied jeannie (such was her name). why, love, i have not made my will, and i have no will of my own near such a sweet creavol. iii. 66 . r 98 a cockney in scotland. > ture as you."-" tut,” cried jeannie, “i canna be fashed wi' you; you speak over high english for me, but my mistress will be at you in a moment.” what this meant i knew not, but i was resigned. her mistress came in--as lady-like a woman as ever i saw, and treated me with the most courtly respect and attention: i was half reconciled to scotland already. at this moment a barbarous fellow entered with come awa' lassie; fire my chops weel, and be dune as quick as possible; where awa's the guid wife ?" what gibberish ! " i hope,” thought i to myself, " that they won't attempt to fire my chops ! but i'm determined, for the fun of the thing, to have a complete scottish dinner. i therefore ordered a sheep's head and a haggis, with the view of seeing as much of the country manners as i could : and i left the third dish to the landlady's good taste, calling for whiskey by way of beverage. now, john, the sheep's head was singed, and had whole turnips around it ; a cockney in scotland. 99 a so that it looked like a black-a-moor's head garnished with snow balls ; 'twas the most disgusting thing i ever saw. at this moment my epicurism got the better of my politeness and knowledge of the world, and i cried, with an oath, “ take away , that monster of a thing !”—“oh!” said a pert hussey, with coal-black eyes and auburn hair (a very pretty girl too), “ you • dinna like sheep's-heed, ablins you'll hae enough o’that at hame !" devilish sharp ! thought i. she now brought me some decentish barley broth, and a boiled fowl, which was tol-lol, but over-done; some very fine fish, and a bottle of as good port as any in the lord mayor's cellar. this made me a little easy; and the active, bucksome style of the lass quite struck my fancy. i had, however, only seen her face. look. ing down. i beheld her naked feet, which quite turned my stomach; but i was determined to be condescending, and to make myself agreeable to the natives; so f 2 100 a cockney in scotland. 9 smiling, “ bonny lassie,” said i, (for i am an apt scholar, and had picked up that much scotch already) “ i think you have got your birth-day stockings on!” “ and you hae gotten your ball stays,” replied she, alluding to my cumberland corset. " oh! oh!” thought i; “ quizzing,” (which i had made the order of the day) 6 won't do here ;" so i changed my tone. i now came to the haggis. gemini ! what a horror! it looked like a boiled bagpipe; a and when i stuck my knife in it, out gushed such a flood of abomination, that i was almost suffocated. i dispensed with master haggis; but when i came to taste the whiskey, it took me so powerfully by the throat, that i thought it would have suffocated me again. i can compare it to nothing but blue blazes and gunpowder, fire and smoke; i now drank a bottle of bell's ale-nectar and ambrosia! finished my wine, and ordering my horse, paid a very moderate bil), and, prepared for my departure. 1 a cockney in scotland. 101 a well, said i to myself, first impressions are strong. i am now but a few miles in scotland, and i find civil treatment, moderate charges, good wine and pretty girls : a man may do well enough here. i took a private lodging at edinburgh, and made myself comfortable. i lodge and board in the new town, which beats bath hollow, at a widow m‘clarty's. i took her at first for a poor distressed woman; but she has a fine sideboard of plate, engraved with the arms of the m'clarty family, as proudly as if she were a duchess; table linen enough to set up a draper's shop, and the most splendid bible i ever saw in my life, which she is always quoting, besides a very decent library, and handsome furniture. she says she lets lodgings for company's sake, being a lone woman, but that's all my eye. however, she is an uncommonly worthy, good sort of person. at table, i expected to show off, for the party consisted of two ministers (as they call the parsons) and two young students, f 3 102 a cockney in scotland. a one of physic and the other of law; but i could scarcely get in a word edgeways. i began to flash a little about the state of europe, when the elder minister, who might have been a minister of state for his know. ledge, opened upon me, until i was quite dumb-founded. he had history at his fingers' ends, and he knew more about the continent than i did about the counting. house, altho? a very uncouth shabby looking chap. the younger parson, too, would quote you all the british poets and authors, with a facility that astonished me, but all in a broad accent, which proved that he had never crossed the borders. the law. fellow seemed to want to talk nothing but greek and latin, mathematics, arts and sciences; but the medical gentleman, an irishman, was as gay and flighty as you could wish; and seeing how flabergasted i was, he took me under his wing to shew me life. we finished the evening together, and with this i will finish my letter. edinburgh is a rare place for learning, as you a 103 cockney in scotland. shall hear another time. in the mean while i remain, dear john, your's very truly, peter prig. p.s. the lace takes finely; vous m'entendes, as we say in french. pray take care of my bull bitch, and pay up my subscription to the club. f 4 104 a cockney in scotland. letter ii. dear john: i improve every day in my knowledge of the scots, and every day they improve in my esteem ; which i attribute to the enlargement of my views, and my liberality. the student has taken me all over edinburgh, and shown me a good deal of high life, and low life ; of both of which you will easily conceive that there is plenty, when i tell you that i breakfasted with a learned doctor in the first floor from heaven, that is to say, in the seventh story from the ground floor (high notions, you'll allow); and that i danced reels, and supped, seven stories below the doctor. such a breakfast, john ! tea and coffee, eggs, ham, boiled fish, honey, marmalade, a cockney in scotland. 105 cold moor fowl, dried fruit, besides a hundred kinds of bread. i think a fellow must be difficult indeed, if he is not pleased with such fare, tacked on to a hearty welcome. at the ball below stairs i expected to be quite the go, but i found that i fell short in my performance there, as well as in the scientific conversation, for every body reads, and every body dances, and learning is so cheap in the scotch metropolis, that it is no wonder they call it the modern athens : you may be served out at any price. by-the-by, talking of athens, i never met with a greek in scotland: that's another good thing. but to return to dancing,—the scotch women dance with all their souls : such activity! such steps ! such good timists! 'tis admirable indeed ! entre nous, i have got a dancing master to give me private lessons, and you may take your oath that i shall be quite the kick at the crown and anchor. a very peculiar thing here is a f5 106 a cockney in scotland, practising, and a dancing master's ball; the former in the morning, the latter (of course) at night. there, you may see as good dancing, for a mere trifle, as you can upon a london stage. they have what they call a high dance, which is inimitable. but what particularly interested me, is the peculiar character of maternity in which the scotch dames excel so much. you may see aged grandmothers, and elderly mammas, with half a dozen or a dozen of their children on the floor at once. the look of love, of interest, of anxiety, of approbation, and even the tremulous: -wish that they should excel, do honour to the women of the country, and prove how much heart there is even in this little example. you may (whiles, , as the scotch say) detect a look of intelligence between man and wife, kindling into the kindest expression, nay, a tincture of reflectiveness, as much as to a cockney in scotland. 107 > 2 say, “such were we, on these very boards, a few fleeting years back." apropos, the women call their husbands my man," which you southern blades laugh at; but let me tell you, that there is something very fond in the term ; very appropriate, very possessive, and i know some husbands amongst us who do not merit it, in any sense of the word. happy the husband who is a good mon ! 'tis a noble title i-from the practising let me direct your attention to the theatre. it is very fair; but not much attended. i expected to find the mob all quietness ; but the gods, as we call them, can kick up a dust even here. as to the learned professions, why they'll knock you off a gross of doctors in a morning! i went to see the ceremony, and we had 'em of all nations and colours, they've a grinding machine that hits 'em off to perfection ! mercy upon the poor patients! there was such a lot of 'em, that my irish conductor cried out “oh! f 6 108 a cockney in scotland. murder?!” as he saw them go up for exami. nation. they have very learned lectures, too, upon law, physic, divinity, chemistry, and i don't know what besides. what is most extraordinary is, that there is virtue in the chair of a professor, so that he who succeeds to it is sure to be a learned man. this virtue, too, goes by inheritance, like a name or an entailed estate, so that some of them descend regularly from father to son. how clever that must be ! by the way, it runs in my head, that there is something in the old doctorial hat, which they put on the candidate at graduation, and you'll allow that if they can thus put an old head on young shoulders, it is a wonderful effort of genius. a the scotch students fag like drayhorses at their studies, but the rest of the pieballed party of irish, west indians, foreigners, yankees, &c. are the greatest bloods in the town; so that one would think they must have the merit of inspiration, if they outdo the others, which, a cockney in scotland. 109 nevertheless, is sometimes the case. my stúdent, however, informs me that fashion goes a great way in medicine; so that it is only necessary to put a good face on the business, in order to succeed. i almost wish that i had been brought up to physic, instead of the counting-house, for i know that i have an accommodating manner, which the m. d.'s consider as the placebo, and which i am told is half the battle. my landlady is an excellent woman. she introduced me to a writer who “ lives on and off with her," that is to say (for i am sure the term will puzzle you) they inhabit the same floor, which they call a land; and he kindly took me to a half uncle's in the country, one of the best fellows i ever met with. mr. muckleweim, the lawyer, promised to shew me his policy and his park; but to my great disappointment, the policy was nothing but a very small plantation, and the park was about two acres 110 a cockney in scotland. 1 was well of grass-land without a treee in it. well, but the inside of the house furnished, and he had as good a library and a cellar as any lord. i just looked over the one, and i dipped a little more into the other, by which means i got what they call fou. after supper we had an exquisite thing which they call plotty, that is to say, a little plot against the brain, and it succeeded with me perfectly. i was somewhat mortified at one thing. the next morning, i dressed myself in a complete highland dress belonging to a young officer, on a visit at gowanbank; and i expected to have attracted the eye of my landlord's neice, a very pretty girl ; but she did nothing but laugh at me, whilst a foreigner present cried, " il n'est pas montagnard qui veut -he is not a ” mountaineer who wishes to be one. recovered from my vexation, i was overwhelmed with hospitable attention, and i have set down gowanbank in my a cockney in scotland. 111 > memorandum book, as one of the places to which my memory will pay a tribute of gratitude, whenever i think of it. but the post hour approaches fast, and i must conclude. therefore farewell, and believe me still, your faithful friend, peter prig. 1 nº lviii. hogmany; or, new year's morn in edinburgh, let mirth abound; let social cheer invest the dawning o' the year; let blithesome innocence appear, to crown our joy ; nor envy, wi' sarcastic sneer, our bliss destroy. fergusson, hogmany; or, new year's morn in edinburgh. in no part of the inhabitable globe is the new year ushered in with more mirth and hilarity than in scotland. devoid of the mummery and intrigue of a carnival, broad mirth and unrestrained freedom reign triumphant upon this occasion. it is not under a mask, that the sports of the season are enjoyed. the honest, undisguised countenance appears clad in smiles; the hand of friendship is every where as open and as light as the heart; grave features relax; stiff and starched manners unbend; and the haughty master and ob116 hogmany. 1 sequious servant lose their constrained representations,-the one rising, the other stooping to the level of equality, and to the proudest title of humanity :-namely, that of being fellow-men, children of the same great family, linked hand in hand, in the golden chain of benevolence. let us then take our stand for a moment in the caledonian capital, there to witness “the most. genuine—the only surviving example of the roman saturnalia, where honest mirth is every where afloat, and where the faithful servant may answer his master, when interrogated as to his identity, with “ davusne” “ ita davus, mancipium amicum domino et frugi;" for nowhere are fidelity and frugality more the national characteristics than on this ground. these national virtues have ever distinguished them, not only as domestic servants, but as the servants of their country, abroad and at home. the festival which i allude to, is called hogmany, a term which has been explainhogmany. 117 ed in various ways, all creditable to the 'customs and hospitality of the scotch. the religious man considers it as the octave of christmas day, and hails it as the anniversary of the blessed era of our redemption, when god vouchsafed to take upon him our frail humanity. such a person may well conceive the meaning to be a man (or rather the man) is born“l'homme est né.” another translation " imagines it to be " l'an est né," the year is born, and he ushers it in with grateful joy and jollity for added days bestowed on him, and with a heartfelt wish for length of life to all those that are near or dear to him. if such a man meet his enemy of yesterday, the national feeling, and the generous pulse, impel him to outstretch his hand; nor can he, for the life of him, help saying, “a guid new year to you!" how calculated is such a custom to inspire and improve friendship, to approximate and connect man to man, kindly to link together rich and poor', 'to promote 118 rogmany. harmony and good fellowship, and to bury resentments and prejudices ! nor is this all. there is a tender tie, which is wide awake on this merry occasion, and which converts hoc mane into what, in my opinion, is the real origin of the word (my readers will pardon the pun), into hug me nigh! on the vigil of new year's day, anxiously waiting for the stroke of twelve, you will see the lassie, clad in nature's best attire, that is, in youthfulness, sincerity, and smiles, wearying for the first fit (first foot*)—for the favoured youth who is first to salute her ripe lips and damask cheek, and fervently to wish that many a succeedhence every * it is supposed that the welfare and prosperity of every family, especially the fair part of it, depend very much upon the character of the person who is first admitted into the house on the beginning of the new year. suspected person is carefully excluded; and the lasses generally engage before-hand, some favoured youth, who willingly comes, happy in being honoured with that signal mark of female distinction. hog many. 119 ing year may preserve those charms and their possessor probably for himself. you will see almost tremulous anxiety and apprehension all awake in the broad eye, lest perhaps some “cankered auld carle,' some superannuated bachelor, should slily lie in wait to steal the bloom from off the plum, and usurp the kiss which was intended for her ain faithful sandy, or for her bonny donald. now, in the other sex, is expectation all on tiptoe, to watch the expiring vigil of the new year, and to steal a salute there, where, at another time, order and decorum might have forbid the delicious treat; to be close to fair jenny's door, and to knock at the last stroke o'twal', other should be before-hand with him, to offer the incense of an affectionate heart at the shrine of beauty. what a heavy disappointment, what a galling humiliation is his, if a paukie maiden aunt, or auld christie, the female servant, should first appear! for charity has decreed the lest any 120 hogmany. prime salute, even to our serving sisters; and antique hospitality has hidden in that honest salute, and in the cheering het pint (egg flip), a kindly lesson of morality, since “ to teach us to be kind, is nature's first, best lesson to mankind." this lesson, on the expiring embers of the last, and on the dawning birth of another year, may perhaps sink deeper into the heart than an hour's cold evening lecture, or the nasal of a monotonous homily. in addition to these kindly sensations and social arrangements, there are many merry youthful pranks played off on this cheering occasion, when it may be said, at the gay midnight hour, < 1 “rigour now is gone to bed, and advice with scrup’lous head." the humble swain watches a favourable opportunity for declaring his passion; or, for making the desired impression. the hogmany. 121 lover of a higher rank, lies in ambush for a celebrated beauty, for one whom he has long admired, but to whom he is slightly known, or perhaps scarcely introduced ; and, should he be fortunate enough to intercept her, on her road home, after eleven o'clock, he sanguinely hopes that the old year will fly upon the wings of cupid, to bring on the hour of twelve, when he can claim the sanction of custom, and the national prerogative to taste momentary bliss. then may we see the nimble foot of beauty, flying from her active pursuer; and, not unfrequently, like virgil's galatea, “ as she flies, “how much at variance are her feet and eyes ;" nor do the sons of caledonia now forget to dip the wings of old time in rosy wine. many a generous flask is drained to the bottom, whilst the hand of friendship grasps the sympathetic palm, devoting the foaming bumper to the pious orison of vol. ii. g 122 hogmany. i wishing length of days to the friend of his bosom, to the partner of his heart, to the kinsman of his own blood, to his reverend benefactor, or his honoured patron. now, too, the aged sire drops, perhaps, the involuntary tear in the joyous bowl; and looking on his rising progeny, thinks of " auld lang syne.” he sees how fleeting time is—how brief the dream of youth; yet, with a hopeful look, he pledges the cup, and wishes that the passage through life of those he loves may be calm and untroubled, and that they may escape the storms which he has weathered and survived. there is dignity in his mouth, gravity in his enjoyment, and resignation in his smile; whilst he looks forward to living over again, in the tender shoots of the family tree, the branches of which he feels proud to see blooming around his table. the night is advanced. and now we hear the hearty salutations, and cheering sounds of “guid new year to you,"-"a hogmany. 123 happy new year, sir,”—“ many happy years, bonny lassie,”-will you taste wi' us, friend?"" here's to you, sandy,”“ here's to ye donald,” _" a' happiness attend you,” and such like brief homespun patches and sentences of scottish courtesy as leave far behind, in truth and permanence, in service and trial, the most courtly and circumlocutious compliments. let the fop and the fool smile contempt on those honest, rough interchanges of kindness; but let him not dare to scowl at them. as for myself, i must say, that when the poorest of the poor, the humblest of the lowly, offers me the brim of his votive pint, i take it with gratitude, because it is offered with sincerity; nor would it dishonour the prince on his throne to cast an eye on those enjoyments of his northern brethren at the new year. “ in village, grange, and borough town, the streaming flaggon, borne from house to house, elates the poor man's heart, and makes him feel that life has still its joys. g 2 124 hogmany. the aged and the young, man, woman, child, unite in social glee : e'en stranger dogs, meeting with bristling back, soon lay aside their snarling aspect, and in sportive chace excursive scour, or wallow in the snow. with sober cheerfulness the grandam eyes her offspring round her, all in health and peace ; and, thankful that she's spared to see this day return once more, breathes low a secret prayer, that god would shed a blessing on their heads.” the hermit in the country. n° lix. twal o'clock. g3 “ that merry day the year begins, they bar the door on frosty winds; the nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, an' sheds a heart inspiring steam; the luntin pipe and sneeshin mill are handed round wi' right guid will ; the cantie auld folks crack an crouse the young anes rantin thro’ the house." burns. “ long ere the lingering dawn of that blithe morn which ushers in the year, the roosting cock, flapping his wings, repeats his larum shrill ; but on that morn no busy flail obeys his rousing call; no sounds but sounds of joy salute the year,—the first foot's entering step, that sudden on the floor is welcome heard, ere blushing maids have braided up their hair ; the laugh, the hearty kiss, the good new year pronounced with honest warmth,” graham twal o'clock. rebelvidera never said to jaffier, member twelve !" in a more impassioned tone than the scottish lass trysts her lad at that eventful hour on new year's morning. at twelve o'clock a new era is commenced, and the circle of past months has died away. the elderly moralist lingers in thought on this departed period. he compares it with the declining sand of his hour-glass. he thinks on the many suns which have arisen and set upon him, the variety of seasons which have witnessed his journey through life, the many summers and winters which have scorched his brow, 64 128 tw'al o'clock. blanched his cheek, and silvered over his hoary locks; he thinks how strength and power have declined, and how beauties and honours have faded away with himself and others, leaving no trace behind. the young adventurer, whether male or female, who has but just reached the meri. dian of youth, who has just put the little bark to sea, who blooms only in promise of a glorious summer, looks not back, but lives in expectation of many more youthful pleasurable days and years. to such a one, time seems to hobble; his scythe appears like an old man's crutch; his hour-glass freezes in its passage. fain would the youthful expectant lash on the chariot horses of the departing sun, in order to see the nimble race of one impetuous day. in polished circles, the family party, strengthened by particular friends, and wide-spreading connexions (for no where does the family tree shoot its branches wider or with more honour to the stem twal o'clock. 129 than in scotland), is assembled round the supper table. -eleven has struck.the joke, the smile, and the mantling glass, circulate with the winged moments. the eye of vigilant severity is closed like the benighted flower. the busy hour of twelve is to call new loves, new friendships, and fresh pledges of regard and adherence, into life and action. it is a trenulous moment for many an anxious bosom, whose beating, like the movement of a watch, marks the increasing moments, and wavers betwixt hope and fear, lest any intruder should first make that offering of regard which she prizes from one alone. it is a merry second to the father of a family, or to the jovial guest, who rises, all heart, to salute his friends and favourites, to give a fillip to the pulse of age, and to pour the votive benediction over a beloved progeny. it is a time of reminiscence to the happy wife and mother, whose eyes glisten with g 5 130 twal o'clock. lustre borrowed from the treasures of memory, and who has an arch something in her countenance, half devout and half voluptuous. the new year's kiss from husband and children has all its virtue and price with her. and now are frolic and fancy both at work to promote the interest of the heart, and to play arch tricks and merry conceits on some object marked out for mirth. here is an uncouth country kinsman placed next to an antique aunt, or unattractive cousin, who has passed unsaluted and unsolicited for years. on the other side of him is placed the domine, perhaps ; so that he has nobody to salute but the auld maid. opposite him is all the artillery of pawkie een, and the “ becks and winks and wreathed smiles, such as dwell on hebe's cheek;" the titters and inuendoes of lovely ones in their teens. there is no retreating, and the silly loon must pass through the ordeal. aunt margaret and cousin tibby twal o'clock. 131 ken it weel, and try to shift their place. but then will the arch beauties also make a move, so as to keep the object of their sport betwixt the granny and the domine. now is the honest undisguised roar, and the full deep tone of mirth admissible, even in good company, because liberty and ancient custom give the sanction of time and truth to the usage. now, however, must delicious kisses be enjoyed with modesty, and little mortifications be borne with gracefulness and equanimity. sometimes the sly beauty leaves the table, and takes her stand near a door where he who has to enter is previously known to her. in what a flutter is her youthful pulse for fear of a mistake! for she has two objects in this arrangement: first, the object of her choice ; and secondly, that of letting the embrace pass unobserved. as we should never slight “ the humble annals of the poor," we must travel, in thought, to the outer door, and there beg6 132 twal o'clock. 1 hold jenny or peggy looking out for the lad they loo best," and ready to give and take the premices of the new year discreetly, and without muckle din. should a superior or a master arrive, instead of trysted jemmie, they may be flattered, but they will not be delighted. keep tryst" (which we confess, from certain associations, pleases us beyond “keep your appointment) is then the national motto ; and those who violate the promise must be faithless nymphs and swains. “delays are dangerous in love;" mistakes may be fatal on this exhilarating occasion. it is a sad reproach to the honest bosom of sincerity, which sinks with dejection, whilst the sunbright eye is overcast, and the features bespeak faded hope, to hear “ sae, sae, bonny lassie, your lad has mistrysted you !". may these scenes of violated promise and wounded affection be far, far from all the sons and daughters of caledonia ! and you, ye frozen stoics, ye souls of twal o'clock. 133 apathy, whom “man delighteth not, nor woman either”-ye who can mark the distance which chance, perhaps, has placed betwixt you and your fellow men, darken not the lightsome merry scenes of scotland's hogmany. your closets and retirement are fitter for you than the haunts of mirth, and better “suit the gloomy habit of your souls." but all ye blithesome lads and lasses, whoe'er ye be, who tread on heather, or who cull the forest flowers-ye mountain children, lowland lads and lasses, or merry borderers, may ye first salute or be saluted by them who have the first place in your hearts! may no mortifying mistakes dim your een, or shed more than nature's common crimson on your blooming cheeks! may the busy hour of midnight bear the gilded, yet steady reflection of the morn! may mirth steer clear of intemperance ; and may frolic not put off the mask of native innocence! may the joys of this year be only the jocund heralds and happy 134 twal o'clock. 1 forerunners of many succeeding ones! may youth improve and mature, and old age be preserved and respected! may a happy blending of " the myrtle of venus and bacchus's vine" be arranged with that economy which wisdom and chaste love will dictate to their followers; and, whilst you strew flowers over your past paths and opening prospects, may the fruits of your enjoyment be peace ! plenty! harmony ! and festivity! and may ye accept this heartfelt wish, as a sincere and votive offering from the hermit in the country. no lx. the scot's fire-side. new year. the cordial greetings of the soul were visible in every face; affection, void of all controul, govern'd with a resistless grace. bloomfield, 1 the scot's fire-side. and now six and thirty cousins have been embraced; cards of congratulation have been exchanged; all the dependents have received some tokens of kindness; and the numerous family is assembled round the fire. the mother looks proudly on her many bairns, thinking at least that she has quantity, if not quality in her family; but she has room in her heart for all of them. the husband has a care-worn face, lit up by a smile, a placid forehead, but a very keen, inquiring eye. he knows how to make himself baith loved and feared by his chil138 the scor's fire-side. a dren. he looks like an anxious shepherd over his flock. there is all the master in his air, yet fondness shines across assumed severity, of which there is not an iota more than necessary for keeping up the family drill. the eldest daughter is deputy governess of the castle; the chief government being divided betwixt the elderly couple. therefore has annie a little step above the rest; whilst wee johnny is a little the more indulged, on account of his being the last born, and the increase of children baving ended with him. barring, however, the little weight which greater confidence throws into the scale in favour of the elder, and a little leaning to the child of this honest couple's old age, there is no undue favour or affection shown to any of the children. the father casts his parental eye over them, hegh, hegh !” cries he, thinking whát a fight he has had to bring up such a family. now annie has been attending to pies, custards, and tarts; she has cast an eye 66 the scor's fire-side. 139 over the cook’s concerns; the turkey, she thinks, will be roasted to a turn; and her own confectionery, she expects, will be praised to the skies. she has been drilling the aukward highland footboy, in order that lie should make the best appearance in his new livery, and wait like a town flunkey, that the family may not be affronted before their rich cousin the general, just come from india, with plenty o? siller, and in whose eyes (somehow or other), she wishes to have merit. 'tis a pity that annie is turning a little old, for annie would mak' a discreet wife. jane has just come in from her morning round. she salutes her father, who looks with much affection on her. she is not so handsome as margaret; but then, she has much more to say for hersel': she has a deal o'mither wit, and a pretty arch way of telling her story. now all the family are assembled; the general is announced ; and the dinner cirl cle is formed. the father looks round with 140 the scot's fire-side. a self-approving smile, and counts, in silence, his bairns-no less than twelve. hegh, hegh! but sandie and donald, and andrew are not there. this costs a sigh. -but sandie is fighting his country's battles in the east, and expects to be included in the next brevet ; and donald, who is a strapping fellow, is fighting by his side ; and their patron lord has promised not to lose sight of him until he gets a company.-poor andrew died like a hero at waterloo. well, 'twas better to have a glorious son, and to give him to the state, than to have a disgraceful one who should be a stain on his family. this reflection cheers him, and chases the coming tear. he has no blot in his escutcheon. the bottle circulates briskly; and with it, the jest.' the female tongues are not paralized, but run as if no anti-attrition were necessary to their main spring.and now the females have left the table. papa tells his male companions“ how he has seen the day, and what success he has had” the scot's fire-side. 141 in war and in love; but he takes care to name the latter to the old general in a semitone, lest his cousin should overhear him, or his boys be scandalized. and then he praises the good qualities of his daughters, and sincerely wishes them married. none of them, however, are yet off his hands, but ellen, who has made a good match. the laird of glen eagle seems to have a fancy for betsey; but he's very long in declaring himself. now reels are announced. there are three-score assembled. behold the jealousies of the girls about getting cousin chairley, the captain, and uncle john, the rich writer, for partners ! now such frisking and bounding ! such nimble footing and agile attitudes ! such dancing, and snapping of fingers (amongst the men), that you would think their very hearts were in their feet! the reel may be thought a very simple piece of business; but it's no such thing : there is a vast deal of exertion, female flirting, exhibition of strength and 142 the scor's fire-side. activity, and even a complete national character in this national dance. suffice it to say, on this occasion, that jealous looks and partial preferences were shewn in the reel,--which, for a passing moment, caused dry answers and cold looks betwixt relatives ; but all was soon right. a rival easily perceived the increased interest which 'fair susan discovered in setting to the captain ; and a neglected lovely one was aware that the laird doubled in activity and enterprize, when danc. ing opposite cousin betty. the lawyer seemed to have an eye to a rich aunt, and danced languidly with all the others : and the eldest daughter was fearful and anxious that the general should acquit himself de. cently. the head of the house, nerved with good port and madeira, and elated with a glass of peatreekit, rose like the oak in the forest, in the pride and fullness of its branches, and took out the faithful partner of thirty years. attention-was the word, the scor's fire-side. 143 faither and mother sailed, rather than danced through the reel. faither's head got light with whiskey, and innocent and honourable remembrance of the days of lang syne. but, if the head were light, the foot betrayed its director, and the aged sinew forgot its usual elasticity. some stood clear; and on more than one giddy countenance, the titter of derision tried to steal; but a grave look from a sister, a fond and dutiful reflection, punished the wanton lip and eye, and gave a transitory pang to the bosom, whispering at the same time in the ear, “what a good father he has been to thee! what an upright maa ! how beloved ! how respected ! how honest! how venerable! what will these charms these feet-these ancles of thine be at sixty-six ?” truth triumphed, and a beam of joy, enriched by dutiful affection, shone in every face as it met that of the father of the family, whilst increased rapidity of pulse vibrated in his children's veins, as they turned their friend and father. 144 the scot's fire-side. the dance is o'er.the auld general proposed kissing of partners; but he was of the old school; the custom is obsolete. the girls said that the very idea was horri-ble. the supper succeeded ; jane sang very pathetically; and every thing promises the perpetuation of the family; since the general is to take annie, jane is to have the captain, and the laird and lawyer have both made proposals, all of which particulars were communicated, with much exultation, by one of the clan, to the hermit in the country. no lxi. northern votaries of bacchus. vol. iii. h he loved him weel as ony brither, they had been fu' for weeks thegither. burns. northern votaries of bacchus. 毒 ​66 2 one cold winter's evening, as i was sitting with a certain jovial marquis over a flowing cup, we were led to enumerate the companions of our festive hours, to mention their various qualities, and to question each other as to their fate. pledge me a cup to the immortal memory of burns," said his lordship, “ that favourite of the muses, the bard of nature. what heart-inspiring sentiments flow in his numbers ! they warm the bosom like generous wine, and wrap a man, as it were, in affection's mantle! nothing but the pure milk of human kindness runs н 2 148' northern votaries of bacchus. warm and clear through his heart on these occasions. alas! where is he?-in an untimely grave.-but he lives in the bosom of every true caledonian.” we next passed in review the gallant no warmer heart ever animated a manly breast. in his sober moments he was sentimental ; and in his hours of festivity he was indeed delightful. he would divide his all with a brother. what would he not do, at any time, to relieve distress! but over the fancy-stirring bowl, his life, his liberty, his property seemed cheap to rescue the orphan or the widow, to dry up affliction's tear, to protect the helpless, or avenge injured honour ! yet scarcely thirty summers have tinged his brow, empurpled with the grape's ripe juice, when he too has made his passage to that country “ from whose bourne no traveller returns :" “ alas! poor yorick !' 6 ! here an unbidden swelling of the heart cominanded silence for many moments, when we drank to our friend's memory... northern votaries of bacchus. 149 some ." poor donald bain !” exclaimed his lordship ; “shall you ever forget the nobility of his disposition ? too proud to receive a favour, too delicate to incur debt. in his latter days," continued the peer, 6 when he was nearly burned out, and when he had sold his little highland property, and was living on the almost exhausted produce of his commission, i went to dine with him, and hinted that i had ey to spare if he wanted it. his answer was no, no ; i love to increase a friend's comforts, but never to diminish them; your ain guid heart (to use poor donald's own words) will find plenty o? ways for your siller.' i insisted upon drinking nothing but whiskey punch after the bottle at dinner. to this he consented; but when, after a most potent quantity of the barley bree had been drunk, i talked of parting and of taking no more, "what!' exclaimed donald ; and wad ye, after i had been half starving mysel for a month to hae a heavy drink the6 h 3 150 northern votaries of bacchus. gither, leave me this way in the middle o' the night?' i felt the friendship, the compliment, the hearty welcome of my host, and--the sun lit us at our parting. poor donald perished in fording a river, when bacchi plenus !” we next touched on the exit from this eventful scene of life of colonel produced by his own hands; and then came to the witty, the inimitable l, whose table bon mots, and flashes of wit, called forth by bacchus, would fill entire folios; whose company was the talisman of conviviality, whose presence was a charm at the festive board, whose naïve, pure scottish humour, had a secret excellence of originality which mingled admiration with mirth, and wedded esteem to laughter,--whose good-natured satire injured none, yet frolicksomely brushed or tickled all.-what spirits, what genius, what constitution! and yet, to what is he now reduced ! debilitated, and nearly bent double, he energes from a feverish northern votaries of bacchus. 151 bed in the afternoon, and carries a living death about him until the hour of dinner, when the stimulus of wine and stronger liquors awakens memory, and gives him a kind of false existence. in the morning, so nervous is he, that the opening of a door shakes him to the centre : the least surprise subdues him ; involuntary tears flow upon the most trivial occasions ; whilst he turns aside from his own wasting and decaying strength, and scarcely dares to contemplate in his glass the ruins of a fine manly form, and those features which bespeak a glorious intellect sadly misapplied. “i saw him one day,” said the marquis, “trembling and hesitating on the brink of a little burnie, as we call it, not two feet wide. his nerves were shaking; he was all fear, shame, regret, and irritation ; yet dared he not attempt to step across it-such was the enfeebled state of his mind, such the languid, paralyzed condition of his body! and this in a man who was as active as a roe, on foot, > h 4 152 northern votaries of bacchus. and would leap a five barred gate when out with the hounds, a few years ago. confound the bit burnie!' cried he; i hae seen the day when i wad ha drunk it dry, if it had been whiskey! and now to be sae fashed about sic a trifle is awfu' indeed!' taking a retrospect of these scenes, and of the actors in life's drama who endeared them to me, “how sincerely,” said i to myself, “ is it to be regretted that such souls should have been but like summer insects, and have enjoyed only a mere. sunny ray, a transitory apparition, a lucid interval before the darkness of futurity! how lamentable that such talents, such virtues, and brilliant qualities should have suddenly expired in the haze of intoxication, after having been little more than ignes fatui, to lure our erring steps to the brink of that precipice whence they have fallen." i mean not to say, that these scenes have no charm. i am alive to all the mel. northern votaries of bacchus. 153 а low feelings of ripened and overflowing benevolence, which wine matures and softens in the bosom, during the glow of friendship and festivity! how many a rapturous delight has the bacchanalian torch lighted men to ! how often do we see the wrinkles of age, and the furrows of care smoothed into youthful softness and rosy health, when the vessels of the wasted heart have swelled with "the juice of velez' scorched vine!” how does the potentdraught expand the narrow heart; nay, even unlock the miser's chest! how arch is wit, how artless is brotherhood, how kind the softer sex, touched by this magic wand ! alas! we must not trust the witchcraft of the enchanter's cup! often the unlocked heart has received a serpent to its centre, and the dazzled imagination has unbraced the thorns of conscience, which lurked amongst the flowers of love. tis dangerous to touch the foaming brim of that inviting bowl, whose dregs are poverty, misery, and remorse. to taste is de. н 5 154 northern votaries of bacchus. lightful; but to drink deep is to drain it of the poison which its dregs contain. how many valuable friends, victims to the infatuation of intemperance, have been lost to the hermit in the country. nº lxii. auld lang syne. e 6 “ we twa ha paid'lit in the brook, whan simmer days war prime, but seas between us baith have roar'd sin days of auld lang syne.” burns. auld lang syne. education in scotland is an object of major importance. the scot thirsts for knowledge; the poorest get a taste of the stream; even very humble individuals make the most generous, praiseworthy sacrifices, in order to educate their progeny in a decent and respectable manner. hence the rapid improvement of the country, the frequency of eminence in different branches of learning and science; the studious turn of the scotchman, the grave and tranquil habits which he imbibes; the paucity of crimes, and the fair proportion 158 auld lang syne. of prosperity generally attendant on his honest and industrious endeavours, wisdom makes the caledonian peculiarly happy, because wisdom cannot exist without morality. a man may be profound in some branch of knowledge : but he only is truly wise, who is truly good. but not to the grave and solid advantage of education and learning only, does the caledonian owe the happiness which they produce. his most pleasurable enjoyments are in the links and associations of blended friendship and education, dear to him is the school companion of his early years : closely connected with his own well doing is the welfare of such a brother of adoption, a class fellow ! the word is full of the most warm and kindly feeling. the fraternity of the school, of lectures, of instruction, and of letters, operates most powerfully on his heart and mind. “what, my auld school cronie!" will cry a brother scot, meeting such a one at the very extremity of the globe, or auld lang syne. 159 care. couching in the cold bivouac—“my auld class fellow !”-“why, man, what brought you here?" there is an electric effect in this which warms the scot to his heart's core. to see the companion of his early studies, cheers the lone hour, charms the overcoming toil, cheats the weary moments, and sweetens the bitterest cup of strewed with flowers is the path which they tread together ; gently and bewitchingly with them roll on the hours of social intercourse. how affection beans in each eye whilst enjoying a crack on the subject of the school, the honest domine, the quaint, yet worthy maister ; about the classics, the playing truant, the juvenile sports, and all these dear nothings, which, summed up together, amount to volumes of benevolence and good fellowship. can łe then who has visited the early fount of knowledge, with his cronie and playmate, see him cold or hungry, poor or ill lodged, unprosperous and neglected, oppressed or insulted, without looking back to former 160 auld lang syne. years of mutual intimacy, which lead him to take him by the hand, nay by the heart, and to support and uphold him, with a share of what he has ? it is for this reason that we see scotchmen shoulder to shoulder, in ascending the steep acclivity of fortune, and that the envious reproach them with nationality, instead of lauding them for that neighbourly feeling, which makes self-love and social but one. this strong caledonian feeling operates in every stage and circumstance of life; and is of the most beneficial tendency in all, even the humblest classes. sandy or donald cannot be disgraced in any undertaking abroad or at home; for he is sure to meet with his schoolfellow go where he will. the honour of his mountain, his straith, his glen, his town or his country, is ever jealously supported : the eye of a playmate or class-fellow, of a clansman or of à neighbour's child, is ever proudly and anxiously turned upon him, and he must 'neither disgrace them, nor himself. auld lang syne. 161 how many a scottish heart has burned within its owner's bosom, when he has recognized a school-fellow leading on to death, or victory! how many a tearful eye has run over, whilst reading the detail of a school-fellow's well deserving of his country! mark the eye of the early playmate upon unexpectedly opening on a kindred soul, a second self, who needed not the more imperious claim of relationship to endear him to him. behold the adherence through life, of men brought up and educated together; and then let the worldlings call it prejudice if they dare. losing my road in the wilds of badenoch, i halted, and cast an anxious, fearful eye round, to see if any human being was within hail, for the veil of night was dropping over the earth, and i expected that its sable covering would soon render every object undiscernible. never did i more sensibly feel the dependence of one being on another ;-that beautiful practical lesson of a heavenly parent, who 162 auld lang syne. teaches us “ to love each other,”-not " only from our affections, but from our mutual necessities. i looked at the ho. rizon, and saw the last streak of light was going down. there was but the neversleeping eye. of omnipresence open to protect the wanderer; no light but his, who gives the traveller courage, recollection, and hope, to guide him on his lone path. at length the welcome appearance of a fellow man shone through the twilight, for it was now what the caledonian appropriately and descriptively calls the gloaming, when the hour of shadows is past, and there no longer remains the last gilded ray elongating objects. the old man, at a distance, looked almost like a speck upon the face of darkhis stature, gradually increased by approach, in magnitude and importance. he stepped up to me with a cheerful, confident air, whistling a strathspey, and followed by two shaggy highland dogs, full ness. a auld lang syne. 163 of fidelity and intelligence. “guid e'en to ye,” said he, making a rustic bow; " ye need na' be afraid o’ being benighted; for even if we were to miss the road, whiskey and columdubh would conduct us safe hame." i here observed that whiskey had led me a sad dance, for that a generous highlander had kept me so long at his house, taking a lunch, and the cup o' better acquaintance, and then the cup o' friendship, and lastly the parting cup, that i had lost all account of time, and was apprehensive of losing my way, and of having to bivouac on the moor. " hout!” cried he, with an air of disdain of care or misadventure, “ye maun juist tak a wie drap mair in my cabin the night, and a check o' mutton ham, and a muir fool wi' me, for it is quite dangerous to pass the fuird." blessed retirement and simplicity of manners ! true parents of friendship and of hospitality! how base and paltry do town habits appear before ye! in great а 164 auld lang syne. towns, man mistrusts man. in these wilds, bleak muirs, and woods of sepulchral pine, man clings to man, every heart beats in unison, hand seeks for hand, and the links of social connexion are double locked and rivetted to each other! i accepted the venerable old man's invitation, and partook of the hospitality of his cottage. it would be an insult to attempt to clothe in wordiness and circumlocution, his kind reception-his genuine highland welcome. every highlander is hospitable, and “he maks nae words aboot it.” good cheer, good humour, honest civility, and improving converse, sweetened the hours betwixt repast and repose; but the morning scene was what dwells most in my mind. i had gone, in company with the schoolmaster's son, to look over the improvements of his very small farm, in which courtesy and gratitude taught me to take all possible interest; when, on entering his saloon, boudoir, study, library, and auld lang syne. 165 refectory (for they were all one and the same apartment), i saw two tall, sunburnt, weather-beaten young men enter. the one was in the garb of old gaul ; the other had on a regimental great coat and a highland bonnet, with an eagle's feather in it. the old man rose and gave a pure highland shout, demonstrative of surprise and extacy, and with electrical rapidity, the two youths had each a hand of the schoolmaster clenched in both of theirs. they shook hands heartily, and for a few seconds it was the magic eloquence of eyes, the matchless expression of silence. : at length the old man relieved his bosom by ejaculating, “heigh! heigh! ! sirs, and is it ye? after seven long years o'absence, in which ye've wandered mony a weary fit! what brought ye here? and” (his face brightening with smiles and rosy health, his nerves doubly strung, his pulse dancing with the velocity of youth, and proud self-approbation crim166 auld lang syne, soning his cheek,) is it possible that ye hae come on purpose to see me?” “juist sae, my worthy maister,” said the eldest. just so, my dear domine," exclaimed the younger, with an arch and affectionate air, and tapping bim sportively and kindly on the back. “ tears rapped down the auld man's cheeks,” and again all was momentary silence. “how's mither?" cried one of them. “oh! brawly,” replied the schoolmaster, "she'll be maist out o' her senses wi' joy to see ye: we heard that ye war killed at talavera."-" tut!" exclaimed they simultaneously, with a manly and soldier-like expression of contenipt for danger. “sandy got a clink upon's airm, . but he can wield the braid-sword yet; and as for me, it seemed that bullets had no fancy for me, for plenty of them played crack upon comrade's heads, but i got off scot free.” “but, i say, how's auld syntax, the shelty?" here the schoolmaster heaved auld lang syne. 167 à deep sigh “ puir beastie !” replied he, in a subdued tone, “ he is deed." " deed !” exclaimed the youngest warrior: "i wud nae a' had him die for a purse o' goud.” and here the rose twice visited and twice left his cheek. “what pranks i hae played wi' the puir beastie !" here he looked back to infantine days and sports, and the gravity of retrospect sat very becomingly on the front of youth. “heigh! heigh !” concluded he, which meant, “every thing is transitory in this nether world." the old man quite forgot me, and i quite forgot myself, standing in profound attentiveness and in undivided respect for the actors in this scene of sensibility. at length, starting and apologizing, he introduced me to the two young officers, who shook me by the hand as a friend and comrade at first sight. the old lady, the schoolmaster's wife, now entered, and a new scene of congratulation and affection followed. at length 168 auld lang syne. the hour of departure arrived. the old man expressed much regret at the shortness of his pupils' visit, which however was unavoidable. he conducted them forth, walking betwixt them, and linked hand in hand, bald and bare-headed, and with his silver locks whistling in the highland breeze. at length they shook hands; looked eloquently at each other, and he watched them until they were out of sight. i distinguished, in the expression of his manly features, the reminiscences of scenes of their infancy and tender years, and, as the first anacreontic writer of the age says“he gaz'd, as fond memory's vision went by, and doubled his bliss through the tear in his eye.” what were the young men? his sons ?no. his relatives ?-no. or benefactors ?-no. they merely had been his scholars in their juvenile years, and, out of respect and love for the old man, they had travelled thirty miles to see him. all the localities of their childhood his patrons auld lang syne. 169 were dear to them; all the associations of past time weighed deeply in their minds. how creditable to youth this feeling! how honourable to old age and to the old man's character ! such scenes are amongst the most agreeable reminiscences of tae hermit in the country. vol. iii. c no lxiii. τ η e f ο υ. i 2 scotland, my auld, respected mither, tho' whiles ye moistify your leather till where ye sit, on craps o' heather you tine your dam : freedom and whiskey gang thegither! tak' aff your dram! burns. 1 > the foy. a there is a gentle pleasure in reflection, which sinks deeper into the heart than the greatest blaze of present pomp and enjoyment, which always dazzles more than it delights. the present may deceive us ; the past cannot : like tried and experienced friendship, the past has no uncertainty in it. moreover, as it is the lot of man to mingle regrets with his fondest affections and his keenest bliss, so the gentle glow of regret for the days o' lang syne, are to the heart, what the declining rays of the setting sun, or the fainter and gentler moonbeam, modestly succeeding the orb of day, are to landscape. i 3 174 the foy. thus is it with the reminiscences which the festive scene called a foy ever brings to my mind; when sitting alone, with my glass before me, i yield to the waking dream of life, and look back to dear scenes, and dearer friends of my bosom, who have passed away, borne on the stream of time, and have faded from life's picture, alas ! to return no more. at a very early period of life i parted with a college companion, who at the instant i am penning these lines, stands present in every feature before me; and brings a tremulous tear into my eye, which i neither could, nor would chase away from it. i see him, at this moment, in the strength of youth, in the beauty of manliness, in the verdure of years; tall, robust, strongminded, yet that masculine intellect so blended with the milk of human kindness, that the softest of the softer sex was not gentler, milder, or tenderer than he. peace to thy manes, thou comrade of my youth? thou hast fallen in thy country's cause, like the foy. 175 the young oak in the forest; but thou wilt never cease to be firmly rooted in my heart's core ! this valued friend had completed his academic studies, and with an adorned mind and a courageous heart, was about to follow the banners of his native country, in quest of laurels. he resolved, therefore, to give his foy to his chosen college friends, with whom he had been the most intimate, and who loved him as a brother; nor was the honest domine, who had di.rected his intellectual exercises, and cultivated morality in his mind, excepted from the treat. it was a delightful scene, a truly festive night, where all was heart; not a: word exhaled the lip which breathed not kindness; not a hand met the hand of fellow man but was rivetted in the clasp of honest attachment. i shall pass, however, from all that may appear selfish (though in such a scene, selflove and social are the same); and instead of describing the magic operations of our i 4 176 the foy. bowl, or mingling the regretful tear in the goblet foaming with friendship, i shall describe the foy of the caledonian, as it is unknown to his southern brethren. when a chum is about to quit college, or when a relative, or friend, or neighbour, is on the eve of leaving home, it is an old scottish custom for him to give his farewell treat. this is no banquet of pride, no false display of plate, mirror and porcelain, no intriguing dinner to purchase a vote, or to worm out an opinion-no greeking entertainment, at which the beart presides not, and for which the guests may sooner or later pay dear; here, on the contrary, all is warmth and sincerity. the head may ache from the juice of the grape, or from the honest « barley bree;" the heart may sorrow for the loss of a dear friend : but, “like affection's dream,” it leaves no sting behind. it is one of the occasions in life where the affections are feasted, and where the votive glass is but a dumb orison poured for the welfare and the return of him the foy. 177 whom we love, whilst he pledges us in generous, unqualified, undisguised reciprocity of sentiment; and if the tongue be a stranger to eloquence, yet the eye glistening with expression, the cheek crimsoning with tenderness and truth, are nature's interpreters, and render it superfluous, nay impossible,“ da raggionar d'amori.” the very name foy given to such a feast, bespeaks its integrity, and discovers its value. it is “ sa foy,” his faith, which the departed friend plights to the companions of his youth : 'tis a faith, not specu. lative or sceptical ; not wavering or biassed by interest; not feigned or saleable; but true, firm and unshaken ; honest and im1 mutable; it is one on which you may risk your life, or pledge your honour,—the donor of the foy will defend both at the hazard of his heart's blood. thus it was with my friend. thus it was with the whole festive circle of which he was the light, in which he shone, and which he warmed with the rays of his generous and 1 5 178 the foy. hospitable benevolence. and it is but justice to scotland to say of her with the immortal burns “ an if she promise auld or young to tak their part, tho' by the neck she should be strung, she'll no desert.” on such an occasion, the founder of the feast plights you his faith that you shall not be forgotten; that in distance he will ever keep in view. his country and his friends : he solemnly promises with the heart, not with the lips, that no changes or chances, no time or absence, no increase of years or variety of circumstances, shall alter his views, so as to exclude from his bosom bis home and comrades, or break the fine thread of duty, patriotism, and fraternity, which binds him to his native shore. let any man after this say, that there is not a solemnity in such a meeting. no one can make such an assertion without violating truth and insulting humanity. the foy. 179 the foy is hallowed by friendship, and dignified by antiquity. it is dear to the scotchman, not only from the nature of its sacred obligation, but from its correspondence with the scottish heart, from its affinity to his feelings, from its fitness, to his honest nature. i may be thought partial, in drawing this picture so strongly; but i should be base if i drew it otherwise -if i slurred over the strong resemblance, disfigured one feature of the scotchman's heart, or misrepresented one iota of his habits. the foy, therefore, is not merely an adieu dinner as in other countries, but it is a treat given for the express purpose of pledging regard and good wishes; a meeting instituted for the contracting of a mutual, voluntary engagement, amongst friends and countrymen, in addition to all former ones interwoven in our nature, and registered in the tablets of our memory. in life it binds us mutually to each other ; in death it makes us still live in the bo. 1 6 180 the foy. a som of friendship, and survives the shock of mortality. the faith of a scotchman to his friends and country, is a main object in his life, distinctive mark of true birth and unsullied nature. it commences at as early a period as that of quitting home after his academical studies, and on his entry into professional or other life; and it only closes with his being borne, amidst sorrowing companions, to his last home and narrow lodging, to his turf pillow and final rest. happy those friends who have been united in youth, who have stedfastly adhered together through the warfare of life, and who have had the soft hand of affection to smooth their pillow of death, who have shared together the smiles of fortune and the endearments of love, and have assisted each other in partaking of those burthens which life's toil, and the checquered lot of man impose, more or less, upon us all. such men can look back with tender emotion and grateful feeling to the past, the foy. 181 and with cheerful humility and smiling hope to the future. memory gilds the past scene; confidence in the supreme being throws glowing colours on their perspective; the surviving playmates of their infancy will be the approving companions of their increasing years, whilst uprightness, truth and honour will make them respected in old age, as the constant heliotrope worships the sun in its decline with the same zeal as at its rising. such were my reflections on the foy given by my friend ; and of many convivial recollections it has always been the dearest to the memory of the hermit in the country. nº lxiv. t ꮋ ꭼ ꭰ ꭱ ꭺ ꭻ ꭼ. there bore him barefac'd on his bier, six proper youths and tall; and many a tear bedew'd his grave, within yon kirk-yard wall. percy. 1 the draje, or trajet. in no country of the habitable globe do relations and friends more strictly adhere to punctilious decorum, and ancient rites and ceremonies, than in scotland : every marked event in life is noticed by them ; and they kindly attend upon the members of their family, giving support, and identifying themselves with the name of their house, or the not less sacred name of friendship, on all occasions where respect and adherence can render service, or mark attachment. at the close of the eventful drama of life, this reverential attention is paid by 186 the draje. > 1 the scotch in the most impressive manner. the remotest relations hold it a bounden duty to attend the remains of the deceased, and not only to attend, but to contemplate him, to look their last on the departed, to pay the generous tribute of a tear, or of a sigh, where further service and respect must cease; and where worldly interest has no promise to claim, no view to realize. they are, therefore, present even at what they call “ the chesting” (the nailing down of the coffin); and whoever knows the scottish character, or whoever has been present at this ceremony, will allow that there reigns, on the occasion, a sober, sedate deportment, a grave and dignified bearing, a submissive and respectful conduct, truly befitting the awful occasion. whatever be the rank of the deceased, whatever the situation in life of the assembled friends and kinsmen, the same adherence to propriety presides at the sad relatives mildly and tranquilly greet each other; the flush of youth melscene. the draje. 187 lows into the ripeness of reflection; the furrowed cheek of age wears the pale livery of woe. often do the bye-standers shake their heads, or bend the neck in token of heartfelt remembrance, in the expression of their conviction of the uncertainty of human existence, and in resignation to the will of the most high. not unfrequently are the merits of the deceased made the lugubrious theme of short but serious converse; or some brief sentence of bitter regret, or of warmest eulogy, does honour to his memory. the coffin is closed : the earthly picture is blotted out for ever; but the impression sinks deep in the beholder's heart. “we ne'er shall look upon his like again," is generally in terms more or less eloquent, briefer or more detailed) uttered and reechoed by the mournful train. the body moves slowly forward ; it is followed with inore than ordinary decent pomp ; and if in scotland, according to the rites of the presbyterian church, all orison ceases with 188 the draje. . the departure of the corpse from the house of the deceased : if there are now no longer any " pious orgies, pious prayers, there are not wanting "decent sorrow, decent tears." the body is. laid in its lonely bed; and every one salutes its lowering, bareheaded, and with no common degree of reverence. friends then look on friends; relatives incline to relatives; and most generally separate in the profoundest silence. we do not mean to deny that there is something majestically commanding to the feelings in the pealing anthen, in the swelling organ, in the chaunted requiems and eloquent service of other religionsthe burning taper, and the badge of our redemption carried before the dead. “we war not on men's creeds :" it is not here our province to discuss them; all we mean to show is, the dutiful observation of respect exhibited by the scotch on this, as well as in every other serious circumstance of life. they are naturally grave, and the draje. 189 hence arises much of their worth-hence springs much of their talent and success in life. we now come to the ceremony of drinking the draje, or rather of the votive cupoffering which is poured over the departed. in polished circles, this antiquated ceremony is reduced to refreshment, consisting of wine and cake given to the funeral party, and it is incorrect not to touch the briin of the cup on such occasion. in remoter times, and even now in situations remote from the capital, the regular custom of drinking the trajet is observed. an orison, merely mental, or conveyed in words lowly uttered, is poured over this last cup; ; for the deceased is still in the room, still do his mortal remains hallow the hospitable hall of his progenitors. “to his me: “ mory,” is often sobbed, or sighed out, or perhaps some sturdy clansman takes off the cup in expressive silence, with burning eye, bent brow, and quivering lip, warring strongly with half-sudued and 190 the draje. half-yielding nature. such a man nay tremble in such a scene; but try him in the field, with all his tenderness in his rugged breast, and see if he make not his enemy shake in return. the clay-cold worldling, refining nature's best feelings and dearest ties away, until they come to a polished shining nothing, may scoff at these highland ceremonies, may number them with the lumber of feodalty, and confound them with the barbarous customs of unenlightened times; but we confess that wherever we see strong feeling, and that feeling connected with humanity, we hail its unextinguished flame, and if we dispense with the calling it into public action, we glory in even its latent existence, which warms so many rude minds into heroic ardour, bold patriotism, generous benevolence, and unshaken friendship. in the lower classes of scotland, and still more in ireland, these funeral rites are religiously observed. to these are adthe draje. 191 je wch as be make it arest tiesa ed shine michael with the nd then uneolibet ded the howl, or death-wail, the spontaneous vocal dirge, the untutored panegyric of the dead, the watching the corpse, the lighting of tapers, the funeral festival,and not unfrequently the funeral orgies, and intoxication with serious and calamitous consequences. but who would consider this as a part of the ceremony, or in fine as any thing connected with it? mis. . fortunes and errors, feuds and family broils, may grow out of even the best institutions; but they certainly bear no affinity to this gloomy ceremony, instituted for the purpose of honouring departed worth, commemorating past valour, and building a monument of living praise on the remains of what was held dear in life, by the assisting circle. in addition to these gaelic and hibernian ceremonies, the highlander displays on this awful occasion the banners of his clan adorned with black; the piper proudly paces with his black ensign pouring the sad lament, pistols are fired over the clanswherever feeling il its un persed we ich wart ic ardou verwhen land, and eral rites are ad 192 the draje. man's grave; and in general the trajet is drunk on this final occasion. having now given a faithful account of this national ceremony, i leave its effect to the reader's own feeling, observing only that this custom, though modified in higher life, and considered as nearly obsolete in anglified scotland, is still in full force amongst the more northern scots, whose manners and whose minds bear the impression of primitive times. for my own part, i confess that my interest and affection are strongly entangled in these venerable rites, and i hail the principles of them with every fibre of my heart. love and adherence to the living, sorrow and veneration for the dead, are not light or trivial subjects, and shall never be treated as such by the hermit in the country. nº lxv. highland hospitality. vol. iii. k with gold and gems if chilian mountains glow; if bleak and barren scotia's hills arise ; there, plague and poison, lust and rapine grow; here, peaceful are the vales and pure the skies, and freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the eyes. beattie. highland hospitality. some years since i left london for a short time, merely on the principle that “short absence urges sweet return;" and as quin, the famous epicure, had said that he would go down to land's end to eat a john dory fresh out of the water, so did i determine to set off for the moors, that i might see the game which they produce dressed in the highest perfection. i put my dogs in under my gig, took my servant and gun by the side of me, and set off. i will say nothing of my tour until i came to perth. there i was delighted with its localities, with the urba, k 2 196 hihgland hospitality. nity of its inhabitants, and with the easy, unembarrassed, unceremonious hospitality of its vicinity. i then started for the moors in earnest, loaded with all sorts of sporting tackle. i remarked at the very worst road-side inns, built by government for the accommodation of travellers, a degree of unobtrusive civility and attention, of kindness and of anxiety to please, highly contrasted to the officious impertinence of our london landlords and waiters,—the former full of consequence, the latter aping the higher puppies on whom they wait. we had no “coming, sir,” and allow me to recommend the old hock, or hermitage:" no obtrusive praises of the cellar, nor scraping and capering like that of the frosty-faced waiter at long's; neither had we the bills as long in proportion. however humble the fare, the wine .was always excellent, and the charge reasonable. i should have had pretty good sport the 66 yes, my lord ; highland hospitality. 197 first day, but i lost my way on the moors, and got wet to the skin ; my strong shoes gave way like brown paper ; and i came back to the inn almost barefooted. i called for some spirits to rub the soles of any feet with; and sat down by the kitchen fire, in order to change a part of iny apparel and to dry the rest. in one corner of the huge fireplace sat jeannette, the grandmother of the family, spinning, and singing an old martial ballad, which sounded to me more wooden . and monotonous than the noise of her reel. in another corner was a little ragged boy, reading latin ! and in the third corner, a venerable-looking, ruddy, silver-haired highlander, in the garb of old gaul, with a thick staff, reclining on one arm, and a cutty pipe (ie. a short pipe) in his mouth. he very urbanely raised his 'bonnet from his head, and asked me if his smoking was offensive? a courtier could not have done it better. i answered in the negative. as i pulled off my . . к 3 198 highland hospitality. ragged shoes, he looked at them with an air of pity, and exclaimed, “ heigh ! heigh! sirs, what sort o’dancing shoon to cross our muirs wi! nae wonder an ye'll hae your feet sair!" i now proceeded to rub the soles of my feet with a mixture, as i imagined, of gunpowder, sulphur, and other combustibles, which they called fairntosh. the aged highlander was indignant at this. “ fie, fie !" cried he; "lad, tak it i' your mou ; it will be soon eneugh down at your heels, without wasting and abusing the liquor sae.” i was going to comply with his advice, but the liquid nearly choked me. it had all the smell of a turf-cabin under conflagration, and was as hot as the flame. he laughed immoderately at seeing me spit it out, and, taking two bunpers, in order to encourage' me, and to prove that it was not poison, and tapping me good-naturedly on the shoulder, he informed me that it was mother's milk to him ; that he always took a bumper fasthighland hospitality. 199 ing, and that a bottle o't would nae frighten him any day. i asked his age-about eighty. had he always lived so? “much aboon it." i now found that he was the grandfather; and that he often used to dance all the night, with four and twenty children and grandchildren. we soon got quite familiar and intimate. as i was proceeding in my toilette, lie took out his mull, and offered me a pinch of snuff; but it was not to be endured : i would just as soon have taken burning touchwood pulverized. i therefore literally let it slip through my fingers; and taking out my gold snuff-box, in which there was the happy mixture of etrennes, bureau, macauba, and a tonkin bean, i presented it to the caledonian. he was dazzled a little with the box; but smelling slightly to the delicious mixture, he exclaimed with disdain, “ it's only fit for lasses.” but recovering himself, and re" pressing a blush, which was partly tinged with a contempt of what his severe and k 4 200 highland hospitality. athletic habits deemed effeminacy, and deeper crimsoned from a generous fear that he had offended me, he added—“ but i'm a' the same obleeged to ye; we dinna understand the nick-nackeries o'the toun.' i made an excellent dinner on some muir-fowl and a mutton-ham, and drank my bottle of wine, with my highlander by my side (for i thought the old man an original, and asked him to dinner). he sung me some war-songs with the voice of a stentor. they were unintelligible to me, being in gaelic; but lie explained to me that they were about war and love ; and as these two passions brought impressive remembrances to his mind, his colour went and came, and a jewel of the first water glistened in his eye. in the course of conversation, he told me that he had been out wi' chairlie in the forty-five. here he heaved a sigh " for the days of lang syne," and for a moment his manly features assumed a contemplative expression of reminiscence, which would not highland hospitality. 201 it was have disgraced the roman pencil, or the grecian chisel. we parted good friends at night; and the next morning, it was agreed that he should lend me a pair of brogues for shooting, and that i should both hunt and fish, as shouting is called hunting in his wild country, and not without reason, since a man hunts for game as well as shoots. moreover settled that his hoy, meaning his son, a man nearly sixty, should be my guide, and that, in return for the honour i did the old man in asking him to dine, i should pass the night at his cabin, on my way to other moors. the old man was to wake me in the morning, and then to proceed on before me to prepare my welcome. he came at daybreak; and, finding my belt on the chair by my bedside, ran off as if he had been bitten by a mad dog. donald, rorie, moggie," i heard him cry, whilst he held 'the belt in his hand, 66 shoot me, if we ha’ na gotten a wo66 k 5 202 highland hospitality. man (making two strongly accepted syllables of it) in bed instead of a man. nae wonder that the puir thingy should be sae worn out yestreen, an' could nae drink the whuskey!" i confess that this mortified me a little; but i called out lustily to him for my belt, and assured him that all people of fashion wore them in town. for a moment, he looked contempt; but changing to an air of paternity and kindness, he said, “sae, sae! wonders will never cease. that i should live to see a man wear stays! weel a weel, sirs; but (turning to me,) my dear, dinna wear the nasty things; you're weel made eneugh without them, and ye'll never climb oor hills wi' sic whalebone vagaries.” to please my old man, i dressed myself without them, and it proved pretty clear in the sequel that they would have somewhat encumbered me in hill-climbing. when i had paid my reckoning, and received a thousand blessings and good wishes, to none of which i was insensible, highland hospitality. 203 as they seemed to proceed from the heart, i set forward with the boy of sixty, who certainly was a boy to me in his activity and resistance of fatigue. my good hostess put in some cold moor-fowl and a flagon of old brandy, for neither of which she would take payınent, observing, “ that my guidness to her faether merited any kindness which, in their humble way, they could shew me; and besides that, kindness to strangers and travellers was as much their duty and pleasure as their interest." i heartily shook my landlady by the hand, and proceeded on my way, a little boy begging to lighten me of my gun, until i came to the first likely place for game. all this, though humbly and simply demonstrated, is the very essence of hospitality; but it is nothing to what i shall have hereafter to state of old gregor's (the grandfather's) cabin; the recollection of which, whilst writing these lines, warms the heart of the hermit in the country. n° lxvi. gregor mcgregor's welcome. long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content ! and o may heaven their simple lives prevent from luxury's contagion ,weak and vile! burns, gregor m'gregor's welcome. the boy of sixty left the inn to the care of his wife, and, habited like an ancient warrior, set forth with me on my day's sport previous to the finish at gregor's cabin. he very much pressed me to take the glass at the door before starting, for ill luck would attend his house if the stranger left it with dry lips. i therefore just tasted the brandy. mine host was clad in a suit of redgrounded tartan, a kilt, philebeg, purse, and highland bonnet, adorned with the straight feather of the eagle. he had his rifle slung at his back, his dirk by his 208 gregor mʻgregor's welcome. side, stockings checquered in imitation of the roman sandal, and tied up with red garters below knee, his fishing rod packed up in a case, and his trident, or laster, for spearing salmon, in his hand. although he was very bald on the forehead, and of a swarthy complexion and sunk eye, yet the latter was full of fire, his jet black ringlets curled in his neck; his figure was upright and elastic; his limbs well knit together; and, on the whole, he had quite a martial appearance. throughout the day's sport we encoun. tered many difficulties, which seemed greatly to heighten the pleasure to him ; or, rather, the fact was, that he gratified his highland pride a little in surmounting so many dangers, and in shewing me the spirit and activity of his country. twice should i have been drowned had he not waded through rapid fords with me on his back; and as it was i was wet up to my knees. in carrying me through the water he assumed a very triumphant air, and gregor mⓡgregor's welcome. 209 whistled as he splashed through the impetuous flood. we had so much hill climbing, and so many leaps to perforın, that, about mid-day, he perceived i was a good deal fatigued. he accordingly pointed out to me the red scar mar, where lived one of his cousins, alpin m'gregor. it was two miles off; but that was a mere step to my intrepid guide. arrived at the threshold of the door, he halted, scraped his brogues, and lifting his bonnet, exclaimed, with a pious air, 66 peace be to this house!” there was something so apostolic in this practice, that i felt filled with respect and brotherly love. now appeared an aged celt, surrounded by his numerous children, a smile on his high-boned cheeks, and a bottle of wine in his hand. « welcome be the stranger,” exclaimed he, in an audible sonorous tone; and extending his right hand to receive mine, he shook me heartily, whilst one of his sons stood be210 gregor mʻgregor's welcome. 66 > 66 > hind him as his bottle-holder. he now swallowed a bumper to my health, and long life to me.” an englishman, or a polished lowlander would have offered me a glass first ; but highland hospitality commanded him to drink first. 'twas anciently a proof that i might drink of the same safely : besides, he then welcomed me with a blessing and with a full cup. bring the cup which the prince gave your grand uncle," cried alpin; and i had then to drink half a pint out of a silver goblet, which the family received from him whom we call the pretender, but whom alpin and his family called the prince -not but they are as loyal subjects as any in the land, but they still look back “ to the days o' lang syne." cold' game, fine butter, old ewe milk cheese, fresh eggs, and whiskey, were brought in abundance. we refreshed ourselves; and the laird of the small farm then gave me a convoy on the road, and insisted on my allowing him to carry my gregor mʻgregor's welcome. 211 game-bag and fowling-piece, in order to ease me on my journey. he was very much flattered at my having a sprig of hea. ther in my hat, and produced the bottle at parting, on the road. he then, in gaelic, bid the good spirit go in our company, and left us with that pious heartfelt wish. when we were near old gregor's cabin my guide fired off his rifle. it was a signal, and the whole of the family, with gregor full-dressed at the head, came out to meet us, and a piper played us up to the door, the peasants cheering and welcoming the stranger the whole way. i was fool enough to shed tears !--so little was i prepared for such distinction, so little did i merit such a welcome, and so forcibly was i taken by the heart. being wet up to the knees, and splashed all over, they proposed my assuming, for the day, the highland garb, which i accepted cheerfully, seeing the force of the compliment; and be it well understood, that to refuse a highlander's kindness is the greatest 212 gregor mögregor's welcome. affront which you can offer him. 66 weel you set it,” exclaimed gregor. i now came to table. plain but plentiful cheer and good liquor filled the hospitable board, whilst the quality of the stranger obtained me the respect which a prince might have felt gratified to accept. next to me was placed highlaud mary, their eldest daughter, a brunette of the first attraction; yet so modest,---so blushing, though friendly, at first sight, that i felt a tendre for her which wants a name. 1 would not have staid a week in the cabin on any account, else must i have left my heart there, or have taken mary for the companion of my journey through life. we had a festive night. my dogs and horse were well tended and fed; and my servant was made drunk; for he had followed us, in order to be ready to proceed on my journey next day, at breakfast the next morning i was regaled with tea, coffee, and honey, which reminded me of what we read respecting gregor mʻgregor's welcome. 213 : the sweets of hybla; marmalade, cold game, eggs. broiled fish, and liquid combustibles, of which i swallowed a glass, in order to pay a compliment to mine host. our parting was the worst, for the old man, recollecting his age, wept and said, “ perhaps i may ne'er see ye again; but, (recovering, as if ashamed of his weakness,) oh! man, come back next year, and if gregor be alive, ye'll aye be ane o' the family.” “heaven bless you all,” said i, from ” , my heart : and i tore myself away from the good family, 'midst the shouts of the peasants, the sound of the bagpipe, and the waving of bonnets. i drove off furiously, because i felt a commotion ip my bosom which depressed my spirits ; but, pulling up at some distance, to take a farewell view of the friendly cabin, i perceived gregor and his family, who had climbed the hill which commands the serpentine road (and which had formerly served as a look-out in times of ancient feuds), in order, as the irishman calls it, to see me out of sight. 214 gregor mʻgregor's welcome. gregor had insisted on my keeping the highland dress as a token of remembrance ; and bonny mary had given me a piece of tartan, from a family web, as old as the hills (i was going to say), to remind me of her. these presents i guard with affection and care; and whenever i look at them, i remember with gratitude the highlander's hearty welcome to the hermit in the country. n° lxvii. highland sporting. dear to the peasant's heart his fire-side blaze, and floor new swept to greet his glad return; and dear the welcome of his child, and dog fawning to share his favour, still bestowed upon the climbing infant; sweet meanwhile, his only guest, the redbreast, wakened, trills a summer.carol short, then 'neath his wing, in trust implicit, veils his little head. graham. highland sporting. the pleasurable feelings with which the retrospect of my highland tour occasionally cheered a solitary reverie, induced me, last autumn, to make the fashionable rage for moor-game an excuse for retracing my steps among scenery which had made a lasting impression upon my imagination, among a people whose virtues were indelibly traced upon my heart, by the hand of gratitude, the most delightful of remembrancers. i found a “ plentiful scarcity” of birds, for i arrived late upon the ground, and the tents of the great had been pitched a vol. iii. l 218 highland sporting. long before mine, in open hostility to the poor inhabitants of their native hether. the murderous tubes of the descendants of the mac duffs, the rifles of the tartaned chiefs, the double barrels of a legion of strangers, had all preceded me in depopulating the feathered tribe; but what was lost in sport was, every where, made up to me in hospitality : open doors and open hearts met me at every turn; and i had l every reason to be pleased with a nearer acquaintance with the land which produced a burns, a thomson, a graham, a scott, a campbell, and a ferguson. to paint the lake scenery would require an abler pen than mine. never did i contemplate the works of nature with more delight : never did i see a finer alliance of the beautiful and sublime ; having before me all that the combination of lofty mountains, wild woods, and abrupt cataracts could produce of the latter ; and all that crystal lakes, purling streamlets, gilded prospects, picturesque views, sunny skies, highland sporting. 219 and blooming hether could display of the former. i had a letter of introduction to a hospitable highland chief; and he insisted upon passing me from friend to friend, each vying with the other, not only in kindly entertaining me, but in as kindly detaining me, until the hoary winter had advanced so far forward, that i determined to wait until spring; and to get some snipe shooting, &c. in the intermediate time. a snowy day is very favourable for the tracking of hares; and i set out, with sanguinary intent, with a number of small spaniels, for the water-fowl, greyhounds coupled, two double-barrelled guns, a highlander with a long pole to beat the bushes, my own two domestics with provisions, a shooting poney, and as much apparel as if i had been taking the field against an army. the day was beautiful, . but brief. the sun's smile was like that of the great, short and uncertain ; and his warmth, like that of declining pasa l 2 220 highland sporting. sion, gleaming and transitory. the streaked horizon and the twinkling of the fading light soon warned us to withdraw. an immense expanse of silvery heath lay before us; and we retreated as precipitately as possible. from amidst " the lang yellow broom," the whins of high stature, and the sober coloured brechin, bespangled with the gems produced by the dew, rose the spiral smoke in a calm and cloudless sky. but as we gained on the rustic retreat whence it proceeded, the air became cold and more àctive, and the vapour ascended curling more rapidly. we gained the humble dwelling. i hesitated a moment. “chap," said my highland attendant, “they'll be sure to let you in ; ye'll be as welcome as their ane sels.” “ that's a great deal, m'gregor," said i: “ that's a volume of truth, of kindness, and of hospitality. when man opens his door and his bosom to his fellow-man, he has fulfilled an important duty. 9 “ highland sporting. 221 : i now entered the cabin, and saw before me the head of a numerous family. i informed him that i would claim his hospitality for a few hours, whilst i sent for my dog-cart, in which i proposed returning to my friend's house. “surely,” said donald; the word being elongated so as to prove to me that he was in earnest ; that he was surprised i should doubt his warmth and kindness for a moment; and that i might rely on a highlander and trust my life to him : so i understood him. m'gregor said something to him in gaelic about the sasenach or saxon, and all were in motion to welcome me. the bottle was brought, in order to remove all coldness and dryness, and my honest hostess tasted first, according to the highland custom. eggs, mutton, ham, dried salmon and bannocks were speedily prepared for myself and my attendants, with whiskey, the best i ever tasted. what surprised me most was the coolness of my host, in going on with his family l 3 222 highland sporting. arrangements. “ read your lesson to the stranger, jessy,” said the father; and at the word stranger the child made a low curtesy, in which there was more of respect and of sincerity than in the lowest reverence, the most graceful inclination, or the profoundest obeisance at court. here jessy brought a chapter in the bible to me, and read it very distinctly. her mother, who is an iuverness woman, was her instructress, and even her accent was good. rorie now. came, and rehearsed in gaelic a song from ossian. at this moment my dog-cart came up, and i was preparing to go; but first i thought it right to give my kind friends a couple of brace of birds and a hare. i lifted up my game bags. the slaughter had been great. “eh ! eh ! puir birdies,' cried the host and hostess together, “ you have had a sad day o't!" something of wounded humanity, indescribable, brought a pang into my bosom, and a swelling sensation, which expressed sor> highland 'sporting. 223 row and humiliation at the same time. instead of admiring my feats, these good people were all sorrow for the victims to my amusement. i mounted my dog-cart and went off, but not without carrying a moral with me. my whole day's occupation had been the mispending of time. i had benefitted my own species in no way whatever, and had been spreading terror, dismay, and death, far and near, amongst the innocent birds of the air'; whilst the husbandman had been plying his useful labour abroad, and at home was promoting the cause of humanity, and sowing the seeds of knowledge. mine was a work of death ; his, that of life. i was the destroyer; he the receiver of the roofless and unprotected.. there was no manner of parallel. i blushed for myself, and resolved to be, during my future excursions, not a destroying nimrod, but a hermit in the country. l4 n° lxviii. a dandy in the highlands. 15 wherein i spoke of most disastrous chances, of moving accidents by flood and field. shakespeare. " on donne bien souvent des divers noms aux choses, “ des épines pour moi, vous les nommez des roses.' > a dandy in the highlands. i cannot better exemplify the truth of the above lines, or more pointedly prove that what is a pillow of thorns to one is a bed of roses to another, than by copying literally a letter of a young relation, a very great exquisite, from the highlands, where i had myself received so much pleasure ; -where the beauties of nature enchanted my eyes, and the warmest hospitality still has a claim upon my heart-where i met with so much unaffected and genuine kindness, that the land of blue. heather will ever be dear to me, and the children of the mountains will always have an additional l 6 228 a dandy in the highlands. title to my sympathy and regard. but i must come to my exquisite's letter. " dear uncle : 66 you advised me to make a tour to the lakes, and be hanged to them. i wish that i never had gone there. i had, further, the folly (in imitation of your noble example) to visit the hebrides, where i am halfstarved, and where i have met with such a catalogue of miseries as scarcely ever befel human being. i am embargoed by the rain, poisoned with vile cookery, and disgusted with coarse habits; can't getso much as a little chicken hazard toamuse me, nora pretty milliner to kill time with-roads where no curricle or tilbury can pass, and my horses as lame as the devil. how i miss long's and the clarendon, the countess in the rules, and the little figurante ! there is not such a thing as an intrigue in these desolate regions. ice is unknown but on the tops of their cursed mountains ! not a pine-apple for love or money! no theatre ! a dandy in the higilands. 229 no waltzing ! the girls don't understand soft nonsense ! and no one knows how to make regent punch. “the names of the places strangle you to pronounce them! the female wretches of servants go barelegged! half the sans-culottes men don't speak english ; and those who do are unintelligible! besides, all my clothes are torn, spoiled, and played the devil with ; and i am laughed at wherever i go. these fellows are three centuries behind us in the st. james's and bond street cut; and don't know what a dandy is! my servant is drunk from morning till night; and i am dying of ennui. a pretty name of a place i am going to to-morrow!-acha de shenoch, and ach na craig ! breakneck place would be better. “ but to proceed with my misfortunes. it rained so on my road, in my tilbury from glasgow to loch lomond, that i could not see it; and i got so drunk at mr. mac—'s house, that i saw double at the other lakes, and had such a head-ache, that objects, 230 a dandy in the highlands. whether by land or water, swam equally before my eyes. besides, i was so much out of humour with all the world, that i swore that every thing was frightful. i embarked in a beastly cockboat from oban, and was almost drowned by the way. in addition to losing my pearl ring, betwixt the landing-place and your friend's house, i lamed one of my horses in their perilous and almost inaccessible tracks, which they call roads, and was laughed at by a bare. bottomed scoundrel, and called a molly and a doll to boot. i lost my hat with the high wind; and have been forced to wear my travelling-cap ever since. i dare say my hat will be picked up and preserved as a curiosity; for there is not another made by bicknell in the whole place. "i was so wet on arriving, that i called for either curaçoa, marasquina, er noyau. not a drop to be had ! but my host almost choked me with a confounded liquid which he called hottentosh, and which is a compound offire and smoke--fire as to its infera a dandy in the highlands. 231 nal heat and strength, smoke as to its offensive smell. “i had scarcely recovered from the agonies of this drug, when dinner was announced. dinner at four o'clock !!! how barbarous ! just about a man of fashion's breakfast time ! then we had no delicious soup, no iced wines, no made dishes, nothing but the coarsest and most vulgar fare. i sat behind a huge mountain of beef, which made me imperceptible to the other side of the table ! there was a ham too, from which fids were cut as thick as a schoolboy's bread and butter, instead of being as thin as a wafer! two pair of fowls ! monstrous ! i thought to have fared better with what they called venison ; but i had nearly lost a couple of teeth in the attempt, the vile animal being as tough as a dead donkey, though they said it was a wild roe (i wish richard roe was choked with him) which our host shot with his rifle a few days before. then the lady of the house proposed ale to me with my cheese! زا 232 a dandy in the highlands. a and there was no other wine but vulgar blackstrap and madeira, with a solitary bottle of bad claret, out of compliment to me. indeed, no claret but lafitte's is worth a man's drinking. “ after dinner, the barbarians drank toasts! whilst some of the young folks went into an adjacent room, and danced reels like mad people. i proposed a round at faro, or even at quinze, but the cautious scotchmen would not touch a card. one fellow sang a song in gaelic, which was as odious as incomprehensible to me, and they forced me to continue hard drinking until midnight. the next day they brought an amazing turn-out of broiled fish and honey, and marmalade and eggs, with tea and coffee, for breakfast ; but the vulgarity of the scene, the rude health of the ladies, and the more rustic unpolished appetites of the men, quite sickened me. some of the party swallowed bumpers of the liquid fire after breakfast. i took one cup of tea, with some brandy in it, and eat about a quarter a dandy in the highlands. 233 of an inch of their dry toast, which smelt of turf smoke. " i endeavoured to ascend some rugged mountains after breakfast, in order to shoot grouse ; but my stay-lace gave way, my morocco boots burst, and my dowlas trowsers got wet through. i returned faint, and almost breathless, when my over-kind indelicate host had the impudence to propose a glass of this essence of smoke as a restorative, and to put me into petticoats until my trowsers were dried, holding out to me a tartan worsted scrubbing kelt of his grand-father's, which he told me, by way of a recommendation, had been in four battles. on the third day, we risked our lives in a crazy, rickety boat, and were half drowned in attempting to see lona, and staffa-two trumpery islands : the one a ci-devant royal burial ground, the other not worth observation. a pretty notion, to bring a man to see ruins and tombs! as if one could not get agreeable ruin enough in london, or would go to see tombs, whilst 234 a dandy in the highlands, 66 а any livelier amusement was to be found in the world. “ the bread fell short one day; and my horses and myself were both fed on oats. moreover, i have had a fall in one of their rugged roads, and have torn my tunic; so that i should be obliged to wear an evening frock (could i go out), which would be like a cit or a tradesman. the beast of a washerwoman too, has spoiled half a dozen of my cravats. she does not know how to starch them; and has torn off the strings that tied them behind. the moment that the weather clears up, i shall quit this pri. son, where i am the laughing-stock of the profanum vulgus ; but i heartily regret ever having left bond street, or having turned my face towards the highlands, and particularly these savage isles, where i have not seen a tree in a week. “ p.s. might i trouble you to tell my man to get me a new cumberland corset? i am as lean as my greyhound. none of my clothes will fit me, and had i not lived a a dandy in the highlands. 235 upon moor-fowl, madeira, and biscuit, i should have been famished." thus ended this exquisite's epistle. i doubt not but that he was the laughing stock of the island, as he must have exhibited a striking contrast to the robust inhabitants. however, when i visited these parts, i came away lustier than i went; and had only to complain of too much hospitality shewn to the hermit in the country. nlxix. the highland outlaw. hope no inore-in peace he sleepeth all his pains and toils are o'er ; 'tis thine eye alone that weepeth, his is closed, to ope no more. he hath gain'd that unknown river, he hath found a hero's grave, there his head, in peace for ever, rests beneath the dashing wave. anon. the highland outlaw. . there cannot be a more distressing sight to humanity, than a country distracted and divided; brother armed against brother, and neighbour fighting against neighbour: yet have these three kingdoms, at different periods, exhibited many such melancholy scenes. nor is ireland even yet free from those bitter animosities and strifes, which rend the bosoms of families, and disgrace the felicitous soil to which nature has been so bountiful, but which her unnatural children are every day defiling by murder and 240 the highland outlaw. rapine, in the name of religion and party spirit. there was an era, that of the struggle of the stuarts, when scotland displayed lamentable examples of domestic feud, which depopulated the face of her land, and stained her soil with the bravest blood of the country (in truth, blood, than which there is none braver in the world); but it is consolatory to think with how little slaughter, with how few crimes, public executions, or private reverses, peace, union, and amity were restored to the country,-how undisturbed it has remained since, ' after a convulsive revolution : whilst in the sister kingdom her sanguinary spirit of rebellion and stifled animosity is unceasingly breaking out like an ill cured wound, and for ever impeding the march of science, arresting the hand of improvement, and obscuring the rays of wisdom faintly darting through the cloud of prejudice and error, which is ever impending over the smiling fields, and bland climate the highlani) outlaw. 241 of hibernia-a temperature so mild and benignant, that we marvel when we see it without influence on the inhabitants of the soil. but to return to caledonia. the affairs of the 15 and 45, and the migration which followed defeat, whilst they thinned the scottish ranks, and deprived the mothercountry of many a hardy and valiant arm, recruited foreign armies with expatriated heroes, who perished in the hostile field abroad, or dragged out a living death in exile; while the remaining branches of the family at home either obtained their own by submission, or kept aloof in the day and hour of trial, and joined the strongest party at the close. this was not common in the highlands :--but it is neither my province to quote painful distinctions, nor to discuss the expediency of that spirit of peace and reconciliation which might have won many a brave heart and hand to the government cause, instead of levying war upon their possesvol. iii. m 242 the highland outlaw. sions with fire and sword in their absence, or punishing the poor remaining relatives for the deeds of their forefathers and kinsmen. suffice it to say, that the house of clan was of this number. the head of the clan had been out in the 45; the numerous brothers had fought, bled, and died in the stuart cause; they had drained the last resources of their coffers, anticipated the produce of their fields, felled timber, and encumbered their estates to a fearful extent. their faithful clansmen had fol. lowed them through the most perilous adventures, stemming, in vain, the purple tide of war until they were mowed down in their invincible ranks, and left nothing behind them but a brave name, and a faith entire and unbroken to the grave. many had fled from after persecutions, from poverty and roofless homes, from the sentence of the law, but, above all, from the shame attached to it. a younger brother's children, under the the highland outlaw, 243 guidance of a prudent lowland dame, now became the possessors of the domain and the representatives of the outlawed house; and, as possession is sweet, and a scotch lawyer (such was the new laird bred to be) is.generally sicker, he thought it no sae discreet and advisable to remit sums of money to the lawful heir, now an outlaw in the service of france. but time rolled on, and feuds faded in remembrance; royal mercy was extended to a few of the exiled families; and the death of prejudice brought others home to lie down on their last pillow in their native land, and to be gathered to their forefathers. peace and sweet hope smiling once more upon the highland hills, the long absent roderick, the rightful heir, whom death and bullets seemed to have shunned, returned to greet his native land again, and to pour the fond tear of remem. brance, or murmur the requiem over departed bravery and worth. he had a m 2 244 the highland outlaw. a pension from the french court, a decoration, and high military rank. the second brother, who had likewise been exiled, and had become a colonel in the french service, had married a foreign lady, who dying prematurely, left him a small fortune, on which he contrived to live with dignity and economy in his native mountains. to him every object was welcome, save the usurpers of the lands of the fa. mily; and as his faith, his politics, and his habits were completely at variance with theirs, there was no cementing the divided members of the house, no building up a new edifice of mutual adhesion and support. he treated the legal laird as a renegade and a plunderer, an apostate and a time-server; whilst the latter considered him as a rebel and an outlaw, a foreigner and a papist. on his return, he had found out an aged cousin-german covered with wounds, who had been allowed to wander about the country almost a pauper, but who was now the highland outlaw. 245 taken by him into his house, and shared his property. the unnatural cruelty shown towards this kinsman was a fresh source of animosity; and it was a guerre à mort, between the lawyer and the returned emigrant colonel. at length old roderick fell in the fulness of years, and a numerous assemblage of relations prepared to attend him to the grave. even those who had denied him during his life, now smote their breasts, and passed the hard palm before their eyes, filled with regretful and bitter tears, cry. ing, “wae's me! puir rorie; he was as brave's his braid-sword. wha'd a thought that he wad a gane sae soon!” many who had slighted him whilst living, now honoured his cold clay, and fain would have given half their estates to have saved his life, or to have treated him more kindly during the period thereof. many who had avoided him when living, were now ambitious of the honour of being nearest him in the sad train of sepulchral homage m 3 246 the highland outlaw. and respect. cousins flocked from all quarters, undeterred by distance, bad weather, or bad roads ; so that he had an immense population in the centre of a barren land to pay him the last tribute of affection and regret, to laud his merit, and to join their condolence with a host more of neighbours and friends. nor was the legal laird insensible to this just tribute. it cheered his soul; it mingled in the same tear, pride, honour, and brotherly love. the broken remnants of the clan gathered together. the banner of their house, which had long hung like the suspended fame of their ancestry, and the pipe, which slept in mournful repose, now moved each kinsman's breast, and spoke a history of woe to an assemblage melted and inspired beyond all expression. the colonel felt as if old roderick were not yet dead--as if his spirit breathed in every heart. looking his last on him,“there, kinsman,” said he, “there is a brave fellow," putting a white cockade 国家​, the highland outlaw. 247 and : die and his broad sword on his coffin. he was almost smothered with grief, and looking what he could not speak, he scowled sternly around him, and broke out in a convulsive shriek-" there !" then he bent his brows as in defiance on the circle. “ there !" as much as to say—“ye ken what he has dune--how he has fought, bled, and suffered, and how unconquerable he was in courage and in opinion to the last.” “ there !” he exclaimed, again; and he kissed the hilt of the claymore, adding, “it shall be buried wi' him; nane ' else is worthy o't!" an expression of soul-lacerating lamentation sprung simultaneously from all around; whilst the women wrung their hands, and the piper played a highland lament, which the clans'men accompanied vocally. hanging back in the crowd, grave, humble, and pensive, anxious, yet fearful, penitent, yet too proud to bend, stood george, the then laird, and the first who bore such dig , det adogo mex ck thedi hin." te b1 chat m 4 248 the highland outlaw. a christian name in the family. he dared not to meet the fiery eye and shaggy overhung grey eyebrows of the colonel ; yet he dared not for his life, and for his ho. nour, be absent from the family procession and ceremony. he hoped to pass unobserved by his enemy, and to mingle his salt tears in silence; for the drop of highland blood was too strong for all the rest of his composition, and he felt keenly on the occasion. the body was about to move forwardthe trembling hands of his kinsinen were about to raise him—when the colonel's eye caught the retiring form of him, against whom he had so long harboured vengeance. the monient was dreadful. the spirit of george sunk within hin. in the conflict of his breast, he wept-he turned aside---at length, he cried in a faltering tone, “ kinsman, i ken that i am an intruder-i'm no welcome, i dinna deserve to be so--but i could na let the hothe highland outlaw. 249 a nest man gang to's last hame without this last tribute.” –“george,” replied the ” colonel, in an angry attitude, but in a subdued tone, i did na expec to hae seen you here; i was na prepared for't; but death maun unite us a' at last; this is nae place for resentments; they gang na ayont the grave;-look upon yon brave chield; he was as fierce as the lion, yet as tenderhearted's the lamb; we bury a' resentment wi' him, for i carena a snuff for mye sel; and when men shed tears for the same object, their hearts canna be verra far apart; you're heartily welcome to the land, man; and since i hae nae heir's o' my ain, it's no worth the speaking about, i wish there were mair o't;—but thae incendiary deevils,"--here he checked the rising remembrance. " thae emblems o' mortality,” resumed he, “sud mak's for, get a' that; shake hands, lad, o'er poor rorie's coffin ; and i only wish that he could look up and see't." > c m 5 250 the highland outlaw, drowned in a torrent of tears, the whole procession moved forward ; and the family ; feud was buried with the faithful and gallant roderick. the hermit in the country. nº lxx. highland friendship. m 6 and wild and high the “ cameron's gathering" rose the war-note of lochiel, which abyn's hills have heard, and heard, too, have her saxon foes:how in the noon of night that pibrock thrills, savage and shrill! but with the breath which fills their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers with the fierce native daring which instils the stirring memory of a thousand years, and evan’s, donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears! lord byron, 1 i 1 1 1 highland friendship. the war, which often thins the population of the mountains, called m‘alpin and m'yver into the highland ranks. the latter was more advanced in years than the former, but they were both neighbouring mountaineers. m'yver had at a very early age enlisted in a national corps, from the pure spirit of martial enterprize. whenever he heard the clan-gathering strike up, his heart burned in his bosom. the undulating and swelling notes of the ar-pipe carried with them his very soul and affections, as the wild harmony of this martial in254 highland friendship. strument ascended to its highest pitch, bis courage and his enterprize accompanied it; and when it reached to what may be called the phrenzy of daring, the flame of patriotism and of glory was uncontrollable within him. in its plaintive and descending notes, in its modulations of sofitness, or rather of wild mountain melancholy, the tear of sensibility would cheat his hardihood, and burst from his iron frame. in short, m'yver was an enthusiast in his country's cause, so that the first recruiting party which displayed the nodding plumage and the gaelic costume, with all the pomp and circumstance of war, took his brave heart and hand with them. returned in laurelled pride, and well deserving of his country, weather-beaten, and bearing honourable scars, he was sent on the recruiting service to his native glen, where mʻalpin, in the flower of youth and comelin ess, enlisted under the national banner. there was a great diffehighland friendship. 255 rence between these two brothers in arms; but there was sympathy in their hearts. leurs cours étaient d'intelligence. although a very opposite exterior and manner belonged to each, honour and patriotism, firmness and friendship, were engraven indelibly in both their bosoms. m'yver took a pride in being a father to m‘alpin, who in return looked up to him as his pattern and his support. a fraternal mutuality of services—a reciprocal share in dangers and in comforts, existed betwixt them. they had but one heart, one mind, one purse. but their motives for enlisting were very different; the one was induced by domestic unhappiness, the other by the thirst for glory. their deportment was figurative of their minds. m'yver's was stern and hardy; m‘alpin's was brave, mild, and melancholy. there was a secret sorrow in his heart, which preyed upon him in his lone hours, and which alone, of all the transactions of his life, he had not 256 highland friendship. 1 confided to his comrade and brother in arms. m'yver often marvelled at the dejected air of his companion, when the occupations and dangers of the service did not occupy his whole mind and attention. he tried to probe the wound: but finding the operation as fruitless as painful, he desisted. at length m-alpin was wounded at the affair of — by his faithful friend's side. he was borne to the rear; and when the fight was done, his comrade assisted the bleeding soldier. the ball could not be extracted, and every moment increased his danger. m'yver was furious; he uttered execrations on the hand which had bereft him of a son and brother of adoption; he struck his broadsword on the ground, and wished it had been himself! he smothered, however, the tide of nature swelling in his bosom, for life was ebbing fast in that of his dear companion. mʻalpin beckoned him to him, and laying his hand upon his heart, said, highland friendship. 257 66 9 vil 66 <c comrade, a's no right there.” mʻyver looked rage, tenderness, wildness and despair; he bent over his beloved brother in arms, and listened with reverential awe.--" mʻyver," resumed the youth with a sigh, whilst respiration got thicker every moment, “there's a puir jassie !" here tears interrupted him, m'yver's answered them." puir maggie !"” speak,” cried m'yver, terrified and interested at the same time." i wis i had made her mine.”—he grew fainter. 66 i ought to ha' married the lassie.” --the struggle was overpowering.--" i fear that the world will look down upon her.” m'yver was distracted, but laying his brawny hand upon m‘alpin's heart, as if to arrest vitality by force, he said, in a subdued tone, but with a decision which marked every line of his character, “i'll marry her mysel !"-" they'll look down upon her"-repeated the youth faintly.-“ i should like to see the man!” cried the ed to por ti 12 % h hat acope the sel ature ubing and salt 258 highland friendship, in his ear, weather-beaten warrior with an air of defiance,“ wha'd dare to look down upon m‘alpin's widow, and m'yver's wife!” the youth now looked up; speech was gone; but that look spoke more than volumes. will you, brother ?” was the last look ; whilst m'yver, now on his knees, his hand upon his comrade's heart, and his bosom supporting his reclining head, murmured “ dear alpin, i'll marry her mysel.” the ensuing day m'yver tasted not of food; an engagement followed the next, when he dealt his blows like one infuriated. love, country, and revenge rang in each stroke, he survived to perform the promise made to his expiring companion. honorably has he acted towards the partner whom he has espoused; and the peace of the neighbourhood and of his roof have been undisturbed ever since. there are shades of irregularity in this faithful picture, which we neither wish to highland friendship. 259 defend nor to explain; but the general outline bears the impression of wild honour, of matchless friendship, and of true caledonian sensibility, the value of which is well known to the hermit in the country. . 1 n° lxxi. a highland regiment's return. when wild war's deadly blast was blown and gentle peace returning, and eyes wi' pleasure 'gan to beam which had been blear'd wi' mourning. burns. --a highland regiment's return. amongst the few genuine pleasures of the heart which i have enjoyed, i reckon that of having witnessed the return of a regiment to its native land at the last peace. the scene lay in the north, and highland donald was again the hero of the piece. early in the morning a great proportion of the population of the place left their homes to meet the battalion coming into town. the characters of parents, brothers and sisters, wives and children, were easily discernible, by an observing eye. you might read in the lines of some 264 a highland regiment's return. countenances exulting certainty of embracing the object of their affection; they had received letters to announce the happy tidings, which the learned had perused themselves, and the unlearned had got communicated to them by their reading proxy, the minister and schuil-maister. in other faces sat the changeful evidence of hopes and fears, the colour forsaking the cheek; and the downcast eye bespoke, in some, deep anxiety and fearful foreboding, where 1 “ hope feebly glinimer'd on the heart's despair.” $ i the tender wife or aged parent had not heard from their best beloved for years, and the chances were sadly against them; the sickle of time, the ensanguined blade of war, and the cannon's jaws of flame, were severe trials to encounter. the distant drum now raised every pulse, and quickened every step ; and now the merry pipe gave deeper interest : the colours at last met the inquiring eye, and ! a highland regiment's return. 265 caused the patriot's heart to leap in its expanding bosom. the broken veteran, the neglected pensioner, now erected their fallen crests, and marched in unison with the advancing band. they had a donald, or an alister to look out for in the ranks, and, may be, he might have advanced to the halberd. then again the proud glance of a faithful wife, cast on her bairns on either side, informed you that they had grown and thriven in their father's absence. the receding and returning crimson of the cheek also told the story of the heart; the mind was at its utmost extent of expectation on account of jemmie's return, and each might say, in the sweet simplicity of nature, “ i'm aʼmaist dizzy with the thought, " and troth i'm like to greet.” what anticipation of pleasure to some ! what realized misery awaited others ! the word of command -" halt"-electrified myself, for i foresaw that tears and smiles vol. iii. . n 266 a highland regiment's return. were both preparing. nor was i wrongmany a blank was found in life's brief page; many an altered look marked the returning wretched one! but let us not dwell on this; many a kind regret, too, might be observed, accompanied by a shake of the head, when a wife, or a parent had to say, “ eigh! eigh! man, you're sadly changed: that sad wound, or that cruel fever, has pulled ye doon sairly.” now were the men dismissed, and some paired off with happy relatives, others sought their billets and lost connexions, when two circumstances attracted my attention forcibly : the one was a war-worn subaltern embracing an old man who appeared like a peasant, or a shepherd, and who looked a world of admiration on the former, who in return held the old man's hand clenched in his, and on seeing the field officer commanding direct his eye towards him, observed with a mixt expression of humility and love, “colonel, this is my worth-y parent,” thus dividing the a highland regiment's return. 267 word and dwelling on a father's worth. i do not know that ever so short a phrase took so strong a hold of my affection and approbation before. the thing was clear : bravery had elevated the officer from the ranks, and truth and honour forbade him to blush on the lowliness of the author of his existence. the other instance was the answer of a sober-looking subaltern,. of about forty, who, upon being bantered by a young captain for not wearing a gayer countenance on his return home, replied, in a very broad scotch dialect, “faith, it's an anxious and fearful thing to return home after twenty years' absence: one knows not what changes have taken place since. many a bonnie lassie must be grown old since then, and many a good fellow must be no more. i am almost afraid to knock at any of my old acquaintances' doors; and as for family (here he looked dejected), i have scarcely a blood relation in the world; my father died of a broken constin 2 268 a highland regiment's return. tution, brought on by the climate of the west-indies, my three brothers were killed in different engagements, and that broke mother's heart.”-here the young captain changed the expression of his countenance, and shook the hand of his brother in arms, with—“ hang it, chairlie, , don't be down-hearted, but come and take an extra bottle at the mess.". here chairlie gave a whistle, “that may do for you, laddie, weel enugh, but i bid to inquire after some folk first;" so saying he paced off 1 , “ solo e pensoso." i now quitted the ground on which the battalion had stood ; full of a sense of the high deserts of men who like these devote their lives to the service of their king and country, and who not only are foremost in danger in the battle's heat, but have to sacrifice their dearest and tenderest interests and feelings on so many occasions ; to sever themselves from ties which wind a highland regiment's return. 269 closely round the heart, and to bear up against soul-rending sympathies; and who, full often, alas ! must silence the call of nature, in order to obey that of stern, im. perious honour. it grieves me, therefore, most exquisitely, when i see the image of patience and long-suffering in the person of a hoary-headed warrior, and learn, on asking his name, that he is lieutenant soand-so of his majesty's regiment, a cadet de famille-unable to purchase, but the eagle of a brave nest, soaring above inglorious safety, and unwilling to be invalided, and to retire thus from the service. but all life is a lottery, nor are the blanks reserved for the disappointed soldier onlythey have even fallen to, and have been borne in tranquillity, by the hermit in the country. the end. london: frinted ey cox and baylis, great queen street. english date due the o braries demco-293 % the ohio state universi tate university libraries ersity libraries % 두 ​wa he ohio state university librare ohio state u 늘 ​psity libraries the ohio state university librarie the ohio state university 3 2435 027220136 hermit in the country pr4970m 14h451823 001 v3 the ohio state university book depository d aisle sect shlf side pos item c 8 02 20 28 7 11 013 1 473 hdi hw 2e2n v 24362 ke24362 故​? 4.525 ex libris russell gray 1 sacred and legendary art. vol. ii. the latest editions of mrs. jameson's works on sacred and legendary christian art. the fifth edition, in 2 vols. square crown 8vo. with 19 etchings on copper and 187 woodcuts, price 31s. 6d. legends of the saints and martyrs as represented in the fine arts, forming the first series of sacred and legendary art.' by mrs. jameson. third ii. legends of the monastic orders. edition, with 11 etchings and 88 woodcuts. 1 vol. 218. iii. legends of the madonna. with 27 etchings and 165 woodcuts. 1 vol. 21s. third edition, iv. history of our lord, as exemplified in works of art. by mrs. jameson and lady eastlake. second edition, with 31 etchings and 281 woodcuts. 2 vols. 42s. of these 312 illustrations, all prepared specially for the 'history of our lord,' nearly one-third of the whole number have now been engraved for the first time. we have in these volumes, penned in a truth-seeking spirit, and illustrated with a copious generosity which at once elucidates and adorns each section of the subject, contributions to the literature of christian art, for which every artist and every student of theology will confess a debt of private gratitude. to thoughtful inquirers, richest mines are here opened for meditation. to minds prepared for deeper draughts to quench the thirst for knowledge, wells are dug and fountains are made to flow even in the desert tracks of time, where pilgrim's foot seldom attempts to tread. we think that lady eastlake has done special service in bringing into popular view recondite stores which have hitherto been sealed for public use. she has, by appeal to the early heads of christ in the catacombs, by reference to christian sarcophagi of the fourth century, to ivories as old as the sixth century, and greek mss. and byzantine miniatures of the ninth century, enabled the art-student to trace the history of types and antetypes, and to analyse the rudimetary germs which, from age to age accumulating strength and growing in comeliness, at length issued forth in perfected pictorial form. it is to this, the infancy of art, that at the present moment peculiar interest attaches' blackwood's magazine. 1 26 the five virgin martyrs aj fecit 1.03 "'ì ni. i. an land on capen . and co 1568 sacred and legendary art. by mrs. jameson. volume ii. containing the patron saints, the martyrs, the early bishops, the hermits, and the warrior saints of christendom, as represented in the fine arts. fifth edition. london: longmans, green, and co. 1866. e 24362 harvard university lisary london printed by spottiswoode and co. new-street square ; 7 a ¡ contents those of the second volume. the patron saints of christendom. saints who had not a scriptural or apostolic sanction, yet were invested by the popular and universal faith with a paramount authority. st. george of cappadocia. the great martyr. his legend. devotional figures. st. george and the dragon. historical subjects from his life st. sebastian. the legend. devotional figures. as patron saint against the plague. italian, spanish, and german representations. the legend of marcus and marcellinus. the martyrdom of st. sebastian. various examples. st. sebastian recalled to life. how represented devotional figures. sepast. rоch. the legend. unknown in greek art. rate pictures from his life and history • st. cosmo and st. damian. the legend. always represented together. old mosaics. as patron saints of the medici family. miracles of st. cosmo and st. damian represented in pictures · page st. nicholas of myra. the saint of the people and protector of the weak against the strong. universally worshipped in the east and in the west. the legend. translation of his relics from asia minor to italy. devotional figures of st. nicholas. attributes. scenes from his life. miracles and parables relating to st. nicholas as represented in pictures 398 412 425 st. christopher. his legend a religious parable. virtues attributed to the effigies of st. christopher. various examples of the religious representation. examples which must be considered exceptional. the history of st. christopher in a series of subjects 439 433 450 vi contents of the second volume. the virgin patronesses. st. catherine of alexandria. the legend. hypatia of alexandria. devotional figures of st. catherine; as patron saint and martyr. various examples from the earliest to the latest schools. the marriage of st. catherine, a strictly devotional subject. how represented by various painters. incidents in the life of st. catherine historically treated. catherine buried by angels st. st. barbara. the legend. patroness of fire arms. viii. in the tower. • attributes of st. barbara as patron saint. as on guns and shields. on the armour of henry historical pictures of st. barbara • • · . the early martyrs. reverence due to the early martyrs and to their effigies. opinion of dr. arnold. the ten persecutions. the beatified martyrs early introduced into church decoration. examples at ravenna and at rome the innocents. how treated in art st. ursula. antiquity of this wild legend. supposed origin. unknown in greek art. the cologne legend. devotional figures and attributes as patron saint of young girls. separate subjects from her life. her whole history as painted by carpaccio; as painted by hans hemlinck . 501 • st. margaret. character and legend. how represented. her attribute the dragon. examples of st. margaret as patron saint. historical pictures of st. margaret . 516 st. stephen. scriptural history. the legend of the discovery of his relics. devotional figures; as proto-martyr and deacon. the martyrdom of st. stephen. the life of st. stephen, in a series of subjects by fra angelico, by carpaccio, by juan juanes st. laurence. his legend. one of the most important and authentic in the main circumstances. devotional figures of st. laurence. the gridiron. subjects from his life, by angelico. frescoes in the basilica of san lorenzo. the legend of st. laurence and henry ii. st. hippolytus. tied to a wild horse st. vincent. popularity and antiquity of his legend. beautiful devotional figures, by palma and luini. life st. vitus page · 467 how represented. subjects from his 492 523 529 531 538 547 549 554 --contents of the second volume. vii the greek martyrs. st. thecla. the greek legend of paul and thecla. how represented in western art . st. euphemia. antiquity of the legend, and of the representation st. perpetua. not represented in art st. phocas. the legend. peculiar to greek art st. pantaleon. popular at venice. the legend. how represented by paul veronese and others . the latin martyrs. " · 556 . 560 564 565 the old churches of rome st. praxedes and st. pudentiana the quattro coronati' • st. dorothea. the greek legend, its beauty and antiquity. how martyrdom of st. dorothea. massinger's 'virgin martyr'. st. cyprian and st. justina. the legend. its beauty and significance. how represented. donna laura of ferrara in the character of st. justina 573 st. apollonia. the legend. popular in devotional pictures. how represented. subjects from her life . 578 the seven sleepers of ephesus. frequent in ecclesiastical decoration. the legend the roman martyrs. represented. st. agatha. the sicilian legend. attributes and effigies. as patroness of malta. martyrdom. healed by st. peter page the four great virgins of the latin church. st. cecilia and her husband, st. valerian. the legend. the shrine and statue in her church at rome. oldest representations. figure by cimabue. the musical attributes. figures of st. cecilia by raphael, lucas van leyden, moretto, domenichino, zurbaran, &c. scenes and incidents from her life . 583 st. agnes. the ancient roman legend. attributes and effigies of st. agnes. martyrdom. scenes from her life . 566 . 581 • 568 st. lucia. the sicilian legend. significance of the name and attributes. the eyes. the lamp. the poniard. scenes from her story. the individual character and expression proper to the four great virgins . 613 600 608 . 621 . 622 624 viii contents of the second volume. st. clement. antiquity of his church and legend. frescoes of masaccio. legend of his shrine amid the waves legend of st. bibiana st. john and st. paul, brothers st. nereus, st. achilleus, and st. cesareo st. balbina and st. sabina st. prisca ss. peter and marcellinus st. aglae and st. boniface st. alexis st. martina st. anastasia and st. chrysogonus st. pancras st. susanna; st. chrysanthus and st. daria st. eugenia st. felicitas and her seven sons st. veronica • st. miniato of florence st. ansano of siena st. fina of san gemignano ss. naborre and felice. ss. nazaro and celso of milan ss. lupo, adelaide, grata, and alexander of bergamo st. julia martyrs of tuscany, lombardy, spain, and france. legend of st. reparata · . st. filomena st. omobuono st. panacea ss. faustino and jovita of brescia st. afra of brescia, and st. afra of augsburg 626 628 629 630 . 630 . 631 632 633 634 638 639 . 640 641 642 642 646 • " • st. torpè, st. ephesus, and st. potitus of pisa st. julian of rimini ss. gervasius and protasius of milan, and their father, st. vitalis of ravenna. page • . 648 . 649 . 650 . 650 . 651 653 654 . 659 . 660 . 661 . 662 . 662 663 st. christina and st. justina, famous in the north of italy. legend of st christina of bolsena. attributes and effigies. celebrated in the venetian schools • st. justina of padua. her legend. her magnificent church. pictures of distinction between the st. justina of padua and her at venice and padua. the st. justina of antioch 665 . 669 • . 671 . 674 contents of the second volume. ix st. justina and st. rufina st. eulalia st. leocadia st. crispin and st. crispianus. the early bishops. their importance in ancient ecclesiastical art. in the early coinage of italy. costume. hierarchs of rome. cardinals. greek bishops. latin bishops • • st. cyprian of carthage st. erasmus of formia st. apollinaris of ravenna st. donato of arezzo . 681 legend of pope sylvester and the emperor constantine. its importance in art 686 st. ignatius of antioch 693 st. blaise of sebaste . 696 . 699 . 699 . 700 . 701 . 702 . 705 . 706 • st. zenobio of florence st. regulus and st. frediano of lucca st. zeno of verona st. geminiano of modena st. ercolano and st. costanzo of perugia st. petronius st. maurelio st. romulo st. mercuriale st. proculus st. casciano st. gaudenzio st. siro st. abbondio st. hilary st. januarius • · page . 676 . 677 . 678 . 679 st. denis of france. the french legend, which confounds him with dionysius the areopagite. how represented in french and italian works of art. subjects from his life. other headless bishops. st. romain. st. cheron. st. clair. st. nicaise. st. valérie and st. martial. st. martin of tours. importance and popularity of his history and legend. st. martin dividing his cloak, called the 'charity of st. martin.' other scenes from his life a • • . 707 . 708 . 709 . 710 . 710 . 710 . 710 . 711 . 711 . 711 . 711 . 711 712 st. eloy of noyon. a famous goldsmith and farrier. the legend universally popular. pictures and statues of st. eloy st. lambert of maestricht vol. ii. • • 713 720 728 732 x contents of the second volume. st. hubert of liege. the hunter.' legend of the miraculous stag. subjects from his life · spanish bishops. st. leander and st. isidore. legend of hermengildus . the hermit saints. hermits of the east. antiquity and interest of the hermit legends. st. paul and st. anthony. "the temptation of st. anthony' st. onofrio st. ephrem st. hilarion, as represented in the campo santo at pisa, and elsewhere st. marina . st. macarius hermits of the west:— st. ranieri st. julian hospitator st. leonard st. giles st. procopius. st. geneviève of paris st. isidore, the labourer st. gudula of brussels · legends and pictures of st. victor st. eustace st. quirinus st. florian the warrior saints of christendom. beauty and importance of the figures of the military martyrs. legend of st. mercurius and julian the apostate. of st. theodore, and other greek warriors, as grouped in ancient art. . 780 • st. maurice, and the theban legion. the legend. its importance as a subject of art through the north of italy . . 784 st. geryon st. secundus . . 785 .785 . 786 st. alexander, and others of the companions of st. maurice st. longinus, the centurion in the crucifixion . 788 . 791 . 792 . 794 st. hippolytus st. proculus page . 732 . 737 st. quintin st. adrian and st. natalia 739 . 755 756 . 757 .758 . 758 . 760 . 762 . 765 . 768 .771 . 772 . 778 .779 . 795 . 795 . 796 • . 797 . 797 list of illustrations in the second volume. woodcuts. 99. st. george and st. michael. from a picture in the villa albani. perugino. 100. st. george. cima da conegliano. 101. st. george. or-san-michele, florence. donatello. 102. st. george and the dragon. raphael. 103. st. george and the dragon. carlo crivelli. 104. st. sebastian. albert dürer and perugino. 105. st. sebastian. old german. 106. st. roch. carotto. leuchtenberg gallery. 107. st. cosmo and st. damian. bicci di lorenzo. florence gallery. 108. st. cosmo and st. damian minister to the sick. pesellino, louvre. 109. martyrdom of st. cosmo and st. damian. florence academy. 110. st. christopher. albert dürer. 111. st. christopher. paolo farinato. 112. st. christopher. ancient woodcut. 113. the charity of st. nicholas. angelico da fiesole. vatican. 114. st. nicholas. botticelli. capitol, rome. 115. st. nicholas. from an ancient miniature. 116. the burial of st. catherine. luini. 117. st. catherine between two wheels. giotto. strasburg cathedral. 118. st. catherine. 119. st. catherine. 120. st. catherine. henry the seventh's chapel. albert dürer. 121. st. catherine. lucas van leyden. 122. marriage of st. catherine. titian. 123. marriage of st. catherine. cola dell' amatrice. 124. angels bear st. catherine to mount sinai. mücke. 125. angels bury st. catherine. masaccio. a 2 xii list of illustrations in the second volume. 126. st. barbara with the sacramental cup. holbein. 127. st. barbara with the feather. michael coxis. 128. head of st. barbara. van eyck. 129. st. ursula. 130. st. ursula. 131. st. ursula. 132. st. margaret. 133. st. margaret. lucas van leyden. gothic sculpture. 134.* st. margaret. intarsia. 135. supplicating angel. gaudenzio ferrari. 136. st. stephen, as deacon. vittore carpaccio. 137. st. laurence, as deacon. vivarini. 138. st. laurence. pinturicchio. santa caterina de' vigri. bologna gallery. zurbaran. hemling. 139. st. laurence distributing alms. angelico da fiesole. 140. angel. blake. 141. st. thecla. lorenzo costa. 142. st. euphemia. andrea mantegna. 143. st. dorothea. german. 144. st. dorothea. siena school. 145. st. justina and alphonso i. of ferrara. moretto. 146. st. cecilia. statue at rome. stefano maderno. 147. shrine of st. cecilia. 148. st. cecilia enthroned. cimabue. 149. st. cecilia. raphael. 150. st. cecilia. lucas van leyden. 151. st. cecilia. zurbaran. martin schoen. andrea del sarto. 152. st. agnes. 153. st. agnes. 154.* st. agatha. intarsia. 155. st. lucia with her lamp. carotto. 156. st. lucia with her eyes. 157. st. lucia. garofalo. carlo crivelli. 158. st. lucia with the poniard. angelico da fiesole. 159. angel playing the organ. hemmelinck. 160. st. veronica. andrea sacchi. 161. st. julian. lorenzo di credi. 162. st. christina. johan schoreel. 163. st. justa and st. rufina. 104. cherubim. perugino. 165. st. constantine. antique statue. vienna gallery. *for these two beautiful figures, specimens of intarsia (i.e. inlaid wood) from the choir of the church of st. john, malta, i am indebted to mrs. austin. list of illustrations in the second volume. xiii 166. the martyrdom of st. ignatius. 167. st. zenobio raises a dead child. 168. st. zeno. morando di verona. 169. st. petronius. lorenzo costa. 170. st. martin. martin schoen. 171. st. martin dividing his cloak. french miniature. 172. st. eloy. from the statue in 173. st. hubert as bishop of liége. 174. the conversion of st. hubert. 175. st. anthony. carotto. 176. paul and anthony break bread. brusasorci. 177. st. leonard. old fresco. from a greek miniature. masaccio. or-san-michele, florence. wilhelm of cologne. french miniature. 178. st. giles. lucas van leyden. 179. st. procopius. a. caracci. 180. st. geneviève. gothic sculpture. 181. st. geneviève, as shepherdess. guérin. 182. angels. 183. st. maurice. hemskirk. 184. st. longinus. andrea mantegna. 185. st. eustace. domenichino. 186. st. proculus. francia. 187. angel, from the so-called 'martyrdom of santa felicità.' raphael. xív list of illustrations in the second volume. etchings. 1. the five virgins. st. cecilia in the centre; on the right st. barbara and st. agnes; on the left st. lucia and st. agatha. from a picture by moretto in the church of san clemente at brescia . ii. 1. st. sebastian as patron saint. from a picture in the brera at milan. . title 2. the martyrdom of st. sebastian. after mantegna (?) iii. 1. the martyrdom of st. barbara. from a picture by pietro rosa, in the church of s. maria delle grazie at brescia. 2. the martyrdom of st. catherine. after b. luini • iv. st. barbara enthroned. after a picture by matteo di siena, in the church of san domenico at siena, dated 1479. beneath, st. barbara building her tower. from a picture in the vatican • • v. 1. st. agatha and the executioner. 2. the two deacons, st. laurence after parmigiano, in the church of san giovanni at and st. vincent. parma vii. st. anthony lifted into the air and tormented by demons. schoen • after martin • • vi. st. felicitas and her seven sons, martyrs. from the picture by neri de' bicci, in the church of santa felicità at florence . 642 page • 412 • 467 494 523 viii. the hermits of the desert. after piero laurati. the old fresco is in the campo santo at pisa. ix. 1. the hospitality of st. julian, who receives the leprous youth. 2. st. leonard holding the fetters 762 x. early italian coins, bearing the effigies of saints:-i. copper coin of sergius ii., duke of naples, from a.d. 866 to 876; on the reverse st. januarius, who first appears on the coins of naples about a century previous to this date. ii. grossetto of bartolomeo and antonio della scala, lords of verona from 1375 to 1381; on the obverse st. zeno. iii. a silver florin, struck at florence in 1182; on the obverse, a fine bust of st. john the baptist. iv. v. grosso, struck at milan about 1312, bearing st. ambrose enthroned as patron; on the reverse, st. gervasius and st. protasius. vi. grosso, struck at pavia about 1250; on the obverse, st. syrus, brother of st. ambrose, and patron of pavia. this is the earliest coin of pavia on which st. syrus appears. 741 757 list of illustrations in the second volume. xv · page vii. grosso, struck at bologna in the beginning of the fifteenth century; on the obverse, st. petronius throned as patron, and carrying the city. viii. zecchino d'oro of michael steno, doge of venice from 1400 to 1413; the doge kneeling before st. marl who delivers to him the standard of the republic (vol. i. p. 148). ix. x. soldo struck at rome about 1250. obverse, st. peter; reverse, st. paul: the traditional type in both heads has been strictly adhered to. xi. grossetto of sixtus iv., 1484, struck at viterbo, bearing st. laurence as patron. xii. grossetto of ragusa, struck in the beginning of the fifteenth century, bearing st. blaise as patron. xiii. paolo of leo x., who presents the model of st. peter's to the apostle enthroned as patron. xiv. grosso of florence, bearing st. john the baptist. xv. grossetto of innocent viii., 1484; struck at ancona, bearing st. peter hauling his net. xvi. testoon of pier luigi fiesco, lord of lavagna in piedmont, bearing as patron san tenonesto (s. theones), one of the theban legion companions of st. maurice. xvii. testoon of alessandro de' medici, bearing ss. cosmo and damian as patrons. xviii. testoon of florence, 1575, bearing st. john the baptist. xix. paolo of guid' ubaldi, duke of urbino, 1538-1574, bearing the apostles james and john. (these coins are from the collection of james lockyer, esq., to whom, and to mr. george scharf, i am indebted for the illustrative etching). 681 99 st. george of england (perugino) st. michael of france the patron saints of christendom. before entering on the general subject of the early martyrs, i shall place together here the great patron saints of eastern and western christendom. all saints are, in one sense, patron saints, either as protectors of some particular nation, province, or city; or of some particular avocation, trade, or condition of life; but there is a wide distinction to be drawn between the merely national and local saints, and those universally accepted and revered. st. denis, for instance, is not much honoured out of france; nor st. januarius, the lazzarone saint, out of naples; but st. george, the patron of england, was at once the great saint of the greek church, and the patron of the chivalry of europe; and triumphed wherever triumphed the cross, from the euphrates to the pillars of hercules. vol. ii. b 396 sacred and legendary art. those patron saints who had not, like st. peter of rome, st. mark of venice, st. james of spain, st. mary magdalene, a scriptural and apostolic sanction, yet were invested by the popular and universal faith with a paramount dignity and authority, form a class apart. they are-st. george, st. sebastian, st. christopher, st. cosmo, and st. damian, st. roch, and st. nicholas. the virgin patronesses, to whom was rendered a like universal worship, are st. catherine, st. barbara, st. margaret, and st. ursula. i place them here together, because i have observed that, in studying the legendary subjects of art, they must be kept constantly in mind. in every sacred edifice of europe which still retains its mediæval and primal character, whatever might be its destination, whether church, chapel, convent, scuola, or hospital,-in every work of art in which sacred personages are grouped together without any direct reference to the scenes or events of scripture, one or other of these renowned patrons is sure to be found; and it becomes of the utmost importance that their characters, persons, and attributes should be well discriminated. those who were martyrs do not figure principally in that character. they each represent some phase of the beneficent power, or some particular aspect of the character, of christ, that divine and universal model to which we all aspire; but so little is really known of these glorified beings, their persons, their attributes, the actions recorded of them are so mixed up with fable, and in some instances so completely fantastic and ideal,-that they may be fairly regarded as having succeeded to the honours and attributes of the tutelary divinities of the pagan mythology. it is really a most interesting speculation to observe how completely the prevalent state of society in the middle ages modified the popular notions of these impersonations of divine power. every one knows by heart those exquisite lines in which wordsworth has traced the rise and influence of the beautiful myths of ancient greece:in that fair clime the lonely herdsman, stretch'd on the soft grass through half a summer's day, with music lull'd his indolent repose: and, in some fit of weariness, if he, when his own breath was silent, chanced to hear a distant strain, far sweeter than the sounds which his poor skill could make, his fancy fetch'd the patron saints of christendom. 397 even from the blazing chariot of the sun, a beardless youth, who touched a golden lute, and fill'd the illumined groves with ravishment. the nightly hunter, lifting up his eyes towards the crescent moon, with grateful heart call'd on the lovely wanderer, who bestow'd that timely light, to share his joyous sport: and hence a blooming goddess and her nymphs. thus the mythology of the ancient greeks was the deification of the aspects and harmonies of nature, while the mythology of christianity was shaped by the aspirations of humanity;--it was the apotheosis of the moral sentiments, coloured by the passions and the suffering of the time. so in an age of barbarity and violence did st. george, the redresser of wrongs with spear and shield, become the model of knighthood. so when disease and pestilence ravaged whole provinces, the power to avert the plague was invoked in st. sebastian, and the power to heal, ever a godlike attribute, reverenced in st. cosmo and st. damian. so at a time when human life was held cheap, and beset by casualties, when the intercourse between men and nations was interrupted by wide forests, by unaccustomed roads, by floods and swamps, and all perils of sea and land, did st. christopher represent to the pious the immediate presence of divine aid in difficulty and danger. so also were the virgin patronesses to all intents and purposes goddesses in fact, though saints in name. the noble sufferance, the unblemished chastity, the enthusiastic faith of a st. catherine or a st. ursula, did not lose by a mingling of the antique grace, where a due reverence inspired the conception of the artist:-venus and diana, and pallas and lucina, it should seem, could only gain by being invested with the loftier, purer attributes of christianity. still there was a diversity in the spirit which rendered the blending of these characters, however accepted in the abstract, not always happy in the representation;-a consideration which will meet us under many aspects as we proceed. there are fourteen saints, who, in germany, are especially distinguished as nothhelfer (helpers-in-need); but as this distinction does not pervade german art especially, and is not received in the rest of europe, i have thought it unnecessary to do more than mention it. b 2 398 sacred and legendary art. i will now take these poetical and semideified personages in order; giving the precedence, as is most fit, to our own illustrious patron, the champion of england and hero of the fairie queen,' st. george. st. george of cappadocia. lat. sanctus georgius. ital. san giorgio. fr. saint georges, le très-loyal chevalier de la chrétienneté. ger. der heilige georgius, or, more popularly, jorg or georg. patron of england, of germany, of venice. patron saint of soldiers and of armourers. (april 23, a.d. 303.) the legend of st. george came to us from the east; where, under various forms, as apollo and the python, as bellerophon and the chimera, as perseus and the sea-monster, we see perpetually recurring the mythic allegory by which was figured the conquest achieved by beneficent power over the tyranny of wickedness, and which reappears in christian art in the legends of st. michael and half a hundred other saints. at an early period we find this time-consecrated myth transplanted into christendom, and assuming, by degrees, a peculiar colouring in conformity with the spirit of a martial and religious age, until the classical demi-god appears before us, transformed into that doughty slayer of the dragon and redresser of woman's wrongs, st. georgeyclad in mighty arms and silver shield, as one for knightly jousts and fierce encounters fit. spenser, however, makes his patron of true holinesse' rather unwilling to renounce his knighthood for his sainthood :— but deeds of arms must i at last be fain to leave, and lady's love so dearly bought? the legend of st. george, as it was accepted by the people and artists of the middle ages, runs thus :-he was a native of cappadocia, living in the time of the emperor diocletian, born of noble christian parents, and a tribune in the army. it is related that in travelling to join his legion he came to a certain city in libya called selene.¹ the inhabitants of this city were in great trouble and consternation by some authors the scene is laid at berytus (beyrout) in syria. st. george of cappadocia. 399 in consequence of the ravages of a monstrous dragon, which issued from a neighbouring lake or marsh, and devoured the flocks and herds of the people, who had taken refuge within the walls: and to prevent him from approaching the city, the air of which was poisoned by his pestiferous breath, they offered him daily two sheep; and when the sheep were exhausted, they were forced to sacrifice to him two of their children daily, to save the rest. the children were taken by lot (all under the age of fifteen); and the whole city was filled with mourning, with the lamentations of bereaved parents and the cries of the innocent victims. now the king of this city had one daughter, exceedingly fair, and her name was cleodolinda. and after some time, when many people had perished, the lot fell upon her, and the monarch, in his despair, offered all his gold and treasures, and even the half of his kingdom, to redeem her; but the people murmured, saying, 'is this just, o king! that thou, by thine own edict, hast made us desolate, and, behold, now thou wouldst withhold thine own child?'—and they waxed more and more wroth, and they threatened to burn him in his palace unless the princess was delivered up. then the king submitted, and asked only a delay of eight days to bewail her fate, which was granted; and at the end of eight days, the princess, being clothed in her royal robes, was led forth as a victim for sacrifice, and she fell at her father's feet and asked his blessing, saying that she was ready to die for her people: and then, amid tears and lamentations, she was put forth, and the gates shut against her. slowly she walked towards the dwelling of the dragon, the path being drearily strewn with the bones of former victims, and she wept as she went on her way. now, at this time, st. george was passing by, mounted on his good steed; and, being moved to see so beautiful a virgin in tears, he paused to ask her why she wept, and she told him. and he said, fear not, for i will deliver you!' and she replied, 'o noble youth! tarry not here, lest thou perish with me! but fly, i beseech thee!' but st. george would not; and he said, 'god forbid that i should fly! i will lift my hand against this loathly thing, and will deliver thee through the power of jesus christ!' at that moment the monster was seen emerging from his lair, and half crawling, half flying towards them. then the virgin princess trembled exceedingly, and c 400 sacred and legendary art. cried out, fly, i beseech thee, brave knight, and leave me here to die!' but he answered not; only making the sign of the cross and calling on the name of the redeemer, he spurred towards the dragon, and after a terrible and prolonged combat, he pinned him to the earth with his lance. then he desired the princess to bring her girdle; and he bound the dragon fast, and gave the girdle to her hand, and the subdued monster crawled after them like a dog. in this guise they approached the city. the people being greatly terrified, st. george called out to them, saying,fear nothing; only believe in the god through whose might i have conquered this adversary, and be baptized, and i will destroy him before your eyes.' so the king and his people believed, and were baptized,-twenty thousand people in one day. then st. george slew the dragon, and cut off his head; and the king bestowed great rewards and treasures on the victorious knight; but he distributed all to the poor, and kept nothing, and went on his way, and came to palestine. at that time the edict of the emperor diocletian against the christians was published, and it was affixed to the gates of the temples, and in the public markets; and men read it with terror, and hid their faces; but st. george, when he saw it, was filled with indignation, the spirit of courage from on high came upon him, and he tore it down, and trampled it under his feet. whereupon he was seized, and carried before dacian the proconsul, and condemned to suffer during eight days the most cruel tortures. first they bound him on a wooden cross, and tore his body with sharp iron nails, and then they scorched and burned him with torches, and rubbed salt into his smarting wounds. and when dacian saw that st. george was not to be vanquished by torments, he called to his aid a certain enchanter, who, after invoking his demons, mingled strong poison with a cup of wine and presented it to the saint. he, having made the sign of the cross and recommended himself to god, drank it off without injury:-(an expressive allegory, signifying the power of christian truth to expel and defeat evil). when the magician saw this miracle, he fell at the feet of the saint, and declared himself a christian. immediately the wicked judge caused the enchanter to be beheaded; and st. george was bound upon a wheel full of sharp blades; but the wheel was broken by two angels, who descended from heaven. thereupon they flung him into a cauldron st. george of cappadocia, 401 of boiling lead: and when they believed that they had subdued him by the force of torments, they brought him to the temple to assist at the sacrifice, and the people ran in crowds to behold his humiliation, and the priests mocked him. but st. george knelt down and prayed, and thunder and lightning from heaven fell upon the temple and destroyed it and the idols; and the priests and many people were crushed beneath the ruins, as at the prayer of the son of manoah in ancient times. then dacian, seized with rage and terror, commanded that the christian knight should be beheaded. he bent his neck to the sword of the executioner, and received bravely and thankfully the stroke of death. st. george is particularly honoured by the greeks, who place him as captain at the head of the noble army of martyrs, with the title of the great martyr. the reverence paid to him in the east is of such antiquity, that one of the first churches erected by constantine, after his profession of christianity (consequently within twenty years after the supposed death of the saint), was in honour of st. george. in the west, however, his apocryphal legend was not accepted, and was, in fact, repudiated from the offices of the church by pope gelasius in 494, when he reformed the calendar. it was then decided that st. george should be placed in the category of those saints whose names are justly reverenced among men, but whose actions are known only to god.' after this period we do not hear much of him till the first crusade, when the assistance he is said to have vouchsafed to godfrey of boulogne made his name as a military saint famous throughout europe. the particular veneration paid to him in england dates from the time of richard i., who, in the wars of palestine, placed himself and his army under the especial protection of st. george. 1222 his feast was ordered to be kept as a holiday throughout england; and the institution of the order of the garter, in 1330, seems to have completed his inauguration as our patron saint.' in the devotional representations of st. george, which are of very frequent occurrence, may be divided into two classes. 1. those in 1 there is ample proof that st. george was popular in this country even in the anglosaxon times; but, previous to the normans, edward the confessor was patron saint of england. there are 162 churches in england dedicated in honour of st. george. (see parker's calendar of the anglican church,' p. 65.) 402 sacred and legendary art. which he is standing as patron saint, alone, or grouped with other saints in the madonna pictures. 2. those in which he vanquishes the dragon. 1. in the single figures st. george is usually represented young, or in the prime of life. in the greek and italian pictures he is generally beardless, but bearded in the german pictures. his air and expression should be serenely triumphant: he ought to wear a complete suit of armour, being the same specified by st. paul (ephes. vi.), the breastplate of righteousness, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the spirit, which is the word of god.' sometimes he wears the classical armour of a roman soldier, sometimes he is armed as a knight of romance. in one hand he bears the palm, in the other a lance; from which, occasionally, floats a banner with a red cross. the lance is often broken, because in his legend it is said that, his lance being broken, he slew the dragon with his sword.' the slain dragon lies at his feet. this is the usual manner of representation, but it is occasionally varied; for instance, when he stands before us as the patron saint of england and of the order of the garter, he has the garter buckled round his knee, and the star of the order embroidered on his mantle. when he figures as patron saint of venice, he stands leaning on his sword, the lance and banner in his hand, and the dragon usually omitted. 6 100 wh st. george (venetian) st. george of cappadocia. 403 such representations in the early italian pictures are often of exquisite beauty, combining the attitude and bearing of the victorious warrior with the mild, devout expression of the martyr saint. for example, in a picture by cima da conegliano,' he stands to the right of the throne of the madonna, one hand grasping the lance, the other resting on the pommel of his sword, and in his youthful features an expression divinely candid and serene: there is no dragon. again, in the famous madonna del trono by fra bartolomeo st. george stands by the throne in a full suit of steel plate armour, with an air which vasari has truly described as 'fiera, pronta, vivace;' and yet, on his clear, open brow, an expression becoming the christian saint: he bears the standard furled. i believe the beautiful little venetian picture once in the collection of mr. rogers (and then called gaston de foix) to be a study for a st. george, either by giorgione or bonifacio; and those to whom the venetian altar-pieces are familiar can have no doubt as to the subject intended.3 4 in a picture by tintoretto, st. george, as patron of venice, is seated on the steps of the throne of the madonna, like a celestial guard; while the venetian signoria are approaching to worship. st. george, standing in armour, points upwards with one hand, and in the other holds an inscription, quid bono retribuā dño.' in a picture by giolfino, in the s. anastasia, verona. ( among the most celebrated single figures of st. george must be mentioned the fine statue by donatello on the exterior of the or san michele at 101 st. george (donatello) 1 acad. venice. 2 fl. gal. * it is now in our national gallery, and ought to go by its right name. ↑ venice, ss. gio. e paolo. vol. ii. c 404 sacred and legendary art. florence: he is in complete armour, without sword or lance, bareheaded, and leaning on his shield, which displays the cross. the noble, tranquil, serious dignity of this figure admirably expresses the christian warrior: it is so exactly the conception of spenser, that it immediately suggests his lines ::upon his shield the bloodie cross was scored, for sovereign help, which in his need he had. right faithful, true he was, in deed and word; but of his cheere did seem too solemn sad; yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad. 6 as a signal example of a wholly different feeling and treatment, may be mentioned the st. george in correggio's madonna di san giorgio:' here his habit is that of a roman soldier; his attitude bold and martial; and, turning to the spectator with a look of radiant triumph, he sets his foot on the head of the vanquished dragon. 2. in the subject called familiarly st. george and the dragon, we must be careful to distinguish between the emblem and the action. where we have merely the figure of st. george in the act of vanquishing the dragon, as in the insignia of the order of the garter, on coins, in the carvings of old gothic churches, in ancient stained glass, &c.-the representation is strictly devotional and allegorical, signifying the victory of faith or holiness over all the powers of evil. but where st. george is seen as combatant, and the issue of the combat yet undecided; where accessories are introduced, as the walls of the city in the background crowded with anxious spectators; or where the princess, praying with folded hands for her deliverer, is a conspicuous and important personage, then the representation becomes dramatic and historical; it is clearly a scene, an incident. in the former instance, the treatment should be simple, ideal, sculptural; in the latter, picturesque, dramatic, fanciful. there are two little pictures by raphael which may be cited as signal examples of the two styles of treatment. the first, which is in the louvre, a serenely elegant and purely allegorical concepdresden gal. st. george of cappadocia. 405 102 meco st. george (raphael. louvre) tion, represents st. george as the christian warrior, combating with spiritual arms, and assured of conquest; for thus he sits upon his milk-white steed, and with such a tranquil and even careless scorn prepares to strike off the head of the writhing monster beneath (102). very different, as a conception, is the second picture, in which st. george figures as the champion of england; here he is rushing on the dragon as one who must conquer or die, and transfixes the monster with his lance: the rescued princess is seen in the background. this picture was painted as a present from the duke of c 2 406 sacred and legendary art. urbino to henry vii.; and st. george has the garter and motto round his knee. it is now at st. petersburg. when the princess is introduced in the devotional representations, she is clearly an allegorical personage, representing truth or innocence -the una of spenser. i can recollect but one instance in which she has the lamb; in this example, however, the treatment is anything but devotional. it is an exquisite little print, by lucas van leyden, which appears to represent the meeting of st. george and the princess before the conquest of the dragon: she has been weeping, and is drying her eyes with the back of her hand, while st. george comforts her, as we may see, with gallant assurances of deliverance; his squire in the background holds his horse. some other examples of this early treatment by the german painters are very curious; whether historical or allegorical, they conceived it wholly in a romantic and chivalrous spirit. we have the casque and floating plume, the twisted mail, the spurs, the long hair, the banner, the attendant squire. albert dürer has given us four prints of st. george in one of them he is standing with the red-cross banner, and has his hair confined in a kind of net cap, such as the knights of the fifteenth century wore under the helmet; his plumed casque and the vanquished dragon lie at his feet; he has rather a long beard, and all the air of a veteran knight. sometimes st. george is seen on horseback, bareheaded, with his helmet at his saddle-bow, while * the rescued princess walks beside him, leading the wounded dragon bound in her girdle. in tintoretto's picture in our national gallery, the conquest of the dragon is treated quite in the dramatic and historical style: here the combat takes place in the background; and the princess, who is in front, seems to wish, yet dread, to look round. : in the spirited sketch by tintoretto, at hampton court, st. george has bound the monster, and the princess cleodolinda holds one end of the girdle. the same incident, but more dramatic and picturesque in treatment, we find in the queen's gallery, painted by rubens for our charles i. in this picture the saintly legend is exhibited as a scene in a melodrama, and made the vehicle for significant and not inappropriate flattery. the action passes in a rich landscape, representing in the background a distant view of the thames, and windsor castle as it then stood. near the centre is st. george, with his st. george of cappadocia. 407 right foot on the neck of the vanquished dragon, presenting to the daughter of the king of selene-the fair princess cleodolinda-the end of the girdle which she had given him to bind the monster: the saint and the princess are portraits of charles i. and henrietta-maria. nearer to the spectator, on the left, is a group of four females, bewailing the ravages of the beast, exhibited in the dead bodies lying near them, and from the sight of which two infants recoil with horror. behind, the squire of the saintly knight is seen, mounted and armed cap-à-pie, and bearing his banner with the red cross; a page holds his horse: beyond them is seen a group of persons on a high bank, and others mounted on trees, who survey the scene; and on the other side, three females, who are embracing each other, and, as the french catalogue has it, témoignent par leur attitude une frayeur mêlée de joie.' two angels from above descend with the palm and the laurel to crown the conqueror. the picture, like the st. george of raphael, already mentioned, has to an englishman a sort of national interest, being painted for one of our kings in honour of our tutelar saint. after the death of charles i. it was sold out of england, passed into the orleans gallery, was brought back to england in 1798, and subsequently purchased by george iv. there is a beautiful modern bas-relief by schwanthaler, in which st. george, with his foot on the dragon, is presenting the end of the girdle to the rescued princess. it appears to me an unpardonable mistake in point of sentiment when the princess is fleeing in terror, as in one of l. caracci's finest pictures, where she appears in the foreground, and immediately commands attention.' richardson praises the figure, and with justice : he says, the lady, that flies in a fright, has the most noble and gentile attitude imaginable. she is dressed all in white, she runs away, her back is towards you, but her head, turning over her shoulder, shows a profile exquisitely beautiful, and with a fine expression.' fine expression of what?-of fear? it shocks our better judgment. the noble princess of the legend, who was ready to die for her people, and who entreated st. george to leave her rather than in the cloisters of the san michele-in-bosco, at bologna, now nearly defaced; but the frescoes, once celebrated, are well known through engravings. 408 sacred and legendary art. expose his life, was not likely to fly when he was combating for her sake; she puts up prayers for her deliverer, and abides the issue. so spenser's una, the cleodolinda of the legend :with folded hands, and knees full lowly bent, all night did watch, ne once adowne would lay her dainty limbs in her sad drearyment, but praying, still did wake, and waking did lament. and thus the ancient painters, with a true and elevated feeling, uniformly represent her. richardson, in his praise of this picture by ludovico, which he calls a miraculous picture,' seems to have forgotten the principle he has himself laid down, with excellent taste, though the expression be somewhat homely. if the workmanship be never so exquisite, if the pencil or chisel be in the utmost degree fine; and the idea of the persons or things represented is low, or disagreeable; the work may be excellent, but the picture or sculpture is in the main contemptible, or of little worth. whereas, on the other hand, let the ideas we receive be great and noble, 'tis comparatively of no importance whether the work is rough or delicate.' the devotional figures of the armed st. george, with his foot on the dragon, resemble in sentiment and significance the figures of st. michael where they are represented together, the wings or the balance distinguish the archangel; the palm, the martyr. there are other military saints who have also the dragon, from whom it is less easy to distinguish st. george. st. theodore of heraclea and st. longinus have both this attribute. the reader will find in the legends of these saints the points which distinguish them. it must be observed, that the dragon in the myth of st. george never has the human or satanic lineaments, as in the legend of st. michael; nor do i know of any instance in which the usual dragontype, such as we see it in all the effigies of the conquering st. george, has been departed from: the gigantic crocodile head; the brazen scales, that, when he moved, were as the clashing of an armour bright; the enormous wings, like unto sails in which the hollow wind is gathered full; the voluminous tail, terminating in a sting; 6 st. george of cappadocia, 409 and the iron teeth and claws, compose the 'dreadful beast,'-which is a beast, and nothing more. pictures from the life of st. george as a series occur very seldom. i believe that the reason may be found in the rejection of his legend from the office of the church of rome as early as the sixth century, he being placed by pope gelasius in the number of those saints 'whose names and whose virtues were rightly adored by men, but whose actions were known only to god.' this has not prevented his legend from being one of the most popular in those european story-books where he figures as one of the seven champions of christendom. there is a series of early frescoes in the chapel of san giorgio at padua, painted, as it is supposed, by the school of giotto, principally by jacopo avanzi and altichieri. they are arranged in the following order ::1. the combat with the dragon; the city is seen in the background, with the walls crowded with spectators. 2. the baptism of the king, the queen, the princess, and all the court. the scene is the interior of the church, which, according to the legend, was built by the command of st. george, after the conquest of the dragon: the king is kneeling at the font, holding his crown in his hand; st. george is pouring water upon his head from a vase: the saint is not here in armour, but wears a white tunic, with the pointed shoes and spurs of a cavalier of the fourteenth cen tury. the queen and princess kneel behind the king. the four frescoes in the lower range represent the martyrdom of the saint. 1. st. george, habited in a long loose mantle, drinks off the poison presented by the magician, who looks on with surprise. 2. st. george stretched on the wheel, which is destroyed by angels. 3. the fall of the temple of apollo at the prayer of st. george, who is kneeling in front. 4. st. george is beheaded outside the city: the executioner stands beside him with his sword raised; the saint kneels with his hands joined, and with a mild, resigned expression. in all these compositions st. george is represented bearded, as a man in the prime of life, and not as a youth. 410 sacred and legendary art. 4 103 חחחח food st. george (carlo crivelli) the history of st. george as patron of venice, as victor, not as martyr, has been painted by vittore carpaccio in three beautiful pictures.-1. the combat with the dragon. 2. he is received by the king and people in triumph. 3. the conversion and baptism of the king and his court: the most conspicuous figure is that of the princess, who, with her long golden hair flowing over her shoulders, her hands joined, and with a most lovely expression, kneels to receive baptism from her pious and chivalrous deliverer.' 1 venice. church of s. giorgio de' schiavoni. st. george of cappadocia. 411 of the martyrdom of st. george, as a separate subject, there are several fine examples, but i do not know any of very early date. the leading idea is in all the same: he kneels, and an executioner prepares to strike off his head with a sword. in the church of san giorgio, at verona, i saw over the high altar this subject by paul veronese, treated in his usual gorgeous style: st. george, stripped to the waist, kneels to receive the blow; a monk stands at his side (we are left to wonder how he got there); the virgin in glory, with st. peter and st. paul, and a host of angels, appear in the opening heavens above. the composition by rubens, painted for the chapel of st. george de lière, near antwerp, is very fine and full of character. in the composition of vandyck, he is represented as sacrificed to an idol. the drawing is, i think, in the collection of sir robert peel. st. george and the dragon, and his martyrdom, are the usual subjects in the many churches dedicated to this saint. . his church at rome, at the foot of the palatine, called, from its situation, san giorgio-in-velabro, was built by leo ii. in 682. in a casket under the altar is preserved, as a precious relic, a fragment of his banner; and on the vault of the apsis is an ancient painting, the copy of a more ancient mosaic, which once existed there. in the centre stands the redeemer between the virgin and st. peter; on one side, st. george on horseback with his palm as martyr, and his standard as the red-cross knight;' on the other side, st. sebastian standing, bearded, and with one long arrow. from the time that these two saints were united in the popular fancy as martyrs and warriors, they are most frequently found in companionship, particularly in the italian works of art. in the french pictures and gothic sculpture, st. george does not often appear, and then usually in companionship with st. maurice or st. victor, who are likewise military saints. in the german pictures he is often accompanied by st. florian. vol. ii. in the same church is a series of pictures from the martyrdom of the tutelar saint, copiosissimi di figure delle più varie, delle più spiritose, delle più terribili ne' carnefici che mai vedessi.-lanzi, iii. p. 110. ꭰ 412 sacred and legendary art. st. sebastian. lat. sanctus sebastianus. ital. san sebastiano; or san bastiano. fr. st. sébastien. patron saint against plague and pestilence. (january 20, a.d. 288.) the story of st. sebastian is of great beauty and great antiquity; it has also the rare merit of being better authenticated in the leading incidents, and less mixed up with incredible and fictitious matter, than most of the antique legends. he was a native of narbonne, in gaul, the son of noble parents, who had held high offices in the empire. he was himself at an early age promoted to the command of a company in the prætorian guards, so that he was always near the person of the emperor, and held in especial favour. at this time he was secretly a christian, but his faith only rendered him more loyal to his masters; more faithful in all his engagements; more mild, more charitable; while his favour with his prince, and his popularity with the troops, enabled him to protect those who were persecuted for christ's sake, and to convert many to the truth. among his friends were two young men of noble family, soldiers like himself; their names were marcus and marcellinus. being convicted of being christians, they were condemned to the torture, which they endured with unshaken firmness, and were afterwards led forth to death, but their aged father and mother threw themselves in the way, and their wives and children gathered around them, beseeching them with tears and supplications to recant, and save themselves, even for the sake of those who loved and could not survive them. the two young heroes, who had endured tortures without shrinking, began to relent and to tremble; but at this critical moment st. sebastian, neglecting his own safety, rushed forward, and, by his exhortations, encouraged them rather to die than to renounce their redeemer; and such was the power of his eloquence, that not only were his friends strengthened and confirmed in their faith, but all those who were present were converted: the family of the condemned, the guards, and even the judge himself, yielding to the irresistible force of his arguments, were secretly baptized. marcus 1.sebastian: 烟 ​martyrdom of 12 febastian st. sebastian. 413 and marcellinus were for this time saved; but in a few months afterwards they were denounced with the whole christian community, and put to death; they died together, singing with a loud voice, 'behold, how goodly and gracious a thing it is, brothers, dw together in amity; ' and the other converts were put to cruel deaths. at length it came to the turn of sebastian. but previously the emperor, who loved him, sent for him and remonstrated with him, saying, 'have i not always honoured thee above the rest of my officers? why hast thou disobeyed my commands, and insulted my gods?' to which sebastian replied, with equal meekness and courage, 'o cæsar, i have ever prayed, in the name of jesus christ, for thy prosperity, and have been true to thy service; but as for the gods whom thou wouldst have me worship, they are devils, or, at best, idols of wood and stone.' then diocletian ordered that he should be bound to a stake and shot to death with arrows; and that it should be inscribed on the stake and published to the troops that he suffered for being a christian, and not for any other fault. and sebastian having been pierced with many arrows, the archers left him for dead; but in the middle of the night, irene, the widow of one of his martyred friends, came with her attendants to take his body away, that she might bury it honourably; and it was found that none of the arrows had pierced him in a vital part, and that he yet breathed. so they carried him to her house, and his wounds were dressed; and the pious widow tended him night and day, until he had wholly recovered. when his christian friends came around him, they counselled him to fly from rome, knowing that if he were once discovered there would be no mercy shown to him. but sebastian felt that this was not a time to hide himself, but to stand forth boldly and openly for the faith he professed; and he went to the palace and stood before the gate, on the steps which he knew the emperor must descend on his way to the capitol; and he raised his voice, pleading for those who were condemned to suffer, and reproaching the emperor with his intolerance and cruelty; and the emperor, looking on him with amazement, said, 'art thou not sebastian?' and he replied, 'i am sebastian, whom god hath delivered from thy hand, that i might testify to the faith of jesus christ and plead for his servants.' then d 2 414 sacred and legendary art. diocletian in his fury commanded that they should seize sebastian and carry him to the circus, and beat him to death with clubs; and, that his body might be for ever hidden from his friends, it was thrown into the cloaca maxima. but these precautions were in vain, for a christian lady, named lucina, found means to recover the body of the saint, and interred it secretly in the catacombs at the feet of st. peter and st. paul. it is probably from the association of the arrows with his form and story, that st. sebastian has been regarded from the first ages of christianity as the protecting saint against plague and pestilence. arrows have been from all antiquity the emblem of pestilence; apollo was the deity who inflicted plague, therefore was invoked with prayer and sacrifice against it; and to the honours of apollo, in this particular character, st. sebastian has succeeded. it is in this character that numerous churches have been dedicated to him; for, according to the legendary traditions, there is scarcely a city of europe that has not been saved by the intercession of st. sebastian. his church at rome, built over that part of the catacombs called the cemetery of calixtus, is one of the seven basilicas, and stands about two miles from the city on the via appia, outside the gate of san sebastiano. all traces of the ancient church have disappeared, having been rebuilt in 1611. under the high altar is the recumbent statue of the saint. the almost colossal form lies dead, the head resting on his helmet and armour. it is evidently modelled from nature, and is, perhaps, the finest thing ever designed by bernini : the execution was entrusted to his pupil. there is a fine cast in the crystal palace. the most interesting, though certainly not the most beautiful, effigy of st. sebastian existing at rome is a very ancient mosaic, preserved in the church of san pietro-in-vincoli, and supposed to have been executed in 683. nothing can be more unlike the modern conception of the aspect and character of this favourite saint. it represents him as a bearded warrior, in the roman habit, wearing the cuirass, and over it the long garment or toga; in his hand what seems to be the crown of martyrdom. on a marble tablet, on one side of the effigy, is the following inscription in latin; i give the translation from mr. percy's 'rome and romanism: 'st. sebastian. 415 to st. sebastian, martyr, dispeller of the pestilence. in the year of salvation 680, a pernicious and severe pestilence invaded the city of rome. it was of three months' duration, july, august, and september. such was the multitude of the dead, that, on the same bier, parents and children, husbands and wives, with brothers and sisters, were borne out to burialplaces, which, everywhere filled with bodies, hardly sufficed. in addition to this, nocturnal miracles alarmed them; for two angels, one good and the other evil, went through the city; and this last bearing a rod in his hand, as many times as he struck the doors so many mortals fell in those houses. the disease spread for a length of time, until it was announced to a holy man that there would be an end of the calamity, if, in the church of s. peter ad vincula, an altar should be consecrated to sebastian the martyr; which thing being done immediately, the pestilence, as if driven back by hand, was commanded to cease. this was just a hundred years after the famous plague of the time of gregory the great. from this time, the end of the seventh century, st. sebastian has been accepted as the universal patron against the plague. he is especially popular as a subject of art all down the eastern coast of italy, in consequence of the prevalence of plague in those districts; sometimes he is represented with his robe outspread, and protecting the people beneath from showers of arrows; sometimes as interceding at the feet of the virgin, who, at his entreaty, commands the destroying angel to sheath his sword. the more modern devotional figures of st. sebastian rarely exhibit him in any other character than that of the martyr: even as patron saint the leading idea is still the same, for the arrows by which he is transfixed symbolise also the shafts of the pestilence; and they are the attribute not merely of the suffering and death of the martyr, but of the power of the saint. he is a beautiful apollo-like figure, in the bloom of youth, undraped, bound to a tree or a column, and pierced by one or several arrows. he is looking up to heaven with an expression of enthusiastic faith or mild resignation, while an angel descends from above with the crown and palm. the variations are merely those of attitude and detail; sometimes his armour is seen lying at his feet; sometimes he is not pierced by the arrows, only bound, and the arrows are lying at the foot of the tree. in the old pictures the background is frequently a court or hall of the imperial palace; in all the modern pictures the background is landscape-the garden on the palatine hill, where, according to tradition, the scene took place. sometimes soldiers or archers are seen in the distance. though generally young, he is not always so. albert dürer and the 416 sacred and legendary art. • germans give him a respectable beard. domenichino has also represented him as a man about thirty, copying in this the ancient mosaic in san pietro-in-vincoli. in the pictures of the throned madonna, st. sebastian is frequently introduced, standing on one side, arrow-pierced, with his hands bound behind him, and looking up to heaven. in some later pictures we see him kneeling, and presenting to the virgin the arrows with which he is pierced; or he is in armour, and merely holds an arrow in his hand. in general, the most ancient pictures and prints of this subject are not agreeable, from the stiff and defective drawing; and in the modern schools, when it became a favourite vehicle for the exhibition of elegant forms and fine anatomical modelling, it was too obviously a display of art. we must seek, therefore, for the most beautiful st. sebastians in those works which date between the two extremes; and accordingly we find them in the pictures of perugino, francia, luini, and the old venetian painters. i could not point to a more charming example of this treatment than the francia in our national gallery, nor to a more perfect specimen of the savoir-faire school than the guido in the dulwich gallery. the st. sebastian, as is well known, was guido's favourite subject; he painted at least seven. another instance of this kind of ostentatious sentiment in style is the carlo dolce in the corsini palace at florence. the display of beautiful form, permitted and even consecrated by devotion, is so rare in christian representations, that we cannot wonder at the avidity with which this subject was seized on, as soon as the first difficulties of art were overcome, or at the multiplicity of examples we find in the later schools, particularly the venetian and bolognese. it would take pages to enumerate even a few of these; but i must direct attention to some examples of beautiful or very very peculiar treatment. 1. b. luini. a beautiful figure bound to a tree, from amid the boughs of which an angel looks down upon him. the expression of the head is not that of enthusiastic faith, but of mild devout. resignation.' 2. beltraffio. by the arrows. bound to a tree, he is wounded, but not transfixed, he is looking down,-not up, as is usual; with certosa, pavia. st. sebastian. 417 a balliel 104 ware -... m (albert dürer) long curling hair, and a charming expression of benignity and gentleness.¹ 3. perugino. the saint, in red drapery, holds in one hand the palm, in the other three arrows.2 another, in which he is standing undraped, except that around his loins there is an embroidered scarf; his hands are bound behind him; he is transfixed by three arrows, and looking up with the usual enthusiastic expression; his long hair floating in curls upon his shoulders.3 another, in which he kneels before the virgin; in red drapery, transfixed by a single arrow.4 st. sebastian (perugino) 1 the portrait, i believe, of salaino, himself a painter, whom vasari styles vaghissimo di grazia e di bellezza,' and whose beautiful face and curling hair (capelli ricci e inanellati') continually appear in the pictures of leonardo and his school. (louvre.) 2 perugia, san pietro. florence gal. perugia, s. agostino. 418 sacred and legendary art. 4. matteo di siena. he stands on one side of the madonna, covered with wounds, but not transfixed by arrows. in one hand a single arrow and a palm, in the other a martyr's crown. the head extremely fine.¹ 5. a. mantegna. he is bound to a pillar near a ruined triumphal arch. the ruined arch and the ruined temples, sometimes strewed round st. sebastian, may signify the destruction of the heathen powers; otherwise, and in the historical representations, it is an anachronism :—the palatine was still in all its glory when sebastian suffered. 6. giorgione. he is standing, bound to an orange-tree, with his arms bound above his head; the dark eyes raised towards heaven. his helmet and armour lie at his feet; his military mantle of green, embroidered with gold, is thrown round him. this picture, with the deep blue sky and the deep green foliage, struck me as one of the most solemn effects ever produced by feeling and colour. he is neither wounded nor transpierced.3 7. titian. bound to a tree; head declined, and the long hair falling partly over the face; very fine and pathetic. it is the same figure which appears in the celebrated altar-piece dedicated by averoldo in the church of ss. nazaro and celso at brescia. 8. razzi. he is bound to a tree, pierced by three arrows, looking up to heaven with an expression perfectly divine. this picture was formerly used as a standard, and carried in procession when the city was afflicted by pestilence:-to my feeling it is the most beautiful example of the subject i have seen.³ 9. liberale da verona. here also he is bound to the stem of an orange-tree; pierced with several arrows." 10. baroccio. he is here fully draped, and holds two arrows in each hand, presenting them to the virgin. 11. hernando yanez. the saint standing with a lily near him; the lily is unusual. there are a great many fine examples in the bologna and flemish 1 acad. siena. 2 vienna gal. on seeing this fine picture nearer in 1855, i am convinced that it is not by giorgione, or has been mercilessly cleaned. (milan, brera.) lichtenstein gal., vienna. 5 fl. acad. 6 berlin gal. louvre, sp. gal. st. sebastian. 419 schools, in which i have found almost invariably the usual motif, combined in general with great beauty of execution. 12. martin schoen. in a rare print; st. sebastian suspended against the trunk of a tree, is transfixed by six arrows. the figure is ill drawn and emaciated; but the expression in the head, declined and sickening into death, very pathetic and beautiful. it is seldom that he is represented as dying or fainting. 13. some old representations of st. sebastian, from the german and spanish schools, are very curious. there was a small picture, by villegas, in the collection of louis-philippe, in which st. sebastian wears the rich costume of the sixteenth century-an embroidered vest, a hat and feather; an arrow in his breast; in one hand a bow, and in the other a crucifix. i have seen also a german drawing, in which st. sebastian is dressed like a german cavalier, wearing a cap, a doublet, and an embroidered cloak; one hand on his sword, the other resting on his shield (which bears crosslets and arrowheads as the device); and pierced by three arrows, one of which has passed through his cheek: the expression of the youthful, almost boyish, face very beautiful (105). 14. he wears a full suit of black armour, over which is thrown a red mantle. in one hand he holds two arrows, in the other a cross.¹ 15. in a picture by raffaelino del garbo, st. sebastian wears a blue vest, elegantly embroidered with gold, black hose, and a crimson mantle. in the hôtel de cluny, paris. vol. ii. e 105 006 to 0.00 st. sebastian 2 berlin gal. 98. 420 sacred and legendary art. st. sebastian has afforded an admirable subject for christian sculpture. 1. by matteo civitale, there is a statue in white marble, in which he is bound to the trunk of a tree, pierced with several arrows. this statue, in spite of sundry faults of design, struck me by the beauty of the attitude and the beauty of expression. it is celebrated as being the first undraped statue of a male adult figure that had been produced since the revival of art. the arrows are of metal, gilt.' 2. the statue by puget in the church of carignano at genoa is also celebrated. it is colossal, and represents him transfixed, with his armour at his feet; there is a good deal of expression, but a total want of simplicity. 3. the statue in his church at rome has been already mentioned. st. sebastian is everywhere popular,2 but more particularly in those countries and districts which were most exposed to the plague. for instance, all down the east coast of italy, from venice to bari, st. sebastian is constantly met with. in the more ancient pictures his usual pendant is either st. george or st. nicholas; in the more modern pictures st. roch; very often the healing saints st. cosmo and st. damian. wherever these are grouped together or round the virgin and child, the picture has been dedicated against the plague. some of these votive pictures have a very pathetic significance, when we consider them as commemorating the terrible visitations of pestilence which occasionally desolated the south of europe. i will give one or two examples. 1. the madonna di misericordia 3 is seen in the midst with her robes outspread, beneath which are gathered the afflicted votaries. above, the padre eterno looks down from heaven. on the left of the virgin st. sebastian, his hands bound and his whole body stuck full of arrows, looks up with a pleading expression. the votaries present 1 about 1470. duomo, lucca. 2 in england his effigies are not uncommon, and there are two churches dedicated to his honour, that of gonerby in lincolnshire, and woodbastwich in norfolk. (see parker's 'calendar of the anglican church,' p. 284.) he has, however, been banished from the english calendar, in which many saints more apocryphal and less deserving still keep their place. * see 'legends of the madonna,' p. 32. st. sebastian. 421 to him a prayer or petition, which he is supposed to repeat to the virgin, through whom it reaches the supreme being, at whose command st. michael, the angel of judgment, utters the word fiat, and sheaths his sword.i 2. the following example is also very expressive. st. sebastian, in a rich military costume of blue embroidered with gold, stands as patron his large cloak, spread open and sustained by angels, intercepts and shelters his votaries from the plague arrows, which fall thickly on its folds as they are shot from above.² scenes from the life of st. sebastian are confined to a few subjects, which have been frequently treated. paul veronese's 'st. sebastian exhorting and encouraging marcus and marcellinus, as they are led to death,' in the church of s. sebastiano at venice, appeared to me, when i saw it last, one of the finest dramatic pictures i had ever beheld, and preferable to every other work of the master. here st. sebastian stands on the summit of a flight of steps; his fine martial figure, in complete armour, is relieved against the blue sky; he waves a banner in his hand, and his whole air and expression are full of inspired faith and enthusiasm; marcus and marcellinus stand by his side as if irresolute, surrounded by their weeping friends. it struck me as a magnificent scene played before me-with such a glow of light and life and movement and colour shed over it-such a triumphant enthusiasm in the martyrs-such variety of passionate energy and supplication and sympathy in the groups of relatives and spectators, that i felt as if in a theatre, looking at a wellplayed scene in a religious melodrama, and inclined to clap my hands, and cry 'bravo!' in curious contrast with this splendid composition, i remember a little old picture, in which st. sebastian is calmly exhorting his friends to die, their mother alone kneeling in supplication; very stiff and dry, but the heads full of simple expression.3 1 this curious votive fresco is in a small chapel at perugia. 2 this votive fresco was painted by benozzo gozzoli in the church of s. agostino at san gemignano, and commemorates the disastrous plague of 1464. n. semitecolo, a.d. 1367. padua. e 2 422 sacred and legendary art. of the scene in which st. sebastian confronts the emperor on the steps of his palace, and pleads for the persecuted christians, i have never seen any picture; yet painting could hardly desire a finer subject. the martyrdom of st. sebastian (for that is the name given to the scene in which he is shot with arrows) should be distinguished from those devotional figures which represent the saint as martyr, but not the act of martyrdom. his martyrdom, as an historical scene, is a subject of frequent occurrence, and in every variety of treatment, from three or four figures to thirty or forty. when the scene is supposed to be the garden on the palatine hill, he is bound to a tree (in one instance, as i remember, to an orange-tree); if the scene be the hall or court, he is bound to a pillar; and the inscription, sebastianus christianus,' is sometimes affixed. 1. the scene is a garden on the palatine hill. st. sebastian is bound on high amid the branches of a tree. eight soldiers are shooting at him with cross-bows. above, the sky opens in glory, and two angels hold over his head the crown of martyrdom. admirable for the picturesque and dramatic treatment.' c 2. pollajuolo. the masterpiece of the painter. he is bound high up to the stump of a tree; six executioners with cross-bows, and other figures in strained and difficult attitudes. st. sebastian is the portrait of ludovico capponi.² 3. pinturicchio. he is bound to a broken pillar; another broken column is near him. there are six executioners with bows and arrows, and a man with a kind of mitre on his head is commanding the execution. in the background the coliseum.3 4. in contrast with this representation i will mention that of vandyck, one of his finest pictures. st. sebastian is bound to a tree, but not yet pierced: he appears to be preparing for his fate; with eyes raised to heaven, he seems to pray for strength to endure. the youthful undraped figure is placed in full light; admirable for the faultless drawing and the noble expression. there are several 1 fl. gal. painter unknown. 3 vatican. 2 florence. cappella dei pucci. st. sebastian. 423 soldiers; and a centurion, mounted on a white horse, appears to direct the execution.' 5. palma. two executioners bind st. sebastian to a tree; soldiers are seen approaching with their bows and arrows; a cherub hovers above with the crown and the palm.2 6. g. da santa croce. st. sebastian is bound to a pillar, and prepares for death. the emperor on his throne, and a number of spectators.3 7. the only celebrated st. sebastian of the spanish school which i can refer to, is a martyrdom by sebastian muñoz, who appears to have painted his patron saint with equal love and power.' 8. but the most celebrated example of all is the large picture by domenichino, in the church of s. maria degli angeli at rome. here the event is a grand dramatic scene, in which the attention is divided between the sufferings and resignation of the martyr, the ferocity of the executioners, and the various emotions of the spectators; there are about thirty-five figures, and the locality is a garden or landscape. the mosaic is in st. peter's. it is a great mistake, bespeaking the ignorance or carelessness of the painter, when in the representations of the martyred st. sebastian an arrow is through his head (as in a composition by tintoretto, and another by albert dürer), for such a wound must have been instantly mortal, and his recovery is always related as having taken place through natural, and not through miraculous agency. st. sebastian recalled to life after his martyrdom is a beautiful subject. it is treated in two different ways: sometimes he is drooping in apparent death, one arm yet bound to the tree, while pitying angels draw the arrows from his wounds. it has been thus represented by procaccino; by vandyck, in a beautiful picture now at st. petersburg; and when conceived in a true religious spirit, must be considered as strictly devotional: but i have seen some examples 1 munich gal. eng. by sadeler. a. d. 1520. berlin gal. it is now in the madrid gallery. mr. stirling mentions it with admiration, but does not describe the picture. there are few good representations of st. sebastian in spanish art, perhaps because the rigid ecclesiastical supervision forbade the undraped figure. 424 sacred and legendary art. which rather suggested the idea of an adonis bewept by cupids, as in a picture by alessandro veronese.' the ministering angels in this and similar scenes ought never to be infant angels. another manner of treating this subject is more dramatic than ideal: st. sebastian lies on the ground at the foot of the tree, insensible from his wounds; irene and her maid minister to him; one unbinds him from the tree, the other extracts the arrows: sometimes irene is attended by a physician. the subject has been thus treated by correggio, by padovanino, and others; but i have never seen any example which satisfied me either in sentiment or execution. in the legend of st. sebastian i find no account of his being tortured previous to his last martyrdom; but i have seen a large italian print 2 in which he is bound on the rack-his armour lies near him; a pagan priest is seen exhorting him to renounce his faith, and there are numerous other figures, dogs, &c., introduced.³ the death of st. sebastian, his second martyrdom, was painted by p. veronese in his church. unfortunately for this picture, it hangs opposite to the incomparable marcus and marcellinus already described, to which it is much inferior; it therefore receives little. attention, and less than justice. st. sebastian is the favourite saint of the italian women, and more particularly of the roman women. his youth, courage, and beauty of person, the interest of his story, in which the charity of woman plays such an important part, and the attractive character of the representation, have led to this preference. instances are recorded of the figure of st. sebastian producing the same effect on an excitable southern fancy that the statue of the apollo produced on the girl of provence '-a devotion ending in passion, madness, and death. ( from the fourteenth century the pendant of st. sebastian in devotional pictures is generally st. roch, of whom we are now to speak. louvre, no. 851. 2 by caraglio. described in bartsch, peintre graveur, xix. 282. see also in the same work, xx. p. 201. 3 i conceive it to be an example of ignorance in the artist, if, indeed, it be intended for a st. sebastian. st. roch. 425 st. roch. lat. sanctus rochus. ital. san rocco. fr. st. roch, or roque. languish in prison; of the sick in hospitals; and particularly of the plague. (august 16, a.d. 1327.) patron saint of those who those who are stricken by the legend of st. roch is comparatively modern; the main facts, happily, are not incredible, and tolerably authentic; and in the decorative incidents there is even more of the pathetic than the wonderful. it appealed strongly to the sympathies of the people; it gave them a new patron and intercessor against that scourge of the middle ages, the plague; and as it became extensively known and popular just at the time of the revival of art, it has followed that the effigy of this beneficent saint is one of those most frequently met with throughout the whole of western christendom: in greek art it is unknown. 'st. roch was born at montpelier, in languedoc, the son of noble parents. his father's name was john; he came into the world with a small red cross marked upon his breast; and his mother, libera, regarding him, therefore, as one consecrated even from his birth to a life of sanctity, watched over his education with peculiar care. the boy himself, as he grew up, was impressed with the same idea, and in all things acted as one called to the service of god; but with him this enthusiasm did not take the usual form-that of religious vows, or of an existence spent in cloistered solitude :-his desire was to imitate the active virtues of the redeemer, while treading humbly in his footsteps in regard to the purity and austerity of his life. "the death of his father and mother, before he was twenty, placed him in possession of vast riches in money and land: he began by following literally the counsel of our saviour to the young man who asked, "what shall i do to be saved?" he sold all that the law enabled him to dispose of, and distributed the proceeds to the poor and to the hospitals. then, leaving the administration of his lands to his father's brother, he put on the dress of a pilgrim, and journeyed 1 some authors place the date of his birth in 1280, others in 1295. 426 sacred and legendary art. on foot towards rome. when he arrived at aquapendente, the plague was raging in the town and the neighbourhood, and the sick and the dying encumbered the streets. st. roch went to the hospital, and offered to assist in tending the inmates; he was accepted; and such was the efficacy of his treatment, and his tender sympathy, that, as it was commonly said, a blessing more than human waited on his ministry; and the sick were healed merely by his prayers, or merely by the sign of the cross, as he stood over them: and when the plague ceased shortly afterwards, they, in the enthusiasm of their gratitude, imputed it solely to the intercession of this benign being, who, with his youth, his gentleness, and his fearless devotion, appeared to them little less than an angel.' that st. roch himself, struck by the success of his ministry, should have believed that a peculiar blessing rested on his efforts, is not surprising, when we consider the prevalent belief in miraculous influences throughout the thirteenth century. hearing that the plague was desolating the province of romagna, he hastened thither, and in the cities of cesena and rimini, devoted himself to the service of the sick. thence he went to rome, where a fearful pestilence had broken out, and spent three years in the same charitable ministry, always devoting himself to those who were most miserable and apparently abandoned by all other help. his incessant prayer to god was, that he might be found worthy to die as a martyr in the exercise of the duties he had voluntarily taken on himself; but for a long time his prayer was not heard; it seemed as if an unseen power shielded his life in the midst of the perils to which he was daily and hourly exposed. 6 thus some years passed away. he travelled from city to city: wherever he heard that there was pestilence and misery prevailing, there was he found; and everywhere a blessing waited on his presence. at length he came to the city of piacenza, where an epidemic of a frightful and unknown kind had broken out amongst the people; he presented himself, as usual, to assist in the hospital; but here it pleased god to put him even to that trial for which he had so often prayed-to subject him to the same suffering and affliction which he had so often alleviated, and make him in his turn dependent on the charity of others for aid and for sympathy. st. roch. 427 'one night, being in the hospital, he sank down on the ground, overpowered by fatigue and want of sleep: on awaking, he found himself plague-stricken; a fever burned in every limb, and a horrible ulcer had broken out in his left thigh. the pain was so insupportable that it obliged him to shriek aloud: fearing to disturb the inmates of the hospital, he crawled into the street; but here the officers of the city would not allow him to remain, lest he should spread infection around. he yielded meekly; and, supported only by his pilgrim's staff, dragged himself to a wood or wilderness outside the gates of piacenza, and there laid himself down, as he thought, to die. 'but god did not forsake him; far from all human help, all human sympathy, he was watched over and cared for. he had a little dog which in all his pilgrimage had faithfully attended him; this dog every day went to the city, and came back at evening with a loaf of bread in his mouth, though where he obtained it none could tell. moreover, as the legend relates, an angel from heaven came and dressed his wound, and comforted him, and ministered to him in his solitude, until he was healed; but others, less believing, say it was a man of that country whose name was gothard, who on this occasion acted the part of a good angel towards him. however this may be, st. roch, rejoicing that he had been found worthy to suffer in the cause of charity, which is truly the cause of christ our redeemer, went on his way as soon as he had strength to travel, and bent his steps towards his own home and country; and being arrived at a little village near montpelier, which was in fact his own, and the people his hereditary vassals, he was so changed by long suffering, so wasted and haggard, that they did not know him. the whole country being at that time full of suspicion and danger, because of hostilities and insurrections, he was arrested as a spy, and carried before the judge of montpelier: the judge, who was no other than his own uncle, looked upon him without knowing him, and ordered him to be carried to the public prison. st. roch, believing that such an affliction could only be laid upon him by the hand of god, with the intent to try him further, held his peace, and instead of revealing himself, yielded meekly to the unjust sentence, and was shut up in a dungeon. here, having no one to plead for him, and being resolved to leave his vol. ii. f 428 sacred and legendary art. cause in the hands of god, and to endure patiently all that was inflicted, he languished for five years. at the end of that time, as the jailer entered his cell one morning, to bring the usual pittance of bread and water, he was astonished and dazzled by a bright supernatural light, which filled the dungeon; he found the poor prisoner dead, and by his side a writing, which revealed his name, and containing, moreover, these words:"all those who are stricken by the plague, and who pray for aid through the merits and intercession of roch, the servant of god, shall be healed." when this writing was carried to his uncle the judge, he was seized with grief and remorse, and wept exceedingly, and caused his nephew to be buried honourably, amid the tears and prayers of the whole city.' the death of st. roch is usually placed in the year 1327, when he was in his thirty-second year. the people of montpelier and the neighbourhood regarded his memory with the utmost devotion; but for nearly a hundred years afterwards we do not hear of st. roch as an object of general veneration in christendom. in the year 1414, when a council of the church was held at constance (the same which condemned huss), the plague broke out in the city, and the prelates were about to separate and to fly from the danger. then a young german monk, who had travelled in france, reminded them that there was a saint of that country, through whose merits many had been redeemed from the plague. the council, following his advice, ordered the effigy of st. roch to be carried in procession through the streets, accompanied by prayers and litanies; and immediately the plague ceased. such is the tradition to which st. roch owes his universal fame as a patron saint. in the year 1485 the venetians, who from their commerce with the levant were continually exposed to the visitation of the plague, resolved to possess themselves of the relics of st. roch. a kind of holy alliance was formed to commit this pious robbery. the conspirators sailed to montpelier under pretence of performing a pilgrimage, and carried off the body of the saint, with which they returned to venice, and were received by the doge, the senate, and the clergy, and all the people, with inexpressible joy. the magnificent church of st. roch was built to receive the baillet, vie de st. roch. the venetian account is slightly varied: in 1485, un monaco camaldolese fu tanto felice da poter rapire il corpo di s. rocco, ch' era con somma gelosia st. roch. 429 precious relics of the saint, by a community already formed under his auspices for the purpose of tending the sick and poor, and particularly those who were stricken by infectious disorders, in which many of the chief nobility were proud to enrol themselves. such was the origin of the famous scuola di san rocco at venice, on the decoration of which tintoretto and his scholars lavished their utmost skill. in devotional pictures the figure of st. roch is easily distinguished. he is represented as a man in the prime of life, with a small beard, delicate and somewhat emaciated features, and a refined and compassionate expression. those pictures which represent him as a robust coarse-featured man must be considered as mistaken in point of character. he is habited as a pilgrim, with the cockle-shell in his hat; the wallet at his side; in one hand the staff, while with the other he lifts his robe to show the plague-spot, or points to it. in general he is accompanied by his dog. this figure by carotto will give an idea of the usual manner of treatment in dress and deportment (106). 1. one of the happiest and truest representations of st. roch i ever saw, consistently with the idea we form of his character, is a figure in an old florentine picture, i think by gerino da pistoia; st. roch is here a thin pale young man, with light hair and small beard, and mild delicate features.¹ 2. st. roch intercedes for cardinal alessandro d'este (in a picture by par106 st. roch 8:3182 (carotto, custodito in ugheria, castello nel milanese, e portarlo a venezia.'--origine delle feste veneziane di giustina renier michiel. florence gal. f 2 430 sacred and legendary art. migiano). the cardinal kneels, with joined hands, and st. roch, bending over him, with a benevolent air, lays his hand on his fur robe. the dog is in the background. this appears to have been a votive picture, on the occasion of the cardinal being struck with illness, and healed at the intercession of st. roch. such votive figures of st. roch are frequently met with in the chapels and churches dedicated to him, and more particularly in the hospitals, convents, and other institutions of the order of charity. 3. st. roch, very richly dressed, stands in the usual attitude, pointing to the plague-spot; a small but very fine picture by garofalo, in the belvedere gallery at vienna. 4. st. roch with the angel: a beautiful picture by annibal caracci, in the fitzwilliam museum, cambridge. manner. 6 5. the great altar-piece painted by rubens for the church at alost. is strictly a devotional picture, though treated in the most dramatic the upper part of the picture represents the interior of a prison, illuminated by a supernatural light. st. roch, kneeling, not as a suppliant, but with an expression of the most animated gratitude, looks up in the face of christ, and receives from him his mission as patron saint against the plague. an angel holds a tablet, on which is inscribed, eris in peste patronus,' in allusion to the writing found within his cell after his death. the dog is near him. in the lower part of the picture a group of the sick and the afflicted (painted with all that power of expression which belonged to rubens) invoke the intercession of the charitable saint. this picture has been erroneously described as st. roch supplicating for those smitten by the plague; the motif is altogether different. rubens painted it in eight days for the confraternity of st. roch; he demanded for his work 800 florins, which the agents for the charitable brotherhood told down without making the slightest objection to the price. the painter, delighted with their generosity, presented to them three smaller pictures to be placed beneath the altar-piece: in the centre the crucifix; on one side st. roch healed by the angel; on the other the saint dying in prison. the separate pictures of his life are confined to few subjects; the most frequent of which are his charity, and his ministration to the sick. st. roch. 431 1. annibal caracci. st. roch distributes his goods to the poor before he sets out on his pilgrimage to rome. one of his most celebrated pictures, full of beautiful and pathetic expression. it was painted for a benevolent canon of reggio, who presented it to the charitable brotherhood of st. roch in his native city. such pictures, whatever their merit as works of art, seem to me to lose much when transported from their original destination to the walls of a gallery. 2. procaccino. st. roch ministering to the sick. the patients are seen in beds in the background; some are brought by their friends and laid at the feet of the saint. 3. finer is a picture by bassano, of which the intense and natural expression rivets the attention and melts the heart. here the virgin, a very majestic figure, stands alone in the sky above, interceding for the sufferers below. it is the finest and one of the largest pictures by bassano i have ever seen.¹ pictures of this subject are often met with; but perhaps the finest of all, at least the most effective, is that of tintoretto;—the variety of expression in the sufferers and spectators is wonderfully dramatic." (we must distinguish this scene in the life of st. roch from a similar subject in the life of st. charles borromeo. st. roch wears the habit of a pilgrim; st. charles that of a bishop or cardinal.) 4. st. roch in the desert is healed by an angel; the dog is seen approaching with a loaf of bread in his mouth. the mild pathetic resignation and gratitude of the good saint, and the picturesque accompaniments, render this a very striking subject. the picture by tintoretto is the finest example. 5. guido. st. roch in prison; his dog at his side; an angel from above comforts him. (at modena. the same subject by tintoretto at venice.) 6. st. roch dying in prison. he is extended on some straw, and his hands are folded in prayer. sometimes he is alone; but sometimes a jailer or attendant, entering the prison, looks at him with astonishment. milan, brera, 53. the statues of st. roch exhibit him in the usual attitude, which, it must be confessed, is hardly fitted for sculpture; yet some of these 2 venice. scuola di san rocco. 432 sacred and legendary art. figures are very beautiful in sentiment, and make us forget the merely physical infliction, in the sublime self-devotion. the history of this saint, in a series of subjects, is often found in the churches and chapels dedicated to him: we have generally the following scenes:-1. he distributes his goods to the poor, called "the charity of st. roch' (l' elemosina di san rocco). 2. he ministers to the sick: the scene is generally an hospital. 3. st. roch in the desert. he is prostrated by sickness, and points to an ulcer in his thigh. an angel and his dog are near him. 4. st. roch standing before the pope. 5. st. roch in prison, visited by an angel. 6. his death. in the upper hall of the scuola di san rocco, at venice, where the brotherhood used to assemble, the tribune at the end is wainscoted by panels of oak, on which the whole history of the saint is carved in relief in twenty subjects.' those works of art in which st. sebastian and st. roch figure in companionship as joint protectors against the plague are innumerable. the two beautiful figures by francia, engraved by marc antonio, are examples of simplicity and benign graceful feeling. the contrast between the enthusiastic martyr and the compassionate pilgrim ought always to be strongly marked, not merely in the attitude and habiliments, but in the whole character and expression. there are two saints who are easily confounded with st. roch,-st. omobuono and st. alexis. the reader will do well to turn to their respective legends, where i have particularised the points of difference. with st. sebastian and st. roch we often find, in significant companionship, the medical brothers, st. cosmo and st. damian. the first two saints as patrons of the sick; the last two as patrons of those who heal the sick.2 they were executed about the middle of the last century by giovanni marchiori and his pupils; the workmanship beautiful, but the designs in the mannered taste of the time. 2 see introduction, p. 22. st. cosmo and st. damian. 433 st. cosmo and st. damian. lat. ss. cosmus et damianus. ital. ss. cosimo e damiano, gli santi medici arabi. fr. ss. côme et damien. patron saints of medicine and the medical profession. patrons also of the medici family; and as such they figure on the coins of florence. (sept. 27, a.d. 301.) 'cosmo and damian were two brothers, arabians by birth, but they dwelt in ægæ, a city of cilicia.' their father having died while they were yet children, their pious mother, theodora, brought them up with all diligence, and in the practice of every christian virtue. their charity was so great, that not only they lived in the greatest abstinence, distributing their goods to the infirm and poor, but they studied medicine and surgery, that they might be able to prescribe for the sick, and relieve the sufferings of the wounded and infirm; and the blessing of god being on all their endeavours, they became the most learned and the most perfect physicians that the world had ever seen. they ministered to all who applied to them, whether rich or poor. even to suffering animals they did not deny their aid, and they constantly refused all payment or recompense, exercising their art only for charity and for the love of god; and thus they spent their days. at length those wicked emperors, diocletian and maximian, came to the throne, in whose time so many saints perished. among them were the physicians, cosmo and damian, who, professing themselves christians, were seized by lycias the proconsul of arabia, and cast into prison. and first they were thrown into the sea, but an angel saved them; and then into the fire, but the fire refused to consume them; and then they were bound on two crosses and stoned, but of the stones flung at them, none reached them, but fell on those who threw them, and many were killed. so the proconsul, believing that they were enchanters, commanded that they should be beheaded, which was done.' this oriental legend, which is of great antiquity, was transplanted into western europe in the first ages of christianity. the emperor justinian, having been recovered, as he supposed, from a dangerous it is worth while to remark here, that in this city of egæ there was a temple of esculapius, famous for the miraculous cures wrought by the god, and destroyed by constantine. 434 sacred and legendary art. illness, by the intercession of these saints, erected a superb church in their honour. among the greeks they succeeded to the worship and attributes of esculapius; and, from their disinterested refusal of all pay or reward, they are distinguished by the honourable title. of anargyres, which signifies moneyless or without fees. one of the most interesting of the old roman churches is that erected to the honour of these saints by pope felix iv. in 526. it stands in the forum, near the temple of antoninus and faustina, on the site of the temple of remus: the greek mosaics in the apsis exhibit probably the most ancient representations of st. cosmo and st. damian which exist. in the centre is the figure of christ holding a roll (i. e. the gospel) in his hand, a majestic figure; on one side st. peter presents st. cosmo, on the other st. paul presents st. damian to the saviour. they are exactly alike, in loose white draperies, and holding crowns of offering in their hands; colossal, ghastly, rigid, and solemn, after the manner of the old mosaics, and of course wholly ideal. nearly contemporary are the mosaics in the ancient church of san michele at ravenna, where the archangels michael and gabriel stand on each side of the redeemer, and beyond them ss. cosmo and damian. the representations of these benevolent brothers in later times are equally ideal, but more characteristic as personages. in devotional pictures, they are always represented together, attired in the habit of physicians, a loose dark red robe, trimmed with fur, and generally red caps. it is thus chaucer describes the dress of a physician in his time-in scarlet gown, furred well.' they hold a little box of ointment in one hand, and a lancet or some surgical instrument in the other; sometimes it is a pestle and mortar. they occur frequently in the old florentine pictures, particularly in those painted in the fifteenth century, in the time of cosmo de' medici. in several beautiful madonna pictures in the gallery of the uffizii, and in the churches of florence, they are grouped with other saints, from whom they are distinguished by their medical costume, and a certain expression of grave attention, rather than devotion, which gives them often the look of portraits. the illustration is a sketch from a picture by bicci di lorenzo, in the florence gallery. they stand together, in red gowns and caps, st. cosmo and st. damian. 435 5% 107 st. cosmo and st. damian (bicci di lorenzo. a.d. 1418) and red hose. this picture remained in the duomo from the date of its execution, 1418, till 1844, and is curious as having been painted in the time of giovanni de' medici, the founder of the greatness of the family. it is as the patron saints of the medici family that their statues, designed by m. angelo, stand on each side of the madonna in the medici chapel at florence, where they are so overpowered by the stupendous grandeur of the other statues, that few visitors look at them, and fewer comprehend why they are there. they have no attributes; and it must be allowed, that, whatever be their artistic merit, they are quite devoid of individual propriety of character. vol. ii. g 436 sacred and legendary art. these saints are very interesting when they occur in votive pictures, as significant of thanksgiving for restoration to health; they are generally presenting a votary to christ or the madonna. where they are kneeling or standing in company with st. sebastian and st. roch, the picture commemorates some visitation of the plague or other epidemic disorder; as in 1. a most beautiful picture in the academy of siena: clothed in loose robes, they kneel in front before the madonna; st. george and st. sebastian on each side.' 2. and another, more beautiful, by ghirlandajo, where st. john the baptist, as patron of florence, stands on one side, and cosmo and damian on the other. 3. another, by titian, in the salute at venice, where ss. cosmo and damian, with st. roch and st. sebastian, stand before the throne of st. mark-commemorative of the great plague in 1512.2 4. and another, by tintoretto; ss. cosmo and damian, in magnificent robes of crimson velvet with ermine capes, kneeling; one holds a palm, the other a pestle and mortar; they look up to the madonna, who appears in a glory above with st. george, st. mark, and st. catherine, the patrons of venice.³ 5. ss. cosmo and damian kneeling in front before the throne of the madonna. standing by the throne, st. mary magdalene, st. catherine, st. john b., and st. francis.' these are apparently votive pictures, expressing public or national gratitude; but others should seem to be the expression of private feeling. for example: ss. cosmo and damian are seated at a table and consulting over a book; they wear loose robes, and red caps turned up with fur; the heads, which are very fine, have the air of portraits: a sick man, approaching from behind, reverently takes off his cap.5 while devotional pictures of these helpful and beneficent saints are extremely common, and varied in treatment, subjects from their life and history are very rare; they are most frequently met with in the 1 matteo di siena, a.d. 1470. 2 see the frontispiece of this volume. st. mark, as patron of venice, sits enthroned above, holding his gospel; below, on the right, stand st. roch and st. sebastian as protectors, and on the left st. cosmo and st. damian, the medical saints, as healers. i have merely given the expressive group. no copy or description can do justice to the glow of life and colour in the picture. 3 venice acad. 4 fl. acad. rome. corsini pal. st. cosmo and st. damian. 437 108 florentine school of the fifteenth century, among the works of angelico, pesellino, and ghirlandajo. 1. old italian. ss. cosmo and damian, visiting the sick, minister to christ in the disguise of a pilgrim; a beautiful allegory, or rather a literal interpretation of the text, inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.' a quaint little picture, but very expressive.' 2. pesellino. the two brothers minister to a sick man.2 ss. cosmo and damian ministering to the sick (pesellino. a.d. 1450) they are sometimes surgeons as well as apothecaries, cutting off and replacing legs and arms; and sometimes they are letting blood. 3. it is related that a certain man, who was afflicted with a cancer in his leg, went to perform his devotions in the church of st. cosmo and st. damian at rome, and he prayed most earnestly that these beneficent saints would be pleased to aid him. when he had prayed, a deep sleep fell upon him. then he beheld st. cosmo and st. damian who stood beside him; and one carried a box of ointment, the other a sharp knife. and one said, 'what shall we do to replace this diseased leg when we have cut it off?' and the other replied, 1 vatican. 2 louvre. g 2 438 sacred and legendary art. there is a moor who has been buried just now in san pietro in vincoli; let us take his leg for the purpose.' then they brought the leg of the dead man, and with it they replaced the leg of the sick man; anointing it with celestial ointment, so that it remained whole. when he awoke, he almost doubted whether it could be himself; but his neighbours, seeing that he was healed, looked into the tomb of the moor, and found that there had been an exchange of legs: and thus the truth of this great miracle was proved to all beholders.' of this story i have seen some grotesque representations. for example:-the sick man is lying on a bed, and st. cosmo and st. damian are busy affixing a black leg; at a little distance on the ground lies the dead moor, with a white leg lying beside him.2 109 the martyrdom of ss. cosmo and damian. (pesellino) 4. in the scene of their martyrdom by pesellino-a beautiful little picture-they are beheaded. they wear the red tunics and red caps usual in the florentine representations.³ about the year 1439, cosmo de' medici commissioned fra angelico legenda aurea. 2 fl. gal. 3 fl. acad. st. christopher. 439 to paint the altar-piece which he presented to the church of san marco at florence. underneath the group of the virgin and child, angelico represented the legendary history of the patron saints of the medici family in nine beautiful little miniatures; at munich are three pictures which i suppose to belong to this series, which formed the predella of the altar-piece. 1. st. cosmo and st. damian, with their brethren, are bound and thrown into the sea, but saved by angels. on the right the unjust judge, lysias, is healed by the prayer of the martyrs. 2. st. cosmo and st. damian are nailed to two crosses, and their three brethren below are shot to death with stones and arrows. 3. the third picture, which formed the centre, is a pietà, very poetically treated.¹ sometimes in the scene of their martyrdom three other personages, their kinsmen, suffer with them. in other respects, the legend as given above is, in all the examples i have seen, very exactly adhered to. these saints do not appear in the later schools. as, perhaps, a solitary instance, may be mentioned a picture by salvator rosa, where st. cosmo and st. damian on a pile of faggots are exposed to the flames, which refuse to consume them. i know the composition only from the engraving by pierre simon. st. christopher. lat. st. christophorus. ital. san cristofero, or cristofano. fr. st. christophe, or st. christofle. ger. der heilige christoph. (july 25, a.d. 364.) among the religious parables of the middle ages, there is not one more fanciful and more obvious in its application than the story of st. christopher. but, although poetical and significant as a parable, it becomes as a mere legend prosaic and puerile: it is necessary to keep the latent meaning in view while we read the story, and when we look upon the extremely picturesque representations of the canaanitish giant; for, otherwise, the peculiar superstition which has rendered him so popular and so important as a subject of art will lose all its interest. 1 christopher was of the land of canaan, and the name by which he munich. pinnakothek. cabinet, xxi. 440 sacred and legendary art. was there known was offero. he was a man of colossal stature, and of a terrible aspect, and, being proud of his vast bulk and strength, he was resolved that he would serve no other than the greatest and the most powerful monarch that existed. so he travelled far and wide to seek this greatest of kings; and at length he came to the court of a certain monarch who was said to exceed in power and riches all the kings of the earth, and he offered to serve him. and the king, seeing his great height and strength,-for, surely, since the giant of gath there had been none like to him,-entertained him with joy. 6 now it happened one day, as christopher stood by the king in his court, there came a minstrel who sang before the king, and in his story there was frequent mention of the devil, and every time the king heard the name of the evil spirit he crossed himself. christopher inquired the reason of this gesture, but the king did not answer. then said christopher, if thou tellest me not, i leave thee!' so the king told him i make that sign to preserve me from the power of satan, for i fear lest he overcome me and slay me.' then said christopher, 'if thou fearest satan, then thou art not the most powerful prince in the world; thou hast deceived me. i will go seek this satan, and him will i serve; for he is mightier than thou art.' so he departed, and he travelled far and wide; and as he crossed a desert plain, he beheld a great crowd of armed men, and at their head marched a terrible and frightful being, with the air of a conqueror: and he stopped christopher on his path, saying, 'man, where goest thou?' and christopher answered, i go to seek satan, because he is the greatest prince in the world, and him would i serve.' then the other replied, 'i am he: seek no farther.' then christopher bowed down before him, and entered his service; and they travelled on together. now, when they had journeyed a long long way, they came to a place where four roads met, and there was a cross by the wayside. when the evil one saw the cross he was seized with fear, and trembled violently; and he turned back, and made a great circuit to avoid it. when christopher saw this he was astonished, and inquired, why hast thou done so?' and the devil answered not. then said christopher, 'if thou tellest me not, i leave thee.' so, c st. christopher. 441 " being thus constrained, the fiend replied, upon that cross died jesus christ; and when i behold it i must tremble and fly, for i fear him.' then christopher was more and more astonished; and he said, 'how then! this jesus, whom thou fearest, must be more potent than thou art! i will go seek him, and him will i serve!' so he left the devil, and travelled far and wide, seeking christ; and, having sought him for many days, he came to the cell of a holy hermit, and desired of him that he would show him christ. then the hermit began to instruct him diligently, and said, 'this king, whom thou seekest, is, indeed, the great king of heaven and earth; but if thou wouldst serve him, he will impose many and hard duties on thee. thou must fast often.' and christopher said, 'i will not fast; for, surely, if i were to fast, my strength would leave me.' 'and thou must pray!' added the hermit. said christopher, i know nothing of prayers, and i will not be bound to such a service.' then said the hermit, 'knowest thou a certain river, stony and wide and deep, and often swelled by the rains, and wherein many people perish who attempt to pass over?' and he answered, 'i know it.' then said the hermit, 'since thou wilt neither fast nor pray, go to that river, and use thy strength to aid and to save those who struggle with the stream, and those who are about to perish. it may be that this good work shall prove acceptable to jesus christ, whom thou desirest to serve; and that he may manifest himself to thee!' to which christopher replied, joyfully, 'this i can do. it is a service that pleaseth me well!' so he went as the hermit had directed, and he dwelt by the side of the river; and, having rooted up a palm-tree from the forest,—so strong he was and tall,-he used it for a staff to support and guide his steps, and he aided those who were about to sink, and the weak he carried on his shoulders across the stream; and by day and by night he was always ready for his task, and failed not, and was never wearied of helping those who needed help. 6 so the thing that he did pleased our lord, who looked down upon him out of heaven, and said within himself, behold this strong man, who knoweth not yet the way to worship me, yet hath found the way to serve me!' now, when christopher had spent many days in this toil, it came to pass one night, as he rested himself in a hut he had built of 442 sacred and legendary art. boughs, he heard a voice which called to him from the shore: it was the plaintive voice of a child, and it seemed to say, christopher, come forth and carry me over!' and he rose forthwith and looked out, but saw nothing; then he lay down again; but the voice called to him, in the same words, a second and a third time; and the third time he sought round about with a lantern; and at length he beheld a little child sitting on the bank, who entreated him, saying, christopher, carry me over this night.' and christopher lifted the child on his strong shoulders, and took his staff and entered the stream. and the waters rose higher and higher, and the waves roared, and the winds blew; and the infant on his shoulders became heavier, and still heavier, till it seemed to him that he must sink under the excessive weight, and he began to fear; but nevertheless, taking courage, and staying his tottering steps with his palm-staff, he at length reached the opposite bank; and when he had laid the child down, safely and gently, he looked upon him with astonishment, and said, 'who art thou, child, that hast placed me in such extreme peril? had i carried the whole world on my shoulders, the burden had not been heavier!" and the child replied, wonder not, christopher, for thou hast not only borne the world, but him who made the world, upon thy shoulders. me wouldst thou serve in this thy work of charity; and, behold, i have accepted thy service: and in testimony that i have accepted thy service and thee, plant thy staff in the ground, and it shall put forth leaves and fruit.' christopher did so, and the dry staff flourished as a palm-tree in the season, and was covered with clusters of dates,-but the miraculous child had vanished. then christopher fell on his face, and confessed and worshipped christ. 6 6 leaving that place he came to samos, a city of lycia, where he found many christians, who were tortured and persecuted; and he encouraged them and cheered them. one of the heathens struck him on the face; but christopher only looked at him stedfastly, saying, 'if i were not a christian, i would be avenged of that blow.' the king of the country sent soldiers to seize him, and he permitted them to bind him and lead him before their master. the king, when he saw him, was so terrified with his gigantic stature, that he swooned st. christopher. 443 on his throne. when he had recovered, he said, 'who art thou? and he answered, formerly i was called offero, the bearer; but now my name is christopher, for i have borne christ.' then the king, whose name was dagnus, ordered him to be carried to prison, and sent two women to allure him to sin, knowing that if he could be seduced to sin, he would soon be enticed to idolatry. but christopher stood firm; and the women, being terrified and awed, fell down and worshipped christ, and were both put to death. and the tyrant, finding it impossible to subdue or to tempt the saint, commanded him to be scourged and tortured, and then beheaded. and as they led him to death, he knelt down and prayed that those who looked upon him, trusting in god the redeemer, should not suffer from tempest, earthquake, or fire. christophori sancti speciem quicumque tuetur illo namque die nullo languore tenetur. " thus did christopher display the greatness of his charity, and the meekness of his spirit; thus he sealed his faith with martyrdom; and it was believed that, in consequence of his prayer, those who beheld the figure of st. christopher were exempt during that day from all perils of earthquake, fire, and flood. the mere sight of his image, that type of strength, was deemed sufficient to inspire with courage those who had to struggle with the evils and casualties of life, and to reinvigorate those who were exhausted by the labours of husbandry. the following is one of the many inscriptions inculcating this belief, and which usually accompanied his effigy : which may be rendered, "whoever shall behold the image of st. christopher, on that day shall not faint or fail.' hence it became a custom to place his image in conspicuous places, to paint it of colossal size on the walls of churches and houses, where it is sometimes seen occupying the whole height of the building, and is visible from a great distance, being considered as a good omen for all those who look upon it. a mountain in granada, which is first seen by ships arriving from the african coast, is called san christobal, in allusion to this poetical superstition. vol. ii. h 444 sacred and legendary art. at florence, on the façade of the ancient church of san miniatotra-le-torri, pollajuolo painted a gigantic figure of st. christopher, about twenty feet in height, which served during many years as a model of form to the artists of his school: michael angelo, when young, copied it several times: it exists no longer. a st. christopher, thirty-two feet high, was painted at seville, by matteo perez de alesio (a.d. 1584): and all who have travelled in france, germany, italy, particularly through the south of germany and the venetian states, will remember the colossal figures of st. christopher on the exterior, or some conspicuous part of the interior, of the churches, town halls, and other sacred or public buildings. these effigies were sometimes painted in vivid colours, often renewed, in order to render them more distinctly visible. on the walls of old english churches, figures of st. christopher were very common. many of these which had been covered with whitewash have been recently uncovered.' since the very sight of st. christopher is supposed to bring an accession of strength, fortitude, and confidence in the divine aid, it is fortunate that there can be no mistake about it, and that it is so peculiar as to be instantly recognised. he stands above the ankles in water; his proportions are those of a hercules: according to the greek formula, he should be beardless, and some of the italian pictures so represent him, or with very little beard; but the germans give him a strong black beard and a quantity of black bushy hair, the better to express the idea of physical strength and manliness. the infant christ is seated on his shoulders, and bears in his hand the globe as sovereign and creator of the world; more rarely it is a cross, as redeemer; but the former, considering the significarce of the subject, is the more proper emblem. in general, he is looking up to the divine infant, but sometimes also he is looking down and making his way painfully and anxiously through the rising waters; he seems bending under the miraculous burthen, and supports his tottering steps with a staff, which is often an entire palm-tree with the leaves and branches. in the background is a hermit, bearing a lamp or torch, to light him on his way. such is the religious representation. it is evident that at all times the roman church, while honouring the name of the martyr, accepted there are four churches still remaining dedicated in his name in england. (see parker's 'calendar of the anglican church,' p. 205.) st. christopher. 445 110 1521 maw se st. christopher (albert dürer, 1521) the legend as an allegory merely; and the flood, through which he is wading, is, by some, interpreted to signify the red sea, that is, the waters of baptism; by others, the waters of affliction (a common oriental and scriptural metaphor): he carries christ, and, with him, the burthen and the weight of all this unintelligible world: '-the hermit of religious consolation lights him on his way. the allegory, in whatever sense we interpret it, is surely very beautiful: to my fancy there is something quite pathetic in these old pictures of st. christopher, where the great simple-hearted, good-natured giant, tottering under his incomprehensible burthen, looks up with a face of wonder at the glorious child, who smiles encouragement, and gives his benediction from above. in later times, the artists desecrated this fine subject by employing it as a mere tour de force, a display of manly and muscular form, for h 2 446 sacred and legendary art. 111 st. christopher (paolo farinato, 1560) which the farnese hercules, or, if that were not at hand, any vulgar porter or gondolier, served as a model. thus the religious sentiment was obscured or lost, and the whole representation became coarse and commonplace, when not absolutely grotesque and ridiculous. in the figure by titian in the ducal palace at venice, the attitude and character of the saint are precisely those of a gondolier-only that the palm-tree has been substituted for the oar. in the picture by farinato, a small spirited sketch now at alton towers, the figure is that of a hercules, but the expression in the head of the child extremely fine (111). when st. christopher is introduced standing near the madonna, or grouped with other saints, the water is omitted, but he is never without his palm-staff. where the artist has varied the action or st. christopher. 447 41 112 riftofon fanan me quaamme mens illanampe diemoore imala non mouais millefimo ccce tano st. christopher (from the ancient woodcut) accessories, the figure ceases to be strictly devotional, and becomes fanciful and dramatic. this, however, is so seldom the case, that i know of very few examples. 1. the earliest woodcut which exists, and of which it is possible to fix the date, is a rude figure of st. christopher, of german design and execution, represented in the usual manner, except that there is a watermill and a miller in the foreground. it is inscribedcristofori faciem die quacunque tueris illa nempe die morte mala non morieris. 448 sacred and legendary art. literally, 'on whatever day thou shalt behold the face of st. christopher, surely on that day thou shalt not die an evil death.' it was evidently intended to circulate among the labouring poor, as an emblem of strength and consolation, and quite as intelligible then, as bunyan's christian in the slough of despond' would be now.' c 2. h. hemling. st. christopher, bearing christ, is wading through a deep river, the water rising to his knees. the hermit lights him as usual, but in the background the first beams of the sun are just seen illuminating the dark waste of waters; a circumstance beautifully imagined, and which adds to the significance of the allegory.2 3. elzheimer. st. christopher as usual wading through the stream; precipitous rocks, and the hermit in the distance: the effect is night with a full moon.3 the following examples must be considered as exceptional. 4. engraving-lucas v. leyden. st. christopher seated on the ground; on the other side of the river, christ beckons to him for aid. 5. engraving-old german. st. christopher seated on the bank of a river; the infant christ is in the act of descending on his shoulders. 6. engraving-f. amato. st. christopher offers his services to the infant christ, who is seated on the ground. 7. i have seen an old coarse engraving, in which st. christopher is represented on horseback-the whim, i suppose, of an ignorant or capricious artist. 8. engraving. st. christopher wades through the waters, bearing christ, who has one foot on a large globe, and, instead of the hand extended in benediction, he is impatiently urging the saint with a drawn sword, which he brandishes over his head. full of spirit, but a most capricious and irreligious version of the subject. 9. in van eyck's wonderful altar-piece, at ghent, the pilgrims who approach to worship the lamb of god are led by the giant i have given a reduced facsimile in the memoirs of early italian painters,' which, through the kindness of mr. c. knight, i am able to repeat here. only two impressions of the original are known to exist-one in the paris collection, and one in the library of earl spencer, at althorp. in the athenæum' for october 4th, 1845, there is an account of an earlier woodcut, dated 1418, and discovered in the library at malines, in 1844. 2 boisserée gal. 3 windsor. st. christopher. 449 christopher, who strides on before the rest, grasping his palm-tree; his voluminous crimson mantle sweeps the ground, and a heathenish turban decks his head. this is one of the few instances where he is without his divine burthen: the poetry and significance of the allusion will be understood at once. 10. m. didron tells us, that in the greek churches he found st. christopher often represented with the head of a dog or wolf, like an egyptian divinity; he adds, that he had never been able to obtain a satisfactory explanation of this peculiarity. these figures, which are ancient, have in some instances been blurred over and half effaced by the scruples of modern piety.' the history of st. christopher, as painted in the chapels dedicated to him, for instance by mantegna in the eremitani,' at padua, is comprised in three subjects: his passage across the river; the conversion of the heathen at samos; and his martyrdom; the other circumstances of his legend being repudiated by the church: some of them (for instance, the meeting with the arch-fiend and his host of demons) would furnish most picturesque subjects, but rather in the genre than in the historical style. i have seen only three pictures of his martyrdom separately treated. 6 1. the scene is an open court, surrounded with rich architecture; the body of the giant-saint lies on the ground, here he is about twelve or fourteen feet in stature, and the severed head, beardless and with flowing hair, lies near it; soldiers and executioners are about to bear away the body; one lifts up the huge leg with both his hands; many others look on with astonishment. most picturesque as a scene, but with no attempt at religious feeling or character. 2. tintoretto. st. christopher kneels, and the executioner prepares to strike off his head; no other figure, except an angel vasari relates an amusing anecdote of a patron who insisted on his painting a figure of st. christopher six palms in height, within a space which measured only four palms, and desired that he would represent the madonna with the child on her knees, and by her side st. christopher with another christ on his shoulders. vasari, to reconcile difficulties, painted the saint kneeling, with one foot in the water, while the virgin, bending from the clouds, placed her divine infant on his shoulders.-vasari, ii. 833. (fl. edit., 1838.) 450 sacred and legendary art. descending: here st. christopher is not represented as of gigantic proportions.¹ : 3. lionello spada. in this picture the conception is wholly reversed the giant kneels with his hands bound, and looking up with a mild resignation, which contrasts with his vast strength and size; the executioner, who has raised himself on a step to reach him, prepares to strike off his head, while an angel descends from above with the martyr's crown. in colour, expression, and simple powerful feeling, perhaps spada's masterpiece; such, at least, is the opinion of dr. waagen.2 st. nicholas of myra. lat. sanctus nicholaus. ital. san niccolò, or nicola di bari. ger. der heilige nicolaus, or niklas. patron saint of children, and especially schoolboys; of poor maidens, of sailors, of travellers and merchants. protector against thieves, and losses by robbery or violence. chief patron saint of russia. patron of bari, of venice, of freiberg, and of numerous other towns and cities, particularly of sea-ports and towns engaged in commerce. (dec. 6, a.d. 326.) i place st. nicholas here because, although he wears the paraphernalia of bishop, it is as the powerful and beneficent patron saint, seldom as the churchman, that he appears before us; and of all patron saints he is, perhaps, the most universally popular and interesting. while knighthood had its st. george, serfhood had its st. nicholas. he was emphatically the saint of the people; the bourgeois saint, invoked by the peaceable citizen, by the labourer who toiled for his daily bread, by the merchant who traded from shore to shore, by the mariner struggling with the stormy ocean. he was the protector of the weak against the strong, of the poor against the rich, of the captive, the prisoner, the slave; he was the guardian of young marriageable maidens, of schoolboys, and especially of the orphan poor. in russia, greece, and throughout all catholic europe, children are still taught to reverence st. nicholas, and to consider themselves as placed under his peculiar care: if they are good, docile, and attentive to their studies, st. nicholas, on the eve of his festival, will graciously fill their cap or their * louvre, 408. 1 venice, s. maria dell' orto. st. nicholas. 451 stocking with dainties; while he has, as certainly, a rod in picl.le for the idle and unruly. effigies of this most benign bishop, with his splendid embroidered robes, all glittering with gold and jewels, his mitre, his crosier, and his three balls, or his three attendant children, meet us at every turn, and can never be regarded but with some kindly association of feeling. no saint in the calendar has so many churches, chapels, and altars dedicated to him. in england i suppose there is hardly a town without one church at least bearing his name. it would be in vain to attempt to establish this popular predilection and widespread fame on anything like historical evidence. all that can be certainly known of him is, that a bishop of this name, venerable for his piety and benevolence, was honoured in the east as early as the sixth century; that in the greek church he takes rank immediately after the great fathers; that the emperor justinian dedicated to him a church in constantinople, about the year 560; and that since the tenth century he has been known and reverenced in the west, and became one of the greatest patron saints of italy and the northern nations about the beginning of the twelfth century. there is no end to the stories and legends in which he appears as a chief actor. in this case, as in others, i must confine myself to such as have been treated in art; and it will be necessary, however quaint and absurd some of these may be, to go into them in detail-otherwise the numerous representations of his life, acts, and miracles will lose half their interest, and more than half their significance. nicholas was born at panthera, a city of the province of lycia, in asia minor. his parents were christians, and of illustrious birth, and, after they had been married for many years, a son was granted them, in recompense of the prayers, and tears, and alms that they offered up continually. this extraordinary child, on the first day he was born, stood up in his bath with his hands joined in thanksgiving that it had pleased god to bring him into the world. he no sooner knew what it was to feed than he knew what it was to fast, and every wednesday and friday he would only take the breast as he grew up he was distinguished among all other children for his gravity and his attention to his studies. his parents, seeing once. vol. ii. i 452 sacred and legendary art. him full of these holy dispositions, thought that they could not do better than dedicate him to the service of god; and accordingly they did so. when nicholas was ordained priest, although he had been before remarkable for his sobriety and humility, he became more modest in countenance, more grave in speech, more rigorous in self-denial, than when he was still a youth, his father and mother died of the plague, and he remained sole heir of their vast riches; but he looked upon himself as merely the steward of god's mercies, giving largely to all who needed. • ⚫ ever. now in that city there dwelt a certain nobleman who had three daughters, and, from being rich, he became poor-so poor, that there remained no means of obtaining food for his daughters, but by sacrificing them to an infamous life; and oftentimes it came into his mind to tell them so, but shame and sorrow held him dumb. meantime the maidens wept continually, not knowing what to do, and not having bread to eat; and their father became more and more desperate. when nicholas heard of this, he thought it a shame that such a thing should happen in a christian land; therefore, one night, when the maidens were asleep, and their father alone sat watching and weeping, he took a handful of gold, and, tying it up in a handkerchief, he repaired to the dwelling of the poor man. he considered how he might bestow it without making himself known, and, while he stood irresolute, the moon coming from behind a cloud showed him a window open; so he threw it in, and it fell at the feet of the father, who when he found it, returned thanks, and with it he portioned his eldest daughter. a second time nicholas provided a similar sum, and again he threw it in by night; and with it the nobleman married his second daughter. but he greatly desired to know who it was that came to his aid; therefore he determined to watch, and when the good saint came for the third time, and prepared to throw in the third portion, he was discovered, for the nobleman. seized him by the skirt of his robe, and flung himself at his feet, saying, 'o nicholas ! servant of god! why seek to hide thyself?' and he kissed his feet and his hands. but nicholas made him promise that he would tell no man. and many other charitable works did nicholas perform in his native city. st. nicholas. 453 113 opt the charity of st. nicholas (angelico da fiesole) and after some years he undertook a voyage to the holy land, and he embarked on board a ship; and there came on a terrible storm, so that the ship was nigh to perish. the sailors fell at his feet, and besought him to save them; and he rebuked the storm, i 2 454 sacred and legendary art. which ceased immediately. it happened in the same voyage that one of the sailors fell overboard and was drowned; but by the prayers of st. nicholas he was restored to life. on returning from palestine st. nicholas repaired to the city of myra, where he lived for some time unknown and in great humility. and the bishop of that city died. and it was revealed to the clergy that the first man who entered the church on the following morning was the man chosen by god to succeed as bishop. nicholas, who was accustomed to rise up very early in the morning to pray, appeared before the doors of the church at sunrise; so they laid hold of him, and led him into the church, and consecrated him bishop. having attained this dignity, he showed himself worthy of it by the practice of every saintly virtue, but more especially by a charity which knew no bounds. some time afterwards the city and the province were desolated by a dreadful famine, and nicholas was told that certain ships laden with wheat had arrived in the port of myra. he went, therefore, and required of the captains of these vessels that they should give him out of each a hundred hogsheads of wheat for the relief of his people; but they answered, 'we dare not do this thing, for the wheat was measured at alexandria, and we must deliver it into the granary of the emperor.' and st. nicholas said, 'do as i have ordered you, for it shall come to pass, by the grace of god, that, when ye discharge your cargo, there shall be found no diminution.' so the men believed him, and when they arrived in constantinople they found exactly the same quantity that they had received at alexandria. in the meantime st. nicholas distributed the corn to the people according to their wants: and it was miraculously multiplied in his hands, so that they had not only enough to eat, but sufficient to sow their lands for the following year. it was during this famine that st. nicholas performed one of his most stupendous miracles. as he was travelling through his diocese to visit and comfort his people, he lodged in the house of a certain host who was a son of satan. this man, in the scarcity of provisions, was accustomed to steal little children, whom he murdered, and served up their limbs as meat to his guests. on the arrival of the bishop and his retinue, he had the audacity to serve up the dismembered limbs of these unhappy children before the man of god, who 1 st. nicholas. 455 had no sooner cast his eyes on them than he was aware of the fraud. he reproached the host with his abominable crime, and going to the tub where their remains were salted down, he made over them the sign of the cross, and they rose up whole and well. the people who witnessed this great wonder were struck with astonishment (as, indeed, they might well be), and the three children, who were the sons of a poor widow, were restored to their weeping mother. some time after these events, the emperor constantine sent certain tribunes of his army to put down a rebellion in phrygia. they arrived at the city of myra, and the bishop, in order to save his people from their exactions and their violence, invited them to his table, and entertained them honourably. as they were sitting down to the feast it was told to st. nicholas that the prefect of the city had condemned three innocent men to death, and that they were about to be executed, and that all the city was in commotion because of this wickedness. when st. nicholas heard this, he rose hastily, and, followed by his guests, ran to the place of execution. and he found the three men with their eyes bound, kneeling there, and the executioner stood with. his sword already bared; but when st. nicholas arrived, he seized the sword, and took it out of his hands, and caused the men to be unbound. no one dared to resist him, and even the prefect humbled himself before him, and entreated forgiveness, which the saint. granted not without difficulty. the tribunes looking on meanwhile were filled with wonder and admiration. when they had received the blessing of the good bishop, they continued their voyage to phrygia. now it happened, during their absence from constantinople, that their enemies had turned the mind of the emperor against them, and filled him with suspicion. on their return they were accused of treason, and thrown into a dungeon, whence they were to be led to death on the following day. in their extremity they remembered st. nicholas, and cried to him to save them: they did not cry in vain, for god heard them out of heaven, and st. nicholas, in the distant land where he dwelt, also heard their supplication. and that same night he appeared to constantine in a dream, and commanded him on his peril to release these men, threatening him with the anger 456 sacred and legendary art. of heaven if he disobeyed. constantine immediately pardoned the men, and the next morning he sent them to myra to thank st. nicholas, and to present to him a copy of the gospels, written in letters of gold, and bound in a cover enriched with pearls and precious stones. the fame of this great miracle spread far and wide; and since that time all those who are in any way afflicted or distressed, and who stand in great peril of their lives, invoke this glorious saint, and find succour at his hands. and thus it happened to certain mariners in the ægean sea, who, in the midst of a frightful tempest, in which they were like to founder, called upon christ to deliver them through the intercession of the blessed st. nicholas, who thereupon appeared to them and said, 'lo, here i am, my sons! put your trust in god, whose servant i am, and ye shall be saved.' and immediately the sea became calm, and he conducted the vessel into a safe harbour. wherefore those who peril their lives on the great deep do also invoke st. nicholas; and all harbours of refuge, and many chapels and altars on the sea-coast, are dedicated to him. many other great and good actions did st. nicholas perform; but at length he died, yielding up his soul to god with great joy and thankfulness on the sixth day of december in the year of our lord 326, and he was buried in a magnificent church, which was in the city of myra. it is related that st. nicholas was summoned to the council of nice in the year 325, and that, in his zeal, he smote arius on the face; but there are many who do not believe this, seeing that the name of nicholas of myra does not appear among the bishops cited on that occasion. the miracles which st. nicholas performed after his death were not less wonderful than those which he had performed during his lifetime, and for hundreds of years pilgrims from all parts of the east resorted to his tomb. in the year 807, achmet, who commanded the fleet of haroun alraschid, attacked the sanctuary, intending to demolish it; but he was deceived by the vigilance of the monks, and, putting to sea again, he was destroyed with his whole fleet as a punishment for this great sacrilege. after this event the body of st. nicholas rested in his tomb for the space of 280 omb for the space of 280 years; various attempts were made to carry it off, many cities and churches aspiring st. nicholas. 457 • to the possession of so great a treasure. at length, in 1084, certain merchants of bari, a city on the coast of italy opposite to ragusa, resolved to accomplish this great enterprise. in their trading voyages to the coast of syria, they had heard of the miracles of st. nicholas, and, in their pious enthusiasm, resolved to enrich their country with the possession of these wonder-working relics. they landed at myra, where they found the country desolated by the saracens, the church in ruins, and the tomb guarded only by three monks. they had no difficulty in taking away the holy remains, which were received in the city of bari with every demonstration of joy; and a magnificent church was built over them, which was dedicated by pope urban ii. from this period, the veneration for st. nicholas extended over the west of europe. it is proper to add, that the venetians affirm, that they have the true body of st. nicholas carried off from myra by venetian merchants in the year 1100. the pretensions, however, of the city of bari are those generally acknowledged, and thence the saint has obtained the name, by which he is best known, of st. nicholas de bari.' devotional figures of st. nicholas exhibit him as standing in the habit of a bishop. in the greek pictures he is dressed as a greek bishop, without the mitre, bearing the cross instead of the crosier, and on his cope embroidered the three persons of the trinity: 2 but in western art his episcopal habit is that of the western church; he wears the mitre, the cope, in general gorgeously ornamented, the jewelled gloves, and the crosier. he has sometimes a short grey beard; sometimes he is beardless, in allusion to his youth when elected bishop. his proper attribute, the three balls, may be variously interpreted; but in general they are understood to signify the three purses of gold, which he threw into the poor man's window. some say they represent three loaves of bread, and allude to his feeding the poor during the famine; and others, again, interpret them into a general allusion to the trinity. the first is, however, the most popular interpretation. these balls are sometimes placed upon his book, as in the illustration; sometimes at his feet; and as patron of seamen, st. nicholas is especially popular in seaport towns. about 376 churches in england are dedicated in his honour. 2 figures and heads of st. nicholas are especially frequent in the greek devotional pictures, as he is the greatest, or, at least, the most popular, saint of the greek church. 458 sacred and legendary art. 114 st. nicholas (botticelli. capitol, rome) sometimes in his lap, as in a miniature engraved in dibdin's 'decameron,' where he is throned, and gives his benediction as patron. i have also seen them converted into an ornament for his crosier, when they could not conveniently be placed elsewhere, as in a picture by bartolo senese. occasionally, instead of the three balls, there are three purses full of gold, which express more distinctly the allusion to his famous act of charity, as in a statue in his church at foligno.¹ in this instance the three purses are laid on his book. in a picture by angelico at perugia, the three purses lie at his feet: i saw an etching from this picture in the possession of the chevalier bunsen. st. nicholas. 459 115 another, and also a very frequent attribute, alludes to the miracle of the three children. they are represented in a tub or a vase, looking up to him with joined hands. vol. ii. w x y z z y y y y y y yxtr 16001191 g3 οισίας tix y y xx 111111 wr veer tami k wir il ma st. nicholas (from a miniature in the heures d'a ne de bretagne,' 1500) 460 sacred and legendary art. i presume this story of the children to have been, in its primitive form, one of those religious allegories which express the conversion of sinners or unbelievers. i am the more inclined to this opinion, because i have seen pictures in which the wicked. host is a manifest demon with hoofs and claws; and the tub, which contains the three children, has the form of a baptismal font. as patron of seamen, st. nicholas has often an anchor at his side, or a ship is seen in the background, as in a picture by paul veronese. in consequence of his popularity as patron and protector, st. nicholas frequently appears as an attendant on the enthroned madonna and child.' the most beautiful example i can refer to is raphael's madonna dei ansidei' at blenheim, where the benign and pensive dignity of st. nicholas, holding the gospel open in his hand, rivals in characteristic expression the refined loveliness of the virgin and her son. we may imagine him reading aloud from his book some divine precept of charity, as, 'love your enemies; do good to them that hate you:' it seems reflected in his face.² i think it unnecessary to particularise further the devotional pictures in which st. nicholas figures alone (or, which is much more frequent, grouped with other saints), because he is in general easily discriminated, the three balls, on his book or at his feet, being the most frequent attribute, and one which belongs to no other saint. as patron saint of children, a child is sometimes kissing his hand or the hem of his garment. i recollect, in a picture by bonvicino, at brescia, an application of the religious character of this saint to portraiture and common life, which appears to me highly beautiful and poetical. st. nicholas is presenting to the virgin two orphans, while she looks down upon them from her throne with a benign air, pointing them out to the notice of the infant saviour, who is seated in her lap. the two boys, orphans of the noble family of roncaglia, are richly dressed one holds the mitre of the good bishop; the other, the three balls. : 1 see 'legends of the madonna,' p. 98. 2 of this celebrated picture, an engraving of wonderful beauty has lately been published by louis gruner. in the expression of the heads, the softness of the modelling in the flesh, and in the power and elegance of the drawing and execution, he has in this fine print equalled the greatest masters in his art. st. nicholas. 461 6 separate scenes from his life do not often occur; in general, we have two, three, or more together. the favourite subject, in a detached form, is that which is properly styled the charity of st. nicholas.' the leading idea does not vary. in one part of the composition the three maidens are represented as asleep, their father watching near them. nicholas is seen outside in the act of throwing a purse (or, in some cases, a ball of gold) in at the window he is young, and in a secular dress. there is an engraving, after a composition by parmigiano, which can hardly be excelled for delicacy and grace: the figures and attitudes of the daughters are most elegant. in a series of the actions of st. nicholas, whether it consists of many or few subjects, this beautiful incident is never omitted. as a greek series we have generally two or three or more of the following subjects. sometimes the selection of scenes is from his life, sometimes from the miracles performed after his death, or after his translation from the coast of syria to the coast of italy; or both are combined. 1. his infant piety. the scene is the interior of a room, where his mother is seen in bed; in the foreground, attendants are busied round the new-born saint, who, with a glory round his head, stands upright in his bath, his hands joined in prayer, and his eyes raised to heaven. 2. he stands, as a boy of about twelve years old, listening to the words of a preacher, who points him out to his congregation as the future saint. 3. his charity to the three poor girls: they are seen through a door, asleep in an inner chamber; the father sits in front; outside the house, the saint stands on tiptoe, and is throwing the purse in at the window (113). (in a small picture which i have seen, but cannot recollect the painter, two of the maidens are reposing, but the third is taking off her father's boot; he sits as one overpowered with sorrow and fatigue: the saint is outside looking in at the window. this is an unusual version; and seems to express, not the act of charity, but the previous moment, and the filial attention of the daughters to their poor father.) k 2 462 sacred and legendary art. 4. the consecration of st. nicholas as bishop of myra. we have this subject, by paul veronese, in our national gallery. 5. the famine at myra. a seaport with ships in the distance; in front a number of sacks of corn, and men employed in measuring it out, or carrying it away; st. nicholas in his episcopal robes stands by, as directing the whole. 6. the storm at sea. seamen on board a sinking vessel; st. nicholas appears as a vision above; in one hand he holds a lighted taper, with the other he appears to direct the course of the vessel. (in a greek series of the life of st. nicholas, the subject which follows here is the council of nice. a number of bishops are seated in a semicircle; constantine, with crown and sceptre, presides; in front, nicholas is in the act of giving arius the memorable box on the ear. this incident i do not remember to have seen in western art.) 7. three men are seen bound, with guards, &c., and an executioner raises his sword to strike. st. nicholas (he is sometimes hovering in the air) stays the hand of the executioner. 8. the miracle of the three boys restored to life, when treated as an incident, and not a devotional representation, is given in a variety of ways: the mangled limbs are spread on a table, or underneath a board; the wicked host is on his knees; or he is endeavouring to escape; or the three boys, already made whole, are in an attitude of adoration before their benefactor (115). 9. the death of st. nicholas, and angels bear his soul to heaven. 10. when the series is complete, the translation of the body and its reception at bari are included. the miracles, or rather the parables, which follow are to be found in the chapel of st. nicholas at assisi, on the windows of the cathedrals at chartres and bourges, and in the ancient gothic sculpture. as they were evidently fabricated after the translation of his relics, they are not likely to occur in genuine byzantine art. 1. a certain jew of calabria, hearing of the great miracles performed by st. nicholas, stole his image out of a church, and placed it in his house. when he went out, he left under the care of the saint all his goods and treasures, threatening him (like an irreverent st. nicholas. 463 pagan as he was) that if he did not keep good watch he would chastise him. on a certain day, the jew went out, and robbers came and carried off all his treasures. when the jew returned he reproached st. nicholas, and beat the sacred image and hacked it cruelly. the same night st. nicholas appeared to the robbers, all bleeding and mutilated, and commanded them immediately to restore what they had taken. they, being terrified by the vision, repaired to the jew, and gave up everything. and the jew being astonished at this miracle, was baptized, and became a true christian. the story is represented on one of the windows of the cathedral at chartres, and here st. nicholas figures as the guardian of property. 2. a certain man, who was very desirous of having an heir to his estate, vowed that if his prayer were granted, the first time he took his son to church he would offer a cup of gold on the altar of st. nicholas. a son was granted, and the father ordered the cup of gold to be prepared; but when it was finished, it was so wonderfully beautiful, that he resolved to keep the cup for himself, and caused another of less value to be made for the saint. after some time the man went on a journey to accomplish his vow; and being on the way, he ordered his little son to bring him water in the golden cup he had appropriated, but, in doing so, the child fell into the water and was drowned. then the unhappy father lamented himself, and wept and repented of his great sin; and, repairing to the church of st. nicholas, he offered up the silver cup: but it fell from the altar; and a second and a third time it fell; and while they all looked on astonished, behold! the drowned boy appeared before them, and stood on the steps of the altar, bearing the golden cup in his hand. he related how the good st. nicholas had preserved him alive, and brought him there. the father, full of gratitude, offered up both the cups, and returned home with his son in joy and thanksgiving. of this story there are many versions in prose and rhyme, and i have frequently seen it in sculpture, painting, and in the old stained glass; it is on one of the windows of the cathedral of bourges: in a bas-relief engraved in cicognara's work,' the child, with the golden cup in his hand, is falling into the sea. 3. a rich merchant, who dwelt on the borders of a heathen country, 1 storia della scultura moderna. 464 sacred and legendary art. 6 but was himself a christian, and a devout worshipper of st. nicholas, had an only son; and it happened that the youth was taken captive by the heathens, and being sold as a slave, he served the king of that country as cupbearer. one day, as he filled the cup at table, he remembered suddenly that it was the feast of st. nicholas, and he wept. the king said, 'why weepest thou, that thy tears fall and mingle in my cup?' and the boy told him, saying, this is the day when my parents and my kindred are met together in great joy to honour our good st. nicholas; and i, alas! am far from them!' then the king, most like a pagan blasphemer, answered, great as is thy st. nicholas, he cannot save thee from my hand!' no sooner had he spoken the words, than a whirlwind shook the palace, and st. nicholas, appearing in the midst, caught up the youth by the hair, and placed him, still holding the royal cup in his hand, suddenly before his family, at the very moment when his father had distributed the banquet to the poor, and was beseeching their prayers in behalf of his captive son. < of this story also there are innumerable versions; and as a boy with a cup in his hand figures in both stories, it is necessary to distinguish the circumstances and accessories: sometimes it is a daughter, not a son, who is delivered from captivity. in a fresco by giottini at assisi, the family are seated at table, and the captive, conducted by st. nicholas, appears before them: the mother stretches out her arms, the father clasps his hands in thanksgiving, and a little dog recognises the restored captive. i have observed that st. nicholas of bari and st. julian of rimini are often found in the same group, as joint protectors of the eastern coast of italy and all the commercial cities bordering the shore of the adriatic, from venice to tarento. there is a conspicuous example in the louvre, in a beautiful picture by lorenzo di credi (no. 177). another, an exquisite little coronation of the virgin, was in the collection of mr. rogers.' i must now take leave of the good st. nicholas. so widely diffused and of such long standing is his fame, that a collection of his effigies see 'legends of the madonna,' p. 24. 1 i 1 st. catherine. 465 and the subjects from his legend would comprise a history of art, of morals, of manners, of costume, for the last thousand years. i have said enough to lead the fancy of the reader in this direction: other and brighter forms beckon us forwards. the virgin patronesses. st. catherine. st. barbara. st. margaret. st. ursula. we owe to these beautiful and glorious impersonations of feminine intellect, heroism, purity, fortitude, and faith, some of the most excelling works of art which have been handed down to us. other female martyrs were merely women glorified in heaven, for virtues exercised on earth; but these were absolutely, in all but the name, divinities. with regard to the others, even the most apocryphal among them, we can still recognise some indications, however vague, however disguised, that they had been, at one time or another, substantial beings; but with regard to these, all such traces of an individual existence seem to have been completely merged in the abstract ideas they represented. the worship of the others was confined to certain localities, certain occasions; but these were invoked everywhere, and at all seasons: they were powers, differing indeed from the sensuous divinities of ancient greece, inasmuch as the moral attributes were infinitely higher and purer, but representing them in their superhuman might and majesty; and though the church assumed that theirs was a delegated power, it was never so considered by the people. they were styled intercessors; but when a man addressed his prayers to saint catherine to obtain a boon, it was with the full conviction that she had power to grant it. i am not now speaking of the faith of the enlightened and reflecting roman catholics on such subjects, but of the feelings which existed, and still exist, among the lower classes in catholic countries, 466 sacred and legendary art. particularly italy, respecting these poetical beings of whom i am now to speak. their wholly ideal character, the tacit setting aside of all human testimony with reference to their real or unreal existence, instead of weakening their influence, invested them with a divine glory, and kept alive the enthusiasm inspired by the dignified and graceful forms in which they stand embodied before us. i know that there are excellent and conscientious persons who for this very reason look upon the pictures and effigies of st. catherine and st. barbara with an especial dislike, a terror in which there is a sort of fascination. i wish that what i am about to write may quiet their minds on the subject of these 'mythic fancies:' they will see how impossible it is that these allegories (which by simplicity and ignorance were long accepted as facts) should ever hereafter be received but as one form of poetry; and that under this aspect they cannot die, and ought not. if those who consider works of art would be content to regard them thus, not merely as pretty pictures, nor yet as repudiated idols, but as lovely allegories to which the world listened in its dreamy childhood, and which, like the ballad or the fairy tale which kept the sleep from our eyes and our breath suspended in infancy, have still a charm for our latest years ;-if they would not be afraid of attaching a meaning to them, but consider what we may be permitted, unreproved, to seek and to find in them, both in sense and sentiment, how many pleasures and associations would be revealed in every picture, in every group or figure, which is now passed over either with indifference or repugnance! can they believe there is danger that any rational being should fall back into a second childhood of credulity? let them now judge. i begin with that gloriosissima vergine, st. catherine. i a martyrdom of st catherine. 273 martyrdom of st parbara. st. catherine. 467 116 c-v sxx the burial of st. catherine (luini) e.dalziel.s st. catherine of alexandria, virgin and martyr. gr. aikaterina, from kalapós, pure, undefiled. lat. santa catharina. ital. santa catarina dei studienti. santa catarina delle ruote (or of the wheels, to distinguish her from five other saints of the same name). fr. madame saincte catherine.. spa. santa catalina. ger. die heilige katharina von alexandrien. patroness of education, philosophy, science; of students, philosophers, and theologians. patroness of schools and colleges. as patroness of eloquence she was invoked in all diseases of the tongue. perhaps from her royal dignity, a favourite patron saint of princesses and ladies of noble birth. patroness of venice. (nov. 25, a.d. 307.) the legend of st. catherine is not of high antiquity: even among the greeks, it cannot be traced farther back than the eighth century; and in the east it appears to have originated with the monks of mount sinai. in a literary form, we find it first in the greek menology of the emperor basil in the ninth century. the crusaders of the eleventh century brought it from the east; and in gratitude for the aid and protection which this invittissima eroina' was supposed to have extended to the christian warriors in the holy land, her greek name, her romantic, captivating legend, and her worship as one of the most potent of saints, spread with such extraordinary rapidity over the whole of western christendom, that in the twelfth century it was all but universal. about the fifteenth vol. ii. l 468 sacred and legendary art. century, some reasonable doubts having been cast, not only on the authenticity of her legend, but on her very existence, vain attempts were made to banish her from the calendar; her festival, after being one of the most solemn in the church, was, by several prelates of france and germany, suppressed altogether, and by others left free from all religious obligations: but in art, and in the popular veneration, st. catherine kept her ground. even in the english reformed calendar she retains her place; even in london, churches. and parishes, and institutions, once placed under her protection still retain her name.¹ of all the female saints, next to mary magdalene, st. catherine is the most popular: venerated by the men as the divine patroness of learning; and by the women regarded as the type of female intellect and eloquence, as well as of courageous piety and chastity. she is the inspirer of wisdom and good counsel in time of need,—the minerva of the heathens, softened and refined by the attributes of the christian martyr. the scenes taken from her life and acts' are so diversified, and of such perpetual recurrence, that i shall give the legend here with all its details of circumstance, only omitting the long speeches, and passing over without further remark that brave defiance of all historical probabilities which sets criticism at nought. constantius chlorus, the father of constantine the great, had a first wife before he married the empress helena. she died in giving birth to a son, whose name was costis, and whom his father married to the only daughter and heiress of the king of egypt, a virtuous princess, whose name was sabinella; with her he lived and reigned in great prosperity and happiness for several years, but after the law of the pagans, for they were, unhappily, idolaters. like all mothers who bring forth saints, queen sabinella had a prophetic dream, in which was prefigured the glory of her first-born. in due time she gave birth to a daughter, who was named catherine. at the moment she came into the world a glory of light was seen to play around her head. from her earliest infancy she was the wonder of all who beheld her, for grace of mind and person. 'she drank so there are fifty-one churches in england dedicated in her name. st. catherine. 469 plenteously from the well of wisdom,' that at the age of fifteen there was none comparable to her in the learning and philosophy of the gentiles. she could have talked of stars and firmaments and firedrakes,' of 'sines and co-sines and fixed ratios,'-she could have answered all those hard things which the queen of sheba propounded to king solomon. the works of plato were her favourite study; and the teaching of socrates had prepared her to receive a higher and a purer doctrine. the king her father, who loved her, ordained to wait upon her seven of the wisest masters that could be gotten together; but catherine, divinely endowed, so far excelled them all, that they who came to teach her became her disciples. moreover, he ordained for her a tower in his palace, with divers chambers furnished with all kinds of mathematical instruments, in which she might study at pleasure. when catherine was about fourteen, her father, king costis, died, and left her heiress of his kingdom. but when she was queen, catherine showed the same contempt for all worldly care and royal splendour that she had hitherto exhibited, for she shut herself up in her palace, and devoted herself to the study of philosophy. 6 "therefore,' says the old english legend, when the people saw this they were discontented. and the nobles of that country came to their lady and queen, and desired her to call a parliament. and the estates being met, they besought her, as she was so much given to study and learning, that she would be pleased to take a husband who should assist her in the government of the country, and lead them forth to war. 66 when she heard this, she was much abashed and troubled. and she said, "what manner of man is this that i must marry ?" madam," said the speaker, "you are our most sovereign lady and queen, and it is well known to all that ye possess four notable gifts: the first is, that ye be come of the most noble blood in the whole world; the second, that ye be a great inheritor, and the greatest that liveth of women to our knowledge; the third, that ye, in science, cunning, and wisdom, surpass all others; and the fourth, that in bodily shape and beauty there is none like you: wherefore we beseech ye, lady, l 2 470 sacred and legendary art that these good gifts in which the great god hath endowed you beyond all creatures else, may move you to take a lord to your husband, to the end that ye may have an heir, to the comfort and joy of your people." "then," answered the young queen catherine, with a grave countenance; "if god and nature have wrought so great virtues in us, we are so much the more bound to love him, and to please him, and to think humbly of all his great gifts; therefore, my lords and lieges, give heed to my words. he that shall be my husband and the lord of mine heart shall also possess four notable gifts, and be so endowed that all creatures shall have need of him, and he shall have need of none. he shall be of so noble blood that all men shall worship him, and so great that i shall never think that i have made him king: so rich, that he shall pass all others in riches; so full of beauty, that the angels of god shall desire to behold him; and so benign, that he can gladly forgive all offences done unto him. and if ye find me such an one, i will take him for my husband and the lord of my heart." 'with this she cast down her eyes meekly, and held her still. and all her lords and princes and counsellors looked upon each other, and knew not what to reply; for they said, "such an one as she hath devised there never was none, and never shall be;" and they saw there was no remedy in the matter. her mother sabinella also intreated her, saying, "alas, my daughter, where shall ye find such a husband ?" and catherine answered, "if i do not find him, he shall find me, for other will i none;"—and she had a great conflict and battle to keep her virginity. 'now there was a certain holy hermit who dwelt in a desert about two days' journey from the city of alexandria; to him the virgin mary appeared out of heaven, and sent him with a message of comfort to the young queen catherine, to tell her that the husband whom she had desired was her son, who was greater than any monarch of this world, being himself the king of glory, and the lord of all power and might. catherine desired to behold her future bridegroom. the hermit therefore gave her a picture representing the virgin mary and her divine son; and when catherine beheld the heavenly face of the redeemer of the world, her heart was filled with st. catherine. 471 love of his beauty and innocence: she forgot her books, her spheres, and her philosophers;-plato and socrates became to her tedious as a twice-told tale. she placed the picture in her study, and that night as she slept upon her bed she had a dream. 'in her dream she journeyed by the side of the old hermit, who conducted her towards a sanctuary on the top of a high mountain ; and when they reached the portal, there came out to meet them a glorious company of angels clothed in white, and wearing chaplets of white lilies on their heads; and catherine, being dazzled, fell on her face, and an angel said to her, "stand up, our dear sister catherine, and be right welcome." then they led her to an inner court, where stood a second company of angels clothed in purple, and wearing chaplets of red roses on their heads; and catherine fell down before them, but they said, "stand up, our dear sister catherine, for thee hath the king of glory delighted to honour." then catherine, with a trembling joy, stood up and followed them. they led her on to an inner chamber, in which was a royal queen standing in her state, whose beauty and majesty might no heart think, nor pen of man describe, and around her a glorious company of angels, saints, and martyrs: they, taking catherine by the hand, presented her to the queen, saying, "our most gracious sovereign lady, empress of heaven, and mother of the king of blessedness, be pleased that we here present to you our dear sister, whose name is written in the book of life, beseeching you of your benign grace to receive her as your daughter and handmaiden." 99 "our blessed lady, full of all grace and goodness, bid her welcome, and, taking her by the hand, led her to our lord, saying to him, "most sovereign honour, joy, and glory be to you, king of blessedness, my lord and my son! lo! i have brought into your blessed presence your servant and maid catherine, which for your love hath renounced all earthly things!" but the lord turned away his head, and refused her, saying, "she is not fair nor beautiful enough for me." the maiden, hearing these words, awoke in a passion of grief, and wept till it was morning. then she called to her the hermit, and fell at his feet, and declared her vision, saying, "what shall i do to become worthy of my celestial bridegroom? the hermit, seeing she was still in the 472 sacred and legendary art. darkness of heathenism, instructed her fully in the christian faith: then he baptized her, and, with her, her mother sabinella. 6 that night, as catherine slept upon her bed, the blessed virgin appeared to her again, accompanied by her divine son, and with them a noble company of saints and angels. and mary again presented catherine to the lord of glory, saying, "lo! she hath been baptized, and i myself have been her godmother!" then the lord smiled upon her, and held out his hand, and plighted his troth to her, putting a ring on her finger. when catherine awoke, remembering her dream, she looked and saw the ring upon her finger; and henceforth, regarding herself as the betrothed of christ, she despised the world, and all the pomp of earthly sovereignty, thinking only of the day which should reunite her with her celestial and espoused lord. thus she dwelt in her palace in alexandria, until the good queen sabinella died, and she was left alone.' at this time the tyrant maximin, who is called by the greeks maxentius, greatly persecuted the church, and, being come to alexandria, he gathered all the christians together, and commanded them, on pain of severest torments, to worship the heathen gods. st. catherine, hearing in the recesses of her palace the cries of the people, sallied forth and confronted the tyrant on the steps of the temple, pleading for her fellow-christians, and demonstrating avec force syllogismes' the truth of the christian and the falsehood of the pagan religion. and when she had argued for a long time after the manner of the philosophers, quoting plato and socrates, and the books of the sibyls, she looked round upon maximin and the priests, and said, ye admire this temple, the work of human hands, these fair ornaments and precious gems, these statues, that look as if they could move and breathe: admire rather the temple of the universe— the heavens, the earth, the sea, and all that is therein: admire rather the course of those eternal stars, which from the beginning of all creation have pursued their course towards the west and returned to us in the east, and never pause for rest. and when ye have admired these things, consider the greatness of him who made them, who is the great god, even the god of the christians, unto whom these thy idols are less than the dust of the earth. miserable are 6 st. catherine. 473 those who place their faith where they can neither find help in the moment of danger, nor comfort in the hour of tribulation!' ¹ 1 maximin being confounded with her arguments, and yet more by her eloquence, which left him without reply, ordered that fifty of the most learned philosophers and rhetoricians should be collected from all parts of his empire, and promised them exceeding great rewards if they overcame the christian princess in argument. these philosophers were at first indignant at being assembled for such a futile purpose, esteeming nothing so easy; and they said, ‘place her, o cæsar! before us, that her folly and rashness may be exposed to all the people.' but catherine, nowise afraid, recommended herself to god, praying that he would not allow the cause of truth to suffer through her feebleness and insufficiency. and she disputed with all these orators and sages, quoting against them the law and the prophets, the works of plato and the books of the sibyls, until they were utterly confounded, one after another, and struck dumb. by her superior learning. in the end they confessed themselves vanquished, and converted to the faith of christ. the emperor, enraged, ordered them to be consumed by fire; and they went to death willingly, only regretting that they had not been baptized; but catherine said to them, 'go, be of good courage, for your blood shall be accounted to you as baptism, and the flames as a crown of glory.' and she did not cease to exhort and comfort them, till they had all perished in the flames. then maximin ordered that she should be dragged to his palace; and, being inflamed by her beauty, he endeavoured to corrupt her virtue, but she rejected his offers with scorn; and being obliged at this time to depart on a warlike expedition, he ordered his creature, porphyry (called in the french legend 'le chevalier porphire'), to cast her into a dungeon and starve her to death; but catherine prayed to her heavenly bridegroom, and the angels descended and ministered to her. and at the end of twelve days the empress and porphyry visited the dungeon, which, as they opened the door, appeared all filled with fragrance and light. whereupon they fell the heaven indeed is high; the earth is great; the sea immense; the stars are beautiful: but he who made all these things must needs be greater and more beautiful.' sermon of st. eloy. 474 sacred and legendary art. down at the feet of st. catherine, and with two hundred of their attendants declared themselves christians. when maximin returned to alexandria, he was seized with fury. he commanded his wife, the empress, with porphyry and the other converts, to be put to a cruel death; but being more than ever inflamed by the beauty and wisdom of catherine, he offered to make her his empress and mistress of the whole world, if she would repudiate the name of christ. but she replied with scorn, shall i forsake my glorious heavenly spouse to unite myself with thee, who art base-born, wicked, and deformed?' on hearing these words, maximin roared like a lion in his wrath, and he commanded that they should construct four wheels, armed with sharp points and blades-two revolving in one direction, two in another-so that between them her tender body should be torn into ten thousand pieces. and st. catherine made herself ready to go to this cruel death; and as she went, she prayed that the fearful instrument of torment prepared for her might be turned to the glory of god. so they bound her between the wheels, and, at the same moment, fire came down from heaven, sent by the destroying angel of god, who broke the wheels in pieces, and, by the fragments which flew around, the executioners and three thousand people perished in that day. yet for all this the thrice-hardened tyrant repented not, but ordered that catherine should be carried outside the city, and there, after being scourged with rods, beheaded by the sword:-which was done. and when she was dead, angels took up her body, and carried it over the desert, and over the red sea, till they deposited it on the summit of mount sinai. there it rested in a marble sarcophagus, and in the eighth century a monastery was built over her remains, which are revered to this day: but the wicked tyrant, maximin, being overcome in battle, was slain, and the beasts and birds devoured him; or, as others relate, an inward fire consumed him till he died. 6 in this romantic legend what a storehouse of picturesque incident! -and, accordingly, we find that poets and painters have equally availed themselves of it. as ballad, as drama, as romance, it circulated among the people, and lent an interest to the gracious and st. catherine. 475 familiar effigies which everywhere abound. in england st. catherine was especially popular. about the year 1119, geoffrey, a learned norman, was invited from the university of paris to superintend the direction of the schools of the abbey of dunstable, where he composed a play entitled 'st. catherine,' and caused it to be acted by his scholars. this was, perhaps, the first spectacle of the kind that was ever attempted, and the first trace of theatrical representation that ever appeared in england. dryden's tragedy of tyrannic love' is founded on the legend of st. catherine, and was intended to gratify the queen, catherine of braganza, by setting forth the glory of her patron saint. 6 in the original oriental legend, the locality assigned for the story of st. catherine was at least well chosen, and with a view to probability. alexandria, famous for its philosophical and theological schools, produced, not one, but many women, who, under the tuition of origen and other famous teachers, united the study of greek literature with that of the prophets and evangelists; some of them also suffered in the cause of christianity. but it is a curious fact connected with the history of st. catherine, that the real martyr, the only one of whom there is any certain record, was not a christian, but a heathen; and that her oppressors were not pagan tyrants, but christian fanatics. hypatia of alexandria, daughter of theon, a celebrated mathematician, had applied herself from childhood to the study of philosophy and science, and with such success, that, while still a young woman, she was invited by the magistrates to preside over one of the principal schools in the city. she, like st. catherine, was particularly addicted to the study of plato, whom she preferred to aristotle. she was also profoundly versed in the works of euclid and apollonius of pergamus; and composed a treatise on conic sections, and other scientific works. she was remarkable, also, for her beauty, her contempt for feminine vanities, and the unblemished purity of her conduct. as, however, she resolutely refused to declare herself a christian, and was on terms of friendship with orestes, the pagan governor of alexandria, she was marked out by the christian populace as an object of vengeance. one day, as she was proceeding to vol. ii. m 476 sacred and legendary art. lecture in her school, a party of these wretched fanatics dragged her out of her chariot into a neighbouring church, and murdered her there with circumstances of revolting barbarity. i think it very probable that the traditions relating to her death were mixed up with the legend of st. catherine, and took that particular character and colouring which belonged to the greco-christian legends of that time.¹ the devotional representations of st. catherine must be divided into two classes. 1. those which exhibit her as the patron saint and martyr, alone or grouped with others. ii. the mystical subject called the marriage of st. catherine.' i. as patroness she has several attributes. she bears the palm as martyr; the sword expresses the manner of her death; the crown is hers of right, as sovereign princess; she holds the book as significant of her learning; she tramples on the pagan tyrant. all these attributes may be found in the effigies of other saints; but the especial and peculiar attribute of st. catherine is the wheel. when entire, it is an emblem of the torture to which she was exposed: in the later pictures it is oftener broken; it is then an historical attribute, it represents the instrument by which she was to have been tortured, and the miracle through which she was redeemed. she leans upon it, or it lies at her feet, or an angel bears it over her head. in raphael's st. catherine, in our national gallery, she leans on the wheel, and no other attribute is introduced: this, however, is very uncommon; the characteristic sword and the book are generally present, even where the crown and palm are omitted. the grim turbaned head of maximin, placed beneath her feet, is confined, with very few exceptions, to the sculptural and gothic effigies and the stained glass of the fourteenth century. in the earliest greek mosaics and pictures, st. catherine wears the richly embroidered dress given in greek art to all royal personages; it was perhaps the early relations of venice with the east which rendered st. catherine so popular in that city as patroness. her festival is called the festa dei dotti, and was instituted in her honour by the doge pietro gradenigo, in 1307. all the colleges and universities of the venetian states, padua especially, were placed under her protection, and opened after the recess on the day of her festival. st. catherine. 477 the diadem on her head, a book and a cross in her hand, and no wheel. she has, generally, a dignified but stern expression. in the best examples of early italian art, and in those of the giotto school, the prevailing character is simplicity and earnestness. in the milan school, there is, generally, more of intellect and refinement; and in particular, an ample brow, with the long fair hair parted in front. in the venetian pictures, she is generally most sumptuously dressed in ermine and embroidery, and all the external attributes of royalty. in the florentine pictures, she has great elegance; and in the bologna school, a more commanding majesty. in the early german school, we find that neglect of beauty which is characteristic of the school, but the intellectual and meditative dignity proper to the saint is, in the best masters, powerfully rendered. representations of st. catherine as patroness so abound in every form of art, and are so easily recognised, that i shall mention only a few among them, either as examples of excellence, or of some particular treatment in the character and attributes which may lead the reader to observe such familiar effigies with more of interest and discrimination, and with reference to that appropriate character which the circumstances of her story should lead us to require. 1. school of giotto. 'st. catherine, as patron saint and martyr, stands between two wheels, holding her book and palm:' a beautiful picture, in the possession of m. auguste valbreque, who allowed me to make a sketch from it: the two wheels are unusual (117). 117 st. catherine (giotto. a.d. 1320) m 2 478 sacred and legendary art. 118 sculpture (strasburg cathedral) 119 hagley gothic sculpture (chapel of henry vii.) 2. greco-italian. st. catherine is seated on a throne, wearing the royal crown, and with an air of profound meditation. scattered around, and at her feet, a number of books, mathematical instruments, and tablets, on which are traced calculations and problems, also a celestial sphere. she is here the especial patroness of science and philosophy: the urania of the greeks.' 3. siena school. she stands, crowned, and holding the book and palm. on the flat dark background of the picture are painted the implements of the mechanical arts, such as shears, hammers, saws, a 1 florence, rinuccini gal. st. catherine. 479 carpenter's rule and plane, a pair of compasses, a pestle and mortar, combs for carding wool, a spindle and distaff, &c. she is here the especial patroness of the arts:-the greek minerva. 4. gothic sculpture. she stands with a scroll in her raised hand, trampling a philosopher under her feet. on reflection, i am not sure that this fine figure is a st. catherine, but perhaps wisdom or science in the allegorical sense. 5. ghirlandajo.' she stands, crowned, and partly veiled, with one hand on the wheel, the other sustains the folds of her drapery; a ring conspicuous on her finger, in allusion to her mystical espousals. the face has little beauty, and rather a severe expression, but the figure and attitude are full of dignity, and the drapery most elegant. 6. gothic sculpture. she stands with the book and sword, wearing the royal crown; under her feet the wheel and the emperor maximin. in the same style are the effigies in the stained glass of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. 7. raphael. she leans on her wheel, looking up. the beautiful picture is in our national gallery. raphael's original first thought for the head, sketched with a pen, is at oxford; the more finished drawing is in the possession of the duke of devonshire. 8. siena school. she stands, crowned, with her book and palm; a small broken wheel, worked in gold, suspended from her neck as an ornament. 9. hans hemling (?). st. catherine kneeling, in a coronation of the virgin. she is crowned and richly attired. the broken wheel is suspended as an ornament at the end of a gold chain, fastened to her girdle just as a german woman wears her bunch of keys.2 10. albert dürer. she is crowned; seated on a chair, which looks like a professor's chair; at her side the sword; in front a portion of a broken wheel (120). 11. intarsiatura. she stands, crowned; in the left hand the palm, in the other the sword. the head of the tyrant is at her feet, and the point of the sword pierces his mouth, showing that she had 'fl. acad. * the coronation of the virgin, in the gallery of prince wallerstein, now in kensington palace, is by some attributed to hemling. 480 sacred and legendary art. 120 sh st. catherine (albert dürer. a.d. 1510) vanquished him in argument. a figure of singular elegance, in the florentine manner, in the church of s. giovanni at malta. 12. milan school: leonardo, or luini. she is crowned with myrtle, and holds her book; on each side a most beautiful angel, one of whom bears the wheel, the other the palm. the expression full of intellect and sweetness.' 13. cesare da sesto. she is looking down with a contemplative air, her long golden hair crowned with a wreath of myrtle, and leaning with both hands on her wheel. most beautiful and refined.2 14. francia. she is crowned, as patron saint, and looking down, one hand resting on her wheel. the figure amply draped and full of dignity. the engraving by marc antonio is rare and beautiful. in the collection of mr. howard of corbie. 2 frankfort museum. st. catherine. 481 15. luini school.¹ she is between two wheels, with long dishevelled hair, and hands clasped in supplication. she is here the martyr only. 121 16. palma. st. catherine, crowned and richly draped, at the feet of the madonna. it is the portrait of his daughter, the beautiful violante. the figures of st. catherine by titian, paul veronese, and tintoretto, all have the air of portraits, and, in general, are sumptuously crowned and attired, with luxuriant fair hair, and holding the palm oftener than the book. she appears, in such pictures, as the patron saint of venice. there is a famous picture, by titian, of the unhappy catherine cornaro, queen of cyprus, in the character of st. catherine. 17. paul veronese. st. catherine, kneeling on her broken wheel, looks up at the madonna and child on a throne above. she is here attired as a venetian lady of rank, and wears the royal crown. 18. annibal caracci. st. catherine, as patroness of the arts and sciences, and st. luke as patron saint of painting, on each side of the madonna and child. st. catherine (lucas v. leyden) 19. guido. she is kneeling, as martyr, with clasped hands and flowing hair; the figure being taken from one of the disconsolate mothers in the famous massacre of the innocents, slightly altered, is deficient in character. the wheels are in the background.3 20. st. catherine reading. to distinguish her from other saints. who also read, a small wheel is embroidered on her book. 'pitti pal. 2 vienna gal. * windsor gal. 482 sacred and legendary art. 21. domenichino. she is standing, as patron saint, with crown, sword, palm, and wheel. the attributes crowded; the figure majestic, but mannered, and without much character. there is also the same figure, half-length, at windsor. 22. domenichino. she is standing, as martyr; an angel descends with the crown and palm: very dignified and beautiful.' 23. st. catherine reading; she rests one hand, which holds the palm, on her wheel. in such pictures she is the patroness of students and scholars. there is an example at hampton court. when st. catherine is grouped with other saints, her usual pendant is st. barbara, sometimes also mary magdalene; in the venetian pictures, frequently st. george. in the german pictures, st. catherine is often grouped with st. ursula. as patroness of learning, she is sometimes in companionship with one or other of the doctors of the church; most frequently with st. jerome. ( ii. the marriage of st. catherine, however treated, must be considered as a strictly devotional subject: it is not an incident; it is an allegorical vision, implying the spiritual union between christ and the redeemed soul. this is the original signification of the subject, and there can be no doubt that the religious interpretation of the song of solomon,' with all its amatory and hymeneal imagery, led the fancy to this and similar representations. whatever may be thought of the marriage of st. catherine in this mystical sense, we cannot but feel that as a subject of art it is most attractive: even in the most simple form, with only three persons, it combines many elements of picturesque and poetical beauty. the matronly dignity of the maternal virgin, the godlike infancy of the saviour, the refined loveliness and graceful humility of the saint, form of themselves a group susceptible of the most various, the most delicate, shades of expression. the introduction of angels as attendants, or of beatified personages as spectators, or other ideal accessories, must be considered as strictly in harmony with the subject, lending it a kind of scenic and sutherland gal. st. catherine. 483 dramatic interest, while it retains its mystical and devotional character. the marriage of st. catherine is one of the subjects in early greek art; but it occurs very seldom in italian art before the middle of the fifteenth century: in the sixteenth it became popular, and, for obvious reasons, it was a favourite subject in nunneries. why, i do not know, but it has always been very rare in german art; and therefore it is the more remarkable that the earliest example that i can cite is from one of the earliest artists of the genuine german school, the anonymous engraver whom we know only as 'le graveur de 1466.' whoever he may have been, he was certainly a man of a most original and poetical turn of mind: he lived in the very infancy of the art, being, i suppose, the first german who took the burin in hand after the invention of copper-plate engraving; but his works, in spite of their rudeness in drawing and execution, are a storehouse of poetical ideas. what, for instance, can be more fanciful, and more true to the mysticism of the subject, than his arrangement of the 'marriage of st. catherine?' the scene is paradise; the virginmother, seated on a flowery throne, is in the act of twining a wreath for which st. dorothea presents the roses; in front of the virgin kneels st. catherine, and beside her stands the infant christ (here a child about five or six years old), and presents the ring: on one side st. agnes, st. barbara, st. agatha, and st. margaret; on the other, st. mary magdalene and st. apollonia; the figures being disposed in a semicircle. behind the throne of the virgin is seen a grand chorus of angels, holding scrolls of music in their hands, and singing 'gloria in excelsis deo!'-the holy spirit, in form of a dove, is hovering over the whole. the conception, it must be admitted, is in the highest degree poetical; in the same degree, the execution is rude, and the drawing meagre. vol. ii. 1. correggio. two very celebrated pictures. in the first example, which is life-size, st. catherine bends down with the softest, meekest tenderness and submission, and the virgin unites her hand to that of the infant christ, who looks up in his mother's face with a divine. yet infantine expression. st. sebastian stands by holding his arrows.' ¹ louvre, 27. n 484 sacred and legendary art. חזון שהדהדוד. 122 tall marriage of st. catherine (titian) it is of this picture that vasari truly said that the heads appeared to have been painted in paradise. in the background is seen the martyrdom of the two saints. the other example is a small picture, also of exquisite beauty: here the attendant is an angel.' 2. cola dell' amatrice. the virgin-mother is seated on a sort of low bench. the child, standing on her knee, presents the ring to st. catherine, who is also standing, simply attired, and with no attribute but the sword, which she holds upright:-this treatment is peculiar. 3. titian. the infant christ is seated on a kind of pedestal, and sustained by the arms of the virgin. st. catherine kneels before. him, and st. anna, the mother of the virgin, gives st. catherine away, presenting her hand to receive the ring; st. joseph is standing on the other side; two angels behind the saint look on with an expression of celestial sympathy. in general the venetian painters lavished on this favourite subject the richest, most fanciful, most joyous accompaniments: as in a picture by p. veronese, where the scene is a palace or a luxurious landscape; st. catherine 'naples, musée st. catherine. 485 123 marriage of st. catherine (cola dell' amatrice, 1533) is in the gorgeous bridal attire of a princess, and a choir of angels chant hymns of joy. there is a picture by titian, in which st. catherine, kneeling by the cradle of the infant saviour, has taken him in her arms, and presses him to her bosom with the action of a fond nurse; so completely was the solemn and mystical allegory of the nuptial bond forgotten, or set aside!¹ 4. perugino. the virgin, seated, holds the infant saviour standing on her knee; he bends forward to put the ring on st. catherine's right hand. joseph is seen behind in meditation. 5. parmigiano. the virgin as usual with the infant christ upon her knee; st. catherine, resting one hand upon her wheel, presents ' pitti pal., fl. n 2 486 sacred and legendary art. the other; and the infant christ, while he puts the ring on her finger, throws himself back, looking up in his mother's face, as if he were at play. beneath is the head of an old man, with a long grey beard, holding a book: whether the painter intended him for joseph, who is often present on this occasion, or for the old hermit of the legend, is not clear.¹ 6. rubens makes the ceremony take place in presence of st. peter, st. paul, and a vast company of saints and martyrs.2 7. vandyck. the virgin holds a wreath of flowers in her hand, ready to crown the saint at the same moment that she receives the ring from christ; the expression of st. catherine as she bends in adoration is most charming; in one hand she holds the palm-branch, resting it upon the wheel. the exceeding beauty of the virgin has obtained for this picture the appellation of 'la plus belle des vierges.' 3 sometimes the divoto for whom the picture has been painted is supposed to be present. i remember a marriage of st. catherine in presence of the emperor matthias and his court. i have seen some instances in which the divine infant, instead of presenting the nuptial ring, places a wreath of roses on her head. in all these examples, christ is represented as a child. in one instance only i have seen him figured as a man about thirty, standing on one side, attended by a company of angels, while catherine stands opposite, attended by a train of virgin-martyrs. i do not remember a single instance of "the marriage of st. catherine' in the stained glass of the fourteenth century; but such may exist the other subjects from her history are commonly met. with. the sposalizio of st. catherine of alexandria, the princess-martyr, must not be confounded with the sposalizio of st. catherine of siena, who was a dominican nun.4 both are sometimes represented in the same picture. 8. ambrogio bogognone. the virgin is seated on a splendid throne, both pictures are in the grosvenor gal. 2 a magnificent picture, containing more than twenty figures, in the church of the augustines at antwerp. 3 in the queen's gal., buckingham palace. see the monastic orders,' p. 395. st. catherine. 487 holding the divine child; on the right kneels st. catherine of alexandria; on the left st. catherine of siena. the infant presents a ring to each, the mother guiding his little hands :-a most beautiful picture.¹ some of the most striking incidents in the life of st. catherine have been treated historically, as separate subjects. 1. the dispute with the fifty philosophers;' the number of the philosophers generally represented by a few persons. pinturicchio has painted this subject in a large crowded fresco. the scene is the interior of a temple; maximin is on his throne; and before him, standing, st. catherine attired in a richly embroidered dress; in one hand her book, the other raised; around the throne of the emperor, many philosophers, some arguing, some demonstrating, some meditating doubtfully, others searching their great books; farther off, spectators and attendants: about fifty figures in all." vasari. st. catherine, with her robe and hair flying loose, and in a most theatrical attitude, disputes with the philosophers, who are turning over their books; the emperor looks down from a balcony above.3 6 where st. catherine is standing, or sitting on a raised throne, as one teaching, rather than disputing, and with seven philosophers around her, then the subject evidently represents the seven wise masters' whom her father had assembled to teach her, and who became her disciples; and st. catherine should look like the magnificent princess in tennyson's poemamong her grave professors, scattering gems of art and science. 6 2. the subject usually called the martyrdom of st. catherine,' her exposure to the torture of the wheels, should rather be called the deliverance of st. catherine. it is one of the most frequent subjects in early art. the leading idea is always the same, and the subject easily recognised, however varied in the representation. st. catherine is seen between two or four wheels armed with iron teeth or spikes, while two or more executioners prepare to turn the wheels; when i saw it, in possession of m. grahl of dresden. 2 vatican, rome. 3 * capitol, rome. 488 sacred and legendary art. or she is kneeling beside the instrument of torture: the emperor and his attendants are sometimes introduced: an angel, descending from heaven amid thunder and lightning, or bearing an avenging sword, breaks the wheels, and scatters horror and confusion among the pagans. the most beautiful instance i can remember is the large picture by gaudenzio ferrari. she is represented in a front view, kneeling, her hair dishevelled, her hands clasped, and in the eyes, upraised to the opening heavens above, a most divine expression of faith and resignation; on each side are the wheels armed with spikes, which the executioners are preparing to turn: behind sits the emperor on an elevated throne, and an angel descends from above armed with a sword. in this grand picture the figures are life-size.' by albert dürer, a most spirited woodcut, rather coarse, however, in execution. she is kneeling, with bowed head; the wheels are broken by a tempest from heaven; the executioners look paralysed with horror. there is a fine dramatic composition by giulio romano, in which the wheels are seen shivered by lightning and stones from heaven, which are flung down by angels; the executioners and spectators are struck dead or confounded. ( 3. the vision of st. catherine.' she is represented sleeping in the arms of an angel. another angel with outspread wings appears to address her. infant angels, bearing the palm, the crown, the wheel, and the sword, hover around. i have seen but one example of this subject: it is engraved in the teniers gallery. c 4. the decapitation of st. catherine' is, properly, her martyrdom. this subject is of frequent occurrence, and little varied; in general, the broken wheels are introduced in the background, in order to distinguish st. catherine from other female saints who were also decapitated. there is a very fine and curious engraving, in which st. catherine is kneeling; the executioner stands near her, and three angels extend a linen cloth to receive and bear away her body. maximin and others are behind.2 spinello. in the foreground, st. catherine is decapitated; above are seen four angels bearing her body over sea and land; and in the far distance, two angels bury her on the summit of mount sinai.3 2 bartsch, vi. 374. 3 berlin gal. ¹ milan, brera. 1 st. catherine. 489 124 angels bear st. catherine to mount sinai (mücke) 6 5. st. catherine buried by the angels.' of this charming subject, so frequently introduced into the background of the scene of her martyrdom, there are many examples in a separate form. there is a fresco by luini, in the brera at milan, of exceeding beauty. three angels sustain the body of st. catherine, hovering above the tomb in which they prepare to lay her. the tranquil, refined character of the head of the saint, and the expression of death, are exceedingly fine (116). in an elegant little picture by giles de rye, two angels lay her in a marble sarcophagus, and a third scatters flowers.' there is another by cespedes at cordoba.2 there is a modern version of this fine subject, by a german painter (mücke), which has become popular: four angels bear the body of st. catherine over sea and land to mount sinai; one of the foremost carries a sword, the instrument of her martyrdom. the floating, onward movement of the group is very beautifully expressed (124). in the spanish gallery of the louvre, now dispersed, there was a 1 vienna gal. v. stirling's artists of spain,' p. 339. " 490 sacred and legendary art. curious votive picture by f. herrera, of which one would like to know the history. a nobleman of seville, and his family, are imprisoned in a dungeon; they implore the aid of st. catherine, who appears to them, habited in the rich spanish costume of the time (about 1620), and promises them deliverance. another legend of st. catherine is represented in a small old picture by ambrogio di lorenzo: on one side are seen two nuns vainly imploring a physician to heal one of the sisterhood who is sick x; on the other, the sick nun is seen lying in her cell; st. catherine descends from heaven to heal her. these and similar pictures may be considered as votive offerings to st. catherine, as the giver of good counsel, in which character she is particularly venerated. the life of st. catherine forms a beautiful and dramatic series, and is often met with in the chapels dedicated to her. and it is worthy of remark, that the mystical 'marriage' is scarcely ever included in the historical series, but reserved as an altar-piece, or treated apart. on a window of the cathedral at angers1. st. catherine disputes with the emperor and the philosophers. maxentius sits on a throne with a sword in his hand; she stands before him with a book. 2. she is bound between two wheels; a hand out of heaven breaks the wheels. 3. st. catherine, in prison, converts the empress. 4. christ visits her in prison; an angel brings her a crown. 5. catherine is bound and scourged by two executioners. 6. the empress is beheaded on one side; and st. catherine on the other. 7. three angels bury st. catherine; two lay her in the sepulchre; one stands by, holding her severed head in a napkin. the series in her chapel at assisi is much ruined. it appeared to me to consist of the usual scenes. in the conversion of the empress, she is seated inside the prison, listening to the instruction of catherine, while porphyry stands without, holding her palfrey. i observed, in the last subject of the series, that st. catherine, instead of being buried by three angels, which is the usual manner, 1 berlin gal. st. catherine. 491 is borne over land and sea by a whole troop of angels, ten or twelve in number. m wests by masaccio. in the chapel of st. catherine, in the church of san clemente, at rome, we find this celebrated series: in spite of its ruined condition, the grave sentiment and refinement of the principal figures are still most striking. 1. she refuses to adore the idols. 2. she converts the empress. she is seen through a window seated inside a prison, and the empress is seated outside of the prison, opposite to her, in a graceful listening attitude. 3. the empress is beheaded, and her soul is carried by an angel into heaven. 4. st. catherine disputes with the philosophers. she is standing in the midst of a hall, the forefinger of one hand laid on the other, as in the act of demonstrating. she is represented fair and girlish, dressed with great simplicity in a tunic and girdle-no crown, or any other attribute. the sages are ranged on each side, some lost in thought others in astonishment: the tyrant is seen behind, as if watching the conference; while, through an open window, we behold the fire kindled for the converted philosophers, and the scene of their execution. 5. catherine is delivered from the wheels, which are broken by an angel. 6. she is beheaded. in the background angels lay her in a sarcophagus on the summit of mount sinai. 125 vol. ii. angels bury st. catherine (masaccio) 492 sacred and legendary art. st. barbara. ital. santa barbara. fr. sainte barbe. patron saint of armourers and gunsmiths; of fire-arms and fortifications. she is invoked against thunder and lightning, and all accidents arising from explosions of gunpowder. patroness of ferrara. guastala, and mantua. (dec. 4, a.d. 303.) the legend of st. barbara was introduced from the east, about the same time with that of st. catherine. she is the armed pallas or bellona of the antique mythology, reproduced under the aspect of a christian martyr. there was a certain man named dioscorus, who dwelt in heliopolis; noble, and of great possessions; and he had an only daughter, named barbara, whom he loved exceedingly. fearful lest, from her singular beauty, she should be demanded in marriage and taken from him, he shut her up in a very high tower, and kept her secluded from the eyes of men. the virtuous barbara, in her solitude, gave herself up to study and meditation; from the summit of her tower she contemplated the stars of heaven and their courses; and the result of her reflections was, that the idols of wood and stone worshipped by her parents could not be really gods-could not have created the wonders on which she meditated night and day. so she contemned, in her heart, these false gods; but as yet she knew not the true faith. c now, in the loneliness of her tower, the fame reached her of a certain sage who had demonstrated the vanity of idolatry, and who taught a new and holy religion. this was no other than the famous doctor and teacher, origen, who dwelt in the city of alexandria. st. barbara longed beyond measure to know more of his teaching. she therefore wrote to him secretly, and sent her letter by a sure messenger, who, on arriving at alexandria, found origen in the house of the empress mammea, occupied in expounding the gospel. origen, on reading the letter of st. barbara, rejoiced greatly; he wrote to her with his own hand, and sent to her one of his disciples, disguised as a physician, who perfected her conversion, and she received baptism from his hands. st. barbara. 493 'her father, dioscorus, who was violently opposed to the christians, was at this time absent: but previous to his departure he had sent skilful architects to construct within the tower a bath-chamber of wonderful splendour. one day st. barbara descended from her turret to view the progress of the workmen, and seeing that they had constructed two windows, commanded them to insert a third. they hesitated to obey her, saying, "we are afraid to depart from the orders we have received." but she answered, "do as i command: ye shall be held guiltless." when her father returned he was displeased; and he said to his daughter, "why hast thou done this thing, and inserted three windows instead of two?"—and she answered, “know, my father, that through three windows doth the soul receive light-the father, the son, and the holy ghost; and the three are one." then her father, being enraged, drew his sword to kill her, and she fled from him to the summit of the tower, and he pursued her; but by angels she was wrapt from his view, and carried to a distance. a shepherd betrayed her by pointing silently to the place of her concealment; and her father dragged her thence by the hair, and beat her, and shut her up in a dungeon;—all the love he formerly felt for his daughter being changed into unrelenting fury and indignation when he found she was a christian. he denounced her to the proconsul marcian, who was a cruel persecutor of the christians: the proconsul, after vainly endeavouring to persuade her to sacrifice to his false gods, ordered her to be scourged and tortured horribly; but st. barbara only prayed for courage to endure what was inflicted, rejoicing to suffer for christ's sake. her father, seeing no hope of her yielding, carried her to a certain mountain near the city, drew his sword, and cut off her head with his own hands; but as he descended the mountain, there came on a most fearful tempest, with thunder and lightning, and fire fell upon this cruel father and consumed him utterly, so that not a vestige of him remained.' ' in the devotional pictures, st. barbara bears the sword and palm in common with other martyrs; when she wears the diadem, it is as martyr, not as princess: she has also the book, and is often reading, legenda aurea. 02 491 sacred and legendary art. in allusion to her studious life; but her peculiar, almost invariable, attribute is the tower, generally with three windows, in allusion to the legend. st. barbara, as protectress against thunder and lightning, fire-arms, and gunpowder, is also invoked against sudden death; for it was believed that those who devoted themselves to her should not die impenitent, nor without having first received the holy sacraments. she therefore carries the sacramental cup and wafer, and is the only female saint who bears this attribute. she is usually dressed with great magnificence, and almost always in red drapery. the tower is often a massy building in the background, and she holds. the sword in one hand, and the gospel or palm in the other: occasionally, in early pictures, and early german prints, she holds. a little tower in her hand, merely as a distinguishing attribute; or she is leaning on it as a pedestal. in a beautiful picture of the van eyck school which i saw in the museum at rouen, representing the virgin and child throned in the midst of female saints, st. barbara is seated on the left of the madonna, bending over a book, and wearing on her head a rich and tasteful diadem of gems and gold, the front of which is worked into the form of a triple tower. i have seen the tower modelled in gold, suspended in a golden chain from her girdle. i have seen several pictures of st. barbara in which she holds a feather in her hand; generally a peacock's feather. i have never met with any explanation of this attribute; and am inclined to believe, as it is only found in the german pictures, that it refers to an old german version of her legend, which relates that when st. barbara was scourged by her father, the angels changed the rods into feathers. the expression of the head varies with the fancy of the painter; but in the best pictures, at least in all those that aspire to character, the countenance and attitude convey the idea of thoughtfulness, dignity, and power. luini, in a fresco group in the brera, where she stands opposite to st. antony, has given her this expression of 'umiltà superba.' domenichino has given her this look, with large lustrous eyes, full of inspiration. 1. the most beautiful of the single figures to which i can refer is www patutnya 1 2 1 s'barbara enthroned: 2.1. barbara budding her tower fe st. barbara. 495 the chef-d'œuvre of palma vecchio, placed over the altar of st. barbara in the church of santa maria formosa at venice. she is standing in a majestic attitude, looking upwards with inspired eyes, and an expression like a pallas. she wears a tunic or robe of a rich warm brown, with a mantle of crimson; and a white veil is twisted in her diadem and among the tresses of her pale golden hair: the whole picture is one glow of colour, life, and beauty; i never saw a combination of expression and colour at once so soft, so sober, and so splendid. cannon are at her feet, and her tower is seen behind. beneath, in front of the altar, is a marble basrelief of her martyrdom; she lies headless on the ground, and fire from heaven destroys the executioners. hita there is a very fine single figure of st. barbara holding her cup and wafer, by ghirlandajo.2 2. almost equal in beauty, but quite in the german style, is a full length by holbein in the munich gallery (126). 3. matteo da siena (1479). enthroned as patron saint, she holds in her left hand a tower, within the door of which is seen the cup and wafer; her right hand holds the 126 st. barbara with the chalice and host (holbein) this is the most celebrated of the numerous portraits of violante palma, titian's first love, according to the well-known tradition, and whose beautiful face and form are to be traced in some of his early pictures, as well as those of palma and giorgione. her portrait by giorgione is in the manfrini palace; she is holding a guitar. her portrait by her father is at dresden; and her portrait by titian, as flora, in the florence gallery. 2 berlin gal. 496 sacred and legendary art. palm, and two angels, bearing a crown, hover above her head; twoother angels with musical instruments are at her feet; on the right of st. barbara stands st. catherine, and on the left st. mary magdalene.' i give an etching of the principal figure. 4. cosimo roselli. st. barbara, holding the tower in one hand, in the other the palm, stands upon her father, who is literally sprawling on the ground under her feet; on one side stands st. john the baptist, on the other st. matthias the apostle.2 this is a strange, disagreeable picture, very characteristic of the eccentric painter: but for the introduction of the tower, i should have taken it for a st. catherine trampling on the emperor maximin. in a 5. michael coxis. st. barbara is represented holding a feather in her hand (127). in two pictures (old german) it is distinctly a white ostrich feather; in others, it is a peacock's feather. madonna picture by van der goes, the virgin is seated with the child on her knee; two angels crown her; on the right, st. catherine, with the sword and part of the wheel lying before her, presents an apple to the infant christ; on the left is st. barbara, with a book on her knee, and holding a peacock's feather in her hand. the whole exquisite for finish and beauty of workmanship.3 it is usual in a sacred group (sacra conversazione) to find st. catherine and st. barbara in companionship, particularly in german art; and then it is clear to me that they represent the two powers which in the middle ages divided the christian world between them. st. catherine appears as the patroness of schoolmen, of theological learning, study, and seclusion; st. barbara as patroness of the knight and the man-at-arms-of fortitude and active courage. or, in other words, they represent the active and the contemplative life, so often contrasted in the medieval works of art.¹ there is a beautiful and well-known drawing by j. van eyck, in which st. barbara is seated in front, with outspread ample drapery and long fair hair flowing over her shoulders. behind her is a magnificent gothic tower, of most elaborate architecture, on which a number of masons and builders are employed. siena, san domenico. 3 florence gal. 2 fl. acad. legends of the madonna,' p. 97. st. barbara. 497 127 rozo st. barbara with a feather (michael coxis munich gal.) 6 st. barbara is frequently introduced into pictures of the throned madonna. the most celebrated example is the madonna di san sisto' of raphael, in which she is kneeling to the left of the virgin ; on the other side is st. sixtus. the expression in the two saints is admirably discriminated. st. sixtus implores the virgin in favour 498 sacred and legendary art. of the brotherhood for whom the picture was painted; st. barbara requires for the virgin the devotions of the faithful. i have already observed that, where saints are grouped together, the usual pendant of st. barbara is st. catherine, unless there are special reasons for introducing some other personage-as in this instance; the picture having been painted for the monastery of san sisto at piacenza. historical pictures of st. barbara are confined to few subjects. 1. in a small ancient picture, evidently part of a predella, st. barbara with two female attendants is seen standing before a tower, which has a drawbridge let down over a moat; she seems about to enter; several masons are at work building the tower. (as in the etching.) in the other half of the picture, she is lying in a shrine hung with votive offerings, and the crippled and the sick appear before it as suppliants. 2. pinturicchio, large fresco in the vatican. in the centre the mystical tower; on one side, she is flying from her father; on the other, the wall opens, and she escapes. the treacherous shepherd is seen in the distance. 6 3. rubens. st. barbara flies from her father to the top of a tower; he, in the likeness of a turbaned turk,' is seen pursuing her, sword in hand a small sketch in the dulwich gallery. in pictures of the martyrdom of st. barbara, the leading idea or motif does not vary; she is on her knees; and her father, always in a turban, the heathen attribute, seizes her by the hair with one hand, holding his sword in the other. generally we find the tower in the background, or a peaked mountain, to express the locality. among many engravings of this scene may be mentioned a very curious and beautiful old print, in which dioscorus is in the very act of striking off her head; the tower is seen behind, and in the window stands the sacramental cup.' a picture of striking beauty is the martyrdom of st. barbara over her altar in the church of s. maria-delle-grazie at brescia. she kneels in a white tunic embroidered with gold. her pagan father, le graveur de 1466. bartsch, vi. 31. st. barbara. 499 turbaned as usual, has seized her by the hair; she looks up full of faith and love divine. there are several spectators, two on horseback, others on foot; and in the vigorous painting of the heads and magnificent colour the picture resembles titian. it is by his brescian pupil and friend, pietro rosa. in the church of st. barbara at mantua is her martyrdom, by brusasorci, over the high altar; and in the church of st. barbara at ferrara there is a most beautiful altar-piece, by g. mazzuoli, representing the saint in the midst of a choir of virgin-martyrs, who seem to welcome her into their celestial community. as patroness of fire-arms and against sudden death, the effigy of st. barbara is a frequent ornament on shields, armour, and particularly great guns and field-pieces. i found her whole history on a suit of armour which the emperor maximilian sent as a present to henry viii. in 1509, and which is now preserved in the tower. on the breastplate is st. george as patron of england, vanquishing the dragon; on the back-plate, st. barbara, standing majestic, with her tower, her cup, and her book. on the horse-armour we have the history of the two saints, disposed in a regular series, each scene from the life of st. george being accompanied by a corresponding scene from the life of st. barbara. 1. st. george, mounted on horseback, like a knight of romance, riding forth in search of adventures: st. barbara, attended by two maidens, directs the building of her tower; a man is ascending a ladder with a hod full of bricks. 2. st. george is accused before the emperor. st. barbara is pursued by her father. 3. st. george is tortured by the wheels. st. barbara is scourged. 4. st. george is beheaded by an executioner. st. barbara is beheaded by her father, who seizes her by the hair in the usual manner, amid the raging of a tempest. the designs are in the manner of hans burgmair's triumph of maximilian, and, probably by the same hand, elaborately engraved on the plates of the armour; the figures about six inches high. the arabesque ornaments which surround the subjects are of singular elegance, intermingled with the rose and pomegranate, the badge of henry and catherine of aragon. the armour, being now exhibited vol. ii. p 500 sacred and legendary art. 6 c c to advantage on a wooden man and horse, can easily be examined. in the description published in the archæologia,' and the guide to the tower,' there are a few mistakes; for instance, the scourging of st. barbara' is styled 'the scourging of st. agatha,' who had no concern in any way with war or armour. altogether, this suit of armour is a curious and interesting illustration of the religious and chivalric application of the fine arts.' i find only one church in england dedicated to st. barbara, at ashton-under-hill, in gloucestershire. st. barbara wearing her tower as an ornament st. ursula. 501 st. ursula and her companions. lat. s. ursula. ital. santa orsola. fr. sainte ursule. patroness of young girls, particularly school-girls, and of all women who devote themselves especially to the care and education of their own sex. (oct. 21.) certain writers in theology, pitiably hard of belief, have set their wits to work-rather unnecessarily, as it appears to me-to reduce this extravagant and picturesque legend within the bounds of probability but when they have proved to their own satisfaction that xi. m. v. means eleven martyr virgins, and not eleven thousand;that the voyage over the unstable seas, amidst storm and sunshine,— the winds sometimes fair, sometimes furiously raging,-signifies the voyage of life, with all its vicissitudes; and the whole story merely a religious allegory;-when this has all been laid down incontrovertibly, we are not much advanced: for one thing is clear; our ancestors, to whom all marvels and miracles in a religious garb came equally accredited, understood the story literally. endowed with a sort of 'chevril' faith, which stretched from an inch narrow to an ell broad,' they found it quite as easy to believe in eleven thousand virgins as in eleven; nor was there in its chronological and geographical absurdities anything to stagger the faith of the ignorant. in spite of the critical sneers of the learned, it kept its hold on the popular fancy. it was especially delightful to the women, whom it placed in a grand and poetical point of view;and though small credit doubting wits might give, yet maids and innocents would still believe! the painters, in their efforts to give the story in a consistent form, have had the most difficult part of the task, inasmuch as it has been found embarrassing to bring the eleven thousand martyrs into any reasonable compass; and the contrivances to which they have resorted for the purpose are sometimes very picturesque and ingenious. there are several different versions of this wild legend. in general it seems admitted as a fact, that, at a period when christianity and civilisation were contending for the mastery over paganism and p 2 502 sacred and legendary art. 129 st. ursula (from a picture by st. caterina de' vigri. bologna gal.) barbarism in the north of germany, a noble maiden and several of her companions were murdered for their faith, somewhere in the neighbourhood of cologne. such incidents were not then uncommon. the exact date of the event is not fixed: some mention the year 237 as the probable date; others 383; and others again, 451, when the huns invaded belgium and gaul. the tradition can be traced back to the year 600; in the year 846 the german martyrology of wandelbert extended its popularity through the north of europe. the first mention of the definite number of eleven thousand virgins was by herman, bishop of cologne, in 922, and is said to be founded on st. ursula. 503 6 a mistake of the abbreviation xi. m. v., i.e. eleven martyr virgins, for undecimilla virginis,' eleven thousand virgins. others reduce the eleven thousand to one; they say that a virgin named undecimilla perished with st. ursula, which gave rise to the mistake. all these attempts to reduce the legend to a fact, leave us, however, in the same predicament: we must accept it in the popular form in which it has been handed down to us, and which, from the multiplicity of the representations in germany and italy, has assumed a high degree of importance. in some versions of the story-for instance, in the spanish version of ribadeneira-the journey to rome is omitted; the names of the personages and the minor incidents vary in all. i shall adhere to the cologne version, as that which has been the most popular, and, i believe, invariably followed in german and italian art. 2 'once on a time there reigned in brittany a certain king, whose name was theonotus,' and he was married to a sicilian princess whose name was daria. both were christians, and they were blessed with one daughter, whom they called ursula, and whom they educated with exceeding care. when ursula was about fifteen, her mother, queen daria, died, leaving the king almost inconsolable; but ursula, though so young, supplied the place of her mother in the court. she was not only wonderfully beautiful, and gifted with all the external graces of her sex, but accomplished in all the learning of the time. her mind was a perfect storehouse of wisdom and knowledge: she had read about the stars, and the courses of the winds; all that had ever happened in the world from the days of adam she had by heart; the poets and the philosophers were to her what childish recreations are to others: but, above all, she was profoundly versed in theology and school divinity, so that the doctors were astonished and confounded by her argumentative powers. to these accomplishments were added the more excellent gifts of humility, in the italian versions of the legend, he is called 'il re mauro.' 2 the derivation and meaning of the name, since so popular in europe, is thus given by surius-hinc itaque, quia exemplo, david immanem ursum scilicet diabolum quandoque suffocatura erat, deo disponente (qui quos vocat prædestinat,) parentibus illi in baptismate præsagum nomen ursula indicatum est. 504 sacred and legendary art. piety, and charity, so that she was esteemed the most accomplished princess of the time. her father, who loved her as the light of his eyes, desired nothing better than to keep her always at his side. but the fame of her beauty, her virtue, and her wondrous learning, was spread through all the neighbouring lands, so that many of the neighbouring princes desired her in marriage: but ursula refused every offer. 'not far from brittany, on the other side of the great ocean, was a country called england, vast and powerful, but the people were still in the darkness of paganism; and the king of this country had an only son, whose name was conon, as celebrated for his beauty of person, his warlike prowess, and physical strength, as ursula for her piety, her graces, and her learning. he was now old enough to seek a wife; and his father, king agrippinus, hearing of the great beauty and virtue of ursula, sent ambassadors to demand her in marriage for his son. "when the ambassadors arrived at the palace of the king of brittany, they were very courteously received, but the king was secretly much embarrassed, for he knew that his daughter had made a vow of perpetual chastity, having dedicated herself to christ; at the same time he feared to offend the powerful monarch of england by refusing his request: therefore he delayed to give an answer, and, having commanded the ambassadors to be sumptuously lodged and entertained, he retired to his chamber, and, leaning his head on his hand, he meditated what was best to be done; but he could think of no help to deliver him from this strait. while thus he sat apart in doubt and sadness, the princess entered, and, learning the cause of his melancholy, she said with a smile, "is this all? be of good cheer, my king and father! for, if it please you, i will myself answer these ambassadors." and her father replied, "as thou wilt, my daughter." so the next day, when the ambassadors were again introduced, st. ursula was seated on a throne by her father's side, and, having received and returned their salutation with unspeakable grace and dignity, she thus addressed them"i thank my lord the king of england, and conon his princely son, and his noble barons, and you, sirs, his honourable ambassadors, for the honour ye have done me, so much greater than st. ursula. 505 my deserving. i hold myself bound to your king as to a second father, and to the prince his son as to my brother and bridegroom, for to no other will i ever listen. but i have to ask three things. first, he shall give for me as my ladies and companions ten virgins of the noblest blood in his kingdom, and to each of these a thousand attendants, and to me also a thousand maidens to wait on me. secondly, he shall permit me for the space of three years to honour my virginity, and, with my companions, to visit the holy shrines. where repose the bodies of the saints. and my third demand is, that the prince and his court shall receive baptism; for other than a perfect christian i cannot wed." 'now you shall understand that this wise princess, ursula, made these conditions, thinking in her heart, "either the king of england will refuse these demands, or, if he grant them, then eleven thousand virgins are redeemed and dedicated to the service of god." the ambassadors, being dismissed with honour, returned to their own country, where they made such a report of the unequalled beauty and wisdom of the princess that the king thought no conditions too hard, and the prince his son was inflamed by desire to obtain her; so he commanded himself to be forthwith baptized; and the king wrote letters to all his vassals in his kingdom of france, in scotland, and in the province of cornwall, to all his princes, dukes, counts, barons, and noble knights, desiring that they would send him the required number of maidens, spotless and beautiful, and of noble birth, to wait on the princess ursula, who was to wed his heir the prince conon; and from all parts these noble virgins came trooping, fair and accomplished in all female learning, and attired in rich garments, wearing jewels of gold and silver. being assembled in brittany, in the capital of king theonotus, ursula received them not only with great gladness and courtesy, but with a sisterly tenderness, and with thanksgiving, praising god that so many of her own sex had been redeemed from the world's vanities: and the fame of this noble assembly of virgins having gone forth to all the countries round about, the barons and knights were gathered together from east and west to view this spectacle; and you may think how much they were amazed and edified by the sight of so much beauty and so much devotion. 'now when ursula had collected all her virgins together, on a 506 sacred and legendary art. fresh and fair morning in the spring time, she desired them to meet in a meadow near the city, which meadow was of the freshest green, all over enamelled with the brightest flowers; and she ascended a throne which was raised in the midst, and preached to all the assembled virgins of things concerning the glory of god, and of his son our lord and saviour, with wonderful eloquence; and of christian charity, and of a pure and holy life dedicated to heaven. and all these virgins, being moved with a holy zeal, wept, and, lifting up their hands and their voices, promised to follow her whithersoever she should lead. and she blessed them and comforted them; and as there were many among them who had never received baptism, she ordered that they should be baptized in the clear stream which flowed through that flowery meadow. "then ursula called for a pen, and wrote a letter to her bridegroom, the son of the king of england, saying, that as he had complied with all her wishes and fulfilled all her demands, he had good leave to wait upon her forthwith. so he, as became a true knight, came immediately; and she received him with great honour; and, in presence of her father, she said to him, "sir, my gracious prince and consort, it has been revealed to me in a vision that i must depart hence on my pilgrimage to visit the shrines in the holy city of rome, with these my companions; thou meanwhile shalt remain here to comfort my father and assist him in his government till my return; or, if god should dispose of me otherwise, this kingdom shall be yours by right." some say that the prince remained, but others relate that he accompanied her on her voyage; however this may be, the glorious virgin embarked with all her maidens on board a fleet of ships prepared for them, and many holy prelates accompanied them. there were no sailors on board, and it was a wonder to see with what skill these wise virgins steered the vessels and managed the sails, being miraculously taught; we must, therefore, suppose that it was by no mistake of theirs, but by the providence of god, that they sailed to the north instead of the south, and were driven by the winds into the mouth of the rhine as far as the port of cologne. here they reposed for a brief time, during which it was revealed to st. ursula, that on her return she and her companions should on that spot suffer martyrdom for the cause of god: all which she made known to her companions; and they all together lifted up their st. ursula. 507 voices in hymns of thanksgiving that they should be found worthy so to die. 'so they proceeded on their voyage up the river till they came to the city of basil; there they disembarked, and crossed over the high mountains into the plains of liguria. over the rocks and snows of the alps they were miraculously conducted; for six angels went before them perpetually, clearing the road from all impediments, throwing bridges over the mountain torrents, and every night pitching tents for their shelter and refreshment. so they came at length to the river tiber, and descending the river, they reached rome, that famous city, where is the holy shrine of st. peter and st. paul. 'in those days was cyriacus bishop of rome: he was famous for his sanctity; and hearing of the arrival of st. ursula and all her fair and glorious company of maidens, he was, as you may suppose, greatly amazed and troubled in mind, not knowing what it might portend. so he went out to meet them, with all his clergy in procession. when st. ursula, kneeling down before him, explained to him the cause of her coming, and implored his blessing for herself and her companions, who can express his admiration and contentment! he not only gave them his blessing, but commanded that they should be honourably lodged and entertained; and, to preserve their maidenly honour and decorum, tents were pitched for them outside the walls of the city, on the plain towards tivoli. 'now it happened that the valiant son of king agrippinus, who had been left in brittany, became every day more and more impatient to learn some tidings of his princess-bride, and at length he resolved to set out in search of her; and, by a miracle, he had arrived in the city of rome on the self-same day, but by a different route. being happily reunited, he knelt with ursula at the feet of cyriacus, and received baptism at his hands, changing his name from conon to that of ethereus, to express the purity and regeneration of his soul. he no longer aspired to the possession of ursula, but fixed his hope on sharing with her the crown of martyrdom on earth, looking to a perpetual reunion in heaven, where neither sorrow nor separation should touch them more. 'after this blessed company had duly performed their devotions at the shrine of st. peter and st. paul, the good cyriacus would fain have ૨ vol. ii. 508 sacred and legendary art. detained them longer; but ursula showed him that it was necessary they should depart, in order to receive the crown "already laid up for them in heaven." when the bishop heard this, he resolved to accompany her. in vain his clergy represented that it did not become a pope of rome and a man of venerable years to run after a company of maidens, however immaculate they might be. cyriacus had been counselled by an angel of god, and he made ready to set forth and embark with them on the river rhine. 'now it happened that there were at rome in those days two great roman captains, cruel heathens, who commanded all the imperial troops in germania. they, being astonished at the sight of this multitude of virgins, said one to the other, "shall we suffer this? if we allow these christian maidens to return to germania they will convert the whole nation; or if they marry husbands, then they will have so many children-no doubt all christians-that our empire will cease; therefore let us take counsel what is best to be done." so these wicked pagans consulted together, and wrote letters to a certain barbarian king of the huns, who was then besieging cologne, and instructed him what he should do. 'meantime st. ursula and her virgins, with her husband and his faithful knights, prepared to embark: with them went pope cyriacus, and in his train vincenzio and giacomo, cardinals; and solfino, archbishop of ravenna; and folatino, bishop of lucca, and the bishop of faenza, and the patriarch of grado, and many other prelates and after a long and perilous journey they arrived in the port of cologne. "they found the city besieged by a great army of barbarians encamped on a plain outside the gates. these pagans, seeing a number of vessels filled, not with fierce warriors, but beautiful virgins, unarmed youths, and venerable bearded men, stood still at first, staring with amazement; but after a short pause, remembering their instructions, they rushed upon the unresisting victims. one of the first who perished was the prince ethereus, who fell, pierced through by an arrow, at the feet of his beloved princess. then cyriacus, the cardinals, and several barons, sank to the earth, or perished in the stream. when the men were despatched, the fierce barbarians rushed upon the virgins just as a pack of gaunt hungry wolves might fall on a flock of milk-white lambs. finding that the noble maidens resisted i i st. ursula. 509 their brutality, their rage was excited, and they drew their swords and massacred them all. then was it worthy of all admiration to behold these illustrious virgins, who had struggled to defend their virtue, now meekly resigned, and ready as sheep for the slaughter, embracing and encouraging each other! oh, then! had you seen the glorious st. ursula, worthy to be the captain and leader of this army of virgin martyrs, how she flew from one to the other, heartening them with brave words to die for their faith and honour! inspired by her voice, her aspect, they did not quail, but offered themselves to death; and thus by hundreds and by thousands they perished, and the plain was strewed with their limbs and ran in rivers with their blood. but the barbarians, awed by the majestic beauty of st. ursula, had no power to strike her, but carried her before their prince, who, looking on her with admiration, said to her, "weep not, for though thou hast lost thy companions, i will be thy husband, and thou shalt be the greatest queen in all germany.” to which st. ursula, all glowing with indignation and a holy scorn, replied, "o thou cruel man!--blind and senseless as thou art cruel! thinkest thou i can weep? or dost thou hold me so base, so cowardly, that i would consent to survive my dear companions and sisters? thou art deceived, o son of sathan! for i defy thee, and him whom thou servest!" when the proud pagan heard these words, he was seized with fury, and bending his bow which he held in his hand, he with three arrows transfixed her pure breast, so that she fell dead, and her spirit ascended into heaven, with all the glorious sisterhood of martyrs whom she had led to death, and with her betrothed husband and his companions: and there, with palms in their hands and crowns upon their heads, they stand round the throne of christ; and live in his light and in his approving smile, blessing him and praising him for ever.-amen!' 66 in devotional pictures of st. ursula, the usual attributes arethe crown as princess, the arrow as martyr, and the pilgrim's staff, surmounted by the white banner with the red cross, the christian standard of victory. she has also a dove, because a dove revealed to st. cunibert where she was buried. there is great variety in these representations of st. ursula; and i shall give some examples. q 2 510 sacred and legendary art. 1. as patron saint, she stands alone, wearing the royal crown, attired in a richly embroidered robe, and over it a scarlet mantle lined with ermine; in one hand a book, in the other an arrow. this, i think, is the usual manner, varied of course in expression and deportment by the taste of the artist. 2. she stands as patron saint, a majestic figure, in a rich dress with regal ornaments, a green or scarlet mantle lined with ermine; in one hand her arrow, and in the other her banner with the red this is the venetian idea of st. ursula. she is thus represented by cima da conegliano, carpaccio, and palma vecchio. 3. this sketch, from a spanish cross. st. ursula, will give some idea of the very peculiar style of zurbaran (130). 4. as martyr, she is kneeling or standing, her golden hair flowing upon her shoulders, sometimes crowned, sometimes not; her hands clasped, her bosom transfixed by an arrow; around her, on the ground, her maidens dead. she is thus represented in a most exquisite miniature in the 'heures d'anne de bretagne ; ' and also in a large print after lorenzini, in which she stands crowned with her standard of victory; and a steadfast triumphant expression, while her attendant virgins are martyred in the background. 5. she is standing, or seated on a raised throne or pedestal; her hair bound by a fillet of gems; her arrow in her hand; on each side several of her virgin companions, two of whom bear standards; as in a picture by martino da udine, wherein the idea of an immense and indefinite number is well conveyed by an open door or porch on each side, from which the virgins appear to issue.' 'milan, brera. 130 st. ursula (zurbaran) v st. ursula. 511 crowns. 6. she is standing, holding open with both hands her wide and ermined mantle; underneath its shelter are many virgins wearing she is here the patroness of young maidens in general, and is thus represented in a very curious picture by caterina de' vigri, who was herself a saint, perhaps the only female artist who was ever canonised, and whose story is given among the monastic legends (129). 7. in the famous altar-piece of the cathedral of cologne, st. ursula is standing, gorgeously crowned and attired, and surrounded by her train of virgins. 8. she stands to the left of the virgin, crowned with flowers, and holding a dove, in a madonna picture by brusasorci.' 9. she is standing, with one or more arrows in one hand, and a book in the other. around her, or sheltered under the wide ample folds of her royal robe, which is sometimes held open by angels, a number of young girls, some holding their books, others conning their tasks, others clasping their hands in adoration. she is here the especial patroness of schoolgirls, and is thus represented by lorenzo di credi, by hans hemling, and i. von meckenen. 10. the marble statue of st. ursula, lying dead with the dove at her feet, is very beautiful,' and is said to have suggested to rauch the pose of his reclining statue of queen louisa of prussia. 1 louvre, no. 348. 131 st. ursula (hans hemling. bruges) 2 cologne, church of st. ursula. 512 sacred and legendary art. it is an exception when in devotional pictures of st. ursula the prince ethereus is introduced, as in a beautiful group by hans burgmair, where she is throned with her husband, both in sumptuous robes, and her virgins in the background.' we must be careful not to confound st. ursula either with st. christina or with st. reparata. a female saint, with an arrow in her hand or in her bosom, and no other attribute, may represent st. christina; but christina is never seen with the regal ornaments. in the florentine pictures st. reparata has the crown, the ermined robe, and the standard of victory, but never the arrow. reparata has also the palm; while in pictures of st. ursula the palm is often replaced by the standard or the arrow. the separate historical subjects from her life are confined to twoher voyage, and her martyrdom. 1. in a bark, with swelling sails, st. ursula is seated, wearing her crown; she holds a large open book, and is either reading, or chanting hymns; a number of virgins are seated round her, some with musical instruments, others reading: at the helm, one of the virgins; sometimes, however, it is a priest or a winged angel. of this beautiful subject i have seen few examples, and those anonymous, principally drawings or miniatures. if taken in its allegorical signification, as the religious voyage over the ocean of life,--faith at the prow, and charity at the helm,-the representation becomes mystical and devotional rather than historical, particularly where angels are introduced as steering or propelling the vessel. 2. the martyrdom of st. ursula is represented in two ways: either she and her maidens are massacred on board her vessel; or she has landed, and presents herself to the enemy: in either case she is shot with arrows by a soldier (it is a deviation from the legend, as generally accepted, when st. ursula perishes by the sword and not the arrow); the barbarian general stands by. her virgins and companions are lying dead around her, or the slaughter is going on in the background; and the locality is usually expressed by the wellknown tower, or the cathedral of cologne in the distance. 1 augsburg. dibdin's 'decameron,' vol. iii. p. 213. 1 + 1 st. ursula. 513 there is a little picture in the collection of prince wallerstein, now in kensington palace, in which st. ursula has just stepped on the shore, a sort of quay with buildings; she is attired like a princess, her hands meekly joined, her long golden hair flowing down on her shoulders, and in her face a most divine expression of mild melancholy resignation: two of her maidens bear her train behind, and seem to encourage each other; two soldiers in rich warlike costume are bending their bows; the massacre goes forward in the distance. the history of st. ursula, treated as a series, occurs frequently in the stained glass and gothic sculpture of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. in painting we have two renowned examples; the first italian, the second flemish ; and both nearly contemporary. the earliest work of vittore carpaccio in venice was the magnificent series of the life of st. ursula, painted, in 1490, for the chapel of the scuola di sant' orsola, a beneficent institution, founded for the support and education of female orphans, consequently placed under the protection of the patron saint of maidenhood. carpaccio has taken the principal incidents of her life in the following order :1. the arrival of the ambassadors of the king of england, to require the hand of the princess ursula for his son. the king of brittany receives them seated on a splendid throne, and surrounded by his attendants; in a compartment to the right the king is again seen leaning his head on his hand in a melancholy mood, and ursula, standing before her father, appears to comfort him: on the steps leading to the chamber sits an old duenna. 2. the king of brittany dismisses the ambassadors of the king of england with the conditions imposed by advice of his daughter. in a compartment to the right, st. ursula is seen sleeping on her bed: she has a vision of the crown of martyrdom prepared for her. 3. the ambassadors of the king of england return with the answer of the princess ursula, and the king's son declares his intention of going to seek her. 4. on one side is seen the meeting between the prince of england and his bride st. ursula. on the other side they take leave of the king of brittany to embark on their pilgrimage; the ships are seen in the background, with a great company of nobles and virgins. 514 sacred and legendary art. 5. st. ursula, with her virgins and her companions, arrives at the port of cologne. 6. st. ursula, with the prince her husband, and the virgins her companions, arrives at rome; they are met outside the gates of the city by the pope cyriacus, attended by the cardinals and bishops. she and the prince are seen kneeling at the feet of the pope; two attendants behind carry the royal crowns. the virgins with the pilgrims and their banners are seen following; in the distance the castle of st. angelo, which marks the locality. 7. the martyrdom of st. ursula and her companions at cologne on one side on the other is seen the interment of the saint; she is represented extended on the bier with her long golden hair, the bodies of other virgins follow in the distance. 8. the glorification of st. ursula. she is seen standing on a kind of pedestal of green boughs, formed of the palms of the eleven thousand virgins bound together; she looks up, her hair flowing over her shoulders, and her hands joined in prayer; six little angels hover round her, two of them hold over her head the celestial crown. on each side kneels a virgin with a banner, and there are about thirty other kneeling figures; among them pope cyriacus, and several prelates: all the heads are full of beauty, life, and character. the background is a landscape, seen through lofty arches. the figures throughout wear the venetian costume of the fifteenth century. the richness of fancy, the lively dramatic feeling, the originality and naïveté with which the story is told, render this series one of the most interesting examples of early venetian art. zanetti says that he used to go to the chapel of st. ursula and conceal himself, to observe the effect which these pictures produced on the minds of the people as expressed in their countenances. 'i myself,' he adds, 'could hardly turn away my eyes from that charming figure of the saint, where, asleep on her maiden couch,-all grace, purity, and innocence, she seems, by the expression on her beautiful features, to be visited by dreams from paradise.'¹ 'a set of old engravings from this series has been lately purchased for the print-room of the british museum. st. ursula. 515 about the same period, hans hemling painted the magnificent shrine of st. ursula in st. john's hospital at bruges. it is a gothic chest or casket constructed to contain the arm of the saint, and adorned with a series of miniatures. the incidents selected by hemling are not precisely those chosen by vittore carpaccio. he appears to have confined himself to her pilgrimage and her martyrdom :1. st. ursula and her companions arrive at cologne on their way to rome. ursula, in the attire of a princess, her hair braided with jewels, is in the act of stepping on shore; one of her virgins holds up her train, another holds out her arm to support and assist her. a number of her companions are seen entering the gates of the city; the cathedral and the towers of cologne are in the background. 2. the arrival of st. ursula and her companions at basle. in the foreground of the picture are two vessels crowded with female figures. in the background the city and cathedral of basle; and in the extreme distance the alps, towards which the virgins are seen. travelling along a road. 3. the arrival of st. ursula at rome. the pope receives her under the portico of a church, and gives her his benediction; behind her kneels the bridegroom prince; on the other side is seen the baptism of several of the prince's companions, and in the background st. ursula is seen confessing, and receiving the sacrament. 4. the second arrival in the neighbourhood of basle. two vessels in the foreground, on board of which are seen st. ursula with her husband, and pope cyriacus, with a number of his prelates. some of the virgins are seen going off in a boat. 5. the massacre of the pilgrims on their arrival at cologne. the two vessels are seen crowded with the martyrs; soldiers in the foreground are shooting at them with crossbows; a fierce soldier is seen plunging his sword into the bosom of the prince of england, who falls into the arms of st. ursula. 6. the martyrdom of st. ursula. she is standing before the tent of the general of the barbarians; a number of soldiers are around; one of them, with his bow bent, prepares to transfix her. kugler's account of these subjects is not quite accurate; but his vol. ii. r 516 sacred and legendary art. praise of the beauty of the execution, and the truth of feeling and expression in some of the heads, is perfectly just. they are each about eighteen inches high-historical pictures finished with all the precision and delicacy of a miniature on vellum. there is a good set of engravings (coloured after the originals) in the british museum. i saw in the hôtel de cluny at paris two curious pictures from the story of st. ursula. in the first, the king of england sends ambassadors to the king of brittany; in the second, the ambassadors are received by the king of brittany, and ursula, seated on a throne beside her father, delivers her answer to their request. the artist has taken great pains to distinguish the heathen and barbarous court of england from the civilised and christian court of brittany. st. margaret. ital. santa margarita. fr. sainte marguerite. ger. die heilige margaretha. patron saint of women in childbirth. patroness of cremona. (july 20, a.d. 306.) the legend of st. margaret, which is of greek origin, was certainly known in europe as early as the fifth century, being among those which were repudiated as apocryphal by pope gelasius in 494. from that time we hear little of her till the eleventh century, when her legend and her name-which signifies a pearl, and has been given to that little lowly flower we call the daisy-were both introduced from the east by the first crusaders, and soon became popular all over europe. in the fourteenth century we find her one of the most favourite saints, particularly amongst women, by whom she was invoked against the pains of childbirth. she was also the chosen type of female innocence and meekness; the only one of the four great patronesses who is not represented as profoundly learned :mild margarete, that was god's maid; maid margarete, that was so meeke and mild; the first personage of distinction in europe who bore this name was margaret, the sister of edgar atheling, and queen of malcolm iii. of scotland. she received the name in hungary, where she was born in 1046, and introduced it into the west of europe. she was herself canonised as a saint, and so greatly beloved in england and scotland, that it contributed, perhaps, to render the name popular: there were then as many margarets as there are now victorias. 1 f st. margaret. 517 and other such phrases, in the old metrical legends, show the feeling with which she was regarded.' her story is singularly wild. she was the daughter of a priest of antioch, named theodosius; and in her infancy, being of feeble health, she was sent to a nurse in the country. this woman, who was secretly a christian, brought up margaret in the true faith. the holy maid, while employed in keeping the few sheep of her nurse, meditated on the mysteries of the gospel, and devoted herself to the service of christ. one day the governor of antioch, whose name was olybrius, in passing by the place, saw her, and was captivated by her beauty. he commanded that she should be carried to his palace, being resolved, if she were of free birth, to take her for his wife; but margaret rejected his offers with scorn, and declared herself the servant of jesus christ. her father and all her relations were struck with horror at this revelation. they fled, leaving her in the power of the governor, who endeavoured to subdue her constancy by the keenest torments: they were so terrible that the tyrant himself, unable to endure the sight, covered his face with his robe; but st. margaret did not quail beneath them. then she was dragged to a dungeon, where satan, in the form of a terrible dragon, came upon her with his inflamed and hideous mouth wide open, and sought to terrify and confound her; but she held up the cross of the redeemer, and he fled before it. or, according to the more popular version, he swallowed her up alive, but immediately burst; and she emerged unhurt: another form of the familiar allegory-the power of sin overcome by the power of the cross. he returned in the form of a man, to tempt her further; but she overcame him, and, placing her foot on his head, forced him to confess his foul wickedness, and to answer to her questions. she was again brought before the tyrant, and, again refusing to abjure her faith, she was further tortured; but the sight of so much. constancy in one so young and beautiful only increased the number of converts, so that in one day five thousand were baptized, and declared themselves ready to die with her. therefore the governor took counsel how this might be prevented, and it was advised that she should be beheaded forthwith. and as they led her forth to death, she thanked and glorified god that her travail was ended; and she there are no less than 238 churches in england dedicated in her honour. r 2 518 sacred and legendary art. prayed that those who invoked her in the pains of childbirth should find help through the merit of her sufferings, and in memory of her deliverance from the womb of the great dragon. a voice from heaven assured her that her prayer was granted; so she went and received joyfully the crown of martyrdom, being beheaded by the sword. in devotional pictures the attribute of st. margaret is the dragon. she is usually trampling him under her feet, holding up the cross in her hand. sometimes the dragon is bound with a cord; or his jaws 132 st. margaret (gothic sculpture, henry vii.'s chapel) 133 st. margaret (lucas v. leyden) are distended as if to swallow her: or he is seen rent and burst, and st. margaret stands upon him unharmed-as in the old metrical legend in the auchinleck mss. :st. margaret. 519 maiden margrete tho [then] loked her beside, 1 and sees a loathly dragon out of an hirn [corner] glide: v. p. 382. his eyen were ful griesly, his mouth opened wide, and margrete might no where flee, there she must abide. maiden margrete stood still as any stone, and that loathly worm, to her-ward gan gone, took her in his foul mouth, and swallowed her flesh and bone. anon he brast— damage hath she none! maiden margrete upon the dragon stood; blyth was her harte, and joyful was her mood. this is literally the picture which, in several instances, the artists have placed before us (133). as martyr she bears, of right, the palm and the crown; and these, in general, serve to distinguish st. margaret from st. martha, who has also the attributes of the dragon and the cross.' here, however, setting the usual attributes aside, the character ought to be so distinctly marked, that there should be no possibility of confounding the beautiful and deified heroine of a spiritual warfare, with the majestic maturity and staid simplicity of martha. in some pictures st. margaret has a garland of pearls round her head, in allusion to her name; and i have seen one picture, and only one, in which she wears a garland of daisies, and carries daisies. in her lap and in her hand.2 i shall now give some examples of st. margaret treated devotionally. 1. the famous st. margaret of raphael (in the louvre) was painted for francis i., in compliment to his sister, margaret of 2 siena acad. 520 sacred and legendary art. navarre. it represents the saint in the moment of victory, just stepping forward with a buoyant and triumphant air, in which there is also something exquisitely sweet and girlish; one foot on the wing of the dragon, which crouches open-mouthed beneath: her right hand holds the palm, her left sustains her robe. the face is youthful, mild, and beautiful; the hair without ornament; the simplicity and elegance of the whole figure quite worthy of raphael, whose aim has evidently been to place before us an allegory, and not 134 st. margaret (intarsia, san giovanni, malta. fifteenth century) an action it is innocence triumphant over the power of sin. the : st. margaret in the vienna gallery, which has been styled by passast. margaret. 521 vant and others a duplicate of this famous picture, is no duplicate, but altogether a different composition. the face is in profile, the attitude rather forced, and she holds the crucifix, instead of the palm. it is no doubt by giulio romano, and one of the many instances in which he took an idea from raphael and treated it in his own manner. 2. parmigiano. the altar-piece, painted for the giusti chapel in the convent of st. margaret, at bologna; it represents her kneeling, and caressing the infant christ, who is seated in the lap of his mother; behind the virgin sits st. augustine, and on the other side is st. jerome; at the feet of st. margaret is seen the dragon, openmouthed, as usual. 3. lucas v. leyden. she is in a rich dress, stiff with embroidery, and reading a book; while seen, as crouching under the skirt of her robe, is the head of the dragon, which the painter has endeavoured, and not in vain, to render as hideous, as terrible, and as real as possible: in consequence, the effect is disagreeable; but the picture is wonderfully painted. in another example by the same painter, she has issued from the back of the dragon, holding the cross, through which she has conquered, in her hand (133): a part of her robe in the jaws of the dragon signifies that he had just swallowed her up.' 4. luca penni. she is trampling on the demon in human shape, which is unusual. her martyrdom is seen in the background." 5. annibal caracci. she is leaning on a pedestal in a meditative attitude, holding the gospel, the dragon at her feet. a majestic figure life-size.³ 6. niccolò poussin. she is kneeling on the vanquished dragon with extended arms, while two angels crown her.4 1 munich gal. historical pictures of st. margaret are uncommon. in the christian museum in the vatican there is a st. margaret, standing, in green drapery, richly embroidered with gold flowers, and bearing the cross: the dragon, here extremely small, is beneath her feet. around are nine small compartments: in the upper one, christ in the sepulchre, with the virgin and st. john; and on each copenhagen. sutherland gal. • turin gal. 2 522 sacred and legendary art. side, four historical subjects. 1. st. margaret, keeping sheep, is seen by the governor of antioch. 2. she is brought before him, and declares her faith. 3. she is in prison, and visited by the holy spirit (or peace) in form of a dove. 4. she is tortured cruelly, being suspended on a gallows, while executioners tear her with prongs. 5. she is swallowed up by the dragon in her dungeon. 6. she is in a cauldron of boiling pitch. 7. she is decapitated. 8. miracles are performed at her shrine. we find the same selection of subjects in the ancient stained glass. vida has celebrated st. margaret in two latin hymns. in the four illustrious virgin-saints i have just described, there is an individuality, which is strongly marked in their respective legends, and which ought to have been attended to in works of art, though we seldom find it so. the distinctive character should be, in st. catherine, dignity and intellect; in st. barbara, fortitude and a resolute but reflecting air-she, too, was a savante; in st. ursula, a devout enthusiasm, tempered with benignity; in st. margaret, meekness and innocence— 135 * www si douce est la marguerite. supplicating angel (gaudenzio ferrari) f m l q q q l m m j vv v w y ju 12. cyatha and the executioner. பரம் st lawrence and s1 the early martyrs. 523 the early martyrs. the noble army of martyrs praise thee.' when, in the daily service of our church, we repeat these words of the sublime hymn, i wonder sometimes whether it be with a full appreciation of their meaning? whether we do really reflect on all that this noble army of martyrs hath conquered for us ?-did they indeed glorify god through their courage, and seal their faith in their redeemer with their blood? and if it be so, how is it that we christians have learned to look coldly upon the effigies of those who sowed the seed of the harvest which we have reaped ?-sanguis martyrum semen christianorum! we may admit that the reverence paid to them in former days was unreasonable and excessive; that credulity and ignorance have in many instances falsified the actions imputed to them; that enthusiasm has magnified their numbers beyond all belief; that when the communion with martyrs was associated with the presence of their material remains, the passion for relics led to a thousand abuses, and the belief in their intercession to a thousand superstitions. but why, in uprooting the false, uproot also the beautiful and the true? surely it is a thing not to be set aside or forgotten, that generous men and meek women, strong in the strength and elevated by the sacrifice of a redeemer, did suffer, did endure, did triumph for the truth's sake, did leave us an example which ought to make our hearts glow within us, in admiration and gratitude! surely, then, it is no unfit employment for the highest powers of art, that of keeping alive their blessed and heroic memory; and no desecration of our places of worship, that their effigies, truly, or at least worthily, expressed, should be held up to our veneration, and the story of their sublime devotion sometimes. brought to remembrance. and this was the opinion strongly expressed by dr. arnold, whom no one, i suppose, will suspect of a leaning towards the idolatrous tendencies of art. in speaking of a visit which he paid to the church of san stefano at rome, he vol. ii. s 524 sacred and legendary art. remarks, no doubt many of the particular stories thus painted will bear no critical examination; it is likely enough, too, that gibbon has truly accused the general statements of exaggeration. but this is a thankless labour. divide the sum total of reported martyrs by twenty-by fifty if you will; after all, you have a number of persons of all ages and sexes suffering cruel torments and death for conscience sake, and for christ's; and by their sufferings manifestly with god's blessing ensuring the triumph of christ's gospel. neither do i think that we consider the excellence of this martyr-spirit half enough. i do not think that pleasure is a sin; but though pleasure is not a sin, yet surely the contemplation of suffering for christ's sake is a thing most needful for us in our days, from whom in our daily life suffering seems so far removed. and as god's grace enabled rich and delicate persons, women and even children, to endure all extremities of pain and reproach, in times past; so there is the same grace no less mighty now; and if we do not close ourselves against it, it might be in us no less glorified in a time of trial.' and why, indeed, should we shut up our hearts against such influences, and force ourselves to regard as a snare, what ought to be a source of divine comfort and encouragement-of power, for the awakening up of those whose minds are absorbed in selfish sorrows, or for the strengthening of those who even now are contending for the truth among us, and who perish martyrs, because there prevails some form of social idolatry, against which they resist unto death! not that i quite sympathise with the occasion which gave rise to the above beautiful passage in dr. arnold's journal. however i may admire the sentiments expressed, to my taste martyrdoms are abhorrent, and i remember that i never entered the church of san stefano without being sick at heart: those dolorous and sanguinary death-scenes, which make its walls hideous, are no more fitted for spiritual edification, than the spectacle of public executions avails to teach humanity and respect for the law. it is, however, a circumstance worthy of remark, as true now, and truer in the middle ages, that the sympathy of the lower orders was less excited by the apparatus of physical agony than by the bearing of the victim. to them the indomitable courage, the patient endurance, the glorious triumph, of the sufferer were more than the stake, the wheel, the rack, the scourge, the knife. the former were heart-soothing, soulthe early martyrs. 525 lifting, light-giving! the latter had been rendered by the eccellinos, the visconti, and other insane monsters of those days, mere commonplaces, the daily spectacle of real life. the most beautiful and edifying representations of the martyrs are not those which place them before us agonised under the lash or the knife of the executioner, but those in which they look down upon us from their serene beatitude their work done, their triumph accomplished, holding their victorious palm and wearing their crown of glory; while the story of their sufferings is suggested to the memory by the accompanying attribute the sword, the arrow, or the wheel. the writers of church history reckon ten persecutions during three hundred years which elapsed between the reign of nero and that of constantine, and the saints who suffered within this period are commemorated as the early martyrs. i have not, in the subsequent essays, arranged them chronologically; for any such arrangement, with reference to art, could have produced nothing but confusion. the principle of association through which certain of these personages will be found grouped together under particular circumstances, in particular localities, is infinitely more suggestive and poetical; and i have endeavoured to follow it out, as far as this could be done with any regard to order. but is it not unaccountable, and matter of regret as well as wonder, that some of the bestauthenticated and most edifying of the early martyrdoms should be comparatively unknown as subjects of art? in all the histories of the christian church, whether written by protestant or catholic, we find the mild heroism of vivia perpetua and the slave felicitas— the eloquence and courage of justin, who exchanged the title of philosopher for that of martyrthe fortitude of the aged polycarpduly and honourably recorded. all these stories are beautifully narrated in mr. milman's history of christianity;' and i recommend them to the attention of those of our painters who may be seeking for incidents and characters connected with the history of our faith, at once new in art, and unexceptionable in point of authenticity. it appears that the first seven persecutions were local or accidental. it was in the reign of hadrian that the populace first began to demand that the christians should be put to death at the great $ 2 526 sacred and legendary art. festivals; an example having been already recorded in the reign of trajan, when st. ignatius was thrown to the lions. yet hadrian, though incapable of comprehending or appreciating the spirit of christianity, defended the christians, and placed them under the protection of the laws. the first general persecution by imperial decree was in the reign of decius, in which many christians were martyred, and many also fell from the faith. the tenth and last persecution, under diocletian, galerius, and maximin, was the most terrible of all; the number of christian martyrs who perished was undoubtedly great, but has been much exaggerated. almost all the legendary inventions and spurious acts of martyrs are referred to these bloodthirsty tyrants, who figure in the old legends as a sort of ogres, demons incarnate, existing on earth for no other purpose but to rage, blaspheme, and invent tortures by which to test the heroism and constancy of the servants of christ. to understand some of these stories of martyrdom, we must transport ourselves in fancy to the primitive ages of the church. it was then the established and universal belief among christians that infernal spirits were at once the authors and the objects of idolatry. it was held for certain that the gods of the pagans were demons who had assumed the names and attributes of the popular divinities, and appropriated the incense offered on the altars. the christians, therefore, believed in the real existence of these false gods; but their belief was mingled with detestation and horror. idolatry was to them no mere speculative superstition; it was, if i may so apply the strong expression of carlyle, a truth clad in hell-fire.' the slightest leaning towards the heathen worship was not only treason against the majesty of the true god, but a direct homage to those angels of darkness who had been in rebellion against him from the beginning. hence the language and bearing of the early martyrs were not only marked by resistance, but by abhorrence and defiance; hence a courage more than human sustained them; and hence, too, the furious indignation of the priests and people, when they found their gods not merely regarded with philosophical indifference as images or allegories, but spurned as impure, malevolent, reprobate-yet living and immortal-spirits. f f the early martyrs. 527 st. clement justinus laurence hippolytus cyprian cornelius cassian john, and paul vitalis, the beatified martyrs were early introduced into church decoration. i remember two instances as particularly striking. the first is, an ancient mosaic in the church of sant' apollinare nuovo at ravenna (a.d. 534). on the right hand as we enter, and immediately above the arches of the nave, we behold a long procession of twenty-one martyrs, carrying their crowns in their hands; they appear advancing towards a figure of our saviour, who stands with an angel on each side, ready to receive them. on the wall to the left is a like procession of virgin martyrs, also bearing their crowns, and advancing to a figure of the throned madonna, who, with an angel on each side, appears to be seated there to receive their homage. these processions extend to the entrance of the choir, and the figures are colossal, i suppose about seven or eight feet high. they are arranged in the following order: 21 gervasius, and protasius st. euphemia paulina daria anastasia justina perpetua felicitas vincentia valeria crispina lucia cecilia st. ursinus apollinaris sebastian demetrius polycarp vincent pancratius chrysogonus sabinus st. eulalia agnes agatha pelagia sabina christina eugenia anatolia victoria this list of martyrs is of very great importance, as being, i believe, the earliest in the history of art. it shows us what martyrs were most honoured in the sixth century. it shows us that many names, then held in most honour, have since fallen into comparative neglect; and that others, then unknown or unacknowledged, have since become most celebrated. it will be remarked, that the virgins are led by st. euphemia, and not by st. catherine: that there is no st. barbara, no st. margaret, no st. george, no st. christopher; all of there is a beautiful modern imitation of this old mosaic decoration in the church of st. vincent de paul at paris, painted in fresco by m. flandrin. 2 according to ciampini (v. vetera monumenta, vol. ii.), and a note i made on the spot ; but, owing to a scaffolding raised against part of the wall, it was difficult to be accurate. the proper companion of st. daria would be st. chrysanthus. 528 sacred and legendary art. whom figure conspicuously in the mosaics of monreale at palermo, executed five centuries later. in fact, of these forty-two figures executed at ravenna by greek artists in the service of justinian, only fiveeuphemia, cyprian and justina, polycarp, and demetrius -are properly greek saints; all the rest are latin saints, whose worship originated with the western and not with the eastern church. in the church of santa prassede at rome (a.d. 817) the arrangement is altogether different from that at ravenna, and equally striking. over the grand arch which separates the choir from the nave is a mosaic, representing the new jerusalem, as described in the revelation. it is a walled enclosure, with a gate at each end, guarded by angels. within is seen the saviour of the world, holding in his hand the orb of sovereignty; and a company of the blessed seated on thrones: outside, the noble army of martyrs is seen approaching, conducted and received by angels. they are all arrayed in white, and carry crowns in their hands. lower down on each side a host of martyrs press forward, with palms and crowns, to do homage to the lamb, throned in the midst. none of the martyrs are distinguished by name, except those to whom the church is dedicated-santa prassede and her sister potentiana. the peculiar propriety and sentiment of the subject as relates to them, i shall point out when treating of their legend hereafter. in later art, we find that in all devotional pictures which represent paradise, the last judgment, the glorification of christ, or the coronation of the virgin, the glorious company of beatified martyrs forms a part of the celestial pomp. some of these compositions are of wonderful beauty, and much of the pleasure we derive from them will depend on our knowledge of the history and character of these heroes of the faith, and the origin of the attributes assigned to them. i consider it a fault when, in such pictures, the apostles figure as martyrs (as in michael angelo's last judgment), because they had a still higher claim to our veneration, and should take their place accordingly; not with the attributes of earthly suffering as victims; the innocents. 529 but with their books, as the delegated teachers of mankind. then, next after the apostles, come the martyrs; and we find that in all works of art which may be cited as authorities a certain order is maintained. the first place is usually given to st. stephen, the second to st. laurence: when the innocents are introduced, their proper place is under the throne, or immediately at the feet of christ. next to these, the most conspicuous figures are usually st. george and st. maurice as warriors; st. ignatius and st. clement as bishops; st. christopher with his staff, and st. sebastian with his arrows. the martyrs venerated in the particular locality for which the picture was painted will also have a conspicuous place: for example, in the german pictures we shall probably find st. boniface and st. florian; in the brescian pictures, st. faustinus and st. jovita; while, in pictures painted for the dominicans, peter, the famous martyr of their order, is conspicuous with his bleeding head and his monk's habit. the female martyrs are generally placed together, forming a beautiful group. st. catherine, in general, takes the first place; next to her st. barbara with her tower; st. agnes with her lamb; st. lucia with her lamp (or her eyes); st. cecilia crowned with roses; and behind them a crowd of figures, with palms and glories, not otherwise individualised. in such representations the leading idea is obviously borrowed from that magnificent passage in the 7th chapter of revelation: lo! a great multitude, which no man could number, clothed with white robes, and with palms in their hands. these are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the lamb; therefore are they before the throne of god; and he shall feed them, and shall lead them to living fountains of waters, and shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.' the innocents. ital. gli innocenti fanciulli martiri. i santi bambini martiri. fr. les innocents. ger. die unschuldigen kindlein. (dec. 28.) the massacre of the innocents,' as an action or event, belongs to the history of our saviour, and i shall say nothing of it here. but the innocents themselves, as personages, as the first-fruits of mar530 sacred and legendary art. tyrdom, have been regarded with an especial homage from the earliest ages of the church. not the least divine trait in the character of the saviour was the love, the reverence, he inculcated for little children;' and is there not something most natural, most touching, in the early belief that he would regard with peculiar favour, with a more compassionate tenderness, the souls of those innocents who perished, if not in his cause, at least because of him? in their character of martyrs they find an appropriate place in devotional and ecclesiastical art; and some of these representations are of peculiar interest and beauty. i shall give one or two examples. in the mosaics of the old basilica of st. paul, at rome, the innocents are represented by a group of small figures holding palms, and placed immediately beneath the altar or throne, sustaining the gospel, the cross, and the instruments of the passion of our lord. over these figures was the inscription hi. s. innocentes.' i saw in one of the old french cathedrals, i think at aix, a picture not good nor agreeable as a work of art, but striking from the peculiar conception. in the midst an altar, and on it the cross, and the lamb without blemish: around, on the earth, lay the martyred innocents, bleeding, dead; a little higher up, their spirits were seen ascending with palms in their hands; and above all, the infant christ, enthroned, received them into heaven with outstretched arms. in a flight into egypt,' by f. vanni, three or four martyred innocents lie in the foreground.2 but the most beautiful devotional representation of the martyred innocents, the most appropriate, the most significant in sentiment i could cite, is the altar-piece in the church of the foundling hospital at florence (which i may observe, en passant, preceded by two hundred years the first institution of that kind in france, by more than three hundred the first in england). this altar-piece represents the virgin and the infant christ enthroned in glory; around the throne the elect; and among them, the most conspicuous are the 1 a.d. 450. since the great fire of 1823 these mosaics have been restored. 2 etruria pittrice. i speak of the present magnificent foundation at florence, dating from 1448. so early as 1193 there was an hospital there for poor forsaken children; the first, in all probability, that ever existed. st. stephen. 531 innocents, lovely children, with every variety of sweet infantine faces, who look up to the saviour as in supplication, and point to their wounds, which yet are not rendered too obtrusive. the sentiment conveyed is this: behold us, who have suffered because of thee, o saviour! and, for our sake, have mercy and have pity on the forsaken little ones who are brought hither and laid down at thy feet!' ( ---there is a picture in the louvre by rubens, known as 'la vierge aux anges.' it represents the virgin and child surrounded by a host of children, for they are beatified children, not winged angels; many bear palms: they are exquisite for infantine beauty, and i have sometimes thought that rubens must have intended them for the souls of the innocents, and not for angels; but i have no authority for this supposition, and can only say that such was the impression conveyed to my mind." st. stephen, deacon and proto-martyr. lat. s. stephanus. ital. san stefano. fr. st. étienne. ger. der heilige stefan. (dec. 26.) the brief and simple account of stephen, as given in the sixth and seventh chapters of the acts of the apostles, i presume to be familiar to the reader. little has been added by the fancy or the veneration of his votaries. he is held in the highest honour as the first who shed his blood in testimony to christ, and described as a man full of faith and power and of the holy ghost. having been chosen deacon during the first ministry of peter, and before the conversion of paul, and after performing 'great wonders and miracles among the people,' he was, upon the evidence of false witnesses, accused of speaking blasphemous words against the temple and against the jewish law-that temple which is now destroyed, that law which has been superseded by a diviner, a more universal law of peace on earth, and on a further examination of this picture, i came to the conclusion that rubens had not intended to represent either the innocents or cherubim, but the spirits (angels) of beatified children, in allusion to the text, matt. xviii. 10. vol. ii. t 532 sacred and legendary art. good-will towards men:' whereupon he was condemned to death, and stoned by the infuriated people outside the gates of the city. so far the scripture record. the legend which accounts for the discovery of his relics, and their present resting-place in the basilica of san lorenzo at rome, is thus given :'no one knew what had become of the body of the saint till about four hundred years afterwards; when lucian, a priest of carsagamala in palestine, was visited in a dream by gamaliel, the doctor of the law at whose feet paul was brought up in all the learning of the jews; and gamaliel revealed to him that after the death of stephen he had carried away the body of the martyred saint, and had buried it in his own sepulchre, and had also deposited near to it the body of nicodemus and other saints; and this dream having been repeated three times, lucian went with others deputed by the bishop, and dug with mattocks and spades in the spot which had been indicated,--a sepulchre in a garden, and found what they supposed to be the remains of st. stephen, their peculiar sanctity being proved by many miracles. these relics were first deposited in jerusalem, in the church of sion, and afterwards, by the younger theodosius, carried to constantinople, and thence by pope pelagius conveyed to rome, and placed in the same tomb with st. laurence. it is related, that when they opened the sarcophagus and lowered into it the body of st. stephen, st. laurence moved on one side, giving the place of honour on the right hand to st. stephen: hence the common people of rome have conferred on st. laurence the title of "il cortese spagnuolo,”—the courteous spaniard."*1 in devotional pictures, the figure of st. stephen, which is of constant recurrence, seldom varies in character, though it does so in the choice and arrangement of the attributes. he is generally represented young, of a mild and beautiful aspect, habited in the rich dress of a deacon, the dalmatica being generally of crimson, covered with embroidery; it is square and straight at the bottom, with loose sleeves and heavy gold tassels hanging down from the shoulders st. stephen is not so popular as many saints less accredited. there are only forty churches in england dedicated to him. st. stephen. 533 c before and behind. he bears the palm almost invariably, as protomartyr. the stones, which are his peculiar attribute, are either in his hand or in his drapery, or on his head and shoulders, or lying at his feet; or sometimes on the scriptures, which he holds in his hand, showing the manner of death he suffered for the gospel, and in allusion also to his preaching before his death. in such figures, when imperfectly executed, it is necessary to distinguish the three balls of st. nicholas from the stones of st. stephen. when the stones are introduced, and are palpably and indubitably stones, then it is impossible to mistake. stephen for any other saint: but they are often omitted; it then becomes difficult to distinguish st. stephen from st. vincent, who also bears the palm and the deacon's habit. in the scripture story there is no allusion to the age of stephen at the time he suffered; but in italian art he is always young and beardless, perhaps in allusion to the description of his appearance when accused: they saw his face as it had been the face of an angel,' which of course could not well apply to an old or bearded man; and he has always a meek expression, being not only proto-martyr, but also considered as the type, next to christ, of forgiveness of injuries:-"lord, lay not this sin to their charge!' this is the conception in italian and german art, but in spanish art i have seen st. stephen bearded, and with the lineaments of a man of thirty. :136 st. stephen (v. carpaccio) i will give a few examples in which st. stephen figures as protomartyr or as deacon:t 2 534 sacred and legendary art. 1. mosaic. as deacon, he stands with st. laurence; each holds a censer (turibolo), anciently the office of the deacon.2 2. he stands holding his palm in one hand, in the other a book; stones upon his head and upon his shoulders as in a picture by carpaccio.3 : 3. in a beautiful fresco by brusasorci, he presents the martyred innocents to christ. the children go before him, bearing palms in their little hands. he, with a paternal air, seems to recommend them to christ, who is in a glory above.¹ 4. francia. st. stephen as martyr, his palm in one hand, in the other a book, on which are three stones stained with blood. 5. he stands holding a banner, on which is a white lamb and a red cross; stones on his head in an anonymous siena picture.5 this is the only instance in which i have seen st. stephen holding a banner. the painters of the siena school indulged in various caprices and peculiarities, often highly poetical; but they must never be regarded as authorities, except in their own local saints. 6. st. stephen stands on a throne as patron, holding his palm and book; two angels from above crown him: on each side, st. augustine and st. nicholas, in a very fine picture by calisto piazza. 6 7. he stands with other saints, distinguished by his palm, his deacon's dress, and his wounded and bleeding head. (the wounds on his head distinguish him from st. laurence and st. vincent.) 8. albert dürer. st. stephen standing with his palm in one hand, with the other holds up the skirt of his deacon's robe, in which are seen several stones stained with blood. the martyrdom of st. stephen (which led the way to so many other martyrdoms in the same righteous and sacred cause, and is the first event of any essential importance after the disciples were left to fight the battle of their lord on earth) has been often represented; and is so easily recognised, that i shall not dwell upon it further than to mention a few striking examples. of course the motif does monreale, palermo. 2 but not in the time of stephen;-the use of incense in churches dates from the fourth century. milan, brera. 4 verona in s. eufemia. florence gai. milan, brera. st. stephen. 535 c not vary; we have the infuriated crowd, the mild unresisting victim, and saul, looking on and consenting to his death: ' but, from the number of figures, the arrangement and the sentiment are capable of great variety. 1. the earliest example i have ever seen is an old greek picture. st. stephen is kneeling; around him are seen rude representations of walls and gates, eight figures throwing stones, and the almighty hand, holding the martyr's crown, is over his head.' 2. raphael has treated the subject classically. the figure of stephen kneeling, with outstretched arms, as if he offered himself as victim, is very fine. the other figures look more like romans than jews; saul, in the dress of a roman warrior, is seated under a tree.2 in the martyrdom of st. stephen at genoa, painted by giulio romano (it is said from a cartoon by raphael), the composition seemed to me confused, and the picture when at paris was shamefully repainted. 3. cigoli. a composition of eight figures. stephen, struck down by a stone, falls backward. the ferocity of the executioners is painfully prominent: one of them kicks him. the trinity is seen in a glory above, and an angel descends with a crown and palm. the picture is admirable for vigour and for pathos; but it is more like a murder than a martyrdom.³ 4. the martyrdom of st. stephen, in a fine engraving. a little child is bringing stones in its vest to help the executioners. this has always appeared to me a fault both of taste and feeling: the introduction of a child thus employed, adds a touch of horror, but is surely unchristian in spirit, and unwarranted by the text. the incident, however, occurs so frequently in pictures, that it may possibly be founded on some legend of st. stephen unknown to me. 4 'eng. in d'agincourt, pl. 34. 3 florence gal. 5. domenichino. in our national gallery, a picture in which the subject is very dramatically treated. 6. annibal caracci has treated the same subject several times with great force of expression. there is a beautiful sketch in the sutherland gallery. 7. lebrun. st. stephen, lying on the ground, his face turned 2 vatican. by c. cort (1576), after marcello venusti. 536 sacred and legendary art. towards heaven with an expression of mild trusting faith, has just received his death-blow; the executioners stand, as it were, in suspense, looking on. this is, beyond all comparison, the finest picture which lebrun ever painted; the pathos and truth of the sentiment, and the absence of everything forced or theatrical, are so unlike the usual character of his works, that i could not at first believe it to be his.' 8. le sueur. st. stephen, lying dead on the ground, is bewailed by the disciples and the women, who prepare to carry him to the tomb. (acts viii. 2.) the life of st. stephen, in a succession of subjects, is frequent in the ancient stained glass, and has been treated in mural frescoes and as a series of pictures. some examples are famous in the history of art, and in all the instances i can remember the incidents represented are the same. 1. fra angelico, when summoned to rome by nicholas v. in 1447, painted the history of st. stephen and st. laurence on the walls of a chapel in the vatican, now called 'la cappella di niccolò v.,' and sometimes la cappella di san lorenzo.' the scenes from the life of st. stephen are arranged in the following order :6 1. st. stephen is invested with the office of deacon. it is not said in the acts that he was appointed by st. peter, but it is so represented by angelico: kneeling, he receives from st. peter the sacramental cup. in the early church it was the office of the deacon to take charge of the cup and of all things pertaining to the altar. the six other deacons are in the background. 2. st. stephen ministers to the poor for this purpose he was appointed deacon. three of the figures represent widows, in allusion to the text (acts vi. 1). 3. st. stephen preaches to the people. he is standing on a step; his audience, consisting chiefly of women and children, are seated before him. several men, evidently unconverted, stand in the background: -but they were not able to resist the wisdom and the spirit by which he spake; then they suborned false witnesses, and brought him to the council' (acts vi. 10). 4. then said the high-priest, are c louvre. st. stephen. 537 these things so?' stephen stands in front, the high-priest has just put the interrogation, and stephen, with his hand raised, is about to reply:-men, brethren, and fathers, hearken!' (acts vii. 2.) several old men stand round with malicious faces; one of these, evidently his accuser, has the dress and shaven crown of a monk. 5. stephen is dragged forth to martyrdom. the scene represents the walls of the city, and they are haling him through the gate. they cried out with a loud voice, and stopped their ears, and ran upon him with one accord.' (acts vii. 57.) 6. the martyrdom of stephen. he is kneeling, with clasped hands; saul, who is not here a young man, but with the bald head and pointed beard, which is the characteristic type, stands to the left, calmly looking on. the last composition is ineffective, and inferior to all the others. 6 angelico has represented stephen as a young man, beardless, and with a most mild and candid expression. his dress is the deacon's habit, of a vivid blue. ii: the set of pictures by carpaccio, which once existed entire in venice, is now distributed through several galleries. 1 1. st. stephen consecrated deacon by st. peter, with six others; they are all kneeling before him: in the background, sea and mountains. 2. the preaching of stephen. he stands upon a pedestal or pulpit, in the court of the temple, in an attitude of demonstration. the multitude around him; many in strange dresses from different parts of the world.2 3. st. stephen disputing with the doctors.3 4. the last picture of the series, the martyrdom, i have not met with. carpaccio also has represented stephen as young and of a beautiful countenance; he wears the deacon's habit, which is red, embroidered with gold. iii. much finer than either of these is the series by juan juanes. it consists of the usual subjects, but the treatment is very peculiar, and stamped by the character of the spanish school. the figures are life-size.¹ 1. the series commences with his consecration as deacon. 2. then follows the dispute in the synagogue. there are ten figures of 1 berlin gal. louvre. 3 milan, brera. • madrid gal. 538 sacred and legendary art. doctors, cyrenians, alexandrians, and those of cilicia and asia;' the heads extremely fine and varied. stephen stands with one hand extended as demonstrating; in the other he holds the scriptures of the old testament, out of which he confuted his opponents. 3. stephen accused. the doctors stop their ears; he points through an open window, where christ is seen in glory-behold! i see the heavens opened, and the son of man standing on the right hand of god!' the high-priest is on a throne, and the architecture and all the accessories are magnificent. 4. stephen is dragged forth to martyrdom. the executioners have their mouths open with a doglike grin of malice; one raises his hand to strike the saint; saul walks by his side, with the dignified resolute air of a persecutor from conviction, who is discharging a solemn duty, and is well contrasted with the vulgar cruelty of the mob. studies for such scenes must have been common in spain; many a dominican inquisitor might have sat for saul.' 5. st. stephen is stoned in the act of prayer: 'lord, lay not this sin to their charge.' 6. he is buried by the disciples, being laid in the tomb in his deacon's dress. many are weeping, and the whole composition is extremely fine and solemn. in this series stephen is represented as a man about thirty, with a short black beard and the spanish physiognomy; his deacon's habit is blue (as in the series by angelico); which is remarkable, because this colour is now never used in sacred vestments. st. stephen and st. laurence, both deacons, both martyrs, both young, and having the same character of mild devotion, are frequently represented in companionship. st. laurence, deacon and martyr. lat. s. laurentius. ital. san lorenzo. fr. st. laurent. ger. der heilige laurentius, or lorenz. patron of nuremberg, of the escurial, and of genoa. (aug. 10, a.d. 258.) it is singular that of this young and renowned martyr, honoured at rome next to st. peter and st. paul, so little should be known, and it is no less singular that there has been no attempt to fill up the 1 v. sir e. head's handbook of spanish art,' p. 71, for a good description of this series. also mr. stirling's annals of the artists of spain.' . st. laurence. 539 lack of material by invention. of his existence and the main circumstances of his martyrdom, as handed down by tradition, there can be little doubt. the place of his birth, the period at which he lived, and the events of his life, have all been matters of dispute, and have been left uncertain by the best writers. his legend is thus related in the flos sanctorum. about the time when valerian was a prisoner to sapor, king of persia, and his son gallienus reigned in the east, lived sixtus ii., bishop of rome, the twenty-fourth in succession from st. peter; and he had for his deacon a young and pious priest named laurence, who was a spaniard, a native of osca, or huesca, in the kingdom of aragon (in which city the father and mother of st. laurence are honoured as saints, under the names of orentius and patienzia).— being very young on his arrival in rome, he walked so meekly and so blamelessly before god, that sixtus chose him for his archdeacon, and gave into his care the treasures of the church, as they were then styled; which treasures consisted in a little money, some vessels of gold and silver, and copes of rich embroidery for the service of the altar, which had been presented to the church by certain great and devout persons, julia mammea, mother of the emperor alexander severus; flavia domitilla; the emperor philip, and others. and sixtus, being denounced to the prefect of rome as a christian, was led away to prison and soon after sentenced to death; which when laurence the deacon saw, he was in great affliction, and he clung to his friend and pastor, saying, whither goest thou, o my father, without thy son and servant? am i found unworthy to accompany. thee to death, and to pour out my blood with thine in testimony to the truth of christ? st. peter suffered stephen, his deacon, to die before him: wilt thou not suffer me to prepare thy way?' all this he said, and much more, shedding many tears; but the holy man replied, 'i do not leave thee, my son; in three days thou shalt follow after me, and thy battle shall be harder than mine; for i am old and weak, and my course shall soon be finished; but thou, who art young and strong and brave, thy torments will be longer and 'more severe, and thy triumph the greater: therefore grieve not, for laurence the levite shall follow sixtus the priest.' thus he comforted the young man, and moreover commanded him to take all the c vol. ii. u 540 sacred and legendary art. possessions of the church and distribute them to the poor, that they might in no case fall into the hands of the tyrant. and after this sixtus was put to death. then laurence took the money and treasures of the church, and walked through all the city of rome, seeking out the poor and the sick, the naked and the hungry; and he arrived by night at a house on the celian hill where dwelt a devout christian widow whose name was cyriaca, who kept many fugitive christians concealed in her house, and ministered to them with unceasing charity. and when laurence came there he found her. sick, and healed her by laying his hands upon her. then he washed the feet of the christians who were in the house, and gave them alms and in this manner he went from one dwelling to another, consoling the persecuted, and dispensing alms and performing works of charity and humility. thus he prepared himself for his impending martyrdom. the satellites of the tyrant, hearing that the treasures of the church had been confided to laurence, carried him before the tribunal, and he was questioned, but replied not one word; therefore he was put into a dungeon, under the charge of a man named hippolytus, whom with his whole family he converted to the faith of christ, and baptized; and when he was called again before the prefect, and required. to say where the treasures were concealed, he answered that in three days he would show them. the third day being come, st. laurence gathered together the sick and the poor to whom he had dispensed alms, and, placing them before the prefect, said, 'behold, here are the treasures of christ's church.' upon this the prefect, thinking he was mocked, fell into a great rage, and ordered st. laurence to be tortured till he had made known where the treasures were concealed; but no suffering could subdue the patience and constancy of the holy martyr. then the prefect commanded that he should be carried by night to the baths of olympias, near the villa of sallust the historian, and that a new kind of torture should be prepared for him, more strange and cruel than had ever entered into the heart of a tyrant to conceive; for he ordered him to be stretched on a sort of bed, formed of iron bars in the manner of a gridiron, and a fire to be lighted beneath, which should gradually consume his body to ashes : and the executioners did as they were commanded, kindling the fire, st. laurence. 541 and adding coals from time to time, so that the victim was in a manner roasted alive; and those who were present looked on with horror, and wondered at the cruelty of the prefect, who could condemn such torments a youth of such fair person and courteous and gentle bearing, and all for the lust of gold. and in the midst of his torments, laurence, to triumph further over the cruelty of the tyrant, said to him, seest thou not, o thou foolish man, that i am already roasted on one side, and that, if thou wouldst have me well cooked, it is time to turn me on the other?' and the tyrant and executioners were confounded by his constancy. then st. laurence lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said, 'i thank thee, o my god and saviour, that i have been found worthy to enter into thy beatitude!' and with these words his pure and invincible spirit fled to heaven. < : the prefect and his executioners, seeing that the saint was dead, went their way in great wonder and consternation, leaving his body on the gridiron and in the morning came hippolytus and took it away, and buried it reverently in a secret place, in the via tiburtina. when this was known to the prefect, he seized hippolytus, and commanded him to be tied to the tail of a wild horse; and thus he perished. but god suffered not that this wicked and cruel prefect should escape the punishment of his crimes; for, some time afterwards, as he sat in the amphitheatre of vespasian, and presided over the public games, all of a sudden miserable pangs came over him, and he cried out upon st. laurence and hippolytus, and gave up the ghost! but to st. laurence was given a crown of glory in heaven, and upon earth eternal and universal praise and fame; for there is scarcely a city or town in all christendom which does not contain a church and altar dedicated to his honour. the first of these was built by constantine outside the gates of rome, on the spot where he was buried; and another was built on the summit of the pincian hill, where he was martyred; and besides these, there are at rome four others; and in spain, the escurial; and in genoa, the cathedral.' figures of st. laurence in devotional pictures occur perpetually. in england about 250 churches are dedicated in honour of st. laurence. u 2 542 sacred and legendary art. he, as well as st. stephen, wears the deacon's dress, and has the palm as martyr; and where he bears his familiar attribute, the gridiron (la graticola), he is not to be mistaken; but there are instances : in which the gridiron is omitted, and he carries a dish full of gold and silver money in his hand-the treasures of the church confided to his keeping; or he swings a censer; or carries a cross, for it was the province of the deacon to carry the cross in processions and other religious ceremonies. the deacon's dress has been described in pictures of st. laurence, who was the first archdeacon, the dress is usually splendid; in some pictures he wears a tunic covered with flames of fire, in allusion to his martyrdom (139). he is represented younger than stephen, and with a look of calm sweetness almost angelic. the gridiron varies in form: it is sometimes a parallelogram, formed of transverse bars, on which he leans or sets his foot in triumph: sometimes it has the form of the common kitchen utensil; it is then no longer the attribute, but a mere emblem of the death he suffered. sometimes a little gridiron is suspended round his neck, or he holds it in his hand, or it is embroidered on his robe.' 137 st. laurence (vivarini) 1. in a picture by pinturicchio at spello, st. laurence stands with st. francis by the throne of a beautiful madonna; he leans on his graticola, and, with a truly poetical anticipation, has his martyrdom embroidered on his deacon's robe (138). i saw in one of the italian churches, i think at cremona, an antique fragment representing the story of mucius scævola thrusting his hand into the flames, which the guide pointed out as un invitto soldato, che sarà, per certo, un santo martire!' and which the people venerated as a st. laurence. st. laurence. 543 ¹ munich, 564. 1 one of the most beautiful devotional figures of st. laurence i have ever seen is by ghirlandajo, it represents him looking up with an expression of ecstatic faith: his deacon's tunic is of crimson with a green mantle in rich folds : it forms one wing of an altar-piece. the subjects from his life are few; the most frequent is, of course, his famous and frightful martyrdom,—a theme difficult to be treated, so as to render it bearable: we have it in every variety of style-sublime, horrible, grotesque; but it is so peculiar, that it can never be mistaken, and admits of little variation in the sentiment. the moment chosen is not, however, always the same; sometimes he is addressing to the prefect the famous ironical speech, which is but too near to the burlesque ; sometimes he is looking up to the opening heavens, whence the angel floats downwards with the palm and crown; executioners are blowing the fire, and bring138 ing fuel to feed it. the time, which was night, the effect of the lurid fire, the undraped beautiful form of the young saint, whose attitude, in spite of the cruel manner of his agony, is susceptible of much grace; the crowd of spectators, with every variety of expression;-all these picturesque circumstances have been admirably employed by titian in one of the most famous of his compositions, that which he painted for philip ii., to be placed in the escurial, which was dedicated to st. laurence.3 st. laurence (pinturicchio) jef 2 it is literally, 'i am done, or roasted,-now turn me, and eat me.' (assatus est; jam versa et manduca.) there are many repetitions and engravings. 544 sacred and legendary art. $2180 hesis risty the martyrdom of st. laurence,' by baccio bandinelli the sculptor, is arranged as a scenic bas-relief, and is well known to artists as a study for attitude and form, and to collectors for the beauty of the engraving by marc antonio. st. laurence preparing for his martyrdom: he stands with hands bound in a loose white tunic, which one of the executioners is about to remove; a very pretty pathetic picture by elsheimer.¹ 139 st. laurence distributing the treasures of the church (f. angelico) 6 a series of subjects from the life of st. laurence is frequent in the stained glass of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries;there is a fine example in the cathedral at chartres. the series of frescoes by angelico in the chapel of nicholas v. has that delicacy of sentiment which characterises the painter. 1. he is ordained deacon by pope sixtus, who, seated on a throne, gives to his keeping the consecrated cup. 2. he receives from sixtus the treasures of the church. 3. he distributes them to the poor christians.2 4. he stands bound before the prefect decius. scourges and instruments of torture are lying on the ground. 5. he lies stretched on the gridiron. in the series of old frescoes under the portico of the basilica of san lorenzo, the events of his life are most elaborately and minutely expressed the series consists of the following subjects; they are on 'munich cabinet, viii. 154. 4 2 the charity of st. laurence,' after this beautiful fresco, has lately been engraved by louis gruner, for the arundel society, with a precision and purity of taste in the drawing, and a flowing ease and elegance in the management of the burin, which recall the old engravers of the raffaelesque school. st. laurence. 545 the right hand as you enter, but in such a state of ruin as to be nearly unintelligible:-1. nearly effaced; it probably represented his investiture as deacon. 2. st. laurence washes the feet of the poor christians. 3. he heals cyriaca. 4. he distributes alms. 5. he meets st. sixtus led to death, and receives his blessing. 6. he is brought before the prefect. 7. he restores sight to lucillus. 8. he is scourged with thongs loaded with lead. 9. he baptizes hippolytus. 10. (effaced.) 11. he refuses to deliver the treasures of the church. 12. (effaced.) 13, 14, 15. his body wrapt in a shroud, carried away and buried by hippolytus. 29 four of the compartments on the right hand, and now with difficulty made out, represent the contention between the devil and the angel for the soul of the emperor henry ii., here represented because st. laurence plays a conspicuous part in it. this wild legend is an amusing instance of the stories or parables invented by the churchmen of the time, and their obvious purpose:'one night, a certain hermit sat meditating in his solitary hut, and he heard a sound as of a host of wild men rushing and trampling by; and he opened his window and called out, and demanded who it was that thus disturbed the quiet of his solitude; and a voice answered, "we are demons; henry the emperor is about to die in this moment, and we go to seize his soul." then the hermit called out again, "i conjure thee, that, on thy return, thou appear before me, and tell me the result." the demon promised, and went on his way; and in the same night the same ghastly sounds were again heard, and one knocked at the window, and the hermit hastened to open it, and behold it was the same demon whom he had spoken to before. "now," said the hermit, "how has it fared with thee ?" "ill! to desperation! answered the fiend in a fury. "we came at the right moment; the emperor had just expired, and we hastened to prefer our claim! when, lo! his good angel came to save him. we disputed long, and at last the angel of judgment (st. michael) laid his good and evil deeds in the scales, and, behold! our scale descended and touched the earth;-the victory was ours! when, all at once, yonder roasted fellow" (for so he blasphemously styled the blessed st. laurence) " appeared on his side, and flung a great we 546 sacred and legendary art. golden pot" (so the reprobate styled the holy cup)" into the other scale, and ours flew up, and we were forced to make off in a hurry; but at least i was avenged on the golden pot, for i broke off the handle, and here it is" and having said these words, the whole company of demons vanished. then the hermit rose up in the morning, hastened to the city, and found the emperor dead; and the golden cup which he had piously presented to the church of st. laurence was found with only one handle, the other having disappeared that same night.' the old frescoes give us this strange but significant story at full length. in the first compartment a hermit is looking out of a window, and there are some fragmentary portions of the devils just visible: the second represents the death-bed of the emperor, at the foot of it appear the demons: in the next, the angel and the demons are contending; the soul of the emperor clasps the knees of the angel as if for refuge in the fourth appears st. laurence to the rescue, one of the fiends has fallen on his knees before him. whole series in a barbarous style, and in a most ruined state.' the i met with this legend again in the famous strozzi chapel in the s. maria novella at florence. the great frescoes of the last judgment, so often pointed out as worthy of especial attention, generally engross the mind of the spectator to the exclusion of minor objects; few, therefore, have examined the curious and beautiful old altar-piece, also by oreagna (a.d. 1349). it represents christ giving the keys to st. peter, and attended by st. john, st. paul, st. thomas aquinas, st. catherine, st. michael, st. laurence. in the predella below are scenes from the life of each of the saints represented above. for example, under the figure of st. laurence we have the contention for the soul of the emperor henry. in the centre the emperor is seen expiring amid his attendants: on one side, the flight of the demons through the desert, the hermit looking out of his cave: on the other, st. michael holds the scales; the merits of the emperor are weighed in the balance and found wanting; st. laurence descends and places the vase in one scale; the demons are in a rage, and one of them seems to threaten st. laurence. the whole conception very odd and grotesque, but the story told with infinitely they are engraved in a small size in d'agincourt's 'histoire de l'art,' pl. xcix. no. 8. st. hippolytus. 547 more skill and spirit than in the rude old frescoes in the church of san lorenzo. ( doublet, in his history of the abbey of st. denis, cites a passage in an ancient chronicle wherein the demons lament, that wishing to carry away the soul of charlemagne, they did not succeed because of the opposition of michael, the archangel, and the weight of the offerings made to the church, which, being thrown into the scale of good works, weighed it down.' such fabrications were frequent in those days, and are very suggestive in ours. as the story of st. hippolytus is closely connected with that of st. laurence, i place it here. st. hippolytus. ital. sant' ippolito. fr. saint hippolyte. (aug. 13, a.d. 258.) hippolytus was the name of the soldier who was stationed as guard over the illustrious martyr st. laurence, by whose invincible courage and affectionate exhortations he was so moved that he became a christian with all his family. after the terrible death of st. laurence, at which he had been present, he, with some other christians, carried away the body of the saint by night and buried it all which has been already related; and it remains only to show how hippolytus honoured the teaching of his master, and proved his faith. : being brought before the tribunal of decius, and accused of being a christian, hippolytus acknowledged himself as such, and declared that he was ready to die like st. laurence rather than deny his redeemer. decius sent his lictors to the house of hippolytus with orders to arrest all who were found there; and among others was his aged nurse, whose name was concordia, and who, in consequence of the boldness with which she replied to the demands of the judge, was condemned to be scourged until she died; and hippolytus, looking on, thanked god that his nurse, from whose bosom he had fed, had died worthily for christ's sake; and having seen nineteen of his vol. ii. x 548 sacred and legendary art. family beheaded, and still refusing to listen to the temptations of these wicked pagans, he was tied to the tails of wild horses, and, in this cruel and terrible martyrdom, perished. c by a curious mingling of the pagan mythology and christian traditions, hippolytus has partaken of the attributes of his namesake the son of theseus, and has been chosen as the patron saint of horses. his name in greek signifies one who is destroyed by horses.' his popularity in france is probably owing to the translation of his relics from rome to the abbey of st. denis in the eighth century; but in the legends of this saint there prevails a more than usual degree of obscurity and uncertainty. 1. in the old mosaic in the church of san lorenzo, rome, st. hippolytus in a warrior's dress stands behind st. laurence. the ancient devotional pictures of hippolytus often represent him as the jailor of st. laurence, with a bunch of keys hanging to his girdle. 2. in a little picture in the academy at florence he is thus represented, and also holds in his hand an instrument of torture something like a currycomb with iron teeth. 3. the martyrdom of st. hippolytus was painted by subleyras. the picture, which is one of his most beautiful, is in the louvre ; ' hippolytus lies on the ground, his hands bound, his feet tied to the tails of two wild horses, which, starting, rearing, and with their manes blown by the wind, are with difficulty restrained by a number of soldiers; the head of the saint is remarkably fine as he looks up heaven with an expression of enthusiastic faith. to 4. el mudo painted for the escurial, which, it will be remembered, was dedicated to st. laurence, hippolytus and his companions burying the body of the saint by night. it is praised for the solemn and pathetic effect of the composition, and is in truth a beautiful subject. 5. in st. salvador, bruges, is the martyrdom of hippolytus by hans hemling. i have seen the story of hippolytus frequently in the stained glass and sculpture of the old french churches. in the modern church of école française, 506. st. vincent. 549 notre dame de lorette at paris, the story of st. hippolytus is painted in three compartments. 1. he is baptized by st. laurence. 2. he buries the body of the saint. 3. he is tied to a wild horse. st. vincent, deacon and martyr. lat. st. vincentius levita. ital. san vincenzio diacono, san vincenzino. fr. saint vincent. patron of lisbon, of valencia, of saragossa; one of the patrons of milan; patron saint of chalons, and many other places in france. (jan. 22, a.d. 304.) this renowned saint and martyr of the early christian church has been most popular in spain, the scene of his legend, and in france, where he has been an object of particular veneration from the sixth century. it is generally allowed that the main circumstances of the history of vincent, deacon of saragossa, of his sufferings for the cause of christ, and his invincible courage, expressed by his name, rest on concurrent testimony of the highest antiquity, which cannot be rejected; but it has been extravagantly embroidered. i give his legend here, as accepted by the poets and artists. 'he was born in saragossa, in the kingdom of aragon. prudentius, in his famous hymn, congratulates this city on having produced more saints and martyrs than any other city in spain. during the persecution under diocletian, the cruel proconsul dacian, infamous in the annals of spanish martyrdom, caused all the christians of saragossa, men, women, and children, whom he collected together by a promise of immunity, to be massacred. among these were the virgin eugracia, and the eighteen christian cavaliers who attended her to death. at this time lived st. vincent: he had been early instructed in the christian faith, and with all the ardour of youth devoted himself to the service of christ. at the time of the persecution, being not more than twenty years of age, he was already a deacon. the dangers and the sufferings of the christians only excited his charity and his zeal; and after having encouraged and sustained many of his brethren in the torments inflicted upon them, he was himself called to receive the crown of martyrdom. being brought before the tribunal of dacian, together with his bishop, x 2 550 sacred and legendary art. valerius, they were accused of being christians and contemners of the gods. valerius, who was very old, and had an impediment in his speech, answered to the accusation in a voice so low that he could scarcely be heard. on this, st. vincent burst forth with christian fervour, 66 "how is this, my father! canst thou not speak aloud, and defy this pagan dog? speak, that all the world may hear; or suffer me, who am only thy servant, to speak in thy stead!" the bishop having given him leave to speak, st. vincent stood forth, and proclaimed his faith aloud, defying the tortures with which they were threatened ; so that the christians who were present were lifted up in heart and full of gratitude to god, and the wicked proconsul was in the same. degree filled with indignation. he ordered the old bishop to be banished from the city; but vincent, who had defied him, he reserved as an example to the rest, and was resolved to bend him to submission by the most terrible and ingenious tortures that cruelty could invent. the young saint endured them unflinching. when his body was lacerated by iron forks, he only smiled on his tormentors : the pangs they inflicted were to him delights; thorns were his roses; the flames a refreshing bath; death itself was but the entrance to life." they laid him, torn, bleeding, and half consumed by fire, on the ground strewn with potsherds, and left him there; but god sent down his angels to comfort him; and when his guards looked into. the dungeon, they beheld it filled with light and fragrance; they heard the angels singing songs of triumph, and the unconquerable martyr pouring forth his soul in hymns of thanksgiving: he even called to his jailors to enter and partake of the celestial delight and solace which had been vouchsafed to him; and they, being amazed, fell upon their knees, and acknowledged the true god. 'but dacian, perfidious as he was cruel, began to consider what other means might remain to conquer his unconquerable victim. having tried tortures in vain, he determined to try seduction. he ordered a bed of down to be prepared, strewn with roses; commanded the sufferer to be laid upon it, and allowed his friends and disciples to approach him they, weeping, staunched his wounds, and dipped their kerchiefs in his flowing blood, and kissed his hands and brow, and besought him to live. but the martyr, who had held out through prudentius, hymn to st. laurence. he calls the iron forks rastrelli, or rakes. st. vincent. 551 such protracted torments, had no sooner been laid upon the bed, than his pure spirit, disdaining as it were these treacherous indulgences, fled to heaven; the angels received him on their wings, and he entered into bliss ineffable and eternal. the proconsul, furious that his victim had escaped him, ordered his body to be thrown out to the wild beasts: but behold the goodness of god! who sent a raven to guard his sacred remains; and when a wolf approached to devour them, the raven obliged it to retire. and when dacian was informed that after many days the body of vincent remained untouched, he was ready to tear himself for despite : he ordered his minions to take the body of the holy martyr, to sew it up in an ox-hide, as was done towards parricides, and to throw it into the sea. these impious satellites therefore took the body, and, placing it in a bark, they rowed out far into the sea, and flung it attached to a millstone, overboard: they then rowed back again to the shore; but what was their astonishment, when, on landing, they found that the body of st. vincent had arrived before them, and was lying on the sand! they were so terrified that they fled; and there being none to bury him, the waves of the sea, by the command of god, performed that pious office, and hollowed a tomb for him in the sands, where he lay, protected from all indignity, hidden from all human knowledge; until, after many years, the spot was miraculously revealed to certain christians, who carried his body to the city of valencia, and buried it there. "in the eighth century, when the christians of valencia were obliged to flee from the moors, they carried with them the body of st. vincent. the vessel in which they had embarked was driven by the winds through the straits of hercules, until they arrived at a promontory, where they landed and deposited the remains of the saint; and this promontory has since been called cape st. vincent. here the sacred relics were again guarded by the ravens or crows, and hence a part of the cliff is called el monte de las cuervas. about the year 1147, alonzo i. removed the relics to lisbon,-two of the crows, one at the prow and one at the stern, piloting the ship. thus, after many wanderings, the blessed st. vincent rested in the cathedral of lisbon; and the crows which accompanied him having multiplied greatly, rents were assigned to the chapter for their support.' 552 sacred and legendary art. the legend of this illustrious martyr is one of the most ancient in the church. the famous latin hymn of prudentius (a.d. 403) recites. all the details of his horrible martyrdom in a style which may pass in latin, but would certainly be intolerable in english. st. augustine and st. ambrose testify that, in their time, the fame of st. vincent the invincible had penetrated wherever the name of christ was known.' he has been honoured since the fourth century throughout christendom, but more particularly in spain, where, we are told, there is scarcely a city in the whole peninsula without a church dedicated to him, in which he may be seen carved or painted : and the same may be said of france, where he has been honoured. since the year 542. the church, now 'st. germain des prés,' at paris, was originally dedicated to st. vincent in 559. the pretended translation of the relics to france, by means of a thieving, lying monk, i pass over, because it is discredited, and unconnected with my purpose in these essays.2 : in works of art it is not always easy to distinguish st. vincent from st. stephen and st., laurence; for he, too, is young and mild and beautiful; he also wears the deacon's dress, and carries the palm but his peculiar attribute is a crow or a raven, sometimes perched upon a millstone. mr. ford mentions an effigy of st. vincent at seville, in which the saint is painted with his familiar crow, holding a pitchfork in his mouth:' 'a rudder,' he thinks, 'would have been more appropriate.' i imagine that the iron fork is here the instrument of his martyrdom, and quite appropriate. in the italian pictures, st. vincent has seldom any attribute but the palm, while st. laurence and st. stephen are seldom without their respective gridiron and stones. st. vincent is frequently grouped with st. laurence; the spanish legend makes them brothers, but i find no authority for this relationship in the french and italian martyrologies. 6 the most beautiful devotional figure of this martyr i have ever seen is a picture by palma, in the s. maria dell' orto, at venice, there are four churches in england dedicated in his honour. 2 it is because of the supposed deposition of the relics of st. vincent in the church of st. germain, that st. vincent and st. germain are so often found together in french pictures. there is one in the louvre (école française, 634) painted by vien. st. vincent. 553 almost, if not quite, equal to his famous st. barbara for colour and expression. st. vincent stands in the centre on a kind of platform: he is habited in the deacon's robe, here of a deep glowing red, richly embroidered; he holds the palm, and has no other attribute; the face is divinely beautiful-mild, refined, and elevated to a degree uncommon in the venetian school. four saints stand round him; st. helen with her cross, a dominican (i think st. vincent ferrer), a pope, and a martyr-saint whom i cannot name: completely absorbed by admiration of the principal figure, i did not consider them with sufficient attention. in a picture by pollajuolo, also of extraordinary beauty, he is young, bearing his palm, and his crimson dalmatica is embroidered with gold.' a fresco by aurelio luini, once in the church of s. vincenzino at milan, now in the brera, represents the youthful saint preparing to undergo the torture which he suffered with such marvellous constancy. he is bound to a tree, and two executioners, with iron hooks in their hands, seem about to tear him. i florence gal. a series of subjects from his life, frequent in the stained glass and sculpture of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, consist of the following scenes:-1. he is brought before the proconsul with the aged priest valerius, who is attired as a bishop, while vincent wears the deacon's dress. 2. he is tortured in various ways: he is torn with iron hooks, laid on a bed of red-hot iron, stretched upon the ground on potsherds. 3. angels visit him in his dungeon. 4. he dies on the bed of roses. 5. his body lies exposed, guarded by a raven; a wolf is also generally introduced. 6. his body, fastened to a millstone, floats on the surface of the sea. in this manner his story is represented on one of the windows at bourges, and on another at chartres; also in st. vincent's at rouen. the very ancient frescoes in the portico of his church at the tre fontane,' near rome, have perished, at least i could scarcely discern the traces of them, but they may be found in d'agincourt.2 in this church he is honoured, in conjunction with st. anastasius the persian, a young saint who, being in persia at the time the true cross was carried thither by chosroes, in 614, was converted by the 2 " hist. de l'art par les monumens,' pl. xcviii. 554 sacred and legendary art. miracles it performed, or rather occasioned, and was martyred in consequence. his obscure legend i have not found, except in these defaced old paintings. he was first strangled, and then beheaded; and his proper attribute is the axe. st. vitus. ital. san vito. fr. st. vite, or st. guy. ger. der heilige veit, vit, or vitus. patron of saxony, bohemia, and sicily. (june 15, a.d. 303.) vitus, or vito, was the son of a noble sicilian. his parents were heathens; but his nurse, crescentia, and his foster-father, modestus, who were secretly christians, brought him up in the faith, and caused him to be baptized. at twelve years old, he openly professed himself a christian, to the great indignation of his father, and the cruel governor, valerian, who attempted, by the usual terrors and tortures, to subdue his constancy. he was beaten, and shut up in a dungeon; but his father, looking through the keyhole, beheld him dancing with seven beautiful angels; and he was so amazed and dazzled by their celestial radiance, that he became blind in the same moment, and only recovered his sight by the intercession of his son. but his heart being hardened, he again persecuted vitus, and treated him cruelly; therefore the youth fled with his nurse and modestus, and crossed the sea to italy, in a little boat, an angel steering at the helm. but, soon after their arrival, they were accused before the satellites of the emperor diocletian, plunged into a cauldron of boiling oil, and thus received the crown of martyrdom. this popular saint has been reverenced in every part of christendom from time immemorial. in germany he is one of the fourteen nothhelfers, or patron-saints, and as such figures often in the old german pictures, as in a remarkable picture by wohlgemuth in the burg at nuremberg, and another still finer in the moritz-kapelle. he is the patron saint of dancers and actors, and invoked against that nervous affection commonly called 'st. vitus' dance.' he is represented as a beautiful boy holding his palm; he has a cock in his hand, or near him, whence he is invoked st. vitus. 555 against too much sleep, by those who find a difficulty in early rising.' other attributes are the lion, because in his martyrdom he was exposed to lions; a wolf, because his remains were watched by a wolf,—a legend common to many saints; a cauldron of boiling oil, the instrument of his martyrdom. st. vitus is found in the sacred pictures, principally at venice and at prague. the fine cathedral at prague is dedicated to him, and on his shrine there is a very good modern statue of him, standing, mild,, beautiful, and young, with a cock beside him. the martyrdom of st. vitus, standing in a cauldron with fire underneath, and st. george and st. wolfgang, as protectors of bavaria, on each side, by bassetti of verona, i saw at munich. vol. ii. the origin of the cock as an attribute of st. vitus is a disputed point. it appears that from very ancient times it was a custom to offer up a cock to him, and so late as the beginning of the eighteenth century this was done by the common people of prague. 140 556 sacred and legendary art. the greek martyrs. i shall group together here those greek martyrs who have been accepted and particularly reverenced by the latin church, though as subjects of art and patron saints they have not become popular. st. thecla, virgin and martyr. ger. die heilige thekla. (sept. 23.) ital. san tecla. fr. st. thècle. patroness of tarragona. such was the veneration paid to this saint in the east, and in the early ages of christianity, that it was considered the greatest praise that could be given to a woman to compare her to st. thecla. some of the ancient fathers assure us that she had studied profane literature and philosophy, and was famous for her eloquence.¹ c her story is contained in a work entitled the acts of paul and thecla,' known and circulated in the first century, but condemned as spurious by st. john the evangelist. it is related, that when the apostle paul arrived at anconium, he. preached in the house of onesiphorus: and a certain virgin, named thecla, sat at a window in her house, from whence, by the advantage of a window in the house where paul was, she listened to his sermons concerning god, concerning charity, concerning faith in christ, and concerning prayer, until with exceeding joy she was subdued to the doctrines of the faith. now this virgin thecla was betrothed to a youth named thamyris, who loved her much; but when she would not be prevailed upon to depart from the window, her mother sent to thamyris, and complained to him that her daughter would not move from the window, 4 1 baillet, vies des saints. tillemont, tom. ii. p. 66. st. thecla. 557 nor eat, nor drink, so intent was she to hear the discourses of paul. so thamyris went and spoke to her, and said, "thecla! my betrothed! why sittest thou in this melancholy posture? turn to thamyris, and blush!" her mother, theoclea, also chid her, but it was to no purpose. then they wept exceedingly,-thamyris that he had lost his betrothed, theoclea that she had lost her daughter, and the maids that they had lost their mistress: so there was an universal mourning in the house. but all these things made no impression upon thecla, who did not even turn her head; for she regarded only the discourse of paul, and his words, which made her heart burn within her. "then the young man complained to the governor, and the governor ordered paul to be bound, and to be put in prison till he should be at leisure to hear him fully. but in the night, thecla, taking off her earrings, gave them to the turnkey of the prison, who opened the doors of the prison and let her in; and when she had made a present of a silver looking-glass to the jailor, she was allowed to enter the room where paul was: and she sat down at his feet, and heard from him the great things of god. and when she beheld his courage, and listened to his eloquence, she kissed his chains in a transport of faith and admiration. when the governor heard these things, he ordered paul to be scourged and driven out of the city, and thecla to be burned. then the young men and women gathered wood and straw for the burning of thecla, who being brought naked to the stake extorted tears from the governor, for he was surprised, beholding the greatness of her beauty. then the people kindled the pile; but though the flame was exceedingly large, it did not touch her, for god took compassion on her; the fire was extinguished, and she was preserved, and made her escape. and paul, taking thecla along with him, went to antioch. there a man named alexander accused her before the governor, and she was condemned to be thrown among the beasts, which when the people saw, they cried out, saying, "the judgments declared in this city are unjust!" 'but thecla desired no other favour of the governor than that her chastity might be guarded till she should be cast to the wild. beasts. the day arrived, and she was brought to the amphitheatre, y 2 558 sacred and legendary art in the presence of a multitude of spectators, and, being stripped of her drapery, she had a girdle put round her body, and was thrown into the place appointed for fighting with the beasts, and the lions and the bears were let loose upon her. but the women who were in the theatre were struck with compassion, and groaned and cried out, "oh, unrighteous judgment! o cruel sight! the whole city ought to suffer for such crimes!" and one of them, called trissina, wept aloud. meantime a lioness, which was of all the most fierce, ran upon thecla, and fell down at her feet; and the bears and the helions lay as though they were fast asleep, and did not touch her. upon this the governor called thecla from among the beasts, and said to her, "who art thou, woman, that not one of the beasts will touch thee?" and thecla replied, "i am a servant of the living god, and a believer in jesus christ his son." then the governor ordered her clothes to be brought, and said to her, "put on your apparel," and he released her. "then thecla went home with trissina: but desiring much to see paul, she resolved to travel in search of him; and trissina sent large sums of money to paul by her hands, also much clothing for the poor. so thecla journeyed till she found paul preaching the word of god at myra, in lycia. thence she returned to iconium, and after many years spent in preaching and converting the people, she was led by the spirit to a mountain near seleucia, where she abode many years, and underwent many grievous temptations, which she overcame by the help of the lord. she enlightened many people, and wrought so many miraculous cures, that all the inhabitants of the city and adjacent countries brought their sick to that mountain, and when they came to the door of her cave they were instantly cured; such great power had god bestowed on the virgin thecla !-insomuch that the physicians of seleucia were held of no account, and lost all the profit of their trade, for no one regarded them. and they were filled with envy, and began to contrive how they should destroy her for they said within themselves, "this woman must be a priestess of the great goddess diana, and the wonders she performs are by virtue of her chastity; and if we can destroy that, she will be vanquished:" and they hired some fellows, sons of belial, to go to the mountain and offer her violence. so they went, and the blessed thecla came out to ; st. thecla. 559 141 st. thecla (lorenzo costa) meet them, and they laid hold upon her, and she fled from them, praying for deliverance. and behold! the rock opened behind her, forming a cavity so large that a man might enter in; and she ran thither, and the rock closed upon her, and she was seen no the men stood perfectly astonished at so prodigious a miracle, and having caught hold of her veil, a piece of it remained in their hands as evidence of this great wonder. thus suffered the blessed virgin and martyr thecla, who came from iconium at eighteen years of age, and afterwards, partly in journeys and travels, and partly in a monastic life in the cave, lived seventy-two years; so that she was ninety years of age when the lord translated her.' 560 sacred and legendary art. although the lions spared st. thecla, she is considered the first female martyr, and is honoured as such in the greek church. in the latin church the particular veneration professed for her by st. martin of tours, in the fourth century, contributed to render her highly popular; yet i have met with very few representations of her. in the devotional pictures and miniatures she generally wears a loose mantle of dark brown or grey, and holds the palm. several wild beasts are around her. in a madonna picture by lorenzo costa she stands on one side of the virgin and child, arrayed in a long robe of a violet colour, holding the palm; and with no other attribute: the figure and attitude are singularly elegant; the countenance mild, thoughtful, and sweet' (141). in a picture by marinari she is seen in prison, her hands fettered, and an angel presents to her fruit and flowers:2 of this incident there is no mention in the legend i have cited. as yet i have not met with any picture in which paul and thecla are represented together: such may possibly exist. the scene in the dungeon, with paul teaching and thecla seated at his feet, would be a beautiful subject. 1 st. euphemia of chalcedonia, virgin and martyr. ital. sant' eufemia. fr. sainte euphémie. (sept. 16. a.d. 307.) this greek saint, with her soft musical name and the fame of her beauty and her fortitude, is one of those whom the eastern church has distinguished by the epithet great. she is particularly interesting in the history of art, for all that can be certainly known of her rests on the description of a picture, which description, however, is so ancient, and so well authenticated that it leaves no doubt as to the principal circumstances pertaining to her-her existence, her name, the manner of her martyrdom, and the place where she suffered. i have already alluded to this picture, as an evidence of the style and signification of such representations in very early times. 2 bologna gal. engraved under this name in the etruria pittrice; perhaps a st. dorothea. st. euphemia. 561 it has happened that a few of the homilies of asterius, bishop of amasea in pontus, who lived and wrote between 350 and 400, have been preserved to us, and among them is a homily preached on the day consecrated to the memory of st. euphemia. the bishop, to excite the imagination and the zeal of his congregation, displays a picture of the saint, at the same time describing it most eloquently in detail. 'we see her,' he says, 'in this picture, portrayed with all that beauty and grace which distinguished her in her lifetime, yet with that modesty and gravity which showed her inward spirit: and attired in the plain dark-brown mantle which in greece was worn by the philosophers, and which expressed a renunciation of all worldly pleasures and vain ornaments. 'we see her brought before the judge priscus by two soldiers, one of whom drags her forward; the other pushes her on behind. but though from modesty her eyes are cast down, there is an expression in her face, which shows it is not fear. we see her, in another part of the picture, tortured by two executioners, one of whom has seized her long hair, and pulls back her head, to force her to raise it; the other strikes her on the mouth with a wooden mallet; the blood flows from her lips; and at the piteous sight, tears flow from the eyes of the spectators; their hearts melt within them. in the background is seen the interior of a dungeon. st. euphemia, seated on the earth, raises her hands to heaven, and prays for mercy, and for strength to bear her sufferings: over her head, behold! the cross appears; either to show her confidence in the sign of our redemption, or to signify that she too must suffer. then, near to the prison, we see a pile of faggots kindled, and in the midst stands the beautiful and courageous martyr. she extends her arms towards heaven; her countenance is radiant with hope, with faith, with joy.' the description ends here, and asterius does not mention any further circumstances attending her martyrdom; but, according to the legend, the flames, as was usual in such cases, were rendered innocuous by miraculous intervention: she was then thrown to the it is cited in the llection of les p'ères de l'eglise,' vol. v. 562 sacred and legendary art. lions; but they crouched and licked her feet, and refused to harm her. priscus, on seeing this, was like to swoon with despite and mortification; so one of his soldiers, to do him a pleasure, rushed upon the maiden, and transfixed her with his sword. this form of the legend must have prevailed in the time of st. ambrose; but in other legendaries it is related that the lions attacked her, but did not devour her, and that the executioner finished her with the sword. st. euphemia suffered in the tenth persecution, at chalcedonia in bithynia, not far from byzantium, and about the year 307 or 311. the picture described by asterius must have been executed soon after the death of the saint, when her memory was fresh in the minds of the people, and at a period when classical art, though on the decline, retained at least its splendid forms, and influenced all the christian representations. we may therefore infer the beauty and the accuracy of the delineation; it shows also that the manner of representing many scenes in the same picture already prevailed. so ancient was the worship paid to st. euphemia, that within a century after her death there were four churches dedicated to her in constantinople alone; others in rome, alexandria,' carthage; in short, throughout the east and west, temples rose everywhere to her honour, and many wonderful miracles were imputed to her. in the beginning of the eighth century, leo the iconoclast ordered her church to be profaned and her relics to be cast into the sea: but this only increased the devotion paid to her; the relics reappeared in the island of lemnos, and thence were dispersed to many places, even to france. in the western church, she was accepted as a saint in the fourth century, and a church was dedicated to her in rome in the fifth. every one who has visited verona will recollect the beautiful church which bears her name. though so celebrated in the early times, her popularity has diminished; or has been superseded by the fame of later saints. see vol. i. p. 150. 2 whether the st. euphemia who is reverenced all through lombardy be identical with the greek saint is not clear. in the italian legend she has a sister, innocentia, who suffered martyrdom with her. the remains of st. euphemia and st. innocentia are said to have been brought from aquileia and deposited in the cathedral of vicenza about 1350. v. cat. sanctorum italiæ,' p. 595. st. euphemia. 563 a very early mosaic represents st. euphemia standing between two serpents, but i do not find any mention of serpents in the legends i have consulted.' in all the representations since the revival of art, she has the lion and the sword. thus she appears in a beautiful and dignified figure by andrea mantegna, with the lily, emblem of chastity, in one hand, in the other the palm. the sword in her bosom, the lion at her side.2 in the church of st. euphemia at milan there is one most admirable picture, a throned virgin and child by marco oggione. the virgin has all the intellectual dignity and character of the school of leonardo: the child bends towards st. catherine, who kneels, presented by st. ambrose on the other side kneels st. euphemia, presented by john the baptist; she has an instrument of torture at her feet which looks like a saw. it is a magnificent example of the milanese school. in a picture by simone cantarini, she is represented standing with her lion at her side, and pointing to the virgin in glory: she wears a yellow tunic buttoned down the front, a crimson mantle, and a white veil thrown 142 over her head.3 st. euphemia (andrea mantegna) in her church at verona she stands over one of the altars, bearing her palm, and accompanied by her lions. i have never met with any historical picture from her life. ꮓ at florence st. verdiana is represented between two serpents. she was a vallambrosian see legends of the monastic orders.' nun. 2 cremona. in the san maurizio at milan, there is a lovely figure of a female saint, crowned, with a sword in her bosom, called a st. ursula, which i believe to represent st. euphemia. 3 bologna gal. vol. ii. 564 sacred and legendary art. many other christian martyrs were exposed in the amphitheatres, principally at rome, at carthage, and at lyons, where the taste for these horrid spectacles was most prevalent; but they are not interesting as subjects of art. i must regret that the martyrdom of vivia perpetua and felicitas has never been worthily treated: in fact, i have never seen any ancient representation of st. perpetua, except in the mosaic at ravenna; and therefore, confining myself within the limits assigned to this work, i shall not dwell upon her fate. the well-authenticated story of these two women, of their high-hearted constancy and meek fortitude, has been told so beautifully by mr. milman, that i pass it over with the less regret; only observing, that as her history is accepted as authentic by protestants, it remains open to protestant artists. it affords not one but many scenes of surpassing interest, full of picturesque and dramatic sentiment, and capable of being treated with the utmost tragic pathos, without touching on the horrible and revolting. perpetua binding up her tresses in the amphitheatre, after she had been exposed before the people and wounded by the wild beasts let loose upon her, is an image one can hardly endure to bring before the fancy: but perpetua in prison; before her judges; turning from her father; taking leave of her infant child; and rising superior to every temptation, every allurement, to deny her redeemer: perpetua going forth, accompanied by the slave felicitas (herself recently a mother), to meet a frightful death, with a mild, womanly spirit, without assumption or defiance; both young, with nothing to sustain them but faith, and that courage from on high which has never been denied to those who steadfastly trust in the hereafter;—these, surely, are themes which in their lofty beauty might be held not unworthy of christian art and christian sympathy in our times. it is rare to find any sacred subject of deep and general interest almost untouched; but here the field is open.³ 1 v. p. 525. 2 herr vogel of dresden has lately painted a fine picture of st. perpetua looking through the bars of her prison at her infant child. the acts of st. perpetua and st. felicitas,' though considered authentic by all the best ecclesiastical writers, were unknown to the early artists. she is commemorated by tertullian and st. augustine, and her story at length may be found in baillet, vies des saints,' march 7. see also, vivia perpetua, a dramatic poem, in five acts,' by sarah flower adams. " • st. phocas. 565 st. felicitas, the african slave and companion of st. perpetua, must not be confounded with st. felicitas, the noble roman matron, whose story i have placed among the roman martyrs. st. phocas of sinope, martyr. ital. san foca. the greek patron of gardens and gardeners. (july 3, a.d. 303.) towards the end of the third century a holy man named phocas dwelt outside the gate of the city of sinope, in pontus, and lived by cultivating a little garden, the produce of which, after supplying his own necessities, he distributed to the poor. uniting prayer and contemplation with labour and charity, his garden was to him an instructive book, his flowers supplied him with a fund of holy meditation, and his little cottage was open to all strangers and travellers who were in want of a lodging. one night, as he sat at his frugal supper of herbs, some strangers knocked at his door, and he invited them to enter and repose themselves. he set food before them, and gave them water for their feet; and when they had eaten and were refreshed, he asked them concerning their business. they told him that they were sent there in search of a certain phocas, who had been denounced as a christian; and that they were commissioned to kill him wherever they should find him. the servant of god, without betraying any surprise, conducted them to a chamber of repose, and when they were at rest he went into his garden and dug a grave amid the flowers. the next morning he went to his guests and told them that phocas was found; and they, rejoicing, asked, 'where is the man?' he replied, 'i myself am he.' they started back, unwilling to imbrue their hands. in the blood of their host: but he encouraged them, saying, 'since it is the will of god, i am willing to die in his cause.' then they led him to the brink of the grave, struck off his head, and buried him therein. z 2 566 sacred and legendary art. this interesting old saint appears in the greek pictures and mosaics. those who visit st. mark's at venice will find him in the vestibule on the left hand among the saints who figure singly on the vault, standing in colossal guise, with a venerable beard, in the dress of a gardener, and holding a spade in his hand. his name is inscribed, and also distinguishes a similar figure in the cathedral of monreale, at palermo. except in genuine byzantine art, i have not met with st. phocas. the latin patron saint of gardeners is st. fiacre, an irish saint domiciliated in france. turn to his legend farther on. st. pantaleon of nicomedia, martyr. in greek, panteleemon, which signifies ‘all-merciful.' ital. san pantaleone. patron of physicians. (july 27, fourth century.) it is interesting to observe that saints of the medical profession have been especially popular in the great trading towns, such as venice, florence, lyons, marseilles; cities which, through their intercourse with the east and the influx of strangers, were constantly exposed to the plague and other epidemic disorders. i have already spoken of st. roch, st. cosmo, and st. damian, with reference to those localities. st. pantaleon, another of these beatified physicians, is particularly interesting in venetian art, and his odd greek name familiar to all who remember venice. those critics who seem inclined to doubt his real existence, and who have derived his name from the venetian war-cry, pianta leone! plant the lion!' are, i think, mistaken, for he was a greek saint of celebrity in the sixth century, when justinian dedicated to him a church at constantinople; and i think it more probable that the venetians introduced him into their city from the levant. according to the legend, pantaleon was born at nicomedia in bithynia, the son of a heathen father and a christian mother, and after having made himself master of all the learning and science of the greeks, he attached himself particularly to the study of medicine. st. pantaleon. 567 the legend adds that he was remarkable for his beautiful person and graceful manners, and that he became the favourite physician of the emperor galerius maximian. during his residence in this heathen court, pantaleon was in danger of forgetting all the christian precepts which he had learned from his mother. but, fortunately, a venerable christian priest, named hermolaus, undertook to instruct him, and pantaleon became an ardent christian. when the persecution broke out, knowing that he could not remain concealed, like his master hermolaus, he saw plainly that he must anticipate a cruel martyrdom; and, instead of endeavouring to escape, he prepared himself to meet it by those acts of charity for which his profession as physician afforded so many opportunities. he went about healing the sick, restoring sight to the blind, raising the dead, or those who were nigh to death. and being, in the midst of these good works, accused before the emperor, he obtained, as he had desired, the glorious crown of martyrdom, being beheaded together with his aged master hermolaus, who came forth from his retreat to share his fate; but for pantaleon, they first bound him to an olive-tree, and, according to the poetical legend, no sooner had his blood bathed the roots of the tree than it burst forth into leaves and fruit. this saint is uniformly represented young, beardless, and of a beautiful countenance. as patron, he wears the long loose robe of a physician, and sometimes, in allusion to the circumstances of his martyrdom, he holds the olive instead of the palm, or both together. as martyr, he stands bound to an olive-tree, with both hands over his head, and a nail driven through them into the trunk of the tree; the sword at his feet. in such pictures we must distinguish between st. pantaleon and st. sebastian. his church at venice is particularly interesting to those who love to study venetian character. it is the parish church of a dense and populous neighbourhood, and i used to go there more for the sake of looking at the people-the picturesque mothers with their infants, the little children reciting their catechism-than to study art and pictures. the walls are covered with the beneficent actions of the saint, and with scriptural incidents which have reference to the 568 sacred and legendary art. healing art. none of these, however, are particularly good. among them are the following subjects:1. the saint heals a sick child: by paul veronese. 2. he raises a dead man. 3. his charities to the poor, and various miracles, are upon the ceiling, by fumiani; while in other parts of the church we see the pool of bethesda, the miracle of the loaves and fishes, and other works of healing and charity. st. pantaleon was at one time very popular at lyons, but i know not whether any vestiges remain of the reverence formerly paid to him there; nor do i remember any pictures representing him except at venice. st. dorothea of cappadocia, virgin and martyr. ital. santa dorotea. fr. sainte dorothée. (feb. 6, a.d. 303.) 6 in the province of cappadocia, and in the city of cesarea, dwelt a noble virgin, whose name was dorothea. in the whole city there was none to be compared to her in beauty and grace of person. she was a christian, and served god day and night with prayers, with fasting, and with alms. "the governor of the city, by name sapritius (or fabricius), was a very terrible persecutor of the christians, and hearing of the maiden, and of her great beauty, he ordered her to be brought before him. she came, with her mantle folded on her bosom, and her eyes meekly cast down. the governor asked, "who art thou?" and she replied, "i am dorothea, a virgin, and a servant of jesus christ." he said, "thou must serve our gods, or die." she answered mildly, "be it so; the sooner shall i stand in the presence of him whom i most desire to behold." then the governor asked her, "whom meanest thou?" she replied, "i mean the son of god, christ, mine espoused! his dwelling is paradise; by his side are joys eternal; and in his garden grow celestial fruits and roses that never fade." then sapritius, overcome by her eloquence and beauty, ordered her to be carried back to her dungeon. and he sent to her two sisters, whose names were calista and christeta, who had once been christians, but st. dorothea. 569 who, from terror of the torments with which they were threatened, had renounced their faith in christ. to these women the governor promised large rewards if they would induce dorothea to follow their evil example; and they, nothing doubting of success, boldly undertook the task. the result, however, was far different; for dorothea, full of courage and constancy, reproved them as one having authority, and drew such a picture of the joys they had forfeited through their falsehood and cowardice, that they fell at her feet, saying, "o blessed dorothea, pray for us, that, through thy intercession, our sins may be forgiven and our penitence accepted!" and she did so. and when they had left the dungeon they proclaimed aloud that they were servants of christ. "then the governor, furious, commanded that they should be burned, and that dorothea should witness their torments. and she stood by, bravely encouraging them, and saying, "o my sisters, fear not! suffer to the end! for these transient pangs shall be followed by the joys of eternal life!" thus they died; and dorothea herself was condemned to be tortured cruelly and then beheaded. the first part of her sentence she endured with invincible fortitude. she was then led forth to death: and, as she went, a young man, a lawyer of the city, named theophilus, who had been present when she was first brought before the governor, called to her mockingly, "ha! fair maiden, goest thou to join thy bridegroom? send me, i pray thee, of the fruits and flowers of that same garden of which thou hast spoken: i would fain taste of them!" and dorothea, looking on him, inclined her head with a gentle smile, and said, "thy request o theophilus, is granted!" whereat he laughed aloud with his companions: but she went on cheerfully to death. 'when she came to the place of execution, she knelt down and prayed; and suddenly appeared at her side a beautiful boy, with hair bright as sunbeams-a smooth-faced, glorious thing, with thousand blessings dancing in his eyes. in his hand he held a basket containing three apples, and three freshgathered and fragrant roses. she said to him, "carry these to 570 sacred and legendary art. theophilus, say that dorothea hath sent them, and that i go before him to the garden whence they came, and await him there." with these words she bent her neck, and received the death-stroke. 'meantime the angel (for it was an angel) went to seek theophilus, and found him still laughing in merry mood over the idea of the promised gift. the angel placed before him the basket of celestial fruit and flowers, saying, "dorothea sends thee these," and vanished. what words can express the wonder of theophilus? struck by the prodigy operated in his favour, his heart melted within him; he tasted of the celestial fruit, and a new life was his; he proclaimed himself a servant of christ, and, following the example of dorothea, suffered with like constancy in the cause of truth, and obtained the crown of martyrdom.' st. dorothea is represented with roses in her hand; or crowned with roses; or offering a basket of fruit and flowers to the virgin or the infant christ; or attended by an angel holding a basket, in which are three apples and three roses. the last is the most peculiar and the most characteristic attribute: other saints have flowers, or are crowned with roses; dorothea alone has the attendant angel holding the basket of fruit and flowers. she bears the palm of course, and occasionally the crown, as martyr. st. dorothea is more popular in the german and flemish than the italian schools, and there are few early pictures of her. i found her in an old siena picture, with roses in her lap, and holding a bouquet of roses in her hand. rubens and vandyck have both painted her crowned with roses, and holding her palm. in a beautiful madonna picture by israel v. melem, she stands on the left of the virgin, crowned with roses, and with a basket of roses before her.³ st. dorothea and her companions, st. calista and st. christeta, are represented in three ancient marble statues in the chiesa dell' abazia at venice, attributed to the maestro bartolomeo (fourteenth century.) it is usual in catalogues and descriptions of pictures to find st. dorothea called st. rosalia or st. rosa; a mistake arising from the attribute of the roses. st. rosalia and st. rosa will be found among the monastic legends.' 2 siena acad. • 3 boisserée gal. st. dorothea. 571 143 st. dorothea (german) 144 st. dorothea (siena) the principal incident of her legend is so picturesque and poetical, that one is surprised not to meet with it oftener; in fact, i have never met with it; yet the interview between dorothea and theophilus, and afterwards between theophilus and the angel, are beautiful subjects: the first scene has a tragic interest, and the latter an allegorical significance as well as a picturesque beauty, which should have recommended them to painters. the martyrdom of st. dorothea has been several times painted. the picture by jacopo ligozzi is a grand scenic composition, in the style of his master, paul veronese, and almost equal to him. the scaffold, and near it, on horseback, the inexorable sapritius, who vol. ii. a a 572 sacred and legendary art. has just given the command to strike; the ferocious executioner; the figure of the gentle and beautiful victim, kneeling with an expression of placid faith; the angels hovering with garlands of roses above, and the various attitudes of the spectators ;-are all admirably painted in the dramatic, or rather scenic, style proper to the school.' carlo dolce. st. dorothea kneeling, with hands bound, and by her side the angel with his basket of celestial fruit and flowers: one of his best pictures; the sweetness and elegance of his manner suited the subject, and he is here less tame than usual. rubens. st. dorothea standing, with roses and palm. vandyck. st. dorothea standing, with her palm, roses, and apples from paradise.3 the legend of dorothea is the subject of massinger's tragedy of the virgin martyr;' he was assisted by decker, to whom the critics attribute much that is coarse, offensive, and profane in the dialogue. it contains, however, scenes and passages of great beauty; and these are given without the alloy in murray's family library.'4 one critic observes that of the character of the heroine it is impossible to speak too highly; her genuine and dignified piety, her unshaken constancy, her lofty pity for her persecutors, her calm contempt of torture, and her heroic death, exalt the mind in no ordinary degree.' the religious action is varied and rendered more romantic by making antoninus, the brave and amiable son of the cruel sapritius, in love with dorothea: for her sake he refuses the daughter of diocletian, and dorothea's last prayer is for him :— ( grant that the love of this young man for me, in which he languishes to death, may be changed to the love of heaven! her prayer is granted; antoninus is converted, and dies of grief on witnessing her cruel martyrdom. the last scene between theophilus and the emperor diocletian is ascribed wholly to massinger. it contains the fine passage in which the christian saint is exalted above the classical heroines of antiquity:1 brescia, pp. conventuali. both pictures are engraved by galle. 2 darmstadt gal. 4 dramatic series, vol. i. st. cyprian and st. justina. 573 dorothea but hereafter named you will rise up with reverence, and no more, as things unworthy of your thoughts, remember what the canonised spartan ladies were, which lying greece so boasts of. your own matrous, your roman dames, whose figures you yet keep as holy relics, in her history will find a second urn: gracchus' cornelia, paulina, that in death desired to follow her husband seneca, nor brutus' portia, that swallow'd burning coals to overtake him,— though all their several worths were given to one, with this is to be mention'd. they, out of desperation, or for vainglory of an after-name, parted with life: this had not mutinous sons as the rash gracchi were; nor was this saint a doting mother as cornelia was. this lost no husband in whose overthrow her wealth and honour sank; no fear of want did make her being tedious; but aiming at an immortal crown, and in his cause who only can bestow it, who sent down legions of ministering angels to bear up her spotless soul to heaven, who entertained it with choice celestial music equal to the motion of the spheres; she, uncompell'd, changed this life for a better. st. cyprian and st. justina of antioch. ital. san cipriano il mago e santa giustina. fr. st. cyprien le magicien et sainte justine. (sept. 26, a.d. 304.) it is surprising that this very beautiful and antique legend has not oftener been treated as a subject of art. it is full of picturesque capabilities of every kind. calderon founded on it one of his finest autos, the magico prodigioso;' part of which-the scene in which the maiden is tempted by demons-shelley has beautifully translated. though i have never met with the story in western art, except in one or two miniatures, others may have been more fortunate; for which reason, and because of its singular beauty, i give it at length. aa 2 574 sacred and legendary art. " in the city of antioch dwelt a virgin wonderfully fair, and good, and wise; her name was justina. she was the daughter of a priest of the idols; but having listened to the teaching of the gospel, she not only became a christian herself, but converted her parents to the true faith. many looked upon this beautiful maiden with eyes of love; among them a noble youth of the city of antioch, whose name was aglaides! and he wooed her with soft words and gifts, but all in vain, for justina had devoted herself to the service of god and a life of chastity and good works, and she refused to listen to him; and he was well nigh in desperation. 'now in the same city of antioch dwelt cyprian the magician, a man deeply versed in all the learning of the pagan philosophers, and moreover addicted from his youth to the study of astrology and necromancy. when he had exhausted all the learning of his own country, he travelled into the east, into the land of the chaldees, and into egypt; and to argos, and to athens; and he had made himself familiar with all terrible and forbidden arts. he had subjected to his might the spirits of darkness and the elements; he could command the powers of hell; he could raise storms and tempests, and transform men and women into beasts of burthen. it was said that he offered the blood of children to his demons, and many other crimes were imputed to him, too dreadful to be here related. 'aglaides being, as i have said, in despair and confusion of mind because of the coldness of justina, repaired to cyprian; for he said, "surely this great magician, who can command the demons and the elements, can command the will of a weak maiden:" then he explained the matter to him, and required his help. but no sooner had cyprian beheld the beautiful and virtuous maiden, than he became himself so deeply enamoured, that all rest departed from him, and he resolved to possess her. as yet, nothing had been able to resist his power, and, full of confidence, he summoned his demons to his aid. he commanded them to fill the mind of the chaste justina with images of earthly beauty, and to inflame and pollute her fancy with visions of voluptuous delight. she was oppressed, she was alarmed, she felt that these were promptings of the evil one, and she resisted with all her might, being well assured that as long as her will remained unconquered, christ and the virgin would help her :-and it was so; for st. cyprian and st. justina. 575 when she invoked them against her enemy, he left her in peace, and fled. 'when cyprian found that his demon was foiled, he called up another, and then another, and at length the prince of darkness himself came to his aid: but it was all in vain. justina was fearfully troubled, her pure and innocent mind became the prey of tumultuous thoughts; demons beset her couch, haunted her sleep, poisoned the very atmosphere she breathed; but she said to her almost failing heart, "i will not be discouraged, i will strive with the evil which besets me; thought is not in our power, but action is; my spirit may be weak, but my will is firm; what i do not will, can have no power over me." thus, although grievously tempted and tormented, she stood fast, trusting in the god whom she worshipped, and conquered at last, not by contending, but by never owning herself subdued, and strong in her humility only by not consenting to ill. so the baffled demon returned to his master, and said, "i can do nothing against this woman; for being pure and sinless in will, she is protected by a power greater than thine or mine!" "then cyprian was astonished, and his heart was melted; and he said to the demon, "since it is so, i contemn thee and thy power; and i will henceforth serve the god of justina." he went, therefore, full of repentance and sorrow, and, falling at her feet, acknowledged the might of her purity and innocence, and confessed himself vanquished; upon which she forgave him freely, and rejoiced over him; and in her great joy she cut off her beautiful hair, and made an offering of it before the altar of the virgin, and gave much alms to the poor. 'soon afterwards cyprian was baptized and became a fervent christian; all his goods he distributed to the poor, and became as remarkable for his piety, abstinence, and profound knowledge of the scriptures, as he had formerly been for his diabolical arts, his wickedness, his luxury, and his pride. such was his humility, that he undertook the meanest offices for the service of the faithful, and he and justina mutually strengthened and edified each other by their virtues and by their holy conversation. 6 at this time broke forth the last and most terrible persecution against the christians; and when the governor of antioch found that 576 sacred and legendary art. no menaces could shake the faith of cyprian and justina, he ordered them to be thrown together into a cauldron of boiling pitch; but by a miracle they escaped unharmed. the governor then, fearing the people, who venerated cyprian and justina, sent them with an escort to the emperor diocletian, who was then at nicomedia languishing in sickness; and the emperor, hearing that they were christians, without any form of trial, ordered them to be instantly beheaded; which was done. thus they received together the crown of martyrdom, and in name and in fame have become inseparable.' when st. cyprian and st. justina are represented together, he is arrayed in the habit of a greek bishop, without a mitre, bearing the palm and sword, and trampling his magical books under his feet: she holds the palm; and a unicorn, the emblem of chastity, crouches at her feet. in that greek ms. of the works of gregory nazianzen to which i have so often referred, as containing the earliest known examples of the treatment of legendary subjects, i found the story of cyprian and justina in four miniatures.¹ 1. justina seeks refuge at the feet of christ from the demon who pursues her. 2. cyprian engaged in his magical incantations, burning incense, &c., and a demon rises behind him. 3. he is kneeling as a penitent at the feet of justina. 4. they suffer martyrdom together. the figures, ruined as they are, most freely and nobly designed. every one who has been at vienna will probably remember the st. justina of the belvedere, so long attributed to pordenone, but now known to be the production of a much greater man, bonvicino, of brescia (il moretto). she stands in a landscape; one hand sustains her drapery, the other holds her palm; she looks down with an air of saintly dignity blended with the most benign sweetness, on a kneeling votary. this sketch (145) will give an idea of the composition; but nothing-no copy, no description—could convey the expression of the countenance, which has the character of venetian beauty, elevated by such a serious and refined grace, that the effect of the combination paris bib. nat. mss. grecs, a.d. 867. st. justina of antioch. 577 145 st. justina, and alphonso i. of ferrara (moretto) belliams is quite inconceivable. there is a tradition relative to this picture which greatly enhances its interest; it is said to represent alphonso i. of ferrara at the feet of donna laura eustochio: she was a beautiful woman of low origin, whom alphonso married after the death of lucretia borgia; some say she had been his mistress, but this is not certain; and, at all events, when duchess of ferrara, she won by her virtues the respect and love of all classes: the people of ferrara held 578 sacred and legendary art. her in such reverence, that once, when threatened by an inundation, they imputed their preservation solely to her prayers.' it is not easy to distinguish st. justina of antioch from another saint of the same name, st. justina of padua, the more especially as the painters themselves appear to have confounded them. the reader, therefore, will do well to turn at once to the legend of justina of padua, farther on: she is much more popular in western art than the greek heroine and martyr of antioch, but not nearly so interesting. ( st. apollonia of alexandria, virgin and martyr. fr. sainte apolline. patroness against toothache, and all diseases of the teeth. (feb. 9, a.d. 250.) there dwelt in the city of alexandria a magistrate who had great riches, but he and his wife also were heathens. they had no children, and day and night they besought their false gods to grant them a son or a daughter to inherit their wealth. meantime, for so it pleased god, three pious pilgrims, servants of the lord, arrived in the city, and being hungry and weary, they begged an alms for the love of the redeemer and the blessed virgin his mother. now as they were thus begging opposite to the house of the magistrate, his wife, being astonished, called to them and said, "what new manner of begging is this? in whose name do ye ask alms?" then the pilgrims preached to her the merits of christ and of the virgin. the woman, being greatly moved by their words, asked whether it were possible that the virgin-mother of god, of whom they spoke, could grant her prayer to have a child? and they answered, "without doubt." thereupon she called them in, and gave them alms, and meat and drink; and addressed her prayer, full of faith, to the holy virgin. her prayer was heard, and she brought forth a daughter, to whom she gave the name of apollonia. 1 according to ticozzi, titian painted her several times, e nuda e vestita. i have never seen in any gallery a portrait by titian recognised as the portrait of donna laura; but, for several reasons, on which i cannot enlarge in this place, i believe the famous picture in the louvre, styled 'titian's mistress,' to be the portrait of this peasant-duchess. she died in 1573. st. apollonia. 573 'as the maiden grew up and flourished as a flower in grace and beauty, her mother ceased not to relate to her the wonderful circumstances of her birth; and thus she became a true christian at heart, and with a longing wish to be baptized. with this purpose, and directed by an angel, she found her way to st. leonine, the disciple of st. anthony, and desired to be made a christian; so he baptized her; and suddenly there appeared an angel holding a garment of dazzling white, which he threw over the maiden, saying, "this is apollonia, the servant of jesus! go now to alexandria, and preach the faith of christ." she, hearing the divine voice, obeyed, and preached to the people with wondrous eloquence. many were converted; others ran to complain to her father, and to accuse her of breaking the law; but she defended herself; and her father, incensed, gave her up to the power of the heathen governor, who commanded her instantly to fall down and worship the idol set up in the city. then st. apollonia, being brought before the idol, made the sign of the cross, and commanded the demon who dwelt within it to depart; and the demon, uttering a loud cry, broke the statue and fled, shrieking out, "the holy virgin apollonia drives me forth!" the tyrant, seeing this, ordered her to be bound to a column; and all her beautiful teeth were pulled out, one by one, with a pair of pincers; then a fire was kindled, and as she persisted in the faith, she was flung into it, and gave up her soul to god, being carried into heaven by his angels.' the cautious baillet admits that the virgin apollonia was put to death in a tumult of the people against the christians, and that 'ils lui cassèrent d'abord toutes les dents par des coups horribles.' but the above is the legend followed by the painters. st. apollonia is represented with the palm as martyr, and holding a pair of pincers with a tooth: or the pincers, as in later pictures, are placed near her; in the beautiful picture of st. apollonia in our national gallery, the pincers are lying on a table; in a picture by hemlinck, she wears a golden tooth, suspended as an ornament to her neck-chain. there is a st. apollonia by furini in the rinuccini palace at florence, a head of singular beauty, bent back, as if preparing for the torture; the ferocious executioner seen behind. vol. ii. rb 580 sacred and legendary art. does not, however, appear to be popular as a patron saint, nor are pictures of her very common. the finest i have seen is that by francesco granacci in the munich gallery. it is a single figure, nearly life-size, and forms one wing of a beautiful altar-piece, which granacci painted for the sake of a favourite niece, who was a nun in the convent of st. apollonia at florence. granacci was a favourite pupil of michael angelo, and caught some of his grandeur of form; but in his treatment of a subject he rather resembles ghirlandajo. on the predella beneath he represented in six compartments the life of the saint. 1. st. apollonia, after her baptism, hears the voice of angels sending her forth to preach the gospel. 2. she is preaching to the people, a noble figure; her auditors are principally old men, who appear to be pondering her words. 3. she is brought before the judge, who, according to one version of the legend, was her father, and just such a cruel pagan as the father of st. barbara. 4. she is bound to a pillar, and scourged; the scene is a guard-room or prison, with soldiers in the background. 5. she is seated with her hands bound, and has all her teeth pulled out by an executioner. 6. she kneels, and a soldier behind is about to strike off her head with an axe. this predella, separated, as it often happens, from the principal subject, is now in the 'accademia delle belle arti' at florence. ➖➖➖➖➖➖➖ it is necessary to observe that st. apollonia has a pair of pincers, and st. agatha a pair of shears, which in some of the old pictures are not well discriminated. the martyrdom of st. apollonia is sometimes found in the chapels dedicated to her. she is generally bound to a pillar, and an executioner stands near; i have never seen him in the very act of pulling out her teeth, except in one or two coarse miniatures. in the duomo at milan, which does not abound in good pictures, one of the best is procaccino's martyrdom of st. apollonia. the seven sleepers of ephesus. 581 the seven sleepers of ephesus. ital. i sette dormienti. fr. les sept dormants. les sept enfants d'ephèse. ger. die sieben schläfer. (june 27.) during the persecution under the emperor decius, there lived in the city of ephesus seven young men, who were christians; their names were maximian, malchus, marcian, dionysius, john, serapion, and constantine; and as they refused to offer sacrifice to the idols, they were accused before the tribunal. but they fled and escaped to mount cœlian, where they hid themselves in a cave. being discovered, the tyrant ordered that they should roll great stones to the mouth of the cavern, in order that they might die of hunger. they, embracing each other, fell asleep. and it came to pass in the thirtieth year of the reign of the emperor theodosius, that there broke out that dangerous heresy which denied the resurrection of the dead. the pious emperor, being greatly afflicted, retired to the interior of his palace, putting on sackcloth and covering his head with ashes: therefore god took pity on him, and restored his faith by bringing back these just men to life; which came to pass in this manner. a certain inhabitant of ephesus, repairing to the top of mount cœlian to build a stable for his cattle, discovered the cavern; and when the light penetrated therein, the sleepers awoke, believing that their slumber had only lasted for a single night; they rose up, and malchus, one of the number, was despatched to the city to purchase food. he, advancing cautiously and fearfully, beheld to his astonishment the image of the cross surmounting the city-gate. he went to another gate, and there he found another cross. he rubbed his eyes, believing himself still asleep, or in a dream, and entering the city he heard everywhere the name of christ pronounced openly; and he was more and more confounded. when he repaired to the baker's, he offered in payment an ancient coin of the time of the emperor decius, and they looked at him with astonishment, thinking that he had found a hidden. treasure. and when they accused him, he knew not what to reply. seeing his confusion, they bound him, and dragged him bb 2 582 sacred and legendary art. through the streets with contumely; and he looked round, seeking some one whom he knew, but not a face in all the crowd was familiar to him. and being brought before the bishop, the truth was disclosed to the great amazement of all. the bishop, the governor, and the principal inhabitants of the city, followed him to the entrance of the cavern, where the other six youths were found. their faces had the freshness of roses, and the brightness of a holy light was around them. theodosius himself, being informed of this great wonder, hastened to the cavern, and one of the sleepers said to him, 'believe in us, o emperor! for we have been raised before the day of judgment, in order that thou mightest trust in the resurrection of the dead!' and having said this, they bowed their heads and gave up their spirits to god. they had slept in their cavern for 196 years. gibbon, in quoting this poetical fable, observes that the tradition may be traced to within half a century of the supposed miracle. about the end of the sixth century, it was translated from the syriac into the latin, and was spread over the whole of western christendom. nor was it confined to the christian world. mahomet has introduced it as a divine revelation into the koran. it has penetrated into abyssinia. it has been found in scandinavia: in fact, in the remotest regions of the old world, this singular tradition, in one form or another, appears to have been known and accepted. the seven sleepers of ephesus, extended in their cave side by side, occur perpetually in the miniatures, ancient sculpture, and stained glass of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. thus they are represented in the frieze of the chapel of edward the confessor at westminster. in general, the name of each is written over his head. they carry palms as martyrs. i have never seen them with any other attributes, but in the german iconographie' it is said that in an old representation,' not otherwise described as to age or locality, the seven sleepers are thus individualised: john and constantine bear each a club, maximian has a knotted club, malchus and marcian have axes, serapion a torch, and dionysius a large nail. what these attributes may signify,-whether alluding to the trades they exercised, or the kind of martyrdom to which they were condemned, but did not suffer,—is not explained; and i have never met with any effigies thus discriminated. st. cecilia. 583 the latin martyrs. the four great virgins of the latin church. st. cecilia, virgin and martyr. fr. sainte cécile. the name in italian, german, and spanish, is the same as in english and latin. patroness of music and musicians. (nov. 22, a.d. 280.) st. cecilia and st. catherine present themselves before the fancy as the muses of christian poetic art;-the former presiding over music and song, the latter over literature and philosophy. in their character of patron saints, we might therefore expect to find them oftener combined in the same picture; for the appropriate difference of expression in each the grave, intellectual, contemplative dignity of st. catherine, and the rapt inspiration of st. cecilia-present the most beautiful contrast that a painter could desire. it is, however, but seldom that we find them together; when grouped with other saints, st. cecilia is generally in companionship with st. agnes; st. catherine with st. barbara or mary magdalene. to understand this apparent anomaly, we must bear in mind that while the greek patronesses, st. catherine, st. euphemia, st. barbara, st. margaret, are renowned throughout all christendom, the four great virgins of the latin church (for such is their proper designation), st. cecilia, st. agnes, st. agatha, and st. lucia, are almost entirely confined to western art, and fall naturally into companionship. of these, the two first were roman, and the two last sicilian, martyrs. the beautiful legend of st. cecilia is one of the most ancient handed down to us by the early church. the veneration paid to her can be traced back to the third century, in which she is supposed to have lived; and there can be little doubt that the main incidents of her life and martyrdom are founded in fact, though mixed up with the usual amount of marvels, parables, and precepts, poetry and allegory, not the less attractive and profitable for edification in times when men 584 sacred and legendary art. listened and believed with the undoubting faith of children. in this, as in other instances, i shall make no attempt to separate historic truth from poetic fiction, but give the legend according to the ancient version, on which the painters founded their representations. < st. cecilia was a noble roman lady, who lived in the reign of the emperor alexander severus. her parents, who secretly professed christianity, brought her up in their own faith, and from her earliest childhood she was remarkable for her enthusiastic piety: she carried night and day a copy of the gospel concealed within the folds of her robe; and she made a secret but solemn vow to preserve her chastity, devoting herself to heavenly things, and shunning the pleasures and vanities of the world. as she excelled in music, she turned her good gift to the glory of god, and composed hymns, which she sang herself with such ravishing sweetness that even the angels descended from heaven to listen to her, or to join their voices with hers. she played on all instruments, but none sufficed to breathe forth that flood of harmony with which her whole soul was filled; therefore she invented the organ, consecrating it to the service of god. 'when she was about sixteen, her parents married her to a young roman, virtuous, rich, and of noble birth, named valerian. he was, however, still in the darkness of the old religion. cecilia, in obedience to her parents, accepted of the husband they had ordained for her: but beneath her bridal robes she put on a coarse garment of penance, and, as she walked to the temple, renewed her vow of chastity, praying to god that she might have strength to keep it :-and it so fell out; for, by her fervent eloquence, she not only persuaded her husband valerian to respect her vow, but converted him to the true faith. she told him that she had a guardian angel who watched over her night and day, and would suffer no earthly lover to approach her,i have an angel which thus loveth me-that with great love, whether i wake or sleep, is ready aye my body for to keep.' 1 v. chaucer ;-who has given an almost literal version of the old legend in the second nonnes tale.' st. cecilia. 585 and when valerian desired to see this angel, she sent him to seek the aged st. urban, who, being persecuted by the heathen, had sought refuge in the catacombs. after listening to the instruction of that holy man, the conversion of valerian was perfected, and he was baptized. returning then to his wife, he heard, as he entered, the most enchanting music; and, on reaching her chamber, beheld an angel, who was standing near her, and who held in his hand two crowns of roses gathered in paradise, immortal in their freshness and perfume, but invisible to the eyes of unbelievers. with these he encircled the brows of cecilia and valerian, as they knelt before him; and he said to valerian, "because thou hast followed the chaste counsel of thy wife, and hast believed her words, ask what thou wilt, it shall be granted to thee." and valerian replied, "i have a brother named tiburtius, whom i love as my own soul; grant that his eyes also may be opened to the truth." and the angel replied with a celestial smile, "thy request, o valerian, is pleasing to god, and ye shall both ascend to his presence, bearing the palm of martyrdom." and the angel, having spoken these words, vanished. soon afterwards tiburtius entered the chamber, and perceiving the fragrance of the celestial roses, but not seeing them, and knowing that it was not the season for flowers, he was astonished. then cecilia, turning to him, explained to him the doctrines of the gospel, and set before him all that christ had done for us; contrasting his divine mission, and all he had done and suffered for men, with the gross worship of idols, made of wood and stone; and she spoke with such a convincing fervour, such a heaven-inspired eloquence, that tiburtius yielded at once, and hastened to urban to be baptized and strengthened in the faith. and all three went about doing good, giving alms, and encouraging those who were put to death for christ's sake, whose bodies they buried honourably. 'now there was in those days a wicked prefect of rome, named almachius, who governed in the emperor's absence; and he sent for cecilia and her husband and brother, and commanded them to desist from the practices of christian charity. and they said, "how can we desist from that which is our duty, for fear of anything that man can do unto us?" the two brothers were then thrown into a dungeon, and committed to the charge of a centurion named maximus, 586 sacred and legendary art. whom they converted, and all three, refusing to join in the sacrifice to jupiter, were put to death. and cecilia, having washed their bodies with her tears, and wrapped them in her robes, buried them together in the cemetery of calixtus. then the wicked almachius, covetous of the wealth which cecilia had inherited, sent for her, and commanded her to sacrifice to the gods, threatening her with horrible tortures in case of refusal; she only smiled in scorn: and those who stood by wept to see one so young and so beautiful persisting in what they termed obstinacy and rashness, and intreated her to yield; but she refused, and by her eloquent appeal so touched their hearts, that forty persons declared themselves christians, and ready to die with her. then almachius, struck with terror and rage, exclaimed, "what art thou, woman?" and she answered, "i am a roman of noble race." he said, "i ask of thy religion?" and she said, "thou blind one, thou art already answered!" almachius, more and more enraged, commanded that they should carry her back to her own house, and fill her bath with boiling water, and cast her into it; but it had no more effect on her body than if she had bathed in a fresh spring. then almachius sent an executioner to put her to death with the sword; but his hand trembled, so that, after having given her three wounds in the neck and breast, he went his way, leaving her bleeding and half dead. she lived, however, for the space of three days, which she spent in prayers and exhortations to the converts, distributing to the poor all she possessed; and she called to her st. urban, and desired that her house, in which she then lay dying, should be converted into a place of worship for the christians. thus, full of faith and charity, and singing with her sweet voice praises and hymns to the last moment, she died at the end of three days. the christians embalmed her body, and she was buried by urban in the same cemetery with her husband.' according to her wish, the house of cecilia was consecrated as a church, the chamber in which she suffered martyrdom being regarded as a spot of peculiar sanctity. there is mention of a council held. in the church of st. cecilia by pope symmachus in the year 500. afterwards, in the troubles and invasions of the barbarians, this ancient church fell into ruin, and was rebuilt by pope paschal i. in the ninth century. it is related that, while engaged in this work, st. cecilia. 587 paschal had a dream, in which st. cecilia appeared to him, and revealed the spot in which she lay buried; accordingly search was made, and her body was found in the cemetery of calixtus, wrapt in a shroud of gold tissue, and round her feet a linen cloth dipped in her blood near her were the remains of valerian, tibertius, and maximus, which, together with hers, were deposited in the same church, now st. cecilia-in-trastevere. the little room, containing her bath, in which she was murdered or martyred, is now a chapel. the rich frescoes with which it was decorated are in a state of utter ruin from age and damp; but the machinery for heating the bath, the pipes, the stoves, yet remain. this church, having again fallen into ruin, was again repaired, and sumptuously embellished in the taste of the sixteenth century, by cardinal sfondrati. on this occasion the sarcophagus containing the body of st. cecilia was opened with great solemnity in the presence of several cardinals and dignitaries of the church, among others cardinal baronius, who has given us an exact description of the appearance of the body, which had been buried by pope paschal in 820, when exhumed in 1599. 'she was lying,' says baronius, within a coffin of cypress wood, enclosed in a marble sarcophagus; not in the manner of one dead and buried, that is, on her back, but on her right side, as one asleep; and in a very modest attitude; covered with a simple stuff of taffety, having her head bound with cloth, and at her feet the remains of the cloth of gold and silk which pope paschal had found in her tomb.' clement viii. ordered that the relics should remain untouched, inviolate; and the cypress coffin was inclosed in a silver shrine, and replaced under the altar. this reinterment took place in presence of the pope and clergy, with great pomp and solemnity, and the people crowded in from the neighbouring towns to assist at the ceremony. stefano maderno, who was then in the employment of the cardinal sfondrati as sculptor and architect, and acted as his secretary, was not, we may suppose, absent on this occasion; by the order of the cardinal, he executed the beautiful and celebrated statue of st. cecilia lying dead,' which was intended to commemorate the attitude in which she was found. it is thus described by sir charles bell: the body lies on its side, the limbs a little drawn up; the vol. ii. c c 588 sacred and legendary art. hands are delicate and fine,-they are not locked, but crossed at the wrists: the arms are stretched out. the drapery is beautifully modelled, and modestly covers the limbs. the head is enveloped in linen, but the general form is seen, and the artist has contrived to convey by its position, though not offensively, that it is separated from the body. a gold circlet is round the neck, to conceal the place of decollation. (?) it is the statue of a lady, perfect in form, and affecting from the resemblance to reality in the drapery of white marble, and the unspotted appearance of the statue altogether. it lies as no living body could lie, and yet correctly, as the dead when left to expire-i mean in the gravitation of the limbs.' 146 statue of st. cecilia, in her church at rome it must be remembered that cecilia did not suffer decollation; that her head was not separated from the body; and the gold band is to conceal the wound in the neck: otherwise, this description of the statue agrees exactly with the description which cardinal baronius has given of the body of the saint when found in 1599. the ornaments round the shrine, of bronze and rare and precious marbles, are in the worst taste, and do not harmonise with the pathetic simplicity of the figure. at what period st. cecilia came to be regarded as the patron saint of music, and accompanied by the musical attributes, i cannot decide. it is certain that in the ancient devotional representations she is not so distinguished; nor in the old italian series of subjects from her life have i found any in which she is figured as singing, or playing upon instruments. st. cecilia. 589 147 the oldest representation of st. cecilia i have met with is a rude picture or drawing discovered on the wall of the catacomb called the cemetery of san lorenzo. it is a half-length, with the martyr's crown on her head, and her name inscribed.¹ c-maltial shrine of st. cecilia next to this is the colossal mosaic figure in the apsis of her church at rome. the composition is one of the most majestic of these grand devotional groups. in the centre stands the redeemer; the right hand, raised, gives the benediction in the greek manner; in the left he has a roll of writing: on his left hand stands st. peter with the keys, beyond him st. cecilia with a crown in her hand, and her husband st. valerian: on the right of christ is st. paul, and behind him st. agatha, with a crown on her head, and pope paschal i., by whom the edifice was dedicated. the date of this mosaic is about 817. the third in point of antiquity to which i can refer is an undoubted picture of cimabue, painted for the old church of st. cecilia at florence (now destroyed). she is here quite unlike all our conventional ideas of the youthful and beautiful patroness of music-a d'agincourt, pl. xi., sixth or seventh century. cc 2 590 sacred and legendary art. 148 caftel st. cecilia (cimabue. florence gal.) grand matronly figure seated on a throne, holding in one hand the gospel, in the other the palm. the head-dress is a kind of veil: the drapery, of a dark blue, which has turned greenish from age, is disposed with great breadth and simplicity: altogether it is as solemn and striking as the old mosaic. this picture stood over the high altar of her church, and around it are eight small compartments representing scenes from her life; the incidents selected being precisely those which were painted in the portico of her church at rome, and which in the time of cimabue existed entire. previous to the beginning of the fifteenth century st. cecilia is seldom seen with her musical instruments. she has generally, when grouped with other martyrs, the palm and the crown of red and white st. cecilia. 591 149 bw. st. cecilia (raphaei) roses, with occasionally an attendant angel. but st. dorothea has also the palm, the crown of roses, and the angel; it is therefore necessary to observe, first, that dorothea generally carries a book, while st. cecilia, when she has anything in her hand besides the palm, has a scroll of music; secondly, st. dorothea, besides the roses on her head, has frequently roses in her hand, or in a basket; thirdly, the angel attending on st. cecilia carries a garland, or some musical instrument, while the angel attending on st. dorothea carries fruit and flowers in a basket. when accompanied by her musical attributes, st. cecilia is easily distinguished; she is in general richly dressed, wearing jewels, or a turban on her head, when she does not wear her wreath of red and white roses,--the roses gathered in paradise: she holds the palm and music in her hand; an organ or some other musical instrument is placed near 592 sacred and legendary art. her. sometimes she is touching the organ, and singing to her own accompaniment; or she is playing on the viol; the attendant angel near her either holds the scroll or the palm, or he crowns her with roses. the most celebrated of the modern representations of st. cecilia, as patroness of music, is the picture by raphael, painted by him for the altar-piece of her chapel in the church of san giovanni-in-monte, near bologna. she stands in the centre, habited in a rich robe of golden tint, and her hair confined by a band of jewels. in her hand she bears a small organ,-but seems about to drop it as she looks up, listening with ecstatic expression to a group of angels, who are singing above. scattered and broken at her feet lie the instruments of secular music, the pipe, flute, tabor, &c. to the right of st. cecilia stands st. paul, leaning on his sword: behind him is st. john the evangelist, with the eagle at his feet: to the left, in front, the magdalene, as already described, and behind her st. augustine. raphael's original drawing, engraved by marc antonio, has always appeared to me preferable to the finished picture. the sketch (149) is from the simple beautiful figure of the st. cecilia. sir joshua reynolds has given us a parody of this famous picture, in his portrait of mrs. billington; but, instead of the organ, he has placed a music-book in her hands: a change which showed both his taste and his judgment, and lent to the borrowed figure an original significance.' we will turn now to a german st. cecilia. in the picture by l. v. leyden, in the munich gallery, she is standing, magnificently attired in a violet-coloured tunic, and over it a crimson mantle; her hair bound with a small jewelled turban; a little angel with frizzled hair, much like a wig, sustains a small organ, on which she plays with one hand, blowing the bellows with the other. the expression of the face as she listens, rapt, to her own sweet music-the odd but ¹ it gave occasion also to the happy compliment paid to the singer by haydn. what have you done?' said he to sir joshua, 'you have made her listening to the angels; you should have represented the angels listening to her!' " st. cecilia. 593 150 t wbone li st. cecilia (lucas v. leyden) r poetical conception-and the vivid splendour of the colouring, are very remarkable. the figure is about one-third the size of life (150). by moretto we have two beautiful representations of st. cecilia as patroness, attended by other saints. 1. she stands in the centre of the picture, holding the organ under her left arm; with the right she embraces st. lucia: on the other side stands st. barbara, gracefully leaning on her tower; st. agnes and st. agatha are seen behind, and the holy spirit descends upon the group from above. from this fine picture (in the san clemente at brescia) i give an etching. 2. in the picture in san giorgio at verona. here the composition is varied. st. cecilia is in the centre, crowned with roses, and attired in magnificent red drapery: she looks up with an expression of adoration; the organ and scrolls of music are at her feet. on the right 594 sacred and legendary art. are st. lucia looking down, and st. catherine looking up; on the left st. barbara, also looking up, and st. agnes with her lamb, looking down. both these pictures are full of character and expression; and here st. cecilia is not only patroness of music, but patron saint in a more general and exalted sense. sometimes a dramatic feeling has been given to these representations; for instance, where st. cecilia is playing to the virgin, and st. antony of padua is listening, as in a picture by garofalo. again, where st. cecilia is seated before an organ, attired in the rich florentine costume of the sixteenth century; near her stands st. catherine listening to the heavenly strains of her companion: as in a picture by giulio campi. in a composition by parmigiano she is playing on the spinet, which is held before her by two angels,-an idea which appears to have been borrowed by paul delaroche. domenichino was at rome on the occasion of the opening of the sarcophagus of st. cecilia in the reign of clement viii., and when the discovery of the relics entire had kindled the popular enthusiasm to an extraordinary degree: during the next half-century there were few artists who did not attempt a st. cecilia; but domenichino led the way. he painted six single figures of st. cecilia as patron saint. of these, one of the most beautiful is the half-length which represents her in rich drapery of violet and amber, crowned with red and white roses; an angel bearing her palm is seen behind, and an organ to the left; she holds a scroll of music in her hand.³ the noble air of the head, and the calm intellectual expression of the features, seem, however, better suited to a st. catherine than to a st. cecilia. she is here a great patron saint in the general sense, and the attributes serve to individualise her. in the picture in the louvre, an angel stands before her, holding open the music-book, from which she sings, accompanying herself on the viol. in the borghese picture she wears a magnificent jewelled turban, and is listening with an entranced expression to the song of invisible angels. ¹ when standing before this picture with a friend who had given more attention to physiology than to art, he was struck by the peculiar expression in the eyes of st. cecilia, which he said he had often remarked as characteristic of musicians by profession, or those devoted to music,-an expression of listening rather than seeing. 2 cremona. s. sigismondo. it was in the collection of mr. wells of red-leaf, and there is a fine engraving by sharp. st. cecilia. 595 151 33 xx 3332 d d & 23 2 st. cecilia (zurbaran) but, in expression, lord lansdowne's domenichino excels all the rest; and here st. cecilia combines the two characters of christian martyr and patroness of music. her tunic is of a deep red with white sleeves, and on her head she wears a kind of white turban, which, in the artless disposition of its folds, recalls the linen headdress in which her body was found, and no doubt was intended to imitate it. she holds the viol gracefully, and you almost hear the tender tones she draws from it; she looks up to heaven; her expression is not. ecstatic, as of one listening to the angels, but devout, tender, melancholy-as one who anticipated her fate, and was resigned to it; she is listening to her own song, and her song is, 'thy will be done!' vol. ii. 596 sacred and legendary art. the sketch after zurbaran will give an idea of the fantastic spanish manner of representing female saints in court dresses (151). i might cite many other beautiful examples of st. cecilia exhibited as patroness of music, but the subject is one which needs no interpretation. it is a frequent and appropriate decoration on the doors of organs. i remember an organ on the inner doors of which were painted, on one side st. gregory teaching the choristers, on the other st. cecilia singing with the angels. she is very seldom represented in devotional pictures as the virgin martyr only but i remember one striking example; it is in a picture by giulio procaccino. she leans back, dying, in the arms of an angel; her hands bound, her hair dishevelled; the countenance raised to heaven, full of tender enthusiastic faith: one angel draws the weapon from her breast; another, weeping, holds the palm and a wreath of roses. this picture was evidently painted for a particular locality, being on a high narrow panel, the figure larger than life, and the management of the space and the foreshortening very skilful and fine.¹ i know not any picture of st. cecilia sleeping, except alfred tennyson's :there, in a clear wall'd city on the sea, near gilded organ-pipes-her hair bound with white roses-slept st. cecily ;an angel looked at her! very charming!—but the roses brought from paradise should be red and white, symbolical of love and purity, for in paradise the two are inseparable, and purity without love as impossible as love without purity. there is a very lovely figure of st. cecilia by luini; she stands crowned with white roses and anemones, with the palm, and book, and organ-pipes at her feet.² detached scenes from the life of st. cecilia do not often occur. those generally selected are the angel crowning her and her husband,' and her martyrdom.' the first, which is a most attractive subject, i have never seen well 'milan, brera. 2 san maurizio, milan. st. cecilia. 597 treated; all the examples which have fallen under my notice are vapid or theatrical. there is one in the gallery of count harrach at vienna, a venetian picture of the cagliari school, which is interesting; the faces are like portraits. her martyrdom is represented in two ways; she is either exposed to the flames in her bath, or stabbed by the executioner. in the illuminated greek menology (ninth century), perhaps the oldest existing example, she is murdered in her bath; valerian and tiburtius lie headless on the ground. the bath is often in the form of a great caldron, with flames beneath, and sometimes we find the superscription (ps. lxvi. 12), per ignem et aquam, &c. we went through fire and through water, but thou broughtest us out into a wealthy place.' c there can be no doubt that the so-called 'martyrdom of st. felicità,' engraved after raphael by marc antonio, and one of his finest prints, is the martyrdom of st. cecilia, and that the two headless figures on the ground represent valerian and tiburtius. there exists a woodcut of the same composition, executed before the death of raphael (about 1517), inscribed 'the martyrdom of st. cecilia,' which seems to set the question at rest. in the later examples she is generally kneeling, and the executioner seizes her by the long hair and prepares to plunge his sword into her bosom; the organ is in the background, a violin and a book lie near her, and an angel descends from above with the wreath of roses as in a much-praised picture by riminaldi, painted for the chapel of st. cecilia at pisa.' the composition by poussin is very fine and dramatic. cecilia has received her death-wound, and is dying on the marble floor of her palace, supported in the arms of her women; st. urban and others stand by lamenting. here, as well as in domenichino's fresco, two women are occupied in wiping up the blood which flows from her wounds. the introduction of this disagreeable and superfluous incident may be accounted for by the tradition that the napkin stained with her blood was found in the catacombs at her feet. cecilia by lionello spada, in the san the martyrdom of st. florence, pitti pal, dd 2 598 sacred and legendary art. michele-in-bosco at bologna, is much praised by lanzi. she is exposed to the flames in her bath:con un fuoco cosí vero e vivace che in solo mirando rende calore. it is now scarcely visible. in the munich gallery is a half-length st. cecilia attributed to leonardo, but not by him; which rather reminded me, in dress and arrangement, of the giovanna d' arragona in the louvre. the life of st. cecilia treated as a series affords a number of beautiful and dramatic subjects. there are several examples, some of them famous in the history of art. the most ancient of which there is any mention, is, or. rather was, a set of frescoes painted in the portico of her church at rome, supposed to have been executed by byzantine painters in the ninth century by order of pope paschal i. these were utterly destroyed when the church was rebuilt in the seventeenth century, with the exception of one compartment; but correct copies had been previously made, which exist in the library of the barberini palace. the series comprises the following subjects:1. the marriage feast of valerian and st. cecilia. 2. st. cecilia seated in discourse with her husband. 3. valerian mounts his horse and goes to seek st. urban. 4. the baptism of valerian. 5. an angel crowns valerian and cecilia. 6. st. cecilia preaches to the guards. 7. she is exposed to the flames in her bath. 8. her martyrdom. 9. she is laid in the tomb. 10. she appears in a vision to pope paschal. the compartment containing the last two subjects remains entire, and is fixed against the wall in the interior of her church to the right of the high altar. pope paschal is seen asleep on his throne with his tiara on his head; the saint stands before him, and appears to be revealing the place of her burial in the catacombs; on the other side the same pope is seen with his attendants in the act of laying her body in the sarcophagus: the story is very expressively though artlessly told; the style greco-italian. it is worth remarking, that st. cecilia here wears a head-dress like a turban, and that when her body was found her head was bound in folds of cloth. as great st. cecilia. 599 attention was drawn to these remains just when domenichino and others of the caracci school were painting at rome, the idea may have been thus suggested of representing her in a sort of turban, as we see her in so many pictures of the seventeenth century. on each side of the figure of st. cecilia by cimabue (already described) are four small subjects from her life; the scenes selected are the same as in the old frescoes of pope paschal, but the treatment is widely different. 1. cecilia, seated at a banquet with three others, and five attendants, of whom two are playing on the tabor and pipe. 2. cecilia, seated on a couch, converses with her husband valerian, who stand re her. she is exhorting him to observe the vow she had made to heaven before her nuptial vow to him. 3. urban baptizes valerian. 4. an angel crowns cecilia and valerian. 5. cecilia converts tiburtius. 6. cecilia preaches to the people. 7. she is brought before the prefect. 8. she is put into the bath full of boiling water: three executioners surround her. francia, assisted by lorenzo costa, painted the life of st. cecilia in ten compartments round the walls of her chapel at bologna. the building is now desecrated, and forms a kind of public passage leading from one street to another. the only compartment in tolerable preservation is the scene of the marriage of st. cecilia and valerian, charming for simplicity and expression: she seems to shrink back reluctant, while her mother takes her hand and places it in that of valerian. in the same series, urban instructing valerian, and the alms of st. cecilia, both by lorenzo costa, are very beautiful. of the other compartments only a figure here and there can be made out. by pinturicchio there is a series of five small pictures from the life of st. cecilia in the berlin gallery. lastly, there is the series by domenichino, celebrated in the history of art. a short time after the discovery of the relics of st. cecilia, a chapel was dedicated to her in the church of san luigi at 600 sacred and legendary art. rome; and domenichino was employed to decorate it with the history of the saint. the story is told in five large compositions. 1. cecilia distributes her possessions to the poor. she is in the background standing on the terrace or balcony of her house, while a crowd of eager half-naked wretches are seen in the front; twentytwo figures in all. it is a rich dramatic composition, but the attention, instead of being concentrated on the benign saint, is distracted by the accessories, among which are two naughty boys quarrelling for a garment. this is surely a discord in point of sentiment. 2. an angel crowns with roses st. cecilia and valerian as they kneel on each side. 3. st. cecilia refuses to sacrifice to idols. 4. her martyrdom. she lies wounded to death on some marble steps;-her attitude very graceful and pathetic. st. urban looks on, pitying; two women are wiping up the blood. in all fifteen figures. on the ceiling of the chapel is the apotheosis of the saint. she is carried into heaven by angels. one bears the organ, others the sword, the palm, and the crown. on the whole, st. cecilia is not so frequent a subject of painting as we might have expected from the beauty and antiquity of her legend. she is seldom seen in the old french works of art: she has been a favourite with the roman and bolognese schools, but comparatively neglected by venetian, spanish, and german painters; and in point of general popularity she yields both to st. catherine and st. barbara.¹ st. agnes, virgin and martyr. lat. sancta agnes. ital. sant' aguese. spa. santa inez. fr. ste. agnès. (jan. 21, a.d. 304.) the legend of this illustrious virgin is one of the oldest in the christian church. it is also, in its main points, one of the most we have two churches in england dedicated to her: one at adstock, in bucks, and another at west bilney, in norfolk. st. agnes. 601 66 authentic. st. jerome, writing in the fourth century, informs us that, in his time, the fame of st. agnes was spread through all nations, and that homilies and hymns, and other effusions in prose and verse, had been written in her honour in all languages. her tender sex, her almost childish years, her beauty, innocence, and heroic defence of her chastity, the high antiquity of the veneration paid to her, have all combined to invest the person and character of st. agnes with a charm, an interest, a reality, to which the most sceptical are not wholly insensible. the legend does not tell us who were her parents, nor what their rank in life, but takes up her history abruptly. thus :there lived in the city of rome a maiden whose name was agnes (whether this name was her own, or given to her because of her lamblike meekness and innocence, does not seem clear). she was not more than thirteen years old, but was filled with all good gifts of the holy spirit, having loved and followed christ from her infancy, and was as distinguished for her gracious sweetness and humility as for her surpassing beauty. 'it chanced that the son of the prefect of rome beheld her one day as he rode through the city, and became violently enamoured, and desired to have her for his wife. he asked her in marriage of her parents, but the maiden repelled all his advances. then he brought rich presents, bracelets of gold and gems, and rare jewels and precious ornaments, and promised her all the delights of the world if she would consent to be his wife. but she rejected him and his gifts, saying, 'away from me, tempter! for i am already betrothed to a lover who is greater and fairer than any earthly suitor. to him i have pledged my faith, and he will crown me with jewels, compared to which thy gifts are dross. i have tasted of the milk and honey of his lips, and the music of his divine voice has sounded in mine ears: he is so fair that the sun and moon are ravished by his beauty, and so mighty that the angels of heaven are his servants!" 'on hearing these words, the son of the prefect was seized with such jealousy and rage, that he went to his home and fell upon his bed and became sick, almost to death; and when the physicians were called, they said to the father, "this youth is sick of unrequited love, and our art can avail nothing." then the prefect questioned his son, and the 602 sacred and legendary art. young man confessed, saying, "my father, unless thou procure me agnes to be my wife, i die." now the prefect, whose name was sempronius, tenderly loved his son; and he repaired, weeping, to agnes and to her parents, and besought them to accept his son: but agnes made the same answer as before, and the prefect was angered to think that another should be preferred before his son, and he inquired of the neighbours to what great prince agnes was betrothed? and one said, and one said, "knowest thou not that agnes has been a christian from her infancy upwards, and the husband of whom she speaks is no other than jesus christ? " when the prefect heard this he rejoiced greatly, for an edict had gone forth against the christians, and he knew that she was in his power. he sent for her, therefore, and said, "since thou art so resolved against an earthly husband, thou shalt enter the service of the goddess vesta." to which agnes replied with disdain, "thinkest thou that i, who would not listen to thy son, who yet is a man, and can hear and see, and move and speak, will bow down to vain images, which are but insensible wood and stone, or, which is worse, to the demons who inhabit them?" 6 when sempronius heard these words he fell into a fury; he threatened her with death in the most hideous forms; he loaded her tender limbs with chains; and ordered her to be dragged before the altars of the gods; but she remained firm. and as neither temptation nor the fear of death could prevail, he thought of other means to vanquish her resistance; he ordered her to be carried by force to a place of infamy, and exposed to the most degrading outrages. the soldiers, who dragged her thither, stripped her of her garments; and when she saw herself thus exposed, she bent down her head in meek shame and prayed; and immediately her hair, which was already long and abundant, became like a veil, covering her whole person from head to foot; and those who looked upon her were seized with awe and fear as of something sacred, and dared not lift their eyes. so they shut her up in a chamber, and she prayed that the limbs that had been consecrated to jesus christ should not be dishonoured. and suddenly she saw before her a white and shining garment, with which she clothed herself joyfully, praising god, and saying, "i thank thee, o lord, that i am found worthy to put on the garment of thy elect!" st. agnes. g03 and the whole place was filled with miraculous light, brighter than the sun at noonday. 'but meantime the young sempronius thought within himself, "now is this proud maiden subdued to my will." so he came into the chamber; but the moment he approached her he was struck with blindness, and fell down in convulsions, and was carried forth as one dead. his father and his mother and all his relations ran thither, weeping and lamenting, until agnes, melted to compassion by their tears, and moved by that spirit of charity which became the espoused of christ, prayed that he might be restored to health; and her prayer was granted. "when sempronius saw this great miracle, he would fain have saved st. agnes; but the people, instigated by the priests, cried out, "this is a sorceress and a witch, who kills men with a look and restores them to life with a word;-let her die!" and the tumult increased. so the prefect, being afraid, sent one of his deputies to judge the maiden. 'as the people persisted in their clamorous cries against her, and as she openly and boldly professed herself a christian, the deputy ordered a pile of faggots to be heaped together, and a fire to be kindled, and they threw agnes into the midst; but when they looked to see her consumed, behold the flames were suddenly extinguished, and she stood unharmed, while the executioners around were slain by the force of the fire, which had had no power over her. 'but the people and the idolatrous priests, instead of seeing in this miracle the hand of god, cried out the more, "she is a sorceress, and must die!" then agnes, raising her hands and her eyes to heaven, thanked and blessed the lord, who had thus openly asserted his power and defended her innocence; but the wicked deputy, incited by the tumult of the people, and fearing for himself, commanded one of the executioners to ascend the pile and end her with the sword; which was done and she, looking steadfastly up to heaven, yielded up her pure spirit, and fell bathed in her blood. 'her parents and her relatives took her body and carried it, weeping and singing hymns, to the cemetery outside the city, on the via nomentana; and there they laid her in a tomb. and day and night the christians assembled in that place to offer up their devotions. vol. ii. ee 604 sacred and legendary art. and it happened that on a certain day, as her parents with many others were praying by her sepulchre, st. agnes herself appeared before them, all radiant of aspect; by her side was a lamb, whiter than the driven snow. and she said, "weep not, dry your tears, and rejoice with exceeding joy; for me a throne is prepared by the side of him whom on earth i preferred to all others, and to whom i am united for ever in heaven." and having said these words she vanished. then the christian mourners wiped away their tears, and returned to their houses with joy and thanksgiving.' st. agnes is the favourite saint of the roman women: the traditional reverence paid to her memory has been kept alive even to this hour by their local associations, and by the two famous churches at rome bearing her name, one within and one without the walls. the first stands on the west side of the piazza navona; on the very spot where stood the house of infamy to which she was dragged by the soldiers. the chamber which, for her preservation, was filled with heavenly light, has become, from the change of level all over rome, as well as the position of the church, a subterranean cell, and is now a chapel of peculiar sanctity, into which you descend by torchlight. the floor retains the old mosaic, and over the altar is a basrelief, representing st. agnes, with clasped hands, and covered only by her long tresses, while two ferocious soldiers drive her before them. the upper church, as a piece of architecture, is beautiful, and rich in precious marbles and antique columns. the works of art are all mediocre, and of the seventeenth century, but the statue over her altar has considerable elegance. often have i seen the steps of this church, and the church itself, so crowded with kneeling worshippers at matins and vespers that i could not make my way among them ;-principally the women of the lower orders, with their distaffs and market-baskets, who had come there to pray, through the intercession of the patron saint, for the gifts of meekness and chastity -gifts not abounding in those regions. the other church of st. agnes-the sant' agnese beyond the porta pia-is yet more interesting. according to the old tradition, it was erected by constantine the great at the earnest request of his daughter constantia, only a few years after the death of agnes, and to commemorate the spot in which she was laid. this has been st. agnes. 605 controverted, but it remains certain that the church was in 625 an ancient edifice, and at that time restored. notwithstanding many subsequent renovations, it retains its antique form and most of its antique decorations, and is certainly one of the most remarkable and venerable of the old churches of rome. so deep below the present level of the soil is the floor of the church, that we have to descend into it by a flight of marble steps. the statue of the saint, of bronze and oriental alabaster, stands over the high altar; beneath it is the sarcophagus, containing her remains -more authentic than such relics usually are. the mosaic in the apsis (a.d. 625-638) represents her standing, crowned, and holding a book in her hand, in the byzantine manner. out of the earth spring flowers, and a sword lies at her feet; both in allusion to her martyrdom. on the right is pope honorius, holding the church; and on the other side, pope symmachus, holding a book. so ancient is the worship paid to st. agnes, that, next to the evangelists and apostles, there is no saint whose effigy is older. it is found on the ancient glass and earthenware vessels used by the christians in the early part of the third century, with her name inscribed, which leaves no doubt of her identity. but neither in these images, nor in the mosaic, is the lamb introduced, which in later times has become her inseparable attribute, as the patroness of maidens and maidenly modesty. she bears the palm as martyr,-seldom the book. i have seen her holding a branch of olive together with the palm, and sometimes crowned with olive. 5.w 152 st. agnes crowned with olive (m. schoen) ee 2 606 sacred and legendary art. 153 st. agnes (andrea del sarto) as her effigies are not easily mistaken, and abound in every form and every school of art, i shall confine myself to a few celebrated examples. 1. she is often looking down meekly, as in a beautiful and rare engraving by martin schoen (152). 2. as martyr. she is seated, partly veiled, holding her palm in the right hand, with the other embracing her lamb, and looking up with a mild trusting faith; the drapery amber and violet: as in a picture by andrea del sarto in the duomo at pisa. it is the head of his beautiful but worthless wife, more idealised than usual. this sketch will show the attitude, but it is the colour and expression which render the picture enchanting (153). 3. as martyr, she presents her palm to christ; as in a picture by titian in the louvre. 4. as patroness of maidenhood, she presents a nun to the madonna; as in a lovely picture by paul veronese.' 1 venice acad. st. agnes. 607 5. in the altar-piece by domenichino at windsor, she stands leaning on a pedestal, in the likeness of a young girl of about twelve or thirteen, magnificently attired, and her long hair confined by a tiara; her hands are joined in supplication, yet she looks up to heaven as one trusting and assured; at her side an angel caresses a lamb; another angel descends from above with the palm:-a splendid picture, well remembered by all who have visited the windsor collection, and universally known by the famous engraving of strange. i do not admire it, however;-it is not in character; it is too regal, too sumptuous, too triumphant; and the portrait-like head, and rather heavy figure, deficient altogether in ideal sanctity and elevation. there is a tradition that it is the portrait of the artist's daughter. domenichino professed an especial veneration for st. agnes, and was often called upon to paint her. besides the single figure at windsor, he painted for her church at bologna the famous martyrdom which is now in the gallery there. the saint kneels upon the pile of faggots; the fire has just been extinguished by divine interposition; two of the executioners lie prostrate on the ground; a third has seized her hair, and, drawing back her head, plunges the sword into her bosom : there are several spectators, and among them the usual group of the frightened women and children. above, the heavens open in glory, and christ delivers to an angel the palm and crown which are to recompense the martyr. this picture, which has always been reckoned amongst the most celebrated productions of the bologna school, as a masterpiece of dramatic arrangement and expression, is to me sovereignly displeasing. in the first place, there is something not only shocking, but positively unnatural, in the stupid, brutal indifference with which the executioner slaughters the young and beautiful saint. it is a murder, and not a martyrdom, which we see before us;-the women who look on ought to fly, or hide their faces, from such a spectacle. to complete the discordant feeling, and in contrast with the cold-blooded horror of the lower part of the picture, we behold a chorus of angels piping and fiddling up in the sky, with the most unsympathising self-complacency. the martyrdom of st. agnes, by tintoretto, in the s. maria dell' orto at venice, is treated like a theatrical scene: there is a flight of 608 sacred and legendary art. steps, on which are a number of spectators, and on the summit is the saint, kneeling, attired in virgin white, and prepared to receive the stroke of the executioner. the same subject by joanes, at madrid, 'contains some beautiful raphaelesque heads.' i know not how the action is represented. with st. agnes is sometimes introduced her friend and foster-sister ermentiana, who was stoned because she reproved the pagans for their barbarity. other subjects from the life of st. agnes must occur rarely. i remember but one: she restores the son of sempronius to life. the vision of the glorified saint to the christian mourners appears to me capable of the most beautiful treatment, but i have not met with one example. it is generally as the patron saint of innocence, or as the virgin martyr, that st. agnes is brought before us.' richardson describes a picture of a young saint kneeling, and protected from violence by the apparition of an angel, who fills the whole chamber with light. he calls the subject st. cecilia, but it is evidently st. agnes. in his time this picture was in the borghese palace, and attributed to correggio. i have no recollection of such a picture. st. agatha, virgin and martyr. lat. sancta agatha. fr. sainte agathe. ital. santa agata. ger. die heilige agatha. patroness against fire, and all diseases of the breast. patroness of malta and of catania. (feb. 5, a.d. 251.) " there dwelt in the city of catania, in sicily, a certain christian maiden whose name was agatha. in those days reigned the emperor decius, who had strangled his predecessor philip; and, to make it believed by all that he had put him to death out of great zeal and for being a christian, not from motives of ambition, this decius sent his emissaries throughout the empire to oppress and persecute the christians, and many were put to death. and to sicily decius sent his creature quintianus, and made him king over the whole island. not long had quintianus reigned in sicily when he heard of the great we have only two churches in england dedicated in her name. st. agatha. 609 beauty and perfection of the maiden agatha, and he sent to have her brought before him; and he tempted her with rich presents, and flatteries, and promises, but she rejected all with disdain. then quintianus sent for a courtesan, named frondisia, who had nine daughters, more wicked and abandoned than herself, and he delivered agatha into their hands, and he said, "subdue this damsel to my will, and i will give ye great riches." then frondisia took agatha home to her house, and kept her there for thirty-three days, and tempted her with great promises, and flattered and cajoled her; and seeing this availed not, they persecuted her day and night: but her heart was fixed as a rock in the faith of jesus christ, and all their promises and all their threats were as the empty air. at the end of thirty-three days, frondisia returned to quintianus, and said to him, "sooner shall that sword at thy side become like liquid lead, and the rocks dissolve and flow like water, than the heart of this damsel be subdued to thy will." then quintianus in a fury commanded her to be brought to him, and said, "who, and what art thou, audacious girl?" and agatha replied, "i am a free woman, and the servant of jesus christ." and he said, "dost thou call thyself free who art constrained to serve ?" and she said, "i am the handmaid of christ, whom to serve is perfect freedom." then quintianus said, "abjure thy master, and serve our gods, or i will have thee tortured." to which st. agatha replied, "if thou shouldest throw me to the wild beasts, the power of christ would render them meek as lambs; if thou shouldest kindle a fire to consume me, the angels would quench it with dews from heaven; if thou shouldest tear me with scourges, the holy spirit within me would render thy tortures harmless." then this accursed tyrant ordered st. agatha to be bound and beaten with rods; and he commanded two of his slaves to tear her tender bosom cruelly with iron shears; and as her blood flowed forth, she said to him, "o thou tyrant! shamest thou not to treat me so-thou who hast been nourished and fed from the breast of a mother?" and this was her only plaint. then she was carried from the place of torture into a dark dungeon. and about midnight there came to her a man of a fair and venerable aspect, carrying in his hand a vase of ointment, and before him walked a youth bearing a waxen torch: it was the holy apostle peter, and the youth was one of the angels of god; 610 sacred and legendary art. but st. agatha knew it not, and such a glorious light filled the prison that the guards were seized with terror, and fled, leaving the door open. then came one to st. agatha, and cried, "arise and fly!" but she said, "god forbid that i should fly from my crown of martyrdom, and be the occasion that my keepers should suffer, for my flight, tortures and death: i will not fly!" then st. peter said to her, "i am come to heal thee, o my daughter!" but she drew her veil more closely over her wounded bosom, and replied with virgin modesty, "if it be the will of my saviour christ that i should be healed, he will himself heal me." st. peter answered, "fear not, for christ has sent me to minister to thee!" so he ministered to her, restoring with celestial medicines her mutilated bosom, and her body torn with stripes; and when he had done so, he vanished, and st. agatha knelt and blessed the power of christ, who had visited her with this great mercy. the rage and fury of quintianus not being appeased, he sent again to have her brought before him, and being astonished to behold her restored, he said, "who hath healed thee?" she replied, "he, whom i confess and adore with my heart and with my lips, hath sent his apostle and healed me and delivered me!" then quintianus ordered a great fire to be kindled, and they bound the holy maiden hand and foot and flung her upon it; and in that moment a terrible earthquake ensued, which made the city quake, and the people ran armed to the palace, and cried out, "this has fallen upon us because of the sufferings of this christian damsel! and they threatened, that if quintianus did not desist from tormenting her they would burn him in his palace with all his family. so quintianus ordered her to be taken from the flames, and again cast into the dungeon, scorched and in miserable pain; and she prayed that, having thus far suffered and proved her faith, she might be permitted to see the glory of god; which prayer was heard, for her pure spirit immediately departed and ascended to eternal glory. the christians who dwelt in catania came to the prison and carried away her sacred remains, and embalmed them, and buried her with great devotion in a tomb of porphyry. 'now you shall know that nigh to the city of catania in sicily there is a huge mountain, and on the summit a vast gaping chasm, whence are vomited fire and smoke: the blessed st. gregory saith در st. agatha. 611 that it is one of the mouths of hell, but the people call it mongibello (mount etna). in about a year after the martyrdom of st. agatha, this mountain opened itself, and there flowed forth a stream of fire, consuming all before it; and the inhabitants of the city of catania, men and women, christians and pagans, fled for refuge to the tomb of the martyr agatha, and taking her silken veil, which lay upon it, they fixed it on the top of a lance, and went forth in long procession to meet the torrent of fire, which had already reached the walls of the city; but it pleased god that by the virtue of this sacred relic the fire was turned aside, and the mountain ceased to bellow, and there was calm. on beholding this great miracle, all the heathens who dwelt in the city were converted to the faith of christ, and received baptism.'' vol. ii. when represented as patron saint, either as a single figure or grouped with other saints, st. agatha bears in one hand the palm, in the other a dish or salver, on which is the female breast, in allusion to her martyrdom: if she wear the crown, as in some early representations, it is the crown of the bride and martyr of christ. the shears, the instrument of her cruel martyrdom, are sometimes in her hand, or beside her. she generally wears a long veil, in allusion to her legend. the expression should be that of majesty as well as modesty. over the high altar of her church at brescia is a large picture by calisto da lodi, representing st. agatha suspended on a cross. she is dressed in a dark olive-green tunic; the attitude fine and simple; and the expression of complete but dying resignation in the head most lovely; the manner of her suffering 154 st. agatha (intarsiatura, indicated by a few spots of blood on her bosom, which, however, is delicately veiled. at the foot of the cross 'legende delle ss. vergini. malta. fifteenth century) f f 612 sacred and legendary art. stand st. peter, st. paul, and two martyr virgins-i think st. lucia and st. barbara. the atrocious subject of her martyrdom has been seldom represented, and is rarely seen exhibited in any church, perhaps because of the effect it is likely to produce on the feelings and fancies of women. in spite of all possible discretion on the part of the painter, and every attempt to soften the circumstances, they remain in the highest degree horrible and revolting. she is usually bound to a pillar (in the early representations always to a cross), undraped to the waist, and on each side a slave or executioner with a pair of shears. the most famous picture of this subject is that of sebastian del piombo, painted for the cardinal of aragon, and now in the pitti palace, on which are lavished wonderful powers of expression and colour-as it is said-for i never could look at it steadily. vandyck also has treated it with horrible force and truth, and to both these painters one might address the reproach which st. agatha addressed to her tormentor. in some pictures she is merely bound and preparing for the torture, the bosom bared, and the eyes uplifted with an expression of devout faith and resignation: as in the noble fresco by parmigiano, and in two other compositions by campi and by tiepolo. in the duomo at verona, there is an altar in marble dedicated to st. agatha. at the top she is on a cross, suffering her cruel martyrdom, an executioner with the shears on each side; beneath she lies in the tomb, with her long veil gracefully thrown over her; the whole treated with singular elegance and good taste, and more endurable in sculpture than in painting. 'st. peter healing st. agatha in prison' is a subject sometimes met with. the scene is a dungeon; st. agatha lies extended on the ground, her drapery drawn over her bosom. the apostle, a venerable man with a long white beard, bends over her, a vase of ointment in his hand, and beside him a box like a medicine-chest, containing vials, &c.; a youth (or an angel) bears a torch. this is the obvious and usual treatment, slightly varied; and it would be a beautiful subject if the associations were less intensely painful. the fine head by domenichino, in the collection of lord ellesmere, called a st. agatha, i believe to be domenichino's favourite patroness, st. agnes, whose bosom was transfixed by a sword. st. lucia. 613 among the remains of art relative to st. agatha may be mentioned the subterranean chapel at malta. according to a tradition of the island, the ground once belonged to her family: it is carved out of the living rock, and the walls covered with frescoes, containing at least twenty-four figures nearly life-size; most of them have peeled off the surface, but those which remain are of extraordinary beauty. the style is that of the early tuscan school; the date, about the middle. of the fifteenth century. st. lucia, virgin and martyr. eng. st. luce, or lucy. fr. ste. luce, or lucie. patroness of the city of syracuse. patroness against all diseases of the eyes; and patron saint of the labouring poor. (dec. 13, a.d. 303.) when the wicked diocletian, and the yet more wicked maximian, ascended the throne of the empire, they sent as governor to sicily one of their creatures, a man sold to all evil, named pascasius. at that time there lived in the city of syracuse a noble and virtuous damsel, whose name was lucia; her mother being a widow, named eutychia. lucia, who had been early instructed in christianity, secretly dedicated her maidenhood to jesus christ; but her mother did not know it, and, at the age of fourteen, lucia was betrothed by her relations to a youth of the same city, noble and of great riches; but he was a pagan. 'now it happened that the mother of lucia had long suffered from a grievous disorder, and her daughter counselled her to make a pilgrimage to the tomb of the glorious virgin st. agatha, assuring her that by her intercession, and the power of christ, she would certainly be restored to health. accordingly they journeyed together to the city of catania, and while praying fervently beside the tomb, for the restoration of her mother, lucia beheld in a vision the martyr st. agatha, who appeared to her, surrounded by a choir of angels, clad in precious stones, and brighter than the sun, and said, "o my sister-handmaid of christ! well art thou called lucia, who art indeed a light and a mirror to the faithful! what dost thou ask of me ff 2 614 sacred and legendary art. 99 which shall not be granted to thine own faith and sanctity? behold! thy mother is from this hour healed; and as the city of catania has been through me defended, so shall the city of syracuse be for thy sake favoured and protected of heaven." when lucia heard these words, she awoke from her vision with great joy, and found her mother healed; and she persuaded her mother to allow her to remain unmarried, and moreover entreated that her dowry might be given to the poor. her mother was troubled at this request; but she answered, "my child, i am content; do with all my possessions as thou wilt, only let me die first, lest during my lifetime i become a beggar.' whereupon lucia smiled, and said, "of a certainty, o my mother, god hath little care for that which a man dedicates to his service only when he can no longer enjoy it himself. what doth it profit to leave behind that which we cannot carry away?" then her mother, being struck with these words, said, "do as thou wilt, my daughter." so lucia sold all their possessions, and gave the money to the poor and the sick, and the widows and the orphans. and when the young man to whom she was betrothed st. lucia with her lamp saw this, he was enraged, and he went and denounced her to the governor as being a christian: so pascasius ordered her to be brought before him, and commanded her to sacrifice to his idols; and when she refused, he ordered her to be carried to a place of shame, and treated with indignity, and humbled to his will. and she said, "my body is in thy power; but know, that there can be neither sin nor shame to which the mind doth not consent. if thou shouldst cut off mine hand and with it offer incense to thine idols, god would not impute it to me as sin. thou mayst not force my will, for that is beyond thy power." then pascasius, in his fury, commanded that they should drag her away; but, behold a miracle-for when these bold and wicked and shameless men advanced to seize her, she became suddenly, by the power of god, immovable. they brought ropes, fastening them to her waist, her arms, progre 155 st. lucia. 615 and legs; and men and oxen pulled with all their might, but in vain ; the more they pulled, the more firmly she stood there. then pascasius sent for the magicians and enchanters; but they also failed, with all their spells and enchantments, to move her from the spot. then he ordered a great fire to be kindled around her; but she prayed that the fire might not harm her, and that the enemies of christ might be confounded. pascasius, seeing that she was not destroyed by these means, became more and more furious; whereupon one of his servants, to do him pleasure, pierced her throat with a sword or poniard. thus she died, and the christians took her body and buried it exactly on the very spot where she had suffered martyrdom. there a church was erected soon afterwards, and called by her most blessed name.' there is no mention here, nor in any of the oldest legends, of the loss of her eyes. the device of some of the early painters, to express her name, lucia, light, by the emblem of an eye or eyes placed near her, seems to have given rise to the invention of this additional incident in her story: a signal instance of that conversion of the image or metaphor into a fact, which i have so often had occasion to notice. the story in the more modern legend is thus related :— 6 in the city wherein the blessed lucia dwelt, there dwelt also a youth, who, having once beheld her, became enamoured of her beauty, and, by messages and promises and gifts, he ceased not to woo her; but lucia, being a christian and fearing god, resisted all these attacks on her virtue. now this youth, in his letters and his tender speeches, was accustomed to protest that it was the brightness of her eyes which inflamed him, and that it was for the sake of those beautiful eyes he pursued her, leaving her no rest, because those eyes left him no rest, by day or by night. lucia, considering these things, and calling to mind the words of christ, "if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee," and fearing lest her eyes should be the cause of damnation to the young man, and perhaps also to herself, called for a knife and took out her beautiful eyes, and sent them to her lover in a dish, with these words: "here hast thou what thou hast so much desired; and for the rest, i beseech thee, leave me now in peace." whereat the young man, being utterly 616 sacred and legendary art. 156 st. lucia (crivelli) astonished, and full of grief and remorse, not only ceased his pursuit, but became also a convert of christ, and lived ever afterwards an example of virtue and chastity. but god would not suffer that the blessed lucia, having given this proof of her courage and piety, should remain blind for one day, as she knelt in prayer, behold! her eyes were restored to her more beautiful than before. and if any one doubts of this great miracle, let him consult the writings of that learned and praiseworthy man filippo bergomense, and also of that famous spaniard don juan st. lucia. 617 157 bricol st. lucia. garofalo (capitol, rome) maldonato, where they will find it all set down as i have related. and this is the reason that st. lucia is invoked against blindness and all diseases of the eyes, and that in her effigy she is represented bearing two eyes in a dish."¹ there is a version of her legend which represents her as having there are only two churches dedicated to her in england; at dumbleby, in lincolnshire, and great upton, in shropshire. 618 sacred and legendary art. 158 74 st. lucia with the poniard (angelico da fiesole. siena acad.) suffered martyrdom by the loss of her eyes, and this has sometimes been followed by the painters; but it is no authority. devotional pictures of st. lucia bearing her eyes in a dish, or on a salver, are commonly met with. as her eyes were bored out by an awl, she often carries this instrument in her hand: i have seen her with her two eyes on it as on a skewer; but this is utterly bad taste: neither are the eyes an invariable attribute; much more beautiful, and far superior in significance and feeling, are those figures which represent her as carrying a flaming lamp in her hand (155). when she stands with her lamp, she appears in the character st. lucia. 619 she given to her by dante--the type of celestial light or wisdom.' is thus represented in a graceful bas-relief, by luca della robbia, over the door of her church at florence. in an altar-piece within the same church she stands on one side of the madonna, with her eyes in a dish ;-this picture is remarkable and interesting, as being the only undoubted production of domenico veneziano, who was assassinated by andrea del castagno. f. angelico represents her with her lamp, beautiful, fair-haired, and in pale-green drapery. in a picture by baroccio, st. lucia presents her palm to the madonna, while an angel holds her eyes in a cup, and st. antony is in deep meditation.2 she has sometimes a sword or poniard in her neck; or a wound in her neck, from which rays of light proceed, in allusion to her name; as in a picture by carlo dolce in the florence gallery. i have not found in the old masters any characteristic type of expression. pictures from her history are not commonly met with. in her martyrdom she is seen with ropes about her waist, her neck, her arms; men and oxen are tugging with all their might in vain: as in the ancient fresco at padua, where her air and attitude, so expressive of meek confidence, are charming. or she is bound to a stake, and a soldier is about to pierce her neck with a sword: as in a picture by massarotti, in her church at cremona; and in a picture by pesellino, where the tyrant orders her execution, and the executioner pierces her neck with a poniard.3 poniard. in her apotheosis, she is borne into heaven in a glory of angels, one of whom carries her eyes as in a picture by palma in her church at venice.¹ in looking back to the legends of these famous virgin martyrs, we cannot but feel that they rise up in the fancy with a distinct individuality, which has not always-indeed but seldom-been attended as in the picture of st. john chrysostom described at pp. 327, 328, vol. i. 2 louvre, 864. 3 berlin gal. 64. the german patroness of eyes is st. ottilia, a princess who was born blind, and became abbess of hohenberg in the eighth century. she will be found among the monastic saints. in several german catalogues i have seen the st. lucia of the italian pictures styled st. ottilia, who was an abbess, and not a martyr. vol. ii. g g 620 sacred and legendary art. to by the best painters: in general, when grouped together, they are too much alike; and in the separate figures, the old painters give us certain abstractions of feminine purity and grace, without much regard to characteristic discrimination. in st. cecilia, the roman lady and the muse, we should have majesty and a rapt inspiration; the eyes should listen rather than look. the expression in st. agnes should be extreme simplicity and meekness, and the girlhood should not be forgotten: she may look down. in st. agatha, the character should be a noble fortitude, with a look, perhaps, of trustful supplication for the power to endure. in st. lucia should prevail a calm intellectual expression; with eyes as beautiful and refulgent as possible: she is the type-not of learning and knowledge, for this is st. catherine's department—but of wisdom, the wisdom from above,' which is pure and gentle. thus dante has introduced her as the messenger from the virgin to beatricelucia, nimica di ciascun crudele,— c the gentleness, and the occhi belli, lucenti,' not being forgotten.' inf. c. ii. purg. ix. par. xxxii. 159 ytt } the roman martyrs. 621 the roman martyrs. the following martyrs are to be found most frequently in the roman churches and works of art. many of them are exclusively roman: they are, in fact, merely local saints. but at rome local influences fill the mind, as rome itself once filled the universe. the effect produced upon the fancy by the remains of early christian art, still existing within the walls of rome, will vary of course with the character, turn of mind, and early associations of those who visit them; but to none can they be wholly indifferent, and on many they will leave a profound and even melancholy impression. whether contemplated in connection with religious feeling, or religious history, they are full of interest. for myself, i must say that i know nothing to compare with a pilgrimage among the antique churches scattered over the esquiline, the cælian, and the aventine hills. they stand apart, each in its solitude, amid gardens and vineyards, and heaps of nameless ruins ; -here a group of cypresses, there a lofty pine or solitary palm; the tutelary saint, perhaps some sant' achilleo, or santa bibiana, whom we never heard of before-an altar rich in precious marbles-columns of porphyry-the old frescoes dropping from the walls-the everlasting colossal mosaics looking down so solemn, so dim, so spectral ;— these grow upon us, until at each succeeding visit they themselves, and the associations with which they are surrounded, become a part of our daily life, and may be said to hallow that daily life when considered in a right spirit. true, what is most sacred, what is most poetical, is often desecrated to the fancy by the intrusion of those prosaic realities which easily strike prosaic minds; by disgust at the foolish fabrications which those who recite them do not believe, by lying inscriptions, by tawdry pictures, by tasteless and even profane restorations;-by much that saddens, much that offends, much that disappoints; but then so much remains!-so much to awaken, to elevate, to touch the heart-so much that will not from the memory, so much that makes a part of our after life. gg 2 €22 sacred and legendary art. the pleasure and the interest that i had in connecting these venerable and desolate old churches with the traditions of the early faith, i would now share with others. and first, in that hollow at the foot of the esquiline, and near to the santa maria maggiore, we come upon two ancient churches, dedicated to two charitable sisters; one of which is considered as the first building ever consecrated publicly for christian worship,-in other words, as the most ancient church in the known world. st. praxedes and st. pudentiana. ital. santa prassede e santa pudenziana. fr. sainte prassède et sainte potentienne. (july 21, may 19, a.d. 148.) : it is related, that when st. peter came to rome, he lodged in the house of a patrician whose name was pudens, and that, in a short space of time, this pudens, with his wife sabinella, his son novatus, and his two daughters, praxedes and pudentiana, were converted to the faith, and baptized soon afterwards, their parents and brothers being dead, the sisters were left alone, inheriting great riches, among which were certain public baths, and several houses at the foot of the esquiline. at this time began the first great persecution of the church, in which st. peter and many saints perished. and these two sisters, praxedes and pudentiana, went about aiding, and comforting, and encouraging their poorer brethren. they sought out those. who had been tortured and mutilated, received them into their houses, and ministered to them; they visited those who were in prison, sending them food and clothing. such works of mercy as tenderly-nurtured women shrink from, they performed fearlessly; the bodies of the martyred christians, which were cast out in numbers without burial, they sought for, and reverently washed and shrouded, and laid in the caves beneath their house; and the blood they collected with a sponge, and deposited in a certain well. in all these things they were assisted by a certain holy man named pastorus, who waited upon them with exceeding devotion. thus they passed their lives in works of piety, daily braving, for the sake of their suffering brethren, the power of the tyrant, and the terrors of the law, yet by st. praxedes and st. pudentiana. 623 some miracle escaping the fate to which they were ever exposed: at length they died, after distributing all their remaining goods to the poor, and were buried in the cemetery of priscilla. pastorus, who survived them, wrote a brief chronicle of their virtues. the house of pudens, already sanctified by the preaching of peter and by the good works of the two holy sisters, was consecrated as a place of christian worship by pope pius i. in the year 141. 1 their churches are among the most interesting relics of ancient christian rome. that of santa prassede is remarkable for the poetical significance and richness of the mosaics executed by order of pope paschal i. about the year 817, when he restored the then ancient and ruined church. the decoration of the apsis nearly resembles that of the church of st. cosmo and st. damian. the saviour, a majestic colossal figure, stands in the midst, one hand extended, the other holding the gospel as a roll. on the right, st. peter presenting st. praxedes; on the left, st. paul presenting st. pudentiana : the two saints are richly draped, and bear crowns of offering in their hands. farther to the left is seen st. zeno holding the book of the gospel; last, on the right, is pope paschal, the restorer of the edifice, bearing a church in his hands, and with the square nimbus over his head, denoting that he still existed at the time, and had not the dignity of saint. palms close the composition on each side: on one of them sits the phoenix, emblem of immortality; beneath this, and running round the apsis, are seen christ as the lamb, and the twelve apostles as sheep, in the usual manner. in front of the arch, over the tribune, we have the lamb of god throned, and the glorification of the martyrs as described in the revelation. lower down, the elders bearing crowns in their hands; and in front of the arch, over the choir, the same motif continued. the heavenly jerusalem is seen above, guarded by angels, christ standing in the midst: the blessed company of saints and martyrs are seen in multitudes, on each side; some bearing crowns and some palms; all assisting, as it were, as witnesses of the exaltation of the two pious and devoted sisters, who had been their refuge on earth. this st. zeno is not the bishop of verona, who will be found among the bishops, but one of the many martyrs who suffered in the time of st. praxedes, and to whom she and her sister ministered. catalogus sanctorum italiæ, julii ix. €24 sacred and legendary art. in the same church are some bad modern frescoes representing pudens and sabinella, and in the centre is the well which received the blood of the martyrs. they show among the relics in the sacristy the holy sponge of st. praxedes, in a silver shrine, remarkable for its execrable taste and bad workmanship. the church of st. pudentiana-the more ancient of the two-is even more curious and interesting, though the mosaic decorations are less rich. the mosaic of the apsis represents christ in the midst, and on each side st. praxedes and st. pudentiana bearing martyr crowns in their hands, in gold and green drapery, and, as far as i could understand, presenting each five martyrs in white garments to the saviour. the modern altar-piece, by pomerancio, exhibits the two sisters wiping up the blood of the martyrs; one squeezes the sponge into a cup; the priest assisting represents pastorus. above, in a glory, is the apotheosis of st. pudentiana. in the gaetina chapel, on the left, there is a fine modern mosaic after the cartoon of frederic zucchero, representing again the two sisters wiping up the blood of the slaughtered saints. there is here another well, containing, as it is said, the relics of 3,000 martyrs; and a modern picture, representing st. peter baptizing pudens and his family. elsewhere i have not met with any picture of these earliest sisters of charity. i have seen a print bearing the name of correggio, representing a beautiful female saint with flowing hair and a veil ; a cup in one hand, and in the other a sponge distilling drops of blood; underneath is inscribed, ste potentienne. of st. praxedes i have never met with any separate representation. there is an altar dedicated to her in the cathedral at milan, which perplexed me. till i recollected that st. charles borromeo was cardinal of santa prassede.¹ on the other side of the esquiline, and on the road leading from the colosseum to the lateran, surmounting a heap of sand and ruins, we come to the church of the quattro-coronati,' the four crowned brothers. on this spot, some time in the fourth century, 6 see the monastic legends.' ( the 625 " quattro-coronati.' were found the bodies of four men who had suffered decapitation, whose names being then unknown, they were merely distinguished as coronati, crowned, that is, with the crown of martyrdom. there is great obscurity and confusion in the history of these saints, and their companions, the five martyrs, i cinque martiri,' who are honoured in the same place and on the same day. it is plain that the early painters did not distinguish them, and therefore i shall not attempt to do so. the legend relates that, in the reign of diocletian, there lived in rome four brothers, who were christians, and who were cunning artificers in wood and stone, excelling in sculpture and architecture. 'in those days,' says gibbon, 'every art and every trade that was in the least concerned in the framing or adorning of idols, was, in the opinion of the christians, polluted by the stain of idolatry; a severe sentence, since it devoted to eternal misery the far greater part of the community employed in the liberal or mechanical professions ;' while those who refused to profane their art were as certainly condemned to poverty and starvation, if not to martyrdom. and this was the fate of the four crowned brothers. they refused to exercise their known skill in obedience to the emperor, saying, "we cannot build a temple to false gods, nor shape images of wood or stone to ensnare the souls of others.' whereupon some of them were scourged, and some were enclosed in iron cages and thrown into the sea, and some were decapitated (nov. 4, a.d. 400). we are not told how these punishments were awarded, nor how their names and fate were afterwards revealed to a santo huomo:' but here stands their church to witness to their conscientious piety and courage, and here it has stood for fourteen centuries. it is held in particular respect by the builders and stone-cutters of rome, who are the proprietors of the principal chapel in it, which is dedicated to st. sylvester, while the convent attached to the church belongs to a sisterhood of charity, who have the care and education of deserted orphans. 6 these santi coronati,' and their companions the cinque martiri,' of the same trade, are found not only in roman art, for i have seen them in the old sculpture and stained glass of germany, and, as i remember, in a curious old picture in nuremberg. they are easily 626 sacred and legendary art. distinguished when they do occur, for they stand sometimes four, sometimes five, in a row, bearing palms, with crowns upon their heads, and various implements of art, such as the rule, the square, the mallet, the chisel, at their feet. scenes from their legend are very uncommon: in those i have seen, the subjects selected have been the same. 1. they refuse to build the idolatrous temple: they are kneeling before the emperor, holding their implements in their hands; six guards around. 2. they are bound to four pillars, and tortured. 3. they are shut up in an iron cage and cast into the sea. these three pictures i found in a predella by alfani, highly finished, and full of expression.' 4. they are lying together in a sarcophagus, with crowns upon their heads. this subject i found in their church. the names differ, and therefore i give those usually inscribed either within their glories or over their heads :-severianus, carpophorus, severus (or secundus), victorinus, claudius, symphorian, castorius, simplicius. on the other side of this solitary lane stands the far more celebrated church of san clemente, one of the most extraordinary monuments of christian rome. here, according to an ancient tradition, repose together the reliques of st. ignatius, the famous bishop of antioch, and st. clement, the fellow-labourer of st. paul. i shall not here give a description of this singular and interesting church, the favourite study of artists and antiquaries-it may be found in plattner, vasi, murray, and every german, italian, and english guide to the antiquities of rome-but content myself with telling what they do not tell, the legend of st. clement, whose dwelling stood upon this spot. he was the disciple of st. peter and st. paul, and the third bishop of rome. he is also considered as one of the fathers of the church, and the same person to whom st. paul alludes in his epistle to the philippians (ch. iv. 3), 'i entreat thee, true yokefellow, help those women which laboured with me in the gospel; with clement also, and with other my fellow-labourers, whose names are in the book of life.' ¹ perugia acad. st. clement. 627 according to the legendary story of st. clement, he presided over the church at rome for many years, converting numbers of people to the true faith, and amongst others domitilla, the niece of the emperor domitian, and another noble roman lady whose name. was theodora. through the protection of domitilla, his life was secure during the reign of domitian. in the year 100, under trajan, began the third general persecution, which was the more afflicting because this emperor was in other respects famous for his humanity and his justice. the prefect who governed rome, during the absence of trajan on his expedition against the dacians, commanded clement to be brought before him, and on his refusal to sacrifice to the false gods, he ordered him to be banished to an island whither many convicts were sent and obliged to work in the quarries of stone. there did many christians already sigh in chains, and several voluntarily accompanied the good bishop, willing to partake of his banishment. clement found the unhappy prisoners not only condemned to hard labour, but suffering cruelly from the want of water, which they had to bring from a distance of ten miles. the saint, moved with compassion, knelt down and prayed; and, raising his eyes he suddenly saw a lamb standing upon the summit of a rising ground, which, remaining invisible to all beside himself, he knew could be none other than the lamb of god; therefore st. clement took up a pickaxe, and went before the people to the hill, and, digging there, a clear and abundant stream gushed forth, to the great consolation of the people. (observe the beautiful and significant allegory!) this miracle only the more incensed his enemies, and they ordered him to be bound to an anchor and cast into the sea. but short was their triumph! for, at the prayer of the christian disciples, the sea withdrew for the space of three miles, and they discovered a little ruined temple which had been formerly buried by the waters: and, wonderful to relate, within it was found the body of st. clement with the anchor round his neck; and, as it is related by credible witnesses, this miracle did not happen only once, but every year at the anniversary of his martyrdom the sea retired during seven days, leaving a dry path for those who went to honour the relics of the saint in this new species of submarine tomb. and this vol. ii. h h 628 sacred and legendary art. lasted for many years; and many grave authors, who affirm this miracle, also relate, that a certain woman, accompanied by her son, being at prayer within the temple, her child fell asleep, and the sea rising suddenly, the mother fled, leaving him behind in her fear, and when she reached the shore she wrung her hands, weeping bitterly, and passed that year in great affliction. the next year, returning to pay her devotions at the shrine, to her joyful surprise she found her son there, sleeping, just as she had left him. st. clement, in the devotional pictures, appears habited as pope, sometimes with the tiara, but generally without it; an anchor at his side, or a small anchor suspended round his neck. in the ancient mosaic in his church at rome (12th century) he is thus represented seated by st. peter and holding the anchor in his hand. in the frescoes of the little chapel already alluded to, on the wall opposite to the life of st. catherine, masaccio or one of his scholars painted a series of the life of st. clement, now in a most ruined state; we can distinguish the scene of the flood, and st. clement discovering the fountain of living waters-the waters of religious truth and consolation to his thirsty and fainting disciples. the other subjects are scarcely to be recognised.' far away from these churches, and in a desolate spot mid vineyards and ruins, between the santa croce and the porte maggiore, stands the small ancient church of santa bibiana, dedicated to her about the year 468. she was a young roman lady, who, with her father flavianus, her mother dafrosa, and her sister demetria, suffered martyrdom in the reign of julian the apostate. persisting in her faith, she was scourged to death, or, according to another authority, first scourged, and then pierced with a dagger (dec. 2, a.d. 362). the column to which she was bound is shown within the church, placed there by urban viii. when he restored the ruined. edifice in 1622. the statue of st. bibiana, in marble, by bernini, stands upon the the church of st. clement, in the strand, is dedicated to this saint. the device of the parish is an anchor, which the beadles and other officials wear on their buttons, &c., and which also surmounts the weathercock on the steeple. to choose the anchorthe symbol of stability for a weathercock, appears strangely absurd till we know the reason. there are in england forty-seven churches dedicated to st. clement. st. john and st. paul. 629 altar; a graceful figure, leaning against a pillar, and holding the palm in her hand. the nave of the church is painted with a series of large frescoes, which exhibit her story in detail. 1. bibiana refuses to sacrifice to idols.' 2. the death of demetria, who, according to the legend, fell dead to the earth before she was touched by the executioner. 3. bibiana bound to a column, and scourged. 4. her body, being cast forth unburied, is found by a dog. 5. olympia, a noble roman matron, founds the church, which is dedicated by pope simplicius. between these large historical subjects are single devotional figures, of a colossal size, representing bibiana, dafrosa, flavianus, demetria, and olympia. though in a mannered taste, they have much grandeur, and are reckoned by lanzi among the finest works of the master-pietro da cortona. on the brow of the cælian hill, and in a most striking situation, looking across to the ruins on the palatine, stands the church of the two brothers st. john and st. paul, who were martyred in the same year with bibiana, and whose church has existed since the year 499. they were officers in the service of constantia, whom the old legends persist in representing as a most virtuous christian (though, i believe, she was far otherwise) and were put to death by julian the apostate. their house stood upon this spot, one of the most beautiful sites in ancient rome. in devotional pictures these saints are always represented standing together in the roman military costume, and bearing the sword and the palm. their famous church at venice, the ss. giovanni e paolo, can never be forgotten by those who have lingered around its wondrous and precious monuments; but among them we may seek in vain for the roman tutelary saints-at least i did: and i believe, notwithstanding the magnificence of their church, the venetians know nothing about them. the dominicans, who raised this edifice in the thirteenth century, were emigrants from the convent of st. john and st. paul, at rome, and carried their patrons with them. eng. by mercati, 1626. bartsch, xx p. 140. hh 2 630 sacred and legendary art. on the southern side of the cælian hill stand the san stefano and the santa maria della navicella; then, as we descend into the valley, in that desolate hollow between the cælian and the aventine, and close to the baths of caracalla, stands the old church of ss. nereo and achilleo. these two saints, nereus and achilleus, are peculiar to rome. they were the chamberlains of flavia domitilla, grand-niece of the emperor domitian, and daughter of flavius clemens and the elder domitilla, both of whom had suffered for their adhesion to christianity. flavia domitilla was betrothed to aurelian, son of the consul; but her two chamberlains, zealous christians, prevailed upon her to refuse this union with an idolater; for which cause they were beheaded, and domitilla was at the same time put to death at terracina (may 12). st. nereus and st. achilleus are represented standing in secular habits, bearing palms in their hands, on each side of domitilla, who is richly dressed as princess, and bears her palm;-as in a picture by rubens, painted when he was in rome in 1604, and now over the high altar of s. maria della vallicella. the martyrdom of ss. nereo and achilleo in the church of s. maddalena de' pazzi at florence, is a chef-d'œuvre of pocetti. not far from this church is another of great antiquity, dedicated to st. cesareo, who perished at terracina, because he opposed himself to the worship of apollo. though very little is known of him, he was celebrated in the sixth century both in the east and in the west. at present his name and fame seem confined entirely to rome. on the other side of the baths of caracalla, and at the foot of the aventine, we come upon the little church of santa balbina. of its foundation all that we know is that it was an ancient church in the time of gregory the great (a.d. 590). st. balbina is another saint peculiar to rome. according to the legend, she was the daughter of the prefect quirinus, and discovered the chains of st. peter, which had long been lost. (march 31, a.d. 130.) she is represented veiled, and holding a chain in her hand, or with fetters near her. st. prisca. 631 on the summit of the aventine are several of the most interesting of these old churches. that of st. sabina was dedicated to a noble roman matron, who suffered martyrdom in the time of the emperor hadrian (aug. 29, second century). this church, built upon the site of her house, existed in 423. though spoilt, as usual, by whitewashing and restoration, it is singularly elegant. the altar-piece by frederic zucchero, represents st. sabina as dragged up the marble steps of a temple by an executioner with a drawn sword. with her was martyred her greek slave seraphia, who was also a zealous christian, and, as the legend relates, had converted her mistress. st. sabina, though a roman saint, is among those not confined to rome. i saw at venice, in the san zaccaria, a most lovely picture by the vivarini of murano, in which she is represented with her palm and crown, richly dressed, and surrounded by worshipping angels; on the right, st. jerome; and on the left, another saint in a short tunic, fastened with a gold belt, bearing a palm. the exquisite softness of this picture, the lovely colour and the divine expression in the faces, render it one of the most beautiful productions of the early venetian school. not far from the church of st. sabina is that of st. prisca. on this spot, according to the old tradition, stood the house of aquila and priscilla, where st. peter lodged when at rome, and who are the same mentioned by st. paul as tent-makers; and here is shown the font from which, according to the same tradition, st. peter baptized the first roman converts to christianity. the altarpiece represents the baptism of st. prisca, whose remains being afterwards placed in this church, it has since borne her name. according to the legend, she was a roman virgin of illustrious birth, who at the age of thirteen was exposed in the amphitheatre. a fierce lion was let loose upon her, but her youth and innocence disarmed the fury of the savage beast, which, instead of tearing her to pieces, humbly licked her feet;-to the great consolation of the christians, and the confusion of the idolaters. being led back to prison, she was there beheaded. st. prisca is not peculiar to rome; she appears in old prints and pictures, and in french sculpture and stained glass, 632 sacred and legendary art. • bearing her palm, and with a lion at her side: sometimes also an eagle, because it is related that an eagle watched by her body till it was laid in the grave; for thus, says the story, was virgin innocence honoured by the kingly bird as well as by the kingly beast. st. prisca was so much venerated in england that her name is preserved in our reformed calendar. in the valley behind the esquiline, in that long lonely road between santa maria maggiore and the lateran, stands the church of ss. pietro e marcellino, whom we style st. peter exorcista and marcellinus. they are always represented together. their legend relates, that in the last persecution under diocletian they were cast into prison. artemius, keeper of the dungeon, had a daughter named paulina, and she fell sick; and st. peter offered to restore her to health if her father would believe in the true god. and the jailor mocked him, saying, 'if i put thee into the deepest dungeon, and load thee with heavier chains, will thy god then deliver thee? if he doth, i will believe in him.' and peter answered, 'be it so; not out of regard to thee, for it matters little to our god whether such an one as thou believe in him or not, but that the name of christ may be glorified, and thyself confounded.' and in the middle of the night peter and marcellinus, in white shining garments, entered the chamber of artemius as he lay asleep, who, being struck with awe, fell down and worshipped the name of christ; and he, his wife, his daughter, and three hundred others, were baptized. after this the two holy men were condemned to die for the faith. and the executioner was ordered to lead them to a forest three miles from rome, that the christians might not discover their place of sepulture. and when he had brought them to a solitary thicket overgrown with brambles and thorns, he declared to them that they were to die, upon which they cheerfully fell to work and cleared away a space fit for the purpose, and dug the grave in which they were to be laid. then they were beheaded, and died encouraging each other. (june 2.) the fame of ss. pietro e marcellino is not confined to rome. in st. aglae and st. boniface. 633 the reign of charlemagne they were venerated as martyrs throughout italy and gaul; and eginhard, the secretary of charlemagne, who married his daughter emma, is said to have held them in particular honour. every one, i believe, knows the beautiful story of eginhard and emma. and the connection of these saints with them as their chosen protectors lends an interest to their solitary deserted church. they are always represented together, in priestly habits, bearing their palms. in the roma sotteranea of bosio, p. 126, there is an ancient fragment found in the catacombs which represents st. peter exorcista, st. marcellinus, and paulina standing together. in a picture by gervasio gatti, over the altar of their church at cremona, the two saints, habited as priests, baptize paulina, the daughter of the jailor; the rest of the family and many converts being present. on the western brow of the aventine, and not far from the priorata, there stood, in the year 305, or 306, a little oratory, which a greek woman of birth and fortune, named aglae, had reared over the remains of her lover boniface. according to the story, they had lived together in sin and luxury for many years; but when the last dreadful persecution of the christians burst forth like a storm, both were seized with a deep compassion for the sufferers, and with compunction for their own sinful and shameful life; and aglae sent away her lover with much gold and treasure for the purpose of redeeming the christian martyrs from torture, or at least their precious remains from insult. boniface did as he was commanded, but in his zeal he exposed himself to death, and expiated his former sins by a glorious martyrdom. his mutilated body being brought home to aglae, she immediately retired from the world, distributed her goods to the poor, and built a hermitage and an oratory, in which she deposited the remains of boniface, and spent the rest of her life in prayers, tears, and penitence. both were subsequently canonised. but the oratory of aglae and boniface was soon afterwards almost forgotten in the superior fame of the church of st. alexis, whose story, 634 sacred and legendary art. < as given in the legendario romano,' is one of the most beautiful of the sacred romances of the middle ages.' st. alexis. lat. s. aletius. ital. sant' alessio. fr. st. alexis. ger. der heilige alexius. patron saint of pilgrims and beggars. (july 17, a.d. 400.) in the days when innocent i. was pope, and arcadius and honorius reigned over the east and west, there lived a man in rome whose name was euphemian, rich and of senatorial rank; he had a house and great possessions on the calian hill, but he had no son to inherit his wealth. he and his wife, whose name was aglae, besought the lord earnestly to grant them offspring, and their prayer was heard; for after many years they had a son, and called him alexis. and alexis from his childhood had devoted himself to the service of god, and became remarked by all for his humility, his piety, and his charity. although outwardly he went clothed in silk and gold, as became his rank, yet he wore a hair shirt next his body; and though he had a smiling and pleasant countenance towards all, yet in his chamber he wept incessantly, bewailing his own sinful state and that of the world, and made a secret vow to devote himself wholly to the service of god. and when he was of a proper age his father wished him to marry, and chose out for his wife a maiden of noble birth, beautiful and graceful and virtuous, one whom it was impossible to look on without being irresistibly attracted. alexis, who had never disobeyed his parents from his infancy upwards, trembled within himself for the vow he had spoken, and seeing his bride, how fair she was and how virtuous, he trembled yet the more; but he did not dare to gainsay the words of his father. on the appointed day the nuptials were baillet says distinctly, 'cette histoire de st. alexis semble être plutôt une exhortation faite à la manière des paraboles pour exciter au mépris du monde et à l'amour des humiliations, que la relation de quelque histoire véritable. il paroît pourtant que l'auteur n'a point produit du néant le fonds sur lequel il a voulu travailler, et que l'église n'a point cru que saint alexis ne fût qu'une idée de sainteté ou un saint imaginaire, puisqu'elle lui a décerné un culte public en orient et en occident.'—baillet, vies des saints, juillet xvii. st. alexis. 635 celebrated with great pomp and festivity; but when evening came the bridegroom had disappeared, and they sought him everywhere in vain; and when they questioned the bride, she answered, 'behold, he came into my chamber and gave me this ring of gold, and this girdle of precious stones, and this veil of purple, and then he bade me farewell, and i know not whither he has gone!' and they were all astonished, and, seeing he returned not, they gave themselves up to grief: his mother spread sackcloth on the earth, and sprinkled it with ashes, and sat down upon it; and his wife took off her jewels and bridal robes, and darkened her windows, and put on widow's attire, weeping continually; and euphemian sent servants and messengers to all parts of the world to seek his son, but he was nowhere to be found. in the meantime, alexis, after taking leave of his bride, disguised himself in the habit of a pilgrim, fled from his father's house, and throwing himself into a little boat he reached the mouth of the tiber; at ostia he embarked in a vessel bound for laodicea, and thence he repaired to edessa, a city of mesopotamia, and dwelt there in great poverty and humility, spending his days in ministering to the sick and poor, and in devotion to the madonna, until the people, who beheld his great piety, cried out, a saint!' then, fearing for his virtue, he left that place and embarked in a ship bound for tarsus, in order to pay his devotions to st. paul. but a great tempest arose, and after many days the ship, instead of reaching the desired port, was driven to the mouth of the tiber, and entered the port of ostia. c when alexis found himself again near his native home, he thought, it is better for me to live by the charity of my parents, than to be a burthen to strangers; and, hoping that he was so much changed. that no one would recognise him, he entered the city of rome. as he approached his father's house, he saw him come forth with a great retinue of servants, and, accosting him humbly, besought a corner of refuge beneath his roof, and to eat of the crumbs which fell from his table; and euphemian, looking on him, knew not that it was his son; nevertheless he felt his heart moved with unusual pity, and granted his petition, thinking within himself, alas for my son alexis! perhaps he is now a wanderer and poor, even as this man!' so he 6 vol. ii. ιι 636 sacred and legendary art. gave alexis in charge to his servants, commanding that he should have all things needful. but, as it often happens with rich men who have many servitors and slaves, euphemian was ill obeyed; for, believing alexis to be what he appeared, a poor, ragged, wayworn beggar, they gave him no other lodging than a hole under the marble steps which led to his father's door, and all who passed and repassed looked on his misery; and the servants, seeing that he bore all uncomplaining, mocked at him, thinking him an idiot, and pulled his matted beard, and threw dirt on his head; but he endured in silence. a far greater trial was to witness every day the grief of his mother and his wife : for his wife, like another ruth, refused to go back to the house of her fathers; and often, as he lay in his dark hole under the steps, he heard her weeping in her chamber, and crying, 'o my alexis! whither art thou gone? why hast thou espoused me only to forsake me?' and, hearing her thus tenderly lamenting and upbraiding his absence, he was sorely tempted; nevertheless he remained steadfast. thus many years passed away, until his emaciated frame sank under his sufferings, and it was revealed to him that he should die. then he procured from a servant of the house pen and ink, and wrote a full account of all these things, and all that had happened to him in his life, and put the letter in his bosom, expecting death. ( it happened about this time, on a certain feast-day, that pope innocent was celebrating high mass before the emperor honorius and all his court, and suddenly a voice was heard which said, 'seek the servant of god who is about to depart from this life, and who shall pray for the city of rome!' so the people fell on their faces, and another voice said, 'where shall we seek him?' and the first voice answered, in the house of euphemian the patrician. and euphemian was standing next to the emperor, who said to him, 'what! hast thou such a treasure in thy house, and hast not divulged it? let us now repair thither immediately.' so euphemian went before to prepare the way; and as he approached his house, a servant met him, saying, 'the poor beggar whom thou hast sheltered has died within this hour, and we have laid him on the steps before the door.' and euphemian ran up the steps and uncovered the face of the beggar, and it seemed to him the face of an angel, such a glory st. alexis. 637 of light proceeded from it; and his heart melted within him, and he fell on his knees; and as the emperor and his court came near, he said, 'this is the servant of god of whom the voice spake just now.' and when the pope saw the letter which was in the dead hand of alexis, he humbly asked him to deliver it; and the hand relinquished it forthwith, and the chancellor read it aloud before all the assembly. but now what words shall describe the emotions of his father, when he knew that it was his son who lay before him? and how the mother and the wife, rushing forth distracted, flung themselves on the senseless body, and could with difficulty be separated from it? and how for seven days they watched and wept beside him; and how the people crowded to touch his sacred remains, and many sick and infirm were healed thereby? but all this i pass over: let it suffice that on the spot where stood the house of euphemian the church of st. alexis now stands. the marble steps beneath which he died are preserved in the church, in a chapel to the left of the entrance, and beneath them is seen the statue of the saint lying extended on a mat in the mean dress of a poor pilgrim, his staff beside him, and the letter in his hand. the remains of aglae and the martyr boniface also rest in this church under the high altar. although st. alexis did not perish by a violent death, yet, through his extreme sufferings, and the spirit of resolute yet humble resignation in which they were met and endured, he is supposed to have merited the honours of martyrdom. i have seen figures of st. alexis in which, in addition to the pilgrim's habit, ragged and worn, and the beggar's dish, he carries the palm. in the mosaics of monreale he stands among the glorified martyrs, of colossal size, in a white vest, a blue mantle, the crown on his head, and the cross, through which he triumphed, in his hand. but in general we find st. alexis represented in the old pictures and prints as penitent, pilgrim, and beggar; in the churches of the ascetic orders, and in hospitals and houses of refuge for the poor, which are placed under his protection, we find his effigy with the characteristic ragged attire, and expression of pathetic resignation and humility. ii 2 638 sacred and legendary art. 1. there is a fine statue of st. alexis on the façade of the church of the trinità at florence. 2. in a picture by pietro da cortona at alton towers, st. alexis is dying under the steps of his father's door, holding the cross and a paper pressed to his bosom. the figure is life-size, and very forcible in colour and expression. 3. in a very fine picture by annibal caracci, painted for the mendicanti at bologna, st. alexis, as pilgrim and beggar, stands with st. louis, st. catherine, st. clara, and st. john the baptist: he might be mistaken for st. roch, but that the last-named saint has always the plague-spot, which distinguishes his effigies from those of st. alexis. at the foot of the capitoline hill, on the left hand as we descend from the ara cali into the forum, there stood in very ancient times a small chapel dedicated to the memory of st. martina, a roman virgin, who was martyred in the persecution under alexander severus. the veneration paid to her was of very early date, and the roman people were accustomed to assemble there on the first day of the year. this observance was, however, confined to the people, and not very general till 1634; an era which connects her in rather an interesting manner with the history of art. in this year, as they were about to repair her chapel, they discovered, walled into the foundations, a sarcophagus of terra-cotta, in which was the body of a young female, whose severed head reposed in a separate casket. these remains were very naturally supposed to be those of the saint who had so long been honoured on that spot. the discovery was hailed with the utmost exultation, not by the people only, but by those who led the minds and the consciences of the people. the pope himself, urban viii., composed hymns in her praise; and cardinal francesco barberini undertook to rebuild her church. amongst those who shared the general enthusiasm, was the painter, pietro da cortona, who was at rome at the time, and who very earnestly dedicated himself and his powers to the glorification of st. martina. her church had already been given to the academy of painters, and consecrated to st. luke, their patron saint. it is now st. anastasia. 639 'san' luca e santa martina.' pietro da cortona erected at his own cost the chapel of st. martina, and, when he died, endowed it with his whole fortune. he painted for the altar-piece his best picture, in which the saint is represented as triumphing over the idols, while the temple, in which she had been led to sacrifice, is struck by lightning from heaven, and falls in ruins around her.' in a votive picture of st. martina kneeling at the feet of the virgin and child, she is represented as very young and lovely; near her, a horrid instrument of torture, a two-pronged fork with barbed extremities, and the lictor's axe, signify the manner of her death. the picture called 'une jeune martyre,' by guido cagnacci, in the orleans gallery, is a st. martina. 6 not far from the church of san gregorio, and just under the palatine hill, we find the church of st. anastasia, who notwithstanding her beautiful greek name, and her fame as one of the great saints of the greek calendar, is represented as a noble roman lady, who perished during the persecution of diocletian: the same, i presume, who in didron's manual of greek art' is styled 'anastasie la romaine.' her story is mixed up with that of st. chrysogonus (grisogono), who also suffered martyrdom at that time, and is chiefly celebrated for, his influence over the mind of anastasia, and the courage with which he inspired her. she was persecuted by her husband and family for openly professing the christian faith, exposed to many trials, sorrows, and temptations, and through all these, being sustained by the eloquent exhortations of chrysogonus, she passed triumphantly, receiving in due time the crown of martyrdom, being condemned to the flames. chrysogonus was put to death by the sword, and his body thrown into the sea. according to the best authorities, these two saints did not suffer at rome, but in illyria; yet at rome we are assured that anastasia, after her martyrdom, was buried by her friend apollina in the garden of her house, under the palatine hill, and close to the circus maxithere is a small copy of this once admired picture in the dulwich gallery. 640 sacred and legendary art. mus. there stood the church dedicated to her in the fourth century, and there it now stands. it was one of the principal churches in rome in the time of st. jerome, who, according to an ancient tradition, celebrated mass at one of the altars, which is still regarded on this account with peculiar veneration. to st. anastasia is dedicated a beautiful church at verona; where, however, i looked in vain for any picture representing her. the proper attributes are the palm, the stake, and the faggots. with regard to st. chrysogonus, his fine church in the trastevere, existing since 599, was modernised by scipio borghese, cardinal of san grisogono, in 1623; when guercino painted for the ceiling of the nave his grand picture of the saint carried up to heaven by angels. this picture now decorates the ceiling of the duke of sutherland's gallery at stafford house. i have never seen any other picture of st. chrysogonus: his proper attributes are the sword and the palm, which in guercino's picture are borne by angels. not far from the church of san grisogono, and on a rising ground, stands the church of san pancrazio, our st. pancras. in the persecution under diocletian, this young saint, who was only fourteen years of age, offered himself voluntarily as a martyr, defending boldly before the emperor the cause of the christians. he was thereupon beheaded by the sword, and his body was honourably buried by the christian women. his church near the gate of san pancrazio, at rome, has existed since the year 500. st. pancras was in the middle ages regarded as the protector against false oaths, and the avenger of perjury. it was believed that those who swore by st. pancras falsely, were immediately and visibly punished; hence his popularity. we have a church dedicated to him in london, and a large parish bearing his name: french kings anciently confirmed their treaties in the name of st. pancras. i recollect no effigy of him; but he ought to be represented as a boy of a very beautiful countenance, richly dressed in the secular habit, and bearing his palm and sword. st. susanna and st. chrysanthus. 641 except at rome, i have never seen any effigy of st. susanna ;— but i think it probable that such may exist. it appears, however, that those who bore the name of susanna preferred as their patroness. the chaste matron of the old testament to the virgin martyr of the roman legend. it is related that this susanna was of illustrious birth, the daughter of gabinius, who was the brother of pope caius, and also nearly related to the emperor diocletian. she was very fair, but more especially remarkable for her learning and her subtle and penetrating intellect. diocletian, hearing everywhere of her praises, was desirous to marry her to his adopted son maximus; but she, who had made a vow of perpetual chastity, refused to listen to these tempting offers. whereupon the emperor desired his wife, the empress serena, to send for her, and to endeavour to overcome her obstinacy. now the empress, unknown to her husband, was really a christian; therefore she rather encouraged susanna in her resistance. diocletian, being enraged at her firmness, sent an executioner, who put her to death in her own house (aug. 11, a.d. 290). she is chiefly honoured at rome, and would appear to be little known out of that city. her statue in marble by fiamingo, over her altar in the church of santa maria di loretto, near the forum of trajan, is one of his finest works, and very simple and elegant. she holds the sword and palm as martyr; but i know not any other attribute by which she is distinguished. st. chrysanthus (or san grisante) and st. daria suffered martyrdom together at rome, about the year 257; or, as others say, under the reign of numerian, about 284. their story is very obscure. one legend represents st. daria as a vestal virgin, who, on her conversion to christianity, extinguished the sacred fire, and was consequently buried alive; and it is also related that she was married to st. chrysanthus, who converted her. mention them here because they appear in the early mosaics at ravenna, and have been introduced into the magnificent altar-piece, by giulio campi, in the church of st. sigismond at cremona. this church was dedicated by francesco sforza, on the occasion of his marriage with bianca maria 642 sacred and legendary art. visconti, the heiress of milan, which was celebrated on the festival of st. chrysanthus and st. daria (october 25).¹ st. eugenia, anciently one of the most popular and potential saints in the roman calendar, was the daughter of philip, proconsul of egypt in the reign of commodus. she was brought up at alexandria in all the wisdom of the gentiles, was converted to christianity, and, in learning, eloquence, and courage, seems to have been the prototype of st. catherine, by whom, however, she has been completely eclipsed. according to the legend, she put on man's attire, and became a monk in egypt, under the name of the abbot eugenius; but afterwards, returning to rome, she suffered martyrdom by the sword, under the emperor severus. she rarely appears in works of art, having lost her popularity before the period of the revival. we find her in the procession of martyrs at ravenna; and i have seen a picture of her martyrdom in the bologna gallery, by giovanni seinenti, treated with much sentiment. the two saints who follow, though counted among the roman martyrs, are of general interest. they have many chapels at rome, but no church dedicated in their name. st. felicitas and her seven sons, martyrs. ital. santa felicità. fr. sainte félicité. patroness of male heirs. (nov. 23, a.d. 173.) in the reign of the emperor marcus aurelius antoninus, there was a great persecution of the christians. they were deemed the cause, if not the authors, of all the terrible calamities, the plagues and wars, famines and earthquakes, which at that time desolated the empire, and an inexorable edict condemned them either to sacrifice or to die. in this persecution, polycarp perished in the east, and justin in the west. 1 for a further account of this picture, see the 'legends of the monastic orders,' p. 183. 1 dekor oc sons selt uni boooooodood my pay if 260000000 www. m st. felicitas and her seven sons. 643 'at the same time there dwelt in rome an illustrious matron named felicitas, a widow having seven sons, whom she brought up in the christian faith, devoting herself to a life of virtuous retirement, and employing her days in works of piety and charity. her influence and example, and the virtuous and modest deportment of her sons, caused many to become christians, so that the enemies of the faith were greatly enraged against her; and as she was exceedingly rich, those who shared in the spoil of the martyrs were eager to accuse her. she was accordingly cited before the tribunal of publius, the prefect of the city, who at first with mildness, and then with threatening words, endeavoured in vain to induce her to deny christ, and sacrifice to the false gods. and the prefect said to her, "if thou hast no regard for thyself, at least have compassion on thy sons, and persuade them to yield to the law." but she replied that her sons would know how to choose between everlasting death and everlasting life. then the prefect called them all one after another before him, and commanded them to abjure christ on pain of torments and of death; but their mother encouraged them to persevere in resistance, saying to them, "my sons, be strong in heart, and look up to heaven, where christ and all his saints await your coming; and defy this tyrant boldly, for so shall the king of glory reward you greatly." on hearing these words the prefect was enraged, and he commanded the executioners to strike her on the mouth, and put her to silence; but she continued to exhort her sons to die rather than to yield. then, one after another, they were tortured and put to death before the eyes of their mother: first, the eldest, whose name was januarius, was scourged with thongs loaded with lead until he died; next to him, felix and philip were beaten with clubs; sylvanus was flung from a rock; and alexander, vitalis, and martial were decapitated. during their sufferings the mother heroically stood by, and ceased not to comfort and encourage them; and when she beheld them extended in death before her, she lifted up her voice and blessed god that she had brought forth seven sons worthy to be saints in paradise. her hope was to follow them speedily; but the tyrant, through a refinement of cruelty, caused her life to be prolonged for four months in prison, in order that she might suffer a daily martyrdom of agony, hoping to subdue vol. ii. k k 644 sacred and legendary art. her spirit through affliction: but she remained firm in the faith, still refusing steadily and meekly to yield, and desiring no other mercy but that of speedily following her martyred children. at length the time of her deliverance arrived, and, being dragged from prison, she was tortured in various ways, and then beheaded; or, as some say, thrown into a caldron of boiling oil. this happened on the 23rd day of november, a.d. 173.' st. felicitas bears the palm as martyr; as matron and widow she is hooded or veiled, with ample drapery, as in a beautiful figure by spinello: she is usually accompanied by her seven sons. the earliest example is a most curious fragment of fresco, found in the catacombs, and now preserved in the vatican. she is standing in the midst of her sons, with arms outspread in prayer, and of colossal proportions compared with the other figures, who are ranged in a line on each side, and their names inscribed above. in a singular picture, attributed to neri de' bicci (a.d. 1476), and now preserved in the sacristy of the church of santa felicità at florence, she is seated on a throne, a majestic colossal figure, holding in one hand the gospel, which rests on her knee, in the other the palm, while her sons, small in proportion, and treated as accessories or attributes, are ranged on each side, the youngest standing rather in front. all have palms and golden glories, and wear rich dresses; and all but the youngest appear as warriors. i give an etching from this picture, which has never been engraved. by garbieri. st. felicitas presents her seven sons at the feet of the madonna and child. in the church of st. maurice at mantua. in the so-called 'martyrdom of st. felicitas,' a famous composition by raphael, a female saint is represented standing in a caldron or bath, her hands clasped in prayer. two headless bodies lie on the ground: the prefect is seen on his tribunal, surrounded by his lictors, and groups of amazed or sympathising spectators are standing around. an angel, exquisite for grace and movement, and cleaving the air like a bird, comes down from above with the crown of martyrdom. there can be no doubt that we have here the death of st. cecilia, and not the death of st. felicitas; that this was the subject designed by one of the attendant figures in a coronation of the virgin, in the florence academy. st. felicitas and her seven sons. 645 raphael probably about the time that he painted the st. cecilia at· bologna, and that the print was afterwards misnamed. ' the seven jewish brethren, who with their heroic mother are celebrated in the second book of maccabees, are sometimes introduced into ecclesiastical decoration. they have a place among the greek martyrs, and the representation is so exactly like that of st. felicitas and her sons, that i know not how to distinguish them further than to observe that in churches constructed under the influence of byzantine art, seven young martyrs grouped together with their mother most probably represent the jewish brethren (les sept machabées); for st. felicitas, though so famous in the west, was not accepted in the east.2 the composition was painted by one of the pupils of raphael on the left wall of the chapel of the villa magliana, near rome; but it is nearly destroyed. the fine engraving of marc antonio has, however, preserved the original design in all its beauty. 2 the confusion which anciently existed between these jewish and christian martyrs was such that the name of felicitas was given to the mother of the maccabees. the church of santa felicità at florence stands where stood a chapel dedicated to the sette maccabei, and the hymn in the ancient office of the church shows that the two mothers were confounded under the same name :— 'salve! sancta felicitas, nobilibus cum filiis, tu florida fecunditas ornata septem filiis. vos lege sub mosaica vixistis corde simplice, præceptaque dominica servastis mente supplice.' v. richa, chiese fiorentine, ix. kk 2 646 sacred and legendary art. st. veronica. ital. santa veronica. fr. sainte véronique. the festival of st. veronica (la sainte face de j.-c.) is held on shrove tuesday. to ir is an ancient tradition, that when our saviour was on his way calvary, bearing his cross, he passed by the door of a compassionate woman, who, beholding the drops of agony on his brow, wiped his face with a napkin, or, as others say, with her veil, and the features of christ remained miraculously impressed upon the linen. to this image was given the name of vera icon, the true image, and the cloth itself was styled the sudarium (ital. il sudario; fr. le saint suaire). all the stories relative to the sudarium belong properly to the legendary life of christ; i shall therefore only observe here, that the name given to the image was insensibly transferred to the woman of whom the legend is related. the active imagination of the people invented a story for her, according to which she was veronica or berenice, the niece of king herod, being the daughter of his sister salome, who had been devoted to the pomps and vanities of the world, but, on witnessing the suffering and meekness of the saviour, was suddenly converted. the miraculous power of the sacred image impressed upon her napkin being universally recognised, she was sent for by the emperor tiberius to cure him of a mortal malady. but the wicked emperor having already breathed his last, she remained at rome in company with st. peter and st. paul, until she suffered martyrdom under nero; or, according to another legend, she came to europe in the same vessel with lazarus and mary magdalene, and suffered martyrdom either in provence or aquitaine. i think it unnecessary to enter further into these legends, which have been rejected by the church since the eleventh century. but the memory of the compassionate woman, and the legend of the miraculous image, continue to be blended. in the imaginations of the people. in the ancient pictures of the procession to calvary, st. veronica is seldom omitted. st. veronica. 647 the devotional figures always represent her as displaying the sacred handkerchief. sometimes, in allusion to the legend, she is standing between st. peter and st. paul, as in a picture by ugo da carpi in the sacristy of the vatican; and in a woodcut by albert dürer-very fine and solemn. sometimes the miraculous image is of colossal proportions; as in a very curious old picture in the boisserée gallery. in st. peter's at rome, one of the chapels under the dome is dedicated to st. veronica. an ancient image of our saviour, painted on linen, and styled the vera icon,' is regarded by the people as the veritable napkin of st veronica, and is exhibited among the relics of the church. in this chapel the mosaic over the altar, after a design by andrea sacchi, represents the saviour sinking under the weight of the cross, and st. veronica kneeling beside him in white. it is a simple, elegant composition, very matter of fact, and not in the least either mysterious or poetical. 160 st. veronica (andrea sacchi) i have now done with the roman martyrs. those which follow here are honoured principally in the north of italy, and their effigies are to be found in the works of art in tuscany, lombardy, and venice. i have added those few french and spanish saints who have a general interest in connection with art, either because their celebrity has been widely diffused, or because of the beauty and importance of those productions in which they have been represented. whence it is supposed that the name of veronica is derived. 648 sacred and legendary art. martyrs of tuscany, lombardy, spain, and france. the early martyrs, who figure almost exclusively in pictures of the tuscan schools, are rather curious as subjects of ancient art, than either interesting or celebrated. st. reparata was for six hundred years (from 680 to 1298) the chief patroness of florence. according to the old florentine legend, she was a virgin of cesarea in the province of cappadocia, and bravely suffered a cruel martyrdom in the persecution under decius, when only twelve years old. she was, after many tortures, beheaded · by the sword: and as she fell dead, her pure spirit was seen to issue from her mouth in form of a dove, which winged its way to heaven. the duomo at florence was formerly dedicated to st. reparata ; but about 1298 she appears to have been deposed from her dignity as sole patroness; the city was placed under the immediate tutelage of the virgin and st. john the baptist, and the church of st. reparata was dedicated anew under the title of santa maria-del-fiore. i have never seen any representation of santa reparata except in the old florentine pictures. in these she is frequently introduced standing alone or near the madonna, bearing the crown and palm as martyr, and sometimes also a banner, on which is a red cross on a white ground. in a picture by angelo gaddi she wears a green robe, and bears the crown, book, and banner. in another ancient florentine picture she is in a white robe and red mantle, with the same attributes. in a grand composition of fra bartolomeo, representing the madonna surrounded by many saints, and especially the protectors of florence, st. reparata, who is on the left of the virgin, bears the palm, and leans her hand on the book. she is sometimes represented standing with st. ansano, the patron of siena, as in a picture by simone memmi. such pictures, i apprehend, must have been painted when florence and siena were at peace. it is difficult to distinguish all the above pictures are in the florence gallery. san miniato-in-monte. 649 st. reparata from st. ursula, unless where the latter saint bears her javelin: where there is a doubt, and the picture is undeniably florentine, the locality and the traditions must be consulted. another saint, who is sometimes represented in the old florentine pictures, is st. verdiana (a.d. 1222), usually dressed as a vallombrosian nun, but she did not belong to any order. she is represented with serpents feeding from her basket. who, that remembers florence, does not remember well the san miniato-in-monte towering on its lofty eminence above the city, and visible along the lung' arno from the ponte alle grazie to the ponte alla carraja?—and the enchanting views of the valley of the arno as seen from the marble steps of the ancient church ?-and the old dismantled fortress defended by michael angelo against the medici? and the long avenue of cypresses and the declivities robed in vineyards and olive grounds between the gate of san miniato and the lofty heights above? but for the old saint himself, he has fared not much better than st. reparata. according to the florentine legend, st. minias or miniato was an armenian prince serving in the roman army under decius. being denounced as a christian, he was brought before the emperor, who was then encamped upon a hill outside the gates of florence, and who ordered him to be thrown to the beasts in the amphitheatre. a panther was let loose upon him, but when he called upon our lord he was delivered; he then suffered the usual torments, being cast into a boiling caldron, and afterwards suspended to a gallows, stoned and shot with javelins; but in his agony an angel descended to comfort him, and clothed him in a garment of light: finally he was beheaded. his martyrdom is placed in the year 254. there is a town bearing his name half way between florence and pisa, celebrated as the birthplace of francesco sforza, and the first seat of the buonaparte family. effigies of this saint are confined to tuscany; all those i have seen are in his church near florence, never having visited the cathedral at san miniato. he is represented in the attire of a prince, with a 650 sacred and legendary art. scarlet robe, a golden crown, one or two javelins in his hand, a lily and a palm; and is thus exhibited in a very old picture of the giotto school, with his life in eight small compartments painted around the principal figure. the greek mosaic in the choir of his church (11th century) represents him as standing on one side of christ (the virgin and st. john on the other); he wears the regal crown and mantle, and holds the greek cross. an old fresco, engraved in the etruria pittrice,' represents him with similar attributes. st. ansano appears only in the pictures of the ancient siena school. he was, until the end of the thirteenth century, the chief patron of the city of siena; but his popularity has waned before that of the modern patrons, st. bernardino and st. catherine. ansanus tranquillinus was the son of a noble roman. his nurse, maxima, a christian woman, caused him to be secretly baptized: he grew up to the age of nineteen in the faith of christ, and then disclosed his religion, converting and baptizing many: hence he is considered as the apostle of siena. in the terrible persecution under diocletian, after many sufferings and many miracles, operated through faith and charity, ansanus was beheaded on the banks of the river arbia.' st. ansano appears in the siena pictures as a youth richly dressed, bearing the palm. the city with its massive towers is often introduced into the background: sometimes as patron, he carries it in his hand. as one who preached the faith, and baptized, he bears also the standard of the cross. there is a graceful figure of st. ansano in a picture by simone memmi, in which he holds a palm with a cluster of dates depending from it; the companion figure, called in the catalogue st. julita, a saint who had no connection with this part of italy, i suppose to be st. reparata. a fine statue of st. ansano baptizing the sienese converts is in the duomo of siena. santa fina is scarcely known, i believe, beyond the walls of the little town of san gemignano. she was not properly a martyr, not having died a violent death; but long and cruel sufferings from ''catalogus sanctorum italiæ.' 2 florence gal. santa fina.--st. torpet. 651 disease endured not only with patience but cheerfulness, during which she worked with her hands as long as it was possible, and ministered to the poor, procured her the honour of canonisation. the people regarded her, while living, with enthusiastic veneration; and it is related, that at the moment of her death all the bells in san gemignano tolled spontaneously, untouched by human hands-a poetical figure of speech, expressing the intense and universal grief. she had been warned of her approaching end by a vision of st. gregory, whom she held in especial honour; and when borne to the place of sepulture, she was seen to raise her emaciated hand and bless her aged nurse, who was thereupon delivered from a grievous malady. all these incidents were painted in the beautiful little chapel of santa fina, in the cathedral of san gemignano, by sebastian mainardi, with a delicate and pathetic grace, and a truth and tenderness of sentiment, worthy of angelico himself. there are no tragic horrors, little to strike the eye or seize the attention; but the whole story, as expressed in art, is the glorification of feminine patience, fortitude, and charity. st. fina died on the 12th of march, 1253. effigies of st. torpe, or torpet, appear to be peculiar to the locality of pisa; he was the patron saint of that city, until superseded by san ranieri. according to the pisan legend, he was a noble roman, who served in the guards of the emperor nero, was converted by the apostle paul, and suffered martyrdom for the faith in the year 70 (may 17). the perpetual intercourse between the ports of western italy and those of provence introduced st. torpè into france, where he was long known and venerated under the name of st. tropes. the port of saint tropez, east of marseilles, bears his name, and has a fine old church dedicated to his memory. except in the churches of pisa, i have not met with st. torpè. in the duomo there, is a picture representing him as a roman warrior, and bearing the white banner with a red cross anywhere else he might be mistaken for a st. george. in the same church is his martyrdom; he is beheaded by an executioner. the old pisan chronicle relates, that in a frightful dearth caused by the want of rain, the bed of the arno being completely dry, the vol. ii. l l 652 sacred and legendary art. head of st. torpè was carried in grand procession through the city; and such was the efficacy of his intercession, that a sudden. flood descending from the mountains not only overflowed the banks of the river, but swept away part of the pious procession, and with it the head of the saint. the people were in despair; but, lo! two angels appeared to the rescue, dived under the waves, and brought up the head, which they restored to the hands of the archbishop. this picturesque story is also represented in the duomo at pisa. st. torpè does not appear in the most ancient works of pisan art, not even in the campo santo: before the thirteenth century he had been completely eclipsed by st. ranieri; but in the seventeenth century his celebrity revived, and all the pictures i saw of him were of that period. st. ephesus and st. potitus (sant' efeso and san potito) are also, i believe, peculiar to pisa. the legend relates that st. ephesus, an officer in the service of the emperor diocletian, was sent to destroy all the christians in sardinia; but, being warned in a dream not to persecute the servants of the lord, he turned his arms against the pagans, and with his friend st. potitus, a native of cagliari, suffered martyrdom in the christian cause. the pisans having subdued the island of sardinia in the eleventh century, bore the relics of these two sardinian saints in triumph to their city, and placed them within the precincts of the duomo. the legend of st. ephesus is among the frescoes of the campo santo, painted by spinello aretino. 1. he kneels in the habit of a warrior before the roman emperor, and receives his commission to extirpate the christians. on the other side is seen the apparition of our lord, who commands him to desist from persecuting the servants of christ. 2. st. ephesus, having become a christian soldier, fights against the heathen, and receives from st. michael, an armed angelic warrior on horseback, the christian standard (the cross on the red ground, which is the standard of pisa); in the next compartment he is seen combating the pagans, assisted by st. michael. the insular position of sardinia, with regard to pisa, is expressed by water flowing round it, with fishes, &c. st. liberale.-st. julian. 653 -3. the martyrdom of st. ephesus; he is seen in a blue robe embroidered with stars, kneeling, unharmed, in the midst of a fiery furnace, while the flames issuing from it destroy the soldiers and executioners. three other compositions, which represented the martyrdom of st. potito, and the translation of the relics from sardinia to pisa, are now wholly ruined and effaced. st. liberale (april 27), venerated in the friuli, is said to be represented by giorgione in a beautiful picture now in the duomo at castelfranco, and in a picture by varottari, in s. m. dei carmine at venice.' the patron saint of rimini is st. julian of cilicia, one of the greek martyrs who have been celebrated in western art. nothing is known or recorded of him but the courage with which he endured a cruel and prolonged martyrdom, of which st. chrysostom has given a full account. i imagine that it is this st. julian of rimini who is introduced into a splendid picture by lorenzo credi, as the pendant of st. nicholas of bari; they would naturally be placed together as patron saints of two of the greatest ports on the eastern shore of the adriatic. he is also standing with st. nicholas, and accompanied by st. barbara and st. christina kneeling, in a beautiful little 'coronation of the virgin,' by the same 161 st. julian (lorenzo di credi. louvre) the figure called st. liberale (more probably a st. george), by giorgione, is the same figure (nearly) as the little st. george which belonged to mr. rogers, and which is now in the national gallery. li 2 651 sacred and legendary art. painter. in the devotional pictures, st. julian is represented young and graceful, often with flowing hair; with a melancholy yet benign aspect, richly dressed in the secular habit, bearing his palm, sometimes the standard of victory, and the sword. his whole history is painted in the church of san giuliano at rimini. one of the scenes represents him as thrown into the sea in a sack full of serpents: in another the sarcophagus containing his body is guided over the waves by angels till it arrives on the shores of the territory of rimini. i have never seen these pictures, which are by bettino, an early artist of rimini, and dated 1408; but lord lindsay praises them highly.2 in the same church is the martyrdom of the saint, over the high altar, by paul veronese. there are no less than twelve saints of this name; but the two most famous are this st. julian the martyr, who is represented young, and with the palm and sword; and st. julian hospitator, the patron saint of travellers, who is generally in the dress of a hermit, and accompanied by a stag. the martyrs who appear in the pictures of the lombard school, though in some instances obscure, and confined to certain localities, are interesting from the beauty and value of the pictures in which they are represented. i begin with those of milan. st. gervasius and st. protasius. ital. ss. gervasio e protasio. fr. st. gervais et st. protais. (june 19, a.d. 69.) the passion for relics (for i can call it by no other name) which prevailed from the third to the fourteenth century, had been introduced from the imaginative east, and, as i have already observed, may be 1 v. p. 668, note. 2 e. 'sketches of christian art.' st. gervasius and st. protasius. 655 c accounted for on the most natural grounds. the remains of those who had perished nobly for an oppressed faith were first buried with reverential tears, and then guarded with reverential care. periodical feasts were celebrated on their tombs-the love-feasts (agapa) of the ancient christians: subsequently, their remains were transferred to places of worship, and deposited under the table or altar from which the sacrament was distributed. such places of worship were supposed, of course, to derive an especial sanctity, and thence an especial celebrity, from the possession of the relics of martyrs highly and universally honoured. i have not time to trace more in detail the growing influence of such impressions on the popular mind; but to this particular aspect of religious enthusiasm we owe some of the grandest remains of ancient art, in architecture, sculpture, and painting. already, in the fourth century, no sacred edifice was deemed complete, or could lay claim to the reverence of the people, unless it could boast the possession of some hallowed remains; and as the offerings of the faithful were multiplied by their devotion, it became too much the interest of the priesthood to lend themselves to these pious impositions; and even the churchmen of the highest rank for energy and intellect were either seized by the prevalent enthusiasm, or turned it to account for their own interests and purposes. when st. ambrose founded a new church at milan (a.d. 387), the people besought him to consecrate it by some holy relics: these, however, were not easily procured; at that time they had not become articles of barter or merchandise. st. ambrose was most anxious to gratify his faithful people; it was also an object of importance to intercept some of the pilgrims, who day by day passed by the city of milan on their way to the shrines at rome. the legend goes on to relate, that, while possessed with these thoughts, st. ambrose went to pray in the church of st. nabor and st. felix; and as he knelt, a kind of trance, which was not exactly sleep, fell upon him. in a vision he beheld two young men, of incomparable beauty, clothed in white garments; with them were st. peter and st. paul: and it was revealed to st. ambrose that these two young men were martyrs whose bodies lay near the spot where he knelt. he then 656 sacred and legendary art. convoked his clergy, and commanded that search should be made, and the bodies of two men were discovered in the spot indicated. they were of gigantic size, their heads were found separated from the bodies, and a quantity of blood was in the tomb; also a record or writing disclosing their names and fate. they were gervasius and protasius-twin brothers, who had suffered for the faith under the emperor nero. having been sent bound to milan, together with nazarus and celsus, they were brought before count artesius, who, sharing in the enmity of his master against the christians, commanded them to sacrifice to his idols. on their refusal, he condemned gervasius to be beaten to death with scourges loaded with lead; and ordered protasius to be beheaded. a good man, whose name was philip, carried home their bodies and buried them honourably in his own garden; and they remained undiscovered until this wonderful revelation to st. ambrose. on the second day after the discovery of the relics, they were borne in solemn procession to the basilica. and as they passed along the streets, many of those who were sick or possessed by evil spirits threw themselves in the way, that they might touch the drapery with which the bodies were covered; and immediately they were healed. among these was a man named severus, well known to all the city, who had been blind for many years, and was reduced to live upon the alms of the charitable: having obtained permission to touch the bones of these holy martyrs, he was restored to sight; which miracle, being performed before all the multitude who accompanied the procession, admitted of no doubt, and raised the popular enthusiasm to its height. st. ambrose gave thanks to god for his mercy, and laid the bones of the martyrs beneath the altar, saying, 'let the victims be borne in triumph to the place where christ is the sacrifice: he upon the altar, who suffered for all; they beneath the altar, who were redeemed by his suffering!' the arians, the enemies of ambrose, did not only mock at this revelation, they even accused him of having bribed severus and others to play a part in this religious drama; but his authority carried everywhere conviction, and the church was dedicated under the names of the new saints gervasius and protasius. after the death of st. ambrose, who was laid in the same spot, it took his name, and st. gervasius and st. protasius. 657 is now sant' ambrogio maggiore,' one of the most remarkable churches in christendom. it does not appear that st. gervasius and st. protasius obtained great popularity either in italy or spain; even at milan they are less esteemed than several other saints. but it is otherwise in france. some part of their relics having been carried thither by st. germain, bishop of paris, in 560, their story at once seized upon the popular imagination; under their french names, st. gervais et st. protais, they became the patron saints of five or six cathedrals, and of parish churches innumerable. the best pictures of these saints are to be met with in the french school. in the devotional effigies they usually stand together, gervasius bearing a scourge with the thongs loaded with lead, as in the legend, and protasius bearing the sword. where one only is represented, it is st. gervasius. at venice, in the church of ss. protasio-e-gervasio, called by the people, after their peculiar manner of abbreviation, san trovaso, there is a picture by lazzarini, of the two saints in glory, carrying palms, not very good. the fine pictures relating to the history of these saints, executed when the convent of st. gervais at paris was at the height of its riches and popularity, are now dispersed; they were the chefs-d'œuvre of the french school of the seventeenth century, when distinguished by such artists as niccolò poussin, le sueur, and champagne. 1. st. ambrose sees in a vision gervasius and protasius, who are presented to him by st. paul. 2. st. ambrose, attended by his clergy, digs for the relics. two designs by le sueur, to be executed in stained glass; very fine and simple. engraved in landon, and in the musée, but not now in the louvre. 3. st. gervasius and protasius, being brought before the statue of jupiter, refuse to sacrifice: many figures, life-size, and more dramatic than is usual with le sueur; the heads of the two young saints have a pale, meek, refined grace, most expressive of their vocation as christians, and in contrast with the coarse forms, furious looks, and violent gestures of the pagan priests and soldiers around them. far inferior are the pictures of champagne, in the louvre, also large life-size compositions, each about twenty feet in length. 1. protasius and gervasius appear to st. ambrose, who is not 658 sacred and legendary art. asleep, but at prayer. 2. the relics of the saints conveyed in grand procession to the basilica of st. ambrose (not to the cathedral, where they never reposed): the martyred brothers lie extended on a bier, the faces seen as if newly dead; which is a deviation from the legend: the sick and possessed crowd to kiss the white drapery which lies over them, covered with flowers. among those who press forward is the blind man severus; st. ambrose and his clergy follow, singing hymns; both pictures are scenic and theatrical, and the heads commonplace. neither in this picture, nor in any others i have seen, are st. gervasius and st. protasius represented as giants, which, in strict adherence to the story, they ought to have been. according to the ambrosian legend, st. vitalis, the famous martyr and patron saint of ravenna, was the father of st. gervasius and protasius, served in the army of the emperor nero, and was one of the converts of st. peter. seeing a christian martyr led to death, whose courage appeared to be sinking, he exhorted him to endure bravely to the end, carried off his body, and buried it honourably; for which crime, as it was then considered, he was first tortured, and then buried alive. his wife valeria, and his two sons gervasius. and protasius, fled to milan. the church at ravenna, dedicated to this saint in the reign of the emperor justinian, is one of the most. remarkable monuments of byzantine architecture in italy. it was erected over the spot where he was buried alive, and dedicated by st. eclesias about the year 547. the greek mosaics in the vault of the tribune represent the saviour seated on the globe of the universe: on his right hand st. vitalis offers his crown of martyrdom; and on the left st. eclesias presents his church. round the arch of the choir are the heads of the twelve apostles, st. vitalis, st. gervasius, and st. protasius, in medallions. for this church, baroccio painted the martyrdom of the patron saint now in the brera at milan. it is a crowded composition; the executioners thrust him down into the pit, and fling earth and stones upon him: and among the spectators are a mother and her two children, one of whom presents a cherry to a magpie. i have seen this incident praised as expressing the complete innocence and unconsciousness of the child; but it interferes st. nazarius and st. celsus. 659 with the tragic solemnity of the scene, and is, to my taste, trivial and disagreeable. the celebrity of san vitalis extended, with that of st. gervasius and st. protasius, all over europe; there are churches dedicated to him not only in italy, but in france and germany. for the high altar of the church of san vitale, at venice, carpaccio painted his masterpiece-the saint, habited as a roman soldier, mounted on a white charger, and bearing the christian standard of victory. it was in the church of st. nabor and st. felix that ambrose knelt when he was visited by the revelation,' as described above. st. nabor and st. felix were two christians of whom nothing more is related than that they died for the faith in the reign of diocletian. they were martyred in the city of milan, buried by a christian named philip in his garden, and an oratory was built over their remains, which in the time of st. ambrose had become the church of ss. nabor and felix; it is now san francesco. the old mosaics in the chapel of san satiro represent them in secular and classical costume; but in a picture by sammacchini (a coronation of the virgin with several saints), ss. nabore and felice stand in front in complete armour.¹ vol. ii. st. nazarius and st. celsus (ital. ss. nazaro e celso) are two milanese martyrs of great celebrity in art. st. nazarius was the son of a jew named africanus, but his mother perpetua was a christian, and caused her son to be baptized by st. peter. nazarius grew up under his mother's tuition a fervent christian, and, accompanied by a young disciple named celsus, he travelled through cisalpine gaul, preaching the gospel and converting many. they came to genoa, where the people, being obstinate pagans, laid hold of them and flung them into the sea; but the sea refused to drown them; and after many wanderings, they came to milan, where gervasius and protasius had testified to the truth, and nazarius comforted and strengthened them. some short time. ¹ bologna gal. m m 660 sacred and legendary art. afterwards he and his youthful disciple celsus suffered together, being beheaded outside the porta romana at milan. the beautiful antique church of san nazaro maggiore, at milan, still stands a record of their names and fate. even more remarkable is that extraordinary monument of byzantine art, the church of ss. nazaro-e-celso at ravenna, better known as the 'mausoleum of galla placidia,' built and dedicated by that empress about the year 447. among the antique mosaics with which the walls are covered i sought in vain for the tutelary saints. they are always represented together, st. nazarius old, and st. celsus as a youth and sometimes even as a boy. they bear the palm and the sword as martyrs, but are not otherwise distinguished; there are effigies of them in the church of st. nazaro at milan, but probably not of very great merit, for i confess that i have no recollection of them, while titian's altar-piece in their church at brescia cannot easily be forgotten. the central subject is the resurrection of christ; on the left wing is the portrait of the provost averoldi, for whom the picture was painted, and who is recommended to the divine favour by st. nazarius and st. celsus. st. nazarius is bearded; st. celsus, as a youth, stands in front, and both are in armour. on the right wing is a beautiful figure of st. sebastian, drooping and half dead. the picture is a votive offering in commemoration of a pestilence. st. lupo, duke of bergamo, his wife st. adelaide, their daughter st. grata and st. alexander, the martyr, form a group of saints interesting only at bergamo. the two last are patron saints of the city. st. grata, after the death of her husband, was converted to christianity, and led a most chaste and holy life; and when alexander, one of the soldiers of the theban legion, was decapitated outside the gate of bergamo, she wrapped up the severed head in a napkin, and buried the sacred remains honourably. according to the bergamesque chronicle, st. grata converted her father and mother from the superstition of the pagans; and duke lupo, by her advice, founded the cathedral at bergamo. after the death of her parents, grata st. lupo, etc.-st. julia. 661 governed the republic of bergamo with singular prudence, ruling the people more by kindness than by fear, and more by example than by the terrors of the law;'-and everywhere protecting and propagating christianity. she built three churches, and founded an hospital for the poor and sick, in which she ministered to the sufferers with her own hands; and, after governing the state in great prosperity for several years, she died, and her pure spirit ascended into heaven, there to receive the due reward of her righteousness. (a.d. 300.) in the pictures of cariani, salmeggia, and lorenzo lotto, all excellent painters of bergamo, we find these saints constantly represented. st. alexander is habited as a roman warrior, bearing the palm; st. grata is usually carrying the head of st. alexander, which is her proper attribute; st. lupo wears a royal crown, and st. adelaide a crown and long veil: as in a picture by salmeggia, now in the brera at milan. there is a fine statue of st. lupo in a tabernacle above the porch of the cathedral of bergamo. in the church of sant' alessandro-in-colonna, at bergamo, i found two very poetical and dramatic pictures of the martyrdom of st. alexander. in the first he is decapitated; in the second, he is borne to the tomb by two christian converts: st. grata follows, carrying the severed head reverently folded in a napkin : as the drops of blood fall to the earth, flowers spring forth, which are gathered by the maidens attending on st. grata. here we have, in a novel form, the familiar and poetical allegory which represents flowers, or fountains of pure water, or branches of olive, springing from the blood of the martyr. st. adelaide of bergamo must not be confounded with the german st. adelaide, wife of the emperor otho the second. st. julia, a noble virgin, martyred in corsica about the third century, sometimes appears grouped with the brescian saints as one of the patronesses of the city. her relics were brought from corsica to brescia, and a beautiful church and convent were dedicated to her. mm 2 662 sacred and legendary art. an altar-piece by andrea del sarto, in the berlin gallery, represents the throned virgin and child; on her right hand, st. peter, st. benedict, and st. onofrio; on the left, st. paul, st. anthony with fire in his hand, and st. catherine; in front, half length, st. celsus in a rich secular costume, and st. julia, young, beautiful, and richly dressed, holding her palm. i presume the picture to have been originally painted for the convent of santa giulia, in brescia. st. julia and st. afra are sometimes found together in the brescian pictures. st. panacea. i have only seen this saint in one picture, painted by gaudenzio ferrari, in an altar-piece in san giovanni at varallo : she was a poor girl of the vallais, canonised for her chastity, her industry, and the perfect patience with which she suffered the injuries of a cruel stepmother.' the other patron saints of brescia, san faustino and san giovita (faustinus et jovita), and st. afra, appear in some beautiful pictures of the brescian school. at the time that st. apollonius preached the gospel at brescia, faustino and giovita, two brothers, were converted to christianity, and led a most holy and exemplary life, preaching to the people, ministering to the poor, and being zealous in all good works. they were seized by order of the emperor adrian, and thrown into the amphitheatre; but as the wild beasts refused to attack them, they were beheaded outside the gates of brescia, in the year 119 or 121. the brescians honour as their patroness st. afra. with regard to the identity of this saint, there is some inexplicable confusion, which leads us to suppose that there were two saints of this name. the brescian st. afra, whose noble church is one of the chief ornaments of the city, appears to have been a woman of patrician birth, who was converted by witnessing the good works of san faustino and san giovita; she also suffered a cruel martyrdom, together with a certain calocerus. the saints appear in the pictures of the best this is the local legend. i do not find her in any catalogue of saints. st. faustino and giovita.-st. afra. 663 brescian painters, moretto, foppa, romanino,' gambara, and cossale; and only in the churches of brescia, where the group of the bishop apollonius with faustino and giovita, sometimes with and sometimes without st. afra, constantly recurs; apollonius in the episcopal robes, and faustino and giovita sometimes habited as deacons. 1. bassano. in her church at brescia, st. afra, and other converts baptized by st. apollonius: faustino and giovita administer the sacrament. a scene by torchlight, ill composed, but very effective. 2. paul veronese. over her altar, on the left side of the same church, is the martyrdom of st. afra; she is upon a high scaffold, attired in a rich dress of gold network, and looking up to heaven with a beautiful expression of resigned faith; the headless bodies of faustino and giovita lie on the ground (one of the severed heads is the portrait of paolo himself, and very fine), and st. apollonius is exhorting and comforting the martyr: one of the finest works of the painter for colour and dramatic expression. 3. grazio cossale. during the siege of brescia by niccolò piccinino (a.d. 1439), faustino and giovita are seen defending the city, and hurling back the cannon-balls of the enemy. the other st. afra, whom i will mention here to prevent confusion, is the patroness of augsburg. she was a woman of that city who had for a long time followed the profession of courtesan; and it happened that a certain holy man whose name was narcissus, flying from the persecution which afflicted the christians in the reign of aurelian, took refuge in the house of afra without knowing that she was abandoned to sin. when she found out that it was a christian priest, she was overcome with fear and respect, and by a feeling of shame for a profession which it cost her, for the first time, an effort to avow. the good man took the opportunity to exhort her to repentance; she listened to him weeping, and fell at his feet, entreating to be baptized; he, knowing that christ had never rejected a repentant sinner, administered to her baptism, and assured her of forgiveness. in s. maria-caldrera, at brescia, is the masterpiece of g. romanino, representing the bishop apollonius dispensing the holy sacrament to faustino, giovita, calocero, and afra, who kneel before him. 664 sacred and legendary art. 'and afra had three handmaidens, who, like herself, had led a dissolute life. she brought them to the feet of the christian priest, and begged that he would instruct them also in the way to salvation. meantime those who were in pursuit of the priest came to search for him in the dwelling of afra; but she concealed him, first in her own house, and then in that of her mother hilaria; and, by her help, he afterwards escaped to his own country, which was spain. 'but the idolaters seized upon afra, and accused her of having assisted in the escape of a christian, and of being a christian herself. the judge, whose name was gaius, and who had known her former profession, was astonished at the modesty and dignity with which she replied to his questions, and acknowledged herself to be a follower of christ. "how!" said he, "do you, a woman of evil life, expect to be accepted by the god of the christians?" to which afra meekly replied, "it is true i am unworthy to bear the name of christian; nevertheless, he who did not reject mary magdalene, when she washed his feet with her tears, will not reject me." and, continuing constant in the faith, she was condemned to be burned alive; so they tied her to a stake, and heaped around her a pile of vine-branches. then she lifted up her eyes to heaven, and prayed, saying, "o thou, who didst call, not the righteous, but the erring, to repentance, and who hast promised that even at the eleventh hour thou wouldst receive the sinner who called upon thee, accept of my penitence, and let the torments i am about to suffer be received as an expiation of my sin, that through this temporal fire i may be delivered from the eternal fire which shall consume both body and soul! " having said these words, her spirit departed, and was carried by the angels into heaven; and a few days afterwards her mother, hilaria, and her three maidens, digna, eunomia, and eutropia, also perished for the faith with a like constancy.' (august 5, a.d. 307.) this st. afra appears only in the german pictures of the suabian school. behind the choir of the cathedral at augsburg, there is a large altar-piece by christoph amberger, in which the painter has represented in the centre the madonna and child; on the left wing, the bishop-patron of augsburg, st. ulrich; on the right, the martyrdom of st. afra. in the predella beneath, five half-length figures:st. hilaria in the centre, and on each side st. eunomia, st. eutropia, st. christina. 665 st. digna, and the holy man, st. narcissus. i saw this picture in 1855. it has a peculiar mixture of german and italian feeling; is correctly drawn, and full of refined sentiment in the expression, particularly in the st. hilaria. over the high altar in the same church the same saints are represented in coloured sculpture, modern, but in an admirable style. when a bishop is seen in company with the german st. afra, it is st. ulrich, bishop of augsburg in 973; while the companion of the brescian st. afra is st. apollonius, bishop of brescia in 300. st. christina and st. justina. these are two famous virgin martyrs who figure in the churches all over the north of italy, both being patronesses of the venetian states. there is, however, this difference; that while the fame of st. justina of padua is confined to italy, and her effigy to italian art, st. christina is venerated in france, sicily, and bohemia. st. christina. ital. santa cristina. fr. sainte cristine. patroness of bolsena, and one of the patronesses of the venetian states. (july 24, a.d. 295.) the legend of this saint is one of those which have been rejected by the roman catholic church. the little town of tiro, on the borders of lake bolsena, which, according to tradition, was her birth-place, has since been swallowed up by the waters of the lake, and no trace of it remains. she is celebrated, however, all over northern and central italy; and is the subject of some beautiful pictures of the venetian school. her legend, as given in the perfetto legendario, represents her as the daughter of urbanus, a roman patrician, and governor of the city. he was an idolater, but his daughter, who had been early 666 sacred and legendary art. converted to the faith of christ, called herself therefore christina. 'one day, as she stood at her window, she saw many poor and sick, who begged alms, and she had nothing to give them. but suddenly she remembered that her father had many idols of gold and silver; and, being filled with the holy zeal of piety and charity, she took these false gods and broke them in pieces, and divided them amongst the poor. strange it was to see one carrying away the head of jove, and another the hand of venus, and a third the lyre of apollo, and a fourth the trident of neptune. but, alas! when her father returned, and beheld what had been done, what words could express his rage and fury! he ordered his servants to seize her and to beat her with rods, and throw her into a dark dungeon; but the angels of heaven visited and comforted her, and healed her wounds. then her father, seeing that torments did not prevail, ordered them to tie a millstone round her neck, and throw her into the lake of bolsena: but the angels still watched over her; they sustained the stone, so that she did not sink, but floated on the surface of the lake; and the lord, who beheld from heaven all that this glorious virgin suffered for his sake, sent an angel to clothe her in a white garment, and to conduct her safe to land. then her father, utterly astonished, struck his forehead and exclaimed, "what meaneth this witchcraft?" and he ordered that they should light a fiery furnace and throw her in; but she remained there five days unharmed, singing the praises of god. then he ordered that her head should be shaved, and that she should he dragged to the temple of apollo to sacrifice; but no sooner had she looked upon the idol, than it fell down before her. when her father saw this, his terror was so great that he gave up the ghost. 'but the patrician julian, who succeeded him as governor, was not less barbarous, for, hearing that christina in her prison sang perpetually the praises of god, he ordered her tongue to be cut out, but-oh miracle! she only sang more sweetly than ever, and uttered her thanksgivings aloud, to the wonder of all who heard her. then he shut her up in a dungeon with serpents and venomous reptiles; but they became in her presence harmless as doves. so, being well nigh in despair, this perverse pagan caused her to be bound to a post, and ordered his soldiers to shoot her with arrows till she died. st. christina. 667 thus she at length received the hardly-earned crown of martyrdom; and the angels, full of joy and wonder at such invincible fortitude, bore her pure spirit into heaven.' in the island of bisentina, in the lake of bolsena, is a small church dedicated to her, and painted it is said by the caracci; but few, i believe, have visited it. the superb cathedral of bolsena is also consecrated in her name. in devotional pictures, the proper attribute of st. christina is the millstone. she has also the arrow or arrows in her hand, and bears, of course, the crown and palm as martyr. when she bears the arrow only, it is not easy to distinguish her from st. ursula: but in early italian art a female saint bearing the arrow, and not distinguished by any of the royal attributes, is certainly st. christina. pictures of her are common in all the cities of northern and central italy, but more especially at bolsena, venice, and treviso. we find her frequently grouped with the other patrons of this part of italy; for example, with st. barbara of ferrara, with st. catherine of venice, with st. justina of padua, &c. i shall give a few examples. 1. st. christina, as patron saint, stands, crowned and bearing her palm, between ss. peter and paul. in a beautiful picture by d. mazza.¹ venice, abbazia. 2. johan schoreel. she stands as martyr, one hand on a millstone, the other bearing a palm; her dress is that of a lady in the time of henry viii. i give a sketch from this picture, to show the portrait-like manner in which the saints were often treated in the old german school. (162) 3. vincenzio catena. st. christina kneeling on the surface of lake bolsena: angels sustain the millstone, which is fastened round her neck by a long rope; in the skies above, our saviour appears with his banner, as victor over sin and death, and gives to an angel a white shining garment in which to clothe the martyr. this is a variation from the commonplace angel with the crown and palm; and the whole picture is as pure and charming in sentiment as it is sweet and harmonious in colour.2 vol. ii. 2 venice, s. maria-mater-domini. n n 668 sacred and legendary art. 162 id st. christina (johan schoreel. munich gal.) 4. lorenzo di credi. st. christina kneeling and holding the arrow, grouped with st. nicholas of bari, st. julian of rimini, and st. barbara of ferrara. above is the coronation of the virgin.' st. christina is sometimes represented with a sword in her bosom, as in an altar-piece by bissolo at treviso, and another by palina: it is then difficult to distinguish her from st. justina.2 in an ancient it was in the collection of mr. rogers. when i first remember this picture it used to hang in his bedroom out of sight of visitors, and i used often to go up to look at it-' no one else,' he said, 'cared about it.' of late years it was brought down, covered with plate glass, and hung in his drawing-room-admired by all. 2 perhaps, in these and similar instances, the figures are miscalled, and do really represent st. justina. st. justina. 669 picture by jacopo avanzi, in the bologna gallery, she is bound to a tree, and two executioners shoot her with arrows, in presence of the prefect julian. paul veronese painted the whole history of st. christina in a series of ten pictures, which existed formerly in the church of sant' antonio in the island of torcello at venice. i saw six of these in the academy at venice, the others apparently are dispersed or lost. 1. st. christina is baptized. 2. she refuses to adore the statue of apollo. 3. she breaks the gold and silver idols, and gives them to the poor. 4. she is scourged. 5. she is comforted by angels, who bring to her fruits and flowers in her dungeon. 6. she is in a boat on lake bolsena; two men prepare to throw her overboard with a millstone round her neck, while her father is seen giving his orders from the shore. st. justina of padua, virgin and martyr. lat. justina patavina urbis protectrix. ital. santa giustina di padova. fr. sainte justine de padoue. patron saint of padua and of venice. (october 7, a.d. 303.) this saint, famous in the paduan and venetian territories, was, according to the legend, a virgin of royal birth, who dwelt in the city of padua. king vitalicino, her father, having been baptized by st. prodocimo (prosdocimus), a disciple of the apostle peter, brought up his daughter in the true faith. after the death of her father, justina being accused before the emperor maximian as a christian, he commanded that she should be slain by the sword; and she, opening her arms to receive the stroke of the executioner, was pierced through the bosom, and fell dead. in the year 453, opilio, a citizen of padua, founded in her honour the magnificent church which bears her name: and as early as the sixth century we find her almost as celebrated in the west as her namesake, the illustrious virgin and martyr of antioch, was in the east. her church at padua, having fallen into ruin, was sumptuously restored by the benedictine order in the beginning of the sixteenth century. the collections made for this purpose throughout the north nn 2 670 sacred and legendary art. of italy awakened the enthusiasm of the neighbouring states, and it is from this time that we find justina represented in the pictures of the paduan and venetian schools, and most frequently in the pictures of paul veronese. in the single figures she is richly dressed, wearing the crown and bearing her palm, as princess and as martyr, and in general with the sword transfixing her bosom, which is her proper attribute. she is thus represented in a beautiful figure by vittore carpaccio ; and in the fresco by luini in san maurizio, at milan, where she is called by some mistake st. ursula. in the venetian altar-pieces st. justina is often placed on one side of the madonna, accompanied either by st. mark or st. catherine. as patroness of venice, we find her interceding in heaven for the venetians, as in a picture in the arsenal at venice: in another, we have st. justina and st. mark presenting venice (under the form of a beautiful woman, crowned and sumptuously attired) to the virgin; the naval battle of carolari is seen below: a grand, scenic, votive picture, painted for the state by paul veronese.2 in the magnificent church of santa giustina at padua, the altarpiece by paul veronese represents the scene of her martyrdom: amid a crowd of people, the executioner plunges a sword into her bosom; christ, with the virgin, st. john, and a numerous company of saints. and angels, receives her into glory above. this, to my taste, is a heavy, crowded picture; the fine engraving by agostino caracci has given it more celebrity than it deserves. in the same church, in the centre of the choir, stands a chest or shrine, on which is sculptured the history of the life of santa giustina in five compartments. she is baptized by st. prodocimo. 2. the baptism of her parents. 3. she is seized by the emissaries of maximian, and dragged out of her chariot. 4. she is martyred by the sword. 5. she is borne to the grave by st. prodocimo and others. 1. in some venetian pictures the attribute of the unicorn, which belongs properly to st. justina of antioch, has been given to st. justina of padua; and when this is the case it is not easy to determine whether the mistake arose from ignorance or design. in milan, brera. 2 venice, ducal pal. st. filomena 671 domenichino's picture of st. justina caressing a unicorn in a forest, it is, i imagine, st. justina of antioch who is represented.' in moretto's splendid picture of the duke alfonso i. at the feet of st. justina,² i should suppose that the artist had the patroness of padua and venice, and not the martyr of antioch in his mind-or perhaps confounded the two. neither must it be forgotten that a beautiful female attended by a unicorn is sometimes merely allegorical, representing chastity; but when the palm and sword are added, it is undoubtedly a st. justina; and if the picture be by a venetian artist, if the figures be in the venetian costume, if venice be seen in the distance, or st. mark introduced, then it is probably st. justina of padua ; otherwise, when a female saint appears alone, or in a company of martyrs, attended by a unicorn, it is st. justina of antioch. st. justina figures on the venetian coins struck by the doges leonardo donato and pasquale cicogna. the last of these italian martyrs who appears worthy of record, as a subject of painting, is one of very recent celebrity, and, perhaps, the most apocryphal saint in the whole calendar-which is saying much. st. filomena. 1 or the allegory of chastity. lat. sancta philumena. fr. sainte philomène. (aug. 10, 303.) in the year 1802, while some excavations were going forward in the catacomb of priscilla at rome, a sepulchre was discovered containing the skeleton of a young female; on the exterior were rudely painted some of the symbols constantly recurring in these chambers of the dead an anchor, an olive branch (emblems of hope and peace), a 2 vienna gal. v. p. 577. 672 sacred and legendary art. scourge, two arrows, and a javelin: above them the following inscription, of which the beginning and end were destroyed :-lumena pax te cum fithe remains, reasonably supposed to be those of one of the early martyrs for the faith, were sealed up and deposited in the treasury of relics in the lateran; here they remained for some years unthought of. on the return of pius vii. from france, a neapolitan prelate was sent to congratulate him. one of the priests in his train, who wished to create a sensation in his district, where the long residence of the french had probably caused some decay of piety, begged for a few relics to carry home, and these recently discovered remains were bestowed on him; the inscription was translated somewhat freely, to signify santa philumena, rest in peace. amen. another priest, whose name is suppressed because of his great humility, was favoured by a vision in the broad noon-day, in which he beheld the glorious virgin filomena, who was pleased to reveal to him that she had suffered death for preferring the christian faith and her vow of chastity to the addresses of the emperor, who wished to make her his wife. this vision leaving much of her history obscure, a certain young artist, whose name is also suppressed, perhaps because of his great humility, was informed in a vision that the emperor alluded to was diocletian, and at the same time the torments and persecutions suffered by the christian virgin filomena, as well as her wonderful constancy, were also revealed to him. there were some difficulties in the way of the emperor diocletian, which incline the writer of the historical account to incline to the opinion that the young artist in his vision may have made a mistake, and that the emperor may have been not diocletian but maximian. the facts, however, now admitted of no doubt: the relics were carried by the priest francesco da lucia to naples; they were enclosed in a case of wood resembling in form the human body; this figure was habited in a petticoat of white satin, and over it a crimson tunic after the greek fashion; the face was painted to represent nature, a garland of flowers was placed on the head, and in the hands a lily and à javelin with the point reversed to express her purity and her martyrdom; then she was laid in a half-sitting posst. filomena. 673 ture in a sarcophagus, of which the sides were glass; and, after lying for some time in state in the chapel of the torres family in the church of sant' angiolo, she was carried in grand procession to mugnano, a little town about twenty miles from naples, amid the acclamations of the people, working many and surprising miracles by the way. such is the legend of st. filomena, and such the authority on which she has become within the last twenty years one of the most popular saints in italy. jewels to the value of many thousand crowns have been offered at her shrine, and solemnly placed round the neck of her image or suspended to her girdle. i found her effigy in the venetian churches, and in those of bologna and lombardy. her worship has extended to enlightened tuscany. at pisa the church of san francesco contains a chapel dedicated lately to santa filomena; over the altar is a picture by sabatelli representing the saint as a beautiful nymph-like figure floating down from heaven, attended by two angels bearing the lily, palm, and javelin, and beneath in the foreground the sick and maimed who are healed by her intercession; round the chapel are suspended hundreds of votive offerings, displaying the power and the popularity of the saint. there is also a graceful german print after führich, representing her in the same attitude in which the image lies in the shrine. i did not expect to encounter st. filomena at paris; but, to my surprise, i found a chapel dedicated to her in the church of st. gervais; a statue of her with the flowers, the dart, the scourge, and the anchor under. her feet; and two pictures, one surrounded, after the antique fashion, with scenes from her life. in the church of saint-merry, at paris, there is a chapel recently dedicated to 'ste philomène;' the walls covered with a series of frescoes from her legend, painted by amaury duval-a very fair imitation of the old italian style. i have heard that st. filomena is patronised by the jesuits; even so, it is difficult to account for the extension and popularity of her story in this nineteenth century. 674 sacred and legendary art. st. omobuono, the protector of cremona, and patron saint of tailors, was neither a martyr, nor a monk, nor even a hermit; but as effigies of him are confined entirely to pictures of the cremonese and venetian schools, i shall place him here to make my chapter of these local italian saints complete. he is regarded all over the north of italy as the patron and example of good citizens, and is the subject of some beautiful pictures. according to the legend, omobuono was a merchant of cremona, who had received from his father but little school learning, yet, from the moment he entered on the management of his own affairs, a wisdom more than human seemed to inspire every action of his life; diligent and thrifty, his stores increased daily, and, with his possessions, his almost boundless charity; nor did his charity consist merely in giving his money in alms, nor in founding hospitals, but in the devotion of his whole heart towards relieving the sorrows as well as the necessities of the poor, and in exhorting and converting to repentance those who had been led into evil courses: neither did this good saint think it necessary to lead a life of celibacy; he was married to a prudent and virtuous wife, who was sometimes uneasy lest her husband's excessive bounty to the poor should bring her children to beggary; but it was far otherwise: omobuono increased daily in riches and prosperity, so that the people of the city believed that his stores were miraculously multiplied. it is related of him, that being on a journey with his family, and meeting some poor pilgrims who were ready to faint by the wayside with hunger and thirst, he gave them freely all the bread and wine he had provided for his own necessities, and going afterwards to fill his empty wineflasks from a running stream, the water when poured out proved to be most excellent wine, and his wallet was found full of wheaten bread, supplied by the angels in lieu of that which he had given away. as the life of omobuono had been in all respects most blessed, so was his death; for one morning, being at his early devotions in the church of st. egidio, and kneeling before a crucifix, just as the choir were singing the gloria in excelsis,' he stretched out his arms in the form of a cross, and in this attitude expired. he was canonised by pope innocent iii. on the earnest petition of his fellow-citizens. " st. omobuono. 675 figures of this amiable citizen-saint occur in the pictures of giulio campi, malosso, andrea mainardi, borroni, and other painters of cremona. he is generally habited in a loose tunic trimmed with fur, and cap also trimmed with fur, and is in the act of distributing food and alms to the poor; sometimes wine-flasks stand near him in allusion to the famous miracle in his legend. in a fine enthroned madonna by bartolomeo montagna, omobuono stands in an attitude of compassionate thoughtfulness, with a poor beggar at his feet.' in the church of st. egidio-ed-omobuono at cremona, i found a series of pictures from his life. 1. he fills his empty flasks at the stream, and finds them full of wine. 2. the bread which he distributes to the poor is miraculously multiplied in his hands. 3. he clothes the ragged and naked poor. 4. he expires before the crucifix, sustained by angels. in the cupola of the same church he is seen carried into paradise by a troop of rejoicing spirits. these were painted by borroni in 1684. i have met with very few among the french and spanish martyrs who have attained to any general importance as subjects of art. the most interesting of the spanish saints are those of the monastic orders, and they will be found in their proper place among the monastic legends. st. vincent, whose fame has become universal, is the most distinguished of the spanish early martyrs.2 there are some others almost peculiar to spanish art, who, from the beauty of the representations by murillo and zurbaran, are interesting to a lover and hunter of pictures; but as very few, even of the best, of these are known through engravings, and as my own acquaintance with spanish art is limited, i shall confine myself to those most popular. berlin gal. see also 'legends of the madonna,' p. 99. vol. ii. 00 2 r. p. 549. 676 sacred and legendary art. 163 st. justa and st. rufina (murillo) m.a. w. se. st. justa and st. rufina, patronesses of seville. (july 19, a.d. 304.) these were two christian sisters dwelling in that city. they were the daughters of a potter, and made a living by selling earthenware; and contenting themselves with the bare necessaries of life, they gave all the rest to the poor. certain women who lived near them, and who were worshippers of the goddess venus, came to their shop to buy vessels for their idolatrous sacrifice. the two sisters answered that they had no vessels for such a purpose; that their ware should be used for the service of god, and not in the worship of stocks and st. justa and st. rufina.-st. eulalia of merida. 677 stones. upon this the pagan women broke all the earthenware in their shop. justa and rufina retaliated by falling upon the image of venus, which they broke to pieces and flung into the kennel. the populace immediately collected before their door, seized them, and carried them before the prefect. on being accused of sacrilege, they boldly avowed themselves to be christians; and being condemned to the torture, justa expired on the rack, and rufina was strangled. this came to pass in the year 304. the two sisters are represented as spanish girls, bearing the palm as martyrs, and holding in their hands earthenware pots. pictures of them are entirely confined to the seville school. they are generally represented with the giralda (which is supposed to be under their especial care and patronage) between them. according to mr. ford,' their great miracle was the preservation of this beautiful and far-famed tower in a thunder-storm, in 1504. when espartero bombarded seville in 1843, the people still believed that the giralda was encompassed by invisible angels led by rufina and justa, who turned aside every bomb. murillo has frequently painted them. the duke of sutherland has two beautiful half-length figures of these two saints, holding each their palms and alcarrazas (earthenware pots). in the spanish gallery of the louvre, there are several representations of them by zurbaran and others. zurbaran represents them richly dressed; but murillo has generally painted them as muchachas, spanish girls of the lower class. there was a magnificent sketch by murillo in the aguado gallery, representing the virgin in glory; and, kneeling in adoration before her, st. rufina and st. justa with their alcarrazas at their feet, accompanied by st. francis and st. john the baptist: painted, i presume, for the capuchins of seville. (163) st. eulalia of merida (dec. 10) was a spanish martyr whose story is related in one of the hymns of prudentius. he tells us that at the time the terrible edict of diocletian was published, eulalia, who was only twelve years old, escaped from her mother's house, and confronted the tyrant prefect, who was sitting in judgment on the 1. handbook of spain,' p. 249. 002 678 sacred and legendary art. christians, and reproached him with his cruelty and impiety. the governor, astonished at her audacity, commanded her to be seized, and placed on one side of her the instruments of torture prepared for the disobedient, and on the other the salt and frankincense which they were about to offer to their idol. eulalia immediately flung down the idol, and trampled the offering under her feet, and spit in the face of the judge-an action which, as butler observes, could only be excused by her extreme youth.' she was immediately put to death in the midst of tortures, and at the moment she expired a white dove issued from her mouth (the usual allegory of the soul or spirit), and winged its way towards heaven. 6 she is renowned in spain, and i believe only to be met with in the spanish churches and works of art. mr. ford, in his handbook, warns ignorant infidels' against confounding this st. eulalia with another st. eulalia of barcelona, whose story is so similar that the difficulty would consist, it should seem, in proving any distinction between them. it is true there are two different bodies, one lying at merida and the other at barcelona; but this might have been arranged by a miracle. one of these two saints must have been early and widely celebrated, for we find a st. eulalia in the grand procession of virgin martyrs at ravenna.¹ st. leocadia (april 26), the renowned patroness of toledo, was a native of that city, and in the persecution of diocletian she was seized by the cruel governor and thrown into a deep dark dungeon. after being kept there for some time in daily expectation of death, she heard in her prison of the martyrdom of her friend st. eulalia, and earnestly prayed to be united with her by a glorious death. her prayer was granted; for she expired in prison, and her relics have ever since been preserved in that city, where three of the grandest churches in spain, dedicated to her honour, show the reverence in which she was held. but according to another legend she was cast down from the rocks by an order of dacian. a chapel was built on the spot where she fell, and there, as it is related, angels appeared and removed the stone from her sepulchre, when she arose clad in a mantilla, and revealed to st. ildefonso, who had written a treatise in 1. p. 525. st. crispin and st. crispianus. 679 honour of the virgin, the approbation with which his work was regarded in heaven. before she had time to disappear, st. ildefonso cut off a part of her veil, which was preserved amongst the treasures of the church. st. leocadia is represented only in spanish works of art. at toledo, in the magnificent church dedicated to her, there is a series of pictures from her life by f. ricci; and in the hospital of santa cruz, is a picture which represents her rising from the tomb to speak to st. ildefonso. there is a statue of this saint over the gate of toledo (puerta del cambron), executed by berruguete, which mr. ford describes as florentine in style, tender and beautiful in form, and sweet, gentle, and serious in expression.' ( st. crispin and st. crispianus. ital. san crispino e san crispiano. fr. ss. crespin et crespinien. patron saints of soissons. (october 25, a.d. 287, according to baillet; and according to the roman legend, a.d. 300.) 6 the two holy brothers, crispin and crispianus, departed from rome with st. denis, to preach the gospel in france; and, not willing to be a burthen upon others, they, after the example of st. paul, laboured with their hands, being by trade shoemakers, which is a very honest and peaceable calling.' and these good saints made shoes for the poor without fee or reward (for which the angels supplied them with leather), until, denounced as christians, they suffered martyrdom at soissons, being, after many tortures, beheaded by the sword. the devotional figures, which are common in old french prints, represent these saints standing together, holding the palm in one hand, and in the other the awl or the shoemaker's knife. they are very often met with in the old stained glass, working at their trade, or making shoes for the poor-the usual subject in the shoemakers' guilds all over france and germany. italian pictures of these saints are rare. there is, however, one by guido which represents he throned madonna, and st. crispin presenting to her his brother 680 sacred and legendary art. st. crispianus, while angels from above scatter flowers on the group.' looking over the old french prints of st. crespin and st. crespinien, which are in general either grotesque or commonplace, i met with one not easily to be forgotten; it represents these two famous saints proceeding on their mission to preach the gospel in france: they are careering over the sea in a bark drawn by sea-horses and attended by tritons, and are attired in the full court-dress of the time of louis xv., with laced coats, cocked hats, and rapiers. these french saints were very popular in england as protectors of the guild of shoemakers; and are retained, not without reason, in our reformed calendar, the day on which they are celebrated being famous in english history and english poetry. the readers of shakspeare will remember it as the anniversary of the battle of agincourt:and crispin crispian shall ne'er go by, from this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered. it appears to have been celebrated as a holyday all over england; to which westmoreland alludeso that we now had here but one ten thousand of those men in england who do no work to-day! 164 hom dresden gal. cherubim (perugino) gyrv vi xi marvsit pvlo xii almy ii hars iv nava ja se xvi m sah prosp www. iiix ones ky©) i xvii vii 21020 xiv mines sda xix tand aco cases clonakk rb s iii 000000000 dddddddod բորրոր sopise ८ me flavor ntree beare my origins of aime raota's ehim ου vill milisten xi xv xviii ptis adland the early bishops. 681 the early bishops. the early bishops of the church-those who lived in the first five or six centuries, and did not belong to any of the regular monastic orders-form, in their relation to art, a very interesting and picturesque group of saints. their importance, general or local, in the propagation of christianity, renders them indispensable in ecclesiastical decoration; and whether they stand alone, or in a sacra conversazione, as the pastors and founders of their respective churches, blessing from their tabernacle above the porch, or shining from the storied window, or presenting the votary at the altar, or interceding for their flock at the feet of the virgin and child, their mild majestic air, venerable beards, and splendid sacerdotal robes, render them extremely effective and ornamental as subjects of art: to the educated eye and reflecting mind, they have, however, a far deeper value and interest. in general, we find that the first christian missionary who preached the gospel in any city or locality, and gathered a christian community around him, was regarded as the founder and first bishop of that church; subsequently, he came to be venerated by the inhabitants as their celestial protector and intercessor, as continuing in heaven that care and superintendence he had exercised on earth. though removed from his place among them, he was still their bishop, they were still his flock: his effigy stood conspicuously in their churches, and still extended the hand in benediction over them. in the days of the free republics of italy, their coinage bore, instead of the head of a potentate or tyrant, that of their tutelary saint; in most cases, the bishop who had been the first to bring to them the glad tidings of salvation, or who had shed his blood, either in testimony to his faith, or in defence of his flock. thus, on the coins of arezzo, we find the effigy of st. donatus; on those of bologna, st. petronius; on those of ferrara, st. maurelius; on those of naples, st. januarius. in the fourteenth century, all the coinage of italy was solemnly 682 sacred and legendary art. placed under the protection of the guardian saints. on the coins of milan we have on one side st. ambrose, on the reverse st. gervasius and st. protasius: on those of florence, st. john the baptist, and st. cosmo and st. damian. perhaps it was some association with the sanctity of the image impressed on it which made the counterfeiting of money a sort of sacrilege, and induced dante to place a coiner in one of the lowest circles of hell.' the representations of these primitive bishops have an especial interest and propriety, i might almost say a sanctity, when contemplated within the walls of the church consecrated to their honour in a spirit of grateful veneration. we may conceive this sort of interest by imagining how we should feel, if, within the walls of westminster abbey, we were shown the figure, however idealised, of im who first brought the tidings of the gospel to this island. is there any one who could turn away from it with indifference or inattention ?—who would not feel it to be more in harmony with the place than general monk or sir cloudesley shovel? it is not, however, the less true that with some of these mediaval bishops the impression of the sacred and the venerable is somewhat spoiled by the legendary attributes which accompany them. it is not pleasant to see a bishop walking without his head, like st. denis, or flourishing a scourge, like st. ambrose; but even such representations, however grotesque they may appear, strike us in quite another point of view when we consider the meaning of these attributes and their relation to history, to the character of the individual, and the manners and morals of the age in which he lived. in former times the christianity of a city or district was, like a patent of nobility, the more honourable for its antiquity. a community traced back its christianity as a noble traced back his genealogy, as far as it was possible. the object was to prove that one of the apostles, or at least some immediate delegate or disciple of peter or paul, had been the first to gather them within the pale of salvation. each, too, jealous for the dignity of the local patron, multiplied and boasted of his miracles; and if st. petronius performed a wonder at bologna, it was immediately emulated by st. inferno, c. xxx, the early bishops. 688 gaudenzio at rimini, or st. maurelius at ferrara. hence the uncertainty which has been studiously thrown round the origin of the early churches; and hence the amount of legendary inventions with which the people surrounded the memory of their founders, till the simplicity and credibility of the old tradition were wholly lost. hence, too, the perpetual repetition of the same extravagant stories, only varying the names of the actors; so that, when these venerable personages appear in art, it becomes, from the moment they are removed from the locality for which they were painted, very difficult-often impossible to discriminate them aright, they are so much alike in appearance and habiliments, and the same stories and attributes are so constantly repeated. a bishop is immediately recognised by his dress; and here the grand distinction is between the greek and the latin bishops. the primitive greek bishops wear the alba or surplice, always white, and over that the white planeta or chasuble embroidered with purple crosses. their crosier, where they have one, is a staff surmounted by a cross, and they wear no mitre. the later artists frequently commit the error of giving to the geeek bishops the latin mitre, and to the latin bishops the greek crosier. the etching of the greek fathers will give a correct idea of the greek episcopal costume. st. chrysostom, in the centre, wears the dalmatica only; the others wear the planeta, which was a mantle made of a wide circular piece of cloth with an aperture in the middle for the head to pass through, and no sleeves, so that, when the arms were raised, it was necessarily gathered up in graceful folds on each side. in western art the vestments given to the bishops merely as distinctive of the episcopal rank were not those proper to the age in which they lived, but those of the time in which the picture was painted. the difference, however, was only in the cut of the garb, the garb itself was the same. they wear, first, the white tunic (alba) fastened round the waist with a girdle, and which has a wide lace border falling to the feet, and seen beneath the upper vestments. over this is thrown, in the manner of a scarf, the stole, a long narrow piece of cloth richly embroidered with crosses: the two ends, fringed, are crossed upon the breast and hang down on each side, and often vol. ii. pp 684 sacred and legendary art. : appear below the chasuble (or planeta), which is the proper eucharistic robe. the planeta was at first, as i have described it above, only a circular piece of cloth with an aperture in the middle, but for the sake of convenience it was cut shorter and shorter on each side, till it hung only before and behind, the back part being embroidered with a large cross. the pallium, the insignia of dignity worn over the planeta only by archbishops and patriarchs, resembles the stole it is a white woollen band about three fingers in breadth passed round the shoulders, and from which depend three short bands embroidered with crosses; two hang behind, and one towards the right shoulder hangs in front. over the whole is thrown the cope or pluviale (literally, rain-cloak), because first adopted merely as a covering from the weather, in the processions from one church to another. subsequently it became a part of the episcopal costume, falling over the whole person, generally of purple or scarlet, most richly embroidered, open in the front, and fastened across the breast with a jewelled clasp. the gloves, with the ruby on the back of the hand, figuring the wounds of christ, and the official ring on the forefinger of the right hand, are sometimes, but not always, introduced; the mitre almost always; the infula, two bands or lappets, depending from the mitre behind, distinguish the bishop from the abbot. the staff, in the form of a shepherd's crook (baculus pastoralis), completes the episcopal habit and attributes. what is properly the crosier, the staff surmounted by a cross, is borne by archbishops. at the head of the early bishops we place the hierarchs of rome, first styled popes about the year 500. few are of general interest in their pontifical character, considered i mean, as subjects of art. st. gregory, for instance, does not figure as pope, but as a doctor of the church; nor st. clement as pope, but as martyr: of both i have already spoken at length. st. sixtus figures in the pictures of st. laurence; and st. urban in those of st. cecilia. st. cornelius, pope in 250,¹ and st. cyprian, bishop of carthage, are generally found in the same picture, because they were friends, contemporaries, and, as martyrs, commemorated on the same day. a saint, wearing the triple tiara and holding a horn (cornu), is st. cornelius, but he is very rarely met with. st. cornelius as pope, holding a horn in his hand. h. v. der goes. as patron, with four female votaries. altar small: academy, vienna. the early bishops. 685 st. leo, surnamed the great, when rome was threatened by attila, preserved it by his bold and eloquent intercession. "the apparition,' says gibbon, of the two apostles, st. peter and st. paul, who menaced the barbarian with instant death if he rejected the prayer of their successor, is one of the noblest legends of ecclesiastical tradition. the safety of rome might deserve the interposition of celestial beings; and some indulgence is due to a fable which has been represented by the pencil of a raphael and the chisel of algardi.' raphael's fresco, styled the attila,' is in the vatican: it is rather historically than religiously treated; it is, in fact, an historical picture. the marble altar-piece of algardi is placed in st. peter's, over the chapel of st. leo. the king of the huns, terrified by the apparition of the two apostles in the air, turns his back and flies. we have here a picture in marble, with all the faults of taste and style which prevailed at that time, but the workmanship is excellent; it is, perhaps, the largest bas-relief in existence, excepting the rock sculpture of the indians and egyptians-at least fifteen feet in height. there is an effigy in mosaic and a grand fresco representing st. mark (the only pope who bore this name, and who lived in 340), in the church of san marco at rome. the popes, as bishops of rome, are distinguished by the triple tiara, and the crosier surmounted by a double cross. the tiara, i believe, was first adopted by boniface viii., and supposed to signify the triple crown of our saviour-the crown of glory, the crown of mercy, and the crown of martyrdom; but others have interpreted it to signify the triple dominion asserted by the roman pontiff, as god's vicegerent over heaven, earth, and hell. cardinal priests did not exist before the eighth century, and among the early prelates only st. jerome wears, by usage and courtesy, the cardinal attributes. the earliest cardinal saint, properly so styled, was st. bonaventura the franciscan, whose curious legend will be found among those of the monastic orders. next after the popes and cardinals follow the greek bishops; at the head of these we place the greek doctors, and immediately after pp 2 686 sacred and legendary art. them, the universal bishop-patron, st. nicholas, who, in western art, is always attired in the vestments proper to the latin church. next to him the greek bishops most universally honoured in their effigies are st. ignatius, st. blaise, and st. erasmus. at the head of the latin bishops we place st. ambrose and st. augustine, who generally appear in their higher character of fathers of the church. the other latin bishops who figure in art fall naturally into two groups-those who were martyrs, and who take the first rank by virtue of their palm, and those who were confessors. the obscure pastors of the early italian churches are in a manner consecrated anew by the exceeding beauty and value of those works of art in which they figure. i shall, therefore, particularise a few of the most interesting among them. i begin my chapter of bishops with the story of st. sylvester, patriarch of rome, giving him the precedence as such; the title of pope was not in use for two centuries at least after his time. st. sylvester, pope. ital. san silvestro. fr. saint silvestre. (december 31, a.d. 335.) 'sylvester was born at rome of virtuous parents; and at the time when constantine was still in the darkness of idolatry and persecuted the christians, sylvester, who had been elected bishop of rome, fled from the persecution, and dwelt for some time in a cavern, near the summit of monte calvo. while he lay there concealed, the emperor was attacked by a horrible leprosy; and having called to him the priests of his false gods, they advised that he should bathe himself in a bath of children's blood, and three thousand children were collected for this purpose. and as he proceeded in his chariot to the place where the bath was to be prepared, the mothers of these children threw themselves in his way with dishevelled hair, weeping, and crying aloud for mercy. then constantine was moved to tears, and he ordered his chariot to stop, and he said to his nobles and st. sylvester. 687 to his attendants who were around him, "far better is it that i should die than cause the death of these innocents!" and then he commanded that the children should be restored to their mothers with great gifts, in recompense of what they had suffered; so they went away full of joy and gratitude, and the emperor returned to his palace. 'on that same night, as he lay asleep, st. peter and st. paul appeared at his bedside; and they stretched their hands over him and said, "because thou hast feared to spill the innocent blood, jesus christ has sent us to bring thee good counsel. send to sylvester, who lies hidden among the mountains, and he shall show thee the pool, in which, having washed three times, thou shalt be clean of thy leprosy; and henceforth thou shalt adore the god of the christians, and thou shalt cease to persecute and to oppress them." then constantine, awaking from this vision, sent his soldiers in search of sylvester. and when they took him, he supposed that it was to lead him to death; nevertheless he went cheerfully: and when he appeared before the emperor, constantine arose and saluted him, and said, "i would know of thee who are those two gods who appeared to me in the visions of the night?" and sylvester replied, "they were not gods, but the apostles of the lord jesus christ." then constantine desired that he would show him the effigies of these two apostles; and sylvester sent for two pictures of st. peter and st. paul, which were in the possession of certain pious christians. constantine, having beheld them, saw that they were the same who had appeared to him in his dream. then sylvester baptized him, and he came out of the font cured of his malady.' and the first day after his baptism, he ordered that jesus christ should be adored throughout rome, as the only true god; on the second day, that those who blasphemed against him should be put to death; on the third day, that whoever should insult a christian should have the half of his goods confiscated; on the fourth day he decreed, that thenceforth 1 constantine was not baptized till a few days before his death, and then by eusebius. i hope it is not necessary to remind the reader of the wide difference between the constantine of history and the st. constantine of the legends. the donation of constantine to the bishops of rome was for ages considered a genuine grant, but is now universally regarded as spurious. 688 sacred and legendary art. the bishop of rome should be the chief over all the bishops of christendom-as the emperor of rome was the first among the sovereigns of the earth; on the fifth day, he granted the privilege of sanctuary to all the christian churches; on the sixth day, he decreed that no one should build a church without the authority of the bishop; on the seventh day, that the tithes of all the roman domains should be granted to the church. on the eighth day, after confessing his sins and receiving forgiveness, he took a spade and dug with his own hands the foundation of a new basilica; and he carried upon his shoulders twelve hods full of the earth that he had dug out. then he laid the first stone of the great basilica of st. john the baptist, since called the lateran. 'now when the empress helena, the mother of constantine, heard these things, she reproached him, and told him that it would have been better for him to have followed the god of the jews than the god of the christians (for helena at this time inclined to judaism). and constantine wrote to her that she should bring with her the wisest of the jewish rabbis, and that they should hold an argument with sylvester. so she repaired to rome, bringing with her one hundred and forty of the doctors most learned in the law: and the emperor appointed a day on which to listen to them. he named as arbitrators two famous greek philosophers, crato and zeno; and it was wisely decreed beforehand, that only one should speak at a time, and all the others should keep silence till he had finished. and sylvester, being inspired by the holy ghost, clearly convicted these men out of the scriptures, and put them to silence. then the most learned among the doctors, who was also a magician, defied sylvester to a trial of the power of his god, and said to him with scorn, "dost thou know the name of the omnipotent, that name which no creature can hear and live? i know it: let them bring me a wild bull, the fiercest that can be found, and when i have uttered that name in his ear, he will fall dead." then they brought in a fierce bull, which it required a hundred men to restrain. and when zambri the magician had whispered that terrible name in his ear, he rolled his eyes and fell dead to the ground. then the jews cried out aloud, and threw themselves with fury upon sylvester; the two philosophers were struck dumb, and even constantine was staggered. but sylvester said st. sylvester. 689 calmly, "the name which he has pronounced cannot be that of god, but of satan; for christ, who is our redeemer, does not strike dead the living, but restores life to the dead: the power to kill belongs equally to men and to wild beasts: lions, tigers, serpents, can destroy life. let zambri restore with a word the creature he has slain; as it is written, 'i will kill, i will make alive.'" therefore the judges desired zambri to restore the bull to life, but he could not do it. then sylvester made the sign of the cross, and commanded the bull to rise and go in peace. and the bull rose up as tame and as gentle as if he had been in the yoke from the hour of his birth. then the jews and the doctors, and all others present, being confounded by this miracle, believed and were baptized.' the story which follows is rather a parable than a legend:'some time after the baptism of the emperor, the priests of the idols came to him and said, "most sacred emperor, since you have embraced the faith of christ, the great dragon which dwelleth in the moat hath destroyed every day more than three hundred men by his envenomed breath." the emperor consulted sylvester, who replied, "have faith only and i will subdue this beast." having said this, he went down into the moat, to which there was a descent of 142 steps, and having exorcised the dragon in the name of him who was born of a virgin, crucified, buried, and raised from the dead, he closed and bound up the mouth of the dragon with a thread, twisting it round three times, and sealing it with the sign of the cross and thus he delivered the people from a double deaththe death of idolatry, and the death of sin. (here the obvious allegory requires no explanation; it is merely another form of the ancient myth of the dragon overcome and cast out.) 'also it is related of sylvester, that he gave refuge in his house to a christian whose name was timotheus, and who afterwards suffered martyrdom for having preached the faith of christ. the governor, tarquinian, being persuaded that timotheus had left great riches, called upon sylvester to deliver them up, threatening him with death and divers tortures. and sylvester said, "thou fool, this night shall thy soul be required of thee, and shall be delivered up to torments." and so it came to pass; for when tarquinian was at dinner, a fish690 sacred and legendary art. bone stuck in his throat, and choked him, and he gave up the ghost. 'after this, sylvester was present at the great council which was held at nicea, a city of bithynia, in which arius was condemned, and many ordinances did sylvester make for the good of the church. when he had governed for twenty-three years and ten months, he died, and was buried in the cemetery of priscilla at rome.' the single figures of sylvester represent him in the pontifical robes, and wearing, sometimes, a plain mitre; sometimes the triple tiara, with the book and the crosier as bishop. i have seen a small full-length figure in which he carries in his hand, merely as his attribute, a small dragon, and around its mouth are the three twisted threads. he has a bull crouching at his feet, which is his proper attribute, and generally accompanies his gothic effigies, whether in sculpture or stained glass in such examples it is necessary to observe that his episcopal attire alone distinguishes him from st. luke, who also has the ox. sometimes he holds in his hands the portraits of st. peter and st. paul, or points to them. there is a full-length figure of a pope holding the pictures, en buste, of the two apostles, called the portrait of urban v.; but if it be really a portrait, and represent this pope (which i doubt much) it is in the character of st. sylvester.2 165 constantinvs avg st. constantine constantine is represented in the dress of a roman emperor, or a roman warrior; in one hand the labarum or standard of the cross, which is sometimes a banner, and the picture is at present in the collection of mr. bromley of wootten. 2 bologna gal. ss. sylvester and constantine. 691 sometimes a lance surmounted by the monogram of christ, as in this figure, from the antique statue in the portico of the lateran. as the legend of sylvester and constantine, half romantic, half allegorical, is one of the most curious and important in very early art, i shall give one or two examples which may render others intelligible and interesting. 1. in the bardi chapel in the santa croce at florence, giottino painted in three compartments, the dispute with the jews; the legend of the resuscitation of the bull; and the dragon bound and silenced for ever by the power of the cross. these frescoes, which cover the right-hand wall, though much ruined, are still quite intelligible; and the compositions, for spirit and dramatic power, surprising, considering the period at which they were painted 2. the whole story of constantine and sylvester, in a series of very antique frescoes, as old perhaps as the eleventh century, at the upper end of the chapel of san silvestro in the church of the quattro incoronati.' 1. constantine, in his chariot, is encountered by the bereaved and weeping mothers, to whom he restores their children. 2. he sees in a vision st. peter and st. paul. 3. he sends messengers to summon sylvester. 4. the messengers arrive at sylvester's cell on the monte calvo; he looks out of the grated window. 5. he shows to the emperor the effigies of st. peter and st. paul. 6. the baptism of constantine. 7. he is crowned by st. sylvester. the three compartments which follow are in a most ruined state, but we can just discern the miracle of the wild bull. the whole series is engraved in d'agincourt's work. 3. the legend of st. sylvester in three compartments, in a beautiful predella by angelico da fiesole.' 4. the story of st. sylvester and timotheus is most elaborately painted in thirty-one different subjects on one of the windows of the cathedral of chartres. vol. ii. 5. constantine and pope sylvester are seated on a throne together. the bishops and the empress helen seated in a circle; several executioners are burning the heretical books, and the holy ghost doria gal., rome. q q 692 sacred and legendary art. descends in a glory from above. i believe this ancient picture represents the first council of nice.' 6. constantine bestows, by a deed of gift, the city and territory of rome on pope sylvester and his successors. (a.d. 325.) one of the grand frescoes in the vatican. the scene represents the interior of the old church of st. peter; to the left st. sylvester, in the pontifical habit and seated on a throne, receives from the kneeling emperor the gift of the city of rome, which is here represented by a symbolical figure in gold; the head of sylvester is the portrait of clement vii., the reigning pontiff. among the numerous personages who surround the pope and the emperor as attendants are several distinguished characters of that time; for instance, count castiglione, the friend of raphael, and giulio romano, to whom the design as well as the execution of the fresco is ascribed by passavant.2 in the same hall are eight grand ideal figures of the most celebrated of the early popes, attended by allegorical figures representing the virtues for which each pontiff was remarkable, or expressive of some leading point in his life and character. 1. st. peter, in the pontifical habit, attended by the church and eternity. 2. clement i. (the martyr), attended by moderation and gentleness. the beautiful figure of gentleness, with the lamb at her feet, has been engraved by strange, and might be mistaken for a st. agnes. 3. alexander i. (or sylvester), attended by faith and religion. 4. urban i., the friend of st. cecilia, attended by justice and charity. 5. damascus i. (a.d. 366—384) attended by foresight and peace. 6. leo i. (a.d. 440-462) attended by purity and truth. 7. felix iii. attended by strength. 8. gregory vii. (the famous hildebrand, a.d. 1073-1085), attended by a single female figure holding a thunderbolt in one hand, in the other the gospel; according to passavant, signifying spiritual might. much might be said of this series of popes and their attendant virtues; and, indeed, the whole of this hall of constantine suggests a thousand thoughts, which i must leave the reader to think out for himself. i will only repeat that the papal saints, with the exception 1 ciampini, vol. ii. p. 183. 2 rafael,' vol. ii. p. 373. st. ignatius theophorus. 693 of st. sylvester and st. gregory, are not of general interest in the history of art. st. ignatius theophorus, bishop and martyr. ital. sant' ignazio. fr. saint ignace. ger. der heilige ignaz. (feb. 1, a.d. 107.) ignatius and polycarp were disciples together of st. john the evangelist, and linked together in friendship, as they were associated in good works. it is a tradition that st. ignatius had seen the face of the lord; that he was the same whom, as a child, the saviour had taken in his arms, and set in the midst of the disciples, saying, "of such are the kingdom of heaven." it is also related of him that he grew up in such innocence of heart and purity of life, that to him it was granted to hear the angels sing; hence, when he afterwards became bishop of antioch, he introduced into the service of his church the practice of singing the praises of god in responses, as he had heard the choirs of angels answering each other. 'and it happened in those days that the emperor trajan went to fight against the scythians and dacians, and obtained a great victory over them. and he commanded that thanksgivings and sacrifice to the false gods should be offered up in all the provinces of his vast empire. only the christians refused to obey. 'when trajan came to antioch, he ordered ignatius to be brought before him, and reproached him for seducing the people from the worship of their gods, promising him infinite rewards if he would. sacrifice in the temple; but ignatius replied, "o cæsar, wert thou to offer me all the treasures of thy empire, yet would i not cease to adore the only true and living god!" and trajan said, "what! talkest thou of a living god? thy god is dead upon the cross.. our gods reign upon olympus." and ignatius said, "your gods were vicious mortals, and have died as such: your jove is buried in candia; your esculapius was shot with an arrow; your venus lies in the island of paphos; and your hercules burned himself in a great fire because he could not endure pain. these be your gods, o qq 2 694 sacred and legendary art. emperor!" when trajan heard this, he caused his mouth to be. stopped, and commanded him to be led forth to a dungeon; and at first he resolved to put him at once to death, but afterwards he reserved him for the amphitheatre. "when ignatius heard his sentence, he rejoiced greatly; he assisted his guards in fastening the chains on his limbs, and set forth on his journey; and being come to smyrna, he met polycarp and other of his friends, to whom he recommended the care of his church. and all wept, and polycarp said, "would to god that i too might be found worthy to suffer for this cause!" to which ignatius replied, "doubt not, brother, that thy time will come; but for the present the church has need of thee." so they embraced, weeping, and his friends. kissed his hands, his garments, his chains, and bid him farewell, rejoicing in his courage and fervour. then ignatius and his guards embarked in a vessel and sailed for rome; and being come there, the prefect on a certain feast-day ordered him to be brought forth and placed in the midst of the amphitheatre. and ignatius, standing in the midst, lifted up his voice and cried, "men and romans, know ye that it is not for any crime that i am placed here, but for the glory of that god whom i worship. i am as the wheat of his field. and must be ground by the teeth of the lions that i may become bread worthy of being served up to him." such were the words of this holy and courageous man as they have been truly recorded, and no sooner were they uttered than two furious lions were let loose upon him, and they tore him to pieces and devoured him, so that nothing was left of him but a few bones.' (but according to another version of the story, he fell down dead before the lions reached him, and his body remained untouched.) a few days after his death, his remains were collected by his disciples and carried to antioch; and, according to tradition, some relics were brought to rome about the year 540, and deposited in the ancient church of san clemente. the story and the fate of ignatius are so well attested, and so sublimely affecting, that it has always been to me a cause of surprise as well as regret to find so few representations of him. i do not this reply of ignatius does not seem consistent with the notions of the early christians respecting the false gods. i give it, however, from the perfetto legendario.' • st. ignatius theophorus. 695 166 em the martyrdom of st. ignatius (from a greek ms. of the 9th century) ~] remember any figure of him in a devotional picture; but he ought to be represented in the dress of a greek bishop, with a lion or two lions at his side. his martyrdom is a more frequent subject. the woodcut is from a curious miniature in the greek menology, executed for the emperor basil in the 9th century. the original is on a gold ground, the colours still most vivid. at seville there is a picture of st. ignatius exposed in the amphitheatre, by p. roelas; and i have seen one at vienna by creutzfelder. none of these are worthy of the subject; but in truth it is one which we could more easily endure to see ill than well expressed. the horror with which we regard it is increased by the recollection that st. ignatius only represents one of many hundreds who perished in the same manner for the atrocious pleasure of a sanguinary populace. on the side walls of the church of san clemente are some large and very bad frescoes, or rather distemper paintings, representing scenes from the life of st. ignatius. they appear to be of the time 696 sacred and legendary art. of clement xi., that is, about 1700. i am informed that the modern frescoes in the church of st. ignatius at mayence are extremely fine; but cannot speak of them from my own knowledge. 6 there are several dramas on the story of st. ignatius. a tragedy entitled the martyrdom of st. ignatius,' written in 1740, was acted at hull in 1781, and the part of ignatius performed by stephen kemble: i do not know with what success, but it was pronounced more pious than poetical. st. polycarp, bishop of smyrna, was condemned many years afterwards to the same cruel death; but the games being over, he was burned alive, in the reign of marcus aurelius. of this celebrated martyr and father of the church i have never seen any effigy. some of the scenes of his life-for instance, the parting with ignatius, or his condemnation by the people-would furnish fine picturesque subjects, and the authenticity of his story renders the neglect of it the more extraordinary. st. blaise, bishop of sebaste. ital. san biagio. fr. saint blaise. ger. der heilige blasius. patron saint of woolcombers, of all who suffer from diseases of the throat, and of wild animals. patron of ragusa. (feb. 3, a.d. 289.) the legend of st. blaise, a popular saint in england and france, is of greek origin. he was bishop over the christian church at sebaste in cappadocia, and governed his flock for many years with great vigilance, till the persecution under diocletian obliged him to fly, and he took refuge in a mountain cave at some distance from the city. this mountain was the haunt of wild beasts, bears, lions, and tigers; but these animals were so completely subdued by the gentleness and piety of the good old man, that, far from doing him any harm, they came every morning to ask his blessing; if they found him kneeling at his devotions, they waited duteously till he had finished, and having received the accustomed benediction they retired. now in the city of sebaste, and in the whole province, so st. blaise. 697 many christians were put to death, that there began to be a scarcity of wild beasts for the amphitheatres; and agricolaus, the governor, sent his hunters into the mountains to collect as many lions, tigers, and bears as possible; and it happened that these hunters, arriving one day before the mouth of the cave in which st. blaise had taken refuge, found him seated in front of it, and surrounded by a variety of animals of different species;-the lion and the lamb, the hind and the leopard, seemed to have put off their nature, and were standing amicably together, as though there had been everlasting peace between them; and some he blessed with holy words, knowing that god careth for all things that he has made; and to others that were sick or wounded he ministered gently, and others he reprehended because of their rapacity and gluttony. and when the hunters beheld this, they were like men in a dream, they stood astonished, thinking they had found some enchanter; and they seized him and carried him before the governor; and as they went, the good bishop returned thanks to god and rejoiced greatly, that, at length, he had been found worthy to die for the cause of christ. on the journey, they met a poor woman whose only child had swallowed a fish-bone, which had stuck in his throat, and he was on the point of being choked; and seeing the bishop, the mother fell at his feet, saying, 'o servant of christ, have mercy upon me!' and he, being moved with compassion, laid his hand upon the throat of the child and prayed, and the child was healed, and he restored him to his mother: and going a little farther, they found another poor woman, whose only worldly riches had consisted in a pig, which the wolf had carried off; and he who had obtained power over all the savage beasts, told her to be of good cheer, for her pig should be restored to her; and the wolf, at his command, brought it back unharmed. when, at length, he appeared before the tribunal, the cruel governor ordered him to be scourged, and cast into a dungeon without food; but the poor woman, whose pig he had saved, having meanwhile providentially killed her pig, brought him a part of it cooked, with some bread and fruit, so that he did not perish; and he blessed this woman, with whom all things prospered from that time forth. then he was brought a second time before the governor, and he, far more savage than the beasts of the forest, ordered st. blaise 698 sacred and legendary art. first to be tortured by having his flesh torn with iron combs, such as they use to card wool; and finding that his constancy was not to be subdued by this or any other torments, he commanded his head to be struck off, which was done. thus, the good bishop received the crown of martyrdom; and seven pious women wiped up his blood. pictures of st. blaise are not frequent. in single figures and devotional pictures he is represented as an old man with a white beard, attired as a bishop with the planeta and mitre, holding in one hand a crosier, in the other an iron comb, such as is used by the woolcombers, the instrument of his torture; this is his peculiar attribute. he is thus represented on the coins of ragusa. a picture by monsignori (of verona), engraved in rossini's history of painting, represents him stripped ready for the torture, his hands tied above his head; on one side stands an angel holding the iro comb, on the other an angel holding the crosier and mitre. st. blaise sitting at the mouth of his cave, and surrounded by a variety of animals, with his hand raised in the act of benediction, is a subject frequent in the ancient miniatures and stained glass. 6 in the martyrdom of san biagio,' by carlo maratti (in the carignano, at genoa) he has with great good taste, avoided the dreadful and disgusting as far as possible. the executioners are in the act of raising the aged saint by means of a pulley, to suspend him to a gallows; others are standing by with the iron combs prepared to torture him; while he, with an expression of pious resignation, raises his eyes to heaven, and seems to pray for fortitude to endure the impending torment. in allusion to the pious women' mentioned in the legend, one or two women are generally introduced into the martyrdom of st. blaise. ( this saint keeps his place in the english reformed calendar, and as patron and protector of woolcombers and woolstaplers is especially popular in yorkshire, where he is regarded as the inventor of woolcombing, and still commemorated in the town of bradford by a festival held every seven years, wherein prince jason and the princess medea, bishop blaise and his chaplain, all walk together in grand procession.¹ he has three churches dedicated to his honour in england. st. cyprian.-st. erasmus. 699 st. cyprian, bishop of carthage, who perished in the persecution under valerian, and whose martyrdom is one of the most authentic and interesting in the history of the christian church, is so rarely met with as a subject of art, that i can recollect but one example, in a picture by paul veronese, in the brera of milan, where st. augustine sits enthroned, and before him stand st. cyprian with the palm and mitre at his feet, and on the other side his friend st. cornelius, pope in 251. st. erasmus. ital. sant' elmo or erasmo. sp. st. ermo or eramo. fr. saint elme. (june 3, a.d. 296.) this saint was one of the bishops of the early church, and was martyred in the persecution of the christians under diocletian and maximian at formia, now mola di gaeta, between rome and naples. as his firmness withstood all ordinary tortures, for him a new and horrible death was prepared; he was cut open, and his entrails wound off on a sort of wheel such as they use to wind off skeins of wool or silk. such an implement is placed in his hand, and is his peculiar attribute. he is represented as an aged man attired as a bishop. his supposed martyrdom-for the affrighted imagination is obliged to take refuge in doubt or incredulity—is the only subject from his life which i have met with in a picture, and fortunately it is very rare. it was painted by niccolò poussin-though how his tender and refined mind could be brought to study all the details of a subject so abominable is difficult to conceive;—it was commanded by the pope, urban viii., and is perpetuated in a mosaic which is over the altar of st. erasmo in st. peter's. it is said to be in point of expression one of poussin's best works; and that the head of the saint, agonised at once and full of heavenly faith and resignation, is a masterpiece. i never could look at the picture long enough or steadily enough to certify to the truth of this eulogium, and i should rather subscribe to the just remarks of sir edmund head: after observing that the french artists in general do not seem to feel the limits which separate the horrible from the pathetic,' he adds, ‘the vol. ii. r r 700 sacred and legendary art. subject is no excuse for the painter. such subjects, as has been well observed, should be treated by the selection of a moment before the horror is complete;' as in parmigiano's st. agatha. st. erasmus, under the name of sant' elmo, is famous on the shores of the mediterranean, in calabria, sicily, and spain, where the mariners invoke him against storms and tempests: he is sometimes represented with a taper in his hand or on his head. every one who has visited naples will remember the celebrated monastery and fortress placed under his protection. st. apollinaris of ravenna. ital. sant' apollinare. fr. saint apollinaire. (july 28, a.d. 79.) in the last year of the reign of the emperor vespasian, apollinaris, first bishop of ravenna, was martyred outside the gate of that city. it is related of him that he accompanied the apostle peter from antioch, and was for some time his companion and assistant at rome; but, after a while, st. peter sent him to preach the gospel on the eastern coast of italy, having first laid his hands on him and communicated to him those gifts of the holy spirit which were vouchsafed to the apostles. apollinaris, therefore, came to the city of ravenna, where he preached the faith of christ with so much success that he collected around him a large congregation, and performed miracles, silencing wherever he came the voice of the false oracles, and overcoming the demons; but the heathens, being filled with rage, threw him into prison, whence escaping by the favour of his jailer, he fled from the city by the gate which leads to rimini. his enemies pursued him, and, having overtaken him about three miles from the gate, they fell upon him and beat him, and pierced him with many wounds, so that when his disciples found him soon afterwards he died in their arms, and his spirit fled to heaven. on the spot where he suffered, about 534 years afterwards, was built and dedicated to his honour the magnificent basilica of st. apollinaris-in-classe. it is still seen standing in the midst of a solitary st. donato. 701 marshy plain near ravenna, surrounded with rice-grounds, and on the verge of that vast melancholy pine-forest made famous in the works of boccaccio, dante, and byron. the full-length figure in mosaic, in the apsis of this antique church, exhibits the oldest of the few representations i have met with of this saint, whose celebrity and worship are chiefly confined to ravenna. he is in the habit of a greek bishop, that is, in white, the pallium embroidered with black crosses, no mitre, and with grey hair and beard. he stands, with hands outspread, preaching to his congregation of converts, who are represented by several sheep-the common symbol. another of the wonderful old churches of this city, also dedicated to the saint, stands within the walls: it was built by theodoric, as the chief place of worship for the arians, and close to his palace. the interior is covered with mosaics in the greek style. among them is the grand procession of martyrs, already described.' st. donato of arezzo. lat. st. donatus. fr. saint donat. (august 7.) in the time of the emperor julian the apostate, was martyred st. donatus, bishop of arezzo. he was of illustrious birth, and was brought up with julian, both being educated in the christian faith; but when julian became emperor and apostatised from the truth, he persecuted the christians, and put many of them to death, and among them was the father of donatus; therefore donatus fled from rome, and took refuge in arezzo. he had for his companion. the monk hilarion, a man of most holy life, and together they performed many miracles, healing the sick and curing those who were possessed by evil spirits. there was a certain man who was the taxgatherer of the province, who, having occasion to go on a journey, left all the money in his possession due to the imperial treasury in the care of his wife euphrosina. it was a large sum, and she, 1 v. p. 525. at remagan, on the rhine, a very beautiful church has lately been dedicated to st. apollinaris: the whole of the interior is painted in fresco by the most celebrated painters of the modern german school. rr 2 702 sacred and legendary art. ( fearing to be robbed, dug a hole in the corner of her house and buried it. having done this, she died suddenly, without having revealed the spot in which she had hidden the money. when her husband returned he was in great trouble, fearing to be put to death as a defaulter, and he had recourse to st. donatus. the holy man, having compassion on him, went with him to the sepulchre of his wife; and having first prayed earnestly, he called out with a loud voice, euphrosina, make known to us where thou hast hidden the treasure' and she from the tomb answered him; which was a great wonder, and witnessed by many people. and after these things, being made bishop of arezzo, it happened that on a certain day, as he was celebrating the communion, the sacramental cup, which was of glass, was broken by some rude pagans who thought to insult the christians; but, at the prayer of the holy bishop, the fragments reunited in his hand, and it became as before, and spilt no drop. this miracle, which is related by st. gregory in his dialogues, was the cause that many were converted, and so enraged the heathens that the roman prefect ordered hilarion to be scourged to death; and st. donatus, after being tortured, was decapitated. the bodies of both lie buried under the high altar of the cathedral of arezzo. the shrine of san donato, executed for the people of arezzo by giovanni pisano, a.d. 1286, stands upon the altar, which is isolated in the choir, and is covered on all sides with bas-reliefs, representing the life and miracles of the saint. it is very celebrated as a monument of italian middle-age art, but appeared to me extremely unequal: some of the figures full of grace and feeling; others rude, clumsy, and disproportioned. parts of it are engraved in cicognara's work. several pictures from the life of st. donato are also in the cathedral, among which his martyrdom is the best. his effigy appears on the ancient coins of arezzo. st. zenobio of florence is extremely interesting as connected with the beautiful ecclesiastical edifices of florence, and with some of the finest and most important works of the early florentine school, both in painting and sculpture. st. zenobio. 703 st. zenobio was born in the last year of the reign of constantine, of a noble family. his father's name was lucian, his mother's name was sophia. they brought him up in all the wisdom and learning of the gentiles, but he was converted secretly by his teachers, and afterwards converted his parents. he became himself distinguished by his pious and modest deportment, and by his eloquence as a preacher of the faith. he afterwards resided with pope damasus i. as deacon and secretary, and being sent to appease the religious dissensions in his native city, was unanimously elected bishop by the catholics and arians. he continued to lead a life of poverty and self-denial, honoured by the good, respected by the wicked, converting numbers to christianity, not less by his example than his teaching; and died at length in the reign of honorius (may 25, a.d. 417). in the picture of st. zenobio suspended against one of the pillars opposite to the principal entrance of the duomo at florence, he is represented enthroned, in his episcopal robes, and with his hand raised in the act of benediction. he has no particular attribute, but occasionally in the old florentine prints some legend from his life is represented in the background, and this serves to fix the identity: a tree bursting into leaf is, i think, the attribute usually adopted. sometimes it is a mother kneeling by her dead child; but this, being applicable to several other saints, is deceptive. 'it is related that when they were bearing the remains of st. zenobio through the city in order to deposit them under the high altar of the cathedral, the people crowded round the bearers and pressed upon the bier in order to kiss the hands or touch the garments of their beloved old bishop. in passing through the piazza del duomo, the body of the saint was thrown against the trunk of a withered elm standing near the spot where the baptistery now stands, and suddenly the tree, which had been for years dead and dried up, burst into fresh leaves.'¹ this story is the subject of an admirable picture by ridolfo ghirlandajo, in which there are heads worthy of raphael for beauty and intense expression.2 'st. zenobio made a journey to a city among the apennines, in 1 ezek. xvii. 24; job xiv. 7. 2 florence gal. 704 sacred and legendary art. 167 st. zenobio revives the dead child (masaccio) order to consecrate a christian church. on this occasion his friend st. ambrose sent messengers to him with gifts of precious relics. but it happened that the chief of the messengers, in passing through a gorge in the mountains, fell, with his mule, down a steep precipice, and was crushed to death. his companions, in great grief and consternation, brought his mutilated body and laid it down at the feet of st. zenobio, and at the prayer of the good bishop the man revived, and rose up, and pursued his journey homewards with prayer and thanksgiving. 'a french lady of noble lineage, who was performing a pilgrimage to rome, stopped at florence on the way, in order to see the good bishop zenobio of whom she had heard so much, and having received his blessing, she proceeded on to rome, leaving in his care her little son. the day before her return to florence the child died. she was overwhelmed with grief, and took the child and laid him down at the feet of st. zenobio, who, by the efficacy of his prayers restored the child to life, and gave him back to the arms of his mother.' this popular legend appears in several of the most beautiful works of the early florentine school:st. regulus. 705 1. in a picture by masaccio. here the resuscitation of the child is represented in the artless manner usual with the early artists. the dead child lies on the ground, and the living child stands beside the lifeless effigy of himself. (167) 2. in the picture by ridolfo ghirlandajo, the dead child lies on the earth, crowned with flowers, as if prepared for the grave: the mother kneels with dishevelled hair, and the bishop and his attendants stand near. the scene of this miracle was the borgo degli albizzi, well known to those who have visited florence. 'a little child, having strayed from his mother in the streets of florence, was run over and trampled upon by a car drawn by two unruly oxen, but restored to life by the prayers of the holy bishop zenobio.' this story also frequently occurs in the florentine works of art. 3. on the bronze sarcophagus executed by lorenzo ghiberti to contain the remains of st. zenobio, are three beautiful groups in bas-relief: 1. the restoration of the son of the french lady. 2. the resuscitation of the messenger of st. ambrose. 3. the story of the child trampled by the oxen.' st. regulus is interesting only at lucca; his statue, and the basrelief beneath representing his martyrdom, in the duomo there, rank among the finest works of one of the finest of the middle-age sculptors, matteo civitale di lucca. this st. regulus was an african bishop, who, in the disputes between the catholics and arians, fled from his diocese in africa, and took refuge in tuscany, where for some time he lived in holy solitude; but on the invasion of italy by totila, king of the goths, he suffered martyrdom, being beheaded by some barbarian soldiers on refusing to appear before their king. the legend relates, that he took his head in his hands and walked with it to the distance of two stadia, and there sat down, when two of his disciples coming up, he delivered to them his head, which they with great awe and reverence buried on the spot. i do not remember the miracles and death of st. zenobio' by sandro botticelli, was in the collection of herr v. quandt, at dresden, and engraved by j. thäter. 706 sacred and legendary art. that this incident is introduced in civitale's bas-relief, nor do i recollect in genuine italian art any bishop represented without his head, even where the legend justifies it. st. frediano (frigdianus), the other patron of lucca, was an irish saint, who migrated to lucca, and became bishop of that city in the sixth century. (a.d. 560.) it is related that in a terrible inundation which threatened to destroy lucca he turned the course of the river serchio, tracing the direction in which it was to flow by drawing a harrow along the ground, and the river obediently followed the steps of the holy man. thus we find poetically shadowed forth those costly embankments through which the course of the serchio was changed, and its terrible annual inundations rendered less destructive. in the extraordinary old church of san frediano at lucca (dating from the seventh century), francia painted the whole history of the saint. st. zeno, bishop of verona, in the fourth century, has the title of martyr, but on uncertain grounds. he was celebrated for his charity and christian virtues, and for the manner in which he kept together his flock in times of great tribulation. according to one version of his legend, he was martyred by julian the apostate (april 12, a.d. 380). he is honoured chiefly at verona, where his very ancient church is one of the most interesting monuments of art in all italy. in this church is a statue of him held in great veneration by the people. it is of wood, painted to imitate life. he is seated in his pastoral chair, and holds a long fishing-rod (or reed) in his hand, with a fish hanging to the line. the complexion is very dark, and the expression not only good-humoured, but jovial. the dark colour is probably given to indicate his african birth. according to the legend at verona, he was very fond of fishing in the adige; but i imagine that the fish is here the ancient christian symbol which represented conversion and the rite of baptism. c the coppa di san zenone,' preserved in this church, is a large vase st. zeno. st. geminianus. 707 of porphyry, in which the saint used to baptize his converts. according to the veronese legend, it was brought by a demon from palestine, by command of the bishop, and in a single night. in the early pictures of the veronese school, those for instance by liberale and morando, a saint in the habit of a bishop, and with a fish suspended from his crozier, may be presumed to represent st. zeno.¹ it is related that king pepin held this saint in such estimation, that he desired to be buried in the same grave with him. hq st. geminianus was bishop of modena about the year 450; pictures of the legends related of him appear only in the churches of that city. he was sent for to constantinople to dispossess the daughter of the emperor, who suffered grievously from a demon;2 he also by his intercession saved the city of modena, when threatened by attila, king of the huns; and lastly (after his death), preserved the cathedral from being destroyed in a great inundation. he figures on the coins of modena, and also in some celebrated pictures, as patron and protector of the city. 1. correggio, in his famous picture, 'the madonna di san giorgio,' painted for the dominicans at modena, and now at dresden, has re168 s s st. zeno of verona (morando) in a picture by girolamo da' libri (berlin gal., 30), st. zeno appears without the mitre. 2 i presume the princess honoria, whose story is so graphically related by gibbon in his thirty-fifth chapter. vol. ii. 708 sacred and legendary art. presented san geminiano taking from an angel the model of a church, and about to present it to the infant redeemer, whose hands. are eagerly stretched out as if to save it. this, i believe, alludes, very poetically, either to the dedication or the preservation of the cathedral. on the other side are st. peter martyr the dominican, st. john the baptist, and the admirable figure of st. george. 2. paul veronese. st. geminiano, bishop of modena, and st. severus, bishop of ravenna, are seen reading the gospel out of the same book; this alludes to the legend that st. severus, while reading the epistle in the service at ravenna, suddenly fell asleep, and beheld in a vision the death and obsequies of st. geminianus. (at venice, but i now forget in what church.) 3. guercino. st. geminiano, in his episcopal habit and wearing the mitre, receives from an angel the city of modena (represented as a small model of the city), which he is about to present to the saviour. this alludes, poetically, to the preservation of the city from attila.¹ sant' ercolano (herculanus) was bishop of perugia about the year 546. at this time took place the invasion of the goths, under totila. during the long siege of perugia, the good bishop assisted and encouraged his people; and when the city was at length taken, totila ordered him to be beheaded on the ramparts. his body was thrown into the ditch, where being afterwards found with a little child lying dead beside him, they were both buried in the same grave. his effigy is on the coinage of perugia. of st. costanzo (constantius), bishop of perugia in the third or fourth century, nothing is known but that he was martyred in the reign of marcus aurelius. he is venerated in this part of italy, and the territory between perugia and foligno is called the strada di costanza. these two saints are interesting at perugia, as they occur in some beautiful pictures of that school, particularly in those of perugino : for instance, in one of his finest works, the altar-piece now in the 1 louvre, 55. st. petronius. 709 ( vatican, called the madonna con quattro santi,' which was one of the pictures carried off from perugia to france in 1797. st. petronius, bishop and patron saint of bologna, was a roman of illustrious birth, and an early convert to christianity. he distinguished himself by banishing the arians from bologna, which appears to have been his chief merit; he died october 4, a.d. 430, and is not entitled to the honours of a martyr. pictures of this saint are confined to bologna. every traveller in italy will remember his beautiful church in that city. the most ancient representation of him is the full-length effigy, carved in wood, and painted, which stands within his church, on the left-hand side. he wears the episcopal robes, mitre, and crosier, with a thick black beard, a characteristic not usually followed by the bologna painters, who exhibit him either with no beard at all or with very little. in the devotional pictures he holds in his hand the city of bologna, distinguished by the tall central tower (the torre asinelli), and the leaning tower near it. as he is the subject of many celebrated pictures, i shall give a few examples. he is enthroned as patron and bishop, between st. francis d'assisi and st. thomas aquinas the dominican; by lorenzo costa.' st. petronius, seated, holds the city in his hand, opposite to him st. john the evangelist reading his gospel; by francesco cossa. in a beautiful figure by lorenzo costa, he stands on the right of the virgin, holding the city; st. thecla is on the left (169, 141). bologna gal. 169 combip st. petronius (lorenzo costa) 882 710 sacred and legendary art. 'the descent of the holy ghost;'-the virgin as well as the apostles being present, and st. gregory and st. petronius standing by as witnesses of this stupendous scene. this appears an unaccountable combination, till we learn that the picture was painted for the brotherhood of the santo spirito. but the most celebrated picture in which st. petronius appears is the masterpiece of guido, the pietà in the bologna gallery. another picture, one of guido's finest works, was dedicated on the cessation of a terrible plague in 1630. st. petronius is represented as interceding for his city at the feet of the madonna and child in glory. st. proculus is another bishop of bologna, who appears in the bolognese pictures; he was martyred by totila, king of the goths, about 445. he must not be confounded with st. proculus the soldier, also a bolognese saint.¹ st. mercuriale, first bishop of forli in the second century, appears as patron saint in some fine pictures in the churches at forli. he has the common attribute of the dragon, as having vanquished sin and idolatry in that part of italy, as in a picture by cigoli. san romulo (romulus), first bishop and apostle of fiesole. according to the legend he was a noble roman, one of the converts of st. peter, who sent him to preach the gospel to the people of fiesole, then one of the greatest of the etruscan cities. romulus, accused of being a christian, and taken before the prætor, was condemned to death; he was first bound hand and foot, and thrown into a dungeon, where he remained four days, and then, after many torments, despatched with a dagger. he suffered under nero. (july 23.) the old cathedral of fiesole is dedicated to him. the fine altarpiece by allori represents st. romulus baptizing the converts. he is found also in the sculptures of mino da fiesole and andrea feracci; by the latter is the fine basso-relievo in his church representing his martyrdom. i have also found st. romulo in the 1 see the warrior saints,' farther on. as the tanding ecountfor the years is on the sented in the goths, pildier. ntary, forli. ished erts e of lus. 2001to foruly r he pa مار be " san casciano.-st. gaudenzio.-st. siro.-st. abbondio.-st. hilary. 711 churches of florence; he wears the episcopal habit, and carries the palm. san maurelio, (maurelius), first bishop and patron of ferrara and imola: he was beheaded. this saint appears on the coinage of ferrara. the martyrdom of san maurelio, painted by guercino for the abbot of san giorgio, is now in the public gallery of ferrara. san casciano (st. cassian), patron of imola, was a schoolmaster of that city, and being denounced as a christian, the judge gave him up to the fury of his scholars, whom the severity of his discipline had inspired with the deepest hatred; the boys revenged themselves by putting him to a slow and cruel death, piercing him with the iron styles used in writing; his story is told by prudentius, and is represented, as i have been informed, in the cathedral at imola. st. gaudenzio (gaudentius), bishop and patron of rimini, was scourged, and then stoned by the arian party, which at that time had the upper hand in italy. (october 14, a.d. 359.) his effigy is on the early coinage of rimini. another st. gaudentius was bishop of novara, and appears as patron of that city. st. siro (syrus), first bishop of pavia in the 4th century, governed the church there for fifty-six years; whether he was martyred is uncertain. his effigy is on the early coins of pavia, and a beautiful statue of him is in the cathedral. st. abbondio, fourth bishop of como, was a native of thessalonica, contemporary with leo i. he is the apostle and patron of that part of italy, and figures in the cathedral at como. st. hilary, though properly a french saint (he was bishop of poitiers in the fourth century), is considered as one of the lights of the early italian church, and distinguished himself in lombardy by opposing the arians; hence he is reverenced through the north of italy under the name of sant' ilario. as one of the patrons of parma, where 712 sacred and legendary art. some of his relics are said to repose, he is the subject of one of correggio's splendid frescoes in the cathedral there. he has a church at cremona, where i remember a very fine picture by giulio campi, representing the grand old bishop seated on a raised throne reading the gospel, which lies open on his knees, while st. catherine and st. apollonia stand on each side. it recalls the best manner of parmigiano in style and colour, and is about the same date (1537). st. januarius (ital. san gennaro; fr. saint janvier) is the great patron of naples and protector of the city against the eruptions of mount vesuvius; as such he figures in the pictures of the neapolitan school, and in pictures painted for the churches of naples. the legend relates that he was bishop of benevento; and, in the tenth persecution, he came with six of his companions to naples, to encourage and comfort the christians: they were seized and carried to puzzuoli, and there exposed to the wild beasts in the amphitheatre; but the beasts refused to touch them. then st. januarius was thrown into a burning fiery furnace, and came out of it unharmed; finally he was beheaded (sept. 19, a.d. 303). in the devotional figures, he is represented in the robes and mitre of a bishop, holding his palm, with mount vesuvius in the background. the miraculous preservation of the city of naples when menaced by torrents of lava, is a frequent subject in the churches there. domenichino, when at naples, painted his large fresco of st. januarius appearing to the neapolitans during the eruption of 1631. and by spagnoletto i have seen the martyrdom of st. januarius: he is thrown into a furnace. except at naples i have never met with any pictures relating to this saint. this st. hilary, patron of parma, who died january 13, 363, must not be confounded with another st. hilary, bishop of arles in the fifth century, and not in any way associated with italy or italian art. hilary of poitiers left behind him writings which have been quoted with admiration by erasmus, locke, and gibbon. the latter observes, in his sneering way, that hilary ‘had unwarily deviated into the style of a christian philosopher.' ('decline and fall,' chap. xxi.) corregio has given him a countenance full of pensive benignity. st. denis. 713 french bishops. st. denis of france; st. dionysius the areopagite. lat. sanctus dionysius. ital. san dionisio or dionigi. fr. saint denis. patron saint of france. (october 9.) the legend which confounds dionysius the areopagite with st. denis of france (bishop of paris in the third century) will not bear any critical remark or investigation; but as it is that which presents itself everywhere in art, i give it here as it was popularly received. 'dionysius was an athenian philosopher, who, for his great wisdom in heavenly things, was named theosophus, and, being a judge of the areopagus, was also called the areopagite. he travelled into egypt to study astrology under the priests of that country. being at heliopolis with his companion, the philosopher apollophanes, and studying together the courses of the stars, they beheld the heavens darkened, and there was darkness over the heaven and earth for three hours; and dionysius was much troubled in spirit, not knowing what this might signify. he knew not then, though he afterwards learned, that this was the darkness which fell upon the earth in the same hour that the redeemer died for our sins-the darkness which preceded the dawning of the true light. and on these things did dionysius meditate continually. some time after his return to athens, st. paul arrived there, and preached to the people: and he preached to them the unknown god. dionysius listened with wonder, and afterwards he sought paul, and asked him concerning this unknown god. then paul explained all the mysteries of the christian religion, and dionysius believed, and was baptized in the faith. the apostle ordained him priest, and he became the first bishop of athens. c among the writings attributed to this great saint are certain letters, in which he tells us that he travelled to jerusalem to pay a visit to the holy virgin, and that he was struck with admiration 714 sacred and legendary art. and wonder to behold the glory which shone around her, and dazzled by the glorious company of angels which continually attend upon her. also the same dionysius tells us that he was present at her death and burial, and he has recorded the names of the apostles who were also present on that occasion. afterwards he returned to athens, and thence travelled into italy and france, and having joined paul at rome, he attended him to his martyrdom. after that he was sent by pope clement, the successor of peter, to preach the gospel in the kingdom of france. and clement gave him for his companions, to aid him in his labours, a priest, whose name was rusticus, and a deacon, who was called eleutherius. 'st. denis (for so the french afterwards called him) arrived at paris, the capital of that country, an exceedingly great and rich city, full of inhabitants, and well provided with all the good things of this earth; the skies were bright, and the lands fertile: "it seemed to dionysius another athens." so he resolved to fix his residence there, and to teach these people, who were learned, and happy, and rich in all things but those which concerned their salvation, the way of truth and righteousness. therefore dionysius preached to them the gospel, and converted many. moreover, he sent missionaries to all the provinces of france, and even into germany. 'now you can easily believe that these things were particularly displeasing to satan, that enemy of the human race. he stirred up many of the nobles and others against the good bishop, and certain of their emissaries accused him to the emperor trajan; but others say it was the emperor domitian, and that this wicked. emperor dispatched the proconsul fescennius from rome to paris, with orders to seize st. denis and throw him into prison, together with his companions, rusticus and eleutherius. the prefect ordered them to be brought before him, and, finding that they persisted in denying and contemning his gods, he commanded that they should be dragged forth to death; and being come to the place of execution, dionysius knelt down, and raising his hands and his eyes to heaven, he commended himself to god, and rusticus and eleutherius responded with a loud amen. then the venerable and holy prelate dionysius st. denis. 715 said to the executioner, "do thine office;" and he, being diligent, in a few minutes struck off all their heads, and left them there, as was usual, to be devoured by the wild beasts. but the lord did not forget his servants, nor was it his will that their holy remains. should be dishonoured; therefore he permitted a most stupendous miracle, namely, that the body of dionysius rose up on its feet, and, taking up the head in its hands, walked the space of two miles, to a place called the mount of martyrs (since called mont martre), the angels singing hymns by the way. many were converted by this great miracle, particularly lactia, the wife of lubrius, who, having declared herself a christian, was also beheaded.' the bodies of st. denis, of st. eleutherius, and st. rusticus were buried afterwards on the spot, and the first person who raised a church to their honour was st. geneviève, assisted by the people of paris. in the reign of king dagobert the holy relics were removed to the abbey of st. denis. the saint became the patron saint of the french monarchy, his name the war-cry of the french armies. the famous oriflamme-the standard of france-was the banner consecrated upon his tomb. about the year 754, pope stephen ii., who had been educated in the monastery of st. denis, transplanted his native saint to rome, and from this period the name of st. denis has been known and venerated through all europe. in the time of louis le débonnaire (a.d. 814), certain writings, said to be those of dionysius the areopagite, were brought to france, and then it became a point of honour among the french legendary writers to prove their st. denis of paris identical with the famous convert and disciple of st. paul; in which they have so far succeeded, that in sacred art it has become difficult to consider them as distinct persons. the popular effigies of st. denis, those which are usually met with in the french and german prints, in the gothic sculpture and stained glass of the french churches, represent him in his episcopal robes, carrying his head in his hand; sometimes, while he wears his own mitred head, he carries also a head in his hand,-which i have heard sneered at, as adding the practical blunder of the two heads to the original absurdity of the story: but the fact is, that in both instances the original signification is the same; the attribute of the severed vol. ii. t t 716 sacred and legendary art. head expresses merely martyrdom by decapitation, and that the martyr brings his head an offering to the church of christ. such figures appear to have suggested the legends of several headless saints, promulgated to gratify the popular taste for marvels and miracles. devotional figures of st. denis are not common in the italian schools, and in these i recollect no instance in which he is without his head. there is a very fine picture by ghirlandajo,' in which san dionigi and st. thomas aquinas stand on each side of the virgin: the former, a most majestic and venerable figure, stands in his episcopal robes, richly and elaborately embroidered, holding his crosier; st. thomas in his dominican habit as a doctor of theology, holding his book: they are here significantly and intentionally associated as two great lights of the church, who have both treated especially of the heavenly mysteries and the angelic hierarchies. st. clement, who was the spiritual father of st. denis, and st. dominic, who stood in the same relation to st. thomas, are kneeling as secondary personages. the picture was of course painted for the dominicans. the sicilians have oddly enough mixed up the saint dionysius with the tyrant dionysius, and claim him as a saint of their own. there is a picture over the high altar of his church at messina, in which he is seated in his episcopal throne, as the superior saint, and surrounded in the usual manner by other saints standing. subjects from the life of st. denis are very common as a series, in the sculpture and stained glass of the french cathedrals, and in the modern restorations of the cathedral of st. denis: one of the finest is the grand window in the cathedral at chartres. the separate pictures and prints from his legendary story are principally confined to the french school. 1. st. denis at heliopolis, seated on the summit of a tower or observatory: he is contemplating, through a telescope, the crucifixion of our saviour, which is seen in the far distance. this subject i saw once in an old french print; underneath, in latin, the verse from isaiah (xxiv. 23), confundetur sol, &c., then the moon shall be confounded and the sun ashamed, when the lord of hosts shall reign on mount sion.' 6 florence acad. st. denis. 717 c 2. st. denis converted by st. paul is a frequent subject in old french prints. in raphael's cartoon of paul preaching at athens,' the figure of the man in front, who, as sir joshua says, appears to be thinking all over,' is probably dionysius. 3. le sueur. st. denis at rome takes leave of pope clement, and receives his blessing before he departs on his mission to paris.¹ 4. joseph-marie vien. st. denis preaching to the parisians.2 5. the martyrdom of st. denis. he is seen walking with his head in his hand, and sustained on each side by angels,— en pareil cas,' as the witty frenchwoman observed, 'ce n'est que le premier pas qui coûte;' nevertheless it must be conceded that the sustaining angels greatly diminished the incredibility of the story. 6. st. denis, st. maurice, and st. martin rescue the soul of king dagobert from demons; represented within the gothic recess over the tomb of king dagobert, on which he lies in effigy, full length. the story is told in three compartments, one above the other. 1. the anchorite john is seen asleep, and st. denis reveals to him in a vision that the soul of king dagobert is tormented and in danger; to the right is seen dagobert, standing in a little boat; demons seize him forcibly, and one of them takes off his crown. 2. st. martin, st. maurice, and st. denis come to the rescue of dagobert; they are attended by two angels, one of whom swings a censer, and the other holds a vase of holy water; st. martin and st. denis seize upon the soul of dagobert, while st. maurice, sword in hand, attacks the demons. 3. the three saints, attended by angels, hold a sheet extended, on which stands the soul of dagobert in the attitude of prayer. the divine hand appears in a glory above, as if about to lift him into heaven. the whole is executed with extraordinary spirit, but i should be doubtful as to the date assigned by le noir (a.d. 632-645); or rather, i have no doubt that it is a mistake: the style is that of the fourteenth century. 1 methuen coll. a very remarkable monument appertaining to st. denis is a manuscript memoir of his life (according to the legend must be understood), which exists in the royal library at paris, and which 2 paris, st. roch. tt 2 718 sacred and legendary art. cannot be of later date than the year 1322. the miniatures in this beautiful manuscript i did not count, but they must have exceeded, i think, a hundred and fifty, drawn with a pen and slightly tinted; the figures gothic in taste and feeling, yet with a certain delicacy in the character, and a lengthiness in the forms, such as we see in the best gothic sculpture of that period. i can only mention here a few of the subjects, which from their beauty and peculiarity struck me most. 5. 1. the athenians raise to the unknown god an altar, on which dionysius is in the act of writing the inscription deo ignoto. 2. paul preaching to the athenian philosophers; in the background the altar, to which he points. 3. paul converts dionysius and damaris. 4. paul consecrates dionysius first bishop of athens. dionysius writing his famous treatise on the celestial hierarchy. the nine choirs of angels are hovering over him, surmounted by the trinity. 6. he carries his head (two angels sustaining him on either side), and presents it to the christian woman, here called catulla: she receives it in a napkin. 7. the spirits of the three martyrs (in the usual form of naked infants) are carried into heaven by angels. the compositions throughout are superior in spirited and dramatic expression, but inferior in purity and grace, to the contemporary italian school-that of giotto. there are several other saints who are represented in gothic art in the same manner as st. denis, that is, in the act of carrying their own heads. in every instance the original meaning of the attribute must be borne in mind. st. cheron, bishop of chartres, was a contemporary and disciple of st. denis. being on his way from chartres to paris, to visit st. denis, he was attacked by robbers, who struck off his head; whereupon the saint, taking his head up in his hands, continued his journey. his whole history is represented on one of the magnificent windows of the cathedral of chartres. st. clair, carrying his head, i saw on one of the fine windows of st. maclou at rouen: he was martyred between rouen and pontoise in the third century. st. valerie.st. romain. 719 st. nicaise (lat. nicasius), bishop of rheims, famous for his success in preaching the gospel, was besieged in rheims by the vandals, a.d. 400, and he went forth attended by his clergy to meet the enemy, singing hymns: one of the barbarian soldiers struck off the upper half of his head; nevertheless the saint continued singing his stave until, after a few steps, he fell dead. a picture by jan schoreel represents st. nicasius in his episcopal robes, without the upper part of his head, which, with the mitre on it, he carries in his hand." 'st. valérie, or sainte valère, without her head, which she carries in her hands, approaches the altar and presents her head to st. martial.' i saw this strange subject in a large mosaic in the studio de' mosaici, at rome: it was executed for st. peter's, but some misgiving happily prevented it from being placed there. these two saints, patrons of aquitaine, lived in the third century. the legend sets forth that martial was first bishop of limoges; that among his early converts was a beautiful virgin, whose name was valérie; she refusing to listen to the addresses of the duke de guyenne, il entra en une telle rage qu'il luy fit trancher la teste, couronnant sa virginité d'un martyre bien signalé, car à la veuë d'un chacun elle prit sa teste, et la porta jusques au pied de l'autel où s. marcial disoit la messe; le bourreau, la suivant pas-à-pas, mourut dans l'église, après avoir clairement protesté qu'il voyoit les anges à l'entour de son corps.' i have been thus particular in giving this old french legend because the story of st. martial and st. valérie appears so frequently in the chased and enamel work for which limoges was famous from the twelfth to the sixteenth century. st. martial did not suffer martyrdom. i have seen him standing in his bishop's robes, and st. valérie holding her palm with a streak or mark round her neck, in some ivory carved work which served as the cover of a book; the whole story is represented on one of the windows of the cathedral of limoges. st. romain, who was bishop of rouen in the time of clovis i., is generally considered as the apostle of normandy. he overthrew the heathen temples, and preached christianity among the gauls of that 1 munich gal. 720 sacred and legendary art. district. the seine having overflowed its banks, nearly destroyed the city of rouen: st. romain commanded the waters to retire to their channel, but from the mud and slime left by the receding flood was born a monstrous dragon, called in the french legend la gargouille, which spread terror along the shores. st. romain went forth against the venomous beast, and, by the aid of a wicked murderer, vanquished and bound the monster. hence, down to the time of the revolution, it was a privilege of the chapter of rouen to deliver and pardon a criminal condemned to death. the whole history of st. romain is painted on the windows of the cathedral of rouen, and is commonly met with in the norman churches, and the dragon-legend of the gargouille is merely the usual allegory so often referred to-the conquest of christianity over paganism. st. romain died oct. 23, 639, and was succeeded by saint ouen. st. trophime of arles (whose church is one of the most magnificent in all france, and one of the few which escaped destruction in the time of the first revolution) was the disciple of st. paul.' i mention him here because the sculpture of the cathedral of arles is celebrated in the history of sacred art. st. martin of tours. lat. sanctus martinus. ital. san martino. patron of tours, of lucca, &c., and of penitent drunkards. (november 11, a.d. 397.) this illustrious saint, second to st. nicholas only because confined to western christendom, is one of those whom the middle ages most delighted to honour. there can be no doubt of the extraordinary character of the man, nor of the extraordinary influence he exercised at the time in which he lived, nor is there any saint of whom so many stories and legends have been promulgated on such high ecclesiastical authority, and so universally believed; still, though so generally venerated throughout christendom, he has never been so great a favourite in italy and germany as in france, the scene of his acts xx. 4; xxi. 29. st. martin of tours. 721 life and miracles: we find him, consequently, less popular as a subject of art than many saints who may be considered as comparatively obscure. st. martin was born in the reign of constantine the great, at saberia, a city of pannonia.' he was the son of a roman soldier, a tribune in the army, and his parents were heathens; but for himself, even when a child, he was touched by the truth of the christian religion, and received as a catechumen at the age of fifteen; but before he could be baptized he was enrolled in the cavalry and sent to join the army in gaul. notwithstanding his extreme youth and the licence of his profession, st. martin was a striking example that the gentler virtues of the christian were not incompatible with the duties of a valiant soldier; and from his humility, his mildness of temper, his sobriety, chastity, and above all his boundless charity, he excited at once the admiration and the love of his comrades. the legion in which he served was quartered at amiens in the year 332, and the winter of that year was of such exceeding severity that men died in the streets from excessive cold. it happened one day that st. martin, on going out of the gate of the city, was met by a poor naked beggar, shivering with cold, and he felt compassion for him: and having nothing but his cloak and his arms, he, with his sword, divided his cloak in twain, and gave one half of it to the beggar, covering himself as well as he might with the other half. and that same night, being asleep, he beheld in a dream the lord jesus, who stood before him, having on his shoulders the half of the cloak which he had bestowed on the beggar; and jesus said to the angels who were around him, 'know ye who hath thus arrayed me? my servant martin, though yet unbaptized, hath done this!' and st. martin, after this vision, hastened to receive baptism, being then in his twenty-third year. he remained in the army until he was forty, and then, wishing to devote himself wholly to a religious life, he requested to be dismissed; but the emperor (julian the apostate, according to the legend) reproached him scornfully, saying that he desired to be dismissed because he wished to shun an impending fight; but st. martin replied now stain in hungary. 722 sacred and legendary art. 6 boldly, place me, naked and without defence, in front of the battle; then shalt thou see that, armed with the cross alone, i shall not fear to encounter the legions of the enemy.' the emperor took him at his word, and commanded a guard to be placed over him. for the night; but early the next morning the barbarians sent to offer terms of capitulation; and thus to the faith of st. martin the victory was granted, though not exactly as he or his enemies might have anticipated. after leaving the army, he led for many years a retired and religious life, and at length, in 371, he was elected bishop of tours. one day, when preparing to celebrate mass in the cathedral, he beheld a wretched naked beggar, and desired his attendant deacon to clothe the man; the deacon showing no haste to comply, st. martin took off his sacerdotal habit and threw it himself around the beggar: and that day, while officiating at mass, a globe of fire was seen above his head; and when he elevated the host, his arms being thus exposed by the shortness of the sleeves, they were miraculously covered with chains of gold and silver suspended there by angels, to the great astonishment and admiration of the spectators. at another time, the son of a poor widow having died, st. martin, through his prayers, restored him to his disconsolate mother. he also healed a favourite slave of the proconsul who was possessed by an evil spirit; and many other wonderful things did this holy man perform, to the great wonder and edification of those who witnessed them. the devil, who was particularly envious of his virtues, detested above all his exceeding charity, because it was the most inimical to his own power, and one day reproached him mockingly that he so soon received into favour the fallen and the repentant; and st. martin answered him sorrowfully, saying, 'oh! most miserable that thou art! if thou also couldst cease to persecute and seduce wretched men, if thou also couldst repent, thou also shouldst find mercy and forgiveness through jesus christ!' what peculiarly distinguished st. martin was his sweet, serious, unfailing serenity; no one had ever seen him angry, or sad, or gay; there was nothing in his heart but piety to god and pity for men. he was particularly distinguished by the determined manner in which he rooted paganism out of the land. neither the difficulty of the enterprise, nor the fury of the gentiles, nor his own st. martin of tours. 723 danger, nor the superb magnificence of the idolatrous temples, had any power to daunt or to restrain him. everywhere he set fire to the temples of the false gods, threw down their altars, broke their images. the complete uprooting of heathenism in that part of gaul is attributed to this pious and indefatigable bishop. the demons against whom he waged this determined war made a thousand attempts to terrify and to delude him; sometimes appearing to him as jupiter, sometimes as mercury, and sometimes as venus or minerva; but he overcame them all. in order to avoid the great concourse of people who crowded around him, he withdrew to a solitude about two miles from the city, and built himself a cell between the rocks and the loire. this was the origin of the celebrated monastery of marmoutier, one of the greatest and richest in the north of christendom. while st. martin was inexorable in breaking down the altars of the heathens, he appears to have opposed himself to some of the superstitions of the people. in the neighbourhood of tours there was a little chapel in which the people worshipped a supposed martyr. the saint, believing their worship misplaced, went and stood upon the sepulchre, and prayed that the lord would reveal to him who was buried there. suddenly he beheld a dark spectral form, of horrible aspect, standing near; and he said, 'who art thou?' and the shade replied that he was a robber, who had been executed there for his crimes, and was now suffering the torments of hell. then st. martin destroyed the chapel, and the people resorted to it no more. among the innumerable stories related of st. martin, there is one which ought to be noted here as an admirable subject for a picture, though i am not aware that it has ever been painted. on some occasion the emperor invited him to a banquet, and, wishing to show the saint particular honour, he handed the wine-cup to him before he drank, expecting, according to the usual custom, that st. martin would touch it with his lips, and then present it respectfully to his imperial host; but, equally to the astonishment and admiration of the guests, st. martin turned round and presented the brimming goblet to a poor priest who stood behind him; thus showing that he vol. ii. uu 724 sacred and legendary art. accounted the least of the servants of god before the greatest of the rulers of the earth. from this incident st. martin has been chosen as the patron saint of drinking, and of all jovial meetings. also the empress, whose name was helena, and who was the daughter of a wealthy lord of caernarvonshire, entertained him with great honour. it was somewhat against his will, as he avoided all converse with women, but she clung to his feet, and would not be separated from him, washing them with her tears. she prepared for him a supper, she alone, allowing no other service; she cooked the viands herself, she arranged his seat, offered the water for his hands, and while he sat at meat she stood immovable before him, according to the custom of menials. she poured out the wine, and presented it to him herself, and, when the repast was over, she collected the crumbs that had fallen from his table, preferring them to the banquet of the emperor. this story also would be a most picturesque subject. after governing his diocese in great honour for nearly thirty years, and having destroyed many temples and cut down many groves dedicated to the false gods, the blessed st. martin died, and many heard the songs of the angels as they bore his soul to paradise. from the hour that he was laid in the tomb he became an object for the worship of the people. the church dedicated to him in rome (san martino-in-monte) existed within a hundred years after his death; and when st. augustine of canterbury first arrived in england, he found here a chapel which had been dedicated to st. martin in the middle of the fifth century, and in this chapel he baptized his first converts. in the single devotional figures st. martin is always represented in his sacerdotal, never in his military, character. when it is necessary to distinguish him from other bishops, he has a naked beggar at his feet, looking up with adoration. in the old french ecclesiastical sculpture and stained glass, he has frequently a goose at his side. this attribute alludes, i believe, to the season at which his festival was celebrated, the season when geese are killed and eaten, called st. martin of tours. 725 170 as st. martin (martin schoen) mawilliams.sc. with us martinmas-tide, which used to be solemnised in france like the last day of carnival, as a period of licensed excess.' ( < the famous subject called la charité de st. martin,' or, in english, st. martin dividing his cloak,' is sometimes devotionally, sometimes historically, treated. it is a devotional subject when the act of charity is expressed so simply, and with so few accessories, that it is to be understood not so much as the representation of an action, but rather as a general symbol of this particular form of charity: 'i was naked, and ye clothed me.' i will cite, as an instance of this religious sentiment in the treatment, a picture by carotto, which i remember over one of the altars in the church of st. anastasia, at verona. the saint, in military attire, but bare-headed, and with a pensive, pitying air, we have in england about 160 churches dedicated to st. martin. uu 2 726 sacred and legendary art. 11214 fckesh 171 adaltiel se. st. martin divides his cloak (french miniature, 1500) bends down towards the poor beggar, who has, in his extremity, already wrapped one end of the mantle around his naked shivering body-while st. martin prepares to yield it to him by dividing it with his sword. there is nothing here of the heroic self-complacency of the saint in vandyck's picture; but the expression is so calm, so st. martin of tours. 727 simple the benign humility of the air and countenance is in such affecting contrast with the prancing steed and panoply of war, that it is impossible not to feel that the painter must have been penetrated by the beauty and significance of the story, as well as by the character of the saint. the famous picture by vandyck at windsor is a striking instance of the historical treatment in style and conception. here st. martin, a fine martial figure, wearing a cap and feather, brilliant with youth and grace, and a sort of condescending good nature, advances on his white charger, and turning, with his drawn sword, is in act to divide his rich scarlet cloak with a coarse squalid beggar, while a gipsy-looking woman, with black hair streaming to the winds, holds up her child to receive the benediction of the saint. it is said that vandyck has here represented himself mounted on the white charger which rubens had presented to him: certainly the whole picture glows with life, animated expression, and dramatic power; but it is wholly deficient in that deep religious feeling which strikes us in the altar-piece of carotto, and leaves an impression on the memory not trivial nor transitory :whence grace, through which the heart may understand, and vows, that bind the will, in silence made! the other incidents in the life of st. martin are less peculiar and attractive, and are not often met with separately. the miracle of the globe of fire, called 'la messe de saint martin,' was painted by le sueur for the abbey of marmoutier. it is a composition of fifteen figures. st. martin stands before the altar: he is characteristically represented as of low stature and feeble frame, but with a rnost divinely expressive face; the astonishment in the countenances. of those around, particularly of a priest and a kneeling woman, is admirably portrayed, without interfering with the saintly calm of the scene and place.' 'st. martin raising the dead child,' by lazzaro baldi, is in the vienna gallery. the slave of the proconsul healed' is the subject of a coarse but animated composition by jordaens: st. martin is in full episcopal robes-the possessed man writhing at his feet-the lord of the slave, attended by his falconer, is seen behind watching the performance of the miracle.2 1 louvre. école française. 2 brussels gal. 728 sacred and legendary art. on a certain occasion st. martin appeared before the emperor valentinian, who, at the approach of the holy man, did not show due respect by rising to receive him; whereupon the chair on which he sat took fire under him and forced him to rise. this rather grotesque incident i have seen represented, i think, at assisi. a series of subjects from the life of st. martin often occurs in the french stained glass of the thirteenth and fourteenth century. we find it at bourges, at chartres, at angers, and others of the old french cathedrals. in the san francesco at assisi there is a chapel dedicated to him covered with beautiful frescoes from his life-many of them, unhappily, in a most ruined state. in the first, he appears as a youth before the roman emperor, and is enrolled as a soldier in the roman cavalry; in the second, he divides his cloak with the beggar; in the third, he is asleep on his bed, and christ appears to him in a vision, attended by four angels; in the fourth, he is ordained by st. hilary. the rest i could not well make out, but the figures and heads have great expression and elegance. these frescoes are attributed to simone memmi. st. eloy. lat. sanctus eligius. eng. st. loo. ital. sant' alò or lò, sant' eligio. patron of bologna, of noyon; of goldsmiths, locksmiths, blacksmiths, and all workers in metals; also of farriers and horses. (dec. 1, a.d. 659.) st. eloy was born of obscure parents in the little village of chatelas. he was first sent to school at limoges, and afterwards bound apprentice to a goldsmith of that city. his progress in the art of design, and in chasing and working in gold, was so rapid, that he soon excelled his master. he then went to paris, where his talents as a worker in metal introduced him to the notice of bobbo, treasurer to clotaire ii. about this time it happened that king clotaire desired to have a throne overlaid with gold and set with precious stones,' but he knew not to whom to entrust the execution of a work or a saddle. see maitland's dark ages,' p. 81, for the story of st. eloy refusing to take oaths. " st. eloy. 729 which required not merely skill, but probity. the treasurer introduced eloy to the king, who weighed out to him a quantity of gold sufficient for the work; but eloy constructed, with the precious materials entrusted to him, not one throne, but two thrones; and with such wonderful skill that the king was filled with admiration for the perfection of the work, yet more for the probity of the workman, and thenceforth employed him in state affairs. in a word, he seems to have been much in the same circumstances as those of george heriot at the court of our king james. the successor of king clotaire, dagobert, also held him in the highest esteem, and appointed him master of the mint. it appears that eloy cut the dies for the money coined in these two reigns; thirteen pieces are known which bear his name inscribed. after the death of dagobert, eloy was so much distinguished by the holiness and purity of his life that he was thought a fit successor to the bishop of noyon, and he was consecrated at rouen in the third year of clovis ii. after he had attained to this high dignity, eloy was not less distinguished than before for his humanity, his simplicity, and his laborious life. out of a vast number of sermons and homilies composed for his flock, many remain to this day; and as he was remarkable for his eloquence and his power over the minds of the people, he was sent to preach the gospel to the idolaters of belgium, and it is even said that he was the first to carry the gospel to sweden and denmark. in the midst of all these labours and hardships, and journeyings to and fro, he still found time for his original and beloved vocation; but instead of devoting his labour to the formation of objects of vanity and luxury, he employed himself upon the shrines of the saints and the holy vessels of the church. thus he decorated with wonderful skill the tombs of st. martin and st. denis; and executed moreover the shrines of st. germain, st. quentin, st. geneviève, and many others. also he decorated with precious utensils the church of st. columba; but soon afterwards, some robbers having carried off these riches, the inhabitants ran in haste to implore the assistance of st. eloy. he immediately went to the church, and kneeling down in the oratory of the patron saint, 730 sacred and legendary art. he thus addressed her in a loud voice, hearken, columba, to my words. our redeemer commands that forthwith thou restore to me the jewels of gold which have been taken from this church, for otherwise i will close up the entrance thereof with thorns, so that henceforth thou shalt be no more honoured or served within these walls.' of course the saint delayed not, but caused the thief to restore the jewels. like all holy men of that time, st. eloy was much beset by the persecutions of the arch-enemy. on one occasion, when the. pious artist was troubled by him in the midst of his work, he took his tongs out of the fire, and seized the demon by the nose. the same story is told of our saxon saint dunstan. on another occasion a horse was brought to him to be shod which was possessed by a demon, and kicked and plunged so violently that all the bystanders fled in dismay; but st. eloy, no whit discomfited by these inventions of satan, cut off the leg of the horse, placed it on his anvil, fastened on the shoe leisurely, and then, by making the sign of the cross, replaced the leg, to the great astonishment and edification of the faithful.' 6 in single figures and devotional pictures, st. eloy is sometimes represented in the short tunic and secular dress of an artisan, but more generally in the robes of a bishop, with a book or a crosier in one hand, and a hammer or tongs in the other; or the hammer, an anvil, a pair of bellows, or other implements of smith's work, lie at his feet. there is a very famous picture of him in the strada dei orefici at genoa, painted by js. st. eloy (statue ; or-san-michele at florence) 172 this legend is-represented in bas-relief on the pedestal of his statue, in one of the niches of the exterior of or-san-michele at florence. it was executed in marble by nanni di banco, of the school of donatello, and dedicated by the guild of blacksmiths about 1420. t st. eloy. 731 the genoese, pelegrino piola, in which he is represented as the patron saint of the craft; napoleon gave orders that it should be sent to paris, but was so firmly resisted by the company of goldsmiths, that he allowed it to remain. in an ancient statue in the cathedral at senars, st. eloy in the habit of a smith, wearing a small cap, a leathern apron tied round his neck, and with a hammer in his hand, stands beside his anvil, on which lies a horse's leg. he is here the patron saint of blacksmiths. as one of the patrons of bologna, he is frequently represented in the bologna pictures. there is a picture by innocenzio da imola, in which st. eloy (or alo) figures as pendant to st. petronius: the legend of the demoniac horse is seen in the background.' the scenes from his life are not unfrequent. 1. st. eloy, employed in chasing a cup, is seated in front, an assistant behind. (in an old print.2) 2. st. eloy forging a piece of work in presence of king dagobert; his assistant blows the bellows. (in an old print.) 3. in an altar-piece by botticelli, st. eloy stands as bishop. in the predella underneath he is seen at his forge, and on his anvil the horse's leg: satan, in female attire, stands near him.³ 6 4. st. eloy seizes the demon by the nose (who is here in the form of an impudica femina') and shoes the possessed horse: by cavedone, -a fine picture, nothwithstanding the grotesqueness of the subject.¹ 5. st. eloy, in his workshop, presents a beautiful shrine to king dagobert; painted for the company of goldsmiths by empoli. the painter has given to king dagobert and his goldsmith the costumes of francis i. and benvenuto cellini.5 vol. ii. 6. st. eloy had once a heaven-sent dream. he dreamed that he saw the sun eclipsed in the beginning of his course, and the moon and three bright stars reigned in the heavens. the moon was eclipsed in her turn, and the three stars approached the meridian-but lo! one of them was hidden from sight; soon afterwards a second disappeared; but the third shone out with increasing splendour. this dream foreshadowed the fate of the royal family. clovis ii. died young; his queen bathilde, after reigning for ten years as regent, berlin gal. 280. bartsch, vol. ix. p. 146. bologna, mendicanti. x x 3 fl. acad. 5 fl. acad. 732 sacred and legendary art. followed him; two sons died successively; the third, thiery, reigned in prosperity. this vision i have found in an old french print; st. eloy is in bed, an angel draws the curtain, and points to the skies where the sun is seen eclipsed.' st. lambert, bishop of maestricht, and st. hubert, bishop of liége, are important personages in the flemish and german works of art. st. lambert, who lived in the distracted time of the later merovingian kings, was distinguished by his efforts to keep his christian community together, and to alleviate as far as possible the horrible tyrannies, lawless oppression, and miseries of that dark period. he had, however, dared to remonstrate with pepin d'heristal (then maire du palais under, or rather over, the weak childeric) on his attachment to his beautiful mistress alpaïde, the grandmother of charlemagne. a relation of alpaïde revenged the interference of the bishop after the manner of that barbarous time; surprised him in his dwelling near maestricht, and slew him, as he knelt, unresisting, with his arms extended in the form of a cross, to receive the stroke of death. he is thence honoured as a martyr, and is represented in the episcopal dress, bearing the palm, with a lance or javelin at his feet. it is related of st. lambert, that, when he was only an acolyte, he brought burning coals in the folds of his surplice to rekindle the incense before the altar,-a poetical allegory to express the fervour of his piety. i saw this story in a picture in the church of st. bavon at ghent. a good picture of the martyrdom of st. lambert by carlo saraceni is in the s. maria dell' anima, rome. st. lambert keeps his place in the english reformed calendar. (sept. 17, a.d. 709.) st. hubert, a far more celebrated saint, has, on the contrary, been banished from our english calendar. he was a nobleman of aquitaine, who lived for some years in the court of pepin d'heristal,—a court, as we have seen, not remarkable for severe morality. here 1 " the church of durraston in dorsetshire is named in his honour, and his legend is sculptured over the doorway. (calendar of the anglican church.) st. hubert. 733 hubert abandoned himself to all worldly and sinful pleasures, but more especially to the chase, which he sometimes pursued on the days set apart by holy church for fasting and for prayer. one day in the holy week, when all good christians were at their devotions, as he was hunting in the forest of ardennes, he encountered a milk-white stag bearing the crucifix between his horns. filled with awe and astonishment, he immediately ronounced all the sinful pursuits and vanities to which he had been addicted. at first he turned hermit in that very forest of ardennes which had been the scene of his former wickedness; afterwards, placing himself under the tutelage of st. lambert, he was ordained priest, and for twenty years distinguished himself by a life of the most edifying piety; finally he became bishop of liége; and died nov. 3, 727. the forest of ardennes, which we can never bring before the fancy but as a scene of romance, was at this period the haunt of robbers, and the inhabitants of the neighbourhood were still heathens and idolaters. st. hubert appears to have been one of those ecclesiastics who, in the darkest of the dark ages, carried not only religious discipline but social civilization into the depths of the forests; and whose effigies were anciently represented, sometimes with wild animals, as wolves and bears, around them, showing that they had extirpated savage beasts and savage life, as in the pictures and statues of st. magnus; sometimes with the stag bearing the crucifix, which among the antique symbols either expressed piety or religious aspiration in a general sense, or the conversion of some reckless lover of the chase, who, like the wild huntsman of the german ballad, had pursued his sport in defiance of the sacred ordinances and the claims of humanity. in this latter sense it was anciently applied, till, realised in the fancy of the people, the instructive allegory became an actual miracle or a wondrous legend; as in this story of st. hubert, and that of st. eustace, who is often confounded with him. according to his own desire, st. hubert was buried first in the church of st. peter at liége. thirteen years after his death, his body was disinterred in presence of carloman, king of the franks, and found entire; even the episcopal robes in which he had been interred were without spot or stain; and his tomb became famous for x x 2 734 sacred and legendary art. the miracles and cures performed there. about a century after his death, at the request of the benedictine monks of ardennes, his body was removed from liége and deposited in their abbey church, and st. hubert became thenceforth st. hubert of ardennes. the emperor, louis le débonnaire, then at aix-lachapelle, assisted at the translation of the relics, and the day was long kept as a festival throughout this part of flanders. i believe this translation of the body of st. hubert from liége to ardennes, and his reinterment in the abbey church, to be the subject of an old flemish picture now in the possession of sir charles eastlake. it was formerly styled the burial of st. thomas à becket-i know not on what grounds, for here we find none of the attributes of a martyr, nor any of the miraculous picturesque circumstances attending the burial of st. thomas à becket. on the altar, behind the principal group, stands a shrine, on which is a little figure of st. hubert with his hunting-horn, just as i have seen him represented in the old french and flemish carvings. the royal personage assisting is probably intended for louis le débonnaire. this picture, which is of wonderful beauty, finished in every part, and the heads like miniature portraits in character and delicacy of execution, is attributed to justus of ghent (a scholar of hubert van eyck), and was probably painted about 1474. 173 st. hubert (wilhelm von köln, 1380) to st. hubert, as patron saint of the chase, chapels were often erected within the precincts of the forest, where the huntsman might pay his devotions to his favourite saint before he began his favourite st. hubert. 785 sport. as he was also the patron saint of dogs, we often find them introduced into pictures of him : bread blessed at his shrine was considered as a holy charm against the hydrophobia. in the devotional figures so frequent in the old french and flemish churches, st. hubert is represented in his episcopal habit, with a book in one hand, and a hunting-horn in the other; or the stag, with the crucifix between its horns, stands at his side; or, more rarely, he holds the breviary horizontally in his hands, and on it stands the miraculous stag. (173) where st. hubert as bishop bears the hunting-horn, i believe he must be considered as the patron saint of the military order of st. hubert, instituted in 1444 by gerard, duke of guelders; the knight bears as their insignia a golden cor-de-chasse. it is necessary to distinguish carefully between the hunting-horn and the drinking-horn: a bishop with a drinking-horn in his hand represents st. cornelius, and the attribute of the horn is merely in allusion to his name; he was bishop of rome in the third century.' 6 the vision of the miraculous stag is styled the conversion of st. hubert:' and here it becomes necessary, but sometimes difficult, to distinguish him from st. eustace. we must bear in mind that st. hubert seldom (as far as i know, never) appears in italian art, while st. eustace seldom appears in northern europe; st. hubert wears the dress of a hunter, st. eustace that of a roman soldier. he will be found among the warrior saints. the sketch (174), from a beautiful miniature in the 'heures d'anne de bretagne,' will give an idea of the manner in which the conversion of st. hubert is generally represented. the angel who flies towards him, bearing the stole in his hand, is intended to show that he exchanged the life of a hunter for that of an ecclesiastic. in the french legend it is related that when monseigneur saint hubert' was consecrated bishop, an angel brought down from heaven the stole with which he was invested. ( the most celebrated example, however, is the rare and exquisite print of albert dürer, so well known to collectors. st. hubert is the horn was used in ancient times to hold the consecrated oil; it was then called the horn of sacrament, and in the pictures of st. cornelius may have a religious significance. 736 sacred and legendary art. hak 174 m6 рива были www. wwwmmm on win dalriel.so the conversion of st. hubert (french miniature, 1500) kneeling, in the hunting costume of the fifteenth century, with his horn and couteau-de-chasse suspended at his side, and wearing the furred cap and the knightly spurs; his horse is near him, and his panting dogs ss. leander and isidore. 737 ! in the foreground. on a wooded eminence stands the visionary hart, with the crucifix between his horns. this celebrated composition, having no title, has sometimes been styled st. eustace; but i believe that in the french and german works of art the subject may be understood to refer to the legend of st. hubert the hunter; in italian pictures, it is generally st eustatius.' in our national gallery are two pictures from the story of st. hubert. 1. his conversion by the miraculous stag. 2. the angel descending with the stole.2 among the early spanish bishops, st. leander and st. isidore, two brothers who were successively bishops of seville, and became the patrons of the city, are found represented in the pictures of the seville school. both these saints were chiefly distinguished as the determined opponents of arianism in spain. st. leander is styled the apostle of the goths;' st. isidore the egregius doctor of spain.' 6 in the dissensions between the catholics and the arians, hermengildus, son of king leovigild, relinquished the arian faith, and was put to death by his father: he has been regarded as one of the famous martyrs of spain. the arms of the city of seville exhibit st. ferdinand, king of castile and leon, on a throne, with st. leander on one side, and st. isidore on the other. and, in the pictures of roelas and herrera, we often find the princely martyr, st. hermengildo, attended by the two bishops; or sometimes st. justa and st. rufina, st. leander and st. isidore, the four patrons of seville, are in the same picture. the life of st. hubert, in a series of eight bas-reliefs, has been lately executed by wilhem geefs, a belgian sculptor of great reputation, for the shrine in the church of st. hubert in ardennes. they are designed with much poetic feeling in the picturesque style of the early renaissance. there are fine casts in the crystal palace (no. 109, french court); and for a full description, see the 'handbook to the modern sculpture,' p. 41. 2 these are attributed to the meister von werden (252). in another picture by the same old german (250), st. hubert is attired as bishop, with the stag on his book. 738 sacred and legendary art. among the chefs-d'œuvre of murillo, are counted the san leandro and the san isidoro, each enthroned, robed in white, and wearing their mitres,-noble and characteristic heads, now in the cathedral at seville. the masterpiece of roelas is the fine picture of the death of st. isidore (el transito de san isidoro), where he is expiring on the steps of the altar, after dividing his substance among the poor: and the masterpiece of herrera is the apotheosis of st. hermengild, where, after his martyrdom, the gothic prince is seen carried into glory, arrayed in a cuirass of blue steel and a red mantle, and holding a cross. st. isidore stands on the left, st. leander on the right; and the son of hermengild, a beautiful fair-haired boy, is gazing rapturously upwards, as his sainted father mounts to heaven.¹ the other spanish bishops who are most remarkable as subjects of art-for example st. ildefonso, st. thomas of villanova, &c.belonged to the regular monastic orders.2 1 for a further account of these pictures, see mr. stirling's 'annals of the artists in spain.' he thus describes the death of st. isidore: clad in pontifical robes and a dark mantle, the prelate kneels in the foreground expiring in the arms of a group of venerable priests, whose snowy hair and beards are finely relieved by the youthful bloom of two beautiful children of the choir, who kneel beside them; the background is filled up with the far-receding aisle of the church, some altars, and a multitude of sorrowing people. at the top of the picture, in a blaze of light, are seen our lord and the virgin enthroned on clouds.' he adds: 'for majesty of design, depth of feeling, richness of colour, and the various beauty of the heads, and for the perfect mastery which the painter has displayed in the use of his materials, this altar-piece (in the church of st. isidore at seville) may be ranked amongst the greatest productions of the pencil;' and he compares it with domenichino's communion of st. jerome' in the vatican. juan de las roelas was one of the earliest and greatest painters of the spanish school. i cannot but remember that a most admirable and interesting picture by roelas was sold in the soult collection for less than one half of the sum which the former (not the present) managers of the national gallery thought fit to give for a coarse, bedaubed, fifth-rate titian. for the story of hermengild, see gibbon, c. 37. 2 see 'legends of the monastic orders.' the hermit saints. 789 the hermit saints. st. paul, st. anthony, and the hermits of syria and egypt in the third and fourth centuries. amongst the most interesting, most picturesque, most imaginative productions of the early ages of art, are the representations of the hermits of the desert. every one who has looked at pictures recognises at once the image of their chief and leader, st. anthony the abbot, with his long white beard, his crutch, his bell, and his pig: but we must look back to the contemporary state of society, and to a most curious and most interesting period of church history, to comprehend the large circle of suggestive association which such effigies, however rude in themselves, may excite in the thinking mind. towards the end of the third century, the roman empire, though it still held together, was fast crumbling to dissolution. it was in a state analogous to that of the decrepid human frame when we say it is breaking up; the vital functions go on for a time, but weak and intermitting;-neither potions nor physicians can do more than postpone the evil hour. the throes of the perishing colossus were, however, fearful. a glance at the countries which composed the vast heterogeneous mass of the roman empire will show us rottenness and corruption at the centre, and utter disorganisation towards the extremities. in the distant governments there was no security for life or for property : wars, famines, tyrannies, had desolated the provinces. the religious persecutions which had broken out in the days of the last heathen emperors, and the dissensions caused by that very religion which preached peace, added to the horrors of the time. in this state of things, the promises of the millennium had seized on the imaginations of the christians. many of them believed that the end of the world was near, that there was no help for man in his fellow man, nor profit in the labour of his hands;-no good anywhere, no hope, no rest, no peace, but in heaven. vol. ii. y y 740 sacred and legendary art. in the persecution under the emperor decius, paul of thebes, a christian youth of noble family, terrified less by the tortures which were threatened, than by the allurements which were tried, to induce him to deny his faith, fled to the desert to the east of the nile; and, wandering there alone, he found a cavern, near to which was a datetree and a fountain of clear water, and he chose this for his dwelling place, eating of the fruit of the date-tree, drinking from the stream which bathed its roots, and, when the raiment which he wore had fallen to rags, clothing his wasted frame in a sort of mat formed of the palm-leaves woven together. thus he lived for the space of ninety-eight years, far from the haunts of men, and having, in all that time, only casual communication, and at long intervals, with his kind. but it was the divine will that his long penance, and his wondrous virtues, as they were then deemed, should be made known for the edification of men, through the medium of another saint even more renowned, the blessed st. anthony. as paul is regarded as the founder of the anchorites or solitary hermits, so anthony is regarded as the founder of the cenobites, or hermits living in communities: in other words, the founder of monachism. under his immediate disciple, pachomius, the first cloister was erected in an island surrounded by the nile. hilarion, a native of gaza, in palestine, who had been sent by his parents to study philosophy at alexandria, was also converted by st. anthony, and became the founder of the first monastery in syria: basil, his disciple, founded the first in asia minor. jerome, who had visited anthony in his desert, carried the fashion into italy and gaul; and thus, monachism, which originated in the hermit-life in egypt, spread, in a short time, over the whole of eastern and western christendom. the hermits were at first bound by no very strict rules. they took no vows; and many wandered about in companies, mingling with the people; like certain modern fanatics they held in scorn all human learning, and founded their notions of orthodoxy on some obscure feeling of what was, or was not, true piety. thus, while they turned away the exercise of human intellect and reason from all objects of utility, from all elevating, all strengthening purposes, their lifted into the m&s sr. anstony air and tormented by demons. st. anthony and st. paul, hermits. 741 traditional theology shut out all improvement, all research; and their ignorant enthusiasm, if it sometimes assisted, often endangered, the progress of religion. to them the laws of the state presented no barriers; they did not acknowledge the authority of the civil magistrates; they united to their religious fanaticism a cynical indifference to the social duties and the proprieties of life. such was the state of monachism in its commencement, from the middle of the fourth century down to the great monastic reformation, and the institution of the first regular order of monks by benedict, in the middle of the fifth century. in reading the stories which are related of these solitaries, it is sometimes with feelings of disgust, sometimes with pity, sometimes not without a sense of amusement, at their childish absurdities. but, in the midst of all this, we are not seldom charmed by instances of sincerity and self-denial, and by pictures of simplicity and tranquillity of life, intermingled with beautiful and poetical parables, which, when reproduced in the old works of art, strongly interest the imagination. st. anthony and st. paul, hermits. ital. sant' antonio abbate, or l'eremita. fr. st. antoine l'abbé. ger. der heilige anton, or antonius. (jan. 17, a.d. 357.) 'anthony was born at alexandria in egypt; his parents died when he was only eighteen, and left him with a noble name, great riches, and an only sister, whom he loved tenderly; but from his childhood he had been of a melancholy, contemplative disposition; and now that he was left master of himself, with power and wealth, he was troubled by the fear of the temptations of the world, and by the burthen of the responsibilities which his possessions imposed upon him. 'one day, as he entered into a church to pray, he heard these words: "every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name's sake, shall receive a hundred-fold, and shall inherit everlasting life." and he left the house of god sad and disturbed; and while he was matt. xix. 29; acts iv. 32. yy 2 742 sacred and legendary art. yet meditating on their import, on another day he entered into another church, and at the moment he entered the priest was reading these words: "if thou wilt be perfect, go and sell all thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven." anthony received this repeated admonition as a warning voice from heaven; and he went forthwith, and dividing his hereditary possessions with his sister, he sold his own share, distributing the money to the poor; and then, with no other raiment than what he wore at the time, and with his staff in his hand, he departed from the city, and joined a company of hermits, who had already fled from the persecutions of the heathen and the corruptions of the time, and who lived in community, but in separate cells. 'here he dwelt for some time in great sanctity and rigid self-denial; and observing the lives of the hermits around him, he thought to attain perfection by imitating from each the virtue for which he was most distinguished,-the chastity of one, the humility of another, the silent devotion of a third. he would pray with him who prayed, fasted with him who mortified his body, and mingled contrite tears with him who wept. thus he united in himself all their various merits, and became even in his youth an object of admiration and wonder and reverence to all. 'but the sight of such amazing virtue and sanctity was naturally displeasing to the enemy of mankind, who had sagacity enough to foresee that the example of this admirable saint would lessen his own power in the world, and deprive him of many votaries; therefore he singled him out as an object of especial persecution, and gave him over to his demons to be tormented in every possible way. they began by whispering to him, in the silence of his cell, of all that he had sacrificed for this weary life of perpetual rigour and self-denial; they brought to mind his noble birth, his riches, and all that riches could obtain, delicate food, rich clothing, social delights. they pictured to him the fatigue of virtue, the fragility of his own frame, the brevity of human life; and they sang to him in sweetest accents, "while thou livest, enjoy the good things which have been provided for thee." the saint endeavoured to drown these promptings of the devil in the voice of prayer;-he prayed till the drops stood on his 1 matt. xix. 21. st. anthony and st. paul, hermits. 743 brow, and at length the demon ceased to whisper to him, but only to have recourse to stronger weapons; for, seeing that wicked suggestions availed not, satan raised up in his sight the sensible images of forbidden things. he clothed his demons in human forms; they spread before anthony a table covered with delicious viands; they hovered round him in the shape of beautiful women, who, with the softest blandishments, allured him to sin. the saint strove against this temptation with all his might, and prayed, and conquered. but, in his anguish, he resolved to flee yet further from men and from the world; and, leaving the company of the hermits, travelled far, far away into the burning desert, and took up his abode in a cave, whither, as he hoped, satan would not follow to molest him. he fasted more rigorously than ever; ate but once a day, or once in two or three days; slept on the bare earth, and refused to look upon any living creature. but not for this did the cruel demon relax in his persecution. as he had already tried in vain the allurements of appetite and pleasure, so now he thought to subdue the saint by the influence of pain. spirits in hideous forms pressed round him in crowds, scourged him, tore him with their talons, chased him from his cell; and one of the hermits he had left behind, who was wont to carry him food, found him lying on the sands senseless, apparently dead. then he flung down the food he had brought, and taking the miserable sufferer in his arms, he carried him to one of the cells, where, after a long time, he was restored to his senses and recollection. 'but no sooner had anthony opened his eyes, and beheld around him his sympathising brethren, than he closed them again, and desired to be taken back to his cave; which was done, and they laid him on the ground and left him; and anthony cried out and defied the demon, saying, "ha! thou arch-tempter! didst thou think i had fled? lo, here i am again, i, anthony! i challenge all thy malice! i spit on thee! i have strength to combat still!" when he had said these words, the cavern shook, and satan, rendered furious by his discomfiture, called up his fiends, and said, "let us now affright him with all the terrors that can overwhelm the soul of man." then hideous sounds were heard; lions, tigers, wolves, 1 see, in the berlin gallery (1198), a strange grotesque picture by jerome bosch; but in the catalogue the monks are styled demons. 744 sacred and legendary art. dragons, serpents, scorpions, all shapes of horror, "worse than fancy ever feigned, or fear conceived," came roaring, howling, hissing, shrieking in his ears; scaring him, stunning him ;-but, in the midst of these abominable and appalling shapes and sounds, suddenly there shone from heaven a great light, which fell upon anthony, and all these terrors vanished at once, and he arose unhurt and strong to endure. and he said, looking up, "o lord jesus christ! where wert thou in those moments of anguish ?" and christ replied, in a mild and tender voice, " anthony, i was here beside thee, and rejoiced to see thee contend and overcome. be of good heart; for i will make thy name famous through all the world." 'so he was comforted; but he resolved to go yet farther from all human intercourse, all human aid; and he took his staff and wandered forth, and as he traversed the desert he saw heaps of gold and vases of silver lying in his path; but he knew full well they were the delusions of satan; he would not look upon them, but turned his eyes away, and lo! they dissolved into air. 'and anthony was thirty-five years of age when he shut himself up in the cavern, in which he dwelt for twenty years. during all that time he never saw nor was seen of any: and when at last he reappeared, it was plainly perceived that miraculous comfort and aid had been granted to him; for he was not wasted by the fasts he had endured, nor was he pale of cheek, though he had scarcely seen the sun in all that time; nor was he changed, except that his hair was white, and his beard of venerable length. on the contrary, he was of a mild and serene aspect, and he spoke kindly words to all; and consoled the afflicted; and healed those who were sick; and expelled demons (who, we are told, after their signal defeat, held him in such awe and terror, that his very name was sufficient to make them flee); reconciled those who were at feud; and preached to all men the love of god, and abstinence, and purity of life: and multitudes were so convinced by his example and his eloquence, that they retired to the desert, and became his disciples, living in caves hollowed out of the sandy hills, and in the ancient tombs; and at one time there were more than five thousand hermits assembled round him, and he performed many wonders and many miracles in the desert. st. anthony and st. paul, hermits. 745 'one night, as anthony sat in his cell, he heard a knocking at the door, and, going to see who it was there, he beheld a man of a terrible aspect, and of gigantic stature; and he said, "who art thou?" the stranger answered, "i am satan, and i come to ask thee how it is that thou and all thy disciples, whenever ye stray into sin, or any evil befall ye, lay the blame and the shame on me, and load me with curses?" and anthony said, "have we not cause? dost thou not go about seeking whom thou mayest devour, and tempt us and torment us? and art thou not the occasion of fall to many?" and the demon replied, "it is false! i do none of these things of which men accuse me; it is their own fault; they allure each other to sin; they torment and oppress each other; they are tempted of their own evil propensities; they go about seeking occasion to sin; and then they weakly lay the cause at my door: for, since god came upon earth, and was made man to redeem man, my power is at an end. lo! i have no arms, i have no dwelling place, and, wanting everything, can perform nothing. let men complain of themselves, not of me; not i, but they alone are guilty." to which the saint, marvelling at so much sense and truth from the lips of the devil, replied, "although thou art called the father of lies, in this thou hast spoken the truth; and even for this, blessed be the name of christ!" and when satan heard the holy name of the redeemer, he vanished into air with a loud cry and anthony, looking out, saw nothing but the desert, and the darkness of the night. 'on another occasion, as the hermits around him were communing together, there arose a question as to which of all the virtues was most necessary to perfection. one said, chastity; another, humility; a third, justice. st. anthony remained silent until all had given their opinion, and then he spoke. "ye have all said well, but none of you have said aright: the virtue most necessary to perfection, is prudence; for the most virtuous actions of men, unless governed and directed by prudence, are neither pleasing to god, nor serviceable to others, nor profitable to ourselves.-" 'these are some of the parables and wise sayings with which the blessed st. anthony instructed his disciples. 'and when he had reached the great age of ninety years, and had lived in the desert seventy-five years, his heart was lifted up by the 746 sacred and legendary art. thought that no one had lived so long in solitude and self-denial as he had done. but there came to him a vision in the deep midnight and a voice said to him, "there is one holier than thou art, for paul the hermit has served god in solitude and penance for ninety years." and when anthony awoke, he resolved to go and seek paul, and took his staff and set forth. as he journeyed across the desert, he met a creature half man and half horse, which by the poets is called a centaur, and he asked him the way to the cave of paul, which the centaur, who could not speak intelligible words, indicated by pointing with his hand; and farther on, coming to a deep narrow valley, he met a satyr; and the satyr bowed down before him, and said, "i am one of those creatures who haunt the woods and fields, and who are worshipped by the blind gentiles as gods. but we are mortals, as thou knowest, and i come to beseech thee that thou wouldst pray for me and my people, to thy god, who is my god, and the god of all." and when anthony heard these words, the tears ran down his venerable face, and trickled down his long white beard, and he stretched out his arms towards thebes; and he said, "such be your gods, o ye pagans! woe unto you when such as these confess the name of christ, whom ye, blind and perverse generation, deny !"'! 'so anthony continued his journey all that day and the next; and on the third day, early in the morning, he came to a cavern overhung with wild and savage rocks, with a palm-tree, and a fountain flowing near, and there he found the hermit paul, who had dwelt in this solitude for ninety years. 1 it was not without difficulty, and yielding to his prayers and tears, that paul at length admitted him. then these two venerable men, after gazing for a while upon each other, embraced with tears of joy, and sat down by the fountain, which, as i have said, flowed by the mouth of the cave; and paul asked of anthony concerning the world, and if there yet existed idolaters; and many other things; and they held long communion together. while they talked, forgetting the flight of time, and the wants of nature, there came a raven, 1 st. jerome, in telling this story, adds, that though this apparition of the satyr may appear to some to be incredible, yet all the world knows that one of these monsters was brought to the emperor constantine, at alexandria, and that afterwards the body was preserved for the edification of those who were curious in such matters. st. anthony and st. paul, hermits. 747 which alighted on the tree, and then, after a little space, flew away, and returned carrying in his beak a small loaf, and let it fall between them; then paul, lifting up his eyes, blessed the goodness of god, and said, "for sixty years, every day, hath this raven brought me half a loaf; but because thou art come, my brother, lo! the portion is doubled, and we are fed as elijah was fed in the wilderness." then there arose between these two holy men a contention, out of their great modesty and humility, which of the two should break the bread; at last they both took hold of the loaf and broke it between them. then they ate, and drank of the water of the fountain, and returned thanks. then paul said to anthony, "my brother! god hath sent thee here that thou mightest receive my last breath and bury me. go, return to thy dwelling; bring here the cloak which was given to thee by that holy bishop, athanasius, wrap me in it and lay me in the earth." greatly did anthony wonder to hear these words, for the gift of the cloak, which athanasius had bestowed on him some years before, was unknown to all; but he could only weep, and he kissed the aged paul, and left him and returned to his monastery. and thinking only of paul, for no other thought could enter his mind, he took down the cloak, and went forth again, and hastened on his way, fearing lest paul should have breathed his last breath ere he could arrive at the cave. when he was at the distance of about three hours' journey from the cavern, he heard of a sudden the most ravishing music, and, looking up, he beheld the spirit of paul, bright as a star, and white as the driven snow, carried up to heaven by the prophets and apostles, and a company of angels, who were singing hymns of triumph as they bore him through the air, until all had disappeared. then anthony fell upon his face and scattered dust on his head, and wept bitterly, saying, "alas! paul, alas! my brother, why hast thou left me? why have i known thee so late, to lose thee so early?" and when he had thus lamented, he rose in haste, and with all the speed of which his aged limbs were capable, he ran to the cave of paul, and when he reached it he found paul dead in the attitude of prayer. then he took him in his arms, and pressed him, and wept abundant tears, and recited over the cold remains the last offices of the dead; and when he had done this, he thought how he might bury him, for he had no strength to dig a grave, vol. ii. ꮓ ꮓ 99 748 sacred and legendary art. and it was three days' journey from the convent; and he thought, "what shall i do? would it might please god that i might lie down and die at thy side, o my brother!" and as he said these words, behold, two lions came walking towards him over the sandy desert; and when they saw the body of paul, and anthony weeping besid it, they, by their roaring, expressed their sympathy after their manner, and they began to dig in the sand with their paws, and in a short time they had dug a grave. when anthony saw this, he was amazed, and blessed them, saying, "o lord, without whose divine providence no leaf can stir upon the tree, no little bird fall to the ground, bless these creatures according to their nature, who have thus honoured the dead!"--and the lions departed. "then anthony took the dead body, and having wrapped it in the cloak of athanasius, laid it reverently in the grave. when these things were accomplished, he returned to his convent and related all to his disciples, and not only they believed, but the whole catholic church; so that, without any further testimony, paul has been canonised, and has since been universally honoured as a saint. 'after this, anthony lived fourteen years; and when he was in his hundred-and-fifth year, he showed to his disciples that he must shortly die. and they were filled with the profoundest grief, and fell at his feet, and kissed them, and bathed them with tears, saying, "alas! what shall we do on earth without thee, o anthony! our father, instructor, and friend?" but he comforted them; and withdrawing to a solitary place, with a few of his monks, he exacted from them a solemn promise, that they would reveal to no man the spot in which he was buried: then, as they prayed around him, he gently drew his last breath, being full of days and good works; and the angels received his spirit, and carried it up to heaven, to taste of bliss eternal. amen!' the devotional figures of paul the hermit represent him as a man in extreme old age; meagre, half naked, his only clothing a mat of palm-leaves, having his legs and arms bare, his beard and hair white and of great length. he is generally seated on a rock, in deep meditation. there ought to be a palm-tree near him, and a fountain st. anthony and st. paul, hermits. 749 at his feet; but these are not always attended to. he is not often introduced in the madonna pictures, or grouped with other saints; but is often a solitary figure in a landscape. sometimes a raven is introduced, bringing him food; and then it is necessary to observe the peculiar dress of interwoven leaves, and the meagre superannuated look, to distinguish the pictures of paul (primo eremita) from those of elijah in the wilderness; the haggard, wasted, self-abased penitent, from the majestic prophet. the most important, and i must add the most disagreeable representation i have seen of st. paul the hermit, is a figure, by spagnoletto, life-size, seated, undraped except by a girdle of palm-leaves, with a skull at his side in the background st. anthony is seen crossing the desert; and in the air is seen the raven who brought them bread.¹ : devotional figures of st. anthony occur more frequently, and are easily recognised. he has several distinctive attributes, each significant of some trait in his life or character, or of the sanctity and spiritual privileges popularly ascribed to him. 1. he wears the monk's habit and cowl, as founder of monachism; it is usually black or brown. in the greek pictures and in the schools of art particularly influenced by greek traditions, the figures of anthony, besides the monkish garb, bear the letter t on the left shoulder, or on the cope; it is always blue. in revelation xiv. 1, the elect, who are redeemed from the earth, bear the name of god the father written on their foreheads: the first letter of the greek word theos, god, is t, and anthony and his monks are represented bearing the t.for these are they which follow the lamb whither¹ turin gal. 1863 175 st. anthony (carotto. leuchtenberg gal.) zz 2 750 sacred and legendary art. soever he goeth. these were redeemed from among men, and in their mouth was found no guile, for they are without fault before the throne of god.' in a specimen of painted glass (from st. denis), a man in a turban or crown marks another with the t on the forehead; three others stand bareheaded, and over the whole in gothic letters is inscribed, signum tau.' 2. the crutch given to st. anthony marks his age and feebleness. 3. the bell, which he carries in his hand, or suspended to his crutch, or to a cross near him, has reference to his power to exorcise evil spirits. according to durandus, the devil cannot endure the sound of a consecrated bell. it is said that the wicked spirits that be in the region of the air fear much when they hear the bells ringen and this is the cause why the bells be ringen when it thundereth; to the end that the foul fiends and wicked spirits should be abashed, and flee, and cease from moving of the tempest.' when the passing bell tolled in the house of death, it was conceived to answer a double purpose; it advertised all good christians to pray for the departing soul, and it scared away the demons who were hovering around, either with the hope of seizing the liberated spirit as their prey, or at least to molest and impede it in its flight to heaven. with great propriety, therefore, is the bell placed near st. anthony, who had so great occasion for it in his own person, and was besides renowned for the aid he gave to others in the same predicament. 4. for the same reason and as an instrument of exorcism, the asperges-the rod for sprinkling holy-water-is put into the hand of st. anthony; but it is not peculiar to him, for we find it an attribute of st. benedict, st. martha, and other saints famous for their contests with the devil. 5. i have read somewhere that the hog is given to st. anthony because he had been a swineherd, and cured the diseases of swine. this is quite a mistake. the hog was the representative of the demon of sensuality and gluttony, which anthony is supposed to have vanquished by the exercises of piety and by divine aid. the ancient custom of placing in all his effigies a black pig at his feet, or under his feet, gave rise to the superstition, that this unclean animal was especially dedicated to him, and under his protection. the monks st. anthony and st. paul, hermits. 751 of the order of st. anthony kept herds of consecrated pigs, which were allowed to feed at the public charge, and which it was a profanation to steal or kill: hence the proverb about the fatness of a 'tantony pig.' 6. flames of fire are often placed near st. anthony and under his feet, or a city or a house is burning in the background, signifying his spiritual aid as patron saint against fire in all shapes, in the next world as well as in this.' with one or more of these attributes, st. anthony is seen alone, or in the madonna pictures grouped with other saints. i shall give a few instances only, for in such representations he is not easily mistaken. 1. in an ancient greek panel-picture of the 12th century,2 st. anthony is seen half-length, in the habit of a greek monk, and wearing a sort of coif on his head: with the right hand he gives the benediction in the greek form; in the left he bears a scroll with a greek inscription, signifying that he knows all the arts of satan, and has weapons to oppose them. 2. col' antonio del' fiore. st. anthony, seated in a monk's habit, with a bald head and very long white beard, holds in one hand a book, the other is raised in the act of benediction; two angels, kneeling before him, hymn his praise with harp and dulcimer, and two cherubim are seen above.³ 3. st. anthony, seated, with flames under his feet. a beautiful miniature, in the 'heures d'anne de bretagne.' 4 4. in a print by albert dürer, st. anthony is seated on the ground, reading intently, his face hidden in his cowl; by his side stands a cross, to which is suspended a bell; in the background the citadel of nuremberg, which i suppose to be a caprice of the artist. this print is celebrated for the beauty of the execution, as well as for its fine solemn feeling. st. anthony reading or meditating in his cell, with the skull and thus, in the beautiful madonna by bonvicino in the museum at frankfort, she is attended on one side by st. anthony, the protector against fire, and on the other by st. sebastian, the protector against pestilence. 2 eng. d'agincourt, pl. 86. 3 naples, a.d. 1371. ms. paris, bib. imp. 752 sacred and legendary art. crucifix (the general symbols of penitence) beside him, is a common subject; and where there is no attribute peculiarly significant, he might be confounded with st. jerome: this, however, is seldom the case, and in general there is a distinct character attended to. there ought, in fact, to be a marked difference between the simple-minded portly old hermit anthony in his long robes, and the acute theological doctor doing penance for his learning-emaciated, eager, and half naked. as anthony despised all learning, the book which is often put into his hand is less appropriate to him than the other attributes. it must, however, be borne in mind, that a book is given to all the early fathers who left writings behind them and st. anthony is the author of seven theological epistles still extant. with regard to the historical representations, the subject called the temptation of st. anthony' is by far the most common. in the earlier pictures it is very simply treated: st. anthony is praying in his cell, and the fiend, in shape like a beautiful woman, stands behind him; the saint appears fearful to turn his head. in the later schools, and particularly the dutch schools, the artists have tasked their fancy to the utmost, to reproduce all the foul and terrible shapes, all the ghastly and obscene vagaries, which solitude could have engendered in a diseased and excited brain. such is the celebrated engraving of martin schoen, in which st. anthony is lifted up into the air by demons of the most horrible and grotesque forms; such are the pictures of teniers who had such a predilection for this subject, that he painted it twelve times with every variety of uncreated abominations. such are the poetical demoniac scenes of breughel; such is the famous print by callot. in a picture by salvator rosa, a single gigantic demon bestrides the prostrate saint like a horrid nightmare. in a picture by ribera, the demon, in female shape, has seized on the bell, and rings it in his ears to interrupt his prayers. the description in the legend has been closely followed in the picture by annibal caracci now in our national gallery. i recollect a picture in which st. anthony is tempted by three beautiful women, who have much the air of opera-dancers, long and of which the original picture is at malahide castle, near dublin. 1 st. anthony and st. paul, hermits. 753 thin, in scant draperies; one pulls his beard, another twitches his robe, a third gazes up in his face; the miserable saint, seated on the ground, with a look of intense suffering, and his hands clenched in prayer, seems to have set himself to endure: mocking demons fill the air behind. the locality of the temptation of st. anthony ought to be the interior of an egyptian sepulchre or temple. the legend relates that he took refuge in a ruin; and the painters, unfamiliar with those grand and solemn and gigantic remains which would have given a strange sublimity to the fearful scene, sometimes make the ruin an old brick house or gothic chapel. other subjects from the life of st. anthony occur less frequently. by l. caracci, we have st. anthony instructing the hermits.' the death of st. anthony, surrounded by his monks, is a frequent subject. sometimes angels are seen carrying his soul into heaven ; in a picture by rubens, the pig is seen looking out from under the bed of the dying saint,-a grotesque accessary, which might well have been omitted. the legend of the meeting between st. paul and st. anthony has been very popular in art, and a favourite subject in convents. it is capable of the most beautiful and picturesque treatment. i shall give a few celebrated examples. 1. pinturicchio. paul and anthony divide the loaf which is brought by a raven; three evil spirits in the form of beautiful women, stand behind st. anthony, and two disciples behind st. paul.2 2. lucas v. leyden. st. paul and st. anthony (who wears his large cowl drawn over his head) are seated in the wilderness; the raven, after depositing the loaf, flutters along the ground in front: a very quaint and curious little picture, full of character.³ 3. velasquez. st. anthony visits paul the hermit; he appears before the door of the cavern, and craves admittance." there are in the berlin gallery four small pictures (1085 and 1086), forming the predella of an altar-piece, and representing the story of st. paul and st. anthony. 1 brera, milan. (39) 2 vatican. 3 lichtenstein gal., vienna. 4 madrid gal. 754 sacred and legendary art. 176 paul and anthony (brusasorci, 1530. brera gal.) 31 91441 ma willians. s in general, however, there are only the two figures in a solitary landscape, which is much more striking; as in the illustration,' and also in a fine picture by guido: the two lions, or the centaur, are sometimes introduced into the background. 2 4. b. passari. the death of paul the hermit; angels are kneeling by, and two lions dig his grave. 5. st. anthony coming to visit paul, finds him dead, lying on a in the original picture by brusasorci, the satyr and the centaur are seen far off and diminutive in the background. * berlin gal. st. onuphrius. 755 mat, with a skull, a book, and a rosary near him. in the background the two lions are digging a grave in the sand. a large engraving, signed biscaino.'¹ 6 i have said enough of these celebrated saints to render the subjects in which they figure intelligible and interesting. the other hermits of the desert who appear in art are much less popular; and as they are generally found grouped together, i shall so treat them. st. onuphrius (onofrio, honofrio, onuphre), a monk of thebes, retired to the desert far from the sight of men, and dwelt there in a cave for sixty years, and during all that time he never beheld one human being, nor uttered one word of his mother tongue except in prayer. he was unclothed, except by some leaves twisted round his body, and his beard and hair had become like the face of a wild beast. in this state he was discovered by a holy man whose name was paphnutius, who, seeing him crawling along the ground, knew not at first, what live thing it might be, and was afraid; but when he found it was indeed a man, he was filled with amazement and admiration at so much sanctity, and threw himself at his feet. then the hermit showed him what trials he had endured in his solitude, what pains of hunger and of thirst, what parching heat and pinching cold, what direful temptations, and how god had sent his angel to comfort him and to feed him. then he prayed that paphnutius would remain to bury him, as his end was now approaching; and having blessed his visitor, he died. so paphnutius took off his own cloak, and having torn it in two pieces, he wrapped the body of the holy hermit in one half of it, and laid him in a hole of the rock, and covered him with stones and it was revealed that he should not remain there, but depart and make known to all the world the merits of this glorious saint and hermit. the name and fame of this saint came to us from the east: and he is interesting because many convents in which the rule of solitude 1 bartsch, xxi. 200. there is a good impression in the british museum. 3 a vol. ii. 756 sacred and legendary art. and exclusion was rigorously enforced were placed under his protection. every one who has been at rome will remember the beautiful franciscan monastery of sant' onofrio in the trastevere, where tasso breathed his last, and in which he lies buried. st. onofrio is represented as a meagre old man with long hair and beard, grey and matted; a leafy branch twisted round his loins, a stick in his hand. the artist generally endeavours to make him look as haggard and unhuman as possible, and i have seen him in some early prints and pictures very much like an old ouran-outang,-i must write the word, for nothing else could express the unseemliness of the effigy. i have seen him standing, covered with his long hair, a crown, a sceptre, and gold and silver money lying on the ground at his feet, to express his contempt for earthly glory and riches; as in a spanish picture once in the louvre. st. job (san giobbe), a saint who figures only in the venetian pictures with the attributes of st. onofrio, and who has a church at venice, was, i believe, the patriarch of the old testament.' st. moses (san moïse), who is also confined to venetian art, was a converted robber, who turned hermit. ( st. ephrem of edessa was a hermit of syria, who, on account of some homilies and epistles of great authority, takes rank as one of the fathers of the greek church. he is memorable in art as the subject of a most ancient and curious greek picture. it represents the obsequies of st. ephrem;' in front he lies dead, wept by many hermits; and in the background are seen the caves of the anchorites, some reading, some doing penance, others in conversation. in the centre of the picture is seen the famous anchorite, simeon stylites, who passed thirty years on the top of a pillar, exposed to all the the intercourse of venice with the east introduced the prophet job as a saint into the north of italy. st. job was a favourite patron of hospitals, and particularly of lepers. it is in this character we find him in the venetian pictures; for example, in a beautiful group by bellini, now in the academy at venice. { 1 ļ ¦ ¦ ¦ 8 ļ 1 hart 2 a 10 the hermits of ine 6 16 hermits of the desert. 5 16 que 15 7 14 st. ephrem. 757 vicissitudes of the seasons: he brought this kind of penance into fashion, for we find it frequently imitated. the picture of the obsequies of st. ephrem is engraved in d'agincourt's work, and in pistolesi's vaticano, and should be considered (by those who have these works at hand) with reference to the illustration of the hermit-life, as i have endeavoured to describe it. but the most interesting of all these representations is the great fresco in the campo santo at pisa; and a repetition, with some variations, in a small picture in the florentine gallery; both by pietro laurati, containing, in a variety of groups, the occupations of the hermits, with distinct scenes and incidents from the lives of the most celebrated among them. in the annexed etching, i have given a sketch from this composition. we have-1. the visit of anthony to the hermit paul. 2. the death of paul, and the lions digging his grave. 3, 4. the temptation of anthony, first haunted, tormented, and flagellated by demons; 5. then comforted by a vision of our saviour, as in the legend. 6. in one place he is beating the demon out of his cave with his crutch; in another, carving wooden spoons. 7. farther to the right is st. hilarion, riding on his ass; 8. and by the sign of the cross vanquishing a great dragon which ravaged dalmatia, and commanding the beast to leap into the fire and be consumed and destroyed for ever: his companion is seen fleeing in terror. 9. on the left, st. mary of egypt receives the sacrament from zosimus. 10. demons, in the disguise of monks or of women, are seen tempting the hermits; 11. to the right is the story of st. paphnutius and st. onofrio: 12. and when paphnutius, forgetful of the last commands of onofrio, defers his return to the monastery, the cell in which he had taken refuge, and the date-tree, are overthrown by an earthquake. 13. in the lower part of the picture, to the left, we have the story of paphnutius, who, being tempted by a beautiful woman, thrusts his hands into the fire; the temptress, on this, falls down dead; but, at the prayer of the saint, is recalled to life and repentance, and is seen kneeling as a hermitess in the dress of a nun. 14. the other groups express the usual occupations of the hermits: 15. the hermit arsenius, who, before he turned hermit, had been the tutor of the emperors arcadius and honorius, is weaving baskets of palm-leaves; 16. another is cutting wooden spoons; another fishing. sa at de 3a2 758 sacred and legendary art. in the centre of the picture is a hermit looking down upon a skull, which he is touching with his staff: this figure represents st. macarius of alexandria, one of the most famous of these anchorites, and of whom many stories were current in the middle ages. the figure with the skull alludes to one of the most popular and significant of these religious apologues :―― 'one day, as macarius wandered among those ancient egyptian tombs wherein he had made himself a dwelling place, he found the skull of a mummy, and, turning it over with his crutch, he inquired to whom it belonged; and it replied, " to a pagan." and macarius looking into the empty eyes, said, "where then is thy soul?" and the head replied, "in hell." macarius asked, "how deep?" and the head replied, "the depth is greater than the distance from heaven to earth." then macarius asked, "are there any deeper than thou art?" the skull replied, "yes, the jews are deeper still." and macarius asked, "are there any deeper than the jews?" to which the head replied, "yes, in sooth! for the christians whom jesus christ hath redeemed, and who show in their actions that they despise his doctrine, are deeper still." 17. the monk, or rather the woman in disguise of a monk, seated in the lower part of the picture, with a child in her arms, represents the story of st. marina :'a certain man, who had turned hermit, left behind him, in the city, his little daughter marina; and, after a while he greatly longed to see his child; but fearing that if it were known that he had a daughter, she would not be permitted to come to him, he disguised her in boy's attire, and she came and dwelt with her father, under the name of brother marinus; and she grew up, and became an example of piety, wisdom, and humility, to all the monks of the convent and her father commanded her strictly, that she should discover herself to no human being. 'and marinus, for so she was called, was often sent by the abbot, with a waggon and oxen, to a man who lived upon the shores of the red sea, in order to bring back things necessary for the convent. and it happened that the daughter of this man fell into sin, and when her father threatened her, she, being instigated by satan, accused marina of being the father of her child; and as marina, in st. ephrem. 759 her great humility, answered not a word, the abbot, in his indignation and wrath, ordered her to be scourged, and thrust out of the gate; and the wicked mother came and put the child into her arms, saying, "there, as you are its father, take care of it." but marina endured all in silence; she took the child, she brought it up tenderly outside the gate of the convent, begging for it, and living on the alms which were thrown to her with grudging and contumely, as to a shameless sinner: and thus she lived in bitter but undeserved penance for many years; nor was the secret discovered till after her death; and then great was the mourning and lamentation, because of the unmerited sufferings of this pure and lowly-minded virgin, who, through obedience and humility, had endured to the end!'! st. marina is usually represented with the face of a young and beautiful woman, but the dress of a monk, and often with a child in her arms or at her feet. the legend is popular at venice, where there was formerly a church dedicated to her. i have said enough of these hermits of egypt and syria to lend an interest to the pictures in which they are represented. and there is one circumstance gravely suggestive to those who look beyond the technicalities and historical associations to the moral significance of art. there are few of these pictures of the early hermits in which we do not find some obscene fiendish horror, or satan himself in person, figuring as an indispensable, or at least important, accessary. there is no need to set down all this to pure invention or imposture. that ignorance of the natural laws which govern our being and a miserable credulity should impute to infernal agency what was the inevitable result of diseased, repressed, and misdirected feeling, is a common case in the annals of religious fanaticism. the sanctity, so called, which in the absence of social temptations of every kind peopled the same legend is related of st. theodora. (bartsch, xx. p. 158.) 2 the contests of balfour of burley with the demon, which walter scott has not invented, only recorded; and luther's battle with the visible arch-fiend in the castle of wartburg; differ but little from the stories related of the poor haunted hermits of the egyptian desert in the fourth century. 3 760 sacred and legendary art. the desert with more 'devils than vast hell could hold,' has its parallel even in our own days. for myself, i have sometimes looked at the most grotesque of these representations of anthony and his compeers with more disposition to sorrow than to laughter, for no doubt the worst abominations to which the pencil could give form did not equal the reality—if i may so use the word. it may be interesting to add, that the cells of st. anthony and st. paul still remain, with the monasteries appended, which are inhabited by coptic monks: they are about 167 miles east of cairo, in the valley called wadee el arraba, and the cell of st. paul is about 14 miles to the south-east of the cell of st. anthony. leaving, however these hermits of the east, let us turn to some of the anchorites of the west, who did not belong to the regular monastic orders, and who as subjects of art, are also very suggestive and interesting; the most important are st. ranieri of pisa, st. julian hospitator, st. leonard of aquitaine, st. giles, and st. geneviève of paris. st. ranieri. ital. san ranieri. fr. st. regnier. (july 17, a.d. 1161.) san ranieri is the patron saint and protector of pisa, and, except in the edifices of pisa, and in pictures of the pisan school, i do not remember to have met with any representation of him. his legend, though confined to the city and its precincts, has become interesting from the importance attached to the old frescoes in the campo santo at pisa, in which the whole history of his life was painted by simone memmi and antonio veneziano. these are of the highest importance in the history of early art. ranieri was born in the city of pisa, of the noble family of the scaccieri, about the year 1100; and being a young man in the bondage of vanity, and addicted to the pleasures of this world, he was on a certain day singing and playing on the lyre in company with several st. ranieri. 761 beautiful damsels. while he sang and played a holy man passed that way, who turned and looked upon him with pity. and ranieri, struck with sudden compunction and shame, threw down his lyre and followed the man of god, bewailing his sins and his dissolute life, till he was blind with weeping. he embarked for the holy land, and at jerusalem he took off his own vestments, and received from the hands of the priests the schiavina or slave-shirt, a scanty tunic of coarse wool with short sleeves, which he wore ever after, in token of humility; and for twenty years he dwelt a hermit in the deserts of palestine, performing many penances and pilgrimages, and being favoured with many miraculous visions. on one occasion, when the abstinence to which he had vowed himself was sorely felt, he beheld in his sleep a rich vase of silver and gold wrought with precious stones; but it was full of pitch, and oil, and sulphur. these being kindled with fire, the vase was burning to destruction-none could quench the flames. and there was put into his hands a little ewer full of water, two or three drops of which extinguished the flames. and he understood that the vase signified his human frame, that the pitch and sulphur burning within it were the appetites and passions, that the water was the water of temperance. thenceforward ranieri lived wholly on coarse bread and water. he had, moreover, a particular reverence for water, and most of his miracles were performed by means of water, whence he was called in his own city san ranieri dell' acqua. in a roman catholic country, st. ranieri would now be the patron of temperance societies. this, however, did not prevent him from punishing a fraudulent host of messina, who mixed water with the wine he sold his customers, and to whom the saint revealed the arch-enemy seated on one of his casks, in the shape of a huge cat with bat-like wings, to the great horror of the said host, and to the wonder and edification of all believers. returning to his own city of pisa, after many years, he edified the people by the extreme sanctity of his life; and after performing many miracles, healing the sick, restoring the blind to sight, and expelling demons, so that the most obstinate were converted, he died and was by angels carried into heaven. his body was reverently laid in a tomb within the walls of the duomo, where pictures representing various scenes from his life are e. 762 sacred and legendary art. hung near the altar dedicated to him, but none of great merit, nor older than the seventeenth century. being, however, a saint of merely local interest, it is unnecessary to say more of san ranieri. the legend, as i have given it above, is sufficient to render the engravings from the campo santo intelligible. and interesting. the three upper compartments contain1. the conversion of st. ranieri. 2. st. ranieri embarks for the holy land. 3. he puts on the dress of a hermit. 4. he has many visions and temptations in his hermit life. 5. st. ranieri returns to pisa. 6. the detection of the fraudulent innkeeper. 7. the death and obsequies of the saint. 8. the miracles of ranieri after his death. as there is a very accurate account of these celebrated old frescoes in murray's handbook, and every guide to pisa, i do not dwell upon them further. st. julian hospitator. ital. san giuliano ospitale. fr. st. julien l'hospitalier. patron saint of travellers; of ferrymen and boatmen; also of travelling minstrels who wander from door to door. (january 9, a.d. 313.) here we have again one of the most celebrated and popular of the religious romances of the middle ages. in those days, when the privileged orders of illiterate hunters and iron warriors trampled and tortured at their will man and beast, it is edifying to find in these old legends the human sympathies appealed to, not merely in behalf of the woman and the serf, the feeble, the sick, and the poor; but even in favour of the dumb creatures; and that divine christian precept every where inculcatednever to blend our pleasure or our pride with suffering of the meanest thing that feels. the hospitality of st julian tele a.j. fecit st leonard auth the fetters.. st. julian hospitator. 763 count julian was a nobleman, who lived in his castle in great state and prosperity; he spent his days in hunting, and his nights in feasting. one day, as he was hunting in the forest, he started a deer, and pursued it over hill and dale. suddenly the miserable and affrighted creature turned round and opened his mouth and said, 'thou, who pursuest me to the death, shalt cause the death of thy father and thy mother!' and when julian heard these words, he stood still; remorse and fear came over him, and, as the only means of averting this fatal prophecy, he resolved to flee from his home. so he turned his horse's head and travelled into a far-distant country. now it happened that the king of that country was a munificent and a gracious prince, who received julian with all honour, and entertained him in his service. julian distinguished himself greatly, both at the court and in war, so that the king knighted him, and gave him to wife a rich and beautiful widow, with whom he lived for some years in great happiness, and had well nigh forgotten the terrible prophecy. in the meantime the father and the mother of julian lamented the loss of their only son, and they sent messengers everywhere into all the surrounding provinces in search of him; and, hearing no tidings, they put on the habits of pilgrims, and went themselves in search of their lost son. and it happened that one night, when julian was absent at the court, they arrived at his castle, and knocked at the gate; and basilissa, the wife of julian, who was a good and a pious woman, received them hospitably; but when she learnt who they were, she was filled with exceeding joy, waited upon them at supper as became a dutiful daughter, and yielded them her own bed in which to repose after their journey; and the next morning, at early matins, she went to the neighbouring church to thank god for this great mercy. in the meantime julian returned, and straightway entered his own chamber, and seeing by the imperfect light two people in bed, and one of them a bearded man, he was seized with jealous fury, and drawing his sword slew them both on the spot. then rushing out of the house he met his wife, who was returning from the church, and he asked her, staring wide in astonishment, who then 3 b vol. ii. ( 764 sacred and legendary art. are in my bed?' and she replied, "thy father and thy mother, who have been seeking thee for long years over all the world, and i have laid them in our bed.' and when he heard these words, julian remained as one stupefied and half dead. and then he wept bitterly and wrung his hands, and said, 'alas! by what evil fortune is this, that what i sought to avoid has come to pass? farewell, my sweet sister! i can never again lie by thy side, until i have been pardoned by christ jesus for this great sin!' and she answered him, 'nay, my brother, can i allow thee to depart, and without me? thy grief is my grief, and whither thou goest i will go.' so they departed together, and travelled till they came to the bank of a great river, which was often swollen by torrents from the mountains, so that many in endeavouring to pass it perished miserably. and there did julian found a cell of penance for himself, and near to it an hospital for the poor; and by day and night, in summer and winter, he ferried the travellers across this torrent without fee or reward. one night in the depth of winter, when the flood had broken its icy bounds, and was raging horribly, he heard, in the pauses of the storm, a mournful voice, which called to him across the stream. and he arose immediately, and found on the opposite bank a youth who was a leper, and who appeared to be dying from fatigue and cold. he brought him over the river, and carried him in his arms, and laid him in his own bed, notwithstanding that he was a leper; and he and his wife watched by him till the morning. when it dawned, the leper rose up in the bed, and his face was transformed and appeared to them as that of an angel of light, and he said, 'julian, the lord hath sent me to thee, for thy penitence is accepted, and thy rest is near at hand,' and then vanished from their sight. then julian and his wife fell upon their faces and thanked god for all his mercies; and shortly afterwards, being full of years and good works, they slept with the lord. the single figures of st. julian represent him in rich secular attire, as a cavalier or courtier, young, with a mild and melancholy expression often he has a hunting-horn in his hand, and a stag is behind him or at his feet. to distinguish him from st. hubert, who st. leonard. 765 has the same attributes, there is generally a river and a boat in the background; but it must also be observed, that in pictures of st. julian the stag ought not to have the crucifix between his horns, as in the pictures of st. hubert. the beautiful subject called 'the hospitality of st. julian' represents him ferrying travellers over the stream, while his wife stands at the door of their house, holding a light. the picture by allori, in the palazzo pitti, is a chef-d'œuvre as regards both painting and expression. the bark with the leprous youth has just touched the shore, a man stands at the helm, and julian, with an expression of benign solicitude, receives the fainting pilgrim in his arms. in the background, his wife, with a light in her hand, appears to be welcoming some poor travellers. here st. julian is arrayed as a hermit and penitent, with a loose gown and a venerable beard. the principal figures are rather above life-size. the angel guest throws off his disguise, and ascends in a glory of light; julian and his wife fall prostrate.' i saw this subject in a picture in the brussels gallery. st. julian slays his father and mother. ant. della corna, cremonese, 1478.¹ the legend of st. julian hospitator is often found as a series of subjects in ecclesiastical decoration, and in the old stained glass. it is beautifully told in a series of subjects on one of the windows of the cathedral of rouen, presented by the company of boatmen (bateliers-pêcheurs) of that city, in the fourteenth century. st. leonard. ital. san leonardo. fr. st. léonard, or lionart. patron saint of all prisoners, captives, and slaves. (november 6, a.d. 559.) here we have another beneficent saint. nothing is more touching in these old christian legends, than the variety of forms in which charity is deified. st. leonard was of france. his father held a high office in the palace of king theodobert, and leonard himself being well educated, lanzi, iv. 100. 3b2 766 sacred and legendary art. modest, and of a cheerful and gracious presence, the king honoured him and greatly delighted in his company. he had been early converted and baptized by st. benignus, and, without giving up his duties as a courtier, fulfilled those of a devout and charitable christian. he particularly delighted in visiting the prisons, and ministering to the prisoners-the howard of his day; and those for whom he interceded, the king pardoned. he also devoted great part of his substance to the liberation of captives from slavery. the cares and pleasures of a court becoming daily more distasteful to him, he withdrew secretly to a desert place near limoges, and turned hermit, and spent several years in penance and in prayer. and it happened, that the king going to the chase in company with the queen and all his court, she, being suddenly seized with the pangs of child-birth, was in great peril and agony, and like to die; and the king and his attendants stood around her in utter affliction and perplexity. when st. leonard, who dwelt in that vicinity, heard of this grief, he prayed to the lord, and, at his prayer, the queen was relieved and happily delivered. the king then presented to st. leonard a portion of that forest land, and he cleared the ground, and gathered round him a religious community; and, after many years spent in works of piety, and charity, he died there in the year 559. st. leonard is invoked by all those who languish in captivity, whether they be prisoners or slaves; it was also a custom for those who had been delivered from captivity to hang up their fetters in the churches or chapels dedicated to him: hence he is usually represented with fetters in his hand, his proper attribute. he is claimed by the benedictines as a member of their order, and either wears the white or the black tunic fastened round the waist with a girdle; and sometimes he has a crosier, as abbot of the religious community he founded; but sometimes also he wears the dress of a deacon, because, from his great humility, he would never accept of any higher ecclesiastical dignity. the ancient basso-relievo over the entrance of the scuola della carità at venice exhibits the effigy of st. leonard standing fulllength with fetters in his hand, a liberated slave kneeling on each st. leonard. 767 siena, pal. comunale. side. this scuola was a confraternity founded for the liberation of prisoners and slaves; and it is interesting to find that in venice, where, from the commercial pursuits of the people and their perpetual wars with the turks, imprisonment for debt at home, and slavery abroad, became not rarely the destiny of their most distinguished men, st. leonard was particularly honoured. among the mosaics in st. mark's, high up in the transept, to the right of the choir, i found his whole story in a series of subjects. 1. he is baptized by st. benignus. 2. he raises water miraculously for the thirsty poor. (the common allegory to signify christian instruction.) 3. he delivers the captives, who bring their fetters, and cast them at his feet. 4. he saves the life of the queen, who is represented in a dying state under a sort of tent, and surrounded by her weeping attendants. 5. he founds his monastery. i am unable to fix the date of this mosaic, which is not mentioned in any of the venetian guide-books that i have met with; but it appears 177 st. leonard (old fresco) to be of the sixteenth century. the groups have much dramatic expression. among the bas-reliefs on the exterior of st. mark's, the figure of st. leonardo occurs more than once. there is a curious old effigy of him near the northern entrance. 'st. leonard, kneeling, presents fetters to the virgin and child; st. joseph behind :' in a fine composition by razzi.' 'st. leonard, standing in a long white tunic, holds in one hand a book and a crosier as superior of his monastery; in the other, the fetters as usual:' in a curious old pietà, attributed to buonfigli of perugia.2 'st. leonard in the white habit, and holding the fetters, stands with st. peter, mary magdalene, and martha ;' painted by correggio for the oratorio della misericordia, at correggio.3 2 perugia. a large picture in the collection of lord ashburton. 768 sacred and legendary art. 'st. leonard in the habit of a deacon, stands on one side of st. lawrence, throned; on the other side, st. stephen:' in a picture by perugino.¹ i found the whole story of st. leonard in the beautiful illuminations of the far-famed bedford missal,2 where he is called st. lionart. the group of the fainting queen, and the king sustaining her in his arms, is particularly graceful. here the king is named clovis, and the bishop who baptizes st. leonard is st. remy. in other respects the legend, as i have given it above, is closely followed.³ st. giles. lat. sanctus egidius. ital. sant' egidio. fr. saint gilles or gil. (sept. 1, a.d. 725.) this renowned saint is one of those whose celebrity bears no proportion whatever to his real importance. i shall give his legend in a few words. he was an athenian of royal blood, and appears to have been a saint by nature; for one day, on going into the church, he found a poor sick man extended upon the pavement; st. giles thereupon took off his mantle and spread it over him, when the man was immediately healed. this and other miracles having attracted the veneration of the people, st. giles fled from his country, and turned hermit; he wandered from one solitude to another until he came to a retired wilderness, near the mouth of the rhone, about twelve miles to the south of nismes. here he dwelt in a cave, by the side of a clear spring, living upon the herbs and fruits of the forest, and upon the milk of a hind, which had taken up its abode with him. now it came to pass that the king of france (or, according to another legend, wamba, king of the goths) was hunting in the neighbourhood, and the hind, pursued by the dogs and wounded by an arrow, fled to the cavern of the saint, and took refuge in his arms; the hunters, following on its track, were surprised to find a venerable old man, kneeling in prayer, and the wounded hind crouching at his 1 fl. san lorenzo. 2 paris, bibliothèque impériale. st. leonard, perhaps for the same reasons as at venice, has been much honoured in england. he keeps his place in the english calendar, and we have about 150 churches dedicated to him. st. giles. 769 side. thereupon the king and his followers, perceiving that it was a holy man, prostrated themselves before him, and entreated forgiveness. the saint, resisting all the attempts of the king to withdraw him from his solitude, died in his cave about the year 541. but the place becoming sanctified by the extreme veneration which the people bore to his memory, there arose on the spot a magnificent monastery, and around it a populous city bearing his name and giving the same title to the counts of lower languedoc, who were styled comtes de saintgilles. the abbey of saint-gilles was one of the greatest of the benedictine communities, and the abbots were powerful temporal as well as spiritual lords. of the two splendid churches which existed here, one has been utterly destroyed, the other remains one of the most remarkable monuments of the middle ages now existing in france. it was built in the eleventh century; the portico is considered as the most perfect type of the byzantine style on this side of the alps, and the whole of the exterior of the church is described as one mass of bas-reliefs. in the interior, among other curiosities of antique art, must be mentioned an extraordinary winding staircase of stone, the construction of which is considered a miracle of skill.' st. giles has been especially venerated in england and scotland. in 1117, matilda, wife of henry i., founded an hospital for lepers outside the city of london, which she dedicated to st. giles, and which has since given its name to an extensive parish. the parish church of edinburgh existed under the invocation of st. giles, as early as 1359. and still, in spite of the reformation, this popular saint is retained in our calendar. he was the patron saint of the woodland, of lepers, beggars, cripples; and of those struck by some sudden misery, and driven into solitude like the wounded hart or hind. he is generally represented as an aged man in the dress of a " this staircase, called in the country 'la vis de saint-gilles,' was formerly le but des pélerinages de tous les compagnons-tailleurs de pierre.'-voyages au midi de la france. 2 there are 146 churches in england dedicated to st. giles. they are frequently near the outskirts of a city or town; st. giles, cripplegate, st. giles-in-the-fields, st. giles, camberwell, were all on the outside of london as it existed when these churches were erected, and there are other examples at oxford, cambridge, &c. (see parker's ‘anglican calendar.') 770 sacred and legendary art. 178 +420 st. giles (lucas van leyden) lp! benedictine monk, a long black tunic with loose sleeves; and a hind pierced by an arrow is either in his arms or at his feet. ane hynde set up beside sanct geill. sometimes the arrow is in his own bosom, and the hind is fawning on him. sometimes the habit is white in pictures which date subsequently to the period when the abbey of st. giles became the property of the reformed benedictines, who had adopted the white habit. representations of st. giles are seldom met with in italy, but very frequently in early french and german art.2 in our national gallery, no. 250, there is a figure of st. giles, wearing the black benedictine habit, and with the hind fawning upon him. 2 it is necessary to distinguish between st. giles the hermit, and st. giles the franciscan. it is the latter who is represented standing in a transport of religious ecstacy, before pope gregory ix. the picture, which was painted by murillo for the franciscan convent at seville, is now, i believe, in england. st. procopius. 771 179 st. procopius the story of st. procopius is very like that of st. giles. he was a bohemian king, who resigned his crown, and, retiring to a solitude, became a hermit. he lived unknown for many years, till a certain prince ulrich pursuing a hind through the forest, the creature took refuge in the arms of st. procopius, and thus he was discovered. st. procopius and the other bohemian saints became popular as subjects of art when the emperor rodolph ii. distinguished himself as a patron of the fine arts, and drew many painters from italy to prague. this period may be referred the etching by l. caracci of which i give a sketch, and which has sometimes, from the similarity of the attribute, been called st. giles. to vol. ii. 3 c 772 sacred and legendary art. a 180 st. geneviève of paris (guérin) walthames. st. geneviève of paris. eng. ger. ital. saint genoveva. (jan. 3., a.d. 509.) the popularity of st. geneviève, as a subject of artistic representation, is almost wholly confined to paris and the french school of art. i have met with only two instances of the treatment of her story by italian painters; yet among the female enthusiasts of the middle ages she is one of the most important and the most interesting. she was a peasant girl, born at nanterre, a little village two leagues and a half from paris, in the year 421, and in her childhood was employed by a neighbouring farmer to keep his sheep. when she was st. geneviève, 773 about seven years old, st. germain, bishop of auxerre, passing through paris on his way to england, spent one night at nanterre ; the inhabitants crowded around him to obtain his benediction; and among them came the parents of la pucelette geneviève, already distinguished in the village by her graceful piety and humility. st. germain had no sooner cast his eyes upon her, than he became aware, through divine inspiration, of her predestined glory. he called her to him, questioned her, and when she expressed, with childish fervour, a strong desire to become the handmaid of christ, he hung round her neck a small copper coin marked with the sign of the cross, and consecrated her to the service of god. thenceforth did geneviève regard herself as separated from the world and dedicated to heaven. : even while yet a child, many wondrous things are related of her. on a certain occasion, her mother, being transported by anger (though otherwise a good woman), gave her pious daughter a box on the ear; but in the same moment she was struck blind and so she remained deprived of the sun's light for twenty-one months, until restored by the prayers of st. geneviève, who, having drawn water from the well and made over it the sign of the cross, bathed her mother's eyes with it, and she saw clearly as before. and geneviève at the age of fifteen renewed her vow of perpetual chastity; remaining, however, still subject to her parents, till both were dead. she then betook herself to the city of paris, where she dwelt with an aged kinswoman; and where her extraordinary gifts of piety and humility, and, above all, her devoted and active benevolence, rendered her an object of popular veneration. at the same time there were not wanting those who treated her as a hypocrite and a visionary, and much did the holy maiden suffer from the slanders and contumelies of the evil-disposed. she had to undergo not merely the persecutions of men, but of demons: often, during her nightly vigils, the tapers lighted for the service of god were maliciously blown out by the enemy of mankind; but geneviève, not dismayed, rekindled them by her faith and her prayers. god never left her in darkness when she prayed for light. when beset by the fiend she held up one of the tapers thus miraculously rekindled, and he fled. on another occasion, when she went with a company of pious women to pray at 3 c 2 774 sacred and legendary art. the shrine of st. denis, on the road a storm arose which blew out their tapers; but geneviève holding hers aloft, it was immediately rekindled by her prayers, or, as some aver, by an angel who descended expressly from heaven for that purpose. after being for many years maltreated and condemned by one party of her fellow-citizens, as much as she was revered and trusted by the other, heaven was pleased to grant a signal and public proof of the efficacy of her piety, and to silence for ever the voice of the envious and unbelieving. a certain barbarian king, called in the story attila, king of the huns, threatened to lay siege to the city of paris. the inhabitants prepared to fly, but geneviève, leaving her solitude, addressed th multitude, and entreated them not to forsake their homes, nor allow them to be profaned by a ferocious pagan, assuring them that heaven would interfere for their deliverance. the people, being overcome by her enthusiastic eloquence, hesitated; and while they remained irresolute, the news was brought that the barbarians, without any visible reason, had changed the order of their march, and had withdrawn from the vicinity of the capital. the people fell prostrate at her feet; and from this time she became, in a manner, the mother of the whole city. in all maladies and afflictions her prayers were required; and many miracles of healing and consolation proved the efficacy of her intercession. when childeric invested paris, the people suffered greatly from sickness and famine. geneviève was not only indefatigable in her benevolent ministry, but she also, laying aside the habit of the religious recluse, took the command of the boats which were sent up the seine to troyes for succour, stilled by her prayers a furious tempest which threatened to overwhelm them, and brought them back safely, laden with provisions. when the city was taken by childeric, he treated geneviève with extreme respect his son clovis, even before his conversion to christianity, regarded her with great veneration; and it is related that he frequently liberated prisoners, and pardoned malefactors, through her intercession. moreover, it was through the influence of st. geneviève over the mind of this prince and his wife clotilde that paganism was banished from paris, and that the first st. genevieve. 775 christian church was erected on the summit of that eminence which has since been consecrated to st. geneviève and known by her name. she died at the age of eighty-nine, and was buried by the side of king clovis and queen clotilde. in the year 550, st. eloy executed a magnificent shrine, in which her remains were enclosed. this shrine, doubly interesting and curious, if not sacred, was during the revolution broken up, and the relics of the patroness and preserver of paris burned publicly in the place de grève. among the miracles imputed to st. geneviève, was the cessation of a horrible plague, called the mal ardent, which desolated paris in the reign of louis le gros; and on the spot where stood the house of st. geneviève, a small church, known as ste. geneviève des ardents, existed so late as 1747, when it was pulled down, and a foundling hospital built on the site. the present superb church of st. geneviève was the pantheon of the revolution; the painting of the dome, which is in the worst possible taste, represents st. geneviève in glory, receiving the homage of clovis, charlemagne, st. louis, and louis xviii. au reste, the classic, cold magnificence of the whole structure is as little in harmony with the character of the peasant patroness, as the church of the madeleine with that of the syrian penitent and castaway. the most ancient effigies of st. geneviève as patroness of paris. gann 181 st. geneviève (gothic sculpture, paris) 776 sacred and legendary art. represent her veiled, holding in one hand a lighted taper, in the other a breviary; beneath her feet, or at her side, crouches the demon holding a pair of bellows. in this instance, the obvious allegory, of the light of faith or holiness extinguished by the power of sin, and rekindled by prayer, seems to have given rise to the legend. she is thus represented in a graceful statue under the porch of st. germain l'auxerrois; and in general wherever she figures among the female saints in the decorative architecture of the old french churches. the illustration (181) is from a figure at the entrance of the church of st. nicholas at paris, and sketched on the spot. but all the more modern representations exhibit her as the pious bergerette of nanterre, seated or standing in a landscape, with her sheep around her, generally with her distaff and spindle, but sometimes with a book-though it is nowhere asserted, that the poor shepherdess possessed the then rare accomplishment of reading her mother tongue. sometimes she has a basket of provisions on her arm, and holds a loaf of bread, in allusion to the miraculous deliverance of paris. such is the conception in the pictures of lebrun, philippe de champagne, bourdon, vanloo, gros, and all the french painters. in the picture of vanloo, st. geneviève is reading at the foot of a tree; a few sheep and goats are browsing near; her spindle and sabots are lying beside her; the air and dress reminding us irresistibly of a french grisette seized with a sudden fit of piety. a charming little picture by watteau exhibits st. geneviève keeping sheep and reading a volume of the scriptures which lies open on her knee. this picture has all the painter's sweet harmonious colouring and mannered grace; and st. geneviève here reminds us of one of the learned shepherdesses in sir philip sydney's arcadia.'¹ lebrun. st. geneviève kneels, holding her taper; at her feet, the keys of paris, distaff, sheep, and book; in the distance the city of paris, and the barbarians dispersed by a storm. in the church of st. etienne-du-mont is a chapel dedicated to her, in which they preserve a tomb of solid stonework said to be the same in which her remains were originally deposited. when i visited this church in 1847, i found the tomb surrounded by worshippers, ¹ paris, st. médard. st. genevieve. 777 and stuck over with at least fifty lighted tapers, the offerings of the poor; while votive pictures in honour of the saint covered the walls. in the church of st. germain is a chapel dedicated to her, and painted with modern frescoes from her life. 1. she receives, as a child, the blessing of st. germain. 2. she harangues the parisians, and promises them aid from heaven. in the church of st. gervais, over the altar of her chapel, she is represented as restoring sight to her mother. in no picture or statue that i have seen, is st. geneviève, the patroness of paris, worthily placed before us. the heroine who twice saved the capital of france by her courage and constancy, if not by her prayers, who ought to be placed in companionship with joan of arc, is ill expressed by the mawkish, feeble, or theatrical effigies which figure in the parisian churches; and we have reason to regret that the same hand which gave us joan of arc, as the woman and the warrior, did not leave us also a st. geneviève commanding the storm to cease, or pleading the cause of humanity against the barbarian clovis. the legend of st. geneviève (or genoveva) of brabant, must not be confounded with that of st. geneviève of paris. st. geneviève of brabant was the wife of a certain count siegfried, who, misled by the representations of his treacherous steward, a sort of iago, ordered his innocent wife to be put to death. the assassins spared her, and only exposed her in the forest, where she brought forth a child, which was tended and nursed by a white doe. after some years had passed in the savage wilderness, her husband while hunting came upon her retreat; the conscience-stricken steward confessed her innocence and his own misdeeds; was duly put to death, and geneviève restored to happiness. this romantic legend, which has afforded an inexhaustible subject for poetry, painting, and the drama, hardly belongs to the domain of religious art; but there are beautiful 778 sacred and legendary art. pictures from her history by riepenhausen, führich, and others of the modern german school. a well-known print by albert dürer, sometimes entitled st. geneviève of brabant,' represents a legend much more ancient and altogether different.' another famous rustic saint is st. isidore the ploughman (in spanish san isidro el labrador; and in italian, sant' isidoro agricola), the patron of the city of madrid, and of those who cultivate the soil. according to the spanish legend, he was the son of a poor husbandman, and could neither read nor write. he hired himself as labourer to a rich farmer, whose name was juan de vargas. his master was a hard man, and he grudged his poor servant even the time spent in his prayers and in works of charity. on a certain day juan went into the field intending to reprimand his labourer for loss of time and neglect of his work. being come to the field, he beheld with great amazement isidro kneeling at his devotions, while two angels were engaged guiding his plough. thereupon, being struck with awe and shame, he turned back to his house, and thenceforth dealt less hardly with his pious servant. also it is related, that, his master being on a certain day athirst in his field, isidro, taking up the goad wherewith he guided his oxen, struck the hard rock, and immediately there gushed forth a fountain of the purest water. and when his little son fell into a well, isidro, by his prayers, miraculously restored him to life. st. isidro is still reverenced by the peasantry round madrid, where his festival (may 15th) is kept with great devotion and hilarity. he is represented only in the spanish pictures, wearing the dress of a labourer, and sometimes with a spade in his hand: an angel ploughing in the background is his proper attribute. ¹ see vol. i. p. 329. the story of 'the penance of st. john chrysostom.' st. gudula. 779 a saint who is often confounded with st. geneviève of paris is st. gudula, patroness of the city of brussels. she was a virgin of noble lineage, her father, count wittiger, and her mother, st. amalaberga, who was a niece of pepin d'heristal, consecrated her early to the service of christ, and she was educated by her godmother, st. gertrude of nivelle. nothing particular is recorded of st. gudula beyond the singular holiness of her life and the usual miracles,except the legend of her miraculous lantern. she was accustomed to rise in the middle of the night, in order to perform her devotions in the church of morselle, at a great distance. she guided her steps with a lantern, which satan, in his envy of so much piety and virtue, frequently extinguished, hoping thereby to lead her astray; but whenever he blew out the light, the prayer of the saint rekindled it. in the devotional figures, st. gudula bears a lantern, and near it hovers a malicious demon, who is trying to blow it out. there is a beautiful votive picture of this saint by jan schoreel, in which she is thus represented, and there are various effigies of her in the splendid cathedral of brussels, which bears her name. where she carries a lamp or lantern she may be mistaken for st. lucia. death is placed about 712. her • see legends of the monastic orders.' 2 munich gal. the picture by previtale in the berlin gal., called st. gudula, is, i think, a st. lucia. vol. ii. 182 3 d 780 sacred and legendary art. the warrior saints of christendom. the legendary histories commemorate many hundred military saints and martyrs, of whom the far greater number are obscure, known only by name, or of merely local interest; but about twenty might be selected, as illustrious and popular throughout christendom, and representing in art the combined sanctity and chivalry of the middle ages. they form a most interesting and picturesque group of saints, not only through the fine effect produced by their compact martial figures, lucid armour, and glittering weapons, when associated with the pacific ecclesiastical saints and melancholy monks; but from the charming and often pathetic contrast which the fancy suggests, between the prowess of the warrior and the humility of the christian. as an interesting example of the manner in which the military and the ecclesiastical saints were not unfrequently combined, as representing the church militant and the church spiritual, we may observe the two pictures (evidently part of one altar-piece) recently placed in our national gallery (nos. 254 and 255). in the first st. george, with the red cross on his shield, stands between the two fathers of the church, st. gregory and st. augustine; in the second st. maurice, with the cross on his breast, stands between the fathers st. ambrose and st. jerome.¹ in the catalogue of the national gallery, the two military saints in these pictures by the 'meister von liesborn' are styled st. exuperius and st. hilary, on the authority of herr krüger of minden, from whom they were purchased. st. exuperius (one of the companions of st. maurice) was honoured in brabant; and of st. hilary (or st. hilier) martyr, a french saint, nothing whatever is known but his name, and that he perished by the hands of the pagan barbarians about the year 406. neither of these saints was anywhere of sufficient consequence to represent the church militant, in companionship, almost on an equality, with the church spiritual: this distinction would belong naturally to st. george and st. maurice, the two great military patron saints of the western church, and, as such, worthy of being grouped with the four great doctors of the western church. if, however, there existed in the abbey of liesborn, for which these pictures were painted, any relics of these obscure saints, it is just possible they might be thus honoured: in any case the significance of the grouping is the same. the warrior saints of christendom. 781 we distinguish between the greek and latin warriors. in the byzantine mosaics and pictures, we find st. george, st. theodore, st. demetrius, and st. mercurius. the costume is always strictly classical; they wear the breastplate and chlamys, are armed with the short sword and lance, are bareheaded, and in general beardless. of st. george i have spoken at length; in the greek pictures he appears as the patron of constantinople, and generally in companionship with st. demetrius, the patron of salonica (who figures in the procession of martyrs at ravenna). next to demetrius we generally find st. mercurius; these two saints are peculiar to greek art, and the legend of mercurius is extremely wild and striking. julian the apostate, who figures in these sacred romances not merely as a tyrant and persecutor, but as a terrible and potent necromancer who had sold himself to the devil, had put his officer mercurius to death, because of his adhesion to the christian faith. the story then relates that when julian led his army against the persians, and on the eve of the battle in which he perished, st. basil the great was favoured by a miraculous vision. he beheld a woman of resplendent beauty seated on a throne, and around her a great multitude of angels; and she commanded one of them, saying, 'go forthwith, and awaken mercurius, who sleepeth in the sepulchre, that he may slay julian the apostate, that proud blasphemer against me and against my son!' and when basil awoke, he went to the tomb in which mercurius had been laid not long before, with his armour and weapons by his side, and, to his great astonishment, he found neither the body nor the weapons. but on returning to the place the next day and again looking into the tomb, he found there the body of mercurius lying as before; but the lance was stained with blood; for on the day of battle, when the wicked emperor was at the head of his army, an unknown warrior, bareheaded, and of a pale and ghastly countenance, was seen mounted on a white charger, which he spurred forward, and, brandishing his lance, he pierced julian through the body, and then vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.2 and julian being carried to his tent, he took a handful of the blood which flowed from his wound, and flung it into the air, exclaiming with his last breath, "thou hast conquered, galilean! julian was killed by a javelin flung by an unknown hand. gibbon. 1 see p. 398. 3d2 782 sacred and legendary art. thou hast conquered!" then the demons received his parting spirit. but mercurius having performed the behest of the blessed virgin, reentered his tomb, and laid himself down to sleep till the day of judgment.' i found this romantic and picturesque legend among the greek miniatures already so often alluded to,' where the resurrection of the martyr, his apparition on the field of battle, and the death of julian, who is falling from his horse, are represented with great spirit.² . st. theodore held a high rank in the armies of the emperor licinius; being converted to christianity, in his zeal he set fire to the temple of cybele, and was beheaded or burned alive (nov. 9, a.d. 300). his legend was early brought from the east by the venetians, and he was the patron saint of venice before he was superseded by st. mark. he is represented in armour, with a dragon under his feet; which dragon, in the famous old statue on the column in front of the piazzetta at venice, is distinctly a sort of crocodile, and very like the huge fossil reptiles in the british museum. in a very curious old greek picture of the fourteenth century, two st. theodores are seen on horseback, armed with lances, with glories round their heads, and careering at full speed. by the description we find that one represents st. theodore of heraclea, and the other st. theodore tyro or the younger; the latter is, i believe, the patron of venice, and the same whom we find in the early venetian pictures, young and beautiful, with long dark hair, armed, not as a roman soldier, but as a christian knight, bearing his sword and palm, and generally in companionship with st. george.4 i found his whole story on one of the magnificent windows at chartres, where he is represented firing the temple of cybele. to which of these two st. theodores is dedicated the very ancient church of san teodoro at rome, i am unable to decide; the figure ninth century. paris bib., gr. mss. 510. 2 v. waagen's kunstwerke und künstler in paris,' p. 315. it appears, from his description of these miniatures, that he was not acquainted with the greek legend. d'agincourt, pl. 90. mosaic, sacristy of st. mark's. in the crystal palace at sydenham are two casts from ancient bas-reliefs at venice, representing st. theodore and st. george, both mounted, and both combating the dragon. the warrior saints of christendom. 783 of the saint is there represented in mosaic over the altar, in company with st. peter and st. paul. the six colossal warrior saints, who stand in the cathedral of monreale (palermo) over the arch which separates the choir from the nave, as if guarding the sanctuary, are the four greek soldiers, st. george, st. demetrius, st. mercurius, and st. theodore; and the two roman warriors, st. john and st. paul. among the saints who were imported from the levant by venice in her palmy days, we find st. menna, a greek warrior, who was martyred in phrygia, by order of galerius maximian (nov. 11, a.d. 301). i have met with but one effigy of this saint;-a noble figure by paul veronese, standing in a niche, in complete armour, bareheaded and leaning on his sword. in western art, the warrior saints, who have been accepted by the latin church, are sometimes represented in the classical military costume; more frequently in the mail shirt or plate armour of the fifteenth century, with the spurs, the lance, the banner, and other accoutrements of a christian knight. but sometimes also they wear the court dress of a cavalier of the fifteenth century, or of the time the picture was painted; a vest or short tunic, furred or embroidered; hose of some vivid colour, crimson or violet; a mantle, and a cap and feather; the sword either girded on, or held in the hand, as in the figure of st. sebastian and that of st. proculus.' st. george, that universal type of christian chivalry, stands at the head of the latin as well as of the greek warriors. next to him, in italian art, the roman st. sebastian takes the place of the greek st. demetrius. but in french and german art, the warrior, who is usually found as a pendant to st. george, is st. maurice. in the coronation of the virgin in prince wallerstein's collection,2 one of the most interesting and important pictures ever brought to england, five great warrior saints of the west are grouped together in the lower part of the composition; they are all in armour, with embroidered ¹ on one of the old windows in the cathedral of cologne we have the nativity of our lord attended by four warriors-st. george, st. maurice, st. adrian, and st. gereon. 2 now at kensington palace. 781 sacred and legendary art. tunics, and all crowned with laurel, meed of mighty conquerors;' and these were mighty conquerors in the spiritual as well as the earthly sense. st. george, conspicuous in front, wears a white tunic with the red cross on the clasp of his baldrick; st. maurice has he large cross of the order of savoy embroidered in front of his crimson vest; st. adrian wears a black velvet tunic over his chain armour, and a collar composed of the letters a.d.r.i.a. n.u.s worked in gold. the saint with the nine balls on the sleeve of his dress i suppose to be st. quirinus; the fifth saint, not otherwise distinguished than by his armour and his laurel wreath, i suppose to be either the italian st. sebastian, or the german st. florian, probably the latter. like all the other figures in this wonderful picture, each head is finished like the most exquisite miniature, and has the look of a portrait from nature. 6 st. maurice. lat. sanctus mauritius. ital. san maurizio. patron saint of foot-soldiers; patron of savoy, one of the patrons of austria, and of the city of mantua. (sept. 22, a.d. 286.) the legend of st. maurice and the theban legion is of great antiquity, and has been so universally received as authentic, as to assume almost the importance and credibility of an historical fact: as early as the fourth century the veneration paid to the theban martyrs had extended through switzerland, france, germany, and the north of italy. the story is thus related :――――― 6 among the legions which composed the roman army, in the time of diocletian and maximin, was one styled the theban legion,' because levied originally in the thebaïd. the number of soldiers composing this corps was 6666, and all were christians, as remarkable for their valour and discipline as for their piety and fidelity. this legion had obtained the title of felix; it was commanded by an excellent christian officer, a man of illustrious birth, whose name was maurice, or mauritius. about the year 286, maximin summoned the theban legion from the east to reinforce the army with which he was about to march into gaul. the passage of the alps being effected, some companies of the theban legion were despatched to the rhine; the rest of the army halted on the banks of the lake of geneva, where maximin st. maurice. 785 ordered a great sacrifice to the gods, accompanied by the games and ceremonies usual on such occasions. but maurice and his christian soldiers withdrew from these idolatrous rites, and retiring to a distance of about three leagues, they pitched their camp at a place called aganum (now saint-maurice). maximin insisted on obedience to his commands, at the same time making it known that the service for which he required their aid was to extirpate the christians, whose destruction he had sworn. 6 the theban legion with one voice refused either to join in the idolatrous sacrifice or to be led against their fellow christians; and the emperor ordered the soldiers to be decimated. those upon whom the lot fell, rejoiced as though they had been elected to a great honour; and their companions, who seemed less to fear than to emulate their fate, repeated their protest, and were a second time decimated. their officers encouraged them to perish rather than yield; and when summoned for the third time, maurice, in the name of his soldiers, a third time refused compliance. o cæsar!' (it was thus he addressed the emperor) we are thy soldiers, but we are also the soldiers of jesus christ. from thee we receive our pay, but from him we have received eternal life. to thee we owe service, to him obedience. we are ready to follow thee against the barbarians, but we are also ready to suffer death, rather than renounce our faith, or fight against our brethren.' thus he spoke, with the mild courage becoming the christian warrior; but the cruel tyrant, unmoved by such generous heroism, ordered that the rest of the army should hem round the devoted legion, and that a general massacre should take place, leaving not one alive; and he was obeyed: if he expected resistance, he found it not, neither in the victims nor the executioners. the christian soldiers flung away their arms, and, in emulation of their divine master, resigned themselves as sheep to the slaughter.' some were trampled down by the cavalry; some hung on trees and shot with arrows; some were killed with the sword; maurice and others of the officers knelt down, and in this attitude their heads were struck off: thus they all perished. ( other companies of the theban legion, under the command of gereon, reached the city of cologne on the rhine, where the prefect. varus, by order of the emperor, required them either to forsake their faith or suffer death; gereon with fifty (or, as others tell, 318) of 786 sacred and legendary art. his companions, were accordingly put to death in one day, and their bodies were thrown into a pit. and, besides these, many other soldiers of the theban legion suffered martyrdom for the sake of christ, so that their names form a long list. st. maurice and st. gereon are the most honoured in germany. piedmont, savoy, and the neighbourhood of cologne abound in saints of the theban legion.' st. maurice is usually represented in complete armour; he bears the palm in one hand, and a standard in the other. in italian works of art, he is habited as a roman soldier, and bears the large red cross, the badge of the sardinian order of st. maurice, on his breast. in old german pictures he is often represented as a moor, either in allusion to his name or his african orgin.2 in san-maurizio at milan, over the altar, we have on the left st. maurice, kneeling, and beheaded, and his companions standing round; on the right st. maurice standing on a pedestal, while st. sigismond presents to him. the model of the church;-fine frescoes by luini. in a small full-length figure by hemskirk, he wears a suit of black armour, with a crimson mantle, and bears on his shield and banner the austrian eagle he is here one of the patrons of austria. he stands on the left of the madonna in mantegna's famous madonna della vittoria in the louvre. he is here one of the patrons of mantua. other saints of the theban legion, venerated through the north of 183 w st. maurice (hemskirk) there are five churches in england dedicated in honour of st. maurice. 2 there is such a picture in the munich gal., no. 69. st. maurice. 787 italy are st. secundus (asti), st. alexander' (bergamo), st. theonestus (vercelli), st. antoninus (piacenza). in the account-book of guercino, published by calvi and malvasia, we find an entry of 400 ducats received for a picture, ordered by madame royale of savoy, of the virgin in glory; and below, three warrior saints, wearing on their breasts the cross of the order of st. maurice, who were ss. aventore, auditore, and ottavio,' three of the companions of st. maurice, mentioned in the legend.² the martyrdom of the theban legion is not a common subject, but there are some remarkable examples. in the pitti palace there is a picture by pontormo, with numerous small figures, exquisitely painted; but the conception is displeasing: a great number of the martyrs are crucified, and the figures are undraped. another picture of the same subject, by the same painter, in the florence gallery, is equally unpleasing and inappropriate in treatment; the christian soldiers are seen contending with their adversaries, which is contrary to the spirit and the tenor of the legend as handed down to us. in the munich gallery, upon two wings of an altar-piece by peter de marés, we have, on one side, st. maurice and his companions refusing to sacrifice to idols; and on the other, st. maurice beheaded, while the emperor maximin looks on, mounted on a white horse: both pieces are very curious and expressive, and, though grotesque in the accessaries, infinitely more true in feeling than the classical and elaborate pictures by pontormo.3 ¹ there is a splendid church at milan dedicated to this military sant' alessandro. over the high altar is the martyrdom of the saint, and st. grata receiving the severed head, which is offered in a napkin. 2 turin, in the church of the 'gesuiti,' which is dedicated to them. 3 there is a celebrated woodcut by albert dürer, which represents a multitude of martyrs suffering every variety of death; some are crucified-some are flung from rocks. at first view, this might be mistaken for the martyrdom of the theban legion; but it is a different story, and represents the massacre of the christians by sapor, king of persia, popularly known as the 'legend of the ten thousand martyrs.' there is another wild legend of ten thousand martyrs, all crucified together by order of the emperor adrian, 'on a certain great mountain called mount ararat.' (see the legenda aurea.) it is this legend which i suppose to be represented by carpaccio in a picture now in the academy at venice, and which is known to collectors by the large wood-engraving in eight sheets: it is very fine as a study; the martyrs are tied to the stems of vast trees in grand attitudes, and there are nearly three hundred figures in all (see vasari, vita di scar paccia); and the same subject i believe to be represented in the two pictures by pontormo 3 e vol. ii. 788 sacred and legendary art. st. gereon also wears the armour, and carries the standard and the palm; sometimes he has the emperor maximin under his foot, to express the spiritual triumph of faith over tyranny. the celebrity of st. gereon appears to be confined to that part of germany which was the scene of his martyrdom: at cologne there is a church dedicated to him; and he is frequently met with in the sculpture and stained glass of the old german churches. 1. in the famous old altar-piece by master stephen of cologne, now in the cathedral, he is standing on one side in a suit of gilt armour and a blue mantle, attended by his companion-martyrs (his pendant on the other side is st. ursula with her companions). 2. in a fine old crucifixion by bartholomew de bruyn, st. gereon is standing in armour, with his banner and shield, and a votary kneeling before him (here his pendant is st. stephen).' 3. st. gereon and his companions;' in the moritzkapelle at nuremberg (here his pendant is st. maurice with his companions). i remember no italian picture in which st. gereon is represented. 4. in a crucifixion by israel v. meckenem, st. ursula stands on one side presenting a group of young maidens, and st. gereon on the other. (he is called in the catalogue st. hippolytus ;-a mistake.)" st. longinus. ital. san longino. fr. saint longin. sainct longis. patron saint of mantua. (march 15, a.d. 45.) st. longinus is the name given in the legends to the centurion who pierced the side of our saviour, and who, on seeing the wonders and omens which accompanied his death, exclaimed, truly this man was the son of god!' 3 thus he became involuntarily the first of the gentiles who acknowledged the divine mission of christ. it is related that, shortly after he had uttered these words, he placed his hands, stained with the blood of our lord, before his eyes; and immediately a great imperfection and weakness in his sight (i.e. called the theban martyrs. between 1500 and 1520 this extravagant legend appears to have been popular. munich gal. 2 munich cabinet, 11, 27. * matt. xxvii. 54; mark xv. 39; john xix. 34. st. longinus. 789 spiritual blindness) which had afflicted him for many years, was healed; and he turned away repentant, and sought the apostles, by whom he was baptized and received into the church of christ. afterwards he retired to cæsarea, and dwelt there for twenty-eight years, converting numbers to the christian faith; but at the end of that time he was seized by order of the governor, and ordered to sacrifice to the false gods. longinus not only refused, but being impatient to receive the crown of martyrdom, he assured the governor, who was blind, that he would recover his sight only after putting him to death. accordingly, the governor commanded that he should be beheaded, and immediately his sight was restored; and he also became a christian; but longinus was received into eternal glory, being the first fruits of the gentiles.' c this wild legend, which is of great antiquity, was early repudiated by the church; it remained, however, popular among the people; and it is necessary to keep it in mind, in order to understand the significance given to the figure of the centurion in most of the ancient pictures of the crucifixion. sometimes he is gazing up at the saviour with an expression of adoration; sometimes his hands are clasped in devotion; sometimes he is seen wringing his hands, as one in an agony of grief and repentance; and i have seen an old carving in which he covers his eyes with his hands, in allusion to the legend. in the crucifixion by michele da verona, he is on horseback, and looks up, his hands clasped, and holding his cap, which he has reverently removed.' in the crucifixion by simone memmi, in the chapel de' spagnuoli at florence, longinus is conspicuous in a rich suit of black and gold armour, looking up with fervent devotion. when introduced into pictures or sculpture, either as a single figure, or grouped with other saints, st. longinus wears the habit of a roman soldier, and carries a lance or spear in his hand. he is thus represented in the colossal marble statue which stands under the dome of st. peter's at rome. the reason of his being placed there, is the tradition, that the spear wherewith he pierced the side of our saviour is preserved to this day among the treasures of the church. milan, brera. 3e 2 790 sacred and legendary art. www.c doo go a6 & well. 184 our saviour between st. longinus and st. andrew (andrea mantegna) some relics, said to be those of st. longinus, were brought to mantua in the eleventh century, and he has since been reverenced as one of the patron saints of that city. for the chapel dedicated to him in the church of sant' andrea, at mantua, giulio romano painted a famous nativity, in which the saint is standing on one side, holding a pix or reliquary, containing a portion of the blood of our saviour, which, according to the tradist. victor. 791 tion, had been preserved by st. longinus, and brought to mantua from the holy land. this picture, once in possession of our charles i., is now in the louvre. for the altar-piece of the same chapel, andrea mantegna painted the saviour as risen from the tomb, with st. andrew on one side, and st. longinus on the other. (184) in the madonna della vittoria, painted by mantegna for federigo gonzago, st. longinus stands behind, on the left of the virgin, in a roman helmet, and distinguished by his tall lance.' st. victor. ital. san vittore. (july 21, a.d. 303.) there are two st. victors who figure in works of art. st. victor of marseilles was a roman soldier serving in the armies of diocletian; being denounced as a christian in the tenth great persecution, neither tortures nor bribes could induce him to forsake his faith. in the midst of the torments to which he was condemned, a small altar was brought to him, on which to offer incense to jupiter, and thus save himself from death; but in the fervour of his zeal he overthrew it with his foot, and broke the idol. he was then crushed with a millstone, and finally beheaded with three of his companions, whom he had converted. at the moment of his death, angels were heard singing in chorus, vicisti, victor beate, vicisti ! ' the reverence paid to this saint is principally confined to france. he is generally represented in the dress of a roman soldier, with a millstone near him. i have seen him on one of the windows of strasburg cathedral in a full suit of chain-armour, with shield and spurs like a knight of romance. 6 louvre. st. victor of milan was also a roman soldier, and suffered in the same persecution. he was a native of mauritania, but quartered at that time in the city of milan. he was denounced as a christian, 792 sacred and legendary art. and after suffering severe torments, he was beheaded by order of the emperor maximian. (may 8.) this saint is greatly honoured throughout lombardy, and is the favourite military saint in the north of italy. he is often introduced into the pictures of the milan and brescian schools; and is sometimes represented as a moor (san vittore-il-moro'), wearing the habit of a roman soldier. in his church at milan (which, at the time i visited it, was crowded with soldiers) there is a fine picture on the left of the high altar, by enea salmeggia, representing st. victor as victorious (in allusion to his name), mounted on a white horse, which is bounding forward. in his church at cremona, there is a splendid madonna picture by andrea campi, in which st. victor is the principal saint, standing victorious, with his foot on a broken altar. according to some authorities, this st. victor was thrown into a flaming oven; and is therefore represented with an oven near him, from which the flames are issuing; but i have never yet met with an instance of this attribute. st. eustace. lat. sanctus eustatius. ital. sant eustachio. fr. st. eustache. (sept. 20, a.d. 118.) 6 st. eustace was a roman soldier, and captain of the guards to the emperor trajan. his name before his conversion was placidus, and he had a beautiful wife and two sons, and lived with great magnificence, practising all the heathen virtues, particularly those of loyalty to his sovereign and charity to the poor. he was also a great lover of the chase, spending much of his time in that noble diversion. 'one day, while hunting in the forest, he saw before him a white stag, of marvellous beauty, and he pursued it eagerly, and the stag fled before him, and ascended a high rock. then placidus, looking up, beheld, between the horns of the stag, a cross of radiant light, and on it the image of the crucified redeemer; and being astonished and dazzled by this vision, he fell on his knees, and a voice which seemed to come from the crucifix cried to him, and said, "placidus! why dost thou pursue me? i am christ, whom thou hast hitherto st. eustace. 793 served without knowing me. dost thou now believe?” and placidus fell with his face to the earth, and said, "lord, i believe!" and the voice answered, saying, "thou shalt suffer many tribulations for my sake, and shalt be tried by many temptations; but be strong and of good courage, and i will not forsake thee." to which placidus replied, "lord, i am content. do thou give me patience to suffer!" and when he looked up again the wondrous vision had departed. then he arose and returned to his house, and the next day he and his wife and his two sons were baptized, and he took the name of eustace. but it happened as it was foretold to him; for all his possessions were spoiled by robbers, and pirates took away his beautiful and loving wife; and, being reduced to poverty, and in deep affliction, he wandered forth with his two children, and, coming to a river swollen with torrents, he considered how he might cross it. he took one of his children in his arms, and swam across, and having safely laid the child on the opposite bank, he returned for the other; but, just as he had reached the middle of the stream, a wolf came up and seized on the child he had left, and ran off with it into the forest; and when he turned to his other child, behold, a lion was in the act of carrying it off! and the wretched father tore his hair, and burst into lamentations, till, remembering that he had accepted of sorrow and trial, and that he was to have patience in the hour of tribulation, he dried his tears and prayed for resignation; and, coming to a village, he abode there for fifteen years, living by the labour of his hands. at the end of that time, the emperor adrian being then on the throne, and requiring the services of placidus, sent out soldiers to seek him through all the kingdoms of the earth. at length they found him, and he was restored to all his former honours, and again led on his troops to victory; and the emperor loaded him with favours and riches; but his heart was sad for the loss of his wife and children. meanwhile, his sons had been rescued from the jaws of the wild beasts, and his wife had escaped from the pirates; and, after many years, they met and recognised each other, and were reunited; and eustace said in his heart, "surely all my tribulation is at an end!" but it was not so; for the emperor adrian commanded a great sacrifice and thanksgiving to his false gods, in consequence of a victory he had gained over the bar794 sacred and legendary art. barians. st. eustace and his family refused to offer incense, remaining steadfast in the christian faith. whereupon the emperor ordered that they should be shut up in a brazen bull, and a fire kindled under it; and thus they perished together.' there is nothing in this legendary romance to recommend it, but it has been popular from the earliest times, and is constantly met with in art. hoc ex aaaa in the devotional pictures, st. eustace is represented either as a roman soldier, or armed as a knight; near him the miraculous stag. in a picture by n. soggi (a rare master who lived and worked about 1512) he stands armed with a kind of mace or battleaxe, and his two sons, as boys with palms and glories, stand behind him.' the conversion of st. eustace' is only distinguished from the legend of st. hubert by the classical or warrior costume. the martyrdom of st. eustace and his family in the brazen bull, i have frequently met with; and a series of subjects from this legend is often found in the stained glass and sculpture of the oae. evetacios. 185 st. eustace (domenichino) old french cathedrals.2 st. quirinus was another roman soldier, serving under the emperor aurelian. as he did not hesitate both to profess and preach openly the christian faith, he suffered martyrdom by being dragged to death by horses; his tongue was first thrown to a hawk. he is represented in armour, with a horse and a hawk near him, florence, pitti pal. 2 st. eustace has been banished from the english calendar; there are, however, three churches in england dedicated in his name. st. florian.-st. hippolytus. 795 bearing a shield with nine balls, and the palm as martyr. of this military saint i have met with only one representation, in an old german picture; where he stands in complete armour, bearing the standard, on which are nine balls.' st. florian, one of the eight tutelar saints of austria, was another roman soldier, who, professing christianity, was martyred in the reign of galerius. he was a native of enns, in lower austria, and worked many miracles: among others he is said to have extinguished a conflagration by throwing a pitcher-full of water over the flames. a stone was tied round his neck, and he was flung into the river enns. (may 4.) st. florian is rarely met with in italian art, but he occurs frequently in the old german prints and pictures; and in austria and bohemia we encounter him in almost every town and village, standing, in a sort of half military, half ecclesiastical costume, at the corner of a street or in an open space, generally marking the spot on which some destructive fire occurred or was arrested. i have often found his statue on a pump or fountain. he is also painted on the outside of houses, in armour, and in the act of throwing water from a bucket or pitcher on a house in flames. the magnificent monastery of st. florian, which is also a famous seminary, commemorates the scene, and the legend of his life and martyrdom. st. florian in a deacon's dress, his right hand on a millstone, his martyrdom in the background,' is described in a picture by murillo. the costume is, i think, a mistake. ( the legend of st. hippolytus (sant' ippolito romano), the friend of st. laurence, i have already given at length, and shall only add, that in the fine coronation of the virgin in the wallerstein collection he a st. quirinus, bishop of sissek in croatia, and martyr (june 4, a.d. 309) is one of the eight tutelar saints of austria; he was thrown into a river with a millstone round his neck; he figures in albert dürer's fine print of the patrons of the emperor maximilian. 2 petersburg, hermitage. 3 f vol. ii. 796 sacred and legendary art. stands behind st. laurence, in armour, and with the head of a moor or negro for this peculiarity i find no authority; there seems to have been some confusion in the painter's mind between the moorish saints, st. maurice and st. victor, and st. hippolytus the roman. when we find st. hippolytus in the brescian pictures, it is because the inhabitants of brescia claim to possess his relics. they insist that the body of the saint reposes, with that of st. julia, in the convent of santa giulia in brescia. there was a fine figure of st. hippolytus, accompanied by st. catherine (st. julia?), by moretto di brescia, in the collection of mr. w. coningham, and probably painted for this convent. th st. proculus, military protector of bologna, is often found in the pictures of that school of art, and sometimes also in the north of italy. this is the only saint, as far as i can recollect, of whom an act of violence and resistance is recorded. when the tenth persecution broke out, a cruel officer named marinus was sent to bologna to enforce the imperial edict; and proculus, more of a roman than a christian, being moved with indignation and pity because of the sufferings of the martyrs, entered the house of marinus, and put him to death with an axe: placed in his hand. in some effigies he carries a whether his own or that of marinus does not seem clear. 186 san proculo (francia) this axe is usually head in both hands; in the in guido's picture, dedicated after the plague at bologna, st. proculus appears as a fine martial figure, with an angel holding the axe. ('legends of the madonna,' p. 108.) st. adrian and st. natalia. 797 bolognese pictures san proculo vescovo and san proculo soldato are sometimes found together as joint patrons. in a beautiful altar-piece by don lorenzo monaco, st. proculus is represented as a young saint, leaning on a sword, the belt of which he holds in one hand. the name is inscribed underneath.' the martyrdom of st. proculus, by palma vecchio, is at venice, in the church of st. zaccaria. st. quintin, the son of zeno, held a high command in the roman army, and being converted to the christian faith, he threw away his arms and preached to the people of gaul, particularly at amiens and in the country of belgium; but being denounced before the prefect rictius varus, he suffered a cruel martyrdom. he is represented in armour, and his proper attribute is an iron spit on which he was impaled; but this is often omitted: he is famous in the old french and flemish ecclesiastical decorations, but so rare in italian art that i can remember no example. the last of these military saints who may be considered of sufficient importance to require a detailed notice, is st. adrian, illustrious throughout all christendom, both in the east and in the west; but less popular as a subject of art than might have been expected from the antiquity of his worship and the picturesque as well as pathetic circumstances of the legend. 'adrian, the son of probus, was a noble roman; he served in the guards of the emperor galerius maximian, at the time when the tenth persecution against the servants of our lord first broke out in the city of nicomedia in bithynia (a.d. 290). adrian was then not more than twenty-eight years old, and he was married to a wife exceedingly fair and virtuous, whose name was natalia, and she was secretly a christian. "when the imperial edict was first promulgated, it had been torn down by the brave st. george, which so incensed the wicked emperors, that in one day thirty-four christians were condemned to the torture; and it fell to the lot of adrian to superintend the execution; and as academy, florence. 3 f2 798 sacred and legendary art. he stood by, wondering at the constancy with which these men suffered for the cause of christ, his heart was suddenly touched, and he threw away his arms, and sat down in the midst of the condemned, and said aloud, "consider me also as one of ye, for i too will be a christian!" then he was carried to prison with the rest. 6 but when his wife, natalia, heard these things, she was transported with joy; and came to the prison, and fell upon her husband's neck, and kissed his chains, and encouraged him to suffer for the truth. and shortly afterwards, adrian, being condemned to die, on the night before he was to suffer, prevailed upon the jailer, by large bribes, and by giving sureties for his return, to permit him to visit his wife. 'and natalia was spinning in her chamber when the news was brought that her husband had fled from prison; and when she heard it she tore her garments, and threw herself upon the earth, and lamented, and exclaimed aloud, "alas! miserable that i am! i have not deserved to be the wife of a martyr! now will men point at me, and say, 'behold the wife of the coward and apostate, who, for fear of death, hath denied his god."" "now adrian, standing outside the door, heard these words; and he lifted up his voice, and said, "o thou noble and strong-hearted woman! i bless god that i am not unworthy of thee! open the door, that i may bid thee farewell before i die." so she arose joyfully, and opened the door to him, and took him in her arms and embraced him, and they returned to the prison together. "the next day, adrian was dragged before the tribunal; and after being cruelly scourged and tortured, he was carried back to his dungeon; but the tyrants, hearing of the devotion of his wife and other christian women, who ministered to the prisoners, ordered that no woman should be allowed to enter the dungeon. thereupon natalia cut off all her beautiful hair, and put on the dress of a man; and thus she gained access to the presence of her husband, whom she found lying on the earth torn and bleeding. and she took him in her arms, saying tenderly, "o light of mine eyes, and husband of mine heart! blessed art thou, who art called to suffer for christ's sake!" and adrian was comforted, and prepared himself to endure bravely to the end. st. adrian and st. natalia. 799 'and the next day, the tyrants ordered that adrian should have his limbs struck off on a blacksmith's anvil, and afterwards be beheaded, and so it was done to him; and natalia held him and sustained him in his sufferings, and before the last blow was struck he expired in her arms. "then natalia kissed him upon the brow, and, stooping, took up one of the severed hands, and put it in her bosom, and returning to her house, she folded up the hand in a kerchief of fine linen, with spices and perfumes, and placed it at the head of her bed; but the bodies of adrian and his companions were carried by the christians to byzantium, which was afterwards constantinople. ( and it happened after these things, that the emperor threatened to marry natalia, by force, to one of the tribunes of the army. therefore she fled and embarked on board a vessel, and sailed for argyropolis, a port near byzantium; and the remainder of her life did she pass in widowhood, near the tomb of her husband. and often, in the silence of the night, when sleep came upon her eyes, heavy with weeping, did adrian, clothed in the glory of beatitude, visit her dreams, and invite her to follow him. nor long did she remain behind him; for it pleased god to release her pure and noble spirit from its earthly bondage; and adrian, accompanied by a troop of rejoicing angels, descended from heaven to meet her; and they entered into the joy of the lord, with the prophets and with the saints and those whose names are written in the book of life; and they dwell in the light of his presence, reunited for ever and ever.' 'the greek church counts st. natalia among the most distinguished female martyrs, with honours equal to those of her husband; for not less precious was her death, in the sight of god, than if she had perished by the sword of the persecutors; seeing that she had endured a more terrible martyrdom than any that the ingenuity of man could inflict; therefore they place the palm in her hand, and the crown upon her head, as one victorious over worse than death.' st. adrian and st. natalia are commemorated on the 8th of september, and the story in its main points is one of the most ancient and authentic in the calendar. st. adrian was for ages the chief military saint of the north of europe, next to st. george; and was in flanders and germany and the north of france, what st. sebastian 800 sacred and legendary art. was in italy-the patron of soldiers, and the protector against the plague. he is also the patron of the flemish brewers. according to an ancient tradition, his relics have reposed since the 9th century in the convent of st. adrian at grammont, in flanders. his sword, long preserved as a most precious relic at walbeck in saxony, was taken from its shrine by the emperor henry ii. (st. henry), and girded on by that pious emperor when preparing for his expedition against the turks and hungarians. st. adrian is represented armed, with an anvil in his hands or at his feet; the anvil is his proper attribute; sometimes a sword or an axe is lying beside it, and sometimes he has a lion at his feet. 1. in a picture by hemling, now belonging to mr. harcourt vernon, st. adrian is thus represented, armed as a roman soldier, with a magnificent helmet and cuirass, and carrying the anvil in his arms. 2. st. adrian, in a short tunic richly embroidered, but without helmet or cuirass, holds his sword, the point of which rests on the anvil; in the left hand he holds the banner of victory.' 3. st. adrian, crowned with laurel and in complete armour, holds the sword and anvil; a lion, here the emblem of fortitude, crouches at his feet. a beautiful miniature in the breviary of marie de medicis.2 4. st. adrian, with the lion at his feet (engraved in carter's specimens of ancient english painting and sculpture). it is necessary to observe these effigies with attention, for i have seen figures of st. adrian in which the anvil in his hand is so small as to look like a casket; others in which the anvil placed at his feet is like a block or a large stone. ss. adrian and natalia are represented by domenichino in the chapel of st. nilo at grotta ferrata, because this chapel had been originally dedicated to these greek saints. i regret that i can cite no other separate figure of st. natalia,³ nor 1 italian print. 2 oxf., bodleian. in the collection of mr. m'lellan, of glasgow, i saw a small picture representing st. adrian in complete armour, with a helmet and floating plumes; the anvil, on which he was mutilated, at his feet, and a crouching lion near him. in the collection of the late mr. dennistoun, at edinburgh, i saw (in november 1854) a small and very beautiful picture-by hemling, i think-which represented st. nathalie, bearing the severed hands of her husband. st. adrian and st. natalia. 801 any series of subjects from this beautiful legend. examples might be found in the old flemish churches. no doubt many according to the greek and german authorities, st. natalia bears the lion as her proper attribute: if it be so, the lion is not here expressive of martyrdom, but is given to her as the received emblem of magnanimity and invincible fortitude. she is the type of womanly love and constancy exalted by religious enthusiasm; and though the circumstances of her heroic devotion have been deemed exaggerated, we may find in the pages of sober and authentic history warrant for belief. every one, in reading the legend of st. natalia, will be reminded of the story of gertrude de wart, who, when her husband was broken on the wheel, stood by and never left the scaffold, during the three days and three nights of his protracted torture:— 187 for, mightier far than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway of magic, potent over sun and star, is love, though oft to agony distrest, and though his favourite seat be feeble woman's breast! indexes. i. names of artists (embracing painters, sculptors, and engravers). ii. galleries, churches, museums, and other depositories of art. iii. general index. vol. ii. 3 g index to names of artists (embracing painters, sculptors, and engravers). aba abate, niccolò dell', 224 agrati, marco, 245 albano, 82, 274 aldegraef, 156 a lesio, matteo perez de, 444 alfani, 626 algardi, 685 allori, 710, 765 allston, 92 altichieri, 409 alunno niccolò, 206 amalteo, pompeo, 323 amato, 448 amatrice, cola dell', 194 andron (eng.), 776 angelico, 12, 13, 48, 59, 77, 78, 86, 100, 138, 141, 149, 150, 178, 195, 259, 265, 283, 438, 536, 619, 691 antonio, marc, 180, 272, 355, 371, 387, 432, 480, 544, 592, 597, 645, n. aretino, spinello, 652 arezzo, spinello d', 108 avanzi, jacopo, 239, 409, 669 baldi, lazzaro, 727 bandinelli, baccio, 544 baroccio, 275, 277, 279, 619, 658 bartoli, taddeo, 123 bartoli (eng.), 221 i. bartolomeo, fra, 80, 149, 368, 403, 570, 648 basaiti, 195, 305 bassano, 366, 431, 663 battoni, 205 beccafumi, 242 beham, hans s. 139, 180, 335 beham, b. 335 bellini, 59, 150, 195, 199, 757 belliniano, 150 bernini, 84, 414 berruguete, 679 cal bettino, 654 bezaleel, 54 bicci, neri d', 271, 644 bissolo, 668 bissoni, g. b. 183 blake, william, 86 bloemart, 260 bol, f. 58, n. bonifazio, 163, 242, 279, 675 bonvicino, 149, 195, 284, 460, 576, 594, 623 bordone, paris, 153, 310 borroni, 675 boschi, 254 both, jan, 243 botticelli, 77, 731 bottoni, guiseppe, 300 bourdon, 775 brusasorci, 499, 511, 533, 754 bruyn bartholomew de, 787 buonfigli, 767 burgmair, hans, 512, 599 busati, a. 148 calvert, dennis, 355, 375 3 g 2 806 i. index to names of artists (embracing painters, sculptors, etc.) cam cambiasi, 375 campi, 323, 594, 612, 641, 675, 791 cano, alonzo, 361 canova, 376 cantarini, simone, 563 capanna, puccio, 56, n. caracci, the, 81, 82, 367, 667 agostino, 180, 245, 294, 298, 670-annibal, 78, 82, 144, 206, 318, 361, 430, 481, 521, 536, 638, 752-ludovico, 146, 205, 753, 771 caravaggio, 146, 198 cariani, 661 carotto, 128, 725 carpaccio, vittore, 298, 310, 410, 510, 513, 533, 537, 659, 669 carpi, ugo da, 647 castagno, andrea del, 277 catena, vicenzio, 668 cavalucci, 195, 216 cavedone, 731 cespedes, 489 champagne, philippe de, 365, 393, 651, 775 cignani, carlo, 360 cigoli, 360, 535 cimabue, 141, 589, 599 civitale, matteo, 420 claude, 130, 243, 300 conegliano, cima da, 150, 194, 403, 510 cordieri, 318 cordova, pedro de, 198 corna, ant. della, 765 correggio, 78, 84, 142, 161, 179, 249, 355, 357, 404, 424, 608, 707, 767 cortona, pietro da, 84, 216, 629, 638 cossa, francesco, 709 cossale, grazio, 663 costa, lorenzo, 560, 566, 709 costanzi, 201 cranach, lucas, 291, 334 credi, lorenzo di, 375, 511, 653, 668 creutzfelder, 695 crivelli, 35, 200 curradi, 372 cuyp, 216, 243 delaroche, paul, 55, 594 dolce, carlo, 572, 619 gio domenichino, 82, 130, 142, 161, 217, 228, 292, 296, 298, 325, 375, 416, 423, 482, 494, 535, 594, 597, 599, 607, 612, 671, 712, 799 donatello, 404 dossi, dosso, 284 douw, gerard, 371 duccio, 259, 265, 369 dürer, albert, 65, 78, 162, 168, 181, 216, 250, 267, 291, 294, 314, 321, 335, 374, 375, 382, 406, 416, 423, 479, 488, 534, 647, 735, 751, 786, 794 duval, amaury, 673 edelinck, 372 el mudo, 548 elzheimer, 222, 291, 448 empoli, 731 falconet, 307 farinato, 446 feracci, andrea, 710 ferrari, gaudenzio, 372, 488, 662 fiamingo, 84, 641 fiesole, mino da, 710 fiesole. see angelico' 6 figino, ambrogio, 165 fiore, col' antonio del', 751 flaxman, 120 florigerio, 310 franceschini, 277, 371 francia, 77, 480, 533, 599, 706 frumenti, niccolò, 259, 384 führich, 673 fumiani, 568 furini, 579 gaddi, angelo, 648 gaddi, taddeo, 90, 364, 369, 379 garbieri, 644 garofalo, 313, 594 ghent, justus of, 113, 734 ghiberti, lorenzo, 705 ghirlandajo, 59, 77, 266, 291, 479, 703, 705, 716 giolfino, 403 giordano, luca, 299 giorgione, 152 i. index to names of artists (embracing painters, sculptors, etc.) gio giottino, 464, 691 giotto, 71, 76, 79, 86, 141, 147, 196, 207, 264, 271, 367, 379 giovanni, giovanni di, 84 · goes, vander, 496 gozzoli, benozzo, 76, 80, 205, 310 granacci, francesco, 77, 249, 580 'le graveur de 1466,' 124, 422, 483, 498 greco, domenico, 314 greuze, 345 gros, pierre le, 775 gruner, 80, n., 544 guercino, 82, 198, 201, 248, 318, 640, 707, 711, 786 guido, 72, n., 82, 107, 161, 208, 223, 228, 284, 360, 371, 431, 481, 679, 710, 754 hemessen, 146 hemlinck, 579 hemling, hans, 159, 448, 479, 511, 515, 548 hemskirk, 116 herrera, f. 490, 738 hogarth, 222 holbein, 14, 495 honthorst, gerard, 202 il moretto. see bonvicino' imola, innocenza da, 108 jacobelli, 179 joanes, 608 jordaens, 727 juanes, juan, 198, 537 landon, 221, 657 lanfranco, 198, 223, 375 laurati, pietro, 757 lebrun, 351, 371, 536, 775 le sueur, 142, 201, 217, 222, 276, 657, 717, 727 leyden, lucas van, 78, 123, 156, 180, 216, 223, 291, 354, 370, 418, 521, 592 liberale, 707 ligozzi, jacopo, 571 lippi, fra filippo, 78, 80, 168, 204, 240, 243, 310, 314 loli, 299 noc lombardo, tullio, 150 lopicino, giovanni, 240 lorenzetti, ambrogio, 383 lorenzini, 510 lorenzo, ambrogio di, 490 lorenzo, bicci di, 434 la spagna, 240 lotto, lorenzo, 661 ludovico, 82, 407 luini, 78, 489, 553, 670 mabuse, 107, 145 maderno, stefano, 587 mainardi, 249, 651, 675 mair, ulrich, 242 malosso, 388, 675 mansueti, 150 mantegna, andrea, 78, 80, 164, 449, 563, 785, 790 maratti, carlo, 156, 375, 698 marés, peter de, 786 marinari, 560 masaccio, 141, 200, 202, 210, 490, 705 massarotti, 619 matsys, quintin, 204 mazza, d. 667 807 mazzuoli, g. 499 meckenen, israel von, 165, 387, 511 mõdula, a. 200 melem, israel von, 159, 570 melozzo, da forlì, 59 memmi, simone, 209, 648, 650, 728, 760, 788 michael angelo, 12, 73, 81, 179, 206, 208, 215, 244, 281, 318, 368, 435 milano, giovanni da, 367, 379 mochi, francesco, 125 monaco, don lorenzo, 120, 796 monsignori, 698 montagno, benedetto, 375 morando, 707 morghen, raphael, 270, 370 mücke, 489 müller, 161, n. murillo, 67, 84, 127, 198, 229, 312, 361, 677, 737, 770, 794 nocchi, p. 265, n. 808 i. index to names of artists (embracing painters, sculptors, etc.) ogg oggione, marco, 110 orcagna, 12, 56, 76, 90, 260, 546 overbeck, 366 padova, giusta da, 243 padova, guariente di, 103 padovanino, 168, 424 palina, 668 palma, 59, 423, 481, 553, 619 palmezzano, 266 parmigiano, 18, 180, 224, 297, 355, 429, 461, 485, 612, 700 passari, b. 754 pavia, lorenzo di, 253 pereda, antonio, 296 perugino, 19, 49, 78, 142, 160, 199, 253, 259, 485 perugio, matteo di ser cambio of, 145 peruzzi, b. 275 pesellino, 437, 438 pinturicchio, 422, 487, 497, 542, 599, 753 piola, pelegrino, 730 piombo, sebastian del, 11, 327, 612 pisa, giunta da, 56, n. pisano, giovanni, 702 pisano, giunta, 205 pisano, niccolò, 63 pistoia, gerino da, 429 pistoia, paolina da, 249 pocetti, 630 pollajuolo, 422, 553 pomerancio, 624 pontormo, 786 pordenone, 146 poussin, niccolò, 72, 83, 199, 200, 216, 248, 273, 276, 521 procaccino, c. 311, 423, 431, 580 procaccino, giulio, 596 puget, 420 raphael, 13, 56, n., 59, 64, 67, 71, 80, 81, 84, 105, 107, 126, 134, 140, 156, 160, 164, 178, 180, 183, 196, 199, 206, 215, 220, 225, 238, 248, 249, 259, 270, 271, 282, 292, 298, 314, 355, 368, 371, 405, 479, 497, 535, 592, 597, 644, 685, 716 ravenna, marco di, 107, n. sir razzi, 767 rembrandt, 68, 81, 84, 130, 197, 202, 243, 260, 369 réné of provence, king, 372 reynolds, sir joshua, 14, 592 ribalta, 245 ribera, 198, 245, 296, 388 ricci, f. 679 riminaldi, 597 rizi, f. 156 robbia, luca della, 249, 619 roelas, juan de, 229, 738 roelas, p. 695 romano, giulio, 374, 488, 535, 692, 789 roselli, cosimo, 254, 496 rubens, 84, 110, 115, 140, 168, 196, 200, 208, 215, 248, 249, 285, 307, 328, 345, 356, 363, 367, 371, 406, 411, 430, 486, 497, 531, 570, 753 rustichino, 375 rye, giles de, 489 sacchi, andrea, 321 sacchi, p. f. 281 sadeler, 423 salaino, andrea, 200 salmeggia enea, 661, 791 salvator rosa, 130, 243, 439, 752 sammacchini, 659 santa croce, g. da, 423 sarto, andrea del, 78, 104, 237, 272, 368, 606, 661 schalken, 259 schaufelein, hans, 223, n., 323 scheffer, ary, 314 schoen, martin, 78, 103, 240, 606, 752 schoreel, jan, 667, 719, 778 schwanthaler, 407 sementi, giovanni, 642 semitecolo, n. 421 senese, bartolo, 458 sesto, cesare da, 480 siena, matteo di, 13, 436, 495 sigalon, 296 signorelli, luca, 12, 59, 110, 115, 266, 353 simon, pierre, 439 sirani, elizabetta, 370 i. index to names of artists (embracing painters, sculptors, etc.) sog soggi, n. 793 sogliani, 249 spada, lionello, 450, 598 spagnoletto, 712 spinello, 488 starnina, 298 steenwick, 201 steinle, 86 stella, 72, n. stephen of cologne, 787 stradano, 276 strange, 607, 692 subleyras, 296, 307, 337, 548 tenerani, 86, 376 teniers, 197, 488, 752 thornhill, 222 tianiri, 376 tieopolo, 612 tintoretto, 153, 154, 163, 275, 403, 406, 423, 431, 436 titian, 79, 84, 129, 148, 273, 281, 292, 293, 359, 369, 436, 446, 481, 484, 485, 495, 543, 578, 606 torrigiano, 295 trevisani, 207 triqueti, henri de, 353 udine, gio. da, 283 udine, martino da, 510 uggione, 269 vaga, perin del, 200, 222 valdes, juan de, 295 valentin, 142, 198 valentino, 207 zur vandyck, 70, 84, 248, 307, 312, 313, 362, 367, 411, 422, 423, 486, 570, 612, 727 van eyck, 12, 113, 156, 290, 448, 496 vanloo, 775 vanni, f. 205, 530 vasari, 200, 216, 296, 320, 487 vecchio, palma, 494, 510, 796 veit, philip, 369 velasques, 753 veneziano, antonio, 760 veneziano, domenico, 619 verona, liberale di, 49 verona, michele da, 788 809 veronese, alessandro, 424 veronese paul, 146, 163, 274, 320, 365, 411, 421, 424, 461, 481, 484, 568, 606, 663, 669, 699, 670, 707, 782 verschaffelt, 98 west, 222 wohlgemuth, 290 wolvinus, 306, n. vien, joseph-marie, 717 vigri, caterina da, 511 vinci, lionardo da, 78, 111, 219, 220, 268, 354 vischer, peter, 179 vite, timoteo della, 37, 358 vivarini, the, 13, 59, 283, 305, 310, 328, 375, 631 volterra, daniel di, 211 vries, hans, 365 zuccati, f. 148 zucchero, f. 275, 375, 624 631 zurbaran, 164, 510, 677 index to galleries, churches, museums, and other depositories of art. agu aguado gallery, 156, 677 aix, 530 ii. althorp, 448 alton towers, 365, 388, 447, 638 angers, 490, 728 antwerp, 248, 367, 411 arezzo, 108, 702 arles, 192, 720 ashburton, lord, collection of, 70, 335, 767 assisi, 92, 141, 205, 367, 379, 384, 464, 490, 728 augsburg, 512, 664 auxerre, 67 basle, 274 bergamo, 661 berlin: musée, 200, 310, 371, 418, 423, 488, 537, 599, 661, 754 boisserée gallery, 108, 159, 448, 570, 647 bologna: gal. academy, 37, 160, 298, 319, 358, 521, 560, 563, 592, 607, 659, 669, 690, 709 bologna: churches. mendicanti, 146, 638, 731. s. maria maggiore, 292. san michele in bosco, 407, 598. san petronio, 709 bolsena, 667 bourges, 167, 379, 389, 463, 553, 727 brescia, 323, 593, 663 bridgewater gallery, 199, 318 brighton, 117 british museum, 116, 298, 370, 387, 514, 755 bromley, mr., his collection at wootton, 200, 690 ell bruges, 515, 548 brussels, 727, 765 buckingham palace, 145, 243, 369, 382, 406, 486 cambridge, 430 castiglione, 138 champagne, 176 ceneda, 323 chartres, 51, 140, 379, 389, 462, 544, 553, 691, 716, 718, 728, 781 coesvelt gallery, 163 cologne, 122, 511, 787 conyngham, mr. w. collection of, 795 copenhagen, 521 cornwall, 117 cortona, 102 cremona, 542, 563 cremona churches. s. pietro-in-po, 387. s. sigismondo, 504, 641. s. lucia, 619. s. egidio, 674 dantzig, 114 darmstadt, 572 devonshire, duke of, coll. of, 479 dresden gallery, 13, 81, 144, 224, 284, 357, 372, 404, 495, 680, 707 dublin, 92, 260, 753 dulwich, 84, 371, 416, 497, 639 eastlake, sir c., coll. of, 734 egremont, lord, coll, of, 68 ellesmere, lord, coll. of, 613 ferrara, 499, 710 fiesole, 710 ii. index to galleries, churches, museums, etc. fer florence, 705, 786, 788, 793 florence gallery, 120, 138, 149, 150, 178, 223, 237, 249, 254, 259, 360, 372, 375, 384, 403, 417, 422, 429, 434, 438, 496, 534, 535, 553, 589, 619, 648, 650, 703, 757 florence academy, 12, 101, 104, 249, 254, 259, 264, 418, 436, 438, 479, 496, 548, 716 florence: churches. s. maria-novella, 90, 209, 546. santa-croce, 116, 263, 364, 378, 691. strozzi chapel, 167. carmine, 200, 205, 207, 210. or-san-michele, 242, 731. s. marco, 266. sant' onofrio, 270. salvi, 272. ogni-santi, 291. baptistery, 352. capella medici, 435. san miniato, 443. santa lucia, 619. foundling hospital, 530. s. trinità, 638. felicità, 644. san lorenzo, 767 florence, pitti pal., 296, 765. riccardi pal., 69. corsini pal., 416. florence, bargello, 387 foligno, 272 forli, 266 frankfort, 184, 260, 283, 480 imola, 711 368, 481, 597, 612, casa rucellai, 249. rinuccini pal., 478, 579. genoa, 365, 420, 698, 730 ghent, 290, 448, 732 grosvenor gallery, 140, 156, 486 grotta-ferrata, 325 hague, the, 200 hampton court, 196, 199, 201, 291, 365, 406, 482 harcourt, vernon, mr., coll. of, 799 kensington palace, 12, 48, 70, 121, 479, 512, 782, 794 lansdowne, lord, coll. of, 595 leuchtenberg gallery, 127 lodi, 263 vol. ii. lombardy, 673 lucca, 210, 420, 706 par 3 h 811 madrid, 129, 199, 294, 296, 297, 312, 314, 537, 544, 548, 608, 753, 777 malines, 168, 200 malta, 103, 480, 613 mantua, 497, 644, 789 marseilles, 161, 227, 253 mayence, 696 messina, 716 methuen, lord, coll. of, 312, 717 milan: brera gal., 78, 108, 110, 149, 161, 165, 194, 223, 245, 384, 418, 431, 488, 510, 534, 537, 596, 661, 670, 699 milan churches. duomo, 245. s. ambrogio, 191, 304, 306. s.m. delle grazie, 268. san vicenzino, 553. san nazaro maggiore, 660. san maurizio, 788 miles, mr., his collection at leigh court, 215, 229 modena, 431, 707 mount athos, 135, 182 munich, 110, 156, 162, 164, 363, 372, 384, 423, 495, 521, 580, 592, 719, 778, 787 naples, 205, 712, 751 national gallery, 54, 292, 297, 307, 313, 360, 367, 406, 461, 476, 479, 536, 579, 752 northwick, lord, coll. of, 320 nuremberg, 179, 213, 787. orvieto, 50, 59, 63, 110, 125, 353 oxford, 158, 382, 479, 799 padua, 59, 103, 138, 141, 183, 239, 243, 251, 409, 421, 449, 618, 670 palermo, 92, 176, 191, 201, 211, 218, 324, 534, 566, 637, 781 paris, louvre, 59, 65, 72, 74, 92, 103, 105, 112, 125, 130, 142, 145, 147, 169, 183, 198, 201, 206, 217, 223, 245, 248, 253, 260, 274, 281, 293, 299, 307, 338, 358, 361, 371, 374, 375, 381, 388, 389, 393, 418, 419, 424, 437, 448, 450, 490, 511, 516, 519, 531, 536, 537, 549, 576, 578, 606, 619, 657, 673, 677, 708, 717, 727, 759, 774, 776, 780, 785, 790. 812 ii. index to galleries, churches, museums, etc. par parma, 148, 161, 179, 249, 281 paul's cathedral, st., 222 pavia, 103, 129, 309, 380, 417, 711 peel, sir r., coll. of, 411 perugia, 142, 417, 626, 708, 767 pescia, 372 petersburg, st., 161, 248, 286, 406, 493, 794 piacenza, 497 pisa, 13, 56, 76, 90, 178, 606, 651, 653, 673, 760, 762 prague, 555 ragusa, 698 ravenna, 74, 91, 141, 147, 170, 174, 176, 192, 434, 527, 642, 658, 678, 701 rheims, 62 rimini, 654, 711 rogers, mr., coll. of, 153, 365, 369, 653, 668 rome vatican, 13, 59, 64, 68, 80, 103, 166, 169, 180, 183, 190, 195, 208, 220, 228, 248, 249, 282, 284, 298, 310, 498, 535, 544, 685, 692 rome: churches. st. peter's, 198, 212, 218, 338, 647, 691, 699. st. cecilia, 588, 598. san gregorio, 112, 318. cappuccini, 107. san clemente, 141, 626. s. maria maggiore, 121, 176, 120. st. agnes, 604. s. luigi francese, 146, 600. lateran, 188. s. martine, 638. s. sabina, 190. ss. cosmo and damian, 190, 434. sistine chapel, 199. chapel paolina, 215. s. maria-in-trastevere, 243. san lorenzo, 548. san pietroin-vincoli, 414. st. paul tre fontane, 553. s. prassede, 528, 623. st. bibiana, 628. st. balbina, 630. st. alexis, 633. borghese gal., 163, 594. corsini pal., 436. academy of st. luke, 156. doria pal., 691. castle of st. angelo, 98. romford, 172 rouen, 241, 494, 553, 718, 765 royal academy, 269 saint-gilles, abbey of, 769 santa cruz, 679 seville, 295, 444, 695, 737 win siena, 103, 242, 259, 265, 418, 496, 519, 570, 767 spello, 542 spoleto, 240 strasburg, 13 sutherland gallery, 68, 92, 245, 318, 337,482, 521, 536, 640, 677 toledo, 679 tower of london, 499 treviso, 667, 668 troyes, 176 turin, 363, 375, 521 venice academy, 182, 243, 282, 283, 403, 513, 606 venice: churches. st. mark's, 179, 324, 566. san sebastiano, 421. frari, 59, 195, 294, 305. san pantaleone, 567. san barnabo. 279. san giorgio, 410. san rocco, 429, 432. san pietro, 168. s. marziale, 129. abbazia, 570, 667. st john and st. paul, 146, 310, 403, 629. s. maria del orto, 450, 553, 607. s. maria formosa, 495. s. lucia, 619. san trovaso, 657. san vitale, 659. s. m. mater-domini, 667. ducal palace, 154, 323, 446, 670. manfrini pal., 355, 358 vercelli, 372 verona, 128, 323, 403, 411, 563, 612, 706, 725 vicenza, 320 vienna, belvedere gal., 146, 156, 195, 242, 290, 307, 370, 371, 418, 481, 489, 520, 576, 695, 795 vienna, lichtenstein gal., 418 viterbo, 249 volterra, 310 ward, lord, coll. of, 200 wellington, duke of, coll. of, 300 wells cathedral, 178 westminster abbey, &c., 113, 163, 171, 290, 582 windsor, 201, 365, 448, 481, 607, 727 achilleus, st., 630 adelaide of bergamo, st., 660 adrian, st., 469 abb abbey of saint gilles, in france, former and present condition of this great benedictine establishment, 769 afra of augsburg, st., 663 a fra of brescia, st., 662 a gatha, st., virgin and martyr, 608 a glae and boniface, ss., 633 agnes, st., virgin and martyr, 600 general index. presented in art, 637 iii. alexander the martyr, st., 660 alexis, st., 634. his legend among the most how rebeautiful of sacred romances, 634. ambrose, st., 306 anachronisms in sacred art, 8 anargyres, origin of the appellation, 434 anastasia, st., 639 anastasius, st., 553 andrew, st., 226 angels, 41. early popular belief as to their existence and influence in the affairs of mankind, 41. illustrative quotation from spenser, 42. scriptural and theological authorities relative to their nature, orders, and functions, 43, 46. modes of representing them in ancient works of art, 46, 52. wings, an almost invariable attribute, 53. milton's picture of a seraph contrasted with that of early art, 55. poetical nature of orcagna's angels, 56. dante's ideal, 56. their threefold functions as messengers from god to man, as the choristers of heaven, and ave as the guardians of the just and innocent, 57, 61. how represented in art when viewed as ministers of wrath, 63; as ministers of mercy, 64. more frequently alluded to in the new testament than in the old, 68. their artistic treatment in pictures of gospel narratives, 68, 73. characteristics of the several schools of art in reference to angelic forms and attributes, 74, 86 ansano, st., 650 anthony, st., 741 apollinaris of ravenna, st., 700 apollonia, st., virgin and martyr, 578. her legend, 578. how represented in art, 579, 580 apollonius, st., 665 apostles, the twelve, 173. tradition respecting the composition of the apostles' creed,' " 174 archangels, the, 87. st. michael, 94. st. gabriel, 118. st. raphael, 126. st. uriel, 88 arnold, dr., his objection to the miltonic representation of satan, 102 n. remarks on martyrdom pictures, 523 asterius, bishop of amasea, quotation from one of his homilies, 561 athanasius, st., 339 attributes, origin and significance of, in legendary art, 23, 36 auchinlech mss., quotation from a metrical legend of st. margaret in the, 519 augustine, st., 308. his tomb in the cathedral of pavia, 309 aventore, auditore, and ottavio, ss., 785 814 iii. general index. bai baillet, references to his 'vies des saints,' 556, 564, 578, 579, 634 balbina, santa, 630 balthazar de la burle, lines from his hymn to the magdalene,' 374 barbara, st., 492. her effigy a frequent ornament on armour, shields, &c., 500 barnabas, st., 278 baronius, his account of the exhumation of st. cecilia, 587 bartholomew, st., 244. not popular in works of art, 244. how represented, 244 bartsch, references to, 106 n., 224, 323, 488, 731, 755 " basil the great, st., 335 bell, sir charles, his description of stefano maderno's statue of st. cecilia lying dead,' " 587 bibiana, santa, 628 bishops, the early, 681 blaise, st., 696. his popular legend of greek origin, 696. pictures of him, 698 bosio, reference to his' roma sotterranea,' 633 bottari, references to, 116, 174, 199 cecilia, st., virgin and martyr, 583 celsus, st., 659 cardinal priests, when first instituted, 685 casciano, san (cassian), 711 catherine of alexandria, st., 467 cenacolo. see 'the last supper.' cenobites, or hermits living in communities, 740 cesareo, st., 630 chaucer, quotation from, 584 cheron, st., 718 christina, st., 665 christopher, st., 439. his singular and picturesque legend, 439-443. how represented in art, 443-450 chrysanthus and daria, ss., 641 chrysogonus, st., 640 chrysostom, st. john, 325 church, doctors of the, 280 ciampini, references to, 74, 176, 224, 527, 692 eph cicognara, references to his 'storia della scultura moderna,' 352, 463, 702 clair, st., 718 classical art, educational associations favourable to the right appreciation of, 7 clement, st., third bishop of rome, 626 colours, their symbolical meaning as exemplified in sacred art, 35, 36. see also 257 n. constantine, st. see st. sylvester.' cornelius, st., 735 cosmo and damian, ss., 433 costanzo, st. (constantius), 708 crispin and crispianus, ss., 679 crowned brothers, the four. see 'quattro coronati.' cyprian and justina of antioch, ss., 573 cyprian, st., bishop of carthage, 699 cyril, st., 342 d'agincourt, references to his 'histoire de l'art par les monumens,' 535, 553, 589, 691, 751 damian, st. see 'ss. cosmo and damian.' dante, quotations from, or references to, 45, 56, 60, 82, 119, 120, 123, 131, 231, 260, 269, 322, 328, 620, 682 dark ages, state of society in the, 4 demons, belief regarding them in the primitive ages of the church, 526 denis of france, st., 713 devotional art, distinguishing features of, 11 diderot, characteristic specimen of his criticisms on religious art, 307 didron, references to his iconographie chrétienne,' 23, 154 doctors of the church, the, 280 donato of arezzo, st., 701 dorothea, st., virgin and martyr, 568 dragon, as attribute and symbol, 26 eleutherius, st., 715 eloy, st., 728. his legend, and its representation in works of art, 728-732. passage from one of his sermons, 473 n. emblems, their origin and significance in sacred art, 23, 36 ephesus, the seven sleepers of, 581 iii. general index. 815 eph ephesus and potitus, ss., 652 ephrem, st., hermit of syria, 756. notice of paintings in which he is represented, 756, 757 erasmus, st., 699 ercolano, sant' (herculanus), 708 'etruria pittrice,' references to the, 530, 560, 650 eugenia, st., 642 eulalia, st., 677 euphemia, st., virgin and martyr, 561 eustace, st., 791. his legend, and its representation in art, 791-793 evangelists, the four, 132. their respective symbols and attributes, 132. instances of artistic treatment, 136, 140 faustino and giovita, ss., 662 felicitas, st., and her seven sons, martyrs, 642. their legend, 642. representations in art, 643 felix, st., 659 filomena, st., 671 fina, santa, 650 fleury, quotation from, 343 florian, st., 794 ford, mr., references to his handbook of spain,' 258, 678 frediano, st., 706 6 gabriel, st. (archangel), 118 gaudenzio, st. (gaudentius), 711 geminianus, st., 707 geneviève of paris, st., 771 geoffrey, author of the first dramatic spectacle' acted in england, 475 george of cappadocia, st., 398 geryon, st. 787 gervasius and protasius, ss., 654 gibbon, references to, 316, 327, 582, 685, 707, 738, 780 giles the hermit, st., 768 giovita, st., 662 gnostics, the, their doctrine touching archangels, 96 n. goethe, quotation from his theory of colours,' 258 n. jus grata, st., 660 greek fathers, the four, 324 greek martyrs, the, 556-582 gregory, st., 315 gregory nazianzen, st., 340 gudula, st., 777 guizot, m., extract from his 'histoire de civilisation,' 3 hermit saints, the, 739-777 'heures d'anne de bretagne,' references to the, 64, 127, 156, 510, 735, 751 hilarion, founder of the first syrian monastery, 740 hippolytus, st., 547. obscurity of his legends, 548. pictures of his martyrdom, 548. see also 794 hubert, st., bishop of liége, 732. ignatius, st., bishop of antioch, supposed resting-place of his relics, 626 ignatius theophorus, st., bishop and martyr, 693 ildefonso, st., 678 incense, its first use in christian churches, 534 n. innocents, the, 315 isidore, st., bishop of seville, 737 isidore, st., the ploughman, 777 james the great, st., 230 james the less, st., 250 januarius, st., 420 jerome, st., 285 job, st., 445 them, 629 judas iscariot, 255 john, st., 157 john and paul, ss., brothers, 629. pictures of jude, st. (or thaddeus), 252 julia, st., 661 julian of cilicia, st., 653 julian hospitator, st., 762 julian the martyr, st., 654 justa and rufina, ss., 676 justina, of antioch, st. see ss. cyprian and justina.' justina of padua, st., virgin and martyr, 669 816 iii. general index. lam lambert, st., bishop of maestricht, 732 lanzi, references to, 229, 411 n., 598, 765 lardner, quotations from, 96, 184, 195, 250, 251, 277 last supper, the, 261 latin fathers, the four, 280. how represented in devotional pictures when grouped together, 280, 285. st. jerome, 285. st. ambrose, 300. st. augustine, 308. st. gregory, 315 latin martyrs, the, 583-620 laurence, st., deacon and martyr, 538 lazarus, st. (brother of ss. martha and mary), 383 leander and isidore, ss., brothers, and successively bishops of seville, 737 legenda aurea, quotations from, or references to, 247, 438, 492, 786 n. legendario, il perfetto, quotations from, 95, 143, 382, 694 legendario romano, reference to the, 634 legende delle ss. vergini, quotation from, 608 legends of the monastic orders, references to, 172, 642, 675 leo, st., 685 leocadia, st., 678 leonard, st., 765 lindsay, lord, references to his 'sketches of christian art,' 243, 654 longinus, st., 787 lucia, st., virgin and martyr, 613. devotional and other pictures, 617-620 luke, st., 154. a beloved disciple and companion of st. paul, 154. doubts as to the manner of his death, 154. some ground for supposing him to have been a physician, but none for the legend which makes him a painter, 154. chosen, nevertheless, as the patron saint of painters, 155. pictures representing him painting the virgin, 155, 156 lupo, st., 660 maccabees, the seven jewish martyr-brethren mentioned in, 645 macrina, st. (grandmother of st. basil), 335 mon magdalene, st. mary, 343 maitland's 'dark ages,' referred to, 729 n. marcella, st., 384 margaret, st., 516. the chosen type of female innocence and meekness, 516. her singularly wild legend, 517. devotional pictures of her, 519-522 mark, st., 147 martha, st., 381 martin of tours, st., 720 martina, st., 638 martyrs, the early, 523 martyrs, the greek, 556 martyrs, the latin, 583 martyrs, the roman, 621 martyrs of tuscany, lombardy, spain, and france, 648 mary of egypt, st., 385 mary the penitent (niece of the hermit abraham), 390 matthew, st., 143 matthias, st., 254 massillon, passage from, 26 massinger, quotations from, 320, 572 maurelio, san (maurelius), 710 maurice, st., 783. legend of this warriorsaint, and the mode of representing him in art, 783-786 maximin, st., 384 mediæval art, viewed as the monument of a real and earnest faith, 6. general ignorance regarding the subjects of, 8 menna, st., 781 mercurius, st., 779 méry, the abbé, quotations from, 227, 345 michael, st. (archangel), 94 middle ages, origin of the legendary art of the, 1 millennium, expectations respecting it cherished by the christians of the third century, 739 milman, mr., references to his history of christianity,' 3, 525 milton, quotations from, 48, 55, 57, 66, 70, 73, 87, 89, 106, 118, 126, 194 minias (or miniato), st., 649 monica, st. (mother of st. augustine), 311, 313, 314 mos moses, st., 756 murray's handbooks, references to, 306, 762 music and musicians. see 'st. cecilia.' myrrhophores, or myrrh-bearers, 368 nabor and felix, ss., 659 natalia, st. see 'st. adrian.' nazarius and celsus, ss., 659. how represented in art, 660 nereo and achilleo, ss., 630 nicaise, st. (nicasius), 718 nicholas of myra, st., 450 iii. general index. omobuono, st, 674 onuphrius, st., 755 ottavio, st., 786 oëlenschläger, quotations from his drama of 'correggio,' 357 panacea, st., of the valais, 662 pancras, st., 640 pantaleon, st., martyr, 566 passavant, references to his 'rafael,' 129, 221, 240, 248, 317, 692 patron saints of christendom, the, 395. their names and distinctive characteristics, 396 paul, st., 185, 212 paul of thebes, founder of the anchorites, 739, 746, 747 pelagia, st., 394 penitents, beatified, 343, 385, 389, 393 persecutions of the early christians, 525 peter and paul, ss., 185. subjects separately illustrating the life of st. peter, 193—211; of st. paul, 212-223 peter exorcista and marcellinus, ss., 632 petronilla, st., legend of, 210 petronius, st., 709 philip, st. (apostle), 241 phocas, st., martyr, 564 pope, title of, when first adopted, 684 potitus, st., 652 praxedes and pudentiana, ss., 622 prisca, st., 681 procopius, st., 771 proculus, st., bishop of bologna, 710 proculus, st., military protector of bologna, 795 817 spe protasius, st. see 'ss. gervasius and protasius.' prudentius, quotation from his 'hymn to st. laurence,' 550. his account of st. eulalia, see ss. praxedes and 677 pudentiana, st. pudentiana.' 'quattro-coronati,' the (or four crowned brothers), 624. their legend, and the mode in which it is represented in art, 625 quintin, 796 quirinus, st., 794 ranieri, st., 760. his legend, and its representation in art, 761, 762 raphael, st. (archangel), 126 regulus, st., 705 relics, origin and results of the prevailing passion for them from the third to the fourteenth century, 654 reparata, st., 648. how represented in art, 648 richardson, references to, 407, 408, 608 roch, st., 425 romain, st., 719 roman martyrs, the, 621 romulo, san (romulus), 710 rossini, references to, 145, 183, 698 rufina, st., 676 rusticus, st., 714, 715 sabina, st., 630 santiago. see 'st. james the great.' satyr, 746 scuola, correct meaning of the word, 283 n. origin and objects of the scuola della carità at venice, 766 seven sleepers of ephesus, the, 581 shakspeare, his allusion to st. crispin's day, 680 simon zelotes, st., 252, 253, 254 siro, st. (syrus), 711 sixtus, st., 684 southey, reference to his 'pilgrim of compostella,' 235 spenser, quotations from, 398, 404, 408 818 iii. general index. sta stael, madame de, her reason for supposing angels to be masculine, 51 stephen, st., deacon and protomartyr, 531 stirling, mr., references to his artists of spain,' 277, 489, 738 surius, his derivation of the name ursula,' 503 susanna, st., 641 sylvester, st., pope, 686 • 'tantony pig,' origin of the proverb, 751 tasso, references to his 'gerusalemme liberata,' 82, 107, 119 tennyson, quotations from, 487, 596 thais, st., 394 thecla, st., virgin and martyr, 556 theodore, st., 781 theodosius, emperor, signal triumph of st. ambrose over, 302 thomas, st., 245-249 tobit, the book of, its interest in connection with the archangel raphael, 126 torpé (or torpet), st., 651 trajan, emperor, legend of him in connection with st. gregory, 321 trophime, st., 720 tuscany, lombardy, spain, and france, martyrs of, 648 ulrich, st., bishop of augsburg, 665 printed by urban, st., 684 ursula, st., and her companions, 501 valens, emperor, his arian principles firmly opposed by st. basil, 336 valérie (or valére), st., 719 vasari, quotations from, 416 n., 449 n., 786 n. verdiana, st., 649 veronica, st., 646 victor of marseilles, st., 790 victor of milan, st., 791 vincent, st., deacon and martyr, 549 virgin patronesses, the, 465 vitalis, st., 658 vitus, st., 554 vivia perpetua and felicitas, the subject of their martyrdom recommended to protestant artists, 525, 564 zos warrior saints of christendom, the, 779800 wordsworth, quotations from, 40, 396, 762 zachariah the prophet, 756 n. zeno, st., bishop of verona, 706 zenobio of florence, st., 702 zosimus, priest, in connection with st. mary of egypt, 386 the end. london spottiswoode new-street square and co. t 1 1 hw 2e2n v av na 142 nypl research libraries 3 3433 08235090 5 a: 1 an (lopez, g the life of gregory lopez, a hermit in america: "for many years i despaired of finding any inhabitant of great britain, that could stand in any degree of comparison with gregory lopez. rev. john wesley. new-york. published by john eyre, 29 and sold at falsom's book store, 40 fulton st. 1841 l min? thenew york public library astor, lenox and tilden foundations. 1397. piercy & reed, printers. preface. the life of gregory lopez was reprinted in england about sixty years ago, and as there is no subject in literature more interesting than narratives of this kind, or more profitable to the pious reader than religious biography; and as the subject of it lived the greatest part of his days in america, (though well nigh forgotten at the present period) the publisher hopes that no apology is necessary for giving it to the public. the language of the pious character is, "who will shew me any good? how shall i obtain a greater conformity to the life of my saviour-or what shall i do that i may be more devoted to god?" hence, to have the lives of the most devoted characters minutely depicted, their actions exhibited in the clearest manner, and their conversation, in a written document, 1* iv preface. laid before them, is no small gratification—nay; it is a considerable motive to stimulate them in many particulars to follow, step by step, such worthy examples. nor can we speak lightly of the motive when followed with a single eye to god's glory, seeing the scriptures set before us such examples, and exhort us to follow them. our blessed saviour has said, "go and do thou likewise." and an apostle has also said, "be ye followers of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises." but how could this have been done had no record been left as a memorial of them? this narrative, however, is not intended to excite any one to follow him to the desert, nor turn hermit; for, whatever reasons some people may have had, in times past, for secluding themselves—or, however god may have blest them in that situation—yet this, without the authority of his word of command, is not a sufficient reason for others to follow them. some people, probably, have said that the life of a hermit is not the life of a christian; but it may not be amiss to suggest to the reader, that preface. the ways of providence to many have been diversified and mysterious-that many things are permitted for a trial of faith under this disordered state of the world, and many difficulties encountered by necessity which finally prove a blessing to mankind, though not primarily according to the will of god. thus, the apostle was banished to the isle of patmos, where he wrote the revelation, and the author of the pilgrim's progress was cast into prison, where he studied that book which has been so blest to mankind. and while some, from necessity, have sought a place of safety in mountains, in dens and caves of the earth, some others, probably from mistaken notions, have voluntarily retired to the woods, the most effectually to mortify themselves, or as the best method of devoting themselves perfectly to god, who, notwithstanding an error, have given us worthy examples. thus, in both instances, good has been brought out of evil. hence, considering this holy man independ´ent of error and one of the purest of characters, 1* vi. preface. or exhibiting him to the world in an age of dissipation like this, his example, in many instances, notwithstanding such circumstances, may be studied to great advantage. at a time when thousands are striving to excite each other's vanity, by adding superficial embellishments to natural beauty; at a period when many others are trying to outlive their fellows in broadcloths and velvets, their silks and satins, or in some splendid piece of furniture, which no person in the neighborhood can equal; it may not be altogether in vain to show them " a more excellent way," by setting before them a character who renounced such vanities; not unseasonable to remind them that “a man's life consisteth not in the abundance which he possesseth;" to convince them, that, while some people possess every thing, and enjoy nothing, there is a possibility, to use the apostle's words, of "having nothing, and yet possessing all things" that there is a degree of faithfulness, which, after having forsaken all, is graciously rewarded with a hundred-fold in this life; that such people invariably obtain a peace that is preface. vii more permanent than the foundations of the earth, and which they cannot lose though the earth be removed, and the mountains carried into the midst of the sea-in a word, to assure them that "nothing have the just to lose, by worlds on world's destroy'd." or, finally, to set before them the beauties of self-denial, which leads to lasting enjoyment, and to convince them that christianity in its maturity always proves an antidote to the most fatal sickness, and gives a perfect meetness for the kingdom of heaven. but, say some people, "we must live and act according to times and circumstances this and that are only indifferent things, according to the customs of the daythere is nothing wrong in conforming to the refinements of the age," &c. nay, let us reflect for a moment! can any length of time add wisdom to him who was from everlasting to everlasting? shall we presume to say that any future period can alter the character of his law, or that any refinements in a fallen people can tolerate pride, or make it less sinful viii preface. than it was a hundred or a thousand years ago 3 is uot every man, though born and educated in a christian land, an heathen and an idolater, only as he embraces christianity by faith in christ jesus, and by virtue of that faith takes up his cross to follow him? and is it not written, that "the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of god?" wherefore, if such is universally our condition, and we are all equally involved in the common ruin, let us lay aside the gaudy robes of the effeminate, to obtain the spotless raiment of christ's righteousness, that, being clad in the wedding garment of god's people, we may be admitted with them into everlasting habitations. "for many years (said the rev. john wesley) i despaired of finding any inhabitant of great britain that could stand in any degree of comparison with gregory lopez," &c., which was saying a great deal of him. nay, could he have said any thing more? hence, if his life was read to such advantage at that day, why not now? nevertheless, this eminent man did preface. ix not approve of following him to the desert. this would be a step absolutely impracticable to thousands, and followed by death to many others yet, all might follow him in some particulars, or read his life to their mutual advantage. let us, therefore, put on the whole armor of god, and practice his virtues at home, without retiring to the desert-follow his example in renouncing the love of this present evil world, and all sinful pleasures-imitate him in plainness of speech, avoiding evil speaking and useless ceremonies his abstinence-his fervent prayer-his striving seventy times seven to enter in at the strait gate of perfect love to god-perfect resignation to his will-perfect charity towards all men-and his earnest and perpetual desire to do the will of god on earth as it is done in heaven. john eyre. new york, january 2, 1841. the life of gregory lopez. chapter i. his birth and employment till he was twenty years of age. gregory lopez was born at madrid; he seemed to be one without father, without mother. for no one ever heard him mention his family, or knew him write to his relations or enquire concerning them. this made many believe that he was the son of some persons of great quality. what confirmed them in that opinion was the manner of his behavior; genteel, noble, and full of humble gravity; particularly, when he had to do with men of rank, or eminence. for they admired the freedom and firmness with which he spoke to them, yet without violating the respect which he owed them. one having pressed him to tell of what family he was, and what was the name of his 12 the life of gregory lopez. father, he appeared somewhat moved, and replied with a countenance full of gravity, quite extraordinary, "my country is heaven, and my father is god." father juan ozorio, having asked, of what country he was? he replied only, "of the same country with your reverence." a few days before his death, when i was resolved to know the name of his parents, in order to send them an account of his life and death, he told me, ever since i left all to evil wholly to god, i have considered god alone as my father. as to my brothers, i do not doubt but they are dead, for i was the youngest of all." behold, how this servant of god had forgotten the advantages of his birth; he considered the nobleness of his family as baseness; he esteemed only the honor god had done him. 66 he was born the fourth of july, 1542, in the reign of the emperor charles the fifth. at his baptism he was named gregory; as to the surname of lopez, i do not believe it was the name of his family; but rather that he endeavored to conceal himself under that borrowed name. god favored him with uncommon grace, even from his tender years. having once asked him, whether he had begun to serve god as soon as the life of gregory lopez. 13 he had the use of his reason? he replied, "he was not sure, whether he had begun then or a little after; but it is true god had blest him very early with different sentiments from those which children use to have." and he was accustomed to say, as from happy experience, “happy is he who bears the yoke of the lord from his youth." with a wonderful facility he learned to read, and to read so well that he surpassed his masters; as one may still judge from the things written by him, with such elegance, such strength, and in so beautiful a character, that one cannot look upon them without admiration. it is certain, and he owned it freely, that he never learned, either latin, or any of the liberal arts or sciences, so that there is no room to doubt, but it was god who was his master in several things, and who taught him many truths, divine and human, which others hardly attain by much labor. being as yet very young, he went without saying any thing to his parents, into the kingdom of navarre, where he remained in a religious retirement, upwards of six years; it was here that his soul as a fruitful soil watered 14 the life of gregory lopez. with the dew of heaven, received the seeds of that holiness which afterwards produced excellent fruit in great abundance. his father having carefully sought, at length found him there. he brought him to valladolid, where the court then was, and by a surprising change he was made page to the emperor; god ordering thus, that even in the retinue of a prince, there should be one that was a saint. the fear of god was so rooted in the heart of young lopez, that even a court-life, and all its various agitations, which like impetuous winds are apt to ruffle the calmest souls, that he was always recollected; and he has told me, that when his master sent him with any message, he had such an attention to god, that neither persons of the highest quality with whom he had to do, nor all the other occasions of distracting the mind, which are found in the courts of princes, interrupted his thinking of god. and by this means he preserved the same peace and devotion, as if he had still been in the desert of navarre. thus, even in the heat of youth, and in the dangerous snares of a court, he passed two or the life of gregory lopez. 15 three years with a mind as unmoved, and a judgment as solid, as if he had been ever so far advanced in years. being one day in prayer in a church at toledo, god gave him a fuller and stronger resolution, than he had ever yet had of executing his design to live wholly to him. but as resolutions of importance ought not to be made, but in consequence of much prayer, he passed several days in prayer and watching in the church of guadaloupe, to obtain light, how to proceed in what he purposed; and hereby he was more and more determined, to quit both the court, and his friends, and native country; that there might be no obstruction to the entire devotion of himself to god, which his soul continually panted after. chapter ii. his voyage to new spain. he arrived at new spain in the year 1562, and landed at vera cruz, being then just twenty years of age. he distributed among the poor, the stuffs which he brought with him, to the value of eight thousand four hundred reals, shewing how little he esteemed the riches of this new world; while instead of seeking them there he gave away what he had brought thither, without reserving any thing for himself. from vera cruz he went to mexico, where he stayed some days at a notary's, named st. romain, to earn, by writing, as much as would carry him to zacaticas, where he hoped fully to execute his design. coming thither, he changed his dress to one. suitable for his design, and went eight leagues thence to the valley of amagac, inhabited by chichinque indians, who for their cruelty and fierceness, were then terrible to the spaniards. the life of gregory lopez. 17 but this servant of god not having been afraid to declare war against all the invisible powers of hell, was under no apprehension from visible enemies: nothing doubting, with the assistance of god, to conquer their savageness and fierceness, by his patience, sweetness and humanity. the effect answered his expectation; for, after he had spent but a few days in the valley, and conversed with the indians, their fierceness was gone, and he had gained the affection of all that were near him. seeking for a place proper for his design, he found, several leagues from zacaticas, a farm called temaxeco, belonging to captain pedro carrillo de avila; this captain, seeing him so young, so well made, and of so fine a carriage, barefooted, without shirt or hat, clothed only in a coat of coarse cloth, which reached down to his heels, and was girt round with a rope, asked him, whither he was going, and what it was that had brought him to that country? he answered, "that he was come from castile with the last flota, and that he was seeking an hermitage, to pass his life there in the service * * this step does not accord with god's design towards his rational creatures, and, therefore, cannot be 18 the life of gregory lopez. of god; but that he had not till now found a proper place." he then gave him the reasons which induced him to retire from the world, with which he was entirely satisfied. carrillo offered him men to build him a little house in the place which he had chosen: he thanked him, but without accepting his offer, only desiring leave to work himself. he then, with his own hands, built a little cell, only the indians assisting him therein. he entered into the twenty-first year of his age when he entered on his solitary life; and seeing himself engaged in a war, wherein he had so powerful enemies to combat, the first thing which he did, was to throw himself wholly into the hands of god, and to implore his succor in these words "lord, i here engage myself altogether in thy service. if i perish, it will not be my business, but thine to answer for it." words that expressed the absolute confidence he had in the power and mercy of recommended to any one. in the beginning, god our creator said, "it is not good that the man should be alone," &c. and christ our redeemer commanded, "let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your father which is in heaven." the life of gregory lopez. 19 god, and his full assurance that god would not suffer him to perish, whilst he cast himself wholly upon him. from the moment that lopez had thus abandoned himself in fervent love to whatever it should please god to order concerning him, he felt the sensible effects of his assistance, and began to walk valiantly and with a great pace in the narrow way of penitence; without ever looking back, without ever stopping, without ever losing sight of that light by which it pleased god to guide him. he lay upon the ground; and, to keep him from the cold, he had but one quilt, and a stone for his pillow. these were all the moveables of his cell; and all the ornaments of it, were sentences he had wrote upon the walls, exhorting to go on to perfection. his abstinence was not only great, but continual; he eat only once a day, and then very little, and of the coarsest food; for, generally, it was nothing but parched corn. and this he so rigorously observed, that he could not be persuaded to dispense with himself, even when in violent sickness. he never tasted flesh; and when any happened to be given 2 20 the life of gregory lopez. him, he received it with thanks, but touched it not. captain carrillo had two sons, sebastian and pedro. the latter has often mentioned, that lopez living near them, his father used to send them to him, to learn to read and write; and that he often found him on his knees, in deep prayer, with his arms extended, and his eyes fixed on the earth. the two brothers, in return for the pains he took with them, brought him cakes made of indian corn, the only thing (as we observed) on which he lived, unless he sometimes ate a raw lettuce or turnip. and if they happened to bring him two or three cakes at once, it gave him dissatisfaction. he told them, one served him for eight days, and he ate them hard and dry as they were. if their father and mother sent him any thing else, he sent it back again. they sometimes found in his cell rabbits, quails, and figs, which in this country were accounted delicious food. these (after telling them they were the presents of his good friends the chichinques) he gave them to carry to their mother. he never made use of any candle, saying he had no business which required it. as the the life of gregory lopez. 21 nights were exceeding cold, the captain offered him a better quilt; but he did not accept of it. when there came any minister, who performed divine service at the captain's, he sent word to lopez, who came to hear it with the greatest devotion, and immediately after returned home, without staying to eat, however pressed thereto, or speaking to any person whatever. he never went out of his cell to divert himself, or even to entertain himself with a good neighbor. thus it was that this holy giant went on amain, in the way wherein the love of god had constrained him to enter. 2* chapter iii. the conflicts he sustained, and the assistance he received, whereby he was more than conqueror. * those uncommon temptations of the devil, which god permits to come upon his saints in their solitude, arise from the shame of that `proud spirit, when he sees himself vanquished by them. accordingly, though the extreme austerity of his life, and his want of almost all necessaries, occasioned lopez to suffer so much, yet these sufferings appeared inconsiderable to him, compared to the inward pains which he endured. in one rencounter (he owned to a friend) he * perhaps it is more proper to say, that his uncommon temptations arose in a great measure from his peculiar situation. if the husbandman were to leave the labors of the field for a life of retiremet, he would enter upon a new course of life, must feel the effects of it, and treat himself accordingly. nevertheless, we may admit, that if a person engages to serve god in the most perfect manner, either in solitude or more public life, the devil will use all his power to oppose and afflict him. the life of gregory lopez. 23 had such a conflict with the grand enemy, and was obliged to use so violent efforts in resisting him, that the blood gushed out of his nose and ears. he was experienced in all sorts of spiritual weapons, long before his combat; such a symptom, therefore, in one that was accustomed to conquer, shewed how obstinate that fight must have been. * once the devil attacked him in a visible shape. being asked what he had done to defend himself, he replied, "believing i could not do better than continue in the design god had put into my heart, i resolved to labor therein with all my strength; on which satan disappeared, and never tempted me again in that manner." it is certain, that during the whole time of his solitude, the devil strove to affright him by a * many people speak as if this age is too much enlightened to admit of this assertion; but, how can we absolutely deny it, without equally invalidating the testimony of scripture? st. matthew and st. luke assure us, that the devil appeared to jesus christ, &c.; that, after his departure, angels came and ministered unto him. matt. iv. 3-11; luke iv. 3-13. was all this in imagination only? if not, is it altogether incredible that he should be permitted to appear on any occasion to one of his faithful followers? if so, how can we understand that scripture, viz. "he that is perfect, shall be as his master?" 2* 24 the life of gregory lopez. all means possible; sometimes by the roaring and rushing of wild beasts, sometimes by the cruelty wherewith he saw the indians massacree the spaniards, at a small distance from him; sometimes by various inward temptations, and by the artifices he used to deceive him. continual prayer, both day and night, was the remedy used in these encounters; in which, that he might not faint, there was no kind of effort which he was not obliged to use. among the sentiments from which he drew the most strength and the greatest consolations, were these words: "thy will be done on earth as it is done in heaven; amen, jesus!" for the space of three years, he repeated them without ceasing, so that he scarce ever took his breath, without saying them mentally, while he was eating or drinking, or speaking to any one person whatever. i asked, if it was possible, at every time that he awaked out of his sleep, they should be present to his mind? he answered, "it is; i never breathe'twice, after waking, before they are brought to my remembrance." this application to conform himself to the will of god, was so necessary to him, in order to resist these temptations, that although the life of gregory lopez. 25 he never discontinued it, yet if instead of being as exact as usual, he slackened therein ever so little, he presently perceived the devil drew such advantage therefrom, and so redoubled his temptations, that it was not possible for him then so much as to look into a book. but these words, "thy will be done," served him for a book; he found in them all the instruction he could wish for; they were as arms of proof, which not only defended him from the assaults him means of conof his enemies, but gave quering all by his entire resignation, whereby he threw himself absolutely into the hands of god, to dispose of him in what manner he pleased, and prostrating himself on the earth, he said, "lord, thou art my father, and nothing is done, but in thy presence and according to thy will." with this he recovered new strength to run the race set before him. these temptations were so violent and so frequent, that he has many times said to me, he was astonished that he had been able to persevere in his design, and that he could not think of them without making his hair stand on end upon his head. when he related this to me, he was an old soldier of christ, of deep expe26 the life of gregory lopez, rience in this spiritual warfare. there needs, therefore, no better proof of the greatness of his courage and the fury of his enemy; for, if the bare remembrance of it produces such an effect, it is no wonder that the combat itself cost both pains and blood, chapter iv. god exercises lopez in another manner; he removes from the valley amajac. the conflicts of lopez were not with the devil only, he suffered from men also. as the spanish soldiers passed by his cell to make war with the indians, some called him heretic and lutheran; others said, he was a fool or madman. but this servant of god had nothing to fear he remained unhurt, either by one side or the other; and in the midst of the dan gers to which he was exposed, he continued without interruption in his ordinary exercise of conformity to the will of god. after he had continued three years to repeat, without ceasing, "thy will be done on earth. as it is in heaven," he found himself so strengthened, that he had no longer any will but that of god. he then entered upon another exercise, which consisted not so much in words as in actions; and this was, an ardent love for god, and for his neighbor. this he 23 the life of gregory lopez. practised in so excellent a manner, that he was daily going on from strength to strength, without relaxing or abating any thing in the exercise of perfect love. he was so advantageously situated at amajac, that he would never have quitted that place, had he not thought himself obliged so to do, by the love of his neighbor, whom he earnestly desired to serve. several who heard of his manner of life, were offended that he did not attend the service of the church, although he had no opportunity of so doing, the church being seven leagues off. in condescension to their weakness, he resolved, after having stayed at amajac between three and four years, to remove thence and settle in one of the villages of alphonso d'avalos. he received him with much humility and affection, and offered him a lodging in a place planted with trees. he accepted it gladly, but not the food provided for him; for he lived wholly on milk and cheese. after he had spent two years here, god put it into his heart to return to his little cell; the night before his journey, that great earthquake happened, in the year 1568; and opening his window, he saw the joists of his chamber fall the life of gregory lopez. 29 without receiving any harm. he stopped in the way at sebastian mexia's, who entertained him gladly. he recompensed him by his good example, and the excellent counsels which he gave him. these made so deep an impression, that instead of the fine rich cloths, of which he was so extravagantly fond before, he wore from that time only coarse brown cloth, like lopez. mexia conceived so strong an affection for him, and had so great an esteem for his wisdom, that he resolved to leave all his estate to his disposal. but, lopez being apprized of this, and not judging it proper, after he had renounced all his own goods, to embarrass himself with those of another man, resolved, immediately to proceed on his journey, whatever instances could be used to detain him. father dominie salazar, a dominican, was preaching to those who were working in the mines round about zacatecas. he was a man of great virtue, and the conversation he had with lopez, made him conceive such a high esteem and love for him, that he pressed him extremely to go to the monastery of st. dominic at mexico; where he would give him a little cell, 30 the life of gregory lopez. saying, that by this means he might without danger or hindrance, pass his life in retirement and prayer; and yet without being deprived of the advantages that may be received in a religious society. lopez, yielding to his reasons, accepted his offer, and resolved to return to mexico. he had passed near seven years in the valley of amajac, in the village of alphonsoď avalos and with sebastian mexia, living every where with the same austerity. his habit was then so worn, that it was absolutely necessary for him to have a new one. he might easily have had it, for a word speaking from any of the persons abovementioned. but he chose rather, to gain by the sweat of his brow, as much coarse cloth as he had need of; not so much to keep him from the cold, as to cover his nakedness. he went, therefore, to a rich inn-keeper, who gladly intrusted him with the management of his family. he acquitted himself with so much care, tenderness and humility, that they were struck with admiration. after having earned in two months as much as he wanted, he took his leave of them; nor could all the prayers or tears, or the money they offered, prevail upon him to stay longer. the life of gregory lopez. 31 how poor soever he was at that time, he never asked alms of any one; but entirely abandoned himself to the providence of god, having nothing to live upon, but what was given him without asking. and if nothing of this was left, he labored with his hands till he had gained more. for a long time (as we observed,) he lived wholly on parched corn, and during lent, upon herbs. but, hence, he contracted such a weakness of stomach, as continued all the rest of his life. he often worked in his little garden, but what grew there, he gave in charity to those that passed by. sometime, every day he spent in reading the holy scriptures, and particularly the epistles of st. paul. during all the years he spent in solitude, the aforementioned assaults and temptations of the devil continued. but these in a great measure ceased when he quitted his retirement, yet others arose in their place. many highly condemned his manner of living; others, raised numberless calumnies against him; so that he did not want enemies in the world, any more than in solitude; but in all these things he was more than conqueror. chapter v. he goes to mexico; thence to guasteca, and falls sick. coming to mexico, he was informed that father dominie de salazar, was not yet returned; after waiting for him some time, he believed the providence of god, called him to resume his solitary life; for which purpose he went into the country of guasteca; which, he, judging to be most proper for his design, as being wide and thinly inhabited, and abounding with wild fruits. here he fixed his abode, resolving not to remove, till the providence of god should plainly call him to it. he fed on fruits, roots, and herbs, which the earth brought forth of itself, and valiantly fought the battles of the lord, continuing his exercises of the love of god and his neighbor. he had from his early youth an ardent desire of reading the holy scriptures; and, he now, more frequently than ever, besought god to enlighten his understanding, and tò nourish the life of gregory lopez. 33 his soul with the important truths which are contained therein. that he might neglect nothing in his power, in order thereto, he resolved to learn the bible by heart; and he had so happy a memory, that he never forgot anything which he once knew. in this he spent four hours a day for four years. and, during this time, god gave him the understanding thereof. at the same time, and all his life after, he read several books, both of ecclesiastical and profane history. many were glad to lend him them, and he read entire volumes in three or four days. his manner of reading was so extraordinary, that it might be thought even supernatural; for, he frequently read over in ten hours, a book, which another would scarce read over in a month. in twenty hours he read the works of teresa, and that, so effectually, that hardly could any one give a better account of all that is contained therein. but he did not give himself the trouble of reading anything but spiritual books. with regard to others, his manner was, to read the contents of the chapters. and such as contained anything which he did not know, he read through; the rest he entirely passed over. 34 the life of gregory lopez. he would have spent the rest of his life at guasteca, had he believed it to be the will of god. but god showed him, that this was not his will, by sending him a violent bloody flux. he bore it for several days, in the midst of all inconveniences imaginable, through the want of things necessary for a sick man, and even of food. while he was in this condition, the providence of god, which is never wanting to them that fear him, sent to his relief, a priest, named juan de mesa, minister of a town in guasteca, a man of an exemplary life, who, merely out of charity instructed the people of that country, and assisted them with his substance. he no sooner learned the extremity to which lopez was reduced than he sent to seek him, and entertained him at his house with all possible care. as he past several days without any sustenance, after the disorder ceased, he was extremely weak. but he received his appetite in a short time, and then by degrees, his strength. as soon as he found this, he would have returned to his solitude, if his host had not hindered him; but he kept him in his house for near four years, to the unspeakable comfort and edifica tion of all round about him. the life of gregory lopez. 35 mesa provided him a chamber, where he spent all his time, except when he was at church. he was commonly in an upright posture, or leaning against the wall with his eyes fixed. in this retreat, he continued day and night, never going out, but when he took his sober repast, with his host, whom he abundantly paid for his hospitality, by the inestimable blessing of his conversation. all the furniture of his chamber, was a bible, a terrestrial globe, and a pair of compasses. 66 during his stay here, one who came from those parts to mexico, was saying, "there was a man at guasteca, who was suspected to be a heretic, because he used no beads, nor gave any of those marks by which good christians are wont to be known." i asked, whether he spoke well on the matters of faith? and if his life was unblameable? he said, as to his faith, there is no fault to be found; he has all the bible off by heart; and his manners are unreprovable; he is almost always alone; he spends much time in the church; and no one can learn who were his parents, what is his country, nor hear him speak about anything in this world." i replied, mildly, "i am sorry 36 the life of gregory lopez. that in this he resembled eli, who seeing hannah move her lips only in prayer, concluded she was drunk." i added, "why should you so hastily conclude, that such a person as this is a heretic, one so knowing in the scripture, so holy in his carriage, who spends his life in conversing with god?" he was so moved by what i spoke, that he thought no more of putting him in the inquisition. till this time, i had never heard of gregory lopez, nor did i know what was his name. but from this very relation, i conceived such an esteem for him, that nothing could ever efface. chapter vi. he goes to atrisco, and thence to mexico. the design of not being known and esteemed of men, occasioned lopez to change his abode. accordingly, perceiving that, after he had been here four years, he was much known and honored by the spaniards and indians, he set out for atrisco. when he was within a league of it, he met a gentleman named juan perez romero, who gave him a room in his house, and all that he wanted. his habit being worn out, his charitable host gave him another, made of coarse brown cloth, in the form of a cassock, with breeches and stockings of the same-he wore the same sort all the rest of his life. was situated much to his satisfaction here; his host living truly a christian life, and profiting both by his advice and example, the only recompense he had to make him. but god did not permit him to remain here any more than two years. some who lived near romero, he 3 38 the life of gregory lopez. seeing in so young a man, and one who was of no religious order, so great mortification and such admirable wisdom and knowledge, even without a learned education, were afraid where no fear was, and accused him with so much -warmth before the archbishop of mexico, that he believed a judicial information ought to be taken concerning him. this information was taken in due form of law, and the sentence which the archbishop gave thereupon, made not only the innocence of lopez appear, but likewise his eminent virtue and piety. he then took his leave of romero, leaving both him, his family, and his neighbors swallowed up in sorrow. being in the way to mexico, he observed a church near testuco, where he imagined he might find some small lodging fit for a religious retreat. and so he did in his return from mexico. during the first seven months of his abode there, none knew what he was, nor took any notice of him. as he appeared like a simple man of little spirit and understanding, no one was forward to accost him, nor did any one perceive the immense treasure which god had hid in his soul. the life of gregory lopez. 39 by this means he was in so great necessity (as was afterwards known) that sometimes he passed several days without eating any thing but wild quinces. but afterwards, the people began to observe him more, and devout persons invited him to eat with them. his very uncommon abstinence and manner of life was then matter of edification to some; others suspected all was not well; and others concluded he was a secret heretic. these could not be at rest, till they had applied again to the archbishop, don pedro moya de conturas, who then determined to be more exactly informed of the life, manners, and sentiments of lopez. to this end i went to testuco; where, after i had conversed with him for a long time, i was thoroughly satisfied. of this i gave an account to the archbishop, who, in order to remove all future objections, commissioned father alphonso sanchez, a person of eminent piety and knowledge, to enquire more fully into his employments, exercises, and sentiments. he accordingly went, and asked him many questions, which he answered with much modesty and humility, but exceedingly briefly, till sanchez said, “i will 3* 40 the life of gregory lopez. declare to you frankly, it is my lord archbishop has sent me; and therefore, as you are one of his sheep, you are obliged to answer me with all plainness." he then began to interrogate anew, and to ask the most difficult questions concerning faith. lopez answered him with the utmost clearness, and supported all his answers with scripture, recounted all the heresies which had arisen against the truth, marking all the times and authors of them, and also the fathers and doctors that opposed them either viva voce or by writing; and all his answers were so judicious and solid, that the father stood in admiration of him—and much more at the manner wherein he answered all objections, either to his inward or outward conduct, which convinced him he acted with a prudence that was rather divine than human. he gave an account of all that had passed to the archbishop in a manner so advantageous to lopez, that this good bishop testified much satisfaction at having a man of so great virtue joined to his flock. the first time i spoke to his grace after this, he said, father sanchez, in giving him an account of lopez, had used these very the life of gregory lópez. 41 words, "in truth, my lord, i am obliged to acknowledge, that in comparison of this man, i have not yet begun to learn my spiritual a, b, c." while he was at testuco, several persons of all ranks, coming from mexico to consult him touching their spiritual distresses, they all returned much enlightened and comforted. all the people then began to take knowledge that he had a peculiar gift from god of easing and comforting the afflicted. 8* chapter vii. he goes to the hospital of guastepea: his inward and outward exercises there. after this servant of god had spent two years at testuco, he fell into so severe an illness, being attacked by so violent cholics and pains in the stomach, that he was constrained to remove from thence. he then went to the hospital of guastepea, twelve leagues from mexico, in the year 1580. he was received there by brother stephano de herrera in the best manner he was able, considering the poor condition the hospital was then in, being newly founded. he lodged him in his own chamber, and treated him with abundance of tenderness. the same he used towards all the poor that came to the hospital, although he had not then a revenue to feed them, or a building to lodge them in. indeed, it appeared impossible that he should, if things were but humanly considered. but the zeal of the life of gregory lopeż. 43 bernardin alvarez, the founder, and the blessing of god, conquered all things. i remember, that when i asked alvarez, whether he was willing to receive lopez into his hospital, he replied: * would to god there were room in my hospital to lodge all the poor in the world. or i have such a confidence in the goodness of jesus christ, that i cannot doubt but he would provide for them all." and how pleasing to god this his faith was, soon appeared. for in less than two years after the hospital was founded, they gave away there every day sixtyfive measures of bread. neither did they refuse to entertain any poor of any sort, men or women, spaniards or indians; not only those that came from new spain, but from guatimala and peru. and they were so well received, so well attended, and treated with so much care and love, that almost all these patients were in a short time restored to perfect health. as lopez was discharged from all outward care, he employed himself wholly in contemplation, in order to confirm himself still more in the love of god, and of his neighbor; of which he had so long before begun to lay the 44 the life of gregory lopez. foundation. but although this was only the continuation of the same spiritual exercise, yet the growth which he received day by day was such, that it appeared entirely new. he used to spend all the morning alone in his chamber. at noon, when the clock struck, he went to the refectory, having always his head bare, with an admirable modesty and gravity. he brought his pot of water, covered with a little napkin, and ate his portion as the rest of the patients, but did not speak at all, while he was eating, although others were talking round about him. after his meat, he drank the water, which he had set to warm in the sun, because of the extreme weakness of his stomach when grace was said, he remained some time, talking of spiritual things with the brothers of the hospital. but when any men of learning, or of a religious order, were there, he conversed with them on things of the most 'elevated nature; and that with so much moderation and wisdom, that one would rather have taken him for an angel than a man. no sooner was the conversation ended, than he retired with a cheerful countenance, with much civility, and a remarkable humility, carrying his pot the life of gregory lopez. 45 and his napkin into his chamber, where he remained in his ordinary recollection of mind till noon the next day. father hermando de ribera relates, that being then very young, and father herrera sending him to call lopez to dinner, he sometimes found him in a kind of trance, so that he did not answer when he was called. but when he continued to call, he answered, at length"what do you want, my son ?" "i come to call you to dinner," replied the child; on which he followed him, saying, "praised be god." he went on sundays and holy days, and some other days, with a mantle of the same cloth as his habit, to the public service of the hospital chapel; or if there was none there, to a neighboring monastery. those who were sick of any contagious distempers he could not visit, his own extreme weakness not allowing of it. he therefore the more earnestly exhorted the brothers to supply his lack of service-on which he spoke to them with such force as redoubled their fervor in that holy exercise. thus he performed by them what he could not do in person, and seconded his advice by his 46 the life of gregory lopez. continual prayers. as to the other sick, he comforted and encouraged them, in so touching and affectionate a manner, that they were unspeakably edified, and knew not how to praise god enough for his mercies. he was particularly assisted to calm the spirits of those, whom either their own natural impatience, or the greatness of their pains rendered so fretful and outrageous, that none else were able to bear them. as much as he loved solitude, he never shut his door against any who came for spiritual relief or comfort. and many declared their troubles to him, and opened their whole hearts. he administered comfort and counsel to them all, without ever refusing it to any; and, indeed, he did it in so persuasive a manner, that few went from him without much joy and satisfaction. many persons of learning also went on purpose to confer with him, concerning several passages of scripture, and were as much amazed at his knowledge of divine things, as his sanctity of manners. about this time, father pedro de pravia, first professor of divinity at mexico, who had refused a bishopric, and was equally eminent the life of gregory lopez. 47 for his humility, piety and knowledge, went privately to guastepea, talked with lopez a whole evening, and said, at parting, "you will come to me to-morrow morning." lopez went to him in the morning, conversed with him till noon, and, after dinner, continued the conversation till night. father pravia afterwards said, "i had heard great things of lopez; but i have found far more than ever i heard." while i was in the hospital, he compiled, for the sake of the sick, a book of receipts, containing simple remedies for most diseases. he wrote it all with his own hand, and so well that it looked as if it was printed. with these remedies, almost incredible cures were wrought; so that one would have thought the author of that treatise had made physic his study for several years; but indeed he had not studied it at all ; nor had ever learned that science but in one book, that of the love of god, and of his neighbor. he sometimes employed himself in mending his poor habit, which he did with great address? and he made himself a little brown cloak to cover him. as for a hat, he did not make use of any, unless he was abroad, when the 48 the life of gregory lopez. sun shone very hot. he was not skilled in making of shoes; but he mended his own so dexterously, that one pair served him more years. than three chapter viii. a severe illness obliges him to return to mexico; whence he retires to st. foy. god, whose will it was that the light of his servant should now shine in other places also, sent him a disease which was not known at first, which proved to be a purple fever. his great courage, his mortification and patience, made him pass thirteen days without taking his bed. but then the violence of his distemper constrained him to suffer himself to be treated like a sick man. being so weak as he was, he being blooded fourteen times, must needs have cost him his life, had not god preserved it for his own glory, and the profit of many souls. he recovered from that extremity, but there still remained an inflammation of the liver, attended with a slow fever; so that he was constrained to change the air for that of st. augustine, a village three leagues off from 50 the life of gregory lopez. mexico. he no sooner came hither, than he sent me word, just as i was taking horse to go and see him at guastepea. i went to st. augustine, but found him so weak, that it was absolutely necessary he should have more help than could be had there. so i removed him to mexico, to my own lodging. he remained there some months; and several persons, during that time, coming to consult him in points of the highest concern, were so profited thereby, that it clearly appeared god had brought him thither for that very purpose. all the time he stayed here, he never went abroad, but to hear divine service. and though the marchioness de villa manrico sent three times, desiring me to bring him to her, he excused himself by saying, "i have no need of seeing her, nor she of seeing me;' which was the more remarkable, because the viceroy, her husband, was greatly feared, and she had an absolute power over him. but some years after, hearing the marquiss was deeply afflicted at the coming of a commissary from spain, to take information of his actions, he told me, "if the marchioness desires to see me, i will go to her now." the life of gregory lopez. 51 but to return. health at mexico. his fever continued. he had no appetite, and was as weak as ever: so i sought for some country-place near mexico, which might be better for his health than we found the city to be. he did not recover his with this design we went together to st. foy, a town two leagues from the city. we judged it to be an extremely proper place, and we pitched upon a little house separate from the town. he settled at st. foy on the 22d of may, 1589, and passed the rest of his life there in contemplation and prayer, without ever going out of it but twice, to a church which is at a small half league from st. foy. before he communicated there, he fell on his knees before father vincent calba, and, striking his breast, said, "through the mercy of god, i do not remember to have offended him in any thing. give me, if you please, the most holy sacrament." which father calba repeating with amazement, said, "is it possible that a man should have attained so high a degree of virtue, as not to be conscious to himself of even an idle word." 52 the life of gregory lopez. in his little lodging here, he employed himself in the same spiritual exercises as before; having for several months scarce any company at all; only i visited him, as often as i was able, in doing which, i observed continually more and more, so great a depth of piety in him, that my affection for him, and my desire of living wholly with him, increased in the same proportion. i recommended this to god in fervent prayer, and desired several persons of piety to do the same, begging that he would be pleased to show me clearly, what was his will concerning me-for i had had the care of the great church at mexico for more than twenty years. and some judged, that i had done some good in my charge, were it only with regard to the poor who were ashamed to beg relief: for whom i had provided above ten years, by means of the alms which i procured for them. at length, i was convinced it was my duty to retire. my superiors consented to it. so i went to lopez on christmas day, the same year, and stayed with him till his death. i then observed. both day and night, all his actions and words with all possible attention, the life of gregory lopez. 53 to see if i could discover any thing contrary to the high opinion which i had of his virtue. but far from this, his behavior appeared every =day more admirable than before, his virtues more sublime, and his whole conversation rather divine than human. his life was so uniform, that by one day you may judge how he employed whole months and years. as soon as the day began to dawn, he opened the window of his chamber, washed his hands and face, and spent a quarter of an hour, or a little more, in reading the bible, in consideration of its being the word of god, who ordered him to read it; likewise to the end, that what he did not understand at one time, he might understand at another; but chiefly because he had such a reverence for the holy scriptures, that he took it for the rule of his conduct every day. after this reading, he entered into so deep a recollection, that one could not judge by any outward mark, whether he was speaking to god, or god was speaking to him. all one could conjecture from the tranquillity and devotion which appeared in his countenance, was, that he was in the continual presence of god. 54 the life of gregory lopez. but that presence of god wherein he lived was not barren or unfruitful, seeing it daily produced more and more acts of love to god and his neighbor-the love which is the end of the commandment, and the sum of all perfection. behold how this servant of god passed all the morning, all the evening, and great part of the night. behold the bread with which he nourished his soul every day! but, although this was in his mind continually, yet i have observed, it was in the morning chiefly, that he was, as it were, transported out of himself. he had not herein any determinate place, nor any fixed posture of body: but commonly he was standing or sitting; sometimes walking in his chamber; and sometimes he went for a few moments into the sunshine, in a little gallery, which was near it. as for kneeling, he could not, during the last years of his life, by reason of his extreme weakness. at eleven he quitted his posture of recollection, took his cup of water and his little napkin, and we two dined by ourselves, unless it fell out that any stranger came in; for he never sent any away, much less any person of piety. while we were at dinner, we talked on relithe life of gregory lopez. 55 gious subjects; and sometimes of natural things, and even from these he would take occasion to speak truths of the sublimest nature. after dinner, we continued for a while to entertain each other in the same manner; and if any person of a religious order came, it was a pleasure to hear lopez talk with him; but it was only by answering questions, or when occasions were given, for he never began the discourse. at other times i read to him, at this hour, the lives of the saints, the spiritual combat, or some such book. after this reading, which was a kind of recreation to us, he entered into his chamber, where he continued in union with god, which neither eating, nor conversation, nor business, nor any thing whatever, could interrupt. and as he never slept in the day, he had a great deal of time to converse with god: he had seldom any visitant in the morning; but, in the afternoon, his gate was open to all the world-he advised them, comforted them, and promised to pray to god for them. accordingly, in the last years of his life, he was perpetually visited not only by people of common rank, but by ecclesiastics, by men of learning and of authority, by gentle4 56 the life of gregory lopez. men and noblemen, who either came to see him themselves or wrote to him, to desire his advice, and to recommend themselves to his prayers. among these, don lewis de velasco, mar quis of salines, who had been twice viceroy of new spain, then viceroy of peru, and after wards president of the royal council of the indies, had such an esteem and affection for him, that he came several times to see him, and remained shut up with him for two or three hours-such a capacity did he find in him, not only for things relating to conscience, but also to secular affairs, even those which concerned the government of a kingdom. thus did he employ the afternoon. before sunset he returned to his chamber, whence he went out no more till morning. he never used any candle; upon which several inquiring, what he could be doing all that time he spent with. out light? i replied only, “they do not comprehend that his employ being wholly interior he had no need of a material light, but only that of a spiritual one, which enlightened the eyes of his understanding, no less by night than by day." the life of gregory lopez. 57 as he never eat in the evening, he remained alone till half an hour after nine o'clock, and then wrapt himself in his bed-quilt, which was the most delicate bed he had from his youth. for many years he lay on the bare ground; afterwards on some sheepskins. but a few years before his death, i constrained him to have a thin quilt, besides his coverlet. i do not think he slept in the whole night above two or three hours the rest he spent in contemplation till break of day; this he continued till god called him to an eternal repose. : before i speak of the time which he spent at st. foy, it may be proper to give a more particular account, both of the graces and supernatural gifts, with which it pleased god to enrich his soul. 4* chapter ix. the knowledge which god infused into his mind. he has sometimes owned, that god himself had given him to understand the scriptures. and so it appeared; for, though he never learned latin, he translated the scriptures from latin into spanish, in terms so proper, as if he had been equally acquainted with that and with his native tongue. it seemed, that the whole bible was continually before him. when men of learning asked him where such and such texts were, he not only told them without hesitation, but shewed the sense of them with such clearness, however obscure they were, that there remained no difficulty or obscurity in them. twenty years before his death, father dominic de salazar, afterwards archbishop of the philippines, said before several persons of learning, "what is this, my fathers, that after we have studied so closely all our lives, we the life of gregory lopez. 59 know nothing near so much of divine things, as this young layman ?" many persons of eminent knowledge came to him to resolve their doubts concerning passages of scripture; and they all returned, not barely satisfied, but amazed at the understanding which god had given him. indeed, he had a vast, comprehensive knowledge of things, even of the speculative sciences. and what he knew so well, that he spoke on any of these subjects, with as great clearness and accuracy, as any of those who had made it their particular study. when he was at guastepea, father jean cobus, an eminent divine, was astonished in conversing with him on the revelations, at the admirable observations which he made. the father prayed him to give them in writing. he did so in less than eight hours, and sent them immediately to him at mexico, without any rasure in them— who was no less surprised at his diligence, than he had been at his knowledge and piety. this tract has been admired by all the learned who have seen it, as the most excellent that was ever wrote upon the subject. 4* 60 the life of gregory lopez. yet he was exceeding far from taking any superiority upon him, from needlessly engaging in any dispute, and from setting himself up as a judge over others, or desiring that they should follow his sentiments. father antonio arias and some others, disputing one day concerning these words in the revelation, (chap. 21, ver. 1,) “i saw a new heaven and a new earth," whether they were to be taken literally or not? when all had spoken, lopez only said, "when we are there, we shall see what will be there." he knew with all the clearness which could be drawn from the scripture and other histories, all that passed from the creation to noah; and he recited all the generations, their degrees of kindred to each other, their several ages, and the times when they lived, with as much exactness, as if he had the bible before him, and was reading them out of the book. nor was he ignorant of the history of other people; but if occasion offered, could tell with the utmost accuracy (so far as any records remain,) what were their manners, their customs, and the arts which they had invented. the life of gregory lopez. 61 the same knowledge he had of what passed from noah to christ, and spake of those times as if they had been present to him. he referred all profane histories to the sacred; knew the wars and events which had occurred in any nation, to the birth of jesus christ, and spoke of them as clearly as he could have done of the things of his own times. he was a thorough master of all ecclesiastical history, since the birth of christ; as likewise of all the emperors, to philip ii., in whose reign he died. he was equally skilled in profane history, ancient as well as modern. he drew up a chronology from the creation of the world, to the pontificate of clement viii., so exact, though short, that all remarkable incidents, whether ecclesiastical or secular, were set down therein. but this knowledge was not limited to history. he was so knowing in astronomy, cosmography, and geography, that it seemed as if he had himself measured the heavens, the earth, and the sea. he had a globe and a general map of the world, made by his own. hand; so just, that i have seen it admired by 62 the life of gregory lopez. persons deeply skilled in the science; and he was so ready herein, that the marquis of salinas having sent him a very large one, he observed in it several mistakes, corrected them, and gave his reasons for it, and sent it back. he had so particular a knowledge of na tions, provinces, and the customs of them, that he could tell punctually where every country was, and in what degree of latitude; their cities, their rivers, their isles; the plants and animals which were peculiar to them-of all which he spoke as knowing what he said, yet without that arrogance which usually attends knowledge; because his, coming from heaven, was not sullied with the defects of that which is acquired in the world. he was well acquainted with anatomy, and several times made many curious remarks in that kind, which gave me reason to admire the wisdom of god, in the human frame, and to own that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. he was no less acquainted with the art of medicine; insomuch that he wrote (as was mentioned before) a book of excellent recipes, the life of gregory lopez. 63 cheap and easy to be procured; and god blessed them with remarkable success. he was an excellent botanist; he not only knew the quality of plants, and for what diseases they were proper, but likewise how those qualities might be altered, by mixing or infusing them with various liquors. i have seen and proved that he hath by this means made them quite different from what they were before. he told me, if he knew any good and skilful man, he would willingly give him these recipes-but that otherwise they must die with him, lest they should be applied to a bad use. he wrote several hands perfectly well, as may still be seen, particularly in the map of the world; all the writing whereof one would imagine to be print, the strokes are so elegant, bold and strong. but all this knowledge did not for a moment divert his mind from the one thing needful. when i asked him, one day, whether none of these things ever gave him any distraction? he replied, "i find god alike in little things and in great." god being the continual object of his attention, he saw all things only in god. chapter x. his skill in directing others. as god had given lopez peculiar knowledge in the holy scripture, so he instructed him likewise in an admirable manner, both to walk in the strait path to heaven himself, and to guide others. he saw spiritual things with the eyes of his soul as clearly as outward things with those of his body, and had an amazing accuracy in distinguishing what was of grace from what was of nature; and that not only with regard to himself, but those also who consulted him in their doubts and difficulties. several persons speaking before him, of helps to prayer, one said, "that the best help of all was music, and that he had never found so much sweetness and peace in prayer, as in the cathedral service at mexico." the life of gregory lopez. 65 another said, "it is much better to pray with others, and much easier than to pray alone," to which lopez said not one word. when they were gone, i asked, why he said nothing to them? he answered, "i would not condemn that conduct of theirs, which serves them as a staff to walk a little; if you was to take it away, they would not walk at all." god had given him so clear a discernment of words and thoughts, that he readily distinguished those that were useful and those that were not; such as came from god, and those that came from nature-upon which he was accustomed to say, "it was not the love of god, but the love of themselves, which made them speak of god." he said also, “as the love of god is all action, it talks little, and often not at all." it was from this light and quick discernment, his extreme circumspection in all his words proceeded. the same light freed him from all scruple, and kept his soul in admirable tranquillity; so that whatsoever attempts satan made upon his soul, he never had any doubts of any kind. many knowing and spiritual men came to 66 the life of gregory lopez. st. foy, to consult him touching their inward conduct; and he cleared all their doubts with so much ease, that they returned entirely satisfied. that which i admired, was the incredible brevity with which he answered them; and that those few words were sufficient to remove so great difficulties, so that they seemed to be, as it were, rays of light, which penetrated and enlightened their spirit; sparks which, proceeding from the love that burned in his heart, inflamed their hearts with the same love of god. one consulting him, who was in great trouble of mind, was eased at once by his speaking those words "i counsel thee to buy gold tried in the fire, that thou mayest be rich." another, under strong temptation, was delivered by his uttering only that text, "the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force." to many, who inquired what they should do to please god, he gave only this answer, "do what you do now, out of love to god, and it will be sufficient." to persons of letters, judges and men of business, he often said, "change your intention, the life of gregory lopez. 67 1 and you will do well enough." one desiring of him a rule for prayer, he gave him this answer in writing: "jesus christ our lord, is an admirable master, who can instruct you how to pray; and all prayer is included in his prayer; but that you may not complain that i refuse your request, i will tell you, you need only say these few words-'o lord, my god, enlighten my soul, that i may know thee, and that i may love thee with my whole heart."" but when persons came to him out of curiosity, not a real desire to serve god, he gave them no other answer than this: "there are teachers in the church." and antonio de avila coming out of curiosity, and with a design to dispute with him, lopez, as if seeing his heart, answered him at the first word, "i do not dispute; neither do i know any thing but what god teaches me. therefore, you are come hither in vain.” after that, it pleased our lord to make known the graces which he had given his servant-men saw. clearly what gift he had received for guiding those who came to him in their doubts and troubles. they were ravished to see the light which he had received from 68 the life of gregory lopez. god; they were charmed with the sweetness of his carriage; they respected him as a divine spirit, inclosed in a mortal body; they were persuaded that god himself instructed him, in all his actions, and all his answers he gave. they came to consult him as an oracle from heaven, as a prodigy of holiness. he fully satisfied all the doubts that were proposed to him; he instructed every one in the manner wherein he should behave in his profession. none were so afflicted but he comforted them; imprinted on the spirit of all to whom he spake, an ardent desire of holiness. his words were all words of fire, and inflamed the heart with the love of god. none went from him without feeling himself comforted and strengthened. in the year 1579, father francis losa, (who wrote the preceding and following parts of his life) being then rector of the largest parish of mexico, asked lopez whether he should not retire from the city, and live in some solitude as a hermit? he answered, "remain this year a hermit at mexico." losa returned thither, and his whole manner of life was entirely changed. whenever he went through the city, whether to collect or distribute charity, he felt the life of gregory lopez. 69 an inward recollection and prayer, which not all the noise and hurry of the city could interrupt. as if he had been fifty years in that holy exercise, he found himself a new man. having lost, in a moment, all thoughts of earth, and being filled with heaven alone, he renounced all compliments, visits of form, and needless conversation; and his only joy was, to retire into himself, and treat with god upon the affairs of salvation. he began to walk alone, unless he was obliged to go with any one on a work of charity; and the multitude of people whom he met, no more disturbed his attention to god, than if they had been rocks and trees. he immediately gave to the poor all his goods; he renounced all the pleasures of life; he dismissed all his servants, and employed all the rest of his days in serving god and his neighbor. he gave away upwards of six thousand ducats, and resolved to give up two thousand of his yearly income. he entered upon a course of rigorous fasting; meantime he was exercised with more violent temptations, both inward and outward, than ever he had had; but in all this he was more than conqueror. 70 the life of gregory lopez. at the end of the year, he went to lopez again; and, after having given him an account of all his life, he said, the year is expired; what shall i do now? lopez replied, "love god and your neighbor." in return to mexico, losa began to think on these words; but he thought he had thoroughly practiced them already, and accordingly found some repugnance in himself to the advice which lopez had now given him. but, remembering what advantage he had reaped from his first advice, he presently humbled himself, believing these words contained much more than he had at first imagined. he besought god to shew him the full meaning of them, and to pardon his pride. immediately he heard a voice in his inmost soul, "before thou canst love god, thou must renounce thyself, and die to all the things in the world." he offered himself to god for this with all his heart, and prayed the divine majesty to work this in him; and in the instant he found it in himself, and was so penetrated with his love, that, his understanding not being able to comprehend, nor his heart to contain so great a favor, he felt his bodily strength taken away, and thought the life of gregory lopez. 71 that he should have fallen from his horse. thus he found the excellence of the advice lopez had given him, and the efficacy of his prayer. so great a favor produced great effects. for he continued six years in the same fervor of love, experiencing all the christian graces, and enjoying all the fruits of the spirit. and these were his support for forty years after, in all the labor and pains which he had to suffer; so that nothing could move him from his resolution, in following, in all things, the will and guidance of god." it was in pursuance of this that he quitted mexico, and came to live wholly with lopez. the first night he spent there, he was in violent temptations, which he mentioned to lopez. in the morning, who replied, "i forgot you last night; it shall be so no more." and, in fact, the following nights he had no such trouble, but found his heart calmly staid on god. he remained with lopez seven years in the little house at st. foy, whom he eased of all care concerning temporals, having a small salary for taking care of a chapel in the hospital, which was sufficient for them both. after his death, he continued there twenty years, em72 the life of gregory lopez. ployed in the same private exercises, and in assisting the poor indians, who had received the faith, in all things pertaining to conscience. in the year 1612, sixteen years after the death of lopez, he wrote his life, and dedicated it to the marquis of salinas, being himself at that time eighty-four years old, as appears by the deposition which he made in 1620. 1 chapter xi. his government of his tongue, and his prudence. saith st. we may if any man offend not in word, james, the same is a perfect man, then pronounce lopez a perfect man; for all the eighteen years that i lived in the strictest intimacy with him, though i narrowly observed him, i never heard him speak one single word that could be reproved. he never spoke evil of any man-no, not of a heretic or a pagan. he was occasionally speaking one day of an emperor, who would 66 eat meat fresh killed when he was in the midst of the sea, and fishes which had been alive just before, when he was in the most inland country." i said, i said, "that was heliogabalus." he replied, "it is enough to condemn the action, without naming him that did it.” when he was told that certain persons spoke evil of him, he heard it without emotion, and said, first, "we ought to believe they had a 5 74 the life of gregory lopez. good intention:" and, after a while, "according to what they have heard said of me, they have reason to judge of me as they do." he strove not only to excuse the persons, but likewise (as far as truth would bear) the action, without ever attempting to justify himself. and when he could not excuse them, he readily shifted the discourse to another subject. his conversation was always of things useful and spiritual, meet to minister grace to the hearers. his manner of speaking was sweet, civil, and invariably serious and equal. the tone of his voice was not high, but agreeable; he was a perfect master of pronunciation; his discourses continually gained the hearts of those that heard them, and were delivered with such modesty as well as majesty, as made him appear a kind of heavenly man. i never observed, that either the beauty of heaven, the stars, or of the most green or flowery fields, or of the clearest fountains er streams, or the visits of any person whatever, whether at table or after, occasioned his speaking one idle word: i do not mean, a light or trifling word; this would have been an utter contradiction to his whole manner of life; but the life of gregory lopez. 75 even an unnecessary word: for he measured his words so well, that he spoke no more than was needful to make himself understood, and he never exaggerated any thing. as excellently skilled as he was in all the arts and sciences, yet even when he was among men of learning, and they were talking on those heads, he never opened his mouth," unless the discourse was addressed to him. and even when he spoke of the things of god, as deep as his answers were, they were expressed in the most simple terms; because he retrenched whatever would have been superfluous in them, and was content with satisfying the demands and needs of his neighbors. one day, standing at the window, i said to him, "see how hard it rains!" instantly a flash of lightning struck my hand, and made it smart exceedingly: i told him of it, and he replied, "you are paid as you deserve for your idle words; did i not see myself how hard it rained ?" upon his telling me, one day, a thing of great importance, i asked, "if you knew this, why did you not tell it me before?" he an5* 76 the life of gregory lopez. swered, "i do not speak all that i know; but only all that is necessary." he was as sparing of words in writing as in speaking. he never wrote first to any one, nor did he answer others, but when either necessity or charity obliged him to it; and then so precisely, and in so few words, that nothing could be retrenched. i have several of his letters in my hands, of five or six lines each, or less; some of them were wrote to don lewis de valesco, our viceroy, in answer to those he had received from him; one of them contained only these words, "i will do what you command me." and although this manner of writing might seem disrespectful to persons of so high a quality, yet it gave no offence from one who was so far from all compliment, and who never spoke any thing superfluous. but when the honor of god was concerned, the truth of the scripture, or the good of his neighbor, if others did not, he spoke without asking, and that largely, if the cause so required. for example-if any one in temptation, or great affliction, began to complain of god, it was amazing to hear with what strength of piety he spoke to convince them of their misthe life of gregory lopez. 177 take, ignorance and weakness of the depth of the wisdom and mercy of god, hid from the eyes of men in their afflictions, and of their obligations to abandon themselves to his conduct, and to throw themselves wholly into his hands. he heard, at all times, with attention, whatever questions were proposed to him; and he either answered them or not, as he judged it his duty. one of a religious order came to see him, and desired me to bring it about, that he might talk of god. i did; and he began a large, pompous discourse. observing lopez to make no answer, i desired him, by a private sign, to say something on the head. he answered me softly, that the doctor might not hear, "my silence will edify more than my words. when he went away, i asked him what he thought of lopez? esteem his silence, much." lopez said to me after, "i see that many talk well; but let us live well." he answered, “i he was used with much earnestness to plead the cause of princes, governors, and magistrates. to those who found fault with them, he often said, "if you were in their 5* 78 the life of gregory lopez. place, perhaps you would not do as well as they; and who gave you authority to judge them?" if they still insisted, "they were to blame;" he answered, "then you ought to speak it to them; it is useless to speak of it here." if persons who passed for religious, spoke evil of any one, he told them, "i cannot believe that any can be truly religious, who set themselves up for judges of the actions of others, and who speak to their disadvantage." on these occasions, his usual words were, "this is not the place to remedy this; it is not the business here." a person of authority speaking of the king's manner of governing, he said, "there is not a man in spain of more ability than the king: and are you more able than he ?" he stood reproved, and spoke no more. chapter xii. his patience and humility. he never mentioned to any one the pains he endured, nor sought consolation of any creature-only, sometimes, when he thought it might be of use to his neighbor, totell what had befallen himself: but nothing that befel him could ever disturb his recollection of mind. and that equality of spirit which he continually preserved, plainly shewed that he was raised above all human things, and entirely possessed with the thought of things above, without ever losing sight of them, although he frequently suffered great pain at his stomach, and violent cholics, he never made any complaint, nor indeed any shew of them i found it out only by his unusual weakness, and not being able to eat. observing this one day in particular, i asked him, "what is the matter?" he answered, "i have had : 80 the life of gregory lopez. a violent cholic for fifteen days, without intermission." he had a fever often; and he cured it by fasting, three, four, or five days. but how ill soever he was of any of these disorders, he never would keep his bed. while he was at st. foy, he had the toothache for almost a year together; but i did not perceive it by any outward sign, only that twice he used some herbs, which he knew to be good for it, and that sometimes it was so violent that he could not eat. he was accustomed to say on this occasion, "we ought not to desire sufferings, but to endure them valiantly when they come." and this he so steadily practiced, that one might have imagined he did not feel them-as i remarked from the very day that i saw him first. men naturally desire to be thought better than they are; but lopez was so far from this, that he always esteemed himself less than others, and i have heard him say more than once, "for many years i have judged no man; i have believed all to be wiser and better than me. i have not pretended to set myself up above others, or to assume any authority the life of gregory lopez. 81 over others." and hence he easily excused them who judged ill of himself. him, one day, that many had when i told spoken evil of them not only him, he answered, "i excuse with my lips, but with all my heart." hence, also, it was, that he did not desire that others should embrace his sentiments, and that he did not study to express them in such a manner as might recommend them to others. on which he told me, one day, “i knew a man once, who diligently studied what he had to say, and he had no opportunity of saying it at all; which taught him not to spend time so uselessly, but to trust in god, who will not fail to give help in time of need." he was also far from those inquietudes which arise from the uncertainty of success in our undertakings; insomuch as seeking only to please god, he considered those cares as obstacles to his design. accordingly, he was never in pain for the event of things; nor did he ever lay great designs beforehand, even touching the service of god and his neighbor. he looked upon this as a useless way of spending time, and was always for employing the present moment. as he was always on his 82 the life of gregory lopez. guard, if a thought of this kind came at any time into his mind, he checked it immediately by saying, "i am nothing, i am good for nothing." he was content to observe the law of god, without thinking himself worthy to see into futurity, although he was always prepared to do whatever the divine majesty should call him to. he was so far from all desire, that he has sometimes said to me, "ever since i came to new spain, i have never desired to see any thing in this world, not even my relations, friends, or country." he never desired to see angels or visions. "i only desire," said he, "to see god." and even in this, hè was wholly resigned to his will, as to the time and manner of it. to which he added, that the raptures and extasies which he had in this life, were only to unite him to god, and to com² fort him, and to conform him more and more to his holy will, that he might obey him in all things. the moment he came to the valley of ama jac, he kneeled down upon the ground, and taking his discipline, began to chastise his body; but his divine captain, whose wisdom the life of gregory lopez. 83 is infinite, suffered him not to go on-he spoke these words to his heart: "another shall gird thee and carry thee where thou wouldst not❞— giving him to understand that he was not to choose for himself, but god would discipline him according to his own good pleasure. he began by exercising him with inward trials, and those so painful, that he had need of all patience to suffer them. he has told me he could not think of them without trembling; but that he had never told the particulars to any one. yet it was easy to judge from his advice to others in their trials, that he had experienced the same himself; he answered them so exactly, as he could not have done, if he had not spoken by experience. other sufferings he had from the prince of darkness-who, knowing faith to be the foundation of all good graces, was continually striving to throw doubts or blasphemous thoughts into his soul; but his lowliness and firm confidence in god, as often as they returned, put them to flight. and he was no less eminent in denying himself, than in taking up and bearing his cross. from his first retiring, he resolved to eat noth84 the life of gregory lopez. ing to please his taste, but only to sustain life. and this he observed very religiously, even to his death, that when he was pressed to eat even some melow, or raisins, or figs, he only smelt the melow, and said, "this is enough for this year." on my telling him once, "you take no rest, and you can take none in the way you go," he replied, with a calm and cheerful countenance, "it is true, i cannot take any rest, while my brethren are engaged in so many labors and dangers; because it is not just, that i should think of rest, as long as they are exposed to those hazards. god keep me from giving way to such sloth! if but one of them is in danger, that is enough for me to continue to pray without ceasing for him." but what cost him the most pains of any thing in his whole life, was, always to follow the grace of god, as none can follow this without renouncing himself, grace so often demanding just the contrary to nature. accordingly, it was his continual endeavor to die to all created things, and to combat nature, which loves to enjoy them, to live in pleasure, and ease, and honor. he desired to be despised like his the life of gregory lopez. 85 master. he studied to forget all temporal things, and thought only of seeking god, and serving him. he received, with constant patience, all that could befal him, without seeking any satisfaction, or finding any, even in his virtues, but as they contributed to the glory of god, to whom alone his heart was attached, forgetting all things else. he had so great a hunger and thirst for god, that no creature could satisfy him. after this sovereign good he ran without ceasing, in spite of all his inclinations; and this agonizing after god, is a greater cross, and a heavier self-denial, than than any who have not felt it can conceive. chapter xiii. his prayer. several things give me reason to believe, that lopez began to pray from the time he began to reason; he has occasionally told me, "that he had never been a child; and that he had never cast one look backward:" whence one may easily infer, he had never been without prayer, even from his tender years. i have likewise heard him say, "that from the time he came to court, he prayed continually; and went through his business with the same inward peace, as he could have done twenty years after and that neither the noblemen he met in the way, nor the noise and distractions of the court any more interrupted his prayer, than if he had been in a cavern." he was brought at first, not by the and to this fear of hell, the founbut god always led him by love. dation of all his devotion was jesus christ, the only door whereby we can come to god. this the life of gregory lopez. 87 he has often told us, while he has spoke in so affecting a manner of the life and death of our redeemer, as made it clearly appear how well he was exercised in this kind of meditation. the first prayer wherein he was employed in his little cell, (as was observed before) was contained in these words: "thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven :" words that contained the most sublime and the most difficult doctrine in the whole spiritual life; for they contain a fixed resolution to do all that god requires, whether temporal or spiritual things, and an entire submission to his orders, by receiving at his hand, with tranquillity of spirit, whatever he pleases, how rough soever it might be; because the will of god being our sanctification, we ought to embrace whatever conduces to it; and to this end obey him without recompence, and the creatures for his sake. this is the way to be always in the presence of god, and to show our love to him by our obedience. this includes all true mortification in all our works, all our affections, all our desires; for it is to make a continual sacrifice to god of our 88 the life of gregory lopez. own will, and to have no end but to fufill his in all our actions. by this exercise, one arrives at a state of uniformity, that is, so strict an union of our will with that of god, that ours disappearing, we have no will but his, which actuates, guides and governs us. lopez has told me, that after the first year, he had no need to put himself in remembrance of his prayer, because his very drawing his breath reminded him of it every moment. the effect of which was, that he was continually raised above himself, without ever having a thought about worldly things; and that his understanding, memory, and will, were also taken up with this divine exercise; that great as his temptations were, they were no sooner past than he had forgotten them. after three years, god led him to practice another lesson, viz: "thou shalt love the lord thy god with all thy heart, with all thy soul, and with all thy strength; and thy neighbor as thyself." and he now employed himself with the same application, in those acts of love, as he had done before in those of resignation insomuch that i have heard him say, it the life of gregory lopez. 89 would be very difficult for him to discontinue this exercise for a moment, even in eating, in talking, or in any other employment, whether of body or mind. his soul being in this situation, he applied himself to the holy scriptures with more application than ever; in this he spent three or four hours every day; and the love which filled his heart, gave him understanding therein. by this means also, he acquired that wonderful discretion in his words, that prudence and wisdom in his answers and counsels, and that evenness wherewith he loved his neighbor as himself, and sought his happiness no less than his own. hence likewise proceeded that great purity of heart, that readiness in all kind of prayer, that entire mortification of all senses, and that constant power over all the powers of darkness. i have talked with lopez (says a person of eminent piety) sometimes for four hours together, upon spiritual things, and from what i saw and remarked in him, i judged him to be a man highly favored. his soul appeared to be disengaged from all things else, by a pure 90 the life of gregory lopez. union with god. him he always enjoyed in the essence of his soul, where the supreme majesty delights to dwell. this i could easily learn during an acquaintance of seven years, from many things which he communicated to me. hence i found that he was in a continual act of love with god; in which his soul, freed from all created things, was intimately united to god; that from this fountain flowed all the graces which it pleased our lord to bestow upon him. for at the same time that he received this pure, uninterrupted love, he made an admirable use of it on all occasions, as knowing that love is the source, the origin and mother of all other virtues; which god continually communicated to him, that he might communicate them to others, and enrich their poverty with his abundance. i asked him once "if he had any particular hours wherein he prayed more than at other times? and if he did not abate something of his prayer in his employments and conversations with his neighbors?" he answered, “that he had no particular hours, and that he had no necessity for them, since no created thing was capable either of interrupting or abating his continthe life of gregory lopez. 91 ual love to god and his neighbor. that 30 far from ever drawing back in this union with god, he advanced in it continually, referring to god by this simple act of pure love, all the graces which he was pleased to give him, without assuming any thing to himself: that this union was the source of all his knowledge; and that accordingly god himself was his teacher, and not his books, through which indeed he was sometimes taught." he told me likewise, "god had shown him there was then the greatest union between god and the soul, when it was such that nothing interposed between them; and that he had given him to comprehend what sort of union this was, from that which is between the light and the air for these, being two distinct things, and which have each its separate subsistance, are nevertheless united, that god alone is able to divide them, how much closer is this union between the pure essence of the soul, and him who is an infinitely pure spirit?" asking him one day, "what would you have done, if you had been a priest ?" he replied, "what i do now." "and how," said i, "would you have prepared yourself to celebrate the bles6 92 the life of gregory lopez. sed sacrament?" he answered, "as i now prepare myself to receive it. and if i were sure of dying in a few hours, i would do no other thing than i do now; for i do actually offer up to god all that is in my power, by a continual act of love. and can do nothing more till he shall enable me himself." he told me farther, "perfection does not consist in visions, revelations, ravishments, and extasies; although god often favors his servants therewith, because he acts towards every one, according to his capacity, his need, and the disposition wherein he is. but souls accustomed to acts of pure love, do not need the suspension of their senses, in order to have deep communion with god, because these do not hinder them therein." he added, "that he had never had any revelations, extasies, or ravishments, which had deprived him of his senses; nor had his senses ever occasioned in him any distraction of mind, because they were perfectly spiritualized, entirely subject to his reason, and conformable to the will of god." continuing the discourse, "i knew a man," said he, (by whom i was assured he meant himself,) "who for six and thirty years never the life of gregory lopez. 93 discontinued, for one single moment, to make with all his strength, an act of pure love to god." at another time i spake of some who acquired great inward peace by a passive union with god, and by a love which made them continually taste the grace which god communicated to them. he answered, "such souls are happy and walk in a good path. but yet the perfection is not so great in this state wherein one enjoys these sweetnesses, as in that wherein we labor with all our might, to love god in the most perfect manner we can possibly; because in the latter state, we act, rather than enjoy; whereas in the former, we rather enjoy than act. for a soul that perfectly loves god, can only give him what he gives first. and he requires no more; inasmuch as this is all the law and the prophets." 6* chapter xiv. his union with god, and the fruits thereof. i asked him one day, whether his not using a hat, was because he was always in the presence of god? he answered "no: my union with god being in my inmost soul, does not require me either to be covered or uncovered; but it is, that i may want as few things as possible, and that i may not make my body delicate." hence proceeded that humility which he possessed in so eminent a degree; being always so intimately united with god, he had a full knowledge of god's infinity, and his own nothingness; and earnestly desired that every one should consider him as nothing, and god as all. hence also it was, that he received whatever befell him from men with such patience and tranquillity of spirit, that he readily excused the life of gregory lopez. 95 those who despised or spoke evil of him, and that he never complained of any one. from the same fountain proceeded the perfect purity both of his body and soul. for the rays of divinity fell continually upon his soul, as those of the sun on a crystal mirror. by this act of pure love, his soul was transformed into the same image. and what purity was thereby communicated even to the body, can hardly be conceived in this life. hence sprung that purity of conscience also, which astonished the most spiritual; as one sees by his own words, "through the mercy of god, i do not know that i have sinned in any thing." and upon my asking, "is it possible for any one to remain for any time without committing sin ?"* he answered, "when those whom god has enabled to love *not without having been first made deeply conscious of its universal defilement-deep repentance under that conviction-faith to believe that god hath taken away thine iniquity-and profound seriousness, perpetual watchfulness, humility, and faithfully using the grace given as the fruits of it. hence those people who talk about sanctification, or being saved from sin, and bring not forth the fruits of it, we do not believe them. that saith he (thus) abideth in him, ought himself also so to walk, even as he walked." 1 john, ii. 6. "he 6* 96 the life of gregory lopez. him with all their soul, do, with his assistance, all that is in their power, and that with deep humility, it is possible for them to remain without committing sin; as clearly appears, in that our lord, who commanded nothing which was impossible to be performed, commanded this, "thou shalt love the lord thy god, with all thy heart, mind, soul, and strength. but he who does this, not only does not sin, but grows daily in all holiness." i replied, “but how can this be, when the scripture says, 'the just man sins seven times a day'? he answered, "this could not be taken literally; since : 99* 1 * the gospel does not say that a man cannot live without sin on the contrary, st. john positively declares"whosoever is born of god does not commit sin.” john iii. 9. christ speaks of the pure in heart; the good tree which cannot bring forth evil fruit; and the same apostle, of being cleansed from all unrighteousness. and can that heart be pure where sin still abides? is not sin evil fruit? and can any sin remain in the heart which is cleansed from all unrighteousness? again christ declares that he who is perfect shall be as his master. and st. john says, " as he is, so are we in this world." john iv. 17. finally, st. paul saith that "love is the fulfilling of the law." if, then, a man is cleansed from all unrighteousness, and filled with the pure love of god-if in this state of fellowship with god he uses the strength he has as a faithful steward thereof, is there a greater contradiction in the world, than to affirm that he must daily and hourly commit it, when thus free from it? the life of gregory lopez. 97 we see some who spend not only one day, but many, in uninterrupted prayer, and in one continued act of love to god." but although this servant of god was continually employed in this act of love to god and his neighbor, yet he had likewise other ways of praying, which did not hinder, but increase his union with god. when he had any great conflicts, he rejoiced to sustain them for love to god; and after he had conquered, he offered all that he had suffered, as a sacrifice to him. he offered him not only all the spoils won from his enemies, but the gifts and graces which he had given him, joined with fervent prayer, and an unspeakable sense of his obligations to the giver of every good gift: so that when he received any new grace or gift, his understanding being more enlightened, and his heart still more inflamed with love,instead of resting on those gifts and graces, he offered them to god, for whom alone he loved all that he received from him. he was likewise accustomed to offer to god the life, passion, and death, of our lord, sometimes in behalf of all the world; sometimes of particular persons. he told me one day, that 98 the life of gregory lopez. "he frequently practised two sorts of spiritual communion; the one, by an ardent desire of receiving jesus christ in the lord's supper; the other by receiving into his soul the father, son, and the holy spirit; thus becoming a living, pure temple of the ever-blessed trinity, actually giving them an abode in his heart, to dwell and rest there forever." he prayed earnestly for the church—for its increase, and for the propagation of the true faith through all nations; and for all sinners, that they might offend god no more, but might all love him and keep his commandments. what he asked for his neighbors with the greatest fervor, was, that they might do the will of god as it is in heaven. and this he did on all occasions. so that when he heard one say, "the king was extremely reverenced because of his power and justice, and that he possessed his realms in peace;" he immediately broke out, "lord, thou hast all justice, and all power; let all men reverence thee; and possess thou thy kingdom over all the earth in peace, throughout all ages!" if he heard of a father whom his children loved for his goodness, he would presently say to god, the life of gregory lopez. 99 "eternal father, thou art the source of all good; let thy children love thee." when one mentioned a gardener, who took great care to make his trees bear good fruit, he said, “suffer not, lord, any of thy creatures to perish, but make them all bring forth good fruit." if he heard of great wars, and many deaths, he lifted up his heart to god, saying, “see, lord, the miserable state of thy children, and my brethren, whom thou commandest me to love as my own soul." in a word, there was nothing, either good or evil, which did not furnish him with matter for prayer. he told me sometimes, that at one glance, he saw in god all that was in the world. hence one may judge how sublime his prayer was, and how great a resemblance he bore to god; seeing all the world was present, as it were, in epitome, and in his understanding; and by so peculiar a gift he reduced all to one point, to offer it to god. he was extremely desirous that every christian should continue to pray, even in outward works. and this he practised, not only in all he did, but likewise in all he spoke. for whenever he spoke, either in asking or answering any thing, he lifted up his heart to god, 100 the life of gregory lopez. and prayed for his assistance and blessing. particularly, whenever he had a desire to assist any one that was in distress, he had recourse to god by prayer. by this it was that he did so many surprising things; saying, often, "it was much better to treat with god than with man." by this means he could say, with the strictest truth, "i live not, but christ liveth in me." for he appeared to all who observed him with attention, to be a real portraiture of jesus christ, truly crucified in him, and having no affection but for a life wholly divine. being in a manner transformed into the image of christ, he had an ardent desire to follow him, in his life, in his labors, and in his sufferings, as the most perfect pattern that can ever be set before us. therefore he had no rest dur ing his whole life, but was laboring and suffer ing incessantly. he could continually testify, "to live is christ, and to die is gain." for it was his chief joy to suffer with jesus christ. in this he gloried, and in this alone; saying with the apostle, "god forbid that i should glory, save in the cross of our lord jesus christ. him the life of gregory lopez. 101 he regarded in all things, as the only model by which he was to form himself. he said with david, "my eyes are always lifted up unto thee, o lord." he was accustomed to say, "the eyes of a wise man always are fixed on christ, who is his head: and the soul that is touched with the love of god, is like a needle that is touched with the load-stone, which always points to the north. thus, in whatever place a truly spiritual man is, and in whatever he is employed, his eyes and his heart are always fixed on jesus christ. chapter xv. his last sickness and death. in may, 1596, he began to find himself out of order. he lost his appetite entirely; nor could he swallow any thing but liquids, and that not without much difficulty. a few days after, he fell into a bloody flux, which was the more dangerous, because he was so extremely weak. seeing the concern i was under, he said, "my father, now is god's time"meaning the time of shewing by facts his resignation and conformity to the divine will, according to his common saying, "true resignation consists wholly in doing, and not in talking." as soon as his sickness was known at the hospital in mexico, the superior of the hospital came to visit him; and believing he might want one to attend him, he brought with him brother pedro de sarmiento. when he was " the life of gregory lopez. 103 come, he could not but admire his patience and tranquillity of spirit. he asked, "if he should not leave his brother to attend him ?” he replied, with his usual gravity and sweetness, "he was not willing to deprive the hospital of any help, which perhaps they could not spare;" but being assured they could spare him, he willingly accepted his service. he bore his illness many days with his accustomed courage and patience, never complaining, were his pains ever so great. on the 24th of june, i thought it would be well to give him the sacrament. i asked him if he was willing to receive it. he answered, "yes, and particularly on st. john the baptist's day, for whom he had always had a peculiar veneration." i then gave it him without delay, fearing lest death should prevent, as he was exceeding weak, and received scarce any nourishment; besides that, he had an extremely troublesome hiccup, and his pulse began to intermit. his hiccup continuing, he said to brother pedro, "my brother, you know what this hiccup means;" intimating thereby that his death was near. 104 the life of gregory lopez. this day, and the following days, his illness increased continually-notwithstanding which, he would rise, even to the day of his death, and dress himself as oft as his distemper required, although he might have avoided that extreme fatigue by accepting the services of others. he grew weaker and weaker every day, and was not able to eat any thing, unless some sweetmeats, which certain persons of quality sent him from mexico-upon which he said, "thou art wonderful, my god, in that a man who possesses nothing in the world, having need of such food as belongs to noblemen, has it provided for him.” i never perceived in him, during his whole illness, any repugnance to the order of god, but an admirable peace and tranquillity, with an entire conformity to his will. all his vir tues shone marvellously in his sickness, and particularly his humility. a few days before his death, an indian of st. foy came to see him; and, as he did not understand the indian tongue, he said to me, "if you please, my father, hear him; perhaps he would give me some advice." such was his spirit-to believe the life of gregory lopez. 105 he might learn from an indian, in the state wherein he then was! all this time his pains of body were so great, that, when i asked him how he found himself, and in what part his sharpest pain lay, he answered, "from my head to my foot." it was then that a lady of quality came from mexico to visit him; but as she had not profited by his former advices, but still continued passionately fond of dress and gaming, i sent her word, "she might go back, for she could not see him. three or four hours passed in messages to and fro. at length, hoping it might have a good effect, i consented. she was admitted. she kneeled down by his bed, served him herself, and prepared his food with her own hands, with the utmost tenderness and humility. she was then dressed plain, without any ornaments at all. during the time she stayed at st. foy, she had much conversation with him every morning and evening, and with many tears recommended herself to his prayers. from that time she felt an entire change in her heart, abhorring the things of which she was fond before. and, some days before she returned to mexico, she told me with great 106 the life of gregory lopez. joy, "my father, you shall be witness that gregory lopez has taken charge of my soul." he replied, "i have so." immediately his pains redoubled, and she on her part felt herself struck with the same illness which he had. nevertheless, she continued two days serving him on her knees, and shedding abundance of tears. but her illness increasing daily, she was constrained to return to mexico. lopez said to her, at parting, "madam, farewell: we shall see each other no more." as her illness increased, in the same proportion increased her shame and sorrow for her sins and so did his pains. when she was in extremity, one came from her, to beg he would remember her, he answered to my astonishment, "yes, i do; and i carry this weight on my shoulders." in fine, the lady died, giving all the proof that was possible of a saving change. i heard of it a few hours after. when i mentioned it to lopez, he expressed his joy in these few words, "god has all power." i have related this to shew how deeply the love of his neighbor was rooted in his heart, and with what ardor he assisted, even in his utmost weakness, the souls that were in danger, the life of gregory lopez. 107 punand even taking as it were to himself the ishment of their sins, as he seems to have done on this occasion. seeing, besides the excessive pains of body which he felt, the inward cross which he bore from the time that he charged himself with this soul, was so extremely heavy, that he was astonished at himself; and not knowing before what it was to complain, he then cried out, with the strongest emotion, "jesus, assist me! my god, how severe is this refining fire!" and one time, when i was going out, he stopt me, saying, "my father, do not leave me. alas! it was not without great reason, that christ bade his apostles stay and watch with him." such a word as never fell from him before in the severest trials, either of body or soul. yet, in the midst of all his inward pains, his courage and faith were unshaken. i frequently asked, during all those storms, "do you continue that act of pure love?" he answered, "that is always the same." to set which in the clearest light, i will repeat the several questions which i proposed, when i saw him at the lowest ebb, and his answers. 108 the life of gregory lopez. one time, i asked if so great pain did not a little divert him from thinking on god? he answered, "not in the least." another time, seeing him suffer extremely, i said, now is the time to think upon god. "and of whom should i ever think," was his reply. when he was in the very pangs of death, i said, are you thoroughly united to god? he answered, "yes, thoroughly.” another time he turned to me, and said, "perseverance, joined with peace, is of great price." and when i comforted him by saying god led him in the way of the cross, as he had done his own son, he replied, "i cannot be too thankful for it, nor rejoice in it too much. his holy will be accomplished in me." in fine, when it appeared to me time to give him the blessing, i said, behold the time of going to see the secret of the lord-he answered, "all is clear, there is no longer any thing hid—it is full noon with me." plainly declaring, that the light which then shone upon his soul far surpassed that of the noon-day sun. and in this marvellous confidence, full of faith, hope, and love, he gave up his spirit to god. the life of gregory lopez. 109 this was on saturday noon, on the 20th of july. he lived fifty-four years, thirty-four of them in america. his face appeared as if he had been still alive. his flesh, all over his body, was. as soft as that of a little child; and many who touched him, even for twenty-four hours after, found all the parts of his body full as flexible as those of a living man. his corpse was carried into the church, where it remained all the night. the indians covered it with roses, and abundance of other flowers, as a testimony of their love, as soon as his death was known at mexico, many persons of quality, as well as people of all ranks, ran to st. foy, that they might be present at his funeral. all appeared full of joy and consolation, believing there was no occasion for tears here, as at the death of other persons, but rejoicing with him who was now triumphing in his own country. his body was interred near the high altar, the dean of mexico performing the office, and brother hernando hortez, one of the cannons, preached his funeral sermon. he was of a middle size, and so exactly proportioned, that no blemish could be found in 7 110 the life of gregory lopez. him. but his constitution was tender; his hair was chesnut; he had a large and high forehead his eye-brows were arched, his ears small, his eyes black, and his sight so strong that he read the smallest print or writing without spectacles. his nose was inclining to large; his lips small, though the under lip somewhat thicker than the other. his teeth were even and white; his face and hands of a dead, wan color, through his extreme abstinence. but the beauty of his soul shone through his face, and wrought such a reverence in all who beheld him, that they considered him rather as one just come down from heaven, than a mortal creature. the ꮋ ꭼ ꭱ ꮇ ꭵ ꭲ . the hermit.* by dr. t. parnell. far in a wild, unknown to public view, from youth to age a reverend hermit grew ; the moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, his food the fruits, his drink the crystal well: remote from man, with god he passed the days, prayer all his bus'ness, all his pleasure praise. a life so sacred, such serene repose, seem'd heav'n itself, till one suggestion rose; that vice should triumph, virtue vice obey, this sprung some doubt of providence's sway; * it is impossible (says a writer) for any one who has a taste for poetry to read this poem without pleasure and profit. a late celebrated writer justly observes, that this poem "is conspicuous, throughout the whole of it, for beautiful descriptive narration. the manner of the hermit's setting forth to visit the world; his meeting with a companion, and the houses in which they are successively entertained, of the vain man, the covetous man, and the good man, are pieces of very fine painting, touched with a light and delicate pencil, overcharged with no superfluous coloring, and conveying to us a lively idea of the objects."-dr. blair's lectures on rhetoric, vol. iii. page 163. 7* 114 the hermit. his hopes no more a certain prospect boast, and all the tenor of his soul is lostso when a smooth expanse receives imprest calm nature's image on its watery breast, down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, and skies beneath with answ'ring colors glow: but if a stone the gentle sea divide, swift ruffling circles curl on every side, and glimmering fragments of a broken sun, banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run. • to clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, to find if books, or swains, report it right; (for yet by swains alone the world he knew, whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew) he quits his cell;-the pilgrim-staff he bore, and fix'd the scallop in his hat before; then with the sun a rising journey went, sedate to think, and watching each event. the morn was wasted in the pathless grass, and long and lonesome was the wild to pass; but when the southern sun had warm'd the day, a youth came posting o'er a crossing way; his raiment decent, his complexion fair, and soft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair. then near approaching, "father, hail!" he cried; and "hail, my son!" the rev'rend sire replied. the hermit. 115 words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, and talk of various kind deceiv'd the road; 'till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part, while in their age they differ'd, join in heart: thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around. now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day came onward, mantled o'er with sober grey; nature in silence bid the world repose: when near the road a stately palace rose : there, by the moon, through ranks of trees they pass, whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass, it ehanc'd the noble master of the dome still made his house the wandering stranger's home? yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease. the pair arrive: the liv'ried servants wait; their lord receives them at the pompous gate. the table groans with costly piles of food, and all is more than hospitably good. then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. at length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day along the wide canals the zephyrs play ; fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, and shake the neighboring wood to banish sleep. 116 the hermit. up rise the guests, obedient to the call, an early banquet deck'd the splendid hall; rich luscious wine a golden goblet grac'd, which the kind master forc'd the guests to taste. then pleas'd and thankful, from the porch they go ; and, but the landlord, none had cause of woe; his cup was vanished; for in secret guise the younger guest purloin'd the glittering prize! as one who spies a serpent in his way, glist'ning and basking in the summer ray, disorder'd stops to shun the danger near, then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear; so seem'd the sire; when far upon the road, the shining spoil his wily partner show'd. he stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart, and much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part; murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard, that generous actions meet a base reward. while thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, the changing skies hang out their sable clouds; a sound in air presag'd approaching rain, and beasts to covert scud across the plain. warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, to seek for shelter at a neighboring seat. 'twas built with turrets, on a rising ground, and strong, and large, and unimprov'd around; the hermit. 117 its owner's temper, tim'rous and severe, unkind and griping, caus'd a desert there. as near the miser's heavy doors they drew, fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew; the nimble light'ning mix'd with showers began, -and o'er their heads loud-rolling thunder ran. here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, driven by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. at length some pity warm'd the master's breast, 'twas then his threshhold first received a guest) slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, and half he welcomes in the shiv'ring pair; one frugal fagot lights the naked walls, and nature's fervor through their limbs recalls : bread of the coarsest sort, with eager wine, (each hardly granted) serv'd them both to dine; and when the tempest first appeared to cease, a ready warning bid them part in peace. with still remark the pondering hermit vie v'd in one so rich, a life so poor and rude; and why should such (within himself he cried) lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside? but what new marks of wonder soon took place, in every settling feature of his face! when from his vest the young companion bore that cup, the gen'rous landlord own'd before, and paid profusely with the precious bowl the stinted kindness of this churlish soul. 118 the hermit. but now the clouds in airy tumult fly; the sun emerging opes an azure sky; a fresher green the smelling leaves display, and glittering as they tremble, cheer the day; the weather courts them from the poor retreat, and the glad master bolts the wary gate. while hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought with all the travel of uncertain thought; his partner's acts without their cause appear," "twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here: detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, lost and confounded with the various shows. now night's dim shades again involve the sky; again the wanderers want a place to lie, again they search, and find a lodging nigh. the soil improv'd around, the mansion neat, and neither poorly low, nor idly great : it seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind, content, and not for praise, but virtue kind. hither the walkers turn with weary feet, then bless the mansion, and the master greet: their greeting fair, bestowed with modest guise, the courteous master hears, and thus replies: "without a vain, without a grudging heart, to him who gives us all, i yield a part; the hermit. 119 from him you come, for him accept it here, a frank and sober, more than costly cheer." he spoke, and bid the welcome table spread, then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed, when the grave household round his hall repair, warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with prayer. at length the world, renewed by calm repose, was strong for toil, the dappled morn arose ; before the pilgrims part, the younger crept near the clos'd cradle where an infant slept, and writh'd his neck: the landlord's little pride, o strange return! grew black, and gasp'd, and died. horror of horrors! what! his only son! how look'd our hermit when the fact was done? not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder part, and breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart. confus'd, and struck with silence at the deed, he flies, but trembling fails to fly with speed. his steps the youth pursues; the country lay perplex'd with roads, a servant shew'd the way : a river cross'd the path; the passage o'er was nice to find; the servant trod before; long arms of oaks an open bridge supplied, and deep the waves beneath the bending glide. the youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin, approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in : 120 the hermit. plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head; then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead! wild, sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes, he bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries, 'detested wretch!"-but scarce his speech began, when the strange partner seem'd no longer man : his youthful face grew more serenely sweet; his robe turn'd white, and flowed upon his feet; fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; celestial odors breathe through purpled air; and wings, whose colors glittered on the day, wide at his back their gradual plumes display. the form ethereal bursts upon his sight, and moves in all the majesty of light. though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew, sudden he gaz'd and wist not what to do, surprise in secret chains his words suspends, and in a calm his settling temper ends. but silence here the beauteous angel broke, (the voice of music ravish'd as he spoke.) "thy pray'r, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, in sweet memorial rise before the throne: these charms, success in our bright region find, and force an angel down to calm thy mind; for this commission'd, i forsook the sky : nay, cease to kneel-thy fellow servant i. the hermit. 121 "then know the truth of government divine, and let these scruples be no longer thine. "the maker justly claims that world he made. in this the right of providence is laid; its sacred majesty through all depends on using second means to work his ends : 'tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye the power exerts his attributes on high, your actions uses, nor controls your will, and bids the doubting sons of men be still. "what strange events can strike with more surprise than those which lately struck thy wond'ring eyes! yet taught by these, confess the almighty just, and where you can't unriddle, learn to trust. "the great, vain man, who far'd on costly food, whose life was too luxurious to be good; who made his ivory stands with goblets shine, and forc'd his guests to morning draughts of wine, has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, and still he welcomes, but with less of cost. "the mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door, ne'er mov'd in duty to the wandering poor; with him i left the cup, to teach his mind that heav'n can bless, if mortals will be kind. conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, and feels compassion touch his grateful soul. 122 the hermit. thus artists melt the sullen oar of lead, with heaping coals of fire upon its head ; in the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, and, loose from dross, the silver runs below. "long had our pious friend in virtue trod, but now the child half-wean'd his heart from god; (child of his age) for him he liv'd in pain, and measur'd back his steps to earth again. to what excesses had his dotage run? but god, to save the father, took the son. to all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go, (and 'twas my ministry to deal the blow.) the poor fond parent, humbled in the dust, now owns in tears the punishment was just. "but how had all his fortune felt a wrack, had that false servant sped in safety back? this night his treasur'd heaps he meant to steal, and what a fund of charity would fail! "thus heav'n instructs thy mind: this trial o'er, depart in peace, resign, and sin no more." on sounding pinions here the youth withdrew, the sage stood wond'ring as the seraph flew. thus look'd elisha, when to mount on high his master took the chariot of the sky; も ​ the hermit. 123 the fiery pomp ascending left the view; the prophet gaz'd, and wish'd to follow too. the bending hermit here a pray'r begun, "lord, as in heaven, on earth thy will be done.” then gladly turning, sought his ancient place, and pass'd a life of piety and peace. lately published, by john eyr e,ˆ and sold at 40 fulton street. the christian spectator; comprising a journey from england to america-two years in that cts. state, travels in america, &c. 18 also, the european stranger in america, 25 together, (unbound) 37 bound, (together) 50 a سلام • no. ii. 32 pages. cameron & ferguson's. stirring adventure novels. one penny. a romance of the pampas. published by cameron and ferguson. west bile 975eet, glasgow cameron & ferguson's threepenny novels and sixpenny novelettes. •> • «<• complete novels of great and thbilling interest. with pictorial coloured covera. issued monthly. no. ii. 32 pages. cameron & ferguson's. stirring adventure novels. one penny. a romance of the pampas. 30 published by cameron and ferguson. west bile street, glasgow 2: re 212371 3 homema cevoli orutnova wokamon batmates to .15% 107119 a romance of the pampas; the hermit of the colorado hills. or, chapter i. the pampas-herds and herdsmen-the panther and deer. what a glorious dream of freedom are the pampas! where can mind, heart, lungsay, and the very soul, so drink in a realizing sense of freedom-so feel the perfect expansion that is typical of what we call the infinite? an earth-sea, with billows of brightest green, whose crests are foaming with rosy gold, and the valleys between a changing haze of emerald. morning upon the pampas! just where they lift their grassy slopes up toward the mountains, that seem stooping down to meet them, a vast herd of lithe-limbed, graceful, slender-horned and fiery-eyed cattle of that sunny clime are browsing. thousands upon thousands are rioting in the dewy freshness, grateful for repose unbroken by the sun, and the drops of glittering dew hid in each flowery cup. mottled, many-coloured, or with sides shining with raven blackness, they wander in these god-planted and cultivated gardens a-maying all their life. there are watchful eyes upon them. so much wealth is not to be trusted untended. man will watch everywhere that which is the representative of wealth; so, perched almost like an eagle's nest upon the side of the nearest mountain, appeared the hut of the herdsman, affording a look-out over the wide expanse of that verdant ocean. from that point he could mark the wandering of his four-footed charges, see the approach of storm, mark the first gleam of the tropical sun, and guard against the stampeding comanches. there are brave hearts beating in those little eyries; hearts that are as careless of danger as their tough frames and bowstring-like sinews are of fatigue; men stout-limbed, keen-eyed, and ready with the rifle and the lariat. sun-embrowned, and with long hair and beard streaming to the wind, dressed in tough deer-skin, and mounted upon but halftrained mustangs, they are the very picture of health, muscular beauty, daring and grace, as they dash headlong among their unbroken herds. 11 there is no half way with the herdsman. blood alone can pay for blood. generous to a fault, daring even to rashness, tenderhearted even to tears, but stern as death itself, he has made his mark upon the histronic pages of the south-western border, and written his name on the battle-fields of texas and mexico. before a herdsman's hut, early in the morning of a bright may day, were three men, alike in stature, dress and station. all were herdsmen, and all men who laughed danger t scorn. one was already mounted, one draw ing still more tightly the rope-girths of his huge saddle, and the third leaning upon his rifle. "i tell yer, bruce weaver," said the one who was still unmounted, though his fiery mustang stood feeding within reach of his bridle-arm, addressing the one who was checking his inore than impatient steed, "i tell yer, we hain't bin so long left erlone and in quiet for nothin'." "i know, sy glover, yer allus playin' on ther same string. it's ther old cry of 'arter er calm, er storm."" "waal, ef i am, you'll find it ter be true. them cattle out yender are too temptin' er bait fer ther red-skins ter long keep ther hands off of. we'll have er brush before long, or yer may call me a greaser." "let it come then! it's mighty dull out here, and i'm achin' fer er fandango of some sort. now er shot or two at somethin' besides a thievin' kioter wouldn't set er feller back none-not ther least grain in ther world i'll bet an ounce that i kin pick off ther scalp. lock every time at two hundred yards." "good shootin' that," answered the man who had hitherto been silent. "i've known yer ter miss ther red spot on er blackbird's wing, when he warn't more'n half that distance." "waal, you needn't laugh about it, rob hamblin. that war when i had that thar old rifle, that warn't no better nor er shot-gun." "it ain't allus ther best gun that makes ther best shot, i kin tell yer. but thar go some of ther cattle cavortin' off toward ther old buffaler lick;" and swinging himself upon 2 a romance of the pampas; or, his horse, he dashed down the slope, and was scon lost in the deep grass of the pampas. "rob is right. i tell yer he is right," continued glover. "waal, perhaps he is, sy; but yer ullus er grumblin' erbout somethin' or nuther." "you may find that i do not grumble fer nothin'; arter all. but rob is true as steel, and sure as er flint when it comes ter trouble." "yes, he's all that; but s'pose yer git done fixin' yer old saddle, and go along with me ter help him turn them cattle. i believe ther gnats and musketers and gallinippers will eat off their hides erfore they have done with them-ther blood-thirsty reptiles !" "better look arter yer own, ef ther comanches take er notion fer er few horns." "i wished they would take that thar broadhorned critter, för, of all ther rampaging brutes i ever saw, that beats all." "ef he hadn't bin er kind er pet of ther old man's i'd have put er bullet spang through the curl of his head long ago, and had er good brile out on his tenderline. he's worse nor er hull drove of buffalers. but it won't do, and all ther more beca'se he's er comin' out here soon." "comin' out here ?" "yes, of course he is." "i don't believe it." h "l 'yes, all ready land-but-" and suddenly springing from his horse, he motioned to ris comrade, and hid himself behind the trunk of a giant tree. 1 "comanches!" whispered the other, as he sprang to his side, with his rifle ready for instant use # # "i reckon; but lie low. hark!" a rushing in the bushes, a sharp cracking of dry branches, and, leaping from the tangled gloom into the sun-light, came a noble buck. terror was the incentive of that race, as, clearing the ground with great leaps, it dashed on, regardless of its course. . "er painter!" whispered glover as it passed. the two herdsmen, raised their weapons and fired. even when in mid-air, the twin bullets reached heart and brain; and, convulsed in death, it fell and rolled down the mountain side. chapter ii. a ranche-father and daughter. "i tell yer it's true, and i shouldn't wonder. ef he brought his gal erlong with him." "brought out his daughter." "yes, yer know she's sotted on it for er long time." pshaw! i kinder reckon it war only fer ther sake of havin' somethin' to talk erbout." "no, it war in right down earnest." nature, aided by art and its refinements, has created many a home of exquisite beauty in the land of the south, that stands unrivalled by any in a more changeable and winterswept region. not that the planter builds castles or towers, piles up huge masses of stone, or that turret or wall are stained by time or wrapped in ivy. such massive structures would be entirely out of harmony with the scenes of nature around. in unison with her caprices, his house is light, graceful, and modelled with exquisite taste. 60 waal, ef he does bring her he's a fool." "but such a pooty gal would look more like er angel than er human way out here." "you may well say that. but what ef ther indians should come, as rob hamblin allows they will erfore long ?" far up on the brazos river stood such a "we'll have somethin' ter fight for then house, surrounded by flowers of every known worth the saving. hue and perfume. besides our lives. but it's time we war er lookin' arter them cattle." "yes, rob has more'n his hands full." "waal, i'm ready, are you?" descended from the heroes who came thither with hernando cortez, the owner of this mansion was proud of his pure castilian blood. in the room, glittering with the luxuries of one of the transatlantic climes, sat a young girl, more than beautiful in all adornments of nature and art. young she was in years— just trembling on that mystic boundary line that divides girl from womanhood. through the transparency of her castilian complexion, the warm southern blood flushed with a delicate crimson. her eyes were large, changeful, and intensely black. her hair, that crowning gift of beauty in womanhood, was long, silken and fine, and, like that of all her race, was black as jet. her figure was tall and exquisitely moulded, and the daintily-jewelled fingers and slippered feet were sign-manuals of the purity of blood which was her only parent's boast. only for hardly had she opened her eyes in the regions of enchantment around her, before heaven called a soul home in recompense for the new one given to earth. leaping with its long, tireless fling, with blood shot eyes and open jaws, came the lion of the south west, in eager pursuit of its prey. litheas a cat, and sinewy as a face-horse, it sprang from point to point, and short, indeed, would have been that woodland race, had not "it's too bad," said weaver, "that both on us fired. ef we hadn't er done so, we'd er had some splendid venison. just look at that feller now! two good inches of tat on his brisket, i'll bet er ounce ! "ef yer had er, dozen loaded rifles, yer shouldn't shoot that buck. he had er long run and er hard one for his life, and no man should shoot him while i wher er round." it was a true woodman's tribute to the most beautiful of all the dwellers of the forest. a sharp snort, a swift bound, and the deer became lost to their sight, dashing down into the grassy pampas, to seek its own kind. 66 come," continued glover, after both had reloaded their rifles. "come, it's time we whar lendin' er helpin' hand ter rob," and flinging himself upon his mustang, he hurried away in pursuit of the insect-tormented cattle, closely followed by his companion. half reclining, the petted beauty sat beautiful in mind and person, for she posthe heaml uf cudumadu bles. лаг sessed all the adornments of a finished education, and was heir of all the countless wealth around her. she kept her languid position, tired with gazing on the splendour, and faint with the perfume that stole in on every side. she dreamily listened to the songs of the birds, and watched them through the window. she was thinking of the glorious days when mailed men shouted the old battle-cry-when "santiago and spain" rang thundering thro' the land, and the yellow banner of castile and the cross swept widely over the throne of the haughty montezuma, perchance she was sighing for the splendours and pomp of the pictured glories of ferdinand and isabella. perchance-but she cut her reverie short, and took from a quaintly-caryed table at her side a tiny bell, and rang it gently. 66 'quito," she said, and the soft, almost voluptuous spanish melted upon her lips like music-"quito, where is my father?" a slave, fancifully dressed had entered at her signal, and stood waiting her commands. "quito," she repeated, as he bent before her, "have you seen my father?" by motions only was his reply made, and in them appeared a solution of the strange sorrow that always rested on his face, except in her presence. the boy was dumb! not so by nature, but by the hand of a brutal master. for some unknown offence, a monster in the shape of man had caused his tongue to be cut off, and, when still suffering from the fiend-like deed, the mother of his present mistress had rescued him, and made him her own attendant. was there anything to be wondered at in his blind idolatry-his total self-abnegation? "when he returns, good quito, i want to see him," she continued. then the boy withdrew, and she sunk back upon the silken cushions to resume her day-dreams. an hour passed. the mocking-bird poured forth its rattling rhapsody of notes from the leafy crest of the cocoa-nut tree, and the rustle of orange and magnolia leaves, and all the countless melodies of nature came commingled to her ear, soothing her to forgetfulness. a step rang proudly upon the rush-covered floor of the hall, and, springing to her feet, she flew into her father's arms to receive his embrace and kiss for kiss. "well, inez, daughter, were you tired with watching for your father? my child, it must be lonely here." "when you are here, dear father, i am never lonely." "then you should take your horse when i am too long away, follow, and bring the wanderer back." "would that be quite maidenly, dear father?" "there spake the blood of old castile! well, inez, what new toy shall i purchase to gratify my daughter ?" "i have more beautiful things already than i wish." "do you not want another slave to pet and spoil?" "no, no," was the laughing reply. "another horse, then?" "no. de soto would admit of no rivalry in his mistress' love; he is a jealous creature." "but you must have some wish for pearls, or a larger hoard of precious stones?" "still no, dear father." "what. i have bought you half-a-dozen opals, rich with light." father, you know how little i value such things! gems are but stones, more or less bright." "aha! my little one is turning anchorite! what shall it be then, daughter? another hound or bird ?" 66 no, father, none." "there is but one thing left that a maiden sighs for." "and what is that ?" why, child, if your books don't tell you, ask your heart!” 66 61 my heart ?" "truly, your heart! your mother's answered to the question when i first asked it of her, and found her wish." 66 found what ?" a husband, girl." 66 father, for shame!" and she turned away to hide her blushes. "if that's not it, why, i'll have to give it up. but, i only jest. thank heaven, you are heart-whole yet, and he who marries my daughter must be more than a prince. he must be a man!" "father, you know that i love no man but you." saint jago, but i believe that! well, well, we'll say no more of this. now, what will my beauty have ?" 66 "nothing, except-" except? then there is one thing at 66 least." "when you are going to the pampas, dear father?" and she laid her hand softly on his arm and looked into his eyes. "so, so! you wish to hold me to my foolish promise i made to you long ago. well, i don't know; you may be as safe there as any where." "should i not be safer with you, than here ?" • "possibly; but you little realize the hardships-to say nothing of the dangers." "i do not fear them." 66 but, suppose the indians should attack us ?" "still, my father's daughter would not be afraid." "so young, and yet so brave! but think, inez22 "but your promise, father." "s 'jose herera never yet broke his word, even when jesting. you shall go, my child." "thank you, dear father. when shall we set out?" "how soon can you be ready ?". "to-morrow." "a very short time that for preparation, but, you will have to curb your impatience." "curb it-why ?" "do you not recollect, to-morrow?" "to-morrow-to-morrow! no; nothing of importance connected with it.” 4 a romance of the pampas; or, "you should, my child, for it was yourself that made the promise." "promise? what promise, father?" "that the slaves should have a holiday." "it is true. in my own happiness, i would have forgotten theirs. see how selfish i am." "what would they do, if their young mistress deserted them? who but her should reward the slave that captured the largest fish in their evening sport?" "none, certainly. no, not even for my own gratification-not for all the pleasure i anticipate in going to the pampas-would i disappoint our faithful servants. three days hence, then, let us go, father." "so shall it be. i will seek quito, and tell him of my wishes." "and so your shadow will follow you there, inez ?" 66 yes, certainly," and with affection's kiss still lingering on their lips, they separated more than happy in each other's love. chapter iii. the slaves' holiday-night island-the lagoon. fishing the negroes, when dressed in their holiday costume, brightly decorated with ribbons, turbans, and tinsel jewellery, are always picturesque sight. when contented and happy, there is no song that rings so gaily, or laughter so loud as theirs. rushing tumultuously into the dance, they keep time to the music of the violin and banjo,with an abandon and grace, that their fairer skinned brothers and sisters vainly strive to imitate. the lawn that stretched down from the fairy-like house of jose herera, was thickly lotted with oaks of great size and beauty, and cleared entirely from underbrush. the luxuiant grass was kept carefully shorn and cended, until it had become a perfect carpet of velvet. on the soft greensward, the slaves were accustomed to gather, on their frequent | holidays, to sing, dance, play, or wander, as their fitful humour led them. early on the morning of their promised day of pleasure they came thronging hither, arrayed n their fanciful dresses, with faces gleaming with anticipations. inez herera, escorted by her father, and closely followed by her dumb attendant, passed from circle to circle, giving each a kind word-promising a trinket here and a ribbon here. then, after telling them that she would reward the victor in the night fishing, and that they would be supplied from the house with extra cheer for their afternoon east, she left them to enjoy themselves unretrained. 746 may de lord bress de missus and 'massa," was the fervant prayer of every lip. "dey am de flower of de yarth, and de salt ob de sea," responded the pastor. "and now, leah brudders and sisters, we will join in a ittle prayah and hym, before de exercises ob le day begins." kneeling upon the emerald sward, they oned earnestly to this honest man's un-, lettered, but warm and impressive words, a rude people, but strong in faith. when the amen" had died away, they arose, and every lip joined in one of the stirring melodies they love so well. "6 "and now, my people," continued their spiritual guide, when the last faint tones were lost to the ear. "now, dat we hab rendered homage unto him wid de soul and de voice, we will proceed to enjoy de good things, an' de pleasures, an' de sports of de yarth." the sharp twang of the banjo's string, and the tuning of the violin, almost cut the last word in twain, for the impulsive nature of the slaves could not long be restrained by the strict rules of decorum. shades of terpsicore! such reels, cotillions, jigs, polkas and waltzes, were never before known outside of a negro dance. the bones rattled, the banjo twanged, the violin squeaked, and the heels kept time amid shouts of applause, until at last, snap went a string. "miss lucy, will you gib me a har from yer auriferous locks, for er nudder e string," said the musician to one of the coal-black beauties. "go long wid you now! tink i'se a-gwine to luf you hab my har to tune up yer ole gourd wid ?" was the reply. and thus the morning passed with the elite, while the youngsters rolled and tumbled and shouted upon the grass, and the elders smoked in solemn conclave, except the matrons, whose dancing days were over, and who were deep in the mysteries of cooking. then came the joyous peal of the bell that summoned them to the tables, and each romeo with his juliet, marched proudly off, to take their places at the liberally furnished board. when due thanks had been returned to the giver of all good, the demolishment began. began and continued until but a ruin remained. a general breaking up followed; and the requisite preparations made for a night's fishing. evening came as if in accordance with the wish expressed during the day, without a single star or moon. the air was perfectly clear, and the wind had gone down with the sun. all was intensely dark. but soon, as little boat after boat shot out upon the broad breast of the river, each with a torch at the bow, and every form standing glaringly out like pictures from a colourless back ground, it became strikingly beautiful. like huge fire-flies they darted hither and. thither, with the sable fishermen, armed with spears and intent upon securing the finny prey, making strange and fitful motions. whirling along with the current, they soon passed the point where inez and her father had taken their stand to watch the sport. a strange desire seized the girl to be a more close observer of the scene. "father," she said, "why may we not cross to the island, and watch the sport." "there might be danger, my child." "danger? i have been there an hundred times alone." → "yes, in the daylight, and when the tiver was unobstructed. now, it is crowded with boats, each one filled with men over-anxious to outdo the other." the hermit of the colorado hills. 5 "they are beyond the island; and, besides, you could go with me.".. "i have other duties, my darling." "then quito knows how to manage the boat as well as the oldest hand on the plantation." "but daughter-" "but father, dear, you will not deny me this pleasure?" 66 "no, not if it is a pleasure. but, be careful and-" 66 come, quito "-and the gay hearted girl motioned to her ever ready attendant, and glided on to where a shell-like boat lay resting light as a feather upon the tide. it had often been her amusement to pull the fairy"nautilus" about in the shallows, and even, at times, to not only cross to the mid-river island, but even to the farther shore. without a thought of fear she now ventured, when the tide was running swiftly, and the stream was ploughed by an hundred keels. a shout, louder than usual, from the opposite side of the island reached the ears of inez, and clapping her hands as a signal to the slave, she urged him to increase the speed. 'forward, good quito. hasten or we shall miss the most glorious part of the sport." 66 the slender oars bent like reeds beneath the sinewy arms of the black, and the light bark sped forward like an impatient race horse. but a very short distance remained to traverse. should she allow the boat to pass round the island, or by landing, step across its narrow surface and so be out of danger from the fishermen, and command the rare groupings of swarthy forms and flashing lights? it was but a word, and her wish could be accomplished. her active mind soon determined, the prow was turned, obedient to her command, and swept up the thickly shaded waters of a lagoon. on either side it was a wilderness of floral beauty-a rare lavishing of tropical flowers, and above stretched the great arms of the water-loving trees, thick with luxuriant leaves, and festooned with rank moss. in the excitement of the undertaking she had forgotten all else. quito quito! we are in the lagoon! back! back for your life!" 66 the negro would have sprang into the dangerous flood, dragged the boat from its fastenings, and guiding it into the deep waters, assayed to push it before him and swim to a place of safety. but the blood of old castile flowed too purely and swiftly in the veins of inez herera to allow another to sacrifice himself for her, when danger was still at a distance, she laid her hand upon his arm, and forced him to be seated. in shuddering whispers she breathed the words, for she grew faint with the horror of their situation. in the lagoon, in that frail cockle shell amid the darkness! ah! far too well she knew that if it was a wilderness of dazzling flowers--if it was an arbour of rare budding trees, it was also a den where poisonous snakes lay coiled, and amid its slimy ooze the alligator made its lair! the thought was madness, and she sprang forward almost involuntarily, and grasped one of the oars. but the boat was already whirling round, impelled by the powerful strokes of the negroits prow had strack against the trunk of a fallen tree that projected into the water, and under their united efforts the oar snapped like a willow wand, and they were stayed, helpless, almost, in that vile abode of loathsome reptiles: 14 brave-hearted, and unthinking of himself, "shove off the boat! for jesu's sake by quick," she whispered in those strangele hoarse tones that fall but faintly upon the ear, and yet thrill every chord of the heart. "quick! quick! sainted mother!" too late! by the very side of the egg shell bark, a dark, hideous head arose, reaching almost over the gunwale, and a piteous, helpless, shriek burst from her blanched lips, and rang trembling far over the waste of waters. the negro heard it, and turning, the oar he held flashed through the air, and was shivered to atoms upon the head of the monster, driving him for a time at, least, from his shuddering prey. and others heard it, too. it had risen above the swell of the waters, and pierced through the dim tree vaults, and even as the girl fell back, almost insensible, an hundred lights flashed round the point, and an hundred negroes with flaming torches came dashing through the wilderness of tangled foliage. "for de lord, de young missus," came ringing from every lip. the faithful slaves had but one thought. the mistress was in danger, and what was their lives when thrown into the scale against hers? in a moment that slimy lagoon was peopled with dark forms. they cared not for the pestilential ooze, or its living tide of scaly death. rude gladiators they, those swarthy, toiling sons of ham, but true as the unyielding flint to their love, and, like a feather, the boat was lifted with its precious freight, and floated home amongst a gay flotilla, a very argosy of thankfulness upon a tide of happy hearts. was there joy in that princely mansion ? did jose herera bend in tearful thanktulness over his rescued daughter as she told the story of her danger? so, also, was there in the humble cabins of a thousand slaves, and, in their rude, unlettered prayers they thank the lord that he had stretched out his hand to save, and made them the proud instruments in preserving their "young mistrus.". 1 chapter iv. the herdsmen-the visit-the bivouac. there is no more certain proof to a thinking mind that our good mother nature intended that the wilderness should be made the home of man-that it should yield bountiful stores of golden grain, and be made to blossom like the rose, than the fact that she has created a race of hardy and dauntless men, who, throwing aside the trammels of civilized life, and, scorning its luxuries, boldly compete for the honour of primitive pioneership. and equally true is it that they die unrewarded. boone trod the pathless forests and trackless prairies a romance of the pampas; or, -explored unknown lands, and fought the savage foeman-for what? an unrequited life and a name-long after his fetterless spirit had passed the goal of earthly honours. an almost unknown grave for years, and then, when the blush of shame had mantled the face of a nation-a pompous funeral procession, vain display, and high-sounding flourishes of eloquence. the forerunner is forgotten, and the wealth-seeking followers plant, and build and scheme, where his lonely bivouac was made. he the planter, and they the reaper. "i tell yer bruce," began the herdsman, glover, as they sat enjoying their evening meal, after a day of more than ordinary hard toil, "i tell you thar's signs about that i don't like." "at it again, are yer, sy, with yer grumbling." "what is it now, sy!" asked a third of the trio, hamblin, as he threw a half-picked bone carelessly to the expectant dogs. what have yer seen ter-day ?" "sometimes ther most ornary signs will tell er feller er good deal," replied glover, somewhat sullenly. "we all know that, and any of us can tell er bars from er turkeys. but what kind of signs did yer see ?" 66 injuns." "whar?" asked both of his companions, in a breath, for this kind of information was not to be made light of, touching, as it did, not only the safety of the stock under their charge but their own lives. 66 "waal, yer know, i left yer down by ther spring, and started over thar hills ter see ef i couldn't git er shot at er buck. i did git one yer know, or yer wouldn't be pickin' ribs er venison now." "it was as nice er buck as ever er man put er tooth in." "waal, it whar nothin' else. er bouncin' er four point as ever i drawed er sight on." "but about them ar signs." "i was er creeping along thur branchhidin' kinder, for i knew them anamiles would come down ter have er swim, and git clar of ther infernal musketers, when all of er sudden my eyes fell upon er track." "pshaw! 'twas one i made thar yesterday. i was on ther same trail myself, only i didn't have no luck-didn't see nary er hoof or horn." "waal, ef it whar yer must have learned ter walk injun most mighty arly. i saw yer track plain enough-couldn't help it when er man whars boots like great leather trunks, but no white man's foot ever left that thar mark." "drive ahead, then, and tell us about it, ef it whar injuns." "i kinder drew in my horns, i kin tell yer and hid erway in ther bushes. it whar lucky that i didn't have none of ther dogs along ter blow me. pretty soon i saw er skulkin' devil peep out from ther other side. then er nother and er nother, till twenty of them slipped into ther stream, and swam across like so many etarnal big musk rats." "whar they comanches, sy?" "nothin' shorter, and i began ter think that my har wouldn't never grow much longer. but i laid low and kept dark, and ther brutes jist squatted nigh under thar bank whar i was alyin', and began jabberin' in thar gibberish about what they whar agoin' ter do." "waal yer could understand that ar kind of talk." 46 'maybe i couldn't. i had'nt bein er prisoner among them er hull year for nothin'. i let them talk er way, and made out 'ter learn that they whar prowlin' around arter some. body's cattle." 66 'ours, sy, ours ?" "waal, i sorter reckon they wouldn't be perticular. but it was er kinder theivin' game they whar er playin' ginerally,, and so, boys, we'd better keep er sharp look out for our's, old broad horns and all." "i'll take good care of my scalp, yer may depend. but-" "by thunder! thar they come, now!" exclaimed bruce, who had allowed the others to monopolize the conversation, as he sprung to his feet, and seized his rifle. "out with the fire! throw er blanket over it, and stamp it out!" commanded glover, as he, also, grasped the ever ready weapon-the best friend of a frontierman. 66 yes, but they'll miss ther trail this time, the infernal brutes," and each one sought shelter behind the nearest tree, resolved to sell his life as dearly as possible. a shrill whistle rang from the open pampas in front of them, and the dogs that had before crouched down at their feet in obedience to their commands, now raised their heads, and uttered a low whine. before they could solve the mystery of this unexpected sound, for it was one seldom heard in that locality, the step of a horse-a single one was heard picking its way up the rocky slope, and a cheery voice exclaimed "you take to cover quick, boys. do you always welcome your friends in that indian fashion? put out your fire, and make them find their way through tangled plains in the dark?" "i ought to know that thar voice," responded glover, still keeping himself in ambush. "if your senses have not gone wool-gathering, you certainly should," was the reply, with a hearty laugh. "it's wilson, ain't it?" "yes. show a light, quick. my horse has nearly broken his knees and my neck in trying to climb up to your hut." "all right, boys. it's jack wilson, the head master on ther old man's plantation." and glover began to rekindle the fire. "he'll old man' you, if you don't make a bright light very quick to guide him here," and the speaker stood in a moment by their side. "what is he a-comin' ?" "he and his daughter, too.. what do you suppose she will think of this kind of a welcome after having ridden so far." "pile on the brushwood, boys," commanded glover, and he dashed down into the pampas, and hastened to offer his services as guide. the flames in an instant flashed high and cheerily, and soon the planter, with his daughter and a suite of full twenty, lusty and the hermit of the colorado hills. 7 well armed negroes were gathered around them. "what made you extinguish your light so suddenly ?" asked inez of glover, after the mutual words of welcome had passed. “waal, yer see, miss, we kinder thought as how it might be comanches," replied the stalworth herdsman. "" "comanches? are there any about here?" "yes, miss, ter-day as i whar"pshaw!" interrupted herera, holding up his finger warningly. "it's only a frontiersman's fancy with you, sy. but have you nothing to offer us to eat? how are you supplied? let one of my boys look and see if he cannot find something to add to the fare we brought with us." he was very fearful that his daughter might be alarmed, and so checked glover in time. "venison, senor, in plenty, and ef we had only have known you and miss inez whar agoin' ter come ter-night, we should have had-" "yes, i know a dainty bill of fare. no matter, a little roughing will not hurt us. inez would come to see how you lived, and she seems to have enjoyed the long ride." "it has been a glorious one, dear father." 65 well, i am very glad you have enjoyed it, and to-morrow you will have an opportunity to learn all you wish about a herdsman's life. but see, the boys have unpacked the mulesso you had better dismount." 66 let me take your hoss, miss," said hamlin coming bashfully forward as her father assisted her to alight. "it shall have the sweetest mouthful of grass that thar grows by thar branch, ef yer er mind ter trust him ter me." "thank you, my good friend, but i am afraid de soto will permit no one but quito near him." "i never seed ther hoss yet that i couldn't manage." "well, you are at liberty to try, and i am not afraid but that you will take care of him." while this was going on-a sort of by-play to the main drama-three fires had been kindled equi-distant. around one the slaves were gathered, busily engaged in the mysteries of the cusine; at another the herdsmen with their new comrade, wilson, and the third was reserved for the father and daughter, though their immediate attendants, quito and a young female slave, came and went as occasion required. 66 come, glover," said the planter, after the meal was concluded; now that you have furnished us with a capital supper, it is but fair that you should play the kind host still farther, and show us where we are to sleep.". 'food is easy enough ter be got, senor, fer any body that's woodwise, but yer see it hain't so easy ter find er place for one like ther senorita ter sleep out here," was the reply of the somewhat puzzled herdsman. "pshaw! man, we did not come to the pampas to speak of luxury. besides, we have enough of luxury at home. isn't that so daughter?" 66 plenty, dear father." "waal, senor, yer see i hadn't fairly thought how twould be, but i had ther boys fix up ther hut as nice as it could poseably be, and perhaps the senorita may find sleep as sweet as ef she was at home on the brazos.". "no doubt of it, my good fellow." 66 we hunters er allow that we can't sleep within 'er house without bein' smothered. but it's nature for us ter be out'er doors, while the senorita don't look as ef she could bear ther cold wind more than er june lilly." "a pretty compliment to my slenderness, but not to my powers of endurance," replied inez. "but in reality, dear father, i am but little inclined to sleep as yet." "no, nor i either," responded the fond parent. "there is a charm about this scene that drives all thought of slumber out of my mind. what do you say to that, glover ?" "waal, senor, i have bin ter long out inter ther woods ter think of such kind'er things now." "how many years have you been leading this nomad life?" "goin' on twenty, senor. i began it young yer see. but i can tell yer it's anythin' but'er no mad life. ef thar isn't ernuf ter' make'er man mad herewhat with ther doin's of ther injuns, and ther scamperin' about of ther cattle, i don't know what would make'er man forgit that he ought'er be er christian." "that's certainly a new definition of the term," replied the planter, "but in your case i doubt not a very proper one. but glover you must have had more than one narrow escape." "narrow escape? waal, i kinder reckon i have. a man don't have ter live long in this here lattertude ter have his scalp in danger." "suppose you tell us a story, then. it will pass the time away." "ef you and ther senorita would like ter hear one of the yarns that is common on ther border, i'll spin it for ye. but i never did make'er practice of talkin' about myself." "6 if it is of you, however, my good friend, that, we would most like to hear," said inez, kindly. 66 waal, ter gratify yer, i 'spose i must do it," and he told one of the common frontier stories of a desperate bear fight. midnight found all quiet in that lone encampment, and sleep fell gently on every eye, save those of the two herdsmen who kept "watch and ward," and with them all "it was well." chapter v. the stampede-the comanches-the fightthe hut on fire! "i tell yer bruce," said glover, as they sat smoking near the embers of their fire, when the darkness that precedes the dawn had gathered thickly around was just breaking away, "it war er dangerous ondertakin' for er man ter bring his daughter and 'specially one like ther senorita, way out here. it's jest as much as er man's scalp is worth, let erlone such er beauty as she is." "it hain't nothin' shorter, sy. ef ther 8 the pampas; or, a romance of cursed red-skins git on her trail, thar'll be nary er let up ontil she's in thar dirty wig"" wams. 66 my scalp shall go fust!" "yes, and mine too." "ef ever i could fight in any cause 'twould be fer that gal-ther isn't another like her ter be found in-waal, i don't believe in the world. and ter think that he should bring her way out here with only er parcel of niggers to guard her. they'd fight about as well as so many wood-chucks ef ther injuns should take er fancy fer some beef." "jest erbout, and that would be ter run at ther fust fire, and-" "hark!" "what did yer think yer heard ?" asked the other in a whisper. 66 thar's somethin' among ther cattle." don't be er perdictin' evil, pshaw, sy. 46 now." "i tell you thar is." "it's only that infernal old broad-horns stampin' erbout. he's allers er smelling er cayoter when thar isn't airy one within er hundred miles." "i ask yer hark fer er minit." "it's jest as i told yer, sy. that broad horned critter rumagin' eround. he's never still any more'n a poplar leaf." "go and call ther senor and wilson," commanded glover, "but don't wake ther senorita, or any of the niggars jest yet. thar's trouble er brewin' down ther, and ef he's on hand we won't have ter bear ther blame." before the planter could be thoroughly awakened to take his place by the side of glover, the entire scene had changed. the blackness of night had almost passed away. thousands upon thousands of cattle ran madly hither and thither intermingling, crossing, while their snorting came up the mountain swell like the rush and roar of battle. "by saint jago!" exclaimed the owner of all this surging sea of living madness, as he stood beside the herdsman, but this is a glorious sight." "glorious? waal, i'm glad yer think so. it'll cost yer many er hundred," was the paradoxical reply. "why? what do you mean, man?' "that ther critters have stampeded, and are ergoin' ter ther devil across lots." "stampeded? i thought they were but playing-letting out their animal spirits after a night of rest." 66 arthem niggars of your'n'worth anythin?". asked glover, "yes, a thousand dollars apiece. but why do you ask?" "pshaw!" the herdsman could not restrain his temper. but he curbed himself and continued"i mean ter fight." 60 fight?" and the voice of herera betrayed the intense anxiety that took possession of him as he thought of his daughter. "yes, fight! do yer 'spose cattle stampede jest fer ther fun of ther thing? ther's er lot of devilish red skins prowlin' ermong them, and ef we don't look sharp they willby thunder! thar they go now with old broad-horns at ther head. go and wake up ther darkies. bruce, give ther whistle for rob hamlin. no, yer need'nt, fer thar he is er streakin' it off towards ther west. he knows his bisness, that man does. but jest yer look, senor," and he stretched his long arm away over the pampas. "look!" the eyes of the planter were turned in the direction indicated, and he saw a sight that riveted them there-a sight to which his wildest dreams had been but barren of excitement. tearing along, leaping wildly, snorting, bellowing in fear, were that almost countless herd. swaying like the grass they were trampling down, they yet kept in a compact body, with few exceptions, for some had darted wildly away at the very first alarm. it was a grandly terrible sight. quito and the female attendant of inez, for a time forgetting their duty-stood dumb and terror-stricken. the planter, too, was excited, but not from fear. glover and bruce weaver were alone calm, and while the former had stood steadily watching the progress of events, the latter had saddled herera's, his companion's, and his own steed, and stood bridle in hand awaiting orders. "in the name of montezuma, what does this all mean?" questioned the planter, under his breath. "mean? that ther d-d injuns have stampeded yer cattle," was the irreligious reply of glover. mean, cuss them-but thar they break cover. see! ther red-skinned cayoters have shown themselves. be ready ter mount. here, yer black niggers, git yer horses and don't stand er gaping thar, as if yer whar egoin' ter swaller ther drove, horns and all." 66 a score or more of painted comanches, mounted upon their swift-footed and half-wild horses, were plainly visible crowding upon the rear of the affrighted cattle, driving them on with spurs, and sending their sharp, stoneheaded arrows into the deepest of the press. for a single moment, the mass stood motionless-stood as if struck into stony silence, and then, with a burst like thunder, it parted in every direction and the herd swept away-a very avalance of doom to any thing that should stand in its path. 66 now mount and ride fer yer lives," shouted glover, as he threw himself, without the aid of stirrup or bridle-rein, upon his horse. "yer black niggers; ride thar," and making them follow his directions, he continued, with a smile upon his face, even at that moment. "yer sarvents won't do any good but ter scar ther red devils, senor, while, ef yer choose, we'll head them, and perhaps make a few of them keel over in the dust." "for santiago and spain! yes," replied the excited spaniard, and he mounted, rifle in hand, and followed swiftly in the rapid path of glover, weaver, and wilson bringing up the rear. • kerful, be kerful," shouted glover, as he reined in his horse, so as to halt by the side of the planter. but he might as well have bidden one of the dashing herd to be careful. the hermit of the colorado hills. 9 66 kerful! kerful!" again shouted both glover and weaver in a breath. 66 by heaven!" exclaimed glover, "but he'll be er mong ther injuns before he knows it, and then-" "er way goes his scalp! interrupted weaver, finishing the sentence according to his own ideas. bang! far away they heard the report and saw the smoke of a rifle. well knew the herdsmen that it was the weapon of hamlin, but not so the spaniard, and he checked his foaming horse, and paused as if uncertain how to act. in a moment the herdsmen were by his side, and saw that he had not stopped too soon for his safety, for the fleeing indians, sceing that there was but one in pursuit, had turned from their arrowy course, formed a crescent, and were sweeping down upon him. sweeping down, with every human form concealed by being thrown on the opposite side of the horse, where, hanging by one leg only, they peered from beneath the neck, and held their bows ready to launch the stone-headed arrows without being themselves exposed. they came furiously on. "ther infernal reperbates," said glover, between his clenched teeth, "ef they'll only come er few rods nearer, i'll let daylight through hoss and all." but it was not to be. the savages, far too wily and watchful to place themselves in danger, disappeared. 66 that whar er narrer escape yer had, senor," began glover, as the comanches disappeared over the crest of the hill. "ef it had not er been fer bruce and me, i reckon yer scalp would have bin er swinging from some red-skin's belt by this time." "yes, it was a narrow escape, indeed. i thought it was but a drove of wild horses," was the response of the planter. "it's an old injun trick. i have often practised it myself. thar are no more cunnin' varments than yer true red-skins, i kin tell yer, senor." "you did not shoot, snd yet i am sure i heard the report of a gun." "oh! that ar whar rob i'amlin's. i'd know it among er thousand, and ef thar isn't one less comanche er cavortin' er 'round, i'll lose my reckonin', that's all." 'what are we to do now, glover? surely these plunderers are not to be allowed to escape unpunished." "6 waal, as ter that, it's not so easy ter tell what would be best. it must be cunnin' again cunnin'." " "but you will certainly follow them ?" "and perhaps, jest poke our heads inter er ambush like er wolf inter er trap. but hark! as i'm er livin' sinner, ther niggers and ther red devils ar havin' er tussle. bang! bang! how ther guns go! i didn't think thar whar any more fight in yer blacks, than thar whar in er possum." "they are no cowards. but, let us ride down that way. very likely we may be of service. at any rate, my presence will encourage them." 66 waal, yes, it's allers best ter have er captiu', when thar ar tremblin' hearts in ther company, and i want ter see what sort of er fight darkies will make, anyhow," and he rapidly led the way toward a belt of timber, from whence the fire proceeded. but they arrived too late. either their approach, or the guns of the slaves, had put the indians to flight. half frightened out of their senses, the negroes had huddled together in the thick timber, keeping themselves well covered and firing at random, without either receiving or inflicting any serious injury. "bress de lord, massa, but we whar nearly dun gone, dat time," exclaimed many, in a breath. "pshaw! there were as many of you, as them, and you ought to have shot every one," replied herera, with a smile. "dar whar more'n er thousand, massa. dar whar tens ov thousands, and da rode like de wind." "brave men, them, fer yer ter bring ter guard yer on ther pampas," interrupted glover. "i believe the very thoughts of indians has frightened them to death. and yet i have seen them leap boldly into the river, when swarming with alligators." "i'se redder fight all der 'gators in der ribber, den one ov den scalpers. de lord be marciful to dem dat meet," answerd old gumbo, a genuine specimen of the unadulterated congo negro, whose parents had been fetich worshippers. "waal, ther whar of some use," said weaver, "they drove off ther injuns, any how, but ef ther red-skins had only er known that they whar niggers, i reckon thar wouldn't er bin er wooly scalp left in ther hull concern." 1 "that's true, bruce," replied glover," and now, senor, ef they know any thin' erbout drivin' cattle, jest let them go and gather in all the cretters they kin." "yes, they are better at that than fightin', i'll be bound," and the planter, after having assured them that there was no danger from the indians, gave the necessary directions as dictated by the herdsman, and all departed except quito, and the female attendant of inez. "you here," he continued, almost fiercely, as his eyes rested upon them. "you here,. and none left to guard my daughter! by saint jago! but we have all been carried away by the excitement, and left her alone and asleep. may the holy mother guard her until we return, and-" "look" almost whispered glover. "look, where ?" "thar," and his arm was outstretched in the direction of the hut." "de hut am on fire! oh! de lord! de lord!" exclaimed the negress. "now, may god indeed have her in his holy keeping," burst from the ashy lips of the planter. my daughter! oh, heavens, my daughter!" 66 but glover and weaver had not paused to hear his words. not swifter does the arrow spring from the strongly strained bow-string, than the horses of the herdsmen when they saw the dense, murky smoke of the burning 10 a romance of the pampas; or, hut staining the now sun-lit air of morning. with them, it was a race for life. they understood that the indians had divided their party into two bands, and while one stampeded the cattle and so led them away, the other had swept down from the heights above for plunder, and finding the girl there, had carried her away and set fire to the hut in spirit of savage bravado. "saint jago. to the rescue!" shouted the planter, as he followed, quito and the negress vainly endeavouring to keep pace with him in his whirlwind flight. but even he failed to gain upon glover and his companion, although mounted on a rare specimen of the andalusian stock. in his track followed the servants, helpless, almost, now in their terrible fear. "blood will tell,' will it? yes, where the smoothed race-track woos the flying hoofs, but not here, where no plow has ever turned a furrow." "ter ther right and take ther path," shouted glover, as he checked his horse upon the brow of the hill."yer hoss kin never crowd through ther grass." a slight motion of the rein-a few bounds, and trembling upon a well defined and open path, stood that gallant horse, but only for a single instant to refill his lungs after the great struggle he had just passed through, then answering the voice and spur, he shot upward, with one of those mighty bursts of speed that have made the name of his race famous in both worlds. by the embers of the hut, the glowing remains of the herdsmen's home, stood glover and weaver, dismounted, and leaning with bowed heads upon their rifles. this much, jose herera saw at a glance. but this was all he saw! his darling, idolized daughter -where was she? with a fain cry bursting from his lips-a half uttered prayer to mary mother," he fell from his horse like one suddenly struck down by the hand of death. a strong man stricken down-a father mourning for a daughter, that for him truly was not." #6 chapter vi lost in the mountains. inez herera was slumbering soundly, when she was so suddenly left alone in the herdsman's little hut. a hoarse murmur rises from the pampas, and the golden visions flit rapidly away. the loud report of fire-arms-the shrieking of the savages-the cries of the herdsmen, and the snorting of the maddened cattle come mingled to her ears, and she springs to her feet perfectly awake and conscious to all around. quick witted and brave hearted as she was, she saw and understood all at a glance. such minds drink in ideas, as if by intuition. "father! dear father!" burst from her lips with all the intensity of fear. hark! that sound did not arise from the pampas. it is nearer-it is coming up the very path she is travelling! she cowers in the thick undergrowth. man or beast she cannot fly from them, and her only chance of safety is in quiet. a band of savage warriors urge their horses up the rocky path towards the little hut she has just left. like a whirlwind they pass, a half a score of grotesquely painted forms arrayed in all the pomp of savage war-dress. up they sweep, intent only upon rapine and plunder. what would have become of her if she had remained sleeping in that doomed cabin ? at scarce a rifle-shot distance, the trail branches in all directions, and she pauses bewildered-doubtful which way to proceed. if there is any such thing as chance in this world, that must be her guide now. it is all the same-she must rush on blindly or perish. the sound of running water falls upon her ear. at once she determined. by that stream her horse must have been tethered, how her heart bounds at the thought of once more mounting and feeling the free play of his sinewy limbs, as he spurns the earth and carries her away. joy! joy! to le again upon his back and feel him speeding on like the wind, and bearing her to her father and to safety. she hears the rushing of the indians as they hurry from their work of devastation, but the dense foliage that walls her in, cuts off all sight. for a moment she again seeks shelter in the bushes, and then, when all is still, proceeds. the path is a winding-often a steep and dangerous one. down-down, far as the eye can see, nothing but sharp, jagged rocks, with vultures sailing on their black wings through the dense mist, and making the air hideous with their harsh croakings. stricken down with the plummet of agony deeply sunk into her soul, she turns again. turns but to find the same confusion, of interlacing paths, and a new horror flashes upon her brain that makes her sink unnerved to the ground, hopeless, heartless, despairing. she is lost in the mountains! lost, and without the slightest chance of escape! yet for a moment only she sinksfor a moment only gives way to her fears, and then became calm and renewed her search. again chance assumed the reins. fate led her blindly on, and destiny stood waiting before. selecting the path that appeared the most open and easy to be travelled, that brave girl proceeded with a still firm step. she had determined to trace it to the end, and come what might, there was no other course left for her. she thought of the agony of her father when he discovered her loss, forgetting physical sufferings. but noon came hot and stifling. faint from thirst and hunger-worn out in body and and tortured in mind, inez herera still staggered on, hoping against hope-straining her eyes to see and her ears to hear. but the necessity of husbanding her strength forced itself upon her, and when at length she came to where a little stream trickled from the rock, she threw herself by its side and drunk a draught of sweet refreshment. the hermit of the colorado hills. 11 chapter vii. the search-the hermit of colorado hillsa familiar spirit. violent fires soon burn out, and firm natures, like that of jose herera, are prompt to recover from a sudden shock, when there is any demand for action. he bowed, heart-stricken, but to rise superior to the harsh decrees of fate, and find in action relief from the tortures that wrung his soul. his first thought, that his darling child had perished in the flames was soon dispelled by the words of the herdsman, glover, then from the chaos of his soul sprang, silverwinged, the angel of hope. his daughter was alive, human energy might yet save her. "glover! glover! in god's name what shall we do?" burst from the bereaved father, in the intensity of his agony. "do, senor? thar is but one thing ter do, and that is to foller." "follow? there is not the slightest appearance of a trail." "waal, we must do ther best we kin. yer overseer, wilson, and ther niggers kin stay here and tend ther cattle, while you and me go on ther search." "but wilson has not arrived yet, and i suppose is already at the task of collecting them." "waal, bruce can ride that thar way, and jest let him know, and then-" "had he better not stay and direct matters ?" "jest as yer honour thinks best. ef i can't find ther traill thar will be no use of any other man's er goin', i can tell yer. yes, bruce, s'pose yer stay. ther niggers hain't no good any way, and it'll need some one used ter these pampas, to keep them thar critters in order." so it was settled, and the planter and glover separated, striking at once in the direction of the colorado hills. the planter had changed horses with bruce weaver, so as to have one comparatively fresh and accustomed to the rough roads and tangled grass, and they rapidly passed over the miles, but without gaining the slightest clue to the object they had undertaken. .. er mighty hard ride we've had, senor," said glover, as he paused by the side of a brook, and allowed his horse to drink freely. "it has been so, indeed, glover, and all for what? as yet, we have found no trace of my dear one." "it haint ter be reckoned, that thar redskins would stop short of ther hills, no how.' i allowed that we should find some sort of er trail here about, and-what in the name of thunder is that ?" the eyes of the planter followed the directing finger of the herdsman, and saw a human figure. 66 heaven and arth, it is the hermit of the colorado hills !" whispered glover, with visible emotion. "hermit or devil, i do not fear him," replied the planter. "don't yer go-don't yer go! he is ther devil, sure enough. i've hern tell of him often, though i never saw him erfore," and the herdsman laid his strong hand on the spaniard's bridle-rein, and forced the horse to stop. there was something in the attire and position of the sudden apparition, that might have aroused the suspicions of even a more educated man than glover. the figure appeared unnaturally tall, long hair, swept backward by the breeze, and a long beard of snowy whiteness drifted upon the bosom. the dress was entirely of skins, still retaining their fur. the face, as far as the beard allowed it to be seen, and the uncovered hands, were those of a white man, though bronzed by exposure to sun and wind, nearly to the colour of an indian. glover, almost involuntarily, drew his rifle to his shoulder, and would have fired had not the planter struck it down. "put up your weapon," commanded the stranger, in a deep undertone, and singularly sweet voice-singular when contrasted with his appearance, which was that of a man prematurely old, for neither form or face corresponded with his white hair and beard. "who are you?" asked the planter, in spanish, the same language used by the stranger. "a man, like yourself!" "a devil!" whispered glover, edging away. ? "but," continued the unknown, without noticing the remark of the herdsman, "why do you come hither? is it my poor life you seek? take it! my last word will be a prayer for the man who frees me." "nay," resumed the hermit, "you need not inform me why you came. i know it already." "i knew he whar ther devil,' again whispered glover. "you came to seek a lost daughter-the one beautiful child of your hearth-stone on the brazos, whom you foolishly allowed to accompany you hither." "then you have seen her-you know where she is? oh! tell me," burst from the lips of the planter. "i-do-not-know !" "then how do you-can you tell that i have lost her?" "no mortal man has ever crossed the threshold of my habitation, and i have wished that none ever should, for has not manbut sorrow is holy. come, and you, also, herdsman, i am but mortal like yourself, even though i live alone in these wild solitudes, and desire no companionship. come, you are both tired and hungry." "where would you lead us, strange man? who are-what are you?" "as your companion has said, i am the hermit of the colorada hills," answered the man, smiling. "but that is very vague and unsatisfactory." "yet it must answer for the present. you certainly can have no fear of me." lead on. come glover. rest and food we certainly must have," and they followed the singular being by a winding and "not i. 12 the pampas; or, a romance of easy path far up into the mountains, after having unsaddled their horses and tethered them among the sweet grass by the margin of the waters. "here is my home," said their guide, suddenly pausing as they turned an abrupt mass of hoary rocks, and pointing to a narrow opening. "i offer you such hospitality as is in my power. enter, if you like, or sit here on this broad rock, while i bring you something to eat. in compliance with the suggestion, herera, and the herdsman took their places in front of the cave. their host kindled a fire, and with ready and skilful hands, prepared a hearty meal of various kinds of game. 46 you asked me, senor," began the hermit, "how i knew that you had lost a daughter, and yet did not know where she was." 66 certainly, it appeared very strange to me," replied herera. "my means of information i do not think proper to disclose, yet i tell you the truth. and farther, the indians that set fire to the little cabin on the hill-side did not carry her off, for they knew nothing of her presence." "in heaven's name, then, strange man, what has become of her? if she is not the captive of the red-men, where is she?" "i can give you no further information." "and i sit calmly here, to remain thus in uncertainty? i can not endure it. come, glover, dark as it is, we will again take to our horses." "whither would you go, senor? a storm is gathering. hark! you can hear the thunder muttering in the mountain tops. is this not true, herdsman ?" "ther hermit tells no lies, senor," replied glover, "be he man or be he er devil, he hasn't spoken nary er thing but gospel truth." "but i can not endure this dreadful suspense," responded herera, "it will drive me to madness." "it would be madness to think of stirring," continued the hermit. "the clouds are inky-black, and the wind is hurling them fiercely about. soon the rain will fall in a deluge. i tell you, senor, no living thing can track the pampas.' "" "but think of my situation. if you were a father, you would realize the despair that is settling upon me." "i do realize and feel it, though i have lived in this situation till i thought my heart would never know pity again, but-" and he checked himself, as he always did, when his listeners were prepared to hear some solution to the mystery of his situation, and continued, with his voice changing to its accustomed sweetness. "senor, when your cattle were running madly around, and when the cabin of the herdsmen was bursting into flames, a horde of savage warriors swept away. i marked their coming, and stopped them in their flight by a power i possess. what that power is, or how acquired, is one of my secrets. it is, therefore, enough for you to know that there is not a single one in the entire tribe of the comanches that dare go counter to my will. with them, i am a great medicine." yes," interrupted glover, "waal yes. لمان i've often hern ther red devils tell of er white medicine that lived in these ar mountings and could-" "i easily ascertained that your daughter's presence was unknown to them, although i knew it from the hour she first entered the pampas." "how? is that a secret also ?" inquired herera. "no; for the same means must be used to recover her. of one thing you may be certain. had she been in the power of the comanches, she would have passed into my hands, and been now seated by your side." "from what you have told me, i do not doubt it. i would not pry into your mysteries, and yet i would gladly know how you gained a knowledge of our coming." "our friend the herdsman, has called me a wizard, not to use the stronger term, and if so, would it be strange it i had familiar spirits who attend upon me?" "certainly not. whatever others may do, i have no fear." "education dispels these brain-phantoms, even as the light of morning does the heavy mists of night. you wonder at my words. well, i was"-but again he checked his speech, and applying a whistle to his lips made the woods resound with the shrill, quavering notes. "by heaven!" exclaimed glover, springing to his feet, and preparing his rifle and knife for immediate service, "by heaven! but i've heard that ar sound many er time before, and couldn't fer ther life of me make out what it whar." a slight smile played for a moment over the bronzed features of the hermit, though scarcely visible by the light of the fire, for all around was now inky darkness, but without deigning a reply he repeated the call after motioning the herdsman to be seated again. this done, he threw an armful of dry brush upon the embers, and as the flames sprang luridly up and revealed all around, both herera and glover started with astonishment to find a brawny, war-painted indian standing by their side. whence or how he came they could not determine, for no sound of footsteps or rustle of garment had betrayed his approach. "here," said the hermit, when their astonishment had somewhat subsided, "here is the source of my information and my aathority." "a comanche, by all that's wonderful," exclaimed glover, still clutching his wea. pons nervously. "as much like one of ther scalawags that stampeded ther cattle as one nigger is like er nother." "kaw-wa-gas-hi, or the great bear, as he is known among his tribe, is above plunder." "then, by thunder, he's ther fust injun that ever wouldn't steal, i kin tell yer mr. hermit." either the "great bear" did not understand the taunt contained in his words, or it fell uncared for upon him, for he remained impassible as bronze. "ask him," requested herera, "if he knows anything concerning the fate of my daughter." the hermit of the colorado hills. 13 "what he knows i know," replied the hermit, and then he addressed the indian for a moment in his native tongue, but changing rapidly to the spanish, he bade them look towards the mountain tops, and see the coming storm. they turned that way, but when they again looked around them the red man had vanished from sight! silent as had been his coming so was his departure. "the great bear will watch your horses while you slumber. with the first dawn of morning you can proceed on your search, and god be with you," continued the hermit. "and you, mysterious man ?" asked herera. "will keep watch and ward near by you. come, the rain is begining to fall. soon the very windows of heaven will be opened-well, the thirsty earth wants refreshment. come, the cave of the hermit will protect you from the storm, and his couch, though rude and hard, will woo you to slumber," "but my daughter? oh, merciful heaven, oh virgin mother, be thou her shield and safety." "amen and amen," repeated the hermit reverently, and led the way into the cavern, where, lighting a torch of inflammable and resinous wood, he revealed the entire contents of his abode. a simple large excavation in the rocks, a rude table and stools-piles of furs in either corner arranged for beds, various weapons and cooking utensils, were all they saw. if he had other wealth it was hidden. herera readily accepted of one of the primitive coucher, and glover the other, although vowing to himself that he would remain awake and watch, while the hermit seated himself near the door as if to guard against intrusion. but the watchfulness of the herdsman soon ceased. nature asserted her right and his heavy breathing told of sound slumber. not so, however, was it with the anxious planter. sleep for a long time fled from him, and when at last he passed the portals of dreamland, it was but to be tortured as in his waking hours. light was just beginning to break upon the eastern horizon, when the hermit summoned them to breakfast. "the great bear," he said, has already taken the trail. he will neither know rest or sleep until he has found your lost daughter." "and what are we to do?" asked herera. "it is to you i must look for advice. tell me, and name your reward. i have gold-much gold, and-" "gold? if every particle of the yellow dust of earth was melted into one ingot, and that iugot mine, i'd hurl it into the deepest cavern of the ocean and bid it sink." he then rushed back into the cavern. 66 thar!" exclaimed glover, "ther game is up now. yer ukered on er lone hand senor, and the devil has shown himself, hoof, horns, tail and all. it's er gettin' too hot here for me,' and he began to descend. دو for a moment the planter stood lost in astonishment at the wild speech and demeanour of his host, and then quickly followed the herdsman. when they reached the little lake by which they had left their horses the previous night, they found the hermit already there. all traces of excitement had vanished from his countenance, and he was as calm, apparently, as if nothing had happened to ruffle his temper. "here," said he, handing them a deer-skin pouch of ample dimensions, "here is foodyou may need it. it is a blind trail you are going on, and may be a long one. daughter is not between these hills and your camp i know, but where she is god only can tell." that your 66 thanks, thanks." "heaven and airth!" burst from the lips of glover, "but he has disappeared, vanished, snuffed out like a candle. senor, ther quicker we git erway from this place ther better. i thought he whar the devil himself, and now i know it," and mounting his horse, he spurred headlong into the pampas, leaving the planter to follow. chapter viii. the comanches-the hermit-advice. the ride of the thieving, but disappointed comanches was a rapid one, and they were soon harboured safely in one of the many fastnesses of the mountains, or more strictly speaking colorado hills. baffled as they had been, it was not in their nature to calmly give up the chance of plunder. many were the plans talked of for another sortie, and they only waited for an increase of their number to again sweep forth and carry all before them. very soon their band was augmented to a size that they felt in their savage hearts would crush all opposition. an hundred dark-browed strong-limbed and fiery-souled warriors had gathered, and sat gorging themselves over the ready meal, preparatory to another attempt to possess themselves of the vast herds of the white man. there was a fearless recklessness in their manner and discussion. "the pale-faces shall be swept away! their death-shrieks shall make pleasant music in the ears of the great spirit, and their throb-` bing hearts broil and quiver on the seething coals," said one of the most savage chiefs of the group. "ugh! good! yes!" responded the warriors in a deep, guttural chorus. 66 they shall be swept away as the wind of autumn scatters the dry leaves. they shall be-" "hist!" came sharply from many lips. "the black wolf never pauses in his speech for anything of earth or-' "" "the hermit! the great medicine of the mountains!" again interrupted him, and every finger was pointed warningly upward. the warrior's words were stayed as suddenly as if death had seized upon him, as turning his gaze upward towards a lone cliff that overhung the encampment, they rested upon the tall figure of the hermit standing motionless there. a deep hush settled upon the before noisy assembly, and each retained his place until the new-comer strode into their midst, 14 the pampas; or, a romance of every gesture revealing excitement of no ordinary character. "black-hearted thieves!" were his first words. "has not the great spirit given you well-stocked mountains and plains, and streams, that you must attempt to rob the stranger, and stain your hands in his blood ?" not a word was spoken, and he continued: "it is well you are dumb! had ye a spark of shame in your vile hearts ye would hide your heads like the sheep-stealing dog. but to whom do i talk of shame? as well might i preach to the lamb-strangling wolf of mercy, as to teach your black souls generosity." "the white man's cattle tread down our hunting-grounds, and drive-" began the comanche chief in reply, but the hermit silenced him with a gesture, and proceeded: "your words are false. but, beware! the evil spirit will not fail to punish. "the red-man trusts in the pale-faced medicine, and he will intercede for them when the matcha manitou is angry," said an aged chief, humbly. "i? perchance, if ye obey mebut you dare not do otherwise! up from your sloth. do one good deed, and strive to save yourselves from the deep-rolling thunders and the red, forked lightning that is mustering for your punishment." "what would the great medicine who holds in hand the-" 64 hush! what i am must not be whispered even to the winds." "but what would he have the red men do ?" ked another of the elders. listen, and let not the words fall as the dry leaf to the ground, to be swept away by the first breach of the stormy wind" ". like the soft pipe clay shall the hearts of the warriors receive it. let our brother speak the words that are good for them to hear." "it is well. not often do you hear my voice save when ye come trembling to my home in the rocks to seek safety from the fiends of sickness. not often do i set my mocassins within the limits of your wigwams." "they are ever open, and-" "pshaw! why do i prate thus when each minute may be worth a day and each day a lifetime. listen. when your prowling band had been driven back, ye crept through the woods and in the littleness of your revenge, burned the poor hut of the herdsmen." "it was but-" "back with the lie to your black heart before it blisters your lips and pollutes the purity of god's sunshine! poor as was your revenge, yet the good spirit watched over it, and robbed you of your plunder." "the warriors of the-" "peace. the good spirit i say watched over it, and the little bird that had nestled there, and sung itself to sleep." "a bird!" repeated all in astonishment. "its head was under its wing, and it was dreaming of bright flowers and sunshine when your yells awoke it." "the red-man did not know that-" "it spread its pinions and flew away, and itself in the thick bushes, so that even your keen eyes knew not that it was trembling there. so it escaped you, and well for you that it did!" do you "the red-man would have-" peace! interrupt me not. think i came but to tell you of this? peace, and listen. well for you it is that it did escape, for if but one of your fingers had been laid upon it, i would have cursed you until you howled in fear!" 60 "a white bird! a pale face girl !" "the only daughter of the man ye would have robbed and murdered, for your fiendish hearts can pause at nothing short of blood." "the warriors of the comanches battle not with weakly girls," said black wolf, proudly. "don't you, ye wolf's whelp, that would strangle your own dam!" "what would the pale medicine have the red-man do?" again asked one of the elders. "do?" "his brothers await his bidding." "as the buzzard awaits the shot of the hunter, to feast on the slain deer! do? go search and find her." "where shall the trail begin, and whither shall it lead ?" "ye are keen enough when your tongues would lap the stream of life, or your souls glut themselves with food. away! pause not upon the trail. ye shall obey me! dare not to do otherwise, for ye know me and my power." "but whither ?" "on the mountain where ye burned the hut." "but-" 'be gone? and yet to satisfy your sordid souls, he who first brings me tidings of her safety shall have gold-gold-handsful of gold. be gone! not another word." there was a short conversation in an under tone among the indians, and then separating into little bands, they rushed to their horses. quickly, in all directions they dispersed without waiting or caring for orders, while the hermit stood, apparently as one in a dream, until every sound was hushed in the distance. then he aroused himself a smile curled his lip for a moment, and he muttered"there they go, the black-hearted fiends! they fear me, and i will use my power. but why should i? long years ago i cut myself loose from my kind-tore every vestige of feeling, as i thought, from my heart, and now? for a girl-a vain, foolish dollface beauty, i doubt not. i am to become again a slave to the senseless forms of society. is this my sturdy independence? this my scorn-hatred of those who drove me from civilization and-but this young creature shall not become the slave of these savage demons! no, no! i'll save her-send her back to flaunt like a butterfly-find how false the world is, and curse me for my kindness perchance! well, so let it be. but now?” his shrill whistle rang, and creeping from behind a rock where he had been hidden, came the shadow of the master, the ever attendant indian, kaw-wa-gas-hi. "the wolves have gone on the trail of the lost doe. go, track them. it is not in their the hermit of the colorado hills. 15 nature to be true; but, by the light of heaven, if they wrong a single hair of her head, they shall rue it! kaw-wa-gas-hi, you have seen her? tell me of her." "the eye of the great bear has seen no one like her." "is she so beautiful ?" "as the morning sun." "and false! but you say she is beautiful?" "eyes like the star-step like the windform like the mottled doe-hair fine as the silk of the maize, and voice like the sweet singing birds of the orange groves." "had you been a white man and a lover, you would have sung sweet nonsense into willing ears! but the more beautiful she is, the less fitted for a home in a roving devil's hut. she must be saved. away! be swift as death and silent as the grave." "the trail shall be twisted that shall tire the mocassins of kaw-wa-gas-hi," and the indian disappeared. 66 cunning shall baffle craft," muttered the hermit, "white intelligence prove the superior of red-handed and black-hearted murder," and he again ascended the rocky cliff. seated there, he drew forth a glass and scanned the scene. it was one a poet's eye would have lingered long and lovingly upon; but he regarded its beauties with a heavy heart, short was his reverie. he had learned discretion in his dangerous life, and rising again he hastily returned to his accustomed home. once there, he changed his dress-armed himself, and mounting a horse that came at his call, dashed down the mountain, the very picture of a roving comanche. a ride of an hour brought him to the side of the distressed father, and the herdsman, glover, who were wandering hopelessly among the hills. the rifles of both were raised, and their keen eyes were glancing along the slender tubes threatening instant death; but the steed of the hermit continued his rapid course until, drawing his rein suddenly and throwing him upon his haunches, he shouted: "put up your weapons, signor, drop your rifle, man. would you harm a friend ?" "by jerico, ef it hain't ther hermit! i should'nt have known yer ef it hadn't er bin fer yer beard," shouted glover in reply. 66 well, what of it, herdsman ?" "ef i didn't take yer fer er red devil, yer may jest up and shoot me." "there are enough of them on the pampas already without any counterfeits." 66 but yer are dressed jest like one, and-" and of course have my reason for it. don't trouble yourself with my secrets." "ef i do may i be blessed! no, no, i hain't fool ernough yet ter meddle with er man that hain't more'n half human, no how." "but," interrupted the anxions parent, "have you heard anything of my lost child? tell me, strange man, if you have any news of her ?" 66 of eyes are engaged in the search, and you will hear good tidings soon." "my heart aches with this continued anxiety. oh! that i had never been tempted to bring her with me." "well, indeed, would it have been. the foot that presses and the heart, that dares the pathways of the pampas, should be strong and bold." strange man? yes, i must look so in your eyes. and yet if you knew all-if you knew that. no, i have heard have seen nothing. yet fear nothing. an hundred pair "true, too true, and now-” "by thunder thar goes another red-skiner skulkin' on his devil's errand erloug ther mounting slope," interrupted glover, whose restless eyes were constantly watching every point around them, and his ready rifle was brought to bear upon the crouching figure. "stay your hand," rep ied the hermit. "will i? i'll send er bullet arter him that will save him one long journey, and send him on er longer one." "what would you do, man? is your heart bent on cold-blooded murder ?" "pshaw, it haint no murder ter kill er redskin." "down with your weapon, man!" and he struck it rudely to the earth, applied his whistle to his lips, and blew a shrill blast. the indian stopped suddenly, when he heard the sound. he raised his crouched form, motioned for a moment with his hands raised above his head, and then sinking down again was lost to sight. "who was it?" demanded glover, with his usual abruptness. "" "a man!" "an injun, i know,” "a far better man than many that boast of a white skin." "waal, we won't dispute that point, but what did he say?" the hermit gave no answer, but dismounting, sat calmly down upon a barren rock and appeared lost in thought. at length, when glover had become completely outraged at what he considered his supreme indifference, and was about to depart, an arrow quivered through the air above their heads, and descending, stuck upright in the sod, almost at their feet. "the great bear has found-" began the hermit. "then it whar your injun that we saw ?" demanded glover. "he has found the trail of the lost girl." 66 god bless him and you," burst from the lips of the planter. "he has found the trail," continued the hermit, as he stooped and picked up the slender shaft, and unrolled a thin piece of bark that had been cunningly fastened around it. "where? oh! tell me where and how ?" "he will follow the trail, and she will be saved." 66 'ef yerself didn't say it, hermit, i'd never believe it of any injun that ever wore a scalplock," said glover "my words are not like the smoke that the wind drifts hither and thither. i said she should be saved, and she shall." "and you ?" questioned the planter. "to watch and direct." 16 a romance of the pampas; or, "and we ?" "back to your late camping-ground. back to your herds and your companions." "ef i do, i'll be-! ef i leave ther sarch fer miss inez before i see her safe, may i be rode upon er rail and have er complete dressin' out of tar and feathers," angrily replied the herdsman. "by saint jago! but that can never be," exclaimed herera. almost in the same breath. "but it must, senor. forgive me for what i say, but it must be so." "it is simply impossible. what? remain idle when my dear child is-oh! holy mother, who can tell where ?" "i know how you feel. i know what a father's anxiety must be, senor, but your search would be useless." "still i must go." senor, listen to reason. reason, at such a time?" 66 you know little of the trail." "i do not care if it leads into the very jaws gain it. of death, i will go." "it cannot be. 66 "words are useless, and-" "i shan't stay, any how-that's flat," put in glover. "you, herdsman, must return to your charge." "i shan't." "then i must compel you to do that which your safety requires," and whistling to his horse, he threw himself upon his back, and was lost in a moment among the winding trails. herera and glover had fastened theirs at some little distance, and when the hastened to untie them found the bridles knotted in a manner that it took them long to untangle. "by ther heavens," cursed glover, "but that ar injun of the hermit has did this thing. but how he managed it without my hearing it, is more'n i kin tell." at length they freed their steeds, and set out again on their almost hopeless search. with his fingers as the girl could be with her tongue. 66 if you wish to see your daughter again, hamlin, jest come this way, will yer, rob." respect my words." "waal, what is it, bruce? what do you want now ?" "this poor, dumb creature thinks ther senorita would be likely ter try and find her horse, and-" chapter ix. hamlin and quito-the indians, and the power of the hermit. "that's somethin' in that dumb feller's head," said weaver to the overseer, as he stood watching him. "he's jest like er good dog that has lost his mistress, and he's er thinkin' of some plan ter find her." "yes," was the reply. "quito worships miss inez more than he does anything else,' and he proceeded to tell the story of his mutilation. the negroes, under the direction of the herdsmen, weaver and hamlin, soon gathered imost of the wandering cattle. then, supervised by the overseer, wilson, they proceeded to rebuild the hut that had been wantonly destroyed. thus employed, they forgot in a great measure the loss of their young mistress and the continued absence of their master, with merry song and laughter they piled the huge logs that in future should prove a safe place of retreat in the hour of danger. but two of the men only appeared to remember that it was not a holiday. and there too, the mute boy, quito, and the girl, rosa, sat apart, straining their eyes in a vain search for the and long they sat thus, now and on conversing, for the boy was as nimble t one. "cut out his tongue, did he, ther infernal brute! ef i whar ter git hold of him, i'd— but call ther boy, and let's know what he am er thinkin of any how." at a signal from wilson the black mute came, and soon made known by signs that he thought if they could find the horse his mistress rode, it might lead to finding her, as she would probably endeavour to re"er bright thought that, fer er wooly head!" replied the herdsman, and then continued, calling to his companion. here, 66 "by mighty, and that ar er fact, and we whar fools not to've thought of it erfore." "whar did yer leave him?" "down on ther big buck branch. you know ther spot, whar thar is er little kind of prerarer." "yes, yes, but she would'nt find him thar in er lifetime." "tain't likely, but i'll jest go and bring him up here, fer if the redskins should happen ter find the critter, she'd never see him ergain," and shouldering his rifle, he started, closely followed by the dumb boy. carefully he examined every foot of the ground, but it gave no assurance that the light footsteps of inez had pressed it in passing. by winding and well-hidden ways he descended and approached a little brook that babbled ceaselessly on its course. he at length came to a jutting point of rock that overhung the mimic meadow he had spoken of. together he and the negro pulled aside the little bushes that fringed its top, and looked below. there was the good steed of the lost girl carelessly feeding, and the herdsman was just about to give a shout of rejoicing, when quito laid his hand upon his arm and pointed to the opposite side of the stream that walled in the grassy valley. hamlin looked up and saw standing on the very brink, a tall forin, clad in the dress of an indian, but with a white beard that swept down upon his breast. "what injun devil is that, i wonder," he muttered to himself. "i never saw one of them with er beard. you jest keep back, and i'll let daylight through him in less nor no time. the man raised his rifle and fired. the report rang loudly, but when the smoke cleared away, there stood that strange form, immovable as a statue of cast iron. scarcely twenty rods distance-er fair (6 the hermit of the 17 colorado hills. mark, and rob hamlin missed it," growled he between his firmly set teeth. he hastily reloaded and fired. again the echoes reverberated, the smoke wreaths lifted, and the eyes of hamlin looked for his mark. but nothing was to be seen! hamlin was certain that no human being could thus twice escape his rifle, and it was with strange feelings of uneasiness that he saw the same figure standing below him in the little valley, smoothing the long mane of the very horse he had come in search of. he was proof against leaden bullets, and when, a moment after, he looked up and motioned the herdsman to descend, the latter was fain to fly, rather than to venture near one who could not be of earth. "come," said the strange figure, seeing that he hesitated, "come and take the good horse you were searching for, though his mistress has not been here." "how could he have known what i whar arter," thought hamlin. "yes, he must be the devil, and no mistake, and i don't know erbout puttin' myself in his clutches." "come," again was repeated from the valley. "come, you and the dumb boy, also." "thar it is ergain! he knows that thar is er boy along with me, and he has'nt seen hide or hair of him. and that he can't speak either! waal, waal, ef he be ther devil, i can't get out of his way by runnin', no how. so here goes," and having consoled himself by this philosophical conclusion, he began to descend. "come!" and this time the invitation was a command, uttered with something like impatience. "jest have a little patience. you'll get hold of my soul quick ernuff in all conscience, and-" "have done! i have not time to linger here." "i s'pose not, fer i reckon you're generally pretty busy," and by this time he stood upon the opposite side of the horse. "what do you take me for?" "fer er-er-dev-i beg pardon-but one that rifle balls go through jest as easy as they do smoke, and without leavin' any marks, must be ther-waal, you know best what yer ar." "no bullet has gone through me, friend. your aim was unsteady." 66 waal, perhaps it did. 湛 ​"will you still cling to such foolish thoughts? see ?" and he held up a little rustic cross and kissed it fervently. "such as you take me for, flee from this holy sign," he continued, with a sad smile, as he returned it to his bosom. "and now that you should be satisfied, you came her in search of the horse of the lost girl, and hoping to find her trail." "yes, sartinly, but how did you know it ?" "no matter. i know it, and would assist you." "don't know about travelin' in your company." 66 66 "but you are no injun ?" "no, my skin is as white as your own." "and you live hereabouts ?" "yes." then, by thunder, i hern tell of you erfore you're ther man ther injuns call ther hermit." "it is true, now listen." "waal, seein' yer only a man, go on." "the girl whom ye seek is lost in the mountains." then may "lost in ther mountings! heaven have mercy on her." notwithstanding the symbolic cross ?" sartinly not, until i know who you are?" my name is no matter what." • "amen, and amen to that." in ther mountings! in ther den of snakes and the home of prowling beasts! heaven, and she so young, tender, and beautiful." "but she may yet be saved." "how? tell me quick-how ?" "go back to where the hut once stood. break up the company into little parties, and scour every inch of the ground in all directions." "but ther cattle ?" "let them go. if every hoof was lost, it would be but little when thrown into the --scale against human soul. go, let the black boy take the horse. here it might not be safe.' "i'd rather think not, ef ther redskins should come prowlin' erbout." "i did not think of them-but the beasts. no fear of the indians. they will not harm -they dare not-but hist!" and he bent his ear to the ground and listened attentively. "thar they come, and-" "to cover, and mind that you obey me, if you value your life." they were hardly out of sight before the rocky walls of the little canon were covered on either side by a crowd of savages. inveterate was the hate of hamlin to the indians, and hard was it to control his temper. he raised his rifle, and was about to fire, when the hermit pressed it down and whispered"on your life, do not fire! one drop of blood spilled, and not only your scalp would pay the forfeit, but all hopes of recovering the girl be lost. keep still as death and watch." for some time the indians remained as if uncertain how to act. in their search for the lost daughter of the planter, they had come by accident upon the little valley, and discovered her horse. "hugh! pale-face !" said one, as he lifted up a foot of the steed, and pointed to the iron shoe. again the rifle of the herdsman was raised, and the form of the negro became agitated. but again the hermit ordered them to keep silent, and remain where they were until he returned. auxiously they obeyed him, and looking in the direction of the sound, saw him standing on the very spot but lately occupied by the indians. the effect upon the red men was startling. all shrunk back from the horse and stood irresolute. a wave of the hand from the hermit and they disappeared. "this beats all the deviltry i ever saw," 18 a romance of the pampas; or, whispered hamlin to the negro, "and yer don't catch me in such company any longer than-" "get the horse now, and hasten back to your friends," was whipered in his ear. "how ther devil did yer come here ?" he stammered, in astonishment, not unmixed with fear. "no matter. he who knows the mountains, can find many a trail that the stranger knows nothing of. do as i tell you. but be careful. go, and-hark-" another whistled call, totally unlike his own arrested his words. thrice it was repeated, and then he continued. 64 go, i am called. yet stay," and he answered the signal. there was a flutter in the air-something like the flight of a bird, and a tiny slipper fell at their feet, standing as they then did in the open ground. quick as thought the negro had picked it up and hid it in his bosom. "it is ther slipper of ther senorita," exclaimed the herdsman. "it is " "but how came it here ?" do as you have been "that matters not. told. go, we shall meet again," and he quickly departed. "by thunder," was the exclamation of the herdsman, "i would't trust myself erlone with that thar man in the dark, fer all ther gold in the world. come, boy, i'm going ter git out of this, jest as quick as possible." hastening on the homeward trail, they had nearly reached the hat, when, in passing through a dense thicket, a band of indians sprang upon them, and before they had time to make the slightest defence, they were bound and rapidly led away. + 1 "here are yer imps ergain!" shouted hamlin. "ef yer have any power, jest unbind my hands, and let me have a dash at ther red rascals." "how long will you tempt my anger? how long will you dare disobey my will? once more and i will call down the curses of the great manitou!" thundered the hermit, but his words were apparently lost upon the air, for no sooner had he appeared than the indians slunk away like whipped dogs. "once more go," continued he to the herds"i'd give er dollar jest now fer that ar hermit, even though he whar ther devil," whispered hamlin to poor quito, who was trembling in every limb. as if his words had power to call up spirits, the wish had scarcely been uttered, before standing in their very path, he saw the hermit with his tall form drawn to its utmost height, and his hands waving threat-gathered, and upon the glowing coals was epingly. broiling the flesh of a deer, the remnant of whose carcass hung upon a tree near at hand. without daring to stir, she sank into the concealment of the bushes. man. "and may i not send er bullet after ther skulkin' thieves?" "no! when the hour comes, they will find a power to punish far more potent than lead or steel. go, and let your friends take the trail." "in the hour of your greatest danger i will be near, and-" "thar goes that ar whistle again." "remember!" and once more the hermit disappeared, and hamlin, followed by quito leading the horse of inez, hastened to the hut"but ef ther red devils should come crgain." chapter x. in the mountains! long inez herera lay insensible in the dense thickets of the mountains. the shadows were thick, and the night air heavy when she fell exhausted and lost to everything around. it was early morning when she awoke from her strange rest, and wild troubled dreams. dimly could she see around. weakened by exertion, faint from hunger, and excited by fear, she saw in every object something to dread. what should she do? a groan escaped her, and then she breathed fervent aspirations to him who holds the thunderbolt in his hands, and tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. it was now fast growing light. god's blessed sunshine had driven away all the phantoms engendered by night, and her mind calmly reflected upon her situation. x "water-food," cried out nature in accents that could not be misunderstood. these two things she must have-and at once! if she failed in procuring them-what then? heart, soul, brain gave back the fearful answer in the single word-death! up and away, nerved by despair, she starts, ready almost to brave the fury of the wild beasts, and find an end alike to torture, and to life among the jagged rocks, or the foaming waters below. faint and foot-sore, for now her remaining slipper was lost, she staggers but suddenly she saw a sight that caused all the hopeful blood in her heart to flow back again, and become cold as ice, and bitter as gall. seated there, were more than dozen savages-war-painted and fully armed! around a little fire they were on. a at liberty once more, by their departure, to proceed, inez herera soon was satisfying her hunger in a manner that but a few days before her delicate nature would have revolted at. a broken knife left by the indians-a slice of venison cut from the haunch-a bed of glowing coals-ashes for seasoning-great flakes of lucent honey-comb for dessert, and a draught of cool water, made the most delicious meal her lips ever tasted. when her meal was finished, the bright plumed angel of hope again nestled in her heart, and folded ite silver pinions as if it would never wander more. a short time given to resta hasty preparation of a small supply of food to carry with her a binding up of her delicate feet as well as it was possible with a portion of her dress cut off for that purpose, and again she the hermit of the colorado hills. 19 • prepared to depart. but with the resolution came the startling and ever-returning question-whither? hark! that is surely a familiar sound-a sound bringing with it almost home music. no beast or bird ever uttered that. it is the lowing of cattle-lowing as they ever do when returning at night, either for milking or herding. a ringing shout-a long echoing yell rises from the heights above, and her resolve is taken and acted upon in an instant. rather tempt unknown dangers than long protracted torture. at once she passes over the 'slight distinguishing line, flees from the mountains, and is lost in the high and tangled grass of the pampas. chapter xi, surprises. herera, the almost despairing and heartbroken planter, accompanied by his faithful herdsman, glover, attempted to follow the trail of the hermit when he suddenly left them but soon found it impossible. "thar is but one way, signor, that i kin think of, and that is ter go back ergin ter whar ther hut stood-see if we can larn any thing, and take er new start," counselled glover. "it may be, but how can i consent to turn back when my darling child is still lost ?" was the sorrowful reply. "it is er hard case that ar er fact, but what else is thar left for us to do ?" "nothing-alas, nothing!" "yer see, we can't foller that ar hermit, no more than yer could ther trail of er mole under ground, and so-" "you are right. we will go. god in his mercy, grant that we may hear some news of my daughter," and he spurred his now jaded horse more rapidly forward. in silence they rode for a time, as men ever do, when on a desperate errand. an hour passed thus, when the horse of the herdsman, with his long, swinging gallop, suddenly pressed down a small hill into the open ground round a wooded point and into the pampas. "thar ar ther cattle!" shouted he; "and thar, as i'm a sinner, is ther point whar ther hut stood-and-and, ef i'm not mad as er march hare, thar is er larger cabin standin' now." "your eyes do not deceive you. i can 'see it plainly see a number of men about itsee even the smoke, and-" —— may i be "one of them is er woman! shot, scalped, and hung up ter dry, ef one of them is not er woman!" "yes-but-" "keep er little more this way out of ther long grass, or yer horse will be down. here's ther cattle path, and now whip and spur, signor, and you'll soon see yer daughter agin." "i pray, heaven, that it may be so." "look sharp how yer ride then, for ther trail turns quick as er snake, and goes through ther bushes. it's only er short distance though, and then we shall have plain sailin'. but heaven and airth, what is that? even at the entrance of the little wood they were about to pass through, stood an indian, clad in his war dress and fiercely painted. "don't fire, signor-don't fire, fer yer life. be he red-skin or be he devil, he comes in peace and may be er friend." "how do you know that?" and still the weapon was kept poised. "don't yer see that he keeps ther inside of his hand toward us?" 'yes; but what does that signify?" "waal, jest this, that he haint er goin' ter use any weapons, and that he would speak ter us in er friendly manner. it's er sort er injun flag er truce." but, be upon "let us meet him, then. your guard." "that i allers am, when dealin' with such critters, fer it's pretty much like handlin' er sarpent. yer don't know when they'll try and bite yer. but see, thar's no use in bein' so sarcumspect. it's ther hermit's red-skin, ther great bar." "then haste," and the horses leaping under the spur, in a moment brought them to where the waiting red man stood. "what tiding, bar?" shouted glover, even before he had checked his panting horse. "tell us, and be quick erbout it, have ye found ther gal? is that her up yender, by ther cabin?" "kaw-wa-gas-hi brings the written talk of the pale-face," was the answer of the indian, and he slowly drew a piece of white bark from his wampum girdle, and handed it to the planter. "great god!" he exclaimed, in agony of spirit, "can this be true? my poor lost child! jesu maria! pity and protect her." "ef i mought be so bold, signor, i'd jest like ter know what that ar writin' am erbout. herera handed it to the herdsman, but he only shook his head, and without touching it, continued: ""tain no use-not ther least grain in ther world fer me ter look at it, fer i don't know one letter from ernother any more'n er yearlin' calf. ef her feller had ter be hung, and i whar 'pinted ter read thar sentence, i reckon thar'd be no use in even plantin' hemp fer ther rope. but jest tell us, signor, if yer hain't no objections." "none. it is a note from the man who styles himself the hermit, saying that my poor dear child is not in the mountains-that every foot has been searched, and that-" 66 then, by heaven, she must have got inter ther pampas!". "yes-but-but-" and the voice of the strong man told how fearful the question was to him, "but, may she not have fallen a prey to the wild beasts?" "no fear of that!" was the cheering reply. "no fear of that, fer ther redskins would have found something-part of her dress, perhaps, ter have told about her. no, no, signor, i'd bet my rifle ergin er willer whistle that it hain't so. but, is that all ther writin' says erbout it ?" 20 a romance of the pampas; or, "all! she has wandered into the pampas, and-" "ther bar here kin tell us more erbout it, i reckon. bar-bar, i say. whar in the name of thunder has he got ter! i'd swar he whar er standin' thar er minit ergo !" "truly, he was, but now he has disappeared." " diserpered? sunk inter ther earth. waal, it does beat all natur whar he could have got ter!" and he began looking around to discover some hole through which he had descended. "what are you looking for, glover?" asked the planter, who, notwithstanding his intense anxiety, could not repress a smile. "lookin' fer ?" "certainly. what do you expect to find ?" "waal, i don't see any hole or smell any brimstone! but it's ther queerest thing whar he could have gone ter." "come, we had better push on to the camp. it is growing late, and, god pity her, but my dear child may have to stay out another night." "yes, go, and ther quicker ther better. any place er way from whar red-devils come and go quicker nor er flash of lightning." and, urging on their horses; they soon passed the little belt of timber and came in sight of the newly erected cabin. "by saint jago!" the favourite expletive of the planter, burst from his lips, "but there is my dear child's horse! lie, at least, is found, and my darling-" 66 may be also! now, ef she whar er herdsman, i'd bet high on it. bet all ther ounces i had, fer they'r never far erway from such er horse as is wrapped up in that ar hide," and he shook his bridle, gave a whoop that startled the men gathered around the hut, and, dashing forward, soon was in their midst, asking countless questions in a breath. with the exception of the story of hamlin -how he and quito had seen the hermit, and been rescued by him from the indians-he could learn nothing. "then to the pampas!" was his command. every one to the search, except quito and rosa." 66 "that's well thought on, signor," replied glover. "thar's nothin' like havin' er land mark in er dark night." "but ther cattle ?" questioned weaver. "the cattle, man! if every hoof was of solid gold, you think i would value them now? do you think cattle, gold, any thing that can weigh against my daughter's safety? give me a horse, and—” "better rest er little, signor, and git somethin' ter eat erfore you start." "rest? food? are you all determined to drive me mad? you may, in the cravings of hunger forget that we are searching for my child-but a father-never!" "i wasn't thinkin' of myself, but you, signor. bruce weaver's nerves and stomach hain't none of ther delicate kind, i kin tell yer. but you hain't used ter this kind of life." "not used to it? true, but i will not stop for any thing, until i am assured of my dear child's safety. not used to it? to horse, men!" and he turned away to give instructions to quito and the young negress. 66 bruce," said glover, ef ther old man don't find ther gal pooty soon, he'll be as mad as er bear in er hornet's nest." "waal, he hain't fur from it now! jest think of his goin' ter hunt through ther pampas in ther night! why er cayoter kin hardly find his theivin' way." "i don't like ther job, much, that ar er fact, and if it whar er man that whar lost instead of such a pooty, delicate gal, i'd see him—" "come, men, are you ready?" interrupted the planter. "the boy and girl will keep a good fire, and i have arranged signals in case they should learn any thing of my darling one.' ,, "larn! how can they?" "you forget the hermit, glover." "yes, i did, that ar er fact, and his devil's imp, ther great bar, too. but it hain't best ter be er talking about them, fur you never kin know how cluss ther ole one or his sarvent may be ter yer." "get these follies out of your head. both he and the indian are simply men. all that appears strange to you, could be easily explained, and-" "what do you think of that?" was the sudden question, as a whistle rang from one side of them, and was immediately answered from every point around. 64 tis the call of the hermit, repeated by the echoes." "echers be-but no matter. i hain't erfeared ter go whar any other man dare, and ef he be thar devil, he-" 66 hain't no devil," interrupted hamlin, "for be wars er cross, and i seed him kiss it." "a cross! the holy symbol of our faith !" answered the planter, in astonishment. "don't know nothin' erbout symbles, but i do know that he has er little cross made out of two pieces of wood, and-but your tongueless darkey thar, kin tell yer more erbout it." by signs, the dumb boy related what had passed, and the planter and glover were more astonished than ever at this new phase in the hermit's character. "what can one bearing about him the emblem of monastic life be doing in the midst of this wilderness?" was the thought of the planter. "i wonder ef ther devil don't sometimes play ther saint, as well as ther saint the devil?" was the characteristic one of the herdsman. both were cut short in their surmises by the rapid dashing of the horse of inez down the slope and into the deep grass of the pampas. without any apparent cause, he had broken from quito, who was petting him, and in a moment bounded out of sight. "waal, now ther devil is up fer sartin!" continued glover. "why? what do you suppose is the cause of this strange movement ?" asked the planter. "think? s'pose? nothin', 'xcept thar is er snake in ther grass, even if thar isn't er hull nest of them !" the hermit of the colorado hills. 21 "don't speak in riddles, man. this is neither the time nor place for such things," said the planter, sternly. 66 then, if you can't understand er hint, er'll soon git somethin' harder-ye'll git er kick, far it's ther-" accounted for. but the indians deeming themselves safe from the hermit, and but little fearing his power when at a distance, now that all search for inez appeared hopeless, and the promised reward consequently lost, determined again to satisfy their lust for look-plunder, and having first robbed the planter and his party of their horses, to stampede the cattle and drive them rapidly away. and while they stood confounded on the brink of that leafy ocean, the poor, wandering girl was becoming still more hopelessly lost in its labyrinths and beyond the help, almost, of human hands. weary and weak she sank once more upon the ground, feeling that the last bitter hour was drawing near. sleep came, and lost to all her surroundings, the dark hours flitted like ill-omened birds over her head. "indians!" echoed every lip, and on ing around, they found themselves, surrounded on every side by armed comanches. "now, for the blood of castile, charge them home!" shouted the planter. "to cover!" was the counter-command of all the herdsmen, and rapidly was it obeyed. even the planter, brave, somewhat headstrong and unused to being dictated to as he was, felt the force of this, and secured a safe retreat, just as a shower of arrows whistled over his head. one of the arrows arrested on its way, fell at the very feet of glover, who, after picking it up and noticing that it was a headless one-such as boys shoot in sport, and not stone armed, shouted with the full force of his lungs: "look to ther horses, boys! look ter ther horses! shoot-cut down ther red-devils, but save them!" but the advice came too late! already every horse had been loosened and was sweeping toward the hiding places of the pampas, with only the foot of an indian visible over its back. to shoot, therefore, was not to be thought of, and all, as if by one impulse, stood still until glover, as ever foremost, dropped his rifle to the ground with a bitter oath, and exclaimed: "boys, ther game is up! we've been caught in er trap is er stinkin' mush-rat, and ukered on er lone hand!" 3 "no matter for the horses!" replied the planter. "let them go along with the cattle. all i ask is my daughter. if i can but find her again, i care for nothing else. saint marie, holy mother, shall i never find her! my child! oh, my child!" and he leaned his head against a tree, and for the first time, the hot, bitter tears of manhood flooded his eyes. signor," replied the herdsman, "ef you think-" stop! this is no time for words, but action! come!" and he was hastening alone in the track of the indians, when again the orm of the hermit arose from the thick bushes, and warued him back both with hand and voice. chapter xii. darkness and light the slave of the ring. wildly the night set in, and the darkness lowered around the head of the poor lost girl. had inez been less rapid in her movements she would have been found by the searching indians. once upon her path they followed as swiftly as was possible until it was lost in the pampas. from them the indian follower of the hermit, the great bear, had learned the fact, and his master from him, and knowing all the secret paths and short cuts in the mountains, their presence, that had appeared so supernatural to glover, could be readily | sunlight and a morning of glorious promise did come. she had survived to see another day. in the very midst of the inhospitable pampas she had closed her eyes closed them, as she had almost hoped, in death; and now a far different scene was around her. lying on a soft, though rude couch of skins, she looked upon the narrow walls of a wigwam. food and drink were placed by her side. but the slight noise she had made in stirring, had reached listening ears, and before she had time to compose herself, the curtains of the lodge were drawn aside, and the hermit of the mountains, clad in his usual strange dress, entered. with a shriek for mercy, she sprang up, and threw herself at his feet. "spare me! oh! spare me for the sake of the blessed mother!" burst from her ashy lips. "my poor child have no fear. the hungerforced red man would be safe if he crossed this threshold, and why should not one of my own kind?" was the deep, almost solemntoned answer, as he lifted her gently again upon the couch of skins. "then you are not-" she could not frame her fears into words, and hastily paused. "have no fear. i am an outcast, but not a savage-but eat-drink;" stepping to the other side of the wigwam, he took a flask of wine from a nitche in the rock, filled a cup curiously carved from the horns of the buffalo, and placed it in her trembling hands. . drink," he repeated, "it will bring back life to you heart." "an outcast!" repeated the girl, shrinking back from his proffered refreshment. "forget the word, lady. i swear by the cross you wear, by this one," and he pulled the little rustic emblem from his bosom and pressed it to his lips, "that no harm shall come to you. drink." "by that holy sign i trust you. and yet where am i? who are you?" "no matter, now. drink, eat. i will soon return," and fearful that his presence might keep her from following his advice, he passed out of sight. after a time, becoming more calm, she forced herself to comply, and gaining strength, took a more hopeful view of her situation. she again was startled by the entrance of the hermit. 22 a romance of the pampas; or, "it is well!" was his somewhat strange salutation. "inez herera," he said again, addressing her, and this time in her mother tongue, "inez herera," you were"9 "how do you know my name?" "it matters not, now. i do know it; more than that, i know everything connected with your wanderings." "and my father, strange man, oh! tell me is he well, is he alive ?" "can it be that there is one human heart that beats thus truly? can it be that there is a love that will survive the passage of an hour?" almost whispered the hermit, as if unconscious of her presence. "oh! why do you not answer me? he is not here, you have murdered him!" and her breast heaved with emotion, and her eyes filled with tears. 圈 ​"he lives, and i-" "forgive me, i scarcely knew what i said. forgive me, pardon me.' "years ago, girl, i turned my back on my home, and swore never to befriend one of my people, even if he were dying at my door. i have broken my vow, and am justly punished by your suspicion." "surely, you will not be angry at the words of a weak, almost distracted girl. god help me! i am motherless, and my father is all i have left to love." "motherless ?" and the voice of the strong man trembled, his face lost its colour, and he bowed his head upon his hands. "mother? my dear, dear mother, did you ever know her ?" "i, too, have lost a mother," was the evasive reply, as commanding himself, he again raised his head with all emotion banished from his countenance. "but you started so at the word that i thought-" "we were talking of your father." "of him, then, as you know nothing of my dear mother, pray tell me. is he living and well ?" "he is." " and near? oh! let me go to him." "it is thus with us all," said the hermit, his conversation changing rapidly, to almost bitter soliloquy. "we are never satisfied with what we have. i thought once that all i desired was in my grasp. i thought i was happy-beloved, that i was-but you were speaking of your father." in vain for a moment the girl strove to reply. shuddering, almost, inez herera turned away, and then, as if fascinated, lured by some stronger power than her own will, answered: "tell me, strange man, about my father. it was my request, and yet, as when i spoke of my dear, lost mother" "do not speak to me of your mother again, or i shall-" the application of the whistle to his lips closed the sentence, and before the sound had ceased to ring in their ears, the indian stood before them. this to the pale-faced chief," he resumed, addressing the great bear in the language of his tribe, and handing him a letter, "you know the trail, and your horse is swift and strong." "kaw-wa-gas-hi will bear the written talk," and be back again-" "before the manitou of night has hidden the bright-eyed sun behind his thick blanket, yet stay," and turning to inez, and changing from the indian to the spanish tongue, he continued, "has the daughter no token to send to her father ?" 66 yes, this," and she drew from her slender fingers a brilliant of rare size and lustre, and placed it in his hands. "this, this!" and he dropped it as if he had been serpent-stung! "it was my mother's!" "ever that word! mother-i will not be haunted thus! great bear begone!" and he dashed out of the wigwam. for long and weary hours inez was left alone. much as she longed to question him concerning her father, she feared to do so. at length, when the hermit again entered, nerving herself, she said almost in a whisper: "you have been very kind to me, will you not be so yet farther." "when i found you lost in insensibilitydying in the grassy wilderness of the pampas, my heart yearned toward you, as it had done towards no creature of the human kind. i vowed, though it was the breaking of an old vow, to take upon myself a new-that i would save you. i have done it so far." "then, it was you that rescued me? may heaven bless you for it. oh, if you could but know how i have suffered, you might feel, in some degree, how my heart thanks you." "human thanks are but air, and words but breath." "then, you do not believe that i am thankful-very thankful for my almost providential rescue ?" "yes, i believe you feel so now, but-" "but will soon forget it? is not that what you would have said ?" "it might have been, but no matter. and if it should be the case, what difference would it make with me ?" "tell me how, and when you found me," continued inez, suddenly changing the subject, as she saw the dark shadows begining to mantle over his face, foretelling another outburst of bitterness. "you found me in the wild pampas, alone, and—” "dying!" interrupted the hermit, solemnly. 66 'it is too true. and you saved me?" "the blessed virgin be thanked. i did." yes, to that holy one our thanks are due, but you-" "c "were a humble instrument in her hands." "but tell me all." in a few brief words the hermit related his having found her insensible. that he had carried her to the wigwam-that he and the indian had administered such restoratives as they possessed. the story was simple, and inez, in turn, told of her wanderings. "gold is purified by fire, and the human heart by trial and suffering," said the hermit, when she had concluded, in a tender voice. the hermit of the colorado hills. £3 e @ e 3. e d i 0: ** n c 0 10 2 { a mutual confidence was being established between them. a feeling somewhat similar to that existing between a father and daughter, when, as he was about to take her hand in his own, the ring that had before so started him, flashed before his eyes, and springing to his feet, he flung the hand rudely away, exclaiming: "is there, can there be no rest even here? will the devil within me never be exorcised? put that ring away! let me never see it again, or i might-good god! what would i have said? there is no peace for my poor, troubled soul on earth! will there be any in heaven ?" "let thy sins be laid at the foot of the cross," answered inez, almost unconscious of what she uttered. "let thy crimes be confessed, and-"?! t "crimes crimes! my crimes?" repeated the hermit, savagely. "my crimes? now, may god cur23 the fury she had unwittingly and innocently raised, was stayed by the tramp of horses rushing up the rocky slope. "banish all fear from your face and dry your eyes," continued the hermit, in a subdued voice" prepare to meet your father as a daughter should, with great joy and thankfulness, and, taking her by the hand, he led her gently from the wigwam. "father! dear, dear, father!" and she fell into the open arms of her parent. "may i never kill any er buck ergin, as long as i live, ef this hain't ther happiest day of my life," shouted glover, as he jumped from his panting mustang and wrung the hand of the hermit with a grasp of iron. "old man, yer ar er trump! i'd rayther have yer word than ther best man's note in orleans! give us ernother grip of yer paw, and call sy glover er true friend fer life!" 2 chapter xiii. consultation-a word of fear! "where are the cattle ?" demanded the hermit, when he had led the herdsman and the indian out of sight and hearing of the lanter and his daughter. he felt that their meeting was a scene far too holy for rude eyes to gaze upon. "gone ter ther devil, erlong with ther blasted red-skins," replied glover. "and the men ?" ·66 'waal, as fer that, it's pooty hard ter say. ther niggers ar huddled tergether like er flock of black sheep, and hamlin and his partner scouting round somewhar. i kinder pitty any injun that they draw er sight on with ther rifles arter this, the thievin', critter-stampedin' brutes." "which way have the cattle been driven ?" questioned the hermit of the great bear. "toward the setting sun," was the brief reply. "to ther secret den on comanche peak, they must be overtaken !" "show me the path, and i'll follow them erlone!" interrupted the herdsman. "your single arm would do little against their numbers. the power i possess over them is worth more than an hundred armed 99 men. 06 waal, i s'pose yer ar right, though i'llbe hanged ef i understand how yer manage the critters." 66 it would be better that you stay here and assist your master, in case trouble should come. 99 1 "not i! efthar is er goin ter be er fracas, sy glover is er goin ter have er hand in, that's all." "but, think of the young lady." "ther signorita? waal, she is ther pootiest thing i ever set eyes on in all my born days, and i'll be cut inter inch pieces and fed ter ther dogs, before any harm should come to her." "and yet you will not stay and guard her?" "it hain't in ther natural order of things, that i should. no, no! my place is arter ther yeller-skins that stole ther cattle, and my fingers itch ter have er scrimmage with them." "but it is your duty to remain." "dooty? my dooty is ter take care of ther hoofs, hides and horns, so thar's no more use in talking erbout it." "yet your presence might defeat the very object we have in view. the indians fear me when alone, but the presence of a stranger might make them question my power." "now, yer jest look er here, ole man, will yer? ther long and ther short of ther story is, that yer don't want me ter go er long with you, hain't it?" 64 certainly; i do not think it is for the best." "then yer jest go yer own gait, and i'll go mine. it won't be ther fust time i've followed red-skins alone, nor ther last either, i hope, so i'll pack up my duds an be off. "if you must go at all, it would be better that you went with us." a "it hain't no kinder use trying ter smooth ther matter over, and palaver me like er lawyer. sy glover isn't ther one ter force himself upon any man. you and ther injin kin jest go to ther devil er cross lots, for all i care. i kin fish and cut bait both, ef it ar necessary," replied glover, becoming angry. "it can not be. we must all go together." "waal, make yer own game, and see ef i don't knock down as many pins as any on yer, when we go er bowlin' ergin ther redskins." "you need food and rest first." "somethin' ter eat, yes; but i kin take that in ther saddle, jest as well as any whar, but as for restin', it hain't no use er talkin' erbout it. i'm tough as er baffaler bull." "the great bear will see that you have food, while i go and speak to the planter." "come erlong, bar," and the twain departed, and the hermit returned to the wigwam. 60 thanks, thanks," exclaimed inez, springing up from her father's side, and meeting him at the entrance. "oh! how much i owe you, my dear father told me," and she placed both her hands in his. 24 a romance of the pampas; or, "it is but little i have done-little i have been able to do," he replied. "but more remains to be done." 66 what remains?" questioned herera. "is not my dear one found?" "heaven has truly been kind to you in this regard, but all, as yet, is not found." "and what can remain ?" "your cattle. signor." "pshaw! if they numbered ten times as many, do you dream i would think of it in such an hour as this ?" "certainly not. they could never be weighed in the balance against the fair one by your side. "let them go! let the savages gorge themselves on their ill-gotten gains. they are welcome, now that my lost one is found." "still they must be found, and compelled to return the herd." "who says so? who dares to question my will in the matter?" and the eyes of the planter flashed with their old and wonted fires when thwarted. "i do!" was the calm reply. "you? i say the indians may have every hoof and horn, and how dare you to gainsay it ?" "i say they shall have none, if we except those they have already devoured." "by saint jago!" began the planter, when inez stepped in between them, and whispered: "father! think to whom you are talking." i "i neither know, inez, nor do i care. am jose herera, and "" "i am the hermit of the colorado hills! your will may be, and of right is, law, within the limits of your own' plantation. here it is as feeble as the bleat of a kid. the cattle must be retaken and the stampeders punished." "must!" 66 aye, must." 66 father," again pleaded inez; "he has earned the right to do as he pleases. think of all he has ventured and done for us. think of my safety, and-" "you are in the right, child. forgive me, signor, and do as you please, though i had judged you differently from one who would so value a few head of cattle." 餐 ​"if every hoof and horn was of solid gold, i would care no more for them than you do for the thistle down, that the wind whirls through the air." "i thought it could not be that you were so sordid. but, if not for that reason, what then ?" "it is that my power may remain unquestioned." 46 'then go, and god be with you." "amen, to that." "you will not long be absent." "i think a few short hours will see my return." "and what are we to do until then?" "it was for the purpose of seeing you on the subject that i came here. your herdsman insists on going with me, and-" "so he should. he has a brave heart and a strong arm." "i thought it best that he should remain and guard you "" "not so! we shall be in no danger, and, if we should, wo betide the man that crosses swords with jose herera, when fighting for his daughter." "but, is there-can there be any fear?" asked inez, all the timidity of her nature aroused. "none. i think none," answered the hermit. "not one of these wandering comanches, dare set a foot here. there are none others to molest you, and of other dangers i know nothing." "then we are safe, dear father ?" "i trust so, yes. but you will not depart to-night? see, it is already growing dark!" "yes; and it is time we were on the trail. the iron should be beaten when it is at white heat and the red-man found and punished, when rioting in his spoils." "let me implore you not to risk your life," said inez, laying her hand gently on his arm. "for the sake of what they have stolen, no. to make them feel my power, if it should become necessary, yes! but fear not. see!" and stepping outside of the wigwam, he pointed to a light gleaming afar off. "what is it?" asked herera. "i see nothing." "do you not see that light ?" "a bright planet on the verge of the sky ?" ""tis the fire of the comanches. they are gorging themselves with half-cooked meat, and becoming drunk with hot blood. by heaven! but they shall rue the day they dared to run counter to my will! but forgive me," and changing the subject, he informed the planter where he would find food and water, and then, departed and returned to the herdsman and the indian. the tramp of the starting horses soon came to the ears of the father and daughter (who had stepped out from the wigwam and stood upon the rocky point on which it had been builded.) in the darkness they searched in vain for the hermit. certainly, those who were hastening away were two indians,, and the herdsman, whose tall and sinewy form, could not be mistaken. 66 father," said inez, "that strang man is not with them." 66 strange man, my child? who do you mean ?" "he, who calls himself the hermit." 66 he is strange, indeed, and i doubt if we have yet seen him in all his disguises. i have before seen him in the dress, and acting the part of an indian." "sometimes his looks and actions terrify me," and then she related the episode of the ring, ending with a question as to whether he knew any thing concerning it. "no, my child, i do not. it was upon your mother's finger when i first saw her. she wore it until she died. i kept it both for her sake and yours, and when you became old enough, i gave it to you, as of right, i should." "but why should he start so wildly-why show so much of emotion at the sight of it, father?" "i do not know. it is very strange, the hermit of the colorado ´hills. "i shall never wear it again in his pres"" ence "it is best, after what has passed, that you should not. it is of peculiar shape-peculiar in the arrangement of the jewels, and, once seen, could neither be forgotten nor mistaken." "i never saw one like it." "i doubt if there is its mate in the world. but, i can not understand where the hermit could have seen it, and, yet more, why it should awaken such bitterness in his heart." "oh how i should love to know his history." "it must be a wild and eventful one. evidently, he is a man of education, even refinement. with you, my daughter, i would like to know something of his life. some day when we become better acquainted, i will question him about it." "better not, dear father. i feel that there is some pain in his breast that had better not be disturbed." "a woman's fear, inez." "but women's eyes often read more deeply the heart of man than they are given credit for. believe me, dear father, the misanthropic and mysterious have a charm for our sex, such as yours never know. but, i wish he had explained the connection between the ring and my dear, lost mother." "by saint jago! but he shall, child." "father," and she crept nearer to him, and whispered the words in his ears, "father, might he not have loved her, and-" "be still, child! the night air grows cold. no words you to your couch, and sleep, while i keep watch." watch! he could not have slept if he would, for through the dark hours the woods kept ringing in his ears, "he might have loved her!" chapter xiv. the carnival of gluttony-the power of the hermit a strange murder. wild was the revel of the comanches, when, having driven off the cattle of herera, and safely corraled them at the foot of the high peak named after their tribe, they gave themselves up to enjoyment. the hot blood, as it spirted from the cut throats, was caught in rude cups, and quaffed, steaming and curdling as it was. in their savage rejoicings they had neglected to take any precautions against surprise, and a handful of resolute men could have slaughtered them like sheep in the shambles. cautiously leading the way, and closely followed by the herdsman and the indian, came the hermit. stealthly they crept along, having left their horses at the base of the hill. their moccasins gave back no sound that would have betrayed their approach, even if the screams of the almost devilish revel had been stilled. "6 there," whispered the leader to glover, when they had reached a point above the indians, there is a more perfect fac-simile of 06 incarnate fiends and hell upon earth than civilized eyes ever rested upon." "i'd give er hull handful of dubloons ef my mates whar only here with thar rifles," answered the herdsman. "they would regard them as little as they do the black buzzards that are croaking above. they are drunk with blood, and ripe for murder. "waal, i rayther reckon 'twould be jest the same as ef you war ter throw er lamb inter er den of starvin' cayoters, ther blood lovin', stealin', murderin' brutes!" "look!" interrupted the great bear in his sententious manner, pointing to where the smoke partially obscured the scene. "what is it?" asked the hermit. "prisoner!" "er prisoner! by heaven! but ther bar tells ther truth. i kin see him, now that the smoke has lifted, jest as plain as daylight," broke in the herdsman. come, men, let's give them ther bullets, and then ther knife and hatchet." 66 "are you mad," questioned the hermit, as he held him as with a grasp of iron. "mad, did yer say? waal, i reckon i am, and who wouldn't be, ter see ther red-devils er goin' ter roast er man atter they have done with ther brutes. but jest. yer let go of my arm fer i'd as lief have it in er vice. by thunder!" he added, when his request had been complied with, "who would have thought the old man could have had such er grip. i'll bet thar haint er grizzly in ther mountings that could have squeezed me tighter," and he rubbed the compressed member to restore the circulation. "who is it ?" asked the hermit of the indian," white or red-skin." "the blood of the pale face, nor that of warriors runs in his veins." "neither white or red. then he must be-" "er nigger!" again broke in glover. waal, they haint of much ercount anyway, and yet-" -1 "he must and shall be saved. but bear, do you know him." "the eyes of kaw-wa-gas-hi .saw him waiting on the snowy lily of the pale-face." "what! the dumb boy?" "what! that poor black devil, quito, that had his tongue cut out on his head by some infernal brute ?" added the herdsman. the indian only replied by a nod of his head, and a motion of his hand, and then, at a sign from him he ever followed, crawled down the ragged side of the cliff, and disappeared. 66 waal, signor, what are we ergoin ter do now ?" said glover, fretting at not being allowed to shoot into the frantically rioting demons beneath him. "see, as i live and breathe ef they ar not ergoing ter begin torturin' ther poor, tongueless nigger," and he raised his rifle and prepared to fire when the hermit struck it to the earth, and whispered sternly in his ears"leave all to me! you would come, against my will, and now you must obey. i am master here, and must be obeyed. the iron grip he had felt, added to the 26 a romance of the pampas; or, commanding figure, and flashing eyes of the hermit, exercised a control over the herdsman that he dared not attempt to break, and choking down his anger as best he might, he listened in silence. “herdsman, you must remain on this spot. from it you can see all that passes, but as you live-as you have any hopes of seeing yon poor captive set free, put down your rifle." "and you?" "time must determine. but i have never failed before, and, i think, will not now," and he slipped off his indian trappings, hastily put on the long hair and flowing beard of the hermit, and with the single word "remember," disappeared in an opposite direction from that taken by the great bear. ill at ease and restless, the herdsman yet forced himself to remain, and watched. a circle of dark warriors with all the fury of their nature lashed into foam, were dancing around the poor, bound and helpless quito. pinioned closely to a tree, and half dead from fear, he was completely at their mercy. "fire! fire! the torture of fire! rang from every lip as they rushed forward to seize him. reply. 46 we will do all the great medicine bids us." "you? did you not know when you laid your murderous and blood-stained hands on yon captive, that he was one whom the great manitou protects ? did you not know that his tongue was torn from his mouth, and that he could neither sing the song of victory or the whoop of defiance ?" "kaw. no!" and they shrank back still farther in abject fear, for they believed that any one thus mutilated was protected by the great spirit.. "by ther heavens, but he's jest as bad as ther rest of them! ef they are not all tar'd with the same stick, and goin' to ther devil in ther same boat, may i be hung for er sheepstealin' dog." "hold!" and starting back in dismay, they saw the hermit arising as if out of the earth. "the hermit!" was echoed from all sides. "is it thus you obey me! and, not content with robbery, you would add murder! by the holy cross and the great manitou, curses shall fall upon your tribe." the mystic circles completed, the hermit bent himself low to the earth-arose, threw his hands wildly about, and uttered some words of hidden import, and strange sound to all; then, drawing a vial from his bosom, he threw the contents upon the coals. there was a loud explosion, and sudden flashes of blue flame-there was a suffocating smoke "we will unbind the captive. we will set him free. we will return the cattle," was the meek answer of many tongues. 66 you will do all this ?" was the sneering arose, and then, as the wind rolled the clouds away, all was silence and blackness. "er born devil," muttered the herdsman again," and yer don't catch me any longer in his company!" "hark!" continued the hermit, after a brief pause. "hark! the same hand that freed this poor slave has also broken down the walls of the corral! the cattle are at liberty. you can hear the thundering of their hoofs as they dash away from the sickening stench of your orgie.” "lies! all lies! your black hearts would scruple at nothing to gratify your infernal passion." "let us unbind him! the manitou will be angry with us," plead the warriors humbly, and were hastening to execute their self-imposed task, when the hermit again waved them back. the bellowing thunder, can set the captive free." "forbear! vultures, blood-lapping wolves! lay but a finger on him if you dare!" "but the great spirit," they began→ "will protect his own. quito, boy, come hither!" and, unfettered and free, the poor slave staggered forward, and throwing himself at the feet of the hermit, kissed them in the excess of his joy. "see!" continued the hermit, raising the poor mute to his feet, "see how the manitou can loose the bonds. see, how fe who whippere in the winds and speaks, when angry, in then one of the bravest, and, perchance, least guilty and debauched of the warriors, tremblingly advanced, and said— "the cattle !" "strange!" replied the hermit, as one suddenly aroused from a dream, "strange, that man can thus war upon his fellow-man! "the medicine is talking to the great spirit," the warriors whispered one to another, for his thoughts had been uttered in english. "the same power that freed the captive from his bonds," he continued, "will set the herds of the pale-face at liberty. see! i but weave the charm, and they will have the whole of the pampas for a pasture-ground." gazing with wondering eyes, the indians saw him go thrice around the fire, and glover, who, also, was watching every motion, and listening to every word with astonishment, if not fear, could not refrain from muttering between his clenched teeth. "and the anger of the manitou," still asked the warriors, fearful that the impending curse had not yet passed away. "three days hence you will know all. swift as was your cunning, let your return be, to your dens in the colorado hills. no pausing, and no turning aside from the trail. let fasting follow feasting, and repentance, if such a thing can find its way into your brutal hearts, of your sin. begone! out of my sight, ye worse than wolves! go!or-" co "they are gone, and my power is confirmed! long years i toiled for this-long years practiced deception. may the good virgin be thanked, it was for a good end, and when i am no more may it balance in some degree the great and fiendish-how now, boy !" the dumb slave had raised himself up at the departure of the indians-had crawled as it were, up to the form of the hermit, and was now peering intensely into his face, and drinking in every sound of his voice. abashed the hermit of the colorado hills. 27 f not afraid, the negro shrank back again upon the earth, and crawled away. was he looking for something upon the ground, that he proceeded thus slowly and examined it iuch by inch? "herdsman !" shouted the hermit, as soon as he was freed from the negro. "herdsman, come! great bear, i want you." in a few minutes the former had crawled down the rocks, and stood by his side, while the indian arose at the very instant from the tangled brushwood at his feet. 66 now," continued the hermit, "that we are free from these demons, we must hasten back to the signor and his daughter." "waal," replied the herdsman, edging away as the other came near him, "waal, ef he only saw what i have seen ter night, he'd never have anything to do with yer, i kin tell yer." "why, man, what do you take me for ?" "own cousin ef not twin brother, or it may be ther devil his own self!" "pshaw! i little thought that you would have been imposed upon by such simple means." "waal, it may be i'm simple and mean both, but curse me ef i either like or understand such doings, that's all. but what in thunder is that thar black rascal erbout now ?" he added, seeing quito busy in rebuilding the nearly extinguished fire. "i should have thought that he had come near ernuff ter roasting jest now, without kindlin' er fire for himself." the attention of the hermit thus called to the fact, hastened to extinguish it. "what are you doing boy ?" he asked. "do you want to bring another band of sav. ages upon us? have you not been near enough to death without tempting it again?" and he stooped down to cast the branches aside. the action revealed both his face and form fully, and the flames as they leaped upwards, catching in his long hair and waving beard he threw them off, and thus exposed his features, as they had never before been seen by quito. quick as thought the negro was by his side. his large eyes were fixed upon his face for a moment, and then with a sound like the howl of a wild beast-a horrible, half-strangled, inarticulate moan, he sprang upon and buried a knife hilt-deep in his breast! the poor, speechless slave had found what he had been searching for, as he crawled along the ground, and the knife of the indian had found a bloody sheath! but what the motive? what the provocation? chapter xv. the shadows of death. with a deep groan the hermit fell backward, and the indian rushing upon the slave, would have slain him in a moment, had not the herdsman interfered and protected him. "no yer don't," shouted glover. "yer don't touch him, so long as i am alive. i don't understand why ther nigger should have done it arter the hermit's saving his life, but i'll bet, that he had ergood reason for it. so put up yer hatchet and look arter yer master. bear er hand, man, and i'll help yer stop ther blood-" doubtful, indeed, would have been the issue-doubtful, whether the indian would have rested until his vengeance on the one who had thus wounded his master had been fully satisfied, if the hermit had not summoned him in his native language to his side. the moment he turned away, the herdsman grasped the arm of the negro and hurried him towards the woods, whispering in his ear: "i don't know what yer meant, boy-i can't fer ther life of me see what yer did it fer, but i do know ther only chance fer yer neck is to run like ther devil, while that ar injun hain't er lookin'. ef ever he gits on yer trail, yer ar er goner surer than a speared sucker, and all ther saltpeter in ther world wouldn't save you. so come erlong, ef yer don't want ter loose yer scalp," and he dragged him forward, almost on a run. vain was the resistance quito made to the herdsman, for he, with his vast strength, and, excited as he was, would have made light of a much stronger and more bulky man. "it whar er cussed mean, cowardly deed," he muttered to himself, "and i would'nt have done it ter my worst enemy. but i s'pose thar whar er reason fer it that i don't know of. ef they had bin any thing like an equil match now, ther injun and ther nigger, i rayther think i'd have let them fight it out, aneway, fer it would only have bin. dog eat dog, arter all," and then, observing, for the first time, the bloody knife still in the hands of the slave, he continued: "jest yer drop that ar scalper as quick as ever yer kin! throw it away, or by heaven i'll play injun myself, and let er little daylight inter yer ugly carcase, quicker nor er flash. what! yer won't, hay ?" and he bore it from his grasp, and sent it whirling into the bushes. with tightly clenched hands and sullen face, the negro stood as if pondering the chances of resisting the insult. "what ther thunder is ther matter with yer, man?" questioned the herdsman, as he saw the fearful expression of his face. "have yer got ther hydrerphoby ?" and he held him off at arms length. why don't yer tell me what's the matter with yer, and what yer stabbed the poor hermit fer, ye miserable nigger that ye ar! but i forgot that yer ar jest as dum as er door nail. ye kin make motions, anyhow. what! yer won't? then ye shall go ter yer master and young mistress, and see ef they can't bring yer out of ther kinks," and again he dragged him relentlessly on. 66 the horses were soon found the negro placed upon the back of the one that had been ridden by glover, and the herdsman pointing the way as well as he was able, through the half-light of early morning, bade him be off. "ride like yer devil, ye black cut-throat, for ye are one of his imps, anyhow," he said, "and tell the planter what ye have bin er 28 the pampas; or, a romance of doin'. mind yer don't stop on ther way, or try ter get back and give that poor old chap ernother cut with ther scalpin'-knife, fer ef yer do, cuss me, ef i don't let ther injun have his own way," and he gave the fiery mustang a blow that sent him dashing headlong on the way. stretched at full length upon the ground, and with his head supported by the indian, great bear, the herdsman saw the wounded man, on his return to the spot where he had left him. the usually flushed face was pale, his lips destitute of their firmness and decision. had the blood flowed freely after the keenedged steel had penetrated, there might have been some hope. but the hemorrhage was entirely internal, and death must follow. it was simply a question of time. "the blasted nigger struck yer home, that's fer sartin," was the comment of the herdsman, as knelt down by the side of the hermit, with more of gentleness than would have been supposed to be possible from one so rude and uncouth, both in speech and manner. "it whar er cowardly blow, and ef i hadn't er thought ther black skunk was kinder crazy, i don't know but what i'd er given him er good choking, myself. but, how do yer feel now?" "my days, my hours are numbered. the knife was sharp and keen, the arm strong, and nerved by intense hatred, that drove it home," was the faint reply. "then yer hain't no kinder chance fer ter live ?" "none. where has the negro gone?" "i sent him off arter ther planter and his daughter. i thought that, perhaps yer might have somethin' ter say ter them that you wouldn't like ter say ter er poor unedercated devil like me. still, ef thar's anythin' on yer mind-anythin' yer would like ter have done, jest you say ther word, and, ef i don't do it, may i never go ter glory, that's all." "it is well. i would see jose herara and his daughter again before i die. and yet, how can i control myself? when in perfect health and strength, i sought but vainly to do so, and, can i hope to be more successful now that my end is drawing near ?" "but, what did the nigger try ter murder ver fer? that's what sticks in my crop, and, i'd like ter know ef you have no reason fer not telling it." "man! man! why do you ask?" replied the other, suddenly starting up, and glaring wildly around him. "waal, i didn't want to rile yer up, and, ef it is er secret, sy glover hain't ther man ter pry inter it." "oh! that i could forget the past. that i could bury it beneath the eternal mountains-that i could sleep forgetful and for ever!" 66 waal, i hain't no kin of er parson, and i couldn't think of er prayer, ef it whar ter save my own life." "prayer? have i not bowed myself in prayer for this many a long, dreary year. but, what has it availed me? i had thought i was forgiven. thought that i could die in peace, trusting to the glory that glistened above the cross. but, this negro-" "whar is he?" and glover sprung to his feet, expecting to see quito standing bodily before him. "don't be erfeard! he shan't come near yer." "he had good reason for his.vengeance," continued the hermit, without noticing the interruption, "for did i not-oh, god! the fearful agony of the moment when i awoke from my insane passion, and fully realized what i had done-realized that i-" and he checked himself suddenly, and motioned to the anxiously watching indian. "what is it yer want?" asked the herdsman. "ther injun is er good one and true as steel, i have no kind er manner of doubt accordin' ter his colour, and will do ther best he can, but it would be more mannerly fer yer ter be waited on by a white man." "water!" came in feeble accents from the lips of the suffering man. "water! for the love of the holy virgin, water!" "ef thar is any within er dozen miles, ye shall not ask twice for it. ef i whar only near my old ranche, now, you should have ther best that ever sprung out er the rocks and ran through green moss. but yer see, i'm kind of strange here, and don't know whar ter look fer it." "let the pale-face take his brother in his arms," whispered the great bear, sadly. "the red-man knows where the spring leaps from its home in the rocks, pure, cool, and sweet." "waal, i reckon that will be the best plan, and yet-" he glanced timidly down at the pale-face, fevered lips, and closed and hollow eyes, and then checked himself, as he saw the thin lips of the indian curl with scorn, and refrained from telling that he was afraid to remain alone with, and hold the head of a dying-it might be a dead man. 66 'kaw-wa-gas-hi will be swift as the woodpigeon flies," was the remark of the indian, as he turned and disappeared. "water!" again came from the lips of the hermit. "as i live, ef i haven't lost my flask!" muttered glover. ef i only had er drop of speerit, now, who knows but it might-" "water! will you give me a drink? i am dying with thirst." "jest hold on er minit, and i'll git yer some, ef i die for it," and glover laid his head gently down and followed the footsteps of the indian. he had gone, however, but a few upward steps along the rocky trail, before he saw a sight that made him forget the object of his mission, and caused him sudddenly to pause. from one side of the little clearing on which the fire had been built and the savage feast held, he saw the dumb negro, quito, (whom he had sent after his master and deemed far on his way, if not already returning,) crawling stealthily along. so serpent-like were his movements, that one, unless very intently watching, would have failed to discover that he was gifted with life at all. but other eyes than those of the herdsman were upon him. the great bear was also creeping, and with equal caution, from the opposite side, and glover readily perceived that his presence was the hermit of the colorado hills. 29 i 3 unknown to the negro. the distance either had to pass over was about equal, and would require about the same time. the purpose of the negro in thus returning could not be other than an hostile one, and that of the indian, protection. glover drew nearer and watched, himself, unseen, the result of that strange encounter. he for a moment the black man paused, and slowly raising his head, gazed cautiously around, revealing his eyes still flashing wildly and blood-shot, and the blade of a long knife firmly clutched between his teeth. as if satisfied that the coast was clear, he resumed is recumbent posture, and moved more rapidly forward. he neared the dying manraised himself upon his knees beside him, and the instrument of death was flashing in the air and already descending to let out the little that remained of life, when he was hurled backward, and the great bear stood over him with his tomahawk whirling above his unprotected skull. it was a moment of terrible danger to the negro and anxiety to the herdsman, and his foot was already lifted to rush forward, and his lips parted to forbid the deed of death, whenthe dying man suddenly raised himself with a mighty effort upon his elbow, and applying his whistle to his lips, rang forth the shrill call that the indian never heard but to obey. "forbear! touch him not !" he said, when the indian, whom he had called, knelt again by his side. he must be sacred from your le revenge. his wrongs have been great, and i-i-water! water!" 66 "you infernal black rascal!" shouted glover, as he came rushing up and laid his strong grasp on the negro. you'd stab er dyin' man, would you, ye cussed blood-thirsty brute. ef i didn't think that thar whar somethin' more about it than i kin understand, i'd soon teach yer er lesson that you wouldn't forget in er hurry." and he shook him, as if he had been a dog. implicitly as the indian had been accustomed to obey the will of the hermit, who held him by some strange power, yet, it was with extreme difficulty that he was restrained, when glover dragged the negro to the side of dying man and perfectly within his grasp. "none of that bar!" shouted the herdsman, as he saw him standing with every sinew braced like a tiger crouched for its spring. "none of that, fer it can't be did. ther hermit said he warn't ter be teched, and he shan't, that's flat! so jest put up yer weepon, or you'll find it is er game in which thar's nary er lone hand!". "let the negro be unharmed," again whispered the victim of his savage passion. "let no one lay a finger on him to injure him. but, keep him safe, so that he may not do any more mischief." "but what ther devil did he stab yer fer? that's what i want to know." tense satisfaction, and his lips part with a smile that revealed the white teeth within. "in other days-years ago, i give me a drink. i feel as if there was a fire within me, drying up my heart's blood." "what ar yer grinning erbout, yer murderin' reptyle?" asked glover, as he saw the face of the negro glowing with the most in"by ther heaven's, but i think yer ar as dangerous as er caged rattle-snake, and only ar er waitin' for er good chance ter bite. come er long with me bar, and we'll tie him so tight, that it will take more'n er nother interposition of yer great manitou ter git him loose. but none of yer knife work, fer it won't do. yes, that's it. we'll bind him and keep him till we see ther signor and his pooty daughter. they'll straiten him out jest as easy as a string. that's it," he added, as the indian, with ready skill, fettered every limb of the unresisting prisoner. "that's it. you understand ther game, and have had er hand in it erfore. and now, mr. nigger, you'll jest have ter keep still as er rat in er trap, while we wait on yer betters, ye black pirate." "the great medicine will soon be in the happy hunting-grounds of the spirit land," whispered the indian to his companion, as, they returned. "that ar er fact, and i wish we could do somethin' fer ther poor man. now i hain't much of er medicine, myself, bar, but you, bein' er red-skin, oughter have some of ther gifts." "the great manitou alone can save him." "but, can't yer guess what ther blasted nigger tried ter murder him fer?" "the young years of the white medicine are as hidden to kaw-wa-gas-hi, as the stars, when the spirit of the storm has let down his black mantle between them and the earth." "who knows but ther stabbin' scamp might have thought that he had done some wrong ter his young mistress? yes, that is it, i'll bet er hat full of ounces. but come, bar, we must do all fer ther poor man, we kin. it is er christian dooty. ef i could only think of er little prayer now. but, my edercation was neglected on that point when i whar little, and i hain't had time to larn any since," and he knelt by the hermit and took hold of his hands, while the indian lifted his head into his lap and gently brushed back the damp hair-damp with the dew of death, from his forehead. "the planter, jose herera, his daughter, and" came breathed almost like a moan from his lips, after he had with great difficulty swallowed a portion of the water the herdsman held to him. there was another name, also, he would have uttered, but failed to do so. 66 they hain't come yet, signor, though, ef that ar nigger had only done as i told him, they would have been here long ergo, cuss him !" "i wished to see him before i died. to tell them that-that-but it is too late now," and he closed his eyes again. 66 waal, you know yer own mind ther best, but, ef you have er notion ter tell me what you whar ergoin' to say, i'll tell it ter them agin, word for word, jest as near as ever i kin." "" "you would not know-you would not understand," murmured the dying man, and then continued in an almost inaudible whisper, and in, to them, a strange tongue. 30 a romance of the pampas; or, "he is talking to the great spirit," said the indian, bowing his head earnestly. "he is er sayin' his prayers," answered the herdsman, "but, what is he feelin' in his breast fer?" the indian gently guided the blindly groping hand, and when the fingers closed upon the little cross he ever wore about him, and he had drawn it forth and pressed it to his lips, a great calm rested upon his face. let his faith have been right or wrong, the emblem that all christians revere, brought a solace to his heart in that hour of deepest trial, and who dare question that angels attended that parting soul, just as much as if he had worshipped at the same shrine, and knelt at the same altar with us. calmed by his communion with the god he worshipped, he opened his eyes. "hark!" said the hermit, with strange and startling distinctness. "hark! i hear the sound of horses feet. they are comingcoming at a swift galop!" "the great medicine is right," replied the indian, after he had listened for a moment. they are coming, the horses of the paleface." 66 "how do you know that, bar?" asked glover. "how do you know that they hain't injuns ?" "they have iron upon their hoofs, and the sharp bit has taught them a shorter lope than the free mouthed horses of the red-man." "by heaven! you are right, bar. it is ther signor and his daughter. i kin see them 99 now. "jose herera and his child ?" questioned the hermit. "jest as sure as you ar er livin' man." "god be thanked," and the dying man looked in the direction of the sound. "yes, god and the holy virgin be thanked, i shall see them again, and live to tell them-tell them-that-that-" and he fell exhausted backward, just as the planter and his daughter came upon the little clearing. chapter xvi. last scene of all. "good heavens! what can be the matter?" was the exclamation and question of the planter, as he hastened to the side of the dying man. "murder!" answered the herdsman, in his usual bluff manner. "murder! oh! who could have done the horrible deed!" whispered inez, with a true woman's love. "who der yer think but that thar nigger of your'n. thar he is tied ter ther tree, the miserable reptyle." "what, quito ? it cannot be. there must be some mistake." "waal, begging your pardon, i saw him when he did it, and so did thar injun." "by saint jago! but he shall die for it," exclaimed the planter, "yes, my child, if he were twenty times your pet slave, his life herdsman, untie should pay for this deed. him and bring him hither." "i don't know, signor, but what you are right, and that it'll be justice ter make ther brute stretch hemp, but yer see ther poor man that's er dyin' says it mustn't be so. but i'll go and fetch him," and he soon led quito forward. quick as sunlight flashing through dark clouds, the expression on the face of the negro changed. ah of sullen apathy, and ill-gratified passion faded from it, and with a look of intense satisfaction, he threw himself at the feet of his young mistress. 66 quito," she said, "oh, tell me if you have steeped your hands in blood, and stained your soul with murder?" the expressive action of the negro was a most perfect confirmation of the truth of glover's words. there was no attempt at concealment or prevarication. the planter, in the excitement of the moment, would have struck him to the earth, had not his daughter interfered, and turned aside the blow. "father, dear father," she plead, "control yourself-control your anger, just though it may be, until i learn more of the matter. there is some mystery here. poor quito has always been so kind and gentle that i cannot understand how he could raise his hand against any man, much less to take the life of one who had befriended him 29. "that's jest what i told him," broke in glover, "and i have bin er tryin' to find out what it could have meant. yes, i reckon thar's er mystery somewhar." "it matters not," answered the planter, "what his provocation has been, he shall die, by heaven !" "signed, sealed and sworn ter, signor." "but father, you will not-you cannot be so unjust." "out of my sight with him, then. first we must attend to this poor man, and then the negro shall meet his deserts. see to it, herdsman, that he does not escape," and he turned again to the fast expiring hermit. but inez, followed by the negro, as obedient to her every word as a spaniel, and the herdsman, whose curiosity was far too great to allow him to rest until it was satisfied, stepped a little apart. that quito would much sooner have been alone with his mistress when he told the reason of his attempted murder, was evident from his actions. but he dared not question her will, and when she had demanded an explanation for the third time, he knelt before her, pointed to the hermit, made gestures as of one cutting with a knife, and opening his mouth revealed the remains of his mutilated tongue. 霎 ​"by ther great heavens !" shouted glover, "and so he whar ther man that cut your tongue out, whar he? may i be scalped and tortured ef i don't think i'd have done the same thing. cuss me ef i ever heard of a more devilish job in my life! and yet it ar er hard matter ter strike er man in cold blood." a deep groan from the lips of the dying man interrupted them, and the voice of the planter called inez and the herdsman to his side. with vmv-vaca la "yes, i am glad that you have coc.," resumed the hermit, "come while breath is left me to tell you that-that-" 66 "oh, god!" burst from the lips of the planter, spare him until the mystery is solved." "holy mother," prayed inez, "grant him strength to tell me of my dear, lost mother." as if the prayer had been heard and answered, the dying man, assisted by the indian, slowly raised himself up, and continued. the words breaking from his ghastly lips in 1 scarcely audible whispers, and thrilling on the ears of his auditors, as he told the tale of fear. ro "yes, god and the holy virgin will give me strength. but listen, for my time is short. death is clutching at my heart-strings, and what is said must be said very quickly. inez herera, hear and then curse me, if you will." "even if you wronged my mother, nothing but prayers could pass my lips in such an hour as this." in སྐ . wi قانه pr "where is she?" came struggling from the marble lips. "where is inez herera, the chief of oh! god! that it should be too late." "i am here-here by your side," and she pressed his hand to her lips. but the action met with no response, and the herdsman first broke the stillness with: "by heaven, ef he hain't gone!" "holy and blessed mother have pity and spare him," prayed inez. "we have, indeed, come too late," added the planter. "oh! that he had lived long enough to explain the mystery that i feel is deeply connected with ourselves." "see!" whispered the hermit, as he drew his hands feebly over his eyes, as if to clear his vision. "see! she is coming-my-my. oh, god! my brain is whirling. must i perish thus, holy mother. perish before i have told-told-that-that-" "i-loved-your-mother!" the words were uttered slowly and fitfully, as if the heart was throbbing itself out with them. "go on !", "as man never loved woman i worshipped her. beautiful as a dream was she, and ii -it matters not now, but i was her equal in rank and wealth. well, for a time i thought i could win her, though she never gave me any encouragement. it was folly-madness! one night-oh god, that pang! one night we met beneath the orange trees on the brazos. i told her of my love, and-and-why did i not die then-and-wasdiscarded." "water!" gasped inez. "give him water, for christ's sake." it was brought the parched lips and fever dried throat moistened, and again he resumed: "yes, i-the son of-no, no, the name shall derish with me, for i am the last of my race. but i was discarded, and all my wild love turned in an instant into devilish hate. your mother wore a miniature of herself. i struggled to obtain it, but was frustrated by the coming of others. with an impious oath that both she and that should be mine, i departed, and-and-" "god forgive him, he is dead." "no, the vultures of death are tearing at my vitals, but i must live yet. my money hired bravos. in a body we sought the house of her parents. it was night, and my will was law to the cut-throats. blood was their trade, and i knew they would scruple at nothing. in the darkness and silence, i entered the chamber where your mother slept. she was praying, but, god forgive me, what did i think of that? i tore her from her knees-i-i— another pang like that, and all will be over." "but tell me that you wronged her not, and then give your thoughts to god." "i lifted her in my strong arms-i was bearing her to the window. a fleet horse was waiting-i stifled her shrieks. she was mine-mine! a dark form sprang to her rescue. i struck him to the floor-lifted and hurled him into the midst-i gave an order for his punishment-one that would effectually silence him-oh! heaven forgive me, it was too literally obeyed. but i was madmad, and knew not what i said. the shrieks of your mother were renewed-i tore the miniature from her throat-the ring you wore was upon her hand-i would have possessed myself of it, also, but dared not stay-i sprang to the ground-my fleet horse bore me away -and-and your mother became an angel, and i-" the effort was too great for him and he sank back and closed his eyes for the last time. the blood accumulating within was drowning out all of pulsation from the heart, and beginning to flow in a crimson steam over the parted lips. and yet he struggled to tell the great secret that he had so long locked fast in his heart. but every sound was forced through bloody lips, and strangled almost in the utterance. a confused mass of sound without clearness or individuality, alone fell upon the ears of the listners as they bent solemnly around. his breast heaved and struggled his eyes stared wildly open-his fingers were clutched in the death-agony-his jaw dropped-the gurgling flow of the heart's blood was checked and curdled in his throat, and the hermit of the colorado hills had passed to the land that lies on the thither shore of time. ah! it is true that there is but a beat of the heart, and a throb of the pulse between this world and the next, and from the dream of life he had been awakened to the reality of an endless eternity. | inez herera was on her knees with bowed head and tearful eyes, while she held the little cross to the lips of the dying man. her father had buried his face in his hands, and even the rude and reckless herdsman betrayed intense emotion. the negro who had been the cause of all, stood in the background, while the indian still held the head of the suffering one, outwardly unmoved, until all was over. then he arose, and after composing the limbs as decently as was possible, and closing the eyes, he motioned to the herdsman, and the twain, disappeared in the woods. an hour passed, and then they returned, and lifted the body without a word-bore it into a dense thicketand laid it in the narrow grave they had prepared. and there, บม marave ve after inez had poured out her heart in prayer -a sad, simple, and touching funeral service, the departed one was left to his final rest. a little mound was raised, and huge stones piled upon it to keep the wild beasts from disturbing the remains, and then they turned sorrowing away. it was almost like burying one in the wide waste of ocean, and they felt deeply that he would be truly left alone with god. "here," whispered glover to inez, hoarsely, when they had passed out of sight of the grave, "here is something we found hung by er ribbon round ther neck of ther poor man. perhaps you may make something out of it, though i cant," and he handed her a locket. "father! father!" she asked in accents of 66 fear and agony. father, look at this face, and tell me truly if it was"it was your mother's, child!" and he turned away to avoid farther questioning. "it's er pooty face, anyhow," broke in glover, "and39 "hush!" and she pressed the picture to her lips, and they concealed it in her bosom. there was a feeling of unrest springing up within her heart-a fearful surmise that would not be quieted, and yet she could not bear that any one should gaze on the sweet face she had worshipped so long with all of a true daughter's affection. ml ▲ 63 614a laki "thank god for that, my mother, my dear mother." "i wonder whar that ar injun has got ter," asked the herdsman, suddenly looking around, and noticing that he had left them. "now, jest as we want him ter guide us back ergin, he's off like er shot, and be blamed ter hin." "and where is poor quito ?" and inez called him without avail. "ef he faint run erway, i'll soon find him," and the herdsman departed on the search. at a little distance he stumbled over the prostrate form of the negro, lying mostly hid in the thick bushes. was he dead, also, that he neither roused at his voice, or resented the kick given to him? "won't yer git up yer brute ?" and glover turned him rudely over, so as to obtain a view of his face, for he laid with it buried in the leaves. a single glance told the entire story. the knife of the indian, great bear, was still in his side, and sudden and noiseless had been his death. the red-man, true to his nature, had revenged the murder of the hermit, and both were sent suddenly into the presence of their god and judge. "inez," said her father, "it is time we were making preparations to return home. time that we should turn our backs on these fatal pampas." another grave was prepared, and the tongueless slave deposited therein. just as all was finished, and they were turning away, the comrades of the herdsman, and the slaves of the planter came upon the scene. the indian, after his silent and sudden vengeance upon poor quito, had hastened to meet and | direct them. then he had disappeared in the direction of the colorado hills, never again to be seen, even by the herdsmen, though they remained guarding the vast droves amid the wilderness of the pampas. "but, dear father, why this mystery? it cannot, cannot be that my mother was-oh, god! the thought will drive me mad." "your mother was as good and pure as yourself, child, and is an angel now. where that strange man ever saw her-how he came by her miniature-what his mystery i cannot understand. he might have loved and been disappointed. whatever it was, it has died with him, and all our surmises are vain, nay, worse, even useless. but we will talk about it another time." both father and daughter had seen enough of frontier life, never again to be tempted from their beautiful home on the brazos river. the strange words-the unexplained meaning of the hermit left a shadow on their hearts that could not be driven away, but inez satisfied that (no matter what might have been the mystery,) her dear and sainted "and my mother? oh! tell me again mother was sinless, waited until angel lips that she was-" should tell the story that earthly ones had failed to reveal. "was stainless as the snow." the end. 38 the hermit of mars by stephen bartholomew [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of tomorrow october 1963 extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] he was the oldest man on mars ... in fact, the only one! when martin devere was 23 and still working on his master's, he was hurt by a woman. it was then that he decided that the only things that were worthwhile in life were pure art and pure science. that, of course, is another story, but it may explain why he chose to become an archeologist in the first place. now he was the oldest human being on mars. he was 91. for many years, in fact, he had been the _only_ human being on mars. up until today. he looked through the transparent wall of his pressurized igloo at the puff of dust in the desert where the second rocket had come down. earth and mars were just past conjunction, and the regular automatic supply rocket had landed two days ago. as usual, martin devere, taking his own good time about it, had unloaded the supplies, keeping the things he really needed and throwing away the useless stuff like the latest microfilmed newspapers and magazines, the taped tv shows and concerts. as payment for his groceries he had then reloaded the rocket with the written reports he had accumulated since the last conjunction, plus a few artifacts. then he had pushed a button and sent the rocket on its way again, back to earth. he didn't mind writing the reports. most of them were rubbish anyway, but they seemed to keep the people back at the institute happy. he did mind the artifacts. it seemed wrong to remove them, though he sent only the less valuable ones back. but perhaps it couldn't be helped. one time, the supply rocket had failed to return when he pushed its red button--the thing was still sitting out there in the desert, slowly rusting. martin devere had happily unloaded the artifacts and put them back where they belonged. it wasn't his fault. the puff of dust on the horizon was beginning to settle. this second rocket had descended with a shrill scream through the thin air, its voice more highly pitched than it would have been in denser atmosphere. martin devere had looked up from his work in time to see its braking jets vanish behind the low martian hills a few kilometers distant. it was much too large to be an automatic supply rocket, even if there had been reason to expect another one. martin devere knew it could mean only one thing--someone was paying him an unannounced visit. he waited, watching through the igloo wall to see who had come to poke around and bother him after all these years. at first he was annoyed that the people at the institute hadn't let him know visitors were coming. then he reminded himself that it had been years since he'd taken the trouble to listen to his radio receiver, or to read the messages they sent him along with supplies. after a long time, he made out a smaller dust-puff, and then a little sandcat advancing slowly across the desert. riding on top of it were two men in space suits. * * * * * everyone on earth who reads popular magazines or watches tv knows the story of martin devere, "the hermit of mars." over the years, now that he is dead, he has become a sort of culture hero, as dr. livingston or albert schweitzer once were. though martin devere could not be called a humanitarian in any sense of the word. after his divorce from his first and only wife, at the age of 45, he never gave much thought again either to women or any other kind of people--except for his long-dead martians. but everyone should know by now how martin devere first came to mars at the age of 50. even then he was the oldest man on the planet, and mars sustained quite a large research colony at the time. only martin devere's unchallenged scientific reputation, together with his apparent good health, enabled him to leave earth as head of a five-man archeological team. this turned up the first fossil ruins far beneath the desert sand. then there came a day when the space institute of the united governments decided to abandon project mars. it was getting too expensive to maintain. everything of value to space research had already been learned about the planet, and the archeological site, though yet barely scratched, did not properly come under space research. closing project mars would mean more funds for solar research, on mercury, for the lunar colony and for work on the interstellar drive. so the hundred-odd inhabitants of the project received orders to leave the igloos and other equipment behind and come back to earth. martin devere, however, had been on mars for three years now. when the project physician gave him his routine exam, it was discovered that a valve in martin devere's aorta had developed a faint flutter. nothing too serious, really. but enough to greatly reduce his chances of surviving another rocket lift-off. martin devere smiled at the news and volunteered to remain behind, alone on mars. under the circumstances, the institute was forced to agree. on the day that the strange rocket came down behind the desert hills, martin devere had been on mars for a total of 38 years. for the past 35 of them he had been the hermit--and quite happy about it.... the little sandcat was getting closer. martin devere smiled to himself, watching the two men in their clumsy space gear. it was high noon, and a nice comfortable ten degrees centigrade outside. if the two newcomers thought they needed full spacesuits to get around out there, martin devere wasn't going to tell them any different. actually, though the atmospheric pressure was about the same as at the top of mount everest, on a beautiful day like this a man could get along easily outdoors with nothing more than an oxygen mask. but let them clomp around in their rubberized long-johns if they wanted to. in a few minutes they would be coming in through the igloo's airlock. martin devere turned away, scowling now. he hoped the institute hadn't decided to reopen mars project. there was plenty of room in all these igloos and connecting tunnels that had been left behind, but with a new expedition here it might get pretty crowded. mainly, devere didn't want a bunch of amateurs poking around his diggings, breaking things. his thumb rubbed slowly across the long stubble on his chin. he wondered if he had made some slip in that last report, or in some of the pictures of the ruins he'd sent back. he'd rather the institute didn't find out about those fossilized machines he'd dug up. he didn't understand the gadgets himself, but some of the people at the institute just might decide they were interesting enough to be worth sending up an expert. the institute, devere knew, was interested in machinery, not art objects. * * * * * one of the men held an automatic pistol pointed at martin devere while the other was stripping off his space gear. then the pistol changed hands while the first man removed his own suit. martin devere could have told them that he wasn't afraid of the gun. he didn't actually care much, one way or the other: let them point it if it made them happy. martin devere figured that he had already lived a lot longer, here in this feeble gravity and germ-free, oxygen-rich air, than his tricky heart would have allowed him on earth. let them point the gun if they wanted to. "if you make one move toward the radio transmitter i'll blow your head off," the taller man said. he had black wavy hair that hung over his brow. the other man was completely bald. "i don't even know if the radio works," martin devere answered. "i haven't turned it on in years. i should warn you, though, that if you shoot that thing inside the igloo here, it will puncture the plastic wall and let all the air out. i always keep the pressure up high indoors so i can boil water for coffee." the tall man frowned in confusion and blinked at the weapon in his hand. then he stared at the transparent dome above him, as if realizing for the first time that only a thin bubble of plastic separated him from near-vacuum, now that he had removed his suit. "i was just making some coffee when you showed up," martin devere said, turning away. "have some? i'm afraid it's instant. i've given up trying to get the institute to send me a can of real coffee in the rocket. they think i need canned tv shows more." "he's harmless," the bald man said. "you can see he's just an old senile nut. leave him be, we've work to do." the tall man lowered his weapon, then let it fall into the holster at his hip. "no big hurry. i think i'd like some of that coffee first. say, pop, how about cooking us a meal in a couple of hours?" martin devere was spooning brown powder into three cups. "sure thing. what would you like--beans and franks, or franks and beans?" * * * * * "i suppose you wonder what we're doing, pop?" the tall man held the disassembled pieces of his gun in his lap. he was carefully polishing each part with a chemically treated cloth. it was three days since they had landed, and the tall metal skeleton was beginning to take shape out in the desert. at the moment, the bald man was out alone, testing circuits. usually the two went out together--they had apparently decided it was safe to leave martin devere unguarded, though they had smashed his radio transmitter just in case. the two men worked steadily during the daylight hours, came back at sunset to eat and sleep, then went out again at dawn. the towering lacework of steel was growing like an ugly flower. the tall man held the trigger assembly of his gun up to the light. he turned it slowly between his thumb and forefinger. it cast an odd crescent-shaped shadow over the muscles of his jaw. "no, i don't wonder what you're doing," martin devere answered. he was sitting at his workbench, crouched over an ancient metal plate as thin as paper. the tall man began to put his weapon back together again. he snapped the trigger assembly into the receiver. he pulled the hammer back and then released it; it made a sharp, hard click. "not even curious, pop? okay, then tell me what _you're_ doing. what's that piece of tinfoil you've been staring at the past two hours?" martin devere straightened and turned to look at the other. "it's an ancient martian scroll. it's nearly a million years old. i found it in a new pit i've been digging, five hundred meters down. it's the longest and perhaps most important bit of martian writing i've found so far." "yeah? what's it have to say?" martin devere shook his head. "their language, their whole frame of reference, was fundamentally different from ours. it's something like higher mathematics, you'd have to learn the language to understand it. but i suppose you might say that this is a poem.... yes, an epic poem." the tall man laughed. he shoved an ammunition clip into his weapon, pumped a round into the chamber, slipped the gun back into its holster. he got up and began pacing the floor of the igloo. the floor was cluttered with dozens of artifacts. he stopped and nudged one specimen with his toe. "what's this thing, pop? an ancient martian meatgrinder?" "i hardly think so. they were vegetarians." he squinted at the object. "i'm afraid i have no idea what it is. it's some sort of machine, but i'm no engineer, i can't imagine what its function was. they--don't build many machines, you know." the man with the gun turned to stare at martin devere. "you mean _didn't_ build, don't you?" "yes, of course.... past tense." and devere turned again to peer at the million-year-old poem before him. * * * * * "damn it to hell. this might hold us up a week." the bald man flung the shatterproof helmet of his suit against the igloo wall. his tone of voice was matter-of-fact emotionless. even the way he threw the helmet betrayed no real emotion. still wearing the rest of his suit he sat down at martin devere's work bench and clenched his fists. his face was smooth, blank. "what's the matter?" his partner put down some drawings and came over. "the modulator circuit doesn't check out. i'll have to take the whole works apart and start over again." the bald man spoke--when he did speak--with a faint accent that martin devere could not identify. "it doesn't matter." the other rubbed at his chin. "we're still ahead of our schedule." "hey. old man." the bald man pointed at devere. "you have anything to drink in this cave of yours?" ing. he remembered a bottle he'd been saving for some special occasion--he couldn't recall what, just now. "i think i have some bourbon," he said at last. "if i can find it." "find it. mine straight, on the rocks." when martin devere returned awhile later, the bald man was still wearing his helmetless space suit. he and his friend were studying a complex wiring diagram spread out on the work bench. martin devere put two plastic cups down on the bench and poured them full. neither of the men looked up from their diagram until he had set the bottle down. "pour one for yourself, pop," the tall man said. "thanks. don't mind if i do." devere went to get another cup. over his shoulder he said, "hope you boys don't mind crushed ice instead of cubes. i just set a bucket of water in one of the unheated tunnels for a couple minutes. then i hit it with a hammer." it was four hours past sunset, the temperature outside was far below freezing. "one thing you don't need on mars is a refrigerator!" pouring himself a drink, the old man suddenly laughed. it was a brief, senile giggle, that made the tall man turn to stare at him. "could be uncomfortable, though, if you were ever stuck out there at night." martin devere's face was sober once more as he lifted his cup and looked deeply into it. all trace of senility had vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. "like, say, if you were out there long enough for your suit power to go dead. you'd freeze to a hunk of ice in a few minutes.... me, i never go outside at night." "shut up," the bald man said. * * * * * all day the bald man had been out alone, working on his electronic circuits. evidently this left his partner nothing to do except study schematics. now martin devere was aware that his guest had been staring at him for several minutes without speaking. martin devere went on polishing the green crystal vase he held in his hand. the vase looked ordinary at first glance, until you noticed that it wasn't quite symmetrical. there was a studied and careful asymmetry about its form, barely discernible, that would disturb you the more you looked at it--until you knew suddenly that no human brain could have created that shape. the polishing cloth moved rhythmically across the vase's curving surfaces. the green crystal reflected light in a way that made you begin to think about boundless seas of water. "i'll be glad when this job is over with," the tall man said, half aloud. "when it is, will you go away?" martin devere turned the vase slowly in his hands. "not for a while yet, pop." the man with the gun on his hip got to his feet and stretched. "i don't mind telling you what it's all about, pop. you're all right. it's simple. my partner and i were sent here by a certain national power that doesn't like being told how to run its own affairs by the united governments. we're striking the first blow for freedom. that thing we're putting together out there is a bomb. it could--disable--most of earth. it has a new kind of nuclear rocket engine behind it that could carry it across 200 million miles in a few hours. "you get the idea, pop? here on mars, they won't even find it. and if they did, we could deliver the bomb before they got a missile halfway across.... so i hope you won't mind if my partner and i stay a while, pop." it was several seconds before martin devere answered. he set the crystal vase carefully inside a case and regarded it a moment. "as long as you don't go messing up my diggings or break any of the artifacts, it's no business of mine." "and what if i did, pop?" the tall man walked closer to martin devere. he stood over the old man, his shadow on him. his hand rested lightly on the butt of his gun. "what if i were to take all your vases and statues and pots and tablets and smash them to bits, one by one? what would you do then?" martin devere's eyes slowly closed and opened, he made no other move for a minute. then he got to his feet without looking at the other man. he turned and began to move away, toward a tunnel door that led to the diggings. probably the tall man thought that he had finally put the fear of god into martin devere. but as he turned back to his pile of schematics he heard the old man's whisper: "you might regret it." the man with the gun did not answer. * * * * * "tell us about it, pop." "yes, why don't you tell us about it." they meant martin devere's work. the two men had finished their own job. the assembled bomb rested in the desert, silent but alive, like some abnormal growth. because of sunspot activity they hadn't yet been able to radio their employers on earth. the bald man expected conditions to clear in two or three days. when they did clear, he would signal, "the bird is nesting." then the nation he had mentioned would be ready to deliver its ultimatum to the united governments. for the first time since landing on mars, the two men were idle. they were waiting. they looked as if they were willing to wait a long time if necessary. meanwhile, martin devere's artifacts were the only amusements available. perhaps the old man knew they were making fun of him. but he seemed to take their question seriously. when he began to speak, they found themselves listening. "we don't know exactly what happened." martin devere faced the two men across the cluttered workbench like a lecturer addressing his students. he held in his hand a small bronze statue that might have been a portrayal of one of the old martian people or, just as likely, some long-extinct animal. in the diffuse sunlight that came through the igloo wall, it cast a shadow on the work bench that was even more disturbingly alien in shape. "no, we don't know what happened to them," the old man said. "the last of them died nearly a million years ago, before the first homo sapiens walked the earth. from what we--i--have found we know a little about what they were like. but we don't know why they died. "we do know, for instance, that they never had much interest in technology. not that they lacked intelligence. they could build a machine when it suited their purposes, whatever those may have been. and i don't say they weren't interested in science. they had a highly developed theoretical science, as sophisticated as their art. you might say they were theoreticians. they were concerned with pure art and pure science--but not with applied technology, or commercialized art. "my own theory is that they had no need for technology. in the first place, they were vegetarians, not carnivorous. so that their earliest men had no need for hunting weapons--or other gadgets. probably they never developed the aggressive instincts which in humanity led to warfare with its subsequent impetus to applied technology. the martians never got around to making cars or airplanes or bombs. they dedicated themselves, gentlemen, to the contemplation of beauty. "then, nearly a million years ago, something happened to them. perhaps mars began to lose her atmosphere then. her oceans evaporated, the air could no longer retain her heat at night, the farmlands parched and froze. a few of the plant types were able to adapt and survive. but within a few years, all animal life died out. one day, there were suddenly no more martians left." martin devere's dry, withered hand caressed the small statue he held. "who knows? if they'd had time to develop space travel they might have saved themselves. then again, with a technology like yours, they might have blown themselves up long before the natural catastrophe ..." "what do you mean like _yours_?" the tall man said. "you mean like _ours_, don't you?" but martin devere turned away without answering. * * * * * "do you have another bottle of bourbon, old man?" "no, i'm afraid not," devere said. "there was only that one bottle." "too bad. we should have a little celebration." the bald man began sealing himself into his spacesuit. "i'll wait for you here," his partner said. "i'd better start burning those plans." martin devere looked up from the fragment of ceramic he was cleaning. "you're going to send the message now?" neither of the men bothered to reply, since the answer was self-evident. the bald man tested the air and power equipment of his suit, then turned to his partner a moment before sealing his helmet. "you checked the sandcat's power supply?" "yes, but you'd better take another look at it. i think the battery's leaking." the bald man nodded and went out the airlock. martin devere watched in silence as the other man began to gather up his diagrams and plans and tie them into a neat bundle. "i guess we can take it easy now, pop. as soon as that telegram's sent and i get this stuff burned, my partner and i are unemployed. of course we'll have to hang around a while longer in case they want us to shoot off baby out there, but there's nothing to that. in the meantime maybe i can help you dig up some more of those old pots and statues." martin devere seemed to be thinking. he watched as the tall man checked to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, then carried the bundle of plans over to the electronic oven. "_baby._ you mean your bomb, out there. you think you might actually shoot it off then." "oh, maybe, maybe not." "couldn't they fire it from earth by radio?" devere asked. "nope. somebody might try jamming." "oh, i see...." martin devere was silent again until the tall man opened the oven and removed a bundle of gray ash. he dumped the ashes into a bucket and began stirring them with his hand. "something else i was wondering about," devere said. he began cleaning the fragment of ceramic again, his hands working in a slow circular motion. "supposing the united governments find out where it--the bomb is. they might send a missile to blow it up." "told you, pop. baby can out-run anything else that flies. wouldn't do them any good." "yes, yes.... still, the missile would hit mars, wouldn't it? i mean, it would destroy all this--the igloos, my diggings ..." the tall man gave a laugh. "don't worry so much, pop. we'd have plenty of time to get in the ship and clear out. we might even take you with us." "still ..." but the old man lapsed again into thought. * * * * * an hour later, the short-range radio gave a shrill beep. the tall man went over and flipped the _talk_ switch. "yeah?" "hello. listen, i did something stupid." martin devere looked up at the sound of the bald man's voice. devere's hands still held the piece of ceramic. he had polished it until a complex geometric design was visible, etched in reds and blues. it might have been equally a decoration or some mechanical diagram. "did you get the message sent?" the tall man asked. "yes, that part's all right. i got to the ship and contacted headquarters. i think they're going to deliver the ultimatum right away. now we just wait for orders. the only thing is, the sandcat's power went dead on me while i was halfway down a hill. it started to roll, and i forgot i was wearing a spacesuit. i jumped out. this low gravity fooled me too. i think i've broken my ankle, it hurts like hell." the tall man cursed in a low voice. "all right, all right," he said after a moment. "just take it easy. i'll have to come out and get you." "i think the sandcat is all right. stupid of me to jump like that, wasn't thinking. better bring a spare battery with you.... oh, and you'd better bring a light too. it will be getting dark in another half hour." "okay, just wait for me. i'll home in on your suit radio." the tall man switched off the receiver and went to his own suit locker. martin devere watched as he removed the holster and weapon from his hip. he pulled the heavy plastic trousers over his denim jumper and then buckled the gun back again before starting on the rest of the spacesuit. "nothing serious, i hope?" martin devere put the ceramic down carefully and picked up another object from a stack of artifacts. "you heard, didn't you? you any good at setting a broken ankle, pop?" "oh, i could manage, i guess. broke my arm down in the diggings once. had to set it myself. twenty years ago, i think it was. i've been more careful since then." he gave a laugh. it started as a normal laugh, then broke to a senile giggle. then his face was serious again. he carried the new artifact closer to the man with the gun. "you know, i was telling you.... the martians were vegetarians. they never made any weapons for hunting. they did know about explosives, though." "what's that thing?" the tall man, struggling with the buckles of his breathing equipment, glanced at the object in devere's hands. it looked like badly corroded bronze, and consisted of a long tube with a large bulb at one end. "this? oh, this is some kind of a tool i found. i think it was a digging tool, used for breaking up rocks. they _did_ build canals, you know.... as i was saying, they knew about explosives. this tool, for instance. it worked by means of a small, shaped charge inside this bulb here. the explosion was so well-focused that there was almost no recoil. a high-energy shock wave was emitted from the barrel--very effective at short range. but the most amazing thing about this tool is that the chemical explosive is still potent after lying underground for nearly a million years.... "oh, by the way. there's nothing wrong with your sandcat's battery. it was the motor i sabotaged." then martin devere pointed the ancient digging tool at the tall man and blew him into two neat pieces. * * * * * the hermit of mars never did get around to walking out to the space ship and using his visitor's radio to tell earth what had happened. he really intended to, but he forgot. the ultimatum that was delivered to the united governments failed, of course, but no one knew exactly why until the next earth-mars conjunction. the united governments was prevailed on by the world television service to send out someone to interview the hermit, if he were still alive. that interview was unfortunate. it might have established martin devere as the world hero that he was, and he might have been awarded some kind of medal. as it went, his rude and insulting answers to the young man's questions made him unpopular for years. his last answer in the interview was the worst. the young man, already sweating, looked in desperation at the green crystal vase that martin devere insisted on holding in front of the television lens. (back at the institute, a dozen faces were flushing red with indignation as their owners realized what the old man had been holding back.) "tell me, dr. devere," the young man asked. "you seem--er--a very modest man. doesn't it make you the least bit proud to know that you've saved the world?" martin devere lowered his vase and gave the young man a puzzled look. "you mean earth? tell me, why should i want to save _that_ world?" end 529 g&5 cornell 'uniyersity library gift of rev. w. e. griffis ds 907.g85"" ""'""""v "-ibrary llslislllllllilimte^ "awon. the original of tiiis book is in tine cornell university library. there are no known copyright restrictions in the united states on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924023520681 fvorks by iv m. elliot griffis the mikado's empire japanese fairy world corea, the hermit nation matthew calbraith perry ooeea the hermit nation i.— ancient and medlieval histoey ii.— political and social cokba iil— modern and recent history by william elliot geiffis liate 07 the impebiaij tthttebsity of toeio, jaf ah adthob op "the mikado's empibe" third edition, revised and enlaboed with additional chapter on corea in 1888 new york charles scbibnee's sons 1889 copieight, 1882, 1888, by chablbs scribnbb's sons. trow's ^-^^ printing and bonkbindinc compakv, 20i-213 £ast isti st., nbw yokk. to all corean patriots: ■who seek by the aid of science, truth, akd pure religion, to enlighten themselves and their fellow-countrymen, to rid their land of superstition, bigotry, despotism, and priestcraft— both native and foreign — and to preserve the integrity, independence, and honor, of their country ; this unworthy sketch op their past history and present condition is dedicated. peeface to the thied editiok the reception of this wort, both in the united states and eu rope, as well as in the east, has been most kindly. prom those best able to criticise it thoroughly, by having made themselves familiar by travel in the interior of corea beyond the ports and capital, have come gratifying words of high appreciation. of course errors have been pointed out, and these, wherever proved, have been corrected in the present edition. the pubhshers have also generously permitted the introduction of new matter, in the form of foot-notes, and the addition of a supplementary chapter. the author returns hearty thanks to ensign g. c. foulke and lieutenant j. g. bernadon, united states navy ; general lucius h. poote, mr. pierre l. jouy, kev. horace c. underwood, dr. h. n. allen, mr. w. g. aston, mr. percival lowell, mr. w. r carles, eev. henry loomis, soh kwang pom, yu kil jun, pien su, and the other naval officers, natives, travellers, missionaries, and resi dents in corea who have aided him with their criticisms, or infor mation. he will be grateful if others will point out inaccuracies. he is heartily glad that others have entered the field to awaken in terest in the once " hermit nation," which is soon to become, let us hope, civilized, social, and christian. w. e. g. boston, june 30, 1888. prefatory notes to second edition. the publishers have informed the author of their intention to issue an edition of the present work in a cheaper form. by their courtesy, he would improve the opportunity to add a few words of comment upon our present knowledge of corea, and upon affairs in cho-sen since the treaty was made with the united states. concerning the first matter there is little to be said. a con siderable number of naval, diplomatic, missionary, and commercial visitors from america and europe have visited the corean capital and parts adjacent. few of them have gone beyond beaten tracks ; and, owing to recent political disorders, thorough research has as yet hardly begun. ave look, however, for results of value from the presence of the american missionaries and the scientific commission now in the country. we have not, therefore, made any addition to our text. the reception of this work, both in this country and europe, has been most kindlj\ since its issue, in october, 1882, several events of interest have occurred, of which we here take note. the treaty negotiated by commodore shufeldt was duly ratified by the united states senate, and on february 26, 1883, presi dent arthur sent in the name of lucius h. foote as minister plenipotentiary to corea. the appointment was confirmed on the following day. general foote reached -chi-mul-po, in the u. s. steamship monocacy, may 13th, and the formal ratifications of the treaty were exchanged in the capital six days later. the guns of the monocacy — the same which shelled the han forts in 1870 — fired the first salute ever given to the corean flag. the king responded by sending to the united states an em bassy of eleven persons, led by min yong ik and hong yong sik, members respectively of the conservative and liberal parties. their interview with president arthur was in the parlors of the prefatory notes to second ebition. ix fifth avenue hotel, new york, on september 17tl all the coreans were dressed in thennational costume, which they wore habitually while in america. after spending some weeks in the study of american institutions in several cities, part of the embassy returned home by way of san francisco, leaving one of their num ber at salem, mass., to remain as a student ; while min tong ik and two secretaries embarked on the u. s. steamship trenton, and, after visiting europe, reached seoul in june, 1884. the author spent a most profitable and pleasant evening, november 27th, with the three coreans before they left new york. many questions con cerning their country were discussed. mr. everett fraser, no. 123 front street, new york city, now acts as his corean majesty's consul-general in the united states. on that same evening, november 27, 1883, there was a banquet in the corean capital to celebrate the signing of the treaties made the day before with great britain and germany. sir harry parkes and herr zappe had succeeded in negotiating conventions which are even more liberal in their provisions than that made with the united states. the principal foreign adviser of the corean gov ernment since 1882 has been herr paul von mouenforf, whom the coreans employed at the suggestion of li hung chang. italy and russia have also entered into diplomatic relations with corea. other evidences of the influence of the west upon corea were the opening of a telegraph-office at fusan, !^ebruary 28, -1884, on the completion of the submarine electric cable from nagasaki, the emis sion of native silver coins, and the inauguration of light-house and postal systems. while everything seemed to promise well for the nascent civili zation imported from christendom, the political situation was one fraught with danger. the military camps of two rival, almost hos tile, nations were upon the soil. a corean liberal declares that the sending of chinese troops to corea in 1882 was the work of two or three chinese leaders, under the pretext of protecting china from russian invasion. their real, but secret, purpose was, he de clares, to prevent the coreans from adopting western civilization. " the seed of the riot [of december 4-6, 1884] was sown by chi nese barbarism, and ripened by chinese cruelty." x peefatokt notes to second edition. the affair was in its origin a popular demonstration, instigated by eadical progressives against chinese influence as exhibited by a rapacious and undisciplined soldiery. it took the form of a mur derous attack upon the conservative or pro-chinese ministers of the court, five or six of whom were slain. during the excitement an angry mob surrounded the palace, and the king sent for the pro tection of the japanese legation-guards. the chinese military re sented this, moved on the royal residence, and a collision was pre cipitated, in which several tens of men were killed. a bloody battle ensued, and the japanese, greatly outnumbered, retreated in good order to their legation. this, building was besieged by the mob, and finally deserted by the japanese, who, with all their country men, left the city for chi-mul-po. the legation, which had cost $80,000, and the army stores were, -with much other property in the city, fired by the hoters. the foreigners in s6oul took refuge in general foote's house, and soon afterward left for chi-mul-po. dr. h. n. auen, the american surgeon, was kept busy for weeks in attendance upon the victims wounded in the rioting, num bering about one hundred. the house of hong yong sik, who had been beheaded by the chinese, was by government order turned into a hospital, or " house of civilized virtue," and put in charge of dr. allen. ensign george w. foulk and lieutenant j. b. bernadon, of the u. s. navy, remained in the legation during the exodus of foreigners from s6oul, our flag not being lowered at any time. mr. foulk writes under date of june, 1885 : " in corea, i used it ["corea, the hermit nation,"] as a field book ; but in the disturbances of december last, my house, was looted by the mob, and all my effects carried off. the library of the palace was lost at the same time ; so that i must infer the book you sent to his majesty was also lost." the corean government has recently made claim upon that of japan for the extradition of the liberals who had fled to the lat ter country — a demand very properly refused. three of these refugees arrived in san francisco, june 11, 1885. their names are pak yong ho, a nobleman, and envoy to japan in 1881 ; so kwang pom, secretary to the embassy to the united states in 1883 ; and sai jai pil, a graduate of the tokio military academy. all were prefatory k0te8 to second editiow. xi members of the liberal ministry overthrown, in december last, during the tumult negotiations between china and japan relative to the affair of december, 1884, were carried on between the mikado's ambassador ito and li hung chang, at tientsin. they resulted in a treaty, which was formally ratified may 7, 1885. both powers agreed to withdraw their troops within four moiiths, and to invite the king of corea to have a sufficient military force drilled for the public security by officers selected from a third power (probably the united states). the text of the treaty was published may 27th. the attention of christian people is now being concentrated upon corea as a missionary field. with commendable promptness no less than ten american missionaries are, at this writing, either already in their field, or on the route thither. a number of native refugees in japan are under christian influences, and are earnest inquirers. some are pronounced believers, and one eijiutei is trans lating the bible into his native language. three representative men are now among us, in our own land, studying our country and the faith of her people. the corean character seems to be a happy medium between the stolid chinaman and the changeable japanese. with the memory of recent martyrdoms, corea may become chris tian sooner and more thoroughly than japan, and aid in the mighty work of evangelizing china. this is the faith held by some who have studied the three peoples. the feeling of the progressive men of corea concerning them selves and ourselves finds expression in a recent letter from one of their number. these sentiments may fitly conclude our introduc tory words to an edition of a book designed to make our new treaty-neighbor better known : "we are the weakest nation in the orient, on account of our having been for thousands of years in a hermit condition." " we are a new-born nation, and but three years of age." " if we should reckon our national age, in regard to our political relations to other nations in the world, it would begin from the treaty that wo made with the united states." schenbctadt, n. y., july 6, 1885. preface. in the year 1871, while living at fukui, in the province of echizen, japan, i spent a few days at tsuruga and mikuni, by the sea which separates japan and oorea. like " the saxon shore " of early britain, the coast of echizen had been in primeval times the landing-place of rovers, iinmigrants, and adventurers from the continental shore opposite. here, at tsuruga, corean envoys had landed on their way to the mikado's court. in the temple near by were shrines dedicated to the corean prince of mimana, and to jingu kogo, ojin, and takenouchi, whose names in japanese tra ditions are associated with "the treasure-land of the west." across the bay hung a sweet-toned bell, said to have been cast in corea in a.d. 647 ; in which tradition — untested by chemistry — declared there was much gold. among the hills not far away, nestled the little village of awotabi (green nook), settled centuries ago by paper-makers, and visited a millenium ago by tribute bearers, from the neighboring peninsula ; and famous for produ cing the crinkled paper on which the diplomatic correspondence between the two nations was written. some of the first families in echizen were proud of their descent from cho-sen, whue in the villages, where dwelt the eta, or social outcasts, i beheld the de scendants of corean prisoners of war. everywhere the finger of tradition pointed westward across the waters to the asian main land, and the whole region was eloquent of "kin beyond sea." birds and animals, fruits and falcons, vegetables and trees, farmers' implements and the potter's wheel, names in geography and things preface. xlll in the arts, and doctrines and systems in religion were in some way connected with corea. the thought often came to me as i walked within the moss grown feudal castle walls — old in story, but then newly given up to schools of western science and languages — why should corea be sealed and mysterious, when japan, once a hermit, had opened her doors and come out into the world's market-place ? when would corea's awakening come? as one diamond cuts another, why should not cho-ka (japan) open cho-sen (corea) ? turning with delight and fascination to the study of japanese history and antiquities, i found much that reflected light upon the neighbor country. on my return home, i continued to search for materials for the story of the last of the hermit nations. no mas ter of research in china or japan having attempted the task, from what locke calls "the roundabout view," i have essayed it, with no claim to originauty or profound research, for the benefit of the general reader, to whom corea " suggests," as an american lady said, " no more than a sea-shell." many ask "what's in corea ?" and "is corea of any importance in the history of the world?" my purpose in this work is to give an outline of the history of the land of morning calm — as the natives call their country — from before the christian era to the present year. as "an honest tale speeds best, being plainly told," i have made no attempt to em bellish the narrative, though i have sought infoi-mation from sources from within and without corea, in maps and charts, coins and pottery, the language and art, notes and narratives of eye-wit nesses, pencil-sketches, paintings and photographs, the standard histories of japan and china, the testimony of sailor and diploma tist, missionary and castaway, and the digested knowledge of critical scholars. i have attempted nothing more than a historical outline of the nation and a glimpse at the political and social life of the people. for lack of space, the original manuscript of " recent and modem history," part in., has been greatly abridged, and many topics of interest have been left untouched. the bulk of the text was written between the years 1877 and xiv pkbface. 1880; since vvhich time the literature of the subject has been en riched byeoss's "corea" and " corean primer," besides the gram mar and dictionary of the corean language made by the french missionaries. with these linguistic helps i have been able to get access to the language, and thus clear up doubtful points and ob tain much needed data. i have borrowed largely from dallet's " histoire d'eglise de coree," especially in the chapters devoted to folk-lore, social life, and christianity. in the bibliography fol lowing the preface is a hst of works to which i have been more or less indebted. many friends have assisted me with correspondence, advice, or help in translation, among whom i must first thank my former stu dents, hasegawa, hiraii, haraguchi, matsui, and imadatte, and my newer japanese friends, ohgimi and rlmura, while others, alas ! will never in this world see my record of acknowledgment — k. yaye' and egi takato — whose interest was manifested not only in discussion of mooted points, but by search among the book-sho;^s in kioto and tokio, which put much valuable standard matter in my hands. i also thank mr. charles lauman, secretary of the legation of japan in "washington, for four ferrotypes taken in seoul in 1878 by members of the japanese embassy ; mr. d. r. clark, of the united states transit of venus survey, for four photographs of the corean villages in eussian manchuria ; mr. e. ideura, of tokio, for a set of photographs of kang-wa and vicinity, taken in 1876, and mr. ozawa nankoku, for sketches of corean articles in japanese museums. to lieutenant wadhams, of the united states navy, for the use of charts and maps made by himself while in corea in 1871, and for photographs of flags and other trophies, now at annapolis, captured in the han forts ; to fleet-surgeon h. o. mayo, and other oflficers of the united states navy, for valuable informa tion, i hereby express my grateful appreciation of kindness shown. i would that admiral john eodgers, commodore h. c. blake, and minister f. f. low were living to receive my thanks for their courtesies personally shown me, even though, in attempting to write history, i have made criticisms also. to lieutenant n. y. yanagi, of the hyrographic bureau, of the japanese navy, for a prepaca xv set of charts of the coast of corea ; to mr. metcalfe, of milwaukee, for photographs of coreans ; to miss marshall, of new york, foi making colored copies of the battle-flags captured by our naval battalion in 1871, and for the many favors of correspondents — in st. petersburg, mr. hoffman atkinson ; in peking, jugoi arinori mori ; in tpkio, dr. d. b. mccartee, hon. david murray, eev. j. l. amerman, and others whose names i need not mention. to g«n. george w. mccullum, vice-president, and to mr. leopold lin dau, librarian, of the american geographical society, i return my warmest thanks ; as well as to my dear wife and helpmeet, for her aid in copying, proof-reading, suggestions, and criticism during the progress of the work. in one respect, the presentation of such a subject by a compiler, while shorn of the fascinating element of personal experience, has an advantage even over the narrator who describes a country through which he has travelled. with the various reports of many wit nesses, in many times and places, before him, he views the whole subject and reduces the many impressions of detail to unity, cor recting one by the other. travellers usually see but a portion of the country at one time. the compiler, if able even in part to con trol his authorities, and if anything more than a tyro in the art of literary appraisement, may be able to furnish a hand-book of in formation more valuable to the general reader. in the use of my authorities i have given heed to bacon's ad vice — tasting some, chewing others, and swallowing few. in ancient history, original authorities have been sought, and for the story of modern life, only the reports of careful eye-vidtnesses have been set down as facts ;. while opinions and judgments of alien occidentals concerning corean social life are rarely borrowed without due flavoring of critical salt. corean and japanese life, customs, beliefs, and history are often reflections one of the other. much of what is reported from corea, which the eye-witnesses themselves do not appear to understand, is perfectly clear to one familiar with japanese life and history. china, corea, and japan are as links in the same chain of civil ization. corea, like cyprus between egypt and greece, will yet xvi preface. supply many missing details to the comparative student of language, art, science, the development of civilization, and the distribution of life on the globe. some future writer, with more ability and space at command than the undersigned, may discuss the question as to how far the opening of corea to the commerce of the world has been the result of internal forces ; the scholar, by his original research, may prepare the materials for a worthy history of corea during the two or three thousand years of her history ; the geologist or miner may deter mine the question as to how far the metallic wealth of corea will affect the monetary equilibrium of the world. the missionary has yet to prove the fuu power of christianity upon the people— and before corean paganism, any form of the religion of jesus, eoman, greek or reformed, should be welcomed ; while to the linguist, the man of science, and the political economist, the new country opened by american diplomacy presents problems of profound in terest. w. e. g. schenectady, n. y., october 8, 1888. bibliography. the following is a list of books and papers containing information about corea. those of primary value to which, the compiler of this work is specially indebted are marked with an asterisk (*) ; those to which slight obligation, if any, is acknowledged with a double asterisk ; and those which he has not consulted, with a dagger (f). see also under the cokbajs lastguage and cartography, in the appendix. * history of the eastern barbarians. "bookcxv. contains a sketch of the tribes and nations occupying the northeastern seaboard of china, with the territory now known as manchuria and corea." this extract from a, history of the later han dynasty (35-330 a.d.), by a chinese scholar of the fifth century, has been translated into english by mr. alexander wylie, and printed in the kevue de i'bxtrgme orient, no. 1, 1883. du ealde and de mailla, in french, and eoss, in english, have also given the substance of the chinese writer's work, which also furnishes the basis of japanese accounts of corean history previous to the fourth century. t the subjugation of chaou-seen, by a. wylie. (atti del iv. cong. int. degli orient, ii., pp. 309-315, 1881.) this fragment is a translation of the 95th book of the history of the former han dynasty of china. * empire de la chine et la tartaric chinoise, par p. du halde. * the kojiki and nihongi, written in japan during the eighth century, throws much light on the early history of corea. * wakan-san-sai dzuy6. article on cho-sen in this great japanese enoyclo psedia. f tong-kuk tong-kan (general view of the eastern kingdom), a native co rean history written in chinese. *zenrin koku hoki (precious jewels from a neighboring country), by shiuho. japan, 1586. * corea, its history, manners, and customs, by john boss. 1 vol., pp. 404. il lustrations and maps. paisley, 1880. * the chinese header's manual, by w. fred. mayers. 1 vol., pp. 440. shang hae, 1874. an invaluable epitome of chinese history, biography, chro nology, bibliography, and whatever is of interest to the student of chinese literature. *k6-oho bekidai enkaku zukai. historical periods and changes of the japanese empire, with maps and notes, by otsuki toyo. xviii bibliography. •* san koku tsu-ran to-setsu. mirror of the three [tributary] kingdoms, cho-sen, riu kiu, and yezo, by rin shihei, 1785. this work, with its maps, was translated into french by j. klaproth, and published m paris, 1833. 1 vol. 8yo, pp. 288, of which pp. 158 relate to cho-sen. digested also in siebold's archiv. ** archiv zur bescriebung von japan, by franz von siebold. this colossal work contains much matter in text and illustrations relating to corea, and the digest of several japanese books, in the part entitled nachrichten uber korai, japan's beziige mit der koraisohen halbinsel und mit sohma. *• corea und dessen einfluss auf die bevolkerung japans. zeit. fiir ethnoi ogie, zitzungbericht vni. p. 78, 1876. p. kempermann. ** o dai ichi ran. this work, containing the annals of the emperors of ja pan, is a bird's-eye view of the principal events in japanese history, written in the style of an almanac, which titsingh copied down from translations made by japanese who spoke dutch. klaproth revised and corrected titsingh's work, and published his own version in 1834. paris and lon don, 8vo, pp. 460. this work contains many references to corea and the relations of the two countries, transcribed from the older history. ** tableaux historiques de i'asie, depuis la monarchie de cyrus jusque nos jours, accompagnes de recherches historiques et ethnographiques, etc. par j. klaproth, paris, 1826. avec un atlas in folio. this manual of the political geography of asia is very useful, but not too accurate. f a heap of jewels in a sea of learning (gei kal shu jin ; jap. pron.). a chapter from this chinese book treats of corea. f cho-sen hitsu go-shin. a collection of conversations with the pen, with a corean who could not speak japanese. by ishikawa rokuroku sanjin, yedo. * the classical poetry of the japanese. by basil hall chamberlain. lon don, 1880. ** an outline history of japanese education, new york, 1876. this mono graph, prepared for the centennial exposition at philadelphia, reviews the educational influences of corea upon japan. the information given is, with other data, from klaproth, utilized in pickering's chronological history of plants, by charles pickering, m.d., boston, 1879. * japanese chronological tables. by william bramsen, tokio, 1880. an in valuable essay on japanese chronology, which was, like the corean, based on the chinese system. we have used this work of the lamented scholar (who died a few months after it was published) in rendering dates ex pressed in terms of the chinese into those of the gregorian or modern system. ** history of the mongols. 3 vols. pp. 1837. london,1876. by henry howorth. this portly work is full of the fruits of research concerning the people led by genghis khan. it contains excellent maps of iisia, and of mon golia, and manchuria, illustrating the mongol conquests. f cho-sen ki-che. (memorandum upon corean aflfairs. ) the chinese ambassa dor sent by the ming emperor in 1450, gives in this little work an account of his journey, which throws light upon the political and geographical situation of cho-sen and china at that time. quoted by m. scherzer, but not translated. bibliography. xix * nihon guaishi. military history of japan, by rai sanyo. this is the japanese standard history. it was published in 1827 in twenty-two vol; umes. it covers the period from the taira and minamoto families to that of the tokugawa in the seventeenth century. the first part of this work was translated into english by mr. ernest satow, and published in the japan mail at yokohama, 1872-74. in the latter portion the invasion of cho-sen, 1592-97, is outlined. * cho-sen seito shimatsflki. a work in, five volumes, giving an account of the embassies, treaties, documents relating to the invasion of 1592-97, with an outline of the war, geographical notes, with nine maps by yama zaki masanagi and miura eatsuyoshi. * illustrated history of the invasion of cho-sen. written by tsurumine hikoiohiro. illustrations by hashimoto giokuron. 30 vols. yedo, 1853. this popular work, besides an outline of corean history from the beginning, condensed from local legends and chinese writers, details the operations of war and diplomacy relating to hid^yoshi's invasion. it is copiously illustrated with first-class wood engravings. it has not been translated. * cho-sen monogatari. a diary and narrative of the japanese military opera tions in cho-sen during the campaign of 1594-97, by okoji hidemoto. copied out and published in 1672, and again in 1849. this narrative of an. eye-witness was written by the author at the time of the events de scribed, and afterward copied by his own son and deposited in the temple at which his ancestors worshipped. this vivid and spirited story of the second invasion of cho-sen by hid6yoshi has been translated into german by dr. a. pfizmaier, under the title der feldzug der japaner gegen corea, im jahre, 1597. 3 vols. vienna, 1875 : 4to, pp. 98 ; 1876 : 4to, pp. 58. ** chohitsuroku. history of the embassies, treaties, and war operations during the japanese invasion. this work is by a corean author, who was one of the ministers of the king throughout the war. it is written in chinese, has a map, and gives the corean side of the history of affairs from about 1585 to 1598. 3 vols. * three severall testimonies concerning the mighty kingdom of coray, tributary to the kingdom of china, and bordering upon her northeastern frontiers, and called by the portugales, coria, etc., etc., collected out of portugale yeerely japonian epistles, dated 1590, 1593, 1594. in hak luyt, london, 1600. * hideyoshi's invasion of korea. trans. asiatic society of japan. by w. g. aston. in these papers mr. aston gives the results of a study of the cam paign of 1593-97, as found in japanese and corean authors. ** lettre annuelle de mars 1593, ecrite par le p. pierre gomez an p. claude acquavira, general de la compagnie de jesus. milan, 1597, p. 113 et suiv. in hakluyt. *histoire de la religion chr^tienne au japon. par leon pages. 3 vols., text and documents. paris, 1869. ** histoire des deux conquerans tartares, qui ont subjuge la chine, par le r. p. pierre joseph d'orliens. *cho-sen monogatari (romantic narrative of travels in corea), by two men from mikuni, in echizen, cast ashore in tartary in 1645. this work is digested in siebold's archiv. xx bibliography. * narrative of an unlucky voyage and imprisonment in corea, 1653-1667. in astley's and pinkerton's voyages. by hendrik hamel. * imperial chinese atlas, containing maps of china and each of the provinces, including shing-king and the neutral strip. * histoire de i'bglise de ooree, par ch. dallet. 3 vols. 8vo, pp. 983. paris, 1874. this excellent work contains 193 pages of introduction, full of ac curate information concerning the political social life, geography, and language of corea, and a history of the introduction and progress of ro man christianity, and the labors of the french missionaries, from 1784 1866. it contains also a map and four charts of corean writing. * itne expedition en coree. in la tour du monde for 1873 there is an ar ticle of 16 pp. (401-417) with illustrations, by m. h. zuber, a french naval officer, who was in corea in 1866 under admiral roze. an excel lent descriptive paper by an eye-witness. * dia/y of a chinese envoy to corea (journal d'une mission en coree), by koei ling, ambassador of his majesty the emperor of china, to the court of cho-sen in 1866. translated from the chinese into french by f. scherzer, interpreter to the french legation at peking. 8vo, pp. 77. paris, 1882. this journal of the last chinese ambassador to seoul is well rendered, and is copiously supplied with explanatory notes, and a colored 'map of the author's route from peking through chili, shing-king, ma mukden, and through three provinces of corea to seoul, f many memoirs and special papers prepared by french officers in the expedi tion to corea in 1866 were prepared and read before local societies at cherbourg, lyons, etc. f expedition de coree. kevue maritime et coloniale, february, 1867, pp. 474r481. t paris moniteur, 1866-67. ** lettre sur la corde et son eglise chr^tienne. bulletin de la societe geographique de lyon, 1876, pp. 378-283, and june, 1870, pp. 417-423, and map. ** the corean martyrs. by canon shortland. 1 vol., pp. 115. london. com piled from the letters of the french missionaries. **nouvelle geographic universelle. this superb treasury of geographical science, still unfinished, contains a full summary of our knowledge of corea, especially showing the prominent part which french navigators, scholars, and missionaries have taken in its exploration. paris. ** voyage of discovery to the north pacific ocean and bound the world. by william r. broughton. 3 vols. 4to, with atlas. london, 1804. •* voyage round the world. by jean franqois de gallon de la perouse london, 1799. ** voyages to the eastern seas in the year 1818. by basil hall. new york, london, and revised by captain hall in 1837. jamaica, n. y. * narrative of a voyage in his majesty's late ship aloeste, to the yellow sea, along the coast of corea, and through its numerous hitherto undiscovered islands, etc., etc. by john mcleod, surgeon of the alceste. 1 vol., pp, 388 (see pp. 38-53). london, 1877. a witty and lively narratiye. ' * * voyages along the coast of china (corea), etc. by charles gutzlaff . 1 vol. , pp. 333. new york, 1833. (from july 17, to august 17, 1832 ; pp, 254-387.) bibliography. xxi * narrative of the voyage of h.m.s. samarang, during the years 1843-46. by captain sir e. belch*. 2 vols. 8vo, pp. 574-378. london, 1848. vol. i. pp. 334-358 ; vol. ii. , pp. 414 1 66, relate to corea. * american commerce with china. by gideon nye, esq. in the far bast. shanghae, 1878. a history of the commercial rela,tions of the united states with china, especially before 1800. * diplomatic correspondence of the united states, china, and japan, 1866-81. * report of the secretary of the navy to congress, pp. 275-313. 1872. * private notes, charts, and maps of officers of the united states navy who were in corea in 1871. ** a summer dream of '71. a story of corea. by t. g. the far east. shanghae, april, 1878. * journey through eastern mantchooria and korea. by walton grinnell. journal american geographical society, 1870-71, pp. 283-300. * japan and corea. a valuable monograph in six chapters, by mr. e. h. house, in the tokio times, 1877. •* on a collection of crustacea made in the corean and japanese seas. j. muirs, 1879. loudon zoological society's proceedings (pp. 18-81, pis. 1-113). reviewed by j. s. kingsley. norwich, n. y. american naturalist. ** a private trip in corea. by frank cowan, m.d. the japan mail, 1880. f the leading men of japan. by charles lanman. boston, 1883. contains a chapter on corea. * manuscript volume of pencil notes made by kawamura kuanshiu, an officer on the japanese gunboat unyo-kuan, during her cruise and capture of the kang-wa fort, 1875. partly printed in the japan' mail. * journals of japanese military and diplomatic officers who have visited corea, and correspondence of the japanese newspapers, from seoul, fusan, gen san, etc. these have been partly translated for the english press at yo kohama. * correspondence, notes, editorials, etc., in the english and french newspar pers published in china and japan. ** maru-maru shimbun (japanese punch). * cho-sen : its eight administrative divisions. 1 vol. t5kio, japan, 1883. * cho-sen jijo. a short account of corea, its history, productions, etc. 3 vols. tokio, 1875. ■* ch5-sen bunkenroku (things seen and heard concerning corea). by sato hakushi. 3 vols. tokio, 1875. * travels of a naturalist in japan [corea] and manchuria. by arthur adams. 1 vol., pp. 334. london, 1870. see chaps, x., xi., pp. 125-166. ** ueber die reise der kais. corvette hertha, in besondere nach corea. kramer, marine prediger. zeit. fur ethnologie, 1873. verhandlungen, pp. 49-54. •• a forbiddenland. by ernest oppert. 1 vol., pp. 349. illustrations, charts, etc. new york, 1880. . ** journeys in north china. by rev. a. williamson. 3 vols. 16mo. lon don, 1870. besides a chapter on corea, this work contains an excellent map of the country north and east of cho-sen ** the middle kingdom. by s. wells williams. xxii bibliography. "consular reports in the blue books of the british aovernment, especially the reports of mr. mcpherson, consul at niu-chwang. january, ibbb. 'handbook for central and northern japan, with maps and plans, batow and hawes. 1 vol. 16mo, pp. 489. this work, which leaves nothing to he desired as a guide-book, contains several references to corean art ana history. , ** the wild coasts of nipon. by captain h. c. st. john (who surveyed some parts of southern corea in h.b.m.s. sylvia). see chap, xu., pp. iao-i'ao, with a map of corea. ** darlegun aus der geschichte und geographie coreas. pfizmaier. 8vo, pp. 56. vienna, 1874. f petermann's mittheilungen, no. 1, carte no. 19, 1871. ** das konigreich korea. von kloden. aus alien welth., x., nos. 5 u. 6. t corea. geographical magazine. (s. mossman.) vi. p. 148, 1877. f corea. by captain allen young, royal geographical society. vol. ix.. no. 6, pp. 296-300. ** china, with an appendix on corea. by charles eden. 1 vol., pp. 281 323. london. a popular compilation. ** korea and the lost tribes, and map and chart of korea. text and illus trations. the title of this work is suficient. even the bibliography of corea has a comic side. ** chi-shima (kurile islands) and russian invasion. a lecture delivered in japanese, before the tokio united geographical society, february 24, 1883. by admiral bnomoto. this valuable historical treatise, translated for the japan mail and japan herald, contains much information about russian operatipns in the countries bordering the north pacific and the coreans north of the tumen. f bulletin de la society geographique, 1875. corean villages in the russian possessions described. ** ravensteins, the russians on the amoor. london, 1861. fdie insel quelpart. deutsche geogr. blatter, 1879. ill.. no. 1, s. 45-46. i a trip to quelpaert. nautical magazine, 1870, no. 4, p. 321-335. ** the edinburgh review of 1872, and fortnightly review of 1875, contain articles on corea. *the missionary record of the united presbyterian church of scotland, edinburgh, containing the correspondence and notes of the missionaries laboring among the chinese and coreans, and who have translated the new testament into corean. t la cor6e, par m. paul tournafond, editor of l'exploration, a geographical journal published in paris, which contains frequent notes on corea. f la corse, ses ressources, son avenir commercial, par maurice jametel. l'bconomiste fraugais, juillet 23, 1881. * the japan herald, the japan mail, the japan gazette, l'echo du japan, of yokohama, and north china herald, shanghae, have furnished much information concerning recent events in corea. corea, the last of the hermit nations. sunday magazine, new york, may, 1878. corea and the united states. the independent, new york, nov. 17, 1881. corea, the hermit nation. bulletin of the american geographical society, new york, 1881, no. 3. bibliography. xxiu t chautauqua text-books, no. 34. asiatic history ; china, corea, japan. 16mo, pp. 86. new york, 1881. library of universal knowledge, articles corea, fnsan, gensan, kang-wa, etc. new york, 1880. cyclopaedia of political science, etc., article corea. chicago, 1881. the corean origin of japanese art. century magazine. december, 1883. by wm. elliot griffis. orthography and pronunciation. in the transliteration of corean names into english, an attempt has been made to render them in as accurate and simple a manner as is, under the cir cumstances, possible. the coreans themselves have no uniform system of spelling proper names, nor do the french missionaries agree in their render ings — as a comparison of their maps and writings shows. our aim in this work has been to use as few letters as possible. japanese words are all pronounced according to the european method — a as in father, e as in prey, « as in men, i as in mcumne, o as in bone, u as in tune, u as in sun; ai as in aisle, ua as in quarantine, ei as in feign, and iu is sounded as yu ; g is always hard ; and e before a vowel, g soft, i, q, s used as z, x, and the combinations ph and th are not used. the long vowel, rather diphthong o, or oho, is marked o. the most familiar chinese names are retained in their usual english form. corean words are transliterated on the same general principles as the japa iiese, though ears familiar with corean will find the obscure sound between and short u is written with either of these letters, as chan-yon, or in-chifin, or kiung-sang. ch may sometimes be used instead oij; and e where o or a or u might more correctly be used, as in kang-wen, or wen-chiu. instead of the french ou. or ho, we have written w, as in whang-hai, kang-wa, rather than hoang-hai, kang-hoa, kang-ouen, tai-ouen kun, etc. ; and in place of ts we have used eh, as kwang-chiu rather than kwang-tsiu, and wen-chiu than ouen-tsiu. maps and plans. paoe ancestral seats of the fuyu race, 25 sam-han, 30 ancient japan and corea, 56 the neutral territory, 85 the japanese military operations of 1593, 99 the campaign i;n the north, 1593-1593 107 the operations of the second invasion, 131 plan of ttru-san castle, 138 home of the manchius and their migrations, 155 the jesuit survey of 1709 165 ping-an province, 181 the yellow sea province, . . .185 the capital province, 188 military geography of seoul, 190 chung-chong province, 194 chuua-do, . 199 the province nearest japan, 304 kang-wen province, 308 corean frontier facing manchuria and russia, 310 southern part of ham-kiung, 215 the missionary's gateway into corea, 364 border towns of northern corea, 365 the french naval and military operations, 1866 379 . map illustrating the " general sherman " affair, . . . .393 map illustrating the " china " affair, 400 map of the american naval operations in 1871, 415 gbhbral map of cobba at end of volume contents. part i. ancient and medi^yal histoey. chapter i. faqs the gorean peninsula 1 chapter ii. the old kingdom of cho-sen, 11 chapter m. the fuyu race and their migrations, 19 chapter iv. sam-han, or southern corea, 30 chapter v. epoch of the three kingdoms.. — hiaksai, 35 chapter vi. epoch of the three kingdoms. — korai, 40 chapter vil epoch ofthe three kingdoms. —shinra, 45 chapter vm. japan and corea, 51 xxvi contents. chapter ix. via* korai, or united corea 63 chapter x. cathay, zlpangu, and the mongols, .70 chapter xi. new cho-sen, . . . • 76 chapter xii. events leading to the japanese invasion, 88 chapter xiii. the invasion — on to seoul, . 95 chapter xiv. the campaign in the north, 104 chapter xv. the retreat from seoul, 115 chapter xvi. cespedes, the christian chaplain, 121 chapter xvrr. diplomacy at kioto and peking, 124 chapter xviii. the second invasion 129 chapter xix. the siege of ttru-san castle i37 chapter xx. changes after the invasion, i^k chapter xxi. the issachar of eastern asia, -ika chapter xxii. the dutchmen in exile, ^(.» contents. xxvii part ii. political and social coeea. chapter xxm. page / the eight provinces, 179 chapter xxiv. the king and royal palace, 318 chapter xxv. political parties, 334 chapter xxvi. organization and methods of government, 330 chapter xxvii. feudalism, serfdom, and society, 337 chapter xxvm. social life. — woman and the family, 344 chapter xxix. cliildlife, 356 chapter xxx. housekeeping, diet, and costume . . ..,','. 362 chapter xxxi. mourning and burial, . . 377 chapter xxxn. out-door life. — characters and employments, 384 chapter xxxiii. shamanism and mythical zoology, . . . •..:,. 300 fa6b xxviii contents. chapter xxxiv. legends and folk-lore, . ^"' chapter xxxv. proverbs and pithy sayings, ^^'^ chapter xxxvi. the corean tiger, 320 chapter xxxvii. religion 326 chapter xxxviii. education and culture, 337 pabt iii. modern a^t> eecent history. chapter xxxix. page the beginnings of christianity— 1784r-l 794, 347 chapter xl. persecution and martyrdom — 1801-1884, 353 chapter xll the entrance of the french missionaries — 1835-1845, . . . .361 chapter xlil the walls of isolation sapped, 367 chapter xliil the french expedition, 377 chapter xliv. american relations with corea 388 contents. xxix chapter xlv. faob a body-snatching expedition, 396< chapter xlvi. our little war with the heathen, 403 chapter xlvii. the ports opened to japanese commerce, 430 chapter xlviii. « the year of the treaties 433 supplementary chapter, 443 appendix the corkan language 455 measures, weights, money, time, calculation, . , . .463 cartography, ^8 index, ^^ list of illustrations. pa&e city of seoul, corean coin, ....•• coin of modern cho-sen, the founder of fuyu crossing the sungari river, coin of the sam-han, or the three kingdoms, coin of korai, two-masted corean vessel, the walls of seoul, magistrate and servant, .... corean knight of the sixteenth century, styles of hair-dressing in corea, a pleasure-party on the river, corean village in russian territory, tahle spread for festal occasions, . gentlemen's garments and dress patterns, thatched house near seoul, battle-flag captured by the americans* in 1871, battle-flag captured in the han forts, 1871, house and garden of a noble, breech-loading cannon of corean manufacture, the entering wedge of civilization, . 10 . 18 . 20 . 34 . 69 . 75 . 79 . 81 . 101 . 161 . 196 . 211 . 264 . 375 . 305 . 320 355 382 . 407 ancient and medieval histoby. corea: the hermit nation", chapter i. the cobban peninsula. coeea, though unknown even by name in europe until the six teenth century, was the subject of description by arab geogra phers of the middle ages. before the peninsula was known as a political unit, the envoys of shinra, one of the three corean states, and those from persia met face to face before the throne of china. the arab merchants trading to chinese ports crossed the yellow sea, visited the peninsula, and even settled there. the youths of shinra, sent by their sovereign to study the ai-ts of war and peace at nanking, the mediaeval capitol of china, may often have seen and talked with the merchants of bagdad and damascus. the corean term for mussulmans is hoi-hoi, " round and round '' men. corean art shows the undoubted influence of persia. a very interesting passage in the chronicles of japan, while illustrating the sensitive regard of the japanese ior the forms of etiquette, shows another point of contact between corean and saracen civilization. it occurs in the nihon o dai ichi ban, or "a view of the imperial family of japan." " in the first month of the sixth year of tempio shoho [february, 754 a.d.], the japan ese nobles ohan no komaro and kibi no mabi returned from china, in which country they had left fujiwara no seiga. the former reported that at the audience which they had of the em peror gen sho,. on new year's day [january 18th], the ambassadors corea. of towan [thibet] occupied the first place to the west, those from shinra the first place to the east, and that the second place to the west had been destined for them (the japanese envoys) and the second place to the east for the ambassadors of the kingdom of dai shoku [persia, then part of the empire of the caliphsj. komaro, offended with this arrangement, asked why the chinese should give precedence over them to the envoys of shinra, a state which had long been tributary to japan. the chinese officials, impressed alike with the firmness and displeasure exhibited by komaro, assigned to the japanese envoys a place above those of persia and to the envoys of shinra a place above those of thibet." thus the point at issue was settled, by avoiding it, and assign ing equal honor to shinra and japan. °this incident alone shows that close communications were kept up between the far east and the west of asia, and that corea was known beyond chinese asia. at that time the boundaries of the two empires, the arab and the chinese, touched each other. the first notice of corea in western books or writings occurs in the works of khordadbeh, an arab geographer of the ninth century, in his book of eoads and provinces. he is thus quoted by eich thofen in his work on china (p. 575, note) : "what lies on the other side of china is unknown land. but tiigh mountains rise up densely across from kantu. these he over in the land of sila, which is rich in gold. mussulmans who visit this country often allow themselves, through the advantages of the same, to be induced to settle here. they export from thence gin seng, deerhorn, aloes, camphor, nails, saddles, porcelain, satinj zimmit (cinnamon?) and galanga (ginger?)." eichthofen rightly argues that sila is shinra and kantu is the promontory province of shantung. this arabic term "sila" is a corruption of shinra — the predominant state ia corea at the time of khordadbeh. the name of this kingdom was pronounced by the japanese, shinra, and by the chinese, sinlo— the latter easily altered in arabic mouths to sila. the european name corea is derived from the japanese term korai (chinese kaoli), the name of another state in the peninsula, rival to shinra. it was also the official title of the nation from the eleventh to the fourteen,th century. the portuguese, who were the first navigators of the yellow sea, brought the name to europe, calling the country coria, whence the english corea. the corean peninsula. 3 the french jesuits at peking gallicized this into cor6e. fol lowing the genius of their language, they call it la ooree, just as they speak of england as l'angleterre, germany as l'allemande, and america as l'amerique. hence has arisen the curious desig nation, used even by english writers, of this peninsula as "the corea." but what is good french in this case is very bad enghsh, and we should no more say "the corea" than "the germany," "the england," or "the america." english usage forbids the employment of the definite article before a proper name, and those writers who persist in prefixing the definite article to the proper name corea are either ignorant of the significance of the word, or knowingly violate the laws of the english language. the native name of the country is cho-sen (morning calm or fresh morning), which french writers, always prodigal in the use of vowels, spell tsio-sen, teo-cen, or tchao-sian. the chinese call it tung-kwo (eastern kingdom), and the manchius, sol-ho or solbo. the peninsula, with its outlying islands, is nearly equal in size to minnesota or to great britain. its area is between eighty and ninety thousand square miles. its coast line measures 1,740 miles. in general shape and relative position to the asian continent it resembles florida. it hangs down between the middle kingdom and the sunrise land, separating the sea of japan and the yellow sea, between the 34th and 43d parallels of north latitude. in its general configuration, when looked at from the westward on a good map, especially the magnificent one made by the japanese war department, cho-sen resembles the outspread wings of a headless butterfly, the lobes of the wings being toward china, and their tops toward japan. legend, tradition, and geological indications lead us to believe that anciently the chinese promontory and province of shantung and the corean peninsula were connected, and that dry land once covered the space filled by the waters joining the gulf of pechili and the yellow sea. these waters are so shallow that the eleva tion of their bottoms but a few feet would restore their area to the land surface of the globe. on the other side, also, the sea of japan is very shallow, and the straits of corea, at their greatest depth, have but eighty-three feet of water. that portion of the chinese province of shing king, or southern manchuria, bordering the sea, is a great plain, or series of flats elevated but a few feet above tide water, which becomes nearly impassable during heavy rains. a marked difference is noted between the east and west coasts 4 corea. of the peninsula. the former is comparatively destitute of harbors, and the shore is high, monotonous, and but slightly indented or fringed with islands. it contains but three provinces. on the west coast are five provinces, and the sea is thickly strewn with islands, harbors and landing places, while navigable rivers are more numerous. the "corean archipelago" contains an amaz ing number of fertile and inhabited islands and islets rising out of deep water. they are thus described by the naturalist arthur adams : " leaving the huge, cone-like island of quelpaert in the distance, the freshening breeze bears us gallantly toward those unknown islands which form the archipelago of korea. as you approach them you look from the deck of the vessel and you see them dot ting the wide, blue, boundless plain of the sea — groups and clusters of islands stretching away into the far distance. far as the eye can reach, their dark masses can be faintly discerned, and as we close, one after another, the bold outlines of their mountain peaks stand out clearly against the cloudless sky. the water from which they seem to arise is so deep around them that a ship can almost range up alongside them. the rough, gray granite and basaltic cliffs, of which they are composed, show them to be only the rugged peaks of submerged mountain masses which have been rent, in some great convulsion of nature, from the peninsula which sti-etches into the sea from the main land. you gaze upward and see the weird, fantastic outline which some of their torn and riven peaks present. in fact, they have assumed such peculiar forms as to have suggested to navigators characteristic names. here, for example, stands out the fretted, crumbling towers of one called windsor castle, there frowns a noble rock-ruin, the monas tery, and here again, mounting to the skies, the abbey peak. " some of the islands of this archipelago are veiy lofty, and one was ascertained to boast of a naked granite peak more than two thousand feet above the level of the sea. many of the summits are crowned with a dense forest of conifers, dark trees, very similar in appearance to scotch firs." the king of corea may well be called "sovereign of ten thousand isles." almost the only striking feature of the inland physical geogra phy of cho-sen, heretofore generally known, is that chain of moun tains which traverses the peninsula from north to south, not in a straight line, but in an exceedingly sinuous course, simuaxto the the corban peninsula. 5 tacking of a ship when sailing in the eye of the wind. as the coreans say, "it winds out and in ninety-nine times." striking out from manchuria it trends eastward to the sea at cape bruat on the 41st parallel, thence it strikes southwest about eighty mjles to the region west of broughton's bay (the narrowest pai-tof corea), whence it bears westward to the sea at the 37th paral lel, orcape pelissier, where its angle culminates in the lofty mountain peaks named by the eussians mount popoff— after the inventor of the high turret ships. from this point it throws off a fringe of lesser hills to the southward while the main chain strikes south west, and after forming the boundary between two most southern provinces reaches the sea near the amherst isles. nor does its course end here, for the uncounted islands of the archipelago, with their fantastic rock-ruins and perennial greenery, that suggest de serted castles and abbeys mantled with ivy, are but the wave-worn and shattered remnants of this lordly range. this chief feature in the physical geography of the peninsula de termines largely its configuration, climate, river system and water shed, political divisions, and natural barriers. speaking roughly. eastern corea is a mountainous ridge of which western corea is but the slope. no river of any importance is found inside the peninsula east of these mountains, except the nak-tong, which drains the valley formed by the interior and the sea-coast ranges, while on the west ward slope ten broad streams collect the tribute of their melted snows to enrich the valleys of five provinces. through seven parallels of latitude this range fronts the sea of japan with a coast barrier which, except at yung-hing bay, is nearly destitute of harbors. its timbered heights present a wall of living green to the mariner sailing from vladivostok to shanghai. great differences of climate in the same latitude are observed on opposite sides of this mountain range, which has various local epi thets. from their height and the permanence of -their winter covering, the word "white" forms an oft-recurring part of their names. the division of the country into eight do, or provinces, which are grouped in southern, central, and northern, is based mainly on the river basins. the rainfall in nearly every province finds an outlet on its own sea border. only the western slopes of the two northeastern provinces are exceptions to this rule, since they dis charge part of their waters into streams emptying beyond their corea. boundaries. the yalu, and the han— "the river "-are the only streams whose sources lie beyond their own pro-vinces. in rare in stances are the rivers known by the same word along their whole length, various local names being applied by the people of different neighborhoods. on the maps in this work only the name most commonly given to each stream near its mouth is printed. in respect to the sea basins, three provinces on the west coast form one side of the depression called the yellow sea basin, of which northeastern china forms the opposite rim. the three east ern do, or circuits, lining the sea of japan, make the concave in the sea basin to which japan offers the corresponding edge. the entire northern boundary of the peninstda from sea to gulf, except where the colossal peak paik-tu ('white head') forms the water-shed, is one vast valley in which lie the basins of the yalu and tumen. corea is, in reality, an island, as the following description of white head mountain, obtained from the journal of the chinese ambassador to seoul, shows. this mountain has two summits, one facing north, the other east. on the top is a lake thirty ri around. in shape the peak is that of a colossal white vase open to the sky, and fluted or scolloped round the edge like the vases of chinese porcelain. its crater, white on the outside, is red, with whitish veins, inside. snow and ice clothe the sides, sometimes as late as june. on the side of the north, there issues a runnel, a yard in depth, which falls in a cascade and forms the source of the (tumen) river. three or four ri from the summit of the mountain the stream divides into two parts ; one is the source of the yalu eiver. in genei:al, it may be said to dwellers in the temperate zone that the climate of corea is excellent, bracing in the north, and in the south tempered by the ocean breezes of summer. the winters in the higher latitudes are not more rigorous than in the state of new york ; while, in the most southern, they are as delightful as those in the carolinas. in so mountainous and sea-girt a country there are, of course, great climatic varieties even in the same prov inces. as compared with european countries of the same latitude. corea is much colder in winter and hotter in summer. in the north, the tumen eiver is usually frozen during five months in the year. the han eiver at seoul may be crossed on ice during two or three months. even in the southern provinces, deep snows cover the mountains, though the plains are usually free, rarely the corean peninsula. 7 holding the snow during a whole day. the lowest point to which the mercury fell, in the observation of the french missionaries, was at the 35th parallel of latitude 8° and at the 37th parallel 15° (f.). the most delightful seasons in the year are spring and autumn. in summer, in addition to the great heat, the rain falls often in tor rents that blockade the roads and render travelling and transport next to impossible. toward the end of september occurs the pe riod of tempests and variable winds. a glance at the fauna of corea suggests at once india, europe, massachusetts, and florida. in the forests, especially of the two northern circuits, tigers of the largest size and fiercest aspect abound. when food fails them, they attack human habitations, and the annual list of victims is very large. the leopard is com mon. there are several species of deer, which furnish not only hides and venison, but horns which, when " in velvet," are highly prized as medicine. in the fauna are included bears, wild hogs and the common pigs of stunted breed, wild cats, badgers, foxes, beavers, otters, several species of martens. the salamander is found in the streams, as in western japan. of domestic beasts, horses are very numerous, being mostly of a short, stunted breed. immense numbers of oxen are found in the south, furnishing the meat diet craved by the people who eat much more of fatty stuff than the japanese. goats are rare. sheep are imported from china only for sacri ficial purposes. the dog serves for food as well as for companion ship and defence. of birds, the pheasant, falcon, eagle, crane, and stork, are common. corea has for centuries successfully carried out the policy of isolation. instead of a peninsula, her rulers have .striven to make her an inaccessible island, and insulate her from the shock of change. she has buut not a great wau of masonry, but a barrier of sea and river-flood, of mountain and devastated land, of pahsades and cordons of armed sentinels. frost and snow, storm and win ter, she hails as her allies. not content with the sea-border she desolates her shores lest they tempt the mariner to land. between her chinese neighbor and herself, she has placed a neutral space of unplanted, unoccupied land. this strip of forests and desolated plains, twenty leagues wide, stretches between corea and manchu ria. to form it, four cities and many villages were suppressed three centuries ago, and left in ruins. the soil of these solitudes is very good, the roads easy, and the hills not high. corea. for centuries, only the wild beasts, fugitives from justice, and outlaws from both countries, have inhabited this fertile but forbid den territory. occasionally, borderers would cultivate portions of it, but gather the produce by night or stealthily by day, venturing on it as prisoners would step over the "dead line." of late years, the chinese government has respected the neutrality of this barrier less and less. one of those recurring historical phenomena pecu liar 'to manchuria — the increase and pressure of population — has within a generation caused the occupation of large portions of this neutral strip. parts of it have been surveyed and staked out by chinese surveyors, and the corean government has been too feeble to prevent the occupation. though no towns or villages are marked on the map of this "no-man's land," yet already, a considerable number of small settlements exist upon it. as this once neutral territory is being gradually obliterated, so the former lines of palisades and stone walls on the northern bor der which, two centuries and more ago, were strong, high, guarded and kept in repair, have year by year, during a long era of peace, been suffered to fau into decay. they exist no longer, and should be erased from the maps. the pressure of population in manchuria upon the corean bor der is a portentous phenomenon. . for manchuria, which for ages past has, like a prolific hive, swarmed off masses of humanity into other lands, seems again preparing to send off a fresh cloud. al ready her millions press upon her neighbors for room. the clock of history seems once more about to strike, perhaps to order again another dynasty on the oft-changed throne of china. from mysterious mongolia, have gone out in the past the vari ous hordes called tartars, or tatars, huns, turks, kitans, mongols, manchius. perhaps her loins also are already swelling with a new progeny. this marvellous region gave forth the man-children who destroyed the eoman empire ; who extinguished christianity in asia and africa, and nearly in europe ; who, after conquering india and china threatened christendom, and holding eussia for two centuries, created the largest empire ever known on earth; and finally reared "the most improvable race in asia" that now holda the throne and empire of china. cho-sen since acting the hermit policy of ancient egypt and me diibval china, has preserved two loopholes at fusan and ai-chiu, the former on the sea toward japan, and the latter in the north west, on the chinese border. what in time of peace is a needle's the cobban pbninsuiia. 9 eye, is in time of war a flood-gate for enemies. from the west, the invading armies of china have again and again marched around over the gulf of liao tung and entered the peninsula to plunder and to conquer, while chinese fleets from shan-tung have over and over again arched their sails in the yellow sea to furl them again in corean elvers. from the east, the japanese have pushed across the sea to invade corea as enemies, to help as allies against china, to levy tribute and go away enriched, or anon to send ttieir grain laden ships to their starving neighbors. from a political point of view the geographical position of this countiy is most unfortunate. placed between two rival nations, aliens in blood, temper, and policy, cho-sen has been the rich grist between the upper and nether millstones of china and japan. out of the north, rising from the vast plains at manchuria, the conquer ing hordes, on their way to the prize lying south of the great wall, have over and over again descended on corean soil to make it their granary. from the pre-historic forays of the tribes beyoijd the sungari, to the last new actors on the scene, the russians, who stand with their feet on the tumen, looking over the border on her helpless neighbor, corea has been threatened or devastated by her eager enemies. nevertheless corea has always remained corea, a separate country ; and the people are coreans, more allied to the japanese than the chinese, yet in language, politics, and social customs, dif ferent from either. as ireland is not england or scotland, neither is cho-sen china nor japan. in hsr boasted history of "four thousand years," the little kingdom has too often been the ireland of china, so far as misgov emment on the one side, and fretful and spasmodic resistance on the other, are considered. yet ancient corea has also been an ireland to japan, in the better sense of giving to her the art, let ters, science, and ethics of continental civilization. as of old, went forth fi-om tara's halls to the british isles and the continent, the bard and the monk to elevate and civilize europe with the culture of home and the religion of cliristianity, so for centuries there crossed the sea from the peninsula a stream of scholars, artists, and missionaries who brought to japan the social culture of cho sen, the literature of china, and the reugion of india. a grateful bonze of japan has well told the story of corea's part in the civili zation of his native country in a book entitled "precious jewels from a neighbor country." 10 corea. corea fulfils one of the first conditions of national safety in having "scientific frontiers," or adequate natural boundaries of river, mountain, and sea. but now what was once barrier is highway. what was once the safety of isolation, is now the weak ness of the recluse. steam has made the water a surer path than land, and japan, once the pupil and anon the conqueror of the little kingdom, has in these last days become the helpful friend of corea's people, and the opener of the long-sealed peninsula. already the friendly whistle of japanese steamers is heard in the harbors of two ports in which are trading settlements. at pusan and gensan, the mikado's subjects hold commercial rivalry with the coreans, and through these two loopholes the hermits of the peninsula catch glimpses of the outer world that must waken thought and create a desire to enter the family of nations. the ill fame of the native character for inhospitality and hatred of foreign ers belongs not to the people, nor is truly characteristic of them. it inheres in the government which curses country and people, and in the ruling classes who, like those in old japan, do not wish the peasantry to see the inferiority of those who govern them. corea cannot long remain a hermit nation. the near future will see her open to the world. commerce and pure christianity wiu enter to elevate her people, and the student of science, ethnol ogy, and language will find a tempting field on which shall be solved many a j-et obscure problem. the forbidden land of to-day is, in many striking points of comparison, the analogue of old japan. while the last of the hermit nations awaits some gallant perry of the future, we may hope that the same brilliant path of progress on which the sunrise kingdom has entered, awaits the land of morning calm. we add a postscript. as our manuscript turns to print, we hear of the treaty successfully negotiated by commodore shufeldt. corean coin — " eastern kingdom, precious treasure.' chapter ii. the old kingdom of cho-sen. like almost every country on earth, whose history is known, corea is inhabited by a race that is not aboriginal. the present occupiers of the land drove out or conquered the people whom they found upon it. they are the descendants of a stock whose ances tral seats were beyond those ever white mountains which buttress the northern frontier. nevertheless, for the origins of their national history, we must look to one whom the coreans of this nineteenth century stul call the founder of their social order. the scene of his labors is laid partly within the peninsula, and chiefly in manchuria, on the well watered plains of shing-king, formerly called liao tung. the third dynasty of the thirty-three or thirty-fourlines of rulers who have filled the oft-changed throne of china, is known in history as the shang (or yin). it began b.c. 1766, and after a line of twenty-eight sovereigns, ended in chow sin, who died b.c. 1122. he was an unscrupulous tyrant, and has been called "the nero of china." one of his nobles was ki tsze, viscount of ki (or latinized, kicius). he was a profound scholar and author of important por tions of the classic book, entitled the shu king. he was a coun sellor of the tyrant king, and being a man of upright character, was greatly scandalized at the conduct of his licentious and cruel master. the sage remonstrated with his sovereign hoping to turn him from his evil ways. in this noble purpose he was assisted by two other men of rank named pi kan and wei tsze. au their efforts were of no avail, and finding the reformation of the tyrant hopeless, wei tsze, though a kinsman of the king, voluntarily exued him self from the realm, while pi kan, also a relative of chow sin, was cruelly murdered in the fouovving manner : the king, mocking the wise counsellor, cried out, "they say 13 corea. that a sage has seven orifices to his heart ; let us see if this is the case with pi kan." this chinese monarch, himself so much like herod in other respects, had a wife who in her character re sembled herodias. it was she who expressed the bloody wish to see the heart of pi kan. by the imperial order the sage was put to death and his body ripped open. his heart, torn out, was brought before the cruel pair. ki tsze, the third counsellor, was cast into prison. meanwhile the people and nobles of the empire were rising in arms against the tyrant whose misrule had become intolerable. they were led on by one wu wang, who crossed the yellow eiver, and met the tyrant on the plains of muh. in the great battle that ensued, the army of chow sin was defeated. escaping to his pal ace, and ordering it to be set on fire, he perished in the flames. among the conqueror's first acts was the erection of a memorial mound over the grave of pi kan, and an order that ki tsze should be released from prison, and appointed prime minister of the realm. but the sage's loyalty exceeded his gratitude. in spite of the magnanimity of the offer, ki tsze frankly told the conqueror that duty to his deposed sovereign forbade him serving one whom he could not but regard as a usurper. he then departed into the regions lying to the northeast. with him went several thousand chinese emigrants, mostly the remnant of the defeated army, now exiles, who made him their king. it is not probable that in his distant realm he received investment from or paid tribute to king wu. such an act would be a virtual acknowledgment of the righteousness of rebellion and revolution. it would prove that the sage forgave the usurper. some chinese historians state that ki tsze accepted a title from wu wang. others maintain that the investiture " was a euphemism to shield the character of the ances tor of confucius." the migration of ki tsze and his followers took place 1122 b.c. ki tsze began vigorously to reduce the aboriginal people of his realm to order. he policed the borders, gave laws to his subjects, and gradually introduced the principles and practice of chinese etiquette and polity throughout his domain. previous to his time the people lived in caves and holes in the ground, dressed in leaves, and were destitute of manners, morals, agriculture and cooking, being ignorant savages. the divine being, dan kun, had partially civilized them, but kishi, who brought 5,000 chinese colonists with the old kingdom of cho-sbn. 13 him, taught the aborigines letters, reading and ■writing, medicine, many of the arts, and the political principles of feudal china. the japanese pronounce the founder's name kishi, and the coreans kei-tsa or kysse. the name conferred by kishi, the eivilizer, upon his new domain is that now in use by the modern coreans — cho-sen or morning calm. this ancient kingdom of cho-sen, according to the coreans, comprised the modern chinese province of shing-king, which is now about the size of ohio, having an area of 43,000 square mues, and a population of 8,000,000 souls. it is entirely outside and west of the limits of modern corea. in addition to the space already named, the fluctuating bound aries of this ancient kingdom embraced at later periods much teni tory beyond the liao eiver toward peking, and inside the line now marked by the great "wall. to the east the modern province of ping-an was included in cho-sen, the ta-tong kiver being its most stable boundary. " scientific frontiers," though sought for in those ancient times, were rather ideal than hard and fast. "with all due allowance for elastic boundaries, we may say that ancient cho-sen lay chiefly within the liao tung peninsula and the corean province of ping-an, that the liao and the ta-tong eivers enclosed it, and that its northern border lay along the 42d parallel of latitude. the descendants of ki tsze are said to have ruled the country until the fourth century before the christian era. their names and deeds are alike unknown, but it is stated that there were forty one generations, making a blood-line of eleven hundred and thirty one years. the line came to an end in 9 a.d., though they had lost power long before this time. by common consent of chinese and native tradition, ki tsze is the founder of corean social order. if this tradition be true, the civilization of the hermit nation nearly equals, in point of time, that of china, and is one of the very oldest in the world, being contemporaneous with that of egypt and chaldea. it is certain that the natives plume themselves upon their antiquity, and that the particular vein of corean arrogance and contempt for western civilization is kindred to that of the hindoos and chinese. prom the lofty heiglit of thirty centuries of tradition, which to them is unchallenged history, they look with pitying contempt upon the upstart nations of yesterday, who live beyond the sea under some other heaven. when the american admiral, john rodgers, in 14 cobba, 1871, entered the han river with his fleet, hoping to make a treaty, he was warned off with the repeated answer that " oorea was satis fied with her civihzation of four thousand years, and wanted no other." the perpetual text of all letters from seoul to peking, of all proclamations against christianity, of all death-warrants of con verts, and of the oft-repeated refusals to open trade with foreign ers is the praise of ki tsze as the founder of the virtue and order of " the little kingdom," and the loyalty of corea to his doctrines. in the letter of the king to the chinese emperor, dated novem ber 25, 1801, the language following the opening sentence is as given below : "his imperial majesty knows that since the time when the remnants of the army ofthe yin dynasty migrated to the east [1122 b.c.j, the little kingdom has always been distinguished by its exactness in fulfilling all that the rites prescribe, justice and loyalty, and in general by fidelity to her duties," etc., etc. in a royal proclamation against the christian religion, dated january 25, 1802, occurs the following sentence : " the kingdom granted to ki tsze has enjoyed great peace dur ing four hundred years [since the establishment of the ruling dy nasty], in all the extent of its territory of two thousand n and more," etc. these are but specimens from official documents which illus trate their pride in antiquity, and the reverence in which their first law giver is held by the coreans. nevertheless, though kishi may possibly be called the founder of ancient cho-sen, and her greatest legislator, yet he can scarcely be deemed the ancestor of the people now inhabiting the corean peninsula. for the modern coreans are descended from a stock of later origin, and quite different from the ancient cho-senese. from ki tsze, however, sprang a line of kings, and it is possible that his blood courses in some of the noble families of the king dom. as the most ancient traditions of japan and corea are based on chinese writings, there is no discrepancy in their accounts of the beginning of cho-sen history. ki'tsze and his colonists were simply the first immigrants to the country northeast of china, of whom history speaks. he found other people on the soil before him, concerning whose origin nothing is known in writing. the land was not densely populated, but of their numbers, or time of coming of the aborigines, or the old kingdom op cho-sen. 15 whether of the same race as the tribes in the outlying islands of japan, no means yet in our power can give answer. even the story of ki tsze, when critically examined, does not satisfy the rigid demands of modern research. mayers, in his "chinese reader's manual" (p. 369), does not concede the first part of the chow dynasty (1122 b.c.-255 a.d.) to be more than semi-historical, and places the beginning of authentic chinese his tory between 781 and 719 b.c., over four centuries after ki tsze's time. eoss (p. 11) says that " the story of kitsu is not impossible, but it is to be received with suspicion." it is not at au improbable that the cho-sen of ki tsze's founding lay in the sungari valley, and was extended southward at a later period. it is not for us to dissect too critically the tradition concerning the founder of corea, nor to locate exactly the scene of his labors. suffice it to say that the general history, prior to the christian era, of the country whose story we are to tell, divides itself into that of the north, or cho-sen, and that of the south, below the ta-tong eiver, in which region three kingdoms arose and floui-ished, with varying fortunes, during a millennium. we return now to the well-established history of cho-sen. the great wall of china was built by cheng, the founder of the tsin dynasty (b.c. 255-209), who began the work in 239 a.d. before his time, china had been a feudal conglomerate of petty, warring kingdoms. he, by the power of the sword, consolidated them into one homogeneous empire and took the title of the "first univer sal emperor" (shi whang ti). not content with sweeping away feudal institutions, and building the great wall, he prdered all the literary records and the ancient scriptures of confucius to be de stroyed by fire. yet the empire, whose perpetuity he thought to secure by building a rampart against the barbarians without, and by destroying the material for rebellious thought within, fell to pieces soon after, at his death, when left to the care of a foolish son, and china was plunged into bloody anarchy again. one of these petty kingdoms that arose on the ruins of the em pire was that of yen, which began to encroach upon its eastern neighbor cho-sen. in the later days of the ki tsze family, great anarchy prevailed, and the last kings of the line were unable to keep their domain in order, or guard its boundaries. taking advantage of its weakness, the king of yen began boldly and openly to seize upon cho-sen territory, annexing thousands of 16 corea. square miles to his own domain. by a spasmodic effoi-t, the suc cessors of ki tsze again became ascendant, reannexing a large part of the territory of yen, and receiving great numbers of her people, who had fled from civil war in china, within the borders of cho-sen for safety and peace. thus the spouer was spoiled, but, later on, the kingdom of yen was again set up, and the rival states fixed their boundaries and made peace. the han dynasty in b.c. 206 claimed the imperial power, and sent a summons to the king of yen to become vassal. on his refusing, the chinese emperor despatched an army against him, defeated his forces in battle, extinguished his dynasty, and an nexed his kingdom. one of the survivors of this revolt, named wei-man, with one thousand of his followers, fled to the east. dressing themselves like wild savages they entered cho-sen, pretending, with gibeoni tish craft, that they had come from the far west, and begged to be received as subjects. kijun, the king, like another joshua, believing their profes sions, welcomed them and made their leader a vassal of high rank, with the title of 'guardian of the western frontier.' he also set apart a large tract of land for his salary and support. in his post at the west, wei-man played the traitor, and collect ing a number of his former countrymen from the yen province, suddenly sent to kijun a messenger, informing him that a large chinese army of the conquering han was about to lavade cho-sen. at the same time, he suggested that he should be called to the royal side and be made protector of the capital. his desire being granted, he hastened with his forces and suddenly appearing before the royal castle, attacked it. kijun was beaten, and fled by sea, escaping in a boat to the southern end of the peninsula. wei-man then proclaimed himself king of cho-sen, 194 b.c. he set out on a career of conquest and seized several of the neighbor ing provinces, and cho-sen again expanded her boundaries to cover an immense area. wei-man built a city somewhere east of the ta tong kiver. it was named wang-hien. two provinces of modern corea were thus included within cho sen at this date. the new kingdom grew in wealth, power, and intelligence. many thousands of the chinese gentry, fleeing before the conquering arms of the han " usurpers," settled within the lim its of cho-sen, adding greatly to its prosperity. during the reign of yukio (chinese, yow jin), the gi-andson of the old kingdom of cho-sen. 17 wei-man, he received a summons to become -vassal to the chinese emperor, who subhmely declared that henceforward the eastern frontier of china should be the tartong eiver— thus virtually wip ing out cho-sen with a proclamation. in b.c. 109, a chinese am bassador sailed over from china, entered the ta-tong eiver, and visited yukio in his castle. he plead in vain with yukio to render homage to his master. nevertheless, to show his respect for the emperor and his envoy, yukio sent an escort to accompany the latter on his way. the sullen chinaman, angry at his defeat, accepted the safe conduct of the cho-sen troops until beyond the ta-tong river, and then treacherously put their chief to death. hurrying back to his mas ter, he glossed over his defeat, and boasted of his perfidious murder. he was rewarded with the appointment of the governorship of liao tung. smarting at the insult and menace of this act, yukio, raising an army, marched to the west and slew the traitor. having thus un furled the standard of defiance against the mighty han dynasty^ he returned to his castle, and awaited with anxious preparation the coming of the invading hosts which he knew would be hurled upon him from china. the avenging expedition, that was to carry the banners of china farther toward the sunrise than ever before, was despatched both by land and sea, b.c 108. the horse and foot soldiers took the land route around the head of liao tung gulf, crossed on the ice of the yalu eiver, and marched south to the ta-tong, where the cho-sen men attacked their van and scattered it. the fleet sailed over from shantung, and landed a force of several thousand men on the corean shore, in february or march, b.c. 107. without waiting for the entire army to penetratethe country, yukio attacked the advance guards and drove them to the mountains in disorder. diplomacy was now tried, and a representative of the emperor was sent to treat -with yukio. the latter agreed to yield and be come vassal, but had no confidence in the general whom he had just defeated. his memory of chinese perfidy was still so fresh, that he felt unable to trust himself to his recently humbled ene mies, and the negotiations ended in failure. as usual, with the imsuccessful, the chinaman lost his head. eecourse was again had to the sword. the chinese crossed the ta-tong eiver on the north, and defeating the cho-sen army, 2 18 corea. marched to the king's capital, and laid siege to it in conjunction with the naval forces. in spite of their superior numbers, the in vaders were many months vainly beleaguering the fortress. yet, though the garrison wasted daily, the king would not yield. knowing that defeat, with perhaps a cruel massacre, awaited them, four cho-sen men, awaitmg their opportunity, during the fighting, discharged their weapons at yukio, and leaving him dead, opened the gates of the citadel, and the chinese entered. with the planting of the han banners on the city walls, b.c. 107, the existence of the kingdom of cho-sen came to an end. henceforth, for several centuries, liao tung and the land now com prised withm the two northwestern provinces of corea, were parts of china. the conquered territory was at once divided into four provinces, two of which comprised that part of corea north of the ta-tong eiver. the other two were in liao tung, occupying its eastern and its western half. within the latter was the district of kokorai, or kaokuh, at whose history we shall now glance. coin of modern ch5-sen. " ch5-sen, current treasure." chapter iii. the puyu race and their migrations. somewhere north of that vast region watered by the sungari river, itself only a tributary to the amur, there existed, according to chinese tradition, in very ancient times, a petty kingdom called korai, or to-li.. out of this kingdom sprang the founder of the corean race. slightly altering names, we may say in the phrase of genesis: "out of korai went forth ko and builded corea," though what may be sober fact is wrapped up in the following fantastic legend. long, long ago, in the kingdom called to-li, or korai (so pro nounced, though the characters are not those for the korai of later days), there lived a king, in whose harem was a waiting-maid. one day, while her master was absent on a hunt, she saw, floating in the atmosphere, a glistening vapor which entered her bosom. this ray or tiny cloud seemed to be about as big as an egg. under its influence, she conceived. the king, on his return, discovered her condition, and made up his mind to put her to death. upon her explanation, how ever, he agreed to spare her life, but at once lodged her in prison. the child that was bom proved to be a boy, which the king promptly cast among the pigs.' but the swine breathed into his nostrils and the baby lived. he was next put among the horses, but they also nourished him with their breath, and he lived. struck by this evident wul of heaven, that the chud should live, the king listened to its mother's prayers, and permitted her to nourish and train him in the palace. he grew up to be a fair youth, full of energy, and skilful in archery. he was named "light of the east," and the king appointed him master of his stables. one day, while out hunting, the king permitted him to give an exhibition of his skill. this he did, drawing bow with such un "erring aim that the royal jealousy was kindled, and he thought of 20 cobea. nothing but how to compass the destruction of the youth. know ing that he would be killed if he remained in the royal service, the young archer fled the kingdom. he directed his course to the southeast, and came to the borders of a vast and impassable river, most probably the sungari. knowing his pursuers were not far behind him he cried out, in a great strait. the founder of fuyu crossing the sungari river. (drawn by g. hashimoto, yedo, 1853.) " alas ! shall i, who am the child of the sun, and the grandson of the yellow river, be stopped here powerless by this stream." so saying he shot his arrows at the water. immediately all the fishes of the river assembled together in a thick shoal, making so dense a mass that their bodies became a floating bridge. on this, the young prince (and according to the the pdyu race and their migrations. 21 japanese version of the legend, three others with him), crossed the stream and safely reached the further side. no sooner did he set foot on land than his pursuers appeared on the opposite shore, when the bridge of fishes at once dissolved. his three compan ions stood ready to act as his guides. one of the three was dressed in a costume made of sea-weeds, a second in hempen gar ments, and a third in embroidered robes. arriving at their city, he became the king of the tribe and kingdom of fuyu, which lay in the fertile and well-watered region between the sun gari eiver and the shan alyn, or ever-white moimtains. it ex tended several hundred miles east and west of a line drawn south ward through kirin, the larger half lying on the west. fuyu, as described by a chinese writer of the eastern han dynasty (25 b.c.-190 a.d.), was a land of fertile soil, in which "the five cereals" (wheat, rice, mulet, beans, and sorghum) could be raised. the men were tail, muscular, and brave, and withal generous and courteous to each other. their arms were bows and arrows, swords, and lances. they were skilful horsemen. their ornaments were large pearls, and cut jewels of red jade. they made spirits from grain, and were fond of drinking bouts, feast ing, dancing, and singing. with many drinkers there were few cups. the latter were rinsed in a bowl of water, and with great ceremony passed from one to another. they ate with chopsticks, out of bowis, helping themselves out of large dishes. it is a striking fact that the fuyu people, though living so far from china, were dwellers in cities which they surrounded with palisades or walls of stakes. they lived in wooden houses, and stored their crops in granaries. in the administration of justice, they were severe and prompt. they had regular prisons, and fines were part of their legal sys tem. the thief must repay twelve-fold. adultery was punished by the death of both parties. further revenge might be taken upon the woman by exposing her dead body on a_ mound. cer tain relatives of a criminal were denied burial in a coffin. the other members of the family of a criminal suffering capital pun ishment were sold as slaves. murderers were buried alive with their victims. the fuyu religion was a worship of heaven, their greatest festival being in the eleventh month, when they met joyfully to gether, laying aside all grudges and quarrels, and freeing their prisoners. before setting out on a military expedition they wor 22 coera. shipped heaven, and sacrificed an ox, examining the hoof, to obtain an omen. if the cloven part remained separated, the portent was evil, if the hoof closed together, the omen was auspicious. the fuyu chief men or rulers were named after the domestic beasts, beginning with their noblest animal, the horse, then the ox, the dog, etc. eulers of cities were of this order. their king was buried at his death in a coffin made of jade. evidently the fuyu people were a vigorous northern race, well clothed and fed, rich in grain, horses and cattle, possessing the arts of life, with considerable literary culture, and well ad vanced in social order and political knowledge. though the chi nese writers classed them among barbarians, they were, in con trast with their immediate neighbors, a civilized nation. indeed, to account for such a high stage of civiuzation thus early and so far fom china, mr. eoss suggests that the scene of the ki tsze's labors was in fuyu, rather than in cho-sen. certain it is that the fujti people were the first nation of manchuria to emerge from barbarism, and become politically well organized. it is signifi cant, as serving to support the conjecture that ki tsze founded fuyu, that we discern, even in the eaxly history of this vigor ous nation, the institution of feudalism. we find a king and no bles, with fortified cities, and wealthy men, with faxms, herds of horses, cattle, and granaries. we find also a class of serfs, created by the degradation of criminals or their relatives. 'the other manchurian people, or barbarians, surrounding china, were stiu in the nomadic or patriarchal state. why so early beyond china do we find a weu-developed feudal system and high political or ganization ? it was from feudal china, the china of the yin dynasty, from which ki tsze emigrated to the northeast. knowing no other form of government, he, if their founder, doubtless introduced feudal forms of government. whatever may be thought of the theory there suggested, it is certainly surprising to find a distinctly marked feudal system, ah-eady past the rudimentary stage, in the vnldemess of man churia, a thousand miles away from the seats of chinese culture, as early as the christian era. as nearly the whole of europe was at some time feudalized, so china, corea, and japan have each passed through this stage of political ufe. the feudal system in china was abolished by shi whang ti, the puyu rack and their migrations. 23 the first universal emperor, b.c. 221, but that of japan oidy after an interval of 2,000 years, surviving until 1871. it lingers still in corea, whose history it has greatly influenced, as our subsequent narrative will prove. in addition to the usual features of feudal ism, the existence of serfdom, in fact as well as in form, is proved by the testimony of dutch and french observers, and of the lan guage itself. the richness of corean speech, in regard to every phase and degree of servitude, woidd suffice .for a norman land holder in mediaeval england, or for a carolina cotton-planter be fore the american civil war. out of this kingdom of puyu came the people who are the ancestors of the modern coreans. in the same chinese history which describes puyii, we have a picture of the kingdom of koko rai (or kao-ku-li), which had puyu for its northern and cho-sen for its southern neighbor. "the land was two thousand zi square, and contained many great moimtains, and deep valleys." there was a tradition among the eastern barbarians that they were an offshoot from fuyu. hence their language and laws were very much alike. the nation was divided into five families, named after the four points of the compass, with a yeuow or central tribe. evidently this means that a few families, perhaps five in num ber, leaving fuyu, set out toward the south, and in the valleys west of the yalu kiver and along the 42d parallel, founded a new nation. their first king was ko, who, perhaps, to gain the prestige of ancient descent, joined his name to that of korai (vmtten however with the characters which make the sound of modem korai) aiud thus the realm of kokorai received its name. a japanese writer derives the term kokorai from words se lected out of a passage in the chinese classics referritig to the high motmtains. the first character ko, in kokorai, means high, and it was under the shadows of the lofty ever white mountains that this vigorous nation had its cradle and its home in youth; here, too, its warriors nourished their strength until their clouds of horsemen burst upon the frontiers of the chinese empire, and into the old kingdom of cho-sen. the people of this young state were rich in horses and cattle, but less given to agriculture. they lived much in the open air, and were fierce, impetuous; strong, and hardy. they weice fond of music and pleasure at night. especially characteristic was their love of decoration and rdisplay. at their public gatherings they decked themselves in. 24 corea. dresses embroidered with gold and silver. their houses were also adorned in various ways. their chief display was at funerals, when a prodigal outlay of precious metals, jewels, and embroi deries was exhibited. in their rehgion they sacrificed to heaven, to the spirits of the land, and of the harvests, to the morning star, and to the celestial and invisible powers. there were no prisons, but when crimes were committed the chiefs, after deliberation, put the criminal to death and reduced the wives and children to slavery. in this way serfs were provided for labor. in their burial customs, they made a cairn, and planted fir-trees around it, as many japanese "tombs are made. in the general forms of their social, religious, and political life, the people of fuyu and kokorai were identical, or nearly so; while both closely resemble the ancient japanese of yamato. the chinese authors also state that these people were already in possession of the confucian classics, and had attained to an un usual degree of literary culture. their officials were divided into twelve ranks, which was also the ancient japanese number. in the method of divination, in the wearing of flowery costumes, and in certain forms of etiquette, they and the japanese were ajike. as is now well known, the ancient form of government of the yamato japanese (that is, of the conquering race from corea and the north) was a rude feudalism, and not a monarchy. further, the central part of japan, first held by the ancestors of the mi kado, consists oifive provinces, uke the kokorai division, into five clans or tribes. at the opening of the christian era we find the people of ko korai already strong and restless enough to excite attention from the chinese court. in 9 a.d. they were recognized as a nation tfith their ovm "kings," and classified with huentu, one of the districts of old cho-sen. one of these kings, in the year 30, sent tribute to the chinese emperor. in 50 a.d. kokorai, by invitation, sent their warriors to assist the chinese army against a rebel horde in the northwest. in a.d. 70 the men of kokorai descended upon liao tung, and having now a taste for border war and conquest, they marched into thepetty kingdom of wei, which lay in what is now the extreme northeast of corea. absorbing this little coun try, they kept up constant warfare against the chinese. though their old kinsmen, the fuyu men, were at times allies of the han, yet they gradually spread themselves eastward and southward, so the fuyu race and their migrations. fuyu and manchiu, 26 corba. that by 169 a.d. the kokorai kingdom embraced the whole of the territory of old cho-sen, or of liao tung, with all the corean peninsula north of the ta-tong, and even to the tumen eiver. this career of conquest suffered a check for a time, when a chinese expedition, sailing up the yalu eiver, invested the capital city of the kiag and defeated his army. the king fled beyond the tumen eiver. eight thousand people are said to have been made prisoners or slaughtered by the chinese. for a time it seemed as though kokorai were too badly crippled to move again. anarchy broke out in china, on the fau of the house of han, a.d. 220, and lasted for half a century. that period of chinese his tory, from 221 to 277, is called the "epoch of the three king doms." during this period, and until weu into the fifth century, while china was rent into "northern " and " southern " divisions, the military activities of kokorai were employed .with varying re sults against the petty kingdoms that rose and fell, one after the other, on the soil between the great wall and the yalu eiver. during this time the nation, free from the power and oppression of china, held her own and compacted her power. in the fifth cen tury her warriors had penetrated nearly as far west as the modem peking in their cavalry raids. wily in diplomacy, as brave in war, they sent tribute to both of the rival claimants for the throne of china which were hkely to give them trouble in the future. dropping the family name of their first king, they retained that of their ancestral home-land, and called their nation korai. meanwhile, as they multiplied in numbers, the migration of ko korai people, henceforth known as korai men, set steadily south ward. weakness in china meant strength in korai. the chinese had>bought peace with their eastern neighbors by titles and gifts, which left the koraians free to act against their southern neigh bors. in steadily displacing these, they came into couision with the uttle kingdom of hiaksai, whose history will be narrated farther on. it wiu be seen that the korai men, people of the fuyu race, finally occupied the territory of hiaksai. already the koraians, sure of further conquest southward, fixed their capital at ping-an. in 589 a.d. the house of sui was established on the dragon throne, and a portentous message was sent to the king of korai, which caused the latter to make vigorous war preparations. evi dently the chinese emperor meant to throttle the young giant of the north, while the young giant was equally determined to live. the puyu race and their migrations. 27 the movementtjf a marauding force of koraians, even to the inside of the great wall, gave the bearded dragon not only the pretext of war but of annexation. for this purpose an army of three hundred thousand men and a fleet of several hundred war-junks were prepared. the latter were to sail over from shantung, and enter the ta-tong eiver, the goal of the expedition being ping-an city, the koraian capital. the horde started without provisions, and arrived in mid-sum mer at the liao river in want of food. while waiting, during the hot weather, in this malarious and muddy region, the soldiers died by tens of thousands of fever and plague. the incessant rains soon rendered the roads impassable and transport of provisions an impossibility. disease melted the mighty host away, and the army, reduced to one-fifth its numbers, was forced to retreat. the war-junks fared no better, for storms in the yellow sea drove them back or foundered them by the score. such a frightful loss of life and material did not deter the next emperor, the infamous tang (who began the grand canal), from fohowing out the scheme of his father, whom he conveni entiy poisoned while already dying. in spite of the raging fam ines and losses by flood, the emperor ordered magazines for the armies of invasion to be established near the coast, and contin gents of troops for the twenty-four corps to be raised in every province. all these preparations caused local famines and drove many of the people into rebellion. this army, one of the greatest ever assembled in china, num bered over one million men. its equipment consisted largely of banners, gongs, and trumpets. the undisciplined horde began their march, aiming to reach the liao river before the hot season set in. they found the koraian army ready to dispute their pas sage. .thi'ee bridges, hastily constructed, were thrown across the stream, on which horse and foot pressed eagerly toward the enemy. the width of the river had, however, been miscalcula ted and the bridges were too short, so that many thousands of the chinese were drowned or killed by the koraians, at unequal odds, while fighting on the shore. in two days, however, the bridges were lengthened and the whole force crossed over. the chinese van pursued their enemy, slaughtering ten thousand before they could gain the fortified city of liao tung. once inside their walls, however, the korai soldiers were true to their reputation of being splendid garrison fighters. instead of easy victory the 28 corea. chinese army lay arotmd the city unable, even after several months' besieging, to breach the waus or weaken the spirit of the defenders. meanwhile the other division had marched northward and eastward, according to the plan of the campaign. eight of these army corps, numbering 300,000 men, arrived and went into camp on the west bank of the yalu eiver. in spite of express orders to the contrary, the soldiers had thrown away most of the hundred days' rations of grain with which they started, and the commissa riat was very low. the koraian commander, carrying out the fabian policy, tempted them away from their camp, and led them by skirmishing parties to within a hundred miles of ping-an. the chinese fleet lay within a few leagues of the invading army, but land and sea forces were mutually ignorant of each other's vi cinity. daring not to risk the siege of a city so well fortified by nature and art as ping-an, in his present lack of supplies, the chi nese general reluctantly ordered a retreat, which began in late summer, the nearest base of supplies being liao timg, four hun dred miles away and through an enemy's country. this was the signal for the koraians to assume the offensive, and like the cossacks, upon the army of napoleon, in eussia, they hung upon the flanks of the hungry fugitives, slaughtering thou sands upon thousands. when the chinese host were crossing the chin-chion river, the koraian army fell in full force upon them, and the fall of the commander of their rear-guard turned defeat into a rout. the disorderly band of fugitives rested not tul well over and beyond the yalu eiver. of that splendid army of 300,000 men only a few thousand reached liao tung city. the weapons, spoil, and prisoners taken by the koraians were "myriads of myriads of myriads." the naval forces in the river, on hearing the amazing news of their comrades' defeat, left corea and crept back to china. the chinese emperor was so enraged at the utter failure of his prodigious enterprise, that he had the fugitive officers publicly put to death as an example. in spite of the disasters of the previous year, the emperor yang, in 613, again sent an army to besiege liao tung city. on this occasion scaling ladders, 150 feet long, and towers, mounted on wheels, were used with great effect. just on the eve of the completion of their greatest work and tower the chinese camp was suddenly abandoned, the emperor being called home to put the fuyu race and their migrations. 29 down a formidable rebellion. so cautious were the besieged and so sudden was the flight of the besiegers, that it was noon before a koraian ventured into camp, and two days elapsed before they discovered that the retreat was not feigned. then the koraian garrison attacked the chinese rear-guard with severe loss. the rebellion at home having been put down the emperor agaia cherished the plan of crushing korai, but .other and greater insurrections broke out that required his attention ; for the three expeditions against corea had wasted the empire even as they had sealed the doom of the sui dynasty. though no land forces could be spared, a new fleet was sent to corea to lay siege to ping-an city. even with large portions of his dominions in the hands of rebels, yang never gave up his plan of humbling korai. this project was the cause of the most frightful distress in chiaa, and seeing no hope of saving the country except by the murder of the infa mous emperor, coward, drunkard, tyrant, and voluptuary, a band of conspirators, headed by yii min, put him to death and korai had rest. to summarize this chapter. it is possible that ki tsze was the founder of fuyu. the kokorai tribes were people who had migrated from fuyu, and settled north and west of the upper waters of the talu eiver. they entered into relations with the chinese as early as 9 a.d., and coming into collision with them by the year 70, they kept up a fitful warfare with them, sustaiaing mighty invasions, until the seventh century, whue in the mean time korai, instead of being crushed by china, grew in area and numbers until the nation had spread into the peninsula, and over run it as far as the han eiver. thus far the history of corea has been that of the northern and western part of the peninsula, and has been derived chiefly from chinese sources. we turn now to the southern and eastern portions, and" in narrating their history we shall point out their relations with japan as well as with china, relying largely for our information upon the japanese annals. chaptek ly, sam-han, or southern corea, at the time of the suppression of cho-sen and the incorpora tion of its territory with the chinese empire, b.c. 107, all corea ^ susj^ p u yu j^ } *, i c h •^ l 1""v j^ t 4u^^v^ map' of sam-han in southern corea. south of the ta-tong eiver was divided into three han, or geo graphical divisions. their exact boundaries are uncertain, but their general topography may be learned from the map. sam-han, ob southern corba. 31 ma-han and ben-han. this little country included fifty-four tribes 6r clans, each one independent of the other, and living under a sort of patriarchal government. the jarger tribes are said to have been composed of ten thousand, and the smaller of a thousand, families each. round numbers, however, in ancient records are worth httle for critical purposes. south of the ma-han was the ben-han, in which were twelve tribes, having the same manners and customs as the ma-han, and speaking a different yet kindred dialect. one of these clans formed the little kingdom of amana, from which came the first visit of coreans recorded in the japanese annals. after the overthrow of his family and kingdom by the traitor wei-man, kijun, the king of old cho-sen escaped to the sea and fled south toward the archipelago. he had with him a number of his faithful adherents, their wives and children. he landed among one of the clans of ma-han, composed of chinese refugees, who, not wishing to live under the han emperors, had crossed the yellow sea. on account of their numbering, originally, one hun dred families, they called themselves hiaksai. either by conquest or invitation kijun soon became their king. glimpses of the manner of life of these early people are given by a chinese writer. the ma-han people were agricultural, dwelling in villages, but neither driving nor riding oxen or horses, most probably because they did not possess them. their huts were made of earth banked upon timber, with the door in the roof. they went bare headed, and coiled or tied their hair in a knot. they set no value on gold, jewels, or embroidery, but wore pearls sewed on their clothes and hung on their necks and ears. perhaps the word here translated "pearl" may be also applied to drilled stones of a cylindrical or curved shape, like the magatama, or "bent jewels," of the ancient japanese. they shod their feet with sandals, and wore garments of woven stuff. in etiquette they were but slightly advanced, paying little honor to women or to the aged. like our indian bucks, the yoimg men tested their endurance by torture. slitting the skin of the back, they ran a cord through the flesh, upon which was hung a piece of wood. this was kept suspended till the man, unable longer to endure it, cried out to have it taken off 32 corba. after the field work was over, in early summer, they held drinking bouts, in honor of the spirits, with songs and dances. scores of men, quickly following each other, stamped on the ground to beat time as they danced. in the late autumn, after harvests, they repeated these ceremonies. in each clan there was a man, chosen as ruler, to sacrifice to the spjrits of heaven. on a great pole they hung drums and beus for the service of the heavenly spirits. perhaps these are the originals of the tall and slender pagodas with their pendant wind-beus at the many eaves and corners. among the edible products of ma-han were fowls with tails five feet in length. these "hens with taus a yard long" were evi dently pheasants — stiu a delicacy on corean tables. the large apple-shaped pears, which have a wooden taste, half way between a pear and an apple, were then, as now, produced in great num bers. the flavor improves by cookiag. as kijun's government was one of vigor, his subjects advanced in civilization, the hiaksai people gradually extended their au thority and influence. the clan names in time faded away or be came symbols of family bonds instead of governmental authority, so that by the fourth century hiaksai had become paramount over all the fifty-four tribes of ma-han, as well as over some of those of the other two han. thus arose the kingdom of hiaksai (called also kudara by the japanese, petsi by the chinese, and baiji by the modern coreans), which has a history extending to the tenth century, when it was extinguished in name and fact in united corea. its relations with japan were, in the main, friendly, the island ers of the sunrise kingdom being comrades in arms with them against their invaders, the chinese, and their hostile neighbors, the men of shinra — whose origin we shall now proceed to detail. shin-han. after the fall of the tsin dynasty in china, a small body of refugees, leaving their native seats, fled across the yellow sea toward the sea of japan, resting only when over the great moun tain chain. they made settlements in the valleys and along the sea-coast. at first they preserved their blood and language pure, forming one of the twelve clans or tribes into which the han or country was divided. sam-han, or southern corea. 33 this name shin (china or chinese), -which points to the origin of the clan, belonged to but one of the twelve tribes in eastern corea. as in the case of hiaksai, the shin tribe, being possessed of superior power and intelligence, extended their authority and boundaries, gradually becoming very powerful. under their twenty-second hereditary chief, or " king," considering themselves paramount over all the clans, they changed the name of their country to shinra, which is pronounced in chinese sinlo. between the years 29 and 70 a.d., according to the japanese histories, an envoy from shinra arrived in japan, and after an audience had of the mikado, presented him with mirrors, swords, jade, and other works of skiu and art. in this we have a hint as to the origin of japanese decorative art. it is evident from these gifts, as well as from the reports of chinese historians concern ing the refined manners, the hereditary aristocracy, and the for tified strongholds of the shinra people, that their grade of civili zation was much higher than that of their northern neighbors. it was certainly superior to that of the japanese, who, as we shall see, were soon tempted to make descents upon the fertile lands, rich cities, and defenceless coasts of their visitors from the west. how long the chinese colonists who settled in shin-han pre sented their language and customs is not known. though these were lost after a few generations, yet it is evident that their influ ence on the aborigines of the country was very great. from first to last shinra excelled ia civilization all the petty states in the peninsula, of which at first there were seventy-eight. unlike the ma-han, the shin-han people lived in palisaded cities, and in houses the doors of which were on the ground and not on the roof. they cultivated mulberry-trees, reared the silk-worm, and wove sitk into fine fabrics. they used wagons with yoked oxen, and horses for draught, and practised "the law of the road." mai-riafge was conducted with appropriate ceremony. dancing, diinking, and singing were favorite amusements, and the lute was jjlayed in addition to drums. they understood the art of smelt ing and working iron, and used this metal as money. they car ried on trade with the other han, and with japan. how far these arts owed their encouragement or origin to traders, or travelling merchants from china, is not known. evidently shinra enjoyed leadership in the peninsula, largely from her culture, wealth, and knowledge of iron. the curious custom, so well known among 3 34 corba. american savages, of flattening the heads of newly bom infants, is noted among the shin-han people. neither chinese history nor japanese tradition, though they give us some account of a few hundred families of emigrants from china who settled in the akeady inhabited corean peninsula, throws any light on the aborigines as to whence or when they came. the curtain is lifted only to show us that a few people are akeady there, with language and customs different from those of china. the descendants of the comparatively few chinese settlers were no doubt soon lost, with their language and ancestral customs, among the mass of natives. these aboriginal tribes were destined to give way to a new people from the far north, as we shall learn in our further narrative. the japanesa historians seem to distin guish between the san han, the three countries or confederacies of loosely organized tribes, and the san goku, or three kingdoms. the coreans, however, speak only of the sam-han, meaning thereby the three political divisions of the peninsula, and using the word as referring rather to the epoch. the common " cash," or fractional coin current in the country, bears the characters meaning "circulating medium of the three kingdoms," or sam han. these were korai in the north, shinra in the southeast, and hiaksai in the southwest. other japanese names for these were respectively kom6, shiriaki, and kudara, the chinese terms being kaou, sinlo, and pe-tsi. like the three kingdoms of england, scotland, and wales, called also britannia, caledonia, and cambria, these corean states were distinct in origin, were conquered by a race from without, received a rich infusion of alien blood, struggled in rivalry for centuries, and were finally united into one nation, with one flag and one sovereign. coin of the sam-han or the three kingdoms. " sam-han, current treasure ohaptee v. epoch of the three kingdoms.— hiaksal the hstory of the peninsular states from the time in which it is first known untu the tenth century, is that of almost continuous civil war or border fighting. the boundaries of the rival king doms changed from time to time as raid and reprisal, victory or defeat, turned the scale of war. a series of maps of the penin sula expressing the political situation during each century or hak-century would show many variations of boundaries, and re semble those of great britain when the various native and con tinental tribes were struggling for its mastery. something like an attempt to depict these changes in the political geography of the peninsula has been made by the japanese historian, otsuki toyo, in his work entitled " historical periods and changes of the japanese empire." yet though our narrative, through excessive brevity, seems to be only a picture of war, we must not forget that hiaksai, once lowr est in civilization, rapidly became, and for a while continued, the leading state in the peninsula. it held the lead in uterary culture until crushed by china. the classics of confucius and mencius, vyith letters, vwiting, and their whole train of literary blessings, were introduced first to the peninsula in hiaksai. in 374 a.d. ko-ken was appointed a teacher or master of chinese literature, and enthusiastic scholars gathered at the court. buddhism fol lowed with its educational influences, becoming a focus of light and culture. as early as 372 a.d. an apostle of noi-them buddh ism had penetrated into liao tung, and perhaps across the yalu. in 384 a.d. the missionary marananda, a thibetan, for mally established temples and monasteries in hiaksai, in which women as well as men became scholastics. long before this new element of civilization was rooted in shinra or korai, the faith of india was established and flourishing in the little kingdom of hi akaai, so that its influences were felt as far as japan. the first 36 corba. teacher of chinese letters and ethics in nippon was a corean named wani, as was also the first missionary who carried the im ages and sutras of northern buddhism across the sea of japan. to hiaksai more than to any other corean state japan owes her first impulse toward the civilization of the west. hiaksai came into collision with kokorai as early as 345 a.d., at which time also shinra suffered the loss of several cities. in the fifth century a chinese army, sent by one of the emperors of the wei dynasty to enforce the payment of tribute, was defeated by hiaksai. such unexpected military results raised the reputa tion of "the eastern savages" so high in the imperial mind, that the emperor offered the king of hiaksai the title of " great protector of the eastern frontier." by this act the independence of the little kingdom was virtually recognized. in the sixth century, having given and received chinese aid and comfort in alliance with shinra against korai, hiaksai was ravaged in her borders by the troops of her irate neighbor on the north. later on we find these two states in peace with each other and allied against shia ra, which had become a vassal of the tang emperors of china. prom this line of china's rulers the kingdoms of korai and hiaksai were to receive crushing blows. in answer to shinra's prayer for aid, the chinese emperor, in 660, despatched from shantung a fleet of several hundred sail with 100,000 men on board. against this host from the west the hiaksai army could make little resistance, though they bravely attacked the invaders, but only to be beaten. after a victory near the mouth of the ein-yin eiver, the chinese marched at once to the capital of hi aksai and again defeated, with terrible slaughter, the provincial anny. the king fled to the north, and the city being nearly empty of defenders, the feeble garrison opened the gates. the tang banners fluttered on all the walls, and another state was ab sorbed in the chinese empire. ^ for a time hiaksai, like a fly snapped up by an angry dog, is lost in china. not long, however, did the little kingdom disappear from sight. in 670 a buddhist priest, fired with patriotism, raised an anny of monks and priests, and joining fuku-shin (fu-sin), a brave general, they laid siege to a city held by a large chinese gan-ison. at the same time they sent word to the emperor of japan praying for succor against the "robber kingdom." they also begged that hosho (fung), the youthful son of the late king, then a hostage and pupil at the mikado's court, might be invested epoch of the three kingdoms.— hiaksai. 37 •witli the royal title and sent home. the mikado despatched a fleet of 400 junks and a large body of soldiers to escort the royal* heir homeward. on his arrival hosho was proclaimed king. meanwhile the priest-army and the forces under fuku-shin had reconquered nearly all their territory, when they suffered a severe -defeat near the sea-coast from the large chinese force hastuy despatched to put down the rebellion. the invaders marched eastward and effected a junction with the forces of shinra. the prospects of hiaksai were now deplorable. for even among the men of hiaksai there was no unity of pui- pose. fuku-shin had put the priest-leader to death, which arbi trary act so excited the suspicions of the king that he in turn ordered his general to be beheaded. he then sent to japan, ap pealing for reinforcements. the mikado, willing to help an old ally, and fearing that the chinese, if victorious, might invade his own dominions, quickly responded. the japanese contingent ar rived and encamped near the mouth of the han eiver, prepara tory to a descent by sea upon shinra. unsuspecting the near presence of an enemy, the allies neglected their usual vigilance. a fleet of war-junks, flying the tang stream.ers, suddenly ap peared off the camp, and while the japanese were engaging these, the chinese land forces struck them in flank. taken by surprise, the mikado's warriors were driven like flocks of sheep into the water and drowned or shot by the chinese archers. the japanese vessels were burned as they lay at anchor in the bloody stream, and the remnants of the beaten army got back to their islands in pitiable fragments. hosho, after witnessing the destruction of his host, fled to korai, and the coimtry was given over to the waste and pillage of the infuriated chinese. the royal line, after thirty generations and nearly seven centuries of rule, became ex tinct. the sites of cities became the habitations of tigers, and once fertile fields were soon overgrown. large portions of hiak sai became a wilderness. though the chinese government ordered the bodies of those killed in war and the white bones of the victims of famine to be buried, yet many thousands of hiaksai families fled elsewhere to find an asylum and to found new industries. the people who remained on their fertile lands, as well as all southern corea, fell under the sway of shinra. the fragments of the beaten japanese army gradually returned to their native country or settled in southern corea. thousands 38 corbi^ of the people of hiaksai, detesting the idea of living as slaves of china, accompanied or followed their allies to japan. on their arrival, by order of the mikado, 400 emigrants of both sexes were located in the province of omi, and over 2,000 were distributed in the kuanto, or eastern japan. these colonies of coreans founded potteries, and their descendants, mingled by blood with the japan ese, follow the trade of their ancestors. in 710 another body of hiaksai people, dissatisfied with the poverty of the country and tempted by the offers of the japan ese, formed a colony numbering 1,800 persons and emigrated to japan. they were settled in musashi, the province in which tokio, the modern ■ capital, is situated. various other emi grations of coreans to japan of later date are referred to in the annals of the latter country, and it is fair to presume that tens of thousands of emigrants from the peninsula fled from the tang in vasion and mingled -with, the islanders, producing the composite race that inhabit the islands ruled by the mikado. among the refugees were many priests and nuns, who brought their bdoks and learning to the court at nara, and thus diffused about them a literary atmosphere. the establishment of schools, the awaken ing of the japanese intellect, and the first beginnings of the htera ture of japan, the composition of their oldest historical books, the kojiki and the nihongi — all the fruits of the latter half of the seventh and early part of the eighth century — are directly trace able to this influx of the scholars of hiaksai, which being de stroyed by china, lived again in japan. even the pronunciation of the chinese characters as taught by the hiaksai teachers re mains to this day. one of them, the nun homifj, a learned lady, made her system so popular among the scholars that even an im perial proclamation against it could not banish it. she established her school in tsushima, a.d. 655, and there taught that system of [chinese] pronunciation [ oo-on] which still holds sway in japan, among the ecclesiastical literati, in opposition to the kan-on of the secular scholars. the go-on, the older of the two pronunciations, is that of ancient north china, the kan-on is that of medieeval south ern china (nanking). corea and japan having phonetic alpha bets have preserved and stereotyped the ancient chinese pronun ciation better than the chinese language itself, since the chinese have no phonetic writing, but only ideographic characters, the pronunciation of which varies during the progress of centuries. hiaksai had given buddhism to japan as early as 552 a.d., but epoch of the three kingdoms. --hi aksal 39 opposition had prevented its spread, the temple was set on fire, and the images of buddha thrown in the river. in 684 one say6ki brought another image of buddha from corea, and umako, son of inamg, a minister at the mikado's court, enshrined it in a chapel on his own grounds. he made yeben and simata, two coreans, his priests, and his daughter a nun. they celebrated a festival, and henceforth buddhism ' grew apace. the country toward the sunrise was then a new land to the peninsulars, just as "the west" is to us, or australia is to engv land ; and japan made these fugitives welcome. in their train came industry, learning, and skill, enriching the island kingdom with the best infusion of blood and culture. • hiaksai was the first of the three kingdoms that was weak ened by civil war and then fell a victim to chinese lust of con quest. the progress and fall of the other two kingdoms wiu now be narrated. beginning with korai, we shau. fouow its story from the year 613 a.d., when the invading hordes of the tang dynasty had been driven out of the peninsula with such awful slaughter by the koraians. ' there are colossal stone images at pe-ohiu (pha-jiu) iu the capital prov ince, and at un-jiu in chung-chong do. the former, discovered by lieuten ant j. 6. bernadon, tj.s.n. , are in the midst of a fir-wood, and are carved in half-figure out of bowlders in place, the heads and caps projecting over the tops of the trees. one wears a square cap and the other a round one, from which mr. g. w. aston conjectures that they symbolize the male and female elements in nature (p. 329). at un-jin in chung-chong do mr. g. c. foulke, tj.s.n., saw, at a distance of fifteen miles, what seemed to be a lighthouse. on approach, this half-length human figure proved to be a pinnacle of white granite, sixty-four feet high, cut into a representation of buddha. similar statues may perhaps be discovered elsewhere. coreans call such figures mi ryek (stone men, as the chinese characters given in the french-corean dic tionary read), or mmok, from the chinese mi-u, or buddha. (in japanese, the buddha to come is mirotai-buuu — a verbal coincidence.) professor terrien de lacouperie has written upon this theme with great learning.' besides the lop-ears, forehead-mark, and traditional countenance seen in the buddhas of chinese asia, there is on the un-jin figure a very high double cap, on which are set two slabs of stone joined by a central column, suggesting both the cere monial cap of ancient chinese ritual and the indian pagoda-like umbrella. these mirioh stand in what was once hiaksai. in liis " life in corea," mr. carles gives a picture of the one at un-jin. smaller ones exist near monas teries and temples. chaptee vl epoch op the three kingdoms.— korai. after the struggle in which the corean tiger had worsted the western dragon, early in the seventh century, china and korai were for a generation at peace. the bones of the slain were buried, and sacrificial fires for the dead soothed the spirits of the ■victiiiis. the same imperial messenger, who in 622 was sent to supervise these offices of religion, also visited each of the courts of the three kingdoms. so successful was he in his mission of peaceful diplomacy, that each of the corean states sent envoys with tribute and congratulation to the imperial throne. in proof of his good wishes, the emperor returned to his vassals all his prisoners, and declared that their young men would be rs ceived as students in the imperial university at his capital. henceforth, as in many instances during later centuries, the sons of nobles and promising youth from korai, shinra, and hiaksai went to study at nanking, where their envoys met the arab traders. korai having been divided into five provinces, or circuits, named respectively the home, north, south, east, and west divi sions, extended from the sea of japan to the xiao eiver, and en joyed a brief spell of peace, except always on the southern border ; for the chronic state of korai and shinra was that of mutual hos tility. on the north, beyond the tumen eiver, was the kingdom of pu-hai, with which korai was at peace, and japan was in inti mate relations, and china at jealous hostility. the chinese court soon began to look with longing eyes on the territory of that part of korai lying west of the yalu eiver, believing it to be a geographical necessity that it should become their scientific frontier, while the emperor cherished the hope of soon rectifying it. though unable to forget the fact that one of his predecessors had wasted millions of lives and tons of treasure in vainly attempting to humble kokorai, his ambition and pride epoch of the three kingdoms— korai. 41 spurred him on to wade through, slaughter to conquest and re venge. he waited only for a pretext. this time the destinies of the eastern kingdom were pro foundly influenced by the character of the feudalism brought into it from ancient times, and which was one of the characteristic insti tutions of the fuyu race. the government of korai was simply that of a royal house, holding, by more or less binding ties of loyalty, powerful nobles, who in turn held their lands on feudal tenure. in certain con tingencies these noble land-holders were scarcely less powerful than the ting himself. in 641 one of these liegemen, whose ambition the king had in vain attempted to curb and even to put to death, revenged him self by killing the king with his own hands. he then proclaimed as sovereign the nephew of the dead king, and made himseh prime minister. having thus the control of all power in the state, and being a man of tremendous physical strength and mental ability, all the people submitted quietly to the new order of things, and were at the same time diverted, being sent to ravage shinra, annexing all the country do-wti to the 37th parallel. the chinese emperor gave investiture to the new king, but ordered this corean warwick to recall his troops from invading' shinra, the ally of china. the minister paid his tribute loyally, but re fused to acknowledge the right of china to interfere in corean politics. the tribute was then sent back with insult, and war be ing certain to fouow, korai prepared for the worst. "war with china has been so constant a phenomenon in corean history that a special term, ho-ran, exists and is common in the national an nals, since the " chinese wars " have been numbered by the score. again the sails of an invading fleet whitened the waters of the yeuow sea, carrying the chinese army of chastisement that was to land at the head of the peninsula, while two bodies of troops were despatched by different routes landward. the tang em peror was a stanch believer in whang ti, the asiatic equivalent of the european doctrine of the divine right of kings to reign— a tenet as easily found by one looking for it in the confucian clas sics, as in the hebrew scriptures. he professed to be marching simply to vindicate the honor of majesty and to pimish the regi cide rebel, but not to harm nobles or people. the invaders soon overran liao tung, and city after city feu. the emperor himself accompanied the army and burned his bridges after the crossing 42 corea. of every river. in spite of the mud and the summer rains he steadily pushed his way on, helping with his own hands in the works at the sieges of the walled cities — the ruins of which still litter the plains of liao tung. in one of these, captured only after a protracted investment, 10,000 koraians are said to have been slain. in case of submission on summons, or after a slight defence, the besieged were leniently and even kindly treated. by july all the country west of the talu was in possession of the chinese, who had crossed the river and arrived at anchiu, only forty mues north of ping-an city. by tremendous personal energy and a general levy in mass, an army of 150,000 korai men was sent against the chinese, which took up a position on a hiu about three miles from the city. the plan of the battle that ensued, made by the chinese emperor him self, was skilfully carried out by his lieutenants, and a total defeat of the entrapped koraian army fouowed, the slain numbering 20,000. the next day, with the remnant of his army, amounting to 40,000 men, the koraian general surrendered. fifty thousand horses and 10,000 coats of mail were among the spoils. the foot soldiers were dismissed and ordered home, but the koraian lead ers were made prisoners and marched into china. after so crushing a loss in men and material, one might expect instant surrender of the besieged city. so far from this, the gar rison redoubled the energy of their defence. in this we see a striking trait of the coreaq. military character which has been no ticed from the era of the tangs, and before it, dovm to admiral eodgers. chinese, japanese, french, and americans have experi enced the fact and marvelled thereat. it is that the coreans are poor soldiers in the open field and exhibit slight proof of personal valor. they cannot face a dashing foe nor endure stubborn fight ing. but put the same men behind walls, bring them to bay, and the timid stag amazes the hounds. their whole nature seems re inforced. they are more than brave. their courage is sublime. they fight to the last man, and fling themselves on the bare steel when the foe clears the parapet. the japanese of 1592 looked on the corean in the field as a kitten, but in the castle as a tiger. the french, in 1866, never found a force that could face rifles, though behind walls the same men were invincible. the american handful of tars kept at harmless distance thousands of black heads in the open, but inside the fort they met giants in bravery. no nobler foe ever met american steel. even when dis epoch op the three kingdoms— koral 43 armed they fought their enemies with dust and stones \mtil slain to the last man. the sailors found that the sheep in the field were hons in the fort. the coreans themselves knew both their forte and their foible, and so understood how to foil the invader from: either sea. shut out from the rival nations on the right hand and on the left by the treacherous sea, buttressed on the north by lofty mountains, and separated from china by a stretch of barren or broken land, the peninsula is easily secure against an invader far from his base of supplies. the ancient policy of the coreans, by which they over and over again foiled their mighty foe and finally secured their independence, was to shut themselves up in their well-pro visioned cities and castles, and not only beat off but starve away their foes. in their state of feudalism, when every city and strate gic town of importance was well fortified, this was easily accom phshed. the ramparts gave them shelter, and their personal valor secured the rest. reversing the usual process of starving out a beleaguered garrison, the besiegers, unable to fight on empty stomachs, were at last obliged to raise the siege and go home. long persistence in this resolute policy finally saved corea from the chinese colossus, and preserved her individuality among nations. faithful to their character, as above set forth, the koraians held their ovm in the city of anchiu, and the chinese could make no impression upon it. in spite of catapults, scajing ladders, movable towers, and artificial mounds raised higher than the walls, the koraians held out, and by sorties bravely captured or destroyed the enemy's works. not daring to leave such a fortified city in their rear, the chinese could not advance further, while their failing provisions and the advent of frost showed them that they must retreat. hungrily they turned their faces toward china. in spite of the intense chagrin of the foiled chinese leader, so great was his admiration for the valor of the besieged that he sent the koraian commander a valuable present of rous of silk. the koraians were unable to pursue the flying invaders, and few feu by their weapons. but hunger, the fatigue of crossing impassa ble oceans of worse than virginia mud, cold winds, and snow storms destroyed thousands "of the chinese on their weary home ward march over the mountain passes and quagmires of liao tung. the net results of the campaign were great glory to korai ; 44 corea. and besides the loss of ten cities, 70,000 of her sons were captives in china, and 40,000 lay in battle graves. according to a custom which caufornians have learned in our day, the bones of the chinese soldiers who died or were killed in the campaign were collected, brought into chiaa, and, with duo sacrificial rites and lamentations by the emperor, solemnly buried in their native soil. irregular warfare stiu continued between the two eoujitries, the offered tribute of korai being refused, and the emperor waiting until his resources would justify him in sending another vast fleet and army against defiant korai. while thus waiting he died. after a few years of peace, his successor found occasion for war, and, in 660 a.d., despatched the expedition which crushed hiaksai, the ally of korai, and worried, without humbling, the lat ter state. in 664 korai lost its able leader, the regicide prime minister — that rock against which the waves of chinese invasion had dashed again and again in vain. his son, who would have succeeded to the office of his father, was opposed by his brother. the latter, fleeing to china, became guide to the hosts again sent against korai "to save the people and to chastise their rebellious chiefs." this time korai, without a leader, was doomed. the chinese armies having their rear well secured by a good base of supplies, and being led by skilful com manders, marched on from victory to victory, untu, at the yalu river, the various detachments united, and breaking the front of the korai army, scattered them and marched on to ping-an. the city surrendered without the discharge of an arrow. the line of kings of korai came to an end after twenty-eight generations, rul ing over 700 years. all korai, with its five provinces, its 176 cities, and its four or five millions of people, was annexed to the chiaese empire. tens of thousands of koraian refugees fled into shinra, thousands into pu-hai, north of the tumen, then a rising state ; and many to the new country of japan. desolated by slaughter and ravaged by fire and blood, war and famine, large portions of the land lav waste for generations. thus fell the second of the corean king doms, and the sole dominant state now supreme in the peninsula was shinra, an outline of whose history we shall proceed to give. chapter vii. epoch of the three kingdoms.— shinra. whek shinra becomes first known to us from japanese tradi tion, her place in the peninsula is in the southeast, comprising por tions of the modem provinces of kang-wen and kiung-sang. the people in this warm and fertile part of the peninsula had very probably sent many colonies of settlers over to the japanese isl ai^ds, which lay only a hundred miles off, with tsushima for a stepping-stone. it is probable that the "rebels" in kiushiu, so often spoken of in old japanese histories, were simply coreans or their descendants, as, indeed, the majority of the inhabitants of kiushiu originally had been. the yamato tribe, which gradually became paramoimt in japan, were probably immigrants of old ko korai stock, that is, men of the fuyu race, who had crossed from the north of corea over the sea of japan, to the land of sunrise, just as the saxons and engles pushed across the north sea to england. they found the kumaso, or kiushiu "rebels," trouble some, mainly because these settlers from the west, or southern mainland of corea, considered themselves to be the righteous owners of the island rather than the yamato people. at au events, the pretext that led the mikado chiu-ai, who is said to have reigned from 192 to 200 a.d., to march against them was, that these people in kiushiu would not acknowledge his authority. his wife, the amazonian queen jingu, was of the opinion that the root of the trouble was to be found in the peninsula, and that the army should be sent across the sea. her husband, having been kuled in battle, the queen was left to carry out her purposes, which she did at the date said to be 202 a.d. she set sail from hizen, and reached the asian mainland probably at the harbor of fusan. unable to resist so well-appointed a force, the king of shinra submitted and became the declared vassal of japan. en voys from hiaksai and another of the petty kingdoms also came to the japanese camp and made friends with the invaders. after 46 corea. a two months' stay, the victorious fleet, richly laden with precious gifts and spoil, returned. how much of truth there is in this narrative of jingu it is diffi cult to teu. the date given cannot be trustworthy. the truth seems at least this, that shinra was far superior to the japan of the early christian centuries. buddhism was formally established in shinra in the year 528 ; and as early as the sixth century a steady stream^ of immigrants — traders, artists, scholars, and teachers, and later buddhist missionaries — passed from shinra into japan, in terrupted only by the wars which from time to time broke out. the relations between nippon and southern corea will be more fuuy related in another chapter, but it will be well to remember that the japanese always laid claim to the corean peninsula, and to shinra especially, as a tributary nation. they supported that claim not only whenever embassies from the two nations met at the court of china, but they made it a more or less active part of their national pohcy down to the year 1876. many a bloody war grew out of this claim, but on the other hand many a benefit accrued to japan, if not to shinra. meanwhile, in the peninsula the leading state expanded her borders by gradual encroachments upon the little " kingdom " of mimana to the southwest and upon hiaksai on the north. the latter, having always considered shinra to be inferior, and even a dependant, war broke out between the two states as soon as shinra assumed perfect independence. korai and hiaksai leagued them selves against shimra, and the game of war continued, with various shifting of the pieces on the board, until the tenth century. the three rival states mutually hostile, the japanese usually friends to hiaksai, the chinese generally helpers of shinra, the northern nations beyond the tumen and sungari assisting korai, varying their operations in the field with frequent alliances and counter plots, make but a series of dissolving-views of battle and strife, into the details of which it is not profitable to enter. though korai and hiaksai felt the heaviest blows from china, shinra was harried oftenest by the armies of her neighbors and by the japan ese. indeed, from a tributary point of view, it seems question able whether her alliances with china were of any benefit to her. in times of peace, however, the blessings of education and civiliza tion flowed freely from her great patron. though farthest east from china, it seems certain that shinra was, in many respects, the most highly civilized of the three states. especially was this epoch of the three kingdoms— shinra. 47 the case during the tang era (618-905 a.d.), when the mutual re lations between china and shinra were closest, and arts, letters, and customs were borrowed most hberahy by the pupil state. even at the present time, in the corean idiom, "tang-yang" (times of the tang and yang dynasties) is a synonym of prosperity. the term for "chinese," applied to works of art, poetry, coins, fans, and even to a certain disease, is "tang," instead of the ordinary word for china, since this famous dynastic title repre sents to the corean mind, as to the student of kathayan his tory, one of the most brilliant epochs knovm to this longest-hved of empires. what the names of plantagenet and tudor repre sent to an anglo-saxon mind, the terms tang and sung are to a corean. diuing this period, buddhism was being steadily propagated, until it became the prevailing cult of the nation. reserving the story of its progress for a special chapter, we notice in this place but one of its attendant blessings. in the civilization of a nation, the possession of a vernacular alphabet must be acknowledged to be one of the most potent factors for the spread of intelligence and culture. it is believed by many hnguists that the choc taws and coreans have the only two perfect alphabets in the world. it is agreed by natives of cho-sen that their most pro fotmd scholar and ablest man of intellect was chul-chong, a statesman at the court of kion-chiu, the capital of shinra. this famous penman, a scholar in the classics and ancient languages of india as well as china, is credited with the invention of the nido, or corean syllabary, one of the simplest and most perfect " alpha bets " in the world. it expresses ' the sounds of the corean lan guage far better than the kata-kana of japan expresses japanese. chul-chong seems to have invented the nido syllabary by giving a phonetic value to a certain number of selected chinese characters, which are ideographs expressing ideas but not sounds. perhaps the sanskrit alphabet suggested the model both for manner of use and for forms of letters. the nido is composed almost entirely of straight lines and circles, and the letters belonging to the same class of labials, dentals, etc., have a similarity of form easily recognized. the coreans state that the nido was invented in the early part of the eighth century, and that it was based on the sanskrit alphabet. it is worthy of note that, if the date given be true, the japanese kata-kana, invented a century later, was per haps suggested by the corean. 48 coeba. one remarkable effect of the use of phonetic writing in corea and japan has been to stereotype, and thus to preserve, the ancient sounds and pronunciation of words of the chinese, which the latter have lost. these systems of writing outside of china have served, like edison's phonographs, in registering and reproducing the manner in which the chinese spoke, a whole millennium ago. this fact has already opened a fertile field of research, and may yet yield rich treasures of discovery to the sciences of history and linguistics. certainly, however, we may gather that the tang era was one of learning and literary progress in corea, as in japan — all coim tries in pupilage to china feeling the glow of literary splendor in which the middle kingdom was then basking. the young nobles were sent to obtain their education at the court and schools of nanking, and the fair damsels of shinra bloomed in the harem of the emperor. imperial ambassadors frequently visited the court of this kingdom in the far east. chinese costume and etiquette were, for a time, at least, made the rigorous rule at court. on one occasion, in 653'a.d., the envoy from shinra to the mikado came arrayed in chinese dress, and, neglecting the ceremonial forms of the japanese court, attempted to observe those of china. the mikado was highly irritated at the supposed insult. the premier even advised that the corean be put to death ; but better counsels prevailed. during the eighth and ninth centuries this flourish ing kingdom was well known to the arab geographers, and it is evident that mussulman travellers visited shinra or resided in the cities of the peninsula for purposes of trade and commerce, as has been shown before. kion-chiu, the capital of shinra, was a brilliant centre of art and science, of architecture and of literary and religious hght. imposing temples, grand monasteries, lofty pagodas, halls of scholars, magnificent gateways and towers adorned the city. in campaniles, equipped with water-clocks and with ponderous beus and gongs, which, when struck, flooded the valleys and hiu-tops vnth a rich resonance, the sciences of astronomy and horoscopy were cultivated. as from a fountain, rich streams of knowledge flowed from the capital of shinra, both over the peninsula and to the court of japan. even after the decay of shinra's power in the political unity of the whole peninsula, the nation looked upon kion-chiu as a sacred city. her noble temples, halls, and towers stood in honor and repair, enshrining the treasures of india, per epoch op the three kingdoms— shinra. 49 sia, and china, until the ruthless japanese torch laid them in ashes in 1596. the generation of corean people during the seventh century, when the chinese hordes desolated large portions of the penin sula and crushed out hiaksai and korai, saw the borders of shinra extending from the everlasting white mountains to the island of tsushima, and oecupyiag the entire eastern half of the peninsula. from the beginning of the eighth until the tenth century, shinra is the supreme state, and the political power of the eastern kingdom is represented by her alone. her ambition tempted, or her chinese master commanded, her into an invasion of the kiagdom of pu-hai beyond her northern border, 733 a.d. her armies crossed the tumen, but met with such spirited resist ance that only half of them returned. shinra's desire of con quest in that direction was appeased, and for two centuries the land had rest from blood. until shinra fell, in 934 a.d., and united corf a rose on the ruins of the three kingdoms, the history of this state, as found in the chinese annals, is simply a list of her kings, who, of course, received investiture from china. on the east, the japanese, hav ing ceased to be her pupils in civilization during times of peace, as in. time of war they were her conquerors, turned their atten tion to nanking, receiving directly therefrom the arts and sci ences, instead of at second-hand through the corean peninsula. they found enough to do at home in conquering au the tribes in the north and east and centralizing their system of government after the model of the tangs in china. for these reasons the sources of information concerning the eighth aild ninth centuries fail, or rather it is more exact to say that the history of shinra is that of peace instead of war. in 869 we read of pirates from her shores descending upon the japanese coast to plunder the tribute ships from buzen province, and again, in 893, that a fleet of fifty junks, manned by these corean rovers, was driven off from tsus hima by the japanese troops, with the loss of three hundred slain. another descent of ".foreign pirates," most probably coreans, upon iki island, in 1019, is recorded, the strangers being beaten off by reinforcements from the mainland. the very existence of these marauders is, perhaps, a good indication that the power of the shinra government was falling into decay, and that lawless ness within the kingdom was preparing the way for some mighty hand to not only seize the existing state, but to unite au corea 50 corba. into political, as well as geographical, unity. in the far north another of those great intermittent movements of population was in process, which, though destroying the kingdom of puhai beyond the tumen, was to repeople the desolate land of korai, and again call a dead state to aggressive hfe. from the origin to the fall of shinra there were three royal families of fifty-five kings, ruling nine hundred and ninety-three years, or seven years less than a millennium. despite tte modern official name of the kingdom, cho-sen, the people of corea still call their country gaoli, or korai, clinging to the ancient name. in this popular usage, unless we are mistaken, there is a flavor of genuine patriotism. cho-sen does indeed mean morning calm, but the impression made on western ears, and more vividly upon the eye by means of the chinese characters, is apt to mislead. the term is less a reflection of geo graphical position than of the inward emotions of those who first of all were more chinese than corean in spirit, and of a desire for china's favor. the term cho-sen savors less of dew and dawn than of policy and prosy fact. it is probable, despite the corean's undoubted love of nature and beautiful scenery, that americans and europeans have been led astray as to the real significance of the phrase "morning calm." at the bottom, it means rather peace with china than the serenity of dewy morning. audience of the chinese emperor to his vassals is always given at daybreak, and to be graciously received after the long and tedious prostrations is an auspicious beginning as of a day of heav en upon earth. to the founder of corea, ki tsze, the gracious favor of tlie chow emperor was as "morning calm ;" and so toni taijo, in 1392 a.d., was the sunshine of the ming emperor's favor. in both instances the name cho sen given to their realm had, in reality, immediate reference to the dayspring of china's favor, and "the calm of dawn" to the smile of the emperor. chapter yni. japan and corea. it is as nearly impossible to write the history of corea and ex clude japan, as to tell the story of mediaeval england and leave out france. not alone does the finger of sober history point di rectly vrestward as the immediate source of much of what has been hitherto deemed of pure japanese origin, but the fountain-head of japanese mythology is found in the sungari valley, or under the shadows of the everwhite mountains. the first settler of japan, like him of puyu, crosses the water upright upon the back of a fish, and brings the rudiments of literature and civilization with him. the remarkable crocodiles and sea-monsters, from which the gods and goddesses are bom and into which they change, the dragons and tide-jewels and the various mystic symbols which they employ to work their spells, the methods of divination and system of prognostics, the human sacrifices and the manner of their rescue, seem to be common to the nations on both sides of the sea of japan, and point to a common heritage from the same ancestors. language comes at last with her revelations to furnish proofs of identity. the mischievous susanoo, so famous in the pre-historic legends, told in the kojiki, half scamp, hak benefactor, who planted au. japan with trees, brought the seeds from which they grew from corea. his rescue of the maiden doomed to be devoured by the eight-headed dragon (emblem of water, and symbolical of the sea and rivers) reads like a gauant fellow saving one of the human beings,who for centuries, imtil the now ruling dynasty abolished the custom, were sacrificed to the sea on the corean coast front ing japan. in kioto, on gi-on street, there is a temple which tradition declares was "founded in 656 a.d. by a corean envoy in honor of susanoo, to whom the name of go-dzu tenno (heavenly king of go-dzu) was given, because he was originally worshipped in go-dzu mountain in corea." s2 corea. dogs are not held in any honor in japan, as they were an ciently in kokorai. except the suk-haired, pug-nosed, and large eyed chin, which the average native does not conceive as canine, the dogs run at large, ownerless, as in the levant ; and share the work of street scavenging with the venerated crows. yet there are two places of honor in which the golden and stone effigies of this animal — highly idealized indeed, but still inu — are en throned. the a-mor-inu, or heavenly dogs, in fanciful sculpture of stone or gilt wood, represent guardian dogs. they are found in pairs guarding the entrances to miya or temples. as all miya (the name also of the mikado's residence) were originally intended to serve as a model or copy of the palace of the mikado and a re miader of the divinity of his person and throne, it is possible that the ama-inu imitated the golden corean dogs which support and guard the throne of japan. access to the shrine was had only by passing these two heavenly dogs. these creatures are quite dis tinct from the "dogs of fo," or the "lions" that flank the gate ways of the magistrate's oifice in china. those who have had audience of the mikado in the imperial throne-room, as the writer had in january, 1873, have noticed at the foot of the throne, serv ing as legs or supports to the golden chair, on which his majesty sits, two dogs sitting on their haunches, and upright on their fore legs. these fearful-looking creatures, vrith wide-open mouths, hair curled in tufts, especially around the front neck, and with tails bifurcated at their upright ends, are called "corean dogs." for what reason placed there we know not. it may be in witness of the conquest of shiora by the empress jingu, who called the king of shinra "the dog of japan,'' or it may point to some for gotten symbolism in the past, or typify the vassalage of corea— so long a fundamental dogma in japanese politics. it is certainly strange to see this creature, so highly honored in fuyu and dis honored among the vulgar in japan, placed beneath the mikado's throne. the japanese laid claim to corea from the second century until the 27th of february, 1876. on that day the mikado's min ister plenipotentiary signed the treaty, recognizing cho-sen as an independent nation. through all the seventeen centuries which, according to their annals, elapsed since their armies first com pelled the vassalage of their neighbor, the japanese regarded the states of corea as tributary. time and again they enforced their japan and corea. 53 claim ■with bloody invasion, and when through a more enlightened pokcy the rulers voluntarily acknowledged their former enemy as an equal, the decision cost japan almost immediately afterward seven months of civil war, 20,000 lives, and fifty millions of dol lars in treasure. the mainspring of the " satsuma rebellion " oi 1877 was the official act of friendship by treaty, and the refusal of the tokio government to make war on corea. from aboiit the beginning of the christian era imtil the fif teenth century the relations between the two nations were very close and active. alternate peace and war, mutual assistance given, and embassies sent to and fro are recorded with lively frequency in the early japanese annals, especially the nihongi and kojiti. a more or less continual stream of commerce and emigration seems to have set in from the peninsula. some writers of high authority, who are also comparative students of the languages of the two countries, see in these events the origin of the modem japanese. they interpret them to mean nothing less than the peopling of the archipelago by continental tribes passing through the peninsula, and landing in japan at various points along the coast from kiushiu to kaga. some of them think that japan was settled whouy and only by tungusic races of northeastern asia coming from or through corea. they base their belief not only on the general stream and tendency of japanese tradition, but also and more on the proofs of language. the first mention of corea in the japanese annals occurs in the fifth volume of the nihongi, and is the perhaps half-fabulous narrative of ancient tradition. in the 65th year of the reign of the tenth mikado, sujin (97-30 b.c.), a boat fiuedwith people from the west appeared off the southern point of cho-shiu, near the modern town of shimonosiki. they would not land there, but steered their course from cape to cape along the coast until they reached the bay of keji no wara in echizen, near the modem city of tsuraga. here they disembarked and announced them selves from amana sankan (amana of the three han or king doms) in southern corea. they unpacked their treasures of finely wrought goods, and their leader made offerings to the mikado sujin these immigrants remained five years in echizen, not far from the city of fukui, tiu 28 b.c. before leaving japan, they presented themselves in the capital for a fareweu audience. the mikado mimaki, having' died three years before, the visi tors were requested on their return to cau their country mimana, 54 corba. i after their patron, as a memorial of their stay in japan. to this they assented, and on their return named their district mimana. some traditions state that the first corean envoy had a horn growing out of his forehead, and that since his time, and on ac count of it, the bay'near which he dwelt was named tsunaga (horn bay) now corrupted into tsuruga. it may be added that nearly all mythical characters or heroes in japanese and chinese history are represented as having one or more very short horns growing out of their heads, and are so de lineated in native art. six years later an envoy from shiora arrived, also bringing pre sents to the mikado. these consisted of mirrors, jade stone, swords, and other precious articles, then common in corea but doubtless new in japan. according to the tradition of the kojiki (book of ancient le gends) the fourteenth mikado, chiu-ai (a.d. 192-200) was holding his court at tsuruga in echizen, in a.d. 194, when a rebellion broke out in kiushiu. he marched at once into kiushiu, against the rebels, and there fell by disease or arrow. his consort, jiagu kogo, had a presentiment that he ought not to go iato kiushiu, as he would surely fail if he did, but that he should strike at the root of the trouble and sail at once to the west. after his death she headed the japanese army and, leading the troops in person, queued the revolt. she then ordered all the available forces of her realm to assemble for an invasion of shinra. japanese modem writers have laid great stress upon the fact that shinra began the aggressions which brought on war, and in this fact justify jingu's action and japan's right to hold corea as an honestly acquired possession. all being ready, the doughty queen regent set sail from the coast of hizen, in japan, in the tenth month a.d. 202, and beached the fleet safely on the coast of shinra. the king of shinra, accus tomed to meet only with men from the rude tribes of kiushiu, was sux-prised to see so well-appointed an army and so large a fleet from a land to the eastward. struck with terror he resolved at once to submit. tying his hands in token of submission and in presence of the queen jingu, he declared himself the slave of japan. jingu caused her bow to be suspended over the gate of the palace of the king in sign of his submission. it is even said that she wrote on the gate "the king of shinra is the dog of japan." perhaps japan and corea. 55 these are historic words, which find their meaning to-day in the two golden dogs forming part of the mikado's throne, uke the scotch "stone of scone," under the coronation chair ia westmia ster abbey. the followers of jingu evidently expected a rich booty, but after so peaceful a conquest the empress ordered that no looting should be allowed, and no spou taken except the treasures consti tuting tribute. she restored the king to the throne as her vassal, and the tribute was then collected and laden on eighty boats with hostages for future annual tribute. the offerings comprised pic tures, works of elegance and art, mirrors, jade, gold, silver, and suk fabrics. preparations were now made to conquer hiaksai also, when jingu was surprised to receive the voluntary submission and oflfers of tribute of this country. the japanese army remained in corea only two months, but this brief expedition led to great and lasting results. it gave the japanese a keener thirst for martial glory, it opened their eyes to a higher state of arts and civilization. from this time forth there flowed into the islands a constant stream of corean emigrants, who gave a great impulse to the spirit of improvement in japan. the japanese accept the story of jingu and her conquest as sound history, and adorn their greenback paper money with pictures of her foreign exploits. critics reject many elements in the tradi tion, such as her controlling the waves and drowning the shinra army by the jewels of the ebbing and the flowing tide,' and the delay of her accouchement by a magic stone carried in her girdle. the japanese ascribe the glory of victory to her then unborn babe, afterward deified as ojin, god of war, and worshipped by buddhists as haehiman or the eight-bannered buddha. yet many temples are dedicated to jingu, one especially famous is near hiogo, and koraiji (corean village) near oiso, a few miles from yokohama, has another which was at first built in her honor. evidently the core of the narrative of conquest is fact. at the time when the faint, dim light of trustworthy tradition dawns, we find the people inhabiting the japanese archipelago to be roughly divided, as to their political status, into four classes. in the central province around kioto ruled a kingly house — ' the story, told in full in the heike monogatari, is given in english in " japanese fairy world." 56 corba. the mikado and his family — with tributary nobles or feudal chiefs holding their lands on military tenure. this is the ancient classic land and realm of yamato. four other provinces adjoining it have always formed the core of the empire, and are called the go kinai, or five home provinces, suggesting the five clans of kokorai. to the north and east stretched the little known and less civil ized region, peopled by tribes of kindred blood and speech, who map of ancient japan and corea. spoke nearly the same language as the yamato tribes, and who had probably come at some past time from the same ancestral seats m manchuria, and caued the kuan-to, or region east {to} of the barrier (kuan) at ozaka ; or poeticauy adzuma a,-r,2'" *^v t """f^lt t^' "^^^ ''^^""^ ^^"1 i^ yezo, lived the amos or ebisti, probably the aborigines of the soil-the straight eyed men whose descendants still live in yezo and the kuiies japan and corba. 57 the northern and eastern tribes were first conquered and thor oughly subdued by the yamato tribes, after which all the far north was overrun and the ainos subjugated. in the extreme south of the main island of japan and in kiu shiu, then called kumaso by the yamato people, lived a number of tribes of perhaps the same ethnic stock as the yamato japan ese, but further removed. their progenitors had probably de scended from manchuria through corea to japan. their blood and speech, however, were more mixed by infusions from malay and southern elements. into kiushiu — it being nearest to the conti nent — the peninsulars were constantly coming and mingung with the islanders. the allegiance of the kiushiu tribes to the royal house of ya mato was of a very loose kind. the history of these early centu ries, as shown in the annals of nihon, is but a series of revolts against the distant warrior mikado, whose life was chiefly one of war. he had often to leave his seat in the central island to march at the head of his followers to put down rebellions or to conquer new tribes. over these, when subdued, a prince chosen by the conqueror was set to rule, who became a feudatory of the mikado. the attempts of the yamato sovereign to wholly reduce the kiushiu tribes to submission, were greatly frustrated by their stout resistance, fomented by emissaries from shinra, who insti gated them to "revolt," while adventurers from the corean main land came over in large numbers and joined the " rebels,'' who were, in one sense, their own compatriots. ivom the time of jingu, if the early dates in japanese history are to be trusted, may be said to date that belief, so firmly fixed in the japanese mind, that corea is, and always was since jingu's time, a tributary and dependency of japan. this idea, akin to that of the claim of the english kings on france, led to frequent expeditions from the third to the sixteenth century, and which, even as late as 1874, 1875, and 1877, lay at the root of three civil wars. all these expeditions, sometimes national, sometimes fiubuster ing, served to drain the resources of japan, though many impulses to development and higher civilization were thus gained, espe cially in the earlier centuries. it seemed, until 1877, almost im possible to eradicate from the military mind of japan the convic tion that to surrender corea was cowardice and a stain on the national honor. but time wiu show, as it showed centuries ago 58 corba. in england, that the glory and prosperity of the conqueror were increased, not diminished, when japan relinquished all claim on her continental neighbor and treated her as an equal. the coreans taught the japanese the arts of peace, while the coreans profited from their neighbors to improve in the business of war. we read that, in 316 a.d., a corean ambassador, bringing the usual tribute, presented to the mikado a shield of iron which he believed to be invulnerable to japanese arrows. the mikado called on one of his favorite marksmen to practice in the presence of the envoy. the shield was suspended, and the archer, drawing bow, sent a shaft through the iron skin of the buckler to the as tonishment of the visitor. in all their battles the coreans were rarely able to stand in open field before the archers from over the sea, who sent true cloth-yard shafts from their oak and bamboo bows. the paying of tribute to a foreign country is never a pleasant duty to perform, though in times of prosperity and good harvests it is not difficult. in periods of scarcity from bad crops it is well nigh impossible. to insist upon its payment is to provoke rebel lion. instances are indeed given in japanese history where the conquerors not only remitted the tribute but even sent ship loads of rice and barley to the starving coreans. when, however, for reasons not deemed sufficient, or out of sheer defiance, their vas sals refused to discharge their dues, they again felt the iron hand of japan in war. during the reign of turiaki, the twenty-second mikado (a.d. 457-477), the three states failed to pay tribute. a japanese army landed in corea, and conquering hiaksai, com pelled her to return to her duty. the campaign was less suc cessful in shinra and korai, for after the japanese had left the corean shores the "tribute" was sent only at intervals, and the temper of the half-conquered people was such that other expe ditions had to be despatched to inflict chastisement and compel payment. the gallant but vain succor given by the japanese to hiaksai during the war with the chinese, in the sixth century, which re sulted in the destruction of the little kingdom, has already been detailed. among the names, forever famous ia japanese art and tradition, of those who took part in this expedition are satg-hiko and kasi-wad6. the former sailed away from hizen ia the year 536, as one of the mikado's body-guard to assist their allies the men of hiaksai. a poetical legend recounts that his wife, sayo japan and corea. 59 hime, climbed the hills of matsura to catch the last glimpse of his receding sails. thus latently gazing, with straining eyes, she turned to stone. the peasants of the neighborhood stul discern in the weathern-wom rocks, high up on the cliffs, the figure of a lady in long trailing court dress with face and figure eagerly bent over the western waves. not only is the name matsura sayohim6 the symbol of devoted love, but from this incident the famous author bakin constructed his romance of "the great stone spirit of matsura." kasiwade, who crossed over to do "frontier service " in the peninsula a few years later, was driven ashore by a snow squall at an unknown part of the coast. while in this defenceless condi tion his camp was invaded by a tiger, v^hich carried off and de voured his son, a lad of tender age. kasiwadi at once gave chase and followed the beast to the mountains and into a cave. the tiger leaping out upon him, the wary warrior bearded him with his left hand, and buried his dirk in his throat. then finish ing him with his sabre, he skinned the brute and sent home the trophy. from olden times cho-sen is known to japanese chil dren only as a land of tigers, while to the soldier the "marshal's baton carried in his knapsack " is a tiger-skin scabbard, the emblem and possession of rank. as the imperial court of japan looked upon shinra and hiak sai as outlying vassal states, the frequent military movements across the sea were reckoned under " frontier service," hke that beyond the latitude of sado in the north of the main island, or in kiushiu in the south. " the three countries " of corea were far nearer and more familiar to the japanese soldiers than were yezo or the kiu kiu islands, which were not part of the empire till several centuries afterward. kara kuni, the country of kara (a corruption of korai ?), as they now call china, was then ap plied to corea. not a little of classic poetry and legend in the yamato language refers to this western frontier beyond the sea. the elegy on ihemaro, the soldier-prince, who died at iki island on the voyage over, and that on the death of the corean nun eiguwan, have been put into english verse by mr. cham berlain (named after the english explorer and writer on corea, basil hall), in his "classical poetry of the japanese." this corean lady left her home in 714, and for twenty-one years found a home with the mikado's prime minister, otomo, and his wife, at nara. she died in 735, while her hosts were away at the mineral 60 corea. springs of arima, near kobe ; and the elegy was written by their daughter. one stanza describes her life in the new country. " and here with aliens thou didst choose to dwell, year in, year out, in deepest sympathy ; and here thou huiltest thee a holy cell. and so the peaceful years went gliding hy." an interesting field of research is still open to the scholar who will point out au the monuments of corean origin or influence in the mikado's empire, in the arts and sciences, household customs, diet and dress, or architecture ; in short, what by nature or the hand of man has been brought to the land of sunrise from that of morning calm. one of the corean princes, who settled in japan early in the seventh century, founded a family which afterward ruled the famous province of nagato or choshiu. , one of his de scendants welcomed francis xavier, and aided his wort by gifts of ground and the privilege of preaching. many of the temples in kioto stiu contain images, paintings, and altar furniture brought from corea. the "pheasant bridge "still keeps its name from bygone centuries ; in a garden near by pheasants were kept for the supply of the tables of the corean embassies. the arab and per sian treasures of art and fine workmanship, in the imperial archives and museums of nara, which have excited the wonder of foreign visitors, are most probably among the gifts or purchases from shinra, where these imports were less rare. a buddhist monk named shiuho has gathered up the traditions and learning of the subject, so far as it illustrated his faith, and in " precious jewels from a neighboring country," published in 1586, has written a narrative of the introduction of buddhism from corea and its uter ary and missionary influences upon japan. under the chapters on art and eeligion we shall resume this topic. as earnestly as the japanese are now avaihng themselves of the science and progress of christendom in this nineteenth een tiury, so earnestly did they borrow the culture of the west, that is of corea and china, a thousand years ago. the many thousands of coreans, who, during the first ten centu ries of the christian era, but especially in the seventh, eighth, and ninth, settled in japan, lived peaceably with the people of their adopted country, and loyally obeyed the mikado's rule. an exception to this course occurred in 820, when seven hundred men who some time before had come from shinra to totomi and suruga revolted, japan and cobea. 61 killed many of the japanese, seized the rice in the store-houses, and put to sea to escape. the people of musashi and sagami pui- sued and attacked them, putting many of them to death. the general history of the coreans in japan divides itself into two parts. those who came as voluntary immigrants in time of peace were in most cases skilled workmen or farmei's, who settled in lands or in villages granted them, and were put on political and social equality with the mikado's subjects. they founded indus tiies, intermarried with the natives, and their identity has been lost in the general body of the japanese people. with the prisoners taken ia war, and with the laborers im pressed into their service and carried off by force, the case was far different. these latter were set apart in villages by themselves — an outcast race on no social equality vrith the people. at first they were employed to feed the imperial falcons, or do such menial work, but under the ban of buddhism, which forbids the destruction of life and the handling of flesh, they became an ac cursed race, the " etas " or pariahs of the nation. they were the butchers, skinners, leather-makers, and those whose business it was to handle corpses of criminals and all other defiling things. they exist to-day, not greatly changed in blood, though in costume, lan guage, and general appearance, it is not possible to distinguish them from japanese of purest blood. by the humane edict of the mikado, in 1868, granting them all the rights of citizenship, their social condition has greatly improved. from the ninth century onward to the sixteenth, the relations of the two countries seem to be unimportant. japan was engaged in conquering northward the barbarians of her main island and yezo. her intercourse, both political and religious, grew to be so direct -with, the court of china, that corea, in the japanese annals, sinks out of sight except at rare intervals. nihon in creased ia wealth and civilization while cho-sen remained station ary or retrograded. in the nineteenth century the awakened sun rise kingdom has seen her former self in the hermit nation, and has stretched forth willing hands to do for her neighbor now, what corea did for japan in centuries long gone by. still, it must never be forgotten that corea was not only the bridge on which civilization crossed from china to the archipelago, but was most probably the pathway of migration by which the nilers of the race now inhabiting nihon reached it from their an cestral seats around the sungari and the ever-white motmtains. 62 corba, true, it is not absolutely certain whether the homeland of the mi kado's ancestors lay southward in the sea, or westward among the mountains, but that the mass of the corean and japanese people are more closely allied in blood than either are with the chinese, manchius, or malays, seems to be proved, not only by language and physical traits, but by the whole course of the history of both nations, and by the testimony of the chinese records. both co reans and japanese have inherited the peculiar institutions of their puyu ancestors — that race which alone of all the peoples sprung from manchuria migrated toward the rising, instead of toward the setting, sun. chaptee ix. korai, or united coeea. the fertile and well-watered region drained by the amur eiver and its tributaries, stretcbing from the pacific ocean to lake bai kal, covers the ancestral seats of many nations, and is perhaps the home of nations yet to arise. it may be likened to a great inter mittent geyser-spring which, at intervals, overflows with terrific force and volume. the movements of population southward seem, on a review of chinese and corean history, almost as regular as a law of nature. as the conquerors from the central asian plateaus have over and over again descended into india, as the barbarians overran the roman empire, so out of the region drained by the amur and its tributaries have burst forth, time and again, floods of conquest to overwhelm the rich plains of china. or, if 'we regard the flowery and grassy lands of manchuria and beyctnd as a great hive, full of busy life which, from the pressure of increasing num bers, must swarm off to relieve the old home, we shall have a true illustration. time and again have clouds of human bees, with the sting of their swords and the honey of their new energy, issued from this ancient hive. the swarms receive difierent names ia history : htm, turk, tartar, mongol, manchiu, but they au emerge from the same source, giving or receiving dynastic names, but being in reality tungusic people of the same basic stock. a tribe inhabiting one of the ravines or rich river flats of the simgari region increases in wealth and numbers. a powerful chief leads them to war and victory. tribes and lands are an nexed. martial valor, wealth, and strength increase. ambition and the pressure of numbers tempt to farther conquest. over and beyond the great wall is the ever-glittering prize — teeming chiaa. the march begins southward. after many a battle, and only, it may be, after a generation of war against the imperial le gions beyond the frontiers, the goal is reached. the middle kingdom is conquered and a new dynasty sits on the dragon -^ 64 corea. throne, until long peace enervates and luxury weakens. then out of the old northern seats of population rolls a new flood of conquest, and a new swarm of conquerors is hived off. thus we see the original land embracing the amur and sun gari valleys has had its periods of power and decay, of historical and imhistorical ufe. "unity and movement make history, disin tegtation and apathy cause the page of history to be blank. but the land is still there with the people and the possibilities of the future. in spite of the associations of hoary antiquity that cluster around asiatic countries, the reader of history does not expect to hear of single empires enduring through many centuries. with the exception of japan, no nation of asia can show a dynastic line extending through a millennium. the empires founded by asia tic conquerors are short-uved. the countries and the people remain, but the rulers constantly change, and the building up, flourishing, decay, and dissolution suggest the seasons rather than the centuries. no enduring political fabrics, like those of eome or britain, are known in asia. though china and indiaabide like the oak, their rulers change like the leaves. socially, these couur tries are the symbols of petrifaction, politically they are as the kaleidoscope. prom this law of continuous political mutation, corea has not been free. in one of these epochs of historical movement, at the opening of the eighth century, there arose the kingdom of puhai, the capi tal of which was the present city of kirin. its northern bounda ries first touched the sungari, and later the aiiiur, shifting to the sungari again. its southern border was at first the tumen river, and later the modem province of ham-kiung was included in it. lines drawn southwardly through lake hanka on the east, and mukden on the west, would enclose its longitude. its life lasted from about 700 to 925 a.d. this kingdom was continually on bad terms with china, and the tang emperors for nearly a century at tempted to crush it into vassalage. puhai made brave resistance, being aided not only by the large numbers of koraians, who had fled when beaten by the chinese across the tumen eiver, but also by the japanese, whose supremacy they acknowledged by payment of tribute. "with the latter their relations were always of a peace ful and pleasant nature, and the correspondence and other docu ments of the visiting embassies to the mikado's court are stiu pre served in japan. korai, or united corea. 65 yet though puhai was able to resist china and hold part of the old territory of korai, it fell before the persistent attacks of the kitan tribes, whose empire, lasting from 907 to 1125 a.d., stretched from west of lake baikal to the pacific ocean. in the early part of the tenth century this puhai kingdom, whose age was scarcely two centuries, melted away again into tribes and vil lages, each with its chief. the country being without political unity returned to unhistorical obscurity, as part of the kitan em pire. without crossing the tumen, to enter china by way of corea, the kitans marched at once around the ever-white moun tains and down the liao tung valley into china. the breaking up of puhai was not without its influence on the corean peninsula. as early as the ninth century thousands of refugees, driven before the kitans or dissatisfied with nomad life on the plains, recrossed the tumen and a great movement of emi gration set into northern corea, which again became populous, cultivated, and rich. with increasing prosperity better govern ment was desired. the worthlessness of the rulers and the pros pect of a successful revolution tempted the ambition of a buddh ist monk named kung-wo who, in 912 a.d., left his monastery and raised the flag of rebellion. he set forth to establish another poutical fabric of mushroom duration, which was destined to majie way for a more permanent kingdom, and, in the end, united corea. with his followers, kung-wo attacked the city of kaichow (in the modern kang-wen province), and was so far successful as to enter it and proclaim himself king. his personal success was of short duration. his lieutenant, wang-ken, that is wang the founder, was a descendant of the old kingly house of korai. dur ing all the time of chinese occupancy, or shinra supremacy, his family had kept alive their spirit, traditions, and claims. think ing he could rule better than a priest, wang put the ex-monk to death and proclaimed himself the true sovereign of korai. all this went on without the interference of china, which at this time was torn by internal disorder and the ravages of the same kitan tribes that had destroyed puhai. wang made ping-an and kai chow the capitals of his kingdom, and resolved to take fuu advan tage of his opportunity to conquer the entire peninsula and unite all its parts under his sceptre. circumstances made this an easy task. with china passive, shinra weak, through long absorption in luxury and the arts of 66 corea. peace, and with most part of the population of the peninsula of korain blood and descent, the work was easy. the whole country, from the ever-white moimtains to quelpart island, was overrun and welded into unity. the name of shinra was blotted out after a line of fifty-six kings and a ufe of nine hundred and ninety-three years. for the first time the peninsula became a political unit, and' the name korai, springing to life again like the arabian phcenix out of its ashes, became the symbol alike of tmited corea and of the race which peopled it. even yet the name korai (gauli or gori in the vernacular) is generally used by the people. the probabilities are that the people of the old euyu race, descendants of the tribes of kokorai, as the more vigorous stock, had akeady so far supplanted the old aboriginal people inhabiting southern corea as to make conquest by wang, who was one of their own blood, easy. this is shown in a series of maps repre senting the three kingdoms of corea from 201 to 655 a.d., by the japanese scholar otsuki toyo. . at the former date the kokorai people beyoiid that part of their domain conquered by china have occupied the land as far south as the han eiver, or to the 37th parallel. later, shinra, in 593, and again in 655, backed by chi nese armies, had regained her territory a degree or two northward, and in the eighth and ninth centuries, acting as the ally of china, ruled all the country to the tumen eiver. yet, though shinra held the land, the inhabitants were the same, namely, the stock of korai, ready to rise against their rulers and to annihilate shinra in a name and monarchy that had in it nationality and the pres tige of their ancient freedom and greatness. thoroughly intent on unifying his realm, wang chose a central location for the national capital. kion-chiu, the metropolis of shinra, was too far south, ping-an, the royal seat of old korai, was too far north ; but one hundred miles nearer "the river " han, ■ was sunto. this city, now called kai-seng, is twenty-five miles from seoul and equally near the sea. wang made sunto what it has been for over nine centuries, a fortified city of the first rank, the chief commercial centre of the country, and a seat of learning. it remained the capital until 1892 a.d. wang-ken or wang, the founder of the new dynasty under which the people were to be governed for over four hundred years, was an ardent buddhist. spite of his having put the monk to death to further personal ends, he became the defender of the india faith and made it the official religion. monasteries were founded and temples built in korai, or united coeea. 67 great nunibers. to furnish revenues for the support of these, tracts of land were set apart as permanent endowment. the four centuries of the house of korai are the palmy days of corean buddhism. prom china, which at this time was enjoying that era of liter ary splendor, for which the sung dynasty was noted, there came an impulse both to scholastic activity and to something approach ing popular education. the nido, or native syllabary, which had been invented by chul-chong, the statesman of shinra, now came into general use. while chinese literature and the sacred books of buddhism were studied in the original sanscrit, popular works were composed in corean and written out in the nido, or vernacular syllables. the printing press, invented by the sung scholars, was introduced and books were printed from cut blocks. the japanese are known to have adopted printing from corea as early as the twelfth century, when a work of the buddhist canon was printed from wooden blocks. " a corean book is known which dates authentically from the period 1317-1324, over a century before the earliest printed book known in europe." the use of metal type, made by mould ing and casting, is not distinctly mentioned in corea until the year 1420, and the invention and use of the unmun, a true native al phabet, seems to belong to the same period. the eleven vowels and fourteen consonants serve both as an alphabet and a syllabary, the latter being the most ancient system, and the former an im provement on it. the unifier of corea died in 945 and was succeeded by his son wu. fifteen years later the last of the five weak dynasties that had rapidly succeeded each other in china, fell. the chinese emperor proposing, and the corean king being willing, the latter hastened to send tribute, and formed an alliance of friendship with the imperial simg, who swayed the destinies of china for the next 166 years (960-1101). korai soon came into collision with the kitans in the following manner. the royal line of united corea traced their descent di rectly from the ancient kings of kokorai, and therefore claimed relationship with the princes of puhai. on the strength of this claim, the koraian king asserted his right to the whole of liao tung, which had been formerly held by puhai. the kitans, hav ing matters of greater importance to attend to at the time, allowed its temporary occupation by korai troops. nevertheless the king gg corea. thought it best to send homage to the kitan emperor, in order to get a clear title to the territory. in 1012 he despatched an em bassy acknowledging the kitan supremacy. this verbal message did not satisfy the strong conqueror, who demanded that the koraian king should come in person and make obeisance. the latter refused. a feud at once broke out between them, which led to a war, in which korai was worsted and stripped of all her terri tory west of the yalu eiver. pauadius has pointed out the interesting fact that a little vil lage about twenty miles north of tie-ling, and seventy mues north of mukden, called gauli-chan (korai village) still witnesses by its name to its former history, and to the possession by corea of ter ritory west of the yalu. the kitans, not satisfied with recovering liao tung, crossed the river and invaded korai, in 1015. by this time a new nation, under the name of nujun or mnchi, had formed aroimd lake hanka, in part of the territory of extinct puhai. with their new frontagers the koraians made an alliance " as solid as iron and stone," and with their aid drove back the kitan invaders. henceforth the boundaries of corea remained stationary, and have never extended beyond the limits with which the western world is familiar. an era of peace and prosperity set in, and a thriving trade sprang up between the niijun and korai. the two nations, ce mented in friendship through a common fear of the kitans, grew apace in numbers and prosperity. the kitans were known to chinese authors as early as the fifth century, seven nomad tribes being at that time confederate under their banners. at the beginning of the tenth century, these wan derers had been transformed into hordes of disciplined cavalry. their wealth and intelligence having increased by conquest, they formed a great empire in 925, which extended from the altai mountains to the pacific ocean, and from within the great wall to the yablonoi mountains, having peking for one of its capitals. it flourished until the twelfth century (a.d. 1125), when it gave way to the kin empire, which held mongolia and stiu. more terri tory than the kitans possessed within what is now china proper. this kin empire was founded by the expansion of the niijun, who, from their seats north of the tumen and east of the sungari, had gradually widened, and by conquest absorbed the kitans. aguta, the founder of the new empire, gave it the name of the korai, or united corea. 69 golden dominion. during its existence corea was not troubled by her great neighbor, and for two hundred years enjoyed peace within her borders. her commerce now flourished at au points of the compass, both on land, with her northern and western neighbors, with the japanese on the east, and the chinese south and west. much direct intercourse in ships, guided by the mag netic needle, "the chariot of the south," took place between ningpo and sunto. mr. edkins states that the oldest recorded instance of the use of the mariner's compass is that in the chinese historian's account of the voyage of the imperial ambassador to corea, from nanking by way of ningpo, in a fleet of eight vessels, in the year 1122. the arabs, who about this time were also trading with the coreans, and had lived in their country, soon afterward introduced this silent friend of the mariner into their own country in the west, whence it found its way into europe and to the hands of columbus. to the eye of the corean its mysterious finger pointed to the south. to the western man it pointed to the lode-star. the huge wide-open eyes which the sailors of chinese asia paint at the prow of their ship, to discover a path in the sea, became more than ever an empty fancy before this unerring path finder. as useless as the ever-open orbs on a mummy lid, these lidless eyes were relegated to the domain of poetry, while the svyinging needle opened new paths of science and discovery. coin of korai. "ko-ka" (name of year-period). "current money." chapter x. cathay, zipangu, and the mongols. after a long breathing-spell — as one, in reading history, might call it — the old hive in the north was again ready to swarm. it was to be seen once more how useless was the great wall of china in keeping back the many-named invaders, known in history by the collective term tatars. a new people began descending from their homeland, which lay near the northern and eastern shores of lake baikal. this inland sea — scarcely known in the school geographies, or printed in the average atlas in such proportionate dimensions as to suggest a pond — is one of the largest lakes in the world, being 370 miles long and covering 13,300 square miles of surface. its shores are now inhabited by eussian colonists and its waters are navigated by whole fleets of ships and steamers. it lies 1,280 feet above the sea. beginning their migrations from this point, in numbers and bulk that suggest only the snowball, the mongol horsemen moved with resistless increase and momentum, consolidating into their mass tribe after tribe, until their horde seemed an avalanche of humanity that threatened to crush au civilization and engulph the whole earth. these mounted highlanders from the north were creatures who seemed to be horse and man in one being, and to actualize the old fable of the centaurs. with a tiger-skin for a saddle, a thong loop with only the rider's great toe thrust in it for a stirrup, a string in the horse's lower jaw for a bridle, armed with spear and cimeter, these conquerors who despised walls went foi-th to level cities and slaughter au who resisted. in their raids they foimd food ever ready in the beasts they rode, for a reeking haunch of horse-meat, cut from the steed whose saddle had been emptied by arrow or accident, was usually found slung to their pommels. a slice of this, raw or warmed, served to sustain hfe for these hard riders, who lived all day in the saddle and at night slept with it wrapped around them. for a centiu^y the power of these nomads was steadily grow cathay, zipangu, and the mongols. 71 ing, before they emerged clearly into history and loomed up before the frontiers of the empire. the master mind and hand that moulded them into unity was genghis khan (1160-x227 a.d.). who was genghis khan ? a japanese writer, who is also a traveller in corea and china, has written in english a thesis which shows, with strong probability, at least, that this unifier of asia was gen-ghike, or yoshitsung. this japanese hero, bom in 1159, was the field-marshal of the army of the minamoto who annihilated the taira family.' in 1189, having fled from his jealous brother, yori tomo, he reached yezo and thence crossed, it is believed, to man churia. his was probably the greatest military mind which japan ever produced. that yoshitsune and genghis khan were one person is argued by mr. suyematz," who brings a surprising array of coincidences to prove his thesis. these are in names, titles, ages, dates, personal characteristics, flags and banners, myths and traditions, nomen clature of families, localities and individuals, and japanese relics, coins, arms, and fortresses in manchuria. "without reaching the point of demonstration, it seems highly probable that this wonder ful personality, this marvellous intellect, was of japanese origin. whoever this restless spirit was, it is certain that he gathered tribes once living in freedom kke the wild waves into the unity of the restless sea. out from the grassy plains of manchuria roued a tidal-wave of conquest that swept over asia, and flung its last drops of spray alike over japan, india, and eussia. among the na tions completely overrun and overwhelmed by the mongol hordes was corea. in 1206, yezokai — the word in japanese means yezo sea — the leader of the mongols, at the request of his chieftains, took the name of genghis klian and proclaimed himself the ruler of an empire. he now set before himself the task of subduing the kitans and ab sorbing their land and people, preparatory to the conquest of china. this was accomplished in less than six years. liao tung was invaded and, in 1213, his armies were inside the great wall. three mighty hosts were now organized, one to overrun all china to nepal and anam, one to conquer corea and japan, and one to bear the white banners of the mongols across asia into europe. this work, though not done in a day, was nearly completed before ' the mikado's empire, chapters xiii. and xiv. ' the identity of the great conqueror, genghis khan, with the japanese hero yoshitsun^, by k. suyematz of japan. london, 1879. 72 corea. a generation passed.' genghis khan led the host that moved to the west. in 1218 the corean king declared himself a vassal of genghis. in 1231 the murder of a mongol envoy in corea was the cause of the first act of war. the mongols invaded the coun try, captured forty of the principal towns, received the humiliation of the king, who had fled to kang-wa island, and began the aboli tion of corean independence by appointing seventy-two mongol prefects to administer the details of local government. the people, exasperated by the new and strange methods of their foreign con querors, rose against them and murdered them au. this was the signal for a second and more terrible invasion. a great mongol army overran the country in 1241, fought a number of pitched battles, defeated the king, and again imposed heavy tribute on their humbled vassal. in 1256 the corean king went in person to do homage at the court of the conqueror of continents. in the details of the mongol rule kindness and cruelty were blended. the most relentless military measures were taken to secure obedience after the conciliatory policy failed. by using both methods the great khan kept his hold on the little peninsula, although the coreans manifested a constant disposition to revolt. about this time began a brilliant half century of intercourse between europe and cathay, which has been studied and iuustra^ ted in the writings of colonel h. yule. the two franciscan monks carpinini and rubruquis visited china, and the camps of the great khan, between the years 1245 and 1253. by their graphic narra tives, in which the wars of genghis were described, they made the name of cathay (from kitai, or kitan) familiar in europe. matteo,. nicolo, and marco polo, who came later, as representatives of the commerce which afterward flourished between venice and genoa, and ningpo and amoy, were but a few among many merchants and travellers. embassies from the popes and the khan ex changed courtesies at avignon and cambaluc (peking). christian churches were established in peking and other cities by the fran ciscan monks. the various europeans who have saved their own names and a few others from oblivion, and have left us a roman tic, but in the main a truthful, picture of mediaeval china and the mongols, were probably only the scribes among a host who traded or travelled, but never told their story. among the marvels of the empire of the mongols, in which one might walk safely from corea to eussia, was religious toleration. when, however, the mongols ■ see howorth's history of the moagols, london, 187,p. cathay, zipangu, and the mongols. 73 of central asia embraced the creed of islam, bigotry closed the highway into europe, and commimications ceased. cathay, zi pangu, and corea again sunk from the eyes of europe into the night of historic darkness. khublai khan having succeeded his grandfather, genghis, and being now ruler of all the asiatic mainland, resolved, ia 1266, to conquer japan. he wrote a letter to the mikado, but the envoys were so frightened by the corean's exaggerated account of the difficulties of reaching the empire in the sea, that they nevar saued. other embassies were despatched in 1271 and 1273, and loiublai began to prepare a mighty flotiua and army of invasion. one hundred of the ships were bmlt on quelpart island. his armada, consisting of 300 vessels and 15,000 men, chinese, mongols, and coreans, sailed to japan and was met by the japanese off the isl and of iki. owing to their valor, but more to the tempest that arose, the expedition was a total loss, only a few of the original number reaching corea alive. evidently desirous of conquering japan by diplomacy, the great khan despatched an embassy which reached, not the mi kado's, but only the sho-gun's court in "1275. his ambassadors were accompanied by a large retinue from his corean vassals. the japanese allowed only three of the imposing number to go to kamakura, twelve miles from the modem tokio, and paid no attention to the khan's threatening letters. so irritated were the brave islanders that when another ambassador from the khan ar rived, in the following year, he disembarked as a prisoner and was escorted, laound, to kamakura, where he was thrown into prison, kept during four years, and taken out only to be beheaded. upon hearing this, khublai began the preparation of the mighti est of his invading hosts. to be braved -by a little island nation, when his sceptre ruled from the dnieper to the yellow sea, was not to be thought of. various fleets and contingents sailed from different ports in china and made rendezvous on the corean coast. the fleet was composed of 3,500 war junks, of large size, having on board 18(7,000 chinese, mongols, and coreans. among their en gines of war were the catapults which the polos had taught them to make. they set sail in the autumn of 1281. from the very first the enterprise miscarried. the general-in chief fell sick and the command devolved on a subordinate, who had no plan of operation. the various divisions of the force be came separated. it is probable that the majority of them never 74 corea. readied the mainland of japan. the mongol and corean contin gent reached the province of chikuzen, but were not allowed to make a successful landing, for the japanese drove them back with sword and fire. the chinese division, arriving later, was met by a terrible tempest that nearly annihilated them and destroyed the ships already engaged. the broken remnant of the fleet and armies, taking refuge on the island of iki, were attacked by the japanese and nearly au. slain, imprisoned, or beheaded in cold blood. only a few reached corea to teu the tale. the " mongol civilization," so-caued, seems to have had httle influence on corea. the mighty empire of genghis soon broke into many fragments. the vast fabric of his government melted like a sand house before an incoming wave, and that wave receding left scarcely a sediment recognizable on the polity or social hfe of corea. marco polo in his book hardly mentions the country, though describing zipangu or japan quite fuuy. one evil effect of their forced assistance given to the mongols, wa^ that the hatred of the japa,nese and coreans for each other was mutually intensified after the mongolian invasion begins that series of piratical raidj on their coast and robbery of their vessels at sea, by japanese adventurers, that made navigation beyond sight of land and ship building among the coreans almost a lost art. the centuries following th6 mongol invasion were periods of anarchy and civu war in japan, and the central government au thority' being weak the pirates could not be controlled. building or stealing ships, bands of japanese sailors or ex-soldiers put to sea, capturing corean boats, junks, and surf-rafts. landing, they harried the shores and robbed and murdered the defenceless peo ple. growing bolder, the marauders sailed into the yellow sea and landed even in china and in liao tung. they kept whole tovms and cities in terror, and a chain of coast forts had to be built in shan-tuug to defend that province. the fire-signals which, in the old days of " the three kiug doms," had flashed upon the headlands to warn of danger seaward. were now made a national service. the system was perfected so as to converge at the capital, sunto, and give notice of danger fi-om any point on the coast. by this means better protection against the sea-rovers was secured. all this evil experience with the piratical japanese of the mid dle ages has left its impress on the language of the coreans. from this period, perhaps even long before it, date those words cathay, zipangu, and the mongols. 75 of sinister omen of which we give but one or two examples which have the prefix wai (japan) in them. a wai-kol, a huge, fierce man, of gigantic aspect, with a bad head, though perhaps with good heart, a kind of ogre, is a japanese kol or creature. a destructive wind or typhoon is a japanese wind. as western christendom for centuries uttered their fears of the norse pirates, " from the fury of the northmen, good. lord, deliver us," so the korai people, two-masted corean vessel (from a photograph taken in 1871). along the coast, for many generations offered up constant petition to their gods for protection against these northmen of the pacific. this chronic danger from japanese pirates, which korai and cho-sen endured for a period nearly as extended as that of eng land from the northmen, is one of the causes that have contribu ted to make the natives dread the sea as a path for enemies, and in corea we see the strange anomaly of a people more than semi civilized whose wretched boats scarcely go beyond tide-water. chapter xl new cho-sen. it -will be remembered that the first chinese settler and civ ilizer of corea, ki tsze, gave it the name of cho-sen. coming from violence and war, to a land of peace which lay eastward of his old home, ki tsze selected for his new dwelling-place a name at once expressive of its outward position and his own inward emo tions — cho-sen, or morning calm. for eleven centuries a part of manchuria, including, as tho coreans believe, the northern half of the peninsula, bore this name. prom the christian era untu the tenth century, the names of the three kingdoms, shinra, hiaksai, and kokorai, or korai, express the divided political condition of the country. on the fall of these petty states, the united peninsula was called korai. korai existed from a.d. 934 until a.i>. 1392, when the ancient name of cho-sen was restored. though the coreans often speak of their country as korai (gauli, or gori), it is as the english speak of britain — with a patriotic feeling rather than for accuracy. cho sen is stiu the ofiscial and popular designation of the country. this name is at once the oldest and the newest. the first bestowal of this name on the peninsula was in poetic mood, and was the symbol of a peaceful triumph. the second gift of the name was the index of a political revolution not un accompanied with bloodshed. the latter days of the dynasty founded by wang were marked by licentiousness and effeminacy in the palace, and misrule in the country. the people hated the cruelties of their monarch, the thirty-second of his line, and longed for a deuverer. such a one was ni taijo (japanese, ei seiki), who was born in the region of broughton's bay, in the ham-kiung province. it is said of him that from his youth he surpassed all others in virtue, intelligence, and skill in manly exercises. he was especially fond of hunting with the falcon. one day, whue in the woods, his favorite bird, in pursuing its new cho-sen. 77 quarry, flew so far ahead that it was lost to the sight of its master. hastening after it the young man espied a shrine at the roadside into which he saw his hawk fly. entering, he found within a her mit priest. awed and abashed at the weird presence of the white bearded sage, the lad for a moment was speechless ; but the old man, addressing him, said : " what benefit is it for a youth of your abilities to be seeking a stray falcon ? a throne is a richer prize. betake yourself at once to the capital." acting upon the hint thus given him, and leaving the falcon behind, taijo wended his way westward to sunto, and entered the military service of the king. he soon made his mark and rapidly rose to high command, until he became ueutenant-general of the whole army. he married and reared children, and through the espousal of his daughter by the king, became father-in-law to his sovereign. the influence of taijo was now immense. while with his soldierly abilities he won the enthusiastic regard of the army, his popularity with the people rested solely on his virtues. possessed of such influence with the court, the soldiers, and the country at large, he endeavored to reform the abuse of power and to curb the cruelties of the king. even to give advice to a despot is an act of bravery, but taijo dared to do it again and again. the king, how ever, refused to follow the counsel of his father-in-law or to reform abuses. he thus daily increased the odium in which he was held by his subjects. such was the state of affairs toward the end of the fourteenth century, when everything was ripe for revolution. in china, great events, destined to influence " the little king dom," were taking place. the mongol dynasty, even after the breaking up of the empire founded by genghis khan, still held the dragon throne ; but during the later years of their reign, when harassed by enemies at home, corea was neglected and her tribute remained unpaid. a spasmodic attempt to resubdue the lapsed vassal, and make corea a mongol castle of refuge from impending doom, was ruined by the energy and valor of ni taijo. the would-be invaders were driven back. the last mongol emperor fell in 1341, and the native ming, or " bright," dynasty came into power, and in 1368 was firmly established. their envoys being sent to corea demanded pledges of vassal age. the king neglected, finally refused, and ordered fresh levies to be made to resist the impending invasion of the chinese. in 78 corba. this time of gloom and bitterness against their own monarch, the army contained but a pitifully small number of men who could be depended on to fight the overwhelming host of the ming veterans. taijo, in an address to his followers, thus spoke to them : " although the order from the king must be obeyed, yet the attack upon the ming soldiers, with so small an army as ours, is like casting an egg against a rock, and no one of the army will return alive. i do not tell you this from any fear of death, but our king is too haughty. he does not heed our advice. he has ordered out the army suddenly without cause, paying no attention to the suffering which wives and children of the soldiers must undergo. this is a thing i cannot bear. let us go back to the capital and the responsibility shall fall on my shoulders alone." thereupon the captains and soldiers being impressed with the purity of their leader's motives, and admiring his courage, resolved to obey his orders and not the king's. arriving at sunto, he promptly took measures to depose the king, who was sent to kang-wa, the island so famous in modern as in ancient and medise val history. the king's wrath was very great, and he intrigued to avenge himself. his plot was made known, by one of his retainers, to taijo, who, by a counter-movement, put forth the last radical measure which, in chinese asia means, for a private person, disin heritance ; for a king, deposition ; and for a royal line, extinction. this act was the removal of the tablets of the king's ancestors from their shrine, and the issue of an order forbidding further contiau ance of sacrifice to them. this corean and chinese method of clapping the extinguisher upon a whole dynasty was no sooner or dered than duly executed. ni taijo was now made king, to the great delight of the peo ple. he sent an embassy to nanking to notify the ming emperor of affairs in the "outpost state," to tender his loyal vassalage, to seek the imperial approval of his acts, and to beg his investiture as sovereign. this was graciously granted. the ancient name of cho-sen was revived, and at the petitioner's request conferred upon the country by the emperor, who profited by this occasion to en force upon the coreans his calendar and chronology — the recep tion of these being in itself alone tantamount to a sufficient de claration of fealty. friendship being now fully established with the mings, the king of cho-sen sent a number of youths, sons of his nobles, to nanking to study in the imperial chinese college. new cho-sen. 79 the dynasty thus established is still the reigning family in corea, though the direct line came to an end in 1864. the co reans in their treaty with japan, in 1876, dated the 'document ac cordiag to the 484th year of cho-sen, reckoning from the acces sion of ni taijo to the throne. one of the first acts of the new dynasty was to make a change in the location of the national capital. the new dynasty made choice of the city of han yang, the walls of seoul (from a photograph, 1876), situated on the han eiver, about fifty miles from its mouth. the king enlarged the fortifications, enclosed the city with a wall of masonry of great extent, extending over the adjacent hills and valleys. on this wall was a rampart pierced with port-holes for archers and over the streams were built arches of stone. he, or ganized the administrative system which, with slight modification^ is stiu in force at the present time. the city being well situated, soon grew in extent, and hence became the seoul or capital (pro: 80 corea. iiounoed by the chinese king, as in nanking and peking, and the japanese kio, as in kioto and tokio). he also re-divided the kingdom into eight do or provinces. this division still maintains. the names, formed each of two chinese characters joined to that of du (circuit or province), and approximate meanings are given below.' with such names of bright omen, " the eight provinces " entered upon an era of peace and flourishing prosperity. the people found out that something more than a change of masters was meant by the removal of the capital to a more central situa tion. vigorous reforms were carried out, and changes were made, not only in political administration, but in social life, and even in religion. in au these the influence of the china of the ming em perors is most manifest. buddhism, which had penetrated into every part of the country, and had become, in a measure, at least, the religion of the state, was now set aside and disestablished. the confucian ethics and the doctrines of the chinese sages were not only more diligently studied and propagated under royal patronage, but were incor porated into the religion of the state. from the early part of the fifteenth century, confucianism flourished until it reached the point of bigotry and intolerance ; so that when christianity was discov ered by the magistrates to be existing among the people, it was put under the band of extirpation, and its followers thought worthy of death. ' beginning at the most northern and eastern, and following the sea line south around up to the northeast, they are : cohean. japanese. english. 1. ham-kiung, or kan-kiodo. perfect mirror, or complete view province. 3. kang-wen, or ko-gen do. bay meadow province. 3. kiung-sang, or kei-sho do.. respectful cqugratulation province. 4. julia, or zen-ra do. completed network province. 5. chung-chong, or chiu-sei do. serene loyalty province. 6. kiung-kei, or kei-ki do. the capital circuit, or home province. 7. whang-hai, or ko-kai do. yellow sea province. 8. fing-an, or hei-an do peace and quiet province. in this tahle we have given the names in english which approximate the sounds of the chinese characters, with which names of the provinces are writ ten, and as they are heard to-day in cho-sen. the modern coreans use the modern chinese sounds of the characters, while the japanese cling to the an cient chinese pronunciation of the same characters as they received them through hiaksai and shinra, eleven or twelve centuries ago. the old pure corean sounds were teru-ra tai for zen-ra do, tsiku-shaku tai for chiu-sei do, keku-shaku tai for kei-ki do, etc. new cho-sbn. 81 magistrate and servant 82 corba. whatever may have been the motive for supplanting buddh. ism, whether from sincere conviction of the paramount truth of the ancient ethics, or a desire to closely imitate the middle king dom in everything, even ia religion, or to obtain easy and great wealth by confiscating the monastery and temple lands, it is certain that the change was sweeping, radical, and thorough. ah observ ers testify that tbe cult of shaka in corea is almost a shadow. on the other hand, in many cities throughout the land, are buildings and halls erected and maintained by the government, in which sit in honor the statues of confucius and his gi-eatest disciples. one great measure that tended to strengthen and make popu lar the new religious establishment, to weaken the old faith, to give strength and unity to the new government, to foster educa tion and make the corean literary classes what they are to-day — critical scholars iu chinese — was what americans would call " civil service reform." appointment to office on the basis of merit, as shown in the literary examinations, was made tbe rule. modelled closely upon the chinese system, three grades of examinations were appointed, and three degrees settled. all candidates for military or civil rank and office must possess diplomas, granted by the royal or provincial examiners, before appointment coiold be made or salary begun. the system, wbich is stul in vogue, is more fully described in the chapter on education. among the changes in the fashion of social life, introduced under the ni dynasty, was the adoption of the ming costume. to the chinese of to-day the corean dress and coiflpure, as seen in peking, are subjects for curiosity and merriment. the lack of a long queue, and the very different cut, form, and general appear ance of these eastern strangers, strike the eye of mandarin and street laborer alike, very much as a gentleman in knee-breeches, cocked hat, and peruke, or the peasant costumes at castle garden, appear to a new yorker, stepping from the elevated railway, on broadway. yet from the fourteenth to the seventeenth century, the chinese gentleman dressed uke the corean of to-day, and the mandarin of canton or nanking was as innocent of the tartar bair-tail as is the citizen of seoul. the coreans simply adhere to the fashions pre valent during the ming era. the chinese, in the matter of garb, however loath foreigners may be to credit it, are more progressive than their corean neighbors. to the house of ni belongs also the greater honor of abolish new .cho-sbn. 83 ■ ing at least two cruel customs which had their roots in supersti tion. heretofore the same rites which were so long in rogue in japan, traces of which were noticed even down to the seventeenth century, held unchallenged sway in corea. ko-rai-chang, though not fully known in its details, was the habit of burying old men alive. in-ohei was the oifering up of human sacrifices, presumably to the gods of the mountains and the sea. both of these classes of rites, at once superstitious and horrible, were anciently very fre quent ; nor was buddhism able to utterly abolish them. in the latter case, they, choked the victims to death, and then threw them into the sea. the island of chansan was especially noted as the place of propitiation to the gods of the sea. the first successors of the founder of the house of ni held great power, which they used for the good of the people, and hence enjoyed great popularity. the first after taijo reigned two years, from 1398 to 1400. hetai-jong, who came after him, ruled eighteen years, and among other benefits conferred, established the sin-mun-ko, or box for the reception of petitions addressed directly to the king. into this coffer, complaints and prayers from the people could lawfully and easily be dropped. though still kept before the gate of the royal palace in seoul, it is stated that access to it is now difficult. it seems to exist more in name than in fact. among the first diplomatic acts of king hetai-jong was to unite with the chinese emperor, in a complaint to the mikado of japan, against the buccaneers, whom the authorities of the latter country were unable to control. hence the remonstrance was only partially successful, and the evil, which was aggravated by corean renegades acting as pilots, grew beyond all bounds. these rascals made a lucrative hving by betraying their own coun trymen. siei-jong, who succeeded to the throne on the death of his father, hetai-jong, enjoyed a long reign of thirty-two years, during which the fortifications of the capital were added to and strength ened. the manchius beyond the ever-white mountains were then beginning to rise in power, and liao tung was disturbed by the raids of tribes from mongolia, which the ming generals were unable to suppress. when the fighting took place within fifty miles of her own boundary river, cho-sen became alarmed, and looked to the defence of her own frontier and capital. in 1450, on the death of the king, who " in time of peace prepared for war," mun-jong, his son, succeeded to royal power. as usual 84 corea. on the accession of a new sovereign, a chinese ambassador was despatched from peking, which had been the ming capital since 1614, to seoul, to confer the imperial patent of investiture. this dignitary, on his return, wrote a book recounting his travels, under the title of " memorandum concerning the affairs of cho sen.'' according to this writer, the military frontier of corea at that time was at the eastern mountain barrier, a few miles north west of the present border gate. pauadius, the russian writer, also states that, during the ming dynasty, three grades of for tresses were erected on the territory between the great wall and the yalu river, "to guard against the attacks of the coreans." it is more in accordance with the facts to suppose that the chir nese erected these fortifications to guard against invasion from the manchius and other northern tribes that were ravaging liao tung, rather than against the coreans. these defences did not avail to keep back the invasion which came a generation or two later, and " the corean frontier," which the chinese traveller, in 1450, found much further west than even the present " wall of stakes," shows that the neutral territory was then already established, and larger than it now is. of this strip of rich forest and ginseng land, with many well-watered and arable vaueys, once cultivated and popu lous, but since the fifteenth century desolate, we shall hear again. in chinese atlases the space is blank, with not one village marked where, until the removal by the chinese government of the inhabi tants westward, there was a population of 300,000 souls. the de population of this large area of fertile sou was simply a chinese measure of military necessity, which compelled her friendly auy cho-sen, for her own safety, to post sentinels as far west of her boundary river as the eastern mountain barrier, described by the imperial envoy in 1450. the century which saw america discovered in the west, was that of japan's greatest activity on the sea. on every coast within their reach, from tartary to tonquin, and from luzon to siam, these bold marauders were known and feared. the chinese learned to bitterly regret the day when the magnetic needle, in vented by themselves, got into the hands of these daring island ers. the wounded eagle that felt the shaft, which had been feath ered from his own plumes, was not more to be pitied than the chinese people that saw the japanese craft steering across the yeuow sea to ravage and ruin their cities, guided by the compass bought in china. thejy not only harried the coasts, but went fai new cho-sbn. 85 bp the rivers. in 1523, they landed even at ningpo, and in the fight the chief mandarin of the city was killed. yet, with the exception of incursions of these pirates, cho-sen enjoyed the sweets of peace, and two centuries shpped away in morning calm. the foreign vessels from europe which first, in 1530, touched at the province of bungo, in southern japan, may possibly have visited some part of the corean shores. between the neutral territory (from a chinese atlas). 1540 and 1546 four arrivals of " black ships " from portugal, are known to have caued at points in japan. it was from these the japanese learned how to make the gunpowder and firearms which, before the close of the century, were to be used with such deadly effect in corea. now came back to europe accounts of china and japan— which were found to be the old kathay, and zipangu of polo and the fran 86 corea. ciscans — and of " coria," -which polo had barely mentioned. it wais from the portuguese, that europe first learned of this middle land between the mighty domain of the mings, and the empire in the sea. stirred by the spirit of adventure and enterprise, and un willing that the iberian peninsulars should gain au the glory, an english " society for the discovery of unknown lands " was formed in 1555. a voyage was made as far as novaia zemha and weigatz, but neither corea nor cathay was reached. other attempts to find a northeast passage to india failed, and asia re mained uncircumnavigated until our own and nordenskbld's day. the other attempts to discover a northwest passage to china around the imaginary cape, in which north america was supposed to terminate, and through the equally fictitious straits of anian, resulted in the discoveries of the cabots, and of hudson and fro bisher^of the american continent from the hudson eiver to greenland, but the way to china lay stiu around africa. from japan, the only possibility of danger during these two cen turies was likely to come. in the north, west, and south, on the main land, hung the banners of the ming emperors of china, and, as the tribute enforced was very light, the protection of her great neighbor was worth to cho-sen far more than the presents she gave. prom china there was nothing to fear. at first the new dynasty sent ships, embassies, and presents regularly to japan, which were duly received, yet not at the mi kado's palace in kioto, but at the sho-gun's court at kamakura, twelve miles from the site of the modem japanese capital, tokio. but as the ashikaga family became effeminate in life, their power waned, and rival chiefs started up all over the country. clan fights and chronic intestine war became the rule in japan. only small areas of territory were governed from kamakura, while the mikado became the tool and prey of rival daimios. one of these petty rulers held tsushima, and traded at a settlement on the corean coast called fusan, by means of which some inter course was kept up between the two countries. the japanese government had always made use of tsushima in its communica tions with the coreans, and the agency at fusan was composed almost exclusively of retainers of the feudal lord of this island. the journey by land and sea from seoul to kamakura, often consumed two or three months, and with civil wars inland and piracy on the water, intercourse between the two countries became less and less. the last embassy from seoul was sent in 1460, but after that, new cho-sen. 87 owing to continued intestine war, the absence of the coreans was not noticed by the ashikagas, and as the tsushima men purposely kept their customers ignorant of the weakness of their rulers at kamakura and kioto, lest the ancient vassals should cease to fear their old master, the coreans remained in profound ignorance of the real state of affairs in japan. as they were never summoned, so they never came. giving themselves no further anxiety con ceiming the matter, they rejoiced that, such disagreeable duties were no longer incumbent upon them. it is even said in corean histories that their government took the offensive, and under the reign of the king chung-jong (1506-1544) captured tsushima and several other japanese islands, formerly tributary to corea. "what ever fraction of truth there may be in this assertion, it is certain that japan afterward took ample revenge on the score both of neglect and of reprisal. so, imder the idea that peace was to last forever, and the morn ing calm never to know an evening storm, the nation relaxed all vigilanqe. expecting no danger from the east, the military re sources were neglected, the army was disorganized, and the cas tles were allowed to dilapidate into ruin. the moats filled and became shallow ditches, choked vrith vegetation, the walls and ramparts crumbled piecemeal, and the barraoks stood roofless. as peace wore sweeter charms, and as war seemed less and less probable, so did all soldierly duties become more and more irk some. the militia system was changed for the worse. the en rolled men, instead of being called out for muster at assigned camps, and trained to field duty and the actual evolutions of war, were allowed to assemble at local meetings to perform only holi day movements. the muster rous were full of thousands of names, but off paper the army of corea was a phantom. the people, dismissing all thought of possibility of war, gave them selves no concern, leaving the matter to the army officials, who drew pay as though in actual war. they, in turn, devoted them selves to dissipation, carousing, and sensual indulgence. it was while the country was in such a condition that the summons of japan's greatest conqueror came to them and the coreans learned, for the first time, of the fall of ashikaga, and the temper of their new master. chapter xii. events leading to the japaiiese invasion. china and japan are to each other as england and the united states. the staid chinaman looks at the lively japanese with feelings similar to those of john bull to his american " cousin." though as radically different in blood, language, and tempera ment as are the germans and french, they are enough ahke to iind food for mutual jealousy. they discover ground for irritation in causes, which, between nations more distant from each other, would stir up no feeling whatever. china considers jjapan a young, vain, and boasting stripling, whose attitude ought ever to be that of the pupil to the teacher, or the child to the father. japan, on the contrary, considering china as an old fogy, far be hind the age, decayed in constitution and fortune ahke, and more than ready for the grave, resents all dictation or assumption of superiority. even before their adoption of the forces of occiden tal civilization in this nineteenth century, something of this haughty contempt for china influenced the japanese miad. japan ever refused to become vassal or tributary to china, and the mem ory of one of her military usurpers, who accepted the honorary title of nihon-0, or king of japan, from the chinese emperor, is to this day loaded with increasing execration. it has ever been the practice of the japanese court and people cheerfully to heap upon their mikado all the honors, titles, poetical and divine appellations which belong also to the chinese emperor. to conquer or humble their mighty neighbor, to cross their slender swords of divine temper with the clumsy blades of the continental braves, has been the ambition of more than one ja panese captain. but hidsyoshi alone is the one hero in japanese annals who actually made the attempt. as the mongol conquerors issuing from china had used corea as their point of departure to invade japan, so hidsyoshi resolved to make the peninsula the road for his armies into china. after events leading to the japanese invasion. 89 two centuries of anaj-chy in japan, he followed up the work which nobunaga had begun until the proudest daimio had felt the weight of his arm, and the empire was at peace. ' yet, although receiving homage and congratulations from his feudal vassals, once proud princes, hid6yoshi was irritated that cho-sen, which he, with au japanese, held to be a tributary prov ince, failed to send like greetings. since, to the ashikagas, she had despatched tribute and embassies, he was incensed that similar honors were not awarded to him, though, for over a century, au ofbcial relations between the two countries had ceased. on the 31st day of july, 1585,* hideyoshi was made kuam baku, or regent, and to celebrate his elevation to this, the highest office to which a subject of the mikado's could aspire, he shortly afterward gave a great feast in kioto, and proclaimed holiday throughout the empire. this feast was graced by the presence of his highest feudatories, lords, and captains, court nobles and palace ladies in their richest robes. among others was one tasu hiro, a retainer of the lord of tsushima. hideyoshi's memory had been refreshed by his having had read to him, from the an cient chronicles, the accoimt of jingu kogo's conquests in the second century. he announced to his captains that, though cho sen was from ancient times tributary to japan, yet of late years her envoys had failed to make visits or to send tribute. he then appointed tasuhiro to proceed to seoul, and remind the king and court of their duty. the japanese envoy was a bluff old campaigner, very tail, and of commanding mien. his hair and beard had long since turned white imder years and the hardships of war. his conduct was that of a man accustomed to command and to instant obedience, and to expect victory more by brute courage than by address. on his jom-ney to seoul he demanded the best rooms in the ho tels, and annoyed even the people of rank and importance with haughty and strange questions. he even laughed at and made, sarcastic remarks about the soldiers and their weapons. this conduct, so different from that of previous envoys, greatly sur prised tte corean officials. heretofore, when a japanese officer came to fusan, native troops escorted him from fusan to seoul, overawing him by their fierceness and insolence. tasuhiro, accus tomed to constant war under hiddyoshi's gourd-banner, rode calmly on his horse, and, amid the lines of lances drawn up as a guard of honor, spoke to his followers in a loud voice, telling them 90 corea. to watch the escort and note any incivikty. in a certain village he joked with a corean soldier about his spear, saying, with a pun, that it was too short and unfit for use. at this, au the japanese laughed out loud. the coreans could not understand the lan guage, but hearing the laugh were angry and surprised at such boldness. at another town he insulted an aged official who was entertaining him, by remarking to his own men that his hair and that of the japanese grew gray by years, or by war and manly hardships ; " but what," cried he, " has turned this man's hair gray who has lived all his life amid music and dancing ? " this sarcastic fling, at premature and sensual old age, stung the official so that he became speechless with rage. at the capital, creden tials were presented and a feast given, at which female musicians sang and wine flowed. during the banquet, when all were well drunk, the old hero pulled out a gourd full of pepper seeds and began to hand them around. the singing-girls and servants grabbed them, and a disgraceful scufile began. this was what yasuhiro wanted. highly disgusted at their greedy behavior, he returned to his quarters and poured out a tirade of abuse about the manners of the people, which his corean interpreter duly re tailed to his superiors. yasuhiro made up his mind that the country was in no way prepared for invasion ; the martial spirit di the people was very low, and the habits of dissipation and pro fligacy among them had sapped the vigor of the men. to the offensive conduct of the envoy was added the irritation produced by the language of hidgyoshi's summons ; for in his let ter he had used the imperial form of address, " we," the plural of majesty. yasuhiro asked for a reply to these letters, that he might return speedily to japan. there was none given him, and the co reans, pleading the flimsy excuse of the difficulty of the voyage, refused to send an embassy to japan. hideyoshi was very angry at the utter failure of yasuhiro's mission. he argued that for an envoy to be content with such an answer was sure proof that he favored the coreans. soine of yasuhiro's ancestors, being daimios of tsushima, had served as envoys to cho-sen, and had enjoyed a monopoly of the lucrative commerce, and even held office under the corean government. reflecting on these things, hid6yoshi commanded yasuhiro and all his family to be put to death. he then despatched a second envoy, named yoshitoshi, himself the daimio of tsu island, who took with him a favorite retainer. events leading to the japanese invasion. 91 and a priest, named gensho, as his secretary. they reached seoul in safety, and, after the formal banquet, demanded the despatch of an envoy to japan. the corean dignitaries did not reply at once, but unofficially sent word, through the landlord of the hotel, that they would be glad to agree to the demand if the japanese would send back the renegades who piloted the japanese pirates in their raids upon the corean coasts. thereupon, yoshitoshi despatched one of his suite to japan. with amazing promptness he collected the outlaws, fourteen in number, and produced them in seoul. these traitors, after confessing their crime, were led out by the executioners and their heads knocked off. meanwhile, having tranquiuized "all under heaven" (japan), even to yezo and the ainos, and finding nothing " within the four seas " worth cap turing, hideyoshi cast his eyes southward to the little kingdom well named eiu kiu, or the sleepy dragon without horns. the people of these islands, called loo choo, on old maps, are true japanese in origin, language, and dynasty. they speak a dialect kindred to that of satsuma, and their first historical ruler was sunten, a descendant of tametomo, who fled from japan in the twelfth century. of the population of 120,000 people, one-tenth were of the official class, who lived from the public granaries. saving au expense in war equipment, and warding off danger from the two great powers between which they lay, they had kept the good wiu of either by making their country act the part of the ass which crouches down between two burdens. they made presents to both, acknowledging japan as their father, and china as their mother. prom early times they had sent tribute-laden junks to ningpo, and had introduced the chinese classics, and social and political customs. when the ming dynasty came into power, the chinese monarch bestowed on the prince of eiu kiu a silver seal, and a name for his country, which meant " hanging balls," a refer ence to the fact that their island chain hung like a string of tas sels on the skirt of china. another of their ancient native names was okinawa, or " long rope," which stretches as a cable between japan and formosa. sugar and rice are the chief pro ducts. hideyoshi, wishing to possess this group -of isles as an ally against china, and acting on the principle of baiting with a sprat in order to catch a mackerel, sent word to riu kiu to pay tribute hereafter only to him. the young king, fearing the wrath of the mighty lord of nip pon, sent a priest as hia envoy, and a vessel laden with tribute 92 corba. offerings. arriving in the presence of the august parvenu, the priest found himself most graciously received. hideyoshi entered into a personal conversation with the bonze, and set forth the benefits of riu kiu's adherence to japan alone, and her ceasing to send tribute to china. at the same time he gave the priest clearly to understand that, willing or unwiuing, the little kingdom was to be annexed to the mikado's empire. when the priest re turned to eiu kiu and gave the information to the king, the latter immediately despatched a vessel to china to inform the govern ment of the designs of jayan. meanwhile, the court at seoul, highly gratified with the action of the japanese government in the matter of the renegade pilots, gave a banquet to the embassy. yoshitoshi had &,udience of the king, who presented him vdth a horse from his own stables. an embassy was chosen which left seoul, in company with yoshitoshi and his party, and their musicians and servants, in april, 1590, and, after a journey and voyage of three months, arrived at kioto duriug the summer of 1590. at this time hideyoshi was absent in eastern japan, not far from the modem city of tokio, besieging odawara castle and reducing " the second hqjo " family to sub mission. arriving at kioto in the autumn, he postponed audience vnth the coreans in order to gain time for war preparations, for his heart was set on conquests beyond sea. finally, after five months had passed, they were accorded an interview. they were allowed to ride in palanquins under the gateway of the palace without dismounting — a mark of deference to their high rank — all except nobles of highest grade being com pelled to get out and walk. as usual, their band of musicians ac companied them. they report hideyoshi as a man of low appearance, but with eyes that shot fire through their souls. ah bowed before him, but his conduct in general was of a very undignified character. this did not raise him in the estimation of his guests, who had already discovered his true position, which was that of a subject of the mikado, whose use of the imperial " ive " in his letters was, in their eyes, a preposterous assumption of authority. they de livered the king's letter, which was addressed to hid6yoshi on terms of an equal as a koku o (king of a nation, in distinction from the title of whang ti, by which title the heavenly ruler, or emperor— the mikado of japan, or the emperor of china— is addressed). the letter contaiaed the usual commonplaces of events leading to the japanese invasion. 93 friendly greeting, the names of the envoys, and a reference to the list of accompanying presents. the presents — spoken of in the usual terms of oriental mock modesty — consisted of two ponies and fifteen falcons, with harness for bird and beast, rous of silk, precious drugs, ink, paper, pens, and twenty magnificent tiger-skias. the interview over, hideyoshi wished the envoys to go home at once. this they declined to do, but, leaving kioto, waited at the port of sakai. a letter to the king finally reached them, but couched in so insolent a tone that the ambassadors sent it back several times to be purged. even in its improved form it was the blustering threat of a japanese bully. all this consumed time, which was just what hideyoshi wished. some years before this, some portuguese trading ships had landed at the island of tane, off the south of japan. the japan ese, for the first time, saw europeans and heard their unintelli gible language. at first au attempts to understand them were in vain. a chinese ship happened to arrive about the same time, on which were some sailors who knew a little portuguese, and thus communications were held. the foreigners, being handsomely treated, gave their hosts some firearms, probably pistols, taught their use, and how to make powder. these " queer things, able to vomit thunder and lightning, and emitting an awful smell," were presented to shimadzii, the daimio of satsuma, who gave them to hideyoshi. among the presents, made in iretum to cho sen, were several of these new weapons made by japanese. they were most probably sent as a hint, like tha^t of the pequot's offer ing of the arrows vyrapped in snake-skin. with them were phea sants, stands of swords and spears, books, rolls of paper, and four hundred gold kdban (a coin worth about $5.00). with the returning embassy, hideyoshi sent the priest and a former colleague of yoshitoshi to seoul. they were instructed to ask the king to assist hid6yoshi to renew peaceful relations be tween japan and china. these, owing to the long continued piratical invasions from japan, during the anarchy of the ashi kaga, had been suspended for some years past. the peaceful influences of christianity's teachings now came between these two pagan nations, in the mind and person of yoshi toshi, who had professed the faith of jesus as taught by the eoman catholic missionaries from portugal, then in japan. be this as it may, yoshitoshi, who had been in seoul, and liyed in tsushima, being well acquainted with the military resources of the three 04 corea. countries, knew tliat war would result in ruin to cho-sen, while, in measuring their swords with china, the japanese were at fear ful odds. animated by a desire to prevent bloodshed, he resolved to mediate with the ouve branch. he started on an independent mission, at his own cost, to persuade the coreans to use their good offices at mediation between japan and china, and thus prevent war. arriving at fusan, in 1591, he forwarded his petfcion to seoul, and waited in port ten days in hopes of the answer he de sired. but au was in vain. he received only a letter containing a defiant reply to his master's bullying letter. in sadness he re turned to kioto, and reported his hi-success. surprised and en raged at the rudifference of the coreans, hidlyoshi pushed on his war preparations with new vigor. he resolved to test to its utmost the military strength of japan, in order to humble china as well as her vassal. accustomed to victory under the gourd banner in almost every battle during the long series of intestine wars now ended, an army of seasoned veterans heard joyfully the order to prepare for a campaign beyond sea. hideyoshi, during this year, nominally resigned the office of kuambaku, in favor of his son, and, according to usage, took the title of taiko, by which name (taiko sama) he is popularly known, and by which we shall refer to him. among the coreans, even of to-day, he is remembered by the title which still inspires their admiration and terror— -kuambaku. chinese writers give a gro tesque account of hideyoshi, one of whose many names they read as ping-syew-kye. they call him " the man under a tree," in re ference to his early nickname of kinomoto. he is also dubbed " king of taiko." the jesuit missionaries speak of him in their letters as quabacundono (his lordship the kuambaku), or by one of his personal names, paxiba (hashiba). the coreans were now in a strait. though under the protec torate of china, they had been negotiating with a foreign power. how would china like this ? should they keep the entire matter secret, or should they inform their suzerain of the intended inva sion of china ? they finally resolved upon the latter course, and despatched a courier to peking. about the same time the mbs senger from eiu kiu had landed, and was on his way with the same tidings. the kiukiuan reached peking first, and the corean arrived only to confirm the news. yet, in spite of such overwhehn ing evidence of the designs of japan, the colossal " tortoise " could, at first, scarce believe " the bee " would attempt to sting. chapter xiii. the invasion— on to seoul. for the pictures of camps, fleets, the details of armory and commissariat, and all the pomp and circumstance that make up the bright side of japanese war preparations in 1591 and 1592, we are indebted, not only to the japanese writers, but to those eye witnesses and excellent "war correspondents," the portuguese missionaries then in kiushiu, and especially to friar louis frois. he tells us of the amplitude, vigor, and brilliancy of taiko's meas ures for invasion, and adds that the expenses therefor greatly burdened the " ethniques " or daimios who had to pay the cost. those feudatories, whose domain bordered the sea, had to furnish a mighty fleet of junks, while to man them, the quota of every himdred houses of the fishing population was ten sailors. the land and naval forces assembled at nagoya, in hizen, now called karatsu, and famous for being the chief place for the manu facture of hizen porcelain. here a superb castle was built, while huge inns or resting-places were erected all along the road from kioto. the armies gathered here during the war numbered 500, 000 men ; of whom 150,000 formed the army of invasion, 60,000 the first reserve, while 100,000 were set apart as taiko's body guard ; the remainder were sailors, servants, camp followers, etc. beside the old veterans were new levies of yotmg soldiers, and a corps of matchlock men, who afterward did good execution among the coreans. the possession of this new and terrible weapon gave the invaders a mighty advantage over their enemies. though firearms had been known and manufactured in japan for a half century, this was the first time they were used against for eign enemies, or on a large scale. taiko also endeavored to hire or buy from the portuguese two ships of war, so as to use their artillery ; but in this he failed, and the troops were despatched in native-buut vessels. these made a gallant display as they crowded .together by hundreds. at the signal, given by the firing of can 96 corba. non, the immense fleet hoisted sail and, under a fresh breeze, bore away to the west. their sweuing sails, made of long sections of canvass laced together, vertically, at their edges, from stem to boom (thus dif fering from the chinese, which are laced horizontally), were in scribed with immense crests and the heraldic devices of feudal ism, many feet in diameter. near the top were cross-wise bands or stripes of black. the junks of satsuma could be distinguished by the white cross in a circle ; those of higo by the broad-banded ring. on one were two crossed arrow-feathers, on others the chess-board, the " cash " coin and palm-leaves, the butterfly, the cloisonne symbol, the sun, the fan, etc. innumerable banners, gay with armorial designs or inscribed with buddhist texts, hung on their staves or fluttered gaily as flags and streamers from the mastheads. stuck into the, back of many of the distinguished veterans, or officers, were the sashi-mono, or bannerets. kato kiyomasa, being a strict buddhist, had for the distinctive blazon of his back-pennant, and on the banners of his division, the prayer and legend of his sect, the nichirenites, " namu miyo ho eenge kio " (glory to the holy lotus, or glory to the salvation-bringing book of the holy law of buddha). on the forward deck were ranged heavy shields of timber for the protection of the archers.' these, at close quarters, were to be let down and used as boarding planks, when the sword, pike, and grapphag-hook came into play. huge tassels, dangling from the prows hke the manes of horses, tossed up and down as the ships rode over the waves. each junk had a huge eye painted at the prow, to look out and find the path in the sea. with the squadron followed hundreds of junks, laden with salt meat, rice-vnne, dried fish, and rice and beans, which formed the staple of the invaders commissariat for man and horse. trans port junks, with cargoes of flints, arrows, ball, powder, wax can dles, ship and camp stores, " not forgetting a single thing," sailed soon after, as well as the craft containing horses for the cavalry. taiko did not go to corea himself, being dissuaded by his aged mother. the court also wished no weaker hand than his to hold the reins of government whue the army was on foreign shores. the men to whom he entrusted the leadership of the ex pedition, were konishi yukinaga and kato kiyomasa. to the former, he presented a fine war horse, telling him to " gallop over the bearded savages " with it, while to the latter he gave a battle flag. konishi was an impetuous young man, only twenty-three years the invasion— on to seoul. 97 of age. he -was a favorite of taiko, and sprung like tha latter from the common people, being the son of a medicine dealer. his crest or banner was a huge, stuffed, white paper bag, such as drug gists in japan use as a shop sign. in this he followed the example of his august chief, who, despising the brocade banners of the im perial generals, stuck a gourd on a pole for his colors. for every vifetory he added another gourd, until his immense cluster con tained as many proofs of victory as there are bamboo sticks in an umbrella. the " gourd-banner " became the emblem of infallible victory. konishi also imitated his master in his tactics — impetu ous attack and close following up of victory. konishi was a christian, an ardent convert to tke faith of the jesuit fathers, by whom he had been baptized in 1584. in their writings, they call him " don austin " — a contraction of augustine. other christian lords or daimios, who personally led their troops in the field with konishi, were arima, omura, amakusa, bungo, and tsushima. the personal name of the latter, a former envoy to corea, of whom we have read before, was toshitoshi. he was the son-in-law of konishi. kuroda, as mr. ernest satow has shown, is the " kondera " of the jesuit writers. kato kiyomasa was a noble, whose castle seat was at kumamoto in higo. from his youth he had been trained to war, and had a reputation for fierce bravery. it is said that kato suggested to taiko the plan of invading corea. his crest was a broad-banded circle, and his favorite weapon was a long lance with but one cross-blade instead of two. kato is the "toronosqui" of the jesuit fathers, who never weary of loading his memory with obloquy. this " vir ter execrandus " was a fierce buddhist and a bitter foe to christianity. a large number of fresh autographic writings had been made by the bonzes in the monasteries ex pressly for kato's division. the silk pennon, said to have been inscribed by nichiren himself and worn by kato during the in vasion, is now in tokio, owned by katsu awa, and is six centuries old. with such elements at work between "the two commanders, bitterness of religious rivalry, personal emulation, the desire to earn glory each for himself alone, the contempt of an old veteran for a young aspirant, harmony and unity of plan were not to be looked for. nevertheless, the personal qualities of each general were such as to inspire his own troops with the highest enthu^ siasm, and .the army sailed away fully confident of victory. 7 98 corea. f what were the objects of taiko in making this war? evi dently his original thought was to invade and humble chiaa. then followed the determination to conquer cho-sen. ambition may have led him to rival ojin tenno, who, in his mother's womb, made the conquest of shinra, and, as the deified hachiman, became the japanese god of war. lastly, the jesuit fathers saw in this expedition a plot to kill off the christian leaders in a foreign land, and thus extirpate christianity in japan. to ship the christians off to a foreign soil to die of wounds or disease, was , easier than to massacre them. they make taiko a david, and his best generals uriahs— though cohgny, slain twenty years before, might have served for a more modern illustration. certain it is that it was during the absence of the christian leaders that the severest persecutions at home took place. it is probable, also, that his jealousy of the success and consequent popularity of the christian generals created irresolution in taiko's mind, leading him to neglect the proper support of the expedition and thus to bring about a gigantic failure. finally, we must mention the theory of a japanese friend, mr. egi takato, who held that taiko, having whole armies of unem ployed warriors, all jealous of each other, was compelled, in order to ensure peace in japan, to find employment for their swords. his idea was to send them on this distant " frontier service," and give them such a taste of home-sickness that peaceful life in japan would be a desideratum ever afterward. the coreans, by their own acknowledgment, were poorly pre pared for a war with the finest soldiers in asia, as the japanese of the sixteenth century certainly were. nor had they any leader of ability to direct their efforts. their king, sien-jo, the fifteenth of the house of ni, who had already reigned twenty-six years, was a man of no personal importance, addicted entirely to his own pleasures, a drunkard, and a debauchee. though the royal pro clamation was speedily issued, calling on the people to fortify their cities, to rebuild the dilapidated castles, and to dig out the moats, long since choked by mud and vegetation, the people re sponded so slowly, that few of the fortresses were found in order when their enemies laid siege to them. "weapons were plentiful, but there were no firearms, save those presented as ciu'iosities by the taiko to the king. there was little or no military organiza tion, except on paper, while the naval defences were in a sad plight. however, they began to enroll and drill, to lay up storea the mvasion-on to seoul. 99 map of the japanese military operations of 1592, 100 corba. of fish and grain for the army, to build ships, to repair their -walls, and even to manufacture rude firearms. yet even the most despondent of the coreans never dreamed that the japanese, on their first arrival, would sweep everything before them like a whirlwind, and enter the capital within eighteen days after their landing at fusan. one of the first castles garri soned and provisioned was that of tong-nai, near fusan. on the morning of may 25, 1592, the sentinels on the coast descried the japanese fleet of eight hundred ships, containing the division of konishi. before night the invaders had disembarked, captured fusan, and laid siege to tong-nai castle, which at once surren dered. so sudden was the attack that the governor of the district, then in the city, was unable to escape. konishi, writing a letter to the king, gave it into the hands of the governor, and made him swear to deliver it safely, promising him unconditional liberty if he did so. the governor agreed, and at once set out for seoul ■ but on reaching it he simply said he had escfaped, and made no mention of the letter. his perjury was not to remain undetected, as later events proved. without an hour's delay konishi's di vision, leaving tong-nai, marched up the nak-tong valley to shang-chiu. kato's division, delayed by a storm, arrived next day. land ing immediately, he saw with chagrin the pennons of his rival fly ing from the ramparts of tong-nai. angry at being left behind by " the boy," he took the more northerly of the two routes to the capital. the two rival armies were now straining every nerve on a race to seoul, each eager to destroy all enemies on the march, and reach the royal palace first. kuroda and other generals led expeditions into the southern provinces of chuua and chung chong. these provinces being subdued, and the castles garri soned, they were to make their way to the capital. the coreans proved themselves especially good bovrmen, but inexpert at other weapons, their swords being of iron only, short, clumsy, and easily bent. their spears, or rather pikes, were shorter than the japanese, with heavy blades, from the base of which hung tassels. the iron heads were hollow at the base, forming a socket, in which the staff fitted. the japanese spear heads, on the contrary, were riveted down and into the wood, which was iron-banded for further security, making a weapon less likely to get out of order, while the blades were steel-edged. the corean cavalry had heavy, three-pronged spears, which were ex the invasion— on to seoul. 101 tremely formidable to look at, but being so heavy as to be un wieldly at close quarters, they did little execution. many of theit suits of armor were handsomely inlaid, made of iron and leather, corean knight of the sixteenth century. but less flexible and more vulnerable than those of the japanese, which were of interlaced silk and steel on a background of tough buckskin, with sleeves of chain mail. the foot soldiers on either side were incased in a combination of iron chain and plate armor. 102 corba. but the coreans had no glaves, or cross-blades on their pikes, and thus were nearly helpless against their enemy's cavalry. the japanese were smooth-shaven, and wore stout helmets, with ear guards and visors, but the coreans, with open helmets, without visors, and whiskered faces, were dubbed "hairy barbarians." they were beginning to learn the use of powder, which, however, was so badly mixed as to be exasperatingly slow in burning. their very few firearms were of the rudest and most cumbrous sort. they used on their ramparts a kind of wooden cannon, made of bamboo-hooped timber, from which they shot heavy wooden d&,rts, three feet long, pointed with sharp-bladed, y-shaped iron heads. the range of these clumsy missiles was very short. the japanese, on the contrary, had at several sieges pieces of light brass ordnance, with which they quickly cleared the walls of the castles, and then scaled them with long and light ladders, made of bamboo, and easily borne by men on a run. the japanese were not only better equipped, but their tactics were superior. their firearms frightened the corean horses, and the long spears and halberds of their cavalry were used with fearful effect while pursuing the fugitives, who were pierced or puued off their steeds, or sabred in droves. few bodies of native troops faced the inva ders in the field, while fire-arrows, gunpowder, and ladders quickly reduced the castles. not a few of the corean officers were idlled inside their fortresses by the long range fire of the sharp-shooters in the matchlock corps. the greater share of glory fell to konishi, the younger man. taking the southern route, he reached the castle of shang-chiu, in the northwestern part of kiung-sang, and captured it. leaving a garrison, he pushed on to chiun-chiu. this fortress of chiun chiu is situated in the northeastern part of chung-chong province, and on the most northerly of the two roads, over which kato was then marching. it was at that time considered to be the strongest castle in the peninsula. on it rested the fate of the capital. it lay near one of the branches of the han eiver, which flows past seoul at this point the two high roads to the capital, on which the two rivals were moving, converged so as to nearly touch. chiun chiu castle lay properly on kato's route, but konishi, being in the advance, invested it with his forces and, after a few days' siege, captured the great stronghold. the loss of the coreans thus far in the three fortresses seized by konishi, as reported by friar frois, was 5,000 men, 3,000 of whom fell at chiun-chiu; while the the invasion— on to seoul. 103 japanese had lost but 100 killed and 400 wounded. after such a yictory, " konishi determined to conquer all corea by himself." kato and his army, arriving a few days after the victory, again saw themselves outstripped. konishi's pennons floated from every tower, and the booty was already disposed of. the goal of both armies was now " the miaco of the mngly city of coray." straining every nerve, kato pressed forward so rapidly that the two divisions of the japanese army entered seoul by different gates on the same day. no resistance was offered, as the king, court, and army had evacuated the city three days before. the briuiant pageant of the japanese army, in magnificent array of gay suk and glittering armor, was lost on the empty streets of deserted seoul. when taiko heard of the success of his lieutenants in corea, especially of konishi's exploits, he was filled with joy, and cried out, "now my own son seems risen from the dead." chaptee xiy. the campaign in the nobth. the court at seoul liad been too much paralyzed by the sudden invasion to think of or carry out any effective means of resistance. konishi had sent letters from fusan and shang-chiu, but these, , through of&cial faithlessness and the accidents of war, had failed in their purpose. konishi was too fast for them. "when the news reached seoul, of the fall of chiun-chiu castle, the whole populace, from palace to hut, was seized with a panic which, iii a few hours, emptied the city. the soldiers deserted their post, and the cour tiers their ting, while the people fled to the mountains. his ma jesty resolved to go with his court into liao tung, but to send the royal princes into the northern provinces, that the people might realize the true state of affairs. so hurried were the prep arations for flight, which began june 9th, that no food was pro vided for the journey. the only horses to be obtained were farm and pack animals, as the royal stables had been emptied by the runaway soldiers. the rain fell heavily, in perpendicular streams, soon turning the roads 'to mire, and drenching the women and children. the corean dress, in wet weather, is cold and uncom fortable, and when soaked through, becomes extremely heavy, making a foot journey a severe tax on the strength. to add to the distress of the king, as the cortege passed, the people along the road clamored, with bitter tears, that they were being aban doned to the enemy. tortured with hunger and fatigue, the wretched party floundered on. their first day's journey was to sunto, or kai seng, thirty miles distant. darkness fell upon them long before they reached the ein-yin eiver, a tributary of the han, which joins it a few miles above kang-wa island. the city lay beyond it, and the crossing of the stream was done in the light of the conflagration kindled behind them. the king had ordered the torch to be applied to the barracks and fortifications which guarded the southern bank the campaign in the north. 105 of the river. another motive for this incendiary act was to de prive their pursuers of ready materials to ferry themselves across the river. it was not until near midnight that the miserable fugi tives, tortured with hunger and almost dead with fatigue, entered the city. though feeling safe for the moment, since the japanese pursuers could not cross the river without boats or rafts, most of the king's household were doomed still to suffer the pangs of hun ger. the soldiers had stolen the food provided for the party, and the king had a scant supper, while his household remained hungry imtil the next day, when some of the miutary gave them a little rice. the march was resumed on the following morning and kept up untu ping-an was reached. here they halted to await the progress of events. the king ordered his scattered forces to rally at the ein-yin river, and, on its northern bank, to make a determined stand. eato and konishi, remaining but a short time in the capital, united their divisions and pressed forward to the north. reach ing the ein-yin river, they found the corean junks drawn up on the opposite side in battle array. the japanese, being without boats, could not cross, and waited vainly during several days for something to turn up. finally they began a feigned retreat. this induced a portion of the corean army to cross the river, when the japanese turned upon them and cut them down with terrible slaughter. with the few rafts and boats used by the enemy, the japanese matchlock men rapidly crossed the stream, shot down the sailors and the remaining soldiers in the junks, and thus secured the fleet by which the whole army crossed and began the march on ping-an. the rival japanese coi&manders, kato and konishi, who had hitherto refrained from open quarrel, now found it impossible to remain longer together, and drew lots to decide their futui-e fields of action in the two northern provinces. ham-hung fell to kato, who immediately marched eastward with his division, taking the high road leading to oensan. konishi, to whom the province of ping-an fell, pushed on to ping-an city, arriving on the south bank of the river toward the end of july, or about three weeks after leaving seoul. here he went into camp, to await the reinforcements under kuroda and yoshitoshi. these soon afterward arrived, having traversed the four provinces bordering on the yellow sea. the great need of the japanese was floating material ; next to this, their object was to discover the fords of the river. on 106 corea. july 20th they made a demonstration against the fleet of junks along the front of the city, by sending out a few detachments of matchlock men on rafts. though unsuccessful, the corean king was so frightened that he fled with his suite to ai-chiu. the garrison stiu remained alert and defiant. delay made the japanese less vigilant. the corean command ers, noticing this, planned to surprise their enemy by a night attack. owing to bad management and delay, the various detach ments did not assemble on the opposite side of the river until near daylight. then forming, they charged furiously upon ko nishi's camp, and, taking his men by surprise, carried off himdreds of prisoners and horses, the cavalry suffering worse than the infan try. kuroda's division came gallantly to their support, and drove the coreans back to the river. by this time it was broad day light, and the cowardly boat-keepers, frightened at the rout of their countrymen, had pushed off into jnid-stream. hundreds of the coreans were drowned, and the main body, left in the lurch, were obliged to cross by the fords. this move gave the japanese the possession of the coveted secret. flushed with victory, the entire army crossed over later on the same day and entered the city. dispirited by their defeat, the garrison fled, after flinging their weapons into the castle moats and ditches of the city ; but all the magazines of grain, dried fish, etc., were now in the hands of the invaders. frois reports, from hearsay, that 80,000 coreans made the attack on konishi's camp, 8,000 of whoni were slain. the news of the fall of ping-an city utterly demoralized the coreans, so that, horses being still numerous, the courtiers de serted the king, and the villagers everywhere looted the stores of food provided for the army. many of the fugitives did not cease their 'flight until they had crossed the yalu kiver, and found them selves on chinese territory. these bore to the governor of liao tung province, who had been an anxious observer of events, the news of the fall of ping-an, and the irresistible character of the invasion. the main body of the corean army went into camp at sun-an, between an-ton and sun-chon. in japan, there was great rejoicing at the news received from the frontier, because, as frois wrote, konishi, " in twenty days, hath subdued so mighty a kingdom to the crown of japan." taiko sent the brilliant yoimg commander a two-edged sword and a horse — " pledges of the most peerless honor that can possibly be done to a man." the japanese soldiers felt so elated over their victory that they the campaign in thk north. 107 expected immediate orders to march into china. with this pur pose in view, konishi sent word to the fleet at fusan to sail roimd the western coast, into tar-tong eiver, in order to co-operate with the victorious forces at ping-an. had this junction taken place, it is probable china would have been invaded by japanese ar mies, and a general war between these rival nations might have map illustrating the campaign in the north, 1592-93. turned the current of asiatic history. this, however, was not to be. corean valor, with the aid of gunpowder and improved naval construction, prevented this, and kept three hundred miles of dis tance, in a mountainous country, between the japanese and their base of supplies. oriental rhetoric might describe the situation in this wise : the eastern dragon^of invasion flew across the sea in vrenged ships, and 208 cobea. speedily won the crystal of victory. but on land the dragon must go upon its belly. the corean navy snatched the jewel from the very claws of the dragon, and left it writhing and hungry. in cool western phrase, sinister, but significant, konishi was soon afterward obliged to " make a change of base." the bril liant success of the army seems to have impressed the japanese naval men with the idea that there was nothing for them to do. on the contrary, the cho-sen people set to work to improve the archi tecture of their vessels by having them double-decked. they also provided for the safety of their fighting men, by making heavy bulwarks, and rearing, along the upper deck, a line of strong planks, set edgewise, and bolted together. behind these, archers discharged their missiles without danger, while from port-holes below they fired their rude, but effective, cannon. appearing oft the inlet, in which the japanese fleet lay at anchor, they at first feigned retreat, and thus enticed their enemies into pursuit. when well out on the open sea, they turned upon their pursuers, and then their superior preparation and equipment were evident at once. lively fighting began, but this time the coreans seemed invul nerable. they not only gained the advantage by the greater length of their lances and grappling-hooks, with which, using them like long forks, they pulled their enemies into the sea, but they sunk a number of the japanese junks, either by their artil lery or by ramming them with their prows. the remnant of the beaten fleet crept back to fusan, and au hope of helping the army was given up. the moral effect of the victory upon the corean people was to inspire them to sacrifice and resistance, and in many skirmishes they gained the advantage. they now awaited hopefuuy the approach of chinese reinforcements. to the chinese it seemed incredible that the capture of the strongest castles, the capital, and the chief northern city, could be accompushed without the treasonable connivance of the coreans. in order to satisfy his own mind, the chinese mandarin sent a spe cial agent into corea to examine and report. the government at peking were even more suspicious, but after some hesitation, they despatched, not without misgiving, a smau. body of chinese sol diers to act as a body-g^ard to the corean king. these braves crossed the frontier ; but while on their way to ping-an, heard ot the fall of the city, and, facing about, marched back into liao tung. the king and the fragments of his court nc^w sent courier the campaign in the north. 109 after courier with piteous appeals to peking for aid, even offering to become the subjects of china ta return for succor rendered. a force of 5,000 men was hastily recruited in liao tung, who marched rapidly into corea. early in august the japanese pick ets first descried the yellow silk banners of the chinese host. these were inscribed with the two characters tai-miag (great brightness), the distinctive blazon of the ming dynasty. for the first time, in eight centuries, the armies of the rival nations were to meet in pitched battle. the chinese seemed confident of success, and moved to the attack on ping-an with neither wariness nor fear. having in vested the city, they began the assault on august 27tl the japanese allowed them to enter the city and become entan gled in its narrow lanes. they then attacked them from ad vantageous positions, which they had occupied previously, assail ing them with showers of arrows, and charging them with their long lances. one body of the miag soldiers attempted to scale the wall of a part of the fortifications, which seemed to have been neglected by the japanese, when near the top, the whole face of the castle being covered with climbing men, the garrison, rushing from their hiding-places, tumbled over or speared their enemies, who fell down and into the mass of their comrades below. those not killed by thrusts or the fall, were shot by the gunners on the ramparts, and the chinese now received into their bosoms a shower of lead, agaiast which their armor of hide and iron was of slight avail. in this fight the ming commander was slain. the rout of the chinese army was so complete, that the fugitives never ceased their retreat until safely over the border, and iato china. the government at peking now began to understand the power of the enemy with whom they had to deal. an army of 40,000 men was raised to meet the invaders, and, in order to gain time, a man, named chin ikei, was sent, independently of the coreans, to treat with konishi and propose peace. some years before the japanese pirates had carried off a chinaman to japan, where he was kept captive for many years. eetuining to china, he made the acquaintance of chin ikei, and gave him much information concerning the country and people of his captivity. chin ikei was evidently a mercenary adventurer, who could talk japanese, and hoped for honors and promotion by acting as a go-between. he had no commission or any real authority. the chinese seem to have used bitn only as a cat's-paw. 110 corea. arriving at the corean camp, at sun-an, early in october, and fully trusting the honor of the japanese commander. chin ikei ventured, in spite of the warnings of the frightened coreans, and to their intense admiration, within the japanese lines, and had a conference with konishi, yoshitoshi, and gensho. the chinese agent agreed to proceed to peking, and, returning to ping-an ai'ter fifty days, to report the approval or disapproval of his government. to this konishi agreed, and there was a truce. the conditions of peace, insisted on by konishi, were that the japanese ancient ter ritory in the peninsula, namely, those portions covered by the old states of shinra and hiaksai, should be dehvered over to japan, to be held as vassal provinces. this demand virtually claimed all corea south of the ta-tong eiver, in right of ancient possession and recent conquest and occupation. arriving in peking, chin ikei found the chinese army nearly ready to march, and, as their government disowned his right to treat with the japanese, nothing, except the time gained for the chinese, resulted from the negotiations. meanwhile kato kiyo masa, with his troops, had overran the whole extent of ham kiung, the longest and largest province of corea, occupying also parts of kang-wen. no great pitched battle in force was fought, but much hard fighting took place, and many castles were taken after bloody sieges. in one of these, the two royal princes, sent north by their father on his flight from seoul, and many men of rank were captured. among his prisoners, was " a yotmg girl re puted to be the most beautiful in the whole kingdom." in the pursuit of the fugitives the japanese were often led into wild and lonely regions and into the depths of trackless mountains and for ests, in which they met, not only human foes, but faced the tiger disturbed from his lair. they were often obhged to camp in places where these courageous beasts attacked the sentries or the sleeping soldiers. kato himself slew a tiger with his lance, after a desperate struggle. after a hard campaign, the main body of the troops fixed their camp at am-pen, near gensan, but closer to the southern border of the province. nabushima's camp was in kang-wen, three days' jourhey distant. from a point on the sea coast near by, in fair weather, the island cone of dagelet is visible. to the question of kato, some corean prisoners falsely answered that this was fujiyama — the worshipped mountain of the home-land, and " the thing of beauty and a joy forever " to the japanese peo ple. immediately the japanese reverently uncovered their heads the campaign in the north. ill and, kneeling on the strand, gazed long and lovingly witli home sick hearts — a scene often portrayed in japanese decorative art. thus the year 1592 drew near its close ; the japanese, neces sarily inactive, and the spirit of patriotism among the coreans rising. collecting local volunteer troops and forming guerilla bands, they kept the japanese camps, along the road from fusan to ping-an, constantly vigilant. they ferreted out the spies who had kept the japanese informed of what was going on, and promptly cut off their heads. isolated from au communication, konishi remained in ignorance of the immense chinese army that was marching against him. the discovery, by the japanese, of the existence of the regular chinese troops in corea, was whouy a matter of accident. according to chinese report, the commander of the ming army, li-yu-son (japanese, ei jo sho), was a valiant hero fresh from mighty victories over the rising manchiu tribes in the north. the march of his host of 60,000 men through liao tung in vyinter, especially over the mountain passes, was a severe one, and the horses are said to have sweated blood. evi dently the expectation of the leader was to drive out the inva ders and annex the country to china. "when the corean moun tains appeared, as they reached the yalu eiver, the leader cried out, " there is the place which it depends on our valor to recover as our hereditary possessions." on the sixth day, after crossing the frontier, he arrived at sun-an. it was then near the last of janu ary, 1592, and the new year was close at hand. word was sent to konishi that chin ikei had arrived and was ready to reopen negotiations, with a favorable reply. konishi promptly despatched a captain, with a guard of twenty men, to meet chin ikei and escort him within the lines. it being new tear's day, february 2, 1593, the guard sallied out amid the rejoicings of their comrades who, tired of desolate cho-sen, longed for peace and home. the treach erous chinamen received the japanese with apparent cordiality, and feasted them until they were well drunk. then the unsuspi cious japanese were set upon while their swords were undrawn in their scabbards. ah were killed except two or three. accord ing to another account, they fell into an ambuscade, and fought so bravely that only three were taken alive. from the surviyors konishi first learned of the presence of the ming army. the pre text, afterward given by the lying chinaman, was that the inter preters misunderstood each other, and began a quarrel. the gravity of the situation was now apparent. a chinese army, of 112 corea. whose numbers the japanese were ignorant, menaced them in front, while all around them the natives were gathering in niun bers and in courage to renew the struggle for their homes and country. the new army from china was evidently well equipped, disciplined, and supplied, while the japanese forces were far in an enemy's coimtry, distant from their base of supphes, and with a desolate territory in the rear. under this gloomy aspect of affairs, the faces of the soldiers wore a dispirited air. konishi's alternative lay between the risk of a battle and re treat to kai-seng. he was not long in resolving on the former course, for, in six days afterward, the ming host, gay with gleam . ing arms, bright trappings, and dragon-bordered silk banners, appeared within sight of the city's towers. konishi anxiously watched their approach, having posted his little force to the best advantage. the city was defended on the west by a steep moun tainous ridge, on the north by a hiu, and on the south by a river. the japanese occupying the rising groimd to the north, which they had fortified by earthworks and palisades. at break of day, on february 10th, the allies began a furious assault along the whole line. the japanese at first drove back their besiegers with their musketry fire, but the chinese, with theii scaling ladders, reached the iaside of the works, where their num bers told. when night fell on the second day of the siege, au the outworks were in their possession, and nearly two thousand of the japanese lay dead. the citadel seemed now an easy prize to the corean generals ; but the chinese commander, seeing -that the japanese were preparing to defend it to the last, and that his own men were exhausted, gave the order to return to camp, expecting to renew the attack next morning. konishi had despatched a courier to otomo, the japanese offi cer in command at hozan, a small fortress in whang-hai, to come to his aid. so far from obeying, the latter, frightened at the exaggerated reports of the numbers of the chinese, evacuated his post and marched back to seoul. unable to obtain succor from the other garrisons, and having lost many men by battle and dis ease, while many more were disabled by wounds and sickness, konishi gave orders to retreat. one of his bravest captains was put in command of the rear-guard, and the castle was silently de serted at midnight. in this masterly retreat, httle was left behind but corpses. crossing, upon the ice, the river, which was then frozen many feet in thickness, their foes were soon left behind. thr campaign in the north. 113 next day the allied army, surprised at seeing no enemy to meet them, entered the castle, finding neither man nor spoil of any kind. the coreans wished to pursue their enemy, but the chinese com mander, not only forbade it, but glad of a pretext by which he could shift the blame on some other person, cashiered the corean general for allowing the japanese to escape so easily. konishi, without stopping at kai-seng, was thus enabled to reach seoul[ now the headquarters of all the invading forces. fuuy expecting the early advance of the chinese, the men were now set to work in fortifying the city. in the flush of success, li-yu-sung, the ming commander, sent an envoy with a haughty summons of surrender to kato and na blshima. to this kato answered in a tone of defiance, guarded his noble prisoners more vigilantly, and with his own hand, ia sight of the envoy, put the beautiful corean girl to death, by transfixing her, with a spear, from waist to shoulder, while bound to a tree. he immediately sent reinforcements to the castle of kie-chiu, then threatened by the enemy. the corean patriots, who organized snlau detachments of troops, began to attack or repel the invaders in several places, and even to lay siege to castles occupied by japanese wherever they suspected the garrison was weak. the possession of a few firearms and even rude artillery made them very daring. they compelled the evacuation of one fortress held by kato's men by the following means. a corean, named eichosuu, says a japanese author, in vented bombs, or smn-ten-rai (literally, heaven-shaking thunder), containing poison. going secretly to the foot of the castle, he dis charged the bombs out of a cannon into the castle. as soon as they fell or touched anything they burst and emitted poisonous gas, and every one within reach fell dead. the first of these balls fell into the garden of the castle, and the japanese soldiers did not know what it was. they gathered around to examine it, and while doing so, the powder in the ball exploded. the report shook heaven and earth. the ball was rent into a thousand pieces, which scattered like stars. every man that was hit instantly fell, and thus more than thirty men were killed. even those who were not struck fell down stxinned, and the soldiers lost their courage. many balls were after ward thrown in, which finally compelled the evacuation of the castle. from the above account it seems that the coreans actually in vented bombs similar to the modem iron shells. they may have been fired from a heavy wooden cannon, a sort of howitzer, made 8 114 corea. by boring out a section of tree ti-unk and hooping it along its whole length with stout bamboo. such camion are often used in japan. they wul shoot a ten or twenty pound rocket or case of fireworks many hundred feet ia the air. the corean most proba bly selected a spot so distant from the castle that a sortie for its capture could not be successfully made. corean gunpowder is proverbially slow in burning, which accounts for the fact that the japanese had time to gather round it. the bomb was most proba bly a thin shell of iron, loaded only with gunpowder, which, like the chiuese mixture, contains an excess of sulphui-. the mditary cus toms of the japanese required every man disabled by a wound to commit hara-kiri, so that the number of actual deaths must have been swelled by the suicides that followed wounds inflicted by the iron fragments. the japanese were so completely demoralized that they evacuated the castle. two other castles at kiazan and kishiu, being beleagured by the patriots, eato started to succor the slender garrisons. the coreans, he^riug this, redoubled their efforts to capture them before kato should arrive. they had so far succeeded that the japanese officer in the citadel; having lost nearly all his men, went into the keep, or fireproof storehouse, in the centre of the castle, and opened hk. bowels, preferring to die by ha own hands rather than allow a corean the satisfaction, of koling him. just at that moment the black rings of kato's banners appeared in sight. the coreans, setting the castle on fire, and giving loud yells of defiance and victory, disappeared. kato and nab^shimahad received an urgent message from seoul to come with their troops, and thus unite au the japanese forces in a stand against the chinese. kato disliked exceedingly to obey this order because he knew it came from konishi, but he finally set out to march across the country. thorough discipline was maintained on the march, and the rivers were safely crossed. cutting down trees, the soldiers, in companies of five or ten, hold ing on abreast of logs, forded or floated over the most impetuous torrents, while the cavalry kept the coreans at bay. though an noyed by attacks of guerilla parties on their flanks, the japanese succeeded in reaching seoul without serious loss. by the retreat of the japanese armies, and their concentration in seoul, the four northern provinces, comprising half the king dom, were virtually lost to them. at the fall of ping-an the war found its pivot, for the japanese never again retrieved their for times in cho-sen. chaptee xv. the betrbat prom seoul. the allies, after looking well to their commissariat, began their march on seoul, about the middle of february, witji forces which the japanese believed to number two hundred thousand men. the light cavalry formed the advance guard. the maia body, after floundering through the muddy roads, arrived, on february 26th, about forty mues northwest of seoul. in the first skirmish, which took place near the town shortly afterward, the allies drove back the japanese advance detachment with heavy loss. li-yo-sun, the commander-in-chief, now ordered the army to move against the capital. in the council of war, held by the japanese generals, ishida, who, uke konishi, was a christian in faith, advised the evacuation of seoul. this, of course, provoked kato, who rose and angrily said : " it is a shame for us to give up the capital before we have seen even a single banner of the ming army. the coreans and our people at home wiu call us cowards, and say we were afraid of the chinamen." hot words then passed between the rival generals, but otani and others made peace between them. au concluded that, in order to guard against treason, the coreans in the capital must be removed. thereupon, large portions of the city were set on fire, and houses, gates, bridges, public and private buildings, were soon a level waste of ashes. the people, old and yoimg, of both sexes, sick and well, were driven out at the poiat of the lance. to the stern necessities of war were added the needless carnage of massacre, and hundreds of harmless natives were cruelly mur dered. only a few lusty men, to be used as laborers and burden bearers, were spared. years after, the memory of this frightful and inhuman slaugh ter, burdeniag the conscience of many a japanese soldier, drove him a penitent suppliant into the monasteries. there, exiled from the world, with shaven head and priestly robe, he spent his days 116 corba. in fasting, vigils, and prayers for pardon, seeking to obtain nii- vana with the eternal buddha. meanwhile the work of fortification went on. the advance guard of the chinese host were now within a few miles of the city, and daily skirmishes took place. the younger japanese officers clamored to lead the van against the chinese, but kobayikawa, an elderly general, was allowed to arrange the order of battle, and the japanese army marched out from the capital to the attack in three divisions, kobayekawa leading the third, or main body of ten thousand men, the others having only three thousand each. in the battle that ensued the japanese were at first unable to hold then ground against the overwhelming forces of their enemies. the chi nese and coreans drove back their first and second divisions with heavy loss. then, thinking victory certain, they began a pursuit with both foot soldiers and cavalry, which led them into disorder and exhausted their strength. when well wearied, kobayekawa, having waited tiu they were too far distant from their camp to receive reinforcements, led his division in a charge against the allies. the battle then became a hand-to-hand fight on a gigantic scale. the chinese were armed maialy with swords, which were short, heavy, and double-edged. the allies had a large number of cavalrj' en gaged, but the ground being miry from the heavy rains, they were unable to form or to charge with effect. their advantage in other respects was more than counterbalanced by the length of the japan ese swords, the strength of their armor, and their veteran valor and coolness. even the foot soldiers wielded swords having blades usually two, but sometimes three and four, feet long. the japanese have ever prided themselves upon the length, slendemess, temper, and keen edge of their blades, and look with immeasured contempt upon the short and clumsy weapons of the continental asiatics. they proudly call their native land " the country ruled by a slender sword." marvellous in wonder and voluminousness are their legends, literature, and exact history concerning ken (two-edged, short falchion), and katana (two-handed and single-edged sabre). in this battle it was the sword alone that decided the issue, though firearms lent their deadly aid. the long, cross-bladed spears of their foot soldiers were also highly effective, first, in warding off the sabre strokes of the chinese cav alry, and then unhorsing them, either by thrust or grapple. one general of high rank was pulled off his steed and kiued. the japanese leaders were in their best spirits, as well as in the retreat prom seoul. 117 their finest equipments. one was especially noticeable by ms gilded helmet that flashed and towered conspicuously. it was probably that of kato, whose head-gear was usually of incredible height and dazzling splendor. after a long struggle and frightful slaughter, the allies were beaten back in confusion. ten thousand chinese and coreans, according to japanese accounts, were slaughtered on this bloodiest day and severest pitched battle of the first invasion. the chinese suffered heavily in oflacers, and their first taste of war in the field with such veterans as the soldiers of taiko was discouraging in the extreme. li-yo-sun drew off his forces and soon after retired to sunto. not knowing that kato had got into seoul, and feariag an attack from the rear, on piag-an, he drew off his main body to that city, leaving a garrison at sunto. tired, disgusted, and scared, the redoubtable chinaman, like " the beaten soldier that fears the top of the tau grass,' sent a lying report to peking, exaggerating the numbers of the japanese, and asking for release from command, on the usual oriental plea of poor health. as for the japanese, they had lost so heavily in killed, that they were unable to fouow up. the victory, if victory it may be called. a small force, however, pressed forward and occupied kai-jo, while the maui body prepared to pass a miserable winter in the desolate capital. the corean stronghold of an-am was also assaulted. this cas tle was built on a precipitous steep, having but one gate and fiank capable of access, and that being a narrow, almost perpendicular, cutting through the rocks. the attacking force entered the gloomy valley shut in from light by the luxuriant forest, which darkened the path even in the daytime. at the tops, and on the ledges of the rooks beetling over the entrance-way, the corean archers took up advantageous positions, while others of the garri son, with huge masses of rock and timber piled near the ledge,, stood ready to hurl these upon the invaders. awaiting in silence the approach of their enemies, they soon saw the japanese fan-standards and papei'-strip banners approach, when these were directly beneath them, every bow twanged, and a shower of arrows rained upon the invaders, while voueys of stones feu into their ranks, crushing heads and helmets together. the besiegers were compelled to draw off and arrange a new attack ; but in the night the garrison withdrew. next day the japanese en tered, garrisoned the castle, and decorated it with their streamers. 118 corba. the long-continued abandonment of the soil, owing to the war and the presence of three large armies, jbore their natural fruits, and turned fertile corea into a land of starvation. famine began its ravages of death on friend and foe alike. the peasants peti tioned their government for food, but none was to be had. thou sands of the poor people died of starvation. the fathers suffered in camp, while the dead mothers lay unburied in the houses, and the children, tortured with himger, cried for food. one day a captain in the chinese army found, by the roadside, an emaciated infant vainlyseekiag for nourishment from the cold and rigid breast of its dead mother. touched vrith compassion, the warrior took the child and reared him to manhood under his own care. some rice was distributed to the wretched people from the government store-houses in certain places, but still the groans and cries of the starving filled the air. pestilence entered the japan ese camp, and thousands of the home-sick soldiers died iaglori ously. the long wiater rains made the living despondent and gloomy enough to commit hara-kiri, while the state of the roads and the dashing courage of the guerillas, who pushed their raids to the very gates of the camps, made foraging an unpopular duty among the men. in such discomfort, winter wore away, and tardy spring approached. in this state of affairs the japanese were wiuing to listen, and the allies ready to offer, terms of peace. a corean soldier, named eijunchin, by permission of his superior officer, had penetrated into seoul to visit the two captive princes. on his return to the camp, he stated that the japanese generals were very homesick and heartily tired of the war. at the same time, a letter was received from konishi, stating his readiness to receive terms of peace. chin ikei was again chosen to negotiate. beaching the japanese lines at kai-jo, he held an interview with konishi, and the following points of agreement were made : 1. peace between the three countries. 2. japan to remain in possession of the three southern prov inces of cho-sen. 3. corea to send tribute to japan as heretofore. 4. hidgyoshi to be recognized as king of corea. the three other articles drawn up were not made public, but the acknowl edgment of taiko as the equal of the emperor of china was evi dently one of them. the japanese, on their part, were to return the two captive princes, withdraw au their armies to fusan, and evacuate the coimtry when the stipulations were carried out. the retreat from seoul. 119 both parties were weary of the war. the ming commander had requested to be relieved of his command and to return to china, while the three old gentlemen, who were mihtary advisers in the japanese camp, yearning for the pleasures of kioto, wrote to taiko, asking leave to come home, telling him -the object of his ambition was on the eve of attainment, and that he was to receive investiture from the chinese emperor, and recognition as an equal. scholarship and literature were not at a very high premium at that time among the japanese military men. the martial virtues and accomplishments occupied the time and thoughts of the war riors to the exclusion of book learning and skill at words. the sword for the soldier, and the pen for the priest, was the rulei the bluff warrior in armor looked with contempt, not unmingled vdth awe, upon the shaven-pated man of ink and brush. one of the bonzes from the monastery was usually of necessity attached to the service of each commsmder. it was by reason of the ignorance, as well as the vanity, of the illiterate japanese generals that such a mistake, in supposing that taiko was to be recognized as equal to the emperor of china, was rendered possible. the wily chin ikei, who drove a lucrative trade as negotiator, hoodwinked konishi, who would not have been thus outwitted if he had had a bonze present to inspect the writing. being a christian, however, he was on bad terms with the bonzes. in both camps there were those who bitterly opposed any peace short of that which the sword decided. the corean gen erals chafed at the time wasted in parley, and wished to march on the japanese at once, whose ranks they knew were decimated with sickness, and their spirit and discipline relaxed under the idea of speedy return home. an epidemic had also broken out among their horses, probably owing to scant provender. thus crippled and demoralized, victory would certainly follow a well planned attack in force. within the camp of the invaders achil les and agamemnon were as far as ever from harmony. kato sullenly refused to entertain the idea of peace, partly because konishi proposed it, but mainly because, if the two princes were given up, his achievements would be brought to naught, and all the glory of the war would redound to his rival. only af ter the earnest representation by his friends of the empty gran aries, and the danger of impending starvation, the great sickness among the troops, and the fearful loss of horses, was he in 120 corea. dueed to agree with the other commanders that seoul should be evacuated. meanwhile, the allies were advancing toward the capital. on may 22, 1593, the japanese, with due precautions, evacua ted the city, ajid the vanguard of the chinese army entered on the same day. the retreat of the japanese was effected in good order, and, to guard against treachery, they bivouacked in the open air, avoiding sleeping in the houses or villages, and rigidly kept up the vigilance of their sentinels and the discipline of the divisions. in this way the various detachments of the army safely reached pusan, tong-nai, kinka, and other places near the coast. here, after fortifying their camps, they rested for a space from the alarms of war, almost within sight of their native land. the allies later on marched southward and went into camp a few leagues to the northward. siace crossing the yalu eiver, the chinese had lost by the sword and disease twenty thousand men. chaptek xvi. cespedes, the christian chaplain. the aspect of affairs had now changed from that of a trium phal march through corea into china and to peking, to long and tedious camp ufe, with uncertain fortunes in the field, which prom ised a long stay in the peniasula. konishi had now breathing time and space for reflection. being an ardent christian — after the faith and practice of the portuguese jesuits — he wished for him seh and his feuow-believers the presence and ministrations of one of the european friars to act as chaplain. he therefore sent, prob ably when at or near fusan, a message to the superior of the mission in japan, asking for a priest. , toward the end of 1593, the vice-protengal of the company of the jesuits despatched father gregorio de cespedes and a japan ese convert named "foucan eion " to the army in cho-sen. they left japan and spent the winter in tsushima, the domain of yoshi toshi, one of the christian lords then in the field. early iu the spring of 1594 they reached corea, arriving at camp comangai (most probably a name given by the japanese after the famous hero ku magaye), at which konishi made his headquarters. the two holy men immediately began their labors among the japanese armies. they went from castle to castle, and from camp to camp, preach ing to the pagan soldiers, and administering the rite of baptism to all who professed the faith, or signed themselves with the cross. they administered the sacraments to the christian japanese, com forted and prayed with the sick, reformed abuses, assisted the wounded, and shrived the dying. new converts were made and old ones strengthened. dying in a foreign land, of fever or of wounds, the soul of the japanese man-at-arms was comforted with words of hope from the lips of the foreign priest. held before his glazing eyes gleamed the crucifix, on which appeared the image of the world's eedeemer. the home-sick warrior, pining for wife and babe, was told of the " house not made with hands." 122 corba. the two brethren seem to have been very popular among the japanese soldiers. perhaps they already dreamed of planting the faith in corea, when, suddenly, their work was arrested at its height by kato, whose jealousy of konishi was only equalled by his fanati cal zeal for the buddhist faith. being in japan he denounced the foreign priest to taiko, declaring that these zealous endeavors to propagate the christian faith only concealed a vast conspiracy against himself and the power of the mikado. at this time taiko was dealing with the jesuits in japan, and endeavoring to rid the coimtry of their presence by shipping them ofif to china. he fully believed that they were political as well as religious emissa ries, and that their aim was at temporal power. these suspicions, as every student of japan knows, were more than well founded. besides accusing cespedes, kato insinuated that konishi him self was leading the conspiracy. the cry of cho-tski (rebel, or enemy of the mikado) in japan is enough to blacken the character of the bravest man and greatest favorite. treason against the mi kado being the supreme crime, konishi found it necessary to return to kioto, present himself before taiko, and cleanse his repu tation even from suspicion. this the luu in the active operations, occasioned by the negotiations of chin ikei, enabled him to do. immediately sending back the priest, he shortly afterward crossed the straits, and, meeting taiko, succeeded in fuuy ingrati ating himself and allaying all suspicion. the wife of konishi had also embraced the christian faith, her baptized name being marie. to her, while in camp, he had sent two corean lads, both of whom were of rank and gentle blood, the elder being called in the letters of the jesuits " secretary to the corean king." he was the son of a brave captain in the army, and was thirteen years old. the lady, marie, touched by their misfortune, kept the younger to be educated in the faith under her ovsm direction, and sent the elder to the jesuit seminary in kioto. of this young man's career we catch some glimpses from the letters of the missionaries. at the college he was a favorite, by reason of his good character, gentle manners, and fine mind. professing the faith, he was baptized in 1603, taking the name of vincent. he began his rehgious work by instructing and cate chising japanese and his numerous fellow coreans at nagasaki. when about thirty-three years old, the jesuits, wishing to estab lish a mission in corea, proposed to send him to his native land as missionary ; but not being able, on account of the persecution cespbde8, the christian chaplain. 123 then raging in japan, he was chosen by the father provencal to go to peking, communicate with the jesuits there, and enter corea from china. at peking he remained four years, being unable to enter his own country by reason of the manchius, who then held control of the northern provinces of manchuria and were advancing on peking, to set on the throne that family which is stiu the ruling dynasty of the middle kingdom. vincent was recalled to japan in 1620, where, in the persecutions under lygmitsti, the third to kugawa sho-gun, he fell a victim to his fidelity, and was martyr ized in 1625, at the age of about forty-four. warned of the dangers of patronizing the now proscribed relig ion, there was no farther return of zeal on konishi's part, or that of the other christian princes, and no farther opportunity was given to plant the seeds of the faith in the desolated land. of the large numbers of corean prisoners sent over to japan, from time to time, many of those living in the places occupied by the missionaries became christians. many more were sold as slaves to the portuguese. in nagasaki, of the three hundred or more living there, most of them were converted and baptized. they easily learned the japanese language so as to need no inter preter at the confessional — a fact which goes to prove the close afiinity of the two languages. others, of gentle blood and scholarly attainments, rose to posi tions of honor and eminence under the government, or in the households of the daimios. many corean lads were adopted by the returned soldiers or kept as servants. "when the bloody per secutions broke out, by which many thousand japanese found death in the hundred forms of torture which hate and malice in vented, the corean converts remained steadfast to their new-found faith, and suffered martyrdom vrith fortitude equal to that of their japanese brethren. but, by the army in corea, or by cespedes, no seed of christianity was planted or trace of it left, and its in troduction was postponed by providence until two centuries later. chaptee xvn. diplomacy at kioto and peking. the chinese ambassadors, -with whom was chin ikei, set sail from fusan, and reached nagoya, in hizen, on june 22d. taiio received them in person, and entertained them in magnificent style. his lords imitated the august example set them, and both presents and attentions were showered upon the guests. among other entertainments in their honor was a naval review, in which hundreds of ships, decorated with the heraldry of feudausm, were ranged in line. the boats moved in procession ; the men, standing up as they worked the sculls, sang in measured chorus. the sheaves of glittering weapons, spears, and halberds arranged at their bows, were inlaid with gold and pearl. the cabins were arranged with looped brocades and striped canvas, with huge crests and imperial chrysanthemums of colossal size. the am bassadors were dehghted, both with the lovely scenery and the attentions paid them, and so remained until august. little, however, came of this mission. taiko sent orders to kato to release the corean princes and nobles ; and chin ikei, who usually went off hke a clumsy blunderbuss, at half-cock, hied back to cho-sen to teu the news and get the credit of having se cured this concession. the coreans were made to bear the blame of the war, and the envoys of china, in good humor, returned to peking in company with a japanese ambassador. yet taiko, though willing to be at peace with china, did not intend to spare unhappy cho-sen. to soothe the spirit of kato, the order was given to capture the castle of chin-chiu, forty miles west of fusan, which had not yet been taken by the japanese, though once before invested. alarmed at the movements of the invaders, the coreans tried to revictual and garrison the devoted fortress, and even to attack the enemy on the way. unable, however, to make a stand against their foes, they were routed with frightful carnage. kato led diplomacy at kioto and peking. 125 the besieging force, eager to make speedy capture so as to irritate the coreans and prevent the peace he feared. he invested the castle which the coreans had not been able to reinforce, but the vigorous resistance of the garrison, who threw stones and timber upon the heads of his assaulting parties, drove him to the invention of kame-no-kosha, or tortoise-shell wagons, which imitated the defensive armor of that animal. couectiag together several hundred green hides, and dry-hardening them in the fire, he covered four heavily built and slant-roofed wagons with them. these vehicles, proof against fire, missiles, or a crush ing weight, and filled with soldiers, were pushed forward to the foot of the walls. while the matchlock men in the lines engaged those fighting on the ramparts, the soldiers, under the projecting sheds of the tortoise wagons, that jutted against the walls, began to dig under the foundations. these being undermined, the stones were pried out, and soon fell in sufficient number to cause a breach. into this fresh soldiers rushed and quickly stormed the castle. the slaughter inside was fearful. the news of the fall of this most important fortress fell like a clap of thunder in peking, and upon the corean king, who was pre paring to go back to seoul. the chinese government appointed fresh commissioners of war, and ordered the formation of a new and larger army. the immediate advance of the invaders on the capital was ex pected, but kato, having obeyed taiko's orders, left a garrison in the castle and fell back on pusan. the chinese general, upbraiding chin ikei for his insincerity, sent him to konishi again. their interview was taken up mainly with mutual charges of bad faith. chin ikei, returning, tried to persuade the chinese commander to evacuate corea, or, at least, retire to the frontier. though he refused, being stul imder orders to fight, the chinese army moved back from seoul toward man churia, while konishi, on his own responsibility, despatched a letter to the chinese emperor. large detachments of the japanese army actually embarked at pusan, and returned to japan. in the luu of hostilities, negotiations were carried on at peking and kioto, as well as between the hostile camps. the pen took the place of the matchlock, and the ink-stone furnished the ammimi tion. a son was bom to taiko, and named hidgyori. a great pag eant, in honor of the infant, was given at the newly built and 136 corba. splendid castle of fushimi, near kioto, which was graced by a large number of the commanders and veterans of corea, who had returned home on furlough, while negotiations were pending. the result of the japanese mission to peking was the despatch of an ambassador exteaordinary, named bishosei, with one of lesser rank, to japan, by way of fusan. on his arrival, he requested to see konishi, who, however, evaded him, excusing himself on the plea of expecting to hear from taiko, after which he promised to hold an interview. ko nishi then departed for japan, taking chin ikei with him. on his return he still avoided the chinese envoy, for he had no defin ite orders, and the other generals refused to act without direct word from their master in kioto. meanwhile chin ikei, consumed with jealousy, and angry at the peking mandarins for ignoring him and withholding official recognition and honors, planned re venge against eishosei ; for chin ikei believed himsek to have done great things for cho-sen and china, and yet he had received neither thanks, pay, nor promotion for his toils, while eishosei, though a young man, with no experience, was honored with high office solely on account of being of rank and in official favor at peking. evidently with the intent of injuring eishosei, chin ikei gave out that taiko did not wish to be made king of cho-sen, but had sent an envoy to china merely to have a high ambassador of china come to japan, that he might insult or rather return the insult of the sovereign of china, in the person of his envoy, by making him a prisoner or putting him to death. konishi and chin ikei again crossed to japan to arrange for the reception of the chinese envoys. the reports started by chin ikei, coming to the ears of eisho sei, so frightened him that he fled in disguise from fusan, and absconded to china. his colleague denoujiced him as a coward, and declaring that the chinese government desired only " peace with honor," sailed with his retinue and two corean officers to japan. "and satan [chin ikei], came also among them." ah landed safely at sakai, near ozaka, october 8, 1596. audience was duly given with pomp and grandeur in the gor geous castle at fushimi, on october 24th. the ambassador brought the imperial letter, the patent of rank, a golden seal, a crown, and silk-embroidered robes of state. at a banquet, given next day, these robes were worn by taiko and his officers. formalities over, the ming emperor's letter was delivered to diplomacy at kioto and peking. 127 taiko, who at once placed it in the hands of three of the most learned priests, experts in the chinese language, and ordered them to translate its contents hterauy. to konishi, then at kioto, came misgiviags of his abilities as a diplomatist. visiting the bonzes, he earnestly begged them to soften into polite phrase anything in. the letter that might irritate tedko. but the priests were inflexibly honest, and rendered the text of the letter into the exact japanese equivalent. in it the patent of nobility first granted to the ashikaga sho-gun (1403 1425) was referred to; and the gist of this last imperial letter was : " we, the emperor of china, appoint you, taiko, to be the king of japan" (nippon o). in other words, the mighty kuam baku of japan was insulted by being treated no better than one of the ashikaga generals ! this was the mouse that was bom from so great a mountain of diplomacy. the rage of taiko was so great that, with his own hands, he would have slain konishi, had not the bonzes plead for his hfe, claiming that the responsibility of the negotiations rested upon three other prominent persons. as usual, the "false-hearted coreans " were made to bear the odium of the misunderstanding. the chinese embassy, dismissed in disgrace, returned in janu ary, 1596, and made known their humiliation at peking ; while the king of corea, who had been living in seoul during the ne gotiations, appealed at once for speedy aid against the impending invasion. hideyoshi again apphed himseh with renewed vigor to raising and druling a new army, and ■ obtaining ships and sup phes. a grand review of the forces of invasion, consisting of one hundred and sixty-three thousand horse and foot soldiers, was held under his inspection. kuroda, nagamasa, and other generals, with their divisions, sailed away for fusan, january 7, 1597, and joined the army under konishi and kato. the new levies from china, which had been waiting under arms, crossed the yalu and entered from the west at about the same time. marching dovm through ping-an and seoul, a divi sion of ten thousand garrisoned the castle of nan-on, in chuha. the coreans, meanwhile, fitted out a fleet, under the command of genkai, expecting a second victory on the water. an extinguisher was put on chin ikei, who was suspected of being in the pay of konishi. genkai, a chinese captain, had long believed him to be a dangerous busybody, without any real powers from the peking government, but only used by them as a decoy 128 corba. duck, while, in reality, he was in the pay of the japanese, and the chief hinderance to the success of the allied arms. on the other hand, this volunteer politician, weary and disappointed at not re ceiving from china the high post and honors which his ambition coveted, was in a strait. taiko urged him to secure from china the claim of japan to the southern half of corea. china, on the contrary, ordered him to induce the japanese generals to leave the country. thus situated, chin ikei knew not what to do. he sent a message, through a priest, to kato, urging him to make peace or else meet an army of one htuidred thousand chinamen. the laconic reply of the japanese was : " i am ready to fight. let them come." bluffed in his last move, and aware of the plots of genkai, his enemy. chin ikei, at his wits' end, resolved to escape to konishi's camp. the spies of genkai immediately reported the fact to their master, who lay in wait for him. suddenly confronting his vic tim, they demanded his errand. " i am going to treat with kato, the japanese general ; i shau be back in one month," answered chin ikei. he was seized and, on being led back, was thrown into prison. a searching party was then despatched at once to his house. there they found gold, treasure, and jewels " moun tain high," and his wife living in luxury. believing all these to have been purchased by japanese gold, and the fruits of bribery, the chinese confiscated the spoil and imprisoned the traitor's family. this ended all further negotiations untu. the end of the war. henceforth, on land and water, by the veterans of both armies, with fresh levies, both of allies and invaders, the issue was tried by sword and siege. chapter xvm. the second invasioit. the plan of the second invasion was to land all the japanese forces at fusan, and then to divide them into three columns, which were to advance by the south to nan-on castle in ghuua, and by two roads, northward and westward, to the capital. as before, konishi and kato kiyomasa were the two field command ers, while hideaki, a noble lad, sixteen years old, was the nomi nal commander-in-chief. the coreans had made preparations to fight the japanese at sea as weu. as on land. their fleet consisted of about two hundred vessels of heavy build, for butting and ramming, as well as for ac commodating a maximum of fighting men. they were two hun dred and fifty or three hundred feet in length, with huge stems, hav ing enormous rudders, the tillers of which were worked by eight men. their high, flat prows were hideously carved and painted to represent the face and open jaws of a dragon, or demon, ready to devour. stout spars or knotted logs, set upright along, the gunwale, protected the men who worked the catapults, and heavily built roofed cabins sheltered the soldiers and gave the archers a vantage ground. the rowers sat amidships, between the cabins and the gunwales, or rather over on these latter, in casements made of stout timber. the catapults were on deck, between the bows. they were twenty-four feet long, made of tree-trunks a yard in circumference. immense bows, drawn to their notches by wind lasses, shot iron-headed darts and bolts six feet long and four in ches thick. on some of the ships towers were erected, in which cannon, missile-engines, and musketeers were stationed, to shoot out fire-arrows, stones, and balls. at close quarters the space at the bows — about one-third of the deck — was free for the move ments of the men wielding spear and sword, and for those who plied the grappling hooks or boarding planks. the decks crowded with men in armor, the glitter of steel and flash of oars, the blare 9 130 corea. of the long corean trumpets, and the gay fluttering of thousands of silken flags and streamers made brilliant defiance. the japanese accepted the challenge, and, sailing out, closed with the enemy. wherever they could, they ran alongside and gave battle at the bows. though their ships were smaller, they were more manageable. in some cases, they ran under the high sterns and climbed on board the enemy's ships. once at hand to hand fight, their superior swordsmanship quickly decided the day. their most formidable means of offence which, next to their can non, won them the victory, were their rockets and fire-arrows, which they were able to shoot into the stems, where the dry wood soon caught fire, driving the crews into the sea, where they drowned. two hours fighting sufficed, by which time one hun dred and seventy-four corean ships had been burned or taken. news of this brilliant victory was at once sent by a swift vessel to japan. endeavors were made to strengthen the garrison at nan-on, but the japanese general, kato yoshiakira, meeting the reinforce ments on their way, prevented their design. kato kiyomasa, changing his plans, also marched to nan-on, resolving to again, if possible, snatch an honor from his rival. as usual, the younger man was too swift for him. konishi now moved his entire com mand in the fleet up the sem river, in chulla province, and land ing, camped at a place called uren, eighteen ri from nan-on castle. he rested here five days in the open meadow land to allow the horses to relax their limbs after the long and close confinement in the ships. .from a priest, whom they found at this place, they learned that the garrison of nan-on numbered over 20,000 chi nese and coreans, the reinforcements in the province, and on then way, numbered 20,000 more, while in the north was another chi nese corps of 20,000. at the council of war held, it was resolved to advance at once to take the castle before succor came. in spite of many lame horses, and the imperfect state of the commissariat, the order to march was given. men and beasts were in high spirits, but many of the horses were ridden to death, or rendered useless by the forced march of the cavalry. early on the morning of september 21st, the advance guard camped in the morning fog at a distance of a mile from the citadel. the main body, coming up, surrounded it on au sides, pitched their camp, threw out their pickets, set up their standards, and proceeded promptly, to fortify their lines. thk second invasion. 131 nan-on castle was of rectangular form, enclosing a space nearly two miles square, as each side was nine thousand feet long. its map of the operations of the second invasion. walls, which were twelve feet high, were built of great stones, laid together without cement. though no mortar had been used on wall or tower, shell-lime had been laid over the outside, in which 132 cobea. glistened innumerable fragments of nacre and the enamel of shells, giving the structure the appearance of glittering porcelain. at the angles, and at intervals along the flanks, were towers, two or three stories high. the four ponderous gates were of stone, fourteen feet high. the preparations for defence were all that chinese science could suggest. in the dry ditch, three hundred feet wide, was an abatis of tree-trunks, with their branches outward, behind which were iron-plated wagons, to be filled with archers and spearmen. from the towers, fire-missiles and shot from firearms were in readiness. the weak points, at which no enemy was expected, and for which preparations for defence were few, were on the east and west. no effect being produced during the first two days, either by bullets or fire-arrows, konishi, on the third, sent large detach ments of men into the rice-fields, then covered with a promising harvest of growing rice, which the farmers, in the hope of peace, had sown. eeaping the green, juicy stalks, the hundreds of sol diers gathered an enormous quantity of sheaves and waited, with these and their stacks of bamboo poles and ladders, until night. in the thick darkness, and in perfect suence, they moved to a part of the wall which, being over twenty feet high, was but slightly guarded, and began to build a platform of the sheaves. four ja panese, reaching the top by climbing, raised the war-cry, and one of the towers being set on fire by their arrows, the work was dis covered. yet the matchlock men kept the walls swept by their bullets, while the work of piling fresh sheaves and bundles of bamboo went on. the greenness of the rice-stalks made the mass both firm and fire-proof. at last the mound was so high that it overtopped the wall. the men now climbed over the ramparts by the hundreds, and the swordsmen, leaping into the castle, began the fight at hand to hand. most of the chinese fought with the courage of despair, while others, in their panic, opened the gates to escape, by which more of the besiegers entered. the garrison, smitten in front and rear, were driven to the final wall by konishi' s troops. on the other side a body of picked men, from kato's army, joined in the slaughter. they had entered the castle at the rear, by scaling a rugged mountain path known only to the corean prisoners, whose treachery they had purchased by the promise of their lives. between the two attacking forces the the second invasion. 133 coreaus and chinese, who could not escape, were slain by thou sands. among many curious incidents narrated by ogawuchi, who teus the story of this siege and attack, was this. as he entered the castle, amid the smoke and confusion, ia which he saw some of the panic-stricken garrison destroying themselves, he cut off the heads of two enemies, and then, suddenly recollecting that this fifteenth day of the eighth month was the day sacred to hachi man, the god of war and buddha of the eight banners, he flung down his bloody sword, put his red palms together, and bowing his head, prayed devoutly toward his adored japan. his devo tions ended, he sliced off the noses from the heads of the two enemies he had slain, wrapped them ia paper, twisted the pack age to his girdle, and sprang forward to meet, vyith but three men, the charge of fifty horsemen. the first sweep of the japanese sabre severed the leg of the nearest rider, who fell to the earth on the other side of his horse, and ogavruchi's companions kiuirig each his man, the enemy fled. the fires of the burning towers now lighted up the whole area of the castle, while the autumn moon rose red and clear. ogawuchi slew, with his own hand, k6ku shiu, one of the chinese commanders. his body, in rich armor, lined with gold brocade, was stripped, and the trappings secured as trophies to be sent home, while his head was presented for konishi's inspection next morning. according to the barbarous custom of the victors, they severed the heads of the bodies not already decapitated in fight, until the castle space resembled a great slaughter-yard. collecting them into a great heap, they began the official count. the number of these ghastly trophies, or " glory-signs," was three thousand seven hundred and twenty-six. the ears and noses of the slain were then sheared off, and with the commander's head, were packed with salt and quick ume in casks, and sent to japan to form the great ear-tomb now in kioto, the horrible monument of a most unrighteous war. a map of the castle and town, with the list of the most meri torious among the victors, was duly sent back to taiko. then the walls and towers, granaries, and barracks were destroyed. this work occupied two days. promptly on september 30th the army moved on to teru-shiu, the cavalry riding day and night, and reaching the castle only to find it deserted, the garrison having fled toward seoul. the jap 234 coeea. anese remained here ten days, levelling the fortress with fire and hammer. as the cold weather was approaching, the japanese command ers, after council, resolved at once to march to the capital. kat suyoshi and kiyomasa had joined them, and the advance north ward was at once began. by october 19th they were vnthin seventeen miles of seoul.' the successes on land, brilliant though they were, were bal anced by the defeat of the japanese navy off the southern coast. the chinese admiral eishinshin, in conjunction with the coreans, won an important victory over kuroda's naval forces a few days after the fau of nan-on. in this instance, the chinese ships were not only heavy enough to be formidable as rams, but were made more manageable by numerous rowers sitting in weu-defended timber casements, apparently covered with metal. the warriors, too, seem to have been armed with larger lances. the chinese commanders, having improved their tactics, so managed their ves sels that the japanese fleet was destroyed or driven away. this event may be said to have decided the fate of the cam paign. bereft of their fleet, which would, by going round the west coast, have afforded them a base of supplies, they were now obhged to advance into a country nearly empty of forage, and with no store of provisions. as in the opening of the war, so ag^in, the loss of the fleet at a critical period made retreat neces sary even at the moment of victory. meanwhile, the chinese general keikai, thoroughly disliking the rigors of a camp in a corean winter, and feeling deeply for his soldiers suffering from exposure in a desolate land, determined on closing the war as soon as possible. erecting an altar, in presence of the army, he offered sacrifices to propitiate the spirits of heaven and earth, and prayed for victory against the invaders. then, after seeing well to commissariat and equipment, he gave orders for a general movement of au the allied forces, with the design of end ing the war by a brief and decisive campaign. the japanese gen erals at koran, by means of their spies and advance parties, kept themselves well informed of the movements of the enemy. at a ' their line of march, as shown in the japanese histories, was to sen-ken, october 11th ; to kumu-san, where they experienced the first frost ; to kumui, cctoher 13th ; to chin-zon ; to funki ; to shaku-shiu ; to koran ; to chin-zen. these are names of places in chuua and chung-chong, expressed in the ja panese and old corean pronunciation. the second invasion. 135 ' . # ■ 'i . skimnsh. at chin-zen the chinese advance guard was defeated with heavy loss, but the japanese at once began their retreat. shishida and ota, who were further east, learning of the over whelming odds against them, fell back into uru-san, which was ah'eady manned by a detachment of kato's corps. "while kato and katsuyoshi were at chin-zen, a grand tiger hunt was proposed and carried out, ia which a soldier was bitten in two places and died. the army agteed that tiger-hunting re quired much nerve and valor. besides the tiger steaks, which they ate, much fresh meat was furnished by the numerous crane, pheas ants, and " the ten thousand things different from those in japan," which they made use of to eke out their scanty rations. to remain ia camp until the han river was frozen over, and could be crossed easily, or to press on at once, was the question now considered by the japanese. "while thus debating, word came that the chinese armies had made junction at seoul, and numbered one hundred thousand men. the japanese " felt cold ia their breasts " when they heard this. far from their base of supplies, their fleet destroyed, and they at the threshold of winter in a famine-stricken land, they were forced, reluctantly, again to retreat into kiung-sang. this turning their backs on seoul was, in reality, the begin ning of their march homeward. the invaders, therefore, enriched themselves vrith the spoil of houses and temples as they moved toward the coast — gold and silver brocades, rous of silk, paint ings, works of art, ptecious manuscripts, books written with gold letters on azure paper, inlaid weapons and armor, rich mantles, and whatever, in this long-settled and wealthy province, pleased their fancy. on the boimdaries of roads and provinces they no ticed large dressed stone columns of an octagonal form, with in scriptions upon them. their route lay from chin-zen, which they left in ashes, on october 25th, to chin-nan ; to ho-won ; to ho tin ; to karon ; reaching kion-chiu, the old capital of shinra, after some fighting along' the way. the japanese were impressed with the size and grandeur of the buildiags in thi^ old seat of the civilization and learning of shinra and korai. here, in ancient days, was the focus of the arts, letters, religion, and science which, from the west, the far ofi mysterious land of india, and the nearer, yet august, empire of china, had been brought to corea. here, too, their own ancient mikados had sent embassies, and from this historic city had radia 136 cobea. , ted the influences of civilization into japan. as buddhism had been the dominant faith of shinra and korai, this was the old sacred city of the peninsula, and among the historic edifices still standing and most admired were the halls and pagodas of the eternal buddha. kion-chiu was to the japanese very much what london is to an american, geneva to a protestant, or dordrecht to a hollander. tet, in spite of all classic associations, the city was wantonly destroyed. on the morning of november 2d, be ginning at the magnificent temples, the whole city was given to the torch. three hundred thousand dwellings were burned, and the flames lighted up the long night vnth the glare of day. the next morning, turning their backs on the gray waste of ashes, they resumed their march. kokio, kunoi, sin-ns were passed through. skirmishing and the destruction of castles, and the burning of granaries, were the pastimes enjoyed between camps. on november 18th the army reached a river, where the coreans made an unsuccessful night attack, repeating the same in the morning, whue the japanese were crossing the stream, with the same negative results. thence through yei-tan, they came to k6ku-shiu, another famous old seat of shinra's ancient grandeur. the beautiful situa tion and rich appearance of the city charmed the invaders, who lingered long in the deserted streets before applying the torch. the " three hundred thousand houses of the people " were clus tered around the great buddhist temple in the centre. the clock tower, eighteen stories high, was especially acfenired. the massive swinging beam by which the tongueless bells, or gongs, of the far east are made to boom out the hours, struck against a huge bronze lotus eight or nine feet in diameter. this sacred flower of the buddhist emblem of peace and calm in nirvana had in corean art taken the place of the suspended bell, being most probably a cup-shaped mass of metal set with mouth upright, or uke a bell turned upside down— such being the form often seen in the temples of chinese asia. again did antiquity, religion, or the promptings of mercy fail to restrain the invaders. securing what spoils they cared for, everything else was burned up. after camping at kiran, they reached the sea-coast, at uru-san, november 18th. chapter xix. the siege of uru-san castle. the japanese now took up the spade as their immediate wea pon of defence against the infuriated coreans and the avenging chinese. a force of twenty-three thousand men was at once set to work, " without regard to wind or rain," along the lines marked out by the japanese engineers. to furnish the wood for towers, gates, huts, and engines, a party of two thousand axemen and la borers, guarded by twenty-eight moimted pickets and three hun dred matchlock men, with seven flags, went daily into the forest! the winter huts were hastily erected, walls thrown up, ditches dug, towers built, and sentinels and watch stations set. the work went on from earliest daybreak tiu. latest twilight, the carpenters so suffering from the cold that "their finger naus dropped off." by the first part of january the castle was almost completed. from the eleventh day the garrison took rest. the fortress was three-sided, the south face lying on the sea. the total line of works was about three and a half miles, pierced by three gates. the inner defences were in three parts, or maru. tlie third maru, or enclosure, had stone walls, one tower and one gate ; the second had two towers, two gates ; and the first or chief citadel had stone walls, forty-eight feet high, with two towers and two gates. the war operations, which had hitherto covered large spaces of the couutry, now found the pivot at this place situated in kiung sang, on the sea-coast, thirty-five miles north of fusan. another commander, asano, marched to assist the garrison and entered the castle before the ming army arrived. his advance guard, while reconnoitring, was defeated by the coreans, yet he succeeded, by an impetuous charge, in entering the castle. the chinese, smarting imder their losses at chjn-sen, and stung by the gibes of the coreans, now hastened to uru-san, to swallow up the japanese. the corean army, which had been collecting 138 corea. around the japanese camps, were soon joined by the advance guard of the ming army. the arrival of the chinese forces was made known ia the following manner. a japanese captain commanded one of the advance pickets, w i— g plan of uru-san castle.— explanation ; hon, first enclosure ; ni, second ; san, third ; g, gates ; "" iii bodies of troops, , which had their quarters in the cloisters of ankokuji (temple of the peaceful coimtry). one night a board, inscribed with^chi nese characters, was set up before the gate of the camp. the sol diers, seeing it in the morning, but unable to read chinese, car the siege of uru-san castle. 139 ried it to their captain, who handed it to his priesi^secretary. the board contained a warning that the chinese were near and would soon attack xjru-san. betraying no emotion and saying nothing, the captaia soon after declared himself on the sick-list, and se cretly absconded to fusan. the truth was, that an overwhelm ing ming army was now in front of them and their purpose to in vest the castle was thus puuished. the entire japanese forces were now gathered close imder the walls, or inside the castle, and the sentinels were doubled. on the morning of january 30th the ming army suddenly as saulted the castle. a small detachment, evidently a decoy and forlorn hope, attempting to scale the walls, was driven back by the matchlock men and began to retreat. seeing this, the japanese recklessly opened the barbican gate and began pursuit of their enemies, thinking they were only coreans. lured on to a dis tance, they suddenly foijnd themselves encircled by a mighty host by their black and yellow standards, and their excellent tactics,, the japanese officers saw that they were ming soldiers. the dust raised by the horses of the oncoming enemy seemed to the garri son as high as atago mountain ia japan. they now knew that eighty thousand chinese were before their gates. only after hard fighting, was the remnant of the japanese sortie enabled to get back within the castle, while the allies, surrounding the walls, fought as fiercely as if they intended to take it by immediate as sault. some of the bravest leaders of the garrison fell outside, but no sooner were the gates locked than katsuyoshi, without ex tracting the two arrows from his wounds, or stanching the blood, posted the defenders on the walls in position. ogawuohi had per formed the hazardous feat of sallying out and firing most of the outside camps. he re-entered the castle with arrows in his clothes, but received no wounds. the battle raged until night, when the chinese drew off. the japanese had suffered fearfully by the first combat beyond and on the walls. " there was none but had been shot at by five or ten or fifteen arrows." one of their captains reckoned their loss at eighteen thousand three hundred and sixty men, which left them but a garrison of five thousand fighting men. a large number of non-combatants, including many of the friendly people of the neighborhood, had crowded into the fortifications, and had to be fed. food growing scarcer, and danger increasing, asano sent word 140 corba. to kato for help. on a fleet horse the messenger arrived, after a ride of two days. kato had, ia japan, taken oath to asano's father to help him in every strait. immediately, with seventy picked companions, he put out to sea in seven boats, and, after hard rowing, succeeded in entering the castle. on january 31, 1598, the war-conch sounded in the ming camp, as the signal of attack, and the ears of the besieged were soon deafened by the yeus of the " eighty thousand " besiegeirs. the japanese were at first terrified at the clouds of dust, through which the awful sight of ranks of men, twenty deep, were on au sides visible. the enemy, armed with shields shaped like a fowl's wings, upon which they received the missiles of the garrison, charged on the outer works, but when into and on the slope of the ditch, flung their shields away, and plied axe, knife, sword, and lance. though seven attacks were repulsed, the wall was breached, the outer works were gained by overwhelming numbers, and the garrison was driven into the inner enclosure. night fell upon the work of blood, but at early mom, the enemy waked the garrison with showers of arrows, and with lad ders and hurdles of bamboo, tried to scale the walls. in four hom-s, seven attacks in force had been repulsed, yet the fighting went on. in spite of the intense cold, the soldiers perspired so that the sweat froze on their armor. over their own heaps of corpses the chinese attempted to force one of the gates, while, from the walls of the inner citadel, and from the higher gate above them, the" japanese smote them. the next day the carnage ceased from the third to the ninth hour. on february 3d, the chinese, with their ladders, were again repulsed. at night their sentineb " gathered hoar-frost on their helmets," whue guarding the night long against the sortie, which they feared. another attack from the clouds of enemies kept up the work of killing. some of the japanese warriors now noticed that their stockings and greave bands kept slipping down, though adjusted repeatedly. the fact was their flesh had shrunk imtil their bones were nearly visible, and "their legs were as^lean as bamboo sticks." another warrior, taking off his helmet and vizor, was seen to have a face so thia and vsdzen that he reminded his comrades of one of those hungry demons of the nether avorld, which they had seen so often depicted in temple pictures at home. on february 5th, the miag generals, who had looked upon the reduction of tjru-san as a small affair to be settled by the way, and the siege of uetj-salt castle. 141 vexed at not having been able to take it by one assault, tried ne gotiation. in fact, they were suffering from lack of provisions. the japanese sent back a defiant answer, and some of them prof ited by the luu in the fighting to make fires of broken arrows and lances, to strip the armor from the dead and frozen carcasses of their steeds, and enjoy a dinner of hot horse-meat. the vast num ber of shafts that had fallen within the walls, were gathered into stacks, and those damaged were reserved for fuel. outside the citadel, they lay under the wall in heaps many feet high. the next day, february 6th, was one of quiet, but it was in tensely cold, and many of the worn out soldiers of the garrison died. sitting under the sunny side of the towers for warmth, they were found ia this position frozen to death. yet amid all the suf fering, the japanese jested with each other, poured out mutual compliments, and kept light hearts and defiant spirits. a council of war had been held february 2d, at fusan, and a messenger sent to encourage the garrison. by some means he was able to communicate with his beleaguered brethren. with helmets off, the leaders listened to the words of cheer and praise, and promised to hold out yet longer. while the lull or truce was in force, the chinese were, accord ing to ogawuchi, plotting to entrap the japanese leaders. this they learned from one okomoto, a native of japan, who had lived long in china, and was a division commander of eight thousand men in the chinese army. he it was who first brought the offers of accommodation from the ming side. the chinese proposed to get the japanese leaders to come out of their citadel, leave their horses and weapons at a certain place, and go to the altar to swear before heaven to keep the peace. then the chinese were to surround and make prisoners of the japanese. okomoto' s soul recoiled at the perfidy. going by night to the side of the castle near the hius, he was admitted in the citadel, and exposing the plot, gave warning of the danger. a profotmd impression was produced on the grateful leaders, who immediately made a plan to show their gratitude to okomoto. they swore by au the gods to reward also his sons and daughters who were still living in japan. when this fact was made known to him, he burst into tears and said he had never forgotten his wife or children ; though he saw them often in his dreams, yet " the winds brought him no news." on the following morning a chinese officer, coming to the foot of the wall, made signs with his standard, and offered the same 142 corea. terms in detail which otomoto had exposed. the japanese lead. ei's excused themselves on the plea of sickness, and the parley came to nothing. yet the sufferings of the japanese were growing hourly se verer. to half rations and hunger had succeeded famine, and with famine came actual death from starvation. unfortunately there was no weu in the castle, so the japanese had at first sallied out, under cover of the night, and carried water from the mountain brooks. the chinese, discovering this, posted archers in front of every accessible stream, and thus cut off all approach by night or day. to hunger was added the torture of thirst. the soldiers who fought by day stole out at night and licked the wounds of their slain enemies and even secretly chewed the raw flesh sliced from the corpses of the chinese. within the castle, ingenuity was taxed to the utmost to provide sustenance from the most unprom ising substances. the famished soldiers chewed paper, trapped mice and ate them, killed horses and devoured every part of them. braving the arrows of the chinese pickets, they wandered at night wherever their dead enemies lay, and searched their clothes for stray grains of parched rice. on one occasion the chinese, lying, in wait, succeeded in capturing one hundred of the garrison, that were prowling like ghouls around the corpses of the slain. after this the commanders forbade any soldier, on para of death, to leave the castle. yet famine held revel withhi, and scores of starved and frozen multiplied into hundreds, until room for the corpses was needed. tidings of the straits of the dwindling garrison at uru-san hav ing reached the other japanese commanders, nabeshima and ku roda, they marched to the relief of their compatriots. one of the chinese generals, eijobai, leaving camp, set out to attack them. the foiled chinese commander-in-chief, angry at the refusal of the japanese to come to his camp, ordered a fresh attack on the cas tle. this time fresh detachments took the places of others when wearied. the day seemed shut out by the dust of horses, the smoke of guns, the clouds of arrows, and the masses of flags. again the scaling ladders were brought, but made useless by the vigilant de fenders in armor iced with frozen sweat, and chafing to the bone. their constant labor made " three hours seem like three years." the attack was kept up unceasingly until february 12th, when the exhausted garrison noticed the chinese retreating. the van of the reinforcements from fusan had attacked the allies in the the siege of uru-san castle. 143 rear, and a bloody combat was raging. at about the same time the fleet, laden with provisions, was on its way and near the starv ing garrison. next morning the keen eyes of their commander noticed flocks of wild birds descending on the chinese camp. the careful scru tiny of the actions of wild fowl formed a part of the military edu cation of all japanese, and they inferred at once that the camp was empty and the birds, attracted by the refuse food, were feeding without fear. orders were immediately given to a detachment to leave the castle and march in pursuit. passing through the de serted ming camp, they came up with the forces of kiiroda and nablshima, who had gaiaed a great victory over the allies. , in this battle of the river plain of gisen, february 9, 1598, the jap anese had eighteen thousand men engaged. their victory was complete, thirteen thousand two hundred and thirty-eight heads of coreans and chinese being collected after the retreat of the auies. the noses and ears were, as usual, cut off and packed for shipment to kioto. the sufferiags of the valiant defenders were now over. help had come at the eleventh hour. for fourteen days they had tasted neither rice nor water, except that melted from snow or ice. the abundant food from the relief ships was cautiously dealt out to the famished, lest sudden plenty shoidd cause sudden death. the fleet men not only congratulated the garrison on their brave defence, but decorated the battered walls with innumerable flags and streamers, while they revictualed the magazines. on the ninth, the garrison went on the ships to go to sezukai, another part of the coast, to recruit their shattered energies. with a feeling as if raised from the dead, the warriors took off their armor. the re action of the fearful strain coming at once upon them, they found themselves lame and unable to stand or sit. even in their dreams, they grappled with the ming, and, laying their hand on their sword, fought again their battles in the land of dreams. for three years afterward they did not cease these night visions of war. according to orders given, the number of the dead lying on the frozen ground, within two or three furlongs of the castle, was counted, and found to be fifteen thousand seven himdred and fifty-four. of the japanese, who had starved or frozen to death, eight himdred and ninety-seven were reported. in the camp of the allies, crimination and recrimination were going on, the coreans angry at being foued before uru-san, and the 144 corea. chinese mortified that one fortress, with its gan-ison, could not have been taken. they made their plans to go back and try the siege anew, when the explosion of their powder magazine, which killed many of their men, changed their plans. for his failure the chi nese commander-in-chief was cashiered in disgrace. on may 10th the soldiers of the garrison, now relieved, left for their homes in japan. thus ended the siege of uru-san, after lasting an entire year. after this nothing of much importance happened during the war. the invaders had suffered severely from the cold and the cumate, and from hunger in the desolated land. nxmierous skir mishes were fought, and a continual guerilla war kept up, but, with the exception of another naval battle between the japanese and chinese, in which artillery was freely used, there was nothing to influence the fortunes of either side. in this state of inaction, hideyoshi fell sick and died, september 9, 1598,' at the age of sixty-three. almost his last words were, " eecau all my troops from cho-sen." the governors appointed by him to carry out his policy at once issued orders for the return of the army. the orders to embark for home were everywhere gladly heard in the japanese camps by the soldiers whose sufferings were now to end. before leaving, however, many of the japanese improved every opportunity to have a farewell brush with their enemies. it is said, by a trustworthy vmter, that 214,752 human bodies were decapitated to furnish the ghastly material for the " ear tomb " mound in kioto. ogawuchi reckons the number of co rean heads gathered for mutilation at 185,738, and of chinese at 29,014 ; all of which were despoiled of ears or noses. it is probable that 50,000 japanese, victims of wounds or disease, left their bones in corea. thus ended one of the most needless, unprovoked, cruel, and desolating wars that ever cursed corea, and from which it has taken her over two centuries to recover. chaptee xx. changes after the invasion. the war over, and peace again in the land, the fugitives re turned to their homes and the farmers to their fields. the whole country was desolate, the scars of war were everywhere visible, and the curse of poverty was universal. from the king and court, in the royal city, of which fire had left little but ashes, and of which war and famine had spared few inhabitants, to the peasant, who lived on berries and roots until his scanty seed rose above the ground and slowly ripened, all now suffered the woful want which the war had bred. kind nature, however, ceased not her bountiful stores, and from the ever-ready and ever-full treasuries of the ocean, fed the stricken land. the war was a fruitful cause of national changes in corean cus toms and institutions. the first was the more thorough organiza tion of the military, the rebuilding and strengthening of old cas iles, and the erection of new ones ; though, like most measures of the government, the proposed reforms were never properly carried out. the coasts were guarded with fresh vigilance. upon one of the corean commanders, who had been many times successful against the japanese, a new title and office was created, and the coast defence of the three southern provinces was committed to him. this title was subsequently conferred upon three officials whose headquarters were at points in kiung-sang. among the literary fruits of the leisure now afforded was the narrative, in chinese, of the events leading to the war with the japanese, written by a high dignitary of the court, and covering the period from about 1586 to 1598. this is, perhaps, the only book reprinted in japan, which gives the corean side of the war. in his preface the excessively modest author states that he writes the book "because men ought to look at the present in the mirror of the past." the chinese style of this writer is difficult for an ordinary japanese to read. the book (chohitsuroku) contains a curious map of the eight provinces. 10 146 corea. in japan the energies of the returned warriors were fuhy em ployed at home after their withdi-awal from corea. the adher ents of taiko and those of lygyasq, the rising man, came to .blows, and at the great battle of sekigahara, in october, 1600, lyeyasa crushed his foes. many of the heroes of the peninsular campaign fell on the field ; or, as beaten men, disembowelled themselves, according to the japanese code of honor. konishi, being a christian, and unable, from conscientious scruples, to commit suicide by hara kiri, was decapitated. the humbled spirit and turbulent wrath of satsuma were appeased, and given a valve of escape in the permission accorded them to make definite conquest of eiu kiu. this was done by a well planned and vigorously executed expedition in 1609, by which the little archipelago was made an integral part of the japanese em pire. "when retiring from cho-sen, in 1597, the daimio and gen eral nabsshima requited himself for the possible loss of further military glory, by bringing over and settung in satsuma a colony of corean potters. he builded better than he knew, for in found ing these industries in his own domain, he became the prime author of that delight of the aesthetic world, "old satsuma faience." other daimios, in whose domains were potteries, likewise trans ported skilled workers in clay, who afterward brought fame and money to their masters. on the other hand, lyeyasii sent back the corean prisoners in japan to their own homes. the spoil brought back from the peninsular campaign — wea pons, flags, brocades, porcelains, carvings, pictures, and manu scripts was duly deposited, with certifying documents, in temples and storehouses, or garnished the home of the veterans for the benefit of posterity. some, with a literary turn, employed their* leisure in writing out their notes and journals, several of which have survived the wreck of time. some, under an artistic impulse, had made valuable sketches of cities, scenery, battle-fields, and castles, which they now finished. a few of the victors shore off their queues and hair, and became monks. others, with perhaps equal piety, hung up the arrow-pierced helmet, or corslet slashed by chinese sabre, as ex-voto at the local shrines. the writer can bear personal witness to the interest which many of these authen tic reucs inspired in him while engaged in their study. in 1878, a large collection of various relics of the corean war of 1592 1597 came into the possession of the mikado's government in tokio, from the heirs or descendants of the veterans of taiko. in changes after the invasion. 147 kioto, besides the ear-monument, the hall of the founder, in one of the great buddhist temples, rebuilt by the widow of taiko, was ceiled with the choice wood of the war junk built for the hero. though the peninsula was not open to trade or christianity, it was not for lack of thought or attention on the part of merchant or missionary. in england, a project was formed to establish a trading-sta tion ia japan, and, if there was a, possibility, in corea also, or, at least, to see what could be done in "the island" — as corea then, and for a long time afterward, was believed to be. through the dutch, the jesuits, and their countryman. will adams, in japan, they had heard of the japanese war, and of corea. captain saris arrived off hirado island about the middle of june, 1613, with a cargo of pepper, broadcloth, gunpowder, and english goods. in a galley, carrying twenty-five oars and manned by sixty men fur nished by the daimio, saris and his company of seventeen eng ushmen set out to visit the lylyasl at yedo, by way of suruga (now shidzuoka). after two days' rovsdng along the coast, they stopped for dinner in the large and handsome city of hakata (or pukuoka), the city being, in reality, double. as the englishmen walked about to see the sights, the boys, children, and worse sort of idle people would gather about them, crying out, " cor6, cor6, cocor6 ware " (oh you coreans, coreans, you kokorai men), taunt ing them by these words as coreans ynth false hearts,. whooping, holloaing, and making such a noise that the eiighsh could hardly hear each other speak. in some places, the people threw stones at these " corean " englishmen. hakata was one of the towns at which the embassy from seoul stopped while on its way to yedo, and the incident shows clearly that the japanese urchins and common people had not forgotten the reputed perfidy of the co rea:^s, while they also supposed that any foreigner, not a portu guese, with whom they were familiar, must be a corean. in the same manner, at nankin, for a long while all foreigners, even americans, were called "japanese." nothing was done by saris, so far as is known, to explore or open corea to western commerce, although the last one of the eight clauses of the articles of license to trade, given him by lysyasil, was, "and that further, without passport, they may and shall set out upon the discovery of yeadzo (tezo), or any other part in and about our empire." by the last clause any japanese would un 148 corea. derstand corea and eiu kiu as being land belonging to, but out side of " civilized " nippon. after leaving nagasaki, and calling at bantam, saris took in a load of pepper, and sailed for england, reaching plymouth sep tember 27, 1614. an attempt was also made by the dominican order of friars to establish a mission in corea. vincent (caun), the ward of ko nishi, who had been educated and sent over by the jesuits to plant christianity among his countrymen, reached peking and there waited four years to accompush his purposes, but could not, owing to the presence of the hostile manchius in liao tung. but just as he was returning to japan, in 1618, another attempt was made by the dominican friars to penetrate the sealed land. juan de saint dominique, a castuian spaniard, who had labored as a missionary in the philippine islands since 1601, was the chosen man. having secured rapid mastery of the languages of the malay archipelago, he was selected as one well fitted to acquire corean. with two others of the same fraternity he embarked for the shores of morning calm. for some reason, not knovyn, they could not land in corea, and so passed over to japan, where the next year, march 19th, having met persecution, dominique died in prison. the ashes of his body, taken from the cremation fur nace, were cast in the sea ; but his followers, having been able to save from the fire a hand and a foot, kept the ghastly remnants as holy relics. • the exact relations of "the conquering and the vassal state," as the japanese would say, that is, of nihon and cho-sen, were not definitely fixed, nor the menace of war withdrawn, until the last of the line of taiko died, and the family became extinct by the death of hideyori, the son of taiko, in 1612. there is not a particle of evidence that the conquerors ever ex acted an annual tribute of "thirty human hides," as stated by a recent french writer. while lyeyasu had his hands full in japan, he paid little attention to the country which taiko had used as a cockpit for the christians. lyeyasii dealt with the jesuit, the christian, and the foreigner, in a manner different from, and for obvious reasons with success greater than, that of taiko. he uni fied japan, re-estabushed the dual system of mikado and sho-gxm, with two capitals and two centres of authority, kioto and yedo. he cleared the ground for his grandson lygmitsii, who at once summoned the coreans to renew tributary relations and pay horn changes after the invasion. 149 age to wm at yedo. magnifying his authority, he sent, in 1623, a letter to the king of corea, in which he styles himself tai-kun ("tycoon "), or great prince. this is the equivalent ih chinese pronunciation of the pure japanese o-gimi, an ancient title applied only to the mikado. no assumption or presumption of pomp and ' power was, however, scrupled at by the successors of lyeyasu. the title "tycoon," too, v/as intended to overawe the coreans, as being even higher than the title kohu (king of a [tributary] country), which their sovereign and the ashikaga line of rulers held by patents from the emperor of china, and which taiko had scornfully refused. the court at seoul responded to the call, and, in 1624, sent an embassy with congratulations and costly presents. the envoys landed in hizen, and made their journey overland, taking the same route so often traversed by the hollanders at deshima, and described by kaempf er, thimberg, and others. a sketch by a yedo artist has depicted the gorgeous scene in the castle of the " ty coon." seated on silken cushions, on a raised dais, behind the bamboo curtains, with sword-bearer in his rear, in presence of his lords, all in. imitation of the imperial throne room in kioto, the haughty ruler received from the corean envoy the symbol of vas■ salage — a gohei or wand on which strips of white paper are hxmg. then followed the official banquet. since the invasion, fusan, as before, had been held and garri soned by the retainers of the daimio of tsushima. at this port all the commerce between the two nations took place. the inter change of commodities was established on an amicable basis. jap anese swords, military equipments, works of art, and raw prod ucts were exchanged for corean merchandise. having felt the power of the eastern sword-blades, and unable to perfect their own clumsy iron hangers, either in temper, edge, or material, they gladly bought of the japanese, keeping their sword-makers busy. kaempfer, who was at nagasaki from september 24, 1690, to no vember, 1692, tells us that the japanese imported from fusan scarce medicinal plants, especially ginseng, walnuts, and fruits ; the best pickled fish, and some few manufactures ; among which was "a certain sort of earthen pots made in japij and ninke, two tartarian provinces." these ceramic oddities were "much esteemed by the japanese, and bought very dear." prom an american or british point of view, there was little trade done between the two coimtries, but on the strength of even 150 corea. this small amount, earl eussell, in 1862, tried to get great britain included as a co-trader between japan and corea. he was not suc cessful. provision was also made for those who might be cast, by the perils of the sea, upon the shore of either country. at the ex pense of the yedo government a chosen yashiki (corean house), was built at nagasaki. from whatever part of the japanese shores the waifs were picked up, they were sent to nagasaki, fed and sheltered until a junk could be despatched to fusan. these un fortunates were mostly fishermen, who, in some cases, had their wives and children with them. it was from such that siebold ob tained the materials for his notes, vocabulary, and sketches in the corean department of his great archiv. the possession of fusan by the japanese was, until 1876, a pei-petual witness of the humiliating defeat of the coreans in the war of 1592-1597, and a constant irritation to their national pride. their popular historians, passing over the facts of the case, substi tute pleasing fiction to gratify the popular taste. the subjoined note of explanation, given by dauet, attached to a map of corea of home manufacture, thus accounts for the presence of the foreigners. the substance of the note is as follows : during the sixteenth century many of the barbarous inhabitants of tsushima left that island, and, coming over to corea, established themselves on the coast of corea, in three little ports, called fusan, yum, and chisi, and rapidly increased in numbers. about five years after chtmg-chong ascended the throne, the barbarians of fusan and yum made trouble. they destroyed the walls of the city of fusan, and killed also the city governor, named ni tjtsa. being subdued by the royal troops, they could no longer live in these ports, but were driven into the interior. a short time afterwaxd, having asked pardon for their crimes, they obtained it and came and es tablished themselves again at the ports. this was only for a short time, for a few years afterward, a little before the year 1592, they all returned to their country, tsushima. in the year 1599 the king, syen-cho, held communication with the tsushima barbarians. it happened that he invited them to the places which they had quitted on the coast of corea, built houses for them, treated them with great kindness, established for their benefit a market during five days in each month, beginning on the third day of the month, and when they had a great quantity of merchandise on hand to dispose of he even permitted them to hold it still oftener. this is a good specimen of corean varnish-work carried into changes after the invasion. 151 history. the rough facts are smoothed over by that well-applied native lacquer, which is said to resemble gold to the eye. the official gloss has been smeared over more modem events with equal success, and even defeat is turned into golden victory. yet, with all the miseries inflicted upon her, the humble nation learned rich lessons and gained many an advantage even from her enemy. the embassies, which were yearly despatched to yield homage to their late invaders, were at the expense of the latter. the japanese pride purchased, at a dear rate, the empty bubble of homage, by paying au the bills. we may even suspect that a grim joke was practised upon the victors by the vanquished. year by year they swelled the pomp and numbers of their train until, finally, it reached the absurd number of four hundred per sons. with imperturbable effrontery they devastated the treasury of their "tycoon." to receive an appointment on the embassy to yedo was reckoned a rich sinecure. it enabled the possessor to enjoy an expensive picnic of three months, two of which were at the cost of the entertainers. landing in chikuzen, or hizen, they slowly journeyed overland to yedo, and, after their merry making in the capital, leisurely made their jaunt back again. for nearly a century the yedo government appeared to reush the sen sation of having a crowd of people from across the sea come to pay homage and bear witness to the greatness of the tokugawa family. in 1710 a special gateway was erected in the castle at yedo to impress the embassy from seoul, who were to arrive next year, with the serene glory of the sho-gun lyenobu. prom a pa vilion near by the embassy's quarters, the tycoon himself was a spectator of the feats of archery, on horseback, in which the co reans excelled. the intolerable expense at last compelled the yedo rulers to dispense with such costly vassalage, and to spou what was, to their guests, a pleasant game. ordering them to come only as far as tsushima, they were entertained by the so family of daimios, who were allowed by the ," tycoon " a stipend in gold kobans for this purpose. a great social custom, that has become a national habit, was introduced by the japanese when they brought over the tobacco plant. and taught its properties, ciilture, and use. the copious testimony of all visitors, and the rich vocabulary of terms relating to the culture, curing, and preparation of tobacco show that the crop that is yearly raised from the soil merdy for purposes of waste in smoke is very large. in the personal equipment of every 152 corea. male corean, and often in that of women and children, a tobacco pouch and materials for firing forms an indispensable part. the smoker does not feel " dressed " without his well-filled bag. into the forms of hospitality, the requisites of threshold gossip and social enjoyment, and for au other purposes, real or imaginary, which nicotine can aid or abet, tobacco has entered not merely as a lux ury or ornament, but as a necessity. another great change for the better, in the improvement of the national garb, dates from the sixteenth century, and very probably from the japanese invasion. this was the introduction of the cot ton plant. hitherto, silk for the very rich, and hemp and sea grass for the middle and poorer classes, had been the rule. in the north, furs were worn to a large extent, while plaited straw for various parts of the hmbs served for clothing, as well as pro tection against storm and rain. the vegetable fibres were bleached to give whiteness. cotton now began to be generally cultivated and woven. it is true that authorities do not agree as to the date of the first use of this plant. dauet reports that cotton was formerly unknown in corea, but was grown in china, and that the chinese, in order to preserve a market for their textile fabrics within the peninsula, rigorously guarded, with au possible precautions, against the exportation of a single one of the precious seeds. one of the members of the annual embassy to peking, with great tact, succeeded in procuring a few grains of cotton seed, which he concealed in the quiu of his hat feather. thus, in a manner similar to the traditional account of the bringing of silk worms' eggs inside a staff to constantinople from china, the pre cious shrub reached corea about five hundred years ago. it is now cultivated successfully in the peninsula in latitude far above that of the cotton belt in america, and even in manchuria, the most northern limit of its growth. it is evident that a country which contains cotton, crocodiles, and tigers, calnnot have a very bleak chmate. it seems more probable that though the first seeds may have been brought from china, the cidtivation of this vegetable wool was not pursued upon a large scale until after the japanese invasion. our reasons for ques tioning the accuracy of the date given in the common tradition is, that it is certain that cotton was not known in northern china five hundred years ago. it was introduced into central china from turkestan in the fourteenth century, though known in the extreme changes after the invasion. 153 south before that" time. the chinese pay divine honors to one hwang tao po, the reputed instructress ui the art oi spinning and weaving the "tree-wool." she is said to have come from hainan island. though cotton was first brought to japan by a hindoo, in the year 799, yet the art of its culture seems to have been lost during the long civil wars of the middle ages. the fact that it had become extinct is shown in a verse of poetry composed by a court noble la 1248. " the cotton-seed, that was planted by the foreigner and not by the natives, has died away." in another japanese book, written about 1570, it is stated that cotton had again been intro duced and planted in the southern provinces. the portuguese, trading at nagasaki, made cotton wool a fa miliar object to the japanese soldiers. while the army was in corea a european ship, driven far out of her course and much damaged by the storm, anchored off yokohama. being kindly treated while refitting, the captain, among other gifts to the daimio of the province, gave him a bag of cotton seeds, which were distributed. the yam selling at a high price, the culture of the shrub spread rapidly through the provinces of eastern and northern japan, being already common in the south provinces. even if the culture of cotton was not introduced into corea by the japanese army, it is certain that it has been largely exported from japan during the last two centuries. the increase of gen eral comfort by this one article of wear and use can hardly be es timated. not only as wool and fibre, but in the oil from its seeds, the nation added largely to the sum of its blessings. paper, from silk and hemp, rice stalk fibres, mulberry bark, and other such raw material, had long been made by the chinese, but it is probable that the coreans, first of the nations of chinese asia, made paper from cotton wool. for this manufacture they to-day are famed. their paper is highly prized in peking and japan for its extreme thickness and toughness. it forms part of the annual tribute which the embassies carry to peking. it is often thick enough to be split into several layers, and is much used by the tailors of the chinese metropolis as a lining for the coats of mandarins and gentlemen. it also serves for the covering of window-frames, and a sewed wad of from ten to fifteen thick nesses of it make a kind of armor which the troops wear. it will resist a musket-bau, but not a rifle-buuet. chaptee xxl the issachab op eastern asia. , the shan-yan alin, or ever-white moimtains, stand like a wall along the northern boundary of the corean peninsula. irregular mountain masses and outjutting ranges of hills form its buttresses, while, at intervals, lofty peaks rise as towers. these are au, over topped by the central spire paik-tu, or whitehead, which may be over ten thousand feet high. from its bases flow out the yalu, tumen, and hurka rivers. from primeval times the dwellers at the foot of this mountain, who saw its ever hoary head lost in the clouds, or glistening vdth fresh-fauen snow, conceived of a spirit dwelling on its heights in the form of a virgin in white. her servants were animals in white fur and birds in white plumage. when buddhism entered the peninsula, as in china and japan, so, in corea, it absorbed the local deities, and hailed them under new names, as previous incarnations of buddha before his avatar in india, or the true advent of the precious faith through his mis sionaries. they were thenceforth adopted into the buddhist pan theon, and numbered amon^ the worshipped buddhas. the spirit of the everwhite mountains, the virgin in ever-white robes, named manchusri, whose home lay among the unmelting snows, was one of these. perhaps it was from this deity that the man chius, the ancestors of the ruling dynasty of china, the wearers of the world-famous hair tails, took their name. according to manchiu legend, as given by professor douglas, it is said that " in remote ages, three heaven-bom virgins dwelt beneath the shadow of the great white mountains, and that, while they were bathing in a lake which reflected in its bosom the snowy clad peaks which towered above it, a magpie dropped a blood red fruit on the clothes of the youngest. this the maiden instinctively devoured, and forthwith conceived and bore a son, whose name they called ai-sin ghioro, which being interpreted is ,the issachar of eastern asia. 155 home of the manchius, and their migrations. 156 corea. the ' golden family stem,' and which is the family name of the em perors of china. when his mother had entered the icy cave of the dead, her son embarked on a little boat, and floated down the river hurka, natu he reached a district occupied by three families who were at war with each other. the personal appearance of the supernatural youth so impressed these warlike chiefs that they forgot their enmities, and hailed him as their ruler. the town of 0-to-le [odoli] was chosen as his capital, and from that day his people waxed fat and kicked against their oppressors, the chinese." the home of the manchius was, as this legend shows, on the north side of the ever-white mountains, in the valley of the hurka. prom beyond these mountains was to roll upon china and corea another avalanche of invasion. beginning to be restless in the fourteenth century, they had, in the sixteenth, consolidated so many tribes, and were so strong in men and horses, that they openly de fied the chinese. the formidable expeditions of li-yu-sun, previous to the japanese invasion of corea, kept them at bay for a time, but the immense expenditure of life and treasure required to fight the japanese, drained the resom-ces of the ming emperors, while their attention being drawn away from the north, the manchiu hordes massed their forces and grew daily in wealth, numbers, discipline, and courage. the invasion of cho-sen by the japanese veterans was one of the causes of the weakness and fall of the ming dynasty. to repress the rising power in the north, and to smother the life of the young nation, the peking government resorted to bar barous cruelties and stern coercion, in which bloodshed was con tiaual. unable to protect the eastern border of liao tung, the entire population of three hundred thousand souls, dweuing in four cities and many villages, were removed westward and resettled on new lands. fortresses were planned, but not finished, in the de serted land, to keep back the restless cavalry raiders from the north. thus the foundation of the neutral strip of fifty miles was uncon sciously laid, and ten thousand square miles of fair and fertile land, west of the talu, was abandoned to the wolf and tiger. what it soon became, it has remained untu yesterday — a howling wilderness. (see map on page 155.) unable to meet these cotton-armored raiders in the field, the ming emperor ordered, and in 1615 consummated, the assassina tion of their king. this exasperated all the manchiu tribes to vengeance, and hostilities on a large scale at once began by a southwest movement into liao tung. the issachar op eastern asia. 157 china had now again to face an invasion greater than the jap anese, for this time a whole iation was behind it. calling on her vassal, the eastern kingdom, to send an army of twenty thou sand men, she ordered them to join the imperial army at hing king. this city, now called yen-den, lies about seventy miles west of the yalu eiver, near the 42d parallel, just beyond what was " the neutral strip," and inside the palisades erected later. in the battle, which ensued, the coreans first faced the manchius. the imperial legions were beaten, and the coreans, seeing which way the victory would finally turn, deserted from the chinese side to that' of their enemy. this was in 1619. the manehiu general sent back some of the runaway coreans to their king, intimating that, though the coreans were acting gratefully in assisting the chinese, who had formerly helped the coreans against the japanese, yet it might hereafter be better to remain neutral. so -far from taking any notice of this letter, the government at seoul allowed the king's subjects to cross the yalu and assist the people of liao tung against the manchius, who were making hing-king their capital. at the same time the chi nese commander was permitted to enter corea, and thence to make expeditions against the manchius, by which they inflicted great damage upon the enemy. this continued until the winter of 1827, when the manchius, having lost all patience with corea, prepared to invade the peninsula. compelling two refugees to act as their guides, they crossed the frozen yalu in four divisions, in february, and at once attacked the chinese army, which was defeated, and retreated into liao tung. they then began the march to seoul. ai-chiu was the first town taken, and then, after crossing the ching-chong eiver, followed in succession the cities hning the high road to ping-an. thence, over the tatong eiver, they pressed on to seoul, the coreans everywhere flying before them. thousands of dwellings and magazines of provisions were given to the flames, and their trail was one of blood and ashes. among the slain were two hollanders, who were captives in the country. heretofore a line of strong palisades had separated corea from manchuria, on the north, but large portions of it were destroyed at this time in the constant forays along the border. those parts which stood yet intact were often seen by travellers along the manchurian side as late as toward the end of the last century. since then this wooden wall, a pigmy imitation of china's colossal embargo in masonry, has gradually fallen into decay. 158 cokba. the manchius invested seoul and began its siege in earnest. the queen and ladies of the court had already been sent to kang-wa island. the king, to avoid further shedding of blood, sent tribute offerings to the invaders, and concluded a treaty of peace by which cho-sen again exchanged masters, the king not only acknowledging from the manchiu sovereign the right of in vestiture, but also direct authority over his person, that is, the relation of master and subject. the coreans now waited to see whether events were likely to modify their new relations, so reluctantly entered into, for the chi nese were far from beaten as yet. when free from the presence of the iavading army the courage of the ministers rose, and by their advice the king, by gradual encroachments and neglect, an nulled the treaty. no sooner were the manchius able to spare their forces for the purpose, than, turning from china, they marched into corea, one hundred thousand strong, well supplied with provisions and bag gage-wagons. entering the peninsula, both at ai-chiu and by the northern pass, they reached seoul, and, after severe fighting, en tered it. being now provided with cannon and boats, they took kang-wa, iato which all the royal, and many of the noble, ladies had fled for safety. the king now came to terms, and made a treaty in february, 1637, ia which he utterly renounced his allegiance to the ming emperor, agreed to give his two sons as hostages, promised to send an annual embassy, with tribute, to the manchiu court, and to establish a market at the border gate, in liao tung. these covenants were ratified by the solemn ceremonial of the king, his sons and his ministers confessing their crimes and making " kow tow " (bowing nine times to the earth). tartar and corean wor shipped together before heaven, and the altar erected to heaven's honor. a memorial stone, erected near this sacred place, com memorates the clemency of the manchiu conqueror. in obedience to the orders of their new masters, the coreans despatched ships, loaded with grain, to feed the armies operating against peking, and sent a small force beyond the tumen to chas tise a tribe that had rebelled against their conquerors. a picked body of their matchlock men was also admitted into the manchiu service. after the evacuation of corea, the victors marched into china, where bloody, civil war was already raging. the imperial army the issachar op eastern asia. 159 was badly beaten by the rebels headed by the usurper li-tse ching. the manchius joined their forces with the imperialists, and defeated the rebels, and then demanded the price of their victory. entering peking, they proclaimed the downfall of the house of ming. the tatar (vassal) was now a "tartar." the son of their late king was set upon the dragon-throne and pro claimed the whang ti, the son of heaven, and the lord of the middle kingdom and au her vassals. the following tribute was fixed for cho-sen to pay annually : 100 ounces of gold, 1,000 ounces of silver, 10,000 bags of rice, 2,000 pieces of silk, 300 pieces of hnen, 10,000 pieces of cotton cloth, 400 pieces of hemp cloth, 100 pieces of fine hemp cloth, 10,000 rolls (fifty sheets each) of large paper, 1,000 rolls small sized paper, 2,000 knives (good quality), 1,000 ox-horns, 40 de corated mats, 200 pounds of dye-wood, 10 boxes of pepper, 100 tiger skins, 100 deer skins, 400 beaver skins, 200 skins of . blue (musk ?) rats. when", as it happened the very next year, the sho-gim of japan demanded an increase of tribute to be paid in yedo, the court of seoul plead in excuse their wasted resources consequent upon the war with the manchius, and their heavy burdens newly laid upon them. their excuse was accepted. twice, within a single generation, had the little peninsula been devastated by two mighty invasions that ate up the land. between the mountaineers of the north, and "the brigands" from over the sea, corea was left the issachar among nations. the once strong ass couched down between two burdens. " and he saw that the rest was good, and the land that it was pleasant, and bowed his shoulder to bear, and became a servant unto tribute." the manchius, being of different stock and blood from the chinese, yet imposed their dress and method of wearing the hair upon the millions of chinese people, but here their tyranny seemed to stop. hitherto, the chinese and corean method of rolling the hair in a knot or ball, on the top of the head, had been the fashion for ages. as a sign of loyalty to the new rulers, all people in the middle kingdom were compelled to shave the fore front of the head and allow their hair to grow in a queue, or pig tail, behind on their back. at first they resisted, and much blood was shed before au submitted ; but, at length, the once odious mark of savagery and foreign conquest became the national fash ion, and the chinaman's pride at home and abroad. even in 160 corea. foreign lands, they cling to this mark of their loyalty as to life and country. the object of the recent queue-cutting plots, fo mented by the political, secret societies of china, is to insult the imperial family at peking by robbing the chinese of their loyal appendage, and the special sign of the tartar dominion. as a special favor to the coreans who first submitted to the new masters of kathay, they were spared the infliction of the queue, and allowed to dress their hair in the ancient style. the corean king hastened to send congratvdations to the em peror, shun chi, which ingratiated him stiu ;inore in favor at peking. in 1650 a captive corean maid, taken prisoner in their first invasion, became sixth lady in rank in the imperial house hold. through her influence her father, the ambassador, obtained a considerable diminution of the annual tribute, fixed upon in the terms of capitulation in 1637. in 1643, one-third of this tribute had been remitted, so that, by this last reduction, in 1650, the tax upon corean loyalty was indeed very slight. indeed it has long been considered by the peking government that the coreans get about as much as they give, and the embassy is one of ceremony rather than of tribute-bringing. their offering is rather a per centage paid for hcense to trade, than a symbol of vassalage. nevertheless, the coreans of the seventeenth and eighteenth cen turies found out, to their cost, that any lack of due deference was an expensive item of freedom. every jot and tittle, or tithe of the mint or anise of etiquette, was exacted by the proud man chius. in 1695, the king of cho-sen was fined ten thousand ounces of suver for the omission of some punctiuo of vassalage. at the investiture of each sovereign in seoiil, two grandees were sent from peking to confer the patent of royalty. the little bill for this costly favor was about ten thousand taels, or dollars, in silver. the coreans also erected, near one of the gates of seoul, a temple, which stol stands, in honor of the manchius general commanding the invasion, and to whom, to this day, they pay semi-divine hon ors. yet to encourage patriotism it was permitted, by royal de cree, to the descendants of the minister who'refused, at the talu river, to allow the manchius to cross, and who thereby lost hit life, to erect to his memory a monumental gate, a mark of high honor only rarely granted. the jesuits at peking succeeded in ingratiating themselves with the conquerors, and shun-chi, the emperor, was a pupil of adam schall, a german jesuit, who became president of the board the issachar of eastern asia. 161 11 162 corea. of mathematicians. nevertheless, in the troubles preceding the peace, many upright men lost their lives, and hundreds of schol ars who hated the tatar conquerors of their beloved chiua — as the christians of constantinople hated the turks — fled to corea and japan, confemng great literary influence and benefit. in both coimtries their presence greatly stimulated the critical study of chinese hterature. with the mito and yedo scholars in japan, they assisted to promote the revival of learning, so long neglected during the civil wars. at nagasaki, a chinese colony of merchants, and trade between the two countries, were established, after the last hope of restoring the mings had been extinguished in koku senya (coxinga), who also drove the dutch from formosa. this exodus of scholars was somewhat like the dispersion of the greek scholars through europe after the fall of the eyzantiae empire. to the jesuits in peking, who were mostly frenchmen, belongs the credit of beginning that whole system of modem culture, by which modem science and christianity are yet to transform the chinese mind, and recast the ideas of this mighty people con cerning nature and deity. they now began to make known in europe much valuable information about china and her outlying tributary states. they sent home a map of corea — the first seen in europe. imperfect, though it was, it made the hermit land more than a mere name. in " china illustrata," written by the jesuit martini, and published in 1649, in amsterdam — the city of printing presses and the leipsic of that day — there is a map of corea. the same industrious scholar wrote, in latin, a book, en titled "de beuo inter tartaros et seniensis " (on the war between the manchius and the chinese), which was issued at antwerp in 1654, and in amsterdam in 1661. it was also translated iuto english, french, and spanish, the editions being issued at lon don, donay, and madrid. the english title is " bellum tartari cum ; or, the conquest of the great and most eenowned empire of china by the invasion of the [manchiu] tartars," london, 1654, octavo. the dutch had long tried to get a hand in the trade of china, and, in 1604, 1622, and 1653, had sent fleets of trading vessels to chinese ports, but were in every instance refused. the eussians, however, were first allowed^, to trade on the northern frontier of china before the same privileges were granted to other europeans. the cossacks, when they first crossed the ural mountains, in 1579, with their faces set toward the pacific, never ceased their advance the issachab op eastern asia. 163 till they had added to the czar's domain a portion of the earth's surface as large as the united states, and half of europe. once on the steppes, there began that long duel between cossack and tar tar, which never ended until the boundaries of eussia touched those of corea, japan, and british america. cossacks discovered, explored, conquered, and settled this triple-zoned region of frozen moss, forest land and fertile soil, bringing over six million square miles of territory under the wings of the double-headed eagle. they brought reports of corea to russia, and it was from russian sources that sir john campbell obtained the substance of his "commercial history of chorea and japan" in his voyages and travels, printed in london, 1771. in 1645, a party of japanese traversed cho-sen from ai-chiu to fusan, the dan and beersheba of the peninsula. returning from their travels, one of them wrote a book called the " romance of corea " (cho-sen monogatari). takeuchi tosaemon and his son, tozo, and shipmaster kunida hisosaemon, on april 26, 1645, left the port of mikuni in the provincp of echizen — the same place to which the first native of corea is said to have reached japan in the legendary period. with three large junks, whose crews num bered fifty-eight men, they set sail for the north on a trading voy age. off the island of sado a fearful storm broke upon them, which, after fifteen days, drove them on the mountain coast of tartary, where they landed, may 12th, to refit and get fresh water. at first the people treated them peacefully, trading off their gin seng for the sake, or rice-beer, of the japanese. later on, the japanese were attacked by the natives, and twenty-five of their number slain. the remainder were taken to peking, where they remained until the winter of 1646. honorably acquitted of all blame, they were sent homeward, into the eastern kingdom, under safe conduct of the chinese emperor shun-chi. they began the journey december 18th, and, crossing the snow-covered mountains and frozen rivers of liao tung, reached seoul, after twenty-eight days travel, february 3, 1647. the japanese were entertained in magnificent style in one of the royal houses with banquets, numerous servants, presents, and the at tendance of an officer, named kan-shun, who took them around the city and showed them the sights. the paintings on the palace walls, the tiger-skin rugs, the libraries of handsomely bound books, the festivities of new year's day, the evergreen trees and fine scenery, were all novel and pleasing to the japanese, but still they longed 164 corba. to reach home. leaving seoul, february 12th, they passed through a large city, where, at sunset and sunrise, they heard the trum peters call the laborers to begin and cease work. they noticed that the official class inscribed on their walls the names and dates of reign and death of the royal line from the founder of the dynasty to the father of the ruling sovereign. this served as an ob ject lesson in history for the young. the merchants kept in their houses a pictui-e of the famous tao-jo-kung, who, by skul in trade, accumulated fortunes only to spend them among his friends. on february 21st, they passed through shang-shen (or shang-chiu ?), where the japanese gained a great victory. in passing along the nak-tong eiver, they witnessed the an nual trial of archery for the military examinations. the targets were straw mannikins, set up on boats, in the middle of the river. on march 6th they reached fusan. the japanese settlement, called nippon-machi, or japan street, was outside the gates of the town, a guard-house being kept up to keep the japanese away. only twice a year, on august 15th and 16th, were they allowed to leave their quarters to visit a temple in the town. the coreans, however, were free to enter the japanese concession to visit or trade. the waifs were taken into the house of the daimio of tsushima, and glad, indeed, were they to talk with a fellow countryman. sailing to tsushima, they were able there to get japanese clothes, and, on july 19th, they reached ozaka, and finally their homes in echizen. one of their number wrote out an account of his adventures. among other interesting facts, he states that he saw, hanging in the palace at peking, a portrait of yoshitsune, the japanese hero, who, as some of his countrymen believe, fled the country and, landing in manchuria, became the mighty warrior genghis khan. whether mistaken or not, the note of the japanese is in teresting. mr. leon pages, in his " histoire de la eeligion chretienne au japon," says that these men referred to above found estab lished in the capital a japanese commercial factory, but with the verj' severe restrictions similar to those imposed upon the hollan ders at deshima. this is evidently a mistake. there was no trad ing mart in the capital, but there was, and had been, one at fusan, which still exists in most flourishing condition. the manchius, from the first, showed themselves " the most improvable race in asia." in 1707, under the patronage of the the issachab of eastern asia. 165 renowned emperor kang hi, the jesuits in peking began their great geographical enterprise— the survey of the chinese empire, including the outlying vassal kingdoms. from the king's palace, at seoul, kang hi's envoy otatained a map of corea, which was re duced, drawn, and sent to europe to be engraved and printed. from this original, most of the maps and supposed corean names in books, published since that time, have been copied. having no corean interpreter at hand, the jesuit cartographers gave the chinese sounds of the characters which represent the local names. hence the discrepancies between this map and the reports of the dutch, japanese, french, and american travellers, who give the wom. map illustrating the jesuit survey of tjog, vernacular pronunciation. to french genius and labor, from first to last, we owe most of what is known in europe concerning the secluded nation. the jesuits' map is accurate as regards the lati tude and longitude of many places, but lacking in true coast lines. while making their surveys, the party of missionaries, whose assignment of the work was to eastern manchuria, caught some thing like a pisgah glimpse of the country which, before a century elapsed, was to become a land of promise to french christianity. in 1709, as they looked across the tumen eiver, they wrote : " it was a new sight to us after we had crossed so many forests, and coasted so many frightful mountains to find ourselves on the banks of the 166 cobea. river tumen-ula, with nothing but woods and wild beasts on one side, while the other presented to our view all that art and labor could produce in the best cioltivated kingdoms. we there saw walled cities, and placing our instruments on the neighboiing heights, geometrically determined the location of four of them, which bounded korea on the north." the four towns seen by the jesuit surveyors were kion-wen, on-son, and possibly kion fun and chon-shon. the coreans could not understand the tartar or chinese com panions of the frenchmen, but, at hun-chun, they found interpre ters, who told them the names of the corean towns. the french priests were exceedingly eager and anxious to cross the river, and enter the land that seemed uke the enchanted castle of thomrose, but, being forbidden by the emperor's orders, they reluctantly turned their backs upon the smiling cities. this was the picture of the northern border in 1707, before it was desolated, as it afterward was, so that the russians might not be tempted to cross over. at hun-chun, on the manchiu, and kion-wen, on the corean side of the river, once a year, alternately, that is, once in two years, at each place, a fair was held up to 1860, where! the coreans and chinese merchants exchanged goods. the lively traffic lasted only half a day, when the nationals of either country were ordered over the border, and laggards were hastened at the spear's point. any foreigner, manchiu, chinese, or even corean suspected of being an alien, was, if found on the south side of the tumen, at once put to death without shrift or pity. thus the only gate of parley with the outside world on co rea's northern frontier resembled an embrasure or a muzzle. "when at last the cossack lance flashed, and the eussian school house rose, and the church spire glittered with steady radiance beyond the tumen, this gateway became the terminus of that "underground railroad," through which the corean slave reached his canada beyond, or the corean christian sought freedom from torture and dungeons and death. chapter xxii. the dutchmen in exile. the old saw whicli tells us that " truth is stranger than fic tion " receives many a new and unexpected confirmation when ever a traveller into strange countries comes back to tell his tale.; marco polo was denominated " signor miuiano " (lord millions) by his incredulous hearers, because, in speaking of china, he very properly used this lofty numeral so frequently in his narratives. mendez pinto, though speaking truthfully of japan's wonders, was dubbed by a pun on his christian name, the "mendacious," because he told what were thought to be very unchristian stories. in our own day, when paul du chaiuu came back from the african vtdlds and told of the gorilla which walked upright like a man, and could dent a gun-barrel with his teeth, most people be lieved, as a college professor of belles lettres, dropping elegant words for the nonce, once stated, that "he hed like the mischief." when lo ! the once mythic gorillas have come as live guests at berlin and philadelphia, while their skeletons are commonplaces in our museums. even stanley's african discoveries were, at first, discredited. the first european travellers in corea, who lived to teu. their tale at home, met the same fate as polo, pinto, du chaiuu, and stanley. -the narratives were long doubted, and by some set down as pure fiction. like the indian braves that listen to eed cloud and spotted tail, who, in the lodges of the plains, recount the wonders of "washington and civilization, the hearers are sure that they have taken "bad medicine." later reports or personal ex perience, however, corroborate the first accounts, and by the very commonplaceness of simple truth the first reports are robbed auke of novelty and suspicion. the first known entrance of any number of europeans into corea was that of hollanders, belonging to the crew of the dutch ship hollandra, which was driven ashore in 1627. in those days 168 corba. the dutch -were pushing their adventurous progress in the east ern seas as well as on the american waters. they had forts, trading settlements, or prosperous cities ia java, sumatra, the spice islands, formosa, and the ports of southern japan. the shores of these archipelagoes and continents being then little known, and sughtly surveyed, shipwrecks were very frequent. the profits of a prosperous voyage usually repaid all losses of ships, though it is estimated that three out of five were lost. the passage between china and japan and up the seas south of corea, has, from ancient times, been difficult, even to a chinese proverb. a big, blue-eyed, red-bearded, robust dutchman, named john wetterree, whose native town was eip, in north holland, volun teered on board the dutch ship hollandra in 1626, in order to get to japan. in that wonderful country, during the previous seventeen years, his fellow-countrymen had been trading and making rich fortunes, occasionally fightiug on the seas with the portuguese and other buccaneers of the period. the good ship, after a long voyage around the cape of good hope, and through the indian and chinese seas, was almost ia sight of japan. coasting along the corean shores, mr. john "wetterree and some companions went ashore to get water, and there were captured by the natives. the coreans were evidently quite willing to have such a man at hand, for use rather than orna ment. after the japanese invasions a spasm of enterprise in the way of fortification, architecture, and development of their mili tary resources possessed them, and to have a big-nosed and red bearded foreigner, a genuine "nam-ban," or barbarian of the south, was a prize. to both coreans and japanese, the europeans, as coming ia ships from the southward, were called " southern ers," or "southern savages." later on, after learning new les sons in geography, they called them "westerners," or "bar barians from the west." like the black potentates of africa, who like to possess a white man, believing him to be a "spirit," or a new zealand chief, who values the presence of a " paheka maori" (englishman), the co reans of that day considered their western " devil " a piece of prop erty worth many tiger skias. it may be remembered — and the coreans may have borrowed the idea thence — that the japanese, then beginning their hermit policy, had also a white foreigner in durance for their benefit. this was the englishman wiu adams, who had been a pilot on a dutch ship that sailed from the same the dutchmen in exile. * 169 texel eiver. perhaps .the boy wetterree had seen and talked with the doughty briton on the wharves of the dutch port. adams served the japanese as interpreter, state adviser, ship ar chitect, mathematician, and in various useful ways, but was never allowed to leave japan. it is highly probable that the ambassadors from seoul, while in yedo, saw will adams, since he spent much of his time in public among the officials and people, living there until may, 1620. the magnates of seoul probably desired to have a like facto tum, and this explains why wetterree was treated with kindness and comparative honor, though kept as a prisoner. when the manchius invaded corea, in 1635, his two companions were killed in the wars, and wetterree was left alone. having no one with whom he could converse, he had almost forgotten his native speech, when after twenty-seven years of exue, in the fifty-ninth year of his age, he met some of his feuow-houanders and acted as interpreter to the coreans, under the following circumstances : in january, 1653, the dutch ship sparwehr (sparrowhawk) left texel island, bound for nagasaki. among the crew was hendrik hamel, the supercargo, who afterward became the his torian of their adventures. after nearly five months' voyage, they reached batavia, june 1st, and formosa july 16th. • from this island they steered for japan, fortunately meeting no " wild chi nese " or pirates on their course. off quelpart island, a dreadful storm arose, and, being close on a lee shore with death staring au in the face, the captain ordered them " to cut down the mast and go to their prayers." the ship went to pieces, but thirty-six out of the sixty-four men composing the crew reached the shore amve. the local magistrate, an elder of some seventy years of age, who knew a little dutch, met them with his retainers, and learned their plight, who they were, and whence they came. the hollanders were first refreshed with rice-water. the coreans then collected the pieces of the broken ship, and au they could get from the hulk, and burned them for the sake of the metal. one of the iron articles happened to be a loaded cannon, which went off during the firing. the liquor casks were speedily emptied into the gullets of the wreckers, and the result was a very noisy set of heathen. the old leader, however, evidently determined to draw the kne between virtue and vice somewhere. he had several of the thieves seized and spanked on the spot, while others were bambooed on the soles of their feet, one so severely that his toes dropped off. 170 corea. on october 29th the survivors were brought by the officials to be examined by the interpreter wetterree. the huge noses, the red beards and white faces were at once recognized by the ^ lone exile as belonging to his own countrymen. wetterree was very "rusty" in his native language, after twenty-seven years' nearly complete disuse, but in company with the new arrivals he regained it au in a month. of course, the first and last idea of the captives was how to escape. the native fishing-smacks were frequently driven off to japan, which they knew must be almost in sight. one night they made an attempt to reach the sea-shore. they at first thought they were secure, when the dogs betrayed them by barking and alarming the guards. it is evident that the european body has an odor entirely dis tinct from a mongolian. the abbe hue states that even when travelling through thibet and china, in disguise, the dogs con tinually barked at him and almost betrayed him, even at night. in travelling, and especially when uving in the japanese city of pu kui, the vwiter had the same experience. in walking through the city streets at night, even when many hundred yards off, the jap anese dogs would start up barking and run toward him. this occurred repeatedly, when scores of native pedestrians were not noticed by the beasts. the french missionaries in corea, even in disguise, report the same facts. the baffled hollanders were caught and officially punished after the fashion of the nursery, but so severely that some had to keep their beds for a month, in order to heal their battered flanks. finally they were ordered to proceed to the capital, which the dutchmen call sior (seoul). hamel give^ a few names of the places through which he passed. these are in the pronunciation of the local dialect, and written down in dutch spelling. most of them are recognizable on the map, though the real sound is nearly lost in a quagmire of dutch letters, in which haniel has attempted to note the quavers and semi-demi-quavers of corean enunciation. he writes goeree for corea, and tyocen-hoeck for cho-sen koku, and is probably the first european to mention quelpart island, on which the ship was wrecked. the first city on the mainland to which they came was heynam (hai-nam), in the extreme southwest of chuua. this was about the last of may. thence they marched to jeham, spending the night the dutchmen in exile. 17x at na-diou (nai-chiu). the gunner of the ship died at je-ham, or je-ban. they passed through san-siang (chan-shon), and came to tong-a,p (chon-wup ?), after crossing a high mountain, on the top of which was the spacious fortress of il-pam san-siang. the term " san-siang," used twice here, means a fortified stronghold in the mountains, to which, in time of war, the neighboring ttua gers may fly for refuge. teyn (tai-in), was the next place arrived at, after which, "having baited at the httle town of kuniga" (kumku), they reached khin-tyo (chon-chiu), where the governor of chiuado (chuua do) resided. this city, though a hundred miles from the sea, was very famous, and was a seat of great traffic. after this, they came to the last town of the province, jesan, and, passing through gunun and jensan, reached konsio (kong-chiu), the capital of chung-chong province. they reached the border of kiung-kei by a rapid march, and, after crossing a wide river (the han), they traversed a league, and entered sior (seoul). they computed the length of the journey at seventy-five leagues. this, by a rough reckoning, is about the distance from hainam to seoul, as may be seen from the map. in the capital, as they had been along the road, the dutchmen were like vnld beasts on show. crowds flocked to see the white faced and red-bearded foreigners. they must have appeared to the natives as punch looks to english children. the women were even more anxious than the men to get a good look. every one was especially curious to see the dutchmen drink, for it was gen erally beheved that they tucked their noses up over their ears when they drank. the size and prominence of the nasal organ of a caucasian first strikes a turanian with awe and fear. thou sands of people no doubt learned, for the first time, that the west em " devils " were men after all, and ate decent food and not earthworms and toads. some of the women, so hamel flattered himself, even went so far as to admire the fair complexions and niddy cheeks of the dutchmen. at the palace, the king (yo chong, who reigned from 1648 to 1658) improved the opportunity for a little fun. it was too good a show not to see how the ani mals could perform. the dutchmen laughed, sang, danced, leaped, and went through miscellaneous performances for his majesty's benefit. for this they were rewarded with choice drink and refreshments. they were then assigned to the body-guard of the king as petty officers, and an allowance of rice was set apart for their maintenance. chinese and dutchmen drilled and com 172 corea. manded the palace troops, who were evidently the flower of the army. during their residence at the capital the hollanders learned many things about the country and people, and began to be able to talk in the " coresian " language. the ignorance and narrowness of the coreans were almost in credible. they could not believe what the captives told them of the size of the earth. "how could it be possible," said they, in sneering incredulity, "that the sun can shine on all the many countries you tell us of at once?" thinking the foreigners told exaggerated lies, they fancied that the " countries " were only counties and the " cities " villages. to them corea was very near the centre of the earth, which was china. the cold was very severe. in november the river was frozen over, and three hundred loaded horses passed over it on the ice. alter they had been in seoul three years, the "tartar" (man chiu) ambassador visited seoul, but before his arrival the captives were sent away to a fort, distant six or seven leagues, to be kept until the ambassador left, which he did in march. this fort stood on a mountain, called numma, which required three hoiu's to ascend. in' time of war the king sought shelter vyithin it, and it was kept provisioned for three years. hamel does not state why he and his companions were sent away, but it was probably to con ceal the fact that foreigners were druling the royal troops. the suspicions of the new rulers at peking were easily roused. when the manchiu envoy was about to leave seoul, some of the prisoners determined to put in execution a plan of escape. they put on dutch clothes, under their corean dress, and awaited their opportunity. as the envoy was on the road about to depart, some of them seized the bridle of his horse, and displaying their dutch clothing, begged him to take them to peking. the plan ended in failure. the dutchmen were seized and thrown into prison. nothing more was ever heard of them, and it was believed by their companions that they had been put to death. this was in march. in june there was another shipwreck off quelpart island, and wetterree being now too old to make the journey, three of the hollanders were sent to act as interpreters. hamel does not give us the result of their mission. the manchiu ambassador came again to seoul in august. the nobles urged the king to put the hollanders to death, and have no more trouble with them. his majesty refused, but sent the dutchmen in exile. 173 them back into chuua, allowing them each fifty pounds of rice a month for their support. they set out from seoul in march, 1657, on horseback, passing through the same towns as on their former journey. beaching the castle-city of " diu-siong," they were joined by their three comrades sent to investigate the wreck at quelpart, which made their number thirty-three. their chief occupation was that of keeping the castle and official residence in order — an easy and congenial duty for the neat and order-loving dutchmen. hamel learned many of the ideas of the natives. they repre sented their country as in. the form of a long square, " in shape like a playing-card " — perhaps the dutchmen had a pack with them to beguile the tedium of their exue. certain it is that they still kept the arms and flag of orange, to be used again. the exiles were not treated harshly, though in one case, after a change of masters, the new magistrate "afflicted them with fresh crosses." this "rotation in office " was evidently on account of the change on the throne. yo-chong ceased to reign in 1658, and " a new king arose who knew not joseph." yen-chong suc ceeded his father, reigning from 1658 to 1676. two large comets appearing in the sky with their taua toward each other, frightened the coreans, and created intense alarm. the army was ordered out, the guards were doubled, and no fires were allowed to be kindled along the coast, lest they might attract or guide invaders or a hostile force. in the last few decades, comets had appeared, said the coreans, and in each case they had presaged war. in the first, the japanese invasions from the east, and, in the second, the manchius from the west. they anxiously asked the dutchmen how comets were regarded 'in holland, and probably received some new ideas in astronomy. ' no war; how ever, followed, and the innocent comets gradually shrivelled up out of sight, mtiioiit shakihg out of their fiery hair either pesti lence or war.; ■ ■ the dutchmen saw many whales blowing off the coast, and in december shoals of herring rushed by, keeping up an increasing stream of life until january, when it slackened, and in march ceased. the whales made sad havoc in these shoals, gorging themselves on the small fry. these are the herring which arrive off the coast of whang-hai, and feed on the banks and shoals dur ing the season. the catching of them affords lucrative employ ment to himdreds dt junks from north china. 174 corea. from their observations, the dutchmen argued — one hundred and twenty years before la perouse demonstrated the fact — that there must be a strait north of corea, connecting with the arctic ocean, hke that of waigats (now called the strait of kara), be tween nova zemla and the island lying off the northwestern end of russia. they thus conjectured the existence of the straits of tartary, west of saghahn, before they appeared on any european map. waigats was discovered by the englishman, stephen bur roughs, who had been sent out by the muscovy company to find a northwest passage to china. their mention of it shows that they were familiar with the progress of polar research, since it was dis covered in 1556, only seven years before they left holland. it had even at that time, however, become a famous huntiag-place for whalers and herring fishers. these marine studies of the captives, coupled with the fact that they had before attempted to escape, may have aroused the suspi cions of the government. in february, 1663, by orders from seoul, they were separated and put in three different towns. twelve went to " saysiano," five to siun-schien, and five to namman, their numbers being now reduced to twenty-two. two of these places are easily found on the japanese map. during all the years of their captivity, they seem not to have known anything of the jap anese at fusan, nor the latter of them. though thus scattered, the men were occasionally allowed to visit each other, which they did, enjoying each other's society, sweetened with pipes and tobacco, and hamel devoutly adds that " it was a great mercy of god that they enjoyed good health." a new governor having been appointed over them, evidently was pos sessed with the idea of testing the skill of the bearded foreigners, with a view of improving the art productions of the country. he set the dutchmen to work at moulding clay — perhaps to have some pottery and tiles after dutch patterns, and the delft system of illustratiag the bible at the fireplace. this was so manifestly agaiast the national policy of making no improvements on any thing, that the poor governor lost his place and suffered punish ment. the spies informed on him to the king. an explosion of ■power took place, the ex-governor received ninety strokes on his shin-bones, and was disgraced from rank and office. the quon dam improvers of the ceramic art of corea were again set to work at pulung up grass and other menial duties about the official resi dence. the dutchmen in exile. 175 as the years passed on, the poor exiles were in pitiful straits. their clotmng had been worn to tatters, and they were reduced even to beggary. they were accustomed to go off in companiea to seek alms of the people, for two or three weeks at a time. those left at home, during these trips, worked at various odd joba to earn a pittance, especially at making arrows. the next year, 1664, was somewhat easier for them, their overseer being kind and gentle; but, in 1665, the homesick fellows tried hard to escape. in 1666, they lost their benefactor, the good governor. •now came the time for flight. ah possible preparations were made, in the way of hoarding provisions, getting fresh water ready, and studying well the place of exit. they waited for the sickness or absence of their overseer, to slacken the viguance of their guards. in the latter part of august, or early in september, 1667, as the fourteenth year of their captivity was drawing to a close, the gov ernor fell sick. the dutchmen, taking time by the forelock, im mediately, as soon as dark, on the night of september 4th, climbed the city wall, and reaching the seaside succeeded, after some par leying, in getting a boat. "a corean, bunded by the offer of double the value of it," sold them his fishing craft. they returned again to the city. at night they crept along the city wall, and this time the dogs were asleep, absent, or to windward, though ihe dutchmen's hearts were in their mouths au the time. they carried pots of rice and water, and that darling of a dutchman — the frying-pan. noiselessly they slipped the wood and stone anchor, and glided out past the junks and boats in the harbor, none of the crews waking from their mats. they steered directly southeast, and on the 6th found them selves in a current off the goto islands. they succeeded in land ing, and cooked some food. not long after, some armed natives (probably from the lingering influence of the comet) approached ihem cautiously, as the japanese feared they were coreans, and forerunners of an invading band. hamel at once pulled out their flag, having the arms and colors of the prince of orange. surrendering themselves, they stated their history, and condition, and their desire . of getting home. the japanese were kind, " but made no return for the gifts " of the dutchmen. they finally got to nagasaki in japanese junks, and met their countrymen at d6shima. the annual ship from batavia was then just about to return, and in the nick of time the waifs 176 corea. got on board, reached batayia november 20th, sailed for holland december 28th, and on jiily 20, 1668, stepped ashore at home. hamel, the supercargo of the ship, wrote a book on his return, recounting his adventures in a simple and straightforward style. it was written in dutch and shortly after translated into french, german, and english. four editions in dutch are known. the english version may be found in full in the astley, and in the pinkerton, collections of voyages and travels. the french translator indulges in skepticism concerning hamel' s narrative, questioning especially his geographical state ments. before a map of corea, with the native sounds even but approximated, it will be seen that hamel's story is a piece ot downright unembroidered truth. it is indeed to be regretted that this actual observer of corean life, people, and customs gave us so little information concerning them. the fate of the other survivors of the sparrowhawk crew was never known. perhaps it never will be learned, as it is not likely that the coreans would take any pains to mark the site of their graves. yet as the tomb of will adams was found in japan, by a reader of hudreth's book, so perhaps some inquiring foreigner in corea may discover the site of the graves of these exiles, and mark their resting-places. there is no improbability in supposing that other missing vessels, previous to the second half of the nineteenth century, shared the fate of the sparrowhawk. the wrecks, burned for the sake of the iron, would leave no trace ; while perhaps many ship wtecked men have pined in captivity, and dying lonely in a strange land have been put in unmarked graves. at this point, we bring to an end our sketch of the ancient and mediaeval history of corea. until the introduction of chris tianity into the peninsula, the hermit nation was uninfluenced by any ideas which the best modem life claims as its own. as with the whole world, so with its tiny fraction corea, the door of ancient history shut, and the gate of modem history opened, when the religion of jesus moved the hearts and minds of men. we now glance at the geography, politics, social life, and rehgion of the coreans ; after which we shall narrate the story of their national life from the implanting of christianity imtil their rivulet of his tory flowed into the stream of the world's history. ii. political and social core a. political aj^m social coeea. chapter xxiii. the eight provinces. ping-an, oe the pacific. this province bears the not altogether appropriate name of peaceful quiet. it is the border land of the kingdom, containing what was for centuries the only acknowledged gate of entrance and outlet to the one neighbor which corea wulingly acknowl edged as her superior. it contains, probably, the largest area of any province, unless it be ham-kiung. its northern, and a great part of its western, frontier is made by the yalu eiver, called also the ap-nok, the former name referring to its sinuous course, mean ing "dragon's vrindings," and the latter after its deep green color. the yalu is the longest river ia corea. its source is found near the 40th parallel. flowing northwardly, for about eighty miles, the stream forms the boundary between piag-an and ham kiung. then, turning to the westward, it receives on the manchu rian side twelve tributaries, which run down the gorges of the ever-white mountains. each of these streams is named, begin ning westwardly, after the numerals of arithmetic. the waters of so many valleys on the west, as well as on the north and east, emptying into the yalu, make it, in spring and fall, a turbulent stream, which sinuates like the writhing of a dragon ; whence its name. in the summer, its waters are beautifully clear, and blue or green — the coreans having no word to distinguish between these two colors. it empties by three mouths into the yellow sea, its deltas, or islands, being completely submerged during the melting of the snows. it is easily navigable for junks to the town of chan-son, a noted trading place, sixty miles from the sea. the 180 cobba. valley of the talu is extremely fertile, and well wooded, and the scenery is superb. its navigation was long interdicted to the chi nese, but steamers and gunboats have entered it, and access to the fertile valley and the trade of the region will be gained by other nations. the tong-kia eiver drains the neutral strip. the town nearest the frontier, and the gateway of the king dom, is ai-chiu. it is situated on a hill overlooking the river, and surrounded by a wall of light-colored stone. the annual embassy always departed for its overland journey to china through its gates. here also are the custom-house and vigilant guards, whose chief business it was to scrutinize au persons entering or leaving corea by the high road, which traverses the town. a line of pa trols and guard-houses picketed the river along a length of over a hundred miles. nevertheless, most of the french missionaries have entered the mysterious peninsula through this loophole, disgfuising them selves as wood-cutters, crossing the talu eiver on the ice, creeping through the water-drains in the granite wau, and passing through this town. or they have been met by friends at appointed places along the border, and thence have travelled to the capital through this exit also, corea sent to peking or mukden the waifs and sailors cast on her shores. a number of shipwrecked americans, after kind treatment at the hands of the coreans, have thus reached their homes by way of mukden. this prosperous city, having a population of over two hundred thousand souls, and noted for its manufactures, especially in metal is the capital of the chinese province of shing-king, formerly liao tong. it is surrounded by a long wall pierced with eight gates, one of which — that to the northeast — is called "the corean gate." niu chwang has also a "corean gate." fifty miles beyond the corean frontier is the "border gate" (pien-mun), at which there was a fair held three or four times a year, the chief markets being at the exit and return of the corean embassy to china. the value of the products here sold annually averaged over five hundred thousand dollars. in the central apart ment of a building inhabited at either end by chinese and corean mandarins respectively, the customs-officers sat to collect taxes on the things bartered. the corean merchants were obliged to pay "bonus " or tribute of about four hundred, dollars to the manda rin of fung-wang chang, the nearest chinese town, who came in person to open the gates of the building for the spring fair. for the eight provinces. 181 the privilege of the two autumn fairs, the coreans were mulcted but half the sum, as the gates were then opened by an underling map of prng-an province. manchiu official. the winter fair was but of felight importance. for the various chinese goods, and eurbpean cottons, the coreails 182 corea. bartered theiifurs, hides, gold dust, ginseng, and the mulberry paper used by chinese tailors for hniogs, and for windows. ping-an has the reputation of being very rich in mineral and metallic wealth. gold and silver by report abound, but the na tives are prohibited by the government from working the mines. the neutrality of the strip of territory, sixty miles wide and about thi-ee himdred mues long, and drained by the tong-kia eiver, between cho-sen and chin, was respected by the chinese gov ernment until 1875, when li hung chung, on complaint of the king of corea, made a descent on the manchiu outlaws and squat ters settled on the strip. having despatched a force of troops, with gunboats up the yalu, to co-operate with them, he found the region overspread with cultivators. the eyes of the viceroy being opened to the fertility of this land, and the navigability of the river, he proposed, in a memorial to peking, that the land be incor porated in the chinese domain, but that a wall and ditch be built to isolate corea, and that all chinese trespassers on corean ground be handed over to the mandarins to be sent prisoners to mukden, and to be there beheaded, while chinese resisting capture should be lawfully slain by coreans. to this the seoul government agreed. by this clever diplomacy the chinese gained back a huge suce of valuable land, probably without the labor of digging ditches or building palisades. the old wall of stakes stiu remains, in an extremely dilapidated condition. off the coast are a few islands, and a number of shallow banks, around which shelland soale-fish abound. chinese junks come in fleets every year in the fishing season, but their presence is permitted only on condition of their never setting foot on shore. in reality much contraband trade is done by the smugglers along the coast. a group of isl ands near the mouth was long the nest of chinese pirates, but these have been broken up by li hung chang's gunboats. next to the yalu, the most important river of the province is the ta tong or ping-an, which discharges a great volume of fresh water annually into the sea. a number of large towns and cities are situated on or near its banks, and the high road follows the course of the river. it is the eubicon of cho-sen history, and at various epochs in ancient times was the boundary river of china, or of the rival states within the peninsula. about fifty miles from its mouth is the city of ping-an, the metropolis of the province, and the royal seat of authority, from before the christian era, to the tenth century. its situation renders it a natural stronghold. it the eight provinces. 183 has been many times besieged by chinese and japanese armies, and near it many battles have been fought. " the general sher man affair," in 1866, in which the crew of the american schooner were murdered — which occasioned the sending of the united states naval expedition in 1871 — took place in front of the city of ping-an. commander j. c. febiger, in the u. s. s. shenandoah, visited the mouths of the river in 1869, and while vainly waiting for the arrest of the murderers, surveyed the inlet, to which he gave the name of " shenandoah." by official enumeration, ping-an contains 293,400 houses, and the muster-rolls give 174,538 as the number of men capable of military duty. the governor resides at ping-an. there is considerp,ble diversity of character betweerj the in habitants of the eight provinces. those of the two most north em, particularly of ping-an, are more violent in temper than the other provincials. very few nobles or official dignitaries live among them, hence very few of the refinements of the capital are to be found there. they are not over loyal to the reigning dy nasty, and are believed to cherish enmity against it. the gov.ern ment lieeps vigilant watch over them, repressing the first show of insubordination, lest an iasurrection difficult to queu. should once gain headway. it is from these provinces that most of the refugees into russian territory come. it was among these men that the " general sherman affair " took place, and it is highly probable that even if the regent were really desirous of examining into the outrage, he was afraid to do so, when the strong public sentiment was wholly on the side of the murderers of the sherman's crew. the yellow-sea peovince. all the eight circuits into which cho-sen is divided are mari time provinces, but this is the only one which takes its name from the body of water on which its borders lie, jutting out into the whang -hai, or yellow sea, its extreme point lies nearest to shan tung promontory in china. its coast hne exceeds its land fron tiers. in the period anterior to the christian era, whang-hai, was occupied by the tribes called the mahan, and from the second to the sixth century, by the kingdom of hiaksai. it has been the camping-ground of the armies of many nations. here, besides the border forays which engaged the troops of the rival kingdoms, the japanese, chinese, mongols, and manchius, have contended 184 corea. for victory again and again. the ravages of war, added to a some wliat sterile sou, are the causes of whang-hai being the least populated province of the eight in the peninsula. from very an cient times the corean peninsula has been renowned for its pearls. these are of superior lustre and great size. even before the christian era, when the people lived ia caves and mud huts, and before they had horses or cattle, the barbaric inhabitants of this region wore necklaces of pearls, and sewed them on their cloth ing, row upon row. they amazed the invading hordes of the han dynasty, with such incongruous mixture of wealth and sav agery ; as the indians, careless of the yeuow dust, surprised by their indifference to it the gold-greedy warriors of balboa. later on, the size and bruliancy of corean pearls became famous all over china. they were largely exported. the chinese merchant braved the perils of the sea, and of ufa among the rude co reans, to win. lustrous gems of great price, which he bartered when at home for sums which made him quichy rich. in the twelfth century the fame of these " eastern pearls," as they were then called, and which outrivalled even those from the tonquin fisheries, became the cause of an attempted conquest of the penin sula, the visions of wealth acting as a lure to the would-be inva ders. it may even be that the corean pearl fisheries were known by fame to the story-teuers of the "arabian nights entertainments." much of the mystic philosophy of china concerning pearls is held also by the coreans. the corean elysium is a lake of pearls. in burying the dead, those who can afford it, fiu the mouth of the corpse with three, pearls, which, if large, will, it is believed, pre serve the dead body from decay. this emblem of three flashing pearls, is much in vogue in native art. the gems are found on the banks lying off the coast of this province, as well as in the archipelago to the south, and at quelpart. the industry is, at present, utterly neglected. the pearls are kept, but no use seems to be made of the briuiant nacre of the mussel-sheus, which are exported to japan, to be used in inlaying. more valuable to the modem people than the now almost aban doned pearl mussel-beds, are the herring fisheries, which, during the season, attract fleets of junks and thousands of fishermen from the northern coast provinces of china. opposite, at a distance of about eighty miles as the crow flies, measuring from land's end to land's end, is the populous province of shantung, or " countiy east of the mountains." on the edge of this promontory are the the bight provinces. 185 cities of chifu and tehg chow, while further to the east is tien tsin, the seaport of peking. from the most ancient times, chi nese armadas have sailed, and invading armies have embarked for corea from these ports. over and over again has the river ta tong been crowded with fleets of junks, fluttering the dragon-ban ners at their peais. from the shantung headlands, also, chinese pirates have sailed over to the tempting coasts and green islands of corea, to ravage, bum, and kiu. to guard against these inva ders, and to notify the arrival of foreigners, signal fires are lighted on the hiu-tops, which form a cordon of flame and speed the alarm from coast to capital in a few "hours. these pyrographs or fire map of the yellow-sea province. signals are called "pong-wa." at mok-mie' san, a mountain south of the capital, the fire-messages of the three southern provinces are received. by day, instead of the pillars of fire, are clouds of smoke, made by heaping wet chopped straw or rice-husks on the blaze. instantly a dense white column rises in the air, which, to the sentinels from peak to peak, is eloquent of danger. in more peaceful times, corean timber has been largely exported to chifu, and tribute-bearing ships have sailed over to tientsin. the chi nese fishermen usually appear off the coast of this province in the third month, or april, remaining until june, when their white sails, bent homeward, sink from the gaze of the vigilant sentinels 186 corba. on the hills, who watch continually lest the chinese set foot on shore. this they are forbidden to do on pain of death. in spite of the -vigilance of the soldiers, however, a great deal of smuggling is done at night, between the coreans and chinese boatmen, at this time, and the french missionaries have repeatedly passed the barriers of this forbidden land by disembarking from chifu junks off this coast. the island of merin (merin-to) has, on several occasions, been trodden by the feet of priests who afterward became martyrs. at one time, in june, 1865, four frenchmen en tered " the lion's den " from this rendezvous. there is a great bank of sand and many islands off the coast, the most important of the latter being the sir james hau group, which was visited, in 1816, by captains maxwell and hau, in the ships lyra and al ceste. these forest-clad and well-cultivated islands were named after the president of the edinburgh geographical society, the father of the gallant sailor and lively author who drove the first british keel through the unknown waters of the yeuow sea. east ward from this island cluster is a large bay and inlet near the head of which is the fortified city of chan-yon. in january, 1867, commander e. w. shufeldt, in the u. s. s. wachusett, visited this inlet to obtain redress for the murder of the crew of the american schooner general sherman, and while vainly waiting, surveyed portions of it, giving the name of wachu sett bay to the place of anchorage. judging from native maps, the scale of the chart made from this survey was on too large a scale, though the recent map-makers of tokio have followed it. the southern coast also is dotted with groups of islands, and made dangerous by large shoals. one of the approaches to the national capital and the commercial city of sunto, or kai-seng, is navi gable for junks, through a tortuous channel which threads the vast sand-banks formed by the han eiver. hai-chiu, the capital, is near the southern central coast, and whang-chiu, an old baronial walled city, is in the north, on the ta-tong eiver, now, as of old, a famous boundary line. though whang-hai is not reckoned rich, being only the sixth in order of the eight circuits, yet there are several products of importance. eock, or fossil salt, is plentiful. flints for fire-arms and household use were obtained here chiefly, though the best gun-flints came from china. lucifer matches and percussion rifles have destroyed, or will soon destroy, this ancient industry. one district produces excellent ginseng, which finds a ready sale, the bight provinces. 187 and even from ancient times whang-hai's pears have been cele brated. splendid yellow varnish, almost equal to gilding, is also made here. the native varnishers are expert and tasteful in its use, though far behind the inimitable japanese. fine brushes forpens, made of the hair of wolves' tails, are also in repute among students and merchants. the high road from the capital, after passing through sunto, winds through the eastern central part, and crosses a range of mountains, the scenery from which is exceedingly fine. smaller roads thread the border of the province and the larger towns, but a great portion of whangiai along its central length, from east to west, seems to be mountainous, and by no means densely populated. there are, in all, twenty-eight cities with magistrates. whang-hai was never reckoned by the missionaries as among their most promising fields, yet on their map we count fifteen or more signs of the cross, betokening the presence of their con verts, and its soil, like that of the other provinces, has more than once been reddened by the blood of men who preferred to die for their convictions, rather than kve the worthless life of the pagan renegade. most of the victims suffered at hai-chiu, the capital, though "whang-chiu, in the north, shares the same sinister fame in a lesser degree. the people of "whang-hai are said, by the seoul folks, to be narrow, stupid, and duu. they bear an ill name for avarice, bad faith, and a love of lying quite unusual even among coreans. the official enumeration of houses and men fit for military duty, is 103,200 of the former and 87,170 of the latter. kiung-kei, ob the capital peovince. k^ung-kei, the smallest of the eight circuits, is politically the royal or court province, and physically the basin of the largest river inside the peninsula. the tremendous force of its current, and the volume of its waters bring down immense masses of silt annually. beginning at a point near the capital, wide sand-banks are formed, which are bare at low water, but are flooded in time of rain, or at the melting of the spring snows. the tides rise to the height of twenty or thirty feet, creating violent eddies and currents, in which the management of ships is a matter of great difficulty. the han is navigable for foreign vessels, certainly as far as the capital, as two french men-of-war proved in 1866, and it may be ascended still farther in light steamers. the causes 188 corea. of the -dolence, coldness, and rapidity of the currents of han eiver (called salt or salee on our charts), which have baffled french and american steamers, wiu be recognized by a study of its sources. the head waters of this stream are found in the dis tant province of kang-wen, nearly the whole breadth of the penin sula from the mouth. almost the entire area of this province of the river-sources, including the western watershed of the moun tain range that walls the eastern coast, is drained by the tributa ries which form the river, which also receives affluents from two other provinces. pouring their united volume past the capital, shifting channels and ever new and unexpected bars and flats are map of the capital province. formed, rendering navigation, and especially warlike naval opera tions, very difficult. its channel is very hard to find from the sea. the french, in 1845, attempting its exploration, were foiled. like most rivers in cho-sen, the han has many local names. the city of han-yang, or seoul, is situated on the north side of the river, about thirty-five miles from its mouth, measuring by a straight line, or fifty miles if reckoned by the channel of the river. it lies in 37° 30' north latitude, and 127° 4' longitude, east from greenwich. the name han-yang, means "the fortress on the han eiver." the common term applied to the royal city is seoul, which means "the capital/' just as the japanese called the capital of their country miako, or kio, instead of saying kioto. seoul is the eight ?rovincbs. 189 properly a common noun, but by popular use has become a proper name, which, in english, may be correctly written with a capital initial. according to the locality whence they come, the natives pronounce the name say'-ool, shay'-ool, or say'-oor. the city is often spoken of as " the king's residence," and on foreign maps is marked "king-ki tao," which is the name of the province. the city proper lies distant nearly a league from the river bank, but has suburbs, extending down to the sand-flats. a pamphlet lately published in the city gives it 30,723 houses, which, allowing five in a house, would give a population of over 150,000 sotds. the natural advantages of seoul are excellent. on the north a high range of the ho mountain rises like a wall, to the east towers the ridge of barriers, the mighty flood of the han rolls to the south, a bight of which washes the western suburb. the scenery from the capital is magnificent, and those walking along the city walls, as they rise over the hoi-crests and bend into the valleys, can feast their eyes on the luxuriant verdure and glori ous mountain views for which this country is npted. the walls of the city are of crenellated masonry of varying height, averaging about twenty feet, with eirched stone bridges spanning the water courses, as seen in the reproduced photograph on page 79. the streets are narrow and toriuous. the king's castle is in the north ern part. the high roads to the eight points of the compass start from the palace, through the city gates. within sight from the river are the 0-pong san, and the sam-kak san or three-peaked mountain, which the french have named cock's comb. north of the city is cho-kei, or tide-vauey, in which is a waterfall forty feet high. this spot is a great resort for tourists and picnic parties in the spring and summer. from almost any one of the hills near the city charming views of the island-dotted river may be ob tained, and the sight of the spring floods, or of the vrinter ice breaking up and shooting the enormous blocks of ice with terrific force down the current, that piles them up into fantastic shapes or strews the shores, is much enjoyed by the people. inundations are frequent and terrible in this province, but usually the water subsides quickly. not much harm is done, and the floods enrich the sou, except where they deposit sand only. there are few large bridges over the rivers, but in the cities and tovms, stone bridges, constructed with an arch and of good masonry, are built. the islands in the river near the capital are inhabited by fisher men, who pay their taxes in fish. another large stream which 190 cokea. joins its waters with the han, within a few mues from its mouth near kang-wa island, is the rin-chin river, whose head waters are among the moimtains at the north of kang-wen, within thirty mues of the newly-opened port of gen-san on the eastern coast. several important towns are situated on or near its banks, and it is often mentioned in the histories which detail the movements of the armies, which from china, japan, and the teeming north, have often crossed and recrossed it. naturally, we expect to find the military geography of this province well studied by the authorities, and its strategic points strongly defended. an inspection of the map shows us that we military geography of seoul. are not mistaken. four great fortresses guard the approaches to the royal city. these are suwen to the south, kwang-chiu to the southeast, sunto or kai-seng to the north, and kang-wa to the west. ah these fortresses have been the scene of siege aaid battle in time past. on the walls of the first three, the rival banners of the hosts of ming from china and of taiko from japan were set in alternate succession by the victors who held them during the japanese occupation of the country, between the years 1592 and 1597. the manchiu standards in 1637, and the french eagles in 1866, were planted on the ramparts of kang-wa. besides these castled cities, there are forts and redoubts along the the bight provinces. 191 river banks, cro^vniiig most of the commanding headlands, or points of vantage. over these the stars and stripes floated for three days, in 1871, when the american forces captured these strong holds. in most cases the walls of cities and forts are not over ten feet high, though, in those of the first order, a height of twenty five feet is obtained. none of them would offer serious difficulty to an attacking force possessing modem artillery. kai-seng, or sunto, is one of the most important, if not the chief, commercial city ia the kingdom, and from 960 to 1392, it was the national capital. the chief staple of manufacture and sale is the coarse cotton cloth, white and colored, which forms the national dress. kang-wa, on the island of the same name at the mouth of the han eiver, is the favorite fortress, to which the royal family are sent for safety in time of war, or are banished in case of deposition. kang-wa means "the river-flower." during the manchiu invasion, the king fled here, and, for a while, made it his capital. kwang-chiu was anciently the capital of the old kingdom of hiaksai, which included this province, and flourished from the beginning of the christian era until the tang dynasty of china destroyed it in the seventh century. kwang-chiu has suffered many sieges. other important towns near the capital are tong-chin, opposite kang-wa, kum-po, and pupion, all situated on the high road. in-chiun, situated on imperatrice guu, is the port newly opened to foreign trade and residence. the japanese pronounce the characters with which the name is written, nin-sen, and the chinese jen-chuan. at this place the american and chi nese treaties were signed in june, 1882 ; commodore shufeldt, in the steam corvette swatara, being the plenipotentiary of the united states. situated on the main road from the southern provinces, and between the capital and the sea, the location is a good one for trade, while the dangerous channel of the han eiver is avoided. most of the islands lying off the coast are well wooded ; many are inhabited, and on a number of them shrines are erected, and hermits live, who are regarded as sacred. their defenceless posi tion offer tempting inducemen,ts to the chinese pirates, who have often ravaged them. kiung-kei has been the scene of battles and contending armies and nations and the roadway for migrations from the pre-historic time to the present decade. the great high^ ways of the kingdom converge upon its chief city. in it also christianity has witnessed its grandest triumphs and bloodiest 192 corea. • defeats. over and over again the seed of the church has been planted in the biood of its martyrs. ka-pion, east of seoul, is the cradle of the faith, the home of its first convert. for poutical purposes, this "home province" is divided into the left and right divisions, of vrhich the former has twenty-two, and the latter fourteen districts. the ham-sa, or governor, lives at the capital, but outside of the walls, as he has little or no au thority in the city proper. his residence is near the west gate. the enumeration of houses and people gives, exclusive of the capital, 136,000 of the former, and 680,000 of the latter, of whom 106,573 are enrolled as soldiers. the inhabitants of the capital j)rovince enjoy the reputation, among the other provincials, of being light-headed, fickle, and much given to luxury and pleasure. "it is the officials of this province," they say, "who give the cue to those throughout the eight provinces, of rapacity, prodigality, and love of display." official grandees, nobles, literary men, and professionals generally are most numerous in kiung-kei, and so, it may be added, are singing and dancing girls and people who live to amuse others. "when fighting is to be done, in time of war, the government usually calls on the northern provinces to furnish soldiers. from a bird's-eye view of the history of this part of corea, we see that the inhabitants most anciently known to occupy it were the independent clans called the ma-han, which about the beginning of the christian era were united into the kingdom of hiaksai, which existed until its destruction by the tang dynasty of china, in the seventh century. from that time until 930 a.d. it formed a part of the kingdom of shinra, which in turn made way for united korai, which first gave political unity to the peninsula, and lasted until 1392, when the present dy nasty vrith cho-sen, or corea, as we now know it, was established. the capital cities in succession from hiaksai to cho-sen were, kwang-chiu, sunto, and han-yang. chxtmg-chong, or serene loyalty. the province of serene loyalty lies mostly between the thirty sixth and thirty-seventh parallel. its principal rivers are the keum, flowing into basil's bay, and another, which empties into prince jerome gulf. its northeast corner, is made by the han eiver bending in a loop around the white cloud (paik tjn) moun tain. fertile flats and valleys abound. the peninsula of nai-po the eight provinces. 193 (within the waters), in the northwestern, corner, is often called the " granary of the kingdom." most of the rice of the nai-po, and the province generally, is raised for export to the capital and the north. in the other circuits the rice lands are irrigated by leading the water from the streams through each field, which is di vided frorn the other by little walls or barriers of earth, whue in this region, and in chuua, the farmers more frequently make great reservoirs or ponds, in which water is stored for use in dry weather. the mountains are the great reservoirs of moisture, for in all the peninsula there is not a lake of noticeable size. the coast line is weu, indented with bays and harbors, and the run to shantung across the yellow ssa is easily made by junks, and even in open boats. on this account the native christians and french missionaries have often chosen this province as their gate of entry into the "land of martyrs." in the history of corean christianity this province will ever be remembered as the nursery of the faith. its soil has been most richly soaked with the blood of the native believers. with unimportant exceptions, every town along its northern border, and especially in the nai-po, has been sown with the seeds of the faith. the first converts and confessors, the most devoted adherents of their french teachers, the most gifted and intelligent martyrs, were from nai-po, and it is nearly certain that the fires of roman chris tianity stiu smoulder here, and will again burst into flame at the first fanning of favorable events. the three great highways from fusan to the capital cross this province in the northeastern portion. over these roads the rival japanese armies of invasion, led by konishi and kato, passed in jealous race in 1592, reaching the capital, after fighting and reducing castles on the way, in eighteen flays after disembarkation. chion-ghiu, the fortress on whose fate the capital depended, lies in the northeast, where two of the roads converge. the western, or sea road, that comes up from the south, hugs the shore through the entire length of the prov ince. others, along which the japanese armies marched in 1592, and again in 1597, traverse the central part. along one of these roads, the captive hollanders, almost the first europeans in corea, rode in 1663, and one of the cities of which hamel speaks, kon sio (kong-chiu), is the capital and residence of the provincial governor. the bays and islands, which have been visited by foreign navi gators, retain their names on european or japanese charts. some 13 194 corba. of these are not very complimentary, as deception bay, insult island, and false eiver. at basil's bay, named after captain basil hall, gutzlaff also landed in 1832, planted potatoas, and left seeds and books. the archipelago to the northwest was, in 1866, named after the prince imperial, who met his death in zumand in 1878. prince jerome's gulf is well known as the scene of the visits of the eover and the emperor, with the author of " a for bidden land" on board. haimi, a town several times mentioned by him, is at the head of shoal gulf, which runs up into the nai-po. two other bays, named caroline and deception, indent the nai-po peninsula. map of chung-chong province. the large shoal off the coast is called chasseriau. other wide and dangerous shoals line parts of the coast, making navigation exceedingly difficult. fogs are frequent and very dense, shroud ing all landmarks for hours. the tides and currents are very strong, rising in some places even as high as sixty feet. the in ternational body-snatching expedition, undertaken by a french priest, a german merchant, and an american interpreter, in 1867, to obtain the bones or ancestral relics of the eegent, was planned to take advantage of a certain "nick of time." the river empty ing into the prince jerome gulf, runs some thirty miles inland, and can be ascended by a barge, or very light-draught steamer, only within the period of thirty hours during spring tides, when the the eight provinces. 195 water rises to a height of three feet at the utmost, -while during the rest of the month it dries up completely. on account of delays, through grounding, miscalculated distances, and the bur glar-proof masonry of corean tombs, the scheme failed. the nar rative of this remarkable expedition is given in a certain book on corea, and ia the proceedings of the united states consular court at shanghae, china, for the year 1867. the flora is a brilliant feature of the summer landscape. tiger-lilies and showy compositse, asters, cactus plants, cruciferse, labiatse, and many other european species abound side by side with tropical varieties. the air is full of insects, and the number and variety of the birds exceed those of japan. pigeons, butcher birds, fly-catchers, woodpeckers, thrushes, larks, blackbirds, king fishers, wrens, spoonbills, quau, curlew, titmouse, have been no ticed. the ever-present black crows contrast with the snowy heron, which often stand iu rows along the watercourses, whue on the reefs the cormorant, sea-guus, and many kinds of ducks and diving birds, many of them being of species differing from those in europe, show the abundance of winged life. the archi pelago and the peninsula alike, are almost virgin sou to the stu dent of natural history and the man of science vriu yet, in this secluded nook of creation, solve many an interesting problem con cerning the procession of .life on the globe. so far as known, the coreans seem far behind the japanese in the study and classifica tion of animate nature. the coreans are not a seafaring people. they do not sail oijit from land, except upon rare occasions. a steamer is yet, to most coreans, a wonderful thing. the common folks point to one, and call it " a divine ship." the reason of this is, that they think the country of steamships so utterly at the ends of the earth, that to pass over ten million leagues, and endure the vnnds and waves, could not be done by human aid, and therefore such a ship must have, in some way, the aid of the gods. the prow and stern of fishing-boats are much alike, and are neatly nailed together with wooden nails. they use round stems of trees m their natural state, for masts. the saus are made of straw, plaited together with cross-bars of bamboo. the sail is at the stem of the boat. they sau well within three points of the wind, and the fishermen are very skilful in managing them. in their working-boats, they do not use oars, but sculls, worked on a pivot in the gunwale or an outrigger. the scuus have a very long sweep, and are worked 196 cobea. by two, three, and even ten men. for narrow rivers this method is very convenient, and many boats can easily pass each other, or move side by side, taking up very little room. for fishiag among the rocks, or for landing in the surf, rafts are extensively used all along the coasts. these rafts have a platform, capable of holding eight or ten persons. the boats or barges, which are used for pleasure excursions and picnic parties, have high bows and orna mental stems, carved or otherwise decorated. over the centre a canopy stretched on four poles, tufted with horsehair, shelters the pleasure-seekers from the sun as they enjoy the river scenery. li the cut we see three officials, or men of rank, enjoying themselves at a table, on which may be tea, giaseng infusion, or rice spirit. a pleasure-party on the river. with fruits in dishes. they sit on silken cushions, and seem to be pledging each other in a friendly cup. perhaps they will compose and exchange a pedantic poem or two on the way. in the long, high bow there is room for the two men to walk the deck, while with their poles they propel the craft gently along the stream, while the steersman handles the somewhat unwieldy rudder the common people use a boat made of plain unpainted wood, neatly joined together, without nails or metal, the fastenings being of wood, the cushions of straw matting and the cordage of sea grass. by official reckoning chung-chong contains 244,080 houses, with 139,201 men enrolled for military service, in fifty-four districts. it contains ten walled cities, and like every other one of the eight provinces is divided into two departments, kiglit and left. the bight provinces. 197 chtjlla, oe oompletr nbtwobk. this province, the most southern of the eight, is also the warmest and most fertile. it is nearest to shang-hae, and to the track of foreign commerce. its island-fringed shores have been the scene of many shipwrecks, among which were the french frigates, whose names glory and victoiy, were better than their inglorious end, on a reef neaikokrin island. until the voyage of captains maxwell and basil hall, in the alceste and lyra, in 1816, "the corean archipelago" was abso lutely unknown in europe, and was not even marked on chinese -charts. in the map of the empire, prepared by the jesuits at peking in the seventeenth century, the main land was made to extend out over a space now known to be covered by hundreds of islands, and a huge elephant — the conventional sign of ignorance of the map-makers of that day — occupied the space. in these virgin waters. captain hall sailed over imaginary forests and cities, and straight through' the body of the elephant, and for the first time explored an archipelago which he found to be one of the most beautiful on earth. a later visitor, and a naturalist, states that from a single island peak, one may count one hundred and thirty-five islets. stretching far away to the north and to the south, were groups of dark blue islets, rising mistily from the sur face of the water. the sea was covered with large picturesque boats, which, crowded with natives in their white fluttering robes, were putting off from the ,adjaoent villages, and sculling across the peuucld waters to visit the stranger ship. on these islands, as arthur adams tells us, the seals sport, the spoonbill, quau, curlew, titmouse, wagtail, teal, crane and iimu merable birds thrive. the woody peaks are rich ia game, and the shores are happy hunting-grounds for the naturalist. sponges are very plentiful, and in some places may be gathered in any quantity. there are a number of well-marked species. some are flat and split into numerous ribbon-uke branches, others are round and finger-shaped, some cylindrical, and others like hollow tubes. though some have dense white foliations, hard or horny, others are loose and flexible, and await only the hand of the diver. the corean toilet requisites perhaps do not iaclude these useful arti cles, which lie waste in the sea. the coral-beds are also very splendid in their living tints of green, blue, violet, and yellow, 198 corba. and appear, as you look down upon them through the clear trans parent water, to form beautiful flower-gardens of marine plants. in these submarine parterres, amid the protean forms of the branched corals, huge madrepores, brain-shaped, flat, or headed like gigantic mushrooms, are interspersed with sponges of the deepest red and huge star-flshes of the richest blue. seals sport and play unharmed on many of the islands, and the sea-beach is at times blue with the bodies of hvely crabs. an unfailing store house of marine food is found in this archipelago. the eight protinces take their names from their two chief cities, as mr. carles hag shown. whang hai do, for instance, is formed by uniting the initial syllables of the largest cities, whang-chiu and hai-chiu. in the case of chuua-do, the chon and nai in chon chiu and nai-chiu (or chung-jiu and na-jiu) become, by euphony, chulla or choua. hamel tells of the great cayman or " alligator," as inhabiting this region, asserting that it was "eighteen or twenty ells long," with " sixty joints in the back," and able to swallow a man.' the soil of chuha is rich and well cultivated, and large quan tities of rice and grain are shipped to the capital. the wide val leys afford juicy pasture for the herds of cattle that furnish the beef diet which the coreans crave more than the japanese. the visit ing or shipvn'ecked foreign visitors on the coast speak in terms of highest praise of fat bullocks, and juicy steaks which they have eaten. considerable quantities of hides, bones, horns, leather, and tallow now form a class of standard exports to japan, whose people now wear buttons and leather shoes. as a beef market, corea exceeds either china or japan — a point of importance to the large number of foreigners living at the ports, who require a flesh diet. troops of horses graze on the pasture lands. chulla is well furnished. with ports and harbors for the junks that ply northward. the town of mopo, in latitude 34° 40', has been looked upon by the japanese as a favorable place for trade and residence, and may yet be opened under the provisions of the treaty of 1876. this region does not lack sites of great historic interest. the castle of nanon, in the eastern part, was ' mr. pierre l. jouy, of tlie smithsonian institute, who in 1884 spent six months in corea in zoological collecting and research, says : "no monkeys or alligators are found in corea. i am at a ipss to understand how the alligator story originated." was the alleged animal the giant salamander, or the auf japanese art and legend refer often to alligators. the eight provinces. 199 the scene of a famous siege and battle between the allied coreans and chinese and the japanese besiegers, during the second inva map of chulla-do. sion, in 1597. the investment lasted many weeks, and over five thousand men were slaughtered. it was in this province also that the crew of the dutch ship sparrowhawk were kept prison 200 corea. ers, some for thirteen years, some for life, of whom hendrik hamel wrote so graphic a narrative. for two centuries his little work afforded the only european knowledge of corea accessible to inquirers. among other employments, the dutch captive^ were set to making pottery, and this province has many villages devoted to the fictile art. the work turned out consists, in the main, of those huge earthem jars for holding water and grains, common to corean households, and large enough to hold one of the forty thieves of arabian nights story. through the labors of the french missionaries, christianity has penetrated into chulla-do, and a large number of towns, espe cially in the north, still contain believers who are the descendants or relatives of men and women who have exchanged their lives for a good confession. the tragedy and romance of the christian martyrs, of this and other provinces, have been told by dallet. most of the executions have taken place at the capital city of chon-chiu. many have been banished to quelpart, or some of the many islands along the coast, where it is probable many yet live and pine. three large, and several small rivers drain the valleys. two of these flow into the yellow sea and one into the sea of japan. the main highway of this province traverses the western portion near the sea, the other roads being of inferior importance. forti fied cities or castle towns are numerous in this part of corea, for this province was completely overrun by the japanese armies in 1592-1597, and its soil was the scene of many battles. by official enumeration there are 290,550 houses, and 206,140 males enrolled for service in war. the districts number fifty-six. the capital is chon-chiu, which was once considered the second largest oity in the kingdom. if corea is "the italy of the east," then quelpart is its sicily. it lies about sixty miles south of the main land. it may be said to be an oval, rock-bound island, covered with innumer able conical mountains, topped in many instances by extinct vol canic craters, and " au bowing dovm before one vast and towering giant, whose foot is planted in the centre of the island, and whose head is lost in the clouds." this peak, called mount auck land, or han-ra san, by the people, is about 6,500 feet high. on its top are three extinct craters, within each of which is a lake of pure water. corean children are taught to believe that the three first-created men of the world still dwell on these lofty heights. the bight provincbs. 201 the whole surface of the island, including plains, valleys, and mountain flanks, is carefully and beautifully cultivated. the fields are neatly divided by walls of stone. it contains a number of towns and three walled cities, but there are no good harbors. as quelpart has long been used as a place for the banishment of convicts, the islanders are rude and unpolished. they raise excel lent crops of grain and fruit for the home provinces. the finely plaited straw hats, which form the staple mamxfa^ture, are the best in this land of big hats, in which the amplitude of the head coverings is the wonder of strangers. immense droves of horses and cattle are reared, and one of the outlying islands is called bullock island. this island has been known from ancient times, when it formed an independent kingdom, known as tam-na. about 100 a.d., it is recorded that the inhabitants sent tribute to one of the states on the main land. the origin of the high cen tral peak, named mount auckland, is thus given by the islanders. " clouds and fogs covered the sea, and the earth trembled with a noise of thunder for seven days and seven nights. finally the waves opened, and there emerged a mountain more than one thousand feet high, and forty n in circumference. tt had neither plants nor trees upon it, and clouds of , smoke, widely spread out, covered its summit, which appeared to be composed chiefly of sulphur." a learned corean was sent to examine it in detail he did so, and on his return to the main land published an account of his voyage, with a sketch of the mountain thus bom out of the sea. it is noticeable that this account coincides with the ideas of navigators, who have studied the movintain, and speculated on its origin. kidng-sang, or kespectful congratulation. kiung-sang do, or the province of eespectful congratulation, is nearest to japan, and consists chiefly of the valleys drained by the nak-tong eiver and its tributaries. it admirably illustrates the principle of the division of the country on the lines furnished by the river basins. one of the warmest and richest of the eight provinces, it is also the most populous, and the seat of many his torical associations with japan, in ancient, mediaeval, and modem times. between the court of kion-chiu, the capital of shitira, and that of kioto, from the third to the tenth century, the relations of war and peace, letters, and religion were continuous and frait ful. when the national capital was fixed at sunto, and later at 202 corea. seoul, this province was still the gateway of entrance and exit to the japanese. many a time have they landed near the mouth oi the nak-tong eiver, which opens as a natural pass in the moun tains which wall in the coast. eapidly seizing the strategic points, they have made themselves masters of the country. the influence of their frequent visitations is shown in the language, manners, and local customs of southern cho-sen. the dialect of kiimg sang differs to a marked degree from that of piag-an, and much more closely resembles that of modem japanese. kiung-sang seems to show upon its surface that it is one of the most ancient seats of civilization in the peninsula. this is certaialy so if roads and facilities for travelling be considered. the highways and foot paths and the relays and horses kept for government service, and for travellers, are more numerous than ui any other province. it also contains the greatest number of cities having organized municipal governments, and is the most densely populated of the eight provinces. it is also probable that in its natural resources it leads au the others. the province is divided iuto seventy-one dis tricts, each having a magistrate, in which are 421,500 houses, and 310,440 men capable of military duty. two officials of high rank assist the governor in his functions, and the admirals of the " sam-nam," or three southern provinces, have their headquarters in kiung-sang. this title and office, one of the most honorable in the military service, was created after the japanese war of 1592-1597, in honor of a corean commander, who had success fully resisted the invaders in many battles. there are five cities of importance, which are under the charge of governors. petty officials are also appointed for every island, who must report the arrival or visit of all foreigners at once to their superiors. they were always in most favor at court who succeeded in prevail ing upon au. foreign callers to leave as soon as possible. fusan has been held by the japanese from very ancient times. until 1868 it was a part of the fief of the daimio of tsushima. it lies in latitude 35° 6' north, and longitude 129° 1' east from green wich, and is distant from the nearest point on the japan coast, by a straight line, about one hundred and fifty miles. it was opened to the japanese by the treaty of 1876, and is now a bustling mart of trade. the name means, not "gold hiu," but pot or skillet mountain. the approach to the port up the bay is through very fine scen ery, the background of the main land being mountainous and the the eight provinces. 203 bay studded with green islands. the large island in front of the settlement, to the southward, called tetsuyd, or the isle of en chanting view, has hills eight hundred feet high. hundreds of horses were formerly reared here, hence it is often called maki, or island of green pastures. the fortifications of fusan, on the northern side, are on a hill, and front the sea. the soil around fusan is of a dark niddy color, and fine fir trees are numerous. the fort, is distant about a league from the settlement, and tong nai city and castle, in which the corean goyernor resides, are about two leagues farther. tai-ku, the capital, hes in the centre of the province. shang-chiu, in the northwestern part, is one of the fortified cities guarding the approach to the capital from the southeast. it was captured by konishi during his brilliant march, in eighteen days, to the capital in 1592. in recent years, much christian blood has been shed in shang-chiu, though the city which justly claims the bad eminence in slaughtering christians is tai-ku, the capital of the province. ' uru-san, a few miles south, is a site rich in classic memories to all japanese, for here, in 1597, the chi nese and corean hosts besieged the intrepid kato and the brave, but not over-modest, ogavrachi for a whole year, during which the garrison were reduced, by straits of famine, to eat human flesh. when the chinese retreated, and a battle was fought near by, be tween them and the relieving forces, ten thousand men were slain. foreign navigators have sprinkled their names along the shore. cape clonard and unkoffsky bay are near the thirty-sixth parallel. cho-san harbor was named by captain broughton, who on asking the name of the place in 1797, received the reply "cho-san," which is the name of the kingdom instead of the harbor. other names of limited recognition are found on charts made in europe. many inhabited islands lie off the coast, some of which are used as places of exile to christians and other offenders against the law. christianity in this province seems to have flourished chiefly in the towns along the southern sea border. nearly the whole of the coast consists of the slopes of the two mountain ranges which front the sea, and is less densely inhabited than the interior, hav ing few or no rivers or important harbors. the one exception is at the mouth of the nak-tong eiver, opposite tsushima. this is the gateway into the province, and the point most vulnerable from japan. the river after draining the whole of kiung-sang, widens into a bay, around which are populous cities and towns, the port of fusan and the two great roads to seoul. tsushima (the twin 204 corea. islands) lies lite a stepping-stone, between corea and japan, and was formerly claimed by the coreans, who call it tu-ma. its port of wani-ura is thirty miles distant from pusan, and often shelters map of the province nearest japan, the eight provinces. 205 the becalmed or storm-stayed jimks which, with fair wind and weather, can make the run between the two countries in a single day. from a strategic military point of view, the twin islands are invaluable to the mikado's empire, guarding, as they do, the sea of japan like a sentinel the eussians who now own the long island at the upper end of the sea, attempted, in 1859, to obtain a footing on tsushima. they built barracks and planted seed, with every indication of making a permanent occupation. the timely appearance on the scene of a fleet of british ships, under sir james hope, put an end to eussian designs on tsushima. a japanese writer reports that the kivmg-sang people are rather more simple in their habits, less corrupted in their man ners, and their ancient customs are more faithfully preserved than in some of the other provinces. there is httle of luxury and less of expensive folly, so that the small estates or property are faith fully transmitted from father to son, for many generations, in the same families. studious habits prevail, and literature flourishes. often the young men, after toiling during the day, give the even ing to reading and conversation, for which admirable practice the native language has a special word. here ladies of rank are not so closely shut up in-doors as in other provinces, but often walk abroad, accompanied by their servants, vyithout fear of insult. in this province also buddhism has the largest number of adherents. kion-chiu, the old capital of shinra, was the centre of the scholas tic and missionary influeiices of the buddha doctrine in corea, and, though burned by the japanese in 1597, its influence still survives. the people are strongly attached to their superstitions, and diflscult to change, but to whatever faith they are once converted they are steadfast and loyal the numerous nobles who dwell in this province, belong chiefly to the nam in party. kang-wen, the bivee-meadow peovince. kang-wen fronts japan from the middle of the eastern coast, and lies between ham-kiung and kiimg-sang. its name means eiver meadow. within its area are found the sources of " the river" of the realm. though perhaps the most mountainous of all the provinces, it contains several fertile plains, which are watered by streams flowing mainly to the west, forming the han eiver, 206 corea. which crosses the entire peninsula, and empties into the yellow sea. the main mountain chain of the country, called here ihe makira, runs near the coast, leaving the greater area of the prov ince to the westward. the larger part of the population, the most important high roads, and the capital city wen-chiu, are in the western division, which contains twenty-six districts, the east ern division having seventeen. the official census gives the num ber of houses at 93,000, and of men capable of bearing arms, 44,000. some of the names of mountains in this province give one a general idea of the geographical nomenclature of the kingdom, reflecting, as it does, the ideas and beliefs of the people. one peak is named yellow dragon, another the flying phoenix, and another the hidden dragon (not yet risen up from the earth on his passage to the clouds or to heaven). hard metal, oxhead, mountain facing the sun, cool valley, wild swamp, white cloud, and peacock, are other less heathenish, and perhaps less poetical names. one range is said to have twelve hundred peaks, and from another, rivers fall down like snow for several hundred feet. these " snovyy rivers " are cataracts. deer are very plentiful, and the best hartshorn for the pharmacy of china comes from these parts. out in the sea, about a degree and a half from the coast, lies an island, called by the japanese matsu-shima, or pine island, by the coreans u-lon-to, and by em-opeans, dagelet this island was first discovered by the french navigator. la perouse, in jime, 1787. in honor of an astronomer, it was named dagelet island. " it is very steep, but covered with fine trees from the sea-shore to the summit. a rampart of bare rock, nearly as perpendicular as a wall, completely surrounds it, except seven sandy httle coves at which it is possible to land." the grand central peak towers four thousand feet into the clouds. firs, sycamores, and juniper trees abound. sea-bears and seals live in the water, and the few poor coreans who inhabit the island dry the flesh of the seals and large quantities of petrels and hahotis, or sea-ears, for the markets or the main land. the island is occasionally visited by japanese junks and foreign whaling ships, as whales are plentiful in the sur roimding waters. the japanese obtained the timber for the pub lic and other buildings at their new settlement at gensan from this island. the land of morning calm is, by au accounts of travellers, a land of beauty, and the customs and literature of the people the bight provinces. 207 prove that the superb and inspiring scenery of their peninsula is fully appreciated by themselves. not only are picnics and pleas ure gatherings, within the groves, common to the humbler classes,'' but the wealthy travel great distances simply to enjoy the beauty of marine or mountain views. scholars assemble at chosen seats, having fair landscapes before them, poets seek inspiration under waterfalls, and the bonzes, understanding the awe-compelling in fluence of the contemplation of nature's grandeur, plant their monasteries and build their temples on lofty mountain heights. these favorite haunts of the lovers of natural beauty are as well knovni to the coreans . as niagara and yo semite are to ameri cans, or chamouni to all europe. the places in which the glory of the creator's works may be best beheld are the theme of ardent discussion and competing praise with the people of each province. the local guide-books, itineraries, and gazetteers, de scant upon the merits of the scenery, for which each of the eight divisions is renowned. in the eiver-meadow province, the eight most lovely ''' sceneries " are all located along the .coast. begin ning at the south, and taking them in order toward the north, they are the following : 1. the house on uru-chin, a town below the thirty-seventh parallel of latitude. the inn is called " the house of the emer ging sun," because here the sun seems to rise right out of the waters of the ocean. in front of the coast lies an island, set uke a gem in the sea. the view of the rising sun, the tints of sky, river, waves, land, and mountains form a vision of gorgeous mag nificence. 2. hion-hai (tranquil sea). out ia the sea, in front of this village, are, many small islands. when the moon rises, they seem to be floating in a sea of molten silver. the finest effect is en joyed just before the orb is fuuy above the horizon. in many of the dweuings of the men of rank and wealth, there is a special room set apart for the enjoyment of the scenery, upon which the apartment looks. especially is this the case, with the houses of public entertainment. at hion-hai, one of the inns from which the best view may be obtained is called the " house fronting the moon." in it are several " lookihg-rooms." 3. one of the finest effects in: nature is the combination of fresh fallen snow on evergreens. the pure white on the deep green is peculiarly pleasing to the eye of the japanese, who use it as a popular element ia their decorative art, in silver and bronze, 208 corea. in embroidery, painting, and lacquer. the coreans are equally happy in gazing upon the. snow, as it rests on the deep shadows of the pine, or the delicate hue of the giant grass called bamboo. near the large town of san-cho is a tower or house, built within view of a stream of water, which flows in winding course over the rocis, sparkling beneath the foliage. it has a scene-viewing room to which people resort to enjoy the "chikusetsu," or snow and bamboo eifect. map of kang-wen province. 4 from an elevation near the town of kan-nun, or bay hiu, one may obtain a pretty view of the groves and shrubbery grow ing upon the rocks. during the spring showers, when the rain falls in a fine mist, and the fresh vegetation appears in a new rich robe of green, the sight is very charming. 5. beneath the mound at an-an the river flows tranquilly, tinted by the setting sun. the sunsets at this place are of ex quisite beauty. 6. at the old castle town of kan-nun, there is a room named the bight provinces. " the chamber between the strong portress and the tender ver dure." here the valley is steep, and in the bosom of the stream of water lie " floating islands" — so called because they seem to swim on the surface of the water. 7. near ko-sion, or high fortress, is " three days bay," to which lovers of the picturesque resort on summer mornings, to see the sun rise, and on autumnal evenings, to watch the moon light effects. the fishers' boats gliding to and fro over the gleam ing waters delight the eye. 8. at tsu-sen is the " eock-loving chamber." here, among some steep rocks, grow trees of fantastic form. the combination of rock-scenery and foliage make the charm of this place, to which scholars, artists, and travellers resort. in spring and au tumn, hterary parties visit the chamber dedicated to those who love the rocks. there, abandoning themselves to literary revels, they compose poems, hold scholarly reunions, or ramble about in search of health or pleasure. the people of kang-wen areindustrious and intelligent, with less energy of body than the southern provincials, but like their northern countrymen, they have 'the reputation of being bold, obstinate, and quarrelsome. in time of bad harvests or lax gov ernment, " tramps " form bands of thirty or fifty, and roam the country, stealing food or valuables from the villages. local thieves are sufficiently abundant. during the heavy snows of winter, people travel the mountain paths on snow-shoes, and in excep tional places, cut tunnels under the snow for communication from house to house. soldiers test their strength by pulling strong bows, and laborers by carrying heavy burdens on their shoulders. strong men shoulder six hundred pounds of copper, or two bales of white rice (260 pounds each. ) the women of this province are said to be the most beautiful in corea. even from ancient times, lovely damsels from this part of the peninsula, sent to the harem of the chinese emperor, were greatly admired. christianity has made little progress in kang-wen, only a few towns in the south ern part being marked with a cross on the french missionary map. in the most ancient times the chinhan tribes occupied this por tion of corea. from the christian era, untu the tenth century, it was alternately held by kokorai, or korai, and by shinra. 14 210 cobea. ham-kiong, ok complete view. ham-kiung is that part of corean territory which touches the boundary of russia. only a few years ago all the neighbors along the land frontiers of cho-sen were chinese subjects. now she has the european within rifle-shot of her shores. only the tu men eiver separates the muscovites from the once hermits of the peninsula. the southern boundary of eussia in asia, which had been thrown farther south after every european war with china, coiean frontier facing manchufia and russia. touched corea in 1858. what was before an elastic hne, has in each mstance become the czar's " scientific frontier." by the supplementary treaty of aigun, march 28, 1858, count mouraviefi "rectified " the far eastern line of the czar's domain, by demand ing and obtaming that vast and fertile territory lying south of the amur eiver, and between the gulf of tartary and the river usuri having a breadth of one hundred and fifty mues. this remote, but very desirable, slice of asia, is rich in gold and silk, coal and cotton, nee and tobacco. with energy and enterprise, the rus sian government at once encouraged emigration, placed steamers built m new york on the usuri eiver and lake hanka, laid out the bight provinces. 211 213 corea. the ports of vladivostok, and possiet, constructed a telegraph from the baltic sea to the pacific ocean, and enforced order among the semi-civilized and savage tribes. the name of the new russian territory between the amur eiver and the sea of okhotsk, is primorskaia, with yiadivostok for the capital, which is finely situated on peter the great or victoria bay. immense fortifications have been planned, and the place is to be made the sebastopol of the czar's pacific possessions. this gigantic work was begun under the charge of the late admiral popoff, whose name has been given to the iron-turreted war vessels of which he was the inventor, and to a mountain in central corea. possiet is within twenty-five miles of the corean frontier. it is connected with nagasaki by electric cable. in the event of a war between china and eussia, or even of anglo-eussian hostilities, the czar would most probably make corea the basis of operations against china ; for corea is to china as canada is to the united states, or, as the people say, " the lips of china's teeth." eussia needs a coast line in the pacific with seaports that are not frozen up in winter, and her ambition is to be a naval power. whue england checks her designs in the mediterranean, and in europe, her desire is great and her need is greater to have this defenceless peninsula on her eastern borders. the coreans know too well that the possession of their country by " eussia the rav enous " is considered a necessity of the absorption policy of peter the great's successors. the tnmen eiver, which rises at the foot of the everwhite mountains and separates corea from eussia, is about two hundred mues in length. it drains a moun tainous and rainy country. ordinarily it is shallow and quiet ; but in spring, or after heavy raias, and swollen by a great number of tributaries, its current becomes very turbulent and powerful. in winter it is frozen over during several months, and hence is easily crossed. thousands of coreans fleeing from famine, or from the oppression of government officials. christians perse cuted for their faith, criminals seeking to escape the clutches of the law, emigrants desirous of bettering their condition, have crossed this river and settled in primorskaia, until they now number, in all, about eight thousand. the majority of them are peasants from ham-kiung, and know little of the southern parts of their country. there is, however, an " underground railroad " by which persecuted christians can fly for refuge to eussian pro tection. their houses are built of stout timbers, wattled with the eight provinces. 213 cane, plastered with mud, and surrounded with a neat fencing of interlaced boughs. they cover their houses with strips of bamboo, well fastened down by thatching. the chimney is de tached from the house, and consists of a hollow tree. under the warmed floor is the usual system of .flues, by which the house is kept comfortable in winter, and every atom of fuel utilized. their food is millet, com, venison, and beef. they pare and dry melon like fruits, cutting them up in strips for winter use. they dress in the national color, white, using quilted cotton clothes. they make good use of bullock-carts, and smoke tobacco habitually. the national product — thick strong paper — is put to a great va riety of uses, and a few sheets dressed with oil, serve as windows. some of the eussian merchants have married corean women, who seem to make good wives. their offspring are carefully brought up in the christian faith. some of these corean children have • been sent to the american home at yokohama, where the ladies of the woman's union missionary society of america have given them an education in english. through the eussian possessions, the corean liberal. kin einshio, made his escape. from this man the japanese officials learned so much of the present state of the peninsula, and by his aid those in the war department at tokio were enabled to construct and publish so valuable a map of corea, the accuracy of which astonishes his fellow-country men. the eussians have taken the pains to educate the people in schools, and, judging from the faces and neat costumes, as seen in photographs taken on the spot, they enjoy being taught. the object of instruction is not only to civilize them as loyal subjects of the czar, but also to convert them to the eussian form of chris tianity. in this work the priests and schoolmasters have had con siderable success. there are but few coreans north of the tumen who cannot read and vvrite, and the young men employed as clerks are good linguists. a number of them are fishermen, liv ing near the coast. most . of the converts to the greek church are gathered at vladivostok. so great has been the fear and jealousy felt by corea toward eussia, that during the last two generations the land along the boundary river has been laid desolate. the banks were picketed with sentinels, and death was the penalty of crossing from shore to shore. many interesting relics of the ancient gteatness of corea still abound in manchuria and on eussian sou. travellers have visited these ruins, now overgrown with large forest trees. 214 corea. and have given descriptions and measurements of them. one for tification was found to cover six acres, with walls over thirty feet in height, protected by a moat and two outer ditches, with gate ways guarded by curtains. in the ruins were elaborately carved fragments of columns, stone idols or statues, with bits of armor and weapons. some of these now silent ruins have sustained famous sieges, and once blazed with watch-fires and echoed to battle-shouts. they are situated on spurs or ends of mountain chains, commanding plains and valleys, testifying to the knowl edge of strategic skill possessed by their ancient buuders. the shan-yan aun, range on range, visible from the corean side of the river, are between eight thousand and twelve thousand feet, high, and are snow-covered during most of the year. the name means long-white, or ever-white mountains, the chinese shang hai, meaning the same thing. two of the peaks are named after chinese emperors. paik-tu, or white head, is a sacred mountain famous throughout the country, and is the theme of enthusiastic description by chinese, japanese, and corean writers, the former comparing it to a vase of white porcelain, with a scolloped rim. its flora is mostly white,, and its fauna are reputed to be white haired, never injuring or injured by man. it is the holy abode of a white-robed goddess, who presides over the mountain. she is represented as a woman holding a child in her arms, after a le gendary character, known in corean lore and chinese historical novels. formerly a temple dedicated to her spirit was built, and for a long time was presided over by a priestess. the corean buddhists assign to this mountain, the home of manchusri, one of their local deities, or incarnations of buddha. lying in the main group of the range, twenty-five hundred feet above the sea, is a vast lake surrounded by naked rocks, probably an extinct crater. large portions of the mountain consist of white limestone, which, vdth its snow, from which it is free only during two months of the year, gives it its name. another imposing range of mountains follows the contour of the coast, and thus presents that lofty and magnificent front of forest-clad highland which strikes the admiration of navigators. other conspicuous peaks are named by the natives. continuous virtue, the peak of the thousand buddhas, cloud-toucher, sword mountain, lasting peace, heaven-reaching. twenty-four rivers water and drain this mountainous province. the coast of ham-kiung down to the fortieth parallel is devoid the eight provinces. 215 of any important harbors. a glance at a foreign chart shows that numerous french, russian, and english navigators have visited it, and gained precarious renown by sprinkling foreign names upon its capes and headlands. at the south, yung-hing, or brough ton's bay, so named by the gallant british captain in 1797, is well known for its fine harbors and its high tides. it contains a small archipelago, while the country around it is the most popu lous and fertile portion of the province. port lazareff, east of southern part of ham-kiung. yon-fim, near the mouth of the dungan river, and west of virginie bay, is well knovm. a large japanese army under kato occupied this territory during the year 1592. by the recent treaty with japan, the port of gensan, front ing on the south of broughton's bay, was opened for trade and commerce, from may 1, 1880. gensan lies near the thirty-ninth parallel of latitude. near the shore is the island of chotoku, and within the twenty-five milecircuit allowed. to japanese merchants 216 corea. for general travel, or free movement,' is the old castle-town of to kugen. the tomb of the founder of the reigning dynasty of cho sen is situated near the bay and is a highly venerated spot. as the dragon is in native ideas the type of all that is strong, mighty, and renowned, the place is named the " eise of the dragon." one of the high roads of the kingdom traverses the strip of land skirt ing the sea from north to south throughout the province, touch ing the water at certain places. the greater part of the people dwelling in the province live along this road. the interior, being a mass of mountains, is thinly inhabited, and the primeval for ests are populated chiefly by tigers and other beasts of prey. in the current scouring the coast of ham-kiung swim unnum bered shoals of herring, ribbon fish, and other species inhabiting the open seas. after these follow in close pursuit schools of whales, which fatten on them as prey. thousands of natives from the interior and the shore villages come dovra. in the season and fish. they often stand knee-deep in the water, looking like long rows of the snowy heron of a rice-swamp, in their white clothes. they use a kind of catamaran or raft for fishing and for svirf navigation, which is very serviceable. they sometimes hunt the whales at sea, or capture them in shoal water, driving them in shore tiu stranded. sticking in the bodies of these huge crea tures have been found darts and harpoons of european whalers. this chase of the herring by the whales was noticed, even in the extreme south of corea, by hamel, and by shipwrekced dutch men. since the present year, japanese whale-hunters have been engaged by coreans to improve their methods of catching this huge sea-mammal. the capital city of this largest of the provinces, and the ' residence of the governor, is ham-hung, situated near the fortieth parallel of north latitude. according to a native geography this province contains 103,200 houses, which gives a population varying from 309,600 to 516,000 souls. there are enrolled and capable of military service (on paper) 87,170 men. for administrative pur poses the province is divided into divisions, the northern and the southern. there are fifteen walled cities. formerly, ahd imtil the russians occupied the primorstaia territory, an annual or bi-annual fair was held at the corean city of kion-wen, which hes close to the border. the manchiu and chi nese merchants bartered tea, rice, pipes, gold, and furs for the corean ginseng, hides, and household implements. furs of a the eight provinces. 217 thousand sorts, cotton stuff, silks, artificial flowers, and choice woods, changed hands rapidly, the traffic lasting but two or three days, and sometimes only one day, from noon until sunset. such was the bustle and confusion that these fairs often terminated in a free fight, which reminds one of the famous donnybrook. one of the articles most profitable to the coreans was their cast-off hair. immense quantities cut from the heads of young persons, and especially by those about to be married, were and are still sold by the chinese to lengthen out their " pig-tails "—that mark of subjection to their manchiu conquerors. during the time of trade no chinese or manchiu was allowed to enter a corean house, all the streets and doorways being guarded by soldiers, who at the end of the fair drove out any lingering chinese, who, if not soon across the border, were forced to go at the point of the spear. any foreigner found inside the border at other seasons might be, and often was, ruthlessly murdered. the nearest town beyond the frontier, at which the chinese merchants were wont to assemble, is hun-chun.' this loophole of entrance into corea, corresponded to ai-chiu at the yalu eiver in the west. as at the latter place, foreigners and christian natives have attempted to penetrate the forbidden country at kion-wen, but have been unsuccessful. an outline of the political history of the part of the peninsula now called ham-kiung shows that many masters have in turn been its possessors. when the old kingdom of cho-sen, which comprehended liao tung and that part of the peninsula between the ta-tong and the tumen rivers, was broken up toward the end of the first century, the northern half of what is now ham-kiung was called oju or woju, the southern portion fonning part of the httle state of wei, or whi. these were both conquered by kokorai, which held dominion until the seventh century, when it was crushed by the chinese emperors of the han dynasty, and the land feu under the sway of shinra, whose borders extended in the ninth and tenth centuries, from eastern sea to the tumen river. after shinra, arose korai and cho-sen, the founders of both states being sprung from this region and of the hardy race inhabiting it. from very ancient times, the boundaries of this province, .being almost entirely natural and consisting of mountain, river, and sea, have remained unchanged. ' hun-chun is in chinese manchuria. the russian possessions south of vic toria bay extend but a few miles from the mouth of the tumen. chapter xxry. the king and eoyal palace. the title of majesty in cho-sen is hap-mun. in full robes of state the sovereign wears a silken garment, the gift of his suzerain, the emperor of china. it is embroidered with dragons, the em blems of regal power. his throne has riong or dragons sculptured around it. the steps leading to it are called "the staircase of jade." the cord which is used to tie criminals has a dragon's head at the ends, to signify that the officers act in obedience to the royal command. chief of the regalia of corean sovereignty is the great seal, the possession of which makes the holder the actual sovereign of cho-sen. this seal, of which we shall hear again, seems to have been captured by the french in 1866. in time of war or public danger, the royal library, archives and re galia are sent to kang-wa island for safety. eidel wrote in 1866 : "in another case, they found a marble tortoise, sculptured in perfect art, upon the pedestal of which was the great seal of state. this royal cartouche was to the simple corean folk neither visible nor approachable, the possession of which has sufficed many times to transfer the royal authority and to terminate revolutions. it was the regaua of corean sovereignty. the one which he saw was new and appeared never to have been used." the sovereign, in speaking of himself, uses the term "hap mun," which is the equivalent of the imperial "we" of asiatic state documents. the word is somewhat similar to that employed by, or for, other rulers — pharaoh, subume porte, mikado, all of which mean the grand, chief, or first, gate of all the gates in the country. the first character in hap-mun is, however, different from that in mikado, or honorable gate, but the hap is honorific. no other person in the land, official or private, is allowed to use this compound word in speech or writing as applying to anyone except the king. even in transcribing the term hap, a stroke must be omitted out of respect to the august personage, to whom the king and koyal palace. 219 alone it is applied. at his death, ihree cups of rice are set out in the households in memoriam. this ceremony must not be imi tated for any other person. so also, if the character with -which the name of the ruling emperor of china is written be found in that of a public person, a gateway, a palace or edifice in seoul, the graphic sign must be temporarily changed, though the pronuncia tion remains the same. this same system of graduated honors, of which, ia corea, the king is the culmination, slopes down to the common people, and is duly protected by law. the sovereign's person is hedged round with a divinity that has an antipathy to iron. this metal must ne^-er touch his august body, and rather than have an abscess lanced, the king cheng-jong, in 1800, died from the effects of the disease. no ordinai-y mortal must touch him, and if by accident this is done, the individual must ever afterward wear a red silk cord. notwithstanding such regulated veneration for the hap-mun's person, the royal harem numbers several hundred inmates, duly presided over by eunuchs. none but the king can drink out of a cup made of gold, and a heavy penalty is visited upon all who presume to do so. when out side the palace, the three signs of the sovereign's power of life and death over his subjects, are the axe, sabre, and trident. the huge violet fan and red umbrella are likewise borne before him. the chinese envoy is always escorted by soldiers bearing the three em blems, and by a band of musicians. when the hap-mun, or king, is in his minority, the queen, who is regent, sits behind a curtain in the coimcil of ministers, and takes part in the discussions. when she is pregnant, the slaughter of beeves is prohibited during the space of three months. this is done in order "to honor heaven by abstinence," and may also be ordered to procure rain. once every year, the queen entertains at her palace some worthy woman in humble hfe, who has reached the advanced age of eighty years. the king likewise shows favor to old men in the lower walks of hfe. whenever an auspicious event happens, or good fortune befalls the kingdom, all the ofscials over seventy, and the common people over eighty years of age, are feasted at the expense of the gov ernment. when the first male child is bom to the king, criminals are pardoned, and general festivity is observed. the birthdays of the royal pair are celebrated every year. the royal princes are supposed to have nothing whatever to do with pohtics, and any activity in matters of government on their.part is jealously resented by the nobles, who form the political parties. 220 corea. the royal castle contains over three acres (15,202 square yards), surrounded by a wall twenty feet high, and a moat the width of which varies from fifty feet to somewhat less. it is crossed by stone bridges in several places. this castled palace is called the "place of government," and is divided into two parts called the " east and west " palace. the east, or lower palace, is the resi dence of the king and is so called because situated on level land. the western palace is used for the reception of the chinese am bassadors. the gates of the outer city proper, and inner city, or palace, are named in high-sounding phrase, such as " beneficent reception," "exalted politeness," "perfect change," "entrance of virtue," and the throne-room is styled "the hau of the throne of the humane government." the chinese ambassador of 1866 spent the night in that part of the royal residence called " the palace reserved for the south," — "the south" here evidently re ferring to the imperial favor, or the good graces, of the emperor. a marked difference concerning "the freedom of the city" is noticed in the relative treatment of the two embassies. while the entire body of coreans, dignitaries, servants, merchants, and cart men enter peking, and au circulate freely in the streets among the people, the chinese envoy to seoul, must leave his suite at the frontier, and proceed to the capital with but a few servants, and while there dwell in seclusion. after the long and rough journey through shin-king and corea, the chinese envoy in 1866 stayed less than three days in seoul, and most of the time in-doors. the jap anese who, in 164-6, were feasted in some part of the eastern palace, describe it as being handsomely furnished, with the walls geded and painted with landscapes, beasts, birds, and flowers, with artis tic efiects in gold-dust and leaf. the royal family live each in separate buildings, those above the ninth degree of relationship reside inside the enclosure, all others live beyond the wall in the city. when the wife of the king has a child, she dwells apart in a separate building. the queen is selected from among the old and most loyal families of the nobility. the palace pages, who attend the king day and night, number thirty. there are also three hundred court ladies, and eunuchs are among the regularly appointed officers of the court. the royal archives and library form an interesting portion of the royal residence. part of this library, when removed to kang-wa m 1866, was captured by the french. bishop ridel wrote of it, "the library is very rich, consisting of two or three thousand books printed in chinese, the king and royal palace. 221 with numerous illustrations upon beautiful paper, all well labeled, for the most part in many volumes hooped together with copper bands, the covers being of green or crimson suk. i notice among other things the ancient history of corea in sixty volumes. "what was most curious of all was a book formed of tablets of marble, with characters in gold encrusted in the marble, folding upon one another like the leaves of a screen, upon hinges of gilded copper, and each tablet protected by a cushion of scarlet silk, the whole placed in a handsome casket made of copper, which was in its turn enclosed in a box of wood painted red, with chased orna ments in gut copper. these square tablets formed a volume of a dozen pages. they contain, as some say, the moral laws of the country, but according to others, whose opinion is more probable, the honors accorded the kings of corea by the emperor of china. the cor cans set great store by it." a custom, similar to the old "curfew" of england prevails in the capital. a bell in the castle is struck at sunset, after which male citizens are not allowed to go out of their houses even to visit their neighbors. if such nocturnal pi'owlers are caught, they run the risk of receiving the bastinado on their legs. at eight o'clock another three strokes are given on the bell. at the hours of midnight, and at two and four a.m. the drum is strack, and the brass cymbals sounded. at these signals the watchmen or guards of the palace are reheved. the night-watch consists of ten reliefs of eighteen each. twenty stand guard at midnight, thirty at two a.m:., twenty at four a.m., and ten at six a.m:. there are also extra reliefs with their officers ready. the sentinels change after giving the password. the military garrison of the city is divided into five portions, or four in addition to the household or palace troops. this is the modem form of the old division of kokorai, into five tribes or clans. there are several noted holidays, on which the curfew law is' suspended, and the people are allowed to be out freely at night. these are the first and the last day of the year, the fourteenth and fifteenth day of the first month, and the fifteenth of august. even imder a despotism there are means by which the people win and enjoy a certain measure of liberty. the monarch hears the complaints of ms subjects. close communication between the palace and populace is kept up by means of the pages employed at the court, or through officers, who are sent out as the king's spies all over the country. an usa, or commissioner, who is to 223 corba. be sent to a distant province to ascertain the popular feeling, or to report the conduct of certain officers, is also called " the mes senger on the dark path." he receives sealed orders from the king, vehich he must not open tul beyond the city walls. then, without even going to his own house, he must set out for his des tination, the government providing his expenses. he bears the seal of his commission, a silver plate having the figure of a horse engraved on it. in some cases he has the power of life and death in his hands. yet, even the messenger of the dark path is not free from espionage, for after him forthwith follows his "double'' — the yashi or night messenger, who reports on the conduct of the royal inspector and also on the affairs of each province through which he passes. the whereabouts of these emissaries are rarely discoverable by the people, as they travel in strict dis guise, and unknovyn. this system corresponds almost exactly to that of the ometsuke (eye-appliers), for many centuries in use in japan, but abolished by the mikado's government at the revolu tion of 1868. it was by means of these e-sa or spies that many of the corean christians of rank were marked for destruction. the system, though abominable in free countries, is yet an excel lent medium, between the throne and the subject, and serves as a wholesome check on official rapine and cruelty. the king rarely leaves the palace to go abroad in the city or coimtry. when he does, it is a great occasion which is previously announced to the public. the roads are swept clean and guarded to prevent traffic or passage while the royal cortege is moving. all doors must be shut and the owner of each house is obliged to kneel before his threshold with a broom and dust-pan in his hand as emblems of obeisance. au windows, especially the upper ones, must be sealed with sups of paper, lest some one should look down upon his majesty. those who think they have received unjust punishment enjoy the right of appeal' to the sovereign. they stand by the roadside tapping a small flat drum of hide stretched on a hoop like a battledore. the king as he passes hears the prayer or receives the written petition held in a spht bamboo. often he investigates the grievance. if the complaint is groundless the petitioner is apt to lose his head. the proces sion for pleasure or a journey,, as it leaves the palace, is one of the grandest spectacles the natives ever witness. his body-guard and train amount to many thousand persons. there are two sedan chairs made exactly alike, and in which of them the king is riding the king and royal palace. 223 no one knows except the highest ministers. they must never be turned round, but have a door to open at both ends. the music used on such occasions is — to a corean ear — of a quiet kiad, and orders are given along the line by signals made with pennons. in case of sudden emergencies, when it is neccessary to convey an order from the rear to the front or far forward of the line, the message is sent by means of an arrow, which, with the writing at tached, is shot from one end of the line to the other. five caparisoned horses with embroidered saddles precede the royal sedan. the great dragon-flag, which is about fourteen feet square, mounted in a socket and strapped on the back of a strong ■fresh horse — with four guy ropes ' held by footmen, like banner string boys in a parade — forms the most conspicuoiis object iu the procession. succession to the throne is at the pleasure of the sovereign, who may nominate his legitimate son, or any one of his natural male offspring, or his cousia, or uncle, as he pleases. a son pf the queen takes precedence over other sons, but the male child of a concubine becomes king when the queen is chudless, which, ia corean eyes, is virtually the case when she has daugh ters only. since the founding of the present dynasty in 1392, there have been twenty-nine successors to the founder, among whom we find nephews, cousins, or younger sons, in several instances. pour were kun, princes, or king's son only, and not successors in the royal line. they are not styled ivang, or kings, but only kun, or princes, in the official light. one of these four kun, degraded from the throne, was banished after eleven years, and another was served in like manner after fourteen years, reign. the heir to the throne holds the rank of wang (japanese 0), king, while the younger sons are kun, princes. from 1392 to 1882, the average reign of the twenty sovereigns of corea who received iavestiture .is very nearly six teen and a half years. chapter xxv. political parties. during the past three centuries the nobles have been steadily gaining political power, or rather we might say have been regain ing their ancient prestige at court. they have compeued the royal princes to take the position of absolute political neutrality, and the poucy of the central government is dictated exclusively by them. those who hold no office are often the most powei-ful in influence with their own party. the origin of the political parties, which have played such an influential part in the history of modem corea, is referred to about the time of the discovery of america. during the reign of sien chong (1469-1494), the eleventh sovereign of the house of ni, a dispute broke out between two of the most powerful of the nobles. the court had bestowed upon one of them a high dignity, to which his rival laid equal claim. as usual in feudalism everywhere, the famiues, relatives, retainers, and even servants, of either leader took part in the quarrel. the king prudently kept himself neutral between the contending factions, which soon formed themselves into organized parties imder the names of "eastern" and "west em." later on, from a cause equally trivial to an alien eye, two other parties formed themselves under the names " southern " and " northern." soon the easterners joined themselves to the southerners, and the northerners, who were very numerous, split into two divisions, called the great north and the little north. in one of those unsuccessful palace intrigues, called conspiracies, the great north party was mixed up with the plot, and most of its members were condemned to death. the survivors hastened to range themselves under the banner of the little north. the next reaction which arranged the parties on new lines, occurred during the reign of suk-chong (1676-1720), and well illustrates that fanaticism of pedantry to which the literary classes in time of peace formerly devoted their energies. the father of a young political parties. 225 noble named yun, who belonged to the western party, having died, the young man composed an epitaph. his tutor, an influen tial man of letters, not liking the production of his pupil, pro posed another. unable to agree upon the proper text, a lively con troversy arose, and out of a uterary acorn sprang up a mighty oak of pontics. the western party split into the sho-ron, and no-ron, in which were found the adherents of the puph and master. a free translation of the correlative terms sho and no, would bs "old corea " and "young corea," or conservative and progres sive, or radical. there were now four political parties. the shi-seik, or " the four parties," are still in existence, and receive illustration better from french than from british politics. every noble in the realm is attached to one or the other of the four parties, though " trimmers " are not unknown. these tuhil pobi, or "right and left men," are ever on the alert for the main chance, and on the turn of the political vane promptiy desert to the winning side. however trivial the causes which led to their formation, as western eyes see, the objects kept in view by the partisans are much the same as those of parties in european coimtries and in the united states. nominally the prime purpose of each faction is to advance the interests of the country. actual and very power ful motives have reference to the spoils of office. each party en deavors to gain for its adherents as many of the high appointments and dignities as possible. their rallying-point is around the heirs apparent, or possible, to the throne. when a strong and healthy king holds the reins of power, political activity may be cool. when the sovereign dies and the succession is uncertain, when a queen or royal concubine is to be chosen, when high ministers of state die or resign, the corean pohtical furnace is at full blast. when king suk-chong was reigning in 1720, having no son to succeed him, the four parties coalesced into two, the opposition and the court or royal party. the former supported in this case one who proved the successful candidate, a brother of the king ; the latter party urged the claims of an expected heir to the reign ing king, which, however, was not bom, as the king died childless. to secure the throne to their nominee, the brother of the chudless king, the opposition secretly despatched a courier to peking to obtain the imperial investiture. the other party sent assassins to waylay or overtake the courier, who was murdered before he had crossed the frontier. 15 226 corea. yeng-chong, the nominee of the opposition, mounted the throne after the death of his brother, and reigned from 1724 to 1776. he was an able ruler, and signalized his reign by abolish ing many of the legal tortures until then practised, especially the branding of criminals. yet personally he was cruel and unscrupu lous. public rumor credited him with haying found a road to power by means of a double crime. by the use of various drugs he made it impossible for his brother to have an heir, after which he poisoned him. stung by these reports, he began, as soon as he was made sov ereign, to send to the block numbers of the opposite party whom he knew to be his enemies. some years after, his eldest son hav ing died, he nominated his second son, sato, to be his heir, and associated him with himself in the government of the kingdom. this young and accomplished prince endeavored to make his father forget his bitter hatred against the si-pai party, to pro claim general amnesty, and to follow out a frank policy of recon cuiation. the king, irritated by his son's reproaches, and hounded on by his partisans, resolved to put the prince out of the way. by the royal command a huge chest of wood was made, into which the young prince was ordered to sleep while living. the ponder ous ud was put on during one of his slumbers and sealed with the royal seal. they then covered this sarcophagus with leaves and boughs, so that in a short time the young prince was smoth ered. this horrible crime served only to exasperate the party of the priace, and they demanded that his name should be enrolled in the list of sovereigns. their opponents refused, and this ques tion is still a burning one. the king's defenders, to this day de cline to rehabilitate the character of the smothered prince. the others demand that historic justice be done. though other ques tions have siuce arisen, of more immediate moment, this particu lar moot point makes its distinct hue in the opposing colors of corean politics. this, however, does not take on the features of an hereditary feud, for oftentimes in the same family, father and son, or brothers may hold varying views on this historical dispute, nor does it affect marriage between holders of diverse views. the corean eomeo and juliet may woo and wed without let or dan ger. in general, it may be said that the piek-pai are radical and fiery, the si-pai are conservative and conciliatory. cheng-chong, who ruled from 1776 to 1800, a wise, moderate, and prudent prince, and a friend of learning, favored the men of political parties. 227 merit among the southern si-pai, and is also noted for having revised the code of laws. among the more radical of the partisans, the object in view is not only to gain for their adherents the public offices, but also to smite their rivals hip and thigh, and prevent their getting appoint ments. hence the continual quarrels and the plots, which often result in the death of one or other of the leaders. assassination and murderous attacks are among the means employed, whue to supplant their enemies the king is besought to order them to death or exile. concessions are made by the dominant party to the other only to avoid violent outbreaks, and to keep the peace. with such a rich soil for feuds, it is not wonderful that corea is cursed with elements of permanent disturbance like those in mediaeval scotland or italy. as each of the noble famiues have many retainers, and as the feuds are hereditary, the passions of human nature have full sway. all manner of envy and mahce, with au uncharitableness flourish, as in a thicket of interlacing thorns. the southern and no-ron parties have always been the most numerous, powerful, and obstinate. between them mar riages do not take place, and the noble who in an intrigue with one of his enemies loses caste, his honors, or his life, hands down to his son or his nearest relative his demand for vengeance. often this sacred duty is associated with an exterior and visible pledge. he may give to his son, for instance, a coat which he is never to take off until revenge is had. the kinsman, thus clad with ven geance as with a garment, must wear it, it may be until he dies, and then put it upon his child with the same vow. it is not rare to see noblemen clad in rags and tatters during two or three gen erations. night and day ttiese clothes call aloud to the wearer, reminding him of the debt of blood which he must pay to appease the spirits of his ancestors. in corea, not to avenge one's father is to be disowned, to prove that one is illegitimate and has no right to bear the family name, it is to violate, in its fundamental point, the national reli gion, which is the worship of ancestors. if the father has been put to death under the forms of law, it behooves that his enemy or his enemy's son should die the same death. , if the father has been exiled, his enemy's exile must be secured. if the parent has been assassinated, in uke manner must his enemy fall. in these cases, public sentiment applauds the avenger, as fulfilling the holy dictates of piety and religion. cokea. the pretext of accusation most often employed by the rival factions is that of conspiracy against the life of the king. peti tions and false evidence are multiplied and bribery of the court ministers is attempted. if, as is often the case, the first petition ers are thrown in jail, beaten, or condemned to mulct or exile, the pai-tisans assess the fine among themselves and pay it, or manage by new methods, by the favor or venality of the court ministers, or the weakness of the king, at last to compass their ends, when those of the vanquished party are ousted from office, while the victors use and abuse their positions to enrich themselves and ruin their enemies, until they in their turn are supplanted. it is no wonder that a corean liberal visiting in tokid, in 1882, declared to a japanese officer his conviction that corea's dfficulties in the way of national progress were greater than those of which japan had rid herself, mighty as these had been. by the revolutions of 1868, and later, the ripened fruits of a century of agitation and the presence of foreigners, japan had purged from her body poutio feudahsm and caste, emancipating herself at once from the thrall of the priest and the soldier ; but corea, with her feudalism, her court intrigues, her confucian bigotry, and the efifete products of ages of seclusion and superstition has even a more hopeless task to attempt. the bearing of these phases of home politics wul be further displayed when the new disturbing force of christianity enters to furnish a lever to am bition and revenge, as well as to affection and philanthropy. a native caricature, which was pubushed about a generation ago, gives even a foreigner a fair idea of the relative position of each party at that epoch. at a table gorgeously furnished, a no ron is seated at his ease, disposing of the bountiful fare. a sho ron seated beside him, yet in the rear, graciously performs the office of servant, receiving part of the food as reward for his at tendance. the little north, seeing that the viands are not for him, is also seated, but with a more sedate and serious visage. last of all the southern, covered with rags, keeps far in the rear, behind the no-ron, who does not notice him, -while he, in vexation, grinds his teeth and shakes his fist like a man who means to take burniag vengeance. such was the political situation before 1850, as some native wit pictured it for the amusement of the seoulians. it requires a ruler of real ability to be equal to the pressure brought upon him by the diverse and hostile political parties. nominally sovereign of the country, he is held in check by pow political parties. 229 erful nobles intrenched in privileges hoary with age, and backed by all the reactionary influences of feudalism. the nobles are the powerful middle term in the problem of corean politics, who' con trol both king and commons. the nobles have the preponderance of the government patronage, and fill the official positions with their liegemen to an extent far beyond what the theory of the law, as illustrated in the literary examinations, allows them. a native caricature thus depicts the situation. cho-sen is repre sented as a human being, of whom the king is the head, the nobles the body, and the people the legs and feet. the breast and belly are full, while both head and lower limbs are gaunt and shrunken. the nobles not only drain the life-blood of the peo ple by their rapacity, but they curtail the royal prerogative. the nation is suffering from a congestion, verging upon a dropsical condition of over-officialism. the disease of corea's near neighbor, old japan, was like wise a surplus of government and an excess of official patronage, but the body politic was purged by revolution. the obstructions between the throne and the people were cleared away by the re moval of the sho-gunate and the feudal system. before the advent of foreigners, national unity was not the absolute necessity which it became the instant that aliens fixed their dwelling on the soil. now, the empire of the mikado rejoices in true political unity, and has subjects in a strong and not over-meddlesome gov ernment. the people are being educated in the rudiments of mutual obhgations — their rights as well as their duties. the mikado himself took the oath of 1868, and his own hand shaped the august decree of 1881, which will keep his throne unshaken, not because it was won by the bows and arrows of his divine an cestors, but because it will rest broad-based upon the peoples' will. so in cho-sen the work of the future for intelligent patriots is the closer union of king and people, the curtailment of the power of the nobles, and the excision of feudalism. already, to ac complish this end, there are coreans who are ready to die. during the last decade, the pressure from japan, the jealousy of china, the danger from eussia, jhe necessity, at first shrunk from and then yielded to, of making treaties with foreign nations, has altered the motives and objects of corean politics. old questions have fallen out of sight, and two great parties. progressionists and ob structionists, or eadical and conservative, have formed for the solu tion of the problems thrust upon them by the nineteenth centiuy. chapter xxyi. organization and methods of government. next ia authority to the king are the three chong or high min isters. the chief of these (chen-kun) is the greatest dignitary in the kingdom, and in time of the minority, inabikty, or imbecility of the king, wields royal authority in fact if not in name. another term applied to him when the king is unable to govern, is " foun dation-stone minister," upon whom the king leans and the state rests as a house upon its foundation-stone. the title of tai-wen kun, which suggests that of the "tycoon" of japan, seems to have been a special one intended for the emergency. it was given to the regent who is the father of the present king, and who ruled with nearly absolute power from 1863 to 1874, when the king reached his majority. in the troubles in seoul in july, 1882, his title, written in japanese as tai-in kun, became familiar to western newspapers. after the king, and the three prime ministers, come the six ministries or boards of government, the heads of which rank next to the three chong or ministers forming the supreme coimcil. in the six departments, the heads are called pan-cho, and these are assisted by two other associates, the cham-pan, or substitutes, and the cham-e, or counsellor. these four grades and twenty-one dignitaries constitute the i'oyal council ©f dai-jin (great ministers), though the actual authority is in the supreme council of the three chong. the six boards, or departments of the government, are : 1, office and public employ ; 2, finance ; 3, ceremonies ; 4, war ; 5, justice ; 6, pubhc "works. the heads of these tribunals make a daily report of all affairs within their province, but refer all matters of importance to the supreme council. there are also three chamberlains, each having his assistants, who record every day the acts and words of the king. a daily government gazette, called the cho-po, is issued for information on official matters. the general cast and method of procedure in the court and gov ernment is copied after the great model in peking. organization and methods of government. 231 each of the eight provinces is under the direction of a kam-sa, or governor. the cities are divided into six classes {yin, mu, fu, hi, ling, and hilu), and are governed by officers of corresponding rank. the towns are given in charge of the petty magistrates, there being twelve ranks or dignities in the official class. in theory any male corean able to pass the government examinations is eligible to office, but the greater number of the best positions are secured by nobles and their friends. prom the sovereign to the beggar, the gate, both figura tively and actually, is very prominent in the public economy and in family relationships. a great deal of etiquette is visible in the gates. at the entrance to the royal palace are, or were formerly, two huge effigies, in wood, of horses, painted red. only high officials can pass these mute guardians. all persons riding past the palace must dismount and walk. to the houses of men of rank there are usually tvro, sometimes three, gates. the magis trate himself enters by the largest, his parents and nearer friends by the eastern, and servants by the west or smallest. when a visitor of equal grade calls upon an officer or noble, the host must come all the way to the great or outer gate to receive him, and do likevyise on dismissing him. if he be of one degree lower rank, the host comes only to the outside of the middle gate. if of third or fourth rank, the daller is accompanied only to the space inside the middle gate. the man of fifth and sixth rank finds that eti quette has so tapered off that the lord of the mansion walks only to the piazza. in front of a magistrate's office, at the gateway, are ranged the symbols of authority, such as spears and tridents. the gates are dauy opened amid the loud cries of the imderlings, and their opening and closing with a vocal or instrumental blast is a national custom, illustrated as well at the city as at the office. the porters who close them at sunset and open them at dawn execute a salvo on their trumpets, often lasting a quarter of an hour. this acoustic devastation, so distressing to foreign ears, is considered good music to the native tympanum. in sitting, the same iron tongue upon the buckle of custom holds each man to his right hole in the social strap. people of equal rank sit so that the guest faces to the east and the host to the west. in ordinary easy style, the visitor's nose is to the south, as he sits eastward of his host. a commoner faces north. in social entertainments, after the yup, or bows with the head and hajids bent together, have been made, wine is sipped or 232 corba. drunk three or five times, and then follows what the coreans call music. the sumptuary laws of the kingdom are peculiar, at many points amusing to occidentals. to commit pem-ram is to violate these curious regulations. "what may be worn, or sat upon, is solemnly dictated by law. nobles sit on the kan-kio, or better kind of chairs. below the third rank, officers rest upon a bench made of ropes. chairs, however, are not common articles of use, nor in tended to be such. at entertainments for the aged, in time of rich harvests, local feasts, archery tournaments, and on public occa sions, these luxuries are oftener used. in short, the chair seems to be an article of ceremony, rather than a constant means of use or comfort. only men above the third rank are allowed to put on silk. petty officials must wear cotton. merchants and farmers may not imitate official robes, but don tighter or more economical coats and trowsers. a common term for officials is " blue clouds," in reference to their blue-tinted garments. to their assistants, the people apply the nickname, not sarcastic, but honorable, of " crooked backs," because they always bend low in talking to their employers. the magistrates lay great stress on the trifles of etiquette, and keep lip an immense amount of fuss and pomp to sustain their dignity, in order to awe the common folks. whenever they move abroad, their servants cry out " chii-wa," "chii-wa," "get down off your horse," "get dovsti off your horse," to 'riders in sight. the n-san, or large banner or standard in the form of an um brella, is borne at the head of the une. to attempt to cross one of their processions is to be seized and punished, and anyone re fusing to dismount, or who is slow about slipping off his horse, is at once arrested, to be beaten or mulcted. when permission is given to kill an ox, the head, hide, and feet usually become the perquisites of the magistrate or his minions. the exuberant vocab ulary in corean, for the various taxes, fines, mulcts, and squeezes of the understrappers of the magistrate, in gross and in detail, chief and supplementary, testify to the rigors and expenses of being governed in cho-sen. overreaching magistrates, through whose injustice the people are goaded into rebellion, are sometimes punished. it seems that one of the penalties in ancient times was that the culpable official should be boiled in oil. now, however, the condemned man is exiled, and only rarely put to death, while a commutation of justice organization and methods of government. 233 — equivalent to being burned in effigy — is made by a pretended boiling in oil. good and upright magisti-ates are often remem bered by mok-pi, or inscribed columns of wood, erected on the pubhc road by the grateful people. in many instances, this testi monial takes the form of sculptured stone. a number of the pub lic highways are thus adorned. these, with the tol-^i, or monu mental boimie, which marks distances or points out the paths to places of resort, are interesting features of travel in the peninusla, and more pleasant to the horseman than the posts near temples and offices on which one may read "dismount." at the funeral of great dignitaries of the realm, a life-sized figure of a horse, made of bamboo, dragged before the coffin, is burned along with the clothes of the deceased, and the ashes laid beside his remains. as the magistrates are literary men, their official residences often receive poetic or suggestive names, which, in most cases, re flect the nattiral scenery surrounding them. "little flowery house," "eising cloud," "sun-greeting," "sheet of resplen dent water," "water-that-sudes-as-straight-as-a-sword dwelling," "gate of lapis-lazuli," "mansion near the "whirlpool," are some of these names, while, into the composition of others, the morn ing-star, the heaven-touching, the cave-spirit, and the changing cloud mountain, or the falling-snow cataract may enter. passion ately fond of nature, the corean gentleman will erect a tablet in praise of the scenery that charms his eye. one such reads, "the beauty of its rivers, and of its mountains, make this district the first in the countrj'-." if, as the fi-ench say, " paris is france," then seoul is corea. an apparently disproportionate interest centres in the capital, if one may judge from the vast and varied vocabtilary relating to seoul, its people and things, which differentiate all else outside its wau. three thousand official dignitaries are said to reside in the capital, and only eight hundred' in all the other cities and prov inces. seoul is "the city," and all the rest of the peninsula is "the country." a provincial having cultivated manners is called " a man of the capital." " capital and province " means the realm. the rule of the local authorities is very minute in all its rami fications. the system of making evei-y five houses a social unit is universal. wben a crime is committed, it is easy to locate the group in which the offender dwells, and responsibility is fixed at once. every subject of the sovereign except nobles of rank, must possess a passport or ticket testifying to his personality, and au 234 corea. must " show their tickets" on demand. for the people, this cer tificate of identity is a piece of branded or inscribed wood, for the soldiers of horn, for the uterary class and government officials of bone. often, the tablet is in halves, the individual having one hak, and the government keeping its tally. the people who can not read or write have their labels carefully tied to their clothing. when called upon to sign important documents, or bear witness on trial, they make a blood-signature, by rudely tracing the signs set before them in their own blood. the name, residence of the holder, and the niunber of the group of houses in which he lives, are branded or iascribed on the ho-pai, or passport. the actual workings of corean justice will be better under stood when treating of christianity — an element of social life which gave the pagan tribunals plenty of work. civil matters are decided by the ordinary civil magistrate, who is judge and jury at once ; criminal cases are tried by the military commandant. very important cases are referred to the governor of the province. the highest court of appeal is in the capital. cases of treason and re bellion, and charges against high dignitaries, are tried in the capital before a special tribunal instituted by the king. the two classes of assistants to the magistrate, who are called respectively hai-seijc and a-chen, act as constables or sheriffs, pohce messengers, and jailers. french writers term them " pre torians" and "satellites." these men have practically the admin istration of justice, and the details and spirit of local authority are in their power. the hai-seik, or constables, form a distinct class in the community, rarely intermarrying with the people, and handing down their offices, implements, and arts from father to son. the a-chen, who are the inferior police, jailers, and torturers, are from the very lowest classes, and usually of brutal life and temper. the vocabulary of torture is sufficiently copious to stamp cho sen as stiu a semi-civilized nation. the inventory of the court and prison comprises iron chains, bamboos for beating the back, a paddle-shaped implement for inflicting blows upon the buttocks, switches for whipping the calves tiu the flesh is ravelled, ropes for sawing the flesh and bodily organs, manacles, stocks, and boards to strike against the knees and shin-bones. other punish ments are suspension by the arms, tying the hands in front of the knees, between which and the elbows is inserted a stick, while the human ball is roued about. an ancient but now obsolete mode organization and methods op government. 235 •of torture was to tie the four limbs of a man to the homs of as many oxen, and then to madden the beasts by fire, so that they tore the victim to fragments. the punishment of beating with paddles often leaves scars for life, and causes ulcers not easily healed. one hundred strokes cause death in most cases, and many die under forty or fifty blows. for some crimes the knees and shin-bones are battered. a woman is allowed to have on one gai-ment, which is wetted to make it cling to the skin and in crease the pain. the chief of the lictors, or pubhc spanker, is caued siu-mo. with the long, flexible handle swung over his head, he phes the resounding blows, planting them on the bare skin just above the knee-joint, the victim being held down by four gaolers. the method of correction is quite characteristic of par temal government, and is often inflicted upon the people openly and in public, at the whim of the magistrate. the bastinado was formerly, like hundreds of other customs common to both coimtries, in vogue in japan. as in many other instances, this has survived in the less civilized nation. when an offender in the muitary or literary class is sentenced to death, 'decapitation is the rather honorable method employed. the executioner uses either a sort of native iron hatchet-sword or cleaver, or one of the imported japanese steel-edged blades, which have an excellent reputation in the peninsula. undoubtedly the severity of the corean code has been miti gated since hamel's time. according to his observations, husbands usually killed their wives who had committed adultery. a wife mtu-dering her husband was buried to the shoulders in the earth at the road side, and all might strike or mutilate her with axe or sword. a serf who murdered his master was tortm-ed, and a thief might be trampled to death. the acme of cruelty was pro duced, as in old japan, by pouring vinegar down the criminal's throat, and then beating him till he burst. the criminal code now in force is, in the main, that revised and published by the king in 1785, which greatly mitigated the one formerly used. one disgraceful, but not very severe, mode of correction is to tie a drum to the back of the offender and publicly proclaim his trans gression, while the drum is beaten as he walks through the streets. amid many improvements on the old barbarous system of aggra vating the misery of the condemned, there stiu. survives a dis graceful form of capital punishment, in which the cruelty takes on the air of savage refinement. the cho-reni-to-ta appears only in 236 corba. extreme cases. the criminars face is smeared with chalk, his hands are tied behind him, a gong is tied on his back, and an arrow is thrust through either ear. the executioner makes the victim march round before the spectators, whue he strikes the gong, crying out, " this fellow has committed [adultery, murder, treason, etc.]. avoid his crime." the french missionaries exe cuted near seoul were au put to death in this barbarous manner. » officials often receive furloughs to return home and visit their parents, for filial piety is the supreme virtue in chinese asia. the richest rewards on earth and brightest heaven hereafter await the filial child. curses and disgrace in this hfe and the hottest heu in the world hereafter are the penalties of the disobedient or neglectful child. the man who strikes his father is beheaded. the parricide is burned to death. not to mourn long and faith fully, by retiring from office for months, is an incredible iniquity. coreans, hke japanese, argue that, if the law punishes crime, it ought also to reward virtue. hence the system which prevails in the mikado's empire and in cho-sen of publicly awarding prizes to signal exemplars of filial piety. these in japan may be in the form of money, silver cups, rous of silk, or gewgaws. in corea, they are shown in monumental columns, or dedicatory temples, or by publichonors and promotion to office. less often are the rewarded instances of devotion to the mother than to the father. official hfe has its sunshine and shadows in this land as else- where, but perhaps one of the hardest tasks before the corean ruhng classes of this and the next generation is the duty of dili gently eating their words. accustomed for centuries to decry and belittle the foreigner from christendom, they must now, as the people discern the superiority of westerners, "rise to explain" in a manner highly embarrassing. in intellect, government, science, social customs, manual skill, refinement, and possession of the arts and comforts of hfe, the foreigner v?iu soon be discovered to be superior. at the same time th.e intelligent native -will behold -with how httle wisdom, and how much needless cruelty, cho-sen is governed. the japanese official world has passed through such an experience. if we may argue from a common ancestry and hereditary race traits, we may forecast the probability that to corea, as to japan, may come the same marvellous revolution in ideas and customs. cpiapter xxyii. feudalism, serfdom, and society. it is remarked by pauadius that the fuyu race, the ancestors of the modem coreans, was the first to emerge from the desert under feudal forms of organization. the various migrations of new nations rising out of northern and eastern asia were west ward, and were held together under monarchical systems of govern ment. the fuyu tribes who, by turning their face to the rising, instead of the setting sun, were anomalous in the direction of their migration, were unique also in their political genius. those emigrants who, descending from the same ancestral seats in man churia, and through the peninsula, crossed toward nippon, or sunrise, and settled japan, maintained their feudalism until, through ambitious desire to rival great china, they borrowed the centralized system of court and monarchy from the tang dynasty, in the seventh century. the mikado, by means of boards or ministries hke the chinese, ruled his subjects until the twekth century. then, through the pride and ambition of the military clans, which had subdued all the tribes to his sway, feudalism, which had spread its roots, lifted its head. by rapid growths, under succeeding military regents, it grew to be the tree over spreading the empire. it was finally uprooted and destroyed only by the revolution of 1868, and the later victories of united japan's imperial armies, at an awful sacrifice of life and treasure. that branch of the fuyu migration which remained in the corean peninsula likewise preserved the institution of feudalism which. haid been inherited from their ancestors. in their early history, lands were held on the tenure of military service, and in war time, or on the accession of a new dynasty, rewards were made by parcelling out the soil to the followers of the victor. provision for a constant state of servitude among one class of the political body was made by the custom of making serfs of crimi nals or their kindred, a nucleus of slavery being once formed!. 238 coeea. debt, famine, capture in war, voluntary surrender, would serve to increase those whose persons and labor were wholly or partly owned by another. to social prosperity, religion, and the increase of general iateuigence, we may look as elements for the ameliora tion of serfdom and the elevation of certain classes of bondsmen into free people. the forms of corean society, to this day, are derived from feudal ranks and divisions, and the powers, status, divisions, and practical pohtics of the nobles have their roots in the ancient feudalism which existed even " before the conquest." its fruit and legacy are seen in the serfdom or slavery -^^hich is corea's "domestic" or "peculiar" institution. speaking in general terms, the ladder of society has four mngs, the king, nobles, and the three classes of society, in the last of which are " the seven low callings." in detail, the grades may be counted by the tens and scores. in the lowest grade of the fourth class are "the seven vile callings," viz. : the merchant, boatman, jailor, postal or mail slave, monk, butcher, and sorcerer. the "four classes of society" include the literary men or officials, the farmers, the artisans, and the traders. among the nobility are various ranks, radicated by titles, high offices at court, or nearness of relationship to the king. he is " neither ox nor horse " is the native slang for one who is neither noble nor com moner. the nobles are usually the serf-proprietors or slave-hold ers, many of them having in their households large numbers whom they have inherited along with their ancestral chattels. the master has a right to sell or otherwise dispose of the children of his slaves if he so choose. the male slave is called chong-nom. a free man may marry a. female slave, in which case he is termed a pi-pu. the male children by this marriage are free, but the female ofifspring belong to the master of the mother, and may be sold. a liberated slave is called pal-sin, and he speaks of his former master as ku-siang. the native vocabulary for the slave in his various relations is sufficiently copious. " fugitive " slaves, " slave-hunters," and " slave-drivers," are as common to the co rean ear, as to the american in the long-ago days of "before the war." a pan-no is a bondsman trying to escape, and to attempt chiu-ro is to hunt the fugitive and bring him back. the in-chang is the public slave of the village. yet such a thing as the bonds man's servile love of place, rising into swollen and oppressive pride that looks down on the poor freeman, is a common thing, . and cruel and overbearing treatment of the peasantry by the min feudalism, serfdom, and society. 239 ions of a noble is too frequently witnessed in corea. " tek-pun ai" ("by your favor," equivalent to "let me uve, i pray you") is a cry, more than once heard by french missionaries, from a man beaten by the swaggering serfs of some nobleman. it is not exactly the feeling of the sleek and weu-bred black slave of old-time virginia for "the poor white trash," since in corea slavery has no color-line ; yet, in essentials of circumstance, it is the same. such a phase of character is more likely to be devel oped among the serfs of the old barons or landed proprietors who have longest occupied their hereditary possessions, and who keep up a petty court within their castles or semi-fortified mansions. slavery or serfdom in corea is in a continuous state of dechne, and the number of slaves constantly diminishing. in the remote provinces it is practically at an end. the greater number of serfs are to be found attached to the estates of the great noble families of the central provinces. the slaves are those who are born in a state of servitude, those who sell themselves as slaves, or those who are sold to be such by their parents in time of famine or for debt. infants exposed or abandoned that are picked up and educated become slaves, but their offspring are bom free. the serfdom is really very mild. only the active young men are held to field labor, the young women being kept as domestics. when old enough to marry, the males are let free by an annual payment of a sum of money for a term of years. often the slaves marry, are assigned a house apart, and bound only to a fixed amount of labor. although the master has the power of life and death over his slaves, the right is rarely exercised unjustly, and the mission aries report that there were few cases of excessive cruelty prac tised. an unjust master could be cited before the tribunals, and the case inquired into. often the actual condition of the serfs is superior to that of the poor villagers, and instances are common in which the poor, to escape the rapacity and cruelty of the nobles, have placed themselves under the protection of a master known to be a kind man, and thus have, purchased ease and comfort at the sacrifice of liberty. outside of private ownership of slaves, there is a species of government slavery, which illustrates the persistency of one feature of ancient kokorai perpetuated through twenty centuries. it is the law that in case of the condemnation of a great criminal, the ban. of ui-ro-ui-pi shall fall upon his wife and children, who at once become the slaves of the judge. these unfortimates do not have. 240 corba. the privilege of honorably serving the magistrate, but usually pass their existence in waiting on the menials in the various depart ments and magistracies. only a few of the government slaves are such by birth, most of them having become so through judicial condemnation in criminal cases ; but this latter class fare far worse than the ordinary slaves. they are chiefly females, and are treated very little better than beasts. they are at the mercy not only of the officers but even of their satellites, servants, and grooms, or to whomever they are sold for an hour. nothing can equal the contempt in which they are held, and for an honest or an innocent woman, such a fate is worse than many deaths. in the earhest written account of the kokorai people, the ancestors of the mod ern coreans, we find this same feature of ancient feudalism by which a class of serfs may be continually provided. to christian eyes it is a horrible relic of barbarism. the penal settlements on the sea-coast, and notably quelpart island, are worked by colonies of these male government slaves or convicts. the females are not usually sent away from the place of their parents or their own crime. in ancient times of kokorai and korai there were only two classes of people, the nobles and their free retainers, and the serfs or slaves. the nobles were lords of cities and castles, like the daimios of japan, and were very numerous. the whole coun try was owned by them, or at least held in the king's name under tenure of military service — a hen which length of time only strengthened. in the long centuries of peace, many of these old families — weakly descendants of vigorous founders — have died out, and the land reverting to the sovereign, or possessed by the peo ple, is now owned by a more numerous and complex class, while nearly all the cities and tovms are governed by officers sent out by the central authority at seoul. the ancient class of serfs has, by industry and intelligence and accumulation of rights vested in their special occupations, developed into the various middle classes. the nobles are now in a minority, though at present their power is on the increase, and their ancestral landholds com prise but a small portion of the soil. as in mediibval europe, so in corea, where feudalism, which rests on personal loyalty to a reigning sovereign, or a particular royal line, prevails, a more or less complete revolution of titles and possessions takes place upon a change of dynasty. on the acces sion of the present royal house in 1392, the old korai nobility feudalism, serfdom, and society. 241 were impoverished and the partisans of the founder of the ni, and all who had aided him to the throne, became at once the nobility of the kingdom, and were rewarded by gifts of land. to the victors belonged the spous. the honors, riches, and the exclu sive right to fill many of the most desirable public offices were awarded in perpetuity to the aristocracy. the mass of the people were placed or voluntarily put themselves under the authority of the nobles. the agricultural class attached to the soil simply changed masters and landlords, while the cities and towns people and sea-coast dwellers became, only in a nominal sense, the ten antry of the nobles. gradually, however, those who had ability and address obtained their full hberty, so that they were in no way bound to pay tithe or tax to the nobles, but only to the cen tral government. under peace, with wealth, intelugence, combi nation, trade-unions, and guilds, and especially by means of the literary examinations, the various classes of the people emerged iato independent existence, leaving but a few of the lowest of the population in the condition of serfs or slaves. between the ac counts of hamel in 1653, and of the french missionaries in the last decade, there are many indications of progress. laborers, artisans, merchants, soldiers, etc., now have a right to their own labor and earnings, and the general division of the common wealth is into three classes — nobles, common people, and serfs or slaves. speaking generally, the peculiar institution of cho-sen is serf dom rather than slavery, and is the inheritence of feudalism ; yet, as russia has had her alexander, america her lincoln, and japan her mutsihito, we may hope to see some great liberator yet arise in the "land of morning calm." under absolute despotisms, as most asiatic governments are, it is a wonder to republicans how the people enjoy any liberty at au. if they have any, it is interesting to study how they have attained it, and how they hold it. politicauy, they have absolutely no freedom. they know nothing of government, except to pay taxes and obey. their political influence is nothing. in cho-sen, according to law, any person of the common people may compete at the public examinations for civu or military employment, but, in point of fact, his degree is often worthless, for he is not likely to receive office by it. in a country where might and wealth make right, and human beings are pohtically naught, being but beasts of burden or ciphers without a unit, how do the people 16 242 corba. protect themselves and gain any liberty ? how does it come to pass that serfs may win their way to social freedom ? it is by union and organization. the spirit of association, so natural and necessary, is spread among the coreans of all classes, from the highest famiues to the meanest slaves. all those who have any kind of work or interest in common form guilds, cor porations, or societies, which have a common fund, contributed to by ah for aid in time of need. very powerful trade-unions exist among the mechanics and laborers, such as porters, ostlers, and pack-horse leaders, hat-weavers, coffin-makers, carpenters, and masons. these societies enable each class to possess a monopoly of their trade, which even a noble vainly tries to break. some times, they hold this right by writ purchased or obtained from government, though usually it is by prescription. most of the guilds are taxed by the government for their monopoly enjoyed. they have their chief or head man, who possesses almost despotic power, and even, in some guilds, of life and death. new mem bers or apprentices may be admitted by paying their rate and submitting to the rules of the guud. in the higher grades of so ciety we see the same spirit of association. the temple attend ants, the servants of the nobles, the gardeners, messengers, and domestics of the palace, the supernumeraries and government employes, all have their "rings," which an outsider may not break. even among the noble famiues the same idea exists ia due form. the villages form each a little republic, and possess among themselves a common fund to which every family con tributes. out of this money, hid in the earth or lent out on interest, are paid the public taxes, expenses of marriage and burial, and whatever else, by custom and local opinion, is held to be a public matter. foreigners, accustomed to the free competi tion of english-speaking countries, will find in cho-sen, as they found in japan, and even more so, the existence of this spirit of protective association and monopoly illustrated in a hundred forms which are in turn amusing, vexatious, or atrocious. a man who in injustice, or for mere caprice, or in a fit of temper, dis charges his ostler, house-servant, or carpenter, wiu find that he cannot obtain another good one very easily, even at higher wages, or, if so) that his new one is soon frightened off the premises. to get along comfortably in chinese asia, one must, wiuy-nuly, pay respect to the visible or invisible spirit of trade-unionism that pervades au society in those old countries. feudalism, serfdom, and society. 243 one of the most powerful and best organized guilds is that of the porters. the interior commerce of the countrj' being almost entirely on the backs of men and pack-horses, these people have the monopoly of it. they number about ten thousand, and are divided by provinces and districts under the orders of chiefs, sub-chiefs, censors, inspectors, etc. a large number of these por ters are women, often poor widows, or those unable to marry. many of them are of muscular frame, and their life in the open air tends to develop robust forms, with the strength of men. they speak a conventional language, easily understood among themselves, and are very profuse in their salutations to each other. they have very severe rules for the government of their guild, and crimes among them are punished with death, at the order of their chief. they are so powerful that they pretend that even the government dare not interfere with them. they are outside the power of the local magistrate, just as a german university student is responsible to the faculty, but not to the police. they are honest and faithful in their business, delivering packages with certainty to the most remote places in the kingdom. they are rather independent of the people, and even buuy the officers. when they have received an insult or injustice, or too low wages, they "strike" in a body and retire from the district. this puts a stop to all travel and business, until these grievances are settled or sujbmission to their own terms is made. owing to the fact that the country at large is so lacking in the shops and stores so common in other countries, and that, instead, fairs on set days are so numerous in the towns and villages, the guild of pedlers and hucksters is very large and influential. the class includes probably 200,000 able-bodied adult persons, who in the various provinces move freely among the people, and are thus useful to the government as spies, detectives, messengers, and, in time of need, soldiers. it was from this class that the corean bat talions which figured prominently in the affair of december 4-6, 1887, were recruited. chapter xxyiii. social life.— woman and the family. according to the opinions of the french missionaries, who were familiar with the social life of the people, a corean woman has no moral existence. she is an instrument of pleasure or of labor ; but never man's companion or equal. she has no name. in child hood she receives indeed a surname by which she is known in the family, and by near friends, but at the age of puberty, none but her father and mother employ this appellative. to all others she is " the sister " of such a one, or " the daughter " of so-and-so. after her marriage her name is buried. she is absolutely name less. her own parents allude to her by employing the name of the district or ward in which she has married. her parents-in law speak of her by the name of the place ia which she hved before marriage, as women rarely marry in the same village with their husbands. when she bears children, she is " the mother " of so-and-so. when a woman appears for trial before a magis trate, in order to save time and trouble, she receives a special name for the time being. the women below the middle class work very hard. farm labor is done chiefly by them. manure is apphed by the women, rarely by the men. the women carry lunch to the laborers in the field, eating what is left for their share. in going to market, the women carry the heavier load. in their toilet, the women use rouge, white powders, and hair oil they shave the eyebrows to a narrow line — that is, to a perfectly clean arch, with nothing straggling. they have luxuriant hair, and, in addition, use immense svdtches to fiu out large coiffures. in the higher classes of society, etiquette demands that the children of the two sexes be separated after the age of eight or ten years. after that time the boys dwell entirely in the men's apartments, to study and even to eat and drink. the girls remain secluded in the women's quarters. the boys are taught that it is a shameful thing even to set foot in the female part of the house. social life.— woman and the family. 245 the girls are told that it is disgraceful even to be seen by males, so that gradually they seek to hide themselves whenever any of the male sex appear.' these customs, continued from childhood to old age, result in destroying the family ufe. a corean of good taste only occasionally holds conversation with his wife, whom he regards as being far beneath him. he rarely consults her on anything serious, and though living under the same roof, one may say that husband and wife are widely separated. the female apartments among the higher classes resemble, in most respects, the zenanas of india. the men chat, smoke, and enjoy them selves in the outer rooms, and the women receive their parents and friend-s in the interior apartments. the same custom, based upon the same prejudice, hinders the common people in their mo ments of leisure from remaining in their own houses. the men seek the society of their male neighbors, and the women, on their part, unite together for local gossip. in the higher classes, when a yoimg woman has arrived at marriageable age, none even of her own relatives, except those nearest of kin, is allowed to see or speak to her. those who are excepted from this rule must ad dress her with the most ceremonious reserve. after their mar riage, the women are inaccessible. they are nearly always conj/ fined to their apartments, nor can they even look out in the streets without permission of their lords. 80 strict is this rule that fathers have on occasions killed their daughters, husbands their wives, and wives have committed suicide when strangers have touched them even with their fingers. the common romances or novels of the country expatiate on the merits of many a corean lucretia. in some cases, however, this exaggerated modesty pro duces the very results it is intended to avoid. if a bold villain or too eager paramour should succeed in penetrating secretly the apartments of a noble lady, she dare not utter a cry, nor oppose the least resistance which might attract attention ; for then, whether guilty or not, she would be dishonored forever by the simple fact that a man had entered her chamber. every corean husband is a csesar in this respect. if, however, the afeir remain^ a secret, her reputation is saved. there is, however, another side. though counting for noth ing in society, and nearly so in their family, they are surrounded by a certain sort of exterior respect. they are always addressed in the formulas of honorific language. the men always step aside in the street to allow a woman to pass, even though she be of the 246 corea. poorer classes. the apartments of females are inviolable even to the minions of the law. a noble who takes refuge in his wife's room may not be seized. only in cases of rebellion is he dragged forth, for. in that case his family are reckoned as accomplices in his guut. in other crimes the accused must in some way be en ticed outside, where he may be legally arrested. when a pedler visits the house to show his wares, he waits until the doors of the women's apartments are shut. this done, his goods are examined in the outer apartments, which are open to all. when a man wishes to mend, or go up on his roof, he first notifies his neigh bors, in order that they may shut their, doors and windows, lest he risk the horrible suspicion of peeping at the women. as the coreans do not see a "man in the moon," but only a rabbit poxmding drugs, or a lady banished there for a certain fault, according as they are most familiar with sanskrit or the chinese story, the females are not afraid of this luminary, nor are the men jealous of her, the moon being female in their ideas of gender. marriage in cho-sen is a thing with which a woman has little or nothing to do. the father of the young man communicates, either by call or letter, with the father of the girl whom he wishes his son to marry. this is often done without consulting the tastes or character of either, and iisuauy through a middle-man or go between. the fathers settle the time of the wedding after due discussion of the contract. a favorable day is appointed by the astrologers, and the arrangements are perfected. under this aspect marriage seems an affair of small importance, but in reality it is marriage only that gives one any civil rank or influence in so ciety. every unmarried person is treated as a child. he may commit au sorts of foolishness without being held to account. his capers are not noticed, forhe is not supposed to think or act seriously. even the unmarried young men of twenty-five or thirty years of age can take no part in social reunions, or speak on affairs of importance, but must hold their tongues, be seen but not heard. marriage is emancipation. even if mated at twelve or thirteen years of age, the married are adults. the bride takes her place among the matrons, and the young man has a right to speak among the men and to wear a hat. the badge of single or of maitied life is the hair. before marriage, the youth, who goes bareheaded, wears a simple tress, hanging down his back. the nuptial tie is, in reality, a knot of hair, for in wedlock the hair is bound up on the top of the head and is cultivated on all parts of social life.— woman and the family. 217 the scalp. according to old traditions, men ought never to clip a single hair ; but in the capital the young gauants, in order to add to their personal attractions— with a dash of fashionable defi ance—trim their locks so that their coiffure will not increase in size more than a hen's egg. the women, on the contrary, not only preserve all their own hair, but procure false switches' and braids to swell their coiffures to fashionable bulk. they ma^:e up two large tresses, which are rolled to the back and top of the head, and secured by a long pin of suver or copper. the common people roll their plaits around their heads, like a turban, and shave the front of the scalp. young persons who insist on re maining single, or bachelors arrived at a certain or uncertain age, and who have not yet foimd a wife, secretly cut off their hair, or get it done by fraud, in order to pass for married folks and avoid being treated as children. such a custom, however, is a gross violation of morals and etiquette. (see illustration, page 161.) on the evening before the wedding, the young lady who is to be married invites one of her friends to change her virginal coif fure to that of a married woman. the bridegroom-to-be also invites one of his acquaintance to "do up" his hair in manly style. the persons appointed to per form this service are chosen with great care, and as changing the hair marks the turning-point in life, the hair-dresser of this occasion is called the " hand of honor," and answers to the brides maid and groomsman of other countries. on the marriage-day, in the house of the groom, a platform is set up and richly adorned with decorative woven stuffs. parents, friends, and acquaintances assemble in a crowd. the couple to be married — who may never have seen or spoken to each other — are brought in and take their places on the platform, face to face. there they remain for a few minutes. they salute each other with profound obeisance, but utter not a word. this constitutes the ceremony of marriage. each then retires, on either side ; the bride to the female, the groom to the male apartments, where feasting and amusement, after fashions in vogue in cho-sen, take place. the expense of a wedding is considerable, and the bride groom must be unstinting in his hospitality. any failure in this particular may subject him to unpleasant practical jpkes. on her wedding-day, the young bride must preserve absolute silence, both on the marriage platform and in the nuptial cham ber. etiquette requires this at least among the nobiuty. though v" 248 corea. overwhelmed with questions and compliments, silence is her duty. she must rest mute and impassive as a statue. she seats herself in a comer clothed in all the robes she can bear upon her person. her husband may disrobe her if he wishes, but she must take no part or hinder him. if she utters a word or makes a gesture, she is made the butt of the jokes and gossip of her husband's house or neighborhood. the female servants of the house place them selves in a peeping position to listen or look through the -win dows, and are sure to publish what they see and hear amiss. or this may be done to discover whether the husband is pleased with his wife, or how he behaves to her, as is the case in japan. a bit of gossip — evidently a stock story — is the following from dauet : a newly mai-ried corean groom spent a whole day among his male friends, in order to catch some words from his wife at their first interview, after their hours of separation. his spouse was informed of this, and perhaps resolved to be obstinate. her hus band, having vainly tried to make her speak, at last told her that on consulting the a'jtrologers they had said that his wife was mute from birth. he now saw that such was the case, and was resolved not to keep for his wife a dumb woman. now in a co rean wedding, it is quite possible that such an event may take place. one of the contracting parties may be deaf, mute, bund, or impotent. it matters not. the marriage exists. but the wife, stung by her husband's words, broke out in an angry voice, "alas, the horoscope drawn for my partner is stiu more true. the diviner announced that i should marry the son of a rat." this, to a corean, is a great insult, as it attaints father and son, and hence the husband and his father. the shouts of laughter from the eavesdropping female servants added to the discomfiture of the young husband, who had gained his point of making his bride use her tongue at a heavy expense, for long did his friends jeer at him for his bravado, and chaff him at catching a tartar. from the language, and from japanese sources, we obtain some side-hghts on the nuptial ceremony and married life. in corean phrase hon-sang (the wedding and the funeral) are the two great events of life. many are the terms relating to mar riage, and the synonyms for conjugal union. " to take the hat," "to clip the hair," " to don the tuft," " to sit on the mat," are all in use among the gentlemen of the peninsula to denote the act or state of marriage. the hat and the hair play an important part in the transition from single to double blessedness. ah who social life.— woman and the family. 249 wear their locks ta-rai, or in a tress behind, are youths and maidens. those with the tuft or top-knot are married. at his wedding and during the first year, the bridegroom wears a cap, made of a yellow herb, which is supposed to grow only near simto. other honeymoon caps are melon-shaped, and made of sable skin. ater the ohung-mai, or middle-man, has arranged the match, and the day is appointed for the han-sa, or wedding, the bride chooses two or three maiden friends as " bridesmaids." if rich, the bride goes to her future husband's house in a palanquin ; if poor, she rides on horseback. even the humblest maid uses a sort of cap or veil, with ornaments on the breast, back, and at the girdle. when she cannot buy, she borrows. the prominent sym bolic figure at the wedding is a goose, which, in corean eyes, is the emblem of conjugal fidelity. sometimes this moh-an is of gilded wood, sometimes it is made out of a fish for eating, again it is a live bird brought in a cloth with the head visible. if in the house, as is usual, the couple ascend the piled mats or dais and the reciprocal prostrations, or acts of mutual consent, form the sacramental part of the ceremony, and constitute marriage. the bride bows four times to her father-in-law and twice to the groom. the groom then bows four times to the bride. other symbolic emblems are the fantastic shapes of straw {otsuha) pre sented to bride and groom alike. dried pheasant is also brought in and cut. a gourd-bottle of rice-wine, decorated or tied with red and blue thread, is handed by the bride to the groom. the bridesmaids standing beside the couple pour the hquid and pass for exchange the one little " cup of the wine of mutual joy," sev eral times filled and emptied. then begins the wedding-feast, when the guests drink and make merry. the important document certifying the fact of wed lock is called the hon-se-chi, and is signed by both parties. when the woman is unable to write, she makes " her mark " {siu-pon) by spreading out her hand and tracing with a pencil the exact profile of palm, wrist, and fingers. sometimes the groom, in ad dition to his four prostrations, which are significant of fidelity to the bride, gives to his father-in-law a written oath of constancy to his daughter. faithfulness is, however, a typical feminine, rather than masculine, virtue in the hermit nation. the pong-hang, a kind of wild canary bird, is held up to the wife as her model of conjugal fidelity. another large bird, somewhat exceeding a duck in size, and called the ching-mong, is said never to remate after 250 corba. the death of its consort. corean widows are expected to imitate this virtuous fowl. in some places may be seen the vermilion arch or monumental gateway erected to some widow of faithful memory who wedded but once. married women wear two rings on the ring finger. sixty years, or a cycle, completes the ideal length of marital life, and "a golden wedding " is then celebrated. among the most peculiar of women's rights in cho-sen is the cm-ious custom forbidding any males in seoul from being out after eight o'clock in the evening. when this corean curfew sotmds, au men must hie in-doors, while women are free to ramble abroad until one a.m. ■ to transgress this law of pem-ya brings severe penalty upon the offender. in-doors, the violation of the privacy of the woman's quarters is punishable by exile or severe flagellation. the following story, from dauet, further illustrates some phases of their marriage customs, and shows that, while polygamy is not allowed, concubinage is a recognized institution : a noble wished to marry his own daughter and that of his deceased brother to eligible young men. both maidens were of the same age. he wished to wed both well, but especially his own child. with this idea in view he had already refused some good offers. finally -he made a proposal to a family noted alike for pedigree and riches. after hesitating some time which of the maidens he should dispose of first, he finally decided upon his own child. without having seen his future son-in-law, he pledged his word and agreed upon the night. three days before the ceremony he learned from the diviners that the young man chosen was silly, exceedingly ugly, and very ignorant. what should he do ? he * could not retreat. he had given his word, and in such a case the law is inflexible. in his despair he resolved upon a plan to render abortive what he could not avert. on the day of the maniage, he appeared in the women's apartments, and gave orders in the most imperative manner that his niece, and not his daughter, should don the marriage coiffure and the wedding-dress, and mount the nuptial platform.. his stupefied daughter could not but acquiesce. the two cousins being of about the same height, the substitution was easy, and the ceremony proceeded according to the usual forms. the new bridegroom passed the afternoon in the men's apartments, where he met his supposed father-in-law. what was the amazement of the old noble to find that far from being stupid and ugly, as depicted by the diviners, the young man social life.— woman and the family. 251 was good-looking, -well-formed, intelligent, highly educated, and amiable in manners. bitterly regretting the loss of so accom plished a son-in-law, he determined to repair the evu. he secretly ordered that, instead of his niece, his daughter should be intro duced as the bride. he knew well that the young man would suspect nothing, for during the salutations the brides are always so muffled up with dresses and loaded with ornaments that it is impossible to distinguish their countenances. all happened as the old man desired. during the two or three days which he passed with the new family, he congratulated himself upon obtaining so excellent a son-in-law. the latter, on his part, showed himself more and more charming, and so gained the heart of his supposed father-in-law that, in a burst of confi dence, the latter revealed to him all that had happened. he told of the diviners' reports concerning him, and the successive substi tutions of niece for daughter and daughter for niece. the young man was at first speechless, then, recovering his composure, said: "au right, and that is a very smart trick on your part. but it is clear that both the two young persons belong to me, and i claim them. your niece is my lawful wife, since she has made to me the legal salute, and your daughter — introduced by yourself iuto my marriage-chamber — has become of right and law my concubine." the crafty old man, caught in his own net, had nothing to answer. the two young women were conducted to the house of the new husband and master, and the old noble was jeered at both for his lack of address and his bad faith. it is the reciprocal salutation before witnesses on the wedding dais that constitutes legitimate marriage. from that moment a husband may claim the woman as his wife. if he repudiates or divorces her, he may not marry another woman while his former wife is living, but he is free to take as many concubines as he can support. it is sufficient that a man is able to prove that he has had intimate relations with a maiden or a widow ; she then be comes his legal property. no person, not even her parents, can claim her if the man persists in keeping her. if she escape, he may use force to bring her back to his house. conjugal fidelity — obligatory on the woman — is not required of the husband, and a wife is little more than a slave of superior rank. among the nobles, the young bridegroom spends three of four days with his bride, and then absents himself from her for a considerable time, to prove that he does not esteem her too highly. etiquette dooms 252 corba. her to a species of widowhood, while he spends his hours of relax ation in the society of his concubines. to act otherwise would be considered in very bad taste, and highly unfashionable. instances are known of nobles who, having dropped a few tears at the death of their wives, have had to absent themselves from the saloons of their companions to avoid the torrent of ribaldry and jeers at such weakness. such eccentricity of conduct makes a man the butt of long-continued railery. habituated from infancy to such a yoke, and regarding them selves as of an inferior race, most women submit to their lot with exemplary resignation. having no idea of progress, or of an in fraction of established usage, they bear all things. they becpme devoted and obedient wives, jealous of the reputation and well being of their husbands. they even submit calmly to the tyranny and unreason of their mothers-in-law. often, however, there is genuine rebellion in the household. adding to her other faults of character, violence and insubordination, a corean wife quarrels with her mother-in-law, makes hfe to her husband a burden, and in cessantly provokes scenes of choler and scandal. among the lower classes, in such cases, a few strokes of a stick or blows of the fist bring the wife to terms. in the higher classes it is not proper to strike a woman, and the husband has no other course than that of divorce. if it is not easy for him to marry again, he submits. if his wife, not content with tormenting him, is unfaithful to him, or, deserting his bed, goes back to her own house, he can lead her before the magistrate, who after administering a beating with the paddles, gives her as a concubine to one of hisunderlings. women of tact and energy make themselves respected and con quer their legitimate position, as the following example shows. it is taken by dallet from a corean treatise on morals for the youth of both sexes : toward the end of the last century a noble of the capital, of high rank, lost his wife, by whom he had had several children. his advanced age rendered a second marriage difficult. never theless, the middle-men (or marriage-brokers employed in such cases) decided that a match could be made with the daughter of a poor noble in the province of kiung-sang. on the appointed day he appeared at the mansion of his future father-in-law, and the couple mounted the stage to make the salute according to custom. our grandee, casting his eyes upon his new wife, stopped for the moment thunderstruck. she was very fat, ugly, hump-backed. social life.— woman and the family. 253 and appeared to be as slightly favored -with gifts of mind as of body. but he could not withdraw, and he played his part firmly. he resolved neither to take her to his house nor to have anything to do with her. the two or three days which it was proper to pass in his father-in-law's house being spent, he departed for the capital and paid no further attention to his new relatives. the deserted wife, who was a person of a great deal of intelli gence, resigned herself to her isolation and remained in her father's house, keeping herself informed, from time to time, of what happened to her husband. she learned, after two or three years, that he had become minister of the second rank, and that he had succeeded in marrying his two sons very honorably. some years later, she heard that he proposed to celebrate, with au proper pomp, the festivities of his sixtieth birthday. immediately, without hesitation and in spite of the remonstrances and opposition of her parents, she took the road to the capital. there hiring a palanquin, she was taken to the house of the minister and an nounced herself as his wife. she alighted, entered the vestibule, and presented herself with an air of assurance and a glance of tranquillity at the women of the united families. seating herself at the place of honor, she ordered some fire brought, and with the greatest calmness lighted her pipe before the amazed domestics. the news was carried to the outer apartments of the gentlemen, but, according to etiquette, no one appeared surprised. finally the lady called together the household slaves and said to them, in a severe tone, "what house is this? i am your mis tress, and yet lio one comes to receive me. where have you been brought up ? i ought to punish you severely, but i shall pardon you this time." they hastened to conduct her into the midst of all the female guests. "where are my sons-in-law?" she de manded. " how is it that they do not pome to salute me ? they forget that i am vnthout any doubt, by my marriage, the mother of their wives, and that i have a right, on their paii, to au the honors due to their own mothers." forthwith the two daughters-in-law presented themselves with a shamed air, and made their excuses as well as they were able. she rebuked them gently, and exhorted them to show themselves more scrupulous in the accomplishment of their duties. she then gave different orders in her quality as mistress of the house. some hours after, seeing that neither of the men appeared, she 254 corea. called a slave to her, and said to him : "my two sons are surely not absent on such a day as this. see if they are in the men's apartments, and bid them come here." the sons presented them selves before her, much embarrassed, and blundered out some ex cuses. "how?" said she, "you have heard of my arrival for several hours and have not come to salute me ? with such bad bringing up, and an equal ignorance of principles of action, how will you make your way in the world? i have pardoned my slaves and my daughters-in-law for their want of pohteness, but for you who are men i cannot let this fault pass unpunished." with this she called a slave and bade him give them some strokes on the legs with a rod. then she added, " for your father, the minister, i am his servant, and i have not had orders to yield to him ; but, as for you, henceforth do you act so as not to forget proprieties." finally the minister himself, thoroughly astonished at all that had passed, was obliged to come to terms and to salute his wife. three days after, the festivities being ended, he re turned to the palace. the king asked familiarly if all had passed off happily. the minister narrated in detail the history of his marriage, the unexpected arrival of his wife, and how she had con ducted herself. the king, who was a man of sense, replied: "you have acted unjustly toward your wife. she appears to me to be a woman of spirit and extraordinary tact. her behavior is admira ble, and i don't know how to praise her enough. i hope you will repair the wrongs you have done her." the minister promised, and some days later solemnly conferred upon his wife one of the highest dignities of the court. the woman who is legally espoused, whether widow or slave, enters into and shares the entire social estate of her husband. even if she be not noble by birth she becomes so by marrying a noble, and her children are so likewise. if two brothers, for ex ample, espouse an aunt and a niece, and the niece falls to the lot of the elder, she becomes thereby the elder sister, and the aunt will be treated as a younger sister. this relation of elder and younger sisters makes an immense difference in life, position, and treatment, in all chinese asia. it is not proper for a widow to remarry. in the higher classes a widow is expected to weep for her deceased husband, and to wear mourning all her life. it would be infamy for her, however young, to marry a second time. the king who reigned 1469-1494 excluded children of remarried widows from competition at the public exami social life.— woman and the family. 255 nations, and from admittance to any official employment. even to the present day such children are looked upon as illegitimate. among a people so passionate as coreans, grave social disor ders result from such a custom. the young noble widows who cannot remarry become, ia most cases, secretly or openly the con cubiaes of those who wish to support them. the others who strive to live chastely are rudely exposed to the inroads of pas sion. sometimes they are made intoxicated by narcotics which are put ia their drink, and they wake to find themselves dishonored. sometimes they are abdtlcted by force, during the night, by the aid of hired bandits. when they become victims of violence, there is no remedy possible. it often happens that young widows commit suicide, after the death of their husbands, in order to prove their fidehty and to secure their honor and reputation beyond the tairit of suspicion. such women are esteemed models of chastity, and there is no end to their praises among the nobles. through their influence, the king often decrees a memorial gate way, coliunn, or temple, intended to be a monument of their hero ism and virtue. ■ thus it has often happened that christian vndows begged of the missionary fathers permission to commit suicide, if attempts were made to violate their houses or their per sons ; and it was with difficulty that they could be made to com prehend the christian doctrine concerning suicide. the usual method of self-destruction is ja-inun, or cutting the throat, or opening the abdomen with a sword. in this the coreans are hke the japanese, neck-cutting or piercing being the feminine, and hara-kiri (beuy-cutting) the masculine, method of ending life at one's own hands. » among the common people, second marriages are forbidden neither by law nor custom, but wealthy families endeavor to imi tate the nobles in this custom as in others. among the poor, necessity knows no law. the men must have their food pre pared for them, and women cannot, and do not willingly die of famine when a husband offers himself. hence second marriages among the lowly are quite frequent. most of the facts stated in this chapter are drawn from bal let's "history of the, [eoman catholic] church in corea."' mak ing due allowance for the statements of celibate priests, who are aliens in religion, nationality, and civilization, the picture of the social life of cho-sen is that of abominable heathenism. chaptek xxix. child life. judging from a collection of the toys of corean children, and from their many terms of affection and words relating to games and sports, festivals and recreation, nursery stories, etc., the life of the little kim or ni must be a pleasant one. for the blessings of offspring the parents offer rice to the god of the household (sam-sin-hang), whose tiny shrine holds a place of honor in some ornamental niche in the best room. when the baby begins to grow, cradles being unknown, the mother puts the infant to sleep by to-lak, to-iofc— patting it lightly on the stomach. "when it is able to take its first step across the floor— the tiger-skin rug being ready to ease its possible fall— this important household event, spoken of with ,ioy as the ja-pak, ja-pak, is described to the neigh bors. as the child grows up and is able to walk and run about, the hair is mostly shaved off, so that only a "button of jade" is left on the top of the head. this infantile tuft takes its name from the badge or togle worn on the top of the men's caps in vsdnter. a child, "three feet high," vei-y beautiful and weu formed, doeue and strong, if a son, is spoken of " as a thousand-mile horse"— one who promises to make an alert and enduring man. a chud noted for filial piety will even cheerfully commit tan-ji — cutting his fin ger to furnish his blood as a remedy for the sickness of father or mother. should the child die, a stone effigy or statue of itself is set up before his grave. in the capital and among the higher classes, the children's toys are very handsome, ranking as real works of art, while in every class the playthings of the tiny corean humanity form but a miniature copy of the ufe of their elders. among the living pets, the monkey is the favorite. these monkeys are fitted with jack ets, and when plump and not too mischievous make capital pets for the boys. puppies share the affe^ctions of the nursery with the tiger on wheels. made of paper pulp and painted, this harmless effigy of the king of beasts is pulled about with a sti-ing. a child life. 257 jumping-jack is but a copy of the little boy who pulls it. a jerk of the string draws in the, pasteboard tongue, and sends the trum pet to his mouth. official life is mirrored in the tasselled um brella, the fringed hats, and the toy-chariot with fancy wheels. other toys, such as rattles, flags, and drums, exactly imitate the larger models with which the grown-up men and women amuse themselves. all these are named, fashioned, and decorated in a style peculiarly corean. among the most common of the chil dren's plays are the following : a ring is hidden in a heap of sand, and the urchins poke sticks into and through the pile to find it. whoever transfixes the circlet wins the game, suggesting our girls* game of grace-hoop, though often taking a longer time. ro settes or piuwheels of paper are made and fastened on the end of sticks. running before the breeze, the miniature windmlus afford hilarious delight. the children's way of bringing rain is to move the lips up and down, distending the cheeks and pressiag the breath through the lips. playing " dinner " with tiny cups and dishes, and imitating the ponderous etiquette of their elders, is a favorite amusement. see-saw is rougher and more exhilarating. games of response are often played with hands, head, or feet, in which one watches the motions of his rival, opens or shuts his hands, and pays a for feit or loses the game when a false move is made. for the coast dweuers, the sea-shore, with the rocks which are the refuge of the sheu-fish, is the inexhaustible playground of the children. looking down in. the clear deep water of the archipelago they see the coral reefs, the bright flower-gardens of ■ marine plants, and shoals of striped, banded, crimson-tailed, and green-finned fish, which, in the eastern seas, glitter with tints of gold and silver. the children, half naked, catch the crabs and lobsters, learning how to hold their prizes after many a nab and pinch, which bring infantile tears and squaus. one of the . common playthings of corean children, the "baby's rattle," is the dried leathery egg of the skate, which with a few pebbles inside makes the infant, if not its parents, happy with the din. besides a game of patting and dabbling in the water — chal-pak, chal-pak — boys amuse themselves by fishing with hook and line or net. one method is to catch fish by means of the yek-hui. this is a plant of peppery taste, which poisons or stupefies the fish that bite the tempting tip, making them easy prey. more serious in door games played by women and children ai'e portok, or back 17 258 corea. gammon ; sang-pi-yen, dominoes ; siu-tu-chen, game of eighty cards ; and chanp-keui, or chess. ah these pastimes are quite different from ours of the same name, yet enough like them to be recognized as belonging to the species named. the festivals most intensely enjoyed by the children are those of "treading the bridges," "the meeting of the star lovers," and the "mouse fire." there is one evening in the year in which men and children, as well as women, are allowed to be out in the streets of the capital. the people spend the greater part of the night in passing and re passing upon the uttle bridges of stone. it is a general " night out " for all the people. comedians, singers, harlequins, and merry makers of au kinds are abroad, and it being moonlight, au have a good time in " treading the bridges." on the seventh day of the seventh month, the festival honored in china, corea, and japan takes place, for which children wait, in expectation, many days in advance. sweetmeats are prepared, and bamboos strung with strips of colored paper are the symbols of rejoicing. on this night the two stars capricomus and alpha lyra (or the herd-boy and spin ning maiden) are in conjunction in the milky way ' (or the river of heaven), and wishes made at this time are supposed to come true. ghu-pul, or the mouse fire, occurs in the twelfth month, on the day of the mouse (or rat). children light brands or torches of dry reeds or straw, and set fire to the dry herbage, stubble, and shrub bery on the borders of the roads, in order to singe the hair of the various field or ground-burrowing animals, or bum them out, so as to obtain a plentiful crop of cotton. at school, the pupils study according to the method au over asia, that is, out loud, and noisily. this kang-siong, or deafening buzz, is supposed to be necessary to sound knowledge. besides learning the chinese characters and the vernacular alphabet, with tongue, ear, eye, and pen, the children master the ku-ku ("nine times nine "), or the multiplication table, and learn to work the four simple rules of arithmetic, and even fractions, involution, and evolution on the chon-pan, or sliding numeral frame. a "red mark " is a vermilion token of a good lesson, made by the exam iner ; and for a good examination passed rewards are given in the form of a first-rate dinner, or one or all of " the four friends of the study table" — pens, ink, paper, and inkstand, or brushes, sticks of "lidia" ink, rous of unsized paper, and an inkstone > see " the meeting of the star lovers," in japanese fairy world. child life. 259 or water-dropper. writing a good autograph signatiire—" one's own pen"— is highly commended. sometimes money is given for encouragement, which the promising lad saves up in an eai-then savings-bank. not a few of the youth of the humbler classes, who work in the fields by day and study the characters by night' rise to be able officers who fill high stations. the french missionaries assure us that the normal corean is fond of children, especially of sons, who in his eyes are worth ten times as much as daughters. such a thing as exposure of children is almost unknown. in times of severe famine this may happen after failure to give away or sell for a season, that they may be bought back. parents rarely find their family too numerous. the first thing inculcated in a child's mind is respect for his father. all insubordination is immediately and sternly repressed. far different is it with the mother." she yields to her boy's caprices and laughs at his faults and vices without rebuke. the child soon learns that a mother's authority is next to nothing. in speaking of his father a lad often adds the words "severe," " terrible," implying the awe and profound respect in which he holds his father. (something of the same feeling prevails as in japan, where the four dreadful things which a lad most fears, and which are expressed in a rhyming proverb, are : "earthquake, wind, fire, and father," or "daddy.") on the contrary, in speak ing of his mother, he adds the words "good," "indulgent," "i'm not afraid of her," etc. a son must not play nor smoke in his father's presence, nor assume free or easy posture before him. for loungiiig, there is a special room, like a nursery. the son waits on his father at meals and gets his bed ready. if he is old or sick ly, the son sleeps near him and does not quit his side night or day. if he is in prison the son takes up his abode in the vicinity, to communicate with his parent and furnish him with luxuries. in case of imprisonment for treason, the son at the portal, on bended knees day and night, awaits the sentence that will reduce himself to slavery. if the accused is condemned to exile, the son must at least accompany his father to the end of the journey, and, in some cases, share banishment with him. meeting his father in the street, the son must make profound salute on his knees, in the dust, or in the ditch. in writing to him, he must make free use of the most exaggerated honorifics which the corean knows. the practice of adoption is common, as it is abnormally so in all counjades where ancestral worship is prevalent and underlies 260 cokea. all religions. the preservation of the family line is the supreme end and aim of life. in effect all those persons are descendants of particular ancestors who will keep up the ancestral sacrifices, guard the tablets and observe the numerous funeral and mourning ceremonies which make life such a biu-den in eastern asia. daugh ters are not adopted, because they cannot accomplish the pre scribed rites. "when parents have only a daughter, they marry her to an adopted son, who becomes head of the family so adopted into. even the consent of the adopted, or of his parents, is not always requisite, for as it is a social, as well as a religious neces sity, the government may be appealed to, and, in case of need, forces acceptance of the duty. in this manner, as in the patri archal age of biblical history, a man may be coerced into " rais ing up seed" to defunct ancestors. properly, an adoption, to be legal, ought to be registered at the office of the board of eites, but this practice has fallen iato disuse, and it is sufficient to give public notice of the fact among the two families concerned. an adoption once made cannot be void except by a decree from the tribunal of rites, which is diffi cult to obtain. in practice, the system of adoption results in many scandals, quarrels, jealousies, and all the train of evils which one famiuar with men and women, as they are, might argue a priori without the facts at hand. the iron fetters of asiatic in stitutions cannot suppress human nature. primogeniture is the rigid rule. younger sons, at the time of their marriage, or at other important periods of hfe, receive pater nal gifts, now more, now less, according to usage, rank, the family fortime, etc., but the bulk of the property belongs to the oldest son, on whom the younger sons look as their father. he is the head of the family, and regards his father's children as his own. in all eastern asia the bonds of family are much closer than among caucasian people of the present time. all the kindred, even to the fifteenth or twentieth degree, whatever their social position, rich or poor, educated or illiterate, officials or beggars— form a clan, a tribe, or more exactly one single family, all of whose mem bers have mutual interests to sustain. the house of one is the house of the other, and each will assist to his utmost another of the elan to get money, office, or advantage. the law recognizes this system by levying on the clan the imposts and debts which individu^s of it cannot pay, holding the .sodality responsible for the indivdual. to this they submit withouit complaint or protest child lipb. -261 instead of the family being a unit, as in the west, it is only the fragment of a clan, a segment in the great circle of kindred. the number of terms expressing relationship is vastly greater and much more complex than in english. one is amazed at the ex uberance of the national vocabulary in this respect. the coreans are fully as clannish as the chinese, and much more so than the irish ; and in this, as in the middle kingdom, lies one great obstacle to christianity or to any kind of individualreform. mar riage cannot take place between two persons having the same family cognomen. there are in the kingdom only one himdred and forty or fifty family, or rather clan names. yet many of these names are widespread through the realm. all are formed of a single chinese letter, except six or seven, which are composed of two characters. to distinguish the different families who bear the same patronymic, they add the name which they call the pu, or gentile name, to indicate the place whence the family originally came. in the case of two persons wishing to marry, if this pu is the same, they are in the eyes of the law relatives, and marriage is forbidden. if the pu of each is different, they may wed. the most common names, such as kim and ni — answering to our smith and jones — have more than a score of pu, which arise from mora than twenty families, the place of whose origin is in each case different. the family name is never used alone. it is always fol lowed by a surname ; or only the word so-pancj, junior, sang-wen, senior, lord, sir, etc. male adults usually have three personal names, that given in childhood, the common proper name, and the common legal name, while to this last is often added the title. besides these, various aliases, nicknames, fanciful and punning appellatives, play their part, to the pleasure or vexation of their object. this, custom is the source of endless confusion in documents and common life. it was formerly in vogue in japan, but was abolished by the mi kado's government in 1872, and now spares as much trouble to tongue, tpyes, and pens, as a reform in our alphabet and spelling would save the english-speaking world. as in nippon, a corean female has but one name from the cradle to the grave. the titles "madame," or "madame widow," are added in mature life. as in old japan, the common people do not, as a rule, have distin guishing individual names, and among them nicknames are very common. corean etiquette forbids that the name of father, mother, or uncle be used in conversation, or even pronounced aloud. chaptee xxx. housekeeping, diet, and costume. coeean architecture is in a very primitive condition. the cas tles, fortifications, temples, monasteries and public buildings can not approach ia magnificence those of japan or china. the country, though boasting hoary antiquity, has few ruins in ston^. the dwellings are tiled or thatched houses, almost invariably one story high. in the smaller towns these are not arranged in regu lar streets, but scattered here and there. even in the cities and capital the streets are narrow and, tortuous. in the rural parts, the houses of the wealthy are embosomed in beautiful groves, with gardens sun-ounded by charming hedges or fences of rushes or split-bamboo. the cities show a greater display of red-tiled roofs, as only the ofscials and nobles are allowed this sumptuary honor. shingles are not much used. the thatching is of rice or barley straw, cut close, with ample eaves, and often finished with great neatnesss. a low wall of uncemented stone, five or six feet high, sui' rounds the dwelling, and when kept in repair gives an air of neat ness and imposing solidity to the estate. often a pretty rampart of flat bamboo or rushes, plaited in the herring-bone pattern, sui- mounts the wall, which may be of pebbles or stratified rock and mortared. sometimes the rampart is of wattle, covered with smooth white plaster, which, with the gateway, is also surmounted by an arched roofing of tues. instead of regular slanting lines of gables, one meets with the curved and pagoda-like roofs seen in china, with a heavy central ridge and projecting ornaments of fire-hardened clay, like the "stirrup" or "devil" tiles of japan. these curves greatly add to the beauty of a corean house, because they break the monotony of the lines of corean architecture. doors, windows, and lintels are usually rectangular, and are set in regularly, instead of being made odd to relieve the eye, as in japan. bamboo is a common material for window-frames. housekeeping, diet, and costume. 263 the foundations arp laid on stone set in the earth, and the floor of the humble is part of the naked planet. people one grade above the poorest cover the hard ground with sheets of oiled paper, which serve as rugs or a carpet. for the better class a floor of wood is raised a foot or so above the earth, but in the sleepingand sitting-room of the average family, the "kahg" forms a vaulted floor, bed, and stove. the kang is characteristic of the human dwelling in north eastern asia. it is a kind of tubular oven, in which human beings, instead of potatoes, are 'baked. it is as though we shoidd make a bedstead of bricks, and put foot-stoves under it. the floor is bricked over, or built of stone over flues, which run from the fireplace, at one end of the house, to the chimney at the other. the fire which boils the pot or roasts the meat is thus utilized to warm those sitting or sleeping in the room beyond. the difficulty is to keep up a regular heat without being alternately chilled or smothered. with wood fuel this is almost impossible, but by dint of tact and regulated draught may be accomplished. as in the swedish porcelain stove, a pau of live coals keeps up a good warmth au night. the kangs survive in the kotatsh of japan. the "fire" in sentiment and fact is the centre of the corean home, and the native phrase, "he has put out his fire," is the dire synonym denoting that a man is not only cold and fasting, but in want of the necessities of life. bed-clothes are of silk, wadded cotton, thick paper, and tiger, wolf, or dog skins, the latter often sewn in large sheets like a car pet. comfort, cleanliness, and luxury make the bed of the noble on the warm brick in winter, or cool matting in summer; but with the poor, the cold of winter, and insects of summer, with the dirt and rags, make sleeping in a corean hut a hardship. cush ions or bags of rice-chaff form the pulows of the rich. the poor man uses a smooth log of wood or slightly raised portion of the floor to rest his head upon. " weariness can snore upon the flint when resty sloth finds the down piuow hard." three rooms are the rule in an average house. these are for cooking, eating, and sleeping. in the kitchen the most noticeable articles are the ang-pak, or large earthen jars, for holding rice, barley, or water. each of them is big enough to hold a man easily. the second room, containing the kang, is the sleeping apartment, and the next is the best room or parlor. little furni ture is the rule. coreans, like the japanese, sit, not cross-legged, 264 corea. but on their heels. among the well-to-do, dog-skins, or kat-ted, cover the floor for a carpet, or splendid tiger-skins serve as rugs. matting is common, the best being in the south. as in japan, the meals are served on the floor on low sang, or little tables, one for each gniest, sometimes one for a couple. the best table service is of porcelain, and the ordinary sort of earthen ware with white metal or copper utensils. the table-cloths are of fine glazed paper and resemble oiled silk. no knives or forks ai-e used ; instead, chopsticks, laid in paper cases, and, what is more common than in china or japan, spoons are used at every meal. table spread for festal occasions. the climax of sesthetio taste occurs when a set of historic porce lain and faience of old corean manufacture and decoration, with the tau and long-spouted teapot, are placed on the pearl-inlaid table and filled with native delicacies. the walls range in quality of decoration from plain mud to col ored plaster and paper. the corean wau-paper is of all grades, sometimes as soft as silk, or as thick as canvas. sa-peik is a favor ite reddish earth or mortar which serves to rough-cast in rich color tones the walls of a room. pictures are not common ; the artistic sense being satisfied v housekeeping, diet, and costume. 265 with scrolls of handsome chinese characters containing moral and literary gems from the classics, or the caligraphic triumph of some king, dignitary, or literary friend. to possess a sign-manual or autograph scrap of yung, hong, or o, the three most renowned men of cho-sen, is reckoned more than a golden manuscript on azure paper. the windows are square and latticed without or within, and covered with tough paper, either oiled or unsized, and moving in grooves— the origiaals of the japanese suding-doors and win dows. in every part of a corean house, paper plays an important and useful part. very fine venetian blinds are made of threads split from the ever-useful bamboo, which secures considerable variety in window decoration. the doors are of wood, paper, or plaited bamboo. glass was, tiu recently, a nearly unknown luxury in corea among the common people. even with the nobles, it is rather a curiosity. the windows being made of oiled or thin paper, glass is not a ne cessity. this fact wiu explain the eagerness of the people to pos sess specimens of this transparent novelty. even old porter and ale bottles, which sailors have thrown away, are eagerly picked up, begged, bought, or stolen. an old medicine-vial, among the co reans, used to fetch the price of a crystal goblet among us. the possessor of such a prize as a bass' ale bottle will exhibit it to his neighbor as a rare curio from the western barbarians, just as an american virtuoso shows off his last new satsuma vase or box of soochow lacquer. when english ship captains, visiting the coast, gave the coreans a bottle of wine, the bottle, after being emptied, was always carefully retm-ned with extreme politeness as an article of great value. the first corean visitor to the american expedi tion of 1871, went into ecstacies, and his face budded into smiles hitherto thought impossible to the grim corean visage, because the cook gave him an arm-load of empty ale-bottles. the height of domestic felicity is reached when a corean householder can get a morsel of glass to fasten into his window or sliding-door, and thus gaze on the outer world through this " loophole of re treat." this not only saves him from the disagreeable necessity of punching a finger-hole through the paper to satisfy his curi osity, but gives him the advantage of not being seen, and of keep ing out the draft. when a whole pane has been secured, it is hard to state whether happiness or pride reigns uppermost in the owner's bosom. 266 corea. candlesticks are either tall and upright, resting on the floor in the japanese style, or dish-lamps of common oil are used, flint and steel are used to ignite matches made of chips of wood dipped in sulphur, by which a " fire-flower " is made to blossom, or in more prosaic english, a flame is kindled. phos phorus matches, imported from japan, are called by a word signi fying "fire-sprite," "wdl-of-the-wisp," or ignis-fatuus. usually in a gentlemen's house there is an ante-room or vesti bule, in which neighbors and visitors sit and talk, smoke or drink. in this place much freedom is allowed and formahties are laid aside. here are the facilities and the atmosphere which in "west ern lands are found in clubs, coffeeand ale-houses, or obtained from newspapers. one such, of which the picture is before us, has in it seats, and looks out on a garden or courtyard. on a ledge or window-seat are vases of blossoms and cut flowers; a smaller vase holds fans, and another is presumably full of to bacco or some other luxtu-y. short eave-curtaias and longer dra pery at the side, give an air of inviting comfort to these free and easy quarters, where news and gossip are exchanged. these oi-tiang, or outer apartments, are for strangers and men only, and women are never expected or allowed to be present. the ching-ja is a small house or room on the bank of a river, or dverlooking some bit of natural scenery, to which picniu par ties resort, the coreans most heartily enjoying out-door festivity, in places which sky, water, and foliage make beautiful to the eye. there are often inscribed on the portals, in large chinese characters, moral mottoes or poetical sentiments, such as "enter happiness, hke breezes bring the spring, and depart evil spirit as snow melts in water." before a new bouse is finished, a sheet of pure white paper, in which are enclosed some nip, or "cash," with grains of rice which have been steeped in wine, is nailed or fastened on the wall, over the door, and becomes the good spirit or genius of the house, sacrifices being duly offered to it. in more senses than one, the spirit that presides over too many co rean households is the alcohol spirit. the corean liquor, by preference, is brewed or distilled from rice, millet, or barley. these alcoholic drinks are of various strength, color, and smell, ranging from beer to brandy. in gen eral their beverages are sufficiently smoky, ouy, and alcoholic to western tastes, as the fusel-oil usually remains even in the best products of their stills. no trait of the coreans has more im housekeeprstg, diet, and costume. 267 pressed their numerous visitors, from hamel to the americans, than their love of all kinds of strong drink, from ale to whiskey. the common verdict is, "they are greatly addicted to the wor ship of bacchus." the corean vocabulary bears ample witness to the thorough acquaintance of the people vrith the liquor made from grain by their rude processes. the inhabitants of the peninsula were hard drinkers even in the days of puyu and koko rai. no sooner were the ports of modern cho-sen open to com merce than the chinese established liquor-stores, while european wines, brandies, whiskeys, and gins have entered to vary the co rean's liquid diet and increase the national drunkenness. strange as it may seem, the peasant, though living between the two great tea-producing countries of the world — japan and china — ■ and in the latitude of tea-plartations, scarcely knows the taste of tea, and the fragrant herb is as uttle used as is coffee in japan. the most common drink, after what the clouds directly furnish, is the water in which rice has been boiled. infusions of dried gin seng, orange-peel, or ginger serve for festal purposes, and honey when these fail ; but the word " tea," or cha, serves the corean, as it does the typical irishman, for a variety of infusions and decoc tions. with elastic charity the word covers a multitude of sins, chiefly of oaiission ; all that custom or euphony requires is to prefix the name of the substance used to " cha " and the drink ia tea — of some kind. the staple diet has in it much more of meat and fat than that of the japanese. the latter 'acknowledge that the average corean can eat tvsdce as much as himself. beef, pork, fowls, venison, fish, and game are consumed without much waste in rejected material. nearly everything edible about an animal is a tidbit, and a curi ous piece of cookery, symbolical of a generous feast, is often found at the board of a hberal host. this tang-talk (which often be comes the "town -talk") is a chicken baked and served vnth its feathers, head, claws, and inwards intact. " to treat to an entire fowl " is said of a liberal host, and is equivalent to " killing the fatted cak." fish are often eaten raw from tail to head, especially if small, with only a little seasoning, ffo-hoi, or fish-bone salad, is a deli cacy. dog-flesh is on sale among the common butchers' meats, and the coreans enjoy it as our indians do. in the first month of the year, however, owing to reugious scruples, no dog-meat is' eaten, or dishes of canine origin permitted. corba. the state dinner, given to the japanese after the treaty, con sisted of this bill of fare : two-inch squares of pastry, made of flour, sugar, and oil ; heaps of boiled eggs ; pudding made of flour, sesame, and honey ; dried persimmons ; " pine-seeds," honey like food covered with roasted rice colored red and white ; macca roni soup with fowl ; boiled legs of pork, and wine, rice or millet spirit with everything. it is customary to decorate the tables on grand occasions with artificial flowers, and often the first course is intended more for show than for actual eating. for instance, when the japanese party, feasted at seoul in 1646, first sat down to the table, one of them began to help himself to fish, of which he was very fond. the dish seemed to contain a genuine cooked carp basted with sauce, but, to the embarrassment of the hungry guest, the fish would not move. he was relieved by the servant, who told him that it was put on the table only for show. the courses brought on later contained more substantial nourishment, such as fish, flesh, fowl, vegetables, soups, cakes, puddings and tea. judg ing from certain words in the language, these show-dishes form a regular feature at the opening of banquets. the women cook rice beautifully, making it thoroughly soft by steaming, while yet re taining the perfect shape of each grain by itself. other well known dishes are barley, millet, beans, taro (potato cooked in a variety of ways), uly-bulbs, sea-weeds, acorns, dai-kon (radishes), turnips, and potatoes. maccaroni and vermicelli are used for soups and refreshing lunches. apples, pears, plums, grapes, persimmons, and various kinds of berries help to furnish the table, though the flavor of these is inferior to the same fruits grown in our gardens. ah kinds of condiments, mustard, vinegar, pepper, and a va riety of home-made sauces, are much relished. itinerant food sellers are not so common as in china, but butcher-shops and vermicelli stands are numerous. two sohd meals, with a light breakfast, is the rule. opan, or midday rice, is the dinner. tai sik is a regular meal. the appearance of the evening star is the signal for a hearty supper, and the planet a synonym for the last meal of the day. at wakes or funeral feasts, and on festal days, the amount of victuals consumed is enormous, while a very palata ble way of remembering the dead is by the yum-pok, or drinking of sacrificial wine. the coreans imderstand the preservative vir tues of ice, and in winter large quantities of this substance are cut and stored away for use in the summer, in keeping fresh meat and fish. their ice-houses are made by excavating the grovmd housekeeping, diet, and costume. 269 and covering over the store vfith earth and sod, from which in hot weather they use as may be necessary. these ice stores are often under the direction of the government, especially when large quantities of fish are being preserved for rations of the army in time of war. those who oversee the work are called " officers of the eefrigerator." one striking fault of the coreans at the table is their voracity, and to this trait of their character japanese, french, dutch, and chinese bear witness. it might be supposed that a frenchman, who eats lightly, might make a criticism where an enghshman would be suent ; bjit not so. au reports concerning them seem to agree. in this respect there is not the least differ ence between the rich and poor, noble or plebeian. to eat much is an honor, and the merit of a feast consists not in the quality but in the quantity of the food served. little talking is done while eating, for each sentence might lose a mouthful. hence, since a capacious stomach is a highaccomphshment, it is the aim from infancy to develop a belly having all possible elasticity. often the mothers take their babies upon their knees, and after stuffing them with rice, like a wad in a gun, will tap them from time to time vyith the paddle of a ladle on the stomach, to see that it is fuuy spread out or rammed home, and only cease gorg ing when it is physically impossible for the child to swell up more. a corean is always ready to eat ; he attacks whatever he meets with, and rarely says, " enough." even between meals, he win help himself *to any edible that is offered. the ordinary portion of a laborer is about a quart of rice, which when cooked makes a good bulk. this, however, is no serious hindrance to his devouring double or treble the quantity when he can get it. eat ing matches are common. when an ox is slaughtered, and the beef is served up, a heaping bowl of the steaming mess does not alarm any guest. dog-meat is a common article of food, and the canine sirloins served up in great trenchers are laid before the guests, each one having his own small table to himsek. when fruits, such as peaches or small melons, are served, they are devoured without peeling. twenty or thirty peaches is considered an ordinary allowance, which rapidly disappears. such a prodi gality in victuals is, however, not common, and for one feast there are many fastings. beef is not an article of daily food with the peasantry. its use is regulated by law, the butcher being a sort of government official; and only under extraordinary circum 270 corea. stances, as when a grand festival is to be held, does the king allow an ox to be killed in each village. the coreans are neither fas tidious in their eating nor painstaking in their cooking. nothing goes to waste. all is grist that comes to the miu in their mouths. they equal japanese in devoiiring raw fish, and uncooked food of au kinds is swallowed without a wry face. even the intestines pass among them for delicate viands. among the poorer classes, a cooked fish is rarely seen on the table ; for no sooner is it caught than it is immediately opened and devoured. the raw viands are usually eaten with a strong seasoning of pep per or mustard, but they are often swallowed without condiment of any sort. often in passing along the banks of a river, one may see men fishing with rod and line. of these some are nobles who are not able, or who never wish to work for a living, yet they will fish for food and sport. instead of a bag or basket to contain the game, or a needle to string it upon, each fisher has at his side a jar of diluted pepper, or a kind of soy. no sooner is a fish hooked, than he is drawn out, seized between the two fingers, dipped into the sauce, and eaten without ceremony. bones do not scare them. these they eat, as they do the small bones of fowls. nationally, and individually, the coreans are very deficient in conveniences for the toilet. bath-tubs are rare, and except in the warmer days of summer, when the river and sea serve for immer sion, the natives are not usually found under water. the japa nese in the treaty expedition in 1876 had to send bath-tubs on shore from their ships. morning ablutions are made in a copper basin. the sponges which grow on the west coast seem to find no market at home. this neglect of 'more intimate acquaintance with water often makes the lowest classes " look like mulattos," as hamel said. gutzlaff, adams, and others, especially the japa nese, have noted this personal defect, and have suggested the need of soap and hot water. it may be that the contrast between costume and cuticle tempts to exaggeration. people who dress in white clothing have special need of personal cleanliness. per haps soap factories will come in the future. the men are very proud of their beards, and tha elders very particular in keeping them white and clean. the lords of crea tion honor their beard as the distinctive glory and mark of their sex. a man is in misery if he has only just enough beard to distinguish him from a woman. a full crop of hair on cheek and chin insures to its possessor unlimited admiration, while in co housekeeping, diet, and costtme. 271 rean billingsgate there are numerous terms of opprobrium for a short beard. europeans are contemptuously termed "short hairs" — with no suspicion of the use of the word in new york local politics. old gentlemen keep a little bag in which they assiduously collect the combings of their hair, the strokings of their beard and parings of their nails, in order that au that be longs to them may be duly placed in their coffin at death. the human hair crop is an important item in trade with china, to which country it is imported and sold to piece out the hair-tails which the chinese, in obedience to their manchiu con querors, persist in wearing. some of this hair comes from poor women, but the staple product is from the heads of boys who wear their hair parted in the middle, and plaited in a long braid, which hangs down their backs. at marriage, they cut this off, and bind what remains in a tight, roxtad knot on the top of the scalp, using pins or not as they please. the court pages and pretty boys who attend the magnates, usually rosy-cheeked, well fed, and effeminate looking youths, do not give any certain indication of their sex, and foreigners are often puzzled to know whether they are male or female. their beardless faces and long hair are set down as belonging to women. most navigators have made this mistake in gender, and when the first embassy from seoul landed in yokohama, the controversy, and perhaps the betting, as to the sex of these nondescripts was, very lively. captain broughton declared that the whole duty of these pages seemed to be to smooth out the silk dresses of the grandees. officials and nobles cover their top-knots with neat black nets of horse-hair or glazed thread. often country and town people wear a fillet or white band of bark or leaves across the forehead to keep the loose hair in order, as the ancient japa nese used to do. women coil their glossy black tresses into massive knots, and fasten them with pins or golden, silver, and brass rings. the heads of the pins are generally shaped like a dragon. they oil their hair, using a sort of vegetable pomatum. among the court ladies and female musicians the styles of coiffure are various ; some being very pretty, with loops, bands, waves, and "bangs," as the illustration on page 161 shows. corea is decidedly the land of big hats. from their amplitude these head-coverings might well be called "roofs," or, at least, "umbrellas." their diametar is so great that the human head encased in one of them seems but as a hub in a cart-wheel. they. 272 corea. would probably serve admirably as parachutes in leaping from a high place. under his wide-spreading official hat a magistrate can shelter his wife and family. it serves as a numeral, since a company is counted by hats, instead of heads or noses. how the corean. dignitary can weather a gale remains a mystery, and, per haps, the feat is impossible and rarely attempted. a slim man is evidently at a disadvantage in a "jd,panese wind" or typhoon. the personal avoirdupois, which is so much admired in the penin sula, becomes very useful as ballast to the head-sail. corean magnates, cast away at sea, would not lack material for ship's can vas. in shape, the gentleman's hat resembles a flower-pot set on a round table, or a tumbler on a chinese gong. two feet is a common diameter, thus making a periphery of six feet. the top or cone, which rises nine inches higher, is only three inches wide. this chimney-hke superstructvire serves as ornament and ventilator. its purpose is not to encase the head, for underneath the brim is a tight-fitting skull-cap, which rests on the head and is held on by padded ties under the ears. the average rim for ordinary people, however, is about six inches in radius. the huge umbrella-hat of bleached bamboo is worn by gentlemen in mourning. after death it is solemnly placed on the bier, and forms a conspicuous object at the funeral. the native name for hat is hat or hat-si. the usual material is bamboo, split to the fineness of a thread, and woven so as to resemble horse-hair. the fabric is then var nished or lacquered, and becomes perfectly weather-proof, resisting sun and rain, but not wind. the prevalence of cotton clothing, easily soaked and rendered uncomfortable, requires the ample pro tection for the back and shoulders, which these umbreua-hke hats furnish. in heavy rain, the hat-no is worn, that is, a cone of oued paper, fixed on the hat in the shape of a funnel. indeed, the umbrella in corea is rather for a symbol of state and dignity than for vulgar use, and is often adorned with knobs and strips. quelpart island is the home of the hatters, whose fashionable wares supply the dandies and dignitaries of the capital and of the peninsula. the highest officers of the government have the cone truncated or rounded at the vertex, and surmounted by a little figure of a crane in polished silver, very handsome and durable. this long-legged bird is a symbol of civil office. " to confer the hat," means as much to an officer high in favor at the court of seoul as to a cardinal in the vatican, only the color is black, not housekeeping, diet, and costume. 273 red. it is corean etiquette to keep the hat on, and in this respect, as well as in their broad brims, the hermits resemble the quakers. marriage and mourning are denoted also by the hat. a variety of materials is employed by other classes. soldiers wear large black or brown felt hats, resembling mexican som breros, which are adorned with red horse-hair or a peacock's feather, swung on a swivel button. suspended from the sides, over the ears and around the neck, are strings of round balls of blue porcelain, comeuau, amber, or what resembles kauri gum. sometimes these ornaments are tubu lar, reminding one of the muliaery of a cardinal's hat. for the common people, plaited straw or rushes of varied shapes serve for summer, while in winter shaggy caps of lynx, wolf, bear, or deer-skin are common, made into havelock, astrac han, japanese, and other shapes, some resembling wash-bowls, some being fluted or fan-like, winged, sock-shaped, or made hke a nightcap. variety seems to be the fashion. the head-dress of the court nobles differs from, that of the vulgar as much as the pope's tiara differs from a cardinal's rubrum. it is a crown or helmet, which, eschewing brim, rises in altitude to the proportions of a mitre. "without earstrings or necklaces of beads, it is yet highly omamental one of these consists of a cap, with a sort of gable at the top. another has six lofty curving folds or volutes set in it. on another are designs from the pa-kwa, or sixty-four mystic diagrams, which are sup posed to be sacred symbols of the confucian philosophy, and of which fortune-tellers make great use. the wardrobe of the gentry consists of the ceremonial and the house dress. the former, as a rule, is of fine suk, and the latter of coarser sok or cotton. these " gorgeous corean dresses " are of pink, blue, and other rich colors. the official robe is a long garment like a wrapper, with loose, baggy sleeves. this is em broidered with the stork or phoenix for civu, and with the kirin, hon, or tiger for military officers. buttons are unknown and form no part of a corean' s attire, male or female, thus greatly re ducing the labor of the wives and mothers who ply the needle, which in corea has an "ear" instead of an "eye." strings and girdles, and the shifting of the main weight of the clothing to the shoulders, take the place of these convenient, but fugitive, ad juncts to the western costume. there are few tailors' shops, the women of each household making the family outfit; 18 274 corea. soldiers in full dress wear a sleeveless, open surcoat for dis play. the under dress of both sexes is a short jacket with tight sleeves, which for men reaches to the thighs, and for women only to the waist, and a pair of drawers reaching from waist to ankle, a little loose au the way down for the men, and tied at the ankles, but for the women made tight and not tied. the females wear a petticoat over this garment, so that the coreans say they dress hke western women, and foreign-made hosiery and under-garments are in demand. although they have a variety of articles of ap parel easily distinguishable to the native eye, yet their general style of costume is that of the wrapper, stiff, wide, and inflated with abundant starch in summer, but chnging and baggy in win ter. the rule is tightness and economy for the working, ampli tude and richness of material for the affluent, classes. the women having no pockets in their dresses, wear a uttle bag suspended from their girdle. this is worn on the right side, attached by cords. these contain their bits of jewelry, scissors, knife, a tiger's claw for luck, perfume-bottle or sachet, a tiny chess-board in gold or silver, etc. besides the rings on their fingers the ladies wear hair-pins of gold ornamented with bulbs or figures of birds. many of them dust^wn, or white powder, on their faces, and employ various other cosmetics, which are kept in their kiong-tai, or mir ror toilet-stands ; in which also may be their so-hdk, or book con taining rules of politeness. the general type of costume is that of china under the ming dynasty. to a chinaman a corean looks antiquated, a curiosity in old clothes ; a japanese at a little distance, in the twilight, is reminded of ghosts, or the snowy heron of the rice-fields, while to the american the corean swell seems compounded chiefly of bed-clothes, and in his most elaborate costume to be stol in his under-garments. plenty of starch in summer, and no stint of cotton in winter, are the needs of the corean. his white dress makes his com plexion look darker than it reauy is. the monotonous dazzle of bleached garments is relieved by the violet robes of the magis trate, the dark blue for the soldiers, and hghter shades of that color in the garb of the middle class ; the blue strip which edges the coat of the literary graduates, and the pink and azure clothes of the children. less agreeable is the nearness which dispels illusion. the costume, which seemed snowy at a distance, is seen to be dingy and dirty, owing to an entire ignorance of soap. housekeeping, diet, and costume. 275 the corean dress, though simpler than the chinese, is not entirely devoid of ornament. the sashes are often of handsome blue silk or brocaded stuff. the official girdles, or flat belts a few inches -wide, have clasps of gold, silver, or rhinoceros horn, and axe decorated with polished ornaments of gold or silver. for magistrates of the three higher ranks these belts are set with blue stones ; for those of the fourth and fifth grade with white stones, and for those below the fifth with a substance resembung horn. common girdles are of cotton, hemp cloth, or rope. fans are also a inark of rank, being made of various materials. gentlemen's garments and dress patterns, especially suk or cloth, stretched on a frame. the fan is an in strument of etiquette. to hide the face with one is an act of pohteness. the man in mourning must have no other kind than that in which the pin or rivet is of cow's horn. oiled paper fans serve a variety of purposes. in another kind, the ribs of the frame are bent back double. the finer sort for the nobility are gorgeously inlaid with pearl or nacre. a kind of flat wand or tablet, seen in the hands of nobles, ostensibly to set down orders of the sovereign, is made of ivory for officers above, and of wood for those below the fourth grade. 276 corea. another badge of office is the little wand, hak way between a toy whip and a mercury's caduceus, of black lacquered wood, with cords of green suk. this is carried by civil officers, and may be the original of the japanese baton of command, made of lacquered wood with pendant strips of paper. canes are carried by men of the literary or official class when in mourning. these tall staves, which, from the decks of euro pean vessels sailing along the coast, have often looked like spears, are the sang-chang, or smooth bamboo staves, expressive of cere monial grief, and nothing more. as the coreans have no pockets, they make bags, girdles, and their sleeves serve instead. the women wear a sort of reticule hung at the belt, and the men a smoking outfit, consisting of an oval bag to hold his flint and steel, some fine-cut tobacco, and a long, narrow case for his pipe. foot-gear is either of native or of chiaese make. the laborer contents himself with sandals woven from rice-straw, which usu ally last but a few days. a better sort is of hempen tvrine or rope, with many strands woven over the top of the foot. a man in mourning can wear but four cords on the upper part. socks are too expensive for the poor, except in the winter. shoes made oi cotton are often seen in the cities, having hempen or twine soles. the low shoes of cloth, or velvet, and cowhide, upturned at the toe, worn by officials, are imported from china. small feet do not seem to be considered a beauty, and the foot-biading of the chinese is imknown in cho-sen, as in japan. chapter xxxl mourning and burial. the fashion of mourning, the proper place and time to shed tears and express grief according to regulations, are rigidly pre scribed in an official treatise or " guide to mourners," published by the government. the corpse must be placed in a coffin of very thick wood, and preserved during many months in a special room prepared and ornamented for this purpose. it is proper to weep only in this death -chamber, but this must be done three or four times daily. before entering it, the mourner must • don a special weed, which consists of a gray cotton frock coat, torn, patched, and as much soiled as possible. the girdle must be of twisted straw and silk, made into a rope of the thickness of the wrist. another cord, the thickness of the thumb, is wound round the head, which is covered with dirty hnen, each of the rope's ends falling upon the cheek. a special kind of sandals is worn, and a big knotty stick completes the costume of woe. in the prescribed weeds the mourner enters the death-chamber in the morning on rising, and before each meal. he carries a little table filled vdth food, which he places upon a tray at the side of the coffin. the person who is master of the mourners presides at the ceremonies. prostrate, and struck by the stick, he utters dolorous groans, sounding " ai-lco " if for a parent. for other rela tives he groans out "oi, oi." according to the noise and length of the groans and weeping, so wiu the good opinion of the pubhc be. the lamentations over, the mourner retires, doffs the mourn ing robes, and eats his food. at the new and the full moon, all the relatives are invited and expected to assist at the ceremonies. these practices continue more or less even after burial, and at intervals during several years. often a noble will go out to weep and kneel at the tomb, passing a day, and even a night, in this position. in some instances, mourners have built a little house 378 corea. before the grave, and -watched there for years, thus winning a high reputation for filial piety. among the poor, who have not the means to provide a death chamber and expensive mourning, the coffin is kept outside theit houses covered with mats until the time of sepiilture. though crematipn, or "burying in the fire," is imown in cho-sen, the most usual form of disposing of the dead is by inhumation. children are wrapped up in the clothes and bed ding ia which they die, and are thus buried. as unmarried per sons are reckoned as children, their shroud and burial are the same. with the married and adult, the process is more costly, and the ceremonial more detailed and prolonged. this, which is described very fully in boss' "corea," and with which hamel's curt notes agree, consists of minute ceremonial and mourning among the living and the washing, combing, nail-paring, robing, and laying out in state of the dead, with calling of the spirits, and with screens, lights, and offerings, according to confucian ritual. in many interesting features, the most ancient rites of china have survived in the peninsula after they have become obsolete in the former country. the very old tombs opened, and the painted coffins, coated with many layers of suiciolis paint, dug up near shanghai recently, are much uke those of the coreans. the coffin, which fits the body, is made air-tight with wax, resin, or varnish, and is borne on a bier to the grave by men who make this their regular business. often there are two coffins, one inside the other. sons follow the body of their father on foot, relatives ride in palanquins or on horseback. prominent at the head of the procession is the red standard containing the titles and honors of the deceased. this banner, or sa-jen, has two points on it to frighten away the spirits, and' at the funeral of a high officer, a man wears a hideousmask for the same purpose. "when there are no titles, only the name of the deceased is inscribed upon the banner. the selection of a proper site for a tomb is a matter of pro found solicitude, time, and money ; for the geomancers must be consulted with a fee. the pung-sui superstition requires for the comfort of both living and dead that the right site should be chosen. judging from the number of times the word "moun tain " enters into terms relating to burial, most interments are on the hillsides. if these are not done properly, trouble wiu mourning and burial. 279 arise, and tlie bones must then be dug up, collected, and re buried, often at heavy expense. thousands of professional cheats and seh-duped people live by working upon the feelings of the bereaved through this superstition. the tombs of the poor consist only of the grave and a iovf mound of earth. these mounds, subjected to the forces of na ture, and often trampled upon by cattle, disappear after the lapse of a fev? years, and oblivion settles over the spot. with the richer class monuments are of stone, sometimes neat or even imposing, sometimes grotesque. some, as the pi popi, are shaped like a house or miniature temple ; or, tv?o stones, cut in the form of a ram and a horse respectively, are placed before the sepulchre. the man-tu, " gazing headstone," consists of tvfo monoliths or columns of masonry, flanking the tomb on either side, so that the soul of the dead, changed into a bird, may repose peacefully. in the graveyards are many tombs paved with granite slabs around the temple model, but for the most part a corean cemetery is filled with little obelisks, or tall, square columns, either pointed at the top or surmounted with the effigy of a human head, or a rudely sculptured stone image, which strangely reminds a foreigner of "patience on a monu ment, smihng at grief." this apparition of a human head rising above the tail grass of the burial-ground may be the original of japanese pictures of the ghosts and spirits which seem to rise dark and windblown out of the wet grass. often the carving in corean grave-yards is so rude as to be almost indis tinguishable. motiming is of many degrees and lengths, and is betokened by dress, abstinence from food and business, visits to the tomb, offerings, tablets, and many visible indications, detailed even to absurdity. pure, or nearly pure white is the mourning color, as a contrast to red, the color of rejoicing. even the rivets of the fan, the strings on the shoes, and the carrying of a staff in addi tion to the mourning-hat, betoken the uniform of woe. when noblemen don the peaked hat, which covers the face as well as the head, they are as dead to the world — not to be spoken to, molested, or even arrested if charged with crime. this corean mourning hat proved " the helmet of salvation" to christians, and explains the safety of the french missionaries who lived so long in disguise, unharmed in the coimtry where the police were as lynxes and hounds ever on their tr-.ck. the jesuits were not 280 corea. slow to see the wonderful shelter promised for them, and availed themselves of it at once and always. the royal sepulchres within the peniasula have attracted more than one unla-vrful descent upon the shores of cho-sen. the various dynasties of sovereigns during the epoch of the three kingdoms in the old capitals of these states, the royal lines of kokorai at ping-an, of korai at sunto, and of the ruling house at seoul, have made corea during her two thousand years of history rich in royal tombs. these are in various parts of the country, and those which are known are under the care of the government. are these mausoleums fiued with gold or jewels? foreign grave-robbers have believed so, and shown their faith by their works, as we shall see. french priests in the country have said so. the ancient chinese narratives descriptive of the customs of the fuyu people, confirm the general impression. without having the facts at hand to demonstrate what eager foreigners have believed, we know that vast treasures have been spent upon the decoration of the royal sepulchres, and the erection of me morial buildings over them, and that the fear of their violation by foreign or native outlaws has been for centuries ever be fore the corean people. that these fears have too often been justified, we shall find when we read of that memorable year, a.d. 1866. the profuse vocabulary of terms relating to burial, mourning, and memorial tablets in corea show their intense loyalty to the confucian doctrines, the power of superstition, and the shocking waste of the resources of the living upon the dead. the voluble corean envoys when in tokio, visited the naval couege, and on learning that in certaia emergencies the students from distant provinces were not allowed to go home to attend the funeral of their parents, nor to absent themselves from duty on account of mourning, were amazed beyond measure, and for a few moments uterauy speechless from surprise. it is hard for a corean to understand the sayings of jesus to the disciple who asked, "lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father," and " let the dead bury their dead." from the view-point of political economy, this lavish expense of time, energj', money, and intellect upon corpses and super stition is beneficial. without knowing of malthus or his theories, the cho-senese have hit upon a capital method of limiting popu lation, and keeping the country in a state of chronic poverty. mourning and burial. 281 the question has been asked the writer, " how can a people, pent in a little moimtainous peninsula like corea, exist for centuries without overpopulating their territory?" wars, famine, pestilence, ordinary poverty answer the question in part. the absurd and rigorous rules of mourning, requiring frightful expense, postponement of marriage to young people — who even when betrothed must mourn three years for parents and grandparents, actual and expected, the impoverishing of the peo ple, and the frequent hindrances to marriage at the proper season, serve to keep down population. this fact is an often chosen sub ject for native anecdotes and romances. the vexations and delays often caused by the long periods of idle mourning required by etiquette, are well illustrated by the following story, from the " grammaire coreene," which is intended to show the sympathy of j;he king cheng-chong (1776 to 1800) with his subjects. it is entitled "a trait of eoyal solicitude." it was about new year's that cheng-chong walked about here and there within the palace enclosure. having come to the place reserved for the candidates at the literary examinations, he looked through a crack in the gate. the competitors had nearly all gone away to spend the new tear holidays at home, and there re mained only two of them, who were talking together. "well, au the others have gone off to spend new year's at home ; isn't it deplorable that we two, having no place to go to, must be nailed here?" "yes, truly," said the other; "you have no longer either wife, children, or house. how is this ? " "listen to my story," said the first man. "my parents, thinking of my marriage, had arranged my betrothal, but some time before the preparations were concluded, my future grand father died, and it became necessary to wait three years. hardly had i put off mourning, when i was called on to lament the death of my poor fatheir. i was now compelled to wait still three years. these three years finished, behold my mother-in-law who was to be died, and three years passed away. finally, i had the misfor tune to lose my poor mother, which required me to wait again three years. and so, three times four — a dozen years — have elapsed, during which we have waited the one for the other. by this time she, who was to be my wife, fell iu. as she was upon the point of death, i went to make her a visit. my intended brother-in-law came to see me, found me, and said, 'although 282 corea. the ceremonies of marriage have not been made, they may cer tainly consider you as married, therefore come and see her.' upon his invitation i entered her house, but we had hardly blo-mi a puff of smoke, one before the other, than she died. "seeing this, i have no more wished even to dream at night. thatched house near seoul. (from a photograph, 1876.) i am not yet married. you may understand, then, why i have neither wife, children, nor home." ' in his turn the other thus spoke : " my house was extremdy poor. our diet looked like fasting. we had no means of freeijg ourselves from embarrassment. when the day of the examination came i presented myself. dui-ing my absence my wife contrived mourning and burial. 283 in such a manner, that putting in the brazier a farthing's worth of charcoal, she set a handful of rice to cook in a skillet, and set tled herself to wait for me. she served this to me every time i came back. but i never obtained a degree. the day on which i was at last received as a bachelor of arts, on returning after examination, i found that she had as before lighted the charcoal, put to bon a dish of soup, and seating herself before the fire, she waited. in this position she was dead. " at sight of this my grief was without bounds. having no desire to contract a new union, i have never re-married." hearing these narratives, cheng-chong was touched with pity. entering the palace, seating himself upon the throne, and having had the two scholars brought in, he said to them : " all the other scholars have gone to their homes to spend new year's. why have not you two gone also?" they an swered, "your servants having no house to go to, remained here." "what does that mean?" said cheng-chong. "the fowls and the dogs, oxen and horses have shelter. the birds have also a hole to build their nests in. can it be that men have no dwell ing? there should be a reason for this. speak plainly. '_' one of the scholars answered : " your servant's affairs are so-and-so. i have come even till now without re-marriage. it is because i have neither wife, child, nor family." the story being exactly hke that which he had heard before, the king cried out, " too bad ! " then addressing the other, he put this question : " and you, how is it that you are reduced to this condition ?" he answered : " my story is almost the same." " what do you wish ? speak i " replied the king. " the circumstances being such and such, i am at this mo ment without wife and without food. that is my condition." as there was in all this nothing different from the preceding, the king, struck with compassion, bestowed upon them imme diately lucrative offices. if he had not examined for himself, how could he have been able to know such unfortunate men, and procure for them so happy a position in the world? in truth, the goodness of his majesty cheng-chong has become celebrated. chapter xxxii. otjt-door life. -characters and employments. six public roads oi the first class traverse the peninsula and centre at the capital. they are from twenty to thirty feet in ■width, with ditches at the side for drainage. one of these begins near the ocean, in chuua do, and in general follows the shores of the yeuow sea through three provinces to tong-ehin opposite kang-wa island, and enters the capital by branch roads. another highway passes through the interior of the three provinces bor dering the yeuow sea, and enters s.eoul by the southern gate. hamel and his fellow-captives journeyed by this road. the road by which the annual embassy reaches peking, after leaving the capital, passes through sunto and ping-an and ai-chiu, crosses the neutral strip, and enters manchuria for peking by way of muk den. this was the beaten track of the french missionaries, and the shipwrecked men from the united states and japan, and is the military road from china. it is well described, with a good map, in koei-ling's "journal of a mission into corea," which mr. f. scherzer has translated for us. from fusan and tong-nai, in the southeast, seoul is reached by no less than three roads. one strikes westward through chung-chong, and joins the main road coming up from the south. another following the nak-tong eiver basin, crosses the moun tains to chulla, and enters seoul by the south gate. eight river crossings must be made by this road, over which konishi marched in 1593. the third route takes a more northerly trend, follows the sea-coast to urusan, and passing through kion-chiu, enters the capital by the east gate. the fifth great road issuing from the north gate of the capital passes into kang-wen, and thence upward to gensan, and to the frontiers at the tumen eiver. the roads of the second class are eight or nine feet wide, and without side ditches. they ramify through all the provinces, but out-door life.— characters and employments. 283 are especially numerous in the five southern. the three northern circuits, owing to their mountainous character, are but poorly famished with highways, and these usually follow the rivers. the third class roads, which are nothing more than bridle paths, or trails, connect the villages. the hilly nature of the country, together with the asiatic apathy to bestowing much care on the public highways, makes traveuiag difficult. inundations are frequent, though the water subsides quickly. hence in summer the road-beds are dust, and in winter a slough of mud. macadamized, or paved roads, are hardly known, except for short lengths. few of the wide rivers are bridged, which necessitates frequent fordings and ferriages. stone bridges, built with arches, are sometimes seen over streams not usually inundated, but few of the wooden bridges are over one hundred and eighty feet long. in one respect the roads are well attended to. the distances are well marked. at every n is a small, and at every three ri a large moimd, surmounted with an inscribed post or " mue-stone," called chang-sung. they are two, six, and even ten feet ia length. in ancient times, it is said, there was a man named chang sung, who killed his servant and wife. when punished, his head was placed on a small mound. legend even declares that it was successively exposed on all the distance mounds ia the kingdom. this is said to be the origin of the bournes or distance-mounds, which suggests, as mr. adams has shown, the termini of the romans. "when of stone, they are called pio-sek, but they are often of wood, rudely carved or hacked out of a whole tree by an axe into the exaggerated form of a man, and are of a ludicrous or absurd appearance. the face is meant to be that of the mur derer chang-sung. the author of " a forbidden land " mistook these for "village idols," and was surprised to find the boys in some cases sacrilegiously kicking about some that had rotted down or fallen. the " gods of the roads " may, however, have their effiges, which are worshipped or profaned. au distances in every direction are measured from the front gate of the magistrates' offices, the standard of au being the palace at seoul not the least interesting sights to the traveller are the memorial stones set up and inscribed with a view to commemo rate local or national worthies, or the events of war, famine, or philanthropy. the coreans are "idolaters of letters," and the erection of memorial tablets or columns occasionally becomes a 286 cokba. passiuii. sometimes the inscriptions are the means of stirring up patriotism, as the fouowiag inscription shows. it was graven on a stone in front of a castle erected after the french and american expeditions, and was copied by a japanese correspondent. "it is nothing else than selling the ktagdom into slavery, in order to avoid war, to make peace without fighting when any western nation comes to attack it ; such should never be done even by our descendants thousands of years hence." in this country, in which sumptuary laws prevent the humbler classes from traveuing on horseback, and where wagons and steam-roads are unknown, the roads are lively with numerous foot-passengers. palanquins are used by the better classes and the wealthy. the rambling life of many of the people, the goodly numbers of that character not unknown in christendom — ^the tramp — the necessities of trade, literary examinations, government service, and holy pilgrimages, prevent. too many weeds from grow ing in the highways. in travelling over the high roads one meets a variety of characters that would satisfy a corean dickens, or the japanese author who wrote the tokaido hizakurige (leg-hair, i.e., " shanks' mare,'' on the bast sea eoad). bands of students on their way to the capital or provincial literary examinations, some roystering youths in the full flow of spirits, are hastening on, others, gray-headed and solemn, are wending their way to fail for the twentieth time. pompous functionaries in umbrella-hats, on horseback, before whom ordinary folks dismount or kneel or bow, brush past with noisy attendants. pilgrims in pious garb are on their way to some holy mountain or famous shrine, men to pray for success in business, women to beseech the gods for off spring. here hobbles along the lame or rheumatic, or the pale faced invalid is borne to the hot springs. here is a party of pic-nickers, or poets intent on the joys of drink, verse, and scenery. here a troop of strouing players or knot of masqueraders are in peripatetic qiiest of a livelihood, toiling fearfully hard in order to escape settled industry. nobles in mourning pass with their faces invisible. postal slaves, women doing the work of express agents in forwarding parcels, pass the merchant with his loaded pack-horses returning from sunto, or going to gensan. there a packman is doing horse's work in transportation. here an ox laden vrith brushwood is led by a woman. beggars, corpses, kang-si, or men dead of himger in times of famine, make the lights and shadows of hfe on the road. out-door life.— characters and employments. 287 there are other methods of travel besides those of horseback, on foot, and sedan chair, for oxen are often straddled by the men, and poor women travel on an ox, in a sort of improvised palanquin having four poles recurved to centre and covered with robe or cloak. in winter, among the mountains not only in the north, but even in chulla, the people go on racquettes or snow shoes. these are in shape like a battledore, and are several feet long. at regular distances are yek, or relays or offices, at which sit clerks or managers under government auspices, with hered itary slaves or serfs, porters, guides, mail-couriers, and pack horses. these await the' service of the traveller, especially of official couriers, the finer beasts being reserved for joxurneying dignitaries. all these throughout a certain district, of which there are sev eral in each province, are under the direction of the tsal-peng, or director of posts. kiung-sang, the province having the greatest number of roads, has also the best equipment in the way of post officers, relays, and horses. the following table from dauet shows the equipment of the eight provinces : post superin teudentb. belays. kiung-kei . . chung-chong chuua kiung-sang. . kang-wen . . . wang hei . . . ham-kiung . . ping-an .... 6 5 6 11 4 3 3 2 40 47 62 53 115 78 28 58 80 471 449 761 506 1,700 447 396 792 311 5,362 yet with this provision for locomotion, the country is very deficient in houses for public accommodation. inns are to be found only along the great highways, and but rarely along the smaller or sequestered roads. this want arises, perhaps, not so much from the poverty of the people, as from the fact that their proverbial hospitality does away with the necessity of numerous inns. the coreans have been so often represented, or rather mis 288 coeea. represented, as inhospitable, fierce, and rude by foreigners, that to give an inside view of them as seen through information gath ered from the french missionaries in corea is a pleasant task. from them we may learn how much the white-coated peninsulars are uke their cousins, the japanese, and that human nature in good average quantity and quauty dwells under the big hats of the corea'ns. the traveller usually takes his provisions along with him, but he need not eat it out-doors. as he sits along the way side, he wul be invited into some house to warm his food. when obliged to go some distance among the mountains to cut wood or make charcoal, a man is sure to find a hut in which he can lodge. he has only to bring his rice. the villagers will cook it for him, after adding the necessary pickles or sauces. even the oxen, except during the busy season, are easily obtained on loan. the great virtue of the coreans is their innate respect for and daily practice of the laws of human brotherhood. mutual assist ance and generous hospitauty among themselves are distinctive national traits. in au the important events of life, such as mar riages and funerals, each one makes it his duty to aid the family most directly interested. one wiu charge himself with the duty of making purchases ; others with arranging the ceremonies. the poor, who can give nothing, carry messages to friends and rela tives in the near or remote villages, passing day and night on foot and giving their labors gratuitously. to them, the event is not a mere personal matter, but an affair of public interest. "when fire, flood, or other accident destroys the house of one of their number, neighbors make it a duty to lend a hand to re build. one brings stone, another wood, another straw. each, in addition to his gifts in material, devotes two or three days' work gratuitously. a stranger, coming into a village, is always assisted to build a dweuing. hospitality is considered as one of the most sacred duties. it would be a grave and shameful thing to refuse a portion of one's meal with any person, known or unknown, who presents himself at eating-time. even the poor laborers, who take their noon-meal at the side of the roads, are often seen sharing their frugal noiu' ishment with the passer-by. usually at a feast, the neighbors consider themselves invited by right and custom. the poor man whose duty calls him to make a journey to a distant place does not need to make elaborate preparatons. his stick, his pipe, some clothes in a packet hung from his shoulder, some cash in out-door life.— characters and employments. 289 his purse, if he has one, and his outfit is complete. at night, instead of going to a hotel with its attendant expense, he enters some house, whose exterior room is open to any comer. there he is sure to find food and lodging for the night. eice will be shared with the stranger, and, at bed-time, a comer of the floor-mat will sei-ve for a bed, while he may rest his head on a foot-length of the long log of wood against the wall, which serves as a pillow. even should he delay his journey for a day or two, little or nothing to ms discredit wul be harbored by his hosts. in corea, the old proverb concerning fish and company after three days does not seem to hold good. as may be imagined, such a system is prolific in breeding beg gars, tramps, blackmailers, and lazy louts, who "sponge" upon the benevolently disposed. eich families are often bored by these self-invited parasites, who eat with unblushing cheek at their tables for weeks at a time. they do not even disdain — nay, they often clamor for — clothing as well. to refuse would only result in bringing down calumny and injury. peddlers, strolling play ers, astrologers, etc., likewise avail themselves of the opportu nities, and act as plundering harpies. often whole bands go round quartering themselves on the vulages, and sometimes the government is called upon to interpose its authority and protect the people. corea is fuu of micawbers, men who are as prodigal as avari cious, who when they have plenty of money, scatter it quickly. when flush they caro only to live in style, to treat their friends, to satisfy theiicaprices. when poverty comes, they take it without complaint, and wait tiu the wheel of fortune turns again to give them better days. when by any process they have made some gain by finding a root of ginseng, a bit of gold ore, a vein of crystal, what matters it ? let the future take care of itself. hence it happens that the roads are full of menseeking some stroke of luck, hoping to discover at a distance what they could not find at home, to light upon some treasure not yet dug up or to invent some new means of making money. people forever waiting for something to turn up emigrate from one village to another, stop a year or two, and then tramp on, seeking better luck, but usually finding worse. strolling companies of mountebanks, players and musicians, in numbers of five, six, or more, abound in cho-sen. they wander up and dovra through the eight circuits, and; in spring and sum 19 290 cobba. mer, earn a precarious and vagabond livelihood. their reputation among the villagers is none of the best, being about on a par with that of the gypsies, or certain gangs of railroad surveyors of our own country. they often levy a sort of blackmail upon the peo ple. they are jugglers, acrobats, magicians, marionette players, and performers on musical instruments. some of them display an astonishing amount of cleverness and sleight of hand in their feats. in the villages crowds of gaping urchins are their chief spectators, but in the large cities they are invited to private houses to give exhibitions and are paid for it. when about to begin a performance, they secure attention by whistling on the nan of their little finger. on the occasion of the anniversary of some happy event, a public f6te day, a marriage or a social com pany, the lack of what we call society — that is, social relations between gentlemen and ladies — is made up, and amusement is furnished by these players, "engaged for an evening or two. the guests fully appreciate the "hired music," and "best talent" thus secured for a variety entertainment. the company of one class of these " men of society," or pang-tang, a kind of " profes sional diner-out," is so desirable that several are taken along by the ambassadors to china to amuse them on their long and tedi ous journey, especially at nights. the chang-pu are character comedians, who serenade the baccalaureates that have passed suc cessfully the government examinations. they play the flute and other instruments of music, forming the escort which accompanies the graduate on his visits to relatives and officials. a band of performers is always attached to the suite of ambassadors to china and japan, or when visiting a foreign vessel. a character common to corea and japan is the singing-girl, who is also a great aid in making life endurable to the better class of coreans, whose chief business it is to kill time. the singing-girl is the one poem and picture in the street life of the humbler classes, whose poverty can rarely, if ever, allow them to purchase her society or enjoy her charms and accomplishments. socially, her rank is low, very low. she is herself the child of poverty and toil. her parents are poor people, who gladly give up their daughter, if of pretty face and form, to a life of doubtful morals, in order that she may thereby earn her own support and assist her parents. she herself gladly leaves the drudgery of the kitchen, and the abject meanness of the hovel, to shine in the palace and the mansion. her dress is of finest fabric, her luxu out-door life. -characters and employments. 291 riant black hair is bound with skill and grace, her skin is whit ened by artificial cosmetics as far as possible, and with powder, paint, and pomatum, she spends much of her life before the look ing-glass, studying in youth to increase, and in womanhood to retain, her charms. at home, she practises her music, occasionally enlivening a party of her humble neighbors. as she passes along the street, fresh, clean, bright, and pretty, she may dispense smiles for popularity's sake, but her errand is to the houses of the wealthy, and especially to the official, who, for his own amusement as he dines alone, or for his friends in social gathering, may employ from two to twenty geishas, (as the japanese call them). most co rean cities have these geishas, who form themselves into a sort of guild for fixed prices, etc. often they organize complete bands or choirs, by which music may be had in mass and volume. at a feast they serve the wine, fill and pass the dishes, and preside generally at the table. when eating has fairly begun, they sing (chant), play the guitar, recite in pantomine or vocally, and furnish general amusement. the dancing is usually not of an immoral character. such a life, however, amid feast and revel, wine and flattery, makes sad wreck of many of them, morally and physically. a large proportion of the most beautiful girls become concubines to wealthy men or officials, or act as ladies of the chamber (brevet wives) to young men and widowers. not a few join the business of prostitutes with that of musicians. nevertheless, it is quite possible for a respectable family to enjoy a pleasant and harmless evening by the aid of the lively geishas. of course, seoul is the chief headquarters of the fairest and most accomplished geishas, who are, as a class, the best educated of their sex in corea. the theatre, proper, does not seem to exist in corea. the substitute and nearest approach to it is recitation in monologue of certain events or extracts from the standard or popular histories, a single individual representing the successive roles. the his trionic artist pitches his tabernacle of four posts in some popular street or corner. he spreads mats for a roof or shade from the sun in front, and for a background in the rear. a platform, and a box to squat on, with a small reading-desk, and a cup of gin gery water to refresh his palate, complete his outfit. , a few rough benches or mats constitute all the accommodation) for the audience. a gaping crowd soon collects around him, his auditors puu out their pipes, and refreshment venders improve the occasion for the chance sale of their viands. with his voice 292 corea. trained to various tones and to polite and vulgar forms of speech, he will hold dialogues and conversations, and mimic the attitude and gestures of various characters. the trial of a criminal before a magistrate, the bastinado, a quarrel between husband and wife, scenes from high life and low hfe will be in turn rendered. he will imitate the gtave tones and visage of the magistrate, the pit eous appeals, the cries and groans and contortions of the victim under torture, the angry or grumbling voice of the husband, the shriu falsetto of the scolding shrew or the shower of tears and the piteous appeals of the wife. smiles, frowns, surprise, sorrow, and au the emotions are simulated, and the accompaniment of voice is kept up with jokes, puns, bon-mots, irony, or well-expressed pathos. in short, the reciter is a theatrical stock company, and a band of minstrels, rolled into one person. for the use of begin ners, and the mediocrity of the profession, there are a number of "jest-books," collections of jokes and anecdotes, more or less threadbare, and of varying moral quality, from which speakers may prime for the occasion. with the advanced of the profession, however, most of the smart sayings are original and off-hand. the habitues of the booths have their " star " favorite, as theatre goers with us go into raptures over their actors. able men make a good living at the business, as they "pass round the hat" to take up a collection in the audience. this usually comes at the most telling point of the narrative, when the interest of the hearers is roused to the highest pitch (or when it is to be " con tinued in our next," as the flash newspapers say). sometimes the speaker wiu not go on tul the collection is deemed by the tyrant a sufficient appreciation of his talents. in addition to their pubue street income, the best of them are often invited to perform in private houses, at family reunions, social parties, and as a rule, in visits to dignitaries by candidates who have won degrees. the corean gamut, differing from the scale used in european countries, makes a fearful and wonderful difference in effect upon our ears. some of their melodies upon the flute are plaintive and sweet, but most of their music is distressing to the ear and desolating to the air. one hearer describes their choicest pieces as " the most discordant sounds that ever were emitted under the name of music from brass tubes." some of the flute music, how ever, is very sweet. as most of the ancient music of japan is of corean origin, one can get a fair idea of the nature of the sounds that delight a corean ear from the music of the imperial band of out-door life.— characters and employments. 293 tokio, which plays the classical scores. yet it is evident that the modem tunes of seoul are not melodious to japanese auditory nerves. one vrould think that, as the mikado's subjects "hear themselves as others hear them" when corean musicians play, they would be delighted. on the contrary, corean music seems to horrify and afflict the japanese ear. evidently, in the course of centuries the musical scales of the two countries, originally identical, have altered in tone and interval. wan-ka is the father of corean music — though the mere fact that he belonged to an tiquity would secure his renown. the various stringed musical instruments known are the kemunko, a kind of large guitar ; the kanyahko, mandolin ; the ko-siul, or guitar of twenty-five strings ; and the five-stringed harp or viohn. the wind instruments comprise a whole battery of flutes, long and short trumpets, while cymbals, drums, and other objects of percussion are numerous. ambas sadors and other high officers at home, and when on duty ^o foreign countries, are accompanied by a band of musicians. la borers on government works are summoned to begin and end work by music, but the full effect of a musical salvo is attained at the opening and closing of the city gates. then the sound is most distressing — or most captivating, according as the ears are to the manner bom, or receive their first experience of what tortures the air may be made to vibrate. the chief qut-door manly sport in corea is, by excellence, that of archery. it is encouraged by the government for the national safety in war, and nobles stimulate their retainers to excellence by rewards. most gentlemen have targets and arrow-walks for practice in their gardens. at regular times in the year contests of skill are held, at which archers of reputation compete, the expense and prizes being paid for out of the public purse. hamel says the great men's retainers have nothing to do but to learn to shoot. the grandees rival each other in keeping the most famous archers, as an englishman might his fox-hounds or as the daimios of japan formerly vied with each other in patronizing the fattest and most skilful wrestlers. other manly sports are those of boxing and fist-fights. young men practice the "manly art" in play with each other, and at times champions are chosen by rival villages and a set-to between the bruisers is the result, with more or less of broken heads and pulpy faces. in large cities the contestants may come from different wards of the same city. in seoul, usually in the first month, there are some lively tussles 294 cobea. between picked champions, with betting and cheering of the backers of either party. often these trials of skiu degenerate into a free fight, in which clubs and stones are used freely ; cracked skulls and loss of life are common. the magistrates do not usually interfere, but allow the frolic to spend itself. another class of men worthy of notice, and identified with out-door life, are the sportsmen. the bird-hunters never shoot on the wing. they disguise themselves in skins, feathers, straw, etc., and lurk in some ooigne of vantage to bring down the game that comes within their range. the skilled fowler understands perfectly how to imitate the cries of the various birds, particularly that of the pheasant calling his mate. by this means most of the female 'pheasants are captured. the call used is an iron whistle, shaped like the apricot-stone, and simuar to that used by the japanese hunters. the method of hunting the deer is as follows : during the months of june and july deer -horn commands a very high price, for it is at this season that the deer-horns are develop ing, and the "spike-bucks" are special prizes. a party of three or four hunters is formed. they beat up the mountain sides during several days, and, at night, when obliged to cease for awhile, they have a wonderful instinct for detecting the trail of the game, except when the earth is too dry. usually they come up to their game on the third day, which they bring down with a gunshot. the horn is sold to the native physicians or is exported to china and japan, where hartshorn and valuable medicines are concocted from it. a successful deer-hunt usually enables a hunter to live on his profits for a good part of the year, and in some cases individuals make small f ortimes. those who hunt bears wait for the occasion when the mother bear leads her cubs to the seashore to feast them on the crabs. then the hunters bide their time till they see the mother lifting up the heavy rocks on edge, while the little cubs eat the crabs. the hunters usually rush forward and assault the bear, which, frightened, lets fall the rock, which crushes the cub. when on the open field or shore they do not fire at the she-bear, unless sure of killing her. for the various parts of the animal good prices await the hunter who seus. in addition to the proceeds from hide, flesh, fat, and sinews, the uver and gall of the brute, supposed to possess great potency in medicine, ai;e sold for their weight in silver. in another chapter we have written of the tiger-hunters and their noble game. out-door life.— characters and employments. 295 gambling and betting are fearfully common habits in corea, and kite-flying gives abundant occasion for money to change hands. the two months of the winter, during which the north wind blows, is " kite time." the large and strong kites are flown with skill, requiring stout cords and to be held by young men. a large crowd usually collects to witness the battle of the kites, when the kites are put through various evolutions iu the air, by which one seeks to destroy, tear, or saw off the string of the other. resources for in-door amusement are chiefly in the form of gossip, story-telling, smoking, lounging, and games of hazard, such as chess, checkers, and backgammon. the game of chess is the same as that played ia japan and china. card-playing, though interdicted by law, is habitual among the common people. the nobles look upon it as vulgar amusement beneath their dig nity. the people play secretly or at night, often gambling to a ruinous extent. it is said that the soldiers, especially those on guard, and at the frontiers, are freely allowed to play cards, as that is the surest way to keep them awake and alert in the pres ence of enemies, and as safeguards against night attacks. they shuffle and cut the cards as we do. games with the hands and fingers, similar to those in japan, are also well known. in pagan lands, where a sabbath, or anything hke it, is utterly uknown alike to the weary laborer, the wealthy, and the men of leisure, some compensation is afforded by the national and relig ious holidays. these in corea consist chiefly of the festal occa sions observed in china, the feasts appropriate to the seasons, planting, and harvest, the buddhist saints' anniversaries, the king's birthday, and the new year. among the poorer classes the families celebrate the birthday of the head of the family only, but among the noble and wealthy, each member of the family is honored with gifts and a festal gath ering of friends. there are certain years of destiny noticed with extra joy and congratulations, but the chief of all is the sixty-first year. with us, the days of man are three score years and ten, but in the hermit kingdom the limit of life is three score years and one, and the reason is this : the coreans divide time according to the chinese cycle of sixty years, which is made up of two series of ten and twelve each respectively. every year has a name after the zodiacal sign, or one of the five elements. the first birthday occurring after the entire revolution of the cycle is a very solemn event to a sexagenarian, and the festival commemorative of it is 296 corea. called wan-kap. all, rich and poor, noble and vulgar, observe this day, which definitely begins old age, when man, having passed the acknowledged umit of life, must remember and repose. when it happens — a rare event — that the sixty-first anniversary of a wedding finds both parties ahve, there are extraordinary rejoic ings, and the event is celebrated like our "diamond weddings.'' for both these feasts children and friends must strain every nerve, and spend all their cash to be equal to the occasion and to spread the table for all comers ; for at such a time, not only the neighbors, but often the whole country folk round are interested. a silk robe for the honored aged, new clothes for themselves, and no end of wine and good cheer for friends, acquaintances, hangers-on, country cousins, and strangers from afar, must be provided without stint. poems are recited, games and sports enjoyed, minstrels sing and dance, and recitations are given. ah come with compliments in their mouths — and a ravenous appetite. all must be fed and none turned away, and the children of the honored one must be willing to spend their last coin and econo mize, or even starve, for a year afterward. it is often as dreadful an undertaking as a funeral pageant in other lands. in the event of the queen, royal mother, or king, reaching the sixty-first birth day the profusion and prodigality of expense and show reaches a height of shameful extravagance. all the prisons are .opened by general amnesty, and the jail-birds fly free. an extraordinary session of examiners is held to grant degrees. in the capital all the grandees present themselves before the king with gifts and homage. in all the rural districts, a large picture of the king is himg up in a noted place. the chief magistrate, preceded by music and followed by his satellites, and all the people proceed to the place and prostrate themselves before the effigy, offering their congratulations. in the capital the soldiers receive gifts from the court, and the day is a universal hohday for the entire nation. almost as matter of course, the festivals are used as means of extortion and oppression of the people by the officials, who grind the masses mercilessly to provide the necessary resources for the waste and luxury of the capital and the court. new year's day is not only the greatest of all corean feasts in universal observance, but is also the only real sabbath time of the year, when for days together au regular employments cease and rejoicing reigns su preme. ah debts must be paid and accounts squared up, absen tees must return, and children away from home must rejoin the out-door life.— characters and employments. 297 family. the magistrates close the tribunals, no arrests are made, and prisoners held to answer for slight offences are given leave of absence for several days, after which they report again as pris oners. all work, except that of festal preparation, ought to cease during the last three days of the old year. it is etiquette to begin by visits on new year's eve, though this is not universal. on new year's morning salutations or calls are made on friends, acquaintances, and superiors. to this rule there must be no exception, on pain of a rupture of friendly relations. the chief ceremony of the day is the sacrifice at the tablets of ancestors. proceeding to the family tombs, if near the house, or to the special room or shelf in the dwelling itself, the entire family make pros trations. costly ceremonies, with incense-sticks, etc., regulated according to the family purse, follow. this is the most important filial and reugious act of the year. ■ in cases where the tombs are distant, the visit must not be postponed later than during the first month. after the ancestral sacrifices, comes the distribution of presents, which are enclosed in new year's boxes. these consist of new dresses, shoes, confectionery, jewelry for the boys and girls, and various gifts, chiefly cooked delicacies, for neighbors, friends, and acquaintances. for five days the festivities are kept up by visits, social parties, and entertainments of all sorts. the ordinary labors of life are resumed on the sixth day of the new year, but with many, fun, rest, and' frolic are prolonged during the month. the tenth day of the second month is the great house-cleaning day of the year, when mats are taken up and shaken, the pots, kettles, and jars scoured, and the clothing renovated. tomb-cleaning day occurs in the third month. on this occa sion they make offerings of food to their ancestors, and cleanse tombs and tablets. it is a busy time in the graveyards, to which women transfer their straw scrubbers, dippers, and buckets, when monuments and idols are well soused and scoured. it is more like a picnic, with fun and work in equal proportions. the third day of the third month comes in spring, and is the great may-day and merrymaking. the people go out on the river with food and drink, and spend the day in feasting and frolic. others wander in the peach-orchards to view the blossoms. others so inclined, enjoy themselves by composing stanzas of poetry. on' the eighth day of the fourth month the large cities are illuminated with paper lanterns of many colors, and people go out on hiua and rivers to view the gay sights and natural scenery. 298 corba. the fifth day of the fifth month is a great festival day, on which the king presents fans, to his courtiers. on the fifteenth day of the seventh month occurs the cere mony of distributing seed. the king gives to his officials one hundred kinds of seed for the crops of the next year. on the fifteenth day of the eighth month sacrifices are ofiered at the graves of ancestors and broken tombs are repaired. the chrysanthemum festival is one of much popular interest. among the most briuiant flowers of the peninsula are the chry santhemums, which are cultivated with great pride and care by gentlemen and nobles. the flower is brought to unusual perfec tion by auowing but a single flower to grow upon one stem. they are often cultivated apart, under oiled paper frames. on the ninth day of the ninth month the perfected blossoms are in their glory, and the owner of a crop of brilliant chrysanthemums invites his friends to his house to feast and enjoy the sight of the blooms. the florists exhibit their triumphs, and picnic parties enjoy the scenery from the bridges and on the mountains. the article chiefly used for pastry among obhque-eyed human ity is what the japanese cau mochi, a substance made by boiling rice and pounding it into a tough mass resembling pie-crust. like oysters, it may be eaten "in every style," raw, warmed, baked, toasted, boiled, or fried. it occupies an important place in cere monial offerings to the dead, in the temple, and in household festal decoration. it is made in immense quantities, and eaten especially at new year's time, and on the two equinoctial days of the year. another favorite mixed food for festive occasions is " red rice " and beans. the corean housewife takes as much pains to color the rice properly as a german lavishes upon his meerschaum, and if the color fails, or is poor, it is a sign of bad luck. the fourteenth day of the first month a person who is en tering upon a critical year of his ufe makes an effigy of straw, dresses it up with his own clothing at evening, and casts it out on the road, and then feasts merrily during the whole night. "what ever happens to the man of straw thus kicked out of the house, is supposed to happen to the man's former self, now gone into the past ; and fate is believed to look upon the individual in new clothes as another man. the fifth, fifteenth, and twenty-fifth of each month are called "broken days," on which they avoid beginning anything new. these are the "fridays" of cho-sen. in the beginning of each otjt-door life.— chabacters and employments. 299 of the four seasons of the year they post up on the doors of theii houses slips of paper, on which are written mottoes, such as " lon gevity is like the south mountain," " wealth is like the eastern sea," etc. certain years ia each person's life are supposed to be critical, and special care as to health, food, clothing, new ven tures, etc., must be taken during these years, which are ended with a feast, or, what is more economical, a sigh of relief. the fifteenth day of the first month is called " stepping on the bridge." a man and woman go out together over the bridge at the rising of the moon and view the moonlit scenery, indulging meanwhile in refreshments, both of the solid and liquid sort. it is believed that if one crosses over seven bridges on this night, he will be free from calamities during the year. not the least interesting of the local or national festivals, are those held in memory of the soldiers slain in the service of their country on famous battle-fields. besides holding annual memorial celebrations at these places, which fire the patriotism of the people, there are temples erected to soothe the spirits of the slain. espe cially noteworthy are these monumental edifices, on sites made painful to the national memory by the great japanese invasion of 1592-97, which keep fresh the scars of war. a revival of these patriotic festivals has been stimulated by the fanatical haters of japan, since this neighbor country broke away from asiatic tradi tions. though much has been written concerning the population of corea, we consider all conjectures of persons alike unfamiliar with the interior and the true sources of information as worthless. these random figures vary from 250,000 (!) to 6,000,000. dauet presumes a population of 10,000,000. a rude enumeration made thirty years ago gives the number of houses at 1,700,000, and of the people at 7,000,000. our own opinion, formed after a study of the map and official lists of towns and cities, is that there are at least 12,000,000 souls in cho-sen. a japanese correspondent of the tokio hochi shimlun, writing from seoul, states that a cen sus made last year (1881) shows that there are 3,480,911 houses, and 16,227,885 persons in the kingdom. chapter xxxm. shamanism and mythical zoology. shamanism is the worship of a large number of primitive north asiatic tribes, having no idols except a few fetishes and some rude ancestral images or representations of the spirits of the earth and air. it is a gross mixture of sorcery and sacrificial ceremonies for the propitiation of evil spirits. these malignant beings are supposed to populate the earth, the clouds, and the air, and to be the cause of most of the uls suffered by man. they take various forms, chiefly those of animals whose structure and anatomy are more or less imaginary, each imp or demon being a composite creature, compiled from the various powers of locomotion, de struction, and defence possessed by the real creatures that inhabit water, earth, and air. some of them, however, are gentle and of lovely form and mien. their apparition on earth is welcomed with delight as the harbinger of good things to come. confucius, the teacher, haued by the chinese as their houest sage, and to whom even divine honors are paid, believed firmly in these por tents and appearances. chief among these mythic creatures are the phoenix, the kirin, the dragon, besides a variety of demons of various sizes, colors, habits, and character. much of the my thology of cho-sen is that common to chinese asia. instead of a gauery of beautiful human, or partially human, presence^ like that of greece, the mythology of china deals largely with mythic animals, though legendary heroes, sages, and supernatural beings in human form are not lacking. the four chief ideal creatures are the dragon, phoenix, tortoise, and kirin. there is another animal which, though a living reality, the coreans have idealized and gifted with powers supernatural and supra-animal, almost as many in number as those with which the japanese have endowed the white fox. this is the tiger. they not only ascribe to him all the mighty forces and characteristics of which he is actually possessed, but popular superstition attrib shamanism and mythical zoology. 301 utes to him the powers of flying, of emitting fire and hurhng lightning. he is the symbol of strength and ubiquity, the stand ard of comparison with all dangers and dreadful forces, and the paragon of human courage. on the war-flags this animal is painted or embroidered in every posture, asleep, leaping, erect, couchant, winged, and holding red fire in his fore-paw. on works of art, cabinets, boxes, and weapons the tiger is most frequently portrayed and is even associated as an equal with the four super natural beings. in ancient time he was worshipped. the riong, or dragon, whose figure, as depicted in corean art, is perhaps nothing more than a highly idealized form of an ex tinct geological species of saurian, is one of the four supernatural or spiritually endowed creatures. he is an embodiment of all the forces of motion, change, and power for offence and defence in animal hfe, fin, wiag, tusk, horn, claws, with the mysterious attributes of the serpent. there are many varieties of the species dragon, which is the chief of scaly monsters. it possesses the gift of transformation and of rendering itself visible or invisible at will. in the spring it ascends to the skies and in the autumn buries itself in the watery depths. it is this terrific manifestation of movement and power which the corean artist loves to depict — always in connection with water, clouds, or the sacred jewel of which it is the guardian, and for which it battles, causing commotion in heaven and earth. the dragon is synonymous in chinese philosophy with the third of the four creative influences and indicative of the east and springtime, the blue dragon being the guardian of the east. another cycle of popular notions and artistic ideas is sug gested by its change of bulk, for this omnipotent monster "be comes at will reduced to the size of a silkworm or swollen till it fills the space of heaven and earth. it desires to mount, and it rises until it affronts the clouds ; to sink, and it descends until hidden below the fountains of the deep." the dragon is the embodiment of the watery principle of the atmosphere, and its protean shapes are but the varied ideal expression of the many forms and forces of water. moisture in its fertilizing or destruc tive aspects — from the silent dew to the roaring tempest, from the trickling of a rill to the tidal wave that engulphs cities— blessed, terrible, gentle, irresistible, is symbolized by the dragon. the functions of the celestial dragon are to guard the mansions of the gods in heaven, ^o that they do not fall ; of the spiritual, to cause 302 corea. the wind to blow and produce rain for the benefit of mankind ; of the terrestrial, to mark out the courses of rivers and streams, while another watches over the hidden treasures concealed from mor tals. this last is the dragon that presides over mines and gems, and which mortals must propitiate or overcome in order to gain the precious metals and minerals out of the earth. intense belief in the dragon is one of the chief reasons why the mines in cho sen are so little worked, and the metals disturbed. the dragon pursuing the invaders of their sanctuaries or fighting each other to gain possession of the jewel balls or sacred crystals is a favorite subject in all art of chinese parentage. earely is the whole figure of the vn-ithing creature exposed. partly hidden in clouds or water, he seems ever in motion. there are also four dragon-kings, who have their palaces in the world under the sea, one ruling in the northern, one in the eastern, one in the southern, and one in the western sea. the ministers and messengers of these four monarchs are the terrible dragons whose battles in the air and in the deep are the causes of the commotion of the elements. there is also a dragon without horns, and another that never ascends to the skies. the yellow dragon is reckoned the most honorable of his tribe. in common belief the dragon carries on his forehead a pear-shaped pearl, supposed to possess wondrous virtues of heal ing and power. whoever possesses these jewels will be invincible, and the power of his descendants endure. prom its divine origin and character the dragon is symbolical of au that pertains to the emperor of great china. hence it is made use of not only by him, but by his vassal, the king of cho-sen, and by his rival the mikado of japan. hence the sig nificance of the trio of these sacred jewels on ornaments and instruments belonging to the royal family, whether embroidered on the robes of state worn by the king, surmounting the large drum of his musicians, or glistening in golden embroidery on the banners of his body-guard. the "dragon robe" and "dragon's bed," "dragon standard," refer to the mantle, throne, and flag of the king. in the popular speech, whatever is most excellent is compared to a dragon. a " dragon-cmld " is a paragon, a " dragon horse" is one of extraordinary speed. when "the fish has been metamorphosed into the dragon," some happy change or promotion has taken place — the student-competitor has received his degree of doctorate, or the office-holder has been told by royal appointemnt to " come up higher." shamanism and mythical zoology. 303 the kirin (kilin or lin) is another of the four supernatural creatures of chinese philosophy and mythology, believed in by the coreans, and depicted in corean art especially as a sym bol of peace and joy, and on articles used on auspicious and happy occasions. this beast, which to the corean is a "living creature," has the body of a deer and the tail of an ox, usually highly curled and twisted in a manner to suggest the work of a hair-dresser. on its forehead is a single soft horn. it is said never to tread on or injure any living being. it is the emblem of perfect rectitude, and the incarnate essence of the five primordial elements of au things, viz. : water, fire, wood, metal, earth. it is considered the noblest form of the animal creation. its appear ance on the earth is ever regarded as a happy omen, as the har binger of good government and the birth of good rulers. hence the wealth of associatipn to the oriental mind in the kirin. ,the male beast is called ki and the female rin or lin. the two words combined form the general term kirin. the tortoise is the centre of a great circle of pleasing supersti tions, and hence is one of the set of symbols oftenest employed in corean art. the practice of divination is mostly associated with tortoise-shell, the figuring of a tortoise's back having a mystic sig nification. in chinese legend a divine tortoise emerged from the yellow river, on the shell of which a sage discovered the system of numerals, and thus obtained the foundation of mathematics and the rudiments of philosophy. this tortoise was said to be the embodi ment of the star in ursa major, and the progenitor of all the tortoise tribe. it can transform itself into other forms of life and lives to the age of ten thousand years. hence it is the symbol of long life. it is said to conceive by thought alone. there are said to be ten kinds of tortoises, one of them being half dragon, half tortoise, and with a tail like a fringe of silver. this is the attendant of the god of waters, and hence is often used as the top of a well. the tortoise is also the symbol of immortality and strength, hence is often used over walls and places of entrance. many corean gateways are surmounted with liuge tortoises sculptured in stone. the same idea is expressed in making the representations of this creature, cut from a single rock, the base for monumental tablets set into its back. the great seal of state, the regalia of sovereignty in cho-sen, has the form of a tortoise. the phoenix is also repre sented as standing upon a tortoise. closely connected with the hindoo idea of the world resting on an elephant which stands on 304 corea. a tortoise, is the chinese idea of " supporting the earth with the feet of a tortoise." a common idea in cho-sen, as in china, is the huge tortoise which supports mountains on its back, and having a shell which is one thousand leagues in circumference. the phcenix (fung-wang or howo), like the kirin, appears on the earth at or near the birth of a good ruler, and hence is the emblem of peace and good government. the male is caued fung, or ho, and the female wang, or wo, hence the generic name fuqo'-wang or howo. in its marvellous plumage the sheen of the five colors may be descried, each of which is typical of the five cardinal virtues. in figure it seems to be an ideal combination of the peacock and the golden pheasant, but with feathers won drously curled and made into ringlets. it is not only a symbol of auspicious government, but of inseparable fellowship, and many stanzas of poetry refer to it as typical of courtship and conjugal love. in its voice are many intonations, to each of which a name is given. for this reason it is a favorite element in the decoration of musical instruments. another symbol often used is the chinese lion, with marvel lously curled hair and mane. every tuft is a mass of fanciful ring lets, and the beast is so pictured as to make a masterpiece of ugliness and terror. the dog of the breed called ngao, so named after the earth-supporting tortoise, is also liberally furnished with tooth, nail, and hair. it usually cuts the figure of guardian on the edge or lid of vessels in which are kept treasures which, because they tempt the palate, tempt also the fingers that lift to the mouth. the marvellous creature called the dog of fo, or bud dha, usually associated with chinese-buddhist art, is believed to be of corean origin. jacquemart calls it the " dog of corea." other mythical creatures that have their existence in the co rean imagination are in the form of fishes and serpents. the in-6 (fish-man or merman) is a sort of siren that is supposed to inhabit the sea of japan and the eastern sea, but whether partly fabulous or entirely real, we are unable to say. it is six or seven feet long, and in its head and body resembles a human being, as its nose, mouth, ears, and arms, or flippers, are covered with white skin without scales. it has a long and slender tail, like that of a horse. it suckles its young, and sheds tears when its offspring are cap tured. it is probable that this creature, though called a fish man by the coreans, is the animal of which we read, in several instances, being presented to the manchiu emperors in peking. shamanism and mythical zoology. 305 one of them inquired whethersuch a creature was known in europe, and the jesuit friar, producing a book, showed an engrav ing of one similar. perhaps this " fish-man " is the same as a reported " dog-fish or shark," living in the seas around quelpart, whose tears produce pearls. the i-sium, a colossal marine creature, is purely imaginary, like the " earthquake-fish " of the japanese, which causes the con-, tinent to shake. the word is pure corean, and may answer to our symbol of vastness and uncertainty — ^the sea-serpent.mr. fergusson would doubtless find a new chapter for his "tree and serpent worship" in cho-sen, for, in the peninsula, not only are trees reverenced as the abode of spirits, but the sa, or snakes, ai-e rarely, if ever, harmed. the people feed, venerate, and even worship them as the guardian genii of their house holds. the epkuron-gi (a pure cor ean word) is the name by which they oau the serpent which presides over their family edens. instead of being looked upon as the embodiment of the principle of evu, as in semitic lore, their presence is hailed as an omen of blessing. they are treated like pets. in their heads they are be lieved to carry a precious jewel after they have lived long. a serpent often lives to be one thousand years old, and then bears in his front a glisten ing gem, called ya-kang-chiu, which name the people also apply to any ghttering stone, especially the diamond. the guardian serpent is represented as double-winged, with forked tongue, long and darting, flying among the clouds and protecting its worshippers by pursuing their enemies. the illustration here given is copied from one of the war-flags carried by the corean mountaineers from their homes to the forts on the han eiver, in 1871. the staff is tipped with pheasant-feathers and horse-hair. their fear of the serpent is the basis of their worship, and the 20 battle-flag captured by the 'americans in 1871. 306 cobea. average corean does not fail to take due precaution to guard against its sting. in addition to the ordinary osa or black snake, there is the venomous viper, salmo, which "kills its mother at birth." its bite is considered exceedingly dangerous. the tai mang is a great serpent. the flower called kiuk-sa^wa (snake bane), or eye of india, is believed by coreans to keep away the reptiles, and hence is highly valued. hamel and the french missionaries agree in picturing corea as a land well supplied with reptiles, serpents, and vermin of all sorts, and testify to the veneration of them by the people. in the folk-lore of the country, the beasts play a conspicuous part. another creature to whom wings rightfully belong is the gin-mi. this fabulous bird is capable of diffusing so venomous an influ ence that even its shadow poisons food. even the brief list of creatures which we have enumerated does not exhaust the list of the beings which are real and active to the imagination of the people. science and christianity are the remedies for this delirium tremens of paganism. the ancient and still lingering beuef in the powers of the air and all the creatures therein, visible and invisible, is reflected on their triangular and streamer-shaped war-banners. they believe that all these creatures and all the forces of natiu-e are under the control of the spirits, who will give or withhold sunshine or rain, send blasting mildew and pestilence, or fertility, plenty and joy, according as they are pleased or displeased. it wiu be seen at once what a soil the demagogue has for sow ing dragons' teeth, and what frightful popular commotion may be stin-ed up by playing upon the fears of the populace. the most recent illustration of this is seen in the frightful massacre of the ministers and the japanese, in july, 1882. the long drought having ruined the rice crop, the leaders of the anti-foreign faction persuaded the common people that the spirits were annoyed at the introduction of foreigners, and therefore withheld the rain. in this belief they were strengthened from the fact that it rained heavily for many hours after the japanese had been driven out of seoul chapter xxxrv. legends and folk-lore. it is not difficult to appreciate or understand the history of people whose psychology is our own. we seem to look through white light in gazing at their past as told ia the words of a lan guage that grew ia the same mental sunught with our own. li eating fruit that grows on famiuar intellectual soil, we may some times recognize a slightly strange flavor, but the pulp is good food which our mental stomach does not reject, but readily assimilates. truth, like the moon, usually presents one side only, but the mass of mankind do not think of this, even if they know it. they go on blissfully imagining they have seen all sides, even the full orb. with the history of the aryan nations we are familiar, and think it is clear to us. we insist that we know we can understand what they did and that their thoughts need no translation to us. a visitor at the american centennial, or any exposition of the industry of all nations, sees before him for comparative study the art, symbols of religion, architecture, implements of domestic hfe, and au the outward expressions of inward ideas. they are the clothed or concrete soul of man under the varied civilizations of this planet. standing before bhe exhibits of india — the home of the aryan nations — the man of western christendom, as his mind's eye surveys the vastness of difference between him and the hindoo, is yet able to bridge the gulf. the researches into lan guage, art, myths, folk-lore, show him that the infancy of the two races was the same, and that modern differences are impertinent accidents. at bottom the aryan and the hindod are brothers. no such reconciliation of ideas is yet demonstrable between the mongolian and the aryan. before the art, symbols, ideas, literature, language, and physical presence of the man of cathay, no bridging of the gulf seems yet possible. he appears to be a man of another planet language gives as yet little clue to a common origin ; art and symbol seem at the othet pole, and in 308 corea. psychology the difference at present seems total and irrecon cilable. hence, to attempt to write the history of a turanian people by simply narrating bald facts in an occidental language, seems to be but putting another white skeleton in the museum of nations. even the attempt, by a pxirely destructive method of criticism, to manufacture a body, or corpse, rather, of history, by hacking away all legend and tradition to get out what the critic is pleased to call " history," seems at once unnatural and false. it is hke attempting to correlate the genius of shakspeare with ounces of beef and cheese, or to measure the market value of poetry by avoirdupois. a history of an asiatic people ought to be as much a history of mind, of psychology, as of facts or dynasties. hence, in writing of a new and almost unknown people like the coreans, we think it as important to tell what they believe to have hap pened, as to attempt to state what we think actually did happen. to understand a people we must know their thoughts, as well as their physical environment. according to corean tradition, the origin of their country and people is thus outlined : of old the land had neither prince nor chiefs. a divine being descended from heaven anfl took up his abode at the foot of a sandal-wood tree on the ever-white mountains. the people of the land became his subjects, made him their sovereign and called him dan kun (the sandal prince), and his realm cho-sen (morn ing cabn). this took place in the time of tang ti yao (2356 b.c.). his first residence was at ping-an.. later he transferred it to pe-yo, where his descendants remained till the eighth year of the emperor wu ting of the chang dynasty (1317 b.c.), when they were established in mount asstak. his descendants reigned in cho-sen more than one thousand years, but nothing more is known of them after the period covered by their reign. then fol lowed the occupation of the country by the chinese noble ki tsze. the mythical origin and founding of shinra is thus told in the local legends of the place. after the invasion of cho-sen, by the chinese emperor, many of the original inhabitants fled and scat tered over the east coast. they made settlements on the moun tams, in the valleys, and along the sea-shore, some of which in time grew to be cities and large towns. one day the attention of the head man of one of the villages was attracted by the neighing of horses toward a mountain. he went in the direction of the legends and folk-lore. 309 sounds, but instead of a horse he found an egg of extraordinary size, shaped like a gourd. carefully breaking it open, he discov ered a beautiful rosy boy-baby inside. the old man's heart was touched by the sight, and he took the child to his home and adopted it as his own. the boy grew up beloved of all who saw or knew him. when but thirteen years old, the elders of the six principal towns gathered together and chose him as their lord and master. they gave him a name signifying " coming out of the west," and to the country a name meaning " born of the gourd-egg." the new king took to wife a fair maiden who was reputed to be the offspring of a well-dragon. they reigned for sixty years, when their daughter succeeded to the throne. in the fifth year of her reign she married a youth who had come from afar, whose origin was as wonderful as that of her own parents. his mother the queen had been delivered of an egg. her husband, not enjoying such a form of offspring, threw the egg away, but the queen recovering it, carefully wrapped it in a silk napkin, and with many other treasures put it in a box and set it adrift on the sea. after many days the box was washed ashore on a distant coast. the fishermen who picked it up in their nets thought nothing of it, and threw it into the sea again. it drifted into one of the harbors of shinra. an old woman finding it, opened the lid and found a lovely boy with a smile on his face. carefully nourishing him, he grew up to be a man of strength, nine feet high. he excelled all other youths in bodily vigor and accomplishments. when the old woman first picked up the waif, there were a number of crows standing around the shore, and the crone gave him a name referring to the presence of these birds — "opened in presence of the crows." excelling in the knowl edge of geomancy, he found a good place for a residence and built on it. hearing of his renown, the queen of shinra niarri.ed him to her daughter. one evening the newly made king heard a cock crow in the woods toward the west. he sent his servants after it, who found a small golden casket suspended from a tree. under it a white cock was crowing. the servant reported the matter to his master. another servant was despatched to the place. he returned with the box, which, being opened, was found to contain a boy baby, who was given the name signifying " the golden boy from the grove in which the cock crowed." the baby boy grew up and succeeded his father. in the reign of the twenty-second king of 310 corba. the line, the people of the country, then called shin-han, changed the name of their country to shinra. in the " grammaire coruene " there are a number of speci mens of folk-lore given in corean and french, from which we extract a few of the most characteristic. the first one is an illus tration of our universal human nature. thk theee wishes. tliere were once two old married folks who liad not a single child, boy or girl. extremely poor, they lived a pitiable life. one evening, when it was very cold in winter, after having supped, they gazed into the fire in the bra zier, and sitting in their room face to face they warmed themselves a moment in silence, when the good old man thus spoke : " for the rich the winter is an excellent season ; their food is prepared in advance. having no toil they have only to take their ease. but for the poor, it is a rough time when they have neither food for the mouth nor fuel. if they go out over the mountain through the rain or the snow to seek wood, they die of cold or frost. " the good dame replied : ' ' they say that heaven is just. why then does he permit this ? they say, besides, that when you pray to heaven, it is easy to obtain that which you need. if we ask to become rich — " said she. " you are right, do so," replied the husband. and both prostrating themselves, prayed fervently to the deity, when sud denly an angel appeared. ' ' in spite of your sin of murmuring, heaven having pitied you, accords you three' things, after which you can ask no more. eeflect well, choose, and ask. " saying this he disappeared. the old man made this proposition: "if we ask riches, freedom from sickness, or long life — " "no," said the old woman, " we should not enjoy these things properly if we do not have a child. what pleasure will it be ? " "hold ! i have not asked. what shall i do ? if he had only said four things at the good moment ! why did he say only <ftr«« .^ ^since we wish to have a child, must we forego freedom from sickness, must we renounce riches, must we give up long life ? it is hard to decide. think, then, seriously this night, and decide to-morrow. " breaking off their conversation, both sat plunged in reverie. at the mo ment of lying down to sleep, the old woman, stirring up the fire with the tongs, launched out with this reflection, " if we could have three or four feet of pudding to set to toast on this brazier, that would be royally excellent." she spoke, and there was three feet of food placed by her side. the husband, beside himself with rage, screamed out— " oh ! what a woman ! by one stroke you have lost all our benefits. to punish you i wish the pudding would hang itself on the point of your nose." immediately the pudding made a leap and attached itself to the old dame's nose. legends and folk-lore. 311 at this the husband cried out, "hello i angry as i am, i have also by my fault lost a wish." seizing the sausage to detach it, they pulled, first one, then the other, almost dislocating the nose, but the sausage held on. "alas! " said the woman in tears, "if this is always to remain hanging here, how can i live ? " the husband, on the contrary, without being at all disturbed, said, "if even yet our wish of fortune is fulfilled, we could make a tube of gold to hide this sausage, and then drawing it out at length, it will be only more beautiful to see. " the wife, still more miserable, cried out, "oh, wretched me, only to think that fortune should wish to put it there. well ! whether you be rich or live long, as for me, i should like to kill myself." saying this she took a cord and went to strangle herself at the end of a beam. the husband, struck with fear, and touched with compassion, hastened to set her free. "stop," said he, "there remains one wish to us. have your own way about it." "if that is so, i wish that what hangs to my nose comes loose. quick, quick, that it may go swift away. that is my chief wish." she had hardly finished speaking when the sausage fell plump to the ground, and out of the midst of the heaven an angry voice was heard : "you have obtained, the three things which you wished for, and have you gained a great advantage ? if you wish to enjoy true blessing in this world be content to live with what heaven gives, and do not form vain desires. " the two old folks spitted the pudding, ate it, and from this night they abstained from foolish wishes. on the morrow, agreeably to their supreme ambition, which was to have a baby, they found a little fatherless and motherless orphan. having adopted it as their child, they gave him a good education and lived happily to extreme old age. the following illustrates official shrewdness and rapacity : the histoey of a nose. in the chief city of chulla, there was a politician who was in debt to the government to the amount of ten thousand strings of cash. unable to pay the same, he was condemned to death. cast into prison, he awaited only the orders of the king to carry out the sentence. as he had thought hard with out discovering any means to get out of the affair, he bethought himself of a stratagem. so, addressing the jailer, he said : " helloa ! you there, you'll do well to let me go free a little while." " helloa ! " answered the jailer, " what wretched talk i after i have set free a man who ought to be put to death to-morrow or day after to-morrow, what shall j do?" the prisoner replied, " are we not friends both of us ? if you do not let me go, who can save my life? think over it a little and see. my wife, my children, my house, all i have, all my relations and friends being here, where 312 corba. shall i fly ? if you set me at liberty for some moments not only will i not ah soond but there will be found means for preserving my life safely. do so." as he thus besought him eagerly, the jailer, struck with compassion, could not do otherwise than let him go. so at midnight he presented himself before the door of the room where the governor slept, and thus addressed him. "are you asleep ? is your excellency sleeping ? " hearing the sound and astonished at recognizing the voice of the officer who had been cast into prison and was to be executed in a short time, the gov ernor asked. "who are you?" "tour servant," answered the officer. " a scoundrel who is at the point of being executed, how is it you are here? " "if i may be allowed to enter to salute you," said the officer, "i have something particular to say to you. " " oh, well, come in and speak." the officer entering, approached, sat down, and said : "i pray your excellency to reflect and consider my purpose. if you put your servant to death this will be simply one man of means less in the world, and the money i owe will be lost to the government. what advantage will you thus derive? if, on the contrary, you preserve my life there will be one man more in the world, and i shall repay the whole of^my debt to the govern ment. let me then live. " " if it ought to be so i wish you well in the matter. " "your servant will come again, then, to-morrow, during the night, to see you." "do as you will." the morrow during the 'night the officer presented himself anew and asked to be introduced. approaching he made the prostrations before the governor, drew from his sleeve a packet which he undid and took out a sketch represent ing a human nose. he immediately besought the governor to please put his seal upon the sketch. agreeing to the proposal the governor imposed his seal. the officer now associated three companions who were in the plot, and they all assembled upon the coast of the eastern sea, where they found a populous village, in the midst of which rose a high and grand mansion. taking their drink of spirits at a hotel in the suburbs of the next village beyond, they pre pared to sup. addressing their host they put this question : "what is the name of the village which is just behind us? whose is the largest house?" the inn-keeper answered, " that is the house of a very rich noble. last year he received the degree of the doctorate and is eligible to fill very soon a very high position under the government." the officer taking with him one of his comrades repaired to the mansion, where, as he noticed, everything showed abundant means, and thus spoke to the son. "as we have a secret affair to treat of, let us go into another room," said the officer. legends and folk-lore. 313 they did so. " see here, the king is very sick, and they have called all the physicians from all the eight provinces for a consultation. they have de clared that the only means to obtain healing is to find the nose of a man just like this, and to concoct a remedy from it. this is why we have been com manded by the court, where they have said to us, putting in our hand this sketch of the nose. 'without distinction of place or person if you meet a nose similar to this, strike it o£b and produce it before us in this place.' obeying this severe order we have been out many times without being able to find a ' nose conforming to the sketch, and thus far have made useless journeys, but now, without peradventure, your honorable father's nose exactly resembles this. we demand to see him, and wherever he may be we shall not depart till we have out it off." the son cried out: " perjiaps they do say such things ! " "who dare oppose the government business? hurry, hurry, strike it off and we'll go." the son fell into a study and reflected. " it is an affair of state. this is a matter which we cannot prevent. cut it off, they say, but to out off the nose of my old father, that is altogether im possible. the entire family, men, women, young and old, every one will be plunged into woe. you can bear away the half of our fortune at least, if you wiu go away without taking my father's nose. " the officer replied, "we had proposed to ourselves to depart only after having cut off the nose. however, as this is a matter of a son devoted to his father, and that they may not repress filial piety in others, we shall not cut off the nose. if you will give us a certain sum we will go elsewhere to procure a nose which we shall present to the king." he accepted with thanks a sum equal to many times ten thousand strings of cash, for which he gave a receipt, told the sender of the money such a day, such a place,' and on leaving offered this recommendation : "upon the whole, say nothing of this affair. if it should leak out, and the government comes to know that having found a proper nose we have been bribed not to cut it off, we shall be arrested and put to death, they will cer tainly cut off your father's nose and take your money also. pray then be care ful not to divulge this secret." upon this they took their leave. overjoyed at not having his parent's nose amputated, but believing that the king on being informed would send again on this business, the sou dared let no one know until the day of his father's death. then breaking the silence he said, " i have bought my father's nose for thousand strings of cash." the story here told explains itself. cheng-chong was the har otin al easchid of corea. an instance of eoyal solicitube. there was in cho-sen a king called his majesty cheng-chong, who was cel ebrated in all the kingdom for his goodness. one night, disguised as a coun tryman, and accompanied only by a single companion, he started out from the midst of the capital to make a circuit in order to inform himself of the temper of his subjects, and to become himself acquainted with the details of their life. 314 corea. arrived at a certain point he looked in the window. there was a miser able house, of which the outer dilapidation, extremely pitiable as it was, led him to suspect in the interior a state of things difficult to imagine. eagerly wishing to know what it was, he punched a peep-hole in the paper door and perceived an old man weeping, a man in mourning singing, and a nun or widow dancing. unable to divine the cause of this, spectacle, he ordered his companion to call the master of the house. the king's servant doing so, said : " is the proprietor of the house at home ? " hearing this voice the man in mourning made his appearance. his majesty saluting him said : " we have never before met." " true," said the man in mourning, "but whence are you ? how is it that you should come to find me at midnight ? to what family do you belong ? " cheng-chong answered, " i am mr. ni, living at tong-ku-an. as i was passing before your house, i was attracted by strange sounds. then by a hole which i made in the door, i saw an old man weeping, a nun who danced, and a gentleman in mourning who sang. why did the old man shed tears, the nun dance, and the man in mourning sing ? unable to fathom the motive i have made my friend call the hoxiseholder with the purpose of informing myself." the man in mourning rejoined, " have you any business to know other people's matters ? what is your reason for acting thus when it concerns you so little ? the night is well gone. get back as quickly as possible." "no, not at all. i acknowledge that it is not becoming to pry into the af fairs of others, but this is such an extraordinary case i beg of you give me some light on the matter." "alas!" said the man in mourning, "why is the gentleman so eager to know other people's matters ? " cheng-chong replied, " it is important that i should be somewhat informed. " " since the gentleman wishes so much to know, i cannot do other than tell. this is why. my family has always been poor. in my hut one could never find sufficient grain for a meal and one flea would not have enough room upon my land to squat upon. i have no victuals for my old father. this is why, morning and evening, in default of all other resource,. my wife has often cut off a tress of her hair and gone and sold it to buy a cup of bean-soup, which she graciously offers to my father. this evening she clipped and sold all of her hair that remained, and by this she has become bare-headed like a nun. my old father, seeing that for his sake his yoimg daughter-in-law has become a nun, broke out into mourning in these terms : "' why have i lived to this day ? why am i not dead ? why have i thus degraded my daughter-in-law ? ' and in saying this he shed tears. to con sole him, my wife said to him, ' do not weep,' and she danced. i, also, al though in mourning, joined in with my wife. one danced, the other sang. this made my old father smile, and perhaps gave him solace. there i that is why we behaved so. do not think it stralige, and go away." listening to this narrative the king was impressed with such a marked su preme devotion on the part of the son and daughter-in-law, even in the time of deepest misfortune, and he said, "this is the most extraordinary thing in the world. how will it do to present you at the examination to-morrow ? " legends and folk-lore. 315 " what examination to-morrow ? " asked the man. "why, certainly," said cheug-chong, " to-morrow there will be an examin ation. by all means don't fail to be there." the man responded, " but i have not heard it said that there is to be an examination. " "whether you have heard or not," said the king, "prepare to compete, and present yourself. as i shall also present myself to-morrow i shall give you a stall in the enclosure." having thus spoken he took his leave, returned to the palace and awaited the stroke of the great clock-bell. no sooner did he hear the vibration of the mighty gong than he immedi ately gave the order to announce promptly the examination in the city, and beyond the walls, to the utter astonishment of the literary men, .who said, "even until yesterday no one had heard of an examination, and behold it was published during the night. what does this mean ? " the poor householder on his part made this reflection, " although i knew nothing about it, this man knows perfectly," and he started out. on the way he noticed a crowd of candidates. without hesitation he entered the enclosure. the subject of the examination was : " the song of a man in mourning, the dance of a nun, the tears of an old man. " of all the students not one could derive the sense of such a subject. this man alone knew it perfectly well, because he had had experience of those very things in his own house. he treated the theme clearly and sent in his copy. the king having examined the essay and found it without a mis take, gave the degree of doctor and sent for him to come to him. when they were in each other's presence the king said : "do you know me? it is i who yesterday recommended you to present yourself at the examination. lift up your head and look. " fixing his gaze attentively, the man recognized who he was — in effect the same person — and manifested his feelings in appropriate actions of gratitude. " go quickly," said the king to him, " go find your old father and wife." forthwith, with high appointment to office joined to magnificent treat ment, the king recompensed the filial piety of the son and daughter-in-law. the royal renown has been handed down from generation to generation. in truth, beyond the goodness of the king, the reward bestowed upon the filial devotion of these two married people is known to every one. evidently the following is a story told by metropolitans to show up the bumpkias of the provinces : the pkodigiotts effects of a looking-glass. a young noble of kiung-sang province was going on a journey to seoul. just as he was about to depart, his wife called him. "he ! say now, listen to me a little. i have heard the mother of mr. kim speak of a very lovely thing which looks like glass and pretty metal. they say that if you look in it you will see a very curious thing. you must bring me one." 316 corea. " is it dear or cheap? " asked the husband. " it is not dear," said she. " it will be necessary to spend some money, but if you heed the matter at all, it will be easy to pay for it." this is what the husband heard as he set out for the capital. having finished his business at seoul he was on the point of returning, having almost lost sight of his wife's order. at last he recalled it, asked the name of the object in question, and made the purchase of a mirror through one of his friends. in his eagerness to get home he put his wife's commission in his wallet without even looking at it. when he arrived home, she hastened to take out the mirror. at once she perceived in it a woman. immediately she began to weep and to berate her husband, ' ' oh the villain ! not only to play himself the vagabond and debauchee but to bring along a concubine ! is it possible ? this woman, what is she? " the amazed husband looked in the mirror, and at the side of his wife per ceived a man. unable to contain his wrath which made his face first dark and then blue, he uttered piercing cries. " is this the conduct for the wife of a noble._ you have brought a libertine here," cried he. he was about to mxirder his wife, when his old mother hearing the squabble came in to know what it was. at sight of the old woman the quarrel ceased on either side. pointing at the mirror, the rivals spoke both at once. the weeping daughter-in-law raved about a concubine, the son, even more angry, talked of a paramour. as the couple had never quarrelled before, there was no way of accounting for the mystery. " do not be vexed," said she, and looking in the mirror she saw a woman. at once she broke out into a laugh. "is it because you see the old woman, your neighbor, that you dispute? the widow pak has come to get some fire," said she, and she went out to speak to her, but she was not there. astonished, she called her husband and said to him " there is in the children's room a very funny thing. tou can see in it all kinds of extraordinary things and they are bickering over it. come and see a little." the venerable gentleman having entered the room perceived in the mirror an aged man. " hello ! the puppy of the teacher tsoi has come to collect his fees and i have not a penny. that is not very nice." the people of the village, one by one, two by two, all without exception looked at the mirror, but unable to comprehend anything, they made a tumult. curious to know what should result, they carried it to the magistrate. at sight of the instrument, the man of authority more astonished than the others, called the policemen and gave them this order : " a new officer has arrived, why have i lost my place? get ready men and horses for him." really believing that he had been cashiered he prepared to leave, when a young policeman after a careful examination of the mirror, pointed out the manner in which the visage of each individual was reflected. chaptee xxxv. proverbs and pithy sayings. shut off, as they axe, from the rest of the world, like fish in a well, the coreans nevertheless have coined a fair share of homely wisdom, which finds ready circulation in their daily speech. their proverbs not only bear the mint-mark of their origin, but reflect truly the image and superscription of those who send them forth. many, indeed, of their current proverbs and pithy expressions are of japanese or chinese origin, but those we have selected are mainly of peninsular birth, and have the flavor of the sou. do the coreans place the seat of wisdom as they do the point of vaccination, in the nose ? they ask, " who has a nose three feet long?" which means, " if one is embarrassed, how can he put others at ease?" evidently they have a wholesome regard for that member. a "nose of iron" describes an opinionated man and suggests unlimited "cheek." a common expression of the christians, meaning to go to church and pray, is "to see the long nose of the father " — that feature of the french priest's face being looked upon vsdth awe as the seat of wisdom. between the rivals, japan and china, corea probably sees her self in this proverb of the unhappy cur that wanders boneless between two kitchens — the cook in each supposing it has been fed by the other. " the dog which between two monasteries gets nothing." ' corea's isolation is "hke a fish in a well," or "like a hermit in the market-place." they say of a secluded villager, "he knows nothing beyond the place which he inhabits." " one stick to ten blind men," is something very precious. "the cock of the village in a splendid city mansion," is the bumpkin in the capital. "to have a cake in each hand," is to know not which to eat first — to be in a quandary. " a volcano under the snow," is a man of amiable manners who conceals a violent temper. 318 corea. "the treasure which always circulates without an obstacle," is " cash," or sapeks. "an apricot-blossom in the snow," is said when something rare and marvellous happens. "to blow away the hair to see if there is a scar," is to look for a mote in another man's eye, and to hunt for defects. " as diflsciilt as the roads of thibet," is evidently a reminis cence derived from the ancient buddhist missionaries who came from that region. " to put on a suk dress to travel at night," is to do a good action and not have it known. some pithy sayings show the local gauge of sense. " he does not know silver from lead," "he has round eyes," "he can't teu cheese from wheat," he is an idiot. "doesn't know lu from yu." this last refers to two corean letters, jot and tittle. "as opposed as fire and water." " a buckskin man," is a man of no vdll or backbone. "to have a big hand," means to be liberal. "a great blue sea," refers to something very difficult, with no end to it and no way out of it. a man who is " not known in all the eight coasts," is an utter stranger. a very sick person is " a man who holds disease in his arms." "a bag of diseases," is a chronic patient. " who can teu. in seeing a crow flying whether it be male or female?" is a question referring to the impossible. the numeral 10,000 {man) plays a great part m proverbial sayings as "10,000 times certain." corea is a "land of 10,000 peaks." certain success is " 10,000 chances against one." ^'to die 16,000 times and not be regretted," is to be "worthy of 10,000 deaths." ten thousand sorrows means great grief. a mountain is "10,000 heights of a man high." "ten thousand strings of cash," is a priceless amount. man-nin are 10,000 peo ple — all the people in the universe. " to lose one's hands," is to make a fiasco. a comet is an "arrow star." "a hundred battles make a veteran." almost as poetical as the greek " anarithma gelasma" (unnum bered laughings) is this corean description of the sea — "ten thousand flashings of blue waves." proverbs and pithy sayings. 319 " to lose both at a time," is a proverb founded on a native love-story. "when a raven flies from a pear-tree, a pear falls" — appear ances are deceitful, don't hazard a guess. " if one lifts a stone, the face reddens." the coreans are fond of rival feats of lifting. heavy stones are kept for that purpose. "eesults are proportionate to effort put forth." mosquitoes are lively and jubilantly hungry in cho-sen, yet it does not do to fight them with heavy weapons or " seize a sabre to kul a mosquito." a very poor man is thus described : " he eats only nine times in a month," or " he eats only three times in ten days." to say he is ia the depths of poverty is to mention the pathetic fact that " he has extinguished his fire ;" for " he looks to the four winds and finds no friend." "the right and left are dififerent," is said of a hypocrite who does not speak as he thinks. when a man is not very bright he "has mist before his eyes ; " or he " carries his wits under his arms ; " or has " hid den his soul under his arm-pits," or he " goes to the east and goes to the west when he is bothered." like beaconsfield's dictum — " critics are men who have failed in literature and art," is this corean echo, "good critic, bad worker." "on entering a vulage to know its usages," is our "when in rome do as the romans do." " to destroy jade and gravel together," refers to indiscrimi nate destruction. " without wind and without cloud," describes a serene life. "go to sea," is a provincial malediction heavier than a tinker's, and worse than " go to grass." "i am i, and another is another," is a formula of selfish, and corean for "ego et non ego," "i and not l" "a poor horse has always a thick tail" — talent and capacity are badly located. the large number of morals pointed and tales adorned by the tiger are referred to elsewhere. chapter xxxyi. the cobean tiger. the one royal quadruped associated with corea, as the white elephant is with siam, the bison with the united states, or the dromedary with egypt, is the tiger. unlike his relative in india _ that roams in the hot jun gles and along the river bottoms, the corean "king of the mountains" is seen oftenest in the snow and forests of the north, rang ing as far as the fiftieth parallel both actually and ideal ly the tiger is the symbol of power and fierceness. the flag of the tiger-hunt ers, from the northern provinces of ping-an or ham-kiung, who so bravely faced the rifles of the united states marines and sailors in " our httle war with the heathen," in 1871, was a winged tiger rampant, spitting fire, holding the hghtnings in his lifted fore-claws, and thus embodying the powers of earth, air, and heaven. it reminds one of the winged leopard in the vision of daniel, "after this, i beheld, and lo another kke a leopard, which had upon the back of it four wings of a fowl." it is the tutelary genius of the descendants of the aboriginal worshippers of the tiger, who even yet cling to the religion of the soil.' ' this flag was presented by its captors to commodore homer c. blake, by wbose courtesy tbe writer had the sketch made for the cut given above. battle-flag captured in the han forts, the cobban tiger. 321 the caps of the body-guard of the sovereign are decorated ■with the cheek and whiskers of the tiger, in order to inspire terror among beholders. the corean beauty carries among the jewehy and " charms" in the reticule at her waist, a claw of the dreaded pern or tiger, nor can the hardy mountaineer put in the hand of his bride a more eloquent proof of his valor than one of these weapons of a man-eater. it means even more than the edel weiss of other mountain lands. on the floors of the better class of houses the tiger-skin rug not only adorns the best room, but makes the children's play-ground, or the baby's cushion in heu of cradles, which are unknown. the soft hair of these natural rugs is often a finger long. curious toys are made of the fur. the most prized articles among the tribute offerings (in these days, rather a "bonus" or bribe, than a tax or hiunihation) pre sented at the court of peking, as of old at kioto or tedo, are these gorgeous pelts. one of them, which the writer saw recently, the property of a japanese merchant, measured twelve feet long, exclusive of the tail. the symbol of military rank in old japan, as indicative as our shoulder-straps, was a tiger-skin scabbard. especially was it honorable to weax it if captured with one's own hands on "frontier service." the hair of these animals seems to have more of a woouy quality than those from india, whue the orange tint is far less predominant, white taking its place. the black bars are, however, of equal magnificence with the tropical product, and the tail seems to be rather longer. some idea of the great numbers and awful ravages of these huge /elides in the two northern provinces of the peninsular kingdom, may be gained from the common saying of the chinese that " the coreans hunt the tiger during one half the year and the tigers hunt the coreans during the other half." the coreans retort by the proverb born of the desolation that has so often followed the presence of a chi nese army on their soil, whether as invaders or allies : " after the chinese, the tigers.'" as a single man can create the gigantic spectre of the brocken, so in the national literature this one ani mal seems to have cast a measureless shadow of evil influence upon this hermit nation. from the most ancient times it has been an object of religious reverence. " they also worshipped the tiger, which they looked on as a god," was vyritten of the people living on the sea of japan before the christian era. " they had also the many-spotted leopard." a few ofthe national proverbs avill ulustrate the amount of attention which the subject receives 21 322 cobea. in daily life, in art, religion/ and language, and how often it serves to point the morals and adorn the tales told aroimd corean hearths. " a wooden tiger," is the ass in the lion's skin. "a broken-backed tiger" describes impotent and raging mahce. " to give wiags to a tiger," is to add shrewdness to force. "if you don't enter the tiger's lair, you can't get her cubs," is said to spur on the faint heart, "to beard the tiger iq his cave." " a tiger's repast," describes excess in eating, or the gorging which follows after fasting. " to nourish a tiger, and have him devour you," probably states a common fact of history, as well as it depicts ingratitude. " if you tread on the tail of a tiger, you'll know it," explains itself. "it is hard to let go the tail of a tiger," suggests our "fire" after the "frying-pan," or the "other horn of the dilemma ;" while over-cautious people " in avoiding a deer, meet a tiger." men of irascible temper or violent disposition are given the pet name of maing-ho, which means an unusually fero cious tiger or " man-eater." corean shrewdness utilizes the phenomena of local experience, and equals the craft of the sellers of joseph. so common is the disappearance of a villager through visitations of the tiger, that the standard method of escaping creditors or processes of law is to leave bits of one's torn clothes in the woods, and then to abscond. obliging friends or relatives quickly report, " devoured by a tiger," and too often it is believed that "joseph is without doubt rent in pieces." this local substitute for our former g. t. t., or the usual trip to europe, is especially fashionable in places where "tigers as big as a mountain" are plentiful. to drive away the dreaded kal-pem, the people invoke the aid of the tu-e', a fabulous monster, which is the enemy of the tiger, and which the latter greatly fears. the cry of his name tu-e', tu-e', is believed to act as a charm, and is often raised by villagers at night. in art, though the native picture-maker may draw a lion in such preposterous shape and with such impossible attributes as to show at once that no living model was ever before his eyes, yet in those pictures of the tiger drawn by corean artists which we have examined, accuracy and vigor of treatment predominate over artistic grace. the hunters who are familiar with every habit, trait of charac ter, and physical detail of the species, carefully distinguish his parts and varieties. ho-rang-i is the generic name for the felis tigris. kal-pem is a mature fellow in. full claw, scratchy and the corban tiger. 323 ferocious. maing-ho is a large one of unusual size and in the fuu rampanoy of ms vigor. mil-pal is an old brute that can no longer scratch, and is most probably mangy, and well gouged and scarred from numerous household quarrels and frequent tussles with rivals. pi-ho is one ague in tiu-ning tail to escape, rathelsthan in showing teeth to fight — the term being sometimes appued to the leopard. san-tol is a huge fellow that makes annual visits to one place, making his lightning strike more than once in the same spot. siyo-ho is a little, and hal^em is a female, tiger. a " stone" tigress is sterile. special terms suggestive, and even poetical, for the murders, calamities, or ravages of the beast, for traps or ditches, for the skia, tail (used for banners and spear-sheaths), beard, moustaches, and the noises of purring, growling, nocturnal caterwauling, and even for lashing the tau, enrich and vivify the cho-sen vocabulary. tiger-shooting is not a favorite sport among the nobles or young bloods. hunting in general is considered a servile occu pation. nobles, except those of a few poor famihes in the north em provinces, never practise it as sport. yet it is free to all there are no game laws, no proscription of arms, no game pre serves, no seasons interdicted. the only animal which it is forbidden to kill is the falcon, whose life is protected by stringent laws. from the most ancient times this bird of the golden wing has been 'held in high honor. the hunting-grounds are almost entirely among the mountains, as the valleys are too densely occupied with rice and millet fields and cultivated sou, to allow game to exist or be himted. the chief weapon used is the flint-lock, imported from japan. with this a siagle hunter wiu attack the huge game, although the ani mal, when not immedately killed, leaps right upon his enemy and easily makes him his prey. when a tiger has caused great rav ages in a district, the local magistrate caus together au the professional hunters and organizes a hunt in the mountains. in such cases, the chase is usually, and of intent, without results ; for the skin is the property of the government, and the official always looks out for himself, coming in first for the spoils. hence it is that a government hunt is usually a farce. most of the tiger hunters prefer to meet the royal game alone, for then the prized skin, which they sell secretly, is theirs. they eat the meat, and the bones stripped and boiled make various medicines. the number of human lives lost, and the value of property 324 corea. destroyed by their ravages, is so great as at times to depopulate certain districts. a hungry tiger will often penetrate a -village in •which the houses are well secured, and will prowl around a hovel or ill-secured dwelling, during several entire nights. if hunger presses he will not raise the siege until he leaps upon the thatched roof. through the hole thus made by tearing through, he bounds upon the terrified household. in this case a hand-to-claw fight ensues, in which the tiger is killed or comes off victorious after glutting himsek upon one or more human victims. rarely, how ever, need this king of corean beasts resort to this expedient, for such is the carelessness of the villagers that in spite of the man eater's presence in their neighborhood, they habitually sleep during the summer with the doors of their houses wide open, and oftentimes even in the sheds in the open fields without dreaming of taking the precaution to light a fire. this sense of security is especially apt to follow after a grand hunt successfully pursued. then the prey is supposed to have been all killed off in the vicinity or driven to the distant moun tains. the coreans are as careless of tigers as the japanese are of fires. sometimes the tiger is caught in a snare, without danger and by very simple means. a deep pit is covered over with branches, leaves, and earth. at the bottom a sharp stake is set up. this, however, is only rarely used. during the vyinter the snow is half frozen over and strong enough to bear the weight of a man, but is broken through by the paws of the tiger. the beast sinks to the beuy, and not being able to move fast, or es cape, is as helpless as a fly in molasses. it is then apparently quite easy to approach the creature at bay, though woe be to the hunter who is too sure of his prey. to be well-equipped for this method of mountain sport, the hunter must have a short sword, lance, and snow-shoes. these sel-mai, or racquettes, are of slightly curved elastic board, well fitted with loops and thongs. "with dogs, trained to the work, the san-chang (lanceman) starts the game, and following up the trail usually finishes him with a thrust of his spear ; or, in bravado, with a sword-stroke. this method of sport was the favorite one piu'sued by the japanese invaders. though occasionally a man-at-arms was chewed up, or clawed into ribbons, scores of glossy skins were carried back to nippon as trophies by the veterans. indeed, it may be said, to most japa nese children, the nearest country west of them has no other asso ciation in their minds than as a land of tigers. at gensan, the the corean tiger. 32/5 merchants from tokio had their dreary homesickness, about the time of their first new year's season in the strange land, rather unpleasantly enlivened by the advent of several striped man eaters. these promenaded the settlement at night, and seemed highly desirous of tasting a japanese, after having already feasted on several natives. the prospect of playing little eed eiding hood to a whiskered man-eater was not a very pleasant expe rience, though a possible one at any time. a tiger ten feet long can easily stow away two five-feet japanese without grievous symptoms of indigestion. for an untrained hand, even when armed with a winchester breech-loader, to attempt hunting this corean emblem of power is not attractive sport. the tiger is more apt to hunt the man, for elephants are not at hand to fur nish the shelter of their backs. the japanese do not seem to hanker after tiger-claws or skins while in the flesh, but prefer to buy for cash over their own counters at gensan. the " crop " of these costly pelts averages five hundred a year at this one port. few experiences tend more to develop all the manly virtues than facing a tiger on foot in his native wilds. the coreans know this, and in their lack of drilled troops capable of meeting the soldiers of europe — their " army " consisting almost entirely of archers, spearmen, and jingal-firers — they summoned the tigerr hunters from ping-an to fight the frenchmen of admiral boze's expedition of 1866. underrating their enemy, the frenchmen, in attempting to storm a fortified monastery garrisoned by the hunt ers, were completely defeated. "when the marines and sailors of the american naval expedition of 1871 assaulted " fort mckee," after it had been swept by the shells of the fleet, they were amazed at the stern courage of their dark-visaged enemies, who, with matchlock, spear, and sword, fought against the shells and breech-loaders to the last. the americans speak admiringly of these brave fellows, so worthy of their lead and steel. chapter xxxyii. religion. a careful study of the common names applied to the moun tains, rivers, valleys, caves, and other natural features of the soil and landscape of any country -wiu lay bare many of the primitive or hidden beliefs of a people. no words are more ancient than the aboriginal names given to the natural features of a country amid which the childhood of a nation has been spent. with changing customs, civilization, or rehgion, these names stiu hold their place, reflecting the ancient, and often modified, or even vanished, faith. even a casual examination of the mountain, rivei", and other local names of places in corea wiu give one a tolerably clear out line of the beuefs once fully held by the ancient dwellers of this peninsula. against the tenets and influences of buddhism these doctrines have held their sway over the minds of the people and are stiu. the most deeply-seated of their behefs. the statements of ancient chinese, and later of japanese writers, of foreign cast aways, and of the french missionaries all concur in shovdng us that shamanism is the basis of the corean's, and especially the northern corean's, faith. in the first historic accounts of fuyu, kokorai, and the sam-han, we find the worship of the spirits of heaven and earth, and of the invisible powers of the air, of na ture, the guardian genii of hills and rivers, of the soil and grain, of caves, and even of the tiger. they worshipped especially the morning-star, and offered sacrifice of oxen to heaven. from such scanty notices of early corea, especially of the northern parts, we may form some idea of the cultus of the people before buddhism was introduced. prom the reports of recent witnesses, dutch, japanese, and french, and the evidence of language, we incline to the belief that the fibres of corean superstition and the actual religion of the people of to-day have not radically changed during twenty centuries, ia spite of buddhism. the worship of the spii its of heaven ajid earth, of mountains and rivers and caves, of the religion. 327 morning star, is still reflected in the names of these natural ob jects and stiu continues, in due form, as of old, along with the sacrifices of sheep and oxen. the god of the hills is, perhaps, the most popular deity. the people make it a poiat to go out and worship him at least once a year, making their pious trip a picnic, and, as of old, mixing their eating and drinking with their religion. thus they combine piety and pleasure, very much as americans unite sea-bathing and sanc tifieation, croquet and camp-meeting holiness, by the ocean or in groves. on mountain tops, which pilgrims chmb to make a visit for religious merit, may often be seen a pile of stones called siong wang-tang, dedicated to the god of the mountain. the pilgrims carry a pebble fi-om the foot of the moimtain to the top. these pilgrims are among those held in reputation for piety. the other popular gods are very numerous. the mok-sin, the genii of the trees, the god of rain and of the harvest, are au. pro pitiated, but the robust corean, blessed with a good appetite, especially honors gho-an-nim, the tutelary genius of the' kitchen. to a corean, the air is far from being empty. it is thickly inhabited with spirits and invisbue creatures. some of these fig ments of imagination, and the additional powers for good and evil, which the corean attributes to animals of flesh and blood, are treated of in a former chapter on mythical zoology. even the breezes are the breath of spirits, and " a devil's wind " is a tempest raised by a demon intent on mischief. when a person falls dead suddenly, heart-disease is not thought of ; he has been struck by a devil's arrow. there are not wanting sorcerers who seek to obtain supernatural force by magic, which they use against their enemies or for hire, direct the spirits to wreak malignity against the enemy of him who fees them. these sorcerers are social outcasts, and reckoned the lowest of humanity. the unlucky days are three in each month, the figure of iu omen being five. they are the fifth, fifteenth, and twenty-fifth. on all extraordinary occasions there are sacrifices, ceremonies, and prayers, accompanied with tumultuous celebration by the popu lace. the chief sacrifices are to heaven, earth, and to the king or emperor of heaven ' (shang ti of the chinese). ' this word, pronounced in a slightly different way in corean, is the term which dr. james legge, in his ''.religions of china," and many missionaries of reformed christianity, translate god (jehovah, theos), but which the ro man catholic missionaries are forbidden to use. dr. legge holds that shang 328 corea. the various superstitions concerning the direction of evil, the auspicious or the ill-omened lay of the land, the site for the build ing of a house, or the erection of a tomb, will be well understood by those who know the meaning of the chinese term, pung shuy, or the corean pung-siu. this system of superstition has not only its mulions of believers, but also its priests or professors, who live by their expertness and magnify their calling. the native vocab ulary relating to these pretenders and all their works is very pro fuse. among the common sights in corea are little mounds raised on eligible, propitious places, in which a pole is planted, from which little bells or cymbals are hung. these jingled by the breeze are supposed to propitiate the good spirits and to ward off the noxious influences of the demons. the same idea is expressed in the festoons of wind-bells strung on their pagodas and temples. pung-siu means literally "wind and water," but in a' broad sense is a rude cyclopaedia of ideas relating to nature, and bears nearly the same relation to natural philosophy as astrology does to astron omy. its ideas color every-day speech, besides having a rich ter minology for the advanced student of its mysteries. upon this system, and perhaps nearly coeval in origin with it, is the cult of ancestral worship which has existed in chinese asia from unrecorded time. confucius found it in his day and made it the basis of his teachings, as it had already been of the religious and ancient documents of which he was the editor. the corean cult of ancestor-worship seems to present no fea tures which are radically distinct from the chinese. public cele brations are offered at stated times to ancestors, and in every well to-do house will be found the gut and black tablets inscribed with the names of the departed. before these tablets the smoke of incense and sacrifice arises daily. in the temple also are rooms for the preservation of duplicates of the tablets in the private houses for greater safety. like the iron atoms in his blood, the belief in ancestral piety and worship is wrought into the corean' s soul. the christian missionaries meet with no greater obstacle to their tenets and progress than this practice. it is the source, even among their most genuine converts, of more scandals, lapses, and renunciations, than are brought about by all other causea confucianism, or the chinese system of ethics, is, briefly stated, tl is the most ancient title of deity in the language of the chinese, and was used by their ancestors when they held to primitive monotheism. "in the ceremonies at the altars of heaven and earth, they served god " (confucius). religion. 329 an expansion of the root idea of filial piety. it is duty based on relation. given the five great relations, au the manifold duties of life follow. the five relations are that of king and subject (prince and minister), of parent and child, of husband and wife, of the elder brother and the younger brother, and between friends. the cardinal virtues inculcated, or " the five constituents of worth," or constant virtues displayed, according to the teachings of confucius, by the perfect man are : 1, benevolence ; 2, upright ness of mind ; 3, propriety of demeanor ; 4, knowledge or en lightenment ; 5, good faith ; or, affection, justice, deference, wisdom, confidence. with the ethics of the chinese came their philosophy, which is based on the dual system of the universe, and of which in corean, yum-yang (positive and negative, active and passive, or male and female) is the expression. all things in heaven, earth, and man are the result of the iateraction of the yum (male or active prin ciple) and the yang (female or passive principle). even the metals and minerals in the earth are believed to be produced through the yum-yang, and to grow like plants or animals. the confucian ethics, suiting well a state of feudalism, and being ever acceptable to the possessors of authority, found con genial soil in the peninsla, as they had already taken root in kokorai. they nourished the spirit of filial piety and personal loyalty, of feud and of blood-revenge, by forbidding a man to live under the same heaven with the miurderer of his father or master. notwithstanding the doctrines and loftier morals of buddha, the chinese ethics and ancestor-worship, especially in the northern part of the peninsula, underlaid the outward ad herence of the people to the religion of the enlightened one. as the average christian, in spite of the spirit of jesus and the sermon on the mount, is very apt to base his behavior and legal procedure on the code of justinian, so the corean, though he may believe in fo (buddha), practises after the rules of kong-ja (confucius). official sacrifices are regulated by the government and are offered up publicly at the national festivals. something of the regulated subordination in vogue among the chinese prevails in cho-sen when ancestors are honored. high officials may sacrifice to three ancestors, the gentry only to father and grandfather, and the common people to father only. in every province, capital, and city ranked as tai-mu-kan, there are buildings containing statues 330 corba. of confucius and his thirty-two disciples, which are maintained at the puhlic expense. confucianism overspreads the whole peninsula, but during the prevalence of buddhism, from the fourth to the fourteenth cen tury, was probably fully studied and practised only by the learned classes. under the present dynasty, or from the fifteenth century, the religion of china has been both the official and popular cult of cho-sen, long ago reaching the point of bigotry, intolerance, and persecution. taoism seems to be little studied. ti corean mouths buddha becomes pul, and his " way " or doctrine pul-to or ful-chie. introduced into hiaksai in the fourth, and into shinra in the sixth century, the new faith from india made thorough conquest of the southern half of the peninsula, but has only partially leavened the northern portion, where the grosser heathenism prevails. the pabny days of corean buddhism were during the era of korai (from 905-1392, a.d.). the missionary work had been accomplished, the reigning dynasty were pro fessors and defenders of the faith, and for these four centuries it was the religion of the state. the few surviving monuments of this era of splendor are the grand pagodas, monasteries, and tem ples that are found, especially in the southern provinces. the profusion of legal and ecclesiastical terms in the language which relate to lands set apart to provide revenues for the temples, and to their boundaries and rents, and the privileges of monks and priests, are more probably the relies of a past time, being only verbal shells and husks of what were once fruit and kernel. until the fifteenth or sixteenth century the japanese buddhists looked to the " treasure-land of the west," as they termed cho sen, for spiritual and even pecuniary aid in their ecclesiastical enterprises. the special features of many renowned japanese tem ples, libraries, collections of books, images, altar furniture, etc., are of corean origin. this is especially noticeable in the old seats of the faith in kioto. images in gold, gilt wood, bronze, and some fitre-resisting material — perhaps platinum — are known and duly certified by genuine documents in temples in other cities. in a building at kamakura is a copy of the buddhist canon in a revolving library, said to have been obtained by san^tomo from corea in the thirteenth century. among the amusing passages in the letters from ashikaga in kamakura, two hundred years later, is the hint given to the king of corea that a contribution in aid of the repair of certain japanese temples would be acceptable. religion. 83j es the site and general surroundings of corean buddhist tenipk„ and monasteries greatly resemble those of china and japan. they are often situated on mils, rising ground, and even high moun tains, and walled round by lofty and venerable trees which seem to inspire awe and veneration in the worshipper, besides acting as extinguishers to sparks drifted from neighboring fires. an impos ing gateway is usually built at soma distance before the temple, with massive curved roof of tiles, and flanked by a wall of ma sonry which, in its upper part, consists of plaster tiled at the top. on the frieze of the portal, the name of the temple is inscribed in large chinese characters. sanskrit letters or monograms are occa sionally seen. under a roofed shed in front hangs the drum on which the bonze beats the hours for prayer, or of the clock. on the other side stands the coffer for the cash of the faithful, or a well for the manual ablutions of pious worshippers. boards, on which are written the names of those who have contributed money to the temple, are suspended near by, and the thatched houses of the neophytes and bonzes are close at hand. the idols seen in a corean temple are the same as those found throughout buddhist asia. the chief is that of shaka muni, or buddha, the founder of the religion. in their sculpture and artis tic treatment of this, the central figure of theii* pantheon, the image-carvers of the different cotmtries do not greatly vary, ad hering strictly to their traditions. the sage in nirvana sits on his knees with the soles of his feet turned upward to the face. his hands touch, thumb to thumb, and finger to finger. the folds of the robes, the round bead-like caste mark of his forehead, the snails on his crown — which tradition says came out to shelter his head from the rays of the sun — and the lop or pierced ears, are substantially the same as those seen on idols from india, siam, and thibet. the eye is only slightly oblique, and the ear-lobes are made but shghtly bulbous, to satisfy the tastes of worshippers ia chinese asia. the throne, consisting of the fully opened calyx of a lotus flower — the symbol of eternity — with the petals around the base and seed-holes open, is the same. in the representation of local deities the artist asserts his patriotism and displays his own taste. in the various countries overrun by buddhism, the indigenous heroes, sages, and gods have been renamed and accepted by the buddhists as avatars or incarnations of buddha to these countries before the advent of the teachers of " the true religion." there are also saints and 332 corba. subordinate magnates in the buddhist gallery of worshipped worthies, with whose effigies the artist does not scruple to take certain uberties. one can easily recognize an idol of chinese, corean, siamese, orjapanese manufacture, though all bear the same name. the god of war in cho-sen holds the double-bladed sword, with its tasselled cord, and wears the chino-corean armor and helmet. in the aureole round the head are three fiery revolv ing thunder-clouds. on the battle-flags captured by the amer ican forces in 1871 were painted or embroidered the protecting deities of those who fought under them. one of these, whether representing a buddha, as seems most probable, or, as is possible, some local hero — perhaps dan kun or ki tsze — deified, rides on one of the curious little ponies, stunted and piebald, of ham kiung, with which, even in ancient times, one could ride under a fruit tree. evidently it would have been safer for absalom in corea than in woody palestine. the tutelary god on the stunted piebald horse is dressed in the peculiar winged head-dress and frilled couar which travellers on hamrkiung soil noticed fifteen centuries ago. his armor is in scales, or wrought in the " wave-pattern " characteristic of corean art. his shoes and saddle are of the chinese type. he rides among the conventional clouds, which in the native technique, are different from those of either china or japan. evidently the budd ha and saints of shaka muni are portrayed by the native artist according to the strict canons of orthodoxy, while in dealing vrith indigenous deities, artistic licence and local color have free play. most of the artists and sculptors of temple work are priests or monks. the principal idols are of brass, bronze, or gilded wood, the inferior sorts are of stone. the priests dress just like the japanese bonzes. they attend the sick or dying, but have little to do with the burial of the dead, owing to the prev alence of the pung-sui superstition, to which a corean in life and in death is a bond-slave. this all-powerful disease of the intellect is the great corrupter of corean buddhism, many of its grossest ideas being grafted into, or flourishing as parasites on a once pure faith. in its development corean buddhism has frequently been a potent influence in national affairs, and the power of the bonzes has at times been so great as to practically control the court and nulufy decrees of the king. with the fuyu race— that is in cho sen and nihon— the history of buddhism has a decidedly mili religion. 333 tary cast. during the first centuries of its sway in the peninsula the ablest iiiteuects were fed and the ablest men were developed by it, so that it was the most potent factor in corea's civilization. over and over again have the pohtcial and social revolutions been led by buddhist priests, who have proved agitators and warriors as well as recluses and students. possessing themselves of learn ing, they have made their presence at court a necessity. here they have acted as scribes, law-givers, counsellors, and secretaries. often they have been the conservers of patriotism. the shaven pated priest has ever been a standard character in the glimpses of corean history "which we are allowed to catch. not always has this influence been exerted for good, for once possessed of influence at court, they have not scrupled to use it for the purpose of aggrandizing their sects. tradition tells of high nobles won from the pleasures of the palace to the seclusion of the cloisters, and even of corean queens renouncing the bed of their royal spouses to accept the vows of the nuns. as in japan, the frequent wars have developed the formation of a clerical militia, not only able to garrison and defend their fortified monas teries but even to change the fortune of war by the valor of their exploits and the power of their commisariat. there seems to be three distinct classes or grades of bonzes. the student monks devote themselves to learning, to study, and to the composition of books and the buddhist ritual, the tai-sa being the abbot. the jung are mendicant and traveuing bonzes, who solicit alms and contributions for the erection and maintenance of the temples and monastic establishments. the military bonzes (siung kun) act as garrisons, and make, keep in order, and are trained to use, weapons. many of their monasteries are built on the summit or slopes of high mountains, to which access is to be gained only with the greatest difficulty up the most rocky and narrow passages. into these fastnesses royal and noble professors of the faith have fled in time of persecution, or pious kings have retired after abdica tion. in time of war they serve to shelter refugees. it was in attackihg one of these strongholds, on kang-wa island, in 1866, that the french marines were repulsed with such fearful loss. many temples throughout the country have been erected by the old kings of korai or by noblemen as memorials of events, or as proofs of their devotion. the building of one of these at great expense and the endowment of others from government 384 corea. funds, sometimes happens, even during the present dynasty, as was the ease in 1865, when the regent was influenced by the bonzes. he rebuilt the temple in an unparalleled style of magnificence, and made immense presents to other temples out of the public treasury. it has been by means of these royal bounties, and the unremitting collection of small sums from the people, that the bonzes have amassed the vast property now held by them in eccle siastical edifices, lands, and revenues. some of these mountain monasteries are large and stately, with a wealth of old books, manuscripts, liturgical furniture, and perhaps even yet of money and land. the great monastery of tong-to-sa, between kiung sang and chuua, is noted for its library, in which wiu be found the entire sacred canon. the probabilities of american or eu ropean scholars finding rare treasures in the form of sanskrit mss. in this unsearched field are good, since the country is now opened to men of learning from christendom. as a rule, the com pany of monks does not number over ten, twenty, or thirty, re spectively, in the three grades of temples. hamel tells us that they live well and are jolly fellows, though his opinion was some what biased, since he remarks that "as for rehgion, the coreans have scarcely any. . . . they know nothing of preaching or mysteries, and, therefore, have no disputes about religion." there were swarms of monastics who were not held in much respect. he describes the festivals as noisy, and . the people's behavior at them as boisterous. incense sticks, or "joss" per fumery, seemed very much in vogue. he bears witness to their enjoyment in natural scenery, and the delightful situation of the famous temples. even at the present day, buddhist priests are made high officers of the government, governors of provinces, and military advisers. like as in japan, buddhism inculcates great kindness to animals — the logical result of the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, and all who kiu are under its ban. though beef, pork, and mutton are greedily, eaten by the people, the trade of the butcher is considered the most degraded of all occupations, and the butchers and leather dressers form a caste below the level of humanity, like the etas in japan. they are beneath the slaves. they must live in villages apart from the rest of the people, and are debarred from receiving water, food, fire, or shelter at the hands of the people. the creation of this class of corean pariahs and the exclusion of these people from the pale of recognized so religion. 335 ciety is the direct result of the teachings of the bonzes. like the chinese, and unlike the japanese bonze, the devotees will often mutuate themselves in the frenzy of their orgies, ia order to gain a character for holiness or in fulfilment of a vow. one of these bonzes, appointed by the magistrate to dispute publicly with a christian, had lost four fingers for the sake of manufacturing a reputation. the ceremony of pul-tatta, or "receiving the fire," is undergone upon taking the vows of the priesthood. a moxa or cone of burniag tinder is laid upon the man's arm, after the hair has been shaved off. the tiny mass is then lighted, and slowly burns into the flesh, leaving a painful sore, the scar of which remaiqs as a mark of holiness. this serves as initiation, but if vows are broken, the torture is repeated on each occasion. in this manner, ecclesiastical discipline is maintained. in the nunneries are two kinds of female devotees, those who shave the head and those who keep their locks. the po-sal does not part with her hair, and her vows are less rigid. hamel mentions two convents ia seoul, one of which was for maidens of gentle birth, and the other for women of a lower social grade. excepting in its military phases, the type of corean buddhism approaches that of china rather than of japan. in both these countries its history is that of decay, rather than of improvement, and it would be difficult indeed for shaka muni to recognize the faith which he founded, ia the forms wliich it has assumed in cho-sen and nippon; nor did it ever succeed in making the thorough missionary conquest of the former, which it seciu'ed ia the latter, country. the priority of the confucian teachings and the thorough iadoctrination of the people in them, the nearness of china, the close copying of chinese manners, customs, and ma terialistic spirit, the frequency of chiaese conquests, and perhaps the presence of an indigenous religion even more strongly marked than that of shinto in japan, were probably the potent reasons why buddhism never secured so strong a hold on the corean in tellect or affections as upon the japanese. nevertheless, since buddhism has always been largely professed, and especially if confucianism be considered simply an ethical system and not a religion proper, corea may be classed among buddhist countries. among the surprises of history is the fact that, in 1876, the shin, or reformed sect of japanese buddhists, sent their missionaries to corea to preach and convert. among their conquests was a young native of ability, who came to kioto, in 1878, to study the 336 corea. reformed buddhism, and who later returned to preach among his own people. in 1880 five more young coreans entered the shin theological school in kioto, and a new and splendid shin temple, dedicated to amida buddha, has been built at gensan. evidently this vigorous sect is resolutely endeavoring, not only to recoup the losses which christianity has made in its ranks in japan, but is determined to forestall the exertions of christian missionaries in the peninsula. so thoroughly saturated is the corean mind with chinese philosophy (p. 339) that when of necessity a national emblem or flag must be made, the symbol expressive of the male and female, or active and passive principles dominating the universe, was selected. though corea excels in the variety of her bunting and the wealth of symbolism upon her flags and streamers, yet the national flag, as now floated from her ships, custom-houses, and legations in the united states and europe, has an oblong field, in the centre of which are the two comma-shaped symbols, red and black, of the two universal principles. in each of the four corners of the flag is one of the pak-wa or eight diagrams, consisting of straight and broken lines, which fu-hi, the re puted founder of chinese civilization, read upon the scroll on the back of the dragon-horse which rose out of the yellow river, and on the basis of which he invented the chinese system of writing.. in these diagrams the learned men in chinese asia behold the elements of all metaphysical knowledge, and the clue to all the secrets of nature, and upon them a voluminous literature, containing divers systems of divination and metaphysical exegesis, has been written. the eight diagrams may be expanded to sixty-four combinations ; or, are reducible to four, and these again to their two primaries. the con tinuous straight line, symbol of the yum principle, corresponds to light, heaven, masculinity, etc. the broken line symbolizes the yang principle, corresponding to darkness, earth, femininity, etc. these two lines signify the dual principle at rest, but when carved or comma-shaped, betoken the ceaseless process of revolution in which the various elements or properties of nature indicated by the diagrams mutually extinguish or give birth to one another, thus producing the phenomena of existence. professor terrien de lacouperie sees in the pak-wa a link between baby lonia and china, a very ancient system of phonetics or syllabary explaining the pronunciation of the old babylonian characters and their chinese deriva tives. it is not likely that morse derived the idea of his magneto-electric telegraphic alphabet from the chinese diagrams. possibly the corean literati who suggested the design for a national flag intended to show, in the brightly colored and actively revolving germs of life set prominently in the centre, and contrasted with the inert and immovable straight lines in the background of the corners, the progressive corea of the present and future as contrasted with corea of the past and her hermit-like existence. significantly, and with un conscious irony of the virginia advertisers, the new corean flag was first pub lished to the western world at large on the covers of cigarette packages. for centuries the energies of coreans have been wasted in tobacco smoke, and the era of national decay is almost synchronous with the introduction of tobacco. chaptee xxxviii. education and culture. corea received her culture from china, and gave it freely to japan. if we may believe the doubtful story of ki tsze, then the coreans have possessed letters and writing, or, what is the equiva lent thereto, they have had "civilization," dui-ing three thousand years. it is certain that since about the opening of the christian era, the light of china's philosophy has shone steadily among corean scholars. japanese early tradition — unworthy of credence in the matter of chronology — claims that literatxire was brought to nippon as early as the period 157-30 b.c. the legend of jingu bringing back books and manuscrpts from shinra is more prob able ; while the coming of wani from hiaksai, to teach the chi nese characters and expound the classics, is a historic fact, though the real date may be uncertain, or later than the accepted one, which is 285 a.d. while the kokorai people may have brought letters with them, as they migrated southward, in hiaksai the confucian analects were not studied until the fourth century, . when official recognition of education was made by the appoint ment of hanken as master of chinese literature. this is said to have been the first importation of learning into the peninsula. it was so in the sense of being formally introduced from china into the country south of the ta-tong river. as in most of the asiatic countries, into which chinese' culture penetrated, popular education was for centuries a thing imthought of. learning was the privilege of a few courtiers, who jealously guarded it from the vulgar, as an accomplishment for those about the royal person, or in the noble families. the classics and eth ical doctrines seem in every case to have penetrated the nations surrounding the middle kingdom, and formed the basis of coiuiily and aristocratic education. ' buddhism furnished the popular or democratic element, which brought learning to the lower strata of society. neophytes were 23 338 coeea. usually taken from the humbler classes, and thus culture was diffused. even the idols, pictures, and scrolls, with the explana tions and preaching in the vernacular, • served to instruct the peo ple and lift their thoughts out of the rut of every-day life — a result which is in itself true education. wherever buddhism penetrated, there was more or less literature prublished in the speech of the unlearned, and often the first books for the people were works on religion. china gave her language and ideographs ; india sent sanskrit and phonetic letters, from which syllabaries or a,lphabets were constructed, not only for vernacular writing and printing, but as aids to the easier apprehension and more popular understanding of the tenets of confucius. the corean syllabary seems to have been first invented by chul-chong, one of the ministers at the court of the king of shinra, in the seventh century. this was the nido ; uke the icana of the japanese, purely a collection of syllables and not a true alphabet. the nido was made by giving to some of the commoner chinese characters a phonetic value, though the idea of having a vernacular system of vreiting was most probably suggested by the sanskrit letters, ' some of which accurately represented corean sounds. the true alphabet of the coreans, called unmun (common language), was invented by a buddhist priest named syel-chong, or sye' chong, who is regarded as one of the ablest scholars in the literary annals of corea. the "gramm^ire coreene" states that this took place under the dynasty of wang, at sunto, " toward the end of the eighth or ninth century of the christian era." this is a palpable mistake, as the dynasty of wang was not established at sunto until the tenth century. mr. aston, whose researches are based on the statements of corean and japanese writers, believes that the un mun, or true corean alphabet, " was invented not earlier than the first half of the fifteenth century." yet, in spite of their national system of writing, the influence of the finished philosophy and cul ture of china, both in form and spirit, has been so great that the hopelessness of producing a copy equal to the original became at once apparent to the corean mind. stimulating to the receptive ' dr. d. bethtine mccartee, a well-known american scholar, writing on elu kin, says : " the art of spelling was invented neither by the chinese nor by the japanese. its introduction into both these countries (and, as we are convinced, into corea as well) was the result of the labors of . . . i,he early buddhist missionaries. in all the three countries ... the systen.'. of spelling is most undoubtedly of sanskrit origin." education and culture. 339 intellect, it has been paralyzing to all originality. the culture of their native tongue has been neglected by corean scholars. the consequence is, that after so many centuries of national ufe, cho sen possesses no literature worthy of the name. only in rare cases are native books translated into either chinese or japanese. at present, corean literary men possess a highly critical knowledge of chinese. most intelligent scholars read the classics with ease and fluency. penmanship is an art as much prized and as widely practised as in japan, and reading and writing con stitute education. from the fifth to the seventeenth century the corean youth of gentle blood went to nanking to receive or com plete their education. since peking has been the chinese capital (under the mongols from 1279, and under the ming emperors from 1410) few young men have gone abroad to study until within the last year, when numbers of corean lads have entered the naval, military, and literary schools of the imperial government. the practical democratic element pervading china was long absent from the nations which were her pupils and vassals. of all these borrowers, corea has most closely imitated her teacher. she fosters education by making scholastic ability, as tested in the literary examination, the basis of appointment to office. this " civil service reform " was established in cho-sen by the now ruling dynasty early in the fifteenth century. education in corea is public, and encouraged by the government only in this sense, that it is made the road to government employ and official pro motion. by instituting literary examinations for the civil and military service, and nominally opening them to au competitors, and filling all vacancies with the successful candidates, there is created and maintained a constant stimulus to culture. \ ^corean culture resembles that in mediaeval europe. it is extra-vernacular. it is in latin — the latin of eastern asia — the classic tongue of the oldest of living empires. this literary instru ment of the learned is not the speech of the modem chinamen, but the condensed, vivid, artificial diction of the books, which the chi nese cannot and never did speak, and which to be fully understood must be read by the eye of the mind. the accomplished scholar of seoul who writes a polished essay in classic style packs his sen tences with quotable felicities, choice phrases, references to his tory, literary prismatics, and kaleidoscopic patches picked out here and there from the whole range of ancient chinese literature, and imbeds them into a mosaic — smooth, briuiant, chaste, and a 340 coeba. perfect unity. this is the acme of style. so in the corean mind, the wise saws and ancient instances, the gnomic wisdom, quota tions and proverbs, poutical principles, precedents, historical examples, and dynasties, are all chinese, and ancient chinese. his heaven, his nature, his history, his philosophy, are those of confucius, and like the chinaman, he looks down with infinite contempt upon the barbarians of christendom and their heterodox conceptions of the universe. meanwhile his own language, litera ture, and history are neglected. the corean child begins his education by learning by voice, eye, and pen, the simple and beau tiful native alphabet of twenty-five letters, and the syllabary of one hundred and ninety or more combinations of letters. he learns to read, and practises writing in both the book or square style and the script form or running hand. the syllabary is not analyzed, but committed to memory from sight and sound. spell ing is nearly an unknown art, as the vowel changes and require ments of euphony — so numerous as to terrify the foreign student of corean — are quickly acquired by ear and example in childhood. with this equipment in the rudiments, which is all that nearly all the girls, and most of the boys learn, the young reader can master the story-books, novels, primers of history, epistles, and the ordi nary communications of business and friendship. if the lad is to fouow agriculture, cattle-raising, trade, mining, or hunting, he usually learns no more, except the most famuiar chinese char acters for numbers, points of the compass, figxires on the clock dial, weights, measures, coins, and the special technical terms necessary in his own business. thus it often happens that a corean workman, like a chinese washerman, may be perfectly familiar with the characters even to the number of hundreds re lating to his trade or occupation, and yet be utterly unable to read the simplest book, or consti-uct one chinese sentence. "with the chinese characters, one can write english as well as corean or japanese, but a thorough knowledge of the terms necessary to a sailor, a jeweller, a farmer, or a lumber merchant would not enable one to read ivanhoe or wordsworth. if the corean lad aspires to government service, he begins early the study of the " true letters " or " great writing." the first book put into his hands is, " the thousand character classic." this work is said to have been composed by a sage in one night— a labor which turned the hair and beard of the composer to whiteness. in it no character is repeated, and all the phrases ai-e education and culture. 341 in two couplets, making foiir to a clause. the copies for children are printed from wooden blocks in very large type. at the right side of each character is its pronunciation in corean, and on the left the equivalent corean word. the sounds are first learned, then the meaning, and finally the syntax and the sense of the passages. meanwhile the brush-pen is kept busily employed until the whole text of the author is thoroughly mastered by eye, ear, hand, and memory. in this manner, the other classics are committed. edu cation at first consists entirely of reading, writing, and memoriz ing. etiquette is also rigidly attended to, but arithmetic, mathe matics, and science receive but slight attention. after this severe exercise of memory and with the pen, the critical study of the text is begun. passages are expounded by the teacher, and the commentaries are consulted. essays on lite rary themes are written, and a style of elegant composition in prose and verse is striven for. for the literary examinations in the capital and provinces, the government appoints examiners, who give certificates to those who pass. those who succeed at the provincial tests, are eligible only to subordinate grades of employ in the local magistracies. the aspirants to higher honors, armed with their diplomas, set out to seoul to attend at the proper time the national examination. the journey of these lads, full of the exultation and hvely spirit born of success, moving in hilarious revelry over the high roads, form one of the picturesque features of out-door hfe in corea. the young men living in the same dis trict or town go together. they go afoot, taking their servants with them. pluming themselves upon the fact that they are sum moned to the capital at the royal behest, they often make a roy stering, noisy, and insolent gang, and conduct themselves very much as they please. the rustics and villagers gladly speed their parting. at the capital they scatter, putting up wherever accom modations in inns or at the houses of relatives permit. though young bachelors form the majority at these examina tions, the married and middle-aged are by no means absent. gray-headed men try and may be rejected for the twentieth time, and grandfather, father, and son occasionally apply together. on the appointed day, the several thousand or more competi tors assemble at the appointed place, with the provisions which are to stay the inner man during the ordeal. the hour preparatory to. the assignment of themes is a noisy and smoky one, devoted to study, review, declamation, or to eating, drinking, chatting, or 342 corba. sleeping, according to the inclination or habit of each. the ex amination consists of essays, and oral and written answers to ques tions. during the silent part of his work, each candidate occupies a stall or cell. the copious, minute, and complex vocabulary of terms in the language relating to the work, success and failure, the contingencies, honest and dishonest shifts to secure success, and what may be called the student's slang and folk-lore of the subject, make not only an interesting study to the foreigner, but show that these contests subtend a large angle of the corean gentleman's vision during much of his lifetime. examination over, the disappointed ones wend their way home with what resignation or philosophy they may summon to their aid. the successful candidates, on horseback, with bands of musicians, visit their patrons, relatives, the examiners and high dignitaries, re ceiving congratulations and returning thanks. then fouows the inevitable initiation, which none can escape — corresponding to the french " baptism of the line," the german " introduction to the fox," the english "fagging," and the american "hazing." one of the parents or friends of the new graduate, an " alum nus,'' or one who has taken a degree himself, one also of the same political party, acts as godfather, and presides at the ceremony. the graduate presents himself, makes his salute and takes his seat several feet behind the president of the party. with au gravity the latter proceeds, after rubbing up some ink on an ink-stone, to smear the face of the victim with the black mess, which while wet he powders thickly over with flour. happy would the new gradu ate be could he escape with one layer of ink and flour, but the roughness of the joke hes in this, that every one present has his daub ; and when the victim thinks the ordeal is over new persons drop in to ply the ink -brush and handful of flour. meanwhile a carnival of fun is going on at the expense, moral and pecuniary, of the graduate. eating, drinking, smoking, and jesting are the or der of the day. it is impossible to avoid this trial of purse and patience, for unless the victim is generous and good-natured, other tricks and jokes as savage and cruel as those sometimes in vogue y in american and british colleges follow. after this farce, but not ' until it has been undergone, is the title recognized by society. the three degrees, corresponding somewhat to our b.a., m.a., and ph.d., are c/io-si, chin-sa, kiup-chiei. the diplomas are awarded in the king's name, the second written on white paper, and the third on red adorned with garlands of flowers. the degrees are not x education and culture. 343 necessarily successive. the highest, or the second, may be applied for without the first. the holder of the second degree may obtain ofb.ce in the provinces, and after some years may become a district magistrate or guardian of one of the royal sepiilchres. the high est degree qualifies one to fill honorable posts at the palace and in the capital, in one of the ministries, or to be the governor of a pro vince, or of a great city. properly, the place of a "doctor " is in seoul. the usual term of office is tvro years. the examinations for civil titles and offices attract students of the highest social grade. the military studies are chiefly those of archery or horsemanship, the literary part of their exercises being sught. but one degree, the lowest, is awarded, and if the holder is of gentle blood, and has pohtical influence, he may rise to lucra tive office and honors, but if from the common people, he usually gets no more than his title, or remains a private or petty officer. the system of literary examinations which, when first established, and during two or three centuries, was vigorously maintained with impartiauty, is said to be at present in a state of decay, bribeiy and^leial favor being the causes of its decline. the special schools of languages, mathematics, medicine, art, etc., are under the patronage of the government. the teachers and students in these branches of knowledge form a special class midway between the nobles and people, having some of the privi leges of the former. they may also attend the examinations, gain diplomas, and fill offices. their professions are usually hereditary, and they marry only among themselves. in most respects, these bodies of learned men resemble the old guilds of scholars in yedo, and the privileged classes, like physicians, astronomers, botanists, etc., in japan. there are eight distinct departments of special knowledge. the corps of interpreters include students and masters of the chinese, manchiu, mongol, and japanese languages. these attend the em bassy to peking, have posts on the frontier, or live near fusan. the treaties recently made with the united states and european powers will necessitate the establishment of schools of foreign lan guages, as in tokio and peking. the school of astronomy, geoscopy, and the choice of fortunate days for state occasions is for the special service of the king. corea, hke china, has not yet separated astrology from astronomy, but still keeps up official consultation with the heavenly bodies for luck's sake. the school of medicine trains physicians for the royal. 344 corea. and for the public, service. the school of charts or documents has charge of the archives and the preparation of the official reports sent to peking. in the school of design, the maps, sketches, plans and graphic work required by the government are made, and the portraits of the king are painted. the school of law is closely connected with the ministry of justice, and serves for the instruc tion of judges, and as a court of appeals. the school of mathe matics or accounts assists the treasury department, audits ac counts, appraises values, and its members are often charged with the task of overseeing public works. the school of horology at seoul keeps the standard time and looks after the water-clock. beside these eight services, there is the band of palace musicians. it is evident from all the information gathered from sources within and without the hermit nation, that though there is culture of a certain sort among the upper classes, there is little popular edu cation worthy of a name. the present condition of cho-sen is that of europe in the middle ages. the confucian temples and halls of scholars, the memorial stones and walls inscribed with historical tablets and moral maxims, the lectures and discussions of literary coteries, and the poetry parties concentrate learning rather than diffuse it. the nobles and wealthy scholars, the few monasteries and the government offices possess libraries, but these are but dead chinese to the common people. nothing hke the number of book stores, circulating libraries, private schools, or ordinary means of diffusing intelligence, common in china and japan, exists in corea. science and the press, newspapers and hospitals, clocks and petroleum, and, more than all, churches and school-houses, have yet a mighty work to do in the land of morning calm. paganism and superstition, confucianism and buddhism, hav ing taken root in chosen, each with its educational influence, christianity entered within the last century to plant an acorn within the narrow bottle of the corean intellect. it is needless to say that the receptacle was shattered by the spreading of the oak. the corean body-politic, confronted by this rooted and growing influence, must be transformed. how the seed was dropped, how the tiny stem grew, how the trunk received into its bosom the hghtning bolts of persecution, how the boughs were riven, and how life yet remains, will now be narrated. iii. modern and recent history. modeeiir a'nd eecent histoey. chapter xxxix. the beginnings op christianity— 1784-1794 christianity entered corea through the gates of eome and peking. though some writers have supposed that christianity was introduced into the corean peninsula by the japanese, in 1592, yet it is nearly certain that this religion was popularly unknown until near the end of the eighteenth century. then it entered from the • west, and not from the east. it was not brought by foreigners, but grew up from chance seed wafted from the little garden of the church in peking. the soil upon which the exotic germ first lighted was in the mind of a student well-named by his father, " stonewall," on ac count of his character in choosing a literary career, instead of the hereditary profession which his family wished him to adopt. dur ing the winter of 1777, stonewall was invited to form one of a party of students who were to spend a season of hterary dalliance in company with the famous confucian professor, kwem. the conference, held in a secluded temple, lasted ten days, during which time the critical study of the texts of confucius and mencius was indulged in with keen delight, and the profoundest problems that can interest man were earnestly discussed; but hiost fertilizing to their minds were some tracts on philosophy, mathematics, and religion just brought from peking. these were translations of the writings, or original compositions in chinese of the jesuits in the imperial capital. among these publications were some tracts on the christian and eoman catholic kehgion, treating of the existence of god, divine providence, the immortality of the soul, the conduct of life, the seven capital sins, and the seven 348 corea. contrary virtues. surprised and delighted, they resolved to attain, if possible, to a full understanding of the new doctrines. they began at once to practise what they knew, and morning and evening they read and prayed. they set apart the 7th, 14th, 21st and 28th days of the month as periods of rest, fasting, and meditation. how long they continued this course of life is not known. stouewau, well knowing that his ideas of this new religion -were imperfect and confused, turned his thoughts longingly toward peking, hoping to get more books or information through a living teacher. for several years all his attempts were fruitless ; though study, discussion, and practice of the new life were continued. in 1782, he moved to seoul to live, and in 1783, to his joy, his friend senghuni, son of the third ambassador to peking, proceeded thither through shing-king (liao tung), with a message to the bishop, alexander de gorla, a portuguese franciscan. senghuni himself became a docile pupil, and was, with the con sent of his father, baptized. with the hope that he would become the first stone of the church in cho-sen, he was named peter.' he pledged himself to suffer all torments rather than abandon his faith, to have but one wife, to renounce worldly vanities, and finally to send his foreign friends tidings every year. safely passing the sentinels at ai-chiu, he reached seoul. stonewall, eagerly receiving his share, gave himself for a time up to fresh reading and meditation, and then began to preach. some of his friends in the capital, both nobles and commoners, embraced the new doctrines with cheering promptness and were baptized. it is interesting to note the choice of baptismal names. as stonewall had been the forerunner, he was named john the bap tist. another called himself francis xavier, intending to make this saint his protector and patron. other names of these primitive confessors are ambrose, paul, louis, thomas, augustine, and later. ' the equipment of this first native missionary propagandist of roman chris tianity in corea, deserves notice, as it brings out in sharp contrast the differ ing methods of roman and reformed christianity. the convert brought back numerous tracts, didactic and polemic treatises, catechisms and com mentaries, prayer-books, lives of the saints, etc., etc. these were for the learned, and those able to master them. for the simple, there was a goodly supply of crosses and crucifixes, images, pictures, and various other objects to strike the eye. it is not stated that the bible, or any part of the holy scrij) tures, was sent for the feeding of hungry souls. the beginnings op chrlstianity— 1784-1794. 349 among the women, agatha, marie, madeleine, barbe, etc. the adoption of these foreign names excited bitter feeliags among the patriotic, and became a cause of intense hatred against the chris tians, who were stigmatized as " foreigner-coreans." i a counterblast soon followed. the first, and as they were des tined to be the last and most bitter enemies were the literati, who saw at once that the new faith sapped at the base their national beliefs and their most cherished customs. in the contest of dis cussion which followed, senghuni came ^off victor. the pagan champions retired from the conflict uttering memorable and pro phetic words, w^th a final question, that became a by-word to americans nearly a century later: "this [christian] doctrine is magnificent, it is true, but it will bring sorrow to those who pro fess it. what are you going to do about it ? " among the converts were the lecturer kwem and his brother, both of whom propagated the faith in their district of yang-kun, thirty miles east of seoul, now justly called "the cradle of the faith." one of their converted students from the nai-po returned home to labor in the new cause, and from first to last, in the his tory of roman christianity in corea, nai-po has ever been a nur sery of fervent confessors and illustrious martyrs. a second con vert of the kwem brothers laid the foundations of the faith in chuua. at the capital, a learned interpreter, on becoming a be liever, multiplied with his own facile pen copies of the books brought from peking ; and it is believed translated from the chinese the "explanation of the gospels of the sabbaths and feasts " — the first christian book in the corean language. thus from small beginnings, but rapidly, were the christian ideas spread, but soon the arm of the law and the power of the pen were invoked to crush out the exotic faith. the first victim, thomas kim, was tried on the charge of destroying his ancestral tablets, tortured, and sent into exile, in which he soon after died. the scholar now took up weapons, and in april, 1784, the king's preceptor fulminated the first public document officially directed against christianity. in it all parents and relatives were entreated to break off all relations with the christians. the names of the leaders were pubhshed ; and the example of kim was cited. forthwith began a violent pressure of entreaty and menace upon the believers to renounce their faith. instead of peace, the sword was brought into the household. then began an exhibition alike of glorious confession and shameful apostasy, but though even 350 corea. stonewall lapsed, the work went on in nai-po, and in 1787/ per secution slackened. meanwhile, in order to cement more closely their bonds, the leaders formed a hierarchy after the model which peter had seen in peking, and to which their liturgical books so often referred. francis xavier was made bishop and others were chosen as priests. separating to their various posts, they baptized, confessed, con firmed, and distributed the sacred elements in communion, all of which infused a new glow of faith among the converts. they robed themselves in rich chinese silk, and erected platform con fessionals. for ordinary faults confessed by the kneeling penitents alms were ordered, but for graver derelictions the priests ad ministered one or two smart blows on the legs — a mild imitation of the national punishment, which so suggests western methods of nursery discipline. in perfect good faith and harmony, this curious hierarchy, so strange and even comical to a believer in the so-called " apostolical succession " — continued for two years ; but in 1789, certain passages in their books suggested doubts as to the validity of their ministry. after earnest thought, and even at the risk of public ridicule, and of troubling the consciences of the faithful, they re signed their offices and took their places among the laity. a letter of inquiry was written, and sent in 1790 by the convert paul to peking. surprised and overjoyed at the news from corea, the fathers baptized and confirmed paul, explained to him the eoman dogma of validity of ordination, and gave him a letter written on silk, to be concealed in his clothes, directed to peter and francis xavier. his godfather pansi, being an artist, painted paul's portrait in oil, which was sent on to paris. the christians at seoul graciously submitted to the episcopal rebuke and explanation, giving them the right only to baptize, yet 1 it was during the summer of this year, 1787, that la perouse sailed along the eastern coast of cho-sen, discovered the straits which hear his name, between yezo and saghaliu, demonstrated that the gulf of tartary divided saghalin from the asian mainland, and that corea was not sea-girt, and named dagelet island and its companion boussole. he had a copy of hamel's book with him. he noticed the signal-fires along the coast, which from headland to headland, telegraphed to the capital the news of the stranger with his "black ships." not as yet, however, as afterward, did the govern ment connect the appearance of european vessels with the activity of the christians within the realm, although la perouse sailed under the flag which ever afterward was iudissolubly associated in corean minds with christianity. the beginnings of christianity— 1784-1794. 351 they yearned to receive the sacraments. inflamed by the accounts of paul, who pictured before them the ritual splendors, in the peking cathedral, of altars, lights, vestments, solemn masses, music, processions, and all that enchants the eye and fires the imagination in the boman form of christianity, they indited another letter to the bishop, beseeching that an ordained priest should be sent them. this letter, carried by paul, who left with the special embassy sent to congratulate the renowned emperor kien-lung, which left seoul september 17, 1790, contained a whole catechism'of vexed questions of discipline and faith which had be gun to disturb the little church. whue in peking, paul's companion was baptized, receiving the name of john the baptist. the fathers gave them a chalice, a missal, a consecrated stone, some altar ornaments, and everything necessary for the celebration of the eucharist, with a recipe for making wine out of grapes, in order that all might be ready on the arrival of a priest among them. paul and john the baptist, after the return journey of a thousand miles through shing-king, arrived safely in seoul. all were filled with joy at the idea of having a priest sent them, but the episcopal decision against the worship of ancestors proved to many a stone of stumbling and a cause of apostasy. hitherto, in simple ignorance and good faith, they had honored their ancestral shades and burnt i incense at their shrines. henceforth, all participation in such rites was im possible. after the authoritative declaration from peking, that the worship of god and the worship of ancestors were contraiy and impossible, no gorean could be a christian while he burned incense before the tablets. this tenet of the bishop was in the eyes of the corean public a blow at the framework of society, the base of the family, and the foundation of the state. from this time forward,many of the feeble adherents began to fall away. in the conflict of filial and religious duty, many a soul was torn with remorse. in frequent instances the earnest believer who, for conscience sake, despoiled the famuy oratory and piling the ancestral tablets in his garden set them on fire, saw his aged parents sink with sorrow to the grave. for this crime paul and jacques kim were put upon pub lic trial, at which, for the first time, a clear and systematic presen tation of christia,n doctrine and the boman cultus was elicited. the case, after condemnation of the prisoners, was submitted to the kin"', who was prevailed upon by the premier to approve the find 352 corea. ing of the local tribunal. on december 8, 1791, the two chris tians, after publicly refusing to recant, and reading aloud the sen tence inscribed upon the board to be nailed over their pillory, were decapitated, while invoking the names of jesus and mary. their ages were thirty-three and forty-one. thus was shed the first blood for corean christianity — the first drops of the shower to come, and the seed of a mighty church. the headless trunks, frozen to~ a stony rigidity which kept even the blood fresh and red, lay unburied on the ground for nine days, un til devout men carried them to burial. a number of handkerchiefs dipped in their blood and preserved kept long alive the memory of these first martyrs of bloody persecution. the nai-po now became a hunting-ground for the minions of the magistrates, who sought out all who professed themselves christians and threw them in prison. there the tortures, peculiarly corean, were set to work to cause apostasy. the victims were beaten with rods and paddles on the flesh and shin-bones, or whipped till the flesh hung in bloody rags. in many cases their bones were disjointed until the limbs dangled limp and useless. one man, francis xavier, after prolonged agonies was exiled to quelpart, and on being removed to another place, died on the way. peter, 61 years old, after wearying his torturers with his endurance, was tied round with a cord, laid on the icy ground at night, while pails of water were poured over him, which freezing as it fell, covered his body with a shroud of ice. in this dantean tomb, the old martyr, calling on the name of jesus, was left to welcome death, which came to him at the second cock-crow on the morning of january 29, 1793. in the ten years following the baptism of peter at peking, in spite of persecution and apostasy, it is estimated that there were four thousand christians in corea.' ' this rapid spread of christian ideas may be understood if we consider, as dallet points out, the customs of the people. in every house tliere is the room open to the street, where everybody, friend or stranger, known or vm known, may come and talli or hear the news and discuss events. nothing is kept secret, and being a nation of gossips and loungers, the news of any event, or the expression of a fresh idea, spreads like fire on the prairie. a doctrine so atartlingly new, and preached as it was by men already famous for their learning, would at once excite the public curiosity, set all tongues running, and fire many hearts. though in most cases the new flame would soon die out, leaving hardly enough ashes to mark a fire, yet the steady glow of altered lives would not pale even before torture and death. chapter xl. persecution and martyrdom— lsol-1834 the first attempt of a foreign missionary to "enter the hermit kingdom from the west was made in february, 1791. jean dos kemedios, a portuguese priest from macao, offered himself, was ac cepted, and left peking for the border gate with some chinese guides. after a twenty days' journey in midwinter, he arrived on the frontier, and there awaited the precarious chances of recognition, according to certain signs agreed upon. for ten days he scanned the faces of the noisy crowd, hoping every moment to light upon friends, but in vain. the christians, kept at home by the violence of the persecution, feared to venture to the border. the fair closed, the embassy crossed the yalu kiver, while the foreigner and his chinese guides returned to peking. there the disappointed priest soon after died. about the same time, the bishop of peking addressed a letter to the pope detauing the origin, development, and condition of the new-born church in corea. hearing no word from the corean christians during the next two years, it was determined to send succor. for this perilous mission, a young chinese priest named jacques tsiu, twenty-four years old, of good bodily strength and pronounced piety, whose ^-isage closely resembled a corean's, was selected. fortified with extraordinary ecclesiastical powers, he left peking in february, 1794, and in twenty days' arrived on the neutral ground. there he met the christians, who urged him to wait nearly a year, on ac count of the vigilance of the sentinels. this he did among his fel low christians in shing-king, and on the night of december 23, .1794, crossed the yalu, reached seoul in safety, and at once began his labors. all went on well till june, when, through a treacherous visitor, the official spies were put upon his track.' in spite of his removal to another place, three christians— two who had guided him to seoul, and one an interpreter, who in sublime self-sacrifice 23 354 coeea, i tried to pass himself off as the chinaman — were seized and tor tured. with arms and legs dislocated, and knees crushed, they refused to betray their brother in the faith, and were put to death in prison, june 18. the three headless and battered trunks were flung in the han river, which for the first, but not for the last time was streaked with martyr blood. meanwhile, the chinese priest was at first hidden for many days under a wood-pile by a christian lady, who, having gained over her mother-in-law, sheltered him in her house, where, protected by the law which forbids a noble's dwelling to be invaded, he remained three years. in september, 1796, he wrote a letter in latin to the bishop of peking, and the native christians writing in chinese, the copies on silk were sewed into the garments of two behevers, who, having bought positions as servants in the embassy, arrived in peking, january 28, 1797. among other things jacques pro posed that the king of portugal should send an embassy to the king of cho-sen to obtain a treaty of friendship, and allow the residence of physicians, astronomers, and scientific men in corea. though no portuguese envoy was sent out to treat with the court of seoul,' a foreign vessel appeared in the autumn of this same yeai-, off the eastern coast, floating the british flag. it was the sloop of war providence, carrying sixteen guns, commanded by captain w. e. broughton, who cast anchor in yung-hing bay, october 4th, and touched at eusan." one of the natives who vis ited the ship was suspected by the government and arrested ; though the english visitors were ignorant of the existence of chris tians in corea, and the local magistrates were equally uninformed as to the difference in religion and nationality between britons and portuguese. the four political parties into which the corean nobility was at this time divided, as described in chapter xxv., were ranged into ' " some priests proposed to the late queen of portugal to send an embassy , hither [to corea] with some gentlemen versed in mathematics, that they might benefit the country both in a religious and scientific way. . . . this plan never succeeded." gutzlaee, 1834. voyages to china, page 361. 'captain broughton was impressed with "the gorgeous corean dresses," and the umbrella-hats, a yard in diameter. he asked for beef, but they gave him only wood, and he was tantalized with the sight of fat cattle grazing near by, which he was unable to get or purchase. he cruised in the sea of japan , and the gulf of tartary, naming several places on the corean coast. see p. 303. pbbsecution and martyrdom. 355 356 corea. two general groups, the si-pai and the piek-pai, "the govern, ment " and " the opposition." the si-pai were devoted to the king, and ready to second his views, the piek-pai were more attached to their special views. the king, cheng-chong, who had ruled since 1776, was opposed to persecution of the christians, and had done much to restrain the bitterness of partisans. the si-pai in cluded the nam-in, or " southern " wing, in which were the chris tian nobles, while all their enemies belonged to the piek-pai. so long as the king lived, the sword of persecution slept in its scab bard, but in 1800 ' the king died, and was succeeded by his son, suncho, a boy stol under the care of his grandmother. this lady at once assumed the conduct of national affairs," and no sooner were the five months of public mourning decently over, than the queen regent dismissed the ministers then in office, and installed three others of the no-ron group, all of whom were bitter enemies of the christians. a decree of general persecution was issued a few days after, in the name of the king. two converts of noble rank were at once arrested, and during 1801, the -police were busy in haling to prison believers of every rank, age, and sex. alexander wang, who had written a book in his native language on " the prin cipal articles of the christian keligion," and had begun another on systematic theology, was arrested. prom the reading of these works, the magistrates imagined the essence of christianity was in hatred of one's parents and the king, and the destruction of the human race.' the church calendar was also seized. the chinese priest was outlawed by the government, in a public proclamation. on reading this, the brave man left the house of the noble lady in which he had been sheltered, and refusing to endan ger longer the lives of his friends, voluntarily surrendered himself, > see page 336. = or, as the natives say, ."she proceeded to pull down the blinds." this phrase, which is highly suggestive of american street slang, refers to the curtain of bamboo which veils the sovereign of cho-sen ; as in old japan the mikado was thus screened from the vulgar, and even noble, gaae dur ing state councils. whoever, therefore, is "behind the curtain," is on the tlirone. ' this highly logical conclusion was reached by 'pondering upon the doc trine of romanism that celibacy is a more perfect state than marriage ; and that "the world," which, with the flesh and the devil, was to be regarded as one of the true believers' enemies, could mean only the king and country of cho-sen. to this day, most of the pagans accept the magistrates' decision as a complete epitome of the gospel of christ. persecution and martyrdom. 357 and received the death-stroke, may 31, 1801, at the age of thirty two. his hostess, colombe, thrown in prison herself, while await ing death wrote out his life and works on the suk skirt of her dress. at her execution the noble lady begged that she might not be stripped of her clothes, as were other malefactors, but die in her robes. her request was granted, and with the grace of the english lady jane grey, she laid her head on the block. four other women, formerly attendants in the palace, and an artist, who for painting christian subjects was condemned, were beheaded by the official butchers, who made the " little western gate " of seoul— where a christian church may yet be built— a golgotha. the policy of the government was shown in makmg away with the christians of rank and education, who might be able to direct affairs in the absence of the foreign priests, and in letting the poor and humble go free. from a letter written on silk in sympathetic ink to the bishop of peking by alexander wang, and, with the aid of treachery, de ciphered by the magistrates, they suspected a general conspiracy of the christians ; for in his letter this corean proposed an appeal to the christian nations of europe to send sixty or seventy thou sand soldiers to conquer corea ! " the bearer of this letter was immediately beheaded, and his body cut into six pieces ; while the visitor to captain broughton's ship in 1799, for having said that " one such ship as that could easily destroy one hundred corean vessels of war," was put to the torture and condemned. alexander wang, who had witnessed a good confession, before the king, a year before, and bore on his wrist the cord of crimson silk showing that he had touched the royal person, was likewise decapitated. it now devolved upon the king of cho-sen to explain to his suzerain the execution of a chinese subject. in a letter full of confucian orthodoxy, he declares that cho-sen from the time of ki tsze, had admitted no other dogmas than those taught by the sages of china — "all other doctrine is strange to the little kingdom." he describes the christians as "the monstrous, bar barous, and infamous" "sect of brigands" "who live like brutes and birds of the vilest sort," and who in their plot, "have interlaced themselves as a serpent and knotted themselves to gether like a cord." the plan to conquer " the little king 'dallet, vol.i., p. 205. 358 v cobea. dom at the corner of the earth" by myriads of men and ves sels from europe is detailed, with an apology for the execution of jacques, not as a chinese subject, but as chief conspirator. dal let suggests that, in answer to this letter, the dragon monarch read the king a tart lecture, and hinted that a rich stream of silver would soothe his ruffled scales. "china had not been china had she lost so fair an occasion to fleece her cowering vassal." a fresh edict, made up of the usual fixed ammunition of corean rhetoric, was fulminated against " the evil sect," january 25, 1802. the result was to advertise the outlawed faith in every corner of the realm. nevertheless, the condition of the christians scattered in the mountains and northern forests, or suffering poverty, hun ger, and cold at home, was deplorable, under the stress of political as well as religious hatred. the first exchange of muscovite and corean courtesies took place in 1808, when several of the commissioners from seoul were in peking.' presents were mutually given, which in both cases were products of the then widely separated coun tries, which were destined within fifty years to be next-door neighbors. out of the modern catacombs of eoman christianity, the corean converts addressed two letters, dated december 9 and 18, 1811, to the pope—" the very high, very great father, chief of the whole church" — in which they invited help, not only of a spir itual nature, but aid in ships and envoys to treat with their king. they were willing even to leave their native land and colonize the islands in the sea, for the sake of worship and conscience. signed with fictitious names, copied on silk, and sewn in the clothing of the messenger, they reached peking and eome, but the bishop of neither city could afford succor. his holiness was then a j)risoner at fontainebleau, and the eoman propaganda was nearly at a standstill. with a goodly supply of medals and crosses, the messenger retui'ned, and the church in corea enjoyed peace, and new converts were made until 1815, when a non-po litical persecution broke out for a while in kang-wen and kiung g in 1817, the king and court were terrified by the appearance ofi ' timkowski's travels, of the kuaaian miasiou through mongolia to chiua, and residence in peking, london, 1827. persecution and martyrdom. 359 the west coast of the british ' vessels alceste and lyra. they sus pected that the good captain and jolly surgeon, who have given us such fascinating narratives of their cruise, were in active connection with " the evil sect ; " but beyond some surveys, purchases of beef, and interviews with local magistrates, the foreigners departed without further designs against the throne. in 1823 several of the christians, encouraged by hopes held' out by the bishop of peiing, went to the border gate to meet a foreign priest, but to their dismay found none. in 1826," they were troubled by a report that the sho-gun of japan had requested their king to return six japanese adherents of the interdicted " jesus sect," who had fled the empire in a boat. shortly after, in chulla, through a quarrel instigated by a drunken potter, a con vert, which led to information given in spite, a severe persecution broke out, lasting three months. the year 1832 was noted for its rainfall and inundations. to propitiate heaven's favor the king recalled many exiles, among whom were christians. in this year also the british ship. lord amherst, was sent , out by the east india company on a voyage of commercial exploration, and to open, if possible, new mar kets for the fabrics of england and india. on board was a prus sian gentleman, the kev. charles gutzlaff, under the patronage of the netherlands missionary society, though travelling at his own cost. reaching the coast of chulla, july 17th, he remained one month. being a good chinese scholar, and well equipped with medical knowledge, he landed on several of the islands and on the mainland, he distributed presents of books, buttons, and medicines, planted potatoes and taught their cultivation. through an officer he sent the king presents of cut glass,, calicoes, and woollen goods, with a copy of the bible and some protestant christian tracts. these, after some days of negotiation, were re fused. a few of the more intelligent natives risked their heads, and accepted various gifts, among which were chinese translations ' in 1793, the first britisli and the first european vessel entered the yellow sea. it was the ship of the line lion, on board of which was lord macartney, the ambassador of king george iii. to peking, the first english envoy to china. the ship did not visit or approach corean shores. ^ this date is that given by dallet, who perhaps refers to the uprising in 1829 at ozaka, of suspected believers in the "jesus doctrine," when six men and one old woman were crucified by the japanese authorities. the leader of the so-called conspiracy fled to sea with his companions. 360 corea. of european works on geography and mathematics. mr. gutzlaff could discover no trace of christianity' or the converts, though he made diligent inquiry. the lying magistrates denied all knowledge of even the existence of the christian faith. deeply impressed with their poverty, dirt, love of drink, and degradation, the prot estant, after being nearly a month among the coreans, left their shores, fully impressed with their need of soap and bibles. the year 1834 closed the first half century of corean chris tianity. in this chapter, the moral weakness of eoman catholic methods of evangelization in corea, and elsewhere in asia, has been revealed. it must be remembered that the corean converts were taught to believe not only in the ecclesiastical supremacy of the pope, but also in the righteousness of his claim to temporal power as the vicar of heaven. untaught in the scriptures of the new testament, and doubtless ignorant of the words of jesus — "my kingdom is not of this world ; if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight " — the coreans suspected no blasphemy in the papal claim. seeing the pope's pohtical power upheld by the pow erful european nations then under bourbon rule, the corean chris tians, following the ethics of their teachers, played the part of trait ors to their country ; they not only deceived the magistrates, and violated their country's laws, but, as the letter of alexander wang shows, actually invited armed invasion. hence from the first christianity was associated in patriotic minds with treason and robbery. the french missionary as the forerunner of the french soldier and invader, the priest as the pilot of the gunboat, were not mere imaginings, but, as the subsequent narrative shows, strict logic and actual fact. it is the narrative of friends, not foes, that, later, shows us a bishop acting as spy and pilot on a french man-of-war, a priest as guide to a buccaneering raid ; and, after the stoiy of papal christianity, the inevitable " french expedition." 1 while off the island of wen-san, according to dallet, some of the native christians, attracted by the legend in chinese characters on the flag "the eeligion of jesus christ," came on hoard. " a protestant minister saluted them with the words which are sacramental among the pagans, ' may the spirits of the earth bless you i ' at these words the neophytes, seeing that they had been deceived, and that a snare had been laid for their good faith, re tired in all haste without ever returning the salute, and made no further visits to the ships." chaptek xli. the entrance of the french missionaries— 1835-1845. the french revolution, and the wars of napoleon following, which distracted au europe for a period of over twenty years, com pletely disorganized the missionary operations of the holy see and french eoman catholic church. on . the restoration of the bourbons, and the strengthening of the papal throne by foreign bayonets, the stream of religious activity flowed anew into its old channels, and with an added volume. missionary zeal in the church was kindled afresh, and the prayers of the christians in the far east were heard at the court of st. peter. it was resolved to found a mission in corea, directly attached to the holy see, but to be under the care of the society of foreign missions of paris. barthelemy brugiere, then a missionary at bangkok, siam, offered as a volunteer, and in 1832 was nominated apostolic vicar of corea. he reached shing-king, but was seized with sudden illness, and died october 20, 1835. pierre phuibert maubant, his host, stepped into the place of his fallen comrade, and with five corean christians left fungwang chang, crossed the neutral strip, and the yalu eiver on the ice. dodging the sentinels at ai chiu, he entered corea as a thread enters the needle's eye. they crawled through a water-drain in the wau, and despite the barking of a dog, got into the city. eesting several hours, they slid out again through another drain, reaching the country and friends beyond. two days' journey on horses brought them to seoul, from which maubant, the first frenchman who had penetrated the hermit kingdom, or who, in corean phrase, had committed pem hiong (violation of the frontier), wrote to his friends in paris. maubant's first duty was to order back a chinese priest who refused to learn corean, or to obey any but the bishop of peking. with the couriers who escorted the refractory chinaman to the frontier, went three young men to study at the college in macao. at the border gate they met jacques honore chastan a young 362 corea. french priest, who, on the dark night of january 17, 1837, passed the custom-house of ai-chiu disguised as a corean widower in mourning, and joined maubant in seoul nearly one year later, december 19, 1838, laurent marie-joseph imbert, a bishop, ran the gauntlet of wilderness, ice, and guards, and took up his resi dence under the shadow of the king's palace. visits, masses, and preaching now went on vigorously. the christians at the end of 1837 numbered 6,000, and in 1838, 9,000. up to january 16, 1839, the old regent being averse from persecu tion, the work went on unharmed, but on that day, the court party in favor of extii-pating christianity, having gained the upper hand, hounded on the police in the king's name. the visitation of every group of five houses in all the eight provinces was ordered. hun dreds of suspects were at once seized and brought to trial. in june, before the death of the old regent, the uncle of the young king (hen chong, 1834-1849) and the implacable enemy of the chiistians ob tained control of power, and at an extraordinary council of the ministers, held july 7, 1839, a new decree was issued in the regent's name. the persecution now broke out with redoubled violence. in a few days, three native lay leaders were beheaded, and a score of women and children suffered death. to stay the further shedding of blood. bishop imbert, who had escaped to an island, came out of his hiding-place, and on august 10th dehvered himself up and ordered maubant and chastan to do the same. the three willing martyrs met in chains before the same tribunal. dm-ing three days they were put to trial and torture, thence transferred to the kum-pu, or prison for state criminals of rank. they were again tried, beaten with sixty-six strokes of the paddle, and con demned to die under the sword, september 21, 1839. on that day, the inspector and one hundred soldiers took their place on the execution ground, not near the city gate, but close to the river. a pole fixed in the earth bore a flag inscribed with the death-sentence. pinioned and stripped of their upper clothing, a stick was passed between the elbows and backs of the prisoners, and an arrow, feather end up, run through the flesh of each ear. their faces were first wet with . water and then powdered with chalk. three executioners then marched round, brandishing their staves, while the crowd raised a yell of insult and mockery. a dozen soldiers, sword in hand, now began prancing around the kneeung victims, engaging in mock combat, but delivering their blows at the victims. only when weary of their sport, the human entrance of the french missionaries. 363 butchers relieved the agony of their victims by the decapitating blow. the heads were presented to the inspector on a board, and the corpses, after public exposure during three days, were buried in the sand by the river banks. on the day after the burial, three christians attempted to re move the bodies, but jthe government spies lying in wait caught them. as of old in eome, when the primitive christians crawled stealthily at night through the arches of the coliseum, into the arena, and groping about in the sand for the bones of ignatius left after the lion's feast, bore them to honored sepulture, so these corean christians with equal faith and valor again approached the bloody sand by the han eiver. twenty days after the first attempt, 'a party of seven or eight men succeeded in bearing away the bodies of the mai-tyrs to noku, about eight miles north of seoul. thus died the first' european missionaries who entered " the forbidden land." as in the old fable of the lion's den, the foot prints all pointed one way. with the foreign leaders there perished no less than one hundred and thirty of their converts, seventy by decapitation, and the others by strangulation, torture, or the result of their wounds." in november, 1839, a new edict in the vernacular was posted ujd all over the country. six bitter years passed before the christians again had a foreign pastor. great events now began to ripen in china. the opium war of 1840-42 broke out. the " western barbarians" held the chief cities of the china coast from hong-kong to shanghae, and the military weakness of the colossal empire was demonstrated. the french, though having nothing to do with this first quarrel of china with europe, were on the alert for any advantage to be gained in the far east. in 1841, louis philippe sent out the war vessels erigone and favorite, to occupy if possible some island to the south of japan, which would be valuable for strategic and com mercial purposes, and to make treaties of trade and friendship with japan, and especially with corea. ' by poetic justice, the chief instigators of this persecution came each to a bad end. of the court ministers, one, having provoked the king's jealousy, was obliged by royal order to poison himself at a banquet, in december, 1845, and the other, falling into disgrace, was sent to exile, in which he shortly died. the chief informer, who had hoped for reward in high office, obtained only a minor position, with little honor and less salary. he was afterward exiled, and in 1863, having headed a local uprising, was put to death, his body was minced up, and the fragments were exhibited through the provinces. 364 corea. the erigone cast anchor at macao, september 7, 1841, and ca,ptain cecile awaited events. moving north ia eebruary, 1842, w:ith andrew kim, the corean student, as interpreter, on the erig one, and thomas tsoi, his companion, on the favorite, the french captains, hearing of the sudden conclusion of the war, gave up the idea of opening corea. the two coreans, with two french priests, engaged a chinese junk, and landed on the coast of shing-king, october 25, 1842. on december 23d, kim set out for the border gate, and within two leagues of it met the outward-bound embassy. each of the three hundred persons had his passport at his girdle. stopping to see them file past, he saluted one who was a christian, and had in his belt letters from maubant and chastan, written before their execu the missionary's gateway into corea. tion, and from the natives. unable to go back with andrew to ai-chiu, as every name on the embassy's list was registered, the man went on to peking. andrew kim, by mingling among the drovers and huge cattle returning from the fair, ran the blockade at ai-chiu ; but on the next day, having walked all night, he ap plied for lodgings at an inn for shelter, and was recognized as a stranger. fearful of being arrested as a border-ruffian from the neutral strip, he took to his heels, recrossed the yalu, and after resting at fung-wang chang, rejoined his friends at mukden. on december 31, 1843, jean joseph ferreol was consecrated bishop of corea, and resolved to cross the frontier, not at ai-ehiu, but at hun-chun, on the tiimen. andrew kim exploring the way, after a month's journey through ice and snow, mountains and forests, reached hun-chun, february 25, 1845. the native chris tians, having been duly instructed, had arrived at kion-wen a entrance of the french missionaries. 365 month before. for recognition, aiidrew was to hold a blue kerchief in his hand and have a little red bag of tea at his girdle. at the fair which opened at kion-wen on the 28th, the christians met. the result of their conference was that ai-chiu was declared safer even than kion-wen. since 1839, the government had tripled its vigilance, and doubled the guards on the frontier. no one could pass the gate aaom. border towns of northern corea. at ai-chiu who had not a passport stamped with the chief inspec tor's seal, bestowed only after the closest scrutiny and persistent cross-questioning. on it was written the name and place of birth and residence of the holder, and after return from china or the fair it must be given up. the result of these stringent regulations was to drive the missionaries to find a path seaward. in decem ber, 1844, of seven converts from seoul, attempting to get to the border gate, to meet ferreol, only three were able to pass ai chiu. the other four, who had the wig, hair-pins, and mourning costume of a widower for ferreol, were unable to satisfy their ques tioners, and so returned. at the border gate, ferreol, after seeing the caravan pass, ordered andrew kim to enter alone, whue he returned and sailed soon after to macao. andrew, with the aid of his three friends, who met him at a lonely spot at some distance from ai-chiu, reached seoul, january 8, 1845. as soon as resources and opportunity would permit, andrew collected a crew of eleven fellow-believers, only four of whom had ever seen the sea, and none of whom knew their destination, and equipped with but a single compass, put to sea in a rude fishing boat, april 24, 1845. despite the storms and baffling winds, this im couth mass of firewood, which the chinese sailors jeeringly dubbed " the shoe," reached shanghae in june. andrew kim, never before 366 corea. at sea except as a passenger, had brought this uncalked, deckless, and unseaworthy scow across the entire breadth of the yellow sea. after the ordeal of the mandarin's questions,' and visits and kindly hospitality from the british naval officers and consul, he reached his french friends at the eoman catholic mission. the beacon fires were now blazing on quelpart, and from head land to headland on the mainland, telegraphing the news of "foreign ships" to seoul. from june 25th until the end of july, cap tain edward belcher,^ of the british ship samarang, was engaged in surveying off quelpart and the south coast. even after the ship left for nagasaki, the magistrates of the coast were ordered to maintain strict watch for au seafarers from strange countries. this made the return of andrew kim doubly dangerous. bishop ferreol came up from macao to shanghae, and on sun day, august 17th, andrew kim was ordained to the priesthood. on september 1st, with feri'eol and marie antoine nicholas dave luy, another french priest, he set sail in "the shoe," now chris tened the "eaphael," and turned toward the land of martyrdom. it was uke greatheart approaching giant despair's castle. the ' voyage was safely, though tediously, made past quelpart, and through the labyrinth of islands off chulla. on october 12th, the frenchmen, donning the garb of native noblemen in mourning, and baffling the sentinels, landed at night in an obscure place on the coast. soon after this daveluy was learning the language among some christian villagers, who cultivated tobacco in a wild part of the country. the bishop went to seoul as the safest placs to hide and work in, while the farmer-sailor^, after seven months' absence, returned to tlieir hoes and their native fields. ' so fearless and generous a sovil as andrew kim, who coiild yet follow the ethics and example of his teachers in repeatedly practising deception and vio lating his country's laws at ai-chiu, scrupled not to lie to the mandarin at shanghae, and tell him that he and his crew had heen accidentally driven out to sea. as in the later case of the robbery of the regent's tomb, " the end justified the means. " " the voyage of this officer, which added so much to science, resulted in making quelpart and beaufort islands, port hamilton, and mount auckland as well known in geography as the names of her majesty's servants were known in british politics. the visitors were treated' with courtesy, and even their sur vey-marks, stakes, and whitewashed stones were carefully set up when washed away by the storm, or disturbed by cattle. the coreans, however, drove their beeves well away from the englishmen, who longed for fresh meat. chapter xlh. the walls 0¥ isolation sapped. while the three priests were prosecuting their perilous labors, thomas tsoi, the corean student from macao with maistre, a new missionary, were on their way through manchuria to hun-chun. arriving after a seventeen days' march, they were seized by man chiu officers, reprimanded, and sent back to mukden. andrew kim, by order of bishop ferreol, went to whang-hai by water, to examine into the feasibility of making that province a gateway of entrance. the sea was full of chinese junks, the her ring fishery being at its height. watch-towers dotted the hills, and the beach was patrolled by soldiers to prevent communication with shore. andrew, coming ostensibly to buy a cargo of fish, was en abled to sail among the islands, to locate the rocks and sandspits, and to make a chart of the coast. deeming the route practicable, he hailed a chinese junk, arid after conference, confided to the cap tain the mau-bag of the mission, which contained also the charts and two maps of corea, unfortunately these documents were seized by the spies, ^nd andrew kim, delayed while the cargo of fish was drying, was arrested on the suspicion of being a chinaman. he was sent to seoul, and while in prison heard of the french ships which were at that moment vainly trying to find the mouth of the han eiver a^d the channel to the capital. meanwhile, from his hiding place, ferreol wrote to captain cecue, who commanded the fleet of three war-vessels. the object of this visit was to hold a conference with the king's ministers, and demand satisfaction for the murder of imbert chastan and maubant in 1839. after some coast surveys made, and the despatch of a threatening letter, the ships withdrew. perreol's note arrived too late, and andrew kim's fate was sealed. while in prison, andrew was employed in coloring, copying, and translating two english maps of the world, one of which was for the king, and composing a summary of geography. in a letter 368 corea. in latin to ferreol, dated august 26th, he narrated his capture and trial. on september 16th, he was led out to trial. the sentence-flag bore the inscription : "put to death for comniunicat ing with the western barbarians," and the full programme of cruelty was carried out. pour women and four men were put to death in the persecution which followed. maistre and thomas tsoi went to macao and there found the french frigates la gloire and la victorieuse, i-eady to sau north for an answer to captain cecue's letter. gladly welcomed by cap tain pierre, they went aboard july 12th. on august 10th, while under sail in a group of islands off chuua, in latitude 35° 45' and longitude 124° 8', in water which the english charts marked at twelve fathoms deep, both vessels grounded simultaneously. the high tides for which this coast is noted falling rapidly, both ves sels became total wrecks. the largest of the la gloire's boats was at once sent to shanghae for assistance, and the six hundred men made their camp at kokun island. kindly treated and furnished with provisions as they were, the frenchmen during their stay were rigidly secluded, and at night cordons of boats with lanterns guarded against all communication with the mainland. thomas tsoi acted as dumb interpreter, vrith pencil, in chinese, and though hearing every word of the corean magistrates was not recognized. though meeting fellow christians, he was unable to get inland, and ferreol's messengers to the sea-shore arrived after an ehghsh ship from shanghae had taken the crews away. the corean government, fearing ' further visits of the outside barbarians, sent an answer to admiral cecile, directing it to cap tain pierre at macao, by way of peking.'' they explained why they treated frenchmen shipwrecked kindly ; but sent frenchmen dis guised to execution.' when admiral cecile reached paris in ' these were the first official relations of france with corea ; or, as a native would say, between tai-pep-kuk and cho-sen ; the expression for france heing tai-pep, and for a frenchman — curiously enough — pepin. '' inside the country, the frequent appearance of the foreign ships was the subject of everyday talk, and the news in this nation of gossips spread like a prairie fire, or a rolling avalanche. by the time the stories reached the north ern provinces whole fleets of french ships lay off the coast. their moral effect was something like that among the blacks in the southern states during the civil war, when the "lincoln gunboats" hove insight. the people jest ingly called the foreign vessels " the authorities down the kiver." ^ for changing their name and garments, sleeping by day, going abroad at night, associating with rebels, criminals and villains, and entering the king the walls of isolation sapped. 369 1848, one of the periodical french revolutions had broken out in paris, and a war at the ends of the earth was out of the question. the french government neglected to send a vessel to take away the effects saved from the wreck. the coreans promptly put the canjion to use, and from them, as models, manufactured others for the forts built to resist " the pepins " in 1866, and the americans in 1871. once more maistre and thomas tsoi essayed to enter the guarded peninsula, by sailing early in 1848 in a chinese junk from macao to merin island off whang-hai, but no christians met them. by way of shanghae, they then went into shing-king, and in de cember to the border gate, meeting couriers from bishop ferreol. on a fiercely cold, windy, and dark night, which drove the soldiers indoors to the more congenial pleasure of the long pipe, cards, and cup on the oven-warmed floors, thomas tsoi got safely through ai-chiu, and in a few days was in seoul, and later in chuua. the work of propagation now took a fresh start. a number of religious works composed or translated into the vulg»r tongue were printed in pamphlet form from a native printing press, and vridely circu lated. in 1850, the christians numbered eleven thousand, and five young men were studying for the priesthood. eegular mails, sewn into the thick cotton coats of men in the embassy, were sent to and brought from china. a french whaler having grounded off the coast, the french consul at shanghae, with two englishmen, came to reclaim the vessel's effects, and meeting three young men sent by the ever-alert thomas tsoi, took them back to shanghae, the third remaining to meet his comrades on their return with fresh missionaries to come. after still another fauure to enter corea, maistre set foot in chuua-do, by way of kokun island, even while the fire-signals were blazing on the headlands on account of the presence of russian ships.' dom clandestinely, the missionaries were put to death ; and no comparison could he drawn to mitigate their sentence between them and innocent ship wrecked men. ' other nations besides france now began to learn something of the twin hermits of the bast, oho-sen and nippon. during 1852, the russian frigate pallas sailed along the east coast up to the tumen eiver, making no landing, but keeping at a distance of from two to five milfes from the shore in order to avoid shoals and rocks. the object of the pallas was to trace and map the shore line. in 1855, the french war-vessel virginie continued the work begun by the pallas, and at the end of her voyage the whole coast from fu san to the tumen was known with some accuracy, and mapped out with euro 24 370 corba. ferreol, worn out with his labors, after lyiiig paralytic for many months, died pebruarj3, 1853 ; but in march, 1854, janson, mak ing a second attempt, entered corea, having crossed the yeuow sea in a junk, which immediately took back three native students for macao. janson died in seoul, of cerebral fever, june 18, 1854. in these years, 1853 and 1854, commodore perry and the american squadron were in the waters of the far east, driving the wedge of civilization into japan, and sapping her waus of se clusion. the american flag, however, was not yet seen in corean waters, though the court of seoul were kept informed of perry's movements. a fresh reinforcement of missionaries to storm the citadel of paganism, bishop simeon, francois bemeux, with two young priests, michel alexandre petitnicholas and charles antoine pourthie, set sail from shanghae in a junk, and, after many adven tures, arrived at seoul via whang-hai, while peron (of later buc caneering fame) followed on a corean smuggling vessel, standing imexpectedly before his bishop'in the capital, march 31, 1857. a synod of all the missionaries was now held, at which bemeux conse crated daveluy as his fellow bishop. maisfcre died december 20th. the faith was now spread to quelpart by a native of that island, who, having been shipwrecked on the coast of china, was carried by an english ship to hong-kong, where he met a corean student from macao and was converted. the koman catholic population of corea in 1857 was reckoned at 16,500. communication with the native christians living near nagasaki, and then under the harrow of persecution, took place. the cholera imported from japan swept away over 400,000 victims in corea. thus does half the world not know how the other half lives. how many americans ever heard of this stroke of pestuence in the her mit nation ? in 1860, war with china broke out, the french and english forces took the peiho forts, entered peking, sacked the summer palace of the son of heaven, a few thousand european troops destroying the military prestige of the chinese colossus. the pean barnes, at once numerous and prophetic. tlie coast line of tartary or manchuria — at that time a chinese province — was also surveyed, mapped, and made ready for the czar's use and that of his ambassador in i860. pallas and virginie ! the names are suggestive of the maiden diplomatic victory of general ignatiefe, of whom more anon. the walls of isolation sapped. 371 chinese emperor fled into shing-king, toward corea. the newu produced a lively effect in chosen, especially at court.' the utter loss of chinese prestige struck terror into all hearts. for six centuries, china, the tai-kuk (great empire), had been, in corean eyes, the synonym and symbol of invincible power, and " the son of heaven, who commands ten thousand chariots," the one able to move all the earth. copies of the treaty made between china and the allies, granting freedom of trade and religion, were soon read in corea, causing intense alarm. but the after-clap of news, that turned the first storm of excite ment into a tempest of rage and fear, was the treaty with eussia. general ignatieff, the brilliant and vigorous diplomatist then but twenty-eight years old and fresh on the soil of cathay, obtained, in 1860, after the allied plenipotentiaries had gone home, the signature of prince kung to the cession of the whole ussuri province. the tread of the great bear had been so steadily silent, that heiore either great britain or cho-sen knew it, his foot had been planted ten degrees nearer the temperate zone. a rich and fertile region, well watered by the amoor and sungari eivers, bordered by the pacific, with a coast full of harbors, and comprising an area as large as france, was thus ceded to eussia. the manchiu rulers of china had actually surrendered their ancestral homeland to the wily muscovites. the boundaries of siberia now touched the tumen. the eussian bear jostled the corean tiger. with france on the right, eussia on the left, china humbled, and japan opened to the western world, what wonder that the rulers in seoul trembled ? the results to corean christianity were that, in less than a de ' a noble of high, rank presented to the council of ministers a memorial, setting forth the dangers that then menaced cho-sen, and urging that extraor dinary means be put forth to meet the emergencies. he proposed that the national policy of armed neutrality should be preserved, that the conquered emperor of china should not enter cho-sen, that the frontier should be strengthened against a possible invasion of the border-ruffians inhabiting the neutral strip. taking advantage of the situation, these men, banding together with chinese adventurers and corean refugees, might make a descent ill force into the kingdom. finally, the supreme danger that filled all minds was the threatened invasion of the french. he recommended that the castle of tong nai, near fusan, and the western strongholds of nam-an, pu-pion, and in-chiubi (the port opened in 1882), should be strongly garrisoned and strengthened; and that a new citadel be built on the island of kang-wa, to command the river and the entrance to the capital. (see map, page 190.) 372 corea. cade, thousands of natives had fled their country and were settled in the russian villages. at the capital , all official business was suspended, and many families of rank fled to the mountains. the nobles or officials who could not quit their posts sent off their wives and children. all this turned to the temporary advantage of the missionaries. in many instances, people of rank humbly sought the good favor and protection of the christians. medals, crosses, and books of religion were bought in quantities. some even pubhcly wore them on their dress, hoping for safety when the dreaded invasion should come. the government now proceeded to raise war-funds, levying chiefly on the rich merchants, who were threatened with torture and death in case of refusal. a conscription of able-bodied men was ordered, and bombs, called "french pieces," and small bore cannon were manufactured. in a foundry in the capital heavy guns were cast after the model of those left by the wreck of the la gloire. the kang-wa forts were built and garrisoned. in the midst of these war preparations, the missionary body was rein forced by the arrival of four of their countrymen, who, by way of merin island, set foot on the soil of their martyrdom october, 1861. their names were landre, joanno, eidel, and calais. this year the number of christians reached 18,000. indirect attempts to insert the crowbars of diplomacy in the chinks of corea's wall of seclusion were made about this time by trance and england, and by russia at another point. japan was in each case the fulcrum. on account of the petty trade between tsushima and pusan, earl russell wished to have great britain included as a co-trader with the peninsula. the russians the same year occupied a station on tsu island, commanding the coun tries on either side ; but under protest from yedo, backed by brit ish men-of-war, abandoned their purpose. in 1862, while the members of the japanese embassy from the tycoon were in paris, the government of napoleon iii. requested their influence in the opening of corea to french, trade and residence. at this time, however, the japanese had their hands full of their own troubles at home, nor had the court at seoul sent either envoys or presents since 1832. they should have done so in 1852, at the accession of the new sho-gun, but not rehshing the humiliation of coming only to tsushima, and knowing the weakened state of their former conquerors, they were now ready to defy them. one new missionary and two returned native students entered the walls op isolation sapped. 373 in march, 1863. the ni dynasty, founded in 1392, came to an end on january 15, 1864, by the king chul-chong, who had no child, dying before he had nominated an heir. this was the signal for fresh palace intrigues, and excitement among the nobles and political parties. the three widows of the kings who had reigned since 1831 were still living. the oldest of these. queen cho, at once seized the royal seal and emblems of authority, which high-handed move made her the mistress of the situation. craftuy putting aside her nephew cho sung, she nominated for the throne a lad then but twelve years old, and son of ni kung, one of the royal princes. this latter person was supposed to be indifferent to politics, but no sooner was his son made the sovereign, than his slumbering ambition woke to uon-llke vigor. this man, to use a corean phrase, had "a heart of stone, and bowels of iron." he seemed to know no scruple, pity, or fear. possessing himself of the seal and royal emblems, he was made tai-wen kun (lord ol the great court — a rare title given to a noble when his son is made king) and became actual regent. this corean mayor of the palace held the reins of government during the next nine years, ruling with power like that of an absolute despot. he was a rabid hater of christianity, foreigners, and progress. in spite of the new current of hostility that set steadily in, the christians began to be bold even to defiance. in kiung-sang a fu neral procession carrying two hundred lanterns, bore aloft a huge cross, and chanted responsive prayers. in the capital, the converts paraded the signs of the romish cult. a theological training school was established in the mountains, four new missionaries entered the kingdom through nai-po, 1976 baptisms were made during the year, and, with much literary work accomplished, the printing-press was kept busy. the year 1866 is phenomenal in corean history. it seemed as if the governments and outlaws alike, of many nations, had conspired to pierce or breach the walls of isolation at many points. russians, frenchmen, englishmen, americans, germans, authorized and un authorized, landed to trade, rob, kill, or, what was equally ob noxious to the regent and his court, to make treaties. in january the russians, in a war-vessel, again appeared in broughton's bay, and demanded the right of trade. at the same time they stat«)d that some russian troops were to pass the frontier of ham-kiung to enforce the demand. the usual stereotyped re sponse was k-ade, that corea was a vassal of china^ and could not 374 corba. treat with any other nation without permission of that power, and that a special ambassador charged with the matter would be im mediately despatched to peking, etc. the advent of the double-headed eagle was the signal ioi lively feeling and action among the christians at seoul. the long cherished project of appealing to england and france to make an alliance to secure liberty of religion was revived. the impulsive converts now forwarded the scheme, under the plea of patriotic defense against the russians, with all the innocent maladdress which characterizes men who are adults in age but chudren in politics. in their exhilaration they already dreamed of building a cathedral in seoul of imposing proportions, and finished in a style worthy alike of their religion and their country. three christian nobles, headed by thomas kim, composed a letter embodying their ideas of an anti-russian franco-enghsh alliance, and had it presented to the regent, who blandly sent thomas kim to invite the bishops, then absent to a conference in the capital. on his return to seoul, kim was coldly received, and no further notice was taken of him. the anti-christian party, now in full power at court, clamored for the enforcement of the old edict against the for eign religion, while a letter from one of the corean embassy in peking, arriving late in january, added fuel to the rising flame. it stated that the chinese were putting to death au the christians found in the empire. that lie, "as light as a feather" in its telling, was " as heavy as a mountain " in corea. such an iuastrious example must be followed. vainly the regent warned th'e court of the danger from europe. the russian ahip, too, had disappeared, and the french seemed afraid to take vengeance for the massacre of 1839. the cry of "death to au the christians, death to the western barbarians " now began to be heard. forced by the party in power, the regent signed the death-warrants of the bishops and priests, promulgated anew the old laws of the realm against the christians, and proceeded " to make very free with the heads of his subjects." the minions of the magistrates sallied forth like bloodhounds un leashed. berneux was seized on february 23d, and brought to trial successively before three tribunals, the last being the highest of the realm. in his interview with the regent, who had formed a high idea of the frenchman, berneux failed to address his highness in the punctilious form of words demanded by court etiquette. forth with the official made up his mind that the frenchman was a man the walls of isolation sapped. '375 of slight attainments, and of no personal importance — so sensitive is the corean mind in the matter of etiquette. from the highest class prison, the bishop, after undergoing horrible tortures with club, paddle, and pointed sticks thrust into his flesh, was cagt into a common dungeon, where, in a few days, he was joined by three of his fellow missionaries with several converts, faithful to their teachers even in the hour of death. all suffered the fierce and savage beatings, and on march 8th were led out to death. an immense crowd of jeering, laughing, curious people followed the prisoners, who were tied by their hair to the chair so as to force them to hold up their faces, that the crowd might see them. pour hundred soldiers marched out with the doomed men to the sandy plain near the river. the lengthened programme of brutal tortui-e and insult was duly carried out, after which the four heads were presented for inspection. one day afterward, two other french missionaries and their twelve students for the priesthood were led captives into seoul, marked with the red cord and yeuow caps betokening prisoners soon to die. with like tortures, and the same shameful details of execu tion, they suffered death on march 11th. on this day, also, daveluy and two other priests were seized, and on march 30th, good friday, decapitated, together with two faithful natives. in the case of dave luy, the barbarity of the proceeding was increased by the sordid ex ecutioner, who, after deuvering one blow, and while the blood was spouting out from the wound, left the "victim to bargain with the of&cial for the sum due him for his work of blood. in a little over a month au missiinary operations had come to a standstul. scores of natives had been put to death ; hundreds , more were in prison. eidel, while hiding between two walls, wrote to peking, describing the state of affairs. feron and eidel met on may 8th, travelling all night, and on june 15th they found that calais was still alive. hearing that a foreign steam-vessel was cruising off the nai-po, eidel sent a letter begging for help. this ship was the eona, captain morrison, belonging to a british firm in china, on its way back from niu-chwang, under the direction of mx. ernest oppert. the native christians were unable to get on board the eona ; but when the same oppert visited haimi in the nai-po, some months later, in the steamer emperor, this letter was put in his hands. meanwhile eidel had reached the sea-coast, and in spite of the viguant patrols, put off in a boat constructed without an ounce of iron, and manned by a crew of eleven christian 376 corea. fishermen. he reached chifa july 7th. going at once to tien-tsin, he informed the french admiral eoze of the recent events in corea, and then returning to chifu, waited till mid-august. feron and calais, hearing of the presence of french ships in the han river, reached the coast, after great straits, to find them gone. they put to sea, however, and got upon a chinese smuggler, by which they reached chifu, october 26fch — while the french expedition was in corea. not one foreign priest now remained in the peninsula, and no chiistian dared openly confess his faith, while thousands were banished, imprisoned, or put to death. thus after twenty years of nearly uninterrupted labors, the church was again stripped of her pastors, and at the end of the eighty-two years of corean christianity, the curtain fell in blood. of four bishops and nineteen priests, au except four were from france, and of these only three remained alive. fourteen were martyrs, and four fell victims to the toils and dangers of their no ble calling. in the foregoing story of papal christianity in cho-sen, which we have drawn from dallet — a eoman cathohc writer — ^we have the spectacle of a brave band of men, mostly secular priests edu cated in french seminaries of learning, doing what they believed it was right to do. setting the laws of this pagan country at defiance, they, by means of dissimulation and falsehood, entered the country in disguise as nobles in mourning. fully believing in the dogma of salvation by works, they were sublimely diligent in carrying on their labors of cftnversion, ever in readiness for that crown of martyrdom which each one coveted, and which so many obtained ; but the nobleness of their calling was disfigured by the foul and abominable teaching that evil should be done in order that good might come — a tenet that insults at once the new testament and the best casuistry of the eoman catholic church. according to the code of any nation, their converts were traitors in inviting invasion ; but if worthy to be set down as arnolds and iscariots, then their teachers have the greater blame in leading them astray. it is to be hoped that the future christian mission aries in corea, whether of the greek, roman, or reformed branch, wiu teach christianity with more of the moral purity inculcated by its founder. chaptee xlin. ' the french expedition. the preliminaries of the french expedition to corea in 1866 may be gathered from the letters which passed between the french chargg d'affairs at peking and prince kung, the chinese premier, as published in the united states diplomatic correspondence, 1867-68.' the pyrotechnic bombast of the frenchman may be best understood by remembering that he lived in the palmy days of louis napoleon and the third empire. his violent language and behavior may be contrasted with the calm demeanor aad firm temper of the astute chinaman, the greatest of the diplomats of the middle kingdom. "unfortunately for the interests of his countiy, m. h. beuonet had carried into diplomacy the rude customs and unmeasured language of the african zouaves, in whose ranks he had served at one period of his career." > july 13, 1866. m. de bellonbt to pkincb kung. sik ; i grieve to bring officially to the knowledge of your imperial highness a horrible outrage committed in the small kingdom of corea, which formerly assumed the bonds of vassalage to the chinese empire, but which this act of savage barbarity has forever separated from it. in the course of the month of march last, the two french bishops who were evangelizing corea, and with them nine missionaries and seven corean priests, and a great multitude of christians of both sexes and of every age, were massacred by order of the sovereign of that country. the government of his majesty cannot permit so bloody an outrage to be xmpunished. the same day on which the king of corea laid his hands upon my unhappy, countrymen was the last of his reign ; he himself proclaimed its end, which i, in turn, solemnly declare to-day. in a few days our military forces are to march to the conquest of corea, and the emperor, my august sovereign, alone has now the right and the power to dispose, according to his good pleasure, of the country and the vacant throne. the chinese government has declared to me many times that it has no authority over corea, and it refused on this pretext to apply the treaties of 378 corea. the best commentary upon this boast of an irate underling, dressed in the brief authority of his superior, will be found in tha events of the expedition, notably in the reduction to ashes of the city of kang-wa, which rendered 10,000 people homeless, and in the repulse of the reckless invaders ov6n before bellonet at peking was settling the fate of the king. with bishop eidel as interpreter, and three of his converts as pilots, three vessels were sent to explore the han river. equipped with charts made by captain james of the emperor, who had ex amined the western entrance one month before, the despatch-boat deroulede leaving her consorts in prince jerome gulf, steamed up the river on september 21st, as far as the narrows between kang wa and the mainland. the french officers were charmed with the beauty of the autumnal scenery. on the cultivated plain, check ered into a thotisand squares of tiny rice-fields, all well irrigated, tien-tsin to that country, and give to our missionaries the passports wmch. we have asked from it. we have taken note of these declarations, and we de clare now that we dp not recognize any authority whatever of the chinese government over the kingdom of corea. i have, etc., h. de bellonet. his imperial highness, prince kung. spurning with irritating, not ta say insulting, language, the suggestion of prince kung that bellonet might do well to inquire into the causes and merits of the execution of the missionaries, the representative of france, novemher 11th, again addressed the chinese statesman. in this missive occurs the follow ing: "as for the fate of the former king of corea, it is now subject to the decision of the emperor, my august sovereign." monsieur bellonet's method is one specimen of the manner in which the envoys of european nations are accustomed to bully the governments of asiatic countries. in a long communication to prince kung, dated november 11, 1866, mr. bellonet charges upon the chinese government : 1st. complicity with corea. 2d. that the corean embassy, during the previous winter, had stated the project of the massacre, and had received the tacit official authorization of the chinese government. 3d. the direct approval of several high members of it. 4th. that the recruiting and mobilization of mauohiu troops, beyond the great wall, was for the purpose of assisting corea against the french. he writes, in addition to the above, an amazing amount of nonsense, which shows of what magnifying powers the human eye is capable when enlarged by suspicion. among other tidbits of rodomontade, is this one— which is a truthful picture of the france of napoleon iii.— "war for us is a pleasure which the french passionately seek ; " and this— "the people of corea address us as de liverers, ... we shall inaugurate the reign of order, justice, and pros perity." the french expedition. 379 the golden-tinted grain, now full ripe, awaited the sicile and the sheaf-binder. n>imerous villages dotted the landscape, and to the northwest rose the green hills on which sat, like a queen, the city of kang-wa. a number of forts, as yet unmounted with cannon, were already built. others, in process of construction, were rising on weu-chosen sites commanding the river. no garrison or a single soldier was as yet seen. the simple villagers, at first fright ool.l6»" ■j ■ ^ tfench ^ cam. map of french naval and military operations, 1866. ened at the sight of a mighty black ship, moving up the river against a strong current without sails or oars, collected in crowds along the banks to see this fire-pulsing monster from the western ocean. on the 23d the deroulfede and tardif, leaving the primauguet at boisee (woody) island, moved up the han eiver to the capital, the corean puots at the bow, and bidel with the men at the wheel. 380 corea. one or two forts fired on the vessels as they steamed, along, and in one place a fleet of jnnks gathered to dispute their passage. a well-aimed shot sunk two of the erazy craft, and a bombshell dropped among the artillerists in the redoubt silenced it at once. the rocks were safely avoided, and on the evening of the 25th, the two ships cast anchpr, and the flag of france floated in front of the corean capital. the hills environing the city and every point of view were white with gazing thousands, who for the first time saw a vessel moving under steam. the ships remained abreast of the city several days, the officers taking soundings and measurements, computing heights and mak ing plans. m. eidel went on shore in hopes of finding a christian and hearing some news, but none dared to approach him. whue the french remained in the river, not a bag of rice nor a fagot of wood entered seoul. eight days of such terror, and a famine would have raged in the city. seven thousand houses were deserted by their occupants. eetuming to boisee island, having surveyed the river, two con verts came on board. they informed eidel of the burning of a " european " ship [the general sherman] at ping-an, the renewal of "the persecution, and the order that christians should be put to death without waiting for instructions from seoul. eidel in vain urged admiral eoze to remain with his fleet, in order to intimidate the government. sailing away, the ships arrived at chifu, octo ber 3d. tai-wen kun, now thoroughly alarmed, began to stir up the coun try to defense. the military forces in every province were called out. every scrap of iron was collected, and the forges and black smith shops were busy day and night in making arms of every known kind ; even the farmer's tools were altered into pikes and sabres. loaded junks were sunk in the channel of the han to ob struct it. through the japanese at fusan, and the daimio of tsushima, word was sent to the tycoon of japan, informing him of his straits, and begging for assistance. the yedo government, being at that time in great straits between the pressure of foreign ers on one hand, and of the " mikado-reverencers " on the other, could not then, had it been right to do so, afibrd any mihtary as sistance against the french, with whom a treaty had been made. instead of this, two commissioners were appointed to go to seoul, and recommend that cho-sen open her ports to foreign com merce, as japan had done, and thus choose peace instead of war the french expedition. 381 with foreigners. before the envoys could leave japan, the tycoon had died, and the next year japan was in the throes of civil war, the sho-gunate was abolished, and corea was for the time utterly forgotten. the object of the french expedition and the blockade of the salee (han) river were duly announced from the french legation in china to the chinese and foreign representatives in peking. without waiting to hear from his government at home, bellonet despatched the fleet and made war on his own responsibility. the squadron which sailed october 11th, to distribute thrones and de capitate prime ministers, consisted of the frigate guerrifere, the corvettes laplace and primauguet, the despatch-vessels deroul6de and kien-chan, and the gunboats tardif and lebrethon, with 600 soldiers, including a detachment of 400 marines from the camp at yokohama. one would have thought 600 men rather too small a force to root up thrones with, seeing that the days of cortez and pizarro were past. the coreans were not like the mexicans, who thought a horse and his rider were one animal. they had smelt powder and fought tigers. on october 13th the admiral cast anchor off bois^e island. the next, day the gunboats steamed up the river, landing the ma rines in camp, a little over half a mile from the city. on the 15th, before any attempt was made to communicate with the government, a reconnoissance was made in force, toward kang-hoa (kang-wa), during which a small fort, mounting two guns, was captured. kang-wa was, to a modem eye, probably one of the best fortified cities in the kingdom. it was surrounded by a crenelated wall, nearly fifteen feet high ! behind this defense the native soldiery stood ready with flails, arrows, matchlocks, and jingals. the royal residence, for pleasure in summer, and refuge in war time, was beautifully situated on a wooded hill, from which a glori ous view of the island, sea, and mainland was visible. the fertile island itself lay like a green emerald upon a greener sea. crops of rice, barley, tobacco, sorghum, maize, various root foods, chinese cabbage, chestnuts, persimmons, with here and there a great camellia tree just entering into bloom, greeted the view of the in vaders. kang-wa was well named " the flower of the river." at eight o'clock on the morning of october 16th an attack was made in force on the main gate. at the distance of one hundred yards, the infantry charged on a run, to the cry of " vive i'empe 382 corba. reur." the hot fire of the jingals checked them not a moment. reaching the wall, they set up the scaling ladders, and in a few mo ments hundreds of frenchmen were inside, shooting down the fly ing white-coats, or engaging in a hand to hand encounter, though only a few natives were killed. the gate was soon cmshed in with axes, and the main body entered easily. firing was soon over, and the deserted city was in the victors hands. about eighty bronze and iron cannon, mostly of very small calibre, over six thou sand matchlocks, and the official archives of the city were found and made trophies of. kang-wa was the military headquarters for western corea and the chief place of gunpowder manufacture. large magazines of food supplies had been collected in it. eighteen boxes of silver, containing ingots to the value of nearly thirty eight thousand dol lars, and a great many books and manuscripts were found, besides spoil of many kinds from the shops and houses. immense stores of bows and arrows, iron sabres vrathout scabbards, helmets, and breech-loading cannon of corean manufacture. breastplates, beautifully wrought, but very heavy and clumsy, were found. the cannon had no carriages, but were fastened to logs or fixed platforms. they were breech-loaders, in that the powder, fixed in an iron cartridge, was introduced at the breech, while the ball seemed to be put in simultaneously at the muzzle. these double-ended cannon reminded one of a tortoise. a curious or rather comical thing aljout these cannon was that many of them had several touch holes in a row, the cannonier firing them by applying his match rapidly along the line of vents— an "accelerating gun," of a rude kind. the corean gunpowder is said to burn so slowly that a charge has to be lighted at both ends— a type of the national pol icy. as the coreans were fortifying tong-chn with unusual care, the admiral sent out, october 26th, a reconnoitering party of one hundred and twenty men, who were landed on the mainland, op posite kang-wa island, whence the high road runs direct to the the french expedition. 383 capital. here was a village, with fortifications clustered around a great gate, having a pointed stone arch surmounted by the figure of a tortoise and a pagoda. to force this gate was to win the way to the capital. as the marines were disembarking, the coreans poured in a heavy fire, which killed two and wounded twenty-five frenchmen. nevertheless the place was stormed and seized, but as the corean forces were gathering in the vicinity, the marines returned to the ships to await reinforcements. toward evening a party of coreans defiled at the foot of the plain in gallant array, evidently elated with supposed victory. suddenly, as they came within range, the french ships opened on them with shell, which exploded among them. terrified at such unknown war missiles, they broke and fled to the hill-tops, where, to their surprise, they were again enveloped in a shower of iron. finally they had to take shelter in the distant ravines and the far plains, which at night were olumined by their bivouac fires. weak men and nations, in fighting against stronger enemies, must, like the weaker ones in the brute creation, resort to cunning. they try to weary out what they cannot overcome. the coreans, even before rifled cannon and steamers, began to play the same old tricks practised in the war with the japanese in the sixteenth cen tury. they made hundreds of literal " men of straw," and stuck them within range of the enemy's artillery, that the frenchmen might vainly expend their powder and iron. the keen-eyed frenchmen, aided by their glasses, detected the cheat, and wasted no shot on the mannikins. meanwhile the invaded nation was ,roused to a white heat of wrath. the furnace of persecution and the forges of the armorers were alike heated to their utmost. earnest hands plied with rival ling diligence the torture and the sledge. in the capital it was vmtten on the gate-posts of the palace that whoever should propose peace with the french should be treated as a traitor and im mediately executed. on october 19th, ni, the corean general commanding, had sent the french admiral a long letter stuffed with quotations from the chinese classics, the gist of which was that whoever from outside broke through the frontiers of another kingdom was worthy of death — a. sentiment well worthy of a state of savagery. the french admiral, with equal national bombast, but in direct 384 corea. and clearest phrase, demanded the suitender of the three high ministers of the court, else he would hold the corean government responsible for the miseries of the war. the coreans in camp were ceaselessly busy in drilling raw troops and improving their marksmanship. soldiers arrived from all quarters, and among them was a regiment of eight hundred tiger-hunters from the north, every man of whom was a dead shot either with bow or matchlock. these men, who had faced the tiger and many of whom had felt his claws, were not likely to fear even french "devus.'' they garrisoned a fortified monastery on the island which was situated in a valley in the centre of a circle of hills which were crowned by a wall of uncemented masonry. it could be approached only by one small foot-path in a deep ravine. the entrance was a gateway of heavy hewn stone, arched in a full semicircle, the gate being in one piece. the walls were mounted with home-made artulery. on the same day on which this information reached the admiral, the natives attacked a french survey boat, whereupon he at once resolved to capture the monastery. for this purpose lie detached 160 men, without artiuery, who left at six o'clock in the morning of october 27th, with their luncheon packed on horses. the invaders, with their heads turned by too many easy victories, went in something like picnic order, frequently stopping to rest and enjoy the autumnal scenery. on several occasions they saw squads of men marching over the hills toward the same destination, but this did not hurry the frenchmen, though a native informed them that the monastery, ordinarily inhabited only by a dozen priests, was now garrisoned and full of soldiers. at 11.30 they arrived near the fortress, when some one proposed lunch. others jauntily declared it would be very easy to capture "the pagoda," and then dine in the hall of buddha himself; this advice was not, however, followed. having arranged three parties, they advanced to within three hundred yards of the gate. all within was as silent as death. suddenly a sheet of flame burst from the whole length of the wau, though not a black head nor a white coat was visible. in a minute the french columns were shattered and broken, and not a man was on his feet. the soldiers, retreating in a hail of lead, found refuge behind rocks, sheaves of rice, piles of straw, and in the huts near by. there the officers rallied their men lest the gan-ison should make a sally. the wounded were then borne to the rear. they numbered thirty the french expedition. 385, two. only eighty fighting men were left, and these soon became conscious of being weak and very hungry, for they had been cruelly tantalized by seeing the lunch-horse kick up his heels at the first fire, and trot over to the coreans. they learned that one of the slips 'twixt the cup and the lip might be caused by a horse in cho sen. perhaps some native poet improvised a poem contrasting the patriotic nag with the steed of kanko, which led a hungry army home. it being madness or annihilation for eighty frenchjnen to at tempt to storm a stone fortress, garrisoned by five or ten times their number of enemies, and guarded with artillery, retreat was resolved on. the wounded were hastily cared for and the mourn^ ful march began. the stronger men carried their severely injured comrades on their shoulders with brotherly kindness. the un wounded who were free formed the rear-guard. three times the little band had to face about and fire with effect at the coreans, who thrice charged their foe8,with heavy loss to themselves. they then mounted the hills, and with savage yells celebrated their vic tory over the western barbarians. it was not till night, hungry and tired, that reinforcements were met a half league from camp. they had been sent out by the admiral, to whom had come presenti ment of failure. there was gloom in the camp that night and at headquarters. the near sky and the horizon, notched by the huls, seemed to glare with unusual luridness, betokening the joy and the deadly purpose of the inyaded people. the next morning, to the surprise of all, and the anger of many, orders were given to embark. the work on the fortifica tions begun around the camp was left ofi: the troops in kang-wa set fire to the city, which, in a few hours, was a level heap of ashes. the departure of the invaders was so precipitate that the patriots to this day gloat over it as a disgraceful retreat. a huge bronze bell, from one of the temples in kang-wa, which had been transported half way to the camp, was abandoned. the coreans recaptured this, regarding it as a special trophy of victorj'. the french embarked at night, and at six o'clock next morning dropped down to the anchorage at boisee island. on the way, every fort on the island seemed to be manned and popping away at the ships, but hurting only the paint and rigging. to their great disgust, the men repulsed two days before, discovered the walls of the monastery from deck, and that the distance was only a mile and 25 386 corea. a half from the river side. there was considerable silent swearing among the officers, who believed it could be easuy stormed and taken even then. orders must be obeyed, however, and in rage and shame they silently gazed on the grim walls. the return cf the expedition was a great surprise to the fleet at bois€e island. on his return to china, the admiral found, to his mortification, that his government did not approve of the headlong venture of bel lonet. ' in the palace at seoul, the resolve was made to exterminate chris tianity, root and branch. women and even children were ordered to the death. several christian nobles were executed. one christian, who was betrayed in the capital by his pagan brother, and another unknown fellow-believer were taken to the river side in front of the city, near the place where the two french vessels had anchored. at this historic spot, by an innovation unknown in the customs of cho-sen, they were decapitated, and their headless trunks held neck downward to spout out the hot life-blood, that it might wash away the stain of foreign pollution. " it is for the sake of these christians," said the official proclamation, " that the barbarians have come just here. it is on account of these only that the waters of our river have been defiled by western ships. it behooves that their blood should wash out the stain." upon the mind of the regent and court at seoul, the effect was to swell their pride to the folly of extravagant conceit. feeling themselves able almost to defy the world, they began soon after to hurl their defiance at japan. the dwarf of yesterday had become a giant in a day. ' the results of this expedition were disastrous all over the bast. happen ing at a time when relations between foreigners and chinese were strained, the unexpected return of the fleet filled the minds of europeans in china with alarm. it was the unanimous verdict of press and people that the return of the french in sufficient force to corea in the spring was a measure of absolute safety to foreigners in the far east. if not, since both british and american citizens were among the crew of the general sherman, murdered at fing-an, the fleets of great britain and the united states should proceed to seoul. this, however, was not done ; the english let well enough alone, the french soon had their hands full in attending to the germans at home, and the americans went later only to follow admiral roze's example. meanwhile the smothered embers of hostility to foreign influence steadily gathered vigor, as the report spread like a gale through china that the hated frenchmen had been driven away by the coreans. the fires at length broke out in the tien-tsin massacre, june 31, 1870. "it is believed by many thoughtful observers in china that this frightful event gained its first serious impetus from the unfortunate issue of admiral eoze's campaign in corea. " the french expedition. 387 in spite of foreign invaders and war's alarms, one peaceful event daring this same yeai', and shortly after the french fleet had gone away, sent a ripple of pleasure over the surface of corean society. the young king, now but foiu-teen years old, who had been duly betrothed to min,' a daughter of one of the noble families, was duly married. popular report credits the young queen with abili ties not inferior to those of her royal husband. according to custom, the chinese emperor sent an ambassador, one koei-ling, a mandarin of high rank, to bear the imperial con gratulations and investiture of the queen. this merry chinaman, cultivated, lively, poetic in mood, and susceptible to nature's beauties, wrote an account of his journey between the two capitals. his charming impressions of travel give us glimpses of peaceful life in the land of morning calm, and afford a delightful contrast to the grim visage of war, with which events in corea during the last decade have unhappily made us too familiar. ' the min or ming family is largely chinese in blood and origin, and, be sides being pre-eminent among all the corean nobility in social, political, and intellectual power, has been most strenuous in adherence to chinese ideas and traditions, with the purpose of keeping corea unswerving in her vassalage and loyalty to china. their retainers constitute a large portion of the popula tion of seoul. besides the queen, the king on his mother's side, the wife of the heir apparent, and several of the highest officers of the government belong to the house of min. for centuries this family has practically governed the kingdom. their social and personal influence in peking has always been very great, while at home their relations to the treasury and the army liave been very close. the plot of 1882 was in effect an ineffectual attempt to destroy their power. when china commanded, they approved of the treaty with the united states. chapter xliy. american relations with corea. america became a commercial rival to cho-sen as early as 1757, when the products of oounecticut and massachusetts lay side by side with corean imports in the markets of peking and canton. gin seng, the most precious drug in the chinese pharmacopoeia, had been for ages brought from manchuria and the neighboring peninsula, where, on the mountains, the oldest and richest roots are found. the dutch traders, at once noticing the insatiable demand for the famed remedy, sought all over the world for a supply. the sweetish and mucilaginous root, though considered worthless by europeans, was then occasionally bringing its weight in gold, and usually seven times its weight in suver, at peking, and the merchants in the annual embassy from seoul were reaping a rich harvest. besides selling the younger and less valuable crop in its natural condition, they had factories in which the two-legged roots — which to the asiatic imagination suggested the figure of the human body they were meant to refresh — were so manipulated as to take on the appearance of age, thus enhancing their price in the market. suddenly the corean market was broken. stimulated by the dutch merchants at albany, the indians of massachusetts had found the fleshy root growing abundantly on the hilis around stockbridge in massachusetts. taking it to albany, they exchanged it for hardware, trinkets, and rum. while the dutch domines were scandalized at the drunken revels of the " yankee " indians, who equalled the mohawks in their inebriation, good jonathan edwards at stockbridge was grieving over the waywardness of his dusky flock, because they had gone wild over ginseng-hunting. the hollanders, shipping the bundled roots on their galliots down the hudson, and thence to amsterdam and london, sold them, to the british east india company at a profit of five hundred per cent. landed at canton, and thence carried to peking, american ginseng broke the market, forced the price to a shockingly low figure, and dealt a heavy blow to the corean monopoly. american relations with corea. 389 henceforth a steady stream of ginseng— now found in limitless quantities in the ohio and mississippi valleys— poured iiito china. though far inferior to the best article, it {aralia quinquefolia) is sufficiently hke it in taste and real or imaginary qualities to rival the root of cho-sen, v?hich is not of the very highest grade. less than a generation had passed from the time that the west ern end of massachusetts had any influence on corea or china, be fore there was brought from the far east an herb that influenced the colony at her other end, far otherwise than commercially. mas sachusetts had sent ginseng to canton, chma now sent tea to massachusetts. the herb from amoy was pitched into the sea by men dressed and painted like the indians, and the eevolution fol lowed. the war for independence over. captain john greene, in the ship empress of china, sailed from new york, february 22, 1784. major samuel shaw, the supercargo, without government aid or recognition, established american trade' with china, hving at can ton during part of the year 1786 and the whole of 1787 and 1788. having been appointed consul by president washington in 1789, while on a visit home, major shaw returned to china in an en tirely new ship, the massachusetts, built, navigated, and owned by american citizens. at canton he held the office of consul certainly until the year 1790, and presumably until his death in 1794. this first consul of the united states in china received his commission from congress, on condition that he should "not be entitled to receive any salary, fees, or emoluments whatever." animated by the spirit of independence, and a laudable ambi tion, the resolute citizen of the new world declared that "the americans must have tea, and they seek the most lucrative market for their precious root ginseng." ' it was ginseng and tea — ^an exchange of the materials for drink, a barter of tonics — that brought the americans and chinese, and finally the americans and coreans together. ' tlie honorable gideon nye, of china, from whose article in " the far east" these facts are drawn concerning the first consul of the united states to china, has effectually disproved the oft-quoted statement of sir john davis in his "history of china," that "it was in the year 1802 that the american flag was first hoisted at canton." dr. william speer in his excellent book — ^fair to the chinese as well as to foreigners — has told the story of jonathan edwards and his troubles over ginseng and the drink which his in dian pupils bought with it. 390 corea. cotton was tlie next american raw material exporiied to china, beginning in 1791. in 1842 the loaded ships sailed direct from alabama to canton, on the expansion of trade after the opium war. the idea now began to dq,wn upon some minds that it was high time that japan and corea should be opened to american com merce. the first public man who gave this idea official expression was the honorable zadoc pratt, then member of the house of rep resentatives from the eleventh (now the fifteenth) congressional district of new york. as chairman of the committee on naval aliairs, he introduced in congress, february 12, 1845, a proposi tion for the extension of american commerce by the despatch of a mission to japan and corea as follows : " it is hereby recommended that immediate measures be taken for effecting commercial arrangements with the empire of japan and the kingdom of corea," etc. (congressional olobe; vol. xiv., p. 294). the mexican war was then already looming as a near possibility, and under its shadow, the wisdom of sending even a part of our little navy was doubted, and mr. pratt's bill failed to pass. none of the american commanders, glyn, biddle, john eodgers, or even perry, seem to have ventured into corean waters, and commodore perry has scarcely mentioned the adjacent kingdom in the narrative of the treaty expedition which he wrote, and his pastor, the rev. francis l. hawks, edited. in truth, the sealed country was at that time almost as little known as that of corea or coreae, which josephus mentions, or that province of india which bears the same name. the commerce which sprang up, not only between our country and china and japan, but also that carried on in american vessels be tween shanghae, chifu, tien-tsin, and niu-chwang in north china, and the japanese ports, made the navigation of corean waters a necessity. sooner or later shipwrecks must occur, and the ques tion of the humane treatment of american citizens cast on corean shores came up before our government for settlement, as it had long before in the case of japan. when it did begin to rain it poured. within one year the corean government having three american cases to deal with, gave a startling illustration of its policy — with the distressed, kindness ; with the rqbber, powder and iron ; with the invader, death and annihilation. american relations with corea. 391 on june 24, 1866, the american schooner surprise was wrecked off the coast (of whang-hai ?). the approach of any foreign vessel: was especially dangerous at this time, as the crews might be mis taken for frenchmen and killed by the people fi-om patriotic im pulses. nevertheless captain mccashn and his men with their chinese cook, after being first well catechised by the local mag istrate, and secondly by a commissioner sent from seoul, were kindly treated and well fed, and provided with clothing, medicines, and tobacco. by. orders of tai-wen kun, they were escorted on horseback to ai-chiu, and, after being feasted there, were conducted safely to the border gate. thence, after a hard journey via muk den, they got to niu-chwang and to the united states consul. a gold watch was voted by congress to the eev. pere gilhe for his kindness to these men while in mukden. from a passage in one of the letters of the corean government, we gather that the crew of still another american ship were hos pitably treated after shipwreck, but of the circumstances we are ignorant. of the general sherman affair more is known. the general sherman was an american schooner, owned by a mr. preston, who was making a voyage for health. she was con signed to messrs. meadows & co., a british firm in tien-tsin, and reached that port july, 1866. after delivery of her cargo, an ar rangement was made by the firm and owner to load her with goods likely to be saleable in corea, such as cotton cloth, glass, tin-plate, etc., and despatch her there on an experimental voyage in the hoj)e of thus opening the country to commerce. leaving tien-tsin july 29th, the vessel touched at chifu, and took on board mr. hogarth, a young englishman, and a chinese shroff,' familiar with corean money. the complement of the ves sel was now five white foreigners, and nineteen malay and chinese sailors. the owner, preston, the master, page, and the mate, wil son, were americans. the eev. mr. thomas, who had learned corean from refugees at chifu, and had made a trip to whang-hai on a chinese junk, went on board as a passenger to improve his knowledge of the language." ' these shroffs are experts in handling money. they can detect counter feits by the touch, and, with incredible celerity, can reckon amounts to thou sandths of a cent on the abacus. one or more of them are found in nearly every one of the banks and hongs in eurasian ports. ' some weeks before, he had offered to penetrate the peninsula as mission ary and agent of the scottish national bible society. the coreans who had 392 corea. from the first the character of the expedition was suspected, because the men were rather too heavily armed for a peaceful trad ing voyage. it was believed in china that the royal cofl&ns in the t6mbs of ping-an, wherein more than one dynasty of cho-sen lay buried, were of solid gold ; and it was broadly hinted that the ex pedition had something to do with these. the schooner, whether merchant or invader, leaving chifu, took a west-northwest direction, and made for the mouth of the ta tong river. there they met the chinese captain of a chifu junk, who agreed to pilot them up the river. he continued on the general sherman during four tides, or two days. then leaving her, he re turned to the river's mouth, and sailed back to chifu, where he was met and questioned by the firm of meadows & co. no further direct intelligence was ever received from the un fortunate party. the time chosen for this " experimental trading voyage " was strangely inopportune. the whole country was excited over the expected invasion of the french, and to a corean — especially in the north, where not one in ten thousand had ever seen a white for eigner — any man dressed in foreign clothes would be taken for a frenchman, as were even the japanese crew of the gunboat unyo kuan in 1875. an armed vessel would certainly be taken for a french ship, and made the object of patriotic vengeance. according to one report, the hatches of the schooner were fas tened down, after the crew had been driven beneath, and set on fire. according to another, all were decapitated. the coreans burned the wood work for its iron, and took the cannon for models. during this same month of august, 1866, the jewish merchant ernest oppert, in the steamer emperor, entered the han river, and had secret interviews with some of the native christians, who wrote to him ill latin. communications were also held with the gov ernor of kang-wa, and valuable charts were made by captain james. one month later, in september, the french war-vessels made their appearance. the u. s. steamship wachusett, despatched by admiral rowan to inquire into the sherman affair, reached chifu january 14, accompanied bishop ridel to chifu, and who had met dr. williamson, volunteered to be his guides, and he had decided to go with them. when the opportunity of going by the american vessel ofcered itself, he changed his plan. against the advice of his friends, who suspected the character of the expedition, lie joined the party. american relations with corba. 393 1867, and is said to have taken on board the chinese pilot of the general sherman, and the eev. mr. corbett, an american mission ary, to act as interpreter. leaving chifu january 21st, they cast anchor, january 23d, at the mouth of the large inlet opposite sir james hau group, which indents whang-hai province. this estu aiy they erroneously supposed to be the ta tong river leading to ping-an city, vrhereas they were half a degree too far south, as the chart made by themselves shows. a letter was despatched, throilgh the official of cow island, near map illustrating; the " general shernnan " affair. the anchorage, to the prefect of the large city nearest the place of the sherman aflfair, demanding that the murderers be produced on the deck of the wachusett. the city of ping-ah was about seventy five mues distant. the letter probably went to hai-chiu, the capi tal of the province. five days elapsed before the answer arrived, during which the surveying boats were busy. many natives were met and spoken to, who all told one story, that the sherman's crew were murdered by the people, and not by official instigation.' ' a broad streak of light was thrown upon at least one possible cause of the sherman tragedy, by the statement of the natives that chinese pirates fre quently descend on the coast and kill and rob the coreans. during the pre 394 corea. on tlie 29th, an officer from one of the villages of the district appeared, "-whose presence inspired the greatest dread among the people." an interview was held, during which commander shu feldt possessed his soul in patience. to the polished american's eye, the corean's manner was haughty and imperious. he was utterly beyond the reach of rea son and of argument. in his person he seemed. " the perfect type of a cruel and vindictive savage." the corean's impressions of the american, not being in print, are unknown. it is unnecessary to give the details of the fruitless interview. the american could get neither information nor satisfaction ; the gist of the corean reiteration was, "go away as soon as pos sible." commander shufeldt, bound by his orders, could do nothing more, and being compelled also by stress of weather, came away. in 1867, dr. s. weus williams, secretary of the legation of the united states at peking, succeeded in obtaining an interview with a member of the corean embassy, who told him that after the general sherman got aground, she careened over, as the tide receded, and her crew landed to guard or float her. the natives gathered around them, and before long an altercation took place between the two parties, which soon led to blows and bloodshed. a general attack began upon the foreigners, in which every man was kiued by the mob. about twenty of the natives lost their lives. dr. williams' comment is, " the evidence goes to uphold the presumption that they invoked their sad fate by some rash or violent act toward the natives." dr. williams also met a chinese pilot, yu wautai, who reported that in 1867 he had seen the hull of a foreign vessel lying on the south bank of the river, about ten miles up from the sea. the hull was full of water. a corean from sparrow island had told him that the murder of the sherman's crew was entirely the work of the people and farmers, and not of the magistrates or soldiery. still determined to leam something of the fate of the sherman's crew, since reports were current that two or more of them were still alive and in prison, admiral kowan, in may, 1867, despatched another vessel, which this time got into the right river. com vious year, several natives had been killed by chinese pirates near the wachu sett's anchorage. as ten of the crew of the sherman were canton chinamen, it is probable that the very sight of them on an a/rmed vessel would inflame the coreans to take their long-waited for revenge. american relations with couea. 395 mander febiger, in the u. s. steamship shenandoah, besides sui- veying the "ping yang inlet," learned this version of the affair : a foreign vessel arrived in the river two years before. the local officials went on board and addressed the two foreign officers of the ship in respectful language. the latter grossly insulted the native dignitaries, i.e., " they turned round and went to sleep." a man on board, whom they spoke of as "tonj',' a french man," used violent and very impolite language toward them. the coreans treated their visitors kindly, but warned them of their danger, and the unlawfulness of penetrating into, or trading in the country. nevertheless, the foreigners went up the river to ping-an city, where they seized the " adjutant-general's " ship, put him in chains, and proceeded to rob the junks and their crews. the people of the city aroused to wrath, attacked the foreign ship with fire-arms and cannon ; they set .adrift fire-rafts, and even made a hand-to-hand fight with pikes, knives, and swords. the foreigners fought desperately, but the coreans overpowered them. finally, the ship, having caught fire, blew up with a terrific report. this story was not of course believed by the american officers, but even the best wishers and friends of the ping-an adventurers cannot stifle suspicion of either cruelty or insult to the natives. knowing the character of certain members of the party, and re membering the kindness shown to the crew of the surprise, few of the unprejudiced will believe that the general sherman's crew were murdered without cause. in 1884, lieutenant j. b. bernadon, u.s.n., made a journey from s^oul to ping-an, and, being able to speak corean, learned the following from native christians. the sherman, arriving during the heavy midsummer rains, which make the river impassable to native boats, was seen from the city walls and caused great excitement. when the waters subsided the governor sent officers to inquire her mission. unfortunately, to gratify their curiosity, the common people set out also in a large fleet of boats, which the sherman's crew mistook for a hostile demonstration, and fired guns in the air to warn them off. then all the boats returned. when the river fell the sherman grounded and careened over, which being seen from the city walls a fleet of boats set out with hostile intent and were fired upon. oflscers and people, now enraged, started fire-rafts, and soon the vessel, though with white flag hoisted, was in flames. of those who leaped in the river most were drowned. of those picked up one tchoi-nan-un (rev. mr. thomas), who was able to talk corean, explained the meaning of the white flag, and begged to be surrendered to china. his prayer was in vain. in a few days all the prisoners were led out and publicly executed. chaptek xlv. a body-snatching expedition. eaely in may, 1867, the foreign settlement at shanghae was thrown into excitement by the report of the return of an unsuccess ful piratical expedition from corea. the ennui of eurasian port life was turned into a lively glow, of excitement. conversation at the clubs and tea-tables, which had wilted down to local gossip. wade's policy, paper hunts, and the races, now turned upon the politics and geography, methods of royal sepulture, mortuary arch itecture, antiquities, customs, and costumes in the mysterious pen insula. the pleasures of wheelbarrow rides, and visits to the bub bling springs, now palled before the pending trial at the united states consular court. an american citizen was charged with making an " tmlawful and scandalous expedition" to corea, and of violently attempting to land in a country with which the united states had no treaty rela tions. it was further stated that he had gone to exhume the bones of a defunct king in order to hold them for sale or ransom. in plain english, it was said to be a piratical and body-snatching de scent upon the grave-yards of cho-sen, to dig up royal remains, not for the purpose of dissection, nor in the interests of science or of archaeology, but for the sake of money, which money was to be extorted from the regent and court of seoul. the idea, of course, awoke merriment as well as interest. one may well understand why professor marsh should make periodical descents upon the bone-yards of eed cloud's territory, and exhibit his triumphs— skeletons of toothed birds and of geological horses as smau as corean ponies— in a museum under glass cases, well mounted with shining brass springs and iron joints. even a school boy can without laughing think of dr. sehliemann rooting among the tombs of mycense, and di cesnola sifting the dust of kurium for its golden treasures. even the night picture of resurrectianists, a body-snatching expedition. 397 emptying graves in a scotch kirk-yard for subjects to sell at a pound sterling apiece, has few elements of humor about it. but to conceive of civilized "christians," or israelites, charter ing a steamer to exhume and steal the carcase and mouldering bones of a heathen king, to hold them in pawn to raise money on them created more laughter than frowns or tears. it was thought that the sign under which the ship sailed, instead of being the flag of the north german confederation, should have been the thi'e^ golden balls, such as hang above a pawnbroker's windows. the person on trial was formerly an interpreter at the united states consulate, and, having learned chinese from childhood, was able to speak the language fluently, and thus converse, by means of tongue or pencil, with the many coreans who know the stand ard of communication in eastern asia either by sound or sight. it was he also who furnished the' cash for the expedition, the com^ mander-in-chief of which was one oppert, a north german subject ; the guide was a french jesuit priest named farout (evi dently a fictitious name) who spoke corean, having been in the country as a missionary. these three were the leaders of the ex pedition. before going, the american had told consul seward that his object was to take a corean embassy to europe, to negociate trea ties, and to explain to the governments of prance and the united states the murder of their subjects in corea. foiur coreans, with the french missionary bishop bidel, had been in shanghae a short time before, april 24, 1867 ; and the defendant declared that it was from these four persons, whom he styled " commissioners," that he got his information as to the desire of the corean government for treaties, etc. he also stated that this, knowledge was held only by the four coreans, himself, and a jewish pedler, who had several times penetrated into corea, and by whom the corean " commis sioners," had been brought to shanghae. these " commissioners," he averred, had a new and correct version of the general sherman affair. according to their report, some of the crew had become embroiled in a row growing out of the improper treatment of some native women, and were arrested. the crew went to rescue them. they succeeded, and took also two native officers on board for hostages. this so enraged the people that they attacked the crew, killed eight at once, and made prisoners of the others who were still alive. eeaders of our narrative wiu smile at discovering the poor 398 corea. fishermen who brought their bishop across the yellow sea in their boat thus transformed into " ambassadors." one thing seemed to be on the surface — that this modem jason and his argonauts had gone out to find a golden fleece, but came back shorn. on the return of the expedition, mr. seward questioned the american closely, sifted the matter, and finally, being satisfied that something was wrong, put him on trial, eliciting the facts which seem to be the following : oppert, who had been at the naipo, and ■^p the han eiver in the emperor and eona, secured a steamer named the china, of six hundred and eighty tons, with a steam tender, the greta, of sixty tons, and run the north german flag up at the fore. the comple ment of the ship was eight europeans, twenty malays from ma nilla, and about one hundred chinamen, these last were a motley crew of sailors, laborers, and coolies — the riff-raff of humanity," such as swarm in every chinese port. with muskets in their hands — it is doubtful whether a dozen of them had ever fired off a gun — they were to form the " forces " or military escort of the expedi tion, which was to negotiate " treaties," embark an embassy to travel round the globe, and introduce the hermit nation to the world. the "fleet" left shanghae april 30, 1867, and steamed to na gasaki ; in which japanese port she remained two days, taking on board coal, water, and ten cases of muskets. the prow was then headed for chung-chong province. they arrived in prince jerome gulf at 10 p.m. on friday, may 8th. the next day at 10 a.m. they moved farther in the river. in the afternoon they succeeded in getting two small boats, or sampans, partly by persuasion and pay, partly by force. the expedition was then organized, oppert com manding. the mate, engineer, and regular chinese manned the tender which was to tow the boats. the muskets were unpacked and distributed on deck, and the coolies were armed, equipped, taught the difference between the butt and muzzle of their weap ons, and given their orders. four men carried spades or coal shovels to exhume the bones and treasure. the french priest who had been in corea acted as guide and interpreter. shortly after midnight, and very early on sunday morning, the steam tender began to move up the river, stopping at a point about forty miles from the sea. the armed crowd landed, and the march across the open country to the tomb was begun. as they proceeded, the neighborhood became alive with a body-snatching expedition. 399 curious people, and the hills were white with people gazing at the strange procession. a few natives being met on the way, the french priest stopped to speak with them. the party rested for a while at a temple, for the march was getting tiresome, having already occupied several hours. eeaching the burial-place [neartotta-san?], they found a raised mound with a slab of stone on each side at the base. eeneath this tomb was the supposed treasure. was it bones or gold ? the four men with spades now began their work, and soon levelled the mound. they had dug out a considerable quantity of earth, when their shovels struck on a rocjiy slab, which seemed to be the lid of the tomb proper, or the sarcophagus. this they could not move. ah efforts to budge or pry it up were vain. having no crowbars they were, after much useless labor, with per haps not a little swearing, compelled to give up their task. on their return march, the exasperated coreans, plucking up courage, attempted to molest them, but the marauders, firing their guns in the air, kept their assailants at a respectful distance. the party and tender dropped down the river and rejoined the steamer at noon, the weather being foggy. further proceedings of the expedition are knovm only in out line. the steamer weighed anchor and left for kang-wa island. they put themselves in communication with the local magistrate during three days. on the third day a party landed from the ship, and while on shore were fired upon. two men were killed and one wounded. the expedition remained in corea ten days, returning to shang hae after two weeks' absence. in the foregoing trial it is most evident that many details were concealed. the quantity of truth divulged was probably in pro portion to the whole amount, as the puffs of steam from a safety valve are to the volume in the boiler. the accused let out just enough to save them from conviction and to secure their acquittal. the defendant was discharged with the scotch verdict "not proven." mi-. george f. seward, however, wrote to the state pepartment at washington his opinion, that the expedition was " an attempt to take from their tombs the remains of one or more sovereigns of corea, for the purpose, it would seem, of holding them to ransom." whether any great amount of treasure is ever buried with the sovereigns or grandees of cho-sen is not known to us. certain it 400 cobra. is that the national sentiment is that of horror against the distur-t bance or rifling of sepulchres. now they had before their eyes a fresh confirmation of their suspicions that the chief purpose of foreign invaders was to rob the dead and violate the most holy instincts of humanity. the national mind now settled into the conviction that, beyond all doubt, foreigners were barbarians and many of them thieves and robbers. with such eyes were they map illustrating the " china " affair. ready to look upon the flag and ships of the united states when they came in 1871. note. —nearly every word of the above was written in december, 1877, the information having been derived from the united states diplomatic correspon dence. at that time we suspected that " tarout " was the fictitious name of feron, the french roman catholic missionary, who had escaped the persecu tions of 1866. it seems that three countries and three religions were repre sented in this body-snatching expedition, which was of a truly international character. in march, 1880, there was published in london and new york the english translation of " bin verschlossenes land," a work printed in germany. as we read "a forbidden land: voyages to the corea," it dawned upon ui a body-snatching expedition. 401 that the author was none other than "the needy hamburgh trader," "the jewish pedler," of the consular court trial of 1867. it was even so. coolly and without denial, the author tells us that the main object of his last voyage was to " remove " some buried relics held in great veneration by that " blood thirsty tyrant, " the tai-wen kun, or regent. the project was first suggested to him by the french priest, who, as the author takes pains to tell us, was not a jesuit, nor had ever belonged to that order (p. 295), though he gives feron's proposition in his own words (p. 299), the italics being ours : " if the project i am going to lay before you {i.e., to rob the grave) will at first sight appear to you strange and out of the common, remember that a great aim, can never be gained hy small means, and that we must look at this affair from another point of view than that which may be taken by narrow-minded people." . the details of the landing, march [to near totta-san ?] , excavation, and re treat are duly narrated, the blame of failure being laid upon one unlucky wight who was " the only disreputable character we had with us !" after leaving prince jerome gulf, the china proceeded up the han river to tricault island (see map, page 379), ' ' about twenty minutes' steam below kang-wha." there the leader received a, note from the taiouen-goon (the tai-wen kun, or regent), the gist of which was, "corea has no need of foreign intruders." while holding a parley near the wall of a town on tricault island, " the only disreputable character " in the party again-got them into trouble. this black sheep was a german sailor, who, hungering after fresh veal, had stolen a calf ; an act which drew the fire of the native soldiery on the city wall. the thief received a ball in his arm, which compelled him to drop the calf and run, while one manilaman was shot dead. it is not known how far the statistics of a corean warfare diverge from those elsewhere, nor how many tons of lead are required to kill one man, but owing to the incredibly bad aim of the jingal shooters, the remainder of the party of twenty or more escaped their deserts and reached the tender. the next morning the expedition set out on the return to shanghae. after a review of this book (in the nation of april 7, 1880), which the author issued after his imprisonment, the following note appeared in the same paper of april 21st : oppbbt's cokean outkage. to the editor of the nation : sib : the notice of oppert's book on corea recalls some curious incidents to my mind. the raid on the king's tomb was one of the most extraordinary affairs ever known. its inception and failure might have been concealed but for the coreans, when they attacked the ghouls, killing kn unfortunate manilaman. hearing of this, the spanish consul applied to mr. seward (united states consul-general at shanghae), who at once arrested jenkins. i was one of the four " associates " summoned to sit with the consul-general in the trial, and well remember what a perfect burlesque it was. the chinese, who had told a plain and coherent story on preliminary examination, were as dumb as oysters on the stand. when all had been called, the defendant's counsel said that he would rest his case on their testimony. conviction was 402 corea. impossible, but in the minds of those informed on the subject, the wicked ness of this buccaneering expedition was remembered as surpassing even the absurdity of an attempt to destroy a granite mausoleum with coal shovels. there is a monstrous impertinence in oppert's publishing an account of a piratical fiasco which is reported to have cost him a term of imprisonment at home. a. a. hayes, jr. xew york, april 15, 1880. chaptee xlyi. " our little wak with the heathen." the representations made to the department of state at wash ington by dr. s. wells williams, concerning the general sherman, and by consul-general george f. seward, in the matter of the china, affair, directed the attention of the government to .the opening of corea to american commerce. the memorial of mr. seward, dated october 14, 1868, reviewed the advantages to be gained and the obstacles in the way. the need of protection to american seamen was pointed out, and as japan had been opened to international relations by american diplomacy, why should not a smaller nation yield to persuasion ? american merchants in china having seconded mr. seward's proposal, the state department took the matter into serious consideration, and, in 1870, resolved to un dertake the dif&cult enterprise. the servants of the united states who were charged with this delicate mission were, mr. frederick f. low, minister of the united states to peking, and rear-admiral john eodgers, com mander-in-chief of the asiatic squadron. mr. low was directed by secretary fish to gain all possible knowledge from peking, and then proceed on the admiral's flag-ship to the corean capital. he was to make a treaty of commerce if possible, but his chief aim was to secure provision for the protection of shipwrecked mariners. he was to avoid a conjqict of force, unless it could not be avoided without dishonor. " the responsibility of war or peace " was to be left with him and not with the admiral.' there was at this time, all over the far east, a feeling of uncer ' mr. low, who had served one term in congress and as governor of cali fornia from 1864 to 1868, had been chosen by president grant to he minister to china the year before, 1869, was new to his duties. he was in the prime of life, being fifty-two years of age. all his despatches show that cho-sen was as unknown to him as thibet or anam, and from the first he had scarcely one ray of hope in the success of the mission. 404 cobea. tainty and alarm among foreigners, and many portentious signs seemed to indicate a general uprising, both in china and japan, against foreigners. the example of corea in expelling or behead ing the french priests acted as powerful leaven in the minds of the fanatical foreigner-haters in the two countries adjoining. the " mikado reverencers," who in japan had overthrown the " tycoon " and abohshed the dual system of government, made these objects only secondary to the expulsion of all ahens. the cry of " honor the mikado " was joined to the savage yell of the jo-i (alien-haters), " expel the barbarians." in china the smothered feelings of mur derous animosity were almost ready to burst. the air was filled with alarms, even while the american fleet was preparing ' for corea. rearadmiral rodgers,'' who had taken command, and relieved admiral rowan, august 20, 1869, began his preparations with vigor. in a consultation held at peking during november, 1870, be tween the admiral, minister, and consul general, the time for the expedition was fixed for the month of may, 1871. mr. seward then left for a visit to india, and mr. low despatched, through the tribunal of rites at peking, a letter to the king of corea. after vast circumlocution, it emerged from the mazes of chinese court etiquette, and by a special courier reached the regent at seoul. in this, however, the chinese were doing a great favor. no answer was received from seoul before the expedition sailed. meanwhile the german minister to japan (now in peking), ' admiral eodgers left istew york, april 9, 1869, with the colorado and alaska. the eenicia had left portsmouth march 2d, and the palos set sail from boston june 20th. these vessels, with the monocaoy and ashuelot, were to form the asiatic squadron of admiral rodgers. of our vessels on the station during the previous year, two had returned home, two had been sold, the rot ten idaho was moored at yokohama as a store-ship, and the oneida, which had been sunk by the british mail-steamer bombay, lay with her uncoffined dead untouched and neglected by the great government of the united states. ad miral eodgers was so delayed by repairs to the ashuelot, that finally, in order to gain the benefit of the spring tides, had to sail without this vessel. ' eear-admiral john eodgers, who commanded the fleet, was a veteran in war, in naval science, and in polar research. he had served in the seminole and mexican campaigns, and through the civil war on the iron-olad monitors. he had visited the pacific in 1853, when in command of the john hancock. he had cruised in the china seas and sailed through behring's straits. he, too, was in the prime of life, being at this time fifty-eight years of age. his whole conduct of the expedition displayed consummate skill, and marked him in this, as in his many other enterprises, as ' ' one of the foremost naval men of the age." yet princes in naval science are not always princes in diplomacy. •'oub mttlb war with the heathen." 405 herr m. von brandt, had landed from the hertha at fusan, and attempted to hold an interview with the governor of tong-nai. he was accompanied by the japanese representatives at fusan, who politely forwarded his request. a tai-t lecture to the mikado's sub ject for his offlciousness, and a rebuff to the kaiser's envoy were the only results of his mission. after sauntering about a little, herr von brandt, who arrived june 1, 1878, left june 2d, and the era of commercial relations between the central european empire' and cho-sen was postponed. during the year 1870, bishop eidel, who had gone back to france, returned to china and prepared to rejoin his converts. having communicated with them, they awaited his coming with anxi ety, and we shall hear of them on board of the flag-ship colorado. mr. low, having gathered all possible information, public and private, concerning "the semi-barbarous and hostile people" of "the unknown country ' which he expected to fau of entering, sailed from shanghae, may 8th, arriving at nagasaki, may 12th. on the 13th he wrote to the secretary of state, mr. hamilton fish. he declared that " corea is more of a sealed book than japan was before commodore perry's visit." evidently he looked upon the pathway of the duty laid upon him as unusually thorny. the rose if plucked at all would be held in smarting fingers. while granting a faithful servant of the nation the virtue of mod esty, one cannot fail to read in his letter more of an expectation to redress wrongs than to conciliate hostility. ' the first appearance of the flag of north germany in corean waters was at the mast-head of the china, when plunder and dead men's bones were the objects sought. its second appearance, on the hertha man-of-war, was in peace and honorable quest of friendly relations. its third appearance, in may, 1871 — while, or shortly before, the american fleet were in the han river — was on the schooner chusan, which was wrecked on one of the islands of sir james hall group, the chinese crew only, it appears, being saved. on june 6th, a party of three foreigners left chifu in a junk to bring back salvage from the wreck. these men were not heard from until july 6th, when the chinese crew returned without them. on the same day the british gunboat ringdove, with the consul of chifu, left for the hall group. it was found that the for eigners had landed to bring away the crew of the chusan, when the china men, pretending or thinking that they had been taken prisoners, put o£e to sea without them. the consul found them in good health and spirits, and the ringdove brought away for them whatever was worth saving from the chusan. again the corean policy of kindness toward the shipwrecked was illustrated. the two foreigners— a scotchman and a maltese — had been well fed and kindly treated. 406 corba. the whole spirit of the expedition was not that reflected in the despatches of the state department, but rather that of the clubs and dinner-tables of shanghae. the minister went to corea with his mind made up, and everything he saw confirmed him in his fixed opinion. of the admiral, it is not unjust to say that the warrior predominated over the peace-maker. he had an eye to the victories of war more than those, not less renowned, of peace. the sword was certainly more congenial to his nature than the pen. the fleet made rendezvous at nagasaki, in kiushiu — that divi sion of japan whence warlike expeditions to cho-sen have sailed from the days of jingu to those of taikd, and from taiko to eodgers. this time, as ta the seventh century, the landing was to be made not near the eastern, but on the remote western, coast. the cry was, "on to seoul." the squadron, consisting of the flag-ship colorado, the corvettes alaska and benicia, and the gun-boats monocacy and pajos, sailed gallantly out of the harbor on may 16th, and, making an easy run, anchored off ferri^res islands on the 19th, and, after a delay of fogs. isle jlugenie on the 23d. in spite of the formidable appearance of our navy, the vessels were of either an antiquated type or of too heavy a draught, their timbers too rotten or not strong enough for shotted broadsides, and their armanent defective in breech-loading firearms, while the facilities for landing a force were inadequate. the palos and monocacy were the only ships fitted to go up the han piiver. the others must remain at the mouth. they were little more than transports. all the naval world in chinese waters wondered why so wide-awake and practical a people as the americans should be content with such old-fashioned ships, unworthy of the gallant crews who manned them. however, the fleet and armament were better than the corean war-junks, or mud-forts armed with jingals. in gallant sauorly recognition of his predecessor, yet with unconscious omen of like failure, the brave eodgers named the place of anchor age eoze eoads. the french soundings were verified and the superb scenery richly enjoyed. all navigators of the approaches to seoul are alike unanimous in showering unstinting praise upon their natural beauty. here for the first time the natives beheld the "flowery" flag of the united states. next morning the palos and four steam-launches were put under the command of captain homer c. blake, to examine the channel be yond bois6e island. four days were peaceably spent in this service, "oub little war with the heathen.' 407 a safe return being made on tlie evening of the 28tli. meanwhile boat parties had landed and been treated in a friendly manner by the people, and the usual curiosity as to brass buttons, blue cloth and glass bottles displayed. the customary official paper without signature, of interrogations as to who, whence, and why of the comers was displayed, and the answers, "americans," "friendly, ' and " interview " re turned in faultless chinese. it was an nounced that the fleet would remain for some time. on the follow ing day, may 30th, the fleet anchored between the isles boisee and guerri ere. a stiff breeze had blown away the fogs and revealed the verdure and the features of a land scape which struck all with admiration for its luxuriant beauty. approach ing the squadron in a junk, some natives made signs of friend ship, and came on board without hesi tation. they bore a missive acknowl edging the receipt of the americans' letter, and announcing that three nobles had been appointed by the regent for conference. these junk-men were merely messen gers, and made no pretence of being anything more. they were hospitably treated, shown round the ship, and dined and wined untu their good nature broke out in broad grins and redolent vis ages. they stood for their photographs on deck, and some fine 'the entering wedge of civilization." 408 corea. pictures of them were obtained. one of them, after being loaded with an armful of spoil in the shape of a dozen or so of bass' pale ale bottles, minus their corks, and a copy of every saturday, a boston illustrated newspaper, was told in the stereotyped photo grapher's phrase to " assume a pleasant expression of countenance, and look right at this point." he obeyed so well, and in the nick of time, that a wreath of smiles was the result. " our first corean visitor " stands before us on the page. strange coincidence ! strange medley of the significant sym bols of a christian land ! the first thing given to the corean was alcohol, beer, and wine. in the picture, plainly appearing, are the empty pale ale bottles, with their trade-mark, the red triangle — "the entering wedge of civilization." but held behind the hands clasping the bottles is a copy of euery saturday, on the front page of which is a picture of charles sumner, the champion of human ity j and of the principle that "nations must act as individuals," with like moral responsibility ! promptly on may 31st, a delegation of eight officers, of the third and fifth rank, came on board evidently with intent to see the minister and admiral, to learn all they could, and to gain time. they had little or no authority and no credentials, but they were sociable, friendly, and in good humor. " mr. low would not lower himself," nor would admiral kodgers see them. they were received by the secretary, mr. drew. they were absolutely non-committal on all points and to all ques tions asked, and naturally so, since they had no authority whatever ' to say " yes " or " no " to any proposition of the americans. ' these men simply acted as the catspaws for the monkey in the capital to pnll out as many hot chestnuts from the fire as possible. it is part of asiatic policy to send official men of low rank and no authority to dally and prelude, and, if possible, hoodwink or worry out foreigners. their chief weapons are words; their main strength, cunning j when these are foiled by kindness, and equal patieiioe, firmness, and address, the asiatics yield, and send their men of first rank to confer and treat. perry knew this, so did townsend harris in japan ; so have successful diplomats known it in china. was it done in the american expedition to corea in 1871 ? let us see. these coreans had no right to say either " yes " or " no " to any proposition of the americans. jiad they committed themselves to anything definite, degrar dation, crushed shin-bones, and perhaps death, might have been their fate. the only thing for the americans to do— who came to ask a favor which the coreans wore obstinately bent on not giving— was to feast them, treat them with all kindness, get them in excellent good humor, send them back, and wait till accredited envoys of high rank should arrive, in the light of the "our little war with the heathen." 409 a golden opportunity was here lost. the corean envoys were informed that soundings would be taken in the river, and the shores would be surveyed. it was hoped that no molestation would be offered, and, further, that twenty-four hours would elapse before the boats began work. " to all this they (the coreans) made no reply which could in dicate dissent." [certainly not ! they had no power to nod their heads, or say either ''yes " or " no." ] " so, believing that we might continue our surveys while further diplomatic negotiations were pending, an expedition, was sent to examine and survey the salue [han] eiver."' the sm-vey fleet consisted of the monocacy, palos, the only ships fit for the purpose, and four steam-launches, each of the latter having a howitzer mounted in the bow. captain h. c. blake, the commander, was on board the palos. the old hero understood the situation only too well. as he started to obey orders he re marked : "in ten minutes we shall have a row." exactly at noon of june 2d, the four steam-launches proceeded french failure, this was the only course to pursue. there were even men of influence in the american fleet who advised this policy of patience. as mat ter of fact, such a course was urged by captain h. s. blake. in such an emergency, patience, kindness, tact, the absence of any burn ing idea of "wiping out insults to the flag," and an antiseptic condition towa,rd fight were most needed — the higher qualities, of resolution and self-conquest, rather than valor. even if it had been possible to inflict ten times the dam age which was afterward actually inflicted, and win tenfold more "glory," the rear-admiral must have known that nature and his "instructions" were on the side of the coreans, and that the only end of the case must be a retreat from the country. and the only possible interpretation the people could put upon the visit of the great american fleet would be a savage thirst for need less vengeance, a sordid greed of gain, and the justification of robbers and in vaders. in spite of all the slaughter of their countrymen, they would read in the withdrawal of their armies, defeat, and defeat only. ' these are the rear-admiral's own words. here was the mistake ! from what may be easily known of the corean mind, it must have seemed to them that the advance of such an armed force up the river, leading to the capital — following exactly the precedent of the french — was nothing more than a treacherous beginning of war in the face of assurances of peace. to enter into their waters seemed to them an invasion of their country. to do it after fair words spoken in friendship seemed basest treachery. had a corean officer counselled peace in the face of the advancing fleet, he would undoubtedly have been beheaded at once as a traitor. there were men on the american side who saw this. some spoke out loud of it to others, but it was not " theirs to make reply." 410 corea. in line abreast up the river, the palos and monoeacy following. the tide was running up, and neither of the large vessels could be kept moving at a rate slow enough to allow the survey work to be done well, so that this part of their work is of little value. yet everything seemed quiet and peaceful ; the bluffs and high banks along the water were densely covered with green woods, with now meadows, now a thatched-roof village, anon a rice-field in the foreground. occasionally people could be 'seen in their white dresses along the banks, but not a sign of hostility or war until, on reaching the lower end of kang-wa island, a hne of forts and flut tering flags suddenly become visible. in a few minutes more long lines of white-garbed soldiery were seen, and through a glass an interpreter read on one of the yellow flags the chinese characters meaning " general commanding.'' in the embrasures were a few j)ieces of artillery of 32-pound calibre, and some smaller pieces lashed together by fives, or nailed to logs in a row. on the oppo site point of the river was a line of smaller earthworks, freshly thrown up, armed only with jingals. around the bend in the river was "a whirlpool as bad as hell gate," full of eddies and ledges, with the channel only three hundred feet wide. the fort (du cond6) was situated right on this elbow. hundreds of mats and screens were ranged within and on the works, masking the loaded guns. as the boats passed nearer, glimpses into the fort became possible, by which it was seen that the cannon " lay nearly as thick together as gun to gun and gun behind gun on the floor of an arsenal." (see map, page 415.) for a moment the silence was ominous — oppressive. the hearts of the men beat violently, their teeth were set, and calm defiance waited in the face of certain death. the rapid current bore them on right into the face of the frowning muzzles. it seemed impos sible to escape. were the coreans going to fire ? if so, why not now ? immediately ? now is their opportunity. the vessels are abreast the forts. the corean commander was one moment too late. from the parapet under the great flag a signal gun was fired. in an in stant mats and screens were alive with the red fire of eighty pieces of artillery. then a hail of shot from all the cannon, guns, and jingals rained around the boats. forts, batteries, and walls were hidden for a moment in smoke. the water was rasped and torn as though a hailstorm was passing over it. many of the men in the boats were wet to the skin by the splashing of the water over them. "our little war with the heathen." 411 old veterans of the civil war had never seen so much fire, lead, iron, and smoke of bad powder concentrated in such small space and time. " old blake," who had had two ships shot under him by the confederates, declared he could remember nothing so sharp as this. the fire was promptly returned by the steam-launch howitzers the palos and monocacy, which had forged ahead, turned back, and " 0}d blake came round the point a-flying, and let drive all the guns of the palos at them. the consequence was that they kicked so hard as to te&r the bolts put of the side of the ship and render the bulwarks useless during the remainder of the fight." the monocacy also anchored near the point, and sent her ten-inch shells into the fort. during her movements, she struck a rock and began to leak badly. after hammering at the forts until every thing in them was silenced, the squ9,dron returned down the river, sending their explosive compuments into thei forts and. redoubts as they passed. all were quiet and deserted, however, but the com mander's flag was stiu flying unharmed and neglected. strange to say, out of the entire fleet only one of our men was wounded and none was killed ; nor did any of the ships or boats receive any damage from the batteries. two hundred guns had been fired on the corean*side. the signal coming too late, the immovability of their rude guns, the badness of the powder, and the poor aim of the unskuled gunners, were the causes of such an incredibly small damage. it was like the bombardment of port sumter in 1861, or like those battles which statistics reveal to us, in which it requires a ton of lead to kill a man. however, it was determined by the chief representatives of the civil and naval powers to resent the insult offered to our " flag " in the "unprovoked" attack on our vessels, "should no apology or satisfactory explanation be offered for the hostile action of the corean government." ten days were now allowed to pass before further action was taken. they were ten days of inaction, except preparation for further fight and some correspondence with the local magistrate. what a pity these ten days had not been spent before, and not after, june 2d ! some civilians, not to say christians, might also be of the opinion that ample revenge had already been taken, enough blood spilled, the "honor "of the flag fully "vindicated," a delicate diplomatic mission of "peace " spoiled beyond further damage, and that further vengeance was folly, and more blood spilled, murder. but not so thought the powers that be. 412 corea. the chastising expedition consisted of the monocacy, palos, four steam-launches, and twenty boats, conveying a landing force of six hundred and fifty-one men, of whom one hundred and five were marines. the benicia, alaska, and colorado remained at an chor. the total force detailed for the work of punishing the co reans was seven hundred and fifty-nine men. these were arranged in ten companies of infantry, with seven pieces of ai-tillery. the monocacy had, in addition to her regular armament, two of the colorado's nine-inch guns. captain homer c. blake, who was put in charge of the expedition, remained on the palos. the squadron proceeded up the river at 10 o'clock, on the morning of the 10th of june, two steam-launches moving in ad vance of the monocacy. the boats were in tow of the palos, which moved at 10.30. the day was bright, clear, and warm. a shprt distance above the isle primauguet a junk was seen approach ing, the coreans waving a white flag and holding a letter from one of the ministers of the court. one of the steam-launches met the junk, and the letter was received. it was translated by mr. drew, but as it contained nothing which, in the american eyes, seemed like an apology, the squadron moved on. at 1 o'clock the monocacy arrived within range of the first fort and opened with her guns, which partly demolished the walls and emptied it in a few seconds. the landing party, after a two minutes' pull at the oars,, reached ,the shore, and disembarked about eight hundred yards below the fort. the landing-place was a mud-flat, in which the men sunk to (their knees in the tough slime, losing gaiters, shoes, and even tear ing off the legs of their trousers in their efforts to advance. the -howitzers sank to theiiaxles in the heavy ooze. once on firm land, the infantry formed, the marines deploying as skirmishers. unarmed refugees from the villages were not harmed, and the first fort was quietly entered. the work of de molition was begun by firing everything combustible and rolling the guns into the river. day being far spent when this was finished, the whole force went into camp and bivouacked, taking every precaution against surprise. four companies of infantry were first detailed to drag the howitzers out of the mud, a task which resembled the wenching of an armature off a twenty-horse power magnet. our men lay down to sleep under the stars. au was quiet that saturday night, except the chatting round the camp-fires and "our little war with the heathen." 413 the croaking of the corean frogs, as the men cleaned themselves and prepared for their sunday -work. toward midnight a body of white-coats approached, set up a tremendous howling, and began a dropping fire on our main pickets. as they moved about in the darkness, they looked like ghosts. when the long roll was sounded, our men sprang to their arms and fell in like old veterans. a few shells were scattered among the ghostly howlers, and all was quiet again. the marines occupied a strong position half a mile from the main body, a rice-field dividing them, with only a narrow foot-path in the centre. they slept with , their arms at their side, and, divided into three reliefs, kept watch. while at the anchorage off boisie island that evening, twelve native christians, approaching noiselessly in the dark, made signs of a desire to communicate. they had come in a junk from some point on the coast to inquire after their pastor, ridel, and two other french missionaries whom they expected. to their great distress, the americans could give them no information. fearing lest the government might know, from the buud of their craft, from what part of the country they came, and punish them for communicating with the foreigners, they burned their boat and returned home. next day was sunday. the reveille was sounded in the camps, breakfast eaten, and blankets rolled up. cobapany c and the pion eers were sent into the fort to complete its destruction, by burning up the rice, di-ied fish, and huts still standing. the march began at 7 a.m. the sun rolled up. in a cloudless sky and the weather was very warm. it was a rough road, if, in deed, it could be called such, being but a bridle-path over hius and valleys, and through rice fields. whole companies were required to drag the howitzers up the hius and through the narrow defiles. the marines led the advance. the next line of fortifications, the " middle fort," was soon entered. the guns were found loaded, as they had been deserted as soon as the fort was made a target by the monocacy, every one of whose shots told. the work of dis mantling was here thoroughly done. the sixty brass pieces of ar^ tiuery, all of them insignificant breech-loaders of two-inch bore, were tumbled into the river, and the fort appropriately named " fort monocacy." the difficult march was resumed under a blazing sun and in steaming heat. a succe^ion of steep hills lay before them. sap pers and miners, with picks, shovels, and axes, went ahead levelling and widening the x-oad, cutttog bushes and filling hollows. the 414 corea. guns had to be hauled up and lowered down the steep places by means of ropes. large masses of white coats and black heads hov ered on their flanks, evidently purposing to get in the rear. their numbers were increasing. the danger was imminent. the fort must be taken soon or never. a detachment of five howitzers and three companies were de tailed to guard the flanks and rear under lieutenant-commander wheeler. the main body then moved forward to storm the fort (citadel). this move of our forces checkmated the enemy and made victory sure, redeeming a critical moment and turning danger into safety. hardly were the guns in position, when the coreans, massing their forces, charged the hul in the very teeth of the howitzers' fire. our men calmly took sure aim, and by steadily firing at long range, so shattered the ranks of the attacking force that they broke and fled, leaving a clear field. the fort was now doomed. the splendid practice of our howitzers effectually prevented any large body of the enemy from getting into action, and made certain the capture of the cidadel. meanwhile the monocacy, moving up the river and abreast of the land force, poured a steady fire of shell through the walls and into the fort, while the howitzers of the rear-guard on the hul behind, reversing their muzzles, fired upon the garrison over the heads of our men in the ravine. the infantry and marines hav ing rested awhile after their forced march, during which several had been overcome by heat and sunstroke, now formed for a charge. the citadel to be assaulted was the key to the whole line of fortifications. it crowned the apex of a conical hiu one hundred and fifty feet high, measuring from the bottom of the ravine. it mounted, with the redoubt below, one hundred and forty-three guns. the sides of the hill were very steep, the walls of the fort joining it almost without a break. up this steep incline our men were to rush in the face of the garrison's fire. could the white coats depress the jingals at a sufficiently low angle, they must an nihilate the blue-jackets. should our men reach the walls, they could easily enter through the breaches made by the monocacy's shells. as usual, slowness, and the national habit of being behind time, saved our men and lost the day for corea. a terrible reception awaited the americans. every man inside was bound to die at his post, for this fort being the key to all the "our little war with the heathen." 415 others, was held by the tiger-hunters, who, if they flinched before the enemy, were to be put to death by their own people. map of the american naval operations in 1871. au being ready, our men rose up with a yell and rushed for the redoubt, officers in front. a storm of jingal balls rained over 416 coeea. their heads, but their dash up the hill was so rapid that the gar rison could not depress their pieces or load fast enough. their powder burned too slowly to hurt the swift yankees. goaded to despair the tiger-hunters "chanted their war-dirge in a blood chilling cadence which nothing can duplicate." they mounted the parapet, fighting with furious courage. they cast stones at our men. they met them with spear and sword. with hands emptied of weapons, they picked up dust and threw in the invaders' eyes to blind them. expecting no quarter and no relief, they con tested the ground inch by inch and fought only to die. scores were shot and tumbled into the river. most of the wounded were drowned, and some cut their own throats as they rushed into the water. lieutenant mckee was the first to mount the parapet and leap inside the fort. for a moment, and only a moment, he stood alone fighting against overwhelming odds. a buuet struck him in the groin, a corean brave rushed forward, and, with a terrible lunge, thrust him in the thigh, and then turned upon lieutenant-com mander schley, who had leaped over the parapet. the spear passed , harmlessly between the arm and body of the american as a carbine bullet laid the corean dead. the fort was now full of officers and men, and a hand to hand fight between the blue and white began to strew the ground with corpses. corean sword crossed yankee cutlass, and clubbed car bine brained the native whose spear it dashed aside. the garrison fought to the last man. within the walls those shot and bayoneted numbered nearly one hundred. not one unwounded prisoner was taken. the huge yellow cotton flag, which floated from a very short staff in the centre, was hauled down by captain mclane til ton and two marines. meanwhilea desperate fight went on out side the fort. during the charge, some of the coreans retreated from the fort, a movement which caught the eye of master mclean. hastily collecting a party of his men, he moved to the left on the double quick to cut off the fugitives. he was just in time. the fugitives, forty or fifty in all, after firing, attempted to rush past him. they were driven back in diminished numbers. hemmed in between the captured fort and their enemy, mclean charged them with his handful of men. hiding behind some rocks, they fought with desperation until they were all killed, only two or three being made prisoners. another party attempting to escape were nearly annihilated by cassel's battery, which sent canister into their "our little war with the heathen." 417 flying backs, mowing them down in swaths. moving at full speed, many were shot like rabbits, falling heels over head. at the same time captain tuton passed to the right of the fort and caught another party retreating along the crest of the hill joining the two forts, and, with a steady carbine fire, thinned theii" numbers. at 12.45 the stars and stripes floated over all the forts. a photographer came ashore and on his camera fixed the horrible picture of blood. the scene after the battle-smoke cleared away, and our men sat down to rest, was of a kind to thoroughly satisfy those " who look on war as a pastime." it was one fi-om which humanity loves to avert her gaze. two hundred and forty-three corpses in their white garments lay in and around the citadel. many of them were clothed in thick cotton armor, wadded to nine thicknesses, which now smouldered away. a sickening stench of roasted flesh fiued the air, which, during the day and night, became intolerable. some of the wounded, fearing their captors worse than their torture, slowly burned to death ; choosing rather to suffer living cremation than to save their lives as captives. our men, as they dragged the smoking corpses into the burial trench, found one man who could endure the torture no longer. making signs of life, he was soon stripped of his clothes, but died soon after of his wounds and burns. only twenty prisoners, all wounded, m'ere taken alive. at least a hundred corpses floated or sunk in the river, which ran here and there in crimson streaks. at this one place probably as many as three hundred and fifty corean patriots gave up their lives for their country. on the american side, the gallant mckee, who fell as his father fell in mexico, at the head, of his men, the-first inside the stormed works, was mortally wounded, and died soon after. one landsr man of the colorado and one marine of the benicia were killed. five men were severely, and five slightly, wounded. the other two forts below the citadel being open to the rear from the main work were easily entered, no regular resistance being offered. the results of the forty-eight hours on shore, eigh teen of which were spent in the field, were the capture of five forts —probably the strongest in the kingdom— fifty flags, four hundred and eighty-one pieces of artillery, chiefly jingals, and a large num ber of matchlocks. of the artillery eleven pieces were 32, fourteen were 24,two were 20,and the remaining four hundred and fifty four were 2and 4-pounders. the work of destruction was car^ ried on and made as thorough as fire, axe, and shovel could make 87 418 corea. it. a victory was won, of which the american navy may feei proud. zeal, patience, discipline, and bravery characterized men and officers in all the movements. the wounded were moved to the monocacy. the forts were occupied all sunday night, and early on monday morning the whole force was re-embarked in perfect order, in spite of the furi ous tide, rising twenty feet. the fleet moved down the stream with the captured colors at the mast-heads and towing the boats laden with the trophies of victory. beaching the anchorage athalf past ten o'clock, they were greeted with such ringing cheers of their comrades left behind as made the woodlands echo again. later in the day, dennis hendrin (or hanrahan) and seth allen, the two men slain in the fight, were buried on boiste island, and the first american graves rose on corean sou. at 5.45 p.m. mckee breathed his last.' yet the odds of battle were dreadful — three graves against heaps upon heaps of unburied slain. "well might the pagan ask : " what did heaven mean by it ? " the native wounded were kindly cared for, and their broken bones mended, by the fleet surgeon. dr. mayo. admiral eodgers, in a letter to the native authorities, offered to return his prisoners. the reply was in substance : "do as you please with them." the prisoners were therefore set ashore and allowed to dispose of themselves. admiral eodgers having obeyed to the farthest limit the orders given him, and all hope of making a treaty being over, two of the ships, withal needing to refit, the fleet sailed from the anchorage off isle boisee the day before the fourth of july, arriving in chifu on the morning of july 5th, after thirty-five days' stay in corean waters. he arrived in time to hear of the tientsin massacre, which had taken place june 20th. "our little war with the heathen," as the new york herald styled it, attracted slight notice in the united states. a few columns of news and comment from the metropoli tan press, a page or two of woodcuts in an illustrated newspaper, the ringing of a chime of jests on going up salt river (salee), and ' in the chapel of the naval academy, at annapolis, a tasteful mural tablet, " erected by his brother officers of the asiatic squadron," with the naval em blems—sword, belt, anchor, and glory-wreatlx— in medallion, and inscription on a shield beneath, keeps green tlie memory of an unselfish patriot and a gallant officer. "our little war with the heathen." 419 the usual transmission of official documents, summed up the tran sient impression on the american public. in china the expedition was looked upon as a failure and a de feat. the popular corean idea was, that the americans had come to avenge the death of pirates and robbersj and, after several bat tles, had been so surely defeated that they dare not attempt the task of chastisement again. to the tai-wen kun the whole matter was cause for personal glorification. the tiger-hunters and the con servative party at court believed that they had successfully defied both france and america, and driven off their forces with loss. when a scotch missionary in shing-king reasoned with a corean concerning the power of foreigners and their superiority in war, the listener's reply, dehvered with angry toss of the head and a snap of the fingers, was : " "what care we for your foreign inven tions ? even our boys laugh at all your weapons." chapter xlvn. the poets opened to japanese commerce. the walls of corean isolation, so long intact, had been sapped by the entrance of christianity and the french missionaries, and now began to crumble. with the russians on the north, and the sea no longer a barrier, the japanese began to press upon the east, while china broke through and abolished the neutrality of the western border. the fires of civilization began to smoke out the hermit. the revolutions of 1868 in japan, culminating after a century of interior preparation, abolished the dual system and feudalism, and restored the mikado to supreme power. the capital was re moved to tokio, and the office of foreign affairs — a sub-bureau — was raised to a department of the imperial administration. one of the first things attended to was to invite the corean govern ment to resume ancient friendship and vassalage. this summons, coming from a source unrecognized for eight centuries, and to a regent swollen with pride at his victory over the french and his success in extirpating the christian religion, and irritated at japan for adopting western principles of progress and cutting free from chinese influence and tradition, was spurned with defiance. an insolent and even scurrilous letter was returned to the mikado's government, which stung to rage the military classes of japan, who began to form a "war-party," which was headed by saigo of satsuma. waiting only for the return of the embassy from europe, and for the word to take up the gage of bat tle, they nourished their wrath to keep it warm. it was not so to be. new factors had entered the corean problem since taiko's time. european states were now concerned in asiatic politics. russia was too near, china too hostile, and japan too poor ; she was even then paying ten per cent, interest to london bankers on the shimonoseki indemnity loan. financial ruin, and a collision with china might result, if war were declared. the ports opened to japanese commerce. 421 in october, 1873, the cabinet vetoed the scheme, and saigo, the leader of the war party, resigned and returned to satsuma, to nourish schemes for the overthrow of the ministry and the humiha tion of corea. " the eagle, even though starving, refuses to eat grain ; " nor would anything less than corean blood satisfy the japanese veterans. in 1873, the young king of corea attained his majority. his father, tai-wen kun, by the act of the king backed by queen cho, was relieved of office, and his bloody and cruel lease of power came to an end. the young sovereign proved himself a man of mental vigor and independent judgment, not merely trusting to his minis ters, but opening important documents in person. he has been ably seconded by his wife min, through whose influence tai-wen kun was shorn of influence, nobles of progressive spirit were re instated to office, and friendship with japan encouraged. in this year, 1873, an heir to the throne was born of the queen ; another royal child, the offspring of a concubine, having been born in 1869. the neutral belt of land long inhabited by deer and tiger, or traversed by occasional parties of ginseng-hunters, had within the last few decades been overspread with squatters, and infested by manchiu brigands and corean outlaws. the depredations of these border ruffians both across the yalu, and on the chinese settle ments — like the raids of the wild indians on our texas frontier — had become intolerable to both countries. in 1875, li hung chang, sending a force of picked chinese troops, supported by a gunboat on the yalu, broke up the nest of robbers, and imbibed a taste both for corean politics and for rectifying the frontiers of shing-king. he proceeded at once to make said frontier " scientific " by allowing the surveyor and plowman to enter the no longer de batable land. in 1877, the governor of shing-king proposing, the peking government shifted the eastern frontier of the empire twenty leagues nearer the rising sun, on the plea that " the width of the tract left uncultivated was of less moment than the efficiency of border regulations." by this act the borders of china and corea touched, and were written in yalu water. the last vestige of insulation was removed, and the shocks of change now became more frequent and alarming. by contact with the living world, comatose corea was to be galvanized into new life. nevertheless the hostile spirit of the official classes, who tyran nize the little country, was shown in the refusal to receive envoys of 422 cgrba. the mikado because they were dressed in european clothes, in petty regulations highly irritating to the japanese at fusan, and by the overt act of violence which we shall now narrate. since 1868 the japanese navy, modelled after the british, and consisting of american and european iron-clads and war vessels, has been manned by crews uniformed in foreign style. on septem ber 19, 1875, some sailors of the unyo kuan, which had been cruis ing off the mouth of the han eiver, landing near kang-wa for water, were fired on by corean soldiers, under the idea that they were americans or frenchmen. on the 21st the japanese, numbering thirty-six men, and armed with breech-loaders, stormed the fort. most of the garrison were shot or drowned, the fort dismantled, and the spoil carried to the ships. occupying the works two days, the japanese returned to nagasaki on the 23d. the news of "the kokwa [kang-wa] affair" brought the wav ering minds of both the peace and the war party of japan to a decision. arinori mori was despatched to peking to find out the exact relation of china to corea, and secure her neutrality. kuroda kiyotaku was sent vdth a fleet to the han eiver, to make, if pos sible, a treaty of friendship and open ports of trade. by the rival parties, the one was regarded as the bearer of the olive branch, the other of arrows and lightning. with kuroda went inouye bunda of the state department, and kin rinshio, the corean liberal. general kuroda sailed january 6, 1876, amid salvos of the artil lery of newspaper criticism predicting failure, with two men-of-war, three transports, and three companies of marines, or less than eight hundred men in all, and touching at fusan, anchored within sight of seoul, february 6th. about the same time, a courier from peking arrived in the capital, bearing the imperial recom mendation that a treaty be made with the japanese. the temper of the young king had been manifested long before this by his re buking the district magistrate of kang-wa for allowing soldiers to fire on peaceably disposed people, and ordering the offender to degradation and exile. arinori mori, in peking, had received the written disclaimer of china's responsibility over "the outpost state," by which stroke of policy the middle kingdom freed her self from all possible claims of indemnity from france, the united states, and japan. the way for a treaty was now smoothed, and the new difficulties were merely questions of form. nevertheless, while kuroda was unheard from, the japanese war preparations went vigorously on. the ports opened to japanese commerce. 423 kuroda, making commodore perry's tactics his own, disposed his fleet in the most imposing array, made his transports look like men-of-war, by painting port-holes on them, kept up an incredible amount of fuss, movement, and bustle, and on the 10th landed a dazzling array of marines, sailors, and officers in full uniform, who paraded two miles to the treaty-house, on kang-wa island, where; two high commissioners from seoul, ji shinken and in jisho, aged respectively sixty-five and fifty, awaited him. one day was devoted to ceremony, and three to negotiation. a written apology for the kang-wa affair was offered by the coreans, and the details of the treaty settled, the chief difficulties being the titles to be used. ' ten days for consultation at the capital were then asked for and granted, at the end of which time, the two com missioners retiu-ned, declaring the impossibility of obtaining the royal signature. the japanese at once embarked on their ships in disgust. they returned only after satisfactory assurances ; and on february 27th the treaty, in which cho-sen was recognized as an independent nation, was signed and attested. the japanese then made presents, mostly of western manufacture, and after be ing feasted, returned march 1st. mr. inouye bunda then pro ceeded to europe, visiting, on his way, the centennial exposition at philadelphia, at which also, it is said, were one or more corean visitors. the first corean embassy, which since the twelfth century had been accredited to the mikado's court, sailed in may, 1876, from pu san in a japanese steamer, landing at yokohama may 29th, at 8 a.m. two neptune-like braves with the symbols of power — huge iron ' the japanese refused to have the mikado designated by any title but that of whang ti (japanese kotei) showing that he was peer to the emperor of china ; while the coreans would not, in the same document, have their sovereign written down as wang (japanese o) because they wished him shown to be an equal of the mikado, though ceremonially subordinate to the whang ti or emperor of china. the poor coreans were puzzled at there being two suns in one heaven, and two equal and favorite sons of heaven. the commissioners from seoul attempted to avoid the dilemma by having the treaty drawn up in the names of the respective envoys only ; this the japanese refused to do. a compromise was attempted by having the titles of the mikado of japan, and the hap-mun of cho-sen inserted at the beginning ; and, in every necessary plare thereafter, "the government" of dai nippon (great japan), or of dai cho-sen (great corea) ; this also failed. finally, neither ruler was mentioned by name or title, nor was reference made to either, and the curious document was drawn up in the name of the respective " gov ernments." 424 corea. tridents— led the procession, in which was a band of twenty per formers on metal horns, conch-sheus, flutes, whistles, cymbals, and drums. effeminate-looking pages bore the treaty documents. the chief envoy rode on a platform covered with tiger-skins, and resting on the shoulders of eight men, while a servant bore the umbrella of state over his head, and four minor officers walked at his side. the remainder of the suite rode in jin-riki-shas, and the japanese military and civil escort completed the display. they breakfasted at the town hau, and by railroad and steam-cars reached tokio. at the station, the contrast between the old and the new was startling. the japanese stood " with all the ouijward signs of the civilization that is coming in." "on the other side, were all the representatives of the barbarism that is going out." on the following day, the coreans visited the foreign office, and on june 1st, the envoy, though of inferior rank, had audience of the mikado. for three weeks the japanese amused, enlightened, and startled their guests by showing th^m their war ships, ai-senals, artillery, torpedoes, schools, buildings, factories, and offices equipped with steam and electricity — the ripened fruit of the seed planted by perry in 1854. all attempts of foreigners to hold any communi cation with them, were firmly rejected by the coreans, who started homeward june 28th. the official diary, or report by the ambas sador of this visit to japan, was afterward published in seoul. it is a colorless narrative carefully bleached of all views and opinions, evidently satisfying the scrutiny even of enemies at court. during the autumn of this year, 1876, and later on, in fouow ing years, the british war-vessels, sylvia and swinger, were engaged in surveying portions of the coast of kiung-sang province. cap tain h. c. samt john, who commanded the sylvia, and had touched near fusan in 1855 — long enougli to see a native bastinadoed simply for selling a chicken to a foreigner — now found more hospitable treatment. his adventures are narrated in his chatty book, "the wild coasts of nipon." an english vessel, the barbara taylor, having been wrecked on corean shores, an attache of the british legation in tokio was sent to fusan to thank the aiithorities for their kind treatment of the crew. the japanese found it was not wise to hasten in taking advan tage of their new liberties granted by treaty. near fusan, are thousands of graves of natives killed in the invasion of 1592-97, over which the coreans hold an annual memorial celebration. hitherto the japanese had been rigorously kept within their the ports opened to japanese commerce. :425 guarded enclosure. going out to -witness the celebration, they were met with a shower of stones, and found the road block aded. after a small riot in which many words and missiles were exchanged, matters were righted, but the temper of the people showed that, as in old japan, it would be long before ignorant hermits, and not over-gentle foreigners could live quietly together. saigo, of satsuma, dissatisfied with the peaceful results of ku roda's mission, and the " brain victory " over the coreans, organ ized, during 1877, "the satsuma bebellion," to crush which cost japan twenty thousand lives, $50,000,000, and seven months of mighty effort, the story of which has been so well told in the lamented a. h. mounsey's perspicuous monograph. yet out of this struggle, with which corea manifested no sympathy, the nation emerged with old elements of disturbance eliminated, and with a broader outlook to the future. a more vigorous policy with cho sen was at once inaugurated. under the new treaty, pusan (corean, pu-san) soon became a bustling place of trade, with a population of two thousand, many of whom, however, were poor people from tsushima. among the public buildings were those of the consulate, chamber of com merce, bank, mitsu bishi (three diamonds) steamship company, and a hospital, under care of dr. tano, in which, up to 1882, four thousand coreans and many japanese have been treated. a japan ese and corean newspaper, chosen shimpo, restaurants, places of amusements of various grades of morality, and a variety of es tablishments for tuming vdts and industry into money, have been established. the decayed gentry of japan, starting in business with the capital obtained by commuting their hereditary pensions, found it difl&cult to compete with the trained merchants of tokio and ozaka. great trouble from the lack of a gold and silver cur rency has been experienced, as only the copper a,nd iron sapeks, or ' cash,' are in circulation. in corean political economy to let gold go out of the country is to sell the kingdom ; and so many rogues have attempted the sale of brass or gilt nuggets that an assaying office at the consulate has been provided. the government of tokio has urged upon that of seoul the adoption of a circulating medium based on the precious metals ; and, perhaps, corean coins may yet be struck at the superb mint at ozaka. whue gold in dust and nuggfets has been exported for centuries, rumor credits the vaults at seoul tvith being full of japanese gold koban, the 426 corba. mountains to be well packed with auriferous quartz, and the rivers to run with golden sands. among the callers, with diplomatic powers, from the outside world in 1881, each eager and ambitious to be the first in wresting the coveted prize of a treaty, were two british captains of men-of war, who arrived on may 21st and 28th ; a french naval officer, june 16th, who sailed away after a rebuff june 18th ; while at gen san, june 7th, the british man-of-war, pegasus, came, and saw, but did not conquer. after six years of mutual contact at fusan, the coreans, though finding the japanese as troublesome as the latter discovered for eigners to be after their own ports were opened, have, with much experience learned, settled down to endure them, for the sake of a trade which undoubtedly ■ enriches the country. the coreans buy cotton goods, tin-plate, glass, dyes, tools, and machinery, clocks, watches, petroleum, flour, lacquer-work, iron, hollow-ware, and foreign knick-knacks. a good sign of a desire for personal improvement is a demand for bath-tubs. soap will probably come next. the exports are gold dust, silver, ox hides and bones, beche-de mer, fish, rice, raw silk, fans, cotton, and bamboo paper, gin seng, furs of many kinds, tobacco, shells for inlaying, dried fish, timber, beans and peas, hemp, jute, various plants yielding paper stock, peonj'-bark, gau-nuts, varnishes and oils, and a variety of other vegetable substances having a universal commercial value. even eiu kiu has seen the benefits of trade, and five mer chants from what is now the okinawa ken of the mikado's empire — formerly the loo choo island kingdom — came to tokio in feb ruary, 1882, to form a company with a view to establishing an agency in fusan, and exchanging corean products for eiu kiu sugar, grain, and fish. gensan (corean, won-san) was opened may 1, 1880. in a fer tile region, traversed by two high roads, with the fur country near, and a magnificent harbor in front, the prospects of trade are good. the japanese concession, on which are some imposing pub lic buildings, includes about forty-two acres. an exposition of japanese, european, and american goods was established which was visited by 25,000 people, its object being to open the eyes and pockets of the natives, who seemed, to the tokio merchants, taller, stouter, and better looking than those offusan. one twenty-sixth of the goods sold was japanese, the rest, mostly cot the ports opened. to japanese commerce. 427 ton goods and 'notions,' were american and european. the busy season of trade is in autumn and early winter. for the first three months the settlers were less troubled by tigers than by continual rumors of the approach of a band of a thousand "foreigner-haters," who were sworn to annihilate the aliens on the sacred soil of cho sen. the bloodthirsty braves, however, postponed the execution of their purpose. the japanese merchants, so far from finding the coreans innocently verdant, soon came in contact with monopolies, rings, guilds, and tricks of trade that showed a surprising knowledge of business. of&cial intermeddling completed their woe, and loud and long were the complaints of the mikado's subjects. yet profits were fair, and the first anniversary of the opening of the port was celebrated in grand style. besides dinners and day fireworks, the police played the ancient national game of polo^ to the great amuse ment of the coreans. among the foreign visitors in may, 1881, was doctor frank cowan, an american gentleman, and surgeon on the japanese steamer tsuruga maru, who made a short journey in the vicinity among the good-natured natives. besides spying out the land, and returning well laden with trophies, he records, in a letter to the state department at washington, this prophecy : " next to the countries on the golden rim of the pacific, .... to dis turb the monetary equilibrium of the world, mr be corea." "the geological structure is not incompatible with the theory that the. whole region [east coast] is productive of the precious metal." to regulate some points of the treaty, and if possible postpone the opening of the new port of in-chiun (japanese, nin-sen) a second embassy was despatched to japan, which arrived at yokohama,, august 11, 1880. the procession of tall and portly men dressed in green, red, and pink garments of coarse cloth, with chinese shoes, and hats of mighty diameter, -moved through the streets amid the rather free remarks of the spectators, who commented in no complimentary language on the general air of dinginess which these eip van winkles of the orient presented. the coreans re mained in tokio until september 8th. perfect courtesy was every where shown them, as they visited schools and factories, and studied japan's modem enginery of war and peace. the general attitude of the tokio press and populace was that of condescend ing familiarity, of generous hospitality mildly flavored with con tempt, and tempered by a very uncertain hope that these people might develop into good pupils — and customers. ch8-sen did not lack attentions from the outside world— eussia, 428 corba. england, france, italy, and the united states— during the year 1880. whether missionaries of the holy synod of kussia at tempted to cross the tumen, we do not know ; but in the spring of 1880, a muscovite vessel appeared off one of the ports of ham kiimg, to open commercial relations. the offer was politely de clined. the italian war-vessel vettor pisani, having on board h. e. h. the duke of genoa, arrived off fusan, august 1, 1880, at 1 p.m — a few hours after the corean embassy had left for japan. one survivor of the italian ship, bianca portia, vwecked near quel part in 1879, had been kindly treated by the corean authorities and sent to nagasaki. the duke, through the japanese consul, forwarded a letter of thanks to the governor of tong-nai, who, however, returned the missive, though with a courteous answer. after seven days, the vettor pisani sailed northward, and avoiding gensan and the japanese consul, anchored off port lazareff, where, during his six days' stay, he was visited by the local magistrate, to whom he committed a letter of application for trade. some native cards of silk-worm's eggs were also secured to test their value for italy. after a three days' visit to gensan the ship sailed away, the italian believing that negociations with the coreans would succeed better without japanese aid, and congratulating himself upon hav ing been more successful than the previous attempts by the brit ish, and especially by the french (captain fourmier, of the lynx) and american (commodore shufeldt) diplomatic agents, whose let ters were returned unread. the government of the united states had not forgotten corea, and japan had signified her vdllingness to assist in opening the hermit nation to american commerce. on april 8, 1878, senator sargent, of california, offered a resolution that president hayes " appoint a commissioner to represent this country in an effort to arrange, by peaceful means and with the aid of the friendly offices of japan, a treaty of peace and commerce between the united states and the kingdom of corea." the biu passed to a second reading, but, the senate adjourning, no action was taken. in 1879, the u. s. steamship ticonderoga, imder commodore r w. shufeldt, was sent on a cruise around the world in the interests of american commerce, and to make, if possible, a treaty with corea. enter ing the harbor of fusan, may 14, 1880, commodore shufeldt begged the japanese consul, who visited the ship, to forward his papers to seoul. the consul complied, but, unfortunately, neither the interpreters nor the governor of tong-nai— preferring present the ports opened to japanese commerce. 429 pay and comfort to possible future benefit— would have anything to do with such dangerous business. japanese rumor asserts that the coreans seeing the letter addressed on the outside to " the king of corea," declined to receive it, partly because their sover eign was "not king of korai" but "king of cho-sen." under the cii'cumstances, the american could do nothing more than with draw, which he did amid the usual salute from a corean fort near by. a second visit being equally fruitless, the ticouderoga again turned her stem toward " the last outstanding and irreconcilable scoffer among nations at western alliances," and her prow home ward. the corean embassy, failing in their attempts to have the jap anese go slowly, hanabusa, the mikado's envoy at seoul, now vigor ously urged the opening of the third port, and, after much discus sion, in-chiun," twenty-five miles from seoul, was selected ; in de cember, 1880, hanabusa and his suite, crossing the frozen rivers, went thither, and selected the ground for the japanese concession. the old questions upon which political parties in the hermit nation had formed themselves, now sank out of sight, and the new element of excitement was the all-absorbing question of breaking the seals of national seclusion. the " civuization party,'' or the progressionists, were opposed to the exclusionists, port-closers, and foreigner-haters. heading the former or liberal party were the young king and queen. bin kenko, bin shoshoko, ei saiwo, and other high dignitaries, besides kin giokin and jo kohan, for mer envoys to japan. the leader of the conservatives was the tai wen-kun, father of the king and late regent. the neutrals clus tered around kin koshiu. physically speaking, the coreans see the sun rise over japan and set over china, but morally, and in rhetoric, their sun of pros perity has ever risen and set in china. . some proposed to buy all machinery, arms, and government material in china, and imitate her plans and policy, and conform to the advice of her statesmen. the other side urged the adoption of japanese methods and mate rials. the pro-chinese gentry imitated the peking mandarins in ' tliis fu city, called by the japanese xinsen, or nil-gawa, was well known by the japanese, as la shown on their maps of the sixteenth century. the name means two rivers. the rise and fall of the tides here is very great, sometimes amounting to a difference of twenty-nine feet ; and in winter the shore-water is frozen. large vessels cannot anchor within a mile of the shore. tlie port chi-mul-:,po is at some distance from the city. 430 cobba. details of dress, household decoration, and culture ; whue all theii books conveying western science must be read from chmese trans lations the pro-japanese coreans had their houses furnished with japanese articles, they read and studied japanese literature and translations of european books, and when out of corea the mos radical among them wore coats and pantaloons. the long and hot disputes between the adherents of both parties seriously hampered the government, while precipitating a revolution m the national policy ; for serious debate in a despotic country is a sign of awak ening life. , , , , . about this time, early in 1881, a remarkable document, com posed by kwo-in-ken, adviser to the chinese minister to japan, had a lively effect upon the court of seoul. it was entitled " policy for corea " it described the neighbors of cho-sen, and pointed out her proper attitude to each of them. prom russia, devoted as she is to a policy of perpetual aggrandizement at the expense of other countries, and consumed by lust for land, corea is in immment danger. china, on the contrary, is corea's natural ally and fi-iend, ever ready with aid in men and money ; both countries need each other, and their union should be as close as lips and teeth. for historical and geographical reasons, corea and japan should also be one in friendship, and thus guard against "russia the ravenous." the next point treated is the necessity of an alliance between corea and the united states, because the americans are the natural friends of asiatic nations. pointing out the many advantages of securing the friendship of the americans, and making a treaty with them first, the memorialist urges the coreans to seize the golden opportunity at once. about the same time, li hung chang, china's liberal states man, wrote a letter to a corean gentleman, in which the advice to seek the friendship of china and the united states was strongly expressed, and a treaty with the americans urged as a matter of national safety. many, though not all, of the members of the em bassies to japan returned full of enthusiasm for western civiliza tion. it soon became evident that the king and many of his ad visers were willing to make treaties. in peking, the members of the embassy, before the winter of. 1881 was over, began diplomatic flirtations with the american legation. at that time, however, neither minister j. b. angeu, in peking, nor john a. bingham, in tokio, had any authority to make a treaty with corea. while the way was thus made ready, the representations of messrs. bing the ports opened to japanese commerce. 431 ham and angell to the state department at washington impressed upon our government the necessity of having a diplomatic agent near at hand to take advantage of the next opportunity. hitherto the only avenue of entrance seemed through the japanese good o£aces ; but the apparent willingness of coreans in peking, the ex perience of the italians in the vettor pisani at fusan and port lazareff, the advice of chinese statesmen to corea to have faith in the united states, and to open her ports to american commerce, convinced the american minister at peking that china, rather than japan, vfould furnish the better base of diplomatic operations for breaking down the corean repulsive policy. the government at washington responded to the suggestion, and in the spring of 1881, commodore shufeldt was sent by the state department to peking as naval attache to the legation, so as to be near the american minister and be ready with his experi ence, should a further attempt "to bring together the strange states of the extreme sea " be made. shortly after the presentation of kwo-in-ken's memorial in seoul, a party of thirty-four prominent men of the civilization party, led by gio inchiu and kio yeichoku, set. out from seoul to visit japan and further study the problem of how far western ideas were adapted to an oriental state. the proposition to open a port so near the capital to the japa nese, and to treat with the americans, was not left unchallenged. the ultra-confucianists, headed by ni mansun, stood ready to op pose it with word and weapon. in swelling corean rhetoric, this bigoted patriot from chung-chong proved to his own satisfaction that all the nations except china and corea were uncivilized, and that the presence of foreigners would pollute the holy land. gath ering an array of seven hundred of his followers, he dressed in mourning to show his grief, and with the figure of an axe on his shoulders, in token of risking his life by his act, he presented his memorial to the king, and sat for seven days in front of the royal palace. he demanded that in-chiiin should not be opened, the two bin should be deposed, and all innovations should cease. the popular form of the dread of foreigners was shovni in dele gations of country people, who came into seoul to forward petitions and protestations. placards were posted on or near the palace gates, full of violent language, and prophesying the most woful results of western blight and poison upon the country which had ever been the object of the special favor of the sprits. 432 corea. another party of two thousand literary men, fanatical patriots, had assembled at cho-rio to go up to seoul to overawe the pro gressive ministers, but were met by messengers from the court and turned back by the promise that the party about to visit japan under royal patronage should be recalled. for a moment the king had thrown a sop to these cerberian zealots, whose three heads of demand would keep cho-sen as inaccessible as hades. "• the order came too late, the progressionists had left the shores, and were in nagasaki. thence to ozaka, where some remained to study the arts and sciences ; the majority proceeded to tokio to examine modern civilization in its manifold phases. unlike peter the great, some of these reformers ,began with themselves, cloth ing mind and body with the niaeteenth century. dropping the garments of picturesque mediaevalism, they put on the work suit of buttoned coat and trousers and learned the value of minutes from american watches. the cutting off their badge of nationality — the top-knot — was accompanied with emotions very similar to those of bereavement by death. gio inchiu ' after his return from japan was despatched on a mission to china, where his conference was chiefly with li hung chang. he returned home by way of fusan, december 29, 1881. he had now a good opportunity of judging the relative merits of japan and china. his patriotic eye saw that the first need of corean reform was in strengthening the army ; though the poverty of the country gave shght hope of speedy success. the results of this mission were soon apparent, for shortly after, eighty young men, of the average age of twenty, were sent to tientsin, where they are now, 1882, diligently pursuing then studies; some in the arsenal^ learning the manufacture of fire arms, others learning the english language. a retiirned chinese student— one of the number lately recalled from new england — while severely sarcastic at the corean government's "poor dis crimination in selecting the country from which her students could profit most," added, " they possess a far better physique for the navy than any of our future imperial midshipmen." ' in this and the following chapter the names of corean noblemen have been given in their japanese form, i.e., bin for min, etc., but iu the supple mentary chapter according to corean pronunciation. chapter xlvni. the year of the treaties, the year 1882 opened ominously. a fire broke out in the royal palace in seoul, on january 27th, in which two buildings, nearly completed for the heir apparent, were burned down. the fire was at first believed to have political significance, and the tension of the public mind was not relaxed until it was shown that the fire was the result of pure accident. the spirit of progress made advance, but discussion reached fever-heat in deciding whether the favor of japan or china should be most sought, and which foreign nation, the united states, france, or england, should be admitted first to treaty rights. bin, opposed to the arbitrary spirit of the japanese, edged his argu ment by proposing an alliance with foreigners in order to check mate the designs of japan. an event not tmlooked for increased the power of the progres sionists. one kozaikai urged the plea of expulsion of foreigners in such intemperate language that he was accused of reproaching the sovereign. at the same time, a conspiracy against the life of the king, involving forty persons, was discovered, and the sword and torture came into play. kozaikai was put to death, many of the conspirators were exiled, and the ringleaders were sentenced to be broken alive on the wheel, the revolutions of which tore off hands and feet in succession. six of those doomed to death were spared, through the intercession of a minister, and one, the king's cousin, who delivered himself up, was pardoned by his sovereign on the ground of the prisoner's insanity. the progressionists had now the upper hand, and early in the spring gio inchiu and eiosen left on a mission to tientsin, to acquaint the americans and chinese with the information that the corean government was ready to make treaties, and that the proper officer would be at in-chiun to sign the compact and complete the negotiations. meanwhile the reforms in military affairs were begun with en 38 434 corba. ergy. japanese officers, at the head of whom was lieutenant horimoto, drilled picked men in seoul, with creditable success, in spite of their unwieldy hats and costume, and the jeers of the anti foreign people, in public as well as in private. substantial proof of the adoption of japan's military system was shown in an order sent to tokio for a few hundred snider rifles with equipments — the weapon of the british army — and one for twenty, thousand of the rifles made at the japanese arsenal in tokio, which, combining the merits of the best-known military fire-arm, contained improve ments invented and patented by colonel mui-ata, of the mikado's army. two corean notables later again visited japan in april of this year, and were annoyed to find a report spread abroad in na gasaki that they had come to raise a money loan. nevertheless, they proceeded to kioto and tokio. some of their suite went into the printing-offices and suk-worm breeding establishments to leam these arts, whue type, presses, and printing material were ordered for use at home. affairs had so shaped themselves that even to outsiders it be came evident that the corean apple was ripe even to falling. by march 4th it was known at the american legation in peking that " barkis was vnllin'," while to the japanese envoy then in tokio it became certain that, unless he made all haste to in-chiun, the american commodore would have his treaty signed and be off without even waiting for a call. hastily bidding his friends good-by, he left in the japanese steamer, iwaki kuan, and ar rived in the harbor just one hour before the american corvette swatara arrived with commodore shufeldt on board. with the swatara were three chinese men-of-war, one of them an iron clad. the american diplomatic agent. commodore e. w. shufeldt, having spent nearly a year in china, surmounting difficulties that few will know of until the full history of the american treaty with corea is written, arrived in the swatara off chimulpo, may 7th. ac companied by three officers. commodore shufeldt went six miles into the interior to the office of the corean magistrate to formulate the treaty. though surrounded evei-y moment by curious crowds, no disrespect was shown in any way. two days afterward, the treaty doo«i!fejt was signed on a point of land in a temporary pavilion opposite the ship. thus, in the most modest manner the negotia tions were concluded, and a treaty vnth the united states was, after repeated failures, secured by the gallant officer who, by this act the year op the treaties. 435 of successful diplomacy, closed a long and brilliant professional career. ' both on the american and corean side the results had been brought about only after severe toil. the corean nobleman bin, a cousin of the queen, had so labored in seoul night and day to commit the government to the policy of making treaties with the americans, that, when the messengers had been despatched with! the order for commodore shufeldt to appear in imperatrice gulf, he fell ill, and was unable to appear at fn-chiiin. the american envoy was so worn out with anxiety and toil by his eflbrts to have corea opened under chinese auspices, that on landing at san fran cisco, he retired to the naval hospital at mare's island to recover his exhausted strength. four days after the signing of the american and chinese treaties, the corean capital was full of mirth and gayety, on account of a wedding in the royal family. the crown prince, a lad of nine years old, was wedded to the daughter of jun, a nobleman of high rank, who had postponed a visit to japan until the nuptials were accom plished. a brilliant procession in the streets of seoul marked the event, and for a moment the excitement concerning foreigners was forgotten. none foresaw the bloody ending of this honeymoon so happily begun. the british minister at tokio, sir harry parkes, who had left no stone unturned to secure a personal interview with the ambassador • commodore r. w. shufeldt was born in dutchess county, new york, in 1833, and entered the navy in 1839, serving ten years on foreign stations and in the coast survey. one cruise to the west coast of africa interested him in the negro colony of liberia, in which he has ever since felt concern. from 1850 to 1860, our navy being in a languishing state, he was engaged in the mercantile marine service, and in organizing a transit route across the isthmus of tehuantepec. in 1860 an article of his on the slave trade between the is land of cuba and the coast of africa, drew the attention of the government to him, and led to his appointment of consul-general at havana. the slave-trade was soon effectually broken up, and through the trying period of the first half of the civil war, he was occupied in his civil duties, at one time going to mex ico on a confidential mission to president juarez, passing unrecognized through the french lines. he was on blockade duty during the last two years of the civil war. in 1865 he went to china, as flag-captain of the hartford, and com manding the waohusett visited corea. in 1870 he organized a party for the survey of the isthmus of tehuantepec, his report being made the basis of cap tain eads' ship-railway project. the official history of the semi-diplomatic cruise of the ticonderoga round the world (1878-1880) has been written, but has not yet been published. 436 corea. in 1876, and, since that time, british trade with gorea, was still on the alert. he at once ordered admiral willes to proceed to in chiiin. leaving his large fleet in japanese waters, admiral willes left nagasaki in the viguant, may 27th, while mr. william g. as ton, the accomplished linguist and corean scholar, received orders to follow. the admiral's business was soon despatched, a treaty was made, and his return to yokohama was accomplished june lith, the u. s. steamship ashuelot saluting him on his arrival. the french and germans were the next to improve the long-awaited opportunity. the german admiral left japan in the man-of-war stosch, on may 31st, while a vessel of the french navy entered the port of in chiun june 5th. there had thus appeared in this sequestered nook of creation, within a few days, two american, three british, one french, one japanese, and five chinese armed vessels. all of them, except the french, had left by june 8th, to the great relief of the country folks and old men and women, many of whom, with the children, had fled to the hills when the big guns began to waste their powder in salutes, to the detriment of the thatched roofs of the houses. china lost no time in taking advantage of the position secured her by treaty. no vexatious delays of ratification troubled her. everything had been arranged beforehand with the coreans, so that, on the return of the vessels from in-chiiin, ofiicers were de spatched to shanghae to sail for gensan and fusan, and select land for public buildings. during the present year the japanese legation in seoul has numbered about forty persons, including secretaries, interpreters, military officers, policemen, students, and servants. notvrith standing their precarious situation, amid the turbulent elements at work around them, they seemed to enjoy the spectacle before their eyes of a repetition of the history of their own country after perry's arrival in 1853. the young men of the legation visited the historic sites near the capital, enjoyed the mountain and river scenery, and studied the corean language and literature. at first the common people beheved that their visitors sucked the blood of the chudren lured away by them ; and so carefully guarded their little ones. by and by, however, as more liberty was afforded them, the occasional pelting with vegetables and pebbles became less frequent, and even the women would talk with them. the light-hearted japanese seemed to suspect no imminent dan ger, although the old fanatic and tyrant tai-wen zun was still alive and plotting. to insure perfect secrecy for his plans, it is said the year of the treaties. 437 that he employed two or three mutes to wait on him, and act as his messengers. he was the centre of all the elements hostile to innovation, and being a man of unusual ability, was possessed of immense influence. the populace of seoul and of the country had been taught to believe that " the japanese were inebriated with the manners of christian nations, and were enchanted by the west em devus, and that as a europeanized country of the devil was being created in their immediate neighborhood, they must expel the barbarians." every means had been used to inflame the peo ple against foreigners. stone monuments had been set up on the high roads and market-places which bore this inscription — "the "western barbarians will come to invade our soil, there are but two alternatives for cho-sen ; to go to war, or to maintain peace. to submit peacefully means to sell the country ; therefore we coreans must resort to arms." many thousands of these inscribed stones had been set up, and an edict had been issued, commanding the ink-makers to inscribe their sticks of ink with this inflammatory declaration. "when nobles of high rank would advocate progres sive views, tai-wen kun would sneeringly dare them to remove these anti-foreign monuments. during the nine years of his nominal retirement from oflsce, from 1873 to 1882, this bigoted conf ucianist, who refused to know anything of the outer world, bided his time and waited his oppor tunity, which came during the summer of the present year. just when the populace was most excited over the near presence of the americans and other foreigners at in-chiun, the usual rainfall was withheld, the wells dried up, and in the consequent drouth, the rice crop was threatened with total failure. the diviners, sorcer ers, and anti-foreign party took advantage of the situation to play on the fears of the superstitious people. the spirits, displeased at the intrusion of the western devils, were angry and were cursing the land. at the same time the soldiery of the capital were dis affected, as some say on account of arrearages of wages, or as others aver, because the old warriors of the bow and arrow hated the japanese method of drilling as a foreign innovation insulting to the gods. a moire probable reason is that on account of the failure of the rice-harvest, the soldiers' rations were cut down, and they were deprived of this choice cereal for food. among the first corean officers killed was the superintendent of the rice store houses, which were pillaged by the hungry mob. on july 23d, while the king was out in the open air praying 438 corea. for rain, a mob of sympathizers -with tai-wen kun attempted to seize his person. the king escaped to the castle. according to one account, some mischief-maker then started the report in the city that the japanese had attacked the royal castle, and had seized the kinf and queen, and that the prime minister with the palace-guards in vainly endeavoring to beat back the assailants, had been defeated ; and that every corean should take up arms. forthwith the mob rushed with frantic violence upon the legation, murdering the japanese policemen and students whom they met in the streets and the japanese military instructors in the barracks. not satisfied with this, the rioters, numbering 4,000 men, attacked and destroyed the houses of the ministers favoring foreign intercourse. before quiet was restored, the queen, min, the heir apparent and his wife, the chief ministers of the government, min thai ho and min yong ik, were, as was supposed, murdered ; but all these emerged alive. many of the mins and seven japanese were killed. the japanese, by their own account, had suspected no danger until the day of the riot, when they noticed great excitement among the people, and that crowds were assembling and rushihg to and fro. they sent out a policeman to inquire into the nature of the dis turbance, and at two o'clock p.m. they learned from a native that the mob would attack the legation. word was also sent to the japanese by the corean officer in charge of the drill-ground where the troops were trained by lieutenant horimoto, saying that the troops drilled in japanese tactics had been attacked, and the legation would next be in danger. hanabusa and his suite then arranged a plan of defence. whue thus engaged, a corean employed at the lega tion informed them that the mob had destroyed the houses of the two ministers bin, and were attacking three japanese stu dents. three policemen well armed then left to succor the students, but nothing was heard from either policemen or students again. a corean officer now appeared and warned the japanese to escape to the hill back of the legation ; and being requested by hanabusa to ask the government for soldiers, he left on this en-and. at 5.50 p.m. the mob reached the legation, and raising a united yell, fired volleys of bullets, arrows, and big stones at the legation, but dared not enter the gate to face the revolvers of the policemen. in hurling stones the ruffians showed remarkable skul. the mob set on fire a house, near by, and in the rising wind — then boding a coming storm — two out-houses of the legation were burned, the police shoot ing down the incendiaries when they could see them. it was now the year op the treaties. 439 about ten o'clock, and the ruffians having thrown up barricades to hem in their victims and to shield their cowardly carcases while shooting, the japanese fired the remaining buildings, and armed only with swords and pistols, formed themselves into a circle, charged the mob, and cut their way through to the house of the chief magistrate, which they found empty. finding no one in the official residence, they marched to the southern gate of the royal castle. instead of opening it, the soldiers on the wall above pelted them with stones. hanabusa now resolved to cross the river with his party and make his way to in-chittn. turning their backs on the flames, they arrived at the river and, on the ferryman refusing to convey them across, they seized the boat and crossed safely to the other side. it was now past midnight and the rain began to fall heavily, and with occasional thunderstorms continued to pour down all night. the refugees plunged on through the darkness, often losing tl).eir way, but next day at ten o'clock, they procured some raw barley to eat, and through the pelting rain pushed on, reaching in-chiuii at 3 p.m. the governor received them kindly and suppued food and dry clothing. the japanese officers slept in the official residence, and the servants, police, and others in a guard-house about fifteen yards distant. the governor posted his own sentinels to watch so that the japanese could get some rest. in a few minutes the <;ired men were sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. about five o'clock, hanabusa and his officers were suddenly awakened by the shouting of a mob outside ; and in a moment more a japanese entered covered with blood, and with a dravra sword in his hand with which he had cut his way. the mob had attacked them while they were asleep, and the soldiers of the local garrison were joining the rioters, firing from behind fences. all the jap anese now hurried on their clothes, and charging a body of about forty soldiers, armed with swords and spears, who were blocking the gateway, madefor chi-mul-po seaport, having lost three killed and two missing. meeting two japanese on horseback from the port, who reported that the road was free from ambuscades, they put the wounded man on one horse, and by another despatched one of their number to hasten forward and have a boat ready. they reached chi-mul-po, the port, about seven o'clock, and immediately crossed over to eoze island for safety. about midnight, having procured a junk, they put to sea, toward nanyo bay, where they knew the british gunboat: 440 corba. flying pish was then on survey. encountering a southerly wind, they made little or no progress, and on the 26th a dense fog set in ; but at 11.30 a.m., it cleared up and the welcome sight of a three-masted vessel greeted their eyes. hoisting the flag of japan, they saw their signal answered, and soon the party of twenty-six half -naked, hungry, and cold refugees were on board the ship, where kindest treatment awaited them. that night at ten o'clock the flying fish sailed for nagasaki. on august 3d a religious service in memory of their slain comrades was held by the survivors, at shimonosekl " the deep silence was only broken by the sobbing of the audience, overcome by deep sympathy for the murdered men." on the 8th hanabusa had an audience with the mikado in tokio. without hesitation, the japanese government ordered the army to assemble at shinonoseki and tsushima, with naval forces to co operate. hanabusa and his suite were sent back, escorted by a mili tary force. he re-entered seoul, august loth, and was received with courtesy. a fleet of chinese war-vessels with a force of four thousand troops was also at hand. apparently everything was under the control of tai-wen kun, who professed to be friendly to foreign ers, and to ascribe the recent riot to a sudden uprising of the un paid soldiery, which the government had not force at hand to sup press. two corean officers coming on board the flying fish, august 10th, informed captain hoskyn that the soldiery, dissatis fied with the unfair treatment of their superiors, had incited the peasantry to rebellion ; that by orders of tai-wen kun, who 'bit terly regretted the recent outrages, the dead japanese had been honorably buried ; that the old regent while usurping the royal power, had professed a total change of views and was in favor of a progtessive policy. at his audience with the king, august 20th, hanabusa presented the'demanfls of his government. these were nominally agreed to, but several days passing without satisfactoiy action, hanabusa hav ing exhausted remonstrance and argument, left seoul august 25th and returned to his ship. this unexpected move — a menace of war — brought the usurper to terms. on receipt of tai-wen kun's apologies, the japanese envoy returned to the capital august 30th and full agreement was given to the demands of japan, at which time it would appear, tai-wen kun, forcibly kidnapped by the envoy of china, had begun his travels into the country of confucius. the year op the treaties. 441 the following telegram to the new york tribune of october 2d, summarizes the news from yokohama up to september 13th : the corean government pledged itself to the following conditions : to ar rest the insurgents within twenty days and inflict due punishment upon them, japanese delegates to be present at the trial ; to bury properly the bodies of those murdered and pay 50,000 yen (dollars) to their families; to pay japan 500,000 yen as indemnity for expenditure, etc., in five yearly instalments ; to allow japanese troops in seoul for the protection of the legation, and to pro vide proper accommodations for them ; to send an apology by a special em bassy to japan ; to extend gradually privileges to the japanese residents and traders ; to afford proper conveniences for travel throughout corea for the japanese government ofscials. while this was going on the chinese envoy, who had remained inactive with his escort until august 25th, suddenly called up the full body of his troops, about three or four thousand, to the capital. what degree of pressure he may have exercised is not yet known, but it is certain that the chief rebel and assassin, the tai-wen kun, was taken on board a chinese ship and carried to tien-tsin. it is alleged that his departure was by no means voluntary, and that some physical effort was required to get him ashore on arriving at his des tination. whatever was the object of this proceeding, it must have been dic tated by li hung chang, the chinese viceroy at tien-tsin, who seems to have quite abandoned his demeanor of calm stolidity during these active co rean transactions. it is declared by one chinese party that the only purpose was to rescue the tai-wen kun from the dangers that threatened him, and by another that the intent was still to maintain the theory of sovereign control over' corea's rulers, which li hung chang has been straining for throughout. during the recent prospect of trouble with corea, the japanese govern ment received offers of military service from twenty thousand volunteers, and of money gifts to the value of 300,000 yen. at this stage of affairs, when corea ceases to be a "hermit na tion," and stands in the glare of the world's attention, we bring our imperfect story to a close. the pivot of the future history of eastern asia is corea. on her soil will be decided the problem of supremacy, by the jealous rivals china, japan, and russia. the sudden assumption of self-imposed tutelary duties by china proves her lively interest in the little country, which has been called both "her right arm of defense," and "her gloved hand" — the one to ■ force back the ravenous muscovite, the other to warn off the ambi tious japanese. whether the middle kingdom has deliberately chosen the land of morning calm to affiront and humiliate " the neighbordisturbing nation," that twice humbled her pride in the fairest islands of the sea— formosa and eiu kiu — the events of the not distant future will soon determine. whether the hoary em* 442 corea. pire shall eome in collision with the young northern giant, and the dragon and the bear tear each other in the slime of war in corean vaueys, may be a question the solution of which is not far off. we trust that amid all dangers, the integrity of the little kingdom may be preserved ; but whatever be the issue upon the map of the world, let ua hope that paganism, bigotry, and superstition in corea, and in all asia, may disappear ; and that in their places, the reugion of jesus, science, education, and human brotherhood may find an abiding dwelling-place. supplementaer chaptek. corea in 1888. cobea for ages has been the pupil of china. manners, cus toms, writing, culture, and nearly everything that makes up civili zation have been borrowed from or enforced by china. the very face of the map is chinese, and the names of the kingdom, capital, and provinces bear witness to the desire for "the sunshine of china." the people have been taught to believe that their coun try is the " little bouse " of " the great country," while those who subsist upon the public treasury look to peking very much as a plant turns to the sun for its very existence. of patriotism i;i its highest sense there is, as yet, little in the kingdom. with the people in general there is the anxiety to pay taxes, win the favor of the local magistrates, and escape the clutches of the law. with the underlings and retainers of the nobles and official class, there is the personal tie of interest and loyalty. with masters and rulers there is a pitiful fear of " the great country," china, and a desire to keep things as they are, mixed with impo tent dread of changes to come. of pure love of country, of will ingness to make sacrifice for their native land — that is almost a new thought, as yet nourished by a few far-seeing patriots. it is, however, a sentiment in which the corean people are being edu cated, especially in this year of our lord the 1888th. this preponderating influence of china is the main-spring in the intricate machinery of corean politics. the power behind the throne resides in the various families whose graduated degrees of friendship, rivalry, or hostility, and whose consequent lines of pol icy, depend upon their stricter or looser construction of chinese dogmas. there are confucian fanatics and time-servers of the men in power at peking and tientsin, who ever wait attentive to the beck and nod from china and hasten to obey. there are, also, men who have drunk at other fountains of thought, entered new worlds of knowledge, and seen the light of modern science, of christianity, of western civilization in lands beyond sea. 444 cobea. the numbers of iblightened men are increasing who believe in corea for the coreans, in the reform of hoary abuses and of cruel and oppressive customs, in the reduction of the shamefully large and lazy official class who grind down the people, in political and religious toleration, in stimulating industry — in a word, in national progress. though to their demands there is ever the defiant an swer of vigilant conservatism, yet steady advance seems to be made toward the goal. even within the two broadly defined parties there are factional and family differences, which only the continued pressure of for eign influence and the power of increasing light will force to dis appear. against the craft of the min clan (p. 387) the other noble families, ni, so, kim, hong, etc., have been able to make headway only by adroit combination. in 1875 the two noblemen kim ok kiun and so kwang pom secretly left corea and went to japan, being the first men of rank in recent times to travel in lands beyond china. on their return they sought the king and boldly told him what they had seen. other noblemen followed their ex ample, but the brother-in-law of the king, pak hong hio, was the first who, at risk of reputation and life, openly advocated the adop tion of western civilization. in 1882, kim and so, in earnest con sideration of the opening of their country to modern ideas, took long walks nightly into the country, lest walls that have ears should betray them, and endeavored to persuade min yong ik to join them and also win over his powerful min relatives to a liberal pol icy. when this came to the ears of the tai wen kun, the young men were forthwith charged with intent to introduce christianity, and the two liberals narrowly escaped being put to death by the old regent, who had already shed the blood of thousands. the men of the min class held aloof from treaty negotiations with the united states, until china gave the nod. when at last li hung chang advised corea to treat with admiral shufeldt, the min nobles obeyed, and exhibited so much energy in the matter as to seem to foreigners to be leaders of the party of progress. how far they were actuated by motives of patriotism, apart from fear of^eussia and servility to china, is not for a foreigner, to judge. it is certain, however, that when the min people favored .the treaty, in which the old regent saw only an open door for the official admission of christianity, he felt it bis duty at once to plan for the overthrow both of the mins and of the treaty. like a crouching tiger, he awaited his opportunity. coeba in 1888. 445 this came in july, 1882. when, on account of the short rice crop, the soldiers' rations were cut down by min thai ho, father of min yong ik, the artful politician directed their revolt against this' pro-chinese family, and after destroying, as he imagined, the queen, and the leading men of the min clan, he seized the govern ment himself, for a few days enjoying full lease of power. \ when the news of the usurpation reached china and japan, there were at tientsin three corean nobles, cho yong ha, kim yun sik, and 0-yun chung ; and in tokio, kim ok kiun and so kwang pom. the former, notified by telegtam from the chinese consul at nagasaki of the movements of the japanese, obtained a chinese naval and military force, and the ships of these two for eign nations met at chimulpo. before either the chinese or jap anese troops were disembarked the two groups of corean noble men had a conference, and, after a long and warm discussion, it was agreed to submit the question, whether the chinese should land and proceed to s6oul, to the king himself. accordingly kim ok kiun in disguise .penetrated the capital, but only to find the royal person in possession of his old and chief enemy tai wen kun, his friends driven away, and approach to the palace impos sible. on learning the failure of kim's mission, the chinese force at once landed, marched to s^oul, abducted the regent, built forts to command the river against the japanese, and established their camp inside the walls. a chinese commissioner arrived in octo ber, who had general charge of this force of three thousand men. this act of china gave her a new lien on corea. min thai ho, who had been supposed to be mortally wounded, recovered, and resumed office. min yong ik, who after fleeing to the mountains shaved his head and in disguise of a bonze had fled to japan, re turned smiling after temporary defeat. the queen, for whom a palace-maid had suffered vicarious death, re-entered the capital and palace on october 9, 1882. the star of the mins was again in the ascendant. the japanese began the erection of another costly legation building, furnished in european style, and a military barracks to shelter the military guard of two hundred men, most of whom were from sendai and many of them deer-hunters and crack shots. in cluding shop-keepers, mechanics, and their families, there were about four hundred of the mikado's subjects in the city. by good discipline and the great care exercised by the officers in both the' chinese and japanese camps, collision between the soldiers of these 446 corba. two rival and almost hostile nations, which nearly three centuries before had made corea their battle-ground, was for a time avoided. the corean government, naturally solicitous at the situation, made preparations to replace the foreign soldiery by organizing four battalions of native troops for the defence of the capital to provide officers for these, they sent fourteen young men, mostly members of progressive famihes, to study in the military school in tokio, while to the same city went a number of corean artisans to learn modern crafts and methods, with the idea of introducing new industries in corea. meanwhile, the native troops in the capital province were placed under chinese instructors introduced by the min leaders. this was the general situation of affairs in corea until the autumn of 1884. the treaty negotiated by commodore shufeldt was promptly ratified by the senate of the united states, and on february 26th president chester d. arthur sent in the name of general lucius h. poote as minister to corea. prom japan he reached chimul po, may 13th, in the tj.s.s.s. monocacy, and the formal ratifications of the treaty were exchanged in the capital. may 19th. the same guns, served by some of the same sailors that in 1871 had shelled the han forts, saluted peacefully the corean flag. the american min ister, keeping clear of the various native factions, dealt as directly as possible with the sovereign, and made an earnest plea for toleration of religion, a promise to proclaim which he secured from the king. prompt response to american courtesy was made by the despatch of a special mission of eleven persons, headed by min tong ik and hong yong sik, who arrived at san francisco, september 2d. president arthur being absent from "washington, they proceeded to new york, where, in the parlors of the fifth avenue hotel, the chief magistrate of the eepubhc gave audience to these gorgeously apparelled oriental strangers. after a three months' stay in the eastern cities, hong yong sik and others returned home by way of san francisco. on the evening of november 27th, at the vic toria hotel, the writer spent an agreeable evening with min yong ik, so kwang pom, and pien su, the two latter gentlemen being "well versed in japanese. though many questions were answered, and a number of subjects discussed, nothing could be learned of corean christianity or of hendrik hamel.' a few days later, on ' at that time the author waa engaged in annotating hamel's narrative, which is given in full in "corea, without and within," philadelphia, 1884. mr. percival lowell, the secretary of the corean special mission, returned corea in 188a 447 the u.s.s.s. trenton, with ensign g. c. foulke and lieutenant bemadon, u.s.n., naval attaches to the american legation in seoul, they returned homeward by way of europe and the suez canal. on that evening, november 27th, there was a banquet at the english language schopl in seoul to celebrate the signing, the day before, of the treaties with great britain and the german empire. the cavalry escort of the british minister, sir harry parkes, .who had negotiated a more liberal treaty than that made by admiral willes and rejected by earl granviue and mr. glad stone, and the band of the man-of-war leipsic, lent gayety to the capital, which now began to be the settled residence of foreigners from christendom. on new tear's day, january 28, 1884, the king gave audience to the envoys of china, japan, and the united states. on febru ary 28th the submarine electric cable between nagasaki and fu san was completed, and messages sent from corea into the outside world. hong tong sik was appointed postmaster, to organize a national postal system, stamps for which were engraved in tokio. from this base of supplies many of the novelties of the western world poured in, and the people, long insulated from other nations, were now moved with new currents from the life beyond their bor ders. treaties were made with eussia and italy, june 25 and 26, 1884. later on, telegraph lines connecting seoul with peking, and with fusan, were completed. in june, 1884, min yong ik and so kwong pom, the first coreans to go round the world, reached home, followed by kim ok kiun and the tokio students from japan. after an enthusiastic re ception of the returned envoys and the american officers of the trenton, in seoul, the public opinion in favor of progress was greatly stimulated. min yong ik was made vice-president of the foreign office, and so kwong pom and pien su elevated in rank. the chinese military instructors were dismissed by the king, and herr p. g. von mouendorf resigned his position as foreign ad viser. a model farm sown with american seeds, and for which california live stock was ordered, edison electric lights, american rifles and gatling guns, japanese artisans to establish potteries. with hong tong sik, and as the guest of the king spent a winter in seoul, the literary fruits of which is the charming volume " cho-son, the land of morning calm," in which the proper names are transliterated according to as tons" manual of korean geographical and other proper names eomanized," yokohama, 1883. 448 corea. paper factories, and other industries, gave indications of the new path of national progress upon which corea had entered, min yong ik while abroad had passed for an enlightened man, susceptible to modern ideas and in favor of further opening corea to commerce ; yet profound devotion, on shipboard, to the chinese classics, while his two countrymen were improving every moment to acquire science and a knowledge of the world, boded ill for the future. having been home but a few weeks, and falling under the influence of his clan, he came to open rupture with hong yong sik.. eesigning from the foreign office, he assumed command of the right palace guard battalion, and restored chinese drill-mas ters, the military students from japan being left to gain their sup port as subordinates in the proposed postal department. by au tumn the late envoy to the united states had surrounded himself with chinese and pro-chinese conservatives, the progressive men had been hampered in their action, and the revenues for the prom ised enterprises and industries had been diverted to warlike prep arations that looked as if corea, as a vassal, was to help china against prance in the tonquin complication. already one-half of the chinese troops had been called away because needed, while chinese merchants and adventurers had greatly multiplied in corea. it seemed to the progressive men as if their country, the beginning of whose independence they had looked for in the american treaty, was to fall hopelessly into the hands of the chi nese. added to their fears was the local irritation caused by the insolent behavior of the newly created and ill-disciplined native troops. these braves were recruited almost wholly from the guilds of pedlers and hucksters. owing to the lack of the shops so common in other countries, the place of which is supplied by the many fairs held in various towns and villages, this class of petty traders numbers, in the whole country, nearly two hundred thou sand able-bodied men. of the corps of five thousand five hundred soldiers, three thousand were armed with martini-peabody rifles. at the end of october, 1884, the situation in s^oul was alarm ing. a state of hostility existed between the leaders of the two political parties, one of which had at their call a rabble of rapa cious militia eager to try their new tools upon their hereditary enemies the japanese, while the other knew full well the sterling quality of the little body of japanese infantry, withal crafty enough to secure the employment of them for their own purposes. fifteen hundred chinese soldiers were still in the camp, under general yuen. corba in 1888. ,449 in such a feituation, the government' being in the hands of their rivals and committed to the pro -chinese pohcy which they de tested, the liberals felt that their heads were likely to remain on -their shoulders only so long as it pleased their enemies to bring no charge against them. under such circumstances, what could they do? how move a vote of censure upon the ministers in power ? how save their own lives ? in old asiatic nations, semi-civilized and without representa tive institutions, revolutions and outbreaks must be expected when a change of policy is decided upon. "where the means of expres ■sion of public .opinion are lacking, assassination seems to be the only resource to men who have no hope of moving by reason those in office and power. what in, england would be accomplished simply by a peaceful change of ministry, or in the united states by a presidential election, must be accomplished in corea by riot and bloodshed. dynamite in russia and the keen sword in old japan were the means chosen. let us see how the corean liber ials attempted, when beset and thwarted, to save their own lives; and reverse the policy of the government. on october 25th one of the liberal leaders intimated to an american that, " for the sake of corea," about ten of the prominent ■conservatives "would have to be killed." the idea was to remove their rivals out of the way by removing their heads, seize the gov ernment, inaugurate new schemes of progress, open new ports, and otherwise commit corea to the same path as that upon which japan had entered. they supposed that the treaty powers would •condone and approve their actions, make further favorable treaties, and loan money for national improvements. further, they claim to have had the royal sanction. the autumn passed and the moment seemed ripe for the plot. china, pressed by france, had withdrawn half her troops from seoul, and japan, with the view to strengthen her influence in the peninsula, had a few days before remitted $400,000 of the indem nity exacted for the riot of 1882. the time to strike a blow for corean independence, and to break the shackles of china forever, seemed to have come. to a banquet, given on the evening of december 4th, to cele brate the inauguration of the postal service, the foreign envoys and several high officers of the government were invited. when nearly over an alarm of fire broke out, and min tong ik, going out to , look, was set upon by assassins, but instead of , being killed as wa,s "39 450 corea. intended was only wounded. thereupon the liberal leaders hast ened to the palace, and, assuring the king that he was in great danger, sent in his name to mi-. takezoye for the japanese legar tion guard. at the same time the conservative leaders were sum moned, as they supposed, by the king ; as fast as they stepped out of their sedan-chairs at the palace-gates, they were relieved of their heads. meanwhile the japanese infantry commanded the inner gates of the palace, and during the next day the new minis ters of government, kim ok kiun, hong yong sik, pak hong hio so kwong pom, and others, prepared edicts to be issued by the king reforming ancient abuses and customs, and instituting new and radical measures -of national policy. all day during december 5th the city was in a state of com motion, but, despite the surging crowds, no actual outbreak oc curred. on the morning of the 6th the cry was raised, "death to the japanese," and then began a wild revelry of outrage, butchery, and incendiarism, in which the new militia were conspicuous. the white foreigners in seoul, nine in number, of whom three were ladies, had gathered at the american legation, which, under lieu tenant bemadon's directions, was put in a state of defence. in it twenty-two japanese, who had escaped bullets, stones, and knives, found refuge. in the afternoon of the 6th the chinese troops, six hundred strong, commanded by general . yuen, and backed by three thousand coreans, moved upon the palace, to drive out the japanese. with superb discipline and finest skill captain murakami and his little band drove off their assailants, and, through the narrow streets, reached the legation at 8 p.m., after forty-eight hours' absence. the score of soldiers left behind, aided by the hundred or so of civilians who had gathered within, had successfully defended the inclosure from the mob. provisions being exhausted, the japanese, with admirable coolness, discipline, and success, began the march to the sea on the afternoon of the 7th. despite hostile soldiery with rifles and cannon, armed men firing from roof and wall, barred city gates, and a mob following them to the han eiver, they crossed, with their wounded, at 5.30 p.m. reaching chimulpo on the morning of the 8th, they were fed by the sailors of the men-of-war, while a japanese steamer car ried the news to nagasaki.' ' the details of this outhreak, and especially of the military movements of the japanese, are set forth with graphic power and rare literary skill by mr. peroival lowell in his article, "a korean coup d'itat," in the auantic cobea in 1888. 451 the short-lived liberal government came to an end after an existence of less than forty-eight hours. hong yong sik, refusing to leave the king, was taken with him to the chinese camp, and there beheaded. the other conspirators fled to japan, whence they were demanded by the corean ministerial council, which demand was by the japanese promptly refused. the torture and trial of twelve persons implicated in the affair of december 4th was con cluded, january 27, 1885, and eleven were executed in the usual barbarous manner. their bodies were chopped in pieces and the flesh and bones distributed in fragments through the streets of the city. the refugees, except kim ok kiun, reached america. count inouy6, of japan, and kim hong chip, of corea, on jan uary 9th, and inouye and li hung chang, of china, on may 7th, concluded conventions by which the late troubles were settled. the chief points in the diplomacy were the payment of indemnity by corea to japan, and a joint agreement between china and japan to withdraw their troops. both camps were emptied on the 20th, and on the 21st the troops left chimulpo for their respective coun tries. on october 5, 1885, the tai wen kun, now sixty-eight years old, but fresh as a man of fifty, returned from china, and re-entered s6oul under a guard of chinese warriors, and many thousands of corean s. the affair of december was, in its origin, an anti-chinese up rising of radical progressives, but in its ending an anti-japanese demonstration. about three hundred lives were lost by battle and murder and sudden death. the japanese riflemen firing low, and mostly while lying down, picked off their enemies with remarkable skiu, the conduct of the american minister, general l. h. foote, during this trying occasion, was most admirable, and the lega tion, which sheltered all the foreigners and many japanese, was kept open and the flag was never lowered. divine providence, through these unpromising circumstances, opened a gate for the entrance of western science and reformed christianity. dr. henry n. allen, a missionary physician from ohio, having arrived in seoul in septembei-, was at once called upon to attend upon min yong ik and the wounded chinese sol diers. the superiority of modern methods being at once manifest, monthly for november, t886. see also the inminous "report of informa tion," &o., by 'ensign g. c. foulke, u.s.n., in "foreign relations of the united states," for 1885 (p. 335), to which the present chapter is much in debted. 452 corea. many natives sought medical aid of br. allen, unable to attend to them all, application was made for a hospital, and the govern ment set apart the 'dwelling occupied by hong yong sik, and, naming it the "house of civilized virtue," established, april 10, 1885, a hospital. assisted by other americans, dr. j. "w. heron and eev. h. c. underwood, the work has continued, and the first year's report is a most interesting document, affording a wide view into the sanitary condition of the people." following this was the arrival of american missionaries of the presbyterian and metho dist churches, and, later, of three young men, messrs. d. a. bunker, g. w. grilmore, and h. b. hulbert, engaged by the corean gov ernment as teachers to begin an educational system for the king dom. the school, with thirty-five sons of noble families, opened september 23, 1885. an american lady physician, miss ellers, now mrs. bunker, has waited upon the queen and royal ladies. in the colony of americans in seoul, july 22, 1886, twenty-three colleges or professional schools were represented, showing the high character and cultivation of the americans representing us in corea. a union christian church was organized early in 1887, meeting for worship at the legation of the united states by invi tation of the american minister, captain william h. parker. the first native christian convert to eeformed christianity was baptized by the eev. horace c. underwood, on the second sun day in july, 1886, and the first native christian church in corea, according to the presbyterian polity, was organized by the same tnissionary in 1887. it had in may, 1888, forty members. the methodist missionaries, eev. william b. scran ton, m.d., and eev. h. g. appenzeller, have established a private hospital, and schools for boys and girls. a fine brick building' for a college hall was dedicated by bishop h. w. warren as " america's gift to corea." 'from this report we learn that " fifty per cent, of the deaths in korea are from small-pox." syphilis is an " almost omnipresent disease," 760 cases being treated in one year. pediouli and tape-worm, wounds from ar rows and stones, abscesses, skin-diseases, scrofula, dropsy, and indigestion aro very common. malaria is the most general cause of disease. beriberi, mela nosis, distoma, and filaria exist. the patients respond readily to medicine, but, owing to their meat diet and strong drink, do not do as well after surgical operations as the chinese and japanese. of the oases treated, there were of fever 1,147 ; digestion, etc., 3,033 ; circulation, 114 ; respiration, 476 ; nervous system, 833; genito-urinary organs, 1,902; eyes, 629; ear, 318; bones and tendons, 105 ; malformations, 37 ; skin, 845 ; of women, 67 ; in all, 10,460, with 394 dispensary operations. corea in 1888. 453 with the increasing mastery of the language, a committee for the' translation of the bible into corean was formed in s6oul, in march, 1888. with orphanages, sunday-schools, christian woman's work in the home, and an open bible, a new phase of christianity, novel vet primitive, opens in corea. of the bom an form of the faith there are, besides a bishop, a dozen or more french priests in seoul, who no longer need to live in disguise, but have come forth to the light, and to begin the erection of a cathedral in the capital. a treaty with france was negotiated in the summer of 1886, and ratified may 30, 1887. a strenuous effort was made to secure toleration of religion and the right to openly preach and proselyte, which the corean govern ment as strenuously refused. while it is to be hoped that christian teachers, of whatever form of the faith, will proceed in the work of proselyting with wis dom, and while temporary interruptions or reactions through governmental interference may occur, yet the work cannot perma nently be hindered. corea wul find that the treaty powers will class her civilization as unworthy of recognition, if persecution is allowed. wise toleration is the surest proof that barbarism has past and enlightened civilization begun. americans have thus far been chosen as advisers and assistants of the nation which has latest of all entered into the world's broth erhood. three military officers to organize her army, naval offi cers to inaugurate a navy, commissioners of customs, and a coun sellor in the foreign office are among these. the latter position, most difficult and delicate, has been held by judge o. n. denny. surrounded by powerful and ambitious nations, corea needs the wisest advice. on april 14, 1885, the british government, " in view* of eventualities" with eussia, ordered the "temporary occupa tion " of port hamilton in the nam how group of islands, about thirty-five miles from the northeast end of quelpaert. despite all offers of gold, and all diplomatic pressure, the corean govern ment protested against this seizure of territory, and, after volumi nous correspondence and the assurance that eussia would not occupy any part of corea, the british flag was hauled down, febru ary 27, 1887. the port hamilton episode was valuable to corea, because it indirectly taught her to look no longer to china for light and help, and this for reasons which cannot here be given in detail ; and she now resolved to appeal to the world to determine her political 454 corba. status. eenouncing the idea of the suzerainty of china over corea, the king and government sent embassies to japan, europe, and the united states, to establish permanent legations. this move ment was opposed by the chinese, and especially by the minister yuen, in an active, impudent, and even a villainous manner. yuen, who led the chinese troops during the fighting of december 4th, and who had escorted the tai wen kun to corea, is believed to have plotted to dethrone the king and set up another son of the tai wen kun, as a pro-chinese partisan, on the throne. expect ing to make use of the corean military, whom he had drilled in per son, his plot was exposed by min yong ik. after continued efforts to hamper the government in progressive measures, yuen suc ceeded only in hastening the decision of the corean government to despatch the embassies ; an act which was nothing less than corea's declaration of independence of china. under the " favored nation " clause, the united states and the other treaty powers have equal rights with china ; and russia and the united states, at least, have insisted upon exercising them. the right to make a treaty carries with it the right of legation abroad. to checkmate any design of china to prevent the departure of the envoys, or to con vert her nominal authority into assertion of sovereignty or suze rainty, the hon. hugh n. densmore, our minister, by the orders of the united states government, invited the embassy to take pas sage from chimulpo in the u.s.s.s. omaha, which was done. in charge of dr. h. n. allen, pak chung yang, a noble of the second rank. envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary of the king of corea, arrived in washington and had audience of presi dent cleveland, in januarj', 1888. chio sin he, of equal rank, re sides in europe, and another minister in tokio. is not this year 1888 of the christian era, and cho-sen and of the reigning dynasty the four hundred and ninty-seventh, the year of corea's independence ? on whatever points progressive and con servative differ, they have united upon the determination to assert and maintain national freedom, and the king is their leader. it may be that in the very weakness of the little kingdom lies her real strength, and that in the interest of peace and harmony russia and england as well as china and japan will unite to maintain her in tegrity. the worn-out dogmas of chinese statecraft must pass away, as have the obsolete notions of despotism in europe, and corea be allowed to work out her career as a sovereign state, in the line pointed out by progressive japan and democratic america. appendix. the cobban lancuagb. although the chinese language, writing, and literature form the basis of education and culture in cho-sen, yet the native language is distinct in genius and structure from the chinese, having little in common with it. the latter is monosyllabic, while the corean is polysyllabic, as is the japanese, which the corean closely resembles. no other language is so nearly affiliated to the japanese as the corean. both are of the " agglutinative" type, using that term in a general and not too strict sense. there are few true inflections, and the attempt to reduce the verbal forms to the classifications suited to the indo buropean languages is the source of much confusion in the grammars and ' dictionaries which europeans have thus far attempted to make. belonging to the polysyllabic branch of that great division of the family of speech, variously termed turanian, altaic, or mongol, the following seem to be its chief characteristics, as shown by dallet : 1. the words themselves do not contain inflections which serve to distinguish sex in living things and gender in the case of abstract nouns. 3. there are no declensions proper, expressing number, person, and case. the " prepositions " are post-positions, which are always distinct and separable from the noun, and the plural is formed by adding a special word jointed to the noun. 3. true adjectives are rare, being rather verbal and noun-like. 4. the genuine pronouns of the first and second person do not exist, the third person serving for "i" and " thou," certain particles expressing the idea of relation. 5. in place of the complex conjugation of the verb, the various shades of meaning are secured by agglutinating or tacking on special particles. while some have no passive voice, all have what may be called a negative voice. finally, the word which governs is placed invariably after the word which it governs, instead of the contrary, as with us. these are the fundamental principles of corean syntax. the honorific element forms almost a complete language, yet one of cere mony rather than of syntax, though construction as well as vocabulary is affected by the desire to express the relation of inferior to superior, and vice versa, by means of speech. the difference in the forms of language between people and magistrate, convert and priest, servant and master, etc., are more than that between "high" and " low" german. the local variations in dialect are considerable, and the speech of the 456 appendix. capital and of the provinces is quite different. in southern and southeastern cho-sen, it is very much like the japanese, and, word-for-word, particle-for partiole translations of japanese into corean, and corean into japanese, are possible. the japanese manuscript manuals of the interpreters at pusan, and translations of the new testament into the two tongues show this. in the northern provinces the divergence from modern japanese is more marked. mr. ross's corean primer, made with the aid of a northern native, shows his dialect to be somewhat diflterent from that of kiung-sang. the accent or pro nunciation also differs in seoul and the provinces. the high style is that of the former, and the 8a-7iiio-ri is the provincial. the similarity of corean to japanese has been shown by mr. w. 6. aston, who gives lists of roots and particles identioaly or nearly so, in both languages. the corean is characterized hy more vowel changes, and a strange system of euphony, remarked also by eoss and ridel, prevails. neither i nor r is liked at the beginning of a word, and the use of honorific terms, such as auxiliary verbs, particles, etc. , is a feature common to both languages. the most con vincing resemblances are those which occur between pronouns, particles, and grammatical terminations. these particles and terminations represent punc tuation, emphasis, declension, and conjugation. many of the sentences in ross's primer are expressed on exactly the same principles of grammatical construction in japanese. a very practical fact, which throws light on the question, is that the corean prisoners in nagasaki during the invasion of 1592-97 easily learned japanese so as to be fully understood at the confes sionals of the roman catholic priests. the points of unlikeness are differences ih euphony. every syllable in japanese ends with a vowel, which is not the case in corean ; while in corean the vowel of one syllable exercises a modify. ilig influence on the vowel of the preceding syllable to an extent unknown in japanese ; and the spelling is in a state of confusion which is in sad contrast to the regularity of the japanese. dallet has also noticed the curious fact of the resemblance between corean grammar and that of the dravidian languages in southern india. in many cases the rules are not only similar but identical. the rev. nathan brown, formerly of assam, now of japan, points out the same analogy between the burmese and the japanese. the number of chinese words in the corean vocabulary is very large, as might be inferred from the fact that nearly all learning is in that language, which is the basis of culture. yet this infusion of foreign words so largely outnumbering the native, in no way affects the syntax. the chinese vocables are borrowed, just as we transfer greek and latin terms into english, even when terms in our native speech suffice. in ridel's dictionary most of the words have the asterisk prefixed, denoting their chinese origin. they repre sent those verbal additions, mostly names of things, or expressions of ideas, which have steadily flowed into the language sinco the time of the tang dynasty, when the influence of chinese culture began to prevail, while the ^articles, or " hooks and eyes of language," have remained native. the chinese characters constitute the true writing, or "great letters," in opposition to the vulgar script, which is the women's or children's writing. as the pronunciation of the chinese characters has several times changed in china, so also in the peijinsula. japanese books show that in hiaksai and appendix: 457 in shinra, in korai from ninth to fourteenth centuries, and in cho-sen since the manchiu dynasty, there lias been in each period a different pronunciation of the characters. the cause of this is that the literary men of the various epochs have endeavored to conform to the contemporaneous standard of china, just as frenchmen of culture in the colonies wish to speakwith the parisian accent of their time. evidently there must be preserved in old corean books, or perhaps by the conservative buddhist priests, the old phonetic style of the fourth and fifth centuries, or of the era of korai, as in russia the priests keep alive the ancient pronunciation of the liturgy. the corean alphabet, one of the most simple and perfect in the world, con sists of twenty-five letters, eleven vowels, and fourteen consonants, and classi fied according to the organs of speech. they are made with easy strokes, in which straight lines, circles, and dots or twirls only are used. according to mr. aston'b classification they are : yowels. a, ya, tf, tfr, o, yo ; u, yu, i, eu, i. diphowngs. fe, t, e'. oonsonants. labials, p, ph, m. dentals, t, th, n, l. palatals, ch, chh, s. gutturals, k, kh. laryngeals (?) h, n6 final. " the above arrangement makes it clear that the inventor of the alphabet had classified the sounds of the language according to the organs of speech by which they are formed. a common element (which i have called the base) is traceable through all the letters of each class. " — aston. a work on the corean language, upon which mr. aston is engaged, will be ari-anged aooord ing to this system. the prbnunciation given above, is provisional merely. there is also a syllabary in which these letters are associated in their pos sible combinations, one hundred and ninety-nine in all, and which the corean children learn by rote, not analyzing or separating the letters. thus, mo is learned by sight, and sound as one character, though composed of m and o ; just as an english child would learn to read and recognize by the eye the word cat without analyzing each letter. thns with one alphabet two distinct systems of writing, both phonetic, nido and umnun, exist side by side. the coreans use the chinese charac ters only as ideo-grams, or, as mr. chamberlain more properly has called them, logo-^rams. as in japan, so in corea, three styles of language prevail, and are used as follows : 1. pure chinese, without any admixture of corean, in books and writings on science, history, and government, and in the theses of the stu dents and literary men. 3. in the books composed in the corean language, the vernacular syntax serves as the framework for the vocabulary, which is largely chinese. works on education, text-books, and the various literary products contain a mixture of both languages, or side-by-side translations of the chinese, or asiatic latin, into corean. &.the corean book style of com 458 appendix. position difeers from the conversational in being more grammatical and refined, and in the luxuriant use of terminations and idioms, turns of speech, and tricks of language, not known in conversation. the epistolary style differs from the idiom of book and conversation ; containing many polite formulas and expressions used only in letters. finally, every one in corea speaks co rean, and not chinese, the quality of the language varying with the culture of the speaker, the women using the larger proportion of pure corean words, the men, especially pedants, employing a vocabulary having in it more terms of chinese origin. study by eueopeans. until the present century the corean language was like the scroll in reve lation, sealed with seven seals. hamel and his fellow-captives in the seven teenth century left no memorials of the strange speech acquired by them. witsen and broughton, and the other navigators noted only a few words. klaproth, who made, or pretended to make, all asia, with her thousand tongues, his domain of knowledge, was perhaps the first to collect together the scraps of corean in the vocabularies gathered by european voyi^ers, or found in chinese and japanese books. he published in his "asia polyglotta," in 1833, several hundred corean words in all ways of spelling. in 1833 he translated the japanese author, rin shihei's (rinsifee) book, " san kokf tsou ran to sets," which the latter had published at yedo in 1786. with this work, "general introduction to the three kingdoms" (cho-sen, tezo, and riuriu), klaproth published the corean alphabet, under the auspices of the oriental translation fund. dr. franz siebold, living at nagasaki, and meeting with numerous shipwrecked coreans, was perhaps the first european scholar to learn the language from the natives. he collected a much larger vocabulary than klaproth, studied the grammar, and in 1833 published "the thousand character classic," with , a corresponding word-for-word translation into ger man and japanese. in 1835 the english scholar, w. h. medhurst made a translation into english of a native corean comparative dictionary of chinese, corean, and japanese. in this very useful work about four thousand words are defined. the next year, the first french missionary penetrated into cho sen. it is possible that he had a copy of medhurst's work with him. in 1888 siebold at batavia had printed the lui h6, in which the chinese words are accompanied at the sides by the corean pronunciation and definition. in the appendix the japanese translation and pronunciation of a number of the chinese words are given, and in separate columns the comparative chinese, german, and corean vocabulary of one thousand five hundred and twelve words in roman characters, with, however, no grammatical notes of explana tion. in captain belcher's "voyage of h.m.s. samarang," london, 1848, there is a collection of several hundred corean words with english and other equivalents. see also the chinese bepoutory for nov., 1832, pp. 376-379. to the french missionaries belongs the honor of exploring the peninsula, and of removing the seals of the language. the first systematic attempts at making an apparatus for the study of corean were lost in fire and persecution. daveluy worked for several years on a chinese corean-latin dictionary ; pourthie had composed a similar work, while petitnicolas had made a latin corean dictionary, which, when completed, was to contain from thirty thousand appendix. 459 to one hundred thousand words. besides these the missionaries were to com pose a grammar by their joint labor. they toiled through many years while busy with their religious labors, their design being to keep a copy of each of the books at the mission, while the manuscripts were sent to france to be printed ; but in the persecution of 1866 all the fruits of their industry were burned or destroyed. in the jowma adamgue, for april, 1864, m. leon de bosny, at paris, printed a paper entitled " aperqu de la languecorfiene," from data furnished by his co-laborers in corea, and especially from the manuscript of bishop ridel. m. charles dallet, in his " histoire de i'eglise de coree " (pp. ixxvii. xcir., paris, 1874), compiled a most valuable sketch of the language, giving also four charts containing the script and square forms of the alphabet, tha opening lines of "the thousand-character classic," the invocation to the virgin, and the lord's prayer in the running hand, with french translation. dallet's sketch is, in reality, a small corean grammar, and is very valuable to the student. mr. addison van name, of yale college library, at a meeting of the american oriental society in november, 1875, presented a digest of dal let's grammar in connection with the presentation, from dr. s. wells williams, of a proclamation issued by the corean government in 1839, in chinese and corean, forbidding the promulgation of christianity. dr. williams made a further gift of a military order captured at kang-wa. after bishop ridel's second visit and imprisonment in corea, he came to japan, and with his co-laborers succeeded by 1881 in completing a dictionary and grammar, both beautifully printed on the press of vecho du japan, at yokohama. the " diotionnaire corieu-frangais," contains six hundred and ninety-five pages octavo, with valuable preface ; six hundred and fifteen pages are devoted to definitions, with the word defined in (1) corean letters, (sj) roman letters (french), (3) chinese equivalent characters, and the full ex planation of the word in french. the grammatical and geographical appen dices, and a clear, well-shaded map, add to the value of this superb work. the " grammaire coreenne " contains in all, three hundred and thirty-four pages, uniform in size with the dictionary. the introduction is devoted to a comparison of the cbreau with the chinese language (instead of with the jap anese), and to the letters, writing, pronunciation, formation of words, alpha bets, and syllabary. after the grammar proper, of one hundred and ninety-two pages, there are ninety-three pages devoted to graduated exercises in corean conversations, and twenty-one amusing and characteristic specimens of folk lore, in corean writing with french translation. both these works have been ably reviewed in the ghrysantherrmm (yokohama, japan) for may and sep tember, 1881, by mr. w. gr. aston, to whom the compiler is much indebted. the systematic study of corean was begun by several english-speaking scholars in north china during the last two decades. dr. s. wells williams has not yet printed the results of his studies. the rev. mr. thomas, mission ary agent of the national bible society of scotland, had learned corean in shing-king, and from the natives while visiting the coast of whang-hai in a chinese junk. he perished in the general sherman slaughter. in 1873 the lamented and accomplished author of "the chinese reader's hand-book"— a monument of his brilliant and patient scholarship— began the stvidy of corean, and was, at the time of his death, march 24, 1876, engaged upon a grammar, 460 appendix. which was to he comparative with japanese, manchiu, and turkish. during three winters he had studied assiduously with a member of the embassy. he intended, also to add a sketch of corean history, but his work is lost to us by his untimely death. in manchuria, the little group of missionaries of the united presbyterian church of scotland, messrs. mclutyre and john boss, frequently meeting coreans in the embassy to china atmakden, niu-chwaug, and the towns of shing-king, began the study of their language several years ago. the fruits of mr. mclntyre's labors are several chapters of notes on the corean, or perhaps rather sinico-corean, in the ohina beview during 1881 and 1882. mr. ross, of niu-chwang, in 1877-78 published through the shanghae pj-esbyterian mission press a " corean primer " — a handy manual of eighty-nine pages of lessons " on all ordinary subjects." the words are given in corean characters, under which is their pronunciation in roman letters, and the interpretation in english according to the idiom of the country, viz., "nom., obj., verb, negative." in his general work on corea, also, mr. ross gives a sketch of the language and grammar. mr. w. g. aston, formerly interpreter and traxislator at the british lega tion in tokio, japan, vice-consul at hiogo, and author of the " grammars of the written and spoken language of japan," has for some years devoted him self to the study of corean, and his work bids fair to be the most satisfactory to all english-speaking people, and we think to europeans in general. to him belongs the credit of first pointing out the substantial historic unity of the two nations, corean and japanese, and of demonstrating the close family likeness of their speech. his method is simple and scientific, and his ability uiiquestioned. his published papers on the subject are, as far as known to the writer, as follows : 1. "a paper on the corean language," in the journal of the royal asiatic society of great britain, 1876 (?) 2. " books on korean," th? japan mail, january 28, 1878, in which the accessible works extant oji the subject, including the japanese manuscript manuals iised by the inter preters at fusan, are noticed, and the relations of corean with japanese are dis cussed. 3. "review of the dictionnaire corien-fran?ais, and of the gram maire coraenne," in t.ie c.'irymnttiemum, may and september, 1881. 4. "proposed arrangement of the korean alphabet," vol. iv., p. 58, " transac tions of the asiatic society of japan. " in this last paper mr. aston informs us that he is preparing a vocabulary of corean to be arranged on the system set forth in his paper, an announcement which english-speaking students will hail with pleasure. mr. aston visited cho-sen about the time of admiral willes' treaty-making, in june, 1882, and remained for some weeks on board the british surveying ship flying fish, improving his familiarity with the living speech of the natives. messrs. ernest satow, and basil hall chamberlain, the former of the british legation in japan, and the latter an english gentleman in tokio, are also scholars in corean. we add the titles of works in russian merely to show what has been done in that language. they were furnished us in french by count • osten-saoken of the foreign office at st. petersburg. 1. " essay towards a russo-corean dictionary," by m. poutzillo. this dictionary contains three or four thousand russian words with their definitions in corean. 3. " some remarks of the archimandrite palladius upon poutzillo's dictionary," "bulletin of the im perial society of geography, st. petersburg, 1875." appendix. 461 _ at this writing (september, 1883), the new testament has been translated into corean-the joint work of messrs. ross and mclntyre, the scotch mis sionaries at mukden and niu-chwang. it was translated, revised, and printed from metal type in shing-king, and before july, 1883, a number of copies had been circulated inside the peninsula, while one thousand copies were being packed for japan, to enter corea by way of that country. this version ought to be a first-rate one, the translator having good models in chinese to follow, and four or more corean assistants, who are also scholars in chinese. how far the pure native language has been employed aiid cultivated remains to be seen. from the academy we learn that the " pilgrim's progress" has been done into corean by a native named tsway. two books written by americans have also been translated : " the peep of day," direct from burns' chinese version, and dr. martin's "evidences of christianity," now a text-booli in three kingdoms. nearly all the books still in print mentioned in this chapter may be ob tained of messrs. kelly & co., booksellers, at yokohama or shanghae. corean literature. the contact of the race from the manchurian valleys with an old civiliza^ tion like that of china, furnished the korai people with such perfect literary models that the study of their own tongue has been sadly neglected, instead of being loyally developed. this is even more the case in cho-sen than in nippon, where the japanese intellect has flowered in a respectable native literature, in spite of the contempt in which the vernacular wsts long held through the spirit of pedantry developed by study of the chinese. the co reans show a low opinion of their native tongue by calling it tuh-tam,, or sot tish words without meaning, and utterly insufficient to express ideas. hence the poverty of the native literature. history, which constitutes its first divi sion, is almost entirely composed in the chinese, and hence is accessible only to students. ridel mentions the titles of a few works in the corean-french dictionary, but there is no present evidence that these were read by the missionaries. hamel states that it was a custom when historical records or important documents were written, to have them transcribed and copies de posited in various parts of the kingdom to guard against loss by fire. a few primers or manuals of history are printed in the vulgar writing for the use of women, children, and the unlearned. books on etiquette or ritual are com mon. they relate to marriage, burial, mourning, and the multifarious duties which death — almost more than life — requires in chinese asia. the greater part of one of these manuals has been translated by mr. ross in his " corea " (paisley, 1880), which is full of interesting matter, showing how important is the undertaker's work. the study of geography, local and historical, is culti vated. maps and works on local geography are from time to time issued. some of this work is done in the government bureau of design at seoul. the corean maps thus far seen by the writer are rude, but serviceable, and equal many of those in old japan. ■some of them have found their way to europe poetry is of two kinds, one style consisting of songs, punning descriptions, funny sayings with rhythm and a certain number of syllables or feet ; and the other based on the chinese model. the "pung-wd," or favorite sor*, is of., a. 462 appendix. light, idyllic character, and, as its name indicates, deals largely with wind and moon. the bamboo swaying gracefully in the breeze, the moonlit spa, or landscape, and the varying phases of nature are treated of in verse. " poetry parties " go out to look at fine scenery, or meet, writing materials in hand, and wine-cups close by. this writing stanzas for diversion is among the stand ard means of literary and social enjoyment. the chinese authors do not enjoy exclusive monopoly of the coreau world of readers, for some of the japanese writers, notably arai hakuseki, and the tedo scholars of the eigh teenth century, who wrote mainly in classic chinese, are also held in high re pute. the corean language has never, except in rare instances, been studied in japan except by interpreters at fusan, or in kioto, yedo, or nagasaki ; and the library of japanese works treating of the language or people is a small one. since the treaty of 1876 some attention has been paid to its acquisition, at which the coreans must feel flattered. it is now studied by japanese at nagasaki, kioto, and tokio under the auspices of the government, and of the buddhists, and as a means of culture, since in addition to private students the society for promoting oriental literature in 1881 engaged u corean named konseioi to teach a class of twenty japanese gentlemen. in corea some of the best modern treatises on the various arts and sciences have been trans lated, or are in process of translation, from japanese and chinese versions. japanese believers in shinto have long waged a controversy with buddhist writers concerning the origin of an alphabet found not in books or literature, but on scrolls kept in temples. these characters are called sliin-ji, "god letters," or shin-dai-ji, "letters of the age of the gods," and great antiquity is claimed for them by the shintoists. they are in their various forms identi cal, or nearly so, with the corean alphabet. the buddhists claim that the so-called god-letters were brought over from corea at a period much later than is held by shinto scholars. no inscriptions or literary monuments in the ■shin-ji can be discovered in japan, and foreign critics — hepburn, aston, and many others— agree with the buddhist opinion that the shin-ji are late impor tations from cho-sen. mr. satow in his paper on ' ' pure shinto " speaks of the "unmistakable identity" of the two syllabaries, referring the origin of the corean alphabet to the fifteenth century. mr. p. kempermann, in the mitt jieilungen der deuuomn oeseoesdiaft fur mamr-und tolkerkunde ostasien'a, november, 1877, takes a somewhat different view, believing that these charac ters (which are printed with his paper) were the common property of the race which inhabited southern japan and corea in very ancient times. dr. d. b. mccartee takes the view that "the kata-kana syllabic symbols were adopted as a substitute for.the jin-dai-ji [or shin-ji] as simpler and much easier to be learned." until some literary fragments composed in the shin-jl be dis covered in japan, the question has no practical importance. the opening of the corean peninsula to foreign scholars may, however, result in discoveries in literary archseology that will throw light upon the settling of the japanese archipelago, and the prehistoric condition of corea. the critical and analytical study of the kqjiki and other ancient monuments of japanese literature, by messrs. satow and chamberlain, seems already scattering the darkness that has hitherto hung over the history of the two countries east of china, before it was known to the writers of the middle kingdom. it may be mentioned as a curious fact that a shinto writer, as late as 1871, published the whole of the appendix. 463 kojiki, in "that clumsy variety of the korean alphabetic writing which some japanese authors .... have supposed to he characters of a peculiar aga and sanctity used by the ancient gods and heroes of their country." measures, weights, money, time, calculation. mbastjrbs: long measure. — ^the unit of linear measure in corea is the ja, which is one-third of the pai or arm. it corresponds roughly to our foot, but its length varies both in the capital and provinces according to the sub stance measured. the cloth ja or foot at seoul is .52 metre (30.5 inches), that for silk, .42 metre (16.5 inches), and that for cordage a little less than .37 metre (14.6 inches). the in-ahek, or foot for measuring the height of men, is fourteen thicknesses of the finger. for the measurement of timber, trees, and lumber the foot in use is still longer. in every instance, however, the ja is subdivided as follows : 1 ja =: 10 ehi or inches ; 1 ehi = 10 pun or lines. ,to measure height or depth, the kil, "the measure of a man," that is, of an adult male corean's stature, is taken as the unit. the pal, or arm, is nsed to compute length. for road measures the ri, or league, is the most common, and the " mile-stones," in the form of huge gro tesque human figures, are found at intervals on the roads, inscribed in chinese characters with the number of ri to and from certain places. one ri equals a little over 4 kilometres (2.5 miles); but this ri is not of uniform length through out the eight provinces, being longer as the distance from the capital increases ; 200 ri in the farthest provinces may equal 240 or 350 of seoul ri. ma-iiang is an indefinite expression for less than one ri. cvme meaawre. — the measures of capacity have their unit in the tiop, or handful : 10 hop = 1 toi ; 10 toi = 1 mal, or bushel ; 30 rrud = 1 siem, or sack. the mal is a measure in the form of a polyhedron, with a square base, having four trapezoid sides, of which the top, smaller than the base, serves for an ori fice. there are two kinds of mal, the smallest of which is less than half the size of the larger, and at seoul has the' following dimensions : base, .37 (8.85 inches) a side ; top, .35 (8.2 inches) a side ; depth, .13 (4.26 inches) a side. fifteen of these lesser mch make a jiui, which is the government measure for the grain assessments or taxes. liquid measure. — spirits for drinking purposes are measured by the chong ja, or "little cup," which, according to the popular idea, ought to hold 10,000 grains of millet. the unit for measuring rice-wine and other liquids is the jan, or cup, or a little less than two-fifths of a litre, or 24.4 cubic inches. squm-e measure. — measures of arable land are based on the amount of rice or other grain sown upon it. the names are made by adding the measure of capacity �jik. the mem-jik-i comprises an area measure of earth on which a siem or sack of grain may be sown ; the ma-jik-i, that on which is sown a bushel; the toi-jik-i, that on which is sown a 1m, and the iwp-jik-i, on which is sown a handful of seed. weights. — the corean scale for weighing is like the japanese and chinese lever, which we call the roman balance or miniature steelyard. the best are imported from china. the unit of weight is the kiun or pound, which is divided like our own into ounces or niang, sixteeu of which make a kiun or 464 appendix. pound: 1 tiiang = 10 fen.; 1 ton = 10 pun; ipun = 1 ri. the weight 6t the niang at seoul is about 38 grammes, or 1.3 ounce.. monet. —the nip or pun (chinese sapek) is the only money coined in corea, and looks like the chinese " cash," being perforated with square holes for stringing. hence the term " strings of cash." 100 corean sapek = 1 franc, or 10 pence, or 19 cents ; 10 pun = 1 torn ; 10 tow = 1 niang ; 10 niang ■— 1 kan. for commercial purposes gold and silver in bars, nuggets, or dust are used by weight. the old valuation was 1 tael or ounce of gold = 8.50 taels in silver ; 1 tael or ounce of silver = 670, 640, or 630 cash, according to the varying rates of exchange. in some parts of the kingdom money is rarely used, barter tak ing the place of metal coins, grain being the most usual standard. the "cash " (nip or sapek) are made of an alloy of copper and tin, zinc or lead, or of iron. they are strung on cords of plaited straw, a few dozen of which make a load for a man, and the payment of a heavy debt requiring a yoke of oxen to transport the money. ' the coins are of various issues and chronological periods. the characters "sam-han," or "three kingdoms," " korai," and " cho-sen " are stamped on their face, with such legends as " used for public benefit," " treasury department," " enrich the people," " current money," or "circulating treasure," on the reverse face. on some of the coins the clironological period or the mint-master's name is stamped. it is said that even these miserable " cash "^ave at times bean debased by the government. the common rate of interest in the country is very high, often reaching 100 per cent. it is a rule of the christians not to charge or receive over 20 per cent. sidereal measure.. — magnetic compasses are usually of chinese manu , facture and importation, but are not in general use for junk navigation, the corean boatmen rarely venturing out of sight of land, except perhaps when sailing to and from quelpart island. they are, however, used by travellers, and very largely by the geomancers, who pretend with their aid to locate aus piciously the graves and tombs. the native name for the magnetic needle is ji-nam-jul, which— reversing our conception — means the "iron south pointer," or "indicator of the south." the needle or arrow is set in a round box, on the circle, of which twenty-four cyclic characters are printed. besides the four cardinal points, n. , s. , e. , w. , the subdivisions e. s. , b. n. , w. s. , w.n., instead of our s. b., n. e., s. w., n. w.., are used. time measure : days and hours the corean division and measurement of the time is based on the chinese system. receiving the calendar from peking annually, they make use of it with slight modifications. the solar day is divided into twelve hours or s/, and each hour into eight keik, each keik into fifteen pun. a corean hour is equivalent to two of ours, u, keik £o our quarter of an hour, and a pun to our minute. the hours of the day, instead of being expressed by numerals, as with us, are distinguished by adding the name of some animal corresponding to the sign of the zodiac to the word si or hour ; as ho-si, hour of the tiger ; or yang-si, sheep hour ; riong-si, dragon hour, etc. the coreans rarely, if at all, possess clocks or watflies, though one of the first things a ' ' civilized " native now seeks to possess is a watch. the common divisions of time are ganged by the sight, ear, and hunger — cock-crowing, breakfast-time, dinner-time, the evening-star, supper-time, etc. a little be appendix. 465 fore sucli and sueh an hour, and the beginning, middle, and end of an hour are noted, but fractions are neglected, and it is doubtful whether foreigners coming from countries where seconds are split could make a native laborer comprehend anything less than a half hour. weeks. — the division into weeks is unknown, the days being counted from the age of the moon. the native christians have, however, coined ver nacular terms for the church week-days. months. — ^the months are reckoned as "small" or "large," i.e., of twenty nine or thirty days, according to the lunation. the eighth and twenty-third days of the moon are spoken of as " little water," or " little tide," and "much water," "great tide," respectively. the first ten days of the month are named by prefixing eko (first or beginning) to the cardinal number ; as eho-u (first day), elw-i (second day), etc. , either to the pure corean or china-corean words. special terms for the first and last day, fifth day, twentieth and twenty-first days, and full moon are in use. a peculiar terminology is employed by the country people to designate the age of cattle, horses, etc. yea/rs. — ^bach year is divided into twelve months, which are named by their numbers, first, second, etc., except that the twelfth is designated as last, the eleventh, next to last, etc. during the period of the lunar cycle, that is, nineteen solar years, in order to synchronize the civil year computation with the solar year, they intercalate seven months called yun-wd, usually a little after each three years. seasons. — pour seasons are recognized as the greater year division. they are spring, summer, autumn, winter. these seasons are not, however, reck oned as beginning and ending exactly at the two solstices and two equinoxes, but these pivots of the seasons are conceived as being exactly in the middle of the seasons in which they occur. to further aid the distribution of the labor of tilling the soil, the four seasons of the year are further divided, each into six groups of fifteen days, as follows : beginning of spring, february 5th ; abundance of bain, february 31st; awakening of the insects, march 6th; division of spring, march 21st (equinox) ; clear shining, april 6th ; seed rain, april 32d ; summer begins may 7th ; little plenty, may 32d ; trans planting of the rice, june 7th ; height of summer, june 32d (solstice) ; lit tle heat, july 8th ; great heat, july 33d ; autumn begins august 9th ; end of heat, august 34th ; white dew, september 9th ; division of autumn, sep tember 34th (equinox) ; cold dew, october 9th ; fall of hoar frost, october 34th; winter begins november 8th; little snow, november 33d; great snow, december 8th; full winter, december 32d (solstice); little cold, jan uary 6th ; great cold, january 21st. newyear's day begins at the end of january or early in february. t/ie sexagenwry girele.—the chinese, corean, and japanese chronological system of measuring years is not buddhist or confucian. it is not fixed by some great event, but runs in cycles of sixty years, each beginning from the year 3637 before christ. the seventy-fifth cycle, ending february 7, 1863, "completes a period of four thousand five hundred years. the tables of sexa genary cyclic characters are made up by joining the selected ten cyclic charac ters to the twelve hour characters, according to the chinese philosophical ideas of the five elements, and the twelve elements or zodiac signs. the cycle of ten series is made from the five elements, wood, fire, earth, metal, water, 30 466 appendix. which are doubled by distinguishing each of them (according to' the dualism of passive and active) as male and female. the table of sixty signs is given in chinese or corean almanacs, and in the " grammairecoreene." this year, 1883, is the eighteenth year of the seventy-sixth or water cycle, masculine ; the year of the ox ; or in corean, im-o. akithmbtic and calculation. — the corean system of notation is, like that of china and japan, decimal. as with the ancient romans and hebrews, among whom alphabetical letters were used for figures, as well as among europeans, until the simple arabic figures took their places, the corean nu merals are names rather than numbers. they do not express quantities in figures. having no chinese character for zero, or decimals, a special name term is used to express ten, twenty, hundred, thousand, etc. thus they write 7, 10, 5, for 75 ; 8, 100, 46, for 846 ; 1,000, 700, 60, 4, for 1764. the ^ioces of units, tens, hundreds, etc., which we imagine in computation, they do not conceive, but write out. owing to the fact that two series of number names, pure corean and chinese -corean, are in use, some confusion takes place in ordinary conversa tion, though when writing is employed all is_ clear. one help to easy under standing is found' in the fact that the corean numerals by contraction and euphony become monosyllables, while the chinese are polysyllables. the vernacular speech possesses numerals only up to one hundred, the multiples above that number being chinese. " t6n thousand " is a term for the ex pression of what is indefinite, and is more an expression of rhetoric than of mathematics. in like manner " 100,000 strings," or " 100,000 strings of cash," mean simply very much money. ordinary calculations are made by sticks, pebbles, coins, or most accurately on the abacus or frame of sliding balls. by sticks thus, ] 11 iii, called kaji i -i s san. by coins, 00 0000. a stick or circle over the lower line counts five. 12 9 another system of enumeration is called "a thousand sideways, a hundred up, ten down, joined all on end," thus : =|||| = |||||:= 3,425. this method is less used than the first, and the abacus more than either. it appears from the researches of sinologists that the abacus, or numeral frame, now in use in asia from russia to japan, was not known in china until the fourteenth century. it seems to have been brought by the persians and arabs, during the period of the mongol conquests, when the highway through central asia was open. from cathay the abacus was introduced in corea and japan. the su-pan or numeral frame is of various sizes, from the tiny pocket-piece to that for the shop-counter, which may be a foot or two in length. a hollow box is divided parallel to its length at about three-fourths of its width by a cross partition from end to end. the top of this bar is usually faced with bone or ivory, on which the chinese characters signifying 1,000, 100, 10, imits, and decimal places are marked. above the central dividing-bar are from fifteen to twenty-five sticks pinned through at right angles to the frame, on which slide beads, balls, or rounded pieces of wood, seed, or ivory. bach of these top balls count five, though usually only one of the two is used. beneath are the same number of pins, on which slide five beads, each counting one. the accountant picking up the su-pan first, runs his third finger along the top row of under balls, to get a clean slate for his appendix. 467 count. he then pushesiup as many of the balls as are heeded for the moment, clicking them against the cross-bar as fast as one strikes the keys of a piano. an expert man handles the balls so fast that they seem to fly, while the rattling noise seems to delight his ear. the result is then read ofe. in using the su-pan a certain amount of mental arithmetic is very necessary. the multiplication-table, up to nine times nine, must be known ; and for higher operations tables specially made for the su-pan process are learned. with this instrument the skilled corean can add, subtract, multiply, and divide, work fractions and decimals; and extract the square and cube roots. in ad dition, only two quantities can he added up at a, time ; after the first sum is known others may be added in succession as fast as the last result is read off. in places where the sum of two integers exceeds ten, a subtraction process is used ; and so in performing operations in multiplication, division is, or may be, often performed. thus, the use of the four fundamental rules of arith metic does not proceed in simple logical order, as with us. it is, however, greatly assisted by special tables easily used, and in spite of its apparent com plexity, a nimble-fingered corean will work out problems in money-changing and the four rules more rapidly than an expert using the arabic numerals with pen and pencil. cartography. until the middle of the seventeenth century, corea was believed by euro peans to be an island. in a map of the travels of william of rubruk (guil laume rubruquis), who made a journey to the mongol court in 1248, corea appears as an island northwest of japan. a map of the chinese empire, brought to england in 1588, expresses the same idea, " chau-siu " (cho sen) being surrounded by water. on the charts of the world made by mercator, ortelius, and sanson, and on abbeville's map, utrecht, 1681, "corey " is likewise represented as an island. in the dutch bibles of the seventeenth century, containing maps of the world, " coria" is still insular, but quelpart appears. in 1707 the great map of the chinese empire, based upon the surveys made by the jesuit missionaries in peking, was made under the emperor kang-hi's patronage. this work, " of which the glory is due chiefly to french mathematicians," contained a detailed map of corea, which, though inexact on the coasts, locates many of the chief cities with astonishing accuracy. it was copied from a map kept in the palace at seoul, and brought to peking by an ambassador of the famous manchiu emperor, especially for the use of the imperial cartographers. after the appearance of the jesuits' map in europe, the peninsular character of the country was shown on ordinary maps, and the former errors corrected ; but the names of provinces, cities, and towns were spelled according to the peking pronunciation of the chinese char acters used to express them, and not according to the corean pronunciation. other maps of corea are found in the works of titsingh, siebold, and d'an ville, and one in klaproth's "san kokf tsou ran to setsu," which is the re production of a rude japanese sketch. so far as known, the first map of cho-sen made by a native corean, with the geographical names transliterated according to the native pronunciation, was that made by andrew kim, which is now in the geographical cabinet of the imperial library in paris. a re duced copy of this map was published in the bumetin de soaieli qeogrwpmque, 468 appendix. in 1849, and from this, with the aid of french charts, dallet made the map which accompanies his history of the church in corea, published in 1874, a native map, captured by the french at kang-wa, in 1866, has also been trans lated by messrs. ridel, feron, and calais, and published in the buuetin de soeiete geographigue on a scale of 8x5 inches. it was found that in the original chart the latitude of places was accurately calculated, but the errors in longitude were numerous. the buuetin for february, 1867, contains a map of the mouth of the han biyer. in the corean-french dictionary by ridel, yokohama, 1881, is a finely executed map of " tyo-sien," 12 x 18 inches, which is very full and clear, and is the best french map of cho-sen. a chart of the corean archipelago, corrected in 1874, has been issued by the french marine depot in paris, in one sheet. british charts of various portions of the coast are also available; but except in the vicinity of fusan, gensan, the mouth of the han river, and a few such well-known localities, the coast has been slightly surveyed. the charts of the british admiralty, and of mr. john imray, of london, are every year increasing in number and value. in addition to the german atlases of steiler and others, there is in peter mann's miulmlungen, 1871, no. 1, carte no. 19, » map of cho-sen, and in prof. j. j. rein's japan, vol. i., "natur und volk des mikadoreiches," a sketch of the peninsula, showing the ancient division into three kingdoms. the japanese have thus far produced the best cartographic apparatus for the study of the marine and inland geography of the peninsula. in addition to some good monographs on the physical and descriptive geography of cho-sen, which have been recently published, most of the japanese works mentioned in the bibliography contain maps which, though worthless in mathematical accuracy, are valuable for the study of historic topography. within the last decade maps of cho-sen have been constructed according to the principles of sidereal science by the departments of war and education in tokid, and a valuable series of charts and sketches have been issued by the hydrographic office of the naval department. skilled mathematicians working with abun dant data from corean and japanese books, manuscripts, notes, and maps, with assistance derived from european surveys, and, above all, aided by corean scholars, notably kin rinshio, have produced an excellent map of cho-sen, 50 x 40 inches, which has pleased and surprised the natives by its accuracy and fulness. a school-map of china, corea, and japan, on the mercator pro jection, published by the department of education (size 52 x 34 inches), and the series of charts of points on the coast surveyed by japanese men-of-war, have been before us in the preparation of this work. we have had also a small corean map, but have been unable to procure one of native manufacture in eight sheets, of which we have heard. in addition to the material found in the atlases for the study of manchuria and the russian possessions, there is a good map of sh^ng-king, in scherzer's "journal d'une mission in coree," and in williamson's " travels in north china," and of russian asia in ho. worth's " history of the mongols," the latter by ravenstein. in the large maps made expressly for this work, the writer has not thought it wise to encum ber the surface with too many names ; and only those have been added which are familiar or famous, or likely to be so. only a few of the foreign names have been set down, as many of these are unknown to the coreaus, and are but of partial recognition among foreigners. see also the bibliography. . index. abacus, 466, 467 aljorigines, 11, 34 adams, arthur, 4 adams, will, 168, 169 adoption, 259, 360 agriculture, 198, 298, 465 ai-ohiu, 8, 180, 348, 364, 365 alligators, 198 alphabets, 38, 47, 67, 457 amana, 31 american relations with corea, 419, 428, 439, 481, 434, 435 an-am, 117 ancestor-worship, 78, 338, 351 ancestral tablets, 78, 351 angell, hon. j. b., 430 arabs in corea, 1, 3, 48, 69 archery, 151, 393, 164 ' archipelago of corea, 4 architecture, 135, 186, 263 area of corea, 3 armor, 58, 101,403, 125, 153 arms, 58, 101, 103, 140. see art, 1, 33, 48, 330, 381, 264, 300 330 ashikaga, 85, 86, 137, 330 aston, mr. w. g., 338, 457, 460 austin, don. see koniahi. 388 ■304, baiji. s barbara taylor, the, 434 bears, 294 beds, 363 belcher, captain edward, 366 bellonet, mons., 377, 386 berneux, bishop, 372-373 bianca portia, the, 438 bingham, hon. j., 430 birds, 7, 195 blake, com. homer c, 409, 412 boats, 75, 195, 365, 368 bombs, 112, 372 books, 67, 220, 461 border gate, 83, 158, 180, 364 bridges, 358, 285 broughton, captain, 203, 214 buddhism, 35, 39, 66, 67, 80, 81, 96, 154, 330-384, 387-338 buddhist priests, 36, 65, 333-333 burial, 378-279 cakd playing, 295, 369 caricatures, 228-39 cattle, 7, 198, 201, 354, 364 ceramic art, 149, 300, 264 cespedes, 121-124 chamberlain, mr. basil hall, 59, 457 chimulpo, 429, 439 china, the, 396-403 chiu-chiu, 134, 135 chin ikei, 109, 118, 134, 128 cholera, 309 chosan harbor, 203 christianity, 93, 131-123, 124-128» 347-376, 413, 443 chuua-do, 197-201 470 index. chrysanthemum, 298 climate, 5, 6, 173 clocks, 136, 344 coins, 10, 18, 34, 69, 435 comets, 173, 175 compass. see magnetic needle. confucianism, 80, 81, 337-330, 844, 347 coreans in china, 44, 48, 160, 433 coreans in japan, 38, 39, 60, 61, 433, 437, 433 coreans in russia, 313-313, 330 coria, 85 costume, 81, 373-376 cowan, dr. frank, 427 coxinga, 163 cremation, 278 dagelet island, 110, 306 dan kun, 13, 308 dictionaries, 459 diet, 267, 368 dinners, 368 , dogs, 53, 54, 267, 304 dragon, 301, 303 don austin. see koniahi. dutch. see hollanders. education, 337-344 ear-monument, 133, 144 edwards, rev. jonathan, 388 eiman. see wei-man. embassies from japan, 1, 58, 89-93 embassies to japan, 60, 83, 85, 92, 126, 149, 423, 427, 432 etas, 61, 118, 334 ethics, 339, 860, 376 examinations for civil service, 339, 341-343 fairs, 166, 181, 315, 864r-365 falcons, 76, 833 fans, 375, 298 famine, 58, 118 ^ fauna, 7, 195, 197, 198, 206 feng-shuey. see pung-iui, feron, the priest, 370, 376 festivals, 395-399 feudalism, 23, 23, 41, 43, 387-341 fire-arms, 84, 98, 103, 112 fire-signals, 74, 185, 850, 369 fish, 315, 357, 367, 370 flags, 320, 882, 868 flora, 195, 881 flying fish, h.b.m.s., 440, 460 folk-lore, 381-283, 308-316 france, 363-364, 368, 436, 486 franciscans, 73 french, 165, 368, 861-386, 458-459 frois, louis, 95 frontiers, 83, 83, 361, 888, 431 froez. see frois. fuku-shin, 37 funerals, 378, 373 fusan, 8, 85, 100, 149, 150, 164, 30! 308, 354, 371, 425-436 fuyu people, 19, 31-24, 39 gambling, 295 genghis khan, 71. see toshitsunl general sherman, the, 183, 880 gensan, 314, 436, 437 gillie, rev., 391 ginger, 3, 267 ginseng, 3, 163, 388, 389 glass, 265, 391, 426 gold, 3, 183, 389, 388, 435, 437 grammars, 458-460 gutzlaff, 194, 859 hachiman, 133 hair-dressing, 159, 160, 270-371 haimi, 375 hall, captain basil, 186, 197 hanabusa, 439, 438-440 han dynasty, 16, 19 han river, 187, 188, 367, 378, 380 han yang. see seoul. hats, 271, 272 hayes, mr. a. a., jr., 402 head-dresses, 159, 273 hiaksai, 26, 35-39 index. 471 hid^yori, 125 hideyoshi, 87, 88-94, 96, 98, 144, 148 hoang-hai. see whang-hai. hollanders, 157, 162, 167-176 homio, 38 , horses, 7, 198, 201, 332, 88o hosho, 36, 37 hoskyn, captain, 440 hospitality, 288, 368, 391, 405 houses, 31, 33, 262, 265, 282, 355 housekeeping, 262-270 human sacrifices, 82 hunters, 294, 323 icb, 6, 268 ignatieff, general, 370, 371 iki island, 72 imbert, bishop, 363 in-chiun, 429, 431, 434, 436, 439 inouye bunda, 422, 423 ireland, 9 iron, 318, 380 islands, 191, 197, 200, 301, 203 italians, 438 iy6yasii, 146, 148 japanese, 24, 75, 163 japanese pirates, 74, 84, 91, 93 jesuits, 163, 165, 376, 401 jingu kogo, 45, 54, 89 jinsen. see in-chiun. juua-do. see ghuua-do. kaichow, 65 kang-hoa. see kang-wa. kang-wa island, 72, 191, 372, 381, 410, 433 kaokuli. see kokorai. karakuni, 59 kasiwade, 58, 59 kato kiyomasa, 96, 97, 103, 105, 110, 118, 114 khordadbeh, 2 khublai khan, 73 king-ki-tao. see i kioto, 93, 380 kirin, 308 kishi. see ki tase. kitans, 67, 68 ki tsze, 11, 13-15, 76, 383 kiushiu, 57, 406 klaproth, 458 kokorai, 33-36, 56 kokun island, 368, 369 kokwa. see kang-wa. kondera. see kwroda. konishi tukinaga, 96, 97, 103, 103, 105, 109, 111, 113, 119, 137, 146 korai, 19, 26^39, 34, 65-69, 76, 439 kudara. see hiakgai. kung, prince, 377 kuroda, 97, 106 kuroda kiyotaku, 433 lake baikal, 65, 67 lake hanka, 65 language, 51, 133, 455-463 la perouse, 174, 350 lazareff port, 314, 438 liao tung, 43, 74, 180. see sliing. icing. liquors, 366, 463 literary examinations, 81, 339, 341 343 literary style, 34 li hung chang, 183, 431, 430, 441 li-yu-son, 111, 117, 156 loo choo. see riu kiu. looking-glass, story of a, 315 lotus, 136, 331 low, f. p., minister, 403-405, 408 magnetic needle,' 69, 84, mar-han, 31, 33 manohius, 154^-160, 367, 421 manchuria, .8, 83, 371 manchusri, 154 mccartee, t)r. d. b., 338 mccaslin, captain, 391 472 index. mclntyre, 460, 461 mckee, lieut., 416, 418 majps, 163, 165, 367, 467, 468 mayers, mr. w. f., 459 meals, 264 measures, 463^65 medhurst, mr. w. h., 458 military character, 43, 43, 335, 416 mile-stones, 385, 463 ming dynasty, 77, 78, 81, 83, 85, 156 monasteries, 333, 384 mongols, 70-75 mongolia, 8 monooacy, t7. s. s., 406-409, 413 414 monuments, 160, 379, 437 mori arinori, 423 mountains, 5, 189, 203, 306 mourning, 377-383 music, 392, 293, 424 musselmans. see arabs. nagasaki, 133, 149, 150, 163, 175, 205, 370, 398, 408, 440 nai-po, 193, 349, 353, 375 nak-tong eiver, 5, 164, 202, 303 names, 165, 361, 348 nanking, 40, 48, 69 nan-on, 130-133 nature, 207, 340, 378 naval battles, 108, 139, 130, 134 neutral strip, 7, 8, 84, 156, 183, 431 new year's day, 1, 111, 397 nido syllabary, 47, 67 niijun. bee nirum. ninchi, 68 ningpo, 69, 84 nin-sen. see in^cmiin. nippon machi, 164 ni taljo, 76, 78, 79 nose, the history of a, 311 notes, 171, 817 nuns, 59, 335 nye, hon. gideon, 389 ogawuchi, 138, 139-144 ojin, 55 oppert, ernest, 375, 393 ouen-san. see oensan. pagodas, 33, 883 palladius, 68, 88, 237 paper, 153, 363, 365 parkes, sir harry, 435 pears, 33, 368 petitions to the king, 83, 332, 431 petsi. see siaksai. pheasants, 32, 60 phoenix, 304 phonetic writing, 38, 47, 48, 457 ping-an city, 31, 65, 105, 106, 109, 113, 183, 183, 393-395 ping-an province, 179-183 pipes, 253, 869 poetry, 59, 297, 344, 461 political parties, 224-329, 356, 363, 429 polo, marco, 73, 73 polo, game of, 437 population, 281 ' porcelain, 2, 264 port lazareff, 214 portuguese, 3, 84, 354 potters, 146, 174, 359 pratt, hon. zadoo, 390 primogeniture, 260 prince jerome gulf, 194, 398 printing, 67, 369, 461 proverbs, 317-319 provinces, 80, 179-317 puhai, 64, 65 pung-sui, 378, 379, 338. queen min, 431, 488 quelpart, 4, 300, 370, 438 bakt, 306, 359, 437, 439 religion, 336-335 revenge, 337 rice, 368, 398, 437 richthofen, 3 index. 473 ridel, bishop, 372, 375, 378, 413, 459 ein yin river, 104, 105, 190 ri seiki. see ni taijo. riu kiu, 91, 146, 426 roads, 203, 284, 413, 463 rogers, admiral john, 13, 403-406, 408, 418 rona, the, 375 ross, rev. john, 23, 456, 460, 461 roze, admiral, 376-386 roze island, 379, 439 russians, 1b3, 163, 205, 310, 371, 428 sacbifices, 339 saigo, 430, 435 sam-han, 30, 34 sanskrit, 334 sargent, senator, 488 saris, 147 satehiko, 59 schall, adam, 160 schools, 343 seal of state, 318, 373 seoul, 79, 85, 104, 115, 158, 168, 164, 189-190, 330, 333, 341, 436-441 serfdom, 23, 237-243 serpents, 305 shamanism, 326 shang-chiu, 102, 164, 203 shang-ti, 327 shantung, 2, 3, 74 shan-yan mountains, 213 shaw, capt. samuel, 389 shimonoseki, 53, 420, 440 shlng-king, 3, 180, 353, 361, 364, 431 shin-han, 32, 33 shinra, 33, 45-49, 135 shoes, 276 shufeldt, com. r. w., 186, 488, 435 singing-girls, 90, 291 sinlo. see shinra. • slavery. see serfdom. snow, 6, 207, 324 sorio. see nippon mcum, and fuscm. spear, rev. wm., 389 spelling, 338 spies, 122 spirits of the air, 337 stockbridge, 388 straw men, 383 succession to throne, 233 suugari river, 20, 371 sunto, 66, 77. st surprise, the, 391 susanoo, 51 suyematz, mr. k., 71 swords, 116, 149, 382 syllabary, 67, 338. & tai-in, or tai-on kun. see tai wen kun. taiko sama. see hidiyoshi. tai-wen kun, 330, 373, 380, 420, 437 taag dynasty, 36, 37, 47 tea, 367, 389 temples, 331, 334, 336 theatre, 391 !'the" corea, 3 thibet, 3, 318 thomas, rev., 391 throne, 52, 219 tien-tsin massacre, 386, 418 tigers, 59, 135, 301, 320-325 tobacco, 151, 152, 366 tokio, 420, 424, 427, 440 tombs, 279, 397, 393, 396, 399 tong nai, 100, 303, 371, 438 torai f u. see tong nai. tortoise, 318, 303 torture, 334, 353, 375 translations into corean, 349, 430, 461 tribute, 58, 159, 160 tsuruga, 53, 54 tsushima, 85, 86, 150, 151, 164, 205 tycoon, 149, 380 types, 67, 434, 461 ttnmun, 67, 457 unyo kuan, 432 uru-san, 137-144 474 index. varnish, ^189 vettor fisanl, the, 438 village idols, 285 vincent, 123, 123 von brandt, minister, 405 von siebold, 150, 458 wall of stakes, 84, 182 wang-ken, 65 weigatz, 85 wei-man, 16 whales, 215 whang-hai, 183-187 whang-ti, 41, 92, 159, 423 williams, hon. s. wells, 394, 403, 459 wishes, the three, 310 xavier, 60 yasuhlro, 89, 90 yedo, 151. see tokio. yoshitoshi, 93 yoshitsun^, 71, 164 yule, colonel h., 73 a noteworthy book. our arctic province. alaska and the seal islands. by henry w. elliott. illustrated by drawings from nature, by the author, and maps. one volume, 8vo, $4.50. mr. elliott has for many years been connected with the smithsonian institution at washington. a scientist and a. naturalist, his book on alaska, besides being of the utmost interest to the general reader, is of great value and importance as a contribution to scientific research. the author has spent six or seven years in studying alaska and its people, travelling from the most southerly point of the province to the most northerly, along the coast, and among the islands extending 300 miles to the west. his treatment of the seal interests is particularly full, and of especial moment in view of the fact that the contract between the united states and the alaska seal company, which supplies the world with seal skins, will soon lapse, and the subject is certain to come up prominently in government affairs. the natives and the alaskan life mr. elliott writes of as one who knows his subject intimately. the illustrations, of which there are about a hundred, are engraved from the author's original draw ings and water-color paintings. there has scarcely been a book published on arctic travel so vivid philadelphia and picturesque in treatment, and so clear and definite in the infor record. mation which it furnishes, as this work by mr. elliott. . . . it is an effective and really wonderful record of travel and exploration. other books may still be written about alaska, but it is not easy to n. y. journal understand how any of them can exceed this one in interest, or in of commerce. any way shake its authority as an accurate guide to "our arctic province." a book that is a work ; not a sportsman's pastime, but a scientist's boston literary treatise; not a history, not a mere description, not a narrative of ad world. venture ; jdut a carefully studied, thoroughly assimilated, intelligently written, attractively illustrated exposition of alaska. nothing so complete and satisfactcry has ever before appeared in chicago print in this country as this absorbingly interesting and minutely herald. accurate account of the great alaskan seal islands, and the book must now be regarded as the standard authority on " our arctic province." new york ^c) books on alaska contain so much that has real value and posi times "^^ interest as this. it is an accumulation of very vital facts about that country set forth in an exact and yet attractive manner. a standard, comprehensive work, whose scientific accuracy is be boston yond question, and whose graphic descriptions and vital interpreta tr v ller tions of the resources of alaska hold the reader with something of the " * ■ charm of a romance. . . . the book is certainly one of the most valuable contributions to contemporary literature. cojo ygar$ in tm janclg, the experiences of a hunter and naturalist in india, ceylon, the malay peninsula, and borneo. by william t. hornaday, chief taxidermist u, s. national museum. b;.3 vol., 8vo, pp. xxii. 512, two folding maps and 51 illustrations. price, $3.00. the expedition and its object. the author relates the experiences of a hunter and naturalist in india, ceylon, the malay peninsula, and borneo ; and certainly no richer hunting-ground could be found anywhere else in the world. mr. hornaday is chief taxidermist in the united states national museum. he was formerly connected with professor ward's natural science museum of rochester, n. y., and his expedition to the east was in the interests of that establishment. while his book is in some respects like such works as those which du chaillu and sir samuel w. baker have written to delight and interest a multitude of readers, he has imparted a vast amount of information, a large part of which is new and of the great est moment to the naturalist. mr. hornaday started from new york in 1876. from england he went finally south to india, arriving at bombay ; he went across country to benares ; from here he made an expedition to the north to cawnpore and agra. from benares he worked his way to calcutta, journeyed down the bay of bengal to madras ; southward again, he made a complete cir cuit of ceylon, than to the malay peninsula, and finally to borneo, where his adventures with the orangutan were met, ending his two years of fruit ful and entirely successful search. the illustrations are many, and most of them are taken from mr. hornaday's own sketches. though it may seem to be stating much, it certainly may be truly said that a more inter esting book of travel and adventures was never published. "decidedly the most interesting and instructive book of travel and adventure in the east indies it has ever been our good fortune to read."' — baltitnore a^ews. •• an entertaining volume. . . . the author has proved his ability to write a good book of travel." — morning post (london). " to the naturalist, mr. hornaday's book cannot but be as deeply interesting as to the sportsman and traveller. ... it deserved to he distinguished from among ihe mass of books of sporting adventure." — melbourne argus. " one of the most entertaining and instructive books of its kind that has been published." — san francisco pfst. "the most remarkable book ever produced upon the subject of arctic exp\ora.tion3."— journal of commerce. three years of arctic service. am account of the lady franklin bay expedition of 1881-84, and the attainment op the farthest north. the first full and authorized account of the most important and successful arctic exploration ever made. magnificently illustrated with over iso engravings, maps, and charts. by lieutenant a. w. greely, u.s.a., commandiog the expeditiou. this book contains lieutenant greely's story of an expedition whictr reached tlie most northerly point ever attained; and of an experience that stands alone in arctic annals. apart from the nat^rative of extraordinary suffering and final rescue which appears here, the fact that no one else ever passed the same length of time so far �iihin the arctic circle gives to the account the value and interest o'{ observations absolutely new. lieutenant greely*s trainin^f attainments, and above all the long study of arctic matters and the polar question which first led him to seek this service, all qualified him to make and to record these observations; and his book will be found to give his experience with a simple directness that makes the story the more absorbing, and with no detention of the reader over useless comment. terms of subscription, ' j. ' w o -sroxjxr:m::e3st. a :e£ghb <att-a_:etto prices and styles of binding, extra cloth, per volume, . . . $5 00 \ half morocco, gilt, per volume, , , $8 00 sheep, marbled edges, per volume, . 5 00 i full morocco, gilt, per volume, , , 10 00 sold only by subscription through authorized agents. delivered to any part of the united states free of charge. the rescue of greely. — by— commander iv. 5. schley, u.s. n., and prof. j. russell so ley, u. s. n, with maps and numerou:^ illustrations. 1 vol., svo, new edition, $2.00. now that the story of the relief of greely and his party is fully told, it turns out to be one of the most stirring and absorbing chapters in arctic annals. the .two disastrous attempts made in previous years, to the disappointment of ihe whole people, were enough to show that the rescue was not a matter of simply sailing up to cape sabine and back; there was some reason besides "luck" why two expeditions ended in disaster, and why the navy finally accomplished what had been twice tried the simplicity and modesty of captain schley's and mr. soley's narrative do not hide from any reader what this reason really was. "the one, book on china." the middle, kingdom. ^ survey of the geography, government, literature, social life, arts and history of the chinese kinptre and its inhabitants. with illustrations and a new map of the empire. by s. wells williams, ll.d,, professor of ike chinese language and literature at yale college: author oj" tonic and syllabic dictionaries o/ the chinese language, two volumes, svo. price, $9.00. the wonderful advance in the arts of civilization and intellectual development made by china during the thirty-five years since this book was first written, and especially the new basis upon which its foreign relations have been established and the events that are even now occurring in this connec tion, render the publication of this revised edition unusually important. " all this vast mass of new and trustworthy information concerning the 'middle kingdom,' dr. williams has gathered together and condensed with praiseworthy diligence and ability, and the result is an encyclopaedia of china the value of which cannot be overestimated. . , . an exceedingly com plete and accurate accountof the most interesting country in the world." — london saturday review, **the revised edition of the 'middle kingdom' is the most ambitious am.) the best executed work, typographically speaking, that has issued for a long time from american presses. from a literary standpoint it must be regarded as the best general work on china extant, and therefore as indispens able to the reader who wishes to obtain a comprehensive view of the wonderful country and people it treats of."—n, v, tribune. corea: the hermit nation. by william elliot griffis, author op "the mieado*s empire," and late op the imperial univei^ity, tokio, japan. 1 vol., 8vo, -witli numerous maps and illustrations, xkerw edition, $9.50. "the work bears witness to a vast amount of well-directed labor; and while it is clothed with a rare charm for the> general reader, whose curiosity regarding a long-isolated nation will for the first lime be satisfied, it is also sure uf a respectful and grateful reception from the st^^nt of history', eth nology, and philology. the discussion, indeed, of the corean language in an appendix is the first essay on the subject which has seemed to us at once explicit, intelligible, and trustworthy." — neiu york sun, east of the jordan. a record of travel and observation in the countries of moab, gilead, and bashan, during the years 1875-1877. by selah merrill, arehceolagist of the american palestine ei:ploration society. with illustrations and a map. 1 vol., svo, new edition, $3.00. no other american is so much at home in the east jordan country as mr. merrill, and there does not exist in any other language so much fresh and valuable information respecting it. the illustra tions which emhelhsh the book are fresh and original, and the style of the narrative is graphic and entertaining. the work is exceedingly interesting as an account of exploration in this field, rich in historic associations. brazil: the amazons and the coast. by herbert h. smith. illustrated from sketches by j. wells chumpney ami others. 1 vol., svo., extra cloth, $5.00. " l" *'= p,°°^ '^'■smith, an american, who has lived and travelled for the greater part of eight years in brazil, gives so excellent an account of that country that we cannot regret this addition to the already extensive literature of the subject. the book is a very successful attempt to present a com prehensive picture, drawn both from the experience of the author and from that of previous brazilian and foreign writers, of the present state of brazil."— z»«rfo» academy. turkistan. notes of a journey in 1873, in the russian province of turkiatan, the khanates of khokan and bokhara, and provinces of kuldaja. with a chapter showing russian progress in central asia during the last ten years. by eugene schuyler. • new ]l<:djtion. with many illustration!-, a "vols., svo, ss.oo. 121 nypl research libraries 3 3433 08212100 9 1 the poem. a grave, 00 by robert blair.. to which are added, gray's flegy written in a country church-yard; and drawn by g.sele parnell's hermit. with biographical notices of the authors. from dr anderson's edition of the british poets. 500 dant eng by w&d licare int dinburgh printed by william blair, for j.dick,142, high street. 1816. acic the new york public library 446592b astor, lenox and talden foundations r 1948 l life of blair. there are few particulars of the personal history of blair known, and those few are such as give little scope for amplification and embellishment. the life of a country clergyman, constantly engaged in the duties of his profession, the practice of the domestic virtues, and the occupations of literature, however respectable such a character may be, can afford but slender materials for biography. a 2 life of blair. robert blair was the eldest son of the rev. david blair, one of the ministers of edinburgh, and chaplain to the king. his mother was nisbet, daughter of nisbet, esq. of carfin. he was born about the beginning of the last century; had the most liberal education in the university of edinburgh, and afterwards was sent abroad by his father for his improvement, and spent some time on the continent. after undergoing the usual trials, he was ordained minister of athelstaneford, in the county of east lothian, in the year 1731, where he passed the remainder of his life. as his fortune was easy, he lived very much in the style of a gentleman, and was greatly respected by sir francis kinloch, bart. of gilmerton, patron of the parish, and by life of blair. 3 all the gentlemen in the neighbourhood. he was a man of learning, and of elegant taste and manners. he was a botanist and florist, which he showed in the cultivation of his garden; and was also conversant in optical and microscopical knowledge. he was a man of sincere piety, and very assiduous in discharging the duties of his clerical functions. as a preacher, he was serious and warm, and discovered the imagination of a poet. he married isabella law, daughter of mr law of elvingston, a lady of uncommon beauty and amiable manners. with her father, who had been professor of moral philosophy in the university of edinburgh, who was his relation, and had been left one of his tutors, he had been long and intimately connected; and, upon occasion of his death, which happened several years before his marriage % 4. life of blair. with his daughter, he wrote a funeral poem to his memory, which, with the grave, are the only pieces of poetry he is known to have written. such was robert blair, who died of a fever on the 4th of february 1746, in the 47th year of his age. he was succeeded in his living, at athelstaneford, by another poet, mr john home, the celebrated author of douglas. the friends of blair were the friends of science and of virtue; among whom were the celebrated dr watts; the famous naturalist, henry baker, esq.; the pious and learned dr doddridge, and the worthy and respected colonel james gardiner, who was slain at the battle of prestonpans in the year 1745. with all of whom blair carried on an habitual and learned correspondence. life of gray. thomas gray was born in cornhill in december 1716, descended of a very respectable family in the city of london. his grandfather was a considerable merchant; and his father, philip gray, was a money-scrivener. his mother's name was dorothy antrobus. they had many children, of whom the poet was the fifth born. all of them, except him, died in their infancy. he was educated at eton school, under the care of mr antrobus, his mother's brother. 6 life of gray. in 1734 gray removed from eton to cambridge, and entered a pensioner in st peter's college. he returned to london in 1738, with the intention of applying himself to the study of the law; but this was soon laid aside; for, the year following, he accepted an invitation from mr walpole to accompany him on his travels. after visiting a number of places on the continent, gray returned to england in september 1741, and two months afterwards buried his father. in 1742 he went to cambridge, where he was admitted to the degree of bachelor of the civil law. at this place he continued for a number of years, during which time he had the misfortune to lose his mother, to whom he was life of gray. 7 strongly attached, and his conduct exemplary for the discharge of every filial duty towards her. in 1765 gray undertook a journey to scotland, with a belief that he would recover his constitution, which was in a very weak state. he wrote a curious and interesting account of his journey. two years after this, he was appointed, by the duke of grafton, to the professorship of modern languages and history at cambridge, worth l.400 a-year. in may 1771 he removed from cambridge to london, after having suffered greatly from irregular attacks of an hereditary gout, to which he had long been subject, and from which a life of singular temperance could not protect him. 00 life of gray. on the 24th of july, while at dinner, he felt a sudden nausea, which obliged him to rise from table. the gout had fixed on his stomach, and resisted all the powers of medicine. on the 29th he was seized with a strong convulsion fit, which, on the 30th, returning with increased violence, he expired the next evening, in the 55th year of his age. gray was an excellent poet, and considered one of the most learned men in europe. his poems and letters were collected and published by his intimate friend mr mason, in 1775. the elegy is the most popular of all his productions. life of parnell. thomas parnell was descended from an ancient family, that had, for some centuries, been settled at congleton, in cheshire. his father, thomas parnell, who had been attached to the commonwealth party, upon the restoration went over to ireland, where he purchased an estate, which, with his lands in cheshire, descended to the poet, who was his eldest son, and still remains in the family. he was born in dublin in the year 1679, and received the first rudiments of his education at the school of dr jones in that city. b 10 life of parnell. 1 when he was only thirteen years old, he was admitted a member of trinity college, dublin, which may be considered as a presumption, that he had made great progress in learning at a very early age; for young men, proposed to be entered at that university, are expected to be well acquainted with the latin, and to have attained some proficiency in the greek. he was admitted to the degree of master of arts in 1700, and was the same year ordained a deacon by dr king, bishop of derry, having obtained a dispensation from the primate, as being under the canonical age. about three years afterwards he was made a priest by dr king, then archbishop of dublin; and, in 1705, dr st george ashe, bishop of clogher, conferred on him the *0. life of parnell. · 11 archdeaconry of clogher. about the same time, he married miss anne minchin, a young lady of great merit and beauty, by whom he had two sons, who died young, and a daughter. his first excursions to england began about the year 1706, where his company was desired, and his friendship sought, by persons of every rank and party, even before he made any figure in the literary world. among the intimate friends of parnell, were pope, gay, arbuthnot, swift, addison, steele, and congreve. he died at chester, on his way to ireland, in july 1717, in the 78th year of his age, and was buried in the trinity church in that city. ? 12 life of parnell. having died without male issue, his estate devolved to his only nephew, sir john parnell, bart. whose father was younger brother to the archdeacon, and one of the justices of the king's bench in ireland. parnell left many compositions behind him, of which pope selected those whom he thought best, and published them in one volume, in the year 1721, with a dedication to the earl of oxford. parnell was a man of very great benevolence, and of very agreeable manners. his conversation is said to have been extremely pleasing, and he was respected by the world as a man of superior endowments. the grave. the argument. the author's choice of his subject. invocation, addressed to the almighty. the grave described. an ancient country church pourtrayed. ghosts make their appearance. a school-boy passing through a church-yard by moonlight. the tombs visited by a widow. apostrophe, addressed to the grave. the sweets of friendship. an address to undertakers. the grave buries all distinctions. the frailty of beauty. strength overcome by sickness. philosophers, orators, and physicians, alike subdued by death. the miser's character. dreadful effects of covetousness. the vanity of riches. the departure of a thoughtless soul. solemnity of death. suicide, and its dreadful consequences. true bravery consists in patiently waiting till our change comes. the state of the dead. description of a sexton. his thoughtlessness and inconsideration. the folly of the living in not considering their latter end. the swiftness and secrecy of time. the world described. rich and poor, of every age and nation, alike subject to the stroke of death. the happiness of adam before his fall. the shortness of it. sin the origin of every evil in the world. death represented as an insatiable glutton. the resurrection of the dead. christ's resurrection. the folly of meeting death with reluctance. the end of a good man. conclusion. the grave. the grave has eloquence; its lectures teach in silence, louder than divines can preach! hear what it says, ye sons of folly hear, it speaks to you, lend an attentive ear. moore. whilst some affect the sun, and some the shade; some flee the city, some the hermitage; their aims as various as the roads they take in journeying through life; the task be mine с 18 the grave. to paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb; the appointed place of rendezvous, where all these travellers meet. thy succours i implore, eternal king! whose potent arm sustains the keys of hell and death. the grave, dread thing! men shiver when thou'rt named. nature appalled, shakes off her wonted firmness. ah! how dark, thy long-extended realms and rueful wastes! where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark night, dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun was rolled together, or had tried his beams athwart the gloom profound. the sickly taper, by glimmering through thy low-browed misty vaults, (furred round with mouldy damps and ropy slime,) lets fall a supernumerary horror, and only serves to make thy night more irksome. the grave. 19 well do i know thee by thy trusty yew, cheerless unsocial plant! that loves to dwell amidst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms: where light-heeled ghosts, and visionary shades, beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports) embodied, thick, perform their mystic rounds. no other merriment, dull tree, is thine. see yonder hallowed fane; the pious work of names once famed, now dubious or forgot, and buried 'midst the wreck of things which were; there lie interred the more illustrious dead. the wind is up; hark! how it howls! methinks, till now, i never heard a sound so dreary! doors creak, and windows clap, and night's foul bird, rooked in the spire, screams loud; the gloomy ailes, 20 the grave. black plastered, and hung round with shreds of 'scutcheons, and tattered coats of arms, send back the sound, laden with heavier airs, from the low vaults, the mansions of the dead. roused from their slumbers, in grim array the grisly spectres rise, grin horrible, and obstinately sullen, pass and repass, hushed as the foot of night. again the screech-owl shrieks; ungracious sound! i'll hear no more, it makes one's blood run chill! quite round the pile, a row of reverend elms, (coeval near with that) all ragged show, long lashed by the rude winds. some rift half down their branchless trunks; others so thin a-top, that scarce two crows could lodge in the same tree. strange things, the neighbours say, have happened here; the grave. 21. wild shrieks have issued from the hollow tombs ; dead men have come again, and walked about; and the great bell has tolled, unrung, untouched. (such tales their cheer, at wake or gossiping when it draws near the witching time of night.) oft in the lone church-yard at night, i've seen, by glimpse of moon-shine chequering through the trees, the school-boy, with his satchel in his hand, whistling aloud to bear his courage up, and lightly tripping o'er the long flat stones, (with nettles skirted, and with moss o'ergrown), that tell in homely phrase who lie below. sudden he starts, and hears, or thinks he hears, the sound of something purring at his heels; full fast he flies, and dares not look behind him, 22 the grave. till, out of breath, he overtakes his fellows; who gather round, and wonder at the tale of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly, that walks at dead of night, or takes his stand o'er some new opened grave, and (strange to tell!) evanishes at crowing of the cock. the new-made widow, too, i've sometimes 'spied, sad sight! slow moving o'er the prostrate dead: listless, she crawls along in doleful black, while bursts of sorrow gush from either eye, fast falling down her now untasted cheek. prone on the lowly grave of the dear man she drops; whilst busy meddling memory, in barbarous succession, musters up the past endearments of their softer hours, the grave. 23 tenacious of its theme. still, still she thinks she sees him, and indulging the fond thought, clings yet more closely to the senseless turf, nor heeds the passenger who looks that way. invidious grave! how dost thou rend in sunder whom love has knit, and sympathy made one? a tie more stubborn far than nature's band. friendship! mysterious cement of the soul; sweetener of life, and solder of society, i owe thee much. thou hast deserved from me far, far beyond what i can ever pay. oft have i proved the labours of thy love, and the warm efforts of the gentle heart anxious to please. oh! when my friend and i, in some thick wood, have wandered heedless on, 24 the grave. hid from the vulgar eye, and sat us down upon the sloping cowslip-covered bank, where the pure limpid stream has slid along, in grateful errours through the under-wood, sweet murmuring; methought the shrill-tongued thrush mended his song of love; the sooty blackbird mellowed his pipe, and softened every note; the eglantine smelled sweeter; and the rose assumed a dye more deep; whilst every flower vied with its fellow plant in luxury of dress. oh! then the longest summer's day seemed too, too much in haste; still the full heart had not imparted half; 'twas happiness too exquisite to last. of joys departed, not to return, how painful the remembrance ! the grave. 25 dull grave! thou spoilest the dance of youthful blood, strikest out the dimple from the cheek of mirth, and every smirking feature from the face; branding our laughter with the name of madness. where are the jesters now? the men of health, complexionally pleasant? where the droll, whose every look and gesture was a joke to clapping theatres and shouting crowds, and made even thick-lipped musing melancholy to gather up her face into a smile before she was aware? ah! sullen now, and dumb as the green turf that covers them. where are the mighty thunderbolts of war? the roman cæsars, and the grecian chiefs, the boast of story? where the hot-brained youth, d 26 the grave. who the tiara at his pleasure tore from kings of all the then discovered globe; and cried, forsooth, because his arm was hampered, and had not room enough to do its work? alas! how slim, dishonourably slim, and crammed into a space we blush to name! proud royalty! how altered in thy looks! how blank thy features! and how wan thy hue! son of the morning! whither art thou gone! where hast thou hid thy many-spangled head, and the majestic menace of thine eyes felt from afar? pliant and powerless now, like new-born infant wound up in its swathes, or victim turned flat upon his back, that throbs beneath the sacrificer's knife. mute must thou bear the strife of little tongues, the grave. 27 and coward insults of the base-born crowd, that grudge a privilege thou never hadst, but only hoped for in the peaceful grave, of being unmolested and alone. arabia's gums and odoriferous drugs, and honours by the herald duly paid in mode and form, even to a very scruple; o cruel irony! these come too late, and only mock whom they were meant to honour. surely there's not a dungeon slave that's buried in the highway, unshrouded and uncoffined, but lies as soft, and sleeps as sound as he. sorry pre-eminence of high descent, above the baser born, to rot in state. but see! the well-plumed hearse comes nodding on, 28 the grave. stately and slow; and properly attended by the whole sable tribe, that painful watch the sick man's door, and live upon the dead, by letting out their persons by the hour to mimic sorrow, when the heart's not sad. how rich the trappings, now they're all unfurled, and glittering in the sun! triumphant entries of conquerors and coronation pomps, in glory scarce exceed. great gluts of people retard the unwieldy show; whilst from the casements and houses tops, ranks behind ranks close wedged hang bellying o'er. but tell us, why this waste, why this ado in earthing-up a carcase that's fallen into disgrace, and in the nostril smells horrible? ye undertakers, tell us, 'midst all the gorgeous figures you exhibit, the grave. 29 why is the principal concealed, for which you make this mighty stir? 'tis wisely done; what would offend the eye in a good picture, the painter casts discreetly into shades. proud lineage! now how little thou appearest below the envy of the private man. honour, that meddlesome officious ill, pursues thee even to death; nor there stops short. strange persecution! when the grave itself is no protection from rude sufferance. absurd to think to overreach the grave, and from the wreck of names to rescue ours! the best concerted schemes men lay for fame, die fast away; only themselves die faster. 30 the grave. the far-famed sculptor, and the laurelled bard, those bold insurancers of deathless fame, supply their little feeble aids in vain. the tapering pyramid, the egyptian's pride, and wonder of the world, whose spiky top has wounded the thick cloud, and long outlived the angry shaking of the winter's storm; yet spent at last by the injuries of heaven, shattered with age, and furrowed o'er with years, the mystic cone, with hieroglyphics crusted, at once gives way. oh! lamentable sight; the labour of whole ages lumbers down, a hideous and mishapen length of ruins. sepulchral columns wrestle, but in vain, with all-subduing time; his cankering hand, with calm deliberate malice, wasteth them; the grave. 31 worn on the edge of days the brass consumes, the busto moulders, and the deep-cut marble, unsteady to the steel, gives up its charge. ambition, half-convicted of her folly, hangs down the head, and reddens at the tale. here all the mighty troublers of the earth, who swam to sovereign rule through seas of blood; the oppressive, sturdy, man-destroying villains, who ravaged kingdoms, and laid empires waste, and, in a cruel wantonness of power, thinned states of half their people, and gave up to want the rest; now, like a storm that's spent, lie hushed, and meanly sneak behind thy covert. vain thought! to hide them from the general scorn, that haunts and dogs them like an injured ghost 32 the grave. implacable. here too, the petty tyrant, whose scant domains geographer ne'er noticed, and, well for neighbouring grounds, of arm as short, who fixed his iron talons on the poor, and gripped them like some lordly beast of prey; deaf to the forceful cries of gnawing hunger, and piteous plaintive voice of misery ; (as if a slave was not a shred of nature, of the same common nature with his lord); now, tame and humble, like a child that's whipped, shakes hands with dust, and calls the worm his kinsman; nor pleads his rank and birthright. under ground precedency's a jest ; vassal and lord, grossly familiar, side by side consume. when self-esteem, or others adulation, the grave.' 33 would cunningly persuade us we were something above the common level of our kind, the grave gainsays the smooth-complexioned flattery, and with blunt truth acquaints us what we are. beauty! thou pretty play-thing, dear deceit, that steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart, and gives it a new pulse, unknown before, the grave discredits thee; thy charms expunged, thy roses faded, and thy lilies soiled, what hast thou more to boast of? will thy lovers flock round thee now, to gaze and do thee homage; methinks i see thee with thy head low laid, whilst, surfeited upon thy damask cheek, the high-fed worm, in lazy volumes rolled, riots unscared. for this was all thy caution? e 34 the grave. for this, thy painful labours at thy glass? to improve those charms and keep them in repair, for which the spoiler thanks thee not. foul feeder, coarse fare and carrion please thee full as well, and leave as keen a relish on the sense. look how the fair one weeps! the conscious tears stand thick as dew-drops on the bells of flowers: honest effusion! the swollen heart in vain works hard to put a gloss on its distress. strength too! thou surly and less gentle boast of those that laugh loud at the village ring; a fit of common sickness pulls thee down with greater ease, than e'er thou didst the stripling that rashly dared thee to the unequal fight. what groan was that i heard? deep groan indeed! the grave. 35 with anguish heavy laden; let me trace it; from yonder bed it comes, where the strong man, by stronger arm belaboured, gasps for breath like a hard-hunted beast. how his great heart beats thick! his roomy chest by far too scant to give the lungs full play. what now avail the strong-built sinewy limbs, and well-spread shoulders? see how he tugs for life, and lays about him, mad with his pain! eager he catches hold of what comes next to hand, and grasps it hard, just like a creature drowning; hideous sight! oh! how his eyes stand out, and stare full ghastly! while the distemper's rank and deadly venom shoots like a burning arrow cross his bowels, and drinks his marrow up. heard you that groan? it was his last. see how the great goliath, 36 the grave. just like a child that brawled itself to rest, lies still. what meanest thou then, o mighty boaster, to vaunt of nerves.of thine? what means the bull, unconscious of his strength, to play the coward, and flee before a feeble thing like man ; that, knowing well the slackness of his arm, trusts only in the well-invented knife? with study pale, and midnight vigils spent, the star-surveying sage, close to his eye, applies the sight-invigorating tube; and travelling through the boundless length of space, marks well the course of the far-seen orbs. that roll with regular confusion there, in ecstasy of thought. but ah! proud man, great heights are hazardous to the weak head; the grave. 37 soon, very soon, thy firmest footing fails; and down thou droppest into that irksome place, where no device nor knowledge ever came. here the tongue warrior lies disabled now, disarmed, dishonoured, like a wretch that's gagged and cannot tell his ails to passers by. great men of language, whence this mighty change, this dumb despair and drooping of the head? though strong persuasion hung upon thy lip, and sly insinuation's softer arts in ambush lay about thy flowing tongue; alas! how chop-fallen now! thick mists and silence rest, like a weary cloud, upon thy breast unceasing. ah! where is the lifted arm, the strength of action, and the force of words, 38 the grave. the well-turned period, and the well-tuned voice, with all the lesser ornaments of phrase? ah! fled for ever, as they ne'er had been, razed from the book of fame; or more provoking, perchance some hackney hunger-bitten scribbler insults thy memory, and blots thy tomb with long flat narrative, or duller rhymes, with heavy halting pace that drawl along; enough to rouse a dead man into rage, and warm with red resentment the wan cheek. here the great masters of the healing art, these mighty-mock defrauders of the tomb, spite of their jalaps and catholicons, resign to fate. proud esculapius' son! where are thy boasted implements of art, the grave. 39 and all thy well-crammed magazines of health? nor hill, nor vale, as far as ships could go, nor margin of the gravel-bottomed brook, escaped thy rifling hand; from stubborn shrubs thou wrungest their shy retiring virtues out, and vexed them in the fire; nor fly, nor insect, nor writhy snake, escaped thy deep research. but why this apparatus ? why this cost? tell us, thou doughty keeper from the grave, where are thy recipes and cordials now, with the long list of vouchers for thy cures? alas! thou speakest not. the bold impostor looks not more silly when the cheat's found out. here the lank-sided miser, worst of felons, who meanly stole (discreditable shift) 40 the grave. from back and belly too their proper cheer, eased of a tax it irked the wretch to pay to his own carcase, now lies cheaply lodged, by clamorous appetites no longer teased, nor tedious bills of charges and repairs. but ah! where are his rents, his comings in? ay! now you've made the rich man poor indeed; robbed of his gods, what has he left behind? oh, cursed lust of gold! when, for thy sake, the fool throws up his interest in both worlds; first starved in this, then damned in that to come. how shocking must thy summons be, o death! to him that is at ease in his possessions; who, counting on long years of pleasure here, is quite unfurnished for that world to come? the grave. 41 in that dread moment, how the frantic soul raves round the walls of her clay tenement, runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help; but shrieks in vain! how wishfully she looks on all she's leaving, now no longer hers! a little longer, yet a little longer, oh! might she stay to wash away her stains, and fit her for her passage. mournful sight! her very eyes weep blood; and every groan she heaves is big with horror. but the foe, like a staunch murderer, steady to his purpose, pursues her close through every lane of life, nor misses once the track, but presses on; till forced at last to the tremendous verge, at once she sinks to everlasting ruin. f 42 the grave. sure 'tis a serious thing to die! my soul! what a strange moment must it be, when near thy journey's end, thou hast the gulf in view? that awful gulf no mortal e'er repassed to tell what's doing on the other side. nature runs back, and shudders at the sight, and every life-string bleeds at thoughts of parting; for part they must; body and soul must part; fond couple; linked more close than wedded pair. this, wings its way to its almighty source, the witness of its actions, now its judge; that drops into the dark and noisome grave, like a disabled pitcher of no use. if death were nothing, and nought after death; if when men died, at once they ceased to be, the grave. 43 returning to the barren womb of nothing, whence first they sprung, then might the debauchee untrembling mouth the heavens; then might the drunkard reel over his full bowl, and, when 'tis drained, fill up another to the brim, and laugh at the poor bugbear, death; then might the wretch that's weary of the world, and tired of life, at once give each inquietude the slip, by stealing out of being when he pleased, and by what way, whether by hemp or steel; death's thousand doors stand open. who could force the ill-pleased guest to sit out his full time, or blame him if he goes? sure he does well, that helps himself as timely as he can, when able. but if there's an hereafter; and that there is, conscience, uninfluenced 44 the grave. and suffered to speak out, tells every man; then must it be an awful thing to die; more horrid yet to die by one's own hand. self-murder! name it not; our island's shame, that makes her the reproach of neighbouring states. shall nature, swerving from her earliest dictate, self-preservation, fall by her own act? forbid it heaven. let not, upon disgust, the shameless hand be fully crimsoned o'er with blood of its own lord. dreadful attempt! just reeking from self-slaughter, in a rage, to rush into the presence of our judge; as if we challenged him to do his worst, and mattered not his wrath! unheard-of tortures must be reserved for such; these herd together; the common damned shun their society, the grave. 45 and look upon themselves as fiends less foul. our time is fixed, and all our days are numbered; how long, how short, we know not; this we know, duty requires we calmly wait the summons, nor dare to stir till heaven shall give permission; like sentries that must keep their destined stand, and wait the appointed hour till they're relieved. those only are the brave that keep their ground, and keep it to the last. to run away is but a coward's trick; to run away from this world's ills, that, at the very worst, will soon blow o'er, thinking to mend ourselves, by boldly venturing on a world unknown, and plunging headlong in the dark; 'tis mad; no frenzy half so desperate as this. 46 the grave. tell us, ye dead, will none of you, in pity to those you left behind, disclose the secret? oh! that some courteous ghost would blab it out; what 'tis you are, and we must shortly be. i've heard, that souls departed, have sometimes forewarned men of their death: 'twas kindly done to knock and give the alarm. but what means this stinted charity? 'tis but lame kindness that does its work by halves. why might you not tell us what 'tis to die? do the strict laws of your society forbid your speaking upon a point so nice? i'll ask no more; sullen, like lamps in sepulchres, your shine enlightens but yourselves. well 'tis no matter; a very little time will clear up all, and make us learned as you are, and as close. the grave. 47 death's shafts fly thick. here falls the village-swain, and there his pampered lord. the cup goes round; and who so artful as to put it by? "tis long since death had the majority; yet strange! the living lay it not to heart. see yonder maker of the dead man's bed, the sexton, hoary-headed chronicle, of hard unmeaning face, down which ne'er stole a gentle tear; with mattock in his hand, digs through whole rows of kindred and acquaintance, by far his juniors. scarce a skull's cast up, but well he knew its owner, and can tell some passage of his life. thus hand in hand the sot has walked with death twice twenty years; and yet ne'er yonker on the green laughs louder, or clubs a smuttier tale. when drunkards meet, 48 the grave. none sings a merrier catch, or lends a hand more willing to his cup. poor wretch! he minds not that soon some trusty brother of the trade shall do for him what he has done for thousands. on this side, and on that, men see their friends drop off, like leaves in autumn; yet launch out into fantastic schemes, which the long livers in the world's hale and undegenerate days could scarce have leisure for, fools that we are, never to think of death and of ourselves at the same time; as if to learn to die were no concern of ours. oh! more than sottish, for creatures of a day, in gamesome mood, to frolic on eternity's dread brink unapprehensive; when, for ought we know, the grave. 49 the very first swollen surge shall sweep us in. think we, or think we not, time hurries on, with a resistless unremitting stream; yet treads more soft than e'er did midnight-thief, that slides his hand under the miser's pillow, and carries off his prize. what is this world? what? but a spacious burial-field unwalled, strewed with death's spoils, the spoils of animals savage and tame, and full of dead men's bones. the very turf on which we tread once lived; and we that live must lend our carcases to cover our own offspring. in their turns they too must cover theirs. "tis here all meet, the shivering icelander, and sun-burned moor; men of all climes, that never met before; and of all creeds, the jew, the turk, the christian. g 50 the grave. here the proud prince, and favourite yet prouder, his sovereign's keeper, and the people's scourge, are huddled out of sight. here lie abashed the great negociators of the earth, and celebrated masters of the balance, deep read in stratagems and wiles of courts; now vain their treaty skill. death scorns to treat. here the o'erloaded slave flings down his burden from his galled shoulders; and when the stern tyrant, with all his guards and tools of power about him, is meditating new unheard-of hardships, mocks his short arm, and, quick as thought, escapes where tyrants vex not, and the weary rest. here the warm lover, leaving the cool shade, the tell-tale echo, and the babbling stream, (time out of mind the favourite seats of love) the grave. 51 fast by his gentle mistress lays him down, unblasted by foul tongue. here friends and foe lie close; unmindful of their former feuds. the lawn-robed prelate and plain presbyter, erewhile that stood aloof, as shy to meet, familiar mingle here, like sister streams that some rude interposing rock has split. here is the large-limbed peasant; here the child of a span long, that never saw the sun, nor pressed the nipple, strangled in life's porch. here is the mother, with her sons and daughters; the barren wife, and long-demurring maid, whose lonely unappropriated sweets smiled like yon knot of cowslips on the cliff, not to be come at by the willing hand. here are the prude, severe, and gay coquette, a 52 the grave: the sober widow, and the young green virgin, cropped like a rose before 'tis fully blown, or half its worth disclosed. strange medley here! here garrulous old age winds up his tale ; and jovial youth, of lightsome vacant heart, whose every day was made of melody, hears not the voice of mirth. the shrill-tongued shrew, meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding. here are the wise, the generous, and the brave; the just, the good, the worthless and profane; the downright clown, and perfectly well-bred; the fool, the churl, the scoundrel, and the mean; the supple statesman, and the patriot stern; the wrecks of nations, and the spoils of time, with all the lumber of six thousand years. the grave. 53 poor man, how happy once in thy first state!: when yet but warm from thy great maker's hand, he stamped thee with his image, and, well-pleased, smiled on his last fair work. then all was well.. sound was the body, and the soul serene ; like two sweet instruments, ne'er out of tune, that play their several parts. nor head, nor heart, offered to ache; nor was there cause they should; for all was pure within; no fell remorse, nor anxious castings-up of what might be, alarmed his peaceful bosom. summer seas show not more smooth, when kissed by southern winds just ready to expire. scarce importuned, the generous soil, with a luxurious hand, offered the various produce of the year, and every thing most perfect in its kind 54 the grave. blessed, thrice blessed days! but ah! how short! blessed as the pleasing dreams of holy men; but fugitive like those, and quickly gone. oh! slippery state of things. what sudden turns! what strange vicissitudes in the first leaf of man's sad history! to-day most happy, and ere to-morrow's sun has set, most abject. how scant the space between these vast extremes! thus fared it with our sire: not long he enjoyed his paradise. scarce had the happy tenant of the fair spot due time to prove its sweets, or sum them up, when strait he must be gone, ne'er to return again. and must he go? can nought compound for the first dire offence of erring man? like one that is condemned, fain would he trifle time with idle talk, · the grave. 55 and parley with his fate. but 'tis in vain. not all the lavish odours of the place, offered in incense, can procure his pardon, or mitigate his doom. a mighty angel, with flaming sword, forbids his longer stay, and drives the loiterer forth; nor must he take one last and farewel round. at once he lost his glory and his god. if mortal now, and sorely maimed, no wonder. man has sinned. sick of his bliss, and bent on new adventures, evil he would needs try; nor tried in vain. (dreadful experiment! destructive measure! where the worst thing could happen, is success.) alas! too well he sped; the good he scorned stalked off reluctant, like an ill-used ghost, not to return; or if it did, its visits, 56 the grave. like those of angels, short and far between ; whilst the black demon, with his hell-scaped train, admitted once into its better room, grew loud and mutinous, nor would be gone; lording it o'er the man; who now, too late, saw the rash error, which he could not mend; an error fatal not to him alone; but to his future sons, his fortune's heirs. inglorious bondage! human nature gröans beneath a vassalage so vile and cruel, and its vast body bleeds through every vein. what havock hast thou made, foul monster, sin! greatest and first of ills. the fruitful parent of woes of all dimensions! but, for thee, sorrow had never been. all-noxious thing, the grave. 57 of vilest nature! other sorts of evils are kindly circumscribed, and have their bounds. the fierce volcano, from his burning entrails, that belches molten stone and globes of fire, involved in pitchy clouds of smoke and stench, mars the adjacent fields for some leagues round, and there it stops. the big-swollen inundation, of mischief more diffusive, raving loud, buries whole tracts of country, threatening more ; but that, too, has its shore it cannot pass. more dreadful far than these! sin has laid waste, not here and there a country, but a world; dispatching, at a wide-extended blow, entire mankind; and, for their sakes, defacing a whole creation's beauty with rude hands; blasting the foodful grain, and loaded branches, h 58 the grave. and marking all along its way with ruin. accursed thing! oh! where shall fancy find a proper name to call thee by, expressive of all thy horrors? pregnant womb of ills! of temper so transcendently malign, that toads and serpents, of most deadly kind, compared to thee, are harmless. sicknesses of every size and symptom, racking pains, and bluest plagues, are thine. see how the fiend profusely scatters the contagion round! whilst deep-mouthed slaughter, bellowing at her heels, wades deep in blood new spilt; yet, for to-morrow, shapes out new work of great uncommon daring, and inly pines till the dread blow is struck. but, hold, i've gone too far; too much discovered the grave. 59 my father's nakedness, and nature's shame. here let me pause, and drop an honest tear, one burst of filial duty and condolence, o'er all those ample deserts death hath spread, this chaos of mankind. o great man-eater! whose every day is carnival, not sated yet! unheard-of epicure, without a fellow! the veriest gluttons do not always cram; some intervals of abstinence are sought to edge the appetite. thou seekest none. methinks the countless swarms thou hast devoured, and thousands that each hour thou gobblest up, this, less than this, might gorge thee to the full. but, ah! rapacious still, thou gapest for more; like one, whole days defrauded of his meals, on whom lank hunger lays her skinny hand, 60 the grave. and whets to keenest eagerness his cravings. as if diseases, massacres, and poison, famine, and war, were not thy caterers. but know, that thou must render up the dead, and with high interest too. they are not thine, but only in thy keeping for a season, till the great promised day of restitution; when loud diffusive sound, from brazen trump of strong-lunged cherub, shall alarm thy captives, and rouse the long, long sleepers into life, day-light and liberty. then must thy doors fly open, and reveal the mines that lay long forming under ground, in their dark cells immured; but now full ripe, and pure as silver from the crucible, the grave. 61 that twice has stood the torture of the fire, and inquisition of the forge. we know the illustrious deliverer of mankind, the son of god, thee foiled. him in thy power thou couldest not hold; self-vigorous he rose, and, shaking off thy fetters, soon retook those spoils his voluntary yielding lent ; (sure pledge of our releasement from thy thrall!) twice twenty days he sojourned here on earth, and shewed himself alive to chosen witnesses, by proofs so strong, that the most slow assenting had not a scruple left. this having done, he mounted up to heaven. methinks i see him climb the aerial heights, and glide along athwart the severing clouds; but the faint eye, flung backwards in the chace, soon drops its hold; 62 the grave. disabled quite, and jaded with pursuing. heaven's portals wide expand to let him in; nor are his friends shut out. as a great prince, not for himself alone, procures admission, but for his train. it was his royal will, that where he is, there should his followers be. death only lies between. a gloomy path! made yet more gloomy by our coward fears; but not untrod, nor tedious; the fatigue will soon go off. besides, there's no bye-road to bliss. then, why, like ill-conditioned children, start we at transient hardships in the way that leads to purer air, and softer skies, and a ne'er-setting sun? fools that we are! we wish to be, where sweets unwithering bloom ; but strait our wish revoke, and will not go. the grave. 63 so have i seen, upon a summer's even, fast by the rivulet's brink, a youngster play; how wishfully he looks to stem the tide! this moment resolute, next unresolved. at last he dips his foot; but, as he dips, his fears redouble, and he runs away from the inoffensive stream, unmindful now of all the flowers that paint the further bank, and smiled so sweet of late. thrice welcome death! that, after many a painful bleeding step, conducts us to our home, and lands us safe on the long-wished for shore. prodigious change! our bane turned to a blessing! death disarmed, loses its fellness quite. all thanks to him who scourged the venom out. sure the last end of the good man is peace! how calm his exit! 64 the grave. night-dews fall not more gently to the ground, nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft. behold him in the evening tide of life, a life well spent, whose early care it was his riper years should not upbraid his green; by unperceived degrees he wears away; yet, like the sun, seems larger at his setting. (high in his faith and hope) look how he reaches after the prize in view! and, like a bird that's hampered, struggles hard to get away; whilst the glad gates of sight are wide expanded to let new glories in, the first fair fruits of the fast-coming harvest. then, oh, then! each earth-born joy grows vile, or disappears, shrunk to a thing of nought. oh! how he longs to have his passport signed, and be dismissed! the grave. 65 'tis done, and now he's happy! the glad soul has not a wish uncrown'd. even the lag flesh rests, too, in hope of meeting once again its better half, never to sunder more. nor shall it hope in vain. the time draws on when not a single spot of burial earth, whether on land, or in the spacious sea, but must give back its long-committed dust inviolate; and faithfully shall these make up the full account; not the least atom embezzled, or mislaid, of the whole tale. each soul shall have a body ready furnished; and each shall have his own. hence, ye profane! ask not, how can this be? sure the same power that reared the piece at first, and took it down, can re-assemble the loose scattered parts," i 66 the grave. and put them as they were. almighty god has done much more; nor is his arm impaired through length of days; and what he can, he will; his faithfulness stands bound to see it done. when the dread trumpet sounds, the slumbering dust, (not inattentive to the call) shall wake; and every joint possess its proper place, with a new elegance of form, unknown to its first state. nor shall the conscious soul mistake its partner, but, amidst the crowd, singling its other half, into its arms shall rush with all the impatience of a man that's new come home, and, having long been absent, with haste runs o'er every different room, in pain to see the whole. thrice happy meeting! nor time, nor death, shall ever part them more. the grave. 67 'tis but a night, a long and moonless night; we make the grave our bed, and then are gone. thus, at the shut of even, the weary bird leaves the wide air, and, in some lonely brake, cowers down, and dozes till the dawn of day; then claps his well-fledged wings, and bears away. gray's elegy. the argument. a summer's evening described. its calmness disturbed by the beetle, sheepbells, and owl. country church-yard pourtrayed, with its sleeping tenants. the vanity of ambition, power, and beauty. the folly of pompous epitaphs and inscriptions. true merit obscured by penury. rustic poverty not to be despised. love of life natural to all. what the poet's fate may be, in some future period, related by old age, with his epitaph. i elegy, written in a country church-yard, by mr gray. the curfew tolls the knell of parting day; the lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea; the ploughman homeward plods his weary way, and leaves the world to darkness, and to me. k 74 gray's elegy. now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, and all the air a solemn stillness holds, save where the beetle wheels his drony flight, and drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds. ✓ save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, the moping owl does to the moon complain of such as, wandering near her secret bower, molest her ancient solitary reign. ✓ beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, each in his narrow cell for ever laid, the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. gray's elegy. 75 the breezy call of incense-breathing morn, the swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, the cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, no more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. for them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, or busy housewife ply her evening care; no children run to lisp his sire's return, or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; how jocund did they drive their teams a-field! how bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! 76 gray's elegy. 5 let not ambition mock their useful toil, their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, the short and simple annals of the poor. the boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, and all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, await alike the inevitable hour; the paths of glory lead but to the grave. nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, if memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, the pealing anthem swells the note of praise. gray's elegy. 77 can storied urn, or animated bust, back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death? ✓ perhaps in this neglected spot, is laid some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed, or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. but knowledge to their eyes, her ample page, rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unrol; chill penury repressed their noble rage, and froze the genial current of the soul. 78 gray's elegy. full many a gem of purest ray serene, the dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; full many a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its sweetness on the desert air. some village hampden, that, with dauntless breast, the little tyrant of his fields withstood; some mute inglorious milton here may rest; some cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. the applause of listening senates to command, the threats of pain and ruin to despise, to scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, and read their history in a nation's eyes, t c gray's elegy. 79 their lot forbade; nor circumscribed alone their growing virtues, but their crimes confined forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, and shut the gates of mercy on mankind; the struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide. to quench the blushes of ingenious shame, or heap the shrine of luxury and pride with incense kindled at the muse's flame. far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, their sober wishes never learned to stray; along the cool sequestered vale of life they keep the noiseless tenor of their way. 80 gray's elegy. yet even these bones, from insult to protect, some fair memorial still erected nigh, with uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, implores the passing tribute of a sigh. their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, the place of fame and elegy supply; and many a holy text around she strews that teach the rustic moralist to die. for who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, this pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, nor cast one longing, lingering, look behind? i gray's elegy. 81 on some fond breast the parting soul relies, some pious drops the closing eye requires ; even from the tomb the voice of nature cries, even in our ashes live their wonted fires. for thee, who, mindful of the unhonoured head, dost in these lines their artless tale relate; if chance, by lonely contemplation led, some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate. haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, "brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away, "to meet the sun upon the upland lawn. l 82 gray's elegy. "there, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, "that wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, "his listless length at noontide would he stretch, "and pore upon the brook that bubbles by. "hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; "now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn, "or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 66 “one morn i missed him on the accustomed hill, 66 along the heath and near his favourite tree; "another came; nor yet beside the rill, "nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. 3 gray's elegy. 83 "the next, with dirges due, in sad array, "slow through the churchway path we saw him borne, "approach, and read (for thou canst read) the lay, "graved on the stone, beneath yon aged thorn.” the epitaph. here ere rests his head upon the lap of earth, a youth, to fortune and to fame unknown; fair science frowned not on his humble birth, and melancholy marked him for her own. 84 the epitaph. large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, heaven did a recompense as largely send; he gave to misery all he had, a tear ; he gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. no farther seek his merits to disclose, nor draw his frailties from their dread abode, (there they alike in trembling hope repose) 4 the bosom of his father and his god. the hermit. the argument. the hermit introduced.. his pious character. he leaves his abode, and meets with a companion. their visit to the houses of the vain man, the covetous man, and the good man, and their successive entertainments at each place, related with descriptive narration. it concludes with the means employed for correcting the above characters, and the hermit's return to his ancient place of abode. a a a the hermit, by thomas parnell, d. d. far in a wild, unknown to public view, from youth to age, à reverend hermit grew; the moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, his food the fruits, his drink the crystal well; remote from man, with god he passed his days; prayer all his business, all his pleasures, praise. m 90 the hermit. a life so sacred, such serene repose, seemed heaven itself, till one suggestion rose; that vice should triumph, virtue vice obey, this sprung some doubt of providence's sway; his hopes no more a certain prospect boast, and all the tenor of his soul is lost. so when a smooth expanse receives imprest calm nature's image on its watery breast, down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, and skies beneath with answering colours glow; but if a stone the gentle sea divide, swift ruffling circles curl on every side, and glimmering fragments of a broken sun, banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder, run. the hermit. 91 to clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, to find if books, or swains, report it right. (for yet by swains alone the world he knew, whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew); he quits his cell; the pilgrim staff he bore, and fixed the scallop in his hat before; then, with the sun, a rising journey went, sedate to think, and watching each event. the morn was wasted in the pathless grass, and long and lonesome was the wild to pass ; but when the southern sun had warmed the day, a youth came posting o'er a crossing way; his raiment decent, his complexion fair, and soft in graceful ringlets waved his hair. 92 the hermit. then near approaching, father, hail! he cried; and hail, my son, the reverend sire replied. words followed words, from question answer flowed, and talk of various kinds deceived the road; till each with other pleased, and loth to part, while in their age they differ, join in heart. thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around. now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray; nature in silence bid the world repose; when near the road a stately palace rose. there by the moon through ranks of trees they pass, whose verdure crowned their sloping sides of grass. the hermit. 93 it chanced the noble master of the dome, still made his house the wandering stranger's home; yet still the kindness from a thirst of praise, proved the vain flourish of expensive ease. the pair arrive; the liveried servants wait; their lord receives them at the pompous gate. the table groans with costly piles of food, and all is more than hospitably good. then led to rest, the days long toil they drown, deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. at length 'tis morn, and, at the dawn of day, along the wide canals the zephyrs play; fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, and shake the neighbouring wood to banish sleep. 94 the hermit. up rise the guests, obedient to the call; an early banquet decked the splendid hall; rich luscious wine a golden goblet graced, which the kind master forced the guests to taste; then pleased, and thankful, from the porch they go; and, but the landlord, none had cause of woe; his cup was vanished; for, in secret guise, the younger guest purloined the glittering prize. as one who spies a serpent in his way, glistening and basking in the summer ray, disordered, stops to shun the danger near, then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear; so seemed the sire; when, far upon the road, the shining spoil his wily partner showed. he stopped with silence, walked with trembling heart, and much he wished, but durst not ask to part; the hermit. 95 murmuring, he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard, that generous actions meet a base reward. while thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, the changing skies hang out their sable clouds; a sound in air presaged approaching rain, and beasts to covert scud across the plain; warned by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, to seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat, 'twas built with turrets on a rising ground, and strong, and large, and unimproved around; its owner's temper, timorous and severe, unkind and griping, caused a desert there. as near the miser's heavy door they drew, fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew; 96 the hermit. the nimble lightning, mixed with showers, began, and o'er their heads loud rolling thunder ran. here long they knock; but knock or call in vain, driven by the wind, and battered by the rain. at length some pity warmed the master's breast, ("twas then his threshold first received a guest), slow creeking turns the door with jealous care, and half he welcomes in the shivering pair. one frugal faggot lights the naked walls, and nature's fervour through their limbs recalls; bread of the coarsest sort, with eager wine, (each hardly granted), served them both to dine; and when the tempest first appeared to cease, a ready warning bid them part in peace. the hermit. 97 with still remark the pondering hermit viewed, in one so rich, a life so poor and rude; and why should such (within himself he cried) lock the lost wealth, a thousand want beside? but what new marks of wonder soon took place,. in every settling feature of his face! when, from his vest, the young companion bore that cup, the generous landlord owned before, and paid profusely, with the precious bowl," the stinted kindness of this churlish soul. but now the clouds in airy tumult fly, the sun emerging opes an azure sky; a fresher green the smelling leaves display, and glittering as they tremble, cheer the day; n 98 the hermit. the weather courts them from the poor retreat, and the glad master bolts the wary gate. while hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought with all the travel of uncertain thought; his partner's acts, without their cause appear, "twas there a vice, and seemed a madness here. detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, lost and confounded with the various shows. now night's dim shades again involve the sky, again the wanderers want a place to lie, again they search and find a lodging nigh. the soil improved around, the mansion neat, and neither poorly low, nor idly great; the hermit. 99 it seemed to speak its master's turn of mind, content, and not to praise, but virtue kind. hither the walkers turn with weary feet, then bless the mansion, and the master greet; their greeting fair, bestowed with modest guise, the courteous master hears, and thus replies: without a vain, without a grudging heart, to him who gives us all, i yield a part. from him you come, for him accept it here, a frank and sober, more than costly cheer. he spoke, and bid the welcome table spread, then talked of virtue till the time of bed, when the grave household round his hall repair, warned by a bell, and close the hours with prayer. 446502b 100 the hermit. at length the world, renewed with calm repose, was strong for toil, the dappled morn arose ; before the pilgrims part, the younger crept near the closed cradle where an infant slept, and writhed his neck, the landlord's little pride, o strange return! grew black, and gasped, and died. horror of horrors! what! his only son! how looked our hermit when the fact was done? not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder part, and breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart. confused, and struck with silence at the deed, he flies, but trembling fails to fly with speed. his steps the youth pursues; the country lay perplexed with roads, a servant shewed the way; the hermit. 101 a river crossed the path; the passage o'er was nice to find; the servant trode before. long arms of oaks an open bridge supplied, and deep the waves, beneath the bending, glide. the youth, who seemed to watch a time to sin, approached the careless guide, and thrust him in; plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head, then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. wild sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes, he bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries, detested wretch; but scarce his speech began, when the strange partner seemed no longer man. his youthful face grew more serenely sweet; his robe turned white, and flowed upon his feet; ; 102 the hermit. fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; celestial odours breathe through purpled air; and wings, whose colours glittered on the day, wide at his back their gradual plumes display. the form ethereal bursts upon his sight, and moves in all the majesty of light. though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew, sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do! surprise in secret chains his words suspends, and in a calm his settling temper ends. but silence here the beauteous angel broke, (the voice of music ravished as he spoke). thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, in sweet memorial rise before the throne. these charms success in our bright region find, and force an angel down to calm thy mind; the hermit. 103 for this commissioned, i forsook the sky; nay, cease to kneel! thy fellow-servant i. 1 then know the truth of government divine, and let these scruples be no longer thine. the maker justly claims that world he made, in this the right of providence is laid; its secret majesty through all depends on using second means to work his ends; 'tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, the power exerts his attributes on high, your actions uses, nor controls your will, and bids the doubting sons of men be still. 104 the hermit. what strange events can strike with more surprise, than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes? yet taught by these, confess the almighty just, and where you can't unriddle, learn to trust! the great vain man, who fared on costly food, whose life was too luxurious to be good; who made his ivory stands with goblets shine, and forced his guests to morning draughts of wine, has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, and still he welcomes, but with less of cost. the mean suspicious wretch, whose bolted door, ne'er moved in duty to the wandering poor; the hermit. 105 with him i left the cup, to teach his mind, that heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind. conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, and feels compassion touch his grateful soul. thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, with heaping coals of fire upon its head; in the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, and loose from dross, the silver runs below. long had our pious friend in virtue trode, but now the child half-weaned his heart from god. (child of his age) for him he lived in pain, and measured back his steps to earth again. to what excesses had his dotage run? but god, to save the father, took the son. o 106' the hermit. to all but thee, in fits he seemed to go, (and 'twas my ministry to deal the blow). the poor fond parent, humbled in the dust, now owns in tears the punishment was just. but how had all his fortune felt a wreck, had that false servant sped in safety back? this night, his treasured heaps he meant to steal, and what a fund of charity would fail! thus heaven instructs thy mind; this trial o'er, depart in peace, resign, and sin no more. on sounding pinions here the youth withdrew, the sage stood wondering as the seraph flew; thus looked elisha, when, to mount on high, his master took the chariot of the sky. the hermit.. 107 the fiery pomp ascending left the view; the prophet gazed, and wished to follow too. the bending hermit here a prayer begun, lord! as in heaven, on earth thy will be done; then, gladly turning, sought his ancient place, and passed a life of piety and peace. edinburgh: printed by wm. blair, 1815. the end. な ​1 da te v 1 er zoroaster. aristo. edgar a. blockley. iv: 60 r.fhililf zoroaster. zoroaster: philosopher, teacher, hermit. a day at the mountain cave. a fragment in rbyme. by aristo. a waif borne on the tide of time from far away. watts & co., 17, johnson's court, fleet street, london, e.c. new york: the truthseeker co., 28, lafayette place. 1900. prefatory note. there has been much diversity of opinion among oriental scholars regarding the date of the birth of spitâma zarathustra, better known as zoroaster-some placing the event as recently as 500 years b.c., others supposing that he lived before the flood, even at so remote a date as 6,000 b.c.; while a few are inclined to class him among imaginary beings. but the most reliable testimony seems to leave little doubt that he lived, and lived, probably, between 1,000 and 2,000 years b.c.; that much of his life was passed in solitude-it is supposed in bactria-that he was acquainted with astronomy, and acquired some knowedge of electricity; and, after many years of meditation, taught a religion which, for pure and lofty humanitarianism, seems unsurpassed. it was in the hope that something might be shown, however inadequately, of the teaching of the great reformer, in its noble simplicity, and sharp contrast to the superstitionladen, cunningly devised creeds around him-and, indeed, around us now-that "zoroaster " was written. various notes and references were to have been added; but, unhappily, the hand of the author was, too soon, still for ever. l. l. a gentle life, vowed to good doing— a figure, god-like, sublimea man, on earth but once appearing, in cycles untold, of time. when wisdom's voice mankind is heeding, when truth is the law alone; when love the wide world is encircling, and science ascends her throne; then what now seems strange and confounding the haze will no longer hide; and light will, on golden wings flying, the glad news spread far and wide. reason cannot know what sense can neither feel nor thought conceive.-shelley. every noble life leaves the fibre of it woven forever in the work of the world.-ruskin. good thoughts, good words, good deeds.-zoroaster. introductory the song of the bards of the hills to light zoroaster's hymn to the sun the student the astrologers the young poetess the black priest · the sage the sibyl the chief priest who denounced zoroaster anonymous questions the enchantress the first magian the second magian· the seven negroes the veiled princess contents. song by the court poet the demon-worshippers the dwarf the chief of a mountain band the priestess the maiden's song the rich pilgrim · · page ii 17 18 21 26 29 31 34 35 40 45 55 58 60 88858 62 65 68 71 74 75 81 83 86 10 contents. the three wise men the god-maker the blind man · zoroaster's reply to the blind man zoroaster's comment on the seers zoroaster's replies to some questions as to the sun zoroaster replies to some other questions zoroaster tells what the ancients said about creation the song of the bards of the hills page 90 98 104 106 109 iii 113 119 125 introductory. a hermit of old, time defying, had seen long, long years pass by; and oft 'neath night's veil had gone wand'ring in thought through the starry sky. the great zoroaster, forsaking a world of strife and deceit, 'mid solitude wild and alluring had found a serene retreat. a cave was his dwelling, whose ending to none but himself was known; far up in a mountain high towering within an inviting zone. and simple his faith, and unchanging among the contending creeds; through all his long life illustrating good thoughts, good words, and good deeds. 12 zoroaster. the shepherds the great sage supplying, each morning before him spread, wild honey, and nuts, and dates clustering, and mountain goat-milk and bread. the herdsmen ofttime were heard saying that, when the great sage at night stood on the high mountain-top watching the stars then all shining bright, they oft saw him with his staff tracing strange figures upon the ground, that soon, with a flash, began forming a blaze of light all around. and ofttime the sage upward gazing long after the midnight time, within his bright ring was seen standing, as if in a dream sublime. then sounds seemed far, far away floating, as waves to an unknown shore, each moment still more and more less'ning, until they were heard no more. some thought that he then was conversing with spirits that dwell on high; that voices were heard as responding from out of the arching sky. introductory. 13 the wild beasts a moment stood staring, then turned and fled fast away; and strangers, who chanced to be passing, in terror knelt down to pray. from far the loved bulbul came flyingit sang on a bough near bybut frightened, the screech-owl upstarting, flew off with a fearful cry. they said that at times he sat musing through all the long hours of night, while mystic scenes near him were passing beneath an unearthly light. some said that one night he saw floating a vision, far, far away; while all nature's realm seemed enlarging, and night had become like day. he saw, in his vision, a painting, that seemed to come from on high, in letters of gold, brightly blazing across the grand, arching sky. to earth's nations they were proclaiming away with the myth-grown creeds! but practise the love-laws unceasing : "good thoughts, good words, and good deeds." 14 zoroaster. when blooms on the boughs began smiling at spring's loved return each year, the pilgrims the hermit came seeking in throngs from afar and near. he told of great floods ere their coming; he knew when the storms were nigh; eclipses and earthquakes foretelling, through signs that came from on high. the mountaineers with their flocks straying, the shepherds adown the plain, each morn and eve, all eastward turning, the hermit's name blessed again. and with the full moon brightly beaming, the hermit, his staff in hand, with kindly voice stood forth, proclaiming his wisdom to all the land. he taught all to cast away, scorning, their ancient and cruel creeds; and led them to practise, while living, good thoughts, good words, and good deeds. the wise men and prophets, lore-loving, oft came from far, far away, with questions to them all perplexing, to hear all the sage might say. introductory. 15 the rich gifts, of gratitude telling, that came from afar and near; the hermit, to all those aid needing, distributed through the year. three months ere the great spring-time gatheringa custom repeated o'ersome who, their own names while withholding, addressed the great sage once more. strange caskets, a half-score oft counting, laid near the great cave at night, their questions, in writing, enclosing, were found with the morning light. some thought that stray pilgrims were hiding their fears in this novel way, who shrank from the gaze of crowds, listening to all that they wished to say. 'twas spring, and throngs came once more, seeking the cave of the veteran sage, whose fame to strange lands oft went flying, who seemed never old with age. among all the pilgrims, now gathering, were young and old, bent and grey; strange tribes, castes, and creeds representing, with something to ask or say. 16 zoroaster. outside of the cave were seen, wondering, strange groups, at eve, sitting round; all waiting the golden dawn coming, on mats spread out on the ground. at last came the first gleam of dawningthe crowds hailed it loud and longwhile bards of the hills began singing, with joy, now, their morning song. all nature awoke then from slumb'ring, glad zephyrs woo'd stream and plain, while mountain and sky seemed repeating the song o'er and o'er again. 17 the song of the bards of the hills to light. o light! o light! thou beautiful, sweet light! on golden wings descending from on high; while still star-crowned, night softly steals away; away, far in the western sky. o light! o light! thou hope-inspiring light! with thy glad smile of greeting once again, a silent world from mystic slumber wakes to hail, with joy, thy glorious reign. o light! o light! thou loved celestial light! while ever thou dost speed in flight sublime; be still, o light, the messenger to earth of life and love through endless time. b 18 zoroaster. 66 the hermit was now soon seen standing beneath the cave's arching span ; he then, the great throng first saluting, his hymn to the sun began. he stood near an urn, with myrrh burning, its vestal rays flashed on high, as if to the sun they were bearing his words through the quiet sky. zoroaster's hymn to the sun. "stupendous power! parent creating all things within nature's bound; thy infinite force, self-supplying, where is it not ever found? stupendous power! source of all being! what mind may measure thy might? who may reveal, now on earth living, the mystery of thy light? "the light that is ever pervading the universe, everywhere, the worlds, from the far unknown, causing to take their place in the air. zoroaster's hymn to the sun. 19 66 "stupendous power! time, in its counting, what is it to-day to thee? a breath that is lost in its passing, and nought in eternity! 66 stupendous power! past human reckoning! though secrets remain untold, thy measureless glory, astounding, in nature, wide, we behold. "stupendous power! far on high reigning, 'mid fathomless depths of space, for ever to endless worlds sending the life and light to each race. "stupendous power! power never-ending, the universe owns thy might; mankind alone blindly ignoring the true meaning of thy light. the human ants o'er the earth plodding, absorbed with but things below, thy power supreme, o'er all now ruling, o, will they here ever know? "the mortals, who talk without thinking, with eyes, but who never see, stupendous power, in glory shining, what can they, then, know of thee? 20 zoroaster. 66 stupendous power! from thy height ruling the universe, far and wide; what countless orbs, by thy law shining, salute thee on every side! "stupendous power! we, too, remembering thy blest light received of yore, again, 'neath thy bright rays descending, salute thee with joy once more." the hermit then, to his seat turning, his place took up for the day; while to the great throngs intimating he'd hear all each had to say. 21 the student. a student, gaunt, pallid, and bending, a man of an aspect grave; a strong staff his frail form supporting, came slowly towards the cave. "great master," he said, gently speaking, "some questions pass through my mind, while lessons in nature i'm reading, whose answers i cannot find. "a wise man, 'tis said, once went teaching, now many long moons ago; though millions of years have been passing, yet little of earth we know. "he taught from strange jelly, once floating within a great inland stream, that life at the first began forming, while earth was still in a dream. "when millions of years, in time's counting, had on their way mutely passed; a sun-breath then over it hovering, life woke in man's form at last. 22 zoroaster. 66 he said that, long after time's dawning, man went through the woods all wild, on hands and feet constantly roving, without more sense than a child. "he could not then pass five in counting ; his language, sign-words alone; and branches of trees, torn in twisting, were all the arms he could own. "from place to place, on ever moving, but seeking his food by day; and up the great trees at eve scrambling, to sleep or watch night away. "he said that man first began living within a far eastern clime; that then he was feeble and faltering, till changed by the aid of time. "he said that time all things was altering, that kings and rulers that day, and kingdoms, however imposing, in time would all pass away. "that new nations still would be coming, new people replace the old, and earth everywhere go on changing, through ages to come untold. the student. 23 "he said too that with all this changing of earth, and of man, and clime, great wonders beyond man's conceiving would happen from time to time. "that man in those ages forthcoming, so bound with earth's future fate, would not be, as now, the same being, but changed to another state. "some look with surprise and with doubting on what seems so strange a view, and cannot conceive nature working from nothing to something new. "thou sage of the mountain, whose learning is known now afar and near, whose power from the clouds draws the lightning, turn not from me now thine ear. "i would know of all this foretelling, would know of the first man's birth; and if men at last, with this changing, would grow into gods on earth; "if, in the far future time coming, the earth changed to heav'n will be, and if mankind then, without dying, will live through eternity." 24 zoroaster. the hermit the student well heeding, with care seemed each word to weigh, and then, in a tone reassuring, responded without delay: "if from jelly, found at large floating, the first germs of life began, until, through a thousand forms passing, it passed to the form of man ; 66 and then the man-savage went wand'ring through many a changing clime, went on through the ages progressing, till reaching the present time; "the change from the first germ found floating, through ages long passed away, would seem a wide gulf when comparing the man then and man to-day. "if we from the future time coming compare all with what is past, with nature's proofs so overwhelming, we come near the truth at last. "the mind thus through all the past teaching the future may apprehend, and learn, through vast nature's transforming, the possible has no end." the astrologers. 25 1315 the hermit his converse thus ending, the student was now not long in giving his thanks, then retiring among the great pilgrim throng. 26 66 66 the astrologers. a group of astrologers, risingall men of a middle ageapproached now the cave, while saluting the long-revered hermit sage. "great sage, a wise seer once was living afar in a mountain land, who all the stars long had been counting, and maps of them all had planned. their speaker, a man of fine bearing, with voice melodious and clear, a gesture calm with his hand making, said, while he drew still more near :-although the seer long has been sleeping, and lost are the maps he drew, old mountaineers, still his words guarding, repeat them to-day as true. they tell that ofttime he went saying that all the stars seen on high were worlds, like our earth, though appearing but glitt❜ring sparks in the sky; the astrologers. 27 "6 and that these star-worlds were unending, and peopled as ours to-day; and that they were not, although seeming, so far, as we thought, away. "if stars are all worlds, as seen shining, which we cannot well conceive, we should, through the great sage assuring, more firmly indeed believe. "if stars are worlds in the sky hanging, some large and others but small, how can they be on nothing floating? their weight would force them to fall." the next said: "though stars we go reading, and know what they say full well, the source of their power, so astounding, we, till to-day, cannot tell. "and whence came they, with their force shiningsome lower, and some more highand where go they, when disappearing, as oft they do, from the sky? "some stars in their movements seem differing from other stars near them found, and often, though cautiously watching, they baffle our quest profound. 28 zoroaster. "and whence come the comets, when starting upon their wild, wayward race? to what wondrous goal are they speeding, afar in the endless space? "and would a time come at last, bringing the earth and the stars more near ; when all that seems now so confusing might be evermore made clear ?" new questions from each seemed unending, but one and all wished to know why stars stopped that seemed to earth falling, and where, at last, did they go? the great sage, with interest, seemed list'ning, and, when silence reigned once more, awhile still he sat, without speaking, to ponder their questions o'er. and then, with their wishes complying, to all he made clear his view; when, after some mutual discoursing, the group, all content, withdrew. 29 66 the young poetess. a poetess, at the cave standing, was now by the hermit seen; her turban was white, her robe flowinga maiden of gentle mien. she said: "o, great sage, i come craving for light through thy words alonethe light that may lead to securing the treasures i long to own. "no riches of earth am i craving, nor longing for earthly power; on earth, as a mortal, while dwelling, i seek for a nobler dower. nor splendour nor pomp am i craving, that still win dupes as of old; a treasure to-day i am seeking more precious than pomp and gold. "nor crave i for fame in my seekinga breath gone with flying time; while here on the earth i am lingering i crave something more sublime. 30 zoroaster. "no favour of king am i seeking, nor from an unknown above. i seek to be blessed, through life changing, alone with wisdom and love." the great sage, with sympathy hearing all that the young speaker told, to find what she now had come seeking, his plan began to unfold. the poetess weighed well, while wondering, the wise words now made so clear, and learnt how to gain, all rejoicing, the treasures she held so dear. 31 the black priest. and now a black man was seen rising, a priest from a far-off land; and, before the great sage salaaming, he said, with an outstretched hand : "o'er mountains ten moons from here travelling, once people were taught each day, to worship mounds, trees, and streams flowing, and to their king-priest to pray. "my tribe on lands near by were living, these rites we all left undone ; we all in our tribe but adoring the will supreme in the sun. "but soon the king-priest began chasing with troops our tribe up and down ; and, after a time, through their burning, we had neither land nor town. "the remnant then of our tribe living were scattered o'er hill and plain ; and, when they were found in their hiding, were slaughtered there with disdain. 32 zoroaster. "but time passed, and, with all its changing, our tribe had grown strong and grand; once more with brave hearts and hands taking our former homes and our land. 66 and then, for long moons, we went prospering, till new sects began to grow ; some 'yea' and some 'nay' ever saying, on questions that few might know. "some seers of old time had been teaching the will supreme still must be unknown, and that, while on earth living, no mortal that form might see. "while others said, in the beginning, when light was from earth concealed, the will supreme, through the sun's coming, in glory itself revealed. "o thou, earth's great sage, all things knowing, illumine my mind with light; the truth for my tribe i am seeking, we long to know but the right. "the sun in all glory there shining, do we in it now behold the will supreme o'er all things ruling, from out of an arc of gold; the black priest. 33 "or do we, when we go forth greeting the sun's first appearing ray, but see in the arc on high floating its place of rest for each day." the great sage began now expounding, the black priest his words well weighed ; at times he appeared as believing, but often grave doubts betrayed. he led him through all the deep teaching, then stored up for many years, the light that was then in the keeping of all the great wisdom-seers. his converse the sage at last ending, the black priest his name blessed o'er ; then homeward, with joy his steps turning, he sped with his new-found lore. с 34 c the sage. a sage to the cave next came nearing in sandals and white robe drest; erect, with a manner imposing, a lore-seeker from the west. he wanted to know, humbly asking, if, when the first man had birth, he had till now lived through all changing, a dweller upon the earth; would not that first man be enjoying more knowledge of earth and sky than those who are wisest now living, and, if not, the reason why? as was his wont, ofttime reflecting, the hermit the words thought o'er ; and then, to the sage kindly speaking, the question asked still once more. and now, in a converse long lasting, the hermit gave forth his view, and, after all carefully weighing, the sage, well content, withdrew. 35 the sibyl. a sibyl was next seen approaching, a golden crown on her head, her pearl fan of seven stars displaying ; she to the old hermit said: 66 i come from a land with palms towering, it looks o'er a clear blue sea, where queens, by law, may be but reigning, ordained by fate's first decree. "an old legend has come down saying, and still held to in our land, that woman was first made a being, and later man came to hand. "the legend says, from the beginning, that woman was formed for love, and has in her nature commingling a bulbul, gazelle, and dove. "and that the first man was found grazing afar, near a lonesome lake, and had in his nature commingling a tiger, a hawk, and snake. 36 zoroaster. "but, for a time, some have been saying, the legend might be untrue; or that the reverse was the meaning, though most still oppose this view. "some say that a seer, long since living, a master of art and light, had heard them as symbols, while wand'ring, called wisdom, and strength, and flight. “and some in the tribe have been saying that woman and man were made within the same hour, one bright evening, beneath a great banyan shade. "" 'but others are ever recounting that man was made years before a woman was thought worth creatinga myth they repeat oft o'er. "and others are daily contending that man, though first made on earth, in good deeds so often was wanting that nature grieved o'er his birth "so woman was called into being, to take the bad taste away from out of the mouth of long-suffering creation at last, they say. " the sibyl. 337 "though many the stories are doubting, 'tis still told afar and near, a sorceress heard it, while dreaming, one night whispered in her ear. 66 she on a small islet was living alone, 'neath a great green shade; a plank to the mainland securing a road she herself had made. "a king of a tribe near by living had sworn a great oath to slay the sorceress, for her foretelling; and so set watch on his prey. "the king went one night, with guards, hasting'twas now the moon she should diewhen down went the plank in their crossing, and vain was their drowning cry. "the sorceress lived long, foretelling, and, as she could never die, a great silvery ark came descending, and bore her one day on high. "the witnesses, pious and trusting, in days of good saints of old, as others since then have been doing, this true account oft have told. 38 zoroaster. "but all these strange views, so conflicting, have raised a terrible din ; a conflict of arms, some are dreading, from day to day may begin. 66 some came to my cavern in hiding— they wished that i might decide; i sought still, a hundred times trying, but fate my magic denied. "i told them, six moons of time passing, that they might come back again ; but, though the stars i've been consulting, all effort, as yet, is vain. "some now go so far, boldly saying the queendom upturned may be, and male malcontents take to ruling, upsetting fate's first decree. "all eyes are now anxiously watching the amazons of the queen, who daily in arms are awaiting the next move upon the scene. "the contest grows fierce, and the wrangling continues from moon to moon ; and, as the seers are now sides taking, the war may come but too soon. 4 ⋅ the sibyl. 39 "and so, o great master of learning, the prompter of each good deed, thy kind aid i seek, all believing thou wilt to my prayer accede.” the great sage began now conversing : her story he heard thrice o'er ; but questions he still went propounding— he would of the strife know more. then slowly he went on commenting; his words all she weighed full well. the sibyl then, grateful, departing, knew now what she ought to tell. 40 the chief priest who denounced zoroaster. a king was announced as next cominga giant of stature highhis chief priest and priests followed, chanting, and soon to the cave drew nigh. the king then, a few feet retiring, stood where he might see and hear; while all the crowd now began moving towards the chief priest more near. the chief priest began, then, sign-making; his thoughts seemed far, far away; to north and south, east and west, turning, then, kneeling, began to pray. and while he was still prostrate, praying, a priest, with a spear, walked round, and with it went on slowly tracing a circle upon the ground. then other priests followed, while guarding something that one held from view, while all round the ring he went, pouring a liquid of oily hue. the chief priest who denounced zoroaster. 41 the chief priest then rose at once, speaking; he waved his hand up and down; his manner was bold and defying, his brow seemed but one great frown. "and thou call'st thyself," he said, shouting, "the teacher without a peer! to-day, zoroaster, here standing, i'll prove thee but a false seer! "our seers, thou hast said, are wolves, prowling ; our teaching nought but for gain; our prophecies were all deceiving; our miracles all were vain! "but first of all come to the proving, and stand in this circle made; and then all the eyes that are looking will see thy power quickly fade. "i challenge thee, in the light shining, before the witnesses here, to prove, first and last, thy false teaching, if thou art not held by fear! "" 'to-day i defy all thy boasting; thy poor creed-six words, no more— i'll prove to be idle sounds, floating along a wild desert shore." 42 zoroaster. a pause, a long pause, now ensuing, the chief priest waited to hear, or see, as effect of his thundering, some sign of the hermit's fear. the sage sat unmoved, as if thinking on all that the chief priest said : some people, expectant, watched wond'ring, while others seemed filled with dread. the great sage at last came forth bowing, and stood in the circle made; while fear through the crowd, now retiring, the faces of all betrayed. the priests walked around, with hands clapping, the chief priest began to sing ; while, with a spear in his hand holding, he touched, with great show, the ring. a spark here and there seemed appearing, the priests juggled still again, the flame would not come that was wanting, their efforts were all in vain. the priests then retired, all consulting ; the crowd began surging near; the people all anxiously wondering what next would they see and hear. the chief priest who denounced zoroaster. 43 the sage, now a circle describing with staff, loosely held in hand, then called the chief priest, by hand signing, within it to take his stand. the chief priest stood still, as if doubting the course he ought to pursue ; but, seeing the king on him frowning, no more doubted what to do, he now forward came, without faltering, within the ring took his stand; while, with an air proud and defying, he waved on high oft his hand. the great sage, beyond the ring standing, now touched it, and lo! a fire, that seemed shoulder-high to all looking, blazed up like a funeral pyre. the chief priest, prostrate, was heard shoutingaloud rose cry after crythe air with his screams seemed resounding, imploring he might not die. the great sage, no longer delaying, now caused the encircling flame to disappear, without word speaking, as rapidly as it came. 44 zoroaster. the chief priest at once now escaping, each obstacle pushing o'er, ran with all his priests forward speeding, and there was seen nevermore. some said that the king, before leaving, with proffer of order grand, invited the sage in words pressing, in vain, to dwell in his land. the people, the great sage surrounding, his name many times blessed o'er, while, silently, with humble bearing, he took his own seat once more. 45 anonymous questions. [note. of the many anonymous questions and observations, as previously stated, placed in caskets and found at the mouth of the cave at each pilgrim spring meeting, only a limited number may be given in the present edition.] question no. i. we see the sun, with our eyes, rising in glory enrobed each day; and who the world now is directing with more than a kingly sway; if, then, our eyes are not deceiving, is not the sun, to our sight, the greatest power over all ruling, the maker of day and night? question no. 2. what tyrant is all things directing? will man on earth ever know who limited acting and thinking to all on the earth below? 46 zoroaster. question no. 3. if bird or dog had, at time's starting, been born with a mind like man, would either have made, proudly boasting, their heaven on the human plan? would either have said their god ruling was made like their forms alone; or would they, their self-pride condemning, their littleness duly own? question no. 4. is not the sun-spirit now living, the spirit o'er all supreme; or are human senses deceiving, and is it all but a dream? question no. 5. what does the sun-power mean by keeping so far in the distant sky? must actual fact be depending alone on the naked eye? question no. 6. does not the sun-god give us being? through light we move and we live ; for all the light, life-giving blessing, what back to it do we give? anonymous questions. 47 question no. 7. why does man's mind venture in seeking to measure time's gulf so wide ? and why do some dream they are drawing eternity's veil aside ? has not man's mind, however daring, its limit through all time found— the limit that ever seems saying: "6 'stray not o'er the human bound ?" question no. 8. if time, then, is truly unending, how small man's life seems to be ! a drop in an ocean, tost swirling on, on through eternity. question no. 9. how far is our universe stretching, above, below, and around? and are there still others, extending afar, beyond each last bound? question no. 10. yon sun, nature's laws all decreeingo canst thou tell, mortal man, where that vast force now has its ending, or know where it first began ? 48 zoroaster. question no. ii. o sun, who all light art producing, sole ruler within the sky, is life and death not in thy ordering? if thou art not god, then why? question no. 12. had time, then, in truth, no beginning? the thought leaves a void behind. eternity, having no ending!— the thought but dethrones the mind. question no. 13. o, where was the human mind lingering before the first man had birth? a breath was it, then, through air floating? and who brought it down to earth? question no. 14. why is the sun-power to-day ruling a universe all its own; and, though through long centuries passing, by light to man only known? anonymous questions. 49 question no. 15. are men not new gods ever seeking, each fashioned to suit some view; a story but changed in the telling— and told to the child as new? question no. 16. o, sun-god, our god, without ending, o when and where had'st thou birth? eternal light, life to all giving, when first did'st thou gaze on earth? question no. 17. has, then, the great sage been yet thinking what, if the sun fled away, would come to the earth, and all living, upon that eventful day? would still all things go on, unchanging? would then the stars make the light? or would nature veil her face, grieving for earth, in eternal night? question no. 20. of dreams i seek, great sage, the meaning. who is it that takes the mind afar o'er strange lands and seas roaming, the body still left behind? 50 zoroaster. has each man, then, two minds existing : the one outside and unknown, and one that man's life is now guarding— the one that he calls his own? question no. 21. thou endless power, silently shining o'er earth, can it, then, be true thou art but a tyrant-god, killing alike all, the old and new? question no. 22. some say that, conditions occurring, mankind would degenerate, while all other animals breathing would still maintain their own state. if this be true, by what cause acting can this strange arrangement be— this difference in nature's law working? the reason we cannot see. question no. 23. the beasts, on mankind war now waging, ferocious and wild from birth; the beasts in all forms, born for murderingwho forced them upon the earth? anonymous questions. 51 the tiger, the wolf, and hawk, watching for what on their path may stray; the babe, lamb, and dove, unsuspecting, by chance may become their prey. beside all this fierce outside warring from elements all around, on land or on sea, through life's changing, o, where is not anguish found? what grief and what pain come oppressing, in greater or less degree, those even most favoured here living, on every side one may see. then what does it all mean-this torturing? can anyone living tell, apart from the seers and their dreaming? is earth, indeed, but a hell? question no. 24. is not the sun-spirit, then, ruling the earth from its ark on high? is not the world ever proclaiming the god of the mystic sky? and is it not now in grief looking on feeble minds, who alone their self-made gods still are adoring in pictures of wood and stone? and is it not good ever doing, for ever o'erlooking all; 52 zoroaster. without it, what would be existing on earth, either great or small? the rivers and woods earth adorning, have they to the sun brought aid? without the sun's power of creating, could they ever have been made? is not the sun-spirit now filling the universe with delight, to millions of worlds ever sending its ever life-giving light? question no. 25. are there not on earth still those living who went through an unknown change; who reached an end, while still unthinking, by life-laws unknown and strange? then are there not forces directing the lives of men here belowin manner mysterious, perplexing, by laws that we do not know? question no. 26. great sage, they say now, sects are teaching that there is a great unknown, beyond a far golden cloud hiding, and living there all alone. anonymous questions. 53 now, what is our minds sore perplexing, and what our minds cannot see, is how, at the same time, by reasoning, the unknown and known can be? question no. 27. is not the sunlight a power living? is not all life in its care? is not its all-good power pervading the universe everywhere? great sun, thou who art everlasting, o what is then time to thee? are days and years not one in counting in thy long eternity? question no. 28. great master, we come to thee greeting, and from thee we now would know what sages, they say, oft went telling, in days of the long ago. they taught that time had no beginning; that time was without a bound, while on to eternity rushing; but proof for this who has found? how can what is have no beginning, no bound, yet a thing defined? this strange contradiction so puzzling, great sage, make clear to our mind. 54 zoroaster. we sought light from seers known for learning, but one answer came alone; they said that the light we were seeking to mortals might not be known. then how can seers give out the saying, that time is without a bound, and that time had never beginning, while no one the proof has found? they state that time had no beginning; thus far they all firmly go, the first of our questions ignoring ; how do they, then, this far know? 1 55 66 the enchantress. and now an enchantress came nearing ; she asked: "would the world end soon? who painted the rainbow so charming, and why oft rings round the moon? "and what say the night-winds, while sighing ofttime in the leafy bowers? and who made the perfumes ascending from out of the sweet wild flowers? from where came the birds when first flying, arrayed in their feathers light? who taught them the songs they are singing, and gave them the power of flight? "when birds to the earth first came flying, from where came their power to tell the seasons, supreme nature's ordering, that one and all know so well? "for do we not see the birds seeking, as if by word of command, when seasons each year begin changing, a home in another land? 56 zoroaster. "and when the springtime is returning the absent birds come again, their joy through the woodlands proclaiming in many a gladsome strain. "and then, their rich plumes all displaying, the paradise birds are seen upon the tree-boughs, in flocks, dancingeach one to attract his queen. "and where had the fairies been living before the first night and day? some said their first home clouds were hiding within the sky, far away. "and then the seven stars, closely clustering, so thought of at each new birth; from where came their power of protecting their favoured ones on the earth? "and what are the stars at night hanging so scattered along the sky? how large were the hands used in placing each one in its frame on high ?" the hermit, her questions regarding, now quoted from hidden lore, on many things new light revealing, unknown in her life before. the enchantress. 57 and now the enchantress, retiring, well pleased with the answers made, gave place to two magians, long waiting, with looks all solemn and staid. 58 the first magian. the first magian forward came bowing; this speaker, an age-worn man, accustomed for years to debating, with tremulous voice began : "great sage, i would know, by moon's counting, how long had the earth been made; and when the first sun began shining; and whence had the young winds strayed. "who made the sun, with its power ruling, and who its foundation laid; and why was it rounded in forming, and out of what was it made? "and whence came the heat and light flowing, from out of the sun so high? and where was the place of its dwelling before it rolled into the sky? the place whence it came by our reckoning-then, is it so far away? and when was the time of its coming, and would it for ever stay? the first magian. 59 "from where came the stars before shining? and at what far distant day? who moulded their forms at their making, and would they now always stay? "how far did the sky go up mounting, and what was beyond the bound? if human sight passed the blue ceiling, would wonders not there be found? "the yesterdays gone from earth hasting— where, then, were they all to-day? 66 "and when would the earth cease existing? what would come after its end? from where came they, thus the earth greeting, and why did they haste away? and, 'neath the wide earth downward pointing, how far did the void extend? and which was the first earth-race living, and was it known by a name? and when and where was its first dwelling, and was it known whence it came ? "and of the great sun, life now sending each day upon earth below, all known to the sage, in his seeing, we plead, one and all, to know." 60 the second magian. though magian the second, approaching, seemed proudly to hold his head, his manner was easy and pleasing as he to the great sage said :"i wanted to find, in my seeking, if knowledge on earth might say that man and creation surrounding came forth on a certain day; "and whence came the earth, so far spreading, with mountains and rocks and land, with lakes and with streams afar flowing, and with the salt sea so grand; "and where was man's mind first existing before the first man was madebefore the foundation, so puzzling, of earth itself had been laid? "was it with the orbs on high shining, or with secrets that, some say, the centuries past are still hiding from all of the present day? the second magian. 61 "has anyone yet, on earth living, the substance seen of the mind; its form, shape, and colour revealing, outside of dreams, to mankind? "when man dies does mind go on living? if yea, tell the reason why. as one into life they came starting ; will not they together die? "were mankind in twilight all dwellingall else being still the same— the sun but one day each year shining, what would it be called by name? "would man then remain unreflecting, as heedless still as to-day, who sees the sun hourly, not caring what it is that lights his way? "or would this appearance astounding awaken the thoughts of men ; and would the sun, twilight thus changing, reveal its true nature then? "would power then, itself thus proclaiming, convincing be to mankind? were force all-supreme not its meaning, what name would men for it find?" 62 the seven negroes. seven negroes were now beheld, forming a line in front of the cavea palm-leaf each in his hand bearingall old, all careworn and grave. long since they, from pilgrims oft straying, had heard of the sage so wise; away in their land they were saying his wisdom came from the skies. the elder then said: "we came seeking a ray of light from the sky, and if the great sage will give heeding, we'll tell him the reason why. "all wool our hair, crisp and curling ; our skin as black as can be ; why we were thus cursed in our making our wisest still cannot see. "we live on an earth with whites scorning our race for not being fair; now, why did the maker, first making, thus curse our race everywhere? the seven negroes. 63 "the good god goes far ofttime straying, the bad god seems ever near; if we are the good god's own making, then why did he bring us here? 66 on ancestors we cease not callingalone to them do we pray; but, spirits of evil preventing, they hear not all that we say. "of villains, all harsh and unfeeling, are we not always the prey, all over the earth, without ceasing, wherever the whites have sway? "and if we resist their encroaching, they deem us as game to kill ; all prisoners they treat as rebelling, and make them their slaves at will. "we come, with our simple thoughts, knowing here at thy cave all are free ; the great or small, wherever straying, all, all, are alike with thee. "our sect is but small and hard-working; we dwelt on a mountain plain, apart from the world and its wrangling; and riches we all disdain. 64 zoroaster. 66 but lately strong tribes have sent, spying— they covet our flocks and trees; they call themselves wise and all-loving ; they came across distant seas. "but now they our land are dividingtheir seers say 'tis for our good; but shelter they send us all seeking to find in a distant wood. "and so, o great sage, upon hearing thy name, brought from far away, we've crossed hill and vale, and flood flowing, to ask thy advice to-day. "as now o'er the earth we go seeking, our sect would fain know from thee a spot, far from white men's intruding, where we might be safe and free." the hermit the negroes heard, wond'ringhe felt for their painful stateand long at the cave held them talking about their near future fate. whatever was said while conversing, it now was plainly to see the negroes, while from the cave parting, seemed from their distress all free. 65 the veiled princess. a princess was now announced comingher state palkee gilt all o'er ; her beauty from view she was hiding beneath the rich veil she wore. her harpers first came, proudly marching; her bearers wore trappings gay; a squadron of amazons, riding, were seen behind, far away. her name a silk flag was revealing, the veiled princess, lhumie lhuv, who dwelt amid scenes all-entrancing, the land of bulbul and dove, where gold mohurs in glory were reigning, where banyan-trees rose on high, where odours from champaks were floating along the unclouded sky; the land that song-birds were enchanting, that winds from the spice-groves fanned, where roses forever were bloomingsome called it a fairyland. e 66 zoroaster. rare presents her servants were bearing; her harpers sang soft, sweet songs; while round her train, now, there came trooping from hill and dale wond'ring throngs. the princess, with four maidens walking, now to the great cave drew near ; and, with a grace regal inclining, said, in a voice sweet and clear :-"i come, o great master, beseeching to know if thou can'st recall who, for their acts here, at life's ending, will be valued most of all." the hermit a moment seemed musing, then slowly he raised his head, and, in a voice all reassuring, now to the veiled princess said :"first, those who to all creatures living have done the most constant good; and those who, though powerless while living, would good have done if they could." the princess, with joy her thanks telling, her rich veil aside now drew, when lo! to all eyes then beholding, a goddess amazed their view. the veiled princess. 67 again, the veiled princess commanding, the harpers appeared anew; and, while the cortège formed for parting, her flag waved a last adieu. and then, the princess homeward turning, the train moved slowly away, while, from hill and valley resounding, was long heard the harpers' lay. 68 song by the court poet. sung by the harpers and chant-maidens of the veiled princess when starting on their homeward route from the mountain cave. the harpers. a chant for the veiled princess lhumie lhuv ! a chant, o a chant, that the four winds know, the four winds that came with the birth of time, the four winds that first on fast-flying wings to mountain and sea their glad greeting bore. the chant-maidens. a chant for the veiled princess lhumie lhuv ! the goddess whose beauty in many a land the minstrels by moonlight proclaim in song; a chant that the sons of the kings may hear, may hear as they sigh in a golden dream. the harpers. a chant for the veiled princess lhumie lhuv! a chant that air-harpers far away chant, a chant from the depths of the universe that floats on the flowing folds of the sky, a chant that resounds to the march of time. song by the court poet. 69 the chant-maidens. o, where are the sons of the kings to-day? o, why are they lured in a golden dream? the sons of the kings from east and from west are sighing and saying day and night long. o, why does the veiled princess lhumie lhuv for ever seem hiding in silken folds— the heedless, the veiled, princess lhumie lhuv! the harpers. o when, in all time, has the wisest heard the bulbul's loved song in a stormy sky? o when, in all time, has the wisest seen the shining rainbow at the midnight hour? o when, in all time, has the wisest found a sting on the sweet-scented champak bloom? the sons of the kings, then, how may they tell, while lured and while lost in a golden dream, the mind of the veiled princess lhumie lhuv, or why still enveiled in her silken folds ? the chant-maidens. the sons of the kings, o they have not heard her bright eyes might dim the light of the sun : the sons of the kings, o they have not heard her bright eyes might darken the sparkling stars. the harpers. a chant for the veiled princess lhumie lhuv! a chant, o a chant, from time's mystic bowers, 70 zoroaster. where melodies sweet from the air-harps flow; a chant that all nature is listening to as on the soft, mystical music strays o'er pathways of long-vanished centuries, 'mid millions and millions of stars afar. a chant, o a chant, that the four winds know, a chant for the veiled princess lhumie lhuv ! 71 the demon-worshippers. a seer of a strange tribe, then living far off, amid rocky hills, whose orchards and grain, yearly ripening, were watered by rippling rills, was seen, with a group, now approachingall swarthy, stalwart, and braveand soon they all found themselves standing before the great mountain cave. their seer at last said, loudly speaking : "our land is far, far away; as pilgrims we come, footsore, seeking the light for our tribe to-day. there has been for long, long years passing a firm belief, in our land, three sky-giants o'er earth are watching, all murderous, proud, and grand. • "they call them 'storm,' 'thunder,' and 'lightning'they come oft by night or day, from out of their cloud-covered dwelling, rapacious for earthly prey. 72 zoroaster. "for ages our tribe, at the dawning, and with the sun's farewell ray, to each of the demons now ruling, all humbly, low bowing, pray. "but in these last moons seers came, saying our creed must always be vain, and all our heartfelt, anxious praying unanswered will long remain ; "and that we should, from demons turning, alone to the all-good' pray, " who, mighty, is able and willing from evil to save, they say. "we know but too well tribes thus thinking are scourged by storm, wind, and rain; and earthquakes, and thunder, and lightning destroy them again and again. "we know full well, too, without telling, an all-good' can do no harm; " and that, with an all-good' but reigning, we'd nevermore feel alarm. "but demons, with power never-ending, who ravage our crops and land, who come, unseen, oft from their hiding, and strike with a murderous hand— the demon-worshippers. 73 "as they are made but for destroying, 6 ought we not to them to pray, and not to an all-good,' not harming? we crave the great sage to say." now, after a time long conversing, and list'ning to thoughts all new, in demons no longer believing, the seer and his group withdrew. 74 the dwarf. a woman, a dwarf, slowly rising, now to the great cave drew near-one who was famed far for her learning, and said, in tones sweet and clear :"o sage, whom the world is extolling, give heed to my words, i pray, and what i am now humbly seeking reveal to me, if you may. "whose will made all things now existing, and sounded life's starting hour? and when had that will its beginning, and who gave that will all power ?” 75 the chief of a mountain band. all eyes turned to see, now advancing, with rich feathered staff in hand, a figure full tall and commanding— the chief of a mountain band. six under-chiefs followed, close marching, and gay were the plumes they wore; and each, with an air all-exulting, rare gifts for the great sage bore. the under-chiefs signs seemed obeying, as into line all were led ; then, bowing, and on his staff kneeling, their chief to the hermit said : "we come from a mountain-land, towering o'er valley, and hill, and stream; and simple and frugal our living, while truth is our all-supreme. "and when the fierce tribes come invading our land, by night or by day, with eagle and dove high displaying, we march in battle array. 76 zoroaster. 66 'some sects to a demon turn, praying— the author of earthly woe; but this monster grand, ever raging, we seek not by prayer to know. 66 'we seek in our lives, while here living, alone our tribe's earthly good; upon our good acts but relying— a law by us understood. "we bow to the earth in the morning— it gives us grass, fruit, and grain ; we bow to the clouds in the evening― they bring us the welcome rain 66 66 we bow to the full moon, when gleamingwe call her mother of love; as emblems of power and peace joining, we bow to eagle and dove. we bow to the sun at the nooningit brings to us light all day; we bow to the stars at night wand'ring, for by them we make our way. "we bow to the wind that comes blessing our tribe on the mountain-land; we bow to the lakes, our boats bearing in safety from strand to strand. the chief of a mountain band. 77 "we bow to the mines, ever yielding the metal for all our armsthe arms that, by night or day needing, are ready for all alarms. "we bow to the fire at night burning, in lieu of the light of day, that scatters the foes oft in hiding to drive all our flocks away. "we bow to the flowers, richly blooming, for joy to our tents they bring ; we bow to the birds for delighting our hearts with the songs they sing. "we bow to the cascade, down-streaming along on its silvery way; our maidens oft linger there, singing; our children around it play. "our tribe was all happy and prosperingunited through long, long years; a life of bliss tribes rarely blessingwe knew then no foreign seers. "of late some strange seers came invading our land, who to us now tell their faith we must follow, undoubting, or burn in a place called hell. 78 zoroaster. "our tribe begins now all dividing, their fears are upraising strife; their time is now used in disputing, and quarrels, alas! are rife. "we want to hear, great sage, all-knowing, the way we should now pursue, if we to these seers should give heeding, and if all they say is true." the hermit sage, o'er the group glancing, began, with extended hand, in forceful and grave tones, addressing the chief of the mountain band. "believe not the seers, ever working, through cunning, for their own gain; the torture-threats they are proclaiming the wise will treat with disdain. 46 "their saints they invent, as saints living afar in the long ago! their miracles with time increasing by modes that they so well know ! they scorn simple truth in their teaching ; to their own-made gods they kneel; while from them they ever are seeking what they can never reveal. the chief of a mountain band. 79 66 their symbols, their charms, and their chanting, the fear-struck lead all astray ; their doll-gods, on thrones in robes glittering, demand and receive their pay! "these mouthpieces, on men's fears counting, talk loud of a great unknown, whose mind they are ever revealing, although they know not their own. "believe not their myths and their dreaming, or what they pretend and say; nor prophecies made by their ordering, and placed in the far-away. "of fables that they are upholding, full proof let them show to you ; beware of their long-practised cunningbelieve what alone is true. "and ye, without fear, the false scorning, the good do, for good alone; and turn from the seers who are teaching your conscience is not your own. "as good seeds sown bring their rich yielding, so good thoughts are seen again in good deeds, and ofttime producing a harvest of golden grain. 80 zoroaster. "for truth's sake, then, cease not repelling the craft of the sects and creeds; and let your life's light go on shining in good thoughts, good words, good deeds." the hermit sage, thus his words ending, content with their interview, the chief and his aids, their host blessing, then reverently all withdrew. 81 the priestess. a priestess, with servants attending, approached now with banners gay; her camels had slowly been seeking the cave for full many a day. she came from a far region lying beneath a bright southern sky, where temples the land were adorning, and pyramids towered on high. her mystical wand she was bearing; a robe, woven white and gold, fell softly, her graceful form draping, in many a gleaming fold. her creed, only women including, existed for ages long, a creed that its votaries lauding called music and love and song.' "" her lute-maidens now were seen pausing, each with a white dove in hand, the birds all long trained through caressing away in their far-off land. 82 zoroaster. while full freedom ever enjoying, the sound of a silver bell arrested their flight, and, all turning, they sought those they loved so well. the maidens' rich gems ever glittering around them a lustre shed, while jasmine and roses entwining encircled each graceful head. the priestess now near the cave standing, a sign soon made through her page; her maidens joined then all in singing to honour the hermit sage. 83 l 1. the maidens' song. list! o'tis nature singing around us, singing in carols— carols of birdlingslist to her anthem whispered by zephyrs, leaflets repeating the sweet strain o'er! hymns all supernal nature is breathing in the bright streamlet gliding along ; but o far sweeter voices of nature heard in the accents of those we love! see how sweet nature on us is smiling, smiling in sunbeamssoft yellow sunbeams; 84 zoroaster. see the sky golden, golden with bright smiles, smiles of sweet nature telling of joy! smiles all-transcendent hallow the roses laden with odours brought from on high ; but o far sweeter smiles of sweet nature seen in the glances of those we love! the priestess now asked: "at time's starting, if women had all been made, in size and brain, twice the men measuring, by nature's all potent aid, "would not the world be, fairly judging, for each mortal then, from birth, a place, in all things now so differing, for all then a heaven on earth?" the great sage, the priestess well heeding, a moment inclined his head, as if his mind something went seeking ; then, turning, he gently said: the maidens' song. 85 "if truths from the world kept in hiding— truths long barred from being freewent with the wide wings of time speeding, the world would far better be." and now, the brief interview ending, a moment she paused to pray, and then, all delighted, retiring, the priestess went on her way. her lute-maidens now were heard singing a melody, sweet, sublime— a farewell sent back in their parting, that told of a far-off clime. 86 the rich pilgrim. a rich man, a pilgrim, appearing, drew near to the mountain cave; deep wrinkles his broad brow were marking, his manner was cold and grave. all eyes in the crowd soon were turning in wonder to see one there, whose riches they knew without counting were wholly beyond compare. without pomp or splendour displaying, he came but in humble guise, on foot, as a poor pilgrim travelling, to seek the words of the wise. 32 "great sage," he said, "i have come bearing a question to thee to-day; a gleam of truth i am now seeking to light up my future way. "my kindred reproach me for breaking what they call the rich man's rule ; in sorrow they go on bewailing, and term me now but a fool. the rich pilgrim. 81 "my question, though one in propounding, includes in it many more; but now, in its plain, simple setting, with leave i will tell it o'er. "the rich, through their wealth power commanding, what should their full duty be to those who seem placed in their keeping on earth by their destiny ?" 'twas all that he said. he stood waitinghis thoughts having now voice found; awhile not a whisper sought hearing amid the silence profound. the sage seemed a moment considering; the crowd bent, anxious to hear; and when he, at last, began speaking they forced themselves still more near. he said: "thou hast come from far, seeking the light for a new life's day; 'twas wisdom that went to thee, whispering the thought of a better way. "in those that have world-wealth in keeping, with mortals at beck and call, true kindness should mark all their ruling, with justice to one and all. 888 zoroaster. "be just to all in thy world-dealing, nor turn thou from the just way ; o'erburden not those who are serving, with labour, thy will to-day. ""tis not the fair burden that's pressingeach one has his nature's can; 'tis greed's overburden that's crushing the life out of beast and man. "the doing of good to all living our duty should ever be ; the strong the weak ever uplifting towards their true destiny. "look round thee for those who are suffering— distress is not far to seekand, when thy gains thou art rememb'ring, remember the poor and weak. "permit not distress to come strangling the honest poor of the land; to orphan and widow, help needing, withhold not an aiding hand. "each act done, a blessing conferring, gives back to those who bestow a blessing heart-felt, beyond telling, that only themselves may know. the rich pilgrim. 89 "the words of those thoughtlessly scorning thou can'st afford to disdain ; the light of truth, on thy work shining, will turn them all back again. "one day of man's life on earth dwelling, with wisdom and love his rule, is worth more to mankind's well-being than all the life of a fool. "the doing of good to all living bestows on thee here new birth, and makes thee, whatever thy calling, a god 'mid the fools of earth." 90 the three wise men. the hermit now paused to give heeding to heralds who came to say three wise men had come late that morning from lands very far away; and were of a sect all believing that things were not as they seem— that man and earth, with their surrounding, were but, after all, a dream. the three wise men light came now seeking about some things they would know— strange things of time past and time coming unknown on the earth below. they came from the land of the morning, to seek the sage known to fame ; and they had for long days been marching, attracted by his great fame. 1 the three wise men. 91 66 'long we and our sect have been wondering if sage might ever be found who had the great gift of revealing the mysteries that abound. the first wise man. the first wise man seemed with years bending, and near the end of life's span; he now, to the sage near approaching, in gentle low tones began: "i ask, first, are not all now living within this strange world to-day but life-slaves of earth, their time serving, whatever else one may say? 66 "yea, are not all things that are breathing, on land, in air, and in sea, but slaves, like mankind, their turn serving, all differing but in degree? 66 what earth-man is more in life's reckoning than tiniest insect here, from life to death forced on unceasing, each cast in a given sphere ? why all this through life to death forcing? who can with truth answer, why the man, horse, and mite alike treating, all forced to live and to die? 92 zoroaster. "why thus are all earthly things changing, and by what unknown command are life and growth everywhere dying, in air, in sea, and on land? "what purpose is served by this slaughtering? the demon of death with glee for ever goes on with the murdering.— who issued the vile decree? ( "can what is all-good' be decreeing such evil each night and day? a devil, alone, in such gloating could pass thus his time away." the second wise man. the next wise man now began speaking, his voice arose clear and loud, and soon what he said seemed attracting attention among the crowd. he said: "o great sage, seers are spreading, as if by divine command, their doctrines, through arts all persuading, afar and near through the land. "the creeds that they now are proclaiming they say have come from the skies, their idols great throngs are revering, stone gods with dead hands and eyes. the three wise men. 93 "they set up their home-made gods, threat'ning all those who dare disobey the precepts and customs they're teaching with terrible pains one day. "while ever imposture repeating, till terrors belief compel, and crucified reason, expiring, to truth sighs a last farewell. "while loudly announcing their calling, their prayers they sell through the land; with fables the poor sheep they're feeding and fleece them on every hand. "new seers through the land are now roving, new sects now yearly arise; and new and old sects are now quarrelling because of the human prize. 66 they tell of some one ever hidingsome one that they only know— who from a thick cloudland is ruling all things on the earth below. "the fraud-god, man's own manufacturing, that story we've heard before ; "twill do for the slave with fear trembling, but we will not hear it more. 94 zoroaster. "they tell of a life after dying, they tell of a land on high, where all in full bliss may be basking, where man nevermore will die. "and when we these seers begin asking for proof of what are but lies, they say they were told so in dreaming, and solemnly close their eyes. "we want no more fables or canting, though fools we know must be fed; but we defy all their loud threatening; we will not by knaves be led. "we want no more creeds based on dreaming— the schemes of the cunning knavesto serve as a plea for despoiling the terror-struck, abject slaves. "a part of our tribe is now threat'ning to meet, with their arms in hand, those seers, when our bound they are crossing, and drive them far from the land. "while others propose calmly waiting to hear all they have to say, and meet with truth all their false teaching, and so turn them from their way. the three wise men. 95 "but others among them are doubting what course they ought to pursue, and now are in council debating the question of what to do. "o sage, these false seers ever marching upon their unhallowed way, if they to our land come invading, what should we to them, then, say?" 66 the third wise man. the third wise man now advanced, bowinghis words seemed full fast to flow; some things that his mind seemed confounding he from the great sage would know. first, what is earth worth in time's counting? the thunderbolt falls upon the dead and alive, alike striking; a straw and man count as one! "the floods, and the storms, and the lightning come day or night, with surprise, the innocent earth devastating! do demons dwell in the skies ? "who made, then, these forces destroying? who gave them the right to slay? could they have been made as all aiding to keep evil far away? 96 zoroaster. "the earth is but one scene of slaughtering, a tyrant law to fulfil ; from birth to death all ever forcing, without their consent or will. "with tree, man, or frog does the lightning a line of distinction draw; or does the fierce flash, in its murdering, destroy them all by one law? "if man could flash death like the lightning, and thus a fellow-man slew, to punish a crime so appalling what course would the law pursue? "the one is left free in its murderingredress for it none dare claimthe other death's penalty paying, and yet both crimes are the same. "who, then, is this murderer, using the power of the lightning's flash; the horror of murder augmenting ofttime by the thunder's crash? "is, then, there a demon commanding behind nature's wall, unseen, whose glory is ever in slaying? what does it, great sage, all mean? the three wise men. 97 "does all this not go to the proving men are but as grass and flowers, whose brief span of life flies on passing, by years some, and some by hours? "if this be true, can one help thinking that things are not as they seemthat life on earth, with its surrounding, is but, after all, a dream? "suppose, o great sage, through time changing, that thou the supreme should be; as tyrant, and all wrong unheeding, could we ever dream of thee? "could'st thou, saint or man, in thy ruling, be deaf to suffering and pain ? would'st thou be a god, all good ordering, or would'st thou as devil reign? "we know thy good life and good doing ; thy justice we all adore : that twice two make not five in counting, but that, with thee, they make four." u 98 66 the god-maker. and now the throng turned, all observing a man that some there knew well; he looked all cast down, as if grieving; what sorrow had he to tell? the god-maker, always so cheering, now seeming so sad and strangehis laugh once a joy to all hearingwhat, then, could have caused this change? unknown by the sage, he came, bowing, then slowly he raised his head, and, after still nearer approaching, he, in a subdued voice, said: "great master, i come to thee, praying to listen while i tell o'er all that my life now is beclouding, and making my heart full sore. they name me 'ra-ra,' and my calling is known in the country round; i make all my gods at seers' bidding; at work i am ever found. the god-maker. 99 "for one sect i long had been workinga sect ruled but by one seerwho live in a country all-prospering, full ten days' long march from here. "by chance a new sect that is dwelling in lands still further away, who heard of my skill in god-making, brought me an order one day. "so pleased were they with my god-making, they brought me still orders new, and gods for them i have been melting— some red, some brown, and some blue. "the last god made by their commanding five years ago i began ; a year of work saw its completingin size thrice that of a man. "the seer then saw soon, in his dreaming, an angel, who came to find the god, who still stood, without thinking, and gave him a prophet's mind. "the seer dreamt the dream three times running ; the angel then upward flew toward the night stars, brightly beaming, until lost at last from view. 100 zoroaster. "a peasant girl, by the god standing, the angel saw drawing near; before the bright sight, so o'erpowering, she fell to the earth with fear. "the angel the girl now consoling, assisting, then took her hand, and told her to go, with a blessing, and spread the news through the land. "the people, who everywhere hearing the news that so quickly flew, saw soon, in the blessed girl's revealing, the seer's dream confirmed anew. "ram-ram' this god now they are callinggreat wonders he works all day; the miracles he is performing are known now far, far away. "full fierce are his looks, and expressing a savage disdain for all ; the people, awe-stricken and trembling, in hundreds before him fall. "the seer gave out, sadly lamenting, ram-ram would angry remain till people, with gifts, should come seeking their pardon, bought through his name. the god-maker. ιοι "the crowds in vast numbers keep flocking, they come from afar and near, to know what my savage god's saying, but through the mouth of the seer. "the people's sins were beyond numbering; the seer said he knew full well their only hope was in adoring ram-ram, who could save from hell. "but this monster-god, my own making, has caused a religious strife; the first sect, aroused, sent now threatening to damn me in after life, "if i to the sect, lately coming within their new lands to stay, did not, when new gods they came ordering, turn from them at once away; "but promised, beyond any doubting, my sins would be all passed o'er, if i would renounce all god-making, except for them, evermore. "to all that the first sect went saying i lent a most willing ear, and so i again went on living without any future fear. 102 zoroaster. "( but now, the new sect at last hearing the threats that had come to me, have damn'd me for giving them heeding through all long eternity. "they've damn'd me, also, while here living, and foretell a frightful end, that i may be little expecting, one day my steps will attend. "the two sects have thus in denouncing, my peace of mind torn away, if i should consent, and go making a god for either to-day. "i was at my wits' end, not knowing which way would be right to turn, to save myself from this decreeing that i should hereafter burn; "when i met a wise man, who, hearing all that i had then to say, besought me to come to thee seeking thy wisdom without delay." the great sage, with sympathy list'ning, the griefs of ra-ra well knew, and now, in a converse long lasting, revealed all that he might do. the god-maker. 103 the frauds of the seers oft recurring, the hermit knew but too well, and when a dupe showed signs of faltering, their threat was for ever "hell." while still the sage went on explaining, the crowd could not fail to see the god-maker's manner was changing, his form grew erect and free. whatever was said, in conversing, between them, no one might say ; but all saw the god-maker, smiling, depart, at last, on his way. 104 the blind man. a blind man, decrepit and halting, now turned on his straw-mat bed; all paused, while attentively listening, to what he so feebly said. "of all sects and creeds now prevailing throughout the world everywhere, can'st thou the heav'n most deserving to me, o great sage, declare ? 66 "of heav'n can'st thou tell me the meaning? can man see it in his mind? and what may i do while here living, that i, at last, heav'n may find? "ofttime on my mat i lie listening to strange things friends round me say; they ask if the world, in time coming, will wiser be than to-day. they talk of the stars and clouds passing, they talk of a mystic sky, and ask when will come the revealing of secrets still held on high. the blind man. 105 "and why, o great sage, some are whispering, hast thou thy face turned aside, and left, thus, the great world, preferring a home on the mountain side ?" this ended, from all those there gathering, what each and all wished to know of things on high, far, far extending, and things on the earth below. their questions were many and differing, some simple and some profound, and some seemed beyond understanding, or crossing the reason's bound. but to one and all who came seeking his cave in the mountain side, and who still were patiently waiting, the hermit at last replied. 106 zoroaster's reply to the blind man. 66 of sects and of creeds now existing within our strange world below, the one to-day heaven most deserving, an aged blind man would know. "all thought may for ever go differing— vain, old, or new sects or creedsif still in each life-day are lacking good thoughts, good words, and good deeds. "all things on earth ever are changing— behold the long-past worn 'yea,' as if by some mystic ordaining, becomes to-day's cherished 'nay.' "and so with beliefs now existing, though hallowed from days of old, when new light of truth is arising, they die with their weight of mould. "good thoughts be thy law each day living, regardless of sects and creeds; good words will then follow unfailing, and wedded to them good deeds. i pa n zoroaster's reply to the blind man. 107 "while power and the will, co-existing, are thine on the earth below, all joy to impart to the living, no other heav'n need'st thou know. "the blind man would know, too, while speaking, why i should have turned aside afar from the great world, preferring my home in the mountain-side. "heartsick of the world's cruel warringof men turned to beasts of preywhile prayers from their lips are invoking the aid of their god to slay. "heartsick of the long persecuting of all that was just and true; heartsick of the myths and false teaching, which stronger and stronger grew ; "heartsick of corruption and plundering, through force and lawless decrees; of demons in human form ruling; of men, as serfs, on their knees; "heartsick of the slaves who, through bribing, or fearing their master's frown, the gold and the rank are upholding, while pressing the down more down. 108 zoroaster. "heartsick of a world but adjudging the weak forever is wrong; of laws with two sides, one declaring the right alone is the strong. "for these and like reasons impelling i've turned from the world aside, and made, where all nature is blessing, my home in the mountain-side." 109 zoroaster's comment on the seers. "some ask as to seers and their workingthe seers who pollute their name; if mankind is bound to give heeding to all that they now proclaim. "what sense, the great power in man dwelling, can't feel on the earth below, what thought ever fails in conceiving the reason can never know. "but seers place their yoke, with words luring, around the necks of the weak; and, once in a grasp unrelaxing, the victims they ever keep. "the door of truth, with heavy barring, is shut to them evermore; the dupes yield themselves, unreflecting, and then their true lives are o'er. "the true faith of mortals here dwelling, ignoring all sects and creeds, should be all their days, without ceasing, good thoughts, good words, and good deeds. 110 zoroaster. "when wisdom's voice mankind is heeding, when truth is the law alone, when love the wide world is encircling, and science ascends her throne; "then what now seems strange and confounding the haze will no longer hide, and light will, on golden wings flying, the glad news spread far and wide. "the nations of earth then, rejoicing, will clasp hands o'er land and sea, the war-god and greed-god dethroning; all earth then a heav'n will be. 66 "turn, then, from those subtle seers, working and plotting for their own gain; these wolves, after prey ever prowling, turn from them with all disdain. opinions, with men, are not wanting— opinions all have, we know; but o, how few think to-day, passing along their life-road below!" iii zoroaster's replies to some questions as to the sun. "and questions are asked still concerning that power of all most sublime, 66 who o'er all is from the sky reigning, and when was its birth in time. and some ask if off it went speeding beyond the skies far away, again to us no more returning, would not the stars make our day? "if far the sun-force went off floating, beyond the reach of the earth, the earth, with its all, would be nothing, as if it had never birth. "the sun in full power has been shining from time's first all-fateful hour; and mortals think little while living of that omnipotent power. "that great force in glory now shining on wondering worlds below, and on worlds unseen beyond counting, what mortal as yet may know? 112 zoroaster. "what millions beyond human reckoning, all through the sun's constant care, their tenure of life are now holding on land, in sea, and in air? "the endless stores now in its keeping, its treasures of untold wealth, the least, as the greatest, endowing with life and light, food and health; "thus daily our world still reminding our guardian of good on high, for all our wants ever is caring, as ruler of earth and sky. "how few on earth yet are considering the mystic tie now between the sun and the earth it is ruling, as by human eyes now seen! "o few now are those yet divining the meaning to man of light, the might of that sun o'er all ruling, the maker of day and night! "with glad hearts, then, hail the sun rising in glory and power each day, who, through universal law ruling, still gives, or takes, life away!" 113 zoroaster replies to some other questions. some say that the lives we are living may not be all that they seem, and that we, with all our surrounding, may be, after all, a dream. 66 "what will, one asks, made things existing, and sounded time's starting hour; and when had that will its beginning, and who gave that will its power ? " all nature a language is speaking in mystic tones night and day; but who may delve out the deep meaning of aught nature has to say? "each shadow, however fast fleeting, reflects a substance behind, a substance, though still perhaps hiding, the searchlight of thought may find. "the sages, we know, without telling— all who are known everywhere to have minds of thought-have been seeking for paths still unknown with care. h 114 zoroaster. "but what have they found in their searching, a grain from a mountain granda grain, after oft overturning, to fall at last from the hand! "how many go patiently seeking the thoughts of a former day; the thoughts cruel centuries passing have hid on their heedless way! "the pilgrims now on the earth marching, the millions that passed before, the millions that still are advancing, 'tis but the same step marched o'er. "the nations now on the earth dying, the nations that died before: the nations that still will be dying, 'tis death but repeated o'er. "all things on earth ever are changing, all animal, plant, and man; from birth to death on they go changing, all end with a life's brief span. "the yesterdays since earth's beginning have gone, like sparks from a flame; some ask where they went in their hasting, and some would know whence they came. zoroaster replies to some other questions. 115 "and so the to-days, still obeying a law that may know no change; and so the to-morrows, still taking a course that to us seems strange. "they sought the dark void; but in parting they left on the earth behind no trace of their coming or going, to lighten the magian mind. "when o'er the vast universe looking, how little life seems to be ! a drop in an ocean far-spreading— a breath in eternity! 66 the mind of man oft has been striving to measure time's gulf so wide; eternity's mystic veil seeking to draw, by some scheme, aside. "but human mind, however daring, a limit has here belowa limit that ever seems saying: 'so far, but no farther, go.' "while time, without limit, is bearing all life in its mystic train, the problems, alas! so bewildering, man struggles to solve in vain! 116 zoroaster. "behold the skilled ants, their mounds buildingall hurrying to and fro; of nations now o'er the earth spreading what do they, what can they, know? "the snail to the green stem now clinging, its home a few feet of ground— do visions float by, in its dreaming, of all the vast world around? "the moles, underground ever delvingwhat know they of those to-day who come to this mountain-cave, gathering from lands apart, far away? "yon tiny fly, here and there darting, who came with the morning sun; a few short hours, then, with day's ending, its life-work on earth is done! "that tiny fly, coming and going, did ever it have a mind to fathom the motives oft causing the mad wars among mankind? 66 the snail, ant, and mole, and fly, living each in its restricted sphereeach but its own tiny world knowing, while life-tenure holding here. s zoroaster replies to some other questions. 117 "" and so with the human race, dwelling within its restricted bound; the limit of space, by its measuring, when can it be ever found? "what man could now count, who is living, the grains of sand from the seas; or count all the blades of grass growing, or stars, or leaves on the trees? "mankind might unite in the building a stairway up to the skies, and, after long years of hard toiling, how far would the structure rise? "how many on earth are still craving the far-beyond here to know, whose creeds all earth's races are rending, though brief man's term here below! "but ye, let your creed be unchangingthe right to all 'neath the sun; and strong be your voice in demanding the wrong evermore to none. "the world be your country, while livingthe world nature first made free; let but to do good to all breathing your life-long religion be. 118 zoroaster. "with wisdom and love ever guiding, man, marching, smiles on life's way; his head high above the clouds towering, his earth-home a heav'n each day." 119 zoroaster tells what the ancients said about creation, 66 and some would know now in their seeking how came the first race on earth; and how long ago, by moon's counting, the world we live in had birth. "when first the still earth began waking from out of its long night's spell, when first the bright light began beaming, no sage, to this day, may tell. "but day and night came, with them bringing the bright and the dark'ning hours; in time the earth filled with things living, with trees, and with streams, and flowers. "old sages once said near the dawning there rose monster mountains high, the mountains that went so far towering their peaks were lost in the sky. "they told that the first race were living for long on those mountains grand, until storm and lightning came chasing the people from land to land. 120 zoroaster. 66 'they said heav'n to earth was there whispering, in dreamy sounds, weird and low, the secrets some magians are seeking all vainly to-day to know. "they said the lore-king was there dreaming, and that since the days of old strange phantoms were jealously guarding vast treasures of thought and gold; "that there the ravines have been list'ning to sounds echoed down from high, as if unknown voices were calling from worlds in the far-off sky. ""twas there, through a mystic force moving, old seers say, the light had birth; and there song and music descending, twin sisters from heav'n, blessed earth. "and then a time came all things changing, the earth's first race passed from light, but leaving three seers with wives grieving for many a day and night. "the first race were blessed with vast learning, all gentle, but giants grand, their treasures of thought, beyond counting, were swept with them from the land. what the ancients said about creation. 121 "some crumbs from these stores of thought hiding within the minds of old seers have come down to us, as waifs straying, through all the long changing years. "strange tongues through time's mists still seem calling from that first and far-off day; and from the beyond, through the gloaming, they to us in whispers say: "once sun, moon, and stars were not shining, and time was as yet unknown; all now that is then was as nothing, and darkness held sway alone. "then time at last came with its changing, while silence reigned all supreme; and earth, as if spellbound, reposing, seemed wrapt in a mystic dream. "when sun, moon, and stars began forming within the wide womb of time, the universe round all expanding raised o'er them a dome sublime. "a city of light everlasting, within a vast space on high, revealed in a radiance o'erwhelming the monarch of all the sky. 122 zoroaster. "the first day, then, had a beginning; the splendour of light, before unknown, through all space went proclaiming its matchless force evermore. "then night next her place came forth seeking, unlocked from the mystic dream, and first gazed on space never ending amid the stillness supreme. 'her millions of star-lamps then twinkling to each other came in view; the vast panorama extending across the concave of blue. 66 6 arrayed in a power new and startling, she held 'neath the sky full sway; all nature entranced mutely wondering until the return of day. "then people on earth were first dwelling, o'erjoyed with their home new found, 'mid wild flowers, and woods, and streams flowing and songs of the birds around. "then time with joy flew on unchanging, nor days were they counted o'er; all thought in a bliss never ending of life on earth evermore. ¿ what the ancients said about creation. 123 "but soon the first cloud was seen rising ; it grew, dark'ning all the sky; all paused, in a deep silence wondering what caused this weird change on high. """'twas then the earth heard, alas! trembling, across time's high rampart wall, fate, out of eternity, voicing the mandate of death to all.'" the great zoroaster, thus ending, a moment paused now, to tell his joy at the great pilgrim meeting, his sorrow to say farewell. with reverence the groups, ere retir❜ng, their grateful salaams made o'er ; upon the loved hermit invoking all blessings for evermore. disciples of his, through all changing, they now had resolved to be, wherever in life they went wandering henceforth, over land or sea. and now, while the throngs were retiring beneath the fast-fading light, the bards of the hills, their lutes touching, sang softly to coming night. 124 zoroaster. the hills the lute-sounds were heard bearing, in faint echoes, far away; while through eve's soft veil, now descending, night heard the receding lay. 125 the song of the bards of the hills. gone is the golden sun, far in the west away; and twilight sighs to earth the last farewell of day. on outspread, starry wings, swift in thy mystic flight, thou com'st to bless the world, o sweet, o silent night. with thy mute lullaby the weary rest again ; on earth, in sea, in air, all toil, and strife, and care a truce find in thy reign. queen of the sunless realm, returning in thy flight, our world bless o'er again, o sweet, o silent night. 1 138 137 3605 the library of the university of california los angeles frederic thomas blanchard endowment fund the london hermit, or, rambles in dorsetshire, a comedy, as performed wrtll universal applause at the theatres royal. by john o'keeffe,efg. .-.i thgrof tony lumpkin in town, the son-in-law, the d^ad alive, agreeable sur-, prize, caftle of andalulu, fontainbieui, or our way in france, the pofitive man, the poor soldier, love in a camp, or patrick in pruflia, the farmer, the young quaker, beggar on horfeback, peeping tom, the prifoner at large, the toy, or hampton court frolics, wild oats, or the strolling gentlemen, little hunchback, the siege of curzoia, mo dern antiques; or the merry mourners, the highland reel, birth-day, or prince of arragon, sprigs of la.:rel> lifs's vagaries, irifll mimic, or blunders a: brighton, &c. fifth edition". london: priated fur j. bark &h, dratr.a:ic repifitsry, ruflell-cotirr, drury-lane. 1798. [pr. is 6d] ff'kere tht following pieces fy mr. o'keeffe art pullifbtd : life's vagaries.-.-infli mimic. little hunchback. birth-da/ .:ijs, an ode.tvr.y lumpkin intowa. pr dedication. to the rev. ball, of winfrith, near weymouth. dear sir, ttfhen i rambled into dorfetfliire in the fummer of 1 7 9 1 , my only introdu&ion to your acquaintance was your own frank affability, and my fole recommendation to your hofpitable roof, that i was a ftranger. by your good-natured politenefs, my mind was cheered iu the folitudes of lulworth, and by your many friendly and kind offices i was furnifhed with informa tion in a place where all was novelty, i though 956316 dedication. though my firft charm there was the certainty of what i had fuppofed to be common in england, a pious and be nevolent clergyman ; and though i could, previous to my vifi:s at win frith, boaft the honour of having flood before the great gates of a bifhop's palace ; yet, for the comforts i there enjoyed in the little parlour of a country parfonage-houfe, accept this trifling tefu'mony of well-remembered goodnefs to ? > dear sir, your highly honoured, and much obliged fervant, j. o'keeffe, b romp ton, july 13, 179; p ro prologue. written }> george colman, jun. efq. spoken by mr. barrymore. thread cenfors ! by whofe nod we fink or rife ! ^~^ be merry, pray, to-night, and not too wife ! our bard will fmile at the ftricl critic rule, he had his learning in a laughing fchool. order, and ancient laws, he dares neglect ; and rather would be pleafant, than correct ; nay, fpite of all grave claffical communities, \vou'd fooner make you laugh than keep the unities. mirth is his aim and critics ! we implore you, relax, while our light fcenes we lay before you i .good-humour to the countenance adds graces, unbend the iron mufcles of your faces 1 jlay acid wifdom by ; think mirth no fin ; throw your four dignity afide, and grin ! yet tho' we laugh we wou'd not quit the grounds where fportive nature marks her ample bounds : various her range ! calm, gay, then in the vapours we catch the goddefs while (he's cutting capers. to prove that we have caught her in the act, our hermitage is built upon a faff. if, then, the drama's frolic pencil draws a frolic fa6t away with critic laws ! and grant the fketcher's fancy your applaufe ! oft has lie drawn before this ihop is full with touches from his hand ; and none thought dull ; should this, to-night, feem vapid to your eyes, 'twould prove a difagreeable surprize oh ' think on his collection now in ftore, and fmile on him, on whom you fmil'd before ! dra dramatis person m e a 7 . whimmy, old pranks, young pranks, peregrine, apathy, poz, bite, natty maggs, barleycorn, tully, skip, barebones, toby thatch, carter, john grum, post boy, john, coachman, mr. suett. mr. aickin. mr. bannister, jun. mr. evatt. mr. bland. mr. barrett. mr. cooke. mr. palmer, jun. mr. benson. mr. johnstone. mr. abbot. mr. wewitzer. mr. parsons, mr. burton. mr. alfred. mr. cornerford, mr. lyons. mr. ledger. m e n. dian, mrs. maggs, kitty barleycorn, fishwoman, ladies, mifs heard. mrs. werb. mrs. kemble. . mrs. powell. j mrs. cuyler. [ mrs. hale. scene, dorsetshire. the the london hermit, rambles in dorsetshire. a c t i. scene i. before a country inn and great gates leadl to whimmy's houfe. enter barleycorn, .(from the inn.) barleycorn. , toby thatch ! what doft ftand gaping about there ? enter toby. s been up hill to look towards great road. barleycorn. any carnages coming ? i toby. fine coach and four horfes -a high thing o me ! chay a pheaton (i think they call it) and a whif key-me-gig, b barley 2 the london hermit, ot barleycorn. and there's a boat full of company juft put in at the cove, all to fee 'squire whimmy's improve jrients---then there's our poney-race. dang my buttons, we (hall have a houfe full to-day. what a donkey was i to let that daughter of mine go gad ding to blandford. company flocking,and my child, that ought to have my intereft at heart, when fhe fhou'd be preparing entertainment for the guefts, mayhap, fhe's now gawking, over a race-courfe. toby. and all the bufinefs left upon i. barleycorn. always grumbling, you idle rafcal. toby. well, i've more trades than the beft idle rafcal in all england. i'm waiter and attend the company, as oftler i wait on horfes ; i paints die names on the fmugglers' boats ; i plays the fiddle at church ; i'm a tight lockfmith ; i'm a bit'n a pariiri conftable ; and for walking on meflages to weymouth, bland ford, corfe, poole, or wareham, i'm allow'd to be as fmart a footpad as any in the county of dorfet. \laughing without.] there's the 'squire's farvams within, ha! ha! ha ! ---they've rare ft ingo at home, and yet come drinking our uplafh. i'll go farve 'em. (going.} but there's their matter come upon 7 ef ; he's in a mortith fury with foril'at. barleycorn. dang my buttons ! this daughter ct mine not come yet, and here the houfe now chuck full. toby. in dqrskisttikc. toby i'll run and fee ; for i warrants kitty \yiil bring home fome fine ballads. barleycorn. our fubfcription's not full to buy the filver cup ; and the folks are already gaping for the race. take you the paper about and ax what the company will give towards it. toby. i wool. [exit. enter whimmy, (in a rage.) whimmy. you, firrah ! did i not build this inn here for you at the very entrance of my improvements? did not i put you and your family into it, and an't you getting money here as if you coin'd it ? is it not a bean-garden that i've turn'd you into ; and an't you fattening in it, like a bafe ungrateful great boar, as you are ? barleycorn. great boar ! i don't underftand what your honour would be at. whimmy. here, on the very day i have propriated to oblige the world of tafte and fafhion, by (bowing them my houfe, piftures, gardens, and improvements, you muft fix your damn'd twopenny poney-race, barleycorn. i did it to draw company to the village. b 2 whimmy, 3 the london hermit, 0? whimmy. yes, to your own paltry alehoufe, you fordid rafcal ! barleycorn. improvements !---who'd come to view your im provements, sir, if they wa'n't fure of a good din ner from me ? if they can eat marvel and drink water, they may feaft upon your improvements; but after all their eye-gluttony in your gardens, their palates are ready enough for a scotch-collop at the red lion. here, you toby, why don't you mind the company. (calling off.) dang my buttons !-- landlord big boar -pay his rent. [exit muttering. whimmy. here's plebeian gratitude !oh ! plague of the fingers that fign'd you a feven years leafe. old pranks without. no, no, hi walk up to whimmy's oh ! why he's here how d'ye do, dick ?--found you out, eh! whimmy. my name is richard.what ! the friend of my youth, billy pranks. (4/ide.) now mall i be twitted with former favours ; and i don't like that. old pranks. so, you've pick'd up the modifies in the indies ! pack'd up, came over.never look'd after me. whimmy. i aik'd every body after you. old k'ambles in dorsetshire. old pranks. what ! i fuppofe you afk'd king charles at cha ring-crofs;--nobody about 'change could tell of william pranks, the banker, of lombard-ftreet. you hound, i was your friend when you hadn't an other; but now you don't want one whimmy. hound, what's the matter with you ? wou'd you have me advertife or fend the bellman about to cry you? old pranks. you're rhoft plaguily alter'd for the worfe. well, i've been told all about you. whimmy. then, as you have heard i've hopes of a peerage, you might be a little more refpectful, billy. old pranks. if you want to have more refpect than another man, be better than another man ; for your being call'd a lord, can neither give you a wife head or a good heart. how's your daughter? fine girl, i hear; wonder'd at it, when i thought of your phiz. whimmy. you are as civil as ever. old pranks. you (hall give her to my nephew, the greateft rogue in england. whimmy. why there may be finer girls than my daughter, yet 1 think (he's too good for a rogue. old .the london hermit, of old pranks. where did you make your fortune ? whimmy. you know in the indies to be fure. (afide.) if i bad millions this fellow dill overawes me, that i'm a mere moufe before him. old pranks. i fcorn to remind you; -you owe all that fortune to me. whimmy, (afide.) 'twill be long enough before i repay you. old pranks. only think of all the good things i've done for you. didn't i fuflfer you to write for me from fix in the morning to feven at night ; lock'd you up, and fed you upon bread and cheefe, to (harpen your in duftry upon the grindftone of neceffity. whimmy. yes; you did keep my nofe to the grindftone. old pranks. wasn't it i got you out to bombay in a refpe&a ble line of a guinea-pig ? didn't i procure the let ters to the governor and general officers ? didn't i tvrite myfelf, " this young man, the bearer, is a " prudent lad, that will do ail your dirty work ?" whimmy. certainly, your letter did me great honour. old pranks. didn't you derive all your intereft from a pam phlet rambles in dorsetshire. f phlet that i wrote, and gave you the credit of, tho* i thought 'twou'd bring the author to the pillory ? whimmy. i acknowledge all your goodnefs. old pranks. then give your daughter to my nephew; they (hall have every penny i'm worth when i die. whimsy. aye ; but there's danger of your living a great while, billy. old pranks. what ! are you afraid of it, you golden calf? whimmy. where is your nephew ? old pranks. was in the temple ; is now in the king's bench ; he doesn't know it, but it's i that keep him there, to make him, from a dread of confinement, avoid run ning in debt. shan't give him two fixpences unlefs he marries your daughter. whimmy. aye ; but i've promis'd her to a good young man in the neighbourhood here, who has made the tour of europe. ah ! mr. peregrine brought home tafte enough to lay out my gardens, difpole my fta~ tues, and make yon fpot the feat of virtu and ele gance. old pranks, (afide.) got his money like a knave, and now gives it away like a fool. whimmv. $ the london hermit, of whimmy. not half an hour fince i actually promised mr. peregrine that he (hou'd marry her to-morrow. old pranks. but, don't you recoiled a prior promife to me ? didn't you engage if you ever made a fortune and had a child, my next a-kin mou'd have both ? whimmy. aye ; but peregrine will (hoot me if i break my word to "him. old pranks. break it with me, and i'll cut your wizen. whimmy. ohdear ! i'm brought int0 this dilemma by my bad memory. hark ye, billy, i'll make peregrine wait, on pretext that his conflancy mull be tried. yes, i'll fend him to travel again for a feven years. old pranks. inflead of marriage, let him go to-morrow. whimmy. aye ; but on his return he'll claim my promife. old pranks. pfhaw! his back turn'd, my nephew will be here ; i've already fent for him ; tom's a fprightly blade, monftrous wicked tho'. this the entrance to your grounds ? whimmy. yes, i've tranfported, italy into england. 2 old rambles in dorsetshire. < old pranks. italy ! whimmy. here you'll fee gardens. old pranks. i've a garden at brixton caufeway. whimmy. such bananas-- old pranks. what ! do they boil better with a bit of corn'd beef than a fummer cabbage ? whimmy. cabbage! my hot-houfe ! half a -dozen fuch peaches lad chriftmas ! upon a fum up, the rearing will coft me two guineas a piece. old pranks. for whofe eating ? whimmy. my own, to be fure. old pranks. old nick jump after them ; fwallow in a minute what would have kept a whole family for a twelve month. whimmy. wer'n't they my own ? old pranks. superfluities are not our own, whilft the poor want common neceflaries. when do you dine ? c whimmy. io the london hermit, of whimmy. not till to-morrow, becaufe i refign my houfe and improvements to-day to the admiration of a won dering public; but you (hall fup with me, my friend. old pranks. thank ye. enter barleycorn. barleycorn. sir, parfon jack be making collections for the poor fufferers that was burnt out there at minehead. he has fent the paper here, to put down your wor fhip's name for a trifle. whimimy. i wim parfon jack would mind the bufmefs of his own parim ; what have we to do with the poor of another county ? old pranks. hark ye, dick whimmy, in the hour of cala mity, the unhappy of every country are our fellow citizens (gives money.) put that down. barleycorn. your name, sir ? old pranks. never mind my name. -if i can do any good, i don't want to blow a trumpet about it. whimmy. eh ! well, as it's a charity, i'll give barley rambles in dorsetshire. ii barleycorn. how much ? whimmy. i'll give them as i love to be modeft, put down plain dick whimmv, one pound one. barleycorn. i'll give it myfelf, and dang me if your fliabby name (hall difgrace our parifh paper. [exit. old pranks. that fellow has a foul. whimmy. there's a faucy villain. old pranks. yes ; but dick, a fordid mind links a man into contempt, though matter of millions. whimmy. i defire, billy, not to hear difagreeable thin"" will you come up with me now ? old pranks. i'll throw on a fhirt. whimmy. well, you'll excufe me till fupper. i muft give tully, my gardener, his leflbn, and no hermit got yet ! look ! i've advertifed for a man to lit drefled up as a hermit in the hermitage of my gar dens. old pranks. dick, have a good fupper s remember old times. c 2 whimmy. 12 the london hermit, or whimimy. yes, i (hall never forget bread and cheefe. [exit. old pranks. invites every body to fee his gardens, and then the fhy churl fneak out of the way. tell me of carvings and paintings ! i fay the bell part of a gen tleman's honfe is his kitchen and wine cellar. enter toby. toby. shall your horfe have any oats, sir ? old pranks. yes, sir ; but if yon pleafe, sir, i'll fee him eat them myfelf, sir ; for if the poor bead is cheated, he can't even fummons us to a court of confcience. [ex. toby. stand to look at a horfe eating corn ! ecod then you muft be main fond of feeing other folks at din ner: [exit. enter young pranks, and kitty barleycorn in a genteel travelling drefs. young pranks. have you forgot any thing in the chaife, ma'am ? kitty. oh dear ! yes, (jearcloing her pockets.) enter pc?r boy. boy. you dropt this. [exit. i kitty. gambles in dorsetshire. i kitty. qh lord ! my book of ballads that i bought at blandford. young pranks. a divine girl !---but what the devil does fhe want with a book of ballads ? (afide) really mifs don't you go any farther ? kitty. why no, sir. lud i hope he won't find out that my father keeps this inn here, (afde.) sir, i wait here, and exped my friends to lend a fervant and a horfe for me. v young pranks. oho ! then you're fond of riding, i prefume, mifs ? kitty. oh, yes, sir, with a pillion. young pranks. oh ! behind a heavens ! that i was the happy fervant to ride before you. kitty, cou'dn't expedt a gentleman like you, sir. dear, i'm afraid my father or toby will come out to expoie me, (afide.} then, sir, you're going on to vvey mouth ? young pranks. yes, ma'am, my feet, head, body, and hands, but my foul remains at what's the name of this village, mifs? kitty. 14 the london hermit, or kitty. i really don't know, sir, though i was born in it, (afide.) young pranks. i wonder, do we change horfes here, or get ano ther chaife ? kitty: i fancy, sir, you change the carnage. lud ! i wifli it was ready, and he'd go off, though wnen he's gone, i (hall be indeed unhappy, (ajide.) young pranks. mifs, won't you take fome refrefhment ? we'd bed ftep in. permit me the honour of accompa kitty. oh dear ! then he finds out who i am, and will defpife me.-why no, sir -my grand papa's fervant may be now waiting, and he's a very crofs crufty grumps, if he'd fee a gentleman with me. young pranks. eh ! what's going forward yonder up the hill ? a race here, i believe. kitty. oh ! yes, sir, for the diver cup. dear ! what a fine thing 'twou'd be for father to win it. our par lour cuftomers love to drink out of filver. young pranks. cuftomers ! kitty, rambles in dorsetshire. 15 kitty. (4/ide, and co-fifufea.} oh, lud ! i mean, sir my papa likes a race. sir, your moft obedient humble fervant. young pranks. madam, (they -part with great ceremony and ten dernefs.) (exit kitty into the boufe. young pranks. oh, by heavens ! {he's a cherubim ! a good for tune, i dare fay thinks me rolling in gold. -ah ! fhe'll be in all the fafhionable blaze of weymouth, and fhou'd i fee her, i mud fneak out of the way with my empty pockets. enter peregrine. peregrine. i was right enough 'tis tom pranks. young pranks. \yhat ! my worthy cambridge johnian, george peregrine ? ah ! how d'ye do ? peregrine. ah ! but tom, what has brought you here ? what are you on ? young pranks. i'm on air, fireare you on a viiit down here ? peregrine. vifit ! no, at home ; i've a fort of little lodge hard by, at which i (hall be very happy to fee you ; but, come, what brought you down here ? to fee mr. whimrny's gardens ! young l6 the london hfirmlt, or young pranks. whimmy ! who's he ? you can't conceive what a variety of highlow jack and game, fince the morning we parted at the shakefpeare, you in a poft-chaife for dover. i in a phaeton for new market, juft run a horfe at bjandford loft---beft of the fun, i'm at this moment a priibner in the king's bench. peregrine; a prifoner in the king's bench, and 122 miles from town ? why, tom, you've fkipp'd out of bounds indeed ! come, how ? young pranks. why you may fuppofe, george, that my expences far exceeded my uncle's allowance thought to help out by a lucky hit now and then, fo bought a blood mare, had her put in training, then entered for the plate at blandford a beautiful thing the crack of the courfe but before the meeting, a few pofitive mechanical rafcals thruft me into the king's bench muft go to blandford though, fo procured the rules, and in hopes the turf could bring me in money enough to pay my debts, oft' i fpank'd for dorfet ihire, and, fpite of informers, appeared on the courfe. the opinion feemed all in favour of my mare ; but, like a curfed green-horn, i withdrew her from the plate, and made a by-match to run her againft lord skelter's four-crout, to ride ourfelves but after the firft round, my infernal groom told me i carried too much weight, flung part away, came in firft ; but my lord infifting on our being again weighed, i was too light by a pound and an half, ib that though i won, i loft the race ; two hun dred to my lord ;"in mort, every guinea of a full five rambles in dorsetshire. i'j five hundred that an honeft methodift preacher, my landlord in the rules, raifed to equip me for the expedition. peregrine. ah, tom ! i thought when you and i were at cambridge together, your {campers to newmarket would turn to this at laft. young pranks. certainly it's life, my boy. you were always a dead fag, and i was a blood. you know i never could prevail on you, even then, to make one of our toxophilite club. peregrine. but where are you going now ? young pranks. can you tell me ? dem'me if i can tell j0#. sir, i was diftrefied diftracted i peregrine. ay ! but tom, your mare, as fhe won young pranks. she's gone ; fold her for five hundred went to dinner, tuck'd three bottles under my girdle hopp'd off as ready as old time to the ailembly, laugh'd at the minuets tol jol, (mimicks) adjourn ed to a fnug hazard party loft every face---roll'd into the ftreet at eight in the morning -faw a car riage at the greyhound door -pretty girl all alone finding it was a return chaife, ftept in without knowing whither boundhad a moil delectable chat a lovely creature fingle hither we've come fhe's there i'm here (he's an angel with a great fortune i'm a dog without the price of a collar. d peregrine. i b thi london hermit, of peregrine. ha ! ha ! ha ! wej] this is a moft curious detail of your adventures. tom you hav'n't heard, per haps, i'm going to be married to the heirefs of the caftle yonder ? young pranks. indeed ! this is your muzzing for a fellowfliip. peregrine. but won't yon return to the king's bench ? young pranks. no ! can't do that ; they'd never let me out again, peregrine. yes; but if you're found out here, it will be worfe : what will you do ? young pranks. what will i do ? damn it, you're always putting me to the mathematics : fling by your euclid, and you tell me what i fhall do. peregrine. ha ! ha ! ha ! the very thing for you, tom, ha ! ha ! ha ! young pranks. plague of your fneer ; what are you at ? peregrine. read that paper. young pranks. paper ! what's this ? (reads an advertifement which ispofted up agamfltbefignpojl.} ft a liberal offer. a ** perfon wanted to fit drefled as a hermit in the her 3 " mitage rambles in dorsetshire. 9 " mitageof very capital gardens : on condition of his " attendance for feven years, he will be entitled to <( a gratuity of two thoufand pounds, and three hun " dred a year for the remainder of his life. for par t( ticulars inquire within." eh! what's all thisabout? hermit ! peregrine. tom, why fuppofe you apply for this, young pranks. me ! what i turn hermit ? pooh, nonfenfe ! a high go, faith. peregrine. will your uncle pay your debts ? young pranks. he ! i've got a hint 'twas he threw me into pri fon. no ! never mall i touch an ounce of his. peregrine. a couple of thoufands three hundred a year for life ! toung pranks. oh ! but how wou'd it tell among one's friends ? mine are all bloods, my dear. peregrine. while you can keep pace with them in flam and expence : but drove into a corner by ficknefs or po verty, there they leave you. young pranks. three hundred a year peregrine. if you think it an object, i'll anfwer for your get tiog the fituation. i] d a you5 fci< the london hermit, of young pranks. what elfe can i do ? for when i came into this village, i didn't know which way to turn my face ; back to london i cannot go ; i'll have it two thou fand ! three hundred a year ! i'll have it. tol, lol. peregrine. no, but flop can i believe that you'd continue feven years ? <jfoung pranks. seven thoufand ! be independent of uncle drefs'd up in a gotfn and long beard, dam'me, i'll be a fine old bald -headed buck befides the change of perfon, if the marfhal fhould fend conftables down here after me the very thing ! peregrine. stop in the houfe a few minutes and i'll acquaint mr. whimmy. young pranks. do, tell him i'll be a hermit, a pilgrim. (sings.) in pennance for paft folly, a pilgrim blythe and jolly. exeunt. young pranks goes into tie houfe.'] scene gambles in dorsetshire. scene ii. a room in the inn, enter barleycorn. barleycorn. oh \ the gentlefolks that came from weymoutk by water ; they feem to have got a fouling. poz without* poz. all your fault, bite. bite (without.) mine ! 'twas your's, mr. poz. enter poz and bite. poz. you know you wouldn't let the fail be up, bite. if it had we fhou'd have tipp'd over, been knock'4 againft durdle door rock, as they call it. poz, i know better j we fhou'd ha* fkim'd like a low boxing about three hours in dabbling oars. bite. i wifh we had dinner ; i'm proud to fay pm peckilh. poz; ayl you peck'd all the way at die ham and cold fowls. biti, fe'4 the london hermit, m* bite. we were fo blown about the wind fharpens one's appetite. poz. i know better we came upon a party of plea fure, and had nothing but crofles and wrangling. 'keep your temper like mr. apathy yonder. bite. aye ! becaufe mr. apathy's a man of fafhion* his abfent infipidity is thought agreeable. enter apathy and ladies. first lady, water excurfion ! horrid ! apathy. and this is a party of pleafure, (yawns.) first lady. some vulgar club-room, i fuppofe; bite. this the prefident's chair? poz, aye, it juft fuits a fat beadle. apathy; so it does. will you pleafe to fit, ma'arn, (bands: it to firft lady.) first lady. offer me a great chair, indeed. enter rambles in dorsetshire. z$ ent r kitty. kitty. oh ! that dear fweet gentleman from his having fucli fine running horfes, he rrmft be certainly fome great fquire. heigh ho! (fas in the great chair.) first lady. pray do you know this young lady ? bite. mifs, will you take a glafs of negus ? barleycorn. i ax pardon. mifs, will you be kind enough to go boil the lobfters for the company ? dang my buttons, this is letting you go to blandford races til buy riding habits and feather'd hats for you go put on your mob-cap and white apron there's the keys get along. kitty. i (hall, father ; don't be angry. as that charm* ing gentleman doesn't fee me in this mean fituation, i don't care what any body elfe thinks of me ; but he's far oif by this, (ajide.) what wou'd you pleafc to have, ladies ? father, i hope the gentlemen haven't been long waiting. here, toby. i'll look to every thing myfelf, father ; don't make yourfelf uneafy. [exit. first lady. oh ! then, good man, that is your daughter ? bar ffg the london hermit, r bite. we were fo blown about the wind fharpens one's appetite. poz. i know better we came upon a party of plea fure, and had nothing but croffes and wrangling. 'keep your temper like mr. apathy yonder. bite. aye ! becaufe mr. apathy's a man of famion, his abfent infipidity is thought agreeable. enter apathy and ladies. first lady, water excurfion ! horrid ! apathy. and this is a party of pleafure, (yawns.) first lady. some vulgar club-room, i fuppofe; bite. this the prefident's chair] poz, aye, it juft fuits a fat beadle. apathy; so it does. will you pleafe to fit, ma'arn, (bands it to firft lady.) first lady. offer me a great chair, indeed. enter rambles in dorsetshire. 2j ent r kitty. kitty. oh ! that dear fweet gentleman from his having fucli fine running horfes, he rmift be certainly fome great fquire. heigh ho ! (fas in the great chair.) first lady, pray do you know this young lady ? bite. mifs, will you take a glafs of negus ? barleycorn. i ax pardon. mifs, will you be kind enough to go boil the lobfters for the company ? dang my buttons, this is letting you go to blandford races pll buy riding habits and feather'd hats for you go put on your mob-cap and white apron there's the keys get along. kitty. i (hall, father ; don't be angry. as that charm' ing gentleman doesn't fee me in this mean fituation, i don't care what any body elfe thinks of me ; but he's far off by this, (afide.) what wou'd you pleafe to have, kdies ? father, i hope the gentlemen haven't been long waiting. here, toby. i'll look to every thing myfelf, father ; don't make yourfelf uneafy. [exit. first lady. oh ! then, good man, that is your daughter ? bar 26. the london hermit, of enter kitty, (in a plain drefs, with a boivl in her hand.} kitty. did .you picafe to call ? this brandy and water for you, sir ? oh, lord ! i fhall (ink with (hame, young pranks. my dear, if you pleafe to get me -eh ! why 'tis certainly flie ? could fhe have fo much deception ? but i'll not diftrefs her, (afide.) kitty, (confufed.'} sir, i -i the -the waiter mall bringyou what youwant. young pranks. poor thing ! i feel her confufion from my foul, (afide) 1 do, mifs ma'ammy dear 1 i dam'me but i'm as much confufed as herfelf ! i hem ! irang the bell. kitty. yes, siryou cali'd i thought you call'd you wanted young pranks. yes, my dear, i wanted that is it. curfe me if i know what i wanted, (afide}. her modefty gives me fome hope that this may have been the firfl little art (he �as ever guilty of. kitty. toby ! bring the gentleman the the sir, you (hall have itprefently. [exit with emotion. rambles in dorsetshire. i* young pranks. you mod delicate piece of artful lovelinefs ! now is fhe the maid or daughter of the red lion ? the daughter (be mud be. oh ! ho ! now i fee her wifh for the filver cup dam'me i with i cou'd win it for her. i've my jockey drefs here ready (puts i:is land on the valife.) and wou'd ride, but a horfe is necefiary. this lovely impoftor fuch a fair cheat ! old grumps waiting to bring her to grandpappa ! a very good offer that, faith, ha ! ha ! ha ! oh ! this has clinch'd it. i'll turn hermit for one-and-twenty years, jf only to be near this beautiful hypocrite, finter skip. skip, sir, i believe you are the gentleman mr. pere grine's compliments, would be glad to fee you up at my matter's. [exit. young pranks. very well, sir ! i've a mind to ring the bell again for another look at this charming girl -girl ! true, i ? m a hermit. . " in pennance for pad folly, " a pilgrim blythe and jolly." \jlxit jinglng, end of act i. e 2 act 28 the london hermit, of act ii. scene i. before the inn. "enter from it toby and poz, poz. ell, where is this man ? toby, (looking about.) he's not in the road, nor he's not in the houfe, nor he's not in theliable, nor he's not in poz. zounds ! i don't want to know where he is not" where is he ? toby. here be the very mon. poz, (looking out.) eh ! what ham barebones, the method ift preacher, informer, pedlar, money-lender, broker; old-cloaths-man, in the way of my profeflion a molt choice friend ; the converfation between hirn and i won't admit of a third perfon. (to toby) has your mafter no call for you ? but you mult ttand grin ning here. toby, gambles in dorsetshire. 19 toby. yes, sir, i've the knives to rub, and dinner-tables to fee out ; but i'll be in the way, for i know when a lawyer comes down here amongft us, he foon cuts out work for the conftable. [exit. enter bare bones, poz. ah ! matter barebones, fo far from london^ hov/ doft do ? barebones. lives -as much as honeft folks can do now-^a days. poz. i know better, my old friend ; you'll live where an honeft man will ftarve. barebones, (can i ing.) yljen \ vas a coal-heaver, my face vas a black angel, but my inward man vas as vhite as a vhite vail that is vhite. poz. plague o'your canting to me ! any bufinefs ? come, to it. barebones. i am a tender chriftian, and vith my money i did relieve the poor by lending it them. poz. on good interest. bare 3<j the london hermit, oi" barebones. i did take care of myfelf ; i did lend five hundred pounds to a young mutter pranks. poz, what ! are you telling me this ? wasn't it i that threw him into the king's bench for you ? barebones. as he received the money by a third hand, not knowing i var the creditor, vhen he got the rules he did take lodgings in my houfe in st. george's fields ; i did advife him to run away, he did j then 1 did tell the marihal. poz. but i fuppofe, as you knew where he went, you'll try to re-take him for the reward. barebones. i'll do that thing. 'twas to run a horfe at bland ford races that made him run from his bail. don't you know him ? poz. no ! when i fend a man to quod, 'tis enough for me if my bailiff knows him. lucky for you find ing me here ; i come down to weymonth on bufi nefs; as i fhall charge my client three guineas a day for my travelling expences, i thought 1 might as well give my wife a little country air and a fea-dip left her behind, ill at weymouth, when i came upon this water excurfion to fee mr. whimmy's improvements. barebqnes, i'm in genteel company, ib don't fcem <to know me oh ! yonder i fee they're 2 going rambles in dorsetshire. 3! going into the gardens ; you and i will talk over this affair. barebones. you are encompaffed with the wicked---! am moved by tlie fpirit. [exit barebones as in ejaculation. poz. ha ! ha ! fanctified rnuns and rogue's heart. [exit. scene ii. a magnificent garden, with statues, fountains, &c. enter whimmy, (repeating zvitb great exultation) " i build, i plant whatever i intend, " i rear the column, and the arch i, bend, " i fwell the terrace, or i fink the grot, " my taite refined" the company flocking in already to fee my gar dens ; that tough old bully pranks won't even pay me the compliment. i mud have a good (upper for him tho', or he'll do nothing but quarrelgive orders to mrs. maggs, my houfekeeper, about it. oh ! here (he is. since i fet her to (how my houfe and pictures, it has given her fuch a contequential -all talk herfelf, but never liflens to any body elfe, always dinning in my ears the grandeur of the laft people (he lived with; nothing but the family of the ulmondks. enter london ttermlf, (fr enter mrs. maggs. whimmy. mrs. maggs, yob muft mrs. maggs. well, sir, i know that very well, whimmy. what, before i tell you ! a gentleman fups with me to-night. mrs. maggs. well, sir, i know a gentleman fups with you. whimmy. ay ! you know now i tell you ; and i'll have mrs. maggs. well, sir, i know what you'd have. whimmy. before i tell you ! i mufb be fure have a brill and variety of other fifh. mrs. maggs. well, i know you muft have a brill, and variety of other fifh. whimmy. certainly you know when i tell you. befides all other wines, as my friend is a london foaker, have fome of my oldelt port, ibme bottled porter, and a pipe. mrs rambles in dorsetshire, 33 mrs. maggs. well, i know you muft have bottled porter and pipe of port. whimmy. now you know nothing at all about it go along. mrs. maggs. ah ! when i lived with squire olmondle> he never bid me go along. whimmy. stupid wife fool ! mrs. maggs. ah ! the olmondles ! that was the genteel family that knew how to treat a houfekeeper like a gentle woman, whimmy.. damn the olmondles ! i deteft the very name ; it grates my ear like cutting of cork a teafing ninny ! you know all, won't let any body elfe know any thing, and after all know nothing at all. mrs. maggs, itep and bring me word. mrs. maggs. certainly, sir, i'll bring you word(going.) whimmy. of what now ? see if th young man, the her mit that i hir'd mrs. maggs. well, sir, 1 know that. p whimmy. 34 the london hermit, ot whimmy, ay ! you know that and this and after that, mrs. maggs, you mufl mrs. maggs. well, sir, i will, you may depend upon it. [exit. whimmy. now what will (he ! never knew one of your profefs'd, notable, clever women worth a penny in a houfe, but to fay all and do nothing. where's my oh ! tully, my irilh gard'ner ? enter tully. tully, have you placed my new hermit yet at his pod? tully. ay ! faith, and he ftarted for the poft ; for as i led him thro' the paddock yonder, up he jumps upon a little horfe, and away he fcampered as if the devil was before him, round the ftfh-pond. whimmy. my hermit galloping round a fifli-pond ! tully, to-morrow you may go with the other fervants to wool fair, but to-day you mud brufh up all your eloquence for your poft of ciceroni to defcribe the attic urbanity of my englim tufculum here. but mind, tully, i command you not to take a penny from one of the company. tully. a penny ! not i, sir : but mayn't i take half-a crown if they offer it ? whimmy* rambles in dorsetshire. ^ whim my. no. gentlemen (offering the public to pay their fervants wages, and turning their own houfes into a sadlers wells and a royal grove, is mean. i never paid for feeing pictures in palaces and grape vines in gardens, that i didn't blum for the d:fgrace thrown upon the dignity of the owner. is the water party come that (lopt at the red lion ? tully. yes, sir. mrs. maggs is now mowing them the houfe. ah ! (he told them, that the picture of mary magdalen was mrs. molly olmondle. whimmy. a mod horrid tully. sir, don't fret about that woman ; you know in the (howing way i'll bring up your credit with a wet finger ; mrs. maggs will infift that this is a py ramid now pray, sir, isn't it an obfticle ? i mufl go and put on my wednefday's fine fuit of cloaths that you gave me to fhow the gardens in. what country fellow's that (talking about the walks only i'm in a hurry to drefs myfelf, or by my foul i'd knock his head againft the gateway. whimmy. stop, tully, pray remember the names and cha racters of the feveral antiques. tully, i'll tell 'em of your anticks. [exit. f 2. whimmy, 36 the london hermit, or whimmy. obfticle ! my anticks ! very ignorant this faid matter tully ; i muft watch how you go on with your defcription. poor peregrine thinks he marries my daughter to-morrow, i've fcarce the heart to kill him with the difappointment. i fhou'd like to come at the people's real opinion of my gardens and improvements. enter a waggoner, (wbiftting and flaring about.) whimmy. were you deiired to walk in here ? waggoner. noa i 'twas my own fancy. whimmy. why then it's my own fancy that you walk out again. waggoner. ah! if i thought i cou'dn't do that i fliou'dn't have comd in, i can tell thee, whimmy. what ! keep your diftance. waggoner. i wool ; becaufe, at the fame time, you keep your's (4 laughing without.) whimmy. oh ! the company. i wifli to hear how mr. tully performs his office of orator. if i could mix. amcnglt them without being known this clodpate's hat, wig, and frock, may do it you've no objec tion to a draught of llrong beer and a ilice of beef ? wag gambles in dorsetshire. ^ waggoner, noa! whimmy. (mimicking.} noa ! then come with me. waggoner. i wool. whimmy, (turns to look at him.) doo ! (mimicking.*) waggoner. yez^ [exeunt. enter tully, in a fuit of tarnijhed laced cloaths and a bag wig, with a fmall white rod, in his hand, fol lowed by bite, poz, apathy, barebones, and ladies. tully. hem ! my lady, this is counted the fined place in all ireland england i mean. barebones. pagan wanity ! second lady. what noife is this under ground ? * tully. my lady, its the fuccedaneous river of blac^ tartary ; it creeps over fticks and ftones like an eel, hops like a trout, and then jumps like a faltnon up the rocks yonder ; then it fails away fo gay into the fea like a maiden ray. bare 38 the london hermit, w barebones. (apart to poz.) i've fpoken with the poft-chaife boy that did drive a gemman and the girl of the alehoufe to the village here, and by the defcription it's young mr. pranks, the man ve vants. poz. (apart.) the parim conftable is the waiter at the red lion, engage him to an eft hem ! enter whimmy in a waggoner's frock, &c. whimmy. i don't think they can know me now i mall hear how my gard'ner performs his office, (afide.) bite. what figure call you this ? (points to a fiatue.) tully. ay ! you're a nice figure to come thruft your nofe into the company of ladies and gentlemen, (to whimmy.) bite. no ! i mean this. tully. that's venus, the goddefs of med'cine a pretty employment i've got to throw away my roratory and knowledge to divart fuch dirty blackguards as you. (to whimmy} this is whimmy. apollo of belvidere, (apart.) tully. rambles in dorsetshire. 39 tully. ay ! that's poll the bell-weather, that run after daphne, and was kick'd out of heaven by jove, (i'll be free) and fo turn'd cow-boy to whimmy shepherd to king admetus, (apart.) tully. ay ! they'll all meet us ; but who bid you put in your prate ? first lady. heavens i who is that ? tully. that is that is, (confufed} that is, my lady i don't know what it is myfelf, (afide) why, your honour, it's not a watch-box, nor it's not a wheel barrow, nor it's not a whimmy. (whifyering.) minerva pallas. tully. it's not a palace, or a cake-houfe i wifli you'd hold your gab you made me fay it was a watch box juft now why it's marvle, it's all made of marvle. second lady. but the lady marvles who 'twas made for. tully, oh ! 'twas made for my matter ; he bought it from the ftone-man. poz. 4o the london hermit, or poz. is it like r tully. i'm glad you like it. first lady. this i -fuppofe is tully. not at all, my lady, 'tis, 'tis whimmy. {apart.) saturn eating his child tully. yes, ma'am, 'tis the child eating citron will you hold your prate, (to whlmmy} this, gentlemen and ladies, is barebones. idolatry ! tully. what is it ? pooh ! now had not you beft all teach me inftead of i laming you ! you fee, your honour, he has a flute in his mouth. whimmy. such a damn'd trim plough-ploy ! tully. ay ! " the irifh plough-boy that whittled o'er " the lea," that's the man. poz. rambles in dorsetshire. 4! poz. curs'd ftout fellow this, who is he ? ' whimmy. (apart.) hercules of farnefe. tully. it's not bare knees, but big knees and big legs, that's the tir'd paver refting himfelf on his ftone paving-ftick. whimmy. oh heavens ! i've fent to italy for a fine purpofe, tully. but i'm talking here by word of mouth, when i might fay it all in reading, as i have it by heart from my defcribing-book now i defire you'll hold your tongues, for if you talk, you'll put me out ; jpleafe your honour, hem \ {takes out a book ayd looks at zv) " thefe gar" oh ! now i go on vel vet ; thefe gardens, which are now the admiration of the larn'd and curim, were once a barren flat, like salifbury plain, till mr. humphry freak whimmy, efq. gave forty thoufand pounds for the ould caftle and lands, turn'd the courfe of the river through them, and with roman tafte and britifh, magnificence-- apathy, (advancing.') pray, friend, (looking at his watch) \yhat o'clock is it ? 42 the lokdon hermit, of tully, (confufed.) roman half an hour after onetwo -roman two roman breeches hem ! breeches britiih magnificence the river in the ould caftle ran ! round the lands. thecuriqi of salifbury plain. the devil's in this man, and his what o'clock is it ? he's pur me all out jb i muft my defcribing book. (takes out bis book) zvets his thumb, and turns over the leaves haftily, and vex'd.) bri-tifh mag-ni-fi-ci oh ! here it is. (looking and reading.) having firft travell'd to fee the ancient beauties of italy, i-i-taly i (looks again.) italy, (puts the book behind his back.) andfelefted with claffical ah! ah! claffical ah! damnation ! (thrufts the book into his docket.) thefe gardens which are now the admiration of the larned and curifh, were once a barren flat like salif bury plain, till mr. humphrey freak apathy. oh ! my pray, my friend, does mr. freak take muff? tully. yes, blackguard till humphrey freak whimmy, efquire humphrey, efquire salifbury street pooh ! the plain larned and curifhriver upon the ould caftle land turned -aboat about first lady. why the orator's in a hobble. tully. orator hobble oh ! the devil take i was fail ing on like a young fwan, till this fellow comes with his muff-box. (very quick.) thefe gardens, which are now the admiration of the larn'd and curifti, were rambles in dorsetshire* 43 �ereonceabarren flat like salisbury plain, (drops the book, jloops to pick it up) till humphrey freak whimmy, efquire, gave forty thoufand pounds for the ould caftle, (apathy picks it up) and lands round it. (looks at apathy.) apathy, (opens and reads.) turning to the left you wind through a moft de licious (hrubbery. tully, (confufed.) humphrey freak a barren flat. my matter's a flat. ' apathy. you reach the labyrinth. (reading.) tully. like salifbury plain. apathy. so intricate that you're puzzled to get out. (reading.) tully. i'm puzzled to get out i'm out humphrey whimmy whimmy, damn'd blockhead ! tully. is a damn'd blockhead. all, ha ! ha ! ha ! g 2 tvily. 44 the london hermit, ot tully. well, ladies and gentlemen, i don't wonder at your laughing at my matter's nonfenfe in laying out fo much money on the balderdafii you fee round about you here. but, ladies and gentlemen, though my mailer's a fool, you'll remember my trouble, i hope. (stretching out his hand.} whimmy. not a farthing. (apart to him.) tully. why a didn't expert any thing from fuch an ill looking beggarly whelp as you. will you walk out of the grounds, if you plaife, sir? the next thing you're to fee is whimmy. an aviary and pheafantry. tully. yes, my matter's knavery and pleafantry. then there is king pluto's tartary then my matter's ely fian fields then my matter's hanging wood, where my matter will hang himfelf, and then the hermitage. whimmy. if the new hermit's not ready, he'll difgrace me as much as my worthy gard'ner has done. (going.) i muft be fure. tully. oh ! flop you and your farthing. pretty man ners to walk out before the gentlemen and ladies, that know how to pay their money. bare rambles in dorsetshire. 4$ barebones. the fpirit doth whifper^ " ham barebones arife, " and fpeak the word to thy deluded brethren." bo vn, accurfed dagon. (puj/jes down a ftatue and ftands upon the pedeftal.) tully, why, then t fuppofe you think yourfelf a fine roman bull. the devil's in your affurance to cock yourfelf up there ! if you plaife, you'll walk down. barebones. brethren, i vas a coal-heaver, but on the ftony cage where i now itand, i have brought you fome bifcuits, baked in the oven of charity, carefully con farved for the chickens of the church, and the fweet fwallows of (afudden noife without of falling water.) tully. oh ! the devil ! if what o'clock hasn't pull'd up a fluice. half the garden will be overflowed ; and we (hall have the carp and tench dancing among the daifes. [exeunt haftilyfeverai ways. scene it. another part of the gardens, with the 'view of the out fide of an hermitage. enter kitty barleycorn. kitty. the race is over, and i not fee it, since this clear gentleman is obligated to take a hermit's place, he 46 the london hermit, of he can't be angry at my playing off the fine lady upon him in there he fits. (points at the hermitage.) enter at the fide youngpranks in a loofe coat, with afilver cup. young pranks. huzza, my girl ! the day is your's* kitty. the gracious ! young pranks. tully left me in the hermitage flipt out again--* flung off my gown, beard, and girdle had my jockey-drefs that 1 rode in at blandford ready under it the poney i found younder; had firft try'd it though -fpank up the hill four poor jades ready to ftart a village race horfe, mare, colt, or filly i was enter'd rode myfelf won. huzza the glorious prize is your's. (gives her the cup.) kitty. what a wild gentleman ! sir, don't think little of me for the fib i told you this morning. young pranks. no, my fweeteft, when a man's heart is fet in 2 flame by fuch a charming girl as you, it isn't a cup' of tea that can extinguifh it. kitty. wou'd you have a cup of tea, sir? la ! sir, you hav'n't din'd. 2, young? rambles in dorsetshire. 4^ young pranks. oh ! yes, my dear, i did yefterday. (a/me.) kitty. it's mr. whimmy's way not to allow the hermit any dinner on the day when the company's expecled : but, ecod, you (han't faft while my father's houfe affords a dinner. (ajtde.) but, what did you come down here and turn hermit for ? young pranks. for love of you, my dear dying for you thefe five years. kitty. sure ! young pranks. never faw you before this morning. (ajtde.) (looking out.') the very lady i danc'd with at bland ford aflembly ! my love, a gentleman comes yon der with whom i muft talk politics. (kijjes her.) kitty. the deuce is in you for a hermit. [exit. enter dian. dian. i---t wifh my father, with his other changes of humour, wou'd give up this fancy of refigning the houfe thus to ftrangers; people, one don't know who, every wednefday here come itamping and ftanng about even my dreffing-room is not my own. young 48 the london hermit, or young pranks. my charming angel, to meet you here ! dian. blefs me, sir, you ! i hope you're very well, sir? young pranks, on a vifit here ? dian. no, sir, this is my father's houfe. young pranks. * her father's houfe ! oh ! here may be another crufty old grump's. and hem ! my dear, you love riding on a pillion, like queen elizabeth going in ftate. . \1 dian. sir! young pranks. i mean -your parlour cuftomers like to drink out of filyer. dian. parlour cuftomers ! but the unexpected honour of feeing you here ! young pranks. merely for admiffion to you, my angel; i've hired as your father's hermit dying for you ever fmce we parted a fine creature but demme, if i ever thought of you fmce. (ajide.) rambles in dorsetshire. 49 dian. i thought you then a rattler, and find i was right, but don't teafe me now with nonfenfe, for i'm really diftrefs'd. young pranks. eh ! peregrine's intended, diftrefs'd ! eh ! how ? tell me you may. why, my dear ma'am, i'm you don't know, perhaps, that i'm your peregrine's mod intimate friend. dian. was it, indeed, you i faw juft now arm-in-arm with him ?---oh ! then you don't know, perhaps, that my father, after giving his fanftion to the ad dreffes of a young gentleman in the neighbourhood, now fuddenly changes his mind, and infifts upon my marrying the nephew of fome old friend of his. yonder's peregrine, (looking out) he hasn't yet heard this unlucky news. [exit baftily. young pranks, (wbiftks.) my friend, peregrine's intended fpofa; i had hopes, that if he got this lady and her fortune, he might tip me a thoufand pounds, without a feven year's imprifonment in the old gentleman's hermi tage ; but borrowing money is throwing water upon the warm heart of friendfhip. (laughing without.) 'sdeath, the company ! i muft now earn my an nuity. heh ! is that kitty gliding through the bulhes? -a moft dear dangerous little barleycorn this. marriage is all out of fight, and, without it, to take all a funple young girl's innocence may beftow, would be, indeed, giving life in my bread to the worm that never dies. [goes inte the hermitage. h scene 5o the london hermit, 6t scene iii. the hermitage. enter k i t t y , wit jo meat and drin k for y o u n g p r a n k s , and knocks at the door. kitty, (jinging.) " fair ellinor came to lord thomas's bow'r, " and pull'd fo hard at tke ring*" are you within, mr. hermit ? enter mrs. maggs. mrs. maggs. this poor hermit musvt fit here, and have no dinner. my mafter has got fo crufty with me of late, that i'm quite weary of looking after other people's concerns; and as our young lady's to be married to morrow, this will be no place for me. if i cou'd get a man to my mind, i'd keep houfe for myfelf, and this handfome fellow is juft to my liking. befides, my conceited fon, natty maggs, is foon out of his time; he (hall have a father to thrafti him, when he gets fancy to me. kitty. the hermit's wedtiefday allowance is roots and cold water, but " none fo ready as lord thomas, " to let fair ellinor in." mrs. maggs. what are you doing here, kitty barleycorn ? kitty. rambles in dorsetshire. 5! kitty. lord ! mrs. maggs the houfekeeper ! ma'am, i was going mrs. maggs. 1 know you was going. child, do you know the danger of a young woman like you, refordng to this lonely place, where this new-come hermit fits with his books, and his fkull, and his crofs bones ? do you know, kitty, that this hermit may be a ram fcallion ? kitty. yes, ma'am to be fure, ma'amthank ye, ma'am mrs. maggs, what have you got there ? kitty. a little eatables and a little drinkables. mrs. maggs. for this mr. tom ? kitty. yes, ma'am. (curtjies.) mrs. maggs. then you were now going to fee him ? kitty. yes, ma'am. (curtfies.) mrs. maggs. and you'd have heard ibme love nonfend from jiim ? h 3 kitty, 2. the london hermit, or kitty. yes, ma'am. (curtfus.) mrs. maggs. and you think me very impertinent for interrupt ing you ? kitty. yes, ma'am. (curtfies.) mrs. maggs. child, take example from me do you think i'd fit there alone, to eat and drink with any ftrange hermit ? kitty. yes, ma'am. (curtfies.) enter john, with a 'tray of covered difies. john. mrs. maggs, here, i've brought the dinner. mrs. maggs. what dinner ? --go along ! (apart 9 conjufed.) john. why, the roaft fowl for you and the hermit, as you ordered me. [exit. k i t t y , (mimicking. ) child, do you know the danger of a young wo man, like you, going into this lonely place ? do you know, mrs. maggsj that this herm'it may be a ram fcallion ? ha ! ha! ha! [exit. 2 tflly. rambles in dorsetshire. 53 tully, (without.) now, if you plaife, your honour, don't walk upon the grafs beds. mrs. maggs. oh ! {steals off. scene iv. injide of an hermit age. young pranks difcovered in bis hermit's drefs at a "table, witf> lamp, jkull, bones, large book, and jockey whip. young pranks. a hermit mou'd have been my lail trade. tol de rol lol. how dev'lifli well slinglby kick'd the tamborine. (holds up a wooden trencher and kicks at it.) zounds ! (runs fuddenly and feats himfelf at a table.) eh ! nobody ! i with that gander, tully, wou'd bring his flock of daring geefe, till i get down again, to play with my little larnb at the red lion. old whimmy on the other days, it feems, flints me to a bottle. dam'me, what's two bottles to me ? how many have i won, by jumping over the table at med ley's ? by'r leave pair and his nob. (puts the jkull and bones by, is going to jump, but jits down fuddenly.) enter tully, bite, and ladies. tully. the hermitage, plaife your honour. first lady. is this your anchorite ! tully. 54 the london hermit, or ' tully. my lady, i didn't hear he was an anchor-fmith, he's old father anthony. young pranks, (repeating in a tremulous tone) here i may fit and rightly tell of all the ftars that heaven doth fhew and all the herbs that fip the dew, till old experience tully. aye ! what fignifies your old experience, man, with your beard acrofs your forehead ? what the devil have you been about with your indecency ? now, if you can but fit quiet, tom, juft while i ex plain you. (apart.) young pranks. tom !--i'll break your head. (apart.) tully. will you? arrah, man, i'll break your two heads, plaife your honours. (apart.) enter whimmy, (in tie carter's drefs tutty flares at him.} whimmy. my farcophagus defaced,my hercules thrown down,-my labyrinth overflown! now, but let's hear how tully and my new galloping hermit go on. (afide.) tully. gentlemen and ladies, this is a hermit. here he lives, and never ftirs out of this loneibine grotto. hide your boots, you devil, you, (to t. pranks. whimmy. rambles in dorsetshire. $$ whimmy. what ! not taken off his boots ? tully. what's that to you ? you've come in here too. here he always fits at his prayers, all alone by him felf, and nobody with him, and never fees a human foul. young pranks. tedious fool ! i'll quicken him tho' with a touch of the rippers. tully. he's fo meek and quiet. (t. pranks fpurs him, he jumps up.} oh ! (alights on whimmfs toes.) he eats nothing but herbs. whimmy. and wild berries. (apart to tulfy.} tully. and goofeberries ! what, you will be putting ia your jabber. lives on roots and fruits. bite, (uncovers a tray.) nice road fowl, faith ! tully. man, what bewitch 'd you to fpoil my defcrip tions ? (apart to t. pranks.) and drinks of the pure whimmy, (apart.) purling rill. tully. ^6 the london hermit, of tully. he dosn't drink purl and gill. the hermit drinks nothing but whimmy, (apart.} mere element. tully. a mere elephant ! whimmy. (apart.) the limpid brook. tully. i'll make you a limping rook, if you don't hold .your he drinks nothing but whimmy. (apart.) water. tully. aye ! this hermit drinks nothing but clear rock water. bite. i'm proud to fay, this is (takes up a bottle and drinks) dev'lilli good wine. tully. wine and road chicken ! why you did it on pur pofe. (apart.) young pran 7 ks. i wifh, whoever left them, had told me. tully. tho* he's a clean, well-behaved old man. ambles in dorsetshire. *fj young pranks. say gentleman, you rafcal. {apart.') tully. oh j be aify. an't you an old faint ? (apart.) whimmy. thefe two villains muttering and quarrelling ! (ajue.) tully. he neither ufes napkins, nor plates, nor knives, nor forks. all his houfehold furniture is in the empty trunk of that hollow tree. that's his cup board ; and there he keeps his wooden dim and his little pitcher; bite. ah ! well let's (goes towards it.} tully. there ! you fee his bed is the mofs, and the herbs and the innocent fimplicities of the earth. go, you ! (pujhes wkimmy, who falls on the leaves.) kitty. ah ! (squalls out and difcovers herfelf under them.) first lady. so ! is this the hermit's fimplicity ? bite. and this, i am proud to fay, is his little pitcher* (pulling mrs. maggs out of the tree 'the company laugh.) young pranks, (afide.j a fmart dinner a pair of women ! and i fitting like a grave owl ! i enter the lo-n-bo-n hermit, of enter barleycorn. barleycorn. i've follow'd you, dang my buttons !---so you've com'd up here after this new hermit. kitty. o father ! you're the cruel ftep-mother. (barley corn takes her off.) bite. well, this is mrs. maggs. yes, sir, i know it is as you fay. i have my rea foris, as mr. oldmondle fays. [guftfies round and exit. tully. arrah ! tom, is this like a hermit, to have kitty aad mrs. maggs ? what do you (land making your fift at ? (to ft'himmy, who is threatening.) enter apathy. apathy. mr. �hat's it, has a pretty looking poney in the paddock yonder; but i'd run my brute againft it for fifty pounds. young pranks. done, damme ! and i'll ride myfelf. (suddenly flings off his hermit's gozvn, and appears in a compleat jockey drtfs.) zounds ! i forgot bat fmce it is fo, hey ! we itait ! the way knees tight toes in fpur rambles in dorsetshire-. $q fpur out-~carpet ground flow gallop crack take the lead tough at bottom, t'other horfes wind rakes hot hack girt want a fob down ears whifk tail up note like a pig rattle whipgive a-loofe .pufli for it, hey ! all to fortune, the way, the way. [exit running, and cracking bis whip. tully. holloa! flop, tom; come back till i explain you out ! [exeunt all but whimmy. enter peregrine. peregrine. sir, here's whimmy, (in a rage.) sir, cou'dn't you find any man in england to make a jeft of but me ? how dare you. sir, intro duce fuch a rafcal as that ? he a hermit ! peregrine. sir, i'm very forry. whimmy. i lay out forty thoufand pounds, and then fuch a fcoundrel to get me laugh 'd at by the world ! but, you marry no daughter of mine. a good excufe to quarrel and put pranks's advice into practice. (ajlde.) you did collect fome valuable things to be fure, but your tafte's not confirm'd. you (hall tra vel again; make another feven year's tour; and, by heavens ! not till you return will i give you my daughter. pere cm* the london hermit, or peregrine. sir r fure you can't have the cruelty sir, only whimmy. i'm determined, won't hear a word. �xit loftily* peregrine, but, sir! [exit following* end of act the act rambles in dorsetshire, act iii. scene i. the gartens. enter old pranks. old pranks. to confider on the plaguy news this puppy, my 'prentice, has brought me ; he too gaping at whimmy's raree (how. natty mags. (calling.) enter maggs. maggs. (looking about.') beats kenfington hollow ! make a fmart vauxhall ! -wants an orchefter caf kade a handfome box to eat cuftards. old pranks. the marfhal of the king's bench maggs. yes, sir, as you defired, he gave your nephew, young mr. tom, the rules ; but he's run away. the marfhal's beft refpeds, sir, has got information he's down in thefe parts ; a man's come after him ; but he'd know if you'd have him catch'd and cag'ct up again. old pranks. a mad dog ; but like me * 3 waggsc ||*^: tfte london hermit, f magg5. yes, sir a he's a fad rafcal. old pranks. what ! after all i have dorre for him ingratieudt kworfe than maggs. a face without cheek whifkers. old pranks. whiikers ! maggs. sir, i was only faying by the defcription, mr. tom rattled off from greyhound door at blandford for wey mouth with a pretty girl in a poft-chaife. old pranks. weymouth ! i'll have him step you and fetch my horfe up from the inn, iirrah [ stop, i'll go my felf. [exit. maggs. fetch his horfe, ftrrah ! as kit cateaton fays, the time's out for firrahs and fcoundrels cracks over the fconce with canes i'm not an apprentice now, to breakfaft on cold fcrag of mutton and fmall beer retiring from table after dinner with one glafs of wine ; i'm not an apprentice now. i'll no more pu jiifh my half ounce at the playhoufe, than 'fraid to cry up, or cut down the new piece over a pint and an oyfter, but thank the footman for letting me in, and sneaking foniy up ftairs with my fhoes in my hand, and my hat in my pocket, to my flock bed in the attic. your authority over me is out, and i'll let you know it too, old bounce. -i'll let him and every body know that i am out of rnv time. nobody's rambles in dorsetshire nobody's boy ; but my own man and dem'me til fet up for myfelf. eh ! hey ! enter kitty. kitty. for the foul of me i can't bide at home while thi3 delightful mr. tom the hermit is here. maggs. one of the family ! servant, ma'am, (refpebfutty) my dear, when in town, my mode to fetch a rural faunter, crofs holborn before breakfaft to bagnigge wells, cull the newfpapers* give a twiggle on the organ, and take a tiff of rum and. milk. shall i thank your pretty good nature ? kitty. sir, if i had you down at our houfe, we keep the red lion. maggs. red lion ! how d'ye do, girl ! (familiarly iatpfo dent) my dear, my late matter, mr. pranks of lom bard -ftreet, a friend of mr. whimmy's, they've agreed that young mr. tom pranks kitty. la ! i heard mr. peregrine call my hermit by fome'at like that name. maggs, i fuppofe every body knows he's to marry the &dy of this houfe. kitty. no, sir, it's the young lady of our houfe he's to marry ; but i don't fet up for a lady either ; though when 64 the tondon hermit, or when drafted like, footh, all the folks here allows that fomebody would make a good fort of a lady. aye f all except mrs. maggs ; but fhe's jealous and envious. maggs. mrs. maggs i who's ftie, pray ? kitty. the yquire's houfekeeper, maggs. oh ! the devil ! true, my very honoured md ther, her laft letter, which i never anfwered, faid, that (he was coming to live with fome old rich eaft india quiz in this very part of the country, (afide.*) she'll claim me as her fon ; but i'd fooner be found playing at fkettjes at the devil and bag o'-nails. oh., zounds \ yon is indeed my very mamma (look ing oufy she'll be for calling me her fon, and her dear boy natty. but dem'me, as kit cateatton faysj i'm juft out of my time ; nobody's boy, but my own man. eh t hey ' [*/"/. kitty. mr. tom really a gentleman after all ? going to be married to mifs dian ? ah ! that's becaufe (he has fortin. i mall break my heart. enter young pranks. young pranks. ah ! my cherub kitty. ay, sir, now that you're going to get this great fortin by marrying toung rambles in dorsetshire. , young pranks. marrying who ! mrs. maggs ? kitty. (afide.) then he hasn't yet heard and you'd really wed poor humble i ? young pranks. wed! eh! why, my love, i -tlove you to be fure, andwe'll walk and talk together, and when tired we'll fit and reft ourfelves in the hermi tage, my love. tol de rollol, 1 love you fo, oh i my divine creature !~-dillradtion !rofe buds ! sun beams-and pretty birds ! come ; but fuch in nocence. -i'm in a humour nowi'll not venture into the hermitage > honour and humanity forbid it. (afide.) kitty. sir, fince you're fo good as to think of a poor girl like me, you fha'n't demean yourfelf for want of be ing informed that you may have mifs dian and ajl her wealth. young pranks. 1 have mifs dian ? kitty. yes, sir, it's agreed upon. young pranks; by.-avhom ? kitty. mifs's papa and the old gentleman mr. mr. lud now i've forgot the name again. k young 56 the london hermit, or young prank?. (a r ide.} can't b' my uncle ? -was itbut drop my name may get about; and if the knabbers ihou'd follow meno, no, it can't be me.how ever, her intention is charming. kitty kifs me, you're a lovely \ good girl and for your dif interefted generofity in revealing a circumftance that you fuppofed might rob you of me ; for i will be vain enough to think you're a httle partial to wards a certain ordinary fellow, (fondling.} i owe you eternal gratitude. kitty. (sprightly.} oh, then you are but my joy that you're not to have a lady and a fortune is very ill-na tured of me* don't you think ib ? young pranks. oh ! you iweet (kijjes her hand.) enter barleycorn. barleycorn. dang my buttons, go home and fweeten the punch, and fqueeze the lemons. come and handfell your filver cup; you're an honeft lad, i muft fay; but if you want any char with my daughter, you muft come to my houfe for it, good matter hermit. [exit with kitty. young pranks. well, if a publican will keep the fignof an angel, there a faint may take his bottle, (fags) in pennance for paft folly, " a pilgrim blythe and jolly." [exit* scene rambles in dorsetshire. 67 scene ii. before barleycorn's. enter kitty (in high fpirits) and barleycorn. barleycorn. come, now do, child, mind the bufinefs. kitty. oh ! i'm fo happy ! i've yet fome hopes that this dear father, though he is a hermit, he is a gentle man too. barleycorn. well, i'd be a gentleman if i'd nothing elfe to do. kitty. i forgot my finging, i don't know how long, fince i've feen this fweet fellow, (finging) " a young gentleman fhe faw." enter toby and john grum/hmw tie houfi. toby. (singing.} " who belonged to the law." meafter, i'm now conftable. mifs kitty, you like bache lors of every ftation, kitty. dearly ! barleycorn. do you ? it's that new come mr. tom has brought you to this ; fo if he does marry you, let him keep you to himfelf an he can. k 2 kitty. 68 the london hermit, or kitty. (sings.) " being at a noble wedding, toby. (sings.*) " in the famous town of reading." (ring ing within.) barleycorn. od dang you both, am i to be rhim'd and ballad fung, and the bufincfs of my houfe all will you go ? kitty. (sings.) " if (he's rich you'll rife to fame.'" toby. (sings.) " if fhe's poor you are the fame." (ring ing within. } barleycorn. "will you go ? kitty. (sings.) " she was left by a good grannum." toby. (sings.) " wed me, sir, or elfe i'll fight you." barleycorn. you'll fight me ? dang rr.y buttons i'll fight you, and knock you to the dt-vi), you idle rafcal ; i'll fing and ballad you, (beats bim^ and you, you baggage! kitty. father, i believe you're uncle to the babes in the we. toby. youve the ould barbarous blackamore. barley rambles in dorsetshire. 69 barleycorn. i'll (makes a blow at toby) get in you jade, (puts ber in, and exit.) toby. oh ! jahn grum, here be the mon that fent for us. enter barebones. barebones. according to lawyer poz's advice, i'll have young mufter pranks apprehended. you be's a iinner and a publican. toby. i'm no fmner, and only farvant to the publican. eh jahn, i'm a bit'n a parifh conftable though, 'twas faid you wanted to attach fom'en, wa'n't it jahn? john. hum! barebones. i does. seize him ; he run'd out of prifon, tho mas pranks is the man. toby. oh ! thomas pranks's man. barebones. i thought him a farvant of grace. toby. oh, he thought him a farvant out of place, d'ye fee, jahn. john. hum! bare 7o the london hermit, ot barebones. i followed the chap with this here varrant, i be's coom'd from babylon after him. toby. babylon ! oh, that mun be in barkfhire. barebones. great london itfelf. thou fcem'fl ftrong in flefh, is the fpirit with thee ? toby. don't vally the devil his felf, when i'm doing my duty, no more does my affiftant, jahn grum, doey ? john. hum! barebones. there bee's defcription of his parfon, (gives paper.) toby. meafter barleycorn would know if you'll eat dinner at red lion. you may bring company, for we've entertainment ror mon and beait an't we jahn ? john. hum! barebones. get a good dinner for me, for i loves to eat and drink of the beft. toby. you're a genteel mon (apart to join) jahn, he'll be as drunk as a tinker, then i comes chalk double on him. eh, jahn ! john, rambles in dorsetshire. ?i john. hum! itoby. oh ! the squire, (looking out.) whimmy. (ipithout.) where did he run (enters) oh, you are the canting bawler that broke down one of my fta tues, (to barebones.) barebones. i had an inward call. whimmy. curfe your call ! barebones. he does put it in mine head, with the fame act, to comfort my flelh and do a good vork, i vill get myfelf an appetite fore dinner with difbolifhing this man's idols in his groves and high places. [exit. whimmy. if you are ftill a conflable, why didn't you take that dangerous leveller into cuftody ? toby. i munna, he be the planter, and walks at large where he lift ; but i'm going to catch the defender, and i'll bring his body and foul before your worfhip, in fafararo. come, jahn ! john. hum ! [exeunt. 72 the london hermit, of whimmy. this prancing hermit has fo deranged and jumbled all my fchemes of elegant magnificence--no atten tion to my old friend pranks ; my daughter not yet prepared to receive his nephew the final difrniffion not yet given to peregrinelucky that the reft of my houfehold is in train, that all my fervants are fo ber and regular. an't this my fine irifh orator ? {retires.} enter tully (with a mug in kis hand.) tully. upon my foul this hermit is no better than a bad man, that he can't (lay there at his bufinefs, where he has nothing to do but fit quiet---oh fie, to come here drinking in a public houfe ! (drinks.) enter cac hman. whimmy. and my coachman i coachman. ah ! mailer tully, i favv you go out at tfie gate, and fo out of pure good nature i followed you, to give you a little hint, that if mailer hears you left the gar dens to-day, you may chance to lofe your place ; be fides, coming here to booze is not quite the thing. (drinks.) whimmy. my daughter's footman too ! enter skip. skip. eh, waiter ! enter rambles in dorsetshire. 73 enter barleycorn (with a mug.) the negus i ordered, a gill of wine, fome water, fu gar, and a lemon. barleycorn. why, for wine, i takes out the licence to-morrow ; the man is to call next wednefday with the lemons ; my daughter kitty has loft the key of the fugar cheft ; nobody drinks water at red lion, fo i have brought you a mug of ale. [exit* whimmy. (advancing.} hey ! you icoundrels, what are you at here with your mugs ? skip. sir, i came to look for coachman, coachman. and i came to bid the gard'ner drive home. tully. and, sir, i came after the hermit, becaufe he same before me. whimmy. you mofl ftupid tully. stop, sir, what fort of talk is that, i'm ftupid ? faith, and that's a facret, sir, sir ifaac newton never found out. sir, i'm a gard'ner, and though i do dig, i'm not a fpalpeen potatoe-boy -i've read big books of botamy, and the millar's dictionary and cyclopaddy's. didn't i graft a mayduke uppon a kackagay apple-tree then in my hot-houte. didn't my lord (when he breakfafted with you) pull from the fame tree a cannifter of hyfon tea and a bafket of seville oranges ? a'n't my flowers fo fweet that che hives round the country are empty, and the fwarms of l .bees 74 the london hermit, of bees come in a grand congregation into your gardens, humming every body with their bagpipes, fo difcieet all in their black bonnets and their yellow velvet breeches ? whimmy. men ! rafcals ! i wifh i could, like the great mo gul, be attended only by women. ay, one comfort, my female fervants are diligent and fober. tully. faith, sir, and here's the head of your female lervants coming in very fober here ; but how fhe'll get out, for i don't think her bufmefs here is to drink tea. mrs. maggs. (without.'} i will find him. (enters.) whimmy. mrs. maggs, did you want me or my coachman ? mrs. maggs. no, sir, it was the hermit brought me here. whimmy. why, i think mrs. maggs. yes, sir, i know you think. whimmy. 'twas the hermit brought us all here. mrs. maggs. he's come after kitty and my love for him is tully. he's a ramping devil. young pranks (without .) (singing.) " with cockle fhell on hat brim." tully. rambles in dorsetshire. 7$ tully. there he hops over the bufh like a jackdaw, whimmy. stop him ! [exeunt all but tvbimmy and mrs maggs. what vexations ' now, my dear mrs. maggs, i've found out that tully is a worthlefs man, my whole dependence of fhewing my fine place is upon you. mrs. maggs. now that is fo like mr. olmondle. [exit wlnmmy hajtily. blefs me ! here comes this moft delightful young man. 1 proteft his very approach brings all my blood up in my face, my heart throbs, and my limbs i'm fuch a poor creature fo faint i muft fit, (goes into a porch at the door.) enter young pranks. young pranks. come out there, you moft delicate lovelinefs, my darling rofe bud. mrs, maggs. (rifes and appears.} oh, dear sir (jtmpenng.) young pranks. by the lord, this is my little pitcher again. kitty. (unfeen, ivhips out of the door, and taps him on the jhoulder.) mr. thomas ! mrs. maggs. a'n't you afhamed of yourfelf, kitty barleycorn ? l 2 youn 76 the london hermit, or young pranks. come, my dear creatures, you muftn't mrs. maggs. well, i know we muftn't young pranks. what, ma'an\ ? don't quarrel about me, zounds , i'm like a ftately peacock between a pheafant and a turkey hen. kitty. la ! you're fo wild mrs. maggs. but he's very merry, he ! he ! he ! young pranks. wild ! merry ! my whole life has, been one frolic. mrs. maggs. ay, i dare fay, when you were a boy young pranks. such diverfions ! altering the numbers cf doors to puzzle the poftman, at chriftmas in a tlage coach charging the directions of geefe, hares, and turkeys, with a bit of chalk and charcoal making a whole room of family portraits fquint down upon every body. mrs. maggs. i vow you muft not come and fee our pictures. kitty. la ! he's fo pleafant ! well, and ah, mr. tom ! young rambles in dorsetshire. 77 young pranks. my fweet creature, i came to hanfel the filver jcup. hey ! a bortle of port and a roafted orange ! jladies, 1 vow on the honour of a hermit, i'll treat you with a bifhop. �xlt into bgufe. kitty, toby ! (calling.) enter old pranks. old pranks. eh ! where's this young dog my prentice, bad as my mad nephew. waiter ! my horfe. mrs. maggs. sir, you'll return to fup at our houfe. old pranks. foolifh dick whimmy to have no dinner ! plague of his gardens, in his ponds plenty of carp and tench, that nobody dare fling into a frying-pan ; on his green hopes, neither grafs lamb nor afparagus, and for flocks of geefe and chickens, there a pea cock ftruts, or an eagle perches, that inilead of any body eating him, by the lord, looks as if he'd eat us. my dear, i'm going to weymouth, cou'dn'c you give one a {hack. kitty. oh ! our bill of fare, sir, (going.) old pranks. (slops her.) as fine a bill of fare as e'er i look'i on, (gazing) what dim (hall i choofe a white fort head, a brace of black eyes, garnim'd with long auburn 78 the london hermit, or auburn eye-lames, two rofy cheeks, cherry lips, my defert. kitty. a pity, mr. thomas, to difguife his fine hair and delightful (hape, in that long old beard and gown. la ! sir, what a choice hermit you'd make for mr. whimmy ; you'd be a nice bald-headed bucl^, as tom fays. old pranks. i a bald-headed buck ! don't you fee i wear my own hair, child ? re-enter young pranks. young pranks. i've brew'd the bimop. eh ! what old fellow fo fmooth with kitty -sir, a word if you pleafe, (twitches of old pranks' s a joig) zounds, my uncle ! (runs off.) old pranks. stop that fcoundrel, (runs after him.") [bell rings violently, kitty runs into the koufc. enter maggs walking hajlily. mrs. maggs. oh, heavens ! my fon natty ! maggs. mamma ! (he has me, but i won't be difgrac'd, (afide, and turns.) mrs. rambles in dorsetshire. 79 mrs. maggs. my dear child, who could think of feeing you down here, (he turns from her, and walks.} maggs. any bufinefs with me, ma'am ? mrs. maggs. why, my dear ! don't you know me, natty ? maggs. zounds, ma'am, don't natty me ! mrs. maggs. won't you fpeak to your mother ? maggs. who are you talking to, ma'am ? mrs. maggs. look at memy own child deny me, (puts her handkerchief to her eyes, and walks up.) enter toby and john grum. toby. john, is that the young man you faw ? john. hum! maggs. (looking at his watch.) i mail be late with my party, (going.) mrs. maggs, stay, my dear boy ! maggs. *0 the lonbon hermit, or maggs. i'm nobody's boy, but my own man, he ! he f toby. seize him, (to john) your name ? (to maggs.) maggs. what of it ? toby what is it > maggs. what it was yefterday, and will be to-morrow. toby. mind how he muffles ; do ye fee it, john ? tel-l me your name to-morrow, (to maggs.) maggs. mufn't, becaufe of mamma, (afide.] toby. you belong to mr. pranks. maggs. suppofmg fo. toby. then i fuppofe you're my prifoner, maggs. me ! for what ! toby. you broke out of jail in babylon, but we'll hand cuff and fend you to dorchefter. i maggs, rambles in dorsetshire. l maggs. (afide.) handcuff! broke jail in babylon ! ay! �hy furely they take me for tom pranks ! i'm not the perfon you want. toby. i arrefl you. maggs. i'm not the man indeed, my friend. toby. who anfwers for you ? who knows you ? maggs. then i muft own mother let me go, this gen tlewoman here is my honour'd mamma. mrs. maggs. (ajide.) a wicked wretch, firft to deny, and now to own me in his diilrefs ! toby. mrs. maggs, be he your fon ? mrs. maggs. oh ! no, he's no fon of mine. maggs. nay, my dear mamma. mrs. maggs. sir, don't mamma me; who are you talking to? {mimicking. ) maggs. ay ! why fure, fweet mamma ! m toby. 82 the london hermit, of toby. stop ; you fee, my friend, it won't pafs. john, look he don't run away, while i read difcription of his parfon, (takes out paper and reads] five feet eight inches tall, an expreflive eye, pleafing features, good complexion, fine teeth, mew your tee'h, (t& maggs) ^ handfome countenance maggs. j pon my foul this defcription's very much like me tho'. toby. well-made, a genteel deportment; upon the whole, an elegant figure. maggs. amazing ! what a piclure of me ! mrs. maggs. aftoniming like the child indeed. toby. you fee it's you. maggs. no, it's fuch another handfome fellow, but really not me. toby. come, i arreft you with a little tap, (trips up his beds} hold his legs, jahn, that he mayn't kick 1. maggs. damn'd uncivil this ! , mrs. rambles in dorsetshire. 83 mrs. maggs. i can't bear to fee him treated fo let the child go, you fellows ! toby. yes, the child (hall go---to prifon. mrs. maggs. you're wrong, he's my fon. toey. and juft now you faid ay, i fee how 'tis, meafter butler told me that mrs. maggs locks her felf in her own room, and there drinks the pre farved apricocks jahn don't mind, madam maggs is fo fond of talking (he'll fay anv thing bring him along. maggs. sir, gentlemen conftables ! mamma ! kind conn try juftices ! mother ! (toby holding him by the head, and john by the legs, they drag him off.) mrs. maggs. why, you horrid villains, you mail not ! my child ! [exit after them. scene iii. the gardens. statues thrown down, and broken fragments lying about ; /hrubs and plants, as pulled up. enter bare bones, (with a broken flatus.) barebones. i vill complete the good work ; lay there ac curfed, (throws it down on a heap~) and i vill pulls m 2, up $4 the london hermit, or tip thy groves, and i vill root thee out of the land, (pulls plants out of pots, and flings them about.') enter barleycorn. barleycorn. sir, your dinner's waiting. (ajide) dang my buttons! here's a fine kick-up ! what rafcal cou'd have got in here fome one that owes the tquire a grudge. barebones. i've been doing of the job, 'twas all pagan wanity. barleycorn. so it was, sir, and you were right to capfize it. enter kitty. kitty. oh ! father, i (hall go diftrafted ; i'm {lire it's my belov'd tom that they're taking pris'ner to dor chefter, yet fo cruel not to let me fee him. enter toby. toby. i've left the prifoner in fafe cuftody with jahn gram. barebones. (d/ide.) then i brings him up to town, and lodges him with the marmal. kitty. oh heaven ! tell me, toby, is it the hermit ? toby. rambles in dorsetshire. jj toby. no. kitty. it is he. toby. 'tis not tho' why you're as bad as mrs. maggs, who juft now faid he was her fon, and he wasn't her (on there's difcription of his perfon, (gives kitty a a paper.) kitty. {reading with emotion.) handfome, elegant, fine teeth, expreffive eye 'tis he ! you liard -hearted creature but i'll releafe my own true love, tho' i beg my bread for it. [exit hajlily. toby. ay now, me too has been drinking apricocks. be's i to lay the cloth for you in the two-bedded room, (to bareboms.) barebones. i loves to eat in a parlour. barleycorn. why we wilh to refarve that for toby. parlour ! than, sir, (han't i tap no vind he v/on't inform (to barleycorn.) barebones. i drinks vind, for i thirds after the good things of this world. barleycorn. that's right. 2 toby. 86 the london hermit, or toby. he's a wet chriftian. barleycorn. shall they take up dinner ? barebones. yes, i hungers after good ; i could munch one rnorcil of portlin mutton ; yea, one pound and an half, and fix, and four, and two wheat ears, roaftcd in wine leaves, and other fettries of niceifh faver. [*/'/ with toby. barleycorn. {locking out.) the 'fquire dang my buttons, here'll be work. [*;'/. enter whimmy, (looks at the broken statues with amazement.) whimmy. fury and diftra&ion ! what's all here ! tully j (calls.) enter tully, (a little intoxicated.) tully. (singing.) tf they!d be like the highlanders eating of kail, " and curfing the union, fays granawaile." whimmy. this, is your going to th'e alehoufe, here's your brags, here's yellowbreech'd bees humming their bag-pipes but i'll turn over a new leaf, i'll dig and root out tully. arrah, sir, i wifh you'd let the leaves and the trees alone ! you've been digging and rooting pret tily : rambles in dorsetshire. 8 tily : what put it into your head to pull up the plants in this manner ? whimmy. my head, there's my dancing faunus. tully. oh ! i fee how this is ; you want to keep me only as your (how-man, and take the head gard'ning into your own handsthe geranums all torn, the myrtles, and liliies, and laylocks, are all pull'd abouc as if they were old bean ftalks. whimmy. you rafcal ! what do you talk of your paltry plants look at my flames, none equal to them in the barbarini gallery. tully. the barber's gallery ! only tell a body what you intend to put clown in the place if yourfelf was planted, the devil a thing would grow out of your head but potatoe apples. whimmy. two of my seafons tully. you don't know the feafons ; you're a gentleman, and you've money to buy roots and fruits, but i tell you, you don't know an annual from an ever green. i got myfelf finely laughed at to-day by mowing your kickmaws, but i warn my hands out of it. there's your defcribing book (throws book down] and you miy get another ciceroni magpye to chatter to the company. [exit, whimmy. 88 the london hermit, ot whimmy. there's a villain ! enter old pranks. old pranks. knock people's hats off can't think who the fel low was ! dick, i'm on the fpur to fetch my nephew from weymouth ; an idle fcoundrei ! what perplexities he has involved me in ! dolts to ap prehend natty maggs for him ; thefe country con ftables are fo obftinate, won't even take my word : but what fort of wild people have you fettled amongft here that pull folks heads about ? whimmy. yes, heads, legs, and arms, look ! (points to tb? jtatues.) old pranks. (looking round.) ha ! ha ! ha ! a good deed, however. whimmy. what, to demolim my beauties ? old pranks. your modern gardens are art fpoiling nature; fixing up a ftone woman where one expeds to find a rofy girl of health, flelh, and blood : if we muft have ftatues, inftead of importing ancient heathen gods into enghfh meadows, why not encourage briti(h arts to celebrate britifh heroes ? for a jupiter by phidias give me an elliot by a bacon : the five thoufand pounds you laid ouc upon that clumfy pantheon yonder, wou'd have built a neat clutter of alms-houfes, where age and infancy might find an afylum from the pangs of indigence. whimmy. rambles in dorsetshire. 89 whimmy. why, but billy * old pranks. 'sblood, when i reflect i owe my prefent inde pendence to my education in the blue coat school, as i drive my whifky on a sunday by dulwich col lege, i feel more warmth of affe&ion for the me mory of edward the king, or alleyn the player, , than for all the travelling cognofcenti in chriften dom. dick, i love reafon. enter young pranks. young pranks. a rare chace, but i got from him zounds ! (fees old pranks, runs off.} old pranks. oh, damme, i'll have you, (purfues.) t whimmy. he likes reafori, and the fellow's mad ; there he runs after my hermit. certainly 'twas this favage old goth committed thefe barbarifms i hope he'll not find his nephew ; however, i muft prepare my daughter for the marriage. {exit. scene iii. infide of hermitage. young pranks fitting in his hermit's drefs, as if put on baftily. enter old pranks. old pranks. (looking about.} i thought i had a glimpfe of him darting this way eh ! one of whimmy's toys n . 9 o '(feeing young pranks} father dominick feen a fcoundrel run in here do ye hear ! can you ipeak ! it was certainly my nephew ; a hound ! fkulking about, and fuffer a poor innocent man to be taken up for him ; to be handcuff'd, haul'd, and dragg'd young pranks. an innocent man fuffer for me ! (throws off his lermtfs drefs.) old pranks. you ! oh you villain ! how dare you borrow money about as you have done ! young pranks. sir, (confufed) i i borrow 'd money to get out f debt. old pranks. eh ! how ? young pranks. yes, sir, to pay my debts. old pranks. but why get in debt ? young pranks. all owing to my good principle, the people wou'd truft me, my character was fo excellent. old pranks. then from your excellent character they think you a. damn'd rogue you villain ! young pranks. dear sir, difcriminate between vice and folly ; you are the only one i ever wroog'd, my fecond parent, rambles in dorsetshire. 9! parent, my friend, my benefaclor. sooner than let this perfon you fpoke of juft now any longer bear the difgrace that i only deferve, i'll inftantly free him by delivering myfelf up to hopelefs imprifon rrient, (going.} old pranks. eh ! flop you rogue you, confider how terrible a prifon is. young pranks. lord, sir, no ! the only difference between the people walking by and i is, that they're on one fide of the door and i'm on t'other. a prifon ! to refign myfelf to it, now, is barely performing the duties of honefty. [exit. old pranks. surrenders to free the guiklefs ! not fq bad as i thought hirn. enter kitty. kitty. sir, i've been told, fince you're a banker gen tleman in lombard-ftreet, london, you bankers, sir, have always a great deal of money. old pranks. (ajldt.) pve heard of petticoat pads a piftol may come out here ! well, my dear, granting i have money, do you want any ? kitty. not myfelf, sir; there's a young gentleman is taken up for debt, sir; 1 fhought it a pity he mould go to prifon, as he got out of it before, and n 2 that, 92 the london hermit, oy that, you know, sir, is a fign he doesn't like it ; hard for a perfon to go \vhere they can't be happy. old pranks. upon my word this young lady reafons exceeding pretty well, mifs ? kitty. and sir, my aunt by mother's fide, has left me three hundred pounds independent of my father, here are the papers, sir, all about it, sir, if you'd be fo kind as to advance the money, and tranfacl: the bufinefs of releafing the young gentleman with it, i'd be very much obliged to you, sir, (curtjies.) old pranks. here's a charming girl ! and fo, my dear, you think natty maggs fo fine a fellow, that you give up all your fortune to releafe him. kitty. natty maggs ! no, sir, our 'fquire's hermit. old pranks. hermit ! she muft mean my wild nephew, (over joyed.} kitty. sir, keep the papers, i know you'll free him ; you look fo good-natured, i befeech you, sir, sir, [curtjies and exit. old pranks. tol lol lol, (jings.} the heart of an amiable woman is the' true touc^ftone of manly merit. this good and delicate creature loves my nephew, and he muft be a worthy lad. the girl, no matter for her rambles in dorsetshire. 93 jier fituation, is come of a good flock, and fhould be r:;nfplanted. i didn't, till ,no.v, know my nt-phew --i'll forgive, i j eive him all---go to the king's bench again ! that he (han't, while i've a gui nea to keep him out of it, tol lol loi, [sings and exit^ scene iv. a gallery in v/limmfs houfe. enter young pranks (baftily doffing) and pere grine meeting, (much cgitated.} peregrine. stop, tom, whither now ? young pranks to the king's bench what's the matter ? oh, true, mifs dian told me upon ny foul her father ufes you both very ill who is this vhelp he is going to give her to ? peregrine. i don't know ; mr. whimmy has never even fee'n him. young pranks. no ! an uncle, isn't it that's briging this about? i've a good unclebut jong befoe he'd think of providing me with an heirefs -bt then i've been fuch a curfed fellow. peregrine, one chance, this fpark may, as is a forced thing, be indifferent, and the old gentleran doats io upon his 94 the london hermit, of his daughter, that were an emperor to flight her, 'twou'd for ever lofe his favour. young pranks. what's this uncle's name ? who, where, what is he? peregrine. i know nothing about him. young pranks. nor old whimmy neither. peregrine. i've never feen him, i told you. young pranks. then i'll perfonate him, and i warrant you dif gutf the old gentlman fufficiently to make him break off the match ; then, peregrine, is your harveft. i'll be with you h a trice. never be difmay'd, pe regrine, when ytu admit me as a fchemer into your cabinet; for i hive turn'd my coat fo oicen fince i arriv'd in thefe prts, that there is no doubt of my being a mod finfaed politician. [exit. enter weimmy and dian, weeping. in vain talkng, child; 7! muft keep my firft promife. dian. but, dear sii will you fentence your child to mifery ? pere rabbles in dorsetshire. 9jj peregrine. sir, you encourag'd me with a certainty that i ihou'd be the happieft of men, and now in a mo ment, to match me from heaven, and plunge me into an abyfs of defpair. whimmy. can't help it, dian; i mud give you to my friend's nephew. enter skip. skip. sir, here's a young gentleman will fee you feems in a piteous taking. here's my mafter, sir. (calling off.) young pranks, difguifed like a boy> his hair pulled round his face, &c. young pranks, (crying.) oh ! i will not have her. whimmy. ah ! who are you ? peregrine. certainly tom pranks. (to dian.) whimmy. what do you want ? young pranks. i don'c want a wife. (roars out crying.) whimmy, the london hermit of whimmy. who the devil cares, whether you do or no have you any bufmefs ? young pranks. no ; i'm a gentleman. my uncle fays i muft marry your daughter ; but i won't. (roaring out.) whimmy. ah ! can this be the wild rogue i've heard fo much of? why, your uncle told me you were an other-guefs being. dian, this is your hufband. how do you like him ? dian, (apart to peregrine.) i fee this. sir, if mr. peregrine can pardon me, fince you've fet your heart on't, i'm refign'd to your will, with the dutiful obedience of a daughter. (curtfies.) whimmy. now, that's very lucky. peregrine, you fee peregrine. then, sir, fince the lady is fo very fickle, i re fign her with little regret. whimmy. ah ! this is all very well ; then we'll call your uncle ; parfon jack is in the next room, and you fliall be married immediately. young pranks. but i won't marry, oh ! (cries) i.'ll never fay, father-in-law, to fuch an ugly old fellow as you. whimmy, rambles in dorsetshire, }j whimmy. why, you damn'd impudent young fcoundrel, dare you affront me, and refufe my daughter ? then let your uncle do his worth. there, peregrine, take dian, and may i be curs'd if ever i again attempt to part you. peregrine. you'll alter your mind again, sir. whimmy. i'll put that out of my power go, doctor, (vailing off) tack that couple together inftantly. (puts dian and peregrine of.) enter old pranks. young pranks. my uncle ! oh ! zounds ! whimmy. billy, what bouncing you've kept about this ne phew of your's. he, a buck, and a blood ! a blubbering milkfop. old pranks. my tom a milkfop ! i fay he's a buck. whimmy. 1 fay he's an afs. (wrangling^ t. pranks cries out.) whimmy. there's the buck ! a taftelefs hound, has been abufmg me here, and refufed my daughter. o yovng $ the londonhermit, ft young pranks. oh ! the devil ! am i really the character i only pcrfonated. (afide.) old pranks. where is he ? whimmy. can't you fee ? thrafh him for his impudence t me. old pranks. why, ah, tom! young pranks. aye, poor tom ! (snivelling.) whimmy. by the lord, it's my galloping hermit ! (furprifd) and your nephew. young pranks. (70 old prank s.) sir, i now fee your goodnefs ; but had i even be fore known it, i cou'd not have enjoy'd the bleffing you defign'd for me, at the expence of a friend's happinefs. mr. peregrine has love and merit. i admire, but don't deferve the lady. old pranks. then, fince you're fo difmterefted as to decline the golden pippin, i'll give you a fweet wild draw berry. enter kitty. kitty. o mr. banker, have you 'tis he (looking at young prattks witty j<yj thanky, sir. (curtftes to old pranks.} old rambles in dorsetshire. 99 old pranks. tom, here's a girl that wou'd have barter'd all her little fortune for your freedom ; and now as you hope for mine, take her. whimmy. why, (he's daughter to the red lion. old pranks. aye, my honeft landlord, that reliev'd the fuf ferers, while you were fwallowing peaches in decem ber, and the poor fliivering in cold and nakednefs. red lion, dick ! where honour's derived from be nevolence ; (he's daughter to a nobleman. what fay you, my girl ? kitty. only, sir, that my heart is filpd with gratitude ; but you mull afk the red lion's confent ; for tho* you were a hulband for a queen, i wou'd not have a prince, if it might grieve an indulgent parent. enter toby and john grum, with maggs, (his drefs very much difordered and torn.) toby. your worfliip, here's the defender is obftropolos, and has lick'd i and john grum. maggs. aye, dem'me, i plump'd 'em. young pranks. was't you, natty ? i'm forry that my irregularities lliou'd have involv'd you in this trouble. o 2 ente ioo the london hermit, or enter mrs. maggs. mrs. maggs. oh ! natty maggs my child to be haul'd an$ maul'd but this comes of your denying me your honour'd mother. old pranks. haul'd and maul'd may the fon never get better ufage who cou'd deny his parent. enter barleycorn and tully, bringing in bare bones. barleycorn. dang my buttons, you fhall whimmy. what's this ? tully. only this devout preacher walks into mr. barley corn's and crams himfelf like a great fowl ; then walks off without difcharging his (hot ; when afk'd, fays he, you'll be paid above, and fays mr. barley corn, by who there ? and fays he, why by abdiel ; fo they ^valk'd up ftairsto me, where i was taking a pint and a whiff of tobacco. i was chriftcn'd mr. tulk ; fo i walks down but who ever faw an angel with i pifsojn his mouth ? i don't mind paying for a man's dinne. ; but, sir, be fo kind as to fend this gentleman to jail.' how do ye do, mrs. maggs ? young rambles in dorsetshire. jo! young pranks. my saint george's fields landlord! barebones, the fpirit openerh my mouth. tully. you opened your mouth to fwallow a leg of jamb, honey. barebones. all things fhall be in common with the righteous ? toby. pay me for farving capias on mufter pranks. young pranks. me ! how ? old pranks. capias ! what, you villain, are you that ham barebones that has lent my nephew money at an ex orbitant ufance. young pranks. that, like the devil, tempted me by the means, 2nd now punifhes me for the fin. talk of righteoufnefs ! and bilk the houfe of an honeft induftrious man. (lays bold on baritones.) enter io2 the london hermit, of enter peregrine and dian. peregrine. mrs. peregrine (to whimmy.) dian. deareft father, your blefling. (they kneel to flthimmy.) tully* there, my bleffing on you both, you two fouls. (puts his hand on their heads.) young pranks. then, my dear uncle, i take my lovely kitty bar leycorn, and whilft her gentle qualities convince our friends, that birth and rank are not neceflary to con flitute an amiable wife, my refpedl for her virtues may prove, that the thoughtlefs prodigal can make a good hu/band. whimmy. oh ! i'm happy ! ha ! ha ! ha ! we've all got fo very generous. peregrine, with his little fortune, have dian and all my wealth ; your nephew, with your riches, takes little kitty barleycorn with nothing at all ; and ecod, mrs. maggs looks fo fpruce, that i could find in my heart to (going up to her.) mrs. maggs. now that's fo like mr. olmondle, (failing and advancing.) whimmy. oh! (runs from her.} i tully. rambles in dorsetshire. ioj tullv. and now, mrs. maggs, you will be drinking the apricocks. young pranks. then, sir, fhall we be merry. here ends my fe ven years hermitage, and, inftead of my annuity, i (hall think myfelf nobly rewarded, if my extravagant tricks and fancies can, by an indulgent fmile, receive the forgivenefs of my generous friends. finis. this book is due on the last date damped below. ttt 81 i pn ., aj pr far price i ary o; . john. a l'ecole par m. sher avocat au l\ the i3la as performed the ten ipeare, with efq. pric-: king k written by ! leatation on is. 6d. richar: daine. slxt 10m-11-50 2355 470 reminbton hand inc. a. the fam1l1 f.^kl ira cornicmccc, m >. the theatre roya\ kv.market. price is. \ll in good humour, a rramatic piece, theatre royal, haymarkst. price is. the enchanted \vood, a legendary dr; ^rvispeare's all's well that ends v . p. kemblt, as performed at t . pries i3.6d. jagdad. ie theatre . by tho. icd.at the y thomas the k irdibn, eiq. . hon. gen. p. kemble, i hon. -, comediei -el dt e is. i by s i p. "kemble, . of m. se as performed ma, i: uc sch/thern regional ml ii ii i ' univ< sc 115 116 237 the hermit of the catskills 45 when dewitt clinton overbaugh william charvat american fiction collection the ohio state university libraries 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 . ify he came so close as to sever the locks from his head. frontispiece. page 152. the hermit of the catskills a tale of the american revolution by de witt clinton overbaugh new york g. w. dillingham company mdcccc copyright, 1900, by de witt c. overbaugh. (all rights reserved.] the hermit of the catskills, dedication. to the holland society of the city and state of new york: on account of its faithful adherence and perpetuation of the patriotic sentiment of our holland dutch forefathers, who fought, bled and died for america's liberty, and my paternal grandfather and my maternal great-grandfather, who passed through all the vicissitudes of the fortunes of war, as officers, under general washington and general gates, of the american revolution, and one of whom, when again called upon, in his old age, in the war of 1812, took down his sword, and taking his eldest son with him, both enlisted for the war. one fell on the field of battle, amidst the clash of arms. the other died in the hospital tent, from exposure and fever. both gave up their lives for their country's flag, on the northern frontier. to the memories of such patriotic heroes as these, and to the noble holland society, which is keeping and cherishing this patriotic sentiment of our holland dutch ancestors, who took such a prominent part in defending the stars and stripes from a foreign foe, i respectfully dedicate this volume. de witt clinton overbaugh. contents. pagr chapter preface. vii 1. donald and cyrus . 9 ii. the tory gang . . 16 iii. the pledge by the stream 23 iv. hardenburgh hall 0 31 v. bretta and “the negro witch” 40 vi. the reception . 58 vii. the kingston fair 66 . viii. the capture 99 ix. the hermit of the catskills 113 x. the captives 123 xi. old cyrus 137 xii. the surprise 150 xiii. the hermit's cave 157 xiv. the burning of kingston . . 180 xv. the attack on hardenburgh hall . . 195 xvi. closing scenes 212 preface. i have been asked, “how did you come to write the hermit of the catskills ? " in the fall of 1888, while living in the city of kingston, i took a day's outing in the catskills with my dog and gun. i seriously injured one of my eyes that day, and the other, through sympathy, also became greatly affected. my physician forbade all work requiring their use. finding the time passing very irksomely and to no profit, and while confined to my room with eyes bandaged, shutting out the light of the world, i conceived the plot of my story and its title. fortunately, ulster county homes contain more or less historical records and legendary lore. after nearly recovering my eyesight, i gathered together all that was obtainable to serve my purpose and wove about them the woof and the warp, weaving here and there the fiction with facts, like the weaver in the manufacture of his cloth passing the shuttlecock to and fro. i thus formed the net work of history, legends, romance and fiction composing the make-up of the “hermit of the catskills.” my whole time was not given to the book, hence it was some years before it was completed and ready for the publisher. viii preface. to the kindness of the late honorable marius schoonmaker, the historian of ulster county, i am indebted for the permission of using certain references in his history of ulster county. to some others i am also indebted for papers and letters relating to the characters and scenes of the american revolution. hardenburgh hall, the home of the heroine of the story, located on the outskirts of the present village of rosendale, ulster county, still stands today, sound and stately as in the days of the seventeenth century. if the reader should look over the names of the kingston directory, he will find the same there today, who are descendants of those who attended the reception given to mrs. washington by colonel johannes hardenburgh at hardenburgh hall. if one should take the trouble to explore the mountains of high point in the catskills, he may find that the cave of the hermit still remains. in the vicinity of the binniewaters in ulster county some of the descendants of the hermit and his pretty indian wife still remain. d. c. o. chapter i. donald and cyrus. the war of the american revolution had been in progress two years or more. the battle of long island had been fought, and lost. the continental army and its heroic commander, general george washington, had completed fortifications on the banks of the hudson, respectively named forts montgomery, clinton and putnam; a wrought-iron chain of huge links had also been stretched across the river near west point. as a further hindrance to the enemy ascending the river, a chevaux-de-frise had been constructed and thrown across the hudson at the mouth of the highlands on the north, thus making it extremely difficult, if not dangerous and hazardous, for the british commander to undertake the passage of the highlands. at new windsor, general george clinton and his little band of patriots were watching with great io the hermit of the catskills. a vigilance from their entrenchments for any sign of the enemy; also forming a connecting link of communication from the forts in the highland with the committee of safety at kingston. general burgoyne with a splendid and well-equipped army was forcing his way from the canadas, destroying "en route " fort ticonderoga, and was, with forced marches, making his way to the upper hudson, where he was expecting to form a junction with howe's army from the lower hudson, and thus annihilate all the rebel opposition in the state of new york. at the same time, brandt, the indian chieftain, and his hosts of indian warriors and tories, were dealing death and destruction in the valleys of schoharie and wyoming, burning the homes of absent patriots, and massacring helpless women and children, or carrying them away into cruel captivity. this was the situation of military affairs when our story opens, and the reader is invited to accompany me while i relate the strange tale of the hermit of the catskills. it was on one of those lovely august days for donald and cyrus. ii which the valley of the hudson has long since been noted, in the year 1776, that two horsemen were traveling leisurely along the old king's highway, on the westerly banks of the hudson, leading from the lower highlands to kingston, then the capital of the state. they were nearing the old homestead of colonel johannes hardenburgh, situated at the foot of a large hill. at its base a wide stream wound its way. the fording place of this stream was directly opposite the sloping lawn of colonel hardenburgh. judging from the conversation of the two travelers, they were to be guests, for a short time, at least, at the above mansion. let us draw near and perhaps we can learn something of their mission and appearance. the foremost rider was spurred and booted; his doublet and waistcoat were of finest material; his hat was of extreme broad brim, with a golden cord and tassel that indicated somewhat his military rank, that of some trusted aid to the commander-in-chief of the american army. his youthful looks bespoke his age to be not more than twenty12 the hermit of the catskills. seven. his face betokened fearlessness. he had a square forehead, beneath which keen, penetrating black eyes twinkled and lighted up with intelligent expression, as he engaged in earnest conversation. a long mustache, "à la frenchman," adorned his upper lip, with mouth and chin expressive of great firmness of character. his broad shoulders and muscular limbs were suggestive of prodigious strength;-altogether he was a person one would hesitate to offend. he was well armed. from his saddle projected the handles of two large pistols; in his belt was seen the horn handle of a large hunting knife, and to his side a long claymore was safely strapped. now and then he would gently pat his horse's neck with soothing touch, and say, “don't be impatient, my boy, we will reach our journey's end ere nightfall.” his companion was an odd-looking genius indeed -a coal-black negro of apparently forty years of age. he sat on his horse in such a manner as to give horse and rider a very peculiar appearance. his long, lank legs hung so low, as to barely keep his feet from the ground; he did not sit upright, but donald and cyrus. 13 seemed to be almost double from curvature of the spine. with his long arms, he was brushing flies from his horse's ears, and as he caught the troublesome insects, with a chuckle and grin, he was heard a to say: “me cotch 'em dot time.” he was soon disturbed from his pastime by the remark of his master: "cyrus, that stately mansion at the foot of yonder hill must be colonel hardenburgh's, and there we will rest for the night, and also rest our tired steeds—and perhaps, cyrus, a good hoecake will assist in appeasing your never-ending appetite." “ha, ha! massa donald, you hit straight dot time, but you left out de best ting cyrus wants just now.” what is that, you black rascal? are you still thinking of the 'apple jack' whiskey, with which major bevier permitted you to wet that ever-thirsty whistle of yours?" “well, well! massa donald, you shoots straight ebery time shuah! i 'spect colonel hardenburgh won't forget dat we's come a long ways ober the dusty roads, and nothing clears dis ole darkie's troat 14 the hermit of the catskills. > like good apple jack whiskey; and i hear it done tell, dat de colonel knows how to treat gemmen.” well, cyrus, these are ticklish times. you must not be surprised if the colonel looks on us at first suspiciously. the tories and cowboys are constantly on the watch to give information to the enemy, and i believe the colonel to be one of their particular hatreds." “ah! massa donald, i swear vengeance on all dem cowardly debbils. didn't dey burn the house ober our heads, and run all de cattle off! didn't dey tie dis ole dark up to de tree, and give him fifty lashes, 'cause he wouldn't tell where young massa donald was!” and as the unforgotten pain from the lashes seemed to be recalled, the negro's long arms and fingers twitched and worked convulsively, while his eyes seemed to roll in anger. “i tell you what, massa donald, dis nigga must hab wengeance." “keep down your ire, cyrus, and wait. i feel there is a great debt to be wiped out for that night's doings. the time will come when i can repay them. but we must wait, cyrus, and bide our time.” donald and cyrus. 15 we will now leave our travelers for a time and carry our reader back a few months, in order to explain their mission and by whom sent. 16 the hermit of the catskills. chapter ii. the tory gang. after the defeat of the american forces at long island, by general howe, general george washington saw the necessity of raising more troops, and expected that kingston and vicinity would contribute largely to the levy. consequently it became necessary to appoint a commander of these new recruits. general washington at once came to the conclusion that george clinton should be placed in this important position, as commander of all the troops of the northern highlands. it was important that clinton, then at kingston, should be immediately informed of his appointment. a trustworthy and brave person was required to convey this, and other important dispatches, relative to the situation of the offending and defending forces. general washington, in casting about for the proper person to take this important journey, at once bethought him of donald mcgregor, a trustthe tory gang, 17 worthy member of his staff, and forthwith mcgregor was made acquainted with the desires of his commander, and at once started on his perilous journey to kingston. his route was up the easterly bank of the hudson, from westchester through the highlands to fishkill-on-the-hudson; thence across the river to newburgh, and from that military point, by the way of the kings road, to kingston. after perilous adventures and escapes, donald, on the early morning of the second day, drew up his horse at the gate of his father's homestead, located on the kings road, under the shadow of the shawangunk mountains, on a prominent eminence overlooking the hudson. here donald was welcomed with open arms by father and mother, and a rest of a few hours was indulged in. the buildings, which had so recently been burned by the tories, had been rebuilt by the father. the dwelling was made of stone, gathered from the quarries of the shawangunk mountains.* a a *many of these stone buildings are still standing in this region to-day. 18 the hermit of the catskills. there was one person who welcomed young mcgregor with great enthusiasm. that person was none other than cyrus, the negro slave belonging to the mcgregor family. he was greatly attached to his young master donald, and when the time came for donald's departure, cyrus earnestly besought his young master's permission to accompany him. consent was given, and cyrus was soon mounted on one of the best horses from the stables of his old master. their journey soon brought them to the point described in the opening of our first chapter. here we will leave them for a little while and give the reader a short history of the mcgregor family. donald mcgregor was the son of a scotch refugee, who came to america about the year 1760, bringing with him his young son, then ten years old, and settling on the westerly side of the hudson, in location already described. at the opening of the american revolution, the mcgregor family at once took sides with the oppressed people of their adopted country. both the tory gang. 19 father and son became strong and offensive patriots to the tory element of their vicinity. donald mcgregor could not be an inactive spectator to the stirring scenes enacted about him. the father consented that he should at once tender his services to the commander-in-chief of the american forces, while the father was left to defend his crops and property from the marauding tories and cowboys. donald was appointed as aid on the staff of general washington, where he served with great distinction, and on many occasions had been selected by his commander to perform perilous, secret duties. donald, at home and in the vicinity, was known by all for his fearless bravery, and also for his wonderful strength in the throwing of the hammer, and in wrestling. at all the village matches, none could outdo him in any of the youthful sports. these athletic exercises peculiarly fitted him for the secret services and perilous adventures required of him by his commander-in-chief. the tories had vowed vengeance against the mcgregors for the support they were giving the rebel 20 the hermit of the catskills. cause, and having learned that young mcgregor would visit his home on a certain occasion, had determined that upon that night they should capture him, and bring him a prisoner before general howe. but donald, knowing the intention of the tories, bade his parents good-bye, mounted his horse and was soon flying along the road to washington's headquarters. he had barely left his home before a band of loyalists, headed by the notorious john leffens, came and surrounded the house, supposing that donald was within, but being disappointed in their expectations, they burned the house, captured cyrus, tied him to a tree and gave him fifty lashes as an inducement to make him disclose the whereabouts of young mcgregor, they thinking that he lay secreted somewhere about the premises. failing in this, they left the building in ashes, driving the cattle before them, and leaving the old darkey tied to the tree. at the approach of leffens and his followers, old mcgregor and his wife immediately secreted themselves in an underground room, some distance from the tory gang. 21 the dwelling, which was in communication with it by tunnel passage. here through a peculiarly arranged aperture they could behold everything that transpired without. it was with intense feelings of hatred and anger that the old couple beheld their fine buildings burned to the ground, and their valued stock driven away, they being powerless to defend their property from so many well-armed freebooters; but, when the old man saw the lash applied to the bare back of his favorite servant, and heard his cries of agony, he could stand it no longer, but grasping his musket, leveled it at the heart of the tory traitor, john leffens. there certainly would have been one tory less in that band if the wife had not seized his arm before he could pull the trigger, and reminded him that to shoot would reveal their hiding place, and cause their destruction. with grinding teeth, and vows of vengeance, mcgregor lowered his musket, conceding to the wife that it would be imprudent to give the notorious tory his well-deserved reward at this time, but vowing vengeance on him for the future. . 22 the hermit of the catskills.. after the departure of leffens, mcgregor and his wife came to the rescue of cyrus, released him from his painful position, and administered to his wounds. the pledge by the stream. 23 chapter iii. the pledge by the stream. donald and his negro attendant were still ten miles from kingston. they had dispatches for col. hardenburgh, and upon nearing that gentleman's homestead, donald remarked to cyrus that there they would rest for the night, and also give rest to their weary steeds. cyrus, in anticipation of enjoying the hospitality as already hinted at by his master donald, said: "i hope the colonel won't forget de ole darkey, dat he is both dry and hungry. say, massa donald, after all de greetens is ober wid you, just remine de colonel date ise here too." donald was about to answer the old negro, when a sudden exclamation from him brought donald to an immediate standstill. “what now, cyrus? are your ears or eyes sharper than mine, that i should be called to a halt so suddenly?” a 24 the hermit of the catskills. “o, massa donald, i'se heard singen shuah just now. ise just cotch de sweetness as it comes floatin' cross de creek heah." cyrus had barely finished his remarks, when the sweet voice of a young girl in patriotic song, was distinctly heard, borne to them by the gentle zephyrs from across the stream. young donald was spell-bound by the sweetness of the song. motioning to cyrus to remain and take charge of his horse, donald dismounted, and going gently, as if afraid to dispel what seemed to him as a son of an angel, drew near, guided by the voice of the songstress, which now became more and more distinct. having gained a little eminence, from which he could span the other side of the creek with his vision, he there beheld a sight which caused his eyes to kindle and his heart to beat faster. there, within two hundred feet from where he stood, seated on the root of a large sycamore tree, was a lovely maiden of scarcely eighteen summers. her shoes and stockings had been removed, and with her feet she was splashing the water, causing large bubbles to float away with the current, in close the pledge by the stream. 25 company with the daisies, that were found useless for a wreath she was making to adorn her auburn locks, which had been permitted to hang loose on her shoulders. her face was not of the rarest beauty, but there was an expression of sweet innocence and purity in it, which once seen, is always to be remembered. her form was petite and fully developed; her small feet and neatly turned ankles, which were revealed, as they hung dangling and splashing in the water, assured the beholder that the maiden belonged to some family of high culture and refinement. the words of her song, and the spirit in which it was sung, expressed the true sentiment of her heart for the patriotic cause and liberty of her country. donald's heart had thus far escaped “scot free” from the darts of the little archer "cupid," but his arrows were flying thick and fast now, and with such true aim, that donald fell a complete victim to the sight before him. in a word he felt at once, by some irresistible sentiment, that this lovely being was in some way to have a control over his future destiny. suddenly the song ceased, the daisy wreath 26 the hermit of the catskills. was adjusted to her forehead, and her shoes and stockings were quickly drawn on her feet. uttering her thoughts, she said: “it is near sun-down, and i must go quickly or uncle will be worried about my absence.” so quickly gathering up her light cape and hat, as if alarmed at the lateness of the hour, she arose as if to depart. as she did so, she was suddenly confronted by a second person who had, unseen, approached very near to where the maiden was seated. with dignity and firmness, she immediately drew herself up to her full height and accosted the intruder: how is this, paul leffens, that you dare to come again into my presence unbidden? was not our last interview sufficient, that you thus annoy me by your visits, which you know are distasteful to me? stand aside and let me pass, or this whistle will call assistance from my friends in yonder mansion.” “not so fast, my little daisy. far from me to do you harm. i love you too well for that; so put up your call and listen to the last appeal of a heart that beats loyal only to you." “yes, indeed, loyal you are, paul leffens, to your 66 a the pledge by the stream, 27 king, but not one beat of that heart is given to the cause of right and liberty. away to your marauding troopers, or i will place your liberty in jeopardy.” * harken to what i have to say, as i swear it. you shall be mine, strike me with your cruel taunts as you will. bretta rutsen, you shall yet be paul leffens's wife.” “never! never!" spoke the young girl with firmness. “do you see these papers ? " said leffens. they are the mortgages on your father's estate. they can be redeemed only by the pledge of your hand. ah! you are touched now, i see, and perhaps brought to your right senses. become my betrothed, bretta, and your father's estate is saved, and he himself, from durance vile." “oh, i cannot, will not be your wife. give me those papers. oh, please give them to me, and i will pray for you all the days of my life.” “no, no, my little charmer, i have named my terms. become mine and your father shall keep his estate. refuse, and he and your invalid mother 28 the hermit of the catskills. shall be dispossessed. can you, their only child, be the cause of making them houseless and homeless?" oh, no, it cannot, must not be. god will deliver them and me out of your hands." " then hear me for the last time, bretta. ere the setting of to-morrow's sun, execution of these papers shall be served, and the estate shall fall into my hands. your proud spirit will then be subdued, when your aged parents are without a roof to cover their heads. i bid you adieu, but remember my words. you shall yet be my wife." stay, paul leffens. can there be no other conditions by which this calamity to my poor parents can be averted?" none. i have plainly spoken.” " then, paul leffens, hear what my conditions are. if at the coming fair to be held at kingston, at the trial of athletic sports, you can outdo all others in the throwing of the hammer, and come out best man in all the contests, then i will consent to be your wife, to save my dear father and sick mother. but, if you fail in any of these trials, then those the pledge by the stream. 29 papers shall be mine. you are the strongest man in the country, it is said, and it is reported that you are an adept in throwing the hammer and at wrestling. do you accept my conditions, paul leffens?” "my pretty damsel, you know how to flatter as well as to taunt. but if i should accept your conditions, who is your champion that can throw the hammer farther or wrestle with more skill than paul leffens? in all the wide borders of our country i have yet failed to find the man who could defeat me. then, bretta, how can you hope to be released from your own pledge?” “ paul leffens, i will trust him who watcheth over his own, and bringeth the doings of evil workers to naught. he will raise me up a champion, who will outdo you in the throwing of the hammer, and in the wrestling match, and make your braggart heart quail before his superior strength and dexterity.” “now, over-confident miss, i will accept your conditions, and we will see if he, whom you profess to trust, will send a champion who has a stronger arm than i. i will be at the place, at the time ap30 the hermit of the catskills. pointed, and will put in trusty hands these papers of your father's estate. and if any person can outthrow me with the hammer or overcome me in a wrestling match, they shall be yours; if not, you are mine by the pledge of your own words. adieu, bretta rutsen, and prepare your bridal gown, for you are mine as sure as the rising of to-morrow's sun.” saying this, paul leffens quickly mounted his horse, tethered near, and rapidly rode away to joir his father's secret band of marauding troops. bretta rutsen now hastened to the mansion of colonel hardenburgh, who, on account of her long absence, was awaiting her with anxiety. hardenburgh hall. 31 chapter iv. . hardenburgh hall. donald mcgregor was not an unwilling spectator and listener during the scene just enacted by the sweet songstress and paul leffens. at times he could hardly refrain from rushing across the stream to rescue the papers from the cowardly tory, and deliver the poor girl from the thraldom to which she seemed to bind herself. but prudence whispered “ not yet; bide your time, and meet the fellow on the proposed battle-ground.” hastily leaving his hiding place, donald mounted his horse, and bidding his colored attendant to follow, crossed the stream and rode directly to the mansion of colonel hardenburgh, where bretta rutsen had just previously entered. the mansion of colonel hardenburgh stood on a small rise of ground, a hundred yards or more from the kings highway, and was built of stone.* the *big land deal long ago. on june 3, 1751, johannes hardenburgh purchased of the indians 2,000,000 acres of real estate for a considera32 the hermit of the catskills. designer and builder of this house of affluence and luxury, had so arranged its plans for defence, that it was equal to any assault to which the inmates might be subjected. here and there were loopholes for firing on an enemy. dormer-windows, overlooking the long sloping lawn and entrance to the grounds, gave the inhabitants a view of all who approached. the large double oaken doors were fastened in such a manner that the upper half only could be opened first, while the lower part remained securely fastened and barred, thus making it almost impossible for an unwelcome visitor to enter. it was the custom of colonel hardenburgh during the day to keep a lookout or watchman at one of the dormer-windows to see who approached, and when strange visitors appeared, an immediate alarm was sounded through the house, thus giving ample time to lock and bar all entrances before the stranger could arrive at the door. these precautions were made by the colonel as safeguard against any sudden attacks from tories tion in the deed of 149 pounds and 19 shillings. the purchase covered with other lands more than one half of delaware county. hardenburgh hall. 33 or indians. consequently when donald and cyrus made their appearance with booted spurs and clanking sabres, the lookout immediately sounded the alarm, and at once hardenburgh hall was turned into a stronghold of defence, until something could be learned of the visitors and their mission. donald rode proudly up to the main entrance, and with the hilt of his heavy sword struck the great oaken panel door and asked for admittance, saying at the same time that he bore important dispatches from general george washington to colonel johannes hardenburgh. immediately the colonel commanded the double doors to be thrown open, and stepping out, said: “beg pardon, my young soldier, for such i take you to be, for giving you such a cold welcome; we are living in troublesome times, you know, and it behooves me to use all necessary precautions to prevent surprises. but dismount, my young friend, and my hospitality will somewhat atone for the unfriendly welcome." these words, with the savory smell arising from the kitchen, made cyrus sniff the air and lap his 34 the hermit of the catskills. lips in anticipation of the enjoyment which he had long been expecting. donald dismounted, threw his bridle to an attendant, grasped the colonel's hand, and was immediately ushered into “ the hall.” cyrus was heard to say, "i wonder wedder young massa donald dun forgot ole cyrus. didn't i tell him after de greetens was ober to inform de colonel dat i'se here too." his murmurs were soon cut short, however, as an attendant showed him to the quarters of the butler, where he was taken in hand by that gentleman, one of his own color, and we trust that through this medium both appetite and thirst were fully appeased. donald at once placed in the colonel's hands the dispatch from his chief, which commanded colonel hardenburgh to assist general george clinton in raising recruits for the defence of the upper hudson from an expected attempt of general howe to ascend that stream and form a junction with general burgoyne, then en route from the canadas. it also requested the colonel to furnish a proper eshardenburgh hall. 35 cort for mrs. washington, then in kingston, and conduct her safely to the military post of the american army of the north at newburgh, where general washington would soon join her. at the conclusion of the perusal of the dispatches, the colonel remarked to donald that the commander-in-chief seemed fully alive to the situation, and knew the necessity of raising more troops. “the general council of safety at kingston have anticipated him, however," he said, "and have issued a call for a volunteers to rally for the defence of their country.” “mrs. washington has already been made acquainted with the desires of her illustrious husband,” he continued, “and will soon set forth on her journey. she is expected to be my guest for a short time, at least long enough for me to perfect the arrangements necessary to secure her safe arrival at newburgh.” and now, my young friend, you must be both tired and hungry. we will adjourn for refreshments, of which i was just ready to partake, when your arrival was announced by the "look-out." “ 66 36 the hermit of the catskills. here you shall rest for the while, and perhaps your stay may be made the sweeter by the social and entertaining qualities of my niece, miss bretta rutsen, who is my guest, and also doing the honors of our hall. so remove your sword and spurs, and join us at once.” “ most thankfully, colonel hardenburgh, do i accept your proffered hospitality, if for no other reason than to meet your pretty niece.” mcgregor, you are a soldier. i warn you in time, not to let the fair sex keep you from your soldierly duty." "i know my duty better than that, colonel. but let it be never said of me that i refused to champion a lady's cause, when necessary, like a true knig ht. so i follow you to refreshments, and let me see this pretty damsel, who i believe is turning the heads of half the swains of the community.' the colonel then conducted donald to the “dining-hall,” where miss bretta was in waiting for her uncle and guest. donald, on being presented to the young lady, noticed that she turned a shade paler, and for a moa hardenburgh hall. 37 ment seemed confused, but rallying quickly said, “we bid you welcome, donald mcgregor, to the hospitality of a true patriot. and i join my uncle in his request, that your stay with us will at least be long enough to recruit both horse and rider before entering further upon your journey." “ thanks, miss rutsen, for your own as well as your uncle's friendly request, but the morning sun must find me on my way to kingston, for delivery of private dispatches to general clinton. that duty performed, and it please you, on my return, i will spend a few days here and enjoy your sweet presence and your uncle's fireside." they had scarcely been seated at the family board,” when a loud knocking at the outer door announced a new arrival. the colonel was quickly informed that it was the “ postman” from kingston with an important communication, in a sealed packet, informing him that mrs. george washington, the wife of the illustrious “commander-in, chief” of all the american forces (then in kingston), would breakfast at "hardenburgh hall" en route to newburgh to join her husband. also that 38 the hermit of the catskills. she would be accompanied by george clinton and colonel snyder, with small guard as escort of safety. colonel hardenburgh read the letter: kingston, august, 1777. to colonel johannas hardenburgh, rosendale : dear sir -his excellency, governor clinton and mrs. george washington will leave here in the morning for general washington's headquarters at newburgh. they will do themselves the honor of breakfasting with you at hardenburgh hall about eight-thirty o'clock. very respectfully yours, varrick, secretary.* “this is fortunate for you and for me also, mcgregor,” said the colonel, “ for you shall meet general clinton in the morning beneath my roof. i see by this letter, he is the escort of mrs. washington to newburgh; and that will relieve me from further duty on that score. so you may be content to remain with us until after the departure of mrs. washington, whose stay here will be long enough, at least, to grant her a reception by the patriotic ladies of this section, under management of my gentle niece. what say you, mcgregor, will you join *this letter is now in possession of mrs. henrietta wood, rosendale, ulster co., n. y. hardenburgh hall. 39 > bretta in this duty, and be the 'chesterfield' for the occasion?” surely, colonel, and it please miss rutsen, i shall most heartily enter into this engagement, and if this reception given to the wife of the noble washington be not a success, it will not be on account of any unperformed duty of mine." "what say you, bretta," said the colonel, “ do you agree to this arrangement? “to do your bidding, uncle, is pleasure to me, and our noble guest shall receive such courtesy, as only a hardenburgh and a rutsen can give,” and then turning blushingly to donald, she said: “your proffered assistance, gentle sir, is as freely accepted, as 'tis given, and i divine that you will be to me a most valuable assistant." thanks, miss rutsen, for the estimate you place on my ability, and which you so frankly express. i will see to it, that you will not have any cause for censure!” enough,” said the colonel. “my house is at your disposal, and make this reception the grandest ever held beneath its roof.” 40 the hermit of the catskills. . chapter v. bretta and the negro witch.” bretta rutsen was the only child of john rutsen, and only grandchild of colonel john rutsen, who settled upon what is known unto this day, as the rutsen patent, granted to colonel john by the then reigning monarch of england in 1714. the war of the revolution having begun and colonel john rutsen being dead, his son john became the “ lord” of the patent, and possessor of all his father's broad estates. he was too old to become an active partisan in the struggle for liberty, but lent all his influence and means to assist the continental army. this brought down upon him the ire of king george and his adherents, especially the tories in his vicinity. among the latter was the notorious john leffens. frequent raids were made on the patriots by this tory leader and his marauding troopers. bretta and “the negro witch." 41 > john rutsen did not escape their visits. many fine cattle and horses were taken from him, to supply the enemy. paul leffens, though not apparently connected with his father in his raids and lawless acts, was a thorough tory at heart. many a true patriot was made to suffer by the information gained by the son, and carried to the father. he had long been paying unwelcome visits to the rutsen mansion to court the fair bretta, but the suspicion resting upon him, that he was in some way connected with the tory element around him, caused bretta and her aged parents not to look upon the visits of young leffens with any degree of pleasure. his father had always been an unscrupulous character, and long before the revolutionary struggle he had become wealthy, through his “sharp" business transaction." in an evil hour, when john rutsen stood in sore need, he mortgaged his estates to john leffens. the war soon followed, into which john leffens entered, with all his energy, as the leader of the to> 42 the hermit of the catskills. ries and cowboys of the vicinity. this soon developed the meanness of his character, and he became one of the worst enemies to the cause of liberty to be found in the country. he frequently made his boasts that he would become possessor of the rutsen estates, and to this end did all in his power to cripple and injure john rutsen. the mortgage given to leffens before the war was safely and carefully preserved by the tory, who gave no opportunity to john rutsen to redeem it if he could. the war following so soon after this transaction, and the frequent raids made upon the estate, reduced john rutsen more and more, until it was among the impossibilities to "take up the mortgage,” at least until after the close of the war, when he hoped to be able to do so. the father, john leffens, looked on his son's efforts to win the pretty daughter, and heir to the rutsen estates, with a great deal of interest and anxiety. long had he coveted these broad lands, and while the mortgage gave him a strong hold on the property, yet it did not put him in possession. bretta and “the negro witch." 43 consequently he expected to accomplish through the son, by marriage to the heir, that which he could not reasonably expect to reach very soon in a legal way. paul leffens, through the advice of the father, used the power of these papers to work upon the minds of the aged couple, john rutsen and wife, and urged them to look with favor on his suit with the fair bretta, finally resorting to threats of foreclosure against the estate, unless consent was given to his visits at the rutsen mansion. he had so far succeeded as to partially get the consent of the old couple to his visits, and they began to think that bretta should yield and come to their rescue, but she, on this point, was firm, until at the interview with paul leffens, by the stream, as witnessed by donald. bretta so far consented to become his wife that she named the only conditions acceptable to her, which were adopted by leffens, as the reader is already informed. bretta rutsen spent much of her time at "hardenburgh hall” with her widower uncle, and presided over his household during her visits, which 44 the hermit of the catskills. were only limited in length by duties to her aged parents. as a matter of course, her uncle expected her to do the honors as lady of the mansion at the coming reception. the evening was quite far advanced when the small party arose from the table. donald bade his gentle hostess and the colonel good night,” and was conducted by a servant to one of the rooms above. his mind was too full of conflicting emotions to immediately seek repose, and consequently lingered in meditation over the scenes of the day. the first sight of bretta at the stream, and the promise made by her to paul leffens to become his wife, if her champion should be worsted at the coming fair. then he thought of the faith of the girl in her creator to provide for her a champion who would save her from the tory's embrace, and rescue her father's estates. the scenes of the evening were also recounted by donald. bretta's embarrassed manner at their first meeting, and her gracious acceptance of his proffered assistance at the bretta and “the negro witch.45 » " > coming reception. all this passed rapidly through his mind. the result of his meditation taking an audible form, was, fate seems to have thrust this upon me. why is it, that i have become so deeply interested in this lovely unfortunate girl? am i in love? surely, i believe i am, and upon so short acquaintance too. can it be, that i, donald mcgregor, should escape thus far all the darts of the little archer' to fall into the net of this sweet little rustic damsel.” “but she beareth herself like a queen. with what majesty and dignity did she address the tory scoundrel by the stream!” “ shall our destinies be united ?” “ there is something within me that seems to say • yes.'” “well, shall i meet the villainous tory on the battle ground, or shall i leave the lovely maiden to her fate?" “ the latter must not be.” “ yea, that was a heaven-sent messenger to thee, donald, when the fair bretta told her persecutor 46 the hermit of the catskills. that he, in whom she trusted, would raise up for her a champion." “ yes, bretta! i will be thy deliverer. thy faith has inspired me with the same confidential inspirations that seemed to animate thy soul, when naming thy conditions to the persecuting tory.' “but hold, donald mcgregor! not so fast in your emotions, how do you know whether this lovely maiden has one tender thought for you?” “ah! but why that paleness and confused manner, when her uncle presented me to her? has she ever seen me before? and if so, when, where, on what occasion ? her manner surely seemed to indicate it." his head seemed hot and burning with his confused thoughts. stepping to the dormer-window, donald threw it wide open to admit the balmy summer air, to cool fevered brow. gazing out upon the scene before him he tried to penetrate the future, to see if possible, what it had in store for him. the full moon was just rising above the tall tree tops, on the eastern hills, and the lawn became albretta and “the negro witch.” 47 6 most light as day. footsteps were heard beneath him on the porch, and a gentle voice, saying: “you may leave me now, dinah, i would be alone for awhile. this day has been full of startling events to me. hence i would meditate under these lovely maples.” no, bretty, old dinah must stay close by lubly missus, de woods am full ob danger, and old dinah mus be on de watch.” “no, dinah, faithful one, you must return for awhile, but keep within call, and if wanted, i will summon you.” so bretta tripped to the rustic seat under the tall maple trees for meditation. she, like her admirer, soon became lost in thought. she reviewed all the incidents of the day. her encounter with paul leffens and the conditional promise made him, especially disturbed her. she regretted the promise, and would now recall it if she could. but the hope that a champion would appear in her behalf, and rescue her parents from the peril overhanging them, by a complete victory over her persecutor, seemed to fill her soul with a sweet assurance that he, in > 48 the hermit of the catskills. 66 whom she had trusted from childhood, would not now, in this, her extreme peril, desert and leave her without a deliverer. she also recalled the events of the evening, the introduction of the manly stranger, the preparation for the coming reception, and donald's kindly consent to assist her, in that coming event. her mind was so filled with conflicting emotions, that unconsciously soliloquizing, she said: “oh, donald mcgregor, how oft have i seen thee in my dreams! yes, dreaming or waking, thy face hath haunted me. when i first beheld thee, thou didst seem but as an old acquaintance; but hush thy breathings. bretta, what interest hath the manly stranger in thee? yes, my heart may reveal its secret to the maple leaves, but oh, not to him for a crown.” donald's position at the window was such that he could both see and hear the pretty maiden, and yet not be seen by her, so unconsciously for the second time, donald became an eavesdropper, so to speak. this thought came to him: "shall i offer to appear as her champion in the coming lists against the tory, leffens, or shall i wait and meet the fellow bretta and “the negro witch." 49 unknown on the battle-field?” his musings were suddenly cut short by the appearance of a stranger on the scene below him. directly in front of bretta, as if arisen out of the earth, stood a coal black negress, seemingly as old as the hills about them. it was old chlo, the negro sorceress of yuppenbergh hill. long had she held sway among the young folks of the surrounding country, on account of the belief among the superstitious that she could foretell future events. it was also believed by many that she held her “ familiar" spirit captive in a box, subject to her call, and that this spirit directed all of her witchcrafts, sayings and doings. it was also claimed that this “ familiar” sent her on special journeys to those who were in any peculiar danger; therefore a visit from her produced a superstitious fear, almost uncontrollable. bretta knew this fact, and the sudden appearance of the old negress at such an hour meant to her that she was near some great danger. consequently she could not suppress a slight scream when she beheld the old sorceress standing before her, “withhold your screams, miss bretta, till you are in danger, which i fear will be soon enough." > 50 the hermit of the catskills. “how now, thau wizardess of yuppenbergh hill, hast thou left thy lonely retreat to bring me tidings of ill omen? away to thy familiar spirit, and tell thy croakings to the wind, i believe thee not ! ” “not so fast, heiress to the lost estates of rutsen, i have come to warn you of greater danger and greater evil than that of losing your inheritance.” saying this, the old negress placed a box containing three different apartments on the ground, and drawing a large circle upon the earth with a sort of wand, she stepped within its charm and taking from her bosom a peculiar kind of powder (known only to few in those early days), sprinkled it upon the charmed circle drawn about her, all the time muttering words unintelligible to bretta, who seemed to sit as if spell-bound by the creature's movements. the old negress went over the circle the second time, with a different colored powder, after which she placed the peculiarly constructed box within the charmed enclosure. taking a flint from her pocket, she struck it with a piece of steel. instantly the sparks began to fly, and lighting upon the powder, the whole soon became a circle of mixed blue and bretta and “the negro witch." 51 red flame. seating herself square upon the ground in the centre of the sulphurous flame, she took from a bag, hanging from her shoulder, a large gourd, cut in twain. over the opening a rattle snake skin was tightly drawn, and using a sort of drum stick, she commenced beating on the gourd, keeping up a peculiar monotonous song, in time to the music. she had hardly begun her “fetish song,” before the door in one of the apartments of the box slowly opened outward, and a small white coney rabbit made its appearance, and ran to the farthermost part of the charmed circle, but was powerless to get beyond the lurid flames. continuing her weird song, another apartment of the box opened, and a snake of venomous appearance came hissing and wriggling forth, and slowly crawling toward the innocent little coney rabbit, suddenly sprang upon it, coiling its folds about its victim. her song continuing, the door of the other apartment of the box opened, and a small animal having the appearance of a weasel sprang out of the box with a bound. seeing the little coney within the 52 the hermit of the catskills. folds of the serpent, its eyes seemed to emit fire, and in an instant the weasel fastened its fangs in the snake. the folds loosened about the rabbit in a moment, and the serpent with all its power tried to escape from its enemy and flee to the box. the little coney lay limp upon the ground; the song ceased, and the sulphurous flames died away. seizing the combatants, the old sorceress placed them within the box, taking the apparently dead rabbit in her arms. she thus addressed bretta, who was nearly overcome from effects of what she had just witnessed: “ pretty maid, you are like this little coney rabbit -pure and innocent. you will be in great danger of your life by a serpent that crawleth not upon the ground; beware, bretta rutsen, of coming peril; like this little rabbit, you are within the folds of a serpent—again, i say, beware! paul leffens is the seri pent in your destiny, but there is a weasel near you, his arm and heart must be strong to defend and love or you are lost. you have witnessed this night that which has made many hearts quail, but to you it means protection-look well to the stranger within your gates, i bid you adieu.” bretta and “the negro witch." 53 a thus saying, the old negress disappeared as suddenly as she came. donald, as before intimated, had been a silent spectator of the scene just enacted under the maples. though startled and somewhat awed at the mysterious manner and doings of the sorceress, a belief in the prophecy to bretta took possession of him. he resolved at once to approach bretta and offer her his protection. descending the low flight of stairs, and crossing the hall to the outer door, stepping over the sleeping form of dinah, he gently approached the maiden, who had not yet fully recovered from the shock produced by the old witch, and consequently was not aware of donald's presence. he thus addressed her: “methinks the fair maiden of hardenburgh hall instead of studying the constellations, should be resting on her pillow. the dew is falling, and the air is damp and chilly, besides there is danger, miss bretta, from surprises from the indians and tories." * thanks, sir, for your gentle reproof. i sought this quieter treat for meditation. in my disturbed 66 54 the hermit of the catskills. state of mind, sleep would have been impossible, hence my visit to this favorite seat beneath these lovely maples. the events of the day, kind sir, have been to me so startling and of such momentous importance concerning me, that they trouble me exceedingly." “you speak and hint at something that places your happiness in jeopardy, am i not correct, miss bretta?” “you are correct in your conclusions. yes, not only my happiness, but my very life and that of my poor parents, are also in jeopardy!” “tell me, bretta, who dares to cause the tears to fill those bright eyes, and give you apprehensions regarding your life, and the happiness of your parents. tell me, and i swear it, that this strong arm will defend you. but, sir, you speak without knowledge of the cost. there is a stronger arm than yours, i fear, that will bind me to a miserable existence, unless one stronger than his can release me." now, bretta, you are talking to me in enigmas; if you need a champion to defend you from expected a bretta and "the negro witch." 55 a danger, i am at your command; can i serve you?" surely, you are kind indeed, to offer to champion the cause of a maiden of whom you know so little." “even though, gentle lady, but a few hours have passed since we first met, may i be pardoned in saying, you are already well known to my heart,” said donald, kneeling at her feet, "and there is that within which tells me that my destiny shall be closely allied to yours, and that your danger shall be mine, together we shall meet it. can i hope, miss bretta, that your own heart beats respond to this sentiment?” “oh, donald mcgregor, kneel not to me! you are but little acquainted with poor bretta, and her unfortunate circumstances, to so quickly manifest such an interest in her.” “enough, fair bretta, i am willing to wait, but so sure as the rising of yon moon, your destiny is mine. the very stars speak it; my heart tells me it will be so; and it cannot be changed, i will wait until you are convinced of this truth." “ perhaps, sir, if you could know my future, you 56 the hermit of the catskills. would shrink from making my destiny yours. the future seems to me like an impenetrable gloom. a premonition, yea, i may say, a prophecy of great danger has fallen on my heart. how soon it may come, i know not, but i feel that it will be a great danger to me—so you do well to wait, sir donald, and first convince yourself of the knowledge of your own heart. when you see bretta's destiny leading you through greatly troubled waters with loss of happiness and perhaps life itself, then sir, regretting this hour, you may leave the poor maiden to her fate." “ a talisman, bretta! a talisman! to prove to you that my life is yours, if need be, and i swear it, here beneath yon bright stars, that donald mcgregor will redeem the pledge here given or lose his life in the attempt." “enough, brave soldier, you shall be put to the test, sooner than you expect. you will surely need a talisman, a charm to preserve you and keep your life, through the extreme danger you will pass, in following the destiny of the poor maid of hardenburgh hall." a bretta and “the negro witch." 57 so saying, bretta took from her bosom a golden cross and placing it in donald's hands, said: “wear it, sir, wherever you go, and may it prove indeed a talisman to you, and guard you from all and every danger, is the wish of bretta rutsen.” donald took the precious gift, remarking: “i will part with my life before parting with this, ever will i wear it next to the heart that beats only for the giver. but bretta, when you have passed through this peril you speak of, and the future is bright to you, and i have convinced you of my faithfulness, and undying love, will you then redeem this precious gift by the gift of your hand ? " “now, donald, you are treading on dangerous ground; you must be content and let the future reveal to us that which now seems to be hidden in darkness, whether our destinies are to be one or not. but you say truly, the air is damp and chilly, and if it please you i will seek repose, which you also must need for the necessary preparations for the coming reception.” thus speaking, bretta bade her companion good night and passed into the house with dinah following her. 58 the hermit of the catskills. chapter vi. the reception. the morning sun had hardly cast its rays over the eastern hills before the inmates of hardenburgh hall were all astir, making ready to receive their illustrious guests—mrs. washington and general george clinton. servants had already, at this early hour, been dispatched in every direction with invitations to the gentry of the surrounding country, requesting their presence at the reception to be given mrs. washington at hardenburgh hall in the evening. as previously announced by post, mrs. washington would be at colonel hardenburgh's at early breakfast; in anticipation of this fact—bretta had an extra back log placed in the quaint old fire-place, and a cheerful fire was crackling and blazing away. although it was midsummer, yet the mornings were damp and chilly within the stone walls of hardenburgh hall. the cheerful fire and savory smells the reception. 59 of the roast pig in the kitchen, gave a hospitable assurance to all who might come within its influence. suddenly the alarm given by the watchman announced the approach of the expected guests. colonel hardenburgh and donald from the porch beheld the cavalcade coming down the long hill, leading toward the mansion. a large coach of the style of louis the fifteenth, drawn by a double span of grays, contained the wife of washington; on the right side of the coach rode general george clinton, while on the left was colonel johannes snyder. each was astride of a magnificent charger, accompanied with all necessary accoutrements for defence. directly in front of the coach rode four calvarymen, while the rear was brought up by as many more, all thoroughly armed. this precaution was necessary, in order to secure a safe journey to the illustrious lady in the coach. the hall was soon reached, where the accustomed military salutes were exchanged, after which colonel hardenburgh approached the coach, opened the door and assisted mrs. washington to the porch, where she was presented to donald and bretta, and 60 the hermit of the catskills. conducted to the cheerful apartment before mentioned, while colonel hardenburgh and his military guests retired to another apartment for consultation over the dispatches donald had placed in the hands of george clinton. these dispatches confirmed the appointment of general clinton to the command of the northern army at new windsor and newburgh. information was also given in these dispatches that general clinton must be on the outlook for any attempt that might be made by general howe, the british commander, to ascend the hudson, for the purpose of forming a junction with general burgoyne's army of the north. instruction was also given to general clinton to guard kingston and the river towns from the expected invader, and to this end suggested that donald mcgregor be retained in his service with a commission of captain in the regular army and to be an assistant in the enlistment of recruits, etc. donald was made aware of his appointment by general clinton, and was instructed by his new commander to make kingston his headquarters for the enlistment of troops to fill the quota as proportioned the reception. 61 to this section of the state. this business being disposed of and the bell announcing breakfast, they at once repaired to the large dining hall, where bretta and mrs. washington were in waiting. colonel hardenburgh, whose seat was at the head of the table, placed mrs. washington on his right and general clinton on his left, while next to mrs. washington was placed colonel johannas snyder. directly opposite sat captain mcgregor, and at the lower end of the table sat bretta rutsen. the menu of this breakfast would be too lengthy to enumerate here, but suffice it to say that all the fruits and products of the country were represented there. after breakfasting this party, another service was given to the followers of the illustrious guests and inmates of the household, and hardenburgh hall was made to "ring again " with good cheer. mrs. washington had been made acquainted on her arrival with the fact that a reception was to be given in her honor the coming evening, and the hour drawing near for the guests of the evening to arrive, she repaired to her room to make suitable preparation for the event. this act was followed by all the 62 the hermit of the catskills. guests of the house. donald by the aid of cyrus and the production of his saddle-bags had undergone a complete change in his dress. his powdered hair and lengthy queue tied at the end by the ribbon presented to him by bretta, his satin knee breeches and long silk hose, low shoes, with silver buckles and silk waistcoat, scarlet doublet and frilled linen, altogether gave him the appearance of an american gentleman of the period. before the third hour of the evening the guests had arrived and had been presented to mrs. washington and general clinton, after which followed the order of dancing to the music of the orchestra. let the reader take a seat with me in the high, old-fashioned window, where we can overlook the dancers and note who the invited guests are, that are called to give honor to the noble personages at hardenburgh hall. the dancing has not yet begun and we will have time to note the appearance of mrs. washington. she appears to be in the heyday of her life, apparently about thirty years of age. she is a beautiful woman! grand and noble in appearance; dignified, but not overbearing; intelligent in conver! the reception. 63 sation; quick at repartee, yet noble in demeanor; she is worthy of the name of the first lady of the land and also worthy to be the wife of general washington. her dress was such as her high position called for; marie antoinette style of head-dress, with bodice and skirts of the leading fashion of the period. a cotillion was announced, and colonel hardenburgh approached mrs. washington and offered her his arm for the first place in the dance. it was graciously accepted, and they took their appointed position as leaders of the first dance of the evening. general clinton with miss bretta rutsen took the position directly opposite to mrs. washington and the colonel, while colonel johannas snyder with a mrs. bevier gently hanging on his arm, stepped quickly to the left of the leading couple. captain mcgregor with mrs. johannas snyder made the set complete by occupying the position on the right of his host and partner. there were four“ sets now ready for the dancing. there were more than as many personages seated in the alcoves and side rooms of the hall. their names are familiar to us even at this 64 the hermit of the catskills. writing. we give you a list of them as they have been handed down to us from generation to generation. there are the bruyns, the livingstons, the hardenburghs, the snyders, the beviers, the rutsens, the lefevers, the du boises, the hornbecks, the bogardus, the van rensalaers, the vanderburghs, the clintons, the hasbroucks, the deyos, the schoonmakers, the emerichs, the wynkoops, the eltings, the ten broecks, the van burens and many others, all true patriots, and willing contributors to the cause of liberty. the music started up and the dancing began. it was a lovely sight; never before had hardenburgh hall held such a party! grace, wit, humor, held courtly sway. the music became more and more inspiring. the dancers seemed to catch the infection and as the figures changed, enthusiasm and animation seemed to fill them with delight, as their feet kept time to the rhythms of music. and when this cotillion was ended, every one felt their blood coursing quicker and respiration shorter from the exertions of the dance. after this the round dances and cutting of the "pigeon's wing” were indulged in the reception. 65 by the younger portion of the household. in this dance captain mcgregor with miss bretta were the “observed of all observers." their graceful motions seemed to be in perfect harmony with the music. donald, true to his scotch parentage, was well acquainted with the art of dancing, and was the prince” of this occasion. this dance was soon followed by the “ virginia reel,” in which all of the guests were engaged. the long double line reached to the complete lower end of the lengthy hall. some fantastic, jovial steps were indulged in by some of the dancers on this occasion. donald with his scotch blood could not refrain from getting in portion of the “ highland fling,” much to the delight of the others. but all things have an end, and so had this dance. refreshments being announced, the guests repaired to the large dining hall, where the tables were spread with all the delicasies of the season. thus ended the memorable gathering, the like of which was never witnessed in hardenburgh hall. 66 the hermit of the catskills. chapter vii. the kingston fair. the morning sun rose clear and cloudless and the dew had not yet been absorbed by its rays ere mrs. washington and her escort were well on their way to newburgh. general clinton after councilling with colonel hardenburgh, colonel snyder and captain mcgregor had decided that colonel hardenburgh with colonel snyder should escort mrs. washington to her destination, while general clinton should return to kingston with captain mcgregor and inform the “ committee of safety” of the confirmation of his appointment to command the patriot army, north of the highland. he would also advise with said committee as to the best preparation necessary to guard against invasion, and to raise the quota of troops proportioned to county of ulster. donald, on leaving hardenburgh hall, bade bretta to be of good cheer and not fail to appear at the kingston fair. 67 the kingston fair to claim her papers and be released from the tory, paul leffens, as a champion would surely appear in her behalf with confidence of success. these encouraging words increased bretta's faith that her prayer would be answered and that her new-found friend would champion her cause and release her from the bonds made by her promise to the tory, leffens, by the stream. “i will surely be at the fair on the day of trial," said she. “my uncle, colonel hardenburgh, will return from newburgh in time to accompany me, and witness the combat of strength that will decide my destiny. he will see fair play on that important occasion.” with this understanding, donald mounted his horse, followed by cyrus, and soon joined general clinton already in the saddle, waiting. on reaching kingston they immediately repaired to the hostelry kept by mine host van steenburgh, where donald and cyrus were appropriately quartered. orders were given to donald to immediately open his reruiting office, and to consider the travellers' inn his headquarters for enlistments until further notice. 68 the hermit of the catskills. general clinton consulted with the “committee of safety" over the dispatches received from his chief, and decided that colonel hardenburgh (with assistance of captain mcgregor) should complete the enlistments and take charge of the troops, leave a sufficient home guard at kingston and conduct the rest to general clinton's headquarters at newburgh and new windsor. after perfecting all arrangements necessary to insure success in the carrying out of the military plans, general clinton on the following morning returned to his post at new windsor, leaving captain mcgregor in command of all the troops at kingston until the return of colonel hardenburgh. captain mcgregor soon found that recruits were rapidly coming in. the much talked of coming event, “ the fair,” drew many to the town, and enlistment increased from day to day to such an extent that in consequence scarcely a week had passed before he had enrolled two hundred men, and before the close of the coming week, at which time the fair was to be held, donald expected that the quota would be filled, and his duties as recruiting officer would end. the kingston fair. 69 frequently had reference been made in donald's hearing to the athletic sports to take place during the fair, and many times was paul leffens mentioned as the strongest man in the county and a great expert in wrestling and in throwing of the hammer. these remarks were so frequent that donald began to fear he had underrated his man, and that he might come out second best in the trial for bretta. but to shrink or falter now would be fatal to her. this caused a determined energy on his part to win or die in the attempt. the first day of the fair opened clear and bright, and long before the noon hour the county for miles around had contributed almost its entire population, with first fruits and stock of the land, to the great entertainment. the lads and lassies were out in full force. their neat and tidy homespun gowns, their rosy cheeks and hilarious spirits were indicative of frugality, health and happiness. gingerbread, cookies, popcorn, candies, birch beer and lemonade were freely indulged in at the different booths, which were well stocked with everything eatable to tempt the palate. as the crowds began to 70 the hermit of the catskills. gather, the proprietors cried out their wares like veteran auctioneers, and it was astonishing to the beholder to see with what rapidity the seller disposed of his goods. every person seemed bent on enjoyment and indulging the appetite. the country swain had been saving his earnings for months, to be able to take his lady love to this fair. many found the drafts on their limited purses to satisfy the enormous appetite of their fair companions too frequent, being more than they had bargained for, but the beautiful rosy-cheeked girls were relentless, and in consequence many youthful yeomen saw their last penny follow the others, and thus became stranded, as it were, until father or mother came to their relief. the first day of the fair was devoted mainly to reviewing the fine stock and products of the county. exhibitions of the speediest horses were shown on the fine half-mile track, within the enclose of the fair ground, and many were the neck and neck struggles for best time between the competing equines; the enthusiasm seemed to increase as the day wore on, and on the following morning the exthe kingston fair. 71 citement was at its height, when the announcement was made that the athletic sports would begin at nine o'clock. the grand stand made from the productions of the saw-mills on the esopus creek, with seating capacity of over one thousand, was quickly filled, still leaving many hundreds standing or moving about on the grounds below. the day was beautiful and the sight was truly interesting, every one seemed to be filled with hilarious spirits. it was the day of the fair, and all seemed determined to make it a success. great expectations of enjoyment in witnessing the athletic sports seemed to fill every breast. it had been rumored that an unusual trial of strength and endurance was to be shown this day by competitors, and that something more than honor of the awards depended upon their defeat or victory. soon the crier announced a wheelbarrow race would begin the day's sports. four competitors entered this race, at the tap of the bell, word “ was given. off started the contestants, at first like the wind, but before the circle was half way gone over, first one, then another began to drop behind, when “indian file " like they passed the time-keepgo 72 the hermit of the catskills. er's stand, puffing and blowing like so many winded horses. they were glad to retire and make room for the grecian race, which was soon announced. three young men entered this old-time contest; they were all stripped to the waist, with only one article of clothing on their bodies, viz.: closely-fitting knee breeches. from the waist streamed a ribbon, each wearing a color of his own choice; the three predominating colors being red, white and blue, as these were already the favorite colors of the patriots of the county. a post or goal was placed in the midst of the track, from which was suspended the laurel wreath, that was to crown the victor. no higher honor could be awarded, consequently every nerve was strained by the runners to come in victor. the three champions had taken their places for the start, when unannounced (the race being open to all) a fourth person stepped lightly to the side of the three already in position. a loud applause greeted this new comer. his dress was purely scotch. on his head was a closely fitting cap, with a single feather and a ribbon streamer of pink color. he was bared to the the kingston fair. 73 waist, from which was suspended his short kilt plaid and his legs and feet were bare. his build showed herculean strength and his broad, manly chest was indicative of wonderful endurance. he turned toward the grand stand and minutely examined the faces, to see if the object of his thoughts were present. a smile passed over his face as his recognition was complete, and placing the talismanic cross to his lips he kissed it, and waved it to the giver. the three first contestants starting in with a bound, soon left a wide gap between them and the scotchman; gradually, however, the distance between them began to shorten, and before the halfway post was reached the doughty scotchman had passed two of his competitors and was fast overhauling the third, who upon looking back saw the now hated scotchman near to him. this gave rise to a feeling in the heart of the runner (which was none other than paul leffens) that this scotchman was his enemy, and to beat him now was his uppermost thought. the scotchman had already recog74 the hermit of the catskills. nized his opponent, which nerved him to almost superhuman efforts to pass him. the excitement of the spectators was intense, as side by side, like thunder bolts, came the runners down the “ home-stretch.” the pink ribbon from the scotchman's cap was snapping in the wind, caused by the velocity of the runner. none the less so, however, was the blue from the waist of paul leffens. fifty feet from the goal they were still side by side. the excitement now grew more intense; yells and screams from bass and soprano throats rent the air, and when the scotchman with a sudden bound put daylight between him and his opponent and reached the goal full one length ahead, the people rose en masse to their feet, wildly demonstrating their joy, over leffens's defeat. shouts of welcome to the scotch stranger rent the air, and the multitude did not cease to exhibit their pleasure at the result of the great race until donald, whom the reader has already recognized in the garb of the scotch stranger, stepped proudly to the post and taking the laurel wreath therefrom, walked directly to the position occupied by bretta and her uncle on the front seats of the kingston fair. 75 the grand stand. kneeling at bretta's feet he requested her to place the wreath upon his head. according to custom, bretta took the wreath, and placing it gently upon the victor's brow, exclaimed aloud, “ thus shall it be done unto him, whom the people delighteth to honor." donald arose and taking bretta's hand and kissing it, bade her again to be of good cheer, and assured her that this day “god would deliver the philistine in his hand." with these comforting words donald withdrew for rest and preparation for the continued contest. conspicuous among the spectators on the fair grounds were a number of indians of the neversink and winnesook tribes of the catskills. their presence was nothing unusual, however, as every week would bring some of their tribes to town to exchange their wares for ammunition and articles that took their fancy. the fair presented a better opportunity than usual to barter their goods, hence a larger number than usual were present on this occasion. they were there also for a special purpose, as the sequel will show. the noon hour having now passed and the pie 76 the hermit of the catskills. and ginger cake venders having disposed of their eatables to the hungry crowd, the scramble for seats on the grand stand began. it was soon filled. the crier announced that the athletic sports would be continued, also that the victorious scotchman would meet paul leffens, the champion of ulster county, in the throwing of the hammer and in the wrestling match. the announcement was received with vociferous applause, and many were the wagers made by the enthusiastic crowd on their favorite man. while the doughty scotchman had shown himself to be the fleetest runner of the two, many were not willing to believe that he could outthrow with the hammer or beat in a wrestling match the man acknowledged by every one to be an expert in these sports, and the strongest man in the country. in justice to the tory, leffens, it must be said, that the wagers made were in many instances two to one in his favor, notwithstanding the fact that suspicions were resting upon him, that he was an adherent of the king. still the crowd was obliged to admit his superior strength and dexterity as a wrestler and hammer-thrower, and wagered accordingly, but the kingston fair. 77 (6 those who had wagered on the handsome scotchman with those who had not wagered at all, outnumbered the others and loud were their acclamations in his favor. the two champions had assigned to them each a tent with attendants to look after their needs. but donald taking cyrus with him, refused any other, while leffens also chose one of his own liking. let us look in upon them and notice their preparations. old cyrus' chin was wagging in praise of his master's victory in the morning race. “i tells you what, massa donald, old cyrus had ''spicions' befo de race was half ober dat it was nun odder dan de hoss tief tory dat was runnin' agin you. but, say, massa donel, dat was splendid runnin' tho; dis nigga was awful skeered dat de young massa would be beat, and ma heart took big jump in troat, when you was comin' de home strech, but it went down to um place again wid big guffaw when massa donald made him big jump and reach de post first. oh, massa donald, dat was big ting, dis nigga died shuah if yous been beat. oh, didn't de tory look mad tho! ya! ya! ya!” chuckled the negro. 78 the hermit of the catskills. wait, cyrus, don't rejoice too soon. i must meet the tory again, and the severest trials are yet to come; ‘he laughs best who laughs last.' so hold on with your crowing till the battles are fought, and you learn who the victor will be." “oh! massa donald, if dat tief beats you, dis darkey turn tory hisself, couldn't stand it no how, git de hip lock on him in de wrestle, and flop him flat on de back." "well, cyrus, your master will do his best to keep you from being a tory.” "ah! massa donald, tisent old cyrus you's tinkin' about now-miss bretta is uppermost wid your mind, and if dis dark am not mistaken you is uppermost wid her too. laws-alive, do didn't she look perty, and smilin' on young massa, when de race was run. yes, and old colonel, too." “ hush, cyrus, with your babblings, hear you not the bugle sounding to combat?” paul leffens in making his preparations to meet the scotch stranger, whom he was now assured would be his contestant in the wrestling match, and throwing of the hammer, had some misgivings as the kingston fair. 79 to what the result might be, and knowing how much he had at stake, decided to use deception in his preparation, which was not according to the rules and regulations of the athletic sports. but this had no fears for him. fairness was out of the question with him now, and he was willing to adopt almost any deception that could pass unnoticed by the managers. it did not take him long to decide on a plan. taking a bottle of oil, he bade his attendant to pour it upon his arms and body and rub it well in; this was re. peated several times. the object was to make his person so slippery that it would be impossible for his opponent to retain his hold upon him, while he with easy vantage would be master of the situation. the bugle sounded the second time, when both champions came forth from their tents and approached the wrestling ground, directly in front of the grand stand. cheer upon cheer greeted them. long and loud were the greetings to the scotch stranger, simultaneously with similar welcome to leffens. both men were stripped to the waist, donald had made no change in his dress of the morning, except that strong shoes and scotch plaid hose cov80 the hermit of the catskills. ered his feet and legs. from his scotch cap the pink ribbon, gift of bretta, was still suspended. both men seemed to be in perfect health, and their brawny muscular arms and broad chests gave them the appearance of hercules. it was hard to tell which of the two men was the stronger, so nearly alike were they in build, but to the close observer in their movements donald seemed the quicker and more elastic in step, while leffens was slightly the taller, which might be considered vantage in his favor. leffens now took the papers concerning the rutsen estate, and approaching bretta, who was occupying the seat of the morning on the stand, thus accosted her with dignified courtesy: “do you still adhere to the pledge given me by the stream to become my wife if i succeed in the following contest? if so, i solemnly swear these papers shall be yours and i will trouble you no more if i am worsted.” bretta, rising to her feet, thus answered him: “ the promise of a rutsen once given is never broken. god has provided a champion for me in the person of the scotch stranger. i have no fears for the result, right is might and you,” said bretta, the kingston fair. 81 66 speaking in a tone of confidence, “ shall be taught a lesson this day that faith in god and righteous patriotism to one's country will always bring ignominious defeat to those who are unrighteous and disloyal.” “now,” said leffens defiantly, “i will make you retract those words ere the setting of the sun. the result of this day's contest to paul leffens will be the reward offered by herself, viz.: that bretta rutsen will be his wife if he is successful,” and bidding her a courtly adieu, he turned to the crier and placed in his hands the package of papers, directing him to carry out the contract by giving them to miss bretta rutsen if he was beaten in the coming contests. donald's face grew a shade paler as he witnessed the compact renewed by bretta and the tory, leffens. suppose defeat should come and bretta and he lose! conflicting emotions troubled him, and with some misgivings as to the result, he stepped to leffens and shook him friendly by the hand. a sardonic grin passed over the features of leffens as he returned the greeting and said, “do your best on this trial, captain mcgregor, because i assure you 82 the hermit of the catskills. > that all my energies will be brought into this contest, as i intend to win a wife this day, who is none other than bretta rutsen, heiress of the rutsen estate.” "not if i can prevent it. a wife from the direction you are looking for one will never come," said mcgregor in an undertone. “who will cause it to be otherwise? think you that your scotch training will carry you through? for a wager, i will promise to lay you flat on your back in the first bout." * you may be made to change your opinion ere we get through with this job,” said donald quietly. “ and furthermore after this day's work is ended, with it end all friendly contests with you. our next battle will be for liberty. yes, paul leffens, i know you for what you are, and not for what you seem. you and your gang of troopers must be wiped out. for one of your night's evil-doing you shall settle with me; look well to yourself, for we shall meet again under different circumstances when the battle will be to the death.” leffens's face grew livid with rage as he answered with hissing breath: “i first suspected, now the kingston fair. 83 was an i know you to be my enemy. your life is doomed, i swear it. i shall have your life's blood and will send a lock of your gory hair to the one whom i already believe has preserved her smiles for you.” “ thank you for your warning; i fear you not. but this is no time or place for this talk,” said donald, as the crier again announced the condition of the contest, and calling to the contestants ordered them to proceed with their work. the first wrestling arms in hold,” viz.: they stood directly in front of each other with either right hand grasping the opponent near the elbow, while the left rested on each other's shoulder, leaving the legs and feet to bear an important factor by tripping, etc. the contest now began, and donald in a moment discovered that his opponent had used deception in his preparation for the combat. leffens's arms and body were so greasy that it was impossible for him to keep his hold on the tory. while making an effort by which he never failed to lay his opponent on his back, donald's grasp slipped from his hold, and in an instant leffens, improving the opportunity, by a dexterous movement laid the 84 the hermit of the catskills. scotchman full length upon the sward. a shout went up from the crowd mingled with cheers and hisses, while bretta's heart rose in her throat, so to speak, with fear. donald quickly arose, confronting leffens. “your deception will not save you from defeat, neither will i expose you; what little manhood i gave you credit for, i now withdraw, for you are a cheat and a coward.” “our future meeting will prove that,” said leffens disdainfully. “and i warn you now, that , it will be with no coward's heart, when i meet you again.” enough,” said donald, “i hope you will prove more worthy of your opponent when we meet again than you have this day.” the next wrestle was a side hold; donald (to prevent his hands from slipping their hold) quickly scooped up from the ground with his hands a quantity of dry dust and before the deceptive tory could understand its meaning, threw it over his arms and side, where it stuck mingled with the grease. donald also covered his hands with the dry soil, then the kingston fair. 85 springing to his opponent's side, they were immediately locked in each other's embrace. their arms were each around the waist of the other, while their right and left hands were tightly clasped in front of them. donald to his great joy found that the dry dust caused his hold on the tory to be firm, yet he knew it would be no child's play to down his enemy, consequently used caution and watched for his opportunity. old cyrus standing near, had just seen his master laid low in the first bout, and fearing that the second might prove disastrous also, called out to him: “oh, massa donal, show de rascal de highland flop, gib it to him, now, massa, now's de time. whoop la, dere he goes, clean ober massa's head, ker whop on de ground; dis nigga hope he broke 'em neck, gosh dident he go over massa's head nice, do." cyrus to give vent to his exuberant feelings, clapped his hands and actually danced for joy. . while the air was filled with shouts of approbation by the multitudinous onlookers. in the struggle donald's opportunity soon came, and with one quick, dexterous movement he caught the hip lock 86 the hermit of the catskills. on his opponent just as cyrus gave him his encouraging words, and in a moment the tory's legs went up in the air. donald at the same moment bending his body low, flung him completely over his head, where he fell“ ker whop,” as described by cyrus, much to the joy of that individual and of bretta, who clapped her hands in ecstasy. but the wrestling match was not yet over. the next bout would decide which of the two was the better man in this part of the contests. this wrestle was to be catch as catch the best you can,” or a rough and tumble contest, and when word was given, they sprang at each other with the agility of tigers. leffens's face was bloodless with passion, thus giving donald, who was composed and fearless, the vantage in judgment, and when they came together, donald had the underhold, and thus they tugged, and worked, for some moments, with nothing gained by either. their breathing came thick and fast by the continued struggle, and in an unguarded moment, donald was brought to his knees, but not down. with almost superhuman strength, ne gained his feet again, while exclamations of joy the kingston fair. 87 escaped the old darky's throat, and we might add bretta's also. finish de rascal up now, massa donald,” exclaimed cyrus; “take the conceit out ob de hoss tief, now, now, massa donald, now's de chance." donald needed no encouragement. his opportunity came as before; both fell heavily to the ground with donald on top. " victory! victory for the scotchman," shouted the populace, “all honor to the scotch stranger!” at this moment the crier called for quiet, announcing that the last contest between the two contestants would be the throwing of a hammer, and would take place on the same grounds in the afternoon. this announcement was met with yells and screams by the spectators. to such a pitch of excitement had they risen that they thought not of hunger, or in fact of anything else, but shouted back to the crier to let the show go on to the finish, and it was not until the crier made them to understand that the contestants must have rest, that the populace ceased their clamorings. the proprietors of the different booths had re88 the hermit of the catskills. plenished their stock of eatables, and it was well that it had been done, for it was a hungry crowd that made demands upon the sellers. but ere the time arrived for beginning of the contest, their hunger had been satisfied and they were already scrambling for the best seats on the grand stand. the interest in the two athletes had so increased, that scarcely standing room could be had anywhere near the vicinity of the hammer-throwers, so large was the crowd. both donald and leffens had completed their preparation for this their final contest. no change had been made in their dress, arms and body were bare to waist; knee breeches was the only clothing upon them, because of their need of the free use of both arms and body. hammer-throwing has been an old-time athletic exercise. it first became popular in scotland, where the rough hammer and handle were used, but as it became a more favorite exercise in later years, a hammer for the purpose was constructed in such shape, with handle tapered and made flexible, that a record of 130 feet or more has been obtained by some throwers with a 16-pound hammer. the hamthe kingston fair. 89 mer provided on this occasion for donald and leffens, was nearly of the above pattern. it weighed exactly sixteen pounds, and was of peculiar shape, securely fastened to the handle, which was made of tough hickory, dried and seasoned. the handle was very thin in the middle, but where it was grasped by the hands of the thrower, it was greatly enlarged, so it could be held firmly and not slip. a circle or ring was made six feet in diameter, over which line the thrower was not allowed to step, or a foul would be declared. but a running swing of the hammer could be obtained within the enclosure. paul leffens always enjoyed the reputation of being an adept in this particular exercise, and it was said of him, that no man ever yet had beaten him, although it was claimed by some that a record of 130 feet had been obtained in other localities of the state, which was two feet or more than had been reached by leffens. thus it was with a great deal of confidence in his own strength and knowledge of the art, that leffens entered the arena, or circle, opposite the grand stand, with hammer in hand. donald had early been taught by his father in 90 the hermit of the catskills. a this athletic exercise before they left scotland, when a mere lad, with hammer proportionate to his strength, and no boy of his age could match him. after coming to america, the practice had been yearly kept up by both father and son, until the physical development of donald became so great that no man could beat him wherever he was known, leffens and donald had never met face to face, until they did so on the first day of the fair in the foot race. donald had long heard of the tory's doings in his own neighborhood and vicinity, in connection with the raids of the tories and cowboys, but had never come in contact with him before. and ever since his first view of the tory's face at the stream, where bretta made her pledge to him, a desire had taken possession of him, to put a stop to his career of murderous, thievish doings against the patriots of the county. and as this last contest was to decide either for or against bretta, donald resolved that nothing should rob him of his hardearned victory thus far, but determined to use his utmost ability to beat his opponent and save bretta. all eyes were now centered on leffens, who with : 91 the kingston fair. hammer in hand stepped to the farthermost part of the circle. he was a right-handed thrower, and his right hand was nearest the head of the missile, so as to be able with his powerful right arm to guide the heavy sixteen pounder. leffens now began to swing the heavy hammer to and fro over his right side, back and forth like a great pendulum moved by some mighty engine. so rapid became the movements of the missile that at times it seemed to the spectators that it must fly from his hand among them. the dexterity with which leffens handled the instrument showed him to be familiar with it. donald and his friend were silent spectators of leffens's movements. the former looked on with admiration. though an enemy, still donald could not help admiring the artistic, trained manner in which leffens handled the projectile. when leffens had succeeded in getting the hammer in its swiftest swinging motion with one mighty bound to the opposite side of the circle, he let the hammer fly at an angle of about forty degrees. the missile whizzed through the air as if sent from a catapult. in a moment it reached its highest altitude. gradually 92 the hermit of the catskills. it began to lower, but did not lose its velocity as it seemed to fly just above the surface of the ground, finally nearly burying itself in the soft earth fully 132 feet from where it had left the thrower's hand. donald could not help mingling his shouts of approbation with the acclamations of the populace. it was nobly done, and the praise well deserved; never before had such a throw of the hammer been made. donald in his admiration seemed to lose sight of himself, and not until he saw bretta's anxious face, now turned toward him, did he appreciate his position and her danger. he had just seen leffens throw the hammer further by nearly two feet than had been attained by himself. how could he possibly reach two feet more than his best record, which was now necessary in order to beat his competitor ? there was one possible chance for him to accomplish it, which would depend largely on the missile itself. the fitness of the handle to the thrower, and the poise of the hammer were all to be considered either for or against making a long distance. donald had not yet had hold of the instrument, therefore was in the dark whether its manufacture was the kingston fair. 93 adopted to his length of arm or not. hence it was with some apprehension as to what the result of his effort might be that he stepped within the six-foot circle, seized the hammer and tested it in all its points. a smile of satisfaction lit up donald's face as he took his position at the furthermost part of the circle, then turning, he faced the grand stand and made a polite bow of recognition to bretta and her uncle. turning again, he at once began swinging the weighty hammer back and forth, very much after the manner of leffens, they both being right-handed throwers. soon the huge pendulum-like instrument began to assume lightning-like rapidity. donald's chest seemed to heave and expand to abnormal proportions with the exertion. his brawny arm seemed to enlarge to twice its natural size, as the muscles were brought into play. it was now evident that donald had complete control over the missile, and we might add also of the situation. from the moment his operation of the hammer began the beholders were assured of his superior strength and dexterity. and all were now 94 the hermit of the catskills. waiting with breathless interest to see the hammer leave his hands on its flight to victory. old cyrus, standing near his young master, was a deeply interested spectator, now with his eyes trying to follow the rapid gyrations of the hammer, or with his body swaying to and fro, in fruitless attempts to keep time to its movements, and all the time uttering words in prayer: “o good lord, help young massa donald now, if ever old cyrus wanted prayer answered quick, now is de time; gib him big arm and lots ob strength, may de good lord help de young david to beat the philistine; help him to beat him bad, good lord, and old cyrus will try to be good all de rest ob him days." donald now having obtained the proper momentum wanted of the hammer, suddenly changed its pendulum motion by letting it go round in a complete circle over his shoulder. so rapid were its movements now that it was difficult to follow it with the eye. the all important moment soon came for the flight of the instrument, as donald with a quick run to the opposite side of the circle, just as the hammer reached its proper elevations in its circular the kingston fair. 95 motion, let go of its handle and the missile went hurtling through the air, making a whistling noise similar to a cannon ball. the course of the hammer seemed to change shortly after leaving the thrower's hand, taking a curve upward, reaching its highest altitude, thence gradually drawing nearer to the earth but apparently not losing its velocity in its graceful flight, and finally landing nearly its full length beyond the point obtained by the tory. when the result was made known by the crier the cheers from the populace were actually deafening. “hurrah! for the bonny scotchman, long may he live.” such were the continuous shouts of the multitude. bretta's heart was too full for utterance. her joy was complete. her deliverance from the tory and the rescue of her father's estates filled her soul with but one thought, that of gratitude to the one who had so manfully championed her cause. she now realized to the fullest capabilities of her heart, what it was to love. she felt from that moment that she belonged to her deliverer. honestly won, to donald and to him only, could 96 the hermit of the catskills. she trust her happiness. while these thoughts were rapidly passing through her mind, donald approached, placing the papers relating to her father's estate in her hand, which had been so long held over her by leffens. “with all the gratefulness of my soul, captain mcgregor, do i thank you for your noble, generous acts of to-day in my behalf. methinks i can never repay you for what you have this day done for me by releasing me from the bonds of one whom i loathe, and saving my poor parents from being homeless. to you, and to you only, do i owe all.” “bretta, i claim the promise made to the tory, leffens. have i not won you this day? are you not mine, justly mine? here in the presence of your uncle, colonel hardenburgh, i lay claim to your heart and hand, won fairly from the tory, leffens, to whom you had bound yourself by promise in case of defeat." “what say you, colonel, am i not right; should not the prize belong to me?” captain mcgregor, your manliness this day in winning a complete victory over an enemy has won the kingston fair. 97 for you my admiration, and also is convincing proof that you have the right metal in you for a soldier, and i must decide in your favor. i feel that i can trust the happiness of my pretty niece in your hands, but let bretta answer for herself.” “oh! uncle, do you too put me so quickly to the test? but if you both agree in your decision how can i say nay?” donald, seizing her hand pressed it to his lips and said: i have won a prize this day that makes me the happiest man in existence. the aim of my life will be to nourish and protect the tender plant placed in my keeping “enough," said the uncle, " i will trust you both, but let me warn you that there is danger ahead. captain mcgregor, look well to your charge, leffens means you both evil or i am no prophet. did you notice his malignant scowl but just now as he passed by, and look, see you his close conference yonder with the treacherous group of indians? i will warrant he is planning some deviltry which argues no good to either of you. if i mistake not, i have seen those sanis red-skins in the company of the notori98 the hermit of the catskills. ous john leffens, the father of this would-be-heart and land-stealer, and i believe both father and son to be acting in one accord and to have a perfect understanding with these indians of the mountain tribes. i have to-day received dispatches informing me that brandt, the indian chieftain, is working down the schoharie valley, committing murderous depredations with his villainous crew, and i like not the gathering of these red devils in our midst. it would be well, captain mcgregor, that a close watch be kept on their movements, as i fear their conference with the defeated tory means you no good.” the capture. 99 chapter viii. the capture. paul leffens bore his defeat and losses to all outward appearances quietly, but deep down in his heart lurked the passion of a demon. “revenge!” he hissed between his closed teeth. “nothing but the life's blood of this braggart scotchman will calm my feelings. and she too, miss bretta, shall feel the strong arm of paul leffens. i will strew her pathway with thorns and thistles, yea, i will make my revenge so terrible that on her bended knees like a suppliant she shall beg for mercy. i have those at my command who even this moment are waiting my bidding. ah! rejoice not, captain mcgregor and bretta rutsen over my defeat, because the more bitter will i make your sorrow and affliction. i swear it, insolent scotchman, that i will make your new-found love sue for your life with wailings that cannot be uttered, but there will be none to succor. nothing shall pacify the raving 100 the hermit of the catskills. of my soul, but your heart's blood, and that i shall have.” thus ending his soliloquy, paul leffens was soon in close communication with the mountain tribe of indians as already noticed by the colonel. while these indians of the catskills and the neversinks were apparently friendly and peaceful in all their visits to the town, still it was felt by all the inhabitants that they could not be trusted, and such was the feeling against those present at the fair. there was a general belief that these same red-skins were in secret collusion with the leffens, and their conference with paul at the close of the fair confirmed the suspicions of the colonel, who warned donald of his and bretta's danger. the afternoon sun was fast drawing toward the western horizon when donald and cyrus as escort for bretta set out on their return to hardenburgh hall. they had taken the precaution to look carefully to their arms, more, however, as a custom with donald than for an expected attack. but old cyrus was not so free from suspicions that they would be unmolested on their route, and at every turn of the the capture. ioi road and defiles cyrus with keen vision penetrated the gloom to see if an enemy was lurking there. his apprehension apparently seemed to increase as the sun slowly sank behind the western hills, casting long dark shadows in their pathway. “i'll tell you what, massa donald, old cyrus wish dat dis journey was done ended or dat we had waited till morning, as de colonel advised.” well, cyrus, i begin to fear you are a coward and not worthy of trust." “oh, no, don't say dat, massa donald, ise no coward; deed i isn't, old cyrus fight for young massa till last drop of blood gone—it's for de young missus ise feared, and dat massa donald's life be in danger, too." “tell me, cyrus, what reasons have you for your apprehensions, in an hour's time we will be at our journey's end, i see no cause for your fears.” perhaps ise hab good reasons for 'spicions, massa donald, didn't dis nigga see de look dat tory villain gib young massa, and didn't i hear him say to dat 'cut troat' chief ob de nebersink dat you and miss bretta must be captured and poor old cy102 the hermit of the catskills. rus killed. yes, massa donald, ise heard de tory, say so; when he gabe dat look of wengeance at young massa, old cyrus just slipped around on de odder side ob de fence, and i crawled up where dey wuz talking and so ise heard it all. dey mean to capture you and bretta alibe and kill poor cyrus if dey can eider on dis journey or at de colonel's home.” “cyrus, this is important news, while i had suspicions the tory and red-skins were concocting some scheme, i do not think they will put it into execution so soon. however, we will take all the precaution possible to prevent surprises." the twilight was deepening as the trio entered the rocky glen at a point of the road now known as “de witt’s mills.” cyrus was in the lead-bretta and donald side by side. donald's left hand was resting on the bridle of bretta's steed, while his right held the butt of his pistol. suddenly as if risen out of the earth, a dozen or more warriors leaped upon the rocks on either side of them with yells of so many demons from the infernal regions. immediately followed the report of several muskets, simultanethe capture. 103 ously with the discharge of donald's and cyrus's pistols. the shots on both sides had taken effect. donald's horse had been struck in a vital part, and suddenly springing in the air, tore loose donald's hold on the bridle of bretta's horse, and falling heavily to the ground, pinioned donald's leg fast under him, as if held in a vise. in a moment he and bretta were surrounded by the indians. donald's pistol was quickly brought to bear on a warrior, who was in the act of dragging bretta from her horse, and he fell shot through the head. “spur your horse and run for your life,” shouted donald! bretta knew that it was her only chance of escape. seizing her bridle with one hand and leveling her pistol with the other at the tall, heavily-built indian, who was at that moment in the act of grasping the bridle from her hands, she pulled the trigger and the bullet furrowed a pathway through the hair of the indian's head. ha," said the indian, “pale-face make um very good shot,” as he seized the now fainting form of bretta. donald had held the indians at bay with his deada; 104 the hermit of the catskills. ly pistol, and not until more than one red devil had bit the dust did they silence him, and that only by one of their number crawling up behind as he lay on the ground, held down by his dead horse, and striking him a stunning blow with the butt of his musket. they could have dispatched donald as he lay there now, limp and unconscious on the ground, but the chief commanded his release, and donald was spared for a worse fate. old cyrus discharged all his shots at the foe, and with his long powerful arm was dealing death with almost every blow of his sabre. no one seemed able to oppose him. shot after shot was directed at him, but the quick, lightning-like motions of cyrus's body made him a difficult object to hit. as warrior after warrior was struck down by his clashing blows they began to think him more of a devil than man, and superstitiously they fell back and cyrus with one mighty bound of his noble horse leaped clear of the howling red-skins, shouting to miss bretta as he went, “ leave marks on de trail, old cyrus follow," and the sound of his horse's hoofs soon died away in the distance. in the mêlée following the capture. 105 cyrus's escape, no one except those for whom it was intended caught the meaning of cyrus's suggestion. bretta was carried by her captor a short distance to a place of safety, and recovered from her fainting condition in time to distinctly hear cyrus shout his advice. she was uncertain in her mind about the condition of donald. she saw the cruel blow from the butt of the musket, and fear and trembling seized her, when she realized that he might be dead; but an assurance from her captor allayed her anxiety and she became more composed. the blow aimed at donald was intended to kill. the indian, however, was frustrated in his designs, and the force of the blow lost by the musket striking the top of a small stump, behind which donald's head lay. although the main force of the blow was broken, donald received enough of it to cause him to be unconscious for some time, and when consciousness returned, he found the indians trying to extricate him from the entanglements of his fallen horse; he feared that his leg might be broken. it was with great difficulty that the indians rolled the dead horse 106 the hermit of the catskills. ! from off his limb, and, with a punch of a musket, bade him rise. a numbness seemed to pervade his whole limb, and on attempting to rise he fell heavily to the ground. an indian now examined his leg and found no bones broken; but his position as he lay under the horse had been such as to stop complete circulation of the blood, and cause a painful reaction from the numbness when he attempted to rise. an indian on either side assisted him to his feet once more, and he was bidden to follow the leaders of the party. bretta was overjoyed to see donald alive, and besought her captor to take her to him, but that chieftain, as he seemed to be, by the way the others obeyed his commands, bade her to be silent and follow quietly, threatening her with instant death if she did not obey. bretta's horse was allowed to follow cyrus in the general confusion. in fact no use could be made of him if retained, as their route lay through the narrow defiles and almost pathless region of the primeval forests. out of the fourteen warriors, as donald afterwards learned to his sorrow, six lay dead on the battle ground. four had the capture. 107 been shot or cut down by the remorseless negro, while two had succumbed to the unerring shots of donald's pistol. with wailings and vows of vengeance on their captives did the warriors now hurriedly leave their dead where they had fallen, and push their way through the almost trackless region toward catskills. they knew an attempt would be made to follow them, and all precautions peculiar to their art in woodcraft were brought into use. donald's heart sank within him when he thought of bretta undergoing this trial of her physical strength. the thought racked his brain that when the indians should discover that her endurance was not equal to the occasion they would brain her by the way and leave her body a prey to the howling wolves of the mountains, and he powerless to prevent it. bretta and donald had each been tethered to an indian, with both arms pinioned behind them. their arms taken from them with no possible chance of escape caused them both to remember the prophecy of old chloe, the negro sorceress; indeed they were now in the valley of despair. donald readily sur108 the hermit of the catskills. mised what his fate would be, and that of bretta ten times worse than death. that paul leffens was at the bottom of their misfortunes he didn't doubt 1 1 for a moment. should he now, after all the triumph over him, retake the papers so honestly won for bretta and fulfil the threats of deadly vengeance on him? donald realized that he was completely in his power; he could see no mercy in the hard visages of his captors. vengeance for their dead assured him that his fate was sealed, and that fate would be a tortured death; nothing less than burning at the stake. for bretta his heart yearned; he was willing to suffer death in any form if it could secure her release, but he knew that could not be. paul leffens was not the man to let his bird take wings after caging it. “on me,” thought donald,“ will his vengeance fall, while bretta will be held his captive." the very thought of this almost drove him to madness, and he at once formed a determination to escape, if possible, and that bretta should accompany him; if he failed, instant death might follow, but better both die at once than await the tortures at the 1 the capture. 109 > burning stake for him, and a lingering death of captivity in the power of paul leffens for her. with this resolve feelings of relief came and to this end he carefully avoided any look or move that he thought would be likely to displease his captors. he had not been permitted to speak to, or walk beside bretta thus far, hence none of his plans could be communicated to her, unless through some unforeseen accident. single file, with the captives in their midst, did the band of indians continue their journey. their trail led them around and between the binniewater lakes, so much admired at this day for their picturesque beauty. but they bore no beauty or charms for the captives. bretta had begged so hard of her captor to release her hands from the cruel thongs that he complied, as her hands were already badly swollen from the effect of the tightness of the bands. no sooner were her hands and arms free than she quickly managed unseen to drop a small piece of ribbon plucked from her disheveled hair. after succeeding in this, she stored the balance in the capacious pockets of her skirts. very soon another opportunity presented iio the hermit of the catskills. itself, while the warriors were allaying their thirst on the bank of one of the aforesaid binniewaters. bretta, unobserved, tied a bit of the ribbon to a bush, thinking to herself, “ brave cld cyrus will surely see that." darkness now began to cover their pathway. no respite had yet been granted the captives on their rapid flight thus far, only the moment's stop at the lake for water. ruthlessly were they again urged forward, and as the darkness deepened, more dangerous became their pathway. several times already had the chief been obliged to seize bretta to save her from dangerous pitfalls. donald received no such attention from them. a mishap or a fall was met with blows and kicks, and one revengeful warrior, whose brother was left with the slain, would have brained him with his hatchet but for the timely interference of their chief. on and on they continued in their rapid flight, now up, now down the rugged hillsides, now across the streams, wading to their armpits, climbing over boulders and through narrow defiles. all this was done as a precaution to conceal their trail, but bretta the capture. iii f 1 continued to drop bits of her ribbon, and the dark1 ness assisted her in concealing her doings. thus they continued on their trackless journey until after 1 midnight. they had already reached the foot of one of the spurs of the catskills, as donald had conjectured. their route bore them to the entrance to the gateway of the catskills, through which, at this writing, the puff and snort of the iron horse can be heard, in it efforts to drag the heavy train along the mountain sides, in order to discharge the passengers at the superb hotels and now famous mountain resorts. but not to digress. the party had now arrived at a place fitting for their purpose. ordering their captives seated on the ground, the warriors took from a rattlesnake pouch some parched corn and proceeded to divide generously among themselves, granting to the captives a small portion. small as it was, it was gratefully received. that, with a cool draught of water from an adjoining spring, refreshened their spirits. no fire was kindled, although the mountain air was cool, and in fact chilly, especially to the maiden. the chief taking his blanket and spreading it upon the ground, 112 the hermit of the catskills. bade her recline upon it for the remainder of the night. a thong was securely fastened about her ankles, while donald was still bound at the wrists and at the ankles also. thus they lay in a semi-circle with an indian sitting in an upright position with his back resting against a large tree, as sentinel or watchman, while the others slept. across his knees lay his musket, and in his belt stuck his tomahawk and knife, ready and on the alert for any coming foe. they yet feared pursuit, and an attack from some rescuing party. hence the placing of the sentinel with instructions from the chief that the falling of a leaf should not pass unnoticed. the hermit of the catskills, 113 chapter ix. the hermit of the catskills. old cyrus continued his flight until he arrived at hardenburgh hall. the inmates were quickly made acquainted with the capture of bretta and captain mcgregor by the indians. the darkness of the night and unfamiliarity with the route taken by the indians delayed pursuit by cyrus until the rising of the moon after midnight. that hour soon came, when cyrus with a single companion set out for the scene of the capture. arriving at that place, cyrus bade his companion adieu and plunged in the forest on the trail taken by the indians, while his companion continued his journey to kingston, arriving there at break of day and informing colonel hardenburgh of what had befallen his niece and captain mcgregor. it was a hard blow to the colonel, who loved his niece as a father. her companionship was dear to him, and he had it in his heart to do a great deal 114 the hermit of the catskills. for her. but now all his ideas relative to her were blasted by one cruel blow. “it is what i feared," said he. “where and how shall i find her, through the trackless regions of the mountain forests? captain mcgregor is with her, and that is some comfort. i shall trust providence to secure their safe return. paul leffens is the author of this calamity. bretta's life, i think, is not in danger, but young mcgregor is doomed unless he can escape, and on this i will rely, hoping and trusting he can succeed.” old cyrus soon struck the trail of the fleeing savages and their captives, and with the agility of a cat, he forced his way through brush and bramble, over rocky ridges and fallen trees until he reached the binnewaters. here he was baffled, as no footprint or sign gave him any information as to which direction the savages had taken from this point. heretofore he had been guided by their footprints and broken twigs and also by the signs left by bretta. the small piece of ribbon had not escaped his notice, as daylight was already approaching, but now he was at a complete loss which way to proceed. the hermit of the catskills. 115 the sun had arisen, casting its broad light over the universe, penetrating the deepest recesses of the forest, but cyrus could only trace the trail to the margin of the lake, and here all signs were lost. he concluded that they had taken to the water, thus leaving no footprints behind them. he sat down to meditate upon the situation, whether to go northerly or southerly around the lake, when looking in the first named quarter he espied a small piece of ribbon whipping in the breeze attached to a small bush; instantly he ran to it, and at once recognized it as bretta's. this little sign at once caused cyrus to believe the fugitives had taken a northerly course, around the fifth binnewater and passed between it and the fourth binnewater on their course to the mountain. it might be said here in relation to these binnewaters that at this day there is a chain of five lakes about six miles directly south of the present city of kingston. between them are narrow strips of land. they seem to have no visible connection with each other, but are said to have underground communications by an under-flow of water. they are from 116 the hermit of the catskills. one to three miles in circumference. it was the trail between two of the largest of these lakes, or binnewaters, as they have been called for centuries, that the fleeing band of warriors and their captives took on their rapid journey to the mountains. on reaching the narrow passage between the two lakes referred to, cyrus, by closely scrutinizing the ground, discovered signs which assured him that he was on the right track. rapidly passing over the narrow causeway he struck boldly again into the gloomy forest on the other side. here it was necessary to bring in use all his knowledge of woodcraft to keep the trail, and he occasionally lost all signs for some distance. then upon all fours, so to speak, would the faithful old negro hunt for some pressure of a foot on the mossy earth, or for a broken twig, and at times when almost discouraged he would suddenly espy some little bit of ribbon dropped by bretta; then on again he would rush until baffled by some small stream in which the pursued party had waded. it was a lonely journey for the poor old darkey. at times superstitious fear took possession of him, and he would be almost on the point of returning > the hermit of the catskills. 117 when the unbounded love for his young master and bretta would hurry him on. now and then he could distinctly hear the roar of the mountain lion or panther, or the howl of the wolf, but these had no fears for him, it was the supernatural that preyed upon his mind, also the fear of meeting the witch of the mountains, or old nick himself, who, it was said among the superstitious, hurled thunderbolts down upon the valley from the high point under whose shadow old cyrus was now trailing. the occasional croak of the bull frog as he leaped from his sun bath into the marshy streams caused cyrus to quake with more fear than the howl of the beasts, and as an unusual bulky denizen of the marshy glen gave forth his deep utterances followed by a “ker chug” in the water, old cyrus was almost paralyzed with superstitious dread. at this same moment the black clouds which had been gathering about the summit of high point, sent forth a thunderbolt to the earth rending one of the tallest pines in the vicinity of the old darkey. this was followed by a deafening clap of thunder echoing from mountain to mountain, reverberating 118 the hermit of the catskills. and dying away in the valley in a long, low, rumbling growl, causing cyrus's knees fairly to knock together with fear. the deep bass tone of the enormous bull frog was enough to blanch his cheeks, were that possible, but that added to the thunderbolt was altogether too much for his high-wrought tension of feelings, and he at once fell upon his knees in one of his old-time prayers, bursting out in agony of soul, as it were—"o good lord, if youse eber goin' to help old cyrus, now's de time, keep de old nick and de witch of de mountain away from poor old dark, do o lord! and let old cyrus lib to find poor young massa donald.” then as the storm continued, and flash followed flash, and the deafening thunders of heaven's artillery resounded and echoed over his head, he fell prone upon the ground and exclaimed, “ise wish dis niggar neber was born-deed i does. ise done for now shuah, old nick done come and old cyrus no ready. here ise growed to be so old only to be kotched at last by de debbil, only keep him away, good lord, for dis time, so poor old cyrus can find the hermit of the catskills. 119 massa donald, den ise ready to go to hebben right away, only keep de old nick off now, dear lord.” as old cyrus lay prone upon the ground with his face buried as it were in the mosses of the earth, he did not perceive or hear the approach of a peculiar appearing personage, who thus addressed him: “why does the son of ethiopia trespass upon the domain of the king of the catskills; knowest thou, it is death to approach his hermitage unbidden?” old cyrus never so much as dared to look up, but in perfect abject fear continued his pleading, now addressed, as he supposed, to his satanic majesty himself. “o, good debbel, spare old cyrus dis time, deed i isn't tired wid libben yet, ise too young to go now, do massa satan, good massa satan, just go away now wid de lightning and be done gone for good. deres de tory, leffens, go cotch him, good massa satan; he am ready and would make massa good help, deed ise tellin' de truf ebery word.” stop your ravings, untutored man, and arise and look on me, i am not the devil, though some may 66 120 the hermit of the catskills. 6 think me such, i am only the lonely ‘hermit of the mountain,' so arise and be not afraid." old cyrus slowly raised his head and took one glance at the stranger, saying: “sure you isn't de old nick ob de mountain. didn't you trow de tunder-bolt at old cyrus just now, and almost kill him wid de smell of de brimstone?” and involuntarily throwing up his hands he motioned for the stranger to go away, as his voice had utterly failed him. then the stranger commanded in a voice of authority: “ arise at once, i say, or i will make you feel the point of my spear." "o, don't, good massa satan, please don't touch me wid de red-hot spear, and old cyrus will get up.' slowly now the thoroughly frightened old darkey arose, first on one knee, than on the other, keeping his eyes riveted on the stranger before him, when again the hermit addressed him: “would the ethiopian find his young master and mistress, if so then up on your feet, and be a man and follow me, and i will conduct you to their last night's resting place.” slowlyold cyrus's mental faculties began to the hermit of the catskills. 121 comprehend that the stranger was human after all, but full confidence was not yet restored to him, and carefully he watched the movements of the stranger; but becoming more assured as the hermit again bid him to follow, old cyrus picked up his musket and followed at a respectable distance. on they went with rapid strides in the direction of the gateway of the mountains. all the morning, nearly to the noon hour, did they tramp over the pathless region until they came to the camping place of the fugitives vacated by them only a few hours before. here the hermit of the mountain gave him directions how to follow the fleeing savages. minutely he drew the route they had taken with a stick in the sand, and informed cyrus that if speedy, he would overtake them ere they passed through the great notch of the catskills, which opened the way to the schoharie valley. turning to cyrus and taking him by the hand he warned him to tell no man of his companionship of the morning, under penalty of death. old cyrus now having lost all his fear, and full confidence in the stranger having been established, said to him: 122 the hermit of the catskills. “no—no, don't go yet, good massa hermit, tell old darkey why lib all alone in de mountain woods, come back to de earf and leave de mountain hight.” “no, cyrus, that can never be, the storms of the mountains are sweet music to my ears. the living world has no attractions for me. but adieu, and fail not in your task; be patient, careful and cautious, and you will succeed in your journey.” so with a gentle wave of the hand the hermit of high point, or “nick of the woods," as he was called by the superstitious, vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. the captives. 123 chapter x. the captives. sleep did not come to the weary, anxious mind of captain mcgregor. thoughts of how he should escape with bretta continually racked his brain. the thongs about his wrists and ankles were torturing to him, and being weary in both mind and body added to his affliction. watchful and wakeful till near midnight, yet no opportunity came that he could seize to his advantage. the indian on guard was on the alert, and the least move by donald did not escape unnoticed. the other savages were sleeping soundly and oh, thought donald, if the watcher would only do likewise, he and bretta might make their escape. once he thought of quietly slipping his hands from the cruel thongs, which by secretly working at he found it possible to do, and brain the indian on watch by taking him unaware, but that would be a very rash thing to do, as the wily savage antici124 the hermit of the catskills. > pated him in even the slightest move, and with an ugly scowl bade donald under penalty of a quietus from his tomahawk to lie still. so with these threatening menaces, donald was constrained to abandon any attempts to escape then. poor bretta, now in deep slumber from sheer exhaustion, was unconscious of her surroundings. her weary feet had never had such a journey before. the chief's blankets were to her as soft as her own downy bed; she knew not the difference in her deep slumber. “ it is well that it is so,” thought donald, “ sleep on, unconscious one, may thy strength be renewed and enable thee to endure to-morrow, and then, yea, what then, to death or liberty, heaven only knows." in this distressed state of mind, donald became slowly overcome by exhausted nature, and he too was finally launched in the arms of “ morpheus,” so to speak. both captives slept on through the weary small hours of the night, until near the time of cockcrowing, when it is said "night is the darkest.” nature gave way also in the wary savage on watch, and he too became drowsy, and finally his head fell the captives. 125 back against the tree at whose roots he was sitting, and he was soon lost in slumber, dreaming of the chase or the happy hunting grounds, in keeping with his savage companions. now, donald, if thou wert only awake, now is thy opportunity, strike thy blow for liberty for thee and bretta. o, laggard, wake up! dost thou not hear the savage's heavy breathing? but hist, what form is that so stealthily approaching from under yonder copse of wood, now bending low, or creeping on his hands and knees, quietly, nearer and nearer? his appearance is indeed strange, he now rises on his feet a tall, commanding figure; his beard white as the driven snow reaches below his breast; on his head is a cap made from the bark of the white birch from under which protrude his white locks falling gracefully on his shouders. in his hand is a long spear, and in his belt a knife; these are his only weapons. his body is clothed in the tan skin of the mountain goat, as are also his feet. “ah! we recognize thee now, thou art the hermit of high point, or the “ nick of the woods," and the superstitious dread of the savage. but what 126 the hermit of the catskills. doest thou here, comest thou to liberate the innocent from the hands of the murderous savage? no, our expectation is doomed to disappointment.” stealthily he approached the savage sleeping against the tree, and quietly took the tomahawk from his open hand. with his knife he put a peculiar mark on the sleeping indian's musket, leaving it where it lay across his legs. then moving quietly among the circle, he put the same mark on the musket of each sleeping savage. approaching donald's sleeping form he quietly placed within his bosom a birch bark, with signs cut upon it with the point of his knife. this being done, he slowly passed by bretta and cast upon her a look of deep tenderness; tears furrowed his cheeks, as some long lost remembrances came to his mind. bending low over bretta, he took quickly from her bosom the papers relating to her father's estate, given her on the fairground. a groan nearly escaped his lips as he gazed on bretta, but he passed on to the edge of the copse before mentioned. then with a peculiar yell like that of the catamount, far-reaching and piercing, simulthe captives. 127 taneously igniting a stick of punk with his flint and knife, with his long arms he wove it in perfect fiery net-work of gyrations about his head, causing the effect which he desired. then the hermit quickly plunged into the gloomy forest, and we next find him in the morning approaching stealthily upon old cyrus during the thunderstorm as already related. before the screech of the hermit had died away every indian was on his feet, as was also donald, and consternation and fear were depicted on every face. when they beheld the encircling fire moving about the head of the hermit the commotion and terror among the savages was complete. they at once recognized who was the cause of it, and in groaning and vehement gesticulations of superstitious dread, they beseeched their chief to lead them away from the evil spirit of high point, for such they recognized him to be. soon after the savages even suggested the release of the captives, supposing that the visit of their dreaded enemy was on their . account, and that some great evil would befall them if they carried them further away in captivity. but the hermit disappearing so suddenly, the 128 the hermit of the catskills. council of the chief prevailed and donald and bretta were ordered to prepare for their journey at once. the thongs were removed from their feet preparatory to their march, and indian file, with bretta and donald in their midst, they rapidly moved in the direction of the gate of the catskills, now known as the “ stoney clove notch.” daylight was rapidly approaching, and when the savages discovered the peculiar mark on their muskets made by their unwelcome visitor of the night, their lamentations broke forth anew. assured were they now that some evil would befall them. they had seen those marks before and woe betide him for whom they were intended. less severity was exhibited toward the captives, the savages supposing that by thus doing they would soften the anger of the evil spirit. bretta and donald were even permitted to converse and walk near each other, and donald was thus enabled to assist the poor girl over the dangerous pathway of the forest. they both were astonished at the events of the morning. the visit of the stranger and the superstitious fear of the savages was an enigma to the captives. : 129 them. neither had had a view of the strange visitor. donald only for a moment caught sight of him as the encircling fire about his face revealed it to his gaze. of course he naturally connected the visit of the peculiar appearing stranger with the consternation of the savages, but would it work together for his and bretta's good ? their permission to walk together and converse seemed to inspire him that such might be the fact. donald accidentally placed his hand in his bosom and drew forth the parchment placed there by the hermit. he was careful not to exhibit any emotion that would attract the savages, but waited his opportunity to decipher its contents, quietly informing bretta of what he had discovered, bidding her show no sign that might arouse the indians to suspicions regarding them. bretta at this time, thinking of her precious papers, so nobly won for her on the fairground at kingston, as had been her custom on her journey, thrust her hand in her bosom, to be sure of their safety, when a smothered cry of horror escaped her. instantly the chief was at her side, be130 . the hermit of the catskills. . fore donald could assure him of her safety. he thought bretta had tread on the deadly moccasin or sprained a foot. bretta allayed the chief's fears regarding her, but in broken sobs of anguish begged him to halt for food, to satisfy the gnawings of hunger, as she was feeling faint from overexertion. “pretty pale-face, we no stop now, make un quite big walk yet. see big black mountain, there we rest.” thus saying, the indian placed in bretta's hand a peculiar bark of some native tree, and bade her chew it, which at once relieved her thirst and also allayed her hunger for the time being. as soon as she could do so, she communicated her loss of the papers to donald. he at once conjectured by whom they were taken and informed her that the same hand which had placed in his keeping the parchment had also taken from her the valuable papers. “but don't let it trouble you, bretta,” said donald. “our escape is of more importance than the loss of the papers.' “i know that is so, donald. but oh! how you the captives. 131 struggled to win them for me, and to lose them thus, even in these dire straits, is a great loss.” “ for some unaccountable reasons, dear bretta," said donald, “i feel that the stranger who so quietly visited our camp and caused so much fear among the indians, is our friend, and possibly may have some knowledge of the value of those papers, and took them for preservation, to be delivered to you at some future time, if the good lord should be merciful and deliver us from the fate that seems to be awaiting us. perhaps this birch bark on which there seems to be writing, will make the stranger's actions clear to us, and when an opportunity comes i will learn its meaning." "i do hope that it is so," said bretta,“ but fear it will be otherwise. we are now so far into these lonely mountains. who can assist us? your own strong arm, donald, is now powerless to cope with these blood-thirsty savages. i tremble for the result.” "keep courage, bretta, i have a strong presentiment that in some way this stranger will affect our escape and perhaps old cyrus is even now on our > 132 the hermit of the catskills. trail, and may not be many miles from us. i feel assured that the faithful old darkey will follow, and do what he can to accomplish his undertaking." “may god help him," said bretta fervently. an interruption from the chief put an end to their conversation, which although carried on in an undertone, had attracted his attention, and with a scowl he ordered donald to be silent. the party was fast approaching the mountain, which had been pointed out to bretta by the chief as a resting place. their route lay along the stream, flowing through the valleys of the stony clove. up past the base of the mountains overshadowing the now pretty village of phænicia, and nearly on the spot (by a gurgling spring) where the “tremper house” now stands, the chief called a halt. the savages had succeeded in spearing several large trout in the stream, which augured a fair breakfast for the captives. hastily broiling them over the fire the indians meted out a portion to the captives, at least enough to satisfy their acute hunger, and it was a sweet morsel to them indeed. their long fasting and continuous climbing up the rugged slope, together with the pure the captives, 133 mountain air, had so sharpened their appetites that though captives and bound, their hasty meal was relished with a zest, such as was never experienced by them before. it was now the noon hour, and the chief gave the captives to understand that their journey must be continued the whole day before reaching the encampment of the tribe, and he at once gave orders for breaking camp. after destroying all signs of their resting place, with the captives in their midst, the savages again took up their journey. bretta succeeded in attaching a small piece of her clothing to a bush before leaving unobserved by the savages. donald also accomplished the perusal of the parchment left him by the stranger. with a lighter heart and better spirits, donald walked along between his captors; no communication of the contents of the parchment had yet been made to bretta, but she could see by donald's face that it contained good news for them. on-on went the fleeing party up through the stony clove valley,” toward the “great notch," it is called at this day, being the outlet or gate of the catskills to the north, and the nearer the. merci66 6 134 the hermit of the catskills. a less savages approached their destination the more urgent they became in hurrying their captives along. both bretta and donald were nearly exhausted, but by threats and menaces, and actually prodding donald with their muskets, they forced them to move rapidly. as they entered the narrow defile or “ notch” they were met by two indian runners from their tribe, and a hasty conversation passed between them and the chief. donald closely observed their actions and noticed their scowling looks directed to him. he knew that he was their subject of conversation. there was a peculiarity about one of the strangers that seemed familiar to donald. he was tall and of a heavy build, indicative of prodigious strength. his movements were unlike the rest of the savages. there was something about him that greatly puzzled donald. a peculiar light came to his eyes, as he cast them on bretta, and when his look was directed to donald his eyes would light up with the ferocity of a tiger. donald at once augured that this red devil meant him no good, and a feeling of presentiment caused him to believe that he was a deadly enemy. donald's the captives. 135 suspicions that this enemy was not an entire stranger to him grew stronger as he closely watched his movements and manner, and by closer observation he concluded that the stranger was not altogether what he seemed to be, though thoroughly painted and accoutred as became a warrior. donald's keen eye penetrated his disguise, and he was assured that he was a white man. whom, he could not as yet tell, but he had grave suspicions that he might prove to be none other than paul leffens. from this time forth the treatment of donald was severe, while bretta was leniently dealt with. all their movements on the journey were now directed by the stranger in disguise. the party was passing through the “great notch," and the poor captives even in their extreme peril could not help being impressed with great awe at the grand, majestic height of those rocky perpendicular walls, rising on either side of them to the altitude of three thousand feet or more, and their bases scarcely one hundred feet apart. through this narrow defile passed the savages and their captives. if donald and bretta thought the scenery in the mountains was grand, their admira136 the hermit of the catskills. tion was complete when the full view of the great schoharie valley burst on their vision ! there, scarcely one-half mile from them, ran the beautiful schoharie kill. the open fields of indian corn and the indian village with its bustle and activity lay nearly at their feet. the descent to the village was quickly made, where they were met by the whole town of howling red-skins, including women and children, and when the news of the loss of their friends on the battle grounds became known, their ferocity to donald knew no bounds. the squaws seemed to vie with the savage warriors to see who could torture him the most. what with the pounding of sticks and pelting of stones, donald would have been killed there and then, but for the timely interference of the disguised stranger, who ran him off to a stronghold, a sort of log house, near which was a teepee, where bretta had already been conducted, and placed in charge of an old squaw. old cyrus.' 137 chapter xi. old cyrus. the trusty and faithful old negro feeling encouraged by the cheering words of the hermit, struck boldly out on the trail of the fleeing savages. the task became more and more difficult to follow them in their wanderings. his route became more mountainous—now up, now down the slopes of the rising peaks. at times he would lose the trail, then by some accident or sharp scrutiny of the earth, he would discover some imprint of the moccasin or bit of paper, or ribbon dropped by bretta, assuring him that he was on the trail. but his progress was necessarily slow and the distance between pursued and pursuer was widening every hour, and the darkey abandoned all hopes of overtaking them before reaching their tribe. tired and worn out with fatigue he reached the indian's encampment, where they had breakfast at the gurgling spring, just as the setting sun disappeared behind summit mountain. 138 the hermit of the catskills. 1 here old cyrus determined to pass the night. he had already discovered the bit of clothing, fastened to the bush by bretta, and also discovered enough remaining signs to convince him that here the fleeing party had lunched, and appeased their thirst from the beautiful spring. hastily partaking of a spare meal, such as his circumstances would permit, the tired old darkey gathered together boughs of the hemlock and made an improvised bed under the overhanging limbs of a large mountain pine, near the spring. his sleep was sound and healthful, and he was sleeping soundly long after the rising sun, and indeed it might have proved a rip van winkle sleep, but for the timely appearance of a stranger, who was none other than the hermit of high point. when he bade cyrus adieu in the morning it was not with the intention of leaving the captives to their fate, of which fact the indians themselves were well aware. the mark set by the hand of their dreadful enemy on their guns whom they thought in some way was connected with the evil spirit, assured them that old cyrus. 139 his appearance again among them would certainly come, to their great misfortune. hence their hurried journey to reach their tribe ere the sun went down, which was accomplished as the reader already knows. the hermit stealthily approached the sleeping form of cyrus, and bending low, spoke loudly near, his ear. arise! sluggard, arise! and hie ye on thy journey. thinkest thou that thy slothfulness will gain thy master's liberty? perhaps ere this his life has yielded to the fiendish mob. “up! i say, or i will crack thy thick pate with thine own pistol butt.” the old darkey half awaking from his disturbed dreams, arose on one elbow, and with his eyes, dim of vision, beheld the commanding form of the hermit, but not fully recognizing him in his half unconscious state, exclaimed in a surprising tone: "oh, good lord, dere he am gain. now i know he be de debbil. didn't dis niggar bid him 'good bye' only this mornin', and dere he stands fo all de world, like old satan. me don't care now, for massa 140 the hermit of the catskills. donald and miss bretta gone, and me no find 'em, but ise cotch de debbil, shuah, or he done cotch me, i don't know which." “ you will catch the devil or something worse, you black rascal, if you don't arise immediately and prepare a lunch for us at once. already the cry of your master for help is sounding in my ears, and here lies his faithful servant asleep. haste ye, ere it be too late to succor him.” at the sound of the name of his master, cyrus bounded from his bed of green boughs, now thoroughly aroused. “ah! good massa hermit, is it you? poor old dark was so tired, ise over sleep. but how good massa hermit get here? is you goin' to company old cyrus on de trail?" “yes, cyrus, but make haste, the day is already advanced and your master may even now be slain.” “ ise be quick, massa hermit. oh, i pray good lord to keep massa donald safe till cyrus come 9 up." thus saying, the negro hastily prepared a meal old cyrus. 141 from what could be produced from the pouch of the hermit and his own capacious pockets. we will now return to the captives. donald on being thrust into the large building by the stranger, immediately began an examination of his prison, to ascertain if any means of escape was left him. but his heart failed him almost to faintness with despondency when he discovered that the only opening to his place of confinement was that through which he had entered, and that was secured by heavy oaken bars firmly held by withes or thongs to the logs of the building. only little light shone through the chinks of the heavy logs which composed the sides of his prison. darkness was almost complete, and ere the sun had sunk below the western horizon donald was in total darkness. bretta was assigned to the larger half of the teepee by the old squaw. the apartments were divided by hanging blankets. the fur skins of the mountain panther and black bear composed her couch. she had scrutinized the face of the old squaw to see if one kindly trait of character was manifest, but a stolid blank, unsympathetic look met hers as 142 the hermit of the catskills. 66 with a stern visage and manner she pointed to the couch, and by signs and broken english gave bretta to understand that it was her resting place. the old crone had scarcely withdrawn beyond the curtain of fur skins, which divided the apartments, when the stranger guide of the morning stepped within the enclosure and stood before bretta with folded arms and thus accosted her: how fares the pretty maid of rutsen? has your captivity tempered your proud spirit so that you can now listen to reason? answer; do you know me?” “know you, yes, indeed, i know you. no disguise can hide your shrinking soul from the pure and upright. you are my enemy, paul leffens.” “not your enemy, bretta, unless you will it so. i would be your friend, if you desire it. i have the power to liberate you." “oh! have you, will you liberate both donald and me?” “what, set at liberty an enemy who has cost the blood of some of my bravest warriors. no, never ! i have him in my power. revenge, thou art sweet! old cyrus. 143 miss rutsen, donald mcgregor shall die at the burning stake at the setting of to-morrow's sun." “oh! say not so," said bretta in a prayerful attitude. you cannot, will not, dare not doom an innocent man to such an awful death." “ think you that he will escape me now? look out and see the gathered fagots already prepared for the funeral pyre. no, the hated scotchman shall know what it is to insult a leffens. revenge, revenge! his life's blood will hardly quiet the ravings of my soul. has he not robbed me of land, and of that i value the highest of all things on earth—thy heart?" “oh, sir, if lands can save him, i willingly would give back your papers concerning my father's estate. but they are gone, i know not where, lost or stolen on our journey through the mountains.” what, lost did you say? then by the name of paul leffens, that scotchman shall doubly suffer. on him shall double revenge fall, only part of my scheme has proven successful, but i have you and your scotch lover in my power, that is satisfaction enough. his cries at the burning stake can reach 144 the hermit of the catskills. no tender heart here. the warriors are full of vengeance. the blood of their lost brothers cries out ' revenge.' this makes it doubly sweet to me, miss bretta, as no mercy will be shown by the savages and they only await my bidding." "spare him, oh, spare him, paul leffens. on bended knees i beseech you to spare donald mcgregor from this awful fate. oh, sir, is there no way by which this cruel death can be averted, or has your heart become calloused. cannot his life be purchased!" “ listen to me, bretta rutsen. did i not tell you at the kingston fair that i would make you kneel a suppliant at my feet? surely it has come sooner than you or i expected. hearken what i say. when i besought you with my whole being for your heart and hand, i was spurned with contempt. you could have made a man of me, but you have made a fiend. think you i can ever see you the wife of my hated enemy? never, no, never! prepare yourself for the grand fête on the morrow. yes, put on your bridal robes, if it please you, for you shall see the coward die." > > old cyrus. 145 . with a wild scream of terror bretta fell unconscious at his feet. and when consciousness returned she found herself in the hands of the old squaw, who was applying restoratives peculiar to the indian tribes. paul leffens had gone, and she was alone with her keeper. as her mind became clearer and she again realized her own and donald's situation, she flung herself wildly at the feet of the old squaw and with tears and cries of anguish besought her to save them from the awful fate that seemed to await them both. > pretty pale-face touch old neoscoleta's heart, me save you. my noneeta lies under the sand by the schoharie waters--you will take her place in my tearful heart. yes, old neoscoleta will save you from that bad white man," and with this the old squaw pressed her to her bosom. oh! can you save captain mcgregor, too? oh, do say you can, and i will be your own noneeta.” with the scowl of a fiend she thrust bretta from her, and in a towering rage said: “ pale-face chief must die. my brother's blood cries out to me from 146 the hermit of the catskills. the ground. those wounds were made by white chief, and my brother's body lies a prey to the wolves of the mountains. vengeance i must have or old neoscoleta will find no rest. die he must!” with wailings of despair, bretta threw herself on her fur couch and moaned, until overcome with exhaustion she fell asleep like the wearied child she was. donald had been securely bound and fastened to the logs of his cabin, by orders of paul leffens. he could scarcely recline or lie in any position for rest. this, with a disturbed mind of great anxiety, made sleep an impossibility. all was dark and gloomy within his enclosure. not even the pale light of a full moon was visible through the narrow crevices of the logs. outside he heard the barkings of the indian dogs, while the death songs of mourning for the indian dead, lost on the battle-ground at the capture, could be distinctly heard. this he well knew augured no good to either him or bretta. the death song had not yet ceased when a light became visible through the chinks of the rude, though firmly constructed door. a tall, powerful man soon stepped old cyrus. 147 within the enclosure carrying in one hand a lighted torch and a huge horse pistol in the other, while in his belt stuck a large hunting knife. evidently the man had come prepared for emergencies. he held the torch high above his head, so that its light could fall on all parts of the cabin. he soon discovered the prisoner crouching in the corner, as his thongs would not admit an upright position. approaching close to the captive, so that the full glare of his torch could fall upon him, the stranger paused a moment, and with gloating eyes looked straight into those of his victim, and with a sardonic chuckle and voice tremulous with suppressed passion thus addressed him: “donald mcgregor, do you not know me? ah! start not, you need no further reminder than the sound of my voice to tell you that paul leffens stands before you. you have felt something of my power, but it is hardly a foretaste of what is to come. hear me! i have sworn to have life's blood. did i not swear that at the fair? aye, little did you think then that you would so soon fall into my hands. i have come to scoff at your pleadings your 148 the hermit of the catskills. for mercy from the fate that awaits you on the morrow. at the burning stake will your body be consumed by a slow fire, such as only those howling red devils now mourning for their dead know how to build. then will come my happiest moment of revenge. when i see the flames leaping around your naked body, your very cries of agony will be sweet music to my ears, and when your last moan is made and the flames have done their work, then sweet bretta “hold! villain! fiend! take not the name of that poor girl on your polluted lips. coward as you are, and black-hearted as your soul may be in its connecting link with satan. i fear you not, paul leffens. but for these bonds i would strike you dead at my feet. you do well for a coward to come and taunt a bound prisoner. if you have the least vestage of a man in you, liberate my hands and feet and meet me like a man, yes even here by the light of your torch, let us have it even unto death. the earth cannot hold us both. you pollute the very atmosphere with your murderous breath, and to breathe it with you stifles me. out of my presence, old cyrus. 149 vile creature, go and do your worst, and let your conscience be your own accuser.” “ha! ha! my bonny scotchman, you make me laugh. think you that my conscience will trouble me because of your tortures at the stake. no, no, mcgregor, i've seen too many rebels die the death they deserve to feel any remorse over the death of my worst enemy.” "in that you say truly, conscience you have none. i neither expect mercy nor ask it. but beware of retribution. it will surely come,” said donald, as he gathered himself in his corner and refused further conversation with the tory. when leffens found he could no more irritate his victim, with a low, mocking laugh and cautionary words to prepare for the burning stake on the morrow, he withdrew his loathsome presence and carefully secured the entrance behind him. 150 the hermit of the catskills. chapter xii. the surprise. : donald passed a weary and sleepless night. once or twice his head fell upon his breast in slumber, but only to suddenly arouse, startled by fearful dreams. thus the night wore slowly away and the morning light began to appear, and with it vanished all hope of his and bretta's rescue. he had thought perhaps old cyrus with assistance would appear for his release during the night, but with the break of day that hope vanished also. he now realized that he must tread the wine press alone.” nothing but a direct interposition of providence could save him now. the thought of leaving bretta in the power of the villainous tory almost drove him mad. better for her to die a thousand deaths than to be in the keeping of paul leffens, thought he. oh, for free hands and feet that i may rescue her, or die in the attempt. that would be far better than dying like a dog at the stake. 66 a the surprise. 151 a his meditations were suddenly interrupted by the appearance at the entrance of a band of painted warriors headed by his sworn enemy, paul leffens. with a wave of the hand leffens bade the warriors bring donald forth. being bound hand and foot, donald was carried out of his prison, but not until after a fearful struggle. although bound, he fought like a tiger at bay until a stunning blow from a club in the hands of a savage laid him low and powerless. thus he was carried to the stake, which had been prepared the night before. around the stake, which was driven firinly in the ground, lay heaps of fagots. donald on returning to consciousness found himself firmly secured to the stake in an upright position. about his legs were piled the heaps of dried fuel, only awaiting the flaming torch to begin his unspeakable torture. around him in circular form were the howling red devils in paint and feathers, dancing and brandishing knives and tomahawks like so many fiends from the infernal regions. suddenly out from the circle sprang a savage and rushed up to his victim with uplifted tomahawk, as 152 the hermit of the catskills. if to sink it in donald's brain. he came so close as to sever the locks from his head and bury the tomahawk in the post. closely following this savage's antics, another rushed up to donald, brandishing a huge knife as if either to cut his throat or to cut off an ear. and finally with a dexterous movement of the hand, the savage flung the knife within a hair's breadth (so to speak) of donald's neck and left it sticking in the stake. donald looked about him for some sympathetic face; none was to be seen in that blood-thirsty crowd, and it seemed as if his strength was fast failing him, when he discovered bretta being dragged to the place of execution by two merciless savages, and paul leffens approaching, said: “captain mcgregor, i bring your expected bride to comfort you in your dying moments. speak up, miss bretta, haven't you a cheering word for your brave champion? surely you are not so ungrateful as not to bid him be of strong heart and meet death like a man. aye, tell him that you are to wed the tory, paul leffens, and that you come for a parting blessing." > the surprise. 153 thus sarcastically spoke the villainous tory. bretta, fainting and half unconscious, was allowed by the savages to sink upon the ground with face pale, and lips of an ashy hue. she spoke not a word. donald could only moan in anguish for bretta, and heeded not the sneering words of the tory. “i will now have my sweetest revenge, captain mcgregor. with my own hand will i touch off the fagots that will consign your body to ashes, and miss rutsen shall be a witness that it is done well." and suiting his action to his word, he seized the burning fire-brand from an old squaw and ignited the funeral pyre at donald's feet. bretta with a wild scream and with the strength of an aroused tigress rushed to donald, and with her bare hands scattered near and far the burning fagots, which were already sending up flames about. donald's body, and then fell fainting at his feet. the savages had hardly recovered from their astonishment at the boldness of bretta, when that peculiar cry, which on other occasions they had heard and had reasons to remember, sounded loud and shrill almost in their very midst. 1 54 the hermit of the catskills. there, as if arisen out of the earth, so stealthily had he come, rapidly approached their deadly enemy, the “evil spirit of high point.” closely following the hermit came old cyrus. as they approached, the indians fell back and slunk away in superstitious fear. the hermit with his long spear held aloft in one hand, and a long hunting knife in the other, strode rapidly up to donald, severed his bonds, and placing a cordial to his lips, bade him drink instantly to restore him from his fainting condition, and then to follow him. old cyrus anticipating donald, quickly clasped the now inanimate form of bretta, and placing her lightly on his back, pushed donald in front of him and followed the hermit without delay. on they rushed, now desiring to reach the heavy timbered woods before the savages should recover from their consternation and fear. paul leffens, who although almost paralyzed by the suddenness of such a strange appearing personage as the old hermit, and the manner in which he dispersed the savages, soon, however, came to his senses when he saw old cyrus fleeing with bretta the surprise. 155 on his back. and with the yell of a fiend he called to . the indians to come to the rescue of their victims, and then rushed madly after the fugitives, although armed only with his hunting knife. there was already quite a distance between pursuer and pursued, but like a roaring lion on he plunged, rapidly shortening the gap between them. old cyrus was in the rear, as he was carrying away the main object of the pursuer, toward him rushed paul leffens. donald, weakened from the torture at the stake, was forced in front of the hermit and bidden to rush on, and leave the tory to be disposed of by him. but cyrus freeing one hand and supporting bretta with the other, quickly seized his pistol and turning suddenly confronted the approaching tory, and with a well-directed aim winged him, by sending a bullet tearing through the fleshy part of his left arm, shouting to the tory at the same time that he was born to be hung and not to be killed by a bullet,” hence he would not cheat the hangman by killing him now. “go back," said the . , old darkey, "to yo red devils, let dem nuss you wounded arm, and then come to kingston and gib 156 the hlrmit of the catskills. yo self up to de hangman, for dare youse born to fetch up, or old cyrus no prophet.” bretta had now returned to consciousness, and seizing donald's outstretched hands gladly pushed on, being supported by him, the hermit leading and cyrus bringing up the rear. paul leffens fell fainting to the ground from loss of blood, where he was shortly discovered by the savages and carefully nursed by them, and in a few weeks was so far recovered that he was ready to enter upon any feasible plan by which he could recapture his prisoners, as the sequel will show. the hermit's cave. 157 chapter xiii. the hermit's cave. a it was a torturing journey to the fleeing party, although not fearing immediate pursuit by paul leffens in his wounded condition. still, it was necessary for them to hurry forward for fear that by bribes and threats, the tory might induce a horde of red devils to attempt a recapture. in view of this possibility the old hermit took a different route from that on which they had come. a circuitous journey around one of the highest mountains brought them into the great mountain valley, which has its exit at the present mountain resort, mount pleasant. on their arrival here, the party had no fears of pursuit. the sun was sinking behind the western mountain peaks when the old hermit led the party to the edge of the overhanging, shelving rocks of high point. there, at an altitude of 3,800 feet above the sea stood donald and bretta with their rescuers. at their feet lay the vast plain of the hudson river 158 the hermit of the catskills. valley. away off towards the south loomed the craggy peaks of the highlands, and in the northeastern direction could distinctly be seen the green mountains of vermont. directly, and it might also be said beneath them, lay what was once the pretty village of kingston. it was now in ruins, and flames were still seen shooting up from the dying embers of the half-consumed dwellings of the old dutch burghers. only one house was left intact, and that was the hostelry of mine host vansteenburgh, where donald had enlisted his recruits. great commotion was visible in the town and roads leading thereto. off toward“ wiltwyck” was distinctly seen a moving body of men, and glittering of shining steel through the rays of the setting sun at once told donald that it was a moving body of soldiers. with the small pocket-glass produced by the herhit, the redcoats of the moving column could be seen, at once proclaiming them british soldiers returning toward their boat from a marauding expedition. the burning of kingston had taken place. it was apparent to donald that lord howe had ascended the hudson and burned this pretty vilthe hermit's cave. 159 lage, and perhaps was near a junction with general burgoyne's army of the north. his heart sank within him for fear that might be so. again he took the glass and examined a small moving body leading to the old town of hurley. he found that the moving objects were only a few burghers driving their cattle and horses to a place of safety. how eagerly they rushed ahead for fear of pursuit by the redcoats. “and where are the patriots?” thought donald. “where are the cowardly soldiers?” he almost shouted. he was now directed to another and larger moving column in rapid march just entering hurley from the south. “oh!” he said with enthusiasm, "i know that military step. that is a part of general clinton's force under colonel snyder, or i am mistaken." sure enough, there was a small force of the american army making a forced march to kingston. but too late, the dastardly deed had already been done. the village lay in ashes, and the cowards who had burned it were already in their boats fleeing to their larger vessels moored in the outer stream. 160 the hermit of the catskills. with a sigh, captain mcgregor passed the glass to its owner, remarking, “kingston burned to ashes, and i not there to defend the now homeless burghers, what will my noble chief say?" “that you have done your duty," interposed the hermit. “ no use to mourn over what was impossible for you to prevent. there should be enough joy in your heart, that this poor girl is out of the clutches of the tory, paul leffens, and also that your body is not now in ashes in yonder indian village.” “enough, my noble friend and deliverer, i see forcibly your gentle reproof, lead on to your abode, where you say we must pass the night; we follow you." down the steep slopes of high point went the weary party. old cyrus and donald supporting bretta, and the hermit carefully guiding them in his winding paths, and when about midway in the descent to the valley below, the old hermit called a halt and thus addressed his companions: “heretofore no white man save one has dared to penetrate to the abode of the “hermit of high the hermit's cave. 161 point,” or “ nick of the woods," as he is superstitiously called by the burghers of yon burning village. you, captain mcgregor, i perceive, belong to the grand order of free masons, you are my brother. like the wearied travellers searching eastward, we will rest a while under the brow of this cliff, but you must all suffer yourselves to be hoodwinked, or blindfolded, and i will guide you to my abode. but if any one of you ever discloses what you may see or hear, it will be under no less a penalty than death.” accordingly the hermit took from his pockets several bandages and proceeded to tie them over the vision of all, and then admonishing them to keep hold of a small rope that had been secreted near, and now produced for the purpose, he led the blind trio along a narrow foot path, sometimes leading under overhanging cliffs, or now close to the edge of some precipice, or round some huge bolder that had tumbled down from the high point above them. cautiously and slowly they proceeded, occasionally admonished by the leader how and where to step, thus guiding them safely for nearly one quarter of 162 the hermit of the catskills. a an hour. it seemed to donald and his companions to be more than double that time before the hermit called a halt, and proceeded to remove the bandages from off their eyes. directly in front of them was a heavy low oaken door, which firmly secured the entrance to an opening in the solid granite. above them were hundreds of feet of almost perpendicular rocks, which stretched out on either side for miles. smoke was seen to issue from a small pinnacle or dome above them, giving the new beholders assurances that some one was within. on the place where they stood was a small plateau of solid rock, but no path leading to it was visible. in fact it was securely hidden and no person ever yet had visited that secluded abode, unless led blind-folded by the hermit. stepping up to the heavy oaken door the hermit gave three distinct knocks, which were answered by three knocks within. a word from the hermit in a muffled voice . and inaudible to his companions, was the open sesame," for the heavy oaken door now slowly swung inward on its hinges, revealing a narrow hallway that seemed to lead to chambers within. an 66 the hermit's cave. 163 indian maid of perhaps not more than twenty-five summers, dressed in robes and decked with beads and feathers, in the picturesque costume of her tribe, stood by the open door. she was a wonder of beauty; tall and straight as the mountain pine, locks like the raven in color; eyes of the same hue, but soft and tender in expression, and an olive complexion combined with peachy softness. her face was joyous on beholding the hermit, but she stepped back with fear and concern expressed in her countenance when she beheld the strangers. “ have no fears, my pretty nonee, these are our friends. lead the way to the inner chamber, and then go thou and prepare a repast, for we are both tired and hungry." as my master wills it, so shall it be done,” she replied. “oh, i am so glad you have returned, it is so lonely here without you, when you are here all is joy, when away all is gloom. your bird would droop and die if neglected, her song would cease and be heard no more in these vaulted chambers. you will stay a long time now, will you not, my master?” “yes; nonee, i will not leave you so long again, << 164 the hermit of the catskills. only when my duty calls me on errands of mercy like this, will i be absent again, but lead on, then go prepare refreshments." the party now moved on, guided by the indian maiden bearing a burning torch. passing through the narrow tunnel-like entrance, the party soon reached a short flight of stone steps cut in the solid rock. at the top of the stone stairs, an entrance to another room was protected from drafts by a curtain of furs suspended before the opening. removing this, nonee bade the party enter. a large room twenty feet square or more met the astonished gaze of the new visitors. it was luxuriously fitted up; on all sides of the solid rocky walls hung pictures of old and rare paintings, also portraits closely resembling the hermit. on the right of these hung the portraits of some of the prominent men of the period, among which was one that particularly attracted the attention of captain mcgregor. it was that of general george washington in the act of opening a masonic lodge. around the room were chairs made in rustic style from the mountain ash, all richly covered with skins of animals captured in the chase. a the hermit's cave. 165 table occupied the centre of the room, on which was placed chinaware of rare importation. in a small alcove, which was partly hewn out and partly as nature had left it, was a complete fire-place with a natural chimney through an opening of the rocks above. on the easterly side of this room were two longitudinal openings to the outer world, through which the sunlight penetrated. from the vaulted roof was suspended a curious lamp, made from the horns of the mountain goat, and fed with oil, extracted from the fat of the black bear. nature had thus provided a home for the hermit and his indian spouse. bretta was shown to a couch of furs by the indian maid, and bid to rest, while she prepared the luncheon. old cyrus took up his quarters near the fire-place to give such assistance as might be required of him in handling the iron crane, from which suspended the kettles and pots for cooking purposes. donald was beckoned to by the hermit, to follow him. he approached a curtain suspended in a corner of the room, pushed it aside and bid donald to enter. proceeding through a low vaulted passage for a few feet they suddenly en166 the hermit of the catskills. ! 1 tered another and smaller room of oblong shape. to donald's astonishment, it was fitted up completely as a masonic lodge. in the centre of the lodge stood a stone altar. on it rested the holy bible and square and compasses, around which shone the masonic lights, which the hermit informed donald were not allowed to go out. in the east was the raised seat of the worshipful master, and west and south were stations similar. the columns of beauty were worked from the mountain cedar, and had the place at the left of the western station. in fact, donald saw that the lodge was well equipped and in working order. on the rocky walls were cut signs and emblems peculiar to the craft. there also appeared hieroglyphics unintelligible to the beholders that must have been put there ages ago. the hermit addressing donald, said: “but few persons during my abode here have visited this sacred place. the records will show you who they were.” taking from a small stone table a heavy leather-bound book, the hermit directed donald to register his name under those who had been there before him. donald's astonishment was suthe hermit's cave. 167 preme when he saw the names of several prominent indian chiefs, among whom was that of joseph brandt, and further down on the page appeared the name general george washington, recorded when on his last visit to kingston. it may be said here, that it is a well known historical fact that general washington visited kingston a short time previous to the burning of that town. his route was from the jerseys, inland, via the old king's road, passing through stone ridge and marbletown, only a few miles from the hermit's home. he was there met by the hermit and conducted in and out of his secret abode. donald could only look and wonder at his strange surroundings, and at the strange being who had saved him and bretta, and brought them in safety to this strange habitation. “who is he, and what is his history," thought donald, and with these thoughts pressing him, he ventured to ask: "who are you, my kind deliverer, that the savage retreats before you in abject fear, and to whom my commander comes and records his name, with many other men of note, in this book of records? tell me, 168 the hermit of the catskills. 6 my kind friend, who are you, and from what quarter of the earth came you? how came you to leave the associations of your own people and ally your life with that of the indian maid?" "if i did not know you to be a scotchman, i would now conclude that you are a yankee for asking so many questions in one breath. as to your first question, 'who are you?' that is not prudent for me to answer now. perhaps the time is not far distant when i can announce myself to some effect, and may be to yours and miss rutsen's advantage. as to my influence over the savages, all is owing to my , knowledge of their habits and superstitious belief. i have here a laboratory of chemicals used in the production of different colored fire, which on certain occasions, when needed, i display from the summit of high point, or envelope myself, as it were, in the colored flames and thus appear to the untutored man of the forest or to the superstitious dutch burghers of the valley, and my simultaneous appearance, with the terrible thunder storms arising on the peak above us, has given rise to my name among them as nick of the woods,' or 'the 6 the hermit's cave. 169 evil spirit of high point. how i came here, and where from, will be revealed in due time, but not now. “general george washington is my friend, i can always count on his visit when his duty calls him in this vicinity. you also alluded to my pretty nonee; oh, what a jewel! more precious to me than life itself, and to her i owe my life! on several occasions has she saved me. once, by following my directions to this abode and bringing to me the necessary materials to be used for the effect i desired, i was enabled to leave my captors, followed by the pretty nonee, daughter of the chief of the neversink, and here, under these mighty rocks, in the presence of the great spirit, we have plighted our faith. and again did she save my life when in danger crossing yon stream swollen by the mountain floods. but enough, i hear nonee calling us to refreshments, let's away to yonder dining-room, where no doubt our appetites can be appeased." nonee, with the assistance of cyrus, had indeed prepared a repast fit for a king. slices of tender venison, beautiful speckled trout from the mountain 170 the hermit of the catskills. stream, et cetera, were smoking on the table to tempt the appetite of the tired travellers. but they needed not the savory smell of the broiled venison to increase their hunger. the long fast and their wearied journey had already prepared them for this enjoyment. a night of sound slumbers for the wearied ones followed their hearty meal, and the morning sun was already high in the heavens when the hermit bade his indian wife adieu, and conducted donald and his friends to the exit of their abode. here they were blindfolded again and guided by the hermit to a safe distance from his secret abode. here the bandages were removed from their eyes, and they were directed to follow him down the mountainside to the valley below. it was past midday when the hermit called a halt on arriving at the binnewaters on the same trail pursued by old cyrus after the captives. here the hermit, grasping donald by the hands, bade him to be watchful, as paul leffens would surely endeavor to take his life by any means, fair or foul, that could accomplish it. “be on your guard ever for sudden secret attack, as the tory will not rest untii either the hermit's cave. 171 6 you or he is laid low in the dust. guard bretta from the danger of recapture, as leffens will undoubtedly attempt it.” then stepping to bretta the hermit kissed her tenderly, and warned her that she was not yet free from the evil intent of paul leffens, and that she must be watchful, as it was not known in what manner the villain would appear. old cyrus stood with downcast eyes when he saw the old hermit preparing for his departure, and begged of him to bring nonee and live with his people and leave the mountain cave. “not yet, cyrus. the time has not arrived for that. when our country is free, cyrus, yes, free from english thraldom, then maybe you will see me, and perhaps know me differently. now i am only the hermit of high point.” “ya, ya, massa hermit, dis chile knows you for dat shua. didn't you trow de tunder bolt at me from de high point, and den slide down to de erf on de lightning, sure dis niggar no forget dat no how." well, cyrus, you found i was only the plain hermit, after all, but a word of caution to you, guard well your master and miss bretta. that villainous a 172 the hermit of the catskills. tory will not either give up bretta or his revenge on donald. just how or when he will come, i know not; be watchful, therefore." so saying, the hermit immediately disappeared in the direction of his mountain home. cyrus now led the way for his master and bretta. he had recently been over the route, when trailing the fleeting savages and their captives. donald carefully and tenderly assisted bretta over the rugged pathway, which led them from the binnewaters to the place of “ dewitt’s mills,” the scene of the recent capture. arriving on that ground, bretta could not help shuddering when she recalled that terrible scene so recently enacted. and she clung tightly to donald for support. here and there among the rocks were still seen the dead warriors, left on the battle-grounds by their companions. it was a hideous sight to behold. the beasts of the forests must have held nightly carnival over the dead bodies of the slain, as their appearance plainly showed. old cyrus with a grin of satisfaction pointed to two red devils, who lay as they fell, with heads cleft the hermit's cave. 173 in twain by the terrible strokes of his sabre. yonder lay the dead horse of donald, and just beyond, two savages, one across the other, who fell by the unerring aim of donald's pistol. "oh! massa donald,” said cyrus, as he recounted the scene, “i tink, if yo horse hadn't been shot dat wes escaped scot-free, when yo shoots de bullet go straight to de mark ebery time shua." “my pistol is not so deadly as your sabre, cyrus, judging from the work you did here." oh, i am so thankful,” said bretta,“ that it was no worse with us. and oh! donald, when i saw you lying so deathly pale under your horse, from the effects of that deadly blow of the musket in the hands of the cruel savage, i thought you were killed, and my heart sank within me, but thanks to our great preserver who has brought us safely through all, i pray that the extreme danger through which i was to pass, as foretold by the old negress of yappenbergh hill, is now over." “yes, bretta, i too remember that night under the maples at hardenburgh hall, and the visitation of the old negress, and you cannot have forgotten 174 the hermit of the catskills. that after this danger of which you speak that was foretold to you on that night should have passed, and i had shared it with you, that then you would be willing to believe that our destinies are one. have your experiences, and the trials through which our destinies have led us since we first met confirmed my statement and vows to you, dear bretta, on that night?” they had left the scene of the dead, and were slowly travelling along the kings highway toward hardenburgh hall. bretta was hanging on donald's arm for support, as she was quite exhausted from her long journey. she did not hurry to give donald an answer, and was thoughtful and silent for some moments, then looking up into donald's face with implicit faith and confidence she softly said: “ yes, donald, i now know your heart is true, and i am convinced that my future happiness will be in safe keeping with you." “mine and only mine," said donald, clasping her to his bosom and imprinting a kiss on her cheek. “yes, donald, thine only, fairly won on two battle-fields. i would be untrue to my own heart if i the hermit's cave. 175 did not make this acknowledgment to you, but donald, we have been warned by the hermit of still further danger from paul leffens, and i cannot feel entirely happy until that shall have passed." "oh, for an open, square conflict with the , traitor," said donald. “i would rid the earth of the vagabond, but he is treacherous and subtle and will stoop to adopt any means to accomplish his ends, and neither of us can be safe, while he is living. i hope, dear bretta, to meet him as a soldier and give him his just deserts.” just as the sun was setting behind the catskills, our rescued party entered the door of hardenburgh hall. colonel hardenburgh had arrived only a few hours before them from kingston, where he had been sent by general clinton with a body of troops, but too late to prevent the burning of that town. the colonel had left a garrison of soldiers and was now on a hurried visit to his home. with exclamations of delight he welcomed his long lost niece and captain mcgregor back again. several times were they requested by the colonel to repeat to him their capture and escape, and also the acts of paul leffens. a 176 the hermit of the catskills. he knew full well that leffens was at the bottom of their misfortunes, and he expected that they would hear from him again. but the old hermit was an enigma to him, and he was not able to conceive whom he could be. and the knowledge of his masonic cave had never reached him. “well, he is our friend," said the colonel, “and that is enough, doubtless we shall know more of him in the future." “yes," said donald," when i asked him who he really was, he answered, “the time may soon come when i can announce myself to the advantage of yourself and bretta, but not now.?” "i hope, colonel, that we may know more of him and that we may meet him again, as we all owe him a debt of deep gratitude." “ya-ya-massa donald, dis old dark tink massa hermit mighty great man, ise nebber cotch you alive only for de old ‘nick ob de woods.' he led the way. but lord a massy, didn't he trow de tunder bolts and skeered dis niggah so um turned mos white, but he was good to show poor old dark the hermit's cave. 177 all de way to find massa donald and bretta, and fo dat ise thankful." colonel hardenburgh looked upon bretta as if arisen from the dead. he could hardly believe his senses that she was home and well. knowing the power of paul leffens and the cruelty of the indians so well, were reasons enough to believe that she was lost to him, if not by an untimely death, then by a long cruel captivity. again and again did he clasp bretta in his arms in ecstasy of joy over her safe return, as he really loved her as his own child. heartily did he thank captain mcgregor for his watchful care over her, and for his manly defence at the capture, until overpowered because by his fallen horse. "i only did my duty as a soldier, colonel, and love for your niece and desire to be near her, made my captivity and tortures more bearable; but sir, to this faithful old negro do we owe all; but for his promptly trailing our route and meeting the hermit, my body might now have been consumed to ashes, and bretta in a captivity worse than death." 178 the hermit of the catskills. the colonel grasping the old darkey by the hand, said: “ to your faithfulness to your master, cyrus, i owe the return of my niece and the captain. remember that my home is open to you at all times, and my butler is ready to serve you with that which cheereth the inner man and maketh the heart glad." so calling his servant, pompey, the colonel bade him take cyrus and give him of the best his wine cellar could produce. then turning to bretta and taking her hand and placing it in that of captain mcgregor, he said: “you have proved yourself worthy of my niece not only at the contest with the tory at the fair, but also at the battle with the indians. take her to your heart, she is yours with my consent. but your marriage must not take place till this country shall be free. then, my children, you may be made happy by your union. what say you, bretta, does it please you?” oh! uncle, my heart is already pledged to the keeping of my brave champion, we can afford to wait until right shall triumph and our new flag wav66 the hermit's cave. 179 ing victorious over land and sea. then i will redeem my promise to be his by such public ceremonies as we may decide upon.” “i would wait a hundred years,” said donald, “ if at the end of that time i could have only one day to call you wife. i accept the trust, colonel. the tender plant so carefully nourished by you shall be cherished by me." “enough, my children. be watchful and trusting. you have more trials and dangers yet to pass through, but i have faith that it will end well. retire, each of you now, and secure your much needed rest, for on the morrow we must be on our way to kingston to protect those poor homeless burghers in rebuilding their dwellings.” 3 180 the hermit of the catskills. chapter xiv. the burning of kingston. general howe, impatient at the slow progress made by general burgoyne with the northern army, and rightly concluding that he could not reach the upper hudson until nearly october, left his forces in new york and rhode island in command of sir henry clinton, and took the main body with him and embarked to sea to strike elsewhere. as has already been stated, the americans, fearing an attempt would be made by the british to ascend the hudson, erected fortifications in the narrow places of the highlands, respectively named forts montgomery, clinton and putnam. a chain of huge links was also stretched across the river near west point. to remove this chain, the enemy would be under the fire of the forts, and it was considered by the americans as a great protection from the enemy, as it must make it extremely difficult for them to pass, while under the fire of so many guns. the burning of kingston. 181 as a further hinderance to the enemy ascending the river, there was also a chevaux-de-frise at the entrance to the highlands on the north. these forts were insufficiently garrisoned, there being hardly at any time sufficient men to resist an attack from the enemy. the great demands made for troops in other portions of the state, and the number necessary to guard and protect the borders of the counties of ulster and orange from invasions by the tories, indians, and marauding expeditions from the cowboys had so dwindled the american forces that only a small portion could be left with general george clinton commanding the forts. consequently an appeal by him was made to the state convention for more troops. the following correspondence will show the insufficiency of the forces under george clinton to defend the forts and protect the river. history of kingston, page 279, by permission: headquarters. morristown, 19th feb’y, 1777. sir: information being lodged that many of the inhabitants living near the passaic falls are busily employed in removing their provisions and forage within the enemy's reach, with a design of supply182 the hermit of the catskills. ing them, obliges me to beg the favor of you to let me know what success you have experienced in collecting the troop voted by the convention of the state of new york. the presence of some men in that neighborhood would be attended with much good; add to this the well grounded probability that the enemy being lately reinforced, will make some movements soon, and you will, i am satisfied, use your utmost exertions to bring a reinforcement to our assistance. at present i cannot check the above mentioned practice, lest the detachments sent that way may be more wanted for other purposes than this. i therefore hope that some of your troops will take the duty off my hands, and that you will further enable me to effectually frustrate any design of the enemy. i am, sir, your most obed't serv't, geo. washington. to gen. geo. clinton, new windsor. new windsor, 23rd feb’y, 1777. dear sir: on my arrival home last night i received a letter from his excellency, general washington, of which the enclosed is a copy. by this you will find that more is expected of me than is in my power. even though the 500 men to be raised in dutchess and westchester were pleted, unless they were to join me on this side of the river, i should be able to afford but a very inconsiderate reinforcement to the main army (if any at all) after posting sufficient detachments at the pass for effecting the business more particularly recommended in his excellencie's letter. colonel pawling's regiment consists now of only comthe burning of kingston. 183 361, including officers, and they occupy three different posts, to wit: sydman's bridge, cloyster and hackensack, all equally if not more necessary than that mentioned by the general, and i don't imagine he means they should be abandoned. i fear sending a detachment out of this small force (already much divided) to passaic falls, will be endangering the other posts. at any rate it will render the duty on the men exceedingly hard. i will, however, order a lieutenant's party there for the present, in hopes that some way will be devised to supply this place. useless as the ranges have been, would it be best to annex belknap's and de witt's companies to colonel pawling's regiment on this occasion? i have issued orders to the militia colonels to complete their complement of men, . which they were to have raised. some of them have been much more deficient in this respect than i could have thought. this and the number that have enlisted out of colonel pawling's regiment in the standing army and some desertions of tory drafts to the enemy, are the reasons why it falls too much short of its complement. i am with due respect, your most obedient servant, george clinton. to the hon. the pres't of the convention of the state of new york. this urgent need of more troops continued from the date of above correspondence up to october, when sir henry clinton, then in command of the land forces at new york, became aware of this fact 184 the hermit of the catskills, through tory information, and determined at once to capture the forts and ascend the hudson and form a junction with general burgoyne's army of the north if possible. on the third day of october with a large naval force and transports and about five thousand men he proceeded up the river. disposing of half of his forces near peekskill ferry to prevent general putnam receiving reinforcements, with the rest of his forces he at once proceeded to attack fort montgomery both in front and rear. landing at stony point, they were met by a tory who guided them to the fort, a distance of twelve miles or more. both forts, montgomery and clinton, were soon invested. after a desperate conflict in which the americans fought nobly but against great odds, being outnumbered, declining to surrender, some of them fought their way through the enemy and escaped. governor clinton knowing the situation and being menaced with capture slid down the steep rocks to the river and escaped to the boat. general james clinton escaped with those who fought their way through the british lines. the enemies loss exceeded that of the americans. the burning of kingston. 185 two hundred and fifty american patriots fell prisoners to the british. after this victory sir henry clinton proceeded to demolish fort constitution, but the american garrison, anticipating the enemy, spiked the guns, such as they could not remove, and destroyed the fortifications by blowing them up. sir henry clinton was greatly elated by this signal success. it was now an easy matter to destroy the obstruction in the river at polopel's island. an opening had been left for american river craft in that obstruction and was known to only two persons. one of these who helped form the obstruction, turned traitor to the american cause for british gold, and piloted the whole fleet of the enemy safely through and landed them at anchorage in newburgh bay. gen. clinton with his little band of patriots tried to keep pace with the enemy by a forced land march for the purpose of saving kingston, as he knew the village would be the enemy's objective point. the legislature was in session at kingston when the news was received that sir henry clinton with his fleet had passed the chevaux-de-frise at 186 the hermit of the catskills. polopel's island and was advancing up the river to kingston. they at once adjourned and absented themselves, some on military duty, others to protect their families and property. the committee of safety at once disposed of the vessels in the rondout creek, by filling many with provisions and dispatching them to albany, while a few were quite securely hidden in the upper part of the creek behind its windings. at this time, sir henry clinton, desiring to communicate with burgoyne and info him of the passage of the highlands by his entire force, sent a lieutenant of the royal army, named daniel taylor, to convey this important message. he was captured by a picket guard of colonel webb's regiment and was conveyed to governor george clinton. he was observed to immediately put something in his mouth and swallow it. a noted physician was called and an emetic was given him and it was brought forth and found to be a silver bullet in the hollow of which was the following letter to gen. burgoyne, as per history of kingston, page 292. the burning of kingston. 187 fort montgomery, october 8th, 1777. mon-y-voice-and nothing now between us but gates, i sincerely hope this little success of ours may facilitate our operations. in answer to your letter of the 28th sept. by c. c. i shall only say i cannot presume to order or even advise for reasons obvious, i heartily wish you success. faithfully yours, h. clinton. to general burgoyne. the british commander sent a reconnoitering expedition up the river. they proceeded nearly as far as poughkeepsie, committing depredations on the route, destroying van kewren's mills and many fine homes on the east side of the hudson. imniediately after the return of this expedition he organized a marauding expedition consisting of six naval vessels, besides galley and flat boats, carrying full armament and about sixteen hundred men under the command of general vaughan. on october the 15th they, while trying to work their way through a dense fog, were discovered by the soldiers at new windsor. shortly after the fog lifted and with a spreading sail under a stiff breeze from the south, the enemy passed newburgh in full sight of the patriot troops. governor clinton immediately sent a dispatch by courier to the committee of safety, then in session at kingston, apprising them of the fact that the enemy had passed newburgh, and closed his communications as follows (see history of kingston, page 294): my troops are parading to march to kingston. our route will be through shawangunk to prevent 188 the hermit of the catskills. delay crossing the paltze river. let the militia be drawn out ready to oppose the enemy. i will be with you if nothing happens before that day, though my troops cannot. i am yours, etc., george clinton. about this time news was received by the committee of safety from albany, informing that body of the capitulation of general burgoyne's army, and that the battle of saratoga had been fought with glorious results for the patriot cause. general clinton arrived at kingston on the eve of the 15th, and finding it impossible for the main army to come up in time, he left for marbletown, and issued orders for them to proceed no further; that it would be impossible for them to be of any service, as the distance to kingston could not be covered in time to prevent the enemy from landing. consequently, as anticipated by the american commander, general vaughan with his entire fleet on the morning of the 16th of october entered the mouth of the rondout creek after destroying an american galley lying “ ponchockie.” at this place some breastworks had been thrown near the burning of kingston, 189 up and small pieces of cannon placed in position. these were turned on the enemy, but little damage was sustained by either side, and the enemy at once prepared to make a landing. succeeding in this, they carried the breastworks that had been an annoyance to them, and proceeded unmolested on their way to kingston, guided by the notorious tory and loyalist, john leffens, who also informed general vaughan that dispatches had been received in kingston that the army of general burgoyne was captured. this information startled the british commander and he hurried forward his troops to kingston and burned every house in that beautiful village save one, and that belonged to alderman leffens of new york. as per statement, history of kingston, page 302. after completing their fiendish work the enemy again took up their march back to the rondout creek. just at this hour, captain mcgregor, with bretta and cyrus, under the guidance of the old hermit, arrived on the summit of high point, in time to see the red-coats marching on their return to the creek, leaving the village in flames, as before 190 the hermit of the catskills. noted, while the old dutch burghers with cattle and household goods were fleeing for their lives to hurley. and tradition has it that to encourage each other in their flight they called out to the laggards in low dutch: loop, jongens, loop, de rooje komme. span de wagen voor de paerde, en rij na hurley toe.* [translated:“ run, boys, run, the red-coats are coming, harness the horses before the wagon and to hurley ride."] the soldiers whom donald observed through the field-glass of the hermit were those whom he conjectured, viz.: a portion of colonel snyder's regiment en route to kingston from marbletown, but too late to prevent the dastardly deeds of the british. on the morning of the 20th of october, colonel hardenburgh and captain mcgregor arrived at the smoky and ruined village. the old dutch burghers were returning to their ruined homes. *history of kingston, page 309. the burning of kingston. 191 the enemy had fled and their fears were abated. with feelings of anguish they sat down on their stone door sills and in a moody silence contemplated the destructive scene around them. these houses were all built of stone, consequently after the roofs and inside woodwork were consumed by the fire the outside walls remained standing. on this account it was not so serious a matter to rebuild as if it had been otherwise. but the winter was coming on and already the freezing blasts of the autumn's winds made an ordinary shelter untenantable, and it was for the purpose of encouragement and lending all assistance possible by the military, that the colonel and donald went to kingston. rebuilding was begun at once, but lumber was scarce, and the saw-mills on the esopus creek were run to their fullest capacity. before the winter's snow many of the roofless houses were restored to their former appearance. as before stated, the outer walls remained intact, being built of stone, taken from the quarries near the village, and many of these stone buildings are 192 the hermit of the catskills. standing to-day and bid fair to stand another century. they are generally occupied by the lineal descendants of the revolutionary owners at this writing. the news of the capitulation of burgoyne's army was received with great joy by the people at kingston and was somewhat a compensation for their losses, as they were willing rather to suffer loss of home than that the enemy should conquer. colonel hardenburgh left captain mcgregor in charge of the military at kingston for the purpose of giving assistance to the dutch burghers in repairing their homes, while he returned to newburgh to general clinton's headquarters. the news of burgoyne's capture had already preceded him. there was great rejoicing among the patriot soldiers. bonfires lit up both banks of the hudson for miles. sir henry clinton, on receiving information of the calamity to general burgoyne's army, embarked from his position north of the highlands and under a scudding fair wind put for new york. the loss of burgoyne's army and his failure to reach albany was a death-blow to the english a the burning of kingston. 193 cause. “it was the beginning of the end." it gave great encouragement to the poorly-fed, the poorlyclad and, we might say, poorly-paid soldiers. hopes were revived and new energy and enthusiasm possessed every patriotic heart. but not so with the tories and loyalists. more desperate than ever did they become, committing depredations of the lowest and meanest character, burning the homes of the patriots, stealing stock, destroying whole orchards by girdling the trees, and carrying into captivity the helpless women and children by means of their allies, the indians. the news of burgoyne's capture had hardly been told, when a dispatch from albany was received that brandt with his horde of indians and tories had attacked schoharie village, burned many houses and carried away the prisoners for the torture of the stake or helpless captivity. donald chafed under the restraint of his confinement to duty at kingston, and rejoiced when the last roof was raised. on the morning of november ioth, colonel hardenburgh with dispatch from general clinton to general gates at albany, ar194 the hermit of the catskills. rived at kingston, and after consultation with his subordinates, concluded to dispatch captain mcgregor with a band of regulars, about fifty men, to capture, dead or alive, john leffens, and wipe out his gang of freebooters, who were then supposed to be rendezvouing somewhere in the vicinity of the paltz. after completing this arrangement, colonel hardenburgh immediately set out for albany. the attack on hardenburgh hall 195 chapter xv the attack on hardenburgh hall. captain mcgregor's long-wished-for opportunity was now presented. he rejoiced that he was permitted to strike at the tory gang of john leffens. the dastardly deeds committed by him and his lawless associates at his (donald's) own home rankled in his bosom, and to punish them severely was his chief desire, in fact he felt that nothing but their complete extermination would wipe out from his memory the burning of his father's dwelling and barns, the stealing of his stock and the lashing of old cyrus. this was enough incentive to captain mcgregor to nerve his arm for this conflict, to say nothing of the similar acts performed by john leffens and his marauders on other settlers of the county. so with alacrity he made immediate preparations for his expeditions, selecting fifty of the best men under his command at kingston, and in196 the hermit of the catskills. forming them to be ready for the march in the morning it was late in the evening before captain mcgregor had completed his arrangements for the move on the morrow, and he was about seeking repose for the night, when he noticed that the sky in the direction of hardenburgh hall was brilliantly illuminated. bright red streaks were seen to shoot upward almost to the zenith, and then almost disappear, only to again suddenly break forth with lurid light, spreading out fan-like with bright sparks carried heavenward and lighting up the sky for miles around. it took but a moment for donald to interpret its meaning; it is the work of the tories, and hardenburgh hall must be in flames and bretta unprotected, he thought. he quickly caused his bugle to sound the call "to arms." the soldiers immediately responded and the cause of their summons was explained to them by the flame-lighted sky in the vicinity of hardenburgh hall, which was evidence enough that the tories were at work. no further incentive to brave action was required the attack on hardenburgh hall. 197 by the soldiers than to know that the home of their beloved colonel was in danger from the lawless gang of john leffens. "to horse! to horse!” shouted donald, whose spirit was now aroused to its utmost to be in time to save the colonel's property and to protect bretta and lay low in the dust the cowardly tories. he had no doubt as to who they were, and to meet them now with his trusty followers was his chief intent. the horses that had been prepared during the day for the intended march in the morning were . brought forth all accoutred and ready for the expedition. donald instantly gave the order to "mount" and follow him at quick gallop. hardenburgh hall was only eight miles from kingston, and it took the mounted cavalrymen less than an hour to reach the foot of the large hill ending at the sloping lawn of the hardenburgh mansion. donald was right in his conjecture. already the wellfilled barns of the colonel were in ashes and the yells and desultory shots heard warned donald that they were now attacking the mansion itself, and he 198 the hermit of the catskills. at once concluded that what must be done “it were well if it be done quickly." in a low voice he called a halt, and, ordering their horses to be tied near the road in the woods adjoining, placed them in charge of four trusty fellows to guard them against stampede. then calling his men around him, donald quickly opened to them his plan of attack, which was to crawl up under cover of the darkness as close to the enemy as possible, and then to use their firearms with deadly effect, this action to be followed by a general rush of his whole command on the enemy at once with drawn sabres. “this must necessarily be a hand-to-hand conflict,” said he," and if there is any man in this company who flinches and desires to remain, let him step back now.” but his only answer came smotheredly “ lead on, brave scotchman, we will follow you to the death." good," answered donald, “and let our battlecry be, america and protection to her maidens.” the command now advanced quickly, following their leader to the lawn of the homestead, all the time keeping close under the shadow of fences and > > the attack on hardenburgh hall. 199 a trees. here they made a detour to the northerly side of the aforesaid lawn, arriving within less than a quarter of a mile from the already consumed outbuildings. here donald commanded a halt, while he proceeded to reconnoiter and if possible ascertain the number of the enemy, and their leader. slowly crawling on hands and knees and at times flat upon the ground, donald worked his way to a small clump of bushes within pistol shot of some of the enemy. to his surprise he could see at least thirty or more savages in all their war paint, whose cry was now distinctly heard above the rattling din of the musketry firing from and at the loop-holes of the stone mansion. evidently a stout defence was being made by the inmates, and at times donald thought he could distinctly hear the defiant yell of old cyrus. it took donald but a moment to take in the situation. the enemy were trying to fire the house, and as fast as an indian or tory approached the house with a fire brand, just so sure would he bite the dust by a shot from old cyrus or from the watchmen stationed at different angles in the house. finally, a halt was called by a white man, who 200 the hermit of the catskills. was none other than john leffens, and all retreated a short distance from the residence for consultation, as some of their best men already lay dead upon the lawn from the unerring shots within. donald could now see their number, and his practised eye told him there were at least twenty-five tories besides the warriors. the latter seemed to be under the control of a tall, powerful white man, who was not near enough for donald to recognize. he evidently conjectured their next mode of attack as he quietly crawled back to his command. he informed them quickly of the situation, and rightly supposing that they would move in a body to the front entrance of the building with a battering ram for the purpose of demolishing the double oaken doors, he carefully guided his men up to the place of his reconnoiter without discovery. they lay flat upon the ground, awaiting donald's command for the combat. that moment soon came, when he saw a large body of savages and tories move in the direction of the house in a broken line, while those in the rear kept up a constant fire at the loop-holes of the building. now is the time, thought the attack on hardenburgh hall, 201 donald, and word was given to fire. in an instant at least fifty muskets belched forth a deadly fire upon the enemy. six savages and four tories lay dead upon the sward from the effect of the discharge. instantly captain mcgregor shouted the battlecry, “ america and protection fer her maidens," and ordered a charge with drawn sabres. shouting their cry of freedom, the soldiers rushed on the enemy like an avalanche. confusion and dismay struck the freebooters and savages. john leffens called loudly to his band to gather around him, while the tall unknown white man rallied the red-skins to meet the charge. but the attack was so sudden that the enemy was taken at a disadvantage, and had not time to gather their forces, as they were divided in two companies, one body moving on the house and the other some distance off, protecting the assaulting party by a continuous fire on the inmates. donald's band rushed up between the parties, so that they could not unite. it was now a hand-tohand conflict as foretold. the terrible clashing of steel, the shouts of the tories, and the yell of the 202 the hermit of the catskills. savages, with the war-cry of the brave patriots was fearful to hear. john leffens and his tory followers fought like tigers at bay. with a heavy cutlass leffens was dealing death at almost every blow, and none dare engage him in mortal combat. several of donald's men had fallen by his terrible blows. it happened that donald, with a portion of his followers, was on the attacking side, against the savages and their unknown leader, hence he could not reach him. already donald's strong arm had laid two tories and a redskin dead at his feet, and he had saved two of his comrades from the tomahawk and sabre. the flickering light from the burned buildings cast a weird illumination over the scene. the groans of the wounded with the yells of the combatants and the terrible clashing blows of the sabers were enough to cause one to think that it was indeed a battle of the giants. neither side gave any signs of flinching or giving in. in fact, donald's quick eye discovered that unless those fearful blows of john leffens could be stopped, it might go hard with the patriots. at this moment donald caught sight of old cyrus in the act of leaping from the attach on hardenburgh hall. 203 one of the windows to the ground, with his sabre in hand. he had discovered the tory leader from his station in the building, and quietly stealing his way down the stair, he had unloosened the fastening from one of the windows and springing lightly to the ground, unsheathed his sabre and began his death-dealing work by mowing a pathway for himself to john leffens, uttering yells, “ this for massa donald and this for miss bretta. down with the cowardly horse thieves. give them no quarter." the savages had seen the working of his powerful arms before and after cleaving the skulls of two of those who opposed his way, the rest fell back out of reach of his death-dealing sabre. twice, thrice did they hurl their tomahawks at him, but the old darkey was on the alert for just such moves as that, and either dodged them or caught them on his sabre. it took him but a few moments to reach the vicinity of john leffens, whom he knew and remembered well for the stinging lashes inflicted on him by the dastardly tory at donald's home. eagerly did he approach his hated enemy. john leffens, though hard on fifty years, still re204 the hermit of the catskills. > tained his youthful vigor, and was a terrible antagonist when aroused as he was now, to a sense of his extreme peril. but old cyrus with yells of defiance, shouted to the tory: “ villain ise hab my vengeance now. yous neber burn any mo barns or homes. ise don't like to cheat de hangman 'less ise bliged to.” the tory knew that it would be no child's play to cope with the powerful negro. in a moment they were engaged in a mortal combat. the negro outreached the tory with his long arms. the flashing sabres in the hands of the combatants raised and fell, parried and thrust for an opening. twice did the negro get in a blow on the arms of the tory, but the force of the blow was broken by his springing out of reach. old cyrus crowded his antagonist and gave him no respite, and rained his blows so thick and fast on his antagonist's sabre, that at last by a terrible blow the sabre of leffens broke close to the handle. instantly the tory sprang and caught the negro (before he could draw again) in his powerful arms and both came to the ground with a heavy thud, and falling near the steep bank the attack on hardenburgh hall. 205 they rolled over and over until they brought up on the edge of a large spring (which is still running at this day). here the old darkey with almost more than superhuman strength, succeeded in pushing the tory's head under the water and holding him there till nearly suffocated, when, raising him again to the surface he would allow him a breathing spell, but before his strength could be recovered the old darkey would hold the villain's head under again. like a tiger playing with his prey did cyrus keep his enemy. leffens's strength was gone. limp and exhausted he was now a mere child in the hands of the negro. piteously did he beg for his life. “oh! you infernal imp of satan, dos you member de fifty lashes yo gabe dis old darkey? fifty times must yo head go under de water," and suiting the action to his word, the old darkey proceeded to duck him fifty times under the cold spring water. then taking the girdle from the tory's waist he tied his hands firmly behind his back, and his legs together at the ankle and turned him over to two of donald's soldiers with the remark, “dat a man bo'n to be hung couldn't drown no how." 206 the hermit of the catskills. donald had made sad havoc among the tories and indians with his sword, and thus far he had escaped with only slight wounds. in vain had he tried to reach the unknown white man who seemed to control the movements of the indians. he evidently did not intend that captain mcgregor should cross swords with him, as his movements verified. and waiting his opportunity when donald was engaged in mortal combat with two savages, this man, who was none other than paul leffens, quickly raised the window, through which cyrus had made his exit, and entering the house, hurried through the hallway and ascended the flight of stairs leading to bretta's room. he caught the affrightened maiden in his arms and hastily throwing over her head a small shawl, drawing it closely about her neck to prevent her cries from being heard, at once proceeded to bear her down the stairs to the outer door, which he quickly unbarred, and rushed out in the open air with his burden, at the same time sounding the yell of retreat to his dusky followers. at this moment donald had succeeded in laying his two antagonists low with his powerful arm, just as old the attack on hardenburgh hall. 207 cyrus was coming to his assistance. he was the first to discover the abduction of bretta, and like the yell of a tigress deprived of its young, he sprang with a bound on the now fleeing tory. by an instinctive knowledge donald knew the scoundrel and determined to make short work of him now if possible. but paul leffens was not the man to be caught napping. he saw his extreme peril, and succeeded in drawing donald (in his eagerness to dispatch him) some distance from his supporters. then dropping his unconscious burden, whom he had held in front of him so donald could not strike, and seizing his heavy sword, he made at donald with all his power and with terrible oaths of vengeance. “you hated scotchman, once you have escaped me, but now you shall not. heaven nor hell can save you this time," said the tory. “i ask no favor from the last-named quarter, and the first is always on the side of the right,” retorted donald. he succeeded in reparring thrust after thrust made by the infuriated tory. it was donald's 208 the hermit of the catskills. thought to let the villain spend his strength in his blind fury, when he could then have him at will. so taking the defensive only, he kept the tory at bay. more and more infuriated he became when he discovered that he was foiled in all of his assaults. maddened with his successive failures in running donald through with his sword, he became careless and less guarded, and only seemed bent on cleaving donald's head. in his frenzied condition he lost his best judgment. it was evident to donald now that the tory was absolutely in his power, and he quietly awaited his opportunity to either dispatch him at once or disarm him and secure him a prisoner. it was a short conflict in donald's mind which he ought to do. but mercy overruled, and, quick as the lightning stroke, he caught the sword of his antagonist near the hilt on the point of his weapon, and with a powerful, dexterous movement, sent it whirling through the air, and before the disarmed tory could recover from this sudden attack, donald brought the back of his sword down on the villain's head with a whack that sent him reeling to the ground. donald instantly sprang on him and, with a the attack on hardenburgh hall. 209 his sword pointed at the tory's neck, said: “yield the prisoner, rescue or no rescue. answer quick, villain, before i run you through. do you yield, rescue or no rescue? out with it, quick, before you are made to breathe your last.” sullenly the fallen tory responded: “i yield, rescue or no rescue." “ 'tis well,” said donald, and taking the girths from the tory's body, he proceeded to tie his hands behind his back, á la old cyrus, as a precaution, not having confidence in the tory's word. he then turned him over to the keeping of old cyrus, who just at this moment came up to donald with the announcement that the enemy were either all killed or had fled, as none could be seen. donald hastily and tenderly picked up bretta and bore her into the house, where restoratives soon brought her out of the swooning condition into which she had been thrown on discovering paul leffens entering her room. when the tories and indians saw the fall of their leaders, those who were able, quickly took to their heels, leaving the patriots victors of the field. cap210 the hermit of the catskills. tain mcgregor after looking after bretta's needs called his surviving troopers about him and found fifteen missing. he immediately ordered a search on the battle-field for the absent ones, and found five slain and ten severely wounded; these he ordered to 1 be provided for in the hall, and their wounds to be carefully dressed and their thirst and hunger appeased. the tories and indians had suffered severely, more than a score of them having been slain. the wounded were secured and held as prisoners, and their wants attended to. it was midnight before quiet was restored after that terrible battle scene. donald had ordered the horses that had been secreted in the woods near the lawn, to be brought in and foddered, preparatory to their march in the morning. a slumber of four hours was indulged in by captain mcgregor and his comrades, when the order was given after a hasty breakfast to mount," leaving a sufficient number to guard bretta at the hall, and also bury the dead. captain mcgregor bade bretta an affectionate adieu, and grasping old cyrus's hand thanked him the attack on hardenburgh hall. 211 again and again for his valor, and bade him guard bretta as he would his own life until his return. then mounting his horse, and placing the prisoners in their midst, the troopers set out for kingston. arriving in that town the prisoners were placed in the county jail. on the arrival of colonel hardenburgh from albany, he was soon made acquainted with the terrible scenes enacted at his homestead and as the fearful hand-to-hand conflict was told him in detail, joy and thanksgiving filled his heart that the brave patriots had won a complete victory and had been able to save bretta, and also save the homestead from the incendiary tory. grasping captain mcgregor by the hand, the colonel said: “you are worthy of your commission, my brave comrade, and to you all brave men do i owe a debt of gratitude this day which shall never be forgotten by me.” “long live our beloved colonel," shouted all with one voice. “thank you, my patriotic followers. i hope i shall ever be worthy of your confidence, and now to your quarters for your much-needed rest.” 212 the hermit of the catskills. chapter xvi. closing scenes. colonel hardenburgh sent a dispatch to general clinton at new windsor relating to the two prisoners, john leffens and son, leaders of the tory gang, who had been committing depredations on the defenseless patriots of the county. the courier brought an answer from the commander, ordering a military trial for the prisoners referred to, also appointing a day when he would be present to assist at the prosecution. on the day of the trial there were present general george clinton, colonel hardenburgh, captain snyder and captain mcgregor. after a fair and impartial hearing, it was clearly proven that the leffens were guilty of crimes that deserved death. and tradition has it that paul leffens was hung, the execution taking place on the grounds now occupied by a distinguished citizen of kingston. john leffens by some means, foul or fair, escaped hanging and was conclosing scenes. 213 demned to close confinement till the close of the war. the defeat of burgoyne was a death-blow to the foreign foe. it also gave strength to the american cause abroad. france espoused the interest of the brave patriots struggling for liberty and sent a large fleet to our shores. general lafayette fought side by side with our own washington, gaining victory after victory, until the great coup-de-main at yorktown, where the last final blow was given to the already dying british supremacy on american soil. evacuation of all british possessions immediately followed. so the invaders returned to their own country, defeated, humiliated and with a better knowledge of the powers and bravery of the american people. in 1812 england thought to recover what she had lost in the revolution, but our brave seamen with their sturdy vessels of war soon put a quietus on british ambition by humiliating defeat in almost every naval engagement. ever since, the stars and stripes have waved from the mast-head of our vessels in every harbor of the world, respected, hon214 the hermit of the catskills. ored, and revered. england will never again attempt invasion of this country. she has twice been taught a lesson that she will never forget. hoping that she has profited by the past, we leave her to enjoy the fruits of her occasional victories, on land and sea. the war being now over and john leffens being released from durance vile, he at once set at work to get possession of the rutsen estate. having been informed of the loss of the mortgage by his son paul, the old villain drew up a similar document, and forging the signatures, presented the claim at the next county court held at kingston. he conducted his own case, as there could not be found, to their honor be it said, a single lawyer who was willing to accept him as a client. colonel hardenburgh and all his old military subordinates were present at the trial, also bretta and donald with old cyrus. the father of bretta was dead, and the mother was present in deep habiliments of mourning. the trial had been on for a couple of days, and it began to look dark and gloomy for the rutsen family. through the evidence produced by closing scenes. 215 leffens, it was shown that loans of large sums of money had been given the rutsen family, which was not denied by the defence, but they put in their counter claim of redemption of the mortgage by captain mcgregor on the hard-fought field at the fair ground. the presentation of the mortgage to bretta rutsen by paul leffens was clearly proved by a dozen witnesses. but they could not produce the document, it having been lost when in captivity. the question then to be decided was, whether this document as presented by john leffens was the original or a forgery. the forgery could not be proven, leffens asserting that it was the original returned to him by his son paul, who, the father claimed, secured it during bretta's captivity. the case was summed up by both sides, and to his credit it may be said that john leffens showed considerable ability, and if he had in earlier life devoted his time to preparing for the bar, and had followed that profession instead of espousing the cause of the loyalists, he might have reached eminent distinction. the 216 the hermit of the catskills. defence was ably conducted by the best talent of the state. the judge rose to give the charge to the jury, when a commotion occurred at the entrance of the court room occasioned by the entry of a strange personage closely followed by a pretty indian maiden. the first stranger was a tall, remarkable looking man. a long snowy-white beard covered his face and reached nearly to his waist. his locks, also of snowy whiteness, fell in graceful curls on his shoulders. he had heavy eye-brows beneath which sparkled keen, jet-black eyes. his dress consisted of skins made from the pelts of the mountain animals, and moccasins of indian make covered his feet. with head uncovered, carrying his cap in his hand, he majestically strode down the aisle toward the judge, and making a courtly. bow to that dignitary, he thus addressed the court: “your honor, i ' appear here at this opportune time for two purposes, first to make known my identity, second, to establish a clear case in favor of these defendants here.” at this moment a deep, suppressed emotion closing scenes. 217 seemed visible on every face, and an outbreak of applause by every person in the room followed, except john leffens, who with basilisk eyes was watching every move of the speaker. there were three persons present who at once recognized the stranger; they were bretta, donald and cyrus. their surprise to see the old hermit and pretty nonee enter the court room was complete, and with almost breathless suspense, they listened to his words, which were now resumed. “my identity has been concealed for many years, and i have been known to this day only as the hermit of high point,' and as such have i lived in the rocky sides of yon mountain overshadowing your pretty village, with my name and birth concealed from all, except one. to him i am no stranger. that one is none other than general george washington, now the saviour of his country.” it was the first time this appellation had been applied to the illustrious washington, and the shouts of applause that followed were deafening. old cyrus, forgetting his surroundings, threw up his hat, shouting: “ hurrah! hurrah! for massa wash218 the hermit of the catskills. ington and massa hermit.” even the judge seemed to forget the time and place, and for a moment did not attempt to stop the demonstration, but ordered the bailiffs to restore order, and under penalty of ejection to any one who again should interrupt the proceeding of the court, requested the speaker to proceed. the hermit continued: “i am the viscount, earle of egmont, phillip de rutsen of holland, and uncle to this unfortunate girl, bretta rutsen, the defendant in this case.” at this moment a cry of alarm from bretta as she supported the fainting form of her mother, who seemed to be taken suddenly ill, drew the attention of the court. donald assisted the aged lady to a side room, where kind friends administered to her needs. again the hermit, now with visible emotion, proceeded with his narrative." john de rutzen was the first born of my father's family. together we came to america, and both became deeply attached to the same lady, the mother of bretta. this attachment, if continued, meant death or life to one of us. i released all claims on the maiden in favor of my closing scenes. 219 brother, and with bleeding heart and sorrowing mind i betook me to the catskills and there in the caves of high point, i have buried my sorrow for all these years, until providence brought to me my pretty nonee, now my beloved wife. never did i expect to mingle among my own people again, until unexpectedly my lovely niece, miss bretta, was seen by me during her captivity, and while the savages with their captives were encamped for the night in the vicinity of high point, i visited their camp and took from the bosom of my niece this package of papers. i knew their value, and also knew that paul leffens's scheme in part was to recover these papers, on or before the arrival of the captives at the indian village whither they were tending. i was on the fair ground in disguise at the trial at which donald mcgregor so fairly won this document, and my abstraction of it was only for safe-keeping, and your honor, i now present you with the original mortgage given by john rutsen, my bother, to john leffens, the tory scoundrel and forger, now standing there. at the 220 the hermit of the catskills. same time the hermit pointed with extended arm and forefinger to the man. “seize him," shouted the judge. “seize him immediately!” but john leffens was already beyond the reach of mortal apprehension. he had been closely listening to the hermit's words, and his face suddenly became purple in hue, as the old hermit closed his story. his fingers and the muscles of his face seemed to work convulsively, and the veins in his neck and forehead seemed to swell out to twice their natural proportions, and before the bailiff could seize him he fell full length upon the court floor, with blood spurting from mouth and nose from rupture of a blood vessel. and in a few moments john leffens more, having breathed his last in an apoplectic fit.“ vengeance is mine, saith the lord,” reverently remarked the hermit. the jury gave a verdict in favor of the defendant, bretta rutsen, and the broad lands of the rutsen patent remain in the hands of the lineal descendants of john de rutsen to this day. the body of john leffens was carried out and buried beside that was no closing scenes. 221 of his son paul. no stone marks their resting place, and there let them lie until called to judgment by the blast of gabriel's trumpet. the court had only adjourned for recess, and congratulations to the old hermit by all present, for his opportune appearance were hardly over, when unannounced, general george washington with general clinton entered the court room. instantly all heads were uncovered and cheers upon cheers were given with a will. old cyrus became fairly wild in his demonstrations of joy. captain mcgregor warmly grasped his chief's hand, kissed it fervently in respectful reverence. colonel hardenburgh also welcomed his chief with enthusiasm, and the judge calling the court to order introduced to the assembly the honorable john jay, who gave a stirring address of welcome to the american hero, designating him the greatest general of the 18th century. this visit of washington was unexpected at this particular time. it was expected that he would be present, at an organization of political importance to be held at kingston the following week. hence 222 the hermit of the catskills. 66 was not looked for quite so soon. but matters of military importance in consequence of the closing of the war brought him at an earlier day. this was the third and last visit of the illustrious general to kingston. at the close of the address of welcome, the old hermit, who had been in earnest conversation with bretta, her mother and donald, arose and thus addressed the assembly: * there are two young hearts within this room that beat as one; their plighted faith to each other was made conditionally months ago. those conditions have all been complied with—all obstacles are now removed from their pathway. it will make this the happiest day of my life if these two young hearts could here and now be united by the holy bands of wedlock, and if our noble washington, “the saviour of his country,' will consent, i will call at once on the court (turning to the judge) to perform the ceremony. then grasping the hands of bretta and donald, who had already given consent, he led them before the bar amid cries of 'good, good,' and 'long live the brave scotchman and his pretty bride.' washington urging the ceremony to 6 < closing scenes. 223 go forward, the judge quickly made donald mcgregor and bretta rutsen man and wife, after which general washington, stepping up to the happy couple and placing a hand on the head of each, pronounced a blessing upon them. old cyrus wept for joy, and colonel hardenburgh bid them welcome to hardenburgh hall, and thither they repaired. at the death of her uncle, bretta and her loving husband took up their abode permanently at the hall. old cyrus lived with them till the day of his death. many times was he forced to tell of his master's and mistress's captivity, and the part he and the old hermit took in it, to the little golden-haired boy and girl as they sat on either knee. the old hermit, as he still was called, with his pretty nonee, lived to a good old age on the rutsen patent, and his descendants by his indian wife are still living within the bounds of ulster county to this day. finis. 1 : ps3529 у 21 44 ook •-^"■■~? ^^' soliloquy of a hermit # ■ m ! 1 i^^^^^hi 1 i itojthc 'i^aicis pouys :>i.;^f ptw:wu5 the library of the university of california riverside ■-'�' f i f i the soliloquy of a hermit publisher's note tn issuing this little volume adapted to such readers as are interested in original religious psychology, the pub lisher wishes to announce his intended pubhcation of an extraordinary realistic novel by the same hand entitled " mr. tasker's gods," which should appeal to a far wider public. such pubhcation, however, must necessarily depend upon the interest excited by the present httle work. 1 e ■"■ a:,^^ . ll ■r ^ .w^— ■ * .j^'^^^s^abbsss gi^iu p^ ■^f^• » 1 » ' ~ * ■, vi .w^ * ilujd fi^c r.?^ (p^) i*. '; the soliloquy of a hermit by theodore francis powys 1916 g. arnold shaw new york copyright, 1916 by g. arnold shaw copyright in great britain and colonies dedicated to a publisher whose humor is as kind as his judgement is honest g. arnold shaw the soliloquy of a hermit "//e that acknowledgeth the son, hath the father also.'' am i a fool ? is not a fool the best title for a good priest? and i am a good priest. though not of the church, i am of the church. though not of the faith, i am of the faith. though not of the fold, i am of the fold; a priest in the cloud of god, beside the altar of stone. near beside me is a flock of real sheep; above me a cloud of misty white embraces the noon-day light of the altar. i am without a behef; — a behef is too easy a road to god. a priest has liis roots in the deep darkness of human desires; his place is beside the altar, held to the earth bv twisted roots; the priest gives to man whom he cannot love, and loves god 2 the soliloquy of a hermit whom he cannot know. the priest points ever to christ, and tells the people to love him; but to love one another he does not tell them. how can he.^^ the master alone can com mand the impossible ; christ, who knows only himself, he can say "love one another." the priest can only say "love christ." he knows that the people can never love one another, and that if they could love one another, there would be no need for them to love christ. and i, the priest, will tell the story. i know how men move under the shadow of the moods of god, and i know how i move. some try to hide in the gar den, and some try to hide in the beast's belly. i have tried to hide amongst grassy hills; but the moods of god have hunted me out. the proper place for a priest is in a cave, a narrow cave where he lies with his back against a sharp rock. as i could not hide from god, i tried to hide from myself, and the soliloquy of a hermit 3 watch the moods as they passed by. to beheve in god and not to believe in yourself, is the first duty of a priest. there is no need to fulfil a mood; you get far more of the truth of a mood if you do not fulfil it, and a mood is often good and kindly to you if you let it enter without your doing anything that it moves you to do. a priest is always a priest, on a throne; or if upon the gallows, he is still a priest. a priest is a man who knows the workings of the moods of god. the common man, the happy man, the working man, the immortal man, is dominated by one mood, so that he never feels god but in one way, and whatever condition he may be in, tliis one mood holds him up. tliis kind of man is everywhere; he is the people; he talks about "having a drink," "get ting on in the world," "writing books," "buying stocks and shares," "driving pigs to market," "sowing red wheat." he may be in a palace, or at the bottom the soliloquy of a hermit of a coal mine, or in a clover field, or in a villa at chiswick; he is the people, and his dominating mood is the getting mood. on the other side of the road is the priest. he is vulnerable, he is mortal; this life is his only life, he is not im mortal like the other man; the only im mortahty that he gets is by beheving that he is immortal; his children are not his children, and his hfe is not his life, it is god's. he is the soil in which god practises his divine moods; his hating moods, his loving moods. his cruel moods. the other man is domi nated by one mood all his hfe; the manner of his hfe never changes, he moves in one small circle. the priest is never under one mood for long; he is always breaking, or rather being broken, by god. god takes him up and casts him down, and pitches him from one mood into another, taking care that no mood lasts that the priest can live and feed upon. the priest prays; he tames the soliloquy of a ilermii the moods of prayer, and he tries to shut up the bad moods, the good moods, all the moods, in the bible; and then he tries to hide the bible in the church. and he prays all through the bad moods, even when they bite him (and moods can bite), and he waits and prays till a gentle mood comes like a dove from heaven; then he rejoices and quietly eats his bread like any other m£ui. i am writing about myself. i am the priest that i talk about. when i speak about the priest or anything about the priest, i mean myself. i was never put into the fold, and i never climbed over the wall; i never knew latin; i have never spoken to a bishop, or helped a dean on with his gaiters; i have never tried to convert any young lady in the street. i am speaking of rehgion in a book; — that is not allowed, but what else can i write about .^ it is the only subject i know anything about. at the same time there are things that interest me, and things that i love. 6 the soliloquy of a hermit i love a broken chair that is worn through to the wood; it is a chair that can tell its own talc; i have a terror of anything that is sound and whole. i love a broken roller left in a field; my little boys come with me up a httle hill and play by it; it is left in a field that belongs to a crippled farmer, a weakly tottering old man, crooked and bent; all his farm tools are broken and tied up with string, and the roller is the most broken, and that is why we love it the best. it is much better, i have found, to love a chair than to love a person; there is often more of god in a chair, and god often rests by the side of the old roller and watches my little boys play and the old farmer at plough. the moods pass over me and i must act after their ruling. i hate when they hate, i love when they love. the wonderful moods carry me on, and do with me what they will. when an evil day comes, it is the mood from above the soliloquy of a hermil 7 that is evil; when the earth and sky and my heart are bathed in sunbeams, god is in a shining mood above. the moods carry me away in the night and they leap upon me in the day, and they hold me down in the evening, or perhaps let me wander a httle way under the stars. i have voted twice at the elections, once for a conservative and once for a liberal; at each election i voted ac cording to the mood that i was in, as everyone ought to. just now i wear a badge of an order of sociahsm, and when one day i broke my spade in trying to lift up a dead cherry-tree in the garden, i looked at my badge and wondered what it meant by having an arrow, the sun and the world upon it. and then i thought of the people; i know a little about the people, the people that slave and toil and tear at each other with the claws of the beast, and the beast has sharp claws. i know their ways and how they steal 8 the soliloquy of a hermit the moods of god; they will not allow the moods of god to pass freely tlirough them and go. once i said, "i love poor men." and i beheved that they were true, noble, simple, and kind, and of all men, i loved most the men in the fields; i thought that the gentle life they led in the country gave their minds the colour of deep grey w aters. i thought that poor people dwelt so near the mud that they were always clean; i thought that only spoilt children were cruel and ugly, and that all the poetry of the world came from the cottage. it is the priest's duty to dig in the clay tlirough which the moods of god pass; he must foretell how the clay pieces will behave when the mystic winds that they cannot see blow them. it is well that he preaches of one that will take away the sins of the world, but if that one would take the good ness of the world, too, he would find the load almost as hard to bear; for the soliloquy of a ilermil q the good man often hides beneath liis goodness an ugly little devil that spits out fire. man is a collection of atoms through which pass the moods of god, — a ter rible clay picture, tragic, frail, drunken, but always deep rooted in the earth, always with claws holding on to his life while the moods pass over him and change his face and his life every moment. the people of the earth are clay pieces that the moods of god kindle into life. to the priest every man is a rough soil that the moods of god pass through, and the priest knows that every man will clutch what he can hold hke a babe, and he knows that where the moods of god are, strange things will happen. he knows that the world is a wild mad world, a world that cannot settle into peace, that cannot quietly tend its garden and plant the herbs of the field. in the moods, in my moods, there are great and terrible happenings. lo the soliloquy of a hermit in the most quiet places the moods of god rend and tear the heart. every mood that passes through me is ter rible, the most peaceful happy mood carries the heart-ache beneath it. in looking at my life, as indeed in looking at anyone's life, i see the de sire to do something so that the moods may pass and the man still hve. and i think that i can also understand the idea of the monk in a cell, or the her mit in a wood, for these allow the moods freely to pass tlu-ough them, in order that they may catch god in his own thought. in the common longing to do something, — i will not say to work, i see the desire to escape from god. when i want to go out and work or even to help my neighbour, my reason is that i want to hide myself from the moods. i have never been idle — no priest ever is; my sin has been that i have sought to do something; not that i have worked, — of course there comes to the hand of everyone something of the soliloquy of a hermit ii the common burden, — but when i have sought work, it has been as a means of escape, of escape from tlie moods of god. there is only one way of escape and that is in prayer. i will call it the monk's way; only the monk's way is no use to him from whom god hides deep down at the bottom of his moods. all human laws are made to trap and snare god's movements; men are always trying to get at ease with them selves and away from his terrible ways. the priest learns the hard law of men, and he feels the terrible presence of god; from men he is given poverty and scorn, and from god, death. he forgives men, and he takes god's gift, that is to him god's best gift; he trains himself to become as clay in the hand of the potter, to take the mood and the day and the chance as it opens out to him, to walk the road that is nearest before him and to keep always to the left-hand side of the way, to accept as they choose to come-, the anger, the 12 the soliloquy of a hermit fretfulness, the joy, the hunger; for each is a sign, if it be not the reahty, of the moods of god. i have learned to know that though i cannot touch the power, the power can touch me; that is as far as i dare probe into the mystery. i am not evil nor good; i am just my own clay through which the moods of god pass, and this is exactly the case with my brothers, and with everyone else; no one is good or evil, we are all just our own clay. when i look at myself before a glass i am not pleased; i fear i cannot look into the glass and say to myself, "what a fine fellow!" i wish i could. all the same i am wilhng to put up with my self; i am not yet tired of the sun; i hke still to feel the movement of being, and to know that another spring has come; i love myself enough to love the world. i have discovered that all movement is a begetting and creating, and that when i only move my feet i bring to the soliloquy of a her mil i3 birth new wonders. we cannot over rate too much mere existence. simply to be set dancing by the sun is some thing. i love to preach, but the only person i ever preach to is myself, be cause i am the only person that i have ever met who knows how to attend to a sermon. i preach to myself, and i am interested to get to the bottom of my sins. i find my sins are deep enough to be interesting. i love to hate, to desire, to envy, to bear malice in my heart. i am glad that i have these feehngs; i do not want to love my neighbour. i prefer to mildly hate him. when the mood of gentle tolerance comes to me i take it and love even god. i have not fallen into my worst sin. my greatest temptation has always been to work, to go with other men into the great labour market of the world, and be given my place. the priest is lower than the lowest labourer, and if he can only find men and no god in i4 the soliloquy of a hermit the earth, woe be to him, he will cer tainly find himself betrayed. once i thought i was wise, wiser than the wise men of old, "it was not for me," i said, "to come out from the same door wherein i went." it is well to break your head against all the walls that you can, while you are young, so that when you grow old you can slay yourself quietly in your own garden. i wonder what to most men is the pleasantest thing they do. i know that i am happiest when i am mend ing my garden raihngs; they are very old and very much out of repair; every labourer that has come past for the last ten years has had something rude to say about them; and if they see me in the garden they stop and advise me to have iron railings; and once a young sheep dealer told me i ought to build a wall. but, alas, i am no lover of walls that keep out the sunshine, and i have a vast hatred for iron raihngs, and why should i not continue my hap the soliloquy of a hermit i5 piness by mending my wooden ones with string. but people do not like my way. and if the parish council had the power, it would no doubt compel me either to sell my cottage or to buy iron rlailings. if no one drank any beer, if all were self-respecting, if all wore badges with a "world and an arrow," if everyone went to chapel, then would they force me to mend my railings with iron nails and barbed wire. if george v were not king, if the people ruled, if these lovers of iron raihngs and brick walls had the power, there would be no life for me or any lover of string upon the earth. i wonder whether if in america a disciple of the god pan is allowed to mend his garden raihngs with string, or is he badgered to use nails? one day it will happen that everyone will be forced to hve exactly as his dullest neighbour wishes him to, and we shall be com pelled to eat meat every day and to earn the money to pay for it. an iron hearted world it is indeed, and in some 1 6 the soliloquy of a hermit places even the daisies are made of nail heads, so new that they shine quite hke real daisies. i pray that i may always be allowed to keep my blood cool by watching the cows and by moving brown earth under the sun. must everyone here on earth be either ordering or obeying, stealing or giving, blessing or cursing. ^^ the kind of people that i find most unpleasant to my taste, are the people that look and smile and walk on. these are they that find fault, — the fault finders, the people that point at your thistles and count your nettles, that wonder why you do not keep fowls, or why you keep a row of five broken buckets by your back door. these are the people who think that to work is to worship, and who talk about nothing else than what they can do, and what you cannot do. i lack their ardour; they say they keep the world growing, but it is more likely that they keep the world sinning. the soliloquy of a hermit 17 it is now spring, witli a dull mist and rain coming over the hills, and a wind that howls like december in the chim ney, and in the spring what memories come to us who look backward; to us who prefer not to look forward. the memories of spring, — that every spring revives, and every autumn kills, and every winter buries! i know the joy of looking backward, — and the tears, — in order to find again the sun that once shone; and when found i can take and eat the true joy now that i was not able to take then. i can now pick up the wind flowers that i missed by being too eager for them. only the same kind of day must come in order that i may be able to remember the past, and i must have the same kind of feehngs that i had on that same day; the same old crippled man must hobble past; the same wind must howl in the chimney; the same white cow must chew the cud by my gate; and then i remember. and often it is something ugly that 1 8 the soliloquy of a hermit brings me to this happiness. i have never had the least objection to ugly things. if my fire warms me, what do i care if the grate is a square black hole in the wall, with three varnished iron sunflowers in a row above it? i like things beautiful to keep at a distance, and even art can very well keep shut up in a book. it is a worry to me to have too precious works near by. i can look at good things too much; it is better to have a certain cheap ness of ordinary and common things about, that one need never look at. no labour has made the dehcate vi sions that come to me from the past, and require only the same kind of day to awaken; no hard chisel formed the look of affection that i saw once in the eyes of a sick man; no brush can show me the first celandine lying in the dust of the road, thrown down by a tiny child, though a brush may be able to show me one, smihng gaily, almost too gaily, from a bank of canvas. ah, but the soliloquy of a hermit 19 to him that painted the picture these are memories; all the money in the world cannot buy them. i have found a use for every one of the moods that pass through me. there is one of depression that is common to all men, and i compel this mood to carry me down to the earth and even below the earth, so that it may give me peace. when i speak of god, i mean the mystic fear that i share in common with all men, who do not give their lives utterly up into the claws of mammon. when i began to write this— shall i say tract.^^ — i spoke of myself as a priest without a god; but it is quite impos sible to be a priest at all without the mystic fear showing itself somewhere, showing itself perhaps in the way i walk down the road, or put on my , overcoat, shall i say.^ the fear of god, calm, persistent, triumphant, must show itself to the priest at last. it is impos sible to ignore it; it is in life, it has to 20 the soliloquy of a hermit open a way for itself although we may try to bar it out. "i went down into hell and behold he was there." it is futile to try to go gaily along forever and chat and smoke cigarettes, and talk about the pleasure of the spring, or about a young lady who hves the other side of the valley and is no bet ter than she should be. the fear of god is sure to break in upon you; the very winds bring it; it comes out of the stones; i dig it up in the garden; i hear it in the sound of a train far off; there is fear in the sound of a train. i see it moving in the flight of a bird; i cannot escape it. no one can save himself from the fear by work; you must stop somewhere, and the fear can wait for you outside the door, — he has plenty of time. i have always lived near great empty spaces, great empty fields and huge sohtary downs; often i walk miles without meeting anyone, and the moods that come to me are often as empty and void as the the soliloquy of a hermit 21 hills around; and the very emptiness is dreadful. no wonder that honest labourers crowd to the taverns; no won der the priest hkes to have his church full of human flesh and blood rather than to be alone with the fear of god. i love hght. i love to hght the lamp on a winter's evening when the sun sets red in a mist behind our low hills, for in the summer the sun climbs up our liighest hill. i like to hght a fire, and to smell the smoke of burning wood and to feel the first warmth that comes when the sticks burn. i love the sun; and if i were to worship an idol, i would certainly worship a star; and when i dig in the garden i hke to turn my face to the sun. for the moon i have no love, except for the child with torn long hair that runs over his face when he is full, and was discovered by one of my brothers; no doubt she is always fleeing from the horrible old man with the sticks. there hved just such an old man in our village. 22 the soliloquy of a hermit i take my life as i find it, and live it to myself as everyone does. as i am a priest, i never give anything away; it is a natural law of my nature not to give, but always to receive. i once asked a tramp why he did not beg of me for anything, and i inquired of him whether i looked a mean fellow, or if i looked as if i had not anything to give away. he said he did not know why he had not asked, but that some how he knew that i was not the kind of gentleman to beg from ; he also added as he went on, "the woman behind me will ask you," and so she did, but got nothing. looking backward, looking forward, looking around me in search of my greatest pleasure next to mending my railings, i can say without lying that i find it in reading a good book. i do not know any good thing that is so good as this. but i must have a book to my mind. i do not object to any kind of story,— to travel, to pig-sticking the soliloquy of a hermit 23 even; but it must be something with a soul. if it be a story, let it have a touch of human blood about it; what i want is a real mind's battle-ground, with sweat and agony. i like an author who has seen — who has lived, what he is writing about; i hate a book that tells only half the man does and in vents the other half: i like the whole man in his work, — his body, his hands and his eyes, and even his belly. and i hke best to read of actual moving, working life; of ships as conrad writes of them, or anything else that has a real touch of moving, itching, speaking life about it. let me have the whole body of the man as well as his brain in his book. a book that i love, and of all books the most intensely human, is wesley's journal. he is a worshipful priest of his hands, as malory would have said; he speaks with tlie fervour of god and rides with the fervour of the devil. there are no cobwebs about his ser 24 the soliloquy of a hermit mons even; he let the winds of heaven into his hfe, the sly old heathen! he was called, i suppose, as many bad names as any person upon earth or in heaven. but how human he was; how his human hatred and mahce show up the man as a man, and not a pitiful humbug as most of us are; and he could bring down his fist when he wished to. he was a bad husband, i know it; but let any young lady with a white fur muff and neat ankles, who wants to marry a john — more john than wesley — find out a httle what manner of man he is, before she trips up to the altar beside him; and if she is wise, she will turn back and find some sober bank-manager instead, whose name may very well be something else than john. john bunyan would have called wesley a cock of the right kind, but a wild cock, a cock that strayed, a cock that would ride without a wink sixty miles before breakfast, "with a driving rain in our faces," rather than the soliloquy of a hermit 26 listen to the gentle upbraidings of a sober partner at home. and this other john who is the true saint — whereas wesley is the sinner — this other john had ever that strange quaint love of all weak things; he might well have been a russian peasant; a marvellously loving man he must have been and very tender too to all about him; it would have been a helhsh thing to have cast stones at this man's behef. the thing was life and death to him; he could not defend it like john wesley, who knew the httle hidden ways of his lord. everyone treated bunyan with kind ness, with tolerance; there must be some good in man. it is true that they put informers hke black rooks into the trees, but they did not run mad bulls at his meetings, or drag his preachers through ponds. i expect one had to be a brave man to take john wesley into a corner and tell him quietly in his ear that one did not beheve in a god. some of the young gentlemen who 26 the soliloquy of a hermit broke in drunk to his meetings were sometimes pretty roughly handled. wesley's humour is always bubbhng over, try as he might to keep it down. and how he loved to make the people fall and rave at his meetings; and he went about afterwards counting them as though they were so many dead sheep. i would have walked miles to have heard him, and, by heaven, i would have tumbled over, too, if i could have done it. it is no small thing to be taken out of this care-worn, weary, everyday hfe, and behold instead a vision of yourself as a damned sinner with the fire of hell at your feet, and to roar out, feehng that the very devils had hold of you. and after all this, as they almost always did, to receive the pardon; to hear the voice from above; and to sleep in peace with the grace of god upon your pillows. it was no small thing that wesley could fill thousands of death-beds with immortal longings and a certainty of salvation; if they were the soliloquy of a llermil ^7 all lies and cheating, they were certainly romantic lies and joyful madness; and if death can be cheated of its sting, why, then let us cheat it, if wc can i wesley could give hope at the last, even if it were a mad hope; and who of us has not said many times, "what can i do to be saved?" it is one of the most curious feehngs that i know, this one of being on the side of god, on the safe side. sometimes in my life i have been able to go a little towards this feehng, and to know what it is hke; to go just near enough to the door to want to get in, and to be made quite ill-tempered when my old doubts drove me away. another book that sometimes pleases me, and i like the sober colour of its binding, is the bible; and what a book of blood and tears! think of all the human eyes that have read all this very ^ strange matter ; think of all the human hearts that have read terror and hope and death into these pages. 28 the soliloquy of a hermit this human element must make the book at least of interest to everyone. how it has eaten into the heart of man, how it has torn at his vitals and lashed him with his blood. how it utters the moods of god with a great and deep voice, crying, weeping, hating, and end ing up in utter madness. the divine fear flows in great waves through its pages, drowning many that meet it there, and even a child sees something terrible about this book. it tells of men walking in dreams in the garden of god, singing and praying and telhng eastern tales under the moods of god; and how well it keeps to the earth and the things of the earth, the poetry of the belly of life. we can see the dark men wandering under the sun of the desert, walking in the cool of the evening, throwing a spear and shooting with an arrow. it shows you a man breaking a hole in his own wall, as a sign from god; — what a mood to be in! another eating honey out of the bones the soliloquy of a hermit 29 of a lion; and at the end man comes to clirist, the human child, the child of the moods of god; and then the agony in the garden. we all read our own hfe in this book, our beginning and our end. the world is a garden to us all at first, and thorns and nettles come only too quickly ; but we may find a good poet among the nettles, and perhaps a ruth. or it may be our destiny under some mood or other to marry a harlot, and when, as no doubt the prophet did, we make her an honest woman, she will have plenty of time to preach to us of our own failings. it was not easy for man to bear the heavy weight of the moods without christ, and he is welcomed by all the weak ones in the earth, and not w^ithout cause, for the end must be the agony in the garden that only very old sin ners seem to escape. and how can the play be acted without the last scene? it cannot be complete without the end. if man had been able to sneak into 3o the soliloquy of a hermit another life the bible would never have been needed. the moods of him above are too great and terrible to carry the soul of man with them, when they pass the dark waters. it is well that our end should be perfect and utter, and we know it is well. we poor mortals, — at least the weak ones amongst us, the others don't care, — we poor mortals play with the romance of another life as a babe would with a celluloid toy, and when the fire touches it, in a mo ment it is gone. everything that we do and think under the moods is put into the bible; the bible tells us all we can ever know about ourselves. in our lives the proph ets sing wild songs; ruth hes down by boaz; david steals the cakes; mary washes christ's feet with her hair; and samuel hews agag to pieces before the lord. all the cruelty, all the ter ror, all the poetry of the bible is acted in our lives; that is why it is the reli gious book that will live; it is true, be the soliloquy of a hermit 3i cause it is true to life and true to man. we may well sorrow over the sorrows of our lord, for one day the nails will be driven into our own hands. a httle pain that we feel in our bodies may be the beginning of a fatal disease; a thought that anchors in our minds may be the prelude to a fierce madness. we pass our days as gaily as we can, but the bible is always near, and try how we may to escape, god will win. the book of our tragedy is in our doors, open it and know what we are and how we shall end. and our best books follow the same plan, and try to show the same sad story with a gay laugh. shakespeare plays in the field of our folhes with a light hand, and hke the bible he would show us our heart's blood held up by a gay fool in cap and bells; only in shakespeare, there is a great deal more of the love of the devil than of the fear of god. shakespeare took away the clouds of god and put the sunshine of 32 the soliloquy of a hermit his own head and pointed becird in their place. as a matter of fact all books tell the same tale, and advise men to look into all kinds of holes and corners for honey to make their hves sweet. if ever i wrote a book i would hke to show that the continued touch of life gives us a joy that we may well try to understand, and in books this touch of hfe is what pleases me most. there is something in the spirit of these mod ern days that makes me feel that i am wasting time when i am reading, and that "something" must be the iron-eyed, restless, nail-making devil that tries to put petrol into every man's belly, and would turn the world into a scurvy heap of scurrying ants, all running every way inside large white eggs that move themselves, a great many times bigger than the little ants. and even i that hve in the wilderness, sitting in my own hut between the hills that are now covered with yellow gorse flowers, — even i, with brown bread and the soliloquy of a hermit 33 tea upon the table, and my feet to the fire, — even i, sitting thus in the desert, feel the devil tugging at my coat and shouting in my ear that i ought to be doing something in order to help the nail-makers to iron over the whole world. it is terrible to think that the evil smell of modern oil has got to me, and that the vile working devils would even try to pump petrol into my soul. in heaven's name let those that make work into a god with a brummagem name, take him out of my way; i do not like that kind of god. do not think, reader, that i mean to revile the kind of work that i see pass my garden. i see an old cart trundling along filled with turnips, going about a mile an hour; i see a rabbit catcher half hidden in a rabbit hole, quietly wondering where to set his next snare, and turning at last his slow steps to the inn to exchange a rabbit for beer. no, it is the work that bites you that i iiate, — work with a foreman biting 3^^ the soliloquy of a hermit behind; not the work of a ploughboy who has plenty of time to think of his dinner and to sing a song; but the work that has no song in it at all, the work that is sheer, bare, vile toil. and let us all bless rehgion, for it can, like a pleasant timely illness, take men away from their cursed everlasting toil. where work is the most, rehgion is the least thing in the land. and re hgion, so the task-masters say, might very well do more harm than the drink, if it takes the line of least resist ance. in their heart of hearts the task masters fear the priest; that is why they try so hard and succeed so well in mak ing a false priest; they do not mind the lord god, but they do not hke the son of man. i wonder if we shall ever understand that the world is not made for work but for joy. and i who am trying to understand, why should not i be left in peace to eat and walk amongst the clean rain-swept hills and to try to get under the moods of god. the soliloquy of a hermll 35 come and take and eat this morning with me, a bowl of porridge with salt, bread crisped by the fire, tea, the vir gin herb of the sun, and brown sugar, the sweetness of our mother's breast. shall we go out and slay a lamb of the flock if we have a mind to a feast? why should we not cut a throat or stick a pig, and cook it over a great fire? but i prefer parched corn; i prefer to grow some genial honest sea-cabbage in my garden, or to transform some ugly worn bits of copper into shining white eggs. it is well to leave too many dinners alone, and too big feasts; for if we eat a great many very large dinners, the dinners will most hkely end by eating us. all praise be to wine, but should not wine be kept for those selected moments when we meet the ones that we love, the children of our hearts.^ i do not like always to see wine on the table; it is often stale, and the decanter not overfull; and there are often dregs that 36 the soliloquy of a hermit the unwary guest has to finish; and worst of all the host wonders if there will be just enough. throw such dregs to the pigs. when i take wine i hke bottles, or better still a goodly hooped barrel in the cellar and the wine drawn in fantastic jugs. i like there to be around the table three or four com panions, but no more than the number of the bottles, and no women. and there ought to be a ritual, a crowning of the cups; cups of silver and gold; a feast of wine is quite worth the trouble of reading the writing upon the wall. sometimes, but alas only too seldom, comes to me out of the heavenly pres ence the mood of loving tolerance, that most gentle of the moods of god. it is then that i regard the world as a garden and the people as good children; it is the mood in which everyone is for given; it is the mood that makes me say to myself, "it is good for me to be here," and to say to other people, "it the soliloquy of a hermit 87 is good for you to be near me." it is a mood that would pick out of every man's life pearls, and see joy in every hardsliip. it is a mood that whispers joy to the sick man and tells him of the wonderful stillness of death. this mood is full of summer blessedness, of cool places amidst great and fair trees; of rich banks of summer flowers; of the noon-tide when the labourer lays him down to rest. under this blessed mood the winds of heaven are still, and the mind of man is filled with peace, that is truly and really the peace of god. alas, this mood stays with me but a short time. i want to manage myself as well as i can, but it is not easy to manage my self when i am tired; when i am tired i can do nothing else but walk up and down. at those times i am a great trouble, a great worry to myself; i *do not obey the rules that i have .set up to guide me; i do not even obey myself. if i say, " go out for a walk in the rain," 38 the soliloquy of a hermit i do not go. if i order myself to write letters, i do not write them. it is no good. this kind of "being tired" is a mood of despair, and when despair gets hold of you there is no escape till the ugly thing lets go. perhaps it is possible for some to get good even out of this mood, for god hides his gold in queer places; despair may be a kind of winter in the summer of your day. the sap has sunk hke lead into your heels and you feel as though you could howl like a winter's wolf. this hopeless despair, by bringing you to the earth, raises you again; it changes your blood, and drives you with vicious kicks behind into a new pasture. it makes a way for you out of your own misery, and creates a new mind out of your unrest: that, — with a new beginning. but i can never escape, i can only wait until the mood lets go, and meanwhile the teeth of the mood bite me to the bone, and the black cruelty cuts at the very roots of my the soliloquy of a hermit 3q being; and when it has hold of me i can do nothing; i cannot even read "the city of dreadful night." when i am hke that i know there is nothing to be done, — nothing. when i am like that i feel as if mind and body are hemmed in by black darkness, and that if i move i shall touch the jagged edges of a rusty knife, held in the claws of an ugly round-headed demon; and so i wait and hope that this mood of god will not last long. when we were all of us quite natural beasts of the earth, we were able to take and enjoy the life near to us; but being grown into men, we have got into the bad habit of looking forward, and by looking forward we quite lose the present. i want to take every moment as a fact in itself of special interest, and as a moment that belongs to me. every moment that i have to spend does belong to me, and the moments may be gold or dross as i choose to make them. why should i let a moment pass [xo the soliloquy of a hermit me without taking it and finding a fairy food for my thought? i hke to have a plan to fit the kind of day that i expect to come; i hke to know a httle how i want to treat the day, be fore i find out how the day will treat me. so that if i am bitten by one hour, i have got a muzzle ready for the next. and i like to remind myself very often that the day ends in sleep, and that sleep is a passing good thing for a man. to me by no means seldom comes the thought (that is, in truth, only the push of the old animal behind), that the day is wasted, — i have done nothing; and a good thing too if i have done nothing, — the most pleasant and the most useful way that anyone can spend a day is to do nothing. may my pride help me, poor foohsh mortal that i am, with my insane de sire to do things! has not all this same sad day the breath of life passed into my lungs, — is it then nothing to breathe.'^ and i have eaten and touched the soliloquy of a hermit 4i the fruits of the earth. how do i know that some god may not have rested beside me during my idleness, and his breath may have mingled with my breath, and his thought with my thought? how can i tell that even in this sad day of nothing done, a wave of thought, beginning in a tiny ripple, may not have been conceived in me? and, be sides, what man, what king, what priest can do anything more than live? it has taken long enough to make a man, and now a man sits in disgrace and hates himself because in one day he has done nothing. what after all are the very wonderful doings of man worth? very hkely by doing nothing we may be going a httle way on the right road, and by doing a great deal we may only be going round the same old way again, the same old way that leads to common ugly rows of houses, munici pal buildings, and petrol-filled machines. i, too, for a long while, have looked round this corner and that corner for 42 the soliloquy of a hermit god's secret, and at last i have dis covered that i can do very well if i loiter through my ufe without knowing any secret at all; and who can say that there is any secret to know? it is quite clear, and quite proven, that men breathe when they are born and not when they die; and there are other matters quite as clear to me. it is my wish to be an intelligent creature that has no desire to get more than just the plain grass and sun that are quite easy to get, and to wrap myself up in winter in a woollen blanket. the excitement of going out to pick up a few sticks is all the hunting that i want; and all the gallantry that i want is sometimes to see in summer a little piece of pink or white on the side of a liill a mile or two away. i am easy to please and i never want to do anytliing that hurts anyone; — why should i? i should not like to see the blood of my neighbour if i dug at him with a knife. and why should i want to hurt anyone when i the soliloquy of a ilermil 43 can enjoy reading "tristram shandy." the uttermost i can do is to try my best to hate. but i do not hke to hate anyone that is too near; there ought to be a good wide space between a man and his neighbour. it is my business to find out what i value in the world, and by no means to pay my regard to what other people value. christian — bunyan's pilgrim — all of a sudden, while he was walking in the fields, became aware that he was of value; and it was then that he became for the first tune in his life a really proud man, and a man who could walk his own way whatever church and state and family chose to say to liim. i only require to beheve in myself, and then everytliing that i do will be well done. no two people look even at the same daisies in the same way, and my way is the best way for me. i have the moments of my fife to spend, i have myself, what more can i want? in the old days i used to tie myself ^4 the soliloquy of a hermit up in a mystic knot, that i never could undo; neither could i ever explain what it meant. now i leave all mystery to come and go with the moods. if a mood comes and therein is hidden a vi sion, i welcome it and believe; for there is a mood in which god even believes in himself, and in that mood he begets the belief of the world. and i am will ing to beheve, too, when it comes to me. i take and eat of the mystic fruit; only when the fruit is taken away i do not pretend that i have it still. how often has my body been the home of carking care, and vile, dire forebodings, or silly ignorance, or turbid folly .^^ and i have had to hve a long time before i was able to open my eyes and see myself. to have the soul and teeth of a hon and the body of a tramp, is the way to tread on this world as it ought to be trodden on. i know that i am an enemy to the people of the world as they are. i do not like the way they look at me. why is it that when i am the soliloquy of a hermit /i5 doing my work, the people of the world look at me as though i were doing something wrong? "there he is again, digging in his garden." i suppose that i am the kind of per son that whatever i do is a criminal offence. i must not even water my flowers, or walk down the road, or tlirow a stone at a rat, or read the paper in a corner under a little bush of may. no one ever likes to be understood; perhaps that is why there is a jeering twinkle in the eyes of those that look at me as i cut my grass. perhaps the people think that i understand them. if they do tliink so, they are certainly to be excused for the way they look at me, but they are wrong. i do not pretend to understand them, for to understand the people would be to understand god, at least to understand what god ought never to be. to give too good heed to god's moods often gets a man shut up inside prison walls. that is why it is well to 46 the soliloquy of a hermit understand one's own mind, so that when we find a mood pulls us along a road to destruction, we can hold back a little before it is too late. i have never found that god plays at his moods. if he does jest at all, it is a very monstrous jest, and the sort of jest that does not appeal to me per sonally, though i like to read about it in the papers. i very much dishke people who are always the same; for no man can be always the same unless he is so much of an animal that the moods pass over him like the clouds. i notice in this tract that i am now writing, that sometimes i appear to be an infidel and sometimes a befiever, sometimes a cliristian and sometimes a heathen, and every brave man is just the same as i am; for no one but a coward hides his head in the sand when the mood that he is afraid to see goes by. if a man is sincere he will change his opinion with every mood, at least the soliloquy of a hermit ^7 about the tilings that belong to the spirit. i do not change my ideas in some things, because god is a spirit, and though in the earth we have the son of god to live with, god himself keeps always in the spirit of his moods. i change my mind most in what i be lieve; but as a rule i do the same thing. i am always polite to the world, and i try not to tell anyone when god's moods break in upon me; or when a tongue of fire suddenly de vours all the thought that i love best; this is what i expect to happen. but it is a uttle hard when god's moods shatter my belief in him, though no mood of god can take away the love of christ; for that kind of love that christ first planted is the only flower that can live under all the moods; and so it is possible, nay de sirable, for the greatest infidel upon earth to love christ; for in some curi ous way the son of man is in earth and in heaven, though this double life /i8 the soliloquy of a hermit is rather obscure. however, his love has been felt by men even under the garment of god, and in the darkest terrors of his moods; and also i have felt it while i have been quite quietly picking buttercups with my two kttle boys in the fields. all priests ought to be trained as un behevers, for unbelief is the only good soil for the believing mood to grow in; so long as unbehef is not fixed to that foohsh idea that we are all so proud of, the idea, i mean, that we know the truth. how, i should hke to know, can i know the truth when god him self is always contradicting it? if i say anything is true, then a mood comes and casts the thing called truth to the winds, and my idea of god goes with it. if i say i believe only in matter, i have to be always proving it to my self in order to keep out the belief in god. that is why so many people are argu ing whether one behef or another is the soliloquy of a ilermil /jq true; because each knows that if he does not keep it up, his side of the question will shp tlirough his fingers. and a man is most unhappy when he has always to be fighting the mood of belief or unbelief, in order to keep the one or the other simply because he happens to think that one or other of the ideas belongs to him; it doesn't. like all other ideas, it belongs to god. it is just man's conceit. he stands hke a cock upon a dunghill and crows out his belief; or else he holds his watch in his hand and says, "let god strike me dead, if he is a god, in ten minutes." and perhaps the next day this very man believes in god, for the mood of behef is upon him before he takes out his watch again to prove the contrary, and then he has to do all he can to pretend to himself that he does not beheve. it is not for me to say how long the different moods are wont to stay; every one in this matter must judge for him 5o the soliloquy of a hermit self. and it is no use crying out against the mood that hurts you; it is better to go and dig in the garden. i can see, and so can any other who can think for himself, how good a thing it is that god hves in us in no fixed mood. if he did, it would render the advent of clu'ist an impossibihty. and how cruelly clirist was treated by the men who had fixed the moods by their law shows that if man could keep god out of his life, he would gladly do it; just as he would hke to keep out death, war, plague, earthquake, love, wisdom, pity, or any other state that hurts his appetite, and prevents him from gath ering together the things of this world, and from leaving them to his children. and it is easy to see how man, with his instinctive cunning, caught at the fixed behef in a distant god as some thing tangible that would get this near god and his upsetting moods quite out of his hfe. man thought — foohsh fel low — that if he always held on to the the soliloquy of a ijermil 5i tail of the bull, it would not gore him, but this bull has not got a tail. i am ashamed at the way we eat and drink and sleep as if none of these tilings concern us in the least. we take our dinner just as if it were no great matter, when every sitting down to meat should be a feast to the lord. we cast our bread into the dust to the dogs, when we ought to hand it to them in silver dishes. everything that we eat should be sacred to our palates. i like to make a wonder out of every little act, because every little act is a wonder. the simple life — so called — is not the simple hfe at all; it is the deeper life. the simple life is the life of motor cars, of divorces, of monkey dances, of hunting cats and hares and foxes, of shooting people and playing games like ferrets. all these things are the natu ral, the simple life of a man. anyone can get pleasure in these ways; put a man on a horse, and a fox or a cat be 52 the soliloquy of a hermit fore him running away, and the man will be simple and happy. and the other pleasm"es are just as simple. the best joy is not got quite so easily. i want to cultivate the kind of mind that can turn stones into bread, a dull hour into heavenly glory, and a dull life into the life of a king. for what we call dullness, is really the best soil we can dig in, because the gold that it yields is very precious and very lasting. i like to know that i am getting rich, not by stealing from the poor, but by getting something more out of myself; i want to get all i can out of myself, and what i want to get, is the tiling that shall please me. the fact that it is hard to get any thing out of oneself drives people to go and get what they can out of others. i do not blame them. i never blame any body; i never even blame myself. the light of my lamp gives hght to the moods of god that overshadow me as i write; the air surrounds the moods when the soklofiny of a tfermif 53 it surrounds inc; and the moods rest in me when i sleep. i try to deepen, to broaden, to open my ufe in every way; to stand no more wondering how to be happy, but to see and feel and touch. i hke to touch the waves of the sea and the mould in my garden; i like to touch the heart of man; i like to touch the grass and moss of the fields. it is only when i meet men that i am ashamed, and it is when i am ashamed that my love bites me, and i feel pain as though i had been bitten by an adder. sometimes when i walk along the street of our little town and men pass me, and i see them talking to each other, i feel ashamed. there is something very ugly about the immor tal part of a man, — his greed, his getting on, his self-sacrifice, his giving to the poor. i suppose there can be nothing beautiful in anything that has gone on a long while without changing; it is only the ugly part of us that can live 54 the soliloquy of a hermit tlirough so many generations of flesh and blood. i long for man to repent and to be saved from his immortality, so that i may not feel ashamed when i get into the road to let him pass on the pavement. at last, thank goodness, i have not the slightest value for my own opinion or for anything that i may say, or think, or write. i now take it for granted that i am nearly always as far from the truth as mr. gladstone was, and i do not care if i am. i am not here to do right or wrong, or to teach anyone; i am here to live. and at last i have found out where the pleas ure of hving hides; i know now the moments that i have most enjoyed, and these moments may come again; there is not one that may not come again, even in old age. youth is silly and selfish; it is often miserable and foohsh; its good looks are stuffed with foohsh feelings that are often as old as the world; and its mind t}ie souloquy of a hermit 55 is narrow, — it is always thinking a thousand things too many about itself, when one thing would do. youth has too many irons in the fire to be able really to live. it is best to have before you only two roads, this or that, this life as it is, or nothingness. i will try to remember a few of the fairy hours that i have enjoyed most. i remember one evening in late autumn, that i walked with two very dear com panions into the shining lights of a town, out of the dark country lanes. the first lamp that we passed might have been an immortal star. the first street, the first moving creature, an old woman carrying a bundle of gloves in a black cloth bag, — no sinner entering heaven could have had so much joy. the streets grew broader and the lamps brighter and the passers-by more gay, and the whole town was a fairy palace made for our delight, and we had only to walk about to enjoy it. and i remember under a white cliff, 56 the soliloquy of a hermit where the sand was too hot to touch and the sun's kiss kissed deep into my soul. with a dear friend i partook of a httle bread and a tiny hard piece of cheese and a httle bottle of kme-juice, and we parted it between us, and broke the bread with a priest's hands, and ate and drank as though we shared only one child's heart between us; and afterwards we each smoked a cigarette that tasted of cool woods. and one other walk, that i hope in my last hour to remember; it was in a cold february, and we walked far over the downs, over the white dead grass, dry and crisp in the wind; and we rested a little and ate in a place where a little mound rose above the hill. and we watched, in the valley beneath us, tiny children running to school beside a little blue trickle of water, and large gulls were washing and flap ping their wings in the water. the children called to them and waved their arms, and the gulls rose and spread the soliloquy of a hermit 67 like snowflakes over the valley, and the children ran on, holding each other's hands and singing. the cup i wish to drink is the cup of the earth's blood. i wish to drink deep of the silence, the deep mists, the growing corn, and the movements of birds. the very life that i feel around me should drug me, and each motion and movement and tongue of fire that i feel ought to pass hke rich wine into my being. the very stones of the road should yield up to me their thoughts. and no doubt that was what christ meant, when he spoke about the stones becoming men. to force upon our wonderful bodies the drunkenness of prepared wine, is to sour the imagina tion and to prevent us from ever getting the dehcious joy of real drunkenness. i try to be at peace with all my thoughts and to welcome even my anger when it breaks out upon me. i watch myself as if i were far away, as if i were a cloud passing in the sky, or a 58 the soliloquy of a hermit distant sheep feeding upon the hill-side. i have yet to change a great deal be fore i can reach the goal of happiness. i still feel that i am in part immortal. i still find a curious pleasure in possess ing a handful of bright gold coins. i still desire cunningly to defraud. and often, however much i disbelieve in my opinion, i think i am right. and feel ing as i do the very movements of god, i do not like to be treated as a poor man who cannot afford a day labourer to dig his garden. i suppose my class, the priest class, craves for love more than any other kind of human, as it feels itself sinking into extinction. i do not possess enough of the attributes of immortality, — greed, hardness of heart, cunning — all the bit ing instincts of the animal. i have them enough to pain, but not enough to save. i cannot help thinking that the immortal man out of his abundance might give me a kindly look as he passes me in the road, a kindly look the soliloquy of a hermit bg out of the body of hatred. this is my last priestly affliction; i desire to be loved, and loved for nothing. this is my last foolish hope; i want to be loved by men. love is the last sadness of the priest, and men turn away from liim because he tries to love them; for have not the people that immortal hatred that is better than love.»^ my wish is that i may understand myself. i know quite enough about other people; they show me their ways only too clearly. i want to appear interesting in my own eyes; i want to be something of value to myself. i do not want to love. i want to study my self, because i am the nearest and most interesting creature that i know. i would like to be believed in, so that i might have some guide to the behef in myself. left quite alone, my interest in myself is apt to dwindle. i hke to be contented with myself in every way, and to mistrust everything 6o the soliloquy of a hermit that is not mine. i am sm^e that my som* grapes are not so very sour, nor are the sweet grapes of my neighbours so very sweet; and it is indeed possible that all kinds of grapes have very much the same taste; the best fruit can only give out so much sweetness and no more. with the terrible moods of god mov ing about me, as dark clouds, and then the lightning, and sometimes the omi nous silence and calm, i turn to the stranger upon earth that once learned to bear the burden of god, calhng him father, and holding him, like hercules did the world, upon his shoulders. i turn to the stranger upon earth. he who was not afraid to call the terrible moods "father," to take them into his life, to bear with them, to love them. and still more than that. he dared also to become the shepherd of men; to live himself as a man and to fall before his father's terrible mood of blind rage working in men. he alone the soliloquy of a ilernill gi dared to become one with the spoiler and the spoiled. i bow my head before this stranger of the earth; and why should not i too sing a song of behef in him? it is the spring, and the apple blossom is beautiful because he is there in it. to love him is the only good thing in this world. it does not matter if he is true; he is beyond all truth. all things have breath in him; i feel him in the earth. when i hammer at the rocks and break away fossils that have been there for millions of years, i am only going a httle way into his love. when i look up in the night and see the light that has left a star thou sands of years ago, i can only see a httle way into his love. his love is a terrible love, — terrible and deep, hard for a man to bear; i have hved in it, i know it. i hear people say, "why did he come here to this httle planet; why did he not leave it out? " i answer, "he leaves nothing out; he cannot give 62 the soliloquy of a hermit any tiling better than his love; it is of more worth than immortality." a future life is nothing to me; his love is everything. i study the rocks and the stars; i love old, very old his tory; it gives me a breath of him. i love to know that matter is infinite, for his love is in all matter. a stone that has never been touched by man is touched by him. the world says it is not possible to believe hke this, but i know it is possible. i would never dispute as to whether clirist lived or not; that does not matter. it does not matter whether we hve. life is wonderful, but we only feel ahve when we get near him, for near him even death hveth. he is the fife stream of the worlds; we are all in that stream, only we do not know that we are fed every day by him. i know quite well he is the most unreal, the most unthinkable of ideas; but to feel him is all; to believe in him is nothing. we send his love to the soliloquy of a hermil 63 the farthermost star, and he will be formed in that star. when he is near, very near to us, then we feel his ter rible love and we kill him. even now the mood of belief is gone and i turn upon myself and cry out against what i am writing; i shake all the thoughts of love about my ears, and turn christ into a worm agcdn. i look out again into the mist; i sit and watch the dim evening light that sad dens the hills; i see the days pass, the winter days; and i taste the creatures, the bread and the wine; and i do not feel his body in them, the bread and the wine! i feel the emptiness, the unutterable emptiness of all the thoughts in the world; and i hearken to the re mote sounds of the sea. i wonder avhy we can ever leave the simple clearness of our lives, in order to crawl into the underworld of mystery. i see all things common again and myself the concunon est of all. i see the eternal moods casting men over and over again into 64 the soliloquy of a hermit the same pit, and i see the christ, a poor dark arab, lying beaten by the rods of the roman soldiers, because the wicked sisters of poetry chose him out of all men to teach truth, — truth that is hateful to men. christ, hke the first swallow, is a promise of sum mer, but only too well we know that the sunmier ends, and then comes "the winter of our discontent." who can blame the men who choose to hve the simple life of swagger and bluster and shame .^ for all those who step into other ways know what they see, but they do not often dare to tell it to others. i ought to be glad when i see in every eye the cunning of deceit; "the getting eye," i might call it, for in the lowest cunning there is the only abiding happiness for man. that kind of life can alone give him joy, under the rule of the moods of god. the lowest creatures alone have happiness, and the children that do not know; and why should we teach them.^ when the soliloquy of a hermit 65 i look back at the past, i do not regard the moods of god at all; i do not care whether i have done good or evil; i do not care whether i cursed or whether i blessed; i do not care whether i have been good or wise; or whether i have ever learned latin; i do not care whether as a priest i have kicked over my own altar. tliis is what i care to remember. i i can feel now the warmth of a perfect day in june; i can see the bugloss on the cliff, growing in little patches of blue below the white chalk. and i remember a night in winter when i saw a white lamb lying quite dead under a clear moon. i see now the rough old black dog, bhnd of one eye, that used to be asleep on the green in the dog days that are past; and its master, a wild old man with a great stride and long beard who was always hanomering up pig-styes. i look back and see the common things, the human things; not god's 66 the soliloquy of a hermit moods, or clirist, or the wonder that is called man's soul. i believe that i have shed more tears over my little boy's broken engine that i dug up one day in the garden, than over all the kilhng of the son of man. i remember how i used to carry a little jug and fetch the milk across the green; and i see now the daisies that came out altogether one spring day; and the mild look of the red and white cow that was always milked first and fed upon the green before the others came out. i look back again to the long win ters, to the caressing white mists and silvery hoar-frosts; and afterwards the white may that always came out first on our hedge. no doubt, i, like everyone else who knows, would gladly rid myself of the deep, fierce, hidden feehngs; of the wild moods of god that tear and baffle us. how i wish that i could bring all the dark moods up into the clear air of a high mountain, and prevent them the soliloquy of a hermit cy-j from ever entering into man again! i long to bring all the hidden thoughts, the gnashing of secret teeth into the sun. god must come out of his heaven, the devil out of his hell, and christ out of the soul, into the light of the sun. let the terrible gods come down from on high. if they have prepared a fu ture life for us, let us prepare a pres ent hfe for them. and indeed that is just what christ the son of god would have us do. he is wiuing to hve with us in the sun; let us open our door to him. i will take him, and all the rest of the heavenly hosts can go, and he will not refuse to come. all the deep thought and the dread marv^els of god can go; all the hidden fears and these secret terrors can go. with the son of man beside me i can defy the moods; and even the old devil will cast his darts at me in vain. it is impossible for me, who am only mortal, to keep away from the son of 68 the soliloquy of a hermit man; he is always ready to come in, and i am not able to shut him out; only those who have the immortal cravings for life can do that. he will not allow me to put him away; he comes in because it is his right; he comes in because the heart of man is his home. it is well that i have reached this silence, this quiet haven that i longed for as a child, and could not find. as a young man walking home in the dusk of the evening, i longed for it then. and as a man, when i struck about me breaking up old thoughts, burning, tlirusting, tearing, and at last leaving myself naked, i longed for the silence then. i have feared it; i thought that to reach it meant death, the first step towards death, and i struggled. i have tried to piece the old thoughts together that as a man i had broken. i was hke a child, who thinking that she was too old to play with her doll had long ago left it at the soliloquy of a hermit 69 the bottom of the cupboard; but was forced on a rainy day to find it again, and to tie on its broken arm and find it a new head. i sought for my broken god again; and put it together as it used to be, before as a man i broke it to pieces. at last i begin to know myself; i can now love the wonder that is be coming myself. i hve now as i wish to hve; i take every day as it is. i do not try to break the day to pieces as i used to do. the days pass me hke hurrying girls on hght feet. years ago i longed to hold them and find out what secrets they had under their cloud and sunshine; and now i know that it is the days that long to find out my secret. they cannot find it out; they are bound to the wheel, they must dance on and on and make the young men follow them. and they are caught sometimes, these girl days; they are torn and broken and their evenings are muddy. 70 the soliloquy of a hermit in my life there is human hfe, that is all, — human life. if anyone wants more than that, he must go beyond me to find it. the moods hide god as with a garment, but he can find me. and he has found me; and he speaks his ter rible words in the moods of my life. it is no good to try to get out of his way. everywhere the hand of the devastator is upon man, to press him down to the earth. only at times under his yoke i have been allowed to take a httle nectar from the flowers; i have hidden my hand in a waterfall of brown hair; i have caught a hurried kiss from a breathing sunbeam. this is all we can have, — all. it is impossible to get more out of the world than it can give. it is best to ruminate hke a cow. the world is always rain-swept and sun-cracked, soaked with salt mists and splashed with mud; and our fives at the best are broken and tlireadbare, wliile death ever cfings to life, slowly the soliloquy of a hermit 71 devouring it. that is how we are made; and always the moods of god fill us with madness, for that is how he is made. i have always longed to show to myself and to make myself see where true joy is to be found; and i want to really beheve . that hfe can be made a beautiful thing. in the old days when i held my head in the sand of mystery, i thought that something wonderful would happen to me; and now i be heve that the most wonderful thing is that nothing wonderful happens. we are, just as we are, and nothing else; are we not wonderful enough? by just holding up my hand i am often times filled by a divine vision; by only hearing the wind howl in the chimney, i am filled with all the harmony of music. by eating bread i am fed with the whole goodness and fullness of the earth. and when the silent mood comes, the calmness of immense seas and eter nal spaces fills me. 72 the soliloquy of a hermit for a long time i liid my head under the sand, and no wonder i could not understand my own words. i know now that the things of greatest value can be had for the asking. i go into the palace of the day, that christ opened, the palace of true joy. how dehcately and with what gladness should everyone take part in the great festival! the centre of hfe is always near; it is only the outer parts that are afar off and hard to understand. for a long while i have run after the chariot, and now i have climbed in. i know now that the smallest handle will do to hold to any part of hfe, and a million bodies hke mine can be formed of one thought. all my little experi ences can be easily acted in any part of the earth. we have built up for ourselves such grotesque buildings of thought, so high that when we reach the top we have to fall off to the ground. we are always forming such high desti nies for ourselves, that we have quite the soliloquy of a hermit 78 lost count of the creature of tlie moods of god, that is ourself. whenever a vision has come to me, it has always taken me and shewn me the dehght of just hving, — the joy of things as they are,— of the earth as it is. i have seen only too clearly that my happiness is taken from me because of my desire to become something unut terable. how often has my wish been to pretend to be something that i am not, and to leave myself in the shade w^hile i follow my shadow in the sun. i can see in every page of my life that my happiness has been taken away be cause of my desire to get into another hfe, rather than to live my own. no doubt one day we shall find all the mystic writers leaving their pens and their borrowings into the unutterable mystery of god's being, and instead busy themselves all day long peacefully planting cabbages. god himself has been raised up on high, like a stone column that has 74 the soliloquy of a hermit only its mass to be proud of, and man is always content to knock his foolish head against the base. i know that we have his moods to create us, and the love of the son of man to save us from ourselves, and that is all i know. everyone is bound to set his net in the sea of his hfe, and to bring home in his net the fish that he deserves or desires, as the case may be; and he devours them, or what is more ukely, they devour him. i have described myself, and have told of my hopes and aspirations, of my fears and of the way i dig in my garden. but i am afraid i have given quite a wrong idea, because in writing, it is impossible to forget that you are writing. when you are writing there is always the wish to stab the heart of the matter; you want to get to the exciting part of your thought, the part of your thought that excites you. that is why i have tlirown all my stones at one dog and left my hands empty. i the soliloquy of a hermit 76 would like to think how a friend would write about me, and it must be a friend with a httle wit, and not a soul that loves. the first part of my confessions, tell ing how i touch the earth and sky, and the thoughts of man, are finished; and i would hke to know what i look like from their point of view. the earth loves me, i think i may say that; the great divine mother presence tells quite clearly of her love. the hills do not turn away; they have no other pur suits, other wars, other things to make, so that they must leave me alone. there is something in being able to laugh at a milhon years, and being able to laugh at the proud over grown giants in switzerland, — that is what our chalk downs can do. and they can bear me up in their arms for my uttle while, and not so much as feel that a shadow of life has passed over them. in them the moods of god burn hidden hke spent lightning, 76 the soliloquy of a hermit a dread forsaken fire burning under ground. a few million years gives our hills time to reflect upon the moods, and we men need a little of the spirit of their long-suffering, so that god himself may sink deep for a while, nay, may even be buried in us. and were men ever to act together as one man, which was once dreamed of, then we should pre sent to the gods that calm upper sur face, that unperturbed grassy height, and low meadow land, and upland fal low, so that the moods themselves could sink deep into our matter. but alas, our surface is weak and each httle man must needs be a bearer of good tidings; each little man must needs set himself under the hammer, so that he on a very dark night emits a spark, and cries out in the night that he is saved, and in the morning that he is damned. the hills i love have a noble out ward presence like a faithful comrade; the soliloquy of a hermit 77 they stay with me even when it rains, and they stay for more than two nights; i thank them for their silence and their gifts. the flowers have an other way with them; they are not so friendly. and i fear, it is sad to think of it, that they have learned from their creator how to hate. ah! the pleasure to a rose when it can get a thorn into a human finger; and think of the joy of a red berry when it poisoned httle betsey; or the merry jests of a bunch of mary buds that once attracted a httle boy into the middle of a swamp, where he was drowned. flowers can speak almost like women; i have seen a very angry look in the eyes of a white nettle, be cause it could not sting me; and the rage of a musk thistle when i steal its fragrance without being pricked is quite ladyhke. above the flowers are the beasts, or below them, — there is always a httle doubt which to say. the beast loves 78 the soliloquy of a hermit the man that has tamed him; yes, sometimes. and the gentle creatures, are they gentle? will not a dove fight in its own way, as fiercely as a hon, for all its pink eyes? take up a wild five hare and hold it, and see if your hands are not torn by its claws. the moods are beginning to have claws in the beasts; but wait till we get to man. i wonder what these beings, that are made of the same stuff as myself, make of me. i do not think it would be much good to take the opinion of a country man in this matter. a ploughman critic would indeed speak his mind after his own manner, and that not unworldly, for the earthy wit of the peasant brings the art of the critic to a very lean level indeed, by judging simply by what a man has. i own a cottage, therefore my value to the clown is exactly the value of my cottage, plus the value of my overcoat and the value of my boots. i notice that the passers-by of the fields always look at my boots. do the soliloquy of a hermit 79 they expect to see the cloven hoof, i wonder? a gentleman came here once for the shooting; he came from town. i may as well say here, that he belonged to the inomortal type of man; and when he was not shooting he attached him self to me, and he found me very ready to listen to his bons mots, although they were not quite in the same style as our saviour's. i will now, for a httle while, try to become this immortal young man, who has now gone somewhere else for the shooting. and i will write a httle story about myself from the watch tower of this young man. in so doing i hope to get at the other side of myself, that i could not very well touch in the first part of my confessions. and now, soul of my soul, child of the moon, i will begin; i am trans formed. mr. thomas is the only name that will suit the occupier of the red house in the village of . mr. thomas is so 8o the soliloquy of a hermit utterly different from his own name, it would be a cap with a wrong colour for him. his name should have come from a simple man who once upon a time, in a fit of sadness, begat a son. i can never think of mr. thomas by his real name. if i were to call out "powys, powys," as i might to my dog, i very much doubt whether i should get any answer. if i were to call him by his real name, this story about him would appear to the public to be quite untrue, for people would say that such a name could not have such a story. that is why i call him mr. thomas. i would like to say, at the beginning, that this type, the type of mr. thomas, is not a type that i approve of. i cannot say that i think that god has expressed his divine purpose very well in this kind of man, — a man that does not even know how to treat a trades man, and who will thank a porter for doing what he is paid to do. mr. thomas has what i will call a very the soliloquy of a liermil 8i care-worn conscience, a conscience that is quite unable to look after its own interests. i am writing about him only "as a person that i have met," for heaven's sake understand that, good people. i do not regard liim as my friend, be cause no one could be that, unless he were born under the same star. i used to see liim sometimes, that was all, and walk with him a httle, and allow him to hsten to a few httle stories of my own, and perhaps to gently instruct hun in the art of hving a good hfe. i may say here that i have no wish to be damned with him; neither do i wish to be caught up in a cloud with him and carried to heaven. mr. thomas is married and he digs in his garden. he looks rather hke a landscape artist who has spent ten summers in trying to draw an old foot bridge, two willow trees, and a cow, and could never finish his picture be cause the cow would never he down. 82 the soliloquy of a hermit he looks as if he has spent all these years in wondering why the cow would never he down; and last of all, his patience being quite exhausted, he packed up his canvas and after walking slowly home in deep thought, began to dig in liis garden. the garden that mr. thomas culti vated was round about his house; and his house was in the middle of a grass field; and anyone going past could see the fines of potatoes when mr. thomas planted them. and round the garden were very old railings. i was talking to mr. thomas one day, and leaning over the raifings, and they fell in pieces. i said i was very sorry; mr. thomas only smiled. and i said, being annoyed, "why can't you get some good iron rail ings round your garden .^^" mr. thomas looked at me in extreme sorrow. i remember first seeing mr. thomas under the great white nose of the giant cfifi", for his viuage is near the sea. i had been shooting rabbits with a rifle, the soliloquy of a hermit 83 and i was beginning to climb the nar row path that leads to the top of the chff, when i noticed a man moving along by the rocks towards the path. while i was on the shore he must have been amongst the rocks, and now he began to climb the cliff behmd me, taking care to keep a good distance away. when i rested, he rested, and he seemed most unwilhng to catch me up. he no doubt smd to himself, "there is no hurry; i will wait here until that person is gone." well, i waited just over the brow of the cliff, where he could not see me, and when he did appear i inquired of him the way to his village. and hke all nervous people he could not give me a direct answer; he spoke as if he did not know. and then he told me the different at tributes of the ways that i might take; and last of all he offered to show me the way himseff. as we walked i knew mr. thomas was what we call in the polite world 84 the soliloquy of a hermit a "crank"; he walked as if at any moment the earth might give way; and as we looked across the bay to wards the isle of shngers, he kept a very proper distance from the cliff edge. my first impression of mr. thomas was a curious feehng that he was hid ing something; or that he was the guardian of a treasure of wliich he was not allowed to speak. and he seemed to fear me, and when i pointed out to him the beauty of the green sea-weed far below us he turned hurriedly to wards the setting sun. i belong myself to one of the hberal professions, and i have cultivated a proper manner to use with my inferiors. mr. thomas spoke rather quickly, in a low tone, and i did not often reply; he wanted to say foohsh things about the weather, and i let him. i could tell how nervous he was by his hurried way of speaking, and by the way he fell over the white stones that coastguards put along the the soliloquy of a hermit 85 path and wliilewash, so that they may see the way on a dark night; and i walked in the path, there being only room for one. mr. thomas talked of his favourite snug corners by tlie sea, as a bird would of his resting places, with the fear all the time in his heart that i might rob him of them. and then he talked about the working people that are called laboiu'ers, because he hap pened to see one. we passed a tumu lus covered with brambles, the chief growth in that part of the country. between the brambles there w as a way, as though someone was in the habit of chmbing up, — no doubt mr. thomas himself, — and mr. thomas found his way to the top and looked towards the distant hills, and then at me. and he told me about a clump of trees (i never looked, though he pointed at it), that marked a deep pit hke the upper part of a funnel, so he said, that an old bot anist called culpepper used to boil liis 86 the soliloquy of a hermit potions in, and he told me that in a certain direction there was a hne of hills that marked the middle of the county; and a tower that was some body's "folly," — goodness knows where that was. we talked of poetry; mr. thomas told me about one of his fav ourite poems, a poem that could be loved, he said, by a saint and by a sin ner. he had the book in his pocket and read me one verse as we walked. he said it was virginal, a verse for a child to learn. here is the verse, he read only one. the dew no more will weep the primrose's pale cheek to deck; the dew no more will sleep nuzzled in the hly's neck; much rather would it tremble here and leave them both to be thy tear. and thus we walked over great fields, filled, every one of them, with stones, everlasting stones; not smooth shining pebbles, — sharp zigzag flints. and the the soliloquy of a hermit 87 chalk of the hills in places broke through the thin covering of grass, like the skin of a beggar showing tlirough her ragged clothing. we went tlirough a gate that a man whom we had seen slouching along in front of us had left half open. mr. thomas persisted in spending quite ten minutes to fasten some barbed wire round the top of this gate; and in answer to my question as to why he did it, he said, "these people never shut the gates; the sheep will get in, and when i come this way again, i shall have to drive them out." "the farmer ought to put up a no tice about the gate," i said. "it was the farmer who left the gate open," mr. thomas gently rephed. i left mr. thomas by liis own door, or rather by his railings, and i walked through the village street to the inn. the inn-keeper was feeding his pigs, and after he had finished feeding them, he shewed me a badger that he kept in a barrel. mr. thomas' house was 88 the soliloquy of a hermit visible from the inn-yard, and i could see that he was hoeing in his garden. i looked around me. the land was not a fat land; the grass, like the tliin clothes of the labourers, only just covered up the poverty beneath. i asked the land lord about mr. thomas, but he had not much to tell me, beyond the fact that "he hved over there," pointing to the house. mr. thomas did not give me a very cordial welcome when i called in the morning, and he did not want to come out; but i dragged him from whatever he was doing, i don't know what it was, and compelled liim to come out with me. we walked along the cold hills, cold as if the ice that made and modelled them still froze the ground. we went along a path going continu ally uphill, like the narrow path that leads to heaven. and in a hollow place near a pond we came upon an empty cottage, near a tumble-down barn; we looked through the broken the soliloquy of a hermit 89 window at the stone floor and open grate of the hving room, — an enghshman's home in arcadia. "no one hves here now," he said; "that is why i hke to come this way." the next thing that we did was to tramp across a heavy ploughed field, and then along by a hedge filled with nettles and sharp thorns, and in one place i saw the half-eaten carcass of a sheep; and in a pit there were the bones of a horse among the cowshps. mr. thomas regarded these phenomena with the same gentle look, as being part of the accepted order of things. after a wliile mr. thomas grew less shy of me, and he began to confide to me some of his ideas, — ideas about god and the weather. we will take his ideas about the weather first. he thought the rain-drops beat with per sistent spite upon him; and that the wind buffeted him as if it loved doing it. he thought the storms always waited until he wanted to go out, and then fell go the soliloquy of a hermit merrily upon his head. and yet i think he was in a better mood on a dull day than when the sun shone. he did not hke to turn away from the sun, and was never easy with his back to it. this may have been the instinctive wilhng of some plant in him, for his nature belonged to the plant tribe that grows in wild places. he used to he on the long withered cliff grass in the winter and take in to liis body the little warmth that came from the sun, hke a beaten elder tree that waited for the spring. i hked to torment him and drive him out of his last stronghold, and then see what he would say; and how he would try to escape me. mr. thomas belonged to the type of man that can be cut down in a moment with words. he could be put out of action with one or two simple remarks that touched his pride; and then he would simply go into his shell hke a hermit crab; he would detach himself from all that he the soliloquy of a hermit qi had and keep only his skin. and llien if the attack were pushed, which was always worth doing, that last hope in his own life would be taken away, and he would feel himself completely gone into nothingness. tliis condition of his completed the jest, and he would walk home across the stony fields, a little tired. but after a day or two he would pos sess himself again, fully clothed and in his right mind, believing in himself, and even going so far as to think that he had in his soul a few httle things of which he might be proud, and also that he had a few more cigarettes to smoke. and the next time i saw him i would give him a hint about the good that he might find in himself if he ate a httle of the apple that grows in the middle of the garden. and i explained, as well as i could, that everything is made by god for the amusement of man; and that the good and evil in life should be kept very separate, other 92 the soliloquy of a hermit wise we should never enjoy being evil, or ever be bored by being good. i tried in this way to teach mr. thomas a httle about the ethics of the christian churches, especially the angli can church of great britain. i told him that popular opinion, the opinion of the butchers and their customers, would be for ever unto the end against "that horrid german," and "that wicked jew," who both tried to untie the priestly knot that hangs up the world, and not only hangs it up, but holds it up. i tried to explain to mr. thomas that the mass of humanity loves to be good and to sin, by turns, — to sin and repent and to sin again, just as the sun repents and covers the earth with its glory after the dark rains of the night. it is necessary, i said, for the priest to invent every morning new sins for the people; golden calves and pretty dancers. and the priest must show the people how to enjoy them. and the soliloquy of a llermll qs sometimes for a change lie can throw into the cup of their gladness one or two httle pills of virtue, for the sake of their bowels. "and now, my good mr. thomas," i said, "for heaven's sake do not throw me into that ice water of beyond thought that your mad german loved so well." mr. thomas used to wait for a shining light to come; he used to w£ut like a hen brooding over her eggs; he used to brood in odd corners and try to hatch a httle god out of his eggs, — a httle god that would save his type, the outcast monk type, from the well deserved stones and jeers of the people. i need not say that all his eggs were addled, for he never got anything out of them, sit as long as he might. he would not believe, although i told liim over and over again, that it is the weight of the mass of humanity that bears the world along; and that nothing can change its course, not even the hghtning of the gods, nor the thoughts g/i the soliloquy of a hermit of little monk priests. mr. thomas never even hatched a little devil out of the eggs that he brooded over, and he knew it. he knew that he had found nothing; he knew that he had searched the orchard and had not even found the crab; he knew that all liis life he had lived in a mystic alley that leads no whither. i tried to show him what life is, as we know it, as we the happy ones have made it; and i told him that the one thing to avoid, the one thing that really gives pain, is what is called "the serious state of mind," — the brooding, the dark brooding of the dead stars. "the good god looks down from on high." "the priests say so, and that is all we want to know about him." and when i said this mr. thomas gently stroked his beard, and smiled, and inquired whether i had a cigarette in my case, as he had left his at home. standing on the cliff top one day and looking towards the town over the sea, the soliloquy of a hermit ()5 i asked mr. thomas ^vlly he did not live down there, instead of the dreary spot that he had chosen. he waited for a httle while and then said, "i hke the language of these hills better; they are higher up" (wliich indeed was true), "and amongst those church spires i fear that the people do not always speak the truth." "but," i said," their lies are public lies; they live by public opinion; they all have one object in hfe, and what that is, the smallest serv ant girl knows best." human life is only innocent when it lives in the fairyland of fancy; if it goes running after the gods, it becomes mad; if it goes running back to the beasts, it becomes like a nation at war; the best thing it can do is to stay where it is. humanity reached its goal when it became man; and it is in the same world now, because this is the only world it can have; it must go on just as it has gone on, and that forever. " that german" thought of gg the soliloquy of a hermit something more wonderful than man, and he ran to the gods — mad. "that jew," thought of something wonderful; he thought of adopting a father; and he thought of mankind loving one another; and he went to the cross. man develops on certain lines, and then explodes and goes on again on the same hues. if he tries to climb up to the gods, he goes mad, and a vulture devours him. he is only right if he remains just what he is, simply a man. he has scholarships, science, and a mil lion industries. he has municipal gar dens, and school play-grounds. his priests are now grown quite big enough to drive away the little gods that come in the night; and he can always enjoy excitement in the body politic by pinch ing the ears of the women. he can believe in a future life; he can beheve in a future death; he can believe that christ is god, and that god is christ, and that christ is man, but he can the soliloquy of a tlermil 97 never fill the cup fuller than his man hood will hold. see how genius at a certain point always breaks down. "that german" went a httle too far, and when he came to the two kings and the last pope, he went mad. and the other one, "the jew,"— he went on preaching very well to the people, until by a sad mischance, the people began to understand what he • said, and when the people under stood, instead of going mad themselves, they killed him. that is the way of the world, and it happens like that because man's mind can only go to a certain point, and then it breaks. every mind breaks when it does more than a man can do, and it breaks in unexpected ways. the duty of a philosopher (and the modern philosopher knows liis duty) is to keep the sheep; that is to say, to drive the wolves of thought aw ay from the people, and hang the wolves up — in hard and long words, in the pliilosophers' complex gs the soliloquy of a hermit minds that are fitted out with httle hooks to hang each wolf up by. the priests who also know their duty have to keep the gods away from the flock, for fear the flock might give away some of its wool, or perhaps even a ewe lamb, here and there, without a priest's blessing. if either of these guardians neglects his duty, the people quite rightly de vour him. "it looks like that, — that is how the world looks," answered mr. thomas. and yet why should we not believe a little and love a httle, even if we do go mad? i think sometimes when i come home tired to my gate, that i must not come in. i think that i must go on walking past my gate, through the one or two viuages where i am known, and then on and on and on. when jesus adopted god as his father, he made god begin again as a babe. when he took everything away from himself, he took everything the soluoqiiy of a hermit 09 away from his father; we that are fathers know that a son can do that. no one need try to take god and put him upon a great white tlirone, when his son has taken him down. when the son gave up all power, the father had to give up all power too; when the son gave up life, it was the father's life that he gave up, as well as his own. there is no need for us to become anything more than what we are, in order to beheve in the son of man. we can enter all that he has entered; we can give up all that he has given up, without being a superman or a brute beast. it is not in extremes that the road to heaven hes; the way to life is the same now as it has ever been; it is in the meaning of things. surely the son of god has shown him self in a form that we, even we, can understand. the people marked him as an enemy, and his presence in us will one day 100 the soliloquy of a hermit make the impossible come to pass; that day will come. we feel that we are at an end; we feel that we are come to our goal; but at the same time we know that there is "that other" be longing to us, "that other one" who is with us and knows no end. every day i look at the fields as though i am soon to bid them an eter nal farewell. perhaps my life has passed through many bodies and i am the last. a star of life with its own colour, its own raiment and its own joys has entered into me to die. but the star has still its desires and its longings; i do not want its light to go out like a snuffed candle. i would hke it to live again in some other body; i would like it to feel the earth through many, many other lives. i do not wish to be the grave for the death of a star. i want it to carry my hfe on, and on, and on. and yet it is only when a star is dying in you that you can feel its life; and it is only when a star is dying in you the soliloquy of a hermit loi that you can feel the sorrows of the son of man. and this is the way that mr. thomas used to talk. i waved my stick as i passed his gate on my way back to town. he held a spade in his hand, and was digging a hole in the ground for a new post to hold up his raihngs. i waved my stick, and he, taking very httle notice, went on with his work. when anyone reads a confession like this they should express no phihstine reflection such as, "this good man might have done better with his life"; or, "if we all start writing confessions, what a world it would be!" i suppose i have the priest's instinctive dehght — or love, shall we say — of hearing a tale that comes from a man's fear rather than from his wits; and in speaking or writing a confession, one is always com ing near to sometliing ugly in the dark of oneself. i touch the hoof, or the fur, or the horns, or the tusks, as i write. 102 the soliloquy of a hermit it is this ugly thing that has a way of peeping out at us when we talk eibout ourselves; and the sight of half its head, not a very pretty half, makes most people begin to talk about some tliing else. if you, my dear child or brother, begin to tell a few secrets of your own being, you will know what i mean. you will find, dear friend, when you take your pen to begin, and poke about with your finger and thumb into your own heart, that you touch some thing not at all nice, not exactly what you thought. it is the custom, i know, not to con fess; to let that inside of you remain hidden under a well-ordered fife; and besides it does not do to risk being laughed at by the people. i know that in every confession there is always worse left beliind than what is said; for we none of us dare to utter the whole of our wickedness. i cannot help think ing that many of the pangs of human life were quieted and stilled by the use the soliloquy of a hermit io3 of the confessional. anyliow, lo look at oneself with rather more than a critical eye is a good thing; if only to show the gods that they could do a little better with our substance another day. one can see, while writing odd things about oneself, that inside the mob still rules, just as it does outside in the world. and the mob may be rioting quite merrily under a pohceman's jacket, or corrupting innocence under lawn sleeves in a cathedral. i think that the mob, — i know them, even hidden in a snug english village, — i think that the mob will always rule; for it is by the law of hate and not by the law of love that the world lives and has its being. in the world there will never be security, but there will always be excite ment; and there is no reason why we should not sometimes get excited about ourselves, and by so doing reveal our selves as something more than creatures to be fed. io4 the soliloquy of a hermit i think every father would do very well to write a book of his own short comings for his children to read. and perhaps so many fathers, who nowa days appear so very foolish to their families, might by writing their con fessions, show their children that they did not sign cheques and say family prayers by clockwork, being wound up every evening by the cook in the best parlour. the fear of looking a fool has cost the world more good lives than it wots of. we go about the world being friendly, but the mob always tells us where to go, and how to confine our friendhness to the railway carriage, and our morals to our homes. the mob soon breaks our windows, if we do not behave after its manner. all our little moral sensations are upon the surface of our hves; it is the great immoralist that lies beneath. and you have not got to go very far into the lives of the people before you come upon him. the soliloquy of a hermit io5 in writing my confessions 1 began to take notice of my pride. i found my self so proud that i preferred to leave the camel drivers and suffer cold, rather than endure their loud laughter. and i see quite well that there is no getting to the bottom of the pride of a man. we cannot take cover from our pride. i think it quite hkely that the least pride is found in the busiest man, and the most, in an idle slave. we cannot get away from our pride, do what we will. and my pride is quite a plain tiling to see even in these pages. i show it on purpose; i am proud; i like to be proud; 1 intend to be proud. i know the pride of a saint when he shuts himself up away from the world; i know the pride of a sinner when he boasts to the mob of what he can do. the very fact that i love those hnes of banyan, "he that is down need fear no fall, he that is low no pride." io6 the soliloquy of a hermit shows how proud i am. ah! shepherd boy in the valley, i know thy ways, and it is quite possible that the lord mayor of london has a heart less proud than thine. we that love to be at the bottom, we saints in the wilderness, we humble people in the fields, we peaceful people in leafy lanes. it is with reason that the city man, the wicked sinner, should treat us somewhat roughly, for he fears us, — he fears that if he did not speak very loud, we might make him take off his shoes when he comes into our garden, and stand in the mud with bare feet. perhaps if we of the saintly tribe, we exempt ones, — if we were compelled to be iron kings, or wheat kings, or petrol kings, — it is possible that we saints might relinquish some of our abomi nable pride. the very size of our palaces would then diminish some of our big ness. i can make myself out to be a saint, i can pull myself to pieces as a sinner, i can show myself as a fool in the soliloquy of a hermit 107 a world of folly. we are all little men that eat off the earth's crust; i am one of the mob, that is all that can be said. i am told by one wiser than i that i must tlirow more hght upon this sub ject of immortality that i have alluded to here and there. i am quite willing to make my meaning more clear; i do not want to be misunderstood, and this is what i think. i beheve that the more dead anything is the more it lasts; and the more ignoble a thing is the longer it lasts. the most base thing in me longs the most to hve for ever. i may as well say that it is from my own feelings that i get my thoughts upon immortality. and i know my self a httle. i also know that i get the thought from him. the most wonderful idea that has ever come to man came to jesus. it came to him silent, subtile, and uke the hghtning. the idea that came to him was this: he wished to create for io8 the soliloquy of a hermit a moment a state of vision with no earthly everlasting deadness about it; to create a new heaven and a new earth. the longer anything lasts, the worse it always becomes, but the divine idea came to jesus without beginning and without end; and in a moment it be came himself. we cannot conceive the hghtning rapidity in which the vision of true life enters in and passes out of our minds. our minds do not hke this kind of thing; they are not used to it; only by a strange chance jesus held the new idea for a moment, and that mo ment gave him time to understand, because he was the one that was ready to understand. just such a wonderful moment may have come by a happy or an unhappy chance to a beast, and that was the moment that made the beast into a man. what jesus saw and hved, we may see and live; only we prefer the immortahty of our earth that we have the soliloquy of a hermit log always had, lo the new lieaveii of jesus. we would rather hve in part dead for a great many hves, than sheu'e with jesus his kingdom for a moment. his vision, his idea, was the frailest beginning, the most delicate and the most quickly killed, of any idea that has ever come to man. our immortal baseness is trained and schooled; is organized to cast out at once this kind of vision. we know only too well that our old happiness, our old god-head, our old immortality is imperiled by it. we know the danger of a vision that filled one man so sud denly with burning light, burning him up in a moment, and leaving him only a wild mad thing, crying out desperate and loving words. we know the danger of a vision that burnt the immortal man in him right out in a moment, and left a new man with a strange, a wild and unearthly courage, a man from whom the mob took toll and laughter, and then after a httle while, no the soliloquy of a hermit fearing for themselves, hanged him upon the cross. the whole atmosphere of om* hves bm"sts out in rage against tliis other sense, this new vision, that ends in a moment our immortality. we cannot graft our everlasting hfe into the vision that he beheld; our immortahty goes on and on, and if we want to enter the vision of jesus, we must stop our char iot. this vision, this new heaven, is life in a moment; but our way of life is everlasting years. the result of the vision is quite clear in the kind of man that jesus was. though the vision died down in him at times, all the signs of our immortal greed for hfe, in his life, are dead. he begins to eat of the earth as a sacra ment, and, wonder of wonders. he can love and bless men instead of turning fiercely upon the will to devour, — he must have seen that in the mob, — instead of cursing the base hves of men, and their hungry laughter, instead of the soliloquy of a tlermil iii casting all the thoughts of man away, he blesses them. he opened the way to a new life, and he longed that the vision that will free man from his im mortality may come to all, and be received by all. no wonder man fled from this kind of freedom; for we prefer to retain the immortality that is our right. i can hear many people declaim, being quite amazed at my utter disregard for estab lished behefs. i can hear them shout, "we do not want to end, thou thrice foolish mr. thomas, we do not want to end; we will all most willingly, without any asking of questions, take the im mortahty that you in your folly so roundly cry out upon. give us that immortality; it is just what we all pray for. remove from us, take out of our sight forever, this vision that takes away our precious lives; do not leave us alone with jesus; perhaps some good kind pastor will come between. do not take anything more away from us; we 112 the soliloquy of a hermit want more than our lives, we want to go on living." i can hear people of the world shout out at me like this; and i say to them, "goodly people, kindly livers, who sometimes offer life belts to women when the ship is sink ing, i hear all your loud shouting, i answer quite calmly, 'you will go on living, dear children; did not your fathers hate, just as you hate; did not they get things, just as you get things; did not they eat their dinners and leave the beggars outside, just as you and i eat our dinners?'" i can promise that our pretending at httle games of virtue never in the least hampers our real lives; our real lives go on through many years just in the same way. your thoughts, exactly your thoughts and not an other's, will be always here; the im mortal part of you, your man-self, must go on, because it does not desire to be anything else than itself. it is never worn out; it has the best of systems — the soliloquy of a hermit ii3 separate bodies to live in; when you are old, or perhaps before that time, you will die; but that will mean nothing to you, and your immortahty will just dance away as merrily as ever. all this is very easy to explain; but the way of jesus is not so easy. he made a way that opposed every tiling that we have seen or heard of, and most of all, it undermined our inamortahty. his way ends our old lives in a moment; because if you take away our anger, our greed, our hatred, our getting on, our eating the black man, our biting the white woman, our sermon-preaching, our amusements with young ladies, our walking to church, our tlu-oat-cutting, our afternoon tea-parties, and all the tools we have made for killing other people, and the medicine for kiuing ourselves, — if you take away all our good deeds, — we know what they are, — if you take all these arts and fancies away from a man, if you take them ii4 the soliloquy of a hermit away you will leave no man at all, you will leave nothing. "ah! but my soul, mr. thomas, you have quite forgotten my soul; surely when the labours and little amusements of my life are taken away, my soul will hve. when, as a good man tired with all my self-sacrifice, tired with all my good deeds, tired with all my kind treatment of httle children, i leave my poor worn-out body, is not that the proper moment for my soul to save me? " our souls, my good people, are the least certain of all our posses sions; our souls are not possessions at all. i will tell you what my soul is. my soul is a waiting, hesitating, long ing silence; it is the most dehcate, the most ethereal, the most ready to die away of all the silent noiseless feet that we feel moving in our lives. and it waits, and often its flame goes out while it waits. it is not chained to the moods; it is the waiting silence in us that is free. the soliloquy of a hermit ii5 the life of the world is as it is made to be; it can never be anything else; it can never really change. the little children of the world are happy some times, when they get what they want. but there is not so very much happi ness to be given away between the stars, and there is a very vast deal of misery. this is our immortality, because all the feelings are really exactly the same to everyone, though some of course feel more and some less. when a prime minister succeeds in negotiating a secret treaty of auiance somewhere or other, for the good of the war-outfit trade of his country, and the other names and seals are duly set to it, the exalted feehngs of this good prime minister are exactly the same as those of our chimney sweep — dead now, honest man — when he has brought down from our parlour chimney with one good jerk a large quantity of soot. and when an old lean woman, the lean ii6 the soliloquy of a hermit est in the village, slinks home with a few stolen sticks from the squire's wood, her feeling of exultation is just the same as mr. 's feehng when he has made a corner in wheat, in wall street, a place i seem to have heard of. a gentleman farmer riding home from market in liis motor, after having sold a cow at a good war price, that has gored one of his milk hands the day before, feels just hke a naughty girl who has successfully robbed a foohsh young man of his gold watch, in a flat in houndsditch. we share all our good actions with other people, just as we share the air that we breathe. all our actions are made of exactly the same stuff, like the stars, — the eternal stuff out of which everything is made, everything except the hghtning that destroys them. to that lightning jesus opened his bosom; it struck dead all his im mortahty; in one flash it sent a new wonder through the old immortal stuff the soliloquy of a ilermil 117 of which he was made. aii! there was irony in tliat shaft of hght from that other place, for it left only one feeling the same in jesus; one fcehng it could not kill; one feeling that he had in common with all men even unto the end, — i mean the feehng of sorrow. so great is the charm of really dying that the ordinary death of a man is a little thing in comparison. the feelings are gay or sad, wicked or good in every man; they are over all the earth. of course, the bodies that hold them change because the bodies wear out; but the feelings are always hungry, always the same, always yourself. when the squire's new motor makes you skip into a muddy ditch, the squire feels just like you feel when you make mr. thomas walk by your side in the gutter; and the feelings of men do not die. the feelings or the moods of god, as i used to call them — it is natural to me to change my words a httle — must have some kind of bottle to hold them; ii8 the soliloquy of a hermil " they have you, with your beating heart, your brain, your nerves, and your bones, that are, i fear, getting a httle too stiff to enjoy dancing. they have you, and they make you dance, as they do every one else. they even made him dance a httle round a barren fig-tree, but not in a way that pleased the people. at first the people thought him a quack doctor that did not want to be paid for his work, that went about heahng for fun; and then they thought him a crank; and then a mischief maker; and last of all an ahen in the world. is it not strange that only a man who has felt the hghtning and who has felt the immortal moods fall from him, — all save the mood of sorrow, — is it not strange that this is the sort of man that loves the world, that really under stands the world, and accepts the world .^ and he can even love the people who think they are good; and what must be more easy, he can also love the bold the soliloquy of a hermit iiq sinner; and he alone can kiss without fear the shamed form of tired outraged bitterness. he can love all of it, — he the one that bled so soon. the most terrible pang of all, pity — the flower of sorrow — that we who have the ever lasting feehngs dare not endure. he endured it. and pity for the jackal. it is easier, far easier, to pity a white sick child than a red monster of greed. he could pity us because we all feel so safe in the world. how we all enjoy the sense of secur ity that it gives to know that everyone has the same feehngs as oneself. we know au the kindly, loving feelings of our friends; they are the same feelings as ours, because they are ours; and we are all quite safe with one another. sometimes, perhaps, in an iu hour, a mass of men who have had bad dreams in the night about bears and hons want to march to the sea-side; and another mass of men, feehng their in terests he in another direction, oppose 120 the soliloquy of a hermit them; and tliey all feel just alike. the others may have dreamt of great eagles. all these proceed quite calmly to cast ing each his millions through the fire of hell itself. these moving coloured pictures of human madness make a ghastly show when they happen to come to pass; only we all learn from watching them what our feehngs are and what they can do. they can tear our bodies to pieces en masse; and instead of going out with swords and spears to judge the moods of god, we only talk to each other about the wickedness of other countries. yes, there is something in the desire of jesus to escape and to die. and to this desire, and to this longing, do the priest natures of the world come; here and there out of all manner of holes in the rocks, out of all manner of minds, they move towards the annihilation of themselves. from whence comes the hghtning the soliloquy of a hermit 121 that slings to death the feehngs that live forever? so asks the young man void of understanding with the leer of an angler over the dark waters. ah! that is easier asked than answered. bui il may be, — i am not sure, — but it may be that even the moods of god end somewhere i shall not the immortal feehngs have an end somewhere in some men? or is it the beginning of a new heaven and a new earth that pass eth man's understanding? i do not know; in this place even the priest must do what other little foohsh cliil dren do; he must go out into the garden by the big door. what i do know is, that there is something more god-like about the hghtning that kills in a moment, than about all the feehngs that hve forever. sometimes i think that it is the glorious presence of utter absolute extinction, of death — that is, real death — that gives the magic to the hghtning. i wonder, do the moods of god tire 122 the soliloquy of a hermit of their manifold disguises in man? do they begin to find the eternal mo tion in clay bodies hard to bear? does he desire to die? and did he choose the man who called him father for his last home? did the everlasting moods that are god will a grave as well as a birthplace in man? did he at last desire his own end, and did he begin to die in jesus? perhaps, who can say? the moods may themselves want to turn aside and to sleep, — never to rise again, never again to torment them selves and the clay that they live in. i do not know; the exultation that the lightning vision brings into being can not be explained in words; it may be an end or it may be a beginning. to jesus it certainly gave sometimes one and sometimes another of these thoughts. i think he longed for it to be a token, a promise of something more wonder ful even, than the end of god. he longed for it to be a promise of new the soliloquy of a ilermii 128 life. it may have been such a promise, or it may have been a promise of death. one thing seems to be quite sure, and that is that the vision has more in it than the simple death or life of one creature. everyone feels that the body and the life of jesus were a battle ground more terrible than that; and that the happenings in him surpassed anything that has ever before happened in man. if the everlasting moods did indeed find in him a willing sacrifice, an altar where they could be quite burnt out, no wonder that his ways were very httle understood by the people. why jesus is a figure of such in tensely human interest to mankind is because he stands always at the part ing of the ways. in him end, it may be, the everlasting moods; in him, it may be, god himself ends; or the sud den hghtning of a supreme joy begins. and his kind of life was ever the op posite of man's doings and sayings. he hved in order to destroy man's im 12-4 the soliloquy of a hermit mortal ways, and he stabbed every where, wherever he saw human greed everlasting. if anyone deserved a blessing upon earth, it was in his eyes the sinner. he saw that sin ends quicker and changes quicker than righteousness; and the righteousness of the leaders of the people was to him the most lasting and the most intolerable ugliness that he saw anywhere. everyone knows how his words have been twisted and turned exactly and completely inside out. of course they have; men do not give up their greed for nothing; and they soon began to think that his heaven was a shadow in the water, a large shadow of that hunk of meat that they with their dog hke teeth held in their half-opened mouths. and some amongst men, the good saints and hermits, the good bish ops of the flock, let their hunk of meat drop for the shadow, like the dog in the fable; and then there was no the soliloquy of a hermit io5 help for it. they had to beheve in heaven, and so they waved the fairy wand of immortahty over the place where their iiunk of meat sank; and they present to us — these very good ones— rather an odd, and not, i fear, very noble picture; for while they pretend to beheve in the shadow of another life, all the time they are digging their snouts in the mud (they have now changed to swine), and searching for theu" lost meat as the monev-lenders in that old french book searched for rusty nails. they are not altogether beauti ful objects for our contemplation here upon earth. we prefer the more hon est sinners. avoid the good ones, httle girls and boys of the earth, and go and dance with those that take and eat honestly the hon's share. we know that lion; there is something honest and open about him; the immortal laughters surround him as he gambols and frolics in new-mown hay. high up to his god-like mouth he hfts the 126 the soliloquy of a hermit holy bottle of human life. he drinks. his life is not here nor there; he hves truly and entirely himself in every moment. there is no cry in his heart, "what can i do to be saved .►^" he is content; the earth is good enough for him. he spends his treasure; he does not hide it, as a certain country did their treasure in a fortress, until the next war; he spends it all, and when the next war comes, he dies; that is the end of the hon. between the lion of life and jesus, that sad stranger, there are innumer able moving pictures of httle men and women. children of the earth, i would have you go to the sad stranger when the moods of the father get their claws full of your blood. in one way this stranger is like the hon; he is not afraid of the father. go to him; he will give to you what no other man has ever dared to give; he will give you himself. the soluoqay of a hermit 127 remember before you take him what he has done. remember his crime; remember his sin; remember that he has in a moment put an end to the world. no wonder that when the ani mal instinct of the herd became awake, when they began to understand what he was doing, that they killed him and freed barabbas. "to the cross with him!" they cried out, "he threatens our very jehovah," which was only too true. and he did more than threaten; he slew. he broke in upon god with a fierce fire, a fire more fierce than god's when he breaks in upon men. he knows, this son of man, that a moment of destruction is better than many years of creating; for the soul of a great work of art feels more of its hfe when the shells are bursting upon it than when the sober eyes of good sightseers peer and blink about it and the beads of the prayers rattle in its long nave. then the destroyer meets the creator in the great awakening; these two heroic 128 the soliloquy of a hermit ones hold hands at last; their souls meet and end. nothing, not even the moods of god, can find its true soul until it is destroyed; and even the lion of laughter that drinks for ever the cup of earth's richest wine becomes a httle fat clown with pink cheeks, like a dancer in a show, when the two terrible ones meet, the creator and the destroyer. when we see the work that jesus has done, when we see the great white throne rent and torn and lying like any other broken chair at our feet, when we see the temple whereon the creative mind a little overstepped its mark in decoration nothing but scarred walls, when we see all this as we do see it, we know that a soul has felt its life burn, and its death cool it forever. this is what we come to in his life. he seemingly had no fear of the great, the powerful, the almighty; the im mense terrible coils of the immortal snake had no terrors for him. the moods fierce and utterly bhnd stayed the soliloquy of a hermit 129 their fatalistic dancing in him; he died to break tlie power of god. and now the moods creep silently in the earth; they cannot sting as they used to; they can hve immortal as they used to live in man; but here hes the difference, — they have been conquered. many an artist no doubt looks with sorrow at the fall of the great wild monster moods, the old testament of man's history, the blind fierce hidden history of his beginning; the old crea tor creating out of the bottom of the sea and upwards, tlirough all times, tlirough all minds. how wildly he created, and with what wasteful profu sion, we all know. we all know the bhndness of him that used to sit on high, and now it may be that he of his own free will has entered into the son of man in order to end his long reign; perhaps he has become tired of himself, and his tiredness at some time or another we all feel. and what do any of us know about i3o the soliloquy of a hermit ending and beginning? i see that it may have happened like that; i see a difference in the world since he hved ; i even think i see the moods themselves begin to take a new turn, consoling, hberating, and even becoming free men. i see in the new order, the babe of joy, that takes the place of the terrible majesty of the past; i see the awful majesty of the creator come into our own grange mead, and he down amidst a joyous crowd of buttercups and red clover, dimly conscious of a new be ginning, and of the laughter of the maidens in the village nearby. there is, i may tell you, a higher art in the babe of joy than in all the deep wild cruelty of the old order; and after all is said, there was too much of a bully's rod and not enough of a child's laughter in those old days. and surely no one is better pleased than god himself to come up and find that his terrible moods have not destroyed all the babe like laughter upon earth. the soliloquy of a hermit i3i we can bless life when we see that the moods have lost their grip upon the mind; we can bless life when we see man's immortality end and true joy begin; we can bless hfe when we see daisies and buttercups grow between the walls of our best works of art, that the shells have let a httle hght into. do you remember he talked about de stroying the temple and building it in three days, — the golden temple of solo mon, filled with the labour of a million artists. he came hke a shell into that old great habitation of fierce godhead, — that old temple built up in the mind of man, filled with the work of count less builders; and everywhere, where his heart's blood fell, the temple was destroyed. what cared he for the decorations round the base of the col imins? what cared he for here a pome granate and there a pomegranate at the hem of the garment? what cared he for the golden rods and brackets.^ a sigh of great content comes up i32 the soliloquy of a hermil from our grange mead, where god lies amongst buttercups and listens to the naughty laughter of little village boys; i cannot see the least willingness on his part to leave the scent of the may clover, in order to go and look at old churches; but i do notice that he turns a little on one side to watch a young man and maid take the path that leads to the tavern; and he looks at them as though they really were his children. they loiter a httle by the gate, and he lies back again with his white hands gently resting upon the warm red clover. in the old testament, the old order, the moods were hemmed in and not allowed to hve a natural hfe in the free air; they were hemmed in until they gathered strength to burst; they were like a terrible lake of black waters that filled and filled from beneath, until it at last burst all doors; the old story of the flood may have had a mean ing of this kind. the hatred and malice, the ungovern the soliloquy of a ilermil i33 able rage of man,— the rage of getting more than his neighbour, — tliat no painted lying civihzation can assuage; the rage of a suppressed country, being denied a proper proportion of the earth's sur face; the rage of another country that the first should want any more; the immortal greed shut up under the sup posed tameness of man; all the black terrible moods have a way of bursting their chains at times; of getting loose with a sound and a horrible cry of bloody rage. the old prophets de hghted in it; they wallowed up to their necks in the black waters and enjoyed it. the people did not listen; do the people ever listen until it is too late.^ and then their mangled bodies strew the earth, in the day when the black waters rush out with a horrible sound, and over all the earth there is black smoke and death and an evil stench. jesus saw the danger of all ill con tent being saved up and prepared in man's mind, and he advised men to 1 34 the soliloquy of a hermit act naturally like the flowers; and to hate and to love like children, forget ting everyone his quarrel when the night comes. he turned the sword with wise justice into the heart of him that created it. but alas, the moods are a many headed monster, and to-day the black waters have burst out again amongst men. he could only give to men the charm that can slay them. i want to be able to bless all life truly and whole heartedly as he blessed it; i want to be able to bless the sinner as well as the victim of sin; i want, as every good priest should want, to be glad when i see any sign of joy anywhere in the earth. i want to bless all the moods of god, for these too, immortal as they are, will one day desire to end. i do not say wicked things when i speak of god coming down from his great white throne of majesty and power, and resting in our mead beside the soliloquy of a ilermil i35 the dairy cows, who look at iliin with their quiet soft eyes; i mean no harm. to those who prefer to keep him as he once was in order to preserve a more artistic effect, i have nothing to say; no doubt they know best; but i prefer to think of him as watching with a true father's love the babe of joy that will one day grow up out of his old creation, — the babe of joy that has taught him akeady that a child's laughter is of more value than ever lasting life. this is a day of new values; the old days of greed, of getting and keeping, will end; the old days of holding one's self, of hugging one's self, of hving one's self, will end. what a time it was when man's whole hope of happiness was to hve forever; to always go on helping the same body out of the same dish forever and ever; and to that happiness the immortal moods have trained the clay pots. they have put into us tlieir unmortal feehngs so strong, i36 the soliloquy of a hermit that even now as i write, i want to go on living for another day, till to-morrow. and this is what we all say — "till to-morrow." i cannot welcome extinc tion, because for millions of years the immortal feehngs have been desiring more and more hours, more and more to-morrows. when i tliink of jesus, the burden falls. i do not think of extinction. i think of the moment; i think of how he, in one life, ended the stagnation of immortality. i long to live a moment in him unfettered and free. have i explained myself enough now.^ or have i left only a mist about the eyes and a madness in the heart .^^ i can assure you now, if you have not guessed it before, little and great brethren, that instead of meaning no harm, i mean a great deal of harm. have we not had nearly enough of the everlasting feuds, of the everlasting jealousy of the moods of god; would it not be better to use our own minds and to reason away from the soliloquy of a hermit 187 these thiiigsp w inch is better, i wonder, to lie for a moment where all our finest buttercups grow, or to go on with our greed and getting and hating forever? if we took his road, and gave up our eternal occupations, our ever lasting work, our immortal getting; and in a moment spent that which we did not gather, in a moment of joy — a moment that cannot be lost because it is true joy — would it not be better to spend ourselves for it, for such a mo ment? but, dear brothers, the pleasure of our lives is in hating. we know^ a little about the merry goblins in the bottom of our hearts; we don't want to cast them out in a hurry. the moods are with us; we play on their side when we amuse ourselves with our httle frolics. it is most easy to call everything degeneration that is not found in the heart of a cruel man. it is most easy to call everything madness that is out side the pompous throned power of man's immortal behef. it is really 1 38 the soliloquy of a hermit quite easy to call everything mystic stupidity, because it just happens to be not exactly our way of treating danc ing girls in the night. i do not dispute with tliis; i do not want to slay any child's joy; neither did he. he came to free the world and to give joy; not afterwards, — he knew no afterwards, — but now. i know my hatred of others ; i know my greed for myself; and i know, my masters, that we all have the same feehngs; i want to break up these feehngs and take hold of the new joy. when we feel the gladness of our greed, when we feel we have managed well a good business matter after the manner of the world, when we feel we have done something very well indeed, perhaps robbed a few milhon homes of their halfpence, how the greed gobhns, old as god himself, cringe and lick and fawn upon us; for have we not been carrying on their game a httle farther.^ "and a very good game too," you will say. well, is itp the soliloquy of a hermit 189 i seem to hear at tliis moment the clamour of something not altogether good; i see torn bodies, broken, buried in blood, that were a year ago very thoughtless young men; and i see the evil eye of our greed blinking and cruel; you have not got to go far from where i write to see its work. your uttle happy ways, your little business ways, your little rather long immortal ways, are a cause of all this, my brothers. without the feehngs that you guard so jealously from madness, (why are you all so afraid of madness?) this could not have happened. without the feel ings you enjoy, the shocking face of a woman i once saw in an alley of a great town could never have had written upon it agony unquenchable, agony eternal. the moods of god have caused all this; they are causing it still. and our feelings that go on forever, — that we enjoy so much, — are they worth all this terror and horror and blood; do they not after all lick up with their i/io the soliloquy of a hermit evil tongues all the waters of real joy out of our lives; do they not take in the cruel grip of their eternal desires all our best children? look at the boldness of jesus; he too was terrible, like a burning of the firmament amongst the worlds; think of his courage, this lion in the desert; the disputes he had with the lawyers were nothing; what he really did was to stand in the way of the eternal moods. he bade them get out of his way; he would have a new heaven and a new earth; he would have the feelings of a flower; child-like laughter, like one of these little ones, to whom every moment is an eternity and whose every hour is a life everlasting. he stood alone to stem the torrent of greed, the greed of hving forever. "he that saveth his soul shall lose it." and instead of the greed of living. he built up out of the fire of his heart the joy of fife. consider the day of joy that he created for us; how freely and light the soliloquy of a ilermii i^i heartedly we can now cull the flowers after he has shewn us the way. the deep hidden waters of the inner dark ness that hved underground like a great earth monster, he brought out into the sun. and how hke snails the eternal feelings creep and creep in our lives; how they force us to hide, and to plan and to corrupt; how they force us to pass the day in gloom, because we are thinking of the morrow, because of the year that is to come. "take no thought for the morrow." i cannot help seeing almost a vision, as i write of the wonder that he did. and when i think of the fears; the heavy longings for good things; our eternal looking forward; our cringing to time; our continual longing for future gain; when i think how oppressed we all are, how filled to the brim with the feehngs that want to go on forever; i do not know how i can thank him enough, that opened a w ay for our freedom. i cannot think how anyone can re 1^2 the soliloquy of a hermit gard immortality as anything else but an endless and sad ordeal of the same feehngs; they go on and on, and always serve us the same. they bring simple peasants and quiet homely gentlemen in hne as fodder for the cannon; they let off the poisonous gas; they drop the bombs in the night; our httle best feelings, yours and mine, are doing it. our feehngs do all this now; and in the past they pinned him to the cross. but not before he had sown his hfe's blood in the earth; not before his death-cry for freedom had gone out and been heard. no doubt the great artists, the happy portrayers of man's deeds and ways, will scream out with a great rage at the thought of their old occupation being gone. what will happen to bloody rage and bhnd lust that gave them all such good copy for their long nails i^ for was it not ever the moods and the feel ings of man's deep black nature that gave the good workers in their creative the soliloquy of a hermit i43 art the chance to get human kind on the point of their pen? well, they will have to change, that is all. jesus did not consider their love of god and his ways when he stood alone in all the earth to face and destroy the moods. the artists that have for so long hved like vultures upon the broken flesh and rotten carcass of human despair must now learn a new trade; they must try to rest awhile in our grange-mead beside the dairy cows, and write poems, until a little of the new heaven and the new earth enter into them. and meanwhile let them bless the maiden and the young man that again loiter through the mead, for it is now evening, on their way home from the tavern; and let them bless the naughty cliild that lingered for one more soli tary dance alone on the green after all the others had gone. the end g. arnold shaw's new publications wood and stone, a romance, by john cowpeb powvs . . $1.80 this epoch-making novel is attracting favorable com ment [even from the most conservative papers in america, and the interest of the public in it may be gauged from the fact that a second large edition was required within three weeks of publication. new york evening post: " the novel is the best that one reviewer has read in a good while." new york times: " a book worth reading .... mr. powys is evidently a keen observer of life and responsive to all its phases. his story shows a rich background, not only of observation but also of philosophy and of imagina tion." boston transcript: "a writer of no mean rank. he can express philosophy in terms of narrative without prostitu ting his art; he can suggest an answer without drawing a moral; with a clearer vision he could stand among the masters in literary achievement." philadelphia press: " seldom is it granted a new author in the fiction field, even one with the laurels of mr. powys on the lecture platform, to attain such a remarkable degree of success. . . . mr. powys' style is the style of thomas hardy." by the same author visions and revisions $2.00 the war and culture 60 ready in spring, 1916 a second volume of essays, by john cowpeb powts. . .$2.00 ready in autumn, 1916 a second novel, by john cowpeb powys ready in autumn, 1916 mr. tasker's gods, a novel by theodore fbancis powts children of fancy, poems, by i. b. stodghton holbobn. .$2.00 this is a handsomely bound volume especially suitable for a present to one who knows the author as a lecturer. it was manufactured for mr. shaw by one of the greatest printers in great britain, and its cover design, stamped in silver on blue buckram, is in keltic art by the author. the mss. of the poems were saved from the lusitania through mr. holman's premonition of the disaster; he had tied them with his lecture note-books. the need for art in life, by i. b. stoughton holbobn. . . .76 " this is one of the greatest little books of the age. if it is not epoch making, it should be . . . the thought ful man who reads it will feel that a new classic has been added to the world's literature." — boston transcript. architectures of european religions, by i. b. stoughton holbobn, $2.00 cover design and 124 illustrations by the author at all bookstoees or direct from g. arnold grand central shaw ^fr-^^jjii^v^ terminal publisher ni ^p-^^ perej^nius 1|| new york '^ ,:o w^^mmrnrthiru.,.,. __^a oop 642 409 unlvehsr lilltllllltiiiill l||i| mill iii y q 3 1210 01276 6810 167 449 li m cornell university library fine arts library sage endowment fund the gift of henrg m, sage 1891 \,\^^scq i 111 o5 cornell university library n 80s0.b43l7 > and legends of the great h^^^^ '|5""924 020 507 939 date due printed in asa cornell university library the original of this book is in the cornell university library. there are no known copyright restrictions in the united states on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924020507939 the saints in christian art the great hermits and fathers of the church, etc. sa previous volume deals with the lives and legends of the evangelists, apostles, and other early saints ^nd a third volume is in preparation on the english bishops and kings; the mediaeval monks, with other later saints lives and legends of the great hermits and fathers of the church, with other contemporary saints mrs. arthur bell author of 'lives and legends of the evangelists, apostles, and other earlji saints' 'the elementary history of art,' 'representative painters of the nineteenth century! etc. london george bell & sons 1902 3^ ±±±a=b^^ ^. preface the present volume deals with a deeply interesting period of the history alike of the church and of christian art, for between 300 and 700 a.d. a complete revolution took place in the atti tude of the world towards christianity ; a revolution reflected in every branch of culture, but especially in literature, paint ing, sculpture, and architecture. during the fourth century many hundreds of martyrs were sacrificed to the blind fury of the heathen, with the result that more canonized saints belong to it than to any other period. in the seventh, on the other hand, when the death penalty was inflicted, it was generally by the christians themselves as a punishment for heresy. in the fourth century the art which was most thoroughly imbued with the christian spirit was, strange to say, still strictly classic in form, for it was rather by the tran substantia tion of heathen ideas than the introduction of new ones that the radical change taking place amongst all classes of the com munity was illustrated. the christians, surrounded as they were on every side by enemies, had at first no time for the evolution of original art-forms, and gladly availed themselves of those already in use, selecting, of course, such as were best suited to bear a new and more spiritual significance. early christian art was, indeed, until some time after the conversion of constantine, practised solely for the sake of doing honour to the dead, and nearly all the examples of it which have been preserved to the present day, are the frescoes and sculptures of the catacombs and of some few sarcophagi from elsewhere. by the middle of the fourth century, however. vi preface mosaics were very generally used for the decoration of the basilicas which then took the place of the underground churches, in which the christians used to meet to worship in secret, and an entirely new class of subject, partly historical and partly legendary, came into vogue. this was the first stage in the evolution of christian art properly so called, and from that time until the decadence set in after the golden age of painting and sculpture, there was practically no limit to the production of beautiful work, combining with greater or less technical skill, the expression of the deep reverence for their themes, characteristic of those who worked, not for earthly gain, but for pure love of art and religion. when the masterpieces of mediaeval art were produced their meaning was intelligible to all, for the lives and legends of the saints were familiar even to the unlearned ; but as time went on, and faith in the unseen grew dim, their significance became obscured, whilst the origin of the symbols introduced was more or less completely forgotten. with the new enthusiasm for art, which was one of the most marked charac teristics of the nineteenth century, however, was associated a revival of interest in the subjects chosen for representation by the sculptors and painters of the past. on every side it became recognised that to understand the creations of such men as giotto, fra angelico and their successors, or of the nameless sculptors who enriched the cathedrals of europe with exquisite statues and bas-reliefs, caring nothing for individual fame, it is not enough to be a good judge, able to recognise the hand of this or that master, not enough to have a general knowledge of the history of the church. the student must be as thoroughly in touch with the subjects treated as were the artists themselves ; he must view their work from within, not from without, and if he cannot altogether share their faith in the reality of their visions, he must at least be able, with the aid of his imagination, to appreciate their attitude. nancy bell. southbourne-on-sea, july, 1902. contents chapter page i. the first christian hermits i ii. some celebrated contemporaries and successors of st. antony the hermit i4 iii. other great hermits and converts of the fourth century 26 iv. martyred churchmen of the fourth century 39 v. martyred citizens of the fourth century 5 1 vi. st. george and other warrior saints 64 vii. saints lucy, agnes, dorothea and catherine 79 viii. other martyred women of the fourth century 97 ix. st. helena and the emperor constantine i05 x. st. athanasius i16 xi. st. basil the great 122 xn. st. gregory of nazianzus 1 28 xiii. st. john chrysostom 1 32 xiv. st. cyril of alexandria 139 xv. the four great latin fathers i42 xvi. st. jerome i4s xvii. st. ambrose i55 xviii. st. augustine of hippo and his mother 165 xix. roman popes and greek bishops of the fourth century .... . 175 xx. western bishops of the fourth century 189 viii contents chapter page xxi. some holy women of the fourth and fifth centuries 2io xxii. st. genevlkve, queen clotilda, king sigismund, and st. mfln^hould 2l6 xxiil some great churchmen of the fifth century 226 xxiv. hermits and other recluses of the fifth century 235 xxv. saints patrick and bridget of ireland 24 1 xxvi. saints benedict, scholastica, maurus, and placidus 25 1 xxvii. saints radegund, monegonda, and ursula 265 xxviii. some celebrated monks and hermits of the sixth century 279 xxix. st. gregory the great 290 xxx. some great churchmen of the sixth century 300 list of illustrations st. george st. antony the great and st. john the baptist the meeting between st. antony and st. paul the madonna and child, with st. antony and other saints the madonna and child, with saints antony and mary mag dalene st. hilarion vanquishing the dragon madonna and child, with st. donato, st. nicholas, and other saints st. ansano st. john the baptist, with st. cosmas and other saints the frustrated attempt to burn saints cosmas and damianus the triumph of st. george st. george st. victor the madonna and child, with st. lucy and other saints st. agnes page donatella frontispiece fra filippo lippi 4 pinturicchio 6 lorenzo lotto 8 francesco bonsignori 12 pietro lorenzetti 1 8 luca signorelli 46 sodoma 48 fra filippo lippi 54 fra angelica 56 vittore carpaccio 66 andrea mantegna yo sodoma 74 sodoma 80 andrea del sarto 84 list of illustrations the martyrdom of st. dorothea the marriage of st. catherine st. catherine disputing with the wise men the burial of st. catherine st. justina madonna and child, with st. christina and other saints st. helena bearing the cross the vision of st. helena the invention of the cross the mass of st. basil st. john chrysostom the charity of st. john chrysos tom the four latin fathers st. jerome in the desert saints jerome, clara and mary magdalene the death of st. jerome st. ambrose enthroned the ' felicini ' altar-piece, with saints augustine and monica st. augustine in his study part of the 'gozzadini' predella, with st. augustine scenes from the life of st. nicholas the ' ansidei ' madonna, with saints nicholas and john the baptist the dedication of st. genevieve attila rebuked by st. leo the great scenes from the life of st. zenobio st. zenobio enthroned , st. benedict page sir edward burne-jones 88 bernardino luini 92 pinturicchio 94 bernardino luini 96 alvise vivarini 102 luca signorelli 104 tamaroedo 106 paolo veronese 1x2 piero della francesca 116 subleyras 124 sebashano del piombo 134 titian 138 n moretto 142 lord leighton 148 luca signorelli 150 fra filippo lippi 154 alvise vivarini 158 francia 166 fra filippo lippi it 2 francia 174 fra angelica 182 raphael 186 puvis de chavannes 218 raphael 226 sandro botticelli 228 domenico ghirlandajo 230 peruana 252 list of illustrations xi st. benedict leaving home the martyrdom of saints placidus and flavia ippolita sforza, with saints scho lastica, agnes and catherine st. benedict exorcising the evil spirit .... the ' parma ' altar-piece, 1515. with saints benedict, scholastica and placidus the dream of st. ursula the arrival of st. ursula at cologne the pope receiving st. ursula the madonna and child, with saints gregory and urban the holy trinity, with st. gregory and other saints st. frediano changing the course of a river page sodoma 256 correggio 258 bernardino luini 260 sodoma 262 francia 264 vittore carpaccio 270 hans memlinc 274 hans memlinc 278 lorenzo lotto 294 raphael and peruana 298 fra filippo lippi 318 the saints in christian art a.d. 3p0 — 600 chapter i the first christian hermits it was in the latter part of the third century, when the roman empire was rapidly falling into decay, and internal dissensions were beginning to add to the difficulties of the early church, that it became customary for converts to seek in the desert the quietness and peace they could no longer find in the haunts of men. the christian hermits were, however, by no means the first to withdraw from the world with a view to leading a life of solitary meditation and prayer. the essenes of pales tine, for instance, who had had so much to do with the develop ment of judaism as it existed in the time of our lord, had already long practised a rigid asceticism, many of them living in absolute solitude, striving to keep their bodies pure by abstention from all earthly joys, and to bring their souls into touch with the divine. it has, indeed, been claimed by some writers on the history of the church that st. john the baptist, and even christ himself, belonged to the brotherhood of the essenes, and there is no doubt that many of the customs of the early christians, such as the holding of all property in common and the frequent meetings for worship, greatly resembled those of the jewish sect. "whether the christian hermits borrowed the idea of solitary asceticism from the essenes, or merely arrived at the same conclusions as their predecessors from similar causes, there is no doubt that many of them went to much greater lengths in vol, ii. ' i 2 the saints in christian art their self-discipline than did any of the jewish recluses, for they were not content with mere abstention from pleasure : they inflicted the severest suffering upon themselves. they forgot that as the temples of the holy ghost, their bodies were worthy of all reverence, even from themselves, and they were in danger, moreover, of losing sight of the beautiful truth, that the highest life is not a struggle to win individual salvation, but an unceasing effort to obtain the greatest good for others. to be in the world, but not of it, was the ideal set by the master before his disciples, and in his beautiful prayer for them before his passion, he asked the father, not that they should be taken out of the world, but that they should be kept from the evil. the first christian hermit was a young man named paul, a native of thebes, who was born in the second half of the third century, and was left an orphan before he was sixteen. he is said to have been of noble descent, and to have been educated as a christian. in any case, he was amongst those who fell under suspicion during the terrible persecution ordered by decius, and after being hidden in thebes for some time he succeeded in escaping to the desert, intending, probably^ to remain there only until he could return home in safety. he chose as his retreat a cave near to which grew a fine palm-tree, sheltering a beautiful spring of clear water, and he soon be came so enamoured of solitude that he resolved to spend the rest of his life in the charming spot. as he left no record of how he spent his time, and he had dwelt alone for more than twenty years before he was dis covered, it is impossible to give any real account of his life. according to a generally received tradition, he at first ate nothing but the fruit of his palm, and quenched his thirst with water from his spring, but later a raven brought him a loaf of bread every day, and the wild beasts of the desert used to gather about the entrance to his cave, forming a kind of guard. the leaves of the palm sewn together with fibres, served as garments to the saint, and from them also he wove a scourge with which to discipline himself. st. paul of thebes might have ended his life amongst his dumb friends unknown to all his fellow-men, but for the fact that his existence was revealed in a dream to st. antony of alexandria, who, hke himself, had left the world in early st. antony the great 3 youth to seek in solitude a closer communion with god. born of christian parents at coma, a village near heraclea, the young antony was early left an orphan, but it was not until he had led a gay life for some years that he was converted at heart. wealthy, talented, and of very pleasing appearanpe, he was much beloved in alexandria, and great was the dismay of his companions, when he announced his intention of retiring to the desert, impelled to do so, it is said, by hearing the words read out in church : ' go and sell all that thou hast, and give it to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven.' unlike the 3'oung man to whom this advice was first addressed, st. antony at once resolved to obey, and having first provided for his only sister, he gave away all his other possessions, retaining for himself nothing but the clothes he had on at the time and a pilgrim's staff. according to one account, st. antony joined a community of hermits, already living in a mountain not far from coma, each in a separate cave, meeting only rarely for worship ; but the generally received opinion is that he was himself the founder of this community, the other members having gathered about him after he had lived alone for many years. however that may be, st. antony, who is surnamed the great, is always sup posed to have been the true founder of monachism, the insti tution which was eventually to exercise so great an influence in the church. he may justly be called the first christian monk, as st. paul of thebes was the first christian hermit or anchorite ; he is generally spoken of as st. antony the abbot, and it is impossible to overestimate the influence he exercised during his life-time, or the results of his work after his death. many are the quaint legends which have gathered about the memory of st. antony, and from them a very clear idea may be obtained of the character of the young egyptian. he had, it is true, renounced the world and all its pleasures, but it would appear that in his secret soul he still cherished a love of being first. he wished to be more fervent in prayer, more vigorous in fasting, more severe in self-discipline, than any of his fellow-hermits. in fact, though his pride in his earthly position was conquered, his spiritual pride still sorely needed humbling. for this reason the devil was permitted to harass the saint in many ways, and the silent solitude of his cell was often invaded by the emissaries of the evil one, who whispered all i — 2 4 the saints in christian art manner of wicked suggestions in his ear. nor was this all : the supernatural power of these agents of the devil enabled them to tempt the recluse with actual visions of the good things he had left behind him. now a table covered with delicate food was spr.ead before him, now beautiful women hovered about him, urging him to enjoy life whilst he could ; but he repelled all their seductions with prayer, and in the end prevailed against them, though the struggle left him faint and exhausted. then satan tried less gentle means to win him from his allegiance to christ, letting loose upon him horrible fiends in all manner of revolting human and animal forms, who scourged him, tore his flesh, and finally left him half dead upon the ground of his cave. here he was found by one of the other hermits, who nursed him back to life, and to whom he told his terrible experiences. it is further related that when the sufferer opened his eyes after his long swoon, the cell was filled with heavenly radiance, and he cried aloud, ' where wast thou, my lord and master, in my suffering for thee ? why wast thou not with me to aid me in my conflict ?' to which touching appeal the voice of christ himself replied, 'antony, i was with thee all the time; i stood by thee and beheld thy combat, and because thou didst manfully overcome, i will be with thee to the end, and make th)' ■ name famous throughout the world.' greatly cheered and strengthened by this commendation, st. antony resolved to strive yet harder to dg:iggte_ himself utterly to the service of the eordt bi3aing~ailhis~bfotker hermits farewell, he withdrew to an even more remote retreat, dwelling utterly alone in a cavern for no less than twenty years, during which he was fed miraculously, so that when at last he was discovered he was still a hale and hearty man, his long white beard alone testifying to his age. the place of his retirement once revealed, the saint found it impossible any longer to remain in seclusion, so great were the crowds who flocked to him for advice, and so many were those who wished to emulate his example. reluctantly he consented to come down from his mountain, and in the year 305 he founded at phainum, not far from memphis, the first regular monastery, consisting of a number of scattered cells in which the monks lived alone under a rule given to them by st. antony. the holy man remained at phainum until 311, when, a fresh perse aliiiari pkotd] \_accademia, florence st. antony the great and st. john the baptist b)f fra filippo lippi to face p. 4 st. antony the great 5 cution of the christians having broken out, he went to alexan dria in the hope of winning the crown of martyrdom. wear ing the long white or gray robes he had chosen as the garb of his community, he appeared constantly in the streets, preaching to the people, and winning many new converts, but to his own great disappointment he was left unmolested. in 311 he re turned to his monastery, and a few years later founded a similar community on the banks of the nile ; but though he retained the chief control over both, he contented himself with occasional visits to them, spending the greater part of the rest of his life in his mountain retreat, where he was waited upon with the utmost devotion by two of his disciples, named macarius and amathas. in his old age st. antony was, it is said, once more assailed by the chief temptation of his youth, for the spiritual pride he imagined he had conquered so completely got the better of him again. for seventy-five years he had led a life of absolute self-denial, and in his secret heart he thought to himself, ' surely in all the wide world there is none holier than i.' one night, however, as he slept on his hard bed, he seemed to hear a voice saying to him, ' there is one holier than thou, for paul the hermit has served god in solitude and penance for ninety years.' this revelation was a great blow to the saint, but, with his usual courage, he quickly accepted the inevitable, and resolved to go at once to seek the man whom god himself had thus commended. taking no one with him, and with nothing but his staff to help him on his arduous journey, st. antony, in spite of his great age, set out to walk across the desert, trusting to heavenly guidance to direct his steps. meeting by the way many wild creatures, including, according to the legend, a centaur and a satyr, who bowed down before him in reverence, he asked of them the way to the retreat of paul, and thanks to their directions he reached the cave after three days' journey, recognising it at once by the palm-tree and the spring. thanking god for the guidance which had brought him safely to his goal, st. antony knocked at the entrance to the cave and called to paul to let him in. it was long, however, before he could get any response from the recluse, who for ninety years had exchanged no greeting with any human creature. when at last the stone forming the door of the retreat was 6 the saints in christian art rolled away, and the two old men stood face to face, the emotion of both was very great, and after gazing on each other in silence for a few moments, they embraced as if they had been brothers, shedding tears of joy. his tongue once loosed, many were the eager questions asked by st. paul of st. antony, and great was his astonishment at the news he heard. it is said that the first inquiry of the older hermit was, ' are there still any left who do not believe in christ ?' and st. antony's answer must have been a bitter disappointment to st. paul, who had dreamt that the millennium had already come. talking earnestly together, the hermits were presently aroused to notice the flight of time by the arrival of st. paul's old friend the raven, who had brought with him a whole instead of half a loaf of bread, which he dropped at the feet of the two old men, an incident alluded to in the breviary in the following words, put into the mouth of the hermit : ' for sixty years i have daily received half a loaf; now at thy arrival christ has doubled his gift to his soldiers.' this fresh miracle convinced the older recluse that st. antony had indeed been sent to him by the master they both served, and after the simple meal was over he said to his guest : ' my brother, god hath sent thee here to receive my last breath and bury me. go back to thy dwelling, i pray thee, and fetch thence the cloak given to thee by the holy bishop athanasius : wrap me in it, and lay me in the earth.' surprised at the mention of this cloak, which had indeed been given to him by st. athanasius many years before, but which he had spoken of to no one, and had never worn, st. antony longed to question his friend further. something, however, seemed to check his speech, and he therefore merely embraced st. paul once more and set forth on his return journey. he arrived safely at his monastery, fetched the cloak, without meeting any of the brethren, and hastened back, hoping to find st. paul still alive ; but at a distance of three days' journey from the cave it was revealed to him that the end had come, for he heard beautiful music, and, looking up, he saw angels bearing the pure soul of the saint to heaven. when he reached the home of st. paul, he found him kneeling, as if in prayer, but he was quite dead, and st. antony knew not what to do, for old, feeble, and weary with his long journeys, he had no strength to dig a grave. weeping bitterly, he /mm / {^^ m pi ik ^jjbr'ifc' ^^ '^fj|ey :irt .w"^5^^1i^ ^^ w.-^pt. o^^ mmm jilt .,■ .■''. : ,, -anderson fhotd] [afpartamenii borgia, vatican, some the meeting between st. antony and st. paul ^j/ pinttiricchio to face p. 6 st. antony the great 7 cried : ' oh that it might please god to let me die beside thee, oh my brother!' but as the sad words left his lips a noise outside the cave made him turn his head, and, lo ! two lions were preparing a grave in the ground with their paws. when it was ready, the faithful creatures drew back and waited reverently whilst st. antony, having wrapped the body of st. paul in the cloak he had brought from so far, laid the sacred burden in the grave. the lions then helped him to cover it over with sand, and the mourner, touched at their devotion, prayed for them, saying : ' o lord, without whose divine protection no leaf can stir upon the tree, no little bird fall to the ground, bless these creatures who have thus honoured the dead according to their nature.' an account of the visit of st. antony to st. paul and the strange funeral is given in a manuscript breviary preserved in a nunnery at amiens, in which occurs the following graphic description of the actual interment : ' the gentleman (st. antony) had lions in his service, lions with whose help, instead of that of a hoe, he dug deep into the soil, where he sorrowfully buried the dead paul.' his melancholy task performed, st. antony sadly returned to the monastery, taking with him in exchange for the cloak he had used as a shroud, the tunic of palm-leaves st. paul had worn so long. having related all his experiences to his monks, he went back again to his lonely mountain cell, greatly humbled at heart, for he knew now that st. paul had indeed been holier than he. except for one short visit to alexandria in 355, to reason with the arians, who were greatly troubling the church, st. antony left his solitude no more until his death, which took place at the age of 105 years. before the end he instructed the two disciples mentioned above to bury his body secretly, adding his conviction that in the day of the resurrection he would receive it again incorruptible from the hand of christ. his only personal property, two sheepskins with the tunic of st. paul, he bequeathed to st. athanasius and bishop serapion, and with the touching words, ' farewell, my children ; antony is departing, and will be no longer with you,' he breathed his last. the abbot's instructions as to his interment were carefully followed, but his body is said to have been discovered in the sixth century, and to have been translated first to alexandria, 8 the saints in christian art then to constantinople, and finally to motte saint didier, in dauphine, where it is still greatly revered. in spite of the revelation said to have been made by god himself as to the superior claims to sanctity of st. paul, the fame of the first hermit has been altogether overshadowed by that of st. antopy, probably because the work of the former ended with his life, whilst that of the latter is still even at this late day fruitful of results. comparatively few appeal for aid in their distress to st. paul, but many towns have chosen st. antony as patron, and various classes of the community claim to be under his special protection. he is amongst the saints honoured at naples, paderborn, hildesheim and paris. the people of munich are devoted to him because he is sup posed to have aided alfonso the great in winning back their islands from the moors in the ninth century, and the hos pitallers, amongst other religious societies, revere him as the founder of the first monastic institution. on account of his own victory over the devil, st. antony is credited with the power to exorcise evil spirits and also to be able to save his votaries from infectious diseases, for in the eleventh century, when the terrible epidemic, to which later the name of st. antony's fire was given, was devastating europe, many of those who prayed at his shrine escaped. keepers of pigs and pork-butchers invoke st. antony, for a reason explained below; winnowers of wheat call upon his name, probably because he and the other hermits of egypt were in the habit of weaving mats and baskets of straw ; and grocers, notably those of the city of london, formerly known as pepperers, chose the hermit as their patron, it has been suggested because many of their commodities came from the east. the most constant attributes of st. paul the hermit in art are a raven and a loaf of bread. he is as a rule represented as very old and emaciated, with long white hair and a white beard, reaching nearly to his knees. his only clothing is a tunic or waistcloth of woven palm-leaves, and whether he appears alone beneath his tree in the desert, or with other saints in devotional pictures, he always seems to be completely lost to his surroundings in earnest meditation. in the turin gallery is a very characteristic painting by ribera of st. paul, seated on a rock, with a skull beside him. aunart photo] \san bernardino^ bergamo the madonna and child, with st. antony and other saints by lorenzo lotto to face p. 8 st. antony the great 9 and a raven hovering above his head, whilst in the distance st. antony is seen approaching ; and in the louvre, paris, is another representation of him from the same great hand. in s. agostino, rome, is an altar-piece by guercino in which st. paul the hermit is on one side of st. augustine, and st. john the baptist on the other ; giotto in his fine ' coronation of the virgin' in s. croce, florence, has given the great recluse a place of honour beside st. peter, and in the same subject by girolamo da santa croce in s. giuliano, venice, he is grouped with saints florian and giuliano. the attributes given to st. antony are numerous and excep tionally quaint. chief amongst them is the pig or hog, with or without a bell round its neck, whose constant presence has been variously explained, some seeing in it the emblem of the vices of sensuality and gluttony over which st. antony triumphed so successfully, whilst others look upon it merely as a type of the privileges enjoyed by the pigs of mediaeval monasteries, who were allowed to run wild in towns and villages long after those of laymen had been deprived by law of their liberty. st. antony was, as already mentioned, the patron saint of the hospitallers, who devoted themselves to the care of the sick and suffering, and when, owing to the many accidents which had occurred, including the death of a french prince, who was thrown to the ground in a street of paris through a hog having tripped up his horse, orders were given for the confiscation of wild porkers, an exception was made in favour of those of the antonins, or nursing friars. to distinguish them from the common herd, these pigs had to wear a bell, and at the sound of the bell pious householders were in the habit of placing food outside their doors, a custom which gave rise to the popular proverb, 'to run from door to door like a pig of st. antony,' applied to beggars and parasites, and the name of a tantony, or st. antony pig, being given to a very fine animal. at york it was long customary for the master of the hospital of st. antony to keep one pig out of every litter born in the district. a bell is also an emblem of st. antony, in allusion to the power of the saint to cast out evil spirits, who are said to hate the sound of consecrated bells. the passing-bell was rung in olden times, not merely as a call to all within hearing to pray for the departing soul, but also to scare away the devil, who 10 the saints in christian art was supposed, to be waiting in the hope of intercepting the spirit on its way to heaven. when the bell is worn by the pig in pictures of st. antony, its meaning is, of course, that given above, but when it is placed in the hand of the saint, suspended to his staff, or lying at his feet, it may be taken to bear the more spiritual signification. in some old representations of st. antony the hermit he holds a scroll on which is written the words ' quis evadet ?' in allusion to a vision in which he saw the whole world in a large net held by the devil, and cried aloud ' quis evadet ?' or 'what will avail to save?' to which agonized question the answer ' humilitas ' was given fronj heaven. sometimes flames are introduced at the side or beneath the feet of st. antony, some suppose because of the saint's aid_against the dise.ase_ called the fire of st. antony, whilst otbers, 'wifh scant reason, see in it a reference to his ability to save from fire in this world and the next. in his right hand st. antony generally holds an open book, and in his left a staff with a t-shaped handle, a symbol into which, as explained below, various meanings have been read, but which is probably merely indicative of the saint's great age and the many journeys he performed on foot. st. antony generally wears the loose robes of a monk, and they are, as a rule, of a gray or brown colour, although his friend st. athanasius says that he always wore white ; but these simple garments are sometimes replaced by the ornate costume of a prince of the church, as in a painting by barocchio in the louvre, whilst, instead of the staff or crutch, the bishop's crosier is placed in the right hand. however much such details as these may vary, one remarkable symbol is rarely absent in representations of the great founder of monachism. this is the'lettjer_tyworked in bluedr white on the "sttbuiaer or the hem ot the outer robe, and many earnest discussions have been held as to its meaning, some asserting that it and the t-shaped handle of the staff of st. antony were both mem oriab_^f a cross of similar form, in use as early as the time of the pharaoes as a type~oftmmortality, and adopted in the third century by the christians of alexandria as an emblem of their faith. to some few the t has a yet more spiritual significance, for it is taken to be the first letter of theos, the greek word for god, and to mark the fact that st. antony st. antony the great ii was one of the elect ; but if this were so the letter would have been stamped, not merely on the robes, but on the forehead of the saint. others again, including the learned p^re cahier, are of opinion that the much-discussed t merely represents the crutch, which in the middle ages became a kind of badge of _ the monastic profession, the first "^uty of monks having origintrlly-been to aid the crippled and infirm. in any case the first abbot's name was given to all nursing friars, and near his shrine at motte saint didier a great almshouse was founded, in the first instance to receive patients attacked by the disease called st. antony's fire, but later open to all sufferers. whatever the original significance of the t, it eventually became so closely associated with st. antony that it may be taken for granted that it has reference to him, even when introduced in connection with some other saint, as on the reverse of a medal found in the seine bearing the effigy of st. claude of besan9on, the t in this case meaning merely that the brotherhood of st. claude used to meet in a church named after the celebrated hermit. the various legends respecting the temptations to which st. antony was subjected have led to the constant introduction at his feet of a demon, sometimes in the form of a man of hideous aspect, sometimes in that of a goat. occasionally he is seen meeting the satyr or the centaur of whom he is said to have inquired the way when seeking st. paul. in every case he appears as a man of noble presence, with a long white beard, and he has none of the emaciation from fasting which makes some of the representations of his friend st. paul so painful. st. athanasius who knew him well, said of st. antony that, after thirty years of loneliness, * he appeared not to others with a sullen or savage, but with a most obliging, sociable air,' and many artists seem to have had this description in their minds when they painted the great recluse. in old greek pictures he is often represented giving the benediction with an expression of great benevolence ; in the celebrated ' heures d'anne de bretagne,' preserved in the bibliotheque nationale, paris, he is seated in meditation, with flames at his feet ; in the beautiful panel by marco basaiti in the venice academy, his attitude is full of dignity ; and in the famous engraving by albert dtirer he is represented seated outside the city of 12 the saints in christian art nuremberg, absorbed in a book, whilst beside him is a lofty double cross from which hangs the symbolic bell. in giovanni battista's picture, now in the venice academy, of st. joseph holding the infant christ on a pedestal, st. antony the hermit is grouped with saints anne, antony of padua and peter of alcantara ; in the beautiful ' madonna and saints ' by paolo veronese, in s. francesco della vigna, venice, st. antony is introduced opposite to st. catherine, and his figure is con sidered remarkably fine ; in one of baldovinetti's most beauti ful groups of saints, now in the uffizi gallery, florence, the abbot is on the right of the virgin, beside st. lawrence ; in titian's celebrated 'virgin with the roses,' in the same gallery, he is the companion of the young st. john ; and in the florence academy are two panels by fra filippo lippi, evidently originally part of an important painting, in one of which is a very beautiful figure of st. antony leaning on his t-handled crutch. there is also a fine profile head of the hermit in the ' christ bearing his cross,' by fra bartolommeo, in the florence academy ; and on the wall of a street in prato, the birthplace of filippino lippi, there is a fresco by that master in which st. antony is introduced. the favourite subjects from the lives of the two first hermits are the temptation of st. antony, his meeting with st. paul, the death and burial of the latter, and the funeral of st. antony. in the celebrated frescoes by pietro and ambrogio lorenzetti of siena, in the campo santo, pisa, six subjects are from the legend of saints paul and antony. in one the two old men are meeting at the mouth of st. paul's cave, both on their knees, st. antony holding up his characteristic staff as if to show it to the older hermit ; in the second scene st. antony is preparing the body of his friend for interment ; in the third the lions are digging the grave ; in the fourth st. antony lies prostrate outside his cell, submitting calmly to the scourging two demons in human shape are inflicting on him ; in the fifth he is seen after he has won the victory, kneeung at the feet of christ to receive his blessing; and in the sixth he is repre sented twice: seated quietly in his cell, apparently carving a spoon out of a piece of wood, and standing beside his monas tery, with his crutch in one hand and the other raised in benediction. in painting and engraving the ' temptation of st. antony ' w ^: w < a o < os o <l >< z; o h < h q £ o o z; <! < z 2; o p < w x h i*) s i st, antony the great 13 has been very variouslyjrendered. sometimes the evil one appears in the form of a beaitttful woman trying in vain to interrupt the prayers of the saint, but more often, as in the celebrated prints by martin schongauer and jacques callot, demons of horribly grotesque form assail the victim, who is lifted bodily into the air by them, yet in spite of all his agony retains an expression of earnest devotion. the engraving by schon gauer is said to have so delighted michael angelo, on account of the virile force of the figures, that he copied it both in pen and ink and in colours, buying fish which had scales something like those of the demons to insure the greatest possible accuracy. ribera, to whose grim humour the subject forcibly appealed, represented st. antony praying, with a woman ringing a bell close to his ears, and salvator rosa painted the hermit lying on his back with a demon astride upon his chest. teniers was so enamoured of the theme, that he painted it no less than ten times, varying the treatment slightly in every case ; but all his pictures, of which one is in the brussels gallery, are painfully effective in their horrible realism. annibale caracci, in the fine composition in the national gallery, london, struck a truer note, when he made the saint so absorbed in the con templation of a vision of christ that he is blind to the demons on either side of him ; and tintoretto in the celebrated altar piece in s. trevaso, venice, was content with suggestion only, introducing portraits of venetian beauties amongst the fair women trying to entice the recluse back to earthly joys. as a general rule the meeting between the two hermits is represented as taking place without human witnesses, though angels look down from above. in a quaint painting by brusa sorci in the brera gallery, milan, host and guest are dividing the loaf, seated on a rock, the raven is flying away, and christ himself with arms outstretched in benediction appears above, upheld by cherubs. guido also in his fine painting, now in the berlin gallery, has two figures only, but pinturicchio in the fresco in the appartamenti borgia of the vatican has introduced three gaily-dressed women behind st. antony and two monks behind st. paul. the friends are, however, altogether uncon scious of the presence of the intruders, behaving as if they were quite alone, and the women seem to be somewhat disconcerted at the meeting. from a projecting branch above the head of one of the monks, who leans on a t-handled staff, hangs the 14 the saints in christian art bell of st. antony, showing that he is the attendant of the guest, not of the host. in the picture by velasquez in the prado gallery, madrid, painted for the monastery of st. antony at buon retiro, st. antony is waiting for admission outside the cave of st. paul, and in the same subject by lucas van leyden, in the lichten stein gallery, vienna, the bread has just been dropped by the raven, who is hopping away in the foreground. scenes from the life of st. antony are amongst the much defaced frescoes ascribed by some to agnolo gaddi, and by others to gherardo stamina, in s. croce, florence ; in the brera gallery, milan, is an interesting picture by ludovico caracci of the great founder of monachism instructing his monks ; bernardino passed and others have represented the death of st. paul and his burial with the aid of the lions whilst angels look on, and rubens has painted the death of st. antony in the presence of his mourning disciples, with a pig peeping out from beneath the bed. st. antony the hermit was long greatly venerated in england, where many churches are dedicated to him, notably those of st. antony in meneage and st. antony in roseland, both in cornwall. the former is said to have been erected as a thank offering by some travellers who were saved from shipwreck by the intervention of the saint in the thirteenth century. the now destroyed church of st. antholin in london, the name of which (a corruption of that of the hermit) is still retained in the parish to which it belonged, was also dedicated to him, and in the north of england several parishes still keep his memory green. chapter ii some celebrated contemporaries and successors of st. antony the hermit scarcely less celebrated amongst the hermits of egypt than st. antony >yas st. pachomius of thebes, who is sometimes represented in art receiving a book or roll of ms. from an angel, and with a serpent or a crocodile beside him, for he is said to have received this rule of the monastery founded by st. pachomius 15 him at tabenna direct from heaven, to have been able to walk on venomous snakes unharmed, and to have been in the habit of riding across the nile on a crocodile's back. even when fact is sorted from fiction, the story of st. pacho mius is a deeply interesting one, full of the quaint charm so characteristic of the early days of the church, when god seemed specially near to those who sought him in solitude and a direct response to prayer was no surprise to the faithful suppliant. a soldier in the roman army, the 5'oung pachomius had been converted to christianity at the age of twenty, and when his regiment was disbanded, on the fall of maximianus, he resolved to retire altogether from the world. he went first to ask the advice of an old man named palemon, who had long lived alone in the theban desert, and had won a great reputa tion for holiness. surprised that one so young and handsome as his visitor should wish to become a hermit, palemon at first tried to dissuade him, painting the life in the very gloomiest colours, but pachomius was not to be daunted, and in the end the kindly old man allowed him to share his cell. the two remained happily together for some months, the novice becoming greatly attached to palemon, waiting on him as if he had been his son, and endeavouring to tempt him to relax his self-discipline a little. palemon, in his turn, was beginning to fear that all his efforts to give his heart wholly to god had been in vain, so much did he love his pupil, when an abrupt close was put to their intercourse. pachomius was one ■day praying alone in the desert, as was his wont, and presently felt that some strange presence was near him. he looked up, and an angel stood beside him, who told him not to fear, but to listen to a divine message. he was to leave his present aldode and found a monastery on the banks of the nile. according to some, the heavenly visitor gave the rules to be observed in the new community in writing to the astonished hermit, but others are content with asserting that he merely dictated them. in any case, when pachomius related his vision to palemon, the latter at once decided to go with his adopted son to tabenna, the spot indicated by the angel, and there the two, with their own hands, built the first cell, which soon became the nucleus of a large community. the work done, palemon sadly bade his beloved pupil fare i6 the saints in christian art well, returning alone to his old home, where he soon afterwards died. pachomius had not long to wait for further leading; first one of his brothers and then many young egyptians joined him, each building for himself a small cell, and all working together at the large refectory in which they met for meals. the rule given by the angel was, it is said, exceedingl)' rigid : absolute silence was to be preserved, and all communica tions were to be made by signs. the dress consisted of a sleeveless white linen tunic, with a large cowl completely con cealing the features, and a goat's skin to serve as mantle. the abbot enjoyed no special privileges beyond that of inflicting on himself a severer discipline than on any of his followers. it is related that when his own sister came to ask for an interview with him he sent back the stern reply that no woman could be allowed to cross his threshold, and that she must be content with knowing that her brother still lived. to this she meekly replied, that her only desire was to lead a life of religious meditation, and pachomius, though deaf to the appeal of natural affection, at once ordered a cell to be built for her on the other side of the nile, where in course of time she was joined by other holy women, who formed themselves into a community resembling that at tabenna. before his death, at the early age of fifty-seven, st. pacho mius had founded no less than seven monasteries in the theban desert, their inmates numbering more than six thou sand. he was, in fact, the true founder of the monastic system, although that honour is generally given to st. antony, for the recluses who joined the great hermit were bound by no special rules, and were free to return to the world, whereas the monks of the order of st. pachomius took upon themselves life-long vows of seclusion and celibacy. st. hilarion of gaza, the first hermit of palestine, was sent by his parents when very young to alexandria to be educated in all the learning of the egyptians, but he was converted to christianity soon after his arrival, and went to visit st. antony in his mountain retreat. the celebrated hermit took a great fancy to him,, and would fain have kept him with him. this would not, however, have been consistent with the rigid self denial he considered it his duty to practise, so he sent the young man away, advising him to return home and lead a solitary life in his native land. st. hilarion 17 on his arrival at gaza, whither he went in obedience to the suggestion of st. antony, the young hilarion found that his parents were both dead and had left him all their wealth. this he divided amongst his relations and the poor, retaining nothing for himself, after which he withdrew to the desert, where he is said to have lived for twenty years quite alone. at the end of that time those afflicted with disease or possessed by evil spirits began to seek him out, for it is related that when patients from syria went to consult st. antony, he used to say to them, ' why do you come so far to see me, when you have my son hilarion close at hand ?' the first miracle of healing with which st. hilarion was credited was the restoration to health of three children at gaza, whose mother had induced him to come forth from his retreat to see them. standing beside their bed, the holy man merely uttered the one word 'jesus,' and they at once recovered, with the result, that on the return of st. hilarion to his cell, he was so besieged by other applicants for relief that he could no longer lead the life of seclusion he had chosen. many were the evil spirits he cast out, many the unholy spells he broke by his simple belief in the power of prayer ; but the two most celebrated of his triumphs were the calming, by making three crosses in the sand, of a great storm on the coast of dalmatia, and the destruction of a terrible dragon, which had devoured many men, women, and children, keeping the whole country in a state of terror. in the latter case the saintly man had a quantity of wood piled up, leaving a space in the centre, and then commanded the dragon to place himself within the fatal space. the poor creature meekly obeyed, the wood was set fire to, and the evil monster was quickly consumed. hearing of the death of st. antony, st. hilarion resolved to visit the place where the great recluse had died, hoping thus to get away from the crowds by whom he was now constantly surrounded. so great, however, was the opposition to his leaving palestine, that he was at last compelled to consent to a compromise, and to take forty monks with him. with them he visited every spot made sacred by the presence of his revered predecessor, and then, resisting all the efforts of the hermits of egypt to induce him to take the place of their lost leader, he returned alone to palestine. before leaving he told his attendant monks that they would be safer without him, an vol. ii. 3 i8 the saints in christian art excuse which turned out to be true, for no sooner had he left them than messengers arrived with orders from julian the apostate to slay st. hilarion wherever he should be found. the rest of his life was one vain struggle for the seclusion he looked upon as essential to the true worship of god, for it is said that even if he succeeded in concealing his retreat from his friends, it was always known to those possessed of evil spirits through the uneasiness of their tormentors. at last, in a wilderness near paphos, on the island of cyprus, death released the much-persecuted saint from all importunities. he was not, however, allowed to expire alone, for many who had come to seek his aid were gathered about him. almost with his last breath he entreated that he might be buried where he died, without pomp or ceremony, and in the hair-cloth shirt and cloak he was then wearing. his wishes were respected, but not many months afterwards his friend and disciple, hesychius, secretly removed the body to palestine, re-interring it in his own monastery near majuma, st. hilarion is sometimes represented alone in prayer in the desert, or dying surrounded by his monks and patients; but more often, as in the celebrated fresco in the campo santo, pisa, he appears vanquishing the dragon, who seems to be listening spell-bound to his exhortation, or is about to place himself amidst the flames at the command of the saint. a good deal of confusion has arisen between two great hermits named macarius, which signifies 'happy,' who both lived in the fourth century, and, though not related to each other, were for some little time associated in banishment. to dis tinguish them they are called the elder and the younger, although authorities differ greatly as to the date of the birth of both of them. st. macarius the elder is generally represented praying or working in his cell, with a lantern hanging above his oratory, in token of his having withdrawn to a remote district to commune alone with god. he is said to have been a herdsman who left his flocks to take care of themselves, and retired with a few companions to the desert of scet6 when he was about twenty years old. there he grew in holiness, and became a very successful opponent of the devil, whom, according to tradition, he worsted in many a conflict. it is related that one of the disciples of st. macarius the elder, meeting a heathen priest '^ ^ ^ o <l n a s 8 w i o s >^ st. macarius the elder 19 hastening along as if he were running in the bacchanalian festival, called out to him, ' where are you running to, demon ?' a question which so enraged the priest that he beat the inquirer nearly to death with a heavy stick. this incident being miraculously revealed to st. macarius, he sought out the priest, and, instead of reproaching him, said to him in a gentle voice : ' good-day. you have been taking a great deal of trouble ; you must be very tired.' at a loss to understand what was meant the priest entered into conversation with the monk, who so touched his heart that he fell on his knees before the holy man, entreating his forgiveness, and promising to retire to the desert himself if only st. macarius would receive him as a christian convert. the hermit gladly consented, and the two went together to pick up the poor victim of the priest's rage, and carried him to the retreat of st. macarius, where he was tenderly nursed back to health. the priest was duly baptized, became a monk, and never again returned to the world. on another occasion the devil is said to have appeared to st. macarius in the form of an old man carrying with him a large number of phials. st. macarius knew who he was at once, and asked him on what evil errand he was bound, to which the old man replied : ' i am going round amongst the hermits of this desert with a potion for each. i shall give them their choice, so that if they do not fancy one they can have another. the saint smiled, for he knew that no temptation was likely to shake the constancy of the men who had already won so many victories over evil, and he waited the return of his visitor with out any misgivings. presently the devil came back, and st. macarius said to him, ' well, how did you get on ?' ' oh,' was the reply, ' they are all intractables, these monks of yours ; not one of them would follow me.' ' what !' cried st. macarius in pretended sympathy, ' have you not one friend ?' ' yes,' said the devil, ' i think i have one,' and he mentioned the name of a young monk. ' he pretends he doesn't care for me, but i know he does, and believes in me too.' then st. macarius resolved to go at once to the aid of the young monk, and by telling him of his own temptations, he won his confidence and strengthened him to resist the evil one, who confessed later to the holy man that he had now lost his one friend, who shut the door in his face the last time he attempted to enter. except for a brief banishment with some other monks who 2—2 20 the saints in christian art had fallen under the displeasure of lucius, the arian bishop of alexandria, st. macarius the elder lived for sixty years in his desert cell, having, it is said, won many hundreds to follow his example. where he was buried is not known, nor has the site of the home in which he dwelt so long been identified. st. macarius the younger is supposed to have been born in alexandria, to have been the pupil of st. pachomius, and to have dwelt in the theban desert for seventy -two years. scarcely anything is known of him except that he shared the exile of st. macarius the elder for a time, but many very significant legends have gathered about his name. it is related that he chose an old tomb as his retreat, and one day, finding a skull on the ground, he held a long conversation with it, an incident represented in the centre of the campo santo fresco, already referred to in connection with saints paul, antony and hilarion. st. macarius hegan his chat with the skull by asking to whom it had belonged in life, receiving the answer, ' to a pagan.' 'where, then,' said the hermit, 'is thy soul?' 'in hell,' was the startling answer. ' how deep ?' asked the saint. * deeper than the distance from heaven to earth.' 'are there any deeper down in misery than thou art ?' further inquired the holy man, and the skull said, ' yes ; the jews are deeper still.' then came the last question, ' are there any deeper down than the jews ?' and the startling answer, ' ay indeed ; the christians, whom jesus christ has redeemed, yet by their actions prove their want of belief in him, are in a yet deeper depth.' how this extraordinary interview affected the inquirer is not told, but it probably caused him much heart-searching, lest haply he should himself share the doom of the faithless ones. another anecdote is to the effect that st. macarius generally went about with a heavy load of sand upon his back, and when asked the reason he replied, ' i torment him who torments me,' meaning, possibly, that he strove by self-inflicted weariness to out-do the devil. whatever its original signification, the sack of sand on the shoulder became, in course of time, the most distinctive characteristic of st. macarius the younger ; but he also sometimes carries in his girdle, or suspended round his neck, a small calabash or phial, in allusion to the power over evil spirits with which he was credited, his mode of delivering his patients being to anoint them with the holy oil he always st. mark the hermit 21 carried with him for the purpose. occasionally st. macarius is seen surrounded with wild animals, in allusion to his friend ship with them in the remote wilds of the desert, and the skin of a wolf is associated with him ; but this is the result of the misappropriation of a legend belonging rightly to his contem porary and friend, st. mark, the so-called wonder-worker of egypt. this st. mark was, it is said, on the authority of st. macarius the younger, a man of such exceptional holiness that the holy communion was administered to him by angels, for which reason he is represented in some old greek paintings with an angel beside him, or, more rarely, kneeling to receive the sacred elements, which are offered to him, by a hand issuing from the clouds above his head, in a kind of spoon, such as is still in use in the eastern church for administering the sacra ment to laymen. another pleasing legend related of st. mark the hermit is that he healed not only those of his fellow-creatures who came to him for aid, but also the wild animals of the desert. on one occasion a lioness brought her cub to him, and dropped it at his feet, looking into his face with eyes full of a yearning appeal for help. when st. mark examined the little one, he found it was quite blind, and he gave it sight by calling on the holy name of jesus. the mother gratefully licked the hands of the healer and went off happily, carrying her cub in her mouth, to return the next day, bringing the skin, some say of a ram, others of a hyena, as a reward for the service rendered to her, for which reason the skin of a wild animal is one of the attributes in art of st. mark. the gift of the lioness is said to have been presented by st. mark to st. athanasius, and later passed on by him to st. melania the elder, a holy woman who founded a nunnery at jerusalem at the latter end of the fourth century. another very celebrated hermit of egypt was st. john, surnamed the obedient, a man of humble birth, who had practised the trade of a carpenter for several years before he decided to abjure the world, and appears sometimes in art amongst the other early recluses, watering a barren tree or standing beside a mass of rock. he lived at first with an old recluse in the theban desert, and there earned his nickname, for it is related that his master, who seems to have been a very 22 the saints in christian art eccentric person, ordered him to water a dry stick he had stuck up in the ground twice daily, and to roll down to his cell a large rock which several hundred men could not have moved. without a murmur at the absurd and useless tasks set him, st. john fetched water from a distance of two miles every day, to pour it over the stick, and spent many hours toiling in vain at the rock, to the surprise and admiration of those who came to consult his tyrannical master. at the end of twelve years the old man died, and st. john, set free at last from his voluntary bondage, withdrew to the top of a lofty hill, where he dwelt alone in a walled-up cell, spending five days of the week in solitary meditation and prayer, but devoting the other two to the aid of those who came to him for advice, amongst whom was the emperor theodosius. st. john used to speak to his visitors through a little window, and is said to have wrought many wonderful miracles of healing. as time went on and his fame increased, he allowed some of his disciples to build a small hospital near his retreat for the use of patients from a distance ; but he never relaxed the severity of his self-discipline, and died at the age of ninety, without having once come down from his lofty retreat. yet another celebrated hermit of the fourth century was st. arsenius, who is introduced in the great campo santo fresco at pisa plaiting a basket of rushes, and is sometimes represented, for a reason explained below, seated with crossed legs reading a book. the son of roman parents of high rank, who had brought him up as a christian, arsenius early decided to dedicate his life to god, and he had just been ordained deacon, when the emperor theodosius appointed him tutor to his sons. after trying in vain to escape from accepting a position for which he did not consider himself fitted, arsenius resigned himself to the inevitable, and soon obtained such a good influence over his pupils, that it was not until he had been at court for eleven years that he felt free to leave. one night, however, when he had been praying earnestly for guidance, he is said to have heard a voice from heaven, saying : 'arsenius, flee the company of men, and thou shalt be saved.' accepting these words as a command, he fled from the palace the next day, and, taking ship for alexandria, made his way thence to the desert of scet6, already the home of so many holy men. st. arsenius 23 greatly annoyed at the disappearance of the man he had learnt to look upon as a friend, the emperor made strenuous efforts to discover his retreat, and having at last done so, he offered him large sums of money to be devoted to the foundation of monasteries, if he would return to rome. it was, however, all in vain : st. arsenius was not to be persuaded, and, after more than forty years of seclusion, he died at the age of ninety-five at memphis, where he had taken refuge when the desert of scetd was invaded by a horde of barbarians. many quaint stories are told illustrative of the humility which seems to have been the chief characteristic of st. arsenius. he began his life in the desert by presenting himself, as was customary, before the chief hermits already settled there, to ask their permission to become one of them. he was told to appear that same evening at the general repast, and was left standing unnoticed until the meal was nearly over, when one of the brethren threw a piece of bread at his feet, telling him to take it or leave it, as he pleased. the only reply made by arsenius to this rough speech was to sit down on the ground and quietly eat the piece of bread. the new recluse retained, it is said, several habits he had acquired at court, and used sometimes to sit cross-legged when he was reading, though this could scarcely have been a custom at rome. to rebuke what he considered an attitude unfitting for an anchorite, the abbot of the community assumed the same posture one night at supper. st. arsenius took the hint, and never offended again. when theophilus, the patriarch of alexandria, honoured st. arsenius by coming to visit him with several nobles of the city, the holy man naively asked them if they would promise to follow his counsel, and when they eagerly replied that they would, he merely told them to spare themselves the trouble of coming after the worthless arsenius again. later, when a roman lady travelled all the way from her native city to see him, and waited outside his cell till he came forth for the evening meal, the hermit reproved her so sternly for seeking one so unworthy as he, that she dared not raise her eyes from the ground, but only begged him in a trembling voice to pray for her. to this st. arsenius replied, with scant courtesy, that he would ask god to efface the remembrance of her entirely from his memory. on the approach of death, the great humility of the saint 24 the saints in christian art made him fear that even now he might be shut out from heaven, and the brethren who were ministering to him asked him if he were afraid to die, to which he replied that he was indeed, adding that the dread had been ever present with him in all the long years of his sojourn in the desert ; a remarkable confession, showing that the holy man did indeed count him self as less than the least in the sight of god. guessing that the hermits would probably give him a grand funeral, and that, when he could no longer prevent it, undue honour would be paid to him, he made them solemnly promise just before the end, that they would drag his body to the top of the mountain on which he died, and leave it there to be devoured by wild beasts. he was reluctantly obeyed, and every trace of his remains was lost, but his memory is still cherished as that of one who was consistent to the last. with st. arsenius may be ranked st. ephrem of edessa, one of the earliest of the so-called fathers of the greek church, who, although not a hermit in the strictest sense of the term, for he only withdrew to the desert at intervals, yet led a life of the strictest self-denial, even when in the world. born of christian parents at the town after which he is named, at the beginning of the fourth century, he was dedicated in his in fancy to god, but was not actually baptized until he was eighteen years old. endowed with great intellectual gifts, st. ephrem himself wrote an account of his early life in what he called his confessions or reprehensions, in which he relates several anecdotes illustrative of his self-will as a boy. one day, he says, he was sent into the country by his parents, and seeing a cow grazing by the wayside, he stoned her to death. meeting her owner a littfe later, he added a lie to his other sin, declar ing he had not seen the cow. a few months after this the boy was again sent on some errand into the fields near his home, and, making friends with a shepherd, he remained all night with him and his flock. the sliepherd, having had too much to drink, fell asleep, wolves came and devoured some of the sheep, and ephrem, being found by their owner with the careless guardian, was thrown into prison as an accomplice in his crime. whilst awaiting his trial, ephrem was, he says, three times visited by an angel, whose heavenly counsels affected him so deeply that, when after seventy days' confinement he was st. ephrem 25 released, his character was completely changed. his one desire was now to serve god, and as soon as he had been baptized he withdrew to a desert in mesopotamia to join a small community of monks established there. he remained there for some years, and, as he himself relates, divided his time between prayer and making sails, which were sold for the benefit of the poor. of a naturally hot temper, he so entirely subdued it that he became known as the meek, or the peace able man of god, and he shed so many tears on account of his sins that st. gregory of nyassa said of him, ' to weep seemed almost as natural for him as it is for other men to breathe.' st. ephrem is said to have seen god face to face in his desert retreat, and to have received orders direct from him to return to edessa, to do work awaiting him there. he obeyed, and very soon became famous as a preacher and teacher, confirm ing waverers, convincing doubters, and winning many hundreds of new followers for christ. his sermons and homilies are amongst the greatest treasures of the greek church, and are full of eloquent advice suitable for every age. when he felt death approaching, he called his disciples about him and said to them : ' sing no funeral hymns at ephrem's burial, suffer no eulogiums to be pronounced, wrap not my dead body in any costly shroud, erect no monument to my memory. allow me only the portion and place of a pilgrim, for i am a pilgrim and a stranger, as all my fathers were on earth.' hearing as he lay dying that a lady asked to see him to make a last request, st. ephrem admitted her, and when, falling on her knees beside his bed, she entreated to be allowed to provide a coffin for him, he consented, stipulating, however, that it should be a very mean one. he then, in his turn, made his visitor promise that she would henceforth renounce all the pomps and vanities of the world, and soon afterwards he breathed his last. greek artists represented st. ephrem of edessa as a man in the prime of life, with a long beard and tears flowing down his cheeks. he wears the simple monastic habit in use at his time, the cowl, which is worn over the forehead, bearing a small cross, and he uplifts one hand with an eloquent gesture, as if he were preaching. in a quaint old picture which has been severally times engraved, called ' the obsequies of st. ephrem,' he is seen lying on his bier with his weeping disciples around him, 26 the saints in christian art and in the background are various anchorites doing penance, reading or conversing in their cells, st. simeon stylites, with scant regard for chronology, appearing on his pillar in their midst, although he was not born until many years after the death of st. ephrem. chapter iii other great hermits and converts of the fourth century amongst other fourth-century hermits who, although they are not very frequently represented in art, became widely known for their sanctity, and about whose memories many beautiful legends full of spiritual meaning have gathered, , were st. onuphrius ; st. paphuntius, with whose name that of st. thais is inseparably connected ; st. abraham, who won his niece st. mary from an evil life; st. zosimus, who was with st. mary of egypt when she died; and st. julian the hospitable, who, although a married man, became a recluse late in life. st. onuphrius, or s. onofrio, as he is called in italy, where he is much honoured, the monastery near rome in which tasso died being named after him, is said to have been a prince of abyssinia who was taken prisoner by some of the nomads of the desert, and became so enamoured of their quiet life that, when they released him, he joined one of the monastic communities in the theban desert. later he yearned for even greater solitude, and withdrew to a remote cave, where he lived, for sixty years, without seeing a fellow-creature, sustained only by bread and water brought to him by an angel. at the end of that time he was discovered by st. paphuntius, who at first took him for a wild beast, so un couth was his appearance, with his long hair and beard form ing his only covering, but for a belt of twisted leaves about his loins. when he realized that the strange creature was indeed a man like himself, st. paphuntius was filled with awe and reverence, for he knew that this must be one who had st. paphuntius 27 achieved great holiness. falling on his knees at the feet of st. onuphrius, he asked him to bless him, and, his request having been granted the two exchanged experiences. st. onuphrius told his visitor how he had resolved to live and die alone, but had been cheered in his solitude by the frequent visits of an angel. he added that, as st. paphuntius had been allowed to find him, it was evident that he had been sent by god to bury him. he begged him, therefore, to give him the holy communion before the end, and having partaken of the sacred elements, he peacefully breathed his last. st. paphuntius, with the aid, it is said, of two lions, dug a grave, and having laid his friend in it, he started for home, resolved if possible to emulate the example of the departed saint, by yet greater self-denial than he had hitherto practised. it is related that before he died st. onuphrius urged st. paphuntius not to loiter by the way on his return to his own cell, for that if he did some signal judgment would befall him. in spite of this warning, however, the traveller halted to rest in a deserted cell, and whilst there he was sorely tempted by a beautiful woman, who tried to cheer his loneliness. st. paphuntius turned his back on her, and, to divert his mind from her attractions, thrust his hands into a fire he had lit to warm himself, and the woman at once fell down dead. the prayers of the hermit restored her to life, and she entreated him to forgive her, promising if he would give her his blessing to forsake her evil ways. the holy man granted her request, and she left him once more alone in his cell, but an earth quake destroyed it and a fine palm-tree growing beside it. rescued from all these dangers, st. paphuntius got safely back at last to his own retreat in the remote districts of the theban desert. there he lived alone for many years, ever growing in holiness, but much troubled with the very human longing to know how he was progressing in his spiritual life. he often prayed to god to reveal to him if he had succeeded in pleasing him, and one night an angel is said to have appeared to him in a dream, to tell him that in a certain town some distance off lived a strolling player who was more highly thought of in heaven than himself. when he awoke, st. paphuntius hastened to seek the musician, and found him pursuing his calling in the streets, with a crowd about him listening to his singing. the hermit 28 the saints in christian art looked at him in astonishment, for there was nothing at all remarkable in his appearance, and his wonder became still greater when he learned from the man's own lips that he had been a great sinner, but was now penitent. st. paphuntius explained the reasons for his questions, and the musician seemed much touched at what he heard. the two eagerly discussed together what could be the meaning of the angel's words, and came to the conclusion that what had won so great a commendation from on high, must be the fact that the player gave all his earnings to the poor and had rescued many a despairing debtor from prison. with the naive simplicity which was his most noteworthy characteristic, st. paphuntius entreated his new friend to return with him to the desert, and the musician consented, although by so doing he was putting an end to his powers of usefulness. the two lived in separate cells, meeting but rarely, and st. paphuntius continued his efforts to achieve the greatest holiness possible to man. presently he again entreated god to reveal to him what progress he was making, and again an angel appeared to answer his prayer. this time the suppliant was told that a rich man living in a town still further off than that where the musician had been found was higher in favour with the almighty than himself. bitterly disappointed, st. paphuntius set forth without delay to find his new rival, and having identified his house, a very magnificent one, he rang the bell and begged for admis sion. he was courteously received, and taken at once into the presence of the master, who entreated his blessing, insisted on washing his feet, and made him sit in a place of honour by his side. the hermit then explained the reason ,of his visit, and his host, who could scarcely believe his ears, was altogether at a loss to understand in what his own holiness consisted. true, he gave much away to those in want, but, then, he had great wealth, and did not suffer at all from his generosity. after a very long discussion, st. paphuntius persuaded the rich man to distribute all he had to the poor and to join him in the desert. yet another cell was built for him, and all went well in the little community of three, until the old desire to know his own position once more assailed st. paphuntius. greater than ever was his astonishment when saints paphuntius and thais 29 the angel, who a third time appeared to him, told him that a beautiful sinner named thais, who had drawn into her net many of the young nobles of alexandria, was more precious in the sight of god than he. st. paphuntius resolved to go and see her, but, aware that a man in the dress of a hermit would not be likely to gain admittance, he arrayed himself in costly garments, hired a grand carriage, and drove up to her door, as if he were a suitor for her favour. he was ushered into her presence, and found himself amongst a crowd of her admirers. she was so beautiful, and there was such a child like charm about her, that it was all the holy man could do to steel his heart against her. he pretended at first that he had only come to see her on account of her beauty, but when, after a good deal of hesitation, she granted him a private interview, he told her the whole truth, and asked her if she could herself explain the revelation of the angel. the astonishment of the young girl can be imagined. was it indeed possible, she cried, that she, a sinner, was of value to god ? oh, why had she not known it before ? was it too late for her to turn to him ? touched by her emotion, and forgetting his own original motive for seeking an inter view with her, st. paphuntius assured her that it was never too late to appeal to the all-merciful, who had sent his only son to die for sinners. weeping bitterly, the poor girl entreated to be told how best to atone for the past, declaring she would do anything if only she might win forgiveness. then st. paphuntius, who had but one piece of advice for everyone, told her she must give away all her ill gotten gains, and henceforth live alone, spending all her time in prayer. she agreed at once, and when she had deprived herself of everything but a few coarse garments, the relentless hermit took her to a nunnery in the wilderness, and there she was walled up in a cell, with only a little opening left through which her food could be given to her. before st. paphuntius left her to this terrible life of lonely penance, thais asked him to teach her how to pray, and he told her to repeat constantly the brief petition : ' qui plasmati me, miserere mei ' (thou who didst create me, have pity on me). for three long years the girl who had had all alexandria at her feet remained shut out from all human sympathy ; but it is related that at the end of that time st. paphuntius, who had 30 the saints in christian art never forgotten her, asked st. antony if he did not think she had now suffered enough. the great founder of monachism at once sunimoned a council of hermits, and to one amongst them, known as paul the simple, it was revealed in a vision that thais was forgiven. he had, he reported, seen three angels guarding a beautiful bed, and a voice had told him it was reserved for thais the penitent. st. paphuntius was chosen to take the good news to the sufferer, but when her cell was opened, and she was told she was free to leave it, she replied that she had learnt to love it now, and would be content to die in it. she was, however, at last persuaded to leave it, but she died a few days afterwards in the convent to which she was taken. opinions are divided as to the manner of death of st. paphuntius himself. according to some, he died peacefully in the monastery he had founded, which before the end came numbered several hundred inmates. others assert that when the fierce persecution under diocletian broke out the holy man left the seclusion of the desert to preach the gospel in egypt and encourage the martyrs, himself falling a victim to the fury of the heathen, by whom he was crucified on a palm-tree, as represented in the greek menology and elsewhere. saints onuphrius and paphuntius are generally grouped together amongst the hermits, but the former is sometimes represented alone, as a very old man of emaciated appearance, with hair and beard of immense length, wearing a garment of palm leaves, and holding a staff in one hand, whilst in the other is a rosary, although he is scarcely likely to have owned that aid to devotion. occasionally, in allusion probably to his supposed royal birth, a crown and sceptre are lying at his feet. in the campo santo fresco at pisa the burial of st. onu phrius by st. paphuntius with the aid of the lions, the destruc tion of the cell by the earthquake, the visit from the beautiful woman, her death and her repentance after her restoration to life, are graphically rendered. very realistic also is a drawing in a manuscript translation into french of the ' golden legend ' preserved in one of the libraries of paris, representing the meet ing between the hermit and the musician, the latter holding a kind of hurdy-gurdy with five strings. the conversion of st. thais and her arrival with st. paphuntius opposite the cell in which she is to pass the rest of her life are the subjects of various quaint engravings in old collections of legends, in which saints abraham and mary 31 the penitent wears the dress of a nun, but is without the scroll bearing the words of her prayer, ' qui plasmati me, miserere mei,' which is her usual characteristic. the legend of st. abraham and his niece mary greatly resembles that of st. paphuntius and thais. st. abraham had, it is said, lived alone for many years in a desert of syria, when he learnt that the daughter of a brother who had recently died was leading an evil life in a neighbouring town. he therefore disguised himself in the uniform of an officer of the army and went to visit her. he was received by mary without any suspicion as to his real character, and when they were alone together he told her who he was, entreating her to repent for the sake of her immortal soul. after he had pleaded long with her, he succeeded in touching her heart, and she con sented to return with him to the desert, having first burnt all her finery. according to another account, the little mary had been con fided to st. abraham's care when she was only seven years old, and had lived near him in a cell of her own for thirteen years, seeing no one but her guardian, and spending all her time in prayer. she had grown up to be very lovely, and her lonely life had been a very poor preparation for resisting the sudden temp tation which overtook her when she was twenty years old. a young hermit had come to consult her uncle in some difficulty, and had peeped through the window of mary's cell. the sight of the girl kneeling, with her beautiful eyes upraised in rapt devotion, astonished him. he spoke to her, and she, suspect ing no evil, answered him frankly. this was the beginning of a romance which had a terribly tragic ending. the young hermit, forgetting all his vows, came again and again, nominally to see st. abraham, but really to court his niece. mary learnt to love him, and finally ran away with him. a brief time of guilty happiness was suc ceeded by terrible remorse. either she left her lover or he deserted her; in any case, she presently found herself utterly alone in the wilderness, and, falling on her face, she lay moan ing in her despair, crying that for her there was no hope left ; shame must henceforth be her only portion. meanwhile st. abraham, who appears to have been singularly blind to what had been going on, was greatly grieved at the loss of the girl committed to his charge, and prayed daily to 32 the saints in christian art god to restore her to him. on two successive nights he dreamt that he saw a dragon devouring a white dove, and each time he rescued the bird by treading on the head of the evil beast. he then held the wounded dove tenderly against his breast ; it revived and flew up to heaven, where it was received out of his sight. feeling sure that these dreams were an answer to his prayers, and that the bird typified the soul of the lost one, the old man set forth to seek her, and after wandering about for many days he found her almost at the point of death. he raised her from the ground, told her he knew and forgave all, even as god would forgive if she truly turned to him again with her whole heart. st. abraham then led her back to her cell, where she lived for several years after the death of her uncle. the fame of her sanctity spread far and wide, so that many flocked to her for advice, and she healed them all from their diseases, whether physical or mental. saints abraham and mary are generally represented in two cells side by side. their return home is the subject of a fine old engraving, wrongly attributed to albert dtirer, and still very popular in germany, in which the old man is seen leading an ass, on which the penitent girl is seated, hiding her face in her hands. in two of his landscapes philippe de champagne introduced scenes from the legend of st. mary: in one the visit of the young hermit to her is shown, whilst in the other she is back in her cell after her sad experiences, and crowds of pilgrims are bringing patients on litters to seek her advice. little is really known of st. zosimus, and it is probable that but for the accident of his discovery of st. mary the egyptian he 'would have been almost forgotten. he had, it is said, been abbot of one monastery in palestine for forty-three years, when he received instructions in a dream to seek another home beyond the jordan. he obeyed, and in the course of his wanderings he suddenly came upon a strange figure which he at first took for some holy hermit, but on nearer approach found to be a woman. some say her long hair completely covered her, so that she needed no other garment, others that her white hair was cut short, and that she cried to the intruder, ' abbot zosimus, throw me your mantle to cover me before you come nearer.' surprised that his name was saints mary and zosimus 33 known to one he had never seen before, the holy man did as he was requested ; the woman wrapped herself in the garment, and, coming near to him, told him that his coming had been miraculously foretold to her. he begged her to explain her presence in the desert, and with some reluctance she told him her sad story. she had, she said, lived an evil hfe for seven teen years, and had been brought to repentance by a remark able occurrence. hearing that a number of pilgrims were on their way to jerusalem to celebrate the feast of the exaltation of the cross of christ, she decided to go too, not with any idea of worship, but for the sake of the change and excitement. arrived at the holy city, mary went with the rest of the crowds to the church where the ceremony was to take place, but when she tried to enter it she found herself unable to do so. she returned again and again to the porch, but whenever she attempted to cross its threshold some invisible power held her back. convinced at last that the cause of her difficulty was her own sin, she smote upon her breast and earnestly besought forgiveness. no answer came at first, but, looking up, the penitent woman saw an image of the blessed virgin, who seemed to look at her with eyes of yearning love. beseeching the holy mother of god to intercede for her, she prayed yet more fervently, promising to sin no more if she might only be allowed to enter the sacred building. this time her petition was heard : she found herself able to go into the church, and, prostrating herself before the holy cross, she vowed hence forth to lead a life of lonely penitence in the desert. as she was about to rise, she heard a voice bidding her go beyond the jordan, for there she would find rest and comfort, and she started at once on the journey, lingering in jerusalem only long enough to return thanks before the shrine of the blessed virgin, to whom she felt she owed her fdrgiveness, and to buy three loaves of bread. this, she added, was forty-seven years ago, and since then she had exchanged no word with any human creature, and had lived entirely on the three loaves she had brought with her, supplemented by the few wild berries to be found in the wilderness. when her story was told, st. zosimus asked her what she wished him to do; and she begged him to leave her now, keep silence for a year, and then return to give her the holy com munion before her death, which she knew would take place in vol. ii. 3 34 the saints in christian art another two years. st. zosimus was to bring the sacred elements to the further side of the jordan on holy thursday, and there await her coming. he promised to do as she asked, and when he had prayed with her, he resumed his interrupted journey, full of wonder at all that he had heard and seen. a year later st. zosimus returned to keep his appointment with st. mary, and arrived on the banks of the jordan, he there awaited her coming. the river was at that time in full flood, and st. zosimus wondered greatly how the penitent would cross it, but he waited patiently for some hours, and just as night was falling he saw her approaching from the other side. without a moment's pause she walked across the river as if it had been dry land, and, falhng on her knees before the holy man, she begged him to hear her confession. he did so, and when she had received the holy communion with the deepest reverence, she bade him farewell, telling him to come at the tame time the following year to the spot where he had first met her, to bury her body, which he would find awaiting him. st. zosimus, who was now an old man, doubted much whether he would survive st. mary, but she would not listen to any doubts on that point, and he promised if he were still alive to do as she requested. the next year he duly kept his appointment, and found the saint lying dead on the ground, her features wearing an expression of deep peace and her hands folded across her breast. beside her in the sand was written, ' oh father zosimus, bury the body of the poor sinner mary of egypt ! give earth to earth and dust to dust for christ's sake.' the holy man, who had not had the forethought to bring a spade with him, was looking about for something with which to dig a grave, when a lion came out of a little wood hard by and proceeded to do the work with his paws. he then helped st. zosimus to bury the body, remained looking on whilst the holy man repeated the burial service, and then quietly withdrew. st. zosimus returned to his convent and told the monks of the wonders he had seen. before his death he wrote down full particulars of his interviews with st. mary, who was henceforth greatly venerated in the church. st. mary of egypt, is sometimes associated in art with an image of the blessed virgin, in allusion to the cause of her saints mary and zosimus 35 conversion, and occasionally, as on the seal of the recollet monastery at dunkirk, of which she is patron, she is repre sented holding three loaves of bread in her hand, in memory of those she took with her to the desert. now and then the penitent of egypt appears in devotional pictures, as in an engraving by israel von meckenen opposite to st. mary magdalene, her lean, emaciated figure and careworn face contrasting forcibly with the youthful beauty of her namesake. in one of the rooms of ii bargello, originally a chapel, and later a prison, now the museo nationale of florence, are some much-defaced frescoes of the lives of saints mary of egypt and mary magdalene, and in the church of s. pietro al p6 cremona, where some of the relics of st. mary of egypt are said to be preserved, is a painting by the little known malosso, representing the saint in all her worldly finery, trying in vain to enter the church at jerusalem. the first meeting between st. mary and the hermit is the subject of a celebrated picture by ribera, in which she appears as an old woman with short white hair, clothed in rags, and in another work from the same great hand, she is seen crossing the jordan with the aid of angels, whilst st. zosimus awaits her coming on his knees. the modern frescoes of the church of st. merri in paris include four scenes from the life of st. mary the egyptian, and her legend is very constantly introduced in stained glass windows, especially in france. in those of the cathedrals of chartres and bourges the meeting between st. zosimus and the penitent, with her burial with the aid of the lion, are very graphically rendered, and in the cathedral of auxerre is a large window, of which, unfortunately, six medallions are missing, which when uninjured, told the whole story from the conversion at jerusalem and the buying of the loaves, to the carrying of the soul of the saint to heaven by angels. of the remaining scenes the central medallion and that above are specially interesting. in the former st. mary receives the communion standing, and a hand issuing from a cloud above the head of st. zosimus is pointing at her. in the latter the lion, who stands on his hind-legs, holds the head of the dead saint tenderly and reverently against his shoulder, as he aids st. zosimus to place the body in the grave. the story of st. julian the hospitable, who is still greatly honoured in italy and france, is more like a homeric than a 3—2 35 the saints in christian art christian legend, and its hero has been likened, not without reason, to the greek cedipus, driven as he was by irresistible fate to commit crimes altogether hostile to his own nature. the nationality of st. julian is unknown, but he is supposed to have been of noble birth, and to have been living happily with his parents, to whom he was devoted, when a strange incident occurred, which led him to leave home and become a wanderer on the face of the earth. one day, when he was hunting a stag in the forest near his father's castle, the poor creature suddenly turned to him and said, in a voice like that of a man : ' why dost thou, who art to be the murderer of thine own father and mother, seek to kill me also ?' astonished and terrified, julian begged the stag to explain the meaning of this awful prophecy, but the animal merely bounded away, leaving him to solve the mystery as best he could. never for a moment doubting that the revelation made to him was a genuine and supernatural one, the young man did not dare to return home, but went forth alone to seek his fortunes far away, hoping thus to elude his terrible fate. in course of time he arrived in a country whose king, a noble and generous prince, took a great fancy to him, and gave him an important post at court. st. julian served his master faith fully, married a beautiful woman named basilassa, and in his new life gradually forgot the danger which threatened him. fate was not, however, to be thus eluded ; his broken-hearted parents, who had sought him far and near, in their turn came to the town in which he was, and asked for shelter at his house during his temporary absence. with the ready hospi tality of the time, basilassa received them kindly, questioned them as to the reason for their journey, and to her delight discovered that her husband was their son. after a good meal the happy parents were taken by basilassa, who could not do them honour enough, to her own apartments, which she placed at their disposal, herself withdrawing to a small room in another part of the castle. early the next morning she went, as was her custom, to church, full of happy thoughts of the pleasant surprise awaiting her husband on his return, and little dreaming of the tragedy which had even then taken place. during the night st. julian had returned unexpectedly, and, going straight to the room he generally shared with his wife, saints julian and basilassa 37 expecting to find her alone, he was astonished to see a bearded man in his own place. in the dim light he failed to notice that the woman beside the stranger was not basilassa, and in his jealous rage he drew his sword and slew both the sleepers. with his hands still stained with blood, and despair in his heart, the murderer was rushing out of his desecrated home, when he met his wife returning from her devotions. she came eagerly forward to tell him the good news of the arrival of his parents, but he started back, crying in a voice of anguish, 'who, then, was the woman in thy bed?' when he heard the truth, the unhappy man wept bitterly, and told basilassa that he was no longer worthy to be her husband, for that god had evidently forsaken him. she tried to comfort him, and now for the first time learnt the reason of his flight from home. true woman that she was, the awful truth only bound her the more closely to the victim of fate. when st. julian said he would release her from her vows and go forth to a life of penance alone, she refused to forsake him, and the two departed together from their home, leaving behind them all their wealth. _ after many days' wandering the travellers came to a great river, where many had perished miserably in trying to cross over to the other side. they were seeking for a ford, when it was revealed to st. julian that god willed he should remain where he was, to aid those who were in peril, and he therefore built two huts, one for himself and one for basilassa. later he added to these shelters a larger one for poor travellers, and for many years he and his wife spent all their time ministering to the needs of pilgrims, st. julian ferrying, without fee, all who wished to cross over the river, and basilassa tending those who needed nursing and care in the hospital. one terrible night, when so great a storm was raging that st. julian had felt sure his services would not be needed, he heard a voice calling to him from the other side of the swollen river, and without a moment's hesitation he launched his boat to obey the summons. having got safely across, he found a young man awaiting him who was in a terribly loathsome state from leprosy, and was apparently almost dying of exhaustion. nothing daunted, st. julian carried him to the ferry-boat, and, having with great difficulty made the passage, laid him on his own bed. 38 the saints in christian art the wounds of the sufferer were tenderly dressed by basilassa, and the devoted husband and wife watched beside him till the morning. when daylight came, they were sur prised to see that their patient appeared to be perfectly restored to health, and as they watched him a glory shone round about him, dazzling their eyes, and convincing them that some great marvel was taking place. then the leper, whose face was now as that of an angel, said to julian : ' the lord hath sent me to tell thee that thy penance is accepted and thy rest is at hand.' the next moment the heavenly visitant, who some say was christ himself, disappeared, and a few days afterwards st. julian and his wife passed peacefully away, thanking god for all his mercies. in a spanish version of this touching story, the fatality by which the family of st. julian was so relentlessly pursued is to some extent explained as the result of the sins of his parents, who eloped with each other in early youth. the little julian was their illegitimate child, and he was but fifteen when the terrible prophecy drove him from home. lope de vega's tragedy ' el animal profeta ' is founded on the st. julian legend, but it does not include the leper incident. st. julian, who is much honoured in italy as san giuliano ospitale, and in france as st. julien i'hospitalier or juhen le pauvre, is the patron saint of travellers, ferrymen, and boatmen, and is also appealed to for aid by the thatchers of li6ge — why it is difficult to understand — and by jugglers, stroll ing players — hence the mask sometimes introduced at his feet — musicians, quack doctors, and shepherds, probably because they all wander about a good deal in the exercise of their professions. travellers in difficulties say a paternoster in honour of st. julian, and in olden times there were many wayside hospices, where the mention of the saint's name was enough to secure to the wanderer food and shelter for three days and nights. indeed, there is still, or was until quite recently, such a shelter at antwerp. st. julian is generally represented in art as a handsome young man, sometimes in the ornate costume of a mediaeval courtier, but more often in the simple robe of a hermit. he holds a hunting-horn, boat or oar in one hand, and a stag is often introduced beside him, whilst in the background is seen a river with a ferry-boat, to distinguish him from st. saints julian and basilassa 39 hubert, whose attributes are similiar to his. the whole story of his chequered career is graphically told in many stained glass windows in french churches, notably in one in the cathedral of chartres, and in another in that of rouen, the latter presented by the bateliers of that town in the fourteenth century. in the quaint old church of st. julien le pauvre in paris, there used to be an interesting bas-relief, representing the husband and wife crossing the water with jesus christ himself, whom they have mistaken for a leper ; in the pitti gallery, florence, there is a fine composition by auori, called the ' hospitality of st. julian,' in which the hermit, a man in the prime of life, with a long beard, is supporting the fainting leper in his arms, whilst in the distance st. basilassa is holding up a light to guide some pilgrims to the riverside hospice ; and in the brussels gallery is a painting of doubtful authorship of the ascension to heaven in a blaze of glory of the supposed leper, with saints julian and basilassa prostrating themselves on the ground in wondering awe. in england some few churches are dedicated to st. julian the hospitable, including one at southampton, originally founded in the thirteenth century by twin .brothers named gervasius and protasius after the well known martyrs ; and another at wellow in somerset, contain ing a modern stained-glass window representing the saint as a ferryman, his oar in his hand. chapter iv martyred churchmen of the fourth century great as had been the rage of the heathen against the christians in the third century, it became even more intense in the first part of the fourth, and until the conversion of constantine at last gave peace to the long-suffering church, the number of martyrs who gladly laid down their lives rather than deny their lord was daily on the increase. it is ever darkest ■before the dawn, and even after the issue of the edict of milan, granting civil rights and liberty of conscience to the christians 40 the saints in christian art throughout the empire, death was often inflicted in outlying districts by those in authority, who had not yet accepted the principles of toleration. true, many, as has been seen in the preceding chapters of this volume, withdrew to the desert, where they were able to serve god in their own way un molested, but to leave their posts was impossible to the greater number of the christians, and it was the clergy, true vicars of their flocks, who bore the brunt of the persecution under diocletian. one of the first to suffer in the fourth century was st. erasmus, called by the italians s. elmo, and by the french st. elme, about whom next to nothing is really known, though many quaint and touching legends have gathered about his memory. he is supposed to have been a bishop, though of what see is not stated, and after long years of work for his flock, to have withdrawn to the solitudes of mount lebanon, where he was miraculously fed by a raven. according to another version of his legend, he was imprisoned somewhere in palestine for his zeal in preaching the faith, and rescued by the archangel michael, who suddenly appeared to him, saying : ' arise, eras mus, and follow me, for thou shalt yet convert many to christ!' the bishop of course obeyed, and was taken by his guide to the coast, where the two embarked and sailed to the coast of campania. there they landed and the angel left erasmus, telling him to resume his work as a teacher. the bishop, after fulfilling the prophecy that he should convert many, was arrested by order of diocletian at formia, now mola di gaeta, and subjected to terrible tortures, which he bore with un flinching courage. he was, it is said, put into red-hot armour, flung into a caldron of molten lead, pitch, and resin, and cut open, after which, with revolting refinement of cruelty, his entrails were wound by his executioners upon a kind of wheel. for the last detail there seems, however, to be absolutely no foundation in fact, and the capstan-like implement, with its coil of rope, generally associated with st. erasmus, which is, as a rule, explained by reference to the manner of his death, is by the latest authorities supposed to be merely an allusion to his being the patron of sailors. st. erasmus is one of the fourteen auxiliary saints specially honoured in germany, but in the various missals in which' his legend is related, there is no allusion to the horrible saints erasmus and januarius 41 martyrdom he is said to have suffered, though the incident of the raven is usually introduced. in the silk-producing dis tricts of france the martyred bishop is invoked by those suffering from colic or other ailments of the stomach, and it is customary for children to offer him skeins of silk on his fste day, probably because the wooden winder used by the weavers resembles the implement associated with him. st. erasmus is generally represented, as in the chronicle of nuremberg, wearing the mitre and robes of a bishop, with his staff in one hand and his capstan or windlass in the other. an angel sometimes stands beside or behind him and a raven is on the ground at his feet. pictures or sculptures of his martyrdom are rare, but in an old stained-glass window in the church of st. botolph, luuingstone, he is seen lying on the ground beneath a windlass, on to which his entrails are being wound, and above the altar dedicated to him in st. peter's, rome, is a fine mosaic rendering of the final scene of his martyrdom, after a design by nicholas poussin. there was also at one time a statue of st. erasmus in st. martin's church, canterbury, where it was placed opposite to one of st. christopher. another celebrated bishop who suffered martyrdom early in the fourth century was st. januarius, some say of naples, others of benevento, who, after many years of fruitful work, was arrested and thrown into prison at pozzuolo, whence he was dragged without trial to the amphitheatre of that city to be devoured by wild beasts. they, however, refused to harm him, and he was therefore condemned to be beheaded. it is related that, as he was being led to execution, he was asked by an old man to give him something to remember him by, to which he replied that he had nothing left but a handkerchief, and that he needed to bind his eyes with. seeing the old man's disappointment, he then added, ' but you shall have it when i am gone.' after the head of the martyr was struck off, the executioner said in a mocking voice, as he tore off the handker chief and flung it on the ground, ' how about your promise ?' on his return to the town, however, the scoffer met the old man again, and, lo ! he held in his hand the very blood stained handkerchief which had been left at the place of execution. the body of st. januarius was taken to naples and reve 42 the saints in christian art rently buried there. it was later removed, first to benevento, and then to monte vergine, but it now rests in a beautiful shrine beneath the high altar of the cathedral of naples, which is dedicated to the saint. the head and two phials con taining some of the martyr's blood are preserved apart from the rest of the remains, in the cappella del tesoro. the blood is said to become liquid at certain times, and a great festival is held in honour of the saint at naples on these occa sions, when the blood is carried in an ornate shrine round the city. the distinctive attributes of st. januarius in art are two phials containing globules of blood, either held in his hand or placed at his feet. the cappella del tesoro in the cathedral of naples owns in addition to a fine fourteenth-century bust of the martyr, and a silver relief depicting the return of the body of the saint to naples after its temporary absence, several paintings on copper and frescoes by domenichino, guido reni and lanfranco, representing the martyrdom of st. janu arius, the miracle of the raising of a young man from the dead said to have been performed by him, with various wonders wrought at his shrine. in the cappella del capece galeota in the same cathedral is a fifteenth-century painting, in which st. januarius is on one side of christ and st. athanasius on the other ; and in the quaint old seventh-century church of s. restituta is a very ancient mosaic of the virgin, with st. januarius on one side and st. restituta on the other, whilst on one of the walls is a bas-relief, which originally formed part of an altarscreen, in which the figure of st. januarius with his phials is introduced. st. blaise, a very popular saint in england, france and germany, who is generally placed side by side with st. erasmus amongst the auxiliary saints, was bishop of sebaste, and was driven by the persecution under diocletian, to flee to a lonely mountain for safety. there he is said to have lived unmolested for some years, visited in secret by numbers of his flock, and beloved by all the wild animals, who used to come from far and near to gather about his cave, outside which they waited patiently every morning until he dismissed them with his blessing. the discovery of his retreat by the roman authori ties was due to an accident. the supply of wild beasts for the games in the amphitheatre was running short, and the st. blaise 43 governor of sebaste sent hunters to make up the deficiency. these hunters found the holy bishop sitting outside his cave, with a crowd of hons, tigers, and other animals, in cluding such timid creatures as deer, gathered about him, apparently listening reverently to what he was saying. pre sently one or another of his dumb friends came close up to him to have some wound attended to, and the hunters looked on in ever-increasing astonishment. their surprise did not, however, prevent them from taking the holy man prisoner, for when the animals had dispersed st. blaise was dragged back to sebaste to be tried. on his way thither he met a poor woman who was going to the bishop's cave to seek help for her boy, who had swallowed a fish-bone. seeing the prisoner amongst his captors, she flung herself at his feet, crying, ' oh, servant of christ, have mercy upon me !' and st. blaise touched the throat of the sufferer, who was at once cured. a little later another woman appealed to the bishop for help : a wolf had carried off her pig, and was even then disappearing with it in the distance. st. blaise at once called to the wolf to restore the stolen prey, and he was obeyed; the hunters feeling more and more that he whom they had captured was of greater value than any previous quarry. on their arrival at sebaste, they told the governor all that had happened, but he, instead of being convinced of the holiness of st. blaise, looked upon him as a magician, and determined to destroy him. he ordered him to be first scourged, and then to have his flesh torn with an iron comb ; but nothing shook the constancy of the martyr, and after enduring many other tortures he was finally beheaded; a number of christian women wiping up his blood after his death. the characteristics of st. blaise in art are numerous, and some of them difficult of explanation. generally, as on a leaden medal found in the seine, now in the cluny museum, in which he is grouped with st. louis of france, he holds what looks like a rake in one hand. more rarely he has two candles, or, as in a quaint old drawing preserved at aix-ia chapelle, he has a rolled candle in his left hand, this emblem being supposed to refer to his having said to a woman who brought him food and light in his cave : ' offer a candle to your church every year in memory of me, and all shall be well 44 the saints in christian art with you and yours.' sometimes, as in the coinage of ragusa, of which city st. blaise is patron, he holds a church in his hand, and in certain old calendars his fste-day, february 3, is marked with a horn, in allusion, probably, to his familiarity with wild animals, though he never hunted them. for many years it was the custom in the british isles to light huge bon fires, called blazes after st. blaise, on february 3, and it was supposed that even the wild animals celebrated the occasion by flocking forth to look at the flames. st. blaise is invoked by all who suffer from diseases of the throat, and on the eve of his ffete-day two candles are in certain districts blessed by the priest, who touches with them the throats of all who come to him for the purpose, saying : ' by the prayers and merits of st. blaise, may god deliver thee from all sufferings in the throat.' it is related of st. francis that he used this formula when patients came to him to be healed of throat diseases, and that he was annoyed when the cure was attributed to his own powers. st. blaise is the patron saint of weavers and wool-carders, because of the resemblance of the combs they use to one of the instruments of torture associated with him, and he is specially honoured in yorkshire, where he is credited with having invented wool-combing. he is also invoked by hewers of stone, perhaps because his iron comb was not altogether unlike a chisel. he is the protector of all in danger from wild beasts, and, on account of the incident related above, is sup posed to take a great interest in pigs. he is often represented, as in some windows at chartres, with wild animals gathered about him, or he is seen ordering a wolf to give up a pig, or touching the throat of a child. the beloved bishop appears sometimes in devotional pictures with his emblems beside him, as in a beautiful ' madonna and child ' by a pupil of pinturicchio in the uffizi gallery, florence, in which he is opposite to st. bartholomew. there is a fine painting of his martrydom by carlo maratta in s. maria in carignano at genoa, and the same subject has been painted by the little-known artist monsignori of verona. three other martyred bishops of the third century, who, however, suffered after the christian religion had become that of the state, were st. gaudenzio of rimini, whose effigy appears in the early coinage of that city, but of whom little is known st. donato 45 beyond the fact that he was stoned to death by the arian heretics, st. donato of arezzo, who is greatly venerated in belgium as well as in italy, and st. ansano of siena. st. donato is said to have been of noble roman birth, and to have been brought up with the emperor julian, who, as is well known, renounced the christian faith before his accession to the throne, although he did not avow his apostasy until he had reigned for some years. having lost his father, and finding rome no longer a safe place for christians, st. donato fled to arezzo, where in course of time he became bishop, winning a great reputation for sanctity, healing the sick by his prayers, and even sometimes raising the dead. amongst the miracles said to have been performed by him, was the rescue of a tax-gatherer falsely suspected of making away with the public funds. the supposed thief appealed to the bishop, explaining to him that he had given the money to his wife, who had buried it in a secret place, but had died without telling him where to find it. st. donato at once went to the tomb with the widower, and, after praying earnestly for help from on high, called to the dead woman to tell him where the treasure was concealed ; she rephed immediately, and the money was refcovered. on another occasion, when the bishop was administering the holy communion, the chalice he held in his hand was broken by some heathen who were bent on disturbing the service ; but the holy man, not one whit dismayed, prayed that the sacrilegious deed might be neutralized, and the cup was mended at once, not a drop of the wine having been spilt. the great influence acquired by st. donato over the people of arezzo aroused the jealousy of the heathen authorities, and although nominally toleration of all religions was still the policy of the state, the bishop was arrested with a com panion named hilarion, and both were condemned to death, the former to be beaten with clubs till life was extinct, the latter to be beheaded. the bodies were buried together where the cathedral of arezzo now stands, the high altar of which is adorned with fine sculptures by giovanni da pisano, repre senting scenes from the life of st. donato, whilst on the walls are pictures by different masters of similar subjects, including the martyrdom. the chief characteristic of st. donato in art is a chalice 46 the saints in christian art held in one hand, and he appears with it on certain ancient coins of arezzo, but he also sometimes holds a sword, the symbol of his martyrdom. he is introduced in a celebrated picture by jan van eyck, now in the museum of bruges, in which he stands on one side of the mother and child, and st. george on the other ; in a ' madonna and saints ' by luca signorelli in the arezzo gallery, he is in a place of honour opposite st. stephen, and jacques callot has painted him reading in a cave, to which he used to retire for meditation. the legend of st. ansano of siena greatly resembles that of st. erasmus, for he is said to have been tortured to death, after a vain attempt to burn him, by having his heart and entrails cut out, for which reason he is sometimes represented holding a bleeding heart in his hand. more often, as in a beautiful painting by sodoma, now in the palazzo pubbhco at siena, and in a group of sculpture in the cathedral of the same city, the patron saint is seen baptizing his converts. the general opinion is that he was beheaded for his zeal in propagating the christian faith. with the bishops who in the fourth century laid down their lives for the faith may be named the priest st. lucien of antioch, who suffered in 303, of whom it is related that, when left in prison to die of starvation because he would not deny his lord, he begged on the eve of his death enough bread for a farewell administration of the sacrament to his friends. his request was granted, and having no altar on which to place the sacred food, he used his own breast, thus exercising at once the office of priest and victim. he died the next day, and his body was thrown into the sea with a stone round the neck ; but a friendly dolphin is said to have taken it to the shores of bithynia, where it was reverently interred by the christians of that district. on account of these two details of his legend, st. lucien is represented in art, consecrating the bread as described above, or with a dolphin beside him. he is sometimes confounded with st. lucien of beauvais, who was beheaded a year or two before the death of his namesake, and is one of the saints represented holding their own heads in their hands. another early martyr of the fourth century was the fellow townsman of st. lucien, st. cyprian of antioch, who, on account of his name being the same as that of the celebrated [a/rzzo gallery madonna and child, with st. donato, st. nicholas, and other saints by luca signorelli to face p. 46 st. cyprian of antioch 47 bishop of carthage, rarely receives the honour really due to him. st. cyprian of antioch was a famous magician to whom resorted many lovers who wished to secure the return of their affections. amongst his clients was a young heathen of noble birth who was attached to a beautiful maiden named justina. she, being a christian, rejected all her suitors, declaring her intention to dedicate her life to god. the magician tried all the usual spells in vain, and was at last, it is related, informed by the devil himself that even he could do nothing against those who put their trust in the god of the christians. this was indeed a revelation to cyprian, who determined to inquire further about the god whose power was greater than that of the prince of evil. he therefore attended several christian services, and was in the end converted to the true faith. according to some, he became first a priest and then bishop of antioch ; whilst others speak of him as a layman only. in any case, it seems certain that he was martyred, and it is sup posed that he suffered at the same time as st. justina, with whom he is generally associated, both having been be headed at damascus, after being scourged and torn with iron hooks. their relics are said to be preserved in s. giovanni in laterano at rome, and they are sometimes introduced amongst other martyred saints in sacred pictures, st. cyprian with the devil fleeing from him, and with a sword in his hand ; st. justina holding a little cross, in allusion to her victory over temptation through her faith in the crucified, or she is reading and holds a lily, the symbol of purity, in one hand. sometimes saints cyprian and justina are grouped with a third figure, that of st. theoctistus, a convert to chris tianity, who, having come to the place of execution to bid farewell to st. cyprian, was compelled to share his fate. examples occur of the association of a unicorn with st. justina, as in a painting attributed to giorgione in the possession of herr von kauffmann at berlin. this emblem, which has greatly puzzled the students of christian symbolism, is now generally supposed to typify indomitable strength of will, especially that of a young girl, who, sustained by faith, is able to overcome all her trials. worthy, in spite of his humble position in the church, to take rank in the noble army of martyrs with such men as bishops blaise, gaudenzio and donato, was the young deacon 48 the saints in christian art vincent of saragossa, surnamed the invincible, who in the time of the terrible persecution under diocletian, distinguished himself by the zeal with which he ministered to the suffering christians. he was only twenty years old when he was arrested with valerius, the aged bishop of saragossa, and taken before the proconsul, dacian, who excelled all the agents of the emperor in his love of cruelty. it is related that when valerius answered the questions put to him in the low, trembling voice of old age, the young vincent burst out with the words : ' how is this, my father ? canst thou not speak aloud and defy this heathen dog ? speak, that all the world may hear, or suffer me, who am only thy servant, to speak in thy stead.' the bishop gave him leave, and the young man then poured forth a perfect torrent of eloquence, declaring himself ready, nay, eager, to suffer all things for the cause of christ. dacian was only too glad to take him at his word ; the old bishop was merely banished from saragossa, but vincent was subjected to all the tortures it was still the custom in spain to inflict upon apostates from heathenism. his body was torn with iron implements, he was half roasted on a large gridiron above a slow fire, and then, bleeding and blistered, was taken back to prison, where he was laid on the ground upon broken glass and pottery. angels, however, came and ministered to him, and dacian, fearing that his victim would after all pass away with his spirit unbroken, sent orders that his friends should be allowed to visit him, in the hope that they might save his life for further sufferings. his wounds were bound up, and he was laid upon a soft bed strewn with roses, but it was too late : he died with a smile of triumph on his lips, and his soul was taken up to heaven by angels, in the presence of those who were left to mourn his loss. by order of the proconsul the body of st. vincent was flung into a marsh outside the city, to be devoured by wild beasts; but, adds the legend, a raven came and protected it from injury, driving off all who approached it. it was then sewn up in a sack and taken out to sea, where it was flung overboard with a millstone attached to it, but when the sailors got back to land, the body was found lying on the beach in perfect preservation. there it was left, and the friendly waves soon accomplished what man had failed to do, alinari 'photo\ [palazzo fuhblico, siena st. ansano by sodoma to fact p. 48 st. vincent 49 burying it beneath the sand, as they do all things left to their ministrations. many years afterwards the sacred remains were discovered by some christians, who took them to valencia, where they were re-interred with all due reverence. in the eighth century, when the moors drove the christians out of spain, the latter took the body of the young martyr with them, and being driven by contrary winds on to the promontory now know as cape st. vincent, they buried it there. here it is said the grave was guarded by numerous ravens, who kept watch over it day and night, their devotion being com memorated in the name of el monte de las cuervas, given to the place by the spanish. in the twelfth century alonzo i. of portugal had the relics removed to lisbon, where they found a final resting-place in the cathedral. a pair of ravens accompanied the ship in which the body was taken down the coast ; the birds were looked upon as sacred, no one was allowed to molest them, and their numerous descendants have ever since been fed by the chapter of lisbon, to whom a yearly allowance is given for their support. the attributes of st. vincent are as numerous as were his sufferings in life and the vicissitudes of his body after death. an angel is constantly introduced beside him ; he often holds a small boat or a millstone in his hands, both in allusion to the unsuccessful attempt to sink his remains at sea ; and he some times has a gridiron at his feet, but as this is the universally accepted emblem of st. lawrence, it is generally supplemented by other instruments of torture, such as iron hooks, etc. a raven is, however, his most persistent symbol ; now and then it is perched on a millstone, or it is driving off a wolf which is trying to attack the dead body of the saint. the coat-of-arms of lisbon consists of a boat on a stormy sea, with the figure of st. vincent on its mainmast, and two ravens, one on the prow, the other on the poop. the vinedressers of the south of france have chosen the young martyr as their patron, probably because the first syllable of his name means wine ; and he is sometimes represented, as in a leaden medal found in the seine, holding a pruning knife in his hand, or he has a vat beside him and is surrounded with the foliage of the vine. the sailors of spain and portugal appeal to st. vincent for aid in storms, and he is supposed to be able to recover lost property for his votaries. vol. ii. 4 50 the saints in christian art few saints are more popular on the continent of europe than st. vincent, whose name is met with at every turn in spain and portugal. he is the patron not only of valencia, saragossa and lisbon, but of chalons and saone and other french towns, of berne, magdeburg, and milan. the well known church of st. germain des pr6s in paris was originally dedicated to him, for, according to an unfounded tradition, part of his relics were once deposited there, a mistake explaining the occasional association in certain pictures, as in one by vien in the louvre, of st. germain of auxerre with the young deacon. scenes from the legend of st. vincent are of constant occur rence in the stained-glass windows of france, of which those in the cathedrals of chartres and bourges and the church of st. vincent at rouen are amongst the most interesting. in them the martyr is seen in his deacon's robes standing beside bishop valerius before the proconsul ; bound to his gridiron, or being torn with iron implements ; lying in prison with angels attending on him, and dying on a bed of roses. strange to say, paintings of incidents of the career of st. vincent are rare, probably because of the similarity of his legend to that of st. lawrence ; but there is a fine altar-piece by carpaccio, in which the young deacon is the principal figure, in the church of ss. giovanni e paolo at venice, and in the predella beneath are scenes from his life. he is also introduced in many devotional pictures, notably in one by pietro pollajuolo in the ufiizi gallery, florence, in which he is on one side of st. james the elder, and st. eustace on the other. there is a sculptured figure of the young deacon in henry vii.'s chapel at westminster, and he is also introduced above the southern porch of the cathedral of chartres. a more or less apocryphal bishop of the fourth century was st. narcissus of girona in catalonia, who is said to have evangelized the whole of that province, to have slain a dragon which had devoured all who attempted to draw water at a certain spring, and to have been in the end assassinated in his own church when saying mass. st. narcissus, who for some unexplained reason is greatly honoured at augsburg, is sometimes represented holding a bunch of narcissi in his hand, in allusion, of course, to his name. spanish artists have shown a great predilection for a remarkable incident said to have occurred at his tomb in 1286, when, in response to the prayers st. alban 51 of his votaries, a great swarm of venomous flies revenged the sacrilege committed by the soldiers of charles of valois in the churches of girona. in certain old engravings the flies are seen issuing from the effigy of the saint, who is represented as a beardless young man wearing the bishop's mitre and robes, with his feet resting on the hilt of a sword, the supposed instrument of his martyrdom. chapter v martyred citizens of the fourth century amongst martyrs of the fourth century who held no definite rank in the church on earth, yet have been admitted into the great hierarchy of martyrs, few are more celebrated than st. alban, who was the first to lay down his life for the truth in the british isles, and is almost as much venerated in france as in england, st. germanus of auxerre having, it is said, taken part of his relics to paris in the fifth century. the main facts of the life of st. alban are well authenticated, and even for some of the quaint legends related of him there seems to have been some slight foundation in fact. born at verulam, close to the site of the town now named after him, he was of noble saxon birth, and skilled in all the learning of the heathen. the christian religion had, as is now generally believed, been introduced into britain as early as the second century, but, fortunately, the island was too distant from rome to share in the persecutions to which so many fell victims elsewhere in the early days of the church. the close of the third century was, however, marked by a great increase of zeal against the christians, and the imperial edicts concerning them began to be put into force even in the most remote districts. one day a young priest named amphiphalus, fleeing from those sent to arrest him, took refuge in the house of st. alban, who hid and sheltered him for several weeks, during which the host was converted by his guest, the two becoming close friends. presently the place of concealment of the fugitive was discovered, and roman soldiers came to take him prisoner, but st. alban changed clothes with him, and was 4—2 52 the saints in christian art dragged before the magistrate in his stead, wearing the long priestly garment called a caracalla. when the deception was discovered, the indignation of the accusers was very great, and st. alban was told that he must prove that he did not share his friend's apostasy by betraying his hiding-place and sacri ficing to the gods, or he would himself be put to death. to this the gallant young briton replied that he was a christian, a worshipper of the one true and living god, the creator of all things, adding that the sacrifices offered by the heathen were really made to devils, who could give no aid to their wor shippers. every effort to make him retract was in vain, and he was condemned to be first scourged and then beheaded outside the city. the excitement caused by this sentence was intense and wide-spread, for st. alban was greatly beloved in verulam, and an immense multitude flocked out of the city to see him die. it is related that the crowds were so great that the bridge over the river became blocked, so that the soldiers with their prisoner could not pass it, but st. alban, kneeling down on the bank, prayed that a passage might be provided. the waters at once parted, so that all could pass over dry-shod, and the executioner, who was walking beside his intended victim, was so astonished at the miracle that he flung his sword at st. alban's feet, declaring he could not use it against one so evidently under the protection of god, artd begging to be allowed to die in his stead. the new convert was dragged away by the soldiers, and another executioner was chosen, but he, too, was very reluctant to perform his office. just before the end a second wonder was performed, for st. alban prayed aloud that some sign might be given of the truth of the religion for which he was about to die. immediately a spring of pure water gushed forth at his feet, and having drunk from it, he told the executioner he was ready, bending his head for the blow. with trembling hands the man did his duty, but directly the martyr was dead he, too, declared himself a christian, and was in his turn beheaded with the soldier who had refused to kill the saint. according to one version of the legend, the eyes of the executioner fell out as his sword descended upon the neck of the saintly victim, but for this gruesome detail there seems to be absolutely no foundation. st. alban is supposed to have been buried where he fell, and saints cosmas and damianus 53 some historians, including bede, speak of a noble church mark ing the scene of his sufferings, but all trace of it had disappeared when the place where the bones of the martyr were interred was revealed in a dream to king offa of mercia. the king caused a search to be made, and the remains were found inclosed in a plain wooden coffin. king offa then ordered a rich shrine to be made for the sacred relics, and founded a great benedic tine monastery in memory of the saint, the church of which, in spite of all the vicissitudes it has undergone, is still one of the finest norman buildings in england. of the actual shrine given by the saxon monarch nothing now remains, but a marble slab marks the spot in the abbey where the bones of the martyr are said to rest. representations of st. alban are of rare occurrence, but he sometimes appears amongst the martyrs with a small fountain gushing up at his feet ; on a brass commemorative of abbot delamere at st. albans he is introduced holding a long-hilted cross in one hand and a sword in the other, and in a church dedicated to him and st. martin at cologne he is represented carrying his own head. contemporary with st. alban of england were the two young arabian doctors, cosmas and damianus, who are honoured alike in the eastern and western churches as ' silverless doctors,' or healers who took no fees. they are said to have been brought up as christians by their mother, and to have early become celebrated for their great skill in medicine. in heriting a good income from their father, who died when they were children, they never took any payment for their services, for which reason the greeks gave them the honourable title of 01 dytoi avapyvpoi, or the unmercenary. they were living happily in the city of egsea in cilicia, devoting their lives to the care of sufferers of every rank, when the rumour of their zeal for the cause of the poor, marking them out as christians, attracted the attention of the heathen authorities, and they were arrested by order of the governor. on their refusal to recant, they were condemned to death by drowning and were thrown into the sea, but an angel is said to have saved them. an equally fruitless attempt was made to burn them at a stake, for they remained unharmed, whilst the flames rushed out and slew their would-be executioners. crucifixion was next tried, and the faithful sufferers were stoned as they hung 54 the saints in christian art on their crosses ; yet still they survived, some of the stones flung at them killing the bystanders. then, as a last resource, they were dragged outside the town to be beheaded, and no further supernatural interference took place on their behalf. their bodies are supposed to have been taken to syria and buried at cyrus, where they remained until the sixth century, when they were removed to rome and reinterred in the church built in their honour and named after them by pope felix iv. in 826. many and wonderful have been the supposed cures brought about since their death by the intercession of the two brothers. the greeks gave to them all the credit which used to accrue to the god .iesculapius, and distinguished them by the title of anarguri, meaning ' without fees.' the emperor theodosius credited them with saving his life in a dangerous illness ; and in comparatively modern times a man suffering from cancer in the leg, who prayed at their shrine in rome, is said to have been actually operated on by them in a deep sleep which overtook him in the midst of his devotions. when he awoke, he found a new leg in the place of his own, and related that, as he slept. saints cosmas and damianus stood beside him, one holding a sharp knife, the other a box of ointment, in his hand. one of the celestial visitors then said : ' if we cut off the bad leg, how shall we replace it?' to which his brother replied : 'a moor has just beeh buried in s. pietro in vincoli ; we will take one of his legs.' this they did, and having anointed the joint with ointment, they disappeared. those to whom the subject of the miracle told the wondrous tale hastened to the tomb of the moor, and found that the diseased white leg lay in the place of the healthy brown one, so that all doubt of the truth was set at rest. the symbols by which the two 5'oung doctors may be recog nised in art are peculiarly characteristic, and have all of them more or less direct reference to their profession. these symbols are : a transparent phial or jar, with or without a cover, a lancet, a small case of instruments, a box of oint ment, and a cylinder, the last-named supposed to represent the rod or wand occasionally placed in the hand of those about to be bled, to facilitate the flow of blood. to these are sometimes added, as on the reverse side of a leaden medal found in the seine, bearing the effigies of the brothers, a comb, a pair of scissors, and a razor, evidently because saints cosmas •1: saints cosmas and damianus 55 and damianus were early chosen as patrons by the barber surgeons of paris. the martyrs were, of course, from the first supposed to look after the interests of doctors and dealers in drugs, and they are also appealed to by midwives and by mothers whose children suffer from convulsions in teething. they are among the patron saints of bohemia, of florence, salamanca, and zurich, and, strange to say, the powerful family of the medici claim to be under their special protection, perhaps because the name of cosmo de medici resembled that of one of the brothers, but more probably on account of the similarity between the words medici and medecin, for, though they retain in their coat-of arms the symbol of the pills, the haughty florentines would have scorned to trace their origin from men so humble as the feeless doctors. in a quaint old engraving in the chronicle of nuremberg one brother appears to be much older than the other ; but as a rule the two doctors are represented as quite young men. in the beautiful painting by pesellino, now in the louvre, for instance, in which they are bending over a boy, who is lying in an insensible condition on a bed, whilst a woman is hastening forward, bringing a jflaster and some bandages. in the mosaics of the apse of ss. cosmo e damiano at rome, the two doctors are seen being presented to the saviour by 'saints peter and paul; and in all that is now left of s. michele in africisco at ravenna are a few remains of mosaics in which the brothers were grouped with the archangels michael and gabriel on either side of christ. they are very constantly introduced in devotional pictures, wearing the red fur-trimmed robes and fur caps of their profession. fra angelico especially had a great predi lection for them. they appear with st. dominic on one side of the virgin in the ' madonna d'annalena,' now in the florence academy ; with st. peter in the ' madonna of s. bonaventura ' in the same collection ; in the ' great cruci fixion ' still in san marco, florence, in which they are on the right of the penitent thief near st. lawrence and st. mark ; and in the great altar-piece known as the ' madonna di san marco,' painted by ifra angelico by order of cosmo de medici, now in the florence academy, they kneel on a carpet at the foot of the shrine, with saints dominic, francis, 56 the saints in christian art lawrence, and others. on the predella of this grand work was painted a series of scenes from the lives of saints cosmas and damianus, from their first appearance before the judge to their martyrdom; but, unfortunately, these beautiful pictures are now dispersed — one is at dublin, one at munich, and one in the louvre, paris, whilst the rest are in the florence academy. in the national gallery, london, there is an interesting picture by a greek priest named emanuel, representing christ blessing saints cosmas and damianus ; in the uffizi gallery, florence, is a fine painting of the ' beheading of the brothers,' by pesellino; and in the same collection is a quaint repre sentation of the ' miracle of the leg,' by an unknown hand, in which the physicians are fastening a black leg on to the body of the sleeper, whilst the dead man lies near with a white leg beside him. the martyrdom of saints cosmas and damianus was very realistically rendered by tintoretto in the altar-piece still in s. giorgio maggiore, venice, and a painting of the same subject, by salvator rosa, is in s. giovanni de' fiorentini, rome, but they are neither of them in any way equal to the scattered predella pictures of fra angelico's san marco 'madonna.' in the beautiful bas-relief of the 'virgin and child ' by luca delia robbia in s. maria della misericordia, florence, the brothers appear on either side of the central group, and there still remain good statues of them in the niches above the figures of the apostles and martyrs in the remarkable bronze doors, designed by donatello, of the old sacristy of s. lorenzo, florence. another doctor who suffered martyrdom about the same time as saints cosmas and damianus was st. pantaleon of nicomedia, a man of noble birth, fascinating personality, and high culture, who when still in early youth attracted the attention of the emperor galerius maximianus, and was by him appointed court physician at rome. the son of a heathen father, but of a christian mother, pantaleon had been secretly baptized in infancy, and had been taught the principles of christianity. these principles do not, how ever, appear to have taken very deep root in his character, for he at first concealed his religion, taking part with his fellow-courtiers in the worship of the gods. he was, fortu st. pantaleon 57 nately, later brought to a better mind by an old priest named hermolaus, who persuaded him to avow himself a christian, and to use his medical skill for the poor in rome, seeking no earthly reward. the change in all his habits which now took place — for he devoted every spare moment to nursing the sick — soon attracted the notice of his fellow-courtiers, and the rumour of the miracles his faith enabled him to perform, came to the ears of the emperor himself. anxious to save his favourite, galerius sent for him, and admonished him in private. but it was of no use. st. fantaleon remained steadfast, and reluctantly his master was obliged to allow the law to take its course. after a public trial the doctor was condemned to death, and was, it is said, first bound to a barren olive-tree, with his hands nailed to the top of his head, the blood from his wounds, as it dropped down the trunk, causing foliage and fruit to sprout forth. when at last the sufferer was led forth to be beheaded, even the sword, generally so immediately fatal, refused to harm him, remaining suspended in the air in spite of all the efforts of the executioner to wield it, till the martyr himself prayed aloud to god to allow it to end his pain. the aged priest hermolaus, who had been with his pupil from the first, cheering him with his presence, shared his fate ; and the two friends are supposed to have been buried together where they fell. the body of st. pantaleon was, however, later translated to constantinople, where a beautiful church, now destroyed, was built in his honour. many cities claim to own a share of the young martyr's remains, part being shown at st. denis, part at oporto, and his head at lyons, but there seems to be considerable doubt as to the authenticity of the relics. st. pantaleon is almost as much honoured in the medical profession as st. luke, and his intercession is supposed to be specially efficacious in cases of consumption. he is generally represented in art as an extremely handsome young man, with out a beard, wearing the loose red robes of a doctor, and hold ing in his hand the palm of the martyr or a branch of olive, the latter in allusion to the incident related above. sometimes he is seen bound to a tree, with a sword at his feet, and occasionally he holds the sword and palm in one hand, whilst a lion crouches beside him, in allusion to a local tradition that after the torture on the tree, he was thrown to wild beasts, who would not harm him. 58 the saints in christian art st. pantaleon is sometimes introduced in devotional pictures, and may be distinguished from st. sebastian, whom he greatly resembles in face and figure, by the position of his arms and hands. paintings of scenes from his life and legend are rare ; but in the church dedicated to him at venice some of the miracles with which he was credited during his life are repre sented, including the ' healing of a boy,' by paolo veronese, whilst on the ceiling is a large composition by the little-known fumiani, showing the young martyr in glory. other courtiers who fell victims to their zeal for the chris tian faith in the sanguinary fourth century were st. vitus of sicily, with his nurse crescentia and his foster-father modestus; saints phocas of sinope ; theodotus of galatia ; sabas the goth ; the three friends, tarachus, protus and andronicus of cilicia ; julian of antioch, philemon the actor ; and the child pancras of rome. st. vitus, also known as st. guy, was the son of noble heathen parents, and was converted to christianity by cres centia, under whose care he had been placed by his father. at the age of twelve years the boy declared himself to be a christian, and all attempts made to shake his faith by his own people having failed, he was taken before valerianus, the governor of sicily, who ordered him to be flogged. it is related that the arms of those who attempted to carry out the sentence became paral)'zed, so that they could not wield their whips, and the child was sent home again. he was there shut up for some time in an upper room, where he was visited by angels of such dazzling brightness that his father, who had looked through a crack in the door, was struck blind. restored to sight by the prayers of his boy, the father seems to have been all but convinced of the truth of the christian religion, and would gladly have saved vitus from further persecution. he therefore connived at his escape with crescentia and modestus, and the three reached italy in safety, aided, it is said, by an angel who steered their boat. they were, however, soon arrested by order of the heathen authorities, and were martyred in lucania by being flung into a caldron of boiling oil. little as is really known of st. vitus, he has become one of the most popular saints of christendom. he is the patron of bohemia, as well as of his native land of sicily, and is one of the st. vitus 59 fourteen auxiliary saints specially honoured in germany. he is invoked by ballet-dancers and comedians, and is supposed to be able to guard his votaries against nervous diseases, mad ness, the bites of mad dogs, and against oversleeping them selves. to explain fully why a martyr who died at the early age of fourteen should be credited with such remarkable powers is impossible, but the name of st. vitus' dance having been given to the nervous affection known to doctors as chorea, is probably the reason that dancers turn to the young saint for aid. his early death may possibly be the origin of the belief in his aid against too much sleep, and the symbol of the cock, often associated with him, evidently has reference to the same thing. as late as the eighteenth century it was cus tomary in some districts, notably in prague, to sacrifice a cock in honour of st. vitus on his fete day, june 15. amongst other attributes of st. vitus are a dog held in leash, some say in reference to the faithfulness of crescentia and modestus, who died rather than desert their foster-child. a lion is sometimes introduced beside him, for, according to one version of his legend, he was exposed in the amphitheatre before his death in the boiling oil, and occasionally a wolf takes the place of the dog or the lion, for his body is said to have been guarded by a wolf from other beasts of prey until it was buried. in his ' caract^ristiques des saints,' p^re cahier reproduces a beautiful german representation of st. vitus with modestus and crescentia, the child, his cock at his feet, holding the martyr's palm in one chubby little hand, whilst he holds up the other in the act of benediction. the older martyrs walk behind him with their palms, modestus bending forward as if whispering encouragement to his little charge. there are two fine paintings by wohlge muth of st. vitus, one in the castle of nuremberg, and the other in the moritz chapel ; in the cathedral of prague is a shrine said to contain one of his arms, adorned with a good modern statue of him ; his ' martyrdom,' with saints george and wolfgang looking on, by bassetti of verona, is in the munich gallery, and in the campana museum, paris, is a devotional picture by fontana, in which st. vitus is associated with st. peter chrysologus, bishop of ravenna in the sixth century. st. phocas was the son of humble christian parents, after 6o the saints in christian art whose death he dwelt alone outside the town of sinope in pontus, cultivating a beautiful garden and giving gratuitous hospitality to all who cared to receive it. his good works told against him with the heathen authorities, for none but the christians gave alms in those days, and presently soldiers were sent to kill him. they came in due course to the gates of sinope, and finding them closed for the night, they asked phocas to receive them, not knowing who he was. the gardener bade them welcome, fed them well, and after supper asked them to tell him what their business was in the town. they replied that they were seeking a christian named phocas, and had orders to put him to death wherever they might find him ; could he, perhaps, help them in their quest? their host replied calmly that he could, but he would rather wait until the morrow, and begged them to remain with him for the night. they consented, and were escorted to a comfortable room by their host, who promised to call them early. phocas then spent the night in prayer and in digging his own grave. the next morning he woke his guests, told them his name, and urged them to do their duty without delay. they hesitated, for they were unwilling to harm one whose hospitality they had enjoyed ; but he en treated them to get the matter over, encouraging them by saying, ' since it is the will of god, i am willing to die.' so they followed him to the ready-made grave, struck off his head, and buried him. the place where the martyr so bravely met his fate was long greatly honoured by his countrymen, even the heathen, it is said, reverencing it on account of the heroism with which he met his fate. sailors used to salute it as they passed it afar on the black sea, and when the persecution of the christians subsided on the conversion of constantine, a beautiful church was built above it. magnificent gifts were offered at the shrine, and even pirates who ravaged the coast refrained from touching them. later the greater portion of the sacred relics was translated to constantinople, with much pomp, the emperor following the procession from the shores of the bosphorus on foot. st. phocas, whom the greeks call the hiero, or sacred martyr, is the patron saint of gardeners and of mariners, and it is said that in olden times greek sailors used to set aside in his honour a portion of every meal eaten on shore. this st. theodotus 6i portion was sold, and the profits, often amounting to a large sum, were given to the poor. in spite of the veneration in which he is held, representa tions of st. phocas are rare, but he is introduced as an old man wearing the coarse habits of a gardener, and with a spade in his hand, in the mosaics of san marco at venice, and in those of the cathedral of monreale. st. theodotus of galatia, who appears occasionally in greek works of art, holding a torch and a sword, in allusion to his having been first tortured with burning brands and then be headed, was an innkeeper, who had been converted to chris tianity in his boyhood by a saintly maiden named thecusa. he married early in life, and brought up his family in his own faith. it is said that he carried on a very thriving business, though he allowed no one to drink too much in his house, but converted many of his guests to the true religion. when the fierce persecution under diocletian was raging, st. theodotus fed and sheltered many of the persecuted, visited those in prison, and buried the dead, although he knew full well that by so doing he must in the end seal his own fate. all went well with him, however, for some time, till he was discovered aiding in the recovery of the bodies of seven virgins, one of whom was his old friend and teacher, thecusa, from a pond into which they had been flung after their martyrdom. betrayed by a trusted friend who accused him to save his own life, theodotus was arrested, but offered freedom if he would sacrifice to the gods. he refused, and after being torn on the rack, broken on the wheel, and burnt with torches, he was beheaded. his body was then given to some soldiers, with orders that it should be burned to ashes, to prevent the christians from burying it. the story goes that, as the men were on their way from the city to obey these instructions, they met a priest named fronton, an old friend of st. theodotus, to whom the martyr had given a ring, in pledge that he would one day send him some valuable relics for his church. fronton guessed at once that st. theodotus must have meant his own body, so he plied the guards with wine, and when they fell into a drunken sleep carried away the treasure on his ass. the ring was replaced on the dead man's finger, and the body was buried in the presence of many christian fugitives. st. sabas the goth, whose legend is not, however, very well 62 the saints in christian art authenticated, is worthy of special mention as having been the first of his nation to suffer death for the faith. he was martyred about 372 by order of king athanasie, and it is related that many unsuccessful attempts were made to kill him before he was finally despatched by being strangled in a river, into which he was flung with an axle-tree fastened round his neck. his distinctive symbol in art is a bundle of thorns held in one hand, in allusion to his having been dragged naked over rough ground and briers. jacques callot has represented him stand ing in a caldron of boiling pitch ; others have chosen his actual death in the river for their subject, and in certain iconographies of the saints he appears hanging to a tree by his hands, which are nailed to the trunk, although in the account of his many sufferings given in the ' acta sanctorum ' there is no reference to this particular detail. saints tarachus, protus and andronicus of cilicia were all of noble birth, and, though not related to each other, had long been close friends when they were arrested as christians, and after being tortured for many weeks were beheaded in the amphitheatre, the wild beasts to whom they were thrown having refused to hurt them. they are represented in art either all together, generally just before their sufferings ended in death, or separately, saints protus and andronicus each bound to a post with a knife piercing his heart, and st. tarachus standing before his judges, one of whom is urging him to sacrifice to an idol, whilst a soldier with a big stone in his hand awaits the order to fling it at the prisoner. st. tarachus is one of the patron saints of madeira, the cathedral of which is said to own his skull, and he is invoked by those suffering from brain diseases, probably because he is said to have been branded on the forehead with a red-hot coal. he and his companions, though greatly honoured for their constancy, are somewhat blamed by certain writers for their freedom of speech at their trial, tarachus especially having greatly in censed his judges by the way in which he bandied words with them. st. julian of antioch, whose legend greatly resembles that of st. julian the hospitable, with whom he is often con founded, was a young man of noble birth. converted as a child to christianity, he had vowed that he would dedicate his life to god, and he was therefore greatly dismayed when st. julian of antioch 63 his parents arranged a marriage for him with a beautiful girl, whose name, basilassa, was the same as that of the wife of his namesake, the hermit. it was, however, revealed to st. julian in a dream that his bride was also a christian, who had made a promise similar to his own. when the two had consulted together, they resolved to be married to please their parents, but to remain true to their vows and spend their time working for the poor. one day, when they were praying together, an angel appeared to them, and told them that their names were written in the book of life, and that the trial of their faith was approaching. soon after this st. julian was arrested, and con demned to be tortured. as the executioners were performing their horrible duty, one of them accidentally put out the eyes of the other, and st. julian healed the sufferer, saying to him : ' the gods you wish me to worship could have done nothing for you, but to christ, my lord, all things are possible.' the incident so enraged the emperor that he ordered fresh anguish to be inflicted on the young martyr. amongst the crowds watching the sufferings of st. julian was a little boy named celsus, whose eyes were opened to see a band of white-robed angels placing a crown on the head of the sufferer. the child ran to st. julian, pushing his way through the executioners, and was, it is said, martyred with him the next day, though his mother went to the prison in which the two were confined, to try and save him. by this time celsus had been baptized ; nothing would induce him to leave his new friend, and he was beheaded at the same time as st. julian. according to one account, st. basilassa long survived her husband, but according to another she was martyred with him and the little celsus. in any case, the married pair are always represented together, each with a lily and a book, the former in allusion to their chastity, the latter to the visit of the angel. st. philemon of rome, whose legend is very graphically told by mephrastes, and who is sometimes represented by german artists with a musical instrument, not unlike a bagpipe, in his hand, is said to have been a celebrated strolling player who laid down his life for a friend. this friend, a professional scribe named apouonius, who had been converted to chris tianity, was summoned by the heathen authorities to sacrifice to the gods, and, unwilling either to deny his faith or to suffer the consequences of refusing to do so, he persuaded philemon to 64 the saints in christian art change clothes with him and go to the temple in his stead. on the way to the trial the young actor resolved to go through with the matter to the end, and proclaimed himself a christian. he was condemned to death, and his constancy is said to have so touched apollonius that he came forward at the last moment to share his fate. st. pancras of rome, who appears occasionally either alone or with other martyrs, holding a sword in his hand, was beheaded at the age of fourteen, having hastened his own doom by publicly declaring himself a christian before he was accused. he is much honoured, not only in rome, where there is a church dedicated to him near the scene of his martyrdom, but also in france and in england. a large parish in london bears his name, and st. augustine dedicated to him the temple at canterbury in which king ethelbert used to sacrifice to the heathen gods, when it was converted into a christian church after the conversion of the monarch. for some reason hitherto unexplained, the young martyr is supposed to protect his votaries from false witnesses ; in olden times it was customary for french monarchs to swear by st. pancras to keep their treaties faithfully, and it was sup posed that none who took his name in vain escaped punishment from heaven. chapter vi st. george and other warrior saints of the many soldiers who, in the early part of the fourth century, fought the good fight of faith, and were as eager to lay down their lives for the cause of christ as for that of their country, none is more widely celebrated than st. george, who is called by the greeks the great martyr, and is honoured throughout christendom as the very pattern of chivalry, the ideal knight of spotless fame, who was from first to last without fear and without reproach. although the very existence of st. george has been denied by some, whilst others wrongly identify him with archbishop st. george of cappadocia 65 george of alexandria, who was killed by the people of that city in a fit of rage against his misgovernment, there seems little doubt that there really was a christian soldier of cappa docia named george, who did great things for his fellow believers, and was put to death about 303 by order of diocletian. round about these simple facts, however, have gathered many quaint and touching legends, full, in spite of their utter improbability, of spiritual significance. briefly told, the story of st. george is as follows : the son of noble parents, who had been converted to christianity, he was baptized in infancy, and lived happily at his home in cappadocia till the death of his father, when his mother took him with her to palestine, where she owned a large estate, of which the boy was the heir. when he was old enough he joined the roman army, and soon rose to the rank of tribune. on one of his military journeys he came to a certain city — some say selene in north africa ; others, berytus in syria — where the people were suffering terrible things from a great dragon dwelling in a marsh near by, from which he daily came forth to devour all who fell in his way, poisoning the air with his foetid breath for miles around. every day two sheep, or oxen, were set aside for him, and when all the flocks and herds had been destroyed, the children had to be sacrificed. the poor little victims were chosen by lot from those under fifteen, and on every side was heard nothing but mourning and lamentation. presently the lot fell upon the only daughter of the king, a beautiful maiden named cleodolinda, and her father offered all his wealth to save her in vain, for the people cried out against him, and would have taken her away by force had he not yielded to their demand. they did, however, grant him eight days' delay, and at the end of that time the young girl, having first asked her father to bless her, and told him she was willing to die for her people, was led to the gates of the town, which, when she had issued forth, were closed against her. as the doomed maiden, clad in her beautiful robes and with her golden hair streaming down her back, went her trembling way to meet her doom, she saw a noble knight mounted on a fine horse approaching her, who, reining up his steed, asked her whither she was going. she told him, and he cried at once that he would save her. she replied that that would be im possible, and begged him to escape before the dragon should vol. ii. 5 66 the saints in christian art see him. to which he answered : ' god forbid that i should fly. i will deliver thee from this horrible beast in the name of jesus christ, whose soldier i am.' as he spoke these brave words, the monster came forth from his marsh, and, spreading his great wings, flew heavily towards the two. then st. george dashed upon the enemy, making the sign of the cross, and after a brief but fierce struggle he drove his lance through the body of the dragon, pinning him to the ground. though mortally wounded, the terrible creature was not yet dead, so st. george bound him with the girdle of the rescued maiden, and bade her lead him into the city, that all might see there was nothing more to fear. when, after some difficulty, the people were induced to open the gates again, the strange procession, escorted by crowds, made its way to the palace of the ^ing. the monarch, over joyed at the return of his daughter, promised to give her rescuer anything he asked, to which the hero replied that all he wished was the conversion of the monarch and his people to christianity, adding that if they would be baptized he would kill their enemy in sight of them all. to this the king agreed ; he and twenty thousand of his subjects became christians, the dragon's head was cut off, and st. george went on his way again rejoicing. in course of time the slayer of the dragon rose to high rank in the roman army, and when diocletian began the fresh persecutions of the christians, it is said that st. george endeavoured to plead for them ; but, finding nothing he could do of any avail, he resigned all his appointments, refusing to serve against his fellow-believers. he even went so far as to tear down the imperial edict from the gates of the temple in the city of nicomedia and trample it under his feet. as a matter of course he was arrested and tortured, but nothing ■could shake his fortitude. after being bound to a cross for eight days, during which his body was torn with iron nails, he was compelled to drink a cup of poison, which did him no harm, for he made the sign of the cross over it as he put it to his lips. then he was fastened to a wheel studded with sharp knives, but two angels came from heaven and released him ; and when he was dragged once more to the temple, in the hope that his sufferings would make him recant, his prayers caused the building with its idols to fall upon the priests and worshippers, who were all killed. then at last the judge ordered him to be beheaded, and, bending his neck to the blow, st. george of cappadocia 67 the gallant young soldier died with a smile of joy upon his lips. the story of st. george and the dragon is now generally supposed to be but a comparatively modern form of the old myth, which is common to every branch of the great aryan family, of the sun-god, whose rays dispel all evil, whilst the rescued maiden is said by certain writers to typify merely the conversion of some city to christianity, it having been customary amongst the greeks to personify their towns and provinces by a female form. however this may be, the story of st. george's gallant rescue of the king's daughter took, from the first, a deep hold upon the popular imagination, and no legend of the saints is more generally believed than it, in spite of the fact that it was omitted from the reformed roman calendar at the «nd of the fifth century. st. george is said to have been buried in palestine, and a church was built over his tomb by constantine, who also erected one in his honour at constantinople ; hence the name of the arm of st. george given to a portion of the hellespont. a great impulse was given to the cult of the warrior saint n during the crusades, when he is said to have appeared, first to godfrey de bouillon, and later to richard i., on the eve of battle, in each case securing victory to the christians. he was henceforth veneraj ed as^ jhe_patrqn saint of england. his j filte-day was kept as a public holiday, and when, in 1334, the most noble order of the garter was founded by edward iii., the name of st. george succeeded that of the virgin amongst those in whose honour it was instituted. later the order ibecame known as that of st. george. an effigy of the young soldier slaying the dragon is part of the insignia of the knights, and they meet every year on the eve of his festival in thie chapel named after him at windsor. the red cross of st. george is a fundamental feature of the national flag of england ; the red rose of st. george is a favourite badge of the £nglish, as the thistle is of the scotch, .or the shamrock of the irish, and the leek of the welsh. st. george is not only the patron saint of england, wherie nearly 200 churches are dedicated to him, but his effigy is stamped on the gold coinage of constantinople, of antioch, and of a very great number of continental cities. he is also held in high honour by the knights of the great teutonic 5—2 68 the saints in christian art order of chivalry, founded in the twelfth century. military men of several european countries appeal to him for aid ; c he is supposed to give special attention to the interests of tarchers, and is one of the fourteen auxiliary saints of germany, where he is generally classed with st. eustace. in france and elsewhere he is affectionately spoken of as ' le chevalier de la belle monture ' ; and horses are placed under his pro tection when they are turned out to grass. in some old calendars, april 23, the fete-day of st. george, is marked by a horse holding the head of a lance in one hoof; and every where throughout europe the favourite knight is associated with a noble steed, \ ' mounted like a st. george ' being a common expression tcrindicate a rider on a fine horsetj when introduced amongst other saints in devotional pictures, st. george may be easily recognised by the ideal beauty of his face and figure, and by his complete suit of armour, which is sometimes that of a roman soldier, more often that of a mediaeval knight. he generally holds a lance, from which sometimes floats a banner bearing a red cross, in one hand, and rests the other on the hilt of his sword, whilst the vanquished dragon is constantly seen lying at his feet. in early representations of the fight with the terrible beast, it was usual to introduce a young girl kneeling near, awaiting the issue of the conflict ; but as time went on she was omitted, except in some few byzantine and later pictures, when the struggle became� purely symbolic one between the powers of good and eviks in meoiseval times it was customary for knights to have little leaden images of st. george and the dragon — such as one of those found in the seine, preserved in the cluny museum — fastened to the riding cloak or hood. in various stained-glass windows, as in one in the cathedral of chartres, his efiigy in full armour, with shield, lance and sword, is supplemented by a quaint representation of the torture of the wheel, in which the martyr stands in the centre with the points of twelve knives in his body, whilst two men are about to whirl the wheel round, each holding one end of a chain fastened to the sufferer's hands. sometimes st. george, mounted on a beautiful horse, is seen on the ramparts of a besieged town, and the blessed virgin is stretching a thread between him and the assailants, in allusion to a legend of local origin only. st. george of cappadocia 69 (when st. george is represented as the patron saint of england, he has the garter fastened round one knee, and the star of the order embroidered on his mantle ; but when he appears as the guardian of other cities these emblems are omitted, i of the many fine devotional pictures in which st. george is introduced, may be named the stefai ifibchi — altar^jiece, by giotto, in which the warrior saint kneels at the feet of the enthroned st. peter ; the ' madonna with st. george ' in the dresden gallery, by cnreg gin, the last altar-piece painted by that great master ; the ' madonna with the kneeling sena tors,' by tintoretto, in ss. giovanni e paolo, venice ; the ' madonna and saints,' by cima da conegliano, in the venice academy ; the ' blessed virgin and child,' by memlinc, in the national gallery, london, in which st. george, with a very innocent-looking dragon at his feet, stands behind the kneeling donor of the picture; the 'apotheosis of st. ambrose,' by alvise vivarini, in s. maria gloriosa, venice ; and the great altar-piece by rubens, in his own sepulchral chapel in the church of st. jacques at antwerp, in which the st. george is a portrait of the painter himself. erne single figures of this most popular saint are the cele brateti marble statue by donatell o. now in the museo nazionale, florence, originally executed for the west front of or san michele in that city; the bas-relief, by luca della robbia, in the church of pieve di brancoli; the colossal figure in mosaic in the cathedral of monreale ; and the statue on the south porch of chartres cathedral. of the countless representations of st. george slaying the dragon, few are more celebrated than the two by raphael, one in the louvre, paris, the other in the hermitage of st. peters burg, both fine realizations of the ideal knight overcoming the spirit of evil ; the painting by sodoma, in the possession of sir francis cook, of richmond, surrey, in which the prin cess is seen in the foreground eagerly awaiting the result of the fiery onslaught of her deliverer ; the quaint rendering of the same subject by crivelli, the property of mrs. gardiner of boston, which has all the lavish ornament characteristic of its author's earlier work ; thec st. george slaying the dragon,' ) by ^hirlandaj o, in the church of the ognisanti, florence; the same su^ect, by tintoretto, in the national gallery, 70 the saints in christian art london ; and that by sir edward burnejones, in private possession. in the ancient chapel of s. georgio, adjoining the scuola of s. antonio at padua, are some very early frescoes, by jacopo d' avanzo and altichieri, of the legend of st. george, including the fight with the dragon, the baptism of the king, queen, and their whole court, the various futile attempts to kill the hero, and his final martyrdom. in the church of s. giorgio degli schiavoni at venice are some very dramatic renderings of the st. george legend by carpaccio ; in s. ambrogio, milan, the same subject has been well treated in fresco by bernar dino luini ; in s. giorgio in braida, verona, is a beautiful altar-piece, by paolo veronese, representing the martyrdom of the saint; and the same subject has been ably treated by rubens. in the martinengo gallery, brescia, there is a very poetic rendering of the dragon incident, ascribed to quirico da murano, and on a shield preserved in the casa rodriguez at bologna is a fine design attributed to francia, who had a special predilection for st. george, representing the warrior martyr as a noble young knight engaged in a spirited conflict with a very formidable dragon. on this quaint relic of the days of chivalry are inscribed in latin the following quota tions from the new testament, ' but he, passing through the midst of them, went his way,' and ' if, therefore, ye seek me, let these go their way,' which, as remarked by dr. williamson in his able monograph on francia, points to the spiritual nature of the conflict, and the desire of the hero to fight it out alone. st. george is very constantly introduced in stained-glass windows both in england and on the continent. in the north-east transept of hereford cathedral is a fine example of fourteenth-century work, which had long been packed away in separate pieces, but was restored and placed in its present position in 1864, representing saints george, catherine of alexandria, gregory the great, and thomas of canterbury ; st. george also appears kneeling at the foot of the cross, beside prince arthur of "wales, in the beautiful east window of st. margaret's, westminster, which was originally designed as a marriage-gift to the heir of england from ferdinand and isabella of spain, the parents of his affianced bride ; and in st. adrian 71 one of the clerestory windows of the nave of chartres cathedral three scenes from the legend of st. george are given, with two from that of st. giles. other martyred soldiers of the fourth century who have been admitted to the hierarchy of the saints were adrian, didymus, theodore of heraclea, theodore the conscript, victor of marseilles, victor of milan, menna the greek, pro copius of cesarea, and florian of austria. of the first named very little is known beyond the fact that he was an officer in the army of maximianus, who was condemned to death because of his refusal to sacrifice to idols. popular imagination has, however, supplemented this meagre informa tion by a romantic story of the devotion of the martyr's wife, a beautiful young girl named natalia, who was a christian when adrian married her, although he did not know it. it is said that he was very soon converted by her, and one day when he was sent to examine some christians in prison, he was so touched by their replies that he said to the gaolers, ' add my name to those of your prisoners, for i too am a christian.' they complied, and when the news was brought to the emperor he was greatly enraged. st. adrian was sum moned before him and bravely answered all the questions put to him, glorying in the despised name of christian. he was remanded to prison to await his trial, and there he was visited by his wife, who rejoiced that he had been found worthy to suffer for christ. she encouraged him to per severe, and promised to be with him through whatever should befall him. presently he was condemned to death, and he bribed his gaoler to let him go to say good-bye to his wife. when he appeared at the door of their home, natalia thought he had recanted, and closed it against him, upbraiding him bitterly for his apostasy, but when he explained the truth she said she would return to prison with him. this she did dis guised as a man, for a woman would not have been admitted, and she remained with him to the last. amongst other tortures before he was beheaded, st. adrian is said to have been stretched upon an anvil and to have had all his limbs broken with a hammer, natalia standing by and herself placing his limbs in position. according to one version of his legend, the young martyr was one of twenty-four sufferers executed at the same time, and natalia obtained for him the privilege of 72 the saints in christian art dying first. whether she was martyred herself is not known, but her name is always associated with that of her husband in martyrologies. st. adrian, who is one of the patron saints of gaolers, executioners, and soldiers, is generally represented in art leaning against an anvil, on which he rests one hand, whilst in the other he holds the martyr's palm. occasionally the palm is replaced or supplemented by a sword, a hammer, an iron bar, or a key, and now and then a lion crouches at his feet ; why is not known, but it is supposed to have reference to his indomitable courage under his sufferings, and to the constancy of his wife. in flanders st. adrian is sometimes introduced amongst other saints, wearing the costume of a pilgrim, probably on account of the immense number of pilgrims who flock to the little town of grammont, which claims to own his relics. in some old engravings a wheel is associated with st. adrian, although there is no reference in his legend to his having suffered on it. it has, however, been suggested that, like the key, it has reference to his being the patron of execu tioners, for torturing on the wheel was in olden times an important part of their profession, in which considerable skill was required. of st. didymus, a young soldier of the roman army, who appears sometimes amongst other martyrs with a sword or palm in his hands, the touching story is told that he rescued a beautiful maiden named theodora from a fate worse than death, by changing clothes with her and allowing her to escape from the house in which she had been shut up, by order of the prefect of alexandria, for refusing to sacrifice to idols. in the brief interview between the two young people, st. theodora converted st. didymus to christianity, and when the fraud he had practised was discovered, he proclaimed his new faith at once. he was taken before the judge and condemned to be beheaded, but just as the sword was about to fall, st. theodora is said to have rushed out of the crowd of spectators, entreat ing to be allowed to die in his stead, even as he had taken her place in the house of detention. he refused, and the noble contest between the two for the crown of martyrdom was presently cut short by the authorities, who ordered both to be beheaded and the bodies to be burnt. saints didymus and theodora are occasionally grouped together amongst other st. theodore the conscript 73 martyrs, when the latter has her face hidden by a veil, in allu sion to the incident of her rescue. st. theodore of heraclea, who amongst the greeks ranks with st. george of cappadocia as one of the greatest of martyrs, is supposed to have been a general in the army of the emperor licinius, and to have been converted to christianity when in the prime of life. according to one version of his legend, he brought his doom upon him by break ing up a number of gold and silver idols, and distributing the pieces to the poor, but according to another he set fire to a temple of cybele, which was completely destroyed. his rank probably saved him from torture, and he was condemned to be beheaded, meeting his fate with the greatest composure. st. theodore is generally represented in the armour of a general, mounted on a fine horse and with a dragon or crocodile at his feet, some say in allusion to his having slain a terrible creature which had long devastated the country, others to his successful warfare against idolatry. a good statue of him was brought to venice by the doge marco dandolo, and is still to be seen on the piazetta. he is one of the six warrior saints of gigantic stature represented in mosaic in the cathedral of monreale, and in the mosaics above the altar in the church of s. teodoro at rome he is introduced between saints peter and paul. st. theodore the conscript is supposed to have been a native of amassia in asia minor, and to have been burnt alive as a punishment for having set fire to a heathen temple. he is generally called s. teodoro tiro, the surname being ex plained by some as having reference to the name of the legion to which he belonged, whilst others think it means the younger only. the conscript theodore is constantly confused with the general of the same name, and in some old greek pictures he, too, rides a white horse, but this is in allusion to an appa rition he is said to have seen, not to any rank in the army held by him. he may be distinguished from his namesake by his youthful appearance, and by the fact that his armour is that of a christian knight, not of a roman soldier. he appears sometimes in early mosaics, as in one preserved in the sacristy of s. marco, venice, and his legend is the subject of one of the stained-glass windows in the cathedral of chartres. st. victor of marseilles, who is greatly honoured not only 74 the saints in christian art in the seaport with which his name is associated, but through out france, was a young soldier in the roman army, who had. been early converted to christianity, and who, in the terrible persecution under diocletian, is said to have gone about in the night cheering and aiding those under sentence of death. his zeal, of course, drew down on him the notice of his officers, and he was taken before maximianus himself, who had lately arrived in the south of gaul, fresh from the massacre of the theban legion. it is related that when the young soldier was ordered to sacrifice at an altar he kicked it over, and the emperor immediately ordered his foot to be cut off. many other tortures were also inflicted upon him, and when the executioners were quite tired out with their exertions, he was placed under the grindstone of a mill, which it was hoped would crush him to powder in a few moments ; but the machinery gave way before death came, and the sufferer was finally despatched with a sword. it is related that when. st. victor was stretched on the rack, at the beginning of his martyrdom, christ appeared to him holding a cross, and that as his soul left his crushed and bleeding body angels were heard singing ' vicisti, victor beate, vicisti.' with st. victor were martyred two of his gaolers, whom he had converted in prison, and the three bodies were flung into the sea, but they were cast up on the beach shortly afterwards and buried by the christians. above their grave arose in the fifth century the celebrated monastery of st. victor, the church of which, one of the oldest in france, still remains. part of the relics of st. victor were later taken to paris, where a little chapel was built to receive them, and in the reign of louis vi. was founded the celebrated community of canons of st. victor, the arms of which consisted of a wheel, in allusion to the martyrdom of the young soldier, some writers speaking of his having been torn to pieces on a kind of wheel, not crushed beneath a millstone. st. victor of marseilles is generally represented in the armour of a roman soldier, and occasionally he appears on horseback with a standard in his hand. more often he is on foot with a millstone on the ground beside him, and french image-makers place a model of a mill in his hand. in one of the windows of the cathedral of strasburg he is introduced in the chain armour and with the shield and spurs of a mediaeval lombardi photo] [palazzo pubblico, siena st. victor by sodoma to face p. 74 st. victor of milan 75 knight, and examples occur of a dragon appearing at his feet, but this is probably symbolic only of his victory over temptation. an overturned altar is another symbol by which st. victor of marseilles may be identified, and he is sometimes grouped with the gaolers who shared his fate. st. victor of milan was also a soldier of the roman army, and was born in mauritania, hence the name sometimes given to him of the moor. "when in garrison at milan in 303 a.d., he was denounced as a christian, and, scorxting to deny his faith, he was condemned to be put to the torture and be headed. it is related that, after he had been stretched on the rack for hours, burning lead was poured over him, and for this reason he is sometimes represented standing near a fiery furnace. when life was extinct, his body was flung outside the city to be devoured by wild beasts, but two lions are said to have protected it from injury, until it was buried by some fellow christians. the fact that lions are not native to northern italy has not shaken the popular belief in the legend, and st. victor is therefore often represented with a lion at his feet. he generally wears the picturesque armour of a roman soldier, and holds an unsheathed sword in one hand. a fiery furnace sometimes appears beside him, in allusion to the torture he endured, and occasionally, as in a ' madonna and child with saints,' by one of the campi at cremona, he is resting one foot on an overturned altar. st. victor of milan is often confounded with his namesake of marseilles, but repre sentations of the latter are rare out of france, and the many st. victors of the north of italy, of which the colossal figure by sodoma in, the palazzo pubblico at siena is one of the best, are all probably intended for the martyr of milan. st. menna, or mennas, who occasionally appears with other martyrs in devotional pictures, was a soldier of greek birth, executed in the great persecution under diocletian with exceptional barbarity, his eyes having been put out and his hands cut off before death released him from his sufferings. his constancy, it is said, so touched his judge, hermogenes, that he was converted to the true faith, and was beheaded immediately after the young hero he had condemned had passed away. the soldier mennas must not be confounded with the hermit of phrygia of the same name, who left the army to retire to the desert, and died a natural death. 76 the saints in christian art st. procopius of cesarea is greatly honoured in the greek church, ranking amongst the most illustrious of the early martyrs. he is said to have held high rank in the roman army, and is generally represented as a man in the prime of life, but without a beard, and the emblems by which he may be identified are a cross, a sword, and burning wood or a brazier beside him, each referring to some incident of his legend, which is a very romantic one and somewhat resembles the life of st. paul. it is related that when procopius was on his way to execute the orders of diocletian against the christians, he was suddenly thrown from his horse by an earth quake, and as he lay on the ground a luminous cross appeared in the sky above, whilst a voice, which rang out clearly in the midst of thunder, said to him : ' whither goest thou, and against whom art thou marching with such eager zeal ?' ' i am going to alexandria,' replied the astonished officer, ' by order of the emperor, to slay all the galileans who will not renounce the name of jesus christ.' ' it is, then, on me,' said the voice, 'that thou dost make war.' 'and who art thou, lord ?' asked procopius, unconsciously acknowledging the divinity of the speaker. then in the midst of the gleaming cross appeared the figure of the saviour, and the soldier in mingled rapture and terror asked him, if he were indeed god, how it was that he was scourged and crucified. the master deigned to explain to him the mystery of his passion, and when the vision faded procopius resumed his journey a changed man. arrived at his destination, the new convert took no steps against the christians, but went to a jeweller and asked to have a cross, such as that he had seen in the sky, made in silver. at first the jeweller refused, for the making of the emblem of the hated faith was forbidden, but when procopius promised not to betray him, he consented to humour his customer. the legend minutely describes the cross, on one side of which was engraved the image of the redeemer, and on the other the figures of the archangels michael and gabriel. with its aid procopius won many signal victories over evil of every kind. on one occasion, when he was marching at the head of his troops against the arabs, a cross again appeared to him in the sky, and a voice assured him of victory. his change of religion, of course, soon brought him into conflict st. florian ^ with the heathen authorities. his own mother, it is said, denounced him because he had broken the idols she revered, and he was condemned to b^ burnt to death. the flames, however, did him no harm, and he was in the end beheaded. according to another version of his story, st. procopius was a native of jerusalem, early converted to christianity, who, when the persecution under diocletian began, had won great repute amongst the christians for his power over evil spirits. though he did not withdraw from the world as did the hermits and monks, he practised the greatest austerities, eating nothing but bread and drinking nothing but water. he was one of the first to be arrested in the holy city, and was taken to cesarea, where, having refused to sacrifice to the gods, he was beheaded. st. fiorian, a very popular saint in austria, in bohemia and in poland, is supposed to have been a roman soldier, a native of lorsch, who was martyred at the end of the third century by being beaten with rods and then flung into the river ens with a millstone round his neck. in spite of this precaution to insure the sinking of the corpse, it is said to have remained afloat, protected from injury by an eagle, which hovered above it, till it was taken from the water and buried by some christians. later the remains were removed to rome and enshrined in the sacristy of st. peter's, where they rested un disturbed until the twelfth century, when, at the request of king casimir of poland, they were sent to cracow. the story goes that when the pope received the embassy from the polish monarch, asking for some relics for his cathedral. his holiness, being in a somewhat facetious mood, went into the sacristy, and said in a loud voice, ' now, which of you would like to go to poland ?' st. fiorian stretched out his hand in reply, and his body was therefore sent to king casimir, who received it with all due honour, re-interring it with great pomp. on account of the manner of his death, st. fiorian is in voked in cases of fire, and is constantly represented in austria and poland bending down from the sky, emptying a kind of bucket over a flaming city. he wears a half-military, half clerical costume, for, according to one version of his legend, he was ordained deacon after his conversion. an eagle is some times introduced hovering above him, and now and then a tomb from which a hand is pointing is associated with him. 78 the saints in christian art two other young romans, erroneously represented as soldiers in some devotional pictures, who were martyred in the latter part of the fourth century, were saints john and paul, stewards in the palace of the princess constantia, daughter of the great emperor constantine, who on her death left much of her wealth to them. zealous christians, they devoted their riches to the poor, and thus fell under the dis pleasure of julian the apostate, who threatened them with death if they would not sacrifice to idols. they, of course, refused, and to avoid a scandal, christianity being now the religion of the state, the emperor had them secretly beheaded in their own home. the truth, however, soon leaked out, for wonderful miracles were wrought at their tomb. the son of the very man who had carried out the sentence upon them was healed by touching it, and the people were convinced that the beloved brothers had been the victims of treachery. the grateful father and son became christians, and one of the last acts of the apostate emperor was to have them beheaded. the house in which saints john and paul suffered was long held sacred, and early in the fifth century a small church was built on its site which enclosed within it part of their actual home. injured when rome was sacked by robert guiscard in the eleventh century, the church was restored and added to in the twelfth, it has since then been gradually transformed into a modern building. in the excavations beneath it, con ducted in the last years of the nineteenth century, remains of two houses were discovered, in one of which, possibly that of the brothers, is preserved a fresco, said to be the very earliest representation of a christian martyrdom still extant. the sword, in allusion to the manner of their death, with the martyr's palm, are generally given to saints john and paul, and a thunderbolt is also sometimes associated with them, for they are invoked in germany against storms, though why has not yet been ascertained. in the fourth century perished also in armenia the forty martyrs of sebaste, who are occasionally represented in art as noble-looking young men, each with a crown. though of different nationalities, they were all enrolled in the twelfth legion of the roman army, and had all been converted to christianity. it is related that when the order was issued by the emperor licinius that all the soldiers should offer sacri the martyrs of sebaste 79 fice to the gods, the devoted forty refused, and every effort to shake their constancy having failed, they were exposed naked upon a frozen pond. to make the trial of their faith greater, a warm bath was prepared near the scene of their suffering, to which, it was announced, any one of them who would recant was at liberty to go. as the day wore on to night, the cold becoming more and more intense, the martyrs prayed aloud that all might have strength to endure to the end, adding the beautiful petition, ' lord, we are forty who are engaged in this combat ; grant that we may be forty crowned, and that not one be wanting to this sacred number.' in spite of this, how ever, the courage of one did fail, and he rushed to the warm bath ; but, alas ! he had no sooner plunged into it than he died, so that he gained nothing by his recantation. the remaining thirty-nine were greatly distressed at the loss of their comrade ; but before the end came one of their guards was miraculously converted by a vision of angels, bearing crowns in their hands, hovering above the pond. eager to share in the heavenly reward, he tore off his armour and took the place of the missing martyr, receiving the crown which would have been his. the bodies were burned and the ashes were thrown into the river ; but some of them are supposed to have been collected by the christians of sebaste, and in course of time to have been translated to constantinople, where they were long greatly honoured. chapter vii saints lucy, agnes, dorothea and catherine great as was the constancy shown by the men who suffered in the terrible years preceding the conversion of' constantine, when the rage of the heathen against the christians was intensified by the presentiment that the triumph of the hated sect was at hand, it was equalled, if not surpassed, by that of many women, in whose very weakness the strength of their faith was made perfect. amongst the maidens who, in the fourth century, gladly 8o the saints in christian art laid down their lives for the truth on the threshold of their womanhood, none are more celebrated than saints lucy, agnes, dorothea and catherine. very quaint and touching, and in some cases very full of spiritual significance, are the legends which have in the course of centuries gathered about their memories, and very beautiful are many of the representa tions of them in sacred art, their tragic stories having appealed not only to the aesthetic sense, but also to the chivalry, of the great masters of the past. st. lucy was a native of syracuse; her father died soon after she was born, and her widowed mother, eutychia, brought her up as a christian. the two lived happily together in their beautiful home till lucy was fifteen, when she was betrothed to a noble young heathen, much against her own wishes, for she had already resolved to dedicate her life to christ alone. with a wisdom beyond her years, however, she said nothing at the time, determined to watch for a favour able opportunity to break her intentions to her mother. that opportunity soon came, for eutychia, who had long suffered from a painful disease, grew worse, and lucy persuaded her to go with her on a pilgrimage to catania to pray at the shrine of st. agatha. as the mother and daughter knelt in supplication at the tomb, st. agatha herself is said to have appeared to lucy, and to have addressed her in the following words : ' o sister handmaid of christ, well art thou called lucia, for thou art indeed a light to the faithful ; behold thy mother is healed . . . and even as catania has been defended by me shall syracuse be protected of heaven for thy sake.' eutychia was of course delighted at her own recovery, and when her child, seizing this favourable moment, confided to her her dislike to marriage, begging that the dowry reserved for her should be given to the poor, the mother consented, only making the pathetic stipulation that lucy should wait till she was dead to reduce her to absolute poverty. even this consolation was, however, denied her, for her daughter pointed out to her that a gift which cost . nothing to the giver was worthless in the sight of god. so poor eutychia yielded everything, saying submissively : ' do as thou wilt.' back again in syracuse, st. lucy sold her jewels and set to work to disperse the money amongst the most wretched in the city. the young nobleman to whom she was betrothed was not brogi plu)to\ \^titriii gallery the madonna and child, with saint lucy and other saints by sodoma to face p. so st. lucy 8r unnaturally indignant, and when he reproached her she told him she could never be his wife. he tried to get her to alter her decision, and finding her obdurate, he accused her as a christian to the governor. she was arrested, ordered to sacri fice to idols, and when she refused she was condemned to be taken to a house of ill-fame, and there to be left to her fate. when the guards tried to take her away, however, a wonderful miracle was performed. they could not move her from where she stood, and even when oxen were harnessed to ropes fastened round her body, they failed to make the slightest impression upon her, though they pulled with all their strength. the most skilful magicians of the country were next sent for, and they cast upon the maiden all manner of spells in vain. she still stood like a rock, and the judge ordered piles of faggots to be placed around her, but when they were set fire to, the flames did not harm her. at last, at a sign from the governor, who had lost all patience with his obstinate prisoner, a soldier plunged a sword or dagger into her throat, and she died with a smile of triumph on her lips. her body was buried by her fellow-christians, and is said to have been taken later to venice. certain modern versions of the legend of st. lucy add the revolting detail that her eyes were torn out before her death. this appears, however, to have had no foundation in fact, but to be the result of confusion having arisen between st. lucy of syracuse and another saint of the same name, who lived con siderably later. of this second st. lucy the story is told that, being worried by the persistent attentions of a young man, she one day asked him what made him follow her about as he did. he replied, ' it is the beauty of your eyes,' and to his horror the young girl at once plucked her eyes out of their sockets, and offered them to him, saying : ' take what you want, then, and leave me in peace.' the lover repented of his importunity, became a christian, and spent the rest of his life in good works. it is related further that the courageous maiden did not always remain blind, her sight having been suddenly restored to her one day when she was kneeling in prayer in her own room. this quaint and gruesome legend, to whichever lucy it really belongs, is very likely the outcome merely of the fact that the name of the heroine signifies light. in any case, st. vol. 11. 6 82 the saints in christian art lucy of syracuse has for many centuries been invoked in roman catholic countries by those suffering from diseases of the eyes, and a lotion much in vogue in italy and france is called the ' water of st. lucy.' the most constant attribute in art of st. lucy of syracuse is a pair of eyes on a plate, either held by her or placed beside her ; but this emblem is sometimes replaced by a lamp, in allusion to her name. now and then she holds a kind of dagger, the supposed instrument of her death, or a spindle, for, according to one version of her legend, she used one to pluck out her eyes. the martyr's palm is generally in her right hand, and examples occur of her holding three crowns, one indicating her noble birth, another her chastity, and the third her martyrdom. in groups of martyrs st. lucy is often associated with saints thekla, agnes, and catherine. in an old german print, reproduced by pere cahier in his ' caract6ristiques des saints,' st. lucy and her mother are seen, kneeling at the tomb of st. agatha on one side, and on the other, the executioner is plunging a dagger into the neck of the martyr, whilst the judge looks on from the back ground. above the entrance to the church of s. lucia, florence, is a beautiful bas-relief by luca della robbia, repre senting the young mar±yr holding her lamp ; in an ' en throned madonna ' by barocchio, now in the louvre, st. lucy is offering her palm to the virgin, and an angel beside her holds her eyes in a cup ; in a fine painting by sodoma in the turin gallery the saint holds two eyes in a dish, and is looking out at the spectator, as if to call attention to them ; in the ' st. nicholas in glory,' by lorenzo lotto, in the carmine church, venice, the eyes are introduced in a plate on the clouds beside their owner, who is seated opposite st. john the baptist; in a picture by carlo dolci in the uffizi gallery, florence, rays of light issue from the wound in the breast of the saint, in allusion, probably, to her name of lucia ; and in an oil-painting in the prado gallery, madrid, estilo de correa has painted the martyred maiden with a plate containing her eyes in one hand, and a palm in the other. more celebrated than any of these representations of st. lucy is the great altar-piece painted for her church at florence by domenico veneziano, of which the upper part is now in the uffiizi gallery in that city, and the predella at berlin. in the st. agnes 83 former the madonna and child are enthroned with saints john the baptist and francis on one side, and saints nicholas and lucy on the other, whilst on the predella the martyrdom of the maiden is represented as taking place in the presence of a crowd of spectators. in the jesi library are three panels by lorenzo lotto, representing the chief scenes of the st. lucy legend ; and in a much-defaced fresco at padua, the frustrated attempt of oxen and men to drag the maiden from the judg ment-hall is rendered in a very realistic manner. there is a fine painting of the actual martyrdom by l. bassano in s. giorgio maggiore, venice, and one by g. massarotti at cremona, in which the victim is bound to a stake, calmly awaiting the death-blow. the legend of st. agnes greatly resembles that of st. lucy, but she was even younger than her fellow-martyr when she met her terrible fate. the daugh ter of noble roman parents, she was sought in marriage at the early age of thirteen by sempronius, the son of the prefect of rome, but rejected his advances with scorn, declaring that she meant to be the bride of none but christ. her lover tried to induce her to listen to him by offer ing her all manner of costly gifts, but she refused to accept them, saying, ' i am betrothed to one greater and fairer than any earthly suitor, who will crown me with jewels com pared to which thy gifts are dross.' cut to the heart by the disappointment — for he truly loved the maiden — the young roman went home, took to his bed, and was soon at the point of death. the physicians declared that their patient was suffering from a hopeless passion, and their skill could avail nothing. hearing this, the prefect cross-examined his son, who confessed that the child agnes was the object of his love and that, unless he could win her for his bride he knew that he must die. so the prefect went to agnes and himself pleaded with her for the life of his boy ; but she was obdurate, repeating what she had already said to her lover. at last, losing patience, the prefect ordered her to be arrested as a christian, and, when she refused to sacrifice to the gods, she was subjected to all manner of tortures and insults, none of which could harm her. when stripped naked, her long hair covered her like a veil ; when men approached to harm her, an angel appeared beside her, guarding her from every profane touch, and the room in which she was shut up became filled with 6—2 84 the saints in christian art heavenly radiance. the young sempronius, hearing on his sick-bed of the attempts that were being made to subdue agnes to his will, arose and came to her ; but as he approached her, her guardian angel put forth a warning hand. the unfortunate lover was at once smitten with blindness, and fell in convulsions at the feet of the maiden. he was carried home in a dying state, and his father, realizing at last how useless it was to contend against one thus aided from heaven, besought agnes to pray for his boy, that he might be healed. she did so, and he at once recovered. after this miracle the prefect, it is said, would gladly have saved the saintly maiden from further perse cution, but it was too late : the fury of the people was aroused, and they clamoured for the death of the sorceress, who, they said, could kill and make alive with a word. st. agnes was condemned to be burnt to death, and tied to the stake with faggots piled around her ; but the flames, instead of burning her, slew the executioners whose business it was to keep up the fire. she was therefore beheaded, meeting her fate with joy, and with her last breath thanking god for having been with her through so many trials. her body was buried by her parents outside the city on the via nomentana, where not very long afterwards, the basilica of s. agnese fuori le mura was founded in memory of the martyr, by constantine the great. it is related that a short time after her death, when her father and mother were praying at her tomb, st. agnes appeared to them with a lamb of snowy whiteness by her side, and said : ' weep not, but rejoice with exceeding joy : for me a throne is prepared by the side of him whom on earth i preferred to all others, and to whom i am united for ever in heaven.' on account of this vision, or because her name signifies lamb, the chief attribute in art of st. agnes is a lamb, and it became customary in rome to offer at her altar on her fste-day, january 21, a lamb, which was afterwards presented to the pope. the ceremony of the blessing of the lambs still takes place on that day in s. agnese fuori le mura, and in the monastery of the same name is kept a special breed of sheep, from the wool of which the archiepiscopal pallia are woven. young girls invoke st. agnes to insure the faithfulness of their lovers, and think that if they are betrothed on her ffete-day all will go well with them. she is also supposed, though why is not known, to protect her votaries from all perils of the sea, alinari phofo\ [duomo, pisa st. agnes by andrea del sarto to face p. 84 st. agnes 85 and she is one of the chosen patrons of the order of trini tarians, founded in her native city in the twelfth century for the rescue of christians from slavery. st. agnes was a very favourite saint with italian and spanish painters, and she is constantly introduced in devotional pictures, either kneeling with a lamb beside her or in her arms, with a lily or a palm in one hand and a book in the other, the last probably on account of her love of the holy scriptures, or because her name was early written in the book of life. more rarely she has a sword in her hand or plunged into her throat. sometimes, as in one of fra angelico's many ' corona tions of the virgin,' st. agnes may be recognised by her long hair, covering her as with a garment, and occasionally an angel stands beside her, in allusion to the supernatural aid she received during her trial. ■st. agnes is placed between st. eulalia and st. agatha in the mosaic procession of martyrs in s. apouinare nuovo ravenna, in the seventh-century mosaics of s. agnese fuori le mura, rome, she appears between popes honorius and symmachus, and in one of the subterranean chapels beneath the comparatively modern church of s. agnese on the piazza navona, rome, is a bas-relief by algardi, representing her martyrdom, which is supposed to have taken place close by, in what is now a roman circus. fine single figures of this favourite saint are the fresco by andrea del sarto, in the cathedral of pisa, that by luini in s. maurizio, milan, and the rare engraving by martin schon gauer, in which she is represented wearing a crown of olive, and with her long hair flowing down her shoulders. in fra angehco's ' coronation of the virgin,' now in the louvre, the group of saints agnes and catherine is especially beautiful ; in titian's ' madonna and child,' in the same collec tion, st. agnes is offering her palm to the infant saviour ; in the ' enthroned madonna ' by paolo veronese, in the venice academy, she is presenting a nun to the blessed virgin ; in el greco's ' virgin and child in glory ' in s. jos6, toledo, she appears with her lamb on her knees ; and in tinto retto's ' paradiso,' in the doge's palace, venice, she stands near the patriarchs abraham and isaac. amongst the many renderings of the martyrdom of st. agnes, none are better known than the terribly realistic painting by 86 the saints in christian art domenichino, in the bologna academy; that by vicente joannes, in the prado gallery, madrid ; and the two interpreta tions of the same subject by tintoretto, one in the academy, the other in the church of s. maria dell' orto, venice, which also contains a fine representation of the so-called ' miracle of st. agnes,' by the same master, in which the maiden saint is seen restoring to life the son of the prefect of rome. during her protracted trial, st. agnes is said to have been closely attended by her young foster-sister, st. emerantiana, who reproached the executioners for their barbarity. no special notice was taken of her at the time, but it is related that a few days after the martyrdom, when she was praying at the grave of the victim, some of the heathen, whose anger she had aroused against her by her conduct at the execution of her friend, gathered about her and stoned her to death. she was, it is added, only a catechumen at the time, but the christians said she was baptized in her own blood, and she is now accounted a saint in the roman catholic church. she is sometimes associated with st. agnes in works of art, and may be recognised by the stones she holds in her lap. very poetic is the legend told of st. dorothea, a noble maiden of cesarea, who was martyred, it is supposed, about the same time as saints lucy, agnes, and emerantiana. accused of being a christian, she was brought before the governor fabricius, who was famed for the ingenuity of the tortures he inflicted on his prisoners. dorothea was, however, so lovely that even his hard heart was touched by her beauty, and he longed to rescue her and marry her. instead of order ing her to be torn on the rack, therefore, he had her shut up in a dungeon, and instructed two apostate women to go to her, promising them a great reward if they could persuade her to recant. the result was very unexpected, for st. dorothea, instead of yielding to their arguments, made them so ashamed of their own weakness that they returned to the true faith themselves. when they left her they went back to the governor, telling him that they were christians once more, and were ready to die for their faith. enraged against them for their failure, fabricius condemned them to be burnt to death, and st. dorothea was sent for to witness the sufferings she had brought upon them. undismayed even by this terrible ordeal, the saintly maiden stood beside the martyrs st. dorothea • 87 to the end, encouraging them to persevere, and assuring them that their transient pangs would be followed by the joys of eternal life. when the poor women were dead, fabricius gave st. dorothea one more chance of saving herself by sacrificing to the gods, promising her a life of happiness with him if she would yield, but she resisted all temptations, declaring that she would be the bride of none but christ, in whose garden grew celestial fruits and roses that would never fade. worn out at last by the young girl's obstinacy, the governor ordered her to be first tortured and then beheaded. she received the sentence with joy, and after being stretched on the rack and torn with pincers, she was led forth from the city to be beheaded. as she passed through the streets of cesarea on her way to death, a young man named theophilus came out from the crowd and cried out to her derisively : ' ha, ha, fair maiden ! goest thou to join thy bridegroom ? i pray thee send me some of the fruits and flowers from his garden, for i would fain taste them.' to this taunt st. dorothea, meekly bowing her beautiful head, replied : ' thy request is granted, o theophilus !' at which he turned to his gay companions to share the good joke with them, and they all laughed heartily over it. when the place of execution was reached, st. dorothea knelt down to receive her death-blow, and just before the end all present saw standing beside her a beautiful boy with gleaming golden hair, who held in his hand a basket containing some fine apples and roses. when st. dorothea saw them, she knew that her prayer for the conversion of the scoffer had been answered, and she said to the heavenly messenger : ' take the basket to theophilus ; say that dorothea sent them before she went to the garden whence they came, where she will await his coming.' the angel obeyed, and found theophilus still surrounded by his friends, and gloating over the grim joke he had made. great indeed was the astonishment of all at the apparition, and when the messenger placed the basket in the hands of the young lawyer, telling him what st. dorothea had said, a great silence fell upon them all. they were eager to question the boy, but he disappeared directly his duty was done, and theophilus, touched to the heart by the miracle, proclaimed 88 the saints in christian art himself a christian. he is said to have been beheaded soon afterwards, meeting his fate with quiet heroism. st. dorothea, who is the patron saint of young lovers, of gardeners, and, strange to say, of brewers, though why is not known, is generally represented crowned with flowers, and with flowers in her lap or in her hands. sometimes an angel stands beside her, holding a basket of fruit and flowers ; an incident of her legend referred to in passau breviary (venice, 1321) in the following quaint latin lines : ' paradisi de veridasjo rosas mittis notario, quern mortis cum salario coeli jungis sacrario,' etc.* in certain old calendars february 6, the f6te-day of st. dorothea, is marked with an apple and a pair of pincers, in joint allusion to the martyred maiden's sufferings and triumph. the beautiful legend of st. dorothea inspired the well-known tragedy of massinger, ' the virgin martyr,' in which the romance of the situation is heightened by making antonius the son of fabricius, the lover of the young girl, whose last prayer for him is that the ' affection in which he languishes to death may be changed to the love of heaven.' in the sacristy of the cathedral of aix-la-chapelle is a quaint old painting of st. dorothea, with a basket of flowers on her knees and a bunch of roses in her right hand ; and an anonymous engraving of her, dated 1418, is preserved in the brussels museum. in some devotional pictures, as in one by israel van melen, she is introduced on one side of the enthroned madonna, or she kneels below, offering her basket of flowers to the holy child. in the so-called s. gemignano altar-piece by francia, now in the berlin gallery, she stands, with st. catherine, in the centre of the principal scene ; in a paint ing by carlo dolci, in the darmstadt gallery, an angel is bringing her a basket of flowers ; and in a fine picture by van dyck she holds a palm as well as her roses. the martyrdom of st. dorothea is the subject of a dramatic com * ' from the green fields of paradise roses to the lawyer dost thou send, where by him thou shalt be joined when he, too, the reward of death hath won.' ^ ^ ^ v •5! w (-1 o o o o s o d ps >< a ^ m w h to s to st. catherine of alexandria 89 position at brescia, by jacopo ligozzi, in which angels are introduced hovering above the kneeling maiden, with garlands of roses in their hands, whilst fabricius and his attendants are looking on. an extremely fine modern rendering of the legend of the roses is that by sir edward burne-jones, in private possession, in which the angel approaches theophilus with a basket of flowers and fruit, as he stands watching the removal of the dead body of the martyr. in spite of the great and widespread veneration in which st. catherine of alexandria is held, very little is really known about her. she is, however, supposed to have been of noble, some say of royal, birth, the daughter of costis, son of con stantine chlorus, the father of constantino the great, and to have been one of the most learned women of her time, able to hold her own in argument with the far-famed philosophers of egypt, many of whom she won over to christianity. whether she was brought up as a christian or early converted to the faith is uncertain, but it is related that her mother, sabinella, who was queen of egypt in her own right, dreamt that the child to be born to her should be raised to great glory, and when the little one arrived she had a gleaming aureole about her head. king costis, who loved his daughter greatly, had her instructed in all the wisdom of the day, and when he died left her heiress of all he possessed, though she was but fourteen years old at the time. the orphaned catherine was crowned queen of egypt without opposition, although, apparently, her mother, queen sabinella, was still living. the people of egypt naturally wished their young monarch to marry, that an heir to the kingdom might be born, but nothing was further from her intentions, and she told her nobles, when they suggested that she should choose a husband, that she had resolved to remain single all her life. they explained to her that this was impossible, for it was her duty to marry a prince who could aid her in the government of her country, command the army in case of war, and be in every sense worthy of her own noble birth, wisdom, and beauty. this persistency greatly troubled queen catherine, but she proved her knowledge of human nature by seeming to yield to the pressure put upon her, promising that if a man could be found possessing certain notable gifts she would marry him. , ' he that shall be my husband and lord of my heart,' she said, ' must go the saints in christian art be so endowed that all creatures shall have need of him, but he shall have need of none. he shall be of such noble blood that all men shall worship him ; so great that i shall never be reminded that he owes his position to me ; so rich that he shall own more than all others ; so beautiful that the very angels of god shall long to behold him ; and so loving that he can forgive every affence against him.' surprised at such an address from the young girl they had expected to be able to manage easily, the nobles consulted together, when all agreed that such a hero as the queen had described had never existed, and that to search for him would be a mere waste of time. queen sabinella was appealed to, and she said to st. catherine, ' alas, my daughter ! where are you likely to find such a husband ?' to which the young girl replied, ' if i do not find him, he shall find me ; for other husband will i none.' as a result of this obstinacy, the situation at the court of alexandria became very strained, and there was much mur muring amongst the people. presently, however, there arrived in the city a holy hermit, who, according to one version of the legend, was really st. luke the evangelist himself. declaring that he was charged with an important mission to the queen, the holy man asked for a private interview with her. it was granted, for it was hoped that he might be the emissary of some noble suitor, and the stranger then told the young ruler that there did exist such an one as she had de scribed in her speech to her courtiers. the virgin mary, he added, had appeared to him in a dream, and told him that her son, who was himself the king of glory, the lord of heaven and earth, would accept queen catherine as his bride. the hermit then showed to the astonished maiden a picture of the virgin mother and her divine child, at the sight of which st. catherine's heart was at once filled with love and reverence for them. she bade the hermit leave the picture with her, and, forgetting all else, gazed upon it continually. the next night she, in her turn, dreamed a wonderful dream, in which she seemed to wander forth from her city with the hermit, till she came to a gleaming temple on the summit of a high mountain. the two paused when they reached the gateway, and from it issued forth an escort of angels, clothed in white, st. catherine of alexandria gr who bade queen catherine welcome, and took her through many antechambers full of winged attendants in shining garments, till they came to an inner sanctuary, where stood the mother of the lord with her glorious son, surrounded by a great host of worshippers. taking st. catherine by the hand, one of the angels led her to the feet of the blessed virgin, who received her graciously, and in her turn pre sented her to christ, saying, ' this is thy servant catherine, who for thy love hath given up all earthly joys.' to the trembling maiden's bitter grief, however, the lord turned away his head with the words, ' she is not fair enough for me.' here a burst of weeping woke the queen, and the vision faded away, but the first thing the next morning she sent for the hermit, begging him to tell her how she should become worthy of the heavenly bridegroom to whom she had now given her whole heart. the holy man told her she must be come a christian and be baptized. she listened eagerly to his instructions, and ere long was admitted into the church, in spite of all the opposition of her nobles and people. on the night after her baptism a new and yet more wonderful vision was vouchsafed to her. the blessed virgin and her son, with a noble company of angels, appeared to her, and the redeemer with a smile of ineffable beauty, telling her she was now beautiful enough for him, placed a ring of betrothal upon her finger. when st. catherine awoke, the ring is said to have been still there, leaving her in no possible doubt as to the reality of the marvellous experience. of course, after this all efforts to induce the queen to marry were in vain, but she ruled her kingdom with such wisdom that, in spite of her disregard of their wishes, her people became deeply attached to her. she might, perhaps, have won the whole of egypt to her own faith, had not the emperor maximianus come to alexandria for a time with the determination to exterminate all the christians. many were arrested, tortured, and executed, although queen catherine herself pleaded their cause with the tyrant. maximianus is said to have fallen in love with her at first sight, and to have paid court to her, although he was already married. finding her proof against all his flatteries, however, he became en raged against her, and, hoping to put her to public shame, he 92 the saints in christian art challenged her to argue out in public, with several of the most learned scholars of the day, the points in dispute between the christians and the heathen. st. catherine, nothing daunted, disputed so eloquently that all her opponents were vanquished, many of them being converted on the spot, including, some say, the celebrated philosopher porphyry, one of the most bitter writers against the christians of his time. finding gentle measures of no avail against this rarely-gifted maiden, maximianus now resorted to violence, and, strange to say, in spite of her royal dignity, no efforts appear to have been made by her subjects to save their queen from imprisonment and torture. she was not, however, left unaided : angels minis tered to her in prison, and the empress herself, who went to visit her, hoping, perhaps, to find her rival in her husband's affec tions dead or dying, was won over to the true faith. glad of an excuse to get rid of his wife, maximianus condemned her and all the other converts to be put to death, after which he renewed his courtship of st. catherine, promising to make her empress if she would recant. needless to add that she indig nantly refused, upbraiding her suitor with his crimes, and declaring herself eager to die and be with christ. then the emperor vowed that he would find some death for her to die more terrible than any ever yet inflicted, and he commanded that four wheels, each studded with sharply-pointed knives, should be constructed in such a manner that two should revolve one way and two the other. to this horrible machine st. catherine was bound, and the signal to set it in motion was given by maximianus himself; but at that very moment fire fell from heaven, the ropes were sundered, and the wheels, breaking into hundreds of pieces, struck the executioners, killing some and wounding others. even this wonderful deliverance did not touch the hard heart of the emperor ; he merely gave orders that the rescued maiden should be taken outside the city and beheaded. as usual, no supernatural intervention prevented the carrying out of this legal sentence, but it is said that after the head of the patient sufferer had been severed from her body, angels came and replaced it, drawing the beautiful hair over the wound. they then carried the martyr to mount sinai, where they reverently buried her, on the spot above which a beautiful monastery was erected by st. helena in the eighth century. some are of opinion, however, that montabone photo\ \poldi-pezzoli gallery, milan the marriage of st. catherine by bernardino litini to face p. 92 st. catherine of alexandria 93. st. catherine was buried where she died, her remains having been translated to the monastery, where they are still reverently preserved in a marble sarcophagus. st. catherine of alexandria is one of the fourteen auxiliary saints of germany, amongst whom she is generally grouped with st. barbara. she is the patron saint of unmarried women, especially, in spite of her royal dignity, of girls in domestic service ; she is supposed to look after the interests of orators and philosophers, because of the public disputation she held with the learned men of her time ; and wheelwrights, millers, and makers of pottery, all appeal to her for aid, on account of a wheel having been the chief instrument of torture used at her martyrdom. the wheel is, of course, the most constant symbol associated in art with the martyred queen of egypt. this wheel is sometimes represented broken, and occasionally, as in a paint ing by a follower of giotto, in private possession, the saint stands between two wheels. in some old calendars a small wheel, set with spikes, marks november 25, the day sacred to st. catherine. in many paintings she wears a similar wheel as an ornament round her neck, or a wheel is em broidered on the back of a book she is reading. the sword, in allusion to the manner of her death, the martyr's palm, the crown, in token of her royal rank, and a book, on account of her learning, are also given to st. catherine. occasionally, as in an old window in west wickham church, in a 'quaint old sculpture in henry vii.'s chapel at westminster, and in a sixteenth-century german group, also in wood, which was amongst the recent bequests to the french nation of baron adolphe de rothschild, a prostrate figure is introduced at the feet of the martyr, said to represent one of the philosophers whom she worsted in argument, or the emperor maximianus, whose addresses she repudiated with scorn. now and then angels are seen near to st. catherine, breaking the wheel to which she is bound, or a dove hovers above her head, in allusion to the supernatural aid she received during her trial, and sometimes the hermit of the legend, or st. luke, appears beside her, the latter showing her his portrait of the blessed virgin and her divine son. st. catherine is one of the saints whose bodies are sup posed to emit a miraculous balm, and amongst the post-com ■94 the saints in christian art munion prayers in an old alsatian missal occurs the following remarkable petition : ' sumptis, domine, salutis seternae mys teriis, te suppliciter deprecamur ut sicut liquor qui de membris beatse catherinse virginis et martyris tuse jugiter manat, lan guidorum corpora sanat ; sic ejus oratio cunctas a nobis iniquitates expellat. per d. n. j. c* amongst the most beautiful of the many single figures of st. catherine of alexandria are the painting by raphael, in the national gallery, london; that by andrea del sarto, in the cathedral of pisa ; and that by correggio, in which the holy maiden is represented reading, now in hampton court palace. very beautiful, too, are those by titian and ghirlandajo, in the uiifizi gallery, florence, and that by luini, in s. maurizio, milan. the character of the martyred queen has also been ably interpreted in many celebrated devotional pictures. in the altar-piece known as the ' madonna del rosario,' by sassoferrato, in s. sabina, rome, she appears with st. dominic ; in the ' madonna and saints ' by paolo veronese, in s. fran cesco della vigna, venice, her seated figure is remarkably effective ; in the same subject by giovanni bellini, in s. zaccaria, venice, she is grouped with st. peter on the left of the enthroned virgin ; in the ' sacra conversazione' by pordenone, in the pitti gallery, florence, she kneels in adoration of the holy child; in the virgin and saints by filippo lippi in s. spirito, florence, and in fra angelico's ' coronation of the virgin ' in the louvre, the figure of st. catherine is especially beautiful. in the ' madonna enthroned ' by andrea del sarto in the berlin museum, the martyred maiden kneels by her broken wheel ; in botticelli's ' madonna with two seraphs,' in the academy, florence, she is grouped with saints barnabas, john the evangelist, and ambrose; in sebastiano del piombo's ' st. john chrysostom,' in s. giovanni crisostomo, she appears with saints agnes and mary magda lene. andrea del sarto introduced her in his fine ' pieta,' now in the pitti gallery, florence, in which she kneels behind the magdalene at the foot of the dead christ. in titian's celebrated ' cornaro family,' now in the alnwick collection, the * o lord, now that the mysteries of eternal salvation have been shown forth, we. thy humble suppliants, beseech thee, that even as the balm flow ing from the limbs of st. catherine, thy virgin and martyr, heals the bodies of the sick, so may her prayers preserve us from all ill. anderson fhoid] \appartamenti borgia, vatican, rome st. catherine disputing with the wise men by pifituricchio to face p. 94 st. catherine of alexan.dria 95 unfortunate catherine, queen of cyprus, is represented as st. catherine of alexandria, and in the ' madonna and child with st. catherine,' by palma vecchio, in the vienna gallery, the artist has taken his own lovely daughter as the model for the martyred saint. the mystic marriage of st. catherine was a very favourite subject with german, flemish, and italian artists. one of the very earliest copperplate engravings, by the anonymous ' master of 1466,' represents the ceremony as taking place in heaven, at the foot of the throne of the virgin, who is about to place a wreath of roses, handed to her by st. dorothea, on the head of the kneeling st. catherine, beside whom stands the bridegroom, a child of five or six years old, who places the ring on the finger of his bride. round about this central group stand other martyred maidens, and in the background is a choir of angels, whilst above hovers the dove of the holy spirit. the same subject was chosen for two of his fine altar pieces by hans memlinc, one of which is now in the hospital of st. john at bruges, and the other in the possession of mr. bodley, a.r.a. at antwerp is an oil-painting by rubens, representing the marriage as taking place in the presence of saints peter and paul, with a large audience of angels. in the academy of venice is a remarkable rendering of the same theme by lucas van leyden, in which the bride wears a crown ; in the royal collection of england is a beau tiful ' marriage of st. catherine,' by van dyck, in which the blessed virgin is about to place a crown upon the head of the saint, as she receives the marriage-ring from her divine suitor ; and luini, correggio, fra bartolommeo and other italian masters have also done full justice to the favourite theme. st. catherine arguing with the philosophers in the presence of the emperor and his court has also been many times represented, the finest rendering, perhaps, being the great fresco by pinturicchio, in the appartamenti borgia of the vatican. in it the saint appears as a lovely girl of about sixteen, with a face full of more than human wisdom, standing in her royal robes opposite to maximianus on his throne, whom she appears to be addressing, whilst the scholars and other spectators listen to her in enthralled astonishment. 96 the saints in christian art other celebrated pictures of scenes from the legend of st. catherine are the ' rescue from the torture of the wheel ' by gaudenzio ferrari,, in the brera gallery, milan, in which an angel is seen with a drawn sword in his hand rushing down to the aid of the sufferer ; the ' beheading of the saint ' by aretino spinelli in the berlin gallery, in which st. catherine is kneeling to receive her death-blow in the foreground, whilst above angels are seen carrying her body over the sea, and in the distance it is being placed in a tomb on the top of a hill ; the fresco by luini in the brera gallery, milan, in which three angels are about to lay their sacred burden in an ornate tomb ; and the series of scenes in fresco from the life of the martyred maiden by masaccio, in the church of s. clemente, rome, beginning with her refusal to offer incense to idols, and ending with her burial by angels. in one of the fine stained-glass windows in the cathedral of angers, various episodes from the life of st. catherine are given, the burial scene differing from other representations of it, for the severed head is not restored to its place, but held in a napkin by one of the three angels, who watches the other two lowering the body into the tomb. in the east window of st. margaret's, westminster, st. catherine of alexandria is introduced above catherine of aragon, and sir edward burne-jones has taken the legend of st. catherine as his leading motive in the beautiful window in christchurch cathedral, oxford, in memory of edith liddell, who died five days after her betrothal. the martyred maiden wearing her crown occupies the central light, having on one side an angel, wit;h a flaming wheel at her feet, typical of suffering patiently borne, and on the other, an angel typical of divine deliverance from pain, crushing the wheel and extinguishing the flames ; in the lower lights are represented the dispute with the philosophers, the ' dream in which the blessed virgin leads the maiden into the presence of christ,' and the ' burial of the martyr by angels.' in the choir of the same church is a quaint figure of very early date of st. catherine, holding the remains of a sword in one hand, and a piece of a wheel in the other ; and in the lady chapel of lichfield cathedral is a fine modern statue of the martyr treading on a dragon, and holding her sword and wheel. in england the f^te-day of st. catherine, november 25, st. euphemia 97 was long kept as a public holiday, and passages from her ' acts ' used to be read in all roman catholic churches. there are, perhaps, more churches and chapels dedicated to her in the british isles than to any other saint, and her name has been given to many features of natural scenery, especially in the south of england. near to ventnor, in the isle of wight, alone are st. catherine's point, st. catherine's beacon, and st. catherine's downs ; and a mile from christchurch, hants, is st. catherine's hill. the catherine wheel was long a favourite sign with inn-keepers, although after the reforma tion, an attempt was made by protestants to change it into the cat and wheel. in fact, the romantic story of the more or less apocryphal maiden has taken a remarkably strong hold on the popular imagination, and even in some enghsh churches dedicated to st. catherine, a banner bearing her effigy leaning on her wheel is carried round in procession on the great feast-days, although her example was scarcely one j which it would be desirable for the young girls of the present { day to follow. chapter viii other martyred women of the fourth century other noble women, less celebrated than saints lucy, agnes, dorothea, and catherine, but probably no less worthy, who suffered martyrdom in the fourth century, were saints euphemia of chalcedon, julietta of iconium, afra of augsburg, justa and rufina of seville, lucia and bibiana of rome, and justina of padua, with whom, as constantly represented in art, must also be named st. christina of bolsena, though her legend has now been rejected by the roman catholic church. of the life of st. euphemia no absolute facts are known, and her fame rests principally upon a sermon preached on her fi^te-day, september 16, by bishop asterius of amasea in pontus, who, alluding to a picture, now lost, but then a trea sure of the chief church of chalcedon, made the following remarks : ' we see her in this picture ... in the dark-brown mantle vol. ii. 7 gs the saints in christian art worn in greece by philosophers, and typical of their renuncia tion of all worldly pleasures ... we see her brought before the judge priscus by two soldiers . . . and in another part of the picture tortured by two executioners, one of whom drags back her head by her long hair, whilst the other strikes her in the mouth with a wooden mallet, causing the blood to flow. ... in the background is seen the interior of a dungeon. st. euphemia, seated on the ground, raises her eyes to heaven. above her head a cross appears . . . and near the prison a pile of faggots is kindled, in the midst of which stands the beautiful and courageous martyr.' tradition has supplemented this account with many thrilling details. when the beautiful maiden was in prison, satan him self is said to have come to tempt her, threatening to kill her then and there if she would not yield to him ; but she routed him by reciting the angelic salutation; when she was bound to the stake the flames made a glory around her, but did her no harm ; when she was bound to wheels, in the same manner as st. catherine had been, an angel broke her,bonds ; when she was flung to the lions, they only licked her hands and feet. at last, priscus, worn out with her constancy and the perpetual interference from heaven, rushed upon her, sword in hand, and himself plunged it into her bosom. according to another version of her story, st. euphemia, when in the amphi theatre, prayed to god to put an end to her sufferings, and a bear at once killed her with one snap of his teeth, crouching reverently beside the body immediately afterwards. st. euphemia, who for some imexplained reason is the patron of theologians, is occasionally introduced in devotional pictures, as in one by marco oggione, in the church named after her at milan, in which she is being presented to the enthroned virgin by st. john the baptist ; and in another by simone cantarini, in the bologna gallery, in which she sta;nds with her lion beside her, beneath the madonna in glory, at whom she is pointing. as a rule, she wears a crown on her head, holds a lily in one hand and a palm in the other, and has a cross embroidered on her robes, in allusion to the apparition of the cross in her prison. the story of st. julietta of iconium is peculiarly touch ing. she was a young wife, dwelling happily with her husband and their one little son^ of three years old, named cyricus, st. julietta 99 •when she was accused of being a christian. she fled from her native town with her child and two women servants to seleucia, hoping to remain there in safety until the fierceness of the persecution should abate. unfortunately, however, she was again arrested, and taken before the governor, alexander, with her boy in her arms. all attempts to make her recant having failed, she was condemned to be tortured on the rack. alexander ordered the guards to give cyricus to him, and when the poor child had with difficulty been torn from his mother's arms, he took him on his knee and tried to comfort him. it was, of course, in vain. every time he heard his mother cry, ' i am a christian !' cyricus echoed her words, stretching out his little arms to her, and struggling to go to her. presently the inhuman judge lost patience, and dashed the child to the ground with such violence that he was killed on the spot. julietta, now that her child was dead, cared less than ever to preserve her own life, and after suffering terrible things at the hands of her persecutors she was beheaded. her servants, who had fled when she was arrested, came by night and buried her and her little one side by side without the city, and after the conversion of constantine the spot was identified. portions of the relics were later translated to nevers, toulouse, and other continental towns, in which the memory of the martyred mother and son are still held specially sacred. it is related that st. cyricus rescued the emperor charlemagne from being killed by a boar near nevers. the enraged animal was just about to slay the emperor, who had got separated from his companions, when a beautiful nude boy suddenly appeared, jumped upon the boar, and, holding it by its tusks, led it to the emperor, who slew it with his spear. the incident is commemorated in the arms of the cathedral of nevers, and also in those of the collegiate church of issundun, st. cyricus being represented holding the boar by the tusks, whilst charlemagne stands by, spear in hand. saints julietta and cyricus often appear in art amongst other martyrs, each with a palm, the little boy clasped in his mother's arms, and looking up to heaven with a charming expression of devotion. a crown and sceptre are sometimes placed at the feet of st. julietta, in allusion to her supposed toyal birth, and now and then a boar appears beside her. 7— a 100 the saints in christian art the memory of the martyred mother and child is held dear even in england, especially in the south-west, where several churches are dedicated to them. st. afra of augsburg is said to have led an evil life, and to have been converted to christianity by a priest named nar cissus, who took refuge in her house from his persecutors, not knowing who she was. later she confessed her past sins to him, and he gave her absolution, assuring her that christ re jected none who were truly penitent. when the retreat of the priest was discovered, st. afra saved him at the risk of her own life, and, whilst he made good his escape, she was dragged before the judge, who was. greatly astonished when she pro claimed herself a christian. he asked her how she could expect to be accepted by the god of her fellow-worshippers, and she replied : ' i know i am unworthy, but he who did not turn away from mary magdalene when she washed his feet with her tears, will not refiise to receive me.' all efforts to shake her faith having failed, she was condemned to be burnt alive, and died at the stake, praying aloud until the end. her mother and three of her handmaidens whom she had con verted, were, it is said, martyred in a similar manner soon afterwards, but not until they had reverently interred the remains of st. afra outside the city. st. afra, to whom penitent sinners appeal for aid, is some times grouped in german devotional pictures with her fellow patron of augsburg, st. ulrich, who was bishop of that city in the tenth century. in the cathedral of augsburg is an altar piece by christopher amberger, in which her martyrdom at the stake is painted on one wing and st. ulrich, in full bishop's robes, appears on the other, whilst in the predella beneath st. narcissus is grouped with the mother and three hand maidens of st. afra. saints justa and rufina, who are little known out of spain, were makers of pottery at seville, of whom it is related that one day, when they were selling their wares in the market, the image of the goddess salambo, supposed to be the same as the astarte of the greeks and romans, was carried by. the priestesses, as their custom was, asked all in their path for an offering for the divinity, but justa and rufina, who had been converted to christianity, refused to give anything. they were therefore arrested, and in the end martyred, but how is not st. bibiana loi stated. they have been several times represented by spanish masters, notably by murillo, and may be recognised by the pottery always introduced beside them. st. lucia of rome is said to have been a lady of noble birth, who was converted to christianity after the death of her husband, and was denounced to the authorities by her own son when she was at a very advanced age. refusing to recant, she was publicly scourged, but an earthquake put an end to the torture, and the temple of jupiter fell in ruins at her feet. later she was flung into a caldron of boiling pitch, but it failed to harm her, and she was then dragged through the streets of rome to be flung into prison. amongst the crowd looking on at her sufferings was a young man named gemianus, who was, it is related, converted in a very remarkable way. a dove circled round his head, making him look up, and he saw heaven opened above him, with angels waiting to receive the soul of st. lucia. convinced at once that the faith she pro fessed was the true one, he hastened after her, and was imprisoned with her. at the same time an angel is said to have appeared to a priest in rome, and to have told him to go and baptize gemianus. the next day the old lady and the new convert were both beheaded, for which reason, when introduced with other martyrs in works of art, they are generally grouped together. st. bibiana of rome was one of a family of christians, all of whom were martyred about 363 a.d. by order of the governor apronianus, who accused them of having by their magical arts caused him to lose the sight of one of his eyes. st. flavian, the father, after being cruelly tortured, was banished, and died of his wounds. st. dafrosa, his wife, was beheaded ; whilst st. bibiana and her young sister, demetria, were shut up in their home for many days without food, and when weakened by fasting were brought before apronianus for trial. demetria, after refusing to recant, fell down dead at the feet of the judge, but st. bibiana was reserved for a more terrible fate. she was bound to a pillar and beaten to death with leaded ropes. her body was then flung without the city to be devoured by wild beasts ; but it was secretly buried by a priest named john, and a little church was built by a christian lady called olympia to mark the resting-place of the saint, enclosing within it the column to which the martyred girl had been bound, 102 the saints in christian art and of which a portion is still preserved. rebuilt in 1625 by bernini under pope urban viii., the walls of the new church were adorned with frescoes of scenes from the life of st. bibiana by pietro da cortona and others, and above the high altar was placed a fine marble statue by the architect. the chief attribute of st. bibiana in art is a branch of a tree with many twigs, supposed to represent the scourge used at her execution, which is occasionally replaced by a truer rendering of a leaded rope. occasionally she holds a dagger, for, accord ing to one account, she was stabbed to death at the last, and she is generally grouped with her father, mother, and sister. greatly venerated in italy and in germany, she is appealed to for aid, possibly because her name signifies the drinker, by habitual drunkards, and also, though why it is impossible to explain, by sufferers from epilepsy. st. justina of padua is said to have been of royal birth, and to have been brought up as a christian by her father. on his death she was accused of belonging to the hated sect, and dragged before the emperor, who ordered her to be stabbed. she received the sentence gladly, and was killed at one blow from the executioner's sword, which pierced her heart. accord ing to another version of her story, her sad fate was the result of her refusal to receive the addresses of the governor of rome, who slew her in revenge for his disappointment, and a stone was long shown in venice said to preserve the marks made by her knees as she prayed to heaven for protection from her ardent suitor. in allusion to the chastity of st. justina, a unicorn is some times introduced beside her, for the reason already explained in connection with her namesake of antioch, and she generally holds a dagger or a sword, in allusion to the manner of her death. she is greatly honoured in padua and venice. her effigy was stamped on the coinage of the latter city under the doges leonardo donato and pasquale cicogna and she is introduced in many devotional pictures wearing rich robes, and with the martyr's palm in her hand. in the fifth century the beautiful church of s. giustina at padua was built in her honour above the catacomb containing her remains with those of other martyrs, and at the beginning of the sixteenth century it was restored by the benedictines, who had chosen st. justina as their patron. in the choir of the new building \galleria bagativalsecchi, milan st. justina by alvise vivarini to face p. 102 st. christina of sweden 103 is a shrine enriched with sculptured scenes from the life of the martyred girl, and above the high altar is a fine oil-painting by paolo veronese representing her martyrdom. there is a very good single figure of st. justina by alvise vivarini in the bagati-valsecchi gallery, milan, in which the martyred girl, the sword piercing her heart, seems about to step out of the picture. she holds a palm in one hand and a closed book in the other. in the frescoes by bernardino luini, on the eastern wall in s. maurizio, milan, she is introduced with st. ursula or st. dorothea, and in the great picture commemorative of the battle of lepanto by tintoretto, in the sala del collegio of the doge's palace, venice, st. justina and st. mark are pre senting an allegorical figure of the city of the lagoons to the enthroned virgin. the legend of st. christina of sweden — now, as already stated, generally repudiated — is to the effect that she was the daughter of a roman patrician named urbanus, and was. converted to christianity in early girlhood. her home was full of beautiful idols in silver and gold, and it often grieved her loving heart to think how much use the material of which, they were made might be to the poor and suffering. one day, in the absence of her father, she could resist the temptation no longer, but broke up the images of the gods and dis tributed the pieces to the christians who came to her for help. they departed, overjoyed at her generosity, carrying, one the head of a jupiter, another that of a venus, and so on. when urbanus returned, he was not unnaturally enraged at the de struction of his property, and ordered his daughter to be scourged. this was done, and st. christina, bleeding from her wounds, was flung into a dark dungeon, where angels visited her, healed her with a touch, and promised to keep her courage good to the end. finding her still obdurate in refusing to recant her errors, or express regret for her destruction of the idols, her father had her further tortured, and finally, as she was not yet quite dead, to be thrown into the sea with a millstone round her neck. yet again she was rescued by messengers from on high, who removed the millstone, clothed the suffering girl in shining white raiment, and led her back to urbanus. the father, thinking himself the victim of magic, now endeavoured to have his obstinate child burnt to death, and j04 the saints in christian art when that failed she was given a chance of life if she would sacrifice to idols. she was taken to the temple of jupiter, but directly she entered it the image of the god fell to the ground at her feet and was broken to pieces, which so terrified her father that he died on the spot. his cruel work was how ever carried on by his successor, julian, who had st. christina's tongue cut out, but she continued to sing the praises of the redeemer all the same. she was then given over to venomous reptiles, who would do her no harm, and finally her beautiful body was bound to a post to be shot at with arrows by the roman soldiers, until at last the pure spirit was released, angels receiving it and bearing it to heaven. the most constant attribute in art of st. christina is a mill stone, suspended round her neck on a rope, but she also sometimes holds an arrow in one hand and a book in the other, as in a quaint old painting engraved in the ' acta sanc torum,' in which the lake of bolsena, the furnace, and the tower in which the saint was shut up, are all introduced, ■whilst three cherubim on clouds, with the triangle, the symbol of the holy trinity, above them, appear in one corner. occasionally, as in an engraving reproduced by pdre cahier in his ' caract6ristiques des saints,' the martyred maiden has a small serpent coiled round her wrist, and she, of course, generally has the martyr's crown and palm. in the eleventh-century church at bolsena, founded in honour of st. christina, and named after her, her tomb is shown, and in a museum connected with the church is a sixteenth-century terra-cotta statue of her. in the bologna gallery is a painting by the little-known jacopo avanzi, representing st. christina bound to a tree, with two soldiers aiming arrows at her, whilst the judge looks on ; and in the venice academy are preserved four out of ten scenes from her legend, painted by paolo veronese for the church of s. antonio torcello, these four being the ' con fession and martyrdom,' the ' flagellation,' the ' visit of the angels to the saint in prison,' and the ' refusal to sacrifice to idols.' in the munich gallery is a beautiful representation of st. christina in the dress of the sixteenth century, resting one hand on her millstone, and holding a palm in the other ; and in the church of s. maria mater domini, venice, is an exceptionally interesting composition by vincenzio catena, [national gallery, london madonna and child, with st. christina and other saints by lttca signorelli to face p. 104 st. helena 105 in which angels are seen upholding the millstone above the lake, and christ himself is giving one of the heavenly messengers a white robe in which to clothe the rescued girl. st. christina is also sometimes introduced in some madonna pictures, notably in one by luca signorelli, now in the mariani collection at citta di castello, in which she wears a very formidable-looking millstone hanging down her back. another maiden martyr of the fourth or fifth century was st. julia of corsica, who is sometimes represented bound to a cross, or clasping a crucifix in her hands. it is related of her that when carthage was taken by genseric she was sold as a slave to a heathen merchant of syria, whose affections she won by her noble and consistent conduct. although he respected her resolve never to marry, he took her with him wherever he went, and it was when travelling in his suite in corsica that she fell under the displeasure of the heathen authorities for refusing to sacrifice to idols. her master did all he could to save her, but he failed to do so, and she was put to death by being tied to a cross and left to die. chapter ix st. helena and the emperor constantine fact and fiction are so closely interwoven with regard to st. helena and her son that it is impossible to separate them. some, including gibbon, assert that the future empress was the daughter of an innkeeper, and was born at york ; others, that her father was a well-to-do citizen of colchester. yet another opinion, adopted by such good authorities as leland and henry of huntingdon, is that st. helena was the only child of the british king cortus, the old king cole of the nursery ballad, who was the first to enclose within walls the town named after him. this tradition is memorialized in the arms of colchester, which consist of four crowns and a cross, the latter emblem in allusion to the legend related below. in any case, it seems certain that when constantius chlorus wooed his bride he was still but a private officer of the roman io6 the saints in christian art ariny, and the fact that on his accession to the imperial dignity in 305 he was at once divorced from the mother of con stantine would seem to favour the idea of her lowly origin, no accusation having ever been brought against her as a wife. the name of stabularia given to st. helena in old records, say some, means ' ostler-wench,' but those who claim that she was a princess, insist that it has reference rather to her having built a church over the stable in which the redeemer was born. an equally marked difference of opinion exists as to the date of st. helena's conversion to christianity. theodoret and others seem to imply that she gave her son a christian education, but eusebius asserts that it was constantine who converted her when she was quite an old woman. what became of st. helena after her separation from her husband is not known, but on his accession to supreme power the new emperor proclaimed her augusta, and to the end of her life treated her with all possible honour and respect. whichever account be true, it is certain that st. helena did not receive baptism until after the great victory over maxentius in 312 ; but this must not be taken to prove too much, for in those early days it had not become customary for new converts to be baptized at once as a matter of course, and constantine himself did not receive the rite until just before his death. the emperor constantine is canonized in the greek though not in the latin church, and the main facts of his life must be recorded here on account of the many beautiful-works of art they have inspired. he was the eldest son of constantine chlorus and st. helena, and is supposed to have been born in 274 at naissus, in upper mcesia. he greatly distinguished him self in the wars of diocletian, and was a very great favourite in the army and at court on account of his handsome person and charming manners. when, through the abdication of diocletian and maximian in 305, his father became joint emperor of the west with galerius, and his mother was divorced, he found himself in a very difficult position, for his popularity aroused the jealousy of galerius, who endeavoured to get rid of him by placing him on every occasion in the forefront of danger. fore seeing the difficulties with which his beloved son would have to contend, constantius chlorus summoned him to join him in gaul, and, having with great difficulty obtained leave of absence, constantine left the palace of galerius at night, and reached 1 1 is p 1 wr^ -^ ^m ipp [^^ m \^ 1 ^k^ nf^lj^^^^h |y| ! %-*r^jm ^^ik^ h j^^ j^^^^^t ^^^^^^^^^ ^^ "vis^^h ^^^1 /^^^^■mfl^lp^ ij^^^^^^i ^^^ ^h ^^1 1 ^^^^^v' ^^^^^^k j 1 w ""^^ ^bl^ ^>^hb ^h 1 ^<^ ^ 1 iflll § 1 1 [hampton court palace st. helena bearing the cross by tamai'occio to face p. io6 the emperor constantine 107 boulogne just as his father was starting for britain. he took part in the successful expedition against the picts, and was with his father when he died at york in 306, after naming him his successor as caesar of the west, and guiardian of his six young step-brothers and sisters. galerius reluctantly accepted an appointment he was unable to refuse, endorsed as it was by popular consent ; but the life of the young emperor was one long struggle for the next five years, until, by his great victory over maxentius at the milvian bridge near rome in 312, he became sole emperor of the west. it was on the eve of this victory that the remarkable incident occurred which is generally supposed to have been the cause of the conversion of constan tine. the story was told by the emperor himself to eusebius, and was to the effect that, being anxious and worried about the approaching conflict, he was hesitating to what god to appeal for aid, when, looking up, he saw a flaming cross in the sky, on which was inscribed ef rovrca vika (by this conquer). this was at noonday, and in a dream the same night the meaning of the portent was explained, a celestial visitor instructing constantine to engrave upon the shields of his soldiers the monogram of the name of christ. this was the origin of the famous standard of the cross called the labarum, though why no one has been able to determine, which originally consisted of a pike with a bar of wood fixed near its point, thus forming a cross, whilst on the point itself was a gem-studded crown bear ing in its centre the monogram of x.r.i, the first three letters of the greek name of christ, said to have been a modification of the symbol of the sun-god. the famous labarum was not given to the army by constantine until 323, but the edict of milan of 313 granting civil rights to the christians is supposed to have been the immediate result of the so-called vision of the cross. it must be added, however, that those who assume that it was an actual cross seen in the sky by the emperor are in danger of forgetting that the cross was not accepted by christians as the emblem of our lord's passion until con siderably later, and that the word ' cross ' was used in the time of constantine to signify the monogram which owed its origin in part to a pagan symbol. the christians recognised in this heathen emblem a mystic prophecy of the redeemer, but the only figure resembling a cross which they themselves io8 the saints in christian art used in the first two centuries of the new era was the so-called swastica, resembling two interlaced z's, and even as late as the fourth century the cross was still dissimulated, as in a fresco in the catacomb of st. callixtus, in which it is represented as a green tree with two horizontal branches. in the fifth century the so-called 'nile key' — a stunted cross surmounted by a circle — was borrowed by the christians from the egyptians, as com bining the cross with the crown, and gradually the crown came to enclose the cross. it is supposed by many authorities that the constantinian monogram was a modification of this egyptian symbol, and some are even of opinion that all the emperor really saw in the sky was an unusual effect of sunlight resembling the symbol of the sun-god, but they fail to explain why a portent such as this should have been at once associated in his mind with christianity. in any case, the fact remains that in giving the labarum, whatever its origin, to his army constantine set the seal of official recognition on the hitherto proscribed re ligion, and by so doing inaugurated a new era. the date of the military acceptance of the cross as the sign in which to conquer, was also that of the defeat and death of licinius, the christian emperor's only remaining rival. con stantine was now sole ruler of the east and west, and having decided to make byzantium his capital, he took up his residence there, changing its name to constantinople. the profession of christianity now ceased to be looked upon as a crime, and although some few martyrs still suffered in outlying districts of the vast empire, a new and glorious chapter in the history of the church began. the long-despised sect had finally con quered, and ere long it became the turn of the heathen to be delivered over to condemnation by those who believed that there was no salvation possible for unbelievers. the man who brought about this mighty change, or, rather, who set the seal of authority upon that change — for it had been inaugurated long before his conversion — has naturally been glorified as a hero of the noblest character, one who brought light into darkness and bequeathed to his successors a boon of priceless value. unfortunately, this estimate is not fully justified by facts. the last few years of the first christian emperor were stained by most unchristian crimes, including the judicial murder of his own son, the gallant crispus, whom he suspected of ambitious designs. it is true that constantine founded many christian the emperor constantine 109 churches, working at some of them with his own hands ; but it was not until shortly before his death that he had the heathen temples finally closed and christianity proclaimed the religion of the state. he put off his baptism also until the last moment, probably because he had adopted the popular idea that the rite would wash away all previous guilt, and he wished to get all possible good out of it. the story of his having been baptized by pope sylvester at rome in 326 is now generally known to be fictitious. out of it, however, has grown a very picturesque legend, which has been the subject of several interesting series of frescoes. according to this legend, st. sylvester, who was bishop of rome before the conversion of constantine, had fled from persecution, and taken refuge in a cave in monte calvo. whilst st. sylvester was in concealment the emperor con stantine was attacked by leprosy, and the heathen priests he summoned to the palace to his aid declared that the only thing to cure him was a bath of children's blood. no less than three thousand children were collected by the soldiers to be slain, and the emperor set forth in his chariot to the place appointed by the priests for the terrible sacrifice. on the way the mothers of the little ones intercepted him, blocking his path and piteously entreating him to be merciful touched to the heart, constantine cried aloud, ' far better that i should die than cause the murder of these innocents !' and, turning to his officers, he ordered them to release the intended victims. he then gave money to the mothers and went home again. that same night saints peter and paul appeared to the emperor in a dream, and told him to seek bishop sylvester, who would show him a pool wherein to wash, the waters of which would cleanse him from his leprosy. they urged him, further, to believe in the christians' god, for it was he who had sent them to him. constantine obeyed, and when he had found st. sylvester he related his vision. the bishop could not at first believe that the apostles had really appeared to a heathen, and sent for some pictures of saints peter and paul owned by a member of his flock. constantine declared that they resembled his visitors, so st. sylvester,^ interpreting the vision in his own way, baptized the emperor, who came forth from the font healed of his disease. convinced now that jesus christ was indeed god, constantine ordered no the saints in christian art that he should be everywhere adored as such, and that the bishops of rome should take precedence of all bishops, just as the emperor took precedence of all secular rulers. furthermore, he granted the privilege of sanctuary to christian churches, ordered that the tithes of all roman lands should be given to christ's vicar onearth, and finally he himself dug the foundations of a new basilica, that now known as s. giovanni in laterano, which was dedicated to st. john the baptist. the empress helena is said to have reproached her son for his conduct on this occasion, for she was not yet converted, and she came to rome with a large following of jewish rabbis, who argued the matter with certain greek philosophers named by constantine. to this wonderful meet ing st. sylvester also came, apparently without an invitation, and he confuted jews and greeks alike, rousing the anger of all against him, so that a magician named zambri defied him to a trial of skill, declaring that if a wild bull were brought in, he would whisper a name in its ear which would kill it on the spot. the bull was fetched, requiring a hundred men to hold it ; zambri whispered in its ear and it fell down dead. jews and greeks alike then fell upon the bishop, and would have torn him to pieces, when he cried : ' the name the magician pro nounced cannot have been that of god, but of the devil, for christ our god does not strike dead the living, but restores the dead to life. it is easy to kill — wild beasts can do that — but who can give back the life that is gone ? let zambri restore with a word the creature he has slain : as it is written, i will kill and i will make alive.' then the emperor and the judges ordered zambri to obey, but he could not. the bull remained motionless until st. sylvester made the sign of the cross over it, when it rose up, bowing its head as meekly as if it had borne the yoke all its life. after this extraordinary proof of the power of st. sylvester, it is no wonder that the emperor turned to him in every difficulty. on another occasion, when the heathen priests of rome com plained that a great dragon devoured all who ventured out of the city, constantine sent for the bishop, who went forth alone, bearded the dragon in the deep moat in which he dwelt, tied up his mouth with a twisted thread, and sealed it with a cross, leaving the helpless beast to die miserably, a manifest allegory of the power of the cross to save from the death of st. helena m sin. st. sylvester, though he was not the extraordinary character these legends would make him appear, was, indeed, evidently well fitted to govern the church in her new position of prosperity and triumph, and the stories about him are prob ably founded on the real benefits he conferred on his flock, by the tact of his dealings with the first christian emperor. at whatever time the conversion of st. helena took place, it was not until some twelve years after the apparition of the flaming cross or monogram to her son, when she was quite an old woman, that she made the memorable journey to palestine. constantine is said to have written in 326 to st. macarius, then bishop of jerusalem, on the subject of the erection of a church on mount calvary, and st. helena decided to go there to superintend the carrying out of the scheme. she resolved at the same time to endeavour to find the cross on which the saviour had suffered, having received instructions direct from heaven on the subject in a wonderful dream, in which a cross was shown to her by two beautiful child-angels. as already stated, it was not until many years after the death of our lord that the cross became the symbol of christianity, and no attempt had been made by the early converts to obtain possession of the one on which the redeemer had suffered. at the beginning of the third century, however. christians began to use the sign of the cross, and to pray with outstretched arms in memory of the attitude in which christ had died. from this the transition was natural to veneration of the actual instrument of his passion, and about the time of the conversion of constantine an eager discussion began as to the form of that instrument, some asserting that it was of the shape known as the latin — that is to say, with arms of equal length springing from the upper part of the central shaft; others, that it was of the greek form, with shaft and arms all exactly alike; and yet others, that it was a mere transverse cross without central shaft, forniing the letter x. now one and now another of these forms became used as a symbol side by side with the fish which had so long been the only christian emblem ; but the problem was finally solved, and the form of the cross fixed by the empress helena, who imme diately on her arrival at jerusalem secured the co-operation of bishop macarius in her quest. although the christians themselves had been unable to 112 the saints in christian art mark the scene of their lord's death in any way, it was not very difficult to identify it, because the heathen had raised a temple to venus on calvary, with a view, it is said, to making those who came to worship on the sacred spot appear to be doing reverence to that goddess. the first thing to be done, therefore, was to destroy this temple, and the fact that st. helena had no difficulty in getting this done is an incidental proof of the great change which had recently taken place in popular feeling with regard to the christians. after a long search and digging to a great depth, the explorers were, it is said, rewarded by finding the three crosses with the very nails which had pierced the hands and feet of the lord, and the inscription which had been set up over his head. the fact that this inscription was lying apart from the crosses, made it difficult to decide which was that of the lord, but st. macarius suggested that all three should be taken to the house of a christian lady then at the point of death. this was done, and after an earnest prayer by st. macarius that a sign might be granted to those present, the patient was touched by each of the crosses in turn. when the third and last test was applied, she sat up perfectly restored to health, and all knew that there could no longer be any doubt as to which was the true cross. dehghted with her success, st. helena at once ordered a beautiful church to be built on the scene of her discovery, but, unfortunately, in her eager desire that all should share in the benefits of the marvellous reuc she had found she did not pre serve it intact. one portion of the true cross she sent to her son at constantinople, another with the inscription to rome, where it is preserved in s. croce in gerusalemme, and a third portion she confided to bishop macarius for the new church at jerusalem. the emperor received the relic with much veneration, and in memory it is supposed of the great dis covery, he put a final stop throughout his dominions to the use of the cross for the putting to death of malefactors. the nails found with the cross st. helena also divided. one she had set in a bridle, another in a diadem for her son, and the third she kept herself until the day when she flung it into the adriatic during a terrible storm, with the result that the sea at once became calm, on which account sailors still look upon the gulf as sacred to the memory of the empress. st. helena remained at jerusalem until the new church was \isfational gallery^ london the vision of st. helena by paolo veronese to face p. 112 st. helena 113 completed, building also a convent for holy women, in which she dwelt herself, serving the inmates with her own hands and nursing them in sickness. when she felt that her end was ap proaching, she returned to rome, anxious to see her son once more, and she expired in his presence in 326 or 328. she was interred with great pomp in s. croce in gerusalemme, but her body is said to have been translated in the ninth century to the abbey of hautvilliers, in champagne. her empty mausoleum is kept in a cloister of s. giovanni in laterano, and her memory is still preserved in the church in which she rested for a time, by a chapel bearing her name, and by two statues, one at the entrance opposite to that of st. sylvester, and another above the altar, which is really a copy of the barberini juno, except for the fact that a cross is held in the right hand and a nail in the left. st. helena is generally represented in imperial robes, with a crown on her head, an open book in one hand, and in the other a cross of the form known as the crux immissa, with a long shaft and short arms, as in an engraving from the boiss6rie collection, now in the munich gallery, and in the carvings of a rood-screen at eye in suffolk. more rarely, as in paintings by simone memmi, and ii giottino, the cross the empress has in her hand is small, or it is replaced, as in a picture by domenichino, by a nail, which she holds over a cup, or by a church, supposed to be that of the holy sepulchre at jerusalem. she appears occasionally only in devotional pic tures, as in the ' nativity ' of cima da conegliano in s. maria del carmine, venice, and in an altar-piece by lambertini in the academy of the same city. the attributes in art of constantine the great are a chrism or tablet bearing the monogram of christ, in allusion to the vision related above ; a cross, which varies in size, but never in form, on account of the discovery of the true cross by his mother ; and a church, because he gave a political status to the christian religion and built many basilicas. the chrism of con stantine at first represented simply the three letters xri, already explained, but as time went on it became replaced by a new monogram of which the meaning was not exactly the same, the ihs, or the initials of jesus, being substituted for those of christ, for it was urged that the apostles had said ' at the name of jesus,' not at the name of christ, ' every knee shall bow.' vol. ii. 8 114 the saints in christian art the introduction of the emperor constantine in devotional pictures is very rare, but occasionally, as in a painting by palma vecchio in the brera gallery, milan, and in one by cima da conegliano in s. giorgio in bragora, venice, he stands on one side of a cross, and his mother on the other. now and then, as in the picture by rubens, painted for her chapel at rome, but now in private possession, st. helena embraces the cross with both hands, or she kneels in adoration at its foot, as in a quaint old engraving reproduced by pere cahier in his ' caract6ristiques des saints,' in which st. macarius is seen staggering beneath a heavy cross, with which he is touching the forehead of a woman in bed, whilst the crosses of the thieves are lying on a hill in the background. in a quaintly-carved cross in the chancel wall of the church of kelloc in durham, st. helena is represented discovering the cross. in the church of ss. giovanni e paolo, venice, there is an interesting marble group by antonio dentone of the empress presenting general vittore capello with a marshal's baton, and a statue of the same saint, by bolgi, occupies one of the niches of the lower part of the dome of st. peter's. it is in fresco and in oil-painting, however, that the fullest justice has been done to the famous mother and son, the many romantic incidents of their lives having been the subjects of some of the great masterpieces of italian art. in the choir of the capella alberti in s. croce, florence, are a number of beautiful frescoes by agnolo gaddi, collectively known as the ' finding of the true cross,' which include many incidents leading up to the expedition to palestine of st. helena, with others supposed to have taken place after her time. to make these remarkable works intelligible, it is necessary to give in outline the most interesting of the legends which have gathered about the story of the cross, going back to the time of adam and eve. it is related that when adam was at the point of death he received, by the hands of his son seth, from the archangel michael, a branch of the tree of knowledge, which seth planted above his father's heart after the burial. this branch grew into a tree, and when solomon built the temple at jerusalem it was cut down for his use, but it was so tough and generally unmanageable that it was flung aside as useless. a little later st. helena 115 it served as a bridge for the queen of sheba, who, as she set foot on it, saw a vision of christ on the cross, and knew that she was even then using the wood which should form that cross. she told her royal host of what she had seen, and he, not understanding it fully in spite of his great wisdom, had the tree buried deeply in the earth at the very spot where the pool of bethesda was later to witness so many miracles. the tree was one day found floating on the pool, and the jews used it to form the cross on which the redeemer suffered. on his death, as was customary at the time, the tree was buried in a hole dug near by, into which the crosses of the thieves were also flung, there to remain for three hundred years. after st. helena had found and divided the true cross, the three portions rested un disturbed in the various churches in which they were enshrined, until the holy land was invaded in the sixth century by chos roes ii., king of persia, who took the piece from the church of the holy sepulchre and carried it to his own land. in the seventh century the byzantine emperor heraclius, who was an earnest christian, determined to win back the treasure, and succeeded in doing so after a long siege of ctesiphon, the city in which it had been kept for nearly a century. he took the holy relic back to jerusalem, and tried to enter the city on horseback, carrying it with him. his horse, however, refused to go through the gates, and the emperor had to dismount and carry the cross into the city on foot. no less interesting than the frescoes of santa croce are those by pietro della francesca in the church of s. francesco at arezzo, which include the ' recognition of the holy tree by the queen of sheba,' who falls on her knees before it ; the ' victory of constantine over maxentius '; the * finding of the cross by st. helena '; its ' verification by the cure of the dying woman by means of the sacred relic '; the ' apparition of an angel to heraclius,' which, faded though it is, is still remark able for the wonderful effect of light ; the ' defeat and death of king chosroes in the battle with heraclius '; and the ' bringing back of the true cross to jerusalem,' in which the artist has ignored the fact that it was only a portion of it which was restored. in another chapel of the same church are some frescoes by giottino of the legend related above respecting st. sylvester and the emperor constantine, including the scene when 8—2 ii6 the saints in christian art the latter desists from his terrible purpose to bathe in the blood of the children, his ' baptism by the bishop,' the 'restoration of the bull to life by st. sylvester,' and the 'sealing of the mouth of the dragon by the same great teacher/ in the sala di constantino of the vatican various ' scenes from the life of constantine the great ' were added after the death of raphael by giulio romano, with the assistance of francesco penni, and rafaello dal colle. of these, perhaps the finest is the ' battle between the emperor and maxentius,' in which the latter is seen drowning, whilst the former dashes on with his soldiers bearing the new standard of the cross, behind him. the ' baptism of the conqueror by bishop sylvester,' which is represented as taking place in the lateran basilica, the ' presentation of rome to the pope,' and the ' address of the emperor to his troops on the subject of the apparition of the flaming cross,' are also very fine. the latter is said to have been designed by raphael himself. in the academy of venice is preserved an interesting fresco of the ' invention of the cross ' by giovanni battista tiepolo, from the ceiling of the capuchin church at castello; and of the many representations of the empress, perhaps none is more beautiful than the ' vision of st. helena ' by paolo veronese, now in the national gallery, london, in which the saint is represented as a beautiful young woman wrapped in the repose, not of sleep, but of suspended consciousness, the angels appearing above bearing the cross. the ' st. helena carrying the cross ' at hampton court, which was successfully transferred from its worm-eaten panel to canvas in 1865, and was long ascribed to lorenzo costa, but is now supposed, with greater probability, to be the work of tamoroccio, a pupil of francia, is also very fine. chapter x st. athanasius st. athanasius, who was lovingly called during his lifetime the pater orthodoxi^, or orthodox father, and is spoken of by gibbon as ' the intrepid athanasius . . . whose immortal o o w a h o o h > g s '^ st. athanasius 117 name will never be separated from the catholic doctrine of the trinity,' was born at alexandria about a.d. 296, when his great antagonist, arius, was already twenty years old, and had already begun to propagate the heresy, with the refuta tion of which the name of st. athanasius is inseparably connected. the parents of st. athanasius are supposed to have been christians, and to have died when their boy was quite a child. he was, however, adopted by st. alexander, then primate of alexandria, who treated him as his own son, and by whom he was ordained as soon as he was old enough. one of the greatest pleasures of the neophyte during his probation years was to visit st. antony the hermit, to whom he became devotedly attached, and to whom he often turned for advice in later life. when the council of nicsea was convened in 325 by the emperor constantine, to settle the controversy between the orthodox believers led by st. alexander and the heretics led by arius, the primate took his deacon with him to act as his secretary, and occasionally also as his spokesman. it was at this celebrated conference that st. athanasius first attracted general attention by his eloquence and incisive reasoning, for he met the arguments of arius and of his supporters, eusebius, theognis, and maris, with a skill which won even their reluctant admiration. as is well known, the point at issue at this great council turned apparently merely on a slight verbal, or rather literal, difference in the terms used to define the opinions of the combatants. the western bishops, who rallied round saints alexander and athanasius, supported the so-called homoousian doctrine, whilst the oriental primates, who were on the side of arius, contended for that known as the homoiousian, the former signifying identity with, the latter the similarity only, of the substance of the three persons of the holy trinity. the triumph of st. alexander and his friends was complete, and the ' identity of substance doctrine ' was embodied before the dispersion of the council, in what is still known as the nicene creed, and has for many centuries been incorporated, with certain later additions, in the protestant communion service. the so-called athanasian creed was not really drawn up until some two centuries later, and became associated with ii8 the saints in christian art the name of st. athanasius simply because it expressed so forcibly the views he entertained. the young athanasius had gone to nicsea an obscure deacon ; he returned to alexandria a celebrated orator, looked up to and reverenced by all who shared his opinions. when, five months later, st. alexander was on his death-bed, he earnestly recommended the clergy who had gathered round him to choose st. athanasius as his successor, and they, con vinced of the wisdom of the advice, agreed to do so. it is related that the dying bishop then called three times for his young friend to come to him, and when no answer came — for the deacon was absent on some errand — he cried : ' athanasius, athanasius ! you think to escape, but you are mistaken ;' and with these words he expired. st. athanasius was duly elected primate of alexandria, and all went well with him at first, but for some reason, not suffi ciently explained by historians, arius, who had been banished after the council, was allowed to return to the capital, where his presence soon caused fresh difficulties to the heads of the church. st. eusebius of nicomedia and the princess con stantia both eagerly espoused the cause of arius, and obtained for him an interview with the emperor, who, though an able soldier and statesman, was quite unable to judge of the merits of the controversy, which he considered of trifling importance. arius easily succeeded in satisfying his imperial judge that he was no heretic, and constantine sent orders to st. athanasius to receive his antagonist back into the church. this the bishop naturally refused to do, with the result that he was himself summoned before the council of tyre to answer for his contu macy. it is related that before the meeting of the council st. athanasius managed to obtain an interview with the emperor by intercepting him in a street of constantinople, and so overawed him by his noble bearing that the monarch listened respectfully to his arguments, and, though he would not entirely forgive him or release him from the trial, yet managed that condemnation should involve no worse consequence than temporary banishment to augusta trevorum, the present treves. in this initial struggle between church and state, which has been waged ever since with more or less bitterness, it is impossible to deny that st. athanasius was worsted for a time, at least; and although on the death of constantine st. athanasius 119 in 338 he was allowed to return to alexandria, and he was nominally primate of egypt for forty-six years, he spent twenty of them in exile. throughout the whole of his chequered career, however, he was ever true to his principles, working for the cause he had at heart wherever he might be, with unfailing enthusiasm, and, as his great admirer gibbon, who calls him the ' ecclesiastical dictator,' eloquently says, counting his sufferings on account of the homoousian doctrine ' as the sole pleasure and business, as the duty, and as the glory of his life.' on his condemnation by the council of milan, at the instance of constantius, the unworthy successor of constan tine the great, st. athanasius declared that he would not leave alexandria without an order signed by the emperor himself ; and when the church in which he was presiding over the service was besieged by a party of soldiers, he remained calmly seated on his throne, awaiting the issue of the struggle. ready to meet the death which appeared imminent, he refused, in spite of the importunities of his clergy, to withdraw until the terrified congregation had dispersed, and it was only by a miracle that he escaped with his life, some of his devoted adherents carry ing him away to the desert almost by force under cover of the confusion and darkness. a price being set on his head, he remained concealed for six years, appearing now and then amongst his friends at the risk of his life, and escaping from his enemies many times in a most remarkable manner. on one occasion he is said to have been betrayed by a female slave when he was hiding from his enemies in a dried-up well. on another he was saved by a beautiful girl, who hid him for many days in her own room, which she gave up to him, supplying him with food and books. recalled to alexandria in 361, on the accession of julian, st. athanasius was driven away again in 363 by the emperor valens, when he took refuge in the tomb of his father outside the city. he was now an old man, enfeebled by all he had gone through, and four months later the orthodox alexandrians, who had been true to him through evil and good report, prevailed on the emperor to allow him to come back. he himself describes in touching terms the state of his beloved city on the occa sion of this last return. 'the people,' he says, 'formed assemblies in which they reciprocally excited each other to piety and perseverence. many young men and women who had 120 the saints in christian art intended to marry gave up their union for the love of jesus christ; parents exhorted their children to embrace the monastic life, and children begged permission to do so as a favour. . . . widows and orphans who had hitherto been a prey to hunger and all manner of need were nourished and provided for by charitable gifts. in a word, every house resembled a temple of god, and every family a christian com munity, where day and night prayers were offered up and pious actions performed.' st. athanasius lived for ten years after his last experience of persecution, which he called ' a mere passing cloud '; and during these ten years the church enjoyed a peace long unknown to it. speaking of the wonderful influence exercised by the patriarch over air with whom he was brought in contact, st. gregory nazianzus says : ' his faith was so pure and so orthodox that everyone who wished to know whether he had the true belief had but to compare it with his, and his manners were so pure and his virtues so complete that in praising athanasius you praise virtue itself.' in 373 the much-tried bishop passed peacefully away, ' departing this life,' says the same appreciative critic, 'with far greater honour and glory than he had received in his more than triumphant entries into alexandria, when he returned from his banishments, so much was his death lamented by all good men.' the four greek fathers : saints athanasius, basil the great, john chrysostom, and gregory nazianzus, with whom is some times associated st. cyril of alexandria, are frequently intro duced in byzantine ecclesiastical decoration. their only symbols, properly so called, are the large circular nimbus, a book, in token of their having taught the word of god, and a church either held on the book or in the hand. st. athanasius, however, sometimes has, in addition to these, the equilateral triangle, emblematic of the holy trinity, which was a symbol of those who, like himself, had to contend against arianism. the doctors are generally represented bare-headed, for mitres were not part of the greek episcopal costume, and they wear the rich vestments suitable to their high rank in the church. occasionally to the book is added a scroll bearing some celebrated sentence from the writings of the saint who holds it, that of st. athanasius, for instance, having the words, ' often and anew do we flee to thee, o god,' etc. the name the greek fathers 121 of each doctor is generally inscribed above or beside the head, rendering symbols unnecessary for identification. in the mosaics of the baptistery of s. marco at venice, and in those of the cathedral of monreale, the four greek doctors are represented seated, and in the christian museum of the vatican is a beautiful byzantine miniature in which they appear with st. cyril, who has a kind of cap on his head. each has a book in the left hand, and the right is raised in the greek attitude of benediction — that is to say, with the thumb and first finger meeting, whilst the third finger is crooked, so as to extend beyond the second and fourth, which are held upright. in the fine frescoes by domenichino, which rank as among his best works, in the chapel of the monastery at grotta ferrata, near frascati, and in those in the santa casa at loreto by signorelli, the fathers of the greek church are introduced beneath the evangelists. the so-called cathedra petri, or throne designed by bernini enclosing the old wooden chair of st. peter, in the tribune of st. peter's, rome, is upheld by bronze figures of the four doctors. st. athanasius, who is invoked by those suffering from head ache, it is suggested because he did so much thinking himself, is rarely represented without the other fathers, but in an ancient greek painting reproduced in a seventeenth-century edition of his writings he is represented wearing the arch bishop's pallium. he is also sometimes introduced in old greek paintings escaping in a boat on the nile, pursued by soldiers, to whom he is reported to have said when they asked him if he had seen the fugitive : ' you are on his track, and you have but to put forth your hand to take him.' there is a fairly satisfactory statue of st. athanasius, by angelo solari, in s. francesco di paolo at naples ; signorelli has introduced him in a ' madonna and child,' now in the florence academ)^; and in the altar-piece from s. francesco at volterra, now in the gallery of that city. in bristol cathedral is a fine modern window with figures of the four greek fathers, each writing in an open book, and st. athanasius is amongst the bishops introduced in the great south window of lichfield. he appears also in one of the lights of the clerestory of wells cathedral. t22 the saints in christian art chapter xi st. basil the great the life of st. basil — justly surnamed the great, and lovingly styled in the office sacred to him the ' divine bee of the church ' — was full of romantic incidents, and reflected in a very remark able degree the characteristics of the time at which he lived. he belonged to a family of illustrious descent, famed for their devotion to christianity, and learnt the elements of the faith from his grandmother, st. macrina, who in the early part of the fourth century fled with her husband to the desert, to escape persecution, and was there, according to a picturesque legend, fed by stags who of their own free will came to minister to the needs of the exiles. born at csesarea in 328, st. basil was named after his father, st. basil the elder, and was the eldest of four sons, the other three being naucratius, of whom little is known, st. gregory of nyassa, and st. peter of sebaste. after spending some years at a school in csesarea, the young basil went to constantinople, where he worked under the celebrated heathen rhetorician libanus, with whom he corresponded to the end of his life, in spite of the great difference in their opinions. from the eastern capital the eager student passed to athens, still, in spite of the decline which had set in at the end of the third century, an intellectual centre, where he became the close friend of two men who were to exercise almost as great an influence as himself over their contemporaries : the future emperor julian the apostate, and st. gregory of nazianzus, who in his writings has given such a vivid picture of st. basil and him self in their happy student days. ' we knew only two streets,' says st. gregory, ' and chiefly the first of these, which led us to the church and to the holy teachers and doctors, who there attended the service of the altar and nourished the flock of christ with the food of life. the other street with which we were acquainted, but which we held in much less esteem, was the road to the schools and to our masters in the sciences. we left to others the streets which led to the theatres, to spectacles and diversions. we st. basil 123 made it our only and great affair ; it was our only aim, and all our glory, to be called and to be christians.' st. basil had at first intended to be a lawyer, and after winning a great name for learning and eloquence at athens, he returned to his native city, where he founded a school for oratory, which quickly became famous. a great career as a pleader and teacher seemed to be before him, when to the astonishment of all his friends he suddenly resolved to renounce the world and become a monk, in consequence, it is said, of the persuasions of his sister, st. macrina the younger, who with her mother's aid had lately opened a nunnery for devout women, not far from csesarea. st. basil was now about thirty years old, and until the age of thirtyeight he kept his resolution of hiding his great gift of eloquence, leading the austere life of a recluse, and founding in the desert of pontus the first monastic society properly so called of the greek church. to it the name of the basilian order was given, and it became practically the model of all later institutions of the kind in the east, the rules laid down by st. basil for the guidance of his infant community being still strictly followed in oriental monasteries. in 358 st. basil, after having visited all the monasteries of syria, egypt, and mesopotamia, returned to csesarea, and was there ordained presbyter by the bishop, dianseus, who had baptized him as a child. after his ordination, however, st. basil again withdrew to the desert, governing his monastery, which was opposite to the nunnery of his brother, on the banks of the iris, for another five years, and practising such terrible austerities that his health was completely ruined. st. gregory of nazianzus, who joined him for a time, says that ' he was so excessively pale his body scarce seemed to have life ; . . . he was without a wife, without estate or goods, without flesh, and seemingly without blood. . . . he never had more than one tunic and one coat, he slept on the ground, sometimes watch ing all night, never had a bath, and lived on bread and water only.' ' it was his riches,' adds his friend, ' to have no earthly goods, and to follow naked the cross of his saviour, which was all his treasure.' on his accession to the imperial throne in 361, julian, the old friend and school-fellow of st. basil, invited him to come to court, promising him preferment, but the recluse replied that 124 the saints in christian art the life he had chosen made it impossible for him to consent. in 362, however, he resigned the government of his monastery to his brother, st. peter of sebaste, and returned home, feeling, perhaps, that the time had come for him to do other work. no sooner was he back in ceesarea than a second letter came from the emperor, couched in very different terms, and threatening, unless st. basil paid a large sum into the imperial exchequer, the town of csesarea should be razed to the ground. needless to add that the threat had no greater effect than the offer of preferment ; the monk replied that he had not enough money to buy himself food for a single day, and boldly expressed his surprise that his correspondent should neglect the essential duties of his crown, and provoke the anger of god by openly contemning his worship. julian, who, had he lived, and had his old friend condescended to humour him a little, might have been won to better things, took no notice of this reproof, but resolved that st. basil and st. gregory of nazianzus, who had also defied him, should be arraigned when he himself should return from his expedition to persia. as is well known, however, the emperor was killed at the beginning of the campaign. st. basil remained unmolested, and spent much of his time preaching to the people of csesarea, winning back many who had joined the arians to their allegiance to the church. on the death, in 370, of eusebius, who had suc ceeded dianseus in the see of caesarea, st. basil, who had long aided the bishop with his counsels, was chosen to take his place, and he retained that office until his own death in 379. the last nine years of his life were one long struggle against difficulties of every kind. the emperor valens, who had espoused the cause of the arians, singled him out for persecu tion, ordering him to conduct the services of his church accord ing to the heretic custom, and threatening him, if he did not comply, with banishment first, and, if he continued obstinate, with death. st. basil refused firmly but gently, and modestus, the envoy sent by valens to bring him to reason, after several interviews with him, wrote to his employer : ' we are over come; this man is above our threats.' valens resolved, there fore, to see what he could do in person, and he came to csesarea with all his court, appearing, with a long train of attendants, on the feast of the epiphany, in the church in which st. basil was officiating. mansell photo] ilouvre, paris the mass of st. basil by stibleyras to face p. 124 st. basil 125 the arrival of the emperor caused, of. course, a great stir amongst the congregation, but neither the bishop nor his clergy paid the slightest attention to him. this very unexpected recep tion took valens by surprise ; his mind, ever readily swayed by circumstance, veered round in favour of a man who could dare thus openly to defy him, and, to the astonishment of his followers, he went quietly up to the altar to offer the usual gift. here a fresh blow awaited him ; the priest, receiving no sign from the bishop, hesitated to accept the imperial offering, and valens was so overcome with emotion at this public insult that he fainted away, and would have fallen to the ground had not one of his guards caught him in his arms. according to another account of the same incident, st. basil accepted the oblation at the altar, but declined to administer the communion to the emperor. in either case, the attitude of the bishop was full of dignity, and in a private conference which took place between him and the emperor a few days later, several concessions were granted to the orthodox chris tians. moreover, valens gave a large sum of money to a hospital founded by the bishop, and for a short time it seemed likely that the ascendancy gained by him over the emperor would be maintained. valens had, however, no sooner left csesarea than the old bitterness returned. he issued an edict of banishment against st. basil, and his messengers were actually on their way to enforce obedience to it, when the little prince valentinianus galens, the emperor's only child, was taken dangerously ill. the parents were in despair, and the empress dominica, who had been troubled by terrible dreams for some time, declared that she believed the child's illness was a punishment for the emperor's harshness to the bishop of csesarea. valens sent in all haste for st. basil, whose prayers for the little sufferer were answered. the bishop returned home believing that he had now finally secured the friendship of the emperor, but he had not been gone long before the old influences were brought to bear against him. it is related that valens tried three times to sign another edict of banishment, but that on each attempt the reed he was using broke in his hand. the boy whom st. basil had restored to health was baptized by an arian bishop, and soon afterwards died ; but even this signal judgment did not touch the heart of valens, who continued his hostility to the orthodox christians. 126 the saints in christian art until his tragic death in 378, one year only before that of st. basil. the last words of the much-tried bishop of csesarea were : ' into thy hands, o lord, i commend my spirit.' he was but fifty-one years old, and his end was undoubtedly hastened by his own neglect of the laws of health. he left behind him a great reputation for learning, and his fame, as gibbon justly says, ' has been immortal in the monastic history of the east. with a mind that had tasted the learning and eloquence of athens, with an ambition scarcely to be satisfied by the arch bishopric of caesarea, basil retired to a savage solitude in pontus, and deigned to give laws to the spiritual colonies which he profusely scattered along the coast of the black sea.' the same able critic dwells on the beautiful friendship between saints basil and gregory nazianzus, ' in which every spark of emulation or envy appeared to be totally extinguished in their holy and ingenuous breasts,' but at the same time he charges the archbishop of csesarea with spiritual pride, and gives as an instance, his offer to st. gregory ' of the wretched village of sasima out of the fifty bishoprics in his gift, a favour received and perhaps intended, as a cruel insult.' st. basil the great, who was surnamed the torch of the universe by theodoret, the ornament of the church by st. isidore of pelusium, and was spoken of at the great council of chalcedon, held in 451, as the interpreter of truth to the whole earth, is said to have been directly inspired by the holy spirit, and it is related of him, as of st. gregory the great and st. john chrysostom, that a white dove was some times seen perched on his shoulder whispering in his ear as he was engaged in writing. his works include the so-called ' liturgy of the holy basil,' still in use in the greek church, and many eloquent homilies, which are looked upon as price less heirlooms by christians of all shades of belief. many touching legends are related of the miracles performed by the beloved bishop. on one occasion, when he was praying to god to ward off from the christians the evils with which they were threatened by julian the apostate, st. mercurius, a martyred soldier who had suffered under decius, appeared to him in full armour, and told him his petition would be granted. so efficacious, indeed, was the intercession of st. basil supposed to be, that he was credited with the power st. basil 127 of releasing souls from purgatory, and even to have been able to rescue lost angels who had never lived on earth. one of them knovs^n as galaxy, who fell from heaven at the same time as satan himself, and had remained in hell ever since, is said by the armenians to have been restored to the favour of god by the saintly bishop, who knew that he had become involved in the ruin of his fellowsufferers from accident, not from crime. when grouped with the other doctors of the greek church, as in the frescoes at grotta ferrata and elsewhere, and in two engravings of the ' acta sanctorum,' st. basil wears the ornate robes of his episcopal office, and is distinguished from his colleagues by the great length of his beard, in allusion, according to some authorities, to his having founded the first monastic order in the greek church; when he appears as a monk, he wears the simple black tunic, with a cowl and the rope or leather girdle of his own order, which has never varied since its first introduction in his lifetime. occasionally he holds a scroll bearing a sentence from one of his homilies, beginning, ' none of us who are in bondage of fleshly desires are worthy.' when introduced in devotional pictures, the great bishop generally holds a church in his right hand, on account of his work in csesarea or of his foundation of the basilian order. scenes from his life are rare in art, but he is sometimes represented giving a plate of food to a beggar, or receiving the gifts of the faithful at the altar. in s. maria degli angeli at rome is a fine painting by subleyras, reproduced in mosaics in the capella gregoriana of st. peter's, for which the original drawing is in louvre, of the dramatic scene in the church at csesarea, when the emperor valens fainted away on the refusal of st. basil to give him the holy sacrament. the louvre also owns a beautiful interpretation of the character of st. basil by francisco de herrera the elder, who has repre sented the bishop dictating to his secretary, and a few episodes from the life of the bishop are also introduced in the manu script edition of the sermons of his friend st. gregory of nazianzus, preserved in the biblioth^que nationale of paris. 128 the saints in christian art chapter xii st. gregory of nazianzus as has been pointed out by mr. bury, the learned editor of one of the latest editions of gibbon's ' rome,' the name by which the great bishop of nazianzus is generally known is incorrect. he should be called gregory of nazianzus or gregory nazianyene, not gregory nazianzen. born at arianzus, a little village near nazianzus, he belonged, as did st. basil, to a family of saints, and was the son of st. gregory, whom he succeeded in the see of nazianzus, and st. norma, his wife, who was celebrated for her piety. two of his sisters were also canonized, and his boyhood was passed in a refined and sheltered home. he himself relates that when he was still a child he had a won derful dream, which exercised a considerable influence over his after-life. two beautiful girls clothed in white, and with faces shining like the stars of heaven, stood beside him, took him in their arms, and kissed him as if he belonged to them. he asked them who they were and whence they came, to which they replied that they were called chastity and wisdom, adding : ' we come to thee from paradise, where we stand ever before the throne of christ and taste ineffable joy. come to us and dwell with us for ever.' the vision then gradually faded away, and as the young gregory stretched out his arms towards his heavenly visitors, he awoke. after spending a short time at one of the celebrated schools of csesarea, gregory was sent first to alexandria, and then to athens, for the completion of his education. in the latter city he met st. basil, for whom he at once conceived a great affection, which, but for a brief alienation in later life, he retained to the last. writing of his attachment to the chosen friend of his youth, st. gregory says : ' corporeal love, having for its aim perishable things only, is necessarily perishable like a flower of spring. when the material is exhausted, entirely consumed by fire, the flame goes out for want of food, just as when the beloved matter decomposes love ceases. but the love of souls comes from god, attaches itself to imperishable things, and as a consequence it is eternal and imperishable st. gregory of nazianzus lag even as god is. . . . souls thus united by a chaste love, the nearer they come to the end of their lives the more they become conscious of the first rays of blessed eternity and the nearer they draw to each other.' when the news of the death of st. basil was brought to st. gregory, he expressed his grief in words which call up a vivid picture of their youth together. ' who,' he said, ' can give me back the happy old days when i was rich with you in the midst of poverty and privation ? who will give me back the beautiful starlight nights which we passed together singing the praises of god ? who will restore to me the prayers we prayed in common, the innocent and angelic life we led, the harmony of soul which united us and merged our natures in one pure and sacred fraternity ; our serious and deep studies in the holy books, in which, thanks to the inspiration of the holy spirit, we daily found new truth and light ?' in a letter of con dolence to st. basil's mother on the loss of her gifted son, st. gregory wrote, ' i have lost half myself in losing him,' and added : ' but i see him often in my dreams. he comes to teach, to warn, or to reprove me as he used to do when he was alive.' beautiful as was the affection between these two great men, it might perhaps have been better for st. gregory and for those who knew how to value his great gifts of eloquence if he had been less influenced by the ascetic teaching of his friend. the austerities the two practised in their retreat in the desert of pontus no doubt shortened the lives of both, and greatly marred their powers of usefulness. on leaving athens, at the age of thirty, st. gregory was baptized by his father, and resolved to dedicate his whole life to god. to quote his own words once more : ' i have,' he said, ' given all i have to him, from whom i received it, and have taken him alone for my whole possession. i have consecrated to him my goods, my glory, niy health, my tongue, and my talents.' in 358 he joined st. basil in his retreat on the iris, but at the urgent request of his father he returned to nazianzus in 361, where, very much against his own will, he was ordained priest, for he knew that, having once accepted that office, he could no longer rightly shut himself away from work in the church. he fled back to st. basil, it is true, but his conscience would not let him rest, and on easter day of the same year he reappeared at nazianzus vol. ii. g 130 the saints in christian art and was appointed by his father, the bishop, to preach in the great church. the eloquent oration delivered on this occasion, which has been preserved under the name of st. gregory's ' apology for his flight,' proved to all who heard it how mistaken the speaker was in thinking he could best serve god by silence. his own resolution was, however, unchanged. he assisted the bishop for some little time in his work at nazianzus, accepted in 371 the bishopric of sasima, given to him by st. basil, but he never took up his residence there, and on the death of his father, in 374, he was appointed his successor. nominally bishop, st. gregory spent most of his time in a monastery at seleucia, but after the death of the emperor valens, he was persuaded to go to constantinople, then the scene of a fierce struggle between the orthodox christians and the arians, to take charge of a small congregation still faithful to the doctrine known as the nicene. here his learning and eloquence soon won him a great number of adherents, and after a couple of years of fruit ful work he was made by the emperor theodosius, archbishop of the capital of the east, a dignity he would gladly have dispensed with. this appointment so enraged the arians that they made several attempts to assassinate the new prelate, and st. gregory, who would not have yielded from any fear of death, saw in this hostility his opportunity to escape from the honour he had never sought. at a great assembly of digni taries of the church, he is said to have cried out : ' if my hold ing the see of constantinople gives any disturbance, behold, i am very willing, like jonah, to be cast into the sea to appease the storm, though i did not raise it. if all followed my example, the church would enjoy an uninterrupted tranquillity. this dignity i never desired. i took this charge upon me much against my will ; if you think fit, i am most ready to depart, and i will return back to my little cottage.' the bishops, astonished at such a speech from a man so much dreaded, gladly accepted his resignation ; but, as st. gregory himself well knew, this was not enough to release him from an appointment bestowed on him by the emperor, so he went direct from the church to the palace, flung himself on his knees before . the astonished theodosius, and said to him : ' i am come to ask neither riches nor honours for myself or friends, nor ornaments for the churches, but license to retire. your majesty knows how much against my will i was placed in this chair. ... i st. gregory of nazianzus 131 beseech you, and this is my last petition, that among your triumphs you make this the greatest, that you restore to the church unity and concord.' with infinite difficulty theodosius was persuaded to grant this strange request, and in the great church of st. sophia, st. gregory, in a magnificent and most pathetic sermon, bade farewell to his beloved flock, concluding with the touching words : ' dear children, preserve the deposit of faith, and forget not the stones which have been thrown at me because i planted it in your hearts.' followed out of the city by a weeping crowd who vainly entreated him not to leave them, st. gregory left constanti nople never to return, and after a short visit to nazianzus, where he appointed eulalius to the bishopric in his stead, he withdrew to his little cottage at arianzus, where he remained until his death in 389, spending his leisure in writing poems and homilies, many of which are still unsurpassed for beauty of diction and spirituality of feeling. he was buried a.t nazianzus, but in 930 his remains were translated to constanti nople, whence they were later removed to rome and re-interred in st. peter's. the first christian poet, and surnamed the theologian on account of his great eloquence in defending the nicene creed against the attacks of the arians, st. gregory of nazianzus will ever hold an exceptional position in the greek church ; but in the west his fame has been completely overshadowed by that of his namesake, st. gregory the great. he appears, of course, with the other greek fathers, amongst whom he is distinguished by his short, bushy beard, in ecclesiastical decora tions, and elsewhere, sometimes holding a scroll with the words in greek : ' god the holy among the holies, the thrice holy,' but almost the only examples of representations of scenes from his life are the ninth-century miniatures in the manu script edition of his ' orations,' preserved in the bibliotheque nationale, paris, already referred to in connection with st. basil, and a painting in the louvre by jacques callot, representing the vision referred to above. 9—2 132 the saints in christian art chapter xiii st. john chrysostom the most popular, and at the same time, perhaps, also the most saintly of the four greek fathers, st. john chrysostom, or the golden-mouthed — so called on account of his great eloquence — was born at antioch about 347, and was brought up as a christian by his widowed mother arethusa. he was educated as a lawyer, and had a.lready won great renown as a pleader at the bar, when at the age of twenty-six he resolved to renounce the world. when the young john declared that the only true way of serving god was to lead a life of solitary penitence, arethusa, a woman of cultured intellect, and endowed with the yet rarer gift of practical common sense, tried in vain to convince him that his resolution was at the best a selfish one. he escaped from antioch and hid himself in the desert, where he remained for nearly six years, weakening himself so much by fasting and self inflicted penance that he was at last obliged to return home to save his life. back again in antioch, he attracted the notice of the bishop, st. meletius, who persuaded him to live with him for three years, ordained him reader, and endeavoured to win him from his undue love of silence and solitude. for a time it seemed as if he had succeeded, but in 374 st. john fled once more to the desert, where he joined a community of anchorites, celebrated even in that day of asceti cism for the severity of their self-discipline. it was not, indeed, until he was already past forty that the real work of the life of st. john chrysostom began, when the holy bishop honorius, to whom the christians owed so much, induced him finally to abandon his retreat and become a preacher of the gospel in his native city. ordained priest in 386, a white dove, it is said, hovering above his head at his consecration, st. john of the golden mouth very quickly proved how true had been his mother's judgment concerning him, for he won over to the church such numbers of converts that the building in which he preached was soon too small to hold his congregation. when the people of antioch fell under the just displeasure of the st. john chrysostom 133 emperor, it was st. john who composed the speech of st. flavianus, which so touched the heart of the emperor that he granted a full pardon to the offenders. again, when the roman supremacy was divided between the sons of theodosius i., and arcadius became the emperor of the east, the voice of st. chrysostom was often fearlessly raised against the luxury of the court. he became indeed so great a power in the land that in 397, by the advice of eutropius, the favourite eunuch of arcadius, he was made archbishop of constantinople on the death of nectarius. the thought of losing their beloved teacher so moved the people of antioch that they refused to let him go, and it was not until an armed escort was sent to fetch him that he was able to start for his new sphere of action. arrived in the capital of the east, st. john at once set to work to practise the doctrines he had preached as a priest. he reduced the number of the servants in his palace, leading a life almost as austere as he had done in the desert, and giving away so much money in charity that he became known as st. john the almoner. not long after his accession to the archiepiscopal throne, occurred one of the most striking incidents of his remarkable career : his rescue of eutropius from the fury of the mob. the eunuch, who had so long virtually ruled the empire, was suddenly disgraced, the empress eudoxia having complained to her husband of a real or imaginary insult he had offered to herself. pursued by the officers of justice sent to arrest him, the unhappy man fled to the cathedral for sanctuary, and took refuge beneath the altar at which the archbishop was officiating. st. john chrysostom, unmoved by the clamours of the people, or by the fact that a troop of soldiers with drawn swords surrounded the building, ascended the pulpit, that he might, says gibbon, ' be distinctly seen and heard by an innumerable crowd of either sex and every age, and pronounced a reasonable and pathetic discourse on the forgive ness of injuries and the instability of human greatness. the agonies of the pale and affrighted wretch,' continues the historian, ' grovelling under the table of the altar, exhibited a solemn and instructive spectacle, and the orator, who was afterwards accused of insulting the misfortunes of eutropius, laboured to excite the contempt that he might assuage the fury of the people.' eutropius escaped for the time, only to 134 the saints in christian art be impeached for high treason and beheaded a few months later, but the fame of the man who had been able to hold spell-bound by his eloquence, so many thirsting for vengeance, and to induce even the emperor to respect the sanctuary of the church, became so great that st. john, in his turn, aroused the jealousy of eudoxia, who, having got rid of eutropius, now determined to bring about also the exile of his rescuer. st. john, it is said, had aroused her special animosity by his sermons against extravagance in dress, which she chose to think were intended to apply specially to her. aided by the influence of theophilus, the patriarch of alex andria, who was also incensed against the archbishop on account of his admission to communion of certain so-called heretics, the empress succeeded in obtaining a decree of banishment against him, and he was driven out of constanti nople in 403, after preaching a farewell sermon full of the noblest resignation to the will of god, in which he declared himself ready to die a thousand deaths for his people, if he could only save their souls. ' violent storms encompass me on all sides,' he exclaimed, ' yet i am without fear, because i stand upon a rock. though the sea roar, and the waves rise high, they cannot sink the vessel of jesus. i always say,' he added, ' o lord, may thy will be done : not what this or that creature wills, but what it shall please thee to appoint, that shall i do and suffer with joy. this is my strong tower ; this is my unshaken rock ; this is my staff that can never fail.' the soldiers sent to see that the emperor was obeyed were only able to fulfil their duty through the aid of the victim him self, who managed to elude the vigilance of his friends and to deliver himself into the hands of his enemies. he had not, however, been gone from the city many days before a terrible earthquake took place, which so alarmed the guilty conscience of the empress that she entreated arcadius to recall st. john, crying in her terror, ' if he do not return our empire is undone.' the emperor consented, and the archbishop was brought back again in triumph, all the inhabitants of the town going out to meet him. he was, however, again banished in the following year, and he was never afterwards allowed to return. when, on the death of eudoxia, the broken-hearted widower arcadius wrote to the celebrated hermit, st. nilus, asking his prayers for the empire, the holy man replied : ' how a li?iari [st. gian grisostomo, venice st. john chrysostom by sebastiano del piombo to face p. 134 st. john chrysostom 135 do you hope to see constantinople delivered from the destroying angel of god after . . . having banished the most blessed john, the pillar of the church, the lamp of truth, the greatest light of the earth !' meanwhile many powerful statesmen had endeavoured to obtain the recall of st. john, but their importunity, unfortunately, only led to fresh proceedings against him. he had taken refuge at nicsea, and was there fervently preaching the gospel, when orders were received that he should be removed to the little town of cucusus, in a remote district of the taurus mountains. there he was received with the greatest enthusiasm by the inhabitants, and was allowed to remain unmolested for a short time, converting many persians to christianity, and writing numerous beautiful letters and essays, full of touching resignation, proving how true was his own assertion : ' none can trust the man who will not trust himself.' the three years spent at cucusus and the neighbouring town of arabissus, were, says gibbon, ' the last and most glorious of the life of the great teacher. his character was consecrated by absence and persecution . . . every tongue repeated the praises of his genius and virtue, and the respectful attention of the christian world was fixed on a desert spot among the mountains of taurus.' the emperor honorius, recognising how great a mistake had been made in banishing such a man, endeavoured to get his cause brought before what the historian calls ' the supreme tribunal of a free and general council.' but it was all in vain ; the enemies of the saint were too powerful, and the weak-minded, arcadius could not be induced to interfere in his behalf. the agitation in favour of st. john resulted merely in a fresh edict of banishment against him. he was to be removed at once from the new home he had learnt to love, to the yet more remote town of pytius on the euxine. it is even believed by some that secret orders were given, to the officers sent to take him there, to bring about his death on the road, if possible, and so end all further trouble on his behalf. worn out with all he had gone through, and with a constitution weakened by his early austerities, the much-persecuted saint, though as yet only sixty years old, was in no fit state to travel, and he died on the road after terrible sufferings. it is related that on the eve of his death he was allowed to rest for a few hours in a little wayside shrine above the remains of the 136 the saints in christian art martyr st. basiliscus, who appeared to him in a dream, and said to him : ' be of good courage, brother john ; to-morrow we shall be together.' this greatly cheered the archbishop, and when he awoke he begged his guards to let him remain in the shrine for a few hours longer, in the hope of thus winning per mission to die in peace. they refused, and compelled him to proceed, but he had not gone far before it became evident that he was dying, and touched, perhaps, at last by his patient suffering, the men carried him back to the shrine and laid him down on it. with a touching desire to do honour to the moment of his meeting with the lord he had served so well, st. john persuaded his companions to allow him to put on his white robes. his last prayer is said to have been the beautiful one still in use in the english church, ending with the petition, * granting us in this world knowledge of thy truth, and in the world to come life everlasting,' and when the amen had been said he died with the words ' glory be to god in all things ' trembling on his lips. he was buried beside st. basiliscus, but his body was translated to constantinople in 434, where it was re-interred with great pomp in the church of the apostles, in the presence of the emperor theodosius ii., who, it is related, had gone out to meet the funeral procession at chalcedon, and there, ' falling prostrate on the coffin, had implored in the 'name of his guilty parents, arcadius and eudoxia, the forgiveness of the injured saint.' the noble simplicity and unselfish devotion of the life of st. john chrysostom have not, unfortunately, prevented the growth of many incongruous legends respecting him, which are without any foundation in fact, and are altogether out of harmony with his character. the beautiful and significant name of the golden-mouthed is explained as having reference to an interview between st. john and the devil, in which the latter, eager to prevent the writing of words which would win souls to god, upset the saint's inkhorn. st. john appealed to heaven for aid, and, impelled to put his pen in his mouth by unseen guidance, he drew it out filled with golden ink. in the words of a quaint old french manuscript, with a representation in miniature of the interview, preserved in the biblioth^que nationale of paris : ' en sa bouche i'enkre prenoit, sa salive devenoit ors.' the writer further explains that after this all the books of the saint were written in gold : ' quant sene st. john chrysostom 137 fut la novele, que ses livres tot d'or escrit, et qu'en sa bouche destrempre prist, par miracle, dieu en loferent, et pus bouche d'or i'apel^rent.' absurd as is this explanation of a surname, the meaning of which is apparent to the least observant, it is excelled in grotesqueness by the horrible legend relating to the so-called penitence of st. john chrysostom, alluded to here only on account of its representation in art. this libel — for libel it certainly is — on the memory of a man whose life was exception ally pure, appears to have originated in italy in the fifteenth century, and it so took the popular fancy that it became the theme of many ballads, which were reprinted again and again, and translated with variations into german and french. briefly told, the story is this : during his seclusion in the desert, st. john the golden mouthed was visited by a beautiful girl to whom he became greatly attached, and who bore him a son. just before the birth of the child was to take place, the saint repented of his wickedness, and flung the expectant mother down a precipice. he then resolved to do seven years' penance for his double crime, swearing that he would neither eat bread, drink wine, look up into the face of heaven, or speak either in greek or latin, unless in the interval an infant of seven days old should open its mouth and say, ' heaven hath pardoned thee ; go in peace.' the introduction of this saving clause, with its naive leaving open of a door of escape, is enough to betray the popular origin of the story, and the event proved how wise was the reservation. the saint, after making his vow, stripped himself naked, and spent many months, some versions of the legend say years, walking on all fours on the ground like a wild beast. at last the strange animal was found by the huntsmen of the king of the country, and taken home to be added to the royal menagerie. not long after a son was born to the queen, and when the infant was seven days old he astonished everyone by proclaim ing in perfectly intelligible language that god had forgiven the sins of the hermit. the wonderful tale concludes with the finding of the poor girl, who had been thrown down the precipice, alive and well, with a beautiful child of seven years old beside her. she turns out to be of royal birth, and is restored to her parents with much rejoicing, whilst the pardoned saint returns to his cell, there to resume his life of solitary meditation. 138 the saints in christian art sometimes the incident of the golden ink is worked into the same legend as the penance story, and the devil is left out altogether. the new-born babe challenges st. john to speak, but he makes signs that he will write. an inkstand is brought, and turns out to be empty, so the hermit wets his pen in his mouth, which becomes filled with golden ink. in yet another version the precocious baby declines to be baptized by the pope, who has come a long distance to perform the ceremony, and cries aloud three times, ' i will not be baptized by thee, but by st. john,' an appeal the supposed wild beast responds to with eager joy. many quaint illustrations of details of the penance legend are introduced in mediaeval collections of legends, and it has been treated also by the behams, albrecht diirer, and lucas ■ cranach, who have all represented the wronged woman and her child in the foreground, whilst st. john is seen grovelling on the ground in the background, wearing, in the engravings by durer and the behams, a singularly incongruous halo about his head. amongst the attributes given to st. john chrysostom, who is more often introduced in devotional pictures in the roman catholic church than any of the other greek fathers, are a pen, the usual symbol of a writer ; a beehive, in allusion, it is supposed, to his honeyed words ; and a dove, in remembrance of the incident said to have taken place at his ordination. when he holds a scroll, it generally bears the words, ' god our god, who has given us for food the bread of life,' a quotation from one of his own homilies. st. john chrysostom is sometimes represented being carried along in a fainting condition by his escort of soldiers, or bound to an ass, with his head drooping from exhaustion. he is introduced with st. athanasius, st. leo, and st. thomas aquinas, amongst the latin fathers in the chapel of nicholas v. in the vatican ; in s. giovanni elemosinaro at venice is a fine composition by titian, representing the patriarch of alexandria as the almsgiver seated on a raised podium, with a beggar at his feet, and in s. giovanni crisostomo in the same city is a grand altar-piece by sebastiano del piombo, considered one of his greatest works, in which st. john chrysostom is enthroned, attended by numerous saints, including augustine and john the baptist. in a chapel alt iiari photo] \_s. giovanni elemosinario, venice the charity of st. john chrysostom by titian to face p. 138 st. cyril of alexandria 139 on the left of the choir the golden-mouthed father appears again, grouped with saints andrew, onofrio, and agnes. the character of st. john has also been finely interpreted by rubens in a painting now in private possession, in which the patriarch holds a chalice in one hand and rests the left on the gospels, whilst above his head hovers the dove, typical of the direct inspiration of the holy spirit. chapter xiv st. cyril of alexandria st. cyril of alexandria, whose name is inseparably con nected with the great controversy on the subject of the incar nation of our lord, waged during his episcopate, was born towards the close of the fourth century, though exactly when is not known. educated by his uncle theophilus, then arch bishop of alexandria, he imbibed from him all the most advanced ideas as to the authority of the priesthood, and the necessity for rigorous measures against those who differed from the interpretation of doctrine accepted as orthodox by the church. sent to study for a few years under the celebrated abbot serapion in one of the monasteries of nitria, the young cyril worked with such ardour that he quickly mastered all the learning of the fathers. ' he extended round his cell,' says gibbon, 'the cobwebs of scholastic theology, and whilst outwardly engaged in praying and fasting, his thoughts were ever fixed upon the world, to which he longed to return. when the summons came at last, he hastened eagerly back to alexandria, was ordained priest by his uncle, and his eloquent sermons soon made him famous throughout the city. of noble presence and with a voice of remarkable sweetness, he soon became greatly beloved, and when theophilus died he was chosen to succeed him as patriarch, in spite of the opposition of the military authorities. he began his episcopate with stern measures against all who did not agree with him, for bidding the so-called novatians to meet for worship, and expelling the jews from alexandria. when orestes the prefect complained of the exile of so many wealthy and harm 140 the saints in christian art less citizens, cyril refused to rescind his orders, taking no measures to prevent the tumult which ensued, during which orestes himself was attacked by a band of monks from the desert. a stone flung by one of them named ammonius wounded the governor in the face. his guards seized the offender, and he was scourged to death by the lictors. cyril then ordered the body of the victim to be escorted by a solemn procession of clergy to the cathedral, where it was interred with all the pomp befitting the funeral of a martyr, and in an eloquent oration from the pulpit the patriarch denounced orestes as a murderer. the tragedy of the death of ammonius was soon followed by another, which has left an indelible stain upon the name of cyril. the beautiful hypatia, whose character has been so nobly interpreted by charles kingsley in his romance named after her, was then in the zenith of her fame, her wisdom and learning attracting crowds to her lectures. even the great orator and poet, the bishop synesius, was content to sit at her feet, and orestes often consulted her in his political difficulties. she was the idol of the young men of alexandria, but kept all her lovers at a distance, devoting herself to the care of her old father, theon, a well-known mathematician. after the death of ammonius a rumour was spread — by whom originated it is impossible to say, but cyril himself has been accused — to the effect that the only obstacle to a reconciliation between the archbishop and the governor was the influence of hypatia. in the state of excitement then prevailing a whisper was enough. a mob of monks and priests, led by a lay-reader named peter, stopped hypatia's carriage in the street, tore her from it, and dragged her to the church, at the entrance to which she was literally torn to pieces, cyril, who even at the last might have rescued her if he would, moving not a finger to save her. terrible as was this crime, and undoubted as was the share taken in it by the patriarch, it did not, strange to say, lessen his influence in alexandria, and, rare fact in that day of sudden changes, he retained his position as patriarch, in spite of having been twice formally deposed by the emperor, until his death in 444. the latter part of his life was spent in a bitter persecution of nestorius, the founder of an important sect, who had refused to accept the title given by st. cyril, st. cyril of alexandria 141 at the council of ephesus, to the blessed virgin of @eosoxo<s, or the mother of god, declaring that she was only xpifftotoka, or the mother of christ the man. nestorius himself was banished, and died miserably in exile ; but his followers are still very numerous in the east, although the ©eozoxo's doctrine was upheld by the successors of cyril, who agreed with him in wishing that those who, as they expressed it, ' divided christ ' should be ' divided with the sword, hewn in pieces, burnt alive,' falsifying the prophecy of theodoret, when he heard of the death of the patriarch, ' envy is dead, and heresy is buried with her.' st. cyril of alexandria, in spite of all his faults, is revered as one of the greatest champions of the orthodox church. he is honoured with the titles of the doctor of the incarnation and the doctor of the world. pope celestine spoke of him as the ' generous defender of the church and faith, the catholic doctor,' and his extant works, which include his ' defence of christianity against the emperor julian the apostate,' in ten books, are held in very high esteem by theologians, although their style is somewhat involved, their author having been a more eloquent speaker than writer. st. cyril is sometimes associated in art with the four great greek fathers, from whom he is distinguished by the cap, hood, or veil he wears on his head. his most noteworthy symbol is a group of the virgin and child introduced above his head, and he sometimes holds a scroll bearing the words — a quotation from one of his homilies — ' above all, a virgin without sin or blemish,' or an open book on one leaf of which is written @eohoxo<;, both in allusion to the doctrine he defended so vigorously in his lifetime. a pen, the constant emblem of a writer, is generally given to him, and in some old greek mss., he is represented flinging books into a brazier, in memory of his condemnation of the works of nestorius. 142 the saints in christian art chapter xv the four great latin fathers in the history of the western church the four latin fathers, saints jerome, ambrose, augustine, and gregory the great, occupy an exceptionally high position as exponents of doctrine, and their authority is accepted to a greater or less extent by christians of every creed. whilst the evangelists and apostles were recognised from the very earliest time as the chief pillars of the spiritual church, whose builder and maker was the son of god, the fathers or doctors were looked upon as their heirs, the main props of the church militant still on earth. it was their mission to preserve uninjured, in the midst of the fierce conflicts of opinion which prevailed in the third and fourth centuries, the priceless gem of the truth as it was in jesus, and to crystallize in definite form the various elements of which that gem consisted. their writings were venerated as those of men whose holy lives had brought them into touch with the divine, and as time went on this veneration increased to so great an extent that direct inspiration from on high was claimed for them. as a result they gradually became ranked in the popular imagination with the evangelists themselves ; the devotion engendered for them was reflected in art, and they were often grouped with the writers of the gospels in ecclesi astical decoration and devotional pictures. moreover, the symbols belonging of right to the evangelists were sometimes given also to their successors, a misappropriation which has resulted in a good deal of confusion. in mediaeval times this confusion became very marked, and it continued to prevail to a greater or less extent until the end of the seventeenth century. to quote but two examples from widely different sources : in the chronicle of nuremberg the eagle of st. john is given to st. gregory the great, and the bull of st. luke to st. ambrose ; whilst in a painting by pier francesco sacchi, now in the louvre, st. augustine has the eagle, and st. gregory the bull, the lion of st^maric is given to st. ambrose, and the angerot^leri||^stffijj5ts^^.'^romet"tne dove, the emblem of divme miptrahon, whispers in the ear of st. gregory alone, although each of the four doctors has the halo of sainthood. hanfstiingl fhoto\ [staedel institute, frankfort the four latin fathers by ii moretto to face p. 142 the four latin fathers 143 it has been suggested that the italian artist was innocent of any idea of plagiarism, but merely meant to suggest the character of his subjects by the introduction of the symbolic animals : the lofty dignity of st. augustine justifying his com parison with an eagle ; the self-denying purity of st. jerome his association with an angel ; the fearless courage of st. ambrose in his conflict with the emperor theodosius suggest ing that of the lion ; and the dogged perseverance of st. gregory in spite of all opposition resembling the tenacity of a bull. the grouping together of the evangelists and the latin fathers has been variously interpreted, some looking upon it merely as generally suggestive of their almost equal rank as teachers, others as symbolic of the fact that the latter were the interpreters of the former. thus, st. jerome is associated with st. matthew because of his commentary on that evange list's gospel ; st. augustine with st. john because he dwelt especially on the words of the beloved disciple ; st. ambrose with st. luke because he quoted so often from him; and st. gregory with st. mark for a similar reason, although, as a matter of fact, he referred as constantly to the other three gospels. it is as pillars of the church that the latin doctors appear behind the evangelists in the ' coronation of the virgin ' by antonio da murano and joannes vivarini, now in the venice academy, in the frescoes of luini at saronno, and in the ' paradiso ' of tintoretto in the doge's palace, venice ; it is as interpreters of the evangelists that they are introduced by coreggio in the beautiful fresco of the ' ascension ' in the dome of s. giovanni evangelista at parma. in the fresco of the ' disputa ' in the camera della segnatura of the vatican, raphael has included the four latin doctors amongst the crowd of learned men in the lower portion of the picture, marking their high rank by representing them as the only seated figures. in a quaint engraving called the ' triumph of christ,' long erroneously said to be after titian, and evidently dating from his time, though certainly not by him, the four evangelists are dragging along a chariot in which the redeemer is seated, whilst the four doctors, each at one of the wheels, are aiding them by pushing with all their strength. in a very fine 'madonna enthroned with saints,' by giovanni and antonio vivarini, now in the venice academy, the four 144 the saints in christian art doctors are grouped two on each side of the virgin. in a very original drawing of the ' dispute in the temple,'' and in the beautiful painting of the same subject by ii moretto, now in the staedel institute at frankfort, saints ambrose and augustine stand on the steps of the throne, st. gregory is seated below, and st. jerome alone kneels, pointing to a passage in a book held open by st. gregory. , in a beautiful drawing, now at venice, by giovanni da udine, of the ' dispute in the temple,' saints jerome, ambrose, augustine, and gregory are introduced making notes on the discussion between the jewish doctors and the youth ful redeemer, who is seated on a throne in their midst. other masters occasionally represented the fathers com muning together over various points of doctrine, and some went so far as to suggest their consideration of dogmas which were not evolved until long after their time. in a painting by dosso dossi, now in the dresden gallery, for instance, god the father is seen laying one hand on the head of the kneeling virgin, whilst st. jerome gazes reverently up at the vision, and the other three doctors, who are unable or unwilling to see it, continue their meditations unmoved, pen and tablet in hand. in a similar composition by guido reni, now in the hermitage, st. petersburg, the vision of st. jerome is shared by st. ambrose, but their companions are blind td it.' rubens, to whom the noble characters of the four great doctors, especially that of st. jerome, appealed with special force, introduced them in his wonderful series of tapestries of the ' triumph of the eucharist ' now in the dominican convent of the royal ladies, at loeches, near madrid, for which the original sketches are in the prado museum, and in a fine oil painting in the duke of 'westminster's collection, called the ' defence of the eucharist,' the same master has represented st. jerome and st. gregory arguing eagerly together, whilst the other two fathers listen attentively. the various symbols and attributes of the four great leaders of thought in the 'west in the fourth century will be described and explained in the separate articles relating to each of them ; but it may be added here, for the sake of completeness, that when they are grouped together they generally wear their robes of office, and hold a book alid a church, to denote their positions as defenders of the faith. st. jerome, who on st. jerome 145 account of his great learning takes first rank amongst the doctors, wears the crimson robes and red hat of a cardinal, although he certainly never attained the dignity they imply. st. gregory wears the tiara and pontifical robes, whilst saints augustine and ambrose are in the ordinary vestments of bishops, the former sometimes holding a knotted scourge in his right hand, in token of his self-inflicted penance, the latter a flaming heart, pierced with an arrow, in allusion to his own words : ' sagittaveras tu cor nostrum charitate tua.'* chapter xvi st. jerome st. jerome, who as the founder of monachism in the west and author of the translation of the scriptures into latin known as the vulgate, takes precedence of the other fathers, was born about the middle of the fourth century, though exactly at what date is not known, at stridonium, supposed to have occupied the site of the present sdrigni, on the borders of dalmatia and pannonia. the son of christian parents of high position, he received a good education, having been sent to rome after his father had thoroughly grounded him in the prin ciples of religion and the elements of secular knowledge. in the capital the young jerome worked under the celebrated heathen teachers victorinus the rhetorician and donatus the grammarian, making rapid progress in learning, but, unfor tunately, losing much of his early innocency through the evil example of his fellow-students. though he was baptized whilst at rome, he remained a christian in name only, and when his education was completed, he took up the legal pro fession ; his one aim seeming to have been to win worldly suc cess. not until he had made a great reputation as an orator and travelled much in quest of earthly knowledge were his eyes opened to the true aims of life. he must have been past thirty before a dangerous illness, from which he recovered as by a miracle, led to his giving up all his self-indulgence to devote (,* thou hadst pierced my heart with thy love. vol. ii. 10 146 the saints in christian art himself to the service of god alone. according to some, it was at antioch that the great change took place, whilst others claim that the conversion of st. jerome — for conversion it was — came about at triers, then a celebrated seat of learning, whither he had gone with a view to enriching his library with copies of the precious manuscripts there preserved. in any case, it seems to have been about 374 that he withdrew from the world to the desert of chalcis, where he spent four years in lonely penitence, inflicting such terrible sufferings upon him self that his body never fully recovered from their effects, although his soul emerged from them strengthened and purified. st. jerome has given a vivid description of the anguish through which he passed, and of the temptations with which he was assailed, in his letters to the disciples who later gathered about him, ' in the remotest part of a wild desert,' he says, 'which strikes with horror and terror even the monks that inhabit it, i seemed to myself to be in the midst of the delights and assemblies of rome. i loved solitude, that in the bitterness of my soul, i might more freely bewail my miseries and call upon my saviour. my emaciated limbs were covered with sackcloth, my skin was parched dry and black, and my flesh was almost wasted away. the days i passed in tears and groans, and when sleep over powered me against my will, i cast my wearied bones, which hardly hung together, upon the bare ground, not so properly to give them rest, as to torture myself. . . . my face was pale with fasting ; yet my will felt violent assaults of irregular desires. ... i feared the very cell in which i lived. ... i went alone into the most secret parts of the wilderness ;' and so on for many pages of heart-rending details, leading up, however, to the final triumphant assurance of victory, for he who, to quote his own touching words again, had ' thrown himself at the feet of jesus, watering them with his tears,' in despairing dread of condemnation, found himself at last ' amidst the choirs of angels, singing with them to god.' fortunately, what may perhaps be called the delirium of holiness, in which the penitent saint lived in the wilderness, was succeeded by the calm of worldly wisdom, and st. jerome resolved, now that he had won the great treasure of assured forgiveness, to return to the world, there, if possible, to share with others the peace he had secured for himself. in 379 he st. jerome 147 was ordained priest at antioch, and went thence to constanti nople, where he became, the close friend of st. gregory nazi anzus, who was in every respect a kindred spirit. the two took counsel together on the schism with which the church was then torn, and in 382, after the archbishop had, to quote his own words, resigned the see ' to lay the storm he had not excited,' st. jerome went to rome with saints paulinus and epiphanius to attend a council convened by pope damasus to consider what steps should be taken to combat the heresy which was eating like a canker into the yery heart of religion. st. jerome had already had some correspondence with the pope on the subject, and he had not been long in rome before he became the chief adviser of his hohness, who persuaded him to remain with him as his secretary after the meeting of the bishops broke up. reluctantly st. jerome gave up much of his leisure to his new duties and to preaching to crowded audiences in the churches of the capital. his ideal was still the same, but he was compelled to recognise that his work was now in the world, not in the desert, and by his great eloquence he won many to his own way of thinking, so that when, three years later, he felt free to leave the city, he was accompanied by many men and women of noble birth, who wished to devote their whole lives to the service of god. it had ever been the great ambition of st. jerome to end his life in palestine, and he now went to bethlehem, where he founded a monastery, in which he settled down to complete his translation of the bible and other literary labours. from this retreat he sent forth many beautiful letters, and also, unfortu nately for his memory, many bitter invectives against his enemies, especially against the pelagians, for whom he had conceived an unrelenting hatred, returned with such hearty goodwill that for two whole years he was compelled to hide in a remote district of the desert from those who sought to slay him. during this concealment, with its necessary hard ships, st. jerome was taken ill, and though he lingered for two whole years after his return to his beloved monastery, he remained an invalid until his death on september 30, 420. when he felt the end approaching, he asked some of his monks to carry him into the chapel, where he peacefully ex pired, after having reverently received the last sacraments. 10 — 2 148 the saints in christian art he was buried in a vault of the monastery, but his remains were translated later to the church of s. maria maggiore at rome. to explain the constant association of a lion with st. jerome, the following quaint and touching legend is told : one day when the father was sitting with his monks inside his monas tery at bethlehem, a lion approached him, limping on three legs, and holding up the fourth as if in pain. the monks fled in terror, but st. jerome remained quietly seated, and the great beast came up to him. then the holy father saw that the paw was pierced with a great thorn, and with much diffi culty he drew the thorn out of the wound, which he carefully bathed and dressed, the lion remaining perfectly quiescent the while. st. jerome, of course, expected his strange visitor to retire now that he had obtained what he came for, but the lion would not leave him, and became henceforth his most faithful companion. st. jerome, who allowed no one in his service to be idle, set him to work to escort a donkey to and from the forest to bring firewood for the convent. every day for many months the lion and the ass went forth and returned together, but on one occasion the king of the beasts is said to have fallen asleep by the way, and some travellers, passing when he was off guard, took away the donkey with the load of wood. when the lion awoke and found his companion gone, he was filled with remorse, and returned alone to his master with drooping head and tail, like a dog who knows he has done wrong. st. jerome, imagining that the lion had eaten the donkey, scolded him well, and ordered him henceforth to do the work alone. the poor lion, who seems to have understood all that was said to him, though he could not reply intelligibly, submitted to be made a beast of burden, until one day he happened to meet the very merchants who had stolen the donkey, and recognised his old friend leading a train of camels, as was the custom in those days. to the fear and dismay of the whole caravan, the angry lion dashed in amongst the camels, and drove them before him into the gates of the monastery. the terrified robbers came trooping in behind, and, convinced that their crime was dis covered, entreated st. jerome to forgive them. pardon was granted, and the merchants withdrew, full of reverence for the man who had a monarch of the desert to serve him. the lion [royal . ic-adi'tiiy, london st. jerome in the desert by lord leighton to face p. 148 st. jerome 149 was restored to his old position, and he and his friend the donkey worked together again for many years. various other explanations have been given of the introduc tion of the lion in pictures of st. jerome. as is well known, a lion is the general symbol of those who retire to the desert from the world, as well as of all who keep vigil at night, because of the popular behef that lions sleep with their eyes open. there was, moreover, something of the lion in the sturdy, uncompromising character of st. jerome, whom no worldly honours could seduce from the path he considered right, and who by sheer force of will conquered even the fear of death, which, he confesses, sometimes assailed him. in any case, the lion became inseparably connected with st. jerome ; the incident of the extraction of the thorn is the subject of many charming mediaeval miniatures, notably of several preserved in the biblioth^que nationale of paris, and whether the saint is represented in his study, as in the quaint fifteenth-century chronicle of nuremberg, or kneel ing alone in the desert, his faithful lion is ever beside him. other more or less constant attributes of st. jerome, who is generally represented as an old man with bald head and a long beard, are the cardinal's robes and hat, the use of which is a manifest anachronism. the term cardinal was, no doubt, employed at a very early date to designate any priest regularly inducted into a benefice, and about the eighth century it became restricted to the clergy of a cathedral, the bishop being looked upon as the cardo, or hinge, on which the diocese turned, but it was not until the time of pius v. that the title became the exclu sive distinction of the counsellors of the pope, whose authority was second to his alone. the cardinal's robes were probably given to st. jerome because he acted at one time as secretary to pope damasus, or, according to lope de vega, who has made the ' cardinal of bethlehem ' the hero of one of his sacred dramas, to pope st. liberius. be that as it may, the robes have become st. jerome's by right of long tradi tion, and even when, as is sometimes the case, robes of any kind are dispensed with, and the ' cardinal of bethlehem ' kneels almost naked in the wilderness, his red hat hangs on a peg in his cell or lies on the ground beside him. sometimes the equally anachronistic detail of a pair of spectacles is given to st. jerome, probably in allusion to his clearness of spiritual 150 the saints in christian art vision; and occasionally, as in a well-known engraving by durer, he kneels before a crucifix, although that emblem of devotion did not come into use until some centuries after his death, or, as in another old engraving, he uses a rosary, and has a benitier of holy water beside him. the fox as an emblem of wisdom, with the hare, the stag, the partridge, and other wild animals of the desert, are often introduced in the background of pictures of st. jerome doing penance, and sometimes groups of beautiful women, suggestive of the tempta tions to which the saint was exposed, are seen dancing near him. a stone either held in his hand, in token of the penance he inflicted on himself, or resting on the open page of his book, is another very constant emblem of st. jerome ; the pen, so often given to those who taught by their writings, is looked upon as a very special attribute of the great latin father in his character of the first historian of the church ; the death's head and cross-bones, placed by many artists at his feet, are supposed to be in allusion to his conquered fear of death, or to the way in which he dwelt on the last judgment in his dis courses ; and the trumpet he sometimes holds has probably a somewhat similar meaning, although it was long supposed to have reference to the words erroneously attributed to him : ' whether i eat or whether i drink, or whatever i do, i seem to hear ringing in my ears the terrible trumpet, crying. arise, ye dead, and come to judgment !' st. jerome is looked upon as their spiritual head by the hierony mites, whose order grew out of that of st. francis in the thirteenth, century, and as translator of the holy scriptures he is supposed to be the special protector of theological students. his figure is therefore introduced in many convents and colleges, as well as in countless chapels and churches, so that his general appearance is as familiar as is that of any one of the evangelists, whose successor he was supposed to be. there is a quaint old gothic figure representing st. jerome in his cardinal's robes, with his lion beside him, in henry vii.'s chapel at westminster, and the wooden statue by donatello in the faenza gallery, in spite of its humble material, is full of virile force and spiritual expression. the noble character of the saint has also been well interpreted in marble by alessandro vittoria, whose statue in the cathedral of siena is said to be a portrait of titian in extreme old age ; by tuuio lombardo, [iscriin gallay saints jerome, clara, and mary magdalene by luai signorelli to face p. 150 st. jerome 151 whose ' st. jerome ' in the frari church, venice, is one of his best works ; and by mino da fiesole, the author of a statue of the saint now in s. pietro at perugia, and also of a series of bas-reliefs representing scenes from the life of st. jerome adorning the altar in s. maria maggiore, rome, beneath which rest the remains of the great doctor. it early became customary to introduce st. jerome amongst the attendant saints in the great scenes from the lives of christ and of the blessed virgin. he appears with st. francis in the beautiful bas-relief of the ' nativity ' in s. francesco at barga, and in that of the coronation of the virgin in s. maria degli angeli at rocca, near assisi, both by luca della robbia ; in fra angelico's great ' crucifixion ' in s. marco, florence, he kneels not far from st. dominic, gazing up at the cross in rapt devotion. in perugino's rendering of the same subject in the florence academy, st. jerome and his lion are on the right of the cross, opposite to the blessed virgin ; in giovanni santi's ' piet£l ' in s. domenico at pagli he and st. bonaventura look on at the mourning over the dead christ ; and on the predella of the ' coronation of the virgin ' by botticelli, in the florence academy, st. jerome is seen in his study and st. augustine at patmos on one side of the central subject. francia, who seems to have had a special predilection for the hermit father, introduced him kneeling at the foot of the cross with the blessed virgin, st. john and st. francis, in the beautiful niello pax preserved in the bologna gallery ; in the ' calcina altar-piece,' now in the hermitage, st. peters burg, st. jerome is opposite to st. lawrence; and in the 'presentation in the temple' in the capitoline gallery at rome, long attributed to francia, but now supposed by some critics to be by fra bartolommeo, st. jerome with his lion is one of the many spectators of the scene. to signorelli also the character of st. jerome appealed with peculiar fascination. in the ' dead christ upheld by angels,' in s. niccolo, cortona, the latin father, a noble looking old man, kneels on one knee opposite to st. francis ; and in the great ancona in the national gallery, london, he is introduced in his cardinal's robes, with his lion at his feet, amongst the fine full-length figures of saints in the upper tier. in the venice academy is preserved a very fine painting on wood by crivelli of saints jerome and augustine, the 152 the saints in christian art former holding a model of a church and two heavy volumes in his right hand, vi^hilst his lion, the left paw pierced with an arrow, looks up at him as if asking for help ; and in the berlin gallery are preserved the wings of an altar-piece, on one of which a very beautiful st. jerome, nude but for some loose drapery, kneels beside saints clara and mary magdalene. in the celebrated ' madonna della pesce ' of raphael, now in the prado museum, madrid, the holy child lays his hand caressingly on the book held by the kneeling st. jerome, and in correggio's famous ' ii giorno,' or ' madonna of st. jerome,' in the parma gallery, the great doctor of the church, a magnificent figure towering above the blessed virgin and her attendant angel, is presenting his translation of the holy scriptures to the divine child. he also takes an important place in many other well-known madonna pictures, such as those by montagna, the vivarini, giovanni bellini, paolo veronese, and tintoretto, all in the venice academy, and, above all, that by giovanni bellini in s. zaccaria, venice. occasionally, as in the ' st. jerome introducing charles v. into paradise,' by luca giordano, in the escorial palace, madrid ; the great altar-piece of 151 1 by wohlgemuth, in the vienna gallery ; and that by giovanni bellini in s. giovanni crisostomo, venice, st. jerome is the principal figure. in the first he is more than an earthly saint : he has become a mediator and intercessor, able to control the fate after death of the mighty ones of this world ; in the second, a very characteristic german work, he stands upon a lofty throne, his hand resting on the head of a lion rampant, and in the third, the last signed painting of giovanni bellini, he is seated reading, with st. augustine on one side and st. christopher on the other. very numerous and varied also are the representations of scenes from the life and legend of st. jerome, and in many hieronymite convents incidents, such as the blessed virgin giving him the cardinal's hat, are added, for which there is scant foundation either in legend or tradition. the penance of st. jerome has been almost as favourite a subject with artists as that of st. mary magdalene, whilst pictures and engravings of him alone in his cell or praying in the wilderness abound, not only in italy and spain, but also in germany. in the brera gallery, milan, is a very fine ' penance ' by titian, who often chose it as his theme, in st. jerome 133 which st. jerome, stone in hand and with his lion beside him, kneels opposite to a cross roughly carved in the living rock. in a beautiful engraving, now very rare, albrecht diirer treated the subject in much the same way. raphael in one of his early ' crucifixions ' introduced st. jerome as a penitent kneeling with a stone in his hand ready to begin his self-torture, and, to quote a famous modern example. lord leighton represented him kneeling at the foot of a cross in an agony of prayer, his lion on a rock near by. in the national gallery, london, there is a beautiful painting by domenichino of st. jerome in his cell listening to the angel, with his lion crouching at his feet, and his red robe. cardinal's hat, and the symbolic skull on a rock beside him, and in the church of the ognisanti, florence, is a fine fresco by ghirlandajo of the same subject, in which the father is writing at a plank laid across two pieces of rock. more celebrated than either of these, however, are the engraving by lucas van leyden, in which the lion is licking his master's feet, and that after diirer known as ' st. jerome in his chamber,' in which the saint is writing in a beautiful room, with his cardinal's hat hanging on a peg behind him, and his lion and the fox, symbolic of his wisdom, asleep on the ground. another german master, lucas cranach, painted his patron, albert of bran denburg, as st. jerome, whom he represented as writing in the open air, wearing his cardinal's robes, and with a group of wild animals about him, including a lion, a hare, a partridge, and a fawn. very beautiful also are the ' st. jerome in prayer ' by savaldo, in the layard collection at venice ; the same subject by paolo veronese in s. andrea, venice; the st. jerome alone, by quintin matsys in the uffizi gallery, florence ; the ' st. jerome praying ' by ii moretto, in s. clemente, brescia ; the single figure by titian in the hermitage, st. petersburg ; and the exquisite engraving by albrecht diirer known as ' st. jerome with the willow.' in a quaint picture ascribed to juan de valdes leal, in the museum of seville, st. jerome is represented laying down the law to some jewish rabbis, each of whom has a demon peeping over his shoulder. ribera has given a very forcible rendering of the so-called ' vision of st. jerome,' in which the saint is pausing in his writing to listen to the blast of the trumpet summoning the dead to judgment ; and antonio pereda, in a 154 the saints in christian art painting in the prado gallery, madrid, goes even further, sur rounding the awe-struck saint with spirits rising in answer to the terrible summons. in his beautiful but much-defaced frescoes in s. onofrio, florence, domenichino represented st. jerome praying against temptation, whilst beautiful nymphs are dancing in a circle in the background; and in another scene the saint is patiently enduring a scourging from an angel, in punishment for his love of heathen writings, a copy of cicero lying at his feet pointing the moral. in the national gallery, london, is a very beauti ful painting, by the same master, of st. jerome listening to an angel dictating ; parmigiano, in a fine work in the same col lection, has given a poetic rendering of yet another supposed vision of the popular saint, in which he lies asleep on the ground, and the blessed virgin with the holy child appear in the sky above him ; and in the uffizi gallery, florence, is a very dramatic rendering of the ' vision of st. jerome ' by ribera. in s. giorgio degli schiavoni, venice, are three beautiful scenes from the life of st. jerome by carpaccio : the meeting between him and his lion ; the saint in his study, remark able for the way in which the light is managed ; and his death, in which many portraits of contemporaries of the artist are introduced amongst the mourners. in the frescoes of the venuto chapel in s. maria del popolo, rome, pinturicchio introduced several incidents from the chequered career of st. jerome, including a visit from the other three fathers, and an interview between him and an infidel in the presence of a number of spectators. a specially beautiful representation of the death of st. jerome is that by filippo lippi, in the duomo of prato, in which the grief of the weeping brethren about the bier is brought out with almost painful vividness, whilst above the blessed virgin with attendant angels are awaiting to receive the soul of the departing saint. the last communion of the great teacher has also been the subject of many fine paintings, of which that by domenichino, now in the vatican gallery, where it hangs opposite to the ' trans figuration ' by raphael, is considered the best. in it the dying saint is being placed by his weeping disciples in the chapel of his monastery at bethlehem, st. paula kisses his hand, and four angels look down from above, as the priest in ornate robes, at whom st. jerome gazes with dim eyes full of yearning rever alinari photo,^ [d//o/!to, prato .... the death of st. jerome by fra filippo lippi to face p. 154 st. ambrose 155 ence, approaches with the sacred elements. very beautiful also are the painting of the same subject by agostino caracci, in which the lion is introduced, licking the feet of his dying master ; and the engraving by an unknown hand, dated 1614, representing the saint in his cell after the last sacraments have been administered, pressing the gospel and crucifix to his breast, whilst angels are bearing his soul to heaven and the faithful lion is howling with grief. chapter xvii st. ambrose st. ambrose, who is justly considered one of the greatest men of his time — for, unlike st. jerome, he knew how to temper zeal with discretion, and, unlike st. augustine, he had no bitter memories of past errors to lessen his power for good — was born about 340, probably at treves. he was the youngest of a family of three children, and his father, a man of high culture, was prefect of gaul. it is related that one day, when the little ambrose was asleep in his cradle, a swarm of bees settled upon his face, and when the attendants were about to drive them away, the prefect interfered, declaring that they would do the little one no harm, but were a token of the divine favour. the bees hovered about the child for a few minutes, and then flew away, without having stung him, soaring, it is said, to a great height before they disappeared. a similar story is told, as is well known, of plato and of pindar ; but that the incident is no mere later tradition evolved after the celebrity it was supposed to prophesy had become an accomplished fact, is proved by allusions to it in contemporary writings, notably in a letter from the secretary paulinus to st. augustine. it is doubtful whether the parents of st. ambrose were christians or not ; but the probability is that they were, for their daughter marcellina became a nun, and there is no record of her conversion. in any case, ambrose and his brother satyrus received an excellent education, although their father died when they were still children. their mother, whose name has unfortunately not been pre 156 the saints in christian art served, took them to rome, where they studied under the best masters of the day, and ambrose distinguished himself so much that he attracted the notice of the leading men at court. after following the legal profession for a few years with brilliant success, ambrose was made prefect of upper italy and milan by the emperor valentinian i. ; and it is related that when he was about to start on his journey to take up his new dignity, the magistrate protus, whose successor he had been, said to him : ' go thy way, and govern rather as a bishop than a judge.' arrived at milan, which he intended to make his head quarters, the young governor found the city torn with dissensions between the catholics and arians, but by his wisdom and tact he managed to restore at least a semblance of peace. he soon became greatly beloved, and was consulted eagerly in their difficulties by all classes of the community. in 374, when st. ambrose was about thirty-four years old, the bishop of milan died, and immediately a great tumult arose in the city, the arians wishing to elect a candidate who favoured them, the catholics espousing the cause of another. it seemed likely that a civil war would break out, and a fierce quarrel was going on in the church in which the electors had assembled, when st. ambrose forced his way in, ascended the pulpit, and obtained silence. he then uttered a remarkable oration, the audience listening in enthralled attention until, just as he was ending his discourse, a child, who, according to one version of the legend, was jesus himself, suddenly cried out ' ambrose bishop !' thus suggesting a solution of the difficulty, which was hailed with enthusiasm by both parties. the cry, ' ambrose bishop !' was taken up by all present, and the prefect tried in vain to make his protest heard. he wished to plead that he had not yet been baptized, that he had already work enough to do ; but he was compelled to desist, and left the church followed by a large crowd acclaim ing his election. the popular desire was endorsed by the emperor, who presently sent his messenger to milan with a letter to st. ambrose, commanding him to yield. meanwhile the pre fect was doing his best to turn the tide, and it is even said that he caused certain criminals who were brought before him as judge to be tortured, in the hope of proving that he was unfit to be a bishop. when he heard of the arrival of the emperor's envoy he stole away at night, intending to take refuge at pavia, but st. ambrose 157 he lost his way, and in the morning found himself still close to milan. he re-entered the city, and induced a senator named leontius to hide him, but when the pope seconded the orders of the emperor by declaring it a crime to aid the fugitive to escape, the prefect's retreat was betrayed by his host. st. ambrose now realized that it was his duty to submit ; he was baptized, and eight days later consecrated bishop of milan. the first care of the new bishop was to qualify himself for his high office. he began by distributing to the church and the poor all he possessed, except a certain sum he set aside for the maintenance of his sister ; and having put all his worldly affairs into the hands of his brother satyrus, he set to work to study the scriptures and the writings of accredited authorities. in these studies he was, it is said, greatly assisted by the roman presbyter simplicianus, who later succeeded him as bishop, but in the active work of his office he had hardly any help, receiving all, of whatever rank, himself, and quickly con verting milan from a turbulent city into one of the most peace ful towns of italy. arians and catholics alike looked upon st. ambrose as their own pastor, and abode by his decisions in a truly remarkable manner. st. augustine, who was one of his great admirers, relates that often when he went to the palace he found the holy bishop ' so overwhelmed with business, or so intent in the few moments he was able to steal for him self,' that his visitor was not even perceived by him, * whom out of mere pity he durst not interrupt.' on the death of valentinian i., gratian, his elder son, suc ceeded him, and st. ambrose became chief adviser of the young monarch, who, though not an able ruler, was an earnest christian. ' gratian,' says gibbon, ' loved and revered the bishop as a father, and the celebrated treatise on the trinity was written specially for his guidance.' when gratian was murdered in 383, and his stepmother, justina, trembled for her own safety and that of her young son, st. ambrose was mainly instrumental in preventing further bloodshed, and on the accession of valentinian ii. he resisted every effort of the empress-mother to seduce him from what he considered the right path. justina was a bigoted arian, and she did her utmost to instil her own principles into the mind of her son. moreover, she had very exalted notions on the subject of the supremacy of the state, and wished to make the church 158 the saints in christian art altogether subservient to it. she even went so far as to suggest to st. ambrose that he should give up one of the churches in milan for the use of her favourite sect, pleading the right of the emperor to worship god publicly in his own way. in his reply to her the bishop struck the keynote of his later behaviour to theodosius. the palaces of the earth, he said, might indeed belong to csesar, but the churches were the houses of god, and within the limits of his diocese he himself, as the lawful successor of the apostles, was the only minister of god. every attempt to win his consent to a conference on the subject was in vain : he did not consider the matter open to discussion. after a long and bitter quarrel between st. ambrose and the empress, sentence of banishment was pronounced upon the bishop, but he boldly refused to obey, and the people supported him in his refusal, guarding him wherever he went, and sur rounding the church during the services. it was whilst this contest with the temporal power was at its height that the discovery took place of the remains of the martyrs. saints protasius and gervasius, as related in the account of their lives.* the place where the bodies had been buried is said to have been revealed to st. ambrose in a dream, when he was overtaken by sleep at his prayers in a church dedicated to saints nabor and celsus. when he awoke he at once ordered the pavement of the church to be removed, and beneath it were found two perfect skeletons of young men, with the heads severed from the bodies. the sacred relics were removed with great ceremony to the cathedral, and on the way many miracles of healing are said to have taken place, including the restoration of the sight of a blind man. the effect on the minds of the populace of all these wonders was immense. justina and the emperor, seeing how useless it was to con tend against one in such favour with god and man, as st. ambrose evidently was, ceased their persecution, and a hollow peace was patched up between the church and state. then ensued the invasion of maximus, the murderer of the late emperor gratian, who quickly dispersed the imperial troops, and on the flight of justina with her son would gladly have cemented an alliance with st. ambrose. the bishop, however, refused to have anything to do with a man whose * ' the saints in christian art,' vol. i., pp. 197, 198. alinari photo] [church of tlic frari, i'c///c st. ambrose enthroned by aivise i'ivarini to face p. 158 st. ambrose i59 hands were stained with the blood of gratian, and it was not until maximus had been deposed, and succeeded by theo dosius, that cordial relations were again established between the temporal and spiritual powers. theodosius, a man of noble character, whose crimes and errors were the result rather of a hasty temper than of moral depravity, soon con ceived a great affection for st. ambrose, whose advice he often followed in preference to that of his own ministers. again and again the bishop had successfully interfered in favour of clemency to the condemned, and it was with a shock of horror that he heard of the terrible massacre at thessalonica, which had been ordered by theodosius in revenge for the murder by the populace of one of his generals. that the general had brought his fate on himself by his want of tact in dealing with the people was not allowed to weigh with the emperor in meting out his vengeance. in his name the citizens of thessa lonica were invited to a great entertainment at the circus, and when all the seats were occupied, a preconcerted signal was given to the soldiers waiting outside, who rushed in and slew fifteen hundred, sparing neither age nor sex. when st. ambrose heard the dreadful news, he was filled with horror and indignation. fearing he should have to meet theodosius before he had resolved on what it was best for him to do, he withdrew from milan to the country, there to seek guidance from on high in solitary prayer. again it is said direct inspiration came to him in a dream, christ himself appearing to tell his representative on earth that the emperor must not be allowed to approach the holy table, or touch the sacred elements with hands polluted by the blood of the innocent. the bishop's duty was now clear. he went back to milan and wrote to theodosius, telling him that he must not venture to approach the altar until he had made full expiation for his crimes. the emperor, who could not believe that his old friend really meant to excommunicate him, contented himself with a general expression of regret, and on the next festival of the church he came as usual with all his court to receive the holy communion. st. ambrose, however, who had been warned of his approach, met him in the porch and forbade him to enter, telling him to depart, and not to aggravate his former crime by a second offence. in vain the emperor entreated forgiveness. i6o the saints in christian art pleading that david too had sinned and been pardoned, to which st, ambrose replied, ' him whom you have imitated in sinning, imitate also in repentance.' strange to say, theodosius submitted, and turning sadly away, he retired to his palace, where he spent the next eight months in doing penance. at the end of that time he again presented himself at the church porch, to be again repulsed, and it was not until he had done public penance, lying prostrate with other offenders on the pavement outside the church, that the bishop at last consented to give him absolution or to allow him to receive the blessed sacrament. the fact that, after he had been thus put to shame in the presence of his subjects, theodosius still remained attached to his stern bishop speaks volumes for the nobility of his character. later the emperor himself voluntarily refrained from approaching the altar, because he was stained with blood, though in a just and necessary war. in fact, the victory of the church was complete ; the submission of the temporal power was a voluntary one, the heart as well as the body having been won over to the cause of christ. theodosius died in the arms of st. ambrose in 395, and the bishop followed him to the grave two years later, having done more than any one man to consolidate the ecclesiastical power in italy. in minor details also his influence is still felt, for he it was who gave to church ceremonial the dignity and magnificence which has ever since distinguished it, especially in italy, and he effected a complete reform in sacred music. the ambrosian chant, named after him, was the earliest attempt at the introduction of any real system, and although it is a mistake to consider him, as some have done, the author of the te deum, many well known hymns in use in the western church, notably ' again the lord's own day is here,' were undoubtedly composed by him. various quaint legends have in the course of centuries gathered about the memory of the holy bishop of milan. on one occasion he is said to have gone to the prefect macedonius, to ask mercy for a condemned criminal, but he was refused admittance, and, turning away from the door, he prophesied that the day would come when macedonius would fly to the church for safety, and be unable to enter. not long afterwards the prefect, being pursued by his enemies, came to a church st. ambrose i6i door, but, though it was open, he could not enter, and fell a victim to those who sought his life. on another occasion, a nobleman in whose house st. ambrose was a guest boasted that he had never known adversity ; all his children were prosperous, he had many slaves to wait upon him, troubles might fall on others, they never came near him, and so on. st. ambrose listened for some little time ; then he got up hastily, and said to his host : ' arise, fly quickly from this house, for the lord is at hand to destroy it!' the nobleman laughed at him, but scarcely had the saint left the house before it was swallowed up by an earthquake, and everyone in it destroyed. again, when an obstinate heretic went to hear st. ambrose preach, intending to interrupt him, an angel appeared in the pulpit, whispering in the bishop's ear. in fact, on every occasion when help was needed it came to st. ambrose. when he fell asleep in church one day, and was in imagination assisting at the funeral of st. martin of tours, to whom he had been much attached, the sacristan of the vision struck him on the shoulder to wake him. when he was dying, christ him self appeared beside his bed, and when st. honoratus, bishop of vercelli, whose ordination had been one of st. ambrose's last acts, fell asleep whilst watching beside him, an angel came down to arouse him just in time for him to perform the last offices for the expiring prelate. st. ambrose is also supposed to have returned from heaven several times to aid his beloved people of milan. in 1037 he is said to have menaced conrad ii. with a sword when that monarch was unwilling to grant certain privileges to his italian subjects ; and at the battle of parabiago, in 1339, when the milanese seemed likely to be defeated, he suddenly appeared, mounted on a white horse, and with an acolyte behind him. wearing no armour but his episcopal robes, and armed only with a three-thonged scourge, he laid vigorously about him, thrashing the living and the dead with strict impartiality, as re presented in a quaint fifteenth-century picture preserved in the paris national collection, beneath which is written 'sainte ev6que arm6 d'^trieres' (the holy bishop armed with thongs). st. ambrose is of course the patron saint of milan, and the church founded by him in that city, though much modernized, still retains the general form given to it by him. the doors vol. ii. ii i62 the saints in christian art are said to be the very ones closed in such a dramatic manner against the emperor theodosius, which were transferred to it from the old cathedral. strange to say, no other city has chosen the much-loved saint as protector, but he is supposed to look after the interests of all domestic animals, especially of geese, probably because a goose is a type of winter in italy, and the bishop's f6te-day is on december 7. bees, too, are under his protection, on account of the incident mentioned above, and the word ' ambrosia,' signifying honey, is supposed to be derived from his name. to make up for the scarcity of his votaries, st. ambrose has nearly as many symbols as the apostles themselves. his most constant attribute is the three-thonged scourge already alluded to, the meaning of which has been very variously explained. some see in it an emblem of the struggle between the civil and ecclesiastical power in which st. ambrose was so triumphantly victorious ; others look upon it as a memorial of the arch bishop's severity to the arians, against whom the people of milan declare he fought in person ; and yet others say it is a mere allusion to the refusal to allow the emperor theodosius to receive the holy communion. the three thongs are generally taken to symbolize the trinity, and although some, notably puricelli in his ' dissertatio nazariana,' declare that a four thonged scourge used to be carried in cathedral processions in milan in memory of the great archbishop, the three thongs are so persistent that there probably was some very strong original reason for their adoption. in the old milanese coin age st. ambrose constantly appears, wearing his episcopal robes and mitre, and, whether on foot or horseback, with his characteristic scourge in his hand. he holds this scourge in a quaint bas-relief reproduced by p6re cahier in his ' carac t^ristiques des saints,' in an old oil-painting preserved in the sacristy of the cathedral at aix-la-chapelle, in the print of his apparition at parabiago, already referred to, and in the picture by sacchi of the four latin doctors, it lies doubled up upon the table beside him. the pen given to all writers of note is, of course, one of st. ambrose's attributes. occasionally it is held instead of the scourge, which is also sometimes replaced by two human bones, as in a painting by one of the vivarini in the venice academy. now and then the bishop holds a chalice, or st. ambrose 163 various church vessels are strewn at his feet, in allusion to his having, it is said, sold some of those belonging to his cathedral to redeem milanese citizens who had been taken prisoners by the goths. the bees, emblematical of the eloquence of st. ambrose and reminiscent of the incident related above, are often seen hovering about his head or issuing from a hive on the ground beside him. now and then, as in a quaint engrav ing in the ' chronicle of nuremberg,' a young bull appears with the bishop, in allusion to the resemblance of his character to that of st. luke ; more rarely a goose is his companion. the dove, which in sacchi's picture and elsewhere is introduced whispering into the ear of st. ambrose, and is in certain instances replaced by an angel, is not in his case symbolic merely of inspiration, but also of the direct interference on his behalf from on high when the child cried ' ambrose bishop !' at his consecration. in ecclesiastical decoration, as in a very dramatic group above the southern portal of chartres cathedral, st. ambrose is sometimes introduced with the emperor theodosius as a suppliant at his feet, and in devotional pictures he is often grouped with saints gervasius and protasius, because of his discovery of their remains, and his joint patronage with them of milan. saints nabor and felix are also specially associated with him, because it was in their church that the relics of their fellow-martyrs were found. now and then saints ambrose and augustine are re presented as conferring together, because they were long erroneously supposed to have composed the te deum and modern artists are fond of associating the archbishop with the much later st. carlo borromeo, who was also archbishop of milan. one of the finest representations of st. ambrose as the patron saint of milan is the ' st. ambrose enthroned,' in the frari church, venice, begun by alvise vivarini just before his death in 1502, and completed, it is supposed, by basaiti. the arch bishop is seated beneath the beautiful vaulting of a romanesque apse, with saints george and vitalis standing beside him, and grouped on the steps of the throne are various saints, including st. gregory, whilst on a lower level saints jerome and sebas tian stand opposite to each other, with two angels between them playing on mandolines. very beautiful, too, is the figure ii— 2 i64 the saints in christian art of st. ambrose in the ' madonna enthroned ' of giovanni and antonio vivarini, now in the venice academy, and in the same subject by botticelli in the florence academy, in which the archbishop is placed between st. john the evangelist and the archangel michael. the character of the great teacher was finely interpreted by correggio in the parma frescoes, by titian in the ' madonna of the louvre,' by tintoretto in the ' paradiso ' of the doge's palace, venice, and era angelico introduced him in the ' great crucifixion ' of s. marco, in which he is grouped with st. augustine near the kneeling saints jerome and dominic. in the ninth-century mosaics of s. ambrogio, milan, scenes from the life of st. ambrose are introduced. above the altar is a quaintly archaic gilt relief of our lord, between saints ambrose and peter, and in the same church is preserved in a steel case, only opened on payment of a large fee, a unique relic of mediaeval art, the so-called palliotto, the golden cover ing of the altar executed about 835, by a certain craftsman named wolfinus, by order of archbishop angilbertus, in memory of his great predecessor. oh the front of this unique survival of ninth-century art are a series of scenes in gold relief from the life of christ, and on the back are represented in a similar manner the chief incidents of the career of st. ambrose, including the settling of the bees on his lips when he was an infant, his appointment as prefect, his election as bishop, his vision of the funeral of st. martin, his preaching in the cathedral with an angel inspiring him, his healing of the sick, his vision of christ on his death-bed, the waking of the bishop of vercelli by an angel, the death of st. ambrose, and the ascent of his soul to heaven. on two of the panels st. ambrose is seen blessing the donor and the master-smith wolfinus, and the centre is occupied by fine figures of the redeemer and st. michael. another interesting series of scenes from the life of st. am brose are the frescoes by masolino in s. clemente, rome, in which he is seen lying in his cradle, whilst his nurse is trying to disperse the swarm of bees hovering about his face ; pausing in his lecture to the people of milan at the cry of the child from amongst the audience ; looking on at the wreck of the boastful nobleman's house ; and dying in a room containing his writing-table and books. st. augustine of hippo 165 the incident of the finding of the relics of saints gervasius and protasius is not very often represented, but there is a quaint example preserved in the national museum of paris, in which st. ambrose in his episcopal robes is lifting up the pave ment with a pickaxe, revealing to view two bodies lying as if asleep, with hands folded on their breasts, whilst behind the archbishop are grouped a number of monks, and saints peter and paul direct the operations from above. in spite of its dramatic possibilities, the meeting between the emperor and st. ambrose at the church doors has not often been represented. cavalcaselle and crowe, it is true, refer to a painting of it by fra angelico, but if it ever existed it is now lost, and rubens treated the subject very forcibly in a large composition, now in the imperial gallery, vienna, of which there is a reduced copy in the national gallery, london. a group of sculpture by falconnet, in the invalides, paris, represents, in a somewhat feeble manner, st. ambrose repulsing theodosius, and subleyras, in a painting now in the louvre, has rendered the final scene in the contest between the two, when the emperor kneels to receive the benediction so long denied to him. chapter xviii st. augustine of hippo and his mother in the history of the early church, there are few more touching stories than that of st. augustine, who was won from the evil ways of his youth by the ceaseless prayers of his mother, and is as celebrated as a penitent as st. mary magdalene. born at tagaste, in numidia, in 354, the son of a poor but ambitious heathen magistrate named patricius, and monica, his wife, a christian woman famed for her piety, the young augustine was from his earhest years subjected to conflicting influences. his father wished him to achieve worldly success ; his mother's one desire was that he should become a christian, and give up his life to god. endowed with perfect health and excellent abilities, the boy quickly made his choice, resolving to study hard and become famous as soon as he could. he was sent i66 the saints in christian art first to madaura, and then to carthage, to work under the best masters, and he soon won golden opinions from all about him, on account of the rapidity with which he assimilated know ledge. unfortunately, when he reached carthage at the age of seventeen, full of eager life and ambition, he fell under the influence of evil companions, and was by them drawn into all manner of dissipation. he has himself in his ' confessions,' told the melancholy story of his fall, exaggerating in his bitter remorse his own wrong-doing, and blaming himself bitterly, not only for his actual sins, but for what were really the natural mistakes of a noble nature. the first thing to awake his slumbering conscience is said to have been reading the hor tensius of cicero, in which the great roman orator dwells on the beauty and refining influence of the study of philosophy. by a not unnatural transition, the young student passed from cicero to a consideration of the principles of the much-persecuted sect of the manichseans, who advocated the utter subjection of the passions, and, as a result, abstinence from all sensual pleasure. ere long, augustine, who was really already full of regret, if not exactly remorse, for his carthage mistakes, became a pro fessed manichsean ; but though his intellect was to some extent satisfied by the keen speculations of the sect, his heart still craved for something more satisfying. he returned to his native town, where he was eagerly welcomed by his mother, to whose entreaties that he would become a christian he still turned a deaf ear. he lectured on literature at tagaste for some little time, winning a good deal of applause for his eloquence, and no doubt the daily intercourse with st. monica bad something to do with the change which now appeared in his views of life. when he was about twenty-five years old, he went back to carthage and there had many inter views with the celebrated manichsean teacher faustus, whom he eagerly cross-examined in the hope of finding the peace he longed for. the result was complete disillusion. not in this or any other sect, he felt, was the absolution for past error to be obtained, which alone could give him what he needed. he determined to go to rome, and his mother, who had watched his career thus far with trembling fear, rejoiced, for she hoped that in the imperial city, where so many earnest christians then resided, her beloved son would find the necessary guidance. a linari photo] {bologna gallery the "felicini" altar-piece, 1494, with saints augustine and monica by francia to face p. i66 st. augustine of hippo 167 saint monica is said to have gone to the bishop of carthage and to have told him the whole story of her anxieties, weep ing so bitterly the while that the good prelate said to her, ' go in peace ; the son of so many tears cannot perish.' not in rome, however, was the salvation to be effected. augus tine, it is true, gained much fame and wealth as a pleader at the bar, but he sought in vain for the riches passing understanding which were the real object of his quest. neither pope damasus, whose end was then close at hand, friend though he was of st. jerome, nor any of his clergy, were able to meet the need of the eager inquirer after truth, and, disgusted with what seemed to him the emptiness of all religions, augustine went to milan, here, most fortunately, he soon attracted the notice of st. ambrose, who had just been elected archbishop, and meeting at first on the common ground of acquaintance with the latin authors, especially of plato, the two became great friends. st. ambrose, with the tact for which he was remarkable, made at first no attempt to convert his guest, but, as augustine often went to hear him preach, he had many an opportunity of speaking words in season, as it were unconsciously. slowly but surely the victory was won. the son of god, and him crucified, whose glorious life and death were so eloquently dwelt upon by st. ambrose, gradually became to the earnest seeker after truth more than a mere noble historical character. he grew to be a living personal saviour, the only one who could rescue the penitent from the con demnation of his own conscience, and give to him a new vitality, a new power of facing the problems of life. in his ' confessions ' st. augustine tells with pathetic eloquence how the writings of plato enkindled in him an incredible ardour ; and how he passed from them to the scriptures, there to find a revelation of the highest wisdom, the very word of god made flesh. the joy of st. monica on the fulfilment of her long-cherished desire may be imagined. she hastened to join the son of so many prayers at milan, and was present when, on april 25, 387, he was baptized with his son adeodatus, who was but eighteen years younger than himself, by st. ambrose in the cathedral of milan. for a few months st. augustine lived quietly with his mother, but she died early in 388, and he then, as was customary with converts, divided all his property with the poor, to be henceforth the servant of god only. in 391 he was i68 the saints in christian art ordained priest, and in 395 appointed the colleague of valerius, bishop of hippo, on the northern coast of africa, not far from carthage. in 396 valerius died, leaving st. augustine sole bishop, and from that time till his own death, in 430, the new prelate devoted his life to the onerous duties of his high position, winning thousands to the faith by his eloquent preaching, and producing many beautiful books which are looked upon as priceless heirlooms by the church. his cele brated ' confessions ' were given to the world in 397, and took rank at once as one of the greatest autobiographies ever written, rivalling in pathos even the penitential psalms of david. in 426 appeared the ' civitate dei,' or city of god, composed, says gibbon, ' with a view to justifying the ways of providence in the destruction of the roman power ; and two years later was published the ' retractiones,' in which st. augustine frankly eviewed his past life, admitting that he had often seen cause to change his opinions. in the donatist and pelagian con troversies, which waged so bitterly during the early portion of the fifth century, the bishop of hippo took a very vigorous part ; his own terrible experiences when he was worn with remorse and tossed with doubt, had given him a knowledge of the truth as it is in jesus, such as few of his contemporaries were privileged to share. the last year of st. augustine's life was darkened by the calamity which overtook the northern provinces of africa, when the vandals, led by the pitiless genseric, invaded the country, and, after spreading ruin and devastation far and wide, besieged hippo, in which count boniface had taken refuge, broken-hearted at the troubles his own hasty action had brought upon the district under his charge. st. augustine, who knew only too well what it was to suffer for his own mistakes, did much to aid the count by his counsels, but he was now an old man, and on august 28, 430, he peacefully expired. the fact that the vandals raised the siege of the town soon after wards was attributed to the efficacy of his prayers. he was buried in the church of peace, also known as st. stephen's, in hippo, but when the bishops of africa were exiled to sardinia in 500, they took the remains of st. augustine with them, and in 721 luitprand, king of the lombards, had them translated to pavia, where they were re-interred in the basilica occupying the site of the present cathedral. the fine sarcophagus st. augustine of hippo 169 in which the ashes of the great bishop are now enshrined is generally supposed to date from the fourteenth century, and to be the work of bonino da campiglione, although it has also been ascribed to the brothers agostino and agnoto of siena. the recumbent figure on the bier, with angels folding the shroud about it, is full of a feeung of repose, and the bas reliefs below, representing scenes from the life of the saint, are very beautiful. several touching legends are told of supernatural appari tions granted to st. augustine. on one occasion, when he was washing the feet of a pilgrim, he suddenly discovered that the man he had thought a mere earthly wanderer was christ himself ; and another day, when he was meditating on the seashore, his attention was attracted to a beautiful boy ot two or three years old, who was pouring water from the sea into a hole in the sand. the bishop looked on for some little time in silence, and then said to the child, ' why do you waste your time like that ? you can never empty the ocean.' to which the little fellow replied with a smile of radiant wisdom, ' what i am trying to do is no more impossible than for thee to fathom the mystery of the divine nature, on which thou art even now pondering.' this answer revealed to the saint that the boy was christ himself, who had come from heaven to urge him to waste no further time in trying to understand the inexplicable mystery of the trinity. in his own ' confessions ' st. augustine tells of a still more extraordinary incident, which he was able later to explain as another instance of the intervention of christ on his behalf. the bishop had been discussing the holy scriptures with a friend, and his heart being torn with conflicting feelings, he rushed out to seek to calm his mind in solitude. throwing himself on the ground beneath a fig-tree, he wept bitter tears, and presently he heard a child-like voice saying three times, ' tolle lege,' or ' take and read.' he looked up, and, seeing no one, he went back to the room he had left, and took up the bible again. it opened at the thirteenth chapter of the epistle to the romans, and he read, ' not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying. but put ye on the lord jesus christ, and make not provision for the flesh, to fulfil the lusts thereof.' the miraculous incident made a deep impression on st. 170 the saints in christian art augustine, and is said to have had much to do with his later conversion. st. augustine is one of the patron saints of pavia, on account of his interment in that city, and of sardinia, be cause his remains rested there for so long. he is supposed to look after the interests of theologians, because he was in his lifetime so able a controversialist, and the augustinians claim him as their first founder, although some say that honour belpngs with better right to his great namesake of canterbury. of the many attributes given to the celebrated bishop of hippo, of whom it was said ' his love became ecstasy, and, carried away by it, he forgot his learning,' the most distinctive is the flaming heart, in allusion to the fervent love of christ revealed in his writings, especially in his ' confessions,' where he said, ' my heart was full of desire for thee.' occasionally the significance of the emblem is further intensified by the heart being transfixed by two arrows, forming a kind of st. andrew's cross, probably in allusion to the poignant remorse endured by st. augustine. sometimes, as in the ' coronation of the virgin ' by francia in s. frediano at lucca, st. augustine holds a scroll bearing a typical quotation from his writings, such as, ' in coelo qualis est pater, talis est filius ; in terra qualis est mater, talis est filius.'* the chalice is given to him for the same reason as to st. ambrose, because he sold the sacred vessels for the good of his distressed flock ; the dove, the token of inspiration, is now and then introduced whispering in his ear ; the pen and book, as symbols of his position as a teacher and writer, are constant attributes. as having done so much to promote the cause of christianity, st. augustine often holds a church ; and in some old engravings, christ himself is with him, pointing to the building and saying, ' i recommend my church to thee.' the costume worn by st. augustine is often a very quaint combination of ecclesiastical and monastic details, as in a fifteenth century itahan painting in the national museum, paris, in which he wears the bishop's mitre and the robes with the rope girdle of the augustinian friars, whilst at his feet lies a figure supposed to represent aristotle, and to signify the bishop's triumph over the learning of the heathen. * ' such as the father is in heaven, such is the son ; such as the mother on earth, such is the son.' st. monica 171 on account of the fact that the relics of st. stephen were discovered when st. augustine was bishop of hippo, and certain portions of them were secured by him for his church, the first martyr is often associated in works of art with the great doctor. the two are even supposed to have intervened together from heaven on several occasions, notably when they came down to bury a certain count orgaz, as represented in a fine painting by el greco, now in the prado gallery, madrid. st. augustine is constantly placed beside st. ambrose in devotional pictures, for the reason already given, and he is, of course, frequently grouped with st. monica, as in the well-known painting by ary scheffer. the special attributes of st. monica are : a tablet on which is inscribed the name of jesus, in memory of her earnest prayers on behalf of her son, and a scarf or sash, either introduced beside her or held in her hand, in allusion to the custom amongst the augustinian monks of distributing blessed scarves to the faithful on the f6te-day of the saint, whom they greatly venerate on account of the tears she shed before the conversion of st. augustine. the memory of these tears is preserved in a beautiful vesper hymn published in the mone collection, of which the following is the first verse : ' o mater flendo gradiens, fletuque spargens semina (ps. cxxvi. 5), sed exultanter radiens, mundo ferens charismata.'* in a poem attributed to adam de st. victor, and included in the gautier edition of his works, the same idea is somewhat differently expressed ; the lines running thus : ' felix imber lacrymarum ! quo effulsit tam praeclarum lumen in ecclesia 1 multo fletu seminavit germen ubi reportavit metens in laetitia. plus accepit quam petivit ; * ' o mother weeping as thou goest, and sowing thy seed in tears, to return exultingly, bringing gifts for all the world.' 172 the saints in christian art o quam miro tune gestivit spiritus tripudio ! cernens natum fide natum sedet christo jam sacratum, toto mentis studio.'* in the church of the ognisanti, florence, there is a very fine interpretation of the character of st. augustine, by sandro botticelli, who has represented the great doctor seated at a table absorbed in profound meditation, and wearing a white surplice, with a red cloak lined with yellow. another admirable rendering of the same subject is the ' st. augustine in his study ' on the predella of an altar-piece, now in the florence academy, by fra filippo lippi, who has added the quaint detail of the 'three arrows of the three-stringed bow,' an emblem of the trinity, piercing the heart of the saint as he looks up from his writing at a monk, standing in the door way, and gazing at the remarkable phenomenon in reverent astonishment. paris bordone in the oil-painting in s. andrea, venice, bartolommeo vivarini in a drawing in s. giovanni e paolo in the same city, and vittore carpaccio in the picture now in the brera gallery, milan, have also shown a fine appre ciation of the character of the great doctor. lucca della robbia, in the famous ' tabernacle of the holy cross ' in s. maria dell' impruneta near florence, introduced the figure of st. augustine as a pendant to that of st. john the baptist, and in the beautiful bas-relief of the ' coronation of the virgin ' in the ognisanti, florence, from the same great hand, st. augus tine is placed between saints gregory and lucy. in andrea del sarto's 'disputa,' in the pitti gallery, florence, saints * ' o happy rain of tears ! from which a hght so glorious did shine forth in the church ! with much weeping did she sow, but with what gladness did she return, bringing her sheaves with her ! more than she sought did she receive ! and with what exceeding joy did her spirit leap within her ! enthroned on high, she sees her converted son, with his whole heart. devoted to the lord.' a h « .■§; g saints augustine and monica 173 augustine, francis, lawrence, and st. peter martyr, are dis cussing the doctrine of the trinity, in the presence of saints sebastian and mary magdalene, who kneel at their feet; in fra angelico's ' great crucifixion ' in san marco, st. augustine stands beside st. ambrose, on the right of the redeemer's cross. on the predella of francia's ' gozzadini altar-piece,' now in the bologna gallery, st. augustine, wearing a jewelled cope and a friar's robe, his mitre and staff at his feet, is intro duced between christ on the cross and a group of the virgin and child with st. john. in the ' felicini altar-piece ' from the same hand and in the same collection, the bishop, a noble figure in full canonicals, appears beside the virgin's throne, with st. monica in the dress of a nun behind him, leaning her head lovingly upon his shoulder ; in the grand fresco by correggio, of the ' vision of st. john at patmos,' in the church of s. gio vanni evangelista at parma, the youthfiil evangelist and st. augustine are seated together between two of the arches, the latter listening with reverent attention to the exposition of the former on some passage of the scriptures ; and in tintoretto's ' paradiso,' in the doge's palace, venice, the face of st. monica, who is near the group of the four latin fathers, is very beautiful. amongst devotional pictures in which st. augustine, though not the only, is the principal figure, may be specially noted the exquisite group by pinturicchio, in the pryker collection, berlin, formerly part of a reliquary, in which st. augustine stands on the clouds, two angels upholding a mandorla, or triangular glory, behind him, whilst below saints benedict and bernard kneel in prayer. the figure of the famous penitent is also very fine in the central picture of the polyptych by the same master in the perugia gallery, and a scene from his life is introduced in the predella below. in the altar-piece in s. giovanni crisostomo, venice, considered one of giovanni bellini's finest works, st. augustine, whose face, though very beautiful, is that of quite a young man, stands opposite to st. sebastian, at the foot of a mass of rock on which st. jerome is seated reading ; and in signorelli's ' virgin and child with the archangels michael and gabriel,' now in the florence academy, the bishop of hippo is seated beside st, athanasius with the emblem of the trinity, to the mystery of which they both gave so much attention, above them. 174 the saints in christian art many quaint and charming works of art have been inspired by the picturesque incidents of st. augustine's chequered career. in the christian museum of the vatican is preserved a fourteenth-century representation of his iirst arrival at school, led in by his mother, a halo bearing the name of its owner round each head. the master receives them courteously, and the other scholars, pretending to be absorbed in their horn books, are peeping at the new arrival. the beautiful series of frescoes by benozzo gozzoli, in the church of st. geminiano at verona, include seventeen subjects from the life-story of the great doctor. the artist's delight in children had free . scope in the earlier scenes, in which he has shown st. augus tine amongst his schoolmates, looking on with them at the punishment of a boy of about his own age. equally happy is the rendering of st. augustine as an older man, teaching young romans rhetoric in a fine renaissance hall ; the de parture of the saint from rome, escorted by troops of richly dressed companions of both sexes on horses led by pages ; the preaching of the newly-converted priest at milan, in the pre sence of a large audience in contemporary costumes ; and the death of st. monica at ostia, with her son and many friends beside her. in the stanza della segnatura of the vatican, beneath the fresco of the disputa, pierino del vaga added, between a repre sentation of a heathen sacrifice and the cumsean sibyl, the incident of st. augustine, who is on horseback, remonstrating with the child who is trying to empty the sea, and the same subject has been treated with slight variations by murillo, vandyck, rubens, garofalo, diirer, and many others. in the painting by garofalo in the national gallery, london, st. catherine is introduced behind the saint, and the virgin and child, with an escort of angels, appear in the clouds above ; and in vandyck's picture st. monica kneels near by, as if recog nising the divinity of the child with the shell. in a church at cremona is a painting by carlotto caliari, representing the baptism of st. augustine in the presence of his mother, and the same subject is constantly introduced in chapels dedicated to him or to st. monica. in convents belonging to any branch of the augustinian order, the bishop of hippo is often represented wearing the customary black habit, and giving the rules to a group of monks, or he is dis o h i-l 1-1 n o <! n n o o h o <! ■«s saints augustine and monica 175 tributing alms, wearing a friar's robes and a bishop's mitre: in the bologna gallery there is a dramatic rendering, by michele desubleo, of the incident of christ appearing amongst other pilgrims to have his feet washed by st. augustine, and in the louvre is a painting from the same hand of an apparition of the virgin to the bishop of hippo. in the prado gallery, madrid, is a very iine rendering of the same subject by murillo, and in st. augustine's church at antwerp is a beautiful paint ing by vandyck of st. augustine being carried up by angels to christ, who awaits him at an opening in the clouds, whilst st. monica kneels below in adoration. in the church of s. agostino at rome is a fine altar-piece by guercino, in which the great bishop is placed between saints john the baptist and st. paul, and in the chapel con taining the tomb of his mother, in the same church, there are traces of some very interesting frescoes oi scenes from the life of st. monica, including her visit to the bishop of carthage ; the apparition of an angel, who is saying to her, ' ulbi tu et ille,' ('where thou art he will be'), and pointing to two shadowy forms in the distance ; the interview between the mother and son when the good news of the conversion of the latter is told ; and the death of st. monica, holding the hand of st. augustine, who bends over her in deep sorrow. chapter xix roman popes and greek bishops of the fourth century although it has long been the custom amongst artists to group the four latin fathers together, st. gregory the great was not born until nearly two centuries after the death of st. augustine. in order to maintain the chronological sequence hitherto followed,lit is therefore necessary, before considering the celebrated pope, to treat of the less famous saints who were contemporary with the earlier fathers, as well as those who lived in the first half of the sixth century. to pope marcellus i., who succeeded marcellinus as bishop of rome in 308, after the see had been vacant for more than 176 the saints in christian art three years, belongs the distinction, if distinction it be, of having roused against him the anger of maxentius, who before his defeat by constantine had treated the christians with marked consideration. the pope, whose zeal appears to have been greater than his discretion, inflicted so severe a penance on certain of his flock who had shown weakness during the persecutions, that they turned against him. their cause was espoused by many in rome, and a conflict ensued between the rival partisans, which brought disgrace upon the church. maxentius, seeing that peace could only be restored by drastic measures, banished marcellus, who was never again allowed to return to his see. these, the simple facts of the case, have been supplemented by a quaint legend to the effect that, not content with sending the pope into exile, the tyrant compelled him to herd cattle in a stable belonging to a house which, after his death, was converted by its owner, a pious lady named lucina, into the church still called after him, and in which his body now rests. for this reason, or, as some think, merely to typify the lowly position of the chief bishop of christendom before the conversion^^of constantine, st. marcellus is generally associated in art with an ox or an ass, or he is represented tend ing cattle near a stable. he is also sometimes represented say ing mass, or merely holding the chalice in his hand. although there is no doubt that he died a natural death, he is alluded to as a martyr by st. jerome, bede, and others. when constantine defeated maxentius in 512, the see of rome was occupied by pope melchiades, who, on account chiefly of his suffering during the persecutions which preceded the triumph of christianity, has been admitted to the hierarchy of the saints. he made, however, little mark on the history of his time, and has no special attributes in art, though he may occasionally appear amongst the saints introduced in early devotional pictures. far more celebrated than any of the other popes who pre ceded the great st. gregory was st. damasus, who at the age of sixty was chosen, in 366i to succeed pope liberius. a man of indomitable will, but with a rare gift of winning others to his own way of thinking, he did more than any of his pre decessors to stamp out the arian heresy. unfortunately, the first year of his pontificate was stained with blood, for a terrible fight took place in the streets of rome between his adherents st. damasus 177 and those of a rival candidate named ursinus ; but with this unseemly conflict the new pope had really little to do. a man of high culture, he was one of the first churchmen to show any real love of sacred art for its own sake, and to him was due the restoration and preservation of the roman catacombs, as well as the foundation of several basilicas, including that named after him and the saint to whom it was dedicated, s. lorenzo in damaso, now replaced by a modern building designed by bramante. st. damasus died in 384, and was buried in an oratory erected by himself near the catatomb of st. calixtus. just before the end he is reported to have said : ' i ardently long for the honour of being laid in the catacombs, but i fear to pro fane the sacred spot where such priceless relics are enshrined.' for some unexplained reason st. damasus is supposed to be able to cure fevers, and is greatly venerated in italy as a most earnest champion of the truth. st. damasus has been called the diamond of the faith, and this may possibly be why a ring set with a large precious stone is his chief emblem in art. some, however, see in this name a mere play upon words, adamus being another form of damasus, but in either case the diamond is an excellent symbol of one whose attitude was so uncompromising as that of the great opponent of arianism. an equally appropriate attribute of st. damasus is a scroll, on which the latin doxology is inscribed, for he is univer sally credited with having introduced its use at the end of each psalm sung in the services at church. a church is also sometimes placed in his hand, or he is represented stand ing near the porch of a basilica, to which he is pointing as if taking possession of it, in manifest allusion to his work as a restorer of the catacombs and builder of several new churches in rome. in certain rare old engravings the mon strance is given to st. damasus, a peculiarity explained by a very quaint legend, to the effect that one day, when he was celebrating mass, the beauty of a woman amongst the wor shippers so distracted his attention that he could hardly pro ceed with the service. full of penitence for his sin, he felt that he was no longer worthy to elevate the host, and resolved, when he left the church, to cut off his right hand, so that he should not be tempted to use it again for the sacred ceremony. he duly carried out his horrible purpose, but he had scarcely vol. ii. 12 178 the saints in christian art done so when the blessed virgin appeared to him, reproved him for his hasty action, and restored the hand to its place. another explanation of the use of the emblem is that st. dama sus gave many costly monstrances to churches in rome, but so did many other. popes. the probability would appear to be that those who give the emblem to st. damasus have confused him with the later st. john damascene, whose legend will be related in due course. y'' the legend of st. ^ylve&'ter, who occupied the see of rome at the time of the conversion of constantine, has already been related in connection with that emperor, and the frescoes, etc., in which the two are represented together have been noticed. it must be added here, however, that the pope sometimes appears alone, when it is usual to represent him in his pontifical robes with a dragon at his feet, the latter in memory, say some, of his subjugation of the terrible beast, which before the inter ference of the pope, had devoured so many christians of rome,, whilst others see in it merely a symbol of the victory over idolatry achieved by the holy pontiff. a bull sometimes re places the dragon, in allusion to the incident of the resuscita tion of the animal killed by the magician ; and occasionally the pope holds portraits of saints peter and paul in one hand, in supposed reference to the interference of those apostles to pre vent the slaughter of the children in whose blood constantine had been advised to bathe. saints sylvester and damasus are amongst the eight ideal figures in fresco ranged round the sala di constantino of the vatican, each with two beautiful women beside him, symboliz ing the virtues for which he was specially remarkable, and in the grand compositions to which these figures are supplemen tary, st. sylvester appears several times as a chief actor. of these, the chief are the 'baptism of constantine,' already referred to, and the ' presentation of rome to the pope by the emperor,' painted by rafaello del colle, who has laid the scene in rome, and represented st. sylvester seated on a throne, with constan tine kneeling at his feet offering him an allegorical figure of the city of rome. in a quaint picture reproduced by ciampini, of the great council of nicaea, at which arius was condemned in 325, st. sylvester shares the throne of constantine, whilst his mother and the minor bishops are ranged in a circle below; and in some old byzantine frescoes in the chapel of s. silvestro st. epiphanius 179 in ss. quattro coronati at rome the healing of constantine, his baptism, and his coronation by the pope, are graphically though stiffly rendered. most celebrated of the fourth-century greek bishops who have been canonized, though they did not achieve the dignity of martyrdom, are saints epiphanius of salamis, james of nisibis, and nicolas of myra, st. epiphanius of salamis, in the island of cyprus, consecrated bishop about 367, was the close friend of the famous abbot hilarion. he has been called the oracle of palestine, on account of his eloquence, but he was chiefly celebrated for the eager generosity with which he aided all who came to him in trouble of any sort. it is related that on one occasion two men who determined to play upon what they considered his weakness were terribly punished. one of them pretended to fall down dead, and the other went to the bishop to beg for money to bury his comrade. st. epiphanius gave him the necessary sum without hesitation, and the beggar hurried triumphantly back to his friend, expecting to have a good laugh with him over their successful duplicity. when he got back, however, he found that his companion had really died in the interval, and though he hurried to the bishop to entreat his help and forgiveness, st. epiphanius merely replied that he saw no cause for interference. on account of this gruesome anecdote the bishop of salamis is sometimes represented with a dead body lying near him on the ground. another peculiarity by which he may be recognised is that his feet are generally bare, because it is said that, having once lost one of his sandals as he was leaving his church, he did not trouble to get another, but henceforth left off both. st. james of nisibis in mesopotamia is generally associated with a swarm of bees, because it is said that, when he invoked the aid of heaven during the siege of nisibis by the persians, the air above the heads of the enemy immediately became black with bees, shutting out the light of day. thousands were stung to death, and on the ramparts of the city the figure of the holy bishop stood out in a blaze of glory, so that all who saw him realized that he was indeed the favourite of heaven. nisibis was saved for the time, but it was surrendered to the romans ten years later, on the death of the emperor julian, and at the present day only a few scattered ruins remain to bear witness to its old glory as the seat of an important bishopric. 12 — 2 i8o the saints in christian art far more widely known than st. epiphanius of salamis or st. james of nisibis is st. nicolas of myra, who, though he belonged, strictly speaking, to the eastern, has been lovingly adopted by the western church, and is perhaps more con stantly introduced in works of art than any of his contempo raries. as is the case with many popular saints, truth and fiction are so closely interwoven in the various stories related of him, that it is impossible to separate them, and his votaries continually supplement the wonders connected with his memory with fresh instances of his intervention from beyond the grave. born at panthera in asia minor in the fourth century, but at what date is not stated, st. nicolas was the son of wealthy parents who had long desired an heir in vain. when in answer to many prayers, and as a reward for much almsgiving, the little one at last arrived, he is said to have astonished his nurses and parents on the very first day of his birth, by standing up in his bath and raising his clasped hands in grateful adora tion to god, who had suffered him to be born. it is related further that he used to refuse to take food more than once on wednesdays and fridays, and as soon as he could speak he uttered words of such wisdom that all who heard them marvelled, praising the lord whose spirit was revealed in them. as a matter of course, the happy parents felt that one so gifted must be dedicated to god, and they decided that he should become a priest. unfortunately, they both died of the plague soon after the consecration of their beloved son, and were thus cut off from witnessing his remarkable career. left heir to all his father's possessions, the young priest resolved to employ them for the service of god, and many quaint stories are told of the way in which he came to the rescue of those who were in need. from his retreat in the monastery of sion, not far from myra, of which he is said to have become abbot, though there is no evidence to prove it, he would issue forth in the darkness to render aid to those in distress. on one occa sion he called on three successive nights at the house of a certain nobleman who had sunk into poverty, and had no money with which to endow his three unmarried daughters. the maidens used to weep because they could never marry, and often went supperless to bed. the first time st. nicolas called he threw a bag of gold in at the window of their room, which fell st. nicolas of myra i8i upon the feet of the eldest girl ; the second night a similar gift came to her next sister, and on the third to the youngest. twice the generous donor slipped away before anyone dis covered who he was, but on the third night the father, who was on the watch, caught him by the skirt of his robe, recognised him, and, falling on his knees before him, clung to him, crying : 'oh, nicolas, why seek to hide thyself?' on another occasion, when st. nicolas was on his way to the holy land, a terrible storm overtook the ship on which he was, and the sailors, who had recognised that their passenger was a holy man, entreated him to save them. even as the master whose servant he was had done before him, st. nicolas at once rebuked the waves, which sank to rest at his first word. back again at his monastery, the generous saint continued his ministrations, living himself in the greatest poverty, and endeavouring to conceal his good deeds. his fame, however, spread far and near, so that, when the bishop of myra died, there were many who wished to choose st. nicolas as his suc cessor. the clergy who met to deliberate prayed earnestly for guidance in the matter, and it was mysteriously revealed to each of them that the man chosen by god as bishop would be the first to enter the church the next morning. a watch was set, and very early st. nicolas, who had been up all night on his charitable errands, came to pray, as he thought, alone in the sacred build ing. he was at once hailed as bishop, and, in spite of his protests against accepting the dignity, for which, he declared, he was unworthy, he was consecrated without delay. he soon proved how wise had been the choice, for he used his new power with great tact and wisdom, performing miracles of con version and of healing wherever he went. during a terrible famine which devastated his diocese, he is said to have miraculously multiplied the bags of wheat on cer tain vessels charged to supply the imperial granaries, so that, although from each vessel a hundred hogsheads were taken for the relief of his starving people, the tale of the sacks re mained the same. moreover, the wheat thus filched from the ships was sufficient not only to feed the people, but to sow all the barren lands in the neighbourhood. in spite of this, how ever, the distress increased, and the famine became so terribly severe in the outlying districts that men were known to eat i82 the saints in christian art their own children. the bishop was unwearying in his efforts to help the sufferers, travelling day and night to inquire into their distress. one day he halted at the house of a wicked man, who had often stolen children that he might kill and eat them. this had been revealed to the bishop, and he deter mined to put an end to the horrible practice. the host, sus pecting nothing, dared to serve the limbs of a murdered child at supper, but st. nicolas, as soon as the dish was put on the table, rose up and reproached the man with his crime. he then, asking no guidance, went to the cellar, where the remains of the little victims had been put in salt, and making the sign of the cross over them, they were all restored to life. the children, who were the sons of a poor widow, were given back to their mother, and the murderer, who was now full of remorse for what he had done, was duly punished, though the manner of his penance is not recorded. st. nicolas had been bishop of myra for some years, when a rebellion against the emperor broke out in phrygia, and a number of officers were sent from constantinople to put it down. these officers halted at myra, and the bishop, know ing how great were the exactions of the imperial envoys when quartered on the people, invited them to his own house, where he entertained them with princely hospitality. whilst they were with him a messenger arrived to tell him that the prefect of the city had condemned three innocent men to death, who were even then about to suffer, and entreated the bishop to interfere on their behalf without a moment's delay st. nicolas hastened to the rescue, and, followed by his astonished guests, he arrived just in time. the condemned men were kneeling with their eyes bound, and the executioner had already unsheathed his sword, when it was wrenched from his hand by the bishop, who ordered the bonds to be cut and the victims to be set free. he was obeyed, and the prefect, who knew he had been in the wrong, humbly sued for forgiveness. it was granted on con dition of compensation being given to those who had been unjustly condemned, and the good bishop, followed by the blessings of all present, returned to his palace. the imperial envoys proceeded on their journey much impressed by all they had seen, and, strange to say, some months later they were in their turn unjustly accused and ►j o w o o ei m w z; h u ^ ^ ^ st. nicolas of myra 183 thrown into prison in constantinople to await their execution. in their extremity they remembered their visit to myra and the strange rescue they had witnessed there. they managed to convey a message to st. nicolas, or, as some say, they merely longed for him to come to them, and their need was revealed to him in a dream. the bishop in his turn appeared to the emperor in his sleep, threatening him with the vengeance of heaven if he did not immediately release his prisoners. need less to add that constantine at once obeyed, and the grateful men were allowed to go to myra to thank their rescuer, taking with them, on the emperor's behalf, a copy of the holy gospels with a cover enriched with precious stones. according to some versions of the legend of st. nicolas, he was present at the council of nicsea, and was so provoked at the obstinacy of arius that he struck the arch-heretic on the mouth, for which offence he was forbidden to wear the mitre and pallium distinctive of his rank. when he next celebrated mass, however, angels appeared to him bringing him back these insignia in token of god's approval of his action. st. nicolas died at myra about 342, and was buried in his own cathedral there ; but his remains were stolen in 1087 by some italian merchants, and re-interred with great pomp at bari, where a beautiful church was erected above them. a mighty wonder-worker in his lifetime, st. nicolas has, according to popular belief, wrought even greater marvels since his death. his tomb at bari was visited by hundreds of pilgrims, who found relief from their sufferings, mental or bodily, through his intercession, and after the translation of his sacred relics their new resting-place was the scene of many miracles. mariners in peril had but to call upon his name, and many tales are told of his sudden appearance walking on the waves or hovering above the ship when his aid was invoked. on one occasion, commemorated on a quaint leaden medal found in the seine, and now in the cluny museum, he told those who invoked him that they must throw into the sea some oil they were taking to burn at his tomb at bari, for it had been given to them by a devil, in the form of an old woman. they obeyed, and the tempest ceased immediately, the evil oil burst ing into flame as it touched the water. still more wonderful was the apparition of st. nicolas to a wicked jew who had stolen the image of a bishop out of a church, with a view to i84 the saints in christian art getting it to work private miracles for him. one day when the thief was out some robbers broke into his house and stole his goods. on his return he blamed the image, and in his rage hacked it with a knife. that same night st. nicolas appeared to the robbers in a dream, bleeding from the wounds which had been inflicted on his effigy, and ordered them at once to take back what they had stolen. they obeyed, and the jew, who was at once converted, in his turn restored the image, and for the rest of his life refrained from all evil, ever greatly revering the saint who had saved him. another time a nobleman, who through the prayers of st. nicolas had obtained his heart's desire, a son to inherit his wealth, tried to cheat the holy bishop of the reward he had promised him, a golden cup for his shrine. the cup had been duly made, but it was so beautiful the owner could not bear to part with it, and had a cheap imitation one presented instead. of course, the saint detected the fraud at once, and one day, when the son of so many prayers went to fetch water in the golden cup, the poor little fellow fell into the river and was drowned. the bereaved father in his despair went to pray at the shrine of the aggrieved saint, offering him a silver cup instead of the lost golden one, and, lo ! three times the silver cup rolled to the ground. the gift was evidently repudiated. the poor father redoubled his entreaties for forgiveness, and as he prayed there stood before him the lost child holding the golden vessel in his hands. st. nicolas had relented, and restored the child to life, telling him, moreover, where to find his father. another version of the cup story, or perhaps yet another legend, tells how the only son of a christian noble was carried into captivity, and made cupbearer to the king of a strange land. one day, when he was serving at the royal table, he suddenly remembered that it was the f&te-day of st. nicolas, which had always been celebrated with rejoicings in his own land. home sick and miserable, he began to weep, and the king, his master, asked him what was the matter, to which he replied that he grieved because all his own people were at that moment assembled to do honour to st. nicolas, whilst he was alone in a strange land. ' and who is this st. nicolas ?' cried the king. ' a mighty saint,' answered the boy. ' not mighty enough to save thee if i choose to strike thee,' said the wicked king, lifting up his hand to give the poor child a blow. at st. nicolas of myra 185 that moment the palace was shaken by an earthquake, a mighty wind swept the table clear of its costly dishes, and in the midst of the confusion st. nicolas appeared, a glory shining about him. as the slave and the king stared at the apparition in wonder, the saint caught up the boy and whirled away with him, never pausing till he reached the land from which the child had been stolen, when he set him down amongst his kindred and disappeared. st. nicolas of myra is the patron saint of those who have their business in the deep waters, of lightermen, boat-builders, coopers, chandlers, and brewers. all prisoners, captives, and slaves are supposed to be under his special protection, as well as those un justly condemned to death. little children and school-boys are greatly beloved by him ; travellers by land and sea never appeal to him in vain, nor need his votaries have any fear of robbers. the quaint and peculiarly inappropriate name of 'clerks of st. nicolas ' is given in roman catholic districts to those who appropriate the goods of others, and sooner or later their evil deeds are always discovered, presumably by the hard-worked saint, who would appear to be at everybody's beck and call. st. nicolas is greatly beloved in england : the cathedral of newcastle is dedicated to him, as are also many churches in seaport towns, such as great yarmouth and liverpool. in olden times his f^te-day, december 6, was solemnly celebrated at eton, and other public schools, as well as in the cathedral of salisbury. it was in memory of him that the strange custom once prevailed of choosing from amongst the choristers of cathedral towns a boy bishop, who reigned from december 6 to holy innocents' day, three weeks later, and it was long popularly supposed that the answer, ' n. or m.,' to the first question in the english church catechism stood for nicolas or mary virgin, the former being the special patron of boys, and the latter of girls. in germany it is customary, on the eve of the festival of st. nicolas, for a visitor wearing the robes of a bishop to distribute rewards to the good and punishments to the naughty children in families and schools. in america the dutch settlers used to keep holiday on the day of santa claus, as they called st. nicolas, and it was from them the english borrowed the name of the gift-giver whose business it is to fill the stockings of the little ones on christmas eve. st. nicolas is also the i86 the saints in christian art patron saint of russia, where he is known as st. nicolas of mojaisk. may g, the day of the translation of his relics from myra to bari, is held sacred, especially in moscow, and the peasants throughout the country believe in his power to help them out of any difficulty. as a general rule, st. nicolas is represented in art as a young beardless man, wearing the mitre and robes of a greek bishop. in his right hand he holds a cross or crosier, and on his cope is sometimes embroidered a symbolic group of the holy trinity. another constant attribute is a book, on which are three golden balls or three purses, in evident allusion to the story of his generosity to the three dowerless maidens, although some see in the balls an emblem of the trinity. beside the bishop a tub is also often placed, in which are the three children he restored to life after they had been cut up and salted. a very quaint example of the introduction of this remarkable detail is to be seen in an engraved stone preserved at soissy-sous etioles, on which st. nicolas, his tub with the three children behind him, is presenting dame nicole de chambly to the crucified redeemer on the left, whilst st. giles performs the same duty for the chevalier gilles mallet on the right. in the celebrated heures d'anne de bretagne the incident of the rescue of the ch'ildren is the subject of a miniature in which the bishop, a noble and stately young man, holds his left hand in the greek gesture of benediction above the heads of three nude boys, whose attitudes are wonderfully expressive of their joy at their resuscitation. the children in their tub also appear beside st. nicolas on a leaden medal found in the seine, and now in the cluny museum, which was probably the badge of some parisian guild that had chosen the bishop of myra as patron. the angel who sometimes attends st. nicolas has reference to the incident related above, of the restoration of his insignia ; the anchor occasionally beside him is in allusion to his protec tion of sailors ; the byzantine church he now and then holds in his hand refers to his position as a greek bishop, and the uplifted sword to his defence of the orthodox faith against the arians. in the national collection, paris, is preserved a very interest ing representation on copper of st. nicolas, brought from russia in 1815, in which the bishop stands upon a cushion, \national gallery, london the "ansidei" madonna, with saints nicholas and john the baptist by raphael to face p. 186 st. nicolas of myra 187 such as was in olden times typical of the high social position of those to whom it was given. in one hand he holds a church surmounted by a cross, and in the other a sword, whilst between his shoulders are introduced an image of christ, and one of the blessed virgin, each surmounted by the greek initials of their names. in a quaint old venetian engraving, after an unknown master, three incidents from the life of st. nicolas are very graphically given. on one side he is throwing a golden ball in at a window ; in the centre he is entering a church, a priest hailing him as bishop ; and on the other side he is enthroned, the mitre held over his head by two ecclesiastics. andrea sabbatini, in a painting in the museum of naples, has represented st. nicolas giving a golden ball to each of three maidens kneeling at his feet, whilst their father looks on, and three prisoners also kneeling, with ropes round their necks, await their turn for rescue. fra angelico, in a fresco now in the vatican gallery, gives a more dramatic rendering of the dowry incident, for the saint, in the ordinary dress of a citizen, is standing on tiptoe, trying to throw a ball in at a window, and through an open door, just inside which the father is seated in a dejected attitude, the three girls can be seen in bed fast asleep. frescoes of scenes from the life of st. nicolas are of very fre quent occurrence in italy. in the cappella del sacramento of the lower church of s. francesco at assisi, are some fine frescoes, by giottino, of certain of the miracles of st. nicolas, including the restoration of a drowned child to life. in the casa buona rotti, or house of michael angelo, at florence, is a predella by pesellino from s. croce, giving three incidents of the legend. in s. croce in the same city still remain, though some of them are much defaced, a few very beautiful interpretations of the miracles by agnolo gaddi, or, according to some, gherardo stamina, including the dowry incident, the resuscitation of the three boys, and the rescue of a man about to be be headed. fra angelico also introduced many incidents from the life of the popular saint in the predella, part of which is at rome, and part in the pinacotheca vannucci at perugia, of his great polyptych, once the glory of s. domenico, perugia. the loss of the golden cup and restoration of the drowned child are portrayed in some of the windows of bourges i88 the saints in christian art cathedral, the story of the conversion of the jew is graphically given in the stained glass of chartres cathedral, and on the west front of the same building occurs the dowry incident as well as a rendering of the tomb of the saint, from which some very realistic drops of balm are exuding. single figures of st. nicolas also abound. there used to be a celebrated wonder-working one in the church of st. martin at canterbury, and on the west front of wells cathedral there is a very quaint representation of the bishop standing in a tub of water, with a child held in each arm, which is known in the neighbourhood as the ' pancake saint.' in a twelfth-century fresco in the cathedral of chartres st. nicolas appears with st. james and st. giles, and he is one of the ecclesiastics in the beautiful sixteenth-century ' bishop's window ' in st. aignan, chartres. his enthronement is the subject of a grand work by titian in s. sebastiano, venice, in which he is seated in a cathedral choir, whilst an angel hovers above him with a mitre, and the ' st. nicolas in glory,' attended by saints lucy and john the baptist, by lorenzo lotto, in s. maria dei carmine, is also very beautiful. the noble character of the bishop of myra has been very finely interpreted by signorelli in his ' madonna and saints ' of the arezzo gallery ; by era angelico in the perugia altar-piece ; by cima da conegliano, in his 'tobias and the angel' and 'madonna with saints,' both in the venice academy ; by bartolommeo vivarini in an altar piece in the frari, venice ; by ii moretto in the ' madonna and child with st. nicolas,' in s. maria dei miracoli, brescia ; and above all by raphael in the ' ansidei madonna,' in the national gallery, london. in one of the still remaining panels of a lost altar-piece by gentile da fabriano, in s. nic colo, florence, there is a fine figure of st. nicolas wearing a cope, on which are represented various scenes from the passion of our lord. st. mello 189 chapter xx western bishops of the fourth century amongst the bishops of the west who have been canonized, and are represented in art with more or less frequency, the earliest in date was st. mello, or melanius, for whom some claim the honour of having been the first to occupy the see of rouen, then known as rotomagus, whilst others say he was preceded by st. nicasius. he is supposed to have been a native of great britain, and to have been converted from heathenism, when on a visit to rome, by a sermon of the doomed pope, st. stephen i., who took a great fancy to him, and just before his own martyrdom sent him to northern gaul. the pope is said to have been led to this choice by a vision in which an angel gave him a pastoral staff, telling him it was for the young convert from the north. when st. stephen woke, the staff was in his hand, and he lost no time in conse crating st. mello, giving him the sacred token to take with him to his new home. on the way thither the new bishop healed many with the heaven-sent token, including a man who had accidentally cut his own foot off in hewing wood, and on his arrival at rotomagus he was received with great enthusiasm by the people, who were at that time suffering greatly from a terrible dragon, which devoured all who ventured without the city. st. mello, of course, soon vanquished this enemy, and he also overthrew with a word the idol roth, after whom the town was named. the devil is said to have appeared to him, to remonstrate with him for his interference, but even he was put to rout by the holy man. st. mello died about 304, and was at first buried in rouen ; but his remains were translated in the ninth century to pontoise, where his tomb is still greatly venerated. he appears sometimes amongst other bishops in works of art, generally with a serpent at his feet and with the miraculous staff in his hand. his wonderful works are com memorated in many quaint old hymns, but the probability is that the whole story of his life is merely an allegory of the victory of good over evil, the true religion over idolatry. the legend of st. juhan, said to have been the first bishop igo the saints in christian art of le mans, greatly resembles that of st. mello of rouen. he was the first to introduce christianity into the district now known as maine ; he overthrew a heathen idol, destroyed a fierce dragon, and in addition to these deeds of valour, related in con nection with nearly all the early bishops of gaul, he caused a spring of water to gush forth after his people had been suffer ing from a long drought. he died about 320, and was buried in le mans, where his head is still preserved in the cathedral erected long after his time, but the rest of his remains were burnt by the huguenots in the sixteenth century. in addition to the dragon and the idol a young girl with a jar of water is sometimes introduced beside st. julian, supposed to represent the servant vyho was the first to bring to the town the good news of the miraculous spring. another bishop of mans who was greatly celebrated for his sanctity was st. liborius, who belonged to a noble family of gaul, and was consecrated about 348. he died in 397, and was buried in the chief church of his diocese, but in the ninth century his remains were removed to paderborn, his chief characteristic in art is a book, on which are a number of small stones, because he is said to be able to cure those suffering from stone or gravel. occasionally a peacock is introduced beside st. liborius, a symbol which has been variously explained, some looking upon it as an allusion to the legend that, when the bishop's relics were translated to paderborn, a peacock flew before the cortege to show the way, in memory of which a pea cock's feather is still carried on july 23, in the procession in honour of the saint. others are of opinion that the peacock and the peacock's feather are both merely a reminiscence of what is known as the flabellum, or feather fan, still carried before the pope on occasions of ceremony, the original use of which was to flap away flies from the sacred vessels, and which was first introduced about the time of the consecration of st. liborius. st. hilary of poitiers, whose ffete-day, january 13, has become a well-known date in legal reckoning in england, and whose memory is preserved in many dedications of churches in the british isles, has been called by st. jerome the ' trumpet of the latins against the arians,' and by st. augustine the ' illus trious doctor of the churches.' he takes very high rank amongst the bishops of the western church, on account of his great eloquence, his earnest faith, and the undaunted courage st. hilary of poitiers 191 with which he opposed the emperor constantius in the interests of his fellow-christians. the son of heathen parents of high rank, he was born at limonum, as poitiers was then called, in the first half of the fourth century, and was brought up in the religion of his family. he was, however, converted soon after his marriage and the birth of his only child, a daughter, whom he named agra. his wife, whom he won over to his own way of thinking, consented to his becoming a priest, and in 350 he was elected bishop of his native town, where he was greatly beloved. after the council of milan, at which st. athanasius was condemned, st. hilary, who was amongst the dissenting bishops, was first imprisoned and then banished. he was allowed to return to limonum about 360, and he died there in 367. it is related of st. hilary that on one occasion, when he was preaching in the open air, he could not make himself heard by those at a distance, but that when he prayed for help the ground on which he was standing rose up until he was much higher than his audience. according to another version of the same story, it was at a church council that the miracle took place. when he entered the hall the seats were all occupied, and no one offered to make room for him. he therefore seated himself on the floor, remarking quietly that it, too, belonged to the master he served, when to the astonishment of all present the plank rose up beneath him, and he found himself on a level with his fellow-bishops. on account of this quaint story, a mound of earth is one of st. hilary's attributes in art, and because of his eager preaching of the doctrine of the trinity he sometimes holds the emblem of the equilateral triangle. st. hilary is credited with having during his exile saved the people of the island of gallinara, in the mediterranean, from a plague of serpents, which he either destroyed or drove into a con fined space, planting his staff at the entrance, with orders that they were not to pass it. for this reason certain artists have depicted him grasping a staff on which a serpent is coiled, or with his uplifted crosier driving a number of snakes before him. a trumpet is also sometimes given to him, probably because st. jerome likened him to one, and a child is often introduced beside him, it is supposed in memory of his having restored a little boy to life who had died unbaptized, in order to ad minister to him the sacred sacrament. 192 the saints in christian art st. paulinus of nola was born at bordeaux in 353, the son of one of the chief magistrates of southern gaul. he was brought up as a christian, but it was not until after his marriage and the death of his infant son, that he resolved with the consent of his wife, to give up all for god. he had long enjoyed the dignity of a consul, when at the age of forty he resolved to leave the world and retire to a cell near nola, there to devote his life to prayer. five churches already marked the scenes of the labours of his predecessor, st. felix of nola, and to these st. paulinus now added a sixth, in which he was never weary of worshipping. the fame of his holiness spread far and near, and when the see of nola became vacant he was chosen, much against his will, to occupy it. he had been bishop but a few months, when the city was besieged by the goths, and, in spite of every effort on the part of the citizens, it fell into the hands of the enemy. st. paulinus was taken prisoner with others, but even the fierce heathen respected him for his noble bearing, and he was soon released. it is related, however, that he took the place of the son of a poor widow who was about to be led captive to africa, and remained a slave for several years, for which reason he is some times represented with a figure in chains beside him, and has been chosen patron by the order of mercy known as the trinitarians, whose special aim is the redemption of captives. whether this sacrifice was really performed or not, it is certain that st. paulinus died at nola in 431 surrounded by his loving clergy. he passed away just as the lamps were being lit for vespers, and his last words were : ' i have prepared a lamp for my lord.' he was buried at nola, but his remains were later removed to rome and reinterred in s. bartolomeo. amongst the writings he left behind him was a very interesting description of the church he had built in honour of st. felix, in which he dwells minutely on its ornamentation. a church held in one hand is therefore a constant attribute of his, and his episcopal robes are sometimes replaced by a labourer's simple garments, because he is said to have worked in the garden of his master when he was a slave in africa. instances occur, notably in a tenth-century german engraving, of a bell being given to st. paulinus of nola, and some assert that he was the inventor of bells, but the symbol is probably merely an allusion to the name of his bishopric, which is supposed to signify bell. st. spiridion 193 another much-revered fourth-century bishop was st. spiri dion of cyprus, who, though he began life as a shepherd, was from the first singled out for divine favour. it is related that on one occasion, when some wicked men tried to steal his sheep at night, an invisible power arrested them in the very act, and st. spiridion found them the next morning rooted to the spot. having heard their story, he forgave them, released them by his prayers, presented them with a ram, and dismissed them with his blessing. in spite of his lowly origin, spiridion was chosen bishop of tremithus, near salamis, and is said to have been one of the christians who were sent to work in the mines during the persecution which broke out about the middle of the fourth century. he is also supposed to have been present at the great council of nicsea, but very little is really known about him. he had a daughter named irene, to whom he was greatly attached, and, according to a touching tradition, she revealed to her father after her death, the exact spot where a great treasure which had been left in her care was hid. for this reason st. spiridion is sometimes represented with the dead body of a woman lying at his feet. the bishop also occasion ally appears holding what looks like a long pointed thorn in one hand, in supposed allusion to his sufferings in the mines, where it is said one of his eyes was put out by order of maximianus galerius. yet another symbol associated with st. spiridion is a snake, in allusion to a legend telling how, when a poor man applied to him for aid, the holy bishop picked up a little snake and offered it to him. the petitioner shrank back affrighted, but as he gazed at the strange gift it turned into solid gold. another famous fourth-century bishop of gaul was st. man suetus of toul, who is said to have been of scotch origin, to have converted the governor of the city to christianity by restoring to life his son who had been drowned, and is occasionally repre sented giving back the boy to his parents, or preaching in a wood to a vast crowd. with him must be ranked as an equally zealous bishop, st. leu, or lupus, known as the liberator of troyes, because he went forth unarmed to meet attila, and persuaded him to spare his beloved city. later the defeated general took st. lupus back with him as far as the rhine, with a view to saving himself from the fury of the people ; and when the unwilling hostage returned to troyes, the gates of the city were closed against him because he was suspected of vol. ii. 13 194 the saints in christian art having sided with the enemies of his country. he withdrew to a cell in the neighbourhood, and there remained in seclusion for two years, when he was recalled by the unanimous desire of his flock. st. lupus is said to have gone with st. germanus of auxerre on a missionary journey to england, where he won many souls to the true faith by his eloquence. he lived to a great age, and died at troyes about 460. he was buried in the chapel of a monastery which had been erected in his honour, but his tomb was violated during the revolution, and his remains were burnt, with the exception of a piece of the skull, now enshrined in a fine reliquary, on which are engraved various episodes of his long career. in the stained-glass windows of the cathedral of troyes st. lupus is introduced treading a dragon under foot, and before the restoration of the building there used to be a number of quaint mural paintings representing the interview with attila ; the parting with his wife before his compulsory journey with the invader ; and the struggle with the demons of england, in which the holy bishop was seen standing on the beach exorcising a number of evil spirits in the form of imps, clinging to the rigging of a vessel close inshore. even more celebrated than st. lupus of troyes was st. martin of tours, one of the few foreign saints whose festival is still kept in protestant england. the founder of monasticism in gaul; st. martin, by his noble and consistent bearing, his intrepid courage, and his remarkable eloquence, won the admiration of heathen and christians alike, and is still greatly venerated throughout europe, especially in france, the chief scene of his labours. born of heathen parents in hungary, st. martin was taken, when still a child, to pavia, where he was educated in all the learning of the day. he was but ten years old when he was converted to christianity, by whom is not known, but it is related that he one day entered a church where a class of catechumens was being held, and begged to be allowed to join them. his request was granted, but before he was baptized he was enrolled in the cavalry, and when he was about fifteen years old he was sent with his regiment to serve in gaul. when he was quartered at amiens in 332, the incident occurred with which the memory of st. martin is chiefly associated : the gift of half st. martin of tours 195 his military mantle to a poor man who begged of him and his fellow-officers as they were leaving the city one bitter winter's day. it was customary at that time for cavalry officers to wear over their armour a loose white cloak, very like the old greek chlamys, and this was practically the only protection they had against the cold, however severe. the gift of half of it was, therefore, an act of real self-denial, and martin's fellow soldiers laughed at him for his generosity, whilst some of the bystanders jeered at his curious appearance with the mutilated cloak wrapped about him. that same night, however, jesus himself, with an escort of angels, is said to have appeared to the young officer, and to have asked him if he recognised the cloak he was wearing. st. martin looked closely at it, and saw that it was the very piece he had given to the beggar; and as he gazed in astonishment at the radiant figure of the wearer, the master turned to his attendants, saying : ' know ye who thus clothed me ? my servant martin, though he is yet unbaptized.' soon after this remarkable experience st. martin was bap tized, but he remained in the army for several years afterwards — some say until he was forty — when he begged for his discharge. it so happened that he made his request just when an invasion of gaul by the germans had taken place, and a great battle appeared imminent. not unnaturally, he was suspected of being afraid of the approaching conflict, and it is related that the emperor julian the apostate himself reproached him in no measured terms for his cowardice. st. martin, however, answered quietly : ' place me naked and without defence in the forefront of the battle, and thou wilt see that, armed with the cross alone, i shall prevail against the legions of the enemy.' the emperor declared that he should be taken at his word, and ordered him to be imprisoned until the battle should begin ; but the very next morning an envoy came from the german camp to sue for peace. terms were arranged, and st. martin was released, popular opinion ascribing the happy termination of the war to his prayers. set free from his military duties, st. martin went first to consult st. hilary of poitiers, who wished to ordain him deacon and keep him with him. before taking orders, however, st. martin begged to be allowed to go and see his parents, and, his request being granted, he went to italy, working many 13—2 196 the saints in christian art wonders on his way, including the conversion of some robbers who attacked him, the restoration to life of the son of a poor widow, and the casting out of more than one evil spirit. having converted his mother to christianity, though his father resisted all his persuasions, st. martin returned to poitiers, and was there ordained priest by st. hilary, who also gave him a little plot of land outside the city, where he built himself a cell, to which to retire for solitary communion with god. this cell eventually became the nucleus of a community of holy men who had begged to be allowed to join st. martin, who, though he arrogated no authority, drew up a simple code of rules for their guidance. thus, simply and without ostenta tion, was founded the first monastery in gaul, which became the pattern of so many later institutions of a similar kind. from it st. martin used to go forth to preach to the people of the neighbourhood, and the fame of his eloquence soon spread far and near. hundreds of heathen were won over to the true faith, and many were the miracles of healing with which the celebrated teacher was credited. on one occa sion he restored to life one of his monks, who had died during his temporary absence ; on another he brought back the soul of a poor slave who had committed suicide in despair at the unjust anger of his owner, a wealthy nobleman. master and servant were alike baptized by st. martin, and, the see of tours happening to fall vacant soon after the wonderful incident which led to their conversion, the people clamoured for the election of the miracle-worker. when the news of the popular desire was brought to st. martin, he declared that nothing would induce him to agree to his election, and he shut himself up in his cell, refusing to admit any visitors. he was, however, presently persuaded by some of his own monks, who were in the plot against him, to go to the door of the monastery to give his blessing to a sick person. as he was bending down over the sham invalid, he was seized by some soldiers, and carried by them to tours, where, still earnestly protesting, he was installed in the episcopal see, amid general rejoicing. as bishop st. martin did his duty nobly, but as far as possible he still led a simple, secluded life. at first he dwelt in a hut by the church, but finding it impossible to get any time for prayer, on account of the crowds who continually flocked to him, he founded a new monastery outside the city, on the banks st. martin of tours 197 of the loire, which in course of time grew into the great abbey of marmontier, long one of the richest communities in france, though the beautiful buildings are now in ruins. making his monastery his headquarters, the new bishop waged vigorous war against idolatry, and wonderful indeed are the tales related of the manner in which he carried all before him, marching along followed by some two thousand white-robed attendants, setting fire to the temples and the groves dedicated to false gods. one day some heathen priests are said to have entreated him to spare a fine pine-tree, held specially sacred by them, and the saint actually succeeded in persuading them to fell it with their own hands, by allowing himself to be bound to it. the people looked on in awe-struck wonder, expecting the bishop to be slain, but just as the tree was about to fall and crush him to death he made the sign of the cross. the great mass paused a moment, and then tottered over in the opposite direc tion, leaving st. martin unhurt. sometimes the demons who had haunted the destroyed temples appeared in visible form and mocked him in the presence of all assembled, but he never failed to put them to rout, and on one occasion when the arch-fiend appeared to him wearing royal robes, and declar ing that he was christ himself come to reward his faithful servant, the holy bishop replied that he recognised none as his master who did not bear in his body the marks of the cross, at which the evil one immediately vanished. scarcely less remarkable were the wonders which attended st. martin on his purely pastoral journeys. in the neighbour hood of tours there was a little chapel to which many resorted, under the impression that a great martyr was interred in it, but it was revealed to the holy bishop that the revered remains were really those of a criminal. one day, therefore, when many were on their knees at the shrine, st. martin suddenly appeared amongst them, and in the name of christ ordered the spirit of the dead man to declare who he was. then a terrible form suddenly rose up, and to the bishop's question, ' who art thou?' replied that in life he had been a robber, but now he was enduring the just punishment of his crimes. at treves st. martin is said to have healed a girl suffering from palsy by putting some sacred oil into her mouth ; at paris he embraced a leper, who was at once cured of his loathsome disease, and on a visit to st. paulinus of nola, he rescued that holy prelate 198 the saints in christian art from the blindness with which he was threatened, by merely touching his eyes. in france a quaint story is current, which is evidently really a version of the legend of the cloak already related, to the effect that one day soon after his election as bishop, and just as he was preparing to celebrate mass in the cathedral of tours, st. martin noticed a miserable-looking beggar shivering in the porch. touched with compassion, he told one of his attendant deacons to give the man a cloak, but the deacon replied that he had not one to spare. at this st. martin tore off his own upper garment and gave it to the beggar, who received it with the greatest gratitude. the bishop then proceeded to robe himself, and when the time canie for the elevation of the host his bare arms were seen by the whole congregation. some were irreverent enough to titter, but their mirth was quickly checked, for a globe of fire suddenly appeared above the head of the generous prelate, whilst his arms were covered with gleaming chains of gold by white-robed angels. st. martin, who alone seemed unconscious of this extraordinary mark of divine favour, continued the service as if nothing had happened, but henceforth the veneration in which he was held by all who had either witnessed or heard of the miracle was greater than ever. in his dealings with the noble and mighty, as well as with the poor and lowly, st. martin's conduct won him much renown. it is related that when he was the guest of maximus, and his imperial host offered him wine in his own goblet, the bishop, after drinking from it himself, passed it next to his attendant priest instead of at once returning it to the emperor, thus mark ing his belief that the humblest of god's servants was more than equal to the greatest secular dignitary. on another occasion st. martin is said to have been the guest of the empress, who waited upon him herself, refusing to be seated in his presence. in fact, as time went on he became one of the most powerful men, not only in france, but in the whole of the roman empire. nothing, however, made any difference in his character ; to the last he remained a humble worker for god, and, after governing his diocese with the greatest wisdom for thirty years, he died at cande, a parish in touraine, whither he had gone to settle some dispute amongst the clergy. when overtaken by his last illness, he was at first full of distress st. martin of tours 199 at having to die so far from home, but he soon resigned him self to the will of god. his last words were, ' abraham's bosom is open to receive me !' and those who stood by declared that as he spoke his face was lit up with a joy that was not of earth. his body was taken to tours to be buried in the church he had himself founded there, in spite of all the protests of the people of poitiers and the neighbour hood, who were anxious to retain the sacred remains. the patron saint of numerous towns in england and on the continent, of knights, cavalry officers, tailors — probably because he made one cloak serve for two people — and for some unex plained reason, of the criers of paris, st. martin of tours is, as a rule represented in art as a soldier, not as a bishop. on an old seal preserved in the priory of bollena, in the diocese of orange, he is represented on one side on horseback, about to cut his cloak in half to share it with a perfectly nude beggar, whilst on the reverse he is seated, grasping his pastoral staff in one hand. figures of st. martin and the beggar are occasion ally introduced on the handles of crosiers, as on one at mans, reproduced in the fourth volume of the ' melanges d'arch^o logie,' and they are also of frequent occurrence in the sculp tures and stained glass windows of france and england. notable examples are the sculptures in the tympanum of the right-hand bay of the west front of chartres cathedral, and the stained-glass windows in the clerestory of the same building, in which the cloak incident and the vision of christ identifying himself with the beggar are both twice introduced. these, with several other incidents of the life of st. martin, are also given in the sculptures of the church dedicated to him at clamdcy in ni^vre, an interesting survival of the fifteenth century. in the quaint old church of st. martin at canter bury various scenes are introduced in one of the windows of the nave ; in a modern window in the north-east transept of the cathedral of canterbury is enshrined a very notable medallion of ancient glass, with a rendering of the legend of the cloak ; in st. lucy's chapel, christchurch, oxford, the beautiful thirteenth-century windows include the same inci dent; in st. martin's church, birmingham, are some quaint old mural paintings of scenes from the life of the great bishop, and his figure constantly appears on rood-screens in old english churches, notably in one at great plumstead, norfolk. 200 the saints in christian art in an engraving by martin schongauer, st. martin stands with the cloak he is about to cut in two held over the head of a kneeling beggar. in the royal collection at windsor is a very fine painting by rubens, of which there is a copy by vandyck at saventhum in belgium, representing st. martin on a beautiful white horse, about to cut his scarlet mantle in half as he turns with a good-natured smile towards a squalid beggar, whilst a woman holds up her child to receive the benediction of the saint. in a sixteenth-century french miniature, the beggar kneels to receive the cloak from a very young st. martin, with a halo behind his flowing locks ; in the chapel of s. jos6, toledo, is a fine 'st. martin and the beggar,' by el greco; and in an altar-piece by giovanni francesco carotto at verona, the attitude of the future bishop is full of the deepest humility, for he bends before the beggar as if already recognising in him the master he so much loved to honour. the mass of st. martin is the subject of a fine painting by lesueur in the museum of tours, originally designed for the abbey of marmontier, in which the globe of fire is seen descend ing, in the presence of numerous spectators, the bishop alone seeming unconscious of the phenomenon. the raising to life of a dead child was well rendered by lazzaro baldi in a painting now in the vienna gallery, and the exprcism of an evil spirit by st. martin is the subject of a spirited composi tion by jakob jordaens, now in the brussels collection. on account of his skill in casting out devils, or, according to some, because satan himself appeared beside his death-bed in the hope of winning his soul at the last moment, st. martin is sometimes represented with a demon at his feet. now and then a hare is seen beside him, for he is said to have rescued one with a word, after the poor creature had been nearly torn to pieces by dogs. a more constant emblem is a goose, which has been very variously interpreted, but is probably in allusion to the fact that st. martin's f6te-day, november ii, is at the beginning of winter, of which season the goose is typical. ' the white goose,' says a french proverb — that is to say the snow — ' is a good protection to the young shoots,' and snow is poetically spoken of in france as the ' mantle of st. martin.' a goose marks the f^te-day of the saint in certain old calendars, and in some districts it is customary to celebrate it by eating roast goose. st. brice 201 st. martin of tours is greatly honoured in england, and there are churches dedicated to him in nearly all the english counties. the term martinmas, is used in scotland to indicate november ii, which is one of the four days for paying rent north of the tweed, and when the weather happens to be fine during that month in any part of the british isles, it is called st. martin's summer, in spite of the fact that the beloved bishop is spoken of as 'st. martin' in the winter' in various old english and latin chronicles. the successor of st. martin in the see of tours was his deacon, st. brice, or britius, who had given his superiors a great deal of trouble as a young man, on account of his un bridled temper and insolence, but was for all that greatly beloved by st. martin. it is related that on one occasion when a sick man asked the young deacon where he should find the bishop, brice replied : ' if it is that old dreamer and fool you want, you can see him down there, staring up at the sky in his usual idiotic fashion.' this remark was overheard by st. martin, who later reproved the young man for his insolence, but at the same time prophesied that he would one day be a bishop, which must have done much to mitigate the severity of the reprimand. as is so often the case, the prophecy was in the end its own fulfilment, for there seems to have been no reason for the choice of st. brice, except the fact that he had been nominated by his predecessor. fortunately, however, he turned over a new leaf when he assumed the responsible position, and during the thirty years of his occupancy of the see of tours he ruled his people with firmness and tact. many stories are told of wonders wrought by st. brice, chiefly in vindication of his own character, for during the earlier years of his episcopate various false accusations were made against him. to quote one typical instance, a woman declared that the bishop was the father of her child, and although st. brice made the new-born infant name the real offender, the people were still unsatisfied until he had carried some burning coals in his robes, which were not even singed, to the tomb of st. martin. on account of this quaint incident, burning coals are a chief attribute of st. brice in art, but he is also sometimes represented with a child beside him, from whose lips issue the words ' non est pater meus.' occasionally, also, st. brice is seen serving st. martin as deacon at the celebration 202 the saints in christian art of mass, but looking all the time at the devil, who appears in the corner of the composition grinning at two ladies, who are chatting together whilst the solemn service is going on. another celebrated french bishop of the fifth century was st. germanus of auxerre, with whom may be ranked saints servatius of tongres, severus of ravenna, zeno of verona, and severinus of cologne, all of whom appear occasionally in works of art, each with some distinctive symbol of his own. st. germanus of auxerre, whose legend resembles in many respects that of st. martin of tours, was born about 380 in the city from which he takes his name. the son of noble parents, he was brought up to be a soldier, and having attracted the favourable notice of the emperor honorius, he rose to high honour, becoming governor of an important province. it is said that he was passionately fond of hunting, and used to hang the trophies of the chase upon the trees of the forest of auxerre, in spite of the remonstrances of st. amator, then bishop of the diocese, who reproached him with following the customs of the heathen. the young germanus only laughed at what was said to him, and his anger may be imagined when he discovered one day that the bishop had had his trees cut down. he threatened st. amator with all manner of terrible punishments, and the holy man withdrew for a while, hoping that his fury would abate with time. presently it was revealed to the saint in his seclusion that the very man from whom he was hiding would one day succeed him as bishop, and repenting of his own hasty judgment, he returned to auxerre to resume his duties. soon afterwards, as he was officiating in the church, germanus came in with the rest of the congregation, and st. amator had the doors locked, so that no one could leave without his know ledge. he then, in spite of the reluctance of the young officer, insisted on ordaining him priest, dismissing him with a prophecy of his future services to the church. germanus, it is said, laid aside all his wild ways at once, becoming so earnest a christian that when st. amator died in 418 he was chosen bishop in his place, without one dissentient voice. for thirty years st. germanus wisely ruled his large diocese, erecting a monastery outside auxerre, of which the ruins still remain, and in his many journeys winning important victories, not only over the heathen, but over the heretics who at this time greatly vexed the peace of the church. in 429, he was sent by the pope st. germanus of auxerre 203 with st. lupus on a mission to great britain, and halting on his way at nanterre, near paris, his attention was called to a little maiden, known amongst her playfellows as la pucelette gene vieve, and already remarkable for her loving humility and devo tion to christ. this was the future patron saint of paris, whose fame was to overshadow that of the holy bishop himself, and directly he saw her he knew that she was predestined to great honour. her parents asked st. germanus to bless their child, and he consented readily, hanging round her neck a small coin bearing a cross, in memory of the solemn occasion. the dedication of st. genevieve is the subject of one of the fine paintings in the pantheon of paris, by puvis de chavannes, a beautiful interpretation of what must have been a most touch ing scene, significant of the simple faith of the time when the incident took place. st. germanus, with st. lupus a little behind him, places his hand on the head of the white-robed child, who looks up into his face with an exquisite expression of loving innocence. near her on the left are her father and mother, their gestures betraying their mingled joy and anguish at the ceremony they know will separate them from their darling, and round about the central group are many reverent spectators, who evidently realize that the spirit of the master they all serve is amongst them. a terrible storm is said to have overtaken the bishops during their passage of the channel, but st. germanus calmed the angry waves by pouring holy water upon them, and after land ing in england the course of the missionaries was one long triumph. wherever they went they healed the sick, restored sight to the blind, and even now and then raised the dead. the most celebrated of their deeds was, however, rather a triumph of human skill than of miraculous power, for, by means of a very simple stratagem, they saved the british army from defeat when it seemed likely to be overwhelmed by a superior force of saxon invaders. st. germanus, who had been a soldier for many years before he became a bishop, led the english into a narrow defile, and ordered them to remain perfectly still until he gave the word, when they were one and all, to shout 'alleluia!' without intermission until the enemy should retire. the ruse succeeded admirably. the saxons, who had seen the small body of enghsh retiring before them, came on in full assurance of victory ; but as they approached the entrance to the pass 204 the saints in christian art such a deafening noise greeted them that they stopped appalled. the ' alleluias ' echoed and re-echoed amongst the surround ing hills till the invaders imagined that an overwhelming force was approaching against them, and, flinging down their arms, they fled in confusion. st. germanus is said to have paid a second visit to england in 446, when he was accompanied by st. severus, and, as is related by bede, purged the whole land from the pelagian heresy. on his way back to his own diocese he met a deputa tion from brittany, sent to beg him to plead with the emperor for the remission of a terrible punishment meted out to the britons for rebellion. instead of returning to auxerre, st. ger manus therefore went to italy, performing many marvels by the way. he was received with the greatest honour at ravenna, where the court then resided, the young emperor valentinian and the empress dowager placidia, vying with each other in showering costly gifts upon him. on one occasion, when the ass he had ridden died, a messenger was sent to him by placidia bringing a beautiful horse to take its place, but the bishop refused to accept it, declaring it was too noble a steed for him. according to a widely-spread legend, he then led the man to the stable containing the corpse of the ass, ordered the motion less animal to arise, and when it obeyed he mounted it, declaring it would serve his time. very soon after this remarkable inci dent st. germanus told his friends that he knew he should never return to auxerre, for christ himself had appeared to him to tell him to prepare for the journey to his eternal home. a few days later he was taken ill, and having exacted a promise from the empress that his body should be taken back to auxerre, he peacefully expired. his last wishes were fulfilled, and he was buried in the chapel of the monastery founded by him. st. germanus, to whom several churches are dedicated in england in memory of his work in that country, is occasionally represented amongst other bishops with a donkey at his feet, in allusion to the legend related above. more rarely a dragon is introduced beside him, because during his episcopate the last relics of idolatry disappeared from his diocese, and in some old mss. he appears leading a seven-headed reptile. p^re gu^rin, in his ' petits bollandists,' refers to the church of st. ger manus, near troyes, in which a stained-glass window repre sents various scenes from the legend of st. germanus, including st. servatius 205 the return to france of his dead body, escorted by the emperor, empress, and a great following of nobles. in the central light angels are seen carrying the soul of the bishop to heaven in the form of a little child. of st. servatius, bishop of the ancient city of tongres, in the belgian province of limburg, next to nothing is really known, in spite of the fact that he is very constantly introduced in works of art, and has many more attributes than the cele brated st. germanus of auxerre. he is credited with having received st. athanasius during his banishment, taken a promi nent part in the council of sardica, and foretold the incur sion of the huns. he is even said to have gone to rome to pray at the tomb of st. peter for protection from the invaders, but it was revealed to him that the punishment was considered necessary on account of the wickedness of the people of gaul, and he sadly set out to return to his own diocese, intending quietly to await events there. on his way, however, he fell into the hands of the barbarians, who were already overrunning italy, and they tried to put him to death in his sleep, but he was protected from them by the constant presence of a fine eagle which overshadowed him with its wings. for this reason an eagle is generally associated with st. servatius, but occa sionally its place is taken by an angel placing a mitre in his hand, for it is related that before he had any idea of being chosen bishop, an angel brought him a mitre and a pastoral staff. st. servatius is said to have brought with him from rome a big key given to him by st. peter himself, and for this reason, or more probably as a symbol of the spiritual power he wielded as bishop, he is sometimes represented with a key in his hand, notably on the seal of the cathedral of maestricht, to which the episcopal seat was transferred on the destruction of tongres by the huns. a dying dragon is another attribute of this popular saint, in allusion possibly to his success in dealing with heretics ; a fountain of water is often seen springing up in response to a blow from his pastoral crozier, and in some old belgian engravings he is pointing to a tomb in the background, possibly in allusion to his visit to the resting-place of st. peter. st. servatius is by some supposed to have lived until after the destruction of tongres, whilst others assert that he did not witness the fulfilment of his prophecy, but expired whilst still 2o6 the saints in christian art a prisoner in the hands of the huns. he was probably buried at maestricht, where there is a fine church named after him, and of which he is the patron saint. he is supposed to be able to secure the happy issue of dangerous enterprises, to be able to protect his votaries from the ravages of rats and mice, and to cure those suffering in any way with their feet, for which reason he is sometimes represented pointing with his staff at the foot of a man or woman beside him. st. servatius is also honoured in belgium and germany as one of the so-called ' snow saints,' the other two being saints mamertus and pancras, in allusion to a quite modern story to the effect that when king frederick ii. of prussia reproached his gardener for the backward state of the trees in the royal orangery, the man replied, ' what can you expect, before we have passed the ffete-days of the snow saints ?' that is to say, may ii, 12, and 13. very little more is really known of st. severinus of verona than of st. servatius of tongres, but he is supposed to have been born at verona, about the middle of the fourth century, and to have been a weaver by trade. when his predecessor in the see of ravenna died, he was as usual busily engaged at the loom, but on the day when all the clergy assembled in the principal church to choose a new bishop, severinus threw aside his shuttle, and told his wife he meant to go and see what was going on. she replied that he had much better stop at home and do his work, and when he persisted in his intention, she called after him, ' mind you don't get made a bishop your self !' her words were prophetic, for it is related that when the humble weaver made his way into the church, a dove flew down and rested on his shoulder, which was at once accepted as a sign of the divine will that he should be elected. he became bishop, and after ruling wisely over his diocese for many years, he died peacefully in 389. he was buried at ravenna, but his remains were later translated to mainz, where a church was erected in his honour. the people of ravenna claim that st. severinus was the first of twelve bishops who were selected through the sign of the dove, and an annual f&te commemorates them under the name of the ' columbini.' in memory of his original occupation, st. severinus is generally represented in workman's clothes, with a shuttle peeping out of his pocket, the mitre beside him being the only st. zeno of verona 207 token of his dignity as a bishop. he is supposed to take special interest in weavers, tailors, and all who aid in the making of clothes. st. zeno of verona is said to have been of african birth, and to have been educated by st. ambrose of milan, to whom he was devotedly attached. he was very silent and reserved as a child, and only laughed on one occasion when he was walking in milan with the great bishop. the story goes that the two had been talking of some serious subject, when all of a sudden the boy burst into an uncontrollable fit of rnerriment, and when his teacher asked him what was the matter, he replied : ' i saw such a funny thing; did you not notice it also ? that lady sweeping along in front of us had a little demon sitting on her train, and when she stepped over that gutter, he fell into the water with a great splash.' st. ambrose had seen nothing, and reproved zeno for his levity ; but the boy insisted that it was no nonsense, ' the poor little devil really had been there.' later, this significant incident was remembered, for as zeno grew older he is said to have developed a special power of recognising evil spirits, and he often cast them out before those possessed by them were aware of their misfortune. amongst many others he saved the daughter of the emperor, who was so grateful that she took the crown off her own head and placed it on that of her deliverer. st. zeno was probably elected bishop of verona in 362, at a time when the church in that city was greatly vexed with internal dissensions. by his tact and charity, however, he quickly effected a great change, and when he died about 380, heresy had been almost completely stamped out in his diocese. he was buried in verona, and his tomb is now enshrined in the beautiful romanesque church named after him, in which is also preserved a large porphyry bowl, called the coppa di san zenone, used according to some, for baptizing converts during the bishop's lifetime, but according to others, for washing the feet of the pilgrims who flocked to invoke his aid after his death, st. zeno is generally represented, as in an old painted marble statue in his church at verona, wearing his bishop's robes, and with a fish hanging from his crozier, an emblem variously explained, certain authorities looking upon it merely as a symbol of its owner's belief in christianity and his position 2o8 the saints in christian art as a fisher of men, whilst others think it has reference to a legend to the effect that st. zeno lived entirely on the fish he caught himself in the adige. in any case the bishop is the special patron of fishermen, and is said to have more than once interfered to save his votaries from the perils of the deep. once when the river rose to such a height as to swamp the city, the church of s. zeno remained high and dry, the waters forming a rampart all around it, so that the congregation could not get out, but were, as st. gregory the great expressed it, ' like the three children in the fire in the time of nebuchadnezzar.' st. severinus of cologne is specially noted in the history of the church for the work he did in restoring the faith after the terrible invasion of the huns, for which reason, or perhaps on account of his having founded a church in honour of saints cyprian and cornelius, he is generally represented holding an ornate building in his hand. it is related that immediately after the death of st. martin of tours, st. severinus, who was at prayer at the time, heard the songs of the angels who were bearing the soul of his lost friend to heaven. he called his archdeacon and asked if he had heard anything. the reply was in the negative, and although the bishop declared that the most beautiful singing was still going on, no sound reached the ears of his companion. fearing that he would not be believed when he should relate the story later, st. severinus fell on his knees and entreated god to give him a witness. he was immediately answered ; the singing was now heard by the archdeacon also, and together the two listened enthralled until the voices of the angels died away. ' st. martin is safe in heaven now,' said the bishop as he rose from his knees, and soon afterwards a messenger arrived confirming the news of the death, at the very moment when the music first attracted the attention of st. severinus. soon after the revelation of the death of st. martin, st. severinus died, and was buried at cologne, where his memory is still held in great honour. it is, however, doubtful whether the window in the church bearing his name represents scenes from his life or from that of another st. severinus, who lived somewhat later and was the colleague of st. amandus at bordeaux. another bishop held in high esteem in the north of europe was st. donatian of rheims, who is often repre st. donatian of rheims 209 sented, as in a quaint painting in the museum of bruges, in his full episcopal robes, holding the singular attribute of a small wheel, on each spoke of which is fixed a burning candle. this is in allusion to an extraordinary incident said to have taken place in his childhood. he was out walking with one of his father's servants, when the man, in a fit of ill-temper, pushed him into the river as they were crossing a bridge, and left him to his fate. a holy man of rheims, touched by the agony of the bereaved parents, told them to place a wheel set with burning candles on the river-bank ; the wheel of its own accord followed the course of the stream and stopped at a certain spot. some men dived into the water opposite the wheel, and brought up the child, who, strange to say, was still alive. the miracle is referred to in the sixteenth-century missal of cambrai, an incidental proof of the strength of the popular belief in it ; but it must be added that this explanation of the wheel is not accepted by all authorities. p6re cahier, for instance, after remarking that st. donatian is invoked against thunder, suggests that his wheel may have reference to the words of psalm ixxvi., verse 19, 'vox tonitruitui in rota,' translated in the douai version, ' the voice of thy thunder in a wheel.' the same author remarks that the candles on st. donatian's wheel are made of twisted tapers, adding that the original meaning of the word ' torch ' was twisted. some confusion appears to have arisen between st. donatian of rheims, whose body was brought to bruges by count baldwin of flanders in 863, and interred in a church since destroyed, and two other saints of the same name, one a bishop of fiesole, of whom next to nothing is known, and the other a martyr, whose remains were found in the catacombs of s. agnese at rome in 1649, and sent to munster-eiffel, where they are still much revered. it is related that when the funeral cortege bearing the relics passed through cologne a terrible storm, which was only allayed by the intercession of the saint, broke over the city. whether st. donatian of rheims has or has not filched from a namesake an honour not his own, he is eagerly invoked for protection in thunder-storms, -espe cially in bruges, whose patron saint he is, and it is not unusual for him to be represented with masses of clouds rent by light ning above his head, whilst beside him a little angel is putting out a fire by pouring water from a pitcher. the doubt as to vol. ii. 14 210 the saints in christian art his identity is further reflected in the fact that the bishop's robes are sometimes replaced by armour, and the crosier by a sword. chapter xxi some holy women of the fourth and fifth centuries amongst the holy women of the fourth century who have been counted worthy of canonization, though they escaped the martyrdom which befell so many of their fellow-believers, none are more highly esteemed than is st. paula of rome, the much loved friend of st. jerome. born in 347 of patrician parents, the future saint was early betrothed to a wealthy young noble named toxotius, and it was not until she was left a widow, after several years of married happiness, that she gave any serious thoughts to religious sub jects. the mother of four girls and one son, the last born not long before his father's death, she became oppressed with a dread of losing them, too, and spent much of her time weeping over her unworthiness to have charge of their education. whilst still in this somewhat morbid state of mind st. paula fell under the influence of st. jerome, who had come to rome to attend a council convened by pope damasus, and by his eloquent sermons stirred up many to renounce the world, as he himself had done. fired by all she heard of the holy lives led by saints antony, hilarion, and other hermits, the bereaved widow was seized with a desire to emulate their example, forgetting in her zeal for renunciation the need her children had of her. two of her daughters were, it is true, now married, but the other two, eustochia and rufina, with the little boy, toxotius, were still entirely dependent on her. when, however, she confided her difhculties to st. jerome, he encouraged her to give up everything and retire to the desert, urging that the greater the sacrifice, the greater the merit. she resolved, therefore, to go to palestine, taking eustochia, who shared her enthusiasm, with her, but leaving rufina and toxotius in the care of her brother, a touching scene is said to have taken place when st. paula parted from her children, who came down to the beach with her, and, with uplifted hands and many tears, entreated her st. paula 211 not to leave them. hardly able to resist them, the mother yet managed to turn her head away, praying for strength to endure to the end, and she never once looked round till the vessel was out of sight of land. after visiting many of the hermits of egypt and syria, the travellers arrived at last at jerusalem, where st. paula eagerly visited all the holy sites, becoming more and more convinced that she had made a right choice in coming to the holy land. in the end she decided to settle at bethlehem, where she had a little cell built for herself and eustochia, which very soon became the nucleus of an important community of religious women, who, attracted by the fame of her sanctity, flocked to join her. not long after her arrival at bethlehem, st. paula heard of the death of rufina, and occasionally news came to her of her boy, who grew up and married. she never saw him again, and, although her heart probably yearned over him, she never ex pressed any regret at having left him. for twenty years she laboured unceasingly for the good of others, winning so great a reputation for wisdom that she was often, it is said, consulted by st. jerome himself. on her death, which took place in 404, the ' holy abbot, writing to condole with eustochia, who had succeeded her as abbess, said, ' if all my limbs were changed into tongues, and took as many voices, i could say nothing worthy of the virtues of the holy and venerable paula. noble by birth, she was yet more noble by sanctity; formerly powerful through her wealth, she became yet more so through the poverty of jesus christ ' ; a eulogy significant of the spirit of the times, when it seemed impossible to serve god in the world, and the commandment to forsake all to follow christ was so often literally obeyed. st. paula and her daughter are generally represented together, wearing the dress of pilgrims, but occasionally the former is in the robes of a nun, and carries a book, in allusion to her foundation of the nunnery at bethlehem. sometimes st. paula appears prostrate before the cross, or pressing the instruments of the passion to her breast. now and then she kneels in adoration at the manger, her face bathed in tears in the extremity of her devotion ; and instances occur of a scourge being placed in her hand, in allusion merely, it is supposed, to her rigorous mental discipline, rather than to actual self 14 — 2 212 the saints in christian art inflicted torture. sometimes st. jerome and st. eustochia kneel on either side of st. paula at the manger, but actual incidents from her life are rarely represented. in the six teenth-century legendario of venice, however, there is a quaint engraving representing the embarkation for palestine, in which toxotius, as a boy of about seven, stands with rufina on the beach, trying in vain to attract his mother's attention. with st. paula may be ranked st. macrina, the grandmother of st. basil the great, who is sometimes represented with a stag beside her, because she is said to have been miraculously fed by one during her retirement in the desert for meditation and prayer, and st. marcellina, the sister of st. ambrose, who after superintending her brother's education, went with him to milan, when he became bishop. although she never actually joined any sisterhood, st. mar cellina dedicated her life to god, superintending from the palace of st. ambrose the community of virgins founded by him, and she is therefore occasionally represented receiving a veil from the pope and clasping in her hands a little cross, the symbol of faith and renunciation. there is a fine kneeling statue of her by pucetti in the church of s. ambrogio at milan. unique in the history of the church is the position of st. pulcheria, who virtually ruled the roman empire for nearly forty years, first in the name of her brother theodosius ii., although she was but two years his senior, and after his death in that of her nominal husband, marcian. born in the last year of the fourth century, which had witnessed so vast a change in the position of the christians, st. pulcheria was the daughter of the emperor arcadius and the grand-daughter of theodosius the great. at the early age of fifteen she was unanimously proclaimed augusta, and chosen as the guardian of her young brother, whom she brought up to be an earnest christian, though she failed to make him a good ruler. one of the first public acts of the new augusta was deeply significant of the spirit of the times, and has been very differ ently criticised by historians. with her two young sisters, arcadia and marina, she made a vow of lifelong chastity in the cathedral of st. sophia at constantinople, in the presence of the clergy and a large congregation, presenting to the primate a gem-studded tablet of gold bearing in greek the registration of the vow. with a wisdom beyond her years, st. pulcheria 213 pulcheria thus protected herself from the chief danger of her position, the importunities of suitors, and under her rule the palace of constantinople was to all intents and purposes a nunnery, in which the empress, her sisters, and their attendants, led a life of austere self-denial and usefulness. many beautiful churches were built at the expense of st. pulcheria, including three dedicated to the blessed virgin, in one of which was placed the celebrated portrait of the mother of the lord, said to have been painted by st. luke, and already referred to in connection with that apostle.* to the initiative of the empress was also due the nieeting of the great council of chalcedon, summoned by marcian after the death of theo dosius, in which the heresies of nestorius and eutyches were alike condemned. in a word, throughout her long reign st. pulcheria never ceased to promote the interests of peace in the church. her memory is still venerated by greek and roman catholics as that of one of the greatest saints of the fifth century, and her noble figure in her imperial robes, with the sceptre and the lily of chastity in her hands, sometimes alone, sometimes with her sisters on either side, is constantly intro duced in ecclesiastical decoration. strange to say, no artist has yet chosen as a subject the impressive scene of the dedica tion of the three maidens in st. sophia. occasionally the empress is represented leaning on a tablet on which is inscribed, not the celebrated vow, but the single word ^eoto^o?, in reference to the condemnation of nestorianism during her reign. celebrated contemporaries of st. pulcheria, who occasionally appear in works of art, were saints euphrosyne, euphrasia, melania, and pelagia the penitent. the first-named, who is represented in the habit of a monk, is said to have been taken by her father, when a girl of eighteen, to see a certain abbot, to whose intercession with heaven her very existence was due. she fell so in love with what she saw of life in the monastery that she longed to become a monk. on her return home the idea took entire possession of her soul, and, disguising herself as a man, she went to the abbot to ask admission to his convent. he, suspecting nothing, welcomed her gladly ; she took the name of brother esmeraldus, and her sex was never discovered. her father mourned bitterly over her loss, * ' the saints in christian art,' vol. i. p. 47. 214 the saints in christian art and her superior actually sent her home to him with a message of comfort. not until she felt herself dying did she own the truth, but just before the end she sent for her father, confessed all to him, and made him promise to prepare her body for the grave himself. he forgave her, and it is said joined the monas tery in which she died after the funeral. st. euphrasia, who is represented embracing a crucifix, treading a dragon under her feet, or struggling with a monster who is trying to throw her into a well from which she was about to draw water, was born at constantinople of wealthy, some say of royal, parents. she was taken as a child to the desert of thebes by her widowed mother, who spent her large fortune in good works, and the little euphrasia was only seven years old when she in her turn resolved to dedicate her life to god. she was led to do so, it is said, by seeing the arms of the crucified redeemer move, as if to embrace her, when she was clasping a crucifix in the ardour of her devotion. she was at once placed in a convent, where she remained for the rest of her life, winning many a signal victory over the tempta tions of the evil one. st. melania, called the younger to distinguish her from her grandmother of the same name, is represented holding a church in her hand, because she built an important monastery in palestine. she is said to have retired from the world with her husband, a young noble called pinian, on the death of their two children in infancy, and to have led a life of the greatest holiness until his death, when she went to join her grandmother at jerusalem. there, having spent all her money on good works, she shut herself up in a convent she had founded, acting as the servant of the humblest of the novices till she died at the age of fifty-eight. the story of st. pelagia is involved in great obscurity, some asserting that there were two penitents of that name, others that there was only one, to whom all the experiences related rightly belong. the most generally received opinion is, however, that there were in the fifth century two pelagias who withdrew from antioch to the mount of olives to seek peace in lonely communion with god. of one, who is also known as margaret, it is related that, after leading an evil life at antioch, she dwelt alone in a cave disguised as a monk for many years, drawing crowds to her retreat on account of her supposed st. pelagia of antioch 215 miracles. the other, whose story is not unlike that of philemon's sister in kingsley's ' hypatia,' was a young actress, who was so beautiful that all who saw her fell in love with her. it is said that one day, when st. nonnus of heliopolis was preaching from the steps of a church at antioch to a vast crowd assembled in the market-place, pelagia happened to pass by, and immediately the attention of all present was transferred to her. a great silence fell upon the audience, as their favourite, apparently unconscious of the sensation she was creating, made her way slowly amongst them, and in the pause the bishop put up an earnest prayer that a creature so divinely lovely might be rescued before it was too late. the next day st. nonnus was preaching again, and pelagia felt an irresistible desire to go and hear him. she therefore joined the audience, and this time the bishop went on speaking without taking any notice of her, or of the excitement her presence was causing around her. the people, too, seeing that pelagia wished to listen, respected her desire, and the preacher poured forth an eloquent appeal that all present would repent before the day of grace was past. when the sermon was over, pelagia sought the holy man and begged him to teach her how to be good. he told her she must give up all the wealth her numerous suitors had showered upon her, and make a public declaration of her penitence, before she could be baptized. with touching submission she obeyed : cut off her beautiful hair, clad herself in sack-cloth, and distributed all her jewels, fine clothes, etc., to the poor. once more she appeared in the market-place, this time to express in the presence of weeping crowds, her deep penitence for all she had done wrong. the terrible ordeal over, she was baptized by st. nonnus, after which she went alone to the scene of her master's passion, where she spent the rest of her life in prayer. she is said to have died in a cave in the mount of olives, and until the twelfth century, when they were lost, her ashes are supposed to have been, preserved in an urn at jerusalem. a quaint and somewhat vulgar engraving, which was at one time much in vogue in the north of europe, represents st. pelagia in the motley dress of a comic actress performing conjuring tricks in a street, accompanied by a dog or a monkey. there can, however, be no foundation for this interpretation of her legend, for one so celebrated for her beauty, as she 2i6 the saints in christian art undoubtedly was, is not likely to have had to earn her livelihood in such a manner in the refined city of antioch. hippolyte flandrin was probably nearer the truth when he represented the fair penitent in his celebrated frieze in the church of st. vincent de paul, paris, taking the jewels from her neck, and with a mask at her feet, in allusion to her pro fession before she left the world. elsewhere she appears receiving instruction from a bishop, or alone in the desert kneeling before a crucifix, and occasionally an instrument of music is introduced at her feet, in memory of her having been a public singer. chapter xxii st. genevieve, queen clotilda, king sigismund, and st. men^hduld. the legend of st. genevieve, the patron saint of paris, is full of pathetic beauty. the daughter of parents in a very humble position in life, she was born, in 431, at nanterre, a few miles from paris, and from her very infancy seemed to be set apart from other children by the earnest gravity of her character. she is said to have been employed to guard the sheep of a farmer near her home, and to have been amongst those who went to see saints germanus and lupus, when they halted at nanterre on their way to england. genevieve was then only seven years old, but her beautiful face, with its loving expression, attracted the attention of st. germanus, and her parents told him of their wish that she should receive his blessing. he called the little maiden to him and asked her if she were prepared to dedicate her whole life to christ. she said she was, and he then solemnly blessed her and gave her a medal, or, according to another version of the story, picked up a coin which happened to be lying near, on which a cross was inscribed, and told her to wear it always in memory of her vow. the child looked upon this token as a sacred possession, the seal of her betrothal to her heavenly bridegroom, for amongst the french peasantry a piece of money is the symbol of the dowry of a wife. she wore it for the rest of her life, and it was probably buried with her. st. genevi]feve 217 for the next seven years st. genevieve dwelt quietly at home, earning her own living as a shepherdess, and submitting her self meekly to her parents in all things, except when they inter fered in any way with the performance of her religious duties. it is related that one day, when she wanted to go to church at an inconvenient time, her mother lost temper with her, and gave her a box on the ear, a hasty action for which the poor woman was terribly punished, for she immediately became quite blind. genevieve was terribly distressed, and prayed earnestly that her mother's sight might be restored, but it was not until more than a year afterwards that her petition was granted. it was then revealed to her that she must fetch water from the well of nanterre, make over it the sign of the cross, and bathe the sufferer's eyes with it. she obeyed, with the best results, for the poor woman was able to see again as well as ever, and was henceforth most careful not to thwart her powerful child. at the age of fifteen, st. genevieve with two other saintly minded maidens, publicly renewed her vows in the presence of the bishop of paris, remaining, however, with her parents, to whom she was devoutly attached, until their death, when she went to live in paris, where she lodged with an old kinswoman who was also her godmother. there she devoted herself to good works, visiting and nursing the sick, winning from them much loving gratitude, but suffering also greatly from certain wicked calumnies which those who were jealous of her great reputation for sanctity delighted to spread abroad. her very life was sometimes in danger, but her faith and courage never failed, and when things were at the worst her old friend st. germanus happened to come to paris, probably on his second mission to england. he looked upon st. genevieve as his own spiritual daughter, and he quickly put a stop to the calumnies which were being circulated about her, by publicly declaring her to be the special favourite of heaven. no sooner had the holy bishop passed on his way, however, than all the old trouble was renewed. it is even said that a plot was laid to drown st. genevieve in the seine, but this was frustrated by the for tunate arrival of a messenger from st. germanus, no less a person than the archdeacon of auxerre, bringing with him a gift of blessed bread for the persecuted girl. the long procession in the train of the archdeacon served as 2i8 the saints in christian art a useful object-lesson to those who compassed the death of the saint, for it proved with what powerful friends they would have to deal if evil befell her. she was henceforth left unmolested, and when a little later paris was besieged by childeric, and the people were suffering terribly from famine, she won all hearts by her devotion and practical ability in dealing with the emer gency. not only did she stint herself of the very necessaries of life for the sake of others, but she, also organized and led an ex pedition down the seine to fetch food from troyes, returning in triumph with a load of corn, having, it is said, stilled a furious tempest by her prayers on the way. when paris fell, the con queror, though a heathen, sought out st. genevieve, the fame of whose exploits had reached him, and promised to grant any request slae might make to him. she replied by pleading for mercy on the prisoners taken in the siege, whose only fault had been their patriotism, and, true to his word, childeric released them all. on the death of the conqueror, his son clovis became master of paris, and it is claimed by the admirers of st. genevieve that it was partly through her influence that the new ruler was converted to christianity, though others, with more probability, assert that his wife. queen clotilda, was the means of the change in his belief. whichever be the truth, there is no doubt that clovis and clotilda both became devotedly attached to st. genevieve, and it was in a great measure due to her initiative that they commenced building the first christian church within the walls of the city, which was completed after their deaths, and occupied the site of the present pantheon. st. genevieve is also looked upon as the real foundress of the celebrated abbey of st. denis, outside the town, for she it was who replaced the ruined chapel above the tomb of the martyred bishop, after whom it is named, with a stately church, and revived the pilgrimage to the shrine, which had long been discontinued. the biographers of st. genevieve further relate that when the huns, under the fierce barbarian leader attila, invaded france, and were threatening the capital itself, it was due to her intercession that paris was saved. the mere rumour that the scourge of god, as he was called, was approaching caused such a terrible panic amongst the inhabitants that they would no doubt have fallen an easy prey had their fears been realized. st. genevieve, however, followed by a train of holy women, the dedication of st. genevieve by puvis de chavannes \lpantheoh, paris to face p. 218 st. genevieve 219 went up to the ramparts, and, standing, on the wall, she prayed aloud that god would avert the danger, or, if it must come, that he would give his people strength to maintain the right. on receipt of the news that the hordes of the enemy had actually turned aside from their march, and gone southwards, on the very day when st. genevifeve put up her petition, the parisians became nearly frantic with joy, falling prostrate at the feet of their deliverer, as they called her, whenever she appeared, so that her progress through the streets was like that of a victorious general. st. genevieve died in 512 at the age of eighty-nine, one year after king clovis was called to his rest, and was buried beside him in the unfinished church originally begun in honour of saints peter and paul, but later named after her, and now replaced by the pantheon. year by year the veneration in which st. genevieve was held increased, the fame of the miracles wrought at her tomb spreading far and near. in 550 st. eligius, the goldsmith bishop of noyon, made with his own hands a beautiful shrine in which the relics of the much-loved saint were placed, but, unfortunately, it was destroyed and its contents were burnt during the revolution. the only actual relic of st. genevieve still retained by paris is the stone coffin in which her body once rested, preserved in a chapel of the sixteenth-century church of st. 6tienne du mont, not far from the pantheon. many quaint legends have gathered about the memory of st. genevieve, who in spite of all the terrible vicissitudes the city of her adoption has passed through, has still retained her hold upon the affections of the people of paris. from first to last it is said she was singled out for persecution by the evil one, who knew full well how formidable an adversary she was. one of his most persistent efforts to disconcert her was by blowing out her candle when she was walking in procession with other holy women. sometimes she relit her candle herself, how is not told, but more often an angel either prevented it from being blown out or lighted it again directly. in various old engravings st. genevifeve is represented walking along with an open book in her hand, apparently unconscious that the long candle she is holding is attacked on one side by a winged demon with a pair of bellows, and protected on the other by an angel who is lighting it with a torch. outside the church of 220 the saints in christian art st. nicholas des champs in paris is a quaint statue of the patron saint with an imp clinging to her shoulders, and blowing at her candle with a pair of bellows which he rests upon her neck, whilst she gazes abstractedly before her as if nothing at all unusual were going on. st. genevieve appears again in the west front of st. germain i'auxerrois, this time with the defeated devil crouching at her feet, and in certain old stained glass windows she is introduced protecting her candle from interference. modern artists, however, prefer represent ing her as a shepherdess minding her flock, generally with a distaff and spindle, more rarely with a book, although if she really were a shepherdess she is not likely to have been able to read. certain recent authorities, including pfere cahier, are, however, of opinion that st. genevieve was no mere peasant, and see in her legend a mere allegory of her rescue of the sheep of paris from the wolves of attila, instancing an old engraving in which the ramparts of the city are converted into a kind of sheepfold, with st. genevieve and her trembling flock about her within it, whilst the wolves are raging without. as a matter of fact, the supposed interview between st. genevieve and attila represented in a modern group of sculpture by maindron in the portico of the pantheon, never took place, and the artists who contented themselves with giving a bunch of keys to st. genevieve, to signify her deliverance of the city, were better inspired than was the sculptor of this far from satis factory group. the medal with the cross, supposed to have been given to st. genevieve by st. germanus is, of course, one of her most distinctive characteristics, and appears either in the form of a clasp fastening her robe or is suspended round her neck. the book or breviary indicative of her devotion to the study of religion is sometimes replaced by a loaf of bread in one hand, or a number of loaves held in a fold of her robes, in allusion to st. genevieve's voyage down the seine to fetch food for the besieged, and the palm now and then given to her implies her readiness to lay down her life for christ, although the sacrifice was never demanded. st. genevieve was credited during her lifetime with the per formance of many miracles. when, for instance, the church in which she was later to rest was being built, and materials were running short, she told the workmen to go to a certain spot in st. genevieve 221 the forest, where they would find all they wanted, and there they discovered two huge pits full of lime, with quantities of timber and stone piled up beside them. again, when the men were weary and thirsty, the saint gave them a vessel of wine, which always remained full, however much was taken out of it. in fact, until her death she was ever ready to use her influence with heaven in favour of those engaged in the pious work of church-building, and even after she was taken from earth, her intercession continued to be wonderfully effective. the oil of a lamp lit at her shrine was never consumed, although some of it was taken almost daily for the use of the sick, and by it many wonderful cures were effected, including the restoration of sight to the blind and hearing to the deaf. once, when the seine had risen to an abnormal height and all the houses in the neighbourhood had been iiooded, including that in which st. genevieve had died, her bed was found still dry, with a wall of water forming a kind of rampart about it. on another occasion, when a poor woman insisted on working on sunday, pleading that the blessed virgin herself knew too well what poverty meant to blame her, her fingers became so firmly fixed to the comb with which she was preparing wool, that she could not unclasp them until she went to pray at the shrine of st. genevieve. the most remarkable of all the after-death wonders per^ formed by st. genevieve, and the one which took the greatest hold on the popular imagination, was, however, that of her interference when paris was being devastated in 1129 by a terrible fever, known as the feu sacrs or feu des ardents, which spared neither age nor sex, and is supposed to have been a kind of erysipelas. the usual remedies were tried in vain, and at last the bishop of paris ordered the shrine of st. genevieve to be carried in solemn procession through the streets. the result is said to have been immediate : all the sufferers who touched the shrine, or even saw it pass, were healed at once, and in memory of the miracle the name of the church of st. genevieve la petite, built on the site of the wonder-worker's old home was changed to st. genevifeve des ardents. the building was, unfortunately, pulled down in 1749 to make way for the foundling hospital, but until recently it was still customary in times of calamity to carry round paris 222 the saints in christian art a richly-decorated shrine, the property of the abbey of st. genevieve, said to contain a few relics of the saint which had been rescued when the rest of her remains were burnt. scenes from the life and legend of st. genevieve are of frequent occurrence in french churches, notably in st. germain i'auxerrois and st. jacques du haut pas, both in paris, and lebrun, vanloo, watteau, and other french masters, have made incidents of her career the subjects of paintings. it was, however, reserved to puvis de chavannes, who died a few years ago, to interpret with anything like success the character of the simple-hearted maiden, who, even when the incredible is eliminated from her story, remains a type of all that is best in womanhood. that st. genevieve really lived and exercised a remarkable influence over her contemporaries there can be no doubt, and the fact that she should have been chosen to share with st. denis the honour of being immortalized in the secularized pantheon proves that faith in the master she served is not yet extinct in the city she loved so well. the ' childhood of genevieve,' already described in connection with st. germanus, the ' st. genevieve bringing provisions to paris,' and, above all, the * st. genevieve watching over the sleeping city,' rank amongst the masterpieces of modern french painting, and are remarkable examples of the work of their author, whose nature in its simplicity and direct ness was to some extent akin to that of his heroine. the ' st. genevieve encouraging the parisians when attila is supposed to be approaching,' by delaunay, and the ' pilgrimage to the shrine of the saint, with the procession of her relics through paris,' by maillot, also in the pantheon, although there is something pleasing about them, are by no means so satisfactory as the grand compositions of de chavannes, who in them touched his highest point of excellence. the well of st. genevieve, with the water of which she is said to have cured her mother's blindness, is still shown at nanterre, and near to the supposed site of her cottage, in the same village, is a cave now used as a wine-cellar, where she used, according to tradition, to retire for prayer. for many centuries it was customary for the people of paris to go in procession on the day of the exaltation of the holy cross to an enclosure known as the clos, or pasturage, of st. genevi6ve, on mont valerian, to worship at a calvary, and drink of a st. clotilda 223 spring beside it, to which their beloved patroness used, it is said, sometimes to lead her flock, whether of sheep or converts the legend does not specify, for meditation and prayer. the water of the spring was supposed to have miraculous power, but it is now dried up. very different from that of st. genevieve was the life of her great contemporary and friend, the proud and haughty queen clotilda, who is greatly reverenced in france on account of the conversion of her husband to christianity and her princely generosity to the poor. the daughter of chilperic, the younger brother of the fierce gondebald, ruler of burgundy, she with one of her sisters, was spared when the rest of her family were put to death by her uncle's orders. she was brought up at the court of the murderer, and was converted to christianity as a child, by whom is not known. when she was about eighteen she was married to clovis, king of the franks, who, though still a heathen, promised not to interfere with her in her religious duties. the great desire of her heart seems to have been to convert her husband, whom she truly loved ; but he remained obdurate for many years, and it was only with difficulty that she got permission from him to have their children baptized. the most generally accepted account of the actual conversion is that on the eve of a great battle with the huns clovis promised his wife to become a christian if he were victorious. at the beginning of the struggle he seemed likely to be defeated, but he called upon the name of christ, and immediately the tide turned in his favour. when the enemy had been put to flight, the victorious monarch seiit for his wife, and expressed his willingness to be baptized. st. remigius, bishop of rheims, was summoned, and in the presence of his whole army the king received the holy sacrament of baptism. to this nucleus of historical fact tradition has added the poetic detail that a cruse of oil was brought to the officiating bishop by a dove, the emblem of the holy spirit, who was henceforth to be the guide of the new convert. moreover, st. clotilda related a marvellous dream she had had on the eve of the battle, when an angel appeared to her bearing a shield, on which three lilies were engraved, and intimated that these lilies were henceforth to be substituted for the three toads of the arms of king clovis. the alteration was made, and this is said by some to have been the origin of the famous 224 the saints in christian art national emblem of the fleurs-de-lys, a tradition embodied by pierre de ronsard in the lines : ' son dcusson d^shonor^ de trois crapauts bou£fis, pour sa vielle peinture, prendra des lys k la blanche ceinture.' certain german writers, however, trace the origin of the three toads to the name of clotilda, which they spell kroete schild, thus making it signify toad-shield, asserting further that the three toads were gradually transformed into lilies. as a matter of fact, the fleurs-de-lys were not adopted in france until the fifteenth century, and they were at first powdered all over the national banner, the reduction to three not taking place until considerably later. king clovis only lived five years after his conversion, but his widow still continued to exercise great influence over the kingdom, which was divided between her three sons, clodomir, childebert and clotaire. she founded many monasteries, in cluding the celebrated one at les grands andelys, and was unwearying in her work for the poor and suffering. unfortu nately the latter part of her life was stained by a great crime, for she sanctioned the murder of her grandsons, two of whom were slain by their uncles, because they interfered with their own ambitious projects. it is said that the queen-mother was asked by one of the would-be assassins whether she would prefer that the boys should die or be shut up in a monastery, and she replied at once, ' better they were dead than shaven monks.' she was taken at her word, two of the young princes were stabbed, but the third escaped, and later became famous as st. cloud, one of the first followers of st. benedict. filled with remorse at what she had done, though it is possible that she could not have prevented the cruel deed if she had tried. queen clotilda withdrew to tours, where she spent the rest of her life in strict seclusion, praying much at the tomb of st. martin. when she was dying she sent for her two surviving sons, childebert and clotaire, and besought them to repent of their evil deeds and to seek rather to prepare for heaven than to win victories on earth. her body was taken to paris and there interred with much pomp and ceremony, not beside king clovis, but at the feet of st. genevieve. ■ st. clotilda is constantly introduced in french pictures, st. sigismund 225 illuminated missals, and breviaries, wearing her royal robes and with a crown upon her head, a long white veil alone suggesting her saintly life. sometimes she kneels in prayer at an altar or a tomb, or she stands holding a church in her hand, gazing up to heaven in rapt devotion. now and then she is attended by an angel bearing a shield with the device of the three fleurs-de-lys, or she is causing a spring of water to gush out of the ground, in allusion to a legend to the effect that when her monastery at les grands andelys was being built, she procured a miraculous supply of water for her workmen, or, according to another version, converted the water of a neighbouring well into wine for their use. in the so-called bedford missal, presented to henry vi. on his coronation as king of france in 1431, the legend of the shield is represented in a beautiful miniature, an angel presenting the lilies first to st. remigius, who gives them to st. clotilda, whilst below the queen offers the emblazoned shield to her newly-converted husband. with the story of queen clotilda of france is bound up that of her cousin st. sigismund of burgundy, the son of king gondubald, who had murdered her father. when sigismund ascended the throne he was converted to christianity, but this did not save him from committing the terrible crime of murder ing his eldest son, whom he suspected of designs upon his life. this wicked deed he expiated with such severe penance, that he was accounted a saint by his people, and it is related that he prayed earnestly to be punished in this life, so that he might escape the due reward for his crime in the next. his prayer was granted, for the sons of queen clotilda invaded his king dom, took him prisoner, and avenged their grandfather's death by killing their captive. his body was thrown into a well, and later taken to the abbey of st. maurice, where it has ever since been greatly revered. the association of st. sigismund with this abbey, sacred to the memory of the leader of the renowned theban legion, has led to the cult of the royal saint in italy, and he appears in many fine devotional pictures by italian masters, notably in the altar-piece by giulio campi in the church of st. sigismund, outside cremona. as a rule st. sigismund wears his royal robes, and holds a church in his hand, the latter on account of a tradition that he was the real founder of the abbey in which he is interred. in switzerland vol. ii. 15 226 the saints in christian art he is often grouped with saints philip and james the less, probably because the first of may is the f^te-day of all three. a humble contemporary of saints genevieve, clotilda, and sigismund, was st. men6hould of perthes, who deserves a passing mention amongst the holy women of her time, on account of the quaint story told of her having stayed a flood by planting her spindle in the ground. who she was or where she came from is unknown, but she is said to have been stopping with her father at chateau sur aisne, now called st. mendhould in her honour, when a great inundation threatened to sweep the whole village away. the people were flying from their houses, carrying all they could with them, when the strange maiden saved them by her extraordinary action. in the church of lanneville is a picture representing the miracle taking place in the presence of crowds of people, and in that of bienville, where the wonder-worker is said to have been buried, some scenes from her life are given in the stained-glass windows. st. mendhould is the patron saint of lantern-makers, it is suggested because the manufacture of lanterns was a speciality of the district in which she lived,, and p^re cahier, in his ' caract6ristiques des saints,' reproduces a quaint medal, bearing what he thinks may be her effigy on one side and a lantern on the other. chapter xxiii some great churchmen of the fifth century two popes who in the fifth century did much to consolidate the power of the see of rome and to pave the way for the work of st. gregory the great, were saints sixtus iii. and leo i. the former, who was elected pope in 432, and died in 440, is chiefly remembered for the work he did in connection with s. maria maggiore, rome, on which account he is sometimes represented holding an image of the blessed virgin in his hand, or, more rarely, a pickaxe, in allusion to his personal superintendence of the workmen engaged in the building of the great basilica. leo i., surnamed the great, who succeeded sixtus iii., and h <; w o m k h o w a ^ & m h h st. leo the great 227 during whose pontificate the western empire was established, exercised a most important influence over the history of his time. it was thanks to his intervention that rome was saved from being taken by attila ; and, later, he saved the city from absolute destruction when it had fallen into the hands of genseric after the defeat of maximus. the friend and counsellor of st. pulcheria and her consort marcian, leo the great was mainly instrumental in bringing about the wise decisions of the council of chalcedon, and throughout the twenty-one years of his reign his influence was ever in favour of moderation, whether in dealing with heretics or with the declared enemies of the church. one of the patron saints of rome, st. leo the great is much honoured in that city, and the incident of his interview with attila, at which saints peter and paul are said to have been present, has been , the subject of several celebrated representations, of which the finest is the fresco in the stanza d'eliodoro of the vatican, one of a series of subjects by raphael, in which the decorative art of the golden age of painting reached its highest culmination. the camera della segnatura, of which the stanza d'eliodoro is the second in order of production, ranks with the sistine chapel as one of the greatest triumphs of decorative skill ever produced ; and the ' discomfiture of attila ' is as remarkable for the dramatic force of its conception as are the ' miracle of bolsena ' and the ' expulsion of heliodorus.' mounted on a black horse, the heathen leader occupies the centre of the composition, whilst two of his soldiers are pointing out to him the dignified figure of st. leo approaching to accost him, and in the background a crowd of soldiers are issuing from a mountain-pass. above the pope and his long train of attendants, appear saints peter and paul, supposed to be visible only to attila, whose face expresses the greatest awe and astonishment. the same subject has been far less satisfactorily treated by alessandro algardi in the colossal bas-relief in st. peter's, rome, in which the leader of the huns turns his back upon the warning apparition, and runs away in a very undignified manner. elsewhere the actual interview between the two great men is given, the officers of attila listening respectfully to the conversation ; and occasionally two figures only appear, those of the pope and the general, but where this is the case 15-2 228 the saints in christian art it is possible that the artist intended to represent st. leo with genseric, not attila. a special distinction of the fifth century is the number of bishops to whom the honour of canonization has been given, and who, though few of them have been made the subject of any great works of art, deserve at least a passing mention because they are introduced with more or less frequency amongst other saints, and have, most of them, their distinctive attributes. taking them, as far as possible, in the order of the date of their birth, precedence must be given to st. zenobio, of florence, who was born, according to some, as early as 338, whilst others place that event as late as 407. the son of noble but heathen parents, zenobio was by them brought up in their own belief, but he was converted when still a boy by one of his tutors. he is said to have been ordained priest as a young man, to have acted as secretary to pope damasus i., and to have been sent by him to florence to try and heal the dissen sions between the arians and catholics. in any case, he was in that city when the bishop died, and was with one accord elected to succeed him. according to tradition, st. zenobio's episcopate was marked by the occurrence of many miracles. twice he raised the dead, restoring to life a little boy who had been run over by a chariot, and a young man who had died suddenly, the son of a lady from gaul who had come to pray at the tombs of the apostles. when florence was besieged by the goths, st. zenobio, aided by st. ambrose, who came to him from heaven, saved the city ; and even after his death wonders were wrought by his remains, for when they were translated in the ninth century, a dead tree accidentally touched by the bier, suddenly put forth branches and leaves. in a beautiful pieti attributed to giottino, now in the uffizi gallery, florence, saints benedict and zenobio are blessing the donors of the picture, which was painted for the church of s. romeo ; in fra angelico's ' great crucifixion,' so often referred to, st. zenobio is in the group of saints at the foot of the cross ; in the ' coronation of the virgin by two angels,' by filippo lippi, in the uffizi gallery, he appears with st. john the baptist; and he is constantly introduced in the devotional pictures of ghirlandajo and other italian masters, wearing his full episcopal robes and with the red o m h § o h ^; w u 8 st. zenobio 229 lily which is one of the distinctive emblems of florence, on his cope. in the palazzo vecchio, at florence, there is a fine ' st. zenobio enthroned,' by ghirlandajo ; and the same subject has been well treated in an altar-piece in the cathedral by andrea orcagna, who has introduced two favourite deacons of the bishop, kneeling at his feet, and added scenes from his life on the predella. the legend of st. zenobio has inspired several beautiful compositions, notably the ' restoration of the child to life,' and the ' burial of the saint,' by ghirlandajo,' both in the uffizi gallery, florence, which, though they have unfortun ately suffered much from restoration, rank amongst the best works of that master. massaccio has also given a very graphic rendering of the miracle of the child, in which the mother kneels opposite to the bishop, who is praying earnestly, whilst the little boy stands by with clasped hands, as if await ing the signal to resume his interrupted life. more celebrated, perhaps, than any of these are, however, the scattered panels by sandro botticelli, some of which are at berlin and one at dresden, whilst fine replicas are owned, by mr. ludwig mond, of london. the originals were probably painted for some florentine church, and represent the farewell of st. zenobio to his family, his baptism, his consecration by pope damasus, the restoration of the child, the casting out of two devils, and the death of the bishop, who is blessing his kneeling clergy with his last breath. in the cathedral of florence is a beautiful bronze sarco phagus, said by some to contain the whole body, by others the head only, of st. zenobio, with designs in relief, by lorenzo ghiberti, representing three miracles : the restoration of the child, that of the young man, and also that of a monk, who is supposed to have been a messenger sent to the bishop by st. ambrose, who died on the way. his companion stands looking sadly down at the body, and st. zenobio is consoling him. on the back of the sarcophagus six angels uphold a laurel wreath, with a scroll bearing an inscription in praise of the saint. a french contemporary of st. zenobio was st. hilary of aries, chiefly celebrated for his long conflict with leo the great, who was born in 401, and is said to have been chosen to succeed st. honoratus at a very early age, a dove 230 the saints in christian art having appeared hovering above him when the dignitaries of the church were assembled to choose a bishop. for this reason st. hilary is represented with a dove resting on his head, and occasionally he also holds a staff, about which a serpent is entwined, but this emblem is given to him in error, the result of the confusion which has arisen between him and st. hilary of poitiers noticed above,* in the north of france and in jersey st. magloire, bishop of dol for many years, is greatly venerated. he is said to have retired at the age of seventy to jersey, where he founded an important monastery, and he appears sometimes amongst other bishops holding a pilgrim's staff, in memory of what was in his day considered a very long journey. he is also represented kneeling to receive the holy communion from an angel, and some artists have gone so far as to represent him administering the holy elements to his celestial visitor, in allusion to a tradition that he was so holy that the very messengers of god did homage to him. another bishop whose exploits are more or less apocryphal was st. exuperis of toulouse, whose emblem is a holy water sprinkler, because it is said that when the city under his care was besieged by the goths, he stood on the ramparts sprinkling holy water over the enemy, every drop which fell killing one of them. in the oratory at blague there is a very graphic rendering of this incident, for a soldier touched by the holy water is rolling down a scaling ladder, whilst crowds are looking on at his death. with st. exuperis may be ranked st. maximus of riez, who is said to have hid himself in a wood when the people of that city clamoured for his election, and when he had been forcibly dragged to the cathedral justified their choice by the wonders he wrought. amongst other miracles, he was able to secure with a word the removal, for the building of a church, of huge masses of stone, that had resisted the efforts of the strongest oxen, for which reason his attribute is a church held in the right hand. better authenticated is the legend of st. marcellus, bishop of paris in the early part of the fifth century, who is sometimes represented interceding for captives, in allusion to his pleading with the barbarian invaders for mercy on his flock, or, as on * see ante, pp. 190, 191. alinari jthoto] [palazzo vecchio, florence st. zenobio enthroned by domenico ghirlandajo to face p. 230 st. nicasius 231 one of the portals of the west front of notre dame, dragging along a dragon with his stole, in memory it is said, of his having driven away an evil beast which had taken up its abode on the tomb of a young girl who had died impenitent, but whose soul had been rescued from purgatory by the prayers of the faithful. there is also probably some foundation of fact in the story of st. maurillus of angers, who is one of the bishops repre sented holding a fish, from whose mouth a key is issuing, in allusion to a quaint legend to the effect that, having neglected to baptize or confirm a boy in his diocese before his death, he flung the keys of his cathedral into a river in a fit of remorse. after this st. maurillus refused any longer to exercise his rights or perform his duties as bishop until one day some fishermen brought him back the keys, which they had found in the body of a fish they had caught. st. maurillus accepted this as a message from god authorizing him to resume his work. more over, he was enabled to restore to life the unbaptized child, who after being duly received into the church, grew up a holy man and became bishop after the death of st. maurillus. occasionally st. maurillus is represented in the dress of a gardener instead of the robes of a bishop, according to some because the mes sengers sent to fetch him to the cathedral found him at work in a garden, whilst others see in his costume an allusion to the rich spiritual harvest gathered in by him during his episcopate. a dove is now and then also introduced above his head, for the divine will is said to have been revealed in his case, as in that of so many others, by a dove singling him out from amongst other candidates. one of the very few martyred churchmen of the fifth century was st. nicasius of rheims, who, when his city was besieged by the barbarians, went forth with his sister st. eutropia at the head of his clergy to ask for an interview with their leader, but was attacked, before his request could be granted, by a soldier, who cut off the upper part of his head. st. eutropia, who feared a worse fate than death, is said to have given one of the soldiers standing by a box on the ear, thus ensuring her own murder; an incident graphically rendered in some sculptures of the cathedral of rheims. st. nicasius is some times represented, as in a painting by jan schorel in the munich gallery, carrying his own head, for, according to 232 the saints in christian art tradition, he returned to the cathedral after his assassination with his skull in his hand, and only fell down lifeless when he reached the altar. he and st. eutropia were buried together in the church named after the latter, but their remains were later translated to the cathedral. two celebrated bishops of orleans who lived in the fifth century were saints euvertius and aignan, to the former the dove is given as attribute for the same reason as to st. hilary of aries and the columbini, and the latter was the disciple of st. euvertius, who chose him as his successor before his death. the two are often represented together, the dying bishop presenting his pastoral staff to his pupil. st. aignan is also sometimes introduced praying for his people on the ramparts of a besieged town, for it is related that when all hope of rescue seemed' gone, it was revealed to him from heaven that a roman army was at hand. st. aubin of angers is another bishop who appears some times in french ecclesiastical decoration, and is chiefly remembered for his skill in curing the sick and suffering, especially the blind. it is related of st. aubin that one day when he passed a prison, and the captives within called to him for aid, his earnest prayers opened the doors of their dungeon, for which reason chains are one of the attributes given to him. sometimes the holy bishop is represented seated in a pulpit, with his disciples around him, for he is said to have been never weary of teaching them, and occasionally, though the reason is obscure, his robes are replaced by armour, or a suit of mail is introduced at his feet, some say in token of the conflict he waged with evil. st. remigius of rheims, specially celebrated in the history of the early church of gaul, on account of his having baptized king clovis of paris, may be distinguished amongst other bishops by the phial of oil he generally holds in his hand. as is well known, it was customary, in the case of the baptism of adults, for that rite to be immediately succeeded by confirma tion, and it has been claimed by certain french authors that the chrism required for the second ceremony was miraculously supplied to st. remigius, whilst others relate a similar incident in connection with the confirmation of a less important convert than the king. the dove which is associated with st. remigius is not, as is generally the case, the symbol of the interference of st. germanus of paris 233 god at his election as bishop, but typifies the reconciliation to the church of the heathen monarch, for, according to a touching legend, a dove was sent from heaven to announce to the saint the approaching happy cessation of the floods of barbarism, which were to be whelmed back by the all-powerful influence of the new religion. in addition to the emblems of the phial and the dove, chains are also sometimes associated with st. remigius, in allusion to his successful pleadiiig with king clovis, on behalf of the prisoners taken before that ruler's conversion. the most frequently rendered scene of the life of the great bishop is the baptism of clovis, which is the subject of a fine modern group of sculpture in the pantheon, paris, and of one on the tomb of st. remigius in st. remi, rheims, which church also owns some quaint sixteenth-century tapestries representing other incidents of his career. though generally represented alone, st. remigius is sometimes grouped with his mother, st. celine, and his nurse, st. balsamic, who are both honoured in france, though very little is known about them. st. germanus of paris, who is even more beloved in his native country than st. remigius, is said to have received in a dream a key from st. peter, who told him that he would one day save the capital of france, a prophecy fulfilled three years afterwards, when the bishop successfully intervened in the disputes between the successors of clovis. for this reason a key is the chief attribute of st. germanus, but he also some times holds an image of the blessed virgin — because he is said to have had one always with him — or a chain, the latter in token of his having often pleaded the cause of captives. it is related that after his death it was impossible to lift his bier until some prisoners were sent for, who carried it to its final resting-place. of st. melanius of rennes, and st. sidonis apollinares of clermont also, wonderful things are told in the dioceses over which they ruled. the former cast out devils by giving a box on the ear to those tormented by them, and after his death, which took place away from home, the boat bearing his remains to rennes, made its own way thither without rudder, sails, or oars, two incidents sometimes represented by french artists. st. sidonis, who had achieved nothing very remark able in his life, is celebrated for having caused the sudden death of an unworthy priest who aspired to be his successor. 234 the saints in christian art just as the latter was sitting down to table after washing his hands ; a gruesome interference from beyond the grave, which is occasionally introduced in french mural paintings. three celebrated italian bishops of the same century were saints peter chrysologus of ravenna, epiphany of pavia, and petronius of bologna, with whom may be classed the humble deacon, st. marinus of rimini. the first-named, who is sup posed to be able to save his votaries from madness and from fever, is said to have been chosen bishop through the special intervention of saints peter and apouinaris, who in some old pictures are seen appearing above the heads of the conclave of dignitaries. the two chief attributes of st. peter chry sologus, whose second name was given to him on account of his great eloquence, are a dog at his feet and a kind of paten held in his hand, the former in allusion to his having aided those bitten by mad dogs ; the latter, according to some, in memory of the fact that the empress placidia had a plate of corn, on which the saint had given her a loaf of barley bread, enshrined in silver. others are, however, of opinion that it has reference to a certain plate preserved at imola, the birthplace of the saint, with the aid of which many marvellous cures have been effected, water which has been placed in it having restored the mad to sanity and the sick to health. st. epiphany of pavia, who appears occasionally either alone or with other saints, with prisoners in chains beside him, is said to have done much during his episcopate to aid the captives taken to france by the burgundians after the war. thousands were restored to their native land through the eloquent pleading of the good bishop, who made many journeys between pavia and the scene of their sufferings, healing the sick by the way, and winning the love and ad miration even of those most bitter against his fellow-country men. st. petronius of ravenna, whose chief characteristic is a little church, with the celebrated leaning tower beside it, held in his right hand, was particularly active in rebuilding the places of worship destroyed by the barbarians in the years immediately preceding his election, and is much reverenced in northern italy for his earnest eloquence and his devotion to the poor. st. marinus, whose attributes in art are a bear at his feet st. gerasimus 235 and a chisel in his hand, became greatly celebrated on account of the work he did for the church. he was a native of dalmatia, a stone-cutter by trade, and withdrew with a friend named leo to a hill near by, where they built a little chapel with their own hands. st. marinus came to rimini to obtain employment when that town was being rebuilt after its destruc tion in the early part of the fifth century. it is related that many christian slaves were employed in tasks beyond their strength, and that saints marinus and leo set to work to help them, performing many prodigies on their behalf. when a donkey they had hired to carry the stones from the quarry was devoured by a bear, st. marinus compelled the latter to do the work of its victim, and every day the huge creature might be seen meekly dragging a laden cart through the city. the bishop of rimini, struck by the wonder-working power of st. marinus, insisted on ordaining him deacon, but, in spite of his new dignity he continued to practise his trade till he died, in a cave near his chapel, which is still shown, and known as the pcenitentia sancti marini. chapter xxiv hermits and other recluses of the fifth century of the many saintly men who in the fifth century withdrew to serve god in the desert alone, or in the company of other monks, none was more beloved in his day than st. gerasimus, whose emblem in art is a lion, and of whom a legend is told resembling that of st. jerome. after living for many years in the desert of thebes, st. gerasimus passed over to syria, where he was elected abbot of a monastery on the jordan. in spite of his position as head of the community, he delighted in performing the humblest tasks for the brethren, and he used to go down daily to the river with a donkey to fetch water. one day, as the two were plodding along together, the donkey began to tremble and refused to move. st. gerasimus, puzzled at this behaviour, tried to lead the animal further in vain. presently a lion came out of the bush hard by, and, limping up to st. gerasimus, who showed no signs of fear, held up a paw 236 the saints in christian art pierced with a large thorn. st. gerasimus took the thorn out, the lion submitting very quietly, and when the operation was over he licked the hands of his doctor with every sign of affection. after this the lion refused to leave the saint, and although at first the monks were afraid of him, they soon saw that he meant to do them no harm. he used to sleep outside the cell of st. gerasimus, and go down with him and the donkey to the river every day. all went well until on one occasion the abbot was called away, and the two animals were left to perform their task alone. the donkey went down to the river, but the lion fell asleep by the way, and the donkey was stolen by some wicked men, who found it waiting by the water. when the lion woke, he went back alone to the monastery, and the monks, not unnaturally, thought he had killed and eaten his companion. they wanted to drive the lion away, but st. gerasimus refused to allow them to do so, and only punished him by making him henceforth do the donkey's work. in the end the donkey was recovered, for one day the merchants who had stolen it passed the abbot and his lion as they were going to the river. the lion dashed in amongst the animals, seized his old friend by the bridle, and dragged him to st. gerasimus, who recognised him at once. the merchants, full of terror at the strange occurrence, confessed their crime and were forgiven. the lion was restored to full favour at the monastery, and lived there until the death of st. gerasimus, when he refused to take food, and died stretched out upon the grave of his beloved master. st. john the silent, who is occasionally represented with his finger on his lips, a constellation of the form of a cross above his head, and a lion beside him, was another abbot who cared not at all for the dignity of his position, and, after ruling a monastery for some little time, withdrew to another under the care of st. sabas, led thither by a cross in the sky in reply to a prayer for guidance. he confided his rank to no one but the abbot, and for twenty years served the brethren in a menial capacity without speaking a word. the lion associated with him, as with so many other hermits, is variously explained, some asserting that he was protected by one when his monastery was attacked by saracens ; others, that he rescued his fellow-monks from the onslaught of a lion, which lay down at his feet in obedience to a mere gesture of command. st. sabas 237 st. gildas the wise, who is distinguished in art by a bell in his hand or beside him, and by water gushing up at his feet, was a celebrated abbot of brittany, who is said to have crossed the channel with no other vessel than his own cloak, and to have made great friends with st. bridget of ireland, at whose request for some memento of his visit he presented her with a bell. it is also related of st. gildas that he obtained water for his monks by merely striking the ground with his staff, and that he was able with his wise words of counsel to heal all who came to him, whether in mental or bodily distress. st. sabas, to whom st. john the silent was miraculously led, was one of the most celebrated patriarchs of the monks of the holy land, and is sometimes represented in art conversing with the emperor justinian, who constantly sought his advice. he is also sometimes seen standing alone, holding an apple in his hand, in memory of his having stolen one as a boy, in remorse for which crime he never again touched fruit ; or pray ing in a cave, with a lion beside him. st. sabas resolved to dedicate his life to god when he was still a child, and when a young man he withdrew to a lonely cave in palestine, which, it is said, was already occupied by a lion. the animal showed no resentment at the intrusion, but when st. sabas fell asleep tried to drag him out of the cave by his clothes. the holy man, aroused by this arbitrary proceeding, remonstrated with the words, ' it is not fitting that thou shouldst turn out one made in the image of god,' at which the lion desisted, and hence forth the two dwelt together in amity. in course of time the holiness of st. sabas attracted many to his retreat, and, in spite of his own reluctance, he was compelled to take charge first of one, and then another, community of monks. he died at the age of ninety-four, having done much for the cause of religion through his influence with the emperor. st. theodosius, long superior-general of the monasteries of palestine, whose attributes in art are a purse, a coffin, an hour glass, and some ears of wheat, began his religious life as a hermit, but, like st. sabas, was compelled by pressure from the ecclesiastical authorities, to take an active share in the govern ment of the many communities of monks, which were now scattered about the holy land. it is related that the emperor anastasius tried to bribe the holy man with thirty pieces of gold — hence the emblem of the purse — to act against the con 238 the saints in christian art victions of his conscience, but that st. theodosius, ignoring the snare laid for him, gave all the money to the poor, and con tinued to oppose the imperial donor as strenuously as ever. the ears of corn are in allusion to a miraculous multiplication of grain for the use of his monastery, through the prayers of the saint ; the coffin and the hour-glass to a tradition that on one occasion he had a coffin brought into the refectory when the brethren were assembled for a meal, and asked if any one of them would care to occupy it. a young monk came forward, stretched himself in the coffin, and peacefully expired — a grue some incident which st. theodosius made the text of a solemn discourse on the superiority of eternal life to that on earth. the famous monk is also said to have been the means of the winning of a great victory over the persians by the count of the east, to whom he gave his hair-cloth shirt, which, when waved in front of the enemy, drove them back in con fusion. of the brothers saints romanus and lupicienus, who are occasionally represented together, with a pile of pieces of money at their feet, or with a demon throwing stones at them, various quaint stories are told. as young men they retired to the desert, determined to serve god in seclusion for the rest of their lives ; but, as they knelt together in prayer in their cave, the evil one appeared to them and tried to kill them by rolling stones down upon them. they fled in terror, and a woman of whom they asked hospitality laughed at them, tell ing them they were easily daunted. they then returned to their retreat, and were not again molested. as usual in cases such as theirs, the fame of their holiness spread far and near, so that their little cell became the nucleus of several important monasteries, over which they ruled with justice and wisdom. when they were anxious how to feed their nionks in a famine, an angel appeared to them, and led them to a secret storehouse of gold in a rock, hence the emblem of the pieces of money at their feet. indeed, in every difficulty, supernatural aid was granted to them. st. romanus died about 460, and his brother survived him for twenty years. another celebrated fifth-century recluse was st. florent of glonne, near saumur, who is associated in art with a boat, a dragon, and a flower, the first because he is said to have crossed the rhone in a leaky boat, with no crew but an angel at the helm ; st. john calybite 239 the second on account of his having, it is supposed, drowned a venomous dragon in the same river ; and the third in allusion to his name. st. florent is said to have been greatly attracted by the preaching of st. martin of tours, to whom he wished to attach himself as deacon, but the holy bishop told him he could be more useful elsewhere, and sent him to preach the gospel on the banks of the loire, where he won many to christ, and before his death, supposed to have taken place in 440, he founded an important monastery, of which, however, no trace now remains. of st. john calybite, whose emblem in art is a hut, and who is sometimes represented asking alms as he stands at its entrance, a touching story is told. the only son of wealthy parents, he was born at constantinople, and brought up to inherit his parents' riches. when he was about fifteen, a monk spent a few days in his home, and persuaded him that it was his duty to retire to the desert, whether he could win the consent of his father or not. st. john duly asked his parents to let him go with the holy man, but when they refused he ran away, and although they sought him unceasingly far and near, they knew him no more until just before his death. he was received in a monastery only six miles from his father's house, and it is related that he very soon became terribly home-sick, though every entreaty for permission to return to constantinople was refused. at last he managed to elude the monks by changing clothes with a beggar, and went to live in a shed — hence his second name, ka\ii^»j being the greek for hut — at the gates of his old home, so that he saw his father and mother every day as they went to and fro. they never suspected who he was, but daily sent him a portion of food from their own table. presently, however, it was revealed to st. john that he was about to die, and he sent a message to his mother asking her to come and see him. she complied, and even then he did not tell her who he was, but before she left him he gave her the very bible she had given to him when he was a child. when she got home she showed the book to her husband, say ing, ' is it not like the one we gave to our poor boy ?' * i believe it is the very one,' said the father, and together the parents hastened back to the hut, just in time to see their long lost son die. with his last breath st. john owned the truth, and made his parents promise to bury him where he was. 240 the saints in christian art they did so, and later erected a beautiful church to his memory above his tomb. very similar to the legend of st. john calybite is that of st. alexis of rome, who is said to have deserted his bride on his wedding-day, and, after living as a hermit in the desert for many years, to have returned to the house of his parents, where he spent the rest of his life as a beggar beneath the staircase. he was recognised when his body was being prepared for burial, for a strip of paper was found round his neck on which his name was inscribed. st. alexis is generally represented in the dress and with the gown and staff emble matical of a pilgrim. in the sixteenth-century utrecht missal his whole story is told, and in a quaint venetian engraving, reproduced by fhre cahier in his ' caract^ristiques des saints,' the pope, who was, it is related, miraculously sum moned to the funeral, is seen finding the strip of paper with the name of alexis upon it, whilst in the background the parents are expressing their astonishment with dramatic gestures. great as was the fame for sanctity won by the various recluses whose legends have been related, it has been to a considerable extent overshadowed by that of their remarkable contem porary, st. simeon stylites, or of the pillar, whose attribute in art is a column, on which he is generally represented alone, but occasionally accompanied by an angel, who is ministering to his needs. the son of a poor shepherd of syria, simeon began life as his father's helper, but at the age of thirteen he was led through hearing the beatitudes read, to long to devote himself to serving god alone. he went to consult a hermit who dwelt in a cave near the pastures frequented by the flock under his charge, and asked the holy man how he could win all the promised blessings. he was told that only in solitude could he become good enough to receive the great reward of pleasing god, so he left his old father and the sheep to take care of themselves, whilst he sought his own salvation independently of them. after nine years spent in a remote monastery, where he outshone all the other monks by the fearful tortures he inflicted on himself, he withdrew to telanessa, near antioch, where he had a pillar made 72 feet high and 4 feet square at the top, on which he resolved to spend the rest of his life alone. there he remained for no less than saints patrick and bridget 241 thirty years, preaching daily to the thousands who flocked from all parts to see him, but never indulging himself in any other intercourse with his fellow-creatures. on his death, in 459, he was buried at antioch with great pomp, and many are the miracles said to have been wrought at his tomb. the example set by st. simeon stylites was followed after his death by his pupil, st. daniel of maratha, who lived for thirty-three years on a pillar, four miles from constantinople, and in the sixth century a german monk named wulfailich attempted to live on a column near treves, but he was dis credited by the bishops of the district and compelled to leave his exalted position. since then the custom has died out in the western church, though in the eastern pillar saints were venerated as late as the twelfth century. chapter xxv saints patrick and bridget of ireland there are few more romantic legends than those of saints patrick and bridget, two saints of the fifth century, whose memory is peculiarly dear to the irish, though they are also greatly honoured in the rest of the british isles as well as in france. very little is really known of either of them, but there is absolutely no doubt that they lived and were both earnest workers in the cause of their master, suffering much for the truth, and, although they did not work all the wonderful miracles with which they are credited, achieving many spiritual victories through their simple,child-like faith. st. patrick, who has been well characterized ' as one of the rays and of the flames which the sun of righteousness, jesus christ, sent into the world,' is supposed to have been born in a village on the site of the present kilpatrick, of noble roman parents, who were settled in scotland. his father and grand father were both in holy orders, and his mother is said to have been related to st. martin of tours. he belonged, there fore, to a christian family, and had every possible advantage of education. when he was about sixteen, however, he, was taken prisoner by pirates, and carried by them to ireland, vol. ii. 16 242 the saints in christian art where he was sold to a chief or king named milchu, for whom he worked for six years, in the humble capacity of a swineherd, suffering, no doubt, terribly from his uncongenial surroundings. according to tradition, the piece of land still known as ballylig patrick, or ' the town of the hollow of patrick,' in what is now the county of armagh, was the scene of his humble occupation, and it was probably there that the future apostle of ireland re solved, if ever he obtained his liberty, to dedicate the rest of his life to the service of god. in his lonely hours, with no com panions but his pigs, he was, he says in his own ' confessions,' haunted by visions of children stretching out their little hands to him and crying to him for help, and he knew that these visions were sent to him by the spirit of god. that spirit he felt ever ' burning within him,' and one day, when he was on his knees listening for an answer to his prayers for guidance, it was revealed to him that the time had come for him to return home, to begin the work of evangelization in his own land. a vessel from scotland was even then awaiting him, and with out a moment's hesitation he started for the seashore, though it was many miles distant. arrived on the beach, st. patrick found the ship, and addressed himself to the captain, telling him that he had come to take passage with him. to his surprise — for in his sim plicity he thought the captain would be expecting him — he was roughly told to go about his business; the vessel was not for those who could not pay their passage. disappointed, but still full of faith in the spirit which had led him so far, patrick turned away and knelt down on the beach to pray for further guidance. the captain watched him, and touched by his quiet submission to the repulse, or perhaps impelled by the same spirit as that which had led the boy to him, he sent some sailors to tell him he might return. patrick gladly availed himself of the permission, and was taken back to his native land. unfortunately, there is a break in the narrative of the saint's career at this very interesting crisis. no one knows how long he remained with his parents, or what decided him eventually to return to ireland, after an absence of no less than thirty-six years. some say he went to rome, and was appointed missionary bishop of the land of his captivity by pope celestine ; others, that he never reached the eternal city, but spent the prime of his manhood in the st. patrick 243 north of france, becoming the close friend and fellow-worker of st. germanus of auxerre. however he may have spent the intervening years, it seems certain that st. patrick was quite an old man when he at last began the work of the evangelization of ireland, with which his name is inseparably connected. he is supposed to have touched first at the island off the coast of leinster, still known as inis patrick, and thence to have gone northward to the country ruled over by his old master, milchu, whom he would gladly have made the first-fruits of his mission. the rumour of the approach of a stranger with a large following reached the old chief, who inquired of his druids what the event might portend. he was told that the traveller was mightier than himself, and predestined to overcome him and his people. hearing this, milchu, who interpreted the pro phecy literally, determined to anticipate his doom. making a funeral-pyre of his household goods, he set fire to it, and, plunging into the flames, was burnt to death, thus offering up, as he thought, a propitiatory sacrifice to the offended gods. disappointed in his hopes of winning milchu to the true faith, st. patrick now sought an audience with the chief of all the chiefs, or the over-king of ireland, leoghaire, or leary, whose camp he reached on the eve of the great heathen festival known as the feast of tara, which that year happened to fall at the same time as the christian easter. now, on that solemn night it was customary that every fire should be quenched throughout the length and breadth of ireland, that the contrast might be the greater when, on the following morn ing, the mighty fire of tara should illuminate the land. for the infringement of the law the penalty was instant death, and hitherto none had been known to escape. knowing nothing of this custom, though if he had known it would probably have made no difference to him, st. patrick ordered the kindling of the ' paschal consecrated fire,' by which to keep vigil through the hours before the dawn of the resurrection morning. when the heathen camp was wrapped in the deepest gloom, the flames of the christians' pile shot up to heaven, illuminating the whole district. leoghaire, aroused from his meditations, sent his wise men to inquire the meaning of the extraordinary phe nomenon, and when they returned their account aroused him 16 — 2 244 the saints in christian art to the greatest fury. ' he who lit that fire,' the chief magician said, ' will vanquish all the kings of ireland, and his fire will burn till domesday, unless it be immediately extinguished.' ' we will go and put it out at once,' said leoghaire, ' and slay him who has dared to defy us thus.' then the chief of chiefs, followed by all his mighty men of war, went to st. patrick's camp, and summoned him to come forth from his tent to answer for what he had done. the mis sionary, roused from his devotions, obeyed, and, greeting his visitor with the words, ' some trust in chariots, and some in horses, but we in the name of the lord,' quickly proceeded to turn the tables against him. instead of putting the lighter of the fire to death, leoghaire found himself compelled to listen patiently to a sermon from him, in the course of which st. patrick is said to have plucked a shamrock and shown it to the heathen chief, as a symbol of the triune god. this was, according to some, the original reason for the adoption of the shamrock as the national emblem of ireland, though others dis pute alike the incident and the supposed result. whatever may have been the arguments used, however, leoghaire was so impressed by the power of st. patrick that he desisted from the idea of slaying him immediately, or even interfering with his fire. indeed, the chief pretended to be converted, and ordered his people not to molest the strangers, determining to get rid of them by stratagem. when he had, or thought he had, lulled them into a sense of security, he laid an ambush for them, placing a number of armed men in a narrow pass through which they had to go ; but, though the would-be assassins waited several days, no one appeared, and it afterwards turned out that the missionaries had assumed the form of deer, thus escaping the danger. the quaint legend adds the circumstan tial detail that the deer were followed by a fawn bearing a kind of bundle on its back, but the fawn was really a boy named benen, who was the constant attendant of st. patrick. in memory of this remarkable escape, the christian leader com posed the beautiful old hymn known as the ' deer's cry,' in which he pleaded to be preserved ' against black laws of heathenry, spells of women, smiths, and wizards,' etc. st. patrick is supposed to have lived to a very great age, and to have converted the whole of ireland to christianity, bap tizing all the kings, his journeys to and fro being everywhere st. patrick 245 marked by miracles of healing, and miraculous escapes. amongst other wonderful works, he is said to have banished all venomous reptiles from ireland, which is probably merely a poetic way of expressing his victory over evil. he consecrated no less than 450 bishops, ordained thousands of priests, and re ceived the vows of countless monks and nuns. amongst the last-named were the two daughters of the treacherous leo ghaire, named ethne the fair and fedelm the ruddy, who one day, when they went to the well to fetch water, found st. patrick and his clergy there, all in their white robes, holding an open-air service. the story of the conversation between the innocent girls and the venerable missionary is full of poetry, and wonderfully significant of the simplicity with which the good tidings of the gospel were often received in those early unsophisticated days. to the naive inquiry of one of the maidens, ' are ye of the elves or of the gods ?' st. patrick answered, ' it were better for you to believe in god than to inquire of our race,' to which ethne the fair replied, ' who, then, is your god, and where is he ? . . . tell us about him. ... is he ever-living? is he beautiful ?' then the mission ary, filled with the holy spirit, told the innocent maidens all he knew of the ever-living and noble redeemer, so touching their hearts that they asked to be received into the church then and there. almost immediately afterwards they died of pure joy, at which consummation, though st. patrick rejoiced, the heathen were, not altogether unnaturally, considerably incensed. st. patrick is said to have set his heart on dying at armagh, where he had founded one of the most important of the many churches built under his superintendence. ' it is armagh that i love — a dear thorpe, a dear hill, a fortress which my soul haunteth,' he had said in his beautiful ' song of armagh ' ; but his wish was not fulfilled, for he breathed his last in a shed given to him by his first convert, the chief lechu, at the little village of saul, the name of which means ' barn,' where he had begun his work in ireland. he was buried with much pomp and ceremony at down, in a church bearing his name, which was destroyed in the sixteenth century, when his remains were burnt. one of the most noteworthy characteristics of st. patrick in art is a cave or hole in the ground, from which flames are 246 the saints in christian art issuing, and near to which he kneels in his bishop's robes. this is in allusion to a tradition that for many years after the death of the apostle of ireland there existed on a little island of lake dearg, in western ulster, a cave known as the purga tory of st. patrick, in which a fire was ever burning. into this cave, which was entered through a disused well, it was customary for pilgrims to go, with a view to anticipating in this life the expiatory pangs of purgatory, and from it many returned with all their evil tendencies burnt away. the island became in course of time dotted with the huts put up to shelter the pilgrims who came to perform this strange penance, and the story of the wonderful physical and spiritual cures effected by the influence of st. patrick spread far and wide, inspiring the spanish poet calderon with the religious drama known as ' el purgatorio de san patricio.' the purgatory is alluded to in the old office which used to be recited in ireland on march 17, the f6te day of the saint, and there are references to it in many fifteenth and sixteenth century breviaries. as late as the seventeenth century traces remained of the buildings erected near the cave, and the abbot of a monastery on the isle of dearg was called the prior of the purgatory of st. patrick. a painting by giuseppe passeri, a little-known master of the same period, represents an angel kneeling beside st. patrick and holding a scroll on which is a quaint drawing of a well, the rim of which is encircled with flames. as a rule, st. patrick is represented holding his bishop's crosier, round about the staff of which a serpent is twined, in memory of the tradition that he drove all venomous snakes out of ireland. occasionally he is actually surrounded by serpents, who are shrinking away from him in terror, and now and then a harp, one of the national emblems of ireland, replaces the crosier, some say because of the fervour of the saint's interces sion for his adopted country after his death, whilst others see in it merely an allusion to his friendship during life with the bards of erin. oq a medal, reproduced by p^re cahier in his ' caractdris^iques des saints,' king david holding his harp appears on one side, and st. patrick on thq other. now and then st. patrick is represented kneeling at the feet of pope celestine, from whom he is receiving his decretals as missionary bishop of ireland, but a more favourite subject is the b^ptisip pf a certain king, whose foot the bishop is said st. bridget 347 to have wounded by accidentally dropping the point of his crosier upon it. the neophyte took no notice of the wound, thinking its infliction was part of the christian ceremony, and st. patrick did not observe it, until he saw a stream of blood staining the ground. other incidents of the life and legend of st. patrick, which are sometimes introduced in churches dedicated to him, are the overturning of the idol of the sun, an image of gold to which it is said hundreds of children were daily offered up; the giving of sight to a man who had been born blind ; and the restoration to life of a number of long-buried christians, whom the saint is said to have summoned to arise and bear witness to the truth of his doctrine. full as is the legend of st. patrick of romantic beauty, it is equalled if not excelled by that of st. bridget, who ranks with him and st. columba, the apostle of scotland, as one of the most revered saints of ireland. the daughter of a great irish chieftain named dubtach and a beautiful slave, bridget, or bride, as she is sometimes called, was brought into the world under a cloud of disgrace, for her mother is said to have been driven out of the house of her lover and master by his legitimate wife, just before the birth of her little one. in spite of this unpropitious beginning, however, the future saint was brought up as a christian, and when she was about three or four years old she was received into her father's house. she was often, it is said, taken to hear st. patrick preach, and on one occasion fell asleep during his sermon. before she was fourteen she had resolved to dedicate her life to god, but her father opposed her and wished her to marry a wealthy suitor. to escape from what she considered a desecration, bridget prayed to god to destroy the beauty that made her so attractive to men, and it is said that her petition was answered by the loss of one of her eyes. some claim that she received the veil from the hands of st. patrick himself, whilst others assign that honour to st. mel, the nephew and disciple of the great apostle of ireland. who ever was the officiating bishop on the occasion, three very re markable incidents are said to have occurred at st. bridget's consecration : a column of fire descended upon her head as she knelt at the feet of the holy man, hence her name of the fiery dart ; when his hands had touched her, and the dedica tion to god was irrevocable, her sight was restored to her ; and 248 the saints in christian art when she laid her hand upon the altar, which was of wood, it sent forth a living green shoot. this last miracle is, however, by some assigned to a later period, when certain aspersions had been cast on the reputation of the saint, and her innocence was proved by the sprouting forth of a branch on the altar at which she knelt, praying god to vindicate her by some sign of his favour. after her consecration st. bridget withdrew with two or three companions, who had also taken the vows, to a grove of oaks on the site of the present kildare, the name of which signifies the ' cell (or church) of the oak,' and the holy women had not been there long before the fame of their wonderful piety spread far and near. on one occasion, when a tame wolf belonging to the chief of the district had been shot by mistake by a peasant, st. bridget saved the culprit from death by calling to her side a fierce white wolf, which after she had touched it became as meek as a lamb, followed her to the palace, and took the place of the lost pet. this was but one amongst many instances of the power of the saintly maiden over wild animals, and her home in the oak grove was soon sought by all in need of her intervention with the dumb creatures. the little community at kildare quickly became the nucleus of a great community of virgins, who lived in separate cells, meeting for meals and prayer only, and looking up to st. bridget as their head. the abbess, though undoubtedly an excellent guide in all things connected with the spiritual life, seems to have been a very indifferent housekeeper, the result, perhaps, of the fact that, even when she was in her father's home, miracles had been performed to save her from the effects of her improvidence, for, when she had given all the milk and butter under her care to the poor, her stepmother always found the right quantity in the pans when she went to inspect the dairy. all through her life st. bridget met with similar good luck, if luck it could be called. when a bishop came to her settlement in the grove with a long train of attendant priests, and the larder in the big oak was bare, the abbess merely milked the one cow owned by the community three times and all their wants were supplied. again, when st. bridget came in from an excursion wet through and sought in her cell for somewhere to hang her dripping cloak, a sunbeam, strong enough to sustain its weight, darted in at the slit serving as window, and on this sunbeam the st. bridget 249 cloak remained until it was dry. throughout her long and chequered career there was never any need for the favoured saint to take thought for the morrow; she was so hedged about with love, both human and divine, that every need was supplied as soon as it arose. as a matter of course, the fame of all these wonders spread far and near, and the ' fiery dart,' or, as she was sometimes called, the ' mary of the irish,' because a certain holy man who had seen the blessed virgin in a vision had hailed bridget as her living image, soon rivalled even st. patrick in the number and zeal of her followers. the white-cloaked sisters of the order of st. bridget were to be seen all over ireland, and many were the churches and monasteries which were built through their initiative. the rule given to these holy women by their revered abbess was, though extremely rigid so far as individual conduct was concerned, remarkably unconventional with regard to the relations of the nuns with the outside world. they sought to serve god rather by going out amongst the poor and suffering than by shutting themselves away from all human intercourse, and st. bridget herself seems to have led quite an exciting life ; driving about in her chariot and pair to preach in the open air, or to visit some royal convert. on one occasion she nearly lost her life through her naive endeavour to do two things at once. the driver of her chariot was also the chaplain of her nunnery, and, st. bridget having asked his advice in some spiritual difficulty, he forgot to guide his steeds as he answered her. the result was that one of them ran away, and the other slipped partly down a precipice, dragging the chariot after him. nothing dismayed, the charioteer continued to hold forth and the nun to listen, never recognising their peril, till a rush to their rescue from some passers-by brought them face to face with the reality. before his death st. patrick had asked that his shroud should be worked by st. bridget, and it would seem as if the very spirit of the great apostle had remained with her, for after her sacred task was completed her power over evil was greatly increased. even the mad and distraught are said to have recognised her superiority at a glance, and as long as she was present their ravings would cease. once a dangerous lunatic who had escaped from confinement dashed in amongst the white-cloaked nuns, who, led by st. bridget, were proceeding 250 the saints in christian art to some service. all except the abbess fled at his approach, but she addressed the sufferer calmly, calling upon him to quote some words of his master and her own. at once he became calm, and replied in a steady voice : ' o holy bridget, i obey thee. love god and all vi^ill love thee . . . fear god and all will fear thee.' the recovery was, however, only temporary, and the next moment the glimpse of reason was gone. the poor man fled away again as mad as ever, but the nuns never forgot the incident. st. bridget, like st. patrick, is said to have lived to a great age, but nothing certain is known of the date or manner of her death. she is supposed, however, to have drawn her last breath in her convent at kildare, surrounded by her sister nuns, and a fire was kept burning there in her honour until it was quenched in 1220 by order of the bishop of the diocese. later, st. bridget's fire was re-kindled for a time, but at the reformation its continuance was again forbidden. no human veto could, however, quench the fire of love for the maiden saint, which still glows in the hearts of her votaries. more churches have been built in her honour, more children have been named after her, than after any other irish saint, and her memory is preserved in many a village remote from the scene of her earthly pilgrimage. kilbrides are nearly as numerous in scotland as in ireland ; kirkbride, bridekirk, and brigham in cumberland, with bridstow and bridge-rule in devon shire, are all memorials of her, and the church of st. bride's, in fleet street, as well as the prison of bridewell, prove that even in the time of wren she was still held in honour in protestant london. st. bridget is generally represented wearing the picturesque dress of her order, with the long white cloak and hood forming a becoming framework to the face. she holds a large bowl in her hands, and a cow is introduced beside her in memory of the miraculous supply of milk and butter, alluded to above, on account of which she is supposed to be the special patron of cows, especially in certain districts of belgium, where the peasants bring rings and other small articles to be blessed by the priest on her f6te day, february i, in the belief that their sick cattle will be healed by being touched with them. some times st. bridget holds a crosier as abbess, sometimes a green branch, the latter in allusion to the miracle of the altar. more saints benedict and scholastica 251 rarely a column of fire is seen above her head, or it is introduced over the cell in which she is praying. instances also occur of a goose being placed beside her, the reason for which is obscure, but it has been suggested that it is because that bird is the type of the end as well as the beginning of winter, and in the south spring begins about february i, the fete day of the saint. chapter xxvi saints benedict, scholastica, maurus, and placidus first in order of date and, to a certain extent, first also in importance of the great monastic orders which were later to exercise so wide an influence, not only over the history of the church but also over that of civilization and of art, was the benedictine, named after its founder, st. benedict, a. young italian of^noble birth, (who was born at nursia, near spoleto, iii^45o~a.d. sent from a refined and secluded home, where his only com panion had been his twin sister, scholastica, to a public school in rome, the young benedict found himself surrounded by careless and, in some cases, profligate companions, whose laxity of manners and of principle shocked him at every turn. he had not been long in the capital before he resolved to run away and emulate the example of the holy hermits, of whose self-denying lives he had been told at his mother's knee. the only person he took into his confidence in this important resolve was his old nurse, cyrilla, who seems to have been sent to rome to look after him. she, too, had doubtless been shocked by the behaviour of the fellow scholars of her beloved nursling, and agreed to assist him in his escape. together the two crept out of the city at night, and made their way on foot to the little town of affile, where they were kindly welcomed by certain holy men, who gave them the use of a little house beside the church. here they dwelt happily together for some time, and here was wrought the first of the many miracles with which the name of st. benedict is associated. cyrilla broke an earthenware sieve, which was one of her house hold treasures, and the future saint mended it successfully by making over it the sign of the cross. 252 the saints in christian art as was but natural, the quiet untroubled life in the little house soon palled upon the boy, eager for a real battle in the cause of the master to. whom he meant to devote his life. to be waited on at every turn by his nurse, and perhaps to be presently taken back by her to his parents, was not at all what the young ascetic had aimed at in his flight from rome. he, therefore, resolved to slip away from his friends at affile, and one morning, when cyrilla summoned him as usual to the morning meal, he was nowhere to be found. though she sought him far and near, she did not discover his retreat, and for three whole years he reniained hidden in a cave still shown as ii sacro speco, or the holy grotto, in the then deserted district of sublaqueum, from which the modern town of subiaco takes its name, near to which rise up two of the twelve monasteries later founded by st. benedict, the church of one of them still retaining some faded frescoes illustrative of the life of the founder. during the time of lonely prayer and vigil in his cave st. benedict was seen by no one except a fellow hermit called romano, who lived in a hill a little above his retreat, and is said to have daily given him a portion of his own food, conveying it to him through a hole in the roof of the cave by a rope, to which a bell was attached. as a matter of course, the temptations with which the young recluse was assailed in the three years of preparation for the great work of his life were many and terrible. he himself has told how sometimes the longing for home and love, above all for the love of wife and child, became almost unbearable, and to distract his thoughts from the happy visions of a fireside of his own, which continually haunted him, he used to roll himself naked amongst the brambles near his cave. the monks of subiaco still show a rose-bush with specially vicious-looking thorns that they assert is a lineal descendant of one of those which were the instruments of their founder's self-discipline and some of the holy fathers, gifted with keen, imaginative vision, are able to make out on each leaf the impress of a tiny black serpent, the indelible memorial of the victory over the evil one. at the end of the three years of lonely struggle with his own self-will, st. benedict, who was now a man, with a man's strength of purpose, felt that he had won the light and peace he sought. he was no longer distracted with doubts as to his alinari photo] \_vatican, rome st. benedict by perugiiio to face p. 252 st. benedict 253 duty, for that duty lay clearly before him. he had to found what he called * a school of service to his lord,' which should have none of the faults of the institution to which he had himself been sent in rome, but should lead its scholars heavenwards. he had made straight paths for his own feet from which he never again turned aside ; it was now time to teach others to walk in those paths. he began his ministrations by teaching the poor shepherds of the hills who came to him for physical or spiritual help, bringing their sick to be healed, and vying with each other in their eagerness to supply the needs of the recluse. the fame of the wonders wrought by st. benedict soon spread through the whole district, and presently he received an urgent invitation to become their head, from a community of hermits in the neighbourhood. st. benedict at first refused, but, on being eagerly pressed to reconsider his decision, he agreed to go to the monastery for a time, hoping to be able to reform the abuses he knew prevailed in it. the hermits, who had merely hoped that the residence of the saint amongst them might redound to their credit, soon found themselves in the position of the frogs who had clamoured for a king. their new chief began by laying down a code of rules so strict that an open rebellion at once broke out. instead of bringing to the community a fresh access of honour and glory, the abbot wished to enforce literally the vows of poverty and seclusion, and the monks, after trying in vain to bring him to their way of thinking, resolved to poison him in a cup of wine. pretending that they had brought him a draught of specially good vintage, the wicked men presented the cup to him, and st. benedict, who had guessed their evil design, received it with a smile. before raising it to his lips, however, he blessedit, making over it the sign of the cross! at this, the cup broke in his hands, and its contents were spilled on the ground at his feet. looking sternly at his would-be murderers, who stood trembling before him, the saint told them that it was evident he was not the abbot they needed, and without another word he left the monastery, returning for a time to his old cave. the fame of the miracle of the cup had, however, preceded him, and very soon the once lonely shores of the lake were dotted with the tents of those who came to join the wonder worker. parents from far and near brought their sons to him, 254 the saints in christian art • begging him to superintend their education, and in the course of a few years no less than twelve monasteries — or, rather, religious colleges — were founded by st. benedict, in each of which he placed twelve pupils under a superior, to whom he gave the rule for the guidance of his ' schools of service to the lord,' still, with certain later modifications, that of the now wide-spread benedictine order. when his twelve monasteries at subiaco were in full working order, st. benedict felt that he might be of greater use else where, and resolved to fix his headquarters on monte cassino, near naples, where the heathen god apollo was still worshipped, and many unholy rites, especially revolting to christians, were practised by his votaries. very soon priests and worshippers were alike converted by the eloquent preaching of st. benedict, who actually succeeded in inducing them of their own free will to pull down the temple, break the idol, and burn the con secrated grove, thus achieving a truly remarkable moral victory. the ground once cleared for action, the reformer next built two chapels, one dedicated to st. john the baptist, the other to st. martin of tours, whom he himself specially venerated, and he then laid the foundations, a little higher up the hill, of a new monastery, which quickly eclipsed the fame of the less ambitious communities at subiaco, and, in spite of their undoubtedly prior claim, is now everywhere looked upon as the parent institution of the benedictine order. here the rule, the main principles of which had already long been laid down and acted upon at subiaco, became finally crystallized into its present form. it comprised the three great laws originally revealed, it is said, by an angel to st. pachomius,* of poverty, chastity, and obedience, to which st. benedict now added the obligation of manual labour and the important condition that, after a novitiate of one year only, the vows taken should be absolutely irrevocable. every day during the probation time the^ entire code was read aloud to the novices, ending with the solemn injunction : ' this is the law under which thou art to live and strive for salvation ; if thou canst observe it, enter; if thou canst not, go in peace, thou art free.' when st. benedict had been for some little time at monte cassino his sister, scholastica, came to live about two miles * see ante, p. 15. st. scholastica 255 from his convent. though she never took any vows, she has been looked upon as the first nun to join her brother's order, and it is certain that a httle community of holy women, who followed a fixed rule of life, soon gathered about her. once a year only the abbot indulged himself in going to see his sister,' to whom he was devotedly attached, and it is related that the last time he was with her before her death she entreated him to remain with her till the next day. he replied that to do so would be to neglect the duty he owed to his monks, from whom he had never yet been absent at night. then st. scholastica bent her head in earnest prayer to god, and even as she prayed a mighty tempest of wind and rain arose, so that it was impossible for anyone to venture forth. recognising in this sudden storm a direct sign from heaven, st. benedict con sented to stop with his sister, and the two talked together until the morning broke. of what they spoke has never been revealed, for st. benedict himself is silent, but the probability is that st. scholastica told her brother that she knew her end was near, and commended to his care the sisters who were to be left without her guidance. she was taken ill two days after wards, and at the moment of her death st. benedict is said to have seen her soul ascending to heaven in the form of a white dove. he sent to ask if she had indeed passed away, and, hearing that it was so, he ordered her body to be brought to his own monastery and buried in the grave he had already pre pared for himself. in spite of this well-contested fact, the people of le mans claim to own the relics of st. scholastica, and assert that her influence saved them from the calvinists in 1563, an episode still commemorated by a solemn procession on her itte day, july 11. another remarkable incident of the latter part of the career of st. benedict was his interview with totila, or badurla, the chivalrous king of the ostrogoths, who, hearing of the holy life led by the abbot of monte cassino, came to ask for his blessing. st. benedict received him courteously, but before he would give him the privilege he sought, he made him confess his past sins, for which he rebuked him as sternly as if he had been one of his own monks. the king eagerly promised amendment, and st. benedict, having forgiven and blessed him, dismissed him with the prophecy : ' thou shalt enter rome and reign nine years, but in the tenth thou shalt die.' 256 the saints in christian art as is well known, though st. benedict himself did not live to see it, his words were literally fulfilled, for after a brief time of triumph, totila was, slain in 552 at the battle of tadino, which finally broke the power of the goths in italy. soon after the memorable visit of totila to monte cassino, st. benedict wsis taken ill, and, after six days of great suffering, he in his turn knew that the end was near. he called his favourite monks around him, bade them open the tomb in which his sister lay, and carry him to it. they obeyed, and, having received the last sacraments, he declared his resolve to meet his judge standing, and by a great effort he rose to his feet. supported by his sorrowing disciples, he put up a last prayer to god to receive his spirit, and so expired. he was buried beside st. scholastica, and, except that some of his bones are said to have been taken in the seventh century to the french abbey of fleury, his remains have been left undisturbed in~their first resting-place. st. gregory the great, who had a profound admiration for st. benedict, relates that, at the moment of the great abbot's death, two of his monks, of whom one was st. maurus, noticed below,* saw a gleaming pathway of light leading up. to the sky, and heard a voice saying, ' lo, this is the path "by which benedict, the beloved of god, hath ascended to heaven.' in works of art st. benedict sometimes wears the black and sometimes the white habit, the former when he appears as the original founder of the subiaco and monte cassino monasteries, the latter when he is represented as patron of the later institutions of the reformed benedictines of clairvaulx, citeaux, camaldoli or vallombrosa. occasionally he is clean shaven, but as a rule he has a long, white beard, and his appearance is extremely noble and dignified. the emblems given to him are numerous, but each one has its very distinctive meaning. the thornybush beside him has reference to the penance he inflicted "sirtiiiftself in his lonely retreat at subiaco ; the holy w ater _seiiakl£r to the power of his holiness over evil spirits ; the broken sieve at his feet recalls his first miracle ; thebroken cup " utr(3ira"^ "oirheld ^n his hand the frustrated attempt to poison him ; the loaro n)r"ead with the_sergent issuing from it another conspiracjra^ibst htttitwhen a poisone3~to3f was sent to him as a gift by his enemies ; the raven generally connected with the bread recalls the traditionthatsl. benedict employed one * see pp. 258, 259. alinari photo\ \_monte oliveioy siena st. benedict leaving home by sodoiiia to face p. 256 st. benedict 257 to take the poisoned food and drop it far away from human habitations; the dove hovering near the saint refers to his vision of his sister's soul on its way to heaven. the long jiilted cro ss bearing the words crmx. sancti patris bme^(^j*sometinq~ettiel"d "by ^f. benedict, as in an old mmiature reproduced by pere cahier in his ' caract6ristiques des saints,' is typical of the victory won by the holy abbot over every evil thing, whilst the same idea is expressed by the scroll in the left hand bearing the legend : crux sacra sit mihi lux, non draco sit mihi dux. vade retro satana, nunquam suade mihi vana ; sunt mala quae libas, ipse venena bibis.t . on the celebrated medal of st. benedict, worn by his votaries as a protection from poison and other perils, these inscriptions are worked in, and are supposed to be efficacious even without the effigy of the saint, which is sometimes omitted. as abbot of monte cassino, st. benedict sometimes holds an open book, on the leaves of which are written the first words of the rule of his order, ausculte, fill, verba magistri (hearken, my son, to the words of thy master). a three-thonged scourge is also occasionally given to him, in memory of his stern self repression ; and a ball of fire appears now and then above his head, because he is said to have seen the soul of st. germanus of capua ascending to heaven at the moment of that prelate's death. instances occur of a bell hanging beside st. benedict, in allusion to a story to the effect that the devil one day broke the bell by means of which the hermit romanus used to let the recluse know that his food was about to be lowered to him. the orsini of italy claim that st. benedict belonged to their family, and for this reason his figure is sometimes worked into their coat of arms. the celebrated abbot is supposed to have the power of saving his votaries from the power of the evil eye, from sorcery, poison, fevers, and from the painful diseases of stone and gravel, the last on account of a miracle he is said to have wrought on behalf of henry ii. of bavaria, who recovered from a long illness through the intercession of st. benedict, to whose tomb at monte cassino he had made a pilgrimage. the incident is commemorated in a finely * the cross of the holy father benedict. • t may the holy cross be my light, may i never follow the serpent. get thee behind me, satan, never entice me to vanity ; as thou to me an evil draught didst offer, so mayst thou thyself have poison to drink. ' vol. ii. 17 258 the saints in christian art sculptured altar-piece originally placed in a church at bile, but now in the cluny museum, paris, in which st. henry — for he, too, has been canonized — kneels with his wife, st. cunegunda, at the feet of the saviour, who is accompanied by three arch angels and st. benedict. amongst the many boys who were sent to subiaco to be educated by st. benedict were two, who later, in their turn became saints, and are so often associated in art with their spiritual father that their stories must be related here. they were maurus, aged ten, the son of a roman patrician named equitius, and_ placidus, aged five, the son of the senator tertullus. the abbot at once became devotedly attached to the little fellows, taking them under his own special care, and bringing them up as if they had been his own children. from the first they were set apart firom their fellow collegians by their earnest love of christ, whose yoke, says an old chronicler, they bore in their earliest youth. on one occasion, when placidus had fallen into the lake when drawing water for the use of the monastery, maurus rushed after him and saved him at the risk of his own life, walking, it is said, upon the surface of the water, as if it had been dry land. as soon as they were old enough, the boys were, by their own choice, admitted into the benedictine order as novices, and they both eventually took upon them the full vows of monks. st. maurus was sent to spread the rule in france, and, after meeting with great success in that country, he is said to have visited england, where, strange to say, his memory is pre served in the surname of seymour, a corruption of st. maur, the famous historic family to which it belongs, having come originally from the norman town of st. maur, named after the benedictine missionary. after a long life of active service, st. maurus died at the abbey of glanfeuil or st. maure-sur loire, which he had himself founded, and was at first buried in its chapel, though his remains were later transferred to st. maur des fosses, two leagues from paris. very different to the peaceful, successful life of st. maurus was that of his foster-brother, st. placidus, who was sent in the first bloom of youth to found a monastery at messina. there he was soon joined by two younger brothers and his sister flavia, who wished to emulate the example of st. scholastica by forming a community of nuns under the '''iidf £.:.. ^^ r ^im^m v:^ ^ ^ili \.-%'^-^' ^•'■■^ i»;c^.'. . k^ ^ k'v m 1^.. 1 ^ e^'.^j^a^i^,'^'.:^ j2ri* t! &||^ i ^bk ^jc^hmt il^'si p m • m 4 ^1 kj _^a«i r^^ j ^ siibplpv' »:: ' " ■*^:.-ife;;.jp^ "'■ ali}i,iri fholo~\ [paniia cniuciy the martyrdom of saints placidus and klavia by cornx'-no to face p. 2=; st. maurus 259 superintendence of her brother. not long after the arrival of the happy family party, and before st. flavia had been able to begin her work, the convent of st. placidus was besieged by pirates, who, having taken the abbot, his sister, and thirty of his monks prisoners, gave them their choice between denial of christ and death. needless to add that they all chose the latter, and they were massacred outside the monastery. saints placidus and flavia being the first to suffer. the bodies of these, the earliest of the many martyrs of the great benedictine order, were left on the ground for some days, but, when the pirates had withdrawn, a survivor from the convent interred the monks where they had fallen, and took the remains of saints placidus and flavia to messina, where they reverently buried them in the church of st. john the baptist. the special attributes of st. maurus are a pair of scales, because it is supposed to have been his business to weigh out the food of the monks at monte cassino ; a pilgrim's staff, because he was sent as a pilgrim to spread the rule in france ; a crutch, on account of the cures said to have been wrought at his tomb at st. maur des foss6s ; or, as in a quaint leaden badge of pilgrimage found in the seine, he has his pastoral staff in his left hand, and a crutch beside him. sometimes st. maurus is seen walking on the water as a grown man, wearing the robes and holding the crozier of an abbot, although he was not even a monk at the time of the rescue of his foster-brother ; or he is represented alone kneeling at an altar and gazing up at the shining path by which he is said to have seen the soul of st. benedict ascending to heaven. as a general rule, however, he is accompanied by saints placidus and flavia, who rank with him as the first missionary saints of the benedictine order, which was later to send forth so many successful preachers of the gospel. st. maurus is specially re veired in france, but is invoked in all roman catholic countries by tinkers, copper-smiths, and braziers, it has been suggested because his name maur resembles the word moor, and the result of following these trades is to make the hands and face black. in belgium st. maurus is also the patron saint of tailors, why it is difficult to explain. as is the case with many monks who made a vow to refrain from unnecessary speech, st. placidus is often represented with 17 — a 26o the saints in christian art his finger on his mouth, a peculiarity which is, however, said to refer to his having had his tongue cut out before he died, which did not prevent his continuing to preach to his murderers until death ended his sufferings. a crescent is also an occa sional attribute of his, because he met his fate at the hands of moorish pirates, and the sword is given to him as having been the instrument of his martyrdom. in the celebrated picture by correggio, now in the parma gallery, painted for the benedictine church of s. giovanni, one assassin is plung ing a sword into the heart of st. flavia, whilst another with raised weapon is about to strike off the head of st. placidus, who awaits the blow kneeling, with a smile full of heavenly joy. amongst the many beautiful representations of st. benedict with his beloved pupil, st. placidus, none is more celebrated than the group by perugino now in the vatican gallery, which formed part of the great painting of the 'ascension' in s. pietro in perugia, the principal scene of which is in the lyons museum. in the centre of the painting is st. benedict wearing the black robe and cowl of his order which set off his pale face and long white beard, holding in his right hand the holy water sprinkler, and in his left a closed book, whilst on one side is st. placidus, and on the other st. flavia, each bearing the martyr's palm. another fine devotional painting in which st. placidus is associated with st. benedict — this time with st. maurus instead of st. flavia opposite to him — ^is the large composition by paolo veronese now in the pitti gallery. in it st. scholastica, her dove above her head, is introduced kneeling with some of her nuns at the feet of her brother, whilst in a glory above is seen the marriage of st. catherine. in the fresco of ' christ in glory ' in the monastery of s. severe at perugia, begun by raphael and completed after his death by perugino, saints benedict, maurus, and placidus are grouped together as equals. in the fine altar-piece by francia now in the parma gallery, st. benedict, with st. giustina, is on one side of the blessed virgin, and saints placidus and scholastica are on the other. in the reliquary designed by pinturicchio, now in the berlin gallery, representing saint augustine in glory with saints bernard and benedict below, the figure of the last-named is st. scholastica 261 remarkably fine ; in the sacristy of s. niccolo at florence is a panel by gentile da fabriano of the ' descent of the holy ghost ' in the form of a dove, beneath which are various groups of saints, including st. benedict leading a chained devil. in perugino's 'assumption of the virgin,' in the academy, florence, st. benedict is ranked with the archangel michael ; in fra angelico's ' great crucifixion,' in s. marco, florence, he stands in a place of honour amongst the principal saints ; in the same subject by perugino, in s. maria dei pazzi, florence, he kneels beside st. john the evangelist ; and in the celebrated lost fresco by correggio of the ' coronation of the virgin,' which was destroyed when the apse of s. giovanni evangelista, at parma, was removed to enlarge the church, but of which there fortunately is a copy in the parma gallery by one of the carracci, saints benedict and maurus are also introduced. a beautiful interpretation of the saintly character of st. scholastica is that by luini, in one of the lunettes of s. maurizio, milan, in which she is grouped with saints agnes and catherine; in certain scenes from the life of her more celebrated brother, she appears with her dove, and sometimes with rain falling near her, in memor}rarthe storm she called up, which has led to her being invoked as a protector in bad weather; or she holds a church in her hand, in allusion to her foundation of the first benedictine nunnery. scarcely, if at all, inferior in beauty to the luini fresco is the altar-piece by francia in the parma gallery, in which saints benedict and giustina are on one side of the virgin, and saints placidus and scholastica on the other, the last-named with her dove, its wings outspread as if to take flight, resting on an open book held in her left hand. in the cloisters of monte oliveto, siena, luca signorelli had painted nine frescoes illustrative of the life of st. benedict, when he was summoned to orvieto. his work at siena was completed by sodoma, and the two sets of frescoes give a fairly complete epitome of the chequered career of the great monk. the first scene by signorelli shows the punishment for the attempt to poison st. benedict, four devils being introduced in the background, tearing down the monastery of the would-be murderers, whilst others are carrying away the soul of father florenzo, the instigator of the crime. this is succeeded by 262 the saints in christian art the first sermon of st. benedict on monte cassino, with the pulling down of the statue of apollo by the converted heathen. the third scene shows the exorcism of the evil spirit, who is endeavouring to stop the building of the monas tery by. sitting on a large stone which several monks are trying to move. then follows the revenge of the demon for his defeat, before the prayers of st. benedict compel him to retire ; then the restoration of a monk to life who had been crushed by a stone in the struggle; several peaceful scenes in the refectory, in one of which the abbot is convicting certain of his monks of having broken their vows of fasting; with a similar subject in the open air, the reproval of a young brother in the presence of the assembled fathers for having yielded to the temptations of the evil one when sent on a mission from the convent. in it the devil appears in the guise of a traveller, his horns poking up through his cap, and listens attentively to the indictment of his victim ; the various scenes in which the young monk had transgressed his vows being depicted in the background. the last two subjects by signorelli are perhaps the best, and give a probably true rendering of two historical incidents : the interview between st. benedict and one of totila's warriors, who pretended to be the chief himself, and whom the abbot accosted with the words, ' put off, my son, these robes which do not belong to you,' and the * recognition of totila,' who kneels at the feet of st. benedict in the presence of his army, and by his attitude expresses the greatest reverence for the man of god. when sodoma took up the unfinished work of signorelli he went back to the beginning of the life of the abbot, his first scene being ' st. benedict leaving home as a boy for the school at rome,' mounted on a w;hite horse, with his nurse in attendance on an ass, and his parents watching his departure, little dreaming that they were never to see him again. the student is next introduced amongst his fellow pupils ; then he appears mending the broken sieve ; receiving the white monastic habit from romano the monk ; kneeling in his cell in prayer whilst the devil in the form of a snake is breaking the cord by which romano is letting down a basket of bread ; eating his easter dinner, brought to him by a priest ; preaching to a group of seven shepherds ; seated reading his bible at the entrance to his cell, and rolling himself in brambles to change monte oliveto, i:iiena st. benedict exorcising the evil spirit by sodo7na to face p. 262 st. benedict 263 the current of his thoughts ; receiving the visit of six hermits, who kneel to entreat him to become their abbot ; frustrating the attempt to poison him and quitting the monastery in anger; superintending the building of the first monastery at subiaco : receiving the two children, maurus and placidus, from their respective fathers ; healing a monk possessed of a devil ; bring ing water from a rock for the use of his monks ; and recovering, in the presence of several spectators, a hatchet which had been dropped into the lake by a labourer. this graphic incident is succeeded by the rescue from drowning of st. placidus and st. maurus, followed by various minor episodes of the life of st. benedict at monte cassino, the series ending with the death of the saint, the funeral mass, the apparition of the abbot to two sleeping monks, and the burning of the monas tery of monte cassino by the goths. other interesting series of scenes from the life of st. benedict are the frescoes, unfortunately much damaged, ascribed to lo zingaro, in the cloisters of s. severino, at naples, those in s. miniato at florence, by spinello aretino, those on the predella of an altar-piece, by francesco di giorgio, in the uffizi gallery, florence, and the ten oil paint ings by philippe de champagne, now in the brussels gallery, probably executed for the abbey of the val de grace, at paris. with these may be named the forty-eight seventeenth-century carved choir-stalls in s. giorgio maggiore, venice, by albert de brule, which give graphic renderings of all the important incidents of the career of the much-loved abbot. separate subjects from the life of st. benedict, or that of st. scholastica, are, of course, of constant occurrence in the convents of the benedictine order, and elsewhere. the ' restoration to life of a child ' has been painted, for instance, by subleyras and lesueur, the ' giving of the rule to the new order ' by simone avanzi, the ' penance of the brambles ' by jacopo palma, the ' sending forth of saints maurus and placidus ' by arrigo fiammingo, the ' bringing of food for st. benedict by peasants ' by guido reni, and the * recogni tion of the equerry of totila ' by de crayer, whilst the ' last visit of st. benedict to his sister,' the ' death of st. scho lastica,' ' st. benedict seeing her soul ascending to heaven,' and the so-called ' sucre morte,' are sometimes added to the incidents enumerated above. 264 the saints in christian art the ' suore morte,' which was included in the now destroyed frescoes by the carracci and their followers in s. michele in bosco at bologna, well-known from engravings, commemorates a quaint legend to the effect that, after their death, two nuns who had greatly troubled st. benedict by their love of gossip during their life, could not rest in their graves until he forgave them. they were buried in the chapel of monte cassino, and whenever the deacon uttered the usual words before the eleva tion ' let those who are excommunicated and forbidden to par take, depart,' two shadowy forms used to emerge from the ground and flit away, until at last st. benedict had pity on them, and told them that their sins were pardoned. occasionally incidents from the legends of saints maurus and placidus are^treated independently of their connection with their celebrated foster-father. in france, where st. maurus is specially honoured, he is often introduced leaning on his abbot's staff, walking on the water upheld by two angels, or receiving from st. benedict the rule of the order, and the scales for weighing the food of the monks. in the south of italy, and in sicily, st. placidus is a very favourite saint, and appears holding his martyr's palm, either alone or with others in ecclesiastical decoration ; receiving a lily from the blessed virgin, a crown from st. joseph, and a cross from the divine child; or kneeling at an altar with a svy^ord in his breast, one hand held by an angel, who catches his blood in a cup. it was not until several centuries after his death that the cult of the great founder of the benedictine order spread beyond his native country, and the first abbey named after him in the british isles was that built by canute, on the coast of norfolk, known as st. benets at holm, of which, though a few ruins are all that now remain, the bishop of norwich is still titular abbot. in the fourteenth-century windows of st. pierre, at chartres, st. benedict is grouped with st. maurus, and in the celebrated fifteenth-century reredos of winchestei? cathedral he is placed next to st. giles. some of the supposed representations of him in english churches are, however, really meant for the later st. benedict biscop.* * see ' the saints in christian art,' vol. iii., chap. iv. alinari photo] [pa/'ma gallery the "parma" altar-piece, 1515, with saints benedict, scholastica. and placidus by francia to face p. ?64 st. radegund 265 chapter xxvii saints radegund, monegonda, and ursula the story of queen radegund is full of pathetic interest, and reflects in a remarkable degree the spirit of the troubled time at which she lived. she was of german birth, the daughter of bertaire, a heathen king of thuringia, and her childhood was darkened by the fierce quarrels which were then always going on amongst the rival chieftains of her native land. when still a mere child she was left an orphan through the murder of her parents, and at the age of twelve she and her only surviving brother, a little lad of eight or nine, were carried into captivity by prankish invaders, under clotaire i., king of soissons, who had first sacked the town of erfurt, slaying all whom they did not consider it worth while to take prisoners. even then radegund was remarkable for her beauty, and clotaire resolved to have her well educated, so that she might become his wife when she was old enough. he therefore sent her and her brother to one of his palaces on the somme, • where they were kindly treated, and lived very happily together until radegund was eighteen years old. a messenger then arrived at the palace to say that the king was on his way to claim) his bride, and the poor girl, who could not forget his cruelty to her fellow-countrymen, and had, moreover, already resolved to dedicate her life to god, tried to escape in a boat at night. "her absence was soon discovered ; she was pursued and brought back to meet her fate. when the bridegroom arrived, he was delighted to find how lovely his ward had become ; but she flung herself at his feet, and besought him with many tears to let her become a nun. he merely laughed, and compelling her to rise embraced her fondly, promised that he would be a good husband to her, and bade her prepare to return home with him. she was compelled to consent, and her one comfort was that her brother was allowed to go with her. arrived at soissons, she was married to clotaire with great pomp, but her fore bodings were all too soon fulfilled. though nominally queen, she found that she was but one of many women whom her husband professed to lovei moreover, her heart was daily 266 the saints in christian art torn by the terrible scenes of oppression she had to witness, for the king never hesitated to indulge his fierce temper on the slightest provocation. open murder and secret assassina tion were of constant occurrence, and the court was daily disgraced by scenes unfit for a pure-hearted woman to witness. when radegund ventured to remonstrate, the king taunted her with being a nun, and at last he filled up the measure of his iniquities by ordering her brother to be slain. this last blow simply broke the heart of the queen. she told clotaire that she could remain in his palace no longer, and he, ashamed for once of what he had done, gave her leave to with draw. she went first to noyon, where she was received with all honour by bishop medardus, to whom she confided her sorrows, and her great wish to take the veil. he tried to persuade her that her first duty was to her husband, and declared that it was against the custom, if not the law, of the church, to allow a married woman to take the veil. she, how ever, protested that she would rather die than return to the king, and at last she won her way. medardus consecrated, radegund deaconess, thus making it impossible for her husband to claim her again, and she withdrew first to tours, and then to poitiers, where, with the sanction of king clotaire, who really seems to have be haved with considerable generosity to the wife who had deserted him, she built an important nunnery, which was soon filled with holy women of every rank in life, ready to obey the foundress in all things. st. radegund, having appointed one of them, named agnes, to be abbess, took the lowest place in the community herself, waiting on the whole house hold, and reserving neither property nor privileges. in spite of this she was the real ruler of the household, consulted at every turn, as proved by several significant little anecdotes told by her biographers. one day, for instance, as she was walking with her nuns in the garden of the convent, one of them suddenly stopped and cried, ' oh, listen ! there's a song i used to sing myself.' sure enough some wandering musicians passing out side the walls were singing a song radegund had often heard at court, but all she said was, ' i wonder that you can still take pleasure in such worldly sounds,' adding, when the nun made another attempt to induce her to listen : ' i have not heard one note.' st. radegund 267 many costly gifts were sent to st. radegund by those who had known her at court and still looked upon her as their queen, so that her convent soon became one of the richest in france. even the emperor was ready to bestow on her com munity anything she chose to ask, and she begged him to pro cure for her a piece of the true cross. he complied at once, sending her a fragment of the sacred wood set in gold and precious stones, adding to the priceless gift a book of the gospels bound in an equally costly manner. the relic of the cross was placed in the church of the monastery by the arch bishop of tours with great pomp and ceremony, and it is related that the beautiful hymn, ' vexilla regis ' (' the royal banners forward go ')> was composed for the occasion by ven antius fortunatus, the future bishop of poitiers, who was then acting as chaplain to the nunnery, henceforth to be known as that of the holy cross. it is said that venantius fortunatus combined with his clerical duties the post of secretary to queen radegund, for whom he had conceived a romantic and passionate attachment. he took priest's orders for the sake of being near her, and the fact that she could employ a man as her secretary is an incidental proof that, in spite of all the accounts of the great strictness with which her convent was ruled, discipline was really not nearly so severe as it became in later times. there was a difference of at least twenty years between the ages of st. radegund and her chaplain, whom she looked upon as a younger brother, but his devotion must have done much to cheer the last few years of her life. to his pen is due a beautiful memoir, one of the chief sources of information con cerning her life, much of which was dictated to him by her own lips. except for a few visits to other convents to study their management, st. radegund rarely left poitiers, and she died in her own nunnery at the age of seventy. she was buried in the chapel of the abbey, where her tomb, at which many miracles are said to have been performed, is still visited by numerous pilgrims. as a matter of course, various legends have gathered about the memory of the much-loved abbess. on one occasion christ himself is said to have appeared to her to tell her she should be one of the brightest jewels in his crown, and the 268 the saints in christian art people of poitiers still proudly show a stone in the church dedicated to her, bearing the supposed impress of the master's foot. when st. radegund was fleeing from clotaire before she became his wife, she passed through a field where a peasant was sowing wheat, and told him if anyone inquired whether he had seen a woman such as herself, he was to reply ' yes ; when this corn was planted.' as soon as she was gone the corn sprouted, and before the pursuers came up the wheat was full grown, so that the peasant only spoke the truth in obeying the fugitive's orders, who thus escaped, the questioners being evidently somewhat unobservant of the seasons. when st. radegund became queen her power of working miracles seems to have continued. one day, as she was walking in the palace gardens, she was distressed by hearing the sound of weeping, with the clanking of chains, on the other side of the wall, and was told that prisoners were shut up and chained there, waiting for the king's orders concern ing their fate. shocked and distressed, she prayed earnestly to god for the sufferers, whose fetters fell off, whilst the doors of their dungeon flew open, and they were able to escape. this remarkable incident led the trinitarians, founded in the thirteenth century by juan de melba for the release of captives, to choose st. radegund as their patron, and for this reason she sometimes appears amongst the great monks and nuns of their order. the usual attributes of st. radegund in art are a crown, beneath which flows a long white veil, the former in allusion to her rank as queen, the latter to her position as abbess, and a cross, in memory of her having obtained a piece of the true cross for her monastery. occasionally, as in a stained glass window in her church at poitiers, she wears a mantle em broidered with fleurs-de-lys, although her husband did not become king of france until long after she had left him. now and then, though wearing the robes and veil of a nun, she holds a sceptre tipped with the french national emblem, or a tunic strewn with fleurs-de-lys is combined with a mantle adorned with castles, in allusion probably to her old home at erfurt. in fact, in spite of her renunciation of all dignities, she remained truly a queen to all about her till her death, and st. monegonda 269 later artists have been as little able as were her contemporaries to forget the monarch in the nun. now and then st. radegund is grouped with a priest, who in his turn is associated with a fox about to drop a chicken. this is on account of the friendship between the queen and a holy man named junian, to whom she used to resort for advice in her early difficulties as abbess. he is said to have had a remarkable power over animals, and one day, in the presence of st. radegund, he made a fox give up at a word a stolen chicken. junian gave the queen a chain she always wore as a kind of talisman, and she is said to have supplied him with clothes made by her own hand. when wolves or other wild animals are introduced near st. radegund, it is the result of a confusion which has arisen between her and st. radiana, who lived in the thirteenth century, and is said to have been miraculously preserved when attacked by starving wolves. in the fifteenth-century sculptures of the west front of a church in the village of missy, near to which the fugitive bride is said to have hidden in a cave, several scenes of her life are graphically depicted, including her flight from the palace, her interview with bishop medardus, who is supposed to have persuaded her to marry the king, her consecration as deaconess, the foundation of her abbey at poitiers, her death surrounded by her nuns, and the ascent of her soul to heaven, upheld by two angels. the patron saint of poitiers, peronne, and other french towns, st. radegund is also much honoured in england, where many churches — notably one at scruton in yorkshire, one at maplebeck in nottinghamshire, and one at grayinham in lincolnshire — are dedicated to her. her name, with that of the blessed virgin and of st. john the divine, was also associated with the benedictine nunnery at cambridge, which was converted into jesus college in the fifteenth century, and the memory of the royal saint is still preserved in the fine modern windows of the present chapel. a celebrated contemporary of st. radegund was st. monegonda, who, after leading the life of a recluse for many years, became abbess of a nunnery at tours, where she was credited with working many miracles, including the blessing on her death-bed of a cruse of vinegar and a barrel of salt. the vinegar and salt were, it is said, never exhausted, and many 270 the saints in christian art miracles of healing were wrought with their aid. st. monegonda appears sometimes amongst other french saints with a barrel beside her, and she is also occasionally repre sented receiving food through the window of her cell. the fame alike of st. radegund and st. monegonda has been eclipsed by that of the much-loved maiden, st. ursula, of whose very existence there is no absolute proof, yet whose image is enshrined in the affections of thousands of votaries, who look upon her as the very type of purity and self-sacrificing devotion. there are several versions of the wild and romantic legend of st. ursula, of which the following is, perhaps, the most generally received. the only daughter of a king of brittany, called by some theonotus, by others maurus, she lost her mother when she was fifteen, but so great was her wisdom that she was able to reign as queen over her father's court, and to look after his large establishment, as well as if she had had many years of experience. worshipped by her subjects for her beauty and the generous kindness she showed to all, she was also renowned far and near for her learning, no maiden, except, perhaps, st. catherine of egypt, ever having known so much about history or science as she did. she knew all about everything that had happened all over the world before her own time ; she understood astronomy, astrology; and, more remarkable still, she had solved the mystery of the fickle winds, for she could prophesy which way" they would blow at any given time. it was truly no wonder that such a prodigy of beauty and accomplishment should have had many suitors, but in the midst of all her happy prosperity the princess ursula had already resolved to dedicate her life to god alone. she confided her determination to her father, who was at first pleased, thinking that this would mean he should keep his beloved child at home. he, however, asked her what he should say to the ambassadors, who were even then on their way to demand her hand for prince conon, the only son of agrippinus, king of cornwall, who was in every respect a suitable match for her, being celebrated for his noble appear ance, his good heart, and his great learning. to all of which st. ursula merely replied : ' wait till the messengers arrive, and i will tell you what to say.' not long after this the cornish envoys appeared at court with a long train of attendants, bearing costly gifts from prince [venice academy the dream of st. ursula by vittore carpaccio to face p. 270 st. ursula 271 conon for the bride he hoped to win. now that king maurus was face to face with the representatives of his powerful neigh bour, whom he feared to offend, his courage failed him, and he withdrew to his own room to think the matter out, wondering whether it would not be best after all to persuade his child to accept the brilliant lot offered to her. as he sat alone in his chamber, princess ursula herself came in, and, guessing at once what was in his thoughts, she told her father to cheer up, for she would give the necessary answer herself. king maurus eagerly inquired what that answer would be, but, with an arch smile, the maiden once more bade him have patience. the next day, when the envoys returned to court to ask what message they were to carry to their lord, they found princess ursula seated on a throne beside her father, and, after cere monious salutations had been exchanged, she surprised all present by rising to address her suitor's, representatives. first she bade them thank king agrippinus and prince conon for the honour they had done her; then she declared that she accepted the latter as her bridegroom, and would never listen to any other, and lastly she imposed three conditions, namely : she was to have ten cornish maidens of noble birth to be her companions, each of the ten to have a thousand maidens to do her service, and she herself yet another thousand to wait upon her ; the marriage was to be a nominal one for three years, so that she and her 11,000 maidens might visit the shrines of the saints ; and lastly. king agrippinus, his son, and all his court were to be baptized, for, wound up this very astute bargainer, ' none other than a perfect christian will i wed.' it is difficult to understand how such very stringent terms as these could be accepted, for the advantages to accrue to prince conon were at the best very remote and uncertain. in spite of this, however, the ambassadors gave the ardent young suitor such a glowing account of the charms of the princess that he did not hesitate for a moment to agree to everything. he had no difficulty in collecting the necessary maidens ; his father sent out letters to all his vassals, telling them what was required, and from every part of cornwall the beautiful girls came trooping, dressed in their best, all glad to be chosen to wait on one so renowned as princess ursula of brittany. led by the ten highly born damsels who were to have the privilege of being in constant personal attendance 272 the saints in christian art on their mistress, they embarked for brittany without fear, arriving in due course at the court of king maurus, where they were eagerly welcomed by princess ursula. she allowed them a few days' rest, and then bade them meet her in a meadow near her father's palace, to receive her instructions for the pilgrimage they were to make with her. it was only then that she broke the news to them that she expected them to renounce all earthly joy and devote their lives to christ alone. nevertheless, so wonderful was her eloquence, so enthralling the power of her beauty, that not one of her hearers drew back. with one accord they lifted up their hands and eyes to heaven, declaring that they would follow her to the death, and, summoning a priest, who had been waiting in readiness, the princess had them all baptized then and there in a clear stream that flowed through the meadow. congratulating herself that by her means eleven thousand virgins were redeemed and dedicated to god, the princess now spared a little thought to her lover and wrote a letter to him, in which she gave him permission to come to her father's court to see her before she began her pilgrimage to the shrines of the martyrs. she employed the interval whilst waiting for his arrival in drilling her army of maidens, so that by the time he came all was ready for her departure. some say that when prince conon at last met his exacting lady love, she relented so far towards him as to allow him to accompany her on her journey ; others that she simply ordered him to take care of her father till her return. whether he went with her or not, she and her maidens lost no further time before they embarked in the vessels prepared for them, and, accompanied by many holy priests, they started for rome. they do not appear to have taken any captains or sailors with them, but to have known by instinct how to manage their boats. they paid a passing visit to cologne, though it was not exactly on the way to rome, and, whilst they were there, it was revealed to their leader that the whole party would suffer martyrdom in that city on their return, a prophecy which, instead of damping their ardour, filled them with joy, for, when st. ursula told them of it, they burst out with one accord into a hymn of thanks giving. resuming their voyage up the rhine, the enthusiastic maidens came in due course to basel, where they disembarked st. ursula 273 and continued their journey on foot, all obstacles giving way before their triumphant progress, for they were everywhere received with enthusiasm by the natives of the districts traversed, and were, moreover, preceded by six angels, who with a word bridged the foaming mountain torrents and cut a pathway through the frozen snow. as they approached rome a stately procession of cardinals and priests, led by pope cyriacus himself, came to meet them, and st. ursula, kneeling down on the ground at the feet of the holy pontiff, entreated his blessing. he gave it gladly, and ordered that the eleven thousand maidens and their leader should be hospitably received by the citizens of the capital, who pitched tents for them on the plain outside the walls, daily bringing them a goodly supply of all they needed. scarcely were they all settled in their tents before yet another party arrived from brittany, this time of noble youths instead of maidens, led by prince conon, who had not unnaturally got tired of waiting for his bride. ursula welcomed him kindly and introduced him to the pope, who persuaded him to be baptized, changing his name to ethereus, which signifies regeneration. henceforth the ambition of the young lover was changed ; he no longer aspired to reigning on earth with his beloved ursula as the king consort of brittany, but to sharing her martyrdom and living with her in the courts of the redeemer, for whom he, too, was now ready to lay down his life. the princess, having thus won her own way, allowed prince conon to share all her devotions in rome. together, attended by their suites, they knelt at the shrine of the holy apostles, and visited all the other sacred sites in rome, praying no doubt in the catacombs, where so many martyrs were interred. the pope, who became much attached to them, would fain have kept them with him, but to his suggestion that they should make rome their home, st. ursula replied that they could not tarry longer, for already the angels were waiting at cologne with the crowns of martyrdom prepared for them all. finding his visitors obdurate in their determination to leave him, and eager to share the glory awaiting them, the holy cyriacus resolved to go with them, and, in spite of the opposition of his cardinals, he actually did so. wonderful, indeed, must have been the sight presented by the tiber when the united fleets of the pope, the princess, and vol. ii. 18 274 the saints in christian art the prince were collected together beneath the walls of rome. the people of the city collected in vast crowds to watch the embarkation, weeping and wringing their hands, for well they knew that they would never see their beloved pope again. after giving them his blessing, cyriacus bade them a touching farewell, and, accompanied by two cardinals, an archbishop, and three bishops, he went on board the vessel prepared for him. then the prince, with his escort of young nobles, em barked, and, lastly, st. ursula with her maidens. as the great fleet slowly made its way down the river, the hymns of triumph sung by those on board drowned the sobs and cries of grief of the spectators on shore, who remained to watch until the last sail had disappeared. meanwhile certain agents of the heathen, who were in rome when the eleven thousand maidens arrived, had sent secret intelligence of all that had happened to the leader of the huns then besieging cologne with a large force of fierce warriors. when, therefore, the vessels, with their goodly freight of maidens and youths, appeared upon the rhine, escorted by no more formidable advance guard than a number of old men, the huns were ready to receive them. at first the warriors thought it would be best to slay the men and reserve the maidens as brides for themselves, but their leader, who knew that this would probably mean the conversion to christianity of his whole army, issued the terrible order that all, without a single exception, were to be massacred. then ensued a horrible scene. the heathens rushed upon their victims, slaying some with arrows, others with clubs and axes. the newly-baptized prince ethereus is said to have been the first to die. pierced to the heart by an arrow, he fell at the feet of his beloved bride, who with a smile of rapture told him she would join him ere the day was over. the next victims were the pope and his attendant churchmen, who one and all met their fate with unfaltering courage. then the young nobles were massacred, and, last of all, the eleven thousand virgins, who had looked on unmoved at the awful scenes going on around them, and now welcomed their own martyrdom with eager joy, cheered and encouraged by their fair leader, who seemed to bear a charmed life in the midst of the carnage. soon she remained the sole survivor of all the goodly company, and so noble was her aspect, so enthralling her beauty, that not [hospital of st. john, bruges arrival of st. ursula at cologne by hans memlinc to face p. 274 st. ursula 275 one of the fierce warriors dared to lay a sacrilegious hand upon her. as she stood amongst the dead bodies of those whom she had led to the slaughter, the commander of the huns ap proached her, and with courtly words entreated her to forgive him for the apparent cruelty of his conduct. it had been neces sary, he explained, for the good of his people, but if she would forget the past and become his wife he would make her the greatest queen in all germany. needless to add that st. ursula met his advances with bitter scorn, and so scathing were the words with which she answered him that he lost all control himself. bending the mighty bow he held in his hands, he aimed three arrows in rapid succession at his accuser, and all three transfixed the holy maiden's heart. she fell dead without so much as a sigh, and her pure spirit was seen ascending to heaven, escorted by the angels, who had already received the souls of those who had preceded her in the glorious path of martyrdom. according to another version of this extraordinary legend, perhaps the very wildest ever evolved by popular imagination, axes, not arrows, were the instruments of the martyrdom of st. ursula and her maidens. the very axes used are supposed to have been preserved, and one of them drifted in some unaccountable way to england, where it was long treasured up in the london church known, on account of its possession of this precious relic, as st. mary axe, the original name of which was st. mary the virgin, st. ursula, and the eleven thousand virgins. in the sixteenth century this church ceased to be used for services, but it is alluded to under the name of st. marie at the axe by john stow, the antiquarian, in his ' survey of london and westminster,' published in 1598. as a matter of course, st. ursula and her maidens were held in very high honour in all roman catholic countries, and the dis covery near cologne in the twelfth century of a vast accumula tion of bones, seemed to lend probability to the legend respect ing their fate. some of these bones are still shown in a church dedicated to st. ursula at cologne, and when the news of their having been found reached paris, the savants of the sorbonne at once chose the leader of the virgins to be their patron saint. later, many religious orders for the education of young girls were founded in her honour and named after her, notably that known as the ursulines, originated, in the sixteenth century, 18—2 276 the saints in christian art by angela of brescia. st. ursula is the patron saint of un married girls, and is supposed to look specially after the interests of women engaged in teaching. she is also appealed to to secure a happy death, probably because of the joy with which she and her companions met their martyrdom. the attributes of st. ursula in art are numerous, and all easily explained by the different incidents of her legend. the white banner with the red cross she sometimes holds, as in a painting by palma vecchio, in the vienna gallery, is the christian standard of victory, given to her on account of her having led so many to heavenly glory. in certain old calendars, the arrow, another constant emblem of st. ursula, associated with a furled banner, marks her f^te-day, october 21 ; and elsewhere, as on some old english rood-screens, and in a stained glass window of winchester cathedral, she holds an arrow in each hand. a dove is now and then introduced near st. ursula, because the place where she was buried is said to have been revealed, in the seventh century, to st. cunibert, bishop of cologne, by a dove, which appeared to him when he was saying mass. the ship seen beside the saint refers, of course, to her voyages up the rhine and down the tiber ; the crown on her head or at her feet, the richly embroidered robes, and the scarlet mantle lined with ermine, are all given to her in memory of her royal birth, and the buildings which often appear behind her are intended to represent those of cologne. sometimes, as on a rood-screen in the church of eye, in suffolk, and on the painting at one end of her celebrated shrine at bruges, st. ursula is represented sheltering beneath her wide cloak a number of her companions, or a few of them are picturesquely grouped behind her. amongst the many representations of the popular legend of st. ursula, none are more celebrated than the two series of paintings, one by vittore carpaccio, originally executed for the chapel of the scuola di s. ursula, at venice, but now in the academy of that city; the other on the world famous reliquary in the hospital of st. john, at bruges, by hans memlinc. the nine paintings by carpaccio, which are full of poetic feeling, and tell the romantic story with consider able dramatic force, represent the following incidents : the ambassadors of the cornish king asking the hand of st. ursula of her father, on the right of which is seen the private inter st. ursula 277 view between maurus and his daughter ; the leave-taking of the envoys from england and their reception on their arrival at the court of their king. the fourth picture includes three scenes : the parting between prince conon and king agrip pinus, the first meeting of st. ursula and her lover, and their farewell visit to king maurus. in the fifth painting, the pope and his retinue receive st. ursula and her maidens outside rome ; in the sixth, st. ursula is seen asleep in bed, with an angel, of whom she is evidently dreaming, approaching her ; in the seventh, the virgins are arriving at cologne ; in the eighth, st. ursula and her maidens are being massacred on one side, whilst on the other the funeral of the leader, who lies on a bier with her golden hair falling about her, is going on ; and in the ninth, st. ursula is receiving from angels hovering above her head, the crown of martydom, in the pre sence of her fellow-sufferers, who kneel in adoration below. the paintings by hans memlinc at bruges tell the same story, with certain modifications, with even greater force than do those of carpaccio. the richly jewelled gothic chest they adorn was constructed to contain certain relics of the saint and her companions, and its sides, end, and roof are painted with a series of scenes in miniature, which rank not only as the finest works of their author, but as amongst the most remark able examples of fifteenth-century art which have been pre served to the present day. the first painting represents the arrival of the pilgrims at cologne, on their way to rome* their faces beaming with innocent joy as they step ashore, whilst a number of porters are seeing to their luggage, as if they were mere ordinary travellers. in the background appear the chief churches of cologne, and on the left, through the windows of an upper room, a glimpse is obtained of st. ursula, sitting up in bed, receiving from an angel the news that she and her maidens will be martyred on their return. the subject of the second panel is the landing at basel : the sailors are furling the sails, and the maidens are eagerly chatting together, preparing for their long march across the mountains, or already setting forth up the hill beyond the town. on the third panel two distinct scenes are given : the reception of st. ursula on the steps of a church by pope cyriacus, who bends down towards the kneeling maiden, touching her folded hands with one of his, whilst he raises 278 the saints in christian art the other in the gesture of blessing. the companion subject is the baptism of a number of young men, probably meant for the followers of prince conon, who stand in a large font with heads reverently bent, as a prie.st sprinkles water upon them. on the fourth panel the departure from rome is most graphically rendered ; the greater number of the maidens and the attendant clergy are already seated in a vessel, whilst the pope, with a cardinal behind him, stands on another, and is being helped from it to that containing st. ursula. near by a ■ small boat containing a few belated virgins is hastily approach ing, and in the background are seen some buildings of rome and a boat full of the pilgrims, who have already started on the fatal voyage. on the fifth panel the terrible massacre is represented as already begun : the vessels lying side by side in the foreground, with the churches of cologne rising up beyond them, are sur rounded by a number of soldiers, who are shooting and stab bing the pilgrims with a kind of tempered enthusiasm which is almost comic, neither the maidens nor the churchmen showing any signs of panic, though some few of the former shrink a little from their impending fate. in the centre of one of the boats st. ursula, who wears her crown, supports a dying girl whose heart is pierced with a sword, whilst a young man stretches out his arms towards the victim with a look of horror on his face. on the sixth and last panel, the death of st. ursula herself is given : she has left her martyred maidens behind her, and stands upon the dry land outside the tent of the leader of the huns, who, angry at her rejection of his suit, has just given the order for her death to one of his warriors ; the archer stands with bow bent, the arrow pointed at the heart of the saint, whilst behind him waits a soldier with uplifted axe ready to give the coup de grdce should the first wound not be mortal. considering the tragic nature of the subject, the whole scene is full of the most wonderful repose, accentuated by the atti tude of a white greyhound, who lies at the feet of the doomed maiden, looking up at her without any sign of anxiety. in fact, the whole series of scenes well interprets the deeply rooted faith in the certainty of the approaching triumph of the martyrs, which was shared by the artist and those for whom his work was executed ; a faith still held undimmed by many [st john's hospital, bruges the pope receiving st. ursula by hans memlinc to face f. 278 st. ursula 279 of those who at the present day flock in crowds to see the wonderful shrine and listen to the thrilling tale of the death of the eleven thousand virgins. on the sloping roof of the shrine are two large and four small medallions. in one of the former st. ursula appears standing amidst her maidens holding an arrow in her hand ; in the other she is being crowned by god the father in the presence of the other two persons of the trinity, the holy ghost being symbolized by a dove hovering above her head. in each of the four smaller medallions is an angel singing the praise of the saint, to the accompaniment of a different instru ment of music. other celebrated representations of st. ursula are the recum bent marble figure, admirably expressing the repose of death, with a dove at the feet, in the cathedral of cologne ; the miniature in the heures d'anne de bretagne, in which the dying saint, the arrow in her heart, stands amongst her dead maidens ; and the painting by martino da udine in the brera gallery, milan, in which the martyred maiden is seated on a throne with some of her virgins close to her, whilst others are seen issuing from an open door on either side. chapter xxviii some celebrated monks and hermits of the sixth century a special feature of the sixth century was the increasing love amongst all classes of society for the monastic life, and the number of those who retired from the world, either to lead an absolutely lonely existence in the desert or to join one or another of the many communities of hermits or monks already established, was ever on the increase. amongst these, com paratively few became sufficiently famous to be associated with any special symbols, or to be represented individually in works of art, for self-effacement was from the first their chief aim, and it was, as a rule, in spite of themselves that public attention was attracted to their holiness. in the early part of the century, so prolific of hefmits 28o the saints in christian art and monks, lived saints severinus, guenol6, john climacus, maxentius, venantius, and leonard, whilst to the latter portion belonged thierry, lifard, simeon, gal, hermengildus, calais, louvent, sybard, pourcain, patroclus, john of reom6, cloud, laumar, aventin of troyes, junien, and herv6, all of whom occasionally appear, each with some symbol by means of which he may be identified, in the ecclesiastical decoration of the districts in which they laboured. st. severinus, abbot of a monastery at agauna, in valais, whose attribute in art is a luminous aureole, because a glory is said to have shone about his head on his death-bed, was sent for by king clovis, when all the doctors of gaul had failed to help him in a mysterious illness from which he was suffering. according to the legend, the holy man cured a leper on his way to the royal bedside, and restored the king to health by merely throwing his mantle over him. of st. guenol^, abbot of landevenec, in brittany, various quaint and touching stories are told. on one occasion, when he was walking with one of his monks, he met a leper, on whom he laid his hands, praying god to heal him. as he did so the leper disappeared in a blaze of glory, and the two holy men heard a voice saying : ' as ye do not reject me on earth, neither will i reject you in heaven.' still more remarkable was the incident of the restoration to sight of the sister of st. guenol6, who, when she was running after some wild geese, was attacked by one of them, that tore out and swallowed one of her eyes. she ran screaming to her brother, and he came to the rescue at once, ordered the goose to disgorge the eye, and restored it to its place, neither the bird nor the girl being any the worse for the incident. the fact that st. guenoli is sometimes represented with a goose beside him may possibly have reference to this gruesome incident, but it is more prob able that it is merely because his ffete day falls on the 3rd march, about which time the wild geese come to northern europe from the south. when some fierce pirates descended on brittany, destroying all before them, st. guenold drove them back by merely asking god to destroy them ; when he wished to cross the river he was able to do so dry-shod ; when some robbers had got into the granary of his convent and were stealing the corn they suddenly found themselves rooted to the spot by the prayers of st. venantius 281 the holy man, who, instead of punishing them, talked to them so kindly that they repented and joined his community ; when water ran short, the wonder-working abbot caused a fountain to spring up at his feet ; and when he rung the bell for service the fishes in the water near the convent used to lift up their heads as if to show that they, too, heard the summons to pray. st. guenol6 also converted a wicked count of brittany, who had wrought much evil to the church, persuading him to found the bishopric of quimper, and when at last the well-spent life of the saint came to an end, he expired standing at the altar at which he had just offered the holy sacrifice of the mass. st. john climacus, abbot of a monastery in mount sinai, whose emblem in art is a ladder, takes his second name from a book written by him in greek, to which he gave the title of ' the ladder of paradise,' and in which he enumerated thirty steps as leading to perfection in the religious life. st. maxentius, abbot of a monastery near poitiers, whose memory is still preserved in the name of the little town of st. maixent, is said to have saved his monks from massacre when his convent was attacked by the visigoths, by merely appearing at the door. a barbarian raised his sword to strike the holy man to the heart, but was unable to effect his evil purpose, for his arm became stiff and powerless, a miracle which so wrought upon the rest of the warriors that they ceased fighting, to gaze at the abbot and the soldier. when the attention of the whole army was arrested, st. maxentius touched the hand of his would be assailant, who was at once able to use it again. the man fell on his knees asking forgiveness, others followed his example, and the monastery was saved. st. maxentius is said to have been very fond of birds, and for this reason he is sometimes represented praying in his cell, with a number of his feathered friends about him, or with a single dove hovering above his head. the story of st. venantius, abbot of a monastery in touraine, is a very romantic one. he was of noble birth, and was betrothed as a young man to a beautiful girl, to whom he was much attached, but on the eve of the wedding he went to pray at the tomb of st. martin of tours, and there a great change came over him. he felt that he had to renounce all the joys of life and devote himself entirely to the service of god. whether he took leave of his bride or not the legend 282 the saints in christian art does not relate, but many wonders are said to have attended his long career as a monk. when he was assailed by evil spirits, who took the form of rams, they fled at the sign of the cross. one day, when he was at mass in the church of st. martin of tours, where he still often went to pray, he saw a noble-looking old man come down from the window of the apse, who blessed the bread and wine and disappeared. another time, as the words libera nos a malo were being chanted at the altar, a voice from the grave repeated the sentence audibly, and some of the souls in purgatory appeared to st. venantius, entreating him to pray for them. the chequered career of the abbot is reflected in the represen tations of him, for he sometimes wears the hood and robes of a monk, combined with a sword and an escutcheon suspended from his waist. more rarely he is in the rich costume of a noble, and is blessing a lion's cub which crouches at his feet, in allusion to his life in the desert with no companions but the wild animals ; or he appears in the complete costume of a monk, driving before him the devil, in the form of an imp. even more full of interest than that of st. venantius is the legend of st. leonard of limousin, whose fame has spread far beyond his native land, many churches being dedicated to him, not only in france, but in england, especially in sussex, where the parish of st. leonard's-on-sea and a large tract of forest land is named after him, whilst wild lilies of the valley are locally spoken of as ' st. leonard's flowers.' the son of a wealthy nobleman, who was held in high honour at the court of clovis i., the young leonard early gave proof of a generous and pitiful disposition. even before his conversion to christianity, of which st. remigius is said to have been the instrument, he was fond of visiting those in prison, and more than once he persuaded the king, vvith whom he was a great favourite, to release the captives taken in war. as time went on the earnest young noble became more and more discontented with his easy, luxurious life, and, in spite of the opposition of his friends, he presently retired to the monas tery of miscy, later known as st. mesmin, near orleans, which was then under the rule of his uncle, st. euspicius. even here, however, he found the discipline not sufficiently strict, and he resolved to withdraw to a yet more lonely spot in the forest of limousin, there to prepare himself, in strict retire st. leonard 283 ment, for thp work to which he meant to devote the rest of his hfe : the amelioration of the lot of prisoners. soon after he had taken up his residence there, occurred the remarkable incident which has led expectant mothers to look upon st. leonard as their special protector. the king of the country, who has been identified as theodobert of austrasia, was hunting near the cell of the hermit, accompanied by his wife and all his court, when the queen was suddenly taken seriously ill, and appeared to be at the point of death. her attendants had made a couch of leaves for her, and were gathered about her awaiting the end, when someone suggested that the holy man, who was known to live not far off, should be sent for. a messenger was at once despatched, and st. leonard obeyed the summons in all haste. the poor queen was still alive when he arrived, and, kneeling down beside her, he prayed earnestly to god to save her. a few minutes later a fine boy was born, and the father, in his eager gratitude, offered to give st. leonard as much land as he cared to ask for. he replied that he would be content with as many miles as he could ride round on his ass in a single night, and the king agreed to this suggestion. the royal party then retired, and st. leonard set forth on his humble steed to mark out his new territory, which included a considerable tract of country. convinced that what had occurred was a direct leading from on high, st. leonard now abandoned his solitary life, and, building a little oratory, to which he gave the name of nou biliac, he invited other enthusiasts to join him. an important monastery, which later in its turn became the nucleus of the town of st. leonard, in limousin, grew up from this small beginning, for hundreds of holy men flocked to the new in stitution, eager to help its founder in his efforts on behalf of those lingering in captivity either at home or abroad. so great, indeed, were the efforts of st. leonard in the cause he had made specially his own, that he has been called the howard of his day, and he is still revered throughout the whole of europe as the protector of those who have lost their liberty, from whatever cause. he was not content, however, with releasing the bodies of those whom he had rescued ; he wished also to save their souls, and, before he sent them back into the world, he used to gather them together in his forest monas tery to instruct them in the christian faith. thus did he 284 the saints in christian art spread his influence far and near, for he had the rare gift of inspiring with his own enthusiasm all who were brought in contact with him, so that noubiliac became a centre of missionary effort, radiating forth the light of the gospel in every direction. st. leonard died peacefully about 559, in the monastery he had founded, but the work begun by him was carried on by others, and to his influence was due a real reform in the prisons of his time. his shrine in his own chapel at noubiliac became a very popular place of pilgrimage, many — notably prince bohemund of antioch, who had escaped from the saracens as by a miracle — who believed they owed their rescue to his in tercession, bringing chains in various materials as tokens of their gratitude. the ftte day of st. leonard, november 6, is still kept as a holiday in many towns of europe, and at rimini it was long customary to release a captive on it. a fair, originally in his honour, is held at badlesmere, in kent, and in other english districts ; and in a thirteenth-century account of the fstes of worcester, reference is made to st. leonard's day being a half holiday in that city. water-carriers claim st. leonard as their patron because he is said to have obtained a miraculous supply of water for his monks, and, for reasons it is difficult to define, he is also appealed to for aid by blacksmiths, coppersmiths, locksmiths, and porters, as well as by the greengrocers of li6ge and the coopers of bruges. the benedictines claim that the popular saint was a member of their order, and for this reason he is often represented wearing the white or black habit and rope girdle. more rarely he has the chasuble of the deacon, although there is no proof that he was ever ordained. chains are, of course, his chief attribute, his kindness to prisoners is also often symbolized by a slave kneeling at his feet. some times his deacon's robes are embroidered with fleur-de-lys, in allusion to his noble birth, and he occasionally wears a crown for the same reason. in the church of st. pierre, at limoges, he is seen as a deacon ; in that of st. michel, at limoges, he wears the robes of a monk and has a long white beard. in the museum of limoges is a quaint wooden panel, with st. leonard on one side and st. catherine on the other ; and at limousin are preserved numerous statues, pictures, and repre st. lifard 285 sentations in enamel of the much-loved saint. on a re liquary in the church of croissy, near versailles, he appears as a deacon receiving an offering of their chains from two kneeling prisoners ; in the chapel of st. leo at corbeil he is seen, surrounded by his monks, kneeling at the feet of king clovis, to whom he is presenting a petition, and on a wall of frindesbury church, near rochester, is an old mural painting representing him with fetters in his hand. above the scuola della carita at venice, originally the home of a confraternity for the redemption of captives, is a life-sized effigy of st. leonard holding the chains of two liberated slaves kneeling at his feet ; and scenes from his life are the subject of some of the mosaics in the choir of s. marco, including his baptism, the miraculous supply of water, the delivery of some prisoners, the saving of the life of the queen, and the founding of his monastery. a celebrated representation of the patron of captives occurs in a painting by correggio, now in the possession of lord ashburton, in which he is grouped with saints peter, mary magdalene, and martha; and in the farnous bedford missal, now in the national library of paris, the whole life-story of st. leonard — or, as he is there called, st. lionart — is very graphically given in miniature. st. thierry, a noted disciple of st. remigius, who became abbot of a monastery near rheims, appears sometimes amongst other french saints with an eagle above his head or beside him, because the site of the convent founded by him is said to have been pointed out to him by the king of the birds. he is also occasionally represented curing his namesake, king thierry, of blindness. st. lifard, who is invoked against venomous reptiles, was abbot of a monastery near orleans, and won a great repu tation for sanctity, is now and then grouped with other monks, his special attribute being a serpent coiled about a staff, be cause he is said to have told the people, who suffered from the ravages of a poisonous snake, to plant a staff in the ground near its haunts. the serpent attacked the staff, which fell upon and killed its assailant. to this quaint legend is sometimes added the yet more extraordinary detail that the staff was full of snakes, who, as they expired, cried aloud; ' lifard ! lifard !'j st. simeon, surnamed salus, which signifies fool, was a holy man of alexandria, who, after spending several years in retire 286 the saints in christian art ment in the desert, performed many wonderful works in his native town. he received his very unflattering nickname because he was fond of amusing children, and generally had a troop of them at his heels wherever he went. his distinc tive attribute in art is a kind of bagpipe, and jacques callot, amongst others, has represented him playing on it, surrounded by a number of laughing girls and boys. st. gal, who, after living as a monk for many years in a monastery near auvergne, was chosen bishop of that city, and won many signal mercies for the flock under his care, has been represented receiving a white chasuble from the hands of an angel, in token of the great purity of his life ; putting out a fire by throwing the book of the gospels into the flames, in token of his eager zeal in preaching against the heathen ; or praying to god to stop a plague which was devastating his diocese, an angel sheathing a sword appearing above him, in token that his petition has been heard. st. hermengildes, who is much revered in the south of france, was the son of king leovigildes, who had espoused the arian heresy, and is said to have been beheaded by order of his father, because he refused to receive the holy communion from the hands of an arian bishop. the young martyr is represented as a handsome man with long hair falling about his shoulders, bearing on his breast the sacred chrism or monogram of christ, the special attribute of those who upheld the doctrine of the trinity, holding a palm in one hand and treading a crown under foot, whilst on the ground beside him lies an axe, the instrument of his death. certain old engravers, notably burgkmair, in the series of plates exe cuted for the emperor maximilian, have made the strange mistakes of giving the unnatural father a halo as well as his victim, and making the latter appear to resist the doom which the legend asserts he almost courted. in the prado museum, madrid, there is a fine painting, by francesco herrera, repre senting the triumph of st. hermengildes after his martyrdom, in which the grouping of the figures is very good. of st. calais, who founded the monastery of menat, in clermont, the touching story is told that, when he was living alone as a hermit in the forest, an aurochs, or wild ox, such as still roamed at large in northern france in his time, took refuge with him when pursued by the royal huntsmen. with the st. sybard 287 terrified animal crouching at his feet, the holy man was dis covered by king childebert, who consented to spare the life of the aurochs, and remained for some time talking to st. calais, in the end giving him a large tract of land on which to build a monastery. it is related further that a small barrel of water sufficed to give drink to the royal visitor and all his followers, the water being miraculously increased. later, when the monastery had been in full working order for some time, and food was so scarce that the monks were threatened with famine, the place where a secret treasure was hidden was revealed to st. calais, and the catastrophe was averted. in memory of the various incidents of his remarkable career, the attributes in art of the famous hermit are a buffalo, a barrel, and a pile of gold pieces. he appears occasionally, notably on the west front of chartres cathedral, with one or another of his distinctive symbols, amongst other french saints. st. louvent, whose attribute in art is an eagle, and who is much honoured in the neighbourhood of chalons-sur-maine and mende, was a holy hermit, said to have been murdered on the banks of the maine by robbers, who cut off his head, and, putting it in one sack and the body in another, each weighted with heavy stones, flung both into the river. in spite of the precautions of the assassins, the body did not sink, and some shepherds who found it were reverently burying it when an eagle is said to have brought them the head. st. sybard, or cybar, was a holy hermit, who dwelt for nearly forty years in a cell near p^rigueux, only leaving it on errands of mercy such as the rescue of prisoners and captives. it is related that the doors of dungeons flew open at his approach, for which reason one of his attributes is a chain in his hands or a released captive kneeling at his feet. wild animals are said to have loved him so much that they obeyed his slightest gesture ; a doe once came and crouched at his feet as if to solicit a caress from him, a mother bird allowed him to stroke her in the nest, without showing signs of fear, and so on. sometimes st. cybar is represented emptying a bag of money on to a stone in token of his contempt for riches, or he stands in a luminous glory on which his virtues are inscribed, and in a stained-glass window in the church of la rochefou cauld, charente, he is seen with an angel appearing to him in answer to his prayers for guidance. 288 the saints in christian art st. pourcain, who appears sometimes either alone or with other saints, holding in his hand a broken cup, from which a snake is issuing, was a holy hermit who miraculously escaped death from poison. he had left his retreat to plead with king thierry for the people of auvergne, who were being ruthlessly ravaged by the royal troops. the officers of the court, who did not dare to refuse him admission, tried to get rid of him before he could see the king by offering him a cup of poisoned wine to refresh him after his journey. knowing their evil design, he took it from them and, looking them full in the face, made the sign of the cross over the cup, which broke in his hand. the result of this proof of power was that he won not only the monarch but many of the nobles from the evil of their ways. st. patroclus, founder of the abbey of colombiferes in berri, is occasionally represented gazing at a cross, because he is said to have found one in his cell when he returned to it after resisting a temptation to go back to the world. st. john, of reomay, in burgundy, founder of the abbey of moutier st. jean, is said to have lived for more than a century, and to have freed the neighbourhood of his monastery from a venomous serpent, who had poisoned the only supply of water, for which reason he is represented holding a chained dragon near a well, or standing beside the water from which a winged serpent is issuing. st. cloud was the grandson of st. clotilda and the son of king clodomir of orleans, but he early resolved to leave the world to dedicate his life to god. he is, therefore, generally represented in the robes of a hermit kneeling opposite to a cross with his crown beside him on the ground. after many years of seclusion, he founded the monastery named after him about two leagues from paris, where he died peacefully, leaving all his property to the church and the poor. the royal recluse has been chosen by the nail-makers of paris as their patron, on account of the resemblance of his name to the french word for nails. for the same reason he is supposed to be able to cure wounds inflicted by nails, and is occasionally represented holding a nail or a hammer in one hand. st. lomer, or laumur, the son of a shepherd, kept his father's flocks as a boy, spending much of his time in prayer, and in early youth withdrew as a hermit to a forest near st. herve asg chartres, where he later founded the monastery of corbion, now known as montier-au-perche, and became celebrated far and near for his wonderful works of healing and charity. he is often represented in northern france as a boy tending his sheep ; as a monk counting out pieces of money, because one day, when a number of gold coins were sent to him by a dying nobleman to pay for masses for the repose of his soul, the holy man kept one only, it alone having been honestly come by. st. laumur is also sometimes seen driving away a pack of wolves from a doe, or with the rescued animal at his feet, for she is said to have remained with him until her death, following him about like a dog. in the church of the beautiful abbey dedicated to the shepherd monk at blois, various scenes froni his life are represented in the mural paintings and stained-glass windows, and he is seen on his death-bed in the clerestory windows of the cathedral of chartres, whilst his life-sized figure is amongst the statues of the confessors on the south porch of the same building. st. aventin, the friend and companion of the more celebrated st. lupus, withdrew entirely from the world in middle life, living in a little hut in the forest near his native town of troyes, where, it is related, he was always surrounded by numbers of wild animals and birds, who showed no fear of him. his special attribute in art is a bear, because he is said to have drawn a thorn from the foot of one, which ever afterwards acted as his protector, sleeping outside his hut. st. junien, an abbot of poitiers, the friend and adviser of queen radegund, was also much beloved by animals, and is sometimes represented in old pictures with a fox beside him, whom he is ordering to give up a stolen chicken. with the holy monks and hermits of the sixth century may be fitly associated the celebrated blind singer, st. herv6, of whom many quaint and touching stories are told. his name means bitterness, and it was given to him by his father, who was a minstrel at the court of king childebert, because he was born blind. the little fellow early showed a great talent for music, and, when his mother was left a widow, he supported her by his singing, being led about by a little white dog, to whom he was greatly attached. one day, however, a wolf sprang upon the dog and killed it, which nearly broke the heart of st. herv6, who wept so bitterly that he is said to have touched vol. ii. 19 290 the saints in christian art the feelings of the murderer, for instead of devouring the carcase, the wolf fawned at the feet of the singer, and thenceforth acted as his guide. accompanied by his strange escort, herv6 became a familiar figure in all the neighbourhood near his home, and was a welcome guest wherever he appeared. one day, when he was singing in a convent, the frogs in a pond near by disturbed him with their croaking, and he silenced them all but one with a word. that one, the smallest of them all, he allowed to retain its voice — why the story does not say. st. herv6 lived to a good old age, and before his death he adopted a little girl named christine, who dwelt in a tiny hut near his own in the forest. the chief attributes of the blind singer in art are a frog and a wolf. he often appears, either alone or with other french saints, being led along by his faithful com panion, but occasionally the place of the wolf is taken by a fox, possibly because st. herv6, as well as st. junien, is credited with having rescued a chicken from a fox. chapter xxix st. gregory the great st. gregory, justly surnamed the great on account of all he did for the church, was born at rome about 540, the son of a roman senator, named gordianus, who owned consider able estates in italy and sicily. the mother of the future pope, whose name was sylvia, was noted for her virtues, and, although she was never canonized, she is revered as a saint by devout catholics on account of her noble self-denying life. it is related that, before st. gregory's birth, st. antony of thebes appeared to her, and told her that her child would one day be pope. whatever truth there may be in this, she brought up her boy to be an earnest christian, but at the same time had him well educated in all secular learning. the young gregory early attracted the attention of the emperor justin ii., then feebly wielding the imperial sceptre in africa and italy, and, when he was a little over thirty, he was made praetor, or chief magistrate, of rome, an of&ce for which he was well fitted st. gregory the great 291 so far as knowledge and power of managing men was concerned, but the duties of which were altogether hostile to his tastes. he, therefore, very soon voluntarily resigned his high position, and withdrew to a monastery with the intention of renouncing the world altogether. on his father's death st. gregory became heir to a large property, but he spent all his patrimony in founding monas teries, six in sicily, and one outside rome, which he dedi cated to st. andrew, and which still exists as the church of s. gregorio magno. the first abbot of the roman com munity was hilarion, who was succeeded by valentinus, and it was under the latter that st. gregory himself took the monastic vows. he had been some little time a monk when the incident occurred which has been so variously told, and was long quoted as the cause of the introduction of christianity to the british isles, although, as has been seen, there were already many believers there. one day, when the young ascetic was transacting some business in the city for his monastery, he noticed several handsome young men with fair complexions awaiting purchasers in the slave market, and asked them where they came from. they replied from britain, and he then enquired whether the people in their native land were converted to the true faith. hearing that they were not, though it is very probable that his question was not understood, gregory sighed deeply, and said to those standing by : ' how sad it is that the prince of darkness should be master of so much beauty and have such comely persons in his possession, and that so fine an exterior should have nothing of god's grace within.' it seems a pity that st. gregory did not then and there redeem the captives, instruct them in the faith, and send them home again with hearts so full of gratitude to him as to lead them to propagate his doctrine amongst their fellow country men. no such idea, however, entered his head, but he went to benedict i., who was then pope, and begged him to send teachers to britain. the head of the church showed little interest in the matter, and, finding that no one was disposed to fall in with his views, st. gregory resolved to go himself. he had actually started on his journey when he was recalled by the pope ; the people of rome, by whom he was much beloved, having clamoured for his return, declaring that, in suffering 19 — 2 292 the saints in christian art gregory to go away, benedict had destroyed rome and incurred the anger of st. peter. to make it impossible for the popular monk to slip off again, the pope now appointed him one of the seven regionary deacons of rome, and gregory wisely decided to leave britain alone for the present, but he never really relinquished his purpose, and some years after he himself had become pope, he sent st. augustine and forty other monks to the land of the fair-haired slaves, whose appearance had made so deep an impression upon him. on the death of benedict i., pelagius ii. succeeded him, and, struck by the tact with which st. gregory had performed his duties as deacon, the new pope sent him to constantinople on a delicate mission to the emperor tiberius, who had risen from being a mere captain to supreme power in the east, and had acted as regent during the insanity of justin ii. tiberius, recognising in st. gregory a kindred spirit, received him with all possible honour, and, during the three years of his residence at his court, consulted him constantly on affairs of state. st. gregory was recalled to rome in 584, and for the next six years he led an austere life as abbot of the monastery he had founded, acting also as secretary to the pope, whose chief adviser he became. many tales are told of his great severity as abbot, how, for instance, he refused to allow any of his monks to attend the deathbed of one of their number named justus, who had sinned against the rigid rule of poverty by hiding three pieces of gold in his cell. the unfortunate culprit died in an agony of remorse, and the stern ruler of the monastery ordered his body to be buried under a dunghill with the three ill-gotten pieces of money. as justus had, however, been penitent at the last, the abbot relented so far as to allow masses to be said for the repose of his soul, and it is related that on the 30th day after his death the spirit of justus appeared to his brother, copiosus, to assure him that after much torment he had won forgiveness in heaven. in 590, a terrible pestilence devastated rome, in which pope pelagius was one of the first victims, and st. gregory was chosen his successor by unanimous consent. true to his resolve to seek no honour in this world, the abbot did all in his power to escape from the lofty position assigned to him, and even wrote a private letter to the emperor maurice, who had succeeded tiberius in 582, entreating him not to ratify the st. gregory the great 293 election. some say the letter was intercepted by order of the governor of rome, another and quite different one signed by many influential citizens, being substituted for it. however that may be, the emperor knew too well how fitted st. gregory was for the post, and, if he ever received the appeal, he took no notice of it. in the brief interval between the death of pelaguis ii. and the accession of gregory i. the plague continued to rage, and thousands died of it daily. forgetting the peril in which he stood of becoming pope against his will, st. gregory worked hard amongst the dying and the dead, organizing processions and holding services day and night in the hope of turning aside the anger of heaven. his efforts were rewarded, for one day when he was leading a procession in which an image of the virgin mary, supposed to have been the one now in s. maria maggiore, rome, was carried, the arch angel michael, attended by a shining escort of angels, is said to have appeared above the castello di s. angelo. all who were privileged to behold the wondrous vision fell on their knees, the leader of the heavenly host sheathed his sword, and from that moment there were no more deaths from the plague. the remarkable occurrence made the people more eager than ever to secure as their spiritual ruler the man to whom they felt they owed their deliverance, but st. gregory managed to elude the vigilance of those set to watch him, and was carried out of the city hidden in a basket by some travelling merchants, whom he had bribed. his retreat was, however, soon discovered ; he was brought back in triumph, and, recognising that it was useless to resist longer, he gave his consent to his own election. he was consecrated on september 3rd, 590, and from that time until his death he ruled the church with the greatest wisdom, taking the title of the ' servant of the servants of god,' and although on every occasion he maintained the dignity of his ofiice, he continued to lead in private the simple, austere life of a monk. the victories he won were indeed spiritual rather than political, yet he left an indelible mark upon the history of his time. under the wise rule of st. gregory slavery became illegal throughout christendom ; the long alienated kingdom of spain was reconciled to the church, and the british isles were received into her communion. the ritual of the services was purified 294 the saints in christian art and reorganized, and sacred music was systematized, the gregorian chants still in use preserving the name of the great reformer. with the memory of pope gregory is also associated the institution of the celibacy of the clergy and the evolution of the doctrine of purgatory, which, if he did not exactly originate, he was certainly the first to preach. his charity was, in fact, so boundless that he extended it beyond the grave, unable to believe that a merciful god could allow any one of his creatures to perish eternally. if through any unfortunate oversight on the part of his agents a beggar died of want in rome, st. gregory used to put on sackcloth and excommuni cate himself for some days, and if any of the souls of which he, as head of the church, considered himself the shepherd, passed from life with sins unforgiven, he ceased not to pray for them until he was assured of their salvation. the keynote of his life as abbot had been severity, that of his life as pope was mercy, and in the course of his wonderful career he was never ashamed to own the inconsistency which is really often the truest consistency. he died on march 12, 604, after a long illness caused, it is supposed, by excessive fasting, and was buried in the basilica of s. pietro in vaticano, then very much what it was in the time of constantine. the various legends which have gathered about the memory of st. gregory are all significant of the beauty of his character, and the deep veneration with which he has ever been regarded by the church. it was generally supposed in his lifetime that he was constantly attended in his study by a dove, which used to perch on his shoulder whilst he was writing. indeed, his secretary, john the deacon, declared that one day he actually saw this dove when he peeped unobserved into his master's room. still more beautiful and significant is the story of a supper given by st. gregory in his convent of st. andrew to a number of poor men, at which an uninvited guest appeared. before this supper took place a certain beggar had come again and again to the gate of the monastery asking for alms, and the generous abbot had at last given him all his private property, even a silver soup bowl whidh had been a present from his beloved mother, sylvia. surprised at finding thirteen instead of twelve visitors awaiting 'him when he came into the refectory, st. gregory sent for the monk who acted as his \alunicipn) kccanati the madonna and child, with saints gregory and urban central panel of altar-l'iece by lorenzo lotto to face p. 294 st. gregory the great 295 steward, and asked him why he had bidden so many, to which the man replied, ' holy father, there are surely twelve only !' realizing from the blindness of the monk that there was some mystery in the matter, the abbot said nothing more then, but when the meal was over he asked the thirteenth guest to come with him to his private room. when the two were alone together a strange awe fell upon st. gregory, and it was with a trembling voice that he said to his visitor, ' who art thou?' the reply justified his presentiment, for the guest replied, ' i am the poor man to whom thou didst give so many alms ; my name is wonderful, and, through me, thou shalt obtain whatever thou dost ask of god.' then the abbot knew that it was christ himself who had deigned to appear in the guise of a pilgrim, and would gladly have learnt more from his lips, but even as he was about to address him, the figure faded away and st. gregory found himself alone. still more remarkable is the legendary story of the apparition of christ to st. gregory one day when he was celebrating mass, and there was present amongst the congregation a man who did not believe in the real presence, who was looking on at the sacred ceremony with an expression of scorn upon his face. the holy pope knew of his scepticism, and prayed earnestly that some sign might be given which would convince the doubter that the lord him self was truly with them. as he ended his petition st. gregory looked up and beheld the crucified redeemer standing upon the altar, surrounded by the instruments of his passion. the scoffer was converted, and was henceforth devoted to the service of christ, winning many others to share his belief. on another occasion a miracle is said to have been per formed by st. gregory, with a view to getting his own way in an argument with the empress constantia, who had asked him to let her have a portion of the relics of saints peter and paul, the greatest treasures owned by the church of rome. the pope declared that, even for her, he could not disturb the sacred remains, but he sent her instead a brandeum or winding-sheet, in which the body of st. john the evangelist had been wrapped before his translation to heaven. the empress was not unnaturally displeased, and she returned the gift with a message to the effect that she cared nothing for it. st. gregory then sum 296 the saints in christian art moned all his clergy to attend him in st. peter's, laid the despised brandeum upon the altar, and, after praying earnestly for aid from god, he took a knife with which he made a slash in the cloth. to the intense astonishment of all present blood flowed from the rent as if from a wound in a living body, thus proving of what great value was everything which had come in contact with the remains of a saint. whether the empress accepted the brandeum after this, the story does not say, but the effect on those who witnessed the miracle was of course very great. another quaint legend, immortalized by dante, the evolu tion of which may be traced to the preaching by st. gregory of the doctrine of purgatory, is that of the release through the prayers of the pope, of the soul of trajan from the intermediate state. during the life of trajan, it is said, a poor widow had once stopped him on the way to battle to demand vengeance for the death of her boy, who had been slain by the son of the emperor. trajan replied that he would inquire into the matter when he got back from the war, at which the woman cried, ' but if thou shouldst be killed, who would then do me justice ?' ' my successor,' replied trajan, and the importunate widow answered : ' but would it not be better that thou shouldst do this good action thyself rather than leave it for another ?' then the emperor was touched, bade the woman take his son instead of her own, and bestowed a rich dowry upon her. whether the young prince fell in with this strange arrangement or not is not known, but when trajan died his soul was received in purgatory, and there it still was when st. gregory the great became pope, five hundred years later. truly a long penance for one who had ruled his dominions justly and well, and whose persecution of the christians had been the result of a mistaken judgment as to the danger of their religion to the state, not of any depravity of character. in any case, the pope was greatly troubled in his mind with regard to trajan, and one day, remembering the incident of the widow's petition, he prayed fervently that the soul of the emperor might be released from torment. as he still knelt, he heard a voice from heaven telling him that his prayer was heard, and the soul of trajan was admitted to heaven ; but the boon must be purchased by one of two things ; st. gregory must himself endure two days of purgatory after death, or for st. gregory the great 297 the rest of his life on earth be sick and infirm. he chose the latter, and was sustained in his vicarious suffering by the thought of the good work he had done. st. gregory the great is the patron saint of catholic england, in recognition of the interest he took in the con version of britain, and he is said to be the special protector of choristers, on account of the improvement he brought about in church music. the plain chants in use in the western church are still called gregorian in memory of him, and by a natural transition he gradually became looked upon as the protector of all students, because in olden times the cathedral schools, in which choristers were trained by masters chosen by the chapter, were the only places of education for catholic boys. st. gregory, who is said to have been tall and stout, with a dark complexion, short black hair and very little beard, is generally represented in pontifical robes, wearing the tiara and holding the crosier in his right hand. he shares with the other latin fathers the emblems of the book and the pen, and, with st. augustine, that of the dove, but in his case the symbohc bird is generally hovering beside him, as in the paint ing by sacchi already referred to.* in some old calendars march 12, the day sacred to st. gregory, is marked with a tiara, and with it is sometimes associated a bird, with a slight re semblance to a dove. occasionally st. gregory holds a church, in memory of his papal dignity, or a scroll, on which is in scribed ' ora pro nobis deum,' in commemoration of the staying of the plague in rome through the intercession of the blessed virgin. sometimes, for the same reason, an image of the madonna is associated with the great pope, or an angel stands beside him with an uplifted sword, whilst the reform he brought about in church music is hinted at by the introduction at his feet of a few sheets of music with the old notation, which was quite unlike that now in use. in the church named after him in rome, occupying the site of his monastery of st. andrew, is enshrined a small room, said to be still exactly what it was in st. gregory's old home ; above pne of the altars is preserved the madonna, which the abbot is supposed to have had carried in procession during the plague, and in the chapel of st. barbara is the marble table at which, according to tradition, he entertained * see ante, p. 142. 298 the saints in christian art the thirteen guests, of whom one was christ himself. in the same chapel is a fine seated figure of st. gregory, supposed to have been begun by michael angelo and completed by cordieri, and above the altar of the chapel of s. andrea is an oil painting by roncalli of the virgin and child, with st. andrew on one side and st. gregory on the other, both of which are, however, inferior to the half-length bas-relief, by luca della robbia, in the church of the ognisanti at florence. the cathedral of siena owns a statue of the great pope, attributed to michael angelo, and there is a fairly satisfac tory one, by laboureur, in s. paolo fuori le mura, rome. a very fine interpretation of the character of st. gregory is the oil painting by rubens in s. maria in vallicella, rome, in which he is associated with saints maurus and papias, and fra angelico has introduced him in the celebrated frescoes on the vaulting of the chapel of nicolas v. in the vatican. he appears also in the ' paradiso ' of tintoretto; in the beautiful ' madonna with saints ' of the coro delle monache or choir of the nuns in s. zaccaria, venice, attributed by some to palma vecchio, and others to lorenzo lotto ; in the ' vision of st. john,' by corregio, he is grouped with st. mark, and his dove is apparently whispering in his ear; and in the altar-piece by lorenzo lotto, now in the recanata municipio, he stands opposite to st. urban on one side of the enthroned madonna, holding his crosier in his right hand, and in his left a book bearing the portraits of two haloed saints. st. gregory is also one of the six saints added by perugino to raphael's fresco of the holy trinity in s. severe, perugia, and there is a good representation of him, by mantegna, on one of the wings of the great altar-piece in s. zeno maggiore, verona. in his ' caractdristiques des saints,' p^re cahier reproduces a very quaint engraving, dating probably from about the four teenth century, of the 'mass of st. gregory,' in which the pope, attended by two deacons, is kneeling on the steps of the altar, on which are the chalice, the open book of the gospel, and the tiara, whilst above the saviour is seen standing in an open tomb, his head drooping, and his nail-pierced hands folded across each other. behind him is his cross, and round about him are the various minor instruments of his passion : the spear, the sponge, the nails, etc., the lantern, symbolic of the agony in the garden, the cock, in anderson photo] [san severo, peyugia the holy trinity, with st. gregory and other saints by raphael and perugino to face p. ; st. gregory the great 299 memory of st. peter's denial, and the purse, emblematic of the treachery of judas. this naive rendering of the legend became accepted, as time went on, as so thoroughly charac teristic of st. gregory and his teaching with regard to the holy eucharist, that it was adopted as their distinctive seal by the franciscans of the philippine islands, to which the name of the ' province of st. gregory ' was given. in various incunabula and manuscript books of hours, certain prayers have been associated with this picture called ' orationes sancti gregorii,' such as that beginning ' o domine jesu christe, adoro te in cruce pendentem et cronam spineamin capiteportantem,'* and special indulgences were at one time granted to those who recited them. the ' mass of st. gregory ' is also the subject of a bas-relief in the chapel of the church dedicated to the great pope at rome, and of a well-known engraving by albert diirer, remarkable for its combined reverence of feeling and crude realism, vi^hilst the extraordinary incident there depicted, is alluded to in the sixteenth century breviary of passau in one of the vesper responses of the office of st. gregory : 'vere felicem prsesulem vere fidei doctorem ; quo petente, panis christi formam accepit digiti ; ad firmandam plebis fidem versus incruentam carnem.'t the miracle of the brandeum has been represented by andrea sacchi, in a painting now in the vatican gallery, and the supper of st. gregory is the subject of a grand composi tion by paolo veronese in the refectory of the old monastery of monte berico at vicenza, in which the uninvited guest, distinguished by the beauty of his face and his dignified bearing, is seated at the table with the rest of the pilgrims. in a fresco of the same theme in s. gregorio magno, rome, * 'o lord jesus christ, i adore thee, as thou hangest on the cross, bearing on thy head the crown of thorns.' t ' most happy pontiff, true teacher of the faith 1 at whose prayer the bread the form of christ did take in the unbloody sacrifice. the faith of the people to confirm.' 300 the saints in christian, art the thirteenth figure is a winged angel ; in a painting by giorgio vasari in the bologna gallery, the heavenly appari tion has the well-known features of the redeemer, the pope is a portrait of clement vii., and the pilgrim guests are lost in a crowd of personages wearing the costumes in vogue in the artist's time. in the same gallery is a quaint painting, by an unknown hand, of st. gregory writing in his study, with the dove close to his ear ; and in the vatican gallery is a representa tion of the future pope leading a procession along the streets of rome, with the castello di s. angelo in the dis tance, but, strange to say, the grand subject of the rescue of rome from the plague has not been chosen by any of the great masters. the ' release of the soul of trajan ' is represented in bas-relief on one of the capitals of the pillars in the doge's palace, venice ; in the town hall of ceneda, near belluna, are three frescoes ascribed to one of the amalteo brothers, of celebrated ' judge ments,' one of which is that of trajan ; and in the town hall of brescia the same theme is one of a series of eight 'judgments.' the story of the monk who hid the money, is the subject of a marble bas-relief in the church of s. gregorio, rome, and in the series of frescoes by domenico ghirlandajo in the chapel of s. fina at s. gemignano, the pope is represented consoling, on her deathbed, the maiden saint, who lived in the thirteenth century.* chapter xxx some great churchmen of the sixth century two popes who, in the sixth century, won the honour of martyrdom for their zeal in opposing the encroachments of the civil power were saints john i. and silverius. the former, who succeeded pope hormisdas in the see of rome in 523, was thrown into prison by theodoric, the arian king of the goths, because of his failure in a mission on which he had been sent * the story of st. fina is related in vol. iii. of the ' saints in christian art.' st. silverius 301 to the emperor justin at constantinople. the holy man died of privation in his dungeon at ravenna, for which reason he is generally represented with chains or fetters in his hand, and he was buried in the basilica of the vatican, where his remains are still honoured. the fate of pope silverius, who was elected in 536, resembled greatly that of st. john. he became engaged in a controversy with the empress theodora, who, after trying in vain to bring about his deposition, had him impeached for high treason. amongst other absurd charges brought against the pope, he was accused of corresponding with the enemy when rome was besieged by the goths. he took refuge in s. sabina, but by a stratagem he was induced to go to the palace of general belisarius, where he was stripped of his pontifical robes and compelled to put on those of a monk. it was then given out in the city that the pope had voluntarily resigned his see, and he was sent to patara, in lycia, where he remained till he died, some say of starvation, others of a broken heart. the usual attributes in art of st. silverius are the triangle, or emblem of the trinity, given as a general rule to those who opposed the arian heresy, and a church held in his hand, in allusion to his steadfast defence of the faith, and his refusal, in spite of the wishes of the empress theodora, to induct the heretic bishop anthimus to the see of constanti nople. the persecuted pope is sometimes represented wearing the robes and with the staff of a pilgrim, in allusion to his banish ment, and in certain old engravings he holds a kind of paten or bowl, containing a small loaf of bread, possibly to symbolize the scanty food supplied to him in his exile. of the many bishops of the sixth century who have won the honour of canonization, none is more celebrated than st. david of wales, who is to his fellow-countrymen what st. george is to the english and st. denis to the french. as father david, or sir david, he is the hero of as many wonderful adventures as king arthur, who, accorchng to some authorities, was his nephew. st. david of wales was the son of sandde, a chief of cardiganshire, and st. nun, or non, and spent his childhood in the district now named after him, but then known as the old bush, of which the latin form was vetus menevia. he 302 the saints in christian art was dedicated as a boy to the service of god, and, after studying for some time in the monastery school of st. illtyd, he became the chosen companion of a learned man named paulinus, who dwelt in the isle of wight, and whose sight he is said to have restored by making the sign of the cross over his eyes. on leaving paulinus the young enthusiast is supposed to have gone to glastonbury, where he built a chapel, and some are of opinion that he also visited jerusalem, where he was con secrated priest by the patriarch of that city. it seems more likely that, if he did go to the holy land, it was only to pray with other pilgrims at the scenes of the lord's passion, and thus prepare himself for the life he had chosen. in any case, it is certain that he was the abbot-bishop of an important monastery in wales when he was summoned to the famous synod convened by dubricius, bishop of llandaff, at the place now known as llandewi brevi, which signifies the church of david the bellower, a name memorializing a remarkable occurrence said to have taken place at the great gathering of clergy. the people, relate certain old chroniclers, had come in their thousands to the meeting to listen to what their pastors should say to them, but not one of those who rose up to speak could make his voice heard. at last paulinus, the old friend of st. david, advised that his pupil should be sent for, and messengers were despatched to fetch him. at first st. david refused to go, but in the end he consented, and his arrival was hailed with the greatest joy by all present. he was asked to stand on an improvised platform made of a pile of the outer garments of the audience, but he said he preferred the flat ground. as he commenced to speak a strange miracle was performed, for the ground rose up until it became a lofty hill, from which the preacher could look round upon the vast crowds extending as far as the eye could reach. then a beautiful white dove, the token of divine inspiration, swept down from heaven to alight on his shoulder, and from his lips poured forth a passionate appeal, every single word of which fell with the greatest distinctness upon the ears of all. the sermon over, st. david was, continues the narrative, by the consent of all churchmen and laymen alike, ' constituted archbishop, whilst his city was consecrated the metropolis of all the country.' henceforth he was known as the archbishop of caerleon, st. david of wales 303 although he does not seem to have exercised any authority over other prelates. the rest of the life of st. david is involved in great obscurity, but he appears to have ruled over his new see with great energy, though he resided chiefly at his old monastery at menevia. many councils were convened, many churches founded, by him, and the constant occurrence in wales of the name of david, davy, or davison, prove how deeply rooted is the affection for him of his fellow countrymen. patriotic welshmen claim that it was the beloved bishop who gave to wales the strange national emblem of the leek, for on a day when king arthur won a fresh victory over the saxons, st. david had told his nephew's soldiers to place a leek in their caps. when and where st. david died is not known, but he is supposed to have lived to a great age, and to have been taken ill at last just after he had administered the holy communion in one of his own churches. he managed, however, to give the blessing as usual, and then, in a feeble voice, he added the following touching words of farewell : ' brothers and sisters, be joyful and keep your faith, and do the same things which you have heard and seen with me, and i will go the road our fathers have travelled. be courageous whilst you are on earth, for you will not any more see me in this world.' two days afterwards the archbishop died, and was reverently interred in the city named after him, in the presence of vast multitudes of mourners. st. david is generally represented standing on the hill miraculously raised for him, addressing listening crowds, and with the dove on his shoulder. more rarely he is alone, and several fountains of water are springing up near him, in allusion, say some, to his having more than once saved his people in times of drought, whilst others see an allusion to the number of churches founded by the archbishop, for the supply of the living water of the word of god. a harp is sometimes held by st. david in memory of his love of music and encourage ment of welsh minstrels, and a leek, worn in his honour on his fgte day, march i, is of course his special attribute. celebrated celtic contemporaries of st. david of wales who have been more or less frequently represented in art were saints brandan or brendon, of clonfert ; columba, of lona ; and kentigern, or mungo, of glasgow, of st. brandan a very 304 the saints in christian art romantic story is told to the effect that, in a seven years' voyage, he landed at many different places, including the canary islands and a certain fair land which has never been identified, called in the legend the * paradise of birds,' on every tree of which were many birds of snow-white plumage, who showed no fear of the intruders, ' but sang so merrily that it was a heavenly noise to hear.' the saint, who was gifted with the power of understanding the language of birds, asked one of them to tell him why there were so many on this island, and why they sang so sweetly, receiving the astonishing reply : ' we were once angels in heaven, but when our master, lucifer, fell, through his lofty pride, we for our offences fell with him, but, as our sin was not great, our lord sent us here, out of all pain, to serve and praise him as best we can.' touched at this proof of the merciful goodness of the all father, st. brandan and his followers left the metamorphosed angels unmolested, but on the anniversary of their first visit, which had taken place on easter day, they returned to give glory to god and keep the feast of the resurrection with the birds. still more full of romantic beauty is the story of the meeting of st. brandan with judas iscariot, described in the well-known poem of matthew arnold, when the doomed traitor confided to the holy man that he was allowed an occasional respite from the pains of hell, because of one good deed he had done on earth. this deed was the giving of a cloak to a leper, or, according to another version, the setting of a stone, the very one on which he was floating on the ocean when st. brandon came across him, ' on a bad piece of road, where it did much ease to passers-by.' as st. brandan was hstening to the mournful tale of the doleful ghost, and marvelling at the lord's sweet mercy, the evil fiends of hell came to drag the sinner back to torment, but, in answer to the passionate appeal of judas, st. brandan, in the power of the holy name of jesus, drove them away. after maily other strange adventures, st. brandan returned to his native land, where he founded several important monasteries, dying at a good old age, surrounded by loving friends. his memory is held sacred, not only in ireland, but in the whole of the british isles, and his name is preserved in many parishes, including that of brendon in devonshire, and brancepeth, which is sup posed to mean brandan's valley, in durham. st. columba 305 of st. columba of lona, justly called the apostle of scotland, who ranks in ireland with saints patrick and bridget amongst the best-loved of her many saints, far more is known than of st. brandan, for his life was written by one of his successors, the abbot adamnan, who spared no pains to collect every detail respecting the hero of his narrative. the son of noble, some say of royal, parents, st. columba was born at gartan, in tyrconnel, and had already founded many monasteries in his native land — including that of derry, later known as londonderry — before, owing to a quarrel with king diarmid, then overlord of ireland, he resolved to transfer his work to scotland. it is said that in this quarrel columba showed himself anything but a saint, for he led his kinsmen in person to the field, and sanctioned a great deal of unnecessary bloodshed, in revenge for what would appear to have been, after all,' a trifling offence. the story goes that st. columba, who was a great lover of literature, had copied with his own hand a beautiful psalter in a monastery at which he was stopping, but that, when he was going.to take his manuscript away with him, the abbot claimed it as his own property, because it had been produced in his monastery. st. columba referred the dispute to king diarmid, who decided against him, saying laconically : ' to every cow her calf.' in the civil war which resulted from this incident, the copy of the psalter is supposed to have been recovered, and the academy of dublin claims to own it still. however that may be, pubhc opinion was outraged at the time by the terrible revenge taken by one who had vowed himself to the service of the cross. a council of the church was summoned, and at it columba was excommunicated. the pleading of some of his friends, however, led to the remission of this terrible sentence, and in the end it was altered to banishment from ireland. the offender was told to go forth and win as many men to christ as he had caused to perish in battle. conscience-stricken and miserable, the once proud abbot obeyed, and, accompanied by a few of his monks, he left his bdloved native land for ever, and went first to the little island now known as lona, of which the original name was i-colm-kill, or the island of columb, the monk. here he was soon joined by so many eager to follow his example, that he had to plant other colonies on the mainland. in course of vol. ii. 20 3o6 the saints in christian art time he is said to have founded as many as 300 monasteries in scotland and its islands, spending much of his time on the sea, and winning almost as great a reputation for skilful steering as he did for preaching the gospel, for which reason the boatmen and fisher-folk of scotland and ireland still call on him for protection in storms. for thirty years st. columba ruled wisely and well the scat tered communities he had founded from his retreat at lona, where he spent much of his time in prayer, and in making copies of the scriptures, a work in which he always delighted. in the lonely oratory, to which he often withdrew to commune with his own heart, he is said to have been often visited by angels, and one of his monks, who ventured to intrude on his solitude, declared that he had found him surrounded by a number of heavenly visitants, whose presence shed a glory about his cell. when st. columba felt death approaching, he went to kneel at the altar in his little chapel, and there he was found by some of his monks, who, tenderly supporting him in their arms, entreated him to bless them once more. the poor old man could not speak, but he smiled at them, and feebly moved his hand in the gesture of benediction, passing peace fully away the next moment. he was buried at first in lona, but later his remains were translated to down, in ulster, and laid beside those of his fellow missionaries. saints patrick and bridget. his memory is still held sacred in the whole of the british isles, even in districts far removed from his influence during his lifetime, for amongst the men he won to christ in expiation of the crime of his youth, were many who later became, in their turn, famous missionaries. it is related that when king oswald was asleep in his tent, on the eve of the battle which won him his succession to the throne,* the holy abbot of lona appeared to him, and stretched out his arms over him, as if to bless him, and for this reason the two saints are sometimes grouped together in art. st. columba appears occasionally amongst other early british bishops in english ecclesiastical decoration, notably in the great south window of lichfield cathedral, and in france he is some times grouped, as in the clerestory windows of chartres cathe dral, with so notable a french saint as st. hilary of poitiers. * see 'the saints in christian art,' vol. iii., chap. 11.5 st. kentigern 307 the * mission of st. columba to the picts ' is the subject of one of the fine mural paintings by william hole in the national portrait gallery, edinburgh. the life story of st. kentigern, whose nickname of mungo, or the dearly-beloved, has almost superseded his own, is one long romance from beginning to end. his mother, after whom the scotch village of st. enoch, near glasgow, is named, is said to have been courted by a princely lover, who, when she refused to be his wife, carried her off by force. before the birth of their child, however, he grew tired of his unwilling captive, and sent her away to meet her trouble as best she could. in accordance with a cruel custom, the poor girl was placed in an open boat and cast adrift upon the north sea, with none to help her in her approaching illness. the frail craft drifted up the firth of forth, and the lonely maiden landed on the beach. fortunately for her, some shepherds had left a smouldering fire in a sheltered nook of a wood hard by, and there the future st. kentigern was born. not long afterwards the shepherds returned, and ministered kindly to the wants of the mother and child. unable to remain with them, however, they took them to a holy hermit named serf, who received them gladly, and baptized them both, giving to the fatherless infant the significant name of kentigern, which means chief or lord. st. enoch seems to have died soon afterwards, for no more is told of her, but kentigern lived with serf, or servan as he is sometimes called, for many years, learning with a number of other boys, who came to the hermit to be taught. these boys were from the first jealous of the old man's darling, and often tried to get him into disgrace. one day some of them killed a pet robin belonging to their master, and laid the blame on kentigern, who was sent for by serf to be punished. when kentigern saw the dead bird in the hand of his foster father he wept bitterly, and said, ' how could you believe that i would do so cruel a thing as kill your favourite ? give it to me, and i will prove that i am innocent.' sorrowfully the hermit handed the robin to the boy, who, stroking it tenderly, prayed earnestly to god to help him. as he prayed the bird began to stir, and presently it flew out of the hand of the boy to the shoulder of serf, who severely punished those who had falsely accused his favourite. the touching incident was never forgotten, and in memory of it a robin later became included 20—2 3o8 the saints in christian art in the arms of the city of glasgow, of which st. kentigern is the patron. when he had taught his beloved pupil all he could, the hermit sent kentigern forth as a missionary, and wherever he went he won many to christ. he made the site of the present glasgow his headquarters, where the way had already been paved for him by st. ninian, the apostle of the picts, who, strange to say, in spite of the veneration in which he is justly held, has no special attributes in art, and is rarely introduced in ecclesiastical decoration. at glasgow, or glasglin, which means the place of the dear friends, many eager disciples gathered about st. kentigern, and the little settlement soon became the centre of a wide-spread activity. before he was twenty-five years old the young missionary had been consecrated bishop of what had become avast see, and in the next few years he sent his disciples as far as north wales to found other com munities. wherever he went himself, he met with ready help, not only from his fellow-men, but from all god's creatures, and many quaint stories are told of his intercourse with the wild denizens of the forests. once, when he was seeking a new site on which to build, a boar trotted out of a thicket and acted as guide. on another occasion, when the horses broke down that were dragging the stone for some church or monastery the saint was erecting, their places were taken by stags, who came at the call of st. kentigern to place themselves in the shafts. still more wonderful was the miracle when a wolf, which had killed one of the stags, meekly took the place of its victim by command of the all-powerful bishop, a quaint incident which has been interpreted as a fulfilment of the prophecy of isaiah, ' the wolf shall dwell with the lamb,' etc. unlike his great contemporary, st. columba, st. kentigern never allowed himself to be drawn into the fierce civil strife which in his lifetime did so much to hinder the spread of christianity in scotland, but he was often present at the councils of the chiefs, and more than once he reconciled the combatants on the very eve of battle. he is said to have restored reason to a certain bard named merlin, who had gone mad after a great battle, in which his master had been worsted, and to ha.ve saved a young married woman, who had dropped her wedding ring into the clyde, from the anger of her husband, by telling a salmon which had swallowed it to restore st. kentigern 309 it to its owner. in a word, there was absolutely no limit to the supposed powers of the saint during his lifetime, and even after his death he was still held to be, like the master he had served so well on earth, ' a very present help in trouble.' not long before the end of his useful career, st. kentigern is said to have gone to lona to visit st. columba, and to have been greeted by the latter with the glowing words : * i see a fiery pillow, like a golden crown starred with gems, descending on thy head.' the two holy men spent a few happy days to gether, in what the old chronicler of the meeting calls ' heart to heart communion in holy things,' and when they parted they exchanged crosiers, st. kentigern giving his rough, wooden staff to st. columba, and receiving instead the richly ornamented badge of office which the abbot of lona had been in the habit of using, and which st. mungo is represented as holding in the fine seated statue, recently executed by george frampton, r.a. a year after the visit to lona, st. kentigern died in the presence of many of his disciples, his last words, ' the will of the lord be done,' summing up what had been the guiding principle of his long career ; unfailing obedience to the divine will. on account of the various incidents of the legend related above, the special attributes of st. kentigern are a robin, a deer, a wolf or bear, and a fish. he is, of course, a prominent figure in scotch ecclesiastical decoration, and his name is pre served not only in the cathedral of st. mungo at glasgow, and many other dedications in his native land, but also in numerous churches south of the tweed, especially in cumberland and north wales. in the stained-glass windows of the cumber land church of crossthwaite — so called after the cross in the thwaite or road which used to mark the spot where the bishop stood to preach — various scenes from his life are given ; and in those of the church at bromfield in the same county st. kentigern is represented as a very old man, the head having been reproduced from a seal preserved in the british museum. a very celebrated contemporary of the early apostles of the british isles was st. eleutherius of tournay, of whom many quaintly significant legends are told. of noble birth, he was brought up by st. medardus, and elected bishop of tournay after the banishment of his predecessor, theodore, who was 310 the saints in christian art living in concealment at the little village of blandain. the new bishop had an arduous task to perform, for the greater number of his people were heathens at heart, and it was not until a re markable miracle had been performed by him that he obtained any influence over them at all. the story goes that the daughter of the governor of tournay fell in love with st. eleutherius, and went to him to tell him of her devotion. the holy man already knew her secret, and reproved her so sternly that she fell down dead at his feet. her father, in terrible distress, went to the bishop, and entreated him to restore his child to life, promising that if he did the whole court would believe in the god of the christians. st. eleutherius said he would do his best, and, after several days of fasting and prayer, he went to the grave of the poor girl, followed by an immense concourse of people. in the presence of them all, he bade her arise, and she obeyed, coming forth from the tomb uninjured. she and her father were baptized then and there, but the troubles of the bishop were not yet over, for a plague broke out in the city soon afterwards, to which hundreds fell victims. the bishop was said to be the cause, and, in spite of his high rank, he was tried for the crime and condemned. after being scourged, he was shut up in prison, but an angel of god came in the night and set him free. he then joined bishop theodore at blandain, where he remained in conceal ment for some little time. in the end, however, he was re called to tournay, the governor having repented of his wickedness in sanctioning his imprisonment. in the course of the next few years, the eloquent preaching of st. eleutherius completely changed the state of things in his see. from being a stronghold of the heathen it became a thoroughly christian city. the bishop is even said to have refused to allow king clovis to enter the cathedral when he was passing through tournay, declaring that an unconfessed crime unfitted him for worship in the house of god. the king at first denied the accusation, but in the end he owned his guilt, received absolution, and was admitted to the holy table. it is related further that as st. eleutherius was celebrating mass in the presence of clovis and all his courtiers, an angel appeared and presented the bishop with a scroll on which the pardon of the royal offender was inscribed. in the end, st. eleutherius was murdered, some say by the st. medardus 311 heathen who still held out against his influence, others by some heretics he had offended. in any case, it is certain that he was waylaid as he was leaving a council he had convened, and wounded in the head with a sword. he managed to escape from his assailants to blandain, where he died five weeks later, after great suffering. he was buried in the village, but his remains were translated to tournay in the nineteenth century, and now rest in the cathedral in a beautiful reliquary, on which is a very fine bas-relief statue, representing the bishop in his episcopal robes, holding his crosier in one hand and a model of the cathedral, of which he is accounted the founder, in the other, whilst his feet rest upon a dragon, in allusion to the long conflict he waged with the powers of evil. in addition to the church and the dragon, the scourge is sometimes given to st. eleutherius, in memory of his sufferings or in token of his severity to the heathen, and the day of the translation of his remains to tournay is still held as one of peni tence in the diocese. the incident of the refusal to admit king clovis to the cathedral and the apparition of the angel bearing his pardon on the scroll, are occasionally represented in old pictures and engravings, but now and then the message from above is merely typified by a hand issuing from a cloud above the head of the bishop. it must be added, however, that many authorities assign the story of the scroll to st. giles and the emperor charlemagne, not to st. eleutherius and king clovis. in the cathedral of tournay are preserved a beautiful series of fifteenth century arras tapestries, representing scenes from the life of the great bishop, and he is often intro duced in the stained-glass windows of belgium and france, notably in one in the church of st. aignan at chartres, where he is grouped with st. rusticus. the friend and teacher of st. eleutherius, st. medardus, though already bishop of noyon, was chosen to succeed him in the see of tournay, and may be said to have completed the work begun by his pupil. although his father held a high position at court, it was the duty of st. medardus when he was a boy to look after the horses on the country estate, and it is related that on one occasion, when he had given a colt away in charity, the number was miraculously made up at the end of the day. for this reason one of the bishop's characteristics in art is a horse or a number of foals, and in picardy the peasants 312 the saints in christian art still say, when it rains on his fete day, june 8, that it is to water the horses of st. medardus. the miracle of the horse was but the first of many wonders which are said to have marked the career of the saint. when he was caught in a storm he was protected by an eagle with outspread wings ; he left the imprint of his foot on a stone when it was important that his presence in a certain place at a certain time should be proved ; he rescued many captives and prisoners, their chains falling off and the doors of their dungeons flying open at a word from him ; he could cure the toothache with a touch of his fingers ; and when he died, after a long course of usefulness, his room was filled with a celestial glory, in the midst of which appeared two gleaming white doves to receive his soul. as related in the life of st. radegund,* it was st. medardus who married her to king clotaire, gave her the veil when she fled from court after the murder of her brother, and inter vened on her behalf when her husband would fain have com pelled her to return to him against her will. when st. medardus was dying, king clotaire came to beg him to bless him before the end, and ft was, it is said, due to solemn words spoken by the bishop, that the royal penitent turned from his evil ways. in all his work for the good of his people, st. medardus was aided by the co-operation of st. gildard, of rouen, who is said to have been his twin brother, and is often grouped with him in stained-glass windows, and elsewhere. the two were buried together in the church named after st. medardus at tournay, and are commemorated on the same day. st. medardus of noyon and tournay may be recognised amongst other french bishops by his half-open mouth, showing his excellent white teeth, a quaint memorial of his fame as the curer of toothache, and a peculiarity which has given rise to the expression, ' the smile of st. medard,' to signify an air of assumed cheerfulness. a torch and a dove, both in allusion to the supernatural phenomena at his death, and a child clinging to his robes, are also characteristics of st. medardus, the last probably in memory of his intervention on behalf of prisoners. the vine dressers of belgium and france appeal to the bishop for aid, because, it is suggested, if it rains on his f6te day, several days of wet weather are sure to follow, which is good for the * see ante, pp. 265, 269. st. honorfe 313 vintage. for some unexplained reason, st. medardus is also supposed to look after the interests of brewers. another famous french bishop was st. honor6 of amiens, whose memory is kept alive by the remarkable sculptures of the southern doorway of the cathedral, known as the portail de la vierge dorse, a statue of the blessed virgin having replaced that of the bishop, which now adorns the northern entrance. st. honor6 was born at pont-en-ponthieu, and, having in due course become a priest, he won such fame by his piety and eloquence that, when the see of amiens became vacant, he was unanimously chosen bishop, in spite of his most earnest pro testations of his unworthiness. it is related that, when he tried to escape, the holy oil of consecration fell upon his head from heaven, thus compelling him to recognise that his election was in accordance with the divine will. the first time the new bishop performed mass in the church of st. acheul, which was then the cathedral, a hand was seen blessing the chalice and the bread, a miracle commemorated in the arms of the abbey of st. acheul, which include a silver hand issuing from a cloud. it was during the episcopate of st. honors that the remains of the martyrs fuscienus, victorious, and gentianus* were discovered at sains, six miles from amiens, by a priest named sulpicien, who, it is said, raised a song of thanksgiving, which was heard by the bishop as he was celebrating mass. the news of the remarkable incident of course spread far and near, and many were the eager claimants for the possession of the holy relics. king childebert sent orders that they were to be removed to paris, but, when an attempt was made to obey the royal mandate, the bodies became so heavy it was found impossible to remove them. this was interpreted to mean that they were to be interred in the cathedral of amiens, and they were, therefore, taken to that building with great pomp and cere mony. as the solemn procession entered the western doorway, passing beneath the crucifix above it, the figure of our lord is said to have bowed its head as if in veneration of the sacred remains. according to another version of the legend, however, it was when the body of st. honord himself was being carried through the city, and was placed for a few moments in st. firmin's church, that the figure, which then adorned the rood-screen, bowed its head. in any case, the crucifix of the legend is still * see ' the saints in christian art,' vol. i., pp. 241 and 242. 314 the saints in christian art preserved in a chapel of the cathedral, and is interesting not only because of the quaint tradition respecting it, but also because the figure of the lord is represented in an unusual manner. the head is surmounted, not with a crown of thorns, but one of gold, and the body is completely clothed in a long garment reaching to the feet, which are not crossed, but nailed to the wood separately. st. honord lived to a good old age, and was buried in his own cathedral at amiens, where he is still held in very high honour. he has, strange to say, been chosen as their patron saint by the bakers of the whole of france, who frequently use his effigy as their sign, as on a leaden medal found in the seine, and his most usual attributes are a baker's shovel or a loaf of bread. it would be natural to suppose that this choice was in memory of the miracle of the blessing of the bread related above, but the reason generally given is that when the news of the election of st. honors as bishop reached the remote district where he was born, the old woman who had been his nurse was washing in the village pond the shovel she used for taking bread out of her oven. astonished at what she heard, she cried, flourishing her shovel in the air, ' i would as soon believe it as that this shovel will put forth leaves,' and, even as she spoke, green twigs appeared upon the wood, which subsequently grew into a flourishing mulberry tree. when, many years afterwards, the bakers of paris asked the poet santeuil to write something in honour of their patron saint, he gave them the following lines : ' saint honors est honors dans sa chapelle avec sa pelle.' a rhyme which, in spite of its inanity, delighted those for whom it was composed. there is a fairly good statue of st. honord in the chapel dedicated to him in amiens cathedral, and the sculptures of the south porch include very realistic renderings of the most noteworthy incidents of his legend, including his consecration with oil from heaven, the blessing of the bread and wine by the divine hand, the discovery of the relics of the martyrs, and various miracles of healing, said to have been performed st. leonor 315 by the holy bishop. at the summit of the tympanum con taining these fine carvings is a replica of the crucifix described aboye, and st. honor6 is introduced attended by acolytes, on one side of the door below. other celebrated bishops of the sixth century were saints aubin of angers, vigor of bayeux, leonor of brittany, melanius of rennes, vedast of arras, marculphus of nanteuil, salvius of of albi, herculanus of perouse, leander of seville, paul of leon, and frediano of lucca, with whom jnay be ranked the humble priest, st. theophilus, surnamed the penitent. st. aubin, or aubyn, who is well known in england — where several churches are dedicated to him, notably one at devon port — ruled wisely over the see of angers for many years, and is occasionally represented in a pulpit, on account of his zeal in preaching; healing the blind, who flocked to him in great numbers ; releasing prisoners, whose chains are said to have fallen off in answer to his prayers; or casting out evil spirits. now and then, in the case of st. aubin, the bishop's robes are replaced by armour, to indicate that he resigned a post in the army to dedicate himself to the service of god alone. st. vigor is chiefly famous for having destroyed one of the last remaining heathen temples in france, that dedicated to the god belenus on a mountain near bayeux, and is generally associated in art with a dragon, because he is said to have slain a venomous beast which had long preyed upon the people of his see. st. leonor, or lunaire, of brittany, whose emblems in art are a stag beside him and a bell in one hand, is generally spoken of as a bishop, though he does not seem to have been accredited to any particular see. he is said to have begun life as a labourer in the fields, and to have pressed some stags into his service when his oxen failed him ; to have hung his mantle on a sunbeam when preaching in the open air, and to have won an important concession from king childebert, who, in return for some service the bishop had rendered, told him he might have all the land from which the sound of his bell could be heard. the saint placed the officers of the monarch as witnesses several miles off, ascended a hill and rung his bell, which was distinctly audible in a radius of many leagues. st. melanius of rennes is said to have cast out an evil spirit 3i6 the saints in christian art by boxing the ears of its victim — for which reason his usual attribute in art is a dragon at his feet — and to have virrought many wonderful cures amongst his flock. he also sometimes holds a boat in his hand, because he died on a voyage up the vilaine and his body is supposed to have been taken back to rennes in a rudderless vessel without sails, oars, or escort. st. vedast, to whom there is a church dedicated in london, is by some authorities said to have been the first instructor in the christian faith of king clovis. in any case, he was much honoured by that monarch, at whose baptism he was present, some little time after which he was elected bishop of arras. the usual attribute in art of st. vedast is a bear, which he is dragging along by a rope, in allusion to a legend that, after the cathedral of arras had been destroyed by the heathen from beyond the rhine, a bear took refuge in it, and was found there by the bishop when he came to kneel at the broken altar. st. marculphus, of nanteuil, is said to have been specially successful in curing scrofula during his lifetime, and is still invoked by sufferers from that disease, for which reason he is generally represented touching the chin of a kneeling patient, and is sometimes grouped with st. cloud, who is supposed to have the same power. it is related of st. marculphus that he cured with a word a boy bitten by a mad wolf; rescued a hare which fled to him from the hunters by rooting them all to the spot ; and gave the devil, who appeared to him in the form of an old woman, a loaf of bread with a blessing, the holy words compelling the evil one to resume his own form. st. marcul phus is sometimes represented appearing to one or another of the kings of france, for he it is who is said to have communi cated to them, or at least to have confirmed them in, the possession of their power of curing what is known as 'the king's evil.' according to others, however, the faculty of healing was first obtained in the tenth century by charles the simple, as a reward for his foundation of the monastery of corbeny, near laon, above the tomb of st. marculphus, whose remains had been transferred there from nanteuil during the norman inva sion. moreover, as is well known, the french claim to the miraculous gift is contested by the english, who assert that it was originally granted to st. edward the confessor, and st. leander 317 descended to none but kings who could prove relationship to the royal family of england. st. salvius, of albi, is chiefly celebrated on account of the tradition that he died in his cell in a monastery, to which he had retired, and was miraculously restored to life to be elected bishop of albi, in languedoc. for this reason he is generally represented in the robes of a hermit, praying with arms out stretched in the oriental style. st. herculanus, of perouse, whose efiigy, with hand upraised in blessing, adorned the coinage of his see as late as the fourteenth century, is said to have been beheaded, by order of totila, on the ramparts of his cathedral city, in revenge for the obstinate resistance of the inhabitants when it was besieged by the goths, and he is generally represented holding the instrument of his martyrdom, a sword or knife. st. paul of l^on, in brittany, who is sometimes grouped with the other primitive bishops of the north of france, is said to have been a native of cornwall, and was probably the original patron of the many churches dedicated to st. paul in that county and devonshire. it is related of him that he dwelt as a hermit on a little island off the coast of france, and that a beloved sister of his lived with some holy women on an islet a little distance off, to which the approach was often very dangerous. one day the sister prayed her brother to bid the waves withdraw, so that the nuns might come and go with greater ease. he did so, and what had been a tract of foaming waters became henceforth a stretch of dry sand. the fame of his holiness and power over the elements led to st. paul being summoned from his retreat to be made bishop of l6on, and he reigned over his see with great success for many years. his memory is still preserved in the name of the now deserted town of st. pol de l6on. he is invoked for protection in storms by the people of northern france. st. leander, archbishop of seville at the end of the sixth century, is greatly revered in spain on account of the zeal with which he preached against the arians, and is said to have received from st. gregory the great an image of the blessed virgin made by st. luke, which the spaniards claim is still pre served at guadalupe. of noble birth, st. leander was much beloved at the court of king leovigildus, even before his elec tion to the see of seville, and is said to have converted the young 3i8 the saints in christian art prince hermengildus, who, as related above (p. 286), later suffered martyrdom for his refusal to receive the communion from an arian bishop. st. leander died in 596, after a long career of eminent usefulness. he is a familiar figure in spanish devotional pictures, and his chief attributes are a flaming heart held in one hand, or the triangle, emblem of the trinity ; both characteristic of those who defended the catholic faith against the arians ; a pen, the emblem of a writer on theology; and an image of the blessed virgin, in memory of the one sent to him by st. gregory. st. leander is often grouped with his brother prelates, saints fulgentius of carthagena, and isidore of seville, or he is seen instructing the young spanish prince, who owed so much to his teaching. st. frediano of lucca is said to have been of noble birth, and to have fled from his native land of scotland to escape marriage with a beautiful girl, to whom he had been betrothed by his parents against his will. he took refuge in italy, and there his lowly life led to his being elected bishop of lucca, where his memory is still held sacred on account of the wonderful miracles he is supposed to have wrought on behalf of his people. on one occasion he is credited with having changed the course of the river serchio, an incident represented by era filippo lippi on the predella of an altar-piece now in florence academy. another time, when he wished to go to visit the tomb of s. miniato at florence, and the arno was so swollen and rough that it was dangerous to cross it, he bid the waves subside, so that he was able to make the transit in safety ; and once, when a rock impeded his passage by land, he ordered it to draw back. the rock is still shown on the road to lucca, and the incident of the calming of the arno is represented in a fresco by an unknown hand in a seventh century church named after st. frediano in the city of his adoption. of the young priest, st. theophilus of adriana, in sicily, a touching story is told, which is the subject of a fine bas-relief in the tympanum of what is known as the porte rouge of the cathedral of paris. the future saint, who was treasurer of a church in his native city, was falsely accused of betraying his trust, and lost his position. eager to be revenged on his traducers, he consulted a magician, who took him to a lonely spot outside the town, where he introduced him to the devil, who was holding a court, surrounded by his satellites. the > 2 o o o w m h o o z < s m a st. theophilus 319 evil one received theophilus graciously and promised him that, if he would deny christ, he should have his heart's desire, for he would soon be in a position in which he could order the punishment of those who had injured him. it was not enough for him to blaspheme the lord by word of mouth, he must write his wicked words and sign them with his full name in his own blood. the unhappy man did as he was bid, and the devil took possession of the manuscript. theophilus then returned home, and a few days later, to his great surprise, he was appointed to an influential position in the church. he could now, if he chose, begin his revenge, but his conscience smote him so terribly that he could think of nothing, day or night, but the terrible sin of which he had been guilty. day after day the penitent priest prayed for deliverance, and at last, as he knelt at an altar dedicated to the blessed virgin, she herself appeared to him, telling him he was forgiven, for she had won back the fatal writing from the devil. hardly able to believe his own senses, theophilus gazed at the glorious visitant without a wojrd, and as he gazed the vision faded away, but at his feet lay the white paper with its letters of blood, and he knew that he was indeed saved. from that day to his death, he earnestly fulfilled the duties of his high office, but never allowed himself to enjoy any of its privileges. he remained a humble penitent to the last, and to him came all who were oppressed with guilt, to unburden their souls. in the upper portion of the bas-relief at paris, st. theophilus is represented avowing his crime and pointing to a tablet with the fatal blasphemy engraved upon it, in the presence of a bishop and several kneeling figures. below he is seen con sulting with the jewish magician. making his bargain with the devil, and praying to the blessed virgin ; whilst in the last scene, on the left, the divine mother is compelling the evil one to yield up the fatal manuscript. the whole legend is also told in some stained-glass windows at l6on, and in one at beauvais st. theophilus is seen kneeling at the feet of the virgin, who is handing him a scroll. index abraham the hermit, 26, 31, 32 adrian, 71, 72 afia of augsburg, 97, lao agnes, 83-86, 97 aignan of orleans, 232 alban of verulam, 51-53 alexander of alexandria, 117, 118 alexis of rome, 240 amandus of bordeaux, 208 amator of auxerre, 202 ambrose of milan, 142-14s, 15s-165, 167, 171, 173, 207, 208, 212, 228 andronicus of cilicia, 58, 61 ansano, of siena, 45, 46 antony the great, z-14, 16, 17, 20, 30, 117, 210. 290 arsenius the hermit, 22-24 athanasius, 6, 7, 10, 11, 21, 42, 116-izi, 138, 191, 20s aubin of angers, 232, 315 augustine of hippo, 142-145, 151, 152, 155, 157, 163-175, 260, 292, 297 aventin of troyes, 280, 289 balsamie, 233 basilassa, 36-39 basil the great, izo, 122-131, 212 benedict of nursia, 228, 251-264 bibiana of rome, 97, loi, 102 blaise of sebaste, 42-44 brandan of clonfert, 303-305 brice of tours, 201 bridget of ireland, 247-250, 305, 306 calais of clermont, 280, 282, 286, 287 catherine of alexandria, 89-97 celine, 233 celsus, 63 christina of bolsena, 97, 103-105 chrysologus of ravenna, 59 clotilda (queen of france), 218, 232-246 cloud, 224, 280, 288, 316 colomba of lona, 305, 306, 308, 309 cosmas, 53 crescentia, 58, 59 cunegunda, 258 cybar. (see sybard) cyprian of antioch, 46, 47 cyricus, 98, 99 cyril of alexandria, 120, 121, 139-141 dafrosa, loi damasus of rome, 176-178, 210 damianus, 53-56 daniel of maratha, 241 david of wales, 301-303 denis of france, 222, 301 didymus, 71, 72 donato of arezzo, 45 donatian of rheims, 208, 209 dorothea of cesarea, 86-88, 95, 97, 103 eleutherius of toumay, 309, 310 eligius of noyon, 219 elmo. (see erasmus) emerantiana, 86 enoch, 307 ephrem, 24-26 epiphanius of salamis, 179 epiphany of pavia, 234 erasmus, 40, 41, 46 euphemia, of chalcedon, 97, 98 euphrasia, 213, 214 euphrosjme, 213 eusebius of nicomedia, 117, 118, 124 euspicius, 282 eustochia, 210-212 eutropia, 231, 232 euvertius of orleans, 232 exuperis of toulouse, 230 index 321 felix of nola, 192 flavia, 258-260 flavian, loi flavianus, 133 florent of glonne, 238, 239 florian of austria, 71, 77 frediano of lucca, 315, 318 fnlgentius of carthagena, 318 fuscienus, 313 gal of auvergne, 280, 286 gaudenzio of rimini, 44 genevieve of paris, 203, 216-226 gentianus, 313 george of cappadocia, 64-71 geiasimus, 235, 236 germanus of auxerie, 194, 202-205,216, 217, 220, 222, 238, 243, 257 gildard of rouen, 312 gildas the wise of brittany, 237 gregory the great, 142-145, 175, 176, 208, 227, 256, 290-301, 317, 318 gregory nazianzus, 120, 122, 124, 126 131. 147 gregory of nyassa, 25, 122 guenole of landevenec, 280, 281 guy. (see vitus) henry of bavaria, 258 hermengildus, 280, 286 herculanus of perouse, 315, 317 herve, 280, 289, 290 hilarion of gaza, 16-18, 20, 210 hilary of aries, 229, 232 hilary of poitiers, 190, 191, 195, 196, 230, 306 helena (empress), 105, 106, 11 1116 honoratus, 229, 230 honor^ of amiens, 312-314 isidore of seville^ 318 james of nisibis, 179 januarius, 41, 42 jerome, 142-155, 190, 191, 210-212, 235 john climacus of mount sinai, 280, 281 john calybite, 239, 240 john chrysostom, 120, 126, 132-138 john damascene, 178 john the obedient, 21, 22 john of reomay, 280, 288 john of rome, 78, 300 john the silent, 236, 237 julia of corsica, 105 julian of antioch, 58, 62, 63 julian of le mans, 189, 190 julian the hospitable, 35-39, 62 julietta of iconium, 9799 junien of poitiers, 280, 289, 290 justa of saville, 97, 100 justina of antioch, 47 justina of padua, 97, 102, 103 kentigern, 307-309 laumur, 280, 288, 289 leander of seville, 315, 317, 318 leo the great, 226-229 leonard of limousin, 280, 282-285 leonor of brittany, 315 liborius of gaul, 176, 190 lifard of orleans, 280, 285 louis of france, 43 louvent, 280-287 lucia of rome, 97, 100, loi lucien of antioch, 46 lucien of beauvais, 46 lucy of syracuse, 80-83, 97 lupicienus, 238 lupus of troyes, 193, 194, 203, 216, 289 macarius the elder, 18-20 macarius the younger, 20, 21, iii, 112 macriiia the elder, 122, 212 macrina the younger, 123 magloire of dol, 230 mamertus, 206 mansuetus of toul, 193 marcellina, 212 marcellinus of rome, 175 marcellus (pope), 175, 176 marcellus of paris, 230 marculphus of nanteuil, 315, 316 marinus of rheims, 234, 235 martin of tours, 194-202, 208, 224, 239 241, 281 mark the hermit, 21, 22 mary of egypt, 26, 31, 32-35 maurillus of angers, 231 maurus, 251, 256, 258, 261, 263, 264 maxelitius of poitiers, 280, 281 maximus of riez, 230 mel, 247 medardus of noyon, 311, 312 melania the elder, 21 melania the younger, 213, 214 melanius of rennes, 233, 315 melchiades of rome, 176 meletius, 132 mello of rouen, 189, 190 322 index menehould of perthes, 226 menna the greek, 71, 75 modestus, 58, 59 monegonda, 265, 269, 270 monica, 165-167, 171, 173-175 mungo. (see kentigern) narcissus of girona, 50, 100 nicasius of rouen, 189 nicasius of rheims, 231 nicolas of myra, 179-188 nilus, 134 ninian, 308 nonnus of heliopolis, 215 norma, 128 onuphrius, 26, 27, 30 pachomius, 15, 16, 20, 254 pancras of rome, 58, 64, 206 pantaleon of nicomedia, 56, 57, 58 paphuntius, 26-31 patroclus of colombi^res, 280, 288 patrick of ireland, 241-247, 249, 250, 305, 306 paula of rome, 210-212 paul the hermit, 2, 3, 5-9, 11-14, 20 paul of l^on, 315, 317 paul of rome, 78 faulinus of nola, 192, 197 pelagia, 213-215 peter chrysologus, 59, 234 peter of sebaste, 122, 124 petronius of bologna, 234 \ philemon of rome, 58-63 phocas of sinope, 58-61 placidus 251, 258-260, 263, 264 \ pourcain, 280, 288 procopius of cesarea, 71, 76, 77 protus of cilicia, 58, 62 pulcheria (empress), 212, 213 radegund (queen), 265-270, 312 remigius of rheims, 223, 225, 232, 233, 282, 285 restituta, 42 romanus, 238 ^ rufina of seville, 97, loo sabas the goth, 58, 61 sabas of palestine, 236, 237 salvius of albi, 315, 316 scholastica, 215, 254-256, 258, 260, 261 263 servatius of tongres, 205, 206 severinus of cologne, 208 severinus of verona, 206 severus, 204 sidonis apouinares, 233 sigismund of burgundy, 225 silverius, 300, 301 simeon of alexandria, 280, 285 simeon stylites, 26, 240, 241 sixtns iii. (pope), 226 spiridion of cyprus, 193 stephen (pope), 189 sybard of perigueux, 280, 287 sylvester (pope), 109, no, 115, 116, 178 tarachus, 58, 61 thais, 26, 30, 31 theoctistus, 47 theodora, 72 theodore the conscript, 71, 73 theodore of heraclea, 71-73 theodosius of palestine, 237, 238 theodotus of galatia, 58, 61 theophilus of adriana, 315, 318, 319 thierry of rheims, 280, 285 ulrich of augsburg, 100 ursula, 103, 265, 270-279 vedast of arras, 315, 316 venautius of touraine, 280-282 victor of marseilles, 71, 73-75 victor of milan, 71, 75 victoricus, 313 vigor of bayeux, 315 vincent of saragossa, 48-50 vitus of sicily, 58, 59 zeno of verona, 207 zenobio of florence, 228, 229 zosimus, 26, 32-35 billing and sons, limited, printers, guildford bv the same author; lives and legends of the evangelists, apostles, and other early saints opinions of the press bookman.—' in this beautiful book, bound in white linen, with simple, tasteful design of lilies and crown in red and gold, mrs. bell deals with a subject of great fascination. she has sifted, and searched, and judged before coming to her work ; but as she presents it, finished, to the public, it is complete and well proportioned, telling in quiet, authoritative, lucid style all that is known of the lives of the evangeusts, apostles, and other early saints, and all that has grown up of legend connected with them. to the student of religion, of life, or of art the book will be a real storehouse of pleasure, knowledge, and suggestion; and the fifty reproductions of famous pictures help to make it one of the most attractive gift, or art, books of the season,' meigazlne of art.—' mrs. arthur bell here gives us what is, perhaps, the completest handbook now current in this country ; for, aided by her fore runners, she has not only codified the subject, as it were, but corrected previous errors, and restored to certain saints legends of miracles which a misguided piety had induced former writers to attribute to greater favourites. it is an elaborate and carefully^ worked-out book, freely illustrated, which should find a place in every art library as a necessary item.' studio. — 'a good book on a good subject is the verdict that may justly be passed on mrs. bell's new enterprise in research and criticism. indeed, the book is so good that it cannot be rightly appreciated by anyone who has not some first-hand knowledge of the masses of material that mrs. bell handles with tact and skill, always keeping clear of the pitfalls of controversy lying about her every step. . . . the book is rich in excellent subjects, and mrs. bell is to be congratulated on the critical judgment and the good taste that give modesty and dignity to her informing pages.' art journal. — 'the want of a new and comprehensive work on christian art has long been felt, and the appearance of " the saints in christian art," by mrs. arthur bell, with its beautiful and appropriate illustrations, is ■peculiarly opportune. the old standard books on the subject are completely out of date, and the student who relies on their statements as to the author ship and location of works of art will often find himself quite behind the age. knowledge of art is pow essential to all who lay any claim to culture, and knowledge of sacred art implies not merely acquaintance with the names of the great masters who excelled in its production, but also an intelligent comprehension of the subjects represented and the meaning of the symbols introduced.' daily chronicle. — ' it is matter for satisfaction that the new work on "the saints in christian art" should have been entrusted to so capable a writer as mrs. arthur bell, and produced by the firm which has for many years been identified with the best illustrated books on art. mrs. bell has done wisely in giving the legends as she finds them represented, without attempting to discriminate between those which have an historical basis. ( 2 ) and others which are clearly fictitious. her aim is to enable folk to under stand the meaning of the pictures in which such incidents are depicted, and for this purpose historical criticism would clearly be out of place. her knowledge of pictures is extraordinarily comprehensive ; every page bears trace of wide reading, and often contains out-of-the-way information.' church times. — ' her industry has resulted in. a volume which will take rank at once as a work of reference indispensable to all students and lovers of religious art. it covers the first three centuries of the church's life, and it gives full and critical accounts of the treatment in art of all the more conspicuous saints of the period, illustrated by a large number of plates.' guardian. — 'the numerous illustrations which help to increase the use fulness and charm of her book have been carefully selected, and are typical examples of representative masters, which reflect both the art and religious life of the different periods at which they were produced.' tablet. — ' mrs. bell has, on the whole, treated her complicated subject lucidly and not unsympathetically. she carries her learning lightly, and adds to the stock-knowledge on the subject many modem instances. messrs. bell have supplied her with abundant and artistic reproductions of some of the pictures alluded to, and have given her text an appropriate setting.' ^.notes and queries. — ' it is a valuable and an important contribution to our knowledge of the symbolism of christian art. it also claims, with justice, to throw fresh light upon the evolution of popular belief. the selec tion of legends that is made by mrs. bell is the best easily conceivable, and the book is interesting, as well as instructive and edifying. london quarterly review. — 'mrs. bell has chosen a fascinating subject, and has lavished research and industry upon it. the book is written in a graceful style ; controversial questions are avoided, and as we turn from life to legend many a glimpse of the early ages of the church opens before us. mrs. bell's book has no dull pages, and the full-page illustrations are exquisite reproductions of great masterpieces. such a book was really needed, and the preparation of it could scarcely have fallen into better hands.' black and white. — 'a beautifiil book, beautifully illustrated, and on a beautiful subject.' scotsman. — ' it is a valuable, pleasing, and instructive book for readers interested in sacred art, itself a work of no small attractiveness to the artistic eye.' new york times. — 'while in a sense the mantle of mrs. jameson may be said to have fallen on mrs. bell, the method of the latter writer is very different from that of the earlier, and far better suited to the demands of an accurate and scientific generation. the conclusions arrived at by the modern school of investigators are embodied in a concise and easily acces sible form, and the reader has the pleasant sense of sharing in a kind of systematic research that is eminently worth while as well as fascinating to the imagination.' london : george bell & sons. u^^cc k-^va^v-v ja^ys" ; -* x ^ ' { .# the library of the university of california los angeles / ^3 y bv r.roberts; i.-^ •/rr/ ^y/z/z/rrr /^v ^-y. feu, ^///. albert, edward and laura and the hermit of priestlandj three legendary tales, by r. r o b e r t s. " thus when the tranfient dream of life is fled, " may fome fad friend recal the former years ; *' then ftretch'd in filence o'er my dufly bed, *' pour the warm gufh of fympathetic tears." ogilvte. london: printed for t. cad ell, in the strand, m dcclxxxiii. [ price 2s. ] to tpie honourable lady mary fitzmaurice. m a d a m, th e tales, which i do myfelf the honour to prefent to your ladyfhip, may ferve to amufe an hour, by that ferious, though not unpleafing fen fation, which the mind is inchned to feel from a contemplation of the manners of antiquity, fo far removed from modern life. in thofe early days, love, together with falfe notions of religion, as well as honour, carried their profeftors to an ardour^ of enthufiafm which, though it may pleafe in deicription, is what we fhould rather wifh to avoid than imitate ; yet in fo doing we are apt to err on the oppofitc fide, and the fine paflions of humanity are ridiculed in a manner that confounds the ideas we fhould have of them ; and even the facred name of religion is too often difgraced by the opprobrious one of superftition. there are indeed a diftinguifhed few, who, without difcarding the finer feelings of the foul, have admitted the embellifhments of modern fafhion. — amongft thofe happy few, give me leave to mention lady mary fitzmaurice. the concurring voice of the world agree, that refined tendernefs, and the polite 4 eafe 739087 [ 4 ] eafe of modern accomplifiiments, are joined in her ; and that the familiar eafy manners of mr. fitzmau rice, united with ancient hofpitahty, give to that charming romantic country in which they refide, even in thefe days when every peafant is free, an afpe£l of happy vaffalage divefted of the iron rod of oppreffion. in behalf of the tales, which i am permitted to addrefs to your ladyiliip, i have only to fay, that i have endeavoured to intereft the paftions, without offending morality or delicacy ; and in thofe which may more immediately he ftyled my own, being purely invention, i have wiilied to convey fbme moral, to difplay the evil confequence of giving way to jealoufy arid revenge, thofe turbulent paitions, which prey upon and deform the heart of man : even love, the moft gentle of all, will, if not under the guidance of rcafon, produce unhappinefs to thofe who are a£luated by it. how far i have fucceeded, i am myfelf no judgebut if you, madam, fmile upon my poetic labours, j fhall have no fears of criticifm from the reft of the world. i am. madam, with the utmoft refpe(9:, your ladyfliip's obliged, and obedient humble fervant, r. roberts. albert, legendary tale. i 7 j tt a he following romantic tale is fiippofed to have happened in the reign of edward the third, when the religious order of knighthood, whence the fubjea: of it is taken, was in its zenith. the fcene of the converfation is laid in the grounds of a houfe belonging to the knights of st. john of jerufalem, how in the poffeffion of john bacon efq.— it is fitu ated near eaft barnet, in middlefex, and ftill bears the name of the friery. there are about it fome remams of antiquityand the parioi church was once the chapel of the monaftery. the appearance of the place, in an evening's walk by moon-liaht, firft led the author to a train of thoughts, which made her defign the tale that now, with two: others, makes its public entry into the world. [ 9 ] b e r « o fhe was all ! *♦ my fame, my frlendfliip, and my love of arms, " all floop'd to her ; my blood was her poffeflion *' deep in the fecret foldings of my heart, ;*' she liv'd with life, and far the dearer flie." young's revenge^ 1. hail to this venerable pile, where erft thofe holy feet have trod, who fled the world's deceitful fmile, and fought in folitude their god. within 10 a l b e r t> ii. within thofe walls jerus'lem's knights, grown grey beneath the helmet's plume, h.ave found in pray'r unmix'd delights, while facred truths their fouls illume. iii. that hallow'd ground, where blended duft of pious warriors mould'ring lies, holds the bleft relicks of the juft, whofe fpirits mounted to th^ ikies. iv. that holy fane, whofe ivied head, now bounds the penfive, pleafing fcene, did fainted heroes fbftly tread, devote to god, by man unfeen. v. and here in focial hours of praife, st. john's enfignia plac'd on high. did they their choral voices raife, and loud hofannas pierc'd the fky. this a legendary tale. ii vi. this grove, whofe bending boughs unite. the pointed gothic arch to form, reprefs'd the fun's too pow'rful h'ght, or fhielded from the beating ftorm. vii. and here the rifing face of day did oft their morning walk invite,^ their early facrifice to pay, and feek from heav'n a purer light. viii. or when the fetting day declin'd, oft would thofe friendly brothers walk; and while they earthly cares refign'd, beguile the hour with pleafmg talk.. ix. there many a tale of woe relate, that call'd them from the world's gay fcene* the various labyrinths of fate, which fix'd them in this fpot ferene*. beneath 12 albert, x. ibeneath that oak's embow'rlng fhade, avhofe leaves exclude the folar ray, albert his fad devotions paid, and figh'd the live-long hours away, xi. here oft the mofly bank he preft, and wet the turf with many a tear; while fecret prayers, to heav'n addreft, call'd forth each pitying faint to hear. xii. the friendly brothers faw his grief, though ftill the caufe remain'd unknown, and vainly ftrove to give relief; for forrow call'd this knight her own. xiii. but eldred, caft in pity's mold. who long the prior's feat had fill'd-. within whofe heart the cloifter's cold^ -had not the fecial virtues chill'd : for a legendapvy tale. 13 xiv. for albert's woes he inly bled, and wifli'd his confidence to gain ; his heart, by pity's impulie led, panted to fboth the mourner's pain. xv. one evening, by the moon's pale light, the fage this facred vifta trod. where, 'midft the darkfome gloom of night, his thoughts were all abforb'd in god. xvi. when through the fblitary glade. where gleaming light (b darkly fhone. to reach the thick embower'd lliade, albert was gliding all alone j xvii. his fighs the awful filence broke, which reign'd the folemn fcene around j in broken plaints his grief he fpoke, till broken plaints in tears were drown'd. d eldred, bert, xviii. eldred, in holy viiion bleft, was wak'd by pity moving found ; humanity, his conftant gueft, gave to his feeling heart a wound, xix. he thus the mourning knight addreft ; *' oh! albert, fure 'twill not offend, " that, when i foe thee thus oppreft, ** i fhare the forrows of a friend. xx. *^ i no enquiring wifhes feel, " my mind no curious fancy leads ; *' my only wifh thofe woes to heal, *' with which my brother's bofom bleeds." xxi. to him, fad albert thus replied, ** i long have known my prior's worth; *' to him each virtue is allied, " and human mis'ry calls them forth. " but a legendary tale. 15 xxil " but nought, alas ! can me avail ; ** oh lift, my father and my friend, " whilft 1 relate the tragic tale " of evils, which can never end. xxin. " once, in the funfhine of my days, ** the winged hours with pleafure flew, " the op'ning morn did profpe£ls raife, of joys ftill ipringing to my view. (( xxiv. " high birth and wealth confpir'd to blefs, ** and love, fweet foft'ner of the whole, " did unreftrain'd my heart poflefs, " and fhed his influence through my foul. xxv. " i lov'd, and wedded to the fair, " for whom my heart inceffant beat j ** each earthly blifs was center'd there, " and happinefs feem'd all compleat. oh i6 albert, xxvi. ** oh heav'n ! how could deception dwell *' beneath that lovely, guilelefs form ? " oh guilt, thou genuine child of hell, " why did'ft thou not that face deform ? xxvii. " all foft and innocent her looks, *' her thoughts feem'd written in her eyes ; " i ftudied them as virtue's books, " but thofe blue heavens were all dilguife, xxviii. *' more my domeftic joys to blend, *' friendfhip beftow'd its pleafmg pow'r; *' in early youth i gain'd a friend, ** whofe converfe charm' d each rifing hour. xxix. ** fortune to him was moft unkind, ** and humble his paternal cot ; " what heart-felt joy then fill'd my mind, ** to jqiare with him my happier lot. *' egbert a legendary tale. 17 xxx. *' egbert was as a brother lov'd, " my artlefs foul on him reclin'd ; " my julia too my''friend approv'd, " and in the bond fraternal join'd. xxxl " unhappy league ! a lawlefs flame " was rais'd in egbert's treach'rous breaft; *' ah bafe return! detefted name i *' which 'reft his haplefs friend of reft. xxxn. ** ah me ! my unfulpe6ling heart, ** glowing with love, and friend (hip's fire, *' unconfcious of the villain's part, " beat with no racking jealous ire. xxxiil " oft, with a feeming gen'rous pride, " he'd wail his hard, dependant fate ; " though every a6l i ftrove to hide, ** which ferv'd that rigour to abate. e ' " at i8; a l b e r t, xxxiv. ** at length, to eafe my friend from pain, ** his dignity of foul had rais'd, ** and free his heart yrom that difdain, " my mind alternate blam'd and prais'd ; xxxv. " i try'd my intereft with the king, " whofe conqu'ring bands i once did lead ; " i flew to court on friendfhip's wing, " that facred tye encreas'd my fpeed. xxxvi. " my royal mafter heard my fuit, " and, as a prince, the meed beftow'd ; " at my requeft transferr'd the fruit, " he thought he to my fervice ow'd. xxxvii. *' what joy my glowing bofom felt ! " when edward's ever lib'ral hand, *' gave to the friend, for whom i knelt, ** a poft of profit and command. 8 " eager a legendary tale. 19 xxxviil ** eager the tidings to declare, " i trufted not the courier's hafte ; " myfelf the welcome news would bear, " and with my friend the pleafure tafte. xxxix. " juft as the fetting fun decun'd, *' i reach'd my once belov'd retreat ; ** and ent'ring through a wood behind, " which led to julia's fav'rite feat; xl. ** what language can expreflion find ? ** what words can paint the guilty fcene ? " from thofe dread ftruggles in my mind, " oh father ! guefs the guilt i mean. xll " the wife, who kept my treafur'd hearty ** the friend, my bofom held moft dear j " nature with horror feem'd to ftart, " and caft around a wildnefs drear. " rage 2a albert, xlir, " rage and revenge my foul poffeft ; ** the furies cry'd, spare not fuch guilt : *' in egbert's falfe, ungrateful breaft, *' i plung'd my dagger to the hilt. xliii. *' then reeking from the gaping wound, " the blood-ftain'd weapon forth i drew, ** whilft julia, kneeling on the ground, *' did for returning mercy fue. xliv. ** for thee what mercy can i feel ? *' i faid, and turn'd my face afide ; ** when the revengeful, fatal fteel, ** in life's warm blood was doubly dy'd. xlv. " oh father ! from reproach refrain, *' though all deferv'd its arrows fly; *' pity the horrors i fuftain ; *' to me 'twere happinefs to die. too a legendary tale. 2i xlvl ** too dark their crime to be forgiven, *' yet bold the wretch who vengeance deals; ** vengeance belongs alone to heaven, " whofe juftice wounds, whofe mercy heals. xlvn. ** here i repentant fbrrows pay, " to them whofe blood i once did fhed ; " in tears i wafte the waning day, *' and ipend my vigils with the dead. xlvin. " add to my tears thy pious pray'r, ** for fuch in heaven hath much avail, " that i at length that grace may fhare, " whofe facred fountains never fail." xlix. eldred, with tears and heart-felt fighs,. mov'd flowly through the deep'ning fhadc ; ** thou haft my pray'rs, my fbn^ he cries ; *' i can no more — ^be god thy aid." f albert 22 albert, a legendary tale. l. albert retlr'd within his cell, where on the ground he proftrate lay ; his breaft contending paflions fwell, he figh'd the lonely night away. edward and laura, legendary tale, taken from a story said to have happened in the fifteenth century. [ 25 ] argument. x he time of the crufades was an sera as favour able to the romantic paffion of love as it was to the enthufiaftic fpirit of religion : the like ardent zeal animated the heroes fouls in both thofe glorious caufes; and if it fometimes carried them to excefs, it was, however, an error on the fide of virtue; it was a frantic herolfnii the only fpecres of madnefs which the moderns, particularly of this country, are not apt to fall into. a fordid love of f !i was a principle that never could find admittance into the breaft of a real knight errant, in whom zeal for his saviour was the firft, and love of his miftrefs the fecond leading motive for every a£lion of his life: in fuch circumftances. it may be fuppofed many inci dents happened which ferved to form the novels, of which that age was fb fond. among a number of florles which i have feen, that which gave rife to the fojlowlng poem aifeded me g. the. [ 26 ] the moft. the ftory is fimply this. a nobleman of normandy (a country in which the nobihty formerly prided themfelves on a long train of anceftors, illuf trious by hardy deeds of valour) had an only daugh ter, who w^as courted by a young gentleman of worth and honour, but of a family which had no lineage to boaft of the nobleman, alarmed at it, expoftulated with great bitternefs with the young lady, and took the opportunity, while her lover was engaged in a crufade, to ufurp a powxr over her inclinations which no parental authority could give him, and force her to marry the count de coucy. the news reached her lover, then at the fiege of buda, who in defpair threw himfelf into the foremoil rank, and foon re ceived a mortal wound. seeing himlelf at the point of death, he called his attendant, and defired that, as foon as he was dead, his heart might be taken from his body, baked hard in an oven, and then ground to powder, put into a gold box, and conveyed to his miftrefs with a letter. the trufty fervant was eager to execute his dying mafter's commands j but by an unfortunate accident the letter was intercepted, and fell into the hands of the lord de coucy, who, ftung with jealoufy, gave ^ the c 27 j the powder to his cook, with orders to mix it in a ragout, which he prevailed on his wife to eat, afturing her it was falutary for that languifhing diforder which fhe had from the time of her marriage laboured under : but no fooner was his requeft complied with, than with a malignant plcafure he told her what he had done. the unhappy lady fhrieked with horror, and with a flood of tears declared fhe would never more touch food ; after which fhe went to bed, and never rofe again, i have deviated in a fmall degree from the ftory, juft to make the lady fuppofe her lover dead before fhe yielded to marry another; and the ragout not being fo proper to give to a lady in a confumption, i have changed into a cordial. " howe'er exalted or depreft, *' be ever mine the feeling breaft : <* life fill'd with griefs diflrefsful train, ** forever afks the tear humane. langhorne. [ ^^9 ] edward and laura. i. tn ancient days a norman baron liv'd, •*who, having pafs'd his youthful years in war, amidft his friends and valtals then receiv'd the honours dearly bought by many a fear. one child he had, a fair and virtuous maid, who tend'reft care with filial love repaid. il the beauteous dame, to whom fhe ow'd her birth, beftowing hfe, had yielded up her own ; the day defign'd for joy and feftive mirth, was fiu'd with cries of woe and plaintive moan. the weeping sire his darling often ey'd, *' my laura lives in thee," as often cry'd. h the jo edward and laura, iii. the lovely laura grew, by all admlr'd. her father's joy, his hope, his favourite care ; and many a gentle knight, by love infpir'd, in tender accents breath'd the ardent prayer : but the fell sifters her fad lot had caft,. her fatal doom irrevocably paft. iv. a 'squire, who fortune's fmiles had never fhar'd. but was with nature's gifts profufely bleft, in fome fbft moment had his love declar'd. and found a tender pleader in her breaft : to him with pleafure oft fhe lent an ear. and all his fondeft vows would kindly hear. v. their mutual love could not be long conceal'd, a father's prying eye the fecret found ; that read what laura's eyes too well reveal'd, and fame, too bufy, fpread the tale around : struck with difdain, the haughty baron cry'd, " my daughter ne'er fliall be this peafant's bride." ■a. with a, legendary tale. 3r vl with eager hafte he to his daughter hew,. and thus in gentle terms the maid addreft : " my laura's happinefs, my conftant view,, " benignant heav'n has giv'n to my requeft ; ** a noble earl demands thee for a wife, ** and crowns with joy thy father's ebb of life.'*' vil no words can paint the haplefs maid's furprize. in vain fhe ftrove to fpeak, her voice was drown'd^ her ipeech was choak'd amidft her rifmg fighs ; o'ercome with grief, fhe funk upon the ground : again fhe try'd to fpeak, her tongue deny'd. but tears and dumb complaints the want fupply'd, viil the baron faw this conflid in her mind. but rage, not pity, glow'd within his breaft ; with words determin'd, and with looks unkind,. his fix'd refolves he harllily thus exprefl : *' that folly which thou dread'ft, fond girl, to own,. *' to thy wrong'd father is already known. ** but j2 edward and laura, ix. *^' but hear what i, thy offended sire, declare, ** and think what duty does of thee demand; *' a ftranger to my blood fhall be my heir, ^' unlcls to this brave earl thou giv'ft thy hand: *' my hoary head will foon fmk down to reft, " a parent's curfe to thee's my laft bequeft," x. this faid, with frowning afl:)c£l he withdrew, aiid left th' unhappy fair to grief a prey : a grave of firs near fayel cajlk grew. to which the lovely mourner bent her way ; here firft did edward breathe the tender talc. and here o'er laura's fears did love prevail, xl here as flie walk'd, remembrance of the paft, and fad foreboding of the future years, o'er laura's mind the gloom of ev'ning caft. and all fpontaneous fell a fliower of tears : her heart, by love of virtue only fir'd, jbewalld the pride which lordly birth infpir'd. while a legendary tale. 33 xil while thus fhe wept, thro' the fequefter'd fhade, where ev'ry eve he met his much-lov'd fair, edward approach'd the melancholy maid, with downcaft eyes, and looks which fpoke defpair. the ibrrow which o'ercharg'd his manly breaft, at length found vent ; he thus his grief expreft. xiil " i alk not, laura, why the rifing figh ** does from thy gentle boibm thus afcend ; " nor why the tears thus trickle from your eye ; ** too well i know the caufe, my lovely friend, " ah, laura ! once 1 hop'd a fofter name, ** a tend'rer epithet, my love might claim. xiv. ** love, the great leveller of human pride, " which makes the monarch kneel before his (lave, " which all our boaftcd titles does deride, *' that foe to wealth, that conqu'ror of the brave, <* made me forget my humble lot of life, " and dare to think of laura for a wife. i '' but 34 edward and laura, xv. *' but fay ah lord has check'd my afpirlng foul, ** and fhewn the diftance 'twixt your fiatc and minc^, " and though my conftant love bears no controul, '* yet will i ne'er difgrace his noble hue : *' up honour's fteep afcent i'll force my way, " and laura's charms will dangers overpay.. xvi. " a faithful band of warriors now unite, " the chriftian banner's to their view difplay'd,, ** againft th' infulting saracens they fight, *' and call an injur'd saviour to their aid. *' in fuch a caufe my lowly blood fliall rife, " and fame's emblazon'd coat ihall be my prize. xvii. ** then crown'd with honours (hall your knight return, " and lay his trophies at his fair-one's feet ; " no more conceal'd his ardent flame fhall burn, " but gentle laura fhall his paffion meet : " nay e'en your father will our faith approve, " and with his fandion blefs our well try'd love.'* while 3:5b a legendary tale. xviil while thus he fpoke, alternate hope and fear with warring conflids fill'd his laura's bread ; to hope of rifing fame fhe gave an ear. then dread of dreary death her foul po/teft : till yielding to neceffity's ftrong tide, to edward's reafons thus the maid reply'd.. xix. " alas i brave sir, from whence this pride of birth, " on which our nobles lay fuch mighty flrefs ? " does nature fill their molds with finer earth ? " or wifdom with fuperior talents blefs ? " your brighter worth declares the tale untrue, " and nature juftifies her work in you. xx. " but if the chriftian's faith your bofom warms, " thofe facred truths with zeal your foul infpire, " may its great leader fmih upon your arms, " and on th' infulting foe pour all his ire. " may heaven's proteding pow'r my edward ihield, " aiid bring him fafe with conqueft from the field." to ^6 edward and laura, xxi. to laura's pious wifh the youth replies, ** i truft our lord will lend a pitying ear, " such virtuous orifbns afcend the fkies, ** and faith defcending baniihes all fear. *' faith, hope, and love, fliall animate my breaft, ** and hymen's facred torch fhall be my creft. xxil " but fliould that land receive my breathlefs clay, *' where once god's temple rear'd its facred head j *' there once cnclos'd a god incarnate lay, ** and thence a glorious band of martyrs led. " if i, like them, by blood my faith fliouid prove, *' to diftant worlds i'd bear my laura's love. xxiii. <* farewell then, deareft maid, if heav'n ordains *' that you no more fliall blefs my longing eyes, ** this lail embrace fhall heal my future pains, ** and chear my foul when vanquifh'd nature dies. " to god's protecting pov\tr i leave my fair, *' the charge of fem.ale worth his angels ihsre." a. with a legendary talev 37 xxiv. with mingled tears, and looks of deep diftrefs. the unhappy pair figh'd out their lafl: adieus ; the lamp of hope funk ev'ry moment lefs ; no ray of light fhone forth to diftant views. she to the caftle bent her penfive way, he feeks the camp where chriftian banners play^ xxv. now in the field the warlike foldiers, led by hardy chiefs, the hallow'd crofs difplay. where mahojnet his impious laws had fpread, thro' troops of infidels they forc'd their way. where danger prefs'd, brave edward ftill was neari love fiu'd his foul,, and left no room for fear^ xxvl join'd with a fmall, but chofen youthful band, whofe fouls, like his, with ardent zeal were fir'd,, he drove embodied legions from that land, where holy lips by truth were firft infpir'd. deeds fuch as thefe rais'd edward's martial fame. and knighthood gave due honour to his name. kbut ^8 edward and laura,_ xxvu, ^ut'bent on conqueft, eager for the fight, ;'he once his enemies too far purfu'd ; they feem'd to feek their fafety in their flight, till fudden fuccour their loft hopes renew'd. redoubled rage now fill'd th' exulting foe, and edward fell beneath th' avenging blow. xxviii. the fatal news fbon reach'd fair laura's ear. that edward fell, by numbers overpower'd ; ko more the confli(fi: now 'twixt hope and fear. but grief alone its baleful influence fhower'd, defpair became an inmate in her breaft, and her whole foul was funk in gloomy reft. xxix. her father by each fbothing fondnefs ftrove to heal the angulfti which poftefs'd her mind; he wifti'd fuccefs had crown'd their haplefs love, and oft with tears the lovely mourner join'd.: this lenient balm a parent's hand fupply'd, by flow degrees her ftreaming forrows dry'd. parental ^legendary tale. 39 xxx. parental tendernefs, with watchful eye, still mark'd the progrefs of declining grief; each day fome varied fcene it did fupply. and ftudied ev'ry art to give relief; till th' impaflion'd heart had ceas'd to bleedj and ferious foftnefs did the ftorm fucceed. xxxt. the baron ftill, his fav'rite wifh in view, waited the moment when the look ferene, "which gently on fair laura's afpeft grew, and beam'd enchanting graces thro' her mien, reviv'd ambitious hopes within his breaft, that grandeur fhould his future lineage blefs. xxxil de coucy, yet a lover of the fair, ren^w'd his vows in warm but humble ftrain ; his ardent fuit, back'd by a father's pray'r, did in her tender mind an influence gain. tho' dead to love, (he yielded to his will., whofe wifhes duty taught her to fulfil. 4 a blooming, 40 edward and laura, xxxiii. a blooming, yet a melancholy bride, with mild relu£lance ilie beftow'd her hand ; and ev'ry effort o'er her heart fhe try'd, to make it yield to wedlock's ftern command. by gentle fmiles fhe ftrove her woes to heal, nor fuffer'd iighs her anguioi to reveal. xxxiv. while edward bleeding on the hoftile plain, where gallant knights in death promilcuous lay,. suppos'd like them to be amongft the flain, by hands of sarace?is was borne away. refcu'd from death, alas ! to be a flave. from death, lefs dreaded by the truly brave. xxxv. twice had the fun gone his fucceflive round, ere chance of battle fet the captive free ; the vi6lor chiefs their long-loft comrade found, and more than life, they gave him liberty. little, alas i did all thefe gifts avail ! when from their lips he heard the fatal tale. oh a legendary tale. 4^ xxxvl << oh laura, perjur'd fair," the lover cry'd, <' never, ah ! never can'ft thou now be mine ; " would that at salem s facred walls i had dy'd ; <' happy that hallow'd earth had been my fhrine, <' but ftill devoted to christ's holy law, <' 'gainft thee, oh mahomet^ my fword i draw." xxxvil for buda now the gallant troops prepar'd. and hopclefs edward join'd the martial band ; where dangers prefs'd, the foremoft ftill he dar'd, his courage fcarcely fubjea to command. death feem'd the objea which he had in view, through hofts of foes he did the fhade purfue. xxxvin. nor vain his fearch ; full foon a bow vv as bent. the deadly dart was lodg'd within his breaft ; his weeping foldicrs bore him to his tent. by fkilfu-l hands his bleeding wound was dreft ; but the envcnom'd point all art withftood. and rankling poifon mingled with his blood. l immortal 42 ed w a p. d a nd l a u r a, xxxix. immortal fcenes now op'ning to his eyes, could aught on earth employ one moment's care ? was there an objed; yet beneath the fkies that could with heav'n his warm affe£lion fhare ? in that dread hour did love an entrance find. and laura's image featcd in his mind. xl. while ebbing life his trembling frame fuflain'd,; in moving terms he penn'd his laft adieu ; of fate alone the unhappy youth complain'd,. nor one reproach againft his fair-one threw. but e'en in death his laura was confeft, the laft dear inmate of his beating breaft. xli. a fervant, on whofe long-try'd zealous care edward with fteady confidence rely'd, watch'd by his couch in filent fad delpair,. and vainly ftrove the tricklmg tear to hide : the dying hero gently prefs'd his hand, saying, ** friend, obferve thy mafter's laft command : a <* this a legendary tale. 43 xlil. *' this wounded body foon (liall fink in du-ft, *' my nobler part fliall mount the ftarry road^ yet one dcpofit to thy hands i truft, " this heart, of laura once the blcft abode. let not the manfion where her image lay, " be food for worms, or turn to common clay. xliil '' when dead and cold, as quickly i fliall be, " take from my lifelefs corfe that faithful pledge, " harden'd by fire, from all its foftnefs free, " to powder crufii'd beneath the millftone's wedge ; . " within this golden urn the powder lay, '* and the fad prefent to her hands convey. xliv. '' this piaure too, faint tranfcript of her charms, " this fliadow to her lover did fiie give^ " her real beauties blefs a rival's arms j " with that reflexion can i wifii to live ? " death's gloomy terrors in that thought are hid^ " and as a foothing friend he brings me aid. *' thia 44 edward and laura, xlv. '^^ this lov'd companion of my captive years, " within this farewell letter i enclofe; -** wrote with my blood, walli'd pallid by my tears, *' theie to my heart's fole miftrefs i difpofe. " adieu ! a mandate fummons me on high, '** to meet its judge, my (jpirit mounts the fky." xlvi. soon as his ma'fter's obfcquies were paft, with duteous hafte, the faithful foldier went t' obey commands the faddeft and the laft. yet fuch as to difcharge his mind was bent. now at the feat which bore de coucy's name, he begs admittance to the noble dame. xlvir. the haplefs bride, to fecret grief a prey, by flow-pac'd fteps, was paffmg to the grave ; the fine machine was falling to decay. and chcck'd the current of the crirafon wave. now in her bower, with weary thoughts cppreh, o'erpower'd nature links awhile to reft. meanwhile a legendary tale. 45 xlviil while her attendant to the ftranger hies, and begs he'd give the cafket to her care ; *' soon as my lady opes, fays fhe, her eyes, *' your melancholy gift to her i'll bear." paftmg the hall to where her lady lay, du coucy chanc'd to crofs the maiden's way. xlix. aw'd by a mafter's ftrid enquiring voice. which fternly aik'd her what fhe would conceal, she yielded to neceflity, not choice. and the fad fecret trembling did reveal. frowning, he faid, " let this in fdence fleep, ** why fhould my wife without ceffation weep?" l. now cank'ring jealouly, revenge and hate. corroding paflions, flung du coucy's breaft, with envious rage he view'd his rival's fate, and e'en in death he deem'd the hero bleft. ** my wife for me no foftnefs feels," he cries, *' regret, not love, is painted in her eyes. m <' but 46 edward and laura, li. *' but let me give her minion to her wl(h, " entomb'd within her breaft his heart fliall lie \ *' i will myfelf prefent the coftly difli : " for fuch a burial, who would grudge to die ?" then hiding fell revenge, with tend'reft air he fought the couch where fat the languid fair. lil his rage conceal'd with guife of fondeft love, " my laura, my foul's joy," he foftly figh'd, " the leech's ikill does not the caufe remove, ** which fades the beauties of my much-lov'd bride. " but fee i a powder from arabia brought, *' at a high price, for thee thy lord has bought; liil ** this precious balm, of long-try'd fov'reign ufe, ** in this rich cordial here i then infufe ; ** drink it, my love, foon mix'd with life's warm juice^ ** renewing health will through thy veins diffufe. ** such health as will thofe blooming charms rellore, <* which taught du coucy's bofom to adore." with 47 a l e g e nd aky t a l e. liv. with foft complacence, but without reply, laura receiv'd the cordial from his hand ; with his defires attentive to comply. his willi to her was ever a command. thus from the cup her lover's heart (he drain 'd^ with the rich juice her lovely lips were ftain'd.. lv. malignant joy now fill'd du coucy's breaft, with vengeful malice gleaming from his eyes ; " my laura's now," he cried, " moft furely blefi:, ** since heav'n has yielded edward to her fighs; " that precious balm which does enrich thy veins, " once form'd the heart which caus'd thy guilty pains.'* lvl the haplefs lady ftruck with horror flood, then finking on the couch, flie ihriek'd aloud • when from her eyes burft forth the gufhing flood, and keeneft anguiih did her afpe£t cloud. " it's well, my lord," /he cry'd, " the balm youvegiv n, " will bear my guiltlefs fhade to yon bright heav'n. 4, '' ju% 48 edward and laura, &>€. lvii. *' juftly you faid it would my health renew ; '^^ no other food ftiall ever nourifh life ; *' receive my pardon, and my laft adieu, *' no longer fhall i live du coucy's wife. *' soon will the grave that awful tie diffolve, ** my free-born foul from mortal vows abfolve.' lviii. a few iliort hours determin'd laura's fate. her breath in gentle flumbers died awayj her lord repented of his rage too late, and ufelefs tears did to her manes pay : within the cloifter, where her duft was laid, a daily requiem for her foul was pray'd. lix. may never faithful love like theirs be croft, may pride of birth be baniili'd from mankind ; be all diftin6lions, but of merit, loft, and honour featcd only in the mind : for there, and there alone, fhould be the feat. the virtuous only, are the truly great. the hermit o f priestlan d, a legendary tale. n: advertisement. a he author, being on a vifit at a gentleman's houfe in hampfhire, very pleafantly fituatcd near the fea, was requefted by the family, of which fhe then made a part, to write a legendary tale ; the occafion of which was, that in laying out the pleafure-grounds, the gentleman found a beautiful fequeftered fpot, which tempted him to build a little romantic cell, in which he placed a fine venerable figure of a hermit ; when that was done, he did his gueft the honour of begging the aftiftance of her mufe. the ftory is a little ially of the inventive powers, and was at firft meant only to oblige her friends ; but many reafons have influenced her to publifli it. the hermit is fuppofed to be indulging that melancholy pleafure which the unhappy fometimes find in recounting their woes to the inanimate objects which furround them. the title of the hermit is taken from the name of the eftate. .;•;[ 53 ]; the hermit of priestland. *' her bloom was like the fpiinging flower *« which fips the filver dew ; y the rofe was budded in her cheek, " and op'ning to the view : " but grief had, like the canker worm, " confum'd her early prime ; " the rofe grew pale, and left her cheek, " she died before her time." mallet. i. 1 e fea-beat fliores, which oft my plaints rcfound, whofe echoes anfwer to your hermit's lay ; ye fcenes, which all my earthly profpeds bound. thou turf, to which i leave my brcathiefs ]^" ci: while 54 the hermit of priestland, ii. while yet anton it> breathes this vital air, while heav'n fufpcnds the laft of my defires, this cell, the witnefs of my cad deipair. shall hear the lines which haplefs love infpires. iii. year after year, i weep thofe errors paft, which robb'd the world of eaima, gentle maid ! thofe charms, deftroy'd by my unhallow'd blaft. to death's dark chambers were too foon convey'd. iv. in emma's lovely features were expreft. all that the painter's fancy e'er portray'd ; with nature's pureft bloom her cheeks were dreft, and to her form the graces lent their aid. v. the heavenly blue which beam'd in emma's eyes, confirm'd the foftnefs which adorn'd her voice ; her artiefs foul, a ftranger to difguife. but own'd the virtues heav'n had made her choice. 4. i faw, a legendary tale. 55; vl i faw, i lov'd, i heard, and i admlr'd her graceful modefty, her fenfe refin'd ; an ardent flame my youthful bofoni fir'd, and love poftefs'd what reafon had refign'd.. vil to my pure vows, my emma lent an ear, a mutual paflion fill'd her tender breaft ; in fofteft accents, mix'd with virgin fear, she own'd her love, fhe made her lover bleft, viil early misfortune drew my infant tears, for foon, alas ! by heaven's fevere decrecj,. i loft my father j who with anxious fears to a kind brother's care entrufted me. ix. he, mafter of my fortunes and my will, look'd on me ever with a parent's eye ; eager i fhould the higheft ftations fill. his wilh was but to fee me great, and die. but s6 the hermit of priestland, x. but emma's humble lot co low was caft, an honeft yeoman gave the virgin birth ; his years, tho' few, in ufeful labour paft, his mortal part was mingled with the earth. xi. one ion he left, in camps the youth was bred, he fought for glory 'gainft his country's foes -, mifguided youth, by mad fufpicion led, he plung'd antonio's foul in hopelefs woes. xii. soon as my uncle had the fecret found. that emma's charms had won his nephew's heart j with anger £r'd, he cry'd, *' this fhameful wound, " in my indulgence ne'er lliall gain a part. xiii. *' if thou, fond boy, to thy true intcrefl: blind, <* can'ft thus defcend a peafant's girl to love; ** if loft to honour, thy ignoble m.ind, <* to fuch a paftion muft a vi£lira prove : ** alliance a legendary tale. s7 xiv. " alliance with thee henceforth i difclalm, ** no blood of mine could ever fall fo low -, ** no longer dare to boaft my brother's name, *' unlefs thy honour does thy lineage fhew." xv. aw'd by the voice of one fo much rever'd, to whom with filial love i'd ever bow'd ; whofe anger next to heav'n's i'd always fcar'd, i hid my flame, my paflion difavow'd. xvl in private interviews i woo'd the maid, by honour guided, woo'd her for my bride ; no (clfiih love that honour e'er betray'd, to injure her who on my faith rely'd. xvii. my emma liften'd to her lover's prayer, the prieft in holy wedlock join'd our hands ; oh fhort-liv'd joys! oh lov'd, lamented fair! how foon did death diffolve thofe facred ties i p our 58 the hermit of priestland, xviii. our rlg'rous fate no confidante allow'd, except her mother, witnefs to our love ; the matron's mind with prudence was endow'd, but fondnefs blefs'd what ilie could not approve, xix. our meetings all by ftealth, our joys unknown, by future hopes our happy hours beguil'd ; i liv'd for her, fhe liv'd for me alone ; what could i wihi while emma on me fmil'd ! xx. but fland'rous tongues their baleful malice fhed, at emma's fame they fliot their poifbn'd dart; through all the country the report was fpread, that beauteous emma play'd the wanton's part. xxi. thofe cruel tidings reach'd her brother's ears, with rage and pride inflam'd the foldier's breaft ; he loft his fifter's virtues in his fears. and fell revenge his furious foul pofteft. he a legendary tale. 59 xxn. he left the camp all in the dead of night, and to his mother's village bent his way ; no friend entrufted with his frantic flight, to calm his paflions, or his vengeance ftay. xxin. once with my emma i had fondly ftay'd, till sol's bright beams fhot forth his eaftern ray ; a fudden tremor fhook the lovely maid, when morn approaching fummon'd me away. xxiv. ill-fated morn 1 decreed, alas ! no more to meet my emma with the fmiles of joy; no time can e'er the blifsful hours reftore. which one fhort moment did, alas ! deftroy. xxv. as from the cot with penfive ftep i went, an unknown youth with fury croft my way; with wrathful ire, his eyes on me were bent, ** thou villain, flop thy courfe !" i heard him fay. 8 then 6o the hermit of priestland, xxvi. then from the flieath he drew the glitt'ring blade ; " defend thyfelf, unworthy wtetch !" he cry'd^ then aun'd a ftroke which me in duft had laid, but that my weapon drove his point afide. xxvii. redoubled rage now flaihing from his eye. with eager fury full on me he preft : seeing that either he or i muft die, my fatal fword i lodg'd within his breaft. xxviii. the clafhing nolfe had reach'd my emma's ear, and with her mother forth fhe wild did run : ah me ! what founds did then antonio hear — " alas, my brother ! ah, my wretched fon 1" xxix. stiffen'd with horror, all aghaft i flood, my looks expreflive of my deep deipair ; firft on the youth, now welt'ring in his blood, then fix'd on emma, my unhappy fair. she a legendary tale. 61 xxx. she from her brother's bleeding corfe was torn, and to her mother's cottage fafe convey'd ; her tender mind by cruel conflifts torn, a fettled fbrrow on her vitals prey'd. xxxl by flow degrees it fapp'd the fprings of life, pining confumption brought her to her grave ; no healing balfam could preferve my wife, vain was the medicinal art to fave. xxxil soon as my uncle heard the tale of woe, in all my griefs he bore a friendly part ; for mc the fympathifmg tear did flow, for me oft heav'd the figh that rends the heart. xxxiil urg'd by his love, while ebbing life remain'd, with him i pafs'd my melancholy hours; but when his foul eternity had gain'd, i fled from men to thefc fequefter'd bowers. q^ thofe 62 the hermit of priestland. xxxiv. thofe 1-arge domains, to which my birth held claim,. which fure for nobler purpofes were giv'n, than to tranfinit from age to age a name, from heav'n receiv'd, i dedicate to heav'n». xxxv. not to a convent did i give my ftore, where lazy monks no active virtue know ; but thofe whofe fuffering merit i deplore, on them with ready hand i ftill beftow. xxxvi. great power ! accept my alms, accept my tears, mercy benign, wafh ev'ry guilt away; when time's no more, and nature fmks in years, receive thy hermit to eternal day. x he author of the foregoing poems, having been much importuned by her friends to give the following melancholy stanzas to the public, has been prevailed on to add them to this little collec tion, thinking they will not be unacceptable to her readers* [ 6s 3 written on the fatal event, which happened in leadenhall street, january i8, 1782. r. "^"x 7 h e n god's tremendous thunders roll;, ' ^ and rend the earth from pole to polcj^ and bodies rife to join the foul j 11. then will this beauteous infant train, whofe fpotlefs minds ne'er knew a ftain. attend their saviour's peaceful reign. iii. angelick fmiling, hand in hand, they meet the bieffed bcth'lem band. who bled by herod's ftern command. r firft [ 66 ] iv. firft fruits of heav'n they (land confeft, no a£lual guile they e'er pofteft, and sovvcign mercy docs the reft. v. the hoary finncr doom'd to rife, viewing thofe faints with envious eyes, as rob'd in light they mount the fkies, vi. shall wail with tears his haplefs fate. which gave his years a length'ned date. when now repentance comes too late. vii. he fees the throne with trembling dread, williing to hide his guilty head, for ever in the grave's dark bed. viii. meanwhile the blifsful blooming throng, with pleafing rev'rence march along, preceded by the seraph's fong. 6 they [ 67 3 ix. they fing, *' the heav'nly feats prepare; " behold ! your lord's peculiar care ** are come, his promis'd love to fharc." x. celeftlal harps repeat the found, the golden roofs of heav'n rebound, and worlds in chorus echo round. xr. may thefe refleislions ftill be near, the fad parental breaft to chear. and flop the frequent gufhing tear. xii. perhaps e'en now, all dazzling fair, thofc gentle fpirits waft through alf, and fhield their parents from defpair. xiii. may be, their future talk's affign'd. to watch a brother's opening mind, or guard from ill the tender kind. from [ 68 ] xiv. from *miclpc the guardian saints ele£^. indulgent heaven may them felctsv, some unborn fifter to dire£l:. xv. let weeping friends indulge the thought, with more than human comfort fraught, and bend before his awful throne, who calls thofe innocents his own. f i n 1 l o u s i a d: a n heroi-comic poem. c a n t o l by peter pindar, esq. prima syracofio, dignata eft ludere verfu noftra, nee erubuit sylvas habitare thalia; cum canerem reges et praelia, cynthius aurem l/ellit et admonuit— — i, who fo lately in my lyric lays, sung to the praife and glory of r — a s ; and fweetly tun'd to love the melting line. with ovld'i art, and sappho's warmth divine; said (nobly daring!) « muse, exalt thy wings, '* love, and the sons of canvas, quit for k — cs. apollo, laughing at my powers of song, cry'd, " peter pindar, prithee hold thy tongue.' but i, likepw^i, fclf'fufficicnt grcvjhy reply'd " apollo, prithee hold thy cw«." virgil, the fourth edition, with considerable additions. london: printed for g. kearsley, at johnfon's head, no. 46, fleet street; and w. forster, mufic-feller, no. 348, near exeter 'change, in the strand. where may be had, all the auth or's other pieces.— for a lift, fee the laft page. mjdccjlxxxvi. p r i c e 1" w o shi l lings. entered at stationers' hall. to the r e a d e r. gentle reader, xt is neceflary to inform thee, that his m y a6lually dilcovercd, feme time ago, as he fat at table, a louse on his plate. the emo tion occafioned by the unexpcded appearance oi juch a guejl^ can be better imagined than defcrlbed. an edi6t was, in confequence, pafled for fhaving the cooks and scullions, and the unfortunate loufe condemned to die. such is the foundation of the lousiad. — with what degree of merit the poem is executed, the uncritical as well as critical reader will decide. the ingenious aitthor, who ought to be allowed to v.now fomcwhat of the matter, hath been ht^xd privately to declare, that in his opinion the batrachomyomachia of homer, the secchia rapita of taffoni, the lutrin of boileau, the difpenfary of garth, and the rape of the lock of pope, are not to be compared to it, — and to exclaim at the fame time, with all the modeji ajfiirance of an author cedite scriptores romani, cedite graii— nil ortum in terris, loujiada, melius. which, for the fake of the mere englifla reader, is thus beautifully tranflated : — roman and grecian authors, great and fmall. the author of the lousiad beats you all. advertisement, the author takes this opportunity of expreffing his ackn ledgements to mr. wigstead for the very humorous exertion of well-known abilltle;, in furnihiing the plate which accom^paniee edition. ^ the o u s i a d. canto i: 1 he louse, i fing, that, from fome head unknown. yet born and educated near a throne, dropp'd down, — (fo wlll'd the dread decrees of fate,) with legs wide fprawling on the m ch's plate: far from the raptures of a wife's embrace : far from the gambols of a tender race, wbo^e little feet he taught, with care, to tread amidft the wide dominions of the head ; led them to daily food, with fond delight, and taught the tiny trav'lers where to biie ; b to [ 6 ] to hide, to run, advance, or turn their tails, when hoftile combs attack'd, or vengeful nails : far from thofe pleafing fcenes, ordain'd to roam. like wife ulyftes, from his native home ; yet, like that sage, tho' forc'd to roam and mourn — • like him^ alas \ not fated to returii ; who, full of rags and glory, faw his boy * and \ wife again, and dog | that dy'd for joy. dovi'n dropp'd the lucklefs louse, with fear appall'd. and wept his wife and children, as he fprawl'd. thus, on a proi/iontory's mifty brow. the poet's eye, with forrow, faw a cow take leave abrupt of bullocks, goats, and fheep. by tumbling headlong down the dizzy fleep ; no more to reign a queen amongft the cattle, and urge her rival beaux, the bulls, to battle ; * telemachus. •\ penelope. :j; argus, for whofe hiftory, fee the odyfley. she t 7 ] * she fell, rememb'ring ev'ry roaring lover, ~" with all her wild courants in fields of clover. now on his legs, amidft a thoufand woes, the louse, with judge -like gravity arofe: he wanted not a motive to in treat him, bejide the horror, that the k*** might eat him — the dread of gafping on the fatal fork, stuck with a piece of mutton, beef, or pork ; or drowning 'midft the fauce in difmal dumps. was full enough to make him flir his flumps. vain hope ! of flealing unperceiv'd away i he might as well have tarried where he lay. seen was this louse, as with the royal brood. our hungry k*** amus'd himfelf with food ; which proves (tho' fcarce believ'd by one in ten) that kings have appetites like common men ; and that, like london aldermen and mayor, they feed on more fubflantial fluff than air. '* — — — moricns dulces rcminifcitur argos. virg. paint, [ 8 ] paint, heav'nly miife, the look, the very look. that of the s n's face, pofleition took, when firfl he faw the louse, in folemn flate, grave as a spaniard, march acrofs the plate! yet, could a louse a britifh king furprize. and, like a pair of faucers, flretch his eyes ? the little tenant of a vwrud head, shake the great ruler of three realms with dread ? good lord ! (as somebody fublimely fmgs,) what great effeds arife from littk things ! as many a loving fwain and nymph can tell. who, following nature's law, have lovd too ivelu not with more horror, did his eyes behold, charles fox, that cunning enemy of old. when triumph hung upon his plotting brains, and dear prerogative was jufl in chains : not with more horror, did his eye-balis work convulfive on the patriotic burke, when [ 9 ] when guilty of oeconomy, the cri?ne ! edmund wide wander'd from the true fuhlime^ and, cat-like, watchful of the flefh and fifh, cribb'd from the r-y-1 table many a difli — ■ saw ev'ry flice of bread and butter cut. each apple told, and number'd ev'ry nut ; andgaug'd (compos'd upon no fneaking fcale) the monarch's belly like a cafk of ale j convlnc'd that, in his fcheme of ftate-falvation. to jiar-ve^ the palace, was to fave the nation : not more agbaji he look'd, when 'midfh the courfe, he tumb!'"d, in a ftag-chace, from his horfe. where all his nobles deem'd their m ch dead. but luckily he pitch'd upon his head ! * his m y was really reduced fomet ime fince to a moll mortifying dilem ma : the apples at dinner-time having been, by too great a liberality to the royal children, expended, the k — g ordered a fupply, but was informed that the board of green cloth would pofitively allow no more. enraged at the unexpedlcd and unroyal difappointment, he furioufly put his hand in his pocket, took out fixpence, fent a page for two pennyworth of pippins, and received the change. c not [ 'o ] not venison eaters at the vanilh'd fat, with ftomachs wider than a quaker's hat : not with more horror mv. serjeant ph'ant looks down upon an empty-handed client : not with more horror flares the rural maid, by hopes, by fortunetellers, dreams, betray 'd. who fees her ticket a dire blank arife. too fondly thought the twenty thoufand prize. with which the fimple damfel meant, no doubt. to blefs her faithful fav'rite colin clout. not with more horror, flares each lengthen'd feature, of fome fine fluttering, mincing petil-maiire, when of a wanton chimney-fweeping wag. the beau's white veflment feels the footy bag : not with more horror^ did the devil look. when dunflan by the nofe the daemon took, (as gravely fay our legendary fongs) and led him with a pair of red-hot tongs j not [ " ] not lady worlley, cliafte as f7ta7iy a nun, look'd with more horror at sir richard's fun. when rals'd on high to view her naked charms. he held the peeping captain in his arms ; like david, that mofl amorous little dragon, ogling fweet bethflieba without a rag on i not more the great ^ sam house with horror ^ ftar'd, by mob affronted to the very beard ; whofe impudence (enough to damn a jail) snatch'd from his waving hand his fox's tail. and fluff'd it, mid'il his thunders of applaufe. full in the centre of sam's gaping jaws. that forcing down his patriotic throat, of fox and freedom llopp'd the glorious note. * in weftminfter hall, where th.t fenje (the author was jufl: about to fay mtt* fenfe) of the people was to be taken on an eleftion. not [ '= ] not with more horror ^ billy ramus * flar'd, when puff "f-, the p — ce's hair-drelter, appear'd amidfl their eating room, with dread defign. to fj with pages, and with pages dijje ! not with more horror, gloster's duchess ftar'd, when (bleft in metaphor!) the k*** declar'd, that not of all her mongrel breed, one whelp should in the royal kennel qv^x yelp : * billy ramus — emphatically and conftantly called by his m — y billy ramus. one of the pages who fhavcs the s— — n^ airs his fhirt, reads to him, writes for him, and colledts anecdotes. -f puff, his r-y-1 h-gh-efs's hair-drefler, who attending him at windfor, the p — ce, with his ufual good nature, ordered him to dine with the pages. the pride of the pages immediately took fire, and a petition was difpatched to the k — and p — ce, to be relieved from the diftrefsful circumftance of dining with a hair-drejfer. the petition was treated with the proper contempt, and the pages commanded to receive mr. puff into their mefs, or quit the table. with unfpeakable mortification mr. ramus and his brethren fahuiited ; but, like the poor gcntoos who have loft their caji, have not held up their heads /w^ not [ »3 ] not more, that man {ofweety fo unprcpardy thq gentle squire of* leatherhead, vi3.%fcardf when after prayers fo goody and rare a fermon, he found his front attack'd by harriet vernon; who meant (thaleflris-like, difdaining fear !) to pour her foot, in thunder on his rear ; who, in -f god's houfe, without one grain of grace, spit, hkeavixen, in his worship's face. then ftiook her nails, as iharp as taylor's ftiears, that itch'd tofcrape acquaintance with his ears: not atkinfon ;|; with flronger terror flarted (somewhat afraid, perchance, of being carted) * kynafton is the name of the gentleman affailcd by this furious maid of honour, for his difapprobation of the lady as an acquaintance for his wife. •fverily in the house of the lord, on the lord's day, in the year of our lord 1785, in the village of leatherhead, in the county of surry, did this profane falival affault take place on the phiz of squire kynafton, to the difgrace of his family, the wonder of the parfon, the horror of the clerk, and the ftupe faftion of the congregation. x mr. chrillopher atkinfon's airing on the pillory is fufficiently known to the public. d when [ '4 ] when juilice, a fly dame, one day thought fit to pay her ferious comphments to kit, aik'd him a few ihort queftlons about corn^ and vvhifper'd, fhe believ'd he y^'2is forfwonf. then hinted that he probably would find. that tho' £he fometimes wink'd, fhe was not blindy not more afturias' * princefs looked affright , at brcakfaft, when her fpoufe, the unpolitcy hurl'd, madly heedlefs both of time and place, a cup of boihng cofiee in her face ; becaufe the fairone eat a butter'd roll. on which th&felfip prince had fix'd his foul % not more afiomjh'd look'd that prince to find his royal father to his face unkind v who to the caufe of injur'd beauty won^ seiz d on the proud probofcis of his fon, * this quarrel betwecb the prince of afturias and his princefs, with the in terference of the spaniili monarch, as defcribed here, is not a poetic fidion, but an abfolute fa<ft, that happened not many months ago. (j"ft [ '5 ] (juft like a tyger of the lybian ftiade, whofe furious claws the helplefs deer invade,) and led him, till that son its durance freed. by afking pardon for the brutal deed j led him thrice round the room (the ftory goes) who follow'd with great gravity his nofe, refolv'd at firft (for spaniards ^ix^jiiff fluff) to afk no pardon, tho' the snout came off: not more ajioniffd lookm that spanifh * king, whene'er he mifs'd a fnipe upon the wing : not more ajlonijlod look'd that king of spain,. to fee his gun-boats blazing on the main ; nor do6lor johnfon more, to hear the tale of vile piozzi's marrying mrs. thrale ;, * his moft catholic majefty's fliooting merits are univerfally acknowledged. though far advanced in years, he is ftill the admiration of his fubjedis, and the envy of his brother kings, as a shot ; and it is well known, that even on thofe days when the royal robes are obliged to be worn, his breeches pockets are fluffed with gun flints, fcrews, hammers, and other implements neceffary for the deftrudlion of fnipes, partridges, and wild pigs. nor: [ ■« ] nor dodor wilfon, child of am'rous folly, when young mac clyfter bore off kit m'auley. what dire emotions (hook the m ch's foul ! juft like two billiard balls his eyes 'gan roll, whilfl anger all his royal heart poffefl. that fwelling, wildly bump'd againft his breaft, bounc'd at his ribs with all its might fo flout. as refolutely bent on jumping out, t' avenge, with all its powers, the dire difgrace. and nobly fpit in the offender's face. thus a large dumpling to its cell confin'd, (a very apt allufion to my mind) lies fnug, until the water waxeth hot. then bullies 'midfl the temped of the pot : in vain ! — the lid keeps down the child of dough, that bouncing, tumbling, fweating, rolls below. «« o deareft partner of my throne !" (he cries, lifting to pitying heav'n his piteous eyes) thou [ «7 ] ** thou brlghtefl gem of g-— ge's royal houfe, " look there, and tell me if that's not a louse 1" the q;; look'd down, and then exclalm'd, *' good la!" and with a fmile the dappl'd stranger faw. each p — cefs flrain'd her lovely neck to fee. and with another fmile exclaim'd, " good me !" " o la i good me ! is that all you can fay ?" (our gracious m ch cry'd, with huge difmay.) '' heav'ns i can a filly vacant fmile take place *' upon your m y's and children's face, ^ whilft that vile lonfe (ah i fnon to be unjointed !) *' aifronts the prefence of the lord's anointed ?"^ dafh'd, as if tax'd with hell's mofl deadly fins. the q3 and p ffes drew in their chins, look'd prim, and gave each exclamation o'er. and very prudent, * word /pake 7jever more^ sweet maids ! the beauteous boaft of britain's ifle— * speak — were thofe peerlefs lips forbid to fmile ? e lips 1 [ .8 ] lips ! that the foul of flmple nature moves— form'd by the bounteous hands of all the loves i ^ lips of delight ! unftain'd by satire's gall! ^ lips ! that i never kifsd — and never jlmll. now, to each trembling page, as mute's a moufe. the pious m ch cry'd, " is this jour loufe ?" " ah ! sire," (reply'd each page with pig-like whine) *' an't pleafe your m y, it is not 7nine" " not th'mef'' (the hafly monarch cry'd agen) *' what? what? what? what? what? who the devil's then?" now at this fad event, the s n, fore unhappy, could not eat a mouthful more ; his 'i^ifer q^ n, her gracious flomach ftudying. stuck moft devoutly to the beef and pudding ; for germans are a very hearty sort. whether begot in hog-sty es or a court, i who bear (which fhews their hearts are not oi jlom) j the ills of oihtrs better than their ou^n. grim [ '9 ] grim terror felzm the fouls of all the pages, of different fizes, and of different ages j frighten'd about their penfions or their bones, they on each other gap'd, like jacob's fons ! • now to a page, but which ^ we can't determine. the growling m ch gave the plate and vermin : " watch well that blackguard animal, (he cries) *' that foon or late, to glut my vengeance, dies / ** watch, like a cat, that vile marauding louse, «' or g — ge fhall play the devil m the houfe. '* some spirit whifpers, that to cooh i owe *' thq precious visitor that crawls below ; ** by heav'n! the whifp'ring spirit tells me true, ** and foon dire vengeance ihall their locks purfue. " cooks, fcourers, fcuilions too, with tails of pig, " shall lofe their coxcomb curls, and wear a wig." thus roar'd the k — g, — not hercules fo big ; and all the palace echo'd — ■" wear a wig i" fear, [ 2° ] fear, like an ague, ilruck the pale-nos'd cooks— and dafh'd the beef and ven'fon from thenlooks ; whilft from each cheek, old port withdrew his red, and pity blubber'd o'er each menac'd head. but lo! the great cook-major comes ! his eyes fierce as the redd'ning flame that roajis and fries; his cheeks like bladders, with high paflion glowing, or like a fat dutch trumpeter's, when bloivi?jg. a neat white apron his huge corps embrac'd. tied by two comely itrings about his wal/l : an apron ! that he purchas'd with his riches, to guard from hoftile greafe, his velvet breeches — > an apron ! that in monmouth-flreet, high hung, oft to the avinds withyw^^^ deport7?ie7it fwung. " ye fons of dripping, on your major look !" (in founds of deep-ton'd thunder cry'd the cook) ^' by this white apron, that no more can hope *' to join the piece in mr. inkle's ftiop j '* by [ 2' ] " that oft hath held the befl of palace meat, " and from this forehead, wip'd the briny fweat j *' i fwear, this head difdains to lofe its locks, " and thofe that do not, tell them they are blocks. *« whofe head, my cooks, fuch vile difgrace endures ? ** will it be jw/rj, ox yours, ov jours ^ ov j>ours ^ *' ten thoufand crawlers /« ibat head l^e hatch' d^ ^' for ever itching, but be n^vti^ /cratch' do. *' oh ! may the charming perquifite of greafe, " the mammon of your pocket, ne'er increafe ; — x ** grease ! that fo frequently hath brought you coin, " from veal, pork, mutton, and the great sir loin, " o brothers of the fpit, be firm as rocks " lo ! to 7^0 king on earth i yield thefe locks. *' few are my hairs behind, by age endear'd ! — ** bntfeiv or 7na?ty, they fhall not be jheard. *' sooner fhall madam schwellenberg * the jade *' yield up her fav'rite perquifites of trade, * miftreis of the robes to her majefly. f *' give [ " ] " give up her facrcd majefly's old gowns, " caps, petticoats, and aprons, without frowns : "' she ! who for ever fludies misciiiei' — she, " who foon will be as bu fy as a bee, '* to get the liberty of locks eiijlavd^ ** and every harmlefs cook and scullion y2>ji;w; — ■ ** she, if by chance a british servant maid, ** by fome infinuating tongue betray'd, *' induc'd the fair forbidden fruit to tafle, *' growb, (lucklefs) fome what bi£girr in thp. waist; ** rants, ftorms, fwears, turns the penitent to door, ** grac'd with the pretty names of b--ch and w , '^ to range a proilitute upon the tow-n, *' or, if the weeping wretch think better, drown " but, if a german spidern.-brusher /<2;7x, " whofe ivo/e grows j/jarper, and whofe shape tells tales ; ** hujh'd is th' affair ! — the q3 — , and she, good dame, " both club their wits, to hide the growing fhame : ** to w^ed her, get fome fool — i mean fome 'ifi/e man', «* then dub the prudent cuckold, an excifeman : " she! [ 23 ] ** she ! who hath got more infolence and pride, " god mend her heart! than half the world befide : " she ! who, of gutthng fond, fluffs down more meat, ** heav'n help her ftomach ! than ten men can eat ! ** ten men 1 aye, more than ten^ the hungry hag 1 " why, zounds ! the woman's stomach's like a bag : *' she ! who will fwell the uproar of the houfe, ** and tell the k — g damn'd lies about the louse ; *' when probably that loufe (a vile old trull !) ** was born and n5urilh'd in her own grey fcull. •** sooner the room fhall buxom nanny * quit^ '*' where oft ihe charms her mailer with her itvv— ** tells tales of ev'ry 6oalyy ev'ry thi'dg^ " from honeft courtiers to the thieves who jwing — '* waits on her s n while he reads difpatchesy *' and wifely to/wj up state affairs or watches: * buxom nanny — a female fervant of the palace, who conjtantly attends the k — g when he reads the difpatches. ** sooner [ ^4 ] " sooner the prince (may heav'n his income mend i) *' shall quit his bottle, miftrefs, and his friend— ** laugh at tiie drop on misery's languid eye, *' and hear her fmking voice, without a figh : " break for the wealth of realms, his facred word, ** and let the world write coward on his fword : *' sooner fliall ham from fowl and turkey part ! *' and stuffing, leave a calf's or bullock's heart! " sooner fliall toafted cheefe take leave of muftard 1 *' and from the codirn tart be torn the cuftard : '* sooner thefe hands the glorious haunch fhall fpoil^, " and all our melted butter turn to oil : ** sooner our pious k — g, with pious face, *' sit down to dinner without faying grace"; *' and ev'ry night, falvation pray'rs put forth, *' for portland, fox, burke, sheridan, and north ; ** sooner fhall fafhion order frogs and fnails, *' and di(h-clouts flick eternal to our tails. " let g ge view ministers with y'/r/y looks, ** ahufe 'cni; hick 'em — but revere his cooks !" *' what, [ 23 ] " what, loofe our locks !" (reply'd the roafting grew) *' to barbers yield 'em ? — damme if we do ! *« be jhavd like foreigji dogs, one daily meets, <' naked and blue, and fhiv'ring in the flreets ? " and from the palace be apatnd to range^ '' for fear the world fliould think we had the 7nange ; " by taunting boys made weary of our lives, " broad-grinning wh — -es, and ridiculing wives !" ** rouze, opposition !" (roar'd a tipfy c00k3 with hands a kimbo, and bubonic look) ** 'tis she alone, our noble curls can keep — ** without her, ministers would fall afleep : "** 'tis she who makes great men — our foxes, pitts, ^' and fharpens, whetftone-like, the nation's wits : *' knocks off your knaves and fools, however great, *• and, broom-like, fweeps the cobwebs of the state : ** like fulphur in a cafk, expels bad air^ ** and makes, like thunder-claps, foul weather /^/> ; g *' adts, [ 26 ] '' a(5ls, like a gun, that, fir'd at gather'd foot, '* preferves the chimney and the houfe to boot : «' or, like a fchool-boy's whip, that keeps up tops s. *' the finking realm, by flagellation, props* " our m h muft not be indulg'd too far ; <« befides ! i love a little bit of war. *' whether to crop our curls, he boafts a right, *' or not, 1 do not care the loufe's bite — " vimt i\icni no force-iiwrk ! no! no force, hyyitzvnl *« cooks ! teomen! scourers! we will not be drivn* " try but to force a pig againjl his wilu ' ' behold ! the jlurdy gentleman fiands jiill ! " or, perhaps (his pow'r, to let the driver know) «« gallops the very road he ihould not go — •' no force for me ! the french, the fawning dogs, " e'sn let them lofe \(ivc freedom ^ and eat frogs — *' damme! i hate each pale foupe-mcagre thief — «' give me my darling liberty and beef." he [ 27 ] he fpoke — and from his jaws a lump he flid. and, fwearing, manful flung to earth the quid. yet fwelling pride forbad, his tongue to reft, whilft wild emotions labour'd in his breaft — now founds confus'd, his anger made him utter. and when he thought oiijhavmgt curfes, fputter. such is the found (the fimlle's not weak) form'd by what mortals, * bubble call, and squeak, when 'midil the frying-pan, in accents favage, the bee¥ fofurly, quarrels with the cabbage, *' be fhav'd," a scullion loud began to bellow. loud as a parish bull, or poor othello, plac'd by that rogue i ago upon thorns. with all the horrors of a pair of horns : * the modeft author of the lousiad muft do hinifelf the juftice to declare here, that his fimile of the bubble and squeak is vaftly more natural and more fuhlime, than homer's black pudding on a gridiron, illuftrating the motions and ^w<p//(?«j of his hero ulysses. (vid. odyssey. loud [ ^-8 ] loud as th' * exciseman, ftruggling for his life, and panting in a mofl inglorious flrife ; when, on his face, \q fmuggling princefs fprung. and, cat-like clawing, to his vifage clung. *' be fhav'd like pigs" , rejoin'd the scullion's mate, his difticlout fliaking, and his pot-crown'd pate — *' whateareepv dares it, let him watch his nose, " and, curfe me ! dread the rage of thefe tea toes." so faying, with an oath to raife one's hair, he kick'd with threat'ning foot, the yielding air — thus have i feen an ass (baptiz'd a jack) grac'd by a ghimney-svv'eeper on his back, * this affair happened a few years fince — an excifeman feizing fome unug gled goods belonging to a princefs, a relation of the great frederic, her highness fell upon the poor rat de cave, and almofl; fcratched his eyes out — the excifeman made a formal complaint to the king, begging to be relieved from the d'ifgrace.—^\it gallant monarch returned for anfwer, that he gave up the duties to his coufin the princefs, but c nild not conceive how the hand of a fair lady could dilhonour the f;;ce of an excifeman. prance, [ ^9 ] prance, fnort, and fling his heels with liberality. in imitation of a horse of quality : " be fhav'dl" (an underflrapper turnbroche cried. in all the foaming energy of pride) *< zounds ! let us take his m y in hand ! — " the k*** fhall find he lives at our command : ** yes ; let him know, with all his wond'rous ftate, *' his teeth and ftomach on our wills fhall wait : " tve rule the platters, isoe command the fpit, " and g***** fhall have his 77iefs when ni^e think fit; " stay till ourf elves fhall condefcend to eat^ '' and then, if u'^ thinh. proper, have his meat" thus, having fed on venifon rather coarfe, a colt, or crocodile, or dish of horse. the tartar quits hisfmoaky hut with scorn, sounds to the kingdoms of the world his horn ; and treating monarchs like his flaves or fwine. informs them, they have liberty to diite, h '• heav'ns!' [ 3° ] •* heav'ns !" (cried a yeoman, with much learning grac'd) — in books as well as jneai, a man of tajle. who read with vaft applaufe, the daily news, and kept ?icio/e acquaintance with the muse ; conundrum, rebus, made — acroftic, riddle, and fung his dying sonnets to his fiddle, when love, with cruel dart, the murd'ring thief, his heart had fpitted, like a piece of beef. " are thefe (he faid) of kings, the whims, and jokes? ** then kings can be as mad ^s common folks. *' dame nature, when a prince's head fhe makes, ** no more concern, about the ifjfidey takes, *« than of the lfide of a bug's or bat's, *' a flea's, a grafhopper's, a cur's, a cat's ! ** as carelefs as the artist, trtmks defigning, ** about the trifling circumfta-nce of lining; *' whether, of cumberland he ufe the plays, *» mifs burney's novels, or mifs seward's lays;. *' or [ 3] *« or facred dramas of mifs hannah more, " where all the nine, with little moses, fnore ; ** or good squire pindar's odes, or wharton's flick, " or horace walpole's doubts upon king dick, *' who furious drives, at times, his old goofe-quill,. " on sira^vfrry, (reader!) not th' aonian hill-,. ** whether he doom, the royal speech to cling, *' or thofe of lords and commons to the king ; " where one begs money, and the others grant: '* so eajy^ freely, friendly, complaifant^, " as if the cafld were really all their own, " to purchafe * knick-nacks, that difgrace a throne. *' ah, me ! did people know what trifling things,. *'* gompofe thofe idols of the earth, call'd k j,, * the civil lift, we are inclined to think, feels deficiencies from i'cys — for an inftance we will appeal to mr. cumming's non-defcript of a time-piece at the queen's houfe, which. coft nearly two thoufand pounds. — the fame artifl is alfo allowed 2oq1. per annum to keep the bauble \^ repair. thofe [ 3= ] " thofe counterparts of that hnportafitfelloiiot *' the childrens' ^(yw^r — signor punchinello; " who flruts upon the flage his hour away ; " y\s> outftdey gold — hh injtdcy rags and hay; ** no more, as god's vicegerents, would they fliine, " nor make the world cut throats for right divine. *' thofe lords of earth, at dinner, wehavefeen, " sunk, by the merefl trifles, with the fpleen — *' oft, for an ill-drefl egg, have htard them groan, " and feen them quarrel for a mutton bone : *' at fait or vinegar, with pallion, fume, *' and kick dogs, chairs, and pages, round the room*. * this is partly a pifture of the hji reign as well as the present. the pafiions of george the second were of the mofl impetuous kind — his hat and his favourite minifter, sir robert walpole, were too frequently the foot-balls of his ill-humours — nay, poor queen caroline came in for a fhare of his foot benevolence — but he was a prince of virtues — ubi plura nitent, non ego paucis ofllndar maculis. «' alas! [ 33 ] «* alas ! how often have we heard them grunt t ** whene'er the rufliing rain hath fpoil'd a hunt ! " their fanguine wiihes crofs'd, their fpirits clogg'd, *' mere riding dishclouts, homeward have they jogg'dj ** poor imps ! the fport (with all their pride and pow'r) *' of nature's diuretic dream — a show'r ! *' this, we the actors in the farccy perceive i *' but this, the dijiant world will ne'er believe — " who fancy k — gs to all the virtues born : ** ne'er by the vulgar ftorms of passion torn ; " but, bleft with fouls fo calm ! like summer feas, «* that fmile to heav'n, unruffled by a breeze : ** who think that k — gs on wifdom always fed, ** spezkje^itences, like bacon's brazen head ; ** hear from their lips the vi/ej^ nonfenfe fall, ** yet think fome heavenly spirit dictates a//; *' conceive their bodies of coeleftial clay, *^ and, tho' all ailment^ /acred from decay ; i « to [ 34 ] ** to nods and fmiles their gapwg homage bring, " and thank their god their eyes have feen a king! <' lord ! in tlie circle when our royal master *' pours out his words as faft as hail, or fafter,, ** to. country squires, and ■z^^/i^^j of country squires ;: *' like stuck pigs, flaring, how each oaf <3;^;/m / " lo ! ev'ry fyllable becomes a gem !. *' and if, by chance, the m h coug^, or /jem, " seiz'd with the fymptomsof a deep furprize, " their joints with r^'l;v^w^ tremble, and their eyes *' roll wonder firfl; then, fhrinking back with fear, " would ^ide behind the brains, were any there, " how taken is this idlewq-^i^y) by jhow !. " birth, riches, are the baals to whom wx bow j. '' preferring (ev'n with foul as black as foot) '* a rogue on horfehack^ to a saint on foot. \ •* see france, fee portugal, sicilia, spain, j «* and mark the defert of each desbot's brain j *♦ whofe [ 35 ] ** whofe tongues fhould never treat with taunts, a fool ;: ** who prove that nothing is too mean to rule, " what could the prince, high tow 'ring hke a fleeple, " without the majesty of us the people ? •* go, like the * king of babylon, to grafs, *' or wander, like a beggar, with a pass !' ** however ;»;;<?(a!'(^r;z kings may cooks defpife, *' warriors and kings were cooks, or hist'ry //vj"— « " patroclus bpoil'd beef-jleah to quell his hunger: ** the mighty agamemnon potted conger ! " and charles of sweden, 'midft his guns and drums, ** spread his own bread and butter with his thumbs. " befiavd! — no! — sooner, pill'ries, jails, th€ flocks, " shall pinch this corps, than barbers fnatch my locks." ** well haft thou faid, a scowrer bold rejoin'd^ — '• damme ! i love the man who fpeaks his mind/' *• nebuchadnezzar. . then, [ i6 ] then in his arms the orator he took. and fwore he was an angel of a cook. a while he held him with a cornish hug ; then feiz'd, with glorious grafp, a pewter mug, whofe ample womb nor cyder held, nor ale. but nedar, fit for jove, and brew'd by thrale. *' a health to cooks, (he cry'd, and wav'd the pot) " and he who figljs for titles, is a fot — *• let dukes and lords the world in wealthy furpafs— *' yet many a lion's fkin conceals an ass. «* lo ! this is one amongft my golden rules, " to think the greatest men* the greatest fools : ** the great are judges of an opera fong — ** and fly a briton's, for a eunuch's tongue; *' can llarve their families to hear babinis, '' gaunt vkcquk^oi'vi's, fat-rump'd fquah'rauzzi'iiis't *' thus idly fquand'ring for a fquawl t it[ riches, <=* to fai?2t with rapture at thofe cats in bre cues. •* accept [ 37 ] ** accept this truth from me, my lads — the man *' who fitil a spit found out, or frying-pan, " did ten times more towards the public good, " than ?l hq tawdry titles fmce the flood : " titles! that kings may grant to asses, mules, *' the fcorn of sages, and the boaft of fools." he ended — all the cooks exclaim'd, *' divine !" then whifper'd one another, 'twas " damn d fine!" thus fpoke the scowrer, like a man in/pirdy whofe fpeech, the heroes of the kitchen, fir'd i grooms, master scowrers, scullions, scullion's mates, with all the overseers of knives and plates. felt their brave fouls, like frisky cyder, work, whizzing in oppofition to the cork : earth's potentates appear'd ignoble things. and cooks of greater confequence than kings j k such [ 38 ] such is the pow'r of words, where truth unites. and fuch, the rage that injur'd worth excites! the scowrer's fpeech, indeed, with reafon, bleft, inflam'd with god-like ardour all the refl : thus if a barn, heav'n's vengeful lightning, draw ; the flame setherial, flrikes the kindling flraw : doors, rafters, beams, owls, weazels, mice, and rats. and (if unfortunately moufmg) cats; all feel the wide — devouring fire in turn, and mingling in one conflagration, burn* *' sons of the spit," the major cry'd again, " your noble fpeeches prove you blefl: with brain ; *' brain ! that dame nature gives not evry head, " but fills the vafl: vacuity w'ith lead ! — *' yet ere for opposition we prepare, " and fight the glorious cause of heads of hair, " methinks [39 ] " methinks 'twould be but decent to petilio?t^ *' and tell the k — g, viit\ jirmnefs, our condition *' soon as om fad complaint, he hears us utter, *' his gracious heart may melt away like butter ; *' fair mercy ftiine amidft our gloomy houfe, " and anger'd my forget the louse." end of canto i. advertisement. x\ s many people perfift in their incredulity with refpedl to the attack made by the barbers on the heads of the harmlefs cooks, i ihall exhibit a lift of the unhappy fufferers ; — it is the palace lift, and therefore as authentic as the gazette. a true lift of the shaved at buckingham houfe six under scourers six turnbroaches two soil-carriers two door-keepers eight boys five paftry people eight silver scullery for laughing at the cooks two mafter cooks three yeomen ditto four grooms three children two mafter scourers in all fifty-one. — a young man, named john bear, would not fubmit, and loft his place. the the following poems, written hy thejame author, may be bad ofg. kearsley, at no. 46, in fleet street ; and w. foster, no. 348, near exeter change, in the strand. lyric odes, for the years 1782, 1783, and 1785, addreffed to the royal academicians. (new editions.) price 5s. together, or is.; is. and6d.; and 2s. 6d. feparate. a poetical and congratulatory epistle to james boswell, efq. on his tour to the hebrides with the celebrated dr. johnson. a new edition. price 2s. bozzi and piozzi ; or the british biographers; a xbwn eclogue;, price 2s. 6d. shortly will be puuijhed, the second canto of the lousiad. /llj'o, for the tear 1786, farewell odes to the royal academicians. ode for the e n c i^ n i a held at oxford, july 1793, for the reception of his grace william-henry-cavendish duke of portland, chancellor of the university. ly robert holmes, d. d. professor of poetry. set by ph. hayes, d. m. professor of musick. oxford: sold for the benefit of the radcuffe-infirmary, by j. cooke, and j. fletcher, i793. his grace the duke of portland, &c, 6cc. &c. ode s t r o p h e. i. a n wildering terror, hopelefs of repofe, thy fons, o science, fled their 'gothic foes; fell slander's curfe profan'd their blamelefs name, and bigot hate his fignal-trumpet blew : then spoil, dire fiend, their fimple domes o'erthrew. and hurl'd their treafures to the wafting flame. » on the decline of the roman empire, the goths over-ran its wellern provinces, and *' gave the firft blow to learning : academies were ruined, libraries burnt, and the learned forced to fhut up fchools and books. nor were the chriftian priefts lefs concerned in the deftruftion of letters : they forbad their wridngs" (thofe of the great philofophers) " as dangerous and pernicious." sharpe's introd. to univ. hift. p. i6i. p. one [ 6 ] one tranfient joy '' imperial charles fupplied: *' turn, fugitives of hope," the monarch cried; " behold yon lilied marge of filver seine ! *' be there your fix'd inviolable fane." ah ! no ; negledl, pale spedre, haunted there, and dafh'd their rifmg hope in new defpair. antistrophe. l air. how fafe a reft from rapine's idiot hand. shrines how majeftick in how fair a land, thy call, great alfred, to the wanderers gave ! in balm of blifs they bath'd each heart-felt wound, * " there were then" (between a. d. 700 and 1400) " no t jniverfities, no libraries. and if any man dared to lift himfelf up above the vulgar, or oppofe prevailing ignorance, he was blackened with the odious title of magician or heretick. charles the great indeed attempted to difpel this thick dark nefs, by founding the univerfity at paris, and buying books. but the french hiftory teftifies, that, immediately upon the death of kings, the li braries were fold." sharpe, p. 180. and [ 7 ] and kifs'd with rapture's lip the facred ground, where is is winds her laureufhaded wave. lec. acc. here their negleded harps again were ftrung, here loud their fhouts of grateful triumph rung : air. hence, in a fuuen age of lingering night, clear broke the beam of learning's orient light ; through the dead darknefs {hot the quickening ray, and wak'd the morn of life's refulgent day, e p o d e. i. recit. in britain's character that life was born, dear lovely offspring from the womb of morn. from heart to heart furpafling inflindls ran, prime elements of heaven's commencing plan : complete to clofe the mafter-work divine, rofe the fage queen of alfred's laureate fhrine. b 2 she, [ 8 ] she, foiler-parent of the britifli soul, from nature's hand the precious nurfling caught ; to graceful ftrength its noble wildnefs wrought, aim'd its bold pow'rs, and crown'd th'accomplifh'd whole, nature was pleas' d, and led the fond acclaim ; " hail ! nurfingmother of great albion's fame/* strophe. ii. 'tis she, from britifh glory's well-trod way recalls her sons, a countlefs train ; prefents thee, portland, regent of her fway, and hails thee in her feftal fane. proud fhines the dome, in fplendor dreft, to folemnize her high beheft. lo ! banners of her peerlefs line gleam, mantling round the pillar'd fhrine; as ;^sm^ \ c 9 ] as standards girt the trophied wall of chivalry's heroic hall. chor. fame's votive hand the silver tiftue fpun, broider'd magnificent with ftoried names of sages, heroes, patriots, kings: " thefe,thefe were mine," the parentvoice proclaims — the fymphony accordant fprings. and hymns the legend of each fav'rite son. antistrophe. ii. reg. ac c. ** here red-crofs richard rung his maiden fhield, " deep in beaumont's willowy grove 5 " thence o'er high ' acon's tow'rs, o'er ^ gisors field, " his lion-hearted onfet drove. '^ a town in syria, befieg'd and taken by richard. ^ a plain in normandy, where richard defeated the french. " here [ 1° ] air. " here fparks of patriot valour ftole " on fable-mailed edward's foul, <' each deeply kindling, as it fell: " how dread they flam'd, let cressy tell. regit. " here through each walk that genius knew, " the mighty wing of selden flew. «' ' somers, here taught a state's proud pile to rear, ** in well-pois'd energies harmonious join'd " true liberty v/ith brunswick's reign: hec. acc. " here kindred fpirit glow'd in portland's mind, " and bade him ftill the madding train, «' that dar'd cry havock to a form fo fair," e p o d e. 11. reg. acc. lo ! waving from the pidlur'd vault on high, yet brighter banners ftrike the dazzled eye. £ john, lord somers, emblaz'd [ " ] emblaz'd they bear, on fields of gold, luuftrious names of worthies old, that held erewhile the claftick fway, the portlands of another day. symph. gri regit. hark ! a bold triumphal found celebrates the band renown'd. symph. lemich. " deareft to mem'ry, hail, o princely train i ^' hail, garter' d chiefs of this parental reign ! " ye, enrob'd in civil ftate, " safe upheld a kingdom's weight; " ye crown'd with more ennobling fame " your anceftry of titled name ; " ye the hallow' d mitre wore; <' ye the palm of learning bore. " each mufe for ' dorset wove the wreath he won ; i thomas sackville, earl of dorfet, " each [ '^ ] " each virtue high in gallant » ormond {hone; " in loyal '' hyde, with patriot zeal, combin'd " truth's hermit heart, and wifdom's deep-taught mind. siec. acc. " yet, sounds of triumph, yet forbear to flow; " one dear remembrance wakes the notes of woe. solemn " wove by love's hand, bedew' d by sorrow's tear, sad duty's wreath we hung on guildford's bier: be his the nobleft meed fond hearts can give, in them infhrin'd, a fainted name, to live. strophe. iii. s e m 1 c h . rec. acc. <' so bright afcending, in our mother's line, " saw many an age her sun of glory fhine ; " lol portland, ftill in noon's triumphant height, " on albion's ifles it pours a flood of light. b james butkr, firft duke of ormond. ■'' edward hyde, earl of clarendon. " with [ '3 ] " with deep affection's parent-plea " her future hope she refts on thee. air. " bear thou her enligns of puiffant state ; " be thine the throne, where late her guildford fat j " be thine the fadelefs wreath, that grac'd his head ;. " bear thou her key of that time-hallow' d spring, " whence laureate honour's tafteful ftream is fed : " all, ah to thee, her sov'reign gifts, we bring.'* antistrophe. iil regit. they ceafe: and lo ! to greet thy feftal morn. her handmaid sciences their pomp adorn. pafs the gay trains with meafur'd fteps alortg',. and charafter their pow'rs in myftick fong. air. as each her white-rob'd band leads on. she bows her emblem to thy throne ; c prefents [ h ] prefents a bay, of verdure ne'er to die, and fpeaks the heart's deep tranfport in her eye. lo ! youth's meek mufes clofe the bright array, soft-breathing gratulation's tribute rhyme : with early sweet, fure pledge of fweeteft prime, aufpicious homage to thy state they pay. e p o d e. iii. regit. thus, portland, thus, beneath thy guardian-care, hope's op'ning bloom fliall fpread fupremely fair. here fhall the wakeful soul of toil purfue, untir'd, each noble aim of triumph new : rondeau. here glowing thought, by foil' ring spirits fann'd, shall burft to flame, and rife o'er all the land : enthufiaft fancy, nature's wayward child, with tracelefs art fliall temper raptures wild, and [ '5 ] and ftart enchanting in divine excefs : gr. chor. here genius, from pure learning's living rill, spirit of richeft virtue fliall diftill, and livelier tint his many-colour'd drefs. from britain's world, from britain's patron throne, o'er oxford ftill affection's eye fhall bend ; shall fee her, juft to each protedting friend, beam on his name the luftre of her own. ■m adelaide and antonine; ok the emigrants: tale. by mary julia young, london: printed by j. p. coghlan, no. 37, duke-street, grofvenor-square; and fold by meflr«, j. debritt, piccadilly; booker, bond-street; keating, warwick-street; lewis, ruffel-street, and robimsons, pater-nofler row. m dcc xciii. price on6 shilling. adelaide and antonine. \^ early youth the lovers met, fair adelaide and antonhie— pla>fiil they pluck the fragrant flow'rs. and garlands loi each other twine. they (ing— they langh the hours away— their fports— their fongs— their thoughts the fame love hovers o'er the beauteous pair and tans the newly kindled flame. while hand in hand they fondly ftray, if rugged paths their heps retard, his arms fuftain the lovely maid — a tender kifs his fweet reward. b they ( ^ ) they live but in eacli others fight more ardent dill their pailiongrew, "while i hey beheld the brighteft charms, expandhig daily to their view. the youth in manly fports excels— sklhulcan wield the fword and lance attune to harmony the lyre. and win the prize for long and dance. nor lefs was adelaide admir'd— adorn'd with ev'ry female grace— with ev'rj beauty of the mind, that animates the form and face. nature had blefs'd this matchlefs pair above the neighb'ring nymplis and fwains. equal in beai't} — virtue — truth— they flione the pride of norman plains. but ah ! — a fudden florm arofe. that ruia'd gallia's regal hate! king — princes— peers — were doom'd to i^t\ a true], fad reverfe of fate! louis! ( 3 ) louis! — before whofe fplendid throne the moft obfequlous fubjeds bow'd, pjow — groan'd within a prifon's walls. no trace of royalty allow'd ! his brothers — who had timely fled— call'd forth the brave to aid his caufe — and foinc — alas too few ! — were found true to their king and ancient laws. with ardor fir'd — brave antonine a band of loyal normans led. eager to join the martial train, eager the paths of fame to tread. from favnge hands to wrefl: the fvvord. who iheath'd the point in beauty's bread. or — with her holy vot'ries blood, stain'd pure religion's facred veft.' trembling — fair adelaide beheld her antonine in arms appear — she ftrove — to check the rifing figh— she flrove— to hide the gufliing tear. he '( 4 ) he too endenvor'd to reprefs the conflicfl in his manly heart he came, to biu the maid adieu — and feic .... how hard it was to part. silent lie clafp'd her to his breaft. he kifs'd the pearly drops away, then — ru[liing*midft the warlike band made love fubmic to honor's fway, call'd by the trumpet's marti;il foxind. he daunilcfs fecks the fin o nine fickl wiih ardent hopes — '.iis unirie^' 1 -^ce will make imperiotis rtbtls \ ici j. rous'd from a lethargy of grief. poor adelaide half frantic cries, «• alas my antoninei<' gone! •* from me to ev'ry danger flics ! •* protect: him heav'n! and give me flrength, ** 1 his fiifl — this poignant pang to bear; " alas! till now — he faoth'd my woes, *• his kiflls flopt the flowing tear. when ( 5 } ** when—on thy bank?, majeftic seine, " in dreary folitude 1 dray; " the tears that f�( 11 thy paffing wave *• swift to my ablent love convey. " and in thy progrefs, fliouldfl thou meet *' a baik, whofe womb contains his foes, " open thy rimpel'd bolbm wide, " and o'er the treach'rous veflel clofe; ** ye winds toobear my ardent fighs *• to wjiere the daring rebels fight ; ** then— in wild eddies whirl between, «' and waft my lover from their fight, " for me he form*d that fplendid grot, *' for me he form'd that fragrant bow'r ; «« o when ! — o fliall i ever there! *• enjoy with him the blifsful hour! " ah no! — ah no! — i fear e*er long •' thefe eyes fliall fee a lawlefs band «* diftain with gore thefe beauteous fcenes, ** and defolate our haplefs land." c dcfpair ( 6 ) defpair — thus hung a fable cloud o'er all her profpetfl of delight ; her antonine was far away. and life's gay fun-fiiine fet in night. hours— days -and months-crept flow!/ on, mark'd only by fome fatal deed ; rapine and murder join their force. and doom the royalifls to bleed! in heaps the unarm'd vidlims fall. and deluge gallia with their blood j while anarchy defpotic reigns, exulcing in the crimfon flood. modefly hides her bluqung head, humanity dilgufled flies! strip'd— mangledby a favage crew, a royal female * naked lies! though her pale corfe by furious hands, expos'd to vulgar gaze was flung; around her head in triumph borne, a vajl of beauteous trefles hung, * ftincef* lambalje, ol dire ( 7 ) o! dlredifgrace of pollfli'd times! fierce hell hounds from their caverns burft ? ne'er fofter'd at a woman's breafl:. ne'er with maternal fondnefs nurfl. the fiends prcvail'd, loofe o'er the land with fanguinary rage they flew j while reafonmanhood -wifdom-powv— un-nerv*d-~the dreadful havoc view. they feek the sire of adelaide ! himftlf-~his wealth— their deflin'd prey; already they furround his gate! within — is terror and difmay i wife— daughter— fervants — round him weep, by all belov'd — by all rever'd ; in ipecchlefs agony he flood, j d tumuli's dreadful clamour heard. they hear the loud refounding blows, thfy hear the burfting bars give way | swiftly they feek the winjing grot. and a short time ihtir fate delay. o'er { 8 ) o'er seine, that wafli'j the fparry edge^ they w ikily gaze, in fad defpair. and far, far off, a vefftl faw, wiiofe canvas phiions cut the air. a long-boat nearer they behelj, hope fillm the breafl of adelaide! in hafle her fnowy robe (he rent. and wide the waving flag difplay'd; the fignal caught the rowers eyes. eager they ply the fplafhing oar ; but all ! the favage train appear, delufive hope can charm no more. now, round her sire the duteous maid in agonizing terror clung ; now, fliriekiiig, o'er the river's brink. in fearlefs atiitude flie hung. the boat-men faw her wild diflrefs. and one, who long impatient ftood ; now, wav'd iiisglitt'ringfword on high, and plung'd beneath the foaming floodw alon, t 9 y alone, — he flems the adverfe waves ; alone, — he leaps the pebbly flraad j half breathlefs ruflies on the foe. and fcatters death on either hand, a wretch had feiz'd on adelaide! round his vile hand her trefles twin*d; and aim'd his fabre at her breafl:. where ev'ry excellence combin'd. her (creams re-eccho from the grot. the brave youth to her refcue flew, free'd the fair trembler from her foe. and at her feet the monfter flew. kis lips to her*s he fondly prefs'd. he calls her with a voice divine ; her fainting foul returns to blifs, she hears — flie fees — her antonine ! *' ofly, my love! my father fave! " make him" flie cries " alone thy care ; " preferve him from a ruflir.n's fword, •• preferve my mother from defpair." d he ( lo ) " he lives — he lives" — the youth replies, ** and not a moment muft be loft ; ** the wind — the tide now both confpire ** to waft us from this dang'rous coaft.** the sire,' who like a lion fought. surrounded by his foithful few. scarce kept the cruel fpoilers off. till aided by the valiant crew. the fierce banditti rufli on death. unable to return the fire ; numbers before the bullets fell. the reft — in fuuen rage retire. 5afe to the boat the gallant youth his adelaide triumphant bore ; parents — donieftics — valiant friends un-wounded quit the hoftile (hore. the grateful sire enraptur'd cries, ** what guardian angel brought you here, *• my antonine, my glorious boy, *• to refcue all my foul holds dear. «• o bleft ( " ) " o bleft efcape ! — thou didftnot know ** the (iriifl convenlion's dire command— « ** an emigrant — muft fuffer death, ** returning to his native land!" ** too well" — the ardent youth replies— ** too well i know the (tern decree ! «* but— o, my father, what is life i ** when corn from adelaide and thee! ** you never with a rigid frown. ** check'd the pure progrefs of our love j ** you help*d to deck my youthful mind ** with all that honor could approve. •* nor ha? your antonine difgrac'd " by cowardice his loyal name— ** bravely himfelf and comrades fought, ** 'till ficknefs led by famine came. *< they — from our brows the laurels rend, ** snatch from our nervelefs hands the ipear; •* the princes — force todiftant climes, *• for refuge fate denies them here. an ( x2 ) ** an emigrant of noble birth, " wliofe lil'e the rebel army fought, ** was once lurrounded by the foe, *' and long with macchlefs bravery fought. ** th* unequal combat i beheld, ** i flew the daunclefs youth to fave; " turn'd the alladia's fpear allde, •* and fnatch'd a hero from the grave! " his friends like mine to england fled, " when firft the gallic woes began, •• e'er maflacres the nation ftain'd, •* difgraceful to the foul of man* ** we to that land of refuge fail'd, *• his parents with extatic joy *• once more behold their only child, " and clalp by turns the darling boy! " the sire — whofegen'rous foul o'erhows, •* bids fortune * reccmpencc my deed; »' she — knowing well the vorth i av'j, '* gives — what my flatt'iing hopes exceed. •' gives — from her wheel the higheft prize — " i take it with a grateful hear', *• for now — my life — my adelaide — *' we never — never more will part. he prefented the prefervcr cf his son, a lottery ticket, invoking fortune to give it fuccefs. ah! ( 13 / « all! what, my charmer — what is wealth? «* unlefs you deign that wealth to (hare;; «* and let me to britannia's ifle •' my richeft — deareft treafure bear. •* there — liberty's expanding tree * its lofty head majeftic rears— ** there — rooted in its native ibil, ** a vernal bloom for ever wears! ** luxuriant plenty round it fmiles, «* there — ceres plants her golden ft ore; ** full crops reward the reaper's toil, " who — blest with plenty ask no more; *' pure health and peace adorn his cot, ** he envies not the rich and great; " enjoys tha truest rights of man, •* contntment in his humble state. ** there — the lov'd monarch reigns fecure, ** no factions fill his foul with dread; ** a seven-fold fliield of valiant sons ** from dangers guard his facred head. ** and now — the exil'd fons of france, •* attach'd by gratitude alone, '* with firm fraternal love fliall form •♦ a glorious phalanx round his throne. i9 ( h j ** in britain— they protedion found, •* when worn with toil— with fear opprefs'd, ** benevolence, with lib'ral mind, " their forrows footh'd their wants redrefs'd. *' there — true religion's temple (lands, " at various altars millions bend; ** o'er all — her heav'nly radiance beams, «• 0*er all — her foft'ring arms extend,*' he ceas*d for now withrefted oars the boat long-fide the veftel drew; the emigrants with loud huzzas, were welcom'd by the hearty crew. rapid they fail from gallia's coaft. still to their hearts is gallia dear; sighing, they take a long farewell. perhaps a lafl: — and drop a tear. they reach old england's hoary rocks ; joy peace and plenty fmile once more ; grateful they fee their fuff'rings paft. and blefs the holpitable fliore. '/i a n e p i s t l e to a l a d y, £f r. ou fay, that fpite of all your zcai and art, you hnd no ent'ranc\; to his lar.puid o heart : so founded on opinion's rock he flands, so fenc'd with mighty reafoning's hundred hands : and made by bleft morahty fo fure, 5 he deems it needlefs quite to be more pure j nor thinks a saviour's blood a gift fo great, since heaven is purchas'd at an eafy rate : and that good, honeft, upright man's de;na?idy who breaks no laws, and gives no vice his hand. 10, what fliall i do — or how this reafoner quell, tell me you cry — my kind inftrudor, tell ? b mv ( 2) my kind hijlrusior — let me glory there. and own my tranrport in a name fo dear : that appellation makes me truly bleft, lo and pours full comfort thro' my languid bread: a breaft too cold, too faint, for love divine, and all unworthy, saviour, to be thine : yet for her fake confeffing that from me she gain'd the knowledge of thy truth and thee : 20 oh fure the inftrument thou'lt not deilroy. but fave from wrath and welcome into joy ! 'tis fure, from mortals no relief can rife to men thus righteous, thus felf-wilfd and wife: 'tis vain, each gofpel-med'cine to apply : 25 all grace they fcorn, or view v/ith jaundic'd eye: to poifon turn fubmiffion of the will, swell with falfe glory, and are reafoncrs ftill ! willi fubtle logic fill the arguing head, vv'hile the foul faints, and while the heart is dead ' 30 for no religion can avail mankind. how nice foe'er diftinguifh'd or defiii'd : no modes of things, no metaphyfic art, none but the pure devotion of the heart : there (3 ) there god mufl: reign, our whole intentions fill, 35 our love his service ^ and our ru/e his /f/7/. but whence fuch fervency of foul can rife. puzzles indeed the learned and the wife, tho' bades in c/jriji *, and infants yet in grace^ with mighty eafe the myftery can trace ; 4.0 telling aloud that chrijl alone can give •f life to the dead, and linners pow'r to live j that chrijl alone can purge the human heart, and the pure flame of love divine impart ! paint to your moralift this fuffering god, 45 beneath the crown of thorns and fcourging rod ; paint him extended on the fatal tree, — and tell him, " sinner, this was borne for thee." then to himfelf his finful felf difplay. his life imperfed in each work and way, 50 his fins demanding ranfom to be paid. and juftice hovering o'er his guilty head ; * our saviour fitvs, " i thank thee, o father, lord of heaven and earth, becrufc " thou haft hid thefc things from the ivije and prudent, and haft revealed them un " to bales. ''matt. xi. 25. st. paul, <■<■ as unto babes in chrift." i cor. iii. i. st. pe ter, « as new-born bahes defire the fincere milk of the word, t^rv." i pet, ij. 2. i awake thou that fleepeft, and ar'ije from the dead, and chrijl (hall give thee light, ephef. v. 14, b 2 tell (4 ) tell him that blood, blood only can atone, — and make him fear and tremble for his own. oh canyon raife him to fo bleft a fear, 55: the work is finifli'd and ialvation near ; — then to the crofs dire6l his longing view ; peace will return, and comfort will enfue ; his dread of sin will foon be done away, his fear of death will inftantly decay j 60 and his heart burning with true love divine, how will he pant, redeemer, to be thine ! faith then and hope will all his foul employ,. and jefus reign his everlafling joy ! but where, alas, too rapid am i borne ? 65 'tis not fo fpeedy prodigals return ; want mud pinch home, and dearth indeed furround. before their fad neceflities are found ; before themfelves they fee, themfelves they know. and to their father in contrition go ; 70;^ in deep humility their fins declare. and find — oh mercy ! full forgivenefs near ! my ( 5 ) my ton, my fon, the gladden'd father cries, and to the lov'd returning unner flies ! ohj if thy heart, not frozen into ftone, 75 hath ought, my brother, of affedion known, such wondrous grace, fuch mighty love furvey. and in retiu-n thy heart's oblation pay ; so kind a father, and a god fo kind. claim the warm tribute of the warmeft mind ; 80 oh feize his grace, and to his mercy fly, and angels harps fhall tell it thro' the fky ; for joys thro' thofe celeflial regions found, when one returning prodigal is found : joy reigns amidft the bleft! — and ah below, 8^ wou'd god — was found fuch love and gladncfs too ! but we, to earthly wifdom only wife. the love of fouls, or know not, or defpife : with one confent, the mad enthufiajls blame, and mock the pious with opprobrious fhame, 90 who burn with earneft zeal and warm deflre to fnatch from death, and refcue from the fire ! and ( o " and are there fuch, thrice-bleft nkanor cries ? tis very flrange, from whence their zeal {hould rife : madmenno doubt, who, wand'ring from the way, 95 cry out confufion, and lead all aftray ! with me thefe fettled principles prevail, and the world's ftubble — if fuch maxims fail ! i do no iii — i follow -^hs^feems right : walk not by myftic rule, but certain fight: th.t facial duties well difcharge : and fee no creature injur'd or aggriev'd by me. of innocent enjoyments freely fhare ; and every morn and eve repeat a prayer. thus doing who fliall fay, i'm not fecure ? condemn ye proud ones, and convince ye pure 100 05 and wou'd nicanor then his fervants praife, blefs with rewards, and high in honours raife, becaufe his goods they never had purloin'd, but done the very duties he enjoin'd ? no ver. ico ivalk'^ not fo the great apoftlc : "forwewrt/.t-bv faith, (?iy% he, not by sight." 2 cor. v. 7. (this ( 7 ) (this old example chance his tafte may hit, 'tis claffic and nicatior f loves a wit — ) and horace tells us, fuch a fervant gains, not to be haiig d or beateti for his pains : so who the paths of duty have purfaed, 115 can certain merit no reivard from god ! see, fcorner, then thy expectation here, grant thy pretended honefty {incere ; grant thy morality its utmofi: due. here, here, alas thy whole dependance view ! 120 but come, be open, and declare thy foul, own pharifaic pride pollutes the whole • own, fpite of all this fairly-adted part, deceit and fin poffefs thy poifon'd heart ' for know — whate'erto morals you pretend ; 125 who fcorns a saviour, can't be virtue's friend! f nee furtum feci, neque fugi, fi mihi dicit servus, habes pretium ; loris non uteris, aio, non homlnem occidi ; non pafces in cruce corvos, ^c. see hor. epijl. i6. lib. i. ver. 45. suppofe a flave fhould fay i never fteal : i never ran away ; " nor do you fed the flagrant la(h :" no human blood i flied, *' nor on the crofs, the rav'ning crows have fed," — ^c. francis. or (8 ) or if linccre upon yourfclf you ftand, and think heaven's joys your ments juft demand -. \i oithis saviour you no need can iind. but deem him wholly ufclefs to mankind : 130 come then at once your iirm allent declare, and fign and feal your ylbjuj-atmi here: set to your feal at once your heai^i and ivame^ and write, "all title i to chriji difclaini: at once his whole redemption i abjure, 135 defire no fervice and expedi no cure." ah wherefore dofi: thou llart — why thus grow pale ? — see thy hand trembles — and thy fpirits fail : behold and wonder, proud of heart behold, (nor be it, fcorners, 'midft your fcornings told!) 140 something behold, in this mock'd saviour's name, to fliock a moralift's whole haughty frame 1 no more to outward honefty pretend, confefs the truth and all difputing end, — own (for this fhews it, as the day-light clear) 145 you hate not chriji, — but his religion fear : fond of thofe fins his precepts difapprove, you mock thefe precepts, w^iile the fins you love : 'tis (9^ 'tis not the teacher, man, you fet at nought, but 'tis that conquefl ofyoiirfelf, ^e taught^ i6o to death-beds go : — see, upright finner, there. this frightful truth in all its guilt appear ! view your lov'd clodio^ late in reafon flrong, clodio the gay, the witty, wife, and young '• proud of each blefling every power can give, 165 of every good that makes it joy to live ; — behold him ftrugghng with defpair and death. and venting curfes with his gafping breath : hear him, o hear him, — wifliing to expire in hell's dark horrors and eternal fire : 170 " confume my foul, to aflies, allies turn, " burn me avenging god, to nothing burn : " no mercy do i hope, or can requeft, " i feel, i feel, all hell within my breaft : ver. 163, view your lov'd clodio, fyv.] the reader is defir'd particularly to ob ferve and remember, that as this whole poem is founded upon the fxadeft truth, fo there is no part or charader in it, which is not real : this of clo "lo is ftriiily true, and therefore i hope it will make the greater impreffion on the confi derate reader : the following account of urania is equally real ; her death and long i'jnefs i was myfelf a witnefs of, and am bound to declare, th?t any defcription comes fhort of her heroic patience and meek refignation. 4nd. ( 10 ) " and yet — heaven's tyrant — cou'd i yet be free— *' were there another, — but to fly from thee ! *' oh impotence of thought — then hither dart " thy hotteft bolt, confume this raging heart : <' to nothing grind this frame with bittereft pain, " and torture from exiflence every grain ! i8o " oh that i cou'd, i cou d repent, — or fee *' one ray of hope, redeeijier^ glance from thee : ** redeemer-— thought acurft ! for what relief " can come from that which aggravates my grief ? *' he once was mine — his power and comforts known, •' j knew him always, but i niooud not ow7i : ** curs'd be the day — for ever curs'd the hour, " i gave my foul to fin and reafon's power : ** curs'd be the day, ye fons of fliame, i heard " your cold difcuftions and each arguing word ; 190 " your nicer reafonings, metaphylics boaft — " curs'd be the day, i liften'd and was lofl ! " oh fhame to think, with what profound deceit, ** my head defin'd, my heart conceal'd the cheat: " oh ( " ) " oil vile opprobrious guilt, that while i view'd 195 " the price and bleflings of a bleeding god '• " all this, led on by folly, fin, and fhame, " my foul cou'd forfeit, and my heart difclaim: " and fcreen'd beneath dark reafons banners fight ; *' contemn a gofpel, tho' convinc'd'twas right j ** and vile morality's poor garb pretend, 200 ^ virtues fuppos'd, but vices real friend \ " apoflates come, — ye infidels, draw nigh, " come learn from me, and fee a brother die ! ** ye who, apoflates, grace receiv'd abufe, 205 " ye, who grace offer'd. infidels, refufe ! " come fee your happy brother yield his breath j '' and doubt no more of horrors after death : " for hear and tremble — they precede our fate : " hercy here, i feel all hell's impending weiglit. " already 'midft devouring flames i dwell ; 210 «"' within, without — and is there then no hell ? " devils avaunt — nor whips nor flames provide y '* i fcorn your tortures, and your fires deride c 3 '' worit^ (12) " worfe, worfe than all, are here ! oh hell and heav'n, " that to my woes fome refpite might be given, 215 " refpite ! — can mercy, agonizing thought — " from an almighty torturer be bought ! ** from him who joys to hear a fufferer groan ? " no here i hurl defiance at his throne; — 220 *' curs'd be — " but flop, our fouls nor let us wrong with the unheard blafphemings of his tongue in vollies, hot, loud, dread, and horrid fir'd. they thunder'd forth ; and he amidft their flames ex pir'd. so perifh thofe, a saviour who defy, 225 his gofpel fcorn, and all its power deny. but fome may urge, — not all do thus depart, hell's kingdom here thus gaming from the heart: true — and as fuch, we judge th'examples giv'n for our inflrudion from the king of heav'n : 230 for us to learn, and fly th'impending load. that threats the fcorner of a saviour's blood : some ( 13) some, robb'd of fenfe, delirious yield their breath ; some fullen and impatient plunge to death ; some fearful of the ftroke, rely on art, 235 and, buoy'd with idle hopes of life, depart. others cut {hort do in a moment fall. and inftantaneous darknefs covers all : some, wearied with corporeal tortures, find no refpite to relieve their wounded ?ni7id : 240 but none — alas — that heavenly peace attends, which chrijl bequeath'd to all his dying friends : which every chriftian on his death-bed proves. who firm believes, and ftill more firmly loves : none with hopes ftrong aflurance can refign, 245 but they, whofe faith, urania\ ftrong like thine. how great the joy to fee her ftill maintain thro' a long interval of bittereft pain, calmnefs of mind, compofure rarely fhewa. and patience, not difhonour'd with a groan ! 250 " for can i groan, can i, my god, complain ? *' thine, thine indeed, was agonizing pain « and (h) " and that, for me thy mercy only bore ! '' oh then, kind father, oh correal me more ; *' with refignation thy good-will i meet, 2.55: " confefs thy love, and own thy kindnefs great!" such were her words, — and tho' her ills encreas'd she wou'd not vent a wi£h to be releas'd : but all receiving with a thankful foul to his good pleafure fhe refign'd the whole : 260^ convinc'd to him her profit beft was known, her voice was always — " lord thy will be done !'*" thus long fhe languifh'd 1 and around her bed peace conftant dwelt, and hope her comforts flied :. her growing weaknefs built her faith more high ;. on eagles wings that mounted to the fky 1: her fainting body made her foul more ftrong ;■ so that in torture fongs of praife fhe fung : and fcorning mifery, fill'd with love divine, her peace proclaiming, saviour, own'd it thine 1 270 " to him, to him, i jieard her foul declare, in fleaven be praife, be all the {^lory here : he from this heart has every fear remov'd. my faith confirm'd, accepted, and approv'd , in (15) in certain hope, from this poor world i fly, 275 in full aflurance, oh my friends i die ! weep not for me, — in yon celeftial plain grant, we may all, my god, together reign : oh grant us there to meet ! and know^ 'tis given. who follow chriji on earth, foretafte of heav'n. 280 farewel, farewel, — before you i but go a little ipace, and foon muft all purfue : soon from this vale of death muft all remove; oh think — be bleft — and love your saviour, love." thus, as ihe fpoke, fhe flept without a figh, 285 and hovering angels bore her to the fky. thrice happy change, what foul but longs to find such fweet, fuch bleft ferenity of mind ? oh grant. redeemer, in that gloomy hour my foul may thus perceive thy healing power ; 290 thus feel the joys, thy blood procures for all ; die in full hope, in firm aflurance fall ; meet death with peace difarm'd of every fting. in love rejoice, and big with glory fing, anticipating heaven ! — and thus 'twm be 295 saviour, with all, who truft alone in thee '• suci ( i6 ) such peace, fuch joy, each death-bed fhall furroundj where c/jri/i is honour'd, and true faith is found ! i know thy heart ; oh fpeak, and be at reft, like her's, jvkanor, wou'd thy end be bleft j 30o like hers thy foul wou'd land on life's firm fhore ! oh then, like her, above vain morals foar ! to that grand i?ioraujl exulting fly. who died for thee and lives no more to die. to him, vvhofe fufferings for his faints prepar'd, 305 a crown of glory, and 2ifun reward. " mere methodiftical delufion all i cieor^z cries, the votary of vaux-hall ; who deep in pleafure, and quite mad in drefs. hates all that tends to make her love them lefs : whole prefence at the play-houfe never fails, 320 and who can tell fuch fweet diverting tales of gar rick, frit chard., bella7ny, and clive, as furely mcfl: amufe each foul alive ?. who knows each fafhion and each tafce to hit, 31 and who bcfidcs all this, is called a pfit. 5 " mere ( 17) <* mere madnefs, quoth the lady, at fuch ftuff, no mortal furely e'er can laugh enough j laft stmday, by mere chance or fancy driven, i went to church — as meajimg^ ma am^ for heaven ! but there i heard a ftory fo divine — {lord, i coud gladly criticife each line !) of grace and goodnefs fitting us for god : making our hearts the spirits pure abode : of driving out each wicked thought and vain^ 325 and fuffering nought but holinefs to reign : and then — behold — our fmooth-fac'd parfon fpoke, as if forfooth all pleafure were a joke ! all public places^ dangerous bafe and wrong, drefs yqvy jjjocki7tg both in old and young 330 (in old ril grant — ) and that we all, in fine, shou'd fludy, firs, to be throughout divine: that fo the saviour might poffefs the foul. and pure religion, mortals, have you whole ! now who from fmiles, this hearing, could refrain ? 3 3 5 for who a ftate like this can e'er attain ? saints may be good, but finners we fhall be in fome low fort, till death fhall fee us free : d and ( i8 ) and then, no doubt, be borne to that abode where pleafures reign — for god's immenjely good!" 340 but oh remember, undeferving duft poor tvorin^ remember, he's iinmenfely juft : so ftridlly juft, that for thy fmful fake his fon alone a ranfom he wou'd take : his o}ily son — his beji-bdovd alone 345 for thee cou'd merit, or for thee atone ! look up to him— oil look and then conceive. if thou can'fl: afk, or if he can forgive. when all thy life and all thy deeds have fliewn defpight contemptuous to this fullering son ? 350 when far from labouring to purge thy foul. thy will to rule, thy paflions to controul. when far from ftruggling, {inner, to be freed. from death, deferv'd, depending, and decreed : — not one, one thought to god thou e'er haft giv'n, 2s5 nor look, fond longing, to thy native heav'n ! but plung'd, but headlong plung'd thro' every fcene where vice and folly hold their lawkfs reign : and on the waves of death triumphant rode, to ( 19 ) to hell's dark empire — mad — from hope and god : see — from beneath the gulf its flames difplay, stop, — think — ; thy foul oh {inner bids thee ftay ! who but muft tremble at fo dread a view, who but muft afk, " what fliall i, fliall i do ? what fhall i do, all-gracious saviour tell, 365 thy favour to regain and fly from hell ; what fliall i do — thou god of life, declare ? oh fpare me, fpare me, mercy's fovereign fpare." hail holy dread, hail agonizing fears. hail bitter flghs, and heartafledling tears ! 370 soon, fcon to other founds your grief fliall turn. soon, foon with o^/jer fears your heart fhall burn • soon fhall fuch forrow, fuch delight attend. as ne'er fhall alter, and as ne'er fhall end : soon fliall fuch tears be wip'd from every eye, 375 that bright fhall fparkle with immortal joy : d 2 with ( 20 ) with holy hope, firm faith, and love divine, and peace, that peace^ he call'd fo juftly mifje, who dying, left it chrijiian^ to be thine i and great the force of virtue needs muft prove 380 that all, who once have known her, ever love • but vice difgufts her votaries, and they fly her naufeate pleafiires and defl:ru6live joy : own in her cup, the bitter potion found, and one continu'd forrow in the round : 385 but tafting virtue and the peace fhe brings^ scorn vice and folly and all meaner things : and from her courts wou'd never never fly : f with her they wifh to live, with her they wifli to die f but ftill clear a^ ferious grown and grave, 390 prick'd to the heart, unable to conceive ver. 378 and peace, &c.j peace i leave with you, faid our saviour, mypeace\g�& unto you ; no;; as the world giveth, give i unto you. st. "john xiv. 27. ver. 3s0 ancu &c.j this reflection was made long ago by si/nplicius in hiscom aaent upon epulaus. his words begin thus : ori n^wifa jox« » o-wppco-wi), &c. " that the ways of virtue are more pleafant to the good man, than the ways of fin and licen tioufncls are to an evil and vicious man (and therefore more amiable and better in thenifslvcs) appears, by thip, that feveral men wlio have tafted the pleafures of fin forfakc it, and come over to virtue : but there is fcarce aninftance to be found of the man, tliat haj well experienced the delights of virtue, that ever cou'd be drawn off from it, or fin.l in his heart to fall buck to his former courfes." \tecumvivsre amem, tecum ol earn libem, hor. ( 21) a joy fhe never felt, fne never knew, doubts of the fad, and queftions, if 't be true ; fancy's this holy hope, this boafted peace, " this fober certainty of waking blifs,'' 395 a dream, a vapour, iffuing from the brain, rare known in fad:, and but in fancy feen : and how the truth more ftrongly fhall we fhew ? how fuller prove it than, my friend, by you ? than by referring to your works and ways, 400 the living teachers of the truths we praife ? come then. clear a y fatiate votary come, from the vile riot of the rout and drum; from plays, and balls, and noify non-fenfe fly. and turn to yonder fcene your caim.er eye ! 405 view there in modefi meeknefs, virtue drefl; r view there religion in a female breafl: : tee piety without all fhew lincere. see hoiinefs exad, but not auftere ! see pure devotion in a flame afcend, 410 zeal its fupport and knowledge tlill its friend : from ( 22 ) from the cold worldlings bafe lukewarmnefs far, as from the mad enthufiafts frantic ftare ! but view and wonder, to compleat the whole, how love divine poflefles all her foul ; 415 love founded only, whence it ne'er can fall on thy firft love, redeemer, for us all ! oh ! how it chears my foul, fuch love to find, a heart fo nobly warm to all mankind, slave to no fed, and to no party tied, 420 by zeal mif-term'd, and mean unholy pride j nor damning all becaufe tliey difagree. in fome punctilios, with my faith and me. but as confidering, chriji for all has bled, efteeming all, as members of that head : 425 as hoping all may from his grace receive, so praying all may on his name believet as nothing doubting in each fed: to find, some firm in hope and of an upright mind, ver. 417 0;j, &c.] herein is love: not ihat we loved god: but that he loved ui : and f nt his son to be the propitiation for our fins. beloved, if god fo loved us, we ought alfo to !uve one another, i st. john iv. lo. here is the true foundation of all religious, myrai, ami facial duties. let us not look for them any where elfe : but leave tlie mor«lifts to their cold and vain morality ! so ( 23 ) so holding all in love and pure efteem, 430 what e'er their title, or whate'er their name ! and know, chora y that her heart and tongue difdain alike to do a neighbour wrong : no peevi£h fatire on her lips is found. no envy blackens, and no cenfures wound : 43 c soft words of kindnefs iffue when fhe fpeaks,. and love alone her filence fweetly breaks, swift to excufe and ready to commend, vice all her foe, and all befide her friend i nor ends her kindnefs and compaftion here, 440 her love's more adive and her zeal iincere : by real works -{her living faith fhe proves. nor fays alone, but jhews you that fhe loves. no wretch unaided from her fight departs, no fulterer in her reach unpitied fmarts 1 445 woe in each fhape, has but itfelf to plead, and wants no other title to her aid t + her living, &c.] as the body without the fpirit is dead ; (o faith without tforl. is deadi\(o. st. james ii. 26. this (hews the propriety of the diflindtion, wh.ch our ancient divines have made, of a dead, and a living faith. to to god ftie gives, and with a fingle eye, sows rich in love, and rich fhall reap in joy. here then, clear a^ here dire<sl thy eyes, 450 thy doubts here vanifh, and thy wonder dies : this hving proof beyond all power perfwades, condemns thy follies, and thy life upbraids: thy fears and icruples, muft at once confound, proftrate thy dagoft^ reafon on the ground, 455 and prove at ontfe, -how fan the heavenly wife. guided by gra<:e, in excellence may rife : how far from fin, their new-born fons are free ; and what bclievtrs in a chrijl may be. nor think that here alone the wonder ends 460 numbers there are, i joy to call my friends : numbers there are in my fmall circuit known. like her in virtue and in goodnefs grown : whofe names wou'd give a luflre to each line. as on their faith, tlieir bright examples fliinc. 465 oh ! then their flcps with eager zeal purfuc, pant for their prize, and bid the world adieu : (25) place heaven's high blifs before thy ravifli'd fight. and for that crown with manly ardor fight ; ride on, ride on, and jefus by your fide, 470 still conquering and to conquer fhalt thou ride ride on, ride on, and by a saviour's blood sin fhall be flain, and death fhall be fubdu'd. and thou, oh man, who big with fancied worth, doft not confider that thy name is earth ; 475 vain finful duft by impotence and pride, still led aftray, and wand'ring ftill afide : look to thy heart — fearch well — examine— try, see there what guilt ! — and wherefore wilt thou dye ? wherefore alas, my brother wilt thou go, 480 from peace thus offer'd, to determin'd woe ? wherefore from god, from heaven from glory run, and take fuch mighty pains to be undone ! oh think and tremble, tremble, and be wife. nor fuch long fufferance and fuch love defpife ; 485 ver. 475. h earth, &c.] this is the very name of man : adam is the original word for larth : so the prophet jeretniahyoh earthy earth, earth, hear the word of the lord, jer. xxii. 29. e remem ( 2d ) remember what thy faviour bore for thee what fearful tortures on th'accurfed tree^ ^remember, fmner, this was all^ to fave thee from dominion of the death and grave : — then afk thy heart, if fuch, fuch love can find, 495 no feeling entrance to thy ftony mind ? if wath indifference, or with proud difdain ; thou can'ft behold his grief, or view his ^ in? his pain for thee — oh horrid to relate; and by defpifing make thofe pains more great? 50q fain wou'd i roufe thy foul and bring the home ; — but whence that hope? — oh jefu^ jefu come! ( thy power alone can work that work divine ; man here is fruitlefs ; all the glory's thine!) thro' every breaft thy genial heat diftil, 505 and grant each finner every fin to feel ; grant every prodigal his wants to know, and pant beneath the burden of his woe ! grant him a firm refolvc and power to fly 510 homeward to thee, and for thy mercy cry oh ( 27 j oh grant him to confefs, lament, bemoan — and will not, saviour — will not this atone ? vain thought, thy goodnefs every hope precedes, and ere the son entreats, the father bleeds, — bleeds and forgives — oh mercy all divine — 115 tell it, ye angels, " man that mercy's thine." for us, my friend, may ftill our faith be found firm as the rock, whereon that fiith we ground : oh may we flill from grace to grace go on, for ever running till wc ceafe to run, 520 till death fhall wrap thefe limbs in ufelefs flirouds, and our fouls meet our mafter in the clouds ; may all our prayers, and all our adions join, may every labour every wifh combine ; ourfelves refleded, every nearer friend 525 to god's fure grace in jefus to commend : to teach, dired:, and point the happy road, to nev^er failing blifs and certain good : that fo united in yon ftarry fky, together we may join our fongs of joy '530 our f'as ) our glory heighten'd there thofe friends to view, their's, that from us the happinefs they drew ! then all together in one fong divine, we'll own. redeemer, that the work was thine ! tky praife alone fhall every power employ, 535 thy love alone fhall fwallow up in joy : all peace, all glory, all delight fhall reign. no doubts fhall terrify, no ills fhall pain ^ no time fhall end the triumph of our days, no night fhall filence our immortal lays ! 540 ** hofannah holy, holy, holy, three !" our hearts, and harps, and tongues one voice fhall be 5 ten thoufand thoufands, and of thoufands ten. shall join the choir, and heaven pronounce aniejt, the end. the reader is defired to corred the following errors, before he reads the poem. pa^e 6, line 95. for madmenno, r. mad men no. 16, 314. _/<?rmoft, r, muft. 2ij 407. for religion r. religion. thoughts o n t h e glorious epiphany of the lord jesus christ, a poetical essay # written at southampton in the year mdcclvii. sacred to friendship. b y t h e reverend william d d d, lechurer of wejl-ham, ejfex, an-i st. olave's, hart-street, london, -^ , ■ exsftw v\ buirikeiti (thi st: matt. vi. lo. henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteoufnefs, which the lord, the righteous judge, jhall give me, at that day : and not to me only, but unto all them alfo that love his appearing. 2 tim. iv. 8. numinis hie laudes, hlc numinis omnia plena: pieridum fi forte lepos, auftera canentes deficit : eloquio vidti, re vincimus ipsa : tu modo non furdam noitris da cantibus aurena. a^fti-lucret. lib. i. ver. 78. london: printed by w. faden, and fold by e. dilly,'in the poultry near the manfion-houfe. mdcclviu. [price one shilling and six-pence.] 4. to the right reverend edmund k e e n e, lord bifhop of chester. my lord, th e kind and favourable manner, wherein you received the firft fruits of my academi cal ftudies, and the a6ts of real friendfhip you fhewed me afterwards, are fuch teflimonies at once of your good intentions towards me, and of your defire to promote true learning, as for ever demand my gratitude and reipefl:. i am well aflured of the truth of an exprellion, which i read over with plealure in one of your a a lord dedjcjrion, j^ordftiip's obliging letters to me, that " you are " never more pleas'd, than when you can counte " nance and affift young men of abilities and cha " rafter." a difpofition truly amiable, which {hews the good mind, and conftitutes the great man. tho' i cannot prefume to rank myfelf amongft fuch as merit your lordlhip's countenance, yet i muft efteem it as a fmgular mark of another ex cellence, of great condefcenfion, that you were pleas'd to exprefs yourfelf thus favourably of me: with a generous view, no doubt, to encourage the weak beginnings of one, who would wilh no higher fatisfaction than to deferve indeed the favour of a patron, fo capable to difcern, fo ready to affift. but, how diftant ibever herefrom, i am de firous at leaft to give your lordlhip a public teftimony of my fincere gratitude and high venera tion : and therefore beg leave to prefent to you the following poem : the folemn fubjeft of which fuits well with your facred character, and muft, on that account, i am fenfible, be acceptable. but the exe dedicjrion'. execution, i fear, will need your lordftiip's ufual indulgence: which i doubt not of finding 5 aflured that you will look favourably on the intention; and with no lefs benevolence than before, receive this fmall tribute, fo juftly due to your lordlhip's pub lic merit, and private kindnefles to, my lord^ * tour lordjhip's mofl dutiful^ and obliged son and servant. ^l'::c^^,^, william dodd. r vi ] occasion and argument, to be read before the p o e m. /'n a houfiy on the beach, near southampton, are lodged a number of thofe french neutrals, nvho nvere brought from north-america, as prifoners, and are now confined in england. the f mallfox, a difeafe before unknown to them, foon after their arrival, to aggravate the miferies of captivity, feized and proved very fatal to them. thoje, who now re main, go, every evening about fun-fef, to fray over the graves of their de parted friends, whom they have lojl in this foreign land, to the language and cufloms of which they are utter firangers. — the fight hereof, of many men, women, and children, kneeling in folemnfilence, round the graves of their fa ' thers, bujbands, wives, children, brethren, friends, — much ajfesled the author'^ heart, when at southampton, thisfeafon : and gave occafion to the following thoughts, on the noblejl of fubje£ls; to which his then accidental reading of dr: vztuck's excellent book,'' 0« ^z;^ glorious epiphany," ©"r. greatly contributed; and which a pleafing icifure, and happy tranquillity of 7nind kartnoniz'd in a poetic form. — unlike other poems, this has its foundation folely in truth : the author has followed the [acred fcriptures clofely : as it fcems necefj'ary on a fubjedl derived entirely from revelation. — it hath given him a welcome opportunity to pay fome debts of duty and friendfhip : and the open unreferv'd manner, wherein his thoughts are cxpreffed, will, it is hoped, not be unpleafmg, as the poem was written without any the leaft view to the public^ and folely to exprefs the private overfowings oj bis [ vii ] viind. — some li-ho heard and read if, judged thai the reflcbiom might be profitable to others : they are deli'oered to the u^orld therefore ivith a view to that end: confcioiis of which the author is alike infenfihle to the praij'e or difpraife of men. — modern 'witlings will be merry perhaps t^on the regard jidcwn herein to a wife: fee v. "jj. and no wonder ^ agreeably to the tajle of our times. but the author trufts, he jjjall never be afiam'din the mo ft public manner to avow any of thofe facial and honourable affeslionsy which god hath implanted, recommended, enforc'd. he hath toofome in ancient and modern times to keep him in countenance, in whofe company he had rather be jeen, than in the gayefi circle of modijl:) gallants. — t^his poem is by no means calculated to pleafe the gay, the thoughtkfs, the pro fane : to amuje in a cqfee-houfe, or murder a morning's tedious hour. its fubjesi is deep, ferioiis, important ; and can be acceptable to none but the ferious, and fuch as are defirous to obtain that better country: to all of whom it is offered and infer ibed : recommended to their patronage and protection : and by whom, the author fmcerely prays, it may be found iiijlrudlive, and a means to kindle in tbeir hearts greater love to their eter tial ijiheritance i as to the argument of the poem, in general, it aims at enforcing a love ^w'defire to the coming of chrift : to which end : ijl. the glories of his coming, arid the happinefs of it to believers, are fet forth. 2dly, the grand motives to injpire us with a love to it, are hinted, and back'd by the example of jnany who did love it : and ^dly. the chief means are ficwn whereby we may gain and improve this love. st. paul'j words in the title page, might be called the text cf this piece. — but more particularly, it contains a defcription. — ver. 14, lntrodu6lion. 46, addrcfs to maria, jo i, invocation. 117, entrance on the main fiihjesl. rcfurreciion. 132, shewn from nature. 166, whole procefs cf the grand epiphariy. 2 1 8, miferies of unbelievers. 240, happinefs of believers. 276, re turn from judgment. l<itvf ]tmh\qxn particular ly defer ibed. 336, an apo f raphe to the author's deceafed parents. 370, apology for himfclf. 397, rea fans whywefhould love and long for this epiphany. 475, rcafons why men do [ viii ] noi. 524, troofi thr.f there lave been loven ef ily in paul, stephen, *i— the ivbok army of martyrs. 579, "engwqn. martyrs, ridley, latimer, cranmer. 605, a late chriftian friend cotmnemorated, 651, our in ter ejl in the great epiphany, and the great caufe ive have to love and loiigfor ft. 76'^, means to obtain this defir able love. 780, pr-ayer, &c. 801, lord's /upper. 824, word, ^sb^, chriftian "writers. the fathers. 896, the englifh divines. 923, eulogium on mr. hervey. 945, and mr. wogan, author of the 'eq?iy on the proper kjjons for s\xndi2iys. 967, con cludinghymn to god our saviour, under thejourfold relation of father, bridegroom, brother, friend, ike. 1 have nothing further to add, than that i pray god, this iveak injlru tnent may he in his hands employed to the good of many : and i can find no properer ivords to conclude with, than thofe in my title-page, from the in comparable cardinal de polignacv anti-lucretius, ivhich 1 fubjoin jrom mr. dobfon'i late majlerly tranflation. god is our theme : his praife our only fong. what if we yield in pow'r of eloquence and harmony of found : in argument thro* truth we conquer. hear then, and attend. thoughts [ i ] thoughts o n t h e glorious epiphany, ^^ soft blew the tepid breeze, wafting fair health the rofy nymph, from hampton's beauteous bay: while on the fea-green furface, polifli'd fmooth as parian marble, play'd the golden beams of weftern sol^ giwing the gloomy groves 5 that from the forefts heights depend, and cloath with leafy majefty the fhore : the hum mean while of bufy merchandize ; the cry of failors, light of heart, and the mixt din of foldiers martial drum, and ilirill-ton'd fife 10 jufk dying, on the diflant ear confus'd. all nature fmifd : heav'n, earth and fea conjoin'd their beauties to exalt the glowing heart. alas, how lofl their beauties, and how dead to yonder haplefs multitude, that rove 15 b in [ 2 ] in filent fort along the fea-beat fliore : and fend full oft their wifhes and their fighs big with diftrefs, to that dear native land from whence, fad chance of war, torn by rude force they languifli prifoners in a foreign clime ! 20= no more they view their lov'd acadia % plains; no more their happy homes, and fertile fields;. no more, their joyful famihes around. they tafte the pleafures of domeftic peace. nor quaff full draughts from freedom flowing bowl. 25 their plains fo lov'd, their fields with plenty crovvn'd, rude foldiers wafte : and they, immers'd iw woe. tread the lone beach : while on their languid fight the pleafing views around unheeded rife ; — they rife on captives! — what's, the gaudy room, 3,0; the filken tapeftry, or the cedar'd floor. to the lone linnet, fever'd from his mate and forefts wild and fi-ee ? — who fhall forbid the generous tear to fwell the pitying eye ? what tho' of hofiik race, ftill they are men: %^, and while we view them weeping o'er the graves of friends departed, while we hear their prayers,. kneeling in forrovv fad thofe graves around : while we behold them flowly as they tread. with vifage wan, and port difconfolate 40 from burden'd breafl heaving the deep-fetch'd groan, 3 from [ 3 ] from languid eye burfting the trembling tear ;— what briton wears a heart, fteel'd to the touch of gentle pity p who can then refufe a fympathetic feeling of their woe ! 45 oh, my maria, may we ne'er refufe the juft, the gen'rous tribute. there's a pain sweetly delightful infoft pitys touch. that gladdens, while it wounds the heart humane. may not their lot be ours ? — for who can tell 50 the dire event of war ? — should the great god, in juft refentment of our nation's crimes, blaft our attempts, and fruftrate all our hopes, and give us for a prey to gallia % arms. — — avert it gracious heav'n ! — yet fhould fuch woe 55 o'erwhelm our land, our brethren in diftrefs, acadian fons, hold up the faithful glafs. and give us a fad pidlure of ourfelves, prifoners in foreign climes !— -how fhould the thought with humble gratitude infpire the foul, 60 and tune the tongue to fing his boundlefs praife, whofe countlefs mercies, in rich clufters, hang around our happy tents ? where every man beneath his own vine fits, and eats fecure of his own fig-tree? gratitude and praife 65 will beft fecure thofe mercies : god delights b 2 chief [ 4 ] chief in his fervants thanks. — how fhould the thought raife our fond hearts above this dark, dim fpot, and lliew us the deep poverty of earth and all its beft enjoyments : where no rofe 70 without a briar is found ; where grows no fweet without its poifon : and whofe deareft blifs is bounded by the grave : — how fhould it teach to feparate from our fouls its fatal love, and lead to nobler hope, to nobler love, 75, hope, that deceives not ; love^ that never fails ! come, then, maria, and as join'd in heart, and that fweet nuptial union, whence hath flow'd streams of increafmg happinefs to crown our faithful paflion : come, and let us join 80 our fondeft efforts, nobly to upraife our beft affedlions, and employ them there, where our beft blifs demands : on that bright fcene of love divine, " our glorious lord's return," to welcome all his children into joy. s5 that longing for that day, our love may look beyond the narrow boundaries of time to the dear hope of everlafting blifs* oh thou can'ft tell, what foft ferenity that hope diffufes over all our joys : 90 how all our forrows lofe their name and fting, .^ sooth'd [ 5 ] sooth'd by that hope, fupported by that love! without that love the bleilings of fair peace, become but fplendid miferies : with that love 95 captivity itfelf, and all the ills of defolating war, their horrors lofe. while faithful patience hath its perfefl work in the true pilgrim heart from earth abftraft and drawn by love already into heaven. — 100 but who, what mortal tongue can worthily or paint that love divine ; or thro' the breaft of men, diffufe its fweet perfuafive power ? come, fpirit diviney thou the ftrong bond of love between the almighty father and the son, 105 the fource and fountain of eternal love; thou only mafter of all human hearts ; come, and with mighty energy impart some touches of thy love, that my weak thoughts aided by thee, illumin'd, and uprais'd, no may to my fubje6t's dignity refpond : aroufe the expectations of mankind ; wake from deep fleep the inattentive throng : and ftrike the nobleft, fulleft chord to found the melody of love, returning love, 115 with crown of gold to deck each faithful brow t then [ 6 ] then fliall we fee him : — every eye fliall fee and they which pierced him ! — tben fliall we hear, then every ear fhall hear th' arch-angel's trump, proclaiming his approach; whofe found, more loud 120 than when ten thoufand cannons with one roar forth from their iron mouths, fliake the vex'd deep down to the bottomlefs abyfs, and round full many a league reiterate their hoarfe and brazen thunder: louder far the trump 125 of that great angel fliall be heard, whofe found, the adamantine pillars of the heavens shall eafy, as the wind the afpen's boughs, move waving to and fro : to the center (hake the trembling earth ; the cearments of the grave 130 burft : — and call forth to life th' unnumber'd dead. as, when the bounteous sim from aries rolls, quick'ning with genial light the pregnant world^ all nature feems reviving : wide around a living verdure cloaths the blooming earth, 1 3 5 and chears the languid eyes, that late fatigu'd stretch'd o'er the plains, white with the gliftering fnow ; the modeft daify and the cowflip wan checquer the vivid green : and pale beneath the budding hawthorrie the rathe primrofe rears 140 her fcenty flowrets, with blue violets join'd, that, [ 7 i that, fond of privacy, their odours rich prefent, firft offerings, to their fire, the fun ; of filent adive virtue emblems meet. no more the hedges with their branches brown, 145 and trees with naked tops, flaring to heav'n, deform creation : here the bloffoms white the lenient air with richer odours fill. than breathe from coromandel\ fpicy coaft: there the big gems burft beauteous into leaf, 150 and give the trees their honour : every herh uprears its dewy head : and teeming earth from fertile bowels cafts her precious things. the fulnefs of her bounty, precious fruits. — — so fhall flie caft her dead : when that great morn "^ss of refurredion comes ; when that loud trump of the arch-angel founds : when fhines the light, the light eternal, and with power divine our bodies moulder'd into native duft shall quicken into life: and give to rife, 160 wearing far other forms, our mortal clad with immortality, and our corrupt in incorruption lovely. — thus their trufts innumerous, facred, fhall the earth and fea at the dread fummons, faithfully refignl 265 an [ 8 ] an awful paufe enfuing, every heart throbbing with great expedance: the loud clang of countlefs trumpets fhall be heard, by the breath of mighty angels blown, while they precede in folemn pomp the crimfon'd fign, the cross 170 triumphant, veil'd in ruddy light, and borne by myriads of bright feraphim. — from on high, — while the whole arch of heav'n empeopled thick blazes with fpirits of glory : — 'midft th' acclaim of all the heav'nly hoft, flow fliall defcend, 175 seated upon a throne, like fiery flame. borne on a luminous cloud, the god, the ju d g e, the bad man's terror, and the good man's hope! his garment white as fnow, and like pure wool his hair: bright as a flame of fire, his eyes: 180 his feet, like burnifli'd brafs, as if they glow'd in the red furnace : forth from which fhall come a fiery ftream refplendent; while he rides full royally, his car, by cherubim upborn, whofe wheels, felf-mov'd, and full of eyes, 185 as blazing beryl glow, and burning fire. lo, dazzled with his luftre, darknefs veils creation's ampleft brightnefs : lights full fource the mid-day fun, inftant before his face becomes as fackcloth black : the filver moon 190 as [ 9 ] as blood : forth from their orbs to earth down fall the darken'd flars : even as a fig-tree cafts, before a mighty wind, her unripe figs : the heavens themfelves aftonifh'd, as a fcrou shrivel'd before the fire, fhall pafs away 195 with noife infufferable : the elements with fervent heat diffolve : forth from their place trembung (hall fly each ifland, mountain, hill : and as the wax, before meridian so/y melt at his awful prefence : while the earth, 200 with all her works in general flame fhall burn ! then, while his ample train fliall fill the heaven, while thoufand thoufands to him minifter. and while ten thoufand times ten thoufand fland before his awful majefty, to bear 205 his fov'reign mandates, or of life or death : — the judgment fet, th' impartial volumes op'd. all fecrets naked, every thought difclos'd, caught up into the air, before his throne shall fland all nations! — 210 there, maria^ there muft thou and i, with all our kindred fouls the righteous fentence, the juft meed of all our adions, the eternal doom receive, c eternal [ '°3 eternal life, eternal death ! — how great ! 215 oh how this earth's beft bleilings fink in worth, when on that fcene is open'd the mind's eyes i where vengeance, vengeance dire, unutterable, on thoie fhall fiercely fall, who know not god, nor the bleft gofpel of our fovereign lord, 220 with faithful love, obey : thefe from his face and from the living glory of his power. with everlafting ruin, endlefs woe shall then be punifh'd : then fhall be confign'd to bottomlefs perdition : and condemn'd 225 to dwell in hopelefs horror, headlong hurl'd down to the flaming pit, and bound in fire that never fhall its hottefl rage remit. be quenched never ! — oh moft horrible ! oh horrible to heart and ear i — and what 2 30 hath earth's poor lufls and vanities moft vain to counterpoife this death eternal ? what to counterpoife the lofs of that high blifs which now fhall crown the righteous : when their lord shall come to be admired in his faints, 23,5 and glorified in each believing foul! oh who can paint their raptures when the voice of love divine fhall, with mellifluous tone. greet their glad ears, and filence every fear 3 that [ ii ] that fwells the bofom 'midft that folemn fcene i 240 " come, o ye bleffed of my father, come, " come and receive the kingdom of bright blifs, " and joy immortal for yourfelves prepar'd " before the world's foundation : enter in " the everlafting manfions, and rejoice 24.5 " with joy unfpeakable." at once the found innumerable of all the heavenly choir in concert fweet fhall welcome the bleft fons of immortality : voices divine with inftruments of tone celeftial, tun'd 250 in dulcet harmony : fuch as, to compare great things with fmall — ■ from the full choir refounds of ha?tdel\ mafter-ftrains, to the high fam^e of conquering messiah dedicate: the rapt heart bounds with gladnefs. — crowns inwov^e 255 with amaranth and gold on every head shall fliine refplendent : robes of radiant white fair beaming as the morning-ftar, {hall glow on each illuftrious body, glorified, and beauteous in the luftre of their god. 260 palms of unfading verdure in each hand at once fhall fpeak their vidlory, and exprefs their triumph everlafting : golden harps for ever tun'd, fhall glitter at their fides. on every brow celeftial peace fhall fmile, 265 c 2 and [ '2 ] and happinefs unruffled ; from each eye, ■; sparkling with joy immortal, fhall be wip'd all tears for ever: for, the caiife of tears, foul fm and greedy death fhall be no more! celeflial love fhall every heart o'erflow, 270 celeftial love fhall every heart infpire, and to feraphic praife unceafmg tune ! — heaven % golden vault with the melodious found triumphant echoing, 'midft the fweet acclaim of all his hod:, messiah conquering king, 275 — his lov'd redemed at his right handplac'd, — from judgment fliall return; while myriads join of angels, and archangels, princedoms, powers, and all the company of heav'n, to laud his righteous judgments : while ho/annahs found 2go thro' all heaven's concave to the king of glory: their heads the everlafting doors fhall raife, the gates be lifted up, twelve gates of pearl, each wide, as to admit a banner'd hoft> with all their colours flying, while the king 285 of glory, the dread lord of hofts, the fan eternal fhall come in, with all his train. and enter that bleft city ! * whofe vaft ipace 'twou'd weary time to meafure ; whofe high walls glitter with living jafper ; and whofe ftreets 290 * see reveu xxi. 22. are [ '3 ] are of fine gold, pure as tranfparent glafs: at vvhofe twelve gates twelve mighty angels ftand, fair as the morn, and glorious as the fun: forth from the throne of god, and of the lamb, a river, clear as ci-yftal, iffues forth, 295 the water of life : and gladdens with its dreams the new jerusalem: while its fair banks that tree of life, angelic food, produce, that erft in ede?i grew, or ere frail man tafted another fruit, which work'd his woe. ^oo here god hath fix'd his feat, here ever dwells in glory as in bleffednefs fupreme, his fervants worihip to receive, and glad with everlafting joy, that from him flows in richeft fulnefs : here behoves no temple : god is the temple: here no fun: for here the light of god., and of the glorious lamb for ever fhines: one undiminifli'd day without created light, reigns beauteous : love enlivens and illumines all with light, 310 life-giving and divine. — such is the place ordain'd, of boundlefs mercy, the abode eternal of bleft fouls : here ihall they live imparadis'd in joy, in endlefs joy, whofe names are found recorded in the book o j r of life, whofe foreheads with the lamb's red feal 3 are [ '4 ] are mark'd : and who with him approv'd, return from judgment all vidorious ! thefe alone — (for nought defiung, fin, nor finners here, shall ever enter,) thefe alone fhall reign with god for ever ; and the blifs enjoy 320 of his near prefence, and the vifion call'd by mortals, beatific ; to exprefs what faints in glory fhare; men by dim faith scarce apprehend : hope leads to nearer viev/s. and love will then confummate: when with faints 325 join'd in fweet union, we fhall all accord in one high ftrain of praife : when we (hall live. in amity divine, with all the friends of our high lord, whom facred writ records, and long hath to our befl: affedlions won ! — 330' and there — oh pleafing recouedlion — there our deareft friends, by death relentlefs torn from our embraces, joyful fhall we meet. immortal meet, to part no more ! — the hope. oh ye beloved authors of my birth, 335 ye befi of parents^ who, 'midft torments fierce and cruel anguifh, in my arms expir'd ; the mournful office, while my trembling hands of clofing your dear eyes perform'd — that hope, that balmy hope fooths my fad foul, and dries 34o the [ 15 ] the filent tear, that frequent from my eye drops mournful on remembrance of your love : that love, vt^hich o'er me from the cradle watcli'd to manhood's dawn: fouicitous and fond: — ah, u^ho but parents ought can paint the pangs 345 heart-felt, that in the anxious parent's breaft throb for its darling offspring? thence be taught duteous regard, ye children, and return grateful the tender love! — but earthly love how poor, how fhorti in thofe celefdal realms 250 nor end, nor mixture fhall be known. alas, how unfupportable the load of woe, without fair immortality's bright hope! how light all earthly fufferings, when the foul difdains the grave, and carries its bold eye, 355 dire6led by ftrong faith into the realms of light and love eternal ? — there, oh there. grant us, thou god benign. lover of souls, by the red blood, that from thy facred wounds flow'd liberal for man : oh grant us there 36a to meet in blifs, and my tranfported foul then fiiuy, thrice bleft parents, shall exprefs the debt of love i owe: which grateful thus i ftrive to fpeak in melancholy fong befitting lowly mortal: earneft fmall 2 65 of future offerings, when on golden harps together [ '(> ] together we fliall chaiint immortal fongs, immortal made ; and ravilli'd with the joy, fulnefs of joy, and pleafures evermore at the right hand of god! — 37© pardon, dread lord, if ought too much prefumptuous, or too high in hope, — thee i offend! thy facred word and promifes divine forbid to faith the glimmering of doubt. yet v/hen i view «- myfelf unworthy and offending ftill thy goodnefs infinite, methinks 'tis bold at all to hope, — but not on m e depends acceptance final : thou wilt not refufe the lowly foul that builds on jesu's lovt ! — ogq smit by that hallo vv'd love, my mufe, ere while to mortal pafiions dedicate, forefwore th' adulterous fervice, and itfelf refign'd to thee its rightful lord ! oh that my ftrains, how weak foe'er, might to thy praife redound, ^g and join in univerfal nature's choir. to hymn thee general lord ! — warm'd with that wifli, tho' faintly, thus i ftrive to lifp low thoughts, low are the highefi; mortal tongues exprefs. when everlafting love becomes their theme ; 3 90 and fuch is mine ; thine everlafting love bright c ^7 ] bright {lining on that great epiphany, when, all thy mighty majefty difplay'd, we lliall behold — behold thee, as thou art; and, at the vifion glorioufly transform'd, 295 be made who can conceive the greatnefs ? — made uk^thee! were it not ftrange, maria ^ then to dread a day fo fraught with bleflings, fo replete with good to man ? to dread a change that brings 400 immortal glory ? — dreads the mariner, who, toft long time upon the ocean wild, sails many a weary league from the dry coaft of malabar or beiigala^ waging long unequal war with tempefts, rocks, and waves, 405 that well nigh have their way thro' the leak'd hull of his fhock'd veftel made — dreads he the port friendly that brings him to his native foil, to the lov'd bofom of his faithful wife. and dear careftes of his infant race, 41,0 climbing with fondling joy his happy knees, and lifping their pleased ftories : his big heart swells with exftatic rapture : while a tear of filent joy unbidden fteals adown his fun-burnt cheeks. — or didft thou dread that day, 415 say, my maria ^ which return' d me, long d long [ '8 ] long abfent, long expeded to thy arms and bridal bed, thence fcver'd by hard fate juft in the bloftom of thofe nuptial joys, that fince have into fulnefs fpread, and cheer'd 420 with undiminifb'd fweetnefs ? — rather fay, did'ft thou not number every lagging hour with fond impatience, and the minutes blame too tedious in their courfe, till on thy fight, fair folace of my foul, thy bridegroom rofe 425 tranfported : blifs too big for utterance rode on our hearts pants triumphing ! — dread we then, oh ftrange, the bridegroo??t oi o\xr fouls return, whofe love ftronger than death, no mortal flame can ought refemble ? dread we then the porty 430 that to the haven of eternal reft our ihipwreckt vefl'el brings ? — wherefore not long. wherefore not look with expedation fond, and paftion all-inflam'd, for that great day of jesu's coming : and the blifsful hour 435 that to our bridegroom's everlafting arms, and nuptials all-confummate fhall admit our fouls delighted ? — king of terrors. deaths thou art man's dread : how doth thy leaden dart. oh mighty conqueror, with cold horror pierce 440 the heart benumb'd : make the chill blood ftand flill. and courfe no longer thro' the purple veins and [ 19 ] and allies of the body : while the pulfe, life's centinel, retiring from its watch, gives notice of departing life : while fteals 445 o'er the dark eye-balls mifty night ; and fliff the limbs, fo glowing late, freeze into clay food for the darkfom grave ! yet wherefore fear, what needs we muft encounter ? wherefore fear 450 a foe whom none can fhun; whofe ftroke, tho' dread, of force but momentary *, fends the foul from the dark prifon of an earthly cot to palace of celeftial mould ! — who flies adventure dangerous, and perils vaft 455 to gain renowned meed ? — what lover fears the long dark cavern, that conducts his fteps lonely, beneath the bowels of the earth, to the fair bofom of his fecret fpoufe. wedded and won : yet not for fome hard hap, 460 or parents frown, or fortune all-unmeet, acknowledg'd and avow'd ? — old ftories tell * cowards die many times, before their death : the valiant never tafte of death but once : of all the wonders that i yet have heard. it feems to me moft ftran^e that men fliould fear : seeing that death, a neceflary end, will come, when it will come,— — julius ca^far in shakefp. d 2 that [ 20 ] that cril lcancler^ warm'd with the generous love of beauteous hej'o^ dreaded nought to dare nightly tl e fwelling waves; and with bold ftroke 465 forc'd thro' rough ocean his fond way, while led by friendly light from her fair hand, whofe touch repay'd the glad adventurer. of love such the commanding power ! * — so did we love the bridegroom of our fouls, who forth from heav'n 470 hath hung his words fure light, fafe to conduct our path unerring : gloomy death's deep waves nought fhould we dread, nor fear the monfter's dart more than the faithful youth the kindly wave that bore him to his love? — but ah, that wave 475 who without love could dare ? death's fting moft fharp is sin : and fin, rebellious fin, is want of love alone : where jesus holds the fway 'vidlorious in the heart, all other loves hide their diminifli'd heads : and the rank train 480 of beftial, devilifh pafllons 'fore him fly, as, 'fore his great exemplar, morning light. foul darknefs, with her murderers bath'd in blood, » muffled adulterers, thieves that love the fliade. spirits of night, that walk the earth ; and beafts 485 that to their dark caves hafte, growling at day, and hide them from the sun. — oh the cold love * he was loft in a dark tempeftuous night. utyxysr, m aynttr.^ rv^xmu fays chryfa/tom. of [ ^' ] , of our degenerate hearts, in thefe laft days ; how fenfelefs of thy beauty, of thy love. thy matchlefs beauty, love unfpeakable, thou altogether lovely! — hence how dread to our imaginations pale with fear. the thoughts of death! men fhiver at the name! his terror makes cold cowards of us all : nor they^ whofe trade is deaths are from the fear, 40 r — oh fhame — exempt! and whence this fear? — ah, look how every love, how every luft can lead men's hearts its willing captive; how they doat on fhadows vain, and triflingly purfue bubbles, that burft and lofe their colour'd rings, roo or ere the delicate breath breathes on them ! — look, how every love, but love divine leads on its potent multitudes, that flutter round the fliadow vain of unfubftantialjoys: as gaudy butterflies, that lightly fpread their painted down, and fkim from flower to flower of momentary flay : or as the moth that foolifli plays around the dazzling flame, till in the fatal circle caught, it drops. and woe and wifdom learns at once, — too late! j-jq look, how compliant with the world's fell lore. to fafliion flaves, and in flrong cuftom's chain bound; with the multitude what numbers rufli pre [ " ] precipitate to pay their civil court at vice, or folly's temple: tho' recoils 515 their better reafon, and their foberer fenfe the rank idolatry difclaims. — ah look at thefe, innumerable ; and doubt no more, whence comes death's dread, and judgment's trembling fear. on men's brows wonder fits, to hear the fond 520 the tale enthuftafticy that there wej-e — oh that their numbers yet were found !) there were who welcom'd death more warmly than the bride her faithful bridegroom : and the lov'd approach of their immanuel in the clouds defir'd 525 with expedations more awake, than thine. oh foul of avarice, carpus^ hov'ring o'er the rent-roll vvifh'd of fome eflate immenfe, by thy infatiate ufury well nigh devoured from fpend-thrift heir ! — look, chriflians, look, 530 — if chrijltans rightly call'd, who never fight, tho' with the red crofs mark'd upon your brows, beneath the crimfon'd banner of your god, againfl foul fin, proud satan, and the world, deceitful and deceiv'd : — befits not then 535 the name, deferters, rather? — yet to call, ii haply the remembrance may infpire with penitent fliame well-pleafing, back to call 3 to [ 23 ] to the vldorious fign of grace and peace, look at the noble champions who have wag'd ^aq full well the glorious war! — see in the van, amidft the chofen leaders, toilfome paul, loaden with vidlories, in triumphant fort wifliing to be diffolv'dj and be with chrijl! while, in faith's full aiturance, he declares, 54r *' the time of my departure is at hand, " and ready am i now to be pour'd forth *' as a libation fweet, unto my god ! " and pleafmg the reflexion! i have fought " and conftantly maintain'd the noble fight : ^^ " i've run the courfe complete: have kept the faith : " henceforth of righteoufnefs the golden crown " is laid up for me : the immortal crown, " which at that day, the lord, the righteous judge " will give to me ! — yet not to me alone, r r r " but to all thofe^ that his appearing love»" and fuch are they, that glorious file led on by stephen, proto-martyr, whofe bleft hands unfurl from ftandard high, the flaming flag. beneath whofe banner thefe have nobly fouglit 560 and dy'd their robes in blood ! oh how they long'd, with ardent joy, — how conftantly they fcorn'd nay fought, nay welcom'd, flames, wild-beafts, and racks, with [ n ] with all the cruel wantonnefs of death devis'd by tyrants perfecuting rage : 565 and wearied out with patience all-divine invention's fubtleft tortures : faithful found, found faithful unto death ! — hail, glorious throng, of martyrs noble army ! ever hail ! high teftimony have ye borne to jesu's truth, 570 and jesu's love confummate. be your crowns bright with fuperior luftre! — well ye deem'd thofe happy, w4io obtain'd on earth fuch grace. favour' d fo highly, as to fhed their blood. in the redeemer's caufe! well could my foul, 575 (if envy ought permitted to allow — ) envy your choice felicity : and fure if envy e'er were lawful, it were here. yet 'midft the radiant troop, it glads my heart, a fquadron to behold of port divine 5 80 from my lov'd country. faithful ridley, hail, truths ftrenuous champion : with that foldier bold of men regardlefs, latimer, to flames jocund, as to a bridal bed, who hied : hail, all-laborious cranmer, foul of love — 5^5 well did thy dauntlefs courage expiate thy n'gk hand's fault : while unappall'd thou ftood'ft, and gav'fl th' oifender to confuming fire ! 2 i'hou [ =s ] thou never knew'ft refentment to thy foe, yet fpared not, with indignation juft, 590 thy tendereft flefli ! * firft of reformers^ hail, and chief of britijh martyrs! well my fong could be content, thy praifes to record with all the countlefs multitude, that throngs from britain^ fliore ! whofe names live here embalm'd 595 in faithful memory, in the book of life recorded live for ever! — yet the meed of my poor verfe, blefl: worthies, but ill fuits your praifes high: — oh might our towering hopes rife into emulation, while we view 600 the luftre of your deeds : — rife from our death and fleep fupine, ftruck with the mighty love of that eternal captain, who leads on your fouls, thro' oppolition perilous, to vitftory immortal ! 60 c yet to truth, at once, and friendiliip, let my fong be jufl: ; nor thou, my friend^ above the reach of praife. * archbifbop c;vjw/n<?rwas oflhe moft remarkably fweet and forgiving temper, infomuch that it ufed to be faid, " the beft way to gain the archbifliop's favour was to do him a flirewd turn:" fo much did he delight to forgive. when brought to the ftake, he thtuft his right hand into the flame, and flood undaunted while it was confum'd. —see tlie hiltory of thefe martyrs in fox and others. e crown'd r ^6 ] crovvn'd in the realms of blifs, can ought fiifpe<fl, of flattery my fong. — yes, jesus, yes, 5iq in thefe degenerate days, thy glowing love found in l**'^'s heart a welcome feat; there burnt with all its purity divine, and fill'd her bofom with the courage bold of confeflbrs undaunted, and the zeal 615 of fuffering martyrs : ah, too early fnatch'd, fair flower from this our globe: humbly we own the chaftifement divine! yet tho' compell'd to weep our own fad lofs, thy mighty gain bids us rejoice for thee! thy courfe is run, ( 62o and now the end of all thy wifliesgain'd. with him: thou ever liv'fl:, for whofe dear fake, to live and die on earth was all thy carei-' — our warfare yet remains : and ftill we fight, tho' faintly, our grand foes: oh may the hope 625 of meeting henceforth in the realms of joy, » our courage animate, and lead us on allmanfully, beneath the banner wide of jesus, conqueror, to maintain the fight, againft the fubtle legions of the prince 630 of darknefs horrible : againft the force of an oppofing world ; and the foul wiles of the deceitful flelli. — fruitlefs thofc wiles, thofe legions impotent to ftorm the foul [ 27 ] secure in christ ! look, how its towering head 635 aloft to heav'n the ftately cedar rears, on the high mountains brow : nor deigns to ftoop amidft the loudeft clamours of the winds eurus and aujler^ and the boifterous north, roaring with indignation vain around 640 its princely trunk ! — so midft temptations rage refolv'd, unmov'd, the fteadfaft chriftian ftands rooted in jesu's love! but that firm love, the love of his appearing, with the crown, of righteoufnefs eternal, and the hope . 645 of living ever with our fellow saints, in amity unfhaken, can alone infpire that refolution, and the faith which to the end undaunted perfeveres ; as cloud-capt 7^«^r^, fixt, and unremov'd ! 650 and who but loves that coming, who but longs with anxious hope, that in his bofom bears, a heart ought glowing with his saviour's love ? and what heart glows not with that saviour's love, who views him on dread calvary expos' d 655 in naked anguifh for the fins of men ! who longs not to behold this man of grief aftuming all his glory : to behold the mockd redeemer : his immortal brows e 2 crown'd [ 28 ] crown'd with far other diadem, than erft 660 on earth he wore \ who longs not to behold his saviour o'er his foes, o'er death and hell triumphant ride, and judge the fubjed world ! ah, pilate, then far other wdll he feem to thee all-trembling, than the man of woe 665 prefented to the jews^ with blood defil'd, and plough'd his back with fcourges ! other, far, oh caiaphas, than that blafphemer deem'd, thou did'ft to death adjudge ! his lucent robe and golden fceptre will evince him now, 670 oh herod, to thy fhame far other king than thou fuppofedft, when in impious fort amidft thy revel-rout of foldiers rude thou cloathedft him, in yewry, with a robe of fplendid mockery! — other will he feem, 675 far other, oh ye unbelieving tribe. than that revil'd impoftor, whom ye treat. proud reptiles, with the infolence of fcorn. and his pure laws defy: his judgment dread and indignation jufl well may ye vvifh, 680 how fruitlefs, — at that moment, — to defy ! then, combatants fo doughty, — who, in houfe of flefh, here while on heavenly loan you hve, dare in rebellion bafe w^age impious war againft your father, saviour, and your god.—685 3 then i ^9 ] then will ye feel your wretched impotence : too late: ah, that ye now were wife, now felt that impotence, all lowly i — other far, ye faithful found, try'd fervants of your lord — will all his beaming beauties, and his love, 690 tranfcendently divine glow on your eyes, and fill your ravifh'd hearts, far other, than your fouls warm wiflies fancy, or your thoughts by brighteft faith illumin'd, dare conceive ! — the wonders who can reach? who but defiires 695 with ardent love thofe wonders to behold. and fee the royal solomon enthron'd in everlafting glory ? — but to fhare copartners in that glory ! — deem we not the feafon long, till the glad hour arrives 700 of blifsful confummation ? deem we not the feafon long, till with enraptur'd fight, our nature high exalted, 'bove all praife, in luftre and perfedtion, we behold dazzling and eminent : from the ftains of fm, 705 from weaknefs and corruption, and from death, eternally fet free ; this mortal cloath'd with immortauty : thefe bodies vile. sprung from the grave, in heavenly beauty deck'd and like the glorious body of their lord 710 falhion'd by his divine transforming power : so [ 3» ] so from the homely feed to faithful foil entrufled, frefh and fair a vernant plant springs beauteous, quickened from its dying ftate by rains prolific, and the genial force 7 1 5 of vivifying light : bearing aloft its flowery head, in fragrant fweetnefs rich, far other than its feed, and yet the fame ! — then fliall ouv fouls be perfe<sted in love ; all doubtings ceafe, all languor be away, 720 and our hearts flame, with undiminiili'd heat. burn even on, thro' endlefs ages burn, supported by the everlafting light of god's near prefence! — then fliall we receive the crown immortal: enter then the realms 725 of love eternal : then for ever live in happinefs unfading : with the joys that flow from god's right hand in plenteous ftreams. still fatiate and ftill thirfting : 'midft the choirs of saints and angels, ceafelefly employ'd 730 to hymn eternal love: in converfe fweet, with fpirits divine on all jehovah's works and wonders, pafling wonder, on our view in all their greatnefs rifing, ftill employ'd and finding ftill frefli fubjedts to employ! 735 — oh ftate of joy confummate where one day of ptrfed peace fliall reign — how longs my foul to [ 3x ] to enter on thy gladnefs ! how my heart longs, jesu, for thy coming! to fet free th' imprifon'd pilgrim from frail flefh and fin, 740 from evil and from death, to wing her way, her joyful way, to liberty and thee ! as by the pirate hand of paynim fierce. scouring the feas for prey, a captive caught, and in deep dungeon, dark, and dank confin'd, 745 on fcanty offals fed, from the fair light of chearful day cut off ; with the fore weight of irkfome iron wearied : while each hour is lengthened with the apprehenfions dire of tortures manifold : as longs the foul 750 of captive fo forlorn, on the fafe fhore of his lov'd britain once to fland, and tafle the fweets of golden freedom, who hath built her towering airy on the top-moft bough, in his high-favour'd ifland ! — so to ftand 755 on his celeftial free, fair country's fhore, earnefl fhould each imprifon'd foul defire; thus from foul fin and satan's durance, long for liberty confummate : ardent thus for the divine deliverer's coming wait, 760 and pant for his wifh'd refcue ! — but can they their chains who love, that refcue prize, or vyifh ? — sin's [ 3^ ] sin's captives, her too willing flaves, not wifli, but haplcfs dread that coming! and enflav'd to///, who gives to death his pointed dart 7^5 and arms with all his terror, — ah, how dire th' approach of that ftcrn tyrant! — jesu's love the poifon'd dart extrading, and the wounds heal'd by the fovereign balfam of his blood all precious : freili and fair the foul revives, '* 770 and, as the wither'd plant by waters fed, blooms into life. — oh, finner, would'ft thou fhun of death at once, the wages and the woe, death everlafting, everlafting pain, fly to this fa ving love : hafte for thy life 775 to this fole city of refuge, from the hand of blood's avenger. on the altar's horns lay hold, poor criminal, and plead for life, plead with pathetic force, and violence well-pleafing to thy god : plead as undone, 780 as loftj condemned, eternally condemn'd, cry, cry aloud for mercy, — mercy. lord, and life for a loft foul! prayer's arrow drawn down to the head by nervous penitence on meek humility's compliant ftring, 785 wings to the deftin'd mark its certain way. and ne'er was ihot in vain ! thrice happy he, of wliom it can be faid, " behold he prayeth." * • acis ix. 11praver [ 33 ] prayer is the foul's defire pour'd forth to god, and cannot but obtain the grace defir'd, 790 which only to dedre is to have. but who would pray aright muft ceafe from fin : the rebel who for pardon craves, yet not lays down the arms rebellious, makes vain fuit to majefty oifended. who would wifh 795 his saviour's face propitious to behold, muft his commandment blamelefs to the end, and without fpot ftill labour to preferve. maintaining faith's good fight. — and need there is, hereto of powerful grace, won to the foul s'^o by fafting and by alms : but chief obtain'd in that dear feaft commemorative of love unparallel'd: where meek-ey'd faith beholds the bleeding god : and hungry feeds on food divine, the bread of hfe: flrength of the foul, 8 05 and feed of endlefs life ! — hail, fign and feal highvalued, of falvation ! feed me, lord, there feed me, proftrate at thy altar laid. and with the banquet rich, refrefh my foul. sweet antepafte of heav'n ! may my right hand 810 sooner forget her cunning, than — her feat while memory holds in this diftraded globe — f that [ 3+ ] that i forget in that dear feaft of love, thee to remember, to remember thee, of fmners dying friend! with melting heart 815 let me contemplate in the myftic pledge thy body broken, and thy flowing blood ; blood, — that fo freely flow'd from every wound for man ingrate : and to my foul receive the heavenly food ! mean while in wonder loft, 820 in wonder at my felf, fo bafe, fo vile, and yet fo lov'd, fo honour'd : for the price of man's redemption was lvimanuel's blood ! nor let me daily ceafe to meditate on the high things recorded in thy w o r d : 825 to cherifh thus my hopes, confirm my faith. and from thy precious promifes inflame still more and more my foul's warm love to thee ! who thro' the world's thick darknefs would dired his courfe aright: ftill muft in hand hold forth g^^ the word's pure light : who would the fevenfold power of satan's malice vanquifh, muft in hand continual bear this fvvord two-edg'd, whofe ftroke no power infernal, tho' with triple fteel and adamant encompafs'd, can withftand : 835 its fliarpnefs feveis well each fleflily luft, and [ 35 ] and at one ftroke the carcafe of foul fin lays open ; while from forth its glittering blade such beaming luftre darts upon the foul, as naked all to view each latent thought, g . q and each intent difcovers. — well fhould learn the chriftian foldier, in dire war engag'd with hellifh and with earthly foes, combin'd to work his woe eternal, — well to wield this weapon all-invincible : while arm'd 845 at every point, with armour proof, of god the workmanfkip complete : with faith\ ftrong fliield, truth\ golden girdle, divi^ falvation\ helm: with rigbteoufnefs\ breaft-plate : and his feet shod and prepar'd with evangelic peace ! 850 oh may my hand be taught, ftill more and more the happy art to ply this fpiritual fword. the word of god, fuccefsful ! 'tis from hence new confolation flows, and vigour frefh, the battle to renew 'gainft foes, tho' ftrong, 855 yet yielding daily to the ftrength of god. bleft word, on thee are grounded all our hopes ; thou, letter choice of love from our dear lord, aftureft of his coming, and the joys referv'd in blcft futurity, for thofe 860 f 2 who [ 36 ] who love that coming ! as to her heart the bride the lov'd epiftle of her abfent fpoufe with fervent rapture clafps : fo to my heart thee ever, till the day the bridegroom comes, clofe let me clafp: nor ever ceafe to read, 865 thy amorous contents : that my heart's flame may glow with ftill increafmg light and warmth ! — nor friendly converfe would i fail to hold with thofe whofe happy labours have been fpent in winning to this word the hearts of men : 870 while in their facred pages branching forth its promifes celeftial, and its threats with evangelic hope to fire the foul. chief, oh ye facred guardians of the truth, firft fathers of the church, your volumes rich 875 let me for ever prize : and to the word hold next in reverence : clementy thine, whofe name is in the book of life ; with jujli?!^ thine, nervous apologift, and martyr bleft. nor cyprian fhall be abfent, like a rock s80 who for pure difcipline and dodrine ftood unfliaken: while the venerable page of champion atha7tafacs i perufe. with wonder and infcrudion every line ad [ 37 ] admiring glad ! hail, fuffering combatant— 885 1'hy majler\ honour well didft thou maintain ! at thee deluded arians gnafli their teeth, and growl their hate in vain ! nor let me ceafe with royal bafil^ ephraim meek of heart, and thee, oh foul of eloquence, whofe lips 890 golden perfuafion in rich drops diftill'd. and honey fweeter than th' hyblean bees, fam'd chryjojlom * — to fpend the ufeful hours ! while pious aujliiz frequent calls my foul from jerom\ folid page, to the fweet work ggc of meditation heavenly ! — nor alone should ancient fages my attention claim : from the rich harveft of theology that grows in england^ church, fam'd for its fons, pillars of facred truth, ftill would i cull goo some favourite piece : thine, patrick^ f chiefly here demands my grateful tribute : flnce from thee i caught the flame, that thus hath in my foul the fpark poetic, almoft dead, reviv'd : kindling frefli ardors, and ftill warmer love 905 to jesu's wifli'd appearing — and that work who more perfuafive to complete than thou contemplative illuftrious, mitred hall^ * he was called cjjryfoflom, 1. e. goiden-miuth\d, from his great eloquence, t see the argument, is'c. prgexed to this poem — and the fourth voiuine of my sermons, p. 235. n. 3 be [ 38 ] be thou my choice companion ! while at hand, thy deep read pages, jvaterla7idy are plac'd, 910 the britijh athanafms : found in fenfe, in judgment clear and ftrong. but 'twere in vain to numerate all thofe whofe toilfome pains our grateful love demand, and whofe great names stand in the lift of britifh favour high : 915 andrews, and broianrig : latimer, and sharp : hammond and stafihope : beveridge, lightfoot, bull, sherlock and reynolds, taylor, stillingfieet, with milton, poet divine, and thoughtful toung : nor let me ferious law forget, grown hoar 920 in honourable piety : ah that the myftic lore iliould e'er from truth's clear fount devious have turn'd thy pen ! thou, hervey, too whofe page and foul alike breathe humbleft love to thy ador'd redeemer : thou haft fliewn 925 that piety and pohfh'd elegance may well together fuit : and while remains or piety or elegance, thy works like genuine gold the touchftone will abide, and grateful to thy countrymen remain !* 930 oh may i to my lowly ftrains derive some merit from the friendihip of thy name ; * i would be underdood principally to refer to this author's excellent med'tauom. strains, [ 39 ] strains, whofe exalted fubjed fills thy heart, so conftant with delight ; and from thy tongue in converfe pours fuch ftreams of eloquence 935 that the rapt hearer wonders at his fears of death ere while, and glowing with the love of jesu, caught from thee, longs to behold his saviour in the clouds : for who can ftand amidft the fweetnefs of arabian groves, 940 and not bear thence fome fragrance ? valued friend, proceed ; and thy too feeble ftrength renew'd. may to hoar age thy journey be prolong'd. and ftrew'd each ftep with bleilings to mankind ! 'tis for this end, all-gracious providence 945 in each difpofal wife, hath ftretch'd thy fpan, nervous eftayift, wogan -f, of the church true fon : whofe writings fhould the mufe o'er pafs unheeded, well might fhe be judg'd unjuft. nor to her own times grateful : hoary sage, 950 much to thy labours owe we i may thy crown be bright with eminent luftre, in the realms of retribution faithful : while on earth confiderate we ftrive from thy bleft toils to make improvement holy 5 and advance 955 * the excellent author of a work modeftly intitled, " an eftay on the proper leflbns for sundays." 4 vol. 8vo. see my fermons vol. 4. p. 385. n. 5 from [ 4° ] from ftrength to ftrength : till we together come; and fland in sion tore the god of gods ! ah, when lliall we fo itand, or how fo fland? how, my maria f — glory be to god, who giveth us the vidlory thro' christ, 960 triumphant mediator ! — let us then the euchariftic hymn join to his fame, and clofe with grateful praife the feeble verfe, all too unworthy his rich love : unmeet for argument fo high : yet not difdains 06 c the father fond his lifping infant's tales affedlionate and artlefs: — " thou, dear lord, thou art our father^ and thy children, we : and as a father with compaffion mild his children views, fo thy paternal eye 970 with gracious pity on us looks : thy care all-provident defends ; fhields and proteds, from ills furrounding : crowns with life, with health, with bleffmgs, cotmtlefs, bountiful : the pledge of thofe unnumber'd in our father's houfe 975 referv'd to crown his fons, when they return from pilgrimage and trial well-approv'd ! and oh what bounties rich, what glories high unutterable, are referv'd in that bleft houfe the [ 41 3 the palace of his fons, when here below 980 even in our prifon dark, our earthly cot, such goods profufe hang rich on every fide ! oh tliou, who feed' ft the ravens when they call, and in their fnowy beauty fo doft deck the lilies of the field : give me to truft 985 with full dependence. father ^ on thy will ; and thy appointments high, grateful receive, (without bafe murmuring) of good or ill : for beft thou know'ft our w^al and love like thine, 990 celeftial bridegroom o'er that weal to watch can never ceafe ; fafe may our foul's repofe love's banner o'er us fpread : while thy left-hand is plac'd beneath us, and thy tender right folds us in thy affedionate embrace ! * 995 oh teach us to return like love to thine ! oh caufe our hearts to glow with paftion fond ! while in thy bleeding beauties, heavenly ^d?^. we view thy mighty love ; and each red drop is as a precious pledge, thou faireft found looo amidft ten thoufands! all our doubts difpel. and fill with holy confidence our fouls, * see cant. c. ii. 6. ' g such [ +2 ] snch confidence of love as well befuits a b?idegroo7n eminent in love, like thee! and who fhall tax our higheft confidence? 1005 friendfiiip without it is a name : and thou, thou art our fovereign, thou our chiefeft/r/v;;^ : oh matchlefs grace ; thou, saviour, haft not fcorn'd benign to call u^ frie?ids : and to thyfelf by all the ties of friendiliip and of blood, loio (stoop down, ye angels, wonder and adore !] poor mortals bind, thy brethren! — and, my god, may i prefume — oh unexampled love — to call thee brother ? — not to call thee fo. were impious, were profane: thou, to that end, 10 15 from glory to the virgin's womb came down, cried in the ftable, fuffer'd on the crofs. and bore man's nature, to ally loft man, in marvellous relation to his god ! 1020 our father then — oh how auguft is man, seen in his true relation! — and ouvfpoufe^ our brother^ and our friend — exuk% my foul — is he, who in the hollow of his hand meafures the waters : with his fpan metes out the vaft circumference of heaven: who weighs 1025 ' in [ 43 ] in fcales the mafly mountains, and the hills in even balance polfes : who the winds holds in his lifts : fays to the fea, be ftill, and to the wild ftorms, peace. lo, he takes up the illands, as a very little thing ! 1030 all nations are before him as a drop *''^ of water from the bucket : as the duft, as the fmall duft, that on the balance beam hangs imperceptible: as nothing, lefs than nothing — vanity ! — what then am i ? 1035 i tremble at my felf, in his dread fight! i aiiiii — yet in that fight how dear a foul redeem'd! how great, how precious ! what a dower immenfe, an habitation how divine awaits the bride, the child, of fuch a fpoufe, and fire ? 1 040 i, kindle into confidence : the thought with ardent longing my wrapt heart infpires ! oh father, honour'd ever; — ever-lov'd and beauteous bridegroom ; brother, friend, and lord, redeemer, hope, fun, fhield, my god, my all ! 1045 oh that in all thy mighty power array'd. that clad in all thy majefty and love — oh that the folid firmament of heaven thou would'ft in funder rend ! that thou would'il; come, g 2 come [ 44 ] come down in fovereign pomp : that at thy feet 1050 the everlafting mountains might flow down, and earth diflblve hke wax before thy face ! while thro' the eternal deep, illumin'd wide with fevenfold glory, thy high praife refounds i then ive to thine unending love receiv'd, ^'^55 from fin, from forrow, from decay fet free, shall enter new yerufa/em^ with thee, city of joy, and realm of endlefs peace ! hail fovereign love ! thy coming we expe<5l, and long, with fouls awake, to hear the trump, 1060 to fee the fign, to meet thee in the clouds! hail fovereign love i thee firft and laft we fing, grateful our harps attuning to thy praife, who with the father and the spirit bleft, one feat of fovereign glory fill : fupreme ^065 alike in power, in majefty the fame. co-equal, coeternal : awful three. in effence undivided, as in love ! oh could we reach the ftrain, that pleafing erft rang thro' heav'n's concave, when thy work complete, 1070 the morning ftars in fweeteft concord fang, and all the fons of god fhouted for joy ! then might we hope to win thy favouring ear attentive [ 4s ] attentive to our lauds : — but all we hope, omnipotent, from efforts feeble, low, 1075 like ours, is pardon and indulgence bland ! oh with a gracious eye our fond defires, that fain would tower aloft, deign to behold i thine, jesus, thine we are: and much we joy in the relationfhip divine : to thee 1080 gladly our helm we leave, fteer thou our courfe, unfleeping pilot ^ over tliis world's wave ! thou our frail veflel in the deep haft launch'd ; thou, in much mercy, every rock haft fhewn. each quick-fand kindly pointed out, and taught ^c>°5 how to avoid the perils of each ftorm. to huili each tempeft, and to calm each wave ! — oh let the love^ that thus unfought was kind, implor'd, its kindnefs ftill preferve : and guide unfkilful as we are our veffels helm : 1090 safe landing us from tempefts and from waves in that lov'd harbour, on that long'd for fliore, where peace eternal blooms, and one glad day of undiminihi'd joy for ever fhines where, in bright crouds, upon the cryftal beach, '095 saints, angels, friends, ftand ready to receive, and welcome us from out the crazy bark nigh-founder'd, landing !— they, each peril paft, death's [ 46 ] death's gloomy terrors vanquifli'd, and each foe subdued, with gratulations fvveet, and fongs iioo of joy, hiall greet our fouls: and 'midft the fhouts of victory celeftial, and the tone of heavenly harps, by heavenly harpers ftrung, shall to thy glorious prefence introduce : but words are wanting here : — we proftrate fall, 1105 before thee trembling, ravifh'd, loving, loft! — come then, lord "jefus : all our fouls are thine i oh come, fvveet saviour, quickly, quickly come ! we languifh, love of god, for thy delay ! why tarry thus thy chariot-wheels ? — how long ? mo when will it be? — come quickly; — lord, how long! kai t« icv£vijix, vmi v) vu/x^v), hiy^aivt ea0e. kui ec'anuv titttctu, £a0e. km 5<\|/wv, eaflstftii yiai o ssxwy )^ici/,^xvet<i> to vswp zwjjf swp£«v. aeyii /x«ptupwv tccvtx a/xvivna( epxot, ktpie ihsot. revel, xxii. 17. the end. erratum. tape 25, line 603, iox leads read kd. december 7, 1757. proposals for printing, in two handfome volumes, i2mo. (adorned with a fine head of the author, and fome particulars of his life,) contemplatio ns o n t h e new lesrament. by the right reverend joseph hall, d. d. and bifhop of norwich. the "whole carefully revifed, the obfolete words and expreftions cxplined, and the texts of sacred scripture added, by the reverend william dodd. ^ lecturer of weft-ham, ejfex, and st. olave's, hart-jlreet, london. conditions. i. the price to subfcribers will be five shillings fewed in blue paper, or six shillings bound. no money to be paid rill the books are delivered. ii. the work will be put to the prefs, as foon as a competent number of sub fcribers have delivered in their names either to the reverend mr. dodj, w. faden in wine-office-court, fleet-jlreet ; or £. billy in the poultry. iii. the whole will be finifhed with all convenient difpatch. and the head already engraved by mr. boitard, may be feen either at iv, faden's or e, dillfs. t'h folhwiiig books and tracls, ivfhtai hy the rev. mr. dodd, may be had of \v. faden, /« wine-office-court, fleet-ftreet, and e. dilly in thz poultry. i ■ a courfe of sermons on the miracles of our saviour. preach'd in the pa /\ ii(h cliurches of fvejl-ham, ejfcx, and 5/. olave's, hart-street, london, in two vohinies. the firfl: volume contains, i, the eafmefs of chrifl's yoke % or an introdiiclory sermon. ?.. the cleanhng of the leper. 3. the good cen turion. 4. the paralytic cured. 5. the v.'ijow's son of ntiin. 6. the wind and sea rebuked. 7. the man diipoflcfied of the legion .8. the deaf and dumb man cured. 9. b\ir,d bartimeus. 10. the wicher'd hand reflored. the second volume contains, n. the marriage of crt«rt in g^/;7.^?. 12. the pool of 5^ ths/dij. 13. the thankful penitent. 14. the bloody iflue healed. 15. the faith ful caiuiamte. 16. the, loaves and fiihea. 17. the man born blind. is. la zw railed. 19. jefus driving the buyers and sellers out of the temple. 20, '1 he barren fig-tree. 2. a second courfe of sermons on the parables of our saviour, in two vo lumes. the firft volume contains, i. of the sower. 2. of the tares. 3. of the seed fpringing up, uc. 4. of the merchant feeking goodly pearls, ^e. 5. of the labourers in the vineyard. 6. the rich fool. 7. of the loft sheep, tfc. 8. of the prodigal son. 9. of the importunate widow. 10, of the pharifee and publican, the fecond \'olume contains, ir. of the unmerciful servant. 12. dhes and lt^zarus. 13. of the two sons. 14. of the hufldand .men who flew the heir. 15. of the marriage of the king's son. 16. of the talents. 17. of the ten virgins. 18. of the two debtors. 19. of the unjuft steward, ^c. 20. of the good samaritan, ^c. price bound of miracles and parables, i/. 4.s. j. the hymns of callimachus, tranllated from the greek into englijij verfe, with explanatoty notes. to which are added, seksf epigrams, and the coma be renices of the iame author, six hymns of orpheus, and the encomium of pto urny by theocritus. price los. 6d. common paper, 16s. fine. as there are but very few copies of callimachus remaining, and lome gentlemen have not fent in their receipts, they are defired to do fo ibrthwith, or they cannot be fupplied. 4. an epiftle to a lady concerning fdmc important truths in religion. price is. — ^the prelent poem and the above are of a size to bind up with callimachus. 5. the sinful chriftian condemned by his own prayers, the fourth edition, in cdtavo, price 6d. 6. a smaller edition of the sinful chriftian, price 3^/. or is. 6d. per dozen to thofe who give them away. ' 7. the church catechifm, explained after a new method, with proofs from scripture, fubjoined to every article. price zd. s. an earneft addrefs to his parioiioners by a minifter of the church of eng land, concerning the neceftity, nature, means and marks of true faith in chnft jejits, defigned principally for the poor. the third edition. price id. -or is. 6d. per dozen. 9. a word of advice to sureties in baptifm : being a (hort extract from a sermo.i on that subjedl. pr. id. or gd. per dozen. n.b. the above two trafts, together with a ufeful and excellent devotronal trea tife on the sacrament, ,by the late dr. brevinl, may be had neatly fewed to gether in maible-paper. -price 6d. university of caliioknia i 3 1158 01048 0613 uc southern res'0'**i.| j" .a 3 d 000 145 596 3 university of california library los angeles this book is due on the last date stamped below. phone 31 0/8;5 renewals 9188 ^^y 012m rec'd n i! dfc aue 2 wk^jj^ r\iiirys%a j ns^ unsvefcin bs/951575 los angeies, c rl .. 2003 2^003 ^j |(s^l*» jafb hhgtiveb 90095-1575 r jy^''.y: 261 235 mr: hermit crab by mimpsy rhys san groad 22 ਮ ਬਣ pralegal spelling book lady matilda macmillan the do kuna www seaweed soup wit i малу алата sewell lukekete onk niversitatis . califor watuidis lvx fiat dnicimitle ex libris educ ubrary 1 mr. hermit crab the mos the macmillan company new york. boston chicago , dallas atlanta . san francisco macmillan & co., limited london bombay calcutta melbourne the macmillan company of canada, limited toronto “please don't eat me!” sobbed louisa. educ.psych4, library mr. hermit . crab a tale for children by a child by mimpsy rhys introduced by mary elizabeth barnicle illustrated by helen sewell new york the macmillan co. 1929 copyright, 1929, .. by the macmillan company. all rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. set up and electrotyped. published september, 1929. set up by brown brothers linotypers printed in the united states of america by the stratford press 962 2479 m educ library to sophia h. maclehose wisest and quietest of women the introduction of mimpsy rhîs to the american public one summer afternoon while rummaging through a carved jacobean chest in the drawing-room of the rectory, tarrant gunville, near blandford forum, in dorsetshire, i came upon a neat pile of little, fat copy books, some of them bound in stiff, brown covers and others in flexible black. opening the one on top, i discovered from the round, clear, copperplate handwriting that i was gazing at a volume of the “works of mimpsy rhys." these "works” began in vol. i with a play, ' "queen goldilocks," written, according to the table of contents, at the age of eight-a play in the shakespearean manner with many oaths and much fighting—and ended in vol. x with “reminiscences of my father," a novel written just before mimpsy entered the university of glasgow. attracted by the title-page of vol. iii which ran works by mimpsy vol. iii "the sorcerer," a comedy. age 13 (continued from vol. ii) "mr. hermit crab," a tale for children. age 14 i turned to the "tale for children" and became at once engrossed in great-uncle stephenson and his hor[ vii ] introduction ror of a “masculine or horsey woman”; in the two little girls, lucia and louisa, "whose external appearances showed every sign of consummate innocence," but whose "minds were far from that much-to-be-desired state"; in miss gray and the “glory of her red parasol" so kind to “her complexion on the wane”; in "the chronic invalid, poor, dear arabella”; in john o' groat's "strong constitution" and "the continued strain under which it at last gave way''; in the malicious fairy and her fiancé, mr. hermit crab, "a young giant, not yet fully grown”; in the "relics of education meant to enlighten mr. hermit crab's ignorance"; in that toothsome delicacy, seaweed soup; and in the story of the breaking of the wondrous spell. to an american it may seem incredible that a child of fourteen should have such a knowledge of the technique of story-telling, such a feeling for character and situation, such an uncanny sense of humor, and such a vocabulary as mimpsy shows in this book. this incred. ibility has its root in a lack of realization of the intense individuality of so much of english education. living during her childhood in spacious country rectories in the south of england, mimpsy learned to read when she was two years old and so could never remember the time when the written page was a mystery to her. before she was six, she had read most of sir walter scott's novels; at six she was taught latin by her father, the rev. j. l. rhậs, a keen classical scholar, at seven, greek, and soon she was coursing through vergil and horace, homer and the greek dramatists in the original. mr. rhộs, in his expressive welsh voice, used to read aloud [ viii ] introduction to his children the plays of shakespeare and goldsmith, and the poems of tennyson, pope, cowper, and william barnes. french governesses were always in the house and she had from the beginning free access to her father's library, which lined the walls of the study, overflowed into the drawing-room, flooded the dining-room, and crept upstairs into the schoolroom, sewing-room, dressing-rooms, bedrooms, even into the bathroom, and was halted only by the roof of the attic. at eight she was enchanted with meredith's "the egoist” and at nine she read "vanity fair" three times in succession-she felt she was meeting the world in this book. not that her own world was so limited in scope, for in her father's parishes she met all sorts and conditions of men, and in her writings she mirrored her experiences. the rhys children were brought up in a very sane, healthy manner without being subjected to any of the pedagogic fads so prevalent in our period of steamheated education. it was assumed at the beginning that they were intelligent and they were treated, therefore, as intelligent human beings. whenever any of them showed an interest in gardening, bees, birds, wild flowers, butterflies, their scholarly father gave them at once an authoritative book on the subject with beautiful plateshe had too much respect for their mentality ever to give them “bees made easy for children" or any of the emasculated literature which we in america are so fond of offering as nourishment to the "child mind.” in consequence, nothing in mimpsy's reading was expurgated or softened for her. it was neither censored nor directed. only once did it meet with ecclesiastical dis[ix ] introduction approval. it was her custom to read in nooks and corners where she was not likely to be disturbed until she had finished her book. a favorite spot was under the dining-room table where she could lie outstretched and completely hidden by the long tablecloth, though, to be sure, the light left something to be desired. one morning when she had retreated to the security of the table, she noticed that the light had become much dimmer than usual and, looking up, she saw a row of black, trousered legs arranged round the table and, at one end, a pair of neat, black-gaitered legs. she continued her reading, forgot about the black legs and, coming to an exciting passage, she flipped the pages rapidly and not quite so noiselessly as before. the sound caught the ears of the gentlemen seated round the dining-room table and soon a chubby, little girl with black ringlets, in a pinafore, clutching a red volume in a pudgy hand, was drawn forth from her hiding-place. as she was trotting to the door to make her escape, the bishop, who was presiding at a clerical meeting, inquired in fatherly fashion, “and what are you reading, my dear?” mutely she proffered the , volume—“thelma" by marie corelli ! "mr. hermit crab," a blend of classical knowledge, fairy lore, omnivorous reading, and contact with reality, is largely the result of her typically english education. the author, a virile young barbarian, has been nourished on the classics—greek, latin, french, english-greatly to the advantage of her vocabulary, never to the disadvantage of her originality. with an extraordinary gusto this little, healthy modern absorbs the civilized and cultured atmosphere of antiquity and then turns round and [x] introduction mocks at the mild gentilities of victorian life with an irrepressible sense of humour. lucia bows to respectability in the person of miss gray for the time being, but the little bohemian is biding her time until miss gray is "out of her sphere." i found that “mr. hermit crab” had an abiding charm and that i could chuckle over it again and again. here, i felt, was a piece of writing of like caliber with the works of mrs. ewing and maria edgeworth; here was a child's classic—comparable, in its appeal to both children and grown-ups, to "alice in wonderland.” mary elizabeth barnicle. department of english, new york university. [ xi ] contents page the introduction of mimpsy rhỳs to the american public vii . . chapter 4 7. . . . . . . . 17 31 37 61 68 . . . . . . i. on female education ii. on making desirable acquaintances iii. on birthdays iv. on the importance of being introduced and on the intrepid qualities of mind necessary to explorers v. a recipe for friendship vi. on death and other mysteries vii. in state on the parade at henley viii. on the benefits of benefaction ix. what happens when fairies and mortals meet x. a deus alights ex machina xi. scientific research on the seashore xii. scientific research on land xiii. on heaven but mostly on hell xiv. the adventurous task of paying afternoon calls. xv. the waylaying of the witch wife xvi. the breaking of the spell xvii. strawberries and cream xviii. church bells . 75 88 . . . 95 100 . . . 107 . . . . 125 137 148 173 177 . . [ xiii ] illustrations "please don't eat me!” sobbed louisa . frontispiece . page the passage was very narrow 21 a sea-pirate by trade . 45 when mr. hermit crab was a baby 55 a young lady in a sailor-hat 77 . herbs gathered by the light of the moon 133 "doctors always hurt their patients" 143 [xv ] mr. hermit crab i 1 on female education chapter i once upon a time, a good many years ago, there lived a little girl of ten years of age, called by rights lucretia graham, but generally lucia for short. she had no father or mother, since they had died four years before, leaving her to the care of her great-uncle, mr. stephenson, a respectable book-worm. great-uncle stephenson, when he found that a restless little girl was to be in his charge henceforth, rightly conjectured that she and books would not agree, and so he chartered an estimable, middle-aged lady as a governess for her, to whom he gave the following instructions. [1] :mr. hermit crab doubtless, my dear madam, you are surprised that i should give you the care of so young a child.” the lady smiled and murmured, “not at all, sir." waving aside her polite contradiction, great-uncle stephenson continued thus: “but i have sound reasons for this as you will soon find. my opinions are much at variance with the present fashion of teaching females. therefore, i will, if you do not mind, mention the several heads of the manner in which i wish lucretia to be brought up. the chief accomplishments in which i wish her to excel are languages above all, a ladylike deportment, and a complete knowledge of all the little trifles which make ladies charming, and in which, i doubt not, you are a proficient.” she curtsied. "take her sight-seeing as much as possible, so that her mind may be improved by an acquaintance with noted places and things, and widened by an experience of foreign customs. you will travel widely, if you please. let there be nothing bigoted or narrow in her way of thinking, and see that she does not show signs of turning into a masculine or a horsey woman.” he shuddered. "do you think you understand perfectly what i require from you?" miss gray, for that was her name, signified her perfect comprehension. “then at the age of seventeen i would wish you to bring her to me for approval, when i hope to see her much benefited by your instruction and example.” the week after this conversation took place miss gray and her charge set forth on their travels. they had [2] mr. hermit crab travelled for four years already when our tale begins, and had just taken a house on the coast in the village of porthnock in the county of cornwall for the summer months. porthnock is a queer little place, and you do . not often find such. it is composed of a few straggling houses in the valley facing the sea-shore and a long string of whitewashed cottages along the cliff, set in batches of twos with a cobble-stoned path between each batch. they have eight rooms and are chiefly inhabited by the coast guards and visitors who are continually changing. the grey old church stands on the hill behind the village. the population earn their living by fishing for the most part. [3] chapter ii on making desirable acquaintances miss gray had taken one of the whitewashed cottages on the cliff, but its neighbour was "to let," to lucia's great disappointment. she had hoped to find it habited by some children of her own age, with whom she might get acquainted. miss gray, on the other hand, was rather glad than otherwise, for she considered that lucia was far too fond of making undesirable acquaintances. one wednesday morning, however, two weeks after their arrival in porthnock, when lucia was doing arithmetic with miss gray, she heard the sound of wheels stopping at the house next door. she looked up quickly and espied a load of furniture standing there. this interested her so much that she had very little attention indeed left for miss gray. at first this lady very kindly attributed her inattention to the inability of hearing well on account of the noise the men were making in carrying in the furniture. but when she saw how often lucia's eyes were turned to the window and with an expression more of interest than anger, she was speedily undeceived. “lucretia! as i see that you are not attending to me i shall not waste my time on you. i am going out shopping, and by the time i come back i shall expect to find six sums done. nos. 20-26." and, turning, she swept from the room. [4] mr. hermit crab lucia looked at the arithmetic with much distaste, but nevertheless she did three out of the six sums without turning to look out of the window more than six or seven times. then she heard a carriage drive up and she immediately few to the window. out of the carriage stepped a fat, old, white-haired gentleman, then a stout, old, silver-haired lady, and lastly a thin, middle-aged lady. that was all. lucia resumed her seat in a decidedly unpleasant frame of mind, and set to work at her fourth sum with very hurt feelings painted on her countenance. she was in the midst of her sixth and last, when she again heard the sound of wheels. “only servants !" she muttered. “i will not look out of the window!” and she went on with her sum, feeling herself a decidedly firm and spartan sort of maiden. then she heard a child's voice, and instantly her resolution flew to the winds, where most resolutions go, and she rushed across the room. sure enough, there was a child talking to the three who had come in the first carriage. lucia remarked with satisfaction that it was a girl seemingly of her own age, but shorter. soon the little girl went into the house, and though lucia could not have reasonably expected her to stay outside, yet she felt considerably aggrieved, and, as she sat down, carelessly smudged her sum with her sleeve, so that she had to begin again. this did not lessen her grievous feelings, or soothe her agitated state of mind. when, however, she had almost finished it, she heard the front door of the next house bang, and, once more looking out, she saw the child inspecting the next-door garden. lucia mentally congratulated herself on the fact [5] mr. hermit crab that the schoolroom was upstairs and gave herself up to watching the unconscious child. soon the little girl looked up and saw her, and they smiled amicably at each other for a minute or so, and might have continued their friendly stare for a longer period of time, only lucia suddenly saw miss gray enter the gate, and remembered her unfinished sum. with a speed born of necessity, she managed to scribble down “ans." just as miss gray opened the schoolroom door. and it was a good thing, too, for her, as miss gray did not seem in the best of tempers. "have you finished, lucretia ?” miss gray, lucia noticed, always called her lucretia when something had displeased her. lucia did not approve of this habit; she considered that her christian name ought to have been used on the special occasions that she was praised, or on fête days, something after the fashion of her best hat and gown. miss gray looked at the sums and crossed out the sixth. “and, lucretia, was that you i saw standing at the window, as i opened the gate ?" since lucia could not deny it, she made a virtue of necessity, and answered “yes” very humbly. “then, lucretia, understand this from the beginning. i am sure that the people next door are not suitable or desirable acquaintances for you, so i shall be 'extremely vexed with if you try to scrape an acquaintance with that child in the garden. now, come to lunch.” miss gray left the room, and after lucia had relieved her feelings by a few emphatic gestures with her fists at miss gray's retreating form, she also went to a not unwelcome meal. you, [6] chapter iii on birthdays after lunch, miss gray requested lucia to play quietly in the garden and not make a noise, as she had a headache and wished to take a nap. so lucia took her favourite dolls, and the one she despised most, into the garden. lady matilda was the name of the scorned doll, a beautiful wax blonde, whom she had been given by her great-aunt, lady horatia graham. lady matilda was a very expensive doll, dressed in the latest fashion with an ever-open, red, shot-with-green sunshade, a marvellous parisian hat, a green silk dress with the deepest flounces, her under-garments also greatly befrilled, and to top all a most superior little pair of patent leather shoes, with enormously high heels. miss gray esteemed the lady matilda very highly, and always made lucia take her with her, whenever she was asked out to tea and told to bring her favourite doll. lucia, however, thought very little of lady matilda, and never played with her under any pretence whatever. her favourite dolls were mary ann and john o' groat. mary ann had a wooden body and a composite head. her good points were her strength and her general usefulness, but even lucia could not call her beautiful. miss gray thought her hideous, and said so, too, which [7] mr. hermit crab was worse, but lucia considered her, if not handsome, at least as good-looking as most people were, including miss gray herself. john o' groat had been given to lucia by her aunt macpherson, a very worthy scotch spinster, who, when she gave him, was under the impression that she was giving a most valuable present; on a far inferior scale, to be sure, to her old china, which cumbered the corners of her rooms in glass cabinets, but able to be compared favourably with a recipe of her grandmother's for making oat-cake. "in my young [8] mr. hermit crab 9 days," said miss macpherson, sitting very upright in her straight-backed chair, “dolls were rarely possessed and dearly prized. i myself was only allowed to play with my doll on special occasions, for fear of breaking it, although it was wooden, not like this one, which cost one shilling. i hope you will appreciate it and use it well.” lucia replied with a humble “yes'm, thank you very much," and a curtsy. miss macpherson had a weakness for this form of address and lucia knew it. "i do not know," went on her aunt, gazing thoughtfully at john o' groat, “but that i am doing wrong in giving you a doll of the male sex. in my young days it would have been thought highly unbecoming and most indecorous for a young lady to have a doll that was not of the female sex.” john o' groat was the same kind . of doll as mary ann, only he had two hard, staring, unwinking black eyes instead of two yellow ones, and straight red hair attached to his scalp. mary ann had been given to lucia by her uncle george, a sailor, of whom she was very fond for several reasons. uncle george never cared when she tore her clothes or climbed. trees, very different in that respect from miss gray, and he could tell the most delightful tales about the sea, not quite as good as the real "robinson crusoe," but far superior to the "swiss family robinson.” besides he could understand things so well, and was most obliging in bringing different kinds of medicines for “poor, dear arabella," another of lucia's favourite dolls, a chronic invalid. when lucia came to her favourite place in the garden, [9] mr. hermit crab a wooden bench set against the wall, she first placed the lady matilda unceremoniously on a small chair behind a large sunflower, by which she was completely obscured. then she tucked up poor, dear arabella, and gave her a dose of medicine, regaling herself with some at the same time. next, after she had made sure that poor, dear arabella wanted nothing more, and had shaded the sun from the invalid's weak eyes, she began to amuse herself by tossing john o' groat up into the air and catching him again. suddenly she heard the front door of the next house bang. lucia immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was the next-door child, and she forgot on the spot miss gray's warning against undesirable acquaintances. her one idea was to attract the child's attention by some means or other. a brilliant thought struck her. she seized john o' groat, whom she had let fall when she had heard the door, and began to throw him up into the air once more, but much higher and much more wildly than before, not caring whether he fell into her outstretched hands or not. soon she heard the next-door child exclaim, "dear me! why! whatever is it? how curious! i must go and tell mother.” lucia, however, did not wish her to fetch her mother at all, and so she threw the unhappy john o' groat up into the air so carelessly that he fell into the other garden. then she jumped on to the bench, so that her head might appear above the parapet. the next-door child was picking up john o' groat tenderly and respectfully. "oh, thank you,” cried the faithless lucia, “it was so careless of me!" [ 10 ] mr. hermit crab “how strong he is l" replied the child. "any other doll would have certainly been smashed to smithereens beyond all hope of recovery. what do you feed him on?" this was the way to win lucia's heart. she had two tests with which she always tried people before she admitted them into the circle of her friends. the first test was to ask them their opinion of john o' groat; the second, their opinion of the lady matilda. if they answered that they were overflowing with admiration for john o' groat and heartily scorned the lady matilda, well and good. if the opposite, lucia was too polite to show her animosity, but she never called them friends; they were only acquaintances. she never signed herself, when she wrote to them, “your affectionate friend, lucia,” but “yours affectionately, lucretia graham, and sometimes, when she disliked them particularly, she would shorten the word and write “affect"ly," or “respectfy.” lucia detested people who shortened their " words. she thought it was disrespectful, and looked as if the writer were in a hurry and had no time to spare. “oh, dr. ridge's food. i don't believe in mellin's at all. two children that i brought up on it i had to bury. one had conclusion of the brain and the other celebration.” then she suddenly disappeared, to the child's great astonishment. however, before she could come to a conclusion that some dreadful accident had occurred, lucia's head reappeared, waving the lady matilda in her right hand. "what do you think of her?” “er-er, a very nice sunday doll, but hardly the right sort of doll to play with.” the child had had an idea that lucia meant to treat the lady matilda in the same [11] mr. hermit crab manner that she had treated john o' groat, and she felt a horrified wonder as she imagined the demoralized appearance that the lady matilda would present afterwards. but greatly to her relief, for she would not have been pleased to be a party to such a deed, lucia only beamed on her and then disappeared again—this time to deposit the lady matilda behind her sunflower once more. when she reappeared she asked the child's name with a polite interest, which deepened when she heard that it was louisa granson. "why!" she exclaimed. "your initials are l. g. like mine. my name is lucretia graham. how old are you?” "ten.” "so am i. when is your birthday ?" at this question louisa became very red, and looked as if she were going to cry or run away, or do something [ 12 ] mr. hermit crab a >) else as bad. at last, she said in a doubtful manner, "you won't laugh? sure?” “no, i promise. not for power and glory. not even if you haven't one at all.” lucia's curiosity was dreadfully piqued by all this mystery, and so she used her strongest promise, though she prided herself upon the idea that her slightest word was as good as another person's oath. louisa sighed. “i think it's just as bad." “oh, i should hope not !" cried lucia, quite shocked. "why, just fancy, you would have no presents, and when you died you would be no older than when you were born, and, just think, everyone could call you a baby, and say that you had not come to years of discretion even when you had grey and silver-white hair, like miss gray." . and lucia stopped, quite out of breath. louisa herself was somewhat appalled by the list of inevitable horrors which attended a person so unfortunate as to have no birthday. “is miss gray your governess, and has she silver-white hair?" “miss gray! white hair! good gracious, no! why, if she had only one grey hair she'd dye it, and if she had white hair she would have a wig!" “ "but you said silver-white hair like miss gray!" “oh, i meant that miss gray always says, whenever i want to do anything particularly nice, 'wait, my dear, until you have come to years of discretion like myself.'” "she isn't nice, then ?" “oh, she's an ideal governess. my aunt, lady herndale, said once that she seemed an excellent sort of person for a governess, and that, you know, was the very [ 13 ] mr. hermit crab highest praise for my great-aunt. when is your birthday, do tell me?" louisa hesitated and then said, “it's on the first of april, april fool's day, you know. isn't it dreadful ?" “oh! well, never mind! i am a companion in your misfortune." “what! is it your birthday, too?" and louisa gave an ecstatic skip at the very idea. “no, but it is almost as bad. my birthday comes on the twenty-ninth of february, so you see, by rights, i have a birthday every four years." louisa gasped and then asked eagerly, “how many birthdays have you had then ?" “ten.” “but you can't have! why, you would be, let me see, , forty years old i" “oh,” replied lucia, “i manage all right. on the twenty-seventh of february i write to everybody from whom i may reasonably expect a present, saying, 'you may perhaps have heard of the unhappy accident of my birth, and if so, you may perhaps think that i do not need any of the slight tokens of respect which you might perhaps have sent, barring the accident, but if you think twice i am sure you will acknowledge that i need them all the more.' i have only to write that once to anybody and then i just send a postcard with a picture on it.” at this moment lucia heard a voice calling out in a forbidding tone. “lucretia! lucretia graham!” "there's miss gray calling! i quite forgot! goodbye, louisa.” “whatever is the matter?" . [14] mr. hermit. crab “miss gray said you were an undesirable acquaintance for me, and forbade me to speak to you. i quite forgot, so she's as cross as forty and two sticks. good-bye !" and lucia disappeared. miss gray was truly very annoyed. “to flatly disobey her precise orders, in her very teeth! forgot! forgot! ! of course, when she had told her 'exactly half an hour ago. it was rank disobedience, and not to be overlooked on any account whatever. she would write by the next post to mr. stephenson and see what he had to say on the subject. she would take lucretia home to mr. stephenson and resign her trust. what would lucretia's own father and mother have said if they had been alive to see what a naughty little girl belonged to them? what would lady herndale say?" here lucia could not suppress a little smile. lady herndale might be a very important person in the eyes of miss gray, but lucia had actually heard her uncle george, and he could not be wrong, call lady herndale "an old humbug!" and lucia consequently did not much mind what "an old humbug' might say. this smile was the last straw on the camel's back of miss gray's patience. lucia felt a firm hand on her shoulder and with one glance at the pitying servants standing by the corner next to the kitchen door, she was marched up the stairs, and then the key grated in the lock of her bedroom door. outside, miss gray was warning her that she would not come downstairs for the rest of the day, and she should have bread and water for her tea, unless she begged miss gray's pardon on the spot. lucia, however, rather ruffled by her sudden passage upstairs, [15] mr. hérmit crab stoutly replied that she wasn't going to, so miss gray could go away "very well, lucretia," was the ominous answer, and lucia heard her steps dying away in the distance, as she went downstairs. [16] c 'h. sewell on the importance of being introduced .v. sir y chapter iv for the next two days lucia was in miss gray's black books, although she had begged her pardon. but miss gray thought that so severe a fault ought to have a severe punishment and so she gave her extra lessons and kept a very sharp eye on her during her rare playtime and had ideas of putting a stop to her saturday holiday. lucia, however, seemed so penitent that she was softened, and they went down to the sea-shore on saturday morning at 9 a. m. as usual. there miss gray sat down on a rock with her work and a book, for which lucia had a great contempt, [17] mr. hermit crab because it was a french novel, and she had heard that french novels were pernicious reading. lucia then roamed about for almost an hour, knocking hapless limpets from the rocks; catching little green crabs and placing them all in one little rock pool, where they eventually eat each other up, unless they are rescued at high tide; giving little pebbles to the red anemone suckers, or making them devour sand-fies wholesale; and doing suchlike things not to be admired or imitated. at 10 a. m. an agreeable surprise awaited her, for, as she was looking down at the pier from the upper end of the bay, she suddenly 'espied a little figure paddling demurely along in her direction. instantly, with a sublime disregard for her clothes and miss gray's future anger, she dashed into the rippling waves and splashed along at a great rate. the little figure, when she saw a fountain of spray advancing toward her, immediately seemed to catch the infection, for she also began to run wildly and splash violently. when the two fountains met, the state of their clothes would certainly have scandalised miss gray, if she had seen them. louisa, however, for it was she, and lucia cared very little for miss gray and her opinions, as they shook hands effusively, and shook the water off themselves at the same time like two dogs, and then stepped out of the sea. they sat down on the sand, and lucia related the woeful tale of her wrongs and miss gray's infliction to her sympathising audience, as the causes of her not continuing the interchange of their bosom's thoughts and heart's anxieties before the present moment. louisa listened attentively and sympathised heartily, [ 18 ] mr. hermit crab but when lucia ended mournfully with "and i know miss gray will send me to bed again, when she knows that i have talked to you again. she has forbidden all intercourse whatever with you !" she then showed herself not without resources. seizing lucia by the hand, she dragged her along at her topmost speed, panting out, "grandmother will set it all right and introduce us properly. come along!” then they rushed along as fast as the sand would let them, which slipped from under their feet in a most exasperating manner—but most people have tried to run on a sandy sea-shore and failed to do more than pound along—till they came to the plump, old, silver-haired lady mentioned above. when she heard their prayer, she obligingly promised to bell the cat, namely miss gray. lucia privately thought her more of a dragon than a cat, and she much heartened the old lady by informing her that miss gray would be monstrously polite to her, because she was well and respectably dressed, and a stranger. she also wisely advised her to mention to miss gray one of her relations or friends who had a handle to their names, because miss gray adored the nobility. lucia and louisa standing respectfully a little distance away awaited with beating hearts the result of this momentous interview. it was in every way very favourable. miss gray kissed louisa and called her “dear" and remarked to her grandmother how sorry she was, but mrs. granson must excuse her as she knew how careful it was necessary for her to be, because mr. stephenson was so particular. then lucia and louisa drifted away happily together, arm-in-arm, leaving louisa's grandmother and miss gray sitting on a a [19] mr. hermit crab the same rock, and comparing fancy work and french novels. lucia wished to show louisa a mysterious cave that she had found in the next bay, and which would do splendidly for playing house together in. its one drawback was that there was the risk of being caught by the tide in coming back into the larger bay with the pier. the two bays were separated by a long line of beetling rocks stretching far out to sea, with an arch in the middle, which you might pass through dry-shod when the tide was out, but which was impassable when it was high tide. when they came to the arch, the sea was still a good way from it, and so they passed through into the other bay, which was very different in appearance from the first one. bay number one was very broad and one could see far and wide out over the sea and the smoke of the passing steamers against the horizon. bay number two, on the other hand, was very narrow, something in shape like a creek. standing on its beach, one looked along a thin strip of water lying between two frowning headlands, which shut out the view on the right and left; behind rose a high cliff. lucia and louisa, once through the arch, walked up along the bay or, rather, creek, till they came to a large boulder, which seemed to lean against the cliff. here lucia stooped and led louisa behind it through a hole which seemed to run into the cliff. the hole, however, widened out into a cave made of two large rocks leaning their heads against each other. louisa was enchanted! but "wait a minute !" said lucia and she showed her another smaller cave opening out of the one they were [ 20 ] anne sa the passage was very narrow. mr. hermit crab in. “that will do for the larder.” louisa gasped. it was almost too beautiful to believe. at last "it's simply splendid !” she exclaimed and she spoke with enthusiasm. lucia also was delighted, though in a somewhat modified way. here at last was a child who could sympathise with her inmost feelings, a child of her own age, her affinity, who knew what she felt when miss gray-who scorned the lady matilda, doted on john o' groat, and knew how to appreciate a proper cave! “i vote that we have lunch now, lucia. we will make soda out of sand and sea, and we will have a fricassee of rock snails, savoured with limpets, and seaweed grapes for dessert. there are plenty of shells for crockery of all kinds. we shall have a feast fit for a king. “fit for queens, you mean," replied lucia. "but come," and she assumed suddenly a wearied and careworn expression, “let us get to work, there's no time to waste, and moving into a new house is such an anxiety, you know, hannah." “indeed it is, mum, nothing but moiling and toiling and worrying from morning to night, and master so exacting !" retorted louisa, as quickly assuming the rôle of hannah, presumably the cook. they soon finished preparing and eating their gorgeous repast, and then, greatly refreshed, lucia proposed exploring. “because," she said, “there is a passage leading out of the larder to we don't know where, and you know the mistress should always have a complete knowledge of everything and never leave anything to servants, untidy, shiftless creatures as they are nowadays." [ 23 ] mr. hermit crab louisa agreed, and they began to crawl through the hole, lucia leading. they crawled a little way with much discomfort, for the passage was very narrow and kept making sharp turns, while jagged stones darted up from the ground here and there, and besides it was pitch dark. soon, when their desire for exploring was fast being extinguished by the toils of the journey, they heard a distant, booming sound, very faint at first, but becoming louder as they advanced. “whatever is it?” whispered louisa, whose courage was fast dying away, as the ominous sounds seemed to come ever nearer. "well," whispered back lucia, "i am doubtful whether it is a giant snoring or a lioness is crouching in her den not far from here and roars and lashes the ground with her tail, as she scents our approach.” louisa stopped; neither of these ideas was very welcome to her. “or it may be the roaring of the gnomes' furnace, as the flames and smoke roll up some volcano, and they are smelting gold and silver and manufacturing jewels of all kinds." “but they live only a few miles from the fountains of the earth," objected louisa. "well, and how do you know that this isn't the wonderful backstairs?" retorted lucia crushingly. "come along !" so they set off once more, and the sounds grew louder and louder, and more fiercesome. they even began to awe the dauntless spirit of lucia and quite frightened louisa's gentler one. indeed, the noise was terrible; it seemed to be com> [ 24 ] mr. . hermit crab posed of the lowing of a thousand cows, and betweentimes were heard the sea-horses beating their hoofs impatiently on the beach, as if anxious to.be off. as they came still nearer, a little light filtered through the dark, and the hole began to widen, but the roaring was worse than ever. lucia began to fear that they were come to the seven pits of fire in the middle of which father time sits knitting, helping the three fates when they have an overplus of work, which is mostly always, with his terrific dog at his side, and the monstrous feet of atlas showing in the distance. slower and slower became their advance, and not from the difficulties of the road, which was much improved. then when lucia began to think of stopping altogether, they emerged into greater light and on to a little rock-platform. the light was not strong, but very soft, and only enabled them to see black space all around them, but they felt, rather than saw, an empty void just in front of them. the noise came from all sides, and sounded at times very human. sometimes it moaned, and moaned in a very queer wise. first it moaned very loud and very near, then it moaned not quite so loud and not quite so near, and then again it moaned farther away, and again farther off still, until it ended in the softest little moan, it was almost a sigh, that you can imagine. it seemed as if there were thousands of people standing around them in the black space somewhere, and the first one groaned, and then another, and so on till the last, one after the other. sometimes, too, it roared, and it roared as it moaned. the children stood quite still side by side on the little [ 25 ] mr. hermit crab > 1 1 rock platform. then lucia said in a sort of hushed voice, "i think, louisa, this must be the weird place of the tormented souls. you know, the guilty ones are blocked up in the little caverns for miles round here, and they groan and moan and perpetually lament their sins, for the spirit of remorse haunts them and gives them no rest." “yes-es-es," replied louisa faintly, “but i feel rarather cold, my teeth cha-chatter. i think we had better be going.' “oh!” said lucia very readily, "if you are cold, i think we had better. besides, the tide may be in." “let us hurry!" cried louisa, and they did. lucia had kept her fear well down while they had faced the danger, but directly she turned her back, it seized her, and she aed as if propelled by wings. she felt as if she could not get away from those terrible sounds, so she dashed into the hole with louisa at her heels, and rushed along, as if pursued by the furies themselves, and did not stop till they came into broad daylight again, and out on to the sea-shore. then they both sat down and cried hard for a few minutes. they soon recovered, however, and although their first laugh was somewhat hysterical they were just the same again as they ran down the beach to the arch. but when they reached the sea, they found to their extreme dismay that the tide was far past the arch, and the waves were rolling in fast. lucia soon solved the problem. “let us undress, and carry our clothes on our heads, we'll soon wade through." no sooner said than done, and as they waded into the sea, they decided that it was by far the most convenient mode of travelling. when they came into the other bay, a [ 26 ] mr. hermit crab a they heard miss gray calling them. before that they had been progressing very leisurely, but now they dashed through the water and scrambled into their clothes in no time. miss gray and mrs. dalrymple wished them to have their bathes. soon their clothes were off again, and clothed in a single garment they were about to dare the perilous waves, when lucia was summoned back severely by miss gray to fold up her clothes tidily, instead of leaving them artistically flung here and there over the broad back of a rock, as a sort of miscellaneous drapery for it. that slight interruption over, they challenged each other to swim the length of the bay. however, although louisa declared that she was the champion swimmer of england, and lucia that she was the same of scotland, still these champions did not quite fulfil the expectations such names are wont to raise. they kept tamely within their depths, and progressed extremely slowly, swimming by the means of one foot on the ground. in the midst of their exciting contest, at which all the inhabitants of both countries were supposed to be presiding with bated breath and conflicting hopes, the two beings, on whom all eyes were fixed, suddenly saw a rock able to hold two somewhat small people, almost at their side. forgetting their self-imposed task of swimming the length of the bay, they scrambled on to it. forgetting also their rôle , of champion swimmers, they immediately were metamorphosed into two, poor, miserable, shipwrecked sailors, who, in a terribly stormy gale, had been dashed on to this rock by the wind and waves, and left there to perish in the midst of the atlantic, unless the welcome sail hove in sight. they were in dire distress, one single [ 27 ] mr. hermit crab > limpet was their only provision against starvation. they must cast lots as to which should be thrown into the waves and there struggle as best he might with his enfeebled strength, until he perished. louisa, alias jack tar, lost. with a fearful, heartrending groan, she stood up to be cast far out on to the deep by the victorious lucia, alias captain dick blue-jacket. "good-bye, matey,' quoth that worthy, “over the starboard you go!" and he was about to fling the hapless jack tar into the briny deep with his strong right arm, but louisa, looking downwards, saw a tiny green crab crawling ten thousand fathoms deep below on the sand at the bottom of the sea. she gave a shriek, "a crab! a crab l" and clutched lucia by her gown. the natural consequence was that they both toppled over together into the sea. the two brave mariners plunged wildly about, trying vainly to avoid the crab, which had by this time scuttled away to its hole terror-stricken. i think, however, it must have been a monstrous, hungry shark, to have caused such a panic amongst mariners so experienced and with such an intimate knowledge of the creatures of the deep and their manners. lucia and louisa, when they had once more clambered on to their rock of refuge, found that no crab or any other creature was to be seen as they peered down from their fortress. this gave rise to a slight coolness between them. lucia declared that louisa had pulled her off on purpose, because she did not want to be cast into the deep, an accusation which naturally hurt louisa's feelings, as it implied that she was afraid. while lucia's own conscience told her that she had not been quite tranquil in the affair of the crab. 1 ! 1 [ 28 ] mr. hermit crab miss gray, at the same time, found out that they had been long enough in the water. they came out and began to dress, still feeling a somewhat vague irritation against each other. this feeling was accelerated by the business of pulling on their stockings, which was slightly difficult, as their feet and legs were damp and not properly dried. the open ruption, however, did not come yet. they, at last, drew them on with infinite trouble, and then began the task of wringing the water out of their bathing-gowns. lucia's was a new one, so she felt secretly proud of it, but louisa's was not, so she felt that hers was somewhat put in the shade by lucia's brighter tints. moreover, they were different in colour, material, and make. lucia opened the conversation. “don't you think my bathing-gown very pretty?” and she gave a supercilious glance at louisa's. "hm-m! perhaps you fancy so, for my part, i do not like such gaudy, flaring, showy, staring, vulgar coli infinitely prefer something more simple, and tasteful, and elegant, like mine. simplicity is the essence of a good style." lucia immediately flew up in defence of her article of clothing. "what i detest and despise are washed-out colours all run together, till you don't know which were the original ones. a sure sign of the poorness of the stuff!" this touched louisa to the quick, for it was true that her colours were a little faint, and in the wash had run a little. “i had rather have my bathing-gown than all your fine, frilly makeshifts, which look so grand! she hotly exclaimed. "give me a useful bathing-gown, which ours. a [ 29 ] mr. hermit crab wears well, though it may not be able to stare a cow out of countenance, till it runs at it." lucia replied with a curling lip, a turned-up nose, a head held haughtily, high in the air, and a hastily shown back. louisa also turned away in like manner. they were in a state of bitterest enmity towards each other, and would not even condescend to throw a word at one another. miss gray and mrs. dalrymple now moved that they should return homeward, and to these ladies' intense surprise, no objection was made by either lucia or louisa. so they proceeded homeward, miss gray and mrs. dalrymple walking together in front while the two children followed behind, one on either side of the road, as they both refused to walk by each other's side. they avoided one another as if there was pollution in the other's touch. thus they proceeded, at the extremities of the sides of the road, with their countenances carefully turned away from the side on which the other walked, till they came to louisa's house, when they had to endure each other's nearer approach. it seemed that mrs. dalrymple was inviting lucia to come to tea in the afternoon. the two parties concerned heard this announcement with a lofty, unconcerned air. however, as mrs. dalrymple began to dilate on the pleasures that would come to pass in the course of the afternoon, their haughty airs and immovable countenances softened measurably, and when she ended by saying that miss gray must bring lucia early, their resentment faded away altogether, and they parted the best of friends. [ 30 ] chapter v a recipe for friendship a after lunch, lucia hurried upstairs and arrayed herself in her best clothes hastily, and then went into the garden to while away the time as best she might, until miss gray should finish arranging her bibs and tuckers à la mode. under the circumstances it was with sincere delight that she saw louisa's head appearing above the wall, as she scrutinised the place for lucia's whereabouts. after a little conference, which lasted about five minutes, they parted to inquire the time at their respective houses. they found out that the clocks in louisa's house were five minutes slower than lucia's, so they immediately decided that louisa's was certainly not greenwich time. the next ten minutes were spent in looking at the clocks and in finding fault with their makes, slowness, and general irregularity. then they began to feel their patience ebbing away at a perilous rate, so louisa was sent as an ambassadress to her mother to ask if lucia might come without waiting for miss gray, as it was almost, if not quite, half-past one. permission was given and lucia, seizing john o' groat by his head, scaled the wall which divided the two gardens, and enthusiastically grasped louisa by the hand or rather the shoulder, as she recovered from jumping from the top of the wall. [ 31 ] mr. hermit crab they then played at bonnety, grandmother's steps, and old bear for a quarter of an hour with every apparent symptom of pleasure. afterwards, they agreed to play visiting with their children. here a serious interruption took place. which of them should have the famous john o' groat for their child? lucia and louisa 1 each firmly refused to yield him to the other. lucia urged the claims of hospitality and the right of possession, while louisa declared that lucia had him always so she might as well give him up for once. the quarrel waxed from entreaties to sarcasm, and as sarcasm raised bitter feelings, from sarcasm to a downright struggle for the possession of john o' groat. he, unhappy one, was seized by the head and shoulders by one rapacious crea[ 32 ] mr. hermit crab ture, by the legs by the other. the very natural consequence was that under this continued strain john o' groat's constitution gave way. there was a loud report, and lucia and louisa, both suddenly tumbled over backward, each one still clutching her portion of the wretched john o' groat. at this mishap lucia burst into sorrowful as well as angry tears, for she really had a great affection for john o' groat. then as louisa stood transfixed at this sudden absence of fortitude on lucia's part, she threw herself on her, like a lioness bereft of her cub, and wrenched the rest of him from her hand. after this, still sobbing convulsively, lucia rushed from the garden to her own. from there she hastened into the house to the kitchen, where she poured out the overflowing cup of her wrongs into the partial bosom of mary jane, the housemaid. the aforenamed condoled with her, and at last brought her back to a calmer state of mind, by consoling her with the news that john o' groat could be mended by the intricate means of riveting and cementing him. soon after this happy state of things had come to pass, miss gray was heard calling lucia to her to endure a final tidying before going to play with louisa. lucia went slowly and unwillingly, and while miss gray was combing her hair, and scolding her for getting into such a state in so short a time, she secretly made up her mind to take the daring step of telling miss gray that she would not go. however, she found herself walking sedately with miss gray out of their front gate into the street, and from the street into louisa's garden (miss gray would never have dreamed of the short cut over the [ 33 ] mr. hermit crab wall), without her resolution coming to a head. miss gray knocked at the front door, and they were ushered into the drawing-room by a neat, smiling handmaiden, where they were warmly welcomed by mrs. granson, her father, and mother-in-law, and louisa was standing by. poor louisa was in the same frame of mind as lucia herself. when she had been so abruptly left by lucia, she also had run to the kitchen, and had been caressed and consoled by mary ann, the housemaid. then she had been summoned by mrs. granson to have her curls done once more, and she also had not been able to make up her mind. they met now for the second time on this eventful afternoon with a somewhat haughty and cool air, and a wide distance was meted out between each other. good mrs. granson took this for shyness, though this was the first time that miss gray had seen lucia afflicted in this way, and she said so. mrs. granson then kindly proposed that louisa should take her little friend into the garden for a good game; the children, she said, would get on better by themselves. the children departed to the garden, where they began to play old witch and her jewels. at first they played very stiffly, but as the game went on, excitement seized hold of them, and they began to forget, or at least pardon, their offences against each other. at last they became as good friends as ever, and they talked companionably together, but they politely ignored john o' groat as a subject for conversation. lucia after a while proposed that they should celebrate the rite of friendship together, and louisa agreed. "for," said lucia, "in books, you know, perhaps you have noticed that even the a [ 34 ] mr. hermit crab best of friends sometimes quarrel, and when they do, something disagreeable is sure to happen.” she sighed as she said this, for she was thinking of john o' groat, and so was louisa. "i believe it was because we, i mean they, didn't celebrate it." louisa nodded gravely. "yes, i think we had better," she replied solemnly. “one doesn't know what may happen." still somewhat seriously louisa went for a bowl of fresh water, a soap-bubble pipe, and a tin of salt water. the trowel was in the garden. first of all—i enclose the recipe for the benefit of the uninitiated—they picked a few blades of grass, for envy; a yellow rose, for jealousy; a peony, for hatred. here they came to a stop, for they had forgotten to provide a broken straw for quarrel. when they had found one, they drowned solemnly the four hurtful herbs in the tin of salt water, which represented bitter feelings, while they waved triumphantly above it a bluebell, for constancy, a leaf of the cypress, for death, and a whole straw, for union. (notice the lucky number three; you can, if you please, , have four other appropriate flowers, to make magic seven, but three are sufficient to make the spell powerful.) afterwards they dug a hole in louisa's little plot, in which she was allowed to garden at her pleasure, and buried therein the harmful flowers, but planted the good on top. (it is a good omen if the flowers planted grow, but if the flowers buried appear above the surface, as has happened more than once within the memory of man, beware!) next, they smoked the peace, alias the soapbubble pipe, and almost, but not quite, quarrelled as to [ 35 ] mr. hermit crab which had blown the largest bubble. that slight matter over, they smoked the peace-pipe until tea-time. during tea-time, they related to each other their experience on sundays, when they were small. how they regretted having to give up taking a little pot-dolly to church, when they arrived at the mature age of six! how they once had a carnivorous appetite for prayer-books ! etc. when, at last, miss gray decided that they must go, thanking mrs. granson so much for the delightful afternoon they had passed, lucia and louisa had made an appointment to walk to church together the next morning provided the weather was fine. louisa's last words to lucia as she gave her a last squeeze of the hand, were “how's john o' groat? i hope he can be mended!” "thanks, he's going to be riveted.” and lucia's squeeze of the hand was very cordial. [ 36 ] chapter vi on death and other mysteries from sunday till wednesday afternoon lucia and louisa had to be content with occasional glimpses of each other and to regulate their converse to five-minute talks across the wall every now and then. however, on wednesday afternoon at 2 p. m. they journeyed down to the beach together. when once there, they did not long favour miss gray and louisa's grandmother with their company. they had a great idea in their heads, which had been forming slowly since saturday, so they were naturally eager for its fulfilment. this idea was nothing less than an exploit of the most daring kind. they had determined to go once more to the place of the tormented souls, and there pass the whole of the afternoon in vigil, to see what they should see. they were two young knights of king arthur's round table, burning for renown, and they had been sent by the king himself on a most perilous enterprise. they had been picked out from amongst the most illustrious of that famous table, objects of envy for all, to tread with dauntless footsteps the farthest boundary of the ocean, to free those thousand and one hapless, who had dared the attempt before and failed, and who were now lying in brass-bound prisons, at the mercy of the monster of the deep, whom they had vainly tried to kill. [37] mr. hermit crab at the cave's opening the two doughty knights hesitated somewhat, but lucia said boldly “come on!” and dived into it, so louisa perforce had to follow. again they passed through the two caves and began their toilsome journey through the underground passage. they had not crawled far before another new terror became manifest. they heard the distant sound of thunder booming overhead, and from time to time repeated flashes of lightning showed them frowning rocks leaning forward as if to enclose them in an early tomb, and fearful black space beyond and behind, while the rain pattered above at a tremendous rate. a little farther on and the cry of the tormented souls began to make itself heard, and at the same time there was a rushing sound as of falling waters. these fearsome sounds made louisa lag behind somewhat, and lucia herself did not proceed quite so fast as she had been doing before. her bold spirit, cowed only for a moment, soon reasserted itself, and she called upon louisa to come along, while she quickened her own pace at the same time. a few more feet and they stood on the little rocky platform. suddenly a peal of thunder, louder than all the former ones, sounded, and immediately after a sharp flash of forked lightning lit up the surrounding darkness. it showed them a torrent of water falling down the crags on their left and a large entrance on their right, through whose bottom the sea was pouring and losing itself in the huge caverns, which doubtless lay far into the land. at their feet a flight of steps, hewn out of the rock, partly natural, partly the work of man's hand, led downward. [ 38 ] mr. hermit crab already terror-stricken beforehand, this last sight was too much for louisa. clutching lucia by the hand, she cried out, “oh! lucia! let us go home!" the latter, however, was more curious than fearful, and the steps were a loadstone to her fancy. she felt an uncontrollable desire to go down them. “don't be silly, louisa,” she said sharply, "we should be much more likely to be struck by the lightning if we were outside than if we stayed here." and as she ended, the thunder rolled once more overhead, and the lightning flashed. louisa shrieked aloud, but lucia made for the steps. when louisa saw this, more afraid of being left alone than of facing unknown dangers with lucia, she rushed after her and clutched hold of her, as the lightning ceased and they were left in utter darkness. “now," said lucia, whose courage the novelty of the affair and the spice of adventure in it were rapidly raising, "we must wait for the next flash, and by its light get down a few steps, as many as we possibly can. ah! there now! come along!" in this manner they descended several steps, before louisa had found a voice to protest or even utter a sound. intense fear deprived her of every power except that of mutely following lucia, who was becoming quite at ease under the circumstances, although she felt louisa's presence comforting. "lucia," said louisa in a faint voice, "don't you think we had better go home now, and come again another day?" "no, i don't. we shouldn't be able to see another day, because there wouldn't be any lightning !" [ 39 ] mr. hermit crab “but,” replied louisa still faintly protesting, "what is there? who lives at the bottom of these steps? perhaps it breaks off sheer, and we shall fall into the sea and get drowned, and our corpses will be dashed to pieces on the rocks, and so mutilated that our own parents won't recognise us, and we shall be heaped into a grave with a lot of common sailors, who have lived you don't know what lives, and who come ashore from the next wreck. just think, no headstones, no epitaph, no flower bed on the top of the grave, and no will!” louisa's fear lent her eloquence, and she spoke with energy. lucia, outwardly unmoved, had been given inwardly a great shock. her death was the last pleasure in life that she was used to look forward to. often and often had she gone over the details in her mind, generally when she was in bed and not sleepy. again and again had she changed the text, or the fashion in which the headstone was to be carved, and considered what kinds of flowers would be most suitable for the different ages she might die at. and her will! how many times she had . altered the amount of money she was to bequeath, and what charitable institution she was to erect. her will was full of rich possibilities. her text and epitaph were flat compared with it. her headstone was a comparatively easy thing to choose, as was her flower garden; and the brass plate, or was it to be a marble statue of her, lying down or in some other elegant posture, though very interesting, was still inferior to her will. then there were her last words, which were a great favourite, but yet she liked her will better. there was the tip to the sexton, who was to keep her grave tidy and not let weeds grow on it; her dependents who were to have little annu1 1 1 a [ 40 ] mr. hermit crab ities, on the condition of wearing black so long, and on her birthday once every year, to remind them of her, as people are reminded of certain apostles, by finding a collect dedicated to them in the prayer-book. her relations whom she had and those whom she might have, were considered, and the school to which she was going to give a scholarship. and the rector was to be remembered, that he might give an edifying sermon on the occasion of her demise. sometimes, when she thought of the weeping wretches who were to surround her dying bed, and learned physicians with their hands on her pulse, and the expectant crowd in her anteroom, then, she sometimes remembered that she might not die rich, in an honoured old age, with all the paraphernalia of the rich escorting her to the grave; not even young, cutting short all the hopes which were bound up with her frail person, but old, lamented by no one, making no noise, but quietly stepping from the workhouse to the pauper's grave, not benefiting, but benefited. when this thought occurred to her, she always thrust it aside, as unworthy of her, and shrunk from it, but it seemed to stick the more persistently to her, the more she tried to forget it. and now here was as bad a fate yawning before her, to be drowned, and share the grave of the unknown and the unrecognised. she shuddered, but replied carelessly, "pooh, pooh, my dear, but at any rate they will be saved the expense of burying us." louisa went on, “or the little people live here, and will take us and keep us till our friends are all gone." she had tried a practical danger, now she tried an imaginative one. “or the giants will eat us." "well, my dear child,” replied lucia grandly, undis[ 41 ] 1 2 mr. hermit crab 1 1 turbed now by the rush of thoughts the other supposition had called up, "what if the little people take us, or the giants eat us? what if they do? we must fulfil our destiny, surely !" this rejoinder crushed louisa entirely, though she privately thought that she would have liked her destiny to lead her homeward. still down a few more steps, and they emerged on to another small platform, beneath which the sea roared and at times cast up its spray on it. besides, there was a small wooden door facing them set in the rock. “oh! let us go home !" cried louisa. "a giant lives there, or a monster of the deep !" “it isn't big enough for a giant's door,” replied the practical lucia, although her courage was somewhat shaken by the idea of the monster of the deep. “aren't you coming home?” again asked louisa, who was quaking in every limb, but it would have been better for her to have remained silent. her words spurred lucia on to the deed. "no, we will go in." she felt she could not retreat now, but despite her brave words, her tone was not so firm. slowly she advanced to the door. slowly lucia . raised her hand, and gave a low and timid knock, which certainly could not have been heard by anyone above the cry of the tormented souls and the roar of the sea. they waited. again she knocked, but no louder. again they waited. then said lucia, “i think the inhabitant is not at home.” this happy thought gave them both fresh courage, and, lifting the latch, they entered boldly. inside, there appeared a little room, barely furnished 1 1 i 1 [ 42 ] 1 mr. hermit crab with a small table, one chair, a shelf, all these evidently home-made, on which stood a plate, a knife, a fork and spoon, a cup and saucer, two large saucepans and a huge tureen. there was also a fireplace, and a door leading into another room, as it seemed, but no living person. emboldened by a survey of this empty room, the children made for the other door, and lifted the latch. inside, there was another little room, with a fishing-net in a corner, a butterfly net, a large box, and a bed of ferns, on which lay a form, evidently that of a young giant, not yet fully grown. louisa gave a piercing shriek and turned to fly, as did lucia. a dreadful voice stayed them in their fight. “whateverthe dickens! stop! come here this instant, or it will be the worse for you!" tremblingly they stopped and turned pale faces of entreaty on his dreadful form. then lucia came slowly and timidly up to him and touched his knees. “oh! most illustrious and potent"what?" "i prithee, be not angry with us, intruding our miserable persons [at another time lucia would have scorned to call herself miserable, but fear swallowed up pride] on thy sacred privacy. oh!”— here lucia's voice gave way, and both she and louisa melted into tears. the being turned into some tasty dish for this terrible ogre seemed very near to both of them. "ho!” said or rather growled the giant, eyeing them from under his bushy eyebrows. "ha! he!" lucia here interrupted meekly, but desperately desirous of pleasing their oppressor. [ 43 ] mr. hermit crab "huml" the giant gave a short, gruff laugh. "ho! who are you?" "if you please, most mighty reverend and potent signior, i am lucia, and this is louisa.” "indeed! and whom do you take me for?” ” now this was a most discomforting and embarrassing question. they wished to please him, but his clothes, viz., a pair of high sea-boots, a sou'wester, and a grey flannel jacket and trousers, were not the clothes of a very great personage held in high honour by the giants. they examined his countenance. a great bushy black beard, frowning black eyebrows, large black eyes, and black curly hair, in fine, everything of his countenance was black, ominous, and gloomy. lucia conceived the idea that he was a sea-pirate; without doubt the great chest held his murderous weapons. “a sea-pirate are you by trade, i doubt not, oh, one to be feared!" “ha! indeed i” he filled the room with his mighty sonorous laugh. “indeed! right you are! a sea-pirate i am! a wrecker, too! i lure ships to their doom by my art. beware of me!" he laughed again. “how nice and fat you are!" he pinched louisa's plump, usually rosy, cheek, and pulled a golden curl. they both fell on their knees at this awful remark, fraught with so much meaning. “oh! please don't eat me!" sobbed louisa, and lucia added in a suppliant and shaking voice, “she won't be nice to eat, really! she's much too fat!" “ho! indeed! perhaps you would be more to my taste then." and he eyed lucia with a gloating gaze. [ 44 ] சப்பா talibovu w.. 0 h.s. a sea-pirate by trade. ja mr. hermit crab y?!! lucia shook in her shoes, visibly. “oh! no! i'm much too thin!" she cried earnestly. “i don't know much about that,” muttered the giant. “how did you come here, and invade my privacy ?” “by the cave, and the path of the tormented souls," replied lucia readily, right glad of a change of subject. “indeed! was it a long journey “pretty long." "perhaps you are hungry after it. do you think that you could manage with seaweed soup, shrimps, and green vegetables freshly gathered from the sea-shore ?” "seaweed soup!" exclaimed lucia and louisa, too surprised to remember their fright. "is it nice?" “of course! it's a dish of my own invention, and it's delicious, though i shouldn't say so." lucia was much struck by this trait of modesty in the giant. “really! i didn't know giants invented things.” “giants! oh, goodness!" and the half-grown giant threw himself back on his couch of ferns, and went off into a perfect epileptic fit of laughter. then suddenly“why shouldn't we as well as you puny mortals ?” he exclaimed with ferocity. “oh, i didn't mean that they couldn't, you know, but i-i thought it wasn't quite the usual thing,” lucia interposed with trembling accents, and she thought that giants might be modest, but they were very changeable in their moods. and aside to louisa, "we must be very careful, mind that, he seems rather touchy." “what's that you are saying?" roared the giant. "i was only saying that your puissancy has forgotten about the seaweed soup." [ 47 ] mr. hermit crab who? my— oh, no, come along! i'm getting awfully hungry, and i am beginning to doubt whether my own frugal tea will satisfy me.” and he cast a wolfish eye on louisa. however, during the setting of the table, and the difficulties of making the giant's crockery go round, they became rather friendly, though lucia and louisa still observed the reverence and the distance which was meet, between such insignificant persons as they were and a giant sea-pirate with ogreish tendencies. his potency in fact became so affable as to condescend to propose that louisa should sit on his knee during the repast, as there was only one throne, and no other means of sitting down. louisa and lucia, when this august bounty was offered to each of them in turn, both refused with horror, wellhidden by an expressed fear to desecrate such a post of honour with their unworthy selves. nevertheless, during their second supply of seaweed soup, the three of them became quite a pleasant party, despite the saying that “two's company, three's none.” lucia and louisa, however, were rendered aghast, as they saw the amount he was eating, showing at the same time a mouth wellfurnished with huge white tusks. despite his fearful appearance, he became quite communicative as the meal progressed, relating at length the woes he had endured from his birth. lucia, emboldened, enquired her liege's instead of replying, he clapped both hands to his forehead and began to stamp up and down the room, showing evident signs of mental derangement. forgetting sometimes his height, he would knock his head against the roof, and then turn to rub it in such a ludiname. [ 48 ] mr. . hermit crab crous manner that the unhappy children burst into stifled laughter. the giant turned with a demoniac bound, and stood towering above them glaring down. on their knees, they prayed for the gracious pardon, which was so long in coming. at last, lowering his fist, the giant commanded them to be seated and fall to and eat or worse would befall them, but it was long before his ruffled spirit was soothed calm once more. a you dare!” when it was, lucia, always running into dangers to gratify her curiosity, asked his name again, hastily adding, to ward off the storm she thought she saw gathering in his bewildered stare, “only never mind, if you haven't got one, we'll invent one for you." "it isn't that," replied the giant with a ghastly groan, “i have one, only—" deep and manly emotion checked his speech. "you have forgotten it?" "i have.” and he waved his hand theatrically. “now, despise me, if !" “oh, we don't!" was their breathless reply. “but never mind, we'll invent another for you, if you can't , remember.” "i cannot. melancholy and humiliating as such an avowal must be to a man of my inches. why even tom thumb knew his own name, but i–i cannot.” and he bowed his head in noble sorrow. lucia and louisa respected it, and immediately began to try and invent a name of sufficient syllables and beauty to match their illustrious and ill-fated host. they both placed themselves in attitudes of deepest [ 49 ] mr. hermit crab thought, one hand to the brow, the other frantically grasping a lock of hair, the eye fixed on the ceiling, drawing thence inspiration from the muses. sometimes they sighed, sometimes they said in eager tones, “ah! i have it!” then in tones of the deepest despondency, “ah, no! it has escaped me again.” now they would tramp up and down the room, moodily surveying the floor, then throw themselves into the chair, alas, the only one, and clasp their brow, or meditate vengeance on their flowing tresses. all these wiles to lure thought they tried, but in vain. they thought without success on the greek and roman heroes of old, and ransacked the pages of homer and vergil in a vain search, and ran over the titles of the happy gods. they debated about odin and the dwellers in asgard, and all the blue-eyed berserkers of the north. in vain! they tried historical and well-known names, which should have thrilled through his brain like lumps of fiery lava. was not the flattery sweet of being thought worthy of bearing such names, crowned with glory and famed in song? in vain. then they began to try queerly coined names of ponderous sound, such as giganticus, omnipotens, glorionocus, and cloud-compeller. in vain. the giant shook his head at each recurring name, glorious in its rolling syllables, and blacker grew his frown. desperate-grown, they tried names borne by villains, and wizards, but did not long continue with that dreadful catalogue, as they saw the giant's brow bend visibly into mighty folds, foreboding no good to themselves. at last, lucia with one last despairing effort, proposed a name, and then almost fell down in anticipation of the volume of scorn about to be heaped on her [ 50 ] mr. hermit crab too-active head. however, she had said it in so low a tone that he had not heard. “what did you say? don't mumble !" was his stern encouragement. nerved by creative despair, the victim bowed her head and piped forth, “mr. hermit crab !" "what!” the unexpected always happens. he burst into—a gale of laughter. but, when he had recovered some part of his control, his enthusiasm was tremendous. it was a most delightful name and a most delightful idea! it suited him to a nicety! he was most grateful and would do anything, in moderation, that they wished! he invited them also to another helping of seaweed soup, and ordered them to call him by no other name henceforth! soon after this, lucia and louisa found to their great regret that they must go. he was profuse in his expressions of sorrow, and invited them again and again to come and visit his humble abode, if they could spare the time from their pleasures in the upper world. they thanked him warmly for the honour he was doing them, but then hesitated, showing that they had some load on their mind. mr. hermit crab encouraged them to unburden themselves. at length lucia, although filled with a secret trembling, spoke, “they were very sensible of mr. hermit crab's kindness, but they could not venture to engage their presence, unless they had his word of honour that he would refrain from every desire of eating either of them or both." mr. hermit crab, however, took it very kindly, gave his parole d'honneur, and even went so [ 51 ] mr. hermit crab 1 far as to say that in their situation, it was a very natural and even laudable prayer. thus amity was restored betwixt them. but when they asked him to visit them in return, he shook his head, and to their surprise, informed them that he was debarred from mounting up to the other world. to their eager questions on this point he could give no satisfactory answer. he was not allowed to. by whom? he did not know. was it because he was a giant and people might lock him up in a glass case as a curiosity and send him to the zoo? no, he had no fear of that, because he knew he should grow no taller. why wouldn't he, when he was a giant ? he didn't know, but it was fated to be so. why? he didn't know, but it was fated. that was the only answer that they could get from him afterwards. it was fated. then they left him, filled with great awe and pity for his hard lot, and impotent anger against the invisible deity who had ordained such things to be. they said nothing, however, until they had passed safely through the way of the tormented souls, and were once more out in the open. then they both drew in a great draught of the fresh air, and throwing off the load of mystery and horror which oppressed her, lucia exclaimed with energy, “it's a shame! there now!” louisa agreed. then there was silence. not for long though. lucia resumed in a contemplative tone, “i wonder why it is, but i felt just now exactly as i did when i came out of madame tussaud's, and when i had gone over the tower of london. that was last year— uncle stephenson said i ought to know and a [ 52 ] mr. hermit crab admire my country's famous town. nasty, smoky place, it was, too. i've heard somewhere that generous souls suffer on earth for the crimes of others. i expect that's why i felt so blue and miserable. i hate history, too, at least some parts, it jars on my nerves, not miss gray's kind, you know, but it hurts my feelings. history's terribly sad, so's the old testament, and i suppose the new is, too, but somehow or other the people in the old seem so much nearer and more human, as if they had lived once, than the apostles, and their acts. most nice things are sad. i like the sea, and it looks now as if it wouldn't hurt a single thing. it's dancing and laughing like anything, but some day there'll be a storm and lots of wrecks. life is a very fickle and uncertain thing." and lucia sighed. there was silence again, and again lucia broke it. “do you know why mr. hermit crab can't come up into the upper world but must stay in the nether?" "no-0-0," replied the wondering louisa, "only because it's fated, i suppose." "stuff and nonsense!" was lucia's somewhat unexpected answer. “isn't that the reason, then ?” asked louisa, feeling rather ashamed of herself, though wherein she had shown stupidity, she did not know. “of course not! though how should you know?" louisa was further mystified by lucia's pitying tone, but her gentle nature did not allow her to feel indignant. "well, i suppose you must know some time,” went on lucia. here came a pause, during which louisa tried not to look impatient, for fear of still further prolonging it. at last, "when mr. hermit crab was a > [53] mr. hermit crab never. baby, his mother offended a wicked, but alas, powerful fairy." louisa gasped. “but wasn't it as great a pity that she was wicked as well as powerful? wicked people don't enjoy themselves half as much as good ones, not even in this life, and certainly not afterwards. stolen fruits are sour, mother says." lucia eyed her with a glance of unmitigated contempt, but did not deign to explain. "so the wicked fairy decided to revenge herself on his mother by taking away mr. hermit crab from her, so that she might dissolve away in green and yellow melancholy, while he, buried deep down in the place of the tormented souls, might grow up very ignorant, only able to catch fish and make seaweed soup, and she never lets him come up, there's nothing worse than ignorance, uncle stephenson says. well?” she said this so suddenly that louisa could think of no cleverer reply than “well ?” too, though she felt that something more was expected of her. “well?" returned lucia contemptuously. louisa seized an idea that was fast escaping her. "i thought that ignorance was bliss,” she observed. lucia glared at her. “is that all you have to say?" louisa smiled feebly. “why, what else should i say?" lucia sniffed scornfully, and turned her back on louisa, and there was silence. however, when her curiosity forced her to turn round to see what the despised and degenerate one was doing, she found her gazing out to sea with every appearance of placidity. this was too much. "do you know what we must do?” she hurled 1 [ 54 ] lll helle h.sewell สาย เพลส when mr. hermit crab was a baby. { } 1 | } ? mr. hermit crab tell me, ' > the words at the senseless louisa. “of course you don't !" "but i will do whatever you was the pacific reply, "so i don't see why you should be so cross, lucia.” "do you know that we must find the wicked fairy first and then find out where her power lies, and make her disenchant mr. hermit crab ?" "but we don't know where she lives !" "well, what of that?" "she mayn't live near here, you know!" “of course she mayn't, very likely she's at the north pole, or she's gone to jerusalem." “jerusalem!" gasped the horrified louisa. “why, lucia, how could she? you know she wouldn't be allowed within the precincts of the sacred city!" "might be, considering how many dirty heathens have laid it waste and grubbed among its ruins !" as she said this, lucia felt a delicious sense of having spoken heresy thrilling through her veins. louisa was quite shocked. “but we can't go after her, you know, wherever she is, though i don't believe she's at jerusalem at all, and you're a very wicked girl to say such things, so there, miss graham !" for once in her life lucia took no notice of a direct insult to her person. "we aren't going after her, even if she is in timbuctoo !” she said triumphantly. "then how will you find her?" "oh, she must sometimes come and visit her victim and gloat over his sufferings, and then we will find out everything," was the airy reply. to lucia at least it seemed a very easy matter. "now we must go and find [ 57 ] mr. hermit crab “but re> miss gray and mrs. granson,” she went on, and louisa gave a sigh of relief to know that they were not going to try and find the wicked fairy just then. member, louisa, what we've got to do, and what we shall do." no more was said till they came to the gates of their respective homes. each was pondering over weighty matters. lucia was wondering if there was a likelihood of the wicked fairy's visiting her victim oftener than once a month, while louisa was hugging the hope to her breast that she would not visit him oftener than once a year, and that she had already paid her annual visit. ფუფრო. 1 they found miss gray and louisa's grandmother had escaped the thunderstorm by observing the threatening [ 58 ] 1 1 1 mr. hermit crab signs, “... as every one with common sense had done, except you, lucretia.” thus miss gray. then the children were invited to a substantial meal, as they were naturally expected to be hungry after their long abstinence. to everyone's surprise they showed a fastidious loathing for food of any kind, was it ever so dainty. mrs. granson became quite anxious, for louisa had usually a very hearty appetite, while miss gray began to remember certain reports of the measles being in the neighbourhood. the servants had no doubts . whatever—the children had caught the measles and ought to be put to bed at once. mrs. granson felt louisa's forehead, took her temperature, found it rather [ 59 ] mr. hermit crab higher than usual, and decided that bed was the best place for her. louisa went off without a murmur, too, which made mrs. granson as well as mrs. dalrymple still more anxious, for louisa really felt rather languid. lucia did not escape any more than louisa, for miss gray, although really feeling a little anxious about her, also felt that it would reflect discredit on herself, if she omitted to take the same precautions as mrs. granson. + [60] in state on the parade at henleyr ce w chapter vii the children were kept in bed the whole of the next day, but they were in such high spirits the whole time that they were allowed to get up after breakfast on friday, though miss gray and mrs. granson decided that they should have a holiday for once. was by no means disagreeable, and lucia and louisa spent the morning in turning over their numerous possessions and in picking out those which they thought this news [ 61 ] mr. hermit crab would be useful for mr. hermit crab, and placing those chosen under lucia's bed for safety. the consequence was that they were in a perfect fever the whole morning lest miss gray by some unforeseen chance should find out the precious parcel and make inquiries. they had no fear of the servants who have a natural dislike to going under beds. the parcel consisted of sundry things. there was first and foremost a tattered macmillan's spelling-book, no. 1, a relic of lucia's young days. louisa also provided other relics, a broken slate and the stump of a slate-pencil, an arithmetic that had seen better days, and a copy-book of large, round handwriting. these relics were to enlighten mr. hermit crab's ignorance, and teach him the terrors of education, as yet unknown. there was also a slight and pliant cane, which by rights was the property of mr. dalrymple, but at some time in the far past it had been appropriated by louisa herself for the purpose of chastising her dolls. now it was intended for chastising something more feeling than a doll, if it should happen that he should show signs of refractoriness. this was in itself an unfailing source of joy to the children, and they tried it on each other with an unabated sense of its fitness for the post of usher-inchief to the fountain of knowledge. they also secreted under the bed a looking-glass, which louisa had had in a cracker, and a doll's tea-set, perfectly whole for a wonder, excepting the loss of the tea-pot's lid, a handle or two from the cups, and a few chippings here and there. besides, louisa sacrificed a comb, and lucia a brush, which were to be reported as missing to miss gray and 1 а. [ 62 ] mr. hermit crab mrs. granson. they also excited these two ladies' ire by a sudden monomania for cutting out gaily coloured pictures from magazines and other handy mss. lucia found out, too, that she could give up a doll's piano to the service of mr. hermit crab's musical education, since she had had a new one for a christmas present, and since d ملح the old one had only one note at either end deficient in sound. they decided that they would teach him his fivefinger exercises on it. in the midst of these occupations they spent the morning happily enough, but at dinnertime miss gray announced her intention of going to henley that afternoon to get several things, amongst which [63] mr. hermit crab was lucia's brush. of course lucia asked if louisa might accompany her, and of course that led to mrs. granson's commissioning miss gray to get a comb for louisa's use in the stead of the missing one. so at half-past two, the little company set off. miss gray walked on in front, in all the glory of her red parasol, which glowed in the sunshine, her new parisian hat à la mode, her well-cut jacket and shapely skirt, whose train she now held up to prevent its getting soiled by the dust of the highroad, but soon would allow to trail its flowing, shining folds on the parade, and her light, glacé kid walking-shoes, the acme of blameless respectability with their high heels and pointed toes. lucia and louisa walked behind, side by side, admiring that same parasol, and wondering if the equator itself were redder. it made them feel hot only to look at it. said louisa, "why ever does miss gray have a red parasol ? blue or green would be much prettier. at least, they would not be such an eye-sore in the landscape. isn't it terrible ? a blue sky, green trees, yellow corn, a white road' and a red parasol !” “oh!" replied lucia wisely, "don't you know that middle-aged females always use red parasols, because red is a colour very favourable to the complexions on the wane; it hides the wrinkles and crow's-feet, and gives a lovely flush to the fast-sallowing countenance. miss gray, you know, is not so young as she once was." "oh, i see!" replied louisa, much enlightened. although their external appearances showed every sign of consummate innocence, the children's minds were far from that much-to-be-desired state. a great project ant [64]. mr. hermit crab burdened them. they had seven and sixpence between them in their respective pockets, which sum they had extracted privily from their money-boxes, and with which they intended to buy two blankets for mr. hermit crab, after having first ascertained the price in one of whiteley's catalogues. "for,” said lucia pityingly, "a bed of ferns can't be very comfortable, though it does say in the lady of the lake that she gave the king a bed of freshly plucked heather, and anyway he had very bad dreams on it, and i wonder he didn't catch a royal cold or end his life bedridden with rheumatics on account of it. it must have been damp because of the dew, if it was freshly plucked. at least ferns are dry, though i guess she told a servant who didn't take the trouble to fresh-pick it. i think the fairy was very malicious not to provide him with even the barest necessities of life. if i were a judge, i'd have her up for wilful cruelty, and sentence her to botany bay!" when they arrived at henley, miss gray, as in duty bound, bought first of all a brush and comb, not however without severe comments on lucia's lack of method, untidiness, and general carelessness. these sharp arrows found a home in louisa's breast also, though she was not openly referred to, for was she not as culpable as lucia. after a few more purchases miss gray, following the motto, "business first, pleasure afterwards,” proceeded to walk on the parade. now was the children's opportunity, and they took it. as miss gray walked in state up and down, up and down, with shoulders back and head upright, pleasantly conscious of the perfect fit of a 1 [ 65 ] mr. hermit crab her gown and of her own worth, the children hastened without state to a point at right angles with her ladyship, and disappeared from view amongst the crowd. then with very red cheeks they walked demurely into a shop, on the outside of which was affixed a placard, which advertised to the world in general that there were blankets for sale inside, two-and-sixpence each, a regular bargain. here lucia with an off-hand businesslike air asked to see some blankets. when some were shown them by an assiduous shopman, both the children felt the stuff with the first finger and thumb, and then thoughtfully drew them down the side. “somewhat common, said lucia. "but strong and serviceable," replied louisa. the upshot was that they bought two blankets, one with pink stripes, the other with blue. "shall i send them for you ?" asked the assiduous shopman. “no, thanks, we will take them,” returned lucia. the parcel was tied up and laid on the counter. “five shillings, if you please, miss. thank you.” that business over, they laid out sixpence in the purchase of three large wooden spoons. then they hailed a hansom and asked the driver if he would take them to porthnock for two shillings. the driver assented, and they were soon bowling cheerily along the road, feeling very important as they commented elegantly on the weather and the beauty of the scenery. arrived at porthnock, they first placed the auspicious parcel under lucia's bed, and then went in to mrs. granson, and told her the dreadful tale of how they had got separated from miss gray in a crowd, and how they had taken a hansom home and paid the driver two [66] mr. hermit crab a shillings. good mrs. granson felt rather astonished to think that careful and sensible miss gray should have lost the children, as they kept telling her, but she conjectured that the truth was that, while they were looking in at a shop-window, miss gray had turned down another street. as it was, she felt thankful that the children had had the sense to take a hansom, at which she rather wondered, and her slight anger with miss gray melted away very quickly as she thought of the anxiety that worthy lady must be enduring at that moment. an hour afterwards, miss gray returned home, hot, tired, and worried. her first feeling, when she found the children playing happily together in the garden, was one of thankfulness, but this feeling was soon succeeded by one of anger and vexation at her having suffered so much without cause, and lucia, as she went sobbing to bed a few minutes after miss gray's appearance, felt that she was truly a martyr in the cause of mr. hermit crab, and her bitterness of spirit against the malicious fairy grew strong and hardened. verily, it would have been in an evil hour for herself that the fairy would have found herself in the power of lucia at that moment, who lulled herself to sleep by devising excruciating punishments for the malicious fairy, [67] chapter viii on the benefits of benefaction since the next day was saturday, they all went down to the sea-shore at half-past 9 a. m. then there occurred a little change in their usual routine. lucia and louisa with an extraordinary politeness, extremely suspicious to miss gray, pointed out to mrs. dalrymple and herself a much nicer rock for them to sit on than the one they usually occupied. the children had a very good reason, at least so it seemed to themselves, for how could they go back home and fetch the parcel for mr. hermit crab, if miss gray and louisa's grandmother should occupy their accustomed rock? how could they escape miss gray's prying eyes ? once they had removed those obstacles from their course, lucia and louisa wasted no time. moving stealthily in the approved fashion of an indian scout, they carefully steered their course past the rocks which partially screened unsuspecting mrs. granson and her far more to be dreaded companion. safely past they rushed wildly home, and then back again, though their speed this time was somewhat retarded by the brown paper parcel of by no means insignificant weight and size, which was destined to gladden the eyes of mr. hermit crab. again they steered safely past the fearsome “altars," and then made a bee-line for bay number two. [68] mr. hermit crab it grew bravely they entered the cave, and dived into the dark night of the way to the place of the tormented souls. full of anxieties was the journey, for they found out too late that the brown paper parcel was of an obnoxious size and shape, and required at all times much coaxing to round the corners, and to progress at all, where the passage was somewhat narrow. arrived at last on to the platform, they drew from their respective pockets three candle-ends, which they had privily extracted from the candle-sticks, when the servants' backs were turned, and lucia also drew forth triumphantly a match-box, but which, alas, only contained two matches. with fear and trembling lucia struck match no. 1. it flickered for a moment, and then went out. once more, lucia struck match no. 2 and the last, and they watched with bated breath the flickering and uncertain flame. stronger, however, and after they had lighted their first candle-end, they proceeded on their journey. without any serious mishap, barring the loss of a candle-end, they reached the bottom and knocked at mr. hermit crab's door, just as their last candle-end expired. they had not long to wait outside; immediately after lucia's thundering, lordly knock they heard the sound of a chair being upset, and the noise of heavy footsteps hastening over the floor. then the door split open so suddenly that lucia who was leaning negligently against it, was precipitated into mr. hermit crab's arms. that gentleman was extremely pleased to see them, and was just expressing his pleasure by shaking hands vigorously, when his eye fell on the brown paper parcel. he immediately expressed an ardent curiosity to see what a [69] mr. hermit crab was inside, and was on the point of cutting one of the numerous knots which preserved it intact when lucia sternly called him to order. then to punish him she banished him to a remote corner of the room, with louisa to mount guard over him, while she herself took up the parcel in her arms and placed it on the table, which it almost filled. then very slowly, so as to teach him the virtue of patience, she began to untie the knots one by one, lecturing him the while on that very same virtue and on economy, and pointing the moral by refusing to waste the string by cutting it, as mr. hermit crab kept fervently entreating her to do. at last, the string was taken off and rolled up in a manner which it would have given miss gray great pleasure to see, for usually lucia was somewhat lax about putting away small matters like string. mr. hermit crab heaved a sigh of relief, but lucia was determined that his impatience should not be gratified yet. she now began pulling off paper after paper, still exhorting mr. hermit crab on the score of patience. that gentleman, however, did not prove himself amenable to lucia's matriarchal rule, for he flung louisa on one side, and rushed open-mouthed at the parcel and would soon have unveiled its mysteries, if lucia had not been beforehand, cleverly pulling off the two last coverings at the same time. then she held up the lady matilda to mr. hermit crab's admiring gaze, and breathlessly asked, or rather demanded his opinion of her. mr. hermit crab inconsiderately threw himself into an attitude of rapture. “upon my word, an extremely fine doll i” but when he saw lucia glaring at him, and louisa gazing in his direc. [ 70 ] mr. hermit crab > tion with lowering eyebrows, though a warning eye (for, although louisa was so far permeated by lucia's influence as to be horrified at such a remark, still her goodnature made her feel pity for the culprit, and a wish to help him out of his scrape), then he knew that he had made a mistake, and hastily added, “i spoke ironically, you must know; if you want the truth, i simply detest her." the change in the two faces was instantaneous. louisa smiled approval, but lucia beamed anxiously; there was still the final test. and as lucia had been taking mr. hermit crab's wrongs to heart and had been deciding to do all she could for him, she was anxious for him to merit her thoughts and deeds. she set down the lady matilda, and held up mary ann. "what do you think of her?” lucia spoke in a tone of unmistakable pride. "simply adorable! may i-" here he hesitated, , but the radiant faces before him winged him on. “may i kiss her?" lucia was so pleased with his enthusiastic reply and gratifying request, which she of course consented to, that she felt that she must give a signal sign of her approval, and so she climbed on to the table, and patted his head kindly. louisa, as cordial but less formal than the greatniece of lady herndale, offered him her own cheek, which was certainly more palatable than that of mary ann. then lucia proceeded to show the rest of the contents of the brown paper parcel, john o' groat and poor, dear arabella. mr. hermit crab admired these dolls so much that the children hastily told him that they were only brought for him to see, not to keep. his disappoint[71] mr. hermit crab ment wrung their hearts, though he tried manfully to hide it, but they could not make up their minds to sacrifice even one of them. they assuaged his disappointment by showing him the other presents, which were to be kept. he was delighted with them all, except the cane, and quite forgot his disappointment, except when he glanced arabella's way, and then he would remark with a sigh, “ah, if i only had her, i know she would get quite strong and well on seaweed soup; mellin's food is not to be compared to it.” in fact his cup of joy seemed to be full and running over, for he was continually being seized by an excessive risibility, and the more serious and matter of fact the children were, the more he laughed. lucia and louisa, however, excused him very kindly. lucia considered it as a proof of his untamed nature, unrestrained by contact with and by the gentle influence of the customs, contraventions, and conventions of the civilized upper world. she also set it down in her account, which she was going to settle some day with the malicious fairy, as another of that wicked person's wicked deeds. while louisa began to think that he was a very jovial and good-tempered man, and if she had any lingering fears of his ogre-like propensities they vanished completely before the sound of his hearty laughter. then they went into the next room to lay the two blankets on the bed of ferns. and here a what-would-have-been, but for mr. hermit crab, very serious quarrel took place between lucia and louisa. the children disagreed as to which blanket should lie on top and be the counterpane. lucia said that the pink was by far the prettier, ( 72 ] mr. hermit crab while louisa preferred the blue. neither would give in to the other, for they felt that it would be a weakness on their part to give in and strike their flag, and matters began to wear a serious aspect, when mr. hermit crab interposed with the happy idea that they should take it in turns, day by day. they agreed, but again a difficulty arose. which blanket should have the first turn? again mr. hermit crab interposed, and again with success. he proposed that they should toss up for it, and he took a penny out of his pocket, which increased still more lucia's wrath against the malicious fairy, as she thought of the terribly irony of giving money to mr. hermit crab, and not teaching him its use, or allowing him to spend it in the upper world, and buy the pleasures which the possession of money could give him. the toss-up proved favourable to lucia, and she carefully laid the pink blanket on the top, and smoothed it with a partial hand. then they helped their host to lay the cloth, and set the table for dinner. at dinner they again made a tasty meal of seaweed soup, amongst other dainties of the sea, and also had the delight of seeing mr. hermit crab eat it with one of the wooden spoons. they told him, too, about the false alarm of the measles, and about their being sent to bed, because they could eat nothing after the seaweed soup. this recital and that of miss gray's losing them, with which they also favoured him, threw him into convulsions of laughter, and so it was in high good spirits and humour with each other that after dinner they set about giving mr. hermit crab his first [73] mr. hermit crab experience of lessons. the lesson went off very well, for when mr. hermit crab was inclined to be refractory, one glance at the cane swishing through the air in lucia's ready and willing hand, was sufficient to cow all turbulent feelings. when the lesson was finished, they parted, and it was with deep regret on both sides. [ 74 ] chapter ix what happens when fairies and mortals meet the two children spent all the days that come between sunday and wednesday in a dreary, monotonous round of eating, drinking, and sleeping, which only enhanced their spirits on this momentous afternoon. they went down to the beach great friends, because of their prolonged absence from each other's company, and the dullness of their late occupations. once there, however, they began to make up for lost time, and their frolicsomeness was so ill-timed that miss gray commanded them on pain of her wrath not to go out of her sight. since this injunction cut off all hope of a visit to mr. hermit crab, they were instantly sobered, and sat gravely down on a rock, which was as far off as they could possibly go from miss gray without breaking the conditions imposed upon them. nevertheless, their high spirits revived before long, and they were soon happily engaged in paddling, well protected from the waves by large canvas knickerbockers, drawn over their skirts and fastened by a strap around their waists, though still at some distance from miss gray. their bliss, however, was short, for while engaged in making stones skip over the waves, they suddenly heard [ 75 ] mr. hermit crab short, fierce barks behind them, and turning hastily round they saw two, lean, hungry-looking, wolf-like dogs, with bloodshot eyes, open mouths, and gleaming tusks, rushing over the sand in their direction. no time was to be lost and no time was lost. lucia and louisa gave but one glance and then hastily turned and fled. into the waves they scurried, and clambered, breathless and panting with fear, on to a rock, jutting from the sea. the dogs, however, showed no signs of despair, but plunged into the waves and swam up to and round the rock on which the children were perched, huddled together. once more the dogs swam round the rock, and then the most fearful-looking of the two placed his dripping paws on a ledge and began to drag his huge body out of the water on to it. the children gazed at him immovable with terror for the moment, but when the other beast began to do the same, their endurance came to an end, and with a piercing shriek they flung themselves into the water, and made for the shore and miss gray. but scarce the friendly shore touched had they, when they were stopped in their mad flight by a young lady, who calmly put out her two hands and thus brought them to a halt. then she said in a very cool, off-hand sort of tone, and with a very sweet smile playing round the corners of her mouth, plainly to be seen, though the owner was evidently trying to repress it, “there's no hurry, the dogs won't eat you, so don't be frightened.” this speech capped lucia's wrath, which was boiling. "girl!" she mentally styled her, as she viewed a young lady of about eighteen or nineteen, dressed simply in white serge and a sun-browned sailor-hat, with chestnut[76] ፣ os a young lady in a sailor-hat. mr. hermit crab coloured hair, very curly eyes, and a very cheerful countenance. and she thought of her wrongs and felt simply furious. first, to allow such fearful dogs perfect freedom, so that they might persecute and endanger the lives and dignity of innocent people like themselves. secondly, not to call them back, when she saw on whom their fierce onslaught was bent. thirdly, to laugh and tell them outright that they were cowards, for what else was the meaning of her speech? lucia, indeed, could not say to herself that she had not been frightened, but still she thought to herself, “why should this girl, who keeps such brutes, make such a to-do about a little matter of nerves ?" with these laudable sentiments in her mind, lucia viewed the unknown young lady with a critical and somewhat hostile stare, which was a little marred by the dogs coming up at this instant, and her gaze could not help wandering to them and watching their movements anxiously. with a good cause, too, as it seemed, for the dogs kept snuffing around them and growling far down in their throats in an ominous manner, which made louisa quake visibly, but lucia kept a bold demeanour, barring her wandering eyes. at last the unknown took pity on them and quenched her too sweet smile, and said in a less off-hand tone, “they won't hurt you, truly, on my honour. here wolf ! tiger! come here, sirs! if you give them a biscuit and ! pat their heads, they will be good friends with you." the children patted their heads gingerly, and gave them a biscuit each, though they did it in mortal fear of having their hands snapped off. when that ordeal had been undergone without mortal injury, the dogs seemed to [79] mr. hermit crab understand that they were harmless and might be left unmolested, for they again proceeded to gambol over the sand, leaving the children and their mistress to continue their conversation. the unknown began, “are you twins? or sisters ?” this apparently harmless and very allowable question upset lucia once more. "of course not!” she replied sarcastically. "why, we're not the least bit alike!" “oh, i thought you might be, you know," replied the young lady nonchalantly. "i'm sorry, but i don't know anything of the kind !" , louisa now tried to pour oil on the troubled water. "are your dogs twins ?" “of course not! why, they're not the least bit alike!" but this answer was evidently a perversion of the truth, for the dogs were almost exactly alike, and it was too much for lucia. she turned to louisa and said grandiloquently, "come, louisa !" and it was easier to say it, since at that moment the dogs came loping up, “we must be going home. miss gray always forbids us to have anything to do with mongrel, mangy curs." yet lucia ordinarily was a very polite, nice-mannered, nice-spoken little girl, but remember her disappointment about going to visit mr. hermit crab and the subsequent exasperating occurrences of the afternoon, and that lucia's temper was at all times wanting in perfection. now it was the dogs' mistress's turn to be angry. "mangy, mongrel curs !" she exclaimed. "here! wolf! tiger! come here! we must be going home. miss grigs, i am sure, would never allow us to consort with [80] mr. hermit crab such ragamuffins as these children are." and she hummed in a most aggravating manner the words, "around the rugged rocks the ragged rascals ran,” which every child who begins to learn french has to learn to say in order to roll his or her r's properly. lucia had already turned her back on the mongrel curs and their owner, when her curiosity was roused by the mention of miss grigs. she immediately felt an overpowering desire to know more of that lady, and her desire overcame her wrath and pride. she turned round again, and said in tones which her curiosity wished to make ingratiating and her pride ungracious, “i'm sorry i said mongrel curs, it was as true as what you said, i mean when you said they weren't twins, when they are. is miss grigs your governess ?” the young lady evidently felt inclined to accept this amende d'honneur, for she replied graciously, "i think you may call her so, unless you prefer duenna." "is she nice or nasty ??) "i don't know whether you could quite say she was nasty, but she is certainly somewhat vinegary at times.” this answer removed some of lucia's dire sense of the wrong which had been inflicted on her, and she felt inclined to forgive a fellow-sufferer. “is she most amiable to you in public and vinegary in private, like miss gray?" again miss grig's charge conceded this disparaging question. “certainly she is more acid in private, but i do not know if she is like miss gray, as i have not the honour of that lady's acquaintance. is she your gov. erness ?" ( 81 ) mr. hermit crab "she is !" sighed lucia melodramatically. "is she nice or the reverse ?" "she's like miss grigs, my-dearing you when other people are by and sending you to bed when they are gone.” “miss grigs does not send me to bed,” replied the dogs' mistress a little coldly. “no, i suppose you are too old.” and lucia sighed again, for her thoughts were occupied with miss gray; very likely the unknown was thinking about miss grigs; and louisa was speculating as to how long the dogs would keep their present distance from her. their mistress was the first to speak and break an egg, “would you mind telling me your names?" "not at all.” lucia was always polite, if spoken to ” with proper civility and courtesy. “though,” continued lucia thoughtfully, "to be introduced to people at the very moment that you see them for the first time, as hostesses and people do, has its disadvantages, for you miss the pleasure of trying to imagine their names and who they are, and whom you would wish them to be." “and whom would you wish me to be?” and she smiled sweetly and obligingly. she mostly did smile. it was a trick of hers, to have a cheerful, smiling countenance on any and every occasion. “i would wish you to be a fairy,” said lucia with decision, “and i would like you to be called the malicious fairy “how peculiar !” exclaimed the young lady with a calm, cheerful insouciance, “i am the malicious fairy, at least, that is the name that some people give me. i have other [ 82 ] mr. hermit crab names, of course, still more complimentary!" and she tried to look as a fairy naturally would look, when she announces her fairy estate to mortals. her look, however, had scarcely formed itself, when it was changed into an everyday, mortal look of utter, undisguised astonishment. the storm that she had raised was not of the kind that she had expected. north pole louisa frantically clutched lucia's arm and then sank down on the sand, murmuring, “to think that she should come of all things, and now, of all times!" then with a gesture of despair and exasperation she turned to the bewildered malicious fairy, and said, “why ever didn't you stay at the north pole instead of coming to see your victim ?'' lucia's first feeling was one of pure joy, then [83] mr. hermit crab she felt that she must use caution, since she had the great responsibility of mr. hermit crab's future life on her shoulders. she determined to act with the greatest diplomacy. in accordance with this policy, she turned to louisa with her finger on her lips, and said in a stage whisper, "not a word! on your life! we must outwit her, meet greek with. greek! do nothing rash!" then aloud and carelessly she spoke to the malicious fairy, “oh! the malicious fairy, 'tis an unusual name." "rather, i'm afraid," replied the malicious fairy, still confused and not able to perceive the drift of affairs. "yes, it is rather," returned lucia still nonchalantly. "our names are much less out of the common. i'm lucia, and this is louisa, and now as we're acquainted, suppose we play ‘all for nothing.' "quite agreeable, only i'm afraid i don't know the game. louisa didn't either, but she didn't think it wise to say so. “oh, never mind, it's quite easy. you each have four shells, and you place all the shells in a heap, and you call one of the shells 'he.' then you all shut your eyes, and each one takes four shells from the heap, and whoever gets the one named 'he' has to answer whatever question the other players ask him or her. do you understand ?” ꭰ “yes, but what happens if one can't answer the question put?" “oh, he goes out of the game! the one who stays in longest wins.” louisa and the malicious fairy sat down unsuspiciously on the sand, while lucia placed the amount of > [ 84 ] mr. hermit crab shells required in a heap, and then sat down also. so far, so good, but then lucia found herself in a difficulty. it was certainly necessary for the malicious fairy to take the "he,” but how to make her, if lucia played fair and did not cheat, but kept her eyes shut? her conscience was very uneasy at the idea of cheating, but yet was not mr. hermit crab's future life at stake, and is not all fair in love or war? lucia's scruples were over? ruled, and when the other two closed their eyes, she kept hers open, though with a grave misgiving, but it was too late to turn back. the malicious fairy took the "he." lucia asked in hurried tones, "in what does your power lie? how can it be overthrown? you must tell the truth, you know, because you promised. in what? quick!” and she almost danced in her eagerness. she could not keep still, she was so pleased at her own cleverness and at the pleasure she was going to give to mr. hermit crab. the malicious fairy did not at first quite take in the question, but when she did, she astonished both lucia and louisa by bursting into peals of laughter. lucia could not help thinking, as she watched her laughing, that both the victim and his persecutor were given to laughing violently at inopportune moments. nevertheless, when she had finished laughing, the malicious fairy showed herself sensible enough. "my power! oh, well, if you must have the truth,” here there was a suspicious shake in her voice, “my good power is in tiger, my bad, in wolf. if anyone kills tiger, my ability to do good disappears; if anyone kills wolf, my ability to do harm disappears. there! you have it in a nutshell." [85] mr. hermit crab as lucia heard these words, her face grew wondrous long, and she eyed wolf with a murderous glance, but there was fear as well as murder in her eye. the malicious fairy then proposed that they should help her to fill her basket with shells. during their ramble over the shore, picking up the shells with which it was covered, and over the business of choosing some and rejecting others, the malicious fairy showed herself so amiable and affable that the three of them became quite good friends, and even lucia's bitter and hostile feelings retired into the background for the time being, though she kept trying to stir them up by telling herself very fiercely that courtesy and common civility to the malicious fairy were faithlessness and treachery to mr. hermit crab. when the basket was full, louisa happened to mention their cave, and the malicious fairy showed such enthusiasm at the idea of a real cave that the children could do no less than conduct her thither. fortunately the tide was out. the sight of the cave gave her great pleasure, and they were talking affably together about the prehistoric age and the cave-dwellers and smugglers and revenue-cutters, when wolf, who had entered a little time before the passage to the place of the tormented souls, suddenly rushed out from the hole with hair bristling, eyes starting out of their sockets, and every symptom of terror. (the children heard afterwards from mr. hermit crab that wolf had invaded his territories and he had thrown a boot at him). however, worse came of wolf's unhappy adventure, for it brought the hole under the notice of the malicious fairy. [ 86] mr. . hermit crab she immediately became full of curiosity and enthusiasm for exploring in vain did the children first tell her that the hole ended very soon, and then tried to frighten her with stories of the noises which the tormented souls made. she taunted them with deficiency in the womanly possession of laudable curiosity, and with cowardice, and told them that she had hoped for better things from them. it was hard to bear, but when they persisted in thwarting her ladyship's royal desire, her affability dropped from her like a cloak, and she assumed a threatening aspect. "you dare, puny mortals, put yourselves in opposition to me, to me! unhand me! creations of dust! or i will change you into something more durable than your present form, stone!" she drew a circle on the sand, and a began to wave a long piece of seaweed in the air and to make magic passes with it, and to mumble incantations. louisa grew pale as death and her limbs were relaxed and numb with fear; lucia pale, too, but desperate, seized a stone, and caught wolf by an ear. "i will dash out his brains with this stone !" she cried. “vade retro, sathanas!" when the malicious fairy heard these words, she threw down her piece of seaweed, a magic wand for the nonce, smudged out the circle with her foot, gave a piercing shriek, turned and aed, but took her basket of shells with her. her four-footed satellites, wolf, wrenching his ear out of lucia's grasp, and tiger, followed her. in silence lucia and louisa rose, and went to miss gray, whom they found about to go home. in silence they returned home. [ 87 ] chapter x a deus alights ex machina a the next morning, miss gray received a letter which gave her considerable surprise, since it was from no less a person than lucia's great-uncle stephenson. its contents were also unexpected, for, although mr. stephenson was in the habit of writing to miss gray at certain periods of the year, his letters only contained a brief and ceremonious inquiry after her own and her charge's health, and the progress which lucretia was making in her studies. this letter, however, which had arrived at no certain period, had no such contents. it briefly notified miss gray that she might expect the honour of a visit from mr. stephenson on wednesday morning at 10:30 a. m. mr. stephenson also set down his hope that he should find lucretia as advanced in her studies as he could wish, and a room ready aired and prepared, since he intended to make no short stay, provided that the air of the place suited him. this letter auttered miss gray not a little (to use the expression which lucia made use of when she retailed the news to louisa after breakfact), for miss gray had her doubts as to whether mr. stephenson would find his great-niece such as he wished. this doubt rendered her especially critical of lucia's behaviour, and lucia felt during monday and tuesday that life was very hard, when people like miss gray and miss grigs had authority and rule. [ 88 ] mr. . hermit crab nevertheless, she had a secret hope that great-uncle stephenson might turn out to be less black than he was painted. this hope buoyed her up when she found that miss gray, hoping to impress great-uncle stephenson with the idea of her extreme care and attention had decided that she would keep lucia at lessons till the very moment of his entering the garden-gate. miss gray had half-expressed thoughts floating through her brain, viz.would it not impress mr. stephenson very favourably on her behalf, if he should find lucia putting away tidily her lesson-books, while she was exhorting her in such wise, "lucretia, my dear," in a firm but gentle manner, "you really must learn to be neat. neatness, my dear, is . the soul of punctuality, and punctuality is the great thing. try to remember it, my dear." then mr. stephenson would say in a pleased tone, charmed to surprise a model governess, "i am very, very glad, very glad to see, miss gray,” etc. these thoughts, though only halfformed, had nevertheless tended greatly to influence miss gray's decision that lucia should not have a whole holiday on wednesday in honour of great-uncle stephenson's coming, which she and louisa earnestly petitioned for. she remembered a certain sentence in one of mr. stephenson's letters, which lamented the injurious increase in holidays in honour of petty events in these degenerate times. such being the case, she was adamantine to louisa's entreaties on the behalf of lucia, and louisa had to depart to her own house, bitterly indignant at miss gray's injustice, and exchanging sympathetic glances with lucia, which that young lady returned with a shrug of her shoulders and a would-be stoical-heroical look. a [ 89 ] mr. hermit crab as the morning dragged on, fate proved itself to be in opposition to miss gray, for half-past ten, eleven, and twelve hours were doled out by the great-grandfather's clock in the hall without great-uncle stephenson making his appearance. when twelve o'clock struck, miss gray at last gave ear to lucia's oft-repeated opinion that great-uncle stephenson had missed his train, or gone to sleep in the carriage, and had been carried past his station, or, gloomier grown, there had been a train accident, or he had suddenly been seized by a virulent disease, or he had been run over and was at that very moment lying pale and helpless, and perhaps minus a leg or arm or perhaps both, in a narrow bed in some hospital, with another case waiting on a stretcher, till death should make him give up his bed to him. though miss gray did not quite believe all lucia's dismal prophecies, still she thought that there was no hope of mr. stephenson's coming before the afternoon at least, and she felt that some fresh air would do her good, and so she ordered lucia to put away her books, without the preconceived oration, and get ready to go out with her. consequently at ten minutes past twelve miss gray and lucia set out, the latter in very good spirits. precisely at twelve-thirty a hansom drove up to mrs. granson's house, from which alighted a tall, elderly gentleman, stooping a little, with grizzled hair, gold-rimmed spectacles, and a top hat. he paid the driver and walked up to mrs. granson's front door and knocked. while he waited for it to open, he flicked his trousers fastidiously with his silk pocket-handkerchief, and his worried, knitted brows grew smooth, as he mentally congratulated [ 90 ] mr. hermit crab himself on the fact that he had got here at last. the door was opened by a neat, rosy handmaiden, and mr. stephenson, for it was he, entered, and met louisa in the passage, with a large doll tucked under her arm. great-uncle stephenson smiled amiably and chucked her under the chin with one finger. “well, lucretia, my " dear, here we are at last. i suppose you had quite given up hope of seeing me to-day.” louisa gasped and at this moment mrs. granson, who had heard a strange voice, came to see what was happening. conceive her astonishment at being accosted thus, "ah, miss gray, i must apologise for having arrived at this unseasonable time, but, first of all, let me express my satisfaction at seeing lucretia looking so well. i owe you indeed many thanks for the care you have given her; no one, indeed, would imagine that a mother's care was wanting (as it was not). i have no doubt after this proof that i shall find her studies in a like state, and all that i could desire.” whilst he was speaking thus in suave tones, he shook the astonished mrs. granson warmly by the hand. then his beaming eye fell upon louisa's grandfather and grandmother, who had followed mrs. granson very closely. mr. stephenson bowed politely, and addressed the grandmother first, "i think i need no introduction, when i see mrs. groats before me (miss gray's landlady). may i assure you of my hearty thanks for the great satisfaction that you have given miss gray, and through miss gray, me.” he then turned to the grandfather, bent on doing the affable impartially, “mr. butes (the vicar), if i am not mistaken (which he was, very much so, indeed). i know you from the description which miss gray has [91] mr. hermit crab given me of you in her letters to me. i hope you will receive me kindly as a new parishioner of yours, and preach in your choicest mood on sunday. i warn you beforehand that i expect great things of you, for miss gray has given me an idea of your feats of rhetoric." these amiable remarks of his, however, did not give the lively pleasure which they would have without doubt, if they had been addressed to the right persons. as it was, the wrong persons experienced no sensation of pleasure, but rather one of overwhelming surprise and consternation. louisa, though the smallest, was the only one of the party who saw how matters stood. giving an ecstatic skip she exclaimed, "why, mother, it's great-uncle stephenson, you know, and he's come to the wrong house !" then, turning to mr. stephenson, she inquired, "didn't you see it was the wrong number, because your spectacles have gold rims ? lucia and i don't believe in gold-rimmed spectacles; we think they aren't half so good as useful, serviceable steel ones. because, you know, it's not always gold that glitters, and sensible people always judge people who wear such gaudy, useless ornaments as vain, stiffnecked, puffed up, worldly scis-scis—what did mr. butes call them in his sermon on sunday, mother?-oh, scismatics! i hope, great-uncle stephenson, you have not cast in your lot with those, and fallen into the pit set apart for the unwary feet of the ungodly.” mr. stephenson's bland smile faded gradually away, his brows drew together again in a worried fold-he took off the offending spectacles, and began to shine them mechanically with his silk handkerchief. “yes—yes— [ 92 ] mr. hermit crab my dear,” he said abstractedly, “i suppose you are right, but did you say this was the wrong house?” by this time mrs. granson had grasped the situation, and she now came valiantly to the rescue. "certainly wrong, mr. stephenson, but not very far wrong. miss gray and your little great-niece live next door. unhappily they are at present out, since they had given up all hope of your arrival." “ “next door !" mr. stephenson exclaimed in accents of extreme surprise. “my dear madam! you must be mistaken! i beg your pardon, but i saw to let set up in a window.” "to let!” then mrs. granson's eye fell on louisa's tell-tale face. “louisa! what is this?" louisa had the grace to blush. "it was lucia who did it." so she excused herself. “but why?” "because because we didn't want to break the last commandment." "but what has that to do with saying that the house was 'to let'?” "well, you see, i coveted lucia's house, because, you know, it really is much nicer than ours, mother, and so lucia said that if it was to let, i could covet it quite well, because it wouldn't belong to my neighbour, as mrs. groats lives ever so far down the other side of the street." “i don't see the logic of that quite,” replied her mother gravely, “for the house belongs to miss gray." “i know,' returned louisa eagerly, “but we mesmerised miss gray into thinking of it as to let.” [ 93 ] mr. hermit crab "you did! and do you really think, louisa, that you made miss gray think such a thing ?” "i'm afraid,” replied louisa reluctantly, that our influence over her is rather slight, though,” she continued more hopefully, "i daresay it is enough to prevent me breaking the last commandment.' mrs. granson turned from louisa as incorrigible to mr. stephenson. “my little girl is a great friend of your great-niece," she said, "so, i hope that you will honour us with your company at lunch, which is now ready. you must be tired after your journey." mr. stephenson accepted with many thanks, for he now knew into whose hands he had fallen. the name, louisa, had enlightened him on that point, for sometimes he received letters from lucia, which had not been censored by miss gray, [94] u scientific research on the seashore chapter xi after lunch great-uncle stephenson was sitting in a chair in the garden in the company of mrs. granson and louisa's grandfather and grandmother and louisa, and was making himself generally agreeable, when miss gray and lucia returned home. lucia was spared all the embarrassment of the meeting by louisa, who, jumping off great-uncle stephenson's knee, so speedily had her intimacy with that gentleman increased, seized hold of her dearest friend and hauled her up for judgment. “this is lucia. i think you will like her as well as you [95] mr. hermit crab do me—she's quite nice really, you know. anyway, you ought to, if you don't, because she's your great-niece, and blood is thicker than water.' then she told lucia in a sort of loud confidential aside, “it's great-uncle stephenson, lucia. he was lazy (mr. stephenson had said he had overslept himself) and so he missed his train, but he's quite nice. he said he wouldn't mind two people on his knees at all.” then great-uncle stephenson greeted miss gray in a manner which at once set at rest all the misgivings which had instantly crowded to that lady's brain, when she found that he had arrived and found no joyful welcome from herself. later, everyone adjourned to the seashore, where lucia and louisa took complete possession of greatuncle stephenson. his trials were many and severe. they used his silk top hat as a receptacle for small and very active crabs, and kept him busily occupied in pushing them down to the bottom of the hat, as they began to crawl up again the instant they felt the bottom. nevertheless, he preferred keeping a constant supervision over their movements to facing lucia's and louisa's reproachful faces, when they found that a particularly obnoxious crab had escaped. all the same, he felt keenly that the silk handkerchief which he wore as a substitute for the natural covering of his head, made him look extremely ridiculous, and he suffered agonies of mind when he thought of the likelihood of his meeting anybody. besides, it was but a scanty protection from the burning rays of the sun. his linen handkerchief was of no use whatever, for it had been converted into a pulpy, drip[ 36 ] mr. . hermit crab ping, shapeless mass, from being successively used as a net to catch those same green crabs, which had nipped great-uncle stephenson's fingers severely when he took them out of the impromptu net, and dropped them into his hat, and also as a receptacle for sand-aies. greatuncle stephenson had been used to regard sand-aies with at least indifference if not with liking, but on this memorable afternoon his benevolent tendencies towards them were changed into a positive hatred. he found that he was expected to grovel on his knees on the sand, thereby injuring his lavender-striped trousers past remedy, and catch handfuls of the jumping creatures, and place them in his handkerchief without crushing them to death or letting them escape. to his great joy, the undertaking proved too difficult, and the enterprise was abandoned. then they went for a scramble over the rocks, which he found extremely discomforting, since he caught his toes within the cracks and crevices, and scratched his kid boots, besides spoiling them irremediably by wading through rock-pools. in the midst of this excursion he lost his gold-rimmed spectacles down a seemingly bottomless crevice. lucia and louisa were mortally sure that they had fallen into mr. hermit crab's dwelling, but they said nothing of this. the search for them was fruitless, and great-uncle stephenson had to depart from that place spectacleless. mrs. granson and miss gray could find no words to express their amazement at his total change of appear. ance when the children brought him back in triumph, and so, default of words, they laughed. he had left them, a perfectly dressed, irreproachable looking elderly ( 97 ) mr. hermit crab > seen. gentleman :tailor-cut coat and trousers, shiny kid boots, gold-rimmed spectacles, kid gloves, cane, and a silk chimney pot-a battered scare-crow returned, hatless, save for a handkerchief knotted round his head, the kid boots scratched and sodden, his kid gloves gone (he had put them in his pocket, for fear lest lucia's inventive genius should find another use for them), the cane in lucia's hand, and the gold-rimmed spectacles nowhere to be all his clothes had a dilapidated, hard-used look, and there were salt-water stains in plenty, but, about the cut of them, there still remained an air of faded gentility as if they had seen better days. the worst ignominy, however, was before him. in this wretched, disrespectable state he had to walk home, and face the populace in his forlorn condition. he remembered that walk home for long afterwards. the jeers of the street-boys, their dirty fingers pointed derisively at him were very painful, especially when he thought of the reverential silence in which he had passed through them before. then there was the gaze of the respectable part of the population to encounter and the amount of windows which were flung open and the number of heads which appeared, as he advanced up the street with a mocking cortège of children of all ages and sexes attending him, and the doorways filled with admiring spectators—these things were not to be forgotten; they were burnt in on his brain, however low he cast his eyes. the two sympathising ladies on either side and the resentful glares which lucia and louisa showered broadcast on the crowd were slight alleviations to his humiliation. the excitement was general; all left their occupations and + [ 98 ] mr. hermit crab turned to gaze. great-uncle stephenson found it extremely trying for a man of his age, disposition, and retired habits. in vain did he ask himself what difference would it make a hundred years hence; he did not derive much present comfort, and he felt a rush of thankfulness when the friendly front door closed behind him, and shut out the madding crowd, which parted with him with three ironical cheers. ( 99 ) chapter xii scientific research on land the next morning great-uncle stephenson came downstairs in a melancholy frame of mind, not that he had spent a bad night, but the numerous deficiencies of his dress weighed painfully upon him. this was owing to the fact that his luggage had not yet come. his external habiliments consisted of a pair of trousers a world too short for him, a coat which hung loosely on his narrow, scholarlike shoulders, and which flapped wildly in the gentlest breeze, both garments the property of old mr. dalrymple, and a pair of gaudy, red carpet slippers, embroidered with full-blown cabbage-roses. a straw hat which waggled from side to side was on his head, and in this promiscuous attire he sidled bashfully down the stairs into the hall. carefully he looked round to ascertain that no one was in sight. (lucia and miss gray were having lessons.) he then opened his gladstone bag, and examined its contents with a care but little rewarded. there was only his cherished butterfly net, and his apparatus for curing and preserving butterflies, and a purse, which he slipped into his pocket, besides a case of cigars. he lighted one of these, and began to puff it thoughtfully, seated on his possessions. this period of tranquillity, however, did not last long. [100] mr. hermit crab there floated in through the half-open door a large butterfly. down went great-uncle stephenson's choice havana; he jumped up and drew forth his familiar net, darned in many places, where the brambles had torn it, when he was endeavouring to snare some brightly coloured variety. "the vanessa antiopa !” exclaimed / . great-uncle stephenson, and he dashed at it with his net, but the butterfly turned and flew through the door out into the open air. great-uncle stephenson rushed after it, down the path into the street. the butterfly had settled on a cherry-tree a few gardens away, but it was routed from there by great-uncle stephenson, and it flew into a corn-field. without taking any heed of the corn he was trampling underfoot, much to the disgust [ 101 ] mr. hermit crab > of the irate owner, who was leaning on a gate near at hand, great-uncle stephenson ran wildly after it, leaving his hat behind him, “and why, because it was too large.” then the butterfly floated lazily over a hedge of thorns, which its pursuer scrambled painfully through. they were now in an orchard, and so the butterfly had many reasons for lingering, and settled on fallen fruit here and there in a calm manner which exasperated great-uncle stephenson extremely. he was kept dancing from tree to tree, until he was quite exhausted, and had to mop his heated face after each attack. the butterfly seemed quite to enjoy the fun, and time after tiine raised delusive hopes in great-uncle stephenson's breast. it would let him come just so near as to make him think he must have it this time, and then would rise, and wing its flight elsewhere. at last it left the orchard, and drew its unhappy follower after it into a neat garden wellstocked with brilliantly-dyed flowers of every kind. now, this garden belonged to the rev. mr. butes, and it was with ill-digested ire that that worthy gentleman from his study window saw this ill-omened depredator planting careless footsteps in the middle of each symmetrically laid out bed, and scattering rosebuds far and wide with his dangerous weapon. mr. butes did not hesitate, he rung the bell instanter, and commanded the neat handmaiden, who came at his silver-tongued signal, to send william to him. mr. butes pointed out the depredator to william with a plump, outstretched finger; no words were needed. william, filled with just wrath on behalf of his garden, the pride of his heart, the apple of his [ 102 ] mr. hermit crab eye, opined that the policeman had better be called in. that official came. as great-uncle stephenson was making a desperate jump on to the top of an immense double peony, the flower of its family, he felt a strong hand on the collar of his coat, and he was suddenly brought to, and nearly strangled. looking round, he found himself in the grip of the law, and on the path were the accusing faces of mr. butes and william. great-uncle stephenson's inner consciousness told him that he had better make no resistance, but his eye fell on the vanessa antiopa vanishing on the horizon with a last flirt of her tail, and he struggled valiantly. a gruff voice soon brought him to a clearer sense of his position. “here, you've had your bit of fun, so you'd better come along quietly, or it'll be the worse for you.” in vain great-uncle stephenson protested his entire innocence, but his eloquent defence fell in the face of the evidence of the desecrated beds and flowers. his threats and prayers were treated with marked contempt by his three capturers, and he was marched off by the policeman, to the manifest triumph of william and the no less, but unconfessed, triumph of the priest, whose priestly feelings had been superseded for the time by those of the injured proprietor. great-uncle stephenson's feelings were intensely harrowing, as he neared the scene of his former martyrdom. he also could not but grieve for the loss of his vanessa antiopa, snatched from him, he fondly fancied, in the 'hour of triumph. here he sighed and sighed again, as he saw the houses of porthnock rise up before him. captor and captured had almost reached lucia's house, [103] mr. hermit crab when lucia and louisa, playing in the garden, espied to their mingled horror, amazement, and anger, their great uncle stephenson coming, accompanied by a policeman, who, “oh, woe, oh, death, oh, lightl" had his great, hairy hand on great-uncle stephenson's collar! instantaneously' they gave a shriek,' rushed out, and almost tore their beloved uncle out of the hands of the astonished policeman. they were followed almost immediately by miss gray and mrs. granson, who had been summoned by the children's shriek of rage. to them the policeman appealed, to remove the young ladies from his charge. upon this, mrs. granson became extremely curious and eager to know what were the crimes which had reduced great-uncle stephenson to so low an estate. when she knew, her amazement became still greater, if anything. mr. stephenson, the trespasser, the wanton injurer of property, was a person entirely unknown to her. the children had listened . with speechless indignation. she demanded an explanation from the culprit himself, and though she had the deepest respect for great-uncle stephenson she could not forbear laughing during his recital of the morning's misfortunes. lucia and louisa joined in her laughter, but they also sympathized with great-uncle stephenson, because the butterfly had escaped. then she asked the policeman if they might accompany their friend to the court, and if he would mind loosing his grip of greatuncle stephenson's collar. she elicited a favourable answer to both prayers, although the policeman showed a natural reluctance to quit his hold of the collar. the party set out for the court of justice as follows: [ 104 ] mr. hermit crab lucia and louisa in front, catching tight hold of the much-injured great-uncle stephenson's hands. mrs. granson and miss gray walked behind, trying to soothe the doughty custodian of the law, although their efforts were much impeded by lucia and louisa, who kept up an audible duet in front. lucia speaks: “poor, dear uncle !" louisa : "mangled by that wretch of a policeman!" lucia : “did he nearly strangle you?” louisa: : "with his great, coarse, clumsy hands !" lucia: "as if he could not see the difference between my great-uncle stephenson and a common malefactor!" louisa: "bat!" policeman: "begging your pardon, miss, but not so blind, neither. i think his own mother would need her specs to recognise him in his present clothes." lucia and louisa turn a deaf ear. and so on, which certainly did not improve the policeman's temper. when they came to their destination, mrs. granson prudently left the children outside, there to spend an anxious quart d'heure de rabelais. the result, however, was satisfactory, and great-uncle stephenson, swallowing his naturally hasty temper, showed himself truly great, for he gave the policeman half-a-crown, in a most christian spirit, which lucia and louisa immediately copied by bidding the obnoxious bat good morning, though somewhat haughtily to be sure. in an afterthought great-uncle stephenson asked him what unhappy criminal he was going to take up next? the policeman grinned broadly as he replied, “a great friend of your'n, master. i'm just going to see the parson about his shooting without a license; i thought of it when i was there before, but considered as i'd better seę after you first." [ 105 ] mr. . hermit crab and as he spoke the fingers of his hand unclosed mechanically. great-uncle stephenson did not disappoint him, and the half-crown was increased to five shillings. at the same moment the children's faces unbent, and the policeman went up immensely in their opinion. they determined the next time they saw him, to acknowledge him as an acquaintance, instead of cutting him dead, as they had meant to, and they all parted with the arm of the law in a most affable manner. [106] on heaven but mostly on hell chapter xiii a the next day lucia and louisa set about a task which had been preying on their minds for some time past. they found out, when it was too late, that they had completely forgotten to ask the malicious fairy for her address. louisa indeed despondently asked lucia if she thought she had a proper address, and if it was possible for lucia to know that she wasn't living at the north pole, and had only just paid a flying visit that day to her [107] mr. hermit crab victim, and had had a picnic lunch on the beach. lucia scouted the idea indignantly. “do you think she would be dressed like an ordinary person then? and do you think that we shall not find her—we, appointed by destiny to be the saviours of mr. hermit crab, and to make her loose her hand, red with the blood of her victims, from its fatal grasp?" “grasp where?" asked louisa. "oh, on his collar, i should imagine, like the policeman had his hand on great-uncle stephenson's collar." “but i thought you said yesterday that she had put her foot on his neck. she couldn't do both, could she ?” "oh, i daresay she does them in turns. but think, louisa, don't have such an earthy mind, think that we are perhaps also appointed to end her crimes, to free the world of its oppressor, to kill this vampire who sucks human blood! does not your heart swell proudly at the thought? do you not step out more freely, do you not breathe a purer, more rarefied air? think what a blessing you are doing to mankind !" louisa could not have felt these emotions, for she said, “really, lucia, don't you think it is rather conceited of you, as if you were picked out, because you are so much better than anybody else? mother says no one is worthy, till they have confessed themselves miserable sinners.” louisa went on, for the malicious fairy's affability had won her heart. "perhaps she isn't so wicked as you think, lucia; perhaps she was never taught anything better, so we ought not to kill her; perhaps she's only possessed !” lucia became grave for an instant. “very likely," she 1 1 1 1 ( 108 ) mr. hermit crab said soberly, “but then," and she brightened up again, "it's all the more important and there's all the more need to find her and free her from the fiend who possesses her! we must not lose an instant, louisa! we must kill wolf directly she has disenchanted mr. hermit crab.” louisa sighed, but protested no more, although killing at all was not to her taste, and she had a wholesome fear of wolf. lucia then began her operations in the most approved strategic fashion. first she won over great-uncle stephenson, a comparatively easy task, to her plan, which was simply to allow louisa and herself to go for a walk by themselves in the afternoon. permission was granted, by the means of expending a few blandishments. mrs. granson was next appealed to, and her permission was elicited, after a liberal expenditure of promises, that was, if miss gray said "yes" too. then lucia delegated to louisa the task of tackling miss gray, as she rightly conjectured that that lady would listen more favourably to her than to herself. so lucia pushed louisa into miss gray's special sanctum, or boudoir, as she was fond of calling it (the children usually spoke of bearding the lioness in her den) directly after dinner, for lucia well knew that a good meal has always a salutary effect on the temper of even the most irritable species of mankind, or womankind for that matter. miss gray looked up with a frown, as she entered, which however speedily softened to a smile, when she saw it was louisa and not lucia, "ah, louisa, is that you? sit down, dear." louisa sat down on the extreme edge of her chair, [ 109 ] mr. hermit crab and fidgetted uneasily for some moments, while miss gray went on reading a new novel from the circulating library at henley. lucia, waiting impatiently outside with the door ajar, grew restive on account of the long silence and poked her head in. louisa caught her eye, and grew very red, and so lucia's head retired again discreetly. once more lucia's head appeared with a dumb pantomime of winks, and jerks, and frowns. still louisa said no word. lucia's head appeared again, and the same pantomime took place. louisa grew desperate. fixing an anxious 'eye on miss gray's impassive face, she broke the silence, "ahem !" “yes, dear?" louisa then exhibited all the signs of an intense nervous excitement. "please, miss gray, please!". and she jumped up from her chair in her oratorical frenzy. “yes, dear?" an unimpassioned voice replied, and the sound of it was as a wet blanket to her fevered spirit. "please, miss gray, may lucia and i-" miss gray's brow darkened as she heard lucia's name, and louisa's spirits fell proportionately, while the "yes, dear?" was very cool. “may i and lucia" (which was bad grammar but good policy, for it threw lucia in the background, very different from cardinal wolsey's “ego et meus rex, which was good grammar, but not the way a courtier should have spoken) "may i and lucia go for a walk by ourselves this afternoon?" “may lucia and you go for a walk this afternoon by yourselves” nothing could be more sublime than miss gray's attitude (it made you think of mrs. siddons) and [110] mr. hermit crab tone (her words fell like the first drops of rain before a thunderstorm, slow and heavy, fraught with meaning) of extreme horror at such a fearful project, quite incompatible with miss gray's ideas of respectability. she considered that little girls should always go for a walk with their governess, or another person of respectability, walking on either side, and talking french, or listening to a lecture on botanism. louisa hastened to go on, "mother and great uncle stephenson don't mind" (she said nothing of the condition annexed to the permission, if miss gray agrees :) "and—and—” she racked her head for a reason that might influence miss gray, "he says he thinks it makes us independent and able to think for ourselves. i suppose he was thinking about the spartans." great-uncle stephenson often praised the spartans, and told the children to be like them. miss gray pondered over these last remarks, and at last said reluctantly, "well, if mr. stephenson says you may, i suppose you can, but mind" and she began to pour forth a quantity of good advice, expressly warning louisa not to do whatever lucia told her to. during these admonitions louisa kept fidgetting uneasily. they came to an end much sooner than louisa had expected, for she had had experience of them before, but miss gray wished to continue reading her novel. when free, louisa lost no time in rushing to find lucia, in fact she sped so quickly on her errand that she nearly knocked her down by running into that young lady just outside miss gray's door. lucia's resentment at any other time would have been proportionate to the injury, but she felt that if she quarrelled with louisa, she would [111] mr. hermit crab delay the news. besides, she felt that it would be prudent to bottle up her anger in so near a proximity to miss gray. they lost no time in getting on their coats and hats and then set out. they walked along very demurely until they reached the top of the hill, on which stood the church, then they stopped, turned round, and looked back on porthnock, stretching beneath them down to the seashore, and to the sea beyond. they drew a deep breath and realised that there was no miss gray near at hand to reprimand and forbid every pleasurable deed, or at best, looking on with cold surprise and contempt. then they relieved their feelings by a race down the hill, which they had just surmounted with so much toil. this foolish proceeding over, they came up again in the highest spirits and good temper with themselves and each other. they then entered the churchyard, and looked sharply round to see if any of the malicious fairy's progenitors were buried there by the wall amongst the stinging nettles in an unconsecrated corner. louisa indeed was doubtful if the malicious fairy's predecessors were witches or wizards, and so she asked lucia why they should be such? lucia replied crushingly that witchery, like madness and other constitutional ills, was hereditary, and expected to hear no more about the matter, but louisa was not yet silenced. “but who begins it?" she asked. "for it must be begun, before anyone can inherit it." lucia was at first somewhat nonplussed, but not for long. "why, the serpent, of course!" [112] mr. hermit crab “i don't see any of coursel" protested her less learned companion. “why, don't you know that a satellite of satan sits on the left side of your heart, and your guardian angel on the right side, and they both watch every thought and feeling that passes through your heart? the one to help the good, the other the bad, for just as god appoints a guardian angel at every birth to watch over and protect the new-born baby, so satan appoints a tempter to try and destroy the deeds of the guardian angel, and destroy too the soul of the new-born baby." "but-" interrupted the sceptical louisa, "you said they sit on either side of the heart, and watch every thought and feeling that passes through it. now, you know, lucia, they can't, because the idea that the heart is the seat of intelligence is an exploded theory, at least i know great-uncle stephenson said so, and that it is the brain; the heart is only the spring of life, like the pendulum of the clock." "i only said they sat there, louisa, but, of course, they have spiritual eyes and can see all over the place, through bones and flesh and everything. but you shouldn't interrupt so, it is very rude. i am ashamed of louisa. well, this tempter goes and tells his master when the soul is in a beast of a temper and ready to do any mortal thing out of disgust and spite with everything, or perhaps some one has done it a great wrong, and it wishes to take vengeance on him, and the guardian angel dances about in a fever of agitation and flaps his wings, and keeps saying, 'remember! vengeance is mine, saith the lord. remember! patience is a great virtue. oh, you, [113] mr. hermi̇t crab remember, do remember!” and the tempter dances about in a fever of delight and kicks up his horny hoofs, and shakes his tail, and says, snapping his finger and thumb, 'oh, remember he who will not when he may, may not when he will,' which shows that the devil can quote proverbs when it suits him. 'and remember what you have suffered. are you a thing of no account? shall he, this insignificant being who has wronged you, live to laugh, and point the finger of scorn at you, and say, yes, yes, i did it, i, and i have received no hurt. remember, life is short, let us eat and drink and revenge ourselves to-day, for tomorrow we die.' and the soul says, 'remember, yes, i will remember, and he grinds his teeth, and bites his lips, and pulls his hair, and works himself up from more to more. then satan comes, most spick and span, for you see, after a few thousand years, he got plenty of lost souls to do all the work and set up to be a gentleman of leisure. then he comes, most bland and smiling, all dressed in black, like a clergyman, with a large book under his arm, which looks like the bible, but it isn't. and then the soul, when certain powers had been given him by satan, swears to become his man, and after a certain number of years, to belong to him, and be his possession, to be done whatever satan likes with. then the soul writes his name in the book, with his own blood for ink, and is lost for ever. and that is the beginning,” ended lucia solemnly, "for the unhappy descendants of that poor soul have the germs of witchery in them, which are ready to rise to the surface at the least opportunity." louisa sighed. “poor malicious fairy, i don't [114] mr. hermit crab call it fair, when she's sort of made to become wicked.” “yes, and do you know, louisa, what satan is very fond of doing? why, he makes the first witch or wizard in a family become the tempter of a descendant of his own, and of course he endures agonies of remorse!" "i don't believe it !” exclaimed louisa, much moved by the thought of the poor soul's torments of mind. “especially when he has to welcome his descendants to hell, and behave as the host, and inculcate them into all the pains and sufferings and miseries,” went on lucia who was thoroughly enjoying herself. louisa was not-she burst into passionate sobs. "i don't be-believe it! you-you are making it all up, and i-i know the malicious fairy won't go to hell. i-i know she's far too good for it, you'll go yourself first. so 'there!" lucia had not been watching the varying emotions which had been flushing and paling louisa's face for the last few minutes, and so she was surprised at this outbreak. “why, louisa! whatever is the matter?” "you are a great st-st-story-teller, so there now!" louisa replied between her sobs. “and i don't be-believe the malicious fairy belongs to satan at-at all !” lucia cast about in her mind for comfort to give louisa. "well, louisa, very likely the malicious fairy will only get a few hundred years in purgatory.' louisa stopped sobbing. "purgatory ?” “yes, you see, louisa, when people are not good enough for heaven and too good for the other place" (delicately) “they go to purgatory, and get punished for [115] mr. hermit crab their sins and purified of their baseness, and made fit for heaven. the worse they are, the longer they stay there, and if they are very bad they go to hell. you see purgatory is like a little room with three doors, one of the doors leads to heaven, the other into hell, and the other is the one by which mortals enter. there are different c instruments of torture all round the room, some of which don't hurt much, and some which are like those in hell, frying and pitchforking and suchlike." louisa did not seem much comforted, for she burst into tears again. “and-and the malicious fairy's got to be fried and pitchforked for a few hundred years! oh, lucia !" [116] mr. hermit crab “my dear," replied lucia grandly, "what are a few hundred years compared to eternity ?” but louisa could not look at it in this great white light. "how would you-you like to be fried and pitchforked for a-a few hundred years ?” "hum, not much! but i didn't say the malicious fairy had to be fried and pitchforked, i only said she would go to purgatory. very likely she will have quite easy tortures, you see, they are the same as lessons are in this world, and very likely on sundays and holidays she would be allowed to go into heaven and spend the day there." louisa's tears dried quickly as she listened to this gorgeous picture of the malicious fairy's future life. they could find, however, no traces of the malicious fairy's ancestors in the churchyard, and left the acre of god. “now, what are we to do next?" asked the weaker vessel. "you see those six houses over there, don't you? and you don't know who lives in them, do you? well, we are going to call at every one of those houses and ask if the malicious fairy lives there. witches generally live in huts, and fairies have no particular residences, but those are well, not cottages, but pretty small houses, and so i guess they'll do." “don't you think you had better go and see without me, while i have another search for the unconsecrated graves ?" "i will on no account allow that,” replied her no less wily companion. “what would miss gray say, if we parted, and what anxiety should i not endure on your account if i let you go out of my sight?” [117] mr. hermit crab louisa perceived that all protestations would be of no avail, and so she reluctantly consented to accompany lucia on her perilous errand. slowly they approached the first house, a modern, red brick building called “the braes," with large bay windows, and a garden with a box-bordered path leading up to the front door. still more slowly they entered the garden and walked up the box-bordered path. lucia, seized the knocker, a somewhat pretentious brazen chimaera, which she could just reach by standing on tip-toe, and by a most undignified stretching, and then let it fall back very gently, devoutly hoping that no one would hear, so that she might have a good excuse for saying that the inhabitants were not at home. vain hope! the door swung back and disclosed a smart little page boy in buttons. "please, is the malicious fairy within ?" asked lucia in a small, weak, and uncertain voice. (she told louisa afterwards that she wanted to cough just at that moment and that was why her voice was so low.) louisa stood aghast at her boldness, for she had quite believed that when it came to the point lucia's courage would fail her, and directly the knocker had fallen, they would turn and scurry ignominiously away, leaving an astonished servant gazing after their retreating backs and legs. the buttoned boy did not at first seem quite to understand what lucia meant, then his face cleared, “oh, you've come for the book, certainly, miss." he turned and went, leaving two very astonished children behind him, although lucia's astonishment was somewhat allayed by the pleasure of hearing herself called "miss." he was soon back again, and placed a little brown paper 7 [118] mr. hermit crab parcel in lucia's hands. “thank you, miss. good afternoon, miss.” again a thrill of gratified vanity ran through her veins, as she replied mechanically, "thank you," and then covered herself with shame by returning a "good morning" instead of a “good afternoon." a directly they were outside the gate, louisa asked, devoured by curiosity, "what book is it?" lucia was just beginning to open the parcel when her conscience interrupted her in her task. “we mustn't, i'm afraid," she said sadly. “it isn't ours, you know.” louisa felt the force of the suggestion, but her desire was not abated. "perhap it may be a very nice book, you know, for you said the malicious fairy, and the button-boy thought you meant the book, so i expect it's about fairies,” she hinted. “yes, i know it would be very nice to see what it's like," lucia sighed. "the button-boy gave it to us, so it's ours in a sort of way,” said louisa, for once playing the part of the tempter, though it was generally the other way round with lucia and herself. "but we've got it under false pretences." there was silence. the children were trying to find captious reasons why they should appropriate the book for their own pleasure. “and it would be dishonourable,” said lucia, finishing her sentence. louisa said no more, for she knew it would be no good. lucia was extremely nice and punctilious in matters which concerned her honour, and she very often mentioned her ancestors, who were men of honour, and whom it was her duty not to disgrace. [119] mr. hermit crab "besides," said lucia, "it's addressed to somebody else, so that settles the matter." louisa looked and saw “miss couronnoway, the pine grove,” inscribed in large black letters on it. “now, let us try the next house !" went on the enterprising lucia, taking the parcel under her arm, for her first attempt had rather increased her courage than otherwise, as is usually the way with afternoon calls. this next house had an extremely glaring white outside, with a kind of little enclosure, something like an extremely clean and tidy yard, in the front, and on the green entrance gate was inscribed in gilt letters, "the kraal." the house itself had also a sort of aroma or scent or something about it, which gave the idea of a farm-house, yet it was an intuition more than anything else. "i think," said lucia, as she viewed it, "that this looks like the boers a thousand miles away." boldly she advanced to open the gate, when suddenly there raced madly round the corner of the house two little black and white dogs, yelping shrilly but ferociously. the two would-be saviours of mr. hermit crab and the would be wipers off the face of the earth of the malicious fairy turned pale, and, as the little dogs came nearer, fled, while the dogs sped their parting footsteps with quite a shower of little yelping barks. lucia stopped soon, when she found that she was not being pursued. "it's all right, louisa, there's no need to run.” louisa stopped shamefacedly. “and do you know,” lucia went on in a superior sort of tone, because she had stopped running first, “the malicious fairy doesn't live there." "how do you know?” asked louisa, breathless but [120] mr. hermit crab incredulous, not that she didn't believe that the malicious fairy didn't live there, but she did not see how lucia had gained her knowledge so suddenly. "why, as if i don't know," said lucia disdainfully. "why, do you think i would have followed you in your mad alight, if i had not received an answer to my question, when i was going to the house on purpose to get an answer?” louisa winced at the "mad aight" but had her own opinion of it nevertheless. “why, those wretched little curs," safe and sound from their pursuit lucia could afford to call them names, and though not a noble or generous thing to do, it was very soothing all the same. she repeated it, “why, those wretched, little mongrel curs would have been wolf and tiger, of course! besides, didn't you see an old horse-shoe nailed to the door. fancy a witch fastening a horse's shoe to her door!” "what are you going to do next, then ?" asked louisa, wisely changing the subject. “oh, i think we'll try this house in front of us,” was the airy response. the house in front of them, which was about a hundred yards distant, seemed to have been designed by a somewhat eccentric architect, or owner, probably both. it was a long, low, one-storied building, with a dazzling roof of pink tiles. it seemed to be built mostly of wood, and the windows were very large. it stood in the middle of a green field, and the drive to it was laid along the hedge, but halfway turned straight round and set its face towards the house. the finger. post, which was set up by the side of the road, said “to the bungalow." the two children walked side by side ( 121 ) mr. hermit crab (this was their custom, when any feat of daring had to be performed, each kept a sharp eye on the other, for fear lest she should fall behind, and not participate in the glory or the danger) up the drive, which was scattered with ashes, a funestral omen. they came to the door, they were about to ring the bell, which kindly invited them to press on its little bone knob, when they happened to look in through the window by the side of the door. they both gave an involuntary gasp, and no wonder, for there was mr. hermit crab, who was destined to pass his time in the nether world until his saviours freed him; there he was before them, sitting at a writing-table and holding a pen in his hand, with which he seemed to be doing something which afforded him intense amusement, for his suppressed chuckles came clearly to them through the half-open window. with a similar impulse the two children burst open the front door and through another door, which had in enamelled letters on it “please shut this door," but they took no notice, and dashed into the room in which mr. hermit crab was sitting. he looked up at the noise of their entrance, and exclaimed “the dickens !" while surprise was admirably painted on his face. then he turned and entered a little cage which was standing by the side of the room, banged the door to, and before their eyes the cage ascended by some mysterious and unhallowed means, smelling suspiciously of brimstone and fire, carrying him with it. when it had disappeared through the ceiling, “quick !" cried lucia, “let us catch him, before the malicious fairy whisks him off to the place of tormented souls in her a [122] mr. hermit crab 9 fiery chariot.” they rushed into the passage and met mr. hermit crab coming down a flight of steps, intending to slip out by the back door, his general mode of egress when he observed through his window any objectionable visitor coming up the drive, which was in no way screened by trees on that side. lucia and louisa had taken him unawares, for he had been too engrossed by his occupation to glance out of the window. besides, they had not rung, and so how could his convenientlyslow-in-answering-the-door servant wait till he saw his master safe. the children, however, were too quick for him, but, before they could seize hold of him, he had dashed past them into the room again, and when they entered they found him disappearing through the floor by some other mysterious means. "it is no good now,” said lucia in despairing accents, "he has sank down into the bowels of the earth, she has been too much for us.” there was undying hatred in lucia's tone. louisa then drew her attention to the writing-table, over which mr. hermit crab had been bending. on it lay a spirited pen-and-ink drawing, representing the malicious fairy in all her witch's paraphernalia, the steeple-crowned hat resting lightly on her curls, and set jauntily on one side, the red cloak, the magic staff, engraven with cabalistic signs, the high red-heeled shoes with red rosettes-nothing was wanting. at the bottom was scrawled "the malicious fairy, alias miss couronnoway.” lucia had seized it, when a fearful sound came from below. it came from mr. hermit crab, who had no intention of remaining long in the cellar, for he had [123] mr. hermit crab i promised to dine at seven with miss couronnoway, a young lady in whose good graces he was most anxious to stand, and it always took him at least three hours to dress when he was going to see her, and so he began to recite a charm to drive the children from his house. in a high, nasal tone these words were shrieked through the floor, "rats and mice! i wave my wand. list! whisk your tails, i've work for you! hist! nibble and gnaw through the wainscot! drive these intruders away. what? ready, are you? then hedge them in! like the old bishop, for their sin! out of the house, come o rats and mice! two little girls, o so fat and nice! brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, follow me, follow me, for their lives! out, out with your teeth, your knivesdie the words ceased and the room was filled with a demoniacal laughter, pealing and echoing all around. lucia and louisa did not wait, the awful death of the bishop of lièges was warning them. they turned and filed before it was too late. [ 124 ] chapter xiv the adventurous task of paying afternoon calls it was long before they stopped. they were perfectly exhausted and could say nothing as they looked at each other. they panted like dogs, their cheeks were very pale, and their hair lay dank and straight on their foreheads. in fact, they had been badly frightened, and if mr. hermit crab had known the consequences of his charm it is a thousand chances to one that he would not have uttered it—so potent was it. when they got their breath again, however, they felt much the same as usual, excepting a dazed sensation somewhere at the back of their feelings, half-formed as it were, and in the first sentences which they spoke their voices were somewhat high and uncertain. "do you know," said lucia looking gravely at louisa, “i have found out that there is a very erroneous impression in many people's minds regarding the effect of fright. i speak of the very common expression, his hair stood on end with horror, and his hair bristled with fright. well, do you know, your hair hasn't stood on end or bristled or anything and i know mine hasn't. in fact, i never saw yours straighter. i suppose it's something like it is on saturday nights, after you've had a bath, [ 125 ] mr. hermit crab before it's done up in curl-papers.” lucia, though she would not own it, was really jealous of louisa's curls, not that she did not believe firmly in the superiority of her own straight dark locks, but she envied louisa her long, glossy, shining, golden ringlets, as being more showy and more likely to catch the casual eye, for she ingy mu felt certain that on a closer acquaintanceship the real inferiority would be seen, and whatever louisa might say she could never make lucia believe that her hair curled naturally and was not an artificial product. louisa now passed over lucia's last sentence, for she did not yet feel herself capable of a pitched battle with ( 126 ) mr. hermit crab lucia after the late agitations of mind which she had gone through. "perhaps we weren't frightened enough," she suggested. "well, as for fright,” replied lucia disdainfully, “perhaps not, but i know i suffered enough anxiety to turn my raven hair as white as snow." "why raven hair?” asked louisa, somewhat offended that lucia should apply such an epithet to her hair. "because in novels if the heroine's hair is dark, it is always called 'black as raven's down' or simply raven hair." “but you aren't a heroine !" “my uncle george says," retorted lucia, her ire roused by louisa's scornful air and light manner of speaking of herself, for although she did not set herself up for, or think of herself as, a heroine, still she did not like louisa to say that she was not one so flatly. “my uncle george says," she repeated to give her words more weight [lucia, before her great-uncle stephenson had arrived, had been used to quote him, but it is fatal to an oracle to be seen too near at hand], "that there are two currents of feeling in your mind: one is the outward and apparent sensation, the other the inward or backcurrent; when people do or say such irrelevant things sometimes, it is because the back-current suddenly assumes very large proportions and swallows up the other. now, he says, you, you yourself, are the heroine, the ideal, the first object of your affections of the backcurrent, and you are its heroine always, while the heroine, or sometimes the hero, of the main current changes very often and may have a lot at the same time, that is, except [127] mr. . hermit crab a if you are an extremely selfish person, or a one-ideaed person or a monomaniac; then, he says, the two currents join and become one stream, and the heroine is yourself. i think miss gray's two currents have become one stream and have the same heroine." louisa looked up with intense disapproval. "i think that makes people out to be awfully vain. your uncle george is a cynic, so there! and i know mother's backcurrent hasn't herself for a heroine at all! there!" "far be it from me, my dear louisa," replied lucia warmly, “to depreciate your mother. on the contrary i have the highest respect for her, but she must be heroine to her back-current, although this much i will say, i daresay her back-current is very small and does not run at all swiftly." “i tell you, she isn't!" lucia shook her head, but said nothing. "she isn't, i tell you, so there!" and to lucia's amazement, louisa sat down by the roadside and wept. lucia looked thoughtfully at her for a second or so. then— “i tell you, your mother is most estimable, but she is, alas, human like the rest of us," she said, unconsciously copying the rev. mr. butes. “and do you know, there's somebody coming." the effect was instantaneous; louisa rose from her lowly seat immediately, her eyes dried as quickly, and they walked along together calmly, casting casual glances at the scenery as they went, and remarking on the striking contrast there was between the dark mass of trees against the skyline and the red cows lying in the green fields dotted with daisies. [ 128 ] mr. . hermit crab the somebody turned out to be a boy of about the same age as they were, and lucia decided to ask him where the pine grove was. as they met, “my boy," she said, "could you tell me where the residence of miss “ couronnoway, the pine grove, is to be found ?" the boy gave the directions required, and perhaps hoping for something from the mildness of his interlocutress held out his hand. lucia and louisa felt in their pockets, for though lucia remembered a certain speech of greatuncle stephenson's in which he inveighed bitterly against those who undermined the honest independency of the british workman by teaching him to beg and expect his betters to keep him, yet she could not find it in her heart to refuse the mute appeal of the open hand. however, she could only find three farthings in her pocket, and as she could not insult him with so insignificant a sum she gave him a handful of nuts, and louisa supplemented her bounty with a fine, large, rosy-cheeked apple. the british workman thanked them for their unexpected presents, transferred the nuts to his own pocket, and passed on contentedly munching the apple. “now then, louisa, come along, and let us beard the lioness in her den !” exclaimed lucia in great excitement. the two children broke into a trot, which soon became a gallop, and at last a regular race, and they did not stop until they came to the dark mass of trees, which the very youthful british workman had pointed out as the pine grove. then they examined breathlessly the home of the malicious fairy. in front of them was a large, closely shut, most inhospitable-looking iron gate, through which was seen the drive, which curved and lost itself a [ 129 ] mr. hermit crab a amongst the trees that stood on either side. the reason for the name was obvious enough, for there was quite a forest, as it seemed, of pines intermixed with firs, stretching along the high-road, and guarded by iron palings, through which the ground showed, matted with cones and dried fir branches, with moss pushing through here and there. for an instant the children hesitated; there was something gloomy and forbidding about the place altogether, partly the effect of the sombre trees, heightened by the sun's just having gone behind a cloud, partly the knowledge or feeling that behind it all was a witch, bending over a cauldron, stirring with a stick most unholy ingredients, a black cat seated high up behind her, growling and spitting and putting her back up at wolf and tiger, snarling back with equal enmity—frightful vision, which they both tried to banish from their minds. lucia shivered as she pushed open the iron gate, which seemed to make a fearfully loud noise, as it clanged to again when they had passed through. the thought immediately flashed through lucia's brain that the iron gate was a victim of the malicious fairy's wicked arts, once a powerful prince, ruler over a mighty kingdom, who had offended her by trying to warn her victims against her. in her wrath, she had touched him with her wand, and turned him into his present form, to endure the agony of seeing all her victims pass through to fall into her clutches without being able to warn them of their fate. perhaps with manly courage, had he again and again, when set hospitably open, wrenched away his fastening and shut himself, in defiance of the malicious fairy's anger. the noise which the gate had made, when [ 130 ] mr. hermit crab it clanged to, was it not a groan wrung from his manly heart at the sight of two more victims, and such victims? perhaps, too, were all these tall and stately trees but more victims, pent in hollow trunks by her foul magic, ariels tortured by a sycorax. howbeit, they walked along bravely, but when they came to the first turning, they instantaneously turned round to have a last long look at the white high-road, as if it were an old friend they were leaving. every minute the chill air seemed to grow heavier, the light more dim, the silence more intense. they heard no sound but those of their feet on the gravel, which made a most appalling noise, and a rustle every now and then among the thickly piled branches, very likely made by some bird in its fight, but it made them start, look fearfully about them, and press nearer to each other. when they had walked for some time in this manner, lucia felt that she must break the silence which was becoming unbearable and the everlasting crunch, crunch of their boots. but she could only speak in a whisper, so overawed was she by the general hush, “do you know, louisa, i never knew my boots could make such a noise before?" "nor did i,” came the low whisper back. “do you know, lucia, , i feel exactly as if i were in church?” “so do i.” then they relapsed into silence again, and trudged on, preys to the keenest anxiety. they turned a corner, and suddenly the full glare of the sunlight fell on them again, dazzling them for the moment. there was an instantaneous change in their surroundings. left behind was the pine forest with all its gloom and its depressing influences. before them lay [131] mr. hermit crab a handsome modern mansion, surrounded by gay flowerbeds, laid out in intricate patterns and artistic fashions, and, greatest wonder of all, there, there was the malicious fairy busily engaged in watering the most gailycoloured bed, representing the union jack, with a red watering can. beside her on the pathway lay her gardening tools, and there were gardening gloves on her hands. lucia and louisa gave a simultaneous gasp. it was not under such auspices that they had expected to find the malicious fairy. where was the dark room, only illuminated by a roaring fire, over which hung the cauldron, filled with strange and powerful herbs, gathered by the light of a full moon? where the cast-off snake-skin, the dead hand taken secretly from the gallows in the dead of night, the grinning skull? where the broom, standing in the corner, ready to be ridden up the chimney, where the black cat with glaring, green eyes ? where, especially missed, the witch with her red cloak and magic staff? here was only miss couronnoway, a most twentieth-century figure, with her gardening implements! the two children felt a choking sensation in their throats, but they did not cry. they only felt dumbly that it was too bad! lucia indeed repeated it mechanically out loud, and with great energy, “it is too bad!" the malicious fairy turned hastily round, and wolf and tiger came barking round the corner. "why! it's you !" exclaimed the malicious fairy in great amazement. “however did you find out where i lived ? i know i never told you !" "i wonder you didn't find out by your magic that we [ 132 ] h sewell 27 herbs gathered by the light of the full moon. mr. hermit crab were coming and bringing you back your book !" replied lucia coldly. "well, you see, i never thought that you would pay me a visit, and so i didn't take the trouble to look in my magic glass and see.” she laughed merrily. "however, . as you have come, i am terribly glad to see you. miss grigs has gone out to tea. thank heavens! and i am left all alone. these flower-beds want weeding very badly, so if you two come and help me, we'll soon make a difference, and when our work's done, we'll have a splendiferous tea!" it was a charming plan! lucia and louisa set to weeding with vigour. "so miss grigs is out, is she?” asked lucia with a look of beatific happiness on her face, as she pulled up by its roots a particularly large and obtrusive dandelion. miss couronnoway nodded. “yes, for a wonder. but however has miss gray allowed you two out by yourselves, or is it with french leave?" “oh, it was great-uncle stephenson, of course!" “great-uncle stephenson?” "yes, haven't you heard of him?" “no, i suppose it's my awful ignorance, but i should very much like to." so lucia told her all about great-uncle stephenson, his mishaps on his arrival, and those of the previous day, and all his little weaknesses. she ended with, "and do you know, i believe miss gray is setting her cap at greatuncle stephenson; she used to be setting it at the rev. mr. butes, but she's dropped him lately. fancy having her for a great-aunt stephenson! but anyway, she a [135] mr. hermit crab won't be his wife, for i have warned great-uncle stephenson, and so she'll have to be content with the clergyman.” “and what did great-uncle stephenson say?" "oh, he said he thought i had a right to a voice in choosing my great-aunt." the malicious fairy listened to everything with an air of absorbed interest, laughing often, as was her way, and smiling when she didn't laugh, but lucia noticed with disfavour that her intense interest prevented her from doing her fair share of the work. however she felt flattered and pleased by the sense that she was amusing a person full of such great powers. besides, she felt the importance of keeping her in a good humour for mr. hermit crab's sake. [ 136] chapter xv the waylaying of the witch wife when the weeding was finished miss couronnoway led the way indoors, and after they had washed their hands, which were stained with earth, and brushed their hair, they entered the drawing-room. there, the children critically surveyed the tea-table, spread with an abundance of good things, and found it to their liking. nothing was lacking, from cake to thin bread-and-butter, and their critical gaze softened into a favourable smile. they then sat down and were soon glorying in the consciousness that miss gray's severe and prying eye could not inspect their tea-cups, to see how many lumps of sugar they contained, and could not look with horror on the extravagant way in which they were piling jam on cake. the malicious fairy did all she could to encourage them in their forbidden pleasures; doubtless she, too, was enjoying the absence of miss grigs, another gorgon, as it seemed, of miss gray's type. wolf and tiger were also sharing in the joys of their betters, and kept walking sedately round and round the table, stopping at each person in turn to receive the proffered titbit. matters were in this beatific state of primitive nature, in which doubtless adam and eve had passed their time before the intrusion of the serpent, when it came into [137] mr. hermit crab lucia's mind that now was the time to set about pleading mr. hermit crab's unhappy case. the serpent was coming in their case, too. calling wolf to her, she began to speak, "dear miss couronnoway, i wish to address you in the character of the malicious fairy, not miss couronnoway of the pine grove, as you have hitherto been this afternoon. i wish to plead with you for one of the unhappy victims of your magic arts. think of his fate, does it not move your heart of stone, and make you shed a tear, one tear?” here louisa interrupted, who never forgot the loss of sense that there often is in a metaphor. "how can she feel pity when her heart is of stone, lucia, and how can she shed one tear when she can't feel pity, and when, as she signs the compact, the devil takes away her living spring of real tears, and puts a fountain in its place, so that she may only weep crocodile tears ?” lucia waved her inane speech aside grandly with a pooh-poohing hand. "be silent, i prithee, my co-legate” (here lucia wavered in her mind as to whether colleague, or confederate, or conspirator was the right word to use; finally she decided to use all four) "colleague, confederate, and conspirator, and let me continue to state the case.” here a spasm of some feeling or other contorted the malicious fairy's face. lucia took it for a spasm of remorse, took heart of grace, and proceeded , with gusto. “think of his fate! think, i say, think! immured for ever in the bowels of the earth, with the cry of the tormented souls ever in his ears, bereft of all the ties that constitute the happiness of life, bereft, i say, of-of what, louisa ?”! [138] mr. hermit crab a louisa mutely shook her head. the malicious fairy had recourse to her handkerchief, while lucia began to search her pocket, and at last, after she had drawn forth sundry miscellaneous odds and ends, pulled forth triumphantly a dirty crumpled piece of paper, tied round with a piece of red tape, which gradually assumed large dimensions, as she unfolded it, and turned out eventually to be a sheet of foolscap. “bereft, i say,—oh, here's the place !-bereft, i say, of friendship's sweet communion, never knowing what it is to be in the bosom of one's family, never having felt paternal chastisement -" "surely it isn't that, lucia !” exclaimed louisa. "why, that wouldn't be any loss !” "oh, yes never having felt a father's tender care, and a mother's gentle flagellations, no, i mean flatteries; ignorant of higher thoughts and higher aims than the making of seaweed soup and the daily struggle for life's necessities. without the patriot's love for his country, without the knowledge of his good fortune in being born a briton and an englishman! never having heard a good sermon in his life!" here lucia became pathetic. "ignorant even of his own christened name and the three royal r's!" here a stifled laugh broke from the malicious fairy, who had been struggling bravely and politely but unavailingly against her natural desires. lucia was much taken aback; she had been congratulating herself on the production of the handkerchief, presumably to hide burning blushes and briny tears, and on the many spasms of remorse which had contorted the malicious fairy's coun[ 139 ] mr. hermit crab tenance. she darted at her a withering glance, while louisa was even more astonished at such heartlessness than lucia. “oh! you may laugh!” lucia's written appeal which had been meant to appeal to the better side of the malicious fairy's nature, was forgotten. lucia sprang to her feet in an honest passion, her open hand, which had been waving insinuatingly to and fro, became a clenched fist; her bland, ingratiating smile vanished, and a gloomy scowl took its place. "yes! laugh away! but she “! laughs best, who laughs last, and you may laugh on the other side of your mouth directly! offspring of vipers ! accursed one! here is given you a chance to do one good thing in your wicked life, full and brimming over with crimes! now, you may give happiness to one fellow-creature!" "ignorance is bliss !" retorted the malicious fairy, somewhat heated by the epithets hurled at her. lucia did not deign to notice her interjection. “you have this chance given you—and you laugh! malicious fairy, you are worse than i ever thought you were! you, heedless, are standing at this moment on the razoredge of fate, on either side a deep abyss. beware!” " lucia rolled up her sleeves, gave wolf a last piece of cake, a last pat, took her knife from off her plate, and was ready. “malicious fairy, will you disenchant mr. hermit crab, or not? if not, you will soon see the dead body of yoạr favourite lying stark and stiff on the ground.” “child i” returned the malicious fairy in blood-curdling tones, "do you think that you can overreach me? [ 140 ] mr. hermit crab you! puny mortal! youl know, presumptuous ones, that i have drugged your tea!” “what" screamed lucia. louisa was voiceless with horror. she felt the quantities of tea that she had swallowed suddenly rise up before her, blue like death, and point their skeleton fingers made of tea-leaves at her, and cry out, “poisoned! poisoned!" "what! you have poisoned our tea !" “you have said it !" the malicious fairy drew herself up to her full height, and folded her arms. "you have said it! now i have only to say hey! presto! cockolorum hil and you, you," she snapped her finger and thumb together, “you will be changed into stonesor candles, with a gutter for your end! choose !" lucia glared at her, and then simultaneously the two children rushed at her. the malicious fairy saw them coming, gave a faint shriek, dropped into an easy armchair, conveniently near, became quite stiff and straight, and closed her eyes. the children came to a dead stop, and looked anxiously at each other. "is she dead?” asked louisa fearfully. . "i don't know, i guess it's a visitation or a judgment on her for not giving in to us and promising to disenchant mr. hermit crab." "what shall we do?" “oh, i guess she's only fainted,” replied lucia, whose volatile spirits were beginning to rise again after the first shock was over. “what do you do to people when they faint ?" asked louisa helplessly. "oh, you can do lots of things," replied lucia cheer6 [141] mr. hermit crab fully. "you can slap their hands, or give them salts, or burnt feathers, or pour something over them. let's pour something over her.” and she seized the tea-pot. louisa followed her example by catching hold of the hot-water jug. “but won't it burn her?” louisa had “ once had a little hot water spilt on her hand and she did not know the amount of credit which ought to be given to lucia's statements. “oh, doctors always hurt their patients, when they cure them. come on!" abruptly the malicious fairy gave a deep sigh, opened her eyes, sat up, and shook herself. “you little wretches !” she exclaimed. "why, you would have scalded me to death in one second! pour something over me, indeed !” she was righteously indignant. then her eye fell on wolf, who was calmly lapping up all the cream. "oh! look at wolf!" there then ensued a general scuffle, in which lucia and louisa joined heartily, for wolf refused to give up his booty, and tiger turned over the tea-tray, in his efforts to appropriate it for himself. after their utmost energies, combined with those of a tall and majestic footman, had been expended on the recalcitrant wolf and tiger, and after those offenders had been sent out of the room in deep disgrace, order was at length restored. then and not till then was it that the two children remembered the base attempt to make them victims, forgotten in the moments of excitement, and they looked at the malicious fairy with suspicion as she said gayly, “will you have some more tea now, children, at least of what there is left after the devastations of wolf and tiger?” [142] #sewela 2) "doctors always hurt their patients." mr. hermit crab this question seemed to the two children to be adding insult to injury. they glared at the unsuspicious malicious fairy, who suddenly remembered also, as she met their meaning looks. "trapped !" lucia remarked hastily in a stage aside to louisa. "wolf out of the room! base conspiracy! we must do or die l” louisa rose to let in wolf who was scratching at the door, with tiger too, when the malicious fairy, putting on again her tragedy-queen air, spoke scornfully and with a most dignified posture, “children! pigmies ! creatures of dust! do you fancy that you could slay wolf before i said hey-"her speech came suddenly to an end and her dignified posture also, for lucia and louisa flung themselves upon her, before the fatal words could be uttered. "gag her!" cried lucia, but there was no pear of deadly anguish in sight. however, the sofa cushion was caught up. “necessity is the mother of invention,” said lucia grimly, with a cynical smile playing round her mouth (at least she thought it was one) as she pressed it upon the hapless malicious fairy's face, who felt herself on the verge of suffocation. "you'll be hanged for this murder !" she managed to ejaculate, and a minimum quantum of air was allowed her. then lucia dictated their terms to her with intense enjoyment. she was to eat humble pie in the most humil. iating fashion. she was never to say "hey! presto! cockolorum hil" again on any occasion whatever ! here the malicious fairy interposed, "then how am i to call my broomstick to me, when i want to ride up the chimney?” the children nevertheless were inexor( 145 ) mr. hermit crab able. "of course," said the malicious fairy deceitfully, choking down her disappointment, at least that was what lucia put down the queer, shaky tone of her voice to, “of course, it's not so much for myself i care, but i had intended to take you two for a ride, you know, and how can i, if i don't say hey presto " here her speech was interrupted, violently. when free once more she uttered, "well, how can i then ?” judge lucia looked haughtily at the prisoner at the bar. "ah! we know you !" said his worship, in a tone of ineffable wisdom, and he winked at counsellor louisa. then the trial continued. she was to give them a potion, which would do away with the harm which the poison might happen to do them even without the fatal words. (the malicious fairy immediately decided to make the potion extremely nasty to indemnify herself for the damages which the judge was decreeing, and those which she had received through partial suffocation and threatened scalding.) she was also to disenchant mr. hermit crab with all due formalities. the malicious fairy, so serenely and sweetly that she must surely have melted any hearts but theirs, consented to do their wills, though she called down many terrible maledictions on mr. hermit crab's innocent head. then the children said they must be going. miss couronnoway tried to persuade them to stay longer, but fruitlessly. the remembrance of miss gray forbade their yielding to her pressing invitation, and lucia's fear that miss couronnoway might vanish and leave the malicious fairy in her place. however, her offer of a car. riage to take them home met with more favour, and was [ 146 ] mr. hermit crab at last accepted, and after they had settled with the malicious fairy to meet on saturday at 9:30 a. m. on the seashore they bowled away merrily down the drive, and left the malicious fairy to grind her teeth over the humiliating events of the afternoon, and miss couronnoway to prepare to receive miss grigs back, and to entertain mr. hermit crab at dinner afterwards. [ 147 ] chapter xvi the breaking of the spell > saturday morning came, the thoughts of which prevented lucia and louisa from going to sleep till late on friday night, and made them wake up very early. they also ate so little breakfast that mrs. granson and greatuncle stephenson were quite anxious, but miss gray scented mischief afar off, and decided to keep her eye on lucia. after breakfast they all went down to the seashore, the children racing in front. however, when they came there, they found no sign of the malicious fairy and they began to ask themselves whether she might not be playing them false, and perjuring her soul by breaking her word to them. but as they were standing on a large boulder from where they could see far and wide, they were roused from these gloomy meditations by a familiar bark behind them, and looking round they espied wolf and tiger in the most exuberant spirits. behind them was the malicious fairy coming down the side of the cliff, and they found that they had been looking in the wrong direction for her approach. the malicious fairy was followed by two tall, imposing footmen, each carrying a large hamper, whose lid was tightly tied, to protect its contents from prying eyes. "good morning," said miss couronnoway, "i hope i am not late." [ 148 ] mr. hermit crab "hope ?” asked lucia. "are you glad to release mr. hermit crab?" and she smiled benignantly at the thought that perhaps her inspiring appeal of the other day had softened her stony heart somewhat. the malicious fairy frowned. “is it a thing to be pleased with? you give me a fearful amount of trouble and you ask me if i am glad!” lucia saw that more than one lecture was needed to bring the malicious fairy to a sense of her sins. when they came to the archway, surnamed "the flood gate,” miss couronnoway dismissed james and thomas, who set down the hampers and departed with the same immovable air and countenance, “yes, miss," being the only words which it seemed in their power to utter. the tide was in, and so the children immediately proceeded to divest themselves of their shoes and stockings, and the malicious fairy followed their example with much reluctance. then the children each took hold of a hamper, and invited the malicious fairy to step in between and share the burden. with sundry groans she consented, although obviously against her will, and they waded bravely along, albeit somewhat disconcerted by the malicious fairy's frequent warnings that her arms were breaking off with the weight, and the hampers would fall in mid-stream. once safely across, the malicious fairy sank down on the sand and with infinite toil and with what lucia and louisa considered an undue use of her pocket handkerchief began to put on her shoes and stockings, a work which the two children dispensed with. she took so long a time over this that louisa even grew impatient, and lucia lost her patience altogether. seiza ( 149 ) mr. hermit crab ing the shoes and stockings, she threw them far out on to the deep. at first the malicious fairy was really angry, but her anger soon changed to earnest pleading, when she found that lucia had no idea of giving them back to her. at last louisa became touched by her representation of how tender her feet were and what pain the rough way to mr. hermit crab's dwelling would cause her. so she waded into the sea, and fetched them out, while lucia stipulated that the malicious fairy should take no more than one minute in putting them on, as she had found out on consulting miss couronnoway's watch, which she wore conveniently on her wrist, that they had already spent half-an-hour in getting thus far on their journey. the malicious fairy put them on in haste, though not without complaining of their dampness and how it was enough to give her her death of cold, and how miss grigs would scold, and how in her old age she would regret this journey, when racked with rheumatic pains! these remarks made louisa intensely uncomfortable, and lucia could just look full of composure, lest the malicious fairy should see her weakness and rejoice at it. but as soon as they entered the passage all their energies were needed for dragging along the hampers, which was the harder task from the fact that it was almost pitch dark, and that the malicious fairy was of no use at all. nevertheless, by dint of great expenditure of skill and strength on lucia's and louisa's part, they emerged after a time on to the platform and began the difficulties of the descent of the stairs. this was so much the more difficult because they had forgotten to [ 150 ] mr. hermit crab annex privily some candle-ends. by good hap louisa had a match-box with her, with some matches in it, and by their aid they managed to descend half-way before they gave out, and darkness fell upon them. they were in a state of doubt and perplexity when they heard mr. hermit crab's door open far below. “hallo!” shrieked lucia shrilly, and a stentorian voice shouted back, "hallo! come to pay me a visit? i'll put on a pot of seaweed soup directly !" "very good," replied lucia, “but wait a minute, i've a great surprise for you." "oh, do tell me!" “patience is a great virtue." "but i have a burning curiosity to know." “now, my dear child, how often have i told you that only a calm demeanour is compatible with a lady-ergentlemanlike deportment. no true gentleman allows himself to be so far carried away by emotion as to forget that he is a gentleman,” said lucia in tones of mild exasperation, reminiscent of miss gray. "i am sorry," in a submissive tone, “but do be good and kind, lucia, and tell me." "well, say your alphabet, frontwards, backwards, sidewards, and anyhow, and perhaps-" mr. hermit crab instantly began in a regular schoolboy's drawl and rattled off the alphabet frontwards and backwards in fine style. there was some hesitation about sidewards, and anyhow came to a complete smash. “i am ashamed of you,” said lucia severely, "especially when we have brought a lady to see you." but she remarked aside to the malicious fairy proudly, “that all ). [151] mr. hermit crab > the same, it was very good, considering the short time he has been learning “a lady !" exclaimed mr. hermit crab. "whoever is it? miss gray?" this guess sent both lucia and louisa into agonies of laughter as they thought of miss gray paddling through the flood-gate and crawling along the passage from the cave. “we should hope not! guess again!" “mrs. granson ?”. "no!" here the children could not wait for another guess, their impatience was so great, and they were so eager to tell the wonderful news that they both spoke at the same time. “it's—it's the malicious fairy !" mr. hermit crab gave a hollow groan. “my tormentress! the destroyer of my rest! to soften whose heart i have even written sonnets in her praise! children, children, i thought better of your friendship than this !" the two children, pierced to the heart by his reproachful tone, again spoke together to undeceive him. “she won't torment you really! we'll kill wolf if she tries to! she's going to disenchant you! and she is so anxious to taste your seaweed soup !" mr. hermit crab's voice took on the tone of the inventor, proud of his skill, and he said very suavely, “i shall be delighted to see her, quite enchanted!” “you shall see her in five seconds, if you'll get your lantern and show us the steps. our matches have given out!" mr. hermit crab's door banged, and then banged again, as he came out with his lantern to light the way [152] mr. hermit crab down the steps. mr. hermit crab greeted the malicious fairy with an extremely low and ceremonious bow, and she returned his politeness with a very fine curtsy, while wolf and tiger gave the little short barks with which they were accustomed to welcome friends of their mistress. lucia was a little astonished at mr. hermit crab's knowledge of good manners, but then recollected that she had read somewhere about nature's gentlemen. then mr. hermit crab took hold of the two hampers, and carried them in, but he instantly returned, picked up the lantern, which he had set down on the rocky causeway, and opening the door again, which banged to after every entrance and exit, invited the malicious fairy to honour his humble abode by stepping in. the malicious fairy smiled very sweetly, and going in, immediately sat down on the table, and proposed that they should have some seaweed soup all round. to this the children demurred; they wanted to have the disenchanting safely over first, and when they told mr. hermit crab that she was dressed as a real, proper witch under her mackintosh, he also became anxious for the disenchanting. this did not suit the malicious fairy at all. she became highly displeased. she said that she was so fearfully hungry that she couldn't disenchant without something to eat first. the disenchanting would take so long that she should faint from starvation before she had finished, and that would mar her spells dreadfully. she did so want to taste the seaweed soup, for lucia and louisa had so often told her that it was quite a chef-d'auvre. she wouldn't and she couldn't disenchant mr. hermit crab before her hunger was satisfied. ( 153 ) mr. hermit crab mr. hermit crab inquired how long it would take to disenchant him, and was horrified to learn that it would take twenty-four hours at the very least. the children were as astounded as himself, and it was only after repeated pleadings that they elicited from the now complacent malicious fairy that there was one way in which it would take no more than one hour, but it was a perfectly impossible way, perfectly impossible, so no more could be said about it. they begged earnestly to be told the way at least. it was that lucia and louisa should endure the same treatment which mr. hermit crab would have to endure to be disenchanted. the two children winced rather at the idea of having to endure anything, which might be unpleasant perhaps, but they promised in consideration of the great good it would do mr. hermit crab, and felt like martyrs. so the pot of seaweed soup was put on to boil, and everything was in readiness. the malicious fairy doffed her too-cheerful countenance, and donned an expression more suitable for the occasion and the ceremony about to take place. she took off her mackintosh, and hung it on a nail, watched the while by lucia and louisa with the utmost interest. she revealed herself attired in a very imposing dress. it was made of black, yellow, and red colours, combined together in strips of different widths, and looped up in several places with bunches of ribbons. the material was soft, clinging, and flimsy. she then drew from one hamper a pair of shoes with red heels made very high, with a large rosette on either toe. these she put on her feet in the place of her soaked sand-shoes. her next move was to [ 154 ] mr. hermit crab it was a draw from the hamper a quantity of round, hollow sticks, of different lengths, all carved in different fashions. these she fitted one into the other, until she had a pole, or rather wand, as tall as herself. engraven with cabalistic signs, all done with a poker, and it had a very pretty little miniature owl set on the top, whose bright, round, beady eyes and head held a little on one side gave it a laughable air of wisdom, most pleasant to behold. long streamers were fastened to its claws. she then turned to the hamper again and brought forth a bandbox. out of the bandbox she first took a great deal of crushy paper, which showed that there was something very precious inside, and then she drew forth in triumph and with infinite care the peculiar hat of a witch. "ah," said mr. hermit crab in a parenthesis, “i knew it was a hat straight from paris, when i saw the care with which it was unpacked, nothing but a parisian hat à la mode would have received such attention." “on the contrary," replied the malicious fairy indignantly, "it is of genuine english make and style." as she spoke she placed it on her head, surveying the effect in a doll's looking-glass which had come out of a cracker, and which hung on the wall, the only one which mr. hermit crab's establishment could boast of. the hat had a broad brim, and was in style something like those worn at one time by the roundheads, with a very high crown narrowing towards the top and ending in a peak, in fact exactly like a steeple. it was trimmed with parti-coloured ribbons, which ran round the crown on either side to the back, having their source in a huge rosette set in the middle of the front. the hat was eminently suited [155] mr. hermit crab a to the malicious fairy, and from the complacent way in which she set it on her head and viewed herself in the looking-glass, such as it was, it seemed that she knew it. her composure, however, was a little upset when she perceived that lucia behind her back was copying her every movement, setting herself and clothes generally straight with the same air, while mr. hermit crab and louisa applauded her by clapping their hands in dumb pantomime. the malicious fairy turned sharply round, and was met by the sight of three very innocent faces, and three pairs of carefully folded hands. she surveyed them with an angry glare, and proceeded to get a piece of chalk from the inexhaustible hamper. she then drew with a vicious energy a circle on mr. hermit crab's carefully scrubbed and scoured floor, which sight could not be endured by him. he rose in great wrath from the only chair. "you are dirtying my floor, i shall have to scrub it for the sixth time to-day, woe is me!" the malicious fairy glanced at the floor, which certainly did not show the signs of such careful housewifery. “i don't think it will hurt it,” she answered coolly, “even if it gets a seventh," and to mr. hermit crab's intense disgust, went on with her circle, which when it was completed, was certainly not a complete circle. “now, come into this circle and kneel down,” she cried. again mr. hermit crab demurred. "i shall dirty my trousers, my sunday go-to-meeting trousers.” “surely not, when the floor has been scrubbed five times to-day,” the malicious fairy replied icily. > [156] mr. hermit crab mr. hermit crab, making a sign of despair, knelt down, and in this act was followed by lucia and louisa. lucia had some qualms of conscience, which she stifled bravely, about whether it was right to kneel, when she knew that her knees only belonged to her god and her king. the malicious fairy waved her wand over them with a grandly protecting air, and the streamers raised such a wind that the fire smoked and they all, including the witch herself, who ought to have been free from such human frailties, coughed. then cried the malicious fairy, “if you move either hand or foot, the spell will be broken.” she took from the hamper a little cardboard box, out of which she took something, and threw it into the kettle on the fire. "oh!” cried mr. hermit crab, greatly concerned, "you've poisoned the water, and i shall have to boil the kettle again for my dinner!" the malicious fairy turned round and sternly placed her finger on her lips. "sh-s-ssss!" she hissed. it was truly dramatic and thrilling. lucia and louisa and mr. hermit crab were lost in admiration. the malicious fairy now began to murmur unintelligible words to the kettle, and to wave her wand, and occasionally to flick one of them with a streamer. soon she began to flick them oftener, and she kept them occupied in trying to escape the flick by bending their heads when they saw it coming. they spent some time in this interesting diversion, but at last the malicious fairy stopped, when she found that they would keep cheating by bending their bodies as well as their heads. she marched in stately fashion to the hamper and drew out what seemed in [ 157 ] mr. hermit crab essentials extremely like a pepper-box. in fact, she sneezed slightly as she brought it out. but when mr. hermit crab hazarded the question, he was immediately rebuffed. “pepper! it is incense! how could you mistake incense for pepper?” then she began to pepper, or rather to sprinkle incense on the floor pretty freely around them, which, when they inhaled it, made them sneeze and mr. hermit crab lament his much-abused floor in heart-rending terms. after a while the malicious fairy grew tired of this, as it came about that she happened to wave her wand, which raised such a storm of incense that she suffered equally from it with those undergoing the disenchantment. she put it back in the hamper again and instead brought out a large black bottle, which the children and mr. hermit crab eyed with much disfavour, for it was dark in colour and had a pungent smell. "i hope,” remarked mr. hermit crab, "that we have quite finished with pepper, i beg pardon, with incense. then in a deferential tone to the malicious fairy, "would you mind telling me, madame, the name of that evil-smelling drug ?” “nectar!" she replied graciously. "nectar!” exclaimed her three hearers. "i am sadly afraid,” added mr. hermit crab, “that it is not the nectar that i have read of." the malicious fairy now marched up to him and motioned him to drink it off. mr. hermit crab put on a pleading countenance, but since no signs of relenting were visible, he opened his mouth a little way, and took a little sip. lucia and louisa watched his face anxiously [158] mr. hermit crab but were not much encouraged by its expression after the little sip. his mouth shut tightly, he had a compressed air about him, as if he were bottling up his feelings, and all his lineaments were perfectly rigid, while the corners of his mouth were drawn down and set awry. "come, down with it !" said the malicious fairy. mr. hermit crab shook his head emphatically, but his jaws remained locked. “the disenchantment cannot go on until you have finished the tumbler." mr. hermit crab made an awful effort for command of himself, and gulped it all down. then the malicious fairy proceeded to administer the same black dose to lucia and louisa, who required some persuasion before they could finish their tumblersfull. when, at last, the black bottle was replaced in the hamper, all the three gave a positive gasp of relief. the malicious fairy now produced a squirt, which her victims surveyed with a painfully quickened interest. they were not left long in suspense as to what it was going to be used for. she began to squirt the water at their faces with a dreadfully straight aim. in vain they dodged, but this torture came to a sudden end. the malicious fairy tried to squirt the water at them faster than she was able. the consequence was that her hand slipped, and she squirted it with a terrible force up into her own face, to the manifest and unholy joy of the others. she put the squirt away, but from her air they began to fear that something far worse was in store for them. as it was, she happened to look in their direction as she dived into the hamper, and her forbidding glance suddenly softened. she looked in a hesitating [ 159 ) mr. hermit crab manner at the hamper and then at them, and then back at the hamper again. the children and mr. hermit crab watched her in a breathless silence, for they felt that their fate hung in the balance. soon she took her resolution and rising, she waved her wand to the four quarters of the earth. “ladies and gentlemen [the last comprising mr. hermit crab and wolf and tiger], i have the honour to announce to you that the disenchanting is fulfilled, the spell broken. [wild applause.] i now think that some refreshment will be very welcome to all of us after our late exertions. i therefore propose that we adjourn to the dining-room to partake of seaweed soup. [vigorous clapping from lucia and louisa, while mr. hermit crab succeeded in looking amiably bashful.] i, for i one, am quite ready. [signs of dispersion in her audience.] still one more thing, or as mr. butes, our revered vicar says, 'just another thought' [“and goes on for another half-hour,” grumbled one of her audience), “knowing the ignorance of the hon. member there of the eatables of the upper world, i hope this simple repast here, which i thought fit to bring with me, will meet with favour.” and bending gracefully, she lifted the lid of the second hamper, and showed that it was full of good things: veal pie, rabbit pie, cold pheasant, cod's roe, plovers' eggs, potatoes roasted in their skins, which were immediately set on the fire to warm, and a bottle of harry peck's, comprised the meat courses; blanc-mange, jelly, trifle, jam puffs, and chocolate éclairs for the sweets; for the dessert, oranges, nuts, apples, peaches, pears, and > [ 160 ] mr. hermit crab grapes. for the moment the recipients of the malicious fairy's bounty were silent, but they soon gave vent to their feelings in hearty cheers and vigorous clapping. then mr. hermit crab signed for silence, and in an address full of enthusiasm and wit and general brilliancy proposed three cheers for the malicious fairy. his proposal was greeted with acclamations, and lucia and louisa and mr. hermit crab and wolf and tiger then drowned the cries of the tormented souls by their united hip, hip, hurrays, which the echoes swelled, till it seemed as if thousands of voices were cheering and hundreds of dogs barking. when the noises so suddenly roused had died away in gentle whisperings afar off, mr. hermit crab rolled up his sleeves for the purpose of outdoing himself in seaweed soup to grace the occasion, while the malicious fairy with the help of the two children set the table and placed the viands in the manner which most set off their respective beauties. then they turned their attention to the making of the seaweed soup. in vain did mr. hermit crab remind them of the old proverb that “too many cooks spoil the broth.” their assiduous attentions could not be curtailed, from the malicious fairy, who was having a warm dispute with lucia as to how many pinches of salt would be necessary, down to louisa, who was vainly trying to persuade mr. hermit crab to take a wooden spoon to stir it up with, instead of the iron one he was using, on the ground that there might be some lead mixed with the iron, which would surely have serious effects on themselves, if it happened to melt, and become one of the ingredients of the seaweed soup. at [ 161 ] mr. hermit crab last it was made, and mr. hermit crab proceeded to pour out generous bowls-full for each one. the malicious fairy tasted it delicately, while the others waited for her decision with bated breath. "wonderfully good, “ considering who is the inventor.” her hearers drew " deep breaths of relief, and proceeded to do justice to the rest of the feast, for lucia and louisa had felt almost as much anxiety as mr. hermit crab himself about whether the seaweed soup would meet with the malicious fairy's approval or not. to be sure, they were not the inventors, but they had been the first to taste and praise it. the meal was a great success, and nothing , was left at the end except fragments, which were thrown to the fishes. then the whole party began their journey to the upper world, expecting to find great pleasure in mr. hermit crab's surprise at the many things which would naturally strike him in his first glimpse of it. to their intense surprise, however, when they had ascended the steps, mr. hermit crab turned aside and led them along a ridge or wide ledge, which went past the hole, through which they had been used to crawl, away from the rocky platform. he himself did not know of the existence of that way to the upper world. as they went along the ledge they found that they were going downhill rapidly, and soon they found themselves close to the water, which lay long and narrow like a lake, and was quite fresh, without the least suspicion of salt in its taste, as they proved by the test of the tongue. a small rowing-boat was fastened by its painter to the ledge on which they stood. they jumped in, and mr. [ 162 ] mr. hermit crab hermit crab took the oars, while the malicious fairy steered. soon the boat grated at the bottom, and jumping out, they found themselves on dry land, composed of boulders of different sizes, while, overhead, the ground was in the form of an arch. the sky and the sea showed a few yards away. mr. hermit crab fastened the boat to a large boulder, and then they all scrambled over the rocks towards the opening. two great masses of earth and rock had been cleft in two by the force of the sea, forming a narrow creek. an iron ladder rested against one side, up which they climbed. the children and the malicious fairy looked around them in amazement. this place and its surroundings were most familiar to them. “why! it's piper's hole!” they exclaimed. often in their walks had they come there. once lucia and louisa had been taken by mrs. granson and miss gray to this place—a great resort of smugglers it had been. they had gone down that iron ladder, and had been rowed on that freshwater lake by the sailor, whose duty it was to take visitors for a row and to see the sights of the place and to charge as highly as his customers' purses would allow. it was one of the sights of porthnock, which it was the duty of every tourist and newcomer to go and see, as well as the monument and beaton house, the residence of a lord, who was much revered, but rarely seen-a most convenient invalid, whose estate agent could do nothing without his consent, and yet he was much too ill to be worried with any business. all tourists ate their lunches on that headland, and left papers and ginger-beer bottles behind them. the malicious fairy was the first to throw off her [ 163 ] mr. hermit crab astonishment; she turned to mr. hermit crab, “how much do you pay horatio for the use of that boat? i don't wonder now that he has lately set up another fishing-boat, bought his second son the forge, besides a new suit of broadcloth on sundays for himself.” at this moment the form of horatio himself was seen higher up um jam on the cliff, standing on the coast-guard path, which wound along the coast. his arms, clad in wide oilskins, were gesticulating wildly, and they could see his mouth opening and shutting, but the roar of the waves on the rocks below them drowned the sound of his voice. "what the dickens is the man after?" said mr. hermit crab gaping in puzzled fashion at the broad figure above them, with his oilskins flapping in the breeze. then he glanced [ 164 ] mr. hermit crab behind them, and cried hurriedly, "run! run !" and seized lucia and louisa by the hand. they too looked behind and then began to scramble up the cliff as fast as they could, but it was too late. the great, white cloud of spray which had suddenly risen out of the sea came rushing over the rocks and up the cliff, burying them in its course. they gasped, when it had passed over or rather through them, and gazed ruefully at their garments which were quite drenched. then they continued to hurry up the cliff, since they did not wish for another douche. however, when they reached the top and scrutinised their clothes once more, they found that they were not so badly off as they had at first thought, for happily the greater part of the spray had been exhausted before it reached them. the malicious fairy's mackintosh had protected her for the most part, and as for the rest of the party their clothes would soon dry in the high wind on the top of the cliff. a little row of whitewashed cottages stood in front of them, and the malicious fairy suddenly remembered that she had promised to go in and see an old woman who lived in one of them the next time she passed by mr. hermit crab and the children said they would accompany her, and so the four entered the little wooden gate, walked up the cobble-stoned path with the scrap of garden on either side, full of sunflowers and everlastings, and rapped at the door. a querulous old voice told them to come in, and they lifted the latch, and entered the kitchen. in a wooden armchair, with a scarlet wrap-mejack round her shoulders, sat mrs. jenkins. the kettle was singing, the "tay-pot” was on the hob, and there were [ 165 ] mr. hermit crab geraniums on the window-sill. at the first glance the malicious fairy saw it was one of mrs. jenkins's bad days, when she could see no good in anyone or anything. “good morning, mrs. jenkins, a nice warm morning, isn't it?" "warm, do you call it? ah well, i suppose you find it warm. it's bitter cold to me. bitter cold i" "are your rheumatics bad to-day?” “as bad as they can be, they are. but there's always crisses and crosses in this world. ah, dear! i'm not long for this world, i'm thinking. no better than a castoff garment or a rotten apple, i am.” "oh, let us hope you will be better, now the weather is becoming warmer, mrs. jenkins. “ah, you don't know when you may die, you don't. there was my mother's uncle benjamin's niece, a strong hearty woman, she was, with a husband and seven little childer." “indeed! and did she die ?" “dear! dear! she was making bread one morning, and she had made two loaves and the third was baking in the oven. and she went into the garden and fell down. fell down! and died! and the little boy came crying down the street to my mother! and there was the loaf burnt to death in the oven! there were seven childer and the husband used to drink, and the loaf was quite spoilt! beautiful bread, too, she used to make, i've heard my mother say, and it was black as a cinder. she had baked the two, beautiful and brown they were, and as crusty as can be, and she went out into the garden and fell down and died, and it was like eating ashes, the other [ 166] mr. hermit crab was so baked to death. black as a cinder! yes indeed!” "oh, what a pity, mrs. jenkins !" “and there was my great-aunt cecilia's cousin, she could make beautiful cakes, she could. yes indeed! she used to go round, saying, 'have you anything for me to-day?' and they used to give her the things, and she would make a cake. she was powerful at wedding cake . specially. she lived with her father and mother, and her father died when it was harvesting-time. and she went to henley with another woman, who had lost her child, and she got a headstone for him, made of granite it was, and they say it cost forty pounds! think of that! yes indeed! then in another month she died and was buried. the schoolmaster and his young lady were very vexed because they had wanted her to make their wedding-cake, and they had to put up with a boughten one, fit to poison a body it was! yes indeed! and the next month her mother died. in three months the three of them died, and were buried before the time for planting the potatoes. and they all kept beautiful! and such wedding-cakes as she used to make! a beautiful headstone it was, all made of granite, and the grave was on the sunny side of the church, too! and the daffodils came up lovely! dear, dear, forty pounds !" "very sad indeed, mrs. jenkins. well, i think i must be going now and leave you to your tea. i see the kettle is beginning to boil. good-bye, i hope you will be better soon. i will tell cook to send james down with a pudding. i daresay your appetite is not very good at present.” [167] mr. hermit crab "well, no, i can't say it is. some people's appetites want tempting a lot, though i'm thankful to say that when i was young and hearty, i could eat almost anything. and some people can't abear rice pudding. there was a near relation of my own, such things run in the family, you know, my mother's uncle's nephew, jabez, gibbers he was called by his intimateshere the malicious fairy rose hastily and looked at her watch. “i really am afraid that i cannot stay any longer. if i send a custard pudding, will that do? oh, very well, good-bye. your geraniums look flourishing, good-bye." and the malicious fairy departed with her cortège. as they walked down the cobble-stoned path, she observed to mr. hermit crab, “whenever i visit mrs. jenkins i always emulate the ladies of cranford in the length of their calls." lucia said, “do you know, i think mrs. jenkins is a rather talkative old woman, and i hope that you have no other such to visit." "well, there really are some other people i ought to visit, but i really don't think i have the strength of mind.” “oh, no, i am sure you haven't!" said lucia and louisa with decision. the whole party now left the coast-guard path, and scrambled down the cliff to the shore in which the cave was. happily the tide was out, and so they walked through the flood-gate dry-shod into the common bay. the forms of great-uncle stephenson, mrs. granson, and miss gray were seen sitting on the rocks in the distance, and so they stopped and held a consultation. “do you know, lucia," said mr. hermit crab, “miss [ 168 ] mr. hermit crab gray's back is decidedly terrifying, i dare not venture near such an ogress, as you have described her to be, lest i should endure woes like those that you have so feelingly told me of." "well,” said the malicious fairy scornfully, "if the man of the party cannot muster up courage enough to face her, surely he cannot expect us poor, weak females to do so." "birds of a feather" “but she really won't do anything to you,” said lucia hastily. "at least i know she wouldn't, if you were dressed more decently." she eyed mr. hermit crab's clothes with misgiving, for his straw hat was the only article which did not show signs of excessive hard wear. mr. hermit crab stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled in dismay. then— “oh! i forgot! i say, lucia, these came through my ceiling the other day on to my bed. do you know whose they are?" and he drew out of his pocket great-uncle stephenson's longlost and lamented gold-rimmed spectacles. "how lovely!" and taking them she began to rub them carefully with her handkerchief, clean for once, trying to give them the shine and polish which greatuncle stephenson's silk handkerchief had been wont to produce. “why! whose are they? not yours, surely, lucia, or miss gray's ?" “great-uncle stephenson's !" "oh, then i suppose it will be useful as a sort of hostage,” said the malicious fairy. ( 169 ) mr. hermit crab “of course!” replied the delighted lucia. "come along!" the procession moved forward, briskly at first, but as it approached nearer to the dreaded miss gray, its progress became measurably slower, and when miss gray, thinking she heard some sounds and suspecting some vulgar practical joke on lucia's part, turned round and transfixed them all with her haughty countenance and roman nose, it fell into rank and file something like this:-first came mr. hermit crab with a bland smile playing around his mouth and a gallant air which sat somewhat strangely on his dilapidated clothing; next came lucia, a peculiar look on her face, which miss gray was accustomed to expect after some misdeed more flagrant than general, and which the lady called brazenfaced, but which lucia thought was firmness and endurance, the martyr's look as he walks to the stake without humility; the malicious fairy followed close at hand, an agreeable smile on her face, seeming as if she expected some enjoyment out of the proceedings, and was looking forward to it more than fearing it; louisa was the last, for she had no doubts whatever as to the reception that miss gray would give them, and she cowered fearfully behind the others' forms. her only hope lay in greatuncle stephenson. mr. hermit crab gave a fleeting glance at the countenances which were before him, to see in which anger or surprise predominated. there was no doubt as to which did in miss gray's face, but the risible look about the corners of mrs. granson's mouth encouraged him some[ 170 ] mr. hermit crab what. he determined, however, to address great-uncle stephenson first, as his mild countenance with its uplifted eyebrows was far from threatening. "great-uncle stephenson," he began glibly, “i hope you will pardon me my free use of your pre-nomens, but i have heard so much of you from your admiring little great-niece"here he glanced at lucia to see if he had used the right adjectives—“or rather admirable great-niece, missing out the little—that it came naturally to my lips, and you must remember my ignorance of this world's usages. but here is something which will procure my pardon more quickly than nestor's silver tongue, if i had it, and rightly too, for is it not of purer metal?” he turned to take the gold-rimmed spectacles from lucia, and then presented them to great-uncle stephenson with a graceful bow. great-uncle stephenson grabbed them with a painful eagerness, and then took out his silk handkerchief and began to polish them tenderly. then he set them on his nose and proceeded to look mr. hermit crab over. his final decision was favourable. "thank you, young man, thank you. i am glad to make your acquaintance. your . name, sir?” “mr. hermit crab, at your service, sir." they shook hands warmly. "and may i introduce miss couronnoway?" miss gray's dour countenance cleared considerably, for she knew well the name of miss couronnoway, the rich young heiress who lived at the pine grove. then great-uncle stephenson introduced to his new acquaint[171] mr. hermit crab ances mrs. granson and miss gray, and for a few minutes there was simply a buzz of “delighteds !" as each testified to the pleasure with which they made each other's acquaintance. it happened, however, that before they could taste the sweets of acquaintance they all found out it was lunch-time, and they must part. mr. hermit crab offered to conducť the malicious fairy home. his offer was gratefully accepted, and they all dispersed. [172] chapter xvii strawberries and cream on monday, great-uncle stephenson, mrs. granson, miss gray, lucia and louisa were all out for a walk, when it happened that they met mr. hermit crab and the malicious fairy not far from the bungalow. mr. hermit crab was irreproachably dressed, a fact which lucia and louisa immediately noted, and lucia asked him who gave him them? he replied that he owed that happiness to the malicious fairy as well as other things of greater moment. “oh, i'm glad to hear that, though all the same it wouldn't have mattered much, for louisa and i decided on sunday to ask mr. butes to preach a missionary sermon on your behalf, to ask everybody to give a tenth of their goods for the purpose of educating and edifying your benighted person. “thanks awfully, lucia, i feel edified at the bare mention of it, but wasn't a tenth rather exorbitant?" "well, before the reformation, they used to give a tenth part of their fruits to the pope, didn't they? and you're as good as the pope any day, aren't you? however,” turning to the malicious fairy, "it was very kind of you, and i'm very, very glad to see that you are turning from your wicked ways, but i do hope, if you have other victims, whose pains and privations you are gloating over as you did mr. hermit crab's, that you will disenchant them immediately." [173] mr. hermit crab "you will be glad to hear then, lucia," said mr. hermit crab, "that the other victims have all been released, and are now mending their broken hearts as quickly as may be; also, that the malicious fairy didn't enchant me first of all, it was her mother who first subjected me by her base artifices. you see, lucia,' went on mr. hermit crab with a twinkle in his eye, as he saw that both she and louisa were quite transfixed by this astonishing news, "it would have been rather difficult for the malicious fairy to enchant me at my birth, when i was five years old before she was born." lucia became very red, as she remembered that the thought had never occurred to her, although it was very plain that the malicious fairy was the younger of the two. only later did she chance to recall that for all she knew the malicious fairy might have been addicted to sips from the fountain of youth. “however, lucia, she is so very sorry for me on account of the tribulations that i have endured immured in the nether world that she has promised to marry me. will you congratulate me?" here lucia gave everyone a shock by crying out, “but she can't!" "really, why not, lucia ?” and mr. hermit crab raised his eyebrows. “because she's engaged to a mr. delaware of this county—the engagement was announced in the henley post, in print-not but that you wouldn't be a nicer person for her to marry,” continued lucia sadly, as she thought of the malicious fairy wasting her sweetness on a somebody she didn't know who, but certainly inferior in charm to mr. hermit crab. [ 174 ) mr. hermit crab that gentleman, however, began to laugh very cheerily and the malicious fairy smiled very sweetly. "i see, lucia, that you are labouring under a slight misapprehension. the fact is—i am mr. delaware!" and he placed himself in a theatrical position, waving one arm, the other placed upon his hip, his right leg planted firmly in front, his hat tilted on one ear, the whole pleasantly reminiscent of the first position in fencing, and a demi-scowl, demi-scornful smile on his curled lips, as one to whom who should dare say nay. “i hope you will congratulate me now !” lucia congratulated him with all her heart. at first she wondered how it was that there could be a mr. delaware in the upper world and a mr. hermit crab in the nether, but happily before the question crossed her lips she remembered that witches were always able to give birth to a semblance of a real person, a golem, to act and talk in his stead, and she congratulated herself on the fact that she had not asked the question and thus escaped the sight of mr. hermit crab's eye twinkling once more. "thank you! and i think, beatrix, we had better transact our business now. lucia and louisa, we have a great favour to ask of you." "yes?” gasped the children, eager to grant any boon. "perhaps you know that next month is our-our wedding-day?” mr. hermit crab was evidently new to weddings. “naturally we are in need of bridesmaids, and we thought that no others would be so suitable and appropriate as you two. i hope," turning to great[175] mr. hermit crab uncle stephenson and mrs. granson, “that you will have no objection, if they agree?" “oh, none at all, and i am sure," said mrs. granson, "that they will be only too pleased.” lucia and louisa were tongue-tied from pleasure for the moment, and then gave their heartiest consent. it was one of those occasions which seem too good to be true: -to be bridesmaids at a real wedding, wear beautiful new dresses, see themselves look their best, be admired, hold up a lace train, be in the very centre of affairs, have their fingers in the pie, and above all see themselves in print! they were only convinced of the reality of it all, when, at mr. hermit crab's invitation, they entered the bungalow and found themselves feasting on strawberries and cream. [176] church bells chapter xviii the day appointed for the wedding of the malicious fairy and mr. hermit crab dawned brightly and clearly. lucia and louisa were so excited that they could hardly eat any breakfast, and they were just as if they were on wires, for they could not keep still but jumped and ran about and laughed loudly at the slightest provocation. after breakfast they were hurried off to the pine grove by miss gray, to put on their bridesmaids' dresses and to see how many things were to be done at the last 1 [ 177 ] mr. hermit crab moment. the wedding was to take place at st. peter's at ten o'clock, the rev. mr. butes officiating. the malicious fairy went to change her clothes directly after the wedding and so did lucia and louisa at miss gray's command. then they all went down into the park, where there were benches and tables laid out under the trees, and a great assembly of people, to every one of whom the malicious fairy and mr. hermit crab had to say something, if it were but one word. lucia and louisa went rambling about at their own sweet will, and came upon mrs. jenkins comfortably ensconced in a basket arm-chair in the shade of a fourishing oak-tree. "well, mrs. jenkins," said lucia, "what do you think of the wedding?” mrs. jenkins shook her head sadly to and fro. "better than might be expected nowadays, but you should have seen her mother, when she was married. that was a wedding! yes indeed! and how the bell-ringers did ring, to be sure! ah, they could ring then, and no mistake! they didn't leave no gaps between as they do no indeed! there was no first and second bells, but good straightforward ringing and then tolling! ah, that was a wedding! and they flung so much rice about it fair sent the old sexton crazy! how he did grumble, to be sure! they didn't go for no honeymoons neither in foreign lands, but stayed at home, and looked after the place. i don't believe in this gadding about directly you've been wedded, it's enough to unsettle anybody, let alone a newly married pair.” she sniffed contemptuously. "what do you think of the wedding-cake, mrs. jenkins ?" asked lucia, who privately admired it very much, now. . [ 178 ] mr. hermit crab while miss gray had eyed it with a suspicious gaze and decided that she would not let lucia have any of it, if she could help it. "very fine!" replied mrs. jenkins drily. "ah, i've seen wedding cakes in my time! not such as will lie as heavy as lead on one's stomach, but as will go down light as a feather, and which it's a pleasure to eat, not a duty. dear! dear! i know that cake will do away with all the enjoyment i'm going to get from this spread.” “but you needn't have any, if you think it will disagree with you,” said lucia unadvisedly. mrs. jenkins eyed her sternly. "what it's my duty to do, i'm going to do, whatever be the cost !” she added sepulchrally. at this moment the children saw the malicious fairy coming in their direction. “if she would rescue them !” they saw her look their way, then she turned away her head again. “just like her!” groaned lucia to herself. "she is maliciously inclined, and she is going to leave us to our fate." again she glanced their way. it was evident that she was being pulled in different ways by her sense of compassion and her love of mischief. at last she decided to pity them and not to go laughing on her way, leaving them to mrs. jenkins' tender mercies, for she advanced towards them. as soon as she came within hearing, “well, mrs. jenkins, you do look comfortable !" "yes'm, i dearly loves a chat with the gentry-it is a liberal education in itself.” . "indeed! by the way, lucia and louisa, the cake is being cut up now, and so if you want any, you had better run and get some, for i'm not going to reserve a [179] mr. hermit crab piece for you two, as i certainly shall for mrs. jenkins." the children did not need a second invitation. off they went, after having given the malicious fairy a look which expressed their gratitude. said lucia when they were in safety, “mrs. jenkins said it was a liberal education in itself to talk with the gentry, but i think, louisa, she lets the gentry say precious little; it seems as if she would rather give a liberal education to the gentry." “if we are gentry, she certainly does give one!" “in patience, do you mean? but i think miss gray schools my patience quite enough as it is. oh, won't i , be glad and relieved when she goes out of my sphere! hallo! there she is ! talk of the devil and" the children gazed aghast through the trees. it certainly was miss gray's hat, which showed above the shrubs. what other hat had that aggressive grey feather laid along the brim in front, and which threatened to poke out the eyes of all comers? their first thought was flight, and they acted on it. turning, they dashed madly into a species of thornbush close at hand, and naturally in a few seconds found themselves so intricately wound up in thorns and brambles that they could hardly tell which were thorns and which were themselves, but they felt all thorns. miss gray's hat came nearer, and, oh horrors, there was a clerical shovel alongside of it. the children crouched and waited. they had not long to wait. the causers of their present discomfort approached, apparently in close confabulation. “then beatrice” (beatrice!), said mr. butes' sonorous voice, "i hope you will leave off this governessing slavery at [ 180 ] mr. hermit crab _" and once. there is no need for you to continue it that i can see.” "i shall be very glad to do so, alexander, i can assure you. it is very wearing, especially with such a child as lucretia." “naturally you would find it so, though i daresay i should soon be able to make her conform. a firm hand, i should imagine, is needed in her case; you, my dear, err on the side of kindness, and she, of course, takes advantage of your sweetness of temper." they passed on, their words becoming unintelligible, leaving a storm raging in lucia's breast. boiling with anger, she sprang up, forgetful of the thorns, smarting in mind and body. “well, of all the womenshe stamped with anger. “oh! "oh! my poor leg! here, louisa, let's get out of this beastly bush, quick !" “easier said than done, my dear!" replied louisa, as she tried to disentangle herself as gently as might be. “beatrice! sweetness of temper! well, mr. butes, i once thought you a clever man; now i see how i was deceived !" and she struggled viciously. "when one " day you find miss gray a thorn in your side, expect no pity from me! and may she be as sharp as these are!" louisa now stood on the turf outside, free, though a little rumpled. "i shouldn't advise you to struggle so, lucia,” she said wisely, "you only get entangled the more. lucia took no notice whatever of her remark; it only exasperated her to see louisa standing there, nay, sitting, for she had sunk down on a mossy seat, so comfortable and cool and cheerful, while she herself was [ 181 ] mr. hermit crab a heated with her struggles with the brambles and her mental agitation. "governessing slavery, indeed!” she exclaimed contemptuously. for strange as it may seem, lucia, like many other little girls, had no idea whatever that it was anything short of a blessing to look after and teach her. she considered miss gray the trial of her life, but she certainly did not imagine that she was the trial of miss gray's life; and thinking thus it is not surprising that she was very indignant at mr. butes's remarks. they were disparaging to herself, and her self-love was wounded. to think that anyone should dare to say that he would make her conform! and her angry feelings were much heightened by her physical position. surrounded on all sides by grasping, clutching, tearing, scratching, pricking brambles, while louisa was watching her struggles so calmly, looking so cosy and comfortable and placid; undisturbed by her troubles, at least only so far moved as to give her a little advice languidly from time to time, such as: "well, lucia, you know you can't complain much at their remarks, because eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves.” could anything be more exasperating, and all the more because it was so true! “and, lucia, you'll tear your dress, if you aren't more careful.” she had torn it. “really, lucia, why do you struggle so? remember, patience is a great virtue.” she had lost hers and she knew it. and so on, and so on. at last lucia with one last desperate effort tore herself free. “let me never see your face again! i hate you !" she cried in red-hot anger at the astonished louisa. [182] mr. hermit crab “why, whatever are you so cross with me for, lucia ? i haven't done anything to you 1!” lucia looked upon her assertion as a piece of most bare-faced acting, and replied with a stony, contemptuous, icy calm, “indeed!” "well, i haven't!" "glad to hear it!" lucia's insulting behaviour now aroused louisa's sleeping ire. she returned loftily and pityingly, "well, lucia, all i can say is that i'm glad my inside isn't in the state yours is in." > “a lot you know about my inside !" “i do!” "indeed, miss granson !" "yes, indeed, miss graham! it's boiling, and you've let your wild beast loose, and he's running about, foaming with rage, seeking whom he may devour." . lucia immediately felt a canine desire to tear louisa in pieces, but restraining herself, she surveyed the treetops, and said sotto voce, “how glad i am she's not my sister!" one day, when she was very friendly, lucia had informed louisa that if she had been given a sister, she would have liked louisa to be that sister. this mark of her estimation had pleased louisa very much at the time, and she knew she would not have forgotten it. her dart took effect, as she knew it would, for louisa winced, but replied with spirit, “and i am glad you are not mine, so there are no bones broken." lucia did not deign to answer her; perhaps no fitting retort suggested itself to her. with a glance of withering contempt, at least she meant it for such, she turned [ 183] mr. hermit crab and stalked away; no other word can express her peculiar gait. as louisa looked after her retreating form, it occurred to her that she looked exactly as if she had been swallowing red-hot pokers whole. she was tempted to shout after lucia and call her attention to the similarity but forbore. then she turned her thoughts to the astonishing news that she had just been made acquainted with. “mr. butes and miss gray going to be married !" she at once felt an overpowering desire to go and tell her mother. if her conscience reminded her that she had no right to spread the engagement, without the consent of the parties concerned, it was immediately quenched by the thought that mother didn't matter. "won't she be surprised!" and as she set off at a steady trot to go and look for her she could not but wonder at lucia's uncalled-for anger. "well, i should have thought she would have been as pleased as punch, and she was only just wishing miss gray to go out of her sphere. anyway, won't she be cross when she finds that i have told the news first ?" however, it happened that when lucia's anger had cooled a little the thought came to her to tell the news before her faithless friend, as she bitterly termed louisa, and a few other pretty appellations, too, as the viper which she had nourished in her bosom, ingratitude incremate (though she must have meant incarnate), etc. she set off running as fast as she could at once, and consequently they met at the top of a green shrub-bordered alley, which they had entered by different paths, and at the bottom of which on a green bench sat mrs. granson and great-uncle stephenson. they read in each other's ( 184 ) mr. hermit crab eyes at a single glance the purpose which animated both. they raced along side by side at their utmost speed, and arrived breathless at the goal, without breath, unhappily, to tell their tale. when, however, mrs. granson and her companion managed to make out the news from their broken utterances, they then consulted each other's countenances. the result of this mute colloquy was that great-uncle stephenson said, “just as i had hoped !" and then drawing lucia and louisa to his side, “lucia, my dear, wouldn't you like a great-aunt?” lucia looked doubtful, as if she wasn't quite sure whether a great-aunt were a desirable acquisition or no, and so he turned to louisa, “louisa, my dear, wouldn't you like a—ahem"-(here great-uncle stephenson became visibly shy)—"a father?”' “that depends on what he's like,” replied louisa dolefully, and lucia went on discontentedly, "i always thought aunts were meddlesome matties." mrs. granson now came to great-uncle stephenson's rescue. "my dear, do you think i am a meddlesome matty ?” "h-m-m! you see, i've never lived with you, and that makes a great difference, even if you meet people day after day, you never know what they are capable of, until you have lived in the same house with them for a month or two. that accounts for the quantity of unhappy marriages there are." “lucia !” exclaimed louisa, for she thought that she had observed some signs of a propensity to slight her mother in the above remarks.. “do you mean to insinuate. ܙܙ?. [ 185 ] mr. hermit crab "no, i don't!" replied lucia hastily, for she knew from past experience that the one thing about which louisa would stand no trifling was if her mother were mentioned in a disparaging fashion, or if she thought she had been mentioned thus. "and so you think me capable of something dreadful, lucia, do you ?” asked mrs. granson, smiling sweetly, to show how far from her thoughts it was. "do i look very capable?” “mustn't trust to appearances,” replied lucia stoutly. "you see, dears," went on great-uncle stephenson nervously, "i—that is, we—have decided to be married, and so the children gasped and stared; never had such an idea crossed their vision, keen as they thought it was. "won't you congratulate us?” asked mrs. granson, smiling very youthfully. they kissed their new-found relations silently, and then walked off gravely together. “i hope they are pleased,” said great-uncle stephenson, when they had gone, “they seemed very serious about it." “oh, they are only very surprised,” replied mrs. granson, “and they are still amazed at miss gray's engagement, too. children are so conservative !" “i suppose so. dear children!” all of which showed that they were not selfish, and could think of other people, even though they were just engaged. meanwhile the children strolled on for five whole minutes in silence, and then their tongues awoke again. [ 186] mr. hermit crab "gracious!" said louisa. “i never thought mother would get married again !" “and as for great-uncle stephenson getting married at all, it never entered my head!" “and, oh, lucia! we must be a sort of relations, because my mother is going to marry your great-uncle.' “what of that?” replied lucia carelessly, as if she wanted to shove aside the whole subject. “it will only be in-law anyway!" louisa was really hurt by her manner. she knew that lucia had said that she was glad she was not her sister in a temper, and so she hadn't minded much, but this carelessness now that they were quite good friends again wounded her feelings severely. “well, lucia, i am surprised! i thought you would be pleased to have me for a relation." “oh, i'm glad, of course, only i don't see what there's to bother about." louisa did not take any notice of the latter part of her sentence. quite cheerful again, she continued, “now, whatever will it be? let me see-" "oh, what does it matter?” interrupted lucia almost crossly, who saw dark vistas of the future looming before her. “my mother marries your great-uncle, so he becomes my step-father,-step ?that sounds rather ominous, doesn't it? step-parents always ill-treat their step-children, don't they? like mr. murdstone." "oh, what does it matter?” cried lucia again. “my mother becomes your step-great-aunt. anyway, you've got a step, too, that's one comfort, so if great[187] mr. hermit crab uncle stephenson pets you and mistreats me, mother will pet me and ill-treat you. and i become your—oh, lucia i-i'm your aunt!" "no, you don't !” "but i do! just listen! my mother marries your great-uncle, so he becomes” and she would have gone over it again, if lucia had not stopped her. "well, i don't care! so there!" and she faced her desperately. she saw in the far future, dark and drear, a louisa always domineering over her, and who, when she objected to such treatment, would triumphantly exclaim, “but i'm your aunt!" unanswerable answer! "and, oh, lucia! i'm younger than you are!" “well, what of that?” replied lucia doggedly, and she turned her face away and tried to wink away a tear, which would fall, despite her efforts. the tone of her voice attracted louisa's attention. "why, lucial you're crying!” "i'm not! so there!" and lucia verified her state! ment by bursting into violent sobs. “but whatever on earth are you crying for?” asked louisa in a condition of profound astonishment. "why, i thought you would be awfully pleased to have an aunt younger than yourself, and who did lessons with you, and was behind you in some things, too! besides being shorter, you know. fancy being able to play with an aunt!” and louisa chuckled gleefully. this side of affairs had not occurred to lucia, and she soon brightened up and dried her tears, somewhat ashamed of giving way to so much emotion before louisa, whom she had often taunted with turning on the waterworks at ( 188 ] mr. hermit crab every and any opportunity. the cloud on her horizon disappeared as quickly as it had risen, and the children departed to taste the wedding-cake in the highest spirits possible. i have little more to add except that after miss gray's marriage, lucia and louisa were sent to school, where they caused much merriment and some confusion at first by persisting in addressing each other as aunt louisa and niece lucretia. they also acquired a command of language with a choice vocabulary with which they horrified miss gray in the holidays, when they went to pay her a visit to show their entire forgetfulness and forgiveness of past injuries. there was no happy medium in their likes and dislikes. they either adored and loved a thing to distraction or simply loathed it. such a puny, mincing word as “nice" never profaned their lips. it was "how jolly! what luck! scrumptious!" when things displeased or annoyed them, “what beastly luck! how awfully loathly!” or even, “how fearfully awfully loathly!” they talked about bunking and funking and flunking, crams and exams, rotting and swotting, bagging and fagging, etc., etc., and they also used other like incomprehensible terms. meat and drink was dignified, on the contrary, by the appellation of “grub.” they did not take off their clothes, they "shed" them. small children degenerated into the animal species, and became “kids." "hurry up!" was not emphatic enough for them, they said, “buck up !” “oh, you duffer !" came frequently to their lips, and “beastly” was a favourite adjective. they were rather fond of calling their friends "asses," too. d. d. signified for them "dear donkey; m. a., 6 [ 189 ] mr. hermit crab > "mad ass”; b. a., “bad ass,” etc. they also thought it very witty to speak of tschaikowsky as “the sneeze. all of which showed they were still very young and had much to learn. miss gray made a very exemplary parson's wife and ruled her own house and the parish to the mutual advantage of all concerned. and though at first she met with rebels, she held her own, and sent her adversaries packing, and never more did they enter her sphere. she outlived her husband and died at the ripe age of eighty-two in an odour of sainted respectability, revered by all. of course there were a few back-biters, who had never been admitted inside her charmed circle and never felt the weight of her benevolence, but is not this the lot of all really good people? we will not pollute our pages by setting down their libellous tales, how they said she had driven mr. butes into an early grave by her constant fault-finding, that if there were ever a poor man henpecked, he was that man, and so on, and so on, ad infinitum. this manuscript was begun on all-hallowmas and finished on the festival of candlemas. m. r. [190] ma ei university of california library berkeley return to desk from which borrowed. this book is due on the last date stamped below. ၄၁ education library decex11953 jan 6 recd apr 2 2 1957 may 2 4 recd bine aug 5 1960 10 aug 4 recd pa ld 21-100m-7,'52 (a2528s16)476 arabella yc109169 spelling book lady matilda macmillan su the 914317 d the university of california library seaweed soup mar) 11. sewell 219 m554h 821 grogo meryweather library of the university of illinois 821 m554h publis merryeveall video mr. 」 身​a the h er mit of es kd aleside, with other poems. by i. a. morowali a boon, a talisman, o memory! give, to shrine my name in hearts where i would live for evermore! bid the wind speak of me where i have dwelt, bid the stream's voice, of all my soul hath felt, a thought restore! song, is the gift with thee?-i ask a lay soft, fervent, deep, that will not pass away from the still breast; fill'd with a tone-oh! not for deathless fame, but a sweet haunting murmur of my name, where it would rest ! mrs. hemans. whitby: : published by r. kirby: to be had of messrs, simpkin and marshall, london; and all booksellers. 1833. whitby: printed by r. kirby, bridge-street, m55th 821 23 apl+ 180 contents. hermit of eskdaleside miscellaneous poems. 59 65 69 74 80 to happiness the mermaiden's song the halls of missolonghi thoughts of an invalid oswylines, written after great affliction the emigrant peasant's farewell egeria to her lover meta, or the power of joy the revel's queen 89 93 98 101 115 to wordsworth 117 the maiden's grave118 to winter 123 129 lucy ashton, to ravenswood invocation to the spirit of health to my boy 130 133 dan. res. wasserman 24 peb, 47 lovella 133 preface. in presenting to the public a second edition of the hermit of eskdaleside, with the addition of other miscellaneous poems,the authoress begs to state, that she fully appreciates the influence, which a poetical description of scenes, endeared to most of her readers, by early and pleasing associations,—may have had upon their minds, while judging of the merits of her little performance. this kind feeling, so natural and so praiseworthy, may account for the favorable local reception of the first impression; but its present more extensive circulation will deprive the poem of this fostering protection, and expose it to the unbiassed critical judgment of the public, from which the authoress does not venture to anticipate sentiments so encouraging. it may, however, deprecate the severity of criticism, to premise-that the composition of these poems formed the alleviation and employment of many hours, which must otherwise have been passed in the languor of indisposition. the authoress is quite conscious that her mental powers would necessarily sympathize with the suffering and debility of her bodily frame; and that many of her pieces are too much « sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought," arising from the emotions which pervaded her mind during their composition. the same causes, it is hoped, will also palliate and apologize for every other imperfection. to each individual included in the list of subscribers, the authoress begs to express her deep sense of obligation; and hopes that, at least, one hour's amusement may be afforded, for the lasting honour they have conferred upon her. whitby, june 13th, 1833. the hermit of eskdaleside, far in a wild, unknown to public view, from youth to age, a rev'rend hermit grew; the moss his bed, the cave his bumble cell, his food the fruits, his drink the crystal well; remote from man, with god he pass'd his days, prayer all his business—all his pleasure praise. parnbll. à a little lowly hermitage it was, down in a dale hard by a forest side, farre from resort of people that did pass in travell to and fro: a little wide there was an holy chapel edified, wherein the hermit duly went to say his holy things each morn and evening tide: thereby a crystal streame did gently play. spenser. the hermit of eskdaleside. spirit of poesy! whose lovely rays their soothing influence have deigo'd to cast o'er the still current of my silent days, and ling'd them with thy glory as they pass'd to find e:ernity's wide sea at last. spirit of puesy! whose lightest lone has been 10 me a witchery and a spell ; whose visions oft have blest my musings lone, and whose bright essence, in the deepest cell of my heart's worship, still has deign'd tu dwell; assist me now! and may !hy numbers, wreathing with the wild notes of my unpractis'd song, and o'er my strains the rapt enchantments breatbing, which to thy heaven-taught lyre alone belong, blend its sweet tones my humble verse among: and may thy mantle, scott! on me descend, the warm admirer of thy mios!relsy a 2 hermit of bskdaleside. and glorious genius!ihough the last attend not the rude efforts of thy votary: lend to my late the pleasing melody which to the northern harp thy touch imparted; whilst i, with feebler hand, attempt to raise the echoes of a legend long departed— the ling'ring, dying tones of other days. inspire my timid pencil wbile it strays o'er the lov'd scenery of my native bome; and to depict those beauties dares essay, from wbieh how gladly would i never roam, if health would o'er me shed her wish'd-for ray and all the sadness of my soul allay! assist me while i paint the ruin hoar whose mould'ring arches still thy summits crowo, the restless waves that wash thy unding shore, the lovely vale where esk meanders down, and all thy lonely charms, my cherish'd pative town! 1. fair streoneshalh! on whose stately fane where high it towers above the main, where long it crown'd the rocky steep a beacon o'er the trackless deep, i oft have idly gazed ; hbrmit of eskdalrsidb, and mused upon the ruind halls with their huge strength of cloister'd walls in other ages rajsed; and as i watcb'd the rays of light through the worn arches shining bright, and saw heaven's canopy of blue the crumbling windows gleaming through, where sbone of old the storied pane ting'd with rich colour's brightest stain, which far the painted shadows flung where hilda pray'd and cedmon sung, upon the ballow'd abbey floor, with grass and weeds now mantling o'er ;i've ponder'd o'er the tiny span allotted to the works of man, aod sadly mus'd o'er the decay that sweeps our mightiest deeds away. fair streoneshalb! now it is not mine to wail o'er thy august decline; to mourn the downfal of thy power, or sigb above thy prostrate tower, on which, at noon's resplendent hour i've gazed, with awe-struck, anxious eye, in childhood's fond credulity, hernit of eskdalesidb. to mark saint hilda's shadow dim, which, 'mid the cloister'd arches grim, js said to linger, for a while, in sorrow o'er the ruin'd pile; where ruld of yore the holy maid, and potent intercession made, tbat, of the myriad snakes that coil o'er ber domain's all-hallow'd soil, and rear their venom'd heads, each ove should, at her prayer, be turn’d to stove. iii. fair streoneshalb! mine be now the strain to paint the honours of thy fane, when in our second henry's reign high was thy rule-supreme thy swaypeasant and prince alike obey. widely thy fair domains ex'ende thy coffer'd treasures know no endwhile to thy favour'd sons is given the rule on earth, the keys of heaven. then did thy massive pile look down upon a humble, clust'ring town, chiefly of gsbers' huts composed, ill-built and carelessly disposed; hermit of eskdalbside. the shelter of the hardy brood who seek their dangerous livelihood upon the treach'rous briny aood. though minglicg also there, i ween, some franklins' dwellings might be seen simple and rude their masonry offensive to a modern eye. no pharos then, or noble pier, warn’d the toss'd vessel where to steer, nor shed a bright protecting ray across the waters of our bay, whose silver-crested heaving wave its attribute the bamlet gave, and, as augments the village small, its humble homes they "white-bay" call. iv. the gifts of culture's teeming band were then ill-scatter'd o'er our land, wide were the trackless wastes of moor the roe-buck bounded fleetly o'er; and where the esk now sweetly glides through scenes that grace its gentle rides, where fields of corn, and meads of green, in pleasing interchange are seen; 6 ibrnit of rokdalesidb. and stately mansions crown the heights which guard the lovely vale of sleights; a gloomy desert stretched around, where tangled forest-growths abound. the wolf's long howl is sounding there, and there the wild-fox makes bis lair, while oft the hurry of the chase breaks the lone silence of the place; and hound, and knight, and yeoman dash, while bough and brushwood loudly crash, the grisly boar to rouse and slay: such was the pastime of the day. v. two dwellings, which the peasants call of each respective place, “the hall," on separate heathy bills are found, while humble huts are clust'ring round. each is the village manor-househomes of de piercie and de bruce, two norman knights of gentle straio, whose fathers pass'd the roaring main, when warlike william cross'd the brine, to wrest tbe crown from harold's line. the conqu’ring monarch gave the lands their good swords won from saxon hands, hbrmit of bskdalbside. 7 and the rude mansions still remained as first their forfeit rights were gained. not oft these dwellings of the waste were by their masters' presence graced :aspiring, proud, and courtly bred, a different life the barons led than in their rude, remote homestead. each in bis sov'reign's favour high ambition's paths proposed to try and sought the balls of royalty; but sometimes to their manors came to share the sports of sylvan game, and left ambitiov's eager race to taste the pleasures of the chase, vi. de bruce and piercie both were proud, handsome and young, and in the crowd of life, small difference, i ween, might in their characters be seen; yet were the features of their souls separate, as th' ideal poles, on whicb, through space, our planet rolls. gen'rous was piercie's nature high which sparkled in his falcop eye the lofty light of chivalry; 8 hermit of bokdalbside, deceit and meapness were his scornand oft oppression's slave forlorn would to de piercie's halls repair, sure of protecting safety there: foremost in battle's stirring hourhumane in conquest's dreadful powercourteous and wild in lady's bower. vii. yot fairer gifts of outward grace the eye in bruce's form might trace of poble mould and faultless face. the beauty of the serpent's skin conceals the venom'd store within, jo tortuous paths it loves to wind, arch-enemy of human kind, since the deep wiles of its advice cost our first parents paradise, and brought the heritage of woe, labour and death, on all below. meet emblem is the venom'd worm of the de bruce's soul and form, whose mappers, graceful and refin'd, hid a perfidious heart and mind. his aims concepter'd all in self his pleasure, profit, power, or pelf; hermit of eskdalesidr. nor guilt, nor crime, his band restrained if, by these means, bis ends were gained, yet were bis sios conceal'd and sly, and veil'd with soft bypocrisy; though many a ruio'd house could tell by the de bruce's arts it fell his coffers and estates to swell; aud many a lovely lady sigh'd bereft of hope and maiden pride, and sadly wail'd the luckless hour when the false knight first sought her bower. now, at his sov'reign's kind command, de bruce aspires to clara's hand the crown's own highly portiond ward, nor his success does ought retard, but thrives bis suit, and speeds his name, with the fair, wealthy norman dame. > vill. at present, on their yorkshire ground, de bruce and piercie both are found, by purpose met, with other kvights, to share the bunters' keen delights; to chase the stag, the boar to slay, to make tbe horrid wolf their prey, 10 hermit op bskdaleside. while plots, and schemes, and war's alarms, and prosp'rous love's bewitching charms, are, for the nonce, alike resign'd for the rude joys that sportsmen find, for merriment and heartsome gleo and careless mirth and jollity. ix. where our fair stream's blue waters glido through tbe rich banks of eskdaleside, there rose, of old, a humble cell where, as our ancient legends tell, a holy hermit lov'd to dwell. a monk of s:reoneshalb's pile was ho, of spotless life and sanctity. better be lop'd in this abode to rest with nature and bis god, than in st. hilda's walls immur'd from fair creation's charms obscur'd in those bright scenes to have no part, which light devotion in the heart. a chapel small, of structure rude, near the low cell adjoining stood : when morn's first light was beaming there, it found the holy man in prayer abrnit or bskdaleside. 11 and when boon pour'd her glowing raya 'they saw the monk absorb'd in praise while under ev'ning's deep'ning shade, siill the old hermit knelt and pray'd. ’lis sweet to list the tinkling bell which sounds at eve from that lone cell, and tells religion's lovely tale far down the soft reposing vale, when sober ev'ding's shadowy ray succeeds tha spleudour of the day, and softly shine the wood and stream beneath that gentle, chasten'd beam; the bee's grave hum, the bird's wild note, on western zephyrs sweetly foat, till night ber sable mantle throws and veils the scene in soft repose : how sweetly through the forest dim rose the good hermit's midnight bymn, while to the list'ning moon and sky he pour'd bis straius sublime and highdevotion's purest harmony ! x. a mile's short distance from the shado where the old hermit knelt and pray'd, 12 hermit op eskdaleside. a franklin's ample home was found, with cultur'd fields reposing round: a shelter'd, happy-looking spot, a wealthy saxon's goodly lot,between the river and the wood on a soft rising ground it stood, the tranquil home of love and peace, industry, with alternate ease. its owner was an honest heart who lov'd repose, and took no part in the ursettled time's turmoilbut till'd, well pleas'd, his native soil: a tender father, and a kind and gen'rous master-still inclin'd his boudsmens' hearts with grace to biod and find their love bis safest guard ;such was the saxon hereward. xi. a lovely and an only child within this peaceful mansion smild; a fairer or a gentler maid than blue-ey'd emma, never stray'd through the wild haunts of sylvan shade. her widow'd father's treasur'd joy, light of his eyes, bis age's toy, nermit op eskdalbsidb. 13 . . rear'd in the lap of tenderness, stranger to sorrow and distress, her light and happy youthful heart had knowo no pain, had felt no smart. conceal'd withio her native shades, her joys all centred in their glades,skreen'd from the tumult of the world, in peace her blooming charms unfurl d. she fear'd no ill — she knew ao wrong but sweetly pour'd her joyous song her lovely native woods among, and peaceful pass'd her happy time, nor reck'd of guilt, nor dream'd of crime, while all she felt of misery was, when some fav'rite dove would die. xii. the simple household owo her sway and all ber gentle rule obey. to gain the milky mother's store her maideps she presided o'er, and oft her fairy fingers plied the spindle's whirling dance to guide, while snowy rounds of wheaten cakes she sometimes o'er the ashes bakes. b 14 ibrmit of bⓡkdalbsidb, her sire to soot be in evening's shade, oft on the virginals she play'd, and would ber flaxen tresses braid with wreathing flowers, on holidays, when through her father's fields she strays or grac'd the pastime of the day, with garlands crown'd the queen of may. xiii. once in an ill-starr'd, luckless hour, de bruce had mark'd this forest-flower where her soft bloom the woodlands grac'd; her beauty fir'd bis pamper'd taste -alas! i cannot say bis heart, where true affection had no part. he sought her father's rural balls, and by his wiles the hearts enthralls of sire and child ; and oft be sought their home or cattle to be bought or sold on varying pretence, he blinds good hereward's sturdy sense; and saxon prejudice gives way to the demeanour, frank avd gay of the young knight, who soon, i ween, high in the gen'rous franklin's grace is seen. nerhit op b&kdaleside, 15 xiv. ill-fitted was the gentle hope of her fond father's heart, to cope with the de bruce's practis'd art, aud soon the tender emma's heart beats with a pang before unkoown; she loves to ramble forth alone the shady forest-branches under, and sigb, and ruminate, and wonder, when the young, graceful knight will call again, at eskdale's rustic hall. xv. "tis not my purpose to unfold a tale too often darkly told, or the development to paint of fell seduction's withering taint; such theme too mournful for my lay, nor could i the sad task essay, to paint the rose of innocence and youth and beauty, basely blighted by passion's selfish, fuul pretence; and eyes, which happiness once lighted, now sadly droopinga-:o avoid a father's, gaze-and swellid with weeping, . 16 dermit op eskdalbside. the joys of youth and hope destroy'dand bittes misery now steeping the heavy days and weary nights, once fill'd with home-felt, pure delights. and ab! the worst of miseries, to feel degraded in those eyes which passion's victim makes her heaven, and view ere long their alter'd glance ;there is no pang to mortals given, more dire, than waking from the trance of passionate love,-to feel 'tis gone, where we have treasur'd bliss alone! xvi. such was the ruin'd emma's statesuch wretchedness her hapless fate. amid the summer woods she stray'd like s:ricken deer, that seeks the glado for the concealment of its shade, and there to weep, and weeping diesuch seem'd poor emma's destiny. she fear'd to meet her father's gazs oft sadly fix'd upon her face, in grief to mark the paling cheek, where softest colour wont to speak hermit of eskdalesidr. 17 of the heart's healthy, gladsome tide; and oft the tender father sigh'd to miss the bounding step, that o'er the verdant sward, or oaken floor, was wont so joyously to spring his homeward footsteps welcoming. now slow and mouruful was her tread, and bowed the lovely drooping head, that none upon her downcast face the sadness of her soul might trace. though grier'd to mark bis darling chang'd from all her youthful sports estrang'd, the truth we'er flashed on hereward's mind, in fond confiding safety blind, xvii. soon weary of his hapless prey, de bruce now lingers long away ; seldom his visits to the dale their moonlight rambles down the vale where first he breathed his tender tale, unfrequent now estranged his mien wbile soon the dreadful truth is seen by the poor maid, that love has fed, and left her hopes all cold and dead, 18 hermit of bsadaleside. still does she play fond woman's part and hoard the traitor in her heart, while sometimes does her bosom burn with hope bis passion may return. so fond, so true, so kind he seem'd his vows will surely be redeemid; while all ber lonely weepings dried, she shall become bis happy bride, and by her worshipp'd bruce's side spend joyfully ber peaceful life, an honour'd and a cherish'd wife nor fear disgrace's blight to shed on her kind father's boary head, but be his age's crown of joy, such dreams sometimes the fears decoy of the poor maid, and ease the dart of anguish rankling in her heart. xviii. 'twas night-and o'er the lonely vale moonlight's soft rays were sweetly sleeping, the owl was whooping down the dale, and from the stream the fish were leaping; the silver radiance gently play'd o'er the s'ill surface of the river, abrmit op eskdalesidr. 19 while, 'mid the wood's reposing shade, scarce does the breeze a leaflet shiver; o'er saxon hereward's teeming fields the lovely light is softly stealing, the yellow store their harvest yields its mellow brilliancy revealing; where perch'd the feather'd subjects press, the wily fox around is prowling, and from the desert-wilderness the hideous wolf is loudly howling. onward the peaceful river flows,scarce does a breath its bosom wrinkle, while through the evening's still repose, is softly heard the silver tinkle of the old chapel's little bell; and oft belated wanderer straying, has sought the shelter of the cell where the good hermit still was praying, and found, till morn, repose and rest a welcome and a cherish'd guest. while many sought the humble cell confession's hidden tales to tell, and not the lowly serfs alone there breatb'd their souls' repentant moan, but many noble of the earth, of higher rank, and prouder birth, 20 bernit of bskdalbside, would from remotest parts repair to seek for absolution there, apd crave the holy hermit's prayer. the anguish of too late remorse was sooth'd by his sublime discourse : how many in that lonely spot were taught to fix their hopes on high, and bear the evils of their lot with faith's divine serenity! whilst oft the erring sinner found a balm for keen repentance there, taught where blest mercy's stores aboundthe fruit of penitential prayer! xix. wherefore at night's untimely hour does gentle emma leave her bowerand quit the safety of her home, down the still moonlight vale to roam? when beauty seeks this stealthy hour to quit unseen her shelter'd bower, nor dares step forth beneath the ray which pours the open face of day, but chooses midnight's canopy to veil her from her parent's eye; hermit of exkdaleside. 21 then may she fear that guilt or ill will track her covert footsteps still, and grief or crime will dog the ways which shun a tender father's gaze. xx, wrapt in her mantle's shroud, the maid far down the winding valley stray'd, and tracks the sound, the chapel's bell is softly swinging down the dell. at length before the lowly cell the maiden faulters for a while, in the still moonlight's gentle smile, how sweetly sleeps that hut of moss surmounted by the blessed cross ! from the low chapel twinkling streams the sacred lamp's undying beams, and softly murm'ring on the air, comes the old hermit's whisper'd prayer. xxi. at length, with trembling band, the maid a feeble, lowly tap essay'd the hermit mark'd the gentle sound, and emma soon admission found. she comes in soul-felt keen distress her sin and sorrow to confess; 92 hermit of eskdalesidb. prostrate upon the earthen foor her beauteous tresses streaming o'er, with burning tears of grief and sbame, and sobs that thick and choking came emma her tale of woe reveal'd, nor aught of her disgrace conceal'd. xxii, the pitying hermit heard with pain, for oft, within his holy fane, he mark'd the blooming saxon fair, so constant in devotion there. her gen'rous-hearted sire be lov'd — and now, with deep compassion movid, he sorrow'd o'er the witbering blight of hope and innocent delight, which through de bruce's guilt had come to blast the şaxon's happy bome. xxiii. no word to injure or upbraid her faithless lover, breath'd the maid ; she dwelt upon his sacred vow, nor would the dreadful truth allow, he meant to break the plighted troch so often pledged with solemn oath, ibrmit of bokdaleside. 23 -mature of thought, the holy man was better skill'd the arts to scan, by which the gentle, injur'd maid had been so cruelly betray'd. xxiv. with sorrow's bitterest anguish stirr'd, poor emma murmur'd, she had heard that soon de bruce the hand would claim of a young, wealthy norman dame, long his betrothed, affianced bride. deeply the hapless maiden sigh'd and said, resolv'd the truth to know, if perjur'd faith and broken vow indeed were bruce's sad intenta a trusty messenger she sent, to bid him to the trysting-place he oft with eager step would trace, when first poor emma sought the shade to meet him in the forest-glade. should the de bruce accord her prayer he now would wait her coming there, for past already was the hour, she bade bim to the forest-bower. with prostrate form she bent to crave the hermit's blessing, which he gave; 24 uermit of eskdalesidb. but kindly strove the bapless maid from this sad meeting to dissuade. he gently dar'd the truth to tell and own'd the fact was known too well, that soon to clara's house allied, de bruce would claim another bride. with injur'd love's deep sorrow grier'd, emma confirming word receiv'd of all her fears—but not the less was she, with woman's tenderness resolv'd to bless her eyes once more, with bim so fondly lov'd before; and vainly hop'd her tearful prayer would change de bruce's purpose there, where he so oft had breath'd the row, alas! a wretched mockery vow. the hermit's mild attempts were vain the injur'd emma to restrain from meeting her false love again he therefore asked her walk to share, to guard her with a father's care, and o'er de bruce exert bis sway poor emma's sorrows to allay, and all her injuries to redress by a kind busband's tenderness. hermit of eskdaleside. 25 whilst bitterly she wept and sigb'd, the maiden still the grace denied, of the good mook, de bruce's mood she fear'd, if on their solitude a third should come for well she knew, he wish'd their meetings secret too. she thank'd the hermit fervently for all bis love and should she die, (if bruce indeed was false,) of grief, she pray'd bim give each kind relief, to her poor father's sorrow great, and soothe bis wretched ruin'd state. humbly and low the maiden bended and while hot tears of anguish fell upon the hand the monk extended, she kiss'd it oft, and left the cell. xxv. the hermit's soul oppress'd by gloom of this sad tale, could not resume, his solemn prayers, but sadly mus'd o'er trustiog love and faith abus'd, o'er hereward's blighted home of joy, o'er guilt which could such bliss destroy; 26 hrrmit of eskdaleside. he thought of bruce-whose burthen'd soul at retribution's awful day, when trumpets speak, and thunders roll, would have such fearful debt to pay; and ihe dread penalty would feel, which sin must then in torments prove, when heavenly vengeance will reveal the aching wrongs of injur'd love. at length to ease the load that weigh'd his spirit down), be sought the gladeand wander'd onward through the shade, to watch the safety of the maid. a tangled path the hermit took, beside the waters of the brook. he felt the still and holy calm, which breath'd the lovely silent night, o'er his vex'd spirit shed its balm, and raise devotion's pure delight: he wander'd on, and caught at last, a glimpse of emma and her lover, where by the river's side they pass'dhe saw, alas! her hopes were over by the wild gestures of the maidwho bitterly her clasp'd hands wrung, and sometimes kneeling in the glade, round bruce her arms distracted flung, hermit of eskdaleside. 27 who walk'd apart and proudly there, and shook his head with haughty air, impatient of the maid's despair. xxvi. quicker the hermit pass'd along, the moonlight forest-walks among: the river here, with graceful sweep, rollid on its current calm and deep; hid by its curve, the hermit's eye, no more could emma's form descry, for gentle slope and leafy skreen, now spread umbrageous sbade between. when sudden on his startled ear, is borne the sound of struggling dearterror's wild shriek-into the stream a heavy plungeone bubbling scream and then the river murmurs o'er, lovely and silent as before. horror the aged hermit bound, and held fast rooted to the ground; with mighty effort then, at last, the river's bend he slowly pass'd, where, leaning on a rocky sione, stood the de bruce--and stood alone! 28 uermit of bokdalesid3. xxvii, quailed that dark-beaming eye of pride, to mark the hermit by bis side; passion's wild storm is on the brow, dash'd with detection's paleness now. hellish convulsions madly chase horrific o'er that working face, in its fierce beauty scowling thero how like the dæmon of tbe airthe fall'n archangel-wbeo from heaven its dark, rebellious son was driven! wiib tiembling lips and ashen cheek, the hermit vainly tried to speak, the awful, death-like calm to break. at length' bis faull’ring tongue essay'd, though faint its sound, "where is the maid?" " what maid? i know not of a maid !" a with bollow voice the murderer said. i fear, “what maid ? the hapless, ruin'd one! by ibine accursed arts undonethe innocent, who vow, through thee, bas found a wat'ry bier ! nay, turn not scornfully aside, but lower that haughty glance of pride. • the saxon hereward's lovely child, by thy demowiac arts beguild, hermit of eskdalbsid& 29 her woful story came to tell of deep repentance in my cell,from wbich, an hour is scarcely gone, she came to meet with thee alone. i follow'd soon, resolv'd to aid with my best power, the much-wrong'd maid; and hoped to make thy band atone for all the injuries thou hast done,on dread of holy church's ban an excommunicated man! long by the river's brink i spied the maiden pleadiog by iby side, till as the stream there bending strays, its curve conceal'd her from my gaze. then, as if in a horrid dream, i heard the struggle and the scream; i heard the heavy, falling plashi, the closing river's murmuring dash, oh, wicked man! and could'st thou kill the gentle heart that loved thee still? for here, before god's awful throne, i charge the deed on thee alone!" xxvii. 6 thou didst not see me do the deed ? thou couldet not, and i do not plead 30 hermit of eskdaleside. my innocence-in deepest scorn i the foul, guilty charge return! thou saw'st the maiden by my side enough-when i her suit denied to make her fair, frail self my bride, aud all my cherish'd claims discard on our kind monarchi's lovely ward, the frantic and distracted maid, while by the river's side we stray'd, rush'd madly where its waters flow, and desp'rately essay'd to throw herself into the brimming flood. emma's rash purpose i withstood, and strove to draw ber from the stream, -wherefore the struggle and the scream. in vain my best attempts i tried she plung'd into the sweeping tideand here i stood-alarm'd-dismay'da by the dread action of the maid, when on my privacy you stole and saw the tumults of my soul,the cause might amply justify, to see so fair a creature die, by her own act's insanity. or this is the sad and simple case : and, holy father, should you grace termit op es kdaleside. 31 with credence, bruce's knightly word, 'tis well; if not, my own good sword shall, to the death, resent the sbame, by any cast upon my name, and bright renown's unblemish'd fame!" xxix. “thy bright renown! peace, sinner, peace! thy profitless deceptions cease ; as well thy guilty soul i read, as though i saw thee do the deed. not her's the act, poor, gentle maid, (if frail she was, by thee betray'd; to thee, how constant, tender, true!) so fell-so dire a deed to do. her humble soul, and gentle heart, in such rash violence had no part; rather would she have slowly pin'd away, to hopeless grief resigo'd, than back upon the giver throw the gift he can alone bestow; or peril ber immortal soul, by deed so impious and foul, and thine the peril, thine the cost, should that unhappy soul be lost! 32 rrrmit op eskdalbside. it soothes to think, that in my cell, before this horrid scene befel, whilst with confessing anguish griev'd, she absolution's rites receiv'd. “now will i to my cell repair, and give myself to solemn prayer, fasting, and lonely vigil there, two days and nights—her soul to ease from purgatory's agonies, which sacred, needful duty done, i bie to hilda's blessed son, abbot of streoneshalh's hallow'd fane, thy guilt and murder to arraigr. and, in the intervening time, for thy most horrid, treach'rous crime, i lay the church's solemn ban upon thy head, most perjur'd man! and on thy soul its blood-guilt lay, anathema, maranatha!" tbus said,the hermit turn'd aside and homeward down the valley hied, sore griev'd, and bitterly dismay'd, by the dread murder of the maid, apd shock'd to view the maze of sin, de bruce had wound his soul within, hbrmit of bokdaleside. 33 la fervent prayer the hermit sought to find relief from painful thought; and earnest supplication made, to ease the spirit of the waid. xxx. how fair is morn! when first her rays o'er nature's varied charms are breaking, freshen'd by sleep-as is the face of beauty, from repose awaking. how graceful curls the misty wreath, from the blue bosom of the river ! wbile, in cool morning's gentle breath, how softly does the foliage quiver! amid the east tbe clouds are blushing, to bail the monarch of the day, who soon from hidden chambers rusbing, pours.o'er the earth bis glorious ray; he gilds the forest summits tender, with the brigbt lustre of his beam; and showers a flood of dazzling splendour, on esk's fair valley and its stream. witb joy the choral soogsters greet bim, and swell the liquid tide of song; while higher svars the lark to meet him, the fleecy clouds of morn amoog. 34 hbrmit of eskdalesidb. the graceful stag, from covert bounding, snuffs the fresh morning's breezy gale, nor fears tbe hunters' bugles soundingbut lightly curvets down the dale. the wolf aud fox are slowly creeping, to find their rest when others wake, and sound the brindled boar is sleeping, within the forest's thickest brake. o'er murky towns, bright rays are stealing, soft sunbeam, o'er the alleys play their squalid wretchedoes revealing; and sio and mis’ry slink away, rebuked by that pure lucid light, from those vile baunts, too throngly crowded, where many pass their guilty night, by darkness' dusky cov'ring shrouded; though not unseen by that bright eye, from which no lurking-place can hide usand from sin's darkling misery, whose blessed beams alone can guide us. within the sick man's chamber streaming, is softly seen morn's lovely ray; where dusky lamps are dimly gleaming, abash'd by the fair light of day. nermit of bskdaleside. 36 $ xxxi. a lovelier september morn, ne'er shone upon the waving cornthan that which pour'd its golden light, after the melancholy night, of sin and woe described before; pair stream'd the sun's glad splendour o'er the verdant earth, as woe and sin, were not her beauteous scenes within. : early tbat morn the bugles blew, the bounds might souff the scented dew, ere by the sun's bright beams exhaled the fragrant vapour would have failed : early the sportsmen left the ball early the steed forsook his stallfrom kernel lova'd, in leash to stray, pleas'd the glad hounds whimper and bay; clad in the forests' vestments green huntsmen and servitors are seen, all meetly arm'd with stave and spear, and full of glee and mirthful cheer. on noble hunters, side by side, de bruce and piercie proudly ride and none upon de bruce's face, the tempest of his soul might trace 36 abrnit of bokdalbside. 1 and brightly shone bis eagle eye, as though it ne'er saw emma die. many good knights were riding there, of haughty mien and stately air, but noue, who sought that morning's chase, could match the form of manly grace, which bruce's palfrey proudly bore, the heathy moorland desert o'er, xxxii. 1 1 at length they reach'd the wilderness, within whose tangled dark recess, they meant the grisly boar to rouse for the day's pastime and carouse. huge oaks, within that gloomy shade, stretch'd their goarled boughs athwart the glade; and aged thorns long sbadows threw, o'er the soft green-sward's untracked dew. the mountain-asb, with berries red, her graceful, feathery foliage spread, and hazles bend the fruitful bough, weigh'd down with russet clusters now, hollies of giant size were found, while wreathing brambles choke the ground. tangled the forest's children stand, uoknowing of man's pruning hand; hermi̇t of eskdalesidb. 37 coil'd up within th' impervious brake, lurks in its nest, the swelt'ring snake; and reptiles nestle in the shade, where man ne'er wielded plough or spade. xxxiii. far in the thicket's mazes there, a monstrous boar had made bis lairstretch'd out for rest each hideous limb, fast lock'd in sleep, loathly and grim. the hounds upon bis traces came, and eager sought the slumb'ring game, who rous'd from deep repose at length, slowly oprear'd his bulky strength, shook the night's dew drops from his hide, and gripping borrid, opend wide his frightful jaws, where wbite, and strong, and sharp, large tusks were ranged along; then fiercely bristliog—as he came quitted the brake-bis path the samenow feeter ran director iwinedand left the yelping pack behiod. xxxiv. within his chapel's hallow'd pile, the boly hermit watch'd the while,d 38 hermit of eskdalesidb. his aged knees the rough stoves wear, while his clasp'd hands are rais'd io pray'r. before the crucifix he kneels and o'er bis face the lustre steals of the blest lamp, whose mellow ray, does o'er his aged forehead play, with its soft waves of silver hair, 1 low bow'd in meek devotion there! in his blue eye, how mildly heams the fire, which from his bosom streams, of holiness, and heavenly love, while wafts liis pious prayer above! ! nu seraph in the courts of heaven, can have a fairer aspect given of love, and rapt ecstatic prayer, than that old hermit kneeling there. xxxv. -suddenly rings the boly place with all the hurry of the chase, with noisy rout, the eager throng gallop the echoing vale along, while bugles ring, and stag-lounds yell, far down the jab'rinths of the dell. when, through the chapel's open door, stagger'd the foaming, harrassid boar, hbrmit op eskdaleside. 39 he stumbled opward through the cell, till at the hermit's feet he fell, awhile convuls'd, he dying lay, but soon life's struggles pass'd away, and with stiff limbs, the vanquish'd boar stretch'd his gaunt bulk, to rise no more. xxxvi. shock'd and dismay'd, the mook arose, the chapel's open door to close, lest bound and huntsman should intrude, upon his prayers, with clamour rude. better bis privacy to guard, he carefully the portal barr'd, then turning to his beads and book, to silent prayer himself betook, nor listened to the clam'rous rout, who swore, and yell'd, and scream'd without, xxxvi. the eager dogs-baulk'd of their prey, before the holy chapel, bay at fauli-and scratch the sturdy door with knobs of iron studded o'er; the sportsmen, madden'd at the foil oi eager hunt and keenest tuil 40 hermit of bkdaleside, . forgot their rev'rence for the place, in the wild fury of the chase. meanwbile, for his owo wicked views, to raise their passions tried de brucea “beat down the door,' he loudly cried, “we will not, comrades, be denied of our won game, nor be debarr'd by hermit's bolt and shackled ward. beat down the door, again i say, nor longer keep our dogs at bayand should the hermit still resist, wreak bunter's vengeance as ye list!" xxxviii. “for shame, de bruce," de piercie cried, his cheeks with blood indignant dyed, “ for shame, again i say, de bruce, thus angry feelings to arousa against the venerable man,into his cell the creatore ran by us pursued and much i fear, has done the hermit damage here. let us with gentle words induce the mork bis portal to unloose ; -nor harshly fright his rev'rend age nor force bis holy hermitagenor risk our souls by sacrilege!" hbrmit of bskdalbside. 41 -haughty assent de bruce then bow'dmurmur'd applause, tbe nodding crowd while to the monk, with language bland, de piercie tells his friepas' demand, with their sharp spears the boar to slay, and end the pastime of the day. xxxix. of anger, slowly the hermit drew away the bolts,--and there the monster lay, in deaih all horrid, stiff and stark. de bruce obsery'd the rising spark, in tbe bunters' eye, kindling in fury rapidly, to be thus hinder'd of the sport when bugles sound, “a mori-a mort!" and hideous grips the monster there, to rush upon the meeting spear, while at his throat and haunches spring the eager dogs, and on him cling, “'tis shame, my friends," cried bruce, "'iis shame, to be thus baffled of our game the eager hurry of our race, the toilsome labour of the chase, 42 hermit of bskdaleside, all thrown away_what sort of cheer, the flesh which died exhausted here, nor bled upon the sbarp boar-spear? i cry revenge-revenge i cry, for blighted sport's festivity! if we to this outrage submit, each sbaven monk will deem him fit to thwart our sport, and spoil our game!" -the crowd de bruce's words inflame, around the monk they fiercely throng, with vague intent to do him wrong, they know not wherefore, know not why, in passion's hot insaniiy. to speak the hermit vainly triedvainly de piercie stemmed the vide of frenzy, fast and furious rollingat length de bruce, with uplift spear, and eyes with vengeance fiercely scowling, rush'd on the holy hermit there, and sheath'd the weapon in his side! the ballow'd cbapel's scatter'd rushes, are colour'd by the crimson tide, which from his wounded bosom gushes. in grief and horror piercie bends where the monk's dying form extends, abrmit'of bskdalesidb. 43 and strives to staunch the death-wound wide, which yawns upon the hermit's side. cooled and astounded at the deed, to see the boly hermit bleed aghast the crowd repentant stand, and sbrink from bruce's bloody hand. de bruce the change of feeling spied, and instant from the chapel hied, to where his bunting-steed was tied beneath the forest's leafy shade, and grazing in the verdant glade. xl. with sick'ning beat--the noon-day beam, shone o'er the valley and the stream; piled in the west, dark storm-clouds frown'da while solemn stillness reigo'd around. the birds, desisting from their song, sate hush'd the forest boughs among; and cattle leave the open glade, to cower beneath the forest-shade. -'twas as if heaven bad made a pause, to mark its violated lawsa solemn pause, ere vengeance shed its thunders on the murd'rer's head. : c 44 hrrmit of bskdalbsidb. -sudden the gust sweeps down the vale, while creak the boughs beneath the gale, and on de bruce's ansious brow, broad liquid drops are falling now. -at length the lightning's dazzling flash leaps from the cloud-and then the crash of thunder's awful voice succeedswbile bend tbe woods, and quake the meads ! his poble steed de bruce essay'd to urge through the involving shade, where weeds the courser's boofs detained, and tangled boughs bis flight restrained. fast forward to the stretching plain he urged his steed, with spur and rein, and soon the heathy wastes of moor the startled horse is bounding o'er; while peals of thunder shake the groundand lightnings fiercely blaze aroundand darkling glares the lurid sky, to mark the tempest's revelry! torrents of pouring hail and rain, are dashing on the palfrey's manewhile through the deluge from the sky, hardly can bruce his way espy. hermit or bskdalesjdr. 45 -darker and darker lowers the heaven, then the o'erhanging cloud is riven! -staggers de bruce in that dread blaze high rears, bis courser in amaze! then-ou the bead of guilt accursithe flaming thunder-bolt has burst! and horse and rider prostrate roll while speeds to doom the sipful soul!!! -low lies on earth the stricked steed, to urge no more his gallant speed ! -low lies de bruce's tow'ring plume, amid the moorland's storąy gloom! the stately form, the noble brow, all blacken'd, and distorted now, by heaven's avenging, awful firemeet recompence for crime so dire !! when on his track pursuers sped and saw the cruel murd'rer dead, they owned the awful hand of heaven, in the dread doom, 80 promptly given! xli. meanwbile the hermit dying lay, slow ebbs bis fleeting life away46 fermit of bskdalesidb, by bis low couch de piercie kneels, and grief and horror keenly feels, while hang their heads the guilty crowd, in deep repentant anguish bowed. terror alarms each startled soul, when o'er the cell heaven's thunders rolland the dread tempest yells around, while shakes the trembling, echoing ground! soon as the storm's first bursts subside, a messenger de piercie bied to streoneshalb's hallow'd pile with speed, to warn the abbot of the deedand crave his presence at the cell, where murder's hideous crime befell. fleet horsemen too be promptly sped to follow where de bruce had ied, to scour the country wide and far, and bring bim to the abbot's bar. this present urgent duty done, de piercie bovers like a son, where the good monk exhausted lies and friendship's soft attention tries. xlii. the awful storm had pass'd away long ere the soft decline of day, | abrmit op eskdaleside. 47 and ev'ning's rays now calmly fell, upon the verdant, silent dell. twinkling with dew drops, bright and sheen, how fresbly shone the foliage green! while on each beauteous shrub and tree, a tbousand birds made harmony. soft scents were stealing on the air, from plant and flow'ret breathing there,and shining softly down the dale, a glorious rain-bow spann'd the vale. xliii. a dark procession, side by side, now slowly up the valley ridein cloaked and hooded garb array'd, mounted on mules, they thread the glade, till at the cell, a pause they made. 'tis sedman, of st. hilda's fane the holy abbot, and his train, with horror struck, and bitter woe, the holy monks their brother saw, pale and exhausted lying there, wounded to death by the boar-spear. a leech, among the sable crew, aside the staunching "kerchief drew, 48 hbrmit of bskdaleside. witle wbicb de piercie stemm'd the wound apd shook his head to all around. xliv. the sorrowing abbot hastes to pour the sacred oil of unction o'er the dying hermit's pallid brow, with many a boly prayer and vow. -when was perform'd the solemo rite, a beam of beav'nly lustre bright, broke o'er tbe features sunk and faint of the expiring, murder'd saint! he motion'd hereward where he lay;---poor hereward! who since earliest day, had through the woods and valley ror'd to seek his child, so fondly lov'dso strangely lost!-when the storm fell he sought the hermit's shelt'ring cell; and since remain'd, o'erwbelmed with grief, off'ring with piercie kiod relief to the poor wounded hermit there.-.hereward does to the couch repair; when, at the portal of the cell, arrive, their startling tale to tell, the men who after bruce had sped, and found him, thunder-struck and dead. abruit op bskdalesidb. 49 the abbot, and the startled crowd, signed the blest cross, and wondering bowed to the avenging stroke of heaven, jo bruce's doom, so jastly given. xlv. paintly and low the hermit spoke, and first the solemn silence broke: “short space have i my tale to tell abbot and brethren all-farewell! my blessing on your abbey rest; may each and all be truly blest! my fervent soul, with warm desires, for jesus' blessed courts aspires; i long for joy and rest in heaven and, as i hope to be forgiven, i now forgive each erring son, for my rash wrongs in passion done, vengeance has lighted on the bead, which most deserved its thunders dread. -not for my cruel death alone, that guilty spirit must atone lo flaming fire for yesternight, hereward, thy child, ihy home's delight, pound by his murd'ring hand a grave, where eik's blue waters o'er her lave! r 50 hermit of bskdaleside. -i mark'd him do the accursed deed, and hence his wish to see me bleed, weep not, afflicted sire, nor mourn -to thee, she can no more neturn bow to the stroke, so darkly given, and seek the gentle maid-in heaven! and ye, who shar'd the angry strife, when bruce assail'd my aged life, i bind this pedance on each soul, as each desires a heavenly goal. henceforth, by my express command, ye hold of streoneshall's fane your land. when blossoms bud, and warblers sing, amid the leafy bowers of spring; -i charge ye, on ascension-even, of stakes, within this forest riven, by earliest light of rising sun, in pedance for transgression done to make, on whitby's yellow sand, a verdant bedge, which still must stand three tides-and at the matin hour of nine-mor will ge find the power of ocean mock this penance meet;for still, will at that bour retreat hbrmit of eskdaleside. 51 the sinking waves, and leave the strand free for your forfeit-fence to stand. and still, on that appointed morn, a recreant note must blow the horn,-and still, on that appointed day, your heirs this tribute-service pay, tbat thus may live, from age to age, the slaughter of the hermitage." xlvi. feebler and faint bis accents grew, “i bid," he cried, a last adieu to tbis fair vale, and lovely stream, i go where brighter glories beam! farewell, a long and last farewell, to my lov'd home and lowly cellscene of devotion's raptur'd joy sole blise, the world can not destroy! i bless you all-adieu, adieu!" one soft_long sigh, the hermit drew and then his spirit fed above, to peace, and happiness, and love! u. of ll l13. --53 note to the hermit of eskdaleside. “ the echoes of a legend long departed.”—page 1, line 23.. x n the fifth year of the reign of king] henry the second, after the conquest of england, by william, duke of normandly, the lord of ugglebarnby, then called william de bruce, the lord of sneaton, called ralph de piercie, with a gentleman and freeholder [of fylingdales), called allatson, did, in the month of october, the 16th day of the same month, appoint to meet and hunt the wild boar, in a certain wood or desart, called eskdale-side, the wood or place did belong to the abbot of the monastery of whitby, who was called sedman. then the aforesaid gentlemen did meet with their boar-staves and hounds in the place aforesamed, and there found a great wild boar, and the hounds did run him very well, near about the chapel and hermitage of eskdale-side, where there was a monk of whithy, who was an hermit. the boar being sore [wounded, and hotly] pursued, and dead-run, took in at the chapel-door, and there laid him down and presently died. the hermit shut the hounds forth of the chapel, and kept himself within at his meditation and prayers, the hounds: standing at bay without. the gentlemen in the thick of the wood, put behind their game, following the cry of their houuds, came to the hermitage, and found the hounds round about the chapel. then came the gentlemen to the door of 54 note. 1 the chapel, and called the hermit, who did open the door, and come forth, and within lay the boar dead; for the which, the gentlemen in a fury, because their hounds were put from their game, did [most violently and cruelly) run at the hermit with their boar-staves, whereof he died. then the gentlemen, knowing and perceiving that he was in peril of death, took sanctuary at scarborough; but at that time the abbot, in great favour with the king, did remove them out of the sanctuary, wbereby they came in danger of the law, and could not be privileged, but like to have the severity of the law, which was death for death. but the hermit being a boly man, and being very sick, and at the point of death, sent for the abbot, and desired him to send for the gentlemen, who had wounded him to deatli. the abbot so doing, the gentlemen came, and the hermit being sore sick, said, i am sure to die of these wounds, the abbot answered, they shall die for thee. but the hermit said, not so, for i freely forgive them my death, if they be cortent to be enjoyned to this penance, for the safeguard of their souls. the gentlemen being there present, (and terrified with the fear of death,] bid him enjoyn what he would, so he saved their lives. then said the bermit, “you and yours shall hold your lands of the abbot of whitby, and his successors, in this manner; that upon ascension-eve, you, or some for you, shall come to the wood of the stray-head, which is in eskdale-side, the same day at sun-rising, and there shall the officer of the abbot blow his horn, to the intent that you may know how to find him, and he shall delirer unto you william de bruce, ten stakes, ten strout-stowers, and ten yedders, to be cut by you, or those that come for you, with a knife of a penny price; and you ralph de percie, shall take one and twenty of each sort, to be cut in the same manner; and you allatson shall take nine of each sort, to be cut as aforesaid; and to be taken on your backs and carried to the town of whitby, and so to be there before nine of the clock of the same day aforementioned. and at the hour of nine of the clock, (if it be full sea, to cease that service) as long as it is low water, at nine of the clock, the same hour each of you shall set your slakes at the brim of the > note. 55 water, ench stake a yard from another, and so yedder them, as with your yedders, and so stake on each side with your strout-stowers, that they stand three tides without removing by the force of the water. each of you shall make them in several places at the hour aforenamed, (except it be full sea at that hour, which when it sball bappen to pass, that service sball cease) and you shall do this service in remembrance that you did (most cruelly) slay me. and that you may the better call to god for repentance, and find mercy, and do good works, the officer of eskdale-side shall blow his horn, out on you, out on you, out on you, for the heinous crime of you. and if you, aud your successors do refuse this service, so long as it shall not be full sea, at that hour aforesaid, you, and yours, shall forfeit all your lands to the abbot [of whitby), or his successors. thus i do intreat the abbot, that you may have your lives and goods for this service, and you to promise by your parts in heaven, that it shall be done by you and your successors, as it is aforesaid.' and the abbot said, i grant all that you have said, aud will confirm it by the faith of an honest man. then the hermit said, my soul longeth for the lord, and i do as freely forgive these gentlemen my death, as christ forgave the thief upon the cross: and in the presence of the abbot and the rest, he said, in manus tuas domine commendo spiritum meum: [a vinculis enim mortis] redemisti me, domine veritatist, * amen. and so he yielded up the ghost, the 18th day of december, upon whose soul god have mercy. amen. anno domini 1160. [1159.]+-rev. george young's history of whitby, vol. i. page 310. * psa, xxxi. 5. + from an ancient copy printed on vellum, with a few corrections and supplements taken from other copies. miscellaneous poems. o mes amis!-rappelez-vous quelquefois mes vers,-mon ame y est empreinte. madame de stael. miscellaneous poems. to happiness. it is the gay to-morrow of the mind that never comes. mirandola. thirst of the soul!-hope of my heart!is tbere no home for thee on earth? must all life's lovely dreams depart, nor give thy bright creation birth? art thou ap iris, changeful-fair which still eludes our eager graspo and leaves pale disappointment there, when thy blest form. we hoped to elasp? to dappiness. 60 ah! say, where is thy dwelling place! our earth is fairmour skies are clear and all the efforts of our race are but to make thee welcome here : to thee we raise the lofty fadefor theo we deck its marble walls and the rich mine of genius drain, to glitter in its gorgeous halls ! for thee the costly feast we spread; for thee we pour the sparkling wine in bright libations-freely shed to woo thee from thy baunts divioe. for thee we strike our sounding lyres, and chase thee tbro' the mazy dance; wbilst pleasure's glow our bosomas fires, and all her thousand wiles entraoce. > for thee we pluck the flowers of spring, and twine them 'mid our flowing hair ; while rose-bud wreaths we gaily fling, to shed their balmy fragrance there : for thee thalia holds her court, and syren voices, pour their strains ; -suill dost thou shun each gay resort, our festive pomp tby smile disdains. to happiness, 61 for 'neath the gilded roofs of pride, oft lurks the canker-worm upseen ; add fell remorse is apt to glide, where pleasure's flying feet have been. while thorns have mingled with the wreaths we gaily wove, of clust'ring roses ; and fragrance now no longer breathes, where pale decay her tints discloses. -wilt thou not own the hallow'd spot, where fond affection's tendrils twine; and o'er the mortal's checquer'd lot, love sheds a steady ray diyinelthou wilt oot sbun the blissful home of peace, and innocence, and truth! wbence sweet content can never roam, and age looks smilingly on youth! where bowers of sweet repose are spread 'mid scenes of rural peace and joy; while fairy footsteps lightly tread, o'er flowers whose fragrance cannot cloy: where joyous voices ring around, and merry eyes are glancing bright;where beauty, gladness, youth abound, and all js present to delight. p 62 to happiness, but ab! across the lovely scene a gloomy shade may darkly glide; and where disease or death have been, happiness never can reside: bright tenant of the realms above, our homes of earth are not for thee! 1 -ah! what avails our fondest love, whose blight is mutability! our homes of earth are not for thee but we will leave the baunts of men, for nature's sweet societyfar from the world and human ken : shake off the stain our spirits caught, 'mid earthly pomp, and toil, and pain,to revel in the realms of thought where solitude and silence reigo. 1 where the bright river's glassy stream, mirrors the blue depths of the skies ; and far its distant waters gleam, where geotly swelling hills arise : where, o'er the meadows, stately trees at noon-day, cast a dickering shadeand 'mid their leaves, the dancing breeze has softly murm'ring music made. 1 to happiness. 63 but o'er the fairest woodland scene, siern winter still usurps his sway, and howling tempests, bleak and keen, mar the gay landscape with decay; the sparkling tide reflects no more, the azure canopy serene ;118 turbid waters rudely roar, while horror blackers all the scene. and is there, then, no home below, where happiness may weave her bowers; nor dread the change of time and woe, to dim her amaranthine flowers? alas! the charms of nature fade, with joys which owe to her their birtb; and mis'ry will too oft invade where love had blest our homes on earth. our homes may boast the hallow'd guests, rrjoicing hope-expectant bliss h, o'er the tumult of our breasts, religion breathes her "perfect peace:" there, gratitude her treasures pours, and resignation sheds her ray, while faith, with uplift eye, adoresgazes on heav'o, and points the way! 64 to aappiness. : --for there, beyond our 'circling skies, transcendent happiness is found ; 'mid glorious bowers of paradise, diffusing heav'nly joys around : and all who seek the blessed ligbt religion's lovely beams afford, may taste her fountains of delight in the blest mansions of our lord ! 65 the mermaiden's song. across the still apd moonlight sea, a fisher's vessel glides,while sounds of dulcet miustrelsy, float o'er the slumb'ring tides. “come to my halls!-young rover! for thou art bold and brareand meet to be the lover of a daughter of the wave! “come to my balls ! where sadly, i sit and sigh for thee, i will welcome thee-how gladly! to my realms below the sea! 6. thou shalt taste of choisest pleasures, to mortals yet unknown;and view the countless treasures that surround my sparry. ibrone.. 66 the mermaiden's song. " within the bed of ocean my kingdoms widely spread, thou shalt hear its restless motion, softly sounding o'er thy head. • 1 “and list the witching melody, that breathes the indian shell, while through its breast of harmony, soft winds and waters swell. “come to my balls!-where glittering, bright spars and crystals shine, and white and ruddy branches fliog, the groves of coralline. “ come to my hals!-where orient gems are seattered thickly round, none, in earth's richest diadems, so beautiful are found. " for here, the diamond's purest ray with steady lustre shines, more lucid than the light of day, its splendour ne'er declines. “and here the ruby's glowing light, a mellow radiance spreads, while trembling beams, more cold and bright, the em'rald mildly sheds. 1 the mermaiden's song. 67 “and thine shall be the plunder of many a-stately deckwhich storm, and war's fierce thunder, have made a gallant wreck. “ within my caves of ocean, their wealthy spoils are stored; the rich and costly portion, a sea-nymph brings her lord. l “and oft-times to enchant thee, with softest barmodysweet melodies i'll chaunt thee, as we float upon the sea. • when evening's purple glory, shines o'er the boundless maio, o'er cliff, and mountain hoary how sweet will be my straip! “and when phosphoric splendour, illumes the midnight sea how bewitching!--and how tender! will be my songs for thee! " then baste to me-young rover! for thou art bold and brave and meet to be the lover of a daughter of the wave! 68 tab mbamaidbn's song. “come to my balls!—where sadly, i sit and sigb for thee, i will welcome thee-how gladly! to my realms below the sea!" 1 . the fisher lends a willing ear, and on, his vessel glides;he starts is that a wbirlpool nearwhere chafe the 'whelming tides?-a moment's thought-his brow he crossdhis bark shoots o'er the wave! the soul and boat, so nearly lost, jesu! he prays to save. dark grows the night-the tempest sweeps, athwart a starless sky;and, fearfully, the sounding deeps lift their fierce voices bigb. but morning comes--and into port the little vessel sails while mid her shrouds, soft breezes sport, and blow the fav'ring gales. and oft the fisher warns his males, who wander o'er the main, to shuo the sweet and artful baits, of tbe mermaiden's strain ! 4 69 the halls of missolonghi. if thou regret'st thy youth, why live? the land of honourable death is here: up to the field, and give away thy breath. seek out, less often sought than found, a soldier's grave, for thee the best: then look around, and choose thy ground, and take thy rest. byron. in the halls of missolongbi, a chief expiring laywhere soldiers gather throngly, while ebbs bis life away: confusion and dismay surround and war's turmoil is there, where silent sorrow should be found, or the grave chorchman's prayer. 70 tae halls of missolonghi. he bad left bis lands and lordship, and sail'd far o'er the seas, for danger and for bardship, in the hapless cause of greece. he came, in the red battle-field, if so it chancedio die! while o'er his gory bed was peal'd the shout of victory! he came to blend a warrior's ys, with bright apollo's crowo; and higher yet the altar raise of his own fair renown; he came with treasure freely pour'd and all a patriot's fire,to add the triumpbs of the sword to the triumpbs of the lyre! he came to give a sated life lu glory's arms away; in battle's spirit-stirring strife-not thus, in dull decay. and now, on fever's restless bed, loglorious must he die where he tbe squadrons might have led, or greece and liberty! tae halls of missolongri. 71 he came from grecian necks to break the hated moslem yoke and freedom's echoes to awake, where erst her trumpels spoke! he came ber altars to uprear, and raise each ruin'd faneand, from a bleeding country, tear oppression's ruthless chain! o'er bis lord's dying pillow does one sad mourner bend ; he had track'd him o'er the billow, his follower and bis friend : the staunch, stout-hearted yeoman, who-from bis master's side nor fear of foreign foe-man, nor danger could divide ! -and is he thus expiring, in a distant land alone, whose harp our souls is firing with its undying tone ill-fated-dark and lonely, thy brief career has been ! high inspiration only, to gild thy 'wilder'd scene! 72 thb balls op misbolongai. bright, erring child of genius! who shall dare to censure theo ? or cast one shade calumnious, on thy ballow'd memory! tbine was a dang`rous dowry, apollo's burning beam, no earthly fount can satisfym but an immortal stream ! for thine, were aspirations, this hollow world beyond ; and to thine inspirations, what bosom could respond? to thy rapt lyre's impassion'd tone, what music could reply? -nature's harmonious voice alone, the earth, and seas, and sky! the mighty sire, whose temp'ring hand, thy soul's keen polish koew,and whose unsleeping knowledge scann'd thy grosser frailties too; may, to the errors of his child, parental grace accordand pardon-though the sheath defil'd the lustre of the sword ! the halls of missolonghi, 73 the halo of fame's glorious rays, shall gild thine early tomb; while deathless wreaths of brightest bays, shall o'er thy ashes bloom! and in our country's fairest page, shall shine her byron's name ; from year to year-from age to age its glory still the same ! g 74 thoughts of an invalid. though absent long, these forms of beauty have not been to me, as is a landscape to a blind man's eye: but oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din of towns and cities, i have owed to them, in bours of weariness, sensations sweet, felt in the blood, and felt along the heart, and passing even into my purer mind, with tranquil restoration. wordsworth. oft wben oppress'd with pain and grief, languid and fever-toss'd i lie, where nought can cheer, or give relief, and frequent bursts the struggling sigb; when reading palls and converse tires and from my babes fatigued i turn, while kindled are the hectic fires, that thro' ny frame corrode and burn; i think upon the cooling streams, that wander through the meadows free and steep my hot and fever'd dreams, iu images of purity. thoughts of an invalid 75 i think upon the silent hill, where i have sate iu days of yore, and felt such rapture, deep and still, as i may ne'er be bless'd with more: where stretch'd the dark brown heath around, above, heaven's azure concave shone, and, scatter'd thinly o'er the ground, gleam'd thro' the moss, the dim grey stone; wbile, 'mid the silence, oft is heard, the peaceful moor-sheep's plaintive cry, the twitter of a startled bird, or bee's deep bum, while sweeping by. i think upon the gushing rills, that sparkle brightly to the sun, avd through the silence of the hills, gaily their cheerful current run; jo summer's heat, 'tis sweet to lie, with their cool waters welling near; their limpid freshness soothes the eye, their rippling music charms the ear: stainless those little mountain streams, pursue their journey to the sea ; aud image forth, in fancy's dreams, pure. life--and vast eternity! 76 troughts of an invalid. 2 i think on glowing summer eves, when free, as yet, from pain and care, i wander'd on, amid the leaves, tasting the soft luxuriant air, fraught with the woodbine's balmy breath, which far its luscious fragrance throws; and pausing oft, to snatch a wreath, wherc blooms the lovely wilding rose;while, on the gentle evening gales, is borne the bay-field's sweet perfume ; and oft, the half-cloy'd sense inhales the purple beaa-lower's od'rous bloom. sweet is it, thus, to muse and dream, our pleas'd unconscious youth away, to court bright fancy's orient beam, and far from peopled haunts to stray; to gaze upon the glowing west, where slowly sinks the orb of day, and laves his beams in ocean's breast, while glory tracks his parting wayand, where those gorgeous clouds are furl'd, in mimic palaces and towers, imagination paints a world, brighter and lovelier far than ours! thoughts of an invalid, 77 i think on fervid summer days, when i have lov'd to sit alone, and on the spreading ocean gaze, and listen to its murm'ring tone, as, curling to the echoing shore, breaks on the beach, each silver wave; while the white sea-mew circles o'er, and her bright wing delights to lave;yes, it is sweet, in scenes like these, to taste the bliss of solitude, where sights and sounds alike must please, and harmonize the troubled mood. i think upon the lowly nest, among cool pastures far away, where the lark bides her downy breast, apd springs aloft at peep of day. swift through the yielding air she flies, and cleaves her upward course along,-piercing the azure-vaulted skies, with her shrill-sounding matin song; could i but own her buoyant wing, far from this fer'rish world i'd soar, to regions of eternal spring, where pain and grief are felt no more! 78 thoughts of an invalid. i think upon the fresh'ning breezethat sweeps its chainless course along, whether it gently stirs the trees, aud sports the forest-boughs among, whether, o'er beds of fragrant flowers, the perfum'd gales are softly stealing, or, when the threat'ning tempest lours, the rusbing blasts are loudly pealing: to each, the straage, mysterious chords, that form the music of the mind, sweet, sad, or solemn tones afford, as breathes thy voice, ob viewless wind! i think upou the solemn night, when, 'mid those purple skies afar, the lovely moon emits her light, and brigbtly burns each glorious star. -and not in vain ye brightly burn! the rous'd, awaken'd soul replies; -much may the ardent spirit learn, gaziog upon those tranquil skies! far as the earth's remotest bound is heard, though silently, their voice ; diffusing holy thoughts around, and bidding faipting hearts rejoice! thoughts of an invalid, 79 i think upon the living streams, beyond those radiaut, speaking skies; aod feast my glad aspiring dreams, with rapt'rous thougbts of paradise, i think upon the fields of light, far, far above our planet's sphere, where fades no joy—where lurks po blightbut all is blissful, bright and clear! where the assembled happy flock, their blest redeemer's face behold; and sorrow's pangs no more can shock, the ransom'd tenants of his fold! 80 oswy, a legendary tale of cleveland. oh! we have need of patient faith below, to clear away the mysteries of such wo! mrs, hemans. "twas op a summer evening-when a traju moved slowly on through cleveland's fertile plain; dimm'd was their garb by travel's dust and soil, their palfreys wearied with unwonted toil, yet might you see, on each grave brow impress'd, the thoughtful knowledge of some high behest; amid the throng a litter's freight they bearnorthumbria's princess, and her infant heir. c where roseb'ry rears bis isolated cone, like some huge giant,--mighty and alone; and, in his solitary grandeur, stands to gaze, afar, o'er soft surrounding landsoswy. 82 -turn'd that grave escort, from th' accustom'd road, to one but rarely by such trav'llers trode; up the steep mountain's side, they slowly wend, and painfully its rugged height ascend;at length they gain its barren, heathy brow, and gaze upou the lovely vale below. gay tents, unwonted sight! are quickly spread, and glitter strangely on that mountain's head guiltless before of such fantastic crowa, -his coronet, the mist and cloud alone ! the astonish'd peasantry, with up-turn'd gaze, mark roseb'ry's stranger-guests with mute amaze ; whuse solemo preparations all declare, they mean to make no transient visit there. > meanwhile, attendants carefully dispose, means for refreshment, and the night's repose; and, when their duteous services are done, the royal lady, and her little son, are left, within the tent, to rest alone. -costly repast is placed upon the board, with fruits and odorif'rous pigments stored; but still untouch'd the golden vessels stand, though placed invitingly, by order's handa 82 oswy. -wrapt and absorbed in all a mother's joy, the princess gazes fondly on her boy; whose features fair-and noble, vig'rous formwith int'rest, ev'o a stranger's breast might warm; she clasps him to her fond maternal heart, wbile in her eyes soft tears of rapture start, and oft repeats the oft-return'd caress, and pauses still to gaze, and still to bless! “ now thou art safe, my beautiful! my own! safe are we, oswy, on this mountain lone! far, far above the sea's tumultuous tidefar from fierce rivers rolling deep and wide. -no lake, of bounds o'er-swol'n, can reach us here, so welcome hope! and bid adieu to fear! on this high mount, the augur's doom i brave, nor dread his terrors of prophetic wave, tu sweep iny oswy from his mother's breast, but safely may he on this bosom rest!" hush'd by her song, and cradled by her hand, the boy resign'd himself to slumbers bland; -still the glad mother, by her sleeping child, hung fondly o'er, and in her rapture smil'd; -kiss'd his soft lips, and forehead brightly fair, till her full soul found best relief in prayer! oswy. 83 long knelt she there, in plenitude of joy; theo rising, gazed again, and kiss'd her boy, how beautiful is childhood's happy sleep! lo innocence how pure!-repose how deep! we gaze, half-rev'rently, on rest so fair, and feel a bolier spirit breathing there. spell-bound, we lean above the tranquil form, to fuller beauty aush'd by slumbers warm; and fondly linger o'er each placid grace, how softly beaming in the quiet face! ab! might such graces evermore appear, and purity and peace smile always there! all thoughts of joy were to that princess sent, lost in a reverie of full content; seldom and rare, such blissful moods are given but when they are, earth breathes to us of heaven! and even hope's delicious tumults cease, lost in the certainty of perfect peace: -not oft can we such cloudless transports know, “the torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below!" the curtain'd entrance, now, the lady rais'd, and o'er the soft, reposing landscape gaz'd. in that pure region of the middle air, what deep tranquillity and peace were there ! 84 oswy. which sweetly harmoniz'd in blissful rest, with the delightful calmness of her breast. -sunset, with hues of rich and gorgeous dyes, had spread his banner in the western skies; earth smiles enchanted, in the golden beam, while o'er her verdant breast its glories stream. fair spreads the undulating vale around, with trees, and woods, and ricbest culture crown'd: while noble mountains link stupendous chain, and rise, protecting, from the smiling plain. far 'mid the glowing west, the lady sees, where rolls thy silver stream-majestic tees ! -but glancing quickly to the spreading main, the princess clos'd her silken doors again ; a chill of horror through her bosom rushidtill pleas'd şecurity her tremors hush'd. -“safe are we here, from stream and rolling sea, they cannot come, my child, to injure thee! save that a deluge lifts them to the sky, then, in one wave oogolph'd, we both should die!"the prince was lock'd in slumber-sweet, serene o'er him, bow foodly, does bis mother lean! till sleep, long banished from her wakeful eyes, now gently seals theor., with a soft surprise : oswy. 85 tir'd nature yields,-the mother and her boy, are lost in grateful sleep's unconscious joy. morn wakes the tuneful bird-ihe busy beeo'er purple beaths, to bold their revelry; and morn is lovely, on that mountain old, of which this legendary tale is told. he seems to rear bis hoary crest on high, to court the awak'niog blushes of the sky; whose earliest beams, first gild his dewy brow, long ere bright rays steal o'er the vale below. -and, cloudlessly, that morning rose and smiled, to wake, with its soft light, the joyous child: who soon up-springing, gaz'd surpris'd around, nor wist, at first, what scene might him surround. “ not this my couch, in fair northumberland !". but soon was recogniz'd, the spot he scann'd; he softly kiss'd his sleeping mother's brow, -then, from the tent, went bounding like a roe, unmark'd by any, for fatigue and sleep, yet plung'd them in oblivion, calm and deep. -delighted with upwopted liberty, the boy rov'd on, with step and spirit free; now paus'do gaze upon the east, where rollid clouds of rich purple, blent with burnislı'd gold, a 86 oswy. now dash'd the dew, from the wild-rose away, and hung enraptur'd o'er the scented spray,imbib'd the woodbine's redolent perfume, apd pluck'd the lowly heath-flower's purple bloom. at length be reach'd a limpid, bubbling rill, which coolly gushes, on that mossy bill; the tinkling fount makes melody around, to oswy, all unwonted sight and soundfor still where streamlets sing, and waters play, had oswy watchfully been kept away; in hope the prince might shun the doom of dread, like sword suspended o'er his infant head. -prediction's voice bad warn'd, that in the wave, northumbria's heir should find an early grave;but, could he 'scape such doom, his bright career in britain's annals would be held most dear. -for this, the princess sought that mountain's height, to ward her child from the decree of fate; and, with false safety, tranquilliz'd and bless'd, awid unconscious danger, took her rest. long, by that fouutain, play'd the gladsome child, wbile on its bason, morn's first radiance smil'd;in which, reflected now, the prince espies, his beauteous shadow, with a pleas'd surprise. oswy. 87 long, coyly there, the pretty shade he eyed, smiling upon him from the crystal tide ; such shade, before, the boy bad never seen, -nor can he now define what it may mean! he stoops-bis playmate by the hand to clas?, but only ice-cold water meets bis grasp ! he thinks that surely bid, beneatb the stream, must be that boy, whose smiles upon him beam! upon the brink, he hesitating stoodthen plung'd, to meet bis doom, in that small flood ! the stilling waters drown'd his feeble cry, and none beheld his dying agony ! alas! for that poor mother's waking woe, to miss the babe-her cherish'd bliss below! -alas! for her who came, too late, to save her beauteous oswy, from the fatal wave ! -oh! pang most fearful, to the moiher's heart, to feel such deep, deep love--and yet to part! by that lone fount, bereav'd, the princess stands, with curdling cheek, and vainly-wringing hands ;the mute attendants gather sadly round, while speech at length the wretched mother found. 88 oswy. -" alas! too long and fruitlessly i've striven, to mar thy changeless purposes, high heaven! oh! grant me strength, to bear this stunning blow, aud be my comforter and blessing, thou ! -henceforth to heaven--myself i dedicate, no more to struggle 'gainst ibe doom of fate. a cloister's shade shall bide me in its gloom, to pray, for ever, by my oswy's tomb; and cherish hope, tbat when these woes are o'er, my babe and i shall meet-to part no more!" 89 lines, written nov. 21st, 1832, after great affliction. lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and wbere thieves break through and steal: but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. st. matthew. sot no:-set not your hearts on earth, her joys are fleeting-her gifts have to worth; bright and fair as her glories seen, tbey will fade to the touch, like she hues of a dream; sweet as the draught in her chalice may be, the dregs are embitter'd by misery. & . heed not the baits of her gilded snare, trouble, and watchings, and toil are there; anxious days and sleepless nights, are the price of the miser's stero delights ; and many a coffer's hoarded gold, could a tale of murder and fraud unfold. 90 lines, raise not your eye to ambition's star, where, fiercely flaming, it beams afar ; the scorching glare of its baneful light, each lovely growth of the soul will blight; and, beneath its self-consuming fire, freedom, and honour, and truth expire! does thy boson swell with the hope tbat fame may blazon her glories around thy name? that about thy brows her wreaths shall twine, and the meed of immortal praise be thine ? with the burning brain, and the racking thought, and the wasted frame, will thy laurels be bought! has love his thraldom about thee wound, and thy heart in bis silken fetters bound? are his roseate bues o'er thy future cast, does he promise for ever his joys shall last? hast thou made thy bosom an idol's throne, where he reigos despotic, and reigns alone? soon, too soon, will the vision fade, when the wreck of heart and of peace is made: the fairy scenes love's witch'ries make, fleet like the desert's treach'rous lake; and the weary pilgrim journeys on, when love, and hope, and joy are gone! linls. 91 dost thou pour affection's treasures forth, on some fair, frail tbing, some child of earth? dost thou garder thy hopes on some dear head, and tears of parental raptare shed, as the lovely human blossom blows, add far and wide its fragrance throws? place pot-place not your treasure there, or farewell peace! — welcome despair !the fairest forms, decay will pine, and bid each budding grace decline; and fell disease oft sweeps away, the vainly lov'd, and cherish'd clay! taste not pleasure's madd'ning draught; -mark those well who her cup have quaff'd; the haggard cheek, and the reeling eye, are the signs which note her votary; and healih and peace, pay, the precious soul, are often lost in the midnight bowl ! those blessed lips which could not lie, hare bid us build our hopes on high : place we on earth our fondest trust, our treasures are clay, and our wealth is dust; and rust may canker, and moths consume, what escapes from spoil and the yawning tomb. 92 lines, fis-oh! fix then your hopes above, transplant to heaven that yearning love! bliss, on earth, but blooms--to die ! in heaven-it blossoms eternally! aud lasting the treasure unchanged the reward that is waitiog in heaven-for the lov'd of their lord ! 93 the emigrant peasant's farewell. * nos patriæ fines, et dulcia linquimus arva; nos patriam fugimus : virgil ec. i. 3, 4. exilioque domos et dulcia limina mutant, atque alio patriam quærunt sub sole jacentem. virgil g. ii. 511. 512. "tis eve--and o'er the distant bill > slow sinks the orb of day, while clouds of glory linger still, to track bis parting way: o'er rock and sea, that lovely light, a mellow radiance throws; and field and wood are glancing brigh', io evening's soft repose. * in apology for the apparent affectation of making a quo• tation from a language of which i am totally ignorant,-i beg leave to say, that i have done so, at the request of my father, who judged this beautiful selection from virgil, too appropriate to the tenor of the little poem to which it is prefixed, to be omitted, 94 the emigrant's parewell. a stately vessel proudly glides o'er ocean's glassy breast; her buoyant keel the surge divides, which rears its snowy crest: to court the soft awak'ning gale, her white wings are unfurlid, to waft that fair, receding sail, to the far western world. the glorious ship-she grandly looms in the declining sun; while, from the shore, yow gravely booms, the solemo farewell gun: and, ever and anon, this strain, is o'er the waters flung; upon the mighty, tranquil main, by parting voices sung. 6 adieu !-a long and last adieu, our pleasant native land! we go, to scenes and faces new, upon a foreign strand: it boots pot, now, to mourn aud weepit boots not to repinethough we may find pot, o'er the deep, a soil more lov'd than thine! > tae emigrant's parewell. 95 “ we leave our homes, where joyously, our own young footsteps strayed; where, under summer's shelt'ring tree, our children safely play'd. we leave the hearths, where song and tale, have cheer'd the winter night, in our own cherish'd, native vale, 'mong kindred faces bright! “ we leave--we leave our pleasant fields our baunts by wood and stream; how sweet the scent their harvest yields ! how bright their waters gleam! no more shall we how cheerilyin those lov'd limits toil; but heartless-hopelesswearilyimprove a foreigo soil. “we leave the tombs, where quietly, our fathers' ashes lie; our own will sleep-across the deepbeneath another sky: we leave the ancient church, where first, our souls commun'd with god; where holy thoughts were gently nurs'd even by the hallow'd sod! 96 the emigrant's farewell. : “ farewell-a loog and last farewell our tranquil cottage home! the fav'ring gales our canvass swell, while cbafes the salt seaa-foam : farewell, the land which gave us birth, which saw our children born,which knew our youth's unheeding mirth, and manhood's cares forlorn ! . “we go, where vast savannahs spread, a distant home to fiod; wbere gloomy forests, dark and dread, bow to the midnight wind! we go, where mighty rivers pour their rushing torrents wide; to hear ohio's waters roar, or susquehapa's tide! “ and other hands our fields will reap, while far remov'd we stray; and, o'er atlantic's awful deep, have ta'en our parted way. upon our hearths, now cold and dead, a stranger's fire will burn; while we to other lands have fled-we never shall return! thb emigrant's parewell. 97 “ adieu! again, our native shore; our homes our friends adieu ! we hear your kind farewells no more;no more your faces view. tbink of us in your pensive hours; think of us in your prayer; we fear no storm that darkly lours for-father!—thou art there!". i 98 egerja to her lover. egeria! sweet creation of some heart which found no mortal resting-place so fair as thine ideal breast; wbate'er thou art or wert,-a young aurora of the air, the nympholepsy of some fond despair; or it might be, a beauty of the earth, who fouad a more than common votary there too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth, thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. childe harold, canto iv. v. 115. within my silver fountain, i sit and wait for thee; the hours and minutes counting, which part my lord from me: mightier the deathless flame i prove, than that which i inspire, for mine, the depths of woman's love, with an immortal's fire! egbria to her lover. 99 when the first blushing light of day colours my crystal rill, and bright apollo's golden ray, streams o'er the distant hill; . witb joy i hail the day-star's birth, which, in its soft decline, when evening's shades steal o'er the eartb, will blend my soul with thine ! + when, in the fervid heat of noon, i seek my coolest cell; and sit and muse on thee alone, where purest waters well: i sigh to think, i cannot share with thee, my limpid bome; nor shield thee from the sun and air, of thine owo glowing rome! when, in the purple light of eve, the flowers their petals close; and weary men, their labours leave, for nature's soft repose: when perfumes fill the gentle air, that breathe from plant and tree,i, to iny fountain's side, repair, and watch and wait for thee! 100 egeria to her lover, oft then, as fade the fleeting hours, in roseate light away, the nightingale, above me, pours her soft, mellifluous lay: this fault'ring tongue can ne'er express' all that i feel for thee; let her entrancing tenderness, my soul's best medium' be! then, while each burning star of night, my fount its mirror makes; and the bright moon's resplendent light, its crystal depths awakes; how merrily the bubbles dance, to meet that glorious beam, which casts, at length, its wish'd-for glance, upon my haunted stream! haste, numa, haste!-or i will chide my lover's slow delay; fling all thy cares of state aside, thy regal pomp away: in love and bliss they bave no partso come, with spirit free, and bless the fond, and loving heart, that watches still for thee! 101 meta, or the power of joy. a tale. --nessun maggior dolore, che ricordarsi del tempo felice nella miseria, dante. it is a simple tale i tell; -but buman joy, and human woe, have power the answ'ring hearts to swell of those, who owo a kindred throe; whether emotion's tide is poured through sterner bosoms of the north, or bearts, with soutbero passions stored, lavish their burping treasures forth; where'er it be, that grief has wept, devotion pray'd, or hope has smild, or love into the heart bas crept, 'mid city-throngs, or in the wild:102 meta, or thb power of joy, where'er the joys and griefs are known, our common nature bids us feel, responsive throbs we still must own, and sigh for woe, and smile for weal: therefore this simple tale i tell, of home-felt grief and home-felt joy;too potent joy-as it befell, to one, whose youthfullife, such gladness could destroy! not distant far, where haerlem's towers arise, 'mid stately groves and bowers, a wealthy merchant's mansion stood, embosom'd in a poble wood. fair were his field:-bis gardens fairabundance pour'd ber treasures there; his vessels ride the subject mainhis flocks and herds adorn the plainand, in bis home, a blooming train of youths, and gentle maidens rise, to bless tbeir loving parents' eyes. the kindly peigbbours smile to see, their worthy friend's prosperity; lo others' woes to bear a part, prompt was his kind, expansive heart and all who bless'd bim as he pass'd, wish'd bis fair fortunes e'er might lasimeta, or the power op joy. 103 and sorrow's bligbt, and hope's decay, far from his mansion keep away. who has pot mark'd, where bright and boon, shine the resplendent beams of noon; sume envious cloud at distance rise, aud veil their lustre from his eyes? -small tho', at first, that envious cloud, soon it extends i18 gloomy shroud; and o'er the dim, and paliog sun, spreads its dark mantle, drear and dun. then, blinding showers begin to fall, and nature's charms are hid in pall : while all the beauteous flowers that threw their sweetness on the morning-dew, and oped their blooms, to court the ray, of the refulgent god of day, now bang their beads beneath the rain, their bright leaves dimmed by spot and stain; their odours fled their beauries soiledthey lie-of loveliness despoiled. who has not mark'd-ihe tempest o'erwhen pouring torrents fall po more, when angry clouds disperse away, aud bursts again the cheering ray, 104 meta, or the power of joy. though bent their stems and cups with rain, those drooping flowers revive again, and glistening wet with pearly dew, upraise their prostrate charms apew,bestowing fragrance rich and sweet, to bail the parting storm's retreat, and rear their lovely heads once more, fresher and fairer than before ? who has not mark'd some hapless fower, low bowed amid the thunder-shower,broken and bent, all sullied lie, nor rise beneath a smiling sky, which pours in vain its genial ray, o'er the poor flow'ret's dim decay? thus rose, afar, the envious cloud, our worthy merchant's hopes to shroud. whether almighty power design'd, to have his sterling ore refin'd in adverse fortune's furpace-fireto humble pride and stiot desire : or whether sathapas had power, to tempt in sorrow's painful houras erst o'er job such sway was given, to prove him in the sight of heaven : mbta, or the power of joy. 105 that as it may, bis fortunes failed, prosperity's bright sun was veiled on every side, reverses rose, his plans, unlook'd events oppose. some years to breast the stream he tried, which forced along its 'whelming tide, till, as he mark'd each hope's decay, his fortitude and strength gave way; of bopeful energy despoiled, no more against the stream he toiled, but saw its darkly-flowing tide, spread devastation far and wide, and all his cherish'd household joy, his wealth and bliss alike destroy. time pass'd—and where he dwelt of yore, the worthy merchant dwells no more a stranger owns his fair domain, while distant far, he seeks to gaio, a scanty pittance--far remov'd from scenes, so long and fondly lov'd. oft will distress, love's links divide; his children, scatter'd far and wide, must earn a painful livelihood in the barsh bonds of servitude. 106 meta, or tre power of joy. one son, a vent'rous youth and bold, left the low roof, in quest of gold; he sought the traffic-teeming main, other, and wealthier lands to gain; and hoped, by treasure bardly won, beneath a burning indian sun, his ruin'd parents to restore to their "fair palmy state" of yore. -such hopes, the gallant youth inspir'd, by filial love's devotion fir'd; -such hopes, the gen'rous bosom gave, which found, alas! a wat'ry grave, 'neath the vex'd ocean's billowy wave! -ere long the hapless parents read, wbile torn afresh, their bosoms bled, the gallant ship, with all her crew, had perish'd—and their ernest too! bowed to the earth by pain and grief, religion gave her mild relief;her anchor, 'mid affliction's flood, the tempest of despair withstood. they toiled in hope of better days, and still had strength for prayer and praise ; -but should misfortune's devious strife, end only with their mortal life, mbta, or the powbr of joy. 107 more lastiog bliss they trust to owo, where life's reverses are unknowo! still time pass'd 00-years had gone by, and seen their patient poverty; the merchant's locks were silver grown, and grief had furrowing wrinkles sowo; decay, his aged partner shares, unfit for toil and household cares, which fall in beavy burthen now, oo one ill-formed such pains to know. their youngest child, a tender maid, yet with her aged parents stayed. -had prosp'rous fortune meta bless'd, how had sbe been admir'd, caress'd ! her beauty and her talents prais'd, while on her charms, adorers gaz'd! remote-neglected, and alone, now must she different fortunes own in menial offices must share, though all too frail, such toils to bear. when the bright page of studious lore, sbe gladly would have ponder'd o'er, — os wak'd her now all-silent lute, from its long slumber-sad and mute 108 mbta, or thb power op joy. now must she act a hireling's part, and stifle sadness in ber heart. patient she toil'd, and murmur'd not, but sunk beneath her adverse lot. of soul refin'd-of fragile formshe drooped beneath affliction's storm; -as the bright wreath, iu summer's ray, yields sweetest odours to the daybut bends and breaks beneath the shower, which beats upon the helpless flower. 'twas on a lovely eve of spring, when meta's daily duties o'er, she sate her down to knit and siog, beside the humble cottage-door. around her was a garden plot, a small, but fair and cultur'd spotwhere the good merchant's ev'ning toil, wop beauty from the teeming soil. flowers of rare and richest dyes, shone softly 'neath the evening skies; they bloom'd as fair, with odours sweet, as when their fragrance wont to greet the merchant, in his lov'd retreat. their beauty charm'd each grateful sepse, with colours bright, and sweets intense, meta, or the power of joy. 109 as bounteous, by that cottage-door, as in the mapsion's bowers of yore: -ah ! how unlike the faithless race, who shun misfortune's hiding-placebut lavish all their sweets and charms, where prosp'rous fortune's supshine warms ! such thoughts might pass, tho' upexpress'd, through the sad meta's mournful breast. awhile she sang—then paused ;-again the maid resum'd her pepsive strain now ceased her weary bands give o'er, and ply their busy task no more ; while o'er her wak’ning memory stray, shadows of joys, long pass'd away. her arms are folded o'er her breast, her leaning form reclines for resim -fixed on the west, her vacant eye, marks not the evening's gorgeous sky but inward turn'd, to mind recalls, her ruin'd father's distant hallswhere once her bappy childhood played, nor dream'd of hope and joy decayed. -now busy fancy, wakes a train of vanish'd pleasures, in her braiok 110 mbta, or the power of joy. brothers and sisters smiling rise, as once they fourish'd in her eyes their gentle voices float around, and all is holy, haunted ground! she joios the dance-she hears the song steal the soft ev'ning airs along-on fancy's pipions borne, the maid far from the cot and garden strayed'mid scenes of youthful rapture rovºd, and met again with friends belov'd! wbilst thus the visionary fair, with mem'ry, sought relief from care;a gentle hand, the wicket raised, and op a stranger, meta gazed. swart was his hue-foreign bis mienhot sups have burn'd where he has been. afric's dark sons such cints disclose;such stain, the dusky indian shows. his turbavn'd head, and jeweli'd hand, bespeak a stranger in the land, yet gaz'd she-as that dark youth were not all an unknown stranger there! something bis beaming looks disclosed, the maid's rous'd bosom discomposed; meta, or the power op joy. iii hopes-fears-long silenced and repressed, awoke wild tumults in her breast. she strove to speak—but sound denied on her pale lips the accents died; and when the stranger silence broke, what passions in her bosom woke! for, amid manhood's deepened tone, she hears a voice-well-fondly known! but yet the thrilling hope repellsand wild emotion vainly quells ! -has the sea given up its dead? when hope so long ago was fled! dusk stands the swarthy stranger there her ernest's hues were bright and fair! his tones were soft-yet this deep voice, brings back the thought of buried juys! a thrilling and o'er-pow'ring train, they hurry through her breast and brain,she pants-she trembles-wild and pale, she listens to tbe stranger's tale. “and does my sister know me not! is the poor ernest quite forgot -when, 'neath the burning beams of ind, for home, and home's delight 1 pined112 neta, or the power of joy. thoughts of my blest return, had power to cbeer each toilsome, absent hour! -little my gentle meta knows, all her fond brother cap disclose, of storm and slipwreck-doubtful strife, 'mid the wild elements, for life! of danger 'scap'd—of slavery's yokewhich nigh this buoyant spirit broke ! of flight-of labour long and stern, ere i my master's grace could ears: once won, how generous and kind ! even to faults and errors blind! -no kindred claims the moslem knew therefore his gifts distill'd like dew, on those who in his favour grew. -but this is theme for future daysuffice it, briefly, now to say, my gen'rous master drooped and diedand left me free !—and wealth beside! these precious gems, meta, bebold ! and-gentle sister-i have gold our parents' comforts to restore and cheer them, as in times of yore ! -how are my mother, and my sire ? bright hopes, my eager questions fire! meta, or the power of joy. 113 i trust tbat age has lightly pass'd o'er their dear heads--por shadows cast; but each kind face will beam with joy, to bless their los-returning boy!" no glad reply, the maiden gavebut all was silent as the grave ! her passive hand, her brother took, and bent-lo seek the answ'riog look of those fund eyes, which ever shone her ernest, tenderly upou ! there still was light, in that dim gaze, which beamed no-as in other days and when she met her brother's eye, how long she look'd !-how fervently! what depth of bliss tbat gaze express'd! bliss-softly sinking into rest! one pressure, gave her gentle hand! one sigh, her brother's dark locks fann'd!and then her soaring soul bad flown, where sucb wild transports are unknowo !!! too finely strung-her heart had broke when bliss its thrilling music woke. the tide of rapture, deep and strong, had borne ber fragile life along; 114 meta, or thb power of joy. and keenest bli88—and purest joy, had proved almighty-to destroy !! -thus, the fair flow'ret drooping lies, beneath misfortune's frowning skiesand, when glad sun-sbine smiles again, reviving rays are pour'd in vain on the pale wreath, stili with'ring there, though bright the sun, and mild the air! 115 the revel's queen, amid the gay and festive throng, my smile is brightest seen; and mingling glittering crowds among, i move, the revel's queen : they little think, that, all the wbile, i play a false false part; and beaming eye, and wreathing smile, but hide a breaking heart. i braid my locks with gems and gold, i crowo my brows with lowers, while gorgeous robes my form enfold, to grace those festal hours; and when those festal hours are o'er, i fling my gauds aside and ab! how bitterly deplore, thy triumph, heartless pride! 116 the revel's queen. where floats the song, my soft guitar and voice, most gaily twine; and where the dancers' mazes are, the lightest foot is mine. mine is the joyous-sounding laugh mine is the gladsome eyeand, thoughtlessly, i pledge and quaff, the cup of revelry! this gay disguise, from those around, may goawing grief conceal; -but where shall lethe's wave be found, to bid me cease to feel? for this, i pleasgre's cup have quaffed, and sleep's narcotic bowl;nor sparkling wine, nor opiate draught can cheat tbe wakeful soul! 1 117 to wordsworth. high priest of nature !-when i read thy strain, a soothing calm breathes o'er my breast and brain; while o'er my soul, thy gentle notes diffuse refreshing balm-like evening's grateful dews. _'tis as a summer-shower had clear'd the air, and left delicious odours breathing thereor, as earth smiles-when sunset's mellow ray, from her green bosom, sweetly melts away! -as sweet, the thougbts thy holy lays impart, to tranquillize, and elevate the heart, deep and serene thy inspiration flows, like a pure river, in its calm repose; -long may its stream o'er human bosoms glide, and fertilize them with its limpid tide! rouse kindly feelings in th' awaken'd breast and bid a mortal-taste an angel's rest! c 118 the maiden's grave. how many sink into the grave in all their personal beauty, and all their mental charms, and are heard of no more! of them no bright thoughts are recorded, no touching emotions, no wild imaginations. all their fine and true perceptions, all their instructive knowledge of the human soul, and all their pure speculations on the inystery of human life, vanish for ever and ay with the parting breath. a fair, amiable, intelligent young maiden has died, and is buried. that is all. and her grave lies in its unvisited rest. lights and shadows of scottish life, beneath an elm-tree's shelt'ring shade tbere lies a grassy tomb, where primrosc-tufts have sunshine made, and earliest violets bloom; 'tis water'd by the dews of heaven, 'tis fapn'd by summer's breeze, 'tis shadow'd by the tinis of even,and morp's girst radiance sees. tab maidbn's grave. 119 and o'er that bumble, quiet grave, blythe birds are singing free, where rustling boughs the foliage wave, of that old, leafy tree. and when the gentle airs of spring, their balmy influence breathe, glad cbildren there, bright flow'rets bring, and lovely chaplets wreatbe. the sculptur'd stone, which o'er the grave, its mute memorial keeps tells, where tbat elm-tree's branches wave, a maiden sweetly sleeps; within that verdant, grassy mouud, she takes her dreamless rest, wbere fairest flowers are earliest found, on earth's maternal breast. we only know, a maiden's bloom, was early hidden there; within the cold and silent tomb, from life's illusions fair. we only know, a maiden sleeps beneath the flowery sod: the grave her mould'ring ashes keeps her spirit is with god! 120 the maiden's grave. we only know, that youtb's glad light once fill'd those darkened eyes; though now, in death's all-rayless night, that maiden slumb'ring lies. we know not of ber form or face, we know not of her lot,her name-her age-are all we tracemore is remember'd not. percbance, within that quiet bed, some beauteous fair-one lies; whose lovely form, and airy tread, have charm'd admiring eyes: perchance, the silver-sounding tongue, and voice, are silent there which, softly sweet, their music fung, upon the list'ning air. perchance, the glories of the mind, once lit that mould'ring clay, which now, in cofin'd gloom enshrin'd, consumes to dusl away. we find no ling'ring record there, of the deep thoughts and high, which once that silent breast might share, and light that slumb'ring eye! the maiden's grave. 121 perchance, affection's rifled heart, and hopes, lie buried here: -when love's enliv'ning beams depart, oh! what is death to fear? better that wounded heart to hide to hide that blighted bloom and shroud the wither'd maiden pride, in the shadow of the tomb! who knows what mines of burning thought, her lofty mind might yield; though the rich ore no longer wrought, they perish'd unreveal'd! what rays of genius' hallow'd fire, o'er her their lustre pour'd, though now unstrung the tunefal lyre, and mute its quivering chord ! perchance, a soaring soul might cling, within a cov'ring frail, which shiver'd at the breeze of spring, and bent beneath the gale; higher, has sprung that mounting soulhigher, that spirit soaredthough shatter'd is the golden bowl, and loos'd the silver cord! l 122 the maiden's gravb, who knows what bursts of tenderness, that buried heart has kuown; what love to share what pow'r to bless though now 'tis cold and lone! alas-for love!-alas for youth!with all their purple bloom; nor flatt'ring hope, nor glowing truth, can cheat the yawning tomb! who knows what storms of passion's might, that bosom may have quelled, wben fair religion's lovely light, the meteor-blaze dispelled! what rainbow dreams of bliss on earthimaginations .proudhigh thoughts, to which our hearts give birth, before the cross have bowed! we know pot tbis-we know no more, than ibat a maid lies here, where turf and flowers, are clust'ring o'er, her lowly, bumble bier. we know but that a maiden sleeps, beneath the verdant sod:the grave her mould'ring ashes keeps her spirit is with god! a 123 to winter. written at the commencement of april, 1833. as yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd, and winter oft at eve resumes the breeze ; chills the pale morn, and bids. bis driving sleetsdeform the day delightless. thomson's spring, gloomy winter, bence !--away! nor longer in our climate stay. galher all thy train together, all tby host of adverse weatherfog, and mist, and fearful sturm, too long pale nature's face deform. hence !-and prison'd in thy cave, bid thy fetter'd tempests rave, till a few brief moons have pass'd, and their sweet influence o'er us cast, then shall thy rage have leave again, to rend the bill, and wreck the plain, with howling winds, and blighting rain! 124 to winter. meanwhile, i bid thee bence !-away! nor longer chill our levgthen'd day, nor “linger in the lap of may." hence! -where rourd the frozen pole, arctic glooms and horrors roll! -where thy stern eternal reigo, chains the sea, and binds the plain! -where silence fills the solemn air, save, when thine awful voice is there, or, muttering, growls the polar bear! hence !--give place !--away, away! we pine for spring's awak'ning ray. winter!--now thy reign is o'er, tempests vex the earth no more. -winter!-word of eulogy, shall thy cold moons ne'er win from me. though sweet tby sport of hardy joy to the glowing, vent'rous boy. whether he dares, elate, to glide o'er the lock'd river's frozen tideor archly aims the snowy ball, conceal'd behind some shelt'ring wall or frames, of snow, the spectral shape, the human face and form to ape, to winter. 125 which'soon in streams dissolves away, beneath the san's first feeble ray. winter!-thy lengthen'd night is dear, to those whom health and gladness eheer; who cluster round the evening fire, while tale and song, gay mirth inspire, or music's spells our souls entrance, where graceful foals the mazy dance, and soft lips smile, and bright eyes glance ! -dear are the joys thy twilight brings, while mantle о'er, its dusky wings ; favor'd of bounteous heav'n!-o those, who, io conteniment's sweet repose, taste bliss, from which they ne'er would roam, amid the heartfelt joys of home! who see their children's tresses bright, shine gaily in the red hearth-lightwho hear each merry, youthful voice, bid the glad parents' hearts rejoicewbilst mirth and lore the time employ, iu lofty thought, or harmless joy~ yes! sweet such home-felt pleasures are, if health, religion, peace, be there! 126 to winter. winter! dear thy aspect wild, to the glad, admiring child ;-he loves, with up-turn'd gaze, to mark, where from the cloud, so stern and dark, noiseless, the feathery snow-flakes fall, and their white liv'ry cast o'er all. -he loves, on the boar pane, to see, the frost-work's curious tracery, of landscape fair, and leafy tree; -to mark, suspended from the bough, the icicles' bright, glittering row; or, pleasing task! the crumbs to fling, where rubin hops, with russet wing, and breast of scarlet's brightest dye, with trustful look, and suppliant eye. -such scenes, to childhood's happy heart, pure bliss, and keen delight impart. winter !-dread thy gloomy reigu, where health denies her blissful train of choicest gifts—when the frail form shrinks from the blighting winter-storm; and thrills responsive, while each change, does the weak tenement derange. to winter. 127 -dread is thy influence to those, who know nor comfort, nor repose, but drain the bitter chalice dry, offer'd by meagre poverty !wbuse children bread in vain implore, when the starv'd parents have no more! nor fire their frozen limbs to warm, but, shivering, cowers the squalid form! -then is the time--for those who share high boons from heaven's indulgent care part of their blessings to bestow, oo those who misery's anguish know. -such gifts may chance the hand restrain, impelléd to crime by hunger's pain-such bounty melt the stong heart, harden'd in grief's uppitied smart! winter!-dire thy mournful gloom, when joy's bright beams no more illume; when grief, and brooding thought, have power, to steep in gloom each lonely hour. -where all within is dark and drear, how stern tby influences appear ! -we pipe and languish for the ray, of bright'ning spring's reviving day, and bid thee, winter! -hence !-away! 128 lucy ashton, to ravenswood. taby tell me, thou art faithless grown, in yon far foreign land; that soon another bride will own thy now apostate band. and, tauntingly, they chaplets twine, of tbe sad willow-bough; and say the doleful gift is thine, to wreathe wy faded brow.. they press me with a stranger's suit they urge a stranger's claim;but though my tongue and lips are mute, my heart is still the same as when we dared our troth to plight, within you leafy shade, whose murm'ring fountain dancing bright, besponsive music made, lucy ashton, to ravenswood. 129 and when my perves are all upstrung, my heart oppress'd and sore, i hide myself those bowers among, and live our meetings o'er. i muse upon thy bearing proud thy dark and flashing eye,nor can i think thy soul bas bow'd to such deep treachery! where i with thee have rov'd-there beams > a glory o'er the place, and, like remember'd, happy dreams, thy presence there i trace. lull’d by that softly whisp'ring rill, in thine ancestral bowers; i oft forget that thorps will still lurk 'mid the sweetest flowers. ill-omen'd was our meeting therelll-omen'd was the love, a parent's blessing may not share, nor sanction from above. but nought can change this trustiog heart, to thee how fully given! and doom'd on earth to live apart, yet may we meet in heaven! 130 invocation to the spirit of health. written may 10th, 1832, after a long and dangerous illness, and while still labouring under the pressure of indisposition. > spirit of health !-thy presence i invoke long has thy calm been absent from my mind; crush'd 'neath the weight of sickness' iron yoke, long has my languid frame for thy sweet influence pin'd! on softest couches, thou dost not abidepillows of down are seldom pressed by theein curtain'd chambers, have i vainly sigh’d, -still dost thou shuo my sad society ! where shall i find thee? i have drain'd.the bowl of med'cioe oft, to woo thy soft return; yet still thy peace is absent from my soul, -siill do my reins with fever's hectic burn! invocation to health, 131 . fruitless for me, opfolds the letter'd page, once source of purest pleasure upalloy'd ; the tale of fancy-or the lesson sageunheeded now their relish all destroy'd. the fairy forms, 'twas happiness to see, the childish mirth, it once was joy to hear ; now yield do soft maternal bliss to me, but startle oft, th' acute, the morbid ear. spirit of health! return-i pray return ! long has thy calm been absent from my mind; my heart is sad-my veins with fever burnlong bas my languid frame for thy sweet influence pin'd! afar i see thee!--'mid the blush of morn, guiding the lab'rer on his early way; or, 'neath the shelter of yop aged thord, watching the cotter's' childrens' artless play! i would pursue thee to the thymy hill ! -full well i know thou lov'st its brocsy air ; but o'er my limbs, is languor's 'numbing abill, -ah! nu, i cannot yet pursue thee thero! 132 invocation to hbalth. at my spirit of health! i worsbip thee in vain! creator's throne, i bow the koee:oh! if it be thy will, may grief-may paina patient, humble victim find in me! yet if thy gracious providence incline, to hear the prayer my trembling pen pourtrays; ob god! may all my future days be thine, and may new health give strength to hymn thy praise ! spirit of health !_it may pot be my fate below, to share thy bliss-to wear thy bloom ; but faith, with eager confidence elate, points to thy joys in worlds beyond the tomb ! 133 to my boy. a mother's prayer. i have a boy of “ three " years old; his face is fair and fresh to see; his limbs are cast in beauty's mould, and dearly be loves me. wordsworth. when grief and pain together cast their deadliest shadows o'er my heart; when keeply blows the eastern blast, and hope's enliv'ning dreams depart : when sickness bows my feeble form, and gloomy thoughts my peace destroy, thy supoy smile my soul can warm with joy's bright beams—my darling boy! thy sunny smile!--no thought of guilee'er crossed that cherub lip and brow;oh! may the scoff-the envious wilebe ever strangers there-as pow! m 134 to my bóy. and, fearlessly, thy loving eyes look up, an answ'ring love to see ;wbile sad and tender thoughts arise, my precious child-gazing on thee! that spotless brow!-is fitting throne for innocence to sit epshrined ; nor does its pure expanse disowo rich promise of the wealth of mind : grant, gracious heav'n! that guilt may ne'er contract that fair and flowing line; almighty father! hear my prayer, and make bim early, wholly thine! oh! may thy holy spirit guard my treasure, 'mid earth's wild'ring maze ; his gentle heart from danger ward, and the temptation that betrays ! may the soft band, which fervently, returns the tender clasp of mine, ne'er sully, 'mid pollution's dye, but health, religion, peace, be thine! 2 135 notes to the miscellaneous poems. note 1. for thee we pluck the flowers of spring, and twine them 'mid our flowing hair; while rose-bud wreaths we gaily fling, to shed their balmy fragrance there. page 60, verse 3. “let us fill ourselves with costly wine and ointments : and let no flower of the spring pass by us : crown ourselves with rosebuds, before they be witbered.” wisdom of solomon, chap. ii, verses 8, 9. let us note ii. far as the earth's remotest bound is heard, though silently, their voice; page 78, verse 2 « there is neither speech nor language, but their voices are heard among them. “ their sound is gone out into all lands, and their words unto the ends of the world." psalm xix. verses 3, 4. 136 note iii. too finely strung, her heart had broke, when bliss its thrilling music woke. page 113, lines 21, 22. the story of meta is founded on an authenticated circum. stance, which i have extracted from the monthly review, vol. i. no. 3, march 1833.“but the strangest fact of all is, that sudden joy is one of the most fatal disturbers possible of the human mind. zimmermann, in his treatise on general and particular experience in the art of healing, mentions the case of a dutch female, who fell a victim to joy. “ the family were respectable, but met with reverses, and were reduced to indigence, whilst in this condition, the eldest son, who had been some years absent, returned home with a considerable fortune, and being desirous of communicating so pleasant a piece of news to his sister in a practical manner, he presented her with one of the richest jewels. she instantly fell down as if struck by lightning, and expired. “the history of ancient greece contains narratives of similar effects being produced by sudden joy." r. kirby, printer, bridge-street, whitby. list of subscribers. > mrs. akenhead miss e. chapman, high stakesby mr. allardyce, stokesley harrison chilton, esq. mrs. anderson, bridge-street mrs. thomas clark, skinner-str. mr. john anderson, jun. miss martha clark rev. james andrew miss clark, flowergate mrs. annandale, newcastle mrs. clark, hollings, 2 copies rev, joseph ashton, preston mrs. colling, hurworth mrs. barlow, dublin miss e. colling, ditto rev. j. r. barlow, linden grove capt. colling mrs. barlow, ditto mrs. nesfield cook, glazedale miss barlow, ditto miss dobson, drummondby hall miss isabella barlow, ditto rev.john dufton, m. a. mrs. barnes e, elgin, esq., york, 3 copies henry barrick, sen., esq. miss ellerby henry barrick, esq. rt. hon. viscount falkland mrs. bateman rt. hon. viscountess falkland mrs. belcher thomas fishburn, esq. henry belcber, esq. mrs. fotherley john benson, esq., aislaby john frankland, esq. mrs, benson, church-street mr. william frankland miss benson william garbutt, esq., yarm mr. boyes n. c. gold, esq., york miss jane boyes james p. gordon, esq. mrs. r. brewster t. graham, esq., ayton hall, miss brodrick, roche head 2 copies mr. buchannan, solicitor alfred graham, esq., liverpool william campbell, esq., m. di, miss grenside, stokesley 2 copies rev. ralph grenside, crathorne robert campion, esq. rev. r. grenside, warwick sir george cayley, bart., m. p. mr. grose, mulgrave gardens lady cayley rev. mr. hall, mulgrave castle miss p. cayley miss hardwick e. s. cayley, esq., m.p. mr. harker, hutton mrs. e. s. cayley w. c. harland, esq., m.p. mr. cavallier col, hay, m, p. aaron chapman, esq., m. p. r. hewitson, esq., westmoreland mrs. edward chapman mrs. holt miss chapman, low stakesby mr. john hugill list of subscribers, miss hunter, new buildings rev. mr. rigby, egton bridge, mrs. william hunter, 2 copies 4 copies mrs. joseph hunter richard ripley, esq. thomas hunter, esq. mr. jobo ripley, surgeon t. hutchinson, esq., brotton joseph robertson, esq., overdale miss hutton mrs. general rudyerd rev. joseph ibbotson, ayton rev. james rutherford mr. impey general sharpe, m.p. miss arabella jackson miss skaif sir j.b.v. johnstone, bart. m.p. miss skelly mrs. richard keld mrs. smalpage miss kneeshaw r. smith, esq., egton bridge mrs. john langborne miss smith, ditlo mrs. henry linton, east row miss elizabeth smith, ditto rev. william long, lyth miss smith, glazedale martin loy, esq., m. d. pickering mr. smith, lyth hall thomas loy, esq., m. d., ayton rev. w. h. smith, m. a., rector mrs. loy, ditto of hinderwell miss loy, ditto george snowball, esq., prior edmund loy, esq., london hall, northumberland mr. mac farlane, hutton rudby | mrs. a. stephenson isaac marwood, esq george stonehouse, esq. marinaduke marwood, esq. mr. t. taylor, stokesley thomas marwood, sen. esq. mr. john taylerson, surgeon mr. mease, stokesley mrs. trattles william middleton, esq. w. c. alverly trevelyan, esq., richard moorsom, esq. wallington, northumberland robert moorsom, esq., scots arthur trevelyan, esq., ditto fusilier guards mrs, usherwood miss moorsom robert usherwood, esq. lord morpeth, m.p. rev. hector francis vaughan, rt. hon. dowager countess of myshall glebe, carlow mulgrave r. verity, esq., glamorganshire rt. hon. earl of mulgrave francis wardale, esq. rt. hon. countess of mulgrave mrs. watkins viscount normanby mrs. watson, spring hill mrs. noble, aislaby mr. watson miss noble, ruswarp miss a. l. webb, dublin earl of ormelie, m.p. mrs. wilkinson, hurworth, 2 rev. w. parker copies thomas parkin, esq. rev. t. p. williamson, guisbro' miss pennyman, curr hall miss williamson, ditto mrs. percy t.p. williamson, esq., liverpool hon, edmund phipps mr. john wilson, surgeon mr. pickernell mrs. isaac wilson, hull miss pressick w. worsley, esq., hovingham christoplier richardson, esq. hall mrs. richardson miss yea, aberdeenshire mrs. john richardson mr. yeoman, surgeon, lafthouse james richardson, esq., york mr. yeoman, bridge-street henry richardson, esq., york rev, george young, m. a., 2 copies 1 一年 ​tdo2 三 ​! { ? 1 ; ( 25. i . university of illinois-urbana 3 0112 065935048 155 415 the hermits charles kingsley ./ coope's sc in upl. europ. hist. lib. ess in courses 1+2, 1900-1 copy 3 artes 1837 veritas library scientia of the university of michigan e e-pluribus unum spencer tuebor si-quaeris peninsulam amoenam circumspice class library l bx 2845 .k 55 1891 the hermits. the hermits by c. a european stor cassion....... ૨૮. charles kingsley illustrated london macmillan and co. and new york 1891 the right of translation is reserved richard clay and sons, limited, london and bungay. first printed in parts 1868. reprinted in 1 volume, crown 8vo. 1871, 1875, 1880, 1885, 1890, 1891. 0107005s, contents. introduction saint antony the life cf saint paul, the first hermit hilarion arsenius the hermits of asia basil. simeon stylites the hermits of europe st. severinus, the apostle of noricum the celtic hermits st. malo st. columba st. guthlac st. godric of finchale anchorites, strictly so called page 21 i 83 104 149 155 162 167 219 224 246 278 282 300 309 329 1 list of illustrations. st. brendan setting sail page frontispiece. to face 35 life of st. antony. "and having committed his sister to known and faithful virgins, and given to her wherewith to be educated in a nunnery," &c. paul, the first hermit to face 92 "for entering the cave he saw, with bended knees, erect neck, and hands spread out on high, a lifeless corpse. and at first, thinking that it still lived," &c. the hermits. n introduction. st. paphnutius used to tell a story which may serve as a fit introduction to this book. it contains a miniature sketch, not only of the social state of egypt, but of the whole roman empire, and of the causes which led to the famous monastic movement in the beginning of the fifth century after christ. now paphnutius was a wise and holy hermit, the father, abba, or abbot of many monks; and after he had trained himself in the desert with all severity for many years, he besought god to show him which of his saints he was like. and it was said to him, "thou art like a certain flute-player in the city." then paphnutius took his staff, and went into the city, and found that flute-player. but he confessed that he was a drunkard and a profligate, and had till lately got his living by robbery, and recollected not s.l. ii. b 2 introduction. having ever done one good deed. nevertheless, when paphnutius questioned him more closely, he said that he recollected once having found a holy maiden beset by robbers, and having delivered her, and brought her safe to town. and when paphnutius questioned him more closely still, he said he recollected having done another deed. when he was a robber, he met once in the desert a beautiful woman; and she prayed him to do her no harm, but to take her away with him as a slave, whither he would; for, said she, "i am fleeing from the apparitors and the governor's curials for the last two years. my husband has been imprisoned for 300 pieces of gold, which he owes as arrears of taxes; and has been often hung up, and often scourged; and my three dear boys have been taken from me; and i am wandering from place to place, and have been often caught myself and continually scourged; and now i have been in the desert three days without food." and when the robber heard that, he took pity on her, and took her to his cave, and gave her 300 pieces of gold, and went with her to the city, and set her husband and her boys free. then paphnutius said, "i never did a deed like that and yet i have not passed my life in ease and idleness. but now, my son, since god hath had such care of thee, have a care for thine own self." and when the musician heard that, he threw away the flutes which he held in his hand, and went with paphnutius into the desert, and passed his life in hymns and prayer, changing his earthly music into introduction. 3 heavenly; and after three years he went to heaven, and was at rest among the choirs of angels, and the ranks of the just. this story, as i said, is a miniature sketch of the state of the whole roman empire, and of the causes why men fled from it into the desert. christianity had reformed the morals of individuals; it had not reformed the empire itself. that had sunk into a state only to be compared with the worst despotisms of the east. the emperors, whether or not they called themselves christian, like constantine, knew no law save the basest maxims of the heathen world. several of them were barbarians who had risen from the lowest rank merely by military prowess; and who, half maddened by their sudden elevation, added to their native ignorance and brutality the pride, cunning, and cruelty of an eastern sultan. rival emperors, or generals who aspired to be emperors, devastated the world from egypt to britain by sanguinary civil the government of the provinces had become altogether military. torture was employed, not merely, as of old, against slaves, but against all ranks, without distinction. the people were exhausted by compulsory taxes, to be spent in wars which did not concern them, or in court luxury in which they had no share. in the municipal towns, liberty and justice. were dead. the curials, who answered somewhat to our aldermen, and who were responsible for the payment of the public moneys, tried their best to escape the unpopular office, and, when compelled to serve, wrung the money in self-defence out of the poorer wars. b 2 introduction. inhabitants by every kind of tyranny. the land was tilled either by oppressed and miserable peasants, or by gangs of slaves, in comparison with whose lot that even of the american negro was light. the great were served in their own households by crowds of slaves, better fed, doubtless, but even more miserable and degraded, than those who tilled the estates. private profligacy among all ranks was such as cannot be described in these or in any modern pages. the regular clergy of the cities, though not of profligate lives, and for the most part, in accordance with public opinion, unmarried, were able to make no stand against the general corruption of the age, because at least if we are to trust such writers as jerome and chrysostom-they were giving themselves up to ambition and avarice, vanity and luxury, intrigue and party spirit, and had become the flatterers of fine ladies, "silly women laden with sins, ever learning, and never coming to the knowledge of the truth." such a state of things not only drove poor creatures into the desert, like that fair woman whom the robber met, but it raised up bands of robbers over the whole of europe, africa, and the east,-men who, like robin hood and the outlaws of the middle age, getting no justice from man, broke loose from society, and while they plundered their oppressors, kept up some sort of rude justice and humanity among themselves. many, too, fled, and became robbers, to escape the merciless conscription which carried off from every province the flower of the young men, to shed their blood on foreign battle-fields. in time, too, many of introduction. 5 one. these conscripts became monks, and the great monasteries of scetis and nitria were hunted over again and again by officers and soldiers from the neighbouring city of alexandria in search of young men who had entered the "spiritual warfare" to escape the earthly and as a background to all this seething heap of decay, misrule, and misery, hung the black cloud of the barbarians, the teutonic tribes from whom we derive the best part of our blood, ever coming nearer and nearer, waxing stronger and stronger, learning discipline and civilization by serving in the roman armies, alternately the allies and the enemies. of the emperors, rising, some of them, to the highest offices of state, and destined, so the wisest romans. saw all the more clearly as the years rolled on, to be soon the conquerors of the cæsars, and the masters of the western world. no wonder if that, in such a state of things, there arose such violent contrasts to the general weakness, such eccentric protests against the general wickedness, as may be seen in the figure of abbot paphnutius, when compared either with the poor man tortured in prison for his arrears of taxes, or with the governor and the officials who tortured him. no wonder if, in such a state of things, the minds of men were stirred by a passion akin to despair, which ended in a new and grand form of suicide. it would have ended often, but for christianity, in such an actual despair as that which had led in past ages more than one noble roman to slay himself, when he lost all hope for the republic. christianity taught those who despaired 6 introduction. of society, of the world-in one word, of the roman empire, and all that it had done for men-to hope at least for a kingdom of god after death. it taught those who, had they been heathens and brave enough, would have slain themselves to escape out of a world which was no place for honest men, that the body must be kept alive, if for no other reason, at least for the sake of the immortal soul, doomed, according to its works, to endless bliss or endless torment. but that the world-such, at least, as they saw it then-was doomed, scripture and their own reason taught them. they did not merely believe, but see, in the misery and confusion, the desolation and degradation around them, that all that was in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life, was not of the father, but of the world; that the world was passing away, and the lust thereof, and that only he who did the will of god could abide for ever. they did not merely believe, but saw, that the wrath of god was revealed from heaven against all unrighteousness of men; and that the world in general —above all, its kings and rulers, the rich and luxurious -were treasuring up for themselves wrath, tribulation, and anguish, against a day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of god, who would render to every man according to his works. that they were correct in their judgment of the world about them, contemporary history proves abundantly. that they were correct, likewise, in believing that some fearful judgment was about to fall on man, is proved by the fact that it did fall; that the first half introduction. 7 of the fifth century saw, not only the sack of rome, but the conquest and desolation of the greater part of the civilized world, amid bloodshed, misery, and misrule, which seemed to turn europe into a chaos,—which would have turned it into a chaos, had there not been a few men left who still felt it possible and necessary to believe in god and to work righteousness. under these terrible forebodings, men began to flee from a doomed world, and try to be alone with god, if by any means they might save each man his own soul in that dread day. others, not christians, had done the same before them. among all the eastern nations men had appeared, from time to time, to whom the things seen were but a passing phantom, the things unseen the only true and eternal realities; who, tormented alike by the awfulness of the infinite unknown, and by the petty cares and low passions of the finite mortal life which they knew but too well, had determined to renounce the latter, that they might give themselves up to solving the riddle of the former; and be at peace; and free, at least, from the tyranny of their own selves. eight hundred years before st. antony fled into the desert, that young hindoo rajah, whom men call buddha now, had fled into the forest, leaving wives and kingdom, to find rest for his soul. he denounced caste; he preached poverty, asceticism, self-annihilation. he founded a religion, like that of the old hermits, democratic and ascetic, with its convents, saint-worships, pilgrimages, miraculous relics, rosaries, and much more, which strangely anticipates 3 introduction. the monastic religion; and his followers, to this day, are more numerous than those of any other creed. brahmins, too, had given themselves up to penance and mortification till they believed themselves able, like kehama, to have gained by self-torture the right to command, not nature merely, but the gods themselves. among the jews the essenes by the dead sea, and the therapeutæ in egypt, had formed ascetic communities, the former more "practical," the latter more "contemplative:" but both alike agreed in the purpose of escaping from the world into a life of poverty and simplicity, piety and virtue; and among the countless philosophic sects of asia, known to ecclesiastical writers as "heretics," more than one had professed, and doubtless often practised, the same abstraction from the world, the same contempt of the flesh. the very neoplatonists of alexandria, while they derided the christian asceticism, found themselves forced to affect, like the hapless hypatia, a sentimental and pharisaic asceticism of their own. this phase of sight and feeling, so strange to us now, was common, nay, primæval, among the easterns. the day was come when it should pass from the east into the west, and egypt, "the mother of wonders;” the parent of so much civilization and philosophy both greek and roman; the half-way resting-place through which not merely the merchandise, but the wisdom of the east had for centuries passed into the roman empire; a land more ill-governed, too, and more miserable, in spite of its fertility, because more introduction. 9 defenceless and effeminate, than most other roman possessions-was the country in which naturally, and as it were of hereditary right, such a movement would first appear. accordingly it was discovered, about the end of the fourth century, that the mountains and deserts of egypt were full of christian men who had fled out of the dying world, in the hope of attaining everlasting life. wonderful things were told of their courage, their abstinence, their miracles: and of their virtues also; of their purity, their humility, their helpfulness, and charity to each other and to all. they called each other, it was said, brothers; and they lived up to that sacred name, forgotten, if ever known, by the rest of the roman empire. like the apostolic christians in the first fervour of their conversion, they had all things in common; they lived at peace with each other, under a mild and charitable rule; and kept literally those commands of christ which all the rest of the world explained away to nothing. the news spread. it chimed in with all that was best, as well as with much that was questionable, in the public mind. that men could be brothers; that they could live without the tawdry luxury, the tasteless and often brutal amusements, the low sensuality, the base intrigue, the bloody warfare, which was the accepted lot of the many; that they could find time to look stedfastly at heaven and hell as awful realities, which must be faced some day, which had best be faced at once; this, just as much as curiosity about their alleged miracles, and the selfish longing to rival 10 introduction. them in superhuman powers, led many of the most virtuous and the most learned men of the time to visit them, and ascertain the truth. jerome, ruffinus, evagrius, sulpicius severus, went to see them, undergoing on the way the severest toils and dangers, and brought back reports of mingled truth and falsehood, specimens of which will be seen in these pages. travelling in those days was a labour, if not of necessity, then surely of love. palladius, for instance, found it impossible to visit the upper thebaid, and syene, and that "infinite multitude of monks, whose fashions of life no one would believe, for they surpass human life; who to this day raise the dead, and walk upon the waters, like peter; and whatsoever the saviour did by the holy apostles, he does now by them. but because it would be very dangerous if we went beyond lyco" (lycopolis ?), on account of the inroad of robbers, he "could not see those saints." the holy men and women of whom he wrote, he says, he did not see without extreme toil; and seven times he and his companions were nearly lost. once they walked through the desert five days and nights, and were almost worn out by hunger and thirst. again, they fell on rough marshes, where the sedge pierced their feet, and caused intolerable pain, while they were almost killed with the cold. another time, they stuck in the mud up to their waists, and cried with david, “i am come into deep mire, where no ground is." another time, they waded for four days through the flood of the nile by paths almost swept away. introduction. 11 another time they met robbers on the seashore, coming to diolcos, and were chased by them for ten miles. another time they were all but upset and drowned in crossing the nile. another time, in the marshes of mareotis, "where paper grows," they were cast on a little desert island, and remained three days and nights in the open air, amid great cold and showers, for it was the season of epiphany. the eighth peril, he says, is hardly worth mentioning-but once, when they went to nitria, they came on a great hollow, in which many crocodiles had remained, when the waters retired from the fields. three of them lay along the bank; and the monks went up to them, thinking them dead, whereon the crocodiles. rushed at them. but when they called loudly on the lord, "the monsters, as if turned away by an angel," shot themselves into the water; while they ran on to nitria, meditating on the words of job, "seven times shall he deliver thee from trouble; and in the eighth there shall no evil touch thee." the great st. athanasius, fleeing from persecution, had taken refuge among these monks. he carried the report of their virtues to trêves in gaul, and wrote a life of st. antony, the perusal of which was a main agent in the conversion of st. augustine. hilarion (a remarkable personage, whose history will be told hereafter) carried their report and their example likewise into palestine; and from that time judæa, desolate and seemingly accursed by the sin of the jewish people, became once more the holy land; the place of pilgrimage; whose ruins, whose very soil, were 12 introduction. kept sacred by hermits, the guardians of the footsteps of christ. in rome itself the news produced an effect which, to the thoughtful mind, is altogether tragical in its nobleness. the roman aristocracy was deprived of all political power; it had been decimated, too, with horrible cruelty only one generation before,* by valentinian and his satellites, on the charges of profligacy, treason, and magic. mere rich men, they still lingered on, in idleness and luxury, without art, science, true civilization of any kind; followed by long trains of slaves; punishing a servant with three hundred stripes if he were too long in bringing hot water; weighing the fish, or birds, or dormice put on their tables, while secretaries stood by, with tablets to record all; hating learning as they hated poison; indulging at the baths in conduct which had best be left undescribed; and "complaining that they were not born among the cimmerians, if amid their golden fans a fly should perch upon the silken fringes, or a slender ray of the sun should pierce through the awning;" while, if they "go any distance to see their estates in the country, or to hunt at a meeting collected for their amusement by others, they think that they have equalled the marches of alexander or of cæsar." on the wives, widows, and daughters of men of this stamp and not half their effeminacy and baseness, as the honest rough old soldier ammianus * xxviii. about a.d. 368. see the details in ammianus marcellinus, lib. introduction. 13 marcellinus describes it, has been told here-the news brought from egypt worked with wondrous potency. women of the highest rank awoke suddenly to the discovery that life was given them for nobler purposes than that of frivolous enjoyment and tawdry vanity. despising themselves; despising the husbands to whom they had been wedded in loveless marriages de convenance, whose infidelities they had too often to endure: they, too, fled from a world. which had sated and sickened them. they freed their slaves; they gave away their wealth to found hospitals and to feed the poor; and in voluntary poverty and mean garments they followed such men as jerome and ruffinus across the seas, to visit the new found saints of the egyptian desert, and to end their days, in some cases, in doleful monasteries in palestine. the lives of such women as those of the anician house; the lives of marcella and furia, of paula, of the melanias, and the rest, it is not my task to write. they must be told by a woman, not by a man. we may blame those ladies, if we will, for neglecting their duties. we may sneer, if we will, at the weaknesses-the aristocratic pride, the spiritual vanity-which we fancy that we discover. we may lament-and in that we shall not be wrong-the influence which such men as jerome obtained over them--the example and precursor of so much which has since then been ruinous to family and social life: but we must confess that the fault lay not with the ladies themselves, but with their fathers, husbands, and 14 introduction. brothers; we must confess that in these women the spirit of the old roman matrons, which seemed to have been so long dead, flashed up for one splendid moment, ere it sunk into the darkness of the middle age; that in them woman asserted (however strangely and fantastically) her moral equality with man; and that at the very moment when monasticism was consigning her to contempt, almost to abhorrence, as "the noxious animal," the "fragile vessel," the cause of man's fall at first, and of his sin and misery ever since, woman showed the monk (to his naïvelyconfessed surprise), that she could dare, and suffer, and adore as well as he. but the movement, having once seized the roman empire, grew and spread irresistibly. it was accepted, supported, preached, practised, by every great man of the time. athanasius, basil, chrysostom, gregory of nazianzen in the east, jerome, augustine, ruffinus, evagrius, fulgentius, sulpicius severus, vincent of lerins, john cassian, martin of tours, salvian, cæsarius of arles, were all monks, or as much of monks as their duties would allow them to be. ambrose of milan, though no monk himself, was the fervent preacher of, the careful legislator for, monasticism male and female. throughout the whole roman empire, in the course of a century, had spread hermits (or dwellers in the desert), anchorites (retired from the world), or monks (dwellers alone). the three names grew afterwards to designate three different orders of ascetics. the hermits remained through the middle ages those who dwelt in deserts; the anchorites, or introduction. 15 "ankers" of the english middle age, seem generally to have inhabited cells built in, or near, the church walls; the name of "monks" was transferred from those who dwelt alone to those who dwelt in regular communities, under a fixed government. but the three names at first were interchangeable; the three modes of life alternated, often in the same man. the life of all three was the same,-celibacy, poverty, good deeds towards their fellow-men; self-restraint, and sometimes self-torture of every kind, to atone (as far as might be) for the sins committed after baptism: and the mental food of all three was the same likewise; continued meditation upon the vanity of the world, the sinfulness of the flesh, the glories of heaven, and the horrors of hell: but with these the old hermits combined-to do them justice-a personal faith in god, and a personal love for christ, which those who sneer at them would do well to copy. over all europe, even to ireland,* the same pattern of christian excellence repeated itself with strange regularity, till it became the only received pattern; and to "enter religion," or "be converted," meant simply to become a monk. *in the celtic irish church, there seems to have been no other pattern. the hermits who became abbots, with their monks, were the only teachers of the people-one had almost said, the only christians. whence, as early as the sixth century, if not the fifth, they, and their disciples of iona and scotland, derived their peculiar tonsure, their use of bells, their eastern mode of keeping the paschal feast, and other peculiarities, seemingly without the intervention of rome, is a mystery still unsolved. 16 introduction. of the authentic biographies of certain of these men, a few specimens are given in this volume. if they shall seem to any reader uncouth, or even absurd, he must remember that they are the only existing and the generally contemporaneous histories of men who exercised for 1,300 years an enormous influence over the whole of christendom; who exercise a vast influence over the greater part of it to this day. they are the biographies of men who were regarded, during their lives and after their deaths, as divine and inspired prophets; and who were worshipped with boundless trust and admiration by millions of human beings. their fame and power were not created by the priesthood. the priesthood rather leant on them, than they on it. they occupied a post analogous to that of the old jewish prophets; always independent of, sometimes opposed to, the regular clergy; and dependent altogether on public opinion and the suffrage of the multitude. when christianity, after three centuries of repression and persecution, emerged triumphant as the creed of the whole civilized world, it had become what their lives describe. the model of religious life for the fifth century, it remained a model for succeeding centuries; on the lives of st. antony and his compeers were founded the whole literature of saintly biographies; the whole popular conception of the universe, and of man's relation to it; the whole science of dæmonology, with its peculiar literature, its peculiar system of criminal jurisprudence. and their influence did not cease at the reformation among protestant divines. the influence of these introduction. 17 lives of the hermit fathers is as much traceable, even to style and language, in "the pilgrim's progress "as in the last papal allocution. the great hermits of egypt were not merely the founders of that vast monastic system which influenced the whole politics, and wars, and social life, as well as the whole religion, of the middle age; they were a school of philosophers (as they rightly called themselves) who altered the whole current of human thought. those who wish for a general notion of the men, and of their time, will find all that they require (set forth from different points of view, though with the same honesty and learning) in gibbon; in m. de montalembert's "moines d'occident," in dean milman's "history of christianity" and "latin christianity," and in ozanam's “etudes germaniques." but the truest notion of the men is to be got, after all, from the original documents; and especially from that curious collection of them by the jesuit rosweyde, commonly known as the "lives of the hermit fathers."† after an acquaintance of now five-and-twenty years with this wonderful treasury of early christian mythology, to which all fairy tales are dull and meagre, i am almost inclined to sympathise with m. de montalembert's questions,-"who is so ignorant, or so unfortunate, as not to have devoured these tales of the heroic age of monachism? who has not * a book which, from its bearing on present problems, well deserves translation. "vita patrum." published at antwerp, 1628. s.l. ii c 18 introduction. contemplated, if not with the eyes of faith, at least with the admiration inspired by an incontrollable greatness of soul, the struggles of these athletes of penitence? . . . . everything is to be found there— variety, pathos, the sublime and simple epic of a race of men, naïfs as children, and strong as giants." in whatever else one may differ from m. de montalembert-and it is always painful to differ from one whose pen has been always the faithful servant of virtue and piety, purity and chivalry, loyalty and liberty, and whose generous appreciation of england and the english is the more honourable to him, by reason of an utter divergence in opinion, which in less wide and noble spirits produces only antipathy -one must at least agree with him in his estimate of the importance of these "lives of the fathers," not only to the ecclesiologist, but to the psychologist and the historian. their influence, subtle, often transformed and modified again and again, but still potent from its very subtleness, is being felt around us in many a puzzle-educational, social, political; and promises to be felt still more during the coming generation; and to have studied thoroughly one of them-say the life of st. antony by st. athanasiusis to have had in our hands (whether we knew it or not) the key to many a lock, which just now refuses either to be tampered with or burst open. i have determined, therefore, to give a few of these lives, translated as literally as possible. thus the reader will then have no reason to fear a garbled or partial account of personages so difficult to conintroduction. 19 ceive or understand. he will be able to see the men as wholes; to judge (according to his light) of their merits and their defects. the very style of their biographers (which is copied as literally as is compatible with the english tongue) will teach him, if he be wise, somewhat of the temper and habits of thought of the age in which they lived; and one of these original documents, with its honesty, its vivid touches of contemporary manners, its intense earnestness, will give, perhaps, a more true picture of the whole hermit movement than (with all respect, be it said) the most brilliant general panorama. it is impossible to give in this series all the lives of the early hermits-even of those contained in rosweyde. this volume will contain, therefore, only the most important and most famous lives of the egyptian, syrian, and persian hermits, followed, perhaps, by a few later biographies from western europe, as proofs that the hermit-type, as it spread toward the atlantic, remained still the same as in the egyptian desert. against one modern mistake the reader must be warned; the theory, namely, that these biographies were written as religious romances; edifying, but not historical; to be admired, but not believed. there is not the slightest evidence that such was the case. the lives of these, and most other saints (certainly those in this volume), were written by men who believed the stories themselves, after such inquiry into the facts as they deemed necessary; who knew that others would believe them; and who intended that c 2 20 introduction. they should do so; and the stories were believed accordingly, and taken as matter of fact for the most practical purposes by the whole of christendom. the forging of miracles, like the forging of charters, for the honour of a particular shrine, or the advantage of a particular monastery, belongs to a much later and much worse age; and, whatsoever we may think of the taste of the authors of these lives, or of their faculty for judging of evidence, we must at least give them credit for being earnest men, incapable of what would have been in their eyes, and ought to be in ours, not merely falsehood, but impiety. let the reader be sure of this-that these documents would not have exercised their enormous influence on the human mind, had there not been in them, under whatever accidents of credulity, and even absurdity, an element of sincerity, virtue, and nobility. saint antony. the life of antony, by athanasius, is perhaps the most important of all these biographies; because first, antony was generally held to be the first great example and preacher of the hermit life; because next, athanasius, his biographer, having by his controversial writings established the orthodox faith as it is now held alike by romanists, greeks, and protestants, did, by his publication of the life of antony, establish the hermit life as the ideal (in his opinion) of christian excellence; and lastly, because that biography exercised a most potent influence on the conversion of st. augustine, the greatest thinker (always excepting st. paul) whom the world had seen since plato, whom the world was to see again till lord bacon; the theologian and philosopher (for he was the latter, as well as the former, in the strictest sense) to whom the world owes, not only the formulizing of the whole scheme of the universe for a thousand years after his death, but calvinism (wrongly so called) in all its forms, whether held by the 22 saint antony. augustinian party in the church of rome, or the "reformed" churches of geneva, france, and scotland. whether we have the exact text of the document as athanasius wrote it to the "foreign brethren "probably the religious folk of trêves-in the greek version published by heschelius in 1611, and in certain earlier greek texts; whether the latin translation. attributed to evagrius, which has been well known for centuries past in the latin church, be actually his; whether it be exactly that of which st. jerome speaks, and whether it be exactly that which st. augustine saw, are questions which it is now impossible to decide. but of the genuineness of the life in its entirety we have no right to doubt, contrary to the verdicts of the most distinguished scholars, whether protestant or catholic; and there is fair reason to suppose that the document (allowing for errors and variations of transcribers) which i have tried to translate, is that of which the great st. augustine speaks in the eighth book of his confessions. he tells us that he was reclaimed at last from a profligate life (the thought of honourable marriage seems never to have entered his mind), by meeting, while practising as a rhetorician at trêves, an old african acquaintance, named potitanius, an officer of rank. what followed no words can express so well as those of the great genius himself. "when i told him that i was giving much attention to those writings (the epistles of paul), we began to saint antony. 23 talk, and he to tell, of antony, the monk of egypt, whose name was then very famous among thy servants:* but was unknown to us till that moment. when he discovered that, he spent some time over the subject, detailing his virtues, and wondering at our ignorance. we were astounded at hearing such well-attested marvels of him, so recent and almost contemporaneous, wrought in the right faith of the catholic church. we all wondered: we, that they were so great; and he, that we had not heard of them. thence his discourse ran on to those flocks of hermitcells, and the morals of thy sweetness, and the fruitful deserts of the wilderness, of which we knew nought. there was a monastery, too, at milan, full of good brethren, outside the city walls, under the tutelage of ambrosius, and we knew nothing of it. he went on still speaking, and we listened intently; and it befell that he told us how, i know not when, he and three of his mess companions at trêves, while the emperor was engaged in an afternoon spectacle in the circus, went out for a walk in the gardens round the walls; and as they walked there in pairs, one with him alone, and the two others by themselves, they parted. and those two, straying about, burst into a cottage, where dwelt certain servants of thine, poor in spirit, of such as is the kingdom of heaven; and there found a book, in which was written the life of antony. one of them began to read it, and to wonder, and to be warmed; and, as he read, to think of taking up such a life, and leaving the warfare of this world to serve * he is addressing our lord. 24 saint antony. thee. now, he was one of those whom they call managers of affairs.* then, suddenly filled with holy love and sober shame, angered at himself, he cast his eyes on his friend, and said, 'tell me, prithee, with all these labours of ours, whither are we trying to get? what are we seeking? for what are we soldiering? can we have a higher hope in the palace, than to become friends of the emperor? and when there, what is not frail and full of dangers? and through how many dangers we do not arrive at a greater danger still? and how long will that last? but if i choose to become a friend of god, i can do it here and now.' he spoke thus, and, swelling in the labourpangs of a new life, he fixed his eyes again on the pages and read, and was changed inwardly as thou lookedst on him, and his mind was stripped of the world, as soon appeared. for while he read, and rolled over the billows of his soul, he shuddered and hesitated from time to time, and resolved better things; and already thine, he said to his friend, 'i have already torn myself from that hope of ours, and have settled to serve god; and this i begin from this hour, in this very place. if you do not like to imitate me, do not oppose me.' he replied that he would cling to his companion in such a great service and so great a warfare. and both, now thine, began building, at their own cost, the tower of leaving all things and following thee. then potitianus, and the man who was talking with him elsewhere in the garden, seeking them, came to the same place, and warned them to return, as the * 66 "agentes in rebus." on the emperor's staff? saint antony. 25 sun was getting low. they, however, told their resolution, and how it had sprung up and taken strong hold in them, and entreated the others not to give them pain. they, not altered from their former mode of life, yet wept (as he told us) for themselves; and congratulated them piously, and commended themselves to their prayers; and then dragging their hearts along the earth, went back to the palace. but the others, fixing their hearts on heaven, remained in the cottage. and both of them had affianced brides, who, when they heard this, dedicated their virginity to thee." the part which this incident played in st. augustine's own conversion must be told hereafter in his life. but the scene which his master-hand has drawn is not merely the drama of his own soul or of these two young officers, but of a whole empire. it is, as i said at first, the tragedy and suicide of the old empire; and the birth-agony of which he speaks was not that of an individual soul here or there, but of a whole new world, for good and evil. the old roman soul was dead within, the body of it dead without. patriotism, duty, purpose of life, save pleasure, money, and intrigue, had perished. the young roman officer had nothing left for which to fight; the young roman gentleman nothing left for which to be a citizen and an owner of lands. even the old roman longing (which was also a sacred duty) of leaving an heir to perpetuate his name, and serve the state as his fathers had before him—even that was gone. nothing was left, with the many, but selfishness, which could rise at best into the 26 saint antony. desire of saving every man his own soul, and so transform worldliness into other-worldliness. the old empire could do nothing more for man; and knew that it could do nothing; and lay down in the hermit's cell to die. trêves was then "the second metropolis of the empire," boasting, perhaps, even then, as it boasts still, that it was standing thirteen hundred years. before rome was built. amid the low hills, pierced by rocky dells, and on a strath of richest soil, it had grown, from the mud-hut town of the treviri, into a noble city of palaces, theatres, baths, triumphal arches, on either side the broad and clear moselle. the bridge which augustus had thrown across the river, four hundred years before the times of hermits and of saints, stood like a cliff through all barbarian invasions, through all the battles and sieges of the middle age, till it was blown up by the french in the wars of louis xiv., and nought remains save the huge piers of black lava stemming the blue stream; while up and down the dwindled city, the colossal fragments of roman work-the black gate, the heidenthurm, the baths, the basilica or hall of justice, now a lutheran church-stand out half ruined, like the fossil bones of giants amid the works of weaker, though of happier times; while the amphitheatre was till late years planted thick with vines, fattening in soil drenched with the blood of thousands. trêves had been the haunt of emperor after emperor, men wise and strong, cruel and terrible;—of constantius, constantine the great, julian, valentinian, valens; saint antony. 27 and lastly, when potitianus's friends found those poor monks in the garden* of gratian, the gentle hunter who thought day and night on sport, till his arrows were said to be instinct with life, was holding his military court within the walls of trêves, or at that hunting palace on the northern downs, where still on the bathfloors lie the mosaics of hare and deer, and boar and hound, on which the feet of emperors trod full fifteen hundred years ago. still glorious outwardly, like the roman empire itself, was that great city of trêves; but inwardly it was full of rottenness and weakness. the roman empire had been, in spite of all its crimes, for four hundred years the salt of the earth: but now the salt had lost its savour; and in one generation more it would be trodden under foot and cast upon the dunghill, and another empire would take its place,—the empire, not of brute strength and selfindulgence, but of sympathy and self-denial,—an empire, not of cæsars, but of hermits. already was gratian the friend and pupil of st. ambrose of milan; already, too, was he persecuting, though not to the death, heretics and heathens. nay, some fifty years before (if the legend can be in the least trusted) had st. helena, the mother of con* st. augustine says, that potitianus's adventure at trêves happened "i know not when." his own conversation with potitianus must have happened about a. d. 385, for he was baptized april 25, a.d. 387. he does not mention the name of potitianus's emperor: but as gratian was augustus from a.d. 367 to a.d. 375, and actual emperor of the west till a.d. 383, and as trêves was his usual residence, he is most probably the person meant: but if not, then his father valentinian. 28 saint antony. stantine the great, returned from palestine, bearing with her-so men believed--not only the miraculously discovered cross of christ, but the seamless coat which he had worn; and, turning her palace into a church, deposited the holy coat therein: where-so some believe-it remains until this day. men felt that a change was coming, but whence it would come, or how terrible it would be, they could not tell. it was to be, as the prophet says, "like the bulging out of a great wall, which bursteth suddenly in an instant." in the very amphitheatre where gratian sat that afternoon, with all the folk of trêves about him, watching, it may be, lions and antelopes from africa slaughtered-it may be criminals tortured to deathanother and an uglier sight had been twice seen. some seventy years before constantine, so-called the great, had there exhibited his "frankish sports," the "magnificent spectacle," the "famous punishments," as his flattering court-historians called them: thousands of frank prisoners, many of them of noble, and even of royal blood, torn to pieces by wild beasts, while they stood fearless, smiling with folded arms; and when the wild beasts were gorged, and slew no more, weapons were put into the hands of the survivors, and they were bidden to fight to the death for the amusement of their roman lords. but fight they would not against their own flesh and blood: and as for life, all chance of that was long gone by. so every man fell joyfully upon his brother's sword, and, dying like a german man, spoilt the sport of the good folk of trêves. and it seemed for a while as saint antony. 29 if there were no god in heaven who cared to avenge such deeds of blood. for the kinsmen, it may be the very sons, of those franks were now in gratian's pay; and the frank merobaudes was his "count of the domestics," and one of his most successful and trusted generals; and all seemed to go well, and brute force and craft to triumph on the earth. "" and yet those two young staff officers, when they left the imperial court for the hermit's cell, judged, on the whole, prudently and well, and chose the better part when they fled from the world to escape the dangers" of ambition, and the "greater danger still" of success. for they escaped, not merely from vice and worldliness, but, as the event proved, from imminent danger of death if they kept the loyalty which they had sworn to their emperor; or the worse evil of baseness if they turned traitors to him to save their lives. for little thought gratian, as he sat in that amphitheatre, that the day was coming when he, the hunter of game-and of heretics-would be hunted in his turn; when, deserted by his army, betrayed by merobaudes-whose elder kinsfolk were not likely to have kept him ignorant of "the frankish sports "he should flee pitiably towards italy, and die by a german hand; some say near lyons, some say near belgrade, calling on ambrose with his latest breath.* little thought, too, the good folk of trêves, as they sat beneath the vast awning that afternoon, that * see the excellent article on gratian in smith's dictionary, by mr. means. 30 saint antony. within the next half century a day of vengeance was coming for them, which should teach them that there was a god who "maketh inquisition for blood;" a day when trêves should be sacked in blood and flame by those very “barbarian" germans whom they fancied their allies-or their slaves. and least of all did they fancy that, when that great destruction fell upon their city, the only element in it which would pass safely through the fire and rise again, and raise their city to new glory and power, was that which was represented by those poor hermits in the garden-hut outside. little thought they that above the awful arches of the black gate-as if in mockery of the roman power—a lean anchorite would take his stand, simeon of syracuse by name, a monk of mount sinai, and there imitate, in the far west, the austerities of st. simeon stylites in the east, and be enrolled in the new pantheon, not of cæsars, but of saints. under the supposed patronage of those saints, trêves rose again out of its ruins. it gained its four great abbeys of st. maximus (on the site of constantine's palace); st. matthias, in the crypt whereof the bodies of the monks never decay;* st. martin; and st. mary of the four martyrs, where four soldiers of the famous theban legion are said to have suffered martyrdom by the house of the roman prefect. it had its cathedral of st. peter and st. helena, supposed to be built out of st. helena's palace; its exquisite liebfrauenkirche; its * i cannot explain this fact: but i have seen it with my own eyes. saint antony. 31 palace of the old archbishops, mighty potentates of this world, as well as of the kingdom of heaven. for they were princes, arch-chancellors, electors of the empire, owning many a league of fertile land, governing, and that kindly and justly, towns and villages of christian men, and now and then going out to war, at the head of their own knights and yeomen, in defence of their lands, and of the saints whose servants and trustees they were; and so became, according to their light and their means, the salt of that land for many generations. and after a while that salt, too, lost its savour, and was, in its turn, trodden under foot. the french republican wars swept away the ecclesiastical constitution and the wealth of the ancient city. the cathedral and churches were stripped of relics, of jewels, of treasures of early art. the prince-bishop's palace is a barrack; so was lately st. maximus's shrine; st. martin's a china manufactory, and st. matthias's a school. trêves belongs to prussia, and not to "holy church;" and all the old splendours of the "empire of the saints" are almost as much ruinate as those of the "empire of the romans." so goes the world, because there is a living god. "the old order changeth, giving place to the new ; and god fulfils himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world.” but though palaces and amphitheatres be gone, the gardens outside still bloom on as when potitianus and his friends wandered through them, perpetual as 32 saint antony. nature's self; and perpetual as nature, too, endures whatever is good and true of that afternoon's work, and of that finding of the legend of st. antony in the monk's cabin, which fixed the destiny of the great genius of the latin church. the story of st. antony, as it has been handed. down to us,* runs thus :the life and conversation of our holy father antony, written and sent to the monks in foreign parts by our father among the saints, athanasius, archbishop of alexandria. you have begun a noble rivalry with the monks of egypt, having determined either to equal or even to surpass them in your training towards virtue; for there are monasteries already among you, and the monastic life is practised. this purpose of yours one may justly praise; and if you pray, god will bring it to perfection. but since you have also asked me about the conversation of the holy antony, wishing to learn how he began his training, and who he was before it, and what sort of an end he made to his life, and whether what is said of him is true, in order that you may bring yourselves to emulate him, with great readiness i received your command. for to me, too, it is a great gain and benefit only to remember antony; and i know that you, when you hear of him, after you have wondered at the man, will wish also to emulate his purpose. for the life of antony is for monks a perfect patterr * i use throughout the text published by heschelius, in 1611. saint antony. 33 of ascetic training. what, then, you have heard about him from other informants do not disbelieve, but rather think that you have heard from them a small part of the facts. for in any case, they could hardly relate fully such great matters, when even i, at your request, howsoever much i may tell you in my letter, can only send you a little which i remember about him. but do not cease to inquire of those who sail from hence; for perhaps, if each tells what he knows, at last his history may be worthily compiled. i had wished, indeed, when i received your letter, to send for some of the monks who were wont to be most frequently in his company, that i might learn something more, and send you a fuller account. but since both the season of navigation limited me, and the letter-carrier was in haste, i hastened to write to your piety what i myself know (for i have often seen him), and what i was able to learn from one who followed him for no short time, and poured water upon his hands; always taking care of the truth, in order that no one when he hears too much may disbelieve, nor again, if he learns less than is needful, despise the man. antony was an egyptian by race, born of noble parents,* who had a sufficient property of their own: and as they were christians, he too was christianly brought up, and when a boy was nourished in the house of his parents, besides whom and his home he knew nought. but when he grew older, he * he is said to have been born at coma, near heracleia, in middle egypt, a.d. 251. s. l. ii. d 34 · saint antony. would not be taught letters,* not wishing to mix with other boys; but all his longing was (according to what is written of jacob) to dwell simply in his own house. but when his parents took him into the lord's house, he was not saucy, like a boy, nor inattentive as he grew older; but was subject to his parents, and attentive to what was read, turning it to his own account. nor again (as a boy who was moderately well off) did he trouble his parents for various and expensive dainties, nor did he run after the pleasures of this life; but was content with what he found, and asked for nothing more. when his parents died, he was left alone with a little sister, when he was about eighteen or twenty years of age, and took care both of his house and of her. but not six months after their death, as he was going as usual to the lord's house, and collecting his thoughts, he meditated as he walked how the apostles had left all and followed the saviour; and how those in the acts brought the price of what they had sold, and laid it at the apostles' feet, to be given away to the poor; and what and how great a hope was laid up for them in heaven. he entered the church. and it befell then that the gospel was being read; and he heard how the lord had said to the rich man, "if thou wilt be perfect, go, sell all thou hast, and give to the poor; and come, follow me, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven." antony, therefore, as if the remembrance of the saints had come to him from god, and as if the lesson had seemingly the greek language and literature. * with this in his mind, coope's se life of st. antony. and having committed his sister to known and faithful virgins, and given to her wherewith to be educated in a nunnery," &c.-p. 35. in saint antony. 35 been read on his account, went forth at once from the lord's house, and gave away to those of his own village the possessions he had inherited from his ancestors (three hundred plough-lands, fertile and very fair), that they might give no trouble either to him or his sister. all his moveables he sold, and a considerable sum which he received for them he gave to the poor. but having kept back a little for his sister, when he went again into the lord's house he heard the lord. saying in the gospel, "take no thought for the morrow," and, unable to endure any more delay, he went out and distributed that too to the needy. and having committed his sister to known and faithful virgins, and given to her wherewith to be educated in a nunnery, he himself thenceforth devoted himself, outside his house, to training;* taking heed to himself, and using himself severely. for monasteries were not then common in egypt, nor did any monks at all know the wide desert; but each who wished to take heed to himself exercised himself alone, not far from his own village. there was then in the next village an old man, who had trained himself in a solitary life from his youth. when antony saw him, he emulated him in that which is noble. and first he began to stay outside the village; and then, if he heard of any earnest man, he went to seek him, like a wise bee; and did not return till he had seen him, and having got from him (as it were) provision "" * i have thought it more honest to translate donnois by "training,' which is now, as then, its true equivalent; being a metaphor drawr from the greek games by st. paul, 1 tim. iv. 8. d 2 36 saint antony. for his journey toward virtue, went his way. so dwelling there at first, he settled his mind neither to look back towards his parents' wealth nor to recollect his relations; but he put all his longing and all his earnestness on training himself more intensely. for the rest he worked with his hands, because he had heard, "if any man will not work, neither let him eat;" and of his earnings he spent some on himself and some on the needy. he prayed continually, because he knew that one ought to pray secretly, without ceasing. he attended, also, so much to what was read, that, with him, none of the scriptures fell to the ground, but he retained them all, and for the future his memory served him instead of books. behaving thus, antony was beloved by all; and submitted truly to the earnest men to whom he used to go. and from each of them he learnt some improvement in his earnestness and his training: he contemplated the courtesy of one, and another's assiduity in prayer; another's freedom from anger; another's love of mankind : he took heed to one as he watched; to another as he studied: one he admired for his endurance, another for his fasting and sleeping on the ground; he laid to heart the meekness of one, and the long-suffering of another; and stamped upon his memory the devotion to christ and the mutual love which all in common possessed. and thus filled full, he returned to his own place of training, gathering to himself what he had got from each, and striving to show all their qualities in himself. he never emulated those of his own age, save in what is best; and did saint antony. 37 that so as to pain no one, but make all rejoice over him. and all in the village who loved good, seeing him thus, called him the friend of god; and some embraced him as a son, some as a brother. but the devil, who hates and envies what is noble, would not endure such a purpose in a youth: but attempted against him all that he is wont to do; suggesting to him the remembrance of his wealth, care for his sister, relation to his kindred, love of money, love of glory, the various pleasures of luxury, and the other solaces of life; and then the harshness of virtue, and its great toil; and the weakness of his body, and the length of time; and altogether raised a great dust-cloud of arguments in his mind, trying to turn him back from his righteous choice. but when the enemy saw himself to be too weak for antony's determination, but rather baffled by his stoutness, and overthrown by his great faith, and falling before his continual prayers, then he attacked him with the temptations which he is wont to use against young men; . . . . but he protected his body with faith, prayers, and fastings, . . . setting his thoughts on christ, and on his own nobility through christ, and on the rational faculties of his soul, . . . and again on the terrors of the fire, and the torment of the worm, . . . and thus escaped unhurt. and thus was the enemy brought to shame. for he who thought himself to be equal with god was now mocked by a youth; and he who boasted against flesh and blood was defeated by a man clothed in flesh. for the lord worked with him, who bore flesh on our account, and 38 saint antony. gave to the body victory over the devil, that each man in his battle may say, "not i, but the grace of god which is with me." at last, when the dragon could not overthrow antony even thus, but saw himself thrust out of his heart, then gnashing his teeth (as is written), and as if beside himself, he appeared to the sight, as he is to the reason, as a black child, and as it were falling down before him, no longer attempted to argue (for the deceiver was cast out), but using a human voice, said, “i have deceived many; i have cast down many. but now, as in the case of many, so in thine, i have been worsted in the battle." then when antony asked him, "who art thou who speakest thus to me?" he forthwith replied in a pitiable voice, “i am the spirit of impurity."... then antony gave thanks to god, and gaining courage, said, "thou art utterly despicable; for thou art black of soul, and weak as a child; nor shall i henceforth cast one thought on thee. for the lord is my helper, and i shall despise my enemies." that black being, hearing this, fled forthwith, cowering at his words, and afraid thenceforth of coming near the man. this was antony's first struggle against the devil: or rather this mighty deed in him was the saviour's, who condemned sin in the flesh that the righteousness of the lord should be fulfilled in us, who walk not after the flesh, but after the spirit. but neither did. antony, because the dæmon had fallen, grow careless and despise him; neither did the enemy, when saint antony. 39 worsted by him, cease from lying in ambush against him. for he came round again as a lion, seeking a pretence against him. but antony had learnt from scripture that many are the devices of the enemy; and continually kept up his training, considering that, though he had not deceived his heart by pleasure, he would try some other snares. for the dæmon delights in sin. therefore he chastised his body more and more, and brought it into slavery, lest, having conquered in one case, he should be tripped up in others. he determined, therefore, to accustom himself to a still more severe life; and many wondered at him: but the labour was to him easy to bear. for the readiness of the spirit, through long usage, had created a good habit in him, so that, taking a very slight hint from others, he showed great earnestness in it. for he watched so much, that he often passed the whole night without sleep; and that not once, but often, to the astonishment of men. he ate once a day, after the setting of the sun, and sometimes only once in two days, often even in four; his food was bread with salt, his drink nothing but water. to speak of flesh and wine there is no need, for such a thing is not found among other earnest men. when he slept he was content with a rush-mat: but mostly he lay on the bare ground. he would not anoint himself with oil, saying that it was more fit for young men to be earnest in training, than to seek things which softened the body; and that they must accustom themselves to labour, according to the apostle's saying, "when i am weak, then i am strong;" for that the mind was strengthened 40 saint antony. as bodily pleasure was weakened. and this argument of his was truly wonderful. for he did not measure the path of virtue, nor his going away into retirement on account of it, by time; but by his own desire and will. so forgetting the past, he daily, as if beginning afresh, took more pains to improve, saying over to himself continually the apostle's words, "forgetting what is behind, stretching forward to what is before;" and mindful, too, of elias' speech, "the lord liveth, before whom i stand this day." for he held, that by mentioning to-day, he took no account of past time: but, as if he were laying down a beginning, he tried earnestly to make himself day by day fit to appear before god, pure in heart, and ready to obey his will, and no other. and he said in himself that the ascetic ought for ever to be learning his own life from the manners of the great elias, as from a mirror. antony, having thus, as it were, bound himself, went to the tombs, which happened to be some way from the village; and having bidden one of his acquaintances to bring him bread at intervals of many days, he entered one of the tombs, and, shutting the door upon himself, remained there alone. but the enemy, not enduring that, but rather terrified lest in a little while he should fill the desert with his training, coming one night with a multitude of dæmons, beat him so much with stripes, that he lay speechless from the torture. for he asserted that the pain was so great that no blows given by men could cause such agony. but by the providence of god (for the lord does not overlook those who hope in him), the next day his saint antony. 4i acquaintance came, bringing him the loaves. and having opened the door, and seeing him lying on the ground for dead, he carried him to the lord's house in the village, and laid him on the ground; and many of his kinsfolk and the villagers sat round him, as round a corpse. but about midnight, antony coming to himself, and waking up, saw them all sleeping, and only his acquaintance awake, and, nodding to him to approach, begged him to carry him back to the tombs, without waking any one. when that was done, the doors were shut, and he remained as before, alone inside. and, because he could not stand on account of the dæmons' blows, he prayed prostrate. and after his prayer, he said with a shout, "here am i, antony: i do not fly from your stripes; yea, if you do yet more, nothing shall separate me from the love of christ." and then he sang, "if an host be laid against me, yet shall not my heart be afraid." thus thought and spoke the man who was training himself. but the enemy, hater of what is noble, and envious, wondering that he dared to return after the stripes, called together his dogs, and bursting with rage,—“ye see," he said, "that we have not stopped this man by the spirit of impurity; nor by blows: but he is even growing bolder against us. let us attack him some other way." "'* for it is easy for the devil to invent schemes of mischief. so then in the night they made such a crash, that the whole place seemed shaken, and the dæmons, as if breaking in the four walls of the room, * i give this passage as it stands in the greek version. in the latin, attributed to evagrius, it is even more extravagant and rhetorical. 42 saint antony. seemed to enter through them, changing themselves into the shapes of beasts and creeping things;* and the place was forthwith filled with shapes of lions, bears, leopards, bulls, and snakes, asps, scorpions, and wolves, and each of them moved according to his own fashion. the lion roared, longing to attack; the bull seemed to toss; the serpent did not cease creeping, and the wolf rushed upon him; and altogether the noises of all the apparitions were dreadful, and their tempers cruel. but antony, scourged and pierced by them, felt a more dreadful bodily pain than before: but he lay unshaken and awake in spirit. he groaned at the pain of his body but clear in intellect, and as it were mocking, he said, "if there were any power in you, it were enough that one of you should come on; but since the lord has made you weak, therefore you try to frighten me by mere numbers. and a proof of your weakness is, that you imitate the shapes of brute animals." and taking courage, he said again, "if ye can, and have received power against me, delay not, but attack; but if ye cannot, why do ye disturb me in vain? for a seal to us and a wall of safety is our faith in the lord." the dæmons, having made many efforts, gnashed their teeth at him, because he rather mocked at them, than they at him. but neither then *surely the imagery painted on the inner walls of egyptian tombs, and probably believed by antony and his compeers to be connected with devil-worship, explain these visions. in the "words of the elders" a monk complains of being troubled with "pictures, old and new." probably, again, the pain which antony felt was the agony of a fever; and the visions which he saw, its delirium. saint antony. 43 did the lord forget antony's wrestling, but appeared to help him. for, looking up, he saw the roof as it were opened and a ray of light coming down towards him. the dæmons suddenly became invisible, and the pain of his body forthwith ceased, and the building became quite whole. but antony, feeling the succour, and getting his breath again, and freed from pain, questioned the vision which appeared, saying, "where wert thou? why didst thou not appear to me from the first, to stop my pangs?" and a voice came to him, "antony, i was here, but i waited to see thy fight. therefore, since thou hast withstood, and not been worsted, i will be to thee always a succour, and will make thee become famous everywhere." hearing this, he rose and prayed, and was so strong, that he felt that he had more power in his body than he had before. he was then about thirty-and-five years old. and on the morrow he went out, and was yet more eager for devotion to god; and, going to that old man aforesaid, he asked him to dwell with him in the desert. but when he declined, because of his age, and because no such custom had yet arisen, he himself straightway set off to the mountain. but the enemy again, seeing his earnestness, and wishing to hinder it, cast in his way the phantom of a great silver plate. but antony, perceiving the trick of him who hates what is noble, stopped. and he judged the plate worthless, seeing the devil in it; and said, "whence comes a plate in the desert? this is no beaten way, nor is there here the footstep of any traveller. had it 44 saint antony. fallen, it could not have been unperceived, from its great size; and besides, he who lost it would have turned back and found it, because the place is desert. this is a trick of the devil. thou shalt not hinder, devil, my determination by this: let it go with thee into perdition." and as antony said that, it vanished, as smoke from before the face of the fire. then again he saw, not this time a phantom, but real gold lying in the way as he came up. but whether the enemy showed it him, or whether some better power, which was trying the athlete, and showing the devil that he did not care for real wealth; neither did he tell, nor do we know, save that it was real gold. antony, wondering at the abundance of it, so stepped over it as over fire, and so passed it by, that he never turned, but ran on in haste, until he had lost sight of the place. and growing even more and more intense in his determination, he rushed up the mountain, and finding an empty inclosure full of creeping things on account of its age, he betook himself across the river, and dwelt in it. the creeping things, as if pursued by some one, straightway left the place: but he blocked up the entry, having taken with him loaves for six months (for the thebans do this, and they often remain a whole year fresh), and having water with him, entering, as into a sanctuary, into that monastery,* he remained alone, never going forth, and never looking at any one who came. thus he passed a long time * here is an instance of the original use of the word "monastery," viz. a cell in which a single person dwelt. saint antony. 45 there training himself, and only twice a year received loaves, let down from above through the roof. but those of his acquaintance who came to him, as they often remained days and nights outside (for he did not allow any one to enter), used to hear as it were crowds inside clamouring, thundering, lamenting, crying "depart from our ground. what dost thou even in the desert? thou canst not abide our onset." at first those without thought that there were some men fighting with him, and that they had got in by ladders but when, peeping in through a crack, they saw no one, then they took for granted that they were dæmons, and being terrified, called themselves on antony. but he rather listened to them than cared for the others. for his acquaintances came up continually, expecting to find him dead, and heard him singing, "let the lord arise, and his enemies shall be scattered; and let them who hate him flee before him. as wax melts from before the face of the fire, so shall sinners perish from before the face of god." and again, "all nations compassed me round about, and in the name of the lord i repelled them." he endured then for twenty years, thus training himself alone; neither going forth, nor seen by any one for long periods of time. but after this, when many longed for him, and wished to imitate his training, and others who knew him came, and were bursting in the door by force, antony came forth as from some inner shrine, initiated into the mysteries, and bearing the god.* and then first he appeared out of an allusion to the heathen mysteries. 46 saint antony. the inclosure to those who were coming to him. and when they saw him they wondered; for his body had kept the same habit, and had neither grown fat, nor lean from fasting, nor worn by fighting with the dæmons. for he was just such as they had known him before his retirement. they wondered again at the purity of his soul, because it was neither contracted as if by grief, nor relaxed by pleasure, nor possessed by laughter or by depression; for he was neither troubled at beholding the crowd, nor over-joyful at being saluted by too many; but was altogether equal, as being governed by reason, and standing on that which is according to nature. many sufferers in body who were present did the lord heal by him; and others he purged from dæmons. and he gave to antony grace in speaking, so that he comforted many who grieved, and reconciled others who were at variance, exhorting all to prefer nothing in the world to the love of christ, and persuading and exhorting them to be mindful of the good things to come, and of the love of god towards us, who spared not his own son, but delivered him up for us all. he persuaded many to choose the solitary life; and so thenceforth cells sprang up in the mountains, and the desert was colonized by monks, who went forth from their own, and registered themselves in the city which is in heaven. and when he had need to cross the arsenoite canal (and the need was the superintendence of the brethren), the canal was full of crocodiles. and having only prayed, he entered it; and both he and all who ין saint antony. 47 were with him went through it unharmed. but when he returned to the cell, he persisted in the noble labours of his youth; and by continued exhortations he increased the willingness of those who were already monks, and stirred to love of training the greater number of the rest; and quickly, as his speech drew men on, the cells became more numerous; and he governed them all as a father. and when he had gone forth one day, and all the monks had come to him desiring to hear some word from him, he spake to them in the egyptian tongue, thus-"that the scriptures were sufficient for instruction, but that it was good for us to exhort each other in the faith." [here follows a long sermon, historically important, as being the earliest christian attempt to reduce to a science dæmonology and the temptation of dæmons: but its involved and rhetorical form proves sufficiently that it could not have been delivered by an unlettered man like antony. neither is it, probably, even composed by st. athanasius; it seems rather, like several other passages in this biography, the interpolation of some later scribe. it has been, therefore, omitted.] and when antony had spoken thus, all rejoiced; and in one the love of virtue was increased, in another negligence stirred up, and in others conceit stopped, while all were persuaded to despise the plots of the devil, wondering at the grace which had been given to antony by the lord for the discernment of spirits. so the cells in the mountains were like tents filled with divine choirs, singing, discoursing, 48 saint antony. fasting, praying, rejoicing over the hope of the future, working that they might give alms thereof, and having love and concord with each other. and there was really to be seen, as it were, a land by itself, of piety and justice; for there was none there who did wrong, or suffered wrong: no blame from any talebearer: but a multitude of men training themselves, and in all of them a mind set on virtue. so that any one seeing the cells, and such an array of monks, would have cried out, and said, “how fair are thy dwellings, o jacob, and thy tents, o israel; like shady groves and like parks beside a river, and like tents which the lord hath pitched, and like cedars by the waters." he himself, meanwhile, withdrawing, according to his custom, alone to his own cell, increased the severity of his training. and he groaned daily, considering the mansions in heaven, and setting his longing on them, and looking at the ephemeral life of man. for even when he was going to eat or sleep, he was ashamed, when he considered the rational element of his soul; so that often, when he was about to eat with many other monks, he remembered the spiritual food, and declined, and went far away from them; thinking that he should blush if he was seen by others eating. he ate, nevertheless, by himself, on account of the necessities of the body; and often, too, with the brethren, being bashful with regard to them, but plucking up heart for the sake of saying something that might be useful; and used to tell them that they ought saint antony. 49 to give all their leisure rather to the soul than to the body; and that they should grant a very little time to the body, for mere necessity's sake: but that their whole leisure should be rather given to the soul, and should seek her profit, that she may not be drawn down by the pleasures of the body, but rather the body be led captive by her. for this (he said) was what was spoken by the saviour, "be not anxious for your soul, what ye shall eat; nor for your body, what ye shall put on. and seek not what ye shall eat, nor what ye shall drink, neither let your minds be in suspense: for after all these things the nations of the world seek: but your father knoweth that ye need all these things. rather seek first his kingdom; and all these things shall be added unto you." after these things, the persecution which happened under the maximinus of that time,* laid hold of the church; and when the holy martyrs were brought to alexandria, antony too followed, leaving his cell, and saying, "let us depart too, that we may wrestle if we be called, or see them wrestling." and he longed to be a martyr himself, but, not choosing to give himself up, he ministered to the confessors in the mines, and in the prisons. and he was very earnest in the judgment-hall to excite the readiness of those who were called upon to wrestle; and to receive and bring on a.d. 311. galerius valerius maximinus (his real name was daza) had been a shepherd-lad in illyria, like his uncle galerius valerius maximianus; and rose, like him, through the various grades of the army to be co-emperor of rome, over syria, egypt, and asia minor a furious persecutor of the christians, and a brutal and profligate tyrant. such were the "kings of the world" from whom those old monks fled. s. l. ii. f ; 50 saint antony. their way, till they were perfected, those of them who went to martyrdom. at last the judge, seeing the fearlessnes and earnestness of him and those who were with him, commanded that none of the monks should appear in the judgment-hall, or haunt at all in the city. so all the rest thought good to hide themselves that day; but antony cared so much for the order, that he all the rather washed his cloak, and stood next day upon a high place, and appeared to the general in shining white. therefore, when all the rest wondered, and the general saw him, and passed by with his array, he stood fearless, showing forth the readiness of us christians. for he himself prayed to be a martyr, as i have said, and was like one grieved, because he had not borne his witness. but the lord was preserving him for our benefit, and that of the rest, that he might become a teacher to many in the training which he had learnt from scripture. for many, when they only saw his manner of life, were eager to emulate it. so he again ministered continually to the confessors; and, as if bound with them, wearied himself in his services. and when at last the persecution ceased, and the blessed bishop peter had been martyred, he left the city, and went back to his cell. and he was there, day by day, a martyr in his conscience, and wrestling in the conflict of faith; for he imposed on himself a much more severe training than before; and his garment was within of hair, without of skin, which he kept till his end. he neither washed his body with water, nor ever cleansed his feet, nor actually endured putting them into water unless it saint antony. 51 were necessary. and no one ever saw him unclothed till he was dead and about to be buried. when, then, he retired, and had resolved neither to go forth himself, nor to receive any one, one martinianus, a captain of soldiers, came and gave trouble to antony. for he had with him his daughter, who was tormented by a dæmon. and while he remained a long time knocking at the door, and expecting him to come to pray to god for the child, antony could not bear to open, but leaning from above, said, "man, why criest thou to me? i, too, am a man, as thou art. but if thou believest, pray to god, and it comes to pass." forthwith, therefore, he believed, and called on christ; and went away, with his daughter cleansed from the dæmon. and many other things the lord did by him, saying, "ask, and it shall be given you." for most of the sufferers, when he did not open the door, only sat down outside the cell, and believing, and praying honestly, were cleansed. but when he saw himself troubled by many, and not being permitted to retire, as he wished, being afraid lest he himself should be puffed up by what the lord was doing by him, or lest others should count of him above what he was, he resolved to go to the upper thebaid, to those who knew him not. and, in fact, having taken loaves from the brethren, he sat down on the bank of the river, watching for a boat to pass, that he might embark and go up in it. and as he watched, a voice came to him: "antony, whither art thou going, and why?" and he, not terrified, but as one accustomed to be often called thus, answered when he heard it, e 2 52 saint antony. * "because the crowds will not let me be at rest; therefore am i minded to go up to the upper thebaid, on account of the many annoyances which befall me; and, above all, because they ask of me things beyond my strength." and the voice said to him, "even if thou goest up to the thebaid, even if, as thou art minded to do, thou goest down the cattle pastures,* thou wilt have to endure more, and double trouble; but if thou wilt really be at rest, go now into the inner desert." and when antony said, "who will show me the way, for i have not tried it?" forthwith it showed him saracens who were going to journey that road. so, going to them, and drawing near them, antony asked leave to depart with them into. the desert. but they, as if by an ordinance of providence, willingly received him; and, journeying three days and three nights with them, he came to a very high mountain; † and there was water under the mountain, clear, sweet, and very cold; and a plain outside; and a few neglected date-palms. then antony, as if stirred by god, loved the spot; for this it was what he had pointed out who spoke to him beside the river bank. at first, then, having received bread from those who journeyed with him, he remained alone in the mount, no one else being with him. for he recognised that place as his own home, and kept it thenceforth. and the saracens themselves, * the lonely alluvial flats at the mouths of the nile. "below the cliffs, beside the sea," as one describes them. now the monastery of deir antonios, over the wady el arabah, between the nile and the red sea, where antony's monks endure to this day. saint antony. 53 333 seeing antony's readiness, came that way on purpose, and joyfully brought him loaves; and he had, too, the solace of the dates, which was then little and paltry. but after this, the brethren, having found out the spot, like children remembering their father, were anxious to send things to him; but antony saw that, in bringing him bread, some there were put to trouble and fatigue; and, sparing the monks even in that, took counsel with himself, and asked some who came to him to bring him a hoe and a hatchet, and a little corn; and when these were brought, having gone over the land round the mountain, he found a very narrow place which was suitable, and tilled it; and, having plenty of water to irrigate it, he sowed; and, doing this year by year, he got his bread from thence, rejoicing that he should be troublesome to no one on that account, and that he was keeping himself free from obligation in all things. but after this, seeing again some people coming, he planted also a very few pot-herbs, that he who came might have some small solace after the labour of that hard journey. at first, however, the wild beasts in the desert, coming on account of the water, often hurt his crops and his tillage; but he, gently laying hold of one of them, said to them all, "why do you hurt me, who have not hurt you? depart, and, in the name of the lord, never come near this place." and from that time forward, as if they were afraid of his command, they never came near the place. so he was there alone in the inner mountain, having leisure for prayer and for training. but the brethren who 54 saint antony. ministered to him asked him that, coming every month, they might bring him olives, and pulse, and oil; for, after all, he was old. and while he had his conversation there, what great wrestlings he endured, according to that which is written, "not against flesh and blood, but against the dæmons who are our adversaries," we have known from those who went in to him. for there also they heard tumults, and many voices, and clashing as of arms; and they beheld the mount by night full of wild beasts, and they looked on him, too, fighting, as it were, with beings whom he saw, and praying against them. and those who came to him he bade be of good courage, but he himself wrestled, bending his knees, and praying to the lord. and it was truly worthy of wonder that, alone in such a desert, he was neither cowed by the dæmons who beset him, nor, while there were there so many four-footed and creeping beasts, was at all afraid of their fierceness: but, as is written, trusted in the lord like the mount zion, having his reason unshaken and untost; so that the dæmons rather fled, and the wild beasts, as is written, were at peace with him. but nevertheless, the devil (as david sings) watched antony, and gnashed upon him with his teeth. antony was comforted by the saviour, remaining unhurt by his craft and manifold artifices. for on him, when he was awake at night, he let loose wild beasts; and almost all the hyænas in that desert, coming out of their burrows, beset him round, and he was in the midst. and when each gaped on him and threatened to bite him, perceiving the art of the enemy, he said saint antony. 55 to them all, "if ye have received power against me, i am ready to be devoured by you: but if ye have been set on by dæmons, delay not, but withdraw, for i am a servant of christ." when antony said this, they fled, pursued by his words as by a whip. next after a few days, as he was working-for he took care, too, to labour-some one standing at the door pulled the plait that he was working. for he was weaving baskets, which he used to give to those who came, in return for what they brought him. and rising up, he saw a beast, like a man down to his thighs, but having legs and feet like an ass; and antony only crossed himself and said, "i am a servant of christ. if thou hast been sent against me, behold, here i am." and the beast with its dæmons fled away, so that in its haste it fell and died. now the death of the beast was the fall of the dæmons. for they were eager to do everything to bring him back out of the desert, but could not prevail. and being once asked by the monks to come down to them, and to visit awhile them and their places, he journeyed with the monks who came to meet him. and a camel carried their loaves and their water; for that desert is all dry, and there is no drinkable water unless in that mountain alone whence they drew their water, and where his cell is. but when the water failed on the journey, and the heat was most intense, they all began to be in danger; for going round to various places, and finding no water, they could walk no more, but lay down on the ground, and they let the camel go, and gave themselves up. 56 saint antony. but the old man, seeing them all in danger, was utterly grieved, and groaned; and departing a little way from them, and bending his knees and stretching out his hands, he prayed, and forthwith the lord caused water to come out where he had stopped and prayed. and thus all of them drinking took breath again; and having filled their skins, they sought the camel, and found her; for it befell that the halter had been twisted round a stone, and thus she had been stopped. so, having brought her back, and given her to drink, they put the skins on her, and went through their journey unharmed. and when they came to the outer cells all embraced him, looking on him as a father. and he, as if he brought them guest-gifts from the mountain, gave them away to them in his words, and shared his benefits among them. and there was joy again in the mountains, and zeal for improvement, and comfort through their faith in each other. and he too rejoiced, seeing the willingness of the monks, and his sister grown old in maidenhood, and herself the leader of other virgins. and so after certain days he went back again to the mountain. and after that many came to him; and others who suffered dared also to come. now to all the monks who came to him he gave continually this command: to trust in the lord and love him, and to keep themselves from foul thoughts and fleshly pleasures; and, as is written in the parables, not to be deceived by fulness of bread; and to avoid vainglory; and to pray continually; and to sing before sleep and after sleep; and to lay by in their hearts the commandsaint antony. 57 ment of scripture; and to remember the works of the saints, in order to have their souls attuned to emulate them. but especially he counselled them to meditate. continually on the apostle's saying, "let not the sun go down upon your wrath ;" and this he said was spoken of all commandments in common, in order that not on wrath alone, but on every other sin, the sun should never go down; for it was noble and necessary that the sun should never condemn us for a baseness by day, nor the moon for a sin or even a thought by night; therefore, in order that that which is noble may be preserved in us, it was good to hear and to keep what the apostle commanded: for he said: "judge yourselves, and prove yourselves." let each then take account with himself, day by day, of his daily and nightly deeds; and if he has not sinned, let him not boast, but let him endure in what is good and not be negligent, neither condemn his neighbour, neither justify himself, as said the blessed apostle paul, until the lord comes who searches secret things. for we often deceive ourselves in what we do, and we indeed know not: but the lord comprehends all. giving therefore the judgment to him, let us sympathise with each other; and let us bear each. other's burdens, and examine ourselves; and what we are behind in, let us be eager to fill up. and let this, too, be my counsel for safety against sinning. let us each note and write down the deeds and motions of the soul as if he were about to relate them to each other; and be confident that, as we shall be utterly ashamed that they should be known, we shall 58 saint antony. cease from sinning, and even from desiring anything mean. for who when he sins wishes to be harmed thereby? or who, having sinned, does not rather lie, wishing to hide it? as therefore when in each other's sight we dare not commit a crime, so if we write down our thoughts, and tell them to each other, we shall keep ourselves the more from foul thoughts, for shame lest they should be known. . . . and thus forming ourselves we shall be able to bring the body into slavery, and please the lord on the one hand, and on the other trample on the snares of the enemy." this was his exhortation to those who met him: but with those who suffered he suffered, and prayed with them. and often and in many things the lord heard him; and neither when he was heard did he boast; nor when he was not heard did he murmur: but, remaining always the same, gave thanks to the lord. and those who suffered he exhorted to keep up heart, and to know that the power of cure was none of his, nor of any man's; but only belonged to god, who works when and whatsoever he chooses. so the sufferers received this as a remedy, learning not to despise the old man's words, but rather to keep up heart; and those who were cured learned not to bless antony, but god alone. for instance, one called fronto, who belonged to the palace, and had a grievous disease (for he gnawed his own tongue, and tried to injure his eyes), came to the mountain and asked antony to pray for him. and when he had prayed he said to fronto, "depart, and be healed." and when he resisted, and remained saint antony. 59 within some days, antony continued saying, "thou canst not be healed if thou remainest here; go forth, and as soon as thou enterest egypt, thou shalt see the sign which shall befall thee." he, believing, went forth; and as soon as he only saw egypt he was freed from his disease, and became sound ac cording to the word of antony, which he had learnt by prayer from the saviour..... [here follows a story of a girl cured of a painful complaint: which need not be translated.] but when two brethren were coming to him, and water failed them on the journey, one of them died, and the other was about to die. in fact, being no longer able to walk, he too lay upon the ground expecting death. but antony, as he sat on the mountain, called two monks who happened to be there, and hastened them, saying, "take a pitcher of water, and run on the road towards egypt; for of two who are coming hither one has just expired, and the other will do so if you do not hasten. for this has been showed to me as i prayed." so the monks going found the one lying dead, and buried him; and the other they recovered with the water, and brought him to the old man. now the distance was a day's journey. but if any one should ask why he did not speak before one of them expired, he does not question rightly; for the judgment of that death did not belong to antony, but to god, who both judged concerning the one; and revealed concerning the other. but this alone in antony was wonderful, that sitting on the mountain he kept his 60 saint antony. heart watchful, and the lord showed him things afar off. for once again, as he sat on the mountain and looked up, he saw some one carried aloft, and a great rejoicing among some who met him. then wondering, and blessing such a choir, he prayed to be taught what that might be; and straightway a voice came to him that this was the soul of ammon, the monk in nitria, who had persevered as an ascetic to his old age; and the distance from nitria to the mountain where antony was, is thirteen days' journey. those then who were with antony, seeing the old man wondering, asked the reason, and heard that ammon had just expired, for he was known to them on account of his having frequently come thither, and many signs having been worked by him, of which this is one... [here follows the story (probably an interpolation) of ammon's being miraculously carried across the river lycus, because he was ashamed to undress himself.] but the monks to whom antony spoke about ammon's death noted down the day; and when brethren came from nitria after thirty days, they inquired and learnt that ammon had fallen asleep at the day and hour in which the old man saw his soul carried aloft. and all on both sides wondered * this most famous monastery, i.e. collection of monks' cells, in egypt is situate forty miles from alexandria, on a hill where nitre was gathered. the hospitality and virtue of its inmates are much praised by ruffinus and palladius. they were, nevertheless, the chief agenis in the fanatical murder of hypatia. saint antony. 61 at the purity of antony's soul; how he had learnt and seen instantly what had happened thirteen days' journey off. moreover, archeleas the count, finding him once in the outer mountain praying alone, asked him concerning polycratia, that wonderful and christ-bearing maiden in laodicea; for she suffered dreadful internal pain from her extreme training, and was altogether weak in body. antony, therefore, prayed; and the count noted down the day on which the prayer was offered. and going back to laodicea, he found the maiden cured; and asking when and on what day her malady had ceased, he brought out the paper on which he had written down the date of the prayer. and when she told him, he showed at once the writing on the paper. and all found that the lord had stopped her sufferings while antony was still praying and calling for her on the goodness of the saviour. and concerning those who came to him, he often predicted some days, or even a month, beforehand, and the cause why they were coming. for some came only to see him, and others on account of sickness, and others because they suffered from dæmons, and all thought the labour of the journey no trouble nor harm, for each went back aware that he had been benefited. and when he spoke and looked thus, he asked no one to marvel at him on that account, but to marvel rather at the lord, because he had given us, who are but men, grace to know him according to our powers. and as he was going down again to the outer cells, 62 saint antony. and was minded to enter a boat and pray with the monks, he alone perceived a dreadfully evil odour, and when those in the boat told him that they had fish and brine on board, and that it was they which smelt, he said that it was a different smell; and while he was yet speaking, a youth, who had an evil spirit, had gone before them and hidden in the boat, suddenly cried out. but the dæmon, being rebuked in the name of our lord jesus christ, went out of him, and the man became whole, and all knew that the smell had come from the evil spirit. and there was another man of high rank who came to him, having a dæmon, and one so terrible, that the possessed man did not know that he was going to antony, but [showed the common symptoms of mania]. those who brought him entreated, antony to pray over him, which he did, feeling for the young man, and he watched beside him all night. but about dawn, the young man, suddenly rushing on antony, assaulted him. when those who came with him were indignant, antony said, "be not hard upon the youth, for it is not he, but the dæmon in him; and because he has been rebuked, and commanded to go forth into dry places, he has become furious, and done this. glorify, therefore, the lord for his having thus rushed upon me, as a sign to you that the dæmon is going out." and as antony said this, the youth suddenly became sound, and, recovering his reason, knew where he was, and embraced the old man, giving thanks to god. and most of the monks agree unanimously that many like things saint antony. 63 were done by him: yet are they not so wonderful as what follows. for once, when he was going to eat, and rose up to pray about the ninth hour, he felt himself rapt in spirit; and (wonderful to relate) as he stood he saw himself as it were taken out of himself, and led into the air by some persons; and then others, bitter and terrible, standing in the air, and trying to prevent his passing upwards. and when those who led him fought against them, they demanded whether he was not accountable to them. and when they began to take account of his deeds from his birth, his guides stopped them, saying, "what happened from his birth upwards, the lord hath wiped out: but of what has happened since he became a monk, and made a promise to god, of that you may demand an account." then, when they brought accusations against him, and could not prove them, the road was opened freely to him. and straightway he saw himself as if coming back and standing before himself, and was antony once more. then, forgetting that he had not eaten, he remained the rest of the day and all night groaning and praying, for he wondered when he saw against how many enemies we must wrestle, and through how many labours a man must traverse the air; and he remembered that it is this which the apostle means with regard to the prince of the power of the air; for it is in the air that the enemy has his power, fighting against those who pass through it, and trying to hinder them. wherefore, also he especially exhorts us: "take the whole armour of god, that the enemy, having no evil to say about 64 saint antony. us, may be ashamed." but when we heard this, we remembered the apostle's saying, "whether in the body i cannot tell, or out of the body i cannot tell: god knoweth." but paul was caught up into the third heaven, and, having heard unspeakable words, descended again; but antony saw himself rapt in the air, and wrestling till he seemed to be free. again, he had this grace, that as he was sitting alone in the mountain, if at any time he was puzzled in himself, the thing was revealed to him by providence as he prayed; and the blessed man was, as scripture says, taught of god. after this, at all events, when he had been talking with some who came to him concerning the departure of the soul, and what would be its place after this life, the next night some one called him from without, and said, "rise up, antony; come out and see." so coming out (for he knew whom he ought to obey), he beheld a tall being, shapeless and terrible, standing and reaching to the clouds, and as it were winged beings ascending; and him stretching out his hands; and some of them hindered by him, and others flying above him, and when they had once passed him, borne upwards without trouble. but against them that tall being gnashed his teeth, while over those who fell, he rejoiced. and there came a voice to antony, "consider what thou seest." and when his understanding was opened, he perceived that it was the enemy who envies the faithful, and that those who were in his power he mastered and hindered from passing; but that those who had not obeyed saint antony. 65 him, over them, as over conquerors, he had no power. having seen this, and as it were made mindful by it, he struggled more and more daily to improve. now these things he did not tell of his own accord; but when he was long in prayer, and astonished in himself, those who were with him questioned him and urged him; and he was forced to tell; unable, as a father, to hide anything from his children; and considering, too, that his own conscience was clear, and the story would be profitable for them, when they learned that the life of training bore good fruit, and that visions. often came as a solace of their toils. but how tolerant was his temper, and how humble his spirit; for though he was so great, he both honoured exceedingly the canon of the church, and wished to put every ecclesiastic before himself in honour. for to the bishops and presbyters he was not ashamed to bow his head; and if a deacon ever came to him for the sake of profit, he discoursed with him on what was profitable, but in prayer he gave place to him, not being ashamed even himself to learn from him. for he often asked questions, and deigned to listen to all present, confessing that he was profited if any one said aught that was useful. moreover, his countenance had great and wonderful grace; and this gift too he had from the saviour. for if he was present among the multitude *it appears from this and many other passages, that extempore prayer was usual among these monks, as it was afterwards among the puritans (who have copied them in so many other things), whenever a godly man visited them. s. l. 11. f 66 saint antony. of monks, and any one who did not previously know him wished to see him, as soon as he came he passed by all the rest, and ran to antony himself, as if attracted by his eyes. he did not differ from the rest in stature or in stoutness, but in the steadiness of his temper, and purity of his soul; for as his soul was undisturbed, his outward senses were undisturbed likewise, so that the cheerfulness of his soul made his face cheerful, and from the movements of his body the stedfastness of his soul. could be perceived, according to the scripture, "when the heart is cheerful the countenance is glad; but when sorrow comes it scowleth." and he was altogether wonderful in faith, and pious, for he never communicated with the meletian* schismatics, knowing their malice and apostasy from the beginning; nor did he converse amicably with manichæans or any other heretics, save only to exhort them to be converted to piety. for he held that their friendship and converse was injury and ruin to the soul. so also he detested the heresy of the arians, and exhorted all not to approach them, nor hold their misbelief.† in fact, when certain of the ariomanites came to him, having .. * meletius, bishop of lycopolis, was the author of an obscure schism calling itself the "church of the martyrs," which refused to communicate with the rest of the eastern church. see smith's "dictionary," on the word "meletius." arius (whose most famous and successful opponent was athanasius, the writer of this biography) maintained that the son of god was not co-equal and co-eternal with the father, but created by him out of nothing, and before the world. his opinions were condemned in the famous council of nicæa, a. d. 325. saint antony. 67 discerned them and found them impious, he chased them out of the mountain, saying that their words were worse than serpent's poison; and when the arians once pretended that he was of the same opinion as they, he was indignant and fierce against them. then being sent for by the bishops and all the brethren, he went down from the mountain, and entering alexandria he denounced the arians, saying, that that was the last heresy, and the forerunner of antichrist; and he taught the people that the son of god was not a created thing, neither made from nought, but that he is the eternal word and wisdom of the essence of the father; wherefore also it is impious to say there was a time when he was not, for he was always the word co-existent with the father. wherefore he said, "do not have any communication with these most impious arians; for there is no communion between light and darkness. for you are pious christians: but they, when they say that the son of god and the word, who is from the father, is a created being, differ nought from the heathen, because they worship the creature instead of god the creator.* believe rather that the whole creation itself is indignant against them, because they number the creator and lord of all, in whom all things are made, among created things." all the people therefore rejoiced at hearing that christopposing heresy anathematized by such a man; and * if st. antony could use so extreme an argument against the arians, what would he have said to the mariolatry which sprang up after his death? f 2 58 saint antony. * all those in the city ran together to see antony and the greeks, and those who are called their priests + came into the church, wishing to see the man of god; for all called him by that name, because there the lord cleansed many by him from dæmons, and healed those who were out of their mind. and many heathens wished only to touch the old man, believing that it would be of use to them; and in fact as many became christians in those few days, as would have been usually converted in a year. and when some thought that the crowd troubled him, and therefore turned all away from him, he quietly said that they were not more numerous than the fiends with whom he wrestled on the mountain. but when he left the city, and we were setting him on his journey, when we came to the gate a certain woman called to him: "wait, man of god, my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil; wait, i beseech thee, lest i too harm myself with running after thee." the old man hearing it, and being asked by us, waited willingly. but when the woman drew near, the child dashed itself on the ground; and when antony prayed and called on the name of christ, it rose up sound, the unclean spirit having gone out; and the mother blessed god, and we all gave thanks: and he himself rejoiced at leaving the city for the mountain, as for his own home. now he was very prudent; and what was wonder* i.e. those who were still heathens. † iepeús. the christian priest is always called in this work simply πρεσβύτερος, or elder. saint antony. 69 letters, he was a once, for example, him, thinking that ful, though he had never learnt shrewd and understanding man. two greek philosophers came to they could tempt antony. and he was in the outer mountain; and when he went out to them, understanding the men from their countenances, he said through an interpreter, "why have you troubled yourselves so much, philosophers, to come to a foolish man?" and when they answered that he was not foolish, but rather very wise, he said, "if you have come to a fool, your labour is superfluous, but if ye think me to be wise, become as i am; for we ought to copy what is good, and if i had come to you, i should have copied you; but if you come to me, copy me, for i am a christian." and they wondering went their way, for they saw that even dæmons were afraid of antony. and again when others of the same class met him in the outer mountain, and thought to mock him, because he had not learnt letters, antony answered, "but what do you say? which is first, the sense or the letters? and which is the cause of the other, the sense of the letters, or the letters of the sense?" and when they said that the sense came first, and invented the letters, antony replied, "if then the sense be sound, the letters are not needed." which struck them, and those present, with astonishment. so they went away wondering, when they saw so much understanding in an unlearned man. for though he had lived and grown old in the mountain, his manners were not rustic, but graceful and urbane; and his speech was 70 saint antony. seasoned with the divine salt, so that no man grudged at him, but rather rejoiced over him, as many as came. [here follows a long sermon against the heathen worship, attributed to st. antony, but of very questionable authenticity: the only point about it which is worthy of note is that antony confutes the philosophers by challenging them to cure some possessed persons, and, when they are unable to do so, casts out the dæmons himself by the sign of the cross.] the fame of antony reached even the kings, for constantinus the augustus, and his sons, constantius and constans, the augusti, hearing of these things, wrote to him as to a father, and begged to receive an answer from him. but he did not make much of the letters, nor was puffed up by their messages; and he was just the same as he was before the kings wrote to him. and he called his monks and said, “wonder not if a king writes to us, for he is but a man: but wonder rather that god has written his law to man, and spoken to us by his own son." so he declined to receive their letters, saying he did not know how to write an answer to such things; but being admonished by the monks that the kings were christians, and that they must not be scandalized by being despised, he permitted the letters to be read, and wrote an answer; accepting them because they worshipped christ, and counselling them, for their salvation, not to think the present life great, but rather to remember judgment to come; and saint antony. 71 to know that christ was the only true and eternal king; and he begged them to be merciful to men, and to think of justice and the poor. and they, when they received the answer, rejoiced. thus was he kindly towards all, and all looked on him as their father. he then betook himself again into the inner mountain, and continued his accustomed training. but often, when he was sitting and walking with those who came unto him, he was astounded, as is written in daniel. and after the space of an hour, he told what had befallen to the brethren who were with him, and they perceived that he had seen some vision. often he saw in the mountain what was happening in egypt, and told it to serapion the bishop, who saw him occupied with a vision. once, for instance, as he sat, he fell as it were into an ecstasy, and groaned much at what he saw. then, after an hour, turning to those who were with him, he groaned and fell into a trembling, and rose up and prayed, and bending his knees, remained so a long while; and then the old man rose up and wept. the bystanders, therefore, trembling and altogether terrified, asked him to tell them what had happened, and tormented him much, that he was forced to speak. and he groaning greatly-"ah! my children," he said, "it were better to be dead before what i have seen shall come to pass." and when they asked him again, he said with tears, that "wrath will seize on the church, and she will be given over to men like unto brutes, which have no understanding; for i saw the table of the lord's house, and mules standing all 72 122 saint antony. around it in a ring and kicking inwards, as a herd does when it leaps in confusion; and ye all perceived how i groaned, for i heard a voice saying, 'my sanctuary shall be defiled."" * this the old man saw, and after two years there befell the present inroad of the arians, and the plunder of the churches, when they carried off the holy vessels by violence, and made the heathen carry them: and when too they forced the heathens from the prisons to join them, and in their presence did on the holy table what they would. then we all perceived that the kicks of those mules presignified to antony what the arians are now doing without understanding, like the brutes. but when antony saw this sight, he exhorted those about him, saying, "lose not heart, children; for as the lord has been angry, so will he again be appeased, and the church shall soon receive again her own order and shine forth as she is wont; and ye shall see the persecuted restored to their place, and impiety retreating again into its own dens, and the pious faith speaking boldly everywhere with all freedom. only defile not yourselves with the arians, for this teaching is not of the apostle but of the dæmons, and of their father the devil: barren and irrational and of an unsound mind, like * probably that of a.d. 341, when gregory of cappadocia, nominated by the arian bishops, who had assembled at the council of antioch, expelled athanasius from the see of alexandria, and great violence was committed by his followers and by philagrius the prefect. athanasius meanwhile fled to rome. +i.e. celebrated there their own communion. saint antony. 73 the irrational deeds of those mules." thus spoke antony. but we must not doubt whether so great wonders have been done by a man; for the saviour's promise is, "if ye have faith as a grain of mustard-seed, ye shall say to this mountain, pass over from hence, it shall pass over, and nothing shall be impossible to you;" and again, "verily, verily, i say unto you, if ye shall ask my father in my name, he shall give it you. ask, and ye shall receive." and he himself it is who said to his disciples and to all who believe in him, "heal the sick, cast out devils; freely ye have received, freely give." and certainly antony did not heal by his own authority, but by praying and calling on christ; so that it was plain to all that it was not he who did it, but the lord, who through antony showed love to men, and healed the sufferers. but antony's part was only the prayer and the training, for the sake whereof, sitting in the mountain, he rejoiced in the sight of divine things, and grieved when he was tormented by many, and dragged to the outer mountain. for all the magistrates asked him to come down from the mountain, because it was impossible for them to go in thither to him on account of the litigants who followed him; so they begged him to come, that they might only behold him. and when he declined they insisted, and even sent in to him prisoners under the charge of soldiers, that at least on their account he might come down. so being forced by necessity, and seeing them lamenting, he came to 74 saint antony. the outer mountain. and his labour this time too was profitable to many, and his coming for their good. to the magistrates, too, he was of use, counselling them to prefer justice to all things, and to fear god, and to know that with what judgment they judged they should be judged in turn. but he loved best of all his life in the mountain. once again, when he was compelled in the same way to leave it, by those who were in want, and by the general of the soldiers, who entreated him earnestly, he came down, and having spoken to them somewhat of the things which conduced to salvation, he was pressed also by those who were in need. but being asked by the general to lengthen his stay, he refused, and persuaded him by a graceful parable, saying, "fishes, if they lie long on the dry land, die; so monks who stay with you lose their strength. as the fishes then hasten to the sea, so must we to the mountain, lest if we delay we should forget what is within." the general, hearing this and much more from him, said with surprise that he was truly a servant of god, for whence could an unlearned man have so great sense if he were not loved by god? another general, named balacius, bitterly persecuted us christians on account of his affection for those abominable arians. his cruelty was so great that he even beat nuns, and stripped and scourged monks. antony sent him a letter to this effect:"i see wrath coming upon thee. cease, therefore, to persecute the christians, lest the wrath lay hold upon thee, for it is near at hand." but balacius, laughing, saint antony. 75 threw the letter on the ground and spat on it; and insulted those who brought it, bidding them tell antony, "since thou carest for monks, i will soon come after thee likewise." and not five days had passed, when the wrath laid hold on him. for balacius himself, and nestorius, the eparch of egypt, went out to the first station from alexandria, which is called chæreas's. both of them were riding on horses belonging to balacius, and the most gentle in all his stud: but before they had got to the place, the horses began playing with each other, as is their wont, and suddenly the more gentle of the two, on which nestorius was riding, attacked balacius and pulled him off with his teeth, and so tore his thigh that he was carried back to the city, and died in three days. and all wondered that what antony had so wonderfully foretold was so quickly fulfilled. these were his warnings to the more cruel. but the rest who came to him he so instructed that they gave up at once their lawsuits, and blessed those who had retired. from this life. and those who had been unjustly used he so protected that you would think he and not they was the sufferer. and he was so able to be of use to all; so that many who were serving in the army, and many wealthy men, laid aside the burdens of life and became thenceforth monks; and altogether he was like a physician given by god to egypt. for who met him grieving, and did not go away rejoicing? who came mourning over his dead, and did not forthwith lay aside his grief? who came wrathful, and was not converted to friendship? what poor man 76 saint antony. came wearied out, and when he saw and heard him did not despise wealth and comfort himself in his poverty? what monk who had grown remiss, was not strengthened by coming to him? what young man coming to the mountain and looking upon antony, did not forthwith renounce pleasure and love temperance? who came to him tempted by devils, and did not get rest? who came troubled by doubts, and did not get peace of mind? for this was the great thing in antony's asceticism, that (as i have said before), having the gift of discerning spirits, he understood their movements, and knew in what direction each of them turned his endeavours and his attacks. and not only he was not deceived by them himself, but he taught those who were troubled in mind how they might turn aside the plots of dæmons, teaching them the weakness and the craft of their enemies. how many maidens, too, who had been already betrothed, and only saw antony from afar, remained unmarried for christ's sake! some, too, came from foreign parts to him, and all, having gained some benefit, went back from him as from a father. and now he has fallen asleep, all are as orphans who have lost a parent, consoling themselves with his memory alone, keeping his instructions and exhortations. but what the end of his life was like, it is fit that i should relate, and you hear eagerly. for it too is worthy of emulation. he was visiting, according to his wont, the monks in the outer mountain, and having learned from providence concerning his own end, he said to the brethren, "this visit to you is my last, and i wonder if we ! saint antony. 77 shall see each other again in this life. it is time for me to set sail, for i am near a hundred and five years old." and when they heard that they wept, and embraced and kissed the old man. and he, as if he was setting out from a foreign city to his own, spoke joyfully, and exhorted them not to grow idle in their labours or cowardly in their training, but to live as those who died daily, and (as i said before) to be earnest in keeping their souls from foul thoughts, and to emulate the saints, and not to draw near the meletian schismatics, for "ye know their evil and profane determinations, nor to have any communion with the arians, for their impiety also is manifest to all. neither if ye shall see the magistrates patronising them, be troubled, for their phantasy shall have an end, and is mortal and only for a little while. keep yourselves therefore rather clean from them, and hold that which has been handed down to you by the fathers, and especially the faith in our lord jesus christ which ye have learned from scripture, and of which ye have often been reminded by me." and when the brethren tried to force him to stay with them and make his end there, he would not endure it, on many accounts, as he showed by his silence; and especially on this:-the egyptians are wont to wrap in linen the corpses of good persons, and especially of the holy martyrs, but not to bury them underground, but to lay them upon benches and keep them in their houses;* thinking that by this they honour the * evidently the primeval custom of embalming the dead, and keep. ing mummies in the house, still lingered among the egyptians. 78 saint antony. departed. now antony had often asked the bishops to exhort the people about this, and in like manner he himself rebuked the laity and terrified the women; saying that it was a thing neither lawful nor in any way holy; for that the bodies of the patriarchs and prophets are to this day preserved in sepulchres, and that the very body of our lord was laid in a sepulchre, and a stone placed over it to hide it, till he rose the third day. and thus saying he showed that those broke the law who did not bury the corpses of the dead, even if they were holy; for what is greater or more holy than the lord's body? many, then, when they heard him, buried thenceforth underground; and blessed the lord that they had been taught rightly. being then aware of this, and afraid lest they should do the same by his body, he hurried himself, and bade farewell to the monks in the outer mountain; and coming to the inner mountain, where he was wont to abide, after a few months he grew sick, and calling those who were by—and there were two of them who had remained there within fifteen years, exercising themselves and ministering to him on account of his old age-he said to them, "i indeed go the way of the fathers, as it is written, for i perceive that i am called by the lord." . . . [then follows a general exhortation to the monks, almost identical with much that has gone before, and ending by a command that his body should be buried. in the ground.] "and let this word of mine be kept by you, so that no one shall know the place, save you alone, for i shall saint antony. 79 receive it (my body) incorruptible from my saviour in the resurrection of the dead. and distribute my garments thus. to athanasius the bishop give one of my sheepskins, and the cloak under me, which was new when he gave it me, and has grown old by me; and to serapion the bishop give the other sheepskin; and do you have the hair-cloth garment. and for the rest, children, farewell, for antony is going, and is with you no more." saying thus, when they had embraced him, he stretched out his feet, and, as if he saw friends coming to him, and grew joyful on their account (for, as he lay, his countenance was bright), he departed and was gathered to his fathers. and they forthwith, as he had commanded them, preparing the body and wrapping it up, hid it under ground: and no one knows to this day where it is hidden, save those two servants only. and each (i.e. athanasius and serapion) having received the sheepskin of the blessed antony, and the cloak which he had worn out, keeps them as a great possession. for he who looks on them, as it were, sees antony; and he who puts them on, wears them with joy, as he does antony's counsels. such was the end of antony in the body, and such the beginning of his training. and if these things are small in comparison with his virtue, yet reckon up from these things how great was antony, the man of god, who kept unchanged, from his youth up to so great an age, the earnestness of his training; and was neither worsted in his old age by the 80 saint antony. desire of more delicate food, nor on account of the weakness of his body altered the quality of his garment, nor even washed his feet with water; and yet remained uninjured in all his limbs: for his eyes were undimmed and whole, so that he saw well; and not one of his teeth had fallen out, but they were only worn down to his gums on account of his great age; and he remained sound in hand and foot; and, in a word, appeared ruddier and more ready for exertion than all who use various meats and baths, and different dresses. but that this man should be celebrated everywhere and wondered at by all, and regretted even by those who never saw him, is a proof of his virtue, and that his soul was dear to god. for antony became known not by writings, not from the wisdom that is from without, not by any art, but by piety alone; and that this was the gift of god, none can deny. for how as far as spain, as gaul, as rome, as africa, could he have been heard, hidden as he was in a mountain, if it had not been for god, who makes known his own men everywhere, and who had promised antony this from the beginning? for even if they do their deeds in secret, and wish to be concealed, yet the lord shows them as lights to all, that so those who hear of them may know that the commandments suffice to put men in the right way, and may grow zealous of the path of virtue. read then these things to the other brethren, that they may learn what the life of monks should be, and may believe that the lord jesus christ our saviour saint antony. 81 will glorify those who glorify him, and that those who serve him to the end he will not only bring to the kingdom of heaven, but that even if on earth they hide themselves and strive to get out of the way, he will make them manifest and celebrated everywhere, for the sake of their own virtue, and for the benefit of others. but if need be, read this also to the heathens, that even thus they may learn that our lord jesus christ is not only lord and the son of god, but that those who truly serve him, and believe piously on him, not only prove that those dæmons whom the greeks think are gods to be no gods, but even tread them under foot, and chase them out as deceivers and corrupters of men, through jesus christ our lord, to whom be glory and honour for ever and amen. ever. thus ends this strange story. what we are to think of the miracles and wonders contained in it, will be discussed at a later point in this book. meanwhile there is a stranger story still connected with the life of st. antony. it professes to have been told by him himself to his monks; and whatever groundwork of fact there may be in it is doubtless his. the form in which we have it was given it by the famous st. jerome, who sends the tale as a letter to asella, one of the many noble roman ladies whom he persuaded to embrace the monastic life. the style is as well worth preserving as the matter. its ruggedness and awkwardness, its ambition and affectation, contrasted with the graceful simplicity of s. l. ii. g 82 saint antony. athanasius's "life of antony," mark well the difference between the cultivated greek and the ungraceful and half-barbarous roman of the later empire. i have, therefore, given it as literally as possible, that readers may judge for themselves how some of the great fathers of the fifth century wrote, and what they believed. the life of saint paul, the first hermit. by the divine hieronymus the priest. (st. jerome.) prologue. many have often doubted by which of the monks the desert was first inhabited. for some, looking for the beginnings of monachism in earlier ages, have deduced it from the blessed elias and john; of whom elias seems to us to have been rather a prophet than a monk; and john to have begun to prophesy before he was born. but others (an opinion in which all the common people are agreed) assert that antony was the head of this rule of life, which is partly true. for he was not so much himself the first of all, as the man who excited the earnestness of all. but amathas and macarius, antony's disciples (the former of whom buried his master's body), even now affirm that a certain paul, a theban, was the beginner of the matter; which (not so much in name as in opinion) we also hold to be true. some scatter about, as the fancy takes them, both this and other stories; inventing incredible tales of a man in a subterranean cave, hairy down to his heels, and many g 2 84 paul, the first hermit. other things, which it is tedious to follow out. for, as their lie is shameless, their opinion does not seem worth refuting. therefore, because careful accounts of antony, both in greek and roman style, have been handed down, i have determined to write a little about the beginning and end of paul's life; more because the matter has been omitted, than trusting to my own wit. but how he lived during middle life, or what stratagems of satan he endured, is known to none. the life of paul. under decius and valerius, the persecutors, at the time when cornelius at rome, and cyprian at carthage, were condemned in blessed blood, a cruel tempest swept over many churches in egypt and the thebaid. christian subjects in those days longed to be smitten with the sword for the name of christ. but the crafty enemy, seeking out punishments which delayed death, longed to slay souls, not bodies. and as cyprian himself (who suffered by him) says: "when they longed to die, they were not allowed to be slain." in order to make his cruelty better known, we have set down two examples for remembrance. a martyr, persevering in the faith, and conqueror amid racks and red-hot irons, he commanded to be paul, the first hermit. 85 anointed with honey and laid on his back under a burning sun, with his hands tied behind him; in order, forsooth, that he who had already conquered the fiery gridiron, might yield to the stings of flies. * * * * * * * in those days, in the lower thebaid, was paul left at the death of both his parents, in a rich inheritance, with a sister already married; being about fifteen years old, well taught in greek and egyptian letters, gentle tempered, loving god much; and, when the storm of persecution burst, he withdrew into a distant city. but "to what dost thou not urge the human breast curst hunger after gold?" his sister's husband was ready to betray him whom he should have concealed. neither the tears of his wife, the tie of blood, or god who looks on all things from on high, could call him back from his crime. he was at hand, ready to seize him, making piety a pretext for cruelty. the boy discovered it, and fled into the desert hills. once there he changed need into pleasure, and going on, and then stopping awhile, again and again, reached at last a stony cliff, at the foot wherof was, nigh at hand, a great cave, its mouth closed with a stone. having moved which away (as man's longing is to know the hidden), exploring more greedily, he sees within a great hall, open to the sky above, but shaded by the spreading boughs of an ancient palm ; and in it a clear spring, the rill from which, flowing a short space forth, was sucked up again by the same έ6 paul, the first hermit. soil which had given it birth. there were besides in that cavernous mountain not a few dwellings, in which he saw rusty anvils and hammers, with which coin. had been stamped of old. for this place (so books say) was the workshop for base coin in the days when antony lived with cleopatra. therefore, in this beloved dwelling, offered him as it were by god, he spent all his life in prayer and solitude, while the palm-tree gave him food and clothes; which lest it should seem impossible to some, i call jesus and his holy angels to witness that i have seen monks one of whom, shut up for thirty years, lived on barley bread and muddy water; another in an old cistern, which in the country speech they call the syrian's bed, was kept alive on five figs each day. these things, therefore, will seem incredible to those who do not believe; for to those who do believe all things are possible. when but to return thither whence i digressed. the blessed paul had been leading the heavenly life on earth for 113 years, and antony, ninety years old, was dwelling in another solitude, this thought (so antony was wont to assert) entered his mind-that no monk more perfect than he had settled in the desert. but as he lay still by night, it was revealed to him that there was another monk beyond him far better than he, to visit whom he must set out. sc when the light broke, the venerable old man, supporting his weak limbs on a staff, began to will to go, he knew not whither. and now the mid day, with the sun roasting above, grew fierce; and yet he was not paul, the first hermit. 87 turned from the journey he had begun, saying, “i trust in my god, that he will show his servant that which he has promised." and as he spake, he sees a man half horse, to whom the poets have given the name of hippocentaur. seeing whom, he crosses his forehead with the salutary impression of the cross, and, "here!" he says, "in what part here does a servant of god dwell?" but he, growling i know not what barbarous sound, and grinding rather than uttering, the words, attempted a courteous speech from lips rough with bristles, and, stretching out his right hand, pointed to the way; then, fleeing swiftly across the open plains, vanished from the eyes of the wondering antony. but whether the devil took this form to terrify him; or whether the desert, fertile (as is its wont) in monstrous animals, begets that beast likewise, we hold as uncertain. so antony, astonished, and thinking over what he had seen, goes forward. soon afterwards, he sees in a stony valley a short manikin, with crooked nose and brow rough with horns, whose lower parts ended in goat's feet. undismayed by this spectacle likewise, antony seized, like a good warrior, the shield of faith and habergeon of hope; the animal, however, was bringing him dates, as food for his journey, and a pledge of peace. when he saw that, antony pushed on, and, asking him who he was, was answered, “i am a mortal, and one of the inhabitants of the desert, whom the gentiles, deluded by various errors, worship by the name of fauns, satyrs, and incubi. i come as ambassador from our herd, that thou mayest pray 88 paul, the first hermit. for us to the common god, who, we know, has come for the salvation of the world, and his sound is gone out into all lands." as he spoke thus, the aged wayfarer bedewed his face plenteously with tears, which the greatness of his joy had poured forth as signs of his heart. for he rejoiced at the glory of christ, and the destruction of satan; and, wondering at the same time that he could understand the creature's speech, he smote on the ground with his staff, and said, "woe to thee, alexandria, who worshippest portents instead of god! woe to thee, harlot city, into which all the dæmons of the world have flowed together! what wilt thou say now? beasts talk of christ, and thou worshippest portents instead of god." he had hardly finished his words, when the swift beast fled away as upon wings. lest this should move a scruple in any one on account of its incredibility, it was corroborated, in the reign of constantine, by the testimony of the whole world. for a man of that kind, being led alive to alexandria, afforded a great spectacle to the people; and afterwards the lifeless carcase, being salted lest it should decay in the summer heat, was brought to antioch, to be seen by the emperor. but to go on with my tale-antony went on through that region, seeing only the tracks of wild beasts, and the wide waste of the desert. what he should do, or whither turn, he knew not. a second day had now run by. one thing remained, to be confident that he could not be deserted by christ. all night through he spent a second darkness in prayer, and while the light was still dim, he sees 1 paul, the first hermit. 89 afar a she-wolf, panting with heat and thirst, creeping in at the foot of the mountain. following her with his eyes, and drawing nigh to the cave when the beast was gone, he began to look in: but in vain; for the darkness stopped his view. however, as the scripture saith, perfect love casteth out fear; with gentle step and bated breath the cunning explorer entered, and going forward slowly, and stopping often, watched for a sound. at length he saw afar off a light through the horror of the darkness; hastened on more greedily; struck his foot against a stone; and made a noise, at which the blessed paul shut and barred his door, which had stood open. then antony, casting himself down before the entrance, prayed there till the sixth hour, and more, to be let in, saying, "who i am, and whence, and why i am come, thou knowest. i know that i deserve not to see thy face; yet, unless i see thee, i will not return. thou who receivest beasts, why repellest thou a man? i have sought, and i have found. i knock, that it may be opened to me: which if i win not, here will i die before thy gate. surely thou shalt at least bury my corpse." "persisting thus he spoke, and stood there fixed: to whom the hero shortly thus replied." "no one begs thus to threaten. no one does injury with tears. and dost thou wonder why i do not let thee in, seeing thou art a mortal guest?" then paul, smiling, opened the door. they mingled mutual embraces, and saluted each other by their names, and committed themselves in common to the 90 paul, the first hermit. grace of god. and after the holy kiss, paul sitting down with antony thus began"behold him, whom thou hast sought with such labour; with limbs decayed by age, and covered with unkempt white hair. behold, thou seest but a mortal, soon to become dust. but, because charity bears all things, tell me, i pray thee, how fares the human race? whether new houses are rising in the ancient cities? by what emperor is the world governed? whether there are any left who are led captive by the deceits of the devil?" as they spoke thus, they saw a raven settle on a bough; who, flying gently down, laid, to their wonder, a whole loaf before them. when he was gone, “ah," said paul, "the lord, truly loving, truly merciful, hath sent us a meal. for sixty years past i have received daily half a loaf, but at thy coming christ hath doubled his soldiers' allowance." then, having thanked god, they sat down on the brink of the glassy spring. but here a contention arising as to which of them should break the loaf, occupied the day till well-nigh evening. paul insisted, as the host; antony declined, as the younger man. at last it was agreed that they should take hold of the loaf at opposite ends, and each pull towards himself, and keep what was left in his hand. next they stooped down, and drank a little water from the spring; then, immolating to god the sacrifice of praise, passed the night watching. and when day dawned again, the blessed paul said to antony, "i knew long since, brother, that thou wert dwelling in these lands; long since god paul, the first hermit. 91 had promised thee to me as a fellow servant: but because the time of my falling asleep is now come, and (because i always longed to depart, and to be with christ) there is laid up for me when i have finished my course a crown of righteousness; therefore thou art sent from the lord to cover my corpse with mould, and give back dust to dust." antony, hearing this, prayed him with tears and groans not to desert him, but take him as his companion on such a journey. but he said, "thou must not seek the things which are thine own, but the things of others. it is expedient for thee, indeed, to cast off the burden of the flesh, and to follow the lamb: but it is expedient for the rest of the brethren that they should be still trained by thine example. wherefore go, unless it displease thee, and bring the cloak which athanasius the bishop gave thee, to wrap up my corpse." but this the blessed paul asked, not because he cared greatly whether his body decayed covered or bare (as one who for so long a time was used to clothe himself with woven palm leaves), but that antony's grief at his death might be lightened when he left him. antony astounded that he had heard of athanasius and his own cloak, seeing as it were christ in paul, and venerating the god within his breast, dared answer nothing: but keeping in silence, and kissing his eyes and hands, returned to the monastery, which afterwards was occupied by the saracens. his steps could not follow his spirit; but, although his body was empty with fastings, and broken with old age, yet his courage conquered his 92 paul, the first hermit. years. at last, tired and breathless, he arrived at home. there two disciples met him, who had been long sent to minister to him, and asked him, "where hast thou tarried so long, father?" he answered, "woe to me a sinner, who falsely bear the name of a monk. i have seen elias; i have seen john in the desert; i have truly seen paul in paradise;" and so, closing his lips, and beating his breast, he took the cloak from his cell, and when his disciples asked him to explain more fully what had befallen, he said, "there is a time to be silent, and a time to speak." then going out, and not taking even a morsel of food, he returned by the way he had come. for he feared -what actually happened-lest paul in his absence. should render up the soul he owed to christ, and when the second day had shone, and he had retraced his steps for three hours, he saw amid hosts of angels, amid the choirs of prophets and apostles, paul shining white as snow, ascending up on high; and forthwith falling on his face, he cast sand on his head, and weeping and wailing, said, "why dost thou dismiss me, paul? why dost thou depart without a farewell? so late known, dost thou vanish so soon?" the blessed antony used to tell afterwards, how he ran the rest of the way so swiftly that he flew like a bird. nor without cause. for entering the cave he saw, with bended knees, erect neck, and hands spread out on high, a lifeless corpse. and at first, thinking that it still lived, he prayed in like. wise. but when he heard no sighs (as usual) come from the worshipper's breast, he fell to a tearful kiss, underpaul, the first hermit. "for entering the cave he saw, with bended knees, erect neck, and hands spread out on high, a lifeless corpse. and at first, thinking that it still lived," &c.-p. 92. paul, the first hermit. 93 standing how the very corpse of the saint was praying, in seemly attitude, to that god to whom all live. so, having wrapped up and carried forth the corpse, and chanting hymns of the christian tradition, antony grew sad, because he had no spade, wherewith to dig the ground; and thinking over many plans in his mind, said, "if i go back to the monastery, it is a three days' journey. if i stay here, i shall be of no more use. i will die, then, as it is fit; and, falling beside thy warrior, christ, breathe my last breath." as he was thinking thus to himself, lo! two lions came running from the inner part of the desert, their manes tossing on their necks; seeing whom he shuddered at first; and then, turning his mind to god, remained fearless, as though he were looking upon doves. they came straight to the corpse of the blessed old man, and crouched at his feet, wagging their tails, and roaring with mighty growls, so that antony understood them to lament, as best they could. then not far off they began to claw the ground with their paws, and, carrying out the sand eagerly, dug a place large enough to hold a man: then at once, as if begging a reward for their work, they came to antony, drooping their necks, and licking his hands and feet. but he perceived that they prayed a blessing from him; and at once, bursting into praise of christ, because even dumb animals felt that he was god, he saith, "lord, without whose word not a leaf of the tree drops, nor one sparrow falls to the ground, give to them as thou knowest 94 paul, the first hermit. how to give." and, signing to them with his hand, he bade them go. and when they had departed, he bent his aged shoulders to the weight of the holy corpse; and laying it in the grave, heaped earth on it, and raised a mound as is the wont. and when another dawn shone, lest the pious heir should not possess aught of the goods of the intestate dead, he kept for himself the tunic which paul had woven, as baskets are made, out of the leaves of the palm; and returning to the monastery, told his disciples all throughout; and, on the solemn days of easter and pentecost, always clothed himself in paul's tunic. i am inclined, at the end of my treatise, to ask those who know not the extent of their patrimonies; who cover their houses with marbles; who sew the price of whole farms into their garments with a single thread-what was ever wanting to this naked old man? ye drink from a gem; he satisfied nature from the hollow of his hands. ye weave gold into your tunics ; he had not even the vilest garment of your bond-slave. but, on the other hand, to that poor man paradise is open; you, gilded as you are, gehenna will receive. he, though naked, kept the garment of christ; you, clothed in silk, have lost christ's robe. paul lies. covered with the meanest dust, to rise in glory; you are crushed by wrought sepulchres of stone, to burn with all your works. spare, i beseech you, yourselves; spare, at least, the riches which you love. why do you wrap even your dead in golden vestments? why. does not ambition stop amid grief and tears? canpaul, the first hermit. 95 not the corpses of the rich decay, save in silk? i beseech thee, whosoever thou art that readest this, to remember hieronymus the sinner, who, if the lord gave him choice, would much sooner choose paul's tunic with his merits, than the purple of kings with their punishments. this is the story of paul and antony, as told by jerome. but, in justice to antony himself, it must be said that the sayings recorded of him seem to show that he was not the mere visionary ascetic which his biographers have made him. some twenty sermons are attributed to him, seven of which only are considered to be genuine. a rule for monks, too, is called his but, as it is almost certain that he could neither read nor write, we have no proof that any of these documents convey his actual language. if the seven sermons attributed to him be really his, it must be said for them that they are full of sound doctrine and vital religion, and worthy, as wholes, to be preached in any english church, if we only substitute for the word "monk," the word "man." but there are records of antony which represent him as a far more genial and human personage; full of a knowledge of human nature, and of a tenderness and sympathy, which account for his undoubted power over the minds of men; and showing, too, at times, a certain covert and "pawky" humour which puts us in mind, as does the humour of many of the egyptian hermits, of the old-fashioned scotch. these reminiscences are contained in the "words of the elders," 96 words of the elders. a series of anecdotes of the desert fathers collected by various hands; which are, after all, the most interesting and probably the most trustworthy accounts of them and their ways. i shall have occasion to quote them later. i insert here some among them which relate to antony. "" sayings of antony, from the words of the elders." a monk gave away his wealth to the poor, but kept back some for himself. antony said to him, "go to the village and buy meat, and bring it to me on thy bare back." he did so: and the dogs and birds attacked him, and tore him as well as the meat. quoth antony, "so are those who renounce the world, and yet must needs have money, torn by dæmons." antony heard high praise of a certain brother; but, when he tested him, he found that he was impatient under injury. quoth antony, "thou art like a house which has a gay porch, but is broken into by thieves through the back door." antony, as he sat in the desert, was weary in heart, and said, "lord, i long to be saved, but my wandering thoughts will not let me. show me what i shall do." and looking up, he saw one like himself twisting ropes, and rising up to pray. and the angel (for it was one) said to him, "work like me, antony, and you shall be saved." one asked him how he could please god. quoth antony, "have god always before thine eyes; whatwords of the elders. 97 ever work thou doest, take example for it out of holy scripture: wherever thou stoppest, do not move thence in a hurry, but abide there in patience. if thou keepest these three things, thou shalt be saved." quoth antony, "if the baker did not cover the mill-horse's eyes he would eat the corn, and take his own wages. so god covers our eyes, by leaving us to sordid thoughts, lest we should think of our own good works, and be puffed up in spirit." quoth antony, "i saw all the snares of the enemy spread over the whole earth. and i sighed, and said, 'who can pass through these?' and a voice came to me, saying, 'humility alone can pass through,. antony, where the proud can in no wise go."" antony was sitting in his cell, and a voice said to him, "thou hast not yet come to the stature of a currier, who lives in alexandria." then he took his staff, and went down to alexandria and the currier, when he found him, was astonished at seeing so great a man. said antony, "tell me thy works; for on thy account have i come out of the desert." and he answered, "i know not that i ever did any good; and, therefore, when i rise in the morning, i say that this whole city, from the greatest to the least, will enter into the kingdom of god for their righteousness: while i, for my sins, shall go to eternal pain. and this i say over again, from the bottom of my heart, when i lie down at night." when antony heard that, he said, "like a good goldsmith, thou hast gained the kingdom of god sitting still in thy house; while i, as one without discretion, have been haunting s. l. ii. h 98 words of the elders. the desert all my time, and yet not arrived at the measure of thy saying." quoth antony, "if a monk could tell his elders how many steps he walks, or how many cups of water he drinks, in his cell, he ought to tell them, for fear of going wrong therein." at alexandria, antony met one didymus, most learned in the scriptures, witty, and wise: but he was blind. antony asked him, "art thou not grieved at thy blindness?" he was silent: but being pressed by antony, he confessed that he was sad thereat. quoth antony, "i wonder that a prudent man grieves over the loss of a thing which ants, and flies, and gnats have, instead of rejoicing in that possession which the holy apostles earned. for it is better to see with the spirit than with the flesh." a father asked antony, "what shall i do?" quoth the old man, "trust not in thine own righteousness; regret not the thing which is past; bridle thy tongue and thy stomach." quoth antony, "he who sits still in the desert is safe from three enemies: from hearing, from speech, from sight: and has to fight against only one, his own heart." a young monk came and told antony how he had seen some old men weary on their journey, and had bidden the wild asses to come and carry him, and they came. quoth antony, "that monk looks to me like a ship laden with a precious cargo; but whether it will get into port is uncertain." and after some days he began to tear his hair and weep; and when words of the elders. 99 60 they asked him why, he said, "a great pillar of the church has just fallen;" and he sent brothers to see the young man, and found him sitting on his mat, weeping over a great sin which he had done; and he said, "tell antony to give me ten days' truce, and i hope i shall satisfy him;" and in five days he was dead. abbot elias fell into temptation, and the brethren idrove him out. then he went to the mountain to antony. after awhile, antony sent him home to his brethren; but they would not receive him. then the old man sent to them, and saying, "a ship has been wrecked at sea, and lost all its cargo; and, with much toil, the ship is come empty to land. will you sink it again in the sea?" so they took elias back. quoth antony, "there are some who keep their bodies in abstinence: but, because they have no discretion, they are far from god." a hunter came by, and saw antony rejoicing with the brethren, and it displeased him. quoth antony, "put an arrow in thy bow, and draw;" and he did. quoth antony, "draw higher;" and again, “draw higher still." and he said, "if i overdraw, i shall break my bow." quoth antony, "so it is in the work of god. if we stretch the brethren beyond measure, they fail." a brother said to antony, "pray for me." quoth he, "i cannot pity thee, nor god either, unless thou pitiest thyself, and prayest to god." quoth antony, "the lord does not permit wars to arise in this generation, because he knows that men are weak, and cannot bear them." h 2 100 words of the elders. antony, as he considered the depths of the judgments of god, failed; and said, "lord, why do some die so early, and some live on to a decrepit age? why are some needy, and others rich? why are the unjust wealthy, and the just poor?" and a voice came to him, "antony, look to thyselt. these are the judgments of god, which are not fit for thee to know." quoth antony to abbot pastor, "this is a man's great business-to lay each man his own fault on himself before the lord, and to expect temptation to the last day of his life." quoth antony, "if a man works a few days, and then is idle, and works again and is idle again, he does nothing, and will not possess the perseverance of patience." quoth antony to his disciples, "if you try to keep silence, do not think that you are exercising a virtue, but that you are unworthy to speak." certain old men came once to antony; and he wished to prove them, and began to talk of holy scripture, and to ask them, beginning at the youngest, what this and that text meant. and each answered as best they could. but he kept on saying, “you have not yet found it out." and at last he asked abbot joseph, "and what dost thou think this text means?" quoth abbot joseph, "i do not know.” quoth antony, "abbot joseph alone has found out the way, for he says he does not know it." quoth antony, "i do not now fear god, but love him, for love drives out fear." words of the elders. ιοι he said again, "life and death are very near us; for if we gain our brother, we gain god: but if we cause our brother to offend, we sin against christ.” a philosopher asked antony, "how art thou content, father, since thou hast not the comfort of books?" quoth antony, "my book is the nature of created things. in it, when i choose, i can read the words of god." brethren came to antony, and asked of him a saying by which they might be saved. quoth he, "ye have heard the scriptures, and know what christ requires of you." but they begged that he would tell them something of his own. quoth he, "the gospel says, 'if a man smite you on one cheek, turn to him the other.'" but they said that they could not do that. quoth he, "you cannot turn the other cheek to him? then let him smite you again on the same one." but they said they could not do that either. then said he, "if you cannot, at least do not return evil for evil." and when they said that neither could they do that, quoth antony to his disciples, "go, get them something to eat, for they are very weak." and he said to them, if you cannot do the one, and wil not have the other, what do you want? as i see, what you want is prayer. that will heal your weakness." quoth antony, "he who would be free from his sins must be so by weeping and mourning; and he who would be built up in virtue must be built up by tears." quoth antony, "when the stomach is full of 102 words of the elders. meat, forthwith the great vices bubble out, according to that which the saviour says: "that which entereth into the mouth defileth not a man; but that which cometh out of the heart sinks a man in destruction.'" [this may be a somewhat paradoxical application of the text but the last anecdote of antony which i shall quote is full of wisdom and humanity.] a monk came from alexandria, eulogius by name, bringing with him a man afflicted with elephantiasis. now eulogius had been a scholar, learned, and rich, and had given away all he had save a very little, which he kept because he could not work with his own hands. and he told antony how he had found that wretched man lying in the street fifteen years before, having lost then nearly every member save his tongue, and how he had taken him home to his cell, nursed him, bathed him, physicked him, fed him; and how the man had returned him nothing save slanders, curses, and insults; how he had insisted on having meat, and had had it; and on going out in public, and had company brought to him; and how he had at last demanded to be put down again whence he had been taken, always cursing and slandering. and now eulogius could bear the man no longer, and was minded to take him at his word. then said antony with an angry voice, "wilt thou cast him out, eulogius? he who remembers that he made him, will not cast him out. if thou cast him out, he will find a better friend than thee. god will choose some one who will take him up when he is words of the elders. 103 cast away." eulogius was terrified at these words, and held his peace. then went antony to the sick man, and shouted at him, "thou elephantiac, foul with mud and dirt, not worthy of the third heaven, wilt thou not stop shouting blasphemies against god? dost thou not know that he who ministers to thee is christ? how darest thou say such things against christ?" and he bade eulogius and the sick man go back to their cell, and live in peace, and never part more. both went back, and, after forty days, eulogius died, and the sick man shortly after, "altogether whole in spirit." hilarion. i would gladly, did space allow, give more biographies from among those of the egyptian hermits: but it seems best, having shown the reader antony as the father of egyptian monachism, to go on to his great pupil hilarion, the father of monachism in palestine. his life stands written at length by st. jerome, who himself died a monk at bethlehem; and is composed happily in a less ambitious and less rugged style than that of paul, not without elements of beauty, even of tragedy. prologue. remember me in thy holy prayers, glory and honour of virgins, nun asella. before beginning to write the life of the blessed hilarion, i invoke the holy spirit which dwelt in him, that, as he largely bestowed virtues on hilarion, he may give to me speech wherewith to relate them; so that his deeds may be equalled by my language. for those who (as crispus says) "have wrought virtues" are held to have been worthily praised in proportion to the words in hilarion. 105 which famous intellects have been able to extol them. alexander the great, the macedonian (whom daniel calls either the brass, or the leopard, or the he-goat), on coming to the tomb of achilles, "happy art thou, youth," he said, "who hast been blest with a great herald of thy worth "-meaning homer. but i have to tell the conversation and life of such and so great a man, that even homer, were he here, would either envy my matter, or succumb under it. for although st. epiphanius, bishop of salamina in cyprus, who had much intercourse with hilarion, has written his praise in a short epistle, which is commonly read, yet it is one thing to praise the dead in general phrases, another to relate his special virtues. we therefore set to work rather to his advantage than to his injury; and despise those evil-speakers who lately carped at paul, and will perhaps now carp at my hilarion, unjustly blaming the former for his solitary life, and the latter for his intercourse with men; in order that the one, who was never seen, may be supposed not to have existed; the other, who was seen by many, may be held cheap. this was the way of their ancestors likewise, the pharisees, who were neither satisfied with john's desert life and fasting, nor with the lord saviour's public life, eating and drinking. but i shall lay my hand to the work which i have determined, and pass by, with stopped ears, the hounds of scylla. i pray that thou mayest persevere in christ, and be mindful of me in thy prayers, most sacred virgin. 106 hilarion. the life. hilarion was born in the village of thabatha, which lies about five miles to the south of gaza, in palestine. he had parents given to the worship of idols, and blossomed (as the saying is) a rose among the thorns. sent by them to alexandria, he was entrusted to a grammarian, and there, as far as his years allowed, gave proof of great intellect and good morals. he was soon dear to all, and skilled in the art of speaking. and, what is more than all, he believed in the lord jesus, and delighted neither in the madness of the circus, in the blood of the arena, or in the luxury of the theatre: but all his heart was in the congregation of the church. but hearing the then famous name of antony, which was carried throughout all egypt, he was fired with a longing to visit him, and went to the desert. as soon as he saw him he changed his dress, and stayed with him about two months, watching the order of his life, and the purity of his manner; how frequent he was in prayers, how humble in receiving brethren, severe in reproving them, eager in exhorting them; and how no infirmity ever broke through his continence, and the coarseness of his food. but, unable to bear longer the crowd which assembled round antony, for various diseases and attacks of devils, he said that it was not consistent to endure in the hilarion. 107 desert the crowds of cities, but that he must rather begin where antony had begun. antony, as a valiant man, was receiving the reward of victory: he had not yet begun to serve as a soldier. he returned, therefore, with certain monks to his own country; and, finding his parents dead, gave away part of his substance to the brethren, part to the poor, and kept nothing at all for himself, fearing what is told in the acts of the apostles, the example or punishment, of ananias and sapphira; and especially mindful of the lord's saying "he that leaveth not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple." he was then fifteen years old. so, naked, but armed in christ, he entered the desert, which, seven miles from maiuma, the port of gaza, turns away to the left of those who go along the shore towards egypt. and though the place was blood-stained by robbers, and his relations and friends warned him of the imminent danger, he despised death, in order to escape death. all wondered at his spirit, wondered at his youth. save that a certain fire of the bosom and spark of faith glittered in his eyes, his cheeks were smooth, his body delicate and thin, unable to bear any injury, and liable to be overcome by even a light chill or heat. so, covering his limbs only with a sackcloth, and having a cloak of skin, which the blessed antony had given him at starting, and a rustic cloak, between the sea and the swamp, he enjoyed the vast and terrible solitude, feeding on only fifteen figs after the setting of the sun; and because the region was, as 108 hilarion. has been said above, of ill-repute from robberies, no man had ever stayed before in that place. the devil, seeing what he was doing and whither he had gone, was tormented. and though he, who of old boasted, saying, “i shall ascend into heaven, i shall sit above the stars of heaven, and shall be like unto the most high," now saw that he had been conquered by a boy, and trampled under foot by him, ere, on account of his youth, he could commit sin. he therefore began to tempt his senses; but he, enraged with himself, and beating his breast with his fist, as if he could drive out thoughts by blows, "i will force thee, mine ass," said he, “not to kick; and feed thee with straw, not barley. i will wear thee out with hunger and thirst; i will burden thee with heavy loads; i will hunt thee through heat and cold, till thou thinkest more of food than of play." he therefore sustained his fainting spirit with the juice of herbs and a few figs, after each three or four days, praying frequently, and singing psalms, and digging the ground with a mattock, to double the labour of fasting by that of work. at the same time, by weaving baskets of rushes, he imitated the discipline of the egyptian monks, and the apostle's saying -"he that will not work, neither let him eat”—till he was so attenuated, and his body so exhausted, that it scarce clung to his bones. one night he began to hear the crying* of infants, the bleating of sheep, the wailing of women, the * these sounds, like those which st. guthlac heard in the english fens, are plainly those of wild-fowl. hilarion. 109 roaring of lions, the murmur of an army, and utterly portentous and barbarous voices; so that he shrank frightened by the sound ere he saw aught. he understood these to be the insults of devils; and, falling on his knees, he signed the cross of christ on his forehead, and armed with that helmet, and girt with the breastplate of faith, he fought more valiantly as he lay, longing somehow to see what he shuddered to hear, and looking round him with anxious eyes: when, without warning, by the bright moonshine he saw a chariot with fiery horses rushing upon him. but when he had called on jesus, the earth opened suddenly, and the whole pomp was swallowed up before his eyes. then said he, "the horse and his rider ne hath drowned in the sea ;" and "some glory themselves in chariots, and some in horses: but we in the name of the lord our god." many were his temptations, and various, by day and night, the snares of the devils. if we were to tell them all, they would make the volume too long. how often did women appear to him; how often plenteous banquets when he was hungry. sometimes as he prayed, a howling wolf ran past him, or a barking fox; or as he sang, a fight of gladiators made a show for him and one of them, as if slain, falling at his feet, prayed for sepulture. he prayed once with his head bowed to the ground, and—as is the nature of man-his mind wandered from his prayer, and thought of i know not what, when a mocking rider leaped on his back, and spurring his sides, and whipping his neck, "come," he cries, "come, run! why do you sleep?" : iio hilarion. and, laughing loudly over him, asked him if he were tired, or would have a feed of barley. so from his sixteenth to his twentieth year, he was sheltered from the heat and rain in a tiny cabin, which he had woven of rush and sedge. afterwards he built a little cell, which remains to this day, four feet wide and five feet high-that is, lower than his own stature and somewhat longer than his small body needed, so that you would believe it to be a tomb rather than a dwelling. he cut his hair only once a year, on easter-day, and lay till his death on the bare ground and a layer of rushes, never washing the sack in which he was clothed, and saying that it was superfluous to seek for cleanliness in hair-cloth. nor did he change his tunic, till the first was utterly in rags. he knew the scriptures by heart, and recited them after his prayers and psalms as if god were present. and, because it would take up too much time to tell his great deeds one by one, i will give a short account of them. [then follows a series of miracles, similar to those attributed to st. antony, and, indeed, to all these great hermit fathers. but it is unnecessary to relate more wonders which the reader cannot be expected to believe. these miracles, however, according to st. jerome, were the foundations of hilarion's fame and public career. for he says, "when they were noised abroad, people flowed to him eagerly from syria to egypt, so that many believed in christ, and professed themselves to be monks-for no one had known of a monk in syria hilarion. iii before the holy hilarion. he was the first founder and teacher of this conversation and study in the province. the lord jesus had in egypt the old man antony; he had in palestine the young hilarion • he was raised, indeed, by the lord to such a glory, that the blessed antony, hearing of his conversation, wrote to him, and willingly received his letters; and if rich people came to him from the parts of syria, he said to them, 'why have you chosen to trouble yourselves by coming so far, when you have at home my son hilarion?' so by his example innumerable monasteries arose throughout all palestine, and all monks came eagerly to him ... but what a care he had, not to pass by any brother, however humble or however poor, may be shown by this; that once going into the desert of kadesh, to visit one of his disciples, he came, with an infinite crowd of monks, to elusa, on the very day, as it chanced, on which a yearly solemnity had gathered all the people of the town to the temple of venus; for they honour her on account of the morning star, to the worship of which the nation of the saracens is devoted. the town itself too is said to be in great part semi-barbarous, on account of its remote situation. hearing, then, that the holy hilarion was passing by-for he had often cured saracens possessed with dæmons-they came out to meet him in crowds, with their wives and children, bowing their necks, and crying in the syrian tongue, 'barech!' that is, 'bless!' he received them courteously and humbly, entreating them to worship god rather than 112 hilarion. stones, and wept abundantly, looking up to heaven, and promising them that, if they would believe in christ, he would come oftener to them. wonderful was the grace of the lord. they would not let him depart till he had laid the foundations of a future church, and their priest, crowned as he was, had been consecrated with the sign of christ. * * * * * * * he was now sixty-three years old. he saw about him a great monastery, a multitude of brethren, and crowds who came to be healed of diseases and unclean spirits, filling the solitude around; but he wept daily, and remembered with incredible regret his ancient life. "i have returned to the world," he said, "and received my reward in this life. all palestine and the neighbouring provinces think me to be worth somewhat; while i possess a farm and household goods, under the pretext of the brethren's advantage." on which the brethren, and especially hesychius, who bore him a wondrous love, watched him narrowly. when he had lived thus sadly for two years, aristæneta, the prefect's wife, came to him, wishing him to go with her to antony. "i would go," he said, weeping, "if i were not held in the prison of this monastery, and if it were of any use. for two days since, the whole world was robbed of such a father." she believed him, and stopped. and antony's death was confirmed a few days after. others may wonder at the signs and portents which he did, at his incredible abstinence, his silence, his hilarion. 113 miracles: i am astonished at nothing so much as that he was able to trample under foot that glory and honour. bishops and clergy, monks and christian matrons. (a great temptation), people of the common sort, great men, too, and judges crowded to him, to receive from him blessed bread or oil. but he was thinking of nothing but the desert, till one day he determined to set out, and taking an ass (for he was so shrunk with fasting that he could hardly walk), he tried to go his way. the news got wind; the desolation and destruction of palestine would ensue; ten thousand souls, men and women, tried to stop his way; but he would not hear them. smiting on the ground with his staff, he said, "i will not make my god a liar. i cannot bear to see churches ruined, the altars of christ trampled down, the blood of my sons spilt." all who heard thought that some secret revelation had been made to him: but yet they would not let him go. whereon he would neither eat nor drink, and for seven days he persevered fasting, till he had his wish, and set out for bethulia, with forty monks, who could march without food till sundown. on the fifth day he came to pelusium, then to the camp thebatrum, to see dracontius; and then to babylon to see philo. these two were bishops and confessors exiled by constantius, who favoured the arian heresy. then he came to aphroditon, where he met barsanes the deacon, who used to carry water to antony on dromedaries, and heard from him that the anniversary of antony's death was near, and would be celebrated s.l. ii. i 114 hilarion. by a vigil at his tomb. then through a vast and horrible wilderness, he went for three days to a very high mountain, and found there two monks, isaac and pelusianus, of whom isaac had been antony's interpreter. * a high and rocky hill it was, with fountains gushing out at its foot. some of them the sand sucked up; some formed a little rill, with palms without number on its banks. there you might have seen the old man wandering to and fro with antony's disciples. "here," they said, "he used to sing, here to pray, here to work, here to sit when tired. these vines, these shrubs, he planted himself; that plot he laid out with his own hands. this pond to water the garden he made with heavy toil; that hoe he kept for many years." hilarion lay on his bed, and kissed the couch, as if it were still warm. antony's cell was only large enough to let a man lie down in it; and on the mountain top, reached by a difficult and winding stair, were two other cells of the same size, cut in the stony rock, to which he used to retire from the visitors and disciples, when they came to the garden. "you see," said isaac, "this orchard, with shrubs and vegetables. three years since a troop of wild asses laid it waste. he bade one of their leaders stop; and beat it with his staff. 'why do you eat,' he asked it, 'what you did not sow?' and after that the asses, though they came to drink the waters, never touched his plants." then hilarion asked them to show him antony's grave. they led him apart; but whether they hilarion. 115 showed it to him, no man knows. they hid it, they said, by antony's command, lest one pergamius, who was the richest man of those parts, should take the corpse to his villa, and build a chapel over it. then he went back to aphroditon, and with only two brothers, dwelt in the desert, in such abstinence and silence that (so he said) he then first began to serve christ. now it was then three years since the heaven had been shut, and the earth dried up: so that they said commonly, the very elements mourned the death of antony. but hilarion's fame spread to them; and a great multitude, brown and shrunken with famine, cried to him for rain, as to the blessed antony's successor. he saw them, and grieved over them; and lifting up his hand to heaven, obtained rain at once. but the thirsty and sandy land, as soon as it was watered by showers, sent forth such a crowd of serpents and venomous animals that people without number were stung, and would have died, had they not run together to hilarion. with oil blessed by him, the husbandmen and shepherds touched their wounds, and all were surely healed. but when he saw that he was marvellously honoured, he went to alexandria, meaning to cross the desert to the further oasis. and because since he was a monk he had never stayed in a city, he turned aside to some brethren known to him in the brucheion,* not far from alexandria. they received * the brucheion, with its palaces and museum, the residence of the kings and philosophers of egypt, had been destroyed in the days i 2 116 hilarion. him with joy but, when night came on, they suddenly heard him bid his disciples saddle the ass. in vain they entreated, threw themselves across the threshold. his only answer was, that he was hastening away, lest he should bring them into trouble; they would soon know that he had not departed without good reason. the next day, men of gaza came with the prefect's lictors, burst into the monastery, and when they found him not "is it not true," they said, "what we heard? he is a sorcerer, and knows the future." for the citizens of gaza, after hilarion was gone, and julian had succeeded to the empire, had destroyed his monastery, and begged from the emperor the death of hilarion and hesychius. so letters had been sent forth, to seek them throughout the world. so hilarion went by the pathless wilderness into the oasis; and after a year, more or less--because his fame had gone before him even there, and he could not lie hid in the east-he was minded to sail away to lonely islands, that the sea at least might hide what the land would not. but just then hadrian, his disciple, came from palestine, telling him that julian was slain, and that a christian emperor was reigning; so that he ought to return to the relics of his monastery. of claudius and valerian, during the senseless civil wars which devastated alexandria for twelve years; and monks had probably taken up their abode in the ruins. it was in this quarter, at the beginning of the next century, that hypatia was murdered by the monks. ⭑ probably the northern, or lesser oasis, ouah el baharieh, about eighty miles west of the nile. hilarion. 117 but he abhorred the thought; and, hiring a camel, went over the vast desert to parætonia, a sea town of libya. then the wretched hadrian, wishing to go back to palestine and get himself glory under his master's name, packed up all that the brethren had sent by him to his master, and went secretly away. but as a terror to those who despise their masters— he shortly after died of jaundice. then, with zananas alone, hilarion went on board. ship to sail for sicily. and when, almost in the middle of adria,* he was going to sell the gospels which he had written out with his own hand when young, to pay his fare withal, then the captain's son. was possessed with a devil, and cried out, "hilarion, servant of god, why can we not be safe from thee even at sea? give me a little respite till i come to the shore, lest, if i be cast out here, i fall headlong into the abyss." then said he, "if my god lets thee stay, stay. but if he cast thee out, why dost thou lay the blame on me, a sinner and a beggar?" then he made the captain and the crew promise not to betray him: and the devil was cast out. but the captain would take no fare when he saw that they had nought but those gospels, and the clothes on their backs. and so hilarion came to pachynum, a cape of sicily,† and fled twenty miles inland into a deserted farm; and there every day gathered a * jerome (who sailed that sea several times) uses the word here, as it is used in acts xxvii. 27, for the sea about malta, driven up and down in adria." + the southern point of sicily, now cape passaro. 118 hi̇lari̇on. bundle of firewood, and put it on zananas's back, who took it to the town, and bought a little bread thereby. but it happened, according to that which is written, "a city set on an hill cannot be hid," one scutarius was tormented by a devil in the basilica of st. peter at rome; and the unclean spirit cried out in him, "a few days since hilarion, the servant of christ, landed in sicily, and no man knows him, and he thinks himself hid. i will go and betray him." and forthwith he took ship with his slaves, and came to pachynum, and, by the leading of the devil, threw himself down before the old man's hut, and was cured. the frequency of his signs in sicily drew to him sick people and religious men in multitudes; and one of the chief men was cured of dropsy the same day that he came, and offered hilarion boundless gifts: but he obeyed the saviour's saying, "freely ye have received; freely give." while this was happening in sicily, hesychius, his disciple, was seeking the old man through the world, searching the shores, penetrating the desert, and only certain that, wherever he was, he could not long be hid. so, after three years were past, he heard at methone* from a jew, who was selling old clothes, that a prophet of the christians had appeared in sicily, working such wonders that he was thought to be one of the old saints. but he could give no description of him, having only heard common * in the morea, near the modern navarino. hilarion. 119 report. he sailed for pachynum, and there, in a cottage on the shore, heard of hilarion's fame-that which most surprised all being that, after so many signs and miracles, he had not accepted even a bit of bread from any man. so, "not to make the story too long," as says st. jerome, hesychius fell at his master's knees, and watered his feet with tears, till at last he raised him up. but two or three days after he heard from zananas, how the old man could dwell no longer in these regions, but was minded to go to some barbarous nation, where both his name and his speech should be unknown. so he took him to epidaurus,* a city of dalmatia, where he lay a few days in a little farm, and yet could not be hid; for a dragon of wondrous size--one of those which, in the country speech, they call boas, because they are so huge that they can swallow an ox-laid waste the province, and devoured not only herds and flocks, but husbandmen and shepherds, which he drew to him by the force of his breath.† hilarion commanded a pile of wood to be prepared, and having prayed to christ, * at the mouth of the bay of cattaro. this story-whatever belief we may give to its details-is' one of many which make it tolerably certain that a large snake (python) still lingered in eastern europe. huge tame snakes were kept as sacred by the macedonian women; and one of them (according to lucian) peregrinus proteus, the cagliostro of his time, fitted with a linen mask, and made it personate the god esculapius. in the "historia lausiaca," cap. lii. is an account by an eye-witness of a large snake in the thebaid, whose track was 66 'as if a beam had been dragged along the sand." it terrifies the syrian monks: but the egyptian monk sets to work to kill it, saying that he had seen much larger-even up to fifteen cubits. 120 hilarion. and called the beast forth, commanded him to ascend the pile, and having put fire under, burnt him before all the people. then fretting over what he should do, or whither he should turn, he went alone over the world in imagination, and mourned that, whèn his tongue was silent, his miracles still spoke. in those days, at the earthquake over the whole world, which befell after julian's death, the sea broke its bounds; and, as if god was threatening another flood, or all was returning to the primæval chaos, ships were carried up steep rocks, and hung there. but when the epidauritans saw roaring waves and mountains of water borne towards the shore, fearing lest the town should be utterly overthrown, they went out to the old man, and, as if they were leading him out to battle, stationed him on the shore. and when he had marked three signs of the cross upon the sand, and stretched out his hands against the waves, it is past belief to what a height the sea swelled, and stood up before him, and then, raging long as if indignant at the barrier, fell back little by little into itself. all epidaurus, and all that region, talk of this to this day; and mothers teach it their children, that they may hand it down to posterity. truly, that which was said to the apostles, "if ye believe, ye shall say to this mountain, be removed, and cast into the sea; and it shall be done," can be fulfilled even to the letter, if we have the faith of the apostles, and such as the lord commanded them to have. for which is more strange, that a mountain hilarion. 121 should descend into the sea; or that mountains of water should stiffen of a sudden, and, firm as a rock only at an old man's feet, should flow softly everywhere else? all the city wondered; and the greatness of the sign was bruited abroad even at salo. when the old man discovered that, he fled secretly by night in a little boat, and finding a merchantman after two days, sailed for cyprus. between maleæ and cythera* they were met by pirates, who had left their vessels under the shore, and came up in two large galleys, worked not with sails, but oars. as the rowers swept the billows, all on board began to tremble, weep, run about, get handspikes ready, and, as if one messenger was not enough, vie with each other in telling the old man that pirates were at hand. he looked out at them and smiled. then turning to his disciples, "o ye of little faith," he said; "wherefore do ye doubt? are these more in number than pharaoh's army? yet they were all drowned when god so willed." while he spoke, the hostile keels, with foaming beaks, were but a short stone's throw off. he then stood on the ship's bow, and stretching out his hand against them, "let it be enough," he said, "to have come thus far." o wondrous faith! the boats instantly sprang back, and made stern-way, although the oars impelled them in the opposite direction. the pirates were * now capo st. angelo and the island of cerigo, at the southern point of greecc. 122 hilarion. astonished, having no wish to return back-foremost, and struggled with all their might to reach the ship; but were carried to the shore again, much faster than they had come. i pass over the rest, lest by telling every story i make the volume too long. this only i will say, that, while he sailed prosperously through the cyclades, he heard the voices of foul spirits, calling here and there out of the towns and villages, and running together on the beaches. so he came to paphos, the city of cyprus, famous once in poets' songs, which now, shaken down by frequent earthquakes, only shows what it has been of yore by the foundations of its ruins. there he dwelt meanly near the second milestone out of the city, rejoicing much that he was living quietly for a few days. but not three weeks were past, ere throughout the whole island whosoever had unclean spirits began to cry that hilarion the servant of christ was come, and that they must hasten to him. salonica, curium, lapetha, and the other towns, all cried this together, most saying that they knew hilarion, and that he was truly a servant of god; but where he was they knew not. within a month, nearly 200 men and women were gathered together to him. whom when he saw, grieving that they would not suffer him to rest, raging, as it were to revenge himself, he scourged them with such an instancy of prayer, that some were cured at once, some after two or three days, and all within a week. so staying there two years, and always meditating flight, he sent hesychius to palestine, to salute the + p hilarion. 123 brethren, visit the ashes of the monastery, and return in the spring. when he returned, and hilarion was longing to sail again to egypt,—that is, to the cattle pastures,* because there is no christian there, but only a fierce and barbarous folk,-he persuaded the old man rather to withdraw into some more secret spot in the island itself. and looking round it long till he had examined it all over, he led him away twelve miles from the sea, among lonely and rough mountains, where they could hardly climb up, creeping on hands and knees. when they were within, they beheld a spot terrible and very lonely, surrounded with trees, which had, too, waters falling from the brow of a cliff, and a most pleasant little garden, and many fruit-trees-the fruit of which, however, hilarion never ate—and near it the ruin of a very ancient temple,† out of which (so he and his disciples averred) the voices of so many dæmons resounded day and night, that you would have fancied an army there. with which he was exceedingly delighted, because he had his foes close to him; and dwelt therein five years; and (while hesychius often visited him) he was much cheered up in this last period of his life, because owing to the roughness and difficulty of the ground, and the multitude. of ghosts (as was commonly reported), few, or none, ever dare climb up to him. but one day, going out of the little garden, he saw a man paralytic in all his limbs, lying before the gate; and having asked hesychius who he was, and how he * see p. 52. + probably dedicated to the paphian venus. 124 hilarion. had come, he was told that the man was the steward of a small estate, and that to him the garden, in which they were, belonged. hilarion, weeping over him, and stretching a hand to him as he lay, said, "i say to thee, in the name of jesus christ our lord, arise and walk." wonderful was the rapidity of the effect. the words were yet in his mouth, when the limbs, strengthened, raised the man upon his feet. as soon as it was known, the needs of many conquered the difficulty of the ground, and the want of a path, while all in the neighbourhood watched nothing so carefully, as that he should not by some plan slip away from them. for the report had been spread about him, that he could not remain long in the same place; which nevertheless he did not do from any caprice, or childishness, but to escape honour and importunity; for he always longed after silence, and an ignoble life. so, in the eightieth year of his age, while hesychius was absent, he wrote a short letter, by way of testament, with his own hand, leaving to hesychius all his riches; namely, his gospel-book, and a sackclothshirt, hood, and mantle. for his servant had died a few days before. many religious men came to him from paphos while he was sick, especially because they had heard that he had said that now he was going to migrate to the lord, and be freed from the chains of the body. there came also constantia, a high-born lady, whose son-in-law and daughter he had delivered from death by anointing them with oil. and he made them all swear, that he should not be kept hilarion. 125 an hour after his death, but covered up with earth in that same garden, clothed, as he was, in his haircloth. shirt, hood, and rustic cloak. and now little heat was left in his body, and nothing of a living man was left, except his reason: and yet, with open eyes, he went on saying, "go forth, what fearest thou? go forth, my soul, what doubtest thou? nigh seventy years hast thou served christ, and dost thou fear death?" with these words, he breathed out his soul. they covered him forthwith in earth, and told them in the city that he was buried, before it was known that he was dead. the holy man hesychius heard this in palestine ; reached cyprus; and pretending, in order to prevent suspicion on the part of the neighbours, who guarded the spot diligently, that he wished to dwell in that same garden, he, after some ten months, with extreme peril of his life, stole the corpse. he carried it to maiuma, followed by whole crowds of monks and townsfolk, and placed it in the old monastery, with the shirt, hood, and cloak unhurt; the whole body perfect, as if alive, and fragrant with such strong odour, that it seemed to have had unguents poured over it. i think that i ought not, in the end of my book, to be silent about the devotion of that most holy woman constantia, who, hearing that the body of hilarion, the servant of god, was gone to palestine, straightway gave up the ghost, proving by her very death her true love for the servant of god. for she was wont to pass nights in watching his sepulchre, and to converse with him as if he were present, in order to assist 126 hilarion. her prayers. you may see, even to this day, a wonderful contention between the folk of palestine and the cypriots, the former saying that they have the body, the latter that they have the soul, of hilarion. and yet, in both places, great signs are worked daily; but most in the little garden in cyprus; perhaps because he loved that place the best. such is the story of hilarion. his name still lingers in "the place he loved the best." "to this day,” i quote this fact from m. de montalembert's work, "the cypriots, confounding in their memories legends of good and of evil, the victories of the soul and the triumph of the senses, give to the ruins of one of those strong castles built by the lusignans, which command their isle, the double name of the castle of st. hilarion, and the castle of the god of love." but how intense must have been the longing for solitude which drove the old man to travel on foot from syria to the egyptian desert, across the pathless westward waste, even to the oasis and the utmost limits of the egyptian province; and then to sicily, to the adriatic, and at last to a distant isle of greece. and shall we blame him for that longing? he seems to have done his duty earnestly, according to his own light, towards his fellow-creatures whenever he met them. but he seems to have found that noise and crowd, display and honour, were not altogether wholesome for his own soul; and in order that he might be a better man he desired again and again to flee, that he might collect himself, and be alone with nature and with hilarion. 127 god. we, here in england, like the old greeks and romans, dwellers in the busy mart of civilized life, have got to regard mere bustle as so integral an element of human life, that we consider a love of solitude a mark of eccentricity, and, if we meet any one who loves to be alone, are afraid that he must needs be going mad: and that with too great solitude comes the danger of too great self-consciousness, and even at last of insanity, none can doubt. but still we must remember, on the other hand, that without solitude, without contemplation, without habitual collection and re-collection of our own selves from time to time, no great purpose is carried out, and no great work can be done; and that it is the bustle and hurry of our modern life which causes shallow thought, unstable purpose, and wasted energy, in too many who would be better and wiser, stronger and happier, if they would devote more time to silence and meditation; if they would commune with their own heart in their chamber, and be still. even in art and in mechanical science, those who have done great work upon the earth have been men given to solitary meditation. when brindley, the engineer, it is said, had a difficult problem to solve, he used to go to bed, and stay there till he had worked it out. turner, the greatest nature-painter of this or any other age, spent hours upon hours in mere contemplation of nature, without using his pencil at all. it is said of him that he was seen to spend a whole day, sitting upon a rock, and throwing pebbles into a lake; and when at evening his fellow painters showed their day's sketches, and 128 hilarion. rallied him upon having done nothing, he answered them, "i have done this at least: i have learnt how a lake looks when pebbles are thrown into it." and if this silent labour, this steadfast thought are required even for outward arts and sciences, how much more for the highest of all arts, the deepest of all sciences, that which involves the questions-who are we? and where are we? who is god? and what are we to god, and he to us?-namely, the science of being good, which deals not with time merely, but with eternity. no retirement, no loneliness, no period of earnest and solemn meditation, can be misspent which helps us towards that goal. and therefore it was that hilarion longed to be alone; alone with god; and with nature, which spoke to him of god. for these old hermits, though they neither talked nor wrote concerning scenery, nor painted pictures of it as we do now, had many of them a clear and intense instinct of the beauty and the meaning of outward nature; as antony surely had when he said that the world around was his book, wherein he read the mysteries of god. hilarion seems, from his story, to have had a special craving for the sea. perhaps his early sojourn on the low sandhills of the philistine shore, as he watched the tideless mediterranean, rolling and breaking for ever upon the same beach, had taught him to say with the old prophet as he thought of the wicked and still half idolatrous cities of the philistine shore, "fear ye not? saith the lord; will ye not tremble at my presence who have placed the sand for the bound of hilarion. 129 the sea, for a perpetual decree, that it cannot pass it? and though the waves thereof toss themselves, yet can they not prevail; though they roar, yet can they not pass over. but this people has a revolted and rebellious heart, they are revolted and gone." perhaps again, looking down from the sunny sicilian cliffs of taormino, or through the pine-clad gulfs and gullies of the cypriote hills upon the blue mediterranean below, "and watching from his mountain wall the wrinkled sea beneath him crawl," "" he had enjoyed and profited by all those images which that sight has called up in so many minds. before and since. to him it may be, as to the psalmist, the storm-swept sea pictured the instability of mortal things, while secure upon his cliff he said with the psalmist, "the lord hath set my feet upon a rock, and ordered my goings; and again, "the wicked are like a troubled sea, casting up mire and dirt." often, again, looking upon that far horizon, must his soul have been drawn, as many a soul has been drawn since, to it, and beyond it, as it were into a region of boundless freedom and perfect peace, while he said again with david, "oh that i had wings like a dove; then would i flee away and be at rest!" and so have found, in the contemplation of the wide ocean, a substitute at least for the contemplation of those eastern deserts which seemed the proper home for the solitary and meditative philosopher. for indeed in no northern country can such situations be found for the monastic cell as can be found s. l. ii. k 130 hilarion. in those great deserts which stretch from syria to arabia, from arabia to egypt, from egypt to africa properly so called. here and there a northern hermit found, as hilarion found, a fitting home by the seaside, on some lonely island or storm-beat rock, like st. cuthbert, off the coast of northumberland; like st. rule, on his rock at st. andrew's; and st. columba, with his ever-venerable company of missionaries, on iona. but inland, the fens and the forests were foul, unwholesome, depressing, the haunts of fever, ague, delirium, as st. guthlac found at crowland, and st. godric at finkhale.* the vast pine-woods which clothe the alpine slopes, the vast forests of beech and oak which then spread over france and germany, gave in time shelter to many a holy hermit. but their gloom, their unwholesomeness, and the severity of the climate, produced in them, as in most northern ascetics, a temper of mind more melancholy, and often more fierce; more given to passionate devotion, but more given also to dark superstition and cruel self-torture, than the genial climate of the desert produced in old monks of the east. when we think of st. antony upon his mountain, we must not picture to ourselves, unless we, too, have been in the east, such a mountain as we have ever seen. we must not think of a brown northern moorland, sad, savage, storm-swept, snowburied, save in the brief and uncertain summer months. we must not picture to ourselves an alp, *the lives of these two hermits and that of st. cuthbert will be given in a future number. hilarion. 131 with thundering avalanches, roaring torrents, fierce alternations of heat and cold, uninhabitable by mortal man, save during that short period of the year when the maidens in the sennhutt watch the cattle upon the upland pastures. we must picture to ourselves mountains blazing day after day, month after month, beneath the glorious sun and cloudless sky, in an air so invigorating that the arabs can still support life there upon a few dates each day; and where, as has been said, "man needs there hardly to eat, drink, or sleep, for the act of breathing will give life enough;" an atmosphere of such telescopic clearness as to explain many of the strange stories which have been lately told of antony's seemingly preternatural powers of vision; a colouring, which, when painters dare to put it on canvas, seems to our eyes, accustomed to the quiet greys and greens of england, exaggerated and impossible-distant mountains, pink and lilac, quivering in pale blue haze--vast sheets of yellow sand, across which the lonely rock or a troop of wild asses or gazelles throw intense blue-black shadows-rocks and cliffs not shrouded, as here, in soil, much less in grass and trees, or spotted with lichens and stained with veins; but keeping each stone its natural colour, as it wastes if, indeed, it wastes at all-under the action of the all but rainless air, which has left the paintings on the old egyptian temples fresh and clear for thousands of years; rocks, orange and purple, black, white, and yellow; and again and again beyond them* sihor, the black river, was the ancient name of the nile, derived from the dark hue of its waters. k 2 132 hilarion. glimpses, it may be, of the black nile, and of the long green garden of egypt, and of the dark blue sea. the eastward view from antony's old home must be one of the most glorious in the world, save for its want of verdure and of life. for antony, as he looked across the blue waters of the gulf of akaba, across which, far above, the israelites had passed in old times, could see the sacred goal of their pilgrimage, the red granite peaks of sinai, flaming against the blue sky with that intensity of hue which is scarcely exaggerated, it is said, by the bright scarlet colour in which sinai is always painted in medieval illuminations. but the gorgeousness of colouring, though it may interest us, was not, of course, what produced the deepest effect upon the minds of those old hermits. they enjoyed nature, not so much for her beauty, as for her perfect peace. day by day the rocks remained the same. silently out of the eastern desert, day by day, the rising sun threw aloft those arrows of light, which the old greeks had named "the rosy fingers. of the dawn." silently he passed in full blaze almost above their heads throughout the day; and silently he dipped behind the western desert in a glory of crimson and orange, green and purple; and without an interval of twilight, in a moment, all the land was dark, and the stars leapt out, not twinkling as in our damper climate here, but hanging like balls of white fire in that purple southern night, through which one seems to look beyond the stars into the infinite abyss, and towards the throne of god himhilarion. 133 self. day after day, night after night, that gorgeous pageant passed over the poor hermit's head without a sound; and though sun and moon and planet might change their places as the year rolled round, the earth beneath his feet seemed not to change. every morning he saw the same peaks in the distance, the same rocks, the same sand-heaps around his feet. he never heard the tinkle of a running stream. for weeks together he did not even hear the rushing of the wind. now and then a storm might sweep up the pass, whirling the sand in eddies, and making the desert for a while literally a "howling wilderness ;" and when that was passed all was as it had been before. the very change of seasons must have been little marked to him, save by the motions, if he cared to watch them, of the stars above; for vegetation there was none to mark the difference between summer and winter. in spring of course the solitary date-palm here and there threw out its spathe of young green leaves, to add to the number of those which, grey or brown, hung drooping down the stem, withering but not decaying for many a year in that dry atmosphere; or perhaps the accacia bushes looked somewhat gayer for a few weeks, and the retama broom, from which as well as from the palm leaves he plaited his baskets, threw out its yearly crop of twigs; but any greenness there might be in the vegetation of spring, turned grey in a few weeks beneath that burning sun; and the rest of the year was one perpetual summer of dust and glare and rest. amid such scenes the mind had full time for thought. nature and man 134 hilarion. alike left it in peace; while the labour required for sustaining life (and the monk wished for nothing more than to sustain mere life) was very light. wherever water could be found, the hot sun and the fertile soil would repay by abundant crops, perhaps twice in the year, the toil of scratching the ground and putting in the seed. moreover, the labour of the husbandman, so far from being adverse to the contemplative life, is of all occupations, it may be, that which promotes most quiet and wholesome meditation in the mind which cares to meditate. the life of the desert, when once the passions of youth were conquered, seems to have been not only a happy, but a healthy one. and when we remember that the monk, clothed from head to foot in woollen, and sheltered, too, by his sheepskin cape, escaped those violent changes of temperature which produce in the east so many fatal diseases, and which were so deadly to the linen-clothed inhabitants of the green lowlands of the nile, we need not be surprised when we read of the vast longevity of many of the old abbots; and of their death, not by disease, but by gentle, and as it were wholesome natural decay. but if their life was easy, it was surely not illspent. if having few wants, and those soon supplied, they found too much time for the luxury of quiet thought, those need not blame them, who having many wants, and those also easily supplied, are wont to spend their superfluous leisure in any luxury save that of thought, above all save that of thought concerning god. for it was upon god that these men, hilarion. 135 whatever their defects or ignorances may have been, had set their minds. that man was sent into the world to know and to love, to obey and thereby to glorify, the maker of his being, was the cardinal point of their creed, as it has been of every creed which ever exercised any beneficial influence on the minds of men. dean milman in his "history of christianity," vol. iii. page 294, has, while justly severe upon the failings and mistakes of the eastern monks, pointed out with equal justice that the great desire of knowing god was the prime motive in the mind of all their best men :— "in some regions of the east, the sultry and oppressive heat, the general relaxation of the physical system, dispose constitutions of a certain temperament to a dreamy inertness. the indolence and prostration of the body produce a kind of activity in the mind, if that may properly be called activity which is merely giving loose to the imagination and the emotions as they follow out the wild train of incoherent thought, or are agitated by impulses of spontaneous and ungoverned feeling. ascetic christianity ministered new aliment to this common propensity. it gave an object, both vague and determinate enough to stimulate, yet never to satisfy or exhaust. the regularity of stated hours of prayer, and of a kind of idle industry, weaving mats or plaiting baskets, alternated with periods of morbid reflection on the moral state of the soul, and of mystic communion with the deity. it cannot indeed be wondered that this new revelation, as it were, of the deity, this profound and rational certainty of his existence, this 136 hilarion. infelt consciousness of his perpetual presence, these as yet unknown impressions of his infinity, his power, and his love, should give a higher character to this eremitical enthusiasm, and attract men of loftier and more vigorous minds within its sphere. it was not merely the pusillanimous dread of encountering the trials of life which urged the humbler spirits to seek a safe retirement; or the natural love of peace, and the weariness and satiety of life, which commended this seclusion to those who were too gentle to mingle in, or who were exhausted with, the unprofitable turmoil of the world; nor was it always the anxiety to mortify the rebellious and refractory body with more advantage. the one absorbing idea of the majesty of the godhead almost seemed to swallow up all other considerations. the transcendent nature of the triune deity, the relation of the different persons of the godhead to each other, seemed the only worthy object of men's contemplative faculties.” and surely the contemplation of the godhead is no unworthy occupation for the immortal soul of any human being. but it would be unjust to these hermits did we fancy that their religion consisted merely even in this; much less that it consisted merely in dreams and visions, or in mere stated hours of prayer. that all did not fulfil the ideal of their profession is to be expected, and is frankly confessed by the writers of the lives of the fathers; that there were serious faults, even great crimes, among them is not denied. those who wrote concerning them were so sure that they were on the whole good men, that hilarion. 137 they were not at all afraid of saying that some of them were bad,--not afraid, even, of recording, though only in dark hints, the reason why the arab tribes around once rose and laid waste six churches with their monasteries in the neighbourhood of scetis. st. jerome in like manner does not hesitate to pour out bitter complaints against many of the monks in the neighbourhood of bethlehem. it is notorious, too, that many became monks merely to escape slavery, hunger, or conscription into the army. unruly and fanatical spirits, too, grew fond of wandering. bands of monks on the great roads and public places of the empire, massalians or gyrovagi, as they were called, wandered from province to province, and cell to cell, living on the alms which they extorted from the pious, and making up too often for protracted fasts by outbursts of gluttony and drunkenness. and doubtless the average monk, even when well-conducted himself and in a well-conducted monastery, was, like average men of every creed, rank, or occupation, a very common-place person, acting from very mixed and often very questionable motives; and valuing his shaven crown and his sheepskin cloak, his regular hours of prayer and his implicit obedience to his abbot, more highly than he valued the fear and the love of god. it is so in every creed. with some, even now, the strict observance of the sabbath; with others, outward reverence at the holy communion; with others, the frequent hearing of sermons which suit their own views; with others, continual reading of 138 hilarion. pious books (on the lessons of which they do not act), covers, instead of charity, a multitude of sins. but the saint, abbot, or father among these hermits was essentially the man who was not a common-place person; who was more than an ascetic, and more than a formalist; who could pierce beyond the letter to the spirit, and see, beyond all forms of doctrine or modes of life, that virtue was the one thing needful. the historia lausiaca and the pratum spirituale have many a story and many a saying as weighty, beautiful, and instructive now as they were fifteen hundred years ago; stories which show that graces and virtues such as the world had never seen before, save in the persecuted and half-unknown christians of the first three centuries, were cultivated to noble fruitfulness by the monks of the east. for their humility, obedience, and reverence for their superiors it is not wise to praise them just now; for those are qualities which are not at present considered virtues, but rather (save by the soldier) somewhat abject vices; and indeed they often carried them, as they did their abstinence, to an extravagant pitch. but it must be remembered, in fairness, that if they obeyed their supposed superiors, they had first chosen their superiors themselves; that as the becoming a monk at all was an assertion of self-will and independence, whether for good or evil, so their reverence for their abbots was a voluntary loyalty to one who they fancied had a right to rule them, because he was wiser and better than they; a feeling which some have found not degrading, but ennobling; and the parent, not of servility, " words of the elders. 139 • but of true freedom. and as for the obsolete virtue of humility, that still remains true which a voice said to antony, when he saw the snares which were spread over the whole earth, and asked, sighing, "who can pass safely over these?" and the voice answered, "humility alone." for the rest, if the sermon on the mount mean anything, as a practical rule of life for christian men, then these monks were surely justified in trying to obey it, for to obey it they surely tried. the words of the elders, to which i have already alluded, and the lausiaca of palladius likewise, are full of precious scraps of moral wisdom, sayings, and anecdotes, full of nobleness, purity, pathos, insight into character, and often instinct with a quiet humour, which seems to have been, in the old world, peculiar to the egyptians, as it is, in the new, almost peculiar to the old-fashioned god-fearing scotsman. take these examples, chosen almost at random. serapion the sindonite was so called because he wore nothing but a sindon, or linen shirt. though he could not read, he could say all the scriptures by heart. he could not (says palladius) sit quiet in his cell, but wandered over the world in utter poverty, so that he "attained to perfect impassibility, for with that nature he was born; for there are differences of natures, not of substances." so says palladius, and goes on to tell how serapion sold himself to certain play-actors for twenty gold pieces, and laboured for them as a slave till he had won them to christ, and made them renounce the theatre; 140 words of the elders. after which he made his converts give the money to the poor, and went his way. on one of his journeys he came to athens, and, having neither money nor goods, starved there for three days. but on the fourth he went up, seemingly to the areopagus, and cried, “ men of athens, help!" and when the crowd questioned him, he told them that he had, since he left egypt, fallen into the hands of three usurers, two of whom he had satisfied, but the third would not leave him. on being promised assistance, he told them that his three usurers were avarice, sensuality, and hunger. of the two first he was rid, having neither money nor passions: but, as he had eaten nothing for three days, the third was beginning to be troublesome, and demanded its usual debt, without paying which he could not well live; whereon certain philosophers, seemly amused by his apologue, gave him a gold coin. he went to a baker's shop, laid down the coin, took up a loaf, and went out of athens for ever. then the philosophers knew that he was endowed with true virtue; and when they had paid the baker the price of the loaf, got back their gold. when he went into lacedæmon, he heard that a great man there was a manichæan, with all his family, though otherwise a good man: to him serapion sold himself as a slave, and within two years converted him and his wife, who thenceforth treated him not as a slave, but as their own brother. after awhile, this "spiritual adamant," as palladius calls him, bought his freedom of them, and sailed for words of the elders. 141 rome. at sundown first the sailors, and then the passengers, brought out each man his provisions, and ate. serapion sat still. the crew fancied that he was sea-sick; but when he had passed a second, third, and fourth day fasting, they asked, "man, why do you not eat?" "because i have nothing to eat." they thought that some one had stolen his baggage: but when they found that the man had absolutely nothing, they began to ask him not only how he would keep alive, but how he would pay his fare. he only answered, "that he had nothing; that they might cast him out of the ship where they had found him." but they answered, "not for a hundred gold pieces, so favourable was the wind," and fed him all the way to rome, where we lose sight of him and his humour. to go on with almost chance quotations :some monks were eating at a festival, and one said to the serving man, "i eat nothing cooked; tell them to bring me salt." the serving man began to talk loudly: "that brother cats no cooked meat; bring him a little salt." quoth abbot theodore: "it were more better for thee, brother, to eat meat in thy cell than to hear thyself talked about in the presence of thy brethren." again a brother came to abbot silvanus, in mount sinai, and found the brethren working, and said, "why labour you for the meat which perisheth? mary chose the good part." the abbot said, "give him a book to read, and put him in an empty cell." about the ninth hour the brother looked out, to see if he would be called to eat, and at last came to the abbot, 142 words of the elders. and asked, "do not the brethren eat to-day, abbot?" "yes," "then why was not i called?" then quoth abbot silvanus: "thou art a spiritual man: and needest not their food. we are carnal, and must eat, because we work: but thou hast chosen the better part." whereat the monk was ashamed. as was also john the dwarf, who wanted to be "without care like the angels, doing nothing but praise god." so he threw away his cloak, left his brother the abbot, and went into the desert. but after seven days he came back, and knocked at the door. "who is there?" asked his brother. "john." "nay, john is turned into an angel, and is no more among men." so he left him outside all night; and in the morning gave him to understand that if he was a man he must work, but that if he was an angel, he had no need to live in a cell. consider again the saying of the great antony, when some brethren were praising another in his presence. but antony tried him, and found that he could not bear an injury. then said the old man, "brother, thou art like a house with an ornamented porch, while the thieves break into it by the back door." or this, of abbot isidore, when the devil tempted him to despair, and told him that he would be lost. after all: "if i do go into torment, i shall still find you below me there.” or this, of zeno the syrian, when some egyptian monks came to him and began accusing themselves : "the egyptians hide the virtues which they have, words of the elders. 143 and confess vices which they have not. the syrians and greeks boast of virtues which they have not, and hide vices which they have." or this one old man said to another, "i am dead to this world." "do not trust yourself," quoth the other, "till you are out of this world. if you are dead, the devil is not." two old men lived in the same cell, and had never disagreed. said one to the other, "let us have just one quarrel, like other men." quoth the other: “i do not know what a quarrel is like." quoth the first: "here i will put a brick between us, and say that it is mine and you shall say it is not mine; and over that let us have a contention and a squabble.” but when they put the brick between them, and one said, "it is mine," the other said, "i hope it is mine." and when the first said, "it is mine, it is not yours," he answered, "if it is yours, take it." so they could not find out how to have a quarrel. anger, malice, revenge, were accursed things in the eyes of these men. there was enough of them, and too much, among their monks; but far less, doubt not, than in the world outside. for within the monastery it was preached against, repressed, punished; and when repented of, forgiven, with loving warnings and wise rules against future transgression.. abbot agathon used to say, "i never went to sleep with a quarrel against any man; nor did i, as far as lay in me, let one who had a quarrel against me sleep till he had made peace." abbot isaac was asked why the devils feared him 144 words of the elders. so much. "since i was made a monk," he said, "i settled with myself that no angry word should come out of my mouth." an old man said, " anger arises from these four things from the lust of avarice, în giving and receiving; from loving one's own opinion; from wishing to be honoured; and from fancying oneself a teacher and hoping to be wiser than everybody. and anger obscures human reason by these four ways: if a man hate his neighbour; or if he envy him; or if he look on him as nought; or if he speak evil of him." a brother being injured by another, came to abbot sidonius, told his story, and said, "i wish to avenge myself, father." the abbot begged him to leave vengeance to god: but when he refused, said, "then let us pray." whereon the old man rose, and said, "god, thou art not necessary to us any longer, that thou shouldest be careful of us: for we, as this brother says, both will and can avenge ourselves." at which that brother fell at his feet, and begged pardon, promising never to strive with his enemy. abbot pomen said often, "let malice never overcome thee. if any man do thee harm, repay him with good, that thou mayest conquer evil with good." in a congregation at scetis, when many men's lives. and conversation had been talked over, abbot pior held his tongue. after it was over, he went out, and filled a sack with sand, and put it on his back. then he took a little bag, filled it likewise with sand, words of the elders., 145 and carried it before him. and when the brethren asked him what he meant, he said, "the sack behind is my own sins, which are very many: yet i have cast them behind my back, and will not see them, nor weep over them. but i have put these few sins of my brother's before my eyes, and am tormenting myself over them, and condemning my brother." a brother having committed a fault, went to antony, and his brethren followed, upbraiding him, and wanting to bring him back; while he denied having done the wrong. abbot paphnutius was there, and spoke a parable to them :"i saw on the river bank a man sunk in the mud up to his knees. and men came to pull him out, and thrust him in up to the neck." then said antony of paphnutius, "behold a man who can indeed save souls." abbot macarius was going up to the mountain of nitria, and sent his disciple on before. the disciple met an idol-priest hurrying on, and carrying a great beam: to whom he cried, "where art thou running, devil?" at which he was wroth, and beat him so that he left him half dead, and then ran on, and met macarius, who said, "salvation to thee, labourer, salvation!" he answered, wondering, "what good hast thou seen in me that thou salutest me?" "because i saw thee working and running, though ignorantly." to whom the priest said, "touched by thy salutation, i knew thee to be a great servant of god; for s. l. ii. l 146 words of the elders. another i know not who-miserable monk met me and insulted me, and i gave him blows for his words." then laying hold of macarius's feet he said, "unless thou make me a monk i will not leave hold of thee." after all, of the best of these men are told (with much honesty) many sayings which show that they felt in their minds and hearts that the spirit was above. the letter: sayings which show that they had at least at times glimpses of a simpler and more possible virtue; foretastes of a perfection more human, and it may be more divine. "better," said abbot hyperichius, "to eat flesh and drink wine, than to eat our brethren's flesh with bitter words." a brother asked an elder, "give me, father one thing which i may keep, and be saved thereby." the elder answered, "if thou canst be injured and insulted, and hear and be silent, that is a great thing, and above all the other commandments." one of the elders used to say, whatever a man shrinks from let him not do to another. dost thou shrink if any man detracts from thee? speak not ill of another. dost thou shrink if any man slanders thee, or if any man takes aught from thee? do not that or the like to another man. for he that shall have kept this saying, will find it suffice for his salvation." "the nearer," said abbot muthues, "a man approaches god, the more he will see himself to be a sinner." words of the elders. 147 abbot sisois, when he lay dying, begged to live a little longer, that he might repent; and when they wondered, he told them that he had not yet even begun repentance. whereby they saw that he was perfect in the fear of the lord. but the most startling confession of all must have been that wrung from the famous macarius the elder. he had been asked once by a brother, to tell him a rule by which he might be saved; and his answer had been this :—to fly from men, to sit in his cell, and to lament for his sins continually; and, what was above all virtues, to keep his tongue in order as well as his appetite. but (whether before or after that answer is not said) he gained a deeper insight into true virtue, on the day when (like antony when he was reproved by the example of the tanner in alexandria) he heard a voice telling him that he was inferior to two women who dwelt in the nearest town. catching up his staff, like antony, he went off to see the wonder. the women, when questioned by him as to their works, were astonished. they had been simply good wives for years past, married to two brothers, and living in the same house. but when pressed by him, they confessed that they had never said a foul word to each other, and never quarrelled. at one time they had agreed together to retire into a nunnery, but could not, for all their prayers, obtain the consent of their husbands. on which they had both made an oath, that they would never, to their deaths, speak one worldly word. l 2 148 words of the elders. which when the blessed macarius had heard, he said, "in truth there is neither virgin, nor married woman, nor monk, nor secular; but god only requires the intention, and ministers the spirit of life to all." arsenius. i shall give one more figure, and that a truly tragical one, from these "lives of the egyptian fathers," namely, that of the once great and famous arsenius, the father (as he was at one time called) of the emperors. theodosius, the great statesman and warrior, who for some twenty years kept up by his single hand the falling empire of rome, heard how arsenius was at once the most pious and the most learned of his subjects; and wishing-half barbarian as he was himself—that his sons should be brought up, not only as scholars, but as christians, he sent for arsenius to his court, and made him tutor to his two young sons honorius and arcadius. but the two lads had neither their father's strength nor their father's nobleness. weak and profligate, they fretted arsenius's soul day by day; and, at last, so goes the story, provoked him so far that, according to the fashion of a roman pedagogue, he took the ferula and administered to one of the princes a caning, which he no doubt deserved. the young prince, in revenge, plotted against his life. among the parasites of the palace it was not difficult to find those who would use 150 arsenius. steel and poison readily enough in the service of an heir-apparent, and arsenius fled for his life and fled, as men were wont in those days, to egypt and the thebaid. forty years old he was when he left the court, and forty years more he spent among the cells at scetis, weeping day and night. he migrated afterwards to a place called troe, and there died at the age of ninety-five, having wept himself, say his admirers, almost blind. he avoided, as far as possible, beholding the face of man; upon the face of woman he would never look. a noble lady, whom he had known probably in the world, came all the way from rome to see him; but he refused himself to her sternly, almost roughly. he had known too much of the fine ladies of the roman court; all he cared for was peace. there is a story of him that, changing once his dwelling-place, probably from scetis to troe, he asked, somewhat peevishly, of the monks around him, "what that noise was?" they told him it was only the wind among the reeds. "alas!" he said, "i have fled everywhere in search of silence, and yet here the very reeds speak." the simple and comparatively unlearned monks around him looked with a profound respect on the philosopher, courtier, scholar, who had cast away the real pomps and vanities of this life, such as they had never known. there is a story told, plainly concerning arsenius, though his name is not actually mentioned in it, how a certain old monk saw him lying upon a softer mat than his fellows, and indulged with a few more comforts; and complained indignantly of his luxury, and the abbot's arsenius. 151 "" favouritism. then asked the abbot, "what didst thou eat before thou becamest a monk?" he confessed he had been glad enough to fill his stomach with a few beans. "how wert thou dressed?" he was glad enough, again he confessed, to have any clothes at all on his back. "where didst thou sleep?" "often enough on the bare ground in the open air," was the answer. then," said the abbot, "thou art, by thy own confession, better off as a monk than thou wast as a poor labouring man: and yet thou grudgest a little comfort to one who has given up more luxury than thou hast ever beheld. this man slept beneath silken canopies; he was carried in gilded litters, by trains of slaves; he was clothed in purple and fine linen; he fed upon all the delicacies of the great city: and he has given up all for christ. and what hast thou given up, that thou shouldst grudge him a softer mat, or a little more food each day?" and so the monk was abashed, and held his peace. as for arsenius's tears, it is easy to call his grief exaggerated or superstitious: but those who look on them with human eyes will pardon them, and watch with sacred pity the grief of a good man, who felt that his life had been an utter failure. he saw his two pupils, between whom, at their father's death, the roman empire was divided into eastern and western, grow more and more incapable of governing. he saw a young barbarian, whom he must have often met at the court in byzantium, as master of the horse, come down from his native forests, and sack the eternal city of rome. he saw evil and woe 152 arsenius. unspeakable fall on that world which he had left behind him, till the earth was filled with blood, and antichrist seemed ready to appear, and the day of judgment to be at hand. and he had been called to do what he could to stave off this ruin, to make those young princes decree justice and rule in judgment by the fear of god. but he had failed; and there was nothing left to him save self-accusation and regret, and dread lest some, at least, of the blood which had been shed might be required at his hands. therefore, sitting upon his palm-mat there in troe, he wept his life away; happier, nevertheless, and more honourable in the sight of god and man than if, like a mazarin or a talleyrand, and many another crafty politician, both in church and state, he had hardened his heart against his own mistakes, and, by crafty intrigue and adroit changing of sides at the right moment, had contrived to secure for himself, out of the general ruin, honour and power and wealth, and delicate food, and a luxurious home, and so been one of those of whom the psalmist says, with awful irony, "so long as thou doest well unto thyself, men will speak good of thee." one good deed at least arsenius had seen done-a deed which has lasted to all time, and done, too, to the eternal honour of his order, by a monk—namely, the abolition of gladiator shows. for centuries these wholesale murders had lasted through the roman republic and through the roman empire. human beings in the prime of youth and health, captives or slaves, condemned malefactors, and even free-born arsenius. 153 f men, who hired themselves out to death, had been trained to destroy each other in the amphitheatre for the amusement, not merely of the roman mob, but of the roman ladies. thousands sometimes, in a single day, had been "butchered to make a roman holiday." the training of gladiators had become a science. by their weapons and their armour, and their modes of fighting, they had been distinguished into regular classes, of which the antiquaries count up full eighteen : andabatæ, who wore helmets without any opening for the eyes, so that they were obliged to fight blindfold, and thus excited the mirth of the spectators; hoplomachi, who fought in a complete suit of armour; mirmillones, who had the image of a fish upon their helmets, and fought in armour with a short sword, matched usually against the retiarii, who fought without armour, and whose weapons were a casting-net and a trident. these, and other species of fighters, were drilled and fed in "families" by lanistæ, or regular trainers, who let them out to persons wishing to exhibit a show. women, even high-born ladies, had been seized in former times with the madness of fighting, and, as shameless as cruel, had gone down into the arena to delight with their own wounds and their own gore the eyes of the roman people. and these things were done, and done too often, under the auspices of the gods, and at their most sacred festivals. so deliberate and organized a system of wholesale butchery has never perhaps existed on this earth before or since, not even in the 154 arsenius. worship of those mexican gods whose idols cortez and his soldiers found fed with human hearts, and the walls of their temples crusted with human gore. gradually the spirit of the gospel had been triumphing over this abomination. ever since the time of tertullian, in the second century, christian preachers and writers had lifted up their voice in the name of humanity. towards the end of the third century, the emperors themselves had so far yielded to the voice of reason, as to forbid by edicts the gladiatorial fights. but the public opinion of the mob in most of the great cities had been too strong both for saints and for emperors. st. augustine himself tells us of the horrible joy which he, in his youth, had seen come over the vast ring of flushed faces at these horrid sights; and in arsenius's own time, his miserable pupil, the weak honorius, bethought himself of celebrating once more the heathen festival of the secular games, and formally to allow therein an exhibition of gladiators. but in the midst of that show sprang down into the arena of the colosseum of rome an unknown monk, some said from nitria, some from phrygia, and with his own hands parted the combatants in the name of christ and god. the mob, baulked for a moment of their pleasure, sprang on him, and stoned him to death. but the crime was followed by a sudden revulsion of feeling. by an edict of the emperor the gladiatorial sports were forbidden for ever; and the colosseum, thenceforth useless, crumbled slowly away into that vast ruin which remains unto this day, purified, as men well said, from the blood of tens of thousands, by the blood of one true and noble martyr. the hermits of asia. the impulse which, given by antony, had been propagated in asia by his great pupil, hilarion, spread rapidly far and wide. hermits took possession of the highest peaks of sinai; and driven from thence, so tradition tells, by fear of those mysterious noises which still haunt its cliffs, settled at that sheltered spot where now stands the convent of st. catharine. massacred again and again by the wild arab tribes, their places were filled up by fresh hermits, and their spiritual descendants hold the convent to this day. through the rich and luxuriant region of syria, and especially round the richest and most luxurious of its cities, antioch, hermits settled, and bore, by the severity of their lives, a noble witness against the profligacy of its inhabitants, who had half renounced the paganism of their forefathers without renouncing in the least, it seems, those sins which drew down of old the vengeance of a righteous god upon their forefathers, whether in canaan or in syria itself. at antioch, about the year 347, was born the famous chrysostom, john of the golden mouth; and near antioch he became a hermit, and dwelt, so 156 the hermits of asia. legends say, several years alone in the wilderness: till, nerved by that hard training, he went forth again into the world to become, whether at antioch or at constantinople, the bravest as well as the most eloquent preacher of righteousness and rebuker of sin which the world had seen since the times of st. paul. the labours of chrysostom belong not so much to this book as to a general ecclesiastical history: but it must not be forgotten that he, like all the great men of that age, had been a monk, and kept up his monastic severity, even in the midst of the world, until his dying day. at nisibis, again, upon the very frontier of persia, appeared another very remarkable personage, known as the great jacob or great st. james. taking (says his admiring biographer, theodoret of cyra) to the peaks of the loftiest mountains, he passed his life on them, in spring and summer haunting the woods, with the sky for a roof, but sheltering himself in winter in a cave. his food was wild fruits and mountain herbs. he never used a fire, and, clothed in a goats' hair garment, was perhaps the first of those boscoi, or "browsing hermits," who lived literally like the wild animals in the flesh, while they tried to live like angels in the spirit. some of the stories told of jacob savour of that vindictiveness which giraldus cambrensis, in after years, attributed to the saints in ireland. he was walking one day over the persian frontier, "to visit the plants of true religion" and "bestow on them due care," when he passed at a fountain a troop of the hermits of asia. 157 damsels washing clothes and treading them with their feet. they seem, according to the story, to have stared at the wild man, instead of veiling their faces or letting down their garments. no act or word of rudeness is reported of them: but jacob's modesty or pride was so much scandalized that he cursed both. the fountain and the girls. the fountain of course dried up forthwith, and the damsels' hair turned grey. they ran weeping into the town. the townsfolk came out, and compelled jacob, by their prayers, to restore the water to their fountain; but the grey hair he refused to restore to its original hue unless the damsels would come and beg pardon publicly themselves. the poor girls were ashamed to come, and their hair remained grey ever after. a story like this may raise a smile in some of my readers, in others something like indignation or contempt. but as long as such legends remain in these hermit lives, told with as much gravity as any other portion of the biography, and eloquently lauded, as this deed is, by bishop theodoret, as proofs of the holiness and humanity of the saint, an honest author is bound to notice some of them at least, and not to give an alluring and really dishonest account of these men and their times, by detailing every anecdote which can elevate them in the mind of the reader, while he carefully omits all that may justly disgust him. yet, after all, we are not bound to believe this legend, any more than we are bound to believe that when jacob saw a persian judge give an unjust sentence, he forthwith cursed, not him, but a rock close 158 the hermits of asia. by, which instantly crumbled into innumerable fragments, so terrifying that judge that he at once revoked his sentence, and gave a just decision. neither, again, need we believe that it was by sending, as men said in his own days, swarms of mosquitos against the persian invaders, that he put to flight their elephants and horses: and yet it may be true that, in the famous siege of nisibis, jacob played the patriot and the valiant man. for when sapor, the persian king, came against nisibis with all his forces, with troops of elephants, and huge machines of war, and towers full of archers wheeled up to the walls, and at last, damming the river itself, turned its current against the fortifications of unburnt brick, until a vast breach was opened in the walls, then jacob, standing in the breach, encouraged by his prayers his fellowtownsmen to stop it with stone, brick, timber, and whatsoever came to hand; and sapor, the persian sultan, saw "that divine man," and his goats'-hair tunic and cloak seemed transformed into a purple robe and royal diadem. and, whether he was seized with superstitious fear, or whether the hot sun or the marshy ground had infected his troops with disease, or whether the mosquito swarms actually became intolerable, the great king of persia turned and went away. so nisibis was saved for a while; to be shamefully surrendered to the persians a few years afterwards by the weak young emperor jovian. old ammianus marcellinus, brave soldier as he was, saw with disgust the whole body of citizens ordered to quit the city the hermits of asia. 159 within three days, and "men appointed to compel obedience to the order, with threats of death to every one who delayed his departure; and the whole city was a scene of mourning and lamentation, and in every quarter nothing was heard but one universal wail, matrons tearing their hair, and about to be driven from the homes in which they had been born and brought up; the mother who had lost her children, or the wife who had lost her husband, about to be torn from the place rendered sacred by their shades, clinging to their doorposts, embracing their thresholds, and pouring forth floods of tears. every road was crowded, each person struggling away as he could. many, too, loaded themselves with as much of their property as they thought they could carry, while leaving behind them abundant and costly furniture, which they could not remove for want of beasts of burden." * one treasure, however, they did remove, of which the old soldier ammianus says nothing, and which, had he seen it pass him on the road, he would have treated with supreme contempt. and that, says theodoret, was the holy body of "their prince and defender," st. james the mountain hermit, round which the emigrants chanted, says theodoret, hymns of regret and praise, "for, had he been alive, that city would have never passed into barbarian hands." there stood with jacob in the breach, during that siege of nisibis, a man of gentler temperament, a disciple of his, who had received baptism at his hands, ammianus marcellinus, book xxv. cap. 9. * 160 the hermits of asia. and who was, like himself, a hermit-ephraim, or ephrem, of edessa, as he is commonly called, for, though born at nisibis, his usual home was at edessa, the metropolis of a syrian-speaking race. into the syrian tongue ephrem translated the doctrines of the christian faith and the gospel history, and spread abroad, among the heathen round, a number of delicate and graceful hymns, which remain to this day, and of which some have lately been translated into english.* soft, sad, and dreamy as they were, they had strength and beauty enough in them to supersede the gnostic hymns of bardesanes and his son harmonius, which had been long popular among the syrians; and for centuries afterwards, till christianity was swept away by the followers of mahomet, the syrian husbandman beguiled his toil with the pious and plaintive melodies of st. ephrem. but ephrem was not only a hermit and a poet: he was a preacher and a missionary. if he wept, as it was said, day and night for his own sins and the sins of mankind, he did his best at least to cure those sins. he was a demagogue, or leader of the people, for good and not for evil, to whom the simple syrians looked up for many a year as their spiritual father. he died in peace, as he said himself, like the labourer who has finished his day's work, like the wandering merchant who returns to his fatherland, leaving nothing behind him save prayers and counsels, for "ephrem," he added, “had neither wallet nor pilgrim's staff.” "his last utterance" (i owe this fact to m. de mon* by dr. burgess. the hermits of asia. 161 talembert's book, "moines d'occident") "was a protest on behalf of the dignity of man redeemed by the son of god." "the young and pious daughter of the governor of edessa came weeping to receive his latest breath. he made her swear never again to be carried in a litter by slaves. 'the neck of man,' he said, 'should bear no yoke save that of christ.'" this anecdote is one among many which go to prove that from the time that st. paul had declared the great truth that in christ jesus was neither bond nor free, and had proclaimed the spiritual brotherhood of all men in christ, slavery, as an institution, was doomed to slow but certain death. but that death was accelerated by the monastic movement, wherever it took root. a class of men who came not to be ministered unto, but to minister to others; who prided themselves upon needing fewer luxuries than the meanest slaves; who took rank among each other and among men not on the ground of race, nor of official position, nor of wealth, nor even of intellect, but simply on the ground of virtue, was a perpetual protest against slavery and tyranny of every kind; a perpetual witness to the world that, whether all men were equal or not in the sight of god, the only rank among them of which god would take note, would be their rank in goodness. s. l. ii. m basil. on the south shore of the black sea eastward of sinope, there dwelt in those days, at the mouth of the river iris, a hermit as gentle and as pure as ephrem of edessa. beside a roaring waterfall, amid deep glens and dark forests, with distant glimpses of the stormy sea beyond, there lived on bread and water a graceful gentleman, young and handsome; a scholar too, who had drunk deeply at the fountains of pagan philosophy and poetry, and had been educated with care at constantinople and at athens, as well as at his native city of cæsarea, in the heart of asia minor, now dwindled under turkish misrule into a wretched village. he was heir to great estates; the glens and forests round him were his own: and that was the use which he made of them. on the other side of the torrent, his mother and his sister, a maiden of wonderful beauty, lived the hermit life, on a footing of perfect equality with their female slaves, and the pious women who had joined them. basil's austerities-or rather the severe climate of the black sea forests-brought him to an early grave. but his short life was spent well enough. he was a basil. 163 poet, with an eye for the beauty of nature—especially for the beauty of the sea-most rare in those times; and his works are full of descriptions of scenery as healthy-minded as they are vivid and graceful. "it in his travels through egypt, palestine, and syria, he had seen the hermits, and longed to emulate them; but (to do him justice) his ideal of the so-called "religious life" was more practical than those of the solitaries of egypt, who had been his teachers. was the life" (says dean milman*) "of the industrious religious community, not of the indolent and solitary anchorite, which to basil was the perfection of christianity. . . . the indiscriminate charity of these institutions was to receive orphans" (of which there were but too many in those evil days) "of all classes, for education and maintenance: but other children only with the consent or at the request of parents, certified before witnesses; and vows were by no means to be enforced upon these youthful pupils. slaves who fled to the monasteries were to be admonished and sent back to their owners. there is one reservation" (and that one only too necessary then), "that slaves were not bound to obey their master, if he should order what is contrary to the law of god. industry was to be the animating principle of these settlements. prayer and psalmody were to have their stated hours, but by no means to intrude on those devoted to useful labour. these labours were strictly defined; such as were of real use to the community, not those which might contribute to vice or * history of christianity, vol. iii. p. 109. m 2 164 basil. luxury. agriculture was especially recommended. the life was in no respect to be absorbed in a perpetual mystic communion with the deity." the ideal which basil set before him was never fulfilled in the east. transported to the west by st. benedict, "the father of all monks," it became that conventual system which did so much during the early middle age, not only for the conversion and civilization, but for the arts and the agriculture of europe. basil, like his bosom friend, gregory of nazianzen, had to go forth from his hermitage into the world, and be a bishop, and fight the battles of the true faith. but, as with gregory, his hermit-training had strengthened his soul, while it weakened his body. the emperor valens, supporting the arians against the orthodox, sent to basil his prefect of the prætorium, an officer of the highest rank. the prefect argued, threatened; basil was firm. "i never met," said he at last, "such boldness." "you never met a bishop." the prefect returned to his emperor. "my lord, we 'my lord, we are conquered; this bishop is above threats. we can do nothing but by force." the emperor shrank from that crime, and basil and the orthodoxy of his diocese were saved. the rest of his life and of gregory's belongs, like that of chrysostom, to general history, and we need pursue it no further here. "6 because," said basil, i said that basil's idea of what monks should be was never carried out in the east, and it cannot be denied that, as the years went on, the hermit life took a form less and less practical, and more and more basil. 165 their repulsive also. such men as antony, hilarion, basil, had valued the ascetic training, not so much because it had, as they thought, a merit in itself, but because it enabled the spirit to rise above the flesh; because it gave them strength to conquer their passions and appetites, and leave their soul free to think and act. but their disciples, especially in syria, seem to have attributed more and more merit to the mere act of inflicting want and suffering on themselves. souls were darkened, besides, more and more, by a doctrine unknown to the bible, unknown to the early christians, and one which does not seem to have had any strong hold of the mind of antony himselfnamely, that sins committed after baptism could only be washed away by tears, and expiated by penance; that for them the merits of him who died for the sins of the whole world were of little or of no avail. therefore, in perpetual fear of punishment hereafter, they set their whole minds to punish themselves on earth, always tortured by the dread that they were not punishing themselves enough, till they crushed down alike body, mind, and soul into an abject superstition, the details of which are too repulsive to be written here. some of the instances of this selfinvented misery which are recorded, even as early as the time of theodoret, bishop of cyra, in the middle of the fifth century, make us wonder at the puzzling inconsistencies of the human mind. did these poor creatures really believe that god could be propitiated by the torture of his own creatures? what sense could theodoret (who was a good man himself) have 166 cyra and marana. put upon the words, "god is good," or "god is love," while he was looking with satisfaction, even with admiration and awe, on practices which were more fit for worshippers of moloch? those who think these words too strong, may judge for themselves how far they apply to his story of marana and cyra. marana, then, and cyra were two young ladies of berhoea, who had given up all the pleasures of life to settle themselves in a roofless cottage outside the town. they had stopped up the door with stones and clay, and allowed it only to be opened at the feast of pentecost. around them lived certain female slaves who had voluntarily chosen the same life, and who were taught and exhorted through a little window by their mistresses; or rather, it would seem, by marana alone: for cyra (who was bent double by her "training") was never to speak. theodoret, as a priest, was allowed to enter the sacred enclosure, and found them shrouded from head to foot in long veils, so that neither their faces or hands could be seen; and underneath their veils, burdened on every limb, poor wretches, with such a load of iron chains and rings that a strong man, he says, could not have stood under the weight. thus had they endured for two-and-forty years, exposed to sun and wind, to frost and rain, taking no food at times for many days. together. i have no mind to finish the picture, and still less to record any of the phrases of rapturous admiration with which bishop theodoret comments upon their pitiable superstition. simeon stylites. of all such anchorites of the far east, the most remarkable, perhaps, was the once famous simeon stylites a name almost forgotten, save by antiquaries and ecclesiastics, till mr. tennyson made it once more notorious in a poem as admirable for its savage grandness, as for its deep knowledge of human nature. he has comprehended thoroughly, as it seems to me, that struggle between self-abasement and self-conceit, between the exaggerated sense of sinfulness and the exaggerated ambition of saintly honour, which must have gone on in the minds of these ascetics-the temper which could cry out one moment with perfect honesty66 'although i be the basest of mankind, from scalp to sole one slough and crust of sin; " and at the next"i will not cease to grasp the hope i hold of saintdom; and to clamour, mourn, and sob, battering the gates of heaven with storms of prayer. have mercy, lord, and take away my sin. let this avail, just, dreadful, mighty god, this not be all in vain, that thrice ten years thrice multiplied by superhuman pangs, * * 168 simeon stylites. a sign between the meadow and the cloud, patient on this tall pillar i have borne rain, wind, frost, heat, hail, damp, and sleet, and snow; and i had hoped that ere this period closed thou wouldst have caught me up into thy rest, denying not these weather-beaten limbs the meed of saints, the white robe and the palm. o take the meaning, lord: i do not breathe, not whisper any murmur of complaint. pain heaped ten hundred-fold to this, were still less burthen, by ten-hundred-fold, to bear than were those lead-like tons of sin, that crush'd my spirit flat before thee." admirably also has mr. tennyson conceived the hermit's secret doubt of the truth of those miracles, which he is so often told that he has worked, that he at last begins to believe that he must have worked them; and the longing, at the same time, to justify himself to himself, by persuading himself that he has earned miraculous powers. on this whole question of hermit miracles i shall speak at length hereafter. i have given specimens enough of them already, and shall give as few as possible henceforth. there is a sameness about them which may become wearisome to those who cannot be expected to believe them. but what the hermits themselves thought of them, is told (at least, so i suspect) only too truly by mr. tennyson"o lord, thou knowest what a man i am; a sinful man, conceived and born in sin : 'tis their own doing; this is none of mine; lay it not to me. am i to blame for this, that here come those who worship me? ha! ha! the silly people take me for a saint, simeon stylites. 169 and bring me offerings of fruit and flowers: and i, in truth (thou wilt bear witness here), have all in all endured as much, and more than many just and holy men, whose names are register'd and calendar'd for saints. good people, you do ill to kneel to me. what is it i can have done to merit this? it may be i have wrought some miracles, and cured some halt and maimed: but what of that? it may be, no one, even among the saints, can match his pains with mine: but what of that? yet do not rise; for you may look on me, and in your looking you may kneel to god. speak, is there any of you halt and maimed? i think you know i have some power with heaven from my long penance; let him speak his wish. yes, i can heal him. power goes forth from me. they say that they are heal'd. ah, hark! they shout, 'st. simeon stylites!' why, if so, god reaps a harvest in me. god reaps a harvest in thee. o my soul, if this be, can i work miracles, and not be saved? this is not told of any. they were saints. it cannot be but that i shall be saved; yea, crowned a saint." i shall not take the liberty of quoting more: but shall advise all who read these pages to study seriously mr. tennyson's poem if they wish to understand that darker side of the hermit life which became at last, in the east, the only side of it. for in the east the hermits seem to have degenerated, by the time of the mahomedan conquest, into mere self-torturing fakeers, like those who may be seen to this day in hindostan. the salt lost its savour, and in due time it was trampled under foot; and the armies of the moslem swept out of the east a superstition 170 simeon stylites. which had ended by enervating instead of ennobling humanity. but in justice, not only to myself, but to mr. tennyson (whose details of simeon's asceticism may seem to some exaggerated and impossible), i have thought fit to give his life at length, omitting only many of his miracles, and certain stories of his penances, which can only excite horror and disgust, without edifying the reader. there were, then, three hermits of this name, often confounded; and all alike famous (as were julian, daniel, and other stylites) for standing for many years on pillars. one of the simeons is said by moschus to have been struck by lightning, and his death to have been miraculously revealed to julian the stylite, who lived twenty-four miles off. more than one stylite, belonging to the monophysite heresy of severus acephalus, was to be found, according to moschus, in the east at the beginning of the seventh century. this biography is that of the elder simeon, who died (according to cedrenus) about 460, after passing some forty or fifty years upon pillars of different heights. there is much discrepancy in the accounts, both of his date and of his age; but that such a person really existed, and had his imitators, there can be no doubt. he is honoured as a saint alike by the latin and by the greek churches. his life has been written by a disciple of his named antony, who professes to have been with him when he died; and also by theodoret, who knew him well simeon stylites. 171 in life. both are to be found in rosweyde, and there seems no reason to doubt their authenticity. i have therefore interwoven them both, marking the paragraphs taken from each. theodoret, who says that he was born in the village of gesa, between antioch and cilicia, calls him that "famous simeon-that great miracle of the whole world, whom all who obey the roman rule know; whom the persians also know, and the indians, and æthiopians; nay, his fame has even spread to the wandering scythians, and taught them his love of toil and love of wisdom;" and says that he might be compared with jacob the patriarch, joseph the temperate, moses the legislator, david the king and prophet, micaiah the prophet, and the divine men who were like them. he tells how simeon, as a boy, kept his father's sheep, and, being forced by heavy snow to leave them in the fold, went with his parents to the church, and there heard the gospel which blesses those who mourn and weep, and calls those miserable who laugh, and those enviable who have a pure heart. and when he asked a bystander what he would gain who did each of these things, the man propounded to him the solitary life, and pointed out to him the highest philosophy. this, theodoret says, he heard from the saints own tongue. his disciple antony gives the story of his conversion somewhat differently. st. simeon (says antony) was chosen by god from his birth, and used to study how to obey and 172 simeon stylites. please him. now his father's name was susocion, and he was brought up by his parents. when he was thirteen years old, he was feeding his father's sheep; and seeing a church he left the sheep and went in, and heard an epistle being read. and when he asked an elder, "master, what is that which is read?" the old man replied, "for the substance (or very being) of the soul, that a man may learn to fear god with his whole heart, and his whole mind." quoth the blessed simeon, "what is to fear god?" quoth the elder, "wherefore troublest thou me, my son?" quoth he, "i inquire of thee, as of god. for i wish to learn what i hear from thee, because i am ignorant and a fool." the elder answered, "if any man shall have fasted continually, and offered prayers every moment, and shall have humbled himself to every man, and shall not have loved gold, nor parents, nor garments, nor possessions, and if he honours his father and mother, and follows the priests of god, he shall inherit the eternal kingdom: but he who, on the contrary, does not keep those things, he shall inherit the outer darkness which god hath prepared for the devil and his angels. all these things, my son, are heaped together in a monastery." hearing this, the blessed simeon fell at his feet, saying, "thou art my father and my mother, and my teacher of good works, and guide to the kingdom of heaven. for thou hast gained my soul, which was already being sunk in perdition. may the lord repay. thee again for it. for these are the things which edify. i will now go into a monastery, where god simeon stylites. 173 shall choose; and let his will be done on me." the elder said, "my son, before thou enterest, hear me. thou shalt have tribulation; for thou must watch and serve in nakedness, and sustain ills without ceasing; and again thou shalt be comforted, thou vessel precious to god." and forthwith the blessed simeon, going out of the church, went to the monastery of the holy timotheus, a wonder-working man; and falling down before the gate of the monastery, he lay five days, neither eating nor drinking. and on the fifth day, the abbot, coming out, asked him, "whence art thou, my son? and what parents hast thou, that thou art sc afflicted? or what is thy name, lest perchance thou hast done some wrong? or perchance thou art a slave, and fleest from thy master?" then the blessed simeon said with tears, "by no means, master; but i long to be a servant of god, if he so will, because i wish to save my lost soul. bid me, therefore, enter the monastery, and leave all; and send me away no more." then the abbot, taking his hand, introduced him into the monastery, saying to the brethren, "my sons, behold i deliver you this brother; teach him the canons of the monastery." now he was in the monastery about four months, serving all without complaint, in which he learnt the whole psalter by heart, receiving every day divine food. but the food which he took with his brethren he gave away secretly to the poor, not caring for the morrow. so the brethren ate at even: but he only on the seventh day 174 simeon stylites. 4 but one day, having gone to the well to draw water, he took the rope from the bucket with which the brethren drew water, and wound it round his body from his loins to his neck: and going in, said to the brethren, "i went out to draw water, and found no rope on the bucket." and they said, “hold thy peace, brother, lest the abbot know it; till the thing has passed over." but his body was wounded by the tightness and roughness of the rope, because it cut him to the bone, and sank into his flesh till it was hardly seen. but one day, some of the brethren going out, found him giving his food to the poor; and when they returned, said to the abbot, "whence hast thou brought us that man? we cannot abstain like him, for he fasts from lord's day to lord's day, and gives away his food." . . . . then the abbot, going out, found as was told him, and said, “son, what is it which the brethren tell of thee? is it not enough for thee to fast as we do? hast thou not heard the gospel, saying of teachers, that the disciple is not above his master?" . . . . the blessed simeon stood and answered nought. and the abbot, being angry, bade strip him, and found the rope round him, so that only its outside appeared; and cried with a loud voice, saying, "whence has this man come to us, wanting to destroy the rule of the monastery? i pray thee depart hence, and go whither thou willest." and with great trouble they took off the rope, and his flesh with it, and taking care of him, healed him. but after he was healed he went out of the monastery, no man knowing of it, and entered a deserted simeon stylites. 175 tank, in which was no water, where unclean spirits dwelt. and that very night it was revealed to the abbot, that a multitude of people surrounded the monastery with clubs and swords, saying, "give us simeon the servant of god, timotheus; else we will burn thee with thy monastery, because thou hast angered a just man.” and when he woke, he told the brethren the vision, and how he was much disturbed thereby. and another night he saw a multitude of strong men standing and saying, "give us simeon the servant of god; for he is beloved by god and the angels: why hast thou vexed him? he is greater than thou before god; for all the angels are sorry on his behalf. and god is minded to set him on high in the world, that by him many signs may be done, such as no man has done." then the abbot, rising, said with great fear to the brethren, "seek me that man, and bring him hither, lest perchance we all die on his account. he is truly a saint of god, for i have heard and seen great wonders of him." then all the monks went out and searched, but in vain, and told the abbot how they had sought him everywhere, save in the deserted tank. . . . then the abbot went, with five brethren, to the tank. and making a prayer, he went down into it with the brethren. and the blessed simeon, seeing him, began to entreat, saying, "i beg you, servants of god, let me alone one hour, that i may render up my spirit; for yet a little, and it will fail. but my soul is very weary, because i have angered the lord." but the abbot said to him, "come, servant of god, that we 175 simeon stylites. may take thee to the monastery; for 1 know concerning thee that thou art a servant of god." but when he would not, they brought him by force to the monastery. and all fell at his feet, weeping, and saying, "we have sinned against thee, servant of god; forgive us." but the blessed simeon groaned, saying, "wherefore do ye burden an unhappy man and a sinner? you are the servants of god, and my fathers." and he stayed there about one year. after this (says theodoret) he came to the telanassus, under the peak of the mountain on which he lived till his death; and having found there a little house, he remained in it shut up for three years. but eager always to increase the riches of virtue, he longed, in imitation of the divine moses and elias, to fast forty days; and tried to persuade bassus, who was then set over the priests in the villages, to leave nothing within by him, but to close up the door with clay. he spoke to him of the difficulty, and warned. him not to think that a violent death was a virtue. "put by me then, father," he said, "ten loaves, and a cruse of water, and if i find my body need sustenance, i will partake of them." at the end of the days, that wonderful man of god, bassus, removed the clay, and going in, found the food and water untouched, and simeon lying unable to speak or move. getting a sponge, he moistened and opened his lips and then gave him the symbols of the divine mysteries; and, strengthened by them, he arose, and took some food, simeon stylites. 177 chewing little by little lettuces and succory, and such like. from that time, for twenty-eight years (says theodoret), he had remained fasting continually for forty days at a time. but custom had made it more easy to him. for on the first days he used to stand and praise god; after that, when through emptiness he could stand no longer, he used to sit and perform the divine office; and on the last day, even lie down. for when his strength failed slowly, he was forced to lie half dead. but after he stood on the column he could not bear to lie down, but invented another way by which he could stand. he fastened a beam to the column, and tied himself to it by ropes, and so passed the forty days. but afterwards, when he had received greater grace from on high, he did not want even that help but stood for the forty days, taking no food, but strengthened by alacrity of soul and divine grace. when he had passed three years in that little house, he took possession of the peak which has since been so famous; and when he had commanded a wall to be made round him, and procured an iron chain, twenty cubits long, he fastened one end of it to a great stone, and the other to his right foot, so that he could not, if he wished, leave those bounds. there he lived, continually picturing heaven to himself, and forcing himself to contemplate things which are above the heavens; for the iron bond did not check the flight of his thoughts. but when the wonderful meletius, to whom the care of the episcopate of s.l. ii. n 178 simeon stylites. antioch was then commended (a man of sense and prudence, and adorned with shrewdness of intellect), told him that the iron was superfluous, since the will is able enough to impose on the body the chains of reason, he gave way, and obeyed his persuasion. and having sent for a smith, he bade him strike off the chain. [here follow some painful details unnecessary to be translated.] when, therefore, his fame was flying far and wide. everywhere, all ran together, not only the neighbours, but those who were many days' journey off, some bringing the palsied, some begging health for the sick, some that they might become fathers, and all wishing to receive from him what they had not received from nature; and when they had received, and gained their request, they went back joyful, proclaiming the benefits they had obtained, and sending many more to beg the same. so, as all are coming up from every quarter, and the road is like a river, one may see gathered in that place an ocean of men, which receives streams from every side; not only of those who live in our region, but ishmaelites, and persians, and the armenians who are subject to them, and iberi, and homerites, and those who dwell beyond them. many have come also from the extreme west, spaniards, and britons, and gauls who live between the two. of italy it is superfluous to speak; for they say that at rome the man has become so celebrated that they have put little images of him in all the porches of the shops, simeon stylites. 179 providing thereby for themselves a sort of safeguard and security. when, therefore, they came innumerable (for all tried to touch him, and receive some blessing from those skin garments of his), thinking it in the first place absurd and unfit that such exceeding honour should be paid him, and next, disliking the labour of the business, devised that station on the pillar, bidding one be built, first of six cubits, then of twelve, next of twenty-two, and now of thirty-six. for he longs to fly up to heaven, and be freed from this earthly conversation. but i believe that this station was made not without divine counsel. wherefore i exhort fault-finders to bridle their tongue, and not let it rashly loose, but rather consider that the lord has often devised such things, that he might profit those who were too slothful. in proof of which, theodoret quotes the examples of isaiah, hosea, and ezekiel; and then goes on to say how god in like manner ordained this new and admirable spectacle, by the novelty of it drawing all to look, and exhibiting to those who came, a lesson which they could trust. for the novelty of the spectacle (he says) is a worthy warrant for the teaching; and he who came to see goes away instructed in divine things. and as those whose lot it is to rule over men, after a certain period of time, change the impressions on their coins, sometimes stamping them with images of lions, sometimes of n 2 180 simeon stylites. stars, sometimes of angels, and trying, by a new mark, to make the gold more precious; so the king of all, adding to piety and true religion these new and manifold modes of living, as certain stamps on coin, excites to praise the tongues not only of the children of faith, but of those who are diseased with unbelief. and that so it is, not only words bear witness, but facts proclaim aloud. for many myriads of ishmaelites, who were enslaved in the darkness of impiety, have been illuminated by that station on the column. for this most shining lamp, set as it were upon a candlestick, sent forth all round its rays, like of the sun: and one may see (as i said) iberi coming, and persians, and armenians, and accepting divine baptism. but the ishmaelites, coming by tribes, 200 and 300 at a time, and sometimes even 1,000, deny, with shouts, the error of their fathers; and breaking in pieces, before that great illuminator, the images which they had worshipped, and renouncing the orgies of venus (for they had received from ancient times the worship of that dæmon), they receive the divine sacraments, and take laws from that holy tongue, bidding farewell to their ancestral rites, and renouncing the eating of wild asses and camels. and this i have seen with my own eyes, and have heard them renouncing the impiety of their fathers, and assenting to the evangelic doctrine. but once i was in the greatest danger: for he himself told them to go to me, and receive priestly benediction, saying that they would thence obtain great advantage. but they, having run together in simeon stylites. 181 somewhat too barbarous fashion, some dragged me before, some behind, some sideways; and those who were further off, scrambling over the others, and stretching out their hands, plucked my beard, or seized my clothes; and i should have been stifled by their too warm onset, had not he, shouting out, dispersed them all. such usefulness has that column, which is mocked at by scornful men, poured forth; and so great a ray of the knowledge of god has it sent forth into the minds of barbarians. i know also of his having done another thing of this kind: one tribe was beseeching the divine man, that he would send forth some prayer and blessing for their chief: but another tribe which was present retorted that he ought not to bless that chief, but theirs; for the one was a most unjust man, but the other averse to injustice. and when there had been a great contention and barbaric wrangling between them, they attacked each other. but i, using many words, kept exhorting them to be quiet, seeing that the divine man was able enough to give a blessing to both. but the one tribe kept saying, that the first chief ought not to have it; and the other tribe trying to deprive the second chief of it. then he, by threatening them from above, and calling them dogs, hardly stilled the quarrel. this i have told, wishing to show their great faith. for they would not have thus gone mad against each other, had they not believed that the divine man's blessing possesses some very great power. i saw another miracle, which was verv celebrated. 182 simeon stylites. one coming up (he, too, was a chief of a saracen tribe) besought the divine personage that he would help a man whose limbs had given way in paralysis on the road; and he said the misfortune had fallen on him in callinicus, which is a very large camp. when he was brought into the midst, the saint bade him. renounce the impiety of his forefathers; and when he willingly obeyed, he asked him if he believed in the father, the only-begotten son, and the holy spirit. and when he confessed that he believed-" believing," said he, "in their names, arise." and when the man had risen, he bade him carry away his chief (who was a very large man) on his shoulders to his tent. he took him up, and went away forthwith; while those who were present raised their voices in praise of god. this he commanded, imitating the lord, who bade the paralytic carry his bed. let no man call this imitation tyranny. for his saying is, "he who believeth in me, the works which i do, he shall do also, and more than these shall he do." and, indeed, we have seen the fulfilment of this promise. for though the shadow of the lord never worked a miracle, the shadow of the great peter both loosed death, and drove out diseases, and put dæmons to flight. but the lord it was who did also these miracles by his servants; and now likewise, using his name, the divine simeon works his innumerable wonders. it befell also that another wonder was worked, by no means inferior to the last. for among those who had believed in the saving name of the lord christ, an ishmaelite, of no humble rank, had made a vow to simeon stylites. 183 god, with simeon as witness. now his promise was this, that he would henceforth to the end abstain from animal food. transgressing this promise once, i know not how, he slew a bird, and dared to eat it. but god being minded to bring him by reproof to conversion, and to honour his servant, who was a witness to the broken vow, the flesh of the bird was changed into the nature of a stone, so that, even if he wished, he could not thenceforth eat it. for how could he, when the body meant for food had turned to stone? the barbarian, stupified by this unexpected sight, came with great haste to the holy man, bringing to the light the sin which he had hidden, and proclaimed his transgression to all, begging pardon from god, and invoking the help of the saint, that by his all-powerful prayers he might loose him from the bonds of his sin. now many saw that miracle, and felt that the part of the bird about the breast consisted of bone. and stone. but i was not only an ear-witness of his wonders, but also an ear-witness of his prophecies concerning futurity. for that drought which came, and the great dearth of that year, and the famine and pestilence which followed together, he foretold two years before, saying that he saw a rod which was laid on man, stripes which would be inflicted by it. moreover, he at another time foretold an invasion of locusts, and that it would bring no great harm, because the divine clemency soon follows punishment. but when thirty days were past, an innumerable multitude of them hung aloft, so that they even cut off the sun's rays and 184 simeon stylites. threw a shadow; and that we all saw plainly: but it only damaged the cattle pastures, and in no wise hurt the food of man. to me, too, who was attacked by a certain person, he signified that the quarrel would end ere a fortnight was past; and i learned the truth of the prediction by experience. moreover there were seen by him once two rods, which came down from the skies, and fell on the eastern and western lands. now the divine man said that they signified the rising of the persian and scythian nations against the romans; and told the vision to those who were by, and with many tears and assiduous prayers, warded that disaster, the threat whereof hung over the earth. certainly the persian nation, when already armed and prepared to invade the romans, was kept back (the divine will being against them) from their attempt, and occupied at home with their own troubles. but while i know many other cases of this kind, i shall pass them over to avoid prolixity. these are surely enough to show the spiritual contemplation of his mind. his fame was great, also, with the king of the persians; for as the ambassadors told, who came to him, he diligently inquired what was his life, and what his miracles. but they say that the king's wife also begged oil honoured by his blessing, and accepted it as the greatest of gifts. moreover, all the king's courtiers, being moved by his fame, and having heard many slanders against him from the magi, inquired diligently, and having learnt the truth, called him a divine man while the rest of the crowd, coming to simeon stylites. 185 the muleteers and servants and soldiers, both offered money, and begged for a share in the oil of benediction. the queen, too, of the ishmaelites, longing to have a child, sent first some of her most noble subjects to the saint, beseeching him that she might become a mother. and when her prayer had been granted, and she had her heart's desire, she took the son who had been born, and went to the divine old man; and (because women were not allowed to approach him) sent the babe, entreating his blessing on it. . . [here theodoret puts into the queen's mouth words which it is unnecessary to quote.] but how long do i strive to measure the depths of the atlantic sea? for as they are unfathomable by man, so do the things which he does daily surpass narration. i, however, admire above all these things his endurance; for night and day he stands, so as to be seen by all. for as the doors are taken away, and a large part of the wall around pulled down, he is set forth as a new and wondrous spectacle to all; now standing long, now bowing himself frequently, and offering adoration to god. many of those who stand by count these adorations; and once a man with me, when he had counted 1,244, and then missed, gave up counting: but always, when he bows himself, he touches his feet with his forehead. for as his stomach takes food only once in the week, and that very little--no more than is received in the divine sacraments, his back admits of being easily bent. but nothing which happens to him overpowers his philosophy; he bears nobly both voluntary and · 186 simeon stylites. involuntary pains, and conquers both by readiness of will. there came once from arabena a certain good man, and honoured with the ministry of christ. he, when he had come to that mountain peak,-"tell me,” he cried, "by the very truth which converts the human race to itself-art thou a man, or an incorporeal nature?" but when all there were displeased with the question, the saint bade them all be silent, and said to him, "why hast thou asked me this?" he answered, "because i hear every one saying publicly, that thou neither eatest nor sleepest; but both are properties of man, and no one who has a human. nature could have lived without food and sleep." then the saint bade them set a ladder to the column, and him to come up; and first to look at his hands, and then feel inside his cloak of skins; and to see not only his feet, but a severe wound. but when he saw that he was a man, and the size of that wound, and learnt from him how he took nourishment, he came down and told me all. at the public festivals he showed an endurance of another kind. for from the setting of the sun till it had come again to the eastern horizon, he stood all night with hands uplift to heaven, neither soothed. with sleep nor conquered by fatigue. but in toils so great, and so great a magnitude of deeds, and multitude of miracles, his self-esteem is as moderate as if he were in dignity the least of all men. beside his modesty, he is easy of access of speech, and gracious, and answers every man who speaks to him, 1 simeon stylites. 187 whether he be handicraftsman, beggar, or rustic. and from the bounteous god he has received also the gift of teaching, and making his exhortations twice a day, he delights the ears of those who hear, discoursing much on grace, and setting forth the instructions of the divine spirit to look up and fly toward heaven, and depart from the earth, and imagine the kingdom which is expected, and fear the threats of gehenna, and despise earthly things, and wait for things to come. he may be seen, too, acting as judge, and giving right and just decisions. this, and the like, is done after the ninth hour. for all night, and through the day to the ninth hour, he prays perpetually. after that, he first sets forth the divine teaching to those who are present; then having heard each man's petition, after he has performed some cures, he settles the quarrels of those between whom there is any dispute. about sunset he begins the rest of his converse with god. but though he is employed in this way, and does all this, he does not give up the care of the holy churches, sometimes fighting with the impiety of the greeks, sometimes checking the audacity of the jews, sometimes putting to flight the bands of heretics, and sometimes sending messages concerning these last to the emperor; sometimes, too, stirring up rulers to zeal for god, and sometimes exhorting the pastors of the churches to bestow more care upon their flocks. i have gone through these facts, trying to show the shower by one drop, and to give those who meet with my writing a taste on the finger of the sweetness of the honey. but there remains (as is to be expected) 188 simeon stylites. much more; and if he should live longer, he will probably add still greater wonders. . . . thus far theodoret. antony gives some other details of simeon's life upon the column. the devil, he says, in envy transformed himself into the likeness of an angel, shining in splendour, with fiery horses, and a fiery chariot, and appeared close to the column on which the blessed simeon stood, and shone with glory like an angel. and the devil said with bland speeches, "simeon, hear my words, which the lord hath commanded thee. he has sent me, his angel, with a chariot and horses of fire, that i may carry thee away, as i carried elias. for thy time is come. do thou, in like wise, ascend now with me into the chariot, because the lord of heaven and earth has sent it down. let us ascend together into the heavens, that the angels and archangels may see thee, with mary the mother of the lord, with the apostles and martyrs, the confessors and prophets; because they rejoice to see thee, that thou mayest pray to the lord, who hast made thee after his own image. verily i have spoken to thee: delay not to ascend." simeon, having ended his prayer, said, "lord, wilt thou carry me, a sinner, into heaven?" and lifting his right foot that he might step into the chariot, he lifted also his right hand, and made the sign of christ. when he had made the sign of the cross, forthwith the devil appeared nowhere, but vanished with his device, as dust simeon stylites. 189 before the face of the wind. then understood simeon that it was an art of the devil. having recovered himself, therefore, he said to his foot, "thou shalt not return back hence, but stand here until my death, when the lord shall send for me a sinner." [here follow more painful stories, which had best be omitted.] but after much time, his mother, hearing of his fame, came to see him, but was forbidden, because no woman entered that place. but when the blessed simeon heard the voice of his mother, he said to her, "bear up, my mother, a little while, and we shall see each other, if god will." but she, hearing this, began to weep, and tearing her hair, rebuked him, saying, "son, why hast thou done this? in return for the body in which i bore thee, thou hast filled me full of grief. for the milk with which i nourished thee, thou hast given me tears. for the kiss with which i kissed thee, thou hast given me bitter pangs of heart. for the grief and labour which i have suffered, thou hast laid on me cruel stripes." and she spoke so much that she made us all weep. the blessed simeon, hearing the voice of her who bore him, put his face in his hands and wept bitterly; and commanded her, saying, "lady mother, be still a little time, and we shall see each other in eternal rest." but she began to say, "by christ, who formed thee, if there is a probability of seeing thee, who hast been so long a stranger to me, let me see thee; or if not, let me only hear thy voice and die at once; for thy 190 simeon stylites. "3 father is dead in sorrow because of thee. and now do not destroy me for very bitterness, my son." saying this, for sorrow and weeping she fell asleep; for during three days and three nights she had not ceased entreating him. then the blessed simeon prayed the lord for her, and she forthwith gave up the ghost. but they took up her body, and brought it where he could see it. and he said, weeping, "the lord receive thee in joy, because thou hast endured tribulation for me, and borne me, and nursed and nourished me with labour." and as he said that, his mother's countenance perspired, and her body was stirred in the sight of us all. but he, lifting up his eyes to heaven, said, "lord god of virtues, who sittest above the cherubim, and searchest the foundations of the abyss, who knewest adam before he was; who hast promised the riches of the kingdom of heaven to those who love thee; who didst speak to moses in the bush of fire; who blessedst abraham our father; who bringest into paradise the souls of the just, and sinkest the souls of the impious to perdition; who didst humble the lions, and mitigate for thy servants the strong fires of the chaldees; who didst nourish elisha by the ravens which brought him food -receive her soul in peace, and put her in the place of the holy fathers, for thine is the power for ever and ever." antony then goes on to relate the later years of the saint's life. simeon stylites. 191 he tells how simeon, some time after this, ascended the column of forty cubits; how a great dragon (serpent) crawled towards it, and coiled round it, entreating (so it seemed) to be freed from a spike of wood which had entered its eye; and how, st. simeon took pity on it, he caused the spike (which was a cubit long) to come out. he tells how a woman, drinking water from a jar at night, swallowed a snake unawares, which grew within her, till she was brought to the blessed simeon, who commanded some of the water of the monastery to be given her; on which the serpent crawled out of her mouth, three cubits long, and burst immediately; and was hung up there seven days, as a testimony to many. he tells how, when there was great want of water, st. simeon prayed till the earth opened on the east of the monastery, and a cave full of water was discovered, which had never failed them to that day. he tells how men, sitting beneath a tree, on their way to the saint, saw a doe go by, and commanded her to stop, "by the prayers of st. simeon ;" which when she had done, they killed and ate her, and came to st. simeon with the skin. but they were all struck dumb, and hardly cured after two years. and the skin of the doe they hung up, for a testimony to many. he tells of a huge leopard, which slew men and cattle all around; and how st. simeon bade sprinkle in his haunts soil or water from the monastery; and when men went again, they found the leopard dead. he tells how, when st. simeon cured any one, he 192 simeon stylites. bade him go home, and honour god who had healed him, and not dare to say that simeon had cured him, lest a worse thing should suddenly come to him; and not to presume to swear by the name of the lord, for it was a grave sin; but to swear, "whether justly or unjustly, by him, lowly and a sinner. wherefore all the easterns, and barbarous tribes in those regions, swear by simeon." he tells how a robber from antioch, jonathan by name, fled to st. simeon, and embraced the column, weeping bitterly, and saying how he had committed every crime, and had come thither to repent. and how the saint said, "of such is the kingdom of heaven: but do not try to tempt me, lest thou be found again in the sins which thou hast cast away." then came the officials from antioch, demanding that he should be given up, to be cast to the wild beasts. but simeon answered, "my sons, i brought him not hither, but one greater than i; for he helps such as this man, and of such is the kingdom of heaven. but if you can enter, carry him hence; i cannot give him up, for i fear him who has sent the man to me." and they, struck with fear, went away. then jonathan lay for seven days embracing the column, and then asked. the saint leave to go. were going back to sin? my time is fulfilled," and ghost; and when officials came again from antioch, demanding him, simeon replied: "he who brought him came with a multitude of the heavenly host, and is able to send into tartarus your city, and all who the saint asked him if he "no, lord," he said; "but straightway he gave up the simeon stylites. 193 dwell in it, who also has reconciled this man to himself; and i was afraid lest he should slay me suddenly. therefore weary me no more, a humble man and poor." but after a few years (says antony) it befell one day that he bowed himself in prayer, and remained so three days-that is, the friday, the sabbath, and the lord's day. then i was terrified, and went up to him, and stood before his face, and said to him, "master, arise: bless us; for the people have been waiting three days and three nights for a blessing from thee." and he answered me not; and i said again to him: "wherefore dost thou grieve me, lord? or in what have i offended? i beseech thee, put out thy hand to me; or, perchance, thou hast already departed from us?" and seeing that he did not answer, i thought to tell no one; for i feared to touch him: and, standing about half an hour, i bent down, and put my ear to listen; and there was no breathing: but a fragrance as of many scents rose from his body. and so i understood that he rested in the lord; and, turning faint, i wept most bitterly; and, bending down, i kissed his eyes, and clasped his beard and hair, and reproaching him, i said: "to whom dost thou leave me, lord? or where shall i seek thy angelic doctrine? what answer shall i make for thee? or whose soul will look at this column, without thee, and not grieve? what answer shall i make to the sick, when they come here to seek thee, and find thee not? what shall i say, poor creature that i am? to-day i see thee; to-morrow s. l. ii. 194 simeon stylites. i shall look right and left, and not find thee. and what covering shall i put upon thy column? woe to me, when folk shall come from afar, seeking thee, and shall not find thee!" and, for much sorrow, i fell asleep. and forthwith he appeared to me, and said: "i will not leave this column, nor this place, and this blessed mountain, where i was illuminated. but go down, satisfy the people, and send word secretly to antioch, lest a tumult arise. for i have gone to rest, as the lord willed but do thou not cease to minister in this place, and the lord shall repay thee thy wages in heaven." but, rising from sleep, i said, in terror, "master, remember me in thy holy rest." and, lifting up his garments, i fell at his feet, and kissed them; and, holding his hands, i laid them on my eyes, saying, "bless me, i beseech thee, my lord!" and again i wept, and said, "what relics shall i carry away from thee as memorials?" and as i said that his body was moved; therefore i was afraid to touch him. and, that no one might know, i came down quickly, and sent a faithful brother to the bishop at antioch. he came at once with three bishops, and with them ardaburius, the master of the soldiers, with his people, and stretched curtains round the column, and fastened their clothes around it. for they were cloth of gold. and when they laid him down by the altar before the column, and gathered themselves together, birds flew round the column, crying, and as it were lamentsimeon stylites. 195 ing, in all men's sight; and the wailing of the people and of the cattle resounded for seven miles away; yea, even the hills, and the fields, and the trees were sad around that place; for everywhere a dark cloud hung about it. and i watched an angel coming to visit him; and, about the seventh hour, seven old men talked with that angel, whose face was like lightning, and his garments as snow. and i watched his voice, in fear and trembling, as long as i could hear it; but what he said i cannot tell. but when the holy simeon lay upon the bier, the pope of antioch, wishing to take some of his beard for a blessing, stretched out his hand; and forthwith it was dried up; and prayers were made to god for him, and so his hand was restored again. then, laying the corpse on the bier, they took it to antioch, with psalms and hymns. but all the people round that region wept, because the protection of such mighty relics was taken from them, and because the bishop of antioch had sworn that no man should touch his body. but when they came to the fifth milestone from antioch, to the village which is called meroë, no one could move him. then a certain man, deaf and dumb for forty years, who had committed a very great crime, suddenly fell down before the bier, and began to cry, "thou art well come, servant of god; for thy coming will save me: and if i shall obtain the grace to live, i will serve thee all the days of my life." and, rising, he caught hold of one of the mules which carried the bier, and forthwith moved himself from that 02 196 simeon stylites. place. and so the man was made whole from that hour. then all going out of the city of antioch received the body of the holy simeon on gold and silver, with psalms and hymns, and with many lamps brought it into the greater church, and thence to another church, which is called penitence. moreover, many virtues are wrought at his tomb, more than in his life; and the man who was made whole served there till the day of his death. but many offered treasures to the bishop of antioch for the faith, begging relics from the body: but, on account of his oath, he never gave them. i, antony, lowly and a sinner, have set forth briefly, as far as i could, this lesson. but blessed is he who has this writing in a book, and reads it in the church and house of god; and when he shall have brought it to his memory, he shall receive a reward from the most high; to whom is honour, power, and virtue, for ever and ever. amen. after such a fantastic story as this of simeon, it is full time (some readers may have thought that it was full time long since) to give my own opinion of the miracles, visions, dæmons, and other portents which occur in the lives of these saints. i have refrained from doing so as yet, because i wished to begin by saying everything on behalf of these old hermits which could honestly be said, and to prejudice my readers' minds in their favour rather than against them; because i am certain that if we look on them merely with scorn and ridicule,-if we do not acknowledge prodigies. 197 and honour all in them which was noble, virtuous, and honest, we shall never be able to combat their errors, either in our own hearts or in those of our children and that we may have need to do so is but too probable. in this age, as in every other age of materialism and practical atheism, a revulsion in favour of superstition is at hand; i may say is taking place round us now. doctrines are tolerated as possibly true, persons are regarded with respect and admiration, who would have been looked on, even fifty years ago, if not with horror, yet with contempt, as beneath the serious notice of educated english people. but it is this very contempt which has brought about the change of opinion concerning them. it has been discovered that they were not altogether so absurd as they seemed; that the public mind, in its ignorance, has been unjust to them; and, in hasty repentance for that injustice, too many are ready to listen to those who will tell them that these things are not absurd at all-that there is no absurdity in believing that the leg-bone of st. simon stock may possess miraculous powers, or that the spirits of the departed communicate with their friends by rapping on the table. the ugly after-crop of superstition which is growing up among us now is the just and natural punishment of our materialism—i may say, of our practical atheism. for those who will not believe in the real spiritual world, in which each man's soul stands face to face all day long with almighty god, the father, the son, and the holy ghost, are sure at last to crave after some false spiritual world, and seek, like the evil and 198 the natural history profligate generation of the jews, after visible signs and material wonders. and those who will not believe that the one true and living god is above their path and about their bed and spieth out all their ways, and that in him they live and move and have their being, are but too likely at last to people with fancied saints and dæmons that void in the imagination and in the heart which their own unbelief has made. are we then to suppose that these old hermits had lost faith in god? on the contrary, they were the only men in that day who had faith in god. and, if they had faith in any other things or persons beside god, they merely shared in the general popular ignorance and mistakes of their own age; and we must not judge those who, born in an age of darkness, were struggling earnestly toward the light, as we judge those who, born in an age of scientific light, are retiring of their own will back into the darkness. before i enter upon the credibility of these alleged saints' miracles, i must guard my readers carefully from supposing that i think miracles impossible. heaven forbid. he would be a very rash person who should do that, in a world which swarms with greater wonders than those recorded in the biography of a saint. for, after all, which is more wonderful, that god should be able to restore the dead to life, or that he should be able to give life at all? again, as for these miracles being contrary to our experience, that is no very valid argument against them; for equally contrary to our experience is every new of prodigies. 199 discovery of science, every strange phenomenon among plants and animals, every new experiment in a chemical lecture. the more we know of science the more we must confess, that nothing is too strange to be true: and therefore we must not blame or laugh at those who in old times believed in strange things which were not true. they had an honest and rational sense of the infinite and wonderful nature of the universe, and of their own ignorance about it; and they were ready to believe anything, as the truly wise man will be ready also. only, from ignorance of the laws of the universe, they did not know what was likely to be true and what was not; and therefore they believed many things which experience has proved to be false; just as seba or any of the early naturalists were ready to believe in six-legged dragons, or in the fatal power of the basilisk's eye; fancies which, if they had been facts, would not have been nearly as wonderful as the transformation of the commonest insect, or the fertilization of the meanest weed: but which are rejected now, not because they are too wonderful, but simply because experience has proved them to be untrue. and experience, it must be remembered, is the only sound test of truth. as long as men will settle beforehand for themselves, without experience, what they ought to see, so long will they be perpetually fancying that they or others have seen it; and their faith, as it is falsely called, will delude not only their reason, but their very hearing, sight, and touch. 200 the natural history in this age we see no supernatural prodigies, because there are none to see; and when we are told that the reason why we see no prodigies is because we have no faith, we answer (if we be sensible), just so. as long as people had faith, in plain english believed, that they could be magically cured of a disease, they thought that they or others were so cured. as long as they believed that ghosts could be seen, every silly person saw them. as long as they believed that dæmons transformed themselves into an animal's shape, they said, "the devil croaked at me this morning in the shape of a raven; and therefore my horse fell with me." as long as they believed that witches. could curse them, they believed that an old woman in the next parish had overlooked them, their cattle, and their crops; and that therefore they were poor, diseased, and unfortunate. these dreams, which were common among the peasants in remote districts five-and-twenty years ago, have, vanished, simply from the spread (by the grace of god, as i hold) of an inductive habit of mind; of the habit of looking coolly, boldly, carefully, at facts; till now, even among the most ignorant peasantry, the woman who says that she has seen a ghost is likely not to be complimented on her assertion. but it does not follow that that woman's grandmother, when she said that she saw a ghost, was a consciously dishonest person; on the contrary, so complex and contradictory is human nature, she would have been, probably, a person of more than average intellect and earnestness; of prodigies. 201 and her instinct of the invisible and the infinite (which is that which raises man above the brutes) would have been, because misinformed, the honourable cause of her error. and thus we may believe of the good hermits, of whom prodigies are recorded. as to the truth of the prodigies themselves, there are several ways of looking at them. first, we may neither believe nor disbelieve them; but talk of them as "devout fairy tales," religious romances, and allegories; and so save ourselves the trouble of judging whether they were true. that is at least an easy and pleasant method; very fashionable in a careless, unbelieving age like this: but in following it we shall be somewhat cowardly; for there is hardly any matter a clear judgment on which is more important just now than these same saints' miracles. next, we may believe them utterly and all; and that is also an easy and pleasant method. but if we follow it, we shall be forced to believe, among other facts, that st. paphnutius was carried miraculously across a river, because he was too modest to undress himself and wade; that st. helenus rode a savage crocodile across a river, and then commanded it to die; and that it died accordingly upon the spot; and that st. goar, entering the palace of the archbishop of trêves, hung his cape on a sunbeam, mistaking it for a peg. and many other like things we shall be forced to believe, with which this book has no concern. or, again, we may believe as much as we can, 202 the natural history because we should like, if we could, to believe all. but as we have not-no man has as yet-any criterion by which we can judge how much of these stories we ought to believe and how much not, which actually happened and which did not, therefore we shall end (as not only the most earnest and pious, but the most clear and logical persons, who have taken up this view, have ended already) by believing all: which is an end not to be desired. or we may believe as few as possible of them, because we should like, if we could, to believe none. and this method, for the reason aforesaid (namely, that there is no criterion by which we can settle what to believe and what not), usually ends in believing none at all. this, of believing none at all, is the last method; and this, i confess fairly, i am inclined to think is the right one; and that these good hermits worked no real miracles and saw no real visions whatsoever. i confess that this is a very serious assertion. for there is as much evidence in favour of these hermits' miracles and visions as there is, with most men, of the existence of china; and much more than there, with most men, is of the earth's going round the sun. but the truth is, that evidence, in most matters of importance, is worth very little. very few people decide a question on its facts, but on their own prejudices as to what they would like to have happened. very few people are judges of evidence; not even of their own eyes and ears. very few persons, when they see a thing, know what they have seen, and what of prodigies. 203 not. they tell you quite honestly, not what they saw, but what they think they ought to have seen, or should like to have seen. it is a fact too often conveniently forgotten, that in every human crowd the majority will be more or less bad, or at least foolish; the slaves of anger, spite, conceit, vanity, sordid hope, and sordid fear. but let them be as honest and as virtuous as they may, pleasure, terror, and the desire of seeming to have seen or heard more than their neighbours, and all about it, make them exaggerate. if you take apart five honest men, who all stood by and saw the same man do anything strange, offensive, or even exciting, no two of them will give you quite the same account of it. if you leave them together, while excited, an hour before you question them, they will have compared notes and made up one story, which will contain all their mistakes combined; and it will require the skill of a practised barrister to pick the grain of wheat out of the chaff. moreover, when people are crowded together under any excitement, there is nothing which they will not make each other believe. they will make each other believe in spirit-rapping, table-turning, the mesmeric fluid, electro-biology; that they saw the lion on northumberland house wagging his tail;* that witches have been seen riding in the air; that the jews had poisoned the wells; that—but why go further into the sad catalogue of human absurdities, and the crimes. which have followed them? every one is ashamed of not seeing what every one else sees, and persuades an authentic fact. 204 the natural history himself against his own eye sight for fear of seeming stupid or ill-conditioned; and therefore in all evidence, the fewer witnesses, the more truth, because the evidence of ten men is worth more than that of a hundred together; and the evidence of a thousand men together is worth still less. now, if people are savage and ignorant, diseased and poverty-stricken; even if they are merely excited and credulous, and quite sure that something wonderful must happen, then they will be also quite certain that something wonderful has happened; and their evidence will be worth nothing at all. moreover, suppose that something really wonderful has happened; suppose, for instance, that some nervous or paralytic person has been suddenly restored to strength by the command of a saint or of some other remarkable man. this is quite possible, i may say common; and it is owing neither to physical nor to so-called spiritual causes, but simply to the power which a strong mind has over a weak one, to make it exert itself, and cure itself by its own will, though but for a time. when this good news comes to be told, and to pass from mouth to mouth, it ends of quite a different shape from that in which it began. it has been added to, taken from, twisted in every direction according to the fancy or the carelessness of each teller, till what really happened in the first case no one will be able to say; and this is, therefore, what actually happened, * if any one doubts this, let him try the game called "russiau of prodigies. 205 in the case of these reported wonders. moreover (and this is the most important consideration of all) for men to be fair judges of what really happens, they must have somewhat sound minds in somewhat sound bodies; which no man can have (however honest and virtuous) who gives himself up, as did these old hermits, to fasting and vigils. that continued sleeplessness produces delusions, and at last actual madness, every physician knows; and they know also, as many a poor sailor has known when starving on a wreck, and many a poor soldier in such a retreat as that of napoleon from moscow, that extreme hunger and thirst produce delusions also, very similar to (and caused much in the same way as) those produced by ardent spirits; so that many a wretched creature ere now has been taken up for drunkenness, who has been simply starving to death. whence it follows that these good hermits, by continual fasts and vigils, must have put themselves (and their histories prove that they did put themselves) into a state of mental disease, in which their evidence was worth nothing; a state in which the mind cannot distinguish between facts and dreams; in which life itself is one dream; in which (as in the case of madness, or of a feverish child) the brain cannot distinguish between the objects which are outside it and the imaginations which are inside it. and it is plain, that the scandal," where a story, passed secretly from mouth to mouth, ends utterly transformed, the original point being lost, a new point substituted, original names and facts omitted, and utterly new ones inserted, &c. &c.; an experiment which is ludicrous, or saddening, according to the temper of the experimenter. 206 the natural history more earnest and pious, and therefore the more ascetic, one of these good men was, the more utterly would his brain be in a state of chronic disease. god forbid that we should scorn them, therefore, or think the worse of them in any way. they were animated by a truly noble purpose, the resolution to be good according to their light; they carried out that purpose with heroical endurance, and they have their reward: but this we must say, if we be rational people, that on their method of holiness, the more holy any one of them was, the less trustworthy was his account of any matter whatsoever; and that the hermit's peculiar 'temptations (quite unknown to the hundreds of unmarried persons who lead quiet and virtuous, because rational and healthy, lives) are to be attributed, not as they thought, to a dæmon, but to a more or less unhealthy nervous system. it must be remembered, moreover, in justice to these old hermits, that they did not invent the belief that the air was full of dæmons. all the eastern nations had believed in genii (jinns), fairies (peris), and devas, divs, or devils. the devas of the early hindus were beneficent beings: to the eyes of the old persians (in their hatred of idolatry and polytheism), they appeared evil beings, divs, or devils. and even so the genii and dæmons of the roman empire became, in the eyes of the early christians, wicked and cruel spirits. and they had their reasons, and on the whole sound ones, for so regarding them. the educated classes had given up any honest and literal worship of the of prodigies. 207 old gods. they were trying to excuse themselves for their lingering half belief in them, by turning them into allegories, powers of nature, metaphysical abstractions, as did porphyry and iamblichus, plotinus and proclus, and the rest of the neo-platonist school of aristocratic philosophers and fine ladies: but the lower classes still, in every region, kept up their own local beliefs and worships, generally of the most foul and brutal kind, the animal worship of egypt among the lower classes was sufficiently detestable in the time of herodotus. it had certainly not improved in that of juvenal and persius; and was still less likely to have improved afterwards. this is a subject so shocking that it can be only hinted at. but as a single instance-what wonder if the early hermits of egypt looked on the crocodile as something diabolic, after seeing it, for generations untold, petted and worshipped in many a city, simply because it was the incarnate symbol of brute strength, cruelty, and cunning? we must remember, also, that earlier generations (the old norsemen and germans just as much as the old egyptians) were wont to look on animals. as more miraculous than we do; as more akin, in many cases, to human beings; as guided, not by a mere blind instinct, but by an intellect which was allied to, and often surpassed man's intellect. "the bear," said the old norsemen, "had ten men's strength, and eleven men's wit;" and in some such light must the old hermits have looked on the hyæna, "bellua," the monster par excellence; or on the crocodile, the hippopotamus, and the poisonous snakes, which have been 208 the natural history objects of terror and adoration in every country where they have been formidable. whether the hyænas were dæmons, or were merely sent by the dæmons, st. antony and st. athanasius do not clearly define, for they did not know. it was enough for them that the beasts prowled at night in those desert cities, which were, according to the opinions, not only of the easterns, but of the romans, the special haunt of ghouls, witches, and all uncanny things. their fiendish laughter-which, when heard even in a modern menagerie, excites and shakes most person's nerves— rang through hearts and brains which had no help or comfort, save in god alone. the beast tore up the dead from their graves; devoured alike the belated child and the foulest offal; and was in all things a type and incarnation of that which man ought not to be. why should not he, so like the worst of men, have some bond or kindred with the evil beings who were not men? why should not the graceful and deadly cobra, the horrid cerastes, the huge throttling python, and even more, the loathly puff-adder, undistinguishable from the gravel among which he lay coiled, till he leaped furiously and unswerving, as if shot from a bow, upon his prey-why should not they too be kindred to that evil power who had been, in the holiest and most ancient books, personified by the name of the serpent? before we have a right to say that the hermits' view of these deadly animals was not the most rational, as well as the most natural, which they could possibly have taken up, we must put ourselves in their places; and look at nature as of prodigies. 209 they had learnt to look at it, not from scripture and christianity, so much as from the immemorial traditions of their heathen ancestors. • if it be argued, that they ought to have been well enough acquainted with these beasts to be aware of their merely animal nature, the answer is-that they were probably not well acquainted with the beasts of the desert. they had never, perhaps, before their "conversion," left the narrow valley, well tilled and well inhabited, which holds the nile. a climb from it into the barren mountains and deserts east and west was a journey out of the world into chaos, and the region of the unknown and the horrible, which demanded high courage from the unarmed and effeminate egyptian, who knew not what monster he might meet ere sundown. moreover, it is very probable that during these centuries of decadence, in egypt, as in other parts of the roman empire, "the wild beasts of the field had increased" on the population, and were reappearing in the more cultivated grounds. but these old hermits appear perpetually in another, and a more humane, if not more human aspect, as the miraculous tamers of savage beasts. those who wish to know all which can be alleged in favour of their having possessed such a power, should read m. de montalembert's chapter, "les moines et la nature.** all that learning and eloquence can say in favour of the theory is said there; and with a candour which demands from no man full belief of many beautiful but impossible stories, "travesties of historic verity," * les moines d'occident, vol. ii. pp. 332-467. s.l. ii. p 210 the natural history which have probably grown up from ever-varying tradition in the course of ages. m. de montalembert himself points out a probable explanation of many of them: an ingenious scholar of our times* (he says) has pointed out their true and legitimate origin—at least in ancient gaul. according to him, after the gradual disappearance of the gallo-roman population, the oxen, the horses, the dogs had returned. to the wild state; and it was in the forest that the breton missionaries had to seek these animals, to employ them anew for domestic use. the miracle was, to restore to man the command and the enjoyment of those creatures, which god had given him as instruments. this theory is probable enough, and will explain, doubtless, many stories. it may even explain those of tamed wolves, who may have been only feral dogs, i.e. dogs run wild. but it will not explain those in which (in ireland as well as in gaul) the stag appears as obeying the hermit's commands. the twelve huge stags who come out of the forest to draw the ploughs for st. leonor and his monks, or those who drew to his grave the corpse of the irish hermit kellac, or those who came out of the forest to supply the place of st. colodoc's cattle, which the seigneur had carried off in revenge for his having given sanctuary to a hunted deer, must have been wild from the beginning; and many another tale must remain without any explanation whatsoever-save the simplest of all. * m. la borderie, "discours sur les saints bretons ;" a work which i have unfortunatly not been able to consult. of prodigies. 211 neither can any such theory apply to the marvels vouched for by st. athanasius, st. jerome, and other contemporaries, which "show us (to quote m. de montalembert) the most ferocious animals at the feet of such men as antony, pachomius, macarius, and hilarion, and those who copied them. at every page one sees wild asses, crocodiles, hippopotami, hyænas, and, above all, lions, transformed into respectful companions and docile servants of these. prodigies of sanctity; and one concludes thence, not that these beasts had reasonable souls, but that god knew how to glorify those who devoted themselves to his glory, and thus show how all nature obeyed man before he was excluded from paradise by his disobedience." this is, on the whole, the cause which the contemporary biographers assign for these wonders. the hermits were believed to have returned, by celibacy and penitence, to "the life of angels;" to that state of perfect innocence which was attributed to our first parents in eden: and therefore of them our lord's words were true: "he that believeth in me, greater things than these (which i do) shall he do." but those who are of a different opinion will seek for different causes. they will, the more they know of these stories, admire often their gracefulness, often their pathos, often their deep moral significance; they will feel the general truth of m. de montalembert's words: "there is not one of them which does not honour and profit human nature, and which does not express a victory of weakness over force, and of p 2 212 the natural history good over evil." but if they look on physical facts as sacred things, as the voice of god revealed in the phenomena of matter, their first question will be, "are they true?" some of them must be denied utterly, like that of st. helenus, riding and then slaying the crocodile. it did not happen. abbot ammon* did not make two dragons guard his cell against robbers. st. gerasimust did not set the lion, out of whose foot he had taken a thorn, to guard his ass; and when the ass was stolen by an arabian camel-driver, he did not (fancying that the lion had eaten the ass) make him carry water in the ass's stead. neither did the lion, when next he met the thief and the ass, bring them up, in his own justification, to st. gerasimus. st. costinian did not put a pack-saddle on a bear, and make him carry a great stone. a lioness did not bring her five blind whelps to a hermit, that he might give them sight.§ and, though sulpicius severus says that he saw it with his own eyes, || it is hard to believe the latter part of the graceful story which he tells-of an old hermit whom he found dwelling alone twelve miles from the nile, by a well of vast depth. one ox he had, whose whole work was to raise the water by a wheel. around him was a garden of herbs, kept rich and green amid the burning sand, where neither seed nor root could live. the old man and the ox fed together on the produce of their common toil; but two miles off there was a single + ibid. p. 893. * vitæ patrum, p. 753. ibid. p. 539. § ibid. p. 549. | ibid. p. 532 of prodigies. 213 palm-tree, to which, after supper, the hermit takes his guests. beneath the palm they find a lioness; but instead of attacking them, she moves "modestly' away at the old man's command, and sits down to wait for her share of dates. she feeds out of his hand, like a household animal, and goes her way, leaving her guests trembling, "and confessing how great was the virtue of the hermit's faith, and how great their own infirmity." this last story, which one would gladly believe, were it possible, i have inserted as one of those which hang on the verge of credibility. in the very next page, sulpicius severus tells a story quite credible, of a she-wolf, which he saw with his own eyes as tame as any dog. there can be no more reason to doubt that fact than to ascribe it to a miracle. we may even believe that the wolf, having gnawed to pieces the palm basket which the good old man was weaving, went off, knowing that she had done wrong, and after a week came back, begged pardon like a rational soul, and was caressed, and given a double share of bread. many of these stories which tell of the taming of wild beasts may be true, and yet contain no miracle. they are very few in number, after all, in proportion to the number of monks; they are to be counted at most by tens, while the monks are counted by tens of thousands. and among many great companies of monks, there may have been one individual, as there is, for instance, in many a country parish a bee-taker or a horse-tamer, of quiet temper and strong nerve, and quick and sympathetic intellect, 214 the natural history whose power over animals is so extraordinary, as to be attributed by the superstitious and uneducated to some hereditary secret, or some fairy gift. very powerful to attract wild animals must have been the good hermits' habit of sitting motionless for hours, till (as with st. guthlac) the swallows sat and sang upon his knee; and of moving slowly and gently at his work, till (as with st. karilef, while he pruned his vines) the robin came and built in his hood as it hung upon a tree: very powerful his freedom from anger, and, yet more important, from fear, which always calls out rage in wild beasts, while a calm and bold front awes them: and most powerful of all, the kindliness of heart, the love of companionship, which brought the wild bison to feed by st. karilef's side as he prayed upon the lawn; and the hind to nourish st. giles with her milk in the jungles of the bouches du rhône. there was no miracle; save the moral miracle that, in ages of cruelty and slaughter, these men had learned (surely by the inspiration of god) how"he prayeth well who loveth well both man and bird and beast; he prayeth best who loveth best all things, both great and small; for the dear god who loveth us, he made and loveth all." after all, let these old lives of the fathers tell their own tale. by their own merits let them stand or fall; and stand they will in one sense: for whatsoever else they are not, this they are-the histories of good men. their physical science and of prodigies. 215 their dæmonology may have been on a par with those of the world around them: but they possessed what the world did not possess, faith in the utterly good and self-sacrificing god, and an ideal of virtue and purity such as had never been seen since the first whitsuntide. and they set themselves to realize that ideal with a simplicity, an energy, an endurance, which were altogether heroic. how far they were right in "giving up the world" depends entirely on what the world was then like, and whether there was any hope of reforming it. it was their opinion that there was no such hope; and those who know best the facts which surrounded them, its utter frivolity, its utter viciousness, the deadness which had fallen on art, science, philosophy, human life, whether family, social, or political; the prevalence of slavery, in forms altogether hideous and unmentionable; the insecurity of life and property, whether from military and fiscal tyranny, or from perpetual inroads of the so-called "barbarians:" those, i say, who know these facts best will be most inclined to believe that the old hermits were wise in their generation; that the world was past salvation; that it was not a wise or humane thing to marry and bring children into the world; that in such a state of society, an honest and virtuous man could not exist, and that those who wished to remain honest and virtuous must flee into the desert, and be alone with god and their fellows. the question which had to be settled then and there, at that particular crisis of the human race, was 216 what the hermits not-are certain wonders true or false? but-is man a mere mortal animal, or an immortal soul? is his flesh meant to serve his spirit, or his spirit his flesh? is pleasure, or virtue, the end and aim of his existence? the hermits set themselves to answer that question, not by arguing or writing about it, but by the only way in which any question can be settled-by experiment. they resolved to try whether their immortal souls could not grow better and better, while their mortal bodies were utterly neglected; to make their flesh serve their spirit; to make virtue their only end and aim; and utterly to relinquish the very notion of pleasure. to do this one thing, and nothing else, they devoted their lives; and they succeeded. from their time it has been a received opinion, not merely among a few philosophers or a few pharisees, but among the lowest, the poorest, the most ignorant, who have known aught of christianity, that man is an immortal soul; that the spirit, and not the flesh, ought to be master and guide; that virtue is the highest good; and that purity is a virtue, impurity a sin. these men were, it has been well said, the very fathers of purity. and if, in that and in other matters, they pushed their purpose to an extreme-if, by devoting themselves utterly to it alone, they suffered, not merely in wideness of mind or in power of judging evidence, but even in brain, till they became some of them at times insane from over-wrought nerves-it is not for us to blame the soldier for the wounds which have crippled him, or the physician for the disease. which he has caught himself while trying to heal 1 have taught mankind. 217 others. let us not speak ill of the bridge which carries us over, nor mock at those who did the work for us as seemed to them best, and perhaps in the only way in which it could be done in those evil days. as a matter of fact, through these men's teaching and example we have learnt what morality, purity, and christianity we possess; and if any answer that we have learnt them from the scriptures, who but these men preserved the scriptures to us? who taught us to look on them as sacred and inspired? who taught us to apply them to our own daily lives, and find comfort and teaching in every age, in words written ages ago by another race in a foreign land? the scriptures were the book, generally the only book, which they read and meditated, not merely from morn till night, but, as far as fainting nature would allow, from night to morn again: and their method of interpreting them (as far as i can discover) differed in nothing from that common to all christians now, save that they interpreted literally certain precepts of our lord and of st. paul which we consider to have applied only to the "temporary necessity" of a decayed, dying, and hopeless age such as that in which they lived. and therefore, because they knew the scripture well, and learned in it lessons of true virtue and true philosophy, though unable to save civilization in the east, they were able at least to save it in the west. the european hermits, and the monastic communities which they originated, were indeed a seed of life, not merely to the conquered roman population of gaul or spain or britain, but to the heathen 218 what hermits have taught. and arian barbarians who conquered them. among those fierce and armed savages, the unarmed hermits stood, strong only by justice, purity, and faith in god, defying the oppressor, succouring the oppressed, and awing and softening the new aristocracy of the middle age, which was founded on mere brute force and pride of race; because the monk took his stand upon mere humanity; because he told the wild conqueror, goth or sueve, frank or burgund, saxon or norseman, that all men were equal in the sight of god; because he told them (to quote athanasius's own words concerning antony) that "virtue is not beyond human nature;" that the highest moral excellence was possible to the most low-born and unlettered peasant whom they trampled under their horses' hoofs, if he were only renewed and sanctified by the spirit of god. they accepted the lowest and commonest facts of that peasant's wretched life; they outdid him in helplessness, loneliness, hunger, dirt, and slavery; and then said, "among all these i can yet be a man of god, wise, virtuous, pure, free, and noble in the sight of god, though not in the sight of cæsars, counts, and knights." they went on, it is true, to glorify the means above the end; to consecrate childlessness, selftorture, dirt, ignorance, as if they were things pleasing to god and holy in themselves. but in spite of those errors they wrought throughout europe a work which, as far as we can judge, could have been done in no other way; done only by men who gave up all that makes life worth having for the sake of being good themselves and making others good. the hermits of europe. most readers will recollect what an important part in the old ballads and romances is played by the hermit. he stands in strongest contrast to the knight. he fills up, as it were, by his gentleness and selfsacrifice, what is wanting in the manhood of the knight, the slave too often of his own fierceness and self-assertion. the hermit rebukes him when he sins, heals him when he is wounded, stays his hand in some mad murderous duel, such as was too common in days when any two armed horsemen meeting on road or lawn ran blindly at each other in the mere lust of fighting, as boars or stags might run. sometimes he interferes to protect the oppressed serf; sometimes to rescue the hunted deer which has taken sanctuary at his feet. sometimes, again, his influence is that of intellectual superiority; of worldly experience; of the travelled man who has seen many lands and many nations. sometimes, again, that of sympathy; for he has been a knight himself, and fought and 220 the hermits of europe. sinned, and drank of the cup of vanity and vexation of spirit, like the fierce warrior who kneels at his feet. all who have read (and all ought to have read) spenser's fairy queen, must recollect his charming description of the hermit with whom prince arthur leaves serena and the squire after they have been wounded by "the blatant beast" of slander; when"toward night they came unto a plain by which a little hermitage there lay far from all neighbourhood, the which annoy it may. "and nigh thereto a little chapel stood, which being all with ivy overspread decked all the roof, and shadowing the rood, seemed like a grove fair branched overhead; therein the hermit which his life here led in straight observance of religious vow, was wont his hours and holy things to bed ; and therein he likewise was praying now, when as these knights arrived, they wist not where nor how. 66 'they stayed not there, but straightway in did pass : who when the hermit present saw in place, from his devotions straight he troubled was ; which breaking off, he toward them did pace with staid steps and grave beseeming grace : for well it seemed that whilom he had been some goodly person, and of gentle race, that could his good to all, and well did ween how each to entertain with courtesy beseen. "he thence them led into his hermitage, letting their steeds to graze upon the green: small was his house, and like a little cage, for his own term, yet inly neat and clean, decked with green boughs, and flowers gay beseen ' the hermits of europe. 221 therein he them full fair did entertain, not with such forgèd shews, as fitter been for courting fools that courtesies would feign, but with entire affection and appearance plain. * how be that careful hermit did his best with many kinds of medicines meet to tame the poisonous humour that did most infest their reakling wounds, and every day them duly dressed. "for he right well in leech's craft was seen; and through the long experience of his days, which had in many fortunes tossèd been, and passed through many perilous assays : he knew the divers want of mortal ways, and in the minds of men had great insight; which with sage counsel, when they went astray, he could inform and them reduce aright; and all the passions heal which wound the weaker sprite. "for whilome he had been a doughty knight, as any one that livèd in his days, and proved oft in many a perilous fight, in which he grace and glory won always, and in all battles bore away the bays: but being now attached with timely age, and weary of this world's unquiet ways, he took himself unto this hermitage, in which he lived alone like careless bird in cage." this picture is not poetry alone: it is history. such men actually lived, and such work they actually did, from the southernmost point of italy to the northernmost point of scotland, during centuries in which there was no one else to do the work. the regular clergy could not have done it. bishops and priests were entangled in the affairs of this world, striving to be statesmen, striving to be land-owners, striving to 222 the hermits of europe. pass church lands on from father to son, and to establish themselves as an hereditary caste of priests. the chaplain or house-priest who was to be found in every nobleman's, almost every knight's castle, was apt to become a mere upper servant, who said mass every morning in return for the good cheer which he got every evening, and fetched and carried at the bidding of his master and mistress. but the hermit who dwelt alone in the forest glen, occupied, like an old hebrew prophet, a superior and an independent position. he needed nought from any man save the scrap of land which the lord was only too glad to allow him in return for his counsels and his prayers. and to him, as to a mysterious and supernatural personage, the lord went privately for advice in his quarrels with the neighbouring barons, or with his own kin. to him the lady took her children when they were sick, to be healed, as she fancied, by his prayers and blessings; or poured into his ears a hundred secret sorrows and anxieties which she dare not tell to her fierce lord, who hunted and fought the livelong day, and drank too much liquor every night. this class of men sprang up rapidly, by natural causes, and yet by a divine necessity, as soon as the western empire was conquered by the gernian tribes; and those two young officers whom we saw turning monks at trêves, in the time of st. augustine, may, if they lived to be old men, have given sage counsel again and again to fierce german knights and kinglets, who had dispossessed the rich and effeminate landowners of their estates, and sold them, their wives, and the hermits of europe. 223 children, in gangs by the side of their own slaves. only the roman who had turned monk would probably escape that fearful ruin; and he would remain behind, while the rest of his race was enslaved or swept away, as a seed of christianity and of civilization, destined to grow and spread, and bring the wild conquerors in due time into the kingdom of god. for the first century or two after the invasion of the barbarians, the names of the hermits and saints are almost exclusively latin. their biographies represent them in almost every case as born of noble roman parents. as time goes on, german names appear, and at last entirely supersede the latin ones; showing that the conquering race had learned from the conquered to become hermits and monks like them. st. severinus, the apostle of noricum. of all these saintly civilizers, st. severinus of vienna is perhaps the most interesting, and his story the most historically instructive.* a common time, the middle of the fifth century, the province of noricum (austria, as we should now call it) was the very highway of invading barbarians, the centre of the human maelstrom in which huns, alemanni, rugi, and a dozen wild tribes more, wrestled up and down and round the starving and beleaguered towns of what had once been a happy and fertile province, each tribe striving to trample the other under foot, and to march southward over their corpses to plunder what was still left of the already plundered wealth of italy and rome. the difference of race, in tongue, and in manners, between the conquered and their conquerors, was made more painful by difference in creed. the conquering germans and huns were *it has been handed down, in most crabbed latin, by his disciple, eugippius; it may be read at length in pez, scriptores austriacarum rerum. st. severinus. 225 either arians or heathens. the conquered race (though probably of very mixed blood), who called themselves romans, because they spoke latin and lived under the roman law, were orthodox catholics; and the miseries of religious persecution were too often added to the usual miseries of invasion. it was about the year 455-60. attila, the great king of the huns, who called himself-and who was— "the scourge of god," was just dead. his empire had broken up. the whole centre of europe was in a state of anarchy and war; and the hapless romans along the danube were in the last extremity of terror, not knowing by what fresh invader their crops would be swept off up to the very gates of the walled towers which were their only defence: when there appeared among them, coming out of the east, a man of god. who he was, he would not tell. his speech showed him to be an african roman-a fellow-countryman of st. augustine-probably from the neighbourhood of carthage. he had certainly at one time gone to some desert in the east, zealous to learn "the more perfect life." severinus, he said, was his name; a name which indicated high rank, as did the manners and the scholarship of him who bore it. but more than his name he would not tell. "if you take me for a runaway slave," he said, smiling, "get ready money to redeem me with when my master demands me back." for he believed that they would have need of him; that god had sent him into that land that he might be of use to its wretched people. and certainly he could have come into the neighbourhood s. l. ii. q 226 st. severinus. of vienna at that moment for no other purpose than to do good, unless he came to deal in slaves. he settled first at a town called by his biographer casturis; and, lodging with the warden of the church, lived quietly the hermit life. meanwhile the german tribes were prowling round the town; and severinus, going one day into the church, began to warn the priests and clergy and all the people that a destruction was coming on them which they could only avert by prayer and fasting and the works of mercy. they laughed him to scorn, confiding in their lofty roman walls, which the invaders-wild horsemen, who had no military engines-were unable either to scale or batter down. severinus left the town at once, prophesying, it was said, the very day and hour of its fall. he went on to the next town, which was then closely garrisoned by a barbarian force, and repeated his warning there but while the people were listening to him, there came an old man to the gate, and told them how casturis had been already sacked, as the man of god had foretold; and, going into the church, threw himself at the feet of st. severinus, and said that he had been saved by his merits from being destroyed with his fellow-townsmen. then the dwellers in the town hearkened to the man of god, and gave themselves up to fasting and almsgiving and prayer for three whole days. and on the third day, when the solemnity of the evening sacrifice was fulfilled, a sudden earthquake happened, and the barbarians, seized with panic fear, and probably hating and dreading-like all those st. severinus. 227 wild tribes confinement between four stone walls instead of the free open life of the tent and the stockade, forced the romans to open their gates to them, rushed out into the night, and in their madness slew each other. in those days a famine fell upon the pcople of vienna; and they, as their sole remedy, thought good to send for the man of god from the neighbouring town. he went, and preached to them, too, repentance and almsgiving. the rich, it seems, had hidden up their stores of corn, and left the poor to starve. at least st. severinus discovered (by divine revelation, it was supposed), that a widow named procula had done as much. he called her out into the midst of the people, and asked her why she, a noble woman and free-born, had made herself a slave to avarice, which is idolatry. if she would not give her corn to christ's poor, let her throw it into the danube to feed the fish, for any gain from it she would not have. procula was abashed, and served out her hoards thereupon willingly to the poor; and a little while afterwards, to the astonishment of all, vessels came down the danube, laden with every kind of merchandise. they had been frozen up for many days near passau, in the thick ice of the river enns: but the prayers. of god's servant (so men believed) had opened the ice-gates, and let them down the stream before the usual time. then the wild german horsemen swept around the walls, and carried off human beings and cattle, as many as they could find. severinus, like some old q2 228 st. severinus. hebrew prophet, did not shrink from advising hard blows, where hard blows could avail. mamertinus, the tribune, or officer in command, told him that he had so few soldiers, and those so ill-armed, that he dare not face the enemy. severinus answered, that they should get weapons from the barbarians themselves; the lord would fight for them, and they should hold their peace: only if they took any captives they should bring them safe to him. at the second milestone from the city they came upon the plunderers, who fled at once, leaving their arms behind. thus was the prophecy of the man of god fulfilled. the romans brought the captives back to him unharmed. he loosed their bonds, gave them food and drink, and let them go. but they were to tell their comrades that, if ever they came near that spot again, celestial vengeance would fall on them, for the god of the christians fought from heaven in his servants' cause. so the barbarians trembled, and went away. and the fear of st. severinus fell on all the goths, heretic arians though they were; and on the rugii, who held the north bank of the danube in those evil days. st. severinus, meanwhile, went out of vienna, and built himself a cell at a place called "at the vineyards." but some benevolent impulse-divine revelation, his biographer calls it-prompted him to return, and build himself a cell on a hill close to vienna, round which other cells soon grew up, tenanted by his disciples. "there," says his biographer, "he longed to escape the crowds of men who were wont st. severinus. 229 to come to him, and cling closer to god in continual prayer: but the more he longed to dwell in solitude, the more often he was warned by revelations not to deny his presence to the afflicted people." he fasted continually; he went barefoot even in the midst of winter, which was so severe, the story continues, in those days around vienna, that wagons crossed the danube on the solid ice: and yet, instead of being puffed-up by his own virtues, he set an example of humility to all, and bade them with tears to pray for him, that the saviour's gifts to him might not heap condemnation on his head. over the wild rugii st. severinus seems to have acquired unbounded influence. their king, flaccitheus, used to pour out his sorrows to him, and tell him how the princes of the goths would surely slay him; for when he had asked leave of him to pass on into italy, he would not let him go. but st. severinus prophesied to him that the goths would do him no harm. only one warning he must take: "let it not grieve him to ask peace even for the least of men." the friendship which had thus begun between the barbarian king and the cultivated saint was carried on by his son feva: but his "deadly and noxious wife" gisa, who appears to have been a fierce arian, always, says his biographer, kept him back from clemency. one story of gisa's misdeeds is so characteristic both of the manners of the time and of the style in which the original biography is written, that i shall take leave to insert it at length. "the king feletheus (who is also feva), the 230 st. severinus. son of the afore-mentioned flaccitheus, following his father's devotion, began, at the commencement of his reign, often to visit the holy man. his deadly and noxious wife, named gisa, always kept him back from the remedies of clemency. for she, among the other plague-spots of her iniquity, even tried to have certain catholics re-baptized: but when her husband did not consent, on account of his reverence for st. severinus, she gave up immediately her sacrilegious intention, burdening the romans, nevertheless, with hard conditions, and commanding some of them to be exiled to the danube. for when one day, she, having come to the village next to vienna, had ordered some of them to be sent over the danube, and condemned to the most menial offices of slavery, the man of god sent to her, and begged that they might be let go. but she, blazing up in a flame of fury, ordered the harshest of answers to be returned. 'i pray thee,' she said, 'servant of god, hiding there within thy cell, allow us to settle what we choose about our own slaves.' but the man of god hearing this, 'i trust,' he said, 'in my lord jesus christ, that she will be forced by necessity to fulfil that which in her wicked will she has despised.' and forthwith a swift rebuke followed, and brought low the soul of the arrogant woman. for she had confined in close custody certain barbarian goldsmiths, that they might make regal ornaments. to them the son of the aforesaid king, frederic by name, still a little boy, had gone in, in childish levity, on the very day on which the queen had despised the st. severinus. 231 servant of god. the goldsmiths put a sword to the child's breast, saying, that if any one attempted to enter without giving them an oath that they should be protected, he should die; and that they would slay the king's child first, and themselves afterwards, seeing that they had no hope of life left, being worn out with long prison. when she heard that, the cruel and impious queen, rending her garments for grief, cried out, o servant of god, severinus, are the injuries which i did thee thus avenged? hast thou obtained by the earnest prayer thou hast poured out this punishment for my contempt, that thou shouldst avenge it on my own flesh and blood?' then, running up and down with manifold contrition and miserable lamentation, she confessed that for the act of contempt which she had committed against the servant of god she was struck by the vengeance of the present blow; and forthwith she sent knights to ask for forgiveness, and sent across the river the romans his prayers for whom she had despised. the goldsmiths, having received immediately a promise of safety, and giving up the child, were in like manner let go. "the most reverend severinus, when he heard this, gave boundless thanks to the creator, who sometimes puts off the prayers of suppliants for this end, that as faith, hope, and charity grow, while lesser things are sought, he may concede greater things. lastly, this did the mercy of the omnipotent saviour work, that while it brought to slavery a woman free, but cruel overmuch, she was forced to restore to 232 st. severinus. liberty those who were enslaved. this having been marvellously gained, the queen hastened with her husband to the servant of god, and showed him her son, who, she confessed, had been freed from the verge of death by his prayers, and promised that she would never go against his commands." to this period of severinus's life belongs the once famous story of his interview with odoacer, the first barbarian king of italy, and brother of the great onulph or wolf, who was the founder of the family of the guelphs, counts of altorf, and the direct ancestors of victoria, queen of england. their father was ædecon, secretary at one time of attila, and chief of the little tribe of turklings, who, though german, had clung faithfully to attila's sons, and came to ruin at the great battle of netad, when the empire of the huns broke up once and for ever. then odoacer and his brother started over the alps to seek their fortunes in italy, and take service, after the fashion of young german adventurers, with the romans; and they came to st. severinus's cell, and went in, heathens as they probably were, to ask a blessing of the holy man; and odoacer had to stoop and to stand stooping, so huge he was. the saint saw that he was no common lad, and said, "go to italy, clothed though thou be in ragged sheepskins : thou shalt soon give greater gifts to thy friends." so odoacer went on into italy, deposed the last of the cæsars, a paltry boy, romulus augustulus by name, and found himself, to his own astonishment, and that of all the world, the first german king of italy; and, 'st. severinus. 233 when he was at the height of his power, he remembered the prophecy of severinus, and sent to him, offering him any boon he chose to ask. but all that the saint asked was, that he should forgive some romans whom he had banished. st. severinus meanwhile foresaw that odoacer's kingdom would not last, as he seems to have foreseen many things, by no miraculous revelation, but simply as a far-sighted man of the world. for when certain german knights were boasting before him of the power and glory of odoacer, he said that it would last some thirteen, or at most fourteen years; and the prophecy (so all men said in those days) came exactly true. there is no need to follow the details of st. severinus's labours through some five-and-twenty years of perpetual self-sacrifice-and, as far as this world was concerned, perpetual disaster. eugippius's chapters are little save a catalogue of towns sacked one after the other, from passau to vienna, till the miserable survivors of the war seemed to have concentrated themselves under st. severinus's guardianship in the latter city. we find, too, tales of famine, of locustswarms, of little victories over the barbarians, which do not arrest wholesale defeat: but we find through all st. severinus labouring like a true man of god, conciliating the invading chiefs, redeeming captives, procuring for the cities which were still standing supplies of clothes for the fugitives, persuading the husbandmen, seemingly through large districts, to give even in time of dearth a tithe of their produce to the poor;—a tale of noble work which one regrets 234 . st. severinus. » to see defaced by silly little prodigies, more important seemingly in the eyes of the monk eugippius than the great events which were passing round him. but this is a fault too common with monk chroniclers. the only historians of the early middle age, they have left us a miserably imperfect record of it, because they were looking always rather for the preternatural than for the natural. many of the saints' lives, as they have come down to us, are mere catalogues of wonders which never happened, from among which the antiquary must pick, out of passing hints and obscure allusions, the really important facts of the time,-changes political and social, geography, physical history, the manners, speech, and look of nations now extinct, and even the characters and passions of the actors in the story. how much can be found among such a list of wonders, by an antiquary who has not merely learning but intellectual insight, is proved by the admirable notes which dr. reeves has appended to adamnan's life of st. columba: but one feels, while studying his work, that, had adamnan thought more of facts and less of prodigies, he might have saved dr. reeves the greater part of his labour, and preserved to us a mass of knowledge now lost for ever. and so with eugippius's life of st. severinus. the reader finds how the man who had secretly celebrated a heathen sacrifice was discovered by st. severinus, because, while the tapers of the rest of the congregation were lighted miraculously from heaven, his taper alone would not light; and passes on im1 st. severinus. 235 patiently, with regret that the biographer omits to mention what the heathen sacrifice was like. he reads how the danube dared not rise above the mark of the cross which st. severinus had cut upon the posts of a timber chapel; how a poor man, going out to drive the locusts off his little patch of corn instead of staying in the church all day to pray, found the next morning that his crop alone had been eaten, while all the fields around remained untouched. even the well-known story, which has a certain awfulness about it, how st. severinus watched all night by the bier of the dead priest silvinus, and ere the morning dawned bade him in the name of god speak to his brethren; and how the dead man opened his eyes, and severinus asked him whether he wished to return to life, and he answered complainingly, "keep me no longer here; nor cheat me of that perpetual rest which i had already found," and so, closing his eyes once more, was still for ever:—even such a story as this, were it true, would be of little value in comparison with the wisdom, faith, charity, sympathy, industry, utter selfsacrifice, which formed the true greatness of such a man as severinus. at last the noble life wore itself out. for two years severinus had foretold that his end was near; and foretold, too, that the people for whom he had spent himself should go forth in safety, as israel out of egypt, and find a refuge in some other roman province, leaving behind them so utter a solitude, that the barbarians, in their search for the hidden treasures of the civilization which they had extermi236 st. severinus. nated, should dig up the very graves of the dead. only, when the lord willed that people to deliver them, they must carry away his bones with them, as the children of israel carried the bones of joseph. then severinus sent for feva, the rugian king, and gisa, his cruel wife; and when he had warned them how they must render an account to god for the people committed to their charge, he stretched his hand out to the bosom of the king. "gisa," he asked, "dost thou love most the soul within that breast, or gold and silver?" she answered that she loved her husband above all. "cease then," he said, "to oppress the innocent: lest their affliction be the ruin of your power." severinus' presage was strangely fulfilled. feva had handed over the city of vienna to his brother frederic,-"poor and impious," says eugippius. severinus, who knew him well, sent for him, and warned him that he himself was going to the lord; and that if, after his death, frederic dared touch aught of the substance of the poor and the captive, the wrath of god would fall on him. in vain the barbarian pretended indignant innocence; severinus sent him away with fresh warnings. "then on the nones of january he was smitten slightly with a pain in the side. and when that had continued for three days, at midnight he bade the brethren come to him." he renewed his talk about the coming emigration, and entreated again that his bones might not be left behind; and having bidden all in turn come near and kiss him, and st. severinus. 237 having received the sacrament of communion, he forbade them to weep for him, and commanded them to sing a psalm. they hesitated, weeping. he himself gave out the psalm, "praise the lord in his saints, and let all that hath breath praise the lord;" and so went to rest in the lord. no sooner was he dead than frederic seized on the garments kept in the monastery for the use of the poor, and even commanded his men to carry off the vessels of the altar. then followed a scene characteristic of the time. the steward sent to do the deed shrank from the crime of sacrilege. a knight, anicianus by name, went in his stead, and took the vessels of the altar. but his conscience was too strong for him. trembling and delirium fell on him, and he fled away to a lonely island, and became a hermit there. frederic, impenitent, swept away all in the monastery, leaving nought but the bare walls, "which he could not carry over the danube." but on him, too, vengeance fell. within a month he was slain by his own nephew. then odoacer attacked the rugii, and carried off feva and gisa captive to rome. and then the long-promised emigration came. odoacer, whether from mere policy (for he was trying to establish a half-roman kingdom in italy), or for love of st. severinus himself, sent his brother onulf to fetch away into italy the miserable remnant of the danubian provincials, to be distributed among the wasted and unpeopled farms of italy. and with them went forth the corpse of st. severinus, undecayed, though he had been six 238 st. severinus. years dead, and giving forth exceeding fragrance, though (says eugippius) no embalmer's hand had touched it. in a coffin, which had been long prepared for it, it was laid on a wagon, and went over the alps into italy, working (according to eugippius) the usual miracles on the way, till it found a restingplace near naples, in that very villa of lucullus at misenum, to which odoacer had sent the last emperor of rome to dream his ignoble life away in helpless luxury. so ends this tragic story. of its substantial truth there can be no doubt. the miracles recorded in it are fewer and less strange than those of the average legends—as is usually the case when an eye-witness writes. and that eugippius was an eye-witness of much which he tells, no one accustomed to judge of the authenticity of documents can doubt, if he studies the tale as it stands in pez.* as he studies, too, he will perhaps wish with me that some great dramatist may hereafter take eugippius's quaint and rough legend, and shape it into immortal verse. for tragic, in the very nighest sense, the story is throughout. m. ozanam has well said of that death-bed scene between the saint and the barbarian king and queen "the history of invasions has many a pathetic scene: but i know none more instructive than the dying agony of that old roman expiring between two barbarians, and less touched with the ruin of the empire than with the peril of their souls." but even more instructive, and more tragic also, is the scriptores austriacarum rerum. * ་ st. martin. 239 strange coincidence that the wonder-working corpse of the starved and barefooted hermit should rest beside the last emperor of rome. it is the symbol of a new era. the kings of this world have been judged and cast out. the empire of the flesh is to perish, and the empire of the spirit to conquer thenceforth for evermore. but if st. severinus's labours in austria were in vain, there were other hermits, in gaul and elsewhere, whose work endured and prospered, and developed to a size of which they had never dreamed. the stories of these good men may be read at length in the bollandists and surius: in a more accessible and more graceful form in m. de montalembert's charming pages. i can only sketch, in a few words, the history of a few of the more famous. pushing continually, northward and westward from the shores of the mediterranean, fresh hermits settled in the mountains and forests, collected disciples round them, and founded monasteries, which, during the sanguinary and savage era of the merovingian kings, were the only retreats for learning, piety, and civilization. st. martin (the young soldier who may be seen in old pictures cutting his cloak in two with a sword, to share it with a beggar) left, after twenty campaigns, the army into which he had been enrolled against his will, a conscript of fifteen years old, to become a hermit, monk, and missionary. in the desert isle of gallinaria, near genoa, he lived on roots, to train himself for the monastic life; and then went north-west, to poitiers, to found ligugé (said to be the most ancient monas240 st. martin tery in france), to become bishop of tours, and to overthrow throughout his diocese, often at the risk of his life, the sacred oaks and druid stones of the gauls, and the temples and idols of the romans. but helike many more-longed for the peace of the hermit's cell; and near tours, between the river loire and lofty cliffs, he hid himself in a hut of branches, while his eighty disciples dwelt in caves of the rocks above, clothed only in skins of camels. he died in a.d. 397, at the age of eighty-one, leaving behind him, not merely that famous monastery of marmontier (martini monasterium), which endured till the revolution of 1793, but, what is infinitely more to his glory, his solemn and indignant protest against the first persecution by the catholic church-the torture and execution of those unhappy priscillianist fanatics, whom the spanish bishops (the spiritual forefathers of the inquisition) had condemned in the name of the god of love. martin wept over the fate of the priscillianists. happily he was no prophet, or his head would have become (like jeremiah's) a fount of tears, could he have foreseen that the isolated atrocity of those spanish bishops would have become the example and the rule, legalized and formulized and commanded by pope after pope, for every country in christendom. sulpicius severus, again (whose lives of the desert fathers i have already quoted), carried the example of these fathers into his own estates in aquitaine. selling his lands, he dwelt among his now manumitted slaves, sleeping on straw, and feeding on the honoratus. 241 coarsest bread and herbs; till the hapless neophytes found that life was not so easily sustained in france as in egypt; and complained to him that it was in vain to try "to make them live like angels, when they were only gauls." another centre of piety and civilization was the rocky isle of lerins, off the port of toulon. covered with the ruins of an ancient roman city, and swarming with serpents, it was colonized again, in a.d. 410, by a young man of rank named honoratus, who gathered round him a crowd of disciples, converted the desert isle into a garden of flowers and herbs, and made the sea-girt sanctuary of lerins one of the most important spots of the then world. "the west," says m. de montalembert, "had thenceforth nothing to envy the east; and soon that retreat, destined by its founder to renew on the shores of provence the austerities of the thebaid, became a celebrated school of christian theology and philosophy, a citadel inaccessible to the waves of the barbarian invasion, an asylum for the letters and sciences which were fleeing from italy, then overrun by the goths; and, lastly, a nursery of bishops and saints, who spread through gaul the knowledge of the gospel and the glory of lerins. we shall soon see the rays of his light flash even into ireland and england, by the blessed hands of patrick and augustine." in the year 425, romanus, a young monk from the neighbourhood of lyons, had gone up into the forests of the jura, carrying with him the "lives s. l. ii. k 242 romanus. of the hermits," and a few seeds and tools; and had settled beneath an enormous pine; shut out from mankind by precipices, torrents, and the tangled trunks of primæval trees, which had fallen and rotted. on each other age after age. his brother lupicinus joined him; then crowds of disciples; then his sister, and a multitude of women. the forests were cleared, the slopes planted; a manufacture of box-wood articles-chairs among the rest-was begun; and within the next fifty years the abbey of condat, or st. claude, as it was afterwards called, had become, not merely an agricultural colony, or even merely a minster for the perpetual worship of god, but the first school of that part of gaul; in which the works of greek as well as latin orators were taught, not only to the young monks, but to young laymen likewise. meanwhile the volcanic peaks of the auvergne were hiding from their arian invaders the ruined. gentry of central france. effeminate and luxurious slave-holders, as they are painted by sidonius appolineris, bishop of clermont, in that same auvergne, nothing was left for them when their wealth was gone but to become monks and monks they became. the lava grottoes held hermits, who saw visions and dæmons, as st. antony had seen them in egypt; while near trêves, on the moselle, a young hermit named wolflaich tried to imitate st. simeon stylites' penance on the pillar; till his bishop, foreseeing that in that severe climate he would only kill himself, wheedled him away from his station, pulled down the st. goar. 243 pillar in his absence, and bade him be a wiser man. another figure, and a more interesting one, is the famous st. goar; a gaul, seemingly (from the recorded names of his parents) of noble roman blood, who took his station on the rhine, under the cliffs of that lurlei so famous in legend and ballad as haunted by some fair fiend, whose treacherous song lured the boatmen into the whirlpool at their foot. to rescue the shipwrecked boatmen, to lodge, feed, and if need be clothe, the travellers along the rhine bank, was st. goar's especial work; and wandelbert, the monk of prum, in the eifel, who wrote his life at considerable length, tells us how st. goar was accused to the archbishop of trêves as a hypocrite and a glutton, because he ate freely with his guests; and how his calumniators took him through the forest to trêves; and how he performed divers miracles, both on the road and in the palace of the archbishop, notably the famous one of hanging his cape upon a sunbeam, mistaking it for a peg. and other miracles of his there are, some of them not altogether edifying: but no reader is bound to believe them, as wandelbert is evidently writing in the interests of the abbey of prum as against those of the prince-bishops of trêves; and with a monk's or regular's usual jealousy of the secular or parochial clergy and their bishops. a more important personage than any of these is the famous st. benedict, father of the benedictine order, and "father of all monks," as he was afterwards called, who, beginning himself as a hermit, caused the hermit life to fall, not into disrepute, but into comparar 2 244 st. benedict. tive disuse; while the cœnobitic life-that is, life, not in separate cells, but in corporate bodies, with common property, and under one common rule-was accepted as the general form of the religious life in the west. as the author of this organization, and of the benedictine order, to whose learning, as well as to whose piety, the world has owed so much, his life belongs rather to a history of the monastic orders than to that of the early hermits. but it must be always remembered that it was as a hermit that his genius was trained; that in solitude he conceived his vast plans; in solitude he elaborated the really wise and noble rules of his, which he afterwards carried out as far as he could during his lifetime in the busy world; and which endured for centuries, a solid piece of practical good work. for the existence of monks was an admitted fact; even an admitted necessity: st. benedict's work was to tell them, if they chose to be monks, what sort of persons they ought to be, and how they ought to live, in order to fulfil their own ideal. in the solitude of the hills of subiaco, above the ruined palace of nero, above, too, the town of nurscia, of whose lords he was the last remaining scion, he fled to the mountain grotto, to live the outward life of a wild beast, and, as he conceived, the inward life of an angel. how he founded twelve monasteries; how he fled with some of his younger disciples, to withdraw them from the disgusting persecutions and temptations of the neighbouring secular clergy; how he settled himself on the still famous monte cassino, which looks down st. benedict. 245 upon the gulf of gaeta, and founded there the "archi-monasterium of europe," whose abbot was in due time first premier baron of the kingdom of naples, which counted among its dependencies* four bishoprics, two principalities, twenty earldoms, two hundred and fifty castles, four hundred and forty towns or villages, three hundred and thirty-six manors, twenty-three seaports, three isles, two hundred mills, three hundred territories, sixteen hundred and sixtytwo churches, and at the end of the sixteenth century an annual revenue of 1,500,000 ducats,—are matters which hardly belong to this volume, which deals merely with the lives of hermits. * hæften, quoted by montalembert, vol. ii. p. 22, in note. the celtic hermits. it is not necessary to enter into the vexed question whether any christianity ever existed in these islands of an earlier and purer type than that which was professed and practised by the saintly disciples of st. antony. it is at least certain that the earliest historic figures which emerge from the haze of barbarous antiquity in both the britains and in ireland, are those of hermits, who, in celibacy and poverty, gather round them disciples, found a convent, convert and baptize the heathen, and often, like antony and hilarion, escape from the bustle and toil of the world into their beloved desert. they work the same miracles, see the same visions, and live in the same intimacy with the wild animals, as the hermits of egypt, or of roman gaul: but their history, owing to the wild imagination and (as the legends themselves prove) the gross barbarism of the tribes among whom they dwell, are so involved in fable and legend, that it is all but impossible to separate fact from fiction; all but impossible, often, to fix the time at which they lived. st. patrick and st. ninian. 247 their mode of life, it must always be remembered, is said to be copied from that of the roman hermits of gaul. st. patrick, the apostle of ireland, seems to have been of roman or roman british lineage. in his famous "confession" (which many learned antiquaries consider as genuine) he calls his father, calphurnius a deacon; his grandfather, potitus a priest-both of these names being roman. he is said to have visited, at some period of his life, the monastery of st. martin at tours; to have studied with st. germanus at auxerre; and to have gone to one of the islands of the tuscan sea, probably lerins itself; and, whether or not we believe the story that he was consecrated bishop by pope celestine at rome, we can hardly doubt that he was a member of that great spiritual succession of ascetics who counted st. antony as their father. such another must that palladius have been, who was sent, says prosper of aquitaine, by pope celestine to convert the irish scots, and who (according to another story) was cast on shore on the north-east coast of scotland, founded the church of fordun, in kincardineshire, and became a great saint among the pictish folk. another primæval figure, almost as shadowy as st. patrick, is st. ninian, a monk of north wales, who (according to bede) first attempted the conversion of the southern picts, and built himself, at whithorn in galloway, the candida casa, or white house, a little church of stone,—a wonder in those days of "creel houses and wooden stockades. he too, 248 dubricius. according to bede, who lived some 250 years after his time, went to rome; and he is said to have visited and corresponded with st. martin of tours. dubricius, again, whom legend makes the contemporary both of st. patrick and of king arthur, appears in wales, as bishop and abbot of llandaff. he too is ordained by a roman bishop, st. germanus of auxerre; and he too ends his career, according to tradition, as a hermit, while his disciples spread away into armorica (brittany) and ireland. we need not, therefore, be surprised to find ireland, wales, cornwall, scotland, and brittany, during the next three centuries, swarming with saints, who kept up, whether in company or alone, the old hermit-life of the thebaid; or to find them wandering, whether on missionary work, or in search of solitude, or escaping, like st. cadoc the wise, from the saxon invaders. their frequent journeys to rome, and even to jerusalem, may perhaps be set down as a fable, invented in after years by monks who were anxious to prove their complete dependence on the holy see, and their perfect communion with the older and more civilized christianity of the roman empire. it is probable enough, also, that romans from gaul, as well as from britain, often men of rank and education, who had fled before the invading goths and franks, and had devoted themselves (as we have seen that they often did) to the monastic life, should have escaped into those parts of these islands which had not already fallen into the hands of the saxon invast. iltut. 249 ders. ireland, as the most remote situation, would be especially inviting to the fugitives; and we can thus understand the story which is found in the acts of st. senanus, how fifty monks, "romans born," sailed to ireland to learn the scriptures, and to lead a stricter life; and were distributed between st. senan, st. finnian, st. brendan, st. barry, and st. kieran. by such immigrations as this, it may be, ireland became as she certainly was for a while-the refuge of what ecclesiastical civilization, learning, and art the barbarian invaders had spared; a sanctuary from whence, in after centuries, evangelists and teachers went forth once more, not only to scotland and england, but to france and germany. very fantastic, and often very beautiful, are the stories of these men; and sometimes tragical enough, like that of the welsh st. iltut, cousin of the mythic arthur, and founder of the great monastery of bangor, on the banks of the dee, which was said-though we are not bound to believe the fact-to have held more than two thousand monks at the time of the saxon invasion. the wild warrior was converted, says this legend, by seeing the earth open and swallow up his comrades, who had extorted bread, beer, and a fat pig from st. cadoc of llancarvan, a princely hermit and abbot, who had persuaded his father and mother to embrace the hermit life as the regular, if not the only, way of saving their souls. in a paroxysm of terror he fled from his fair young wife into the forest; would not allow her to share with him even his hut of branches; and devoted himself to the labour of 250 st. david. making an immense dyke of mud and stones to keep out the inundations of a neighbouring river. his poor wife went in search of him once more, and found him in the bottom of a dyke, no longer a gay knight, but poorly dressed, and covered with mud. she went away, and never saw him more; "fearing to displease god and one so beloved by god." iltut dwelt afterwards for four years in a cave, sleeping on the bare rock, and seems at last to have crossed over to brittany, and died at dol. we must not forget-though he is not strictly a hermit-st. david, the popular saint of the welsh, son of a nephew of the mythic arthur, and educated by one paulinus, a disciple, it is said, of st. germanus of auxerre. he is at once monk and bishop: he gathers round him young monks in the wilderness, makes them till the ground, drawing the plough by their own strength, for he allows them not to own even an ox. he does battle against "satraps" and "magicians probably heathen chieftains and druids; he goes to the holy land, and is made archbishop by the patriarch of jerusalem: he introduces, it would seem, into this island the right of sanctuary for criminals in any field consecrated to himself. he restores the church of glastonbury over the tomb of his cousin, king arthur, and dies at 100 years of age, "the head of the whole british nation, and honour of his fatherland." he is buried in one of his own monasteries at st. david's, near the headland whence st. patrick had seen, in a vision, all ireland stretched out before him, waiting to be converted to christ; and the celtic the isle of saints. 251 people go on pilgrimage to his tomb, even from brittany and ireland: and, canonized in 1120, he becomes the patron saint of wales. from that same point, in what year is not said, an old monk of st. david's monastery, named modonnoc, set sail for ireland, after a long life of labour and virtue. a swarm of bees settled upon the bow of his boat, and would not be driven away. he took them, whether he would or not, with him into ireland, and introduced there, says the legend, the culture of bees and the use of honey. three ireland was then the "isle of saints." orders of them were counted by later historians: the bishops (who seem not to have had necessarily territorial dioceses), with st. patrick at their head, shining like the sun; the second, of priests, under st. columba, shining like the moon; and the third, of bishops, priests, and hermits, under colman and aidan, shining like the stars. their legends, full of irish poetry and tenderness, and not without touches here and there of genuine irish humour, lie buried now, to all save antiquaries, in the folios of the bollandists and colgan: but the memory of their virtue and beneficence, as well as of their miracles, shadowy and distorted by the lapse of centuries, is rooted in the heart and brain of the irish peasantry; and who shall say altogether for evil? for with the tradition of their miracles has been entwined the tradition of their virtues, as an enduring heirloom for the whole irish race, through the sad centuries which part the era of saints from the 252 croagh patrick. present time. we see the irish women kneeling beside some well, whose waters were hallowed, ages since, by the fancied miracle of some mythic saint, and hanging gaudy rags (just as do the half savage buddhists of the himalayas) upon the bushes round. we see them upon holy days crawling on bare and bleeding knees around st. patrick's cell, on the top of croagh patrick, the grandest mountain, perhaps, with the grandest outlook, in these british isles, where stands still, i believe, an ancient wooden image, said to have belonged to st. patrick himself; and where, too, hung till late years (it is now preserved in dublin) an ancient bell; such a strange little oblong bell as the irish saints carried with them to keep off dæmons; one of those magic bells which appear, so far as i am aware, in no country save ireland and scotland till we come to tartary and the buddhists: such a bell as came down from heaven to st. senan: such a bell as st. fursey sent flying through the air to greet st. cuandy at his devotions when he could not come himself: such a bell as another saint, wandering in the woods, rang till a stag came out of the covert, and carried it for him on his horns. on that peak, so legends tell, st. patrick stood once, in the spirit and power of elias after whom the mountain was long named; fasting, like elias, forty days and forty nights, and wrestling with the dæmons of the storm, and the snakes of the fen, and the peishta-more, the gigantic monster of the lakes, till he smote the evil things with the golden rod of jesus, and they rolled over the cliff in hideous rout, and perished in the atlantic far below st. brendan. 253 • we know that these tales are but the dreams of children but shall we sneer at the devotion of those poor irish? not if we remember (what is an undoubted fact) that the memory of these same saints has kept up in their minds an ideal of nobleness and purity, devotion and beneficence, which, down-trodden slaves as they have been, they would otherwise have inevitably lost; that it has helped to preserve them from mere brutality, and mere ferocity; and that the thought that these men were of their own race and their own kin has given them a pride in their own race, a sense of national unity and of national dignity, which has endured-and surely for their benefit, for reverence for ancestors and the self-respect which springs from it is a benefit to every human beingthrough all the miseries, deserved or undeserved, which have fallen upon the irish since pope adrian iv. (the true author of all the woes of ireland), in the year 1155, commissioned henry ii. to conquer ireland and destroy its primæval church, on consideration of receiving his share of the booty in the shape of peter's pence. among these irish saints, two names stand out as especially interesting: that of st. brendan, and that of st. columba-the former as the representative of the sailor monks of the early period, the other ast the great missionary who, leaving his monastery at durrow, in ireland, for the famous island of hy, iona, or icolumbkill, off the western point of mull, became the apostle of scotland and the north of england. i shall first speak of st. brendan, and at 254 monk voyagers. some length. his name has become lately familiar to many, through the medium of two very beautiful poems, one by mr. matthew arnold, and the other by mr. sebastian evans; and it may interest those who have read their versions of the story to see the oldest form in which the story now exists. the celts, it must be remembered, are not, in general, a sea-going folk. they have always neglected the rich fisheries of their coasts; and in ireland every seaport owes its existence, not to the natives, but to norse colonists. even now, the irishman or western highlander, who emigrates to escape the "saxons," sails in a ship built and manned by those very "saxons," to lands which the saxons have discovered and civilized. but in the seventh and eighth centuries, and perhaps earlier, many celts were voyagers and emigrants, not to discover new worlds, but to flee from the old one. there were deserts in the sea, as well as on land; in them they hoped to escape from men, and, yet more, from women. they went against their carnal will. they had no liking for the salt water. they were horribly frightened, and often wept bitterly, as they themselves confess. and they had reason for fear; for their vessels were, for the most part, only "curachs" (coracles) of wattled twigs, covered with tanned hides. they needed continual exhortation and comfort from the holy man who was their captain; and needed often miracles likewise for their preservation. tempests had to be changed into calm, and contrary winds baitanus. 255 into fair ones, by the prayers of a saint; and the spirit of prophecy was needed, to predict that a whale would be met between iona and tiree, who appeared accordingly, to the extreme terror of st. berach's crew, swimming with open jaws, and (intent on eating, not monks, but herrings) nearly upsetting them by the swell which he raised. and when st. baithenius met the same whale on the same day, it was necessary for him to rise, and bless, with outspread hands, the sea and the whale, in order to make him sink again, after having risen to breathe. but they sailed forth, nevertheless, not knowing whither they went; true to their great principle, that the spirit must conquer the flesh and so showed themselves actually braver men than the norse pirates, who sailed afterwards over the same seas without fear, and without the need of miracles, and who found everywhere on desert islands, on sea-washed stacks and skerries, round orkney, shetland, and the faroës, even to iceland, the cells of these "papas" or popes; and named them after the old hermits, whose memory still lingers in the names of papa strona and papa westra, in the orkneys, and in that of papey, off the coast of iceland, where the first norse settlers found irish books, bells, and crosiers, the relics of old hermits who had long since fasted and prayed their last, and migrated to the lord. adanman, in his life of st. columba, tells of more than one such voyage. he tells how one baitanus, with the saint's blessing, sailed forth to find "a desert" in the sea; and how when he was gone, the saint pro256 cormac. * phesied that he should be buried, not in a desert isle, but where a woman should drive sheep over his grave, the which came true in the oak-wood of calgaich, now londonderry, whither he came back again. he tells, again, of one cormac, "a knight of christ," who three times sailed forth in a coracle to find some desert isle, and three times failed of his purpose; and how, in his last voyage, he was driven northward by the wind fourteen days' sail, till he came where the summer sea was full of foul little stinging creatures, of the size of frogs, which beat against the sides of the frail boat, till all expected them to be stove in. they clung, moreover, to the oar blades; and cormac was in some danger of never seeing land again, had not st. columba, at home in iona far away, seen him in a vision, him and his fellows, praying and "watering their cheeks with floods of tears," in the midst of "perturbations monstrous, horrific, never seen before, and almost unspeakable." calling together his monks, he bade them pray for a north wind, which came accordingly, and blew cormac safe back to iona, to tempt the waves no more. "let the reader therefore perpend how great and what manner of man this same blessed personage was, who, having so great prophetic knowledge, could command, by invoking the name of christ, the winds and ocean." even as late as the year 891, says the anglo-saxon chronicle: "three scots came to king alfred, in * dr. reeves supposes these to have been "crustacea:" but their stinging and clinging prove them surely to have been jelly-fish— medusæ. st brendan. 257 a boat without any oars, from ireland, whence they had stolen away, because for the love of god they desired to be on pilgrimage, they recked not where. the boat in which they came was made of two hides and a half; and they took with them provisions for seven days; and about the seventh day they came on shore in cornwall, and soon after went to king alfred. thus they were named, dubslane, and macbeth, and maelinmun." out of such wild feats as these; out of dim reports of fairy islands in the west; of the canaries and azores; of that vinland, with its wild corn and wild grapes which leif, the son of eirek rauda, had found beyond the ocean a thousand years and one after the birth of christ; of icebergs and floes sailing in the far northern sea, upon the edge of the six-months' night; out of edda stories of the midgard snake, which is coiled round the world; out of reports, it may be, of indian fakirs and buddhist shamans; out of scraps of greek and arab myth, from the odyssey or the arabian nights, brought home by "jorsala farar," vikings who had been for pilgrimage and plunder up the straits of gibraltar into the far east;-out of all these materials were made up, as years rolled on, the famous legend of st. brendan and his seven years' voyage in search of the "land promised to the saints." this tale was so popular in the middle age, that it appears, in different shapes, in almost every early european language.* it was not only the delight of i have followed the latin prose version of it, which m. achille jubinal attributes to the eleventh century. here and there i have s. l. ii. s 258 st. brendan. monks, but it stirred up to wild voyages many a secular man in search of st. brendan's isle, "which is not found when it is sought," but was said to be visible at times, from palma in the canaries. the myth must have been well known to columbus, and may have helped to send him forth in search of "cathay." thither (so the spanish peasants believed) don roderic had retired from the moorish invaders. there (so the portuguese fancied) king sebastian was hidden from men, after his reported death in the battle of alcazar. the west indies, when they were first seen, were surely st. brendan's isle : and the mississippi may have been, in the eyes of such old adventurers as don ferdinando da soto, when he sought for the fountain of perpetual youth, the very river which st. brendan found parting in two the land of promise. from the year 1526 (says m. jubinal), till as late as 1721, armaments went forth from time to time into the atlantic, and went forth in vain. for the whole tale, from whatever dim reports of fact they may have sprung, is truly (as m. jubinal calls it) a monkish odyssey, and nothing more. it is taken the liberty of using the french prose version, which he attributes to the latter part of the twelfth. i have often condensed the story, where it was prolix or repeated itself: but i have tried to follow faithfully both matter and style, and to give, word for word, as nearly as i could, any notable passages. those who wish to know more of st. brendan should consult the learned brochure of m. jubinal, "la légende latine de st. brandaines," and the two english versions of the legend, edited by mr. thomas wright for the percy society, vol. xiv, one is in verse, and of the earlier part of the fourteenth century, and spirited enough: the other, a prose version, was printed by wynkyn de worde, in his edition of the "golden legend;" 1527. st. brendan. 259 a dream of the hermit's cell. no woman, no city, nor nation, are ever seen during the seven years' voyage. ideal monasteries and ideal hermits people the "deserts of the ocean." all beings therein (save dæmons and cyclops) are christians, even to the very birds, and keep the festivals of the church as eternal. laws of nature. the voyage succeeds, not by seamanship, or geographic knowledge, nor even by chance: but by the miraculous prescience of the saint, or of those whom he meets; and the wanderings of ulysses, or of sinbad, are rational and human in comparison with those of st. brendan. yet there are in them, as was to be expected, elements in which the greek or the arab legends are altogether deficient; perfect innocence, patience, and justice; utter faith in a god who prospers the innocent and punishes the guilty; ennobling obedience to the saint, who stands out a truly heroic figure above his trembling crew; and even more valuable still, the belief in, the craving for, an ideal, even though that ideal be that of a mere earthly paradise; the "divine discontent," as it has been well called, which is the root of all true progress; which leaves (thank god) no man at peace save him who has said, "let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die." and therefore i have written at some length the story of st. brendan; because, though it be but a monk-ideal, it is an ideal still: and therefore profitable for all who are not content with this world, and its paltry ways. saint brendan, we read, the son of finnloga, and s 2 260 st. brendan. great grandson of alta, son of ogaman, of the race of ciar son of fergus, was born at tralee, and founded, in 559, the abbey of clonfert,* and was a man famous for his great abstinence and virtues, and the father of nearly 3,000 monks.† and while he was "in his warfare," there came to him one evening a holy hermit named "barintus," of the royal race of neill; and when he was questioned, he did nought but cast himself on the ground, and weep and pray. and when st. brendan asked him to make better cheer for him and his monks, he told him a strange tale. how a nephew of his had fled away to be a solitary, and found a delicious island, and established a monastery therein; and how he himself had gone to see his nephew, and sailed with him to the eastward to an island, which was called “the land of promise of the saints," wide and grassy, and bearing all manner of fruits; wherein was no night, for the lord jesus christ was the light thereof; and how they abode there for a long while without eating and drinking; and when they returned to his nephew's monastery, the brethren knew well where they had been, for the fragrance of paradise lingered on their garments for nearly forty days. so barintus told his story, and went back to his cell. but st. brendan called together his most loving fellow-warriors, as he called them, and told them how he had set his heart on seeking that promised *in the barony of longford, county galway. + 3,000, like 300, seems to be, i am informed, only an irish expression for any large number. jetec st. brendan setting sail.-p. 261. st. brendan. 261 land. and he went up to the top of the hill in kerry, which is still called mount brendan, with fourteen chosen monks; and there, at the utmost corner of the world, he built him a coracle of wattle, and covered it with hides tanned in oak-bark and softened with butter, and set up in it a mast and a sail, and took forty days' provision, and commanded his monks to enter the boat, in the name of the holy trinity. and as he stood alone, praying on the shore, three more monks from his monastery came up, and fell at his feet, and begged to go too, or they would die in that place of hunger and thirst; for they were determined to wander with him all the days of their life. so he gave them leave. but two of them, he prophesied, would come to harm and to judgment. so they sailed away toward the summer solstice, with a fair wind, and had no need to row. but after twelve days the wind fell to a calm, and they had only light airs at night, till forty days were past, and all their victual spent. then they saw toward the north a lofty island, walled round with cliffs, and went about it three days ere they could find a harbour. and when they landed, a dog came fawning on them, and they followed it up to a great hall with beds and seats, and water to wash their feet. but st. brendan said, "beware, lest satan bring you into temptation. for i see him busy with one of those three who followed us." now the hall was hung all round with vessels of divers metals, and bits and horns overlaid with silver. then st. brendan told his servant to bring the meal which god had prepared; and at once 262 st. brendan. a table was laid with napkins, and loaves wondrous white, and fishes. then they blessed god, and ate, and took likewise drink as much as they would, and lay down to sleep. then st. brendan saw the devil's work; namely, a little black boy holding a silver bit, and calling the brother aforementioned. so they rested three days and three nights. but when they went to the ship, st. brendan charged them with theft, and told what was stolen, and who had stolen it. then the brother cast out of his bosom a silver bit, and prayed for mercy. and when he was forgiven and raised up from the ground, behold, a little black boy flew out of his bosom, howling aloud, and crying, "why, o man of god, dost thou drive me from my habitation, where i have dwelt for seven years?" then the brother received the holy eucharist, and died straightway, and was buried in that isle, and the brethren saw the angels carry his soul aloft, for st. brendan had told him that so it should be: but that the brother who came with him should have his sepulchre in hell. and as they went on board, a youth met them with a basket of loaves and a bottle of water, and told them that it would not fail till pentecost. then they sailed again many days, till they came to an isle full of great streams and fountains swarming with fish; and sheep there all white, as big as oxen, so many that they hid the face of the earth. and they stayed there till easter eve, and took one of the sheep (which followed them as if it had been tame) to eat for the paschal feast. then came 5 st. brendan. 263 a man with loaves baked in the ashes, and other victual, and fell down before st. brendan and cried, "how have i merited this, o pearl of god, that thou shouldest be fed at this holy tide from the labours of my hand?" and they learned from that man that the sheep grew there so big because they were never milked, nor pinched with winter, but they fed in those pastures all the year round. moreover, he told them that they must keep easter in an isle hard by, opposite a shore to the west, which some called the paradise of birds. so to the nearest island they sailed. it had no harbour, nor sandy shore, and there was no turf on it, and very little wood. now the saint knew what manner of isle it was, but he would not tell the brethren, lest they should be terrified. so he bade them make the boat fast stem and stern, and when morning came he bade those who were priests to celebrate each a mass, and then to take the lamb's fleece on shore and cook it in the caldron with salt, while st. brendan remained in the boat. but when the fire blazed up, and the pot began to boil, that island began to move like water. then the brethren ran to the boat imploring st. brendan's aid; and he helped them each in by the hand, and cast off. after which the island sank in the ocean. and when they could see their fire burning more than two miles off, st. brendan told them how that god had revealed to him that night the mystery; that this was no isle, but the biggest of all fishes which swam in the ocean, and always it tries to make its head and its tail meet, 264 st. brendan. but cannot, by reason of its length; and its name is jasconius. then, across a narrow strait, they saw another isle, very grassy and wooded, and full of flowers. and they found a little stream, and towed the boat up it (for the stream was of the same width as the boat), with st. brendan sitting on board, till they came to the fountain thereof. then said the holy father, "see, brethren, the lord has given us a place wherein to celebrate his holy resurrection. and if we had nought else, this fountain, i think, would serve for food as well as drink." for the fountain was too admirable. over it was a huge tree of wonderful breadth, but no great height, covered with snow-white birds, so that its leaves and boughs could scarce be seen. and when the man of god saw that, he was so desirous to know the cause of that assemblage of birds, that he besought god upon his knees, with tears, saying, "god, who knowest the unknown, and revealest the hidden, thou knowest the anxiety of my heart.... deign of thy great mercy to reveal to me thy secret. . . . but not for the merit of my own dignity, but regarding thy clemency, do i presume to ask." then one of those birds flew from off the tree, and his wings sounded like bells over the boat. and he sat on the prow, and spread his wings joyfully, and looked quietly on st. brendan. and when the man of god questioned that bird, it told how they were of the spirits which fell in the great ruin of the old st. brendan. 265 enemy; not by sin or by consent, but predestined. by the piety of god to fall with those with whom they were created. but they suffered no punishment; only they could not, in part, behold the presence of god. they wandered about this world, like other spirits of the air, and firmament, and earth. but on holy days they took those shapes of birds, and praised their creator in that place. then the bird told him, how he and his monks had wandered one year already, and should wander for six more; and every year should celebrate their easter in that place, and after find the land of promise; and so flew back to its tree. and when the eventide was come, the birds began all with one voice to sing, and clap their wings, crying, "thou, o god, art praised in zion, and unto thee shall the vow be performed in jerusalem." and always they repeated that verse for an hour, and their melody and the clapping of their wings was like music which drew tears by its sweetness. and when the man of god wakened his monks at the third watch of the night with the verse, "thou shalt open my lips, o lord," all the birds answered, "praise the lord, all his angels; praise him, all his virtues." and when the dawn shone, they sang again, "the splendour of the lord god is over us ;" and at the third hour, "sing psalms to our god, sing; sing to our king, sing with wisdom." and at the sixth, "the lord hath lifted up the light of his countenance upon us, and had mercy on us." and at the ninth, "behold how good and pleasant it is for brethren to 266 st. brendan. dwell in unity." so day and night those birds gave praise to god. st. brendan, therefore, seeing these things, gave thanks to god for all his marvels, and the brethren were refreshed with that spiritual food. till the octave of easter. after which, st. brendan advised to take of the water of the fountain; for till then they had only used it to wash their feet and hands. but there came to him the same man who had been with them three days before easter, and with his boat full of meat and drink, and said, "my brothers, here you have enough to last till pentecost: but do not drink of that fountain. for its nature is, that whosoever drinks will sleep for four-and-twenty hours." so they stayed till pentecost, and rejoiced in the song of the birds. and after mass at pentecost, the man brought them food again, and bade them take of the water of the fountain and depart. then the birds came again, and sat upon the prow, and told them how they must, every year, celebrate easter in the isle of birds, and easter eve upon the back of the fish jasconius; and how, after eight months, they should come to the isle called ailbey, and keep their christmas there. after which they were on the ocean for eight months, out of sight of land, and only eating after every two or three days, till they came to an island, along which they sailed for forty days, and found no harbour. then they wept and prayed, for they were almost worn out with weariness; and after they had fasted and prayed for three days, they saw a narrow harbour, and two fountains, one foul, one clear. but st. brendan. 267 when the brethren hurried to draw water, st. brendan (as he had done once before) forbade them, saying that they must take nought without leave from the elders who were in that isle. and of the wonders which they saw in that isle it were too long to tell how there met them an exceeding old man, with snow-white hair, who fell at st. brendan's feet three times, and led him in silence up to a monastery of four-and-twenty silent monks, who washed their feet, and fed them with bread and water, and roots of wonderful sweetness; and then at last, opening his mouth, told them how that bread was sent them perpetually, they knew not from whence; and how they had been there eighty years, since the times of st. patrick, and how their father ailbey and christ had nourished them; and how they grew no older, nor ever fell sick, nor were overcome by cold or heat; and how brother never spoke to brother, but all things were done by signs; and how he led them to a square chapel, with three candles before the mid-altar, and two before each of the side altars; and how they, and the chalices and patens, and all the other vessels, were of crystal; and how the candles were lighted always by a fiery arrow, which came in through the window, and returned; and how st. brendan kept his christmas there, and then sailed away till lent, and came to a fruitful island where he found fish; and how when certain brethren drank too much of the charmed water they slept, some three days, and some one; and how they sailed north, and then east, till they came back to 263 st. brendan. the isle of sheep at easter, and found on the shore their caldron, which they had lost on jasconius's back; and how, sailing away, they were chased by a mighty fish which spouted foam, but was slain by another fish which spouted fire; and how they took enough of its flesh to last them three months; and how they came to an island flat as the sea, without trees, or aught that waved in the wind; and how on that island were three troops of monks (as the holy man had foretold), standing a stone's throw from each other: the first of boys, robed in snowwhite; the second of young men, dressed in hyacinthine; the third of old men, in purple dalmatics, singing alternately their psalms, all day and night: and how when they stopped singing, a cloud of wondrous brightness overshadowed the isle; and how two of the young men, ere they sailed away, brought baskets of grapes, and asked that one of the monks (as had been prophesied) should remain with them, in the isle of strong men; and how st. brendan let him go, saying, "in a good hour did thy mother conceive thee, because thou hast merited to dwell with such a congregation;" and how those grapes were so big, that a pound of juice ran out of each of them, and an ounce thereof fed each brother for a whole day, and was as sweet as honey; and how a magnificent bird dropped into the ship the bough of an unknown tree, with a bunch of grapes thereon; and how they came to a land where the trees were all bowed down with vines, and their odour as the odour of a house full of pomegranates; and how they fed forty days on those st. brendan. 269 grapes, and strange herbs and roots; and how they saw flying against them the bird which is called. gryphon; and how that bird who had brought the bough tore out the gryphon's eyes, and slew him; and how they looked down into the clear sea, and saw all the fishes sailing round and round, head to tail, innumerable as flocks in the pastures, and were terrified, and would have had the man of god celebrate mass in silence, lest the fish should hear, and attack them; and how the man of god laughed at their folly; and how they came to a column of clear crystal in the sea, with a canopy round it of the colour of silver, harder than marble, and sailed in through an opening, and found it all light within ;* and how they found in that hall a chalice of the same stuff as the canopy, and a paten of that of the column, and took them, that they might make many believe; and how they sailed out again, and past a treeless island, covered with slag and forges; and how a great hairy man, fiery and smutty, came down and shouted after them; and how when they made the sign of the cross and sailed away, he and his fellows brought down huge lumps of burning slag in tongs, and hurled them after the ship; and how they went back, and blew their forges up, till the whole island flared, and the sea boiled, and the howling and stench followed them, even when they were out of sight of that evil isle; and how st. brendan bade them strengthen themselves in faith and spiritual arms, for they were now on the confines of hell, therefore they must watch, and play the man. all this * some dim legend concerning icebergs, and caves therein. 270 st. brendan. must needs be hastened over, that we may come to the famous legend of judas iscariot. they saw a great and high mountain toward the north, with smoke about its peak. and the wind blew them close under the cliffs, which were of immense height, so that they could hardly see their top, upright as walls, and black as coal.* then he who remained of the three brethren who had followed st. brendan sprang out of the ship, and waded to the cliff foot, groaning, and crying, "woe to me, father, for i am carried away from you; and cannot turn back." then the brethren backed the ship, and cried to the lord for mercy. but the blessed father brendan saw how that wretch was carried off by a multitude of devils, and all on fire among them. then a fair wind blew them away southward; and when they looked back they saw the peak of the isle uncovered, and flame spouting from it up to heaven, and sinking back again, till the whole mountain seemed one burning pile. after that terrible vision they sailed seven days to the south, till father brendan saw a dense cloud; when they neared it, a form as of a man sitting, and before him a veil, as big as a sack, hanging between two iron tongs, and rocking on the waves like a boat in a whirlwind. which when the brethren saw some thought was a bird, and some a boat; but the man of god bade them give over arguing, and row thither. and when they got near, the waves were still, as if they had been frozen; and they found a * probably from reports of the volcanic coast of iceland. st. brendan. 271 man sitting on a rough and shapeless rock, and the waves beating over his head; and when they fell back, the bare rock appeared on which that wretch was sitting. and the cloth which hung before him the wind moved, and beat him with it on the eyes and brow. but when the blessed man asked him who he was, and how he had earned that doom, he said, "i am that most wretched judas, who made the worst of all bargains. but i hold not this place for any merit of my own, but for the ineffable mercy of christ. i expect no place of repentance: but for the indulgence and mercy of the redeemer of the world, and for the honour of his holy resurrection, i have this refreshment; for it is the lord's-day now, and as i sit here i seem to myself in a paradise of delight, by reason of the pains which will be mine this evening; for when i am in my pains i burn day and night like lead melted in a pot. but in the midst of that mountain which you saw, is leviathan with his satellites, and i was there when he swallowed your brother; and therefore the king of hell rejoiced, and sent forth huge flames, as he doth always when he devours the souls of the impious." then he told them how he had his refreshings there every lord'sday from even to even, and from christmas to epiphany, and from easter to pentecost, and from the purification of the blessed virgin to her assumption but the rest of his time he was tormented with herod and pilate, annas and caiaphas; and so adjured them to intercede for him with the lord that he might be there at least till sunrise in the 272 st. brendan. morn. to whom the man of god said, "the i will of the lord be done. thou shalt not be carried off by the dæmons till to-morrow." then he asked him of that clothing, and he told how he had given it to a leper when he was the lord's chamberlain; "but because it was no more mine than it was the lord's and the other brethren's, therefore it is of no comfort to me, but rather a hurt. and these forks i gave to the priests to hang their caldrons on. and this stone on which i always sit i took off the road, and threw it into a ditch for a stepping-stone, before i was a disciple of the lord."* 66 but when the evening hour had covered the face of thetis," behold a multitude of dæmons shouting in a ring, and bidding the man of god depart, for else they could not approach; and they dared not behold 36 this part of the legend has been changed and humanized as time ran on. in the latin and french versions it has little or no point or moral. in the english, judas accounts for the presence of the cloth thus:“here i may see what it is to give other men's (goods) with harm. as will many rich men with unright all day take, of poor men here and there, and almisse (alms) sithhe (afterwards) make." for the tongs and the stone he accounts by saying that, as he used them for "good ends, each thing should surely find him which he did for god's love." but in the prose version of wynkyn de worde, the tongs have been changed into " ox-tongues," "which i gave some tyme to two preestes to praye for me. i bought them with myne owne money, and therefore they ease me, bycause the fysshes of the sea gnaw on them, and spare me. 99 this latter story of the ox-tongues has been followed by mr. sebastian evans, in his poem on st. brendan. both he and mr. matthew arnold have rendered the moral of the english version very beautifully. st. brendan. 273 their prince's face unless they brought back their prey. but the man of god bade them depart. and in the morning an infinite multitude of devils covered the face of the abyss, and cursed the man of god for coming thither; for their prince had scourged them cruelly that night for not bringing back the captive. but the man of god returned their curses on their own heads, saying that "cursed was he whom they blest, and blessed he whom they cursed;" and when they threatened judas with double torments because he had not come back, the man of god rebuked them. "art thou, then, lord of all," they asked, "that we should obey thee?" "i am the servant," said he, "of the lord of all; and whatsoever i command in his name is done; and i have no ministry save what he concedes to me." so they blasphemed him till he left judas, and then returned, and carried off that wretched soul with great rushing and howling. after which they saw a little isle; and the holy man told them that now seven years were nigh past; and that in that isle they should soon see a hermit, named paul the spiritual, who had lived for sixty years without any corporeal food, but for thirty years before that he had received food from a certain beast. the isle was very small, about a furlong round; a bare rock, so steep that they could find no landingplace. but at last they found a creek, into which. they thrust the boat's bow, and then discovered a very difficult ascent. up that the man of god climbed, s. l. ii. t 274 st. brendan bidding them wait for him, for they must not enter the isle without the hermit's leave; and when he came to the top he saw two caves, with their mouths opposite each other, and a very small round well before the cave mouth, whose waters, as fast as they ran out, were sucked in again by the rock.* as he went to one entrance, the old man came out of the other, saying, "behold how good and pleasant it is, brethren, to dwell together in unity," and bade him call up the brethren from the boat; and when they came, he kissed them, and called them each by his name.. whereat they marvelled, not only at his spirit of prophecy, but also at his attire; for he was all covered with his locks and beard, and with the other hair of his body, down to his feet. his hair was white as snow for age, and none other covering had he. when st. brendan saw that, he sighed again and again, and said within himself, "woe is me, sinner that i am, who wear a monk's habit, and have many monks under me, when i see a man of angelic dignity sitting in a cell, still in the flesh, and unhurt by the vices of the flesh." to whom the man of god answered, "venerable father, what great and many wonders god hath showed thee, which he hath manifested to none of the fathers, and thou sayest in thy heart that thou art not worthy to wear a monk's habit. i tell thee, father, that thou art greater than a monk; for a monk is fed and clothed by the work of his own hands: but god has fed and clothed thee and thy family for seven years with his secret things, *copied, surely, from the life of paul the first hermit. st. brendan. bren 275 • while wretched i sit here on this rock like a bird, naked save the hair of my body." then st. brendan asked him how and whence he came thither; and he told how he was nourished in st. patrick's monastery for fifty years, and took care of the cemetery; and how when the dean had bidden him dig a grave, an old man, whom he knew not, appeared to him, and forbade him, for that grave was another man's. and how he revealed to him that he was st. patrick, his own abbot, who had died the day before, and bade him bury that brother elsewhere, and go down to the sea and find a boat, which would take him to the place where he should wait for the day of his death; and how he landed on that rock, and thrust the boat off with his foot, and it went swiftly back to its own land; and how, on the very first day, a beast came to him, walking on its hind paws, and between its fore paws a fish, and grass to make a fire, and laid them at his feet; and so every third day for twenty years; and every lord's day a little water came out of the rock, so that he could drink and wash his hands; and how after thirty years he had found these caves and that fountain, and had fed for the last sixty years on nought but the water thereof. for all the years of his life were 150, and henceforth he awaited the day of his judgment in that his flesh. then they took of that water, and received his blessing, and kissed each other in the peace of christ, and sailed southward: but their food was the water from the isle of the man of god. then (as paul the hermit had foretold) they came back t 2 276 st. brendan. on easter eve to the isle of sheep, and to him who used to give them victuals; and then went on to the fish jasconius, and sang praises on his back all night, and mass at morn. after which the fish carried them on his back to the paradise of birds, and there they stayed till pentecost. then the man who always tended them, bade them fill their skins from the fountain, and he would lead them to the land promised to the saints. and all the birds wished them a prosperous voyage in god's name; and they sailed away, with forty days' provision, the man being their guide, till after forty days they came at evening to a great darkness which lay round the promised land. but after they had sailed through it for an hour, a great light shone round them, and the boat stopped at a shore. and when they landed they saw a spacious land, full of trees bearing fruit as in autumn time. and they walked about that land for forty days, eating of the fruit and drinking of the fountains, and found no end thereof. and there was no night there, but the light shone like the light of the sun. at last they came to a great river, which they could not cross, so that they could not find out the extent of that land. and as they were pondering over this, a youth, with shining face and fair to look upon, met them, and kissed them with great joy, calling them each by his name, and said, “brethren, peace be with you, and with all that follow the peace of christ." and after that, "blessed are they who dwell in thy house, o lord; they shall be for ever praising thee." st. brendan. 277 then he told st. brendan that that was the land which he had been seeking for seven years, and that he must now return to his own country, taking of the fruits of that land, and of its precious gems, as much as his ship could carry; for the days of his departure were at hand, when he should sleep in peace with his holy brethren. but after many days that land should be revealed to his successors, and should be a refuge for christians in persecution. as for the river that they saw, it parted that island; and the light shone there for ever, because christ was the light thereof. then st. brendan asked if that land would ever be revealed to men: and the youth answered, that when the most high creator should have put all nations under his feet, then that land should be manifested to all his elect. after which st. brendan, when the youth had blessed him, took of the fruits and of the gems, and sailed back through the darkness, and returned to his monastery; whom when the brethren saw, they glorified god for the miracles which he had heard and seen. after which he ended his life in peace. amen. here ends (says the french version) concerning st. brendan, and the marvels which he found in the sea of ireland. st. malo. intermingled, fantastically and inconsistently, with the story of st. brendan, is that of st. maclovius or machutus, who has given his name to the seaport of st. malo, in brittany. his life, written by sigebert, a monk of gembloux, about the year 1100, tells us how he was a breton, who sailed with st. brendan in search of the fairest of all islands, in which the citizens of heaven were said to dwell. with st. brendan st. malo celebrated easter on the whale's back, and with st. brendan he returned. but another old hagiographer, johannes à bosco, tells a different story, making st. malo an irishman brought up by st. brendan, and preserved by his prayers from a wave of the sea. he gives, moreover, to the isle of paradise the name of inga, and says that st. brendan and his companions never reached it after all, but came home after sailing round the orkneys and other northern isles. the fact is, that the same saints reappear so often on both sides of the british and the irish channels, that we must take the existence of many of them as mere legend, which has been carried from land to land by st. malo. 279 monks in their migrations, and taken root upon each fresh soil which it has reached. one incident in st. malo's voyage is so fantastic, and so grand likewise, that it must not be omitted. the monks come to an island whereon they find the barrow of some giant of old time. st. malo, seized with pity for the lost soul of the heathen, opens the mound and raises the dead to life. then follows a strange conversation between the giant and the saint. he was slain, he says, by his kinsmen, and ever since has been tormented in the other world. in that nether pit they know (he says) of the holy trinity: but that knowledge is rather harm than gain to them, because they did not choose to know it when alive on earth. therefore he begs to be baptized, and so delivered from his pain. he is therefore instructed, catechised, and in due time baptized, and admitted to the holy communion. for fifteen days more he remains alive: and then, dying once more, is again placed in his sepulchre, and left in peace. from fragmentary recollections of such tales as these (it may be observed in passing) may have sprung the strange fancy of the modern cornishmen, which identifies these very celtic saints of their own race with the giants who, according to geoffrey of monmouth, inhabited the land before brutus and his trojans founded the arthuric dynasty. st. just, for instance, who is one of the guardian saints of the land's end, and st. kevern, one of the guardian saints of the lizard, are both giants; and cornishmen a few years since would tell how st. just came from 280 st. malo. his hermitage by cape cornwall to visit st. kevern in his cave on the east side of goonhilly downs; and how they took the holy communion together; and how st. just, tempted by the beauty of st. kevern's paten and chalice, arose in the night and fled away with the holy vessels, wading first the looe pool, and then mount's bay itself; and how st. kevern pursued him, and hurled after him three great boulders of porphyry, two of which lie on the slates and granites to this day; till st. just, terrified at the might of his saintly brother, tossed the stolen vessels ashore opposite st. michael's mount, and, fleeing back to his own hermitage, never appeared again in the neighbourhood of st. kevern. but to return. st. malo, coming home with st. brendan, craves for peace, and solitude, and the hermit's cell, and goes down to the sea-shore, to find a vessel which may carry him out once more into the infinite unknown. then there comes by a boat with no one in it but a little boy, who takes him on board, and carries him to the isle of the hermit aaron, near the town of aletha, which men call st. malo now; and then the little boy vanishes away, and st. malo knows that he was christ himself. there he lives with aaron, till the bretons of the neighbourhood make him their bishop. he converts the idolaters around, and performs the usual miracles of hermit saints. he changes water into wine, and restores to life not only a dead man, but a dead sow likewise, over whose motherless litter a wretched slave, who has by accident killed the sow with a stone, is st. malo. 281 weeping and wringing his hands in dread of his master's fury. while st. malo is pruning vines, he lays his cape upon the ground, and a redbreast comes and lays an egg on it. he leaves it there, for the bird's sake, till the young are hatched, knowing, says his biographer, that without god the father not a sparrow falls to the ground. hailoch, the prince of brittany, destroys his church, and is struck blind. restored to sight by the saint, he bestows large lands on the church. "the impious generation," who, with their children after them, have lost their property by hailoch's gift, rise against st. malo. they steal his horses, and in mockery leave him only a mare. they beat his baker, tie his feet under the horse's body, and leave him on the sand to be drowned by the rising tide. the sea by a miracle stops a mile off, and the baker is saved. st. malo, weary of the wicked bretons, flees to saintonge in aquitaine, where he performs yet more miracles. meanwhile, a dire famine falls on the bretons, and a thousand horrible diseases. penitent, they send for st. malo, who delivers them and their flocks. but, at the command of an angel, he returns to saintonge and dies there, and saintonge has his relics, and the innumerable miracles which they work, even to the days of sigebert, of gembloux. st. columba. the famous st. columba cannot perhaps be numbered among the hermits: but as the spiritual father of many hermits, as well as many monks, and as one whose influence upon the christianity of these islands is notorious and extensive, he must needs have some notice in these pages. those who wish to study his life and works at length will of course read dr. reeves's invaluable edition of adamnan. the more general reader will find all that he need know in mr. hill burton's excellent "history of scotland," chapters vii. and viii. ; and also in mr. maclear's "history of christian missions during the middle ages"-a book which should be in every sunday library. st. columba, like st. david and st. cadoc of wales, and like many great irish saints, is a prince and a statesman as well as a monk. he is mixed up in quarrels between rival tribes. he is concerned, according to antiquaries, in three great battles, one of which sprang, according to some, from columba's own misdeeds. he copies by stealth the psalter of st. finnian. st. finnian demands the copy, saying it was his as much as the original. the matter is st. columba. 283 referred to king dermod, who pronounces, in high court at tara, the famous decision which has become a proverb in ireland, that "to every cow belongs her own calf."* st. columba, who does not seem at this time to have possessed the dove-like temper which his name, according to his disciples, indicates, threatens to avenge upon the king his unjust decision. the son of the king's steward and the son of the king of connaught, a hostage at dermod's court, are playing hurley on the green before dermod's palace. the young prince strikes the other boy, kills him, and flies for protection to columba. he is nevertheless dragged away, and slain upon the spot. columba leaves the palace in a rage, goes to his native mountains of donegal, and returns at the head of an army of northern and western irish to fight the great battle of cooldrevny in sligo. but after a while public opinion turns against him; and at the synod of teltown, in meath, it is proclaimed that columba, the man of blood, shall quit ireland, and win for christ out of heathendom as many souls as have perished in that great fight. then columba, with twelve comrades, sails in a coracle for the coast of argyleshire; and on the eve of pentecost. a.d. 563, lands upon that island which, it may be, will be famous to all times as iona, hy, or icolumkill,— hy of columb of the cells. * the famous cathach, now in the museum of the royal irish academy, was long popularly believed to be the very psalter in question. as a relic of st. columba it was carried to battle by the o'donnels, even as late as 1497, to insure victory for the clan. 284 st. columba. thus had columba, if the tale be true, undertaken a noble penance; and he performed it like a noble man. if, according to the fashion of those times, he bewailed his sins with tears, he was no morbid or selfish recluse, but a man of practical power, and of wide humanity. like one of homer's old heroes, st. columba could turn his hand to every kind of work. he could turn the hand-mill, work on the farm, heal the sick, and command as a practised sailor the little fleet of coracles which lay hauled up on the strand of iona, ready to carry him and his monks on their missionary voyages to the mainland or the isles. tall, powerful, handsome, with a face which, as adamnan said, made all who saw him glad, and a voice so stentorian that it could be heard at times a full mile off, and coming too of royal race, it is no wonder if he was regarded as a sort of demigod, not only by his own monks, but by the pictish chiefs to whom he preached the cross. we hear of him at craig phadrick, near inverness; at skye, at tiree, and other islands; we hear of him receiving visits from his old monks of derry and durrow; returning to ireland to decide between rival chiefs; and at last dying at the age of seventy-seven, kneeling before the altar in his little chapel of iona-a death as beautiful as had been the last thirty-four years of his life; and leaving behind him disciples destined to spread the light of christianity over the whole of scotland and the northern parts of england. st. columba, at one period or other of his life, is said to have visited a missionary hermit, whose name st. serf. 285 still lingers in scotland as st. kentigern, or more commonly st. mungo, the patron saint of glasgow. the two men, it is said (but the story belongs to the twelfth century, and can hardly be depended on), exchanged their crooked staves or crosiers in token of christian brotherhood, and that which st. columba is said to have given to st. kentigern was preserved in ripon cathedral to the beginning of the fifteenth century. but who st. kentigern was, or what he really did, is hard to say; for all his legends, like most of these early ones, are as tangled as a dream. he dies in the year 601 : and yet he is the disciple of the famous st. servanus or st. serf, who lived in the times of st. palladius and st. patrick, 180 years before. this st. serf is a hermit of the true old type; and even if his story be, as dr. reeves thinks, a fabrication throughout, it is at least a very early one, and true to the ideal which had originated with st. antony. he is brought up in a monastery at culross: he is tempted by the devil in a cave in the parish of dysart (the desert), in fifeshire, which still retains that name. the dæmon, fleeing from him, enters an unfortunate man, who is forthwith plagued with a wolfish appetite. st. serf cures him by putting his thumb into his mouth. a man is accused of stealing and eating a lamb, and denies the theft. st. serf, however, makes the lamb bleat in the robber's stomach, and so substantiates the charge beyond all doubt. he works other wonders; among them the slaying of a great dragon in the place called "dunyne;" sails for the orkneys, and converts the people there; and vanishes 286 st. kentigern. thenceforth into the dream-land from which he sprung. two great disciples he has, st. ternan and st. kentigern; mystery and miracle hang round the boyhood of the latter. his father is unknown. his mother is condemned to be cast from the rock of "dunpelder," but is saved and absolved by a miracle. before the eyes of the astonished picts, she floats gently down through the air, and arrives at the cliff foot unhurt. st. kentigern is thenceforth believed to be virginborn, and is reverenced as a miraculous being from his infancy. he goes to school to the mythic st. serf, who calls him mungo, or the beloved; which name he bears in glasgow until this day. his fellowscholars envy his virtue and learning, and try to ruin him with their master. st. serf has a pet robin, which is wont to sit and sing upon his shoulder. the boys pull off its head, and lay the blame upon kentigern. the saint comes in wrathful, tawse in hand, and kentigern is for the moment in serious danger; but, equal to the occasion then as afterwards, he puts the robin's head on again, sets it singing, and amply vindicates his innocence. to this day the robin figures in the arms of the good city of glasgow, with the tree which st. kentigern, when his enemies had put out his fire, brought in from the frozen forest and lighted with his breath, and the salmon in whose mouth a ring which had been cast into the clyde had been found again by st. kentigern's prophetic spirit. the envy of his fellow-scholars, however, is too much for st. kentigern's peace of mind. he wanders st. kentigern. 287 away to the spot where glasgow city now stands, lives in a rock hollowed out into a tomb, is ordained by an irish bishop (according to a celtic custom, of which antiquaries have written learnedly and dubiously likewise), and has ecclesiastical authority over all the picts from the frith of forth to the roman wall. but all these stories, as i said before, are tangled as a dream; for the twelfth century monks, in their loyal devotion to the see of rome, are apt to introduce again and again ecclesiastical customs which belonged to their own time, and try to represent these primæval saints as regular and well-disciplined servants of the pope. it may be remarked that st. serf is said to have come into a "dysart" or desert. so did many monks of the school of st. columba and his disciples, who wished for a severer and a more meditative life than could be found in the busy society of a convent. "there was a 'disert,'" says dr. reeves, "for such men to retire to, besides the monastery of derry, and another at iona itself, situate near the shore in the low ground, north of the cathedral, as may be inferred from portandisiart, the name of a little bay in this situation." a similar "disert" or collection of hermit cells was endowed at cashel in 1101; and a "disert columkill," with two townland mills and a vegetable garden, was endowed at kells, at a somewhat earlier period, for the use of "devout pilgrims," as those were called who left the society of men to worship god in solitude. the venerable bede speaks of as many as three 288 lindisfarne. personages, saxons by their names, who in the isle of ireland led the "pilgrim " or anchoritic life, to obtain a country in heaven; and tells of a drycthelm of the monastery at melrose, who went into a secret dwelling therein to give himself more utterly to prayer, and who used to stand for hours in the cold waters of the tweed, as st. godric did centuries afterwards in those of the wear. solitaries, "recluses," are met with again and again in these old records, who more than once became abbots of iona itself. but there is no need to linger on over instances which are only quoted to show that some of the noblest spirits of the celtic church kept up wherever they could the hermit's ideal, the longing for solitude, for passive contemplation, for silence and perpetual prayer, which they had inherited from st. antony and the fathers of the egyptian desert. the same ideal was carried by them over the border into england. off its extreme northern coast, for instance, nearly half-way between berwick and bamborough castle, lies, as travellers northward may have seen for themselves, the "holy island," called in old times lindisfarne. a monk's chapel on that island was the mother of all the churches between tyne and tweed, as well as of many between tyne and humber. the northumbrians had been nominally converted, according to bede, a.d. 627, under their king edwin, by paulinus, one of the roman monks who had followed in the steps of st. augustine, the apostle of kent. evil times had fallen on them. penda, at the head of the idolatrous mercians (the people of mid-england), and aidan. 289 ceadwalla, at the head of the western britons, had ravaged the country north of tweed with savage cruelty, slain king edwin, at hatfield, near doncaster, and exterminated christianity; while paulinus had fled to kent, and become bishop of rochester. the invaders had been driven out, seemingly by oswald, who knew enough of christianity to set up, ere he engaged the enemy, a cross of wood on the heavenfield,” near hexham. that cross stood till the time of bede, some 150 years after; and had become, like moses' brazen serpent, an object of veneration. for if chips cut off from it were put into water, that water cured men or cattle of their diseases. oswald, believing that it was through the mercy of him whom that cross symbolized he had conquered the mercians and the britons, would needs reconvert his people to the true faith. he had been in exile during edwin's lifetime among the scots, and had learned from them something of christianity. so out of iona a monk was sent to him, aidan by name, to be a bishop over the northumbrians; and he settled himself upon the isle of lindisfarne, and began to convert it into another iona. "a man he was," says bede, "of singular sweetness, piety, and moderation; zealous in the cause of god, though not altogether according to knowledge, for he was wont to keep easter after the fashion of his country;" i.e. of the picts and northern scots. . . . "from that time forth many scots came daily into britain, and with great devotion preached the word to these provinces of the english over whom king oswald si. ii u 290 aidan. reigned. . . . churches were built, money and lands were given of the king's bounty to build monasteries; the english, great and small, were by their scottish masters instructed in the rules and observance of regular discipline; for most of those who came to preach were monks."* so says the venerable bede, the monk of jarrow, and the father (as he has been well called) of english history. he tells us too, how aidan, wishing, it may be supposed, for greater solitude, went away and lived on the rocky isle of farne, some two miles out at sea, off bamborough castle; and how, when he saw penda and his mercians, in a second invasion of northumbria, trying to burn down the walls of bamborough-which were probably mere stockades of timber-he cried to god, from off his rock, to "behold the mischief:" whereon the wind changed suddenly, and blew the flames back on the besiegers, discomfiting them, and saving the town. bede tells us, too, how aidan wandered, preaching from place to place, haunting king oswald's court, but owning nothing of his own save his church, and a few fields about it; and how, when death came upon him, they set up a tent for him close by the wall at the west end of the church, so that it befell that he gave up the ghost leaning against a post, which stood outside to strengthen the wall. a few years after, penda came again and burned the village, with the church; and yet neither could that fire, nor one which happened soon after, destroy * bede, book iii. cap. 3. st. cuthbert. 291 that post. wherefore the post was put inside the church, as a holy thing, and chips of it, like those of the cross of heaven field, healed many folk of their distempers. . ... a tale at which we may look in two different humours. we may pass it by with a sneer, and a hypothesis (which will be probably true) that the post was of old heart-of-oak, which is burnt with extreme difficulty; or we may pause a moment in reverence before the noble figure of the good old man, ending a life of unselfish toil without a roof beneath which to lay his head; penniless and comfortless in this world: but sure of his reward in the world to come. a few years after aidan's death another hermit betook him to the rocks of farne, who rose to far higher glory; who became, in fact, the tutelar saint of the fierce northern men; who was to them, up to 'the time even of the tudor monarchs, what pallas athene was to athens, or diana to the ephesians. st. cuthbert's shrine, in durham cathedral (where his biographer bede also lay in honour), was their rallying point, not merely for ecclesiastical jurisdiction or for miraculous cures, but for political movements. above his shrine rose the noble pile of durham. the bishop, who ruled in his name, was a count palatine, and an almost independent prince. his sacred banner went out to battle before the northern levies, or drove back again and again the flames which consumed the wooden houses of durham. his relics wrought innumerable miracles; u 2 292 st. cuthbert. and often he himself appeared with long countenance, ripened by abstinence, his head sprinkled with grey hairs, his casule of cloth of gold, his mitre of glittering crystal, his face brighter than the sun, his eyes mild as the stars of heaven, the gems upon his hand and robes rattling against his pastoral staff beset with pearls.* thus glorious the demigod of the northern men appeared to his votaries, and steered with his pastoral staff, as with a rudder, the sinking ship in safety to lindisfarne; received from the hands of st. brendan, as from a saint of inferior powers, the innocent yeoman, laden with fetters, whom he had delivered out of the dungeon of brancepeth, and, smiting asunder the massive norman walls, led him into the forest, and bade him flee to sanctuary in durham, and be safe; or visited the little timber vine-clad chapel of lixtune, on the cheshire shore, to heal the sick who watched all night before his altar, or to forgive the lad who had robbed the nest which his sacred raven had built upon the roof, and, falling with the decayed timber, had broken his bones, and maimed his sacrilegious hand. originally, says bede, a monk at melrose, and afterward abbot of the same place, he used to wander * these details, and countless stories of st. cuthbert's miracles, are to be found in reginald of durham, "de admirandis beati cuthberti," published by the surtees society. this curious book is admirably edited by mr. j. raine; with an english synopsis at the end, which enables the reader for whom the latin is too difficult to enjoy those pictures of life under stephen and henry ii., whether moral, religious, or social, of which the book is a rich museum. st. cuthbert. 293 weeks together out of his monastery, seemingly into ettrick and the lammermuirs, and preach in such villages as "being seated high up among craggy, uncouth mountains, were frightful to others even to.look at, and whose poverty and barbarity rendered them inaccessible to other teachers." "so skilful an orator was he, so fond of enforcing his subject, and such a brightness appeared in his angelic face, that no man presumed to conceal from him the most hidden secrets of their hearts, but all openly confessed what they had done." so he laboured for many years, till his old abbot eata, who had become bishop and abbot at lindisfarne, sent for him thither, and made him prior of the monks for several years. but at last he longed, like so many before him, for solitude. he considered (so he said afterwards to the brethren) that the life of the disciplined and obedient monk was higher than that of the lonely and independent hermit: but yet he longed to be alone; longed, it may be, to recall at least upon some sea-girt rock thoughts which had come to him in those long wanderings on the heather moors, with no sound to distract him save the hum of the bee and the wail of the curlew; and so he went away to that same rock of farne, where aidan had taken refuge some ten or fifteen years before, and there, with the deep sea rolling at his feet and the gulls wailing about his head, he built himself one of those "picts' houses," the walls of which remain still in many parts of scotland-a circular hut of turf and rough stone-and dug out the interior to a depth of 294 st. cuthbert. some feet, and thatched it with sticks and grass; and made, it seems, two rooms within; one for an oratory, one for a dwelling-place: and so lived alone, and worshipped god. he grew his scanty crops of barley on the rock (men said, of course, by miracle): he had tried wheat, but, as was to be expected, it failed. he found (men said, of course, by miracle) a spring upon the rock. now and then brethren came to visit him. and what did man need more, save a clear conscience and the presence of his creator? certainly not cuthbert. when he asked the brethren to bring him a beam that he might prop up his cabin where the sea had eaten out the floor, and when they forgot the commission, the sea itself washed one up in the very cove where it was needed: when the choughs from the cliff stole his barley and the straw from the roof of his little hospice, he had only to reprove them, and they never offended again; on one occasion, indeed, they atoned for their offence by bringing him a lump of suet, wherewith he greased his shoes for many a day. we are not bound to believe this story; it is one of many which hang about the memory of st. cuthbert, and which have sprung out of that love of the wild birds which may have grown up in the good man during his long wanderings through woods and over moors. he bequeathed (so it was believed) as a sacred legacy to the wild-fowl of the farne islands, "st. cuthbert's peace;" above all to the eider-ducks, which swarmed there in his days, but are now, alas! growing rarer and rarer, from the intrusion of vulgar sportsmen who never heard st. cuthbert's name, or st. cuthbert. 295 learnt from him to spare god's creatures when they need them not. on farne, in reginald's time, they bred under your very bed, got out of your way if you made a sign to them, let you take up them or their young ones, and nestled silently in your bosom, and croaked joyfully with fluttering wings when stroked. "not to nature, but to grace; not to hereditary tendency, but only to the piety and compassion of the blessed st. cuthbert," says reginald, "is so great a miracle to be ascribed. for the lord who made all things in heaven and earth has subjected them to the nod of his saints, and prostrated them under the feet of obedience." insufficient induction (the cause of endless mistakes, and therefore of endless follies and crimes) kept reginald unaware of the now notorious fact that the female eider, during the breeding season, is just as tame, allowing for a little exaggeration, as st. cuthbert's own ducks are, while the male eider is just as wild and wary as any other sea-bird: a mistake altogether excusable in one who had probably never seen or heard of eider-ducks in any other spot. it may be, nevertheless, that st. cuthbert's special affection for the eider may have been called out by another strange and well-known fact about them of which reginald oddly enough takes no note—namely, that they line their nests with down plucked from their own bosom; thus realizing the fable which has made the pelican for so many centuries the type of the church. it is a question, indeed, whether the pelican, which is always represented in medieval paintings and sculptures with a short bill, instead of the enormous 296 st. cuthbert. bill and pouch which is the especial mark of the "onocrotalus" of the ancients, now miscalled pelican, be not actually the eider-duck itself, confounded with the true pelecanus, which was the medieval, and is still the scientific, name of the cormorant. be that as it may, ill befell any one who dare touch one of st. cuthbert's birds, as was proved in the case of liveing, servant to ælric, who was a hermit in farne after the time of st. cuthbert. for he, tired it may be of barley and dried fish, killed and ate an eider-duck in his master's absence, scattering the bones and feathers over the cliffs. but when the hermit came back, what should he find but those same bones and feathers rolled into a lump and laid inside the door of the little chapel; the very sea, says reginald, not having dared to swallow them up. whereby the hapless liveing being betrayed, was soundly flogged, and put on bread and water for many a day; the which story liveing himself told to reginald. not only the eider, but all birds in farne, were protected by st. cuthbert's peace. bartholomew, who was a famous hermit there in after years, had a tame bird, says the chronicler, who ate from his hand, and hopped about the table among him and his guests, till some thought it a miracle; and some, finding, no doubt, the rocks of farne weary enough, derived continual amusement from the bird. but when he one day went off to another island, and left his bird to keep the house, a hawk came in and ate it up. cuthbert, who could not save the bird, at least could punish the murderer. the hawk flew round and st. cuthbert. 297 round the island, imprisoned, so it was thought, by some mysterious power, till, terrified and worn out, it flew into the chapel, and lay, cowering and half dead, in a corner by the altar. bartholomew came back, found his bird's feathers, and the tired hawk. but even the hawk must profit by st. cuthbert's peace. he took it up, carried it to the harbour, and there bade it depart in st. cuthbert's name, whereon it flew off free, and was no more seen. such tales as these may be explained, even to their most minute details, by simply natural causes: and yet, in this age of wanton destruction of wild birds, one is tempted at moments to wish for the return of some such graceful and humane superstition which could keep down, at least in the name of mercy and humanity, the needless cruelty of man. but to return. after st. cuthbert, says bede, had served god in the solitude of farne for many years, the mound which encompassed his habitation being so high that he could see nothing from thence but heaven, to which he so ardently aspired, he was compelled by tears and entreaties-king egfrid himself coming to the island, with bishops and religious and great men-to become himself bishop in holy island. there, as elsewhere, he did his duty. but after two years he went again to farne, knowing that his end was near. for when, in his episcopal labours, he had gone across to lugubalia-old penrith, in cumberland-there came across to him a holy hermit, herebert by name, who dwelt upon an island in derwentwater, and talked with him a long while on 298 st. cuthbert. heavenly things; and cuthbert bade him ask him then all the questions which he wished to have resolved, for they should see each other no more in this world. herebert, who seems to have been one of his old friends, fell at cuthbert's feet, and bade him remember that whenever he had done wrong he had submitted himself to him utterly, and always tried to live according to his rules; and all he wished for now was that, as they had served god together upon earth, they might depart for ever to see his bliss in heaven: the which befell; for a few months afterwards, that is, on the 20th of march, their souls quitted their mortal bodies on the same day, and they were re-united in spirit. st. cuthbert wished to have been buried on his rock in farne: but the brethren had persuaded him to allow his corpse to be removed to holy island. he begged them, said bede, should they be forced to leave that place, to carry his bones along with them ; and so they were forced to do at last; for in the year 875, whilst the danes were struggling with alfred in wessex, an army of them, with halfdene at their head, went up into northumbria, burning towns, destroying churches, tossing children on their pikepoints, and committing all those horrors which made the norsemen terrible and infamous for so many years. then the monks fled from the monastery, bearing the shrine of st. cuthbert, and all their treasures, and followed by their retainers, men, women, and children, and their sheep and oxen and behold! the hour of their flight was that of an exceedingly high st. cuthbert. 299 spring tide. the danes were landing from their ships in their rear; in their front was some two miles of sea. escape seemed hopeless; when, says the legend, the water retreated before the holy relics as they advanced; and became, as to the children of israel of old, a wall on their right hand and on their left; and so st. cuthbert came safe to shore, and wandered in the woods, borne upon his servants' shoulders, and dwelling in tents for seven years, and found rest at last in durham, till at the reformation his shrine, and that of the venerable bede, were robbed of their gold and jewels; and no trace of them (as far as i know) is left, save that huge slab, whereon is written the monkish rhyme :hic jacet in fossâ bedæ venerabilis ossa. "in this hole lie the bones of the venerable bede." st. guthlac. hermits dwelling in the wilderness, as far as i am aware, were to be seen only in the northern and western parts of the island, where not only did the forest afford concealment, but the crags and caves shelter. the southern and eastern english seldom possess the vivid imagination of the briton, the northumbrian, and the scot; while the rich lowlands of central, southern, and eastern england, well peopled and well tilled, offered few spots lonely enough for the hermit's cell. one district only was desolate enough to attract those who wished to be free from the world,—namely, the great fens north of cambridge; and there, accordingly, as early as the seventh century, hermits settled in morasses now so utterly transformed that it is difficult to restore in one's imagination the original scenery. the fens in the seventh century were probably very like the forests at the mouth of the mississippi, or the swampy shores of the carolinas. their vast plain is now, in summer, one sea of golden corn; in winter, a black dreary fallow, cut into squares by st. guthlac. 301 stagnant dykes, and broken only by unsightly pumping mills and doleful lines of poplar-trees. of old it was a labyrinth of black wandering streams; broad lagoons; morasses submerged every springtide; vast beds of reed and sedge and fern; vast copses of willow, alder, and grey poplar, rooted in the floating peat, which was swallowing up slowly, alldevouring, yet all-preserving, the forests of fir and oak, ash and poplar, hazel and yew, which had once grown on that low, rank soil, sinking slowly (so geologists assure us) beneath the sea from age to age. trees, torn down by flood and storm, floated and lodged in rafts, damming the waters back upon the land. streams, bewildered in the flats, changed their channels, mingling silt and sand with the peat moss. nature, left to herself, ran into wild riot and chaos. more and more, till the whole fen became one "dismal swamp," in which, at the time of the norman conquest, the "last of the english," like dred in mrs. stowe's tale, took refuge from their tyrants, and lived, like him, a free and joyous life awhile. . for there are islands in the sea which have escaped the destroying deluge of peat-moss,-outcrops of firm and fertile land, which in the early middle age were so many natural parks, covered with richest grass and stateliest trees, swarming with deer and roe, goat and boar, as the streams around swarmed with otter and beaver, and with fowl of every feather, and fish of every scale. beautiful after their kind were those far isles in the eyes of the monks who were the first settlers in the 302 st. guthlac. wilderness. the author of the "history of ramsey" grows enthusiastic, and somewhat bombastic also, as he describes the lovely isle, which got its name from the solitary ram who had wandered thither, either in extreme drought or over the winter ice, and, never able to return, was found feeding among the wild deer, fat beyond the wont of rams. he tells of the stately ashes, most of them cut in his time, to furnish mighty beams for the church roof; of the rich pastures painted with all gay flowers in spring; of the "green crown" of reed and alder which encircled the isle ; of the fair wide mere (now drained) with its "sandy beach" along the forest side; "a delight," he says, "to all who look thereon." in like humour william of malmesbury, writing in the first half of the twelfth century, speaks of thorney abbey and its isle. "it represents," says he, "a very paradise; for that in pleasure and delight it resembles heaven itself. these marshes abound in trees, whose length, without a knot, doth emulate the stars. the plain there is as level as the sea, alluring the eye with its green grass, and so smooth that there is nought to trip the foot of him who runs through it. neither is there any waste place; for in some parts are apples, in others vines, which are either spread on the ground, or raised on poles. a mutual strife there is between nature and art; so that what one produces not the other supplies. what shall i say of those fair buildings, which 'tis so wonderful to see the ground among those fens upbear?" so wrote william of malmesbury, after the st. guthlac. 303 industry and wisdom of the monks, for more than four centuries, had been at work to civilize and cultivate the wilderness. yet even then there was another side to the picture; and thorney, ramsey, or crowland would have seemed, for nine months every year, sad places enough to us comfortable folk of the nineteenth century. but men lived hard in those days, even the most high-born and luxurious nobles and ladies; under dark skies, in houses which we should think, from darkness, draught, and want of space, unfit for felons' cells. hardly they lived; and easily were they pleased; and thanked god for the least gleam of sunshine, the least patch of green, after the terrible and long winters of the middle ages. and ugly enough those winters must have been, what with snow and darkness, flood and ice, ague and rheumatism; while through the dreary winter's night the whistle of the wind and the wild cries of the waterfowl were translated into the howls of witches and dæmons; and (as in st. guthlac's case), the delirious fancies of marsh fever made those fiends take hideous shapes before the inner eye, and act fantastic horrors round the fenman's bed of sedge. concerning this st. guthlac full details remain, both in latin and anglo-saxon; the author of the original document professing to be one felix, a monk of ramsey near by, who wrote possibly as early as the eighth century.* * an english translation of the anglo-saxon life has been published by mr. godwin, of cambridge, and is well worth perusal. 304 st. guthlac. there we may read how the young warrior-noble guthlac ("the battle-play," the "sport of war"), tired of slaying and sinning, bethought him to fulfil the prodigies seen at his birth; how he wandered into the fen, where one tatwin (who after became a saint likewise) took him in his canoe to a spot so lonely as to be almost unknown, buried in reeds and alders, and how he found among the trees nought but an old "law," as the scots still call a mound, which men of old had broken into seeking for treasure, and a little pond; and how he built himself a hermit's cell thereon, and saw visions and wrought miracles; and how men came to him, as to a fakir or shaman of the east; notably one beccel, who acted as his servant; and how as beccel was shaving the saint one day there fell on him a great temptation: why should he not cut st. guthlac's throat, and instal himself in his cell, that he might have the honour and glory of sainthood? but st. guthlac perceived the inward temptation (which is told with the naïve honesty of those half-savage times), and rebuked the offender into confession, and all went well to the end. there we may read, too, a detailed account of the fauna now happily extinct in the fens; of the creatures who used to hale st. guthlac out of his hut, drag him through the bogs, carry him aloft through frost and fire-"develen and luther gostes "-such as tormented in like wise st. botolph (from whom botulfston boston, has its name), and who were supposed to haunt the meres and fens, and to have an especial fondness for old heathen barrows with their fancied = st. guthlac. 305 treasure-hoards: how they "filled the house with their coming, and poured in on every side, from above, and from beneath, and everywhere. they were in countenance horrible, and they had great heads, and a long neck, and a lean visage; they were filthy and squalid in their beards, and they had rough ears, and crooked nebs,' and fierce eyes, and foul mouths; and their teeth were like horses' tusks; and their throats were filled with flame, and they were grating in their voice; they had crooked shanks, and knees big and great behind, and distorted toes, and cried hoarsely with their voices; and they came with immoderate noise and immense horror, that he thought that all between heaven and earth resounded with their voices. . . . and they tugged and led him out of the cot, and led him to the swart fen, and threw and sunk him in the muddy waters. after that they brought him into the wild places of the wilderness, among the thick beds of brambles, that all his body was torn. . . . after that they took him and beat him with iron whips, and after that they brought him on their creaking wings between the cold regions of the air.” more human touches in read in it how all the but there are gentler and that old legend. you may wild birds of the fen came to st. guthlac, and he fed them after their kind; how the ravens tormented him, stealing letters, gloves, and what not, from his visitors; and then, seized with compunction at his reproofs, brought them back, or hanged them on the reeds; and how, as wilfrid, a holy visitant, was sitting s. l. ii. x 306 st. guthlac. with him, discoursing of the contemplative life, two swallows came flying in, and lifted up their song, sitting now on the saint's hand, now on his shoulder, now on his knee; and how, when wilfrid wondered thereat. guthlac made answer, "know you not that hhe who hath led his life according to god's will, to him the wild beasts and the wild birds draw the more near?" after fifteen years of such a life, in fever, ague, and starvation, no wonder if st. guthlac died. they buried him in a leaden coffin (a grand and expensive luxury in the seventh century) which had been sent to him during his life by a saxon princess; and then, over his sacred and wonder-working corpse, as over that of a buddhist saint, there arose a chapel, with a community of monks, companies of pilgrims who came to worship, sick who came to be healed; till at last, founded on great piles driven into the bog, arose the lofty wooden abbey of crowland; in "sanctuary of the four rivers," with its dykes, parks, vineyards, orchards, rich ploughlands, from which, in time of famine, the monks of crowland fed all people of the neighbouring fens; with its tower with seven bells, which had not their like in england; its twelve altars rich with the gifts of danish vikings and princes, and even with twelve white bear-skins, the gift of canute's self; while all around were the cottages of the corrodiers, or folk who, for a corrody, or life pittance from the abbey, had given away their lands, to the wrong and detriment of their heirs. but within those four rivers, at least, were neither st. guthlac. 307 tyranny nor slavery. those who took refuge in st. guthlac's place from cruel lords must keep his peace toward each other, and earn their living like honest men, safe while they so did for between those four rivers st. guthlac and his abbot were the only lords; and neither summoner, nor sheriff of the king, nor armed force of knight or earl, could enter "the inheritance of the lord, the soil of st. mary and st. bartholomew, the most holy sanctuary of st. guthlac and his monks; the minister free from worldly servitude; the special almshouse of most illustrious kings; the sole refuge of any one in worldly tribulation; the perpetual abode of the saints; the possession of religious men, specially set apart by the common council of the realm; by reason of the frequent miracles of the holy confessor st. guthlac, an ever-fruitful mother of camphire in the vineyards of engedi ; and, by reason of the privileges granted by the kings, a city of grace and safety to all who repent." . does not all this sound like a voice from another planet? it is all gone; and it was good and right that it should go when it had done its work, and that the civilization of the fen should be taken up and carried out by men like the good knight, richard of rulos, who, two generations after the conquest, marrying hereward's grand-daughter, and becoming lord of deeping (the deep meadow), thought that he could do the same work from the hall of bourne as the monks did from their cloisters; got permission from the crowland monks, for twenty marks of x 2 308 st. guthlac. silver, to drain as much as he could of the common marshes; and then shut out the welland by strong dykes, built cottages, marked out gardens, and tilled fields, till "out of slough and bogs accursed he made a garden of pleasure." yet one lasting work those monks of crowland seem to have done, besides those firm dykes and rich corn-lands of the porsand, which endure unto this day. for within two generations of the norman conquest, while the old wooden abbey, destroyed by fire, was being replaced by that noble pile of stone whose ruins are still standing, the french abbot of crowland (so runs the legend) sent french monks to open a school under the new french donjon, in the little roman town of grante-brigge; whereby—so does all earnest work, however mistaken, grow and spread in this world, infinitely and for ever-st. guthlac, by his canoe-voyage into crowland island, became the spiritual father of the university of cambridge in the old world; and therefore of her noble daughter, the university of cambridge, in the new world which fen-men sailing from boston deeps colonized and christianized 800 years after st. guthlac's death. st. godric of finchale. a personage quite as interesting, though not as famous, as cuthbert or guthlac, is st. godric; the hermit around whose cell rose the priory of finchale. in a loop of the river wear, near durham, there settled in the days of bishop flambard, between 1099 and 1128, a man whose parentage and history was for many years unknown to the good folks of the neighbourhood. he had come, it seems, from a hermitage in eskdale, in the parish of whitby, whence he had been driven by the percys, lords of the soil. he had gone to durham, become the doorkeeper of st. giles's church, and gradually learnt by heart (he was no scholar) the whole psalter. then he had gone to st. mary's church, where (as was the fashion of the times) there was a children's school; and, listening to the little ones at their lessons, picked up such hymns and prayers as he thought would suffice his spiritual wants. and then, by leave of the bishop, he had gone away into the woods, and devoted himself to the solitary life in finchale. buried in the woods and crags of the "royal park," 310 st. godric of finchale. as it was then called, which swarmed with every kind. of game, there was a little flat meadow, rough with sweet-gale and bramble and willow, beside a teeming salmon-pool. great wolves haunted the woods; but godric cared nought for them; and the shingles swarmed with snakes,-probably only the harmless collared snakes of wet meadows, but reputed, as all snakes are by the vulgar, venomous: but he did not object to become "the companion of serpents and poisonous asps." he handled them, caressed them, let them lie by the fire in swarms on winter nights, in the little cave which he had hollowed in the ground and thatched with turf. men told soon how the snakes obeyed him; how two especially huge ones used to lie twined about his legs; till after many years, annoyed by their importunity, he turned them all gently out of doors, with solemn adjurations never to return, and they, of course, obeyed. his austerities knew no bounds. he lived on roots and berries, flowers and leaves; and when the good folk found him out, and put gifts of food near his cell, he carried them up to the crags above, and, offering them solemnly up to the god who feeds the ravens when they call on him, left them there for the wild birds. he watched, fasted, and scourged himself, and wore always a hair shirt and an iron cuirass. he sat, night after night, even in mid-winter, in the cold wear, the waters of which had hollowed out a rock near by into a natural bath, and afterwards in a barrel sunk in the floor of a little chapel of wattle, which he built and dedicated to the blessed st. godric of finchale. 311 virgin mary. he tilled a scrap of ground, and ate the grain from it, mingled with ashes. he kept his food till it was decayed before he tasted it; and led a life the records of which fill the reader with astonishment, not only at the man's iron strength of will, but at the iron strength of the constitution which could support such hardships, in such a climate, for a single year. a strong and healthy man must godric have been, to judge from the accounts (there are two, both written by eye-witnesses) of his personal appearance— a man of great breadth of chest and strength of arm; black-haired, hook-nosed, deep-browed, with flashing grey eyes; altogether a personable and able man, who might have done much work and made his way in many lands. but what his former life had been he would not tell. mother-wit he had in plenty, and showed insight into men and things which the monks of durham were ready enough to call the spirit of prophecy. after awhile it was whispered that he wrought miraculous cures: that even a bit of the bread which he was wont to eat had healed a sick woman; that he fought with dæmons in visible shape; that he had seen (just as one of the old egyptian hermits had seen) a little black boy running about between two monks who had quarrelled and come to hard blows and bleeding faces because one of them had made mistakes in the evening service: and, in short, there were attributed to him, during his lifetime, and by those who knew him well, a host of wonders which would be startling and important were they not exactly 312 st. godric of finchale. the same as those which appear in the life of every hermit since st. antony. it is impossible to read the pages of reginald of durham (for he, the biogra pher of st. cuthbert, is also the biographer of st. godric) without feeling how difficult it is to obtain anything like the truth, even from eye-witnesses, if only men are (as they were in those days) in a state of religious excitement, at a period of spiritual revivals. the ignorant populace were ready to believe, and to report, anything of the fakeer of finchale. the monks of durham were glad enough to have a wonder-working man belonging to them; for ralph flambard, in honour of godric, had made over to them the hermitage of finchale, with its fields and fisheries. the lad who, in after years, waited on the hermit, would have been ready enough to testify that his master saw dæmons and other spiritual beings; for he began to see them on his own account;* fell asleep in the forest coming home from durham with some bottles; was led in a vision by st. john the baptist to the top of a hill, and shown by him wonders unspeakable; saw, on another occasion, a dæmon in st. godric's cell, hung all over with bottles of different liquors, offering them to the saint, who bade the lad drive him out of the little chapel, with a holy water sprinkle, but not go outside it himself. but the lad, in the fury of successful pursuit, overstepped the threshold; whereon the dæmon, turning in self-defence, threw a single drop of one of his liquors into the lad's mouth, and * vita s. godrici, pp. 332, 333. st. godric of finchale. 313 vanished with a laugh of scorn. the boy's face and throat swelled horribly for three days; and he took care thenceforth to obey the holy man more strictly: a story which i have repeated, like the one before it, only to show the real worth of the evidence on which reginald has composed his book. ailred, abbot of rievaux (for reginald's book, though dedicated to hugh pudsey, his bishop, was prompted by ailred) was capable (as his horrible story of the nun of watton proves) of believing anything and everything which fell in with his fanatical, though pious and gentle, temper. and here a few words must be said to persons with whose difficulties i deeply sympathise, but from whose conclusions i differ utterly: those, namely, who say that if we reject the miracles of these saints' lives, we must reject also the miracles of the new testament. the answer is, as i believe, that the apostles and evangelists were sane men: men in their right minds, wise, calm; conducting themselves (save in the matter of committing sins) like other human beings, as befitted the disciples of that son of man who came eating and drinking, and was therefore called by the ascetics of his time a gluttonous man, and a wine-bibber: whereas these monks were not (as i have said elsewhere) in their right minds at all. • this is, or ought to be, patent to any one who will compare the style of the apostles and evangelists with that of the monkish hagiologists. the calm, the simplicity, the brevity, the true grandeur of the 314 st. godric of finchale. former is sufficient evidence of their healthy-mindedness and their trustworthiness. the affectation, the self-consciousness, the bombast, the false grandeur of the latter is sufficient evidence that they are neither healthy-minded or trustworthy. let students compare any passage of st. luke or st. john, however surprising the miracle which it relates, with st. jerome's life of paul the first hermit, or with that famous letter of his to eustochium, which (although historically important) is unfit for the eyes of pureminded readers and does not appear in this volume; and let them judge for themselves. let them compare, again, the opening sentences of the four gospels, or of the acts of the apostles, with the words with which reginald begins this life of st. godric: "by the touch of the holy spirit's finger the chord of the harmonic human heart resounds melodiously. for when the vein of the heart is touched by the grace of the holy spirit, forthwith, by the permirific sweetness of the harmony, an exceeding operation of sacred virtue is perceived more manifestly to spring forth. with this sweetness of spirit, godric, the man of god, was filled from the very time of his boyhood, and grew famous for many admirable works of holy work (sic), because the harmonic teaching of the holy spirit fired the secrets of his very bosom with a wondrous contact of spiritual grace :"—and let them say, after the comparison, if the difference between the two styles is not that which exists between one of god's lilies, fresh from the field, and a tawdry bunch of artificial flowers? st. godric of finchale. 315 but to return. godric himself took part in the history of his own miracles and life. it may be that he so overworked his brain that he believed that he was visited by st. peter, and taught a hymn by the blessed virgin mary, and that he had taken part in a hundred other prodigies; but the prologue to the harleian manuscript (which the learned editor, mr. stevenson, believes to be an early edition of reginald's own composition) confesses that reginald, compelled by ailred of rievaux, tried in vain for a long while to get the hermit's story from him. "know "you wish to write my life?" he said. then that godric's life is such as this:-godric, at first a gross rustic, an unclean liver, an usurer, a cheat, a perjurer, a flatterer, a wanderer, pilfering and greedy; now a dead flea, a decayed dog, a vile worm, not a hermit, but a hypocrite; not a solitary, but a gad-about in mind; a devourer of alms, dainty over good things, greedy and negligent, lazy and snoring, ambitious and prodigal, one who is not worthy to serve others, and yet every day beats and scolds those who serve him this, and worse than this, you may write of godric." "then he was silent as one indignant," says reginald, "and i went off in some confusion," and the grand old man was left to himself and to his god. the ecclesiastical boswell dared not mention the subject again to his hero for several years, though he came after from durham to visit him, and celebrate mass for him in his little chapel. after some years, however, he approached the matter again; and 316 st. godric of finchale. whether a pardonable vanity had crept over godric, or whether he had begun at last to believe in his miracles, or whether the old man had that upon his mind of which he longed to unburthen himself, he began to answer questions, and reginald delighted to listen and note down till he had finished, he says, that book of his life and miracles;* and after a while brought it to the saint, and falling on his knees, begged him to bless, in the name of god, and for the benefit of the faithful, the deeds of a certain religious man, who had suffered much for god in this life which he (reginald) had composed accurately. the old man perceived that he himself was the subject, blessed the book with solemn words (what was written therein he does not seem to have read), and bade reginald conceal it till his death, warning him that a time would come when he should suffer rough and bitter things on account of that book, from those who envied him. that prophecy, says reginald, came to pass; but how, or why, he does not tell. there may have been, among those shrewd northumbrian heads, even then, incredulous men, who used their common sense. but the story which godric told was wild and beautiful; and though we must not depend too much on the accuracy of the old man's recollections, or on the honesty of reginald's report, who would naturally omit all incidents which made against his hero's perfection, it is worth listening to, as a vivid sketch of * the earlier one; that of the harleian mss. which (mr. stevenson thinks) was twice afterwards expanded and decorated by him. st. godric of finchale 317 the doings of a real human being, in that misty distance of the early middle age. he was born, he said, at walpole, in norfolk, on the old roman sea-bank, between the wash and the deep fens. his father's name was eilward; his mother's, ædwen-" the keeper of blessedness," and "the friend of blessedness," as reginald translates them-poor and pious folk; and, being a sharp boy, he did not take to field-work, but preferred wandering the fens as a pedlar, first round the villages, then, as he grew older, to castles and to towns, buying and selling-what, reginald does not tell us: but we should be glad to know. one day he had a great deliverance, which reginald thinks a miracle. wandering along the great tide-flats near spalding and the old well-stream, in search of waifs and strays, of wreck or eatables, he saw three porpoises stranded far out upon the banks. two were alive, and the boy took pity on them (so he said) and let them be: but one was dead, and off it (in those days poor folks ate anything) he cut as much flesh and blubber as he could carry, and toiled back towards the high-tide mark. but whether he lost his way among the banks, or whether he delayed too long, the tide came in on him up to his knees, his waist, his chin, and at last, at times, over his head. the boy made the sign of the cross (as all men in danger did then) and struggled on valiantly a full mile through the sea, like a brave lad never loosening his hold of his precious porpoise-meat till he reached the shore at the very spot from which he had set out. 318 st. godric of finchale. as he grew, his pedlar journeys became longer. repeating to himself, as he walked, the creeds and the lord's prayer-his only lore-he walked for four years through lindsey; then went to st. andrew's in scotland; after that, for the first time, to rome. then the love of a wandering sea life came on him, and he sailed with his wares round the east coasts; not merely as a pedlar, but as a sailor himself, he went to denmark and to flanders, buying and selling, till he owned (in what port we are not told, but probably in lynn or wisbeach) half one merchant ship and the quarter of another. a crafty steersman he was, a wise weather-prophet, a shipman stout in body and in heart, probably such a one as chaucer tells us of 350 years after :— 66 a dagger hanging by a las hadde hee about his nekke under his arm adoun. the hote summer hadde made his hewe al broun. and certainly he was a good felaw; full many a draught of wine he hadde draw, from burdeaux ward, while that the chapmen slepe, of nice conscience took he no kepe. if that he fought, and hadde the higher hand, by water he sent hem home to every land. but of his craft to recken wel his tides, his stremes and his strandes him besides, his herberwe, his mone, and his lode manage, there was none swiche, from hull unto carthage. hardy he was, and wise, i undertake : with many a tempest hadde his berd be shake. he knew wel alle the havens, as they were, from gotland to the cape de finisterre, and every creke in bretagne and in spain." but gradually there grew on the stout merchantman the thought that there was something more to st. godric of finchale. 319 he be done in the world than making money. became a pious man after the fashion of those days. he worshipped at the famous shrine of st. andrew. he worshipped, too, at st. cuthbert's hermitage at farne, and there, he said afterwards, he longed for the first time for the rest and solitude of the hermitage. he had been sixteen years a seaman now, with a seaman's temptations-it may be (as he told reginald plainly) with some of a seaman's vices. he may have done things which lay heavy on his conscience. but it was getting time to think about his soul. he took the cross, and went off to jerusalem, as many a man did then, under difficulties incredible, dying, too often, on the way. but godric not only got safe thither, but went out of his way home by spain to visit the sanctuary of st. james of compostella, a see which pope calixtus ii. had just raised to metropolitan dignity. then he appears as steward to a rich man in the fens, whose sons and young retainers, after the lawless fashion of those anglo-norman times, rode out into the country round to steal the peasants' sheep and cattle, skin them on the spot, and pass them off to the master of the house as venison taken in hunting. they ate and drank, roystered and rioted, like most other young normans; and vexed the staid soul of godric, whose nose told him plainly enough, whenever he entered the kitchen, that what was roasting had never come off a deer. tested and warned them, getting only insults for his pains. at last he told his lord. the lord, as was to in vain he pro320 st. godric of finchale. be expected, cared nought about the matter. let the lads rob the english villains: for what other end had their grandfathers conquered the land? godric punished himself, as he could not punish them, for the unwilling share which he had had in the wrong. it may be that he, too, had eaten of that stolen food. so away he went into france, and down the rhone, on pilgrimage to the hermitage of st. giles, the patron saint of the wild deer; and then on to rome a second time, and back to his poor parents in the fens. and now follows a strange and beautiful story. all love of seafaring and merchandise had left the deephearted sailor. the heavenly and the eternal, the salvation of his sinful soul, had become all in all to him; and yet he could not rest in the little dreary village on the roman bank. he would go on pilgrimage again. then his mother would go likewise, and see st. peter's church, and the pope, and all the wonders of rome, and have her share in all the spiritual blessings which were to be obtained (so men thought then) at rome alone. so off they set on foot; and when they came to ford or ditch, godric carried his mother on his back, until they came to london town. and there ædwen took off her shoes, and vowed out of devotion to the holy apostles peter and paul (who, so she thought, would be well pleased at such an act) to walk barefoot to rome and barefoot back again. now just as they went out of london, on the dover road, there met them in the way the loveliest maiden they had ever seen, and asked to bear them st. godric of finchale. 321 company in their pilgrimage. and when they agreed, she walked with them, sat with them, and talked with them with superhuman courtesy and grace; and when they turned into an inn, she ministered to them herself, and washed and kissed their feet, and then lay down with them to sleep, after the simple fashion of those days. but a holy awe of her, as of some saint and goddess, fell on the wild seafarer; and he never, so he used to aver, treated her for a moment save as a sister. never did either ask the other who they were, and whence they came; and godric reported (but this was long after the event) that no one of the company of pilgrims could see that fair maid, save he and his mother alone. so they came safe to rome, and back to london town; and when they were at the place outside southwark, where the fair maid had met them first, she asked permission to leave them, for she "must go to her own land, where she had a tabernacle of rest, and dwelt in the house of her god." and then, bidding them bless god, who had brought them safe over the alps, and across the sea, and all along that weary road, she went on her way, and they saw her no more. then with this fair mysterious face clinging to his memory, and it may be never leaving it, godric took his mother safe home, and delivered her to his father, and bade them both after awhile farewell, and wandered across england to penrith, and hung about the churches there, till some kinsmen of his recognised him, and gave him a psalter (he must have taught himself to read upon his travels), which he s.l. ii. y 322 st. godric of finchale. learnt by heart. then, wandering ever in search of solitude, he went into the woods and found a cave, and passed his time therein in prayer, living on green herbs and wild honey, acorns and crabs; and when he went about to gather food, he fell down on his knees every few yards and said a prayer, and rose and went on. after awhile he wandered on again, until at wolsingham, in durham, he met with another holy hermit, who had been a monk at durham, living in a cave in forests in which no man dare dwell, so did they swarm with packs of wolves; and there the two good men dwelt together till the old hermit fell sick, and was like to die. godric nursed him, and sat by him, to watch for his last breath. for the same longing had come over him which came over marguerite d'angoulême when she sat by the dying bed of her favourite maid of honour-to see if the spirit, when it left the body, were visible, and what kind of thing it was whether, for instance, it was really like the little naked babe which is seen in mediæval illuminations flying out of the mouths of dying men. but, worn out with watching, godric could not keep from sleep. all but despairing of his desire, he turned to the dying man, and spoke, says reginald, some such words as these:-"o spirit! who art diffused in that body in the likeness of god, and art still inside that breast, i adjure thee by the highest, that thou leave not the prison of this thine habitation while i am overcome by sleep, and know not of it." and so he fell asleep but when he woke, the old hermit lay st. godric of finchale. 323 motionless and breathless. poor godric wept, called on the dead man, called on god; his simple heart was set on seeing this one thing. and, behold, he was consoled in a wondrous fashion. for about the third hour of the day the breath returned. godric hung over him, watching his lips. three heavy sighs he drew, then a shudder, another sigh:* and then (so godric was believed to have said in after years) he saw the spirit flit. what it was like, he did not like to say, for the most obvious reason-that he saw nothing, and was an honest man. a monk teased him much to impart to him this great discovery, which seemed to the simple untaught sailor a great spiritual mystery, and which was, like some other medieval mysteries which were miscalled spiritual (transubstantiation above all). altogether material and gross imaginations. godric answered wisely enough, that "no man could perceive the substance of the spiritual soul." but the monk insisting, and giving him no rest, he answered,—whether he wished to answer a fool according to his folly, or whether he tried to fancy (as men will who are somewhat vain-and if a saint was not vain, it was no fault of the monks who beset him) that he had really seen something. he told how it was like a dry, hot wind rolled into a sphere, and shining like the clearest glass, but that what it was really like reginald wants to make a wonder incredible in our own times," of a very common form (thank god) of peaceful death. he makes miracles in the same way of the catching of salmon and of otters, simple enough to one who, like godric, knew the river, and every wild thing which haunted it. * y 2 324 st. godric of finchale. no one could express. thus much, at least, may be gathered from the involved bombast of reginald. another pilgrimage to the holy sepulchre did godric make before he went to the hermitage in eskdale, and settled finally at finchale. and there about the hills of judæa he found, says reginald, hermits dwelling in rock-caves, as they had dwelt since the time of st. jerome. he washed himself, and his hair shirt and little cross, in the sacred waters of the jordan, and returned, after incredible suffering, to become the saint of finchale. his hermitage became, in due time, a stately priory, with its community of monks, who looked up to the memory of their holy father godric as to that of a demigod. the place is all ruinate now; the memory of st. godric gone; and not one in ten thousand, perhaps, who visit those crumbling walls beside the rushing wear, has heard of the sailor-saint, and his mother, and that fair maid who tended them on their pilgrimage. meanwhile there were hermits for many years in that same hermitage in eskdale, from which a percy expelled st. godric, possibly because he interfered with the prior claim of some protégé of their own; for they had, a few years before godric's time, granted that hermitage to the monks of whitby, who were not likely to allow a stranger to establish himself on their ground. about that hermitage hung one of those stories so common in the middle ages, in which the hermit appears as the protector of the hunted wild beast; st. godric of finchale. 325 a story, too, which was probably authentic, as the curious custom which was said to perpetuate its memory lasted at least till the year 1753. i quote it at length from burton's "monasticon eboracense," p. 78, knowing no other authority. "in the fifth year of the reign of king henry ii. after the conquest of england by william, duke of normandy, the lord of uglebardby, then called william de bruce, and the lord of sneton, called ralph de perci, with a gentleman and a freeholder called allatson, did on the 16th day of october appoint to meet and hunt the wild boar, in a certain wood or desert place belonging to the abbot of the monastery of whitby; the place's name is eskdaleside; the abbot's name was sedman. then these gentlemen being met, with their hounds and boarstaves, in the place before-named, and there having found a great wild boar, the hounds ran him well near about the chapel and hermitage of eskdale-side, where was a monk of whitby, who was a hermit. the boar being very sore, and very hotly pursued, and dead run, took in at the chapel door, and there died: whereupon the hermit shut the hounds out of the chapel, and kept himself within at his meditations and prayers, the hounds standing at bay without. the gentlemen in the thick of the wood, being put behind their game, followed the cry of their hounds, and so came to the hermitage, calling on the hermit, who opened the door and came forth, and within they found the boar lying dead, for which the gentlemen in very great fury (because their hounds were put 326 st. godric of finchale. from their game) did most violently and cruelly run at the hermit with their boar-staves, whereby he died soon after thereupon the gentlemen, perceiving and knowing that they were in peril of death, took sanctuary at scarborough. but at that time the abbot, being in very great favour with king henry, removed them out of the sanctuary, whereby they came in danger of the law, and not to be privileged, but likely to have the severity of the law, which was death. but the hermit, being a holy and devout man, at the point of death sent for the abbot, and desired him to send for the gentlemen who had wounded him: the abbot so doing, the gentlemen came, and the hermit, being very sick and weak, said unto them, 'i am sure to die of those wounds you have given me.' the abbot answered, 'they shall as surely die for the same;' but the hermit answered, 'not so, for i will freely forgive them my death, if they will be contented to be enjoined this penance for the safeguard of their souls.' the gentlemen being present, and terrified with the fear of death, bade him enjoin what penance he would, so that he would but save their lives. then said the hermit, 'you and yours shall hold your lands of the abbot of whitby and his successors in this manner: that upon ascension eve, you or some of you shall come to the woods of the strag heads, which is in eskdale-side, the same day at sunrising, and there shall the abbot's officer blow his horn, to the intent that you may know how to find him; and he shall deliver unto you, william de bruce, ten stakes, eleven strut-towers, and eleven yethers, to be st. godric of finchale. 327 cut by you or some for you, with a knife of one penny price; and you, ralph de perci, shall take twenty and one of each sort, to be cut in the same manner; and you, allatson, shall take nine of each sort, to be cut as aforesaid, and to be taken on your backs, and carried to the town of whitby, and to be there before nine of the clock the same day before-mentioned; at the same hour of nine of the clock (if it be full sea) your labour or service shall cease; but if it be not full sea, each of you shall set your stakes at the brim, each stake one yard from the other, and so yether them on each side of your yethers, and so stake on each side with your strut-towers, that they may stand three tides without removing by the force thereof: each of you shall do, make, and execute the said service at that very hour every year, except it shall be full sea at that hour: but when it shall so fall out, this service shall cease. you shall faithfully do this in remembrance that you did most cruelly slay me; and that you may the better call to god for mercy, repent unfeignedly for your sins, and do good works, the officers of eskdale-side shall blow, out on you, out on you, out on you, for this heinous crime. if you or your successors shall refuse this service, so long as it shall not be full sea at the aforesaid hour, you or yours shall forfeit your lands to the abbot of whitby, or his successors. this i intreat, and earnestly beg that you may have lives and goods preserved for this service; and i request of you to promise by your parts in heaven that it shall be done by you and your successors, as it is aforesaid requested, and i will 328 st. godric of finchale. confirm it by the faith of an honest man.' then the hermit said: 'my soul longeth for the lord, and i do as freely forgive these men my death as christ forgave the thieves upon the cross;' and in the presence of the abbot and the rest he said, moreover, these words: into thy hands, o lord, i commend my spirit, for from the bonds of death thou hast redeemed me, o lord of truth. amen.' so he yielded up the ghost the eighth day of december, a.d. 1160, upon whose soul god have mercy. amen." anchorites, strictly so called. the fertile and peaceable lowlands of england, as i have just said, offered few spots sufficiently wild and lonely for the habitation of a hermit; those, therefore, who wished to retire from the world into a more strict and solitary life than that which the monastery afforded were in the habit of immuring themselves, as anchorites, or in old english "ankers," in little cells of stone, built usually against the wall of a church. there is nothing new under the sun; and similar anchorites might have been seen in egypt, 500 years before the time of st. antony, immured in cells in the temples of isis or serapis. it is only recently that antiquaries have discovered how common this practice was in england, and how frequently the traces of these cells are to be found about our parish churches. they were so common in the diocese of lincoln in the thirteenth century, that in 1233 the archdeacon is ordered to inquire whether any anchorites' cells had been built without the bishop's leave; and in many of our parish churches may be seen. either on the north or the south side of the 330 anchorites. chancel, a narrow slit in the wall, or one of the lights of a window prolonged downwards, the prolongation, if not now walled up, being closed with a shutter. through these apertures the "incluse," or anker, watched the celebration of mass, and partook of the holy communion. similar cells were to be found in ireland, at least in the diocese of ossory; and doubtless in scotland also. ducange, in his glossary, on the word "inclusi," lays down rules for the size of the anker's cell, which must be twelve feet square, with three windows, one opening into the church, one for taking in his food, and one for light; and the "salisbury manual " as well as the "pontifical" of lacy, bishop of exeter, in the first half of the fifteenth century, contains a regular "service" for the walling in of an anchorite.* there exists too a most singular and painful book, well known to antiquaries, but to them alone, "the ancren riwle," addressed to three young ladies who had immured themselves (seemingly about the beginning of the thirteenth century) at kingston tarrant, in dorsetshire. for women as well as men entered these living tombs; and there spent their days in dirt and starvation, and such prayer and meditation doubtless as the stupified and worn-out intellect could compass; their only recreation being the gossip of the neighbouring women, who came to peep in through the little window-a recreation in which (if we are to " * that of the salisbury manual is published in the "ecclesiologist for august 1848, by the rev. sir w. h. cope, to whom i am indebted for the greater number of these curious facts. anchorites. 331 believe the author of "the ancren riwle ") they were tempted to indulge only too freely; till the window of the recluse's cell, he says, became what the smith's forge or the alehouse has become since—the place where all the gossip and scandal of the village passed from one ear to another. but we must not believe such scandals of all. only too much in earnest must those seven young maidens have been, whom st. gilbert of sempringham persuaded to immure themselves, as a sacrifice acceptable to god, in a den along the north wall of his church; or that st. hutta, or huetta, in the beginning of the thirteenth century, who after ministering to lepers, and longing and even trying to become a leper herself, immured herself for life in a cell against the church of huy near liège. fearful must have been the fate of these incluses if any evil had befallen the building of which (one may say) they had become a part. more than one in the stormy middle age may have suffered the fate of the poor women immured beside st. mary's church at mantes, who, when town and church were burnt by william the conqueror, unable to escape (or, according to william of malmesbury, thinking it unlawful to quit their cells even in that extremity), perished in the flames; and so consummated once and for all their long martyrdom. how long the practice of the hermit life was common in these islands is more than my learning enables me to say. hermits seem, from the old chartularies,* to * i owe these facts to the courtesy of mr. john stuart, of the general register office, edinburgh. 332 anchorites. have been not unfrequent in scotland and the north of england during the whole middle age. we have seen that they were frequent in the times of malcolm canmore and the old celtic church; and the latin church, which was introduced by st. margaret, seems to have kept up the fashion. in the middle of the thirteenth century, david de haigh conveyed to the monks of cupar the hermitage which gilmichael the hermit once held, with three acres of land. in 1329 the convent of durham made a grant of a hermitage to roger eller at norham on the tweed, in order that he might have a "fit place to fight with the old enemy and bewail his sins, apart from the turmoil of men." in 1445 james the second, king of scots, granted to john smith the hermitage in the forest of kilgur, "which formerly belonged in heritage to hugh cominch the hermit, and was resigned by him, with the croft and the green belonging to it, and three acres of arable land." i have quoted these few instances, to show how long the custom lingered; and doubtless hermits were to be found in the remoter parts of these realms when the sudden tempest of the reformation swept away alike the palace of the rich abbot and the cell of the poor recluse, and exterminated throughout england the ascetic life. the two last hermits. whom i have come across in history are both figures which exemplify very well those times of corruption and of change. at loretto (not in italy, but in musselburgh, near edinburgh) there lived a hermit who pretended to work miracles, and who it seems anchorites. 333 had charge of some image of "our lady of loretto." the scandals which ensued from the visits of young folks to this hermit roused the wrath of that terrible scourge of monks, sir david lindsay of the mount: yet as late as 1536, james the fifth of scotland made a pilgrimage from stirling to the shrine, in order to procure a propitious passage to france in search of a wife. but in 1543, lord hertford, during his destructive voyage to the forth, destroyed, with other objects of greater consequence, the chapel of the "lady of lorett," which was not likely in those days to be rebuilt; and so the hermit of musselburgh vanishes from history. a few years before, in 1537, says mr. froude,* while the harbours, piers, and fortresses were rising in dover, "an ancient hermit tottered night after night from his cell to a chapel on the cliff, and the tapers on the altar before which he knelt in his lonely orisons made a familiar beacon far over the rolling waters. the men of the rising world cared little for the sentiment of the past. the anchorite was told sternly by the workmen that his light was a signal to the king's enemies" (a spanish invasion from flanders was expected), "and must burn no more; and, when it was next seen, three of them waylaid the old man on his way home, threw him down and beat him cruelly.” so ended, in an undignified way, as worn-out institutions are wont to end, the hermit life in the british isles. will it ever reappear? who can tell? 'history of england," vol. iii. p. 256, note. 66 334 anchorites. to an age of luxury and unbelief has succeeded, more than once in history, an age of remorse and superstition. gay gentlemen and gay ladies may renounce the world, as they did in the time of st. jerome, when the world is ready to renounce them. we have already our nunneries, our monasteries, of more creeds than one; and the mountains of kerry, or the pine forests of the highlands, may some day once more hold hermits, persuading themselves to believe, and at last succeeding in believing, the teaching of st. antony, instead of that of our lord jesus christ, and of that father of the spirits of all flesh, who made love, and marriage, and little children, sunshine and flowers, the wings of butterflies and the song of birds; who rejoices in his own works, and bids all who truly reverence him rejoice in them with him. the fancy may seem impossible. it is not more impossible than many religious phenomena seemed forty years ago, which are now no fancies, but powerful facts. the following books should be consulted by those who wish to follow out this curious subject in detail:the "vita patrum eremiticorum." the "acta sanctorum." the bollandists are, of course, almost exhaustive of any subject on which they treat. but as they are difficult to find, save in a few public libraries, the "acta sanctorum" of surius, or of aloysius lipommasius, may be profitably consulted. butler's "lives of the saints" is a book common enough, but of no great value. anchorites. 335 m. de montalembert's "moines d'occident," and ozanam's "etudes germaniques," may be read with much profit. dr. reeves' edition of adamnan's "life of st. columba," published by the irish archæological and celtic society, is a treasury of learning, which needs no praise of mine. the lives of st. cuthbert and st. godric may be found among the publications of the surtees society. the end. richard clay and sons, limited, london and bungav works by charles kingsley. the water babies: a fairy tale for a land baby. new edition. with 100 illustrations by linley sambourne; engraved by j. swain. fcap. 4to. 12s. 6d. the heroes; or, greek fairy extra cloth, gilt edges. crown 8vo. glaucus; or, the wonders of the illustrations. extra cloth, gilt edges. tales for my children. 7s. 6d. shore. with coloured crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. selections from some of the writings of charles kingsley. fifth edition. crown 8vo. 6s. out of the deep: words for the sorrowful. from the writings of charles kingsley. globe 8vo. 3s. 6d. daily thoughts. selected from the writings of charles kingsley by his wife. crown 8vo. 6s. from death to life: fragments of teaching to a village congregation, with letters on the life after death. edited by his wife. extra fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. true words for brave men. crown 8vo. the eversley edition of the novels and poems of charles kingsley. 2s. 6d. in thirteen vols. globe 8vo. westward ho! two vols. two years ago. two vols. hypatia. two vols. alton locke. two vols. yeast. one vol. hereward the two vols. poems. two vols. wake. 5s. each. the pocket edition of charles kingsley's hypatia. one vol. works. pott 8vo. is. 6d. per volume. alton locke. one vol. yeast. one vol. water babies. heroes. one vol. poems. one vol. one vol. westward ho! two vols. two years ago. two vols. hereward the wake. one vol. a sixpenny edition charles kingsley. 6d. each. westward ho! hypatia. yeast. of the novels of in six vols. medium 8vo. sewed. alton locke. two years ago. hereward the wake. charles kingsley: his letters and memoirs of his life. edited by his wife. two vols. with a portrait. crown 8vo. 12s. cheap edition. library edition. crown 8vo. 6s. macmillan and co., london. biography. 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(see natural history. } fraser (mrs.).-the brown ambassador. gl. 8vo. 2s. 6d. grimm's fairy tales. translated by lucy crane, and illustrated by walter crane. cr. 8vo. 6s. also with uncut edges, paper label. 6s. greenwood (jessy e.). -the moon maiden: and other stories. cr. 8vo. 35.6d. jersey (countess of).-maurice: or, the red jar. illustrated by rosie m. m. pitman. gl. 8vo. 2s. 6d. eric, prince of lorlonia. illustrated by a. r. woodward. gl. 8vo. 2s. 6d. keary (a. and e.). the heroes of asgard. tales from scandinavian my. thology. globe 8vo. 25. 5d the little wanderlin. gl. 8vo. 25.6d. keary (e.). --the magic valley. illustr. by "e.v.b." globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. kingsley (charles).-the heroes; or, greek fairy tales for my children. cr. 8vo. 35. 6d.-presentation ed., gilt edges. 75.6d. madam how and lady why; or, first lessons in earth-lore. cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. the water-babies: a fairy tale for a land baby. cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. -new edit. illus. by l. sambourne. fcp. 4to. 12s. 6d. kipling (rudyard).—the jungle book. illustrated. cr. 8vo. 6s. the second jungle book. illustrated cr. 8vo. 6s. maclaren (arch.).--the fairy famile. a series of ballads and metrical tales. cr. 8vo. 55. macmillan (rev. hugh). (see p. 44.) madame tabby's establishment. by kari. illust. by l. wain. cr. 8vo. 4s. 6d. martin (frances).-the poet's hour. poetry selected for children. pott 8vo. 25.6d. spring-time with the poets. pott 8vo. 35. 6d. books for the young-zoology. mazini (linda).-in the golden shell. with illustrations. globe 8vo. 4s. 6d. molesworth (mrs.).-works. illustr. globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. each. "carrots," just a little boy. a christmas child. christmas-tree land. the cuckoo clock. four winds farm. grandmother dear. herr baby. little miss peggy. the rectory children. rosy. the tapestry room. tell me a story. two little waifs. 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"st. olave's" (author of). illustrated. globe 8vo. when i was a little girl. 25. 6d. nine years old. 2s. 6d. when papa comes home. 45. 6d. pansie's flour bin. 2s. 6d. steel (f. a.).-tales of the punjab. (see under illustrated books, p. 15.) stewart (aubrey).-the tale of troy. done into english. globe 8vo. 3s. 6d. swift.-gulliver's travels. (see under illustrated books, p. 15.) tennyson (hallam, lord). jack and the bean-stalk. english hexameters. illust. by r. caldecott. fcp. 4to. 38. 6d. "wandering willie" (author of).conrad the squirrel. globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. ward (mrs. t. humphry).-milly and olly. with illustrations by mrs. alma tadema. globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. 49 webster (augusta).-daffodil and the croäxaxicans. cr. 8vo. 6s. willoughby (f.).-fairy guardians. illustr. by townley green. cr. 8vo. 55. woods (m. a.). (see collections, p. 21.) yonge (charlotte m.).-the prince and the page. cr. 8vo. 35. 6d. a book of golden deeds. pott 8vo. 2s. 6d. net. globe 8vo. 2s.-abridged edition. is. lances of lynwood. cr. 8vo. -abridged edition. is. 6d. 35. 6d. p's and q's; and little lucy's wonderful globe. illustrated. cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. a storehouse of stories. 2 vols. globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. each. the population of an old pear. tree; or, stories of insect life. from e. van bruyssel. illustr. gl. 8vo. 2s. 6d. zoology. comparative anatomy-practical zoologyentomology-ornithology. see also biology; natural history; physiology.) comparative anatomy. flower (sir w. h.).-an introduction to the osteology of the mammalia. illustrated. 3rd edit., revised with the assist. ance of hans gadow, ph.d. cr. 8vo. 10s. 6d. humphry (prof. sir g. m.).-observa. tions in myology. 8vo. 6s. lang (prof. arnold).-text-book of com. parative anatomy. transl. by h. m. and m. bernard. preface by prof. e. haec. kel. illustr. 2 vols. 8vo. 175. net each. parker (t. jeffery).-a course of in. struction in zootomy (vertebrata). illustrated. cr. 8vo. 8s 6d. pettigrew (j. bell).-the physiology of the circulation in plants, in the lower animals, and in man. 8vo. 125. shufeldt (r. w.).-the myology of the raven (corvus corax sinuatus). a guide to the study of the muscular system in birds. illustrated. 8vo. 135. net. wiedersheim (prof. r.).—elements of the comparative anatomy of verte. brates. adapted by w. newton parker, with additions. illustrated. 8vo. 12s. 6d. practical zoology. calderwood (w. l.)-mussel culture and the bait supply. cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. cunningham (j. t.).-natural history of marketable marine fishes. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. dean (b.).-fishes, living and fossil. 8vo. ios. 6d. net. howes (prof. g. b.).—an atlas of prac tical elementary biology. with a preface by prof. huxley. 4to. 14s. huxley (t. h.) and martin (h. n.).— a course of élementary instruction in practical biology. revised and extended by prof. g. b. howes and d. h. scott, ph.d. cr. 8vo. 10s. 6d 4 50 zoology. thomson (sir c. wyville).-the voyage of the challenger": the atlantic. with illustrations, coloured maps, charts, etc 2 vols. 8vo. 455. the depths of the sea. an account of the results of the dredging cruises of h.m.ss. "lightning" and porcupine," 1868-69-70. with illustrations, maps, and plans. 8vo. 31s. 6d. wilson (e. b.).—atlas of the karyokinesis of the ovum. 4to. 175. net. the cell and its development. 8vo. 145. net. entomology. badenoch (l. n.).-romance of the insect world. cr. 8vo. 6s. buckton (g. b.).—monograph of the british cicade, or tettigidæ. 2 vols. 425.net; or in 8 parts. 8s. each net. natural history of eristalis tenax. 8vo. 8s. net. lubbock (sir john).-the origin and metamorphoses of insects illustrated. cr. 8vo. 35. 6d. meyrick (e.).— handbook of british lepidoptera. ex. cr. 8vo. ios. 6d. net. miall (l. c.). natural history of aquatic insects. cr. 8vo. 6s. scudder (s. h.).-fossil insects of north america. map and plates. vols. 4to. gos. net. ornithology. 2 coues (elliott).-key to north american birds. illustrated. 8vo. 2/ 25. handbook of field and general or nithology. illustrated. 8vo. 10s. net. fowler(w.w.). (see natural history.) headley (f. w.).—structure and lifeof birds. cr. 8vo. 7s. 6d. white (gilbert). (see natural history.) wright (m. o.). (see natural history.) སྐྱ index. page page pax . ii, 42 • · adams (g. b.). addison abbey (e. a.) · 47 abbott (e. a.)6, 17, 38, 39, 42 abbot (f. e.). abrahams (i.). acton (lord) adams (sir f. o.) 4, 24, 25 bates (k. l.) bateson (w.) bather (archdeacon) bateman 4 brown (j. a.) i 24 brown (t. e.). 17 42 7 browne (j. h. b.) 14 42 browne (sir t.) · 25 ii baxter (l.) 4 36 beesly (mrs.) 5, ii ιι behrens (h.) 8 bell (w.). 18, 21 buchheim (c. a.) æsop. 14, 48 benedikt (r.) 38 aflalo (f. g.). • 46 benham (rev. w.) 6, 25, 4t agassiz (l.) 4 benson (archbishop) 42 ainslie (a. d.). ainger (rev. a.) 5, 20, 27, 42 benson (w. a. s.) . 3, 38 18 bentley. 4 bunyan airy (sir g. b.) 3 berg (l.). io bruce (p. a.). brunton (dr. t. l.) bryce (james). buckland (a.). buckley (a. b) bucknill (dr. j. c) buckton (g. b.) burdett (c. w. b.). 29,42 12, 36, 47 12 · · 25 6, 36 12 29 50 4, 24, 25 38 aitken (mary c.) • 25 berlioz (h.) 4 burgon (j. w.) 17 aitken (sir w.) 30 bernard (c. e.) 4 burke (e.) 30 aldous (j. c. p.) 40 bernard (j. h.) 32, 42 burn (r.). 2 · allen (g.) amiel (h. f.) anderson (a.). anderson (l.). . · • · alexander (archbishop). 42 alexander (c. f.). allbutt (t. c.) allingham (w.) bernard (m.). berners (j.) besant (sir w.) bettany (g. t.) biedermann (w.) bigelow (m. m.) bernard (h. m.) 7, 35 burnett (f. hodgson) 21 17, 25 15 burns 17, 25 28 • 14 bury (j. b.) 12 . 7 · 4 buss (f. m) 24 25 7 butcher (prof. s. h.) 4 34 16, 24, 46 17 15 butler (a. j.) . 17, 46 2 bikelas (d.) 21 butler (samuel) 17 · arnold (dr. t.) · · • attwell (h.). • austen (jane). austin (alfred) andrews (c. m.) andrews (dr. thomas) appleton (t. g.) archer-hind (r. d.) arnold(m.) arnold (w. t.) 9, 17, 24, 25, 39 ashley (w. j.). atkinson (g. f.) atkinson (j. b.) atkinson (rev. j. c.) autenrieth (georg) 25 21 io, 17, 24 blennerhassett (r.) blomfield (r.) blyth (a. w.). böhm-bawerk (prof.) boldrewood (rolf). ii birrell (a.) 15 butler (archer) 42 33 björnson (b). · 21 butler (sir w. f.). 4 46 black (w.) • 5 buxton (mrs. s.) 38 46 blackburne (e.) 4 byron 25 blackie (j. s.) .ii, 17, 24 cairnes (j. e.) 35, 36 ii blake (j. f.) 3 cajori (f.) 28 ii blake (w.) . 4 caldecott (r.) 15, 48 4,35 7 blanford (h. f.) blakiston (j. r.) io, 34 9 calderon 17 calderwood (h.)__ 7, 9, 32, 33 2 blanford (w. t.) ii, 30 calderwood (w. l.) 49 2, 48 • 47 callaway (bishop). 4 το calvert (rev. a.). 39 • 14 campbell (d. h) 7 • 35 campbell (sir g.) 4 9 · 21 campbell (j. d.) 4, 18 awdry (f.) 48 bonar (j.) 3, 5, 35 campbell j. f.) 47 bacon (francis) 4. 24, 25 bond (rev. j.). . 39 campbell (dr. j. m.) 42 badenoch (l. n.) 30, 50 boole (g.) • 32 campbell (prof. lewis) 5, 16 bailey (l. h.) ιο booth (c.) · 37 canterbury (archbp. of) 42 baines (rev. e.) 42 balch (elizabeth) 14 baldwin (prof. j. m.) • 33 balfour (f. m.) 7 balfour (j. b.) • 7 baker (sir s. w.) 4, 37, 46, 48 bosanquet (b.) bosanquet (mrs.) bose (w. p. du) boughton (g. h.) · 37 borgeaud (c). borrow (g.) · 15 cantillon 35 • 21 capes (w. w.). 16 32, 37 carles (w. r.) 47 carlyle (t.) 4 43 carnarvon (earl of) • 46 • 47 carpenter (bishop) · 42 ball (j.) 47 boutmy (e.) is carr (j. c.) ball (w. platt) ball (w. w. r.) ballance (c. a.) banks (j.) 7 bowen (h. c.). 31 carroll (lewis) 15, 28 bower (f. o.) 17 32, 48 7 28 · bradford (a. h.) 42 · 47 bradford (g.). 24 bakker (g. f.) . 33 bradley (a. g.) 4 chalmers (j. b.) barker (lady) 2, 9, 47, 48 brett (r. b). 12 barlow (j.) 14, 48 bright (h. a.). το barnard (c.) 34 bright (j. franck). 5 barnard (f. a. p.). 4 bright (john). 36 barnes (r. h.) • 5 brimley (g.) 24 chase (rev. f. h.). barnes (w.) • 4 brodie (sir b.). 8 barnett (e. a.) 9, 37 brodribb (w. j.) 16, 46 chaucer barry (a.) 42 bartholomew (j. g.) • 3 bartlett (j.). 9, 17 bastable (prof. c. f.) • 35 brooke (sir j.) brooke (s. a.). brooks (bishop) brown (prof. c.) 4 16, 17, 26, 42 cheyne (c. h. h.) 42, 47 cattel (j. mck.) cautley (g. s.) chalmers (j. a.) chalmers (m. d.) chanler (w. a.) chappell (w). chasseresse (diana) • ii το cheetham (archdeacon). 40 cheyne (t. k.) · 33 • 17 • 36 47 chapman (elizabeth r.). 17 • 30 • 39 37 16, 17 · 3 39 · 33 chirol (v.) 36 colvin (sidney) combe (g.) 4, 10 comey (a. m.). 8 commons (j. r.) 35 congreve (rev. j.). 42 conway (hugh) 21 dobbin (l.) cook (e. t.) 3 dobson (a.) cooke (a. h.). 30 dodd (a. b.) cooke (j. p.) 8, 43 cooper (c. a.). 4 donovan (t). corbett (j.) 4, 21, 48 dorr (j. c. r.) corfield (w. h.) 14 douglas (theo.) cornish (f.) 43 dowden (e.) corson (h) 17, 24 doyle (sir f. h.) cossa (l.) 35 doyle (j. a.) 52 index. christie (w. d.) page 25 dante church (f. j.). 26 church (r. w.). 4, 5, 6, 12, 24, 41, 42 clare (g.) 35 church (rev. a. j.).4, 16,38,46 dasent (a. i.). davenport (h. j.). davidson (bishop). 12 35 41, 43 davies (rev. j. li.). 40, 41, 43 davies (w.) farrer (sir t. h.). faulkner (f.). page 6, 39, 43 fawcett (mrs. h.). 6, 35, 37 page 4, 17, 46 farrar (archd.) fasnacht (g. e.) fawcett (prof. h.). 36 25 8 35, 37 36 58 6, 43 clark (j. w.) 25 davis (r. h.) 21 fay (amy) . 30 clark (l.) . 3 dawkins (w.b.) i fayrer (sir j.). . 14 clark (r.) 37 dawson (g. m.) ii fearon (d. r.) ιο clark (t. m.). 10 • dawson (sir j. w.) . ii ferrel (w.) 34 11, 35 day (l.b.) 10 day (r. e.) · 5 dean (a.). 4 dean (b.). 24, 33 defoe (d.) · 48 degerdon (w. e.) clough (a. h.) cohen (j. b.) .18, 24, 25 deighton (k.). 5, 19, 24, 27 36 delbos (l.) 8 dell (e. c.) 47 de morgan (m.) 40 deussen (p.) 24 de quatrefages (a.) 4, 18 de rousiers (p.) 3 de vere (a.) dicey (a. v.) dickens (c.) clarke (c. b.). clarke (g.) cleveland (duchess) clifford (ed.) clifford (w. k.) clifford (mrs. w. k.) cobden (r.) cole (g. a. g.) colenso (j. w.) coleridge (c. r.) coleridge (s. t.) collier (hon. john) collins (c) . collins (j. churton) ic 24, 27 5, 26 dickens (m. a.) diggle (rev. j. w.). dilke (ashton w.) 24 dilke (sir charles w.) 30, 36 disraeli (b.) donisthorpe (w.) 22 8 5, 14 . . . . . . 5. 47 36 20 25, 47 fitzgerald (edward) 18, 25 fleischer (e ). flower (sir w. h.). fonda (a. j.) . forbes (a.) 49 • 29 4, 47 forbes-mitchell (w.) 5, 47 το fortescue (hon. j. w.). 4,30 foster (prof. m.) • 7, 34, 35 foster-melliar (a.) fothergill (dr. j. m.) 9, 29 fowle (rev. t. w.). fowler (rev. t.) fowler (w. w.) fox (t. w.) foxell (w. j.) · · 36 5, 32 . 2, 25, 30 foxwell (prof. h.s) frankland (p. f.). 38 · 43 36 · 12 22 · i 21 fessenden (c.) • 33 33 field (mrs. e. m.). 22 · ιο field (rev. t.) . 12 49 fielde (a. m.). · 14 5, 25 fisher (rev. o.) 33 38 fiske (j.). 7, 12, 32, 37, 43 fison (l.). • 31 fitch (j. g.) i • 10 14 48 flagg (a. t.). 32 • 31 8 i fleming (g.) 22 35 flory (m. a.). • 3 18, 24 15, 36 flückiger (f. a.) 21, 24 35 • 24 43 • 22 5, 17, 19, 26 framji (d.) 18 francis (f.) 0 12 cotes (e.). 21 drage (g.) 37 franklin (w. s.) cotterill (j. h.) το drake (b.) 45 fraser (mrs). • 33 22 48 cotton (j. s.). 36 coues (e.) 50 courthope (w.j.) 4, 16, 18, 24 cowell (g.) 29 cowper cox (g. v.) .18, 24, 25 12 dryden du cane (e. f.) duff (sir m. e. g.) duncan (s. j.). duntzer (h.). durand (šir m.) 25 fraser (bishop) 43 36 fraser-tytler (c. c.) 18 88 88 6 frazer (j. g.). 22 freeman (prof. e. a.) • 5, 6 2, 5, 12, 37, 40 22 french (g. r.) 17 craik (mrs.) 18,21,24,25,47,48 dyer (l.). 2, 35 friedmann (p.) 4 craik (h.) 6, 10, 24, 36 dyer (h.). • 37 froissart 25 crane (lucy) 48 earl (a.). • 33 frost (a. b.) 48 crane (walter) 48 eastlake (lady) • 4i froude (j. a.). 4 craven (mrs. d.) 9 ebers (g.) 22 furnivall (f. j.) 18 38 14 · 3 crawford (f. m.) .14, 21, 24 crawshaw (w. h.). 24 creighton (bishop m.) 5, 12 crichton-browne (sirj.) 10 cross (j. a.) crosskey (r.). crossley (e.) eccles (a. s.). edgcumbe (r. p.) edgeworth (prof. f. y.). 35 edgeworth (m.) 29 furze (a. d.). • 30 35 fyffe (c. a.) • 12 fyfe (h. h.) • ii 22 edmunds (dr. w.) 28 edwards (g. w.) 14, 18 gairdner (j.) · gaisford (h.). galt (j.). · 5 • το 22 edwards-moss (sir j. e.) 38 galton (f.) · i crossley (h.). 46 ehlers (e. s.). • 29 gamgee (arthur) • 35 cumming (l.) 33 cunningham (c.) 36 cunningham (j t.) 49 cunynghame (sir a. t.). 30 curteis (rev. g. h.) 40, 43 curtin (j.) 21 d'arcy (c. f.). 32 eimer (g. h. t.) elderton (w. a.) ellerton (rev. j.). elliott (hon. a.) ellis (a.). ellis (t.). emerson (r. w.) · 7 gardner (e.) · 2 · ii gardner (percy) • 2 43 garnett (r.). 18 36 garnett (w.). • 5 20, 25 gaskell (mrs.) 14 3 gaskoin (mrs. h.) 38 4, 25 dahlstrom (k. p.). το emerson (o. f.) 31 dahn (f.) 21 erman (a.) 2 gee (h.) dakyns (h. g.) 46 evans (lady) 2 dalton (rev. j. n.) 46 everett (j.d.) · 33 gee (w. w. h.) geikie (sir a.). daniell (alfred). 33 falconer (lanoe) 22 gattermann (l) geddes (w. d.) gennadius (i.) 8 17, 46 40 33 34 4,6, ii, 34 21 index. 53 page page page genung (j. f.) 17 hartley (prof. w. n.) 8 irving (j.) ii george (h. b.) 20 hassall (a.) • 12 gibbins (h. de b.) 12 hatch (f. j.). ii jack (a. a.) gibbon (charles) 4 hauser (k.) 5 irving (washington) jackson (d. c.) 15 17 34 giddings (f. h.) 37 hawkins (h. p.) 29 jackson (f. g.) 47 gillies (h. c.) 29 hawkins (t.) 9 jackson (helen) 22 gilchrist (a.). 4 headlam (a. c.) 2 jacob (rev. j. a.) 43 giles (p.). 31 headley (f. w.) 30, 50 gilman (n. p.) 35 heaviside (o.) gilmore (rev. j.) 16 heawood (e.). gladstone (w. e.). gladstone (dr. j. h.) 8, 10 glaister (e.). heine 17 helm (e.). . 2, 9 helps (sir a.). glover (e.) • 43 hempel (dr. w.) godfray (h.) 3 henley (w. e.) godkin (g. s.). 6 herman (h.) goethe goldie (j.) goldsmith 5, 18, 25 herodotus 37 herrick 5. 14, 18, 25, 26 herrmann (g.) gonner (e. c. k.). ii hertel (dr.) goodfellow (j.) 14 hertz (h.) goodnow (f. j.) 15 hickie (w. j.). gordon (h.) gosse (edmund) gow (j.) gow (w.) gordon (general c. g.) gordon (lady duff) goschen (rt. hon. g. j.). gracian (balthasar) graham (j. w.) grand'homme (e.). grane (w. l). grant (c.) gray (prof. andrew) · 5 higinbotham (c. j.) 47 higgs (h.) 33 hill (d. j.) 35 hill (f. davenport) • 5, 16 hill (o.). 2 hill (g. b.) • 31 hiorns (a. h.) 29, 30 25 hobart (lord) 22 hobday (e.) x n w wwww ww o jacobs (j.) 14, 25, 48, 49 34 james (henry). • 5, 22, 26 11 james (rev. h.) 43 18 james (prof. w.) 33 35 jardine (rev. r.) 33 26 jayne (bp.) 43 jeans (rev. g e.) 43, 46 15 jebb (prof. r. c.) 4, 13, 16, 26 23 jee (b. s.) 29 46 jellett (rev. j. h.) 43 26 jenks (prof. ed.) 37 ιο jennings (a. c.) 13, 38 ιο jersey (countess of) 48 34 jevons (w. s.). 5, 32, 35, 36 39 jewett (s.) 18 5 jex-blake (k.) 2 35 jex-blake (sophia). 9 32 joceline (e.). 26 37 johnson (amy) 34 37 johnson (samuel) • 5, 16, 25 jones (prof. d. e.) . jones (f.). 33, 34 8 26 jones (h. arthur) .16, 18, 26 10 jones (h. s.) 2 9 hodgson (rev. j. t.) 5 jones (r.) 35 43 hodgson (r. l.) 47 julius (dr. p.). 9 22 hoffding (prof. h.) 33 kahlden (c.) 29 34 hoffman (w. j.) i kalm (p.) 47 gray (asa) gray gray (j. l.) 7,26 5, 18, 26 hofmann (a. w.) 8 kant 32 hole (rev. c.). 9, 13 kanthack (a. a.) 29 26 . holiday (henry) 3, 48 kari 48 · · gregory (r. a.) 3, 33 green (j. r.) 11, 12, 14, 25, 26 green (mrs. j. r.). 5, 11, 12 green (w. s.). greenhill (w. a.) . greenidge (a. h. j.) greenwood (f.) greenwood (j. e.) grenfell (mrs.) griffiths (w. h.) grimm holmes (o. w., junr.) homer hooker (sir j. d.) hollway-calthrop (h.) holm (a.). 48 keary (annie). 13, 22, 38, 48 • 13 keary (eliza) 48 · 15 keats 5, 26 47 17, 46 keble (j.). 26 25 hood (t.). 15 12 7,47 kellner (dr. l.) kellogg (rev. s. h.) 43 31 26 hooper (g.) • 4 kelly (e.) • 48 hooper (w. h.) 3 keltie (j. s.). 43 38 9 hoppus (m. a. m.) 22 kelvin (lord). 11, 31, 33, 34 29 horace 25, 46 48 hort (a. f) 41 grove (sir g.). ii, 30 guest (e.) 12 hovenden (r. m.). hort (f. j. a.) 5, 39, 40, 41, 43 33 kennedy (prof. a. b. w.) 10 kempe (a. b.). kennedy (b. h.) 45 46 kennedy (p). 22 guest (m. j.) 12 howell (george) 15, 35 keynes (j. n.). 32,36 guillemin (a.) 33, 34 howes (g. b.). 35, 49 guizot (f. p. g.) 6 howitt (a. w.) gunton (g.) 35 hozier (col. h. m.). 30 gwatkin (h. m.) 40 hübner (baron) • · 47 ohon kidd (b.) 37 kiepert (h.) ii kimber (d. c.) 35 king (f. h.) i halle (e. von) 35 hughes (t.) halleck (r p) 33 hales (j. w.). 18, 21, 25, 27 • hamerton (p. g.) 3, 15, 26 hull (e.) 39 2, 11 hamilton (prof. d. j.) · 29 hullah (j.) 2, 25, 30 hanbury (d.). 7, 29 hannay (david) 4 hunt (rev. w.) 12 harden (a.) • 9 hunt (w.) 3 hardwick (archd. c.) 40, 43 hutchinson (g. w. c.). 3 4, 5, 15. 18, 22, 26, 41, 43, 47 huddilston (j. h.) humphry(prof. sirg.m.) 35,49 kingsley (chas) 5, 10, 13, 14, 15. 16. 18,22,23,26,27, 30, 41.47, 48 kingsley (g.). kingsley (mary h.) kipling (rudyard)15,23,27,48 kirkpatrick (prof.) king (g.). 13 kingsley (henry) kipling (j. l.). hardy (a. s.). 38 25, 47 47 47 38, 43 22 hutton (r. h.) 5, 26 klein (dr. e.). 7, 20 hardy (w. j.). 40 hutton (rev. w. h.) . 5 klein (f.) hare (a. w.) 26 huxley (t) hare (j. c.) 43 harris (rev. g. c.). 43 hyde (w. de w.) harrison (f.). 5, 6, 12, 15, 26 harrison (miss j.). • 2 impey (s. p.) harte (bret) · 22 ireland (a.) hartig (dr. r.) · 7 irving (h.) 5, 26, 33, 34, 35, 37, 49 illingworth (rev. j. r.) 29 knight (w.) kuenen (prof. a.) labberton (r. h.). la farge (j.) . lafargue (p.). lamb. lanciani (prof. r.). 43 43 · 26 • 20 • 28 17, 28, 32 38 3 3 23 5, 26, 27 2 4 54 landauer (j.). landor lane-poole (s.) index. page page page 8 · maclean (g. e.) · · 31 5, 26 maclean (w.c.) • • 29 6, 26 lang (andrew) maclear (rev. dr.) 38, 40, 41 15, 26, 46 mclennan (j. c.) lang (prof. arnold). 33 49 langley (g. a.) m'lennan (). f.) • i 32 langley (j. n.) 35 m'lennan (malcolm) macmillan (rev. h.) · 23 langmaid (t.). 27, 44 10 lankester (prof. ray) 27 (dr.). lassar-cohn laslett (t.) laughton (j. k.) laurie (a. p.). lawrence (t. j.) lawton (w. c.) lea (a. s.) 8 7 macquoid (k. s.) maddison (i.). . ៩៨៨ macmillan (michael) 6, 18, 19 macmillan (m. k.) · moorhouse (bishop) morier (j.) morison j. c.) morley (john). morris (e. e.). morris (mowbray) morris (r.) morrison (j.) · · 23 5 4, 5, 20, 27 · morshead (e. d. a.) · 44 · 4 mahaffy (prof. j. p.) 23 23 moulton (l. c.) ιο moulton (r. g.) mudie (c. e.). · 5 4, 25 25, 31 24 46 · 18 38 18 . i, 3 15 maitland (f. w.) 15, 36 27 malet (l.) 23 34 malory (sir t.) leaf (w.) leahy (sergeant) lean (b) 25, 27 17, 46 malthus (t. r.) 35 38 marcou (j.) 2, 13, 16, 27, 32, 44, 47 muir (j.) muir (m. m. p.) mun (t.). munro (j. e. c.) 8 müller (h.) 8 35 15 4 murray (d. christie) 23 8 marks (j. g.). 8 25, 46 · 23 · 33 · 13 · 46 32 · 27 2, 38 5, 13 23 • 33 16 38 · · le blanc (m.). lee (s.) leeds (duchess of). lees (c. h.) lee-warner (w.) leeper (a.) leibnitz (g. w.) leslie (g. d.). lethaby (w. r.) lethbridge (sir roper) levy (amy) lewis (h. k.). lewis (r.) lewkowitsch (j.) lightfoot (bishop) 5: 13, 39, 41, 43, 44 littledale (h.) lockyer (j. n.) lodeman (e. g.) lodge (prof. o. j.) lodge (r.) 17 3, 8, 34, 38 10 3, 27, 34 lowenson-lessing (f.). ii loewy (b.) loftie (mrs. w. j.). longfellow (h. w.) lonsdale (j.) . lover (s.). lowe (w. h.). lowell. (j. r.). loudon (w. j.) louis (h.) lubbock (sir j.) 30, 38 7, ii, 27, 47, 50 lucas (joseph). lunt (j.). · 47 9 88 5, 18, 21, 25, 32 masson (g.) masson (r. o.) mathew (e. j.) maudsley (dr. h.). maurice (f. d.) 10, 27, 32, 38-40, mayo-smith (r.) mayor (prof. j. e. b.) mazini (l.) meldola (prof. r.). mendenhall (t. c.) menschutkin (a.). mercier (dr. c.) mercur (prof. j.) meredith (george). meyer (e. von) meyrick (e.). miall (l. c.). michelet (m.) 9, 25 murray (g.) 8 marriott (j.a. r.). 6 myers (e.) 46 marryat (čapt.) 23 myers (f. w. h.) . 5, 19, 27 marshall (prof. a.) 36 nadal (e. s.). . 27 marshall (h. r.). • 32 nernst (dr.) 8 · martin (frances) 4, 48 nettleship (h.). · 16 martin (frederick). 36 newcomb (s.) martin (h. n.) 49 martineau (c. a.). 34 duchess) martineau (h.) 6 martineau (dr. j.) newman (g.). 6 · mason (a. e. w.) 23 mason (o. t.). nichol (j.) i nichols (e. l.) masson (d.) nisbet (j.) 21 13, 37 33 norris (w. e.) 41, 44 maurice (gen. f.) 5 max müller (f.) mayer (a. m.). 33 · 2 mayor (j. b.) 26 · 25, 46 • 23 38, 39 18, 27 menger (c.) · 33 5, 30 newcastle (duke and newton (sir c. t.). nicholls (h. a. a.) nordenskiöld (a. e.) norgate (kate) · norton (charles eliot) 4, 46 norton (hon. mrs.) norway (a. h.) 3 26 29 2 4 33 i 8 . 47 13 23 19, 23 • 31 · 32 oddie (j. w.). 18 34 o'donahue (t. a.). το 37 40 • 3 49 oliver (prof. d.) 47 • 34 4 36 i 8 • 29 ostwald (prof.) 8 · 30 otté (e. c.) • 13 18 page (t. e.) · 39 8 palgrave (sir f.) 13 • 30 palgrave (f.t.) lupton (s.) 30, 50 lvall (sir alfred) 4 13 21, 25, 26, 49 palgrave (r. h. inglis). 35 lyde (l. w.) ii middleton (g.) 2 palgrave (w. g.) · 47 lysaght (s. r.) 23 miers (h.a.) 14 palmer (lady s.) · lyte (h. č. m.) 13 mill (h. r.) · ii parker (t. j.). 23 7,49 lyttelton (e.) 27 miller (r. k.). • 3 lytton (earl of) 23 40, 44 macalister (d.) · 29 macarthur (m.) • 12 macaulay (g. c.) 17,20,25,46 minto (prof. w.) • 5 macaulay (lord) 27 mitford (a. b.) 10, 23 maccoll (norman). 17 mitford (m. r.) 15 mccurdy (j. f.) · 44 mivart (st. george). · 35 m'cosh (dr. j.) 32, 33 mixter (w. g.) 8 milligan (rev. w.). mills (t. r.) milton · 2 5, 16, 18, 25, 27 parker (w. k.) parker (w. n.) parkes (sir h.) parkin (g. r. parkinson (s.) parkman (f.). · 13, 37 · 34 13, 47 · 23 3, 16, 23, 27 498 parry (g.) pasteur (l.) 8 pater (w.) macdonald (george) 21 macdonald (g.) 29 mackail (j. w.) 46 macknight (j.) 37 maclaren (rev. alex.) 44 molesworth (mrs.) molloy (g.) molyneux (w. c. f.) montefiore (c. g.) montelius (o.) 49 paterson (a.). 33 paterson (a. b.) .09. 30 patmore (coventry) 38, 42 i patteson (j. c.) pattison (mark) 23 19 25,48 maclaren (archibald) 48 moore (c. h.). 2 paulsen (f.) 5, 6, 44 το • 8, 33 oliphant (t. l. k.) 5, 13, 16, 23, 25, oliver (capt. s. p.). oman (c. w.) orr (h. b.) osborn (h. f.) 32 oliphant (mrs. m.ó. w.) index. 55 • 23 · 37 · 14 · 19 • 32 • 32 • 3 · 2 roy (neil) 8 · 13 46 8, 35, 49 russell (lord) 16 russell (w. clark). • 23 russell (t.) २० 3 ryder (h. p.). i ryland (f.) · 27 ryle (prof. h. e.) : 13 sadler (h.) 47 saintsbury (g.) 26, 46 28 salt (h. s.) 36 sandford (m. e.) 2 sandys (j. e.). 44 scaife (w. b.). .16, 17, 46 bart.) scartazzini (g. a.) schliemann (dr.) schmoller (g.) 2 pope. poste (e.) · 5, 25, 27 45, 46 potter (l.) potter (r.) potts (w.) preston (t.) 27 schorlemmer (c.) schreiber (t.). schuchhardt (c.) schultz (dr. g.) payne (e. j.) peabody (c. h.) peacock (t. l.) pearson (c. h.) pease (a. e.) peel (e.). peile (j.). pellissier (e.) pennell (j.) penrose (f.c.) percival (h. m.) perkin (w. h.) perkins (j. b.) peterson (w.) pettigrew (j. b.) phillimore (j. g.) phillips (f. e.) phillips (j. a.) phillips (w. c.) philpot (mrs. h.) picton (j. a.). pike (l. o.) pike (w.). plato playfair (w. s.) plehn (c. c.). pliny plumptre (dean) pollard (a. w.) pollock (sir f., page 13, 36 10, 34 18, 19 6, 16, 27, 36, 37 pollock (lady) robinson (j. l.) rockstro (w.s.) roscoe (sir h. e.) rosebery (earl of). rosevear (e.). ross (p.). rossetti (c. g.) .19, 28, 49 rothschild (f.) routledge j.) rowe (f. j.) rücker (prof. a. w.) rumford (count) rushbrooke (w.g.) 80 aw do awwwwow wow. rutherford (w. g.) 38, 45 somerville (prof. w.) southey spender j. k.) spenser spottiswoode (w.). st. asaph (bishop of) stanley (dean) stanley (hon. maude) stebbing (f. c.) stebbing (w.). steel (f. a.) salmon (rev. g.) 88484 page page · · 31 smalley (g. w.) · 5 smetham (j. and s.) 6, 28 6 8, 9 smith (adam) 3, 6, 35, 36 5 · 9 smith (c. b.). smith (alexander) 17, 25 · 19 • 23 smith (f. hopkinson) · 24 smith (g.) 44 13 smith (garnet). 24 37 smith (goldwin) 20 4, 6, 14, 21, 28, 37, 45, 47 · 23 smith (h.) • smith (j.) 28 smith (w. g.). 19 8 8 39 smith (l. pearsall) • 37 sohm (r.). 24 40 4, 23 34 6, 26 ลง spanton (j.) • 3 16 38, 44 3 5, 16 44 28 6 • 29 19, 25 · 34 · 40 44 • 37 · 31 4 47 15, 24 28 steele 17 stephen (h.) · 2 35 stephen (j. k.) stephen (sir j. f.) 14, 16, 28 · 24, 28 16 16 8,9 stephen (l.) • · 5 2 stephens (j. b.) · 2 stephens (w. r. w.) 19 • 5 9 stevens (c. e.) 44 schuster (a.). · 16 9, 33 28 scott (m.) stevenson (f. s.) 6 23 stevenson (j. j.) 34 scott (sir w.). • 2 19, 25 stewart (a.) · prestwich (j.). ii scudder (s. h.) 50 price (e. c.) 23 seebohm (h. e.) i price (l. l. f. r.) 36 seeley (sir j. r.) stokes (sir g. g.) stewart (baltour) 33, 34, 44 49 • .13, 37, 44 stone (w. h.). 34 prickard (a. o.) 28 seiler (dr. carl) · prince albert victor. 46 prince george 46 seligman (e.). · 36 procter (f.) 41 sellers (e.) 2 prowse (d. w.) 13 service (j.) 29, 35 selborne (earl of)6, 25, 40, 42 strachey (j. st. l.) strangford viscountess) 47 strachey (sir e.) · 34 • 25 • strachey (gen. r.). 37 ii 41, 44 strettell (a.) purcell (e. s.) 5 sewell (e. m.) • · 14 quesnay (f.). 36 shadwell (c. l.) stubbs (dean). 19 . 46 rabbeno (u.). 36 shairp (j. č.) . stubbs (bishop) 44 4, 19 rae (j.) 6,36 ramsay (sir a. c.): 6 shann (g.) ramsay (w.). 8 sharp (w.) shakespeare. 17, 19, 25, 26 swainson (h.). sturgis (r.) 40 sutherland (a.) 2 ii 10, 34 2 6 • swannell (m.) ransome (c.) 17 shaw (miss) · 14 swete (prof. h. b.). rathbone (w.) . 9 sheldon (w. l.) 32 ratzel (f.) swift (dean) i shelley · rawlinson (w.g.). ray (p. k.) 19, 26 • 15 sheridan. · 32 shipton (helen) • rayleigh (lord) 34 reid (j. s.) 46 remsen (i.) 8 renan (e.) 6 shuckburgh (e. s.) shufeldt (r. w.) rendall (rev. f.) 40, 44 sidgwick (a.) . reynolds (e. s.) 14 reynolds (h. r.) 44 sime (j.). reynolds (sir j. r.) · 29 simmons (a. t.) reynolds (0.) • 14 simpson (w.) shore (l. e.) • shorthouse (j. h.) · 24 sidgwick (prof. h.) 32, 36, 37 symonds (mrs. j. a.) taggart (w. s.) tainsh (e. c.). tait (c. w. a.) tait (prof. p. g.) tanner (h.) tarbell (f.b.) tarr (r. s.) taussig f. w.) symonds (j. a.) 6, 15 15 23 35 tait (archbishop) 14, 46 49 20 11, 12 34 i rhoades (j.) · 23 simpson (rev. w.) 40 rhodes (j. f.). tavernier (j. b.) taylor (e. r.). · 13 skeat (w. w.) · 17 ricardo 35, 36 skrine (j. h.). taylor (franklin) 6, 19 richey (a. g.). ritchie (a.) robb (r.). richardson (sir b. w.) 14, 29 robinson (preb. h.g.). 44 slade (j. h.)'. taylor (isaac). το taylor (sedley) · 16 sleeman (l.) 47 tegetmeier (w. b.) • 6 sloane (w. m.) 6 ιο sloman (rev. a.) smart (w.) 39 temple (archbishop) temple (sir r.) 36 tennant (dorothy). 17 14 33, 34, 44 i • 2 13, 34 36 47 3 30 32 30, 34 9 · 42 48 39556876 56 index. 20 verrall (mrs.) vickerman (c.) vines (s. h.) 15, 49 24 wain (louis) 8 waldstein (c.) 3 walker (f.) 12 34 walker (jas.) 1 homson (sir c. w.) 50 walker (louisa) thomson (hugh) 14 wallace (a. r.) tenniel (sir john). tennyson (lord) 17, 19, tennyson (frederick) tennyson (lord h.) theodoli (marchesa) thompson (d'a. w.) thompson (e.). thompson (miss e.) thompson (s. p.) page · 48 20, 26 • page • 38 8 2 williams (c. m.) williams (c. t.) williams (g. h.) williams (h.). viollet-le-duc (e. e.). 10 walker (prof. f. a.) 10000000 200 • 48 page · 32 · 29 ii 14, 31 6 45 14 .. 49 williams (montagu) williamson (m. b.) 6 willoughby (e. f.) willoughby (f.) willoughby (w. w.) 36 wills (w. g.) wilson (a. j.). 20 36 8 38 7, 30, 36 thoreau 28 wallace (sir d. m.) · 37 wilson (sir c.) thorne (dr. thorne) 29 walpole (s.) · 36 wilson (e. b.). thornton (j.). 7 ward (a. w.) 4, 5, 16, 25 wilson (dr. g.) thorpe (t. e.). 6,9 ward (h. m.). • 7, 8 wilson (archdeacon) thring (e.) . thursfield (j. r.). titchener (e. b.) todhunter (i.) tourgénief (i. s.) io, 28 ward (s.). • 20 wilson (mary). 5 ward (t. h.) 33 ward (mrs. t. h.) 6 ward (w.) 24 ware (w. r.). tout (t. f.) 5, 14 waters (c. a.) tozer (h. f.) ii traill (h. d.). waterton (charles) 6, 28, 41 4, 5, 36 watson (e.) trench (capt. f.) 37 watson (w.) trench (archbishop) 44 way (a. s.) webb (w. t.) trevor (g. h.) • 20 tribe (a.). 8 tristram (w. o.) 15 trollope (a.). tubby (a h.). tucker (t. g.) tufts (j. h.). tulloch (principal). turner (g.) turner (c. tennyson) turner (h.h.) turner (j. m. w.) turpin (g s.). tylor (e. b.) tyrrell (r. y.) tyrwhitt (r. st. j.) uhland van dyke (h.) vaughan (c. j.) 39, 40, 41, 45 vaughan (rev. d. j.)26,28,45 vaughan (rev. e. t.) veley (m.) venn (rev. j.). verrall (a. w.) whittier (j. g.) wickham (rev. e. c.) wicksteed (p. h.). wiedersheim (r.) wieser (f. von) wilbraham (f. m.). 36, 38 yonge (c.m.) 6, 8, 9, 12, 13, 14, 35, 49 36 • 4i wilkins (prof. a. s.) 2, 16, 45 wilkinson (s.) • 45 24 33, 45 · 45 willey (a.) · · 30 • 7 24, 26, 28, 32, 38, 49 young (e. w.) younghusband (g. j. and f. e.) ziegler (dr. e.) το 30 29 trevelyan (sir g. o.) 14, 28 5 webster (mrs. a.). weisbach (j.). • 20, 25 18, 20 20, 49 το welby-gregory (lady). 41 welldon (rev. j. e. c.) 45,46 29 westcott (bp.) 38,39,40,41,45 westermarck (e.). wetherell (j.) winchester (bishop of). windelband (w.) wingate (major f. r.) winkworth (s.) 27 32 30 · 6 · 25 • 15 · 30 · 20 45 i 21, 42 wolseley (viscount) wood (a. g.) wood (c. j.) woods (rev. f. h.). woods (miss m. a.). woodward (c. m.). wordsworth 4, 6, 17, 20, 26, 28 wright (rev. a.) wright (miss g.) wright (j.) wright (m.o.) · 39 • 9 10, 26 · 34 28, 31 9, 19, 25, 40 37 . 21 winch (r. f.) 24, 49 3 · 35 30, 47 winkworth (c.) 6 . winter (w.) • 46 45 i · · 32 · 32 • 45 wheeler (j.t.) · 14 wright (l.) • 20 whewell (w.). 6 · i whitcomb (l. s.) wright (w.a.) · 34 white (a.) 28 15 white (gilbert) wrixon (h.) 15, 31 · 9 white (dr. w. hale) wroth (w) · 15 · 29 wulker (dr.). 16 . i whitney (w. d.) 9 3 whitney (w. r.) wurtz (ad.) · 9 8 wyatt (sir m. d.) · 3 16, 28 20, 26, 28 yeo (j.) · 34 . 20 45 yoe (shway) • 47 45 3, 16 macmillan and co., ltd., london. 21/50/2/97 j. palmer, printer, alexandra street, cambridge. the university of michigan graduate library date due apr 16 193 apr 131973 oct 8 1974 aug 1 1/975 apr 271902 1902 jan oct 22 1996 997 mar 5 1984 marr 25 198 mar 25 1984 university of michigan 3 9015 00520 0509 do not remove or mu d 7 28 4379 lsi h a' /' v ^'i^-^ ssf<> the library of the university of california los angeles frederic thomas blanchard endowment fund hermit's tale. b v the author of the recess. price two shillings, hermits tale: recorded by his own hand, and found in his cell. " there oft is found an avarice in grief j " and the wan eye of sorrow loves to gaze " upon the fecret hoard of trcafm'd woes." ma so w. london: printed for t. cadell, in the strand. m.dcc.lxxxvii. richard b r i n s l e y sheridan, elq. s 1 r, jllqxjally induced by a jull; admiration of your talents, and a grateful fenfe of the dillinftion your praife has given to thofe you were pleafed to find in n.ie, pennit me to lolicit your furthef indulgence to this little produdtion ; and be affured, its greatell value in niy eyes is, tliat it ferves to convey thofe ac knowledgments, with which i have the honour to remain, s i r, your mofl obliged, obedient humble fcrvant, sophia l e e. 88o:e4:i hermit's tale. i. from prime of youth to hoary age in this lone cell i've dwelt; here fought, by tracing nature's page, to foothe the pangs i felt. ii. the mofs-wove oaks that near my cave in fullen grandeur ftand, and o'er its broken fummit wave, were acorns in my hand, jb iii. thofc ( 2 ) iii. i'liofc time -fliook tow'rs, which all forfakc, ere«flj and gay, i've feen; and half of yon tran (lucent lake, a fiow-'r-enameu'd green. iv. when fhall my penitence and pray'rs obtain the boon i crave? "when fhall my thorny bed of cares become my peaceful grave? v. oh worfhipp'd reliques ! holy book f detain my mental eye ; nor let it ever backward look to trace fad memory. vi. or thon ! memorial crofs of god, my whole attention feize! and bow my heart upon the fod, worn daily by my knees. vii. alas f ( 3 ) vii. alas ! not piety can heal the foul convuls'd with guilt; nor all her fountains cleanfe the fteel which human blood has fpilt. viii. ah ! let me eafe it then, and fpeak the long, long treafur'd tale; what bitter griefs firft bade me feek the filence of this vale. ix. near cheviot hills i drew the air on aran's pleafant plain ; my mother was of prefence fair, her lire an aged fwain. x. to tend the flocks was my employ, nor ever heav'd my breaft. when my fond mother bleft her boy, at rifmg, and at reft. ■ i b 2 xi. yet ( 4 ) xl yet oft with tears and fmiles fhe flrove, and as i bent my knee. she'd cry, " be jufter to thy love, than mine has be^n to me." xii. yet little note of this i took, unfkiird iti worldly harms, and more admir'd my flow'r-bound crock, than herimeqnaird charms. xni. the lowly cot, and ihephcrd's life. each night, each morn, fhe prais'd ; and when they fpoke of warlike ftrife, with terror on me gaz'd. xiy. for now the wars of paleftine brave coeur de lion fought; while all admir'd the zeal divine. and with his deeds were fraught. xv. the ( 5 ) xv. the glorious talk to me was good; and as it fiu'd my ear, i feem'd to cleave the founding flood, or grafp a fancied fpear. xvi. when, lo! the neighbouring scots, a band rough as their native rocks, rufli'd like a v^hirlv/ind o'er the land. and fwept away our flocks. xvii. by many an art my mother try'd my vengeance to reftrain ; but anger argument defy'd. and ev'n her tears were vain. xviii. each fwain i bade renounce his crook ; each fwain obey'd my voice; the ravagers we foon o'ertook, and left them not a choice. xix. no ( 6 ) xix. no park did either party ufe, impell'd by fierce difdain; one fought as men who'd all to lofe, tjie other to regain. xx. day faintly purpled o'er the fky when the fell fight began ; but ere our ftubborn foes would fly, the sun his courfe had ran. xxi. 1 hus we retriev'd our fleecy fl:ore, so late bewail'd as lofl, and feem'd, i ween, to love them more. for all the blows they coft. xxii. not richard's felf his warriors led more proudly o'er the deep, than i for aran's paftures fped, surrounded by my flieep. xxril as ( 7 ) xxiii. as nigh i drew, the clouds did roil a crimfon o'er the night ; the valley flam'd — and my full foul died in me at the fight, xxiv. another band of thofe who roam our hamlet had dejftroy'd : and while we fought to guard our homcj had made that home a void. xxv. awhile i wept, and duteous fought my parents dear remains ; at length my heart, with vengeance fraught, an ufelefs grief difdains. xxvi. i rouz'd the fwains who yet deplor'd each defolated field ; i turn'd my fheep-hook to a fword. my fcrip into a fhicld. xxvii. the ( 8 ) xxvii. the favage scots i twore t' annoy with ever-loud alarms, and from a {imple fhepherd-boy. became renown' d in arms. xxviii. between both lands ftrong towvs i rear with captive enfigns bright : one nation gaz'd on them with fear; the other with delight. xxix. around i jflation'd many a band, who dubious ftragglers fought ; and ah! one day, by love's command, a matchlefs beauty brought. xxx. her mien majeftic feem'd to fpeak th' unfullied foul within ; no rofc like that on her pure cheek blooms o'er the face of fm. xxxi. ohl ( 9 ) xxxi. oh! not in grace the mountain pine with her flight form could vye, the blue that paints the arch divine was faint to her bright eye. xxxii. like a rich group of yellow flieaves, in ringlets wild, her hair play'd on her breaft— fo autumn leaves hang on the lily fair. xxxiii. awe-ftruck, my foul imbib'd a flame as virtuous as flncerej nor dared i boldly afk the name, i mofl: deflr'd to hear. xxxiv. unconfcious of her beauty's blaze, she drew away the fliade; with dignity endur'd my gaze, and thus to fpeak efltay'd. c xxxv. " al ( ^0 ) xxxv. « illtliciigk by force i hither bend " the captive of thy fword, «« from brutal hand« i feek a friend^ " norneed i own a lord, xxxvl *^ of englifli blood thy fervant came,. " not from a hoftile line,. " lord ethel is my father-'s name, " and etlielinda mine. xxxvii. ** to scotland with my mother fent, " a grandfire's eyes to clofe, ** her fum of days like hisare fpent, " with him ihe finds repofe. xxxviii. " ev'n now on filver severn's fide " my father anxioufly « forgets the day my mother dy'd, " to look in vain for me.. xxxix. " by ( ii ) xxxix. ■<« by knigkthood's holy laws, oh youth! << i therefore claim your gage, " that you yield him with care, and truth, *^' the darling of his age. xl. *' so may the peace to him you give *' with larg-e increafe return; ■*' so crown'd with conqueft may you li\^e, " and glory crown jour urnl" xli. <« be jfifc," i cried, " thou lovely maid; *' by warlike richard's throne, '* ne'er fhall flie vainly afk my aid, *•' whom truth and honor own, xlii. *' by knighthood's holy laws i fwcar, " and give th' unqueftion'd gage, •*' to yield thy sire, with truth, and care, *' the darling of his age. xliii. '' to xliii. " to horfe, to hdrfe, each vallal knight, " prepare your' burnifh'd arms j " diffufe around a da^zlmg light, " to hide, and guard, thefe charms. xliv. " a nymph beyond ev'n helen fair, '' bcftows a nobler truft; " a youth her beauty well might fnare, " is man, in love— yet juft." xlv. and foon my warriors o'er the wafte in gay profuiion roll; the lady in the centre plac'd. irradiated the whole. xlvi. still as we journied on, i fought, with love's unconfcious art, t' imprefs myfelf on ev'ry thought, 'till i had wonher heart. xlvii. and ( 13 ) xlvil and now my fears would often hint her sire might prove unkind, and wifer 'twere our truft to ftint. but duteous was her mind. xlviii. " ah doubt not, edmund," — fhe would fay, " thy worth muft all engage; " nor dare i fcorn a father's fway, " nor dare i grieve his age. xlix. " his filver'd head, as lilies bow, " declining now appears ; " alike his frame doth tremble now, " with tendernefs and years. l. " and fure a fearful joy fhe knows " who unpermitted loves ; *i|^whilc doubly hallow'd are the vows " a parent's voice approves." li. "more ( 14 ) li. " more fondly draws the heart's dear chain, *' when watching his decay.; ^* oh ! the fad charmj to know his pain '* in bleltings melts away!" lh. fill'd with her love, footh'd with her hope^ t he prefent hoiir i blcft ; and gave luxuriant fancy fcope, who more enrich' d the reft. liil when now we reach' d fair severn's fide, where 'mid her faireft bow'rs, a mountain fwell'd with verdant pride, crown'd with lord ethel's tow'rs. liv, as to the height we gaily wound, from apprehenfion free, surprlz'd we heard the drum's fierce found, proclaim an enemy. lv. like ( ^5 } lv. i.ike {iilning fwarms of bees, in arms the knights now multiply ; and pleafure's notes, and war's alarms, our mingling trumpets cry. lvi. when proud i did the lady fliew, who bade all difcord ceafe ; more radiant than the vernal bow, heav'ns own bright pledge of peace, lvii. her name, in various accents cried, was borne away within, while the vaft portals opening widc^ increas'd the joyful din. lviii. forth ruoi'd, tumultuous as the wind. knights who no longer frown'd ; btft marching with their fpcars declin'dy a mute obedience own'd, ux. a€ ( i6 ) lix. at once, dividing to each iide, like waves the train retire ; and as the fwan floats with the tide, slow came the rev'rend sire. lx. the gift of health, an aged bloom, his manly cheek confeft; and white his locks, as erft the plume, that quiver'd o'er his creft. lxi. the maid opprefs'd with tender pain. and, than the hart more fleet. now graceful fliot along the plain, and panted at his feet. lxii. have you not fccn the frao;ile rofe. droop with the gems of morn? so fair the kneeling virgin fliews, a parent's tears adorn. lxiii. have ( 17 ) lxiii. have you not feen the purple vine with autumn hoar emboft ? youth with fuch lovelinefs divine, glows wrapt in age's froft. lxiv. *' oh moft bclov'd !" her father cried, and faft his tears would fall, " my youth's delight, my age's pride, " my little earthly all ! lxv. '* thy fafe return in peace, and health, " doth all my griefs afluage : *' thy fafe return doth fpare my wealth, *' and ah ! doth fpare my age." lxvi. he faid, and turning to a knight, upon whofe brow fcrcne, sat grace attemper'd witli delight, while valor marh'd his mien. d lxvii. "see, ( i8 ) lxvii. *' see, baron," added he, " thy bride ; " my child, behold the son, *' allotted for thy lord, and guide, " when thy fond father's goncc lxviii. ** ah venerate that hallowm fliicld, *' upon whofe orb the crofs, *' declares, in many a well-fought field, " the saracens vaft lofs. lxix, " with grateful love accept the hand, " but for whofe aid, forlorn, " and fatherlefs, thou now mjghtfl fland, " nor i hail thy return." lxx. mjy foul, as with an ague fhook. at once both froze and burn'd ; when fhe, not deigning ~i6/v;2 a look, all tearful to me turn'd. lxxi. '' behold, ( 19 ) xxxi. ■" behold," flie falteriag faid, " the fword *' which fet thy daughter free; ** apppove a heart where i'm ador'd " where i alone would be. lxxii. " could i from duty have been won^ " his honor to reward, " i fhould have call'd this knight thy fon, *' and claim'd a like regard. lxxiii. '^^ oh ! think, tho' fortune freed his will, " with reverence he woo'd; ** oh ! rife above the thought of ill " remember gratitude. lxxiv. *' that claim i never will difown ; *' youv pow'r may bid me weep '" but tears, like falling drops on ftone, ^' the heart's-wound wear more deep." d 2 lxxv. "the ( ^^^ ) lxxv. the baron's eyes blaz'd thro' the fnovv of age, with flecla's fire j and red his haughty bhiflics glow,. while thus he fpeaks his ire» lxxvi. *' and who then art thou, namelefs youth r from whence deriv'd that flood, *' which dyes thy cheek with nature's truth, " and vies with ethel's blood? lxxvii. •'* where are the honors of thy line? ^^ unblazon'd on thy arms j " which thou prcfam'ft to blend with mine, *■ vain of ignoble charms. lxxviil " knowft thou, the fpoils of many a knight " dcfcend to me alone ? '* knowft thou the lands within thy fight, " this maid will one day own? lxxix. " learn, c 21 ) lxxix. " learn, youth, to afic ibme fit reward, " which with thy rank agrees; *<and fame, and wealth, and high regard, " thy anger fhall appeafe." lxxx. *' hold, lord," i cried, " nor meanly boaft, " degraded anceftry ; *' thy honors in thyfelf are loft, " while mine begin in me. lxxxl *' but let us prove this vaunted blood, " this elevated line; " and fee if edmund's humble flood, " nerve not his arm like thine. lxxxil " for while firm youth fhall brace his hand, " and love his ardent heart, ■•** the matchlefs maid he will demand, who forms its dearefl part. <( lxxxin. " come ( 22 ) lk xxiii. •^' come then, ye knights, your well-tried arms " in deadly wrath produce, *' while ours, unwrought for fuch alarms, *' .gain strength alone from ufe.'* lxxxiv. aloft i wav'd my fword of pow'r, the fpiral lullre run, and like the guard of eden's bow'r, flam'd to the noon-day fun. lxxxv. "while thus we met, with equal ire^ before my forrowing eyes, the proud inexorable sire bore off the beauteous prize. ■lxxxvl oh! if ye ever knew to melt in paftion's tender glow:, i need not paint the pang^ i felt, at this extreme of woe. lxxxvii. oh! lxxxvil ©h! ii^ ye ever yet have rag\l, opprefs'd by favage pow'iv ye well will guefs the war we wag'd, the fiercenefs o£ that hour. lxxxvni. the fun unheeded veil'd his head, while many a cafque was riv'n; and that laft darknefs feem'd to fpread, which mingles earth with heav'n, lxxxix. yet flill in mortal conpii6l join d, no refpitc we allow, 'till oft, by heaven's wild fires, we find' a friend flain for a foe. xc. humanity at length o'er pride prevail'd, and footh'd this heat; we deem'd, 'till day-light fhould decide^ . 'twere valour to retreat. xci. but ( 24 ) xcr. but on the morn, at ethers word, lord-marcher of the land, indignant thoufands on us pour'd, nor could we more withfland, xcii. my knights, defpoil'd of armor, peace accepted as a boon; my fword alone they dar'd not feize; how ufelefs when alone 1 xciii. what then was all my early fame j the wealth by valor giv'n ! what then, alas! even virtue's flame ! th' united gifts of heav'n ! xciv. loft to my heart its only joy, extinct at once its flights 3 sad images my days employ, and faddct ftill my nights. xcv. the ( 25 ) xcv. the bridal feafl approach'd, the vefls to many a fair were fliewn, full was the baron's hall of guers, myfelf forbid alone. xcvi. all hope now loft, i wild arofe, and foon within the bound, wliere piety adores the crofs, my feet unconfcious found. xcvii. impell'd by deftiny, i pafl when ftriick the vcfper bell,-— a dreary eye around i caft, and own'd it as my knell. xcviii. when lo! approaching faft, the tread of warlike fteps i heard^ i turn'd, and as by jiiftice ledj my rival there appear 'd. u xcix. with ( ■ 26 ) xcix. yv« with wonder, blefitng ev'iy flirinc, i drew the well-worn blade, *' one moment yet," i cried, " is mine " deferve, or lofc'the maid." c. impetuous love each finew ftrung-, as we by turns affail'd; and long the vid'ry doubtful hung, but oh ! my fate prevail'd. ci. at length, between th' ill-jointed mail^ my fword a paltage found, fafl rufh'd the ftream of life, and pale he dropt upon the ground. cii. while fighs of rage from his proud breaft impeird the vital flood, a thoufand pangs his eye confeft. beyond the wafle of blood. cm. " ignoble ( 27 ) cm. *' lo-noble lord," i cried, *' fhe's mine, " on holy land you lie — " call to your aid the pow'r divine, repent, before you die." (( civ. " ah, fay'ft thou?" groan'd he, " ^ofy land! " 'twas there my fms began; *' for thither, heedlefs of command. in early youth i ran." <c cv. " broke too the unacknowledg'd tye " an humble love had made; " and left the charm of ev'ry eye " in infamy to fade. cvi. *' alas! perhaps on aran's plain " she yet exifls forlorn ! ** with albert's heir, a fancied fwain, " from lineal honors torn. e 2 cvil "to ( 28 ) cvii. ** to bafil's daughter, my true bride, '* this ring reftore again. *' to bafil's daughter!" i replied, " what, emma of the plain?" cviii. he groan' d affent — thro' all my frame did cold convulfions run — *' you fee," 1 falter'd, " void of name, " that miferable fon — cix. *' the murder'd emma's only joy" — he bent to earth his head : ^'^ oh do not more than kill me, boy!" all-agoniz'd he faid. ex. ** yet while i've ftrenfj;th the truth to croan, " to yonder convent run, " bid here the monks, that i may own " in you, my heir, my fon." cxi. al ( 29 ) cxi. already did th' unv/onted found 1 he vefper rites reftrain; and forth the holy fathers wound, a veneraue traixt. cxir. with confecrated lights they flar the bofom of the earth, and lift with hallow'd zeal afar, the ble/tmg of our birth. cxiii. before the crofs the dying lord, with penitential awe, in filence firfl his god ador'd. and mourn'd his broken law : cxiv. then raifing to the monks his eyes, where life's lafl luftre play'd, " sufpend thcfe facred rites," he cries, 'till i deferve your aid. — cxv. " if { 30 ) cxv. " if uruggling tims with {hame and death, " i dare avow a truth, " conlirm'd by my expiring breath, " oh vindicate this youth! cxvi. " inform my liege, that led by pride, " yet by fond paflion won, ••' in early youth i chofe a bride, *' i ever fcorn'd to own. cxvii. " with impious zeal, the band i join'd " he led to paleftine, " and with falfe glory fir'd my mind, " t' elude the wrath divine. cxviii. «' with him i ev'ry danger dar'd, " which mark'd the proud crufade; " with him a prifon's gloom i fliar'd, " nor felt my foul upbraid.— cxix. " while (( ■( 3.1 ) cxix. <' while in our northern wilds was born " this youth, whofc energy " has from its feat that being torn, " which gave him firft to be — cxx. " since jufdy then, in flow'r of health, " i expiate thus my pride. oh may he give my heir my wealth, " my name — alas, my bride! ■ cxxi. ■" unhappy boy! if for thy fire " the{e flreaming forrows flov/, " to fave his foul from endlefs fire, " perennial pray'rs beftow." cxxji. he died — nor had i time to think on all i'd loft, or won, — i hover'd on creation's, brink, and clung to love alone. cxxiii. the a ( 32 ) cxxiir. the bufy monks remov'd the corfc, the arms alone remain' d ; when fraud cffecled, what nor force, nor fupplication gain'd. cxxiv. incumbered with lord albert's mail, a defpcrate hope i try'd, and foon the hoftile mountain fcale, where now the gates flew wide. cxxv. the high-arch'd halls i fafcly pall, thro' lucid heraldry* where echo to tlie midnight blaft sigh'd wild, and loud as me. cxxvi. 'till the lone gallery now appear' d enrich'd v/itli pond'rous mail, where many a banner, time-endcar'd, slow ruflkd to the c-ile, 4 cxxvii. upon { 33 ) ckxvii. upon its gilded fides pourtray'd, magnificently old, each anceftor's diftinguifh'd (liadc gave luftre to the gold. cxxviir. the fnowy plumes appear to wave, and arms, and forms divine, defend the honors which they gave, or deify the line. cxxix. on me all feem to turn their eyes prophetic with my doom, then, like the rainbow's tranflent dyes, they melt into a gloom. cxxx. beyond— all open— filcnt — dim— the icngth'ning rooms extend. where tapers fhed a quiv'ring gleam, each moment ilrove to end. cxxxl with { 34 ) cxxxi. with bold defpair i thither paft, my fate's extremes to prove; 'till ent'ring, with rude ftep, the laft, i faw my long-loft love. cxxxii. carelefs (he view'd thofe arms fo fam'd. nor once remov'd her eyes; " refts ethelinda," i exclaim'd, " while ruin'd edmund dies? cxxxiii. *' or tir'd of having thus withftood, " refolves flie on a crime? " but hymen's torch is quench'd in blood, *' and yielded up to time." cxxxiv. " by miracle fmcc thou art come,'* she falter'd out, '' t' atteft ** with heav'n my melancholy doom, " i truft to that the reft. cxxxv. <*unjuft -tc ( 35 ) cxxxv. unjuft and cruel — if yovi knew — " what, doubt my paflion yet? " edmund, this heart, forever true, " could break, but not forget. cxxxvi. " each blufli which deepen' d on my cheek, " dcclar'd my love's excefs; " oh learn to think that paftion weak, " which language can exprefs^ — cxxxvii. " and when the laft fond crimfon flies " with my expiring breath, *' then, then, allow the facrifice, " and own my love— in death. cxxxviii. «' alas! cv'n now that hour is come — " for think not i would be, *' while herbs afford a mortal bloom, *' a bride, and not to thee." f 2 cxxxix. while ( 36 ) cxxxix. while yet flie fpokc, the rofeate hue, which on her foft cheek play'd, and her bright eves celeilial blue began apace to fade. cxl. o'er her tranl|")arcnt tender fkin an icy polifh fpread; a nervelefs torpor crept within, as urie ev'n then were dead. cxli. more cold, and cold, that heart now grew, whicli gave fuch rich fupplies ; more flow, and how, her breath (he drew, 'till it was nought but fidis. cxlii. and now, beyond the grief of" thought— and now devoid of bloom — she feem'd a beauteous ftatue, v/rought to srace her own fad tomb. cxliii. abounded ( z1 ) cxliii. aftoimded — hopelcfs — recklefs — loil — " o'er the fair form, tlio' dead, fond fancy's wifh, vain reafon's boaft. my heart in iilence bled — cxliv. no voice its folitude could break — no objed: win my eye — not ev'n her fire's complaints could wake a keener agony. cxlv. alas 1 to him v/ho caus'd the grief, relenting fortune gave a fuddcn, and a long relief, in ethelinda's grave. cxlvi. the monks lord albert's will affert — the king allow'd my claim — when did they know a breaking heart revive upon a name ? cxlvil im ( 38 ) cxlvii. impatient of the proud controul, and thanklefs for each care, to all thefe comforters my foul, sigh'd only out — defpair — cxlviii. of ev'ry human hope forlorn, all-defolate i ran. wild as thefe woods, in them to mourn the miferies of man. cxlix. oft on the hill, the hunters hear the fadly vocal gale, and turn alide with holy fear, nor dare the copfe affail. cl. ev'n the wild deer, with look profound. my forrows feem to (liare. and ev'ry groaning tree around but echoes my defpair — cli. 'till ( 39 ) cli. *till fometimes, thought's aerial brood, a wan, and num'rous train, fantaflic fons of folitude, catch life from my wild brain. — clii. full threefcore times the frofts have bound all ftreams but from thefe eyes, since here my care-worn limbs firft found a refuge from the fkies. cliii. years upon years thus flowly roll, nor comfort bring to me, since ev'n in fleep my adlive foul lives o'er her mifery. cliv. dim are my days, and near the hour when death at length is mine ; which only can my blifs reftore. or bid me ne'er repine. clv. ye ( 40 ) clv. ye generous poor, who fend me bread, when on my rufhy couch, your little offspring find me dead, with pious hearts approach — clvi. hide me in earth, and confecrate witli tears this fimple lale, so may you ever ycape the fate of edmund of the vale. the end. recd ie ^^q30 from vkhicn ■» form l9-50m-7,'54(599t iuc'd^rl js.%^the ub h a h t hq79 l5lh udi ii li 3 ii ii i iii iii nil! ilni i|ii ii|i ii 58 00932 1547 '. i> /^ k v x. "! x '^^aa >>-. i xn« 57 asante the hermit of the saco by david m. smyth. (5 compliments haved me sungth arte dându david me lugth luyth the hermit of the saco story of the white mountains by david m. smyth ดูร cambridge printed at the riverside press 1901 copyright, 1901, by david mc connell smyth all rights reserved i respectfully dedicate this volume to my friend the hon. wm. e. chandler d. m. smyth list of illustrations portrait of the author mary crawford willey's festered side mount washington · · the crawford cabin the willey valley gibbs's falls silver cascade. mount willard emerald pool. mary's lake indian leap • · the trout brook falls of ammonoosuc hermit's fall · facing page frontispiece · 8 18 26 36 50 64 84 90 96 100 106 108 124 134 the hermit of the saco introduction why is the minstrel mute? hy is the minstrel mute? is there no theme in this fair land? is freedom's touch so cold, too harsh for music, too wakeful for a dream? so lost in selfishness, and lust for gold, that the sweet muse forgets to pluck the strings that lift the soul till with the spheres it sings? are these bright fields that lull the eastern sea, and yonder slope, gilded by setting sun,a rising empire, vaster, it may be, than ever yet the sun hath shone upon, not worth a poem, ringing out its praise, the story of the times, its early days? ― is there no hand to gather the bright flowers that strew the pathway of its hill and glen? no bard like scotland's, with transcendent powers, i to show the future what this land has been ; tell the wild struggling host, that even here once lingered love, once fell the tender tear? has man grown hard, the world grown cold, and music flown this lovely earth? is there no story to be told since liberty with us found birth? must it be pomp and glittering spears, and knights of some great royal name, winning their ladies' love, through tears, to gratify some braggart's claim ? is there no beauty in our flowers, no sheen upon our waters bright, no sylvan pleasures in our bowers, no sparkle in our stars at night ? has nature but a shadow grown, to meet the cruel wants of life; beauty, a thing to look upon and but a part of human strife; life but a rind that holds within our treasures from the touch of sin? but look upon our bright green hills, and listen to our bubbling rills that down their bosoms flow! 2 nature looks out without a frown, nor had she e'er so rich a crown, as here her minstrels know. in the most sweet and tender line, in beauty all her own, a string of crystals may it shine, when poet's work be done! 3 i twas in the early days, when on the hearth burned in its glory the great birch-wood fire; when winter's evening passed so full of mirth and simple joy no honest heart could tire. the light so free made merry in its chase o'er everything, or group or comely face. through all the room it runs, o'er unsealed walls, along the beams and rafters to the roof, ―――― showing in golden nuggets where it falls, and through the gloom, a rich, warm, sheeny woof, a wondrous fabric, where we see combined the witching fancies of poetic mind! delightful vision, where the angels meet, laden with sunshine from the courts above, – their mission's end, the one serene retreat, where they may leave long-carried freight of love, 4 and in return bear to their heavenly plain tokens of home, love without shade or stain. thus fancy leads, and near the hearth we see a worthy mother and her daughter fair, so happy now, we wonder can it be that they have ever felt the touch of care. but see unrest! they crowd the window pane and listening watch and listen still in vain. i need not say how beautiful they are. they differ only in the length of years, and loveliness that crowns a mother's care, as what we love is dearest through our fears. we see the sweetest flower where dew is spread, the brightest sunshine through the storm we dread. the younger comely, and of such sweet grace as might make captive, in the flowing curl of her free hair, the zephyrs in their chase. and yet we see her but a mother's girl, so pure, we seem to read her inmost heart, a simple life, devoid of every art. it were unkind and vandal, i must prove, in my poor art to picture such an one,— fair as we dream the cherished ones we love. 5 • at best, the picture were but poorly done; and our rough lines, the broken glints would be of far-off stars upon a troubled sea. yes, a vain task and thankless it must prove, to bring such beauty to thee, through my mind. what is most fair is what we see through love, and when our love to all things else is blind, the soul, the senses, all a vision sweet, on quiet waters where the currents meet! life? what is life, but mingling as we move, in thousand ways, some gentle, some unkind. but real life is when we flow in love, and leave the purling, smiling lines behind. life is but love, without the lines of strife, love is the whole of pure and honest life. and love is more. in gentle lines it leads the heart to kindness. the life to good is given, the noblest impulse to the grandest deeds. and, at last, it is the path to heaven. love is the whole, the noblest part of life. life in pure love is stranger to all strife. a little cabin, built of unhewn logs, chinked tight with clay without and moss within, 6 with ample shed for kine and horse and dogs,known through the region as the crawford inn. and no mean place, for here the traveler found, if storm or danger caught him on the way, the best of care, a balm for every wound, a help to go, a welcome should he stay. the host was kind in this his chosen life, a pioneer of nature rough and wild, with bone and sinew equal to the strife, and yet with heart as tender as a child. he comes ('tis night, night's darkest dreary hour) from some hard task, in from the beating storm, some ill adventure, that hath tried his power. his breath comes fast, his brow is flushed and warm; he casts a heavy carcass at his feet, a bear, and one of huge and ugly main, as fierce a foe as one might dare to meet, though not the first or largest he had slain. he swung his rifle to its wonted place, shook from his beard and locks the dripping rain. a merry smile ran rippling o'er his face; his voice we hear, in ever sweet refrain. the burden of his song is home and love of wife, impromptu verses of the hour, 7 while willing hands most deftly do remove the great fur wrap, that taxes all their power, his coonskin cap, and boots of toughened hide. and the great coat slips from his giant frame, reveals a form in manhood's early pride, a nobleman in more than empty name. ―――――――――――― he smiling met his wife and she would know the smallest detail, and 't is plain to see how full of care the hours that moved so slow had been inwrought with danger that might be. she stood on tiptoe, slipped her tiny arm beneath his golden locks, and fain would steal the wonted kiss, but started in alarm, within those curls damp sticky clots to feel! her hand withdrawn was crimson with the stain. "wounded, my dear!" she trembling asked him, "where?" he smiling said, "'t is little," yet 't is plain it had been death to him or to the bear. "i had not thought my blood could flow as much, or dare usurp the path thy fingers know, or could have lingered for thy gentle touch, to leave its crimson on thy hand of snow. but it is well, and will the sooner heal and disappear when i thy fingers feel." 1 8 mary crawford smyth " she dressed the wound and with such tender care cut from his head some of the golden strands, only enough, so much she prized them there: more skill could not have come from surgeon's hands. "now tell me all. it is not often so bears, panthers, wolves, or any living thing, hath ever wounded thee, but to their woe: how this great trophy that to-night you bring?" "trophy it is, and well earned trophy too. but some mysterious thing, i can't divine, hath left its mark so plainly to my view. the bear is blazed; the game is none of mine. game in these woods belongs to him whose skill first strikes the vital blow, or holds ensnared the roaming beast. i take but what i kill, unless with claimant it is justly shared. "i had no knife, and this with knife was slain. fierce was the conflict. i was in its power, when past its snapping teeth, a knife so plain! sparks from the steel flew off, a glinting shower, and in the flash i saw a human face, a human arm, dealing a well-aimed blow; and his full outlined, noble form could trace, a friend in need, he could not be a foe. +y 9 "i seldom sleep, but when alone to-night, i gave the bear advantage, and he took all that i gave, and showed me in his might, how little, even-handed, he would brook. i met him unaware, and the first blow gave him first blood, and brought us face to face. quicker than thought or heart's responsive flow, pinioned he held me in his rough embrace. "can i describe the moments as they fly, the mighty pulses of my beating heart, the lightning that was flashing in mine eye athwart the flame that in his eyeballs dart? i feel these sinews grow, this brawny arm. become as iron, these limbs as lithe as steel. a wondrous power moves through me as a charm, a something more than human strength i feel. i fling the quivering carcass at my feet, throw out my hand and cheery call my friend, or foe, perchance; for, now in swift retreat, the crackling brush his hasty flight portend. i call and call again. no answers come, no living thing or signs of life appear. at last, in doubt, i bring the carcass home. who gets it now, must seek it fairly here. he saved my life, and yet why sneaking come? why be a friend, and yet a shadow be? 10 if his, the game should fairly grace his home; but if not his, he gets it not from me." he shook his shoulders, chased away the frown that had been ploughing furrows in his brow, fondled the curls of darkest richest brown, that fringed a face aglow with beauty now. he kissed his wife, his mate, his love, his life, whose willing hands made lighter every care, as singing birds make us forget our strife, or lovely flowers clothe earth so cold and bare. ii five years agone, when springtime comes again, he with his rifle eager in the chase came here at night-fall, to an open plain in the great forest, then a camping-place. the murmur of the brook was music sweet, meeting in full the ever cherished dream of all his life, the one serene retreat, the native wildwood, by the dashing stream. and weary toil made sleep a welcome guest, so quiet here. the forest's breathing sigh was melody that wooed him soon to rest and pleasant dreams, without a danger nigh. 2 ii the morning broke, and with the dawning light, he sought a bath at the swift river-side. amazed, his eyes were feasting in delight; a herd of deer were startled in their pride, sniffing the air, stopping perchance to see what this new wonder in their midst could be. this was enough; and as his fondest dreams were full, his thoughts took shape, and he came to decision: " why not as it seems? can this be aught but paradise for me? what seek i more? why need i longer climb these mountain sides, or wander weary day? why not remain with nature so sublime, and have a world where all my fancies play? can i find more? 'tis nature's virgin sod, the native forest. ne'er waked the echo, where his foot ne'er trod! how rich a harvest here awaits my plough! white man's voice till now the place i pictured to my darling bride a month ago, the craving of my heart; just the wild scene that wooed me from her side, to hunt and toil. why can she not take part ? this is the place; a very home i see. the deer so tame may browse about the door, and why not to her pets and foundlings be? i know 't will please her; what could please her more? — 12 she knows i love the chase, and well i know she loves what i love, if it can be so." he built his cabin, cleared a garden plot, and when the autumn its rich glories spread, sought mary's home, nor was one thing forgot of all his plans, his hopes, his fears, his dread. he knew it could not be all sunshine there; hardship and toil the pioneer must meet away from home and kindred. they must bear trials to them, from which was no retreat; sickness will come and death's cold sullen tread may leave the weak one in the forest lone. "cease all these dreams, for i fear naught," she said; "we are but one, one flesh, one heart, one bone." they hither came, each to the other dear. the years flew on; a little daughter fair played at their hearth and called for all their care, and this new home was full of merry cheer. ______ iii 't was winter, and full near the midnight hour. the embers low were sinking on the hearth; the storm was seething in its angry power. but hark! we feel the beating, trembling earth. a panting steed, as in a race for life, 13 the howling wolves were pressing sore and strong; so near their prey, they snarled in angry strife. if it be man, he must have help e'er long. crawford had heard it, and in unshod feet, with trusty rifle, to the fray had gone without a fear, so noble, lithe, and fleet to save a life,—would even more have done. he overtook them then in wavering flight, and fell upon them with such sturdy blows, they left their quest, and turned in angry might, a pack of fiends, a host of angry foes. he stood alone, wary and on his guard. dauntless and brave, he met the living wall. again they came so strong; they pressed him hard; again so fierce, he staggered. will he fall? but see the flame! a torch, a glowing brand like meteor falls! the wolves in terror fly. there swings a besom in a sturdy hand. and now beyond is blazing in the sky an old birch tree with tattered, oily rind. and there athwart its spiral flame, we see in hasty flight, one stern, yet not unkind. "the same strange face! the same deft skillful hand! the one that killed my bear on stormy night! again he flies, a shadow in the land, a friend in need, why not a friend by right?" ――――― 14 thus crawford mused. he heard the snarling pack in a new chorus, howling down the glen after new work, upon a new-found track. what is their quest? god grant it be not men. he found a bleeding stranger at his feet, whose helpless form received his tender care; a fair young man, in clothing rich and neat, helpless and wounded, yet uncommon fair. in gentle arms he like a child was borne into the cabin, a weak, helpless one, in sorry plight, unconscious, bleeding, torn. all skillful hands could do was for him done. the stranger lived, and felt his strength again, yet with his health, his face began to wear an ugly look, a frown not born of pain, — a something dreadful in a face so fair. so months went on, and months so full of care, until restored he was to health and strength; he left their door, with a proud, thankless air, and made them happy in his loss at length. through all this time, they did not learn his name, or anything by which he might be known, whither he went, neither from whence he came, nor left he tokens for the goodness shown. 15 and as he went, an echo filled the air, an uncouth echo. hark! "beware! beware!" iv now w the cold winter, with its piercing blast, gives place to spring, and swelling buds appear. from melting snow the torrent is rising fast; the brook is a river. the wild flood is near. who never saw it, can but ill conceive, how fierce, how fearful, and how cruel strong, when in wild storm the snows of winter leave. ice gorged, it bears trees, rocks, and earth along; relentless still, if accident betray some helpless human creature in its way. now such had come, and in most dreadful sweep; the winter had been cold, and long, and drear. the ice was hard, the snow was thick and deep; its breaking held back long into the year. and spring came on in frolic and in mirth, to find her realm in thraldom to her foe, scourging the valley, while the mountains laugh to hear her chiding bid the winter go. we see the stream where once a little child might dam the waters back, and laugh to see 16 them creeping, reaching, even leaping wild in almost baffled efforts to be free, now a great flood, sweeping in its power the sturdy oak, together with the flower. it was expected, and the years gone by had taught the household what a flood might be, how to prepare to meet it, and to fly when gorges break, setting the waters free. but the long winter and the double care had taken all their time. the spring came on. they saw its flood in torrents rushing there, e'er what was needed had been fully done. the gorged ice above them in the wood might break e'er nightfall, and in one fell sweep wreck all the valley where their cabin stood, and more, engulf them in its surges deep. almost too late, e'en now. the rattling door swung on its hinges and was opened wide, and one whose face a look of terror wore bade them in haste fly to the mountain side. seizing their child, he like a deer was gone. the flood was there, and crawford and his wife followed as best they could the fleeing one through the wild surf, — it was a race for life! 17 they safely reached the bank, and saw above a ruddy flame shine on the mountain side, and timely friend and child athwart it move. he beaconed them, his light might be their guide. but hear the echo weird and low and wild, in the great wood, "the child! the child! the child!" they reached the place after full much of care. beneath a rocky shelf, so warm and dry, their own, and more, another child was there, but he again did like a shadow fly, a mystery seen in the flashing light (so deft and skillful and of no mean form). brave e'en to death, he would not shun the fight; why fly from hearts that beat to him so warm? so strong to save, so cruel to conceal and leave the mind to such a wild debate,— a mystery with nothing to reveal from whence the child, or what its parents' fate ; a secret that may break some mother's heart, make desolate and lone some pleasant hearth. amazed they turned to the most cruel part; a mother's corpse was by them on the earth. her face, in death now rigid, hard, and cold, won their warm hearts and brought a kindly tear, speaking such things as tongue hath never told, ――――― 18 willey's festered side story too sad for any mortal ear, story of heroism, beyond the ken of common life or noble acts of men. a fair young mother and beloved was plain in the rich tokens they found clinging there: the rings, the locket, and the golden chain, the miniatures of faces, young and fair, the wife, the husband, in love's flush and bloom, as well, the little one, now waif alone. how strange from that to this sad scene of gloom! how terrible, if everything were known! they did all that most gentle hands could do with the wet corpse, and with o'erflowing heart turned to the child, with love that came anew, a love so sweet, devoid of every art. "to me," our hero said, "the child appears in counterpart almost our little one, the same in size, in features, and in years; why not our own? what better can be done?" "'t is strange," said crawford, "who this one can be, so brave and valiant, yet a shadow still. he comes in every time of need to me, only to help. it can bode nothing ill. but why the echo, e'er so strange and wild, 19 in the great wood,' the child! the child! and the prophetic word with stranger's care, in that wild night, beware! beware! beware!' the fire he kindled, and in safety kept the little ones from danger till we come; he was alert and ready while we slept, he rescued us and others from like doom! and who may say but on this lonely road some hapless family this stormy night, hoping in time to reach our safe abode, are victims to the flood's wild surging might? and this lone waif and yonder mother's form, the rescued trophies of a noble deed? he shuns no foe, no danger, flood, or storm, is quick to will and swifter to their need. the child!' "our dangers were the same, dear wife. our child he took and fleeing left thee to my care, barely escaping through the flood so wild; perchance more fierce its force was raging there, and more he ventured, for the dead is here. who knows what toil this moment he may seek, what suffering his timely hand may cheer? can i not know him, see him, to him speak? or better still, some of his dangers share, and learn from him what bravery can be? how feels a heart that bears another's care, 20 a noble conscience in all duty free? sure some hard fate has driven him from life, some sad experience, or shattered love has made him mad, to choose such scenes of strife and be a phantom and a shadow move! howe'er it be, our care must be the same. the little one were motherless indeed unless adopted to our home and name. who could do less? behold its bitter need! the child shall be our own, and glad we take what providence in such mysterious way hath given to us, for yon poor mother's sake, if god so will, that it may with us stay." the morning breaks, and with the light appears a fearful scene of driftwood, ice, and flood. one night destroys the honest toil of years, the river surges where the cabin stood. could i portray it, could we realize the awful picture of that morning hour? then might i paint the lightning as it flies, or the wild ocean in its tempest power. 21 v we hasten on. e hasten on. the summer comes apace, the flood-washed valley seems again to be almost restored, a pleasant dwelling-place. a new and larger cabin there we see, on better chosen spot, on ground so high that greater floods arising in the spring may surge and foam, yet harmlessly go by, that other days more pleasant things may bring. i need not if i could the past recite of what befell the household since the hour, so full of terror, that wild stormy night when the wild flood was seething in its power. all that is known, except the toil and care of clearing up the wreck, to build anew; the hardships that a settler's family bear, the double toil his patient hands must do,all that is known, we yet must ask in vain the circumstance that brought their second child. more than we know their seeking could not gain. the little one was there, so sweet and mild and scarcely three years old, its lisping tongue had but poor art such secrets to reveal. a happy lot, that she was yet so young that memory had nothing to conceal. so own, twins could not be very like their a 22 more like, more loving, or more dear than they, two happy children in their pleasures free,which were the other? who would dare to say? they puzzled o'er a name, but mary still she would be called and answered to no other, so resolute and of unbending will. three marys now, two daughters and a mother. it pleased our hero much. said he, "why not? it is a worthy name, and should not she have quite as sweet a name as can be got? why three, when one is just as good as three? and need we care to know the two apart? i feel my love for each one just the same, and well i know the love that's in thy heart towards this one, weak and helpless when she came." it was decided ever from that day : but one in everything, but one in name; only the one, they never mentioned two. so very like and always dressed the same, one they were known and only one they knew. 23 vi the year is flying with its sigh and song, and toil and care have gathered goodly store, the earth bequeaths to willing hands so strong in stacks of grain around the cabin door, the harvest 's finished and the autumn throws a silken hazy veil over the scene. the lazy stream is lying in repose, the sun's fierce rays are shorn of half their gleam. nature's at rest; the gentle breezes bear a ripened fragrance from the mountain side. the rustling forest shows where here and there the autumn's hand its dainty art hath tried. a few short days in wonder will reveal how deft the artist and what tints can be from the rich pencil that its touch may feel, and frolic with and scatter far and free, a very world of color, pure and bright, the gate of heaven that closes out the night. ―――――――――― and need i tell you at the cabin door were the two children in their merry sport, their cup of childish pleasure running o'er, happy as guests at nature's royal court? 't was eventide; the slow descending sun cast slanting beams over the rocky brow, as streams of metal from the furnace run. 24 castles of gold the mountains glistened now, and a rich haze, so silvery in its tone, sparkled and gleamed in sheen of gold and brown, a soft rich glow, through all the valley thrown,— so fair, it seemed heaven's wealth of light let down. peace, more than peace, all that it can bestow is at our feet, and heaven is here below! but hark! a cry of pain and anger now! and see! the children strove in wrathful spite. a fury knitting on each little brow, they tore each other, like two beasts in fight. surprise and sorrow filled the mother's heart. "where learned they this, for it has been my care to teach them love, devoid of every art, except in love the other's ills to bear?" the castles fell that she had builded high, the future that was pictured all so bright, but empty dreams, relinquished with a sigh, her fondest hopes but visions of the night. the trouble was about the golden chain, the one rich relic of the mother dear, who ne'er could wear those golden links again, or even now in memory appear. for three long years (and childhood's years are long) 25 since that dread night was buried in the past, this mother strove to train a love so strong within each heart that it would ever last. the golden trinkets for that mother's sake had been well kept and treasured with all care. the children found them and were quick to take forth from their hiding-place the baubles fair, pleasant to one, but in the other's eyes some dreadful fancy seemed around them wrought; one laughed with glee to see the golden prize, the other shrank from what her double brought, shrank but a moment, then in fury wild she grasped the jewels, flung them in the stream, and turned in anger on her fellow child. so panther-like her angry eyes did gleam! we saw the quarrel and may read the heart, the mother's sorrow that cannot be told, while with strong hands she rends the two apart. but see the sky! the evening turns to gold, the shades come on, the night so hushed and still covers the scene. but who may know the care, the anxious care, a mother's heart may feel? who knows the pain the mother's heart must bear ? who knows the pangs of sorrow when we weep and lose a treasure we would fondly keep? tears, like the diamond, sparkle in the hue 26 mount washington elstadir of light that finds them, and we see expressed the very soul in which they are caressed. the senses centred, absolutely true. sorrow may break the heart and fill the eye, the heavy hand may crush the soul with fear. we sink in peace and slumber through a tear; and yet, through tears, we rise in ecstasy! this evening hour amid her tears and prayers, the mother sleeps and buries all her cares. the night was drear and long, with omens sad, and yet all nature seemed so full of light. in prayers and thanks they joined for what they had, and hoped the morning would be clear and bright, sinking to rest, trusting their cares to god, who guards as well as chastens with the rod. vii a strange wild sound now startles them from rest, a shriek-like echo from the panther's lair. again they hear their dreaded, welcome guest, in the great wood, "the fire! the fire! the fire!" the cabin door swings on its hinges wide; the messenger whom they have seen before points to the flames that cleave the mountain side, and bids them flee, stay not a moment more. 27 their senses reeled; it surely could not be that their strong hands could not delay the flame. the brook was near, its quenching flood was free. with buckets full they quickly went and came. alas! too late! for the relentless fire in the thick forest on the mountain side was foe that neither strength nor will.could tire or hope to conquer, fight, or flee, or hide; and in a moment, the great stacks of grain caught from the cinders falling like a shower. no living one the cabin door could gain, to rescue aught was not in human power. all they possessed was wrapped in seething flame, all that they loved, beyond a hope to save. to stay was death, to flee appeared the same. utterly helpless now, with hearts so brave they could not flee; the fire was everywhere. beside a rock, o'er which the flame was leaping, great crawford bent, his form was cover there, to that dear one, his loved one in his keeping. but for a moment, yet how much of dread in that bare moment, in the roaring flame! how much of life, and yet how near the dead was it to them, no human words can name. 'twas past, and now into the near by river f 28 he plunged to quench his raiment all aflame. renewed in strength, he hoped he might deliver his own heart's love from terrors none could name. above them now was swinging in the sky a flaming pine, its branches all aglow. swaying it fell; he sprang with eager cry, barely in time to save the dreadful blow. they fell together. human strength had fled. the flames he felt not, when his form might shield his dearer self. of pain he had no dread, or, in such duty, pain was not revealed. but human strength, and human courage too, must reach the bound where it cannot prevail, and he had done all human will could do, and only sank when human strength must fail. she first revived, but why should she awake to such black horrors as must meet her eye? what was there left misfortune could not take? what she might choose, 'twas better far to die. alas! to see within the angry flame her children's fate in horror without name! yet there is hope. above the roaring fire, high on the mountain, in a voice so clear and long and loud it seems 'twill never tire, the hermit's cry and echo, "have no fear." her husband lived, and in his life she hoped. 29 his strength returned, and with her feeble aid, through the thick smoke, to safer place they groped, where leaning rocks a better refuge made. with her we leave him, for her earnest love will meet his needs and dress and heal his wounds; and their strong will and hands again will prove how much of power there is where love abounds. the warning messenger escapes our care. but see him now, as nimble as a deer fleeing the hounds. his arms the children bear beyond the flame now pressing on so near, and they escape and on the mountain side, above the timber, on a rocky waste, they stop to rest. it is the shadow guide. through a deep gorge, a winding path he traced. 't was night's dark hour, revealing dreadful things in the deep valley, far beneath their feet. e'en with the morning, still the horror clings; destruction black hath made its work complete. the green of yesterday, the forest fair, the blooming meadow where the cabin stood, the pleasant things that were so lately there, a blackened mass, o'er which dark vapors brood. all, all is gone,—the dog before the door, the browsing kine, the tinkle of the bell. 30 no sight so sad hath met these eyes before, more desolate than ever tongue can tell. i need not follow with my faltering pen the ills and sorrows that must need befall our hero and his wife in trials then, knowing full well these troubles are not small. their shelter gone, their food and all their store a blackened heap, their corn in golden ear smoky and burned is golden corn no more. yet to them this a godsend must appear, and be their food the dreary winter through. the game was scarce, eluding all their care; and he too weak successful to pursue the straggling creatures that might venture there. nor need we follow in the hermit's lead but for the children. our deep interest calls us to a cave, a hermit's choice, indeed, a lonesome refuge 'neath the rocky walls. a pine knot burning throws a flickering glare over the place, revealing to our eye how very little comfort might be there, how much for love, himself he would deny. he placed the children softly side by side, cheering the one and caring for the other, 31 until in sleep their weary troubles hide, as tenderly and gently as a mother. leaving them now, he for a time was gone. returning soon with sorrow in his face, he said, "tis o'er, what crawford has not done need in no other ever be disgrace. what his strong arms for love would not have dared, or his strong will for her would not have done was not for other to have met and shared; what he must lose, no other could have won. "but i, poor hermit, i so rough and wild, what can i be in place of such a mother to take these children, i, poor nature's child, helpless myself, how can i help another? i must away and with the morning's light bear them to some one who has better care, a better home, and thus a better right to innocence that i can never share. “and then my oath, the curse that binds me still. if i should keep them, i must loose my tongue! i cannot love and that hard oath fulfill! what love i not that lingers with me long? i must not help who is not pressed by danger, nor for a moment meet a human face; 32 1 i must not speak unless it be to stranger, my vow divides me from the human race. yet my poor heart seeks ever to bestow its love on something,this my rusty gun, my violin, whose music, soft and low, makes harmony with streamlets as they run. ――― ――――――――― and now these children thrust upon my care, what could i be before their prattling tongue ? i worship them. o tell me! could i bear caress from them, so innocent and young, with the sweet artlessness of childish love? how more than human weakness it must prove! but what is that to me? my heart's a stone. i must be lost, or i must be alone." the children woke and, strange enough though true, must we believe it, can it surely be, in anger one the other did pursue in savage outbursts of deep enmity! and he must interfere to stop the strife, else the aggressor, with determined will, and cruel spite, would take the other's life, who helpless sank in terror from the ill. "what can this be? and who will dare explain the secret working of the human heart? children appear like wrangling beasts again. 33 is love, at best, but a poor practised art? can it be so ? is the weak human breast, left to itself, but a vile viper's nest? life, but an hour so full of weary care it has no pleasures that we could desire, no hope that comes without a doubt to share, no sweets of which we do not early tire? a hermit's is my choice, a hermit still! the little ones again must bear their lot, where fortune calls them, be it good or ill. life is a dream and sweetest when forgot! "" viii a shower had fallen during the long night and quenched the fury of the spreading flame; a waste of blackness met the morning light. a dreadful picture, can it be the same? the game destroyed would seek the woods no more; succulent roots, the hermit's daily food, were all consumed; the brook before the door was dark and bitter from the ashy wood; and the shrill blast proclaimed the winter near! he had no treasures that he could not bear,— another place was better far than here, and the first day saw him well started there. 34 the children both were ever at his side, or when aweary in his brawny arm, or yet again, on either shoulder ride, cherished and helped and guarded from all harm. need we to follow where his journeys lead, or can we know his suffering and strife? perplexed and chafed by these new cares indeed, so changed from his free, careless, roving life. for years before, he had not known restraint, or had a charge wherein he was not free; but now so kind, without the least complaint, he was as gentle as a sire could be. the long day's travel made them tired and sore and he full weary struggled on in pain, bent with the load his aching shoulders bore, through the black forest, over hill and plain. the day was spent and many miles were spread betwixt them and the sights of yestere❜en. again the leaves were rustling to his tread and the great forest glowed in living green. and here a pathway, and below appears a habitation. hark! the tinkling bell, and fair young girl of scarce a dozen years, with milk pail swinging, wanders up the dell. he bade the children go and ask her bring to them warm milk, fresh from the brindled cow, 35 then turned, and ne'er was bird on swifter wing or deer more fleet than he in forest now. i need not say two children of their years and fair as they and left by him alone would be uncared for or that pleading tears must win them friends, their presence being known. their lone conditions and their simple art soon made them welcome, and a mother there with other children took them to her heart, that with her own her hearthstone they might share. their raiment torn and blackened with the smoke, hungry and tired with the long day's ride, more than their simple prattling tongues, bespoke that great misfortune brought them to her side. and more, she said, "is this one not the child we hear the hunters praising, when they come, from o'er the mountain, in the valley wild, the saco valley, crawford's lonely home? and this the other one, so like indeed, the waif that came ?" but now they were asleep. she left them to the rest they so much need, with prayer that angels might their slumbers keep. 36 ―――― thott wwal wear cauah pull it of cute bus emeres za b the crawford cabin 含 ​ ix 'tis later autumn and the leaves are flying, and through the pines, a stronger breeze is sighing; the broken clouds haste by on swifter wing, a ripened color covers everything; nature is stern and all things are in haste, the fragments gathered. it seems near the end; moments are precious. time's too short to waste, and all from something evil would defend. it is the day before cold winter's breath, a the hour that lays the summer's bloom in death. year had gone since the wild sweeping flame over the mountains in its terror came. its scars were still upon the withered trees; a scent of ashes fills the passing breeze. yet sturdy hands, with constant earnest toil, have built another cabin and beside have won a harvest from the blackened soil, and shown a' will well worth a yeoman's pride. the two were at the door. the sinking sun again in gold bedecked the mountain brow. the duties of the day and prayers were done. but see! some wonder claimed attention now. 37 he beaconed her. "i wonder can it be e'en more than hope—our little one i see!" they ran in haste to meet her as she came, doubting, mistrusting she could be the same. so full of wonder and with choking voice they wept and stammered, they so much rejoice. "can it be so, our mary from the dead! i hoped as much; hope strengthened every day. the hermit's signs in every path i tread, his strange wrought tokens in my every way, saying the same, although with voiceless tongue. mementos of her in the bushes hung, a hundred ways and in a hundred places, the water seemed to bear our daughters' faces! "and in my watching, during all the year, with every day, these tell-tale things appear, always a sign; yet ever full of doubt, i feared to know what it was all about. to find the author is beyond my power, seek as i will, or do whate'er i may. why try me so, whoever he may be ? a friend he 'd find in being known to me." and need we know the story of the year from prattling tongue, in her most childish way? she tells of friends who were so kind and dear, 38 and of "old papa." laughing, she would say, he was a wild man, yet he was so good, he seemed to be a guardian in the wood. his manner was so kind; if ills befall, if either child had trouble, care, or pain, he ever ready came at their first call, were they alone. but others sought in vain to meet or know him. to the woods he'd fly like hunted deer, he was so wild and shy. the massons, these kind folk whose home they shared, ―― ――――― knew well his ways and felt when he was there, perfectly guarded that no danger dared to reach their home or give them aught of care. whate'er his will, the children were his own, and all was best whate'er he may have done. they saw him every day, for he would bring, in white birch baskets, berries, fruit, and flowers. if weary they, a lullaby he'd sing, fondly caress them when alone for hours; but should a footstep's crackling tread be heard, away he'd fly and leave them like wild bird. 39 "he talked but little till he said one day, papa and mamma live, and i must come far o'er the mountains from these friends away. papa was wishing that i would come home. he told me bid them all a kind farewell, ask god to bless the place in which they dwell. (c mary is safe. old papa is her guard, and happy now as any birds that sing. nothing on earth would dare to hurt his ward, none have more pleasure than his hands can bring, dear old papa ever kind and good,— and listen now, his echo in the wood." a soft wild strain floats through the forest trees, in kindly tone his trembling voice we hear, a thousand echoes floating on the breeze, a thousand echoes ringing out so clear, "lullaby! lullaby! god bless them in their love! god's will be done! his kindly purpose prove." x ten years are gone, ten weary years perchance; a long decade of sunshine and of care, a web of life o'er which if we would glance 40 we'd find so much of deepest interest there, a history of people, whose strange life far from their kind ever alert must be, watchful to meet some secret lurking strife, and who from toil and care were never free. and yet we know that they in younger days, in luxury amid the haunts of men, had seen the good and learned and shared the ways of civil life where modern thought had been; were learned in schools, the precious worth they knew of letters, language, and the priceless boon of education, art, and culture too. and now their girl was apt and learned soon. the household duties and the needle deft the mother taught her with a watchful care to card and spin and fill the even weft on home-made loom the father fashioned there. and more of art, her cunning needle wrought in brilliant colors, as if willing light had been divided and its beauty caught and put on canvas in a picture bright,— the thousand tints that in the dewdrops swing, or brilliant sparkles that the diamonds bring. modest and worthy, patient, meek, and mild, e'en in this forest, she's a cultured child. 41 ten years go by at this their lonely home, far from such things as make up human life, receiving only what may chance to come, be it of good or ill, of joy or strife. crawford grew strong and fortune favored him with lands and great possessions for his toil. the memory of his struggles now grew dim, his enterprise brought fortune from the soil. and for the good of state he bore his share, and in great councils he was welcome there. could i relate it or with cunning pen tell what their cares, their hopes, their joys have been, picture that home, draw out its many scenes, it would portray some of life's fairest dreams. the little girl who once with prattling tongue but lisped her joy when on her father's knee, or, from some fear, more tightly to him clung, was now a maiden fair as fair could be. we come upon her in the summer day. she knows not of our presence, neither dreams that other watchers than the glinting beams of softened sunshine, in their wanton play, dare look upon her 'neath the gnarlèd oak. she waits for something or some one perchance; something expected, in her eager glance, 1 1 1 42 her nervous actions easily bespoke. she leans against its rifted, riven side, her eyes are playing with her rosy feet where they their image in the waters meet, in crystal pool that laves them in its tide. her silken tresses, gathered o'er her brow, parted so fair, the witching line we trace, so void of art and yet of such sweet grace, a woman's line of beauty then as now. ――――――― her well-shaped arms, with many a dimple shown, are wreathed in grace. her eager fingers find among some flowers relief for busy mind, in thoughts that now are sweetly all her own. in silent musing 'neath the old oak-tree she naiad stands. the shadows softly creep. even the sunshine seems as if asleep! nature's a slave, nor wishes to be free. in face so young and fair, of such soft mould, so sweet her features and so full of love, we almost read the secrets as they move, we almost guess her thoughts as yet untold. she moves apace, it seems a charmèd spot, her eyes to heaven. we feel the simple spell. the daisy leaf must her near future tell. we can but wish good fortune be her lot. ―――――――― ― 43 $ she pulls the petals from the daisy head, and counts them one by one, her rosy lip moving the while, as the white fragments slip through her soft fingers to a watery bed. but startles now, a blush steals o'er her face. up through the valley rings a bugle note. the postboy comes; his calls in cadence float, their trilling echoes filling all the place. he comes on trembling steed nor slows his pace, till 'neath the oak with branches spreading wide he leaves the saddle and is at her side, with crimson chasing crimson in his face. their meeting eyes alike are turned aside, the flame that burns in either is so bright, it pains yet fills the other with delight. neither dare see what neither one would hide. but why this feeling, let us now inquire. they met before as week on week came round, and until now as if on equal ground, chatting and laughing to their hearts' desire. they know they love each other e'en so well to meet was pleasure, and to part was pain, and absence long until they meet again; but now so changed. the reason who can tell? his furtive glances dare not meet her eye, 1 i i 44 the tears that sparkle on his quivering cheek, the parting lips that would but dare not speak, the smiles that come and then so quickly fly. he bears no more, but falling on his knee, grasping her hand, he looks full in her face, and she may read whatever love may trace, or what the throbbings of his heart may be, clear through those eyes into the heart's deep core, into love's chambers deeper than appears, in the warm friendship of the flying years: less is not love and love is nothing more. he clasps her hand, and with the pressure, see! the smile returns and either face again is far too bright to harbor aught of pain. though now in bonds, they both are doubly free. we catch the secret, why so changed to-day. "mizpah" we read on ring of golden ore, on finger that was ne'er in bonds before. in plighted troth now love asserts its sway. it was expected and her keen, sharp eye was far too wary for his cunning art, to size the finger when her beating heart half gave consent and yet did half deny. he often told her of the golden band the city damsels wore, when plighted troth 45 joined into one the trusting hearts of both, showing the finger, fondling with her hand. he wrote the letters of the mystic word with trembling fingers in the roadside sand, within the limit of a circling band, sentence whose meaning she had never heard. why need i tell you what these moments bring? these parting moments; how like light they fly! and with the lovers they are quickly by. the mail must haste like bird on swiftest wing. and need we see the lovers when they part? the smile, the kiss, the tear on either cheek together mingle and together seek the heaving bosom nearest to his heart. words have no meaning when they would express the feelings of the soul; so full of joy, and deep emotions, that they must employ the salty fountains of our deep distress. xi another horse, fresh from the stall, was brought, saddled and bridled for the mail. its freight was for the hundred throbbing hearts that wait 46 its early coming. should they be forgot? not for a moment. duty always found the postboy first and always at his post, through storm and sunshine. it was all his boast, to bring the mail just as the time came round. and who would stay it? who recreant prove, that feels the yearnings of the human heart? not one who takes with man the nobler part, or feels within his soul the joys of love. the well-worn mail-pouch on the saddle strung, if it could speak and tell the words it bears, how much of love, how much of grief and cares, that never dare to pass the human tongue! he leaves her side, and in the saddle now leaps with such ease, we know that he must feel prepared for all that duty may reveal; with neither doubt nor fear upon his brow, bids her adieu, yet fondles with her hair, while the quick muscles of his noble steed, like bowstrings draw e'er she is fully freed. he flies like arrow from the hand so fair. we might read secrets in the lips that move, or let our fancy free in those bright eyes; but it were traitor's work, e'en to surmise the heart's full ecstasy of perfect love. 47 she listened till the echoes ceased to come in faintest murmur, and she listened long. and now we hear her trilling lovely song, as with light heart she sped away for home. and as she went, in rapture of sweet voice, rang out the song and in angelic strain the echoes float in cadence back again, till everything in melodies rejoice! her father met her and her mother, too; amazed they waited at the cabin door; such music they had never heard before; to them the voice, as well as song, was new. they knew she sang, as sweet as singing bird; had listened to her when she'd steal away, trilling some strain that made the echoes play from cliff to cliff, repeating every word. she was their child, their only one, their care, but now how changed! a woman in their eyes so like a fairy from some quaint disguise! so bright, so happy, and so more than fair. her father pleaded that she sing once more the new-learned song and tell him what sweet bird had taught his darling, for he never heard so sweet a song from any throat before. she, blushing, told him never bird so fleet, or one so fair as this one, sought these bowers, 48 or one so good gladdened the passing hours, unless by chance the carrier dove he meet. e'er he found answer or his lips could move, a flood of music came as from the spheres, immersing all in ecstasy and tears. ― so sweet, so thrilling, was her song of love, – the postboy's song, can we repeat the strain? our simple words were like the twanging lyre a patti spurns when, with her soul on fire, her melody holds all else in disdain ! ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ mercury on wingèd feet, a messenger went forth. i, on charger quite as fleet, with messages of far more worth, to the poor mortals on the earth, fly through the hail and sleet! no halt or rest for me! like bird on tireless wing, i take the lines that cross the sea, and span the world, and with my art wrap in one bundle every heart, their joy and sorrowing! now merry, merry, i will be! who knows the joys i bear! whose throbbing heart i may set free 49 from chains of weary care? or what kind promise may be there for you, if not for me? then merry, merry, i will sing, and by my fleetness prove how willing i glad tidings bring! and if i could do more, spread e'en from shore to shore nothing but joy and love! father and mother in amazement stood, for until now their girl a child appears; only a girl she seemed these passing years, but now confessed in perfect womanhood. and they, no doubt, had hoped that it might be, with the full time that steals so silent on (yet little dreaming how the time had gone), the favored one be no one else than he. and now they are so full of thankfulness and proud withal, the quivering of the cheek, e'er she had finished, their full hearts bespeak, and hope's fruition to its full excess. the tell-tale song, like strains of music sweet, or the smooth rhythm that stops not at the bars, but glides as if unfettered by the jars of human fingers, makes the song complete. 50 the willey valley or like the drops that fleck the window pane until, too full, in untried paths they start, glide near each other, then together dart into a whole that cannot part again. again they listened. through the valley stealing, there came a note guided by human art of violin, played with such tender feeling, its every strain stole softly to the heart. so sweetly soft, it floated on the breeze, so wildly plaintive from the forest trees! 't was often heard, when stilly night came on, the hermit's tribute to the parting days, so like a prayer to the great holy one, a heart's devotion, and a maker's praise! and hark! the echoes in soft laughter swell from the great wood, "'tis well! 't is well! 'tis well!" blushing, she met her father's roguish smile, that now made merry on his sunburned cheek. o'er full, yet he must play the wag awhile, act more than words could ever dare to speak. again the sun was sinking in the west, again old willey wore a golden crown, all was at peace, the valley was at rest. 51 from yonder heights music came floating down, music so soft it seemed the murmuring tone of falling water on the mountain-side. and hark! another voice joined with her own in evening prayer and with the hermit guide to the almighty, who through all their life their trust had been, whether in good or ill. "guard us this night, from every care and strife; be thou the rock that must defend us still; be thou our refuge; let no danger come upon the dear ones of this humble home. "remember me, the wayward, wandering child, who knows no home or can a shelter share but with the beasts roams o'er these mountains wild! remember us and have us in thy care! bless all our land and let us with thee dwell! give us thy peace, who doeth all things well!" nothing was said, though much they'd like to tell, with hearts o'erflowing, as we see two friends stammer and halt in what their love depends. they separate as if by magic spell, fearing to speak lest, if perchance the tongue was not attuned to that seraphic strain, its might be lost and never come again, like songs of dreamland, never to be sung! then in memories of the happy past, 1 " 52 fell into musings that were rich and sweet. planning he thought, and thinking made complete. what were but dreams, were purposes at last! xii his daughter was his pride, and in her song or simple ditty, ever sung so sweet, of all the world this their own fair retreat seemed full and more of music from her tongue. only his mary, mary of the glen. thus was she called. she claimed the name her own; its beauties had part of her beauties grown, and she the fairest of its treasures then. such musings crawford now would oft repeat, and the full blooming of his daughter's love seemed through them all and over all to move: their charms made her, and she made them complete. he listened with her for the bugle note far down the valley, ringing out so clear. he loved the echo, loved to hear it float, to greet the postboy when he did appear; 1 53 the dashing hoof, the panting, foaming steed, the sturdy gallop when he came in view. a noble youth, we may his features read. where'er we see him, everything is true. she smiling took the packet from the hand. he stayed a moment, then away again. she bade him speed, but lingered still to stand, and watch him until watching was in vain. the lad, we doubt not, in the father's eyes had no great faults, and promised to become a worthy husband for his valued prize, a more than welcomed guest to this their home. and no mean choice, for his hard service proved that life meant something, all was not in vain. to brave such hardships was what crawford loved, and it was noble from his honest plane. then his kind way, to ever bear in mind such errands as the weakest dare to ask, revealed the place an honest heart to find, a kindly hand for every honest task. we know his labor, meet him face to face. may we not see in him a noble type 54 of such as find the fruit, e'er it is ripe, for his successors in the coming race? and when we meet him, can we but admire his noble bearing, though perchance we see him at his best when all that's good may be fully awake in love's ambitious fire? we follow him from portsmouth by the sea, over the mountains, through the crooked trail, to logging camp, to hamlet in the vale, wherever human habitation be. men, in those early days, had settled there, as such men do, so like a rolling stone that tumbles in the brook and rolls alone, till accident it from its course may bear. some for adventure, some with hope of gain, eager to flee the toils and cares of life, where avarice mingles in the human strife, and poverty must plead and plead in vain. and many more, on that long, weary road, when forced to lay a dear one in the mould, 'mid grief and sorrow that can ne'er be told, they with their lost one make this their abode. 55 thus all the way from portsmouth by the sea, over the mountains to the mighty river whose toiling waters in the sunshine quiver, as though no falls or rapids dared to be, the same green waters that in one fell sweep, from the great lakes make manifest their birth, as in loud roar niagara shakes the earth, now lull a thousand sunny isles to sleep. great granite mountains had long stood between this river and the wild atlantic's shore. the notch discovered, they were bars no more; through the great woods a living pulse was seen! time flies apace, and in this fair retreat, as near the odorous flower the air takes on the sweetness of the rose, so here we meet life full of joy as mary's self has grown. a pleasant word to greet the tired one, a smile to cheer the careworn and oppressed, a hand to help when work was to be done, a ceaseless care to give the weary rest. and here, amid the mountains, every day such graces found employ; for past their door 56 many a traveler eager on his way met some mishap or hurt or danger sore,―――――― the emigrant bound for the distant west, his family and goods in one great van (the wondrous lakes the object of his quest, the west was then within such narrow span). among the crowd, full often there appeared some thankless villain, who to flee his crime or punishment, the only thing he feared, made over free at this wild place and time. crawford, alert and honest, knew full well what justice meant, and oft his rugged hand in heavy vengeance on such miscreant fell. their sentence only needed his command. if noisy, they found silence gave them peace; if braggart, a rough shaking made them feel that such a shaking would not bear increase, and quickly quenched their most vehement zeal; if found when thieving near to his abode, a jury summoned gave the verdict there, and the vile culprit worked upon the road, e'en the full sentence, honest, true, and fair. 57 accused of crime, the guilty one must wait, go down to portsmouth, meet the laws' demand; for penal crimes were matter of the state, and justice was the bulwark of the land. so thieves and knaves that chanced upon the road were meek and gentle when they passed his door, and seldom cared to visit his abode if they had chanced to visit it before. the road was safe, nor sleuth-hound would pursue more sure than he a scoundrel in his crime, and every secret hiding-place he knew, as well each path that did the mountain climb; and should, by chance, some venturous villain dare flee to the wood, the hermit he would meet, and ofttimes find a harder lot to bear. there was no place to which he could retreat! xiii mar ary had suitors; one so very fair must have admirers every passing day. in truth (the stories do so much declare), each youth that came was loath to go away. 58 among them all, was one of noble mien, with ample fortune, in the city bred. he saw her, loved her, yet he loved in vain. she was betrothed. he heard the truth with dread. this should have been enough, her honest word, the full outgushing of a constant heart. within his subtle heart was stirred a jealous passion, that would gain with art. but no. — he had of wealth abundance and to spare, and should he not some little offering make, mark of esteem for her most tender care of the distressed or even for their sake? such words prevailed. his costly gifts she wore. the same conditions e'er increased the store. he came as often as returning spring, remained till snow was on the mountain side. he had sweet voice and would with mary sing until his love he could no longer hide. he knew she loved and was beloved in turn, and loved so well, even betrothed indeed. he hoped and let his growing passion burn until in bonds he'd go where'er it led, and trembled with the thought, though never yet did his attention more than smile beget. 59, they sang together. each composed a verse, fitting the music to the unwrit line; impromptu would in melody rehearse whate'er their minds of beauty could combine. these scenes so lovely could not but inspire or stir the senses of a noble soul, and hers poetic burned, a glowing fire. e'en inspiration was in her control. and he was too of sympathetic turn, and clothed his words with all the flowers of thought, yet through them all we often may discern the one deep secret in his soul inwrought, a passion that would bear the prize away at any cost. the time may come, we fear, the coveted denied, why not a prey ? who yields to passion, runs its full career! he knew of her betrothal and her love, and well he knew of her fond lover's trust. why not for him the sacred trusting prove an empty promise, written in the dust? honest and fair he seemed in every way; he had the trust of all, none more than she. her boon companion was for many day, in all her pleasures he was ever free. once at the dawn, they mounted horse to speed 60 謦 ​1 | + 1 up mountain pathway, trying which could lead. he dared to ask her love. abashed, in pain, startled, she told him that could never be, then proudly bade him never ask again, or think to seek a hand that was not free. “and were i free, my heart has never known a thought or feeling that would to you bend; there is but one, the only one alone, i ever loved as other than a friend. and if you would my friendship still retain, you must not dare to seek my love again." so weeks sped on, and he was from that day seemingly happy as he e'er had been. the hope he held had seemed to pass away, his presence added pleasure to the glen, and he became so loyal in their eyes, so good in council, and so fast a friend, that to despise him, was them to despise, and to defend him, was them to defend. the springtime comes, and with it comes again the harbinger of joy, the singing bird. the valley, which so long in bonds hath lain, awakes the morn; the murmuring song is heard, the sighing zephyrs and the babbling brook. the morning light is a rich mellow gleam, 61 the hazy mist, that hangs in quiet nook, so gentle we might fear it be a dream, a lovely dream; but ringing out so clear we catch the note of rare melodious song. we almost hope the fairies will appear and to their castles bear the notes along. song to the clouds in mary's sweetest voice, intoned with chorus of tunes so rare nature itself in the song must rejoice, giving or learning its sweetest charms there. hear it! to write it were folly indeed! what can i write on a mirror of light but with a diamond, where he who would read can see but a scratch, my hand but a blight? write it? why listen! the echoes that trill! notes of the birds in the song are amazed! trembling, wavering, the valley they fill the clouds take the theme, in gold they are blazed! ――――――― the song of the clouds clouds of the morning, ye come at my call. gather your host, for the morning is near. climb, catch the rays that so speedily fall, clothing in purple the mists that are there. 62 clothing in purple and decking in gold, those that are first in its beauty enrolled; clothing in purple and jewels of light, those that are farthest from shadow and night. thus it is ever, and ever should be. that which is first, seeking highest to rise, nearest to heaven god's presence shall see, reaping the richest reward of the skies. even a prince, if he fail here on earth to make his first choice that which is of worth, will find to his sorrow the purple he wears is only a weight that will add to his cares. her voice is still. the echoes, warbling, float and frolic with so good and sweet a song, from cliff to cliff resounding every note, as if her voice gave everything a tongue, and now another catches up the song, in plaintive cry. his soul is in his voice. we listen while the strain he doth prolong so pleasantly, we in the song rejoice. "your simple theme and story seemeth wise. the best and noblest reach the highest plane, where there are beauties only for their eyes, and treasures only such as rise may gain. 63 the zephyrs woo the clouds that they adore. be like them. with me go from shore to shore, visit the palace where are gentle hearts, so full of joy amidst the royal arts. be like them now and all the world enjoy. come to my home beyond the rolling sea, and in sweet pleasure all thy time employ. from every care thou surely wilt be free. e'en more than this, and thou shalt have to give abundance to the poor that near thee live, enough to keep thy goodness in employ, in breathing on the troubled world thy joy." "be like the fickle cloud? ask me, o no! not if my path with diamonds you bestow. go see the world? with you travel it o'er? and leave the dear one, dearer far to me than richest mines with all their golden store? better in want in yon fair valley be." we see the youth fall suitor at her feet, an urgent one and more than beardless boy. "can you not love me, pray, while i entreat? or must you all my fondest hopes destroy?" startled, she turns, as if to flee in fear, stripping her fingers from his grasping hand. a flush of anger drives away the tear; 64 gibbs's falls her voice in fury utters her command. "villain, begone! what mean you by this thing? you dare insult me?" now her strength returned. "despised, get hence! thy presence here will bring a punishment that thou hast never learned." "that thou hast never learned" in voice so clear some one in ambush slowly doth repeat. some one unknown to either one is near; and now between them moves a form so fleet! it stops not, speaks not, and is quickly lost in the thick wood, as if by accident the presence had been only thrown across a purpose that seemed evil in intent. the lover shrank; he heard and saw too plain, in that wild figure who had crossed his path, a power against whom plotting were in vain, a dangerous foe if he awaked his wrath. the youth repented then his eager hold; shrinking in shame, he asked her to forgive his hasty deed, his act so mean and bold, that he might hope to even dare to live. full well he knew no echo did repeat the awful words whose meaning he could read. could he escape? he hardly dared retreat, but crept away like culprit in his deed. 65 startled, she turned, like fawn from coming fear. through the thick forest, like a flying bird, mere flashing glimpses of her do appear; her tread so light, but crackling twigs were heard. she had escaped and at her home below was by her father, safe from every foe. this burst of passion taught her for defense that e'en the sweetest tongue a heart might hide, and at the best be gentle for pretense, a snare from which a viper's fang might glide! in spite of this he still remained a guest about the house, but from that very day her manner changed might set his heart at rest, had he ne'er hoped to bear the prize away, and yet he stayed until the winter came, and came again with the returning spring. hopeless, yet hoping, he remained the same, and richer presents still was wont to bring. mary refused them all and would not keep the smallest token, proffer as he would, not e'en for friendship's sake. the wound so deep had raised such fears as would not be subdued. although he pleaded with a sigh and tear, she turned to all a deaf and listless ear. 66 "cannot your friendship my poor heart defend? go blame the light that glitters on the wave; so coldly greeted, yet its beauties blend to waves' behest. the light is but a slave, silvers each ripple as in haste it flies; glitters the brightest in the darkest stream. in a wild dance, 't is whirling in surprise, adding the lustre of its silver beam. cannot your friendship my poor heart defend? "i ask no more than to remain a friend, though my sad heart must still some envy bear the favored one, who wins so fair a prize. with his good fortune, tell me, can't i share the goodness of a friend? do not despise me, who for loving you must have his love. let us be friends and purest friendship prove. i ask no other favor than to be of service to you and the one you love. all that i have is yours, my wealth is free, if only thus my friendship i may prove. "your lover thinks not i could do him spite. i thought to wrong him, but now let me prove how well i can an injury requite, how nobly pay a debt i owe to love. 67 and here he comes to answer in your stead. i will acquaint him, show him all my heart; accept his wrath in vengeance on my head, if he will not forgive and take my part." the story was repeated word for word. "in penitence, i own the ill i meant, but full forgiveness you can well afford. since you are chosen, you may be content." this healed the wound and amply made amends: the three from thenceforth were the fastest friends. xiv t here was another who came with the spring, of stranger mien; he had been there before. his actions rude, his words, like hornets sting. a dread came with him in the darkened door, a human shadow, e'er a mystery, as if his life had neither aim nor plan. he, the unknown, without a history, was ill disposed to every fellow man. he often came and strangely disappeared, forcing attention, and seemed to bring some bane about him until he was feared, 68 i " and ever treated as an evil thing. 'twas he the wolves pursued, on that wild night; and it was he whose frown repaid the care. so ill his presence, they all felt delight to see him go and know he was not there. he seldom spoke, but acted as if mute, did not some passion fierce force him to speak, curse or complain, if something did not suit, master or maid abusing, strong and weak, abusing most who him most of gave care, from him the best had most of wrong to bear. he forced his presence here and made a claim, because of the sweet grace and tender care that dealt so kindly with him when he came, excusing much that others would not bear. once when alone in sullen sentence flung, "mary, my love but hark! the echoes ring"" ing ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ drowned every word that issued from his tongue. a voice in fury in wild measure singing, "avaunt! avaunt!" the echo died away. she says "begone!" he dares no longer stay. the host was kind; but kindness had its bounds. he heard his mutterings and it seemed ill; for kindness, these were unbecoming sounds to hear from one who in all else was still. 69 sick when he came, he seemed, as he found strength, to grow more fierce, more ready to complain, until all patience reached its bounds, at length; and go he must, nor shade their door again. he knew full well the meaning of that word, and saw the purpose in that angered face; knew what was meant, though but one heard, and went, the very image of disgrace. "fear not," the father said. my eyes are keen, and see a foe as surely as distress ; these arms are strong to crush a thing so mean as bring the wounded here for you to bless." he called his men from stable and from field. a motley group, they came from far and near. they liked to have such summons and to yield a quick obedience when the call they hear. he called them often and where'er he led they dared to follow, be it wolf or bear, and do his bidding be whate'er the deed, — a pleasant hunt or danger, toil, or care. sound was but now they see a purpose in his mood, a quivering of his lip that seemed to speak 70 determination boding little good to that, whate'er it be, he chose to seek. by merest chance not one of them had seen what had transpired the early morning there, or ill for him it surely would have been, whose hate had been the cause of all this care. a passion rages now in crawford's breast! a something full of dread had crossed his path! the man, so calm till now, could find no rest; so gentle always, now was full of wrath. he stood perplexed and hardly seemed to know what next to do, for this was a new game. instead of wolf or bear, man was his foe. and why a foe? what reason could he name? he could not leave it to their prattling speech, that mary had been harmed, and he in fear had sought their aid. they would avenge the breach. who ventured this a monster would appear, for much they loved the maid so good and fair. who dared to yoke an evil with her name, must the crude justice of the mountains bear,a justice that was far from being tame. he thought of this and hesitated more, vexation plainly stamped upon his face. 71 so many passions now his features wore, of purpose there was scarcely left a trace. uncertain, timid, leaning on his gun, stamping the ground, his head in study bowed! they wondered at him. what was to be done? in expectation, see the eager crowd! some dreadful thing they feared. why does he wait? this is the first they knew him to debate. it was a study for an artist now, an honest man moved by a sense of fear, so many passions flitting o'er his brow, now in a rage, and then a smile appear. they nudge each other, wondering what 't can be, what dreadful thing has come into the glen, look well about them, lest calamity stretch out a hand and seize them there and then. at last o'ercome, he could not say a word, goes to the house and leaves them as they are, in explanation not a sound is heard; amazed, they look the picture of despair. their master was not wont to call them out unless upon occasion when he knew of some great danger in the woods about, or foe which he alone dared not pursue. but he to-day had called them every one, 72 and still was speechless, and seemed full of fear. what was the cause? what evil had been done? surely some more than awful thing was near. they felt, when he would shrink, it was no crime in them to fear their meeting such a foe. brave was their boast of such and such a time, when he had called and they did willing go; how they had chased a bear into her den, and with him brought a panther home, a prey; had followed him where packs of wolves had been, helped from the sheep to drive the lynx away. patrick, the hostler, thought it strange indeed, some weighty thing was there, or thereabout, goes to the kitchen, where he goes in need,the cook's black bottle solves full many a doubt. their wits are opened by the draught, and each goes deep to fathom what has passed to-day. imagination takes its widest reach and in great reason has its broadest play. of goblins, ghosts, and such wild themes as these stories were told. the frightened authors shook with abject fear, with trembling in their knees, till stammering tongue the o'erwrought tale forsook. as once i tried their picture to portray 73 in wondering group, e'er i a line had done, like frightened sheep they all had run away and left me but the cook to work upon. would it were in my power to paint it here, to draw a picture when the master left, a hogarth vision surely would appear, a group in wonder, of all sense bereft. xv τη hey gather in the kitchen on the hearth of the great fireplace, massive, broad, and deep, where oft before they gathered in their mirth, but this night there was neither mirth or sleep. the superstitious had uncanny fears, the boastful were in dread of more than death, surmised such things as from the weak drew tears, and every word came as with bated breath. so hours flew on, the group around the fire, drift into story that time may lighter fly, some that were told them, some experience dire, some the pure fiction their ambitions try. and i would picture in colors bright, the dingy kitchen, and the great wood fire, the earnest group bathed in its sparkling light, 74 the story teller, of whom none will tire. it was the day before the kitchen range; a cheerful fire was glowing on the hearth, beneath a crane with hooks and links so strange, i recollect it well back near my birth. the mantle shelf that seemed then very high brings home strange memories of boyhood days, when for some treasure many schemes i'd try, yet unattained the treasure met my gaze. oh, pardon me these wandering thoughts of home! they come upon us in maturer years, so full of joys wherever we may roam, the brightest pictures seen through all our tears! and then the arch was even with my chin. deep in the ashes glowed the great backlog; the crane askew surely hard used had been, — the broken links were mended with a tog. pot-hooks, crane-hooks, and hooks of every kind, begrimed with soot, were ranged along the beam, and crooked andirons on the hearth we find, with polished heads to throw a sparkling gleam, that flickers from the mound of glowing coals, now almost smothered in the ashen heap, while curling smoke in fitful cloudlets rolls, spangled with stars that from the embers leap. 75 a real fireplace of which sires may tell, with all its beauty now forever gone; only in story may its beauty dwell, a thing that served and well its duty done! we see above along the rafters hung such tidbits as might make a gormand stare; smoked beef and bacon, venison and tongue, and knots of savory herbs and roots were there. the kitchen was a dingy-looking room, although the cook was tidy, neat, and clean; the floor showed well the service of a broom, and the bright kettles in their places seen. before the hearthstone sat the group, all full of the deep wonders michael was portraying. resting his foot upon a three-legged stool, with many passions in his features playing, he spoke of what to him was real life. he told of what he knew; indeed, to prove it truth, gave all the dates and scenes of strife, vouched for by all in nod with every move. and when the crisis of the tale was near, the horrid part that was to chill the blood,his voice sank low in whisper and a tear in either eye, a sparkling brilliant, stood. — his listening audience were as still as death, " " 1 76 bent eager on him, staring in his eyes, with gasping mouth and almost bated breath. "'t is done!" he said. "the monster bird doth rise! they all look up as pleased yet half afright, look where he points, as if to see the flight. "the victim is released and goes her way. the bird flies upward, circling in the air. i watched its flight throughout the whole long day, and in the night among the stars 't was there." some gave full credence to the tale; the rest, until his memory did the sequel bring, an incident incredulous at best. — his story ended with such simple grace, the very truth seemed beaming in his face. "i saw a feather loosen from its wing, fall at a dizzy height with whirring sound. i watched it fall, like arrow on its way, and strike mount willard, part of which came down,the mass of rock is in the road to-day." his auditors, in their secluded life, had learned to love and credit all such lore,some mystery was linked with every strife. to all he said they testimony bore, accounting thus for all the wondrous things in uncouth story some poor poet sings. "" ― 77 and could we see him, as he then appeared, tall, slim, and bony, with rough tangled hair, free in the wind, with scraggy, wandering beard upon his face, like a young forest there, we would not doubt his story in the least. he served in stations both on land and sea; with little education was he blessed, and superstitious as a man could be. wrecked on the sea, he had misfortune met, and more than wrecked in port upon the land, but in the woods he might a living get, and stay with crawford as his handy hand. the feather, like the straw of ancient fame that broke the camel's back, was far too great. his listeners incredulous became; smiles took their place on features so sedate. the laugh came slow, but when it blurted out, he with the rest joined in the merry shout. they talked the morning o'er; asked jacques, the guide, if he by any process could explain what reason made the master thus decide. he hoped the morrow would make all things plain. the master's reasons must be all his own. when he asked help or even needed aid, 1 78 he ne'er before had indecision shown, or seemed of any living thing afraid. "i have been with him, with him danger shared, have seen him take a lamb from a whole pack of hungry wolves when their fierce eyeballs glared in threatening fury, when he drove them back. he never flinched before, though death might be on equal footing as an enemy. "i've served him now for nearly fifteen years; and seen him every day and shared his toil; but until now, i've never seen his tears inwrought with danger that he should recoil from anything. what it could be to-day, that moved upon him or perplexed his mind, made him a childlike coward slink away, needs greater reason far than i can find." jacques was no coward and knew naught of fear, and, perhaps, now the first time in his life, harbored a dread of something very near, a mystery, a dark, unfathomed strife. he listened to the o'erwrought goblin tale, of monstrous bird that came to yonder height. its theme was such as with him would prevail and give his wild imagination flight. 79 most interested, he with open mouth and outstretched neck, attended every word. his spanish blood, from the warm sunny south, was all aflame when such a tale was heard. his interest never flagged; for well he knew michael, the elder, was more wise than he. he eager listened that he might pursue the trembling victim and the sequel see. and when o'erwrought the final did appear, a smile o'erspread his features, full of fear. the spell was gone, the horrid spell that held them in its thrall was banished for the night. in merry song their troubles they dispelled and sought their rest, until the morning light. they each resolved that with the rosy dawn to know for certain what the care could be, relieve their master, fight till it be gone, and he be surely from the danger free. thus break the sombre feelings of the night, and each went merry to his wonted sleep, but steve and john, the barbers, in a fright, cringed near the fire, their wakeful vigils keep. and charles the cook, too fat to know a care of outdoor things, was peacefully at rest upon the hearth in his great easy chair, ―――――― in the ke man the van van he➖➖➖-------1 80 the frightened ones beside it are his guests. steve looked to john, in dread of the great room, dingy and dark, the fire was almost done. they scan each other, shudder in the gloom, two helpless mortals, now so lost and lone. a something dreadful their forebodings knew the evening's terror doth them now pursue. they look to charles, but find there to their grief, that he is gone in slumber so profound, his heavy breathing may be some relief, though at the best a melancholy sound. they creep beneath his chair, as kittens lay before the fire, watching its kindly glow,an owl by chance did down the chimney stray in dreadful shape, it comes an awful foe. and they arising with their might and main put the poor cook in jeopardy again. such uproar in the kitchen, soon brought out all of the household, wondering what could be the dread alarm, what it was all about, until the wondering, blinking owl they see. the spaniard's story of the awful bird, the goblin owl, in jovial laugh is heard. 'tis early dawn, so full of beauty rare, and merry laugh is ringing out so clear. patrick is telling to his mistress fair 81 the terrors of the night, the negro's fear; how john and steve lay blinking at the stars under the chair where weary charley slept, wishing their gold was melted into bars, and then like chickens, for their finding kept. when, as by chance an old gray owl flew by seeking for food or dainty bits of cheer, mistaken by the glimmer of their eye, swooped down the chimney to their mortal fear. and much to charley's hurt, for he was thrown so hard and sprawling out upon the floor, as would have broken, had he e'er a bone, but being fat, it only made him sore. eye, and with a merry twinkle in his he told the story that had caused such fear, made his obeisance, as the maid went by, saying, "god bless her, girl so sweet and dear. while in this valley one so fair as she welcomes the light, the lovely light of heaven, surely ne'er ghosts nor goblins dare to be. alone for such as she was eden given." sometimes she seems too fair for this wild place. now hark! her song is ringing through the trees. melody and poetry we trace; 82 her happy heart is floating on the breeze. nature itself joins with her in the singing, from yonder cliff her sweetest notes are ringing. song to the morning morning so bright, morning so fair! moments my soul is leaping to be up on the mountain-side, in the pure air, part of its beauties with nature so free. mountains, i love them. valleys mine own! where hath the sun on such loveliness shone ? morning so bright, morning so fair! hour when my soul builds its castles of light, wanders in cloudland with wish to be there. this is my home in the valley so bright. mountains, i love them. valleys mine own! where hath the sun on such loveliness shone ? morning so bright, morning so fair! go with thy beauty and clothe all the earth! go to the troubled thy comfort to share! give to the world of thy love all its worth. mountains, i love them. valleys mine own! where hath the sun on such loveliness shone? 83 her voice grows still, the early breakfast horn blows its shrill note to call the household in. poor steve and john sit at the door forlorn; charley was lame, not quite himself again. they here meet crawford in his wonted mood, he plans the labor for the day to each, some to the field, and others to the wood; calls john and steve with wonder in his speech, and something merry twinkling in his eye. asks for their aid, though he will not enforce else than their work. but he has enterprise which to their honor they will seek, of course. they bow, of course, and ready volunteer, alert to go, until the bidding comes,— to scale yon cliff, and tell him where the deer may be secured within a mile of home. it was no easy task, but it would be to most their ills a perfect remedy. their cheeks turn pale, they tremble in despair, for it was eagle cliff, where the great bird kept sentinel, to strike who ventured there : they were benumbed, and uttered not a word. he came to their relief in his kind way, and thought their labors weary and severe, to watch each other all the long, long day and shave, perhaps, a dozen men a year. 84 silver cascade the stag hunt now for the stag hunt! no mean sport, 't is true. jacques, pat, and barney were the chosen men ; used to the sport, with crawford will pursue the startled game o'er mountain and through glen, through the deep gorge or on the mountain brow. they know the runs and where to seek the deer. they find the trail; the sport commences now, the dogs are out, their steady bay we hear. from where we stand, the scene is at our feet. and see the stag goes vaulting through the trees, so gracefully and like the wind so fleet. he leads the race, it seems with perfect ease down through the glen. at every open place, with dogs not far behind, we see him fly. they now are gaining on him in the race. he turns at bay with fury in his eye, throws up his head and sniffs the morning air, with wrinkled nostrils and with eyes aglow; strikes with his feet the foolish hounds that dare venture so near as to receive the blow, strikes with his horns, and dashes with his might into the pack, and, throwing in the air the first that comes, then straightens for the fight, and trembling stands a living picture there. but hark! it is the rifle's sharp report. 85 in one wild leap he plunges see, he falls. the hunt's successful, though it has been short, and to return the horn in echo calls. patrick and barney with the summons came, and on their shoulders bear the weighty game. crawford and jacques will still pursue the sport and get a brace of partridges and grouse. we guess their luck, we hear the oft report and see them ladened as they near the house. lest i be tedious and my story tire, pray go with me and spend a summer day with my companion, feed upon her fire, drink at her fountain, through her palace stray, bow at her altar, nature so complete ; feel as i feel when on her virgin sod, shake off the sandals from thy weary feet, and stand uncovered as before thy god. it is the morning, and the streaming light sweeps o'er the mountain in a flood of glory. would my poor pen would take such heavenly flight and make my poem pæan of all story! there are strange wonders in these mountains wild, scenes that entrance the senses, scenes that hold our inmost love, by which we are beguiled into a world only by poets told, — 86 beauties so rare the soul in longing seeks a look beyond the coarser things of life, a secret place where the pure soul may speak with god, its maker, beyond care and strife, and where we see in all its purity the works of god, immense, grand, and sublime, and feel his hand lead us in surety into his realm beyond the reach of time. see beauties that man's art hath never marred, hear tones so sweet as if they were of heaven, rest on the solid rock that never jarred, and feel a breath only for eden given. yes, be alone upon earth's virgin sod, with our best self apart before our god. mountains sublime! the rock-ribbed stays that bind the mighty framework of this solid earth! all nature's forces free and unconfined, god's royal gift to man in all its worth,— a breathing-place where he may rest and pray, and put for once our petty things away! come, gentle muse! give me the power to sing in living measure what my eyes behold. bestow thy aid, assist me while i bring this picture home, its loveliness unfold,— 87 the willey valley glowing at our feet, a panorama wonderful, complete. e'en at our feet, in misty space below, so far below that pebbles, be they thrown from baby hands, a thousand yards will go, cleaving the air before their fall is done, so beautiful through copse and silent grove, we see the saco through the valley move. the lovely saco, but a tiny vein that gurgles on and glitters in the sun, a speck of silver here and there again, a sparkling thread doth through the valley run, — a thread the flying shuttle leaves behind, where in the woof rare beauties are combined. i would attempt and sing in lofty strain a worthy theme, a place of beauty rare, a scene that brings the weary artist pain so little of it answers to his care! or rather here there is so very much, that of it all his pencil yields but touch. could i portray it, from the giddy height, and bring to view what meets the eagle's range,— yon towering hills first bathed in morning's light, 88 and last at e'en from gold in shade to change. mysterious place, it must be even here is joined to earth the land that fills our dreams, so bright, so fair, it robs us of our fear. we almost hope to find it as it seems, as when, but part awake, some lovely dream has led us through ne'er half its shiny way, we close our eyes, hoping to catch a gleam, or win it back, or cause it to delay. the thunder shower of stone; we stand on willard's cap again another day is done. beneath us in the valley deep, a cloud comes on with rushing sweep. like billows on an angry sea, the glen in fury seems to be, while flash the lightning's awful glare, like glowing furnace blazing there. and hark! the thunder's awful boom! as terrible as coming doom. the solid mountains shake; the angry storm-clouds break, and on the mountain's side like flying squadrons ride. 89 the winds wild rush. and now the sunbeams play upon ten thousand falls of water leaping, the rising mists over the mountains stray, and now the rainbow has them in its keeping! 't was all below us, while above our head, only the pickets of the storm-cloud spread. the chief high on the mountain-side, a crimson stain assumes, ofttimes, a strange, fantastic form. though but the oozing of a mineral vein, 'tis fearful bloody after every storm, and fond tradition has it in belief it is the blood of a great warrior chief. we see his wrinkled brow, with plumes widespread ; in outstretched hand, his tomahawk all red. a picture clear of chieftain in his wrath, strides from the mountain, in a bloody path! clouds' rest there is another strange, wild place, clouds' rest, so high it seems, beyond the reach of man; an ugly gash, in the great mountain's breast; and swathed in clouds, as it has ever been. tradition whispers strange, uncanny tales; 90 & l. smith. mount willard how 'neath that curtain, should we dare to go,a tragedy yon fleecy cloudlet veils, too horrible for mortal man to know! and yet tradition hath another story. 'tis said it shields the portal that doth lead into the indian's wigwam, full of glory; into his happy hunting-ground, indeed. and more, 't is said, who stands on yonder cliff may see through fleecy clouds beyond, afar, numberless deer, and bear, and birds, as if the hunter's paradise had pearly gates ajar. then, to the left, mt. webster, great and grand, a power unmoved like him of iron will,a mighty front of granite, it doth stand so firm, old time hath wrought it little ill, and here below, a cloud that fain would rest in some recess upon the mountain-side. ― two bright cascades come leaping down its breast, like rival swains in race before a bride, silver cascade, in wild and laughing leaps, bursts forth a beauty o'er the granite gray; a hallowed light its winding pathway keeps, while prism bloom bedecks its glittering spray we feast our eyes from here, they are so plain, on webster's breast they hang a silver chain. ! ――― 91 but listen now. a song with laughter ringing, and sweeter echo than e'er heard before, so clear it seems a thousand voices singing, a thousand times, 't is echoed o'er and o'er! the song of home i would sing of home divine. fairer place, where can it be than this pleasant home of mine, nestled in yon valley fair, subject to all nature's care? yes, a pleasant home to me. here at morning's early light, up amid the clouds i go; watch the tripping naiads so bright leap from cliff to light upon willey's solid side of stone. anywhere the clouds may go. see! yon mountains cold and bare, glisten like to burnished gold, and their chains of silver wear where the laughing, leaping stream comes to light from crease or seam. cloth of bullion we behold! 92 as we look, yon towering height, 'neath a cloudy curtain's frill, glows in panoply of light! truly, there we seem to see what if fretted it might be with the riches god might will! now, we see the shades come on, 'neath the sombre clouds that fly; deep blue ether all has grown,faint and vague it gathers still, deeper blue the valleys fill, all appears dissolving sky! but see, a flash! the lightnings ply! hark! the thunder's shaking tread! and hear the wind, in saddening sigh! and there below, the beating rain! a thousand streams are in its train, the storm is past, and in its stead through the cloud a rift appears, and a golden fleece falls down, like sunshine in a mist of tears. on it moves and rolls away, moving still without delay, for a moment gold from brown! 93 gold to brown, from brown to gray, what a change our senses feel! how we hoped it might delay in its beauty clothing ever, what might wear its robes so clever and its loveliness reveal. then i cannot help but think how like riches, how like gain! let it come from darkest sink, man will quickly put it on; gather praise until 't is gone, be it idle, false, or vain. clouds they are, we see them fly; that which highest nears the sky is the place where longest last the rich beauties of the fleece, catch the light that did increase, yes, increase and multiply. now the thick gray fogs of night feel the sun's advancing ray; climb the gorge in hasty flight, stealthily like flying thief, ladened with golden sheaf where the sunbeams chance to play. 94 far below us on light wing, the great eagle sweeps in flight, gracefully his circles swing. now he darts like arrow sent, down to earth his course is bent, till we lose him from our sight. tell me not that there can be on the earth another place where my heart could be so free! where so clearly we descry stepping-stones that lead on high, up a path god's fingers trace! tell me not of wealth or leisure, that but wear the marks of pride! never could they stir the measure, never bring these thoughts so sweet, be at best a poor retreat where my soul could not abide! the violin again in cadence swelling! a flood of music burdens all the breeze like fragrance from a lovely blossom welling! a thousand echoes catch it as they please, a thousand echoes, aye! ten thousand more gather it in as if 't were golden store, 95 and they were misers. see how long they cling! ten thousand thousand strains, as in a flood, catch up the song and in it sweetly sing! and yet her song seems only to her god. nature rejoices in its harmony, giving assent as singer passes by! we see her e'er the echo dies away far up the mountain on the rugged cliffs, and at her side her little pony gray. with head thrown out, the morning air he sniffs and scents a danger that she does not see. happy she thinks herself from danger free. but there above her on a gnarlèd limb a panther crouching ready for a spring! his wicked eyes with deadly purpose swim, his reaching claws in nervous motion swing, his swaying tail like serpent in the air, his pointed ears, and from them we may trace over his back an ugly hedge of hair, while scowls and wrinkles plough his ugly face. startled she sees him and in dread suspense she is alone and there without defense. a crash and now a rifle shot we hear! the panther springs, but not with measured aim; 96 emerald pool far over her and o'er the rocks so clear he goes a heap from whence none ever came, a thousand feet below, where the tall spruce lift up their heads for nobler, better use. the danger past, she lifts her hands to heaven, and in sweet words her hearty thanks are given. and dare we look down through the ether deep, over the rock, a dizzy height indeed! there we will see the eagle in his sweep in rapid course where scent of blood may lead ! she knew the rifle and she knew full well it was the hermit, and his strange conceit would hide him from her like a magic spell. wish as she might, her wish would meet defeat. but hark! the echo from the great wood ringing! in joyous lay, he joins her in the singing. song throws ajar the very gates of heaven, revealing lands beyond the bounds of earth, sweet gratitude from inmost soul is given. "what can i say of song of so much worth? as life is sweet to me, i can but feel thy phantom hand has rescued me from death. my guardian friend, why wilt thou yet conceal thy kindly self? i'll meet thee with my breath. it is god's mercy that has brought thee here. perchance my song may bring thee words of cheer." 97 song of life what is life we hold so dear? hung upon so slight a thread, where the fairest things appear may be hidden what we dread! tell me, what is life, i pray, but what's gathered in the way! what is life we hold so fair but a bauble that must break, and resume its place in air? have we not a higher stake, purpose richer in the sky, seeking, gaining, as we fly? what is life without an aim but the bursting of a flower, to return from whence it came, only blooming for an hour, unless we seek to make our heart in life to be of heaven a part? what is life if not to be like the hands that held the piece, turning cruel death from me, i 98 helping who are hoping least ? and may we from this be found with thee, where such deeds abound! there are of interest places yet a score, worthy of better pen, i would portray at mary's home or near the cabin door; but i must leave them to some future day, catch only such as in the story lead,— more than enough with her, for me, indeed. the birth of the saco low in the notch, 'neath willard's craggy brow, from which the rocks have slid a thousand years, are sliding still, where mass on mass appears, we almost fear the mountain's falling now! a tortuous way, a dark and deep recess, womb of the saco, where the infant river first feels its life, making the mountains quiver! beneath its base, 't is writhing in distress. saco's cradle the dismal pool, another deep recess, the saco's cradle, where the new-born river 99 feels the first ripple o'er its surface quiver, and murmurs at the wild wind's harsh caress! mary's lake we must not leave the little lake unsung, called crawford's lake, beyond the rise of ground. 'tis where the ammonoosuc first finds tongue. 't was from its sides the echoes first were flung of the wild hermit's warning, so profound. 't is mary's lake, a piece of clear blue sky, set in a frame of forest, soft and green; waters so sweet, we could not pass them by, nor would they leave us, even should we try,our memory is fretted with the scene. fretted, as light glints through a jewel rare, revealing deep within its polished breast all of the tints that are in nature's care, all of the shades her richest beauties wear; a very world of beauty is caressed. a magic mirror, in the sunlight gleaming, so soft, we lose a sense of where we are; a mystic water, and as if 't were dreaming, 100 d mary's lake smyns i } a thousand pictures on moving surface scheming, it hangs a mirage in the empty air. and in the sunlight, see its bosom quiver, and soft blue mountains o'er its surface trace. but now the fish the quiet waters shiver, and in wild waves 't is running like a river; the hungry trout their weaker neighbors chase! it is a lovely spot so near her home. the runway of the deer leads to its edge; we watch them frolic, drinking as they come, swimming the lake, and sporting in its foam, not far below us, from this mossy ledge. this is the place of mary's fondest dreams; here at the brookside, where is river born, she was the sport of sunlight's laughing beams. here cupid first entangled in his schemes her girlish heart; here first his bonds were worn. yes, near the lakeside, 'neath the old oak-tree, the postboy wrote upon the roadside sand, and gave the ring that bound and yet made free, and made two hearts as happy as could be; here was the future with its pleasures planned. ioi it is a sacred spot, and holds within its fairy shadows all that life can give,a virgin nook, without a spot of sin. here maidens find the lines of love begin, such lines as make them happy while they live. i have a secret that is worth revealing, for it is said now, at the evening hour, who stays may hear the sweetest music stealing over the waters and prove the gentle feeling that wraps true lovers in its magic power. the lake of the clouds there is another lake of stranger form, petrel of the mountains, child of the storm, lake of the clouds, high on the mountain-side, deep in the crater of great craggy stone. not a green thing or life can there abide. 'tis lost in tempest; its wild foaming tide, picture of death. who goes there is alone. the skurrying clouds in haste pass by; only the eagle with her piercing cry in eyrie high her nestlings hide, and the deep moaning of the passing wind, 102 and the dull groaning of the rocks that slide or splash in fury in its foaming tide, or grate each other, as they downward grind. "lake of the clouds!" that strange, wild spot, when seen will never be forgot! of all god's work it seems alone, so dark, so dreary, without life, so hard to reach, 't is little known, and seldom is its body shown, in crater full of storms and strife! lake willey and still there is another lake, high above willey's festered side. who sees it must a journey make, and venture not without a guide. 'tis almost at the mountain's top, and its great reaches gather in the strange, wild buttresses that drop where willey's peak does just begin. 'tis a wild place and on its shore are scenes but seldom met before. 103 the deer are drinking at its edge, an eagle swoops its surface o'er, a bear is prowling on yon ledge. but hark! the wind in sullen roar! a storm in fury sweeps its breast. gone in a moment, and again the lake is calm and all is rest, and care and trouble all were vain. 'tis willey pond and it is here the sportsman still may find the deer the emerald pool here is a beauty spot called " emerald pool," hemmed in with rocks o'er which green moss is creeping, so soft, so shady, so delightfully cool, we almost fancy naiades or fairies sleeping. and see just where the falling waters break! is it a dream? we hardly feel awake. reflected from yon rock, in sunny light, a picture fairer than from artist's care. it might be venus rising to our sight, with the full train of her attendants there. 104 the indian leap there are full many more such scenes as these. if we could know the secret that they hold, what cries of pain or joy have waked these trees, what startling stories of them could be told! here "indian leap," a place so dark and lone. a stream comes dashing o'er the mountain brow, a precipice, a solid front of stone, its rushing waters high are screeching now. and the tradition is that years ago a brave young warrior climbed its dizzy height in quest of game which he alone did know. he and a bear engaged in fearful fight. the beast was wounded and in maddened leaps rushed o'er the rock to sunny bench below, where anxious watch for him his damsel keeps the issue of his venture she would know. the huge beast came in fury at her side, and in blind rage struck what might meet his claw. alas! the girl could neither fly nor hide. her lover quickly all her danger saw, grasped firm his knife, and by a fearful leap he stood between her and the angry beast. sprang on the bear; his knife in sturdy sweep 105 soon put the raging fury there to rest. we may imagine tradition does not say what great reward fate brought him on that day. the trout stream nor would we pass the trout stream, pure and bright, head of the saco, as it issues forth from shady cradle in the rocky north, and dances, leaping in the sunny light. so free, it seems a wayward, wanton thing, as blithely on a lullaby to sing. purling 'mid rocks and boulders all the way, with here a pool and there a stretch so fair, with shady nook that wooes us to delay, and yet again a deep, dark pool is there. and sporting, leaping in these waters clear, a swimming bevy of trout disappear. now for the sport of isaac walton's dreams! full well prepared with rod and reel and flies, if deft we'll see the shining beauties rise, the speckled trout that glint in mountain streams. a cast! how quick the speckled beauties rise, catch at the falsehood, take the cruel steel, ―――――― 106 1 indian leap swirl the smooth water. see! the spinning reel bespeaks for us a struggle for the prize! hither he darts and thither flies again. the twanging linen cuts the crystal sheet of limpid water. in its course so fleet, the raving beauty struggles in his pain. with careful hand, we hold his headlong flight until he yields. his battle is in vain, while all the pool now wears a crimson stain. with one wild effort he gives up the fight, and from the depths of his own fair retreat, with quivering body and mouth open wide, he turns a conquered captive on his side, and we in triumph draw him to our feet, and link our cruel fingers in his gill, and take him quivering from his native stream. in the full flush of a proud sportsman's dream, exultant joy our beating pulses fill. 't was so at first, and may it so remain. when crawford came here for his early bath, when by these streams the deer had beaten path, such trout were caught and plenteous game was slain. then with rude hook fashioned from jagged bone, and dainty line from toughest sinews spun, the indian took the finest fish that run these mountain streams to feast upon alone. 107 and can we think no passions filled his breast when these fair pools were swirling in the light? and fish like swallows clove the surface bright, as the full day was sinking in the west. and had i art to tell what dainty meat rolled from the ashes swathed in savory leaves, a golden fillet from the winding sheaves, so luscious it seemed cookery complete! but this is dreaming dreams of long ago, e'er skillful sportsmen with their subtle art threw barbed steel whereever fish may dart and took the trout from all the streams that flow! xvi i thought to lead you for a summer day, but led you whither through this tangled wood over the mountains where the cabin stood? but like a novice, i have lost my way. hark! there are horses on the mountain-side! and see! the villain we have seen before ! he is the one driven from crawford's door. with bad intent so skulking, see him hide! two horses tethered, while from tree to tree he glides like savage scanning yonder path. 108 the trout brook his ugly visage scowls as if in wrath. stopping he looks, he wonders. can it be his eyes deceive him? in his saddle seated the fair young girl, the victim he is seeking! her actions call him without even speaking; the evil of his purpose is defeated. he came to kidnap crawford's daughter fair, who spurned his presence, drove him from her door; and thought 't was she, yet how could she dare, alone, now court him? she had e'er before been diffident, shrinking, and afraid. "what meaneth this so very strange?" he said. there was no trouble in her nut-brown cheek, there was no anger, and there seemed no fear. she bade him mount nor gave him time to speak. leading, she fled. his courser followed near. they left the forest for the beaten road, and in mad gallop they began the chase. her hair unbound, in waving tresses flowed, while like a hind she led him in the race. on in wild ride they were in fury tossed, then past the postboy like the flying wind, they were again in the green forest lost e'er he the meaning of it all divined. he saw her face, as like the light they move, and her lithe form in terror seemed to fly. 109 aye! it seemed his love. how could she pass him by? yet how could it be? it was like mary. what meaneth it? an awful moment. he left her safe but a short hour ago, and at her home from every danger free, and with her father. who could be her foe? presumed? but no. he knew another had had thought? no. dared? no. tried? but surely failed to win or bribe or dare to claim or woo her from him, but in nothing had prevailed. in wild debate, a thousand passions rise. to follow them would little him avail. and were it she, in love her eager eyes would claim his aid whatever might assail. the glimpse he caught set all his pulse aflame, yet doubting more, for they met eye to eye. no recognition from her glances came, he was a stranger as she passed him by. his duty calls the post. the nation's trust must not delay for any selfish care. had he excuse or reason that was just why to delay or doubting linger there? the cause of his anxiety and fear rode free and smiling, and she seemed to lead. which one, if either, hardly did appear iio the wronged or victim. could he dare to plead ? "'twas passing strange," he musing went his way. indeed, 't was strange. no answer could he find. fretted and vexed, he rode the whole long day, this mystery revolving in his mind, longing yet dreading the returning hour, when seven days hence he hither must return,seven days of struggle with an unknown power, a secret he would almost dread to learn. the days grew ages as the time advanced; and when again he neared the haunted spot, a thousand shapes before his vision danced, nor was one single agony forgot of that dread week. but wonder! hark! again the trees were singing and the mountain's voice rang out a song in a familiar strain in notes so sweet he could not but rejoice. the echo song, once more we hear it ringing, as rock and mountain fondled with the song, and through the trees a scarf to him was swinging, while merry laugh her stanzas did prolong. startled, he roused him from his revery, — so unexpected and so sweet the song,spurred on his steed, giving the bridle free. the fleeting moments now were doubly long. iii she seems the very soul of all the place. and harken to the song! through the great trees, a constant flood of melody we trace, her happy soul is floating on the breeze. ―――――――― echo song echoes! echoes! hear them moving, like the wood-doves when a-loving! sweeter sounds had never voice, words did never more rejoice. echoes! hear their gentle measure, what a lover's heart might treasure. and all life doth seem to move in a very world of love. and all nature is rejoicing! rocks and trees their joys are voicing! laden with so sweet a song, everything has found a tongue! everything has learned the measure that a lover's heart could treasure, and all life doth seem to move in a very world of love! i 12 why? we listen. hear the echo in a thousand gentle strains give in song our words. the echo bears away all sound that pains. nothing but the sweetest measure, naught but lover's heart could treasure, and all life doth seem to move in a very world of love! now she ceases, all is still save the clatter of the hoof. answer, echo, if you will, thou art worthy of reproof. where's the treasure in thy keeping? echo, thou art surely sleeping; no clear bugle wakes thy tongue; surely thou hast missed the song. where's the note thy members move? hast thou lost the tone of love? then is gone thy richest treasure, — thing of price beyond a measure,— thou but murmuring shadows move, lost without the note of love! he left the road to cross a nearer way o'er sandy reaches of the empty stream, 113 he stops in wonder. how could he delay. in crystal pool he caught a yellow gleam, a treasure trove, a long, rich, golden chain. he took the links, held up the golden prize, and with light heart he hastened on again. to her the trophy will be glad surprise. the links were smooth, and all the cunning art embossed or graved upon them now gives space to grooves so deep they almost fall apart. a golden locket barely kept its place; and it is gold, and he had ne'er before held in his hand a thing of so much art, or seen such marvel in the precious ore. the locket, too, was shaped like golden heart. he held it as a child holds new-found toy, and with new pain urged on again his steed. greeting his love, he held the chain so coy that it might prove a full surprise indeed. he swung it o'er her head, and the rich links fell in sweet grace and glistened on her breast. startled at first, feeling the chill, she shrinks; but seeing it, she fondly lets it rest. he quite forgot, while in her sunny smile, the weary hours that moved with laggard pace, 114 leaped from the saddle, made his knee a stile by which she quickly mounted in his place. "tardy, my love. so long upon the way. the bugle lost, or has it lost its tongue ?" it was forgotten! the first time to-day, and until now mute at his saddle hung. he gave it to her. she in sport essayed to wake the echo, but the uncouth sound that blurted out, her want of skill betrayed, awakened laughter that the echo found. ha, ha! ha, ha! the trees awake, the zephyrs shake, the hidden powers are calling. ha, ha! ha, ha! ha, ha! her soul in love is swelling, and all the beauties that are here ha, ha! limpid as water falling! in sweetest charms of life appear, in gentle laughter ringing. the grandest symphony we hear, ten thousand voices singing, in nature's richest dwelling. ha, ha! ha, ha! ha, ha! is ringing out so clear her heart's full story telling. and her young heart, so running o'er with love and honest joy when he is at her side, 115 held the full moments as they swiftly move. of pleasure, it was life's incoming tide, and all that was before of toil and care became as nothing to his beating heart. she rode. he walking, held her hand so fair. it was true love without a taint of art. there was enough to give their tongues employ. the hour appointed comes with ceaseless tread,a time to them so full of promised joy. now scarce a month e'er they are to be wed. much she would tell him, for she had no other patient companion who could take her care. could he be like a sister or a brother, how light her very hardest load to bear. her trousseau finished. oh, for other eyes to tell her were it lacking in a grace! the wedding dress, her father's own surprise, her mother's gift trimmed with such dainty lace. what would she give, if she could tell him all! to her so wonderful, for ne'er before did such possessions to her fortune fall, — for she but homespun of their weaving wore. — 116 xvii they neared her father's door. another party galloped up the road,a portly stranger now beyond his prime, with servant who attentive near him stood. at the same time ―――――― he saw the two, and as in great surprise looked long at mary, and eager in his care spoke to himself, while tears bedimmed his eyes, and all his features wore a look of care. then spake aloud addressing the fair one, "my daughter, can it be that i have found thee in this forest? then my work is done. life will for me again in love abound. oh! fear me not, i pray; but let me see the secret of that locket and the chain." she gave it to him. then he said, “ must be; this is the lost, my daughter once again." his fingers found the secret hidden spring, the golden heart was in his palm in twain, a miniature appeared, alas! to bring the hidden past with all its care again. it was a piece of most exquisite art, a sweet young girl like mary's face indeed, 117 in features true, almost a counterpart. "for me," he said, "the picture is to plead. pray, look upon her and the painted toy. she is her mother's second self so fair. could she but know me, what a world of joy that i again a daughter's love could share!" crawford, near by, in blank amazement stood. the past came back with all its scenes so wild. this key unlocked the secret of the flood, the mother's corpse, the little helpless child. his heart was full. all his nature strove to put himself into the stranger's place. at length he spake, "kind sir, no further rove. remain and solve the riddle of this face. i bid you stay and with me be at rest. your daughter lives and is not far away. whether 't is she or mary, you may best as father claimant with assurance say." he gave him briefly the whole history of flood and fire and hermit. then he said, "the long years since are full of mystery. our lives with mary are inwrought with dread; for in the wild-wood by the merest chance, a hundred times and in a hundred places, we meet, or truer only catch a glance of her sweet face. and yet there are two faces, 118 for mary always meets me with a smile. her eyes are ever beaming full of love, so simple and so free from every guile; her daily life does in my living move. these hoary hands, so tempered hard with toil, feel the soft pressure of her dewy palm, nor could she from my sunburned cheek recoil. her presence always brings me peace and calm; but, somehow, oft of late, i see her double, another, quite as fair and young as she but cold to me. it is a world of trouble to see, yet know not what the ill can be. and such a wealth of dresses, my poor store could never purchase them and jewels rare as her slim fingers in such beauty wore. a lady bred as fine as she seemed fair. the face i knew, for like as like could be to yon fair face now colored in the sun. and though so kind, she seemed aloof from me, above me, as the stars their courses run. "but there is one thing that these passing years has not erased from my poor memory, where once in rust a witching mole appears on dimpled cheek." the old man started. "see! a mother's mark. none who had never seen could paint the features your kind words portray! 119 this mark for us a beauty spot has been. to me 't was more," he added by the way, "for when she came a babe about our hearth, and we decided she should be our own, and the two children be of equal worth, in all our love to us be only one, this dainty mark, this little ashen spot, had caught mine eye and burned into my heart, and through these years could never be forgot. save this, the two could not be told apart. "'t is fifteen years since the relentless flame burned these rough furrows in my beardless face,— fifteen long years, she left us as she came, when we were deep in trouble's rough embrace. it was but little and but vague we learned from mary, who was from us a full year, when she so strangely to us was returned, except to feel the other one was near. i have no doubt that with the morrow's sun we will get trace of her, and it may be e'er it another circling course has run her supple form thy longing eyes may see. "but have no fear, for she is guarded well. no ill could ever dare to cross her path, shielded by him, the hermit of the dell. 120 who sought her harm would meet relentless wrath." the old man said, ""t is well. thy words, forsooth, in this one secret bear the royal seal, the signature of our unquestioned truth. thy friendship needs not from thee an appeal. "but bear with me, for i have much to tell. all until now was dreadful mystery. for eighteen years no word has broke the spell that held enthralled my loved ones' history. i parted with them at my english home, and bade them godspeed far beyond the sea. "i wait and waited, but no tidings come. not e'en a word was told me but by thee. and now i know my years are almost gone, and all my lands, my wealth, and e'en my name, have neither heir nor heiress save this one. these all are waiting only for her claim. "yes, the fair acres of good english soil, and the great castle that protects the same, the loyal tenantry whose willing toil and honest care is for their master's name, – all is for one alone, this orphan child, this waif, this shadow, this the hermit's care, this almost spirit in the mountains wild. 121 can i believe it? can i shall i dare?" o'ercome, he sinking bowed his snowy head. but hark! a shriek was through the valley ringing! a clanking hoof, followed by stealthy tread in close pursuit, e'en to the saddle clinging. it was the hermit and the one pursued. the uncouth villain held in his embrace a struggling girl, and held by him so rude, though mounted, he was second in the race. now foiled in fury he unsheathed a knife, but e'er he struck, unhorsed we see him fall. the two were locked, engaged in deadly strife. a single furious moment covered all, and e'er great crawford who with instant speed reached them to help, the sanguine work was done! the hermit seemed the victor there, indeed; but see his life in gushing throbbings run! his bony hand is on the villain's throat in grasp of death, his knee is on his breast. they saw the face in livid colors bloat, the strangled monster was in death at rest. they raised the maiden and the hermit too, but now past help, his glassy eyes bespeak how little more was left for him to do. his grasp he yielded not, though faint and weak, 122 till mary came and kneeling took his hand. he smiling said, "for you, whate'er it be, life was worth living, long as it could stand protector of such lovely girls as thee, this mary crawford" but e'er all was said in throes of death he sank at mary's feet. his strange life done, and now his spirit fled, whate'er its purpose, it is now complete. the villain's corpse, now rigid, hard, and cold, was not neglected, though with bated breath, crawford in him did sullen guest behold, the thankless charge, the one he saved from death, the only man that he had ever feared. not for his strength, or skill, or for his might, not for himself, or who he was, he cared,— but for the lowering look that caught his sight. he had him buried, in the darkness late, wrapped in a blanket so that none should know that he had saved from wolves for such a fate so mean a cur to every good a foe. the hermit's corpse receives their tender care. they watched as friends would watch by kindred dear, and as for kindred they did all things prepare, and wept as nearest mourners by the bier. 123 xviii all this so strange (as well the dreadful race) must need explaining. now, for fifteen years of this fair girl we have not had a trace, her life unknown, her pleasures, or her tears. ―――――――― it is a tangled skein and fancy leaves to us a web with shuttle but half thrown; or like a glimpse when the quick lightning cleaves the sombre cloud over a land unknown. and what we see of so much mystery was but a ruse of the old hermit's mind, so strange, i will relate a history and why the maid was to such life inclined. and why so fearless she should act such fearful part, tempting the tempter, seemingly alone. hers was a stratagem of subtle art, to lure a traitor where his schemes were known. he came for vengeance and he came prepared, knowing full well where mary's love would lead her through the forest, e'en the path she shared with her betrothed, a rosy path indeed. steam aren 124 falls of ammonoosuc tsaf to seize and bind her to an untamed horse, mizpah-like, was fashioned in his mind. had he been able his purpose to enforce, no harder chase from dogs had panting hind. here is the sequel. the old hermit's eye had caught him lurking. we may now recite the fancy strange of plotting. he will try in his own coin the traitor to requite. the hermit's charge, his ever guarded care, — she the foster daughter of the wood, what he proposed, never refused to dare; what she might dare, he her protector stood. ――― and the wild ride! these meshes she inwove with dainty hands about the captive's way,— meshes of death, knit by the hands of love. the victim feared, yet hoping made delay; knew he was captive and yet no shackles feels; a prisoner, yet not a bar was raised; a coming dread the moment but conceals in all he saw or heard he was amazed. for a whole week he found himself alone with this young girl, who curled her lip in scorn when in his face a sign of passion shone. 125 one look from her sufficient was to warn. he was a captive, yet without a chain,a week a captive, in the forest wild, to her his prey. to seize her was in vain. and yet, why so? she was a simple child. she brought him food, yet held him as a beast, throwing the savory viands at his feet, in proud contempt she left him to the feast, with less of care than any dog would meet. ――― thus days go by. his plans e'er born were foiled. to leave without her were to fail indeed, but every plot by some mischance was spoiled. do what he would, her purposes would lead. and now, at length, quite goaded to despair he takes his horses stamping at his side, with settled purpose either one shall bear him and his victim in a fearful ride. he sees her coming and in stealth is creeping beneath a bush that reaches o'er her path. but see! a panther huge beside her leaping! her gentle hand subdues its eager wrath. "" “ha, ha,” she said, "you thought i came alone, but pretty puss is ready for the play! taunted, his eyes in desperate fury shone. "panther or devil! thou shalt be my prey." 126/ erect he stands, a human fiend in wrath. the human eyes the panther's fairly meet. the beast was cowed and groveled in the path, before those eyes slunk back in base retreat. the human fiend, surprised at his own power, turned full his fury on the trembling prey (with looks so fierce well might a panther cower) and hissed, "with more than panther thou shalt play!" and more than panther rose up in his path, the hermit wild, with locks as white as snow, and eyes aflame in fury and in wrath. his long white beard did o'er his shoulders flow. but poorly had he weighed the weight of years, to meet a fiend angry and in his prime. they locked in fury, but again appears how more than strong is passion urged by crime. ― the brutal victor grasped the helpless girl, mounted his steed and in a breath was flying as flies the wintry wind in whistling whirl, cursing to hear his victim's helpless crying. but a wild and winding mountain path gave to the hermit ample time to meet and wait for them and nurse his eager wrath, and plan this scheme of vengeance to defeat. 127 we know the sequel. near the cabin door, the hermit old, shorn by the hand of time, became in nerve what he had ne'er before, and lithe as panther in his youth and prime sprang from the roadside on the flying steed, grasping the rider, choking back his breath. nor from that grip could the old hand be freed until the ruthless villain fell in death. he then gave up his charge, his blessing said, and sank in throes of death at mary's feet! and now his strange life done, his spirit fled, whate'er its aim, its work was now complete! the fair young girl, hurled like a fragrant bough from the great forest, trembling at their feet, a resting-place was well provided now, as sweet a home as one could care to meet. and at their hearth with all their kindly arts she will recover and in tenderness a daughter found be taken to their hearts with every care to lighten her distress. and it were many days e'er yet again the bloom of health was painted on her cheek, or that she learned of her protector slain, or how sir thomas came his heir to seek. 128 but she had learned to love him day by day, and call him father, he so kind did prove, no wish of hers in answer had delay, to watch and tend her was his work of love. and word by word in softest accents fell the broken story of her baby years, with earnest hope that something he might tell would give a gleam as to a ship appears the long-left port with mist and fog between,shorn of the light; but broken glimmer gives clue to the harbor till its glinting sheen opens the way to where the dear one lives. he spoke of home, his voyage 'cross the sea, and the great city, boston, when a gleam of living interest in her face we see. she said, "of such i have a wondrous dream! methinks i see it, in the tangled strand of memory like sheen on yonder river. so far it stretches like a silver band, and then again in golden ripples quiver. awake, i see it and 't is in my mind that the great city's near the water side; a broken wall, and yet so undefined, i seem to see it on the waters ride. i see a grove of lofty slender trees. but ever strange, their leaves are never green, www.comm 129 although they sway and swing in every breeze. clambering o'er them busy men are seen, and such an uproar, such a hum of voices! a thousand sounds in clamor seem to rise, a thousand tongues, and yet not one rejoices! i see and hear, and then the vision dies. "is this like boston? very well i know it is as vague as any of my dreams, but somehow strangely my thoughts do ever go to this one picture, it so real seems. "and many times i've stood beneath yon cliff, looked up its stony sides and fancied there houses of stone so great and high, as if men had the power such a wondrous work to dare. i've heard of castles too and of the sea, of lands and towns beyond the forest wild; but until now it never came to me how strange it all must be to forest child." "how strangely true," they heard the old man say, "time weaves a veil into whose mesh are wrought the various scenes that meet us in the way, and with the bitter, almost quite forgot. 'tis memory's star whose long receding beam glints o'er the clouds and mists of crowding years, 130 shaping the past like to a fairy dream, leaping the valleys that are full of fears. "who knows the secret in the loom before woven for her and cherished for my sake, — treasures my own and yet another's store, a web that only angry winds may shake. "almost a blank, the dim receding edge of memory sees but the landing stage, yet of her lineage this may be a pledge. what might have been does not her thoughts engage. i'll not disturb them. let the blank remain. years in the forest without school or care she shall amend and i fear not attain by native shrewdness what there is to share." reared in the forest, she had early learned that evil might put on the robes of light, that viper's fang lay 'neath the leaves she turned, that danger walked by daylight as at night. she looked into the face of human smiles, just as she looked into the crystal stream, and saw beneath the pebbles there were wiles and monsters ugly as we see in dreams. and she had learned that life had studied part, knew good from evil, and knew well her art. 131 need i say more? more? our fancy might reveal unwritten pages of the fair one's life, a thread that only poets may unreel, gems gathered only in the sieve of strife, links in the chain of so much mystery, with him the hermit, but a shadow yet; who may record his broken history? who will his life in noble picture set? 't was she the hermit rescued from the flood, and then, again, with mary from the flame. he risked his life to save her in the wood, and then he left her without care or shame. we know the children in their artless ways had touched the old compassion in his breast, and wakened in him thoughts of other days, striking a chord that would not let him rest. his life till then had been an empty span, a vagary of selfish will and pride. in proud contempt he held his fellow man, lived for a vow and nothing else beside. a full year's struggle racked and jarred his heart, — a year of war with every kindly thought. duty and love and charity took part, and yet for self against them all he fought. he wandered far like restless beast of prey, but, somehow, ever found himself returning 132 e'en to the place he left them in the way, in anxious thought their circumstances learning. and when he learned that crawford still was living, he took upon himself to judge when best he might return their own, a child worth giving, as if their good was at his own behest. the other child, so little as we know, when even young of disposition strange, showed her wild passion by an angry blow, in growing up, her daring did not change. she grew more hardy with her added years, and being cunning, used her wily art to find the hermit where his trail appears; and when she found him she besieged his heart, would not release or let him leave her side. go where he might, she was as fleet as he. though to evade her every scheme he tried, the hermit's daughter she was bound to be. could we have seen her, then, ten years ago, one of six children in the cabin door, near where the ammonoosuc's waters flow, that she was stranger there we might be sure. six summers old, tall and slim and straight, with hazel eyes that sparkle in the light, and waving tresses that could dare to mate 133 with the fair beams that shimmer in the night. in garb of coarse blue linen home-spun stuff, her shapely feet bare all the summer day (moccasins and stockings were enough when the cold sleet stole all the flowers away). she had grown hardy and for two long years, had been well cared for by these honest folk. her wildness oft excited many fears, and yet to chide her only worse bespoke. she'd steal the rifle, drag it to the wood, and little matter to her what the game, bear, wolf, or deer, her nerve and aim were good, diana never empty-handed came. she tamed the beasts and they as fondlings played, like fawning kittens, ever at her side, came at her call, and her behests obeyed, frolicked about her in their sport and pride. watch as they might, yet she outwitted all, she knew each path and whither it might lead, the name of every brook, the ford, the fall, in thickest forest or in fairest mead. and like the wily savage she had learned the faintest marking of a secret trail. even the hermit's footsteps she discerned. his utmost cunning was of no avail. -134 ༦༥༨པ pamph m זן hermit's fall (... e.l. smyth. she knew his secret hiding and could tell just where to find him, be it night or day, his cherished secrets she knew quite as well as he, who thought none living could betray. "my foster father." see his flowing beard. she gently strokes it now bestrewn with gray. "these cheeks so seldom by a smile are cheered i fear me reason soon will lose its sway. it cannot be, so true and good a soul has not in common something with the race. dismiss these whims that have thee in control, and take a fairer fellow in their place." 't was a strange picture; in a fretful mood she came upon him, though he tried to fly, a laughing, teasing naiad she stood, revealing secrets he could not deny. "ha! ha!" she said, " you think me but a child,— a girl at that, — a weak and puny thing, dreaming yourself in freedom here so wild. but now, my bird, 't is i will clip thy wing. "i need no chain to hold thy roving feet when thou art limping, and at best must be guest of the winds. know i am quite as fleet! you must not think to flee or hide from me. 135 "i have a riddle which if thou wilt guess the spells i use will be all plain to thee; and that i hold thee, thou wilt wonder less than that i e'er permit thee to be free! "a flock of birds that once on fleetest wing cut the blue ether with their pinions bright, were caged, because in joy they dared to sing, and kept imprisoned from the world of light. by some hard chance, a child was thither brought into the dungeon deep and dark and cold; its helplessness the jailor's pity caught. he swung the shutters that were gray with mould. against his will he did it, but he said, 'duty is deaf to everything but one. who is not lost, to me is surely dead; but who is lost, my help and life hath won. the shame, though bitter, never was my own. the curse i bear was brought upon my head e'er i was born, and left to me alone. bastard with life, and yet am dead!"" "riddle indeed," the hermit started, saying "a witch's riddle, for it doth reveal its very answer perfectly portraying what in a riddle one would most conceal. 136 witch thou must be. and you would here again loosen the bolts and open wide the door, freeing the birds that flutter to my pain? let me get hence and never see thee more! "love, hope, and pity, how they beat the bars of my poor heart in struggle to be free! how pride against them all in fury jars! how malice comes and makes a fiend of me !" "poor wandering hermit, let me see those tears." she took his hand, looking into his eyes, they are the first that crossed those cheeks in years. "they will not sting, if love may wipe them dry. let me, thy daughter, get into thy breast, draw every bolt and make thee free indeed! instead of sorrow, ler me be thy guest! the birds will sing again when they are freed!" is it in words to picture such a scene, deep in the shadow of the forest wild, youth and old age, with many years between? broken, he listens to the pleading child. "it may be so, thou hast the golden key," now the first smile that moved his face for years 137 in quivering lines about his eyes we see, when with her hair she wipes away the tears. "if one so cruel and so mean as i can be thy father, all i have is thine!" his heavy wallet meets her wondering eye, and through its meshes, golden tokens shine. he hands it to her, saying, "daughter fair, take this and use it as thy needs may prove. i have no home that's fit for thee to share, in building one for me, thou 'lt prove thy love." ― "and now, my father, that we both are free, though poorly skilled in the refined of life, so quick to learn, perhaps, i may yet be as polished as the fairest in the strife. shake off the past. a creeping worm, perchance, may loose the tendrils of the clinging vine, that shades the oak from every seeming glance that comes with blessing from a hand divine.” "hark! prattling child. do you not know your art? what's new in thee, in me is cold and bare, the very thing that quickest fires thy heart, in me is but a weary load of care. i never knew what was a mother's love, 138 a father's smile was sinister on his face, a brother's hand a robber's clutches prove, and life to me was only a disgrace. i loved and fondly all my hopes were wrapped in the one object dearer than my life; bastard she learned. ne'er deeper chasm gaped or hatred spurned a foe in bitterer strife. the world grew little. every winking eye or taunting smile that crossed the human face was pointed at me, as they passed me by, and everything seemed mocking my disgrace. the rest is simple. here for forty years, i lived and listened to the sighing wood, • a life so simple, free from all my fears, though vain perchance, i'm happy in the good." "cease thy complaints. oh, listen while i speak! my life has not been stranger to thy sight. where could a mother, father, brother seek more than thy care to guard me in the right.” she thus continued in her sweetest mood to plead with all the fervor of her heart, such simple truths in words so kind and good, so deep and tender, yet without an art. "what have i known that could to virtue move, or shape the simplest actions of my life? 139 and what, pray tell me, do you mean by love, else than a feeling that's opposed to strife?" is life these moments that so laggard move like uncouth cattle in a crooked lane, plucking the newborn grass they so much love, then stumble on in crooked path again,in lazy motion to the closed gate where they impatient as we mortals wait? wait! wait! wait! the farmer comes so slow, the moments drag as if could never be that this one barrier opes to let them through, or lagging tyrant comes to set them free. ―――――――― 't is but a moment, yet what rush and strife! the only moment when these beasts have life. they saunter now or loiter as they please, in the rich pasture that 's before them spread some feed, some sleep, they seem to take their ease. free, they are calm without the least of dread. so with our moments, as they move along, if all our own they seem a gentle song. v 140 xix "is s this not love, the tiny drops that cling to dewy leaf and sparkle in the light? a thousand pictures glint their brilliant sides! a thousand motions move their swaying tides! a world is there with all its themes so bright until away it flies on diamond wing, to gladden more the waiting, drooping flower, and bring to life the children of the night, a life of love and love in all its power." a strange, kind look came o'er his wrinkled face at mary's most ingenuous soliloquy. picture of something from the past we trace, for only love could such a look betray. "true, we may live a hundred years and feel our pleasures but begun until our joy well up in tears and all our senses beat as one, the heart, the soul, the life, the will spring into being that may be greater than all the worlds can fill, a universe of ecstacy! all that we know but baubles seem, all that we have at best is mean, ――――― ― 141 in this our precious moment's dream, and this one dream be purest love! "it may be life to live as we are living, keep all we get and get all that we can, be like the world so chary in our giving, enough that we are like our fellow man! we may be wise and love the human race, and think our counsel should its wisdom be, and slap old nature squarely in the face who has made them as good as you or me! "it costs but little thus our hearts to move. what are our words but passing wasted breath? what are our thoughts without the stamp of love, but flitting phantoms leading on to death? but love is welcome at each turning gate of toil or sorrow or when all is done: e'en at the last, love for us still will wait, when all things else are faded, lost, and gone." 't would be a tedious story to repeat the words that passed between them at that hour. the artless girl was innocence complete, the questions asked tried all the hermit's power. she broke the meshes that had thralled his heart, in reticence and mystery so long. 142 he felt himself of something else a part. she swept away the memory of his wrong. he felt the sunshine and he saw the flowers; the world was brighter; time was speeding on; the day to him again was marked by hours; life had a purpose, something to be done. now for a dozen years, his withered heart had left the fondling to a bitter life, deeming her shrewdness but the wiles of art, — her nobleness but proper thing for strife. and she had grown almost to womanhood, in ignorance of all that could refine. but now before him she in beauty stood, so wise, so fair, she almost seemed divine. xx the wedding morning midsummer's morning and the early sky, bedecked with glory, gathers in the stars. across the mountains glint the golden bars. the rays like flocks of winged jewels fly. the valley glows in a reflected beam, an emerald as set in gems of light 143 more soft and fair, and yet more fairly bright than any crystal by itself could gleam. the hush is broken, and in joyous song a thousand tongues give welcome to the day, a thousand tones in one grand symphony are ringing now, the welcome to prolong. nature is glad, and in its rejoicing the mountains laugh and streamlets fleck their faces; the old gray rocks have gold put on in places; even the wind its softest theme is voicing. it is the wedding morning and we meet the country parson with his old gray mare in ample season that he may be there, he and his nag were never counted fleet, except at times when circumstances move. the sick, the dying, the penitent in prayer needing his help, then was he surely there, and always prompt when at the call of love. ―――――― this morning he was in most cheerful mood, singing from watts, in scales from mendelssohn, so full of joy, as he was riding on, as to awake the music of the woods. 144 a royal chorus in so strange a place, a white-birch forest; and 't is said that here the only groves of such great trees appear, so great, so many uncouth shapes we trace. tree from whose bark the savage with rude art shapes his canoe of such light, fairy form, which serves to shelter him and his from storm, found elsewhere in the forest, far apart. here all are birches, weird, crooked, tall, white glistening trunks, as if in silver sheen, ragged and tattered where the wind has been, all stand aslant as if about to fall. ――――― the paper birch, whose shiny, smooth, white rind splits to a hundred soft, clear, creamy sheets, fragrant and sweet, where lover's pencil meets as dainty welcome it could ever find. and the dear letter where pure love is told on nature's tablet is of far more worth than any paper found upon the earth, or any billet ever bought with gold. the long, lone, crooked road by brookside led. the parson deep in musing and his song ――――― 145 whips the old mare and bids her get along, the sun proclaims the hour is near indeed. he sees a horseman through the birches moving, careless and slowly, on the lonely road, so deeply musing he almost thinks aloud, absorbed in something, all his motions proving. his horse takes fright and startled now is leaping, throwing his burden. now the cause of fear we see. there came a noble, bounding deer, swiftly his track along the roadside keeping. the good old preacher comes to his relief, finds him unhurt, says, " god is good, my friend! yes, god is good, his acts to humans tend to make us love him, strengthen our belief." "i am not injured, and it is not far to crawford's at the notch, beyond the glen." "well, ride with me, for i am going there, and thou shalt share in happy pleasures then." they chatted by the way of such wild things as brought the accident, and the good providence, praising the lord in all the good he brings, and for our soul, the best of evidence. they reach the cabin; the wild steed is there, 146 and e'er they neared it, help was on the way to learn the harm, or who might need their care, and urge the good old parson on his way. the stranger nears the door, and strange but true, two faces, and alike, two forms the same! that one he had offended well he knew, but which were she he had not power to name. if she were lovely when he saw her last, these were angelic, o, so wondrous fair! so like, so lovely, were their glances cast, he almost feared a dream had led him there! and now he sees standing at crawford's side, a grand old man who knew him from his birth, his father's friend beyond the ocean-tide. they greet each other as of equal worth. a picture true, as near to crawford's side the elder started, looks him in the face, the younger went and stood beside the bride, "what! sir francis, are you in this place?" "indeed, my lord, as you are here, i move and would abide here could it ever be that i could find favor with my love, so cruel has it surely been to me." 147 "tut! tut! my boy! it only seems a day! now full five years you left your english home, and such a strapping lad, so lithe and gay! this is our alice. we must take her home, and this is mary, mary of the glen, – a pair of royal twins and one a bride." "yes," said the elder, “but what might have been "what might, may be.” he hastens to her side. "god must be good, it surely cannot be that providence has two so like, so fair, and neither one of them be good to me! that were unjust to leave me in despair. god must be good, as we revere his name, mary's a bride i know, but hear my plea, mary, her double, too, must be the same! and grant it, lord, that she be bride to me." << indeed, sir francis," then the elder said, "what might have been, as surely yet may be!" he by his friend was to the lady led. "this lady alice, in her love is free, this mary crawford, and her noble mate, the rest we leave to love's sweet, living touch." their eyes are quick, they hasten the debate, if such were needed, and there was not much, "" 148 for smiling eyes and crimson cheeks proclaim all love could be all that the hearts could hold. one meeting only, two brides, two grooms the same, and now my story is told. you more; 't were time ill spent if i should tell my story ends as all good stories do, if they to nature happen to be true; "all's well that ends well," we were told of 149 yore. į spc коче ps 2833 ну тус 201 351 the old mountain hermit raymond the old mountain hermit james f. raymond -------1 james f. raymond. the old catain hornit heru shing til void the old mountain hermit by james f. raymond 0. new york: broadway publishing company copyrighted, 1904, by james f. raymond. all rights reserved. 1 contents. page chapter i. joe and the colonel. 1 chapter ii. yoscph repays his master. 7 chapter iii. yoseph's wonderful discovery. 12 chapter iv. colonel ashburton's return.. 20 chapter v. a strange being... 25 chapter vi. homeward bound.. 32 chapter vii. paradise 35 chapter viii. fashioning the woman.. 39 chapter ix. paradise in its full meaning .... 43 chapter x. interview between the maiden and the serpent continued 52 chapter xi. the penalty of disobedience. 56 vi contents. page chapter xii. the beasts take their departure.... 65 chapter xiii. looking for a new home.... 75 chapter xiv. the marriage. ३ ga 80 chapter xv. interview between the master and aristides...... 87 chapter xvi. the deluge, as told by the histriographer, jubal. 92 chapter xvii. the ark's living freight... 96 chapter xviii. disembarking from the ark.. 99 chapter xix. consultation relative to a tower.... 105 chapter xx. commencement of the tower. ... 109 chapter xxi. confusion of tongues.. 112 chapter xxii. leave of absence for the colonel. .... 121 chapter xxiii. the outward bound voyage... ... 124 chapter xxiv. exploration 128 chapter xxv. startling revelations..... 131 contents vii page chapter xxvi. the catastrophe..... 135 chapter xxvii. returning to england. .... 141 chapter xxviii. forthcoming events.... 146 chapter xxix. doomed 149 chapter xxx. the shipwreck.. 154 chapter xxxi. rescued 161 chapter xxxii. startling disclosures.. 171 chapter xxxiii. a strange people. 173 chapter xxxiv. “coming events cast their shadows before".... 180 chapter xxxv. trouble ahead. 186 191 chapter xxxvi. in a quandary. chapter xxxvii. tanawarga dethroned..... 197 chapter xxxviii. the newly chosen king..... 203 chapter xxxix. seated in high places. 212 viii contents. page chapter xl. my wits still at loggerheads. 220 chapter xli. return to the capitol and its result... 227 chapter xlii. looking into matters... 233 chapter xliii. i make a speech. 236 chapter xliv. the captain pays me a visit...... 246 chapter xlv. after three years.. 256 chapter xlvi. i nearly lose my senses. 258 chapter xlvii. breakfast ... 273 chapter xlviii. the journey. 277 chapter xlix. my fate sealed.... 281 chapter l. the end of the journey. 285 chapter li. war of the giants.. 288 chapter lii. in close quarters. 295 chapter liii. a visit to genevra... 297 the old mountain hermit introduction. chapter i. joe and the colonel. now be it known in explanation, relative to the relations existing between colonel ashburton and myself,for we were friends of long standing,-he an officer in the british army, i a young lawyer, peradventure not an overly good one, but, be this as it may, had taken an office, nailed over the outer door a sheet of tin whereon in golden letters was inscribed, "joseph lindley, attorney and counsellor at law, ; resolved to do or die in the attempt. indeed, i had no alternative, for with me it was one of those cases where a fellow may swim if he can, sink if he must. at the same time i felt fairly well assured that if i could only get a foothold the chances were largely in favor of the forbut before setting down to work-not particularly tedious at the outset, as i was fain to believe, for i had not only a name to make but clients to secure as well, the one a necessary adjunct of the other—i thought to take a day off, journeying to a neighboring town, ostensibly to visit relatives, 2 the old mountain hermit. a really to see a young lady to whom i hoped, on this especial occasion, to become engaged, ultimately making her my wife. having fulfilled my mission, with attending results all that i could have anticipated, or even desired, i had, on this morning, returned fully prepared for business, but finding my friend—the colonel—the hero of the hour, resolved to make him a visit, the interview terminating as will ere long be disclosed. cigars lighted, an injunction relative to the disposition of my pedal extremities complied with, the colonel, after a few moments' reflection, said: "you will doubtless remember, joe, that away back in the seventies the regiment i have the honor of commanding was ordered to the east indies for the purpose, as at the time alleged, of looking after an outbreak by the natives. "arrangements made, arms, ammunition and provisions on board, farewells spoken-tearful in many instances, for the boys were leaving their sweethearts behind—the regiment embarked, soon thereafter setting sail. the voyage was tiresome in the extreme, for india, joe, is a long distance away. "disembarking, the line of march was at once taken up, but on reaching the point in question we found nothing to do, the insurrection, or whatever name it went by, having been put down, and as the natives now seemed peaceably inclined, the little army was established both for occupation and observation, though in regard to the former we certainly had little enough to occupy our attention; as to the latter, our observation was the old mountain hermit. 3 limited to the one who held the best hand in écarté, euchre or seven up, but it was not a great while before i was raised to the rank of captain, thence through successive gradations, to that of colonel. it all coming about from a little matter of duty by way of assisting to capture a lawless gang of freebooters, a holy terror to the whole country thereabout, but notwithstanding this, i was at the time inclined to the belief that yellow fever was a notable adjunct of my rapid promotion-providential dispensation, some were wont to affirm. “but to return: remaining in camp for a considerable time, nothing out of the common run transpiring to engage our attention, for you must know that soldier life is monotonous enough at the best, the days constantly becoming more wearisome, the heat increasing in like ratio, so, in order to effect some change having a more agreeable tendency, thereby contributing to the relief of my downcast spirits, i proposed to my servant, yoseph, that we take a day off for hunting. “this yoseph of whom i speak, was not only a native, but, as i was credibly informed, a huntsman of no mean reputation, and withal a good companion, for he had been the recipient of fortune's favors, in so far at least as concerned a fair education, and was, therefore, much better informed than most of those in similar condition. not only this, but he was said to have a tinge of royal blood in his veins; so, taken altogether, as a servant and companion, he was all that could be desired. "on a morning, just as the sun was climbing up from beyond a distant mountain range, we set out, 4 the old mountain hermit. a a pack of well-trained hounds accompanying us, yelping their delight at what promised a fine day's sport. "the day passed, nothing of special note occurring to mar the pleasure, on the contrary, everything in its favor, for we not only found game in plenty, but filled our bags to repletion. so along toward sunset we turned back on the homeward route. “the day had been uncommonly fine, the heated · atmosphere tempered by the sea breeze, along the shore of which our course mostly led, and we were, as might be expected, in exuberant spirits. “about five o'clock, while riding leisurely along, the hounds, finding nothing better to do, were constantly running their noses into all sorts of out-ofthe-way places in effort to stir up some unsuspecting quarry, when all of a sudden there arose a terrible commotion mingled with cries of anger and howls of pain, the tumult evidently arising from a densely massed thicket on our left. “'aha! my brave hounds, you've doubtless stirred up more than you bargained for,' an inference a little later confirmed by the appearance of a huge bengal tiger, who, springing from out the thicket, fastened himself to the flank of selim, thence forward in the direction of your humble servant, who, no less frightened than his trembling steed, was engaged in looking for a place of safety but with little prospect of success; and, joe, i can truthfully assert, that while i have faced many a frowning battery, never in my whole life did i consider myself in so great danger as at that precise moment, nor do i think it detracting from the old mountain hermit. 5 one's courage to admit that i was never before so thoroughly frightened. “at this juncture, yoseph, cool and collected, as was his usual wont, flung himself on the bloodthirsty beast, receiving in return a crushed arm; for the brute without so much 'as by your leave,' turned on his aggressor and grasped his right arm, and the life of my devoted friend wouldn't have been worth a penny dip had not a well-aimed shot from my winchester laid the monster lifeless at selim's feet. "i now found myself in a peculiarly unwelcome predicament, for we were a long distance from camp, and how to transport my dangerously wounded companion was a difficult matter to decide. however, on the principle that where there is a will the way can, in almost every instance, be found, i adopted the latter by fixing on the saddle a pair of thick woollen blankets, and then strapped yoseph to the saddle-bow; for you see, joe, the flow of blood had so weakened his usually strong frame that it was hard to maintain an upright position, but, notwithstanding all these difficulties, midnight saw us safely in camp, yoseph placed in care of a surgeon, while as to myself, i was so exhausted i was only too glad to welcome my bed. “three long, tedious months did i keep watch and ward at my suffering comrade's bedside, ministering to his wants in every possible way, striving to alleviate his fearful sufferings, enhanced, as they necessarily must be, from the furious heat, until at length his wounds we healed and his arm saved. “on an uncommonly hot afternoon, yoseph slumbering in his hammock, as i supposed, while i 6 the old mountain hermit. lazily reclined in an easy chair turning the pages of a lately published novel-reading was out of the question-yoseph, who, as i shortly afterward discovered, was not sleeping, but simply cogitating, abruptly broke the silence and my reverie by saying: master, you have been uncommonly good to your poor servant, day after day sitting by his couch, even to the neglecting of your own interests for his welfare. moreover, by the help of allah, you have not only saved this good right arm, but his life as well. how, good master, can i recompense you, for surely such devotion ought not to go unrewarded ?' > the old mountain hermit. chapter ii. yoseph repays his master. a “ hearken closely to what i am about to say, master, for it is something i am persuaded you will be pleased to hear. know then, that eighteen months or more since, in company with three comrades i was traveling in a remote portion of the kingdom, when on an afternoon an hour or so before sunset, a roebuck sprang up at our feet and made his way across the plain apparently seeking shelter in the midst of a distant wood. “ 'taking little heed to the lateness of the hour we put spurs to our steeds, and, master, we had a long chase, and night had fallen ere the quarry was overtaken; in the meantime the sky had become overcast with dark, threatening clouds, which seemed to loom up on every side, and to which, much to our regret, we had not paid the least attention, but now, discovering the perilous situation, our minds were filled with doubt and foreboding lest we fail in securing the much needed shelter ere the storm break, which one could not fail to notice, was rapidly approaching. an enormous oak, however, was now sighted, so hurrying on we soon ained the coveted refuge and now came a flash and report that seemed to rend the "heavens in twain.' the shock was so violent that 8 the old mountain hermit. i was thrown to the ground, where, stunned and unconscious, i lay until the rain, falling in deluging sheets upon my exposed face, so contributed to my regaining consciousness that it was but a comparatively short space of time when i was able to sit up and look about me, but what was my consternation to behold my companions lying outstretched, who, upon examination, i found lifeless. and now to contribute to the horror of the situation, nightfall had approached, the darkness rendered thereby nearly total; moreover, and, to add to the discomfort, the rainfall was of a volume i had never before experienced. “ 'it was in this manner, affrighted and trembling, i remained, until i was overjoyed to find the tempest abating, when soon after the angry clouds broke, revealing a sea of blue above, around, a clear sky from out of which the moon shone with a lustre only seen in tropical latitudes; yet, look in whatsoever direction i would, not a trace of our previous route could i discern. i knew not where i was; i knew not which way to turn. alas! i was lost in the wilds of an uninhabited, unknown region. and now came the thought, "what am i to do ?” “ 'summoning up a resolution that never fails me in emergency, i studied the perplexing problem until it came to me that to remain where i now was would be the wiser course. indeed, i had no alternative, for to continue the journey by moonlight would only tend to lead me farther astray. so, unsaddling and tethering my good steed, i gave him plenty of rope that he might not go hungry for want of grass to nibble. i arranged my blankets, the old mountain hermit. 9 placed the saddle on the ground in lieu of a better pillow, then lay down under the wide-spreading branches of the towering oak, so lately witnessing the awful fate of my poor comrades, whose lifeless bodies lay exposed to my gaze, their uncovered faces scorched and blackened by the lightning's fierce blaze, the wide-open, upturned eyes, glazed and sightless, glaring toward the heavens above. in this manner i remained the long night through; the appearance of dawn i hailed with delight. ‘rising from my hard couch i replenished my nearly extinguished fire, removed the skin from the slain roebuck, then over the live coals broiled a few slices of steak. as selim had finished his breakfast and my own wants attended to, i stowed the remainder of the steak in my haversack, adjusted saddle and bridle, mounted, and sped in the direction i supposed would take me to the roadway previously traversed, but in this i was grievously mistaken, for on riding till near the close of the day i was almost bereft of my senses to find myself journeying in an entirely different direction to that i should have taken. here was a dilemma indeed, and just what to do was wholly out of the range of my calculations, for i had not the least knowledge of that part of the kingdom, and the farther i advanced the more my perplexity increased, for i was thoroughly well assured that i was leaving all trace of human existence behind. « convinced that indecision would in no wise avail, and that hesitation might prove fatal, i resolved to continue the present course, trusting the good offices of allah to extricate me from pending troubles, so giving selim the rein, i pushed on 10 the old mountain hermit. > in hope of reaching some friendly shelter ere nightfall, now swiftly advancing, should put a stop to further progress. upon a rough estimate of the distance traversed since the early morning i concluded that a good three-score miles intervened, so spurring on, i soon after observed a dark mass sharply outlined against a background of purplishhued sky, yet consequent on the great distance, i was unable to distinguish its character. " 'upon drawing nigh, however, i soon brought up against a gloomy, impenetrable jungle, whereupon i dismounted, picketed my weary steed, prepared supper, and afterward laid down for the night. « «you must know, good master, that i spent a considerable part of the night in warding off the wild beasts, who congregating at this particular point, were supposedly in the vicinity of water. thus the long night spent, i resolved to test the accuracy of my 'speculations by striving to penetrate the jungle, thinking some pathway must perforce lead to the interior whereby the wild animals would be enabled to go back and forth in order to quench their thirst, so again mounting, i rode around the border, until at length my search was rewarded by coming on the desired opening, which i immediately entered, finding, as i hoped, a pathway, which i followed until i emerged on the shore of a small sheet of water, or, as one might say, a small lake. in the center of this lake, embowered in the midst of a profusion of tropical foliage, was a little isle. selim, overcome with thirst and taking the bit in his teeth, plunged ahead, buried his muzzle deep down in the sparkling waters, the old mountain hermit. 11 while i, in like mood, followed suit; and, master, never was nectar half so delicious. “now comes the query, for what purpose was yon enchanted isle created ? surely not for the dwelling place of spirits of evil, else 'twould not be so beautiful; moreover, from its extreme isolation it was quite possible human foot had never trod its lonely shore, and even were such the case, ages had likely intervened. indeed, it was so far removed from travel, so concealed from the quest of the most indefatigable explorer that i was convinced that this little isle may have been silent witness to strange scenes. aye! the very receptacle of prehistoric remains. "thus cogitating i resolved forthwith to make the most complete investigation possible. so, giving the word, selim pushed boldly ahead. the waters were of such a depth as to compel the beast to take to swimming, when, soon after the shore was reached i turned my brave steed loose, then made my way through the closely woven thicket of bush, bramble and twig, finally coming upon the innermost recesses of what might with truth be termed “the enchanted isle." 2 the old mountain hermit. chapter iii. yoseph's wonderful discovery. 66 “who can conceive my emotions when beholding the remarkable objects brought to view ? and i cannot, even at this late day, comprehend their magnitude, for it was simply overwhelming ! 'master, you, a world-wide traveler, have looked on allah's works; have beheld the stupendous waterfall; have experienced the storm-tossed ocean. scanning the heavens above, have thereby sought to estimate the number and dimensions of other worlds, thus forming some little estimate of the master's power. yet, gainsay me not, when i do most solemnly aver that the several objects i there beheld caused all else to sink to nothingness in comparison, not so much perhaps from their magnitude, as their wondrous aspect. for here were gray ruins, hoary, moss-grown, weather-beaten and stained; exquisitely carved; in architectural design unsurpassed; fluted columns of immense size. all these and more, half buried under accumulated mold and debris of untold ages, while towering high above all were hoary monarchs of the forest, many of even larger size were lying underneath in the last stages of decay, while all things thereabout bore evidence of the most remote antiquity. “ while i mused, my every sense enthralled, my the old mountain hermit. 13 every wish about to be gratified, my hopes even, so nearly on the eve of being realized, i gave little heed to the flight of time until recalled thereto by the neighs of selim, who, more eager for his noonday meal than desire for exploration, made the air resound with calls for dinner. as for myself, i felt not the most remote desire for food; the pangs of hunger, did such exist, were lost in requirements of the intellect, the latter so immeasurably overshadowing the former there was hardly room for comparison. “my one engrossing thought was, how to secure possession of these mementoes of bygone ages, for that here were relics of greater moment than any heretofore brought to light and to a world's notice scarcely admitted of a doubt, but how to obtain them was the principal source of disquiet agitating my mind, for you must know, master, i had no implements wherewith to explore them. indeed, the most insignificant investigation was simply out of the question. therefore, and much to my chagrin, i was compelled to forego the attempt, so, carefully scanning the ground, thus making myself thoroughly acquainted with the locality, i turned regretfully away, called selim to my side, bridled, saddled and mounted, again swimming the lake, reached the opposite shore, then took up the course i now knew to lead in the direction of home, and i can honestly say, in no wise sorry to have been led astray, and promising myself that at no distant day i would repeat my visit to the “isle of the lake" fully prepared to conduct a thorough investigation of those ancient ruins. “ 'there, master, you have the whole story, and 14 the old mountain hermit. i will only further add that from that day to this it has been a settled purpose to organize an expedition commensurate with the work in hand and make systematic exploration, but from lack of means i have been unable to carry out the contemplated scheme.' "springing to my feet i grasped the hand of my now doubly attached servant. “ “yoseph, faithful friend, we will commence operations at once looking to the carrying out of your heretofore zealously guarded plans, and yeta thought strikes me—how am i to find the locality of which you speak? for totally unacquainted as i am with that portion of the kingdom, it would be impossible to compass the desired object. “ 'easy enough, master; easy enough, yoseph rejoined, 'for you see it must necessarily consume at least three days in fully organizing the expedition; for it will be necessary to gather together beasts of burden, arms, and a goodly amount of subsistence, likewise a considerable body of men, and as my wounds are quite healed, i see nothing standing in the way to prevent my accompanying the expedition, in which event, i can lead you directly to the point in question.' “the close of the third day thereafter witnessed a spectacle inspiriting to the eye and warming the heart more than mere words can express, for in compact column were a full score of camels, onehalf the number of trained bullocks, and twice the number of the best disciplined and sturdy natives that could be found. on each man's shoulder a long-range winchester, in every man's sash a pair the old mountain hermit. 15 of the most serviceable revolvers, while hanging from a leathern belt was cutlass or sabre. “on the morning of the fourth day the silvery note of the bugle was heard summoning the drowsy sleepers to arise, when soon after breakfast was eaten in a hurried manner, for i was in furious haste to set out on the long journey that awaited us. “the carts loaded, camels and bullocks harnessed, and at the bugle's call the brilliant retinue filed out from the encampment, a long and doubtless tedious journey at our front. the regiment of royal blues, who had arisen at this early hour to witness our departure, at the rear. "the word given and we were off, our departure hailed by cheers of comrades and hurrahs of friends and neighbors. thus journeying, with scarcely a day's intermission for the space of forty-and-five days, the afternoon of the forty-fifth finds our column encamped on the border of the jungle discovered by yoseph, and whereto his skillful piloting had led us. i could readily imagine the poor fellow's emotions upon being confronted by the tangled, impenetrable jungle, within whose noisome recesses lay the silent water of the lake on whose silvery bosom reposed 'the mysterious isle.' "ground selected suitable for camping, the carts drawn up in line, camels and bullocks unharnessed, tethered and fed; thus preparations are completed for a three days' stay, then weary, travel-stained and worn, all seek much needed rest save a half-score sentinels detailed to guard the camp, for we knew not to what perils we might be exposed. "the night passed, all were astir in the early 16 the old mountain hermit. morning, while yoseph, myself and two others, rode round the outskirts of the jungle looking for an opening, when all of a sudden yoseph in advance sang out, 'here we are, master ! and sure enough, for here was an opening, the identical one we had been seeking. "entering and following a well-beaten, though narrow, pathway, we soon reach the shore of a most beautiful sheet of water, from the bosom of which rose the little isle, which confirmed yoseph's former description, for a more entrancing scene was never vouchsafed the eye of man. and now with little urging our brave steeds pushed headlong into the lake in seeming enjoyment of the cooling bath, the waters evidently of less depth than on yoseph's previous visit, for they now came only up to the saddle girth, so a few minutes later we deployed on the opposite bank. hurrying to leave the saddle, we quickly stripped the horses of their trappings and allowed them to roam at will, the sandy beach offering a most tempting spot for rolling, which they were not long in taking advantage of, for this was a new experience in their lives. we next cut broad road leading to the very center, thus bringing to view the surface of the island, where the ruins described by yoseph were situated, and, joe, my god! what a spectacle! memorials of bygone ages, monuments of an era preceding the famed deluge were there, but it was even yet scarcely suspected, much less understood, what investigation was destined to bring forth, and how much less imagined, that we were to be carried back to the very dawn of creation. "excavation was at once begun and pressed the old mountain hermit. 17 with much vigor, although the work was extremely laborious, for the sand, clay and gravel were so thoroughly packed that it was almost like digging into granite. however, the work progressed in so satisfactory a manner, that just a few minutes preceding sunset our feet rested on a solid marble-like surface believed, at the time, to be the outer covering of a stone sarcophagus, which was soon after confirmed. "next morning i was in furious haste to get at those ancient stones. implements were again taken in hand and piled with so much skill that a tomb was soon unearthed, bringing to light a coffin of the most extraordinary proportions, and so hermetically sealed as to require the most strenuous exertions to raise the lid. this, however, accomplished, revealed a form eleven feet, four and one-half inches in height, three feet in breadth at the shoulder. the skin of a dark brown substance, which, coming in contact with the outer air, rose in a stifling cloud of grayish dust. "just what my emotions were upon experiencing this startling series of events i cannot say, but that they were overwhelming i cannot deny, for, standing, as one might say, on the verge of creation, with a hand resting on one of its first completed works, was, to say the least, astounding. "as far as exploration had advanced investigation was made, and i became more and more convinced that others of equal, possibly more importance, were at hand. “the remains were now packed in as small space as possible, for i was determined to transport the relics by saddle, so that in no case would they be 18 the old mountain hermit. lost sight of, though as yet not comprehending a tithe of their real worth. "all things satisfactorily arranged, we set out on the return well pleased, as might be supposed, with the result of our labors, the only source of regret lying in the fact that i was compelled to turn back without finishing the exploration, determined in my own mind, however, to return at no distant day, better prepared for thorough investigation when machinery of power adequate to the work could be provided. "it had by this time become in my own mind a settled conviction that the 'isle of the lake' was a vast charnel house, where were deposited remains of the most renowned characters of prehistoric times, and should such prove the case, what more probable than when unearthed and brought before the world, a sensation unparalleled in its history would be the result! "an uncommonly singular, and to my mind surprising, circumstance, arose from the fact that while the form was as nearly perfect as it might be it was also in a remarkable state of preservation. more extended observation disclosed a recess deeply cut in one side of the coffin, from which were taken a bundle of silver plates, numbering in the aggregate forty-two, twenty inches in length, twelve in breadth, and about the thickness of ordinary letter paper. on either side of these plates were beautifully engraved letters of a type hitherto unknown, therefore, it immediately occurred to me, likewise a matter of speculation, as to whether the body at the time of death had been subjected to embalmment, a the old mountain hermit. 19 process, as believed, known only to the egyptians, yet, on further reflection, i at once became convinced that this could not be, from the fact that there was not the slightest evidence of such a course of treatment. furthermore, these remains were evidently of a more remote date than even the egyptian race, a fact proved beyond the possibility of doubt by finding several pieces of gold coin bearing date many centuries previous to the time of noah, and the alleged deluge. "notwithstanding these seemingly truthful evidences of a long-forgotten past, i was illy prepared for the surprise of an after-investigation, never for an instant suspecting the identity of a record going away back to the advent of the first born of the human family, yet such was the case, for here was proof positive that could not be gainsaid nor set aside. a 20 the old mountain hermit. chapter iv. colonel ashburton's return. “the royal blues having, much to my gratification, fulfilled their 'missionary duties in india, were ordered home, and now i was extremely anxious to get the tablets translated, for until this was done it would be impossible to place any marketable estimate on their value, nor did i anticipate any trouble in their translation, in that i felt reasonably well assured that some one of our learned lexicographers would prove equal to the task, but in this i was doomed to miserable disappointment. as an offset to this, however, a most delightful surprise was in waiting, for during my prolonged absence i was promoted to the rank of lieutenantcolonel, my former rank being that of major. but i anticipate, and to go back a little, the prospect of again meeting olden time friends and associates cheered my occasional downcast spirits on the homeward journey, for i had been absent a good twelve-month, but favoring winds in conjunction with a good head of steam wafted the 'euphrates' swiftly on her way, hence, in due time anchor was dropped in the thames, the great city of london at our front, india's shores thousands of miles to the rear. "a day spent in calling on friends and former the old mountain hermit. 21 a associates, another devoted to regimental affairs, and i applied for a renewal of absence on the ground of important business, which, while granted, was not without remonstrance from my colonel, who insisted the good of the service demanded stricter attention to business than i had of late given it. "bidding my regimental friends adieu, i took up my travels, hasting to the most noted and trustworthy savants of the kingdom, in each instance placing the tablets in their hands for translation. but what was my consternation to find each and every one totally ignorant relative to the contents, and, in fact, after the most persistent efforts, unwearied labor, coupled in many instances with unjust, and i might say harsh, criticism, the sage philosophers were compelled to desist, vowing nothing could be made of it, one of the learned gentlemen going so far in his chagrin as to stigmatize it 'an invention of the devil, finally saying, 'i am ready to swear, good sir, it is beyond the power of mortal man to fathom the outlandish tongue,' counselling me (all joining in the verdict) that there was never a like form of speech known, other than, maybe by some prehistoric race, of which, of course, , we have no knowledge, and even this savors of doubt.' “disheartened, but not wholly discouraged, i repacked the tablets, journeying to the farthest bounds of the kingdom, and afterward to the continent, italy, germany, france, spain, etc., but without result, for it was ever the same: nothing can be made of it.' “as a last resort i resolved to apply where it was presumed the strange language had origin, viz., > 22 the old mountain hermit. india, thinking providence or some occult influence might peradventure have compassion by throwing in my way some learned native who for pecuniary consideration would be willing to lend me assistance. but now came the unwelcome thought, suppose i fail in this last supreme effort, my labors perforce come to an untoward end, yet i dare not dwell on the unwelcome possibility, for, you see, joe, i had become so thoroughly imbued with the desire that the tablets must be deciphered, that i neither could, nor would, longer submit to deferred uncertainty; therefore, as previously stated, i would make one last desperate effort, to which end i again took up my travels, journeying to a neighboring seaport, there to learn, if possible, at what hour, day or week some vessel or other was likely to sail for india. "on the evening of the fourth day thereafter i found myself and baggage on board the london company's steamship ‘rodiques, just on the point of weighing anchor, preparatory to standing out to "well, to make a long story short, as i think i've heard you say, seventy and five days' continuous travel and the blue hills of india loomed at our front, thousands of leagues of old ocean spanned, and i more pleased than mere words can tell, to take leave of the one and make acquaintance with the other. “bidding the ship’s company 'good-bye,' i am pleased to inform the captain that my absence from the ship would not under any circumstances be unduly prolonged, i set out in search of some one, native or otherwise, competent to unravel the skein sea. > the old mountain hermit. 23 а of perplexity wherewith i was so completely entangled,—in other words, i wanted to find the man who could decipher the much-abused tablets; so upon faithful inquiry and diligent search, i was rewarded for both by receiving the information that many score miles distant an aged hermit resided who would no doubt come up to the requirements. “as a first step i resolve to hunt up my old servant, yoseph, who, i was sure, would both welcome his master and lend assistance wherever most necessary, so taking time, as usual, by the forelock, i soon after found the worthy fellow, whom, 'tis needless to say, was overjoyed on again taking the hand of his old master. "preparations made, and we set out on a prospectively long journey for the mountain habitation, which was many leagues distant. a rough, tortuous pathway leading thither. "inasmuch as i was not very well informed as to the general character of those we might chance to meet on the way, whether of human or brute, i took the precaution of enlisting in my service a half-dozen ablebodied natives, so that i felt quite well prepared for any emergency that might arise. “it was in this manner we journeyed for the space of five days, camping at night, halting now and then by day for an hour's rest, frequently beset by perils, lions or bengal tigers compelling us to fight our passage over the contested ground, until at length we arrived at the foothills of a mountain range of seemingly inaccessible heights, within whose secluded depths it was said the lonely cabin of the aged pilgrim was located. 24 the old mountain hermit. “still pushing ahead, the path leading onward and upward, we emerge on a dark, gloomy defile overhung by lofty trees, environed by rocky cliffs, altogether presenting a most cheerless, unprepossessing aspect, hence it was beyond my power of calculation to conceive why any human being should choose for permanent habitation such a dreary spot! a the old mountain hermit. 25 chapter v. a strange being. “laboriously making our way along, we advance up the ravine, the rocky heights on either side scarcely admitting a ray of sunlight, when all of a sudden i spy a rudely constructed log cabin. “leaving my horse in the care of yoseph, with instructions to remain at the side of his companions, i dismount, then proceed to investigate, but before a half-dozen steps are taken the door of the cabin is thrown violently open, and a strange, weird figure is revealed. "well, thought i, if appearances count for anything, then the being standing before me must certainly have seen the light of day long ages preceding the deluge, peradventure been silent witness to that world-wide calamity. indeed, i would have been little surprised had the eminent ark-builder in person appeared. "invitation extended to enter the poor habitation. the aged relict gave me kindly greeting, extending a hand in token of friendship, at the same time welcoming me in the words, 'sir, i feel specially gratified in thus receiving, in my humble 26 the old mountain hermit. abode, one whom i can but know has come for some worthy object, for you must understand, good sir, the dwellers hereabout, do i so chance to appear in their midst, manifest no little alarm; but why, i know not.' “thus challenged, i draw from their receptacle the precious tablets and place them in his hands, whereupon, to my unbounded astonishment, and no less gratification, by a single glance, and without a moment's hesitation, he recites as from an open book. then, raising his eyes heavenward, and taking note of the expression of my face, ludicrous enough, i'll warrant, for both physically and mentally-from the ease he deciphered a tongue hitherto setting at defiance the most noted lexicographers of the day—i was nearly paralyzed. “regarding me with the closest scrutiny, an expression of sadness meantime overshadowing his withered features, he lifts up his voice-some hidden emotion evidently betrayed from the broken accents: my friend, singular as it may appear, this is the tongue of my boyhood. in point of fact, these tablets were fashioned by mine own hand. those bones thou hast, at the expenditure of so much treasure, secured, and by which thou holdest so much store, are mine-rather, werembut mine no longer, for what need have i of these worn-out tenements of clay, ere long to be relegated to mother earth—for hath not the master's edict gone forth, “from the dust thou art, and unto the dust thou shalt return”? kind sir, doth question these, mine sayings? yea! as i plainly see, thou dost. nevertheless, proof shall not be wanting.' the old mountain hermit. 217 “at this startling announcement, i was so nearly overcome with awe that the weight of a feather, i do believe, would have crushed me, and as it was, i came nigh falling to the earth and few there be, my friend, who would have been affected otherwise; nor could i as yet fully comprehend the significance of the old man's words. however, i soon regained my physical equilibriumbut mentally i was all at sea. but who are you, sir, and by what right do you, who profess to know all things, seek thus to play on the fancies of an unsophisticated-not to say unsuspecting—stranger ?? ‘unsuspecting, indeed! colonel henry ashburton-colonel, as thou dost claim, and no doubt rightfully—thou mayest well say, “thou who so professeth to know all things.” say, rather, “thou who dost know all things, and even then thou wouldst do little justice to that to which i lay claim, neither to my acknowledged abilities and powers, as i will soon prove to thee, in this, that i was an unseen-hence, an unknown-listener to thy avowals, when thou wert in the first throes of ambition, looking to the furtherance of thy unhallowed scheme. moreover, i was an unknown . follower on thy perilous mission, a wise counsellor, standing guard, as otherwise thy bones would not be in one whit better plight than those to which thou dost lay unquestioned claim-through what might be termed "original discovery.". 'forego, then, i do adjure thee, all further attempt to fathom the hidden mysteries of the "isle of the lake,” for thou hast already done enough and more; therefore i do beseech thee, seek not to 28 the old mountain hermit. « unearth other remains, over which unnumbered ages have silently rolled. “ 'hearken unto these, my sayings, and be guided therewith, else in sackcloth and ashes thou wilt surely repent. but to that thou hast thou art welcome, and to go still further i say to thee, "deposit my old bones wheresoever thou wilt, and no harm shall come to thee for so doing.” “"see to it, then, ye disturb not the others, else thy doom shalt be irrevocably sealed. “ 'one other question thou didst ask, “who art thou?” for answer, the lone survivor of a calamity wherein the world wast adjudged to destruction —all, i repeat, save those borne up on the great ark, besides a few the world knoweth not of, and of whom thy ancient records make no mention. likewise, one whose destiny it is to remain ages hence.' “and now, as on the instant, i glance upward, what do mine eyes rest upon ? a scar, joema veritable scar—otherwise, a seal set on his brow, from which fact i now, for the first time, began to suspect his identity. "joe, were you ever thrashed at school-thus led to estimate yourself the least of all created objects ? -for such, i am sure, is the consideration one, under such conditions, is likely to put on himself when subjected to the humility of a flogging. anyhow, it was so in my own case, when called upon to square accounts with the master-an art, be it said, supposed lost until about the time i came on the stage of existence; that is to say, in turn-over collar, roundabout, and bare feet. the old mountain hermit. 29 “allowing such to be the case, you may, in some small degree, realize my peculiar sensations—i, commander-in-chief of a regiment famed for loyalty to the crown, noted for courage on the field of battle; in all my public acts displaying unwonted chivalry-i, colonel henry ashburton, of the royal blues, universally known as a gallant officer, a soldier of renown, in the glory thereof maintaining an uplifting mien-at this particular moment assuming an attitude of the most abject humility, in bending the knee before a personage styling himself "the first born' of the human race. “indulging these not overly pleasing reflections, i am, ere long, recalled to my senses by the old hermit again lifting up his voice in the words, ‘henry ashburton, ye do think ye are looking on one in the flesh. didst never hear of spiritual existence? yea, more, spirit materialized ? yet, whether ye have or no, the form ye now behold is, of a verity, of spiritual mould; moreover, that form within which i did at one time dwell ye now have in your own keeping, and as i was the first of all flesh, so likewise shall i be the last. didst never hear of one who slew his brother, and for which unrighteous act wert adjudged to never-ending existence? but not in the flesh; and now that so much labor has been spent, so much strength and treasure squandered, in order to lay thy hands on my old bones—’tis true, to me worthless, yet to thee peradventure of some special benefiti will to thee a tale rehearse, but one never before told to mortal, whether in or out of the body. “cast aloft thine eyes, look on this face, and 30 the old mountain hermit. > a whom do ye think ye behold? for answer, "he who slew his brother." “ 'dost understand? canst grasp the meaning ? nay, 'tis hard, i know, for the finite to comprehend the infinite. yet 'twas not in mere wantonness the deed was done; neither was it a premeditated act. on the contrary, i was by the master so angered that i realized not what i was doing. 'see ye not this scar? this seal set on my brow? deeply burned thereon, lest perchance it sometime fade? aye, i see thou dost. and 'tis a sign that, be he man or devil, none dare lift a hand against me, no beast cross my path, to do me an injury. ah! methinks i hear thee say, “to be thus protected would, indeed, be a blessing." on the contrary, to be thus ostracized from one's kind, the very beasts of the field shunning thy presence, from all thy fellow beings bereft of sympathy, surely this is the hardest lot ever thrust on poor humanity! “ 'again, i would counsel thee in this: whosoever sheddeth blood in mere wantonness, whether of human or brute, of such an one shall the same be required. therefore, i do enjoin thee, that so long as thou abideth in the flesh, proclaim these mine sayings, bearing witness thereto, that he who doeth as i have done shall in like manner suffer.' "perceiving that my aged host was becoming weary—else, maybe, overcome by some hidden emotion-i thought to take my departure, and on the point of bidding him adieu, believing it no more than right to requite his inestimable services, begged his acceptance of something more substanthe old mountain hermit. 31 66 tial than mere thanks, thereupon tendering him a well filled purse. nay, nay, good friend ! the ancient expostulates. desist, i beg. of gold i have not need, . so put up thy purse; but remember this, that should you chance on some needy mortal, put in such an hand that thou wouldst so generously bestow on me.' . 32 the old mountain hermit. chapter vi. homeward bound. "extending a hand in farewell, i returned to my waiting comrades, mounted, gave the word, and we were off, our steeds seemingly as desirous to take leave as were their riders. "barely on the way, i chanced to look back, and saw the old man standing in the doorway of his little cabin, with gaze intently fixed on our retreating forms. then a shout of 'god-speed, and retreat in the inside of the cabin, which entering, the door was closed; betaking himself, no doubt, to his accustomed supernal cogitations, while as to myself, i was completely wrapped up in that to which i had so lately been an eager listener, and i could come to but the one conclusion--that this strange personage was, of a verity, a disembodied spirit manifest in the flesh-else, a rank impostor. but, whichever it was, i had fulfilled my mission, feeling amply rewarded for the trouble incident to the lengthy journey; not only this, but the vexed question as relating to the tablets was forever set at rest, our wise men at home set at naught-probably much to their chagrin, for, as they at one time avowed, there was no meaning whatever to be attached to the outlandish symbols. hence, in so far as any good could come from their attempted the old mountain hermit. 33 solution, they might just as well be cast into the sea. suffice it to say, their averments were wholly disproved, for i had in my possession ample proofs to the contrary, in the form of a legible written manuscript, which, published, would without doubt set the wiseacres of the kingdom all agog. "well, joe, it is high time i was bringing the history of my adventures to an ending, so i will only farther add that, on reaching the dock, anchor was weighed, sail set, and in a little less than sixtyfive days thereafter i was threading the thronged streets of the world's metropolis, a comparatively happy man, for i had met with unqualified success. "there, joe, you have the whole story in a nutshell-so to speak, and a pretty hard one to crack, as i imagine—but under all and every circumstance, please not to forget that 'mum's the word,' for were my friends-especially army comrades, to get hold of the story, i would never hear the last of it; for, to a man, they'd swear i was fit subject for a lunatic asylum, else victim of some strange hallucination; maybe not far out of the way in the latter assertion, for you must know it is a hard matter to explain doings of an unearthly character.” i freely assented to the colonel's stipulation relative to the enjoined secrecy, and how faithfully i have kept my promise my readers must be the ones to decide. i am positive, however, that he is not much displeased, as otherwise the fact would long ago have been made manifest. still, there are good and sufficient reasons for his silence, because the royal blues were shortly after ordered to foreign parts, while i settled down to work, now and then recuperating my overly taxed energies 34 the old mountain hermit. . by visiting relatives in the aforesaid county townvisits expected soon to cease, inasmuch as bans of my marriage have already been published, so it will, in all probability, not be long before the nuptials are celebrated—that is to say, unless some other equally good-looking fellow put in prior claim, in which event, instead of the nuptials, look out for a duel, etc. furthermore, should any misguided individual be led to question the accuracy of the forthcoming narrative, wherein is told, in a straightforward manner, the first appearance of man, moulded from the brown earth; afterward, from a rib taken from his side was fashioned the woman-his companion and helpmeet; subsequent treachery of their mutual friend, “the serpent"; startling adventures of jubal, “the first-born”; whereat is related the circumstances as connected with taking the innkeeper's eldest daughter to wife; the graphic story of the deluge, together with remarkable events along down a succession of ages, until at last the discovery and exhuming of the long hidden remains of the author of the history, as recorded on the silver tablets. to all these, i beg leave to refer skeptical people to the ancient mountain hut dweller for confirmation, as he, and he alone, is responsible for their truthfulness. yours truly, (signed) joseph lindley, lawyer. the old mountain hermit. 35 part first. chapter vii. paradise. (as translated from the silver tablets.) 'twas a charming scene, as night's silvery veil hung low on eden's lovely bosom. twilight shades giving place to evening's deepening gloom, partially relieved by the yellow rays of the newly risen moon, her brilliant beams both softening and enhancing the glories of the enchanting spectacle. the firmament all aglow with myriads of flashing gems, that lent an additional charm, as looking down on a world but just emerged from out thick darkness that so lately hovered over and enveloped its entire surface. thus, the master having finished all to his liking, rests. the declining sun on this the sixth and last day, witnessing the completion of his labors, and while the vast immensity of space is thickly studded with flashing gems-supposedly other worlds. this, the last, notably the least, yet, withal, the best–because its proportions are of the utmost symmetry, its architecture the very acme of perfection. the night advances, passes away, and morn approaches, ushering in another, the seventh day36 the old mountain hermit. a day wherein all labor shall cease, wherein all may rest. anon, the source of light, that glorious orb, the sun, fresh from the master's hand, rises. its golden beams illuminating and flashing o'er hill and dale. the heavens are all aglow in the brilliant setting. but what a glorious scene, on which the eye rests; be it of supernal, or mortal vision, for sin hath not yet entered, leaving its blighting influence. no curse hath fallen, therefore all is now in readiness for the advent of one in the master's imagehe to take full and complete charge, having dominion over every living thing, animate or inanimate; human or brute; and ere the setting of another sun, to assume a place in the economy of nature but a little removed from the heavenly hosts above. as the day advances, the mists of the early dawn give way before the enlivening beams of the now well risen orb, whose brilliant rays reveal to the onlooker-were there such—what and of whom? a form, herculean of build, yet of the most exquisite symmetry, of immense height, yet finely proportioned, a head massive, though shapely, locks of midnight hue, eyes that scintillate in their intensity, yet mild in expression. the skin of a reddish cast. the form in nature's garb, yet, withal, one may readily discern in this, the master's last, yet noblest handiwork. the first man moulded, and fashioned from the “dust of the earth." this man, reclining on a moss-grown bank, for this was his only couch; underneath, tiny rivulets a the old mountain hermit. 37 sparkling waters; overhead, drooping, nigh to the ground, leaf-laden bough and flowering bush, with petals opening to the sun's early, yet invigorating rays. the man seems lost in thought, evidently absorbed in contemplation of the strange scenes wherewith he is surrounded, or, perchance, in startled wonderment, as to whence he came, and whither bound. on the man's right, and but little way removed, crouches a nubian lion. to the left, and on whose magnificent form an arm rests, lies a bengal tiger, both the lion and tiger in an expectant rather than apprehensive attitude, their eyes are never for an instant turned away. on the thither bank of the rivulet, basking under the sun's heated rays, lies in voluminous coils as though meditating a sudden spring, an enormous serpent. from its attitude one would have concluded it was sleeping, though this was dispelled upon seeing the eyes, glittering in their malignity, peer cautiously forth between halfopened lids and gaze fixedly on the reclining form. stretching away in the far distance, may be seen representatives of the entire animal kingdom, among which may be reckoned the elephant, mastodon, zebra, camel, and a host of lesser note, all dwelling together in amity, peace, love, harmony and kindly regard, having as yet not given way to antipathies engendered by unchecked passion and fostered through ferocious hate. here, too, may be seen the feathered tribes; for away up in yon azure vault is the great condor, winging his way to some lonely mountain crag; at 38 the old mountain hermit. lesser height, sweeping in ever narrowing circles, sails the bald eagle, while from lowly thicket and towering bush, rise songs of melody, intermingled with quack of duck, cronk of goose, discordant , note of blue-jay, chattering magpie, croak of buzzard and crow, and from out the neighboring wood, shrill note of quail, and boom of drumming partridge. again, look away over to yon horizon's misty verge, where sporting on the blue sea wave, are seen the spouting whale and shark, with many another deep sea monster, while on the sluggish streams spanning paradise, we behold the great behemoth, log-like crocodile and alligator, each in its sphere content and happy. the skies, too, are of a pure, translucent blue. the clouds even take on a hue like unto golden sheafs, the air charged with rarest odors. the plains abounding with fruits and flowers in themselves, a wealth of nature's rarest gifts to man's enjoyment given-all these fresh and new from the master's hand divine. such was paradise, ere the blighting influence of sin had entered its sacred percincts; such would the world be now, were sin eliminated. the old mountain hermit. 39 chapter viii. fashioning the woman. the head of the form reclining on the mossy bank, droops, falls, the entire being lies motionless, outstretched. the eyes are closed, no signs of life apparent other than stentorian respiration, for slumber hath enchained its every sense and feeling. thus, through the live-long day, the apparently lifeless form reposes, the shades of night bringing no change. meanwhile, all is still. nature, like the prostrate form, is in a state of repose, yet not entirely so, for floating on the evening air, one listens to the gently murmuring rivulet, all other sounds are held in abeyance, for an act is to be performed. morn draweth nigh; the majestic orb, consecrated to a world's illumination, rises from away beyond the distant hills, the shades of night flee before the brilliant radiance, the chill air of early morn dissolves under his searching beams. birds of every feather flit from twig to branch. again are heard rising from sedgy pool quack of duck and cronk of goose, while from the far-away wood is heard the panthers' fierce cry, lions' roar, bark of wolf, along with a great multitude 40 the old mountain hermit. of sounds common to animate existence. thus nature waked to consciousness life and activity resume their normal sway. for what good reason hath this newly created being thus reposed the day and night through? what cause assigned for the deep unconscious slumber? surely a problem of easy solution, when one comprehends the significance of a transaction that has taken place, for during the silent watches of the night, a rib hath been removed and transformed unto a living, breathing, sentient being. the long confined limbs are stretched to their utmost tension, the figure assumes an erect posture, the while in a singular state of wonderment, as to what enchantment or other potent influence hath so inveigled else beguiled the senses. anon, the drowsy eyes partially open, followed by an eager, enquiring gaze, but, on what, and on whom do his eyes rest? a counterpart of himself? hardly, for here is a figure, in some respects very like his own, in others quite dissimilar. long does he gaze on the beautiful creature until so overcome and startled, so enthralled his every sense and faculty, so convulsed his emotions, that he thinks to flee the angelic presence, and when about to turn away, suddenly bethinks himself, in that inquiry were not out of place, yet ere he has time to frame a single sentence, a hand is placed on his shoulder, yet of such gentle touch, he scarcely heeds the pressure, at the same time his glowing orbs confronted by those of heavenly blue, beaming in anxious inquiry, then, in ecstacy of delight, accentuated by a smile of winning tenderness -and as the lovely being gazes, a return look of а the old mountain hermit. 41 welcome greets her astonished vision, for mate hath found its mate, and all is well. however, before their minds are so composed as to exchange mutual confidence, a voice thunderous in volume, yet modulated to the gentlest expression, speaks : "my son, thou wert lonely. i give to thee a companion. thou needeth assistance; behold thy helpmate. "dost ask from whence she came, for answer ? during the silent watches of the past night, i caused thee to fall in deep sleep, and while thy slumbering faculties were steeped in heavenly visions, the gates above were cast ajar, because of this maiden offering herself in sacrifice to thy welfare, and that thou mayest have better understanding relative to the inestimable treasure thou hast secured, likewise, in what manner, i would have thee to know this: “that from thy side i didst take a rib, fashioning the maiden therefrom; therefore she is now ‘bone of thy bone, and flesh of thy flesh.' see to it, then, ye guard her well. be to her a shield in time of peril, a helper in trouble, protecting her from foes without, and foes within, so that she be not led astray, nor from thy side depart, for of verity, temptations sore will oft time beset her. be to her then an ark of refuge, and if so be at any time she flee to thee for protection, turn not from her; on the contrary, let her find in thee a friend in need. furthermore, i would have thee to know this: that all thou seest, is thine, beasts of whatsoever kind or degree, the fowl that flieth in the air, the fish that swims in the sea, over all these do i give thee dominion; likewise the fruits of the garden, all42 the old mountain hermit. save one—are thine, and of which thou mayest freely partake. “seest thou yon tree, freighted with the choicest of all that groweth in the garden? on this thou mayest look, but not touch, neither thou nor the woman, for in the day thou doeth the wicked thing, in that day thou shalt die, for in this garden i have planted all thou requireth, for delight and enjoyment. “sickness nor pain nor trouble of any sort, storm, tempest and the pestilence that walketh by noonday, of all these thou shalt not have knowledge, neither thou, nor they that come after. see to it then thou obeyest these, my commands, lest ill betide thee.” the old mountain hermit. 43 chapter ix. paradise in its full meaning. during the foregoing interview with the master, the pair have stood with bowed heads and downcast eyes, but now in full expectation of again encountering the gaze of the divine being who has so placed it in their power to be supremely happy, they raise their heads and eyes, only to find themselves alone. the master has silently and suddenly departed. the newly awakened pair, absorbed in contemplation of the words to which they have just listened, and to which 'twere well they give heed, remain for a time spell-bound, for strive as they may, their minds are still bent on the mysterious tree, the fruit of which is so urgently forbidden, though as yet no misgivings assail them, for they indulge no thought of disobedience because not disposed to go contrary to the master's wishes. thus, for a time, they wander,-paradise, in its full meaning, beginning to dawn on their bewildered senses——too happy within themselves, to question the meaning, too much absorbed in the delights with which they are surrounded, to anticipate the result. thus roaming at will, the most sequestered and 44 the old mountain hermit. > out-of-the-way places engaging their attentionfor this is the first, and thus far the only opportunity presented for extended survey of their newly acquired possessions—until at length wearied, they turn back to the original trysting place—“the mossy grown bank”-where for a time in unconstrained converse they linger, the one engrossing theme-“the forbidden fruit.” to this, however, they would hardly have given a thought were it not for the stern command: “of this tree, thou must not partake." communing in this manner, their attention is ere long drawn to the strange movements of their friend, the serpent, who though heretofore unseen, has nevertheless been an interested listener to the master's warnings, and is now observed crawling away and casting now and then a backward glance fearful that his presence at the late interview with the master, may possibly have been noticed, hence, as a natural sequence, his motive understood. moreover, the treacherous friend and former ally is at this precise moment meditating an act whereby his friends must perforce become his bitterest enemies. not that he is especially anxious for this result, but that, as he imagines, he has wrongs to be righted, whereupon he enters on soliloquy thus: "aha, my friend, methinks it goes without saying, that henceforth my every energy shall be directed —no matter how unpropitious the outcome-to setting things to rights, at the same time unmindful as to who shall be the greatest sufferer, and woe to they, who in any manner whatsoever, attempt to stand in my way or thrust me aside. "why the master should have deigned to give the old mountain hermit. 45 the simpleton not only dominion over the beasts of the field, but every living creature—including myself, of course,--passeth my comprehension. why, then, i ask, was i left out of the compact ? why overlooked in the controversy, when every one can but know 'twas my due, likewise my right to be invited along with the others, to hold consultation ? yet, come to think, maybe i was not considered worthy of the honor nor of his majesty's confidence majesty, indeed, when he is considered by every one that knows him to be my inferior. "ha! a thought doth strike me, in this, that they doubtless think to hoodwink me, regarding these wondrously important affairs. however, we shall see-let it all pass, i'll e'en give the troublesome matter no farther thought, nor lie awake o' nights, but all the same, hie me to my den, there conjure some scheme whereby to entrap the lovely maiden -he, i care nothing for—but she! i'll so fascinate, so beguile, ha! ha!that she will leave all, afterward turn to me, heeding my every wish, doing my every bidding, else, shall her doom be sealed. of her own seeking, however, leastwise, i'll make it so appear. meantime, present my case to the master in such a light, that it will at once be accepted, and that without question. moreover, i will bring to bear such powerful temptations, so compromise the fair one in the eyes of him she doth so glibly call ‘lord,'—that is to say, the one that doth lay claim to rule her—that in the end she must become in ery truth my slave, powerless to avert, or in any manner whatsoever change her fate, for my wiles she cannot escape; and then, too, “this forbidden fruit,' why, it's nothing more than a fool46 the old mountain hermit. ish threat, for what careth the master for one tree more than another? "i will so cover my tracks, my designs so conceal that the master himself cannot help but be deceived, then will he hold me guiltless of wrongdoing. meantime the man cast out from the garden, what's to hinder me from taking his place as ruler therein, and should he be so inclined as to question by what right i usurp his place, i will for answer say: 'thou wouldst none of me in thy counsels, i was not even bidden to attend, for this slight on mine honor, thus my good name imperilled, for all this i say, thou shalt suffer. yea, i will be avenged. deep, deadly, shall it be; then will my wrongs be righted, my good name restored, my honor retrieved.' » 'twas thus the serpent meditated, it was in this manner the false friend studied injury to his best friends. meanwhile, the innocent, unsuspecting objects of his wrath have turned away and are now strolling through the by-paths of the garden, wholly unconscious of the trap so ingeniously set and skillfully baited, and into which they must inevitably fall. thus wandering, they arrive at the more secluded portions of the garden, the intricate ways disclosing new beauties at each onward step. the while in full enjoyment of the delights so lavishly spread around, and the wondrous scenes momently brought to view, for here were two hearts beating in unison, two souls in perfect harmony, hence the unconstrained felicity. they pluck of the choicest fruits, they eat to repletion—ever and anon, casting backward glances the old mountain hermit. 47 toward the forbidden tree, but never for an instant failing in remembrance of the master's injunction. the serpent chanced the next morning to encounter the object of his insane affectionlittle chance about it, for the consummate rascal was on the lookout, watching her every movement. thus sauntering along the mossy bank of the silvery stream, now and then halting to pluck some more than ordinary choice flower, else, permitting her enraptured gaze to rest on the beauteous form mirrored in its crystal depths, for of a thousand and one none so charming. alas! fatal gifts, fatal charms, not alone to her, but to the whole world as well; yet, notwithstanding these charms and gifts, the serpent, whose jealous fancies, largely intensified by ill-concealed desire, resolved to present an outwardly friendly mien, so on meeting, accosts her in kindly greeting—the words flowing from his forked tongue in pleasing accents, and tender expression-for when so minded, his voice could be attuned to the sweetest melody, but when angered, the words were hissed forth; yet now, having a specific object in view, would let nothing drop from his lips savoring of enmity. so began by saying: "maiden of the golden locks, countenance bespeaking a tender heart, mien, both modest and winsome. thou, the last, yet noblest of the master's handiwork. thou, who harborest within thy fair bosom naught but purity, and that hath no place for guile, whose soul art overflowing with generous impulses, among which are love, hope and charity, these pervading thy every thought-i wouldst, if it so please thee, for a few 48 the old mountain hermit. > brief moments bespeak thy attention. yea, i would utter words of wisdom, and for thy ear alone words, i ween, tending to thy best welfare; at the same time, i do solemnly swear, that what i am about to say to thee, hath no selfish motive, on the contrary, it is to thy own best interests, because thou art imperilled, maybe, thy life in jeopardy. to this end, and for these reasons alone, do i desire to hold communion with thee." “my interests imperilled ? my life in jeopardy ?” the maiden exclaims. “what mean thee, good friend? why should i be thus troubled ?" "dost know, fair maid, this man to whom the master hath given thee can in nowise be compared to him who doth so earnestly plead for thy love? dost know this, fair one, i repeat? ah, why so hesitate; thy form doth tremble, thou art ill at ease, as one far less skilled in diplomacy may readily discern; nevertheless, i am equally positive, thou art not altogether satisfied with thy choice though, i'll warrant, thou hadst little enough to do with the choosing. why, do but look on me, then ask thyself, 'if my complexion be not wholly unlike his a dull brick red—while as to mine, it glisteneth in the sunlight, like unto the finest spun silk. scales, like unto burnished silver; then again behold my elongated form with a crushing force none can withstand; then look at my head, flat and tapering, 'tis true, yet of how much better shape than his ugly pate? orbs, too, that glow in similitude of sparkling gems. dost comprehend, fair one, these my sayings? if so, then look on the other picture. form singularly uncouth, standing on two feet only, at either extremity projections, 2 the old mountain hermit. 49 top it. denominated 'toes,'-surely a a poor foundation whereon to rest, especially when compared with one whose whole length doth rest on solid ground, and while yon monstrosity doth presume to hold his head so high, mine on occasion, can easily over“again, look at the creature's head. out of all proportion to the rest of his body, and covered with bristly, tan colored locks, but when one comes to examine the face, matted over with a long, coarse beard, which were it not so artfully concealed, would, i'll warrant, reveal an ugliness, you, yourself, with all your charity, could not well abide, and last, but by no means least, we come to the eyes, overhung with brows, one can compare to nothing less than a tangled pile of brushwood. “once more, the monster's skin, a dingy redand why not, when the ugly creature was fashioned from the very dust of the earth on which thy shapely feet do at this moment stand. "lovely one, how, in the name of goodness, can thou abide such an unkempt being, especially when better ones are to be had for the asking? dost understand, fair one? _then why not give ear to words of wisdom, for i do swear they are naught but the truth. “most winsome and lovely of all created objects, have compassion on one who doth so urgently plead his cause. see, he crawls at thy feet, bows his head in the dust, yea, doth implore, entreat and persistently sue for thy good will. “wilt thou not, then, flee from one who, now thy servant may, and doubtless will, ere the passage of many suns, have become master, thou in turn his 50 the old mountain hermit. servant-peradventure, slave-come to me, then, and it shall go hard with me, do i not lift thee to the topmost pinnacle of fame. riches and honor shall be thine. all the world holdeth in store will come at thy behest, all bow at thy feet. “thou shalt go forth conquering and to conquer. leading captive whomsoever thou wilt, for none will behold but to admire; moreover, thy form shall be decked in a garb not one whit inferior to my own and to all these i will add gems and precious stones. diamonds of the first water depend from thine ears, bands of virgin gold encircle thy arms, while on thy chestnut locks a crown interspersed with brilliants. “on the other hand, turn from meas thou seemest about to do—all the sorrows possible and more than thou canst well conceive, much less withstand, shall be visited on thy head. in lieu of diamonds and precious stones, thou wilt be only too glad to take up with the commoner sort—if, perchance, thou art fortunate enough to possess even these instead of garb like mine own, the coarser raiment will best befit thy lowly station. "these hands, so soft and white, will, from excessive and long sustained toil, become black, and hardened. these tapering fingers, instead of being encircled with golden bands, will, from outdoor labor, become calloused, hard and blunted. thy countenance, now bright and winsome, will have taken on a dulled, repulsive expression. the light that now in splendor beams from out those charming eyes, thus revealing their crystal depths, will have departed, never more to return. “thy complexion, comparing favorably with the the old mountain hermit. 51 full-blown rose, will give place to a hue very like the dust brown earth. in short, all thy beauty gone, who so poor as to do thee reverence ? finally, and to sum all up, the curse so lavishly bestowed on thee, in case thou refuseth the terms so generously and unselfishly offered, shall not fall alone on thee, but to all who come after." this last sentence barely uttered, when without an instant warning, there comes a flash of lightning, quickly succeeded by thunder roll. the heavens darkened as at midnight, and a voice speaks the one word, “beware." 52 the old mountain hermit. chapter x. interview between the maiden and the serpent continued. during this interview, the maiden has remained a passive listener, the serpent on his part maintaining his usual outward composure—though inwardly chafing, from the fact that his hearer seems so little affected, for storm and threaten as he may, he readily perceives that neither the one nor the other in the least moves her. furthermore, should the wily villain resort to argument or even entreaty, both would be equally thrown away, for nothing he says seems to find lodgment in her heart. therefore, he is considerably cast down, and were the truth told, not a little frightened. the late thunderings contributing to that end, at the same time deeming it unpolitic to give way to his fears, which may prove unfounded, he still believes it the wiser course to assume a bold front, thereupon breaking forth : “ha, the master speaks, but, methinks, 'twere better he make use of gentler tone rather than bellow in this unseemly fashion, for shout he ever so loud, thunder as he may, and hide the sunlight as he will, his lordship well knows i am not easily frightened. likewise the powers i wield are but little inferior to his own. more than this, the old mountain hermit. 53 it seemeth passing strange, his majesty should thus stoop to interfere between the maiden and me. yet, have her i will, and who shall say me nay!” alas, the guileless, warm-hearted creature has yet to learn the true meaning of “good and evil," for treachery and deceit are at this moment brought to bear not only to her discomfiture but her downfall as well, so with agitated tones and trembling lips, she replies, giving this for answer: “good friend, and true as i had always supposed-didst thou have the will to do all this, thou hast not, methinks, the power.” “power !” quoth the serpent. “who, let me ask, hath greater? have i not shown thee that i am second only in command, thus endowed with the power for 'good and evil? know ye not this, i repeat? which, let me ask, the greater—that which maketh for good or that for evil ? and as the master holdeth undisputed title to the one, so do i to the other, as i'll not be slow in showing thee, do ye not heed my behests. “behold, beloved one, the fruit, this so-called apple plucked but a few moments since from yonder tree. see, how fair it is to look upon, but how much better to the taste; but see how golden its hue, how sweet its fragrance, very like to the rose; yet taste, and then will thinc eyes be opened, all the blessings i've foretold follow thy lead; moreover, all thou canst in any manner desire, nay, all thou chooseth to ask—even to riches and honorshall be thine, and that which is more to the purpose, thou shalt be endowed with the knowledge of 'good and evil,' and still more, thou shalt be 54 the old mountain hermit. as the gods—i also—for whatsoever tendeth to thy welfare, in that will i share. “taste then, i do beseech thee, yea, taste of this fragrant apple, the best of all the garden, then, wilt thou find all that i have said, naught but the truth.” the guileless maiden little suspects the outward fair seeming of the one with whom she is holding converse to be other than he seems, for as a companion, he has universally treated her with the utmost consideration and respect, as a friend, one in whom she could place the most implicit confidence, hence, has never for an instant, harbored the thought that he was capable of betraying her confidence, nor her unqualified trust in either, but now she feels that she has good reason to suspect his avowals of unselfishness and denials of untruth as merely a subterfuge to cover his duplicity and thus be able to accomplish his wicked designs; yet, did she but know the true facts in the case she would without hesitation recognize in the scamp the so-called "father of liars”--the arch fiend himself. the maiden, however, hesitates. was ever maiden so generously, aye, helplessly tempted ? yet the one condition, “all bow to thy charms," seemed to settle the whole matter, for she no longer hesitates--the promise is too weighty to be overcome. she tastes, she eats, then hastens to the man with countenance expressive of the great joy within her and carrying the joyous news. “but,” remonstrates he, in response to her urgent request, "the apple is forbidden; remember ye not the master's anathemas: 'in the day ye eat thereof, > the old mountain hermit. 55 ور in that day ye shall surely die'? thou canst not have forgotten them so soon. "but taste, my lord. that was only a foolish threat, at least so intimated by one who surely ought to know. nothing, i'll warrant, meant by it, and even should the master be angered, he will, i i am positive, be only too glad to overlook the offence-if such it be-probably forgive, and, what's more, in the end forget about it. why, do you know," she expostulates, “our good friend, the serpent, the very soul of honor—anyhow, that is his reputation-and as to telling an untruth, why, i'd stake my life upon his veracity.' ” like unto the woman, the man hesitates; indeed he can think of no suitable reply to make, notably when taking in account the injunction of the master: “guard her from foes without and foes within." > 5 56 the old mountain hermit. chapter xi. the penalty of disobedience. on this supreme moment hangs the fate of a world, for on his decision is determined the destiny of all future generations. again the woman presents the apple, holds it to his mouth, presses it to his lips; words of entreaty accompany the foolish act, an expression of fondness lights up the winsome face, again, the one word“eat!" the man hesitates no longer. he tastes, eatswas ever fruit so delicious ? ever apple of so fine flavor ? the deed is done, a world's fate decided. but as yet no thought is taken of the penalty, as adjudged by the master: "in the day ye eat thereof, in that day, ye shall surely die.” but no harm has yet befallen them. the skies are of the same cerulean blue, no lightning flash hath blinded their eyes, no thunder roll assailed their ears; the beams of the noonday sun still flame o'er hill and dale, nor do they hear the master's angered voice. but now comes a reaction. why these troubled thoughts? why these forebodings? surely rot of evil, else 'twould, ere this, have been made apparent. nevertheless a change has taken place, for their accustomed cheerful demeanor gives way to evil the old mountain hermit. surmisings; thus sll things wear a different aspect, for their eyes are turned toward each other in questioning glances. the while the woman's face suffused with blushes, his glow with apprehension, and now comes the thought, “where, oh, where shall i turn for sympathy ?” for, indeed, it was never more needed. to the man shall she turn ? nay, for he is in not one whit better plight; on the contrary, if such were possible, even more perplexed than she. thus for a time they remain, their hearts, through fear, momently growing cold, their minds filled with an agony of dread. a transformation surely hath taken place ! their once happy feelings somehow changed, their eyes are gradually opening to the unwelcome fact that clothed in nature's garb is, to say the least, hardly in good taste, and it begins to dawn on their minds that they are no better off than their mute neighbors; in point of fact, less to be envied, for the "beasts of the field” are clad in furs. but what shall be done? a moment's hesitation, and they separate, each taking a different route, shortly to appear clothed in garments of leaves plucked from the fig, and now are their eyes opened, as foretold; they are, for a verity, "gods, knowing good from evil,” but in what respect is their condition bettered? partaking of forbidden fruit has proved not only a source of knowledge, but of misery as well. again, hand in hand, they wander, the garden presenting no fewer attractions, yet looked upon in a very different light, for when but a little while before--in nature's garb—their hearts were light, 58 the old mountain hermit. no suspicion of anything derogatory to their good name had crossed their path, no thought of wrongdoing entered their minds, whereas doubt, hesitancy and secret forebodings now control their every action. yet, hark! again that voice in thunderous , tone; again that lightning flash and darkened heavens, and as the notes echo from hill to hillnot as of yore in melodious rhythm, but in angered tone-it speaks: "orimentes, where art thou?" how is it that he whom the master calls appears not at the bidding; rather seeks the more secluded parts of the wood? why doth he so shun the master's presence ? alas! the cause becomes fully apparent upon true interpretation of the master's injunction : "in the day ye eat thereof, in that day, ye shall surely die.” likewise the promise as foretold by the serpent: “ye shall be as gods, knowing good from evil.” the promise is fulfilled, for they have in very truth become as gods, in this one respect at least the penalty hath been adjudged, and now with downcast mien and bowed head orimentes comes forth from his hiding. “why hast thou disobeyed, thus setting at defiance my well-meant command ?” exclaims the master. “was it not enough that i didst promise thee all the fruit of the garden? why, then, couldst thou not have been content therewith ?" “alas! and yet alas !" moans the convicted culprit, “it is alone the fault of the woman, for she not only placed the accursed fruit to my lips, but didst urge, even implored, me to accept of it; moreover, 'twas from her hand i didst take, taste and bat. but, master, be not wroth with thy servant, the old mountain hermit. 59 for i most solemnly promise the offence shall not be repeated; indeed, i will never again hearken to the woman's pleadings." for answer : “call the woman, for i would test the accuracy of thy seemingly absurd statement; yet, and so thou attempt to deceive me through casting aspersions on the character of thy companion, woe be to thee !" and now orimentides, the woman, comes from out the wood, whereunto she didst likewise flee, and as she approaches presents a far more woebegone aspect than he, but when confronted with the charge, replies: "master, 'twas the fault of our old friend, the serpent, in that he didst so beguile me, and that against my will and better judgment, promising. much gold, likewise silver and precious gems, meantime stipulating that i should be clad in raiment not one whit inferior to his own, and last, but. by no means least, that all should bow to my charms.' "believing him sincere in his protestations of friendship, i therefore considered it impossible that he could so demean himself as to deliberately utter a falsehood, therein counselling unadvisedly, why, master, how could i do otherwise than yield? but, master, spare us! spare and forgive, for of a verity i was the victim of misplaced confidence, therefore unwittingly led astray, and so i begged. orimentes to partake; and, master, as this is the first, so will it be the last offence." "wicked, rebellious subjects !" exclaims the master. “did i not give thee all, yea, even more than the serpent promised? did i not prepare a gar60 the old mountain hermit. den, a paradise, wherein peace and quietude didst reign supreme, where thou and thine would be free from storm, pestilence and famine, together with the trials common to earthly existence? and yet thou must needs, on the first opportunity presenting, disobey my just and lawful demands! "verily, it doth repent me that i consented to make man at all, and i am minded to destroy both he and all that hath being, in order the ground be no more cumbered therewith. however, on second thought, i will give thee one more trial, yet under less favorable conditions, in this, that thou go away from this delightsome garden.” then, in tones penetrating to its most secluded depths: "orimentes, whatsoever thou mayest hereafter possess, shall be gained by the sweat of thy brow, to which end i do now curse the ground for thy sake, so that it bring forth naught other than by the hardest labor. thorns and brambles shall beset thy pathway, thistles spring up on every hand; turn which ever way thou wilt dangers encompass thee round about. “the wilderness shall be thy abiding place, the desert thy habitation, tempest, pestilence and drought thy heritage; all the woes inseparable to cast-off humanity shall be thy portion.” to the woman: “orimentides, this man thou wilt henceforth follow, he the master, thou the servant, compelled to do whatsoever he may see fit to demand. thy estate pain, grief and trouble, inasmuch as thy transgression, as thou must know, is by far greater than his, and whatsoever ills may chance to visit him, will, with redoubled force, fall on thee. the old mountain hermit. 61 > “should this sentence seem hard to bear, remember 'tis of thine own seeking, for thou hast not turned aside from the soul-destroying attributes of folly, selfishness and undue pride_this latter trait always going before a fall. "take heed, then, to these my words; meantime, make every effort to conquer thy evil desires, lest, peradventure, a worse fate betide thee, for 'he who diggeth a pit for another shall be the first to fall therein.' and yet i would not thou suffer altogether in vain; on the contrary, in love of offspring and family ties thou shalt find both comfort and consolation, hence i desire thee to be fruitful, to the end thou multiply and replenish the earth. and now, having finished with thee, i would a word with the author and abettor of thy misfortune,” who, be it said, with forked tongue, glistening eyes and uplifted crest holds himself aloof, coiled at the root of a majestic oak, and while anticipating his fate, at this supreme moment maintains an outward semblance of unconcern, at the same time, green with envy, largely enhanced through overweening jealousy because forsooth, while the others have through the master's high regard, received sentence, he has been overlooked. thus in the master's estimate, held least, else why should they, equally guilty, have preference ? the slimy creature is no longer to be passed by, however, for on appearance, in response to the call, the master, in a voice of wrath, exclaims: “thou vile wretch, to whom was, at thine own request, given power of speech, likewise endowed with all known attributes of evil, therefore wert adjudged preference over all the beasts of the field, 62 the old mountain hermit. / methinks it ill becomes one holding such lofty position to thus endeavor to overthrow my well-established laws, particularly when thou must have known the consequences. the serpent, on the point of lifting up his voice in expostulation, or, perhaps, in justification of the wrong done, whereby his late companions have suffered irreparable wrong, is quickly silenced upon hearing condemnation followed by speedy sentence. saith the master: "in expiation of thy wicked doings i do hereby take from thee the gift of speech; even thy feet shall be removed, thy belly thine only support; furthermore, to make thy name a byword and reproach of all men, thou wilt be despised for thy meanness and held up in derision by every living creature. whithersoever thou goest every hand will be lifted against thee, while an evil reputation will at all times attend thee, for none must forget that under thy tongue is hidden a venom; from which they you chance to meet will turn aside, shunning thee as a dangerous character; yet, that they be made aware of thy presence, i do hereby attach a signal to thy posterior for the purpose of giving warning to all who travel thy way. farthermore, attributes of evil hitherto exercised alone by thee, from this on are delegated to another, who will bear the cognomen of satan, who, often under guise of a pleasing exterior, lets not his identity be disclosed, nor even his character suspected, hence, the more to be feared. "doth question the right whereby thou art dispossessed of thy inheritance? doth wonder why thy olden time privileges are so abridged? then look on the evil wrought, and by thee alone. notthe old mountain hermit. 63 withstanding all this, the penalty cannot be escaped, for thy habitation shall henceforth be in a cleft of the rock, thy noisome progeny the lawful prey to those who may so choose to take advantage of thy misfortunes and give heed to my decree. “should the crime appear of lesser magnitude than the penalty, remember it is a fate that sooner or later overtakes all evil doers, for as much as thou couldst not be content with the powers i did confer upon thee, but needs seek enlarged ones. but i have said enough. away, then, i would no more of ye, and turn not back thinking to re-enter the garden’s sacred precincts, for a flaming sword have i set at the gate; and now to sum all up, know thou this that paradise lost can never be regained.'” 'twas thus they parted, the unhappy conspirators going out from the celestial garden, where so many joyous hours have been spent, their eyes first opened to the delights of a paradise nevermore, as the master had said, “to be regained.” they are now to seek new homes; some remote clime maybe to witness their advent, meanwhile, their journeyings beset by all manner of dangers ; their lives harassed beyond measure. surely when contrasting their present miserable condition with the past happy lot it was a bitter exchange. their only recourse now lies in adapting themselves to their present surroundings, thus in some slight degree seeking to alleviate the sting of remorse which so settles down upon them as to make life almost a burden. but how fares the serpent ? doth he journey alongside the friends so deeply wronged? nay! on the contrary, disposed to heed the master's man64 the old mountain hermit. date, he crawls away to some mountain fastnesses where, free to exercise his wicked wiles unmolested, he forgets in some measure his once while lofty station, thus submitting to his fate without repining and scarcely wishing it otherwise. the old mountain hermit. 65 i chapter xii. the beasts take their departure. 'twas but a day after the expulsion from paradise that the great gates were thrown open and the animal kingdom came forth, some following in the wake of their strongly attached friends, whose dominion, as we have seen, was forever to hold sway, others gathering in distinct groups, as inclination prompted or mutual interest seemed to dictate. thus journeying to distant lands, even to the more remote portions of the globe, for the master's curse was not to man alone, but to all living creatures. the struggles of this unhappy pair now begin. the very existence of these poor, forlorn-nearly helpless--beings depending largely on their unaided efforts, for they are compelled to go out into the wilderness single handed, entirely destitute of resources those furnished by nature; hence, it is safe to say that naught but barren and frequently sterile fields are encountered. desert plains loom up on every hand, while thorns and brambles, as foretold, obstruct their onward way. and what a transformation! paradise, where peace, happiness and contentment reigned supreme; all these given place to an untrodden wilderness; ceaseless exertion alsave 66 the old mountain hermit. lied to unwearied toil barely sufficing to obtain the commonest necessaries of life, and yet the principal cause for unhappiness hinges on the fact that such a needless sacrifice was made for such poor and unsatisfactory results, and all accruing from the senseless act of defying the master's proclamation: “of this tree ye must not eat." an apple in exchange for the felicities of paradise ! “alas !” moaneth the man, the while heaping reproaches on the head of the woman: "had i not hearkened to thee all would now be well." "in that thou speaketh the truth. yet had i not hearkened to the ill-advised sayings of our lately attached friend, the serpent, all would now be well. but what hath become of his lordship? methinks in this the hour of adversity it ill becometh him to desert those he has so foully wronged ?" “ 'tis but the way of the world, orimentides, as thou wilt soon enough learn, for it is said, you know, "that friends are only such in times of one's prosperity,' ” replies the man. notwithstanding these ill-natured, though common enough carpings, peace is ere long restored, the twain continuing their journeyings for the space of many moons, until finally they chance on a region in every way adapted to prolonged habitation, so they at once proceed to locate, first erecting a suitable dwelling in the form of a log cabin, of course, of crude construction and limited in size, yet, it is believed, fully adequate for all needed tequirements. à twelvemonth elapses, affairs the while progressing fairly well, when the castaways are called upon to give welcome to an addition to their little family. the old mountain hermit. 67 >>> the mother's heart rejoicing over a new-born son, hence overjoyed, as she naturally would be, is overheard in soliloquy: "let winter's cold paralyze, summer's heat wither, thorns obstruct, brambles choke, dangers appal! what need i care for them, for i've more than earth? heaven hath opened wide its portals, sending forth a soul fresh from the master's hand my lonely pathway to cheer; a being on whom to place my affection, thereby fulfilling the master's prediction: ‘in love of offspring shalt thou find compensation and be comforted.' and yet another and no less comforting thought comes to the mother's relief from the fact that with stout heart, steady hand and unwearied effort they are enabled to look upon a wondrous transformation in that the “wilderness blossoms as the rose,” also the promise fulfilled : “seed time and harvest fail not." garments of the fig leaf are no longer in demand, the genial warmth of a lost paradise giving place to a temperature wherein ice, snow, hail and winter's chilling blasts are prime requisites, and, while the woman has hardly been enabled to clothe herself in garb "not one whit inferior” to the serpent's promised raiment, the wild beasts, whose dismal howls are heard the long night through awakening the echoes, as roaming in tangled wood and desert wild, are brought into requisition, their soft, furry skins fashioned into garments, uncouth, maybe, yet none the less serviceable, and well adapted to their needs. fruits of the pomegranite, nectarine, plum, peach, and even the perverse apple, flourish, yet > 68 the old mountain hermit. only by unceasing toil, unsurpassed skill and thoughtful care, while the more common grains oats, barley, etc., spring up and grow apace, until reaching maturity, but only by the most wearisome labor, for, unskilled as he is, the faithful husbandman witnesses tares choking, thorns and brambles lending aid, looking to his discomfiture, the utmost and untiring energy scarcely sufficing to clear the way, wherefore, one may be led to the conclusion, that, whereas, the master never fails in fulfillment of his promises, so does he not in his decrees. moreover, it almost seems that he on whom the serpent's mantle fell, i.e., satan—had taken hold of affairs, for do his best, the hard-earned fruit of the husbandman's labors frequently comes to naught. heaven's artillery, echoing and vibrating, thunders forth in warning. lightnings flame, setting the firmament all aglow. all these miseries, disturbing the babe in its cradle, contribute to their dismay, for in the one the master's angered voice is discerned, the other his fiery breath, hence, the conviction is indulged that his wrath is not one whit abated. thus pass days, weeks, months and years. meanwhile the condition of the new-world colonists improving, experience having been a wise, though stern, teacher, so that now they are in fair way of all their immediate wants being supplied. the first-born child, having passed through the ills common to childhood, approaches manhood, yet is hardly such an one as the mother's heart craves, he grows in growth, so does he in wickedness; in' temperament, obstinate, disposition perverse, in character willful, treacherous and of cruel instincts. for as the old mountain hermit. 69 the disheartened mother grieves over these unnatural traits, trusting, however, at no distant day she may become parent of one whose nature, more in accord with her own, may in some measure redeem that of the first born from traits so repugnant to her kindly disposition and generous ways. thus trusting, hoping and withal, believing, her cherished desire is at last gratified, the measure of her joy filled to overflowing, for she presses to her maternal bosom one whose soft blue eyes reflect back to her own a light of no less excellent character. this boy also thrives, growing apace, at length reaches manhood, displaying, however, attributes of a far higher order, for in lieu of cruelty, his heart overflows with affection. manly instincts and generous emotions characterizing his every action therein evidencing to the tender-hearted mother, so, at least, she believes, the primeval curse, so long clinging to their footsteps, is about to be removed. false belief, false delusion! the fond mother has evidently forgotten. the curse, as originally promulgated, is forever to remain a heritage to all who come after. and now the boys, having grown to the stature of manhood, the family circle having been added to from time to time, it is deemed advisable that other homes be sought. the two young men, confronted with the proposition, are inclined to demur, but on the father's statement that his limited income will no longer warrant the support of so large a family, the boys finally concur, agreeing to look out for themselves in the future, whereupon arrangements made, the 170 the old mountain hermit. sons each receive their due share of the estate. soon after taking their departure, they journey—as once upon a time did their parents—to a far-away country, a goodly number of moons consumed in the undertaking. arriving at a region, in every way pleasing, a cabin is erected, a large tract of land surveyed suitable for both grazing and cultivation, in this case of equal importance. in the father's distribution of his substance, he bestows on his sons flocks of sheep, herds of goats and cattle, altogether a handsome outfit, proving later a source of large revenue. household affairs adjusted and all things placed in proper order for settled habitation, that there be no conflicting interests, an equitable division of labor is agreed upon, whereby the elder becomes a tiller of the soil, while the younger brother chooses for occupation the care of the flocks and herds. as time passes along, both in fair way of realizing their anticipations, it is deemed a matter for congratulation and equally so of right that just recompense be shown for benefits received, so it is mutually agreed that offerings be brought to the master. the tiller of the soil of the first fruits of his labor; the shepherd, the finest of his flocks; neither for a moment suspecting that the gifts would not be equally well received. such, however, was not the case. indeed, the brothers were doomed to miserable disappointment, for while the offering of the one was gratefully accepted, the other was spurned with contemptbut on what grounds has never been satisfactorily explained-unless the underlying intention was at the old mountain hermit. 1 fault; that is to say, the elder brother's gift of a selfish nature, while that of the younger was an honest expression of gratitude for benefits received. be this as it may, the stern fact cannot be controverted that there was a large amount of hatred generated, ungovernable rage the outcome, therefore, the one begins to upbraid the other in terms more vigorous than polite, heaping reproaches on his head in the words, “why doth the master accept thy gifts with thanks, while mine are contemptuously spurned? tell me that, if thou canst ?” “dost not perceive, or art thou blinded to the fact, that the master regardeth me with more favor than thou? why, i am positive, one need not look far in discernment of the reason why the master prefers my offering to thine, especially, when i am the universally acknowledged favorite,” answers the younger brother. “possibly thou speakest the truth—fool that thou art!" retorts the elder; then in condemnatory tones, "in that last sentence, thou hast spoken thy death warrant.” then drawing a blunt instrument from under his husbandman's frock, lets fly a terrible blow at his brother's head, who falls stunned and bleeding at his slayer's feet. believing the hapless victim merely stunned, he lifts the murderous weapon for the purpose of delivering a second blow, when on the instant, remorse seizes him, his slumbering conscience awakens, he breaks forth in agony of soul, “alas, alas ! i have slain my only companion, my dearly beloved brother! oh, what shall i do?" thus he remains, gazing on the lifeless remains of the victim of his evil passions, his soul tortured 72 the old mountain hermit. with a remorse that will not down, until at length bethinking himself as to the immediate consequences of his rash act and the disclosure sure to follow, he hastens to remove the body, concealing it in the midst of a dense wood, thinking thereby, to evade the penalty of his rashness, meanwhile, indulging the uncomfortable reflection, "while my brother's dead body remains hidden, what have í to fear, for surely, no one will be the wiser, because so thoroughly concealed; who can find it? truly a happy thought! nevertheless, what am i to do? terrible, it is, to be thus bereft of friend and companion—and he, my only, dearly beloved brother. slain-yet, 'tis i who have done the deed —and now, alone, oh, that with a word, i could bring him back to life. if only to ask forgiveness. but, alas !’tis now too late. the deed done, the die cast, i, alone, must abide the consequences." thus meditating, his mind fearfully harassed in view of the retribution sure to follow. his heart in contemplation of the terrible deed momently growing cold, he is quickly recalled to full realization of the enormity of the crime by hearing the voice that once sent a thrill of horror, piercing the heart of the first created, whose eldest son he is, now, as then, questioning in tones of authority, "jubal, where is thy brother?” “why, master,” in trembling accents the murderer replies, “verily, i've not seen my brother, lo, these many days, nor do i know what has become of him. in very truth, master, i do not. "know not? indeed, truly a wondrous circumstance, when you were such good friends as to dwell together, never known to be separated only at such the old mountain hermit. 173 ز > times as he was employed in tending the herds and flocks and you tilling the ground; a most singular state of affairs, surely—yet, once and again i askwhat has become of thy brother ?” “why, master, art thou desirous of so terrifying your poor servant; surely the vehemence of your manner is quite enough to set any one crazy accompanied by this useless questioning.” the guilty wretch, still persisting in avowals of innocence, by repeating, "i know not where he hath gone; maybe, some wild beast hath overtaken and slain him. i've positively not set eyes on him, nor even hearkened to his voice when calling his flocks and herds for the space of the past three days, and this, master, is the truth,” all this spoken with the boldest effrontery. "wicked, lying, treacherous impostor!” exclaims the indignant master. "only too well thou knowest what has become of thy brother; you know too whither he hath gone, and that not of his own free will; on the contrary, he was by thine own hand dragged thither, where thou concealedst his lifeless body, after having stricken him down with a blow from a concealed weapon. hence, i say, thou, and thou alone, art his murderer, and for this wicked, unjustifiable act, i am constrained to brand thee as such, and lest some person more evil than thouif such were possible-seek to take thy miserable life in expiation of thy brother's blood that crieth out from the ground whereon it was shed, i hereby set a seal on thy brow, thus betokening the murderer, that those you chance to meet, will flee thy foul presence, passing thee by unharmed, unheeded; even the beasts of the field, taking cognizance of 74 the old mountain hermit. thy evil ways-evidenced by the mark-while showing their teeth, will, doubtless, turn tail, leave thee in undisputed possession. moreover, i would have thee to know, that it is my settled purpose to cause thee to depart from the land which hath been witness to thy crime, for thy presence doth cast a stigma on its fair fame, while thy foul breath doth contaminate the air of any who might chance this way, or inclined to choose habitation hereabout. go, then, i say, we will have no more of thee." for answer, the slayer of his brother cries, "alas, master, my punishment is greater than i can bear.'' > the old mountain hermit. ज 175 chapter xiii. looking for a new home. early morning of the third day, subsequent to the fatal decree, witnessed the leave taking of the author of a crime unknown at that early stage of the world, and as he departed from a land where so much labor had been performed, such a multitude of privations endured, in effort to establish a home, where happiness had seemed as nearly perfect as earth's mortals have a right to expect, the poor outcast was nearly broken-hearted; nevertheless, from being so suddenly and unexpectedly overtaken and almost overwhelmed by a calamity which might end in his complete downfall, he must from the very necessity of the case seek another, but-where? thus pondering, jubal musters up courage, resolutely setting about repairing his damaged fortunes, resolving also to bury in oblivion thoughts of the past, trusting to the future to banish unavailing regrets, meanwhile, cherish brighter hopes, all of which, he thinks, will tend to a better, possibly, happier life, so gathering about him his flocks and herds, heretofore so zealously watched over and faithfully cared for by his now dead brother, he sets out on prospectively a long and wearisome jour76 the old mountain hermit. ney, for said he, “i will away to some out-of-the way country, where none shall suspect, none take knowledge of my present place of abode." hereafter, quoting his own words, jubal goes on to say, “thus journeying, i pursue my lonely, tortuous way, encountering dangers and hardships innumerable, frequently meeting wild beasts, from whose ravages the flocks must be protected; encountering rocky cliffs, within whose darksome recesses lurked the numerous progeny of my parents' relentless enemy, the serpent; yet coming out of all unharmed, for the seal set on my brow was a mark proclaiming me one to be shunned rather than feared. “in this manner were my travels prolonged pressing forward by day, going into camp at night, the herds and flocks furnishing means of subsistence, until, at near the close of the one hundred and twentieth day, my eyes rest on a scene at once inspiriting and wondrously astounding, for, away in the distance, rising from out an extended plain, is the burnished dome of a tower, reflecting back the sun's declining rays, thus betokening man's existence and human habitation. “i hesitate, halt, rub my eyes, gaze anew, then exclaim-sheep and goats my auditors-am i awake, or am i dreaming? is this a reality or some hallucination ? nay, this cannot be, my brain is clear, my physical condition never better, yet, again the thought, do i really, fairly and honestly look upon this—to me unaccountable-scene? the question answered before fairly asked, by appearance of another tower, in height, proportions and general appearance even exceeding the first. the old mountain hermit. 77 > "structures, as i live! homes, yes, there they be, in compact, symmetrical groups. "doth any wonder that i was bewildered, rather, that i was not bewitched ? for how was i to know or even have the remote conception that there were human beings on the face of the earth, other than my father's family? “well, understanding that hesitation and selfquestioning were of no avail, i take up my staff, call around me my flocks, then resume my journey. “now well along in the afternoon, i proceed but i slowly, for both my mute companions and myself were well-nigh worn out from long-continued exertion; however, along toward sunset we come to the walls of a town, finding the gates about to be closed, the usual custom on approach of night, as i afterward found. “accosting the gate-keeper, i inquire the name of the town. "the keeper is no less surprised than the one who makes inquiry, for i was positive he had never before looked on the face of a stranger, neither had i beheld a town or any face save those of my father's family. therefore, it was nothing strange that our surprise was mutual. however, after a few moments' hesitation, he answers my question in the words, ‘good sir, the city you now for the first look upon, is called "heirut-et-abal,” signifying "an unknown people.”' "eyeing me with evident suspicion, at the same time manifesting no little uneasiness, for how could it be otherwise when confronted by one who, for aught he knew, had, unheralded, dropped from the skies, for judging from my strange appearance, he 18 the old mountain hermit. might easily have been led into the error of supposing me an inhabitant of another world. moreover, my face, from long-continued exposure, was burned and tanned to the consistence of soleleather, while my uncouth garb of undressed sheepskin was soiled and torn and, to crown all, that everlasting scar.' "making my wants known, the worthy keeper and to all appearance a kind-hearted man, bade me enter, and that the flocks might readily pass through, opened wide the gates, and when all was done, closed and securely barred them for the night. then offering me an arm, escorted me to the principal hostlery of the town, introducing me to the landlord, when, after a few moments' hesitation and questioning of the keeper, i took occasion to request food and lodging for myself and proper care for my weary four-footed friends. "as one would naturally suppose, the inn-keeper was, if anything, more surprised than had been the gate-keeper. yet, there was one thing that puzzled me more than all else, and that was, that the tongue spoken by this people was so like my own—a peculiarity, or as one might say, a coincidence, which was afterward accounted for. “however, i was soon at ease, my generous host inviting me to supper, shortly after which, weary and worn, i retired to rest, sleeping soundly, awaking only at call to breakfast. “upon entering the dining-room, the inn-keeper gave me kindly greeting, first asking as to my night's rest, then helped me to food. “this inn-keeper, in whose. house i lodged, and where i was to all appearance an honored guest, the old mountain hermit. 179 my had two daughters, zilla and zarilla. the one aged twenty-four, the other twenty. "now be it known that i had never in whole life looked on a female face other than my mother and sisters, therefore, it was nothing strange should i be attracted, bye and bye, falling in love with one or the other of the twain, which in jue time proved the elder, zarilla.” > € 80 the old mountain hermit. chapter xiv. the marriage. > >> "it is hazarding little when making the assertion, that before the bride-elect would consent to the marriage, i was obliged to adopt a style of raiment better suited to my new situation in life, so it came about that i discarded untanned sheepskin for spun and woven garments. "it is hardly necessary to affirm that this decided change of apparel gave zarilla much gratification, 'for, said the amiable girl, 'from an uncommonly fine appearing man, thou art become a veritable god; and why not,' she continues, 'when thy stature exceeds twelve feet?' the noteworthy ambition of jubal could not be said to suffer diminution, on the contrary, it seemed to branch out in a diversity of directions, among which may be reckoned household affairs, inasmuch as it was a common saying “that as the limits of the town were extended, so did his family increase in numbers." "however," resumes jubal, "my interests, both of a public and private nature, were so zealously guarded and faithfully attended to that my possessions waxed greater than those of any other. not only this, but as my riches increased, so did my desire for more, some of my neighbors and felthe old mountain hermit. 81 low-townsmen going so far in their righteous indignation, as to declare i not only wanted to accumulate myself, but to deprive my best friends of their hard-earned substance, and this through deeds of violence accompanied by bloodshed, frequently death; all of which i can truthfully affirm, were wholly without foundation. “thus it will be readily inferred that a people holding deeds of this character as wholly unworthy of one in my position were now in repentant mood from the fact that in years gone by they had permitted an unscrupulous stranger to settle in their midst. the day was not far distant, however, when present repentance would be swallowed up in joy and thanksgiving, for, aided largely by my efforts the town was in a fair way of becoming so thrifty and populous as to be the envy of all jealous rivals, were there any to be jealous. moreover, i was becoming so wealthy that i conceived the idea of founding another, so, holding converse with my wife, zarilla, with that special end in view, i found the estimable lady so well versed in such matters, coupled with a love of gain if anything eclipsing my own, that 'twas an easy matter to bring her round to my way of thinking, that she readily consented to follow whithersoever our mutual preferences might chance to lead; whereupon i commenced at once settling up affairs, to which end i disposed of my landed estates to the best advantage preparatory to gathering together my numerous progeny, selecting the choicest of my flocks and herds, and after all was done i was to journey to a land-as i trusted-never before trod by human foot, for i was determined in this, my 82 the old mountain hermit. a last supreme effort, to outdo anything heretofore attempted, promising myself the building of a city that would eclipse whatsoever might be attempted in the future, as i was positive it would any in the past. and now, before setting out for the long journey, i took occasion to call on my old friend and father-in-law, the inn-keeper, for the special purpose of asking him a simple question, yet one that might have a bearing on my whole future, to wit: “good father ahiel, the question i would ask is this, how comes it that i, not only of the first generation, but also “the first born,” didst find here a people whose ancestry must antedate my own birth ? surely, good father, 'tis passing strange, and i cannot in any manner comprehend its meaning? "for answer the inn-keeper returns: 'know ye not, my son, jubal, that thou and they of thine own kin who have come after thee have, lo, these many generations labored under grievous mistake in this, that, while thou doth consider thyself the first born, thou art not, because, long before thine eyes were opened to the light, thy father was the sire of two children—a son and a daughter—who, for some cause or other, took their departure from ! the primeval garden, journeying for the space of many moons; finally seeking an abiding place so far distant from the old home as to render it a matter of doubt if their retreat was ever discovered; so you see, jubal, i, instead of thou, am of the first generation, as my grandfather, were he in the flesh, could testify; nor could he be far from the prime of life, that is to say, in his six hundred the old mountain hermit. 83 66 (66 and fifty-seventh year. my mother, however, is still in the flesh, as thou hast frequently seen, thinking her an elderly maiden, though at the present time, something like six hundred and twentyfive years of age. “jubal, thy parents still live, so i have lately learned, and your father, orimentes, could, were he so minded, corroborate the story i've told you. “i am well pleased, my son, that thou wert inspired to ask these questions because they are so intimately connected with thy ancestry, and may have an important bearing on thy posterity. ‘doth my answer satisfy thee, jubal ?' “ “aye, better by far than it pleaseth me, for to them that come after it augureth but ill; nevertheless, i must submit to a decree, while not of my own choosing, is no doubt just, yet hard to bear, as you must admit. 'tis a strange tale, indeed, passing strange, yet knowing thee to be a man of honor and integrity, i cannot dispute it. "i take the aged patriarch's hand in farewell, then haste to my waiting family, setting out on a journey that consumed no less than ninety and five days' continuous travel, meanwhile subject to hardships innumerable, incident to an untrod, hitherto unknown wilderness, harassed by attacks from wild beasts, ever and anon startled by angry hissings of the ancient enemy, 'the serpent, whose forked tongue was none the less in readiness to attack friend or foe than when beguiling my father and mother in the garden of eden. thus journeying, we at length reach a point pleasing to the eye, and in appearance well adapted to the object sought, viz., permanent habitation, there84 the old mountain hermit. upon settling down in prelude to the building of the contemplated city, which, it is safe to say, when completed outranked the one from which in the long ago we departed—a city whose walls tower high above all surrounding objects, within whose gates were structures of the most perfect symmetry and utmost solidity, tapering spires, heavenward pointed, proclaiming the fact of many gods’ —for i believed the master only one of the many. this city, as i say, was named after my eldest son, accordingly flourishing uncommonly well, and that stood for many long centuries, a monument to the eminent builder, jubal. as some were wont to affirm, 'a monument transcending my immoderate ambition for fame, likewise built at the expense of many a poor toiler, who reaped neither fame nor wealth.' but then people will be envious, and who shall blame them? not i.” saith a contemporary of jubal: “many and oft were the strange scenes enacted therein, many a cold blooded crime committed, for this was an epoch when might made right, and when strange gods were worshipped.” here, too, were to be seen gardens in mid-air, hanging from the housetop or walls erected for the special purpose, wherein flourished all manner of plants and creeping things, even the hated apple, along with flowering plants and shrubs of every known species, while fountains from which flowed crystal waters, were to be seen in all directions. the family of jubal also flourished, increasing numbers so rapidly that colonies were sent forth for the purpose of settling new countries, founding cities, until the passage of time saw nearly the the old mountain hermit. 85 entire habitable globe thickly peopled. yet as the population of the different countries and cities increased, so did the people become wicked, until out of patience, the master repented he had made man, ultimately coming to the conclusion 'twere better to sweep the entire race off the face of the earth. at the time my brother met his untimely fate, my father, orimentes, was two hundred and thirty years of age, living thereafter seven hundred years, and during this somewhat lengthy period of existence became the father of thirty-three sons and twenty-three daughters. now, among this large number of sons was one especially noteworthy, in that he was an uncommonly upright man, his character largely resembling that of his mother, orimentides, while the others were more like their father. this kindly disposed young man, like many another, took unto himself a wife, and, as in the case of his father, became sire to a numerous progeny who inherited the virtues of their father, yet as time passed along, each succeeding generation became more and more deeply imbued with an insatiable desire for riches, at the same time looking after those things having a tendency to demoralize their character. in this unsatisfactory manner passed the long period of two thousand years, the world meantime becoming more densely populated until at length there came on the stage one aristides, at the time of which we speak in his six hundredth year. it was also about this period of the world's history the master conceived the project of destroy86 the old mountain hermit. ing every living creature. however, not wishing to deal unjustly with those he had been the cause of bringing into existence, the master cast about, finally coming upon aristides, who, on inquiry, was found closely resembling his remote ancestor in those attributes most essential to the common walks of life, viz., an estimable character, virtuous inclination, allied with integrity. the old mountain hermit. 87 chapter xv. interview between the master and aristides. plans decided upon and all arrangements made looking to early completion of the work, and aristides was summoned for consultation, the master opening the interview as follows: "aristides, it hath become my settled purpose to “ adjudge all that hath life to destruction, for i will not henceforth allow root nor branch to cumber the ground; not only this, but i will curse the very ground on which they walk. dost ask why? because my laws are habitually broken, my precepts set at naught and nothing i can say, commands, entreaty even, are not heeded, for which cause wickedness is on the increase, arts and stratagems are concocted whereby the innocent are made to suffer for the guilty, and as i can see no other course available, no punishment of lesser degree adequate to the emergency, i am fully determined to carry the aforesaid decree into effect. “discerning in thee a character free from guile, thy every act in accordance with my desires, i hereby make thee an exception, thou and thy family, to which end i will give thee all necessary instructions in regard to certain measures, which if adopted and carried out, will redound to thy credit and largely contribute to thy safety. 88 the old mountain hermit. > "now, aristides, attend closely to what i am about to say, for i am delegating to thee an unwonted trust-a trust, as i may say, that no other human being, however lofty his station, or of how much wealth, can in any wise lay claim, or if so, would receive no attention. but to the point: aristides, you will at once proceed to plan for a vessel of strength adequate to the sustainment of a pressure of the elements, which i will allow full sway, also of sufficient capacity to bear thyself, thy family, and a pair each of beast, bird and fowl, together with subsistence for all, as it has become obligatory on me to bring down the rains from heaven until the surface of the earth shall be inundated to the depth of fifteen cubits, the waters to begin falling on the seventh month, and the twenty-seventh day thereof, thus without cessation continuing for the space of forty days thereafter.” "well, but, master,” expostulates aristides, "how will it be possible to do this thing thou dost command, for i can in no wise conceive how a structure of the size thou doth suggest can be constructed.” "all things are possible if thou dost but attend to and carry out my instructions. “the vessel i hereby counsel thee to build must in extreme length be three hundred cubits, in height thirty cubits, fifty in breadth. the whole to be divided into four stories. “see to it thou do all things as i have commanded, so that at the supreme moment when the earth shall be swallowed in one grand abyss of seething waters nothing shall be found wanting.” the old mountain hermit. 89 > in the year two thousand and four was set the day for the appearance of the flood, and subsistence for man and beast is received daily and consigned to the hold or lower deck. about this time aristides begins to be considerably worried, fearing there will be hardly storage room for so large a number of animals. that there must of necessity be more or less overcrowding is a foregone conclusion; however, bestirring himself, and bearing in mind the master's promise, he gives no further heed to the matter, simply reaffirming what had at one time been said: "the master doeth all things well." the arrival of the unique cavalcade is now daily looked for, and the morning of the twenty-seventh, a lookout stationed on an eminence hard by, reported a dense cloud of dust in the distance, so, announcing the fact, aristides appears on the scene, notebook in hand, and it was not long before the head of the column emerged from out the stifling clouds and approached at slow gait, indicative of being nearly worn out from long-continued travel, for the motley troupe had been on the road many long, wearisome months. in lead of the multitudinous array, stretching away to the rear and farther than the eye could reach, was to be seen the stately mastodon and mate, a pair of monstrous elephants, together with representatives of the entire animal world, while a lengthy train of wheeled vehicles, wherein were the feathered tribes, among which were the great roc, eagle, ostrich, and a host of lesser degree, while at the top of one of the larger carriages, basking under the sun's heated rays, eyes glitter90 the old mountain hermit. ing in their intensity, at the same time taking in all objects worthy of note, lay outstretched an enormous serpent. the entire cavalcade, from their listless attitude, evidencing a long-continued period of painful travel. the shades of night draw near. the wearied keepers having supplied their mute guests with all things needful for their bodily wants, lie down to rest--mute guests and themselves to rest? nay, this can hardly be said when one listens to the multitude of discordant sounds, among which are heard the fierce cries of the birds of prey, roar of lion, bray of ass, trumpeting of the lordly elephant, and a thousand and one no less inharmonious sounds, to say nothing of the great serpent's hissing plaint consequent on bonds no more relished than would be the captive screaming eagle, as soaring on high, he looks down in seeming ridicule on the human biped, crawling beneath. as all things have an ending, so does the night, and ere the weary travelers have hardly closed their eyes in slumber, the trumpet's shrill blare calls them to arise, for on this day the ark's living freight must be on board. camp aroused, animals fed, breakfast eaten. thus, all things in readiness, embarkation begins, and as the sun reaches the meridian the work is well advanced, continuing without cessation forty and eight hours. and now a strange thing happens, for while embarkation is in progress, or nearly ended, the tenant of the only remaining vehicle to be transferred on board ship—an enormous sea serpent, not known as such at the time, having been taken a ! 91 the old mountain hermit. long way inland—was in the act of being hoisted on deck, the tackling gave way, precipitating vehicle, serpent and all to the dock below. the ferocious beast, as was but natural, attacked the one nearest, which proved to be aristides' eldest son, delivering a blow fairly on the young man's face. whereupon, by some occult or other mysterious influence, the skin was changed to shiny black; hair became of the texture and semblance of wool, the usually thin lips were swelled to inordinate proportions; yet more singular than all else, skin, hair and lips of his posterity have so remained from that to this, with no prospect of change. embarkation at last finished, aristides, his family, beasts of all sorts on board, in addition to subsistence, thus all in readiness for fulfillment of a decree whereon rests a world's destiny. the usually calm spirits of aristides have risen to an unwonted height; not that he would offer congratulations in that the world is on the eve of destruction, but because the welfare of those he holds most dear is assured. 92 the old mountain hermit. chapter xvi. the deluge, as told by the histriographer, jubal. the prophetical night passes, its darkening shades disappear, some seeking forgetfulness in quiet slumber; others, disturbed by visions of coming disaster, look on the prophecy as they may, regard aristides' saying as they will , forebodings of evil weigh heavily upon them. meanwhile the aged patriarch, in all the serenity of conscious well doing, surrounded by his anxious family, disturbed as his slumbers undoubtedly are, preserves an outwardly calm demeanor. yet inwardly troubled, for he alone can fully appreciate the perils in store, for friends, neighbors and the whole world alike, all are to suffer the fulfillment of the prophecy now so near at hand, for the edict promulgated and now about to be put to the test is, in aristides' mind, a foregone conclusion. the day breaks, succeeded by the beams of the rising sun; yet to the most careless onlooker presents a strange, weird aspect. but hark! what means this tumultuous uprising? they who went to their beds on yesterday night in full assurance their fears were without foundation, now rise in haste, fright urging them onward, as pale, tremthe old mountain hermit. 93 bling, heavy of heart, they congregate, each alike contributing to the other's dismay. the whole world is in like mood, and ere the dial marks the hour of ten the sun has entirely disappeared; not a shred of blue above, not a ray of sunlight beneath; all one dark, deepening mass of stony gray, while over and above, obscuring all, rises à deep, impenetrable mist. friend loseth sight of friend; husband of wife; servant his master; mother of her child, for no eye can penetrate the ever-deepening gloom. suddenly from out the firmament, crashing, thundering, echoing from zone to zone, comes a deafening roar, preceded by flashing, blinding flame, altogether suggestive of the downfall of the race, human and brute alike, for in all their ungovernable rage the winds arise, and as they gather, sweep o'er land and sea in one long, intermittent shriek of despair. overturned by the furious blast, the lofty palm, wide-spreading oak and towering cedar fall crashing to the earth. ocean beds are laid bare, rivers run dry, seas become mere lakes, lakes pools, the loftiest structures are torn from their foundations, their former sites swept away forever, thus becoming a thing yet this is but the beginning, the prelude of that to come after, for soon the casements of heaven are loosed; they fly open, the downpour begins; the parched earth eagerly drinks in the flood. its thirst quenched, the whole earth's surface presents one unbroken glare of water, and now the floods gather, pools fill, the most insignificant streams grow and increase in volume; of the past. 94 the old mountain hermit. plains and low-lying valleys become lakes, they in turn enlarge to seas, while the air is choked in the monotonous roar of cataract and waterfall. the lesser hills are peopled with anxious, excited groups, others haste up the broken declivities, bearing in their hands gold, silver and other precious metals; broad shoulders groan under the burden of household effects. anon the waters rise. the low-lying hills barely sufficing, higher elevations are sought, these in turn engulfed, the cry goes up: "to the mountains !” and now raft-like makeshifts are brought into requisition whereon multitudes seek safety; vessels originally constructed for the transportation of wild beasts on their long journeyings to the ark are also utilized, their occupants thus hoping to avert the dread calamity. the strongest and most thoroughly constructed strongholds crumble, thereby vast multitudes being overthrown, falling from the battlements above to the surging waters beneath. mountain sides are climbed, their tops reached; then up, and still upward, till the highest peaks are scaled. yet of what avail? for it is but a little time when even these are engulfed. meanwhile from out wood and jungle, beasts of whatsoever species or degree haste to the mountains. the tiger, lion, bear, leopard, these the most ferocious of all, crouch at their inveterate foes' feet, lick the hand so often raised to strike them down,—then in mute appeal gaze in the eyes of their heretofore bitter foes, urging succor; all enmities on their part forgotten, thus all fear of the old mountain hermit. 95 human face and form giving way before the more imminent one of impending calamity. now seas burst their bonds, oceans overflow their bounds. the entire face of the earth is overwhelmed in one vast bed of seething waters. trees upturned, freighted with human woe, as borne along, they sway back and forth. they even jostle the ark's towering walls, their fear-stricken lodgers, in ear-piercing accents and agonized tones, cry aloud for help. the once despised craft has in very truth become an ark of refuge. wild beasts, too, are there. their terrified howls, and fierce cries, mingling with those of their horrified human neighbors, all now on a level, death staring each alike in the face—their lifeless bodies soon to roll and toss on the bosom of the “great deep” only, at the last to be swallowed up in the depths of the remorseless flood. anon, a low, indistinct, monotonous rumbling, increasing in intensity, and augmenting in volume until the very heavens are choked with the roar, breaks on the ear. undermined yon mountain has succumbed to the fierce onslaught, disappearing beneath the tumultuous waters. leagues of forest stretching away in the far distance in an unbroken wood, fall twisted and torn. their roots like unto human fingers raise themselves on high in mute appeal to stay the oncoming flood. 96 the old mountain hermit. chapter xvii. the ark's living freight. 'twas for the space of forty days and forty nights the casements of heaven remained unclosed. therefrom proceeding one incessant, unremittant downpour, all vestige of life, save the ark's living freight and the fishes in the sea, utterly, irretrievably wiped out of existence, and aside from these the earth was as at the beginning. still the flood continues, yet it is not to be presumed aristides and his family remained idle spectators of these strange, unwonted scenes; nay, for their time was fully occupied in caring for and supplying the needs of the immense herd of beasts entrusted to their charge, for in the safety of these hinge a world's fate. whence, 'tis safe to say, that no similar task was ever before delegated to mortal man. as, however, the responsibilities were of uncommon magnitude, so, in like manner were the resources unequalled, and so long as the master was at the fore, so long would his energetic lieutenant aristides harbor no fears respecting the outcome. but what a tremendous undertaking! this providing food for the vast aggregation of beast, bird, and fowl, some subsisting on the various sorts of grain, hay and straw, others, fruits, and vegetables, while the wild beasts with their ravenous nature would be the old mountain hermit. 97 satisfied with nothing less than animal flesh, whether of human or brute, it mattered little which -and when one stops for a moment to consider the difficulties lying in the way it is certainly a matter of wonder, peradventure, subject for speculation as to the manner wherewith all could be fed with the amount and kinds of food as indicated; yet, in the absence of direct proof it must perforce be taken for granted, for we are assured that all came forth from the ark in good condition, and at the stipulated time. on the evening of the fortieth day the windows of heaven are closed. the rains cease falling. the angry clouds disappear. the thunder roll is heard no more, nor does the lightning flash blind the eyes of this family who have weathered the storms prevailing for the past forty days, and now, as the last vestige of the storm cloud gives way, retiring before the enlivening beams of the declining sun, thus disclosing bright skies above, below, naught but the ark’s staunch walls, the brave ship riding safely on the bosom of the late tumultuous waters. the once despised craft has borne up against the raging elements, not a timber shattered, no rib, or plank wanting, for notwithstanding the rough weather encountered, the ark has withstood all, coming out of the fray with unbroken harness, unconquered, unstained honor even, and if needs must, ready for another encounter. to this, however, the great captain takes little heed; for, the elemental forces conquered, the storm subdued, the rebellious hosts silenced, beaten, fleeing the field, utterly routed, no root, nor branch, bearing evidence of the struggle, no 98 the old mountain hermit. one indeed left to tell the tale. therefore, aristides has good reason to believe the master's wrath appeased; meantime, having done his whole duty, he has equally good reason to be satisfied, as hath the master. and now a long and anxious period of suspense accentuated by weary waiting, supervenes. the moon waxeth and waneth. the great eye of day looks down on a world bereft of its former wealth and grandeur; where once was splendor, glory and happiness, now, naught but silence, and death. and yet the orb of day moves its appointed rounds. the sister planets illumine with their former pristine brilliancy, for there are no more rains, no floods, lightning flame nor thunder boom, no storm, nor tempest, on the contrary, all is serene. the master's wrath not only abated but entirely quenched. five moons now elapse, the waters gradually subsiding, when upon examination the ship is found fast aground, and not long thereafter land appears. “but where?”—a thought deeply agitating the mind of aristides, for destitute of chart or compass it is impossible to determine his whereabouts, hence there was evidently but one course applicable to the situation, and that was to wait, for if even he were in possession of the means necessary to navigate it would be sheer nonsense to make the attempt, for the world's seaports were as "in the beginning.” the old mountain hermit. 99 chapter xviii. disembarking from the ark. biding his time, aristides waits other five days, then throws the window open and makes observation, but sees nothing but a little strip of land as before. however, as yet not entirely convinced, he hits on the novel expedient of sending a raven in quest, but 'tis not long when the bird returns, having found no place whereon to rest its feet. again aristides waits other seven days, and so thoroughly convinced is he that the waters have abated sufficient to effect a landing, that he sends forth a dove. joy! joy! this bird also returns, ! but not empty handed, for it holds in its beak an olive branch. now on every hand may be seen dry land, yet, in order there be no mistake he remains yet seven days, then throws wide open the gates, whereupon the ark dwellers draw a long pent-up breath of relief, the foul air within giving place to the invigorating atmosphere from without. disembarkment is at once begun and prosecuted with so much vigor that soon the mighty mastodon and mate come forth, followed by the other beasts according to degree. thus the long array, wherein are comprised beast, bird and fowl, file out along the gangway to solid ground, until the great ship 100 the old mountain hermit. is cleared of all save “his majesty,” in all the glittering panoply of shining skin, hooded crest and danger signal, hissing in very spite that he should be the one to bring up the rear, rather than as guard of honor in the van, for the monster, even at this late day, fails not in remembrance to whom he is indebted for the original downfall, nor does he intend to apologize for betraying his trust at the supreme moment when a world's fate hung in the balance, and now deeming himself in the line of ancient ancestry, hence of great renown and becoming style, he comes, the notorious enemy of the human race, notably the fairest portion"the serpent." aristides, the noted ship builder and skilled navigator, as he will ever be known, not because of original discovery, but rather that he has repeopled a "new world,” therefore entitled to honors accordingly,-he, too, comes forth at the head of his estimable family, all in an ecstacy of delight upon once more breathing the fresh air. disembarkation at length finished, the beasts are secured, temporary quarters allotted on ground so lately submerged, the wondrously fashioned ark, wherein they have been so long held prisoners, standing for all time as a monument, not to aristides' stupidity, as was at one time asserted, but in evidence of his hearkening to and obeying the master's edict. true, the brown earth is here, but utterly bereft of life. not the most remote sign of vegetation, no lofty palm, no high, towering cedar, nor widespreading oak; no bush, nor shrub; nor is there mountain height to be seen. on the contrary, the old mountain hermit. 101 one wide, lonely, monotonous, dreary blank, and to make the outlook more disheartening, were that possible, the ground as far as one can see is cumbered with lifeless forms, human and brute side by side, else commingled in indiscriminate confusion ; bloated, festering, fast decaying under the sun's heated rays; nevertheless—from some unknown cause--no stench in the least offensive rises therefrom. but there is much to be done, therefore annoyances of whatsoever nature or source, must be made as light of as circumstances will permit. aristides now calls the family together in council, looking to the future, and as a first step toward resettling the world, parcels out to the sons the several divisions of the globe, of course having due regard to their individual tastes as to their occupations. so to one he gives the whole of asia, to another europe, while to the third, and, as will be remembered, the victim of the serpent's wrath, whereby his skin was transformed to the hue of ebony, he presents the entire region of africa, within the boundaries of which are to be found in countless millions his descendants, not one whit less dark than their illustrious predecessor and remote ancestor. this unique family is about to engage in a marvellous undertaking—the re-conquering, re-stocking, and last, but not least, re-peopling a world from whence has been eliminated all that once was, and while wild beasts will no more stand in the way, no hostile foes encountered, nature's forces must, from the very nature of things, be subdued. haste, too, must be made, for the ark's capacious storehouse is rapidly undergoing depletion, so, cast102 the old mountain hermit. ! ing about in order that steps be taken to meet the emergency-for as things now stand famine is imminent-aristides is startled beyond measure, for right before him stands a strange apparition in the person of an aged pilgrim whose stature is not less than eleven feet, hair and beard of snowy whiteness, while plainly marked on his brow is a "deep red scar." lifting up his voice in tones savoring of anxiety, he speaks: "friend aristides, thy mind seems at unrest on some weighty subject, wherefore, know thou that i am one dispatched by the master to inform you that borrowing trouble, either on account of thy family or future prospects, is entirely useless, for in the matter of subsistence, which i plainly discern gives thee much uneasiness, indulge no further concern, for everything thou needest will be furnished in full supply.” saying which, he immediately disappears. “amazing in conception and marvellous of execution are the master's works,” piously ejaculates aristides, then casts his eyes aloft in appeal for the higher powers to solve the mystery. when retiring for the night on this, the close of the third day subsequent to disembarkation, no change of scene, as connected with nature's doings, was apparent. the same dark brown earth; no mountain height, no hill or other elevation of whatsoever nature to break the monotony of the landscape, nor was there the most insignificant sign of vegetation to relieve apprehension of coming want; in short, all was one dull, sickening, unromantic blank. but what a startling change one short night hath the old mountain hermit. 103 > wrought! and who can in the least imagine the delight consequent on the early morning's disclosures ? for in lieu of a dull, gloomy brown, the earth is carpeted with a mantle of brilliant green. instead of an unbroken, monotonous, unrelieved plain, the eye rests on, and the heart is delighted upon witnessing, these splendid tokens of the master's forethought, for spread in luxurious abundance right before them are fields of corn waving in the gentle breeze and nearly ready for the harvest, while each bush, tree and flower is loaded with nature's choicest productions. whereupon in the fullness of his joy, aristides breaks forth: “in no wise doth the master's promises fail in fulfillment." thus was for all time set at rest the question as to subsistence, doubtings heretofore indulged giving way to confidence and hope. thus encouraged the future colonists immediately set to work, putting forth every energy in preparing for early departure, the morning of the fifth day to witness leave taking, so at the appointed hour each of the settlers is to be seen in lead of a column, wherein are the separate species of animals indigenous to the clime to which each is apportioned while making his way along the dusty highway, else riding on an elephant or mastodon's back as selfinterest may dictate or convenience warrant, may be seen our once while friend and coadjutor, “the serpent.” yet, riding or crawling, he is the same enemy to human kind as when cast out from his olden time high estate, companion and friend to earth's only and fairest daughter, he essayed first to captivate, then dethrone the first created 104 the old mountain hermit. of all human beings, in both of which the venemous beast was eminently successful. but now every hand is raised in anger against him, even the beast of the field shunning his hateful presence, and why not, when from his wicked ways he has become the meanest of all created objects; nevertheless, be this as it may, “his royal highness” would infinitely prefer as a habitation some outof-the-way mountain fastness, whereunto the reptile's notorious ancestor was, by fiat of the master, originally banished. thus, in three parallel columns they advance, halting now and then for rest and refreshment, until at length, after many days, weeks and months of wearisome travel, a junction is formed on the plains of a distant part of the land, where they dwell for a lengthy period of years, sons and daughters meantime born to them, who, arriving at mature age, strike out for themselves, going forth to found other colonies, settling new portions of the eminent domain originally partitioned off to them by their grandsire, aristides, so it is fair to presume the earth will, in due time, be again peopled; anyhow, such was the decision of the eminent historia jubal. the old mountain hermit. 105 chapter xix. consultation relative to a tower. the passage of years brings aristides both sons and daughters, numbering altogether sixteen, among whom was one who became sire of a most remarkable character. this son, commonly esteemed a bold, and in many ways, bad man, was possessed of uncommon strength, many of his friends and ardent admirers going so far in their avowals of praise as to bestow on him the compliment of a veritable giant,” others jealous of his growing reputation were in the habit of stigmatizing him as a much overrated character," while everybody was willing to concede to him all that he himself claimed, viz., "a well-meaning man." nevertheless, in order to maintain his constantly augmenting prestige, he was quite willing to ascribe his more notable deeds to his own unaided efforts, foresight, and above all, courage, rather than to the good offices of the gods, maintaining it a piece of sheer cowardice to lay one's good fortune at the door of supernal powers. “why,” says he, "rather give yourselves credit for your valiant deeds, and to me, praise, as their author. furthermore, ye well know, or if not, ye can consult the records for confirmation, that in the days of my greatgrandsire, aristides, there was a wondrous flood, > 106 the old mountain hermit. whereby the whole world was inundated and every living thing swept off from its surface. moreover, through wisdom and foresight combined—forecast of the gods many averred, though aristides maintained 'twas at command of the master-a craft of enormous size, wondrously constructed and of vast capacity, under the cognomen of 'ark,' was launched and provisioned for a lengthy cruise, and within this selfsame vessel were stowed a pair each of all the animal kingdom, besides aristides and family, all of whom were preserved, and of whose descendants you and i are. now, as a far-seeing man, and one who takes nothing on trust, i put it to you, at the same time i am willing to stake my hard-earned reputation that it was by the superior wisdom of my illustrious ancestor that measures were adopted and successfully carried out whereby the casualty was in his case averted, no matter what happened to others; moreover, it must be conceded that whatsoever has at one time occurred, may, peradventure, take place again, whence i am minded to estimate it a bounden duty to advise a similar course in order to avert other disasters of like nature. "my friends," he continues, "let us erect a structure of height adequate to preclude the necessity of that floating affair denominated 'ark,' in which event we will be enabled to rise above the reach of floods, deluge as they may; then the clouds may well stand aghast when looking on a column overtopping even their dizzy heights. again, should fire be the destroying agent, we will circumvent that powerful element, for we will build of stone, or possibly brick, either of which will answer our the old mountain hermit. 107 6) >> purpose, inasmuch as both alike are impervious to the action of fire and water, therefore, seethe as it may on the one hand, deluge as it will on the other, we shall be out of reach of both. “what, my friends, have ye to offer in contradiction to the scheme ?" “why,” says one, “tis so affirmed the master hath set a bow in the clouds for the express purpose of preventing further floods or anything thereto pertaining “bow in the clouds, indeed," quoth abiram. “what do ye think a foolish bow or any other sign can do to prevent the rains from falling when so minded ? nay, nay, friends, be not deceived by these simple tales, for i do assure you 'twas but a ruse to relieve the mind of our worthy ancestor, aristides, who, as i've been told, was constantly tormented by the thought that the master, as he denominated his one god, might possibly again see fit to bring a similar disaster on the world. “the deception practiced on the poor man, harmless, no doubt, in connection with the delusion that followed him to his grave, had the desired effect, for his mind was ever after set at rest, but methinks this topic has little enough to do with our present affairs, wherefore i again ask, what think ye of the scheme?" the question so adroitly put, the reasoning so conclusive, brought the entire assemblage to terms, so, with a single exception, all responded: "aye, aye, worthy citizen abiram, 'tis naught but the truth thou dost speak." to bind the people still firmer to the compact abiram continues thus: “ye have heard them well 108 the old mountain hermit. grounded in the law assert, likewise so do the ancient records testify, 'that the realms of paradise are directly above the firmament, the one the floor of the other.' now, do ye, my friends, understand the gist of my reasoning? if so, then will ye also understand that should the contemplated structure rise to the desired height, what's to hinder one from stepping from the highest pinnacle of the one to the very entrance gates of the other ?" at the close of citizen abiram's address shouts of approval rose from all sides, the cry going up, "long live citizen abiram !” and no wonder, when his specious arguments having carried the day, all opposition was at once swept away, thus at the outset assuring the good will and hearty cooperation of the entire community, who evidently foresaw in the carrying out of the project an easy and direct way of reaching paradise. truly a mighty enterprise, this erecting a tower computed to extend upward until heaven's gates were reached, and so confident was abiram of success and so full of enthusiasm his followers and prospective coadjutors, that few misgivings were harbored as to the result. the old mountain hermit. 109 chapter xx. commencement of the tower. the populace agreed, and all things in readiness, operations were commenced by dispatching messengers throughout the length and breadth of the land for the purpose of summoning architects of well-known ability, also skilled artisans in their individual lines of work, the one to prepare plans and models, the others to put them in execution; while the everyday laborers, in the aggregate many thousands, to be employed, it being declared on all sides that a project of such stupendous magnitude had never before entered the mind of man, nor was one of like importance ever delegated to mortal, nor was one likely to be projected. therefore, the earlier the task was entered upon the better for all parties concerned, as, said one, “the popular feeling evidently runs in the direction of some overwhelming convulsion of nature,” but, were the truth known, this was of secondary importance compared with that of being able to reach paradise by an easy and comfortable route. considerations of this nature being uppermost in the minds of the people, it was an easy matter to raise funds, so, on solicitation, vast sums were subscribed to the building fund, for the fame of the great leader was of such wide extent, his 110 the old mountain hermit. capability so well established, that no one hesitated to comply with the proposed terms, while enthusiasm ran so high, it might be said, unbounded, that the treasury was nigh to overflowing with gold, silver and letters of credit. notwithstanding the alacrity wherewith response to the call was made, more or less delay was experienced consequent on limited means of transportation, nevertheless, a considerable number of architects, artisans and laborers appear prepared for operations, whereupon a consultation was held, first, to determine the particular style of architecture; second, material best adapted to the work of erecting a structure wherein solidity was obviously a prime requisite. a considerable amount of discussion involved, arguments pro and con adduced, and it was at length determined to employ granite for the substructure, while for the tower proper unburned brick was to be employed, the whole cemented with bitumen. the next consideration being the size and shape of the building. after further discussion it was resolved that the form should be conical, divided into separate stories, according to the height, this latter point of noteworthy importance, and to be determined only after the work had sufficiently progressed. "for,” said abiram, “we know not how far heaven be above us, therefore i consider it the wiser plan to leave that important affair unsettled for the present.” along the outer walls was to rise a winding staircase extending from base to summit, a certain number of windows to each story. thus, the scheme the old mountain hermit. 111 inaugurated, is pushed with the utmost vigor compatible with the excellence of the work. huge blocks of granite cut from the mountain side and loaded on stout carts drawn by long trains of bullocks and camels were hauled to the site selected, while brick by the thousand are turned out daily, and thus without let or hindrance the work goes bravely on until the structure has reached to the height of one story above the base. thus, without cessation, the work continues until the structure has reached the enormous height of two hundred and seventy-five feet, the lengthy period of forty years already consumed, but never à thought of relinquishing or for a moment halting, inasmuch as the battlements of heaven, according to the general estimate, are almost in sight. who shall describe, or attempt description of a structure built as was this, of solid masonry, its proportions of the utmost symmetry, in height nearly reaching the skies, a broad and easy stairway circling the outer walls from base to summit, windows from all sides affording an unbroken outlook, gaze from which ever direction one may; in short, a monument witnessing to the skill of architects and artisans in conjunction with the unequalled, untiring energy of the master spirit, unsurpassed, unapproachable of all concerned. 112 the old mountain hermit. chapter xxi. confusion of tongues. closely approaching nightfall, on this, the last day, work meantime having progressed both rapidly and satisfactorily, the twelfth story so nearly finished as to require but a single tier of brick, and architects, contractors, foremen, laborers, all return to camp amid a scene of general rejoicing from the fact that the present outlook is uncommonly favorable for speedy cessation of the work, it being understood that all labor will cease until the commencement of another year, the main reason for this course of action lying in the fact that funds are running low, the treasury nearly empty. word, however, lately received, indicates that large sums of money will be forthcoming on the first day of the new year, some eight months hence, furthermore, a general state of good feeling prevails just now, owing to the fact that all have been paid their wages in full, amounting to no inconsiderable sum; hence, as they gather about the board in interest of the evening meal, the word goes round: "no more work after the close of the month.” little wonder then all should be found in amiable mood, largely intensified by the reflection that the old mountain hermit. 113 their homes, many of them far distant, will ere long overflow with happiness consequent on well-filled pockets, sure sesame to generous opening of hearts and warm welcome. the labors of the day ended, abiram repairs to his luxurious home, situated a little distance away on a beautiful prominence near the outskirts of the town, and now that everything has gone so well, his inmost thoughts outwardly displayed, an uncommonly cheerful demeanor lending an additional charm to his naturally composed features, for he has gained a name, and if all comes out well, honors will flow in upon him without stint; indeed, the proudest of all the earth's most renowned monarchs may well cry aloud in envy, for he has outstripped them all in the race for glory. noticing abiram's happy mood, his wife goes out to meet him, and, should there be gratifying news in connection with his manifold labors, congratulate him, so she solicitously inquires the cause for this apparent change from his usual calm, some might call it stern, demeanor, to one so light and cheerful? whereupon he answers: “know ye not, jerusha, that our work in nearing completion reveals from the prodigious height attained, the domes, minarets, spires, and i don't know but i might be justified in saying even the battlement of heaven? and i much misdoubt if the pearly gates of paradise be not at this moment put in order in anticipation of our arrival. but, jerusha, i would to the table, for i am well nigh onto famishing, and after my bodily wants are attended to i will to my couch, for the morrow's sun must not find me in bed, as there is much to be done in 114 the old mountain hermit. anticipation of cessation of work. again, i am fully determined on awarding my faithful coadjutors a period of rest commensurate with the amount of their labors, to which, i am positive, no one will deny their right, and to which they, as well as myself, are entitled. forty years of continuous application, jerusha, should, i am positive, suffice for the first bout, after which comes the supreme struggle, when it is fair to presume, the great tower will have been finished, yet, at the best, a half moon must be consumed in the completing of the present work; then for rest." the great abiram now gives himself up to the good things set before him, enjoying them as he has not done since the beginning of the work, for his mind has been so preoccupied that the pleasures of the table were of secondary importance, so, after finishing his supper, he repairs to his couch in expectant slumber, peradventure to see visions; nevertheless stern realities are ere long to stare him in the face, in comparison to which dreams and visions are naught but shadows. all unconscious of the multitude of strange sounds common to a great encampment, the ambitious man sleeps, giving no thought to the menacing troubles in active preparation, and about to break on his unconscious head, for were he but knowing to the truth he would at once take measures to avoid the calamity that the morrow's sun would look down upon. aye, a spectacle wholly unanticipated, unlooked, unprepared for. anon the trumpet blast, and the scarcely rested multitude of heroic workers rise from their beds, partake of a hurried breakfast, then up and away the old mountain hermit. 115 to their accustomed daily toil. and now from the direction of his not far distant home appears abiram. he passes along until he at length notices one of the principal contractors, who, on approach, returns the kindly greeting to his chief, then, in relation to some minor affair pertaining to his official duties, essays speech. imagine the surprise depicted on the face of abiram, for on his employee opening his mouth, prefacing his speech, words without let or hindrance flow therefrom, but of what avail ? for to the chief they are but so much gibberish. in the belief that some joke was being played upon him, abiram in angered tones cries: "go to, azael! why address thy chief in this unseemly manner? why essay speech in this outlandish gibberish? doth not the hebrew, thy mother tongue, suffice, that thou must needs concoct thy hideous jokes? desist, i beg, and take heed hereafter to thy ways, else it will the worse for thee in that thy fair fame is at stake. thus i give thee fair warning.” alas! the great abiram's speech is not one whit better received, because not more capable of comprehension that that of his servant, azael, who has but just now addressed him. others appear on the scene, approaching the chief in expectation of making known their wants, but 'tis all the same; no one can in the slightest degree understand the other, whereon, the brow of abiram becomes overshadowed in anxiety, his soul is filled with dread and convulsed with apprehended danger, for that some unforeseen calamity is impending and on the point of overtaking him 2 116 the old mountain hermit. his own soul and intuitive perceptions tell him only too well. summoning up his courage he again strives in effort to inquire the cause of this strange proceeding, for that there is something at the bottom of the affair that needs clearing up he is convinced. yet, as before, nothing comes of it, so he soliloquizes, "have the gods for a verity taken this thing in hand looking to my downfall ?” "remember ye not, abiram, the prophetic words, 'in the day thou despiseth my words, hearkening not unto them, in that selfsame day shall thy works come to naught? thou would’st not remember, thou would'st not hearken. thy future shall be given to repentance. the unwieldly structure thou, in thy egotism, doth style tower, will for ever more stand as a monument to thy stupidity, allied to vanity and uncalled for ambition, generations to come gazing thereon as a relic of thy folly." thoroughly aroused, for he can conceive no good reason for this serious outbreak on the part of one he has heretofore looked upon in the light of an addled-brained impostor, abiram, in his wrath exclaims: “who in the name of the gods, art thou who thus beards the lion in his den, so to speak ?” when on the instant the earth trembles, as in the throes of an earthquake, a voice from above speaks: “abiram, beware what is said !" thus causing a thrill of terror to surge through the hearts of all there assembled. affrighted and trembling, all bow the knee in token of submission, each head droops in contrition, every eye seeks the ground, for no one dares the old mountain hermit. 117 to look up, yet ere their faculties are entirely recovered their ears are assailed by a multitude of incongruous sounds emanating from the beasts of burden, who, in harness, stand awaiting signal to move, and having caught the infection, are scarcely less terrified than their masters. in the midst of the confusion that so largely prevails, voices in startled tones are heard: "to the tower!” when casting their eyes in the direction of the noble structure, flames are beheld issuing from the upper windows. “aha !" again cries jubal. “methinks 'twas said 'the great captain would erect a tower impervious to the flames, and against which neither fire nor water should prevail.' "lift up thine eyes, 0 mighty chieftain! behold the brick the artisans did so deftly lay. see how they melt and give way before the raging flames. yet i would not at this time entirely destroy the work of thy hands. nay! let it stand until such time as the commoner elements shall have done their work." the words hardly escaping the lips of the seer when lo, the fires are quenched; abiram meanwhile casting about to make inquiry, finds the master's envoy departed, the great chief's hopes and aspirations likewise. and now is heard from all sides a veritable babel of voices in contention, each striving to outdo the other in unavailing attempt to be understood by his neighbor. again all eyes are turned toward the towering structure, whose majestic proportions, outlined against a background of purplish sky, bear truth118 the old mountain hermit. ful witness to the excellent workmanship of the builders. that tower whose pinnacles almost pierce the sky, as abiram, only the evening before hailed jerusha in the words: “they reveal the gateway entering on heaven's portals, wherein are discerned minarets, spires, domes and battlements rising above the walls of paradise.” abiram is suddenly confronted by a conclave of architects, master builders and contractors, who have taken this opportunity to hold speech with their employer as to the proper course to be pursued and measures taken in this deplorable emergency; yet, while lips part and words flow in ceaseless strain, they might as well be given to the winds. about to give up the contest in despair, a happy thought strikes abiram, so as a last resort he calls for writing materials, in the belief that while mere uttered words were of no effect, he could see no good reason why, by adopting chirography, success should not crown the effort, so seizing pen, dips it in the ink, applies it to the parchment, thus attempting to record that which speech failed to represent. the pen moves swiftly, sentences are quickly framed, whole paragraphs turned off as never before; a page is filled, then another, until the entire parchment is lined with what was presumed to be genuine hebrew characters. the finished manuscript is passed to the architect-in-chief. the learned man scans the workmanship, pores over the contents, again and again seeks its translation, indeed, resorts to every known method whereby to comprehend its significance, until at last, thor> the old mountain hermit. 119 oughly disheartened, he hands the manuscript to a prominent official, who, adjusting his spectacles, ventures on a like process, but with no better results. finally, and as a last resort, a general consultation is agreed upon, yet, when put in force the outcome is worse, if possible, than either or all the others. judging from appearances it had become only too evident that nothing could in any event be accomplished, delay only adding intensity to a conflict wherein the powers of the air were in contention with the selfish interests of earth’s poor mortals. each of the company, in token of farewell , extends a hand to their disappointed chief, then take their departure, full well assured that pursue whatever course they may, struggle against fate as they will, the master's wrath cannot in any event be assuaged, nor can the pearly gates, although "ajar," be reached by the stairway route. again the trumpet sounds "assembly," when the vast array of workmen for the last time congregate; yet, ere a final leave-taking is indulged, many things must be looked after by way of settling up affairs. horses, camels, bullocks, carts, and a multitudinous array of effects accumulated along a succession of busy years, are to be disposed of; nevertheless, upon attempting settlement, do their best, they are simply working at cross purposes, for no one can in the least understand the other. at this juncture a skilled artisan hits on an expedient whereby the difficulty seems in fair way to be overcome, so in furtherance of the scheme he jots down a certain number of symbolical characters, each numeral representing a specified sum, thence attaching these characters to a like number > 120 the old mountain hermit. of beasts of burden, wheeled vehicles or other articles of value, these to be sold or bartered, the entire outfit is ere long disposed of. leave-taking, now the order of the day, is taken advantage of, some departing with regret, others rejoicing, for they are eager to be on the homeward route, while many uniting in distinct bands, journey to distant lands where hitherto uninhabited portions of the globe are made to feel the regenerating influences of well-directed effort. the old mountain hermit. part second. chapter xxii. leave of absence for the colonel. (the original record, as transcribed from the silver tablets, came to an end at the close of the foregoing chapter, and while seemingly truthful, must, in some of its aspects, have been largely forecast, inasmuch as the purported author of the strange history was lost to mortal ken many long ages ago, to again appear in materialized form only as the “old hermit of the mountains.”) returning to the beginning of the story, we find recorded that shortly after colonel ashburton's return from the east indies, in the rôle of commander-in-chief of her majesty's regiment, "the royal blues,” he was ordered to the distant province of canada, so after a somewhat lengthy and tedious voyage, the colonel is set down in camp near the wealthy and populous city of toronto. through it all the mind of the queen's active official is constantly tormented, and above all, agitated by the thought of his late exploits wherein the “mysterious isle” figured so prominently, for 122 the old mountain hermit. it had become a settled conviction that more extended and intelligent exploration might possibly result in discoveries far outvying those already achieved. furthermore, so firmly fixed and so thoroughly imbued was his mind in the belief that it had become a serious matter, nor was he in reality fitted to perform the arduous duties pertaining to the distinguished office he held, viz., commanderin-chief of her royal majesty's colonial forces. in point of fact, were the truth known, the colonel's days were largely given up to dreams, his nights freighted with uncanny visions. in this disagreeable emergency be resolves to petition the home government for another and longer leave of absence, failing in which, he would take immediate steps looking to withdrawal from the service; therefore as a first step to carry the arrangement into effect, he indites a letter to the war department, detailing in full the object sought, likewise measures necessary to its accomplishment. the colonel's communication, forwarded to its proper destination, results in an answer conveying the gratifying assurance that the petition is not only granted, but leave of absence extending to a period of two years, with power to draw on the national treasury for such sums as might be deemed necessary in furtherance of the object sought. to say the colonel was elated upon receipt of this gratifying piece of news would but illy express his feelings, for the proposal was so far in excess of his most sanguine hopes, to say nothing of his expectations, that he was at first loth to give the old mountain hermit. it credence; however, coming from so high a source, he was forced to the conviction that due importance must ve been attached to the ult results of an undertaking wherein sound judgment, untiring energy and large outlay must, from the necessity of the case, play a leading part, so turning over the command to a brother officer, in whom he had implicit confidence, he sets sail on a homeward bound steamer. a speedy voyage, and his native england is reached, whereupon the colonel, with his accustomed activity, begins preparations looking to the carrying forward of the scheme, greatly, at the outset, facilitated by the steamer “the city of japan” being put in commission and placed at his service. in the light of a well-merited hero, past exploits a a notable factor contributing to his widespread popularity, ashburton's fame is known far and wide, wherefore, 'twas scarcely matter of wonder that he should be besieged with applicants for the several positions at his disposal. among the large number of applicants were several of the most noted savants of the kingdom, also eminent histriographers, each basing claim on their previous record. notwithstanding all this, three only, and those the best known, were granted the privilege of accompanying the noteworthy expedition in the above capacity; while one other, under orders of a well-known metropolitan journal _"the london times”—as correspondent and official reporter, whose exploits and most notable achievements will be found in detail further on. 124 the old mountain hermit. chapter xxiii. the outward bound voyage. on board the british steamer, “the city of japan," june 13, 1883. anchor hoisted and all things in readiness, the great ship steams from out the harbor. as the enterprise is one of unusual occurrence, its object of noteworthy importance, special care has been observed in the selection of officers and crew, also the most rigid scrutiny in general equipment and efficiency, hence the remark was frequently heard that few vessels had sailed from that port under more favorable conditions, the inference drawn that the leading spirit of the unequalled enterprise has at last reached the goal of his ambition, peradventure, nearing the topmost pinnacle of fame, with fair prospect of ultimately gaining the coveted prize, so the enthusiastic colonel may be seen standing on deck of as fine a vessel as his native land can well boast, and now glancing backward, he beholds albion's fair shores fast receding, while his thoughts reach forward to the time when he will have it in his power to place before an enraptured world mementoes of bygone ages, peradventure records dating away back to the very “beginning," and surely the colonel's noble bearing and upright carriage may, the old mountain hermit. 125 easily be construed as betokening an ambition that will not be satisfied until the grand work he has undertaken shall have been fully accomplished. furthermore, his unexaggerated manifestations of undaunted courage give tone to the entire ship's company, who vie in endeavor to exhibit to their enthusiastic leader that they are in thorough accord and active sympathy with his mission. in addition to her powerful engines, "the city of japan” is bark rigged, hence there would seem nothing in the way of a quick voyage, so, under full press of steam, in conjunction with an immense breadth of canvas, our journey is conducted, until at the close of the thirtieth day out the purpled hills of india are again seen. a pilot signalled, anchor is soon dropped in a harbor whose waters are of a transparency that objects a hundred or more feet below are plainly visible. a steam launch is summoned, and ere the night is fully spent the ponderous hoisting machinery, destined to bring to the surface prehistoric remains, lies on the dock, also subsistence for man and beast during the long inland journey. on reaching india the colonel again hunts up his old servant, yoseph, who is only too glad to be of service to his former employer. active steps are at once taken, whereby a trained body of natives are secured, a score of camels, a number of bullocks, together with wheeled vehicles and a halfdozen horses, ridden by surgeon burkhardt, the colonel, yoseph, and myself, while the three savants are mounted on the backs of camels. thus, as a whole, we make a most imposing cavalcade, 126 the old mountain hermit. especially when brought up by a number of wondrously fashioned carts, constructed for the purpose of conveying the heavy machinery. now well along toward october, and as the wet season usually commenced the first of december, storm-swept skies and muddy roads are to be expected, and it necessarily stood the colonel in hand to hasten his departure, for a long, probably wearisome journey of not less than six hundred miles was to be overcome, a considerable part of the way along desert wastes, jungle entanglements and thickly massed wood, so that travel must necessarily be greatly hindered; however, in no way inclined to indulge in imaginary troubles, we push ahead, yoseph's extensive knowledge of the country through which we pass greatly facilitating our progress. forty and seven days' continuous journeying, and the lengthy train draws up alongside a darksome jungle, within whose gloomy recesses reposes the little lake on whose bosom floats “the mysterious isle.” tents are now pitched and camp set up in anticipation of a thirty days' stay; so it was conceded that preparations must be conducted on a somewhat extended scale. there was, however, a serious drawback to greatly prolonged stay from the fact that lack of water was to be expected, in which event the condition of both ourselves and mute friends might become hazardous. nevertheless, as the lake was not so very far distant, it was hoped the difficulty might be overcome. nightfall approaches, and what a charming spectacle! scores of camp-fires, from which ascend the old mountain hermit. 127 thin wreaths of smoke and bright flame illuminating a large space of contiguous territory; nothing to disturb the brooding silence, other than sounds common to gatherings of like character, for we are hundreds of leagues distant from the habitation of man; even the everyday wayfarer's tread, common to other parts, is seldom heard in this remote portion of the kingdom. 128 the old mountain hermit. chapter xxiv. exploration. ushered in by the bugle's stirring note, dawn at length appears, the far-sounding tones caught up and returned by the wild denizens of wood and jungle,-suggestive as i was convinced, later confirmed, of concealed, deadly foes, who would gladly make a feast off human flesh, to which they were entire strangers, but whether they would for all time remain so was a problem yet to be solved. again were enacted scenes of the previous night, gleaming camp-fires, breakfast, then away, the same pathway leading to the shores of the lake, which, being reached, were found lined by wild beasts, congregated to quench their morning thirst, while the waters are dotted with aquatic fowl, evidently engaged in making all the noise possible, thus seeking to drive from their shores the strange beings intent on taking peaceable possession, if possible, otherwise by force. however, on our appearance the wild beasts haste to their jungle haunts, the fowl seeking safety in flight. the shores cleared of these would-be barriers to our approach, a squad of natives under surgeon burkhardt are detailed as rear guard, the others returning to camp preparatory to transferring the bulky hoisting machinery. the old mountain hermit. 129 the stout carts hauled by bullocks, several yoke to each vehicle, make their way slowly, laboriously along, a wheel now and then sinking deep in the spongy soil, extricated only by the combined efforts of the drivers, but, notwithstanding these drawbacks, mid-afternoon finds the heavy loads in readiness to be transferred to the island shore. in order to facilitate the tedious operation, in fact none other was available-rafts were hurriedly put together, which upon being tested, were found to answer the designed purpose admirably, for with very little labor it was quickly drawn across the narrow channel, and placed in position for being loaded, and now, as night was fast approaching, it was thought best to defer operations until morning. again rest and slumber, an early breakfast, then to work. the colonel active, vigilant, overseeing everything, for this is a day in which his hopes are brought to fruition, else dashed in pieces, and as in this last attempt he naturally desires the most thorough investigation, the surface of the island is excavated to a considerable depth, radiating from center to circumference in all directions. as a preliminary step to this, however, the lofty monarches of the forest are first felled, then cut in lengths suitable for easy handling, afterward thrown into the waters of the lake. brushwood and other obstructions are cleared away, and all made ready for pick, spade and shovel. in this manner is the work carried on without halt or stoppage, for the space of twenty days. the darkness of the night in no wise contributing to hindrance, because of huge bon-fires blazing from different parts of the island, until at the last 130 the old mountain hermit. the whole area of the little isle is thrown up to a depth exceeding ten feet, but nothing disclosed, other than the tomb brought to light on the colonel's former visit. shears placed in position, tackling applied, to these fastened pulley blocks, and stout hempen cables, from which depend wrought iron grappling hooks, which lowered, grasp the cumbersome sarcophagus, then by the combined power of a dozen hands it is quickly raised to the surface, while the whole company gather round in anxious expectancy as to what will be disclosed, yet illy prepared for the grand things brought to view, for here side by side, are three separate and distinct coffins. sand, mold and dirt cleared away reveal to the interested onlooker-what? for answer, exquisitely carved figures. of whom? questions soon to be answered to the amazement and unbounded astonishment of all present. the old mountain hermit. 131 chapter xxv. startling revelations. at the close of the last chapter we were just entering on exploration which is herewith disclosed, viz.: commencing at the central tomb are to be seen the lineaments of a face deeply cut in the marblelike surface, indicative of superior intellect, at the same time attached to a form of almost gigantic proportions. . the inscription on this tomb,-the characters were fairly legible—on being deciphered reveal these significant words, to wit: “these be the remains of orimentes, the first man moulded from the dust of the earth on the sixth and last day of creation." signed, c. w. the tomb on the right bore this inscription : “within this sarcophagus lies all that is mortal of orimentides, the first woman, fashioned out of a rib taken from the side of orimentes, the first man, while in deep sleep." the third and last, and to my mind the most interesting of all, was a tomb whereon was recorded the following simple epitaph: “ 'tis here repose the remains of the friend, and 132 the old mountain hermit. once while companion of the first created man and woman, whose respective names are orimentes and orimentides. through the evil machinations, false representations and alluring promises of the original tempter,--the serpent,--orimentides fell, thus, contributing to a world's downfall.” upon witnessing these remarkable evidences, corroborating, as they evidently must, the truthfulness of later day records, colonel ashburton was nearly overcome by his overwrought emotions. shears, ropes and pulleys again adjusted, and brought to bear, result in raising other bodies of like character, all dating away back to the very beginning or the misty ages of a long forgotten past. among the number,doubtless the most notable—was that of the renowned ark builder, and one of the original navigators-aristides. on the outer surface of the lid of this tomb in the engraving was the subject of a wondrously modeled craft, suggestive of enormous capacity and wondrous solidity, while underneath was a miniature of the principal architect and leader of the unique scheme. the next in order was the tomb of abiram, the celebrated tower builder, whereon was faithfully depicted,--and presumably accurate—representation of a structure, whereby the celestial gates were to be easily reached, accompanied by the following paragraph: "let not thy ambition override thy good judgment lest a like fate overtake thee." in this manner was the work carried on, tomb after tomb unearthed. the antiquated relics conclusively showing, as the colonel had previously rea the old mountain hermit. 133 f marked, "the isle of the lake” was undoubtedly a common burial ground where the most remarkable characters of prehistoric times had found a last resting place. the entire surface of the island having been dug to a depth considerably exceeding the original estimate, yet nothing farther discovered, it only now remained to transfer the priceless treasures to the main-and thence through the dense jungle to the site of the encampment-a task of no little magnitude when taking into account the enlarged weight and attendant inconvenience consequent on hauling the cumbersome loads over the light, porous soil ; however, by persistent effort and wearisome labor, camp was at length reached. upon consultation it was deemed best to leave the caskets unopened until on shipboard, when plenty of time would be at our disposal. “moreover,” said the colonel, “the inscriptions on the lids of the several caskets indicate their ownership.” but what of our friends, the savants, who having witnessed achievements so far outvying in importance anything recorded in the annals of archæology, or disclosed in the realms of science, can hardly find words whereby to express their delight, and on looking over these sacred relics are ceaselessly led to exclaim as in the quotation of the colonel's, “great, o god, are thy works, and thy ways past finding out." notebook and pencil are quickly produced, passing events recorded with the most faithful accuracy as connected with these important discoveries, together with the island scenery, which was to them an entirely new feature. > 134 the old mountain hermit. the carts loaded to their full capacity, and drawn up alongside the encampment, were now prepared for the start, by harnessing bullocks and camels, thus, all things in readiness for an early leave, when at the last moment the colonel hesitates, and begins to question as to the advisability of setting out until men and cattle shall have become thoroughly rested from the fatigue attendant on their late severe labors, “for," said he, "a long and tedious journey lies before us." thus in ever-varying mood, the contemplated change seemingly occupying his thoughts to the exclusion of more weighty matters, for it certainly was a difficult task to decide as to which was the better course, the colonel was suddenly brought to a standstill by the appearance of a strange, unwonted spectacle, for, coming to our startled ears was a low, monotonous, rumbling sound, momently increasing in volume until the whole heavens were choked with the roar, the earth vibrating and trembling as in the throes of some one of nature's mighty convulsions. the atmosphere becomes stagnant, without sign of life or apparent motion. the camels affrighted, strain at the tugs in frantic effort to break away from the carts. bullocks moan, horses plunge and rear in very desperation, jungle beasts howl in terror, the birds of the air spread their wings in flight, ill-omened crows flock to a neighboring tree top, cawing their displeasure. the natives with uplifted voice fall prone to the earth, beseeching the all-powerful allah to appear in interest of his devoted followers. the old mountain hermit. 135 chapter xxvi. the catastrophe. turning in the direction whence the sounds emanate dense volumes of smoke, mingled with bright flashes of flame, are observed rising; boulders of huge proportions and immense weight are projected high in air, while the earth for leagues in every direction quivers and shakes as though some diabolical, or other potent influence, were in conspiracy looking to our swift destruction. to add to the horror of the situation the hitherto clear sky becomes overcast with great masses of dark, threatening clouds from which leap flashes of vivid lightning, and thunder roll. the sun—but a little way above the horizonwears the look of an immense globe of liquid fire against a background of stony gray. at this moment his unkempt snowy locks waving in the morning breeze, countenance wearing an unearthly light, deep emotion visible in every lineament of his face, on his wrinkled brow faithfully depicted a purplish hued scar, his thinly clad, meager form floating in mid-air, appears "the old hermit of the mountain.” halting in his aerial flight, he lifts up his voice > 136 the old mountain hermit. in the words, “was it not enough, ye men of belial, that ye desecrate the tombs of the fathers, that ye must needs, after having my old bones in your keeping, do likewise by theirs ? thereby laying bare secrets that should have been held inviolate, and kept as a sacred trust. nay, henry ashburton, i was minded for this to hold ye guiltless, but ye could not rest content until ye had in possession the remains of the first created of all human beings, even to the tempter, “the serpent.' "how, then, in view of all this can ye expect forgiveness? though, mayhap, ye think your selfish schemes will carry. we shall see! ! “go to, then, i will no more of ye! yet, ere thou riddeth this goodly land of your presence i would ye cast your eyes abroad, witnessing what your impious hand hath wrought. look! i say; feast thine eyes on yon clouds of smoke and hissing flame, open thine ears to the devilish sounds that doth rise in confirmation of thy sacrilegious doings —to them, stern witnesses of departed glory; to thee, overweening desire for unearned fame, and to thy shame as well. haste, i say, go thither, without ι loss of time, then, in wonder halt, and naught wilt thou look upon other than one grand scene of utter desolation, and after ye shall have gloated over the ruins to thy heart's content, gather together thy ill-gotten plunder and depart the way ye came, but, of this be assured, that a time will come the day and hour ye know not—when the bones so deftly deposited on yon hideous carts, shall be clothed in garb of flesh. they will rise up in judgment, thou the victim, they the victor. for as much as i did aforetime warn ye, saying, 'disturb not the halthe old mountain hermit. 137 lowed remains,' and ye did not hearken, so in like manner will be the punishment. moreover as the first created were cast out from their rightfully acquired inheritance, so wilt thou be cast adrift from thy wrongfully acquired possessions, thy life even shall be forfeited, yet before this sad ending the sacred remains with which, as i said before, thou hast freighted yon hideous carts, shall take on spirit guise, they will become so materialized as to compass thee round about. they will lay hold of thee, after which thou wilt on bended knees plead for mercy, begging them depart in peace, yet this cannot be, for as the deep sea will at the last be thy winding sheet, so in like manner will they follow, bearing thee company to the bosom of the great deep. "away, then, monster of iniquity, victim of overweening avarice. go whithersoever thou wilt, but this, remember, that not one jot nor tittle of the punishment awarded thee shall be abated." the strange, incomprehensible being maintained his mid-air equipoise during the time of the foregoing colloquy, not the slightest motion perceptible save the lifting of an arm in emphasis of the anathemas heaped on the head of his distinguished victim, abruptly disappears, his attenuated form seeming to fade away, dematerializing right before their very eyes. the clouds of dust, flashing flame, and rising smoke, like unto the prophetic spirit, have also disappeared. during the whole time the foregoing scene has been transpiring the enthralled scientists are engaged in eager converse, rejoicing in exultant tones that the realms of science were never before 138 · the old mountain hermit. so burdened with supernal doings, hence the books of record overflowing with inestimable treasures, for these worthy savants estimate scenes like this from a scientific standpoint only. indeed, they revel in anticipated triumph, believing this largely augmented wealth will not only redound to their credit, but in due time be spread on the pages of scientific reviews; not only this, but will be displayed in the columns of that most noted of all journals—"the london daily times." the strange, weird spectacle had for them few terrors, but not so with myself. indeed, i knew not what to think, much less how to act, yet this much i can honestly vouch for, that were i at this very moment to be spirited away back to my cozy office in the times building, nothing in the world would have better pleased me, not, however, in that my mind was unduly exorcised in view of the uncanny transactions, nor that i was at all capable of comprehending these signal manifestations of supernal agency, notwithstanding all this, i was fain to argue that the whole affair was doubtless some easily explained phenomena wherein nature's doings played no insignificant part, else some grand method of deception-diabolical-may be, but none the less effective; anyhow, this was to my mind the most sensible conclusion at which i could arrive. not so, however, with colonel ashburton, who, holding strongly to the supernatural, was most unaccountably, not to say fearfully agitated; so to test the matter, “the old fortune teller's veracity,' as put by yoseph, the company was ordered to retain position in line, and to hold itself in readiness for instant departure, while accompanied by the old mountain hermit. 139 yoseph and myself, the colonel would turn back to the scene of the late exploration, whence arose the explosion. but what was the consternation of all to find nothing but a waste of waters, “the mysterious isle,” together with the ancient relics of mortality had totally disappeared, and absolutely nothing left to tell of what had been, save several floating logs, brushwood and debris of like nature, while a considerable part of the lake was strewn with the mangled, lifeless remains of wild beast and fowl. upon beholding this sudden and wholly unlooked for transformation, this rapid change from "the little isle of the lake” to the broad waters of an inland sea, the colonel was for a second time so nearly overcome that his massive form trembled, his military cap fell from his shaking head, as vouched for by yoseph,—"from an external upheaval of his bristly locks,” his usually flushed face assumed a sallow hue, and while at all times and under every circumstance esteemed a brave soldier, he was nevertheless at this particular time fearfully shaken. but what shall be said of the return journey, fraught, as this necessarily must be, with innumerable perils and hardships, the lateness of the season contributing largely to bad roads, for scarcely a day passed without more or less rain, the wheels of the heavily laden carts frequently sinking to the axles in the mud, the hardest labor only sufficing for their extrication. while malarial "fever invades the ranks, many falling victims to the deadly scourge. thus was the journey continued until nightfall 140 the old mountain hermit. of the sixtieth day, when our eyes were gladdened and our hearts thrilled by a sight which caused a throb of ecstacy to pervade every soul, for away in the distance, from “the city of japan's” mast-head was unfurled and floating on the evening breeze the flag of my native land, the union jack.” the old mountain hermit. 141 chapter xxvii. returning to england. we were three days out on the homeward voyage when i suggested that the stone enclosed treasures be opened up, at the same time aware the colonel's mind was in a singular state of unrest. however, assenting without comment, the task was commenced, when his drooping spirits seemed to revive, excitement took the place of listlessness, and he really seemed on the point of becoming the stout-hearted, equipoised man of the world as of yore, and little wonder, under the attendant stimulating influences caused by the remarkable objects brought to view. the first casket to which attention was directed, as inscribed on the outer lid, was the first created of all human beings—orimentes. unfastening the lid what do we discern? a mass of bones only? nay, rather a for:n—to all appearance-of flesh and blood. it now occurred to me that speculation had at some time been rife, relative to the unusual weight of this particular casket. this was, however, readily explained, for upon examination we find a body, perfect in all its parts, yet of a consistency of granite and of reddish cast. 142 the old mountain hermit. was upon accurate measurement the remarkable facť was disclosed that here was a being in life standing not less than twelve feet three inches in height, shoulders three feet and one inch in breadth, a head of proportionate size, the weight of the entire form-as estimated—a full half ton. truly a magnificent specimen of manhood, wherefore one might be led to the conclusion “that man really made in the image of his creator.” does anyone question that a human body could thus remain intact for a period, according to established authority of six thousand years at least? then let such a person attempt the removal of the lid of this casket, for the joints were so perfectly cemented with some particular substance as to defy the utmost efforts, save that of a finely tempered chisel driven with sledgehammer blows, whereby its removal was effected. from this pertinent fact it at once became apparent that the coffin was so entirely impervious to the outer air, that the body might have remained in this same condition another six thousand years, "peradventure"-as suggested by an irreverent ' sailor—“till the resurrection morn." the inside of the casket was now thoroughly examined, but nothing revealed save a number of pieces of gold coin. a second look, however, extorts an exclamation of surprise, for deeply chiseled on one side was a niche guarded by a slide so neatly arranged as to require an expert to detect anything but a perfectly smooth surface, and a burglar would, it was thought, be apt to get little for his pains. farther examination revealed the fact that within the old mountain hermit. 143 the concealed opening were a series of beautifully engraved plates, presumably a record of the times, both coin and plates dating back to the year six hundred and ten. after a few explosive notes of genuine surprise the coins were carefully laid away for future criticism, or rather, examination, after which work on the second casket was commenced. this was also hermetically sealed, 'the utmost strength seconded by the sledge only serving to make an impression on the flinty compound; however a few well directed blows severed the lid of a sarcophagus, wherein were found the well preserved remains of the first woman-orimentides. the form of orimentides was nine feet two and one-half inches in length, and of admirable proportions. the lineaments of the face appearing careworn and aged, suggestive of a life of toil and care, possibly tinctured with remorse. gold coin bearing even date with the others were also found, but no tablets. “what an exquisite creature must this in life have been? sun kissed locks falling to her feet, a countenance expressive of thoughts and desires, only given to natures such as hers undoubtedly was, hence the appearance of this, the first woman, must have been truly majestic. little wonder then the serpent's eagerness to possess her charms, allied to intense affection, nor is it to be wondered at that orimentes should have fallen an easy victim to her wiles.” 'twas thus i meditated as looking on a form, but just now exposed to view, the long period of six thousand years of silent repose intervening between a 144 the old mountain hermit. all that was mortal of the first created, mother of future generations, was laid away within the darksome recesses of the mysterious isle of the lake, the idea intensified by the thought that the spirit once dwelling in that lovely form might for all that i knew at this very moment be hovering near. i was soon recalled to earth and earthly things by an exclamation. turning, i found the colonel and a sailor tugging away for dear life in vain attempt to unloose the third casket, wherein was enclosed—as affirmed by the inscription—the remains of aristides. nothing was here disclosed but a petrified body, "yet hold! what is this i see?” my eye on the instant lighting on a projection at the farther end of the casket. “hold," again i cry, and well were we repaid for so doing, for within a hollowed chamber extending the whole length of the sarcophagus, was a well preserved model of the vessel wherein were saved and preserved the progenitors of the entire human family, commonly known as "the ark.” “were confirmation of the universal deluge required, other than that developed from biblical record, here we have it," sententiously spoke the colonel. “furthermore," he continues, “i consider this relic of greater importance than all the others, and that is saying a good deal," and well might the colonel so consider this of the utmost importance, for in this must the oft-mooted question of a universal deluge be forever set at rest, inasmuch as here was the actual, conclusive proof. continuing investigation we arrive at the fourth casket, sealed, as were the others, whereon was in> > the old mountain hermit. 145 scribed, “abiram, the builder of a tower, expected to furnish an easy route to paradise.” the robes in which the bodies were originally enshrouded when laid away, soon became so decomposed by exposure to the air, as to rise in an impalpable powder that was fearfully stifling; however, this soon passed away leaving nothing behind. the fifth, and last remaining casket, was now taken in hand, and while of less weight, was in no respect of less account, for on deciphering the characters it bore, the astonishment was not one whit abated, for here was a coffin lid whereon was inscribed the one word, "tempter," followed by the warning, "by whose machinations, misrepresentations, falsehoods and treachery the first man and woman fell from their high estate, being expelled from the celestial garden." nothing was here disclosed save the vertabrae, skin and rear appendage, otherwise the warning rattles, while on the under side of the outer lid cut in the granite-like surface were the significant words, "beware the serpent." 146 the old mountain heruit. ร chapter xxviii. forthcoming events. our wearisome, though wondrously interesting task was finished, for there were no more caskets to be unsealed—hence, nothing farther required to complete a conquest, whereto the grave has given up its illustrious, and as previously remarked, longforgotten dead. the day was nearly spent, though to this i would not have given a thought, had the colonel's drooping spirits not caused him, as i feared, to relapse into his former disconsolate mood. wearily raising his head he glances enquiringly about, carefully replaces the lids of the several caskets, allowing his glance to fall toward each, as i imagined, in the nature of a farewell, then, like the desert arab, quietly folded his arms, silently repairing to his quarters. were my imaginings to be verified ? alas! 'twas thus i feared. i saw no more of the colonel until we took our accustomed seats at the table, he partaking of the meal in a seemingly pre-occupied manner and silently, save a single passing remark, “josiah, it is my impression that we had better set about the translation of the tablets as soon as possible after breakfast." the old mountain hermit. 147 readily assenting, we soon after retired to rest, that is to say on my part, but on that of the colonel it was something different, for instead of sleep he seemed in a state of morbid restlessness; however, the night passed away without special incident, the early morning finding us seated at the breakfast table, when a half hour later we adjourned to the cabin in readiness for translating the unknown tongue,—“the old mountain hermit” having at the time of the memorable visit placed the colonel in possession of the key to those ancient hieroglyphics, therefore, no great difficulty was anticipated as to the result. nearly sixty days was consumed in the work, meantime the tablets thoroughly deciphered and transcribed in manuscript form, the colonel delighted at the thoroughness with which it had been done, while my satisfaction was none the less pronounced, for my pen had been in constant activity the whole time. one afternoon as i was thus employed the colonel, who during the whole of the afternoon had scarcely spoken, rather sitting complacently by, came to my side, saying, “josiah, good friend, and true, as i believe you to be, i want you to understand that it is my earnest desire that you take entire charge of the manuscript, for my mind seems burdened with strange, not to say, fearful forebodings. now, to you this may seem foolish. but when i tell you that i get little rest by day, and no sleep at night, my mind filled with visions of forthcoming ill, what, let me ask, can i do? what imagine other than that i stand on the threshold of some fearful calamity? therefore, josiah, i beseech, im3 148 the old mountain hermit. plore thee, guard these ancient treasures, this history of events hitherto hidden in the womb of the past, for once lost, they can never, no never, be replaced, so i repeat, guard them as your life. aye, protect them at all hazards, for once destroyed a loss would accrue whereby a thousand lives would hardly suffice in payment." 1 the old mountain hermit. 149 1 chapter xxix. doomed. “a couple of weeks more of this sort of weather will see us steaming up the thames." thus spoke the captain, as pacing the upper deck, a clear sky above and smooth sea beneath, we were holding cheerful converse, the subject largely devoted to our home coming. the weather for several days past had been unusually fine, and the ship's progress correspondingly rapid. the captain's cheery predictions, as above noted, giving assurance of safe return. referring to the manuscript, of which little had been said since the reading,—the vast array of facts therein presented, as yet scarcely digested,—the learned scientists habitually brooding over a long forgotten past, were to say the least, in a singular state of unrest. the voluminous manuscript, burdened with a wealth of knowledge obtainable from no other source, would, as i trusted, soon be published, then, thought i, will the colonel's fame be established, while i might possibly, in my own personality, come in for a share of praise, no matter how smallfor i had so indefatigably adhered to his fortunes, accompanying him through fair weather and foul, regardless of the outcome, that surely, thought i, a 150 the old mountain hermit. the glory, if any, must be partly mine. but alas ! 'twas not so to be; for while it was true the consummation of our most ardent desires was, as far as we could judge, close at hand, yet never, no never, to be realized. on this the last evening the colonel and myself betook ourselves to the deck, where we remained until a late hour. the principal topic of conversation the probable effect on the public mind of forthcoming disclosures, the colonel taking the ground that while it was but natural to expect skeptics to abound, proof would not be found wanting in furtherance of the claims put forth, nor would authenticity of the ancient records be questioned. “proof,” the colonel shouts, "yea, proof that cannot be gainsaid, nor set aside. yet.”—with a long-drawn sigh,-“i much misdoubt, if i be there to see. josiah," he continues, "whatsoever may chance to befall, whatever fate betide, preserve the manuscript. aye! preserve it as the apple of your eye, for between those covers are pages of untold wealth, treasures above price.” "priceless treasures in very truth," i reply. “and so long as life holds out, so long to the manuscript will i cling, and only when the sea doth claim me for its own will i relinquish hold.” "consider that speech the most remarkable event of your life,” smilingly rejoins the colonel, then in saddened tones: "in you, josiah, do i both trust and hope; let me not have it to say, i've been disappointed." “so say i, my friend, in so far as regards the manuscript, but not so in regard to your forebodings of evil.” > the old mountain hermit. 151 "have it as you will," he returns, "i can but fulfil whatsoever destiny awaits me.” it was now getting along toward midnight, so bidding the colonel "adieu," we separate, retiring to our state rooms, thence to bed, and so far as i was concerned, presumably to sleep. as is well known, i had given the colonel my sacred promise that i would to the utmost in my power conform to his wishes in regard to the manuscript's preservation, yet, how little did i realize what that promise meant, for i could not have anticipated the straits into which i would be forced in order to carry out the promise. nay, nor could one,-save as gifted with the spirit of prophecyforestall the thrilling events in connection with the awful scenes soon to be encountered. shortly before leaving the steamer's deck i had noticed a portentous cloud off the starboard bow, but not desiring in any manner to contribute to the colonel's state of unrest, i had refrained from calling his attention thereto. indeed i had given little thought to it myself, nevertheless deeming it a matter of prudence to be prepared for whatsoever emergency might chance to arise, i turned in without removing my clothing and well it was that i did again a notable circumstance contributing to a sense of security lay in the fact that shortly before setting out on the voyage i had, by the advice of friends, purchased a newly invented rubber attachment, in the words of the patentee: “the only life saving apparatus of the kind extant, and the only one that in an emergency can be depended upon, because it encloses the wearer in a perfectly sealed so. 152 the old mountain hermit. envelope impervious to the action of water, and which, fully inflated will bear the occupant up against the foulest kind of weather, and the most tempestuous seas." and now to make assurance doubly sure, i draw the sack over my outer garments, placing my valuables inside of an inner pocket, though when i say valuables, i simply mean the aforesaid manuscript, of more real worth than a cargo of gold and silver watches, in my own case represented by a very common one of the latter material; so that taking it all in all, i was to all appearance well prepared for storm, tempest, and even shipwreck—the latter calamity giving me little concern-yet, must needs admit that the colonel's excessive fears had a tendency toward similar feelings within myself. notwithstanding these precautionary measures court the drowsy god as i would, i could get no sleep, my mind constantly reverting to the stone enclosed treasures reposing on deck of a vessel, whereof none other in the world's history had been so honored. thus hovering on the borders of dreamland, or rather between sleep and wakefulness, my mind enchained as by ligaments of steel, i was all at once aroused to full consciousness, and perhaps a sense of the situation, by a vivid flash, quickly succeeded by a heavy roll of thunder, thus giving fair warning of what was to be expected, flash after flash in quick succession, each followed by terrific roar, until it seemed as if the whole heavens had entered into conspiracy looking to our swift destruction. “every man to his post,” came in stentorian tones, the heavy tread of many feet overhead, evithe old mountain hermit. 153 dencing the quick obeying of the order, each beat of piston rod sending a quiver throughout the staunch ship. the colonel, excessively agitated, immediately appearing on deck, his face blanched to death-like hue, each lineament settled in stern resolve to do, and if needs must, die. the one and only sentence escaping his lips, "josiah, my time has come. remember the promise." stationed at the colonel's side, the rubber sack fully inflated, enquiring glances, broad smiles, accompanied by jocose sallies, consequent on my comical appearance directed toward me. it seemed an imperative duty that i should offer my life saving apparatus, begging the colonel to accept it, followed by the assurance that my poor life was worthless in comparison to his own. but, alas! the words are scarcely out of my mouth when with a shriek and a roar, the winds in all their fury burst upon the ship, the waves with sledgehammer blows beat against her sides. the bulwarks are crushed, the masts fall, the sails torn in shreds, float away on the gale, the sea in all directions is upheaved. lightning flash, and the boom of heaven's artillery, incessant, the doomed ship plunges recklessly onward, her bow engulfed, then the stern, while the man at the helm is nearly overcome by the remorseless waves. 154 the old mountain hermit. chapter xxx. the shipwreck. the once while proud steamer, “city of japan,” lies on the bosom of the sea, a plunging, sinking, hopeless wreck, her bow shattered, bulwarks crushed, engine rooms flooded, cabins deluged, it is but a question of time, and that but little prolonged, when she must inevitably succumb, going down beneath the weight of waters within the depths of which she is even now on the verge of being engulfed. “for god's sake lower the boats,” in ringing tones from the still undismayed captain. again, "lower the boats, else we perish.” too late, for ere it is possible to carry out the order the steamer reels, swaying back and forth, seemingly in hesitating mood—before taking the final leap. hurriedly i climb the broken rail, thence with a bold leap find myself floating on the bosom of the boiling sea, yet 'twas only by the most strenuous effort i was enabled to preserve my equilibrium so as not to be drawn in the vortex of the sinking ship. however, with a goodly amount of presence of mind, i moved a considerable distance away from the sinking vessel, then rested, floating, i cannot in truth venture to say at ease, on the contrary, the old mountain hermit. 155 was tossed about like a cork on the bosom of the great deep, soon thereafter beholding a spectacle it would tax my patience to describe. the ship's company collected near to the bow of the ship, colonel ashburton, surgeon and savants, huddled about the stump of the fallen mast, hardly able to maintain an upright position, for the ship was heeled over until her bulwarks nearly touched the water, therefore it was very like a roof at an angle of 45 degrees, and nothing wherewith to cling thus floating, my every sense on the alert, at the same time well knowing eternity was not far away, my fellow voyagers the victims, when all of a sud, a den mid shrieks, cries, and from some, curses, the steamer gives another lurch, then sinks from sight, leaving nothing visible other than a wide waste of seething waters. and now, good friends, think not from what follows that my brain was in an addled state, nor that i am indulging in fictitious tales; on the contrary, my mind was never clearer, while the tale is susceptible of proof. wherefore, i do most solemnly avow that right before my very eyes a long, bony finger extended, and pointing in direction of the late disaster, form floating, as on another occasion, in mid-air, was "the old hermit of the mountain." for the moment forgetting my constrained position, i thought to flee, or in some manner rid myself of the uncanny apparition, then bethinking myself that i was wholly at the mercy of whomsoever might choose to take advantage of my helplessness i concluded to remain at ease, and await the issue, 156 the old mountain hermit. which, however, was not long in coming, for suddenly a voice in accents thoroughly familiar spoke: "behold, o sacrilegious mortal, what wicked hands hath wrought, unto what selfish schemes hath led ? moreover, while in doubting wonderment as to why so many of thy betters have perished, fail not in remembrance, "that pride ever goeth before a fall.' vastly uplifted was thy friend ashburton, undue ambition a notable characteristic of his nature, greed of gain, a pecularity for which he was not responsible, though, as to this latter, i am not so well assured, yet, this i do know, and so dost thou, that in disobeying my injunctions for the purpose of self-aggrandisement, and in every possible way striving to set aside my just demands, he didst thus defy a power of which he has little knowledge. "go to, then, o scribe. yea, depart whithersoever thou wilt, and should the uttermost bounds of the earth, cognizant of thy approach, challenge thy mission, and its special design, no harm shall at any time come to thee, only so thou spread the tale abroad, publishing it far and wide, “that for every disobedient act a penalty is adjudged,' in this thou wilt by so much be the gainer. “see, o scribe, to what an inglorious end thy friend the colonel hath come. forget not, then, to tell the story as told thee by 'the old mountain hermit.' “ha! ha! the fools," he continues, his voice soothly modulated until at the last the tones are hissing, then in exultant mood, “let my voice be heard, earth’s remotest bounds listening thereto of prophecy fulfilled,” when suddenly there appears at his side and all about the shadowy forms of those the old mountain hermit. 157 so lately gone to their doom, the deep blue sea their winding sheet. to the right was the form of orimentes, the first created, still farther to the right i readily distinguished the shadowy form of orimentides, the first woman. while to the left was aristides, “the famous ark builder,” abiram, the projector of the great tower, also glistening under the bright canopy of heaven were to be seen the undulating figure, and shimmering folds of the original tempter, "the serpent.” and now, all is stilled, the voice of the “old mountain hermit” heard no more, the crash of the onrushing billows hushed, nothing to be seen other than the blue sea around me, nothing above save the starry heavens, from out which peeps the early morning star. the shadowy forms meanwhile have disappeared in their wake, as i conjectured, though this might have been the result of an overwrought imagination, a sinuous train of sulphurous vapor. turning in the direction where my ill-fated companions had so lately gone to their doom, i was startled beyond measure, and no less gratified, for at a little distance away i saw an object that seemed to have a familiar appearance, which, on closer inspection, i found to be one of the “japan's” life boats. for the moment failing to remember the unique situation in which i was placed, in the exuberance of my joy, i shout in tones both vigorous and loud, “boat ahoy!” but no answering hail. again in louder, more peremptory tones i cry, "boat ahoy!” still no answer, which, upon reflection i well knew 158 the old mountain hermit. could not be, for the diminutive craft is without skipper, crew or passengers. what could i expect? so gathering my wits together, and as many of my nearly exhausted energies as possible, i put off for the craft as rapidly as my poor means of navigation would permit. a half-hour of vigorous paddling enabled me to draw near, when putting forth all my remaining strength i soon came alongside, thence to the stern, but what do i see? maybe a piece of tarred rope, gunny sack, or some other equally undesirable article, as one might naturally suppose. not so; however, on the contrary, i discern an air-tight compartment, within which was a bag of sea biscuit, a can of preserved meat, supposed at the time beef, proving later a fallacy, though horse or other detestable meat would have proved no doubt palatable. yet what gave me more satisfaction than all else, was a jug of fresh water. "ha! what is this?” i exclaim as seizing a flask whereon was inscribed the cabalistic words, “jamaica rum.” “gloria in excelsis," was what i was on the point of saying, but instead quote that familiar hymn, "praise god from whom all blessings flow," and i was wondrously comforted, notably after a pull at the flask. now with tooth and nail i attack meat and biscuit, feeling thereby like a new man,-actions don't count,-peradventure like unto orimentes, when the eyes of that remarkable man were first opened to the felicities of paradisaical life, anyhow in my own case paradise was but little way removed. carefully pushing my way to the center of the the old mountain hermit. 159 boat i climbed the thwarts, though with a good deal of difficulty, being so encumbered with the inflated sack, then dropped to the bottom, completely worn out from the long, unintermittent struggle with nature's elements, combined with loss of sleep and mental torture. 'twas thus i lay, now and again partially aroused to stern contemplation of my perilous situation, yet scarcely conscious of anything save the gently lapping waves as they beat against the sides of the frail boat, else shrill cry of some swift winged bird of prey soaring overhead, eye intent on the motionless form underneath, choice morsel no doubt offered in expiation of the fearful deeds enacted by the gods during the silent watches of the past night. the sun is momently rising higher in the heavens until the zenith is reached, still no call to dinner. whereon, in my thoughtlessness i shout, "am i to be thus left and no summons to the noonday meal? surely, such is not the usual way of treating passengers on board ship? why, then, should i be left to go hungry while the others are well attended to ?” thoughts suggested before sufficiently awakened to realize the situation; however, bethinking myself that i am not on shipboard with friends, companions and passengers about me, but lone survivor of a deadly shipwreck, am about to resign myself to the inevitable by again falling asleep, when i am abruptly recalled to a sense of my perilous condition and full state of wakefulness by the well known hail, “ship, ahoy! what craft is that?” springing to an upright position i turn in direction of the hail, when i am almost bereft of my 160 the old mountain hermit. senses, and quite overcome with joy, for in plain sight, and not very far distant, i perceive a large ship in the act of heaving to, her deck filled with an apparently anxious, enquiring group of sailors. am i awake or dreaming? the first thought that came to me. the second, "is yon craft a reality or the result of an overwrought imagination?" i rub my eyes in effort to arouse my drowsy faculties, then gaze long lingeringly, and above all, anxiously, and this is what my gaze rests upon: a frigate apparently of the first class, yards well braced, her decks crowded with seamen and marines, officers in undress uniform, while from the mast-head again waving in the breeze, is the emblem of my native land, “the union jack.” the old mountain hermit. 161 chapter xxxi. rescued. kindly hands are extended, questioning looks given from the generous hearted sailors, who vie in endeavor to make my coming welcome. but it is not long ere the cry goes up, “whence cometh thou and whither bound ?" to the first i answer, “the steamer, city of japan,' now fast anchored at the bottom of the sea.' to the second, “bound for the shores of old england." "nay, nay," says one. “i should say, judging from your queer appearance, you were bound to consort with the fishes," and little wonder, for the rubber sack was like an inflated bladder, swelling me out, until a genuine porpoise was a picture in comparison to my ugly appearance; nevertheless, i might very easily have been taken for that sort of a marine animal. ordering the frigate to resume her course the captain bidding me follow, retires to the cabin, and in kindly manner suggests that i shake myself out from the life saving sack, to which advice i the more readily comply, for to tell the truth i was nearly perishing from the burthen; however, in 162 the old mountain hermit. removing it i was careful to handle it gently, for it had stood me a true friend in need. upon its removal my underclothing was found quite dry, the manuscript in excellent state of preservation, again proving conclusively the benefits derived from wearing the rubber attachment. affairs on shipboard satisfactorily adjusted. it was my settled purpose not to divulge the contents of the manuscript, as this would naturally tend to forestall publication. enquiry elicited the fact that the vessel so opportunely appearing in my behalf was none other than her majesty's frigate, “the andromeda,' captain jeremy lighthouse, her prospective destination, chinese waters. "prospective?" i say the well worn adage, "man proposes, but a higher power disposes,” never finding more fitting application than in the case of “the andromeda.” inasmuch as the destiny of one josiah bartholemew evidently lay in the same direction the entire voyage, for by no possibility could i leave the ship until the end of the cruise, and not desiring to act the part of a sponge on the generosity of the captain, nor to remain an idle spectator of the stirring scenes likely to be encountered, for “the andromeda” was a war vessel on a warlike expedition bent, i begged the captain to give me some sort of employment, it mattered little in what direction, therefore, it so chanced that i was commissioned private secretary, and i might as well add, scribe to the whole ship's company, for of a temperament to be of service to everybody with whom i am brought in contact, i cheerfully surrendered a conthe old mountain hermit. 163 siderable part of my time to epistolary correspondence. the soft hearted tars' letters were freighted with love messages to their far-away english sweethearts. in this manner sixty or more days pass, favoring winds bearing us on our way with as much ease and comfort as could well be expected on a voyage of this nature, for it was no holiday excursion i can assure you. the captain, as previously noted, while a generous, high-souled man, was at the same time a strict disciplinarian, never a duty neglected, at all times thoughtful and painstaking in regard to the welfare of those entrusted to his charge. while "the andromeda" was an exceptionally fine vessel, she was manned by an exceptionally fine crew, the men at arms numbering not less than two hundred, nearly all of whom had seen service in some part of the world on either land or sea, therefore, as might be expected were overjoyed at the prospect of throwing down the gauntlet for the measly pig-tails to pick up, providing they had the courage—without thought of attending consequences, such at all events was the general expression among the soldiery. on a subsequent morning, at the first streak of dawn, the look-out cried, "sail ho!" “where away?" in ringing tones. “three points to windward,” the answer. hearing the hail and reply, captain lighthouse sprang from his bed, drew on his undress uniform. then, glass in hand, hurried on deck, pointing the telescope in the direction indicated by the lookout. 164 the old mountain hermit. > thus remaining for a few moments, he suddenly cries out: "my god, the blasted pirates," then ordered the drums beat to quarters, while marines, headed by their officers, haste on deck, fully prepared for the fray. but what, it may be asked, has “the andromeda's” commander seen to account for the expletive and call to arms? in answer a sail, quickly followed by a second, third, fourth, indeed, a whole fleet, numbering no less than a score of junks, manned, and, to all appearance, heavily armed. careful estimate revealed the unwelcome fact that the approaching fleet numbered forty vessels, each manned by fifty well armed, and as fairly well disciplined body of savage cut-throats as could be found, search the world over. but, as captain lighthouse was not a man to be cowed by numbers, nor grow faint of heart for lack of courage, the battle would from the very necessity of the case be of an extraordinarily sanguinary nature, for it stood to reason that “the andromeda’s” people would fight to the death, for defeat meant nothing less anyhow. these were the influences that made my arm grow strong, as grasping the hilt of a sabre i there and then resolved to do, and if needs must, die. for, why should i not be willing to lay down a life consecrated to those who had-in my extremity-s0 gallantly come to the rescue? the predicso tion of one who had so often said, “no harm shall come to thee, bartholemew, for i have need of thy services," contributed largely to a sense of security, and i must confess that an inborn hope held posthe old mountain hermit. 165 session of my faculties, because of his shadowy form even now hovering overhead, lending aid in protecting me from the perils of the deep; but the enemy's fire was another thing, and about which i was not so sure. a dead calm prevailing would naturally have a tendency to cause "the andromeda's” sails to hang inert, motionless, so it was an impossibility to work the great ship-a condition of affairs that prompted the irate captain to boil with rage insisting that could the frigate's guns be brought to bear he would sink every d-d one of the wretches inside a half hour. the enemy's craft low in the water, “the andromeda” correspondingly elevated, it became a matter of impossibility to depress the guns sufficiently to meet the emergency, so our only recourse lay in striving to prevent them gaining foothold on our decks. a crisis in affairs seeming on the point of realization, captain lighthouse beckoned me to draw near, then, in impressive tones, spoke: "bartholemew, canst pray? if so, down on your knees and pray as never before, beseeching the good lord for a blessing in shape of a capful of wind, not forgetting to add, 'please, lord, don't linger long in its bestowal, else yon demons will in about five minutes be seen swarming our decks,' and hark, you, josiah, unless the powers above or beneath, it doesn't matter much which, intercede in our behalf the fate of the andromeda’ is inevitably sealed.” on supposition the captain's fears were exaggerated, i attempted reasoning with him, urging 166 the old mountain hermit. the imminence of our peril was possibly unfounded, again the bare idea of the commander of a notable warship begging assistance of an humble secretary, by way of intercession of the higher powers, in interest of a capful of wind, was, to say the least, ridiculous, anyhow too much for my risibilities to withstand, so i fell into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, the well-meaning officer joining, and with good reason, for on the instant the surface of the water became agitated, the drooping colors fluttered, a slight puff of air flattened the sails. turning our eyes seaward, a cloud wearing an ominous look was observed rising in the offing. “glory to god, and praised be his name, piously ejaculated the overjoyed captain. then in stentorian tones, "every man to his post. stand by in readiness to hoist sail." 'twas not long before every sheet that could draw was spread to the breeze, when the captain again turned to me, a quizzical expression coming over his face. “josiah, my boy, that little petition of yours has been answered, and that right speedily, and as the saying goes, 'it never rains, but it pours, so i wouldn't be surprised if we got more wind than was bargained for.” nevertheless the peril by which we were threatened, while lessened, was simply prolonged, a fact of which we were soon apprised, for now was heard the fall of swiftly beating sweeps, accompanied by the horrid tomtoms, brandishing spears, amid shouts from a thousand throats, as the barbarian freighted crafts swung around "the andromeda's” quarter, looking for an opening to board. musket shot and revolver the old mountain hermit. 167 crack sounding the death knell of many now in eager pursuit of their anticipated victims, and despite all that could be done the enemy finally succeed in gaining the deck, whereon the nettings are torn away, the elated foe pressing onward gain the coveted vantage, outnumbering the frigate's people ten to one. in the lead a gigantic half clothed savage, in whom his followers evidently have the utmost confidence. the enemy maintain a steady front, and attack with boldness and courage. the ominous appearing cloud continues to rise and spread, until the blue sky is lost in the gloom, yet not the most remote show of wind, scarcely enough to make impression on the drooping sails. thus “the andromeda" standing motionless, her guns are thereby rendered useless. in this frightful emergency captain lighthouse is entreated to shorten sail, but indulging less fear from the storm, now rapidly approaching, than from the deadly weapons of the foe, remains obdurate, continuing to pile on the canvas in endeavor to run clear. vain endeavor, vain hope, for the "pig-tails," pouring on deck, press "the andromeda's” defenders so stoutly, and by sheer force of numbers compel them to fall back, even to demanding "unconditional surrender.” but captain lighthouse, brave soul that he is, has no thought of giving up the contest without one last desperate effort, so calling together his officers, in whom he has the utmost confidence, briefly addresses them in interest of firing the magazine. says he, "my brave comrades, perilous situations call for desperate measures, and as the fate of "the > 168 the old mountain hermit. andromeda' is, to all intents and purposes, sealed; moreover, as to myself i'd rather be blown sky high, than fall into the hands of these merciless wretches,—what say you to the proposed measure?” yet before the desperate measures could be resorted to a wondrous thing happened, for again looking seaward a spectacle was brought to view that compelled the blood to chill, every heart to cease beating. “but what was this strange spectacle ?” may be asked. for answer, "towering mountain high, crest outlined against a stony gray background, slowly, majestically approached an enormous wave. i, josiah bartholemew, haste to my quarters, don the rubber sack, in readiness for whatsoever emergency may arise. it so chanced "the andromeda” lay broadside to the oncoming wave, as remarked the captain, "if sail cannot be made the frigate is doomed, and all on board lost," meanwhile the infuriated combatants, thinking of nothing but to conquer, continue fighting, the battle raging with the utmost fury, the enemy maintaining the ground gained at the outset with no thought of falling back. on suggestion of one of “the andromeda's” gunners the howitzer, amidships was loaded to the muzzle and turned on the piratical gang, resulting in immense slaughter, whereon hope began to revive in the breasts of the frigate's crew, but it was doomed to be short lived, for notwithstanding the beggarly pirates cowardly turned tail and fled for their lives, at least such was the inference drawn on witnessing their hasty withdrawal from the scene of conflict, the wave, doubtless the offshoot the old mountain hermit. of some one of nature's convulsions, still continues its approach, seeming to gain in power and volume as it comes nearer, now but a few leagues distant. “the wave will soon be upon us,” shouts the terrified captain, "so its every man for himself.” taking the sweeping hint i climb the rail and plunge headlong into the sea. then paddling a short distance away, rest on my oars—so to speakconceiving i was far enough away from the ship to avoid being drawn down in the vortex should the vessel suddenly sink, which, considering the enormous weight of the heavy guns, could scarcely be avoided when engulfed by the towering wave now close at hand. having removed a goodly distance from the doomed ship, i rest at ease, lightly floating on the surface, at the same time questioning whether i have acted the part of an honorable man in thus deserting my comrades in the hour of peril, consoling myself, however, by the thought that to remain would be simply to court death without compensating results, for i could do nothing to ward off threatened danger, indeed i was as helpless as a newly born babe. thus meditating i beheld a spectacle that should i live a thousand years would not be effaced from my memory. yet would to god such might be the case, for sleeping or waking it is ever in my thoughts, torturing me by the recollection. i was just on the point of again turning when the wave struck the ship, crushing, overturning, weighing her down so that but a few moments later nothing was visible save a waste of tumultuous, upheaving billows. the old mountain hermit. the enemy convinced that deadly peril was at hand, sprang for the junks, many in their eagerness falling into the sea; no time to pick them up, no time for hesitancy or indecision, for unless the oncoming flood found them a good distance away from its destructive path their doom was also sealed. too late, too late, for ere a half score beat of the sweeps, they are caught in the flood's embrace, and like their antagonists quickly swallowed up, sinking beneath the weight of waters. recommend the old mountain hermit. 171 chapter xxxii. startling disclosures. "alone, again alone! no retrieving sail in sight, no friendly arm on which to lean, no kindly hand to succor. alas! what my fate?” so lamenting and thinking some of the submerged bodies might rise to the surface, i paddle myself back to the starting point, but, alas, how changed the conditions; but who shall describe my emotions, mingled with a sense of supreme satisfaction on perceiving a little distance away an object, which on second look i discovered to be one of “the andromeda's” life boats. pushing my way along toward the lately risen life boat, still greater surprise is in waiting, for lying side by side, i behold two unconscious forms. but of whom? 'tis but a moment when i climb the thwarts, place a hand over the heart of the unconscious captain. joy, joy, his heart pulses. he is not dead. i next perform a like ceremony on the unconscious body of the chief with an equally gratifying result,-life is not extinct. my next move was to raise the captain's head, followed by uncorking the flask of brandy, and pouring a few drops down his throat, the effect was marvellous, especially when taken in connection with the rubbing of the 172 the old mountain hermit. limbs and bathing the temples, for soon his bosom heaves, pulse beats, a long drawn sigh escapes his lips, expectant no doubt in anticipation of another draught of the same generous liquor. i now turn my attention to the pirate chief, not that i considered him worth the trouble, but simply in the interest of humanity, for i would a duty perform each owes to the other, be he friend or foe, an act be it said that later on i had no cause to regret. the chief, too, at length regains consciousness, the aforesaid bottle largely contributing to the gratifying result, the captain's jealous eye taking note of my every move. in weak, disjointed, hesitating sentences, pigeon english, the ruling vocabulary, the fallen chief says, "me tankee berry muchee, indeed. ya, berry muchee, for sabeing my poor lifee, an' meebe i do de samee to you sometimee." “never mind thanks. true, as you say, it may some time come in your way to do me a good turn, and if so, i shall not hesitate to avail myself of the offer." "dat am so, ya, dat am so," the chief returns, a prediction verified to the letter, for i was at one time reduced to straits but little less than those from which i was so lately extricated, the worthy chief acting the part of a generous host, and becoming the very best friend-next to captain lighthouse—that i ever had. the old mountain hermit. 173 chapter xxxiii. a strange people. the reclaimed warriors having in good measure regained their mental—though i could not say as much concerning their physical-equilibrium, turned to with a will, looking to putting the life boat in seaworthy condition. there was, however, little amiss, the craft having to all appearance suffered less than the deep sea explorers, so on supposition that some one of the submerged bodies might come to the surface, possibly one in whom a spark of life yet lingered, i proposed lying off and on until it was positively known that there was no possibility of more being saved. i was not far away in my surmises, for soon body after body rose to the surface, among which were sailors, marines and officers, but not one was found living. another tragedy was on the eve of enactment, for before investigation was fairly concluded, attention was called to an object a little distant, which proved the fin of a shark. "not one alone, but a score of fins," quoth the captain. "look," he continues, "the bloodthirsty monsters. see how they congregate, and still they come.” the captain was right, for look in whatever di> 174 the old mountain hermit. > rection we might the black, upturned snouts and wide-extended jaws appear, the lifeless remains of our ill fated companions, the magnet drawing them hither. and what a spectacle! the sea for leagues in every direction dyed with the life blood of those by whose side we had so lately battled in interest of rights delegated to every human being, that of self-preservation, but now, alas, food for these ravenous brutes. “the gods have been good and exceedingly generous in thus supplying the needs of the treacherous devils," spoke the captain, responded to by the chief, “ya, ya, me tinkee so, too, all the samee." 'twas thus we remained for a half hour, indulging the hope of rendering assistance to some poor mortal, but we found waiting of no avail, the objects toward which our kind offices were directed were beyond human succor, or even sympathy, so finding farther effort useless we turned away, head, ing in direction of a group of islands, barely distinguishable from the great distance the rendezvous as we soon found of the foe who had so bravely and persistently attacked us in the early morning. on examination of our effects an old and partially worn-out sail was discovered in the locker of the life boat, so utilizing an oar in place of a mast, sail was spread to the breeze, our little craft bounding lightly over the white crested waves. about half the distance traversed, and a flotilla of canoes was observed putting off from shore, heading in our direction, yet, upon arriving within speaking distance, what was our surprise to find tħem manned by the gentler sex, anyhow, so styled. so i said, “if these be gentle blood, heaven save us the old mountain hermit. 175 from encountering those that are not so gentle !" indeed a more repulsive set of wretches it was never my luck—good or ill—to encounter. in thus speaking i, of course, have reference to the elderly females. the younger ones will be noticed hereafter. on approaching the flotilla i perceived the countenances of the females wearing a woebegone expression, indicative of sorrow, consequent—as i conjectured on the fearful calamities following the attack on "the andromeda," whereby the entire male portion of the island community were swept away, save the chief, who was now not only chief, but head and front of the whole people. indulging a bit of moralizing i was led to question whether the attributes of love and hate were not equally common to all peoples and tongues, for no matter how high or how low their station in life, the passions seem to hold even sway, and it was the same with this people. isolated as they were from civilizing influences they none the less mourned the loss of loved ones, and ’twould have moved the stoutest heart to have witnessed the unfeigned grief of these poor degraded souls, who knowing nothing better, assumed it just and right to take advantage of another's weakness, be he friend or foe, and as in this instance, to plunder, and if possible destroy "the andromeda” together with her people. now, that the tables were turned, their grief was uncontrollable. their lamentations the louder, for prospective gain spoiled, nothing remained to fall back upon, nothing left by way of compensation for the loss of all that was dear, husbands, fathers, sons and brothers, all now at the bottom of 176 the old mountain hermit. the sea, and here was made manifest the wisdom, one can hardly say forethought, in preserving the life of the chief, for had i obeyed the promptings of my heart, thus leaving him to his fate, the condition of the captain and myself would have been truly deplorable, for in their rage i verily believe they would have torn us piecemeal, without a single grain of remorse, peradventure supped of our flesh, dedicating our well polished bones in peace offering to the gods in expiation for their fearful loss, for their one thought seemed that some offence had occurred whereby their downfall was assured, hence, the more willing to vent their displeasure on that of their enforced guests, at least from their manifestations of anger, i so judged, and it was only through much persuasion, accentuated by threatening gestures from a powerful war club wielded by the redoubtable chief, that we were permitted to pursue our course without farther demonstrations of this nature. from the foregoing it will readily be seen that our reception on shore would doubtless not be of the most amicable kind, as it certainly was more a matter for conjecture than actual knowledge, for the power wielded by the chief might be so counteracted by influence of his female subjects as to cause his impromptu guests to be laid on the sacrificial altar in justification of their misdeeds. we proceed, a fair breeze under strong pressure of sail hurrying us onward, until we fairly outstrip our friends of the flotilla, reaching shore considerably in advance. tying the boat to a neighboring tree we rest, awaiting their coming, not long delayed, for before the old mountain hermit. 177 aware of the fact they fly past, the measured beat of sweeps keeping time to a low guttural chant, referring to the late catastrophe in the simple words: "husbands, brothers, lovers all, gone to the bottom of the deep, shall we stand and idly call, or seek revenge before we sleep?” > “lines suggestive," as i remarked to the captain, “of the probable fate of one captain lighthouse, and his friend, josiah bartholemew." whereon he likewise of poetical turn, rejoins : "ah, josiah, the measly ruffians in petticoats though they be, they'll have like the d–i to fight, ere to terms they bring us, you see.” our friends of the flotilla having landed, are now to be seen hastening to give their beloved chief greeting, therein exhibiting intense emotions of delight, their countenances—ugly as they are beaming with joy because he is spared, yet none the less sorrowing for those endeared both by ties of nature, and priestly sanction, at the same time they can scarcely realize the full extent of a loss that can in one sense never be repaired, for there are none left to take the place of those adjudged to destruction. "yet,” as observed the philosophic captain, “whom do you imagine the beggars mourn for most, josiah, their late husbands—though i don't believe a bloody one of them was ever really married—or the plunder it was expected they would receive on conquering a 178 the old mountain hermit. “the andromeda’s' people? to say nothing of the sustenance in the hold with which to fill their hungry stomachs, besides the prisoners whom 'twould so delight their beastly souls to put to the torture ?" "or, on the other hand," i interpose, “to fill the place of their defunct lords, for ’pon my word, captain, i honestly believe they'd relish the exchange.” “we shall see, my boy, yes, we shall see when it comes our turn to be tossed in the matrimonial market to the highest bidder, for so sure as you live it will come to that, and in my opinion it will be about the most severe torture they are capable of inflicting on us poor mortals.” the island stronghold, or by whatsoever name it was designated, lay some half mile back from the landing place, so the line of march taken up, we journey thitherward, the chief heading the comical procession, captain jeremy lighthouse alongside his majesty, one josiah bartholemew, reporter and correspondent, close behind, the female contingent bringing up the rear. in this manner we proceed, now through a piece of wood or interval of grassy plain interspersed with patches of tropical verdure, until at length the village rises to view. entering through a broken down gateway, set in a decayed brushwood fence, the entire populace, wherein are comprised a number of maidens, come forth, all exhibiting signs of grief, for the sad news of the morning's mishap has gone ahead, thus apprising those left behind that the male portion of the community have at one fell swoop been lost to them forever. the old mountain hermit. 179 as the captain and myself were the only pale+ faces the majority of this people had ever beheld, their curiosity was unbounded, yet, as far as we were individually concerned, there was scarcely any perceptible difference in complexion between ourselves and our copper-colored hostesses, anyhow in so far as i was personally concerned, for i had been so exposed to the sun's blistering rays, it would have been little matter of surprise were i taken for one of the same lineage. the dilemma in which we were placed was soon overcome, through introduction in character of “two big chiefs” who, through intervention of the gods had escaped the fate of our comrades, hence we were looked upon with increased interest, the fair ones gathering about, in seeming desire to know what manner of men we were. 180 the old mountain hermit. chapter xxxiv. “coming events cast their shadows before.” it was now well on toward nightfall, and as our energies, physical and mental, had been severely taxed, the one compelling a famishing state, for not a morsel of food had passed our lips since the early morning, the chief, on being informed as to our condition, ordered food set before us, which, i am compelled to say, while not in the latest style of cookery, was nevertheless appreciated, and relished accordingly. the meal finished, we were shown to our quarters, temporary, i hoped, for it was simply a cabin of rough-hewn logs, roofed with twigs and straw, and, while impervious to the sun's rays, was hardly sufficient to turn the heavy rains. my first act in the approaching drama was to remove the rubber sack, finding, to my great des light, the manuscript in excellent condition, likewise a pair of revolvers it had been my good fortune to secure before leaving the doomed "andromeda.” the evening not far advanced, i proposed to the captain a stroll taking in the town, which agreed to, we proceeded to make ourselves as presentable as possible, a bath considered the first thing in order, the old mountain hermit. 181 confined mainly to hands and face, toilet arrangements not of the first quality. the moon at the full and a cloudless sky, little difficulty was experienced in making our way along the narrow streets. but wheresoever we went we were beset by scores of women bent on making acquaintance with "these strange beings," doubtless -as some averred-from another world, for it was a positive fact that we were regarded in the light of some distant connection of the gods, whence the conclusion that our captivity would not be overly severe, even if protracted. another thing in our favor arose from the fact that the younger class of females, especially those ranging in age from fourteen to twenty years, were remarkably fine looking, some even handsome, whereas those of mature years were remarkably ugly. an instrument bearing strong resemblance to an old-fashioned drum, but in this instance constructed from hollow logs, the ends covered with a species of rawhide, a hideous contrivance enough, at least as far as unearthly sounds were concerned, now came to our ears, the deafening beats echoing and re-echoing from one end of the town to the other, its purpose that of calling the populace together in council; the place for assembling, a large barn-like structure near the center of the village. soon old and young were observed hastening thitherward, their countenances betraying an anxious expression, for to them this was an uncommon occurrence, likewise a notable event in their history. 182 the old mountain hermit. at length, all assembled, the chief rosea roughly-built platform, raised some three feet from the ground, the rostrum from which he was to speak. this, in more ways than one, remarkable personage, which, later on will become more apparent, had, on a certain occasion been captured and taken to a distant english settlement, where he had been held prisoner for a considerable period of time, and when set at liberty, returned to his native country and town, yet, while absent, had managed to pick up a sort of what is usually styled pigeon english. he had also become quite proficient in the manual of arms, so in the late attack on "the andromeda” he was enabled to successfully cope with his skilled antagonists. later on i learned there were a number of islands, each occupied by its own people, but subject to one rule. the chief, whose life i had fortunately been the means of preserving, was the acknowledged head, to whom all owed allegiance. yet, under present conditions it is safe to say he (the chief) would practically be the one to give allegiance to his female subjects. “for," said the captain, “to rule over men is one thing, over women another, as many a one has found to their sorrow. in the case of the chief demonstrated to the loss of a throne. this renowned tanawarga, literally interpreted, signifying "headlight,” was a man of striking appearance, with an eye no wild or captive eagle could put in claim for one more piercing: i have spoken of this people as of mongolian origin, but on reflection and some speculation, have finally decided the race as jewish, possessing, " the old mountain hermit. 183 > as they do, the same cast of features, square jaw, high cheekbones, and complexion decidedly swarthy; again, their laws-social, religious and political-are in many respects identical with those of the ancient jews, in that they invoke the good offices, not only of the one, but many gods. from the facts as set forth i am of the firm opinion the ancestry of this people are not only remote, but date away back to the very beginning. chief tanawarga now arising to address his people, prefaces his remarks by invitation for the captain and i to be seated on the rostrum, then exhorts his subjects to treat the strangers in a kindly manner. "for,” said he, “they come to us with the reputation of brave men. moreover, from personal experience, i know them to be valiant warriors, testifying to the same from having been eye witness to the one and feeling the effects of the other. the young chief by my side, pale though he be, was surely a chosen instrument whereby the gods preserved the life of your ruler. therefore, i again say, treat him with kindness, both he and the gray-beard." a gentle wave of the hand, signifying silence, and every eye is fastened on the beloved chief, in waiting to catch the words that fall from his lips. it could hardly be expected that i repeat the address verbatim, nor in the style of language as delivered, the unlearned chief's disjointed, broken sentences precluding a full report. nevertheless, it is not too much to say that every line was replete with good sense, therein evidencing careful preparation, and betokening the man he would have been if the recipient of a fairly good educa181 the old mountain hermit. tion. it was his closing sentence, addressed to us, which caught my wandering attention and filled me with cold horror: "see to it then ye take good care of these, our stranger guests. the one, because he did so contribute to the preservation of the life of your chief, i make manager-in-chief of island affairs; the other, because he was an honorable foe, and among his own people a doughty warrior, i commission lieutenant. and now, that ye may be satisfied with your lot, i hereby grant permission for ye to choose from among the women as many wives as are to your liking." upon tanawarga finishing, my heart, as on many another occasion, nearly stopped beating, for on the instant-framed in an aureole of golden locks—appeared the well-known face of one julia everingham; a still, small voice whispers in my ear: “josiah bartholemew, beware of the serpent,” sentiments appealing not alone to the imagination, for i was ere long to be confronted by the stern reality, not only whispered, but in good, sound anglo-saxon, that while there is no objection to one wife, there are a multitude of reasons why there should be no more than one. tanawarga, finishing his discourse, admonishes his hearers to return quietly and circumspectly to their homes, then and there to make adequate arrangements looking to the comfort of their guests, so that it was but a little while when all were to be seen wending their way homeward, many, like lot's wife, looking backward in interest of the paleface strangers, the minds of the female subjects all at sea when contemplating the significant words of their notable chief, expressive of his re> the old mountain hermit. 185 gard for their welfare relative to the choice of husbands. my own source of anxiety hinging on the preservation of the prized manuscript, and, while i might possibly be overworried in respect to its safety, i was not a little annoyed at the thought of its publication being indefinitely postponed. 186 the old mountain hermit. chapter xxxv. trouble ahead. i have now a tale to tell of so strange, unexpected and startling a nature as to tax the credulity of the reader, peradventure discredit the sanity of the relator, but, before commencing the story i must state the conditions in which i was placed, giving rise to the following problem: given ten score maidens of marriageable age and corresponding proclivities. on the other hand two middle-aged men and one young scribe. what the result? a problem it would seem of easy solution, until one was brought to the task, when the verdict would be the one word—“trouble!” it so chanced on a certain morning that i strolled quite a distance from the village, my mind fully engrossed in pleasing contemplation of the future, that same julia everingham coming in for the largest share of my thoughts, the while in wonderment as to whether, weary of long waiting, she might not have transferred her affections to another, if, indeed, she had not taken it into her head to marry some other good-looking fellow. and even were such the case, i could hardly find it in my heart to complain. 'twas thus i meditated, when all of a sudden' my reverie is broken, a voice the old mountain hermit. 187 in sweetly modulated accents chirps, "josiah, dear!” the voice followed by the form and easilyrecognized features of ianawarga's youngest daughter, hab-a-sha. and oh how my heart beats on her approach, for she is indeed a beautiful girl in that her form is of the most exquisite proportions, head crowned with a wealth of golden tresses, face of rare beauty, graced by a sweetness of expression i have never seen equalled in any human being. yet, i was forced to the conviction it concealed a spice of deviltry, possibly treachery. ah, the same old serpent. but then came the thought, “am i not subjecting the most winsome of maidens to unjust, maybe harsh, criticism ?" and so, as i afterward found, it was, for of all human beings, she was one who deserved praise, rather than censure. a notable feature of this maiden lay in the singular fact that while her sisters' hair was dark as night, hers was of the color of native gold; her skin fair and eyes intensely blue. so, with all these noteworthy attributes, it is hardly a matter of wonder she should be sought after by the young men. rather, had been, for there were none now to make love to the winsome daughter of the renowned chieftain. thus as sole representative of the younger class of the male element, it will be at once perceived that i was in an awkward dilemma, or, as warned by my late ghostly mentor, "in a dangerous predicament." without the least hesitancy or maidenly reserve she advances, takes my hand-more perhaps in salutation than forwardness, for this was a common custom among this people—bestowing thereon 188 the old mountain hermit. > a gentle kiss, followed by the romance: "my paleface friend, the whole morning have i sought thee, sometimes in one place and sometimes in another, but always with the same result, until i strayed hither, not in the least expecting i should find you in this secluded glen.” in explanation of the foregoing strange scene i would take occasion to remark that the maiden had, unperceived, followed hard on my steps during my morning stroll, hence the denial as to my whereabouts was simply subterfuge, for, as i soon after learned, she had been an attentive listener during the entire interview with the “old hermit," meantime evolving from her fertile brain a certain scheme whereby to bring me to terms, thus captivating my affections. at least, 'twas so understood at the time, subsequent developments confirming me in the supposition. truly a noteworthy object, and one that might have carried had i not been forewarned. nevertheless, the maiden was, to all intents and purposes, in active preparation to open fire; bright eyes the weapons, honeyed words the ammunition, i, josiah bartholemew, the target toward which the weapon was aimed. as i was about to reply i was suddenly confronted by a vision, proving, however, a stern reality, for appearing on the scene were one, two, three, yea, a full score of dusky maidens, faithful subjects of chief tanawarga, who, unseen, unsuspected, had crept through the wood and were now to be seen in a body with evident intent to forestall my affections in opposition to their equally ambitious golden-haired sister, hab-a-sha. the old mountain hermit. 189 on appearance of the intruders the chief's daughter with a cry of dismay, perhaps jealousy, threw herself on my breast, twined her arms about my neck, then in whispers said: “josiah, my friend, have nothing to do with those ignorant black-a-moors, they are not worthy thy notice, indeed they are not. hearing the uncomplimentary terms wherewith they were recognized, the so alleged black-a-moors, -taking the cue, sprang forward with evident intent to seize the offending maiden, and now, what in the name of my innate modesty, was i to do? capitulate, throwing down my arms—so to speak, would be to expose the maiden to danger, indeed i've no doubt she would have been torn piecemeal, so angered were her enemies, so gently disengageing her arms from my neck, i lift up my voice in expostulation and entreaty, both tinctured with a little judicious flattery. said i, "most lovely and winsome offspring of a great chief, why, let me ask, so demean yourselves as to take advantage of my absence from your beautiful city, obtruding in this uncalled manner on my privacy ? why, friends, while it hath been my exalted privilege to watch over your interests with the same assiduity that i have over those of the entire community, it grieves me sorely to find you in this unpleasant state of mind, hence, i am forced to make appeal to your usual good judgment, and in all kindness ask if it be not unseemly to thrust yourselves unbidden on me in this out-of-the-way place? “but a few moons since i came to you an entire stranger, meantime i have left no stone unturned whereby i might do something tending to your 190 the old mountain hermit. benefit, moreover, it hath been a source of unwonted satisfaction to note the improvement manifest in the various walks of life, particularly the acquirement of knowledge, to which end i am pleased to note, you have applied yourselves with vigor, and now, why attempt to undo that so happily begun? "cease, then, i implore, cease this uncalled for wrangling, which, i am positive you will when i give the unqualified assurance that to your sisterhab-a-sha-i lay no other claim than that of pure friendship, for i am positive it would be considered an act of downright impudence to attempt to win the affections, or even sue for the hand of the daughter of so august a potentate as chief tanawarga. such, then, being the case, how unwise to attempt placing obstructions in the pathway leading to usefulness, thus the betterment of a people in whose welfare i have ever taken such a deep interest.” 1 the old mountain hermit. 191 chapter xxxvi. in a quandary. the close of the last chapter saw one josiah bartholemew in an unpleasant predicament, yet, after his presumed quieting address to the belligerent faction, he was more than astonished upon hearing the words, shouted in chorus, "send the tow haired one along, and we'll do your bidding,” this in response to my having urged return to their homes, leaving me to pursue my way in peace. it scarcely needed the prescience of a seer to inform me that the golden haired daughter of tanawarga was the bone of contention, so, urging her to return, along with her less favored sisters, she again threw herself on my bosom entreating me to turn a deaf ear to the alleged claims of her jealous rivals. here was a quandary indeed, and just what to do i knew not, for that a storm was brewing, which might eventuate in a tempest of no mean proportions, i greatly feared; however, those of the maidens most worthily inclined accepted the advice, and were now to be seen wending their way homeward, while the majority still insisted "the tow haired one” be delivered over to their hands, in which event “they would soon bring the shameless jade to terms." and notwithstanding all my 192 the old mountain hermit. efforts directed to keeping the peace i was soon surrounded, the thoroughly aroused maidens continually shouting, “give to us the tow haired one,” yet, 'twas scarcely a matter of doubt, that could they change places with the much-abused maiden they would not for a moment hesitate, such is the perversity of human nature,—i.l., complaining with the same things we would gladly do ourselves —and now instead of angry words came furious blows, and while i fought hard, exchanging blow for blow, in effort to shield the obnoxious maiden, she was eventually torn from my embrace, and had i not on the instant put myself strongly on the defensive, striking out right and left, the poor girl would have certainly lost her life, for nothing short of a miracle could have protected her from the fierce onslaughts. so finding my efforts in the main unavailing, i at last surrendered, promising in case they desisted from farther outrage of this scandalous nature, i would accompany them, for it was in no other way their minds would become disabused of the notion that on hab-a-sha being freed i would join hands with the hated rival, an act, be it said, that under no conditions would the amazons tolerate. so after a little farther parley it was mutually agreed to abide my decision, the company starting homeward, my fair friend in disgrace sent to the rear. something more than half the distance traversed,—the maidens in seemingly contented frame of mind, for the bone of contention out of the way, nothing seemed to trouble them, i made an 'unwise remark in that, “did a like scene again occur chief tanawarga should be immediately inthe old mountain hermit. 193 > a formed of their pernicious conduct, in which event he would undoubtedly take immediate steps looking to his favorite daughter's interests, likewise my freedom from insult." on the point of entering an explanation relative to the meaning of the statement, as above indicated, i was again furiously set upon, a war of words the weapons by which i was attacked, until at length the tumult raged to such an extent that i almost wished i was within hearing of the metropolitan police of my native city—“london-on-the-thames" —for in no other way was i able to see my course clear. staying the tide of rebellion, once set going, is a difficult matter, for no one knows when it will be quenched. more especially so was it in this instance, for when one has men only to do with, it is much easier to resort to harsh measures. again, in chorus was shouted the significant words, “chief tanawarga, forsooth,” his beloved daughter the while surveying the tumultuous scene in tearful silence, for she dared not say a word in either defence or expostulation. “aye, you may well call on chief tanawarga," again arose from the multitude, then in continuance, “best be not dilatory about it, forasmuch as he will be chief but little longer, anyhow, so thou, josiah bartholemew, but say the word in which event the doughty monarch will, without loss of time, abdicate, but whether or no in thy favor remains to be seen-nevertheless thou wilt be crowned king in his place, and so quickly, thou wilt scarcely have time to ask 'wherefore. yea, josiah, thou art destined to reign in lieu of chief tanawarga.' > 194 the old mountain hermit. > “dethrone the renowned chief? he who hath stood my friend in time of so great need ? he, who at all times and seasons has sought the upbuilding of a hitherto downtrodden people? dethrone your king? i reign in his place? why, what in the name of the gods mean you ? really, i cannot understand it." the young anarchists, in earnest consultation, now put forward a tall, robust warrior,-principal instigator in the late tumultuous uprising—who without hesitation or circumlocution urges her claims as follows: “friend josiah, thou in thy simplicity doth question the acts of these my friends and myself, in the words, 'what mean you? well to be plain and outspoken, i answer the question by saying, as thou well knowest, chief tanawarga is getting that old, 'twere better he be looking the ground over for a last resting place wherewith to deposit his decrepit bones; therefore, it is the opinion of these my counselors, concurred in by myself, that he no longer be permitted to hold rule over a young and vigorous people, even if composed wholly of females, moreover, a younger chief we would have, because such a one would naturally be more in accord with the new régime soon to be inaugurated, and put in force by thyself, and for the specific reason that thou art the one peculiarly fitted to carry out the principles of the one, and put in force the provisions of the other. dost understand? if so, then know this also, that we propose to submit to no further dictation from tanawarga, or for that matter anyone else, hence, it is our settled purpose to make choice of our own ruler. and, josiah the old mountain hermit. 195 bartholemew, thou art the one on whom the choice has fallen.” “since when,” in much perturbation of spirit i enquire, "was such decree settled ?" “yesterday eve the momentous interview was held. this morning the mooted question decided, coincided in by the entire assemblage,” whereon the first speaker again says, “ 'twas for this, and “ this alone, thou wert followed this morning. tanawarga's daughter, ‘tow-head' though she be, didst anticipate our coming, so followed hard after thee, thinking thereby to frustrate our well laid plans, but the gods with us, who, josiah bartholemew shall prevail against us? therefore it was for this the measure was determined on, which, in thy misconception of terms, thou didst stigmatize as 'foolish and uncalled for.' dost now comprehend ? aye, thou must see wherein we were misjudged, wherein thy usual good judgment didst come near failing thee, in order to give place to thy overweening egotism that never fails when imagining 'twas thy susceptible heart we were striving to captivate rather than thy non-susceptible head—and that's the long and short of it, josiah bartholemew,coming ruler as thou art, we i trow should be objects of thy sincere regard rather than enmity.” “and honor as well”-interposes another, taken up by the first speaker, “notably when on the point' of being crowned king to rule over a people, composed altogether of the weaker element, eh, josiah ?" “weaker element, indeed,” retorts the other. “where in the name of the gods will you find a stronger ?” 66 196 the old mountain hermit. upon hearing these stirring words in which it was plainly visible business was at the bottom,rather than sentiment,-i saw how i had misjudged them, as 'twas put, “in my overweening egotism,” so i was for the time being as one spellbound, for which reason i could say nothing in answer. the first speaker coming to my relief, rather dismay, for she spoke in no uncertain tones, "sir king, why answereth thou not? art tongue tied ? methinks 'twere well-if such be the case, thou seek to unloose the unruly member, else, perchance, like another 'find thy kingly occupation gone,' so we urge thee to find speech whereby to acknowledge the honor conferred, at the same time find fitting words to return thanks for the high consideration shown in thus making it possible to take seat on a throne, whereon many an eminent monarch hath heretofore sat, moreover, a throne established long ages ago, and so ably maintained by the now fallen tanawarga. speak, josiah bartholemew, if but a single word, in assent. this we demand as our right.” the old mountain hermit. 197 chapter xxxvii. tanawarga dethroned. during the foregoing interview and colloquy the female conspirators accompanied by their unwilling candidate for kingly honors, were to be seen wending their way toward the village, where, on arrival, i immediately betook myself to official headquarters, the while firmly resolving to acquaint the unsuspecting chief with the designs of his rebellious subjects, hoping thereby to stay the tide so strongly setting in against him, but like many another i found i had reckoned without mine host, for preceding me by a good quarter of an hour the malcontents were in force ready to squelch any incipient signs of disobedience to their powerful will, to which end i was admonished to retire to my cabin home, and there make preparations for forthcoming events, whatsoever they might be, but of which i was assured i would receive due notice. in reply i urged the necessity of time for reflection, because a question of such overshadowing magnitude should not be lightly considered, nor hastily acted upon. after no little demur at the proposition the requeşt was finally acquiesced in, accompanied by the 198 the old mountain hermit. adjuration, "best look to thy ways, josiah, for we are in no mood for trifling, besides it will be for thy interest to say nothing to tanawarga relative to the situation. indeed, every eye will be upon thee, thy every action noted; however, when thou shalt have assumed thy rightful place not one of us but will acknowledge thee ruler, and we the ruled.” with this injunction followed by the sensible affirmation, the female strategists take their departure, leaving the prospective ruler a prey to the most conflicting emotions, for what, i am forced to urge, can the deposed ruler think of my outrageous conduct? surely, it would be hardly possible to think otherwise than that i was in the plot to dethrone his majesty, peradventure prime instigator, of an element seeking to lay claim to a throne, as declared by the scheming faction “founded and maintained by a long ancestral chain of a noble race." indulging reflections of a somewhat unsatisfactory nature i was abruptly called to a realizing sense of the situation by appearance of a delegation of female warriors detailed as guard to the chief's daughter, along with myself, the one that no opportunity be afforded for communication with the soon-to-be-deposed chief; the other excluded me from speaking with the chief's daughter, as in either event the disloyal element might find their well laid plans disarranged, to say the least, however manifesting little show of uneasiness in that i was deemed a fit subject for espionage. i hastened to the cabin, finding the captain laboriously occupied, striving to solve some abstruse problem, as he said, “referring to governmental affairs > the old mountain hermit. 199 as connected with doings in mongolian waters," so on entering the cabin i was saluted in the words put in form of a question, "how many moons, josiah, since 'the andromeda’ set sail on her voyage of discovery?” so in true yankee fashion i answer, “oh, about a dozen, i guess; but what do you mean when you speak of the voyage as one of discovery, when i had all along been given to understand it was to give the mongolians a thrashing ?” i now rehearse the story of the morning adventures, the unseasonable appearance of the female element, who, meditating a move antagonistic to the stability of the reign of chief tanawarga by seating one josiah bartholemew on the soon-to-bevacated throne, had unnoticed followed me to the wood. at the close of the last sentence a slight rustling was heard outside the cabin, whereupon i throw open the door, when a female figure is seen taking hasty departure. “aha, under surveillance, it seems. by heaven! this is carrying things with a high hand.” we slept but little, the captain and i, on this memorable night, in fact, made little pretence that way. on the contrary, the whole night through were deeply engaged in consultation, until at length, after summing the whole matter up, came to the conclusion 'twere better to let nature take its course, for we were utterly powerless to change the current of events, or in any manner whatsoever contribute to the maintenance of tanawarga's seat on the throne. early on the following morning i suggested the advisability of seizing the arms, but on making the 200 the old mountain hermit. tion.” attempt, what was my dismay, to find the arsenal closely guarded, sentinels stationed both front and rear, who on our approach gave us greeting by prolonged cheers, and derisive laughter, one of the rebels sarcastically saying, “you didn't think to find us up this early in the morning, but, good sirs, please remember this, if nothing else, that the women are never caught napping when there's work to be done, so we unhesitatingly say, better go about your business, leaving your betters to attend to theirs without your interference, for, as you cannot help but perceive, we hold the key to the situaso arguing from the standpoint of diplomacy, we were not slow to take advantage of the generous offer, hurriedly returning to our quarters, the movement perceptibly hastened upon noticing a half dozen muskets pointed in our direction. said the captain, “were one of those ancient weapons to be accidentally discharged the shot would either fly wide of the mark, else take us in the rear, so i think we had better hurry out of range,” whereon, taking up the subject, i enlarge on the text, by replying, "he who fights and runs away, or runs without fighting, as in our case, will without doubt live to fight another day." remaining quietly in camp for a short time, the quietude mostly on the part of the captain, for i was in a state of mind bordering on distraction, from the fact that i was so soon to become the recognized potentate, my subjects, without exception, of the feminine gender, my attention was called to a delegation of warriors numbering a full score, a tall, statuesque figure in lead of the column seen to file along down the winding street. the 6 the old mountain hermit. 201 > column armed with spear, sabre and musket, form in line, taking station in front of the cabin, when the captain thunders on the outer door with the hilt of a sabre, demanding—in the name of the gods—instant admittance. not being aware the higher powers were about to take a hand in the management of affairs, i was inclined to demur at the idea of the conspirators calling on the gods for help, when they were seemingly so well able to help themselves, nevertheless, i said nothing, but turned to my companion quoting the words, “ 'tis the way of the world, especially when holding the balance of power." then, as quickly as possible throw the door wide open, the bold leader, without so much as "by your leave,” strides bravely along to where i was standing, then and there demanding instant answer to yesterday's request. “aye, breaks forth another, "instant answer is demanded.” “it seems, worthy friends and doughty warriors, that demands take precedence over the more courtly usages of domestic life, particularly in framing one's method of articulation; however, i am not disposed to question the right to the use of the one, nor demur at the other, so please accord they unworthy servant the privilege of saying that he feels himself quite incompetent for the discharge of duties whereof he has had no experience, nor does he feel like assuming honors heretofore worthily borne by the renowned chief tanawarga, yet, laying all this aside, circumstances over which i have no control, seem to urge me onward, compelling answer to your demand in the affirmative. in 202 the old mountain hermit. > a other, and plainer language, i hereby accept. do with me as you see fit." “rather in hesitating language, i should say." then to her waiting soldiery in overjoyed tones she cries, "he accepts, yea, our unanimously chosen sovereign unconditionally accepts. faithful, loyal comrades, josiah bartholemew—and we have it from his own lips—doth convey to a charitably inclined constituency the glad tidings that he willingly, gratefully accepts the high honors incident to a throne at this very moment in readiness to receive his august majesty, so, my friends, cheer. aye, three upon three, let us give to the new ruler.” the above order complied with, with several additions, each of my female constituents advances and bestows on either cheek a rousing smack, followed by the acclaim, "long live our noble king,” then, at the word of command, the column right about face, and file along the road leading to official headquarters, where it was expected the deposed monarch would be in waiting. the old mountain hermit. 203 chapter xxxviii. tne newly chosen king. not having received the least tidings that he is to be superseded, and that by an almost entire stranger to himself and household, likewise of an entirely different lineage, tanawarga, upon being confronted by those whom he has always esteemed his warm friends and obedient subjects, now in this supercilious manner demand his abdication, willingly, or otherwise, is in a state of mind anything but enviable. while all this is going on the newly created monarch,—whose rule-supposedly absolute–embraces a wide extended group of islands, and the ruled, a notable body of women, more than a thousand in number, is at this particular moment lazily outstretched in the circumscribed limits of the little cabin, alongside, one jeremy lighthouse, late commander of her majesty's frigate "andromeda." all of a sudden the door is thrown violently, open, when, with dishevelled locks, countenance suffused with deep emotion mingled with fear and apprehension, who should appear but the late chief tanawarga. entering, he looks enquiringly about the apartment as though expecting to see some one of his > 204 the old mountain hermit. rebellious subjects, but failing, turns his attention to his successor in kingship, and in loud sounding tones exclaims, “what, sir, is this i hear? can it be possible that josiah bartholemew, and thou, captain jeremy lighthouse, should be in league with those she-devils, or do my ears deceive me? can it be true, the story i hear? oh, no, it cannot be, those i have so unselfishly befriended, and to whom i have become so strongly attached, should on the first opportunity presenting, turn against their benefactor. yet, whether or no, i would a few plain words with you, and more to the point, those words will be the truth. “dare allow yourselves the thought i would tamely submit to such an unheard of outrage? thereby sacrificing a throne sacred to the memory of those heretofore seated thereon ? a throne never before in jeopardy. ha! thou little knowest with whom ye have to deal !” then with downcast eyes, heaving breast, deep drawn sighs, the poor dethroned monarch gives vent to agonizing groans, whence i could but think his acts belied his rather pompous words. these emotions, however transitory, subsided as quickly as they came. soon resuming his former attitude of bravado, he shouts, "by the gods above and the devils beneath, i'll never, no never, abdicate a throne so long upheld and ably supported by a long ancestral chain, therefore, my friends, i call upon you to assist and sustain me in this the hour of adversity, preserving intact my threatened rights. ave, rights delegated by those to whom the word traitor was unknown.” at this point in the chief's stout pleading i felt 2 the old mountain hermit. 205 it my duty to disabuse his mind of the notion that i had taken part with those seeking his downfall, so i replied to his agonized words, saying: “esteemed friend, twelve moons since you gave succor to both myself and my good friend, captain lighthouse. it is not my province to remind you of the imminence of the peril by which we were surrounded, and that you hesitated not in striving for our deliverance. a little time previous, however, by the help of the gods in conjunction with a certain rubber attachment, my life was preserved. now, how is it that you accuse me of conniving with your female subjects looking to your dethronement? nay, on the contrary, i am at this moment ready to lend you assistance, do thou but show me the way. but, tanawarga, what in the name of the gods can we do, powerless as we are to ward off threatened danger, and i might add, helpless as thou art in the hands of these female miscreants? “again let me say to you, tanawarga, that i have reasoned, entreated, and even threatened, but of what avail, for they reply to my persuasions, ‘out upon thee, josiah bartholemew, don't be a fool, even though nature did intend you for such a fate, for now, that it comes in thy way to make a man of thyself, why not fall in with the current, and quit this arguing, for we, as the people, are in no mood to put up with vain blustering, on the contrary, do thy duty as laid out, ’tis all we ask. and, tanawarga, they go still farther, and say, 'when it comes to threatening, thou dost reckon without thy host, for in no case will we forego that which in thy insufferable egotism thou art pleased to style "foolhardiness." ' and so, when in the early 206 the old mountain hermit. morning a deputation appeared urging acceptance, i resisted to the best of my abilities their overtures, begging them to desist from attempting to carry out the hazardous scheme, but again they say,and that with vehemence— we are fully determined on our course, therefore 'tis no use for you, josiah bartholemew, to stand in our way.' farthermore, seeking to obtain possession of the arsenal it was found closely guarded, admission thereto under whatsoever pretence utterly denied, therefore, o worthy tanawarga, what could i do to stem the tide so powerfully setting against thee? and i am of the firm conviction that the insurgents thoroughly in earnest and well organized as they are, in opposition to thy natural rights, and in my interest, rather in their own—for i have no part nor lot therein—therefore, such being the case i should unhesitatingly advise immediate abdication." “which advice signifies thou refusest to help me,” interposes the chief. "not so, worthy tanawarga, not so, for i am not only willing, but ready to turn to your aid, but i am positive 'twill be of no avail.” the last sentence barely falling from my lips when shouts, drums beating, rattling sabres, clashing spears, accentuated by the roll of musketry, and cries, “all hail the new ruler, long live our noble king.' a hasty glance from the window reveals a brilliant array of female soldiery coming toward the cabin at double quick, which they seem bent on razing to the ground, that i might have no excuse for longer tarrying in that quarter, but better advice prevailing, they desist, draw up in line, the leader at the top of her squeaky voice shouts : ور > the old mountain hermit. 207 “come forth, josiah bartholemew, come forth and show thy manly form. yea, let this waiting assemblage gaze on the one who is about to take the oath of office in interest of a throne he is soon to grace, likewise assume the prerogative of ruler over a multitude of the fair sex,' who are only waiting to give greeting to him who is on the point of being endowed with kingly powers.” the whole column taking up the refrain, “yea, come forth, for we would on the instant proclaim thee king." beholding these demonstrations of loyalty and good will in interest of the newly created sovereign, also hearkening to the shouts of approval, tanawarga, completely broken down, and losing courage, fell prone to the ground in an agony of grief. rallying, however, he weakly said, “thou mayst compel abdication, but in no other way wilt thou gain possession of the throne, for i will under no circumstances or conditions yield obedience to thy demands," then about to continue, he is quickly confronted by the eager soldiery, who, at command of the leader, lay hold of the fallen chief, thus compelling him to desist from farther repining, on pain of instant arrest. notwithstanding these demonstrations of disloyalty to their oncewhile king, the chief attempts farther entreaty, but before a single sentence is framed his voice is drowned in cries of anger, groans and hisses. ah! mused i, the blessings of an advanced stage of civilization are not only apparent, but about to find lodgment in the minds of this people, fair application of the adage, “where ignorance is 208 the old mountain hermit. bliss, 'tis folly to be wise," for until our appearance these islands were harmonious, but now, from effect of a little enlightenment they are found in the throes of incipient rebellion. i was soon recalled to my hazardous position and attending responsibilities by hearing voices in contention, tanawarga's drowned by a multitude in chorus, “we care not to listen to words from a deposed ruler, for of a verity, tanawarga, thou art but as one of us, merely a subject, so please comport thyself accordingly, comforting thyself by the reflection, 'whatsoever the gods do will, in that must i be reconciled.» “the gods, you say. devils rather, and she ones at that," interjects the dethroned king. “hist, tanawarga, blaspheme not, neither forget that so long as ye choose to obey our commands, so far will it be well with you. disobey them, loss of liberty, dungeon and chains thy portion.” “usurp my functions, take away my liberty, fetter with chains my body, threaten my life you may, but tie my tongue you cannot, nor will i willingly submit to dictation from such as thou, by giv. ing place to another,” cries the aged chieftain, as with head erect and dauntless mien he stands face to face with the maddened throng, who, inclined to take him at his word, are on the point of ordering his arrest, when with a leap and bound he clears the crowd, fleeing to an adjacent wood, but ere a half score steps are taken he drops to the ground, the report of a musket telling the sad tale of a noble life sacrificed on the altar of expediency, а the old mountain hermit. 209 now not the first time in the woiid's history like scenes have transpired. in hope, rather than expectation the shot had not taken mortal effect, i hurry to his assistance, but too late, for ere i reach his side he has drawn his last breath. thus, at the hands of a people it has been his aim to serve with fidelity and truth, perishes one of the most noble, self-sacrificing souls it has ever been my good fortune to know. while i, josiah bartholemew, at one bound am raised to a throne, and such a throne, such a people! search the world over, was ever a like scene witnessed? and came, when too late, the thought, should my female subjects at some future time take it into their heads to serve me as they have just done their former beloved chief, where would lie the difference as between him and me? cogitations of this or any other nature came to a speedy ending, for instead, the word of command came to my ears, “chief bartholemew, without a moment's delay repair to government headquarters, then and there take the oath of office." line of march again taken up, we keep step to beat of drum and squeaky fife, songs from a thousand throats rising in the still air, the words in chorus running : “the king is dead, long live the king, this fact to all the world proclaim, then shout and likewise sing, 'twas only done by might and main." upon arriving at government house, my inauguration is without the least delay commenced, > 210 the old mountain hermit. though with little ceremony, after which all adjourn to well furnished tables, where a "feast of reason and flow of soul” is for a time indulged. in point of fact it was a generous banquet in honor of the new sovereign, who stands before his people in attitude of a newly fledged monarch, hoping to bear his honors meekly, for assuming censorship over the female element alone 'twas not to be wondered at that i felt myself unequal to the task, and now were heard the words, “our king, a speech from the king," so rising in my place, i proceeded to address the admiring throng as follows: "kind friends, and as i trust—loyal subjects, in entering on the duties attending the exalted station to which i have been called, mainly, as i believe from appreciation of services in the past, i desire to call attention to this one fact, viz., in interest of good government, i shall expect to be unto you a law, my every act to go unquestioned, for, and i say it in all kindness, in no other way can the wheels of government move with due regularity and without friction, therefore, whatsoever measures it may be thought best to adopt, will as i trust be accepted without question, hesitation, or criticism. farthermore, it is my wish to be able to call on you at any time for counsel,” this received with shouts of approval, for it is a noteworthy fact that the female portion of any community are never more happy than when solicited for advice. "hence, in our consultations, i deem it best that a proper regard be had for system, to the end that all our efforts be directed in channels most conducive to the general welfare of the community, therefore, be it known that i, josiah bartholemew, a the old mountain hermit. 211 а duly elected king, do hereby confer on our mutual friend and co-worker, captain jeremy lighthouse, the office of lieutenant-governor, his commission to date from the present moment, so, governor, will you please take a seat on the platform, that all may take note of the honesty depicted on thy rugged features.” i next selected a commander-in-chief of military forces, with power to choose subordinate officers. it was my settled purpose to place my people on thorough military footing, on the principle, i suppose, “in time of peace prepare for war.” not that i feared my little army would be called out in interest of "foreign invasion," but rather in interest of self-protection, as in the case of tanawarga, who would have been able, were a police organized, to put down the late rebellion, for--as i arguethe fires of rebellion once kindled, it is a hard matter to quench the flames thereby engendered, so i deemed it essential to be backed by a force adequate to put down incipient stages of rebellion, come in what shape they may. the funeral obsequies of the late chief were faithfully performed, due regard paid to the memory of one who had so long filled the highest position in government, his last resting place a little mound in rear of the government buildings, where a monument has since been erected. 212 the old mountain hermit. chapter xxxix. seated in high places. > it was now my fortune, whether good or bad, to find myself seated on a throne established in interest of one josiah bartholemew, but whether firmly or not to be determined hereafter, yet, entrenched, as i was led to believe, in the hearts of a people whose welfare was my chief concern; a people who, by their own free will, had honored me with the highest position in their gift without a dissenting voice, therefore it was my province, as it was certainly my choice, to so steer clear of the shoals and quicksands of statecraft as to avoid the interminable jealousy, inherent in feminine nature, and could i bring about the desired result my mission would not have been, to say the least, a failure. to this end i was willing to bend my every energy, at the same time heed the injunction laid upon me by my ghostly visitor, viz., "make no outward show of preference," surely a difficult task when taking into account that i was already half in love, and daily becoming more and more enamored of the fair maiden's charms. at the same time it stood me in hand to make use of a large amount of circumspection in my affairs of the heart, else the old mountain hermit. 213 i might just as well consider my reign of limited duration. 'twas thus passed days, weeks, months, until three years have expired since the ill-fated “andromeda” set sail on an expedition wherein my fate was so largely involved, and whereto have culminated my being placed in possession of a throne on which have at different times sat descendants of an ancestry dating away back to the very beginning, whereon i was led to the reflection—“on supposition that blue blood counts, why, in goodness' name, am i not head and shoulders above many of the most exalted of the world's potentates?" some prophetic spirit must surely have given the lieutenant-governor warning that trouble was in store, for going his morning rounds he afterward gave me the assurance that mutterings savoring of discontent were rife, from the fact that in my selection of government officials i was in the habit of "showing preference.” as to myself, however, i had neither heard or seen anything to cause uneasiness relative to affairs not being on good footing, so rallying my friend because of needless alarm, i gave him to understand his fears were utterly without foundation, of this i was positive; going still farther, i accused the captain of being fully as bad as the women folk, forever borrowing trouble if it could not be otherwise secured. "maybe you ar right," he returns, "at the same time, while adhering to my belief, i would advise keeping a weather eye on the beauties, forasmuch as you hope to retain possession of your throne, so must you be prepared for emergencies that may chance to arise, and take my word for it, you are 214 the old mountain hermit. liable at any hour of the day to hear the significant words: ‘josiah bartholemew, the keys! please deliver to us the keys ! and, your majesty, they'll be in earnest about it, too.” preparations were now made for a trip to my outlying possessions, a project at one time discussed, but abandoned for the time being, but again revived by the procuring and stowing on board a little sail craft provisions for a three-days' voyage, together with such arms and ammunition as were deemed necessary for protection from wild beasts, whether human or brute, though as to the former we had no fears, for, aside from my own people there was not, to my knowledge, a human being within many hundred miles. so, on a morning just before sunrise, we shoved off, the whole community of people witnessing our departure, though it had not been my intention to make it a public affair; in fact it was a part of my plan to keep it a secret in order to test the captain's prognostications of evil. but, apprised of the fact, all, both old and young, were at the landing place in readiness to bid us “god-speed” and “bon voyage, though nothing said of safe return, in itself enough, one would think, to create suspicion, and had i at the moment comprehended its significance, it might have caused our remaining at home, else contributed to speedy return. the breeze was fair. the boat's sailing qualities, while not of the best, were equal to the breeze, so a few hours' sailing carried us within hailing distance of the shore of one of the principal islands, wherein was comprised a part of my princely heritage. and now at this late hour came the old mountain hermit. 215 the unwelcome thought: why have i in my thoughtlessness entrusted governmental affairs to the hands of the very one to whom i should not; otherwise, my secretary of state, the fair hab-asha? for what better opportunity to wreak vengeance on an innocent victim? and if taken advantage of, why not at the same time overthrow the government by taking possession of the throne? alas! i have much yet to learn before becoming a skilled diplomat, especially when the duties wholly pertain to a nationality of women. “fair and false," a name given to the sex; would it prove applicable in my case? i knew not, but as things stood, i could only wait and hope for the best. swiftly revolving these weighty problems, my mind in a whirl of excitement consequent on the thought of my fair enchantress being exposed maybe to insult, or even danger, i was soon awakened to consciousness and the governor's dulcet tones by the worldly exclamation: “rouse up, my hearty! have your wits gone wool gathering? else, why this oppressive silence? but i say, your majesty, do you know we are nearing the island, and in about five minutes will have touched shore?" in less than the allotted five minutes, however, our little craft glided into a land-locked harbor, the silent waters of such transparency that objects could be plainly seen a long way beneath the surface. lowering the sail the governor takes to an oar, a few gentle strokes sending the boat alongside a moss-grown bank, then stepping ashore we are soon in readiness for our inland journey, mid-day finding us well advanced, and as the air was uncom> 216 the old mountain hermit. monly sultry we came to a halt under the widespreading branches of a dark-colored cypress, whereon the captain produces a well-filled lunch basket, afterward pipes, which smoked, we resign ourselves to much-needed rest. the governor to sleep, i resuming my wearisome speculations relative to my jeopardized throne and longing for a glimpse of "the girl i left behind me.” meanwhile, my good friend's forebodings of ill coming upon me with redoubled force, i fall to cursing the folly that led me into such a fearful predicament, and now, left to myself, i would have turned back without the least hesitation. indeed, i was in a state of mind analogous to that of orimentides when giving ear to the serpent's syren voice“which the most to be desired, the delights of paradise, or going contrary to the wishes of the master ?" indeed, i was in a mood to welcome even my friend “the hermit," for if there was ever a time that i needed counsel, ghostly or otherwise, 'twas at this precious moment. again, if my subjects cannot be depended upon in my absence to behave themselves, better know it at once and take measures accordingly. yet, taking this sensible view of the case, i did not anticipate the startling scenes ere long to be encountered. thinking my friend, the governor, had been sleeping quite long enough, for a long distance was yet to be traversed before night should have set in, i gave a shout that started him to his feet with the remark: “for the lord's sake, josiah, that was enough to raise the dead, let alone the living. but, i say, those she devils are upon us; better look to thyself before it is too late," then giving > the old mountain hermit. 217 a hasty glance around, silently commenced strapping his knapsack preparatory to resuming the journey, making excuse for his hasty language because his mind was so fearfully harassed by imaginings of impending calamity that it was hardly the thing to be held responsible for his inane utterings. “well, captain," i rejoin, "let us drop the worrisome affair, and if the worst come to the worst, why, we cannot be held responsible, nor will it do one particle of good to worry or fret about it.” "for a verity a wise thought and a seasonable suggestion, so here goes.” taking up his staff, we resume our travels, pushing ahead, our pathway leading along low, wooded hill-sides, here and there some dilapidated, nearly obliterated habitationnow a cabin, lonely, deserted; there a field yet bearing marks of the plow, choked with rank-growing weeds, others overrun with luxuriant growths of tropical vegetation. thus in genial converse we pursue our journey until the waning light announces the approach of night. so we halt, arrange our belongings and retire to rest, the lieutenant-governor to peaceful, unintermittent slumber, while as to myself, i could neither sleep nor rest, until, nearly worn out, a broad pencil of light gives token of early morning. a hurried breakfast and we resume our journey, our way leading along and up a chain of mountainous heights, for it was my settled purpose to take an extended survey of my island possessions. it is but little time, however, before we enter a dark, gruesome defile leading upward, still upward, mid-forenoon finding our steps tending the old mountain hermit. : toward a precipitous range that, from all appearance, had never before been trod by the foot of human being; indeed, a wilder, more desolate, forbidding region it had never been my lot to encounter, nor was there the most remote trace of habitation, on the contrary, nature in all its magnificence of gloom, held undisputed sway. for which it seemed hard to account, considering that this was the most ancient known portion of the globe, the original dwellers, according to the old hermit's story, "one of the lost tribes." the hour “ for the noon-day meal arrived, but when on the point of being commenced a wondrously strange thing happened. first, a weird sort of chant, in tones surprisingly familiar, the refrain at the ending of each couplet: "josiah bartholemew, beware, yea, beware, for thou art but little way from the toils of the tempter.” “aha! heardst thou this?" in dismay i cry, the last word sinking to a whisper. to which the captain replies in his customary vein: “'pon the " word of an honest old salt and the saints combined, the ghostly old fraud still sticks by you, for 'tis he, i reckon, singing that infernal gibberish.” yes, i am positive 'tis he, come to give warning, but look in whatsoever direction we would neither ghostly nor material form could we see. nevertheless i was thoroughly convinced the owner of that voice must have habitation in the clouds, now fast gathering overhead; yet to solve the mystery it was proposed we hasten up the steep declivity, which feat accomplished, we find ourselves at the entrance of a rock-bound cavern, but so deep and darksome did it appear that it became a de> the old mountain hermit. 219 batable question whether it were safe to enter. so for a time we remain stationary, until at length the weird voice again comes to our startled ears: "josiah bartholemew, beware, for ere thou art sensible of the peril thou wilt have surrendered to the wiles of the tempter.” upon hearing these last words, without further hesitation we plunge ahead, regardless of what may lie in our pathway, the cavernous gloom enshrouding us as a funeral pall. thus pursuing our course, we enter an apartment, seemingly hewn out of the solid rock, but its immense proportions suggested the idea of a natural cavern, whereupon the captain, in sentimental mood breaks forth: “behold nature's charms scattered about in the utmost profusion; and who shall venture the opinion that in this splendid outlay those charms be not quite exhausted, as witness a wide hall of immense length brilliantly illuminated, from either side depend glittering stalagmites, while thickly scattered about are to be seen nuggets of virgin gold, and, more astounding than all else, on a high, uplifted throne, clad in garments bedecked with priceless gems, diamonds of the first water, massive head on which rests a crown gorgeous in the extreme, reclines a form, but whether of terrestrial or celestial mould 'tis hard to determine. but to make the affair still more perplexing, at this richly-endowed being's side, in easy, unconstrained attitude, the right arm familiarly resting on the proud monarch's shoulder, stands a most beautiful maiden, in appearance some eighteen years of age. 220 the old mountain hermit. chapter xl. my wits still at loggerheads. how shall i describe this beauteous maiden ? though were she of earthly, rather than heavenly mould, 'twould be an easy task, but, gifted from realms above, as she appears, 'tis hard to do. not knowing the one from the other, however, i will, in my ignorance, make an attempt in this wise, to wit: form faultless in contour, generous of proportions, chestnut locks built up about a shapely head in massive coils, countenance in expression singularly sweet, cheeks on which were blended in about equal proportions the rose and lily, soft brown eyes, lips full and ripe, delicate and wellproportioned hands, fingers on which were rings set with pearls, feet encased in golden-wrought sandals, while over the entire form was loosely thrown a garment of crimson velvet. indeed, a queen in her own right was this, the loveliest of all maidens. but, can this personage seated on a throne of such rare splendor, can this, i say, be my friend of ghostly fame? aye! it must be he. else why his speech so very like? why the countenance so familiar-except a more youthful look-hence, if correct in my diagnosis, time must have come to a halt in my friend's favor. i have but little time, the old mountain hermit. 221 however, to indulge these strange fantasies, for i am quickly recalled to myself and surroundings by a voice: “josiah bartholemew, i have taken it upon myself to direct thy steps hitherward to the end that we hold conference, never, unless circumstances do so warrant, to be renewed, and, as in the past i have given thee both counsel and advice, so do i again, yet, as before said, maybe for the last time. dost ask why? because i am about to depart for another field of operations, maybe to another and distant planet, also to another people, my mission to do the will of the master—a people, be it said, to whom i am no stranger, because they have many times before beheld 'the old mountain hermit. moreover, i would have you to know that my labors are not confined to this diminutive sphere, but embrace many of the larger planets, yet, ere i take my departure i would a few words with you, to the end that you may be enabled, in part at least, to comprehend many things which thou dost not as yet know concerning a future life. “having, on many another occasion and other circumstances, shown that there is a future, not only to human beings, but all that draw the breath of life; also proven to thy satisfaction that i am as i claimed, the first born,' i now desire thee to know this maiden fair, on whom thou art disposed to look so kindly, is none other than my maternal ancestor, orimentides, whose child while in the flesh i was. the maiden on whom thine eyes do at this moment rest, the fairest of all beings, terrestrial or celestial; whose hallowed remains went down alongside those, the most renowned of 222 the old mountain hermit. ancient world characters, who do now, and forever will, have habitation in the spirit world, is mine own mother. “as thou dost now behold the fair creature, so was orimentides when first from her maker's hand. canst wonder the rare loveliness here displayed didst so contribute to her husband, orimentes, meditating flight when first beholding her? doth wonder that he should fall an easy victim to such powerful temptations? for who would not do likewise under the same conditions? hence, as i've ofttimes warned thee, beware of the serpent! in proof of which i will now show to you the fair one as she appeared shortly after exchanging the felicities of paradise for a world of sin, wretchedness and woe.” the last sentence barely uttered when the cavern becomes steeped in gloom, almost total darkness prevailing. but an instant later the gloom passes away, succeeded by an illumination causing the stalagmites to glow with their former pristine vigor, the gem-encrusted walls gain their accustomed brilliancy. but what is this i behold? and on whose face do i gaze? a female form. true, yet how changed ! a face once of rare loveliness, but now, alas ! full of sorrow. in tones of the deepest solemnity the voice of the occupant of the throne utters the one brief sentence: “behold what sin hath wrought!” and well might this be said, for in lieu of beatific vision in the garb of virtue; in place of crimson velvets, gems and precious stones, behold, bowed, weeping, utterly cast down, a poor, forlorn, grief-stricken the old mountain hermit. 223 creature. thus, all her beauty gone, who so poor as to do her reverence ? the fiat has gone forth, the die cast, the poor, miserable, cast-off creature banished from eden's glories. she is bid “depart!" a world sin-cursed, sterile, barren desert to look on her coming and glory in her shame, for now the most wearisome toil barely sufficing for meager subsistence; the master's curse follows her every footstep. indeed, she is now the most forlorn and to be pitied creature, human or brute, on the face of the earth. is all this a dream ? an illusion of the senses ? is yon proud monarch, his throne outvying all i've ever before heard of barbaric splendor ? or is he a magician, skilled in the arts of jugglery ? else, as he would have me believe, is he really “the first born”? while the scene as mentioned was transpiring, my eyes meanwhile riveted on the strange pair, the form of orimentides dissolves, melting away in thin air with not the most remote trace remaining to show that she was once there. the golden throne, however, keeping its place, likewise its strange occupant, while words are again heard proceeding from the latter: “josiah bartholemew, and thou, captain jeremy lighthouse, place on record what thou hast both seen and heard, for i wouldst thou bear witness that both are simply manifestations of supernal power. at the same time remember those whose existence in the mortal hath ceased do take on spirit forms, wherefore i do most solemnly affirm those who went down in the “andromeda” are now at thy side, and 'tis through their influence and special desire i have thus re224 the old mountain hermit. rosy cheeks. vealed affairs common to the spirit world; farthermore, through their pleading i now convirce thee wherein thou hast done a grievous wrong by placing on the throne one who, at this moment doth in spirit guise implore thee to be guided by her counsels, for in her abiding love she would shield thee from anticipated peril. "look you, josiah! see, she advances, she takes the place vacated by orimentides. but look, i beseech!” when on the instant, as affirmed, she appears, taking station at his side, an expression of anxiety, blended with compassion, suffusing her again speaks "the first born": "josiah, this, thy good angel, hath purchased thy life at expense of her own, for it was either her life the forfeit or thine in expiation of thy foolish doings; thus in accepting the first alternative she has met a fate which, by all the rules of justice, should have been thine, therefore, i do solemnly vouch for the fact that never was so great love ever before manifest in the fish. let this, then, to thy dying hour be a lesson, that when thou first show preference for one of orimentides' daughters, then do thy troubles have beginning, and where they will end no finite being hath the least knowledge.” lost in reverie i remain for some time, scarcely knowing what to think, much less how to act, for the proceedings had been of such an extraordinary character as to defy the most astute reasoner in attempting to work out a problem where everything was so shadowy, and yet in many respects so real. i am soon, however, recalled to a realizing sense of the phenomenal condition of affairs by hearing the old mountain hermit. 225 a sound suggestive of swiftly turning wheels. not in the least suspecting whence the noise proceeds, i am about to make enquiry, when, casting my eyes aloft, a still greater surprise awaits me, for i perceive the golden throne in all its glittering paraphernalia, the materialized spirit of the late chief's daughter-all have vanished, nothing left save he who so lately sat enthroned in state. in short, all things pertaining to former grandeur have, as by the magician's wand, totally disappeared. i rub my eyes, stretch forth a hand, pluck my auburn locks in hope rather than in expectation of finding out whether i am, as purported, the aforesaid josiah bartholemew, king, not of the cannibal islands exactly, though unless things take a decided change for the better i will not be king at all, else materialized counterfeit of the aforesaid. nevertheless, casting my eyes in the direction of the captain, i am pleased to find that astute gentleman in a like state of bewilderment, as evi-' denced by again resorting to the ruse of scratching his head, probably to awaken some long dormant attribute, whereby to solve the difficult problem, else some less worthy, but none the less useful object. however, managing to regain, at least partially, his ordinary faculties, he tremblingly articulates : "josiah, my boy, let's up and away, but first help me with my knapsack; then let's hurry, for i am more than persuaded those she devils are raising the devil, to say the least, and if you want to keep possession of your throne you'll have to make haste, for i wouldn't be in the least surprised if your faithful subjects were at this moment 226 the old mountain hermit. > concocting some scheme whereby to string up your corporate anatomy to the topmost bough of the first handy tree, else toast both over a roasting fire, blast 'em !” "nay, nay, captain, you're too dismal by half in your prognostications. on the contrary, they'll have killed, dressed and barbecued 'the fatted calf in readiness for the arrival of the 'prodigal son.” thus reassured the captain's philosophic reasonings tending to allay my fears—then, too, i could not fail in remembrance that the “old hermit's” premonitions, whether of danger or its opposite, had proved eminently trustworthy. farthermore, i was positive from his manner that he was keeping something back, which i later found to be the case, much to my gratification. the old mountain hermit. 2217 6 chapter xli. return to the capitol and its result. > nightfall fast hastening on, it was deemed best to remain as we now were until morning should have arrived, when we would hasten our return, but the whole night long i could not sleep; i hardly dared think, for if things at home were as represented, my return would be hailed with anything but joy. nevertheless, upon the approach of morn we were astir, and making our way along down the mountain side, reaching the place of embarkation along toward mid-afternoon, only to find our little craft missing, and, search as we would, nowhere could it be found, nor anything pertaining to it save a rag of sailcloth probably torn from the mainsail in securing the boat. “our designing enemies, taking advantage of our absence, have doubtless taken possession and paddled their little canoe' over to the opposite shore," suggested the captain, who, according to his usual wont, let fly a rousing oath to accentuate his feelings, for he swore by all that's great and good, “twas a blasted shame to leave the ruler of a kingdom, along with the lieutenant-governor, in such a predicament," and i naturally coincided in his views. by surprising good luck, certainly not fore228 the old mountain hermit. sight, i had, just before starting on the cruise, taken possession of a hatchet, strapping it to my knapsack, so that 'twas not long before a raft was well under way and ready for sea shortly before sunset. on the governor's proposal to wait till morning before setting sail, i at once negatived the proposition by saying: “no, my dear captain, let's be off at once. for if, as suspected, enemies are awaiting us at the capitol, why, the sooner we confront thema the better.” raising a pole to which was attached the dilapidated rag of a sail, and all things in readiness, the a shades of night falling fast, we were away, my threatened rights the loadstone impelling us toward the island village. meanwhile, a stiff breeze springing up, fair progress is made, break of day finding us within sight of the town and now in view of anticipated strife. i could hardly contain my feelings or restrain my impatience to confront my rebellious subjects-alas! mine no longer, i much fear, the “old hermit's” prediction coming on me with redoubled force. i was in full expectation of finding my people, through factional strife, rent and torn, for was i not thoroughly assured that she whom i had left in charge was brought to me face to face? how, then, could i indulge the faintest hope that i was ever again to resume my old place in the affections of my people? for, of this much i was morally certain, either that i had been outrageously imposed upon, else the prediction ver d. "a conjuror's trick, josiah, a conjuror's trick. of this you may be certain," speaks the governor. the old mountain hermit. 229 > at the same time i was just as certain there was a malicious smile hovering on his lips. the cabins sighted, we plunge onward until at length an exclamation from the captain, though he tries hard to smother it: "holy moses!" but gets no further, for on the instant from the topmost pinnacle of the capitol, waving in the breeze appeared the “union jack," followed by a rolling volley of musketry. but what means this martial array? as in compact columns the female soldiery file along the wood-bordered highway, keeping step to “the girl i left behind me, then draw up on the sandy beach, ground arms and await my coming. but what their purpose, kindly greetings or hostile reception ? ha! do my eyes deceive me? nay! no deception in this, for arrayed in plain, though effective garb, in her hand a staff from which wave the kingly colors, appears tanawarga's fair daughter, hab-a-sha. enthusiasm, born of hope, impels me to shout as never before: "long live the queen ! long live my faithful subjects!" at word of command muskets are brought to the shoulder, and as the raft touches shore a volley rings out, and along with the waving of banners a shout goes up: "welcome to and god bless our noble king !" upon witnessing a demonstration so heartily given in my favor i could hardly repress a cry of joy, nor contain myself sufficient to acknowledge in adequate terms the unexpected greeting. however, a few grains of prompting from the captain in the words: "brace up, my boy, everything is all right, just as i said it would be”—the old fraud -tempting me to exclaim: 230 the old mountain hermit. “aha! old sea dog, there's something in the wind, and, as the 'old hermit would say, 'best look to thyself—i would say-for as between you and me, accounts will some day be squared and final settlement made." it had now become quite evident, indeed i was fully convinced that i had been the innocent victim of a stupendous piece of fraud,—to call it by no stronger name—yet how the conspirator-in-chief could without my knowledge or connivance, have been enticed to the mountain cavern, was something hard to conceive, yet it was quite plain that in overweening confidence, and a larger share of egotism than commonly falls to mortals in the flesh, i was the butt of a huge joke, so my mind was quickly made up to return the compliment at an early day, and in my friends' own coin. at length we are landed, when hand shaking is freely indulged, and under existing circumstances i could have taken each of my female subjects in my arms, so elated was i at this home coming. again the soldiery form in column, take up the line of march, soon arriving at the capitol, where another surprise awaits me, in shape of a bountiful repast. i need not hesitate to say that both “his majesty" and the lieutenant-governor did ample justice to the feast, for we were in nearly a famishing condition, our usual allowance for the past day or two having been somewhat limited. judging from the conciliatory ways and kindness manifested, i was inclined to the opinion my people were trying to make amends for the anguish of spirit and solicitude accruing from the scurvy trick а the old mountain hermit. 231 played on their beloved ruler, though i could hardly think they were privy to the outrage—for each and all now vied in endeavor to make my home coming all that i could have expected, or even desired, anyhow, i argued that it was useless to indulge in misgivings as to the future stability of my throne. notwithstanding these evidences of respect and loyalty, i was well aware that it behooved me to be on my guard, for, as the "wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, nor whither it goeth,” so was my estimate of female character, one day here and another day there, and now a thought in the highest degree suggestive, to wit, “hath all gone well during my absence ?” answered by a staunch adherent, “shortly after your majesty had gotten well under way a minor faction took up arms. swearing by the gods and your good name, "they would never, no, never, be subject to woman's rule, much less to that of the hated daughter of chief tanawarga.' the threat going abroad, indeed, it was openly promulgated. hab-a-sha ordered the long roll sounded, appealing to those delegated to stand by one whose authority was unquestioned,—to assemble at the capitol grounds, also as many of the malcontents as chose to do so, and after all were gathered the maiden proceeded to address the multitude in the words: .“ friends, it deeply grieves me to find so many disloyal subjects, and why, let me ask, do you, so soon after the king's departure take it upon yourselves to rise in rebellion? why thus attempt coercion against one deputed by the king himself to reign during his limited absence ? 232 the old mountain hermit. “ 'hath our good friend, our worthy father's successor—done anything to cause this outbreak, or hath anyone of you been wronged? if so, why not wait the king's return, then present your grievances,-if so be you have any, which i must doubt -anyhow, hath not his majesty through worthy deeds proclaimed an abiding interest in your welfare? hath he not by much sacrifice sought in every way to better the condition of his people? why, look about you and see the wondrous change wrought, and by his hand alone? thus in lieu of poorly constructed cabins, now, well furnished, comfortable habitations; instead of skins stripped from the back of wild beasts for clothing, now, spun and woven garments. “ 'in place of meager crops, now, well filled gran' aries; instead of ignorance and illiteracy linked with its hand-maid superstition you have a considerable amount of knowledge, all these tending to gentleness of spirit and kindly ways, and now in view of these manifold blessings how can you so demean yourselves as to raise the standard of rebellion in opposition to one who hath done so much for you? hence i conjure you lay down your arms, retire to your homes, and the word of a notable chief's daughter if you have honest grievances, josiah bartholemew, in rôle of king, will gladly hearken, and cheerfully redress any wrongs you will with good proof present. “ ‘away then to your homes, and let me not again hear of any more proceedings of this character.' а > در و the old mountain hermit. 233 chapter xlii. looking into matters. a imagine the delight and unqualified surprise when listening to the sensible words flowing from the lips of one it was my delight to honor; moreover herein was confirmed my previous estimate relative to her exalted character, yet how little did i suspect the inherent nobility so conspicuously displayed on an occasion demanding the utmost forbearance and gentleness, yet with a firmness 'twould be of value for others to imitate. the admirable address concluded, the malcontents lay down their arms, acknowledging the error into which they had fallen by not having viewed the subject in a proper light, and now that there seemed no good reason why a course inimical to the weal of the community in general, and the good name of a ruler of their own unfettered choice in particular, why should they not return to their allegiance? the history, as above related, was told me by one on whom i could rely, so i again questioned her in regard to the missing boat, thus leaving the captain and i at the mercy of the elements without shelter of any kind, nor food, upon which she re234 the old mountain hermit. > plied, “ 'twas simply a part of the scheme to delay your return, so you would not be likely to oppose the rebellious faction because you would have no opportunity.” determining to give my people to understand that having again taken reins in hand, likewise possession of the throne and all the name implies, --i must perforce be considered the ruler, and they the ruled, --so i promulgated an edict setting forth my views regarding governmental functions, also what might hereafter be expected,-in other words, unqualified obedience to whatsoever demands í might see fit to make. farthermore, should any be inclined to question my publicly expressed views thereby tending to stir up strife, or in any manner seek to foster revolutionary notions, i should without hesitancy take prompt measures to nip sentiments of that nature in the bud. in fact, and to sum the matter up, incipient stages of rebellion were to be immediately quenched, even though the people were crushed, so i issued a mandate summoning my people to gather near the front of the capitol on the following afternoon. from the foregoing it will be seen how nearly right were my friends, the governor and the old hermit, in their efforts to eliminate from my addled brain that overweening thirst for power which seemed to take precedence over everything else, and never more ardently displayed than when pressing my ambitious design on a people who during the long reign of tanawarga had at all times a warm place in his affections, at the same time accorded privileges which in my insufferable pride i was seeking to destroy. the old mountain hermit. 235 the hour arrived, and the populace were to be seen in all directions hastening toward the rendezvous, some in eager questioning, others manifesting a large amount of expectancy, while all were in evident suspense, for not one understood the significance of the call. 236 the old mountain hermit. chapter xliii. i make a speech. all unconscious of the before-mentioned excitement i proceed to the capitol in all the conscious serenity of well doing, and when all is in readiness i take my fair friend by the hand and lead her to the front, in full expectation of delivering my. address, but, alas, how mistaken i was, not having beforehand gauged the temper of my auditors, hence illy prepared for the reception that awaited me, for i was immediately assailed by all manner of the most hideous noises, mingled with hisses, groans and cries of derision, along with utterances of too scurrilous a nature to be easily borne. “ah,” thought i, "here's civilization with a vengeance," and to say that i was startled upon witnessing this singular demonstration, particularly coming on the heel of the late royal welcome, would but feebly express my emotions, in fact, i was completely dumfounded, yet, had i fully realized my position before this people, and taken steps accordingly, matters might have been so patched up as to give me a longer lease of kingship, to say the least. but as it was, i was in no mood for temporizing, so i again perform an act in the tragedy that must for all time redound to my foolhardiness. this ور the old mountain hermit. 237 foolish act preceded by the thought, "these manifestations of hatred, from whatever source arising, must now, and forever after, cease, and what is more, shall not in my august presence be countenanced," so arising in all the dignity of an assumed potentate i once more commence to speak, by saying, "friends and subjects,” but am the second time brought to a halt by another storm of hisses, to which i pay not the least attention, but keep on, "i am sorely grieved to find my people in this unamiable mood, indeed, i had good reasons for thinking to have an altogether different reception. "what, let me ask, has been done to call forth these expressions of dislike, and even hatred? nay, not the latter surely—for it is impossible for me to conceive that enmity is harbored within your breasts toward one who has since his coming among you had your best interests at heart, therefore, i am inclined in the belief some evil minded person has been sowing seeds of discord in your midst, else why this outbreak of scorn and derision? have we not always dwelt together in peace and harmony? hath anything been done or said militating against the peace of the commonwealth? if not, why so turn against thy chief?” “chief indeed !” rose from out the dense mass at my front, “best recall that hasty word, for, josiah bartholemew, if peradventure chief now, thou wilt be so but little longer." still unheeding these querulous outbursts, i resume,-rather, so attempt,—when a tall, statuesque figure on my right interjects, “your august majesty, i would a question propound,—but will first ask why thou canst believe thy subjects are ana 238 the old mountain hermit. gered? yet providing such be the case, for what good cause? “cause, forsooth, when thou wert warned, and forewarned. of what? ha! thou dost wince. the thrust was too deep to suit thy tender feelings; wherefore i repeat, thou wert both warned and forewarned, yea, and admonished, but to what end? are these mine sayings enigmatical, then look backward, taking note of thy previous utterances, and explanation will be forthcoming. ah! thou may well turn pale. it best suits thy sallow complexion, but to the point, as aforesaid, thou wert warned that in thy dealings with us,-i had it on my tongue end to say thy people—thine no longer i trow—thou wast not to show preference. didst thou not make solemn vow to heed this injunction ? how hast thou kept the promise ? simply by breaking it, and now, in thy humility, thou would ask in what manner? for answer, by placing the crown on the head of one for whom thou well knowest we have no love, scarcely esteem, aye! one whom from this time on we will entirely disown, even if thou hath the hardihood to present her in the name of 'queen,' and yet, you ask, “why are we angered ?' but let me say to thee this,-and 'tis in which all are agreed—throw this, thy favorite overboard, attend faithfully to thy duties, patterning after the notable chief, the late tanawarga, 'showing no preference, and we will take up allegiance, acknowledging ourselves as heretofore thy willing subjects, thus at all times ready to obey thy slightest wish. on the other hand refuse these generous offers of reconciliation at thy peril, remembering we deal pot in idle threats.” > the old mountain hermit. 239 > » like unto the fool i was, i returned threat for threat, but ere i had said a half score words, i was abruptly brought to my senses by the word of command, "right about face, present arms, take aim, stand fast as ye are.” turning to the right what was my dismay to find a platoon of female soldiery, in the hand of each a loaded musket, aimed directly at my heart. anticipating the next command "fire." i hesitate but an instant, iur death at the hand of my subjects was not pleasant to contemplate-i raised my hand as signal that i surrendered, thereupon the word was passed along the line, "he surrenders. ground arms, right shoulder shift, face to the left, forward march." then again to the "girl i left behind me," followed by “the rogues' march," i was drummed out of camp, the music executed by fife and drum-better, i thought, than on my devoted head. the platoon again take up line of march, file along down the dusty highway, wheel to the right, countermarch toward where i am standing, then at signal from the commander of his royal majesty's forces, stack arms and proceed to bind my unresisting hands. “out upon you for lot of heathen,”-in my indignation at the iniquitous outrage i impulsively shout, "what think ye to make by taking this unheard of course ?” the only answer to the appeal, “remove yon caitiff to the guardhouse," whereupon i was seized and dragged to the lockup, there left to chew the bitter cud of fancy free. sentinels were immediately stationed both in front and rear of the log > 240 the old mountain hermit. prison, thus precluding any attempt to escape, had i any thought of so doing. "less sumptuous quarters have been assigned to more renowned monarchs than i, and with even less hope of rescue," as throwing my weary form down on a bench,—the only article of furniture in my prison—i soliloquize, then resign myself to the inevitable. indulging these not over-pleasing reflections relative to my lost estate, a bundle of straw, the couch whereon i rest my weary limbs, all around my prison cell, peaceful and quiet. the sentinels' light tread mingled with a confused hum of voices, all that i heard. until all of a sudden the clash of arms came to my ears, accentuated by the marshaling of troops. their commander's voice in wrathy accents proclaiming, "avast there, shipmates. what in the name of moses have ye done with josiah bartholemew ?” “fair question, captain jeremy lighthouse, honest answer shall be given, in that it is our desire you take the place of one who by his own doings hath nearly undone that we have been so long striving to do, viz., preserve harmony in our midst. ’pon the word of an honest sailor methinks ye are over hasty in your conclusions,—to say nothing of the imprudence involved—for look you, ladies, i am neither by birth nor education, and i might add, experience-fitted for kingly duties, nor am i at all disposed to have charge of a government run wholly in interest of the fair sex, composed as it is of an intelligent, beautiful and altogether lovely constituency. > the old mountain hermit. 241 the doughty captain was doubtless bent on a little sarcasm, at the same time adding a modicum of flattery as an offset, so continuing: “having for many years followed the sea for a livelihood i've had little opportunity, and less desire, to become proficient in governmental duties, and while i've commanded ships of war and of peace, i've never hitherto been called to officiate in capacity of ruler over a whole people; moreover, while i duly appreciate the high honor you would confer upon me, i must beg to be excused from the onerous duties pertaining to, and attendant on lofty positions, carrying with them, as they always do, tasks of the most thankless description.” “thankless indeed," from a score of excited voices. "methinks thou art the one to return thanks, for we do assure you the task is only destitute of thanks, when the object of regard merits the scourge rather than praise. yet be this as it may, 'tis not for thee to say whether to accept or decline the exalted honor lying in orr gift, and within thy reach, for in that we have the power, so do we command strict obedience to the request.” “when is the said demand to be put in execution ?” asks the astonished candidate. "on this very instant do we demand acceptance, immediately followed by being seated on the now vacated throne.” "well, well, so be it," returns the victim, more in sorrow than anger, be it said—a sudden thought coming to his relief suggestive in the highest degree, so soliloquizing, he continues, "blast 'em, i'll make it warm for the jades, i'll give ye all the government ye'll need, and more than you'll want, > 242 the old mountain hermit. > > else my name's not jeremy lighthouse,” then aloud to the anxious auditors, “but when and where am i to begin ?" "to the first we answer, immediately; to the second, precisely where thou dost stand.' "but," again questioning, "are there no ceremonies attendant on my upward flight to glory, no inauguration ceremonies befitting the occasion ? no ball, no dancing, and the like?” “make not light of thy forthcoming exalted station, 'tis of too serious moment to indulge in uncalled for pleasantries, wherefore, but say the word, and a deputation to escort your majesty to the chair of state will be in attendance." “away, then, to thy domiciles," commands the newly fledged sovereign, “and whensoever it doth please his royal majesty to accord audience with his subjects, due notice will be given, meantime i will select my sailing master, boatswain, ship’s carpenter, and other high officials as may seem necessary, giving notice to all concerned, so i again order thee begone, let me see no more of ye until such time as it may be my good pleasure to give summons. thus the-to all outward appearance, though inwardly chuckling—wrathy monarch takes, as he believes, the wiser course, resolving to submit to no half way measures, on the contrary, give his subjects at the outset to understand that nothing short of the most implicit obedience to his mandates would suffice. these commands,—though seemingly rigorous, struck the right chord, as evidenced by the assemblage going their several ways without a murmur, the old mountain hermit. 243 because satisfied with the new order of things, and it may well be questioned whether it is not an actual fact that the so-called weaker sex are never more happy than when favored with a master whose rule though strict, never verges on the effeminate. night was fast approaching, as evidenced by the gloom and darkness enshrouding my prison, settling in corners and cranny holes of the cabin, yet i still clung to my bed of straw, a prey to agonizing emotions, the thought coming home with redoubled force: "how long, oh, lord, how long, am i to be a victim to this outrageous conspiracy? how long left in this suffering condition, hunger and thirst contributing to my tortures, intensified by pain from the hempen cords binding my wrists, sinking so deeply into the flesh as to make the pain almost unbearable," so one can easily conceive into what a state of mind i was fast verging. thus was my condition, thus i lay on my bed of straw, meanwhile hovering between sleep and wakefulness when i am startled by the door creaking on its hinges. raising my head, i perceive a form enter, close the door, and quickly glide toward me. but who the stranger ? ha! 'tis no stranger, the voice is too familiar; she speaks, i recognize my best friend and sweetheart—tanawarga's beloved daughter. “alas, she "how is it i find thee in this miserable condition ?" were the words falling from the dear one, yet before i gain courage to answer the question she draws from her girdle a sharp bladed knife, which, with quick movement, she severs the cord binding my wrists, then throwing herself in moans, > 244 the old mountain hermit. my arms, ejaculates : “josiah, dear, before many hours have flown thou shalt be liberated from bonds and prison, also this ignoble people shall before long wonder what has become of their oncewhile chief. but i must away, for i hear footsteps coming this way.” with stealthy tread she hurries away, the deepening shades of night contributing to passing in safety the sentinels' sharp eyes. once more the door is thrown ajar, a voice in harsh accents and less agreeable tones than those to which i've just been listening, speaks : "josiah bartholemew, these rigorous measures doubtless seem uncalled for, peradventure degrading, especially to one of your sensitive nature, yet ’tis but the penalty paid for thy consummate foolishness,--i might as well say idiocy-so judith and i have taken the liberty to call on the dethroned monarch for the purpose of looking after his health, and enquiring as to how the exchange pleaseth him. ha! ha!” "oh! bother health, exchange, suffering, misfortunes or anything of like nature, or that cometh within range of thy capacity for ill doing," i cry in my indignation. "best depart the way ye came, and leave the unfortunate victim of thy wrath to shoulder his own burdens, which such as thou, if ever so well disposed, could not lighten, and which i well know are foreign to thy errand.” "not humbled yet, rebellious fool? best jot this down in your book of record, that a time may come when the lively tune you now play will be changed to one of slower movement, and withal more solemn. then will you go down on your the old mountain hermit. 245 knees, imploring pardon for your misdeeds. dost imagine 'twill be granted? if so, little dost thou understand the temper of thy late subjects,—though of the gentler sex they be, heaven spare us if they be tenderer than thou; but we will now take leave, as thou didst suggest, then if in mood to hearken to our sayings will perchance return." 246 the old mountain hermit. chapter xliv. the captain pays me a visit. my female tormentors having taken their departure, i feel greatly relieved, and now all is still save the measured footfalls of the vigilant sentinels, nor is there anything heard or seen, not even my prison walls, for the darknessunrelieved by crack, window or door,—is total. on appearance of my nocturnal visitors i had risen, but now that they have had the kindness to depart i again betake myself to my pile of straw when soon afterward heavy footstep comes to my quickened ears, accompanied by the hasty challenge of the guards, “who comes there ?” "best drop those infernal shooting irons,” the response. “best stand aside, for your ruler would pass unquestioned.” when immediately arms are grounded, the salute given, followed by the words, "pass in, your majesty,” and before i had time to ejaculate, "my god, the captain !" that noteworthy gentleman, and now regal sovereign, stood before me in all the glory of a crowned king, his bulky arms entwined about my neck. "hold on, kind friend," i exclaim, “though a sailor hug, 'tis far too powerful for my tender anatomy to withstand." "hal ha!” he laughingly rejoins. “ 'pon my « the old mountain hermit. 247 word, josiah bartholemew, tender! no doubt 'twould be more to your liking were the arms of your beloved hab-a-sha about your neck. but i say, my boy, how fares it with thee?" "fare and be d-d," i return. “but to tell the honest truth, i'd like nothing better than to have the old hermit put in an appearance and scare the daylights out of those she devils. why, do you know, captain, i've just had a visit from a precious pair on the plea of enquiring about my health, the idiots.” “yes, and what's more, you've received a visit from one you would hardly stigmatize with an epithet of that flavor. but i say, what on earth are we to do? and now to be plain spoken, i am not in one whit better plight than you, for to attempt to govern a lot of women-well, the best i can say is, good lord deliver us. “the fact of the matter is, josiah, some scheme has got to be contrived whereby to escape a thraldom worse if anything than death, hence this visit.” "your hand upon it, captain, and 'twill go hard if we do not accomplish it, for i can assure you i am in like mood, and will do all i can to further the object, for to be freed from those who manifest so little gratitude for services rendered must certainly redound to anyone's credit." "but i say,” interjects the captain, "have you eaten anything this evening?" “on the contrary, not a morsel of food nor a drop of water have i tasted since early this morning, and it is but a few moments only since my arms were relieved of these fetters.” > 248 the old mountain hermit. “ho, there, without, fetch food and drink for this, thy captive king, nor linger long in the fetching. dost hear? "you see, josiah, i am fulfilling my agreement with your rascally persecutors, and before they get through with their new king they will be only too willing to look on our departure with a pardonable amount of equanimity; in other words, a more congenial atmosphere, take knowledge of our advent.” food and water were soon forthcoming and ravenously eaten, after which we went to work concocting some scheme whereby to checkmate our captors and thus effect deliverance; my friend, the captain, from his onerous duties as pertaining to royalty, i from captivity, perchance death, for, as the monarch said: "i have overheard mutterings of discontent wherein you, my boy, were to be the victim. but by all saints in heaven and earth we will checkmate them yet; yes, 'pon my word, josiah, we will bring the huzzies to grief, the tyrannical brood.” “but how? that's the question, for you must know it will be no child's play.” "how to get away? by boat,” the laconic reply. “yes, but don't you see, every avenue of escape is closely guarded, so i am of the opinion i have a better plan, anyhow safer. this people, as you are aware, are mightily taken with anything that of invention, therefore should i say: 'friends, i have of late become acquainted with a method whereby the air can be safely navigated.' > savors the old mountain hermit. 249 a why, captain, they will fall in with the notion without questioning or hesitation. “again, i will say to the leaders of the town: relieve me from these bonds, thus affording opportunity to carry out the contemplated scheme, likewise lend a helping hand. i think the question of escape fully answered.” “but in what does this grand discovery consist?” the captain solicitously enquires. "nothing more, nothing less than an oldfashioned balloon, your majesty. yes," i continue, "let us construct a balloon, attach it to the bow of a small boat, one of our staunchest craft, as propelling power, then take on board, surreptitiously, of course, blankets, food, arms, ammunition, etc., and when all is in readiness, under pretence of a trial trip, cast off, standing out to sea until such time as we may be overhauled by some homeward bound craft, when we will transfer to her deck airship, luggage and all. what says your majesty to the scheme?" “capital, my boy, capital. indeed, nothing could be better. but what a head you have !" as rising, the overjoyed sailor grasps the hand of his friend, vowing “the like never was heard.” the foregoing scheme laid before the authorities was, with little ado accepted in good faith, while as to myself i was released on bail, the captain going on my bonds (straw, of course), until at the expiration of forty and five days a thoroughly well-constructed aerial machine swung at her anchorage, the invention hailed with joy by the onlookers, who, it is safe to say, little suspected the 250 the old mountain hermit. use to which it was liable to be put. and now methinks i hear from all sides the pertinent question, "how was it possible, under such adverse conditions to conduct an affair of such magnitude ?” in explanation i have it to say that tributary to and adjacent to the unused storehouse where i had been imprisoned, was an annex, in dimension some six by eight feet, where, from time to time, all sorts of trumpery had been laid away, these largely accumulated from raids on foreign shipping. thinking something might be found available for present requirements, the supposed useless rubbish was overhauled, resulting in discoveries of the utmost importance just at this time, for here was a chest of old rusty irons, broken chains, badly used bolts, a bundle of files, nearly new; while, looking a little farther was found a huge brass-bound trunk, which on opening, was found to consist of several bales of silks and satins. “aha!” cries the captain, “here's a find of some account, for it's just what we most need for the balloon.” underneath a huge pile of drygoods boxes was a demijohn labeled "sulphuric acid.” work on the balloon commenced. the silks were cut in proper lengths, seamstresses sewed the long strips together, meanwhile iron filings were prepared, large casks turned into gas-holders, and, when all was in readiness, the balloon was inflated and time set for carrying the experiment to completion, and while all this is being done the boat is decked from the bow back to near the center, ostensibly as a platform from which to work the unique motor, but really as a shield for hab-a-sha, а > the old mountain hermit. 251 who, it is expected, will be a passenger, for to let the poor girl remain on the island would be simply to court death, for the amazons, finding the captain and i had left, would rise against her, venting on her head the wrath naturally belonging to us. the day and hour set for the venture saw a large concourse of eager spectators gathered at the wharf, where lay the craft destined to convey us seaward, but how little this anxious group suspected the innocent source of all their troubles lay quietly ensconced under that platform. nevertheless, such was the case, for hab-a-sha had been the night before secretly conveyed to the boat, and was now serenely reposing on blankets specially provided for the auspicious event. taking station at the bow, where i could easily direct the movements of the balloon, captain lighthouse about to cast off, when a well-known voice in commanding tones, cries: “what is this you are about to do? turn back! i command it. loose not the boat on pain of instant death !” it now for the first time dawned on my mind that the captain's late subjects were becoming awakened to the fact that all things in this world are not as they seem. in other words, we were about to take final leave, hence it was of vital importance that immediate steps be taken looking to the frustration of our well laid plans, to which end command was given: “guards to the front !" then half a score muskets were pointed in our direction, held by as many female warriors, who rapidly advanced, agreeable to order, taking station in line along the beach. 252 the old mountain hermit. > “captain lighthouse, and you, renegade bartholemew, once more we command, turn back, else thy blood be on thine own head.” aha! here's another turn of affairs not particularly creditable to a pair of crowned heads, i must confess, nor is there much ground for arbitrationthoughts passing swift review—so taking time by the forelock, i hand to the captain a sharp-bladed knife, the detaining cable is severed; the balloon, catching the wind, “rises to the occasion," so to speak, and before th: eager soldiery could gather together their wits sufficiently to secure accurate aim we were out of range. swinging my cap high in the air in parting salutation, i at the same time raise my voice, joyously shouting: “ye blamed idiots, fire and be hanged to you!" yet before the words had fairly escaped my lips a volley rang out in defiance, the balls flying short of the mark. so away we sped till mid-afternoon, when it was estimated not less than a hundred miles had been made. meantime my fair companion, released from her confined quarters, was overjoyed at having so easily evaded her enemies, the thought intensified by the reflection that from this time on she was to be under my sole protection; hence, as a matter of necessity, as was my future, so would be hers, and she could hardly find adequate words to express her gratification at the eventful turn of affairs. there was but little time for indulgence in sentiment, however, the craft, under pressure of aerial sail, bounding lightly over the billows, yet requiring my utmost care and attention. well along toward sunset, with every prospect the old mountain hermit. 253 > of remaining aboard the little craft through the long night, i was somewhat apprehensive that trouble might yet be in store, but one thing in our favor, the wind was perceptibly lessening. yet, as an offset, the sun was sinking behind a bank of ominous appearing clouds, "as," said the captain, “portending a storm,” thereby giving rise to some uneasiness, for should a tempest arise and we be obliged to cut loose from our "aerial steed” our case would be well-nigh hopeless. thus indulging in serious forebodings, the chief's daughter coming in for the largest share of my thoughts, i was suddenly startled and immeasurably gratified upon hearing in exalted tones the captain's voice-"sail ho !" “where away?” in true sailor fashion i reply. "directly at our front, heading this way," the captain answers. turning in the direction indicated i was overjoyed on beholding a large ship under full press of canvas coming directly toward us. without the least hesitancy i throw wide open the balloon valve, thus allowing free escape of gas, and await the outcome. 'twas not long in coming. the great ship "heaving to,” a boat is lowered, and before we hardly have time to think where we are we find ourselves on the deck of the strange vessel sorrounded by an eager, enthusiastic throng of sailors, who, on enquiry, furnish us the gratifying, though remarkable piece of news, perhaps some might say coincidence, that this was a british frigate on return from an expedition where some two years previous one captain jeremy lighthouse, in command of 254 the old mountain hermit. a the “andromeda,” had been dispatched. “but," added the frigate's commander, “the poor man, along with one of the finest ships of the british navy, has never been heard from since.” little did the commander of the “bombastes”. the vessel appearing at this time in interest of that same jeremy lighthouse and one josiah bartholemew, late accredited chief of a female communityrealize that he had these same noted personages as guests on board his own ship, and we were careful not to enlighten him on the subject; none the less thankful, however, that he had been the means of preserving us from a fate sure to have been ours had not he or some other good samaritan appeared in our behalf. suffice it to say, that ninety and five days thereafter saw the british man-of-war swinging at anchor in the thames, captain jeremy lighthouse, in the rôle of honored guest, installed at the home of an old friend, the daughter of the late chief tanawarga in comfortable quarters at a low-priced, though eminently respectable hotel, while i, josiah bartholemew, engaged in making report of the long succession of adventures, culminating as herewith stated. upon finishing my report to the "london times" authorities, who, it is safe to say, were literally dumfounded, vowing 'twas the most marvellous tale they had ever before listened to, mr. waltars, the principal proprietor of that world-wide known sheet, hinting that "it was but a stepping stone to my future greatness; though,” he adds, “i don't see how it's possible for one to be greater than when lording it over a thousand female sub> the old mountain hermit. 255 jects,” a sentiment in which i privately begged to differ with him, but i said nothing. my first step was to hunt up one “joe lindley, lawyer," inasmuch as i desired to consult that worthy gentleman on the advisability of publishing colonel ashburton's manuscript in connection with the adventures wherein i played so conspicuous a part. however, before taking this step i thought as a matter of prudence 'twould be well to take a look at the ancient remains stored in a certain warehouse some blocks distant from my present quarters. so, starting out on the praiseworthy expedition, we had barely gotten under way when there came to our startled ears the clangor of fire bells announcing a conflagration. but where? “the great warehouse near the london company's docks.” the identical building where repose the remains of the "first born”! alas! i find the startling and fatal report verified, for upon reaching the spot the great building is one mass of seething flames. thus, our last hope fled, nothing remaining to give color to my story save the oft quoted, long cherished manuscript, to which, according to promise, i have faithfully, persistently clung, my varying fortunes in no whit lessening my regard for its more than sacred pages, and which, as before said, was destined some time to set the world "all agog.” and now in conclusion of this part of my story i will briefly say that publication begun, the two expeditions in one volume will soon be in the hands of a generous public. 256 the old mountain hermit. part third. chapter xlv. after three years. three years have glided swiftly by, and save for the published manuscript, as promised, and as previously announced, had set the world "all agog," the remarkable incidents therein recorded—now little more than a memory-nothing has been heard concerning it only that expeditions having a like object in view have from time to time been set on foot, the originators laboring under the impression that farther and more extended search might possibly reveal the names of no less importance than those that went down on the “andromeda”. that ill-fated morning, along with their exhumer, colonel henry ashburton, of whom i alone of the whole ship's company was saved. during the past three years my labors had not only been manifold, but unusually severe, from the fact that along with the ordinary duties pertaining to a correspondent and reporter of a great london daily, i had been sent to america to report doings on the several battlefields, thus keeping my paper en rapport with the reading public the old mountain hermit. 257 relative to the internecine strife then being waged in that far-off republic. thus remaining for a year or more sometimes in camp, at others on the field of battle, i was an interested spectator to a number of engagements, many of a sanguinary character. up to this time no one was wise enough to foretell the outcome, for both sides were equally sanguine of success, but from what i could gather, both from observation and hearsay, the south must inevitably succumb. i was fortunate, or unfortunate, enough to be a writer of the battle of gettysburg, and i would here add that a full account of this battle was published in the “london times,” through no act of my own, however, for seeking an injudicious position in the rear of pickett's charging column, i was suddenly—and as is usual in such cases-without warning stricken down by a chance shot. thus i lay, unconscious to all earthly, and i might add, heavenly things, until finally my mentality came to me under conditions that may perchance tax the credulity of my readers, fully as much as my own, for i can assure all who read this story that i am as much in the dark as they possibly can be. 258 the old mountain hermit. t chapter xlvi. i nearly lose my senses. “who, what and where am i?” thoughts uppermost in my mind when regaining consciousness from the long night of sleep, the last remembrance of which occurred on the bloody field where i was stricken down by a union bullet, though, of course, unintentional. surely this is not where i fell? for there i was surrounded by armed hosts, all around dead, dying and wounded heroes, the former pressing on to victory or death, the air burdened with the roar of artillery, eager shouts of combatants filling the gaps between shots, while here all is peace, quiet, apparently contentment. verily i am in a quandary. but who is that strange appearing person at yonder table? his eyes rest on me, while his face has a familiar look; his garb is of an elegance i've never seen equalled. then, too, his surroundings ! surely some fairy must have waved her wand lovingly over his head to have produced this scene of enchantment—this apartment one hundred and fifty feet in length, if i am any judge of distances, the walls of stucco forty or more feet in height, fairly glittering with gems, floors of the purest white marble inlaid with gold, windows, three on either side, of a single the old mountain hermit. 259 plate fifteen feet wide by thirty in length, while from the lofty ceiling depend chandeliers twelve in number of richly chased gold, each of a different pattern and beauteous beyond anything my fancy has ever pictured. the couch whereon i recline . is made of the choicest of woods brilliantly polished, upholstered with rich damask: the coverings over me of spun wool. a little time spent in scanning the various objects wherewith i am surrounded, i again, not only in thought, but uplifted voice, repeat the expression originally propounded, viz.: "who, what and where am i ?” upon this stirring appeal the occupant of the chair rises, and keeps on rising, until to my unbounded astonishment he attains the enormous stature of quite fifteen feet. whereupon i again lift up my voice in supplication, rather than as before, in entreaty: "good friend, if it so please thee, sit down, for i am truly overwhelmed in contemplation of thy wondrous height." "josiah bartholemew," said the voice emanating from the capacious chest of the strange being, "look to thyself, then, if thou canst, estimate the difference between thy stature and mine." it now began to dawn on my mind that somehow i had changed, though just how it was impossible to tell, but taking a downward glance i found my nether extremities were taking on inordinate proportions, so, instead of repeating the question in full , i cut it short by the pertinent enquiry: “who am i?” “before answering i will ask another, to wit: dost know who i am ?" 260 the old mountain hermit. this from the stranger. instead of replying i study his features, hearken to his voice, take note of his countenance. ha! my eyes are opened, on the instant a thought strikes me. aye, both strikes and startles me, for in this strange, unearthly being, i discern none other than the “old hermit of the mountain.” “god be praised !” was at my tongue's end, for i had begun to fear all that i saw and heard was simply the vagaries of dreamland, else the offshoot of a diseased imagination, also that it might be possible that i would once more find myself victim of the gettysburg battlefield. said i, leaving out the question first propounded and from which i have received no satisfactory answer, “would it not be more to the purpose to proceed at once to the city of london, thence to the times office, and make report, for i am sure mr. waltars will be anxiously awaiting news of the last great battle, that is to say, up to the time i fell while cheering on the troops in that last grand charge of general pickett.” still questioning, i ask about how long it's been since i was picked up and borne from the field, for i am positive it must have been quite a little time since, inasmuch as i feel no soreness from the wound. upon hearing this startling news my hermit friend gave vent to a series of audible chuckles, then in soberness said: “aye, how long, indeed? why, josiah bartholemew, you would have me to understand that your mr. waltars is anxiously awaiting your return to give report of the battle of gettysburg, but know this, so long has mr. the old mountain hermit. 261 waltars lain in his grave that were you to unearth his remains, if so fortunate as to find the locality, not a shred of bone, tissue or muscle would you find. 'from the dust thou art, and to i the dust thou shalt return' is a truthful message never more conspicuously displayed than in the case of mr. waltars—fulfilled only after the lapse of centuries, maybe, therefore in some small measure will you be able to gauge the lapse of time, since the well-known man and editor was carried to his last earthly resting place." "how about the "times'?” i still question. "maybe there are others connected with that worldwide journal who would be pleased to have report?» “obtuse man, canst not yet comprehend my sayings? canst not yet realize that ages have rolled over the head of the late editor-in-chief, the fate of his journal and worthy assistants alike shared; but to no longer keep thee in suspense i will make clean breast of the whole affair.” a few moments' reflection and the old hermit again speaks: "at the time farewells were spoken at the mountain cavern you will doubtless remember, josiah, that i said: “josiah, you will never set eyes on me again, unless my services are required to extricate thee from peril, in which event i will come to thee.' "i followed thee, indeed was with thee through all thy journeyings, even to the battlefield where thou wert stricken with the fatal bullet, when i took charge of, and had you conveyed to this great central planet, where you have remained unconscious until this morning, but thinking the hour > 262 the old mountain hermit. propitious for bringing you back to life, i have taken that important step—the lengthy period of five centuries intervening-whence it hath been a matter of speculation as to how your mr. waltars has regarded your conduct in leaving your post of duty without permission from that noted gentleman, so, taking it all in all, you have thought to question the advisability of immediately reporting to the times office, thus setting matters to rights, and by the same chain of reasoning, you would enquire about the great capital city of london, at that epoch in the world's history the most important and populous city on the face of the globe. "know, then, that in so far as regards the former, i have already told you; and as to the latter, i have to inform you that the oncewhile world's emporium is naught but a desert waste, given over to the owl that flieth at night time, and the fox that diggeth his hole by day. “how did all this come about?' you ask? well, in this way: a half century subsequent to the great rebellion in america, the outlying province of canada, it seems, had made secret overtures looking to annexation to the reconstructed states-never so prosperous as at this particular time. meantime the mother country, getting wind of the affair and wishing to put a stop to the unlawful proceedings, dispatched an immense fleet, thus throwing down the gauge of battle in order to compel that nation to desist attempt to secure possessions to which they had no right, legal or otherwise, the mother country taking the ground that a child cannot legally give itself away without consent of the parent; so, in 66 the old mountain hermit. 263 a order to cope successfully with her powerful antagonist, great britain was compelled to call home a large part of her east india troops, both land and naval forces. crossing the seas a considerable portion of the fleet rendezvoused at a convenient point of the disputed territory, landing several thousand soldiers, the major portion proceeding to cities lying on or near the coast. "due preparations were made, and these cities were bombarded, particularly that commercial emporium at the confluence of the east and north rivers, resulting in that great city being razed to the ground, hardly one stone left on another. “at this critical period in her history, fearing the fray would ultimately terminate in favor of her opponent, the american government called on her powerful ally, russia, in conjunction with that no less powerful france, and as both had grievances to adjust, they gladly lent aid, so that great britain was finally crushed, her immense fleets, together with the largest army ever before congregated under one head, compelled to surrender to a foe she had journeyed so great a distance to attack. meanwhile the socialist element—that is to say, the laboring classes, who on supposition they also had grievances to redress and believing the time had come to put forth their claims, banded together, rising up in a night, and, as all the forces england could readily muster were already in the field, little difficulty was experienced in carrying out their well laid plans. “so we find, as a culmination of their efforts, the great city of london-with its half score million people—sacked, its stout walls hurled to the ground, 264 the old mountain hermit. until it was truthfully said, "there was not one stone left upon another.' “inasmuch as success attended their efforts in the first bout, they tried a second, resulting in the whole of great britain being overrun, her fields laid waste, her royal palaces destroyed, and whatsoever bore the least taint of aristocracy. “the war at an end, affairs amicably adjusted, the naval fleets, together with transports, loaded with the beaten soldiery, set out on their return home, little suspecting their absence had resulted so disastrously to the great english nation—because communication, for political purposes, had in the interim been wholly cut off—this made little difference, however, for no more than one-half the distance overcome, when a furious storm arose, the tempest raging with the utmost intensity, until at length, fleets, transports, warriors and all that constitutes a grand army, were overwhelmed, and swept to oblivion. "from the success attending their efforts, the people everywhere united, overrunning the various countries. thus kingdoms, monarchies and principalities came to a speedy end, while the so-called 'aristocracy' was swept as with the besom of destruction from off the face of the earth. “a period of unexampled prosperity now set inbut whether of progress was to be determined later on. republican forms of government were now the rule, thus the people on a level, and so it was proposed they should remain. in the instance of north america, the area, through annexation nearly or quite doubled, the several peoples comprised within that immense territory seemed about . the old mountain hermit. 265 to enter on an era of prosperity, thereby placing them at the head of all the nations of the world. “the mutations of time, century after century of improvement in all directions, keeping even pace, until at length the vast domain becomes the pivotal center around which revolves the interests of the entire globe, the emporium, heretofore spoken of as lying at the confluence of the east and north rivers, has now become a world's capital, with a population estimated at not less than twenty and five millions, within whose territory is comprised more than one thousand square miles, reaching to the north, the headwaters of the north river, the shores lined with palatial residences, the architecture of an excellence unknown to the more ancient days, that is to say, along toward the nineteenth and twentieth centuries-while many towns and cities are more densely populated than was the city of which i speak, at that time. “another, second only in importance, was a city founded in the nineteenth century, situated at the head of an important chain of lakes, formerly known 'as the city of chicago,' now the great western metropolis, with a population numbering in the aggregate more than fifteen million souls. “the third city in importance, founded at a still later date, located at what was once known as “st. anthony falls,' at that time the head of navigation on the largest river of the continent, the mississippi, and destined at no distant day to overshadow all others, because of its immense agricultural, commercial and other resources. bartholemew, i will not conceal from you the fact that on a late visit to that part of the globe i was most favorably 266 the old mountain hermit. impressed, indeed, i think i have never known a city of such unlimited resources, nor one of more magnificent possibilities, for here is one of the youngest cities on the continent, within whose extreme limits are embraced more than a thousand leagues. “but, josiah, if there have been such radical changes in business affairs, what shall we say of those pertaining to governmental functions ? to wit, when you were a sojourner on earth's domain, the president of the united states was chosen, from, and by the people, regardless of caste, wealth or social prestige, hence, we find that exalted person: down to the most insignificant incumbents of office, drew together such a vast horde of office seekers in connection with those desirous of political preferment that the common people were so overburdened with taxation as to make it a difficult matter to make both ends meet, and this we find the case whether the government be monarchical, democratic or republican, but thanks to the law of progression, the nations of the earth, one generation after another, have in good measure cast off these barnacles heretofore clinging to the ship of state for 'statehood' is but another name for unwarranted, or rather, unnecessary expenditures of the public moneys.” “but how," i unceremoniously break in, "is it possible to carry on a government where there are so many diverse interests, and such an immense territory, on supposition, the states are all thrown into one ? "the simplest thing imaginable, josiah, for now the people are the government in reality, as they the old mountain hermit. 267 were once in theory, only, therefore, a yearly convention is held at some central point-presumably triniapolis—which, since the annexation of the canadas, has become the geographical center of the continent—the convention composed of delegates chosen directly from and of the people.” “yes, but," i again interrupt, "what can be gained by this singular departure from ancient traditions ? "much, because under this form of government fewer laws are needed, so in like manner are there a less number to be enforced, farthermore, a law once entered on the statute books must forever there remain, unless some good reason why it should be expunged. whereas, under the old system, it was a common thing for a law to be enacted one session, only to be repealed the next, but this is now all done away with, so there is no need for state legislatures, and much else useless governmental machinery.” "but why," i again ask, "is there less requirement for the enactment of laws than before ?" “because the masses educated up to a higher standard, generation after generation, of enlightenment, leading up to a knowledge of “good and evil, holding fast to the one, and eschewing the other, hence it is seldom crimes of special magnitude are known, so, you see, if one generation arrives to a higher state of perfection than the one preceding, logically the succeeding one would come up to a still higher standard, until, in the end, to do a wrong would be so obnoxious to the well regulated mind as to tempt one to go hang himself rather than to face such an accusation. "it will thus be readily seen that the so-called > 268 the old mountain hermit. ‘learned professions' have received, through adoption of the aforesaid measures, a shock from which it will be many a long day before they recover. the lesser lights, sheriffs, constables, detectives, jurorsbarnacles sapping the very life blood of any nation or people—are left to shift for themselves, so, instead of destroying, are building up. in fact , a sweeping change has been effected through the body politic, so that now everybody may be considered happy. “so, too, in the higher branches of office, members of congress, supreme and district court judges, down to the justice of the peace—whose functions are mainly settling disputes-still, on supposition, there are none to settle, no smith versus jones, to disfigure the book of record. i gladly hold up both hands in one long, lingering shout, 'amen! "again take the practice-rather, malpracticeof medicine, and herewith i hold it a self-evident truth, that in the absence of a large part of the doctors, there would be so little need of their services, the world, coming to its senses, would be in a state of wonderment as to why this particular class of barnacles should have been so long tolerated, and of whom the world is well rid. why? you ask. because the laws of health are better known, people do not gorge their stomachs simply for the gratification of the palate, nor indulge in the use of intoxicating liquors for the sake of destroying the intellect, because urged upon them by disinterested parties. “josiah, i now come to the last of the learned professions, the clergy; yet, were the several systhe old mountain hermit. 269 . tems of theology, as taught, put in practice—there might be some excuse for the preacher." upon this avowal from one i had ever considered a staunch friend, and to whom i was still inclined to look upon as such—but, from this wholesale denunciation of a class i had at all times considered, of all earth's benefactors, the most useful, they, who from my youth up, i had been taught to reverence, i rose up in my wrath, accusing the old hermit of being a rank impostor, saying that i could now comprehend why i had been so long à creature of circumstances, and so cruelly imposed upon. in his customary, gentle manner, he immediately returned: "resume your seat, my friend, yet understand, i make no heedless nor unwise assertion, nay, nor unprovable statement. on the contrary, i simply proclaim the truth, when saying the so-called clergy are simply barnacles, teaching things they know not of, and so at this, the twentyfifth century a. d., the world has reached a point where it is considered unnecessary to the religious, rather preferring to give employment to secular teachers. "do i deny a future? nay. else could you have come hither? for if, when stricken down on the field of gettysburg, five long centuries since, there were no future, you would long ago have ‘slept the long sleep that knows no waking, instead of putting on immortality, and advanced to this central sphere, the culmination of spirit existence. do i believe in a future? aye, indeed, a future so glorious, so far removed from the highways of bigotry, accepted by those who expect to 270 the old mountain hermit. wing their way upborne by priestly chariot, to celestial realms, but whereto they comprehend not, preferring unfounded, wholly unproved statements rather than take the trouble to search for themselves a light that illumines with noon-tide radiance, thus lost to a happiness all have it in their power to acquire. “enlightenment, the watchword of the present, aided by its handmaid, progress is fast sifting the wheat from the chaff, and earth's dwellers hastening toward a belief that lifts them above the narrow range of mortal affairs, meantime presents to their gaze an immortality that never fades nor grows dim, approached not through churchly dogmas and worn-out creeds, for all these, having had their day, are relegated to oblivion, and so a new and brighter era has been inaugurated. thus knowledge derived from a being, capable of creating, and willing to maintain powers having origin from this dominating central orb, thence transmitted to other spheres, there to be put in force by their respective rulers, and here is where earth's dwellers have made a serious mistake, in conceiving this diminutive sphere to be the dominating orbit, and to which all others are subservient. "josiah bartholemew, it will henceforth be thy mission to undeceive those in error, and 'tis for this thou wert transferred hither. i the one detailed for that special purpose, thou the only one of earth's mortals as yet permitted to look upon and tread these elysian shores. “i will now speak more at length about earth’s doings, afterward of those pertaining to thy future, to wit: during the past five centuries the people the old mountain hermit. 271 of the western hemisphere becoming united, may be considered of one race, who, inaugurating, are capable of maintaining a more lofty standard relative to every relation in life, and as under the ancient régime, there was but little system, one class warring against another, the weaker succumbing to the stronger, hence, there was one continual scene of turmoil and strife, the world the whole time growing worse rather than better, one after another putting himself at the head of a faction, proclaiming himself a veritable moses, liberating the overtaxed slave from the heavy hand of the master, in the end only to fall back to the rear of the column, faint-hearted and broken. “at this juncture the masses of the people having arrived at an understanding as to the requirements of nature's laws, as originally promulgated, rose up as one man. binding themselves together . in self-interest, they cast down altars built to supplant the many in interest of the few. the first onset proving an unqualified success, they attack and utterly destroy the government buildings. the officials in charge scattered like leaves before the gale. so, they who by successive generations filled their coffers with gold wrung from the brows of those who sweat in behalf of the laboring classes, eventually compelled to disgorge their ill gotten plunder, the accumulated wealth distributed pro rata, the title to landed estates guaranteed by those who had no real equity in the premises. “thus the source of evils dried up, crime came to a standstill, churches, where once the people gathered to worship the one god, were now school ܀ 272 the old mountain hermit. houses. the teachers, imbued with due sense of the responsibilities attendant on their high vocation, were thus paramount for good, and so all things. adjusted to the universal satisfaction." 1 r! ܕ the old mountain hermit. 273 chapter xlvii. breakfast. jubal now takes his departure, and i am left alone. alone? nay, for it is but a few minutes when i am greeted by sounds both pleasing and gratifying, for echoing through corridors of the great building, is heard the clangor of bells, followed by entrance of a retinue of servants headed by a remarkable personage, clad in robes of satin trimmed with purple velvet, altogether a generous outfit for one in the position i take it he fills, viz., butler, or head waiter, who advances and orders his asistants to deposit on the table what appears to be my breakfast, and as my fast has extended over a period of five long centuries, i am naturally rejoiced that i am again to have something to eat. taking station round a mahogany table, the signal is given, when several trays are arranged in symmetrical order, each containing several sorts of fish, flesh and fowl, likewise fruits, both luscious and rare. a second signal, and the tray bearers depart the way they came, and i to all appearance to be waited on by the aforesaid remarkable personage of flowing beard, and a bearing a king might envy, while the table service was of a magnificence rarely equalled, plates of the purest china, napkins of the 274 the old mountain hermit. finest linen, fringed with lace, urns and the service of silver chased in allegorical emblems, peculiar, as i judged, to paradisical regions. one peculiarity in striking contrast to those in servitude, was lack of speech, for from the instant of being awakened to the present, not a word had been spoken, save by my ghostly interlocutor, so i came to the conclusion i was being waited upon by mutes, though, as i judged, by no means deaf. in this, however, i was soon to be undeceived, for on the retiring of the servants, whom i heard talking without, the butler belabored my ears with a language i could no more understand than so much eskimo, that i was on the point of crying “quits,” meantime, indulging the fear that, after all, my hunger was to go unappeased, notwithstanding the elaborate feast provided for my especial benefit; yet, what astonished me more than all else lay in the fact that in the butler's case words now were spoken in good, honest anglo-saxonmy mother tongue—whence i was led to the conviction, as i had often heard said, 'the sun never sets on british possessions,' and certainly there could be no better exemplification of that fact than was now presented. breakfast finished, with a wave of the hand jubal dismissed the servants. evidently, having some weighty subject on his mind, i urged jubal to disclose whatsoever might be troubling him. “josiah !” he answers, “actual war is impending. i find an outlying province, some twenty-five thousand miles distant, has from some cause or other become dissatisfied with the present state of affairs, 80 have sent word to the general government, that, the old mountain hermit. 275 > unless things are more to their liking, war will be resorted to. of course, a menace of this kind cannot be overlooked nor condoned, hence the preparations by the government for actual war.” “but what has the province you name to find fault with?” i questioned. "nothing more, nor less, than the right of selfgovernment, a demand similar to one made by another faction some five hundred years ago, and in which you had the honor of taking part, thereby sacrificing your earthly life,” replies jubal. “so the government is taking measures to suppress the rebellion ?" i answer. “yes, but whether they succeed is another question; but we shall see.” then continuing, jubal goes on to say, “as a good many days must necessarily be consumed in preparing for the desperate undertaking, for you must know, josiah, the enemy are almost, if not quite as powerful in both numbers and resources, the contest must, from the very nature of things, be something out of the common run. therefore, i suggest we take a journey, say fifty thousand miles inland, for the purpose of taking a survey of this vast extent of territory, noting its varied industries, likewise immense resources. “nothing you could suggest would please me better," i return. so it was settled and agreement entered into, that we set out on the following morning, to which end passage was engaged on board the fast sailing airship “argonaut," which, according to the table, would set sail at the usual time of 8.30 a. m. an estimate, supposing the regular time made, i.e., ten thousand miles per >> 276 the old mountain hermit. day, the round trip would consume some ten days, providing there were no long stops made. so it was proposed, outward bound, through tickets be purchased, halting at only two or three of the larger towns, and should sufficient time be at command, before sailing of the government fleet, which, in rôle of war correspondent, i was expected to accompany, we could on our return stop at as many stations as we chose. ! the old mountain hermit. 277 chapter xlviii. the journey. ten o'clock of the following morning found my faithful friend, along with one josiah bartholemew, on board the great airship "tarrantalus," in readiness for a journey, computed at ten thousand miles, and now, were i to give faithful description of the aerial monster, it would be to say, that it was all of one hundred and fifty feet in height, by forty in breadth; around the outer edge ran a low rail, while at regular intervals secured to the platform were some fifty upholstered seats, already occupied, save the two previously reserved for jubal and myself. swinging high overhead, attached to the platform by stout cables, was the airship proper, said to be perfectly safe under all conditions, though it looked too ethereal to suit my fancy, but then i recollected that in spirit life things are somewhat different than when in the natural body. the passengers, of all ages and either sex, were mostly clad in gorgeous raiment, and still more to my liking, were in excessively good humor, and withal, gentle mood, for this mode of travel was to them an everyday occurrence, therefore no uneasiness felt in regard to its safety. and now the great station bell peals forth the 278 the old mountain hermit. hour of starting, the cables are loosed and the aerial ship majestically rises, for an instant halts as if to enquire the way, then, accompanied by cheers and shouts of a great multitude of spectators, who never seemed to tire of the novelty, proceeds on its way. but just how the ship was propelled, was, to a stranger like myself, a wondrous mystery, especially in the absence of the least perceptible current of air. the mystery, however, soon set at rest, for casting my eyes, as one might say, seaward, i was nearly bereft of my senses-on supposition i had any to lose after all the marvellously astonishing things i had seen. i say, in view of all this, i saw attached to the bow of the aeronautic machine a company of flying forms, numbering two score, twenty on either side. “what! in the name of all the saints-and devils," i was on the point of saying, and who should blame me but rather i changed the expression to one of simple wonder, then rubbed my eyes and looked again, with this result, that these flying figures, with wide extending wings and hoarse cries, bore 'us onward with the speed of the wind. “aeronautic motor," jubal quietly replies to my look of astonishment. "and most singular motor it is," i return, and why not? for here were forty winged creatures, not so very unlike to the great condor of the alps, only many times larger; indeed, i judged them to exceed two hundred pounds each in weight, while as to the wings, well, to say the least, were not one whit less than forty feet from tip to tip; so, with graceful and seemingly unconstrained movement, they beat the the old mountain hermit. 279 > air, hauling the immense car with astonishing rapidity, the reins in hand of a driver seated on a little platform some three feet above the deck. a half hour of this swift movement and the walls of a city appear in the distance, and before i had time to make enquiry, jubal, anticipating me, said, "yonder town is called acropolis, a city of twentyfive millions of people, its industries mainly manufacturing," a fact i could readily understand, for from the chimney stacks of a thousand buildings rose vast clouds of smoke and flame, suggestive, as i remarked, “of the infernal regions." "on supposition there were such," jubal returns, though he continues, “as a matter of fact there are none, except in the imagination.” a few moments later and we were hanging over the great city. at signal, the airship drops gently to the ground, a considerable gathering of spirit people awaiting our arrival, for the purpose of going aboard, others leaving, having reached the end of the journey, and just here let me say that my fate was to a large extent foreshadowed by this stopping, for had no one come on board i would not have met a fate from which i have never complained, nor sought to be extricated, being perfectly content indeed. love at first sight was never more truthfully exemplified than on this occasion, nor was matrimonial venture more successful. a peculiarly significant fact lay in this: wheresoever i was inclined to go, or my steps chanced to lead, every eye followed my movements, for it seemed that i was regarded as an inhabitant of another world, and respected accordingly. but in no instance was that regard so manifest as in the case 280 the old mountain hermit. of a maiden who came on board at the last station. it is not my intention to portray the many accomplishments of one who was destined to engross my every thought and attention, for, despite my utmost efforts i could not do her justice. hence, will only go so far in avowals of praise as to acknowledge that in all my previous experiences it had never been my lot to meet one in whom the combined graces were so fully displayed. but then, it is a well known fact that love is blind to all outside influences. the old mountain hermit. 281 chapter xlix. my fate sealed. "jubal, knowest thou yon maiden—she of the flaxen hair, rosy cheeks and a bearing a queen might envy? knowest thou her, jubal ?" i repeat. “aye! that i do,” he returns. “she is the daughter of an eminent astrologer, who lives not far from the center of the town, and to whom i am no stranger. moreover, when it pleaseth me to sojourn hereabout, i am a welcome guest, the astrologer a generous host, a highly esteemed citizen-indeed, he ranks second to none of the municipality-and altogether a prosperous man. but, josiah, what is it to thee? methinks thou art uncommonly interested in one with whom you have no acquaintance; but, never mind, i will at the first opportunity give you an introduction.” “thanks, worthy jubal, i will hold myself in readiness to accept the kindly offer,” i respond. our brief stay finished, signal given, and the ponderous machine again rises to the occasion, so to speak, the winged steeds buckle to with a will, sailing to the happy songs and mirthful greetings of the enthusiastic travelers. as the voyage continues, new beauties spring up on every hand, wide extended plain and lofty mountain range their summits seeming to graze the skies-outlined on the horizon, thus conveying the 282 the old mountain hermit. idea there are other paradisical worlds no less easy of access than those of which we already have knowledge. forests, too, of illimitable extent. the monarch, hoary with age, yet evidencing nothing of time's ravages. while lakes of every form and size, as surveyed from the great height attained, reflect back their mirror-like surface, thus causing a thrill of transport to surge through every fibre of our being. and now another city rises to view, but no stop is here made, although jubal announces its name as that of athalone, or queen city. as our brave steeds wing their way overhead, other aeronautic ships are observed putting off, some making ready for departure. the waiting assemblage giving us royal greeting, our flight followed by applause. “something out of the common run,” suggests jubal, “only to be accounted for on supposition that your fame, josiah, has traveled faster and farther than thou. yea," he continues, with unbounded enthusiasm, "as, borne on wings of the wind, to say nothing of the wings of our noble steeds, the startling news has gone forth, that a stranger from a distant planet has arrived.'” anon, wide rivers are crossed, their swift current stemmed by vessels of merchandise sailing to some foreign port, stretches of prairie, brought to the highest state of cultivation, wearing the look of one vast garden, while away over yonder, creeping at tortoise-like pace, yet moving at the schedule rate of two hundred miles per hour, are to be seen railway carriages, the long sinuous trains no inapt reminder of our common ancestors' tempter, "the serpent!” thus we journey for the > the old mountain hermit. 283 > space of some ten hours, the shades of departing day warning us of the swift approach of night, whereon we again drop to earth, descending at the city magenthum, where we are to remain for the night. so, after quite a search, quarters are secured at the celebrated hotel elegante. shortly before reaching the celebrated hotel, jubal, according to promise, gave me introduction to my fair friend, when soon after, supper was announced, and i had the exalted honor of escorting her to the table, and giving her a seat at my side. if, in the lovely genevra, i had previously discerned more than ordinary beauties of person, what shall i say concerning those of the mind, and above all, excellences of heart, the one gratifying to the senses, the other spiritual in my enthusiasm, i looked on the fair one as the very height of perfection. supper over, i proposed a stroll about town, forasmuch as the magnificent city was one glare of light from center to circumference, in point of fact the noonday sun could hardly excel it in brilliancy, so it will be readily seen the most minute objects were brought to view. as we wandered hither and thither about the wonderful town, many strange sights were witnessed. indeed, i could not recall a single incident coming under my observation at the renowned british capital, “the city of london," for here were open squares on either of the four sides, blocks of uniform height and style, devoted to staple articles of commerce, manufactured from the choicest materials, for everybody seemed attired in silks and satins. again, a broad avenue of stately 284 the old mountain hermit. palaces—for there were few others to be seen, for where all are on equal footing, all share and share alike, and then, too, the enormous stature of the citizens—though as to this i had become so accustomed i hardly gave it a second thought. but i have no disposition to weary anyone with an extended description of the many strange scenes encountered during my brief stay at the city of magenthum, and will only farther say that of them all, none gave me a sense of supreme satisfaction as did the lovely maiden at my side, for she was not only a pleasing companion, but one capable of furnishing much useful information, because she was possessed of a more than ordinarily cultivated intellect, which, added to her native powers, along with knowledge of governmental functions, really, i was pretty near going overboard in my wondrous affection. eight o'clock in the morning saw us on our way to the aeronautic station, where, on arrival, i found jubal in a state of fearful unrest, manifested by pacing the platform with hasty strides—something unusual for one of his staid character—so, on questioning, i found he was fearful something would happen whereby we would be delayed on our journey, in which event the fleet might sail without us. resuming our customary seats, the airship majestically rises, the winged steeds, refreshed, apply their best energies to a task that to the uninitiated must seem wearisome indeed, moving away to the strains of a band of music furnished by the authorities—as jubal asserts—"in honor of the stranger guest.” the old mountain hermit. 285 1 chapter l. the end of the journey. fifty thousand miles continuous travel, save halting at night time, and the end of the long journey is reached, our destination a town second in importance only to the “great central city," from whence we started only a short time before. this imperial city is located on the shore of a sea that washes a large portion of the immense kingdom, wherein are located the towns heretofore mentioned. here we remain for the space of four and twenty hours, employing the greater part of the time in visiting the principal objects of interest—though, from the vast area, but a tithe of these objects could we survey. an especially noticeable feature, also one in which i was more than ordinarily interested, was the immensity of shipping congregated along the wharves and about the harbor, for here were one hundred ships of the line, twice that number of transports, all in active preparation for the war now on, waged in opposition to the insurgents-reported nearly, or quite equal in strength to the government forces—whence, it was my firm conviction, that to be in the thick of a fray of this magnitude was to expose oneself to appalling dan286 the old mountain hermit. gers. notwithstanding the danger, to be in employ of a government of such immense proportions was certainly an honor accorded to few, thus, while the venture could not be otherwise than hazardous, the outcome would be equivalent to having one's name recorded in unmistakable characters, high up on the roll of the most renowned citizens of this, the most remarkable of all commonwealths, because it was a spirit people, dwelling in the spirit world. after a brief sojourn, we visit the great railway station, from whence depart trains leading direct to the capitol city; hence it would consume, say at the rate of four thousand, eight hundred miles per day, precisely ten and one-half days to make the run between the two cities. on reaching the station we found a train just arrived with dispatches from headquarters announcing the fact that the government fleets were nearly in readiness, and would sail at an early date. consequently, our return must not for an instant be delayed, if we wished to be of the number sailing, and also inducements of a high order would be necessitated in order to induce us to forego the prospective engagement. i suggested to jubal the desirability of returning by rail, and even then i feared the fleet would have sailed. and as to this plan no objection was offered, especially when it was understood the aeronautic ship would be detained some time for repairs. i ordered a barouche driven in furious haste to hotel elegante, and take on board genevra, returning just as soon as possible, so it was but a little time when she reached the station, wondering what had happened to create such a disturbance. however, giving her the old mountain hermit. 287 to understand 'twas nothing serious, we went aboard the train and were whirled in space at the astonishing rate of two hundred miles per hour a part of the time, an additional fifty, in deference to my wish that we be not too late for sailing with the fleet. nevertheless, had we been detained beyond the schedule rate a single hour, the fleet would have been under way, and i left to chew my finger nails in furious rage. as it was, however, the dock was reached just in the nick of time to go aboard the flag ship “thunderbolt," in rear of a fleet numberа. ing in the aggregate some five hundred ships of the line. meantime, the balance of the fleet having weighed anchor, were now to be seen stretching away to the verge of the horizon, immense clouds of canvas spread to the breeze, wafting them to scenes of strife, wounds, bloodshed and death. 288 the old mountain hermit. chapter li. war of the giants. > > “friend jubal," said i, “i am afraid the insurgents will stand poor chance, when the immense fleet of government ships casts anchor in their harbors, demanding at the mouth of cannon 'immediate surrender or take the consequences,' replied to in the words, 'come and take us if you can,' which will undoubtedly be the case, but when the government batteries open on their works they may change the tune, only too eager to comply with the demands.” “ah, josiah, did you but know the strength of the opposition, you would at once understand that it is war to the death-no child's play, i can assure you—and i will not deny there are grave doubts in the minds of many that success is by no means certain; yet, be this as it may, the struggle has to come, for such a long continued reign of peace breeds discontent, which can only be healed by the shedding of blood, for a people whether of celestial or terrestrial order, are prone to settle difficulties by arbitrament of arms, so that sooner or later outbreaks of this nature must be expected. however, i am inclined in the belief the ultimate effect will be to settle matters quite the old mountain hermit. 289 effectively; hence a return to peace will be hailed with joy by all parties, and no very great harm done,” saying which, jubal claiming he had important duties to look after, retired, and i fell to reflecting. thus i here behold a vast expanse of ocean, from shore to shore fully twenty-five thousand miles, and when this distance is overcome, a thoroughly fortified, skillfully organized, and in every way well equipped foe to be encountered. would success follow ? certainly not a foregone conclusion, whereon i was led to question whether it were possible a force in every way equal to that sailing under the national colors, led by competent officers, could cope in opposition to a government founded on equality and justice, whose every act has been the interest of the masses, regardless of rank or social distinction, and as far as i could learn, no complaints had ever come to the heads of departments, no act of injustice urged in excuse, from which, i inferred, the war was set on foot more as a relief to the pentup energies of the masses, in order to give vent to the surplus activities so common among those who are not obliged to work for their daily bread, rather than as redress for fancied grievances. the flag ship, carrying the commander of the combined naval and land forces, was a vessel of enormous proportions, and if her power was equal to her size, few ships of this or any other fleet could stand against her; not only this, but her armament was something terrific, numbering three hundred guns, each sixty feet in length, carrying shot of five hundred pounds weight, the upper deck devoted to cabin, officers' quarters and the like, 290 the old mountain hermit. while the seamen had berths below; thus the ship was competent to transporting three thousand menat-arms, while the sailors numbered about one thousand. the propelling power of this ship consisted of four screws at the stern, and the same number at the bow, all acting in concert; besides, the vessel was rigged with sails, the masts two hundred feet in height, so the combined forces of screw and sail must necessarily contribute to wondrous speed and terrific power. and as this was self-generatingas heretofore explained—there seemed nothing wanting to make this vessel invulnerable to anything the enemy might be able to send against it. in addition to the hundreds of ships of the line, there were transports adequate to the conveyance of several hundred thousand marines. meganthum, as previously noted, the second city in size and importance to the capital city, likewise the objective point of the late aerial voyage, had raised and dispatched a fleet but little less in size and equipment to the one i was to accompany, while a dozen smaller seaports had contributed each their quota, thereby swelling the national army to nearly four millions of thoroughly equipped and fairly disciplined soldiery, and what a magnificent body of troops! not one of the whole array less than from twelve to fifteen feet in height, some going up to twenty, all clad in uniforms that the british army in all its glory could not equal. the corps commanders, field marshals, division and brigadier generals, even down to colonels, were accoutred with a magnificence no army on earth below or heaven above could excel, so it will be the old mountain hermit. 291 readily seen this was no holiday excursion. as all well knew, rather, hard fighting the rule. every man expected to do his duty, yet there was not one among the whole number on whose face could be detected a single grain of fear. on the contrary, each and all seemed to be in readiness for the fray. there was, however, a degree of solemnity observable for which i could hardly account, until informed that it was mainly owing to the fact that one section was arrayed against the other, very different from a war with a foreign foe—the first and only time in the history, extending back to the very beginning of time, and that so remote, that figures were not adequate to make calculation, and it did seem a monstrous wrong that after so many centuries of peace the nation should be awakened to a sense of insecurity, and that from its own people. lying midway a vast unbroken sea is an immense tract of land laid down on paradisical charts as "ordnance island,” its peculiar name derived from being the principal seaport where are manufactured munitions of war. here were immense buildings for the construction of heavy guns, others for gun carriages, caissons, baggage wagons and the various indústries inseparable to the carrying on of a nation's warlike matters, and so we here find a large and important town springing up, supported by those taking part in these government affairs, the population estimated at this particular time at about one million souls. this thrifty and important town, known as midway city, was now a scene of uncommon activity, a 292 the old mountain hermit. and from being the most desirable harbor of the entire coast, the government fleets were ordered to rendezvous at this point, and as they had nearly all preceded us, they were lying at anchor awaiting appearance of the flag ship, on whose deck was stationed the lord high admiral of the entire naval forces. and what a grand, exciting scene was brought to view as the "admiratic" forged to the front, banners and bunting of every conceive able shape and size waved from every masthead and spar, and now the order signalled to cast anchor, the great guns belched forth welcome to the admiral, while cheers and hurrahs went up from the throats of thousands of the enthusiastic soldiery, while transports by the thousands, laden with military stores and field artillery, decks crowded with marines, horses of magnificent build richly caparisoned, were there by the hundreds of thousands. the batteries pealed forth in tones of defiance to the foe, and adieu to friends at home, the loud sounding notes scarcely dying away when they were echoed by some distant battery, in exchange of compliment, the music of a hundred organizations, all lending additional charm to scenes where the heart is made glad. at the same time deep-seated melancholy pervades the entire assemblage, for many there were, who, despite the fascinations of warfare, were in doubt as to whether they would ever return to again look on the magnificent features of the capital city, for each knew that death would ere long stare him in the face. here were promulgated the orders of engagement, i, josiah bartholemew, commissioned the old mountain hermit. 293 “charge-de-affairs” of the reportorial force, with orders to communicate with the chief of staff only. the several divisions of the fleet now take their respective stations, the line of battle extending in either direction farther than the eye could reach, were signalled to start at a moment's notice. the flag ship assigned to the center of the line. and now the order is given to hoist sail, standing out to sea, so it is but a little time when every sail is spread to the breeze, and the fleet is slowly but surely-wafted onward to scenes where angels might weep and devils rejoice. thus the fleet advances, a thunderous report now and then signalling some lagging division to hurry up in line, until at length we arrive within some fifty leagues of the hostile shores. now a halt is signalled, the fleet deploy in battle array, then move up twenty-five miles distant from the enemy's works. the right of the column cast anchor, preparing for bombardment of the extensive fortifications, which, though so far away, are within easy range, and, consequent on the enlarged rotundity of the immense globe, are plainly to be meanwhile the center and left move to either side, so that while one division is engaged at the front, the others execute flank movements, thus landing troops both above and below, who at the last unite at the enemy's rear, and as the fortified positions extend in an unbroken line for at least fifty miles, it must necessarily consume considerable time in arriving at the respective points where the land forces are to disembark; therefore, it will be readily seen there would be ample time for the attacking force at the front to make headway-if seen. 294 the old mountain hermit. it could be done at all-before those in the rear could be brought into action. moreover, it was a matter of conjecture as to whether, with the forces co-operating, the attack would eventuate in success, particularly when taking into account the numerical strength of the revolutionists being nearly equal to that of the nationals. however, by the are ranged flank movement, it was believed they could be taken unawares, but here was where a mistake was made. the alertness, decision, and, above all, firmness of the opposition was soon made manifest by the concentrated fire on the center of the fleet, a number of heavy balls passing directly over the flag ship and vessels along the front rank, but causing sad havoc to those in the rear, for a full score were almost annihilated. upon witnessing this manifestation of the enemy's fearful power, the face of the admiral seemed to wear a troubled look, and well might such be the case, for if the guns of a single battery were competent to inflict such an amount of damage, what would be the effect of score of batteries? certainly, a problem of easy solution. however, in no wise undaunted, the admiral directs return fire from the entire front line of battle, answered by a thousand guns. when the dense volumes of smoke having cleared away, revealed a sight, causing every marine and cannonier to send up a shout of joy, for the ponderous walls of the distant fortifications were to be seen falling, in many places not one stone left upon another. the old mountain hermit. 295 chapter lii. in close quarters. the battle well on was raging with the utmost intensity, the result, however, as vet hard to determine, heavy masses of dark, threatening clouds and stilling smoke rising as a wall in our front, so that it was a sheer matter of impossibility to estimate the damage inflicted on the enemy's works. the fearful din at the rear betokened a desperate struggle, hence it would seem the land contingent were meeting an unexpected opposition, so reinforcements were called for, whereupon a detachment from the main body, computed at a half million of the flower of the army, were landed and immediately pushed to the front. . forging ahead with terrific speed, impelled by scores of aeronautic steeds, were to be seen long columns of flying machines in active preparation to hurl on the enemy's heads thunderbolts, in the form of heavily loaded shells which must, from the very nature of the deadly missiles, cause a retreat unless some counteracting influence could be brought to bear, which, under the circumstances, was not possible; so it was not long before the shells began dropping, followed by results of a terribly sanguinary nature. 'twas thus the battle raged with scarcely a mo296 the old mountain hermit. ment's cessation, attended by fearful loss of life, for the space of eight and forty hours. at the end of which time the enemy, finding all lost, withdrew to their former anchorage. it was now quite evident that the enemy's affairs were in a condition bordering on desperation. the conflict resulting in the complete triumph of the national cause. well, to make a long story short, as my old friend, captain jeremy lighthouse would say, consequent on the skill displayed in performance of my reportorial duties, i, josiah bartholemew, was likewise raised to lofty position, that is, charged with the duties pertaining to “news gatherer in chief," my field of operations the entire hemisphere. the insurgent element crushed, the prospect of again rallying for the prosecution of the cause was slim indeed, so by proclamation of the government it was understood that, should secession again be attempted, the authors and abettors thereof would suffer the full penalty of the law. the old mountain hermit. 297 chapter liii. a visit to genevra. governmental affairs adjusted, and nothing in particular demanding attention, i petitioned for, and was granted leave of absence, for i was to pay my genevra a visit at her own home in the populous city of acropolis, but not knowing the sort of reception i would be likely to meetespecially from the paternal side of the house—who, consequent on his exalted position, might not be inclined to favor my suit. the maternal opinion i cared less about, on the principle that, as were the daughter's affections bent, so would the mother's be inclined. yet, taking it all in all, my mind was assailed with unpleasant forebodings, until the adage was brought to mind, "faint heart never won fair lady.” i resolved to set out with the least possible delay. meanwhile engaged in preparing for the ten thousand mile journey, i take occasion to call on jubal, who informed me that, “commissioned as bearer of dispatches to a number of outlying planets, among which is that of earth, i hereby invite you to accompany me.” informing worthy jubal of the proposed visit he gave assent with the proviso that i take sufficient time to accomplish the desired object, as nothing detrimental was likely to ensue from limited post298 the old mountain hermit. ponement of the prospective voyage to other planets, so assuring my kind hearted mentor that under no ordinary circumstances would my stay be unduly prolonged, i went on board the aeronautic ship whirlwind," and before i had time to make acquaintance with any of the passengers i was set down at acropolis station, where on solicitation, the master directed me to the abode of the noted astrologer, nicophorous, the paternal ancestor of my beloved genevra. the home of nicophorous i found to be palatial in the extreme, likewise situated on an eminence overlooking the city. going aboard a rapid transit car i was in a few moments landed at the entrance gate of a long stretch of parkway grounds in winding walks laid on variegated marbles, bordered with lofty trees, while from innumerable fountains flowed waters sparkling in the broad sunlight, in fact, everything about seemed on a scale of magnificence heretofore unknown, hence i was on the point of enquiring if there were no streets, rather paths golden paved, for such was the description i had heard given of paradise. but what struck me more forcibly than all else was a chariot drawn with three horses abreast, reins in the hand of a charioteer of noble bearing, the entire outfit of a grandeur unapproachable. while reclining under a crimson canopy, was a maiden whom i at once recognized as the one for whom i had taken the long journey-genevra. swiftly approaching, the chariot comes to standstill. the lovely occupant stretches out a hand accompanied with the exclamation, "good а. the old mountain hermit. 299 friend, if such, on short acquaintance i am permitted to address thee, it is certainly with much joy i am constrained to thus greet thee, for i much feared i might never again behold thy pleasant face, but thanks to the good angels who never desert a friend in need, thou hast it seems escaped the dangers incident to thy hazardous calling. moreover, the fame acquired in fulfillment of thy mission hath for a verity traveled faster than thou, hence, forewarned of thy coming i have made preparations as you see.” kindly,-i might say condescendingly—a seat was proffered at her side. the charioteer gave the rein to his steeds and away we went. the palace gates opening to receive us before i was hardly aware we had started, disclosing a magnificent hallway where we were accosted by a gorgeously attired footman and waited on to an apartment designated as the “audience chamber,” genevra soon after retiring to her own room. a few moments devoted to examining the various articles scattered promiscuously about, and the noted astrologer accompanied by his wife appeared, escorted by the footman, who likewise performed the ceremony of introduction. approaching, nicophorous gave me a hand, saying: “stranger from another world, as i have been credibly informed—thy name and fame hath so far outstripped thy journeyings as to become known through the length and breadth of the land, therefore accept greetings from one who delights to honor talent, come from whatsoever source it may," then in hesitating mood, "permit me, good sir, to give thee introduction to one who deserves an equal 300 the old mountain hermit. share of honor with thyself.—mrs. nicophorous." upon taking the hand of this remarkable gentleman, i could entertain no doubt as to genevra's parentage, for in bearing and general appearance one was a counterpart of the other, the expressive features of the father descending to the daughter. as in any event my stay must be limited, i inform the worthy pair relative to the contemplated journey to other planets, whereupon both break out in rapturous applause, mingled with congratulations in that i was favored above all spirits in being permitted to revisit olden time scenes, and above all renew acquaintances with olden time friends. i have no desire to trespass on the time or weary the reader's patience by relating the varied scenes and incidents connected with my stay, and will only add that my visit was delightful beyond anticipation, terminating altogether beyond my most sanguine hopes, for before taking leave i was, , with the consent of her parents, engaged in marriage to the lovely genevra, the consummation of the auspicious event to remain in embryo until my return from "foreign parts." so bidding my kind friends “adieu," i returned home by rail. upon reaching the capital city i found jubal actively at work preparing for the journey, estimated at more than ten thousand million of miles, my main source of regret lying in the fact that i was compelled to take leave of my affianced, while her principal cause of anxiety arose from the notion that i might peradventure come across my former wife-hab-a-sha—who will be remembered connected with my kingly exploits, but, on as> as the old mountain hermit. 301 surance that this was certainly among the list of impossibilities because all of five centuries had elapsed since my demise in rear of pickett's columns on the noteworthy field of gettysburg, it could hardly be expected that her spirit would still be hovering about earth, or in any way connected with earthly affairs. in this, however, i was—as the sequel will show,-fearfully deceived. having received the aforesaid dispatches, thus all in readiness for the prospectively long journey, jubal and i bade leave of our spirit friends,-from many receiving congratulations, others venting their spite, because we should be so favored, in contradistinction to themselves—then set out with bright anticipations as to what the future might have in store. thus planet after planet was visited, our stay at each of limited duration, but not one was called upon that we were not received with due consideration, as bearing messages from the great central orb to those of lesser degree, and now came the welcome news—as reported by jubal in the words,—“josiah, we are rapidly nearing earth's solar system, for look you, yonder is the sun, though but a mere speck in the heavens.” we were, however, traveling with such inconceivable rapidity that before we were really conscious of the fact an immense globe of liquid fires, glowing in their wondrous intensity, rose in our front, and in such close proximity that we were nearly overcome with the furious heat. anon, the moon in majestic splendor rises, her soft yellow rays illuminating the heavens, lighting up mountain caverns and darksome recesses, while seas, cceans and vast plains of earth’s dominions were plainly visible, so that it was but 302 the old mountain hermit. a little while after, that landing was made, and we once more standing on familiar ground, but oh, how changed, what wondrous alterations five centuries have wrought! london-town, the oncewhile world's emporium, center of a world's commerce, where converged all greatest and best that human skill was competent to produce, now—as once before prefigured by jubal-a desert waste, the british isles given up to the "beast that prowls by night, and the pestilence that walketh by noonday.” the temples where flourished the arts and sciences, lofty structures, consecrated to worship, warehouses, overflowing with a world's products, railways spanning continents, houses for the poor and destitute, all these, aye, and more, things of a long forgotten past, while rivers on whose bosom floated a world's marine, ships destined to every known port, all now among the things that were, but are not. crossing the vast expanse of ocean, my surprise was even greater, for i found the western hemisphere filled with towns and cities, many having overtaken and passed even the once great city of london. i had hardly anticipated meeting my olden time war associates—or for that matter, any one of them, the passage of time presumably having raised them to loftier planes in the spirit world—but in this i was mistaken, inasmuch as i found many s'll earthbound, thus evidently not in the line of progression. and now, lest i be accused of uttering falsehoods, i will mention one circumstance that i feared might have a possible bearing on my future spirit life, it coming about in this way, to wit: the old mountain hermit. 303 at a reception given in my honor, held at the residence of a member of a certain spiritualist association, at this time the religion of earth, the fact was, through a medium, having communication with the world of spirits, disclosed that the fears of genevra were not without foundation, for here i learned that my former earth wifechief tanawarga's daughter-was still a dweller of the mundane sphere, and what was more, would, if i so wished, appear to me in spirit guise, thus renewing acquaintance of five long centuries agone. now, under ordinary conditions, nothing would have pleased me better than to meet one whom it had been my good fortune to rescue from the toils of her enemies, and to whom i was at the time devotedly attached, but now, that the fears of my anticipated bride, genevra, were in fair way of realization, i was certainly in an unpleasant position, for to refuse audience with one who on all occasions had striven for the promotion of my happiness, and from whom in tears i had parted five hundred years since, was a thought not easily borne, yet, in whose interests was it my duty to serve? she, from whom by the most imperative of nature's laws i had for so long been divorced or the one to whom i had so lately sworn fealty ? clearly the latter. . anyway, 'twas thuş i argued, but that supreme selfishness was at the bottom i could not deny. i regretfully pass by description of our return to celestial regions, with the simple remark, "that on arrival we were received as was evidently befitting the king's messengers to other worlds, jubal the recipient of numerous testimonials, evidencing the 304 the old mountain hermit. faithful performance of his arduous duties, accompanied by accurate report furnished_to leading journals of the capital city, one, 'the daily news,' testifying to the fact that josiah bartholemew was the one reporter who could be relied upon for accuracy of statement combined with surprising faciliity for gathering the most stirring news afloat, hence it would naturally stand the government officials in hand to make satisfactory arrangements whereby the talented reporter's services can be secured, else offers may be tendered in other quarters equally conducive to his own interests, if less satisfactory to the government.” “for what,” urges one of the leading journals, "is a hundred dollars more or less when important interests are to be subserved ? nothing, we say; therefore we urge the authorities to make haste in securing the services of our friend and noteworthy correspondent, lately returned from a journey to outlying planets josiah bartholemew." the end. ; ? 용 ​ 1 , : : : } 4 1 」 1 1 ope on our university of illinois library class my 08-15m book / volume del mclb.c»' $a>h> the hermit «f the cave . i cnidcm, t//^ forked jy*c the hermit qp the cave or the royal shepherdess. and ajlfireb and zaira, •a pathetic tale. london: printed and sold by dean and monday, 35, threadn eedlestreet. price six pence. hermit of the; cave. \ r ’ ’ / covered with the skin of a lion, his face tanned with the heat of the sun, his hair long, and flowing wildly over his shoulders, from which hung a quiver filled with arrows, a large club in his hand, and a poignard in his belt, a man of a majestic form descended from the moun tains of armenia. after casting his eyes towards heaven, he threw himself on the enamelled ground, and taking a picture from his bosom, he pressed it teuderly to his lips, and sighing deeply, addressed the picture in the following words, which were interrupted by sighs and tears, “ ah, beloved policena, whom i am doomed to behold no more! how little did i think, some years ago, that this little picture would be one day my only consolation. alas! what cannot adverse fate do, when joined to envy and hatred ? beloved of my soul, who could have thought when i resided at court, possessed of a brilliant fortune, and adorned by a sumptuous vest embroidered by thy fair hand, that i should be forsaken, and forced to take re fuge upon a bleak mountain, with no other covering than the skins of wild beasts, and to sleep in a lion’s cave? and yet, god knows, that neither these hardships, nor the dangers or fatigue to which i am exposed in order to support mj miserable existence, nor the horrors of this solitude, g ve me a moment’s uneasmess. no! nothing but the fear that thou shouldest forget the unhappy ge simonde, can draw a tear from these sad eyes. during twelve years of absence, thy image has never for an in stant, been absent from my imagination. unfortu* ate as i am, has thy constancy equal ed mine? ah, l fear some happy rival has replaced me in tb\ atf i t on. per haps even now he possesses those charms for woich [ stdl continue to sigh. oh god ! avert ir . m me these distracting thoughts, or put an end to my agonized ex« ietence.” 1# the hermit op the cayb. gesimonde was at that instant interrupted by the sight of a young shepherdess, who �« crossing a narrow path an^ongthe rocks, which edged on each side by a tow of poplars and speaking to herself wnh the utmost agi ta ion, astpn sned at the soft melody of her voics he called to her: — at the y ght *d' gesimonde, the timid shepherdess fled t wi f $h *the utmost precipitation, nor did she stop till she was dverp wered by iatigue. gesim -nde, who had followed her at a short distance, now came up to her, ai d found her panting fortreath; he felt ex tremely distressed at having caused her so much terror. he took lurtn his arms, and tamed her to his cave, where he gave her some water to drink, which brought her to herself: he theu presented her some wild honey and titled fruits. #< cease to fear me!” said he, with the gentlest torn* of voice, u although my dress and appear ance are uncouth, my heart is tender and humane; and were 1 the most ferocious of men, 3 our youth and beauty w uld preserve you from harm; you are as free in my miserable habitation as in the fields. i will not ask you to remain with me; your presence would render my soli tude too pleasing: yet if you should feel no repugnance to soften my grief* in participating in them, i will use every endeavour that the most sincere friendship can dic tate, to enliven this gloomy solitude.” tranquillized by his words, the young and lovely shep herded, whose name was lsmena, informed him, that she had fled from her father’s house to avoid marrying a shepherd, whom she detested. “ i consent,” she said, (i to pass my days with you; your humanity and gentle ness have inspired me with sentiments of gratitude, which will bind me to you by the purest ties of friendship.” she then requested him to lighten his griefs, by suffering her to participate in them, if the 'recital were not too painful to him. gesimonde, with his eyes bathed in tears, complied with her request, and began his story as follows: “ 1 am natural son to policarp, king of albania. this prince, who floated upon clarinda, indulged himself in his tender attachment for that beauteous armenian; when, for the good of his subjects, he was obliged to share his crown with rosimonda. this princess gave birth to a son on the same day that clarinda brought me intp the world. flaminius my brother, legitimate heir to the the hermit of the cave. crown, was beloved by my father, who seemed to behold me with horror. my mother also treated me with cold indifference, and the queen, from whom l had no reason to expect kindness, was the only person that evinced any good will towards me. my brother and i were already advancing towards manhood, and the people took every opportunity of evincing their attachment to me, and their dislike to my brother; who possessed none of the qualities requisite for one who was to become their sovereign. sanur, who was related to the royal family, and much beloved by the king, had a daughter named polieena, with whom my brother and i, had been bred from our tenderest years ; 1 will not attempt to describe her beau ty, it is sufficient to say that she was the brightest orna ment of my father’s court. “ the inclination which from my childhood i felt for the beauteous maid, increased with my years; but as i did not move in al! the pompand grandeur, which ever attended fiaminius as heir to the crown, i feared that her young heart, would be dazzled by his greatness, and she would prefer him to me, for he was also her admirer. polieena however soon tranquillized my mind, and made me the happiest of mankind; she treated fiaminius with disdain, and returned my affection. we were privately manned by means of her confessor, who was greatly at tached to us both, and undertook to perform the cere mony; which was done during the night in the apartment of polieena, who had entrusted one of her women with the secret of our loves. i was the happiest of men, and forgot in the arms of my beloved polieena, the grief which i felt at the aversion my father and mother mani fested towards me. “ at length, fiaminius demanded polieena in mar riage of her father; and the ambitious sahur, bade his daughter henceforth to avoid my presence, which wa6 now more necessary to her than ever, for my beloved polieena was on the point of presenting to her doating gesimonde a pledge of our mutual affection. she was obliged to use the utmost caution to conceal her situation. i did not dare to intrust the secret to her women, as 1 knew that most of them were bribed by fiaminius, and that the least indiscretion would endanger the life of the ob ject dearest to me in the universe. we were in continual fear of a discovery, when one night polieena was attacked b 3 the hermit of the cav1< 12 by the pains of childbirth so violently, that she was cer tain the critical moment was near at hand. she quitted the palace, and went out by the door which led into the gardens, with the intention of taking refuge at the house of ont of my friends, to whom i had entrusted our secret; but she had scarcely proceeded half her journey, when her pains became so violent, that she was obliged to rest herself under the portico of a temple, where she was in a few moments delivered of a female child, whose piteous cries reached the ears of two men who were walking in the environs. policena disguised her voice as much as possible, entreated the strangers to take charge of the in nocent babe, and deliver it into the hands of gesimonde, son of the king; assuring them at the same time, that they would be magnificently rewarded. she then re turned to the palace privately, by the same way she had quitted it, and kept her bed for some time under the pretext of an indisposition. 66 flaminius was unfortunately one of those, to whom she had entrusted her babe! the darkness of the night had howe�r, prevented him from knowing the mother of the child, which had so singularly been delivered to him. he wished very much to know who she was, and made various enquir es, when unfortunately, he learned poli cena’s indisposition. this sudden illness, and the resem blance which lie fancied he could <iis< over in the infant, persuaded him that policena was its mother, and i its father; and in a fit of jealous rage, he condemned my innocent child to die under the poignard of an assassin, ann afterwards to be brought to me. — imagine my ago ny! my despair! when i beheld the horrible specta: le! the monster name himself to tell me that i had yet wit nessed but half of his just vengeance, that it was his in tention immediately to prevail upon the k ng his father, to revenge the indignity offered to the heir apparent, by the death of . policena. “ barbarian!” i exclaimed, “ is it posss le that we should be allied by the ties of blood! the vilest assa-s a w. uld shudder at the crime thou hast committed! tremble, villainous murderer, this arm shall del yer the world from so horrible a monster!” “ flaminius, little accustomed to such language, an swered me by invectives, and reproached me w th want of respect; at the same time making refi ctions on my feuih* this meanness increased my rage, i flew at him the hermit of the cave. 13 with my drawn scimetar, and he fell with my repeated stabs weltering in his blood. this event threw every inhabitant of the palace into the utmost consternation. it soon reached the king’s ears, who instantly offered a reward, to whoever would bring my head to him: but i had profited by the general confusion to make my escape and avoid his fury. 1 travelled eight days and nights successively, until i came to this cave; where, overpow ered by fatigue, 1 lay down to sleep. the most distress ing dreams haunted my imagination, i thought 1 beheld policena, whom a band of fierce soldiers were dragging along by her fine hair, and with her last breath calling upon her gesimonde! 1 started up in an agony, to fly to her succour, and to my great dismay and horror, beheld a lion of an uncommon size, laying by my side! i gave myself up for lost; but this noble animal, less ferocious than those who gave me birth, appeared to view me with an eye of compassion, and soon tranquillized me by his caresses; since that moment, he has never quitted me; we always hunt the wild beasts together, and live on the most friendly terms. “ i prefer this cavern, with my faithful companion, to the most magnificent palace. these bee-hives produce the most delicious honey, these torrents supply me with pure and limpid water, and the, trees of the forest with fruit. if my daughter, thou wilt consent to soften my solitude by thy presence, i will wander among the rocks, to gather for thee odoriferous herbs, and make thee a couch to repose thy wearied limbs upon. we are here sheltered from the inclemency of the weather, and in the summer’s heat we will repose under the ( eol shade of the trees, whose spreading branches will screen us from the rays of the sun. in the morning we will wander among the mountains, and admire the goodness of the great creator of the world; which is manifested alike in the majesty of these stupendous mountains, and in the forma tion of the simple flower which adorns the enamelled fields. — in the evening we will recline under those wil lows which overhang the limpid stream, and talk over our misfortunes.” here gesimonde ceased, and ismena promised never to quit him. the tender friendship wh eh .subsisted be tween them, rendered their days serene and happy, he lov< d her as a father, and in return the lovely an«'< amia ble girl rendered the dutiful attentions of a daughter to 14 the hermit of the cave. the unfortunate prince, who frequently concealed the grief that preyed upon his heart, lest it should distress the tender and affectionate ismena. one day that prince gesimoude had wandered out alone, in order to give a free vent to his sorrows, ismena descended a mountain towards a valley, where a row of fine poplars invited her to wa‘k under their cool shade. as she approached, she beheld a horse richly caparisoned, tied to one of the trees, and a young cavalier sleeping on the grass, with his head uncovered. she drew nearer, and examined him with great attention. the beauty of the young stranger, inspired her with a sentiment till then unknown to her. agitated and confused, she w ished to fly, but an invincible charm fixed her to the spot. “ this unfortunate young man,” said she mentally, “ will be devoured by wild beasts, why should i not wake him? it would be an excess of cruelty to abandon him to danger, when it is in my power to save him!” tancred, for that was the name of the cavalier, hear ing a noise near him, awoke suddenly, and arose with precipitation. he gazed at the lovely tsmena with ad miration, and remained silent from his surprise. the lovely girl wishing to account for her curiosity, said, that chance had directed her steps to the spot where he lay, and that she lived in the neighbouring mountains. «« i reside there with my father,” said the timid and innocent maid, u he is a man of illustrious birth, i wish you would come and live with us in our cave; i am sure he would receive you kindly.” charmed with her innocent sim plicity, tancred threw himself at her feet, and told her all that the most ardent passion could dictate. the shepherdess listened to his protestations with a sensation of pleasure hitherto unknown to her. they conversed for a considerable time, and did not separate until she promised to meet him every evening at the same place. the sun had already set, and ismena, fearful that ge simonde would be uneasy at her long absence, hastened back to the cave. the image of the dear unknown fol lowed, and she felt unusually sad until the next evening, when she hastened at the time appointed to the avenue of poplars. she arrived before the time, and setting down on the grass, in order to wait for him, looking carelessly around, she perceived some tablets laying on the grass; she opened them, and found they contained the picture of a lady, and the following letter. the hermit of the cave* ilf €t to tancred, prince of armenia, i am arrived sec retly into the kingdom of armenia. —i have seen the princess, and can assure you the en closed picture can give you but a very faint idea of her beauty. inform me what measures i must take to for ward your marriage with that beautiful princess, and by that alliance put an end to the continual wars which have so long disturbed the peace of the two kingdoms ismena’ s tears prevented her from going on, she leaned her head upon her hands, and abandoned herself to silent grief. tancred arrived; the moment she beheld him, she exclaimed in the accent of despair, ** cruel man! why did you disturb my tranquillity, and doom me to endless torments! you doubtless view me as an object of disdain, but the gods, who know the sincerity of my heart, will not suffer me to be your victim. 1 will return to gesimonde, and quit for ever a vile and deceitful se ducer.” after uttering these words, she disappeared, without listening to what he would have said. ismena was already at a considerable distance before tancred recovered from the astonishment which her words had caused him. in vain he called her back in order to jus tify himself, ismena continued to fly from him, and the unhappy prince of armenia was left in the most torturing state of uncertainly, not knowing to what cause to attri bute the anger of his mistress. tancred having at length lost sight of ismena, retired in deep despair. he returned every day to the same spot, but could not behold the object of his tender ado* ration. one day at length he espied her at a distance sitting under a tree, in a thoughtful attitude; transported with joy, he flew towards her, with an intention to cast himself at her feet, and demand an explanation of her cruel conduct; but lsuiena again fled on beholding him, and tancred who followed her, conjured her in vain to listen to him. unable to prevail upon her, he solicited her to read a letter which he laid upon the trunk of a tree, and instantjy disappeared, that his presence, which appeared to distress her so much, might not prevent her turning back to take the letter. the moment ismena beheld him no more, she return ed, and took the paper, which contained the most tender complaints. her heart was so softened by his entreaties, that she reproached herself for her cruelty ; and deter mined to avoid his presence no longer. 16 the hermit op the cave. ismena, in the mean time, who had directed her steps towards the cave, met gesimonde, who was seeking for her with uneasiness, and who made her the most affec tionate reproaches on the danger to which she exposed herself by wandering alone so far from her habitation. he had scarcely ended those words, when he heard a loud noise, like that of a considerable weight falling fn»m a great height. gesimonde thinking it might be some wild beast approaching, strung his bow, and looked around greatly alarmed. at length he perceived at a distance a small covered bark, which had been thrown by the waves on the shore. he instantly approached with ismena, and sprang into the bark. but heavens! what a sight of horror presented itself to his astonished eyes! he beheld a mangled corpse, stretched by the side of a young female, whom terror had nearly deprived of exist ence! — the prince threw the corpse into the sea, and in stantly returned to succour the unfortunate lady. — — ■ “heavens!” he exclaimed, “ it is policena! dear is mena, it is policena whom i hold in my arms!” he in stantly conveyed her to his cave, where notwithstanding the united care of gesimonde and ismena, she remained insensible for a considerable time. at length she opened her languid eyes, and with a faint voice, asked what new torture was still reserved for her. “ tranquillize your self,” answered gesimonde, “you are safe from all danger, and among friends who will do every thing to make you happy.” struck with t e well-known sound of his voice, poli cena fixed her eyes attentively upon him, and recognized her husband, who unable any longer to contain his tran sports, clasped her in his arms. “ dear gesimonde !” — “ dear policena!” they both exclaimed. their tears prevented their saying any more. they remained some time in a close embrace, without uttering a word. after which, the beauteous policena, whom joy had for some time deprived of speech, pressed her beloved husband to her bosom in an exstacy of joy. — “ do 1 again behold thee, thou dear object of my tenderest affections,” said she to him, “ heaven has preserved thee to reward at last my constancy ! beloved of my soul ! — how many tears hast thou not cost me? how often ha e 1 nor wished to die, when 1 thought thou wen for ever lost to me! inhu man king! — unnatural father! i no longer fear your the hermit of the cave. it wrath. gesimonde, my beloved gesimonde, is given back to these fond arms: and to your cruelty, i owe the exstatic bliss of once more pressing my beloved husband to my faithful bosom.” gesimonde, impatient to learn what had befallen his dear policena, during their long separation, intreated her to relate it to them* she, in compliance with his wish, informed him, that her father had confined her in a dungeon, that fiuminius had recovered from his wounds, and that she bribed a slave to search for gesimonde, and deliver a letter which she had written to him, to inform him of the favourable disposition of the people towards him; and that he might with great facility, mount jhe throne of albania, if he could obtain succours from some neighbouring prince. policena concluded, by informing him, that the slave who carried this letter, had unfortu nately been discovered, and murdered; that she had been then put in a covered boat with the mangled body, and abandoned to the mercy of the wind and waves, which had driven the bark where he fortunately found her. ismena, notw 7 ithstaud the joy she experienced in the happiness of gesimonde and policena, remained silent and sad. she left the cave, and wishing to console her dear tancred for the pain she had •given him, she de scended from the mountain, and went to the row of pop lars. they met, and ismena informed him of the mo tives which had made her liy his presence. the prince easily tranquillized her fears, and promised, provided gesimonde were not her lover, to become her husband. ismena returned to the cave perfectly happy, and tan cred immediately informed the king of albania, that particular reasons of state, prevented his accepting the • hand of his fair daughter. policarp, enraged at the refusal, which he deemed an affront, raised a numerous army 7 . the prince of arme nia, hearing of his intention to go to war, also sent a ' large army into the field, and resolved before he began hostilities, to have an interview with gesimonde; with whose birth and adventures he was acquainted. ismena conducted her lover to the cave. the two princes enter ed into the strictest bonds of friendship, and gesimonde was at length prevailed upon by tancred, to abandon bis solitude, and to put himself at the head of his army; whilst he conducted policena and ismena to the prin cesses of armenia, his sisters. 18 the hermit of the cave. the troops of the king ef albania, had already formed an encampment. gesimonde, who had one night ad vanced near to the enemy’s camp, in order to reconnoitre their position, heard several people conversing together in a low voice. he concealed himself behind some trees, and soon recognized fiaminius surrounded by officers, with whom he was laying plans to murder policarp, and usurp his throne. this plan was the more easy to ac complish, as policarp was to join them, in order to sur prise the armenians during the night. gesimonde shud dered at his parent’s danger, and hastened to meet his fa ther, who was on his way to the camp, and to inform him of the villainous parricide projected by his infamous son. policarp, who did not recognize his son, thought him an assassin, sent by the enemy to draw him into some snare; but ge-imonde threw himself at his feet, and said, “ i am gesimonde, and although you have ever treated me with the utmost rigour, and have never evinced the least spark of paternal affection towards me, yet i thank heaven that i have it in my power to save your life. the time is short, follow me, and i will convince you that i am not unworthy of your esteem.'’ the open ingenu ousness with which he expressed himself, tranquillized the suspicions of policarp, who followed him, and was soon after attacked by the assassins; but the brave gesi monde, who expected them, soon made them feel the strength of his arm. fiaminius was the first that fell, and his vile companions sought refuge in flight. this generous action greatly affected policarp. he evinced his regret and repentance for his ill usage to him, and promised him, that he should receive his thanks the next day, at the head of his army. as soon as it was light, policarpe put on his royal robes, and assembled all the principal officers of his army. “ acknowledge,” said he to them, “ gesimonde for your king, he is the right heir to the crown; when cla rinda was brought to bed, my love for her blinded me so far, that i consented to pass fiaminius her son, for the son of rosimonda, who was delivered at the same time: gesimonde is therefore, as the son of rosimonda, enti tled to the crown.” the officers did homage to the prince, with universal acclamations of joy. the news soon spread through the camp, and was hailed every where with delight. poli carpe wished his son to head his army agaiust tancred; the hermit of the cave. 1 $ but gesimonde declared to him the tender friendship that subsisted between them, and that polieena was in his camp. the king, greatly surprised at this information, listened to the relation which his son made, of the adven tures that had happened to him on the mountains, and to the manner in which polieena had escaped from de struction. he ordered immediately ambassadors to be sent to the prince of armenia, in order to propose terms of peace; and at the same time a princely retinue, to escort polieena into his dominions. tancred came himself, with a number of courtiers, who surrounded the ladies, and brought them safely to the camp of policarpe.— — polieena and ismena, threw themselves at the feet of the king, who embraced his daughter with the utmost ten derness. tancred alone was not happy. his love for ismena would not suffer him to delay asking her in marriage of gesimonde, persuaded that ismena was his daughter, he demanded her hand of the prince, who was much against his inclination obliged to declare, that she was not in the least related to him, but a simple shepherdess, whom he had met by chance on the mountains of armenia. on the other side, policarpe entreated tancred to marry the princess his daughter, according to their former agree ment. the young prince struggled between his love for ismena, and the duty he owed to his illustrious rank; yet, he could not persuade himself that the object of his love was no more than a simple shepherdess, as every thing in her announced an elevation of soul, and a noble origin. in this incertitude, he determined to go to the village from whence she came, and make enquiries con cerning her birth. he went that very day, and arrived at a small cottage, where dwelt the person who passed for her father. on being closely questioned, he confess ed that ismena was not his daughter; that she had been entrusted to his care by an albanian, whose name was camillius, and who had desired him to keep her until he came to demand her; that ismena had fled from his cottage a year before, since which time he had never heard of her more. prince tancred rewarded the old peasant generously for his paternal care of ismena, and returned to the camp much more tranquil than whence quitted it. gesimonde inquired of him what success he had met with, and tan c 30 alfred and zara. cred informed him of what he had learned from the pea* sant concerning ismena. it was necessary in order to elucidate the mystery of her birth, to have a conference with garni i bus, who was detained by state affairs at the court of albania. they therefore, departed ail together for albania, to celebrate there the marriage of the prince gesimonde with policena. the king, who felt extremely interested in the fate of the lovely ismena, sent immediately for camiuius, and interrogated him with respect to the birth of ismena. what was gesimonde’s surprise? — his raptures! — when he learned that she was his daughter. ismena was the very child which policena had given into the hands of flaminius at the moment of its birth. the barbarous prince had been deceived by the humane camiuius, w ho, instead of complying with his inhuman orders, had brought to him a child who had died a few hours before, and whom he had pierced with his poi guard, and smeared with blood. this happy discovery spread a universal joy among the albanians. ismena was. publicly acknowledged as the princess of albania, and her marriage with her beloved tancred was celebrated on the same day as that of gesi monde and policena, to the great joy of the people, whom this alliance ensured a lasting peace. ajlfjeieb a n id zara, a pathetic tale. the first years of my life, i but faintly remember; at the age of twelve, i found myself a darling in the family of an aged pair, who lived in a small cottage on the top of a steep hill. — on looking through the small casements of our little habitation, i could discover on all sides the high battlements of a castle, to whose owner i yearly paid a visit of gratitude, as from him 1 received all the-orna ments with which i was decked. alfred and zara. 21 the pleasure of this visit was depressed by being taken towards the close of the day, to a remote apartment, mo»e richly adorned than the rest of tihe castle; and re ceiving on my youthful cheeks, the tears of a lovely young female. the sighs that seemed to rend her bosom at my appearance, left in my young mind a depression, which could not easily be erased for several weeks after; though the good old jaques pressed me to his bosom, as a wel come to his dwelling, and strove to render me cheerful. thus i passed in a state of innocence, the first years of rny life; which were only ruffled by the soft sorrow of the fair inhabitant of the castle. one night, wheu the beating of the rain against my window had lulled me to sleep, i was suddenly awakened by footsteps in the ad joining apartment; i arose, and seating myself on the bed, listened attentively, and heard the sound die away as the feet descended the stairs. — the shutting of the outward door, surprised and frightened me; i dressed myself, and knocked at the chamber where the^good old pair slept. 1 waited, but received no answer, though the noise i made must have awakened them had they been asleep. trembling, i called in vain on those within the chamber, 1 put my hand on the lock and found the door already open.— entering in haste, i saw a half-extin guished torch thrown into the chimney, and traces of blood were visible on the hearth. grown bolder by hor ror, rather than courage, l approached the bed, and drawing back the curtain, beheld my aged parent wel tering in his blood; his wife had fled, i involuntarily hid my eyes with one hand, whilst with the other, i drew from his wounded side, a poignard glittering with jewels. in an agony of passion i exclaimed, “alas! my mur dered friend and tutor, i will with this smeared instru ment of horror, revenge thy unnatural death/' thus resolved, and with a heart oppressed with grief, i snatched the poignard ; and forcing it into my girdle, left the cot age; and fastening the dour after me, flung the ke) into the river, vowing never to return until re venge had satiated my fury. lighted by the faint glit tering of the moon, which seemed to have thrown from her all those ve ling clouds which before obscured her brightness. i descended the hill, the rain so moistened the moss, that it was with difficulty 1 could stand; but al length i gained the bottom by the river side, which alfred and zara* had overflown its banks. “ farewell, thou peaceful ha bitation!” sighed i, “adieu! thou flowing river! no more shall i walk thy silent course, whilst the moon’s shadow plays on thy glassy surface ! my tears can witness with what regret i quit these scenes of my early youth! never more will they behold me, until blood has bathed these feet, only yet wetted by the dews of the morning.” i had scarcely finished these words, when a gentle voice exclaimed— “ in mercy listen to his sorrow, his pure mind is loaded with affliction, alasl wretched maid, what hope hast thou of a happier lot!” a deep sigh accom panied these words, and all again was buried in a death like silence.— surprise took possession of my heart, i turned round, and beheld a figure in the attitude of kneeling. i softly moved towards the phantom, treading lightly, fearing that the airy form should vanish before me. the figure arose, as i drew near, and wrapping itself in a flowing mantle, walked slowly on. i followed, hardly believing her to be an inhabitant of this world. the river now prevented her from proceeding; she loos ened a cord that fastened a boat, and stepping lightly into it, seized the hand of a slave. “ albuka,” she cried, “ row quickly, or the man will witness my sorrows.” a sudden impulse urged me to take this method of flying from a dreary waste, where every object reminded me of my wretchedness. i jumped into the little bark, and said, “ who art thou that weepest for alfred’s woes ? turn and receive him, as an outcast from all that is hap py.” a scream re-echoed my words, and the lady fell i jj er s | ave ai( t ec | me i n restoring voice, “ alfred, i know the mystery of this night, fa tigued by grief, and sunk into anguish, you stand in need of repose, i will lead you to a place of safety, where with the moru you may pursue your way. ask not how the knowledge of your misfortunes was discovered to me, it is a’l dark and unfathomable.” wonder kept me mute, whilst pity seemed to have taken possession of the lady’s soul. the slave continued to row, unconscious of the grief which laboured in our respective bosoms. we soon arrived at the opposite side of the river. i led the lady from the boat. she conduct ed me towards a grove of trees, whose meeting boughs shut out the dawning light. albuka raised a door, we recovered, she said in a faint alfred and zara, *3 descended a flight of steps, the door closed, and the slave laid himself down at the entrance. lamps gave a clear light through this subterraneous passage, the lady hid her face with her veil and walked first. a curtain was drawn before a door, which was opened by a black wo man; who on admitting us, put her finger on her lip, in tokei> of silence. we entered an apartment elegantly decorated, and sleeping slaves surrounded an empty couch. the lady took a taper, and jed me to a smaller apartment, where she threw off her mantle; i then be held with wonder, the elegant form of my conductress.— her features were of the most perfect symmetry, although her smooth skin was of the same dark hue as that of her slaves. youth, beauty, and gentleness, beamed in her countenance. jewels of great value enriched her wrists, and large folds of muslin wrapt her fine form. she held a conversation in a strange language with her old slave, then turning to me, she said, “ i shall see you no more, before your departure; keep this in remembrance for hapless zara’s sake.” she bound a chain of jewels round my arm. “ wear this,’* she said, “ until the hand that gave it you is cold.” a tear stole from her moistened eye, but she disregarded the precious drop, and proceeded . — u you have wander ed into an unknown part of the country, suffer me to give you a guide in this little page; he is faithful, and will iead you safely through these unknown tracts.” the strange and melancholy accidents which had be fallen me in one night, so overpowered my senses, that a confused noise was all i was sensible of. my mind op pressed by sorrow, i sunk in an apathy at her feet, and lost the sensation of anguish by having felt misfortunes too heavily. i found myself when i recovered on a couch, and the old slave kneeling before me; but on seeing me recover, he left me. sleep soon weighed down my weary eye-lids, and for some hours i forgot that 1 was wretched. when i awoke, l perceived the young negro whom zara had spoken of, standing in a distant part of the chamber. the elegance of his person, which in the dark i had not observed, now attracted my notice, and when he spoke, i thought his voice resembled that of zara’s; he hastened my departure, and taking my hand, drew me towards the subterraneous passage, and opening the door that had given us entrance, conducted me out. c 3 m alfred and zara. the rising sun gilded the tall trees that shaded this spot. i turned and blessed the ground that enclosed the lowly and benevolent zara; and over ways almost inac cessible, aibuka led me to escape from observation. i attempted to d.aw from my conductor the history of zara, but an impenetrable mystery seemed to envelope every circumstance of her life. 1 learned that zara was of noble birth, but cap*ive among the free, and wretched amidst the honouts of her state. we had walked long, the rays of the sun struck hot on my bewildered head, and i begged to repose myself in a distant wood. aibuka consented, and with tea* ful eyes, he bent his trembling steps towards it. “we soon reached the shade of some lofty pines; i laid myself down to sleep whilst aibuka watched, lest any one should intrude on my slumbers. scarcely had i closed my eyes, when a dreadful yell of negroes roused me from my sleep; 1 arose, and saw my faithful guide struggling with the slaves. 1 darted forward, and seizing the foremost, .plunged my dagger into his jetty breast. the rest of the negroes fled, and i received the trembling prize into my arms. i bore the frightened boy to a bank, and had the sa tisfaction of soon seeing him revive. he entreated me to continue our journey. we accordingly hastened to the river side, when a stronger body of men than before, rushed forward, and forced us to separate. “ oh ! my alfred!” exclaimed the gentle page, “ rescue the wretch ed zara.” too late 1 knew the unfortunate maid, the weeping zara was torn from me. whilst i was held by two of the ruffians, in order to prevent my running to the struggling zara, she was borne out of sight; her cries still vibrated in my ears, when the ruffians that held me, suddenly plunged me into the river, and fled. i buffeted with the waves, until finding myself unable to reach the shore, my strength failed me, and i sank to the bottom. from the bosom of a peasant i raised my head, and was again blessed with the sight of the sun. 1 leaned upon the peasant’s arm, and tottered towards a clump of trees, from which a waving smoke rose from the whitened chimney of a cottage, where we were received with plea sure by the peasant’s son; who led me to his bed, and strove by his unpolished but gentle manners, to bestow that consolation which zara alone could bestow. alfred and zara. 25 about midnight, methought a dim light shone in my little chamber, and aghast with horror, 1 beheld the form of my imagined parent. “ alfred,” said the shadow, as it approached my bed, “ let not the spirit of the mur dered jaques inspire thee with such dread. affection summoned me from the tomb, to tell thee that i am not thy father.— thy mother lives, but dreadful is her fate, she wildly calls on thee to relieve her. — arise, noble boy, shake from thy mind the seducing form of zara, and re venge thy mother’s wrongs.” the apparition vanished ; i arose in the morning, determined to comply with my awful monitor’s commands; then thanking the honest cottager’s for their benevolence, departed. after travelling for a considerable time, i found my self near a rock, in which i perceived an arched cavern. by the seclusion of this place, i imagined it was the re sidence of some pious hermit. i entered, and perceived a half-closed door, which led to an inner room, in which i beheld a lady sitting on the ground, and veiled. i thought the form resembled that of my beloved zara, i rushed into the room with a palpitating heart — the lady rose, and throwing aside her veil, discovered a counte nance which had all the softness and beauty of zara’s, but blended with a skin so fair, that i soon, alas ! disco vered that it was not she for whom my soul mourned. i gazed with anguish on a form so lovely, but which seemed to be labouring under all the agonies of incurable grief. the lady, unconscious of my presence, clasped her hands, and exclaimed, “ oh ! my alfred! where dost thou now wander; where can i search for thee!” saying this, she was hurrying towards the door, when a negro held her ; i drew my poignard, which he dashed to the ground, and fled. i turned to the distracted beauty, and saw her extended on the ground, grasping my poignard, which she drew from her side. i shrieked with terror, several slaves rushed info the room, and see ing their mistress’s state, thought i had murdered her. the cave wrung with their cries, the lady bent her eyes on me, and said with a faint voice, whilst i pressed her hand in an agony to my bosom, “ ah, my alfred, thou art come to revenge the death of jaques. — alas! let this blocd expiate the offence which zara has caused, although guilt has never tinged her cheek, which will soon be cold in death.” i hung over her i adored, and overcome by grief, i sunk senseless to the ground. 26 alfred and zara. when i again unclosed my sad eyes, i found myself in a damp dungeon, and a dwarf of uncommon deformity presented himself to my sight. with the most horrible sensations, i heard myself accused of being the mur derer of zara; the dwarf bound me with heavy chains, and i remained in a state of mind impossible to be de scribed. i was a few days after informed by the dwarf, who had rather relaxed in his severity towards me, that the lady whom i had murdered, was buried. in an agony of despair, i knelt before the dwarf, and supplicated him to lead me to the sacred tomb that en closed her ashes. he was deaf to my entreaties till i forced a jewel from the chain zara had bound round my arm, and presented it to him; he consented, and led me at night into a large and elegant sepulchre, where, de scending by the light of a small lamp a flight of steps, i entered a stone room, lighted by a half extinguished lamp, i beheld the coffin of zara richly ornamented. i threw myself on the coffin, and gave vent to my over charged heart, by tears and groans. nearly distracted, i resolved not to survive any longer the object of my af fections, i pushed aside the lid of the coffin, to take a farewell look at all my soul held dear, and press the cold inanimate form to my bosom; but recoiled with horror, to find i clasped a waxen image. i hastened away from this scene of wonder, and rushed out of the sepulchre; nor ever ventured to rest till some miles separated me from the spot. i then laid myself on the ground, and fell into a deep slumber; and did not awake till the next evening was far advanced. i was wandering an unfre quented wild, and fearing that night woi id surprize me in that lonesome spot, i threw my self on my knees, and commended myself to heaven, that i might hear a hu man voice to break the gloomy silence. a follow echo returned my sad accents. the last rays of the setting sun gilded a superb mausoleum, whose majestic roof i discovered through the trees. “ ah!” i exclaimed, 4( wretched alfred ! no marb e tomb shall receive thy dust, the winds will scatter thy allies over this dreary waste.” as i drew nearer, i faintly heard plaintive music issu ing from the recesses of the tomb, and perceived a small grated door, which led into me tomb, half unclosed. no other asylum offered to screen me from the cold blast. i was on the point of entering, when the door gently alfred and zara. 27 closed, and the breeze blew* a paper towards me. i took the scroll, and putting it into my bosom, fled the dreary abode, which seemed to my aflrighted imagination, to be haunted by unquiet spirits. almost expiring with hunger, i laid myself down, hoping heaven would put an end to my sufferings by death; when some berries and wild fruit caught my eye. i snatched with eagerness the fruit thus offered by providence: as i rested on a bank, the mysterious paper recurred to my mind; i took it from my bosom and read the following lines. “ to alfred, “ unconscious that these lines will ever meet thine eyes, i would repress each fond emotion ; but it is in vain, my heart will dictate, while my trembling hand writes the woes of the hapless zara. in an humble cot tage i first drew my breath: on a cold night i was wrap ped in a rich mantle, and carried to the river side, where a black slave received me, brought me to the tower, and laid me in an embroidered cradle, still warmed by an infant, which had just been taken out of it. bred in a secret apartment, and only attended by a black female slave, my thoughts never strayed beyond its limits. one night ray busy fancy painted to my youthful ima gination, that delight dwelt on the outside of my prison walls; and could i once escape from the tower, r peace and happiness would be my portion for ever. the black slave was sleeping beside me, and the keys by her side. the wish of realizing those pleasures which only yet had been imaginary, inspired me; i took the taper, and ex amining the eyes of the sleeping slave, to assure myself that she was really asleep, i took the keys from her pil low; — i tried the door, it opened, and taking a last look at my sleeping companion whom 1 loved, i stole out softly ; the door closed after me, and 1 was now shut for ever from the guardian of my youth. “ i walked forward, lighted only by the moon that beamed upon me through a large painted window of a staircase; every object around me was new, but the de sire of escaping repressed my curiosity. i rather ran than walked, through a long range of rooms hung with portraits at full length. as i was passing thr ugh one of these, a moon-beam rested on the portrait of a lady, whose dying countenance was turned to a man of majes tic height, as if beseeching him to protect the infant she held in her aims. *8 alfred and zara. “ 1 ga2ed on the portrait until the moon hid itself in a mist, and i proceeded. 1 next came to a glass door, which opened into the country, and accustomed only to view the length of my apartment, i hesitated not to think that i saw the whole world in the scene before me. as i proceeded plucking flowers, and lost in the new and delightful sensations, which 1 for the first time ex perienced, i at length arrived at a grotto. a light sus pended to a crucifix, showed me a figure lying on the ground. fear, for the fi r> t time, assailed me. i re mained immovable with surprise at beholding one of my complexion, so different in appearance from myself. a long white beard reached almost to his waist, and his countenance was so meek, that it dispelled all my fears. the hermit was greatly astonished to see a young female at the entrance of his grotto at the dead of night, but seeing me amusing myself with throwing the flowers i had plucked on my way, into the flowing stream, and watching the r floating, he asked me from whence i camel i pointed to the tower: he seemed lost in thought, whilst i, un perceived by him, entered farther into the grotto. i arrived at a small room, from whence i had seen the light; a matted couch was the only bed on which the he»mit reposed, and dried fruits were stored on rtne side, while a transparent stream ran bubbling over ihe shining pebbles. as i turned round, i viewed the hermit stand ing at the entrance, wondering at my childish actions; not daring to tell him of my flight, l turned from him, and went further into a small piec e of ground enamelled with flowers, where finding myself fatigued, i sat down and watched the clouds which surrounded the moon, which soon veiled its pure light from my eyes; they filled with tears at the remembrance of my lost friend, and the loneliness of the place, — i was suddenly roused from any melancholy reflections, on finding myself pressed in the arms of a stranger!” here the paper ended, tears of love and sorrow for the uncertain fate of zara rolled down my cheeks, and fell on the writing as i pressed it to my heart. — darkness now succeeded, and 1 felt alarmed at the hollow sound of footsteps, a female approached me, and i soon recognized the well known accents of the wfe of jaques. thus to meet my kind protectress gave in expressible joy to my heart; which but a rtu rtient before was nearly subdued by despair. we turned to the mau alfred and zara. 29 solemn, and enteied it, when the gentle voice of zara filled my soul witl rapture. the aife of jaqoes viewed with wonder the mutual expression of pleasure which beamed on our countenance at th s unex pec:ed meeting, and after taking some refreshments, she took from her bosom a paper, on which she had written an acount of my birth, lest, death should deprive her of utterance, before she again met with the son of osrick. she read as follows: “ i was nurse to monimia; i shall not describe her beauty; — her mind polished by various accomplishments, and softened by every virtue, won the heart a, which the superiority of her attractions at first had awed. she was one fatal day seized by some ruffians, as she was walking in a wood adjoining to the castie, where she dwelt with her father; and carried away. search was immediately made, but without success, when the sweet girl was re stored by a noble gentleman, who had rescued her from the daring plunderers. his gentle mein counterbalanced the warlike nobleness of his appearance, which otherwise would have been taken for pride. rejoicings were made in the castle for monimia’ s return; the noble osrick sought monimia’ s love, who gratefully returned the ad miration she inspired, and osrick won her. “ months of gay festivity attended their nuptials, when osrick was summoned to the wars, and left his beloved monimia, prating to heaven for his safety. a year elapsed before he returned ; the hours passed heavily with monimia, till her warrior revisited his lands. at length he appeared with his usual affection; lie expressed his adoration of hip wife, and he dropped a tear of joy oil the cheek of his infant son, whom he beheld for the first time. yon, alfred, were that infant. oswald still dwelt with his daughter, and each morning called down blessings on his grandson* from the moment of his re turn, a heavy gloom hung over osrick’s mind, and each bright hope was depressed by a dark melancholy. his eyes avoided the scrutinizing looks of monimia; the lus tre of his beauty faded, and a slow fever preyed upon his spirits. at length his fortitude forsook him, and one fatal night he forgot he was a warrior! a husband! a fa ther! and fell on that sword, whose point had never be fore pierced a heart so ennobled by every virtue that could adorn human nature. over osrick’s tomb, all moni 30 alfred and zara. niia’s blessing’s hung, and within it, rested the ashes of him she most lovi d. among osrick’s papers was found the following, which contained the melancholy cause of all his sorrows, written with his own hand. 4 to you my father, to you my wife, and even to you my infant son, i plead for mercy, — may your pity cause some extenuation of an action, that perhaps ere you read this, will have doomed its author to perdition, — guided in my infancy to scenes of war and blood, my heart panted for battle, and bounded at the sound of martial music. one night when every soldier was at rest, i forsook my tent, and wandered over the field of battle; some plain tive accents reached my ears, and i bent my steps to wherg the sound proceeded. a highland girl clasped the body of a bleeding soldier, the plaid from her shoulder, she had wrapped round his bleeding arm. i offered my as sistance, and led them to a tent occup ed by a surgeon, and as the girl hung over the old man, i surveyed her beauty. dare i to you, my monimia, describe the graces of her person. her sensibility caused large drops of sor row to fall from her blue eyes, and fell on her cheeks which sorrow had rendered pale; and which reddened only, when she caught my eyes fixed upon her, and ex pressing admiration. her fine hair hung loose and dishevelled, and was disordered by the white hands that now vainly strove to restrain it from overshadowing the wounded man to whom she knelt. before the morning dawned, the soldier breathed his last, and left his daugh ter to my protection, to guard her from danger. i re solved to cement the title of husband with that of protec tor; and l married the beautiful scotch girl. i sought for a castle near the encampment, and found one, where i placed my lovely highlander; and every hour i could spare from my duty, 1 passed in her society. about five months after my marriage, 1 was informed by one of my domestics that my wife met one of my soldiers only at those hours when she knew the camp demanded my pre sence. ‘ exasperated by this intelligence, i went unattended to my castle one evening, and saw my wife at the door, pressing both the hands of a young soldier on horseback, who promised in affectionate terms, to return at dawn of day; and embracing her, proceeded towards the camp, and was soon out of sight# my wife anxiously looked alfred and zara. 31 after him, and with that gentle innocence, which accom panied all her actions, put her hand over her face, and i beheld the tears streaming from her eyes. i returned to the camp chilled with horror and despair, and found no soldier missing. i issued orders, that it would be death on the next day, for any man to depart from the camp, as the enemy was expected to commence the attack every hour. ** next morning i examined my men, only one was missing. 1 flew to my castle, i heard the voice of my wife entreating a longer visit, as perhaps the chance of that day’s battle, might deprive her of him she loved so well. ‘ i will hear no more!’ cried i, as i sprang forward, and buried my sword in her bosom ; lifeless she fell to the earth. — i returned to the field — madness had taken possession of my brain — dauntless, 1 rushed through ja velins and arrows, to the chiefs of the enemy’s army; unsatiated by their blood, i animated my men to pursue the conquered to their tents, and forgot in my fury, that humanity should ever inhabit the breast of a warrior. “ the body of my wife had been buried by the pea sants ere i returned. — i gave up my castle to any one who would have it — i forsook my companions — forgot my grandeur — and sadness preyed on my youth. 1 wandered over countries unattended, relieved those in distress, yet pursued my way uncheered by the blessings of those wh se distresses i alleviated. you monimia, i rescued from daring robbers, and in your angelic countenance, forgot the grief that had hitherto preyed upon my mind; and the bleeding image of my wife ceased to haunt me.— for you, 1 again sought my attendants, reclaimed my wealth, rebuilt my castle, and destroyed in a great mea sure, the remembrance of my hopeless love. i left you, my fair partner, to encounter the foe; i was nearly over powered by numbers, when i was defended by a gallant youth rushing forward, who received in his breast the paint aimed at mine. — i supported the generous youth in my arms, who had sacrificed his life to def nd mine* when turning my eyes on the dying face of my defender, i recognized in his features the soldier who had been the cause of my jealousy! — i endeavoured to support him but iu vain ; he dropped from my arms, and as the blood gushed from his side, in broken accents, told me that his sister, whom i would have murdered, still lived. ah, d 32 alfred and zara. my monimia, suffer her wrongs to be graced by a sigh.— fearing to own her, as his general’s wife, his del cacy induced him to attract my notice by his valour; and when that attention was softened into friendship, to own his relationship, until which time, he secretly visited his on ly sister whom he loved. when the order of death was known for any that forsook their tents that day, he ap pointed the early dawn to take a farewell of the sweetest hope of his family. 4 you, my noble general,’ continued he, 4 were deceived, and wounded the supposed deceiver. she fell — yet your arm, unaccustomed to destroy the helpless, lost its strength, and only inflicted a slight wound, — i bore your wife to a cottage, and left her to the care of honest peasants. i returned and saw you were victorious, and again fled to my unfortunate sister, who when she heard of your departure from the country, would with despair have ended her life; bur the gentle hope of beholding you again calmed her agony, which otherwise must have broken her heart. 44 and now, my noble general,’ continued the youth, pressing my hand, 4 i giory in my death, — my fall has restored a husband to my sister, and a father to your in fant daughter, who both reside i 0 a cottage on the neigh* bouring heath.’ after blessing his sister and me, the valiant youth expired. what horror filled my breast! to be it arried to thee, my monimia, yet the gentle girl i would have murdered, still living; — these reflections drew drops ol blood from my heart. how could i return to tmbrat e thee with the smile of innocence? how could ] behold you with calmness, when my heart was break ing? i gave orders for the burial of my galbmt friend, and was weeping over his body, when a female form rushed through a heap of slain, and fell fainting near me. the pale, but well known beauties of in) wi e, attrac ted all my attention towards her; i bore her still insensible to the cottage, directed to me by her gallant brother* myi nfant girl ran owurdsus, and in the sweetness of her smile, i traced her loveliness that lay insensible before me. she recovered only to prove a life of innocence; and in the sweet hope of leaving a protector to her child, folded me to her constant bosom and expired. 44 is it being inconstant to thy daughter, my father, to drop a tear to her dear memory? alas! no; rather let these stains prove the anguish which i felt when the cold alfred and zara. 35 remains of the girl that loved me, were sunk into the earth. nature pleaded for my child, i bore her to some peasants who pointed out to me a man, who lives on the summit of a high hill, not a mile from this castle to be her instructor; there breathes my little unfortunate zara, who if unprotected, will remain a sorrowful fugitive till she rexts in the grave. this, my monimia, is the ac count of a life full of misfortunes. when i pressed my boy in my arms, i would, had i been alone, have given my spirit liberty to fly from this sorrowful world. ah 1 matilda, wife of my heart, love my little alfred; his fa ther only is guilty. plead for me, noble oswald, that his infant purity may be preserved, without imbibing a hatred for hi* haple^ father. and you, my gentle boy, learn by h;s misery to quell those stormy passions which poisoned his existence, and at length guided him to de spondency and despair. “ osrick.” 44 this was your father’s story,” continued the wife of jaques, 46 press therefore zara to your bosom, as the sis ter of your heart, and let the obliteration of a more fer vent passion take place, by reflecting on the hapless fate of both your parents.” i turned to the swett girl, but her eyes were turned up towards heaven. in despair i clasped my aged monitress, who thus continued, 44 os wald’s pr< ud spirit shrunk at the idea of mummia’s fate, and would not suffer her to peruse a paper, that would prove him blameable, in not having made enquiries con cerning osrick’s situation, before he gave him his daugh ter in marriage. 44 after the misfortune which doomed monimia to ceaseless misery, oswald’s first r are wss, to prevent every circumstance concerning osrick s death from transpiring to the world, and particularly to keep the bitter tidings from monimia. five month's after the death of osrick, oswald went to the cottage of jaques, where zara was placed; and obtained, by a large sum of gold, the smil ing infant, and in return placed his grandson alfred with him, sealing his lips by vows, never to reveal his ever having seen, or delivered to his care, the daughter of the general. oswald gave me a dower of five thousand crowns, and with this sum jaques took me for his wife. 44 zara was bred in a remote apartment in the tower of oswald. about twelve years after she was taken from 34 alfred and zara. •jaques, she escaped from her confinement, and my mas ter dared not express his uneasiness to monimia. thus in a state of inquietude two years more passed on; the health of monimia gradually declining, whilst the graces ot alfred increased daily. one night i was alarmed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs, 1 fled mto jaques’s chamber, and was pursued by two negroes, who ap proached my husband’s bed, and demanded how he had dared murder a female infant, once given to his protec tion? he denied the charge. they insisted on seeing the apartment where reposed t he you h for whose convenience osrick’s daughter had been put to death. i .old them that he did not sleep in the cottage; they took a light and searched our dwelling, but returning unsuccessful, they vowed revenge, and plunged a shining poignard into the heart of jaques; and forcibly dragged me away over many fields to the cell of egbert the hermit, who receiv ed me, and desired me not to be alarmed; 1 told him they had murdered my husband 1 he reproved the negroes angrily, and led me to a splendid subterraneous dwelling, where i was told that zara had fled with a noble youth. • ah,’ cried i, ‘ zara is fled with her brother, they are both the children of osrick, who are seeking thus in mutual love that consolation which their destiny denies.’ i parfed with the hermit, and was returning to my cot tage, when i met with oswald, to whom i unfolded the dreadful mystery of the night, which awakened in his breast, rage, astonishment, and honor. he was exas perated against the hermit, whom he suspected to be the destroyer of jaques, and whom he abhorred as the pro tector of zara, and caused him to be poisoned.” such is the history of my misfortunes. — i confess that i love zara too violently, ever to behave to her with the calm affection of a brother. — 1 left my friends, my coun try, my wretched fhome, and vowed to end my days in solitude, until the handjof death puts an end to my men tal and heartfelt agony ; and i have only to hope the mo ment is not far distant. finis. dean and munday, printers, 35, threadneedle-sti eet, london. published by jhaygil/ fc jldcork aug, j, j&03 monkcliffe abbey, 2txale of the fifteenth cent buy • by s. wilkinson. to which is added 9 lopez and aranthef or, london. printed for kaygill, at his circulating library, upper rathbone-place ; mace, new round-court, strand ; adcock, charles-street, fitzroy-square ; and may be had of all other booksellers in town or country, price sixpence. printed by wv g lin don, r 0 pe rt -street, hayvmatket. monkcliffe abbey, a tale of the fifteenth century. monkcliffe abbey a venerable building, formerly belonging to the carthusians, was situated at the foot of a large hill, in a pleasant valley, in the north of england ; as far back as the year 1517, it was inhabited by sir archibald barnett, a famous warrior, but now grown aged, he had retired to this abbey to pass the remainder of his days in peace, and domestic felicity, with lady barnett, and two daughters ; blooming, fair, and elegant in form as the graces. adeline barnett was fair as the lilly, tall as the pine, her fine dark eyes sparkling as diamonds, and she moved with the majestic air of a goddess ; but pride and ambition ap peared on the brow of this famed maiden, and destroying the effect of her charms. not so, elwina, whose mild blue eyes, cast around a look of benevolence and pity ; while her hand bestowed the li beral boon to distressed innocence, and the virtuous poor ; she walked from cottage to cottage, enquiring into their means of livelihood, and the health of their inhabitants. — seldom did she leave their bumble dwellings without the blessings of the poor, in heartfelt gratitude to elwina, and her excellent mother ; by whom she was assisted in her cha ritable exertions. lady barnett was of a retired character, her health joined to a love of rural life, and domestic virtues ; had made her intreat sir archibald to retire to this ruinated edifice, and spend their lives in calm retreat. this plan perfectly met the approbation of sir archibald, whose fortune having being greatly diminished by his ancestors, in the contest between york and lancaster, and not meeting with reward from 6 monkci.iffe abbey# henry; he longed to avoid the snares of a courtier’s life, and retired into the nortii to this abbey ; the monks having abdicated some years before, he took possession in right of his grandfather, to whom the domain belonged. here they lived with very few domestics, but happier far than in splendid palaces, and gilded domes ; when they con templated with pleasure, the progress of their lovely daugh ters, the eldest of whom, was now seventeen ; el win a, two years younger ; only one circumstance now appeared to damp their happiness. the ambitious turn of mind that seemed to take possession of adeline, who sighed for the pleasures of a court, and longed for masques, balls, and tournaments. but as these wishes sir archibald steadily refused to gra tify, she was obliged to acquiesce to their present mode of living with apparent cheariulness. though daily were her prayers, that some plumed knight would take her from her castle, but as yet no suitor had appeared, nor did sir archi bald wish for their retirement to be known to the vindictive henry, or the proud cardinal woisey ; with whom barnett had been some years at variance. they had now passed some years unnoticed and unseen, till an affair happened, that altered the sameness that usually ruled each day. adeline and elwina were walking at the extremity of a wood that belonged to the abbey, when they perceived a gallant knight weltering in his blood, and ap peared quite senseless ; his horse was gracing at some dis tance, while a little dog lay licking the face of his master. the ladies shrieked aloud, but recovering their surprize, humanity got the better of their fears, and they hastened towards the stranger, to render him wliat assistance was in their power. elwina drew forth a small bottle of salts, and applied it to his nostril is, while adeline chafed his temples ; but in vain, for he continued insensible> elwina entreated adeline to watch the stranger, while she ran to a neigh bouring cottage to procure relief. she was too far from the abbey, besides the fears of sir archibald’s reproof. anthony and his wife, readily offered the best the hovel afforded to lodge the knight ; with great difficulty they helped him to the cottage, where the ladies left him, informing edda, that they would call the next day. on the way to monkcliffc, they discoursed on the event,, which gave great uneasiness to elwina, while on the con moxkcliffe abbey. 7 tr&ry, adeline was quite elated, the kind del ties at last have smiled, and sent one of us a lover, for such 1 daresay he will prove.” — <c how ridiculous a supposition, my dear sister ; he may be engaged, if not united, to some fair of the court.” “ doubtless he may,” replied the lively adeline; — but, if not, fair lady, take care of your heart ; if it is not adamant, he looks like a swain formed to subdue the fortress .” “ take care cf your own, my dear girl; but let us think, whether it may not be proper to relate the story first to my mother; sir archibald, may perhaps think we acted wrong ; humanity threw us off our guard, and we certainly ought not to have attended him to the cottage ; but have consulted lady burnett. to this, adeline agreed, but could not regret meeting with the stranger; not that she was in love with him; but thought it a good beginning, towards making some change in their society, of whose dullness adeline often complain ed ; as her mind could not find amusement and recreation, in the amiable duties and pursuits of elwina. as they approached the abbey, they were met by lady burnett, and margaret her attendant. where have you been so long, my dear children ? i was quite uneasy at your stay ; and am come forth to meet you, my fair blos soms.’ ’ adeline summoning her courage, related the ad venture they bad met with. lady burnett praised their humanity, — tho’ she did not approve the mode of their bestowing it; as she held it not decorous for such young ladies to venture out of their own grounds, as they might be waylaid by assassins; as doubt-* less had been the case with their youthful knight. she hastened in, to inform sir archibald of the event ; which gave him great concern, for fear it might disturb his quiet way of life, by discovering the place of his retreat; but, fearful of the stranger’s life, he hastened to anthony’s cottage, charging his daughters not to go out without attendants ; nor to leave the abbey grounds. on his approaching the humble shed, what was his surprise, on beholding albert de cierville, a young nobleman of high repute for learning, and elegance of manners, according to the then fashionable mode ; he was the sou of a highly revered friend of burnett’s ; wh® 8 monkcliffe abbey* had many a day shared the toil of battles; where victo ry had always crowned the two heroes with laurels. he found the young man very weak, and some fever; but perfectly sensible. edda had acquainted him with the circumstance of the young ladies relieving him; and he was eager to return his thanks. sir archibald, having given every requisite orders for the immediate removal of albert de clerville, to the ab bey, returned home, and acquainted his daughters, that the stranger was restored to his senses, to their great joy, as doubtless he owed his life to their services. — albert de clerville was brought on a litter to monk cliffe, in a most favourable state; but the second day, he was most unfortunately taken with a violent fever, and given over by the family physician. sir archibald, dis tracted for his young favourite’s life, dispatched a messen ger to the county town, for a famed surgeon, who re turned with the servant, and remained some time with the family. at length albert recovered, to the extreme felicity of nis worthy host and family ! as he was too weak to con tinue his journey, he remained at the abbey ; as sir arch ibald wished to know the reason of his being found in that wounded state, albert recited his adventures, as soon as he was able to join the domestic circle ; “ after the death of my father, w 7 hich happened five years since, — i accepted ofa lucrative place in the present government. — i continued in it three years; but finding the army more to my taste, i exchanged with lieutenant villers, — and commenced soldier. 1 became intimate with a young officer, edward barry, who belonged to the same regiment of cavalry as myself: our inclinations and pursuits were the same ; and we were* — more than friends, we regarded each other as brothers. “ such a friendship did not seem likely to terminate jn a short space ; but unspeakable and intricate are the paths of mortals! a grand tournament was proclaimed in the tilt yard : the prize we contended for, was a miniature, to be given by lady sophia clifford, an elegant interest in female, one of the ornaments of the court. at the ap pointed time, appeared a warlike youth, his armour and accoutrements sumptuous to behold, mounted on a monkcliyfe abbey. 0 stately courser; his helmet of green and gold with white plumes waved in the wind; but his vizor was down. “ the herald having read the proclamation, the knight flung down his gauntlet, which i instantly picked up, and the rencontre began : he parried the strokes with great dexterity, for some time ; but at length, rushing fiercely on the knight, i dismounted him, and shivered his lance in pieces. “ his vizor now dropt on the ground ; and, to my ut ter surprise and confusion, i found the vanquished knight to be edward barry. “ i advanced to receive my prize from the hand of the lovely sophia, who appeared greatly hurt at the ill success of her champion, and bestowed it with looks that by no means enhanced the value of the gift. — lord cliffo r d and his two sons, who were present," highly extolled my gal lantry itnd bravery, and invited me to a sumptuous en tertainment at clifford house. i accompanied them home, with a numerous train of nobles and fair ladies ; the banquet was elegant, and the sounding instruments calkd the youthful knights and their fair partners to join the mazy dance. according to the custom, 1 danced with the beauti ful sophia, whose lovely portrait i wore suspended by a ribbon from my neck. — she seemed to relax the seve rity of her manners, and many a youth might have highly flattered himself by her smiles ; — but, honoured as i felt myself, — i can truly aver her charms made no impres sion on my heart. <c the next morning i went to visit barry, not in the least expecting the reception i met with ; i had not even in thought anticipated the breaking of our friend ship by the event of the tournament. “ edward received me with great coldness ; but had the boldness to ask me to resign the portrait. — 1 certain ly should not have entered the lists, had i known my competitor was barry; yet though i had no regard for the lady, i must own i could by no means think of so lightly parting with my present. he seemed enraged, and we parted with high words. — as soon as he had re covered his fall, — he waited on lady sophia, of whom he had long been a favoured suitor ; she promised to b 2 io monkcliffe abbey. grant him the reception of a favourite lover, when he had ( regained my miniature. he sought me out, and with great arrogance again demanded the unfortunate likeness, i refused with warmth, and told him his behaviour was unlike a soldier or man of honour ; that from the lady’s hands i received it, to her i might possibly restore it ; and, challenging him to single combat on an appointed day, i left him overwhelmed with wnfth.— i repaired to lord clifford’s and presented it to sophia; acquainting her, in polite terms, that 1 was sorry she did not think me woi^hy of the prize i had gained ; but if it caused her uneasiness, howevertepugnant to niv inclina tions, i would restore it. — she blushed, and made me a low courtesy ; then replied, she thought me highly wor thy of a better prize than so trifling a recompence ; that mv behaviour had been so honourable, that sl monkcliffe abbey. ii soon as he could recover his surprise, ordered us imme diate accommodation in his hospitable mansion. sony am i to relate, that on our recovery, edward sought my life with unavailing fury ; the more so, as lord clifford had refused any overtures of a matrimonial alliance between him and sophia. — lord clifford, i must own, did me the honour of proposals to become his son in law: to be united to the family might have promoted a desire in the breast of one who only sought for grandeur ; but, unwilling to take a wife whose heart was not united to mine by affection, and who was too much a coquette to suit my taste, made me refuse the offer ; which, couched in polite terms, 1 could plainly perceive gave great pique to the house of the noble lard. 'inis unfortunate miniature having given me such trouble, 1 returned it in an elegant casket to sophia. find ing the furious edward would hear of no terms of accom modation ; and harrassed by the late affair, which was uni versally known, and the common subject of conversa tion, — and different turns given to the subject quite foreign to the truth, that it became quite irksome ; — and i resol ved to visit a small estate in the highlands, having obtain ed leave of absence. i mounted my horse, and with an easy journey pro ceeded on my route. which 1 kept secret from any om, till near the ed^e of the wood 1 w^as met base assassin ; he was loose fy clad in a light armour, and by his dress seemed of no common rank, — nor did plunder seem the abject of his career. — without speaking a single sentence or giving'any signal for combat, he drew his lance, and plunged °it in my breast, and linsrantly fell from my horse. as the villain thought he had pierced my heart — he rode off full speed, leaving me (or dead on the ground . i have to return my thanks to these fair ladies, as being, next to heaven, the means of my preservation. — sir archibald, and you, worthy lady, — 1 return you thanks for your kind hospitality, which shall ever be remembered with gratitude ,’ 9 sir archibald thanked him for his confidence ; but warmly intreated him to drop his intentions of pursuing his journey, and to make the abbey his residence till h« b 3 1 2 monkcliffe abbey. return to his regiment ; when he might be able to trace his enemies without endangering his person, which the knight was assured was inveterately sought for by edward barry, and his adherents. to this scheme albert agreed with rapture ; and lady burnett was pleased, to see the brow of sir archibald resume his wonted pleasantry in conversation with his young friend ; relating the dangers he had braved in the last reign, and describing the active part he and the old de clerville had borne in sieges and the heat of battle, which made him glow with ardour as he related his youthful glory when he shone in arms. though albert had kept his heart secure amid the dazzling beauties of the court, yet lie feared he was now wounded by cupid’s arrow, without hope of success ; for the volatile spirit of adeline, joined to her native pride, made him unwilling to disclose his passion, for fear of a repulse. — the romantic turn of albert’s mind forbade him to apply to her parents, as he resolved to wed no woman till first assured she preferred him to all other men . — as they had kept strict watch round the woods and grounds belonging to the abbey, and no danger appear ing to impede the way, the ladies now resumed their visits to the cottages. — adeline seldom accompanied-them ; but remained in her own apartment, employed in some trivi al pursuit, or the decoration of her person. albert, out of politeness, was obliged to accompany lady burnett and elwina ; and though he could not avoid observing the difference of the disposition of the two sisters, yet he sighed for adeline, while, his mind sanctioned the amiable traits he had observed in elwina ; so wayward is the human heart. elwina gradually lost her spirits, love, overpowering love, had taken possession of her besom, and she in se cret, sigh’d for albert ; while the many little attentions he paid to her s'ster did not pass unperceived, and she mourned in secret her ill-fated attachment. lady burnett tenderly enquired the cause of her dejection ; but received for answer, nothing that could enable her to trace the cause. oft would she wander along the unfrequent ed parts of the building, and sigh in secret. monkcliffe abbey. *3 this part, which contained the monastic cells, led through the cloisters to an ancient chapel, — which had not been used since the monks had left the abbey ; there being one in the centre of the building that was used by the fomily for divine worship. — the altar and ornaments of the chapel still remained, though mouldering to decay ; adjoining was a vault in which the superiors had been in terred ; at the end was a small door that led through to the cemetery, or church yard — here the graves were unmark ed by any thing but the rising turf, shrubs and evergreens scattered, the yew tree, and the mountain ash. on one side was a long and shady row of elms, — at the end of which was a small enclosed space, with a monu mental urn of stephano burnett de monkciifte first found er of the abbey, which he endowed with considerable gifts : — he retired many years after the first foundation, in grief for the loss of rachelda, his wife, and became prior of the order. — this part of the abbey was avoided by the domestics and neighbouring peasants, — through superstitious awe, and gloomy imaginations of i:s be ing haunted. this had long been a favourite walk of elwrna’s; she was fond of exploring the cells, and found her curiosity amply gratified; as, from the few number of years it had been abdicated, she found several vestiges remaining of its former possessors. — the part of the abbey they inhabited — was distant, and had been detached for the conveni ency of sir archibald and his family, and the rest suf fered to fall to decay. — one evening, as elwina was walking along by the elm trees, on her return home, she was startled to behold a human figure walking before her at some distance, in a monastic habit, with a cowl over his face — she stop ped, and leaned against a tree, till she could recover her surprise ; there was no path to the abbey, but that which led through the cloisters, — which she must of necessity go through. — summoning all her fortitude, she continued her walk through the church yard — the monk walking slow ly before her, till in an avenue that turned towards another part of the building she lost sight of him. she hastened into the abbey, where she found albert and her sister a r 4 monkcliffe abbey. musing themselves at chess. — lady burnett gently chided her for staying so late. albert, observing she looked pale, eagerly enquired the cause, with so much tenderness, that elwina, over come with different sensations of an agonised min^l, faint ed away. — on her recovery she was conveyed to her cham ber, where she related to lady burnett the object of ter ror which had caused her such affright. her mother com forted her, with supposing it was a brother of some distant convent, — who was gratifying his curiosity ; — though she thought it strange he should intrude without permission. the next morning elwina appeared perfecly recovered, and was rallied heartily by her father and alert, on her terror at a peaceable friar. the ladies having breakfasted, proposed taking a walk. albert acompanied them in a pleasant ramble through the adjacent meadows. — on their return to the abbey, albert expressed a wish to visit the monastic part of the edifice, which hitherto he had disregarded: — h.s remarks and conversation gave great pleasure to elwina, which she replied to with cheerfulness ; but the converse they had entered into being too serious for adeline, she ridicu led them with a vivacity by no means pleasing to her sister. — on their entering the chapel, which was dedica ted to the virgin, — elwina perceived a small folded pa per, which picking up, she put it into her pocket unno ticed. they having surveyed the edifice, were returning through the great hall, when they heard a dismal shriek ! margaret rushed in, and, falling at their feet, exclaimed “ o, my dear mistress, my good lady is no more!” albert hastened in, and found that lady burnett, having been afflicted with an apoplectic fit, that instant had expired as they reached the house. — margaret, in her fright, going to seek them, incontinently uttering this excla mation. — he returned to the hall, where he found tiie ladies in an agony of grief. he acompanied them to the saloon, where the poor lady wa« laid on the sofa. sir archibald, senseless with grief, was kneeling by her side, accompanied by the chaplain, the doctor, and domestics, in solemn prayer ; which being ended, he embraced his weeping daughters, and, with a pathetic voice, besought them to mitigate their grief. — “ scon, my dear girls, i shall be no more* monkcliffe abbey. 15 you will then want a protector.” — <c never while i have a being,’ * exclaimed albert, and pressed them both to his bosom with the affectionate warmth of a brother. sir archibald, pressing his hand, hastily withdrew, to con ceal emotions he could not conquer. the ladies retired to their apartment, to give vent to their grief. they sat discoursingtill a late hour, when el win a look ing through a casement, the moon shining bright on the stream meandering through the grounds, she perceived through the trees, at a considerable distance, a party of horse advancing towards the abbey. alarmed at the sight, she called adeline to the casement, where, to their ut most terror, they saw them advancing up the grand ave nue to the abbey. — before they could alarm the household, the guards had entered, and seized sir archibald, as a traitor to the king, for some events that had passed some time before his re tirement.— the good old man earnestly begged to bfe con fined to his castle, and not removed till the interment of his dear wife; — but in vain, the next morning they de parted for the tower — deputing to albert — the care of the funeral, and the protection of the ladies. the weeping fair ones mourned day and night these ca lamities, and refused all comfort ; for some time they heard nothing of sir archibald, which gave them great uneasiness. — the time of lady burnett’s lying in state being expired, the funeral took place at the cathedral of the county, according to her desire. the time for albert’s departure being arrived, he claimed a gift from each of the ladies. adeline present ed him with a scarf of her own work, which he instant ly bound round his bosom: elwina presenting him with a ring from her finger; and, in a faultering voice, besought him to remember her father. — there was something so tender and pathetic in her manner, that it touched the strings of albert’s heart, — at once with pity and respect for the lovely maiden . they accompanied him on horseback some miles of his journey, when he left them, promising to return as soon as the event of sir archibald’s impeachment was known. monkcliffe abbey# lb on their return home, something startling adeline’s horse, it rushed forward with such velocity, that its mistress was dashed on the ground with such force that she lay senseless, covered over with blood. — elwina and the attendants hastened to her assistance ; but, before they could arrive at the spot, — a youth of the most noble depo tinent. had raised her from tire ground, and support ed her in in his arms ; — while her faint sighs were the only signs of life. by the assistance of elwina and the attendants, they helped adeline into an adjacent castle, belonging to tire duke of b n, who had flown to render his assistance. they were received with great kindness by the mother and sisters of the duke, whose name was henry leclerc. as the removal of adeline was thought unsafe, — the duchess, with her daughters eleanor and ursula, — insist ed on their staying with them. elwina accepted their protection for her sister; — but, anxious to return to the abbey, she could not be prevailed on to stay, but pro mised to visit them in a few days. the duke attended her to the gates, and then taking a polite leave left her with great courtesy. she remained in anxiety some time, as she heard no news of her father or albert ; from the latter she wished anxiously to hear, and resolved to stifle her passion for him in her heart, as she had no hopes of his returning her love. but he had promised to write news of sir archi bald ; why he did not, extremely puzzled her, and brought the most melancholy impressions on her mind. — walking as usual in the cloisters of the abbey, she recol lected the paper she had picked up ; and seating herself at the foot of one of the statues, perused it — sorrow hav ing made her forget it till the present hour; it was wrote with a pencil, in disjointed sentences, which bespoke a troubled mind; it bad partly been erased, but she could plainly perceive the words of albert and remembrance of past vows, — that it was a man’s writing was certain, but how it came in so obscure a place was a strange circum stance ; it was plain that it had been but newly written. that albert’s name should be inserted was still more diffi cult to resolve ; when revolving in her mind this strange cir cumstance, she missed her path, and, instead of return mqnkcliffe abbey. 17 ing by the road she came, went down an arch way of the building, which fed to some cells that had not been used for above two centuries, and anciently belonged to some monks -of st. bartholomew ; whose rigid laws the carthusians, founded by monkcliffe, had not observed, but had built their ceils more airy and convenient for their health and the duties of their calling. few of tlrese cells were left extant; but these, not in terfering with the other cells, were left in respect and re membrance to the late order. the road to these being so dismal, and not exactly meeting the eye, had not been explored for time immemorial. elwina, perceiving her mistake, was going to return; but perceiving a door open on the right hand, curiosity, that reigning passion of the female breast, — prompted her to enter. what was her surprise, to find a cell that seem ed to have been lately, if not at present, inhabited ! on a small table lay a crucifix, a book of prayers, and a wooden bowl ; — casting her eyes round she pdaxeived some straw, which seemed to have been the bed of the wretched inha bitant. on the shelf was a paper with an elegant miniature of a most beautiful lady ; — with a motto of faith, truth, and love, engraved on the reverse, which was of gold on the paper were written the following lines : melpomene, to thee i tune my morning song, my evening lay; f riendship and love alike i’ve lost, and here a wretched wanderer stray. what to a mind deprived of rest . can earth or all its wealth impart ? can all its glitteringgems, or gold, assuage the torments of my heart ? might i one boon of heaven request. one anxious wish is all i crave ; some pitying cherub guide my steps, that 1 may find de clerville’s grave ! (8 monkcliffe abbey. there, might i expiate thy wrongs, my blood for thine should there atone : yet — let me pause — can suicide appease the almighty on his throne? no ; rather let me fast and pray. and watch the rising of the sun. that annually revives the day on which the fatal deed was done. yet, o ! before that mournful time, may grief dissolve my wasted frame ! may i lay down this load of life ! this is the boon i have to claim. o lovely maid — well might — thou — elwina presently observed that the hand writing was the same — with the paper she had found in the chapel. — she was struck with horror and astonishment, when she reflected, that, perhaps, this victim of sorrow ere now had died through grief; or, perhaps, had committed some rash deed ! — but, fearful ofindulging her thoughts in this dismal place, — she deposited the paper with the picture on the shelf, — and returned with emotions of sor row. she recollected the monk who had so much alarmed her in the cemetery* and resolved for the future to cliuse another walk. “ this poor wretch,” says elwina to herself, has doubtless committed some deed, in a phrenzy of un governed passion, for which he now mourns in sincere repentance ; if he still lingers here i will not deprive him of his abode, secresy shall dw r ell on my lips; but would t® heaven he had some more comfortable abode.” she had now regained the cloisters, and observing all the different avenues, and perceiving no object, she reco vered herself in some degree, and sitting down at the door of the chapel burst into a flood of tears, — after she had sat some little time, she resolved to visit the chapel — for the last time, as she had determined to visit its ruins n® inore, till the return of the family — monkcliffe abbey® r 9 kneeling at the foot of the altar, she offered up fervent prayers for the safety of her father ; in retracing her steps down the narrow isle, she gently sighed forth the name of albert de clerville. “albert de clerville,” said a faint hollow voice, “ who calls on that name?” saidapale figure, rushing out of a vault belonging to the cha pel ; — and falling at elwina’s feet. — • she shrieked aloud, — her feet refused their office ; and she sunk down by the side of the stranger, in an agony of terror. at length, she raised her feeble form from the ground* but had received a contusion on her forehead, which bled copiously ; she recollected the dress of this hapless wretch to have been the same worn by the monk, in the church yard, she recoil'd at the thoughts of his being a murderer, -and her whole frame shook with horror. — but could she leave him hereto perish ?« — he still breath ed, bat his form was emaciated with want, — his cowl had fallen off*, and discovered an elegant visage, -but strongly marked with the traces of grief. elwina hastened as fast as her tottering steps would let her, to the abbey, — and related to the frighted domestics that she had received her hurt by a fall, — but concealed the circumstance of the unfortunate stranger, from all but margeret, her faithful friend. this excellent woman had. been the companion, friend, and nurse, of lady burnett, in her tedious decline — and now continued her grateful services to the daughters ; but elwina was her darling.— after she had dressed her wound, which was but slight, — she returned with her to the chapel, — but the youth was gone elwina then led the way to the cells, humanity getting the better of horror ; — the trembling margaret, naturally superstitious and bigotted, every limb shaking with terror, and calling on all the saints in the calendar to protect her, slowly followed her mistress. here, as her mind predicted, she found the .unfortu nate man , laying on his straw ; “ what ! art thou corae again, sweet angel, to bless me ere i die?. — what biings thee to this dreary place v* holy friar .?” asked margaret. — <c i am no friar,” said the stranger. — u heavenly jesu!” exclaimed margaret, u what art thou then ?”— ‘ 6 a murderer! abase wretch, c so monkcliffe aebey. sinking into the grasp of death, with all my crimes t& answer for ! ” margaret shrieked aloud, but elwina waved her hand for her to be silent, — she offered him some refresh ments, she had brought with her, he for some time refu sed to taste any thing; but overcome by their tears and persuasions, he at length accepted them ; this seemed to revive his spirits — and he went on. “ for some time, i have lived on nothing but the pro duce of the fields — being unable to walk, as usual, to a very distant village, to purchase food ; for three days, i have had no sustenance whatever; and l crawled to this vault, in hopes to surrender that life among the tombs, now become so hateful; — when, hearing the name of albert de clerville pronounced, i thought it was some spirit called, and frantic i rushed into the chapel ; i just beheld thee, sweet lady, and fainted with weakness at your feet ; on my recovery i found you gone ; fearful you "would alarm the family, — i reached this cell and laid me down to die ! — “how long hast thou dwelt here?” said margaret— * “ four long months; but tell me, sweet lady, didst thou know albert “ yes,” replied elwina, with a sigh. “perhaps thou lovedst him, and weep his fate ?’ said he. “ what fate?” said the affrighted attendant. “ i mur dered him.” “ when ? where ? how !” shrieked out elwina. marga ret dropped on her knees. — “ near to the end of the wood, some months since, he fell by my hand; would i could recalthe treacherous blow i then might, once more, have been blest, and shared his friendship. — but i have mourned his loss both day and night with never ceasing sorrow !*'— margaret arose from the ground — ‘•exclaiming, “ i aju glad of it ; thank god for it ! you shall grieve no longer. lord be merciful to you ; i will set all to rights.” “ you are edward barry; are you not? 0 said elwina. “ i am indeed that wretch ; but how are you acquaint ed with my story ? tell me, sweet lady, where, is de cler vftle’s grave ? do his bones rest here ! v “ lie lives, i hope.” “ lives! blessed be god! it is impossible ! speak, {\ij angels repeat again those blessed words, he lives 1 monk cliffs abbif/# 3* sophia will not refuse her hand ! ; adbcpty aiffiere ,?,rt thou ?**’ overcome with emotion, life’ no grayed incoherent* ly. — margaret went and fetched anxyhilerating cordial;; and lighting a lire, — prepared ev^rydtniqg &ec$ssary, and commenced her office as nurse/* *’ * «w > > elwina had the happiness in a fewda) r s to see her patient restored to some degree of convalescence — -she, by degrees, related albert’s adventures, to the great satisfaction of edward, who acquainted her, that, stung with remorse, he repaired to sophia, and, bidding her a last farewell, parted from her in anguish; that though she upbrai *ed him with his cruelty to his friend — whom she cleared of making any professions of love to her — yet her former love returning, to soothe their parting she had presented him with the picture albert had restored. the generosi ty of his friend now struck forcibly on his mind, — and he repaired to this spot, which he had once seen when he was travelling with his tutor ; and he preferred it, from its vicinity to the place where he supposed that he had committed murder. he had made several enquiries among the cottagers about the body, but without success. — 4b e was now able to walk; and all concealment being now useless, he became the guest of elwina, who had no doubts of reconciliation when albert returned — which, to her great joy, he did in a few days, accompanied by her father, who had been honourably acquitted — his an cient estate restored, with the title of the earl of monk cliffe bestowed on him by his sovereign. they wrote the next day of his enlargement to the ab bey ; but the courier had not performed his office. lord monkcliffe was highly displeased with adeline, for absent ing herself from the abbey so long after she was able to re turn. — he determined to go to the duke’s chateau the next morning, and brin£ her home. — albert offered to accom o'' pany him ; — but this he declined, as he intended to make another visit, where he wished to be alone. as soon as he had taken some refreshment, lord monk cliffb departed. elwina repaired to the library, where albert sat indulg ing himself with the thoughts of adeline’s return ; when elwina with a lively ail, presented him with lady sophia ’ s pict u re . * c 2 *2 )(i • monkclrffe abbey. ci here is a pfessni: for you, my dear friend \ yr said sle' y and ^as’dly’ withdrew. he was "some time before he could recover his sur prise.— he hastened t‘o the saloon, — for an explanation, ef^in&;w^is notf.hefe— and he was going to retire, when margaret stopt him, and related all the foregoing parti culars. — albert could not suppress his manly tears at the rela tion ; margaret conducted him to the cemetery, where he found elwina and his friend awaited him ; a perfect recon ciliation now took place, and they walked down the road to meet lord monkcliffe — and adeline. but he returned alone ; — and, while the tears ran down his aged cheeks, informed them, — that adeline was mar ried that morning to the duke of b n, and had setoff* for the capital, — he by no means liked the duke’s cha racter and principles; but adeline’s secresy and disobe dience, when she thought him in distress, and unkindness to her sister, greatly distressed him. — albert was much hurt; and, exclaiming against the coquetry of the sex, took edward’s arm and walked on while el win a rode home in the chariot with her father. de clerville related to his friend his ill success with adeline, whom he owned had given him encouragement to hope. — on some hints given by his friend of ekvina’s attachment to him, a thousand circumstances rushed on his mind, and confirmed the pleasing truth. by this time they arrived at the abbey. — elwina had acquainted her father with the name and adventures of his guest, — whom he received with great civility. — albert was greatly rejoiced to be reconciled to his fvitnd; and soon after, having gained the lovely el win a’ s consent, they were united — with the entire approbation of lord monkcliff’e ; — who presented edward with a colonel’s commission on the joyful occasion — lord clifford being reconciled, on the mediation of albert, he was blest with his sophia. — the duchess figured away with eclat ; but the mild elwina and her beloved partner remained with lord monkcliffe at the abbey,— a pattern of domestic virtues. eopez ahb ak.anthe; or the suicide. a spanish story. by sarah wilkinson. d on velasquez was a grandee of spain, a nobleman possest of vast riches, and in great favour with his mo narch ; he was in his thirty-fifth year, but had never been married. — in consequenee of a disappointment he had met with some years back, he had seriously resolved on a state of celibacy, and refused several overtures that had been made by different gentlemen, who would have been proud of his alliance for their sisters or daughters. but what what was their surprise and astonishment, when don velasquez espoused melina, the daughter of a poor cottager on his estate ! this circumstance, so op posite to his former vows, and condition of life, was the reigning conversation at madrid, when dop lopez arri ved from his tour withdiis tutor; he was nephew to don velasquez, and consequently expected to be his heir. he was for a while, choaked with r age : but, being per suaded by monsieur villette, his tut^r, a lively if rench** man, to moderate hh passion ; — resolved co visit his unqle. — • accordingly, they set out the next morning, to a small villa that he had, about five miles distant, where ve lasquez and donna melina at present resided; — he re ceived his nephew and friend with a civility that bordered more on ceremony than friendship ; but the reception <pf donna melina w&s muph more fettering and polite, 8 3 ’ , ‘ 24 jlop£z and aranthe; she was lovely in her person, which only seemed equal led by the graces of her mind ; lopez was amazed at the appearance of his aunt, whom he expected to find an auk ward country girl, ignorant and void of polite and fashionable accomplishments. — he was at a loss to account for this mystery : and re solved to apply to her attendant for information ; — but this was fruitless, she had been hired since their union, — and consequently, was a stranger to the family of her lady ; any more than lopez, had been informed before, of her mean extraction. — he beheld with malignity — the cordiality that sub sisted between her and don v elasquez, which was strength ened by the birth of ason, of whom the father was doat ingly fond ; this circumstance entirely rendered all thought of possessing his uncle’s estate vain ; — he behaved with so much haughtiness to donna melina, that his absence was become desirable ; — accordingly velasquez procured him a post at seville of great value, which, added to the fortune left him by his father, would enable him to make an appearance suitable to his birth, and reflected with pleasure that he had done his duty. lopez departed for seville, with expressions of grati tude, that he did not feel; monsieur villette went with him as secretary : on the road the conversation turned on donna melina. 4 what think you of my aunt, charles ? is she not an extraordinary being ? ’ 4 she is all that’s amiable,’ replied villette ; 4 and her beauty is extreme ! ’ 4 that i readily grant ; but yet my uncle’s marriage surprises me, — if he must turn fool, in spite of all hfc pro testations, why thus debase himself?’ 4 the marriage of a man of his years, is neither ridicu eus nor surprising. * 4 not in point of age, i allow;’ replied lopez , 4 but the disparagement of rank.’ 4 ghe is now raised to his ; and her virtues deserve it.’ 4 you seem a warm advocate for melina,’ said lopez,, with a frown that silenced villette, who presently turned he discourse. — or thf suicides they had now reached the borders of a forest, when one of the horses, being frighted, reared up, and with great force broke the reins, and snapt the pole asunder;— the rest of the horses taking the alarm, set off* with velo city, and overturned the carriage in the middle of the road, — lopez was not materially hurt ; but villette’s arm was unfortunately broken, — a reverend and respectable looking man now made his appearance, and desired them to accept of an apartment in his cottage, for the gentleman. — this offer they receiv ed with thanks, and they conveyed villette into this small, but neat habitation ; a surgeon was sent for, who, exa mining the fracture, gave them favourable hopes : — lopez resumed his journey the next morning; — charles pro mising to join him at seville, as soon as ever he was able. — the family consisted of don sebastian, a widower, and two daughters ; the eldest was a lively brunette, with a most expressive, animated countenance, her eye beam ing joy and delight. such was floretta, — who was admirably contrasted by her fair sister aranthe, who, lovely in form, and beau teous as a fabled goddess, — drooped like aflowret, beaten by a storm, towards an early grave ; impressive sorrow, marked her countenance ; her words were gentle as the summer breeze ; she complained not, — but now and then a soft sigh escaped her bosom, and a pearly tear stole down lier cheek! — the attentions of her father and sister were tender in the extreme ; but they seemed to give no comfort to the afflicted mourner. he had a son, antonio, at sea, and a daughter married that was settled in a distant province. they had but two domestics, ursula, a young coun try lass ; and beatrice, an aged woman ; who attended villette, with great kindness : he enquired of her, the cause of dejection in her young lady, — but the dame in formed him, that she did not know, but supposed the cause was disregarded love. aranthe had accompanied a lady of fashion, to paris, where they staid some time ; before that event, she was lively as lloretta, but since her return she was absorbed xopez and abanthe; -6 in melancholy ; — -but no intreaties could prevail on her to tell the cause ; 6 i am afraid she is not long for this world,’ sigh’d out beatrice, 6 she deserved a better fate.’ — he atso learnt that don sebastian had been an officer of considerable merit, in the army ; but, on his marriage with his late wife, he retired and settled upon this small estate, which belonged to her late mistress. 4 but we expect my master’s son, antonio ; god bless him for a sweet youth ! with him comes his friend, frederick, who has long been betrothed to floretta. 1 hope these joyful tidings will make my dear aranthe better; this love is a sad thing. monsieur 1’ i i hope you do not speak by experience, my good woman?’ said villette, laughing. ‘ ah, sir, it is a passion of which both the poor and rich feel the effects; it is a blessed thing, where true lovers are united,’ said the good woman, as .she left the apart ment. monsieur villette, touched with pity for aranthe, now redoubled his attentions to socthe her melancholy hours, and often had the satisfaction to see a transient smile illu mine her faint countenance 1— charles being recovered, prepared to join his friend at seville : don sebastian, and floretta, made him promise to call at ffie cottage, every time he passed that way, which he readily assented to. the chaise being arrived; — he went t© take leave of aranthe before he set out. she was seated in the arbour, at the end of a walk, in which jessamine, honey suckles, and fragrant seringo* were interwoven ; — she was playing on h&r guittar, ac companied with these words : a pilgrim, clad in sober grey. arose, and with the dawn, — fie took his staff* and went his way* with aspect most, forlorn. to famed loretta’s tomb he went* and^there he made a row : tv*be a pilgrim all his life, no housa> aor how to know* or the suicide. 27 5 twaslove! ’twas unrequited love, that faded his fair forep ; corroded so his youthful heart. he sunk beneath the storm. the friars took this man of woe. and chaunting each a stave, they strewed rosemary and rue. and laid him in the grave. she ended, with an air so pathetic, that it thr/lled thro 5 the soul ofvillette ; he now entered the arbour; — she re ceived his farewel, with a sorrowful countenance; she told him that she found herself soothed by his friend ship, and should regret his absence; but thought they should meet no more in this world, — she was hastening fast to the next. ‘banish such ideas, my sweet girl, and drive sorrow from your bosom. 5 — ‘ would i could ; but it is too firmly rooted, to be re moved but with life, monsieur ; the past is without reca], and the future paths of my life without hope !’ charles dropt a tear, on the hand of the weeping fair; on which he imprinted a respectful kiss, and hastened into the house ; — where, taking leave of the kind family, he departed ; — his mind filled with gratitude for their friendly treatment — lopez received him with pleasure, — and congratulated him on his recovery. lopez was never more happy than when engaged in vicious pursuits : his mind wars continually planning some scheme of pleasure, which, as long as it benetitted or amused himself, he cared not for the happiness of others; villette’s sentiments were more refined ; — but the evil ex ample of his late pupil, now patron, had an ill effect upon charles ; — who, from the fear of offending lopez, entered into all his schemes ; — they had already embroiled themselves in several petty quarrels, which might have brought on more serious con sequences, — had they not been sent for, from seville; — velasquez having been indisposed sometime, his illness 2-ope2 ani> arantiijz ; 2 $ had now taken a more serious turn, — a^dhe was desirous to see his nephew. they accordingly s«t out. for madrid ; but in their road called at don sebastian according to the promise of charles — fie was informed by his old friend, beatrice, that her young mistress, floretta, — was married to frederic ; that she was gone to settle at barcelona ; that her master and don antonio were gone to madrid; but that aranthe. was at home ; * who, l am sure, will be glad to see you ; but in the mean time set down, seigneurs, and i will bring you some refresh ment, after so long a journey, it will no doubt be agree able, x setting some wine, fruit, and biscuits before them, she departed to fetch her mistress — 4 upon my soul,, a very pretty adventure ! — what are these girls?’ (for they were absent on a visit the time the accident took place). ‘no wonder you staid to nurse your arm so long; how sly you are, charles; — was you afraid of my running away with your prize to all these questions, which were spoken in a breath,. charles only answered, , there is no adventure, sir, on my part and as for the lady, she is too serious for an* amour; — without the eloquence of your tongue can do wonders. * aranthe’s voice, being heard in the passage, charles got up, and opening the door, saluted her, and led her into the parlour — ‘this, madam, is my friend don lopez, . who ’ — ‘ heavenly powers 1’ exclaimed aranthe, € it is dori mont, or else my eyes deceive me,’ overpowered with surprise, , and almost breathless, she sunk on the carpet. lopez stood aghast* his countenance was of a deadly pale — a glass of wine lie had in his hand, he let fall to the floor, while he articulated, * what an alteration in that once beauteous face !’— deep compunction of conscience seemed to strike him, and he exclaimed, . ‘am i such a wretch !’ charles had half raised her from the floor but lopez, darting forward, stove to snatch her from villette’s arm. she exojaimed, ‘ off, base seducer ! vile ungrateful or the suicide. *9 man ! — dost thou come' here, to triumph over this poor faded form ? — to sting me with tortures worse than death ? hence from my sight 1 / — she attempted to withdraw; but, catching hold of villette, actually fainted . fearful of calling for assistance, lest aranthe shduld notdike beatrice to iind out a secret, she had so carefully guarded; he seated her in a chair; and giving her a glass of water, he untied a black veh vet string from about her neck, to give her freer respira lion ; and drawing it out to lay it on the table, to his sur prise, there was a smaller string attachedto it ; from whence was suspended a miniature of lopez, — carefully concealed from observation. — charles remembered, when they were in france, — that lopez had told him, he had lost this picture at the opera. — she now revived, and seemed more calm ; but casting a look of anguish on villette, — she said, 4 how could you have the cruelty to bring him here ?’ 4 believe me, madam, it was unintentional on my part ; the words and actions of you both are a mystery to me.’ 4 no, aranthe !’ exclaimed lopez, 4 i have not had the meanness to make you the subject of conversation, nor wantonly expose you ! ’ — 6 i accquityou of that charge, in respect of this lady ; the rest of your apology 1 leave you to make to this afflicted girl, whose silent sorrows have often drawn the tear of .pity from my eye.’ 4 you plead wed,’ replied lopez, with a sneering smile— 4 perhaps you have been the confidante ofher silent woes ?’ . 4 dorimont, i was going to call v *you ; but, even in your name, i find you have deceived me ; disturb not the only tranquillity i have left ; here i weep my wrongs, (nay, frown not;) i repeat it, my wrongs, — in secret, — to no one have 1 disclosed my loss of honour : mr. vil lette will not disclose the story of my shame ! i rest upon his honour without a doubt : then leave me,. don lopez, leave me to die in peace .’ 6 but, why then keep this miniature ? surely — you must still regard the giver p 3 * lopez awb aranthe; 4 too much, i fear — replied aranthe, ‘ but then l knew not half the deception, i now see — * lopez was about to utter something in vindication of himself; — but aranthe left the room, without deigning to hear what he had to say* — charles, who was extremely hurt, at tha confirmation of his patron’s villainy, now pressed him to depart ; which he did, without much seeming reluctance. — on the road, villette asked him how he came to be so ignorant of the abode pf his mistress, — or where he had met with aranthe, — * in paris ; she is a silly girl to fret in this manner ; what consequence is this honor, that she makes such a parade about ? ’twas her foolish qualms, that so soon made me sick of her.* 4 i should be ashamed to avow it.’ said villette, 4 you are very free,’ replied lopez/ how long have you turned saint ? * 4 i never had any pretensions to that title, seigneur ; but, thank my stars, in that respect, i have never been the seducer of innocence ! ’ 4 why don’t you make love to aranthe, charles ? — she seems calculated to your pious temper, — now you are grown such an advocate for virtuous sentiments.’ 4 not for worlds, would i hurt the feelings of such a wo man ; — who suffers such severe pangs, by self condem nation; — and still loves her base betrayer, while she must detest his actions.’ 4 well, charles, will you take the office of mediator, and persuade her to see me once more ?’ 4 most readily, if you promise to make it on purpose to offer some reparation to her wrongs, and not to insult the victim of your falsehood.’ ’sdeath, you give your tongue great liberties, nad take upon you the freedom of speech to a greater extent, than i care lo put up with.’ 4 pardon me, don lopez,’ said villette, 4 though i am not many years older than yourself, and have had my share in most fashionable follies, yeti sometimes recollect i was your tutor, i am now your sincere friend ; — but i take a pride to say, — that neither by precept, or example, you learnt these dangerous vices from me;— but, as the sub-. oh the suicide. 3 * ject only seems to make us differ, let us drop it. — i wish not to interrupt the amity that has hitherto subsisted/ lopez bit his lip, and seemed hurt, but took the offer* ed hand of charles, and pressed it with cordiality. — in a little time, they arrived at madrid ; they hastened to don velasquez, whom they found much worse than they had expected from the letter; — bis disorder on the preceding day, had taken a dangerous turn — and the physicians had given him over, without any hopes. they found him surrounded with his counsellors, and the necessary attendants of the law, — signing his will with a composed and steady countenance ; he welcomed them with affection, and told his nephew his only request to him, was, to take care and protect donna melina, and his dear little raymond : — that by his will he had be queathed a considerable legacy to villette, whom he wished to be preceptor to his son as soon as he was arrived at a proper age ; — that his mother and lopez, he appointed to be his guardians ; — that, in case of the death of either of the guardians, he wished charles to take that office : — 6 the estate i purchased in catakmia is yours, my dear nephew : continue in the paths of virtue; and, when you marry, may you be as blest as i have been ; — • melina is not old godfred’s daughter, a cottager on my estate, though she has always past as such; he is ignorant of her extraction, but he has behaved with kindness to her; and, as such, i have rewarded him. 6 about three years before my marriage, he met with considerable losses in his farming stock ; — and being seiz ed with a dangerous illness, thought he should die — he requested to see me ; — and always attentive to the calls of the afflicted, i waited on him immediately. — 6 after some preamble, he told me that he had an affair that lay heavy on his mind. 4 my good seigneur, j am in want ! — melina, my love, retire into the next room/ i was struck with the beauty and graces of her person, * godlred, said 1/ 4 you are blest with a lovely girl / 4 ah 1 seigneur, that is my grief ; she is not my daugh ter, nor do i know whose child she is/ 4 some years ago, — i was driving my cattle along the road ; i heard the piercing cry of an infant. i stopt, at 3 * lopez and apanl'ile; tentive to the sound — it seemed to proceed from a small inclosure of trees, near the road side — 6 robert, my man that attended me in my farm, leapt over the hedge, and discovered a sweet infant, not above thyce weeks old, — wrapt in a rich mantle; in it was a bracelet of pearl, with a magnificent diamond — in all my distress, 1 have never parted with them ; ail my fear is, that i should now be obliged to part with them from mere necessity. take them, don velasquez, i pray you ; you will befriend the orphan, — i know the excellenceofyour heart; she is not informed of her being a foundling — ‘ my wife who had lately lost her only child, took great delight in this sweet infant, and brought her up as our own, nor did she know any other, when my wife embraced her on her dying bed, and admonished her, on her future conduct in life. — ‘ we thought it would make her unsettled, and un happy— were she informed of it, but now, that death stares. me in my face, the fate of this dear girl embitters my last moments. * do not let that distress you, my good godfred; — i will provide for melina; — i will place her in a convent for education ; — and take care that you want for nothing.* he surrendered to me the mantle and bracelet; — but all rny endeavours to trace her parentage were fruitless, . though i doubt not, her birth is noble. — godfred recovered, and in my fftquent visits to the co went, i became enamoured of melina ; disregarding her want of fortune, and not being answerable to any one for my conduct, 1 espoused her; and must do her the justice to say, that she behaved to me with such duty and kindness, — that she is the only cause of my regret, in leaving this world ! god bless you, lopez; and you, my (dear charles, be kind to raymond !* the gentlemen now withdrew; — and, before night, don velasquez breathed his last, to the great loss of his domestics and tenants, who sincerely lamented him. as soon as the funeral was over, lopez resigned his post officially, that he held at seville, and prepared to depart for catalonia ; but first called on charles, to procure him another interview with aranthe, which, as he had passed his word, he endeavoured to fulfil. — he took horse, and rode to don sebastian’s habitation ; on the suicide. he informed aranthe, of the task he had unwillingly un dertaken : she positively refused to comply ; but informed him, that, if lopez had any thing to communicate, sh« would receive a letter from him, but nothing farther. — villette* was sorry to see her looks greatly altered for the worse; — on his return, he told lopez of the ill success of his mission. lopez seemed greatly chagrined at what he termed her obstinacy ; and wrote a letter for villette to take, which he promised should be the last one he would trouble him with— when villette arrived at the cottage, he found aran the very ill, reclining on a sofa ; after perusing the letter, with a countenance full of indignation, she presented it to charles, — who could not command his temper, when he found it contained, after a number of protestations of regard, an offer of a settlement, on condition of her accom panying him to catalonia. — • ‘ good heavens 1 of what can this wretch’s heart be made ? of what impenetrable stuff can it be made. ? when he sees you in this wretched state, the victim of his wrongs. * but tell me, dear aranthe, how did you meet with this wretch, for i can give him no other name ? * that i will comply with,’ said she * whatever pain it may give me ; but 1 will be as concise as possible. * when l was at paris, with donna clara, i unfortu nately attracted the notice of your friend, who went under the name of dorimont, he informed me that his father was a merchant of considerable property, whom he should disoblige if he married against his consent ; and desired our marriage might be private ; that i would keep it a secret from my relations, and donna clara — 6 numberless were the arts he used to ingratiate him self into my favor : — at last i gave consent to his measures, though 1 must own i did not like such clandestine pro ceedings ; but love and importunity overcame my scruples. 6 donna clara was gone to the opera ; lopez came at the appointed hour, and brought with him a friar, and a young gentleman to witness the contract — 6 we were married ; but still my mind was ill at ease. don lopez soon dropt the obsequious lover; he seldom visited me, according to his appointments. i now found my welfpregnant ; i communicated this intelligence to — lopez . 3 4 lopez and aranthe; dorimont, as i then called him. — i toklhim, i rmast beg le ive to inform my family ofmy marriage; that i was sure, for my sake, they would not betray the secret — ‘ but what was my surprise and horror, when he in formed me that i was not his wife; — but that as i would not yield upon other terms, he had contrived this method to get me in his power. — 4 he informed me he was going to leave paris shortly, and he would take me with him, offering me a settlement for life. this flung me into an agony of passion, — i could not utter a syllable ; — he took the advantage of this — sa luting me, he left the house, and told me he would call the next day. i passed the night in unsufferable anguish ; sometimes i thought it was not reality, that his words must be the effect of passion. — 6 i resolved not to see him more ; but , in the midst of this resolution, the servant introduced him ; — he entered with an air of gaiety that gave me great disgust: he again pressed me to fly with him ; — but finding me averse to any such proposal, abruptly told me, my obstinacy must le on my own head ; that affairs of consequence called him from paris ; that he was not returning to our native country, but was going to england; — that if ever i thought proper to apply to him, i must send a letter to de lunger’s hotel, directed for monsieur le rvun. he now left n i e in agonies of mind that almost deprived me of fny reason ; nor have i seen him, till that time he accompanied you here. — • • almost frantic, i flung myself at the feet of donna clara, and confessed the whole atrair. — she inveighed bitterly against my weakness, but melting into p ty, she prrv.-'d herself a sincere friend : 4 the business that brought her to paris was now finished, but she protracted her stay for some time, till my delivery, when i was brought to bed of a dead child. 4 donna clara wrote a letter to de danger vhotel, ac quainting lopez with this circumstance ; whether he re ceived it, i know not; we now returned tw donna clara’s house, which is a few miles from hence. — * 4 in a short time 1 came home, — where i have ever since remained, a victim to grief:! this affair has never transpired, my family is not acquainted with it. oft tux suicide. 35 c grunt, heaven, it never may! my brother’s sense of honour is nice ; i wish not my last moments to be marked either with the blood of lopez, or antonio. — villette, take one melancholy charge; restore this picture to the giver, with my sincere pardon for my wrongs.’ villette returned home, where he gently expostulated with lopez, for sending him with such a message : this took no effect ; but when he told him the state of aranthe, and produced the picture,with her melancholy pardon, his whole frame became agitated, while he exclaimed ; 4 1 am a murderer, a. guilty wretch ! — my sweet inno cent aranthe, would 1 could again see thee in that bloom of health and beauty, i so wantonly destroyed! o ! i cannot survive her; — dead me to her; let me make atonement — at her feet !’ he became delirious, and in a high fever, calling on aranthe and begging earnestly for death ; he at length recovered, but continued in a weak state. at length, villette received news of aranthc’s death ; he tried to conceal it from lopez. — but in vain — he had privately sent servants to don sebastian’s cottage, — and had learnt the fatal intelligence. don sebastian had invited charles to her funeral ; he went, as he understood it was aranthels desire, and re joiced that his friend was ignorant of her death; — but in this he was mistaken — the corpse was carried by young maidens in white, singing a funeral dirge — the mourners following behind, in melancholv procession ! no sooner was the ceremony finished, but they were alarmed, at the sound of a pisxl just behind them; it was the unhappy lopez. by the intercession of his family, he was buried in the same grave with unfortunate aran the, with this small inscription i i may heaven take them to itsmerey !’ villette was greatly shocked at the death of lopez, and was a considerable time before he recovered the shock. lopez bad made his will, and bequeathed his fortune and the estate in catalonia to charles; — who, soon after married melina, with whom he lived in happiness and connubial bliss. d 3 abbey of cmjmjeb a ]l f» a tale. hh jl he last rays of tlie setting sun yet lingered on the mountains which surrounded the district of ,when edward de courtenay, after two fatiguing campaigns on the plains of flanders, in one of which the gall-ant sidney fell, reentered his native village toward the end of august 1 58 7. he had lost his father a few months before his departure from the continent, a loss which had occasioned him the most severe affliction, and had induced him thus early in life to seek, amid the din of arms, and the splendour of mi litary parade, a pause" from painful recollection . with slow and pausing steps lie moved along the avenue of trees, that led to his paternal mansion. twilight had by this time wrapt every object in a veil of pleasing obscurity ; the solitary grandeur of his gothic halls, impressed the imagi nation of edward with deep sensations of solemnity and awe. two gray-headed servants, who had lived for near half a century in the family, received their young master at the gate, and while the tears trickled down their wi thered cheeks, expressed with artless simplicity their jov, and blessed the return of the son of their ancient benefactor. after some affectionate enquiries concerning the families of these old men, edward expressed his intention of walk ing to the abbey of clunedale, which lay about a mile distant from the house; his filial affection, gave birth to the wish of lingering a few moments over the turf which covered the remains of his beloved parent. scarce however had be intimated this resolution, when the ghastly paleness which overspread the countenances of his domestics, assur ed him that something extraordinary was connected with the determination he had adopted, and upon enquiry, his terrified servants informed him, that for some months past, they and the country round had been alarmed by strange eights and noises at the abbey, and that no one durst ap proach the place after sun-set. edward, smiling at the superstitious fears of his attendants, turned into the great avenue, and striking off to the left, soon reached the river, on whose winding banks a pathway led to the abbey. abbey of clunedale. 37 this venerable structure had been surrendered to hen ry via. in 1540, and having been partly unroofed du ring the same year, had experienced a rapid decay. it continued, however, to be a depositary for the dead, and part of the family of the courtenays had for some centu ries reposed in vaults built on the outside of the great west entrance of the church . in a spot adjacent to this ancient cemetry lay also the remains of the father of edward, and hither filial piety was now conducting the young warrior, as the gathering shades of evening dropped their deep gray tints on all around. tile view of the abbey, dismantled and falling fast to decay, presented an image of departed greatness. its fine gothic windows and arches streaming with ivy, were only just perceptible through the dusk as edward reached the consecrated ground, where, kneeling down at the tomb of his father, he remained for some time absorbed in the tender indulgence of sorrow. having closed, how ever, his pious petitions for the soul of the deceased, he was rising from the hollow, mould, and about to retrace his pathway homewards, when a dim light glimmering from amid the ruins, arrested his attention. greatly astonished at a phenomenon so singular, and suddenly call ing to remembrance the ghastly appearance and fearful re ports made by his servants, he stood for some moments rivetted to the spot, with his eyes fixed on the light, which still continued to gleam steadily. determined, however, to ascertain from what cause it proceeded , he approached the west entrance of the church; here the light appeared to issue from the choir, which being toward the other end of the building, be glided along its exterior, and passing the refectory and chapter-house, re-entered the church by the south portal near the choir. with footsteps light as air he moved along the damp and mouldering pavement, while pale rays gleaming from afar, faintly glanced on the shafts of some pillars seen in distant perspective down the great isle. having now entered the choir, he could distinctly perceive the place from whence the light pro ceeded, and on approaching stiil nearer, dimly distinguish ed a human form kneeling opposite to it. the curiosity of courtenay being now strongly excited, he determined to ascertain, if possible, who the stranger was, and from what motives he visited, at so unusual. ail abbey of clunedalf. 3s hour, a place so solitary and deserted; passing therefore 2k)iseless along one of the side isles, separated from the choir, by a kind of elegant lattice work, he at length stood parallel with the spot — where the figure was situate, and had a perfect side view of the object of his search. it appeared to be a middk aged man, who was kneeling on a marble slab near the great aitar, and before a small niche in the screen, which divides the choir from the east end of the church ; in the niche was placed a lamp and crucifix : he had round him a coarse black garment bound with a leathern girdle, but no covering on his head, and as the light gleamed upon his features, edward was shocked at the despair that seemed fixed in their expression ; and was about to ackkess the unhappy man, when groans, as from a spirit in torture, and which seemed to rend the very bosom from which they issued, prevented his intention, and he beheld the miserable stranger prostrate in agony on the marble. in a few minutes he arose, and drawing from beneath his garment an unsheathed sword, held it in his bancs towards heaven, his eyes glared with the lightning of frenzy. at this instant, edward deemed it highly necessary to interfere, and was stepping forward with that view ; his purpose was suddenly arrested by the sound of distant music, which stealing along the remote parts of the abbey, in notes that breathed a soothing and delicious harmony, seemed to arise from the viewless harps of spirits of the blest. over the agitated soul of the stranger it appeared to diffuse the balm of peace ; he cross ed his arms in meek submission on his bosom, and as the tones approached still nearer, the tears started in his eyes, and coursing down his cheeks, bathed the deadly instru ment, yet gleaming in his grasp: this, however, with a heavy sigh, he now placed in a niche, and bowing gently forward, seemed to pray devoutly ; the convulsions which had shaken his frame ceased ; tranquillity sat upon his brow, while in strains that melted into holy rapture every harsh emotion, the same celestial music still passed alongthe air and 'filled the compass or the abbey. courtenay witnessed with sincere pleasure the favoura bl change in the mind and countenance of the stranger, who still knelt before the lamp, by whose pale light he beheld a perfect resignation tranquillize those features, which had been distorted by the struggles of remorse. 40 abbey of clunedale. while edward was yet speaking, a ghastly paleness overspread the countenance of the elder stranger; it was momentary, however, for soon resuming his tranqu.lify, he addressed courtenay, in a low but firm tone of voice. 4 i will conduct you, sir, to the spot we inhabit, where, should you wish for an explanation of the extraordinary scenes you have been a spectator of this night, the recital, though it will cost me many struggles shall be given you; and 1 do this, strange asit may now sound to you, actu ated by the recollection of past friendship/ having said this, he and his beautiful partner moved slowly on, and courtenay followed in silence. they passed along a large portion of the cloy sters, ascend ing some steps, entered what is called the dormitory. here in two small chambers, were a couple of beds, and a small quantity of neat furniture, and here the stranger pausing invited edward to enter. 4 tiiese rooms,’ obser ved he, 4 are my occasional habitation for at least twice a week during the night ; but before i commence the me lancholy narrative of my crimes and sufferings, i will en deavour to recal your recollection to your companion in arms upon the continent ; for this purpose i will retire for a few minutes and put on the dress i usually come hi ther in . edward ventured to ask the lady, if the exquisite per formance he had listened to with so much delight, had not originated with her. a deeps ghat this question escaped her bosom, and her eyes filled with tears, while in tre mulous accents she replied, that owing to the great re lief and support her brother experienced from music, she always accompanied him to this place. at this instant the door opening, the stranger entered clothed in a mourn ing military undress, and bearing. a taper in his hand ; he placed himself, the light gleaming on his countenance, opposite courtenay, who involuntarily started at his appearance. 4 do you not remember,’ he exclaimed 4 the officer who was wounded by your side at the battle of zut phen ? ’ 4 my god cried edward, 4 can it be clifford r ' 4 the same, my friend, the same/ he replied. 4 you behold, courtenay, the most miserable of men; but let me not pain my sweet caroline by the recital of facts, which have already wounded almost to dissolution her tender heart : — we will walk, my friend, into the abbey ; its awful gloom will better suit the dreadful tale i have to abbey of clunebale. 41 unfold.’ saying this, and promising h’s sister to return in a few minutes, they descended into the cloysters, and from thence through the choir into the body of the church. oh, my friend,’ clifford exclaimed, * the spirits of those’ i have injured hover near us!’ beneath that marble slab, repose the relics of a beloved wife, the most amiable of her sex, and who owes her death to the wild sugges tions of my jealous frenzy. you may probably recol lect, about a twelvemouth ago, my obtaining leave of the carl of leicester to visit england ; i came, my friend, up on a fatal errand. 1 learnt, through the medium of an of ficious relation, that my wife, my beloved matilda, had attached herself to a young man who had visited in the neighbourhood of my estate at c n, but that she had lately removed for the summer months to a small house and farm i possess, within a mile or two of this abbey, and that here likewise she continued to receive the attentions of the young stranger. fired by representations such as these, i returned to england in disguise, and found the report of my relation the theme of common conversation in the country, it was on the evening of a fine summer’s day, that i reached the hamlet of g ,and with a tremb ling hand and palpitating heart knocked at my door. the servant informed me that matilda had walked toward the abbey. i immediately took the same route; the sun had set, and the gray tints of evening had wrapt every object in uniform repose; the moon however was rising, and in a short time silvered parts of the ruin and its neighbouring trees. i placed myself in the shadow of one of the but tresses, and had not waited long ere matilda appeared, leaning on the arm of the stranger. you may conceive the extreme agitation of my soul at a spectacle like this ; un happily, revenge was, at the instant, the predominating emotion, and rushing forward with my sword, i called upon the villain, as i then thought him, to defend himself: matilda fell insensible on the earth, and only recovered recollection at the moment when my sword had pierced the bosom of the stranger. with shrieks of agony and despair she sprang toward the murdered youth, and fil ing on his body, exclaimed, ‘ my brother, my dear, dear brother !’ ‘ had all nature fallen in dissolution around me, mr astonishment and horror could not have been greater than 4 s abbey op cluxedale. what i felt from these words. the very marrow froze in my bones, and i stood fixed to the ground, an image of despair and guilt. meantime the life blood of the un happy walsingham ebbed fast away, and he expired at my feet, and in the arms of his bcloted sister, who, at this event, perhaps fortunately for us both, relapsed into a state of insensibility. my own emotions, on recovering from the stupor into which i had been thrown, were those i believe of frenzy, nor can i now dwell upon them with safety, nor without a partial dereliction of intellect. suffice it to say, that 1 had sufficient presence of mind left to apply for assistance at the nearest cottage, and that the hapless victims of my folly were at length conveyed to the habitation of matilda. another dreadful scene awaited her, the recognition of her husband as the murderer of her brother; — -this, through the attention of my friends, for i myself was incapable of acting with rationality, was for some time postponed ; it came at length, however, through the agonies of my remorse and contrition, to her knowiedge^and two months have scarce elapsed since i placed her by the side of her poor brother, who, at the fatal moment of our rencounter, had not been many months returned from the indies, and was in person a perfect stranger to your friend. beneath that marble slab they rest; my courtenay, and ere this, i believe, and through the medium of my own lawless hand, i should have parta ken of their grave, had not my dear sister stepped in like an angel between her brother and destruction . such, my friend, is the history of my crimes and sufferings, and such the causes of the phenomena you have beheld to night.* edward was compelled, though reluctantly, to take leave of his friends, and hasten to remove the extreme alarm into which his servants had been thrown by his unexpected detention. time, and the soothing attentions of his be loved sister, restored at length to perfect peace the hitherto agitated mind of clifford, who saw the union of caroline and edward, and with them passed the remainder of his days* finis. eetliam, printer, furnival’s-lnn court, holbora. 82 wwww ww brary iversity of alifornia anta cruz 1st ed 1250 works by mr. douglas jerrold. uniform with douglas jerrold's shilling magazine, price two shillings, mrs. caudle's curtain lectures, as suffered by the late job caudle. illustrated by leech. in foolscap 8vo, price 5s. the story of a feather. with a steel frontispiece by leech. in foolscap 8vo, price 5s. punch's letters to his son. corrected and edited from the mss. in the alsatian library. with twenty-four illustrations by kenny meadows. large foolscap 8vo, price 2s. 6d. punch's complete letter writer. with fifty illustrations by kenny meadows. uniform with douglas jerrold's shilling magazine, price 1s. each. i. time works wonders. a comedy in five acts, as performed at the theatre royal, haymarket. the fifth edition. ii. bubbles of the day. a comedy in five acts, as performed at the theatre royal, covent garden. punch office, 85, fleet street. published monthly, price one shilling, with an illustration on steel, by leech, (for the proprietors of punch, at the punch office,) douglas jerrold's shilling magazine. the work is printed in small octavo, each number containing ninety-six pages, and illustrated by an etching on steel, by leech. two volumes of this popular periodical are now completed, and may be had, neatly bound in cloth, price 7s. each. punch office, 85, fleet street. the chronicles of clovernook. the hermit of bellyfulle. the chronicles of clovernook; with some account of the hermit of bellyfulle. by douglas jerrold. london: published at the punch office, 85, fleet street. mdcccxlvi. london: bradbury and evans, printers, whitefriars. contents. pr 4825 j4 057 1846 the chronicles of clovernook page 1 essays. folly of the sword 141 elizabeth and victoria the order of poverty a gossip at reculvers the old man at the gate 149 161 · 172 179 the chronicles of clovernook; with some account of the hermit of bellyfulle. we have yet no truthful map of england. no offence to the publishers; but the verity must be uttered. we have pored and pondered, and gone to our sheets with weak, winking eyes, having vainly searched, we cannot trust ourselves to say how many hundred maps of our beloved land, for the exact whereabout of clovernook. we cannot find it. more: we doubt-so imperfect are all the maps-if any man can drop his finger on the spot, can point to the blessed locality of that most blissful village. he could as easily show to us the hundred of utopia; the glittering weathercocks of the new atalantis. and shall we be more communicative than the publishers? no; the secret shall be buried with us; we will hug it under our shroud. we have heard of shrewd, short-speeched men who were the living caskets of some healing jewel; some restorative recipe to draw the burning fangs from gout; some anodyne to touch away sciatica into the lithesomeness of a kid; and these men have died, and have, to their own satisfaction at least, carried the secret into their coffins, as though b 2 the chronicles of clovernook. 9 the mystery would comfort them as they rotted. there have been such men ; and the black, begrimed father of all uncharitableness sits cross-legged upon their tombstones, and sniggers over them! nevertheless, we will not tell to the careless and irreverent world-a world noisy with the ringing of shillings-the whereabout of clovernook. we might, would we condescend, give an all-sufficient reason for our closeness: we will do no such thing. no: the village is our own-consecrated to our own delicious leisure, when time runs by like a summer brook, dimpling and sweetly murmuring as it runs. we have the most potent right of freehold in the soil; nay, it is our lordship. we have there droits du seigneur; and in the very despotism of our ownership might, if we would, turn oaks into gibbets. let this knowledge suffice to the reader; for we will not vouchsafe to him another pippin's-worth. thus much, however, we will say of the history of clovernook. there is about it a very proper mist and haziness; it twinkles far, far away through the darkness of time, like a taper through a midnight casement. the spirit of fable that dallies with the vexed heart of man, and incarnates his dreams in living presences -for mightiest of the mighty is oft the muscle of fiction-fable says that clovernook was the work of some sprite of fancy, that in an idle and extravagant mood, made it a choice country seat; a green and flowery place, peopled with happy faces. and it was created, says fable, after this fashion. the sprite took certain pieces of old, fine linen, which were torn and torn, and reduced to a very pulp, and then made into a substance, thin and spotless. and then the sprite flew away to distant woods, and gathered certain things, from which was expressed a liquid of darkest dye. and then, after the old, timehonoured way, a living thing was sacrificed; a bird much praised by men at michaelmas; fell with bleeding the chronicles of clovernook. 3 throat; and the sprite, plucking a feather from the poor dead thing, waved and waved it, and the village of clovernook grew and grew; and cottages, silently as trees, rose from the earth; and men and women came there by ones and twos; and in good time smoke rose from chimneys, and cradles were rocked. and this, so saith fable, was the beginning of clovernook. although we will not let the rabble of the world know the whereabout of our village-and by the rabble, be it understood, we do not mean the wretches who are guilty of daily hunger, and are condemned in the court of poverty of the high misdemeanor of patches and rags, —but we mean the mere money-changers, the folks who carry their sullen souls in the corners of their pockets, and think the site of eden is covered with the mint; although we will not have clovernook startled from its sweet, dreamy serenity—and we have sometimes known the very weasels in mid-day to doze there, given up to the delicious influence of the place-by the chariot wheels of that stony-hearted old dowager, lady mammon, with her false locks and ruddled cheeks,— -we invite all others to our little village; where they may loll in the sun or shade as suits them; lie along on the green tufty sward, and kick their heels at fortune: where they may jig an evening dance in the meadows, and after retire to the inn-the one inn of clovernook -glorified under the sign of "gratis ! match us that sign if you can. what are your georges and dragons, your kings' heads, and queens' arms; your lions, red, white, and black; your maids and your dolphins, to that large, embracing benevolence-gratis? doth not the word seem to throw its arms about you with a hugging welcome? gratis ! it is the voice of nature, speaking from the fulness of her large heart. the word is written all over the blue heaven. the health-giving air whispers it about us. it rides the sunbeam-(save when statesman puts a window-pane 'twixt us and it). the lark trills it "" merb 2 4 the chronicles of clovernook. high up in its skyey dome; the little wayside flower breathes gratis from its pinky mouth; the bright brook murmurs it; it is written in the harvest moon. look and move where we will, delights-all "gratis," all breathing and beaming beauty-are about us; and yet how rarely do we seize the happiness, because, forsooth, it is a joy gratis? but let us back to clovernook. we offer it as a country tarrying-place for all who will accept its hospitality. we will show every green lane about it; every clump of trees-every bit of woodland, mead and dell. the villagers, too, may be found, upon acquaintance, not altogether boors. there are some strange folk among them. men who have wrestled in the world, and have had their victories and their trippings-up; and now they have nothing to do but keep their little bits of gardenground pranked with the earliest flowers; their only enemies, weeds, slugs, and snails. odd people, we say it, are amongst them. men, whose minds have been strangely carved and fashioned by the world; cut like odd fancies in walnut-tree; but though curious and grotesque, the minds are sound, with not a worm-hole in them. and these men meet in summer under the broad mulberry-tree before the "gratis," and tell their stories-thoughts, humours; yea, their dreams. they have nothing to do but to consider that curious bit of clock-work, the mind, within them; and droll it sometimes is, to mark how they will try to, take it to pieces, and then again to adjust its little wheels, its levers, and springs. some of these worthy folk may, in good time, be made known to our readers. but our first business is to introduce to them a most wise, and withal jocund sage, dwelling about a mile and three quarters from clovernook, and known to the villagers as the hermit of bellyfulle. it was a happy chance that brought the anchorite and ourselves together. thus it happened. an autumn day had died gloriously in the west; darkthe chronicles of clovernook. 5 ness came rapidly upon us, and to be brief with our mishap, we had lost our way. we had travelled from -, a market-town, and as our saddle-bags-for we were upon our choice gelding-were, strangely enough, stuffed with the lawful golden coin of the realm, our fears rose with our sense of property. again and again we thought of our gold, and thinking, sweated. to our apprehension, the gelding's legs became as eight; for though we saw no horse following us, yet could we certainly distinguish the sound of eight hoofs. we kept up a sharp trot, and oddly enough, the gelding that half-an-hour before showed signs of weariness and distress, trotted, trotted on as though fresh from a night's rest, corn and beans. as we went on, everything seemed strangely changing about us. the sky that had been black as coal, broke into a mild, clear grey; star by star came twinkling out; the cold, autumn wind blew soft and warm; our spirits became suddenly lightened, when our gelding-it is a most sagacious beast-made a dead halt. us. the creature stood fast, and we looked vainly about we saw nothing-heard nothing. the animal still stood as upon a pedestal. and now, it pricked its ears -and now, snuffed, snuffed the air. then the truth, in truth's best sweetness, came upon us. we were close to a human dwelling-place; we were in the neighbourhood of some of the units of the large family of man. hope could not have deceived us: no, the truth was plain; for we smelt a smell of bacon and eggs. now, the gelding had merely paused to awaken our attention to the odorous fact. this opinion we carry, fast as a clenched nail, within us. for we merely took a deep inspiration, jerked our right knee against the saddle, and bottom-for such is the beast's nameimmediately understood that we had taken his meaning, and with mended step, went ambling on, as though his soul danced to the music of the frying-pan. a most rational beast is bottom. 6 the chronicles of clovernook. still, we trotted on, down close, winding, mossy lanes-with odd, large, gnarled trees, throwing their arms across the narrow road, and sometimes meeting and hugging one another, like titan wrestlers. there was something strange in the trees; something, as we thought, half-human: now and then they looked like giants; and now, we thought we saw the red goatlike noses of satyrs among the branches, with a quick jerking of their horned heads. once or twice, thinking of our saddle-bags, we should have fainted from sheer cowardice; but as bottom ambled onward, there was an increasing, a sustaining smell of bacon and eggs. at length, bottom stopt in a sort of triangular nook. there was no outlet. we looked; was it a glowworm glimmering through that mass of green? no: it was tallow, delicious, household tallow; or if not, oil from leviathan. we dismounted, and groping our way, at length, through a wilderness of woodbine and ivy, found the door. we knocked. 66 come in," cried a voice, loud as a trumpet. melodious syllables! sweet accents of sweet hospitality! harmonious to the traveller on the outside, glorifying to the man at the hearth! he has escaped somewhat of the smitings of this single-stick world, who, when he hears knuckles at his postern, can throw himself back in his chair like a king upon his throne, and without a qualm of the heart, cry—“come in !" in darkness, we clawed about the door; at length we found the latch. in a moment we were at the hearthstone of the greatest animal in the scale of creation— an animal that cooks. "and who are you?" cried the master of the mansion. what a pert, every-day asking is this! what a query to answer! reader, did you ever, for one moment, say to your own soul,"who are you?" you know that you are a something, but what thing? you know that there is some living power, some knack within you, that helps you through life; that enables you to the chronicles of clovernook. 7 make a bargain with an eye to a good pennyworth ; that even urges you to pick a wife from a few millions; that walks with you in your business walks, that broods with you at home over your ledger-but what is it? did you ever try to bring it face to face with yourself? did you ever manfully endeavour to pluck, for a moment, this mystery from your blood, and look at it eye to eyethis you? it may be a terrible meeting; but sit in the magic circle of your own thoughts, and conjure the thing. it may be devil-it may be angel. no. you will take the chance: you are not curious: you are content to jog on; you know that you are you; but for the what you, whether perfect as the angels, or scabbed like lazarus, why should you seek to know? rather, dwell in the hopeful sweetness of your noknowing. "and who are you?" again asked the man we had elected for our host, ere we had time or thought to answer. "we are travellers, and have lost our way," said we. "sit down and eat," said the master of the mansion. "and then, if the world has left you a light conscience, you can, if you will, sleep." "" "we'll first see to bottom, and then have with you,' said we; for there was a ring of truth and good-fellowship in the man's voice, that, as we felt, made us old acquaintances. we crossed the threshold, and taking saddle and bridle from bottom, sent him to his supper of sweet grass. we then returned to our host. "and what brought you here?" he asked, offering the dish. "bacon and eggs, said we, helping ourselves to the glorious condiments bearing those names. the man paused, looked down upon us, scratched the nape of his neck, and walked to a corner of his habitation. he then returned with a blushing gammon, which he sliced with the potent hand of a master. smiling upon our appetite, he cracked a dozen or two more eggs, and flung them singing into the pan. 8 the chronicles of clovernook. we would give a hundred guineas from the aforesaid saddle-bags, we thought, if we could carry away with us a lively portrait of our host. we shall never forget him he will to our mind always be a stirring presence; but how-how shall we ever fix him upon paper? you don't eat," said our host, seeing our knife and fork for a moment idle, as we mused upon the difficulty. "eat, eat, if you'd be welcome to the hermit of bellyfulle. 66 "" "are you a hermit?" we asked, with a wondering look. "have i not said it? the hermit of bellyfulle, and this my hermitage; this the cell of the corkscrew," cried the anchorite; and he then turned to the pan, his eye melting on the frying eggs. the hermit appeared between fifty and sixty-nearer sixty. he would have looked tall, but for his breadth of shoulder and bow of belly. his arms were short, thick, and sinewy; with a fist that might have throttled a wild boar or a keen attorney. altogether he was a massive lump of a man, hard and active. his face was big and round, with a rich, larder look about it. his wide, red cheeks were here and there jewelled with good living. as gems are said by some to be no more than a congelation of the rarest essences attracted and distilled from mother earth, so were the living rubies burning in the cheeks of the hermit, the hardened, incarnated juices of the deer of the forest-the volatile spirits of the vine. the hermit had no nose; none, ladies, none. there was a little nob of flesh, like a small mushroom, dipt in wine, which made its unobtrusive way between the good man's cheeks, and through which he has been known to sneeze: but impudence itself could not call that piece of flesh a nose. hermit's mouth had all the capacity of large benevolence; large and wide, like an old pocket. there seemed a heavy unctuousness about the lower lip; a weight and drooping from very mellowness-like a ripe peach, cracking in the sun. his teeth-but that he had lost the the chronicles of clovernook. one, as we afterwards learned, in active service on a strasburg ham-were regular as a line of infantry, and no less dangerous. his forehead was large: his black hair waning into grey, save that one lock which grew like the forelock of old time, was raven still. his eyes were small, and so deep in his head, no man ever saw the whites of them: there they were, like black beads sunk in scarlet flesh. such is the poor, weak picture of the glorious living face and then every bit of it shone, as though it had been smeared with sacrificial fat. hermit's voice was deep and clear; and he had a sweet, heart-warming chuckle, which came like wine gurgling from a flask. the very pope of hermits was the hermit of bellyfulle. the this worthy anchorite wore no weed of grey-not he. he had a capacious gown of faded scarlet damask, worn -much worn: yet there were traces in it of past beauty; goodly bunches of grapes, antique flagons, and cupids flaying a buck. this robe was girded about the waist with a thick silken rope; a relic, as he told us, picked up in a pilgrimage. it had been a bell-rope in the best hostelry of palestine. the nether anatomy of the recluse showed, as we thought, that all the vanity of the world had not died within him, for he wore black velvet breeches; and, moreover, seemed to throw an approving glance at his leg, cased in unwrinkled silken hose of ebon black. his feet were easily lodged in large slippers of cramoisy velvet, with here and there a glimmering of old gold lace. a hermit would be no hermit without a skull. the anchorite of bellyfulle was fitly provided with such tangible aid to solemn reflection: for he had the skull of a heathen paladin, in the which-for the top had been curiously sawn off, and hinged, and a silver box contrived in the cavity-in the which the hermit of bellyfulle kept his best tobacco. he moreover showed his horror and contempt for heathenism by sinking the basanet of a saracen knight into a spittoon. 10 the chronicles of clovernook. the cell of the corkscrew revealed the magnanimity of its hermit indweller. its walls were tapestried with sides of bacon, with hams smoked over fires of cedar and sandal-wood. festoons of sausages hung from the roof, dazzling the eyes and melting the heart of the beholder. frequent peering forth, with death-grim snout, a boar's head would show itself, to the ear of fancy grunting for the knife. and now, the eye would wander to a squab of flesh-a buffalo's hump-toothsome to rest upon. and then there were tongues, as many as at babel, hanging on all sides; tongues of deer, of antelope, of indian ox, smoked and cured by indian cooks. glowing and beautiful were a hundred vitreous jars of pungent pickle, disposed about the cell with the finest consideration of colour and effect. there, too, was the delicious olive, in its mild, immortal green, for bacchus in his after-dinner hour to dally with. it was not until the next morning that the hermit discovered to us all the riches, the stores, the conveniences of the cell of the corkscrew, and its adjoining messuages. but as we have opened the matter, we will not put it off to a future page, but at once make an end of it. we found that the room wherein we supped was made sacred to knife and fork. by the way, let us inform the reader that those instruments, of huge dimensions, surmounted the mantel-piece. the hermit, raising his small jet eyes towards them, mildly said, with a slight chuckle, "my lares-the guardian angels of my fire-side." an adjoining room was fitted round with shelves, on which were pots and packages of preserves and spices, and baskets of candied fruits, and here and there a case of heart-consoling curaçoa-soft and subtle noyeaubiting absinthe; nay, all the cordials refined by the inquiring spirit of man from nature's raw materials. "what a delicious smell!" we cried. "i call it my phoenix' nest, said the hermit, and he said no more. he then took us down into his cellar. we descended the chronicles of clovernook. 11 "cut by some fifty steps into a place of vast extent. some good-natured people of the olden time," said the hermit; "cut out of the living rock. and now, sir, the sun shines on no sort of grape that is not bottled here;" and the hermit spoke with a voice of triumph, and gently waved the lamp in his hand to and fro, its beams falling upon a thousand and a thousand bottles, that to our excited fancy seemed to laugh like negroes in the sun. 66 simple, thoughtless man would not think it, but there is much knowledge to be taken from this cellar," isaid the hermit. "with the help of a corkscrew," said we. "right; with the blessing of a corkscrew," cried the hermit. "but for a time treading on the carnal man, there is other, higher knowledge. you will observe, sir, that i have laid out my bottles geographically; from the cyder of devonshire to the rice spirit of china. in this way, i manage to go entirely round the world once a year." 66 "" is it possible?" we asked, and "we fear it," in a voice of incredulity; for the hermit drew himself up, and spoke very solemnly. 66 66 man," said he, a lie in any place is a poor sneaking thing; still, a lie may be better or worse by its locality. now the man," and here the anchorite trembled with emotion, "the man who would tell a lie in a wine-cellar, is a wretch unutterable. his heart's-blood, at the best, is bad vinegar.' "it is—it is," said we, feeling the rebuke. this is a map of the world, done by bacchus ?" "and the hermit of bellyfulle, smiling benevolently, gently nodded his head. "you will perceive it. here, as i said, is the cyder, the ale of england. there, champagne, burgundy, bordeaux. there, the johannisberg. at the present time, i am in hungary, drinking tokay." "" "it is delightful," we said, "to meet you in so favoured a place." leaving the cellar, the hermit took us to his farm12 the chronicles of clovernook. yard. instantaneously we were surrounded by all sorts of poultry. we were particularly pleased with a breed of fowls, of enormous size, and of the whitest and most dazzling plumage. "you like them?" said the hermit, observing our look of admiration. "so do i. were it not that i am almost dead to fleshly affections, i should say they were my passion. they are capons, sir. it is a strange weakness, but i love them dearly; especially with pork, judiciously pickled. i call them, sir," and the hermit faintly smiled, "i call them my monks." we next visited the fish-ponds. 66 hermit, are my trout." 66 66 here, sir," said the how very large !" we exclaimed, as some huge fish darted from under the weeds. 66 now, sir, though you will not venture to doubt my word, others might. i have a great moral experiment going on among these fish. they are entirely upon artificial flies. "is it possible?" we asked. fed 22 ? "" "for what purpose "to show the sufficiency of the imagination to the satisfaction of the belly," replied the hermit. "it will be a great political discovery," said we. "have you tried the system on yourself? "" either the hermit did not hear us, or hearing, disdained an answer; for he walked on, we following. 'my orchard," said he, pointing to a very forest of trees, loaded with the fruits of autumn. 66 "" "are you not frequently robbed ? we asked. "have you no spring-guns, man-traps66 "" 'look," said the hermit, and he pointed to a written board fastened to one of the trees-there were twenty such about the orchard-which board contained a notice, inviting in the prettiest and most paternal words all little boys who might pass that way, to come into the orchard, and eat their fill. they were warned upon no account to take the smallest fruit, but to carefully pick the largest, the ripest, and the best. there were likewise the chronicles of clovernook. 13 ladders provided that the boys might not injure the boughs, or rend their breeches by climbing. or if they should chance to tear their garments, there was an oilskin bag hanging from a large walnut-tree in the middle of the orchard, in which bag were needles and thread, to repair for the nonce any gash that might else scandalise the out-door world. 66 99 but do not the birds plunder you?' we asked. "my cherries, for two or three years, suffered grievously from the rooks," said the hermit; "but they are sensible birds, sir; very sensible. i bought the cast-off coat of a jew money-lender, and stuffing it with straw, i hung it upon the highest tree. the rooks are clever birds, sir-they never perched again." having shown to the reader the cell and grounds— we have purposely omitted all notices of bed-rooms, pantry, and out-houses, of the hermit of bellyfulle—we must bring the said reader back to the first hour of our introduction to the anchorite. be it remembered, that we are still tired and joint-sore with our journey, and that we have only eaten three rashers, and swallowed half-a-dozen eggs. to say nothing of the external dignity of the hermit, it was evident to us, from one single circumstance, that he was a man of superior mind. he never uttered a syllable until we both had supped. in an afterchange of thought, the hermit confessed that he admired his guest upon the same high principle. "a man, sir," observed the sage, "who gabbles at his dinner, may be said to swallow, not to eat. eating, sir, is as much a mental, nay more so than a physical task. there is, sir, a wonderful sympathy between the brain and the palate. talk destroys the exquisite harall the nobler functions of the mony between them. soul should be present during every mouthful; and so sublimating it, the wise man eats with his brain, the fool with his mouth." "you have studied these things curiously," said we. 14 the chronicles of clovernook. "it was my prime object in quitting the world. i resolved, upon the death of my fourth wife, to shut myself up from the vanities of life, and write a cookery book -an encyclopædia of the kitchen. "it is to be hoped," said we, "you have not repented of your magnanimity?" 66 no, sir; no. i have been hard at work-but it is the labour of a life. i have toiled ten years, and only got to ducks.' "ducks! 66 "" ducks, sir. ten years, and only finished four letters but hope is strong: i have no doubt i shall live to see z. by that time the ignorant world will begin to feel its mouth water for a sirloin of zebra ; and i am the only man who can tell the world how to cook it." "a sirloin of zebra! was there ever such a joint put upon a spit? " "i have partaken, sir, of hundreds; but those feasts were in the blessed region of as-you-like.' "as-you-like! where may that region be?" we asked. the hermit's eyes filled with tears, and he answered, with a broken voice, "i cannot tell-i cannot tell; though i have lived there-have children there-i know not where it is, know not how to seek it.' 66 66 "" 'how," we asked, "did you first find it out?' that, sir, is the strangest story of my life; though i have many, many stories in that box, " and the her"that however, sir, all i mit pointed to a large cedar chest in the corner, may some day puzzle the printer. know you shall know. brandy or hollands?" asked the hermit, pushing the bottles. upon my honour," said the sage, laying his breast. "do you take lemon? squeezer made of true eremite maple. hot and cold. and now, sir, you shall i call it"both smuggled, his hand upon here, sir, is a sugar; water, have my story. the chronicles of clovernook. 15 44 the flying bottle. "i have been a traveller, sir; a great traveller. it was my fortune, when about five-and-twenty, to sail to the indian seas. we dropped anchor close to one of the islands to be found in those blissful waters. i went ashore, and everything about me seemed new and strange, but beautiful, very beautiful. i had wandered from my party, and was alone in a field overgrown with hyacinths, when a bottle suddenly sprang up beneath my foot; and as i walked, the bottle-a black winebottle, no more-hopped, hopped like a bird, before me. i ran after it; but the faster i ran, the quicker it hopped. at length, mustering all my strength, i ran until i fairly ran the bottle down. then smelling at its mouth, for there was no cork in it, i smelt a most delicious odour; i raised the bottle to my lips, and drank. instantly my hands seemed riveted around the vessel, and two wings sprang from the sides of the bottle. in a moment, i was raised from the earth. i tried to let go the bottle, but my hands were as a part of it; and still the bottle flew and flew like an eagle to the sun; and i swooned, and knew no more until i awoke in a region which the inhabitants told me was the kingdom of as-you-like. "i looked about me, and i could have sworn that i was in some street in london; for in my boyhood, i had once visited that wonderful and wicked city, taken thither by my grandfather. the houses were familiar to me; the character of the people, their clothes, nay, their language, all seemed known to me; but when i said as much, the worthy folks about me smiled at my delusion; and further, when i told them the story of the bottle, they shook their heads, and said they doubted not i should soon discover my mistake and very soon i did so. that i should know the language of the people of as-you-like as perfectly as themselves was 16 the chronicles of clovernook. only a part of the mystery of the bottle. i had drunk it from its mouth. "it was plain that i was considered a curiosity by the folks, who, indeed, looked upon me with that sort of pity and forbearance which i have known displayed by soft-hearted people towards a hottentot. it was plain they felt that i had much in common with them all, but was nevertheless of a much lower degree of sensibility and intelligence. it is right, however, that i should confess that this opinion arose from my own coarse habits-from my education, and my manners contracted in my previous life. to me, they seemed the simplest, the most foolish of created things; whilst, as i afterwards discovered, they at times looked upon me with so much aversion, that, had they not been the tenderest, the gentlest people in the world, they would have cast me forth to perish in the streets. but i am forgetting myself," said the hermit-"i am falling into the common talk of the world about us: it was impossible that even a dog should perish in the streets of as-you-like. "before i descend to my own particular adventures in that glorious region, i will endeavour to give you some idea of its government, its religion, its laws, and the social habits of its people. pardon me, sir," said the hermit, wiping his eyes and emptying his glass, "but i cannot touch upon this theme, without feeling my heart melt like butter in my body. whilst i talk of as-you-like, my spirits sink; i am heavy, to very dumpishness." pausing a moment, and clearing his throat, the hermit proceeded. 66 and first, sir, for the order of government. asyou-like is a monarchy; a limited monarchy. at the time i dwelt there, the crown was worn by king abdomen, almost the greatest man that ever walked. natural accomplishments were many: he was held to make a more melodious sneeze than any man in the universe. his the chronicles of clovernook. 17 he invented buttons, the people of as-you-like before his time tying their clothes about them with strings. he also invented quart goblets. he was the son of king stubborn, known as the king of the shortwools. "after the king came the nobility; that is, the men who had shown themselves better than other men, and whose virtues were worked into their titles. "thus there was the duke of lovingkindness; the marquis of sensibility; the earl of tenderheart; the baron of hospitality, and so forth. touching, too, was the heraldry of as-you-like. the royal arms were, charity healing a bruised lamb, with the legend, dieu et paix. and then for the coach-panels of the aristocracy, i have stood by the hour, at holiday times, watching them ; and tears have crept into my eyes, and my heart has softened under their delicious influence. there were no lions, griffins, panthers, lynxes-no swords or daggers-no short verbal incitements to manquelling. oh, no! one nobleman would have for his bearings a large wheaten loaf, with the legend-ask and have. another would have a hand bearing a purse, with the question-who lacks? another would have a truckle-bed painted on his panels, with the words-to the tired and footsore. another would display some comely garment, with-new clothes for rags. oh ! i could go through a thousand of such bearings, all with the prettiest quaintness showing the soft, fleshly heart of the nobleman, and inviting, with all the brief simplicity of true tenderness, the hungry, the poor, the weary, and the sick, to come, feed, and be comforted. and these men were of the nobility of as-you-like ; nor was there even a dog to show his democratic teeth at them. "the church was held in deepest reverence. happy was the man who, in his noon-day walk, should meet a bishop; for it was held by him as an omen of every manner of good fortune. this beautiful superstition arose, doubtless, from the love and veneration paid by c 18 the chronicles of clovernook. the people to the ministers of religion, who, from their tenderness, their piety, their affection towards their flocks, were looked upon as the very porters to heaven. the love of the people placed in the hands of their bishops heaps and heaps of money; but as quickly as it was heaped, was it scattered again by the ministers of the *faith, who were thus perpetually preaching goodness and charity at the hearths of the poor, and the poor were every hour lifting up their hands and blessing them. it was not enough that the bishops were thus toilsome in their out-door work of good; but in the making of new laws and amending of old ones, they showed the sweetness, and, in the truest sense, the greatness, of the human spirit. during my stay in as-you-like, what we should call the house of lords, but what in that country was called the house of virtues, debated on what some of their lordships deemed a very pretty case to go to war upon; and sooth to say, for a time, the house of virtues seemed to forget the active benevolence that had heretofore been its moving principle. whereupon the bishops one by one arose, and from their lips there flowed such heavenly music, in their eyes there sparkled such apostolic tears, that all the members of the house of virtues rose, and with one accord fell to embracing one another, and called all the world their brothers, and vowed they would talk away the misunderstanding between themselves and neighbours; they would not shed blood, they would not go to war. "and this was ever after called the peace of the bishops. "the second deliberative assembly was called the house of workers. no man could be one of these, who had not made known to the world his wisdom-his justice -his worship of truth for truth's sake. no worker was returned upon the mere chance of his fitness. he must be known as an out-door worker for the good of his fellowmen, before he could be sent, an honoured member, to the house. the duty of the assembly was to make the chronicles of clovernook. 19 laws; and as these were to be made for all men, it was the prime endeavour and striving of the workers to write them in the plainest words, in the briefest meaning. they would debate and work for a whole day-they always assembled with clear heads and fresh spirits every morning at nine-to enshrine their wisdom in the fewest syllables. and whereas, here with us we give our children goody two shoes and jack and the bean stalk, as the easiest and simplest lessons for their tender minds to fasten on, in as-you-like the little creatures read the abridgment of the statutes for their first book; so clear, so lucid, so direct was it in its meaning and its purpose. 66 nevertheless, as there were some dull and giddy folk, who, after all the labour of the house of workers, could or would not know the laws, there were certain meek and loving-kind professors called goodmen guides, answering to our attornies, whose delight it was, for the very smallest imaginable sum, to interpret and make known the power and beauty of the statutes. and whereas, among us, physicians and surgeons-may the spirits of charity and peace consecrate their fire-sides!set apart a portion of the day to feel the pulse of stricken poverty, to comfort and solace the maimed and wasting poor-so in as-you-like, did these goodmen guides give a part of their time to the passionate and ignorant, advising them to abstain from the feverish turmoil of law; showing them how suspense would bake their blood and eat their hearts, and wear and weigh down man's noble spirit. and thus, these goodmen guides would, i may say, with a silken string, lead men back to content and neighbourly adjustment. when men could pay for such counsel, they paid a moderate cost; when they were poor, they were advised, as by the free benevolence of the mediator. "the people of as-you-like had, a thousand years or so before, waged war with other nations. there could be no doubt of it, for the cannon still remained. i saw c 2 20 the chronicles of clovernook. what at one time had been the arsenal. there were several pieces of artillery; the swallows had built their nests under their very mouths. as i will not disguise anything, i own there were a few persons who, when a war was talked of, the war so happily prevented by the bishops, strutted and looked big, and with swollen cheeks gabbled about glory. but they were smiled at for their simplicity; advised, corrected by the dominant reason of the country, and, after a time, confessed themselves to be very much ashamed of their past folly. 66 6 perhaps the manner in which the as-you-likeans transacted business was strange; it may appear incredible. i was never more surprised than when i first overheard two men dealing for a horse. one was a seller of horses, the other seemed a comfortable yeoman. that is a pretty nag of yours,' said the yeoman. pretty enough outside,' said the horse-dealer. i will give you ten lumps for it,' said the farmer (the lump signifying our pound). no, you shall not,' answered the horse-dealer ; for the nag shys, and stumbles, and is touched a little in the wind. nevertheless, the thing is worth four lumps. you have said it?' cried the yeoman. have said it,' answered the horse-dealer. understand, that this is the only form of oath-if i may so call it -in as-you-like. you have said it?' i have said it.' such is the most solemn protestation among all people, from the king to the herdsman. 6 'i "the shops in as-you-like are very beautiful. all the goods are labelled at a certain price. you want, let us say, a pair of stockings. you enter the shop. the common salutation is peace under this roof'-and the shopkeeper answerspeace at your home.' you look at the stockings, and laying down the money, take the goods and depart. the tradesman never bends his back in thankfulness until his nose touches the counter; he is in no spasm of politeness; not he; you would think him the buyer and not the seller. i remember being particularly astonished at what i thought the ill the chronicles of clovernook. 21 " manners of a tradesman, to whom i told my what, friend,' he said, 'should i do? astonishment. my neighbour wants a fire-shovel-i sell a fire-shovel. if i ought to fling so many thanks at him for buying the fire-shovel, should he not first thank me for being here with fireshovels to sell? politeness, friend-as you call it— may be very well; but i should somehow suspect the wholesale dealer in it. where i should carry away so much politeness, i should fear i had short weight. a strange people, you must own, these as-you-likeans. "" "taxation was light, for there was no man idle in as-you-like. indeed, there was but one tax: it was called the truth-tax; and for this reason. every man gave in an account of his wealth and goods, and paid in proportion to his substance. there had been other taxes, but all these were merged into this one tax, by a solemn determination of the house of virtues. 6 since providence has given to us the greatest measure of its gifts, it has thereby made us the chancellors to poorer men.' upon this avowed principle, the one tax was made. would it not be the trick of roguery to do otherwise? ' they said. should we not blush to see the ploughman sweating at his task, knowing that, squared by his means, he paid more than we ? should we not feel the robbers of the man-not the virtues banded together to protect him? and thus, there was but one tax. in former ages there had been many; for i was shown in the national museum of as-you-like, several mummies, dry and coloured like saddle-leather, that in past centuries had been living custom-house officers and excisemen. " " "there were prisons in as-you-like, in which the idle and the vicious were made to work, and taught the wickedness, the very folly of guilt. as the state, however, with paternal love, watched, i may say it, at the very cradles of the poor,-teaching the pauper, as he grew, a self-responsibility; showing to him right and wrong, not permitting him to grow up with, at best, an odd, vague notion, a mere guess at black and white,22 the chronicles of clovernook. there were few criminals. the state did not expose its babies-for the poor are its children—to hang them when men. "so dear were the wants of the poor to the rulers of as-you-like, that, on one occasion, in a year of scarcity, the monarch sold all his horses-the beautiful cattle went at 70,000 lumps-and laid out the money in building school-rooms and finding teachers for pauper babies. "and the state, believing man to be something more than a thing of digestion, was always surrounding the people with objects of loveliness, so that a sense of the beautiful might be with them even as the colour of their blood, and thus might soften and elevate the spirit of man, and teach him true gentleness out of his very admiration of the works of his fellow. hence, the museums and picture-galleries, and abbeys and churches were all thrown open to the people, who always seemed refined, subdued by the emanations of loveliness around them. 66 there were very many rich people in as-you-like, but i never knew them to be thought a bit the better of for their money. they were thought fortunate—no more. they were looked upon as men, who having put into a lottery, had had the luck to draw a prize. as for the poor, they were always treated with a softness of manner that surprised me. the poor man in as-youlike seemed privileged by his poverty. he seemed to have a stronger claim to the sympathies of those, in worldly substance, over him. had a rich man talked brutally, or domineered over, or ill-used a pauper in as-you-like, he would have been looked upon as we look upon a man who beats a woman. there was thought to be a moral cowardice in the act that made its doer despicable. hence, it was as common in as-you-like to see the rich man first touch his hat to the poor, as with us for the pauper to make preliminary homage to wealth. then, in as-you-like, no man cared to disguise the smallness of his means. to call a man a pauper was no the chronicles of clovernook. 23 more than with us to say his eyes are grey or hazel. and though there were poor men, there was no famishing creature, no god's image, sitting with his bony, idle hands before him, like a maniac in a cage; brutalized, maddened by the world's selfishness. 66 for ten years i lived in as-you-like. ten happy years. i married, became a father, and"— "and what, we asked of the hermit,made you leave so blessed a spot?' 66 66 what i was one day in my garden, strolling about, whilst they were laying dinner. i paused to look at my melonbed, when out hopped the black bottle. without a thought i ran after it--woe is me that i did so !—. and caught it in my grasp. i felt the bottle mount; i became instantly dizzy, and i know not what passed, but when i came to myself, i was lying on a truss of straw in an english farm-yard." "a most extraordinary adventure," said we. "" "yes, i've seen a few things in my time, said the hermit,"but they must remain for future talk between us. worn with our last night's journey, and beguiled into the sweet sin of late hours by the curious liquor and eke curious discourse of the hermit of bellyfulle, it was not until the clock struck nine that we became conscious of our new resting-place. a bright day shone upon us reproachfully through the casement; flowers shook their heads impatiently at the panes ; cocks without crowed, as we thought, in angry note, at their master's guest, and the clock-a pretty piece of venice work upon the mantel-piece-ticked remonstrance. with a jump, we leapt from goose feathers to the floor. we flung open the casement, and the sweet, fresh, nimble air came, like god's blessing, into the chamber. sinking in an easy chair, with a stocking in our right hand, we made stern questioning of our memory. it was all true-true as adamant. we were the guest of 24 the chronicles of clovernook. the bounteous hermit of bellyfulle; we sat, at that time, beneath the roof-tree of the cell of the corkscrew how, indeed, could we question the sweet reality? all things about us revealed the taste, the mellow heart, of the anchorite householder. the chamber was small-the bed a primitive truckle; but there was an indian carpet, soft as lamb's-wool, on the floor; there were books, not many, on a shelf and the black oak wainscot was carved with fruit and knots of flowers, with here a flask and there a flaggon. above the mantlepiece was this sentence, in letters of ruddy gold :happy is the man who may tell all his dreams. :in a compartment of the wainscot, over the head of the bed, was also written :make your bed as a coffin, and your coffin will be as a bed. as we pondered on the philosophy of these lines, we looked dreamily about us, and for the first time saw in a corner of the chamber a little door. above it was carved a small delicate hand and arm in the action of beckoning, with what seemed to us a string of pearls about the wrist. throwing down our stocking, we opened the door, and heard distinctly the sound of running water. we descended two or three low steps, and following our ear, went through a narrow, winding, sloping passage, cut, as it seemed, out of rock, the floor covered with rushes and moss. in half a minute we stood beside a brilliant fountain, tumbling and glittering in a large natural basin-a hollow of the rock. sky was sapphire blue, and flowers, carefully tended, grew around the edge of the spring: and there, too, was short greensward, tender to the feet. towels, dried on beds of thyme, were spread on a sort of garden-seat, with slippers, dressing-gown, and other covering. we at once apprehended the meaning of the beckoning hand, and with short preparation plunged into the spring. the the chronicles of clovernook. 25 5 in due season we returned to our chamber. touching was the care of our host! a small tankard of hot spiced wine stood upon the table, filling the room with aromatic sweetness. was not this the very heart of hospitality? as we hastily prepared ourselves to meet the eremite, we heard voices; and, as we thought, the sweet, low voice of woman. could it be the hermit's wife? he had said nothing of so blissful an appendage to corkscrew cell; nevertheless, it might be. we quickened our speed; for, thought we, madam the hermitess may be waiting breakfast. we hastened to what we will call the refectory. the hermit was seated in his chair; the breakfast-it would have put a stomach into a mummy-was laid out, widely and bounteously. as we entered, the hermit raised his face, scarlet with eating, from a platter; and his little black eyes twinkling welcome, he nodded, and gasped from his full mouth—“ salve! sit and eat." one hour at least had run to the past, ere another word was spoken. "that brawn, sir, was cured in paradise," were the next words uttered, as the hermit pushed away his platter, and fell like a pillow in his chair. "the hog, sir, is a wonderful philosopher.' 66 philosopher!" we cried, for the moment inattentive to the truth delivered. 66 philosopher! we call him filthy, ugly names; brand him as a foul and doltish thing. it is like the hurried ignorance of men. i look upon the pig, sir, as the philosopher of brutes-yea, the diogenes of fourlegged creatures. consider, sir. contemplate the doings of a hog. see him, sir, with his frank stupidity; or what, to skin-deep thinkers, seemeth stupidity. mark him wallowing in gutter-mud; see him in the haunts of men, even where fever comes, sometimes, alas! as kindest handmaid to poverty. see him, with his broad, quivering snout snuffing at the thresholds of very beggars. with what gust will he munch a cabbage-stalk! with what a grunt of gratitude will he take unto him26 the chronicles of clovernook. self the leavings of the veriest poor! there is nought that tooth can pierce, that goodman hog will turn aside from. he will get fat and flavour from a dunghill ; nay, in hopeful discovery, shove his snout into a cinder heap. these are bad habits; nasty, foul, degrading practices. and yet, sir, what comes of them? why, this, sir-this ;" and the hermit struck the flat of his knife on a huge wedge of brawn. "your philosopher considers, and takes experience of man; and only as he is curious in all the doings, from noblest to basest of the animal, is he, the said philosopher, worthy of his gown. he elaborates and refines his experience, gathered from highway and alley, and hovel, and cellar; and then out of the very juices of this digested wisdom, he leaves an oral system, or a written scroll. now, sir, what the brawn is to the hog, is plato's book to plato; a sweet and unctuous lump, drawn and rarefied, and elaborated, from even the foulest doings of the world for the world's better wisdom. when my lady sees master pig munching and wallowing in a ditch, she curls her nose and lifts her shoulders at his nastiness. and lo! when the same pig's leg, fragrant with sage and patriarchal onion, smokes upon the board, -the same lady sendeth her plate three times. i it is even so with philosophers, and the true men of the world. they have lived and died despised in alleys; and afterwards are fed upon in tapestried chambers. never look upon a hog, even in his foulest plight, but i consider him tenderly, affectionately, as the living, pauper laboratory from which in good season men may carve most melting sweets. it is in this spirit, i—as i take it-judiciously class philosopher and pig. "true," said we; "there may be affinity." then resolving to know if it was the voice of woman we had heard, we returned to the swine-flesh and the lady glanced at by our host. "your figure of the lady and the pig's leg," said we, "reminds us of a question we had to ask. pardon us, if we are bold; but heard the chronicles of clovernook. 27 we not, ere we entered, the small, musical pipe of the other sex ?" 66 my laundress, sir," answered the hermit; "she lives in clovernook. in the wicked, noisy, topsy-turvy world you come from, she was a lady in her own right, with broad acres and sacks of gold." 99 "and now a laundress, cried we. "how came such change about? what cruelty of fortune?" "a touch of conscience-a sweet touch, sir. the countess, it was her belief, had killed two milliners." 66 'killed them!" we cried. "not a statutable, tyburn-killing," answered the hermit; "not what would be called killing by twelve men bolted in a box; but what, sir, a jury of angels may look very grave at, and more, return a most uncomfortable verdict upon. 66 "" "pray, sir, explain the case," we said. "phoo! the story 's as short as short-cake," said the hermit. "her ladyship would take no answer: it was a birth-day, or a court-day, or a gad-about of some sort; and her ladyship, at a short notice, was to be very fine indeed. there were three girls, milliners, all sick and wasted at the time, with fading eyes, hectic faces, and deep coughs-death, sir, croaking and wheezing in their throats. the last work two of the girls did was for lady swandown. she went to the show, whatever it was, with almost the last sigh of the girls in her fine dress. the two girls died, and her ladyship-she is yet a fine woman, sir, in the rich fulness of some forty-five-forswore the drawing-room world, and coming here to clovernook, brought the surviving sister with her. "is it possible?" we asked. "you shall see the countess swandown; though in clovernook she is simply called dame diaper. ha! it is a pretty sight to see her tending mabel, as we call her here, the last of the sister milliners to see the countess petting and nursing her, and walking with 28 the chronicles of clovernook. her down the green lanes; and when the poor thing is too weak to walk, it is indeed pleasant to see the countess drawing the sick milliner in a little, light, easy sort of a coach,' 99 "a sight indeed!" we cried. 66 yes," said the hermit, with a grave look ; "when we think of the poor things already killed, and the creature yet suffering, it is a sight, i think, to please the very cherubs. you shall see them both, sir; both dame diaper and mabel." "but you said the countess-that is, the dame— was laundress here? "" e; "i should say, a sort of lady-laundress; a clearstarcher. she has taken the work by way of penance and bringing all her genius to bear upon it, has elevated a mere knack into fine art, sir. my cravats and ruffles are very pictures. you heard us talking? ay, sir, the old story-the old grievance, sir, 'twixt man and woman, said the hermit. "" "and what is that, sir?" we asked. the hermit, shaking his head and groaning, cried"buttons." "buttons!" said we. the hermit drew himself closer to the table, and spreading his arms upon it, leaned forward with the serious air of a man prepared to discuss a grave thing. "buttons," he repeated. then clearing his throat, he began: "in the course of your long, and, as i hope, well-spent life, has it never come with thunder-bolt conviction upon you, that all washerwomen, clearstarchers, getters-up of fine linen, or under whatever name eve's daughters,-for as eve brought upon us the stern necessity of a shirt, it is but just that her girls should wash it,-under whatever name they cleanse and beautify flax and cotton, that they are all under some compact, implied or solemnly entered upon amongst themselves and their non-washing, non-starching, nongetting-up sisterhood, that by means subtle, and almost the chronicles of clovernook. 29 mortally certain, they shall worry, coax, or drive all bachelors and widowers soever into the pound of irredeemable wedlock? has this tremendous truth, sir, never struck 66 66 you ? how-by what means?' we asked. simply, by buttons," answered the hermit, bringing down his clenched fist upon the table. we knew it-we looked incredulous. "see here, sir," said the hermit, leaning still further across the table. "i will take a man, who, on his outstart in life, set his hat acock at matrimony—a man who defies hymen and all his wicked wiles. nevertheless, sir, the man must wear a shirt; the man must have a washerwoman. think you, that that shirt, returning from the tub, never wants one-two-three buttons? always, sir-always. sir, though i am now an anchorite, i have lived in your bustling world, and seen, ay, quite as much as any one of its manifold wickedness. well, the man—the buttonless man-at first calmly remonstrates with his laundress. he pathetically wrings his wrists at her, and shows his condition. the woman turns upon him her wainscot face, and promises amendment. the thing shall never happen again. the week revolves. think you, the next shirt has its just and lawful number of buttons? devil a bit!" starting at the word, we looked, we fear, reproachfully in the hermit's face. 66 pardon me; let it be as it had never been said," cried the anchorite-a deeper tint dawning in his face, and his eye looking suddenly moist. "pardon me, but the heart has strange chords; even buttons may sometimes shatter them.' "" we bowed, and begged the hermit to proceed. 66 22 well, sir,' said our host, after an effort, “week after week the poor man wrangles with his washerwoman from the very gentleness of even maidenly complaint, the remonstrance rises to a hurricane of abuse; and still the washerwoman, as it would seem 30 the chronicles of clovernook. 6 bound by her oath to her unmarried sisterhood, brings home no shirt complete in all its buttons. man-the fiercest of his kind cannot always rage. he becomes tired-ashamed of clamour. he sighs, and bears his buttonless fate. his thoughts take a new turn. in his melancholy, his heart opens; he is softened—subdued; and in this, his hour of weakness, a voice-a demon voice-whispers to him, fond, foolish man! why trust thy buttons to an alien? why helplessly depend upon the needle and thread of one who loves not thee, but thy shilling? take a wife; have a woman of thine own, who shall care for thy buttons!' the tempter is strong. the man smiles distrustfully, but still he smiles. that very night-it so happenshe goes to a house-warming. he is partner at cards with miss kitty. she never did look so toothsome. and then her voice-'twould coax a nail out of heart of oak. the man thinks of his buttons; and before he leaves the house, kitty has been brought to confess that she doesn't know what she may do-she may marry, or she may not. 66 66 "" is it possible?" we cried, with a laugh. sir," said the hermit, "'tis not a thing to idly laugh at. take fifty matches, and be assured of it, if you sift 'em well, out of forty, at least, you'll find buttons in some shape at the bottom of 'em." "2 "it may be, we said. 66 it is," cried the hermit with emotion. are led by their noses; men by their buttons." "asses there was a dead pause. the hermit had us in a clinch. we felt ourselves beaten, and therefore flung our discourse once more upon swine's flesh. "it is delicious brawn,' we cried. "blessings have fallen "" upon the man who reared it.” 66 perhaps," said the hermit, with a faint smile, "the fellow knew well how to feed hogs. understand me; i am no unbeliever in the efficacy of blessings: potent are they, sweetly potent where they fall. yet, sir, like the chronicles of clovernook. 31 all goodness, they are sometimes terribly libelled in the world. i have known men by the very lithesomeness of their backs, and bronze of their faces, get fat and golden. well, sir, to what have they sworn they owed all their grease and prosperous yellowness; forsooth, to the blessings that fell upon them-blessings rewardful of their piety. these men, sir, i know it, have in a business way picked pockets, yet have they declared they owed their substance to the untiring fingers of their saints." "very like," said we. 66 "" and 'tis there-in that sir, it is, said the hermit; " and the brawn before us brings to my memory a little story that may shadow forth this truth. i have noted down the tale, cedar chest, as i have said, with a hundred others. do not stir; i think i can remember the little history, without rummaging the papers. i call ita short story of a cow and a sow. "you were never at naples, sir?-no? well, i will not commiserate you; i will not triumph; i will spare your feelings. naples! if, sir, there be a place where a man may forget taxes and all the tribulation of what with great gravity we call civilized life, it is—always excepting my own clovernook-it is naples ! "saint anthony is a great fellow at naples: a saint, sir, of the first water. perhaps, i am wrong in the epithet water being rarely a test of saints; monks, who are to saints what porwiggles are to frogs, for the most part abominating that pauper fluid. no matter. saint anthony is a great gun at naples, whatever he may be elsewhere: for saints, like fox-hunting lords of the manor, though they may make a terrible clatter in their own neighbourhood, are sometimes held dirt cheap in other places. well, sir, saint anthony in his mortal days had a kindly yearning, a love, a gentleness, a pity towards everything that lived; beasts, birds, fishes, 32 the chronicles of clovernook. reptiles. what atticus was to cicero, saint anthony's pig was to saint anthony. great was his power over animals; most melodious, most convincing his speech; as was proved by his sermon to the fishes, which touched them all alike, the hard roes and the soft. saint anthony died—but to this day saint anthony lives in naples. once a year, with reverent care, people bring to him their various four-footed chattels; yea, the two-legged birds, to boot, that they may be soused with water blessed at the shrine of saint anthony; the said water being fatal to measles, mange, glanders, pip, and every other malady that walks or flies. do you laugh, sir? i am sorry for it. call it superstition if you will; superstition hath uglier blotches than this. there is, to my mind, a fine spirit of humanity in this custom; nay, a beautiful piece of natural religion. men, who acknowledge its sanctity, thereby acknowledge in the very hog that grunts about them, a something cared for by the divine schemer of things: it is a creature, part and parcel of the wondrous whole; a thing to be used tenderly by men, seeing it is not despised by a saint. the water of saint anthony, thus sprinkled and falling upon brutes, must cool the pride of human-kind, showing, that although it is the highest piece of heaven's work on this earth, it is not the sole piece. and thus, the peasant taught by the love and benevolence of saint anthony towards his horse, is taught a tenderness for the creature which otherwise he had not known. he, pietro, has his saint to guard and bless him, but-to pietro's mind-so have pietro's cows and sheep and so, the saintly care about all, brings all into a narrower circle. 66 : therefore, at naples, great is saint anthony. fine ladies send their lap-dogs to be sprinkled, and they yelp back with blessings about them. parrots are soused, and lo! they scream defiance at the pip; and if limited before in their vocabulary, have full soon in their throats a very dictionary. the chronicles of clovernook. 33 "gano was a neapolitan farmer; a heavy, stupid, yet withal, a most religious man. not an animal that called him master, that was not sprinkled, once a year, with the water of saint anthony: and thereupon, the ewes yeaned twins, the hens never failed of eggs, and multiplication was ever triumphant in his dove-cote! though gano could not drive all his stock to the shrine of saint anthony, he never failed once a year to purchase of the priest a sufficiency of water, wherewith to sprinkle his property at home; and all things throve with him accordingly. "gano had bought a young sow; a spare thing,-but with the blessing of saint anthony and plenty to eat, the sow, it was the belief of gano, would plump and fatten. gano failed not to drive the sow to saint anthony's water, where, at gano's special intercession, it was doubly sluiced. gano drove the sow home; and thoughts of ham and bacon, and savoury sausage, sang sweetly in his brain as he meditated upon the blessings of saint anthony. weeks passed away, and nevertheless the sow did not fatten; no, it somewhat pined and shrunk. there was some devil in the pig! so, at least, thought gano. "a short while after, gano bought a cow. had she been sprinkled by saint anthony? no. it was almost no matter; she was so fine a cow, without aspersion. her black skin was like genoa velvet; and then so sweet, so gracious a look about the head! more than all, every day she gave a flood of milk. leagues about there was talk of gano's cow. "as it sometimes happens with men, so did it happen with gano's cow. just as her fame had spread around, and brought many folks to see her, her merits became less she began to shrink; and for milk, less and less was drawn from her night and morning. it was well for the faith of gano that it was so for looking, as in his infidel moments he had looked, upon the sleek carcase of the cow, the animal unblessed, unsprinkled d 34 the chronicles of clovernook. by saint anthony, and comparing it with the spare condition of the sow that had been washed almost from snout to tail by the efficacious water, gano-the saints forgive him!--began to consider within himself, whether, after all, saint anthony was so indispensable to the health of a farm-yard. weak, wicked gano! "still the cow dwindled, and as it dwindled, still-it was strange, or rather it was by no means strange-still the sow increased. the cause was plain. the blessings of saint anthony were working in the marrow of the swine; the saint was covering its bones with flesh; and in a short time, the wonder and admiration before bestowed upon the cow-were offered to the pig. it was prophesied by some that the cow would die; but it was no matter: the added value of the sow would more than make good the loss; it was so wonderful in its fat -so beautiful, yet mighty in its proportions. still the sow fattened, and still the cow gave no milk. 6 "see you not," said old, pious neighbours to ganosee you not the blessings of good saint anthony? how have they descended upon the swine! whilst for that unblessed, misbegotten cow-cut her throat, burn, consume her; otherwise she will bring a curse upon your cattle, and blight upon your crops. gano felt the rebuke; acknowledged the evil dwelling in the cow, the goodness fattening in the swine. if the cow should die, it would be a just punishment on her presumptuous owner. " "matters went on, and even the fame of saint anthony increased with the fat of the sow. never had the saint's water been so highly prized. at length, the true cause of the sow's fatness was discovered; and thus it was. "very early one morning, gano rose, and going to where the cow was stalled, saw the sow lying on its fat belly beneath the cow, with the teat in its mouth, milking, milking with all its might, and grunting complacently at the larceny! 66 gano, though astounded, and on the instant suspicious the chronicles of clovernook. 35 sow had so behaved he did so and six saw the sow in the of the truth, said nothing to his neighbours. it might have been the first time that the itself. he would wait and watch. mornings, at the same hour, he same place, milking, milking, and grunting the while! almost every ounce of swine's fat was due to the cow. the neighbours had sworn that the sow had prospered by the peculiar blessings of saint anthony. alas! the sow had flourished upon stolen milk. "now, sir," said the hermit, "is there no lesson in this little story? teaches it nothing?" 66 "we think we apprehend its drift," was our answer. sir, in your world-for in clovernook we know no such animals—many are the fat swine, and only fat at the expense of poor, defrauded cattle." "" "it may be, we replied. 66 may be, sir? ha! i know it is," said the hermit ; "and of all sorts of fatness, that is the vilest, the coarsest, which owes its grossness to hypocrisy. you shall see a man rich in pocket and poor in soul. he goes to his church, and owns himself, to his passing condescension by the way, a miserable sinner; he returns homeward, and proves himself to be so, albeit the proof never strikes him, by spurning the sabbath-beggar at his threshold. this man was never known to do a large goodness. neither was any positive, legal wickedness proved against him. no he never grumbles at the church rates, for once a week he is decorously placed in his comfortable pew. he pays his way, and can show stamped receipts as vouchers for the goodwill he bears towards all men. he is a christian; for one of his godfathers now alive can testify to his baptism; nay, he has the register among other precious family documents. hence, if he be wealthy, why, riches have descended upon him as the bounty rewarding his virtues. his own goodness has been turned into a benison. and he has oppressed no one? he has wronged no one? he has not armed himself with an unjust, though an allowed usage to add d 2 336 the chronicles of clovernook. 66 to his hoards-to increase his wealth? alas, sir, alas!" cried the hermit, against how many such men, may the accusing spirit some day thunder forth, stolen milk!' "" 6 we were about to venture some rejoinder when the door was gently opened, and a negro child, as he appeared, about ten years old, glided in, and made up to the hermit, presenting to him a velvet cap, and a staff of the whitest ivory. 66 negro. 66 we at farewell, my little boy, sir," said the hermit; and the child gently nodded to us, as pleased with the words of his master. "this is my hour for a walk: will you use your legs? or, if it please you better, will you stay and read? bezoar will show you my book-room." once preferred to accompany our host. child; and let me hear good words of you,' said the hermit, tenderly laying his hand upon the little woolly head. saying this, the hermit donned his cap, grasped his ivory staff, and courteously showed us from the cell. our curiosity was immediately aroused by the little our host observed this in our looks, and said— yes; a fine little boy, and from a curious place, too. you shall hear something of him as we walk. this way, by your leave: it is a solitary by-road, and winds to the top of yonder hill; whence you may look down upon clovernook, lying lamb-like and quiet at the bottom." saying this, the hermit turned to the left from his orchard, a large sheep-dog bounding after him, and leaping about him, and barking loudest gladness. "gently, colin, gently," said the hermit ; and the dog thrust his nose into his master's hand, and taking a deep snuff, was on the instant quiet, and falling behind, walked gravely as a court follower. 66 "and the little black boy's name is bezoar? said we, urging the promised story. "bezoar, answered the hermit; who, after a pause, continued. "he is older than his looks; and his brain is still the oldest part about him. he comes the chronicles of clovernook. 37 from a curious place, unknown i believe to any traveller, but myself. do you know much of geography, sir? "9 we answered, and, we fear, without a blush, thing." "no"your ignorance will spare me some description. let it suffice to you, that the birthplace of bezoar is an unknown tract-unknown to all but myself-somewhere in japan. at one time ofmy life, i drove a large trade in dutch dolls. i travelled to japan with my merchandise, and making my way to the emperor's court, became an especial favourite by means of my ware. the poor people had never before beheld a doll: and as my dolls were the first sort fashioned to open and shut their eyes, and emit certain sounds from the mouth-the invention has, i have heard, been shamelessly copied in france-they were considered in that strange, uncivilised country, as things of almost greater worth than mere men and women; henceforth, they who would prosper in the sight of the emperor, became as nearly as was allowed to them, like unto dolls. the greater the doll, the finer the courtier. i soon disposed of all my goods, which being limited in supply, carried any price. i really believe, so great was the passion, that some wives would have parted with their husbands for dolls; and am almost convinced that husbands might have been found who would have changed their living, ogling, talking spouses, for mere machines of painted wood that only opened their eyes, and sounded a few sounds, when the wires were pulled for such purpose. i became a great favourite with the emperor ; and protected and authorised by his letter-it was embroidered in letters of gold on violet-coloured satin-roamed everywhere." "but what we want' the hermit stopped dead at the unseemly interruption. with a sweet smile on his face, he shook his head, and leaning on his staff, looked in our eyes. "once upon a 38 the chronicles of clovernook. time, do you know what patience wanted?" asked he of bellyfulle. we confessed our ignorance. "she wanted a nightingale. well, sir, patience waited, and the egg sang. "" we bowed to the soft rebuke, and promised to hold our peace. the hermit continued. 66 as i said, i roamed where i would. in my wanderings, i fell among a strange sort of people; strange in this way. though the people were divided into an equal number of white and black, there was no pride of colour in the fair, no humiliation in the sooty. all were alike. "" "and how was this compassed? we asked, unable to suppress the question. "there ran a legend in the country that it had not always been so, but that the blessing-for so the people called it—had been brought about by one of their demigods as i could understand, a sort of japanese prometheus. the blacks-people will tell you there are no blacks in japan; you have my full authority to contradict them-had been hardly used: stripped, mutilated, sold, made merchandise of, as in other places black flesh has been, and is. the land was cursed with the wickedness: on one side there was stony-hearted arrogance; on the other, agony, debasement. well, the japanese god changed this; and how? one morning-a time answering to our 1st of may-all who had gone to bed as negroes, rose as white men; and the white got up blacks for a whole twelvemonth, sir," said the hermit of bellyfulle, "i was myself a black man." "impossible!" we cried; but a glance from the hermit subdued us into a look of belief. "a black man," repeated the anchorite, gently striking his ivory staff upon the ground; "and, the year past, i became of my first colour. and this, sir, is the case with all the dwellers in that country. each party takes the colour of each for one twelvemonth. year black, one white.' 22 one the chronicles of clovernook. 39 "when the change was first ordered," said we, "it must have astounded the better people.' "" "it was a fine lesson, sir; a fine practical teaching of humility. and after all, what is it at this moment going on in that very remote province of japan, what is it more than you figure to yourselves in the world you come from? the japanese divinity did but anticipate the work of the future. men, i mean christian men, do not imagine to themselves angels of different coloured skins: they do not conceive the notion of black cherubim. grave-dust, that truest fullers'-earth, surely takes out the negro stain. i take it, sir," and the hermit paused in his walk, and closing his hands, let his staff fall in his arms,—“ i take it, sir, we all rise alike?" we said nothing; and for a few minutes the hermit, resuming his pace, was silent. he then observed, and we thought in a somewhat pensive tone, "the pretty boy at the cell-yes, sir, i call him pretty-was a native of the strange land i have spoken of. i have seen that jetty boy white as the whitest english maiden. he was an orphan when i brought him away!" "and at that time in his year of black? tured to ask. we ven"yes, sir," answered the hermit; not observing, or not condescending to observe, a tone of levity that, struggle as we would, broke from us for sooth to say, we thought the hermit-as doubtless the reader will think either pleasantly jesting or pleasantly mad. "yes, sir," said the sage of bellyfulle, "he was then black. he has never changed since.' "" "we can well believe it, was our avowal. "it was my hope-otherwise i had never brought the dear child from his delightful land-the paradise of the world, sir! every single grape there is big as a walnut: it was my hope, had the change from black to white gone on, that the world might have been instructed. as it is, sir, were i simply to publish the truth, 'twould be taken as a traveller's story.' 27 40 the chronicles of clovernook. said we. "just so, "for there are some distant truths that, however beautiful, will not bear a voyage. you may carry ice to the indies, if you carefully stow it; but travellers, sir, sometimes find their best of truths melt by the way.' as we came to a turning of the path, we met one of the villagers of clovernook; as i afterwards found, an old man, who, in the outside world, had been a planter, and the owner of a thousand slaves. he had left nearly all his wealth behind him, and by the greatest luck had escaped to the village; there, in its sweet serenity, to peep into the holes and corners of his soul, and blow the worldly dust out of them, as the housewife blows and dusts her best china. and, indeed, such care had been most necessary. he was, as the hermit afterwards told me, a sharp-faced, wan, edgy kind of man when he set out for clovernook, with a restless anxiety of eye, and quick, whistling kind of speech. when we saw him, there was a look of gentleness in his old face, and his eye shone deeply, yet tranquilly, and he spoke with a sweet cheerful gravity-the natural tone of good old age. "a good day and many," said the hermit to the old man. "you will find your scholar at the cell, master simon." and the old man, smiling, and gently bowing, without a word, passed on. we. "what scholar do you speak of, may we ask?" said 66 bezoar, the black boy," answered the hermit. "master simon teaches him chess." "chess! a planter, and an owner of a thousand negroes, teach a black boy chess!" we cried. 99 'tis a pretty game, said the hermit, not attending to the contrast we had ventured," a pretty game; and serves to remind us, here in clovernook, that there are such things as kings and queens, and blazoned braying state. that there are or have been knights, sworn to do manly service, and alack! too often forthe chronicles of clovernook. 41 getting the vow. that there are yes, still arecastles, strongholds of wrong prison-fastnesses for feeble innocence. that there still exist we know them not in clovernook-worthy, pious bishops, pulpy and rich as pine-apples. kings, queens, knights, bishops, and castles!"" cried the hermit. "how few the syllables! yet in this world what an uproar have they made! how much wickedness and suffering, and violence, and stone-blind bigotry—if we read the history of this dear old mother earth-gracious heavens, cried the hermit lifting his hand, "what daily neroes are we to her! what multiplied, and still multiplying evils may all be written down in five small words! kings, queens, knights, bishops, castles! what a significant short-hand is here, my master," said the hermit, and he shook his head, and stalked freshly onward. we followed him in silence along the path that, with gentle acclivity, wound around the hill. beautiful was the way! myrtles, geraniums, and a thousand odoriferous shrubs blossomed and breathed about us. no dead leaf was seen; no withered twig deformed the place; no slug, no snail, crawled in the path. barefooted venus might have trod the grass, it was so soft, so clean, so delicate. seats, and banks, and mossy green alcoves were formed at various distances, along the way; places of rest and shelter from the sun and shower. "here," said the hermit, pausing" here is the grotto of the cup and cake;" he then turned aside, and entering what seemed to us the mouth of a cavern, bade us follow. we obeyed, and in a few moments stood in a circular grotto, into which the light through various crannies, cunningly fashioned, found its way; falling upon a myriad of shells of rainbow tints, that flashed and glowed about us, burning in the air. we heard the creeping of a spring, and guided by the sound, saw it falling in a thousand silver threads from a corner of the roof. an old man, clothed in white 42 the chronicles of clovernook. linen, received us. we shall never forget the benignity of his aspect. he was above the middle height; his face was pale as moonshine; his eyes of a bright grey, and his hair and beard were white as thistledown. “here is a man," thought we, "whose life has been a long task of holiness." he approached us, with a large shell-goblet in one hand, and a small basket of cakes in the other. 66 drink," said the hermit, handing us the vessel. "is it water?" cried we. "almost: mere noontide tipple," answered the sage of bellyfulle. "i call it the etcetra cordial. harmless as mouse's milk, sir. a nun might see the bottom of the cup, yet see no worse for't. we are now at halfway distance from the summit of the hill. here every 66 then, "" villager halts, and takes the cup and cake. with strengthened hams, plods onward. some cakes? and the hermit presented the basket. they are made by a french duchess; a dweller in the village below. she bought the secret at, i cannot say what price, from a cardinal, her confessor. 66 "" have the cakes any name? we asked. with a slight movement of the left eyelid, the hermit answered-" maids'-lips." we drank and ate, then followed the hermit from the grotto of the cup. "and who may be our host? we asked. "some man of lifelong piety and worth, no doubt? "" "in the outside world," said the hermit; "for 'tis thus we ever speak of the cannibal country you come from, he kept a gin-shop, in close propinquity to the old bailey. in his time he has been thrice fined by the excise for having, accidentally no doubt, certain compounds in his house, to give, as the wickedness of mankind imputed, an unlawful vivacity to his liquors. that man has seen much of the world, and from an eminence not enjoyed by all men.” "what eminence ? "" we asked. the chronicles of clovernook. 43 "the pillory," answered the hermit. "for one hour did he twirl before the faces of a mocking, eggflinging generation; and at length descended from his altitude a changed man. "no doubt," said we. "" "he was set up a false-swearing publican, and came down a philosopher. in one hour did he see the vanity, the folly, the wicked violence of the world. in the midst of men he was apart from them: his moral feelings drew themselves inward like the horns of snails. whilst twirling round like a pig at the spit, with abominable odours at his nostrils, and the hubbub of vulgar malice in his ears, the poor man's soul retreated into itself, and shutting his eyes upon the mob about him— he had good reason for that, sir-he saw with the better vision of penitent hope, an abiding-place like this of clovernook; a sanctuary from his world of adulteration and short measure. released by mr. john ketch -ha, sir! we have a hangman in clovernook "is it possible? we cried in great astonishment. "one who was a hangman. here, his duty is to prune trees, and kill pigs. released, the publican turned his heels upon the world, and-his lucky star guiding him hither he became the host of the cup and cake. his office is to supply the villagers of clovernook with bite and sup, when it pleases them to rest at the grotto. employed in this duty, he never speaks; but at the gratis, sir, he is a talking fellow, and will chirrup a song like a cricket.” "how beautiful!" we exclaimed; for the hermit's talk had carried us to the top of the hill. high bushes had, for some distance, shut out the view of the village beneath, so that making a sudden turn, the scene burst in all its unfolded loveliness upon us. at the summit was a wide, long marble seat canopied with trees of willow and acacia. we sat down, and revelled in our very heart, as we gazed about, below us. "you are now," said the hermit, 66 on the top of 44 the chronicles of clovernook. gossip hill; and there at our feet, sparkling like an emerald in the sun, lies clovernook. now, sir," cried the hermit, and his face fell into shadow, "i have seen nearly all the granite and marble triumphs of the world all the structures set up by the vanity of man to dare time to do its worst. and i have never looked at those mighty conquests of stone-those altars where men may venerate the might and grandeur of human labour-that i have not been saddened by the thought, the idle fancy, that the very blood and marrow of men, victims of lawless rule, cemented the blocks before me. i have looked at the pyramids, and seen ten thousand thousand ghostly faces staring on me yea, the whole mass has seemed to me the petrified bones of a thousand, thousand slaves. antiquity cannot take out the bloodmark philosophy, or what has quicker vision, sympathy, may still behold the stain; the winds of centuries cannot bleach it. i have galloped over the appian way, and my horse's hoofs have spurned what to my eyes was once the flesh of outraged man. "" "kindred thoughts," said we, "might give expression, animation, to every brick of every city." 66 99 certainly," said the hermit, "if men would so consider it. what is saint paul's? a mass of stone, no more, to the tens of thousands that crawl, or lounge, or jerk, or hurry by it. such it seems: but what is it, looking with thoughtful eyes? why, a multitude of building activities. we look again : labour has ceased; the fabric is done; and the harmony of the work steals into our brain like the voice of a sweet singer." "even so," said we. "and thus the quietude of the scene about us takes possession of the soul, and soothes it down to gentleness and peace. 66 "" sir," cried the hermit, "corinth, babylon, palmyra, what city you will, was never so fair a sight as that village at our foot. a handful of its thatch is more than worth the brazen gates of thebes. its very chimney smoke rises to my nostrils, like the sweet odour of a sacrifice. and the chronicles of clovernook. 45 wherefore is it thus ? span of earth, with its few cottages, simple as swallows'nests-what should give to that village worth and majesty not found in cities? why, sir, the human goodness that sanctifies it. there the hearth-gods are gentleness and truth. there, man is not a lie to man; a daily shuffler, an allowed hypocrite, who, ostrich-like, hides his head in a bush of expediency, and thinks the angels see not his plumes of vanity fluttering about him. there, a creed is not a best coat, to be only worn upon certain days, lest it should be worn out: no, sir, it is the every-day working-garment; and odd enough to say— a strange thing not credible in your outside world—the more the said coat is worn, the better and the brighter it becomes; and so," said the hermit with a grave voice and an upward look, "and so to the end, until it is so bright, so beautiful, it seems to catch a lustre from approaching heaven." what should make that little the hermit paused, and for some moments we both sat in silence contemplating the scene around and beneath us. at length we observed, gazing down upon the village, "its beauty seems to grow upon us.' "" "yes," said the hermit; "for the two devils, hypocrisy and selfishness, those everywhere fiends of your world, have never entered there.' "" "indeed they travel," said we. 66 why, with you," cried the hermit, "they are as the universal pan. take me-in fancy, only, mark me-into your world, and tell me a sound that is not mixed with their voices, even though it may be a bishop's whisper; show me a thing they will not spot, even though it be a bishop's lawn. why, they are the twin deities, or devilries of your earth; they shout from the housetops; they creak in carriage-wheels; they ring in the change of the shopkeeper: and with placid faces, i much fear it, they lay their hands above their fungus hearts, and cry 'content' and 'non-content,' and 'ay' and no,' in lords and commons.' "" 46 the chronicles of clovernook. 66 66 "this is bitterness.' 99 indeed, sir," said we, ha! ha!" and the hermit laughed; "that's an old complaint." then turning full upon us, the sage of bellyfulle, with a twinkling of the eye common to him when hit by some quaint thought, asked-“ when the world was very young, do you know where truth lived? doubtless. in a well; that is a story, old almost as the stars. and there she dwelt, and the water of the well was in such high repute, men would use no drop of any other. and so they drank it, they washed their faces with it, cooked and scoured with it. there was no water like that from the well of truth. time plodded on, and the knaves, and the knaves' puppets, fools, vowed that the water became worse and worse, unfit for man or beast. it was brackish, foul, filthy, sulphurous; indeed, what was it not? men refused even to wash their hands with it. no housewife would boil her lentils in it. men, temperate men, qualified their wine with it; and after, swore it was the water that gave them the headache. shepherds watered their flocks at the well, and, as the shepherds declared, the sheep fell into the rot. no man could say a good word for the water of the well of truth; it was so bitter no man could stomach it. whereupon the people took counsel, and determined to expel truth from the well, some old varlets declaring that they knew the time when the well was most sweet and medicinal; but then it was before truth had been permitted to take up her abode in it. it was truth, and truth only that had made the stream so shockingly bitter. and so, with one accord, they hauled truth by the hair of her beautiful and immortal head from the well, and turned her naked upon the earth, to find shelter where she might. of course, in her nude condition, she could not appear in cities. nevertheless, though she herself was abused and driven to rocks and desert places, her well has maintained her name; and so for thousands of years men have drunk at what they called truth's well, only truth the chronicles of clovernook. 47 was out. certain it is, now and then she comes and takes up her old abiding-place; and then do good people, who have unwarily taken a mouthful of the water, spit it out again, and with wry faces, and shuddering anatomies, cry,—'how very bitter!' sometimes, too, truth, to get the poor devil a bad name, will wander like a stray gnat into his ink-bottle! miserable scribbler! branded, tattooed worse than any new zealander with his own goose-quill. virtuous, honest, benevolent people who love their species, that is, the adam and eve of the printing-office, the race of men and women in good bold type, for they care not so much about the living vulgarities; they scream like a lady at a loaded pistol, or rather like a thumb-sucking baby at aloes, at the man of bitter ink; it is so very bitter.' "truly, sir," said we, "'tis not a profitable liquid to him who uses it.' "sir," cried the hermit, "i have much to say upon ink; but for the present, i will give you some brief advice. i know not your condition, nor do i seek to know it you may be in the fulness of wealth and felicity. nevertheless, sir, fortune, to try you, may compel you to be an author. you may, sir, live by self-consumption." 66 'how, sir? we asked. 66 "did you ever see a crowd of monkeys in a cage ? answer; and i will tell you what i mean by self-consumption. you have seen the animals? 66 often," we replied. "" "there is, i believe, a disease among monkeys; a horrid, morbid appetite which pricks the creature to nibble, and bite away his own tail." "we have observed it," was our answer. 66 sir," cried the anchorite, "i've seen monkeys that have had the fit so very strong upon them, that their tails have been bitten short to the buttock-left with scarcely a stump for pity to weep over. what, think you, among the tribe of monkeys were these animals with self-eaten tails?" 48 the chronicles of clovernook. we could not tell. "alas! sir," cried the hermit of bellyfulle," they were authors. and now, sir, let me for a moment speak of ink. i will, for an instant, do you the injury to imagine you an author. now, sir, if you would keep a fair reputation, and not have dirty water thrown upon you, in the name of virtue, by moralists from attics-not be squirted at in the cause of benevolence by sensitive folks, who can scarcely spell the syllables that stand for the virtue, avoid bitter ink as you would shun the smallpox. no, sir; dip your pen in a mild, sweet fluid; and if you will attend to my instructions, in this manner you will make it." the hermit cleared his throat, and seizing our right hand between his palms, and looking intently at us, spoke with an earnestness that played along our heartstrings. he began :66 6 a way to make profitable ink :-seek a she-ass, with a week-old foal, that has been foaled at the fall of the moon, for the moon is much to be considered in this matter. go out at midnight, and milk the ass into a skillet that hath never been tainted with aught but oatmeal porridge. whilst you milk, softly carol, sing a song of sixpence,' little jack hormer,' or any other innocuous ballad. put the milk by, and in the morning stir it with a pigeon's feather. add to the milk the yolk of three phoenix' eggs. boil it over a fire of cinnamon sticks, and then put to it an ounce of virgin honey, made by bees that never had a sting. be particular in this, or the ink will be spoiled. when this is done, put by the mixture until the first of april. it matters not how long it may be till then, for the phoenix' eggs, when you have obtained them, will keep the milk sweet for ever. well, on the first of april, before breaking your fast, take the milk and strain it carefully through the nightcap of your grandmother. if you have not a grandmother of your own, borrow a neighbour's. in three days the ink will be as good as ever it will be for use.' the chronicles of clovernook. 49 "and this," said we, "is the way to make a profitable compound?" "you perceive," said the hermit, "there is nothing bitter in the ingredients. some of your critics might drink of the ink, as though it was their own mother's milk. profitable, did you ask? why there is sweetest sorcery in the ink. you have only to dip your pen into it, and whatever you write will be all that is mild and beautiful. there will be no wrong, no wickedness in this world—at least, by the grace of the ink, there will be none in your picture of it, but it will be a world of unmixed virtues. your ink will never then be led into the unprofitable knack of calling selfishness and villany by their proper names, but you will wink and let them trot by. every man will appear to you-at least your ink will make you swear he does-like momus's man, with a pane of glass in his breast, and behind the glass, a ruddy angel! all the injustice of life-the wickedness that man in his sorry ignorance inflicts upon his neighbour, will be instinctively avoided by you; the while the injustice grows, and the wickedness triumphs, and you, with your sweet and profitable ink, have helped to cast no shame upon the abomination! and you will put all the world in holiday attire; the beggar-girl will be dressed in sarsnet and tiffany, and ploughmen themselves wear smock-frocks of white satin. and so doing, you will win the good word of those who never think for themselves—a large class, sir; and of those-almost as large-who think falsely for other people. you will be amiable, good, kind, far-seeing, deep-seeing, and you will not be bitter!" 66 truly, sir, the ink that will do this," said we, "is a golden gift. 66 "" it has been found so," said the hermit. "and now, sir, let me show you clovernook and its population. place these upon your nose, and look about you. with this, the hermit gave us a pair of spectacles. the glasses were in a frame of heavy brass-work, curiously e 50 the chronicles of clovernook. overwrought with strange, odd marks. looking at them, we asked, "what may these denote ?" 66 "i cannot tell," answered the hermit. "they were the work of a portuguese philosopher. the inquisition found a gallantee-show in his house, and burnt him for a wizard. i bought the spectacles of his widow: she was blind, or, i take it, had never sold them. you will find them curious glasses." marvellous, in truth! putting them on, the whole of the village was brought in wonderful distinctness to us. though gossip hill was of exceeding height, and at least two miles distant from clovernook, yet so strong was the power of the spectacles, that we could distinguish the white throats of the young martens thrust from the nests built beneath the cottage eaves; could see the tints of the houseleek on the cottage roofs, the colours and small threads of lichen on the church tower. "" "wonderful-wonderful! we cried. 66 they are good glasses," said the hermit" very good. i have sat here, and looked through them so often, that i know every flaw and weather-stain on every roof and wall. yet, some eyes they will not suit. can you see the hour by the church clock? "" "" "the hour! we cried. "nay, we can see a fly upon the minute-hand." "what is the fly about?" ingly. "nothing," we answered. asked the hermit, mus"it is motionless." "and the hand moves towards the hour? is the fly still there?" asked the sage. 66 still there," said we. "and still idle! ha, my son," and the hermit sighed, "how many of us are no other than lazy flies upon the hand of time? what other thing do you see?' 66 a pair of daws. one of them has just flown up with stolen goods in its beak." "the wicked one!" said the hermit with a laugh. "robs poor villagers, and yet lives in a church. they the chronicles of clovernook. 51 they 'd are old sinners, sir, those daws; i know them. take tithe of wool from a day-old lamb, and the one chicken from a widow's one hen. yet there they haunt and roost in their grave black, and bring scandal upon our dear old church by the rapacity of their ways. and then the hermit smiled, and was silent. after a 66 "" pause he asked, what think you of our church of clovernook?" 66 very beautiful," said for the doors were open, interior of the building. and truth." 66 we, "in its sweet simplicity;" and we could see the whole "it looks the abode of peace ay, it does, sir. yet there is an old legend that in former times there was fierce strife in that little church. the quarrel is known as the schism of the blue and black. it was thus, sir :-' -the parson died; and when another parson was to be chosen, many of the congregation declared they would give ear to no preacher whose eyes were not blue. no grace could flow from a pastor with black eyes. other of the people were as resolute on the contrary. they held blue eyes to be heretical, unbelieving, and typical of burning sulphur : hence, they would have black eyes in the parson, and none other. 66 and how," we asked, dated?" 66 66 was the dispute accommo"in this wise as neither party would give way, two persons were chosen. when blue eyes preached in the morning, black eyes held forth in the afternoon. thus both congregations were equally satisfied, and, let us hope it, equally blessed." 66 do you believe this foolish tale?" we asked. "there are people who call it fabulous-the gossip of fiction. i cannot say what happened in clovernook, but i will tell you what i once saw in the land of the mogul. there, sir, there were certain bonzes or priests, who, like the twirling dervises you may have heard of, were wont to show their devotion by spinning, like tops, e 2 52 the chronicles of clovernook. in white gowns. suddenly there came other dervises, who spun in black gowns; then others came, who spun in yellow raiment; others in scarlet; others in purple. and every colour had its champions and apostles; and there were many foul words, and a little foul play, exchanged among them. the tumult convulsed the land -every party vowing to fight to the death for the one colour. when i left the country, it was torn to pieces by the separate factions of the separate coloured gowns. after some years i returned, and found the whole land in peace; and how, sir, think you, was amity restored? a great man—a man of genius and benevolence—arose, and he combined all the opposite colours into one stedfast, admiring body of himself; for he, looking upon any colour as of no matter, if the twirling were good-if the spinning were sincere he, the meek and easy man, spun in something very like a harlequin's jacket." "a pagan philosopher, said we. "" "there was some thought, some suggestive wisdom, in this harlequin humour. the light that blesses us, is poured upon us in one white stream from the everlasting fount; and yet it is a light of many colours. alas, my son!" cried the sage, "what a place would this be, if the many-coloured creeds of this world did not, by almighty goodness, make the white light of the world to come! "" "" the hermit paused, and we continued to survey the interior of the church. 66 beautifully simple,' said we ; "no stained glass: no gold-fringed, gold-tasseled pulpit cushion; and no pews. 66 "" 66 no pews. why, no, said the hermit, in your world, i have puzzled myself to think what kind of place your stickling pew-holders must paint to themselves when they imagine heaven? a place with pews? with a better sort of velvet-softer seats-more harmonious hinges to the doors-white, cloud-like hassocks?" 66 56 they can have no such thoughts,” cried we. why not?" asked the hermit briskly. « nay, the chronicles of clovernook. 53 they must. what is, or should be, a church to the mind of the worshipper, but as the porch to eternity; wherein he stands, pondering the terrible mystery within him: a place set apart from the sordid cares and crimes of the world, where, shaking the dust from his soul, he hopes, fears, dreads, prays for an angelic change?—he is at the outer door of the dread future; and shall he there whine like a canting beggarman at the threshold ? tell lies of sores and wretchedness? shall he call himself a worm, yet, in the pride of his maggot heart, enshrine himself in a cabinet, shrinking from the neighbourhood of brother crawlers? think you, said the hermit, "that men will rise in pews? i fear me not." ,, again the hermit paused. "what think you of our churchyard?" he asked. "you see, there are no cypresses; no weeping willows; no undertaker yews; but sweet, odorous shrubs and orange trees, with bud, blossom, and the ripe fruit; types of those who lie below." and no epitaphs ?" said we. 66 "nor naked skulls, nor cross-bones carved in stone; nor cherub cheeks, with marble tears; nor aught of the gimcrackery of woe that libels death, making the deliverer horrible. beneficent death! in the churchyards of your outside world he sits like a blood-smeared indian, counting his scalps. and then, your tombstones! what a multitude of contrary counsel of creeddenying misery is there! i have walk among them; and fancy has given to them features, expression; the embodied voice and feeling of the written thing. why one howls, worms and darkness,' in the desolation of despair; one with wailing, shivering voice, cries—' the cold, cold grave;' another gnashes its teeth at the ' tyrant death.' and are these the looks, the voices, the words of hope the words of the faith the men professed to die in? it would be more than curious," said the hermit, in a solemn tone, "if the spirits of the dead might write their own epitaphs.' "" the deep earnestness of the hermit's manner made us 54 the chronicles of clovernook. gaze at him. it was strange; but he appeared to us almost a double man. his face seemed to lose its fleshly, full-fed, laughing look, when he talked in this wise and was refined and animated; wholly redeemed from its vinous aspect by the seriousness of his discourse. at his cell, he seemed to us the champion and the genius of creature-comforts—the true and doughty hermit of bellyfulle; and now discoursing of death, his wrongs, and the fopperies cast upon him, the hermit appeared as one who had castigated his spirit in the wilderness. 66 is it not strange," asked the hermit, "that men should seek for skulls and bones, and turned-down torches, to make them feel the true solemnity of death? these things are to the imagination what strong liquors are to the blood. they confuse the sense of truth. can there be a more beautiful or more hopeful memento of the dead, than the mere heap of earth that covers them? lovely, pregnant earth! teeming with life! holding in its dusty bed the colour and the sweetness of the future amaranth! and yet in your world, you place a skull and cross-bones over dead men's clay, and write up desolate sentences of worms and darkness; of terror and the fell destroyer; as though the wailing spirit of the dead cried from beneath. verily, sir, said the hermit, "the tombstones of a christian churchyard do at times jangle with the sweet spirit of christianity. i have looked at them with pity; may i be pardoned the emotion! sometimes with slight resentment.' "" "" "the graves beneath us are covered with herbs and flowers. none osier-bound," said we. "look at the wall, there, to the right," said the hermit. we looked, and saw a long row of bee-hives. hived in a churchyard!" we cried, astonished. "bees "every grave," said the hermit, "is planted with thyme and other herbs; with flowers, that the bees most love. the whole village is supplied with honey, the chronicles of clovernook. 55 55 sucked, elaborated from the churchyard. there, my bones will lie. and there the bees will work, and working, sing above them. to my heathen mind a sweeter, a more hopeful music, than dolorous words of worms and darkness, chipped by stone-cutter." "bees hived in a place of graves!" we repeated. "'tis a strange fancy." "call it what you will," said the hermit, 66 we leave it to your outside world to seek for sighs and groans, and tribulation, in your burying places. the villagers of clovernook-great happiness is it that it is so-seek nought but honey from the churchyard." 66 66 who is that the sexton ?" we asked, seeing an old hale man, with mattock and axe, enter at the gate. "our sexton," said the hermit. "in your world, he was a man of pills; a most potent, money-seeking quack. his penance, here, is to dig graves. you, it may be said, he employed journeymen.' "he was known as the sexton's friend. we, 66 with but," said "you have several times spoken of penance. are all the dwellers of clovernook vowed to penance for the follies or the worse guilt of their former lives?" "assuredly," said the hermit. "save the few children born here, nearly all the men and women of clovernook take some self-imposed task, to cleanse themselves of past foulness, past folly. i had forgotten," said the hermit, rising, "i ought first to have shown you the valley of naps." "the valley of naps," we cried; "what place is that?" "it lies on the other side of the hill, between this and the village. by that valley all who come from your world to end their lives in clovernook, are made to enter. here," said the hermit, turning his back upon the village, and following a narrow, winding path—" here you may see something of it. look," said the hermit, and he pointed downwards to a dark speck of wood. "your spectacles will serve you little here. that 56 the chronicles of clovernook. black blot of trees-that is the entrance to the valley of naps. when the traveller arrives there, he puts up at the warming-pan-the only hostelry in the valley. the landlord is said to have been a lord chancellor in his day; and his servants customs and excise officers. the traveller is shown to bed, and after a nap of some six months, he rises, puts on new clothes, and having left his old face at the shrine of the looking-glass, sets forward to clovernock." 6. dear sir,' we cried, "explain all this. what do how can a man leave his face?" you mean? 66 why, sir," asked the eremite, "think you that clovernook would be the paradise it is, if its villagers had brought their wordly visages with them? oh, most beautiful and most foul is the human countenance ! a page, writ with sunny characters a greasy, dirty, dog's-eared leaf ! are there not faces, with every trace of divinity thought out of them? faces, with quick, hungry, subtle eyes; and cheeks and brows, lined and cut as with the sharp edges of sixpences? have you walked the streets of cities and not beheld such faces? if so, believe it, you have dull eyes. well, the people bound for clovernook leave the raiment of the outer world at the warming-pan; and with it their natures as deformed and warped in the world they have quitted. then they call at the shrine of the lookingglass, and take a last peep of their worldly faces. they look into the mirror, and looking, leave all the black lines, the wrinkles of calculation, the pallor and sallowness of sorrow in the glass, and step forward with faces happy, bright, and beaming as from a talk with angels. 22 "and, of course, never again visit the valley of naps?" said we. 66 yes, indeed," said the hermit, "and have solemn sport there. i have told you, that every traveller leaves at the warming-pan his coarse and sordid worldly nature with his old clothes. well, every new year's the chronicles of clovernook. 57 eve, these past natures, these phantasma of the world without, appear in the cast raiment, and are invited by the purified villagers of clovernook, their past owners. there is, i have said, much sport there; and it happens after this fashion. although everybody beside knows the shadow, the ghost of the past, to be the past property of the man upon whom the spectre fixes itself; yet does the amended man himself deny the phantom; endeavouring by all means to put it off upon any other of his fellows. it is strange sport to see how ghosts are bandied about; like unacknowledged paupers in the world you come from." 66 but the villagers of clovernook," said we, "do not forget their former doings?" "on the contrary," replied the hermit, "they have a quick, most curious knowledge of their past lives, save on the solemnity of new year's eve; and then, for the time, do they forget all things. you see our sexton there"-for by this time we had returned to our seat, looking down upon clovernook," there was rare sport with him at shadow fair. "" 66 shadow fair!" we echoed. "is that the name of the festival held in the valley of naps?" "it is; and the sexton went, with others, last new year's eve. he was immediately owned by his ghost, the phantasm, the slough of his moral self left at the warming-pan. the ghost was a long, thin-faced ghost, with a bit of mangy hair on the upper lip. the ghost made up to the sexton, who immediately took to his heels, the ghost following him, and pelting him with the spectres of his own pills, as people pelt one another with sugar-plums at a carnival. there was great sport, i can tell you. the pills-the ghost seemed to have myriads of them in his coat-pockets,-fell in showers about the sexton, the ghost straining its thin voice, and calling out that the sexton could not take too many of them. where the pills fell, poisonous fungus, small toadstools, with bolus heads, came up, killing everything around." 58 the chronicles of clovernook. "and will the poor sexton suffer the same pelting next new year's eve ?" we asked. 66 66 assuredly," said the hermit. 'may he not have better wisdom than to visit shadow fair?" said we. "he cannot choose," replied the hermit. "it is the inevitable fate of every villager of clovernook, to go every new year's eve to the valley of naps." "what! is death in the village?" we asked, seeing the sexton doff his coat, and begin delving. "yes. a villager died three days ago. he was ninety-three, and this day week-yes, this day week -he played at cricket." "" "and who is that old man, we asked, "with long white hair, at the bottom of the hill, peeping and prying into the hedge?" 66 he, sir, was a sharp attorney; a very keen tool, indeed, in your world," said the hermit; "but here he spends his days in picking cotton blight and canker from the trees, and freeing flies from cobwebs." "and here comes a gay, thin-faced old man, with a wooden leg." 6 "he was a great general-a very mighty general; he has killed his thousands, and knocked down cities by the dozen. and now, what think you, does he in clovernook ? why, every evening he waits in the skittle-ground of the gratis' to set up the ninepins. the rest of his time he employs in snaring jays, daws, and magpies; and when he has taught them peace, peace, peace!' he lets them fly, as he says, to teach their ignorant brethren." to cry "and now the general meets a tall, lusty man.” "i know him. he was a prime minister for years. here he turns humming-tops and other nick-nacks for children." 66 and who is this, now?" "" "patience, said the hermit, with a smile, as he rose from his seat, " you will know all the villagers the chronicles of clovernook. 59 in good time-shall meet them all, and hear their stories, too, at our only inn, the gratis.' 999 with growing reverence for the sage, we attended the hermit of bellyfulle back to his cell. "in half an hour," said he, graciously smiling, "it will be dinner. time. half an hour," he repeated with musical emphasis, as he passed into his chamber. having profitably employed the time with cold water, we then, refreshed yet hungry, sought our host. the hermit awaited us. he had put aside his cloak of the morning, and was again wrapped in his old damask gown. he perceived that we observed the change. "my custom, sir," he said; 66 the i never yet could dine in full dress. the digestive organs, sir, abominate close buttoning; and do their work sulkily, grumblingly. no, sir; a man in full dress may chew and swallow, but he never dines. stomach cannot honestly perform its functions in state." we smiled: whereupon the hermit with a grave, sly look, asked "will you answer me this question ?" we bowed. "do you think it in the power of mortal man to give a fair, wise, learned judgment upon any dish or sauce soever, the said man being, at the time of tasting, in tight boots? sir, it is impossible. the judicial organ is too delicate, too exquisitely nerved, to vindicate its sweet prerogative, unless the whole man, morally and bodily, be in a state of deep repose. and, therefore, can there be a greater wrong committed upon the cook, than the common injury of dining to music? it is abominable. once i well remember it -i chewed to the clangor, and crash, and thunder of a military band. well, sir, the dinner was excellentadmirable as a dinner; but i have no more judgment than a beast, if i had any other taste in my mouth save the brass of the trumpets, and the tough parchment of the drum-heads. silence, profound and solemn, is due to the first hour of dining. one minute before that time the finest jest is but a presumptuous impertinence. in my encyclopædia of the kitchen i have treated 60 the chronicles of clovernook. of these things-philosophically and at large. present" for the here the hermit upraised his forefinger, and at the same time the door was opened, and a man, drest in snowy white, followed by bezoar, brought in the first dish. placing it upon the table, the man disappeared, bezoar taking his place behind the hermit's chair. and then the hermit rose, and baring his head, said grace. "thanks be rendered for this: and may no man dine worse!" with this short ceremony the hermit entered upon his serious task. he dined as though he was fulfilling a devout exercise of his life. not a word escaped him, as dish after dish was levied upon, then taken away. we confess our ignorance of the many delicious things set before the hermit, they had been so disguised, so elevated by the art of the cook. as, in silence, we watched the doings of the sage-for soon we sat with idle knife and fork, whilst still our host cut away we marvelled that a man so capable of solemn thoughts a man who could discourse, as he had done, upon a churchyard—and the pride, the guilt, the empty foolishness of life-should be so curious, so eager in his food. with his strange quickness of mind, he jumped at our thoughts, and said "i doubt not i can guess your meditation. i, myself, with the wings of my soul, have tried to escape from this mound of flesh," and he glanced at his stomach; "but the soul is, at best, as a trained hawk; let it fly as high as it will, there is its master for the time, with his feet upon the earth; and straightway it drops from the clouds at his call." saying this, the hermit pushed away his final plate. he had dined for he had spoken. "this wine is miraculous," said we, filling a glass of tokay. "yes i shall remain some time in hungary," answered the hermit, sipping the liquor with educated lips. 66 this, said the sage, holding the wine between him and the light," this is the true blood of our dear mother 29 the chronicles of clovernook. 61 we earth. i have often wondered at the sneaking ingratitude of astronomical men. in the name of grapes, why should not bacchus have a star to himself? have only to reflect upon the characters of the pagan deities siderally honoured, to feel the indignity done to bacchus. there is saturn, a tyrant and a child-eater, -he must be set in a ring, and nominally hung in the sky. mars, a bully, and nine times out of ten no whit better than a highwayman or burglar, he, too, must twinkle insultingly upon men, made fools and rogues, tyrants and victims, by his abominable influence; yes, he, the recruiting sergeant of the heavens-must stare with his red face upon us ;-and mercury, thief and orator to boot, may wink through the long night, all having their admirers and worshippers; whilst for bacchus, he, with all his great bounty, is starless and unhonoured. 'twould be a pleasant, yea a proper thing," said the hermit with a laugh, "to find a firenew planet for him.” 66 indeed," we answered, "in these days, it is not likely that bacchus will meet with so bountiful an astronomer. in the outside world to use your own words of clovernook-his godship is in sad disgrace.. his bottles are broken; his pottle-pots shivered; his name anathematized. boys and girls, scarcely forgetful of the taste of mother's milk, renounce him and his ways; and more, by the potent eloquence of childhood, compel father and mother to forswear the worship of the frantic god. drunkenness itself has lost its blotched and scarlet face, and, like the hart, pants only for pure water." "can it be?" asked the hermit. "i never knew a drunkard so reformed, unless, indeed, he had been to the land of turveytop." 66 the land of turveytop!" we cried : "where may that be? what people inhabit it, and what wonders may be done there ?" "as for its latitude," said the hermit, why, i will not puzzle your geography with it. the people are of 62 22 the chronicles of clovernook. gigantic stature, at least forty feet high; yet mild and benevolent-the nurses and pastors of the ordinary race of mortals." "and is the land far distant?" we asked. "some hundred leagues, no more, from clovernook. i was brought up there: understand me-brought up, after the fashion of the turveytopians. the truth is, when i had arrived at man's estate, i found myself in possession of a bit of nearly every vice that blackens the sons of adam. i will not run over the list, but to save your time and my breath will merely desire you to think me at that time knowing in all the rascally accomplishments generally shared among a crowd of sinners. and yet, though wild and lawless, and hotly pursuing all sorts of mad delights, i never felt a touch of happiness. my pleasure was at best delirium that left me spent and heavy-hearted. it was in one of those moods, when the whole world about me was, to my moral vision, coloured like so much brown paper, that walking at the base of a high mountain, it suddenly opened before me. sir," said the hermit, with a grave look that rebuked our gaze of incredulity, "i say the mountain opened. a narrow passage, adown which the sun shone with intense brightness, and whence i heard delicious sounds, as of distant music, was before me. without a thought i entered it; when having run a few paces, i turned round, and-the marrow froze in my bones-i saw the mountain had closed again behind me. i was trapped; swallowed; a miserable lump of breathing mortality, in the bowels of the earth. great was the anguish of my heart; yet, strangely enough, light, like sunlight, streamed down the long passage before me, and the sounds of the music became louder and louder. by degrees they carried peace and fortitude into my soul, and i began to walk rapidly forward. as i walked, the passage became wider, and at length ended in an open country; where, save that the grass, the flowers, the trees, and all things about me, were of gigantic proportions, all in the chronicles of clovernook. 63 form were the same as the things of the world i had left. i walked until i saw, what at first appeared to me, huge rocks. continuing to approach them, i discovered them to he houses. my heart dropped within me, for i feared that i was in a land of giants. as the thought fell upon me, i turned round and almost swooned to the earth with fear. a giantess of nine-and-thirty feet three inches high-as i afterwards discovered— stood before me. instantly i believed i was destined to be eaten alive. though constitutionally gallant towards the sex, i was yet so wayward, that i would rather have fallen into the jaws of a tigress or any other female beast, than have formed the meal of the giantess before me. she saw my terror, and a smile broke upon her broad, good-humoured face, like a sunbeam on a rose-garden. a few strides brought her to me. i' fell upon my knees, and lifted up my hands imploringly to her. never did man drop at the foot of woman in more earnestness of soul. never could he pray more fervently to be taken in marriage, than did i supplicate not to be chewed alive. the giantess, with a laugh that almost stunned me, bent over me; chucked me under the chin; playfully nipped the end of my nose; indented the tip of her fore-finger in both my cheeks, and shrilly crying klukklukkluk,-which answers to our homely catchy, catchy-took me in her arms like a raw, red-faced, hour-old baby." 66 a strange place this turveytop, and a strange people," cried we. "and amongst these folks you say you were brought up? brought up! why, you were of man's estate when the mountain opened and received you.' 99 "true; but it is the benevolence of the turveytopians to take in men and women to nurse: to bring them up anew; and to this philanthropic end, every new comer is treated as a new-born babe. bless you! i have seen a philosopher, who had made a great noise among his brother pigmies on the outside of the mountain, i 64 the chronicles of clovernook. nurse. the have seen him sent back to nurse's milk and pap. one great principle of the turveytopians is this, to take no knowledge for granted on the part of those they may this tokay, sir,"-cried the hermit, about to quaff"may it turn to train oil in my gullet, if i have not seen a chancellor made, whether or no, to suck his thumb, because the little varlet would affect precocity and quarrel with his nurse, as if to suck his thumb was an act below his consequence. i have seen, too, a lord chamberlain taught again to walk: yes, seen him toddling after a sugar-stick held temptingly, encouragingly, 'twixt his nurse's fingers." "" and for what purpose," we asked, "this teaching over again? was it not a waste of time and pains? 66 'assuredly not," answered the hermit gravely: and then fixing his eye upon us, he asked, “have you not known folks in the outside world, who—standing it may be within a few years of their grave-seemed, nevertheless, as if they had learned all their worldly knowledge the wrong way? as if, to be aught good, wise, and morally dignified, they should learn the lesson of life again; yea, beginning in the nursery, should sprawl and roar in the nurse's lap? you cannot think this? it matters not the honest turveytopians have this belief, and therefore take weak and wicked men and women, of every age, as younglings from the womb; they are called the babes of the mountainchildren of earth; and for the many vices and faults which they bring with them into turveytop, why, they are considered as spots and flaws inseparable from their former condition. 66 oh! the men i have seen there,' cried the hermit, with a laugh-"the kings, lords, bishops, lawmakers i have seen, all put into second swaddling-clothes, and brought up again as gentle, wise, charitable, sagacious folk, doing good credit to the beautiful earth, which, in their former days, they so grievously scandalized." "" "but surely," said we, "it was to take the training a the chronicles of clovernook. 65 little too far back. we cannot, we repeat, but think it loss of time and trouble." 66 66 certainly not," cried the hermit. consider, sir, how delightful it must be, by a strong effort of the soul, to lose and forget all that we have mislearned of life, and so begin the lesson again-with clear heads and ruddy hearts. to compass this with the reprobates of the world is the purpose of the turveytopians-wise, gracious, wonderful giants that they are mighty only in their goodness, superhuman in their sweet charities." pray," we cried, "tell us your history whilst in turveytop." 66 66 you shall hear it, sir," said the hermit," and the brief histories of many others.' we drew close to the table, and waited the story with impatience. "though trembling violently in the arms of the giantess, i became gradually self-assured by the sweet. good-humour of my nurse. she gazed and nodded smilingly at me, like a girl with a new doll; and although i felt distressed and humiliated, i nevertheless smiledthough i fear a wan, sickly smile—in acknowledgment of her tenderness. then she threw me up in the air, and caught me again in her arms. never before had i been so far from earth. my head swam, and my stomach-i had that day dined off eel-pie and goosethreatened treachery, when i heard a loud voice exclaim in the very purest english, for the turveytopians know all the languages of the earth,slut! baggage! is that the way to toss and jolt a new-born babe ?' holding me in her arms, my nurse turned round, and i beheld in the speaker a matronly giantess, with a kind, motherly countenance. 'a pretty skittish thing you are to trust babies to,' she cried. poor poppet,'-and the benevolent gentlewoman wiped my nose,it doesn't look half an hour old; and yet here you are, throwing it up and churning its little bowels like butter.' grandmother!' cried the girl, it doesn't mind it. f 6 6 " la, see, 66 the chronicles of clovernook. 6 if it doesn't laugh!' i certainly did grin. laugh!' said the old dame; you know-nothing hoyden! laugh! poor little heart, it's wind.' at this, i couldn't help it, i chuckled vigorously. there! if the dear lamb isn't choking,' cried the woman; away with it to the nursery, or you'll have its precious life upon your soul.' instantly the girl hugged me to her bosom, cast her apron over me, and ran-i thought she flew-with all her legs. i saw nothing until the girl carried me into a spacious, lofty room, which in a moment i knew must be the nursery. there were about twenty other infants, from a day to a week old; infants i must call them, though all of them were older than myself. some were screaming, shouting, swearing in the most shocking manner that they were not babies, that they were men -wise, learned, authoritative men-and would shake the pillars of the heavens ere they would be treated as sucklings. 66 66 "" and what said the nurses? " we asked. 6 oh, sir! what nurses usually say at such a time. they bawled and shouted too. then they called the babies precious ducks,' 'darlings,' apples of their eyes,' 'plagues,' and then 'precious ducks' again. there was an old dowager from the outside world—how she had ever wandered into turveytop i know not— who, screaming like a catcall, begged to ask the wretches if they knew what they were about. declared that she had a son lord chief justice, and then desired to know if she was to be treated like a child." "" "and what was the answer? we inquired. 66 none, sir," said the hermit-" none, save that the woman who was swathing and dressing her, shrilly sang a nursery song, and tossed her about like so much pie-crust. from this, i found that no big words, no struggling of mine, would prevail, and therefore meekly resigned myself. and, sir, i had my reward; for having been properly powdered and swaddled, my nurse declared that i was the quietest dove of a babe she had ever handled; quite a lamb." the chronicles of clovernook. 67 66 and, pray forgive the question, did they really give you to a wet nurse?" 66 in a they did, sir," answered the hermit smiling, "and a very comfortable woman she was. it was wonderful how soon i accommodated myself to a milk diet. short time i seemed to have sucked in a serenity of recovered somewhat from the amazement of the soul, day, i took counsel with myself in bed." 66 66 delicious, peace-giving bed!" we cried. the hermit looked grave. happy is the man," he answered, “who can say peace-giving bed. for oh, sir! what a rack to the spirit of man may be found in goosedown! you do not seem to apprehend me? consider, sir, what an unavoidable self-confessional is bed. think, sir, what it is to have our conscience put to the question of goose-feathers. you are in bed, peace-giving bed, you say-it is deep night; and in that solemn pause, you seem to feel the pulse to hear the very heart of time. you try to think of many things, but the spirit or demon of the bed sets up yourself before yourself-brings all your doings to the bar of your own conscience; and what a set of scurvy gaol-birds may be among them! they peep in at your curtains, crowd at the foot of your bed, and though you burn no rushlight, you see their leering, sneaking faces. alas! you cannot disown them: you know that some time or other you have given them house-room in your soul, and, like unclean things, they have repaid the hospitality with defilement. there they are, old co-mates, sworn acquaintances; and yet the world could not believe that, for a moment, you kept such company. oh, no! abroad in the world you have all sorts of graces accounted to you. alack! that nightcap and sheets should, to your own conscience, make you bankrupt. they make you know yourself hypocrite; stand before you, even though you lie in darkness, your polished, easy, cordial, out-door self-a man without a subterfuge, a soul without a meanness. and your head upon your pillow-if conscious blood beat f 2 68 the chronicles of clovernook. at your heart-you blush for the counterfeit you have a thousand times put off upon the world, and shudder at the accusing naughtinesses about you. peace-giving bed! it may be so; and it may be-oh, sir!" cried the sage of bellyfulle, "if all our faults, our little tricks, our petty cozenings, our bopeep moods with truth and justice, could be sent upon us in the blankets, all embodied, sir, in fleas, how many of us of lily skins would get up spotted scarlet?" "but surely, sir," said we, "you had no time for such remorseful thoughts in the nursery?" "no-not then," answered the hermit. "then, as the i said, i took counsel with myself; and resolved, since the strangeness of my fate had cast me in turveytop, to bear with meekness all that might befall me. giant folk are wise, benevolent, i thought; else, wherefore should they seek to purge men of their wicked worldliness, taking them back to their first swaddlinghour, that they may learn the lesson of life anew? yes; i will forget the scurvy wisdom that puffed my heart, and made me cock my cap, a knowing fellow. i will let the cunning, self-complacent, braggart creature die here where i am, and be taken up a baby-yea, a very suckling. "" 29 "this, sir, we said, "would be a rare secret to teach men. 66 "" "it was taught in turveytop-truly taught; but i know not how it was, there was something in the place, the people, that after a time made the most stubborn of the babes apt and cunning pupils. for myself, i resolved upon docility; and lying where my nurse had placed me, i bade all my rascal thoughts depart; by a strong effort of the soul kicked from my brain many a shrewd deceit, that, in former days, i had treasured more than gold and jewels.” "and so became a babe again?" "what a delicious pause was that! cleanliness of soul! there i lay how sweet that in thoughts of the chronicles of clovernook. 69 lavender; for the babihood of turveytop is not like our first childhood. there, man is not a midway thing, between two mysteries, the cradle and the coffin. no, sir; having purged my brain of its secreted wickedness, i was conscious of my sweet condition. i felt and rejoiced in my infancy of heart, and i have not forgotten its deliciousness. i was resolved to begin my life anew; and as a droll destiny had given me a nursling to the giants, i so played my part of babihood, that my nurse outsounded all her gossips with my praises. thus, i never cried or whimpered, but suffered myself to be dressed and undressed, crowing the while, and walking up my nurse's knees-and cooing and laughing in her lap. in this, as i have said, i found my account: in a fortnight i was short-coated, and in another fortnight was put upon my feet, for my nurse declared that in a week i should be able to walk alone. many of my companions were less docile. there was one-he had been an admiral-who roared and swore in a terrible vein, and vowed he would only be quieted with pig-tail tobacco. another, a weazened babe -a money-lender in former life-was never silent but when he was allowed to wear his nurse's silver thimble on his head, he did so love the metal. most of the children, however, lost by degrees the errors and weaknesses of their former days, and in time became spannew creatures." "and pray, sir," we asked, "what term of probation did they pass, ere they were permitted to claim man's estate?" 66 that depended upon the progress of the individual; for, with the turveytopians the year of discretion was not fixed by the almanac, but by the wisdom and purity of the neophyte. there were, certainly, a few babies-1 must still call them so-who had been in turveytop for centuries. you are aware, sir, that it was the fashion with those sorry dogs the romans, when any of their heroes were missing, to swear that they had been carried 70 the chronicles of clovernook. off by mars, charioted by a clap of thunder. a flam, sir-a political flam-to double-gild the memory of ruffians. the truth is, they were taken to turveytop, and there they still remain; they are such hopeless blockheads, they can learn nothing good and peaceable. there, they are vermin-hunters to the giants, waging war with the rats and mice; no child's sport, sir, when you consider the strength and immensity of the beasts. poor king arthur, whom the welshmen look for—and king sebastian, still expected by all believing portugueseboth of them are in turveytop, and there, i think, are likely to remain. arthur, the mirror of knighthood, is a sulky, watery-headed lout, continually robbing the other children of their nuts and apples-throwing sticks at the legs of flies, and slily sticking pins into the youngest babies. the welshmen believe in arthur's return, faithfully as in leeks; but, sir, the turveytopians know that he would only spoil his reputation, so keep him where he is. and for the good king sebastian, who, nearly three hundred years ago, passed into africa, to cut moorish throats, he was spirited off to turveytop, to be taught decent dealing." 66 "" and how has the teaching prospered?" we inquired. "very badly, sir," answered the hermit. "i don't know how it is, but the heroes and wise folks of our world become sad lubbers and dunces among the giants. i have seen king sebastian seated with twenty other kings and legislators, all of them famous upon our earth for their justice and wisdom; i have seen each of them, with a piece of chalk between his fingers, vainly trying to draw a straight line. for centuries have they in turveytop been set to do such simple task, before they should be permitted to return to their old world again; yet has no one of them accomplished it. no, sir; there is not one of them who does not draw zig-zag. and the best of it is, each of them swears that his own crookedness is the straightest of the straight. the turveytop the chronicles of clovernook. 71 geometrician shakes his head with a mild pity, whereupon the late kings and lawmakers sulk, and, in a low voice, swear at him. fate alone can tell when poor sebastian will get to portugal again. a sad thing for him, sir,” said the hermit" for i doubt not that there his worst zig-zag might pass for a perfect straight line. the dunces i have heard at school, too!"—and the hermit sighed. 66 66 then they sent you all to school?" we observed. assuredly," said the hermit, "and to me sweet and pleasant was the academy. not that we were packed off, to be nailed to a form, as soon as we could lisp ;—the turveytopians are wiser, more benevolent. no-we sprawled and kicked about in the sun, and rode cockhorse upon the backs of snails, and took flying leaps upon grasshoppers, and tore our frocks, and rolled in puddles, and dirtied our faces, and ran thorns into our fingers-and, in short, did every other trick that endears a child to its parents. yes, our constitution was suffered to strengthen like palm-trees in the sun and air, and the alphabet was an unthought-of calamity, until we were at least seven years old. the girls were taken in hand at five; for women, sir, are somehow always in advance of us. "" 66 is that your faith?" "is it not indisputable? though eve was younger than adam, was she not more than a match for him? as for girls," said the hermit with a gentle chuckle, 'i know not if it be not a great defect in their education that they should be taught to read and write at all.' 66 "it cannot be, sir," we cried. "what! rear the tender, blooming souls in ignorance?" "why not?" said the hermit, stroking his chin, whilst his eye twinkled. "why not, sir? ignorance is the mother of admiration. perhaps they'd love us all the better for it. ha, my friend! you know not what mischief may be done when you teach a girl to spell, and put a pen in her hand. it's adding weapons of 72 the chronicles of clovernook. offence where there was more than enough before. 'tis like giving another quill to a porcupine. relentless souls, how many of them will write! man,-let him be praised, though praised in a whisper for it!-has his fits of lordly idleness, his accidental headache in the morning, and he turns from his standish as from a nauseous draught, and his grey goose feather rises upon his stomach as though it was the bird's yesterday's flesh; and so, taking his hat, he lounges abroad, hugging his laziness and dearly loving it: or he sits in his chair, the world unthought of, humming upon its axis, and he, in sweetest independence, twiddling his thumbs. not so with woman, sir; she has no idleness, not she; that blot darkens not the crystal purity of her resolution. she, like frail bibulous man, has never one of his no, sir, the world gets no such respite. fatally industrious, and sweetly temperate, your writing woman, like a cuttle-fish, secretes ink for every day." "twill go ill with you," said we to the sage, should woman write your epitaph." headaches! 66 66 66 "nay, her gratitude will protect me," answered the hermit, seeing that i shall then let her have what is dearest to the sex. 66 66 22 and what is that?" we asked. "the last word,"-and the hermit blandly smiled. nevertheless, sir, let what i have said rest between us. for the sex-blessings on their honied hearts! will forgive wrong, outrage, perjury sworn ten times deep anything against their quiet, but a jest. break a woman's heart, and she'll fit the pieces together, and, with a smile, assure the penitent that no mischief is done-indeed, and indeed, she was never better. break a joke, light as water-bubble, upon her constancy, her magnanimity-nay, upon her cookery-and take good heed; she declares war-war to the scissors. there was my great aunt dorcas. poor soul! her husband had tried the woman a hundred cruel ways, and found her, as her own mother declared, quite an angel. her the chronicles of clovernook. 73 133 heart had been broken many, many years; and yet so well do women repair the ravages of time and accident, nobody would ever have thought it. well, sir, this woman, who had endured wrong, neglect-nay, some did whisper, the slight of infidelity, to boot-this woman, who, placidly as a saint in china, had smiled upon a husband's villainies, at length parted from the man upon a custard! yes, sir: her tyrant of a mate-as he thought, poor wretch! pleasantly enough-flung a heavy joke, before company, too, upon his wife's pastry. the man had never been known to attempt a jest till then. whereupon, aunt dorcas said she had endured enough; there was a limit even to a wife's forbearance. she rose from the table, and died upon a separate maintenance." "pray, sir," we inquired, "has your philosophy fathomed the cause of all this?" "'tis in the deeper gravity of the sex," said the hermit. "nay, sir, i mean it. they are shallow thinkers, sir, who declare women to be light and frivolous. depend upon it, they take life much more in earnest than we do. hence, sir, woman is rarely a joke-making animal. far better than we does she know the perishable materials of which life is made, and takes serious care of them accordingly. and then, sir, the delicacy of the sex makes them shrink from a jest. like pistol or small sword, it is a masculine weapon, and not to be intruded upon their gentle presence. no, sir; a woman may be brought to forgive bigamy, but not a joke." 66 66 'it may be so,' said we; but, sir, all this time we have wandered from turveytop. you were sent to school there, you say ?" 66 'i was—and there, indeed, the time went gaily by. benevolent and gentle was the schoolmaster, and worthy of the honours lavished by the state upon him. ay, sir, you may look; but in turveytop the schoolmaster is not a half-drudge, half-executioner. no, sir; the im74 the chronicles of clovernook. portance, the solemnity, of his mission is conceded. children are not sent to him with no more ceremony than if they were terrier-pups, packed to the farrier to have their tails docked and their ears rounded. in turveytop, the schoolmaster is considered the maker of the future people—the moral artificer of society. hence, the state pays him peculiar consideration. it is allowed that his daily labours are in the immortal chambers of the mind-the mind of childhood, new from the maker's hand, and undefiled by the earth. hence, there is a solemnity, almost a sacredness, in the schoolmaster's function; upon him and his high and tender doings does the state of turveytop depend, that its prisons shall be few. it is for him to wage a daily war with the gaoler. his work is truly glorious, for it is with childhood-beautiful childhood! cried the hermit passionately-" holy childhood, with still the bloom of its first home upon it! for, indeed, there is a sanctity about it—it is a bright new-comer from the world unknown, a creature with unfolded soul! and yet, sir, are there not states where, whilst yet the creature draws its pauper milk-of the same sort, by the way, that nurtured abel-we give it to those fiends of earth, violence and wrong, and then scourge, imprison, hang the pupil for the teaching of its masters? hood, with its innocence killed in the very seed? childhood, a fetid imp in rags, with fox-like, thievish eyes and lying breath, the foul weed of a city? such, indeed, it is to the niceness of our senses, shrinking at the filth and whining of that world-wrinkled babe. but look at it aright, sir,"—cried the hermit with new animation. "translate its mutterings into their true meaning. what do you see?-what hear? the lineaments and cryings of an accusing demon; a giant thing of woe and mischiefs scowling and shrieking at the world that hath destroyed its holiness of life; that, seizing it, yea from the hand of its maker, hath defaced the divinity of its impress, and made it devil-a devil to childthe chronicles of clovernook. 75 do a devil's mischief; then to be doomed and punished by a self-complacent world, that lays the demon in a felon's grave, and after, sighs and wrings the hands at human wickedness.' "" "in the strange land you speak of," we observed, wishing to divert the passion of the hermit, for, indeed, he seemed strangely possessed," you said that childhood had its sacred claims allowed. there, all were taught―all tended. the schoolmaster, too, had high privileges ?" "the highest," cried the sage, his light good-humour returning." indeed, in turveytop the schoolmasters. may be said to take the place of our commanding soldiers. we give rank, distinction, high praises to generals and such folk for the cunning slaughter of their thousands. we take the foul smell out of bloodshed, and call men-quellers heroes. we give them gold lace, and stick feathers upon them, and hang them about with orders of saint fire, saint pillage, and saint slaughter. we strip the skin from the innocent sheep to make rub-a-dub to their greatness, and blow their glory to the world from blatant brass. now, the turveytopians have no soldiers; but they give the same amount of honour to their schoolmasters. they have a belief that it is quite as noble to build up a mind as to hack a body; that to teach meekness, content, is as high a feat as to cut a man through the shoulder bone; that, in a word, it is as wise and useful, and surely as seemly in the eye of watchful heaven, to fill the human brain with thoughts of goodness, as to scatter it from a skull, cleft by the sword in twain. hence, the schoolmaster in turveytop is a great social authority, honoured by the state. the savage counts his glories by scalps; the refined man of war by his gazettes. the general kills five thousand men defeats some twenty thousand. he may have picked a quarrel with them, that he might pick his sprig of laurel, and rejoice in lawful plunder. he has done his work upon humanity; he has -76 the chronicles of clovernook. acted his part in the world—a world of human sympathies -and he becomes earl, or steps up duke. it is his rightful wage, paid by a grateful hand. the schoolmaster of turveytop numbers his scholars; shows the heroes he has made; the victors over self among his army; the troops of wise and peaceful citizens he has marshalled for the field of life, and is honoured and rewarded accordingly." "and you were sent to one of these great pedagogues -these laurelled teachers ?" "he was "excellent old man!" cried the hermit. sorely tried by some of us. the perverseness, the stupidity of some of my school-fellows passes belief; yet the master's sweetness of spirit was unconquerable. some of his pupils he never could teach to spell the commonest syllables. there was one boy-in our world he would have passed for about sixty-five-who never could master the word good. for years, as i understood, he had been haggling at it. now, my poor little boy,' i have heard the schoolmaster cry a hundred and a hundred times, a melancholy smile upon his reverend face, now, my child, spell me good.' whereupon the pupil-a thin-faced, greenish-eyed fellow, and, as i learned, a former dealer in foreign stocks-would answer 'g-o-l-d.' and thus it had been with him for years; and thus, if alive, it may be with him now. wretched 6 " little dunce! he could not comprehend any other way of spelling good than g-o-l-d. he, however, was not alone in his dulness. no; there were twenty other scholars from the outside world who still stumbled at the syllable. will it be believed? there was one boy, about fifty-two, with a drum-like belly and a somewhat purplish nose. it was whispered that, ere he was brought to turveytop, he had been a vicar, more than apostolically sharp for his tithes. well, sir, you would have expected higher intelligence from such a scholar; yet somehow he never could master the monosyllable. 'good' would be the word of the teacher, and still the the chronicles of clovernook. 77 fat-bellied boy would spell 'p-i-g.' how our dear schoolmaster would look perplexed! how plainly i could see him striving to account for the confusion in the pupil's mind, that still from year to year had gone on spelling 'good' with the letters 'p-i-g.' the simple monosyllable was a trying task for many of the scholars. indeed, how few of them from the defect of their previous worldly education-could spell the word the proper way! the old admiral i have already spoken of, always insisted upon spelling it—'g-r-o-g.' from my heart, i pitied the schoolmaster; for whilst other teachers were seeing the young turveytopians advance in all their daily lessons, and so, doing their master honour in the land, our poor pedagogue was doomed to sit almost hopelessly amid a crowd of dunces, whose dull or debauched faculties rendered them incapable of the easiest tasks. and yet no word of passion or reproach ever escaped the teacher. 'poor little boy,' he would say, with a sigh, having hammered for an hour and more at the word 'good,' while some foxhunting urchin, with his hands in his pockets, and a brassy confidence in his face, would spell 'dog;'-' poor little boy,' the giant schoolmaster would exclaim, it is not your fault, poor heart! no, it is the dark, dreadful world you have come from!' it is a sad thing to think of,” said the hermit, yet are there many, many pupils, growing hoary, and still mis-spelling 'good,' hay, dying, and still unable to master that easy monosyllable. for i know not how many hundred years king arthur there, in the preparatory school of turveytop, has been sulking with his thumb in his mouth, still spelling b-l-o-o-d' for 'good.' the last time i saw him he had on a dunce's paper cap, made out of a poem written in this world to his especial honour.' 66 "" "and king arthur, and king sebastian, too,-you have talked with them in turveytop?" we cried. ..most certainly," said the hermit. 66 and numa pompilius ?"78 the chronicles of clovernook. "and joanna southcote," said the sage. 66 is it possible?" we exclaimed. "joanna southcote! then she is not dead? that is, she will keep her word, and come back to us?" 66 66 "and her great and open a baby linen warehouse," said the hermit. "she told me as much, for the comfort of her believers; though, to confess the truth, i have never until now bragged of my acquaintance with her. as, however, she has been given up as incurable by the turveytopians, there is but little chance of her returning to this world, since they suffer no one to come back who does not at least promise continued amendment. now, joanna, as i have said, is incurable." "and what her malady?" we asked. lying, sir," answered the sage. grief is, that nobody in turveytop will believe her. poor thing! how she laments her loss of this world! she dwelt alone in a little cottage, and being famous for her tea-cakes-for there is a sort of sanctity that hath a quick sense of kitchen comforts-was much visited by king arthur, sebastian, and other dunces of turveytop. i deny it not; i have made one at these meetings. she was a sleek-looking, cosey woman, with a voice like a flute. on my first visit to her, for there was something about her that somewhat tickled me, 66 "" her tea-cakes?" we ventured in the smallest voice to observe. "well, sir," said the hermit, with a smile, "" when there be not other virtues, let even tea-cakes pass for something. on my first visit, she would have devoured me for news. 6 anything stirring in my way in london ?' she asked. i answered, no, madam; nothing whatever. i left all the people very dull-not at all what they were when you were among them.'well, i did give them a rouse,' she said; and then mournfully added, but i suppose they have forgotten me?'6 why, the truth is, madam, ingratitude is the public's sin; nevertheless, you are still spoken of, and by a the chronicles of clovernook. 79 6 hopeful few are promised back again. the worst of it is, should you really return, i fear there will be unbelievers who, even to your face, will disown you.'never mind that,' said joanna; only let me get back again, and i warrant me i'll have the world by the nose once more. as for being disowned, why, for the matter of that, i'd take another name, and start a new mystery. is there, at the present time, think you, room for such a novelty?'as i have said, madam, we have been somewhat dull in such matters of late. there has been no new prophet on the stage for some time.' then the world wants one. don't tell me, 6 ། i know it bless you, after a season, the world gets sick and tired of its old, old truths, and longing, hungering for a good lie, will swallow anything. otherwise, do you think i should have gone down as i did? though even i made one great mistake-my lie was not quite strong enough.'-' pretty well, i think, madam.'-not at all,' said joanna; and then i gave it too short a date. nevertheless, i did hook 'em,-folks of all degrees, --a good sprinkling of the high with the low-gentle and simple-rich and poor. well, if there is any sport worthy of human enjoyment, it is cheating our fellowcreatures. 999 "the old harridan!" we cried. "" "still give her the praise of an ingenuous tongue, said the hermit. "joanna only confessed what i fear me, many believe and practise, yet vehemently deny. the woman spoke in earnest, and that's something. and i fear me, she spoke truly of the world's hunger at intervals for imposition. it is, i suppose, with the multitude as sometimes with single nokes or styles: truth becomes to them monotonous-propriety dulness ; and so they get a zest for a lie, and make holiday with extravagance. nay, sir, if we look philosophically into the matter, the greater the outrage offered to their minds, the deeper, by consequence, their faith in it. a zany boasts his daily intercourse with angelic spirits: 80 the chronicles of clovernook. the daring of the falsehood carries away the imagination of weak and simple folks who clap hands with the impostor, that they may be nearer to his celestial intelligences. the spiritual mountebank, juggling with human hopes and fears, offers a closer knowledge of the mystery of mysteries. hence, the dupe is often born of the zealot. enough of this. perhaps, some day joanna will be again in the world: though, as she says, under another name, and preaching forth another marvel. it has been thus almost since truth was born-and she came smiling from chaos upon the earth-and will be thus until the end." "and the turveytopians? what of their government their laws, and customs?" 66 "of such matters know i nothing," said the hermit, save that the schoolmasters were, so to speak, the nobility of the people. we scholars, spirited from the outside world to be brought up and taught in all things anew, were confined to the nursery, the school-room and play-grounds. indeed, save that the benevolence of our masters was more remarkable than in the teachers of dancing-dogs, they seemed to look upon us as inferior creatures, that might, with time and pains, be taught some tricks of humanity-that possibly, by a sojourn in turveytop, might be made less mischievous to one another when sent back to the world we were taken from. hence, i saw but little of the political and social condition of turveytop. there ran a legend that, many hundred years ago, there arose a civil war in the land, which was ended in a way it would be pleasant to see imitated. 66 66 "" how, sir?" we asked. why, the two parties had armed themselves with swords and spears and battle-axes-things unknown till then-and guns and cannon, and all the devilry which laurels come of. thus armed, the divided people took the field. the opposing chiefs had marked their ground, and every man rubbed his hands-for the turveytopians the chronicles of clovernook. 81 were, for the time, frantic with malice-at the sweet thought of chopping his neighbour through the skull, whilst those birds of glory, the vultures, were already cock-a-whoop for human flesh. now, at that time the turveytopians worshipped, among other divinities, a certain god of laughter. i know not that such was his name; but mirth, loud, reckless, rollicking mirth, was his high attribute. this god had of late been much neglected. the turveytopians having their hearts filled with rancour, and in the drunkenness of their wrath yearning for nought but blood and wounds-had wickedly neglected the service of their beneficent numen. oh, glorious laughter!" cried the sage of bellyfulle, falling back in his chair, and turning his broad shining face upwards, whilst his eyes twinkled benignly, and his lips seemed trembling with a jest "thou man-loving spirit, that for a time dost take the burden from the weary back-that dost lay salve to the feet, bruised and cut by flints and shards—that takest blood-baking melancholy by the nose, and makest it grin despite itself—that all the sorrows of the past, the doubts of the future, confoundest in the joy of the present-that makest man truly philosophic conqueror of himself and care! what was talked of as the golden chain of jove, was nothing but a succession of laughs, a chromatic scale of merriment, reaching from earth to olympus. it is not true that prometheus stole the fire, but the laughter of the gods, to deify our clay, and in the abundance of our merriment, to make us reasonable creatures. have you ever considered, sir, what man would be, destitute of the ennobling faculty of laughter? why, sir, laughter is to the face of man-what sinovia, i think anatomists call it, is to his joints,-it oils, and lubricates, and makes the human countenance divine. without it, our faces would have been rigid, hyæna-like; the iniquities of our heart, with no sweet antidote to work upon them, would have made the face of the best among us a horrid, husky thing, with two sullen, hungry, cruel g 82 the chronicles of clovernook. lights at the top-for foreheads would have then gone out of fashion-and a cavernous hole below the nose. think of a babe without laughter; as it is, its first intelligence! the creature shows the divinity of its origin and end, by smiling upon us: yes, smiles are its first talk with the world, smiles the first answers that it understands. and then, as worldly wisdom comes upon the little thing, it crows, it chuckles, it grins, and shaking in its nurse's arms, or in waggish humour playing bo-peep with the breast, it reveals its high destiny-declares, to him with ears to hear it, the heirdom of its immortality. let materialists blaspheme as gingerly and as acutely as they will, they must find confusion in laughter. man may take a triumphant stand upon his broad grins; for he looks around the world, and his innermost soul, sweetly tickled with the knowledge, tells him that he alone of all creatures laughs. imagine, if you can, a laughing fish. let man then send a loud ha! ha! through the universe, and be reverently grateful for the privilege." "and the turveytopians, you say, sir, had their god of laughter?" 66 there and, from what i could gather, he held a most exalted place in their pantheon. sweet, too, especially sweet, was one of their customs of sacrifice. it was this. a man always dedicated his first joke, whatever it might be, to the god of laughter. was a fine spirit of gratitude in the practice, a sweet acknowledgment of the honied uses of mirth in this our daily draught of life, otherwise cold, flatulent, and bitter. this first offering was always a matter of great solemnity. the maker of the joke, whether man or maid, was taken in pompous procession to the shrine of the god. and there, the joke-beautifully worked in letters of gold upon some rich-coloured silk or velvetwas given in to the flamen, who read it to the assembled people, who roared approving laughter. the joker was then taken back in triumph to his house, and feasting and sports for nine days marked this his first the chronicles of clovernook. 83 act of citizenship; for i should tell you that no jokeless man could claim any civil rights. hence, when the man began to joke, he was considered fit for the gravest offices of human government; and not till then.' وو "what! no civil rights? had he no vote-if indeed there were votes in turveytop-for his representative in the senate ?-for "66 sir," replied the hermit, gravely, "he had no voice in anything; not even in the making of a beadle. the man without a joke in turveytop was a wretch, an outcast; indeed, to give you the strongest, the truest comparison, he was what your man in england is, without a guinea." "miserable wretch!" we cried. "and what became of these creatures?" 66 as i learned, the jokeless did all the foul and menial work. miserable men, indeed! i have heard of a country in which the social dignity and moral intelligence of the man was computed by the soap he was wont to outlay upon his anatomy. he might be too poor to buy the soap; never mind that; it was a terrible thing, and stung the penniless offender like a nettle, to call him the unwashed!' now, in turveytop, it amounted to the same degree of ignominy to call a man the jokeless! some of these might be in tatters and starving; well, they would ask charity, and how? they would say nothing of rags and hunger, but stopping the rich, they would despairingly slap the forehead, and in a hollow voice, cry no joke!' thus, in those days of turveytop, jokes gave dignity to the highest offices of the state. senators and magistrates thought of nothing but making a joke of their functions and reputation. they had their great reward not only in the admiration of the people, but in the high degree of mental expression and physical beauty which their genius, constantly exercised, inevitably awarded them." 66 have jokes such benign power upon their makers?" we asked. g 2 84 the chronicles of clovernook. "unquestionably," answered the hermit, startled at the question. "take a sulky fellow, with a brow ever wrinkled at the laughing hours, let them laugh ever so melodiously-who looks with a death's head at the pleasant fruits of the earth heaped upon his tablewho leaves his house for business as an ogre leaves his cave for food-who returns home joyless and grim to his silent wife and creeping children,-take such a man, and, if possible, teach him to joke. why, sir, 'twould be like turning a mandril into an apollo. a hearty jest kills an ugly face. the divine nature of man irradiates and ennobles what at first sight seems wholly animal. what a mighty joker was socrates! yes, joker, sir; and rightly have the sculptors imagined that knotty countenance, sublimed and sweetened by the laughing spirit within! now, the jokeless of turveytop-as it was related to me-became physically forlorn; the sympathy of mind and flesh was so active. hence, they were drudges, scavengers, bone-grubbers, pickers-up of old rags and iron, bearers of burdens, outcasts, miserable creatures;—the jokers all the while sitting high in place, their cheeks greasy with the marrow of the earth, their eyes twinkling with its nectar." strange, indeed!" we cried. 'ay, sir," said the hermit, "for there are places in which, nine times out of ten, your joker is the lean drudge, and the dull fellow has the pot-belly, the purple nose, and the full purse.' 66 66 66 and now, sir, for the civil war in turveytop? you say it was pleasantly ended?" 66 in this fashion," said the hermit, "if i have heard the legend truly. the two armies, in high conceit with their murderous weapons-for until that time there had been no men-killing engines known in turveytop-lusted for the fight. now, sir, you have heard or read of the vast concern shown by the gods of the heathen in the battles of their favourite soldiers-as if, for instance, you and i should have pet emmets in the the chronicles of clovernook. 85 bloody struggle for an ear of barley. indeed, whether or no, man will make his gods shoulder the knapsack with him he will make them enter the breach, fire the town, clap a ready hand upon movables; knock a wayward householder on the head, and after, take enjoyment in the cellar, the larder, and the chamber. man will, as i say, take his gods campaigning with him; and, sir, it must be owned, scurvy treatment they ofttimes meet with at his hands. when he has laboured profitably in the bloody harvest, he gives them money for their good-will and support; and, alas, poor gods! with swaggering, blaspheming impudence, thanks them for his good fortune in robbery and slaughter. to hear of certain thanksgivings for successful battle, should we not believe that the devil had made his adam, and that the slaughtered creatures were children of the demon handiwork, begotten by the evil principle, to be zealously attacked and butchered by the progeny of him who walked and talked with god in paradise? it would seem thus; but it is not so. no, we are children of one father, and when we have killed some thousand brethren or so, why, with unwashed hands and demure faces, we thank god for his good help in the fratricide. in the outside world of brazen brows, there is no impudence like the impudence of what men call religion. 66 "" still, sir," we urged, "you wander from the battle of turveytop." "right to wander is a besetting sin of mine. keep we now to the story. well, sir, the two armies were about to fight, when the god of joking-whose shrine had been sadly despised and neglected in preparation for the war-resolved to put an end to the wickedness, and so to bring the turveytopians back again to jests and reason. whereupon, as the story runs, the god jocus repaired to a high hill near the battle-field, and seating himself cross-legged on its summit, called his thousands of servants about him, giving them due orders 86 the chronicles of clovernook. for their goodly work. the god surveyed the hosts below him with a wan smile, and then clapping his hands to his sides, he laughed a laugh of thunder. on this, the trumpets brayed once, and once only, and the armies engaged. in a moment the god saw that his sprites-there were immortal thousands, though born of human brains— had done his wise behest. there was no smoke-no fire. the great guns were dumb-the muskets undischarged; for be it known to you, sir, that the turveytopians had at the time all the weapons since invented in our miniature world. then you might have seen the soldiers charge, and their brittle bayonets break harmless against the bellies of the foes: then would some seize their weapons, and with the butt-end strike the enemy in the teeth. and the enemy stood and licked their lips. wherefore, you will ask? i will tell you. the musketstock was no longer walnut-wood; but, by the benignity of the great god jocus, a thing of savoury sausage-meat, calling up the spirit of enjoyment in the heart of man, as it smote his nostril. in this way, sir, all things were changed. here you would see a soldier take a cartridge from his box, and with bloody and sepulchral looks bite the cartridge-end. at that moment the face changed to sweetness and content; for, the cartridge bitten, a delicious cordial flowed into the mouth of the biter, and winding about his stony heart, melted it into human jelly. here you would see a grenadier sucking a bayonet, as a nursling sucks a lollipop; and wherefore?—the great god jocus had turned the deadly weapon into sugar-candy. in another place you might behold the small drums turned into pots of jelly, and the little drummer-boys eating therefrom, and painting their downy faces with raspberry and currant of more than martial red. big drums took the shape and flavour of rounds of beef; and in a thought, the kettles were buffaloes' dried humps. the pioneers' caps became wine-coolers, and their aprons napkins of damask. grey-headed officers swallowed their own the chronicles of clovernook. 87 swords, turned into macaroni. a cymbal-player was seen to devour his cymbals, suddenly changed into ratafia paste. what had been gunpowder was eaten by the handful as small saccharine comfits; cartridgebullets were candied plums, and gave great pleasure both to horse and foot. well, sir, it is not to be thought that discipline could survive temptation such as this. no, sir at first there was vast astonishment; then a low murmur of delight ran through either host; then there was a mighty smacking of lips; and then the opposing armies laughed a tremendous laugh, and embraced. on this a solemn cacchination escaped the great god jocus, who, uncrossing his legs, vanished. the news flew among the women of turveytop, who, coming and bringing their children to the field, made merry with the army. a banquet was resolved upon; it was but rightful thanksgiving to the benevolent jocus, whose noble practical jest had saved the blood of turveytop; and more, had provided, yea, in the very engines of war, the wherewithal to comfort the bowels and rejoice the heart of man. the substance of dried meats was found in gun carriages; delicious cheeses were in the wheels; and pikes and halberds were nought more deadly than attenuated sausage, pungent and aromatic. the great guns, too-charged as it was thought with agony and death for thousands-contained nothing more mischievous than ruby wine. the cannon shot, turned to corks, were now withdrawn; and the armies ate and drank, and laughed and sang, and danced, and gave hearty thanks to the great god jocus. *6 66 and so the matter ended?' "" "" even so, sir," replied the hermit; "the field whereon the armies met was called, from that time, the field of the sage and onions, those vegetables from that very day abounding there. and in memory of the time, the turveytopians, in solemn procession, once a year gather of the produce to stuff their geese. you smile, sir. think you, sir, it is not better to pull an 88 the chronicles of clovernook. onion than to pluck laurel? there are fewer tears drawn by homely scallion than by the green leaf." "a strange freak, sir," we said, "of the god jocus! it was at that we smiled." "a strange, yet mighty benevolence!" cried the hermit. 66 would that he-or some kindred beneficence-could descend upon carnivorous war, when and wheresoever it should purpose to feed, and turn its carving sword to sugar!" "and pray, sir," asked we of the hermit, "by what chance did you escape from the land of turveytop?" 66 "i was turned out in my sleep; yes, carried away in deep slumber; for, waking one morning, i found myself at the foot of the mountain, which, i know not how long before, had opened to receive me. "" "your soul made clean your heart spotless, as when first touched into life, and it began beating towards the grave?" "i am afraid so," said the hermit, with a remorseful sigh. "afraid? "ay, sir," said he, "much afraid; seeing how stained and grimy they have since become. every man has not the happiness of a purification in turveytop; therefore, should not enduring cleanliness be looked for from the lucky ones? and yet, sir, the very best of us soil, ay, sooner than a bride's riband." at this time the declining sun flamed goldenly through the casement. we looked, doubtless, yearningly towards it, for the hermit rising, said, with solemn voice"let us abroad, and behold god almighty in the heavens." then taking his staff, he passed into the garden, and silently we followed him. it was a glorious time. the air fell upon the heart like balm; the sky, gold and vermilion-flecked, hung, a celestial tent, above mortal man; and the fancy-quickened ear heard sweet, low music from the heart of earth, rejoicing in that hour of gladness. the chronicles of clovernook. 89 66 66 evenings such as this," said the hermit, after a pause, seem to me the very holiday time of death; an hour in which the slayer, throned in glory, smiles benevolently down on man. here, on earth, he gets hard names among us for the unseemliness of his looks, and the cruelty of his doings; but in an hour like this, death seems to me loving and radiant,—a great bounty, spreading an immortal feast, and showing the glad dwelling-place he leads men to." so. "it would be great happiness could we always think for so considered, death is, indeed, a solemn beneficence a smiling liberator, turning a dungeon door upon immortal day. but when death, with slow and torturing device, hovers about his groaning prey; when, like a despot cunning in his malice, he makes disease and madness his dallying serfs 66 99 merciful god!" cried the hermit, "spare me that final terror! let me not be whipped and scourged by long, long suffering to death-be dragged, a shrieking victim, downward to the grave; but let my last hour be solemn, tranquil, that so, with open, unblenched eyes, i may look at coming death, and feel upon my cheek his kiss of peace! "" thus spoke the hermit, with passionate fervour. his mind seemed solemnly uplifted. we turned aside from him, following one of the many garden paths. after some minutes, the hermit came up with us. was again the cheerful, light-hearted anchorite. "what say you," said he, "to pass an hour or so at the gratis? 999 he "where we shall meet the villagers of clovernook? "some of them, at least," said the hermit. "i have not been there these three weeks. this way: we shall have time to stroll a round; there are some ruins-for clovernook has its antiquities —i shall be glad to show you. the hermit led the way from the garden, and with a few strides we found ourselves in a delicious green lane. "this," said he of bellyfulle, "is called velvet"" 90 the chronicles of clovernook. path, and leads eastwardly to the village. what do you pause at?" asked the hermit, as we suddenly stopped, listening to sheep-bells, that sounded at various distances, and in various notes, through the balmy air. 66 "the sheep-bells. how beautifully toned," we said. of all rustic sounds, our favourite music." "to me," said the hermit, "the sheep-bell sounds of childhood; yea, of babyhood. in the world without us, it hath often been to me a solace and a sweetness. i have seen little of the green earth-knew, alas! how little of its softening loveliness, its beautiful records of god's tenderness to man in herbs and flowers, that in their beauty seem sown by angel hands for man's delight. of these things i had little seen or known; i was so early built up in the bricks of a city: otherwise, sir, harsh thoughts and foolish sneers, evil and folly begotten in a too-early, sordid strife with man, perhaps, had not defiled me. the sheep-bell was the one remembrance-the one thought still dwelling in my brain, and with its sometime music calling up a scene of rustic sabbath quietude. swelling meads in their soft greenness; hedge-rows, and their sparkling flowers; a row of chesnut trees in blossoming glory; a park; a flock of nibbling sheep a child, the mute yet happy wonderer at all.' 66 66 19 and the scene charmed by the simple sheep-bell? even now," said the hermit," it is in certain moods my best music. many an evening have i seated myself on that mossy cushion, at the foot of yonder beechtree, and leaning back with folded hands and closed eyes, have let my brain drink and drink its stilling sounds; and i have gone off into day-dreams, heaven knows where. i have been in the holy east; have heard the flocks of the patriarchs, and seen rebecca at the well." thus talking, we had proceeded half-way up velvetpath, when a man in rustic dress, followed by a sheepdog, came over a stile close upon us. he immediately the chronicles of clovernook. 91 paused, and taking off his hat, accosted the hermit— "a blessed evening, this." 66 all's well?" asked the sage. "all's well, ," answered the man. the hermit smiled and bowed, and saying, " god be with you, joseph," passed on. 99 "who is he? we asked. 66 my shepherd," answered the hermit of bellyfulle ; and i would answer for it even upon parchment, as honest, simple a creature as a day-old lamb. look at him; i warrant me he is about to play his evening music to his dog. it was even so; for turning round we saw joseph seated under a tree, vehemently twanging a jew's-harp. a strange instrument for a shepherd.' 66 "he hath wonderful knowledge of that piece of iron," said the hermit; "nor is it strange it should be so. for twenty years it was, in the outside world, the constant companion of his lips." "indeed! what was your shepherd, ere in happy hour he came to clovernook?" "he was door-keeper to a sponging-house. yes, he was the janitor; the demon of the iron grill; and would solace his darkness and captivity (for keeper of prisoners, he himself was the greatest) with that vocal metal. poor wretch! that fourpenny harp was his comfort-his consolation-his blithe society." "is he not a jew?" we asked. 66 yes; and served a hebrew master," answered the hermit, who smilingly added, "i knew the gentleman well." 66 pray, sir, has your philosophy discovered why, of all men, jews at first a pastoral, country-loving people -should delight to take service under the sheriff, so that they may carry away captive the spendthrift and the wretched, holding the human chattels under lock and key? why, of all folks, should jews delight to be bailiffs?" 66 it may be," said the hermit, "in memory and 92 the chronicles of clovernook. sweet revenge of the egyptian bondage. poor things! they still make bricks, too; ay, and brick houses; though the cruelty of modern law, i hear, denies them straw bail." "how earnestly the dog watches the musician's face!" we cried; for the animal, sitting upright, stared with contemplative looks at the shepherd. "we never saw more meaning in a cur's countenance.' 66 said the hermit. 66 99 humph! strange things are told of that dog," joseph insists upon it that the spirit of a london money-lender, an old acquaintance, animates flip. you may be sure, sir, i have no such superstition, or would hardly trust my flocks within range of its teeth. yet has the dog marvellous sagacity. put a bad shilling among a hundred good ones, and flip, with sensitive nostril, will detect the counterfeit. many a man, sir, would think it impossible to earn higher praise. a fine, elevating gift, sir, that quick sense of bad money. i knew a man-poor fellow! -who bought the faculty at what you and i should think a great cost. it is an odd story, but true, sir-true as the stars. i call the tale the tragedy of the till. 66 "a strange, household title," said we; 'pray relate it." "you would hardly think, sir, that the matter happened in london? in a mean, obscure street; a place where the hard realities of life knocked daily, hourly, at people's hearts? where the men and women seemed only made to work, and eat, and sleep, and die; the unideal, moving things of the world, the mere biped furniture of the earth. and yet, sordid and barren as the spot may be, there is the restless spirit of man, yearning and struggling to deliver itself from the squalor that defiles it. see man, the natural monarch of the earth, styed like a hog. why, even there, in chin-deep misery, visions will now and then glorify the habitation. the poetic spirit-for what is hope but the the chronicles of clovernook. 93 poetry of daily life?-will touch the coarsest soul that answers, like a harp-string to the wind, unconscious of the power that stirs it. let this remembrance go with you, and you shall behold no place where man is mean or common. take the thought with you in nooks and alleys, where the sweet air of heaven sickens with disease, and man seems not made of the earth of paradise, but of city mud, a stark, foul, brutish thing; even there man is glorified by his hopes, that, like angel-faces in a dungeon, brighten and beautify his prison. let us imagine, sir,” said the hermit, letting his ivory staff fall in his arm, and leaning against a huge, sheltering sycamore" let us imagine some city quarter, in which the inhabitants miserable creatures!-should be bereaved of all hope. a little higher only would they be than apes. they would seem to us the lay-figures of humanity; moving images, with tongues to wag and eyes to open. we should behold their habitations with shuddering looks and shrinking nose, and hurry from the spot, as though fever and poverty clawed like demons at our skirts, to taint and ruin us. any way, the dwellers of hopeless quarter would seem to us— dignified as we are by four meals a day, and with no rent in our coats, no crack in our shoe-leather-as forlorn animals, permitted on the earth for some mysterious purpose, but who, though something like ourselves in outward guise, had nothing else in common with us! would not such be the belief of many of us?" 66 66 it is more than likely," we answered. why, sir," cried the hermit, with a grave look, "it is our creed. every street, lane, or alley that harbours the wretched poor, is, to our gingerly apprehension, hopeless quarter. we wholly avoid it; or if otherwise, with our moral thumb and finger holding our moral nose, we hurry through it. we cast a rapid look at the forlorn inhabitants-a frightened glance in at doorways and down cellars-and never for one brief minute think, that beneath that outward husk of hu94 the chronicles of clovernook. manity, that in those miserable abiding-places of mortal suffering, there is the aspect, and the earthly refuge of the future angel. many a time, sir," said the sage of bellyfulle, "i have walked the streets, and day-dreaming, have fashioned to myself the doings, the hopes and cares of the householders. to my fancy, the brick walls of the houses have turned to glass, and i have seen all that passed inside. well, i have been rarely rapt by what i have beheld in the palaces and mansions of the rich. there, human life, when at the purest and the best, is as a graceful nymph, whose slightest motion is silent music-whose look is sweet, intelligent serenity -whose breath is odorous as morning air. beautiful is her speech; for she talks lilies and roses. there is an atmosphere about her that steals upon the heart, and lulls it into sweet placidity. but, sir, the heart knows not or should not know-such dreamy rest at the doors of the very poor. no; its blood quickens and glows as it beholds the daily battle. there are the poor fighting with the world, that, like a huge machine set in motion by some necromantic wickedness, has action, speech, cunning, force tremendous, everything but heart. a mighty creature, bloodless and pulseless. great are the odds against poverty in the strife. alas! alas! how often is the poor man the compelled quixote ; made to attack a windmill in the hope that he may get a handful of the corn it grinds? 66 "" "even so," said we ; "and many and grievous are his buffets ere the miller-the prosperous fellow with the golden thumb-rewards poor poverty for the unequal battle.' 66 "" there it is,” cried the hermit. "there is the heroism which, at the houses of the poor, has made me see and feel the majesty of poverty; has in my eyes made starveling spinners and weavers more than kingly. it is a fine show, a golden sight, to see the crowning of a king. i have beheld the ceremony-with undazzled eyes have well considered all its blaze of splendour. a the chronicles of clovernook. 95 tender thing to think of is the kiss of peace; beautiful the homage; heart-stirring the voice of the champion, when the brave knight dashes his defying gauntlet on the marble stone; very solemn the anointing-and most uplifting the song of jubilate when all is done. but, sir, to my coarse apprehension, i have seen a nobler sight than this—a grander ceremony, even at the hearthstone of the poor. i will show you a man, worn, spent ; the bony outline of a human thing, with toil and want, cut, as with an iron tool, upon him; a man to whom the common pleasures of this our mortal heritage are unknown as the joys of paradise. this man toils and starves, and starves and toils, even as the markets vary. well, he keeps a heart, sound as oak, in his bosom. in the sanctity of his soul, bestows the kiss of peace upon a grudging world: he compels the homage of respect, and champions himself against the hardness of fortune. in his wretched homestead he is throned in the majesty of the affections. his suffering, patient, loving wife-his pale-faced, ill-clad children-are his queen and subjects. he is a king in heart, subduing and ruling the iron hours; unseen spirits of love and goodness anoint him; and, sir," said the hermit, in a solemn voice-" as surely as the kingdom of god is more than a fairy tale, so surely do god's angels sing that poor man's jubilate." "" eye here the hermit paused; and then, grasping his staff, walked silently on. he seemed for a time brooding over new thoughts. at length he looked round with his sunny smile, and his "detwinkled again. pend upon it," he said, "you shall hear more of joseph and his dog. ay, there he is, still twanging to him. poor fellow, when he kept the key of the bailiff's house, his chief company was the canary of the bailiff's wife. he would finger his jew's-harp against the bird's flying notes, and i verily believe felt all the envy of a musical rival. the canary, with its shower of sounds, fairly smothered the jew's-harp; and i believe joseph, in 96 the chronicles of clovernook. tranquil despair, thought of hanging it upon the willow, when a cat chewed up the yellow songster. no singing woman ever hated a sister syren with greater zeal than did joseph hate that canary." 66 66 "but, sir," we ventured to observe, you have forgotten the story, or tragedy of the till." true," replied the hermit. "it is a strange tale, but it hath the recommendation of brevity. some folks may see nothing in it but the tricksiness of an extravagant spirit; and some, perchance, may pluck a heart of meaning out of it. however, be it as it may, you shall hear it, sir. there was a man called isaac pugwash, a dweller in a miserable slough of london, a squalid denizen of one of the foul nooks of that city of plutus. he kept a shop; which, though small as a cabin, was visited as granary and store-house by half the neighbourhood. all the creature-comforts of the poor-from bread, to that questionable superfluity, small-beer-were sold by isaac. strange it was, that with such a trade, pugwash grew not rich. he had many bad debts; and of all shop-keepers, was most unfortunate in false coin. certain it is, he had neither eye nor ear for bad money. counterfeit semblances of majesty beguiled him out of bread, and butter, and cheese, and red herring, just as readily as legitimate royalty struck at the mint. malice might impute something of this to the political principles of pugwash, who, as he had avowed himself again and again, was no lover of a monarchy. nevertheless, i cannot think pugwash had so little regard for the countenance of majesty, as to welcome it as readily when silvered copper as when sterling silver. no, a wild, foolish enthusiast was pugwash, but in the household matter of good and bad money he had very wholesome prejudices. he had a reasonable wish to grow rich, yet was entirely ignorant of the by-ways and short-cuts to wealth. he would have sauntered through life with his hands in his pockets, and a daisy in his mouth; and dying with just enough in his house to pay the chronicles of clovernook. 97 the undertaker, would have thought himself a fortunate fellow; he was, in the words of mrs. pugwash, such a careless, foolish, dreaming creature. he was cheated every hour by a customer of some kind; and yet to deny credit to any body, he would as soon have denied the wife of his bosom. his customers knew the weakness, and failed not to exercise it. to be sure, now and then, fresh from conjugal counsel, he would refuse to add a single herring to a debtor's score; no, he would not be sent to the workhouse by any body. a quarter of an hour after, the denied herring, with an added small loaf, was given to the little girl, sent to the shop by the rejected mother,he couldn't bear to see poor children wanting anything.' . "pugwash had another unprofitable weakness. he was fond of what he called nature, though in his dim, close shop, he could give her but a stifling welcome. nevertheless, he had the earliest primroses on his counter, -they threw,' he said, 'such a nice light about the place. a sly, knavish customer presented isaac with a pot of polyanthuses, and, won by the flowery gift, pugwash gave the donor ruinous credit. the man with wallflowers regularly stopt at isaac's shop, and for only sixpence, pugwash would tell his wife he had made the place a paradise. if we can't go to nature, sally, isn't it a pleasant thing to be able to bring nature to us?' whereupon mrs. pugwash would declare, that a man with at least three children to provide for had no need to talk of nature. nevertheless, the flower-man made his weekly call. though at many a house, the penny could not every week be spared to buy a hint, a look of nature for the darkened dwellers about him, isaac, despite of mrs. pugwash, always purchased. it is a common thing, an old familiar cry," said the hermit -"to see the poor man's florist, to hear his loud-voiced invitation to take his nosegays, his penny-roots; and yet is it a call, a conjuration of the heart of man overlaboured and desponding-walled in by the gloom of a h 98 the chronicles of clovernook. town-divorced from the fields and their sweet healthful influences—almost shut out from the sky that reeks in vapour over him ;-it is a call that tells him there are things of the earth beside food and covering to live for; and that god in his great bounty hath made them for all men. is it not so?" asked the hermit. 66 'most certainly," we answered; "it would be the very sinfulness of avarice to think otherwise." "why, sir," said the hermit benevolently smiling, "thus considered, the loud-lunged city bawler of roots and flowers becomes a high benevolence, a peripatetic priest of nature. adown dark lanes and miry alleys he takes sweet remembrances-touching records of the loveliness of earth, that with their bright looks and balmy odours cheer and uplift the dumpish heart of man; that make his soul stir within him, and acknowledge the beautiful. the penny, the ill-spared penny-for it would buy a wheaten roll-the poor housewife pays for root of primrose, is her offering to the hopeful loveliness of nature; is her testimony of the soul struggling with the blighting, crushing circumstance of sordid earth, and sometimes yearning towards earth's sweetest aspects. amidst the violence, the coarseness, and the suffering that may surround and defile the wretched, there must be moments when the heart escapes, craving for the innocent and lovely; when the soul makes for itself even of a flower a comfort, and a refuge. "" the hermit paused a moment, and then in blither voice resumed. "but i have strayed a little from the history of our small tradesman, pugwash. well, sir, isaac for some three or four years kept on his old way, his wife still prophesying in loud and louder voice the inevitable workhouse. he would so think and talk of nature when he should mind his shop; he would so often snatch a holiday to lose it in the fields, when he should take stock and balance his books. what was every worse, he week lost more and more by bad money. with no more sense than a buzzard, as mrs. pugwash the chronicles of clovernook. 99 said, for a good shilling, he was the victim of those laborious folks who make their money with a fine independence of the state, out of their own materials. it seemed the common compact of a host of coiners to put off their base-born offspring upon isaac pugwash; who, it must be confessed, bore the loss and the indignity like a christian martyr. at last, however, the spirit of the man was stung. a guinea, as pugwash believed of statute gold, was found to be of little less value than a brass button. mrs. pugwash clamoured and screamed as though a besieging foe was in her house; and pugwash himself felt that further patience would be pusillanimity. whereupon, sir, what think ye isaac did? why, he suffered himself to be driven by the voice and vehemence of his wife to a conjurer, who in a neighbouring attic was a sideral go-between to the neighbourhood-a vender of intelligence from the stars, to all who sought and duly fee'd him. this magician. would declare to pugwash the whereabout of the felon coiner, and the thought was an anodyne to the hurt mind of isaac's wife-the knave would be law-throttled. "with sad, indignant spirit did isaac pugwash seek father lotus; for so, sir, was the conjurer called. he was none of your common wizards. oh no! he left it to the mere quack-salvers and mountebanks of his craft to take upon them a haggard solemnity of look, and to drop monosyllables, heavy as bullets, upon the ear of the questioner. the mighty and magnificent hocus pocus of twelvepenny magicians was scorned by lotus. there was nothing in his look or manner that showed him the worse for keeping company with spirits; on the contrary, perhaps, the privileges he enjoyed of them served to make him only the more blithe and jocund. he might have passed for a gentleman, at once easy and cunning in the law; his sole knowledge, that of labyrinthine sentences made expressly to wind poor common sense on parchment. he had an eye like a snake, a constant smile upon his lip, a cheek coloured like an н2 100 the chronicles of clovernook. apple, and an activity of movement wide away from the solemnity of the conjurer. he was a small, eel-figured man of about sixty, dressed in glossy black, with silver buckles and flowing periwig. it was impossible not to have a better opinion of sprites and demons, seeing that so nice, so polished a gentleman was their especial pet. and then, his attic had no mystic circle, no curtain of black, no death's head, no mummy of apocryphal dragon-the vulgar catch-pennies of fortune-telling trader. there was not even a pack of cards to elevate the soul of man into the regions of the mystic world. no, the room was plainly yet comfortably set out. father lotus reposed in an easy chair, nursing a snowwhite cat upon his knee; now tenderly patting the creature with one hand, and now turning over a little hebrew volume with the other. if a man wished to have dealings with sorry demons, could he desire a nicer little gentleman than father lotus to make the acquaintance for him? in few words, isaac pugwash told his story to the smiling magician. he had, amongst much other bad money, taken a counterfeit guinea; could father lotus discover the evil-doer? 666 6 : yes, yes, yes,' said lotus, smiling, 'of courseto be sure; but that will do but little in your present state, let me look at your tongue.' pugwash obediently thrust the organ forth. yes, yes, as i thought. 'twill do you no good to hang the rogue; none at all. what we must do is this-we must cure you of the disease.' "disease!' cried pugwash. 'bating the loss of my money, i was never better in all my days.' "ha! my poor man,' said lotus, it is the benevolence of nature, that she often goes on, quietly breaking us up, we knowing no more of the mischief than a girl's doll when the girl rips up its seams. malady is of the perceptive organs. leave you alone, and you'll sink to the condition of a baboon.' 666 god bless me!' cried pugwash. your the chronicles of clovernook. 101 "a jackass with sense to choose a thistle from a toadstool will be a reasoning creature to you; for consider, my poor soul,' said lotus in a compassionate voice, in this world of tribulation we inhabit, consider, what a benighted nincompoop is man, if he cannot elect a good shilling from a bad one.' 6 "i have not a sharp eye for money,' said pugwash modestly. it's a gift, sir; i'm assured it's a gift. 66 6 a sharp eye! an eye of horn,' said lotus. 'never mind, i can remedy all that; i can restore you to the world and to yourself. the greatest physicians, the wisest philosophers, have, in the profundity of their wisdom, made money the test of wit. a man is believed mad; he is a very rich man, and his heir has very good reason to believe him lunatic; whereupon the heir, the madman's careful friend, calls about the sufferer a company of wizards to sit in judgment on the suspected brain, and report a verdict thereupon. well, ninety-nine times out of the hundred, what is the first question put, as test of reason? why, a question of money. the physician, laying certain pieces of current coin in his palm, asks of the patient their several value. if he answer truly, why truly there is hope; but if he stammer, or falter at the coin, the verdict runs, and wisely runs, mad-very mad.' 66 6 i'm not so bad as that,' said pugwash, a little alarmed. 66 6 66 6 don't say how you are-it's presumption in any man,' cried lotus. nevertheless, be as you may, i'll cure you, if you 'll give attention to my remedy.' "i'll give my whole soul to it,' exclaimed pugwash. very good, very good; i like your earnestness, but i don't want all your soul,' said father lotus, smilingi want only part of it: that, if you confide in me, i can take from you with no danger. aye, with less peril than the pricking of a whitlow. now, then, for examination. now, to have a good stare at this soul of yours.' here father lotus gently removed the white 102 the chronicles of clovernook. cat from his knee, for he had been patting her all the time he talked, and turned full round upon pugwash. turn out your breeches' pockets,' said lotus-and the tractable pugwash immediately displayed the linings. humph!' cried lotus, looking narrowly at the brown holland whereof they were made—“ very bad, indeed; very bad ; never knew a soul in a worse state in all my life.' 6 66 pugwash looked at his pockets, and then at the conjurer: he was about to speak, but the fixed, earnest look of father lotus held him in respectful silence. 66 6 yes, yes,' said the wizard, still eyeing the brown holland, i can see it all; a vagabond soul; a soul wandering here and there, like a pauper without a settlement; a ragamuffin soul.' 66 6 pugwash found confidence and breath. was there ever such a joke?' he cried: know a man's soul by the linings of his breeches' pockets!' and pugwash laughed, albeit uncomfortably. 6 "father lotus looked at the man with philosophic compassion. ha, my good friend!' he said, 'that all comes of your ignorance of moral anatomy.' 666 well, but father lotus '6 "peace,' said the wizard, and answer me. have this soul of your's cured? 6 you'd "if there's anything the matter with it,' answered pugwash. though not of any conceit i speak it, yet i think it as sweet and as healthy a soul as the souls of my neighbours. i never did wrong to anybody.' 666 'pooh!' cried father lotus. "i never denied credit to the hungry,' continued pugwash. "fiddle-de-dee!' said the wizard, very nervously. "i never laid out a penny in law upon a customer; i never refused small beer to 6 "silence!' cried father lotus; don't offend philosophy by thus boasting of your weaknesses. you are in a perilous condition; still you may be saved. at this the chronicles of clovernook. 103 very moment, i much fear it, gangrene has touched your soul: nevertheless, i can separate the sound from the mortified parts, and start you new again as though your lips were first wet with mother's milk.' 66 pugwash merely said-for the wizard began to awe him-'i'm very much obliged to you.' 666 'now,' said lotus, answer a few questions, and then i'll proceed to the cure. what do you think of money?' . 6 "a very nice thing,' said pugwash, though i can do with as little of it as most folks.' "father lotus shook his head. well, and the world about you 1?' "a beautiful world,' said pugwash; only the worst of it is, i can't leave the shop as often as i would to enjoy it. i'm shut in all day long, i may say, a prisoner to brickdust, herrings, and bacon. sometimes, when the sun shines, and the cobbler's lark over the way sings as if he 'd split his pipe, why then, do you know, i do so long to get into the fields; i do hunger for a bit of grass like any cow.' "the wizard looked almost hopelessly on pugwash. 'and that's your religion and business? infidel of the counter! saracen of the till! however-patience,' said lotus, and let us conclude.-and the men and women of the world, what do you think of them?' "god bless 'em, poor souls!' said pugwash. 'it's a sad scramble some of 'em have, isn't it? 6 “well,' said the conjurer, for a tradesman, your soul is in a wretched condition. however, it is not so hopelessly bad that i may not yet make it profitable to you. i must cure it of its vagabond desires, and above all make it respectful of money. you will take this book.' here lotus took a little volume from a cupboard, and placed it in the hand of pugwash. lay it under your pillow every night for a week, and on the eighth morning let me see you.' "come, there's nothing easier than that,' said pug104 the chronicles of clovernook. wash, with a smile, and reverently putting the volume in his pocket (the book was closed by metal clasps, curiously chased)-he descended the garret stairs of the conjurer. "on the morning of the eighth day, pugwash again stood before lotus. 666 how do you feel now?' asked the conjurer, with a knowing look. "i hav'n't opened the book-'tis just as i took it,' said pugwash, making no further answer. 6 "i know that,' said lotus; the clasps be thanked for your ignorance.' pugwash slightly coloured; for to say the truth, both he and his wife had vainly pulled and tugged, and fingered and coaxed the clasps, that they might look upon the necromantic page. · well, the book has worked,' said the conjurer. 66 6 have it! what?' asked pugwash. 666 your soul,' answered the sorcerer. " 6 'i have it.' • in all my practice,' he added, gravely, i never had a soul come into my hands in worse condition.' 6 "impossible!' cried pugwash. if my soul is, as you say, in your own hands, how is it that i'm alive? how is it that i can eat, drink, sleep, walk, talk, do everything, just like any body else?' 666 ha!' said lotus, 'that's a common mistake. thousands and thousands would swear, aye, as they'd swear to their own noses, that they have their souls in their own possession-bless you, and the conjurer laughed maliciously, it's a popular error. their souls are altogether out of 'em.' 66 6 6 well,' said pugwash, if it's true that you have, indeed, my soul, i should like to have a look at it.' in "in good time,' said the conjurer; i'll bring it to your house, and put it in its proper lodging. another week i'll bring it to you; 'twill then be strong enough to bear removal. 666 and what am i to do all the time without it?' asked pugwash, in a tone of banter. 'come,' said he, the chronicles of clovernook. 105 still jesting, if you really have my soul, what's it like -what's its colour; if indeed souls have colours?' "green-green as a grasshopper, when it first came into my hands,' said the wizard; but 'tis changing daily. more; it was a skipping, chirping, giddy soul; 'tis every hour mending. in a week's time, i tell you, it will be fit for the business of the world.' 666 and pray, good father-for the matter has till now escaped me what am i to pay you for this pain and trouble; for this precious care of my miserable soul?' "nothing,' answered lotus, nothing whatever. the work is too nice and precious to be paid for; i have a reward you dream not of for my labour. think you that men's immortal souls are to be mended like iron pots, at tinker's price? oh, no! they who meddle with souls go for higher wages.' "after further talk pugwash departed-the conjurer promising to bring him home his soul at midnight, that night week. it seemed strange to pugwash, as the time passed on, that he never seemed to miss his soul; that, in very truth, he went through the labours of the day with even better gravity than when his soul possessed him. and more; he began to feel himself more at home in his shop; the cobbler's lark over the way continued to sing, but awoke in isaac's heart no thought of the fields: and then for flowers and plants, why isaac began to think such matters fitter the thoughts of children and foolish girls, than the attention of grown men, with the world before them. even mrs. pugwash saw an alteration in her husband; and though to him she said nothing, she returned thanks to her own sagacity that made him seek the conjurer. "at length the night arrived when lotus had promised to bring home the soul of pugwash. he sent his wife to bed, and sat with his eyes upon the dutch clock, anxiously awaiting the conjurer. twelve o'clock struck, and at the same moment father lotus smote the doorpost of isaac pugwash. 106 the chronicles of clovernook. • "have you brought it?' asked pugwash. "or wherefore should i come?' said lotus. ' quick: show a light to the till, that your soul may find itself at home.' "the till!' cried pugwash; 'what the devil should my soul do in the till?' 666 6 speak not irreverently,' said the conjurer, but show a light.' 666 may i live for ever in darkness if i do!' cried pugwash. ་ "it is no matter,' said the conjurer; and then he cried, soul, to your earthly dwelling-place! seek it then turning to pugwash, lotus said, your soul's in the till.' -you know it.' it is all right. "how did it ment. 66 6 get there?' cried pugwash in amazethrough the slit in the counter,' said the conjurer; and ere pugwash could speak again, the conjurer had quitted the shop. "for some minutes pugwash felt himself afraid to stir. for the first time in his life, he felt himself ill at ease-left as he was with no other company save his own soul. he at length took heart, and went behind the counter that he might see if his soul was really in the till. with trembling hand he drew the coffer, and there, to his amazement, squatted like a tailor, upon a crown-piece, did pugwash behold his own soul, which cried out to him in notes no louder than a cricket's'how are you? i am comfortable.' it was a strange yet pleasing sight to pugwash, to behold what he felt to be his own soul embodied in a figure no bigger than the top joint of his thumb. there it was, a stark naked thing with the precise features of pugwash ; albeit the complexion was of a yellower hue. • the conjurer said it was green,' cried pugwash; as i live, if that be my soul-and i begin to feel a strange, odd love for it-it is yellow as a guinea. ha! ha! pretty, precious, darling soul!' cried pugwash, as the creature the chronicles of clovernook. 107 took up every piece of coin in the till, and rang it with such a look of rascally cunning, that sure i am pugwash would in past times have hated the creature for the trick. but every day pugwash became fonder and fonder of the creature in the till; it was to him such a counsellor, and such a blessing. whenever the old flower-man came to the door, the soul of pugwash from the till would bid him pack with his rubbish: if a poor woman-an old customer it might be begged for the credit of a loaf, the spirit of the till, calling through the slit in the counter, would command pugwash to deny her. more: pugwash never again took a bad shilling. no sooner did he throw the pocket-piece down upon the counter, than the voice from the till would denounce its worthlessness. and the soul of pugwash never quitted the till. there it lived, feeding upon the colour of money, and capering, and rubbing its small scoundrel hands in glee as the coin dropt-dropt in. in time, the soul of pugwash grew too big for so small a habitation, and then pugwash moved his soul into an iron box; and some time after, he sent his soul to his banker's-the thing had waxed so big and strong on gold and silver." 66 and so,' we observed, "the man flourished, and the conjurer took no wages for all he did to the soul of pugwash?" "for some time, "hear the end," said the hermit. it was a growing pleasure to pugwash to look at his soul, busy as it always was with the world-buying metals. at length he grew old-very old; and every day his soul grew uglier. then he hated to look upon it; and then his soul would come to him, and grin its deformity at him. pugwash died, almost rich as an indian kingbut he died, shrieking in his madness, to be saved from the terrors of his own soul." "and such the end," we said; such the tragedy of the till. a strange romance." 66 romance," said the sage of bellyfulle; "sir, 'tis a story true as life. for at this very moment how many 108 the chronicles of clovernook. thousands, blind and deaf to the sweet looks and voice of nature, live and die with their souls in a till?" we answered not, but for some minutes followed the hermit in silence, as he stept along velvet path; and the beauty of the place seemed to us to increase at every foot-fall. "what picturesque trees!" we suddenly cried, making a dead halt before two withered yews. "said i not," asked the hermit, with a smile," that clovernook had its ruins?" "there is a noble desolation in their dead trunkstheir bare pronged branches. in their sapless nakedness, with flower, and leaf, and blade springing around them; they stand solemn mementos of the end of all things. 66 "" 66 true," answered the hermit ; eloquently doth a dead tree preach to the heart of man-touching its appeal from the myriad forms of life bursting about it! yes, the dead oak of a wood, for a time, gives wholesome check to the heart, expanding and dancing with the vitality around. in its calm aspect, its motionless look, it works the soul to solemn thought, lifting it upwards from the earth." "there is a desolate grandeur in these old yews," we cried. 66 66 "poor things," said the smiling sage, "they were cruelly killed, though, doubtless, murdered with the best intentions. look at them, sir, in their majestic ruins; contemplate their magnificent nakedness; and then, sir, drop at least one tear for their untimely fate,— poor withered victims of the fantasy of woman!" "of woman!" we exclaimed. how, sir, of woman?" "how many springs might they have flourished!" cried the hermit, with a restrained humour curling his lip, and twinkling in his eye; "how many autumns might they have borne their pinky berries!-how many pairs of little birds might have wedded and built in their boughs, and brought up rejoicing families!--but that woman, sir, fantastic tyrannous woman, killed them in the chronicles of clovernook. 109 their prime-slew them in their green strength-made dead timber of their expanding greatness. thus, sir," cried the sage of bellyfulle, "doth the female creature sometimes blight the budding hopes of man, and change the flourishing hero into a dead log. poor ignorant souls! when they do worst murder, they call it love. they take a tough yew-tree in hand, and working their charms upon it, turn it into very touchwood. they seize the hardest heart of stubborn man; and like a lump of dough, they toss it and thump it, and roll it out, and lump it together again; and now make fancy pie-crust of it-and now a homely dumpling. oh, sir! whenever i feel my just anger at the ways of woman subsiding into unmanly softness, i come and look at these yews, and am stirred up again. the elephant, it is said, whets his tusks upon the gnarled trunks of trees. upon these yews do i from time to time sharpen up my blunted indignation.” 66 ha! as legend?" 66 we thought. then these yews bear a yea," said the hermit, with mock affliction; "most fruitful is their barrenness-most abounding in matter for contemplation are their nude and ghastly branches. think you, sir, you have the heart to listen to the story?" "at least, we'll try, was our answer; and the hermit, affecting to wipe a tear from his eyes with the back of his broad hand, and then heaving a profound preparatory sigh, began the tale. "" the legend of roses; or, the old maids' green husbands. "the precise date of this history," said the hermit, "is lost in one of the corner cupboards of time; but once it was, believe me, fresh as eve's cheek—and still the unwrinkled spirit of truth dwells in it, making it as a tale of yesterday. beautiful truth! never young and 110 the chronicles of clovernook. never old; but keeping, through all change and all time, its bloom and grace of paradise, even to the judgment. "well, sir, it is somewhere written in our chronicles of clovernook, that once upon a time two gentle maidens, by name bridget and veronica, came from the outside world, and entering the valley of naps, and taking their due rest at the warming-pan, and leaving what was dim and worn in their looks at the shrine of the lookingglass, they were at length, according to custom, admitted among the happy villagers. they never told their story; but it was plain they had jilted some poor innocent men out of their hearts, they were so wont to giggle, and laugh, and—not to speak it irreverently before the blooming faces of the whole sex-would rejoice like two successful pickers of pockets, or other flourishing malefactors. with all this, it was plain that they were sometimes not at their ease. it was marked of them that they would frequently wander to the very top of gossip-hill, and there, unmindful of the dewy grass, would drop themselves despairingly down, and sit watching and watching, with their faces toward the valley of naps, as though they expected some old acquaintance to arrive thereby. the simple-hearted chronicler who has set this down-what an innocent, milk-white goose must have bred his pen !-confesses that he knows not whom bridget and veronica could expect. perhaps, says he, it may have been their brothers; perhaps their uncles. of course, sir, it was the weak, foolish young men whom they had barbarously stript of their affections, and left to perish on the world's highway; these it was for whom bridget and veronica risked sciatica and rheumatic pains, nailed, as it would seem, hour after hour, upon the greensward, looking for lost love. 66 'ha, sir, here is a lesson, if the obstinacy of woman would only let her con it. consider, sir; call to mind the barbarous impertinence of those two young womenwhen with murderous and triumphant eyes they walked the world—relentlessly dragging forlorn young men by the chronicles of clovernook. 111 their heartstrings through briar and brake; over flints, through gutters, and up dreary, winding lanes; still dragging them onward, onward, and now and then turning round, and with settled malice smiling, and showing their red, pulpy lips, and cruellest white teeth. consider these homicidal maidens in their flaunting hours of conquest, stepping with mincing steps upon men's hearts, and deeming in their arrogance that they conferred much honour with the points of their toes. ha, sir! such pictures make a bold man shudder at the tyranny of woman! in his virtuous indignation at such violent wrong, he feels that no punishment can revenge him upon the sex! and then, alas! sir, when he sees the poor forlorn things sorry for what they have done― when, victims to their own dreadful ignorance, like a babe that hath unwittingly let off a blunderbuss, they are laid prostrate, fairly knocked down by their own act, why, sir-philosopher and flinty-bosomed fellow as i am -i feel myself ashamed when i pity them." 66 yet, after all, it is a magnanimous softness," said we, falling in with the humour of the sage. "and thus, sir, i have felt two tears, big as ordinary marbles, roll adown my cheeks, when i have read the simple text of the simple chronicler, who relates that, night after night, bridget and veronica, still seated on the cold and colder grass, looked down into the valley of naps. poor things! every night their fancy believed that their lovers-the scolded, kicked, spurned dogs of other days-were with hopeful faces struggling towards the warming-pan, and would, with the morrow's sun, enter clovernook! alas, and alas! can we doubt that the young men had wedded themselves to kinder, more compassionate mates, and that oft, when their late mistresses were watching for them -watching and shivering in the night wind-they, snug fellows, were in their first sleep, close by their happy wives? yet still would bridget and veronica, seated on the damp grass, feel that every night their 112 the chronicles of clovernook. hopes grew colder and colder; and then would they look up at the stars, and then would venus seem to wink reproachfully down upon them, saying in that wink,— oh, bridget and veronica, what fools you were!' • "time passed on-winter came and bridget and veronica, warned by the sudden bite of rheumatic pains, watched no more on gossip-hill. it was plain, they thought, that their lovers were dead, otherwise they must have followed them. why, sir, the men lived to be happy great grandfathers, and died somewhere about fourscore and five. bridget and veronica suffered themselves to sink gracefully down upon their sorrow as though it were a cushion; came here to velvet path, built a sort of comfortable nunnery, and were-if history is to be trusted in anything-the inventresses of muffins. 66 27 it is well," said we, "when the afflictions of the heart can be so profitably diverted." 66 thus, sir," replied the hermit, "private sorrows often become public luxuries. i never cut my wintry muffin-never see the butter shining like bright amber upon it—that i do not feel a gentle swelling of the heart towards bridget and veronica. though, to be sure, it is especially the bounden duty of women to bend all their little energies to the one task of lightening and adorning masculine human life. sir," said the hermit 66 with a grave look, when we think what women have brought upon us poor men, they owe us all sorts of muffins.' 66 "what they have brought upon us!" we cried. how, sir? what do you mean?" "all the pain, the trouble, and the weariness of sinful life. now, sir,' said the hermit, "muffins and other such innocent delights go a great way to break the fall." 66 they built a nunnery, you say ? why, there is no stone, no brick of it," cried we. "no; a great evidence," replied the hermit, "of the chronicles of clovernook. 113 the antiquity of the legend. the less we find to prove the truth of a story, the greater should be our faith in it: such, sir, is the true antiquarian creed, and for myself, i am a devout believer. it is very true, the nunnery is gone; the oven to which mankind owes its first muffins is a thing of shadows. nay, the said mankind with greasy chin, cheek-deep in muffins, may in its besetting ingratitude deny the very existence of bridget and veronica. what care i for that?-here, sir, in these old yews, their mournful, blighted husbands". "husbands!" "husbands," repeated the hermit; "i see and acknowledge them; even as in the sorrowful furbelow of a widow, i am made to acknowledge her departed spouse. "" "pray, sir, explain. what riddle is this? how came these dead, leafless trunks to be called the husbands of the maidens bridget and veronica? their husbands forsooth!" 66 ay, sir," cried the hermit ; "and what was worse, their murdered mates. they stand, in their present desolation, gaunt witnesses of the volatility, the wilfulness of the sex. yes, sir; they were stripped to the condition you see them in, and left upon the world. i will tell you-as, indeed, i have gathered it from the chronicler-how it was. for some years, bridget and veronica smiled graciously upon the villagers of clovernook. nevertheless, there was no man among them bold enough to return the courtesy. yes, the women flung down their smiles, but no man with proper chivalry took them up. well, sir, this could not go on. bridget and veronica felt, with increasing years, increasing philosophy; and precisely at the time that all men had resolved never to make them wives, they-stubborn souls!-determined not to wed the best, the noblest creature alive. the human heart has, of course, its pouting fits; it determines to live alone; to flee into desart places; to have no employment, that is, to love i 114 the chronicles of clovernook. nothing; but to keep on sullenly beating, beating, beating, until death lays his little finger on the sulky thing, and all is still. this, the human heart, in some wayward fit proposes to itself, and thinks itself strong as adamant in its determination. well, it goes away from the world, and straightway-shut from human company -it falls in love with a plant, a stone-yea, it dandles eat or dog, and calls the creature darling.' "" “true, sir; it is the beautiful necessity of our nature to love something." "and so bridget and veronica-sympathizing spinsters!-fell in love with these yew trees, and their love proved tragical to them; for the yews withered, died under the affection. patience, sir, and you shall know the whole history. when the sisters came here—so runs the legend-these yews were brave, wide-spreading trees; freely flourishing, with nature only tending them broad robust fellows were they, when bridget and veronica cast their hearts upon them. and then the women, in the very fantasy of their passion, resolved to cut and trim the yews-to lop and trim them-into what they called shape. doubtless, sir, you have seen in the outside world mummeries of the sort; have seen trees taken out of heaven's hand, and cut and trimmed into peacocks, pyramids, and nameless monsters? now bridget and veronica-at least let us award them such praise eschewed all other shapes, save the form of man; hence, had they the yew trees cunningly fashioned into two brave knights, with shield on arm and sword in hand. thus did the maidens delicately show their yearning sympathies towards the sex-thus did they make manifest to all clovernook the tenderness of their unrequited hearts. poor souls! it would have been the worst surliness of man to grudge them such poor comfort it was not for men who, in their own persons, had refused to become the living, fleshly protectors of bridget and veronica, to sneer at and condemn the vegetable substitutes, which, in the very meekness of misfortune, the chronicles of clovernook. 115 the poor women had elected for their helpmates. if man will not become spouse to woman, is it just in him—is it even decent to upbraid and make sorry mirth of the dear creature, if she wed herself to a yew, a cedar, a holly-bush? when, sir, i have beheld the virgin innocence of threescore fondling and feeding with tit-bits some wheezing, apoplectic dutch pug, i have felt compassion, ay, heightened somewhat into admiration, for the poor soul, who, making the best of hard fortunewho, turning the slights of the world to the best account -has cheerfully, magnanimously, sunk the husband in the dog. when i have seen waning beauty begin to feed cockatoos and parrots, giving them sugar from her own mouth, i have felt for the hard condition of the feeder-have been moved to deepest pity for her strait. and thus, had i lived in the days of bridget and veronica, i could have cheerfully touched my bonnet to their yew-tree husbands, standing here in all weathers, knowing that it was not the fault of the poor maidens themselves their first caprice excepted that their spouses grew outside the house, when assuredly the dear women would have rather had them cosy at the fireside. 66 poor souls! the chronicler tells us that both bridget and veronica would, in the spring time, watch their shooting mates; would with softened hearts behold their tips of tender green, and strive to feel, with all the love of loving wives, renewed affection for their vegetable lords. in summer they would sit under the protecting shadow of their husbands, working needlework of such surpassing delicacy and brightness, that the degenerate women of our day never, even in day-dreams, see the like. autumn, too, would find bridget and veronica constantly hovering near the knights; and in winter time, with the earth iron-bound, and icicles hanging from the eaves, sweet was it to the spirit of either wife to hear the robin red-breast, perched now upon the pummel of the knight's sword-now upon his casque—and i 2 116 the chronicles of clovernook. now upon his shoulder-singing a song of hope to desolation!" "" "and yet, sir, we observed, "with all this tenderness, you say the women killed their growing husbands ?" 66 so says the chronicler," answered the hermit, “and the evil happened after this manner. one winter the cold was terrible. long was it before the breath of spring called forth the buds; and then, with all other things sprouting and shooting, the yew-tree knights showed not the green leaf. with a sweet superstition, bridget and veronica gave themselves up for lost; they believed that their lives depended upon the vitality of the yews let the knights cease to bud, and they -their widows-must cease to breathe. they were even as the hamadryads, and only held existence during the leafing of their lords. long and sharp was the suspense. day after day, the folks of clovernook would call to know the best or worst. the husbands of bridget and veronica were especial favourites: middle-aged folks from their childhood remembered them; they had stood so boldly, valorously, through the storms of years; and then it had been so pleasant to watch the spring green steal upon the edge of their swords, to see it freshen up their shields, and break in their helmets. it was, too, an anxious time with the children of clovernook to see the knights trimmed every autumn; to watch the cunning progress of the shears, as, in the artistic hands of the gardener, they worked in and out, above and below, reforming the wanderings of vegetation, and clipping vagrant and slovenly twigs into the proper trimness of knighthood. and at these clippings bridget and veronica were always present, directing with earnest and affectionate eye the operations of the steel; and, strange to say, every new autumn feeling a deeper love, a closer tie towards their pruned helpmates. "at length the knights took new heart, and began to shoot. what a load was lifted off the hearts of bridget the chronicles of clovernook. 117 and veronica ! their husbands-for by such fond names were the trees known to all clovernook-were not dead; the pride and glory of the place still flourished. again would the women sit and embroider beneath their shadows-again would they rejoice in the strength of their spouses. fond human hopes-vain aspirations! it is true that the knights were alive and lusty; but frost-a mortal frost-had pinched both their noses; the prominent grace and beauty of the knightly countenance was gone; whatever else might shoot, the nose would never grow again! 66 now, sir, you or i might think a noseless knight far better than a knight defunct. not so bridget and veronica in the noble recklessness of their sex, they declared they would rather that their yew-tree husbands should have died outright, than stand through all weathers disgraced and noseless: there would have been dignity in complete death; but to be maimed, disfigured, made ridiculous by calamity, it was insupportable. misery they could endure, but not mockery. "well, sir, in this time of tribulation, the gardener hazarded a hope. if the head of each knight were cut closer in, a new nose might be brought out; but then to show a diminished head upon the old broad shoulders would look disproportionate ungainly. if a nose must be had, it could only be produced by lessening the knight from head to heel; by reducing the whole figure; indeed, by bringing down what was grand and gigantic into the proportions of very common life. thus a nose might be obtained; but was it not to purchase a nose at, in sooth, a most preposterous price? "the gardener had said enough. he had given it as his opinion that the noses might be restored, and it mattered not to bridget and veronica-poor headstrong women!-how it was brought about. a nose they would have, come what might: the gardener was ordered to produce the noses, and to leave the rest to fate. the day was fixed; all clovernook attended the solemnity, 118 the chronicles of clovernook. and day after day, with breathless attention, hung upon the movements of the gardener, who, on the third day, had so successfully dwarfed one of the knights, that he looked no bigger than page to his unclipped companion. but then the little fellow had a beautiful nose; and in the very completeness of his countenance brought out the degradation of his noseless co-mate. a dwarf with a nose was by far more preferable than a giant without; and the next day the gardener was set to work to finish his labours. a few days, and the husbands of bridget and veronica again displayed their full-grown noses to the sun. to be sure, they had lost immensely both in height and bulk; but each had gained a nose. but "and bridget and veronica were contented, happy women; they looked at their husbands, and felt grateful for their noses. alas, and alas! they knew not, dear souls, that they had bought noses with lives. so it was; the poor fellows had been cut so close to the quick, had been so shorn, that they could not survive the treatment of the shears. in a word, sir, the yew-trees died; the husbands of bridget and veronica gave up leafing, and in a short time became the bare, unprofitable things you see them.' "" "and the women, sir, the maiden-widows of the yew-tree lords?" 66 66 they saw no second spring. their husbands had ceased to shoot, and they dropt with the fall of their leaf. it is strange that the dead, sapless trunks should have stood so long; but," said the hermit, i take it, they are kindly preserved by fate as lasting records of woman's wilfulness. to me, sir, these dry logs are touching orators. indeed, are they not preachers of great counsel to what we jocosely call the gentle sex? " "counsel what counsel ? 66 "" this," answered he of bellyfulle," that come what may, a woman should never risk the loss of a husband for the sake of his nose." the chronicles of clovernook. 119 we will not venture to declare that the hermit was too exhausted by the delivery of this truth to continue his talk; we think not. nevertheless, we think that the story struck upon some chord in his heart, and made him for a time taciturn. indeed, in the matter of noses, the hermit could hardly escape suspicion; there was much equivocation in the centre of his face; was it a nose, or was it not? had he been a sufferer from the we are afraid so. caprice of the sex? with slow and silent steps we trod velvet path, following the silent hermit. at length he paused before a barn. there," said he, 66 clovernook ruins.' "a ruin! "there is another of our 66 we cried. indeed, it seems a goodly barn, in excellent, most perfect condition." "true, sir, it seems so; and yet is it a ruin: what think you it once was? you cannot guess? mint, hospital, or prison? sir, it was a palace; a kingly abiding-place. monarchs were crowned where now the folks of clovernook thrash beans and wheat." "indeed!" we cried, and without a second thought were passing on, when the hermit paused, and laid his hand upon our shoulder. a "is not such a ruin," he asked, "of all antiquities most potent in its call to the heart and the imagination? to me it seems to hint the history of human kind. palace and a barn! how far were men from the palace when they first laboured the earth! what changes of thought—what growth of energy-what subtlety-what calculation-what playing of man against man-motive against motive,ere the king arose from among his fellows, and clay was deified by clay! what a leap from adam's spade to solomon's sceptre! lingering here, dreaming on this spot, it seems to me that i can almost see the growth of the world; can almost behold the advance and struggle of the race, from the hour that all men tilled the earth, and tended flocks, to the first crowning of a king-a shepherd king! a palace and a barn! 120 the chronicles of clovernook. "now is it an abiding-place for men who, ages elapsed, are the things of ceremony; who, the pastoral days long gone, live a life of artificial wants, of artificial homage; whose best enjoyment is self-sacrifice to pomp; and now, time has run on, and the flail is heard where royal trumpets sounded. the sons of adam quit fields and flocks to build a palace; the king is anointed; state keeps its court; death shoots his silent arrows; ages pass, the husbandman takes possession of the kingly palace, and winnows grain where monarchs held their sway. the palace turned to the barn seems to make goodly reparation. adam gets his own again." at length we reached the end of velvet path, which gently winding brought us to the door of the gratis, the one hostelry of clovernook. a few of the villagers were at the door, and greeted the hermit with happy salutations; for, as they declared, he had been some time a stranger to them. i should have come to the cell tomorrow," said an old man, whose turbaned head and expressive face made us curious to learn his history. "who is he?" we asked of the hermit, as he turned into the gratis. 66 "we call him mahomet," answered the sage. the outside world he was a street-dealer in rhubarb." "mahomet! surely not a turk?" we cried. 66 "" "in why not? asked the hermit. "we leave the battles of creeds to the noisy, impudent world you come from. here, in clovernook, no man seeks to thrust himself between his fellow and heaven." "and have you a mosque in clovernook? if not, where does your turk worship? 29 "did i not, from gossip hill, point out the place? we have no other. there, all men, in their turn, communicate with the other world. there, all, in their turn, give place to one another; humility teaches them tolerance. no man here makes to himself a trading property in human souls; no man asserts for himself exclusive freehold in heaven. you are yet young amongst the chronicles of clovernook. 121 66 us, sir, and i see marvel at my words; you will find them true true to the letter. enough for the present; come, i'll show you to the parlour." we followed the hermit, and in a few moments found ourselves in a large apartment, in which were about twenty persons seated in easy arm-chairs around a table. 'my friend," said the hermit, introducing us. all the company rose, and bowing towards us, cried " welcome." they then took their seats, and instantly we felt as we were at home. as the villagers will, in due time, introduce themselves, we shall not now dwell upon their various characters. one man alone we will speak of. he looked so old, and yet so purified from the stains and marks of years, he seemed something more than mortal. his face was smooth and thin; pale, too, as moonlight; his eyes were of a clear, deep, piercing grey, and his snow-white hair, parted at the forehead, hung massively down his shoulders. his smile was sweet and guileless as the smile of a babe. a wreath of amaranth encircled his head. "who is he? we asked of the hermit; and the sage answered, is the oldest inhabitant." 29 66 he at length, then, thought we, he is found; at length we see in the body that strange, mysterious person, whose experience at times amazes a young and thoughtless generation. the oldest inhabitant! how often do we hear his voice, like the voice of the cuckoo, coming to us from an unseen anatomy! what garnered knowledge must be his! what hard frosts has he chronicled! what times of scarcity-what days of fatness! now doth he pass judgment upon gooseberries, declaring them to be the largest within his memory; now doth he the like service to hail-stones! and now precisely doth he measure the height of floods, and now weigh the weight of spent thunder! there is something solemn, too, in the oldest inhabitant. he is the link between the dead and the living: in the course of nature, the next to be called from among us; his place immediately supplied by a second brother. generations 122 the chronicles of clovernook. have gone, passed into the far world, and left him here their solitary spokesman-the one witness of the wonders that had birth among them. he remains here to check the vanity of the present, by his testimony to the past. where would be all human experience without the oldest inhabitant? yet, surely, we thought-in no way discouraged in our belief by the placid, gentle looks of the venerable man at the table-surely, the oldest inhabitant loves now and then to pass off a joke upon his ignorant juniors. yes; antiquity likes a hoax, and often, by its officer, the oldest inhabitant, puts off a flam upon the unconscious and too confiding present. such was our thought; and, in truth, it was, after, well justified by the practice of the white-haired sage at the board. no little boy ever loved apples better than the oldest inhabitant loved a joke. in his time, he had written much for the newspapers. "you were talking, master cuttlefish," said the hermit, addressing a villager about fifty years old-a man with a remarkably blithe look, and ready manner. let us interrupt no tale," cried he of bellyfulle. 66 "i was about to tell a little pen-and-ink experience; an incident that happened to me in my days of goosequill," said cuttlefish; from which i guessed that the speaker had driven the dangerous trade of author. "there is little in the story; only, indeed, this much, that it taught me to have some tolerance even for those of the very worst report." let us "call you that little?" cried the hermit,—“ why, 'tis one of the prime lessons of benignant man. have the story. but say, is it not a little chilly tonight? could we not bear some heat, eh?" whereupon, all called for a fire. the oldest inhabitant rang a silver bell that stood upon the table; when, instantly, a face that in short, one of those faces that coming suddenly upon startled man, fairly make him gasp at their alarming beauty-looked in at the door. "sweetlips," said the hermit, 66 a fire." the girl nodded and the chronicles of clovernook. 123 again closed the door; but ere we could recover ourselves she again entered the room, carrying a small faggot of cinnamon, which she laid upon the hearth, and stooped to arrange some logs for kindling. think her thus occupied, whilst with dull, pale ink, we vainly try to draw her beauty. sweetlips-for such in clovernook was her name-had in her time been maid of honour at the english court: she was still unmarried, and it was said, had renounced the outside world, and become maid at the gratis, for the pure love of independence. now, then, for her face. (the pen shakes in our hand, as though conscious of the hopeless task wherein we would employ it.) her face was beautifully fair-perfectly regular. it was a dream of a rapt sculptor, incarnate and living. talk of music, the face seemed to breathe nothing but harmonious sprightly thoughts. her pretty forehead was a tablet that seemed consecrated from the mark of age; no, time, with his sacrilegious pen, should never mark one black line there. it was living ivory, defying wrinkles. her lips! we almost faint, putting down the monosyllable her lips, scarlet as blood, seemed pouting with unconscious wealth. her eyes were of dark, heart-devouring hazel; with now a little love in them glancing timidly about, and now a merry little devil. her hair-if it was hair-came bright and smoothly as light about her temples, and hung in lustrous curls at her neck. then her form! what swelling ripeness! her waist-we could see it; even the arm of the oldest inhabitant appeared for a moment as it would move towards it; her step seemed to strike music from the ground,—and then her foot !—what man, with the heart of man, would not have made that heart its cushion? her voice, too! she spoke but three words, and for the next half-hour we were listening to some delicious music. her dress was of the prettiest, quaintest fashion. she wore a white lawn boddice, laced with silken lace before; her gown was of dove colour; and her snow-white apron was curiously worked with fruits 124 the chronicles of clovernook. and flowers around the border; needle never wrought such delicate similitudes. "sweetlips," said the hermit, "to-night i'll take my tankard." whereupon the girl brought a large silver vessel of wonderful workmanship, and with an eloquent smile placed it before the sage of bellyfulle. he, with an affection almost fatherly, patted her on her cheek, and in his cordial voice wished that, die when she would, it might be with a wedding-ring upon her finger. "and now," said the hermit, turning to cuttlefish, "tell your story." "there is but little story in the matter," said cuttlefish; "it is nothing more than an incident of my goosequill days.' "begin," cried the hermit of bellyfulle; and immediately the speaker obeyed. "it had been my ill fortune to be called a genius by my discriminating parents, who, hugging themselves in the possession of such a treasure, would constantly remark that i did nothing like any other boy. no matter what was the mischief, to their satisfaction i always contrived to give it an original turn that mightily recommended the misdoing. my brothers were dull, stupid fellows, who i have heard my father declare it twenty times-would never make a figure in the world. no; it would be to me-his youngest and only hopethat the name of cuttlefish would owe a lasting lustre.. and this belief was as a religion to my poor mother. dear soul! she once visited westminster abbey. she had not been five minutes in poets' corner, before she burst into tears, and was compelled to quit the place. at the earnest entreaties of my father, she, after a time, confessed the cause of her emotion. she could not, she said, look at the statues of the great people about her, without feeling that her dear jacky-myself-would one day stand among 'em. she couldn't help, she said, the feelings of a mother; and they had been too much for her." the chronicles of clovernook. 125 "it is something, "poor soul!" cried the hermit. to be sure, to the small pride of fleshly man to think of standing in an attitude of eternal marble for all comers of all generations; and yet the halfpence taken for the show do somewhat jingle a discordance. they bring the dead philosopher of the abbey down to the living spotted boy of the caravan. 'tis making madam fame the money-taker at a threepenny show. perhaps,' added the hermit, with a smile, "'twas this thought that touched your mother into tears. women jump like cats to conclusions; and the poor soul might have been shocked at the prospect of the copper fee. "" "she might," said cuttlefish, "i cannot say. it may, however, be some comfort to her spirit to know that i shall certainly escape the degradation. however, with this belief, that i should irradiate the name of cuttlefish, my parents let me follow my own will, which, at a very early age, developed itself towards doing nothing. and, indeed, throughout my life, that, my first bent, has ever directed me. my brothers, who were so very stupid, and therefore fit for nothing, were early placed in the world, and indicated the truth of the parental opinion, by making their fortunes. they were dull blockheads, according to my father, and so became men of wealth and influence by the very force of their insensibility. now i, who was brimful of genius, was to do everything by some extraordinary hocus-pocus dreamt of by my parents, but of which i, indeed, had not the remotest knowledge. leave jack alone,' would still be my father's cry, he'll make his way in the worldhow can it be otherwise? he has such wit!' well, after spending my little patrimony-and in its happy mode of outlay i may be permitted to observe i showed a genius for ten thousand a year—and after losing some twelvemonth or two at bo-peep with bailiffs, you will judge of my destitution when i tell you that i found myself reduced to pen and ink. oh, my friends! there is a condition for the human animal. consider the 126 the chronicles of clovernook. outcast. the maker of matches has a business; nay, he is the possessor of a mystery. when he has made his matches, there they are-tangible wood and brimstone; their merits open to the eye of cook and housemaid. conscious of the excellence of his ware, the match-maker may higgle gallantly for his price; matches are things wanted in the commerce of life; it is no difficult task to recommend their utility to the world, alive as it is to the worth of firelight. but books! their worth is a matter of fancy, say of weakness, to the weaker part of mankind; they have no standard value, none, at their birth. hence, the unknown maker of a book-i speak especially of the time when i first sinned in ink-is a sort of gipsy in the social scale; a picturesque vagabond, who somehow or the other contrives to live on the sunny side of the statutes, but is nevertheless vehemently suspected of all sorts of larceny by respectable householders. shall i ever forget the uneasiness, the look of distrust from my landlady, when first the alarming truth fell upon her, that her three-pair room sheltered an author-or rather, an author in the shell, for as then i had hatched nothing, but was only sitting upon foolscap? good soul! in a flutter of concern, she told me that that very room had been tenanted, for three long years, by an honest journeyman tailor, whose rent was regular as the saturday. she looked at me from head to heel, and said she hoped that all was right; though i could perceive that she spoke in the very forlornness of the feeling. and after all, the woman had truth upon her side. her tenant tailor had an allowed business; was a recognised necessity by fallen man; was moreover one of a worshipful guild; an artificer whose cunning administered to human pride; whose handiwork was all-in-all to worldly triumphs. for instance, what would be a coronation without a tailor? what would be man, left to nothing more than sheepskins and parrots' plumes? hence, the woman, in her strong sense of the decencies of life, acknowledged the vital use of the labourer of the the chronicles of clovernook. 127 : needle; hence, when she learnt that i only dealt in pen and ink, she looked upon me as a sort of vagabond conjuror; a white wizard, whose very money-if ever she saw it might be of doubtful origin. shillings got out of an inkstand, she could hardly look upon as good mint coin and for this reason, she could not comprehend how any man, by mere pen, ink, and paper, could give value received for the ready cash. now the tailor's work was plain: a pair of breeches was a tangible thing; and spoke as it were common sense to the common sense of man and womankind. but authorship! alas, how small to the breeches was a tale in verse!" 66 right, very right," said the oldest inhabitant. “i can remember in the days of my youth that people who dealt in pen and ink were made to live in a quarter of the city by themselves, for fear the rest of the inhabitants should catch their disorder. they were set apart, like folks in a fever. and it was good policy, that very good. notwithstanding, the disease would now and then spread. indeed, a few foolish people went so far as to say that some babies were born with it." and here the oldest inhabitant gave a soft, flute-like chuckle, and then was silent. "there i was, the born genius, as my begetters had averred," said cuttlefish, "with wit enough to turn the world, destitute, penniless. can i cease to remember the blank, hopeless look, with which, for an hour and more, i sat for the first time gazing at the blank paper! then i rose from my wooden chair, and approached my chamber-window. i looked down into the street. there were coaches, and waggons, and drays, and carts-a thousand passing evidences of wealth and commerce. they all belong to somebody, said i. there-i would fancygoes a physician in his carriage to sell latin promises of health. there, the merchant to his counting-house; there, the lawyer to his office; there, too, a fellow cries rabbits; and there, at yonder corner, sits an old woman vending pippins. look where i will, i see no one who has not 128 the chronicles of clovernook. a wherewithal—a something to trade upon: real chattels, speaking to the dullest sense. and my stock in trade, thought i, with a despairing fall of the heart, is words; mere syllables. alas! in the humility of my soul, i would have exchanged my richest stock for the slippers hawked by an old levite past my door. man can understand the worth of shoe-leather, when the best written foolscap shall be to him as waste-paper. humbled by these thoughts, i returned to my chair; and again gazing on the barren sheet, groaned with sorrow that i had been born the genius of my house. how i chided fate that had not made me like my brothers, dull fellows-fools! "come to your story, said the hermit, impatiently appealing to his tankard. "what were the first doings of your maiden quill ?” 66 29 "" you shall hear," said cuttlefish. "i know not how long i sat with my skull clasped by my hands; trying with all my might to conjure my brains. however, i was at length aroused by a sharp knuckle rap at my door; which then opened, and a gentleman-as he appeared to me-of great dignity of manner, entered the room. pray, sir, i asked with growing confidence, for i saw the man could not be a bailiff, to whom do i owe the honour of this visit?'"' "as for my name, sir,' replied the stranger, with a melancholy smile, you know it well, though at present we will speak no further of it. you deal in pen and ink. i have a little job for you.' saying this, the stranger laid aside his cloak, and displayed a very beautiful court-suit of black. his ruffles and cravat were of the most superb lace; and his finger bore a diamond, which shone like a little sun in the room, drawing my eye with it wherever it moved. he was in every respect most richly appointed, yet was there nothing in his bravery of the coxcomb. he must be a cabinet-minister was my first belief; and then i thought, perhaps, a quack doctor." "" "did you not ask his name? inquired the hermit. "yes," answered cuttlefish; "but his first reply was the chronicles of clovernook. 129 only a smile, and a gentle shake of the head. then he said, 'oh! never mind my name—you have heard of me, who shall say how many times? then he drew himself a chair, and took a seat by the fire, which, for lack of fuel, was fast dying in the grate. seeing this, he took the ruin of a poker, for it was no more, in his hand, and asking, with the blandest smilewill you allow me?' thrust it among the dying cinders. instantaneously they blazed up, casting a brilliant light throughout the room. bless me,' i cried, i thought the fire was out.' whereupon the stranger, with the same sweet, yet strange smile, briefly remarkednothing like poking!' then my visitor again looked melancholy-again was silent. at length, i observed-'you said, sir, something about a job: of what character? a piece of large history-or merely a little bit of private scandal?' "not that not that,' said the stranger, with slight emotion. i have suffered too much from the scandal of the world; have too keenly felt its wickedness to inflict it even upon a beggar. the truth is, i came here to hire you to pen my defence.' 6 "alas, sir!' i cried, what have you done?' the stranger merely shook his head, and drew a deep, deep sigh. with what are you charged?' i demanded. • "with everything,' answered my visitor; with everything which the world calls wicked.' "at these words, i leapt from my chair. 666 that is, but, sir,' said the stranger, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, and passing it gently across his eyes, but, sir, though i do not wish to pass myself off as a pattern person, i am nevertheless cruelly slandered, look here, sir,' and to my astonishment, my visitor drew a large folio from his coat-pocket. be good enough to run your eye along that passage.' 66 "i did so, and read as follows. whereupon the old woman, upon being questioned, confessed that the devil had appeared to her in the shape of a black cat; that he promised her power over all things; and upon such prok 130 the chronicles of clovernook. mise, she became a witch. this happened at eleven at night, on the 24th of october, in the year 66 6 now, sir,' said the stranger, i am prepared to show the falsehood of every syllable of the old woman's story.' "you prove?' i cried; and then it immediately came into my mind that the unhappy gentleman was lunatic; and that it was his peculiar disorder-dreadful malady!-to believe himself no other than the wicked one. or, perhaps, thought i, he may be some poor hypochondriacal creature, who will be beelzebub, and nobody else. i have heard of folks thinking themselves into tea-pots-of insisting upon lowering themselves to mean and base vessels; with this man, the disease may have worked ambitiously. hence, poor creature! he may be a demon in his own conceit; and for a time, it may be humane to humour him. • then, sir,' i said to my visitor, there is no truth in the old gentlewoman's story? you were not bargaining with the witch on the night of666 " "i can prove an alibi,' cried the stranger, with some vehemence. 'on that very night, i was closeted with a certain minister of state, whose name, by the way, i must beg leave to suppress-making a bargain between him and a noble duke, for a vacant garter. and yet, sir, you must remark the grossness of the libel. it is therein written that i appeared as a black cat; that i visited a wretched old crone in a miserable, degrading disguise, as though ashamed of myself. infamous scandal, sir! i tell you, at that very time i was in my own person talking to one of the first men of the land; to a man of wealth and education; to one who had taken all sorts of honours at college; to one whose eloquence would lead away senates captive; whose keen logic would split hairs as a bill-hook would split logs. it was with him, sir with him, the noble and enlightened that i was chatting the whole of the night; and yet it is set down in that folio that i was wasting precious time, and forgetthe chronicles of clovernook. 131 ting what was due to myself-by masquerading it with some mumpish harridan as a black cat. upon my word,' said the stranger, with a look of injury—if men affect to despise my principles, they might respect my taste. the truth is, they commit all sorts of shameful deeds, and then lay the temptation upon my shoulders. be it murder, or be it robbery of a hen-roost, i am called the wicked instigator of the enormity; when the assassin and the thief had nobody but themselves to thank for the evil doing. it is, sir, upon this point that i wish the aid of your pen to set me right with the world.' "it is clear, thought i, the man is mad. poor fellow! but i'll hear his story out. "look here, sir,' said he, and again he dived into his coat pocket; again he pulled forth another large folio. 'read this,' he said. " 6 "obediently, i took the volume, and read the passage to which the stranger's finger pointed; it ran thusfurthermore it was a common report that when any gentleman or lord came to see the lord of orne, they were entertained (as they thought) very honourably, being served with all sorts of dainty fare and exquisite dishes, as if he had not spared to make them the best cheer that might be. but at their departure they that thought themselves well refreshed found their stomachs empty, and almost pined for want of food, having neither eaten nor drank anything, save in imagination only; and it is to be thought that their horses fared no better than their masters. it happened one day that a certain lord being departed from his house, one of his men having left something behind, returned to the castle, and entering suddenly into the hall where they dined a little before, he espied a monkey beating very sorely the master of the house that had feasted them of late! and there be others that say that he hath been seen through the chink of a door, lying on a table upon his belly, and a monkey scourg ing him very strangely; to whom he should say,-let me alone,―let me alone; wilt thou always torment me thus?' k 2 132 the chronicles of clovernook. c "now, sir,' said the stranger, with a piteous look, you at once apprehend the monkey-you know for whom he is intended?' "it is no difficult matter to guess,' said i. "upon my honour,' said the stranger, rising from his seat, and speaking with difficulty from emotion, ‘upon my honour, whatever may have been the parts i have acted, i never yet appeared as a monkey; never, sir; the accusation is only one of the ten thousand falsehoods concerning me that men have invented to disguise the wicked deeds of their own free spirits. i ask, wherefore monkey? what should i have gained by so base, so low a disguise? besides, why should i have taken the trouble to visit the lord of orne? would it not have been more reasonable to wait till his lordship came to me?' "poor fellow again i thought he is very mad indeed! "look here, again, sir,' said the stranger, and he took another, a smaller book, from his pocket. 'read here: more scandal.' 66 taking the volume from his hand, i read as follows: there was a conjuror at salzburg, that vaunted that he could gather all the serpents within half a mile round about into a ditch, and feed them and bring them up there; and being about the experiment, behold the old and grand serpent came in the while, which whilst the conjuror thought by the force of his charms to make it enter the ditch among the rest, he set upon and inclosed him round about like a girdle so strongly, that he drew the conjuror into the ditch with him, where he miserably died.' " "the fellow's foot slipped,' said the stranger. may i die for ever if i had any hand in it—and then for the story of the serpent-but never mind; please to look at this.' with this the stranger took another folio from his pocket. opening it upon the table, he pointed to a paragraph, and in the mildest voice, said lege.' i obeyed. “it was, in truth, a very lamentable spectacle that the chronicles of clovernook, 133 6 happened to the governor of macon, a magician, whom the devil snatched up in dinner-while, and hoisted aloft, carrying him three times about the town of macon in the presence of many beholders, to whom he cried in this manner-help! help! my friends! so that the whole town stood amazed thereat. yea, and the remembrance of this strange accident sticketh at this day fast in the minds of all the inhabitants of the country; and they say that this wretch, having given himself to the devil, provided himself with store of holy bread, which he always carried about with him, thinking thereby to cheat him; but, in truth, it served him in no stead, as his end declared.' 666 what think you of that?' asked the stranger. do you mark the folly, the useless labour they put upon me? why should i have taken the trouble of carrying the governor three times about the town, when i had but to wait patiently for him-to bide my time, as you worldly people say, and he must have found me? besides, what an ass does the scandal-monger make me! is it likely that i should so forget my own interest as to make so public an example of my victim? was that the way, think you, to draw other folks in? but there, there is the blundering of the chroniclers. now, they call me all sorts of names to show my cunning; and now they make me do tricks that would disgrace a fool, why can't they be consistent? "yes; the poor man is certainly mad, again and again i said to myself; though, to confess the truth, when i saw him dive his hands into his pockets, and draw from them huge folios, i did, despite of myself, feel a strange fear-a creeping terror. "read here!' he cried; 'tis, i know, a well-known story; yet read it, that i may, as your law-makers have it, explain.' "obediently i read. "cornelius agrippa, a great student in magic, and man both famous by his own works and others' report, 134 the chronicles of clovernook. for his necromancy, went always accompanied with the devil in the similitude of a black dog. but when his time of death drew near, and he was urged to repentance, he took off the enchanted collar from the dog's neck, and sent him away with these terms,-get thee hence, thou cursed beast, which hast utterly destroyed me. and the dog was never after seen. 666 6 what think you of that?' asked the stranger, with a slight sneer. why there never was a greater flam. i knew cornelius agrippa very well.' " "indeed!' i cried, with increasing uneasiness, which nevertheless i endeavoured to conceal. what sort of a man may he have been?' "an excellent person; and for his dog-poor, faithful creature, it was the very fidelity of the animal that made him suspected by the hard-judging world: it was his very excellence that drew the scandal down upon him. the dog was incorruptible, and therefore, said men, the devil was in him.' "and you knew cornelius agrippa?' i ventured again to ask. . "that is,' answered the stranger, i wanted to know him. i knew his worldly miseries; i knew the contempt and lies that were visited upon him. i knew him an outcast from his fellows, spurned, hated by them; yet with a stout and constant spirit working for the lasting delights of those who persecuted him. i knew all this; and then, indeed, i tempted him, as i have tempted others of his tribe, with ease, with wealth, with all the sounding, hollow music of the world; but cornelius laughed at me and my promises; took his staff, whistled to his dog, and trudged securely about the world, though at every footstep its dwellers would have stoned him. to be sure i had this delight. i found that his dog had brought a bad name upon his master that was something. 66 poor cornelius!' cried i. 6 "nay,' said the stranger, not for the evil that it the chronicles of clovernook. 135 did to cornelius, but to those who reviled and hunted him. do you not see-i know the truth-that the malice garnered in the souls of the persecutors is of more worth to me than the suffering of the persecuted? on one hand, i have wickedness and folly working in ten thousand hearts-that is sin by wholesale. think you, when the martyr roasts at the stake, that it is his pains i delight in ? no it is the rejoicing of the men who have doomed him to the fate; it is the ferocious happiness of the multitude that makes my delight— it is"i started from the stranger, who, recalled to himself by my agitation, mildly saidto return to cornelius agrippa. to the last he rejected my friendship; and though it has passed from mouth to mouth among men that he and i did business together, it is not the truth. with his stout heart he spurned me; and so, i confess it, out of pure spite, i contrived to fasten a bad name upon his black dog.' "poor malice, indeed,' i cried. 666 why, yes,' said the stranger; but it has served its purpose; and, happily for my interest, there are few men-i mean the men in advance of the millions—who, by the beautiful falsehood of the world, have not all of them been charged with black dogs of some sort.' saying this, the stranger lightly laughed. "and now, sir, may i ask your precise business with me?' i asked, all the while feeling that i was closeted with a madman; though at the same time not unvisited by strange thoughts, which, however thick and fast they came, i strove to master. "have patience,' said the stranger, 'let me first supply you with your materials.' "hereupon the stranger, fast as he could, dipped both hands into his pockets, drawing therefrom folios, quartos -in truth, books of all dimensions, dropping them upon the ground, fast as hail-stones. as volume after volume fell, my blood became colder and colder, my hair 136 the chronicles of clovernook. stood up like wire; i sat in my chair motionless as though caught in a trap. with every moment i became more and more assured that i was giving audience to something supernatural, if not to the great fiend himself. in my confused horror, i asked myself, is he a doomed bookseller?-and then there was a remarkable intelligence in his face that gave no warranty of such a belief. at length, he seemed to have emptied his pockets, and stood up to the shoulders amid a heap of volumes. 66 6 at last, i was able to stammer, and do all those books contain something about you? 666 6 all; and ten thousand thousand more,' answered the fiend, for it was he, indeed. it has still been the trick, the injustice of man, to shuffle off the rascalities of his nature upon my shoulders. for thousands of years have i borne this injustice; but i will no longer endure with meekness the sins that really and truly belong to man himself. i will no longer be made the stupid blundering hero of his fireside tales; no longer be turned into all shapes, foolish, base, and contemptible, to excuse his ends. no: though, to confess it, i hate printer's ink as i hate the glory of the sun, nevertheless i will, i must, fight man with his own dirty missiles ; and will, therefore, print a book. it is, i am aware, a miserable strait to be reduced to,-a condition i little dreamt of when i was wont to dodge john gutenburg about the streets of mentz, and now and then stand beneath his eaves, listing the first creakings of his virgin press. i little thought that i should be brought to this pass; but so it is: my best weapon is now a fine, bold type. i have chosen you'—and here the fiend gave the nod of a patron—' to do my work.' " "with much labour did i assure the fiend, that i was wholly unworthy of the distinction. why not take the job to some experienced quill?' 666 no,' answered the fiend, 'i would rather intrust myself to your simplicity. you are yet obscure, unknown; the chronicles of clovernook. 137 and will for a time be docile: i say for a time, for when the book shall have won you a reputation, you will be as insolent and as unmanageable as the rest of them. how many authors have i in my time set up! and how shamefully have they rewarded me!' here the fiend ran over a bead-roll of names from faustus to but no matter, making out a strong case of thanklessness against one and all of them. 6 now you,' he said, will, i doubt not, finish what i want before you are quite spoiled. here, as i said,' and he looked at the mountain of volumes, are a few of your materials. i will, as you proceed, bring you more. 1 6 "i shuddered as i glanced at the crushing heap of books. a few of the materials! i cried; why, 'twill take me a life to go through them; for, to say the truth, i am a slow reader.' "you 'll find the labour nothing,' said the fiend, 'for i have doubled down the leaves at all the strong bits of scandal, and have pencilled my refutation in the margin. all that will be wanted from you, will be to put the matter into nice clear english, fit even for families. i could do it myself, but truly, i am not confident as to the purity of my language. i know something of all tongues, to be sure, quite well enough to speak; but not, i fear, to write. i was once very well skilled in the dead tongues, but, for want of practice, i feel myself now and then at fault in them. my coptic is quite gone; but i have contrived to keep up my hebrew talking with the stock-jobbers and money-lenders.' "and pray,' i ventured to ask, what is your favourite language' of all the modern? "i talk a great deal of french; indeed, without vanity, i may say it-i think i have the true parisian accent. not that i have had cause to neglect my english-oh, dear no; i talk much english, and let me tell you, to some of the very highest people. i know, the prejudice runs that i delight in low company; that my especial haunts are alleys, cellars, filthy places that 138 the chronicles of clovernook: even make me stop my nose to think of them. having an interest in all human life, i certainly do at times visit such places, but i am just as often-nay, oftener— to be found in boudoirs, in statesmen's closets, and royal drawing-rooms. but to business. you will immediately get on with your work,' and the fiend pointed to the work. 666 upon my soul,' i cried with vehemence, i had rather you took it somewhere else; i shall make nothing of it; you'll only suffer in my hands.' 666 but, look here,' said the fiend; and opening a volume where a leaf was turned, he read as follows: the poor child, possessed by the devil, vomited nothing but bits of glass, crooked pins, and died at midnight." * observe my note upon this,' said the fiend. at the very time i am set down as doing this mischief upon some babe or suckling, i was-here i have written it-supping with pope leo the tenth. and so throughout. you will find that my defence consists in a round of alibis. you will find-and it is in such spirit that i wish you to enforce the lesson-that what men falsely, fraudfully, foolishly call the instigation of the devil, the temptation of the devil, the prompting of the devil, the work of the devil, is no other than the antics of their own stupid, stubborn, headlong passion. it is thus the repentant pickpocket vows that it was i who crooked his finger for the theft the murderer swears 'twas i who gave him his weapon-the adulterer, that 'twas i who burned in his veins, and made him spirit off his neighbour's wife. all lies, all wilful hypocrisy, fathered upon me, who am determined to put up with the calumny no longer; and for this reason, i shall be just as sure of those who do a wrong as if i bore the shame of tempting them to the iniquity. i shall have them still, with the proper credit of their coming to me unpressed, uninvited. therefore, you will immediately from these and from the other books i will bring you, write my defence.' 666 will you have it in a folio?' i faintingly asked. the chronicles of clovernook. 139 666 certainly not,' said the fiend; a small pocket book for my money. let me see; properly condensed 'twill make two nice volumes. i shall pay you handsomely. i will give you a hundred guineas for the work. 999 "and pray," asked the hermit of bellyfulle, "did you ever write the book? 66 never," said cuttlefish with emphasis, wrote a single line." "and why not? inquired the sage. 66 66 never because, would you believe it," cried cuttlefish with a roaring laugh, "because the devil was ass enough to pay me fifty guineas for the work in advance." * * * the but the meetings at the "gratis" are no more. hostelry itself is closed, found to be unlicensed by the prim propriety of the world. the hermit has wandered we know not whither. now and then his wise, happy, cordial spirit seems to visit knots of men gathered together, to sit the sometime jurymen upon the faults and follies of the earth; when he asserts the influence of his benevolent soul in the broad charity of the verdict. yes; we must hug the belief that the hermit is still a pilgrim among men, though, like some kaiser out upon a holiday, he travels unknown. and clovernook? it is gone; wiped out of the map of the earth. even as some scene, bright with the hues of the land of dreams, the wonder-work of the golden-handed clarksonius stanfieldius,-is blanked and blotted out, that its whitened web may bear, it may be, a cold lodging-house or a colder prison,-so is clovernook but a place that was; a hamlet wherein 140 the chronicles of clovernook. fancy has loitered away a truant hour; loitered, to be called back to the hard bricks and mortar that carry rent-charge; to the real world gaol locked and grated by mulciber convention. a gaol wherein man, with his nose at the bars, will nevertheless see some sort of clovernook beyond. no unjust sentence; no keeper fortune, no turnkey circumstance can blind his brain to that fancy land. he will enjoy it: it is the heritage of the imperial soul of man: and therefore-though a thing of dreams-far more enduring than the stones of babylon. essays. the folly of the sword. may we ask the reader to behold with us a melancholy show—a saddening, miserable spectacle? we will not take him to a prison, a workhouse, a bedlam, where human nature expiates its guiltiness, its lack of worldly goods, its most desolate perplexity; but we will take him to a wretchedness, first contrived by wrong, and perpetuated by folly. we will show him the embryo mischief that, in due season, shall be born in the completeness of its terror, and shall be christened with a sounding name, folly and wickedness standing sponsors. we are in st. james's park. the royal standard of england burns in the summer air—the queen is in london. we pass the palace, and in a few paces are in birdcage walk. there, reader, is the miserable show we promised you. there are some fifty recruits, drilled, by a sergeant to do homicide cleanly, handsomely. in birdcage walk, glory sits upon her eggs, and hatches eagles! how very beautiful is the sky above us! blessing comes with the fresh, quick air! what a the trees, drawing their green beauty from the earth, quicken our thoughts of the bounteousness of this teeming world. 142 the folly of the sword. here, in this nook, this patch, where we yet feel the vibrations of surrounding london-even here, nature, constant in her beauty, blooms and smiles, uplifting the heart of man, if the heart be his to own her. now look aside, and contemplate god's image with a musket. your bosom still expanding with gratitude to nature, for the blessings she has heaped about you, behold the crowning glory of god's work managed like a machine, to slay the image of god-to stain the teeming earth with homicidal blood-to fill the air with howling anguish! is not yonder row of clowns a melancholy sight? yet are they the sucklings of glory—the baby mighty ones of a future gazette. reason beholds them with a deep pity. imagination magnifies them into fiends of wickedness. there is carnage about themcarnage, and the pestilential vapours of the slaughtered. what a fine-looking thing is war! yet, dress it as we may, dress and feather it, daub it with gold, huzza it, and sing swaggering songs about it-what is it, nine times out of ten, but murder in uniform? cain, taken the sergeant's shilling? and now we hear the fifes and drums of her majesty's grenadiers. they pass on the other side; and a crowd of idlers, their hearts jumping to the music, their eyes dazzled, and their feelings perverted, hang about the march, and catch the infection-the love of glory! and true wisdom thinks of the world's age, and sighs at its slow advance in all that really dignifies man, the truest dignity being the truest love for his fellow. and then hope and a faith in human progress contemplate the pageant, its real ghastliness disguised by outward glare and frippery, and know the day will come when the symbols of war will be as the sacred beasts of old egypt-things to mark the barbarism of by-gone war; melancholy records of the past perversity of human nature. we can imagine the deep-chested laughter-the look of scorn that would annihilate, and then the small comthe folly of the sword. 143 passion-of the man of war, at this, the dream of folly, or the wanderings of an inflamed brain. yet, oh, man of war! at this very moment are you shrinking, withering, like an aged giant. the fingers of opinion have been busy at your plumes-you are not the feathered thing you were; and then that little tube, the goosequill, has sent its silent shots into your huge anatomy; and the corroding ink, even whilst you look at it and think it shines so brightly, is eating with a tooth of rust into your sword. that a man should kill a man, and rejoice in the deed-nay gather glory from it is the act of the wild animal. the force of muscle and dexterity of limb, which make the wild man a conqueror, are deemed in savage life man's highest attributes. the creature, whom in the pride of our christianity we call heathen and spiritually desolate, has some personal feeling in the strife he kills his enemy, and then, making an oven of hot stones, bakes his dead body, and, for crowning satisfaction, eats it. his enemy becomes a part of him; his glory is turned to nutriment; and he is content. what barbarism! field-marshals sicken at the horror; nay, troopers shudder at the tale, like a fine lady at a toad. in what, then, consists the prime evil? in the murder, or the meal? which is the most hideous deed-to kill a man, or to cook and eat the man when killed? but softly, there is no murder in the case. the craft of man has made a splendid ceremony of homicide-has invested it with dignity. he slaughters with flags flying, drums beating, trumpets braying. he kills according to method, and has worldly honours for his grim handiwork. he does not, like the unchristian savage, carry away with him mortal trophies from the skulls of his enemies. no; the alchemy or magic of authority turns his wellwon scalps into epaulets, or hangs them in stars and crosses at his button-hole; and then, the battle over-the dead not eaten, but carefully buried-and the maimed 144 the folly of the sword. and mangled howling and blaspheming in hospitals the meek christian warrior marches to church, and reverently folding his sweet and spotless hands, sings te deum. angels waft his fervent thanks to god, to whose footstool-on the man's own faith-he has so lately sent his shuddering thousands. and this spirit of destruction working within him is canonized by the craft and ignorance of man, and worshipped as glory! and this religion of the sword-this dazzling heathenism, that makes a pomp of wickedness-seizes and distracts us, even on the threshold of life. swords and drums are our baby playthings; the types of violence and destruction are made the pretty pastime of our childhood; and as we grow older, the outward magnificence of the ogre glory-his trappings and his trumpets, his privileges, and the songs that are shouted in his praise-ensnare the bigger baby to his sacrifice. hence, slaughter becomes an exalted profession; the marked, distinguished employment of what, in the jargon of the world, is called a gentleman. but for this craft operating upon this ignorance, who -in the name of outraged god-would become the hireling of the sword? hodge, poor fellow, enlists. he wants work; or he is idle, dissolute. kept, by the injustice of the world, as ignorant as the farm-yard swine, he is the better instrument for the world's craft. his ear is tickled with the fife and drum; or he is drunk; or the sergeant-the lying valet of glory-tells a good tale, and already hodge is a warrior in the rough. in a fortnight's time you may see him at chatham; or, indeed, he was one of those we marked in birdcage walk. day by day, the sergeant works at the block ploughman, and chipping and chipping, at length carves out a true, handsome soldier of the line. what knew hodge of the responsibility of man? what dreams had he of the self-accountability of the human spirit? he is become the lackey of carnage, the liveried footman, at a few pence per day, of fire and blood. the musketthe folly of the sword. 145 stock, which for many an hour he hugs-hugs in sulks and weariness-was no more a party to its present use, than was hodge. that piece of walnut is the fragment of a tree which might have given shade and fruit for another century; homely, rustic people gathering under it. now, it is the instrument of wrong and violence; the working tool of slaughter. tree and man, are not their destinies as one? is he alone and is hodge alone of benighted mind? deficient of that knowledge of moral right and wrong which really and truly crowns the man, king of himself? when he surrenders up his nature, a mere machine with human pulses, to do the bidding of war, has he taken counsel with his own reflection does he know the limit of the sacrifice? he has taken the shilling, and he knows the facings of his uniform. when the born and bred gentleman, to keep to coined and current terms, pays down his thousand pounds or so, for his commission, what incites to the purchase? it may be the elegant idleness of the calling; it may be the bullion and glitter of the regimentals; or, devout worshipper! it may be an unquenchable thirst for glory. from the moment that his name stars the gazette, what does he become? the bond-servant of war. instantly, he ceases to be a judge between moral right and moral injury. it is his duty not to think, but to obey. he has given up, surrendered to another, the freedom of his soul: he has dethroned the majesty of his own will. he must be active in wrong, and see not the injustice: shed blood for craft and usurpation, calling bloodshed valour. he may be made, by the iniquity of those who use him, the burglar and the brigand; but glory calls him pretty names for his prowess, and the wicked weakness of the world shouts and acknowledges them. and is this the true condition of reasonable man? is it by such means that he best vindicates the greatness of his mission here ? is he, when he most gives up the free motions of his own soul-is he then most glorious? l 146 the folly of the sword. a few months ago, chance shewed us a band of ruffians, who, as it afterwards appeared, were intent upon most desperate mischief. they spread themselves over the country, attacking, robbing, and murdering all who fell into their hands. men, women, and children, all suffered alike. nor were the villains satisfied with this. in their wanton ruthlessness, they set fire to cottages, and tore and destroyed plantations. every footpace of their march was marked with blood and desolation. up who were these wretches?-you ask. what place did they ravage? were they not caught, and punished? they were a part of the army of africa; valorous frenchmen, bound for algiers, to cut arab throats; and in the name of glory, and for the everlasting honour of france, to burn, pillage, and despoil; and all for national honour-all for glory! but glory cannot dazzle truth. does it not at times appear no other than a highwayman, with a pistol at a nation's breast? a burglar, with a crow-bar, entering a kingdom. alas! in this world there is no old bailey for nations. otherwise, where would have been the crowned heads that divided poland? those felon monarchs, anointed to-steal? it is true, the historian claps the cut-purse conqueror in the dock, and he is tried by the jury of posterity. he is past the verdict, yet is not its damnatory voice lost upon generations. for thus is the world taught-albeit slowly taught-true glory; when that which passed for virtue is truly tested to be vile; when the hero is hauled from the car, and fixed for ever in the pillory. but war brings forth the heroism of the soul: war tests the magnanimity of man. sweet is the humanity that spares a fallen foe; gracious the compassion that tends his wounds, that brings even a cup of water to his burning lips. granted. but is there not heroism of a grander mould ?—the heroism of forbearance? is not the humanity that refuses to strike, a nobler virtue than the late pity born of violence? pretty is it to see the the folly of the sword. 147 victor with salve and lint kneeling at his bloody trophya maimed and agonized fellow-man, but surely it had been better to withhold the blow, than to have been first mischievous, to be afterwards humane. that nations, professing a belief in christ, should couple glory with war, is monstrous blasphemy. their faith, their professing faith, is-"love one another:" their practice is to cut throats; and more, to bribe and hoodwink men to the wickedness, the trade of blood is magnified into a virtue. we pray against battle, and glorify the deeds of death. we say, beautiful are the ways of peace, and then cocker ourselves upon our perfect doings in the art of man-slaying. let us then cease to pay the sacrifice of admiration to the demon war; let us not acknowledge him as a mighty and majestic principle, but, at the very best, a grim and melancholy necessity. war. but there always has been-there always will be, it is inevitable; it is a part of the condition of human society. man has always made glory to himself from the destruction of his fellow, and so it will continue. it may be very pitiable; would it were otherwise! but so it is, and there is no helping it. happily, we are slowly killing this destructive fallacy. a long breathing-time of peace has been fatal to the dread magnificence of glory. science and philosophypovera e nuda filosofia!-have made good their claims, inducing man to believe that he may vindicate the divinity of his nature otherwise than by perpetrating destruction. he begins to think there is a better glory in the communication of triumphs of mind, than in the clash of steel and roar of artillery. at the present moment, a society, embracing men of distant nations-"natural enemies," as the old, wicked cant of the old patriotism had it is at work, plucking the plumes from glory, unbracing his armour, and divesting the ogre of all that dazzled foolish and unthinking men, showing the rascal l 2 148 the folly of the sword. in his natural hideousness, in all his base deformity. some, too, are calculating the cost of glory's table: some showing what an appetite the demon has, devouring at a meal the substance of ten thousand sons of industry -yea, eating up the wealth of kingdoms. and thus, by degrees, are men beginning to look upon this god, glory, as no more than a finely-trapped sawney bean,a monster and a destroyer-a nuisance; a noisy lie. elizabeth and victoria. every generation compared to the age it immediately succeeds, is but a further lapse from paradise. every grandfather is of necessity a wiser, kinder, nobler being than the grandson doomed to follow him-every grandmother chaster, gentler, more self-denying, more devoted to the beauty of goodness, than the giddy, vain, thoughtless creature, who in her time is sentenced to be grandmother to somebody, whose still increased defects will only serve to bring out the little lustre of the gentlewoman who preceded her. man, undoubtedly, had at the first a fixed amount of goodness bestowed upon him; but this goodness, by being passed from generation to generation, has, like a very handsome piece of coin, with arms and legend in bold relief, become so worn by continual transit, that it demands the greatest activity of faith to believe that which is now current in the world, to be any portion of the identical goodness with which the human race was originally endowed. hapless creatures are we! moral paupers of the nineteenth century, turning a shining cheek upon one another, and by the potent force of swagger, passing off our thin, worn, illegible pieces of coin-how often, no thicker, no weightier than a spangle on a player's robe!-when our glorious ancestors, in the grandeur of their goodness, could ring down musical shekels! nay, as we go back, we find the coin of excellence so heavy, so abounding, that how any man-sampson perhaps excepted-had strength enough to carry his own virtues about him, puzzles the effeminacy of present thought. folks then were doubtless made grave, majestic in their movements by the very weight of their excellence. whilst we, 150 elizabeth and victoria. poor anatomies-skipjacks of the nineteenth century— we carry all our ready virtue in either corner of our waistcoat pocket, and from its very lightness, are unhappily enabled to act all sorts of unhallowed capers-to forget the true majesty of man in the antics of the mountebank. forlorn degradation of the human race! but the tears of the reader-for if he have a heart of flesh, it is by this time melting in his eyes-are not confidently demanded for only the one generation whereof (seeing he is our reader) he is certainly not the worst unit but we here require of him to weep for posterity; yes, to subscribe a rivulet of tears for the generations to come. the coinage of the virtues at present in circulation among us is so thin, so defaced, so battered, so clipt, that it appears to us wholly impossible that any portion of the currency can descend a couple of generations lower. what, then, is to become of our grandchildren? without one particle of golden truth and goodness left to them, for we cannot take into account the two or three pieces hoarded as old ladies have hoarded silver pennies-what remains, what alternative for our descendants but to become a generation of coiners? can any man withstand the terror of this picture, wherein all the world are shown as so many passers of pocket-pieces, lacquered over with something that seems like gold and silver, but which, indeed, is only seeming? a picture wherein he who is the ablest hypocrite-passing off the greatest amount of false coin upon his neighbour-shall appear the most virtuous person? is not this an appalling scene to contemplate? yet, if there be any truth in a common theory, if there be any veracity in the words written in a thousand pages, uttered at every fire-side, dropt in the casual meeting of man and man at door-steps, in by-lanes, highways, and market-places-the picture we have shadowed forth must become an iron present. "we shall never see such times again!" "the world isn't what it used to be. "" elizabeth and victoria. 151 "when i was a boy, things hadn't come to this pass." 66 'the world gets wickeder and wickeder." since the builders of babel were scattered, these thoughts have been voiced in every tongue. from the very discontent and fantasticalness of his nature, man looks backward at the lost paradise of another age. he affects to snuff the odour of its fruits and flowers, and with a melancholy shaking of the head, sees, or thinks he sees, the flashing of the fiery swords that guard them. and then, in the restlessness of his heart, in the peevishness and discontent of his soul, he says all sorts of bitter things of the generation he has fallen among; and, from the vanished glory of the past, predicts increasing darkness for the future. happily, the prophesying cannot be true; and happily, too, for the condition of the prophet, he knows it will not. but then there is a sort of comfort in the waywardness of discontent; at times, a soothing music to the restlessness of the soul in the deep bass of hearty grumbling. the ingratitude of the act is entirely forgotten in the pleasure. "ha! those were the merry days-the golden times of england they were!" may not this be heard from the tradesman, the mechanic, as he is borne past tilbury fort, and the thoughts of queen elizabeth, of her "golden days," ring in his brain; and living only in the nineteenth century, he has some vague, perplexing notion that he has missed an eden, only by a hundred years or two. he thinks not—why should he?—of the luxury he now purchases for a shilling; a luxury, not compassable in those golden days by all the power and wealth of all the combining sovereigns of the earth; for he is a passenger of a gravesend steam-boat, the fare twelvepence. we would not forget that wonder of elizabeth's navy, the great harry. no; we would especially remember it, to compare the marvel, with all its terrors, to the agent of our day, which wrought and directed from a 152 elizabeth and victoria. few gallons of water, makes the winged ship but as a log -a dead leviathan upon the deep; which, in the certainty and intensity of its power of destruction must, in the fulness of time, make blood-spilling war bankrupt, preaching peace with all men, even from "the cannon's mouth. "" we are, however, a degenerate race. in our maudlin sensibility, we have taken under our protection the very brutes of the earth-the fowls of the air-the fish of the sea. we have cast the majesty of the law around the asses of the reign of victoria-have assured to live geese a property in their own feathers-have, with a touch of tenderness, denounced the wood-plugged claws of the lobsters of billingsgate. we have a society, whose motto, spiritually, is"never to link our pleasure or our pride with suffering of the meanest thing that lives." very different, indeed, was the spirit of the english people, when their good and gracious queen elizabeth smiled sweetly upon bull-dogs, and found national music in the growl, the roar, and the yell of a bear-garden; whereto, in all the courtesy of a nobler and more virtuous age, the sovereign led the french ambassador; that, as chroniclers tell us, monsieur might arrive at a sort of comparative knowledge of english bravery, judging the courage of the people by the stubborn daring of their dogs. then we had no epsom, with its high moralities—no ascot, with its splendour and wealth. great, indeed, was the distance-deep the abyss-between the sovereign and the sovereign people. the and in those merry, golden days of good queen bess, rank was something; it had its brave outside, and preached its high prerogative from externals. nobleman declared his nobility by his cloak, doublet, and jerkin; by the plumes in his hat; by the jewels flashing in his shoes. society, in all its gradations, was inexorably marked by the tailor and goldsmith. elizabeth and victoria. 153 but what is the tailor of the nineteenth century? what doth he for nobility? alas! next to nothing. the gentleman is no longer the creature of the tailor's hands -the being of his shopboard. the gentleman must dress himself in ease, in affability, in the gentler and calmer courtesies of life, to make distinguishable the nobility of his nature from the homeliness, the vulgarity of the very man who, it may be, finds nobility in shoeleather. thus, gentility of blood, deprived by innovation of its external livery-denied the outward marks of supremacy—is thrown upon its bare self to make good its prerogative. manner must now do the former duty of fine clothes. state, too, was, in the blessed times of elizabeth, a most majestic matter. the queen's carriage, unlike victoria's, was a vehicle wondrous in the eyes of men as the chariot of king pharoah. now, does every poor man keep his coach-price sixpence! how does the economy of luxury vulgarize the indulgence! travelling was then a grave and serious adventure. the horse-litter was certainly a more dignified means of transit than the fuming, boiling, roaring steam-engine, that rushes forward with a man as though the human anatomy was no more than a woolpack. in the good old times of queen bess, a man might take his five long days and more for a hundred miles, putting up, after a week's jolting, at his hostelry, the queen's head of islington, for one good night's rest, ere he should gird up his loins to enter london. now, is man taught to lose all respect for the hoariness of time by the quickness of motion. now, may he pass over two hundred miles in some seven or eight hours if he will, taking his first meal in the heart of lancashire, and his good-night glass at a geneva palace in london. is it wonderful that our present days should abound more in sinful levity than the days of the good queen elizabeth, seeing that we may, in the same space of time, crowd so much more iniquity? the truth is, science has thrown so many 154 elizabeth and victoria. hours upon our hands, that we are compelled to kill them with all sorts of arrows-which, as moralists declare, have mortal poison at the barb, however gay and brilliant may be the feathers that carry it home. dreadful will be the time when that subtle fiend, science, shall perform nearly all human drudgery; for then men in their very idleness will have nought else to destroy save their own souls; and the destruction will, of course, be quicker, and, to the father of all mischief, much more satisfactory. again, in the good times of elizabeth, humanity was blessed with a modesty, a deference-in these days of bronze, to be vainly sought for towards the awfulness of power, the grim majesty of authority. and if, indeed, it happened that some outrageous wretch, forgetful of the purpose of nature in creating him the queen's liegeman, and therefore her property-if, for a moment, he should cease to remember the fealty which, by the principle of the divine right of kings, should be vital to him as the blood in his veins—why, was there not provided for him, by the benignity of custom and the law, a salutary remedy? if he advanced a new opinion, had he not ears wherewith, by hangman's surgery, he might be cured of such disease? if he took a mistaken view of the rights of his fellow-subjects, might he not be taught to consider them from a higher point of elevation, and so be instructed? booksellers, in the merry time of elizabeth, were enabled to vindicate a higher claim to moral and physical daring than is permitted to them in these dull and drivelling days. he who published a book, questioningthough never so gently-the prerogative of her majesty to do just as the spirit should move her, might have his right hand chopped off, and afterwards-there have been examples of such devotion-wave his bloody stump, with a loyal shout of "god save the queen! but these were merry days-golden days-in which the royal prerogative was more majestic, more awful, than in the "" elizabeth and victoria. 155 and wherefore? the reason is nineteenth century. plain as the queen's arms. the king of beasts lives on flesh. his carnivorousness is one of the great elements of his majesty. so was it in the times of elizabeth, with the queen's prerogative. it was for the most part fed upon flesh. it would be a curious, an instructive calculation, could we arrive at the precise number of noses, and arms, and hands, and human heads, and quarters of human carcases, which— during the merry, golden reign of elizabeth, of those days we shall never see again—were required by law to keep strong and lusty the prerogative of the virgin queen! how, as the human head festered and rotted above the city gates, was the prerogative sweetened by the putrefaction! and then the daily lessons preached by the mute horror of the dead man's mouth, to the human life daily passing beneath it! what precepts of love and gentleness towards all men fell from the shrivelled lips-what christianity gleamed from the withered eye-balls! how admirably were the every-day thoughts of men associated with prerogative, its majesty for ever preached by dead men's tongues-its beauty visible in dead men's flesh. those were the golden days-the merry days-we shall never see such times again. now, a poor and frivolous race, we pass beneath temple bar, untaught by the grim moralities that from its height were wont to instruct our forefathers. in the days of elizabeth, we might have lounged at the door of the city shopkeeper, and whilst chaffering for a commodity of this world, have had our thoughts elevated by a consideration of the ghastly skull-grinning a comment upon all earthly vanities-above us. those days are gone-past for ever. we have now plate-glass and dainty painting, and precious woods, in the shops of our tradesmen, but nought to take us from the vanity of life-no prerogative of a virgin queen, in the useful semblance of a memento mori. it is to the want of such stern yet wholesome monitors, 156 elizabeth and victoria. we are doubtless to attribute the decay of the national character. we are sunk in effeminacy; withered by the fond ministerings of science. the road of life-which, by its ruggedness, was wont to try the sinews of our elizabethan ancestors-we, their degenerate children, have spread as with a carpet, and hung the walls around us with radiant tapestry. the veriest household drudge of our time is a sardanapalus compared to the lackey of the virgin queen. the tatterdemalion who lives on highway alms may look down upon the beggar of elizabeth; for the mendicant of victoria may, with his prayed-for pence, purchase luxuries unknown to the dives of former days. and what-if we listen to complaining patriotismwhat is the evil born of this? a loss of moral energy; a wasting away of national fibre. believe this melancholy philosophy, and national weakness came in (a moral moth in the commodity) with silk stockings. ere then was the bearing of man more majestic in the eyes of angels! for then was the sword the type of station; a gentleman no more appearing abroad without his rapier than a wasp without its sting. human life could not but lose part of its dignity with its cold steel. what a fine comment on the charity, the gentleness, the humanity of his fellow-men, did every gentleman wear at his side! he was, in a manner, his own law-maker, his own executioner. in the judgment of later philosophy, we are prone to believe that the said gentlemen may appear, at the best, ferocious simpletons-creatures swaggering "between heaven and earth," with their hands upon their hilts, ready and yearning for a thrust at those who took the wall of their gentility. ha! those, indeed, were the good old days! and then came a whining, curd-complexioned benevolence, and in progress of time, its thin, white, womanly fingers unbuckled the sword-belt of the bully, and organized police. swordmakers were bankrupt, and human nature lost a grace! elizabeth and victoria. 157 thus, it appears, the world has been from age to age declining in virtue, and can only escape the very profound of iniquity by a speedy dissolution. every half-dozen years or so, a prophet growls from a cellar, or cries from the altitude of a garret, the advent of the last day. an earthquake, or some other convulsion (the particulars of which are only vouchsafed to the prophet) is to destroy the earth, or london at least; whereupon old gentlemen remove to gravesend, and careful housewives take stock of their plate. now, every such prophecy, instead of bewildering honest people with all sorts of fears, and all sorts of anxieties for their personal property, ought to make them sing thanksgiving songs for the promised blessing. it being the creed of these people that the world gets worse and worse, they would at least have the comfort to know that they had seen the last of its wickedness. for a moment, reader, we will suppose you one of these. consider, upon your own faith, what a terrible wretch will necessarily be your great-greatgreat-great-great-grandson! well, would it not be satisfaction to you that this dragon (we believe dragons are oviparous) should be crushed in the egg of the future? how would you like your own flesh and blood inevitably changed by the course of time into the anatomy of something very like a demon? you are bad enough as you are; that dismal truth your own humility preaches to you; to say nothing of the plain-speaking of your neighbours. no; out of pure love and pity for humanity, you ought to wish all the world to stop with your own pulse. it is hard enough now, even for the best of us, to keep on the respectable side of the statutes; but, with the growing wickedness of the world, we should like to know what sort of metal will the laws be made of. the great social link must, inevitably, be a fetter. how often have we stood, with the unseen tears in our eyes, watching the nobility of the land, in nobility's best bib and tucker, winding in golden line to the drawing-room of queen victoria! alas! degenerate 158 elizabeth and victoria. dukes-faded duchesses. marquises fallen upon evil times—marchionesses very dim indeed ! what are you to the nobility of elizabeth? what to the grandees of those merry days, the golden shadow of which is brightness itself to the cold, grey glimmering of the present? we have yet one thought to comfort us; and that is, a half belief that the court of elizabeth was held as nothing to all courts preceding; and so back, until englishmen mourned over the abomination of cloaks and vests, sorrowing for those golden days, those good old times of the painted britons! great was the virtue abounding in woad; grievous the wilful iniquity woven in broad-cloth. queen elizabeth died—fair, regal bud!—in the sweetness of virginity; and though the sun (by some despairing effort) managed to rise the next morning, it has never been wholly itself since. she died, and was brought to whitehall, to the great calamity of the fish then swimming in the river; for a poet of the day, quoted by camden, has eternized the evil that in the hour fell upon thames flounders :"the queene was brought by water to whitehall; at every stroke the oares teares let fall; more clung about the barge; fish under water wept out their eyes of pearle, and swame blinde after. i think the bargemen might with easier thighes have rowed her thither in her people's eyes. yet, howsoere, thus much my thoughts have scann'd, she'd come by water, had she come by land." so closed the golden days of queen elizabeth ; leaving us, in all the virtues and comforts of the world, the bankrupt children of queen victoria! unworthy is he of the balmy sweetness of this blessed may who can think so! a churlish, foolish, moody traitor to the spirit of goodness and beauty that, as with the bounty of the sun and air, calls up forms of loveliness in his path, and surrounds him with ten thousand household blessings! with active presences, elizabeth and victoria. 159 which the poet of elizabeth, in even his large love for man, could scarce have dreamed of; or, dreaming, seen them as a part of fairy fantasy-a cloud-woven pageant! let the man who lives by his daily sweat pause in his toil, and, with his foot upon his spade, watch the white smoke that floats in the distance; listen to the lessening thunder of the engine that, instinct with vulcanic life, has rushed, devouring space, before it. that little curl of smoke hangs in the air a thing of blessed promise that roar of the engine is the melody of hope to unborn generations. but now, the digger of the soil looks moodily at that vapour, and his heart is festering with the curse upon the devil steam; that fiend that grinds his bones beneath the wheels of british juggernaut. poor creature! the seeming demon is a beneficent presence that, in the ripeness of time, will work regeneration of the hopes of men. let the poor man-the mechanic of a town-look around him. let him in his own house, humble though it be, acknowledge the presence of a thousand comforts which, had he lived two centuries ago, he could not with a baron's wealth have purchased. not mere creature enjoyments; but humanizing, refining pleasures, drawing man nearer to man, expanding the human heart, and imparting to humanity the truest greatness in the greatest gentleness. "what! it may be asked-" can you have the hardihood, or the ignorance, to vaunt these days above the days of elizabeth? these days, with famine throwing the shuttle-with ignorance, wholly brutish, digging in the pit-with gold, a monster all brain, and so the very worst of monsters-dominating throughout the land, and crushing the pulses of thousands within its hard, relentless grasp? would you not rather pray for a return of those merry, merry days, when men were whipped, imprisoned, branded, burnt, at little more than the mere will of majesty, for mere 160 elizabeth and victoria. opinion-but who had, nevertheless, bacon and bread. and ale sufficient to the day?" no; we would go no step backward, but many in advance ; our faith still increasing in the enlarged sympathies of men; in the reverence which man has learned and is still learning to pay towards the nature of his fellow-men; in the deep belief that whatever change may and must take place in the social fabric, we have that spirit of wisdom and tolerance (certainly not a social creature of the golden days) waxing strong among us, so strong that the fabric will be altered and repaired brick by brick, and stone by stone. meanwhile, the scaffolding is fast growing up about it, the order of poverty. why should not lazarus make to himself an order of tatters? why should not poverty have its patch of honour? wherefore should not the undubbed knights of evil fortune carry about them, with a gracious humility, the inevitable types of their valorous contest with the paynim iniquities of life? wherefore may not man wear indigence as proudly as nobility flashes its jewels? is there not a higher heraldry than that of the college? not a very long time ago, the king of greece awarded to an englishman the order of the redeemer. the englishman did not reject the gift; he did not stare with wonder, or smile in meek pity at the grave mockery of the distinction; but winning the consent of our sovereign lady victoria to sport the jewel, the knight of christ-knight by the handiwork of the king of greece -hung about him the order of the redeemer! and what may be the gracious discipline of this order of redemption? has the new knight sold off all that he had, and given the money to the poor? we have heard of no such broker's work; and surely the newspaper tongue would have given loud utterance to the penitence of mammon. what discipline, then, does this order of christ compel upon its holy and immaculate brotherhood? what glorifying services towards the heart and spirit of man-what self-martyrdom does it recompense? is it the bright reward of humility-of active loving-kindness towards everything that breathes? is it, that the knighted, beyond ten thousand thousand men, has proved the divine temper of the spiritual follower of jesus, making his hourly life an active goodness, and with every breath drawn, drawing m 162 the order of poverty. nearer to rewarding heaven? surely, the order of the redeemer-that awful, solemn badge, setting apart its wearer from the sordid crowd of earth-could only be vouchsafed to some hard christian service,—could only reward some triumphant wrestling of the suffering soul-some wondrous victory in the forlorn hope of this dark struggling life. these are our thoughts-these our passionate words; whereupon, the herald of the court of greece-a grave, fantastic wizard-with mildlyreproving look and most delicate speech, says " you are wrong quite wrong. the order of the redeemer, though by no means the first order, is a very pretty order in its way. six months since we gave it to captain jonquil, from paris; and truly no man more deserved the order of the redeemer. he taught his majesty's infantry the use of the bayonet: his howitzer practice, too, is a divine thing. captain jonquil is a great soldier. last week, the order of the redeemer was also bestowed upon andreas; a great favourite at court-but, if the naughty truth must be told, a pimp." alas! is heraldry always innocent of blasphemy? on the 13th of june, 1843, a grave masquesolemn ceremony-was held at the court of st. james's. heraldry again looked smug and pompous. a knight was to be made of "the most ancient order of the thistle." let us make a clean breast of our ignorance; we assert nothing against the antiquity of the thistle; for what we know, it may be as old-ay, as old as asses. but upon the glad 13th of june, a chapter was held, and john, marquis of bute, and the right hon. william, earl of mansfield, were elected knights. they of course took the oaths to protect and succour distressed maidens, orphans, and widows; to abstain from every sort of wrong, and to do every sort of right. a "the marquis of bute then kneeling near the sovereign, and mr. woods on his knee, presenting to the queen the riband and jewel of the order, her majesty was graciously pleased to place the same over the noble marquis's left shoulder. his lordship rising, kissed the sovereign's hand, and having received the congratulations of the knights brethren, retired." the order of poverty. 163 from that moment, john, marquis of bute, looked and moved with the aspect and bearing of a man, radiant with new honours. he was a knight of the thistle; and the jewel sparkling at his bosom feebly typified the bright, admiring looks of the world-the gaze of mingled love and admiration bent upon him. but on this earth-in this abiding-place of equity-men do not get even thistles for nothing. it may, indeed, happen, that desert may pant and moan without honour; but in the court of kings, where justice weighs with nicest balance, honour never with its smiles mocks imbecility, or gilds with outward lustre a concealed rottenness. honour never gives alms, but awards justice. mendicancy, though with liveried lackies clustering at its carriage, and there is such pauperism,-may whine and pray its hardest, yet move not the inflexible herald. he awards those jewels to virtue, which virtue has sweated, bled for. and it is with this belief, yea, in the very bigotry of the creed, we ask what has john, marquis of bute, fulfilled to earn his thistle? what, the right hon. william, earl of mansfield? what dragon wrong has either overcome? what giant untruth stormed in sophist castle? what necromantic wickedness baffled and confounded? yet, these battles have been fought -these triumphs won; oh! who shall doubt them? be sure of it, ye unbelieving demagogues-scoffing plebeians, not for nothing nobility browses upon thistles. we pay all honour to these inventions, these learned devices of the herald. they doubtless clothe, comfort, and adorn humanity, which, without them, would be cold, naked, shrunk, and squalid. they, moreover, gloriously attest the supremacy of the tame, the civilized man, over the wild animal. the orders of the herald are tattoo without the pain of puncture. the new zealander carries his knighthood, lined and starred and flowered in his visage. the civilized knight hangs it more conveniently on a riband. we are such devout believers in the efficacy of orders, m 2 164 the order of poverty. that we devote this small essay to an attempt to make them, under some phase or other, universal. we will not linger in a consideration of the orders already dead; lovely was their life, and as fragrant is their memory. there was one order-teutonic, if we mistake not, the order of fools. there was a quaint sincerity in the very title of this brotherhood. its philosophy was outspeaking; and more than all, the constitution of such a chapter admitted knights against whose worthiness, whose peculiar right to wear the badge, no envious demagogue could say his bitter saying. surely, in our reverence for the wisdom of antiquity, this order might have resurrection. the fool might have his bauble newly varnished his cap newly hung with tinkling bells. some of us chirp and cackle of the wisdom of the bygone day; but that is only wisdom which jumps with our own cunning; which fortifies us in the warm and quiet nook of some hallowed prejudice. from the mere abstract love of justice, we should be right glad to have the order of fools revived in the fullest splendour of folly. such an order would so beneficently provide for many unrewarded public idlers-ay, and public workers. there was a time, when the world in its first childhood needed playthings. then was the herald the world's toy-maker, and made for it pretty little nick-knacks— golden fleeces-stars, ribands and garters; tempting the world to follow the kickshaws, as nurse with sugared bread-and-butter tempts the yeanling to try its tottering feet. the world has grown old-old and wise: yet is not the herald bankrupt, but like a pedlar at a fair, draws the hearts of simple men after the shining, silken glories in his box. meanwhile, philosophy in hodden grey, laughs at the crowd, who bellow back the laugh, and sometimes pelt the reverend fool for his irreligious humour; for he who believes not in stars and garters is unbeliever; to the world's best and brightest faith, atheist and scoffer. the order of poverty. 165 is it not strange that a man should think the better of himself for a few stones glittering in his bosom ? that a costly band about the leg should make the blood dance more swiftly through the arteries? that a man seeing his breast set with jewellers' stars, should think them glorious as the stars of heaven,-himself, little less than an earthly god, so deified? if these things be really types and emblems of true greatness, what rascal poverty besets the man without them! how is he damned in his baseness! what mere offal of humanity, the biped without an order! and, therefore, let stars be multiplied; and let nobility-like bees-suck honey from thistles! we are, however, confirmed in our late failing faith. we are bigoted to orders. men, like watches, must work the better upon jewels. man is, at the best, a puppet; and is only put into dignified motion when pulled by blue or red ribands. now, as few, indeed, of us can get stars, garters, or ribands, let us have orders of our own. let us, with invincible self-complacency, ennoble ourselves. in the hopeless ignorance and vulgarity of our first prejudice, we might possibly want due veneration for the golden fleece; an ancient and most noble order, worn by few. yet with all our worst carelessness towards the order, we never felt for it the same pitying contempt we feel towards an order worn by many-not at their button-holes, not outside their breasts, but in the very core of their hearts,-the order of the golden calf. oh! bowelless plutus, what a host of knights! what a lean-faced, low-browed, thick-jowled, swag-bellied brotherhood! deformity, in all its fantastic variety, meets in the chapter. they wear no armour of steel or brass, but are cased in the magic mail of impenetrable bank-paper. they have no sword, no spear, no iron mace with spikes; but they ride merrily into the fight of life, swinging about gold-gutted purses, and levelling with the dust rebellious poverty. these are the knights 166 the order of poverty. of the golden calf. it is a glorious community. what a look of easy triumph they have! with what serene self-satisfaction they measure the wide distance between mere paupers the knights of the order of nothingand themselves! how they walk the earth as if they alone possessed the patent of walking upright! how they dilate in the light of their own gold, like adders in the sun! a most fatal honour is this order of the golden calf. it is worn unseen, as we have said, in the hearts of men; but its effects are visible: the disease speaks out in every atom of flesh-poor human worm's-meat! --and throbs in every muscle. it poisons the soul; gives the eye a squint; takes from the face of fellow-man its god-gifted dignity, and makes him a thing to prey upon to work, to use up; to reduce to so much hard cash; then to be put up, with a wary look of triumph, into the pocket. this order damns with a leprosy of soul its worshipper. it blinds and deafens him to the glories and the harmonies ministrant to poorer men. his eye is jaundiced, and in the very stars of god he sees nought but twinkling guineas. at this moment great is the order throughout the land! tyrannous its laws, reckless its doings. it is strong, and why should it be just? to be of this order is now the one great striving of life. they alone are men who wear the jewel-wretches they without it. man was originally made from the dust of the earth he is now formed of a richer substance: the true man is made of gold. yes, the regenerate adam is struck only at the mint. the knights of the order of the golden calf have no formal ceremony of election; yet has brother knight almost instinctive knowledge of brother. in the solitude of his own thoughts is he made one of the community; in utter privacy he kisses the pulseless hand of plutus, and swears to his supremacy. the oath divorces him from pauper-life-from its cares, its wants, its symthe order of poverty. 167 pathies. he is privileged from the uneasiness of thought, the wear and tear of anxiety for fellow-man; he is compact, and self-concentrated in his selfishness. nought ruffles him that touches not that inmost jewel of his soul, his knighthood's order. in the olden day, the knights of the fleece, the garter, and other glories, won their rank upon the battle-field,blood and strife being to them the handmaids of honour. the chivalry of the golden calf is mild and gentle. it splits no brain-pan, spills no blood; yet is it ever fighting. we are at the exchange. look at that easy, peaceful man. what a serenity is upon his cheek! what a mild lustre in his eye! how plainly is he habited! he wears the livery of simplicity and the look of peace. yet has he in his heart the order of the golden calf. he is one of mammon's boldest heroes. a very soldier of fortune. he is now fighting -fighting valorously. he has come armed with a brannew lie-a falsehood of surpassing temper, which with wondrous quietude he lays about him, making huge gashes in the money-bags of those he fights with. a good foreign lie, well finished and well mounted, is to this knight of the golden calf as the sword of faery to orlando. with it he sometimes cuts down giant fortunes; and after, grinds their bones to make his bread. "" 66 and there are small esquires and pages of the order; men who, with heart-felt veneration, lick their lips at the golden calf, and with more than bridegroom yearning pant for possession. these small folk swarm like summer-gnats; and still they drone the praises of the calf; and looking at no other thing, have their eyes bleared and dazzled to all beside. the knights of the golden calf shed no blood; that is, the wounds they deal bleed inwardly, and give no evidence of homicide. they are, too, great consumers of the marrow of men; and yet they break no bones, but by a trick known to their order extract without frac168 the order of poverty. ture precious nutriment. they are great alchemists, too; and turn the sweat of unrequited poverty, aye, the tears of childhood, into drops of gold. much wrong, much violence, much wayward crueltyif the true history of knighthood were indicted-lies upon the fleece, the garter, yes, upon the templars' lamb;-yet all is but as may-day pastime to the voracity, the ignorance, the wilful selfishness, the bestial lowings, of the golden calf. and of this order, the oldest of the brotherhood are the most gluttonous. there is one whose every fibre is blasted with age. to the imagination his face is as a coffin-plate. yet is he all belly. as cruel as a cat, though toothless as a bird! oh, ye knights, great and small-whether expanding on the mart, or lying perdu in back-parlours,-fling from your hearts the order there, and feel for once the warmth of kindly blood! the brotherhood chuckle at the adjuration. well, let us fight the order with an order. the order of poverty against the order of the golden calf! will it not be a merry time, when men, with a blithe face and open look, shall confess that they are poor? when they shall be to the world what they are to themselves? when the lie, the shuffle, the bland, yet anxious hypocrisy of seeming, and seeming only, shall be a creed forsworn? when poverty asserts itself, and never blushes and stammers at its true name, the knights of the calf must give ground. much of their strength, their poor renown, their miserable glory, lies in the hypocrisy of those who would imitate them. they believe themselves great, because the poor, in the very ignorance of the dignity of poverty, would ape their magnificence. the order of poverty! how many sub-orders might it embrace! as the spirit of gothic chivalry has its fraternities, so might the order of poverty have its distinct devices. the order of poverty. 169 the order of the thistle ! that is an order for nobility-a glory to glorify marquisate or earldom. can we not, under the rule of poverty, find as happy a badge? look at this peasant. his face bronzed with midday toil. from sun-rise to sunset, with cheerful looks and uncomplaining words, he turns the primal curse to dignity, and manfully earns his bread in the sweat of his brow. look at the fields around! golden with blessed corn. look at this bloodless soldier of the plough-this hero of the sickle. his triumphs are there, piled up in bread-bestowing sheaves. is he not sir knight of the wheat-ear? surely, as truly dubbed in the heraldry of justice, as any knight of the thistle. sun. and here is a white-haired shepherd. as a boy, a child, playful as the lambs he tended, he laboured. he has dreamed away his life upon a hill-side-on downson solitary heaths. the humble, simple, patient watcher for fellow-men. solitude has been his companion: he has grown old, wrinkled, bent in the eye of the burning his highest wisdom is a guess at the coming weather he may have heard of diamonds, but he knows the evening star. he has never sat at a congress of kings he has never helped to commit a felony upon a whole nation. yet is he, to our mind, a most reverend knight of the fleece. if the herald object to this, let us call him knight of the lamb! in its gentleness and patience, a fitting type of the poor old shepherd. : and here is a pauper, missioned from the workhouse to break stones at the road-side. how he strikes and strikes at that unyielding bit of flint! is it not the stony heart of the world's injustice knocked at by poverty? what haggardness is in his face! what a blight hangs about him! there are more years in his looks than in his bones. time has marked him with an iron pen. he wailed as a babe for bread his father was not allowed to earn. he can recollect every dinnerthey were so few of his childhood. he grew up, and 170 the order of poverty. want was with him, even as his shadow. he has shivered with cold-fainted with hunger. his every day of life has been set about by goading wretchedness. around him, too, were the stores of plenty. food, raiment, and money mocked the man made half mad with destitution. yet, with a valorous heart, a proud conquest of the shuddering spirit, he walked with honesty and starved. his long journey of life hath been through thorny places, and now he sits upon a pile of stones on the way-side, breaking them for workhouse bread. could loftiest chivalry show greater heroism-nobler self-control, than this old man, this weary breaker of flints? shall he not be of the order of poverty? is not penury to him even as a robe of honour? his grey workhouse coat braver than purple and miniver? he shall be knight of the granite if you will. a workhouse gem, indeeda wretched, highway jewel-yet, to the eye of truth, finer than many a ducal diamond. have this man is a weaver; this a potter. here, too, is a razor-grinder; here an iron-worker. labour is their lot; labour they yearn for, though to some of them labour comes with miserable disease and early death. we not here knights of the shuttle, knights of clay, and knights of vulcan, who prepare the carcase of the giant engine for its vital flood of steam? are not these among the noblest of the sons of poverty? shall they not take high rank in its order? we are at the mouth of a mine. there, many, many fathoms below us, works the naked, grimed, and sweating wretch, oppressed, brutalized, that he may dig us coal for our winter's hearth; where we may gather round, and with filled bellies, well-clothed backs, and hearts all lapped in self-complacency, talk of the talkedof evils of the world, as though they were the fables of ill-natured men, and not the verities of bleeding life. that these men, doing the foulest offices of the world should still be of the world's poorest, gives dignity to want-the glory of long-suffering to poverty. the order of poverty. 171 and so, indeed, in the mind of wisdom, is poverty ennobled. and for the knights of the golden calf, how are they outnumbered! let us, then, revive the order of poverty. ponder, reader, on its antiquity. for was not christ himself chancellor of the order, and the apostles knights companions? a gossip at reculvers. the spirit of the saxon seems still to linger along the shores of kent. there is the air of antiquity about them; a something breathing of the olden day—an influence, surviving all the changes of time, all the vicissitudes of politic and social life. the genius of the heptarchy comes closer upon us from the realm of shadows: the wittenagemote is not a convocation of ghosts -not a venerable house of mists; but a living, talking, voting parliament. we feel a something old, strong, stubborn, hearty; a something for the intense meaning of which we have no other word than "english," rising about us from every rood of kent. and wherefore this? england was not made piecemeal. her foundations in the deep-could a sea of molten gold purchase the worth. of her surrounding ocean?—are of the same age. the same sun has risen and set upon the whole island. wherefore, then, is kent predominant in the mind for qualities which the mind denies to other counties? because it is still invested with the poetry of action. because we feel that kent was the cradle of the marrow and bone of england; because we still see, ay, as palpably as we behold yonder trail of ebon smoke,the broad black pennant of that mighty admiral, steam, -the sails of cæsar threatening kent, and kent barbarians clustering on the shore, defying him. it is thus that the spirit of past deeds survives immortally, and works upon the future: it is thus we are indissolubly linked to the memories of the bygone day, by the still active soul that once informed it. how rich in thoughts-how fertile in fancies that quicken the brain and dally with the heart, is every a gossip at reculvers. 173 foot-pace of this soil! reader, be with us for a brief time, at this beautiful village of herne. the sky is sullen ; and summer, like a fine yet froward wench, smiles now and then, now frowns the blacker for the passing brightness: nevertheless, summer in her worst mood cannot spoil the beautiful features of this demure, this antique village. it seems a very nest-warm and snug, and green-for human life; with the twilight haze of time about it, almost consecrating it from the aching hopes and feverish expectations of the present. who would think that the bray and roar of multitudinous london sounded but some sixty miles away? the church stands peacefully, reverently; like some old, visionary monk, his feet on earth-his thoughts with god. and the graves are all about; and things of peace and gentleness, like folded sheep, are gathered round it. there is a stile which man might make the throne of solemn thought-his pregnant matter, the peasant bones that lie beneath. and on the other side, a park, teeming with beauty; with sward green as emeralds, and soft as a mole's back; and trees, with centuries circulating in their gnarled massiveness. : but we must quit the churchyard, and turning to the right, we will stroll towards reculvers. how rich the swelling meadows! how their green breasts heave with conceived fertility! and on this side corn-fields; the grain stalk thick as a reed; the crop level and compact as a green bank. and here, too, is a field of canary-seed of seed grown for london birds in london cages. the farmer shoots the sparrow-the little rustic scoundrel-that, with felonious bill, would carry away one grain sown for, made sacred to, portman-square canary! we might, perhaps, find a higher parallel to this, did we look with curious eyes about us, nevertheless, bumpkin sparrow has his world of air to range in; his free loves; and for his nest his ivied wall or hawthorn bush. these, say the worst, are a happy 174 a gossip at reculvers. set-off even against a gilt-wired cage; sand like diamond dust; unfailing seed, and sugar from even the sweeter lips of lady mistress. powder and small shot may come upon the sparrow like apoplexy upon an alderman, with the unbolted morsel in its gullet; yet, consider hath the canary no danger to encounter? doth not prosperity keep a cat? well, this idle gossip has brought us within a short distance of reculvers. here-so goes the hoary legend-augustine impressed the first christian foot upon the english shore, sent hither by good pope gregory; no less good that, if the same legend be true, he had a subtle sense of a joke. christianity, unless historians say what is not, owes somewhat of its introduction into heathen england to a pun. the story is so old, that there is not a schoolmaster's dog throughout merry britain, that could not bark it. nevertheless, we will indicate our moral courage by repeating it. our ink turns red with blushes at the thought—no matter— for once we will write in our blushes. pope gregory, seeing some white-haired, pink-cheeked boys for sale in the roman slave-market, asked, who they were? sunt angli-they are english, was the response. non sunt angli-sed angeli; they are not english, but angels, was the papal playfulness. his holiness then inquired, from what part of england. deirii, they are deirians, was the answer. whereupon the pope, following up his vein of pleasantry, said, non deirii, sed de irá, not deirians, but from the anger of the lord: snatched, as his holiness indicated, from the vengeance that must always light upon heathenism. this grey-haired story, like the grey hairs of nestor, is pregnant with practical wisdom. let us imagine pope gregory to have been a dull man; even for a pope a dull man. let us allow that his mind had not been sufficiently comprehensive to take within its circle the scattered lights of intelligence which, brought into a focus, make a joke. suppose, in a word, that the pope a gossip at reculvers. 175 had had no ear for a pun? saint augustine might still have watched the bubbles upon tiber, and never have been sea-sick on his english voyage. what does this prove? what does this incident preach with a thunder-tongue? why, the necessity, the vital necessity, of advancing no man to any sort of dignity, who is not all alive as an eel to a joke. we are convinced of it. the world will never be properly ruled, until jests entirely supersede the authority of acts of parliament. as it is, the acts are too frequently the jests, without the fun. we are now close to reculvers. there, reader, there -where you see that wave leaping up to kiss that big white stone-that is the very spot where saint augustine put down the sole of his catholic foot. if it be not, we have been misinformed, and cheated of our money; we can say no more. never mind the spot. is there not a glory lighting up the whole beach? is not every wave of silver— every little stone, a shining crystal? doth not the air vibrate with harmonies, strangely winding into the heart, and awakening the brain? are we not under the spell of the imagination which makes the present vulgarity melt away like morning mists, and shows to us the full, uplighted glory of the past? there was a landing on the sussex coast; a landing of a duke of normandy, and a horde of armed cutthroats. looking at them even through the distance of some eight hundred years, what are they but as a gang of burglars? a band of pick-purses-bloodsheddersrobbers? what was this landing of a host of men, in the full trump and blazonry of war,-what all their ships, their minstrelsy, and armed power,-to the advent of augustine and his fellow-monks, brought hither by the forlornness of the soul of man? it is this thought that makes this bit of pebbled beach a sacred spot; it is this spirit of meditation that hears in every little wave a sweet and solemn music. 176 a gossip at reculvers. and there, where the ocean tumbles, was in the olden day a goodly town, sapped, swallowed by the wearing, the voracious sea. at lowest tides, the people still discover odd, quaint, household relics, which, despite the homely breeding of the finders, must carry away their thoughts into the mist of time, and make them feel antiquity. the very children of the village are hucksters of the spoils of dead centuries. they grow up with some small trading knowledge of fossils; and are deep, very deep in all sorts of petrifactions. they must have strange early sympathies towards that mysterious town with all its tradesfolk and market-folk sunk below the sea; a place of which they have a constant inkling in the petty spoils lashed upward by the tempest. indeed, it is difficult for the mind to conceive the annihilation of a whole town, engulphed in the ocean. the tricksy fancy will assert itself; and looking over the shining water, with summer basking on it, we are apt to dream that the said market-town has only suffered a change;" and that fathoms deep, the town still stands -that busy life goes on-that people of an odd, seagreen aspect, it may be, still carry on the work of mortal breathing; make love, beget little ones, and die. but this, indeed, is the dream of idleness. yet, who-if he could change his mind at will, would make his mind incapable of such poor fantasies? how much of the coarse web of existence owes its beauty to the idlest dreams with which we colour it! sea the village of reculvers is a choice work of antiquity. the spirit of king ethelbert tarries there still, and lives enshrined in the sign of a public-house. it would be well for all kings, could their spirits survive with such genial associations. there are some dead royalties too profitless even for a public sign. who, now, with any other choice would empty a tankard under the auspices of bloody mary, as that anointed "femininitie" is called; or take a chop even at nero's head? no: inn-keepers know the subtle prejudices of man, nor violate the sympathies of life with their sign-posts. a gossip at reculvers. 177 here, on the sanded floor of king ethelbert's hostelry, do village antiquarians often congregate. here, at times, are stories told-stories not all unworthy of the type of antiquarian transactions-of fibula, talked of as "buckles," and other tangible bits of roman history. here, we have heard, how a certain woman-living at this blessed hour, and the mother of a family-went out at very low tide, and found the branch of a filbert-tree with clustering filberts on it, all stone, at least a thousand years old-and more. here, too, have we heard of a wonderful horse-shoe, picked up by joe squellins; a shoe, as the finder averred, as old as the world. poor joe! what was his reward ?-it may be, a pint of ale for that inestimable bit of iron! and yet was he a working antiquarian. joe squellins had within him the unchristened elements of f. s.a.! the sea has spared something of the old church-yard; although it has torn open the sad sanctity of the grave, and reveals to the day, corpse upon corpse-layers of the dead, thickly, closely packed, body upon body. a lateral view of rows of skeletons, entombed in christian earth centuries since, for a moment staggers the mind, with this inward peep of the grave. we at once see the close, dark prison of the church-yard, and our breath comes heavily, and we shudder. it is only for a moment. there is a lark singing, singing over our head-a mile upwards in the blue heaven-singing like a freed soul: we look again, and smile serenely at the bones of what was man. many of our gentle countrymen-fellow-metropolitans -who once a year wriggle out their souls from the slit of their tills to give the immortal essence sea air, make a pilgrimage to reculvers. this golgotha, we have noted it, has to them especial attractions. many are the mortal relics borne away to decorate a london chimney-piece. many a skeleton gives up its rib, its ulna, two or three odd vertebræ, or some such gimcrack to the london visitor, for a london ornament. present the n 178 a gossip at reculvers. same man with a bone from a london hospital, and he would hold the act abominable, irreligiously presumptuous. but time has "silvered o'er" the bone from reculvers; has cleansed it from the taint of mortality; has merged the loathsomeness in the curiosity; for time turns even the worst of horrors to the broadest of jests. we have now guy fawkes, about to blow lords and commons into eternity-and now guy fawkes, masked for a pantomime. one day, wandering near this open grave-yard, we met a boy, carrying away, with exulting looks, a skull in very perfect preservation. he was a london boy, and looked rich indeed with his treasure. "what have you there?" we asked. 66 a man's head-a skull," was the answer. "and what can you possibly do with a skull ?" 66 • take it to london." "and when you have it in london, what then will you do with it?" 66 i know." 66 no doubt. but what will you do with it ?" and to this thrice-repeated question, the boy three times answered, "i know." "come, here's sixpence. now, what will you do with it ?" the boy took the coin-grinned-hugged himself, hugging the skull the closer, and said very briskly— "make a money box of it! "" a strange thought for a child. and yet, mused we as we strolled along, how many of us, with nature beneficent and smiling on all sides,-how many of us think of nothing so much as hoarding sixpences-yea, hoarding them even in the very jaws of desolate death! the old man at the gate. in surrey, some three miles from chertsey, is a quiet, dull, sequestered nook, called shepperton green. whether the new philanthropy of new pauper laws hath, of late years, sought out the spot, i know not. at the time whereof i write, the olden charity dwelt in an old workhouse-a primitive abiding-place for the broken ploughman, the palsied shepherd, the old, old peasant, for whom nothing more remained in this world but to die. the governor of this abode of benevolence dwelt in the lower part of the building, and therein, as the village trade might fluctuate, made or mended shoes. let the plain truth be said the governor was a cobbler. within a stone's cast of the workhouse, was a little white gate swung between two hedge-banks in the road to chertsey. here, pass when you would, stood an old man, whose self-imposed office it was to open the gate; for the which service the passenger would drop some small benevolence in the withered hand of the aged peasant. this man was a pauper-one of the almsmen of the village workhouse. there was a custom-whether established by the governor aforesaid, or by predecessors of a vanished century, i know not-that made it the privilege of the oldest pauper to stand the porter at the gate; his perquisite, by right of years, the halfpence of the rare pedestrian. as the senior died, the living senior suciceeded to the office. now the gate-and now the grave. and this is all the history? all. the story is told -it will not bear another syllable. the "old man' 180 the old man at the gate. is at the gate; the custom which places him there has been made known, and with it ends the narrative. how few the incidents of life-how multitudinous its emotions! how flat, monotonous may be the circumstance of daily existence, and yet how various the thoughts which spring from it! look at yonder landscape, broken into hill and dale, with trees of every hue and form, and water winding in silver threads through velvet fields. how beautiful-for how various! cast your eye over that moor; it is flat and desolate-barren as barren rock. not so. seek the soil, and then, with nearer gaze, contemplate the wondrous forms and colours of the thousand mosses growing there; give ear to the hum of busy life sounding at every root of poorest grass. listen! does not the heart of the earth beat audibly beneath this seeming barrenness-audibly as where the corn grows and the grape ripens? is it not so with the veriest rich and the veriest poor-with the most active and with apparently the most inert? that old man at the gate" has eighty years upon his head-eighty years, covering it with natural reverence. he was once in london-only once. this pilgrimage excepted, he has never journeyed twenty miles from the cottage in which he was born; of which he became the master; whereto he brought his wife; where his children saw the light, and their children after; where many of them died; and whence, having with a stout soul, fought against the strengthening ills of poverty and old age, he was thrust by want and sickness out, and, with a stung heart, he laid his bones upon a workhouse bed. life to the "old man" has been one long path across a moor—a flat, unbroken journey; the eye uncheered, the heart unsatisfied. coldness and sterility have compassed him round. yet, has he been subdued to the blankness of his destiny? has his mind remained the unwrit page that schoolmen talk of has his heart become a clod? has he been made by poverty a moving the old man at the gate. 181 image-a plough-guiding, corn-thrashing instrument? have not unutterable thoughts sometimes stirred within his brain-thoughts that elevated, yet confused him with a sense of eternal beauty-coming upon him like the spiritual presences to the shepherds? has he not been beset by the inward and mysterious yearning of the heart towards the unknown and the unseen? he has been a ploughman. in the eye of the well-to-do, dignified with the accomplishments of reading and writing, is he of little more intelligence than the oxen treading the glebe. yet, who shall say that the influence of nature— that the glories of the rising sun-may not have called forth harmonies of soul from the rustic drudge, the moving statue of a man! that worn-out, threadbare remnant of humanity at the gate; age makes it reverend, and the inevitableshall inevitable be said?—injustice of the world, invests it with majesty; the majesty of suffering meekly borne, and meekly decaying. "the poor shall never cease out of the land." this text the self-complacency of competence loveth to quote: it hath a melody in it, a lulling sweetness to the selfishness of our nature. hunger, and cold, and nakedness, are the hard portion of man; there is no help for it; rags must flutter about us; man, yes, even the strong man, his only wealth (the wealth of adam) wasting in his bones, must hold his pauper hand to his brother of four meals per diem; it is a necessity of nature, and there is no help for it. and thus some men send their consciences to sleep by the chinking of their own purses. necessity of evil is an excellent philosophy, applied to everybody but-ourselves. these easy souls will see nothing in our "old man at the gate" but a pauper, let out of the workhouse, for the chance of a few halfpence. surely, he is something more? he is old; very old. every day, every hour, earth has less claim in him. he is so old, so feeble, that even as you look he seems sinking. at sunset, he is scarcely the man who opened the gate to you in the 182 the old man at the gate. he morning. yet there is no disease in him-none. is dying of old age. he is working out that most awful problem of life-slowly, solemnly. he is now, the badged pauper-and now, in the unknown country with solomon ! can man look upon a more touching solemnity? there stands the old man, passive as a stone, nearer, every moment, to churchyard clay! it was only yesterday that he took his station at the gate. his predecessor held the post for two years; he too daily, daily dying"till like a clock, worn out with eating time, the weary wheels of life at length stood still." how long will the present watcher survive? in that very uncertainty-in the very hoariness of age which brings home to us that uncertainty--there is something that makes the old man sacred; for, in the course of nature, is not the oldest man the nearest to the angels ? yet, away from these thoughts, there is reverence due to that old man. what has been his life? a war with suffering. what a beautiful world is this! how rich and glorious! how abundant in blessings-great and little to thousands! what a lovely place hath god made it; and how have god's creatures darkened and outraged it to the wrong of one another! well, what had this man of the world? what stake, as the effrontery of selfishness has it? the wild-fox was better cared for. though preserved some day to be killed, it was preserved until then. what did this old man inherit? toil, incessant toil, with no holiday of the heart he came into the world a badged animal of labour; the property of animals. what was the earth to him?-a place to die in. 66 "the poor shall never cease out of the land." shall we then, accommodating our sympathies to this hard necessity, look serenely down upon the wretched? shall we preach only comfort to ourselves from the doomed conthe old man at the gate. 183 dition of others? it is an easy philosophy; so easy there is but little wonder it is so well exercised. but the old man at the gate" has, for seventy years, worked and worked; and what his closing reward? the workhouse. shall we not, some of us, blush crimson at our own world-successes, considering the destitution of our worthy, single-hearted fellows? should not affluence touch its hat to " the old man at the gate" with a reverence for the years upon him; he-the born soldier of poverty, doomed for life to lead life's forlorn hope? thus considered, surely dives may unbonnet to lazarus. to our mind, the venerableness of age made "the old man at the gate " something like a spiritual presence. he was so old, who could say how few the pulsations of his heart between him and the grave! but there he was with a meek happiness upon him; gentle, cheerful. he was not built up in bricks and mortar ; but was still in the open air, with the sweetest influences about him; the sky-the trees-the green sward,—and flowers with the breath of god in them! the end. london: bradbury and evans, printers, whitefriars. the university library university of california, santa cruz this book is due on the last date stamped below. jan 5 '83 jan 4 1983 rec'd jul 24'89 augo 3 1989 rec'd pr4825.j4c57 1846 ohn howell importer 3 2106 00194 2652 203 349 nypl research libraries 3 3433 07494289 1 new-york αθήναι notee teipcum society gallaudet. sc' 1758 8731 library on ! three girls and a hermit three girls 川 ​and a hermit by dorothea conyers t author of "the strayings of sandy "the boy, some horses, and the girl" etc い ​"9 new york e. p. dutton and company 1908 432173b l printed in great britain contents chapter i how the trip was talked of page chapter ii treating chiefly of young horses 16 chapter iii beyond the purple hills 34 chapter iv ballydare 50 chapter v some sheep and other things 71 chapter vi life proves disappointing 93 chapter vii the first meet 108 chapter viii returning a call. 134 vi contents chapter ix page a trip to the sea . 153 chapter x clennelford "17о chapter xi theatre-going . 182 chapter xii the hirelings and the geoghans 204 chapter xiii a gay afternoon 221 . chapter xiv of deer-hunting and the hermit 242 chapter xv the night of the party 266 chapter xvi the meeting of old friends 292 chapter xvii how the trip succeeded . 316 three girls and a hermit chapter i how the trip was talked of "l “ ) ife!” moira considine used the word with dramatic emphasis. "i want to see life.” she spelt the word mentally with a leaded capital, waving tanned, well-shaped hands at the rugged kerry landscape, as if to point out that it was a mere rusty side-track on the world's great railway. mountains, dimly purple in summer's haze, framed the picture, seen rising in majesty high above the rough peaks. cones of smaller hills, crouching, humble subjects, at the monarch's heels. a lake, the sky's clear blue tinting it, rippled to shore through a belt of rushes, little wavelets, where the rushes ceased, mouthing at a pebbly shore. a fuchsia hedge, tangle of scarlet and green, edged the little garden, the lower bells dropping on the water. the west wind, blowing gently, brought with it clean scents of heather and peat, and a kiss of salt on its breath. brooding over all was a peace such as only ireland knows. but the three miss considines, in the folly of their youth, looked at none of these things. familiarity had bred a bitter contempt of the lonely beauty. towering hill-crests, boom of distant waves, lap of i 2 three girls and a hermit waters, scent of salt and heather, had been their daily portion since, sixteen years before, they had arrived at borrisdeane, three lonely, blackly clad children, and remained there ever since. their father, an improvident failure, had sent his children to his sister, promised with airy carelessness to pay her, and then died himself, penniless. miss maria considine, now dead, had been of a soured disposition; she accepted her burden without a murmur, but borrisdeane, sufficing her outlook, must suffice her nieces, and she kept them there without interval of trip or change. they recalled this now, forgetting their many hours of happiness : the joys of fishing in the hill-locked lake, of rushing noisily to the sea and wading deep in the tumbling waters, of coming in hungry and dripping, to feast on hot griddle-bread and eggs and honey. borrisdeane in the last few years had grown to be looked on in the light of a prison ; lake cottage, their little home, as a dungeon cell. with youth's careless ingratitude, they had taken their life as a matter of course ; never seen or cared, save with a laugh at stinginess, how aunt maria's black dresses grew rustier year by year, how much she denied herself to clothe them in warm jerseys and blue serges, how many times her head ached when she dragged herself to the daily lessons they rebelled at, how her daily glass of claret vanished that they might have the honey they loved. for aunt maria, being one of the many who confuse religion with intolerance, and holiness with perpetual gloom, had never sought for their love. without a murmur she had accepted their ingratitude; never breathed through these years that they were dependent on her charity, how the trip was talked of 3 ) and then passed suddenly and quietly, before she had fully arranged her will with the stiff precision she had meant to. sudden heart failure had taken her from them one still spring night, and the girls, left in complete freedom, brewed mischief long ere her grave was green. they had duly driven to distant tramee, there to lay in a stock of mourning garments and shroud their faces in veils, which to a thoughtful mind suggested eclipses, but they found it hard to put on sorrow, and after a short time left off trying. it was later, when the sorrows of change unstrapped biddy's tongue, that they saw, and even then dimly, all their aunt had done for them. biddy, the old-shawled, check-aproned servant, adored them too deeply to say anything now. she had slaved for them without grudging, and kept house now with a stern refusal to try the strange new dishes which moira would have had. biddy held her trio in check when they would have worked havoc in the kitchen ; but their hearts yearned for change. sitting in the garden or gathered round the peat fire in the chilly evenings, their tongues clacked noisily as they whipped themselves on to a deed which savoured, none too faintly, of folly. if they could live alone here, why not elsewhere? mrs. desmond, the clergyman's wife, on being consulted, had nervously murmured there could not be much difference. they were talking of it now, and biddy baking bread for tea, listened with growing uneasiness. moira, the second girl, paced up and down the little garden talking loudly, while eva and little quiet kathleen hung upon her words. 1 4 three girls and a hermit a a from earliest childhood she had led and they had followed. hot-tempered, self-willed, possessed of an . over-ready tongue, moira had swayed their pliant natures to her will, until she scarcely knew what it was to be thwarted. no one but the hermit ever questioned her decisions, or forced her to a path she did not want to tread on. it was moira who had taken them bathing with all their clothes on, so that they might practise the saving of life in a common-sense way, and having swum out of her depth was unable to get in, and would have been drowned if the hermit had not come for her ; moira, who stole a boat in half a gale of wind and fortunately capsized her a few yards from the shore; moira, whose ever-active brain was for ever evolving impossible hopes and ideas, and who now was determined to leave borrisdeane, and lead her sisters to fortune. she waved a pink-covered weekly, lent by the doctor's wife. "having sufficient bread and butter and eggs, and being covered by black serge, is not being alive," she said vehemently. here she stepped off the path and crushed a precious begonia, one of a dozen bought by kathleen from the proceeds of her bantams. kathleen's wail of dismay rent the air. “ we can all ride." moira moved hastily. “oh, kathleen, what is a begonia when it's a question of one's life?" kathleen, remarking that the begonia had no further interest in that subject, tenderly lifted the trodden, pulpy stem with its bundle of striped leaf and flaring blossom, and gave heated information as to its high cost of sixpence. how the trip was talked of 5 moira, keeping carefully in the middle of the path, denounced her sister as small-minded, and went on with her subject. “the money—the spare money-is ours to do what we like with,” she said. “let us do as i have suggested. take it, buy some young horses, and hunt them in some other place; go to balls and parties and wear evening dresses, and live as other girls do. oh! think of it; it's our only chance of"-moira had the grace to blush--"of marrying." eva suddenly drooped her pretty, fair head. “what is to happen to us here?" demanded moira. “ just to drift from year to year until we take to bonnets and beaded mantles and to feeling the chickens' breasts to see if they are fat enough to kill, as old miss o'brien does." this tragic flight of fancy carried weight. there was silence, broken only by the gentle lapping of the lake, in the little garden. eva, the eldest girl, frowned indecisively, looked at one of biddy's chickens roosting outside, and sighed. she and kathleen were fair-skinned and fair-haired, one tall, and the other slight and very short, with gentle, reserved voices and quiet blue eyes. moira was auburn-haired, grey-eyed, of restless energy, with a red mouth which curled into hidden smiles or drooped to deepest dejection in almost childish transparency. she wearied of borrisdeane. her mind, fed by weekly periodicals, aspired to going forth clad in some of the wondrous garments she read of in society scannings and other journals treating of the great world. also, she wanted even more than this to hunt. with a sweeping belief that everything 6 three girls and a hermit 6 must be as she wanted it, moira considine felt certain that the rest of the world would be a spirited combination of lawn meets and church parades, chiffon frocks and young men. “it's not-it's not as if it would cost money," moira spoke breathlessly. “but we can really live for nothing. i was at the forge yesterday, and martin hallinan told me one could make fortunes of selling young horses. his aunt's second cousin sold one for thirty pounds to a dealer, and saw him two years after in the ring at the dublin horse show, and they were asking "-moira's voice dropped to awed tones“eighty pounds." here kathleen, who regretted her flowers, was unkind enough to inquire whether the dealer or the horse had been on sale in dublin, and quailed before her sister's withering glance. “some people," said moira icily, “seem to be devoid of understanding; and there is martin hallinan. ask him if it's true." martin hallinan, a burly red-bearded giant, paused to wish them a shy "good evening." as moira's breathless interrogations were hurled upon him he removed his hat and scratched his head with deliberation. "sorra a lie in it," he said stoutly, “an' it's a matter well known that there's money in the horses. i saw the horse meself many times drawing turf from the deep bog. a big camel of a baste he was, but mullady bought him and gave up to thirty pound. and when me aunt's second cousin, that went groom to captain casey, was up in dublin, didn't he see the grey, fat and shinin', and he ambling round the ring as if he nivir saw turf? how the trip was talked of _7 "hi! grey horse,' says me aunt's cousin, says he ('that's,' says he, 'the way to speak to thim). did you get a prize?' says he, the sight nearly to leave his eyes looking at the grey and the way he was changed. "'i did not,' says the man that was riding. 'i did not. don't ye know,' says he, sour-like, 'that the besht horses gets no prizes, but thim with dandy legs and heads, steppin' like common roadsthers, or thim,' says he, dark like, 'that has frinds in court.' mike, that's me aunt's cousin, said nothin', havin' got two prizes himself. 'an' what,' says he, 'would you be asking for that grey horse?' and he ran his eye down the hindmosht leg, where he knew he'd see the bump that the grey got kicking the cart to bits one day he was too lightsome. 666 'that's no curb, but a knock he got av win in kildare,' says the man on the grey, sharp-like, 'an' i'm asking a hundred,' says he, 'just to make a quick sale.' "god almighty sind you it,' says mike, says he; an' shure if that's not making money, miss, what is?" "you see," cried moira eagerly to her listening sisters. "asking," said a gentle voice, "is not always receiving." unheard oars had come sweeping across the lake and a boat been moored to the rough stones which did duty for a pier. "oh! you," cried moira; "you always scoff." "but it's true," said the newcomer simply. martin hallinan scratched the other side of his head and induced a new vein of thought. 8 three girls and a hermit fiery eye. begob,” he said, “an' it is. didn't i ask twinty pound for eight months for a cob i had ? divil a ha'porth wrong with him but a stiffness in his foremost legs ; that was more play actin' than anythin' else, for a belt of a stick'd make him sound. an' didn't i take three pound fifteen for him in the tail of the string ?” he concluded dolefully.“ but there's money in the horses all the time,” he added, catching moira's “many a one here under a cyar that ye’d sell aisy." here he said good evening, and walked on. the girls, thought upon their faces, watched him go down the narrow fuchsia-bordered road. “and you, hermit, have some tea," said eva hospitably. old biddy was bringing out a table, laying a worn white cloth. the newcomer was a man with a quiet face, tired blue eyes, and a sad mouth. to the rest of the world he was oliver tremayne ; to the considine girls he was the hermit. he had taken borrisdeane house, a great rambling place just across the lake, and lived there alone, never going away, shooting in winter, fishing in summer, riding at all times. at first he had declined all society; but moira, when a romping, long-legged child, had made her way beyond his gates and into his life. he had taught her how to fish, taken her for rapturous days out upon the lake, when with thumping heart one watched the fly drop on the water, and with a shout of ecstasy felt the rod's point bend, heard the reel's harsh whirr of triumph, and played a big lake trout; for other days, upon the heaving sea, with long lines coming dripping aboard. he had walked with her through his tangled how the trip was talked of 9 overgrown woods, teaching her the lore of bird and beast. now that moira had grown up they quarrelled ; his gentle voice cut across her extravagant dreams; his quiet contradictions were generally right, and moira, the woman, scoffed and wrangled with her childhood's friend. he came with an easy slouch, which was something apart from the hasty stride of the borrisdeane youths, pushing his way through a gap in the hedge, where blackberries, purple and green, hung about the crimson fuchsias. a sparkle of humour, which no sadness could subdue, lay behind eyes and mouth. he stopped still, as moira, fresh eyed and sunny haired, turned to greet him. with some asperity she asked him what he looked at. “the sunshine, moira,” he said quietly. “ it's behind you," said moira sharply, pointing to the glowing west. “sometimes i hope that there is still some in front of me," he said, and sat down, still looking at her. biddy, helped by the elder girls, had laid their teasmoking griddle-bread, pats of golden butter, a square of honey, and a nest of fresh-laid eggs; for the miss considines, being economical, would take nothing more except milk and biscuits before bedtime. they knew him too well to cease their discussion ; it rattled on over steaming strong tea and hot buttered cakes, and the hermit, his face very thoughtful, listened to their wondrous plans. “but have you no people ?” he said ; "friends of your father's, whom you could visit ?" іо three girls and a hermit " aunt jane has written to us." eva took a letter from her pocket. " aunt jane, who never even sent us a christmas card, is troubled for our immortal souls. the unmarried considines are over-worried by religion.” moira tweaked the letter from eva's fingers, and spread the thin, black-edged sheets upon her knee. “ aunt jane says that unless we exist upon potatoes and bread we cannot possibly live upon our income here; but that she, being our late father's sister, will interest herself to provide us with some suitable employments. our lack of education and accomplishments is, of course, a great drawback. but one might qualify as a lady nurse to little children-it is a nice womanly employment; and then for anotherif we know anything she thinks mrs. halford, the rector's wife, would receive the eldest as nursery governess to their little girls. no salary, but laundry and a liberal table. three young women could not live alone in the wilds of kerry, especially in such dire poverty. so much for our relations, who would have me call the butlers' mister,'” laughed moira. “ shall we ask aunt jane to stay, and show her how chickens and ducks and boiled eggs are permissible upon our income if we stayed here? but we must try our fortune. we'll not stay." she sharply asked eva what she was thinking of. “ it was only if we did not sell the horses you are going to buy; if we came back failures," said thoughtful eva. “yes, if they were not sold," said the hermit. he had removed aunt jane's letter from the table and torn ịt wrathfully to little pieces, his blue eyes growing hard, how the trip was talked of ii moira declared volubly that it was as easy as easy to sell. you bought horses in the rough, you trained and rode and showed them off, and then sold for fabulous profits. why, people lived by it. she splashed hot water into the teapot with a vigour which induced the hermit to remove his legs from danger, and old biddy to cry,“ have a care, miss moira, astore,” from the kitchen window. "i have a fresh kittle on the boil if ye want more," she added, thrusting her wrinkled old face into the sunshine. "an' miss eva's . “ march-hatched howdang is afther laying an egg." moira took the teapot in, and the others were silent, thinking aunt maria, quietly generous in death as in life, had left them all she had. an income of two hundred pounds a year to be shared equally, and savings, gathered before the hungry baby mouths came to be filled, amounting to eight hundred pounds. now what they thought of doing was leaving the cottage, using this loose capital, and going to some hunting country for the winter, some spot where they could ride hard, live in a pictured whirl of gaiety, and pay for all this fun by selling their horses at the end of the season for enormous sums. had not martin hallinan given an instance of one animal bought but ten miles away, which had found its way to the great dublin horse show? there were other colts drawing turf from the deep bog; there were longtailed youngsters. but it was a momentous question, for eight hundred pounds, once spent, was not to be recalled. eva, the eldest, hesitated. moira returned with fresh tea, with fresher arguments and ideas. she wove a tinselled, flimsy web of hope and folly, until eva and kathleen went away12 three girls and a hermit one to work in the tiny gardens which supplied them with fruit and vegetables, the other to help biddy in the kitchen, from which, as the old woman came near the window, heated words could be heard. "childer's talk and nonsense, miss eva, an' me chickens all to be left behind, an' the garding idle. oh! i tell ye" the next was lost in a clatter of pots and pans. so far oliver tremayne had said nothing. he was, in fact, amazed and shocked at this new idea, suddenly sprung upon him. "well?" moira was more uneasy at his silence than she would have cared to own to. "and you. what do you think of it?" "it sounds pretty," he said, laying down his cup, and looking straight into her starry, hopeful eyes. "we should be away for months; see people; be in the world. it would give us a chance." "of what?" he asked quietly, looking at her level brows and wilful mouth. "of marrying," said moira boldly. she was not shy with him. "suppose we remain and exist here. who can we meet? we do not want to grow into old maids of lee. and there are no men here." "no, of course not," he said, a twinkle growing in his eyes. "but i suppose you never thought of that?" said moira sharply. "of your marrying? strange to say, i have," he answered; the twinkle had died now, his eyes were very tired again. "yet men do come here. they come to fish. there was carstairs last year." how the trip was talked of 13 "who has never written to eva since then. and she has felt it bitterly." "carstairs will come back," he answered. "also there are men in your great world who might not write either. in his case there is, i feel sure, an excuse." "and then his idea was to take catermere and live here, in these wilds, for the summer," burst out moira, in swift contempt. "surely one might do worse," he said wistfully. he looked, waving his hand, at the swell of the purple hills, golden lights astray upon their sides; at the stretch of bog, yellow-grassed and deep-pooled ; at the ripple of waters seen through the scarlet-dappled hedge. the sea's kiss came on the wooing wind; the hum of the atlantic, beating on a pebbly beach, could be plainly heard: ireland-a mysterious, capricious woman, showing all her lonely loveliness. "one might do worse," he said again, his blue eyes clouding-"much worse. you've loved it yourself, moira, in the summers when you fished with me. moira, if you knew. eyes and ears, aye, and hearts, ache in the blaze and glare beyond those hills. here a man may learn peace." moira sniffed in youthful contempt. peace was for old men and hermits; life for young bodies and throbbing, hopeful hearts. she wanted to take it up in both hands, to bathe herself in the excitement she had never known, to dance and flirt and make merry. yet, looking at the hermit's face, misgiving touched her, so much so that she grew angry. "and what do you think of it?" she questioned, as eva and kathleen came back. "don't you think it's 14 three girls and a hermit all a splendid idea ?" and her eyes flashed menace of warning and softness of entreaty. she wanted support. eva placed some foolish reliance on the hermit's opinion. “ yes. what do you think of it now moira has told you of her idea ?” asked eva slowly. “to leave this place; to take out your capital ; for you three, living alone, to attempt to buy and sell horses with some idea of making them pay?" oliver tremayne looked moira straight in the face and showed himself no coward. “ i think i never heard of such a piece of childish folly in my life," he said emphatically. “god's blessing on ye for that same word,” said biddy, as she removed the tray. the hermit faced moira's kindling cheeks and eyes, and, with an eloquence rare for him, talked on. horses, even those bought by experts, went wrong. supposing this happened, they would only return at the end of a few wasted months, poorer and dissatisfied with everything. to come back at war with the world when they might remain, and in remaining, never know what fortune would knock at their doors. he saw eva's eyes light, and knew that she understood his meaning. also, you spoke of riding ”—here he was brutally candid—“ but galloping about on the postman's pony and the smith's play-actin' cob is not quite the same thing as the hunting of impetuous young horses over a strange country. the world“has changed since your day," stormed moira, now actively furious. " it changes little,” he said, with a sadness which how the trip was talked of 15 made moira ashamed. certainly not enough to allow three pretty girls to live alone in it." moira declared hotly that three girls could live alone anywhere. she saw her sisters' faces, and realised that her house of cards quivered. with rapid tongue and sharpened voice she declared that she had read so in the ladies' illustrated, and could not see what the hermit could know of society and hunting the hermit, very gravely, said that perhaps he had read a man's illustrated. also, that he supposed they had really made up their minds. moira hoped they had, and that they would show him how wrong he was. but her voice trembled as she spoke. “i hope," said the hermit, “ that you may." he got up slowly, with a troubled look on his face, for all this was new to him. moira generally saw him to his boat. to-day he was allowed to go alone. he pulled away with a long, easy stroke, looking young and supple as he bent to his oars ; the lulling cluck of the rowlocks, the gentle splash of the blades died away; the boat, black against the evening glow, slipped to the wooded shore opposite. moira had been too angry even to say good-bye, for her sisters were plainly impressed ; but later, over milk and oatmeal biscuits, she had her way, and her sisters agreed to do as she wished. c chapter ii treating chiefly of young horses "i presume," said the hermit quietly, “that nothing will induce you to change your minds." “nothing," said moira stoutly. she had pulled the boat across the lake. despite their quarrels, it seemed natural to come first to him with their plans : how eva and kathleen had consented, how the money had been lodged in the bank, and how martin hallinan and jamesey casey and father magee had pledged themselves to scour all kerry, to send word across bog and up mountain. horses worth being taken away should arrive to be bought. hallinan had promised to "pass a note by posht to sundry cousins," for, oh surely there were great horses about ! moira and the hermit stood at a gate opening into borrisdeane woods. sunshine made the mossy ground a trellis-work of silver and green; the branches, arched and twisted, a canopy above their heads. great beeches, straight firs, slender larch, coarse sturdy elm, lacing and twining, too free from axe and saw, and through every gap shone a glimmer of grey waters. rabbits darted to and fro to their homes in the sandy bank. the air was full of the songs of little birds. at the far end of the 16 treating chiefly of young horses 17 wood the trees were stunted, bent by the force of the gales in winter when they rushed over the rise beyond the lake. then the atlantic spoke in tones of thunder, lashing at the cliffs, rolling the pebbles up and down as it foamed, tempest driven, to the road's edge. today its voice was a distant, soft-voiced chant, lulling tired nerves to rest. “will you miss it sometimes, i wonder ? " said the hermit. he looked first at the wood, then at the girl by his side. “the sea calls one, moira, when one has lived near it. will you miss anything here?" moira made an extremely vulgar remark, which alluded to missing her grandmamma. she was just longing to get away. to go to ballsshe had never worn an evening gown. she slid a bare arm from her loose sleeve and considered dispassionately that it would do. "go, get into the world, the wonderful, unknown world." they were very pretty and young, these girls : it was not strange that they should want to go away. yet tremayne's eyes, now fixed again on the silver tumble of light and shade, were very thoughtful. the world could proffer a golden cup full of sparkling wine ; here one must be content with cold still water. “money," he said, "does not go so very far in gay places. dances, theatres, good grooms, and dear forage eat it up. where have you decided on?" moira became voluble again. she perched upon the gate, swinging her slender, stoutly shod feet. she had read in many papers. she had thought and wondered, of course eva and kathleen also, but moira's tone seemed to imply that their thoughts were of little account. “ and she—that is, they-had » » 2 18 three girls and a hermit decided, had even written to a house agent and awaited his reply. there was hunting, there were soldiers, she had read in dublin society of balls and parties, so they were going to--a place called -ballydare." moira, her golden visions rising and dazzling her, drew a choked breath : she hardly knew what wonders she expected; the hermit, turning aside, also choked with an appalling suddenness, spluttering sounds issued from beyond his shaking neck, and when moira, rushing round, beheld his face, his eyes were full of water. “a fly, i think,” he said weakly. “do-don't look, moira," and wheeling he choked anew. moira, making severe remarks as to the folly of using open mouths as fly traps, waited for his recovery. it came slowly. “to-ballydare to see the world," he said at last. “so you settled on that, moira. oh there'll be dances there, of course, and hunting ; but, faith, i thought you meant melton at least, or, choosing ireland, somewhere near kildare." moira reft some newspaper cuttings from her pocket, and having requested the hermit to choke no more, she read extracts in awed tones. lady evelyn balcoyle wore black satin and diamonds”. it was an account of a ball—" lady buller green chiffon, the misses reidy all in white, with different coloured sashes." the hermit heard it patiently, and choked no more, but checked with an effort some comments he seemed anxious to make. “go, see your world,” he said at last. “there were one or two things i meant to say to you, moira, but ) 1 treating chiefly of young horses 19 ( they must wait now until you judge between ballydare and borrisdeane." “as if any one could compare them,” said moira with scorn. the hermit thought politely that they could not, and suggested tea. as moira swung from the gate she looked again at the wood, and the misgivings of yesterday tore at her heart, checking her fancy's gallop with a sudden curb of pain; something, she could not tell what, which ruffled her to anger. who could regret the woods, with all the world in front ? borrisdeane house, long and rambling, stood clear cut in the sunshine. ireland's artists were not given to beauty of outline, but they had spared borrisdeane the square heaviness of its contemporaries, and built out straggling wings to either side. the house faced the lake, the lawn sloping to the water. crimson gladioli flamed in the flower beds, mixed with a tangle of mignonette, for the hermit loved its scent. wide border was ablaze with august flowers ; the place was neither trim nor neglected. the hermit lived in one wing, using a bay-windowed wide room for his own. here, among precious pieces of sheraton, and out of quaintly flowered cups, they took tea. moira often wondered why no other room had such colourings, such blending of persian rugs and deep gleam of beeswaxed boards, such soft background for many coloured prints; thought and despised a little, thinking loftily that men's should be like young desmond's of the rectory-a mixture of muddy boots, rods, guns, and discomfort. a table was laid for tea. old lowestoft cups on a fine white cloth, glistening silver, a copper kettle and a 20 three girls and a hermit plain brown teapot. there were photographs about among the books, sun-pictures which moira had often studied, of girls in habits and ball dresses, and a few men's faces simpering in the set misery of being taken. "there is no doubt about it," said the hermit, as he rang the bell and lighted the spirit lamp beneath the shining kettle, "that your aunt, with her tiny income, was a marvellous woman to have saved anything." "but look how we lived," said moira contemptuously. a sudden steeliness hardened oliver tremayne's blue eyes; he spooned tea out of an inlaid caddy, and then turned, looking hard at moira. "can you ever remember being hungry?" he asked very quietly, for cold, or badly dressed? youth, after all, is very like a quicksand, sucking down all it touches." " the first twinge of the doubt which was eventually to be aunt maria's reward assailed moira's mind. she had never thought of the necessity of being grateful. it had been natural to be fed and clothed and looked after, and they had never paused to consider that their aunt had kept them all. she was silent while the hermit's man carried in bread and butter and hot cakes. james, a native of the village, was a sacrifice to civilisation, wearing sober black clothes, and padding on his toes, that he might go softly-an accomplishment which had been attained with great difficulty. "we ought to be very grateful to aunt maria," shot out moira, angry with herself. "for now, through her, we can get away from this hole "-she waved her hand towards the tangle of boughs and sheen of treating chiefly of young horses 21 " 9 rippling waters—"where there is no one to know, and where nothing ever happens." james's manner as he laid down the cakes was fraught with importance. he too pointed outwards. " there's a strange mothor afther going up the road, and mikey maher's ass is in the ditch," he said pleasantly. “now, who shall say," said the hermit, "that nothing happens at borrisdeane?" "i was below, an' begob she to make off like a sthreak of fire," went on james. “i think, sir, maher's mother's like to be dead. we can hear the schreeches of her up here. for she rowled over, an' the ass, bein' young and confused like, bit her ... in the leg. i'll get the crame, sir.” he went out noiselessly, as a well-trained servant should. long wails, rendered thin by distance, wafted from the road below the wood. james, very much excited, reappeared with a jug of “ there's the divil's own danger in mnothors," he told his master. “but lasht thursday six weeks one druv over a duck by guinane's public. i declare to god ye'd be afther one ov thim birds with a horsetrap for a year an' ye couldn't manage that same. bit the head off as clane as a fox would--so it did. if you don't want me, sir, i'll go down to help katey maher up”; he went rapidly, skimming across the flower beds in his decorous black clothes. “if i were to pay a thousand a year in the world, i could not find a james," said the hermit, laughing unrestrainedly. "he walks like a cat and looks like a butler, but he is james magee behind it all. he's bringing the woman back." cream. 22 three girls and a hermit ! > mrs. maher, limping and calling down curses on all motors, was being assisted to the kitchen. the donkey, very dusty and dejected, was led behind. the hermit went out to ask for particulars, and to reproach the donkey. mike maher refuted the reproach with indignation, " the poor innicent animal that didn't know what he was doin'. into the ditch her ran with the dinth of terror, and me mamma, makin' half a kind of lep, rowled out undther his head. sure, may be he thought 'twas the mothor cyar that he herd whin he got her undther his lip, an' where—he had to catch her-i tell yer honour-she'll not rest-" the hermit retreated hastily. from what he gathered, it would be some days before mike maher's mother would sit with ease. moira had left her tea and risen to wander round the room. an old desk stood open on the table ; a shabby walnut thing such as schoolboys use, and on the frayed velvet lay a girl's photograph. moira stopped to stare. the draped skirts and frizzy fringe were the fashions of twenty years before: the girl herself was splendidly handsome, cold featured, with rounded naked arms. she seemed to stare out haughtily, almost repellent, in the full knowledge of her beauty, looking where the photographer had asked her to, as if disdaining his efforts to do her justice. on the right-hand corner was a blackly written v. “what a lovely face !” moira picked the photograph up; the hermit, turning, caught his breath sharply. “who is it?" “an old love. a dead friend, moira-long lost.” he came across and took it from her hands, and stood treating chiefly of young horses 23 holding it. "you have no past, moira, to rise up and mock you. but if ever you have "-he smiled suddenly may it be in your power to wipe it out as i do." he went to the fire, dropping the picture on to the glowing turf. "i got it out to burn it," he said. moira stared. this was a new side of the hermit's character. she watched the photograph as it crinkled and burnt up slowly, scorched to death by the dull red fire. "a dead friend?" she asked. "dead, moira": he smiled at her a little sadly. "dead, and i live, and hope to live-more. if you had not been going away so soon we might have talked more of it." mrs. maher's wails arose from the kitchen. "listen," he said, "what people they are! i came among them fifteen years ago, sick of everything on earth, and they have healed me. i can laugh now. i can even wonder why i could not laugh then." he stamped upon the turf fire, and flung some wood upon it. "if you were to go away, then," said moira, "you would miss it all." "some of it. for something else now means the world to me," he answered quietly. he rowed moira over the lake in the hush of a golden twilight, and said he would come soon to see the prospective hunters. the "word" concerning horses seemed to have travelled far and wide. borrisdeane became an active volcano, flinging up horses hotly. "there's a man outside with a horse waiting on ye." how many scurries across the little garden and eager gatherings about the steeds; for eva and 24 three girls and a hermit 1 1 )) ) kathleen, having put common sense behind them, were determined to take moira's views now; to hunt and make money of their hunters seemed childishly easy. . . . patsy, a youth engaged to tidy up the stables, and mind the purchases to come, was buoyant with hope. “when you'd larn a horse to cross the country there was no knowing the price he'd go to," he told them. “up in cahirvally and in cork, faix, they'd throw you out a hundred pound as aisy as a man'd drink whisky.” patsy whistled gay tunes as he thought of his own future life; he endeavoured, with praiseworthy patience, to absorb all the directions which were pointed out for his guidance—to crush the oats, and chop the hay, and feed four times daily. “faith, 'tis ladies' maids them hunters'd want,” said patsy to himself. “them is things easier said to be done than done," he observed later, and proceeded to forget all he had heard. moira pored over fitzwygram and other books until her brain whirled, and she was inclined to think that the röntgen rays were her one chance of judging bone and unsoundness. but, even filled with , that little knowledge which is worse than none, she realised that the first wave of the equine flood was not one of hunters. she dispatched them sternly, assuring disappointed owners that they did not want horses to draw "cyars" or ploughs, but those of shape and quality to fly over the fences at ballydare. in vain did miles hennessy, the postman, assure them that his cob was the very one to match them. "for, faix, there wasn't a field you'd put him in, the schamer, but he'd level the gap to get out ; weren't they tired from raising sthones afther him? treating chiefly of young horses 25 an' that cliver he was, even a green bank wouldn't sthop him, for what he couldn't knock, faix, he'd crawl over on his stchomack, savin' your presence, miss eva. didn't they find him but lasht week with his hind legs at home an' his foremosht parts in dan daly's afther grass, an' he grazing quite continted ?" moira, with certain bitter memories of rides upon this prodigy, and its firm refusal to jump any fence, even upon its "stchomack," was obdurate. even strong hints of gratitude due for these mounts had to be ignored, and the pony, a ragged brown scarecrow, ) sent away then clancy, a cousin of the smith's, swept upon them with a broken-kneed, vicious mare-a dejected example of how little food a horse can preserve life on. having heard they wanted a hunting horse, begob, there was a chance for them. lep-she'd lep the say if you set it before her. but a fortnight pasht, on meetin' a mothor, didn't she clear the fince off the road, cyar an' all, with ould mrs. maguire weighin' down one fall ov it? and what couldn't she jump with nothin' on her but a saddle an' one of the young ladies!” ” the girls shook their heads. the collar-marked, light-middled wreck could never be hunted. she was, if they had known it, without a good point in her unhappy body ; had curbs as big as eggs, bog spavin, and was a speedy cutter. even moira, who, confused by a chapter on young horses' points, would hold forth hopes that some of the woolly, hairyheeled colts might improve into wonders, knew the mare was hopeless. so the flood of horses ebbed, and no flotsam full of treasure remained upon their shore. 26 three girls and a hermit the hermit came often, and smiled politely. he proved useful, for he could wrench open unwilling jaws, and tell a horse's age, thereby preventing the purchase of a rather good-looking black which the owner declared to be five off, and which the hermit pronounced to be three. “ and, being that age, will probably make a useful brougham horse,” he said in his quiet way. eva grew dispirited, and moira's eyes lost their serene hopefulness, but there were interludes of exciting letters from ballydare. such houses as they had hoped for were quite beyond their means. one could not pay a hundred pounds a year out of their small capital. they wrote and wrote again until better news came. there was a little house, the beeches, on the castleknock road, furnished, with stabling for three horses, and a garden. it was generally let to married officers, but one, leaving hurriedly, would sublet at a sacrifice; namely, for fifty pounds a year. they must wire should they wish to secure it. there was a garden, a yard, a croquet lawn, sufficient rooms. the three girls pored over the letter, and patsy was hastily dispatched upon a borrowed jennet, with a reply-paid wire ; they could not rest until this treasure in houses was secured to them for a year. the agent in distant ballydare read the wire and smiled faintly. the real reason for major trevenna's abrupt cessation of tenancy had not been stated in his description of the beeches. he replied with a pleased haste, stating that agreement followed. old biddy, through all this excitement, stalked through life unappeased. she termed the change treating chiefly of young horses 27 » “thapesin,” the horse dealing "childer's nonsense.” “whin min themselves could be taken in, what could young ladies expect? didn't her own brother bring home a horse that'd neither lead nor dhrive, but bruk the schafts of the cyar twice, and was nigh to killin' mike with a belt of his hoof? fifteen pounds he paid, a five he got, and he a man of sense.” biddy's conservative heart was also wrung by the recipes culled from the ladies' illustrated and brought to her to prepare, that the little dinners they meant to give might do them credit at ballydare. she shied at french names and garnishes, and denounced the high-priced tins which came from distant shops. time was flying, and no horses had arrived. eva grew dispirited, and even moira was troubled, when patsy came tearing in to announce that "jimmy mack from beyont the hills had heard they wanted hunthers, and was bringin' over the grandest, breediest mare you ever clapped an eye on. she was outside on the road no less. like one ye'd see racin', that gintale and thin in the legs." moira, who had set her mind upon preparing a new dish for lunch, upset a pile of chopped parsley, handed the recipe to biddy, and fled hurriedly, her heart beating. this should be hers. the others followed her. jimmy mack, a lanky man with a guileless face and benevolent mouth, was holding a lengthy, ragged grey mare. she had fine sloping shoulders, a head well set on, and long pasterns, which made her movements attractive. that she missed a rib, had a waist as slim as a girl's, was tied in below the knee, and had curby hocks, were things absolutely unnoticed by the three rapturous admirers. 28 three girls and a hermit "she'll do for me," moira whispered hoarsely; her great wisdom restraining her from an audible cry of delight. "yes, this might do." this remark was made audibly as moira, with a knowing air, ran slender fingers down the mare's thin legs, while jimmy mack prayed to his gods that the dust on the off-knee, so carefully plastered on, might remain to cover a palpable mark. moira stood back, none the wiser for her searching examination. age? four years. height? sixteen hands. breeding? this was easy work to answer. quick words tripped glibly from mack's kindly mouth. the filly was "by walmsgate, above in limerick, the dam an ould victhor mare, the grand-dam by solon. blood it is, ye may say," cried mr. mack enthusiastically, "and it goes to me heart to part with the crathur i've reared." it would not have served mr. mack's purpose to confess that he paid ten pounds fifteen for the mare at castle island fair, two years before, and knew nothing further of her. . . . to moira and the others it was precious truth. moira circled once again, this time with grave respect, feeling it was honour to stand upon the road with mack and this equine princess. "ye see 'tis nearly clean bred she is." mack perceived the impression he had made. ""tis punchestown she should be at. an' for thrainin', i'll tell ye no lies." jimmy mack, honest man, swallowed noisily. "i have her handled but little she was out in the fields, but sure she can lep like a deer. miss bennet treating chiefly of young horses 29 » behind is mad for to get her ; but i, bein' a fusht cousin of the smith's, brought her over to give the young ladies first chanst.” he walked the mare up and down and awaited results. the grey pranced airily, head up and tail out. patsy whispered heated praises from behind his hand. "fit to race, with that long tail on her and thim darlin' bits of shins, that, begob, ye could put yer hand round. an' the bind in her ankle joints ! faix, 'tis chasing ye they'll be, miss moira, on her." with a voice which trembled moira asked the price, and jimmy mack, who had fixed thirty as a sum beyond his dearest hopes, said "fifty to you, miss," in the tone of one who confers a deep favour. fifty pounds for this magnificent animal for this creature of breeding and beauty! they looked at mack with gentle pity, while he waited with his eyes down and his face serene. why did poor men toil in offices when gold-mines, masked by grey hairs, lay undiscovered in the kerry hills? two hundred, two ? fiftythis one animal alone would pay for their year's outing. " it is for nothing, surely," eva whispered ; but her pocket was saved by patsy, who, thrusting himself forward with a grunt of contempt, suggested in heavy undertone that none but children would give a price asked. “an', maybe, ye'd be glad to see thirty-five, jimmy mack," said patsy, feeling in his turn the mare's legs. as they strayed near some suspicious enlargement above the coronet, and mr. mack was unaware of the depth of patsy's ignorance, he offered to split the difference with suspicious alacrity. so that 30 three girls and a hermit 1 patsy, fast assuming the airs of a man who buys largely, wrangled, and mack argued, and the mare changed hands for forty-three pounds ten shillings, with the half-sovereign back for luck, and was led away to the stables, while mack contemplated a slip of coloured paper, firmly signed eva considine, and searched his pockets for silver and coppers to make up the ten shillings. an' god be with the day the old lady was tuk," said james mack piously, as he strode towards his home, paying no visit to his cousin. the girls ran to the yard to see patsy carry out the order to immediately clean and tidy up the new purchase. but ere they reached it they were greeted by a wailing shriek, and by patsy flying for safety, crying that the schamer had him hunted, a trample of hoofs, followed by an open-mouthed head at the stable door, confirming this statement. mr. mack was at this moment wondering whom the mare would bite first. “ didn't she meet her teeth on me throuser?” declaimed patsy, indignant at slurs cast upon his management of horses. “i declare to god, before the brush was on her the white of her eye was as big as her head, and she had her teeth sharpened, lookin' for a shpot. jennits and horses i've minded,” said patsy, mending his garments with a rusty pin," but the like of her i never was afther." at this juncture the hermit, a fishing-rod over his shoulder, came into the yard. at his voice-or, as patsy described it, “the roar he let”-the mare retired, leaning against the side of the box, with the tail of her eye searching for patsy. treating chiefly of young horses 31 a " “so this is the beginning.” the hermit looked at the trembling mare, checking her inclination to rush at him with successive shouts. moira, remarking that the poor darling was nervous, dispatched her sisters for carrots and apples, and patsy for oats, and fell into a dream of namesarthur, solon, victor. what a harvest to reap from ! with quick ardour she settled on the star, and commenced to paint it on the door with some whitewash. “well bred ?" guessed the hermit, still studying. moira ran through the string of names with pride. “oh, then, this is one of mack's jimmy mack's," said the hermit easily ; "that's his usual pedigree. i heard he'd got a grey they couldn't stable.” moira sniffed angrily and looked blank. "and sound ?” he asked, as the others came back. “ sound! oh, well-" moira's face fell suddenly. in her wild longing for this mare she had forgotten the item of soundness. patsy, being accused of cowardice, made gloomy way into the stable. aided by the hermit, and the butt end of the landing net, they got a head collar on to the star. i declare to the hivins ye'd see the heels of her shakin' to be at ye,” remarked patsy, as, strengthened by further roars from the hermit, he tied the star up and proceeded to clean her. tremayne ran his long fingers down the mare's legs. he eyed her light middle, her curby hocks, her weak pasterns, and having murmured “lord almighty !” more than once, he stood back musing. 60 32 three girls and a hermit 9) moira watched him contemptuously. what could oliver tremayne, the hermit, know of horses? "forty-three pounds." he dodged a lashing heel and slipped out, while patsy cleaned in a mute agony of terror. “isn't she worth it? for nothing ?” moira, pink cheeked, her hands full of carrots, which she feared to go in and offer, questioned him angrily. "i have seldom," said the hermit pleasantly, “seen more items included at the price. absolutely nothing extra for curby hocks, a broken knee, and sidebones.” here, seeing dismay in eva's eyes, and a glitter of tears in moira's, he hastened to add that neither ailment might cause lameness. but moira, realising that her wisdom had failed her at the very first trial, felt she hated the hermit. she started away moodily, while kathleen, full of her new cookery, bade the hermit to luncheon. “we've a lovely make up of chicken. moira and i left it to biddy to do, when the horse came," she said, and called to the old woman, asking for luncheon and the new dish. a kind old face, framed by a quilled white cap, was thrust through the window; a pink-covered weekly paper fell upon the garden path. “ready is it!” biddy assumed her nearest approach to severity. “when i read it over, 'two i breasts of chickens,' no less, an' all manner of quare things. an', in any case, miss kathleen, couldn't do it if i put in legs an' all, for don't ye know the mincer's broke since ye thrun it at brady's ass for comin' on to the flower garden? but the chicken's there, an' a bit of bacon, ready an' all. bether than treating chiefly of young horses 33 any kennels ever was made.” she withdrew her head sharply. the hermit picked up the paper and gravely read the recipe for quenelles. "i think," he said softly, as he followed the three considines to the little dining-room, "that one sensible person will go to the great world at ballydare." 3 chapter iii beyond the purple hills with ith the star, a little shaken, shining in her box, while patsy, filled with fear, brushed her grey coat to smoothness, something had been done towards completing the stud for ballydare. moira, reading her books, decided the hermit was completely wrong, and patsy, upholding her, declared there was hardly a horse ploughing but had “thim bits of bumps above the foremost feet.” gentle treatment having slightly melted the grey's heart, patsy returned to his former rapture of admiration, and the countryside was called in to admire. training must begin immediately. eva's face grew longer as she signed cheque after cheque, payment for horse clothing, bridles, saddles—their own threehorned things were quite impossible--all from the best makers, and consequently at the best prices. moira ordered and they followed her impetuous lead. they pored over advertisements and lists. when specious cheapness would have led them aside as they ordered their saddles, the hermit stepped in. he explained the horrors of sore backs, and insisted on three champion & wiltons being immediately 34 beyond the purple hills 35 ordered-and saw eva groan at the cheque with a placid clousness. patsy shone forth in new clothes and tan gaiters; the star's blue rugs were, he declared, fit for a king's quilt; the smell of new leather permeated the house, and the hire of the smith's pony and cart (no longer lent for nothing), sent to fetch the packing cases, was no small item in eva's account book. then when the days closed in, and they sat about a glowing peat fire, there were other things to talk of; then eva and kathleen joined in, and patterns of stuffs and silks and cloths were felt and peered at. three new habits, many new frocks, were necessities. they must go fully fledged into this great world, and many sheets of paper were used up as they wrote from shop to shop, buying extensively. if moira leaned towards expensive leather, she determined to save in clothes. the ladies' illustrated gave the names of cheap places, and the miss considines robed themselves with a gorgeous unsuitability in shop garments of many descriptions. biddy, looking wryly at some of the first assortments, failed in sympathy. "miss eva," she said, "had a hump on her like a camel in that new thrapsin gown, and miss moira'd niver ate a bit of dinner if she fastened the waisht of hers." faint hints to biddy as to wearing different caps at ballydare were immediately seen and scorned. "if they couldn't put up with her as she was, better get a new one to go away." a protest which brought a wave of loving girls about her-girls with wet eyes, who forgot everything else as they declaimed their love for old bid-and were ashamed of 36 three girls and a hermit ✓ 1 1 their request. she had nursed them, scolded them, spoilt them, for nearly seventeen years, representing to them the only love they had known at borrisdeane. biddy wept also, growing lonely as the change grew nearer-old plants uproot badly. she wandered with wistful eyes among her chickens and ducks, and sat gloomily as she milked the good red cow, now going to another home. poor strawberry, whose sturdy calves were a yearly income, and with one now, red and white, which was growing up to replace her. with the new cavesson duly adjusted, with new knee-caps on her knees, and with lumpy bandages wound about her thin shanks, the star went forth to be trained. the fields all round were fenced with trappy rotten banks, and there was always full permission to take horses over them. the mare was keenness itself; her late owner had not overrated her flying powers. she flew everything she was put at, and the result was not happy. she was taken-at a walk-up the narrow overgrown banks, which a horse must top or fall over ; and the star, with determination worthy of a better cause, fell. there was not a ditch but opened its jaws to receive her. she would struggle up unabashed, looking round rather as if she expected to be praised for getting up so quickly, and then unchecked by "wo-as" and "steadies"-fall into the next. stone walls were different; when put at one fencing a gap she would tuck up her long legs and skim over easily, but banks were not of her world. moira, rushing beside her, declared stoutly that it must be only a matter of practice, as, for the tenth 1 beyond the purple hills 37 " time on the second day's schooling, she beheld patsy travelling up the steep of a bank on his stomach, impelled by the suddenly tightened rope as the mare vanished into a deep ditch, and he, as he declared wearily, keeping a tight strain on to make her put her feet on the brambles. “ an' that's the fourth time she to meet that fince. an obstinate thing she is, that won't be said by her betthers," he concluded, dragging the mare out. the hermit, whip in hand, came to help with the schooling. “for god's sake, keep her for the deshford side, where there are only stone walls,” he entreated unhappily. “i'm afraid she'll never learn to jump." moira, stroking her round chin, found many causes : youth, high breeding, over-eagerness, patsy's lack of firmness. if he held the mare harder she must learn to change upon the banks. patsy, declaring that "if 'twas all that lay between him an' drowndin',” he couldn't hold the rope tighter, approached the next fence, the star prancing airily. moira, as she stood and directed, asked the hermit with quick curiosity what he knew of ballydare. “oh, something," he said evasively. “there now! look!” and his eyes rested unhappily upon the alleged descendant of solon as she pushed an undismayed and sour-eyed head, festooned with trails of bramble, from her eleventh ditch. also, with the groan of one who finds old bruises, patsy fell again, having strained upon the rope with all his strength. “come up, asteroid," said the hermit unkindly, whipping the grey out, 38 three girls and a hermit 6 “ 'tis pride,” said patsy, removing the brambles. *too grand she is, i suppose, and too breedy to put her foot on anything. didn't i say to miss moira, 'tis between the flags she should be ?" the hermit, unkindly muttering something concerning between the shafts of a hack car, seized the rope himself and took the mare at the next fence. he tried complete freedom, which the star acknowledged by flying the whole fence cleverly, and landing with a foot to spare. “she'll never make a hunter, and she'll turn upsidedown when she's tired," said the hermit unhappily, looking at moira. on one of the days when this unhappy training was not proceeding, patsy announced that there was a woeful great camel of a horse outside, belonging to one cassidy, that might suit. eva flew out to see a great lumpy bay with a heavy head and great round jointed legs. eva's eyes were taken by strength; the bay had points about him which were capable of convincing an inexperienced judge that he was a weight-carrying hunter. “up to a ton of weight," the owner said proudly, omitting to remark that it would have been more suitable at the horse's heels than at his head. “we were doing common work with him," said cassidy, “and john brady's fusht cousin bein' dead, we druv this one to the funeral, and says john brady himself, says he, 'there's shapes about that one, so take him down to the miss considines, that's looking for hunthers,' so with that we untackled him, and young father dennehy, that was there, got up 3 beyond the purple hills 39 ") on him, an' the horse jumped a gap clivir as a christian. an' thin he med at a bank-a god's thruth it is—but he was up an' down the same as a spidther, nivir lavin' hould of the fince.” eva listened impressed. she had her saddle put on and sat upon the great fat back, feeling as though a tower of strength moved beneath her. the price was low, a nervous vet. passed the horse practically sound, but was unkind enough to hope, very nervously, that the bay wouldn't be too slow for the brougham, and finally, the great beast, speedily christened gog, was eased through the door of the stable next to the star, where she screamed at him peevishly. the hermit seemed bereft of words when he saw the new purchase. he only shook his head, and remarked that some things were too big to comment on. there was no temper about gog. patsy said he was a dacent horse entirely. he suffered cleaning with surprised benevolence; he ate apples and carrots and anything he could find, including a straw bed a night when he had finished his hay. his hairy underlip absolutely quivered for food. also, he was so deliberate, and so very gentle, that when he joined the star in her ditch-prospecting hours, eva was able to lead him herself. true, the hermit's whip was not unneeded as the big horse paused before a bank; but once he recognised the inevitable, gog would rise with a grunting groan, land accurately on the narrow top, search among thorns and brambles for secure footing, and with a mighty lurch pound safely into the far field. a 40 three girls and a hermit the hermit, who was given to obscure speeches, said that he really believed the big horse would not put eva down, and that he would make a good hunter when hounds ran backwards, and eva, who thought this might be a term of sport, said happily that she hoped he would. kathleen, who came to watch, said she thought that she would rather not try to make money on young horses. she said her experience might be one which would not jump at all, and that she was nervous, so pleaded for a small sum of money with which to buy a trained and valueless screw, but one which would carry her safely. the hermit's brows were knitted as he saw the last day's schooling, his heart was ill at ease; the ballydare banks were formidable fences, and he feared for moira and her equine star. "she might do over fly fences," he said unhappily. i tell you what, moira, i'll give you sixty pounds for her, and you can buy another with the money." sixty pounds! how moira scoffed at him, with golden visions of duplicated hundreds lying before her! the star had been a bargain. where for such a sum could she buy another, with long swishing tail and slim legs ? already moira pictured the sensation she would create at the first meet at ballydare: heads turning, voices questioning. who was she, that pretty girl on the beautiful thoroughbred mare? she was not quite sure whether if offered two hundred by the master on that very first day that she would not be generous to her sisters and accept it. moira held a vague idea that all masters wished to buy any very fine new horses. then some heavy man would beyond the purple hills 41 take gog, and they could buy again, and write to tell the stupid hermit, who never said anything encouraging the day dreams glowed as the girls pored over silks and chiffons, and wrung mary dillon's, the village modiste's heart, by insisting on her copying pictures of new and elaborate blouses illustrated in various papers. conquests, save in penny novelettes, are not made in shabby frocks, and moira meant life at ballydare to be a series of conquests. eva was less enthusiastic. romance had touched her life a summer before, and gone out of it unexpectedly. but eva, building her dreams, was full of gentle hope that some day it might come again, so ballydare did not mean so much to her. yet she said nothing, and moira, unsuspecting, believed she drove the chariots of all three to fame, fun, and fortune. time aitted, the present tenant of the beeches left, and the agent announced that all was prepared for their arrival. already fallen leaves made ochrecoloured heaps, while autumn touched others with his gorgeous brush. scarlet and gold and orange and brown flared in the woods at borrisdeane, showing across the water, now growing grey and cold, the rushes were yellowing to sour, chilled melancholy. it was high time for horses to get in wind. even still there were many things to buy; and as the three floundered in the sea of their many wants the hermit would to their rescue, showing a strange knowledge of the world's ways and prices, listening as they chattered of hunting and dances and parties, of the whirl of gaieties which come 42 three girls and a hermit awaited them, and listening with a curious smile behind his eyes which puzzled eva and made moira furious. all the world lay in front, yet farewells are always sad. something made the three very quiet as they sat for the last time round the turf fire, their little room sulking under a sense of unrest. boxes and bundles littered floor and sofas, forgotten directions brought them to their feet every moment, and the shuffle, shuffle of biddy's feet, the jangle of keys and constant opening and shutting of cupboard doors seemed a sound which could not cease. the shrill insistence of her directions as she cried to a helper in the kitchen echoed at each door. “katie, there's them pots of currant jam, pack them up—with the flour-bag. look now, one's mouldy; ; let ye take it to mrs. naylor for her cough, and, katie, i have the old apern found that's lost these two years. take it and put it in with the chickens." biddy was no light thing to move. nothing must be wasted, nothing left behind. with moist eyes she scanned her favourite hens, and chose two from the flock; she packed a brood of fluffy chickens in a basket; she gathered scraps of food and stores until the luggage swelled to mountainous proportions, and the carts which came to fetch it seemed all inadequate. it was grey dawn when they started loading, and there was a distinct possibility of missing the train by the time the wobbling, roped packages creaked away down the narrow road. even then mr. clancy's donkey had to be borrowed for the overflow. breakfast was hasty and uncomfortable, and there beyond the purple hills 43 was an absolute feeling of deserting a patient friend when they drove away from the tiny house, leaving nancy hourigan shutting shutters, as she promised fervently to mind it all as her eye's apple. an-she-she that won't light a turf sod till we're in the thrain back," said biddy bitterly; and here the old woman, clasping her basket of chickens, broke to open weeping. eva sniffed, and even moira's eyes were damp as she looked back at the lake. the smith's cob went forward at a merry amble on up to the rise, from which one could see the seaa tumble of hoary crests and glittering water under a sighing westerly wind. then they turned towards the tiny station, from which the railway line wound its snaky trails across to the base of the hills. a horse-box stood at the siding. regrets were forgotten as the two hunters, swaddled in blue rugs, hooded, knee-capped, bandaged, came prancing round to be put in. that is, the star pranced and gog plodded with heavy dignity. the hum of admiration and awed excitement which arose from the crowd there is always a crowd in ireland at train time-was a foretaste of triumph to come. moira listened proudly. “look, begob. aren't they grand ! scarce a thing can ye see but tails an' heads of thim. hunters, no less; wasn't patsy the lucky bhoy, sittin' up proud an' aisy on the great horse? her that kicked, that was mack's grey, that wint near to brain his ould father. maybe afther all she'd kill patsy, and he might as well be at home. an' the big wan was cassidy's from over beyant; aisy to ride a hunt on him, begob, for 'twould be a sthrait fince he wouldn't knock if he 44 three girls and a hermit walked on it. weren't they wondtherful, miss moira and miss eva, to be thryin' to cross counthry on thim two quare lots ? " moira ceased listening at this point, directing patsy to box the horses. they were early, and it was well, for though gog, always glad to rest, walked up the steep slope of the box with incurious calmness, the star would have none of it. she wheeled with a scream of rage, and it was fully twenty minutes before, pushed and whipped by every one who could get near enough, she was dragged into place. the flap fell with a clang, and from the cheerful pounding of her heels as patsy fled out through the window they knew that all was well with her. “she'd go out of her way to sphite ye," declaimed patsy breathlessly. "i tell ye, if she saw the ingin coming an' knew we had no time, she'd not go in at all. i declare to god, the swheat is runnin' off her in rivers now." patsy's heart was wrung by the nervous, fretful brute, who refused her food, bit and kicked and broke out, and apparently spent her existence in trying to worry him. the long line was still empty. the girls, breathless from the contest, left the horse-box and came on to the platform. all borrisdeane seemed to have come to bid them god-speed. the old doctor was there, brick-complexioned and white-haired, a kindly old man, who sped about the cottages, combating with superstition and want of air. he forbore to grumble at furniture all put upside down, curtains pinned up, and a poor departed lying ill at ease on a hard mattress lest the evil spirits 1 1 beyond the purple hills 45 should find a place to sit on ere the funeral. that, he said, did not matter, for once dead a man was out of his charge ; but to wrestle with consumption in close cupboard-bedrooms with windows mortared in, and the patients talking cheerily of their own funerals, to find children in croup out wheezing to death among the chickens or the doorsteps, and women with children two days old milking cows, had wrinkled his brow sadly. he carried half a chicken now wrapped in newspaper, and some eggs in a paper bag. there was miss butler-whose beaded mantle moira had condemned—with a pot of jam and home-made buttered scones for their tea when they got in, she said. there was the rector's wife, showering exhortations and advice. "oh, it was an undertaking. she hoped it would not prove a bad one. they must be very quiet now, very dignified, as they were to live alone." “brave children!” this from the doctor. “going off to follow the dogs. oh, you'll never come back from there; the soldiers will take you." this was a witticism, but he blew his red nose. biddy, still weeping, sat upon a truck, forlornly carrying her basket of fluffy chickens, and guarding the large wooden box holding the two hens and the old grey cat, a board dividing them. a mighty pile of boxes, bundles, baskets, and trunks grew heavenwards upon the platform. “ they'll charge you extra, moira. you should have had a van.” homely, kindly, old borrisdeane friends, remonstrating and applauding, they gathered round eva and kathleen; and moira, having returned to take 46 three girls and a hermit a look at the star, found herself alone with the hermit. it was his "roar" which had finally driven the grey mare to her box, his hand which had held her as she tried to dash out again, but through it all he had never spoken. · moira looked at him. as she looked it dawned upon her for the first time that he was good to look at, and that his heathery harris tweed clothes had never been made in kerry. “well," she said breathlessly. moira looked very pretty with fushed face and shining eyes, a powder of grey hairs on her dark grey coat. “i hope it may not be ill, moira," said the hermit slowly, his eyes fixed on her. moira shrugged her shoulders. why should this oliver tremayne stand aloof-would not dub them heroines and wondrously brave? why should the laugh behind his eyes make her uncomfortable? “i believe you'd be glad if it was ill,” she flashed out, and then felt ashamed. “that speech,” he said, “i must forgive. and tell me, moira"-he came nearer to her, so close that his hand touched her sleeve—"do you still think borrisdeane the worst place in the world ? " "a place to live out of,” she said imperiously. “that is all." yet involuntarily she followed his glance as he looked across the lake to the woods about his house, past it over brown bog land, up over scarred craggy crests to the purple hills she was to pass beyond to-day ; lonely in its beauty, fresh and sweet with its clean, salt-laden breeze. he sighed as he looked, knowing the healing it had brought him. beyond the purple hills 47 " “there are worse places,” he said, half to himself. “hot streets, glaring rooms, glitter, and flash, and hurry, and nothing true among it all. but perhaps you will think so still, moira, when your eyes have looked on the wonderful world you are going to; and you must go unbiassed.” then he smiled and spoke aloud : “honestly, i hope it may be a great success : i that you may be social lights, and have the time you dream of. but if, in this social whirlpool, people should take up your scheme all wrong; if they should not be civil at ballydare ; if it's not quite what you expect-will you write and let the old hermit know, moira ?” he said pleadingly. moira stared at him, a growing misgiving, a loneliness she had never dreamt of feeling, catching at her throat. oliver tremayne, the hermit! a man who went nowhere, knew no one, offering to help in social troubles ! foolishly, for what troubles could there be? they were the miss considines—well connected, pretty. of course they would know every one worth knowing at ballydare. it was moira who looked away now across silver water to mist-capped hills. something stung in her eyes—the desolation of the upheaval wrought upon her, the doctor's red, white-whiskered face grew suddenly dear. moira felt suddenly that beads were pretty things to trim a satin mantle with ; how they glittered now in the sun as old miss butler fluttered and clucked, not unlike her beloved orpington hens. biddy's sister, a tottering crone, cast curses on journeyings to "furrin parts” with loud-voiced vigour. supposing it wasn't all roses," said the quiet voice 48 three girls and a hermit beside moira, “this piece of-well, this trip. would you tell me, moira? let me help ?” the instinct to hurt because you are hurt swayed moira. she gulped away something in her throat, winked back stinging tears, and because she must not cry she whipped herself to foolish anger. oh, you! you've crabbed my idea from the first,” she said stormily. “why shouldn't people be nice? why shouldn't we have a good time away from this wretched place ? we-no, if we do failwe want none of your help,” and then could have bitten her tongue off as the hermit, nodding his tweed-capped head, looked at her and stepped back. something screamed on the line. the stationmaster took up what he termed "the sthick," and at a leisurely amble the train panted in; there was more time. willing hands wrestled with the assortment of luggage, while the guard, who was a kindly man, merely suggested that he'd probably be killed when a few things fell on him at the next stop, also that god might see to the storing of any further passengers' luggage, but he would not. this last was when andy hannan dropped the flat-irons and a frying-pan on the railway servant's toes. the engine, with a grunt, backed to take up the horse-box. the girls were packed into a carriage and overwhelmed with farewells; but through it all the hermit, a quiet, silent figure in well-worn tweeds, stood aloof. the engine having backed for the horse-boxfrom which patsy shrieked later of the star's doings-hooked up the rest of the train. time to go. no it was beyond the purple hills 49 eva thrust her head out. "the hermit," she cried. yet "the hermit. he has never said good-bye!" "he is tiresome and idiotic," stormed moira. she ran to the window, put eva aside, and waved her hands as they went out. but the hermit, looking up at the hills, never seemed to see. 4 chapter iv ballydare t' he mid-day train, travelling leisurely, bore the three miss considines on to seek their fortunes. it jolted by the edge of the flat bog-land, where they knew every dark-hued pool and mossy tussock; it toiled up a steep incline, until the trees of borrisdeane were lost to sight, and they crawled between the mountain and the sea. at one side grim, scarred hillside, heather clinging to crevices, grey stone gleaming as it cropped up to slab or point, towered and frowned down at the line. on the other the cliffs fell, sheer and steep, to the sea. they seemed to totter above the far down-wash of the waves, as the train edged round the steep curves. what cold, grave things these purple hills were as they steamed beneath them, with no blur of outline or veil of silver mist, but menacing, sternly angry with the mortals who trailed their way along their sides. the seats were hard and uncomfortable, the heap of parcels slid continuously, declining to remain where they were placed. now it was the eggs, their fall followed by a thin ooze of yellow from the paper box; now the jam; then a medley of cooking things 50 ballydare 51 " tied 'up at the last moment, and bulging spouts and handles shamelessly. a fellow-traveller eyed . them with suspicion, and was heard to murmur “caravaners” to the meek parson by her side. she was resentful, too, when the frying-pan, having deliberately worked itself free, fell upon her rosetrimmed hat. but the stations swelled from mere sheds to long buildings, where pictures of mustard and soap and pills made the world hideous; where there were porters and signal-boxes and other trains sliding by. and they knew it was the world at last, as they waited at maryborough, and, bidden to “sthand back," saw the dublin-bound mail tear by-a screeching, dusty blur, with a glimpse of saloon carriages and a long mail-van. they had travelled far; they were dusty, tired, and hungry, but as they wiped the grit from their eyes moira's voice whipped them to enthusiasm. “this was life : that was how people in the world travelled, roaring by stations straight to some great town. if we had lived for ever at borrisdeane," she said, "we should not have seen that train.” eva, worn out by a heated argument relating to the quantity and weight of their luggage, agreed languidly. she was not sure that she ever wanted to see any train again. biddy, clinging gloomily to her chickens and the wooden box, was, on the contrary, roused to sour remonstrance. "a crying shame," she said. "rushing pasht us here, with nivir a wait in it to pick up thim that wants to travel on.” a 52 three girls and a hermit on moira's sharply replying that they did not want to go to dublin, biddy retorted that “the dhriver might have waited to see. i'd like to see mikey donellan racing through a station like that,” she said indignantly. they comforted themselves with tea, and changed on to the line for ballydare. the difficulty of biddy's live-stock being adjusted with some silver, they filled up a carriage to overflowing, and in the dim evening, with the skies weeping thinly, they arrived at their destination. it was a small town, straddling across the wide river dare; a poor little place, if they had known, only rendered important by its salmon and its hounds. they rushed to the window as they steamed in, but there was nothing to see but lights twinkling through a blur of rain, and the cold gloom of a big station. they must wait for day to see the promised land. moira's awed voice whispered of the station's vastness: of what a splendid town it must be. yet they were far more forlorn than triumphant as they waited on the ill-lighted platform and saw fresh faces eddy about them, no one to give them greeting. with boats burnt to the water's edge they had landed on unknown shores. the agent had arranged for a cart, but not, as the man in charge said, for a van load, so there was a further period of weariness while their porter, who was a person of resource, vanished into the wet darkness and returned with a supplement of donkey carts, which proved sufficient. he gave thanks for a liberal ballydare 53 gave it. tip, and wished them all success as he helped to unearth the star-now a mere wreck upheld by horse collars and wooden partitions—from her travelling carriage. “sure a sight of people came for the huntin'," he assured them as they confided some of their plans. horses, according to his account, seemed to descend upon ballydare wedged in boxes and cattle-trucks, and to come ramping out upon the platform, and to depend for safety entirely upon his skill and care in unloading. after this eva felt that it could not be less than half-a-crown, but she sighed as she the entries in her little account book were growing appallingly long. the car which took them out upon the strange, wide road went swiftly along, carrying them to the arms of fate. the beeches had been sketched mentally and verbally many times. a small house, but neat and compact, no straggling waste of hall and curious unneeded corners as at lake cottage. a yard square and formal, with its range of boxes, its lofts, and its saddle-room. the stables in kerry were small, with apologies to the memories of longpast cows, and biddy and patsy had fought with an unceasing vigour for a warm corner near the kitchen fire. their hearts beat quickly, they turned and peered and chattered as the car with a rasp of catching steps turned in a narrow gate, and pulled up a second later at an open door. no ground had been wasted on an a dapper young man, who did not trouble to remove his hat, was silhouetted against flickering candle light. he either wanted his supper or avenue. 54 three girls and a hermit possessed an appointment, judging by his worried manner. having thrust some keys into their hands and informed them that mr. guinane had ordered in oil, coal, milk, and everything else they had asked for, he vanished into the dripping night. the three stood together, gathering fortitude, as their dream vision of their new house faded. this, blinking at them through the falling mist, was a little slated lump of discomfort, standing close to, in fact almost upon, the wide road. they bumped into the passage representing a hall, peered into fireless, comfortless cupboards which represented sitting-rooms, and sat down simultaneously suddenly and helplessly upon anything they could find, peering at each other furtively to see if any one thought it better than it was. that eva chose the chicken basket and moira the wooden home of cat and hens made their rest short, while the carman's voice with mild sarcasm wished to know if they wanted him to wait to drive away next morning. having grossly overcharged them, he dodged the loaded carts now arriving, and departed satisfied. biddy was overwrought and weary, and having removed and let out the pets, a crescendo of unhappy comment drifted from the kitchen. "sorra a pot or a pan fit to cook in, and the kettle as full of fur as a rabbit's coat. the taste of a range that was there might be out of a doll's house, it might, an' you couldn't warm your hands at it, let alone cook." this wave of discovery and objection was broken by a shriek of anger, as grey jenny and the dorkings, their sense of honour blunted by a ballydare 55 hunger, severally drank the milk and got into the flour bag. at this point the trample of hoofs made diversion, and they went to the stables. but these were no better than the house. a three-cornered patch reft from the side of the road represented the yard; some sheds built against the high wall, the lauded loose boxes. patsy, a lantern in his hand, was declaiming he'd not wrong his "mother's ould ass by askin' her to sthay there." as it was, several bars had to be taken down to make room for gog, while further on the star's long weak legs, almost too tired to kick, strayed into a cobbled, uneven passage. and patsy, who was not optimistic, opined that she'd probably "casht herself an' die." "oh, how i wish," said eva petulantly, "that we had stayed at borrisdeane." it was too much. moira suddenly leant against a door-post and wept aloud-bitterly-moving patsy in a passion of contrition to affirm that the contrariness of the star would surely keep her alive, and, in any case, he'd "be up and down all night ready to bate her whin she sthuck." moira's grief also induced one of the owners of the donkey carts to call curses from heaven on "misther guinane, who'd got another poor craythur to take the house." this man, a kindly, grey-bearded old person with benevolence and love of porter striving for mastery in his old face, further recounted many things: how no one could keep a horse in the stables," because the clather on the road'd drive 'em mad." how the trevennas and many others had left and sought 56 three girls and a hermit > better lodgment; and how the house belonged to mr. guinane himself, and, save for the lack of officers' wives, “who musht live some place, 'd niver be let at all." but james dunne was a blessing, not in disguise. with the quick kindliness of his race he took the girls under his wing ; wrangled with the owners of the other carts, and arranged payment with words of contempt; sped forth into the night and returned with milk ; drove the other men to carry in all the bundles to their allotted places, and finally, gathering coal and wood, lighted a fire in the little sitting-room, diffusing a pleasant odour of turf smoke and porter as he invoked deeper curses on the agent for omitting to "put a match to the grates." when firelight aickered on the little room, and the curtains were drawn, and biddy produced hot bread, eggs, and bacon, and tea, the world grew less desolate. they sat down to eat hungrily, while biddy, who declared she was glad to find "one dacent soul in foreign parts,” bade james dunne to share her supper. the frizzle of bacon and hiss of frying eggs told that mr. dunne's virtue had not gone unrewarded, cementing a friendship which did not prove fleeting, and proved profitable to both sides. strong tea, warm fire, and bright light rubbed out discomfort. moira forgot her tears, and let her tongue run riot. after all, the size of the rooms did not matter. the stables could be arranged. in flights of golden fancy she pictured the future they would make; the cheques which must come for the star and gog; the inevitable success which must be theirs, and the strangers they would meet and then ballydare 57 her voice ceased, for she seemed to see a quiet figure with its face turned away to distant mistcapped hills. rest, elusive and scarcely satisfactory, was sought upon hard mattresses and springless beds, broken also by the faithfulness of patsy, as thrice during the night he tramped forth waving his lantern and abjuring the star for the love of god above not to lie down on him and be killed. “'tisn't for yerself i'd care," he « was heard to declaim the third time, unaware that moira's anxious eyes peered from her window upon his scanty costume. “but for poor miss moira within, that's fool enough to like ye, ye divil”—the last staccato words being induced by bitter memory of many injuries and a sudden leap to avoid a weary kick directed at him by the grey mare. then moira went to sleep, to dream, not of glitter and money-making, but of a flying train which took her backwards, ever backwards, to a land of crested seas, of purple hills, and a streak of silver water, into which she fell while a tweed-clad man with a landing net put it over her head, and cried “folly” as he dragged her out. joy cometh in the morning. it was absent at the beeches, ballydare, on october 8th. there was scant comfort in the early shrilling of patsy, heard through a mist of sleepiness, that “the grey had scrhaps med of her sthall kickin' it, and 'twas gog that was down and couldn't get up,” scanter still as the naked hideousness of the little house stood forth with almost indecent emphasis in the morning light. mr. guinane was evidently a thrifty man: where money could be spared he spared it. the furniture 58 three girls and a hermit of the bedrooms (two on the ground floor and one up a boarded ladder, called a staircase) clearly emanated from different auctions, and had been the odd lots there even then. cracked, fly-blown looking-glasses ; deal tables plastered over with white paint ; scraps of sodden carpet on dusty floors; rusty beds and broken chairs. they had never recognised that aunt martha's home was pretty, that their eyes from childhood had opened on to the mellowness of satin-wood and deep-coloured mahogany, all of which had passed unnoticed and unappreciated. the little angular drawing-room had been a nest of deep couches and old cosy chairs, all rosy soft-hued chintz and downy cushions. here the barrenness was faintly hidden by the cheapest cretonne, black and staring pink; four high-backed chairs were of kitchen origin, and proved to be stuffed with hay, and the others, of yellow wicker, resented occupation with hideous creaks, while the dirty walls were scarred and streaked where the soldier tenants' pictures and china had hung. the dining-room was modest in dingy browns, and the chimney smoked. judging by the atmosphere and the smuts, it had commenced with a vigour worthy of a week's rest; now it was languid and even sly, waiting quietly until a miss considine came to warm herself, and then puffing a cloud of evil-smelling foulness into her face. biddy, who looked years older, and was sneezing vigorously, observed that she was on her knees for an hour before it, and also delivered a message from patsy, saying "the mare was safe, but was coughing ballydare 59 like an ingin and wouldn't ate a taste of oats; further, that they needn't come out, for he had gog bate up on his legs." it needed many golden dreams to keep the miss considines merry as they got through breakfast. strawberry or her cream belonged to borrisdeane; they must drink milk, watery and blue, in their tea. the bacon was from across the seas, the butter was bad. china, as the furniture, had been accepted and unnoticed at lake cottage. the breakfast set they had left behind was lowestoft, all strewn with little rosesma joy to see. they held the thick blue-and-white cups of mr. guinane's choosing fastidiously, and the constant rumble of coal carts outside brought sad memories of the liquid lapping of the lake. yet the very deepness of discomfort induced reaction. they banded their hopes for the future . together, and tried to make the best of it all. money, a little money-here eva sighed--would make the house habitable. moira made her way to the stables and eva to the kitchen. the star had saved a carpenter some work. her small stall was in ruins, and she shivered dejectedly: looking pensively at her feed of oats. patsy, writing laboriously, was busy upon a list of his wants. by taking down and building up, room could be made-the slates, which showed the sky, must be lined ; there were no mangers. moira, never dreaming of applying to the agent, who was really owner, wrote it all down. the timely arrival of james dunne relieved her of much anxiety. mr. dunne, who, when he was sober, was apparently 60 three girls and a hermit master of all trades, arrived to see how they were. he could carpenter, he could slate; he peered at the gaps, and politely wished mikey guinane a night's rest below them in the rain. with small respect for the star's heels, he measured and calculated, and promised that the grey should rest that night without fear of injury, also hoping that she might not die, for he “minded wonst, whin workin' out with sir ralph, the old masther of hounds, to hear a horse cough like that, and, faix, the dogs ate her. 'twas newmonnicey, the docthor said; but if one didn't know that complaint you'd say she was wrong of her lungs.” he recommended mustard on the star's throat, having first invited himself to dinner, and departed for wood, and nails, and putty, and holdfasts, and many other things which seemed exceedingly expensive, for all goods bought by james dunne must pay their toll of porter. it was a weary morning. patsy got mustard into his eye and very little on the star's throat. the lanky, weak brute was removed to the cold comfort of the passage, and shivered miserably, refusing all food. there was no one except james dunne to direct or advise. fitzwygram was not yet unpacked. eva, in the kitchen, was in no better plight. with gloomy decision biddy reeled forth her list of wants : saucepans, kettles, frying-pans, baking-sheets. the kitchen seemed to have been provided with the same carefulness as the rest of the house, and anything which hadn't got a hole in it was far too rusty ever to be used. ballydare 61 “ scorched, i am," said biddy, whose eyelids were red, “iviry time i walk between the table and the fire. an whin i wint to move the table back, sure 'tis nelt firm an’sthiff to the flure. an' upstairs, miss eva, i'm sleeping with the sparrows undther the eves, with a wind that'd dhrive ships across me face. i'd sind patsy there, but he says he has to be near the horses. an' sorra the bit of cabbage in the garding, or even a sthalk of parsley, and oh, miss eva, miss eva, why did we come here at all ? " eva, comforting biddy, echoed the words. the sparrows' nest must be settled, the pots and pans purchased, the stables re-made. moira's dream of success was not all as it should be. this constant, sordid paying had no part in it. eva, crying a little also, yet afraid to show defeat so early, said it would all be well. “ there will be things to go to, biddy-balls and parties. miss moira and miss kathleen would never have gone out at borrisdeane,” she said, sniffing. “ young men they're lookin' for," said biddy, grimly truthful, scrubbing her one frying-pan. "hadn't ye thim same where ye came from, and no money to pay to see thim?" the extreme truth of this last remark sent eva away and out into the front. the presents from borrisdeane had provided them with provisions for to-day, but she must go to the town and order for the morrow. she went out the narrow door and looked about her. a strip of unkempt grass, pock-marked by empty flower-beds, represented the fine lawn; a further strip the field. the garden was a patch of the size of the yard, and the constant rumble of the 62 three girls and a hermit 1 carts outside came with a monotonous jar of unrest. further off, bugles shrilled calls, and some practised discordantly, evidently endeavouring to learn some tune. moira joined her, and kathleen, who had allowed her elders to bear the burden of thought while she unpacked, came out also. there were no mountains at ballydare. the country stretched in humping greenness, sometimes rising to a slight hill; but there was no frown of purple nests, mist-hooded or cut clear and dark; no lap of waters as they shivered through the reeds; no distant boom of mighty waves. this was inland, flat and tame. they could see the barracks to the right; a walk to the gate showed the town, nestling in the hollow about the river. this new world had nothing grand about it after all. some ideas of fine buildings, tall spires, and bustle of life and prosperity vanished as the dream of the beeches had gone, but looking, they said nothing about it. “we must go into the town." moira, brushing straws from her tangled head, pointed to the grey houses. “write a cheque, eva, for patsy wants loads of things." “and so does biddy," said eva, sighing. kathleen, from the background, said she thought mr. guinane could not be a nice man. her sentiment was echoed by the returning james dunne, now a little mellow from porter, who observed that "thim that had dalins' with mike guinane'd be glad to have their next ones with the divil himself for chice. didn't he casht me out of a house," burst out james, revealing the true reason for his bias, “and i payin' what i could for it iviry year? nivir an ) ballydare 63 hour's good i done since, for the loss ov it wint to me heart." here, having wiped his eyes, dunne directed them to the town, gloomily wished that mike guinane's back was one of the boards he was about to drive the nails through, and passed on to his work. “we shall put on," said moira, "our best dresses. we shall get down about twelve. there will,” went on moira, with the air of one talking of bond street, "be lots of people about then." the simultaneous diving of three heads into three trunks was soon followed by the appearance of three young women robed severally in purple, grey, and mauve, each garment being very much be-ribboned and be-trimmed to a suggestion of smartness not altogether suitable to the country. crowned by three steepling hats of the latest and most curious fashion, and embellished by three great fluffy boas, the three miss considines, inwardly quaking lest they should not be smart enough, looked as if they were leaving for some festive gathering. their radiance elicited a “glory be" from patsy and a "god save yer pretty faces” from mr. dunne, who was now working hard. this was all as it should be, and, with rustle of silk and trot of high heels, they set forth to meet their fate. the road to the town was, unfortunately, muddy; it was worse when, directed by some friendly carters, they turned aside by the walls of the barracks, and went down a filthy, footpathless lane, where the utmost care could not save their skirts. it seemed to be the home of soldiers' wives, for many children and scraps of uniforms overflowed from the narrow door64 three girls and a hermit 6 ways, and, as they passed, curious women coming out to look wafted from lip to lip audible comments as to the three being the gillespies. moira took occasion to point out that they were mistaken for some of the salt of ballydare's earth. “ the nice people must dress just as we do,” she said proudly, straightening her plumed hat. "oh, we shall have a great time here!” they wriggled through a disobliging turnstile, and walked by the side of the dare as it slipped between low banks to the distant sea. but the town, the glitter of shop windows, the buzz of motors, the bustle of life came not. "i am afraid,” said eva slowly, “that, after all, it is not a large place." moira said sharply that it must be ; it was a hunting centre; it was written of in dublin society ; yet as they crossed an old stone bridge and turned into a narrow street, ballydare fell upon them with a wet gloom deeper than that of the beeches. a little dirty, straggling place of one street, no finer, not even so fine, as tramee, where they had bought their mourning. the same smattering of grocers' dusty windows, the same dreary little drapers', with the year-old blouses displayed on tottering stands, the same medley of country people drifting along the centre of the road. the pavement was not wide enough to hold them abreast, as, in their finery, they rustled along, staring eagerly about them. but heads were turned as they passed. a woman in a pony-trap spoke to the shopman where they had made some purchases, evidently asking their names -a handsome woman, heavily ballydare 65 veiled, with a red-faced boy of about twenty beside her. what she said was “impossible," with a shrug of her shoulders; but moira, winking at her first spotted veil, took it for unbounded admiration. ballydare, as it shopped, quietly shook its respectable head : coats and skirts and plain caps looked askance at the rustle of unsuitable finery. moira, staring about her, saw signs of opulence; a big motor warred with the donkey carts, and the pony-trap which they had first noticed was one of exceeding smartness. moira observed their occupants as future callers ; she said airily that people in motors would suit best, as they had no spare stable. the feeling of causing remark, the novelty of silken linings, brought a wave of extravagance in its train. they went into the better-looking shops, and ordered what they wanted, with a calm disregard of the cost. eva's gentle voice, as she gave her name, made the owner of the motor, purchasing at the same time, look at them with inquiry in her eyes. "a charming accent," said mrs. knox to her fat husband. “i must go to see them if any one else calls." patsy required hay and straw and oats; blissful minutes were spent talking to the affable purveyor of horse food. he appeared to have nothing to do, and talked of hunting with a ready tongue ; told them they would see sport over a fine grass country, and pointed out two or three leading lights who happened to pass by. the lady in the pony-trap was mrs. vereker, of ) 5 66 three girls and a hermit knock castle. oh, very rich entirely, and hunting every day hounds met. the young gentleman with her was her only son. the stout lady in the motor was mrs. knox; she rode, too. "and-aren't there some people called gillespie here?" asked moira. mr. foley couldn't call his mind to them. and, then, there was mister moroney, the master, passing now. a rush of be-plumed heads came nearer the door to gaze at this wondrous being. a little thin man, with a keen, melancholy face, shuffling along as if a great deal of him was broken, as he trundled a bicycle down the muddy road. mr. foley gave a description of the m.f.h.'s prowess which might have made his ears burn. "he does be at the finces as if they was good to eat," said the seller of forage, "and into thim or over thim 'tis all one to him. such courage was nivir seen. an' he's as pleasant spoken an' quiet, but if you were to lep on one of his dogs, as innocent as you'd be, you'd be better underground than listinin' to the remarks he'd pass on you. i did it mesilf once," said foley, sighing, "an' he came a week later to buy hay, and whin he chose it i asked him if the dog was dead. 'if 'twas,' says he, snappin' his mouth-'if 'twas, 'tis matches i'd have here to-day instead of a cheque,' says he. 'that was cornet,' says he, 'you jumped on, an' if my breath hadn't given out, i'd have said a few things to you. . . . an' i to go away after five minutes, afraid they'd be notin' the words he used against him at the judgment," finished foley sadly. ballydare 67 donough moroney had paused to speak to a friend, so they still watched him. he represented to moira the future owner of the star; so, connecting the two, she gave a description of her precious mare which caused mr. foley to blink deferentially, and to inform her that she would never keep such a paragon. “ misther moroney'll buy her, miss,” he said emphatically ; "that stamp is rare now." as moira had carefully described a combination of a derby winner, a chaser, and a sixteen-stone hunter, it undoubtedly was. “the queer things people buys,” said foley contemptuously, as he noted the order. “i was at malleady's forge a day or two ago, an' i saw a grey there you'd be ashamed of in a weddin' coach, that they said was a lady's hunter." moira stared at him dubiously-a twinge of horrid doubt assailing her—then assailing her—then felt it could not be. there passed then two girls who seemed to echo their own method of dressing-be-plumed and befrilled, with long-tailed gowns. “and who are those people ?" eva asked eagerly. "oh, them's-them's geoghans," observed mr. foley curtly. the three were very happy, as, having smelt at and chosen hay, they left the sweet-smelling barns for the dirty streets. biddy had requested provisions, and the purchase of two pounds of chops, which eva insisted on carrying, seemed a descent unworthy of the day. the butcher had looked contemptuous. tie pro 68 three girls and a hermit " wait but nothing could check moira's tongue. until they sold the star for two hundred. why not for three? i might get anything from that little master man. of course i must buy another," she declaimed ; "two others for fifty or sixty each. real beauties like the star, and then when i sell those their price will keep me for years. in the glory of her fervid imaginings moira spun dervish-wise upon the narrow pavement, striking the parcel of chops from eva's hand: the string gave, and the neat little pieces of pink-and-white mutton were scattered into the mud, under the oncoming front wheel of donough moroney's bicycle. he splashed off on to the dirty road, staring gloomily first at the chops and then at the crimsoncheeked trio. “pick 'em up?" he said sadly. i'm afraid he stirred a chop with a thoughtful toe. “ rather muddy, eh?" he looked again from girls to chops, from plumed hats, white boas, and silken frills, to the five pieces of mutton and the brown paper, until unconquerable laughter bubbled and surged below the melancholy of his thin face. two pouncing curs seized the chops hungrily. “ that settles it. dinner gone," said moroney, lifting his hat and speeding on; but they could see him laugh. as eva wrestled for one chop, still upon the paper, with another dog, she observed that mr. vereker, driving past slowly, had also seen the incident, and was highly amused. “ they'll . . . laugh at ... oh, eva, how could you carry them ?" wailed moira. ballydare 69 " 6 eva, angrily abandoning her last piece of mutton, said it was all moira's fault, with her horses and her hundreds. she also declared that they must dine upon eggs and bacon, for their money was simply flying at this rate. they walked on dejectedly, and the little town as they passed on by the river bank seemed to shrink and grow meaner and less like the world. youth is fortunately elastic. as they reached the turnstile they were again discussing the new people they had seen. “i wonder," said moira, “who the gillespies can be; the family name, perhaps, of the ballydares," she said, with the pleased air of one who has solved a problem. they squeezed through the turnstile as she spoke. the wall opposite was disfigured with posters and advertisements, and among them, flaring in gaudy yellow and blue and salmon, the figures of three girls in scanty costume, riding several horses at once into a pea-green chasm of space. flanked by the announcement that the sisters gillespie, the celebrated equestrians, would, with others, perform in machay's circus on the morrow at the market-place. the name seemed to step out and smack moira hard upon the cheek, as her horrified and hasty method of turning away brought it to the attention of her sisters. they said nothing, and observing a muddy and dilapidated path over the field, with one accord ploughed through rather than again face the commenting eyes of the soldiers' wives ; but the it was 70 three girls and a hermit long-tailed gowns were put away with a finality which boded ill for their future outings in the town. "we seem fated to do stupid things about sheep," said eva, as they ate fried eggs with a hunger which yearned for chops. chapter v some sheep and other things th 'hree days were spent in a dusty, hammering chaos, with constant rushes to the town by patsy for things forgotten, and with seemingly endless arrivals of parcels, and a scurry of wild haste lest the rush of callers should arrive before they were ready. at the end of this time new chintzes, photographs, and cushions had transformed their bare rooms, and the three girls drew breath and looked happier. the cost, entered in eva's book, was a thing to be lightly dwelt on. the black and pink cretonne was eclipsed; there were fresh chairs and new tea-sets, and as kathleen arranged flowers and tinted leaves the little square drawing-room was almost pretty. outside, under the skilful hands of mr. dunne, who now dined daily, the star and gog were safely housed, the slates had been mended, and even biddy was protected from draughts by her new friend's arrangement of what he termed a "scre-an," nailed over with sacks and the old carpets, which had been replaced by rugs. the overtime working of james dunne, to save the old woman 71 72 three girls and a hermit from chill, had necessitated both tea and supper each day. the star recovered rapidly ; her cough proved to be what patsy called "a thing of nothing"; and moira suggested a ride. the newly arrived saddles were adjusted, declared to fit well, while the owners stood to admire. the star looked lovely, perfect. moira clasped her hands in something approaching ecstasy as she scanned the long, weak mare. gogon whom the new saddle was a mere hint of leather, and whose smartness was marred by the yellow straps, too short to meet, being secured by stringeva thought that gog must really be worth a great deal of money; horses up to his height were not easy to find out hunting. the mighty beast squeezed his placid way out, and stood blinking as eva was flung up by patsy. the star, swishing her long tail, followed moira cuddled her knees about the new pommels with a sigh of pride, chattering triumphantly. “how they would hate to sell, and yet they must at the very first big offer; they could not afford to be sentimental even with these beauties. how lovely these small saddles looked." the horses had been to the forge the day before, and the vigour of her speech almost drowned milder murmurs from patsy, who said the smith “was unaisy about the mare's foremosht hind tendon, and that he had declared to god he'd rather shoe a soup-plate than gog's foot." “ an hour he was," said patsy, as he circled about them, polishing and adjusting with true pride in his horses, "hating iron till he stretch a huntin' shoe some sheep and other things 73 to fit; and, faith, he wouldn't believe me at first but that 'twas funnin' i was whin i said the big horse was to cross country. 'isn't he up to great weight?' says i. 'he is, behind him,' says he, short-like; an' thin i up and tould him what a lepper he was, and how, whin the sthar'd be fallin', gog'd sthand above clivir and sinsible, and nivir put the feet astray. they make the fences strong in your country,' said he, jealous-like for we to have so fine a horse. an' i have the new crub bit on the sthar, miss moira, for she had a like to kill me yesterday." moira took up the double reins dubiously; her experience had not lain with curbs. she was far from happy in the flat, neat champion & wilton, with its lack of the old-fashioned rise at the far side. the mare pranced out uneasily, wincing at the bit. a month's oats had wrought havoc in her wicked nature. she sidled as they passed a cart, humped up her long back, laid back her ears, and decided on mischief. so far, her only outing had been straightthe broad road, and on to the forge in the town. moira saw a narrow lane to the left, just beyond the barracks, and suggested turning up it. the star thought of the forge; she flicked up her roman nose and wheeled back towards the town. moira turned her sharply; the grey wheeled again, this time with short, irritated plunge. gog, standing still, considered the mare dispassionately from under his long lashes. "she seems cross. oh! go on," cried moira, tightening the reins. "patsy has been spoiling her." 74 three girls and a hermit "hit her," suggested eva. moira took up her whip. a trap was bowling swiftly from the barracks, and this scene of sulkiness was not to be before strangers. she wrenched sharply at the bridle and hit hard, a stinging blow falling on the mare's shoulder. what followed was confusion. a sudden, terrifying sensation of sitting on nothing, of clinging wildly to a grey mane while angry hoofs pawed the air, and the star as she swayed seemed about to topple backwards. eva wailed. gog cocked one ear. one of the men jumped from the dogcart, and as he caught the bridle, the star came to earth with a sliding jar, pulled down by a heavy hand. "she-oh! isn't that rearing?" said moira, still clinging to the mare. a man in grey tweeds said it was something very like it. "not only that, but she almost came back," he added sharply. "has she done it before ?" "she merely moira said "no" indignantly. wanted to go again to the forge. you see, she's only been on one road, and doesn't know her way here. it can't be vice, because she's the gentlest" "brute!" ejaculated the rescuer hastily; for the star, rendered peevish by restraint, suddenly caught him by the arm, and tried to shake him. "i'll get her at the side," he remarked, "and hold on while you get fixed." the rear and plunge had distinctly disarranged moira. a tail of sunny hair was straggling from under her sailor hat; her veil, always a difficulty, was some sheep and other things 75 under one ear. she dropped the reins and put up her arms, staring as she did so at the stranger, her eyes full of excited surmise. a tall fair fellow, excessively neat as to grey tweeds and white collar ; a fatuous expression of content with himself straying from his mouth to rather heavy cheeks, his eyes expressing little save that he considered the world a fairly decent place to contain his important self; one of the men who did all things superlatively just before he essayed them, and who could always coin excuses, completely satisfying himself, when he fell short of fulfilling his boasts. after dinner and fruity port, no man could keep nearer hounds, shoot more birds, or do more to hint down other men's reputations with depreciative shoulders and mouth. in broad daylight, with hounds running mute on a breast-high scent, or driven birds coming down wind, captain lancelot milton always bestrode a bad horse, or held a bad gun to his shoulder. yet great is the power of a ready tongue. many people accepted him at his own valuation. mr. stanley, a meek, thin youth, who sat quietly in the dogcart, commenced to talk to eva. “this is not a lady's horse.” milton kept a wary eye on the star's teeth. you've taken the beeches. we heard of you. i'm in the midshires." here he introduced himself with difficulty, as the star objected to doffed hats. "she's a young one,” said moira loftily. “we can't-we like them untrained, and of course she's a little wild.” the veil wriggled off completely, “ you i suppose » 76 three girls and a hermit giving milton a glimpse of a merry, mutinous face and shining eyes, filled with a somewhat awed admiration. it was moira's first introduction to what biddy called “one o' thim sodjer min like ye're dada.” visions of scarlet uniforms, of clashing swords, of endless gaiety, and flavour of unknown wickedness circled in moira's brain. she was realising her dreams. she was looking into the eyes, not of captain lancelot milton, but of the embodied young men she had conjured up. when could ballydare have produced this? “one must ride a rearer with care," objured milton. “ i had one once; cured it completely, i assure you. i'll ride that one for you, if you'll let me, some day. the other carried me top hole for years after i bested him.” he spoke with kindly condescension. eva gently remarked that when moira had done dressing herself she thought they might ) move on. moira took up the reins and bent forward eagerly. she hoped captain milton would come to see them--soon-they would be at home in the afternoon, if he and his friend would come to tea. captain milton's cheeks became even more fatuous, his manner still more condescending. he was full of engagements-bridge, in fact. moira blushed a little, and murmured, “some other time.” but he would come, he and stanley, to-morrow afternoon. come, oh do,” said moira eagerly. “ we've been so lonely-seen no one yet.” some sheep and other things 77 milton remarked as he got into the dogcart that the girl was simply ripping pretty, and likely to be some fun. further, that he s'posed they'd money or they couldn't come to hunt like that ; and he drove on to his luncheon party with an expression marking thought for him. the star now proceeded affably, tossing her lean roman nose, and taking roads as she was bidden, but eva was inclined to reproach moira for having pressed two young men to come to see them, and moira, whose high spirits had risen to their utmost, was more than disposed to resent this check, so that for some time the ride was marred by strained relations. finally eva's gentle nature melted to resignation and an acceptance of her sister's views, and then moira's fancy winged its way as might the great nulli secundus. a patch of gorse set dark green in low-lying fields brought them to a stand; it was their first view of a fox covert. they left the road by a low stone gap, which gog scattered in ruins, and pulled up peering into the prickly depths. they would stand here later; watch the pack pour in, not through ; hear the first whimper, which sends its shock through the field, and which makes every man cram down his hat, tighten his reins, and sit waiting; the whimper taken up and echoed, swelling to a crashing chorus; the lifting of the whip's cap; the long shrill of the “go-o-ne away”; the bustle, rush, and aurry ere hounds settle down, and those who mean to ride come out right and left, keen-eyed and alert, while the others melt from fence to fence, and tail away, enjoying themselves in their own way. > 78 three girls and a hermit seem what a bank that was to the left, high and green, with a ditch at the taking-off side. moira peered into it unhappily ; another bank beyonda built gap to the left or a wide rushy water jump. ballydare was no funker's paradise. there were hedges on many of the fences; thorns growing blackly, leaving few spaces to get through, so that hounds once away were quickly lost: and to see a hunt one must make no delay. hunting did not as easy a thing as it had at borrisdeane. what if the star fell as she had done schooling ; if, after all, moira did not show the m.f.h. the way in the first run. “'tis full up of thim," said a voice close by. they started to see a man had come across the field behind them. “two lithers, no less within, and divil a hin or a turkey safe for miles round since the pups was born didn't he didn't he whip a gandther from mrs malone but yesterday, and she feeding thim in the morning? faith, she's away to-day to lay complaints to the hunt. be dam to the vilyins." moira trusted that he alluded to the foxes, but felt doubtful. “but great sport it is,” he continued, “sure ye'd see that bank there foreninst ye with tin down at it ; there's a cleared ditch outside it. i cot three horses misilf the last meet here, and one the master's. "mat malone,' says he, as he mountin', ' i'll pay ye for iviry chicken ye lie about, and away wid him like a mothor cyar. i tell ye that was a hunt an' a half. out here he broke across the bank—signs bye we dug one of them horses some sheep and other things 79 a out-up across cassidy's and pasht on to the trees,”his finger pointed to a fir wood some five miles away"and down again this way, and killed him just by clancy's farm across the river. the finest hunt for the year, i tell ye." with wide eyes they followed the line up the swelling slopes to the dark wood, out again to the silver streak of water and the slated house beyond it. it would take a good horse to gallop those eight or nine miles, across heavy going, closely fenced. moira touched the star's thin mane. if the blood of solon and victor counted, surely her mare could do it. with bated breath she told mat malone how they had come so far to hunt: how they had never seen fox or hounds, or ridden across a country, and had bought these horses to do it on. "be dam, but ye're great,” he remarked earnestly. he eyed their horses with an intelligent air. “an they not to know how to lep either," he concluded sadly, "half an hour some one'll be raisin' the wall they levelled." as the star had soared over some two feet above the stones, moira burst into indignant protests, and explained how their mounts had been schooled for many days, and how the stone knocking was merely gog's cleverness. “there's some ye couldn't larn," said malone easily, clearly unimpressed. eva, turning gog to what she thought might be a becoming angle, asked malone if he was not a mighty weight carrier, assuring him at the same time of gog's wondrous jumping powers, his deliberation, his perfect safety. 80 three girls and a hermit mr. malone allowed his eye to travel again from the ponderous frame down to the ponderous limbs. scratching his head thoughtfully, he remarked that he feared the fields would be the difficulty. eva, imagining some strange trap into which a heavy. horse might fall, looked at the grass with distrust. " crossing them,” explained malone. "oh, that soort will do it at their own time, but, sure, tisn't hounds' time. size isn't all, miss," he added kindly, "as maybe the man that sould ye him left a dhray idle. but, sure, there's many a day he might do ye well. many days whin the smhell is slhack.” he looked at the star again, took in her sidebones and other embellishments, and muttered “god above us" several times, as if it relieved him, otherwise he made no comment, save that he saw a mare like that to hunt at ballydare once—one day-not again.” “and she was sold," cried moira at once. she glanced at eva. she was not, but killed," said malone thoughtfully. “ three finces from here." "now, i've a bit of a cob inside," he went on, nodding towards a thatched house close by. "an' i'd like ye to see him. begonnes, if ye'd wait, i'll let ye see him leppin'." he ran off. they waited in silence. weight carriers, it became apparent, must be something more than large, and the simile referring to the mare who was like the star had not been encouraging. “ he's just jealous," said moira suddenly, as mat » some sheep and other things 81 malone reappeared, riding, with consummate skill, an ugly bay brown cob, a shade over fifteen hands, with a big knee, fired hocks, half a dozen bad knocks, and the most perfect forehand ever seen on a horse. behind the saddle he was light, but powerful. reins on neck, the cob came flying across the low bank, and for the next few minutes the considines saw a series of ugly fences taken in perfect style, by a perfectly trained hunter. prop and steady at the big bank; on it with an easy bound, out far into the next field with hind legs well under him; lightning change on a high grassy fence; easy fly, with just a rap of ready heels over the stone wall; long lurch across the water, and all with cocked ears, as if he loved it. this was fencing as it should be, without constant sounding of ditches or long ruminations on each broad bank. said malone, as "there's one ye "sure's he med to do it," he pulled the little horse up. ought to have, an' none of yer ploughboys or sphiders." neither girl would for worlds have owned to the other the sudden deep longing to abandon hopes of making money, and to possess this blemished little beast the big green fields would dwarf then, and the thought of flying to that distant wood be a joy and not a menace. "i buys an' i sells," remarked malone, "young horses, not the class of this. i have two beauties within. but this one, sure i got him a swhap from mrs. magee, whose son ounded him; a swhap for an ould inside cyar i had whin he was juist afther kickin' her own to splinters on the way to mass. 6 82 three girls and a hermit a new cloak he tore on her, and she was all for getting out of him. an' faix, i knew there wasn't such a lepper from this to cork, so with a bit more here an' there, a few turnips, an' a broken saddle, i got him." eva dragged her eyes from the cob, and, kicking gog, asked malone if they would not find it very easy to sell their two horses down here. “an' why not?” he said pleasantly; "why not ? ” “ thereby comforting eva greatly. the private thoughts of mat malone, which dwelt upon a farmer and a hack car-driver, were his own affairs. they approached the small bank and put the horses over it, gog acquitting himself with leisurely perfection, and the star putting her head up and flying the whole thing with an awkward, plunging bound. “ begonnes, but ye are great," said malone thoughtfully ; and having again scratched his head, and said “god above us,” he informed them that, “afther all, if they waited the gaps'd be levelled and the banks thrampled they would get on." ere they had time to resent this, a motor came panting along the road, and the star, with a squeal of anguish, first reared and then flew three times round the field, only restrained with great difficulty from jumping the big bank or rushing over the high stone wall. the motor was pulled up, and, as the star subsided, eva was riding forward to thank the occupants, when she observed that they were not looking at her, but at a stream of white-woolled sheep which were, one by one, trailing out on to the road over the ruins of the stone gap. the lady sitting by the driver was gesticulating furiously. some sheep and other things 83 " “that's mrs. vereker, of knock castle, and thim's her prize sheeps what ye're let out,” said mat malone softly; "they do kape thim here till the huntin' commences.” with an uncanny swiftness he had melted to the far side of the small bank, and was smiling pleasantly. eva, gasping, suggested his helping to turn the flock. faix, we didn't sphake these five year pasht,” said malone genially; "since mrs. vereker turned me out of the covert keepin' and the land. so let her catch her own sheeps, an' divil mend her." here bidding them "good morning," he rode off. the considines' horrified eyes beheld the unavailing efforts of a solitary young man to surround and drive back the "sheeps," and their ears heard all too plainly the rasping directions and comments of the lady, who remained in the car. moira, having calmed the star, timidly proffered help—an offer marred by the fact that no power on earth would induce the grey mare to pass the throbbing car. from the muffling depths of a motor-veil, a cruelly chill voice delivered some opinions knocking down fences leading to a road-heard indistinctly, as the star darted, plunging from the vicinity of the car and was brought back, and all lost by eva, who urged her mighty steed on to help. as moira, for the third time, brought the star within speaking distance, mrs. vereker half turned, raking the girl with goggled eyes. "i presume you are one ) on 84 three girls and a hermit of the miss considines," she said, and having delivered herself of this remark made no further comment or reply to moira's explanations. twenty sheep, when pursued by a girl on a horse and an over-hasty young man, take time to collect. the woolly brutes huddled with maddening meekness against gates; then, when collected, suddenly discover a gap and vanish in white and obstinate line through it into some forbidden field; they would gather, foolish-faced, upon the road, and, when driven, scatter past the right turn and rush up a lane-way there, as if they had at last discovered the way they were wanted to go. it was half an hour before dennis vereker, a loose-jointed young fellow with a pleasant red face, returned in triumph, gog tramping magnificently by his side and the sheep wobbling in front. by this time he and eva were quite old friends, shrieking breathless directions to each other and bitter wishes at the sheep. as they came down to the car, dennis explained confidentially that he would never have caught them alone, and also that he feared his mater was simply furious. he shyly indicated a notice-board warning trespassers. “they left these * prize sheep up here and drove up to look at them almost every day." “a board which i think you might have seen,” said mrs. vereker suddenly, seeing her son point to the square of lettered timber. she addressed moira, and without warning backed the motor to allow the sheep to go in. at this fresh terror the star, who had subsided to a grass-munching quiet, felt she had endured enough. > some sheep and other things 85 c she turned round and kicked the car accurately, the crash of iron-shod hoofs splintering something being too apparent to be overlooked. apologies were received in stony silence, and to remain where they were was to court further disaster, so the two rode dejectedly away, leaving dennis vereker toiling at rebuilding the wall, while his mother boomed in fury. “ we seem fated to do foolish things in connection with mutton," said eva sadly. “ it was only foolishness, and mrs. vereker might have been civil.” moira said nothing. she was ruminating on that sudden acknowledgment of whom they were, made in a tone which implied that the discovery of their names implied explanation of any offence. they rode home through a narrow lane, past a wood running up steeply to the right-another foxcovert, had they known; past a hillside of bracken, glowing brown and golden and faded green, and then turning downwards, found their way to the broad road leading back to their new home. ballydare, as they looked towards it, lay plunged in a tender haze of mist, its house-tops rising dimly, the spires of the old abbey and the chapel clear cut in the higher air-a dull and dirty little town, crouched by the wide salmon stream. the barracks, a gloomy lump of brown buildings, stood out to the east; the song of the practising bugler came in faint discordance. at either side the country stretched tamely, fine in its slopes and valleys from a sportsman's point of view, with nothing to stop the hounds or horses, but 86 three girls and a hermit otherwise with no beauty: no swell of mighty hills, no break of crag and butting rock, no thunder of distant surf on a rock-bound shore. instinctively they pulled the horses up, looking down at the land they had come to. “i wonder "-eva let the reins fall on gog's great neck—“i wonder, moira, if one ever gets anything by trying too hard for it.” moira understood so well that her "what on earth do you mean?" was exceedingly gruff. “we have come so far to find fun and pleasure. we have engaged, as it were, to do so much. will it all be here : dances, parties, charming young men?” eva's face contracted. “ will they be all we hope for, moira? we have not begun well; i am not sure that i have not bought a plough horse and you a brute. no one has come to call upon us. for the young menmoira broke in with indignant protest. they had met no fewer than three to-day. where in borrisdeane would they come across so charming a personality as that of captain milton, so distinctly a man of the world? "i wouldn't compare him with the hermit,” said eva slowly. “ with the hermit!" yet moira's shrill of contempt trailed and died. “the hermit, the shabbythe quiet, blue-eyed face seemed to look up at her and reproach her. the worn tweeds, after all, had never been shabby. moira shrugged her shoulders as her voice failed her, and something caught at her throat. “ the hermit was reliable ; he would have known » some sheep and other things 87 >) what to do for the star's cough, would have helped us in so many ways,” went on eva. moira took up the “crub” bit-a proceeding the star resented exceedingly-and they rode on. the unexpected touch of regret whipped her sharp tongue to action. always the leader, she led now, directing and advising. they must not appear countrified or ill at ease here; they must be, above all things, up to date, and remember that the stiff courtesy of borrisdeane was not of this newer world. so, chattering, they came in, to find patsy, devoured with anxiety, waiting at the gate. he received the account of the star's behaviour with a shake of his head. “up she'd whip ye before ye'd know where ye were," he said. “there's the divil's badness neshtin' in her heart, miss moira; and she'll hurt ye yet if she can. a wisp of hay was all they dared to give her before we had to buy her. get back, ye schamer," he added, as gog, perceiving the hens' food, edged towards it gently. a voice raised high drifted from the kitchen window. moira looked in ; biddy dictated a letter home and james dunne wrote it for her. the old man sprawled across the sheet of paper, writing laboriously. biddy talked as she got luncheon ready. “an' tell her to light the fires—the ould dusht-or 'twill be worse for her"—the letter was to nancy, now caretaker of lake cottage. “sure, here we are cool and miserable, say, in a bit of a house that's neither convanient or raisonable, with not a pot or pan ready to cook in, signs by, teļl her to scour thim we left. 88 three girls and a hermit a a a poor little town with a few shops with great winders outside and great prices within. an' the roof leakin' in the house ; mind now say agin to keep fires, for if god sint the young ladies a few colds we might be home soon. an' not a soul did we see yet, nor not one have i seen like misther tremayne, god bless him, thrampin in an' out as frindly as a beggarman. tell the ould thief to milk the cow out, an' to tell me if pat maguire is dead yet, an who got his bit of money, an' if mary cassidy settled up with mike o'sullivan. there was but two geese between completin' the match an i lavin', and he's a fine sthrong bhoy to lose for that same. let alone that mary is lookin' a long time now." moira suddenly remembered that she listened to a private matter, and walked away. poor biddy, how she longed to be at home, among all her lifelong friends. the house and cow; the little happenings of borrisdeane made the old woman's world. « if god sends us a few colds," grinned moira, as she went in to change. kathleen, her eyes afire, was drinking in a description of mat malone's cob. she was the light-weight of the three; a little blue-eyed girl, with an obstinate disposition cushioned over by a yielding manner. “he has got several young horses, and one might suit you,” said moira. “ you have got nothing yet.” “i shall borrow gog and go over there to-morrow, just to look,” said kathleen quietly ; but her eyes were alight. when luncheon was over, and the elaborate toilettes some sheep and other things 89 to receive callers completed, they went to the yard and the company of james dunne, who was now working to arrange a third stable. from him, as they stood in a chaos of fragrant shavings, odds and ends of wood, hammers, chisels, saws, and nails, they learnt many things : how mrs. vereker, whom they had just met, was leader and ruler of ballydare society. "not that she was so grand herself”—james drove a nail contemptuously—“but she was handsome entirely years ago, and the ould man had a sight of money. so faix, she thinks more of herself than even the countess below at the castle." her husband had been dead for many years now, and dennis vereker, the loose-limbed, red-faced youth they had seen, was prospective owner of much money and a fine old place. “ ye'd be afraid to throw a pebble in the garding, for fear ye'd break a glass house," proceeded james, "and the front way up is all statees and queer things in white stone, and savin' yer presence, miss, most of thim without a rag to their backs, and just one or two with a soort of a towel to kape thim warm. god kape the poor haythens long ago if they sthud out in the rain like that. 'twould give you the creeps now to see thim all in the moonshine of a frosty night, like musheroons in july. an' once i was inside to do a job, and there was more of thim, one poor craythur with niver an arrum on her that the ould butler said was a vanus. may be they whipped the arrums from her for her bouldness. 'twas a pity for ye now if ye angered mrs. vereker, for the spharks'd fly from her eyes whin she's crossed, and she'd leave neither sthick nor sthone unturned to do ye a mischief.” " 90 three girls and a hermit » further, as dunne's saw whined, or his plane sang, they heard that mat malone was a decent man, who dealt in young horses and rode hard to hounds, and that in consequence of a foolish quarrel with mrs. vereker in the hunting field, she had found some pretext for turning him off her land, and causing him much trouble and inconvenience. "an' being an aisy man he would not let the league take it up,” said james, "though he's thrunin his big fine house now, with near a mile to go round to a road; there was a thrack straight out by the fox covert.” he told them then how years before, when he himself had been a young carpenter earning good wages, how mrs. vereker, then miss violet ellis, had been engaged to some young man, younger than she was, who was over for the hunting. james could not recall the name 'twas like grattan. " she'd take the sight from ye thin, miss eva, with the flash of her eyes and the black of her 'air, and cheeks as red as huntin' coats. the weddin' was fixed, an' the day named, an' the thrying on dhresses every day within at clancy's, whin back from australia came ould vereker, with a white beard on him, but money enough to buy the town. an' he went mad for her, plain for all to see. an' faix she thrun the other away and was mrs. vereker in a month. sure, the young man took it hard an' sphoke quare words to her out huntin' before thim all. harding, the english whip, tould me, but little she cared, just turned round at him—'twas up by tulla covertan' laffed at him. · don't be a fool,' says she. 6 some sheep and other things 91 isn't money besht ov all, an' i'm not going to die,' says she. “i'll be there yit. i'm not the ould one,' says she, meanin' like. but he cursed her, so he did, and laid a name on her i wouldn't be soilin' ye're ears with, an' hardin' says though she was white enough, she laffed still.' 'for he'll come back,' she says to herself whin 'twas over. hardin' heard, bein' sthuck agin the hedge to see the fox go, an' whin he cried gone away, faix no one could catch miss ellis that day, but misther-misther-grattan went harder still, an' near kilt himself before they finished. she has but the one child. poor masther dennis, that can hardly call his soul his own in his inside, for she niver lets him away from her. oh, she's the hard woman,” said james, looking for his hammer. “she's a hard, quare woman, and mortial proud of her looks still." there were no callers; the evening hushed to a frosty stillness, with a nip of frost in the faint wind; it grew too dark for james to work, and they went in. there was no peace of lapping water and boom of waves at the beeches, but the constant rumble of the carts and hoarse cries of the drivers as they passed homeward to the distant colliery. the white mist rose to the door, for the house lay low, coming up in clinging, dreary chilliness. they had no fragrant peat to burn here, but slow-burning coal, bought for economy, which glowed dully and without much heat. they were lonely, sitting down to their tea; eating the cakes prepared for callers, drinking out of the new china and talking with an enthusiasm which 92 three girls and a hermit grew strained of all they meant to do when the hunting commenced. biddy, coming in, swung the serge curtains to with an energetic swish. "i'm thinkin'," she said, picking up the new tray, which she objected to strongly, "that ye saw more company at borrisdeane." "wil chapter vi life proves disappointing vill ye sthep in, please?" said biddy, opening the door. no persuasion could induce her to adopt what she termed "them flibbitigibbits" on her head, and her old-fashioned cap framed her wrinkled face, as it had for years. she had crossed her shawl over, and pinned on a white apron bought by eva. lancelot milton, captain in his majesty's army, had a pretty wit. "the very original mrs. noah," he remarked audibly to his subaltern, who was disputing possession of his hat and stick with biddy. "houldin' on to thim same as if he'd come for the rint," said the old woman indignantly, as she made her way back to the kitchen, after having pushed the drawing-room door open with the curt announcement of "two gintlemin." the two miss considines-kathleen was missinghad, urged by moira, arrayed themselves in all their glory. they were bright-coloured representations of the newest fashion-plates-trailing skirts, silken befrilled blouses, adorned with strange daubs of button and ribbon-as the borrisdeane artiste had translated 93 94 three girls and a hermit foreign ideas according to her powers. eva's gentle beauty was almost smothered in crude pink, moira's triumphed over a concoction of flaring yellow, and nothing but the persistent waggling of her new hairpads marred her happiness. buckled high-heeled shoes peeped from a maze of silken frills; their soft arms were bared to the elbow. they had, in fact, made themselves as good copies of the stage young woman as they could, with a fixed idea that any one seeing them would receive an impression of the latest from paris. the callers must come; they had been seen in the town, also out riding, although in both cases there had been slight accidents; the rush of ballydare to welcome them must now commence. the two soldiers had put off their visit until to-day, and eva hoped there would be enough chairs. a lavish supply of cakes stood in the pantry. biddy was making hot bread, and had promised to “set” milk for cream. everything was ready, and the beginning was the entrance of captain milton, now in dark blue serge and with violets in his buttonhole. he looked about him as he sat down, and assured them they had already worked wonders. “ awful little hole ; were simply charmed when you took it. very sporting of you three comin' along like this and chaperonin' each other; must let me help you, if you want advice." he caught moira's admiring eye, and the fatuous line of his cheeks deepened to a crease. with a winning ease he took them beneath his care, and from the subsequent conversation it was evident that, so far as sport went, he had skimmed the cream of the world's 3 life proves disappointing 95 knowledge. their stable management, carefully imparted by the hermit, was of course all wrong. a stroll to the stables left patsy with a worried expression and a calm determination to accept all advice and alter nothing. reproofs for untidiness and extravagance had not sweetened his temper. the order to take out all straw each morning to dry was received with unqualified contempt. “fine dryin' 'twould get undther the rain," remarked patsy; "and fine feet the mare'd have pawin' the cobble-stones all day.” so far as the edgings of plaited straw, which captain milton decided to be a necessity, patsy's aside " that he was no bashketmaker was unfortunately audible. viciousness, milton then informed them he was clearly annoyed by patsy's manner-was merely the result of bad stable management. a horse which kicked in the stable meant a rough and stupid groom. he himself would go up to any horse : here he opened the door of the star's new box, approaching with a “whoa, my pretty," as fatuous as his cheeks. his exit, as he dodged to escape a broken shin, was a aurried one. patsy was left muttering, and the clear autumn day grew chill. there was no lake to wander by here, no restless hum of sea calling for a walk by its shores, so they went into the tiny square sittingroom, which, with door and window shut, became exceedingly like an oven, and which with either open was a cavern of the winds. biddy was not a fashionable handmaiden, to be hurried with tea; as the girls knew from long experience, she would be ready at five, but not a moment before ; to hustle her into bringing it a 96 three girls and a hermit cream. early would mean no hot cakes, and probably no the two sat listening, moira filled with that worship of the new which is youth's joy and trial. captain milton, as a soldier, was a being she had never met before, and the mist of her lack of understanding enveloped him, to her, in a rosy halo. she hung upon his words, listened to his great tales of fox-hunting, when at most times it seemed that captain milton and the fox were alone with the hounds. there were airy allusions to london, where he lived, to theatres and music-halls, and tales of rout and frolic. the man or woman who had never seen london had not yet commenced to live, and moira's cheeks glowed with the false shame which is so hard to bear; she who had never walked in that enchanted city, never strolled in the park on golden summer afternoons, never seen edmund payne, huntley wright, or barrington-milton's taste apparently ran to musical comedy-never supped at the carlton or the savoy. she was a mere little barbarian, who ought to feel the greatest pleasure at the condescension of this man of the world. that was the idea which milton wished to present and impress, and which moira assimilated as a sponge takes up water. yet to hold her own a little, and to endeavour not to show her awe, she assumed a manner so far removed from shyness as to be almost aggressive, bandied wit with a hoyden's pertness, and laughed at compliments which merited slapping. their new friend then learnt with a gasp of horror that they could not play bridge. he would teach them now, immediately. eva produced her patience cards, a table was cleared, and they commenced. life proves disappointing 97 "jolly good fun," the two men voted it, for the game as it was played necessitated corrections of many varieties. their voices rose to a merry pitch, the window, despite the draught, was flung open to let out a cloud of smoke, and the game flourished. moira, denounced as a juggins, resented it freely. they laughed, and romped, and enjoyed it all, believing it to be the ways of the heart of the world. "trumped your partner's king, you little duffer," milton roared with laughter. moira, declaring that she had borne enough, seized the pack and flung it at his head. now, quite unheeded, a motor had come to the narrow gate; and at this moment the hon. mrs. harman vereker, exceedingly morose and unwilling, was making her way up the path by the window. the cards, flung with a skilful zest, skimmed out into the evening, falling in a cloud about the astonished lady's head, while the shouts of merriment and crash of the falling table as milton sprang up came as a more solid blow. she stood transfixed, a tall, well-built figure, glaring at the scene. "my holy saint christopher! mrs. vereker!" said mr. stanley weakly, sheltering himself behind the curtain. "lord!” said milton, picking up the table-" mrs. vereker of all people." "i-we are so sorry. won't you come in ?" eva, quite unaware that some flowers flung at moira by captain milton had caught in her hair and were nodding there airily, came forward with hot cheeks. 7 98 three girls and a hermit “ i've-that is, my son-asked me to call.” mrs. vereker looked back at the car. “we thought you might not have understood yesterday about those sheep"-dennis vereker's red face peered over his mother's shoulder, and his eyes were uneasy—“so we came to call on you." purely to explain,” said his mother, with glacial distinctness. “ thank you, miss-er-considine, i do not think i shall come in." "oh, please," said eva appealingly, and, with dennis using pressure at the back, mrs. vereker stepped in. she was a tall, handsome woman, with a hard face and cold eyes. the power to rule gleamed from their grey depths; there was arrogance in her glance and haughty, well-cut mouth, and her manner as she looked for a chair indicated the lady of the manor who stoops that she may win a vote. guest and hostess faced each other, the youthful prettiness of one crowned by two nodding roses, the stern handsomeness of the other by the knave of hearts which had slipped between veil and toque, and nodded his red face almost rakishly at the company. mr. stanley, peering round the curtain, choked audibly, and again invoked saint christopher—the only remark, in fact, which he made for the rest of the afternoon. captain milton stiffened his neck and talked bravely, and mrs. vereker sat not unlike a female thundercloud, booming out insufficient replies to gentle overtures. “we have had so much trouble with the cottage, said eva. “ indeed !" “miss moira," observed biddy from the door, "will " life proves disappointing 99 ye lind me a hand in with the tapot? 'twon't fit on the thray." moira fled hastily, and mrs. vereker trusted they were not getting tea for her, for she would not take any. "we have never been away before, and it was so hard to arrange everything alone," went on eva, and the tail of her eye flashed contempt upon milton, who, instead of helping her, had drawn dennis aside and was talking hunting to him. mrs. vereker's hard eyes travelled slowly round the little room, dwelling on the new chintzes, the photographs, the various attempts to beautify the unlovely squareness, and dwelling on them with a chill lack of appreciation. there were no 'statees," towelled or otherwise, or pictures to impress her. "c she smothered a manufactured yawn impressively. "you have done it alone; but i presume that your mother will soon come to look after you?" said mrs. vereker heavily. "well-no. you see, she's dead," explained eva. "we lived with our aunt," she added hastily. "indeed!" mrs. vereker, having herself made an awkward speech, was exceedingly angry with eva. "indeed-your aunt," she said stiffly. "i suppose, then, she is coming to live with you? "" "she!—she can't," murmured eva, wondering how people turned conversations. "i consider it most negligent and wrong of her to leave you alone," observed the visitor. "she-she's dead too!" said eva weakly. and 436276s 100 three girls and a hermit a sudden splutter of laughter from near the serge curtains was too plainly audible. the stiffening of mrs. vereker's neck made the knave of hearts bow jauntily. she turned to captain milton, who now came up, entering into a pleasant conversation with him about various social events and happenings, completely ignoring her girl hostess-so that eva had the sensation of being a new alexander mactavish, mentally whipped and put upon the cold doorstep to cool in her own house. she was quite alive to her visitor's importance, and over-anxious to please her. it would mean so much to them to be taken up by the right people in this strange place. she commenced to talk to dennis, and tell him of their plans and hopes, receiving from him a grave assurance that gog was certainly up to any weight, and a gentle, well-mannered horse. "of course, he might be a little-slow," said dennis diffidently, wondering what plough the great beast had come from. biddy, tray in hand, banged upon the door, arranging it with great dissatisfaction on its bed of three carved legs. moira, carrying the pot and a dish of hot cakes, followed. "temptin' providence an' the new chaney!" grumbled biddy, bending her snowily capped old head as the brass tray rocked and the cups clattered. miss eva, will ye get the gintleman to put his hand to the legs, while i lays it down? now, isn't a nice clane cloth led down on a firum table far better than thim childther's nonsense? 'twould life proves disappointing ioi take but a kick of yer feet to sind all that over. the ould ways is the besht, don't ye think so now, ma'am ?” with the freedom brought by many friendships at borrisdeane, she appealed to mrs. vereker as she would have to mrs. butler or madam o'neill. mrs. vereker gasped and stared, ignoring the question. “wouldn't ye say so, ma'am?” repeated biddy, lighting the spirit lamp, then, again receiving no answer, looked at mrs. vereker with a pitying scrutiny. "sphake up to her, miss moira, dear, the poor lady's as deaf as mikey guinane's ould mother," observed biddy as she left. eva, growing rapidly hysterical from strain, dispensed tea, mrs. vereker taking some mechanically, her handsome grey eyes glaring at the door which had shut out biddy. to have the chillness of dignity taken for deafness is not pleasing. dennis, helping assiduously, could not take his eyes from eva's pretty face. he had escaped from milton, and was endeavouring to counteract his mother's manner. it had taken him two hours' hard coaxing, and a heavily painted picture of her unkindness to two timid girls, to get her to come to call. they had been in ballydare in the morning, she declared, in actresses' hats and absurd gowns. they were three young adventuresses come down to hunt many things. dennis, lying cheerily, was certain they had an aunt or a mother. he represented the enormous benefit which his mother's call could confer, and with so little trouble to herself. with a tongue oiled by the memory of the sheep hunt, and 102 three girls and a hermit eva considine's sweetness as she lashed her mighty steed across corners and up lanes to cut the flock off and help him, dennis had triumphed. now, with the horror of the knave of hearts, who grew positively skittish in his mother's hat, and the memory of the noise which had greeted them, he dreaded his drive home. listening to eva's gentle voice, it was impossible to doubt her breeding, even with a rose nodding over her ear, and the room littered with fallen odds and ends. moira chattered more merrily, trying to cover her discomfiture; she flitted, waiting on every one, especially on milton, who made a heavy tea and allowed dennis and mr. stanley, in the moments when he appeared from behind the curtain, to hand things about. mrs. vereker, warmed by excellent tea, and comforted by biddy's hot cakes, thawed slightly. she impressed upon eva the desirability of a chaperon : failing those who were dead, they could easily find some one alive, some needy gentlewoman requiring a home. eva, anxious to propitiate, promised to think of it, and glared reproachfully at her sister when that young lady suggested the coal cellar as the only spare bedroom. “ also "-mrs. vereker took a second cup of tea and more cake, remarking that really those curious old irish servants did understand how to make hot bread_"also, miss considine, i observed you yesterday speaking to matthew malone. no doubt he will try to sell you a horse. he is”mrs. vereker's voice deepened—"a person of the lowest stamp, a cheat, a rogue. i was obliged to take my land from him, ) life proves disappointing 103 and i believe he would poison the covert if he did not live by horse dealing. do not look at his horses." hoofs clattered outside. "moira! eva!" cried kathleen's voice, shrill with excitement. "i've bought it-bought the cob. i jumped it everywhere, and had tea with malone, and there never was such a darling, and i've called it jim crow, and he's ridden back with me, and you must write the cheque and give him some whisky now, and patsy will put him in the stable and feed him." kathleen, her face all aglow, came into the circle of light. by her side, smiling happily, stood mr. james malone. "the divil a fear he'll ivir fall with her," he said. "anyhow"-then his eye lighted on his arch enemy, mrs. vereker, who had put down her cup, and, with disgust written on her face, had begun to fasten her sables. kathleen cried to biddy for whisky speedily. "for malone says a dry bargain is no bargain, and that's why the star had sidebones and fell into the ditches. gog's man did have porter, and-here you are, malone." perched upon the sill, brushing mrs. vereker's skirts as that lady endeavoured to leave, kathleen filled a brimming glass, and without a cough malone swallowed it. "here's good luck and success," he said, "to all good people, and the divil's luck to him that deserves it." his smile was angelic in its innocence, but his eyes were not far from mrs. vereker as she made her haughty adieux, with a distinct show of temper in her flushed cheeks. 104 three girls and a hermit c " > “i am glad to have had the opportunity of apologising for any hastiness concerning my sheep,” she said coldly. eva, visibly unhappy, said she was so glad they were in. mrs. vereker, in tones of doom, said that they had known that at the gate. her arrangement of her veil failed to disturb the knave of hearts, who kept his place with determination. eva's flowers had slipped off, and moira, as she said good-bye, trembled for their one pack of cards. "i am so sorry ; it was my fault for throwing them. but may i'?”—she lifted the little knave from his throne—"we haven't got another pack, you see;" she apologised. “ have i,” demanded mrs. vereker,“ been carrying that thing in my hat all the afternoon ?" her son, whom she questioned, said it was so. the splutters of laughter and smiling glances were explained. with a depth of bitter resentment which rent her, mrs. vereker made her exit, pushing past mat malone, who still stood at the widow; marching to her car in deadly silence. the considines had made an enemy who had much in her power. as the powerful car throbbed into life, she spoke fervently, furiously, pouring out the vials of her wrath upon the three miss considines, who, divided between chagrin and merriment, had dispatched their other callers, and with none left but mat malone, who was helping patsy, sat laughing hysterically in their little room. "we are fated, fated," groaned eva. “our first visitor, all mixed up with bridge, romping, and cigarettes, and a shower of cards." 9) life proves disappointing 105 "and the knave of hearts," muttered moira helplessly. "and mat malone, and the whisky. eva, do you think she will ever forgive us? and kathleen "moira suddenly awoke to deeper things" this cob is only a screw, a thing we shall never make any money of. it's not fair of kathleen." eva made excuses on the ground of youth, as mat malone returned for his cheque, and to say the cob was "nate and comfortable; but did they know the grey mare was the least sign of windsucker, an' that was what kep' her so poor ?" moira groaned. "an' that bhoy of yer's has the horses fair smothered in straw," added malone, as he took his cheque. it was for thirty pounds, and represented nearly twice the value of the cob. "faix, 'tis aisy known he doesn't pay for the same." this was direct fruit of new teaching. moira, crouched over the fire, was thinking of james dunne's story. what a beautiful creature this woman, so handsome still, must have been as a young girl, when the hair shone with the lights which dye now hid, when those cheeks had been flushed and soft, and the perfectly cut mouth red. who, she wondered, had broken his heart for her, and where had she seen some one like mrs. vereker before? she could not remember, but she knew that the face struck some note in her memory. young brains run riot. in fancy she pictured the scene out hunting; the furious, bitter words spoken by a boy whose whole being quivered with suffering and furious anger. to be flung aside for an old white-bearded man; to see the 106 three girls and a hermit girl he had loved sell herself as coolly as a circassian slave. to be pointed at, mocked, pitied, the hardest thing youth can endure. what words, she wondered, had he aung in the beautiful face which turned away and mocked him with a careless laugh, caring nothing now that she could be rich? had it satisfied her ? were pictures, diamonds; cunning chiselled marble full recompense for the loss of the love a young man can offer ? did they repay for perjured faith and broken promises ? moira could not tear the picture from her mind ; it haunted her, and more so because the impression of having seen mrs. vereker before jarred on an unresponsive memory. now, dennis vereker-his name made her thoughts pass on-was very rich. he had seen eva, called next daysurely a good first chapter for the romance she desired to write on life's pages. if through this scheme of hers eva should make a great match, be rich and happy, what would they say to her then ? she would have proved herself right, be repaid for all the arguments used to induce her sisters to consent. the hermit-even the hermit could not look at her again with faintly mocking eyes, as he had done before they parted. he had spoken of knowing ballydare; she must ask about him, see if people remembered oliver tremayne. moira's romance went swiftly. she saw eva all in white, aflash with diamonds, going to her wedding; she decided on the bridesmaids' dresses and presents; travelling farther, she saw herself staying at knock castle, with mrs. vereker somewhere out of the way, and eva, clad in wondrous attire, proud mistress of the lovely rooms. she was going in to a dinner party of twenty, with life proves disappointing 107 unheard-of luxuries before them, when biddy put her head in, and observed that if miss moira didn't "hurry to dhress, the rabbit'd be rags and the bacon boiled away." it was a faint change from her dreams, but, being hungry, she went quickly. chapter vii the first meet the 'he first meet of the season. what memories it calls up; what hopes rise as we read the fixture on the card ! summer is over, grim winter has come; the greatest sport in life lies for five months before us. will luck, a fickle jade, be ours this year, or, with a mocking grin, will she see us take the wrong side as they break; find the gate in a hopeless fence locked; or having sent us flying to that easy place which once crossed will take us to hounds, see the cold trail of barbed wire winding tightly across it? this year the funkers think they will funk no more, but sit down and ride that first big place which up to now has sent them round, primed with excuses. they will do at last what all their lives they've meant to-take their own line and sail away on terms with the flying pack: no following like flocks of sheep, hard on each other's tracks, in one broken-down spot; no waiting until the once stiff wall is a grey and rattling ruin. good men and true, who know no fear, smile softly as hounds come trotting in and gather on the lawn. there is a chatter of foxes and horses, and scent and fences, and not a sad face among the crowd. how the underbred horses hump their backs and buck 108 the first meet 109 and squeal as they do their first canter; the well-bred ones munch at their bits and go demurely, keeping themselves ready for the gallop they long for. for horses like it as much as their masters; it is as keen joy to them to stretch their powerful limbs, to jump truly and strain their generous hearts to keep near the pack they love. there goes an old bay, stiff in the shoulder, fired for curbs, bandaged all round; but how he cocks his ears and steps out, how the rheumatism vanishes as he grows warm! and no fiveyear-old will go as keenly as the old veteran of eight seasons who was bought for twenty pounds. what a feeling that bad things are left behind and all good things lie in front as the first whimper, the first long yowl for fox, which is no puppies' babble, rises from the gorse. reins are tightened and hats jammed down, and the good horse beneath us shivers with expectation. which way will he break? back over the rough country, or to the east, over the valley with its line of perfect bạnks ? a shout. he has gone over the banks, and the thunder of squelching hoofs sounds down the long hillside. swing now right or left and get your start away from the crowd. with its sorrows and its triumphs, its poor days and perfect, hunting is with us again, and the joy of being alive to enjoy it is ours. at the beeches the three girls were astir early ; there was rushing from room to room, hasty snatching of mouthfuls of breakfast, consultations as to the adjustment of the new habits, grievous failures concerning ties, and a strong disposition to puff out their hair beneath their new silk hats. eva liked a veil, moira did not ; then, too abundant locks wobbled iio three girls and a hermit perilously. and all the flurry of preparation was punctuated by shrill and unceasing remarks from patsy as he bustled to and fro with saddles and bridles. “ divil a pick of corn is the sthar afther atin' for me. sonce a taste. she just damped it with her breath, becos there was a brush laid on to clane her before she began to ate." a pause, and then a wailing grumble that he had the new girths “squez” to the last hole, and even then he was afraid the saddle would come round. he appeared and disappeared at the stable door, scarlet-faced from anxiety; à further shriek from gog's stable proclaimed that “the schamer had got his muzzle off and finished his bed till he was puffed out like a crass turkey cock." jim crow alone came in for no comments, having licked his manger clean of oats, and nothing further, save his modest allowance of hay. there was a lull, while the three pranced for the last time before their respective looking-glasses, and biddy was ordered to see that eva's sandwich-case was on the saddle. the altercation drifted clearly through the open windows at the back. “ patsy!" and patsy appeared. “have ye miss ” eva's sandwich-case above on the horse?” cried biddy. “have ye, patsy?" “i have not,” said patsy, disappearing; then, stung to retort by the storm of contempt which swept at him across the yard, he appeared again. “but i have it on the saddle," he observed gloomily taking over the silver lining to be filled. ) the first meet iii he had scarcely applied himself to polishing the star's hoofs when biddy's shrill old voice roused him once more. "patsy! patsy! come out till i see you. patsee !" " > patsy, wishing politely that "the divil had biddy's tongue for his brekhusht,” darted into view, brush in hand, and rubbing his leg with some feeling. “miss kathleen wants to know if ye have her little cane that she left out yestherday? an' she'll be fit to be tied if ye haven't,” said biddy. patsy, with a worried look, said "the brains in his head were med soup of from thinkin', an indade if he'd known all the sandwichers an' sthicks an' nonsenses that wint with hunting, he'd have sthopped carin' the murphy's jennit, aisy an' respectable. “when i heard ye bawling, i did but take one eye off the sthar," he said bitterly, “an' she druv me knee to the hayrack with the kick she med on me." here he fetched the sandwiches, ate one absently, and limped back to his charges. when at last the three emerged in the glory of shining hats and boots and tight-waisted coats, patsy murmured “glory” fervently. “there'll be none like ye in the field,” he said, with a groom's true pride in his own property. “indade, , miss moira, ye're for all the world like the gran' picthures of the circus in the town." the compliment was received with reserve and a request for the horses. patsy had not spared himself. the horses' coats ii2 three girls and a hermit rode away » shone, the bits were silver bright, the saddles polished to glassiness. moira, as she mounted, first looked back along the star's lean length, and wondered if the world held so beautiful an animal. gog took the opportunity to stretch out and bury his head in the rain-water barrel, as a protest against his abridged morning drink, and was removed with his great nose dripping "sorra the far he'll go for ye, miss eva, betune wather an' sthraw," said patsy contritely, as they he had announced his intention of following upon a "borryed " bicycle to ” see the meet. they clattered down the road, beaming with joy, wondering what it would be like, the time so long anticipated had come at last. the magical hour when they were to witch ballydare, and lay the foundation of selling their horses. moira was not over sure of bringing the star home. "it's unlucky to ride them once they're sold," she said impressively. “ and i'm sure when the master sees her, he'll want to buy her at once. we must remember to get quickly away behind the hounds. it's no use riding to sell in the background.” eva thought of gog's morning meal and sighed. led horses and traps and men hacking on were already pouring along the road. curious eyes were turned upon them, and sometimes turned away to smile. and at every horse and trap the star kicked viciously, lashing out with her long legs as one who meant to do business. the grave sin of owning a kicker did not impress itself upon moira. she bore the first meet 113 » gently on the curb, and called her mare a playful pet. at the fifth kick, the star having narrowly escaped braining an elderly gentleman, who came close by, he pulled up with a hurt expression. “ you should wear a red ribbon, young lady, wear a red ribbon," he grunted noisily. “you very nearly caught me.” moira, blushing at the liberty of the remark, and wondering where on earth the red ribbon should be adjusted, replied frigidly that it was only her mare's play. “she has never been out hunting," she explained; "never saw hounds." “ i'm afraid some hounds will wish they'd never seen her," he smiled now and grew genial. “nothing so dangerous as a kicker. keep out of the crowd or you'll get abused." he jogged on stolidly. a few minutes later they arrived at the meet. the hounds were coming up as they came, a cluster of pied bodies, and keen, wistful faces, moving with the easy hound jog which covers the ground so fast. they were drawn up on the lawn by killeen house. a faint sun brightened the morning, touching light grey clouds to whiteness against a pale blue sky. a west wind sang through the still leafy trees, rustling their mantle of russet and gold and crimson to the cold earth, hurling the leaves as they fell to a rustling dance of death. pink coats shone in the sunshine, dotting the stretch of grass ; men and women were getting from traps and motors; grooms gave the last unneeded polish as they brought their horses up. it was all bustle and brightness ; clatter of tongues and exchange of cheery greetings, and the considines 8 114 three girls and a hermit gazed on it with awe-struck eyes. so this was a meet. this was the commencement of the foxhunting, which they had read and dreamt about for so long the star humped her long back and plunged heavily. gog cocked his ears, and having said “hu-hu!” heartily, thought better of further movement, and ate grass. little jim crow, his lean, well-bred head carried high, only watched the hounds. a week's grooming had made his coat shine, a liberal supply of oats had filled him out. highly blemished little beast as he was, he looked a hunter. they were isolated strangers among the friendly groups, but that, moira said, would not last long even then the constant glances showered on them meant recognition, and the triumph would soon begin. mrs. vereker's motor drew up near them, and they saw their only visitor getting on to a magnificent weight-carrying bay, almost thoroughbred, and with a mouth of silk. they were recognised with the chilliest of nods, and an audible request to dennis to keep near his mother, as she feared her horse was fresh. "eva, the master !” the lean little man they had seen in the town, now seeming one with a dark brown thoroughbred mare. he swayed to each movement with that perfect sympathy which marks a true horseman. on the ground he was insignificant, shuffling and limping from bad injuries, his hard bitten face like tanned leather. riding, one had to turn and look as he swung past. the first meet 115 " he'd simply look perfect on the star.” moira eyed gog with a look of pity. “you see he goes in for thoroughbreds. but there are sure to be a lot of fat men, eva,” she added kindly. "i think i'll just let him see her." moira cantered the star along up towards the hounds. she was just in time to see them welcome donough moroney as he came among them-a chorus of frantic joy which sent the nervous star halfway round the field. by judicious use of the “crub” moira got her back again, and rode over close to the waiting pack. “doesn't kick hounds, i hope ? ” morency raised his head and grinned faintly. he remembered the mutton chops. oh, no!” said moira; and the star, with a squeal of wrath, swung round and let drive at a straggler. “take her away and beat her," said moroney kindly, controlling his peppery temper as he looked at moira's distressed face. “but, please, take her away, and put on a ribbon." “ did you ever see such a disconnected brute in your life?” he remarked to dennis vereker, who rode up. “some one stuck that child fairly. they're those new girls, aren't they, come down for the winter ?" mrs. vereker struck in with some chilling comments. "most impossible young persons. no one belonging to them apparently but a dead aunt, with no real reason to give for coming here except, of course, the hunting," she added hastily. the master said, thoughtfully, that it was kind ) 116 three girls and a hermit of her to put that. he gave the signal to move on. " clatter and jog and bump, as they poured through the narrow gate and turned into the road to crin gorse, always the first draw. fresh horses squealed and plunged, and david knox, who collected, did so in danger of his life. how the star escaped breaking several horses' legs must always remain a mystery. there was a constant chorus of “ mind that brute !" until moira was left alone upon the footpath with a space cleared behind her. “the divil such a kicker ever i saw," announced mat malone, riding up wide on the left ; "and ye out without a bit of red on her.” with the resource of his race, he took a horseshoe pin from his tie and directed moira to stick it in the back of her coat-a process inducing some pain, as she twice got the point home before it was safely adjusted. ''twould be well for ye if ye were out of her," said malone thoughtfully, "for she'll do a mischief yet, let alone that good oats wa he likes of her. kape to the wesht whin they break,” he counselled, “ for the other passage is very confined, and two old bridges across it." they turned into a narrow lane, splashed squelching down it, and saw the covert lying low amid swampy land. it was cut across by a great drain, which one must cross to get out, and choose the half-rotten bridge described by malone, or a scramble in and out of a muddy cattle-track, where horses slid and slipped as they breasted the ascent. even once fairly away, the first few fields were almost a bog, 66 ed on the first meet 117 » fenced by treacherous, crumbling ditches, full of sullen brown-hued water, and with but one passage over them. “let me sthay with ye, miss kathleen,” said malone, “an' i'll guide ye.” he was riding a fretful " half-broken grey; his bridle a rusty snaffle, the single reins darned together with bootlaces, his saddle was propped off the withers with a cotton pocket-handkerchief, and the rowelless spurs tied to his heels had never been fellows. but his hands played the youngster's mouth as he reached and yawed; his knees, in their patched breeches, were firm in their easy grip. a horse bought from mat malone was certain to possess manners and to face his fences. he could hustle a coward or a rogue into deeds of prowess, could steady a nervous rusher until the last moment, and make him hop out over a narrow bank with an easy change when the youngster had expected to fly. as he stood by the girl's side, he kept a running sotto voce commentary on the hunting-field. “that sthout ould felly, that's david knox, that knows better than a fox where he'd be going to. if ye want to go aisy and see a run's end, folly him. him down there with the glasses, that's andtherson, an' 'twould be well to see his heels an' hounds runnin'. didn't he jump the government drain outside lasht year on that very bay mare? that's misther vereker; but shure ye know him, an' he rides well too. an' his mother there, the same; but she's that jealous she'd lay her tongue to ye if ye gets in front. 'twas all through a big wall down by dayly's, an' i too hurried to hould the gate, that she thrun me 118 three girls and a hermit out of me land. come back, malone,' says she; 'come back.' an', faix, i wouldn't. thim two young miss mccarthys; they're the gurrls to go. begad! an' there was lady mary knon, on the chestnut, and sir thomas finch, the fat filly, with her-thryin' to marry her, they say, he havin' buried lady finch lasht sphring. be jabers! they has it," he whispered suddenly. a long-drawn whimper sounded close by: they could hear hounds as they crashed to it; another, and then another, until it swelled to a chorus and the undergrowth rang to the sound. they were drawn up in the middle of the straggling gorse, on the wide space crossed by the drain. brackens, gold and brown, edged the gorse bushes, growing high and rank in the wet ground; the fern leaves stirred, silence fell suddenly, and a little red creature stepped out just before them. "a! oh, it's a fox!" it was moira, crying out in wild excitement. "mat malone-a fox! i saw a fox!" "havin' eyes, 'twould be hard for ye not to," rebuked malone, with mild surprise. "be aisy, miss moira. sthop shriekin'." "stand still, please; keep quiet." out poured the hounds, spreading for a second; down went old paragon's nose, up went his yelp of triumph; now melody echoed it. they dashed across, swarming in and out of the ditch, and were lost in the thick gorse beyond. "stand still, please. tom has viewed him back." the rush for the passage was stayed. horses the first meet 119 fretted and plunged against restraining bits. the star celebrated the occasion by rearing twice, and then kicking hard into the gorse, which pricked her into surprised submission. gog raised one ear, and took a fresh frond of bracken into his mouth. what was it going to be like? the considines knew nothing of what was before them. all the books of the world teach nothing when a novice is confronted by the unknown joys and terrors of a first hunt. it had sounded so easy far away. now they shivered with a new nervousness; there were so many horses to be got through, wedged as they were in the crowd-so little room to get out down the narrow track. there was none of the simple sailing through flat fields which moira had believed to compass fox-hunting, and which opinion, as was her way, she had deeply impressed upon her plastic sisters. “we can sit over jumps; we want no more: just to keep near the hounds, and not be afraid of any fence.” but when one was not allowed to follow hounds, but was obliged to stand huddled in a corner while the master, a lean monarch on a brown mare, inclined his head to one side and listened to a diminishing chorus of yelps“he's back over the drain again. it's a cub, i think. stay here, please. i'll give you a shout, if he's off the far side.” moroney slipped into the muddy depths, scrambled up the side, and disappeared down an opening “we shall be left behind-left behind," wailed moira ; and people turned to look at her, while mat i 20 three girls and a hermit malone counselled her in low tones to restrain herself. there was a minute's tense waiting as the echoing chorus rose and fell, then a long, clear shout, and a subsequent quick toot-toot rung clearly on the horn. now the subsequent experiences of the three who had never seen hounds must come separately, and the behaviour of the star merits first place. as the crowd surged forward, she rose with a sailing bound, tore at her bits, and bolted ; in and out of the great muddy drain, churning the water up as she slipped and struggled up the far side, clearing a wild way for herself, until she knocked three horses into a composite condition at the gate, while the reins, as they tore through moira's striving fingers, seemed a mere unkind reminder of the inefficiency of bits. hounds, with a clear start, were streaming across the low, marshy land. the land was intersected by tiny drains, in which a horse might almost break his leg if not taken carefully ; it was full of marshy, water-filled hollows; but the star, nose in air, swept over it as a grey tornado, and, to do her justice, she could gallop. moira had hideous visions of those little dark-mouthed drains; she bathed in clouds of silver spray as her mare dashed unheeding into the pools; and she saw the great drain gaping before her-wide, with crumbling edges, with a gleam of sullen, weed-grown waters, and of uncertain depth. the impetus of the star's pace made her rocket across it like a pheasant, clearing it with a foot to spare ; also, as she struggled in heavy ground beyond, she ceased to run away, and if moira had not been blown she might have stopped her. moira's spirits rose to the first meet i21 " fever point, for, looking back, she could see the crowd of horses being ridden hard for a passage across the drain. she seemed to hear the rip of the great, much-dreamt-of cheque as it was torn from the block; look at the signature of donough moroney written at the end. for she could see the velvet cap turned in her direction, and knew he was watching her. he undoubtedly was. a herd of lean calves, subsisting on the poor land, had crossed and foiled the line ; hounds were dwelling, and in another moment moira would be in the middle of them. “that wonderful grey mare!” moira, galloping on, glad of the spongy turf, which made the star labour and pant, put the words into his mouth. “that great long-backed camel has bolted with the “ girl," was what the master said to old knox, whose powerful horse could keep pace in the dirt with the little brown mare. “she's riding slap through the bog as if it was over a croquet lawn. and if she was drowned it would stop a nice hunt,” he added gloomily. “there! i knew it." hounds threw up their heads, as the now frightened calves lumped off to higher land. they spread far out, with noses to earth, knowing that they must help themselves unless assistance was absolutely necessary. the star, who had been straining every nerve to reach them, galloped into their midst with a gasp of triumph, and then kicked at every one she could see, with good aim and all the vigour she could gather. paragon fled with a sore side; pansy roared in anguish at a kick on the nose ; ladybird sat down and wept over a bruised shoulder. the clamour was deafening, and moira was not quite clear whether it i 22 three girls and a hermit mattered or whether her prowess in being so near them made up for a few playful kicks. the distant thunder, wafted on the breeze, enlightened her. she could not complain of lack of attention, for moroney was standing up in his stirrups, and it was perhaps fortunate that distance rendered his flow of remonstrations indistinct. but the frantic waving of his arms explained his meaning, just as moira had reached a spot where progress was bounded on the east and west by two gaping bog-holes, and on the north and south by the yelping pack. it is possible she might have tried to jump the bog-holes, and fulfilled moroney's fears of stopping the hunt; but at that moment paragon, who, having been kicked first, was now out of pain, hit it off. they swung left, away from the treacherous bog, with its deep cuts and piles of turf, away to higher land, running as hard as the ballydare ladies' pack can run. now melody had it, now pansy, then old paragon led again, her lemonand-white body clear of the rest as they drove ahead, bustling for blood. now tongues were thrown, now they ran mute, on a red-hot up-wind scent. moira's heart throbbed to it; the glory of fox-hunting, ignorant as she was, rioted in her blood. to her it was no appreciation of hounds, but the joy of the pace-the star was not spared across the bog-the rush of the west wind on her heated face, the ripple of the mare's shoulders as they cut the air in front of her. what wonder that men swear by hunting, and, forsaking all other, cleave only unto that! and she -her foolish heart sang a pæan-was alone with the hounds. moira had time to think this as she galloped, to roll the foretaste of congratulations on her tongue. the first meet 123 as they swung in a half-wide, their point a low, gorse-grown hill, they came to the field, who, having avoided the bog, were waiting for hounds to get by. from crin gorse to knock hill was an almost inevitable line. there was another passage to be raced for before one got into fair going; another of those bottomless drains to be avoided. moira saw the race with contempt, and galloped for the drain. but the star running away, and the star exceedingly blown, were two. the mare had no intention of risking her just-won reputation ; she swerved on the verge; there was a moment's sickening struggle and plop of turfy edges into cool depths, and the grey raced hard to join the other horses. the passage was a narrow one, with a stone gap fencing it, and they reached it just as the master, followed by knox and anderson, were upon it. the star resented their presence. with a rush she squeezed in and jumped, hurling the light-weight on to general knox, and general knox's heavy brown on to the master, and sent that unsuspecting gentleman's mare on to her knees in a sea of dirt. as the three extricated themselves, and the master (who had jumped off) dived for his stirrups, they turned their wrathful faces, and words seemed beyond them. moroney, who seemed to have got past wrath, and to be praying a little, wrenched his bridle and slipped out right-handed. mr. anderson, who had come on his left side, did not pray, but seemed to want to be quite quiet and alone at the left to say what he wanted, and left fat old knox, as he wiped half a pound of mud from his forehead and nose, to wrestle with the matter. “shę—she would come,” said moira unhappily, 124 three girls and a hermit the expression of the master's back made her cheque seem farther off. what general knox said, indistinctly—for the mud had drifted to his mouth-was that if he owned a brute like that he'd shoot it. then, being a kindly old man, he proffered some muddy and breathless advice concerning ill-broken beasts, the etiquette of hunting, and the absolute necessity of being able to stop a horse when one wanted to. “it's a shame to put a lady on such an animal," he gasped, as they stretched across the firmer land. moira, in shrill treble, explained the star's inexperience and the purity of blood which made her foolish and impetuous. she would probably have proceeded to enumerate the whole pedigree in a shriek, for the wind tore her words away, but a low green bank loomed in front. general knox's brown slipped over with an easy change, the star treated it as a raised drain, and fell into the fortunately shallow trench at the far side. moira, losing patience, hit her, for another bank was close in front. the blow and complete loss of wind soured the equine constellation. she flung out her fore legs sullenly, and declined to jump at all. horse after horse thundered up and hopped over, until the last tail of the spread-out field had passed, and still the star, who had kicked impartially at anything she thought she could reach, remained where she was, snatching mouthfuls of grass in the intervals of plunging away from the stick. there is no task more hopeless or tiring than the tussle with an obstinate refuser. moira rested from sheer exhaustion, and, as if to add to her misery, the hunt in full view swept the first meet 125 across the slope of the hill towards a long wood, having got their fox through the gorse with little delay. the hounds were specks now, running fast across the green fields, slipping over the distance-dwarfed fences. the man in pink on the long-tailed horse going beside them was the master. how easily he took his fences; no flying or falling there. she thought she could distinguish general knox-reflection brought a memory of a gleam of pleasure as he had turned his head to see the star refusing. there was a woman close up, some one on a little horse. could it be kathleen on her worthless cob? then a medley of ? horses and a glimpse of occasional falls ; of distant riders turning away and looking for soft spots ; of the inevitable sheep-like tail, jumping one by one behind the other. then far behind these a lady coming fast and furiously, and yet two fields another lady alone, on a high brown horse. moira stared. the lumpy stilted gallop; the majestic deliberation on the fences. this whipper-in of the hunt must be eva on gog. there were tears in moira's eyes as she realised the sharp line drawn between the triumphs she had dreamt and the bitter reality of what had occurred. she, on the star, had reached hounds, knocked down two members of the hunt, been left behind before them all. eva was last of all. the tale of eva's experience was shorter and less varied. when she had wrenched gog's head up from the bracken and started him, she had then borne away in the crowd to the wooden bridges and tried to cross, but gog was a careful horse. he put his mighty feet upon the boards and snorted and stood still ; he would not go; he could not back, for a furious crowd surged 126 three girls and a hermit at his docked tail. in vain a rain of whips fell upon his fat quarters : he, who had pulled six drunken men home from fairs and markets, thought little of whips. the crowd, recognising defeat, flew back the other way, but fate elected that mrs. vereker, who had been standing outside, and suffered from the flurry of a bad start, should gallop down for the bridge and find eva in possession. to pass was impossible. a hail of words more biting than blows were useless. “ back the brute, back him !” screamed mrs. vereker furiously, but gog, hearing so much noise, would not back. he sniffed at the boards occasionally, absolutely declining to move. mrs. vereker's temper was rent to fragments. she pounded gog with a light and inefficient whip, shrieked until her voice went; she even tweaked and wrung his tail, and matters remained until even gentle eva was forced to remonstrate. “it's as bad for me as for you,” she said tearfully. mrs. vereker grew desperate. she essayed to pass with a rush, and there was just room for one. gog sidled and turned, and both ladies were wedged fast in living nearness, while the bridge creaked ominously. “can't you even turn the great brute? have you no idea of riding ?" foamed the furious lady, who could have gone back, but would not. "shure, the bridge'll fall and let ye both out.” eva thought she had never heard a sweeter sound than patsy's voice as he emerged from the bushes, his face flushed with enthusiasm. " i declare to the first meet 127 " god ye can see the timbers bending." he took gog by the bridle. “ he has the mind of a christian,” he observed angrily, "an' the obstinacy of a turk. “shure they're stampeding wesht outside away to the hills, going fasht, miss moira first away. didn't the star swheep the bog drain, an' out into the bog, and gallop into the middle of the hounds, no less ? i think by their aisin' a few is like to be dead, but who'd miss a dog or two from that lot? array, borrisdeane for iver ! he won't stir, miss eva." the gentle suggestion from mrs. vereker that he was a complete idiot, sharpened patsy's wits. he loosed his hold, stepped back and, removing his cap, held it out invitingly with both hands. gog thought of food, and abandoned his fears. he crossed the bridge, and mrs. vereker, with a last snort of rage, dashed away , at a furious pace. “truly we seem ordained to offend her," murmured eva as she laboured in pursuit. mrs. vereker, blaming eva for everything, was fated to do wrong. she essayed a short cut to the right, and found a closed gate just as the hounds swung left. eva, who saw no other guide, followed her, and the pound, pound of the big horse's hoofs came just as the gate was open. gog was slow, painfully slow, but he toiled diligently and never fell. fast as mrs. vereker went, there was always something to prevent her shaking off the girl at her heels. first, having to come back from a wired fence, then, which proved wrong, taking a short cut advised by a countryman, and so on, until moira saw them pursuing along the slope of the hill, with eva now 128 three girls and a hermit two fields behind, and hounds in full swing a mile in front. at this point the star suddenly jumped and did not fall. a couple of gaps led to a lane winding along towards the wood ; and, directed by friendly men, who all described the hunt with fervour, moira reached the woods as hounds were coming out, having put the fox to ground in a rabbit burrow. morency cast a sad eye upon the grey mare. it is possible that, had he known she was to sell, he would have bought her on the spot for the pleasure of never seeing her again. as it was, he merely muttered to himself, and shot out some icy directions to keep that kicker away while hounds got by. mrs. vereker's glance as she passed was not lacking in expression. the episodes of sheep, cards, and wooden bridge had made her look upon the considines as personal enemies; was inducing her now to let her sharp tongue run riot, and to endeavour to prevent any of the more kindly women from taking any notice of the strangers. three pretty girls coming to a land full of marriageable daughters and sons were never likely to be welcome. mrs. vereker made up her mind the more swiftly as she saw dennis riding with eva, whom she had at last shaken off, that there would be something which was not quite the want of welcome; but a cold breath which should chill these little adventuresses to their hearts. and even with her son's too evident admiration, it was not eva whom she objected to, but defiant moira, with her grey eyes and her light-hued hair. some fancy, strong enough to savour of some strange instinct, made her feeling towards moira one of the first meet 129 > absolutely active dislike, made her determine to leave no stone unturned which should injure the girl. the tale of mrs. vereker's call, with skilful handling, was made to assume gigantic proportions; riot and romping with strange young men ; a familiar old farm-servant; farmers received in the drawing-room. the cold voice uttered the story until heads were nodded towards the considines and shoulders shrugged. “oh, so good of you to tell me. of course i shan't call on them. we don't want that class of thing done here, dear mrs. vereker.” so, as moira, with the bitterness of failure chill upon her, jogged along the road, the evidence was summed up, and the verdict given. ballydare did not mean to receive them. then the red-headed girl, miss geoghan, they had seen in the town, was effusively anxious to talk, and, with her brother, sidled close at each opportunity ; but moira's moody face was not encouraging. dennis, on going up to eva, inquired for his mother, whom he had missed. “ have you seen her ?” he said. eva remarked drily that for a full half-hour she had seen no one else ; and as dennis was disposed to beam at this indication of friendship, she proceeded to explain. “ and it was not my fault, though your mother said it was," observed eva sadly. “i don't think she'll ever forgive me or my horse." dennis, watching her pretty, despondent face, sighed deeply. he was a weak and indecisive young fellow, and completely ruled by his mother ; but his plastic, )) 9 130 three girls and a hermit moon. boyish fancy had received a deeper impression than he had ever yet known of. “ was she very angry ?” he said dolefully. the closing up of mr. cornelius geoghan on eva's other side cut short the conversation. cornelius, staring open-mouthed at pretty eva, was palpably determined to talk, and to admire and praise effusively, even down to gog's feet. moira was at this point joined by captain milton, strangely clean for a man who had ridden a hard hunt. he was reserved at first; but on hearing of her bad fortune, his pity loomed clear as a harvest he gave her kind advice, too, as to the riding of the mare. “a little handling, a little experience, would have brought her through the hunt,” he said pleasantly. “ now, some day i'll ride her for you, and just show her what to do.” he then proceeeded to describe how he had been in first all through, and how splendidly he had seen it all. “over a big country, too,” said captain milton, “one that really wanted doing. oh! i've seldom been nearer to them. fact is "-he grew confidential -"i caught it once for pressing them just over the stream, where they checked." moira listened with unbounded admiration. “there was one enormous jump," said milton, warming to his subject—"a bank, stone-faced, with bushes on the top. nearly every one funked. it was just at the end, but i-" kathleen, pink with excitement, dashed jim crow between them. “oh, hasn't it been glorious ? there is nothing > » the first meet 131 “ ) on earth like hunting. i followed malone, and jim crow went so perfectly. nothing seemed too big for him, and he galloped so fast. i'm the luckiest girl in the world," said kathleen blithely. she looked at milton with dawning pity. "i suppose you never picked them up after you stopped at the bank before the first road," she said. “ malone told me it was a dirty place entirely. were you afraid your poor horse would not be able to get across ?" the violent empurpling of lancelot milton's face showed his appreciation of this sympathy. “ my horse refused," he said jerkily. "i came on at once." “oh, yes; i saw you turning up the road.” kathleen's brutal candour was quite devoid of intent to offend. “malone said it was a hard, safe place. lots of people galloped along it, but we never left the hounds. and poor mrs. vereker too "_the high-pitched, youthful voice carried back to a wrathful lady just behind—“i saw her miles and miles behind. suppose there are lots of horses one could not ride over high fences ?” captain milton grunted sharply, and the hardestriding lady of the ballydare hunt felt that her cup of injury was overflowing. she smote her good bay upon the shoulder, and the look in her eyes was not good to see. the day wound to an unsuccessful close. a fat cub was killed and eaten in the glynne woods. another, a ringing brute, close pressed, got to ground at banogue, and then dimness was chasing daylight from the sky, and it was time to go home. 132 three girls and a hermit the considines were very tired and stiff. knees ached from unaccustomed gripping of saddles, backs ached; they knew with sorrow that the waist measurements sent for the new habits had been prompted by vanity. they rode homewards together-groups of people all round riding together, but they were alone. milton, offended by kathleen, had left moira ; they were friendless in a strange land. they could hear the hunting talk, which never palls, all round them, as they rode silently, oppressed and weary. the sky had cleared ; there was a touch of frost in the calm air. flushed with triumph, the sun sank, and, as lovers part, so the sky glowed with memory to his good-bye. high in the west a cloud poised, purple-bodied, crimson-fringed; through a tangle of leafy boughs they could see the river run red, as though with the world's blood. thin mist rose; white wraiths about the lowlands, pointing chill, sluggish fingers towards the corner where their new home stood. as they turned to reach the narrow bridge, which was their shortest way, lancelot milton's self-esteem became mended, and he stopped. “mrs. hamilton," he introduced graciously. “she'll come to call on you if you won't shy cards at her head.” moira dimpled pretty thanks. they were too glad of any caller. “and i'll send the regiment by degrees.” milton spoke with assertive condescension. “ mustn't let you be lonely. eh? good-night.' > the first meet 133 "have you gathered "-eva urged gog to jog as they crossed the steep bridge—" that he—that manwas condescending to be kind to us ?" she dashed gog on to patsy and supper, and biddy, as she plied them with tea, said that follyin' dogs was no work for young ladies. "hadn't they faces on them like mary daly, that was took with a decline lasht may year?" the two elder miss considines declined to be cheered. chapter viii returning a call “i wonder,” said eva thoughtfully, as she came in to breakfast, “ if any one ever means to call upon us here at all ?” she said it cheerfully, for a night's rest had brought reaction, and their sinking spirits had revived. after all, as moira remarked, one could not expect, especially with four year olds, to succeed at first. gog, though he was a little slow, had jumped perfectly. the star had cleared a mighty drain. kathleen's little cob had carried her close to hounds. they discussed it all as the smoky fire lurked in wait for them, sending down its rolling volumes of pungent greyness when it thought they were not watching. “call, of course people will call," said moira testily. "i am just going to write to the hermit, to tell him what a success it all is, how i pounded the field and eva" “ stuck on a bridge,” said eva thoughtfully. she could smile at the scene now. absolutely sweetnatured herself, she could not understand another woman bearing malice for what was so palpably an accident. 134 returning a call 135 “tell the hermit how i stopped the hard-riding lady,” laughed eva, "and how you knocked down three men and kicked the hounds, and how awfully nice all the ballydare people have been to us." “i can tell him about fat old general knox and dennis vereker," said moira, groaning as she stretched out an arm. “i can just show him how silly and stupid he was, and how he misjudged our horses.” “ i wonder," said eva slowly. “i wonder-i knowi wish he was here now," she added sharply. moira said nothing, but she wondered why she suddenly felt so cross and lonely. a visit to the stables revealed the star, a complete wreck, languidly partaking of flax-seed tea, and the mighty gog moving stiffly on swollen limbs. patsy, polishing a bridle, appeared from the cupboard which he called the saddle-room. “ an' gog," he said, “has the two foremosht legs swelled up like bolsthers, while the star's that dead she wouldn't even pick her bed." inexperience could suggest no remedy for gog's swollen limbs. patsy thought 'twas what "they called a weed, but he took his oats,” said the groom,“ bether than that poor wisp of a grey that's so casht down she wouldn't even kick at ye.' moira tried apples and carrots vainly. the descendant of solon drooped her lean head and tottered upon her thin legs as if death were nigh her. “old dunne says that class is apt to die in the night after a hard day,” said patsy cheerfully. 136 three girls and a hermit ") " but his face was alight when, having reviewed all the equine ills, and told them jim crow didn't leave an oat, he fell to speaking of hunting. “niver in me life did i hope to see the like," he said. with the red coats, an' all the shinin' fine horses, an' the great complement of dogs yelping an' schreechin' together. i was struck down in the furry bushes," he declaimed, "whin the fox pasht me out, an' i declare to god he thrun an eye on me sour as a christian, may be thinkin' i'd bawl out. i could nearly run the smhell of him meself without ev' a dog. an' with that whin the young huntsman saw him, the tearin' an' the shovin', an' the mud risin' like rain from the ground, an' thin scramblin' at the gap an' out across the field, with the dogs mad on the trail, an' every felly beltin' his horse to kape up." this was clearly a flight of fancy on patsy's part. “ a'then didn't i see miss moira flighten out like a duck across the wather, and miss kathleen going quiet an' aisy but well out in front? sure, i ran till the breath left me own body, an' thin whin i wint back for the bicycle didn't i find poor miss eva in hoults with the ould wan on the bridge? 'twas the gran' day we left borrisdeane to see its like, an' if ye plaze, miss eva, i'm wantin' a load of sthraw." eva, peering at the golden depths about the horses, timidly suggested waste. on patsy's retorting that he was but doin' what the soldier officer told him, she sighed and said no the keeping of horses was not a cheap amusement, more. returning a call 137 seen > “an' himself that's the triminjus huntsman,” remarked patsy contemptuously. “i him. wo-a-wo-a,' says he, at the first fince out of the bog. " wo-a,' says he. 'i can't howld the brute,' and he bearing on the reins as trustful as if they were stheel ropes. an' faix he wo-a-ed till the gap was level, and thin he wint out. i'm thinking he's a greater man in a sthable yard than he is outside." patsy, who had spent several weary hours endeavouring to plait straw, was still resentful. certain rolls which he called "soogawns now decorated the edge of the horses' beds. moira took the dejected star to eat grass, while patsy led gog round the little gravel sweep, observing with much anger as he went that "you could girth a saddle around thim legs," and eva went to receive biddy's directions as to housekeeping. the weekly cheques were swelling here, where everything had to be paid for, and there was no strawberry to give milk, or little flocks of fat chickens and ducks in the back yard. eva's face grew thoughtful over her bills, and biddy, when it came to buying, was no economist. mr. dunne, now mending a back door, where he said there was a blasht of air that'd turn a spit,” was, as usual, remaining to dinner. his ever sympathetic ears had already heard the tales of the chase. the drain which moira jumped he averred to be a bottomless trap, and he received the story of eva's blocking the bridge with a thoughtful air. “bitther an' black ; bitther an' black," he said. 'twould be bether for ye nivir to see a hunt than to cross her. i tell ye, miss eva and miss moira, i 138 three girls and a hermit think the bitterness of what she did to young grattan long ago has sthuck within her heart. oh, she's well known to be the wicked woman whin she's crossed. i used to work up at knock reg'lar, doin' odd jobs there, and i gave her but one answer, tellin' her she med a mistake whin she told me to alther some boards i was puttin' up in an outhouse. 'oh, you think that same, do ye?' says she. the nose on her shook at the sides an' went white, an' the eye she thrun on me'd have pierced iron. not another word she said; but i got me due that night, an' was told to come no more a great loss to me, for i was a dacent, hardworkin' by-e then, before me wife died an' i tuk to the dhrink." there was candour about old dunne very hard to resist. his white-whiskered face was so kindly beneath its network of deep lines, the gleam in his watery blue eyes so full of humour; and now that biddy fed him he drank but little. as they rested aching limbs during an idle morning, the considines decided that it was time to return their one call. "then if any one does come to see us we shall be out," said moira viciously. old dunne, on being consulted, knew a "frind" who had a fine "cyar" for hire, and was dispatched to fetch it. the plumed hats and long dresses were again produced, kathleen electing to stay at home in lazy comfort, and to send away the callers if they came. the car of dunne's friend was drawn by a raking roan horse, with a rope kicking-strap and a decided temper. after a few undecided plunges he started returning a call 139 affably, taking them along the castle crin road in a series of shying bucks. castle knock was some six miles away, a gloomy grey pile facing a stretch of straight avenues. conservatories, built by old vereker to please his bride, lengthened the already over-long house. belts of trees hemmed it in, and a mass of evergreen oaks, dully green, shaded each wing-so close, they dripped upon the grey walls. there was no brightness about it. clipped yews, grim and dark, sheltered the lawn before the door. if no wind could blow upon it roughly, the sun could never shine fully, save on the upper storeys. the gate, guarded by great white monsters, was a gap in the belt of yews; then, as one came to the door, there were other gaps cut here and there to give a glimpse of the sloping lawn. now mrs. vereker had a party : a select circle of friends to play bridge and drink tea. there was no gaiety at castle knock—the gleam of white marble watchers, the depth of the heavy carpet, the enervating heat of the hot-water pipes warming the house seemed to subdue the stranger who walked down the big corridor. one could not talk or laugh between that gleaming line, who poised their marble limbs in curves of chilly beauty. the butler's stately grey hairs would have risen at a too merry laugh, the great footman have turned and doubtless welcomed it. stillness hung about the place, stillness and a constant gloom. voices seemed to echo in the long drawing-room; unconsciously tones fell, and faces stiffened, as they passed between the white-and-gold doors. the splendid hangings were neutral and . colourless, the wilton-pile carpet spread drably dull 140 three girls and a hermit against a white paper. the chairs seemed to find cause for offence in being sat on, so chilly was the expression of their satin coverings. long mirrors gleamed against the wall ; dutch pictures, exquisite but lifeless, were hung upon them; and the gleam of white marble shone wherever a statue could stand. the haughty, handsome owner of the place made them her hobby, loving the delicacy of their limbs, living, with some strange note of sympathy or envy, the semblance of life which could feel no pain nor joy. except dennis's den, an untidy mass of guns, and rods, and books, there was no room in the huge house where one could feel at home. the vastness of the dining-room closed upon one as a pall. silence again here-footsteps drowned in turkey carpet, noiseless flitting of servants, food coming unheard from behind a screen. a tinkling glass, the undue clatter of knife and fork seemed an indiscretion. there were statues here also, but fewer; and dark rembrandts, and steelclad cavaliers, and grey landscapes hung against a dull red wall. the very sunshine peered in timidly, through screen of silken blind and heavy curtains ; peered and slipped away again, glad to leave the serving of warmth to servile coal. there were large dinners at knock, sent up by a chef of note, the hostess ablaze with jewels, facing her son, talking pleasantly, flinging the ball of conversation deftly from guest to guest. yet even dry champagne, and vintage port, and quails, and plovers' eggs have never made a dinner there a merry one. voices sank, obscured by the brooding stillness; after dinner the men left good stories untold, and discussed crops and returning a call 141 " politics, while the ladies sat about in the big drawingroom and were chilled, despite the heated atmosphere, and depressed, despite the glow of white-shaded electric lights. there was no pleasant, irresponsive gossip among them of dress or light flirtation, or the everfruitful topic of a servant. if there was a reputation to be discussed and torn to shreds, that would wake mrs. vereker into swift attention ; but the ballydare women, living as they did in the open air, were more inclined to find excuses than to whisper those pungent" i hears ” which have done so much evil in the world. so, as they sat they talked laboriously, and murmured fervent thanksgiving when the evening was over. to stay was even more depressing; one came seriously to breakfast along the long corridors, slipping past those rows of silent watchers to the dull stateliness of the dining-room, and took to cold food because it seemed almost daring to eat eggs and bacon in the sunless quiet. mrs. vereker, who did nothing by halves, had given a description of the considine girls, followed by strict orders as to their non-admittance when they returned her call. two bridge tables were set, for the six guests had arrived ; she awaited two others, and fate ordained that as one of these, miss martin, a snubnosed, haughty little maiden, alighted, the roan horse, snorting proudly, dashed the considines to the door. the driver, remarking proudly that "the sthring he had the trace tied with was dam good,” flew to the animal's head, and eva and moira, be-plumed and all a-rustle, ran up the steps. miss martin was being admitted. their social training was not an extensive one, and ere the footman could say anything they 142 three girls and a hermit went in, telling him to announce the miss considines. they had heard miss martin make the ordinary stereotyped inquiry, and knew mrs. vereker was at home. the butler to whom they were handed on was a polite man, and accepted his future certain reproof with a sigh. the hush of the corridor fell on the two as they followed him ; they stared at the line of white figures, looked down at the thick carpet. there were no rich people at borrisdeane; this waft of heated air, the silent servants, was a new experience. as moira said afterwards, money seemed to walk with you and tweak your nose as you went, which was expressive if not elegant. “how late you all are !” mrs. vereker, handsome in deep mauve velvet, diamonds glittering in her laces, turned her head from the table, then put her cards down and froze in sudden horror. “ we thought we should be too early if we came any sooner ; but of course the roan horse galloped a great deal," said moira. “how d'ye do?” mrs. vereker rose slowly. she held her hand out, and the silence of the room was something tangible. the considines were conscious of distant scrutiny from curious and unfriendly eyes, so much so that eva, immediately feeling if her hat was straight, pulled it rakishly over one ear. mrs. vereker, sitting down again, made no further remark; she did not introduce the girls to any one. now, if they had been of the world they aspired to know, these two would have apologised for interrupting a bridge party, and have left again in five minutes, for a further arrival completed the eight and a new table was made returning a call 143 up. unfortunately they did not know, so moira, saying, “ please don't think of us, we'd love to watch," plumped down upon the wide arm of a brocaded chair, and sat staring at the hand of a fat and nervous woman, who came out meekly, prepared to lose. a hand was dealt and played. mrs. vereker's rings flashed rays into the shadows as she drummed upon the table, watching her partner struggle with a delicate no trumper. in the shaded light, with her black hair puffed about her face, the lace about her throat softening the hard lines, she looked young and very handsome. moira forgot the cards as she watched her, and sought still for the puzzling lost note of memory. why should she think she had seen mrs. vereker before? james dunne's story rose before her. had the other man who had lost this brilliant woman broken his sore heart for her ? had the diamonds, the cold magnificence of the house, repaid the girl for her treachery to her young lover? was there some soft spot in the hard nature which throbbed still for what she had given up : strong arms, warm love, hot adoration replaced by an old man's slavish worship, an old man's petulant whims? it interested moira strangely, and seemed in some inexplicable way to touch her own life, and be woven in the web of her fate. she woke suddenly to watch the play, the light fall of the cards, the intent, anxious faces, the hover of fingers over dummy ere they took a discard from it. the plump lady, a mrs. haviland, wife to a major in the regiment, had played with her husband and had absolutely won a game. 144 three girls and a hermit "you've brought me luck," she beamed at moira. "i've never held such cards." "i must bring you more-a hundred aces." moira glanced at her hostess's face, now alight with active annoyance. she was telling her partner how completely the loss of the game had been due to his not returning a diamond, and on his replying mildly that he had not got one, seemed to regard this want as entirely his fault. moira's eyes twinkled. she bent to see mrs. haviland's hand, as that lady was going over and over and over it with bewildered and almost pained expression. having failed to see one of her cards vanish, she declared no trumps with a sudden burst of triumph, and holding the prophesied hundred aces made the little slam. "i am improving, aren't i?" she babbled. "oh, jack, i never win as a rule." her hostess, sourly adding the score, made some sotto voce remarks which appeared to relate to shelling peas. and mrs. haviland, merely catching the last word, said it was marvellous having any this time of year. mrs. vereker gulped, caught moira's twinkling eyes and lost her temper. abandoning metaphor, she became openly sarcastic, and only wondered that mrs. haviland had failed to make grand slam of it. "we'll change chairs, i think," she said, as she cut an ace and took the deal. "then, please, come on mine, miss considine. you're my mascot. what's that, mrs. vereker? you hate people watching? i like it." the fat lady's luck was not to be ousted by any returning a call 145 change of chair. she won, and chuckled, and won again : while mrs. vereker, who always hated losing, grew positively thunderous. tea, laid upon a large table, was brought in by an array of footmen. there was no cosiness about the meal at castle knock. the glow of the silver-gilt service, the display of iced cakes, the chilliness of the fragile, pure white cups seemed to tone with the cold, wide room. a marble falconer, graceful and alert, poised just by the table, as though he waited for a meal. footmen carried cups and handed the elaborate cakes and golden dishes full of fresh sweets. but the tea loosed no chatter of bright tongues ; the bridge players talked in the low tones all voices fell to in this room ; lights glowed on the baize tables; but the vast corners were full of shadows, shadows filled with the cold gleam of white marble. here a hand thrust out, caught by a ray of light; here a stony, sightless face, sadly beautiful. again a whole form, pale and ghostly, against the grey dimness. it would not have surprised moira to see one come softly out and stand amongst the living. she shook the feeling off, forcing herself to talk. eva was faintly included in the conversation at the other table. “oh, it is wonderful, your bridge,” said moira. “how you count cards, seem by some mysterious rules to see the leads. i have only played once. the afternoon,” she added contritely, nodding at mrs. vereker, came to see us, and i threw the cards over you.” "you were playing exceedingly noisily,” said that lady, in tones of ice. . “ when yo io 146 three girls and a hermit "oh, so would you if captain milton called you a juggins. you'd have thrown the pack at him yourself." major haviland's complexion appeared to suggest sudden apoplexy, and he fled for more tea. mrs. vereker's partner, general knox, said, "dearie, dearie me," very thoughtfully, and moira, not catching her hostess's eye, rattled on : "they went all over you, those cards. i was so sorry. it was nearly as bad as letting out your sheep. you know we seem fated to annoy mrs. vereker," she said, smiling. “you . . . do, . .. do,..." said mrs. vereker quickly. "in that, miss considine, i agree with you." a sprawling v in diamonds flashed among the laces at her throat; it caught moira's eye, striking that lost note of memory. mrs. vereker, with the light at her back, looked splendidly handsome. "i cannot think "-moira stared hard at her"where i have seen you-what you remind me of." "i have never seen you," said her hostess coldly. yet her eyes stared back at moira, wondering why the girl's bright face should rouse her to senseless, overwhelming dislike. "yet you remind me of something. you have from the first. you see, one would not forget you," said moira, with simple admiration-" no one could." "you think so?" a sudden gleam of feeling crossed the cold face. mrs. vereker bent over the cards. was she thinking, moira wondered, of the boy she had sent away? perhaps she would send for him now, and ask him to share the riches she had broken his life up for. returning a call 147 "oh, and i meant to ask you. do any of you remember the hermit-oliver tremayne, his name is?" mrs. vereker looked up sharply at the name -and again the v flashed. "he hunted here years and years ago, and wants to know about every one." general knox shook his head. "i remember noll" he said, and then stopped suddenly, looking at his hostess, who had faded into unconcern. "he's-oh-quite old," said moira. "tall and fair, and very quiet. he said he knew ballydare.” "i knew no oliver tremayne," said old knox, but he spoke slowly and with thought-" though i remember a fellow of that description." "shall we play again?" the cold mask was down again, and mrs. vereker's momentary emotion was gone. the butler, advancing noiselessly, crossed the dim room to his mistress's side. "the miss considines' car man has desired me to say that the roan horse won't wait another minute without smashing the car, madam," he said solemnly; "and one trace, he says, is only tied with string." moira bounded to her feet. "come, eva. goodbye, mrs. vereker; i have enjoyed myself watching the bridge, and we were so glad to have found you in." mrs. vereker's face, as she held out limp fingers, testified her appreciation of this kindly remark. eva shook hands silently, and the two went down the length of the handsome room, past gleaming statues into grey shadows, and out into the silent corridor. 148 three girls and a hermit "the most impossible, impertinent, overdressed young persons." mrs. vereker drew a long breath of wrath. "i" mrs. knox came over. "i think they look nice. perhaps they are only young and foolish. why judge so harshly, violet ?" mrs. vereker did not know. she could scarcely explain it to herself. something had shaken her from her cold composure, and she was burning with a dull heat of temper. a trampling of hoofs and crunching of gravel revealed the flighty presence of the roan at the door, a roar from his driver and a further trampling, and then a crash-that he had bolted. "oh, driver, driver, don't leave us here." the shrill wail of eva's voice drove in through an open window. "wore out he is from the cold," said james dunne's friend as he returned," and the fall of the cyar med jelly of agin one of thim sthone images. be damned to thim carved out things. 'tis knocked anyway, and i snapped the hand of it with the sthep before it went over." mrs. vereker stood up in helpless anger. the "image" which dunne's friend objected to was one of four, wrought by a master hand, which she had paid a large sum for. the bridge was broken up. mrs. knox moved to her husband's side, and stood at one of the windows with them. "that oliver she mentioned. he couldn't be, could he?" she jerked her head backwards. "i wonder," said old knox. "just what i wondered. i remember no other oliver." returning a call 149 " a subsequent silence was broken by the lashing of a whip, and many groans from the roan's owner, and further sounds of breaking. some four minutes later the butler returned. “the miss considines' horse, madam, is standing quite still at the door, and the driver suggests it is quite possible that he may remain there all night. thomas and henry are beating him hard, but without avail." there was a sudden scurry, a “ lor, a mussy” sent from a frightened english throat, and the roan departed, over the flower beds, into the gate, but still upon his homeward road, at a full gallop. the night was soft and cool, yet friendly after the chill of the verekers' house. the shadows of the hedges were not agleam with white statues ; live things, donkeys, and goats, fled from their furious progress. dim purple cloudlets shot across the sky; fingers against a carpet of pallid blue; the sob of coming rain moaned in the gentle wind. “eva, wasn't it magnificent ? magnificent ?" moira's busy brain was full of her match. “i think i should freeze to death if i lived there." said eva quietly. “freeze, or go mad among those marble people." “ one could alter all that, if one lived there," said moira, keeping her schemes to herself. there had been some callers to-day. biddy had what she called a deck of visitors' cards to show, two women and their husbands; several of the midshires ; a clergyman's card : they guiltily remembered they had not been to church. kathleen, enjoying herself in seclusion, had seen no one. she had worn old > ) 6 150 three girls and a hermit clothes, made cakes with biddy. "it was just like," said kathleen, "being at home again, with no fine clothes, and nothing but the lake and the hermit. oh, moira, he's written to you; here's a letter.” a bulky letter, written in a clear firm hand. moira opened it slowly. what had the hermit to say to her, and why did his letter seem to jar the chord of memory which connected her with mrs. vereker? she shook her head. the hermit had a great deal to say. he had apparently forgotten their last quarrel at the station. how were they? why didn't they write and tell him their news? it was lonely now at borrisdeane, and lake cottage looked well, but sad. moira must write to tell him how they got on, who had called, if they were having their wonderful time, and if they ever regretted the lake and the hills, and a foolish old hermit. if it failed, would she not let him know and let him help? who said there were no great events at borrisdeane? mrs. daly had gone to court to get paid for her injuries, standing up all the time because she said "sitting was still an impossibility. worn out the way from lyin' whiniver she'd want to sit, her health break from it, to say nuthin' of tom's health, for if, savin' yer presence, my lord, i turn off me side an' on to where i shouldn't, in my slape, i lets a schreech that lays terror on him. sure he has a thrimblin' in his legs from narvousness, the craythur, as the docthor can certify." further, that though tom's "thrimblin's" were due to much whisky, and though the court was convulsed, and the judge sent for feather pillows, mrs. daly got twenty pounds; and was seen half an hour afterwards driving home triumphantly, sitting firmly in the position which returning a call 151 . nature intends. his old setter was dead, went on the hermit: he missed her horribly. he wondered if ballydare had changed much—he knew it of old -or if the people he had known were still there : general knox, donough moroney, mr. willie o'brien, mrs. vereker. there was a blot on the page.. then he was, as ever, oliver tremayne. if she could have written a long tale of realised success, moira's answering letter might have been different; as it was, realising her need of pity, she resented its being offered. her ready pen scratched across the paper, telling a tale of glory. ballydare was lovely. they knew lots of people, were learning bridge, hoped there would soon be a dance. the hunting was too gloriously lovely. the star had jumped a huge drain the first day, and gog had gone faultlessly. they had never been so happy, and indeed—indeed, they did not regret dull old borrisdeane. mrs. vereker; moira's sense of humour triumphed over her desire for reserve. the episodes of their meetings with this county magnate were set forth in full ; "and don't forget to-day," said eva, as moira read her letter out. “how we stayed too long, and you suggested captain milton calling her a juggins, and how the poor fat major nearly had a fit." moira suddenly perceiving her misdeeds, grinned and wrote this down. she wrote of the cold dim house, of the marble statues, and the cold handsome woman who seemed marble herself amongst them-wrote without dreaming of the interest with which her letter would be read, of the saddened face which would bend over it. “i think she just hates us, and means to be horrid,” 152 three girls and a hermit finished up moira; "but if eva marries her silly son it will be all right, and he's quite in love with her now." eva had taken off her plumed hat and was shaking the feathers thoughtfully. somehow, she said, she did not think these hats were quite what one wanted here. "i felt to-day as i'd got a ball dress on to come to tea in," said eva disconsolately. "there's no doubt about it, moira, we are too fine." chapter ix a trip to the sea the he horses languished, unfit to hunt, in their stables, but life—if life spelt laughter and romping and the constant calling of the midshire regiment-descended upon the beeches. if the motors and carriages of the county did not wait at the gate, the little drawing-room was always full. there was bridge, acquired quickly enough to play for money and lose; there was diabolo to romp with outside; there were teas to be provided daily, so much so that old biddy, groaning, had to ask for help. one servant could not cope with the answering of doors and making of cakes. a maiden named mary kate, whose puffed hair and fly-away caps made biddy sniff with horror, now ushered in guests in correctest fashion, and witched patsy's heart until he almost neglected his horses. and money, as money will, melted. eva's gentle eyes pored over her account-book until she shut it with a snap of despair, and wrote cheques with a dogged recklessness. tea alone did not suffice for bridge--one must have whisky-and-soda, and cigarettes for men to smoke, until the square little 153 tire gir's and a hermit yn eva marries her silly son ir al cu be's quite in love with her 150 epizmed hat and was shaking the texts somehow, she said, she -3-1.5k divere quite what one wanted *** t 3 13 got a ball dress on to i e i.' so en escorsolately. “there's marić w:n, we are too fine.” chapter ix a trip to the sea the he horses languished, unfit to hunt, in their stables, but life—if life set laughter and romping and the constant caz, of the midshire regiment-descended upon the bretes, if the motors and carriages the cut 106 wait at the gate, the little crzx=314 was a vj: full. there was bridge, acquisce che sia; for money and lose; there rais, 2015 w:'1 outside; there were tras tirées, a 15, 11110k so that old biddy, eziz, ist, sic sr 182, one servant could not srev.16 cosusret sa doors and making of cakes. i narsa set of kate, whose puffed hair , 5 10 biddy sniff with horror, 1837 die 11 ** 11 correctest fashion, and years k.! he almost neglecter, mis ir and money, as tipy v 2. *** eyes pored over de 19tik se si with a snap of dessa vie, com dogged reckiests * 4ރިހި ކީ for bridge-01 1 2 vexl cigarettes in l. fl. e eat 154 three girls and a hermit was room was a blue haze—and then tea was not enough when the officers' wives, who were friendly, asked the girls to dine or supper : they felt they must ask in return. the bridge craze grew upon them, or at least upon moira and eva-kathleen too wrapped up in jim crow to think of anything elseso that they sat up until one in the morning poring over declarations and play, spoiling their freshness by late hours, and learning to smoke themselves, though they failed to like it. captain milton was a man who found a home at each station that he went to : the considines supplied the want at ballydare. he could do as he chose there—the familiarity accepted as smartness—and drink whisky-and-soda instead of tea without reproof. mr. cromartin, a boy with a bald forehead and a noisy manner, and one or two others, found the beeches equally comfortable. one could stay on to dine without the bother of changing, and be sure of something simple cooked by biddy's cunning old hands. beech cottage echoed to noisy, foolish laughter, echoes which slipped away beyond the boundary wall and did the newcomers little good. one or two people, too, who came to call, broke in upon a room hazy with smoke, littered with cards, with long tumblers standing where teacups ought to have been, and the overdressed foolish girls believing it was all smartness, and as it should be. they were taken out in the havilands' motor sometimes, learning the joys of flying fast along the quiet roads, as the car ate the miles before it. oh, it was life; and yet, when the noisy days were over, and aching heads ceased thinking of money lost a trip to the sea 155 by stupid mistakes, there was an inner voice which said to moira there was something wanting : something, part of quiet borrisdeane, which was better than all the feverish gaiety they lived through here. the people who did not come, the simpler people, who were not smart, were the friends they had been accustomed to. to be good form, perhaps, was not everything. dennis vereker, who came to see them more than once, was strangely quiet during the shouts of chaff and laughter. he used to talk to eva when bridge ceased with an abstracted look upon his red face, as if he wanted to say something and was afraid to, as if he knew that free-and-easy manners and the noise which to some natures passes for happiness was not meet for gentle eva considine. before hunting was possible, a spell of the sunshine which late october gives us sometimes brightened the world—white misty nights and glorious sun-lit days. with blue sheen overhead, turning all the leaves aglow, as though they were loth to leave, and the silver glint of spider-threads from every stem and flower. so warm, one could sit out as if it were late roses opened buds the cold kiss had chilled, polyanthuses poked up shy, stunted blooms; the old tobaccos and wallflowers in the tangled flower beds bloomed freely. moira, as she went about the neglected garden or walked upon the muddy roads, regretted the sea at borrisdeane. how clean and cold and blue it would be now, creaming in upon the shingle! what scrambles there had been in late october across the rocks and on the dry cliff path, with the hermit's long legs 156 three girls and a hermit a setting the pace; then back to tea with him at borrisdeane house, chattering and squabbling, or slipping on to the rare moments when, talking quietly, moira seemed to catch a glimpse of an unknown world. she yearned for the lost coast, and captain milton suddenly put forward a bright idea. there was sea-a little place called kildorewithin forty miles of ballydare. “we'll get the havilands to come along in their motor, and cromartin to fetch along his, and we'll run down to spend sunday there," said milton. “ it'll be rippin' fun. there's a hotel, homely, but quite comfortable, and we'll take our guns; the place is alive with duck and snipe. we'll have a stroll by the shore, too, you and i," added milton, with fatuous tenderness and a glance of undisguised admiration for moira, as she stood bare-headed in the clear autumn light fat mrs. haviland was swept away upon a floodtide of persuasion; her dubious views concerning the comfort of the seaside hotel were quite reassured by captain milton's statement that he knew a chap who knew another chap who had stayed there regularly for shooting, and who affirmed it to be a nest of homely comfort. so, having made up the party, they started on a glowing morning to run through a lonely, hilly country down eastwards towards the coast, and then by the dare, where it broadened to a mighty stream carrying great ships upon its back, with muddy banks glistening to pearl and silver in the sunshine, until they crossed it by a great bridge at a trip to the sea 157 glendalough, a dirty, busy town, and took the road to kildore. their drive was not fated to be without incident. the untimely slaying of a hen, and the subsequent argument as to its value, caused the first delay ; a puncture to major haviland's car the next; the third and longest due to mr. cromartin's, an apparent breakage of machinery which occasioned muddy investigation to unseen parts, the emerging of grunting and dissatisfied men, and the final discovery that cromartin, who was inexperienced, had merely forgotten to turn on the oil tap. they had intended to reach kildore for lunch and spend the afternoon by the sea, but it was late afternoon, and they were exceedingly hungry, as they passed through the busy shipping town. for a time they could see the dare, broadening to a great sheet of water; brown sea-weed fringing its mud-banks now, jutting rocks poking up dark noses, rough sides playing at looking like cliffs ; then it was hidden from them, not to be seen again until it was a river no longer, but salt as the waters it met, heaving, between great cliffs at kildore. their road rose steeply, testing the motors' hill climbing, then dipped more steeply still, down a stony road to the sea. high banks covered with golden-hued, dying osmundi, bordered the way; ; fuchsias still flaunted a few gaudy heads, poking scarlet tassels out among a tangle of brambles the sky was barred with long masses of ambertinted clouds; the horizon was a lake of smooth grey, dotted with little islands of a deeper shade. hills, 158 three girls and a hermit " ragged-topped, their sides fluffy with gorse, rimmed the harbour about. as they drove down slowly, the waters changed colour ; flushed to amber, dulled to green; then suddenly lay grey and still beneath a cold sky as the glow faded from the west. it was a peaceful little spot, houses clinging to the base of the hills just where they fell away in sharp cliffs to the calm sea. a few fishing boats and a couple of small yachts rocked softly to the gentle swell. it seemed rest impersonified, a spot almost offended by the motors, as, with their trail of petrol smell, they hooted children and hens from their path. "i hope," said mrs. haviland, "that everything is ready. i trust, captain milton, that you ordered everything in your letter.” milton assumed the worried look which denotes guilt, and his reply was confused; it seemed inhuman then to confess that he had quite forgotten to write. “they'll sure to have everything," he said dubiously. “ here we are." the hotel was of imposing frontage-two-storied, amid the cluster of cottages, and with garden seats on either side of the door. two girls of attractive appearance were flirting at the door of the bar, and a slatternly elderly woman banging some dough in her hands strayed out as they pulled up. their demands seemed to distress her greatly : she put the dough on a garden seat, and then in her distress sat upon it. “tea she could give, and rooms; yes, there were rooms, but so large a party!" a trip to the sea 159 the cars, mrs. haviland turned sternly upon milton, “the truth of the matter is, you never wrote at all," she said angrily. captain milton's explanation of his servant having forgotten to post the letter was received with cold disbelief. the attractive young women were with difficulty induced to come to their mother's aid. one now badly in need of repair, were housed in a shed, and they went in. a dive into the gloomy passage revealed the fact that, as a rotten boat fresh painted, all that was best was outside. the sitting-room they were ushered into was furnished with fossilised chairs and a musty smell. one opened the door to let that out and a reek of porter and bad whisky drove in with the solidity of a blow, wrestled with the odour of damp, and, finding it too strong to beat, took its hand and plunged united down unwilling nostrils. a fire, which smoked, dispelled some of the mouldiness, and hot tea brought comfort; but captain milton, who had described the “ kildore arms" as a nest of humble comfort, looked uneasy. the motors had come slowly, and it was too late and cold now to take the walk by the sea which they had agreed upon, and which had sounded so tempting as they discussed it in the morning sunlight. mrs. haviland, having adjusted her plump person in the least abominable chair, said it was curiously uncomfortable. cromartin, who had been to examine his bedroom, made gloomy remarks concerning keating's powder; while his terrier, which had accompanied him, scratched itself furiously in corroboration. 160 three girls and a hermit > " “ it's not even like the sea.” moira peered at the quiet waters, lapping softly against the steep of the rocks; the tide was in. you should see our coast at borrisdeane, with the breakers roaring up over the shingle, and the great waves upon the cliffs." she sat upon a hard chair and scraped the butter from her toast with a soured expression. milton, who had counted upon a party of gaiety and airtation, stroked his moustache sulkily. "we'll “ have a jolly day to-morrow,” he declared, whipping himself to enthusiasm. “a sail if any one likes it ; bags of game." cromartin, lifting up his dog, remarked unkindly that even the night would not be devoid of killing. “the dog's black with them," he said indignantly, and whirled forth into the evening to look for a chemist. mrs. haviland squeaked, and nothing but the indisposition of one of the motors prevented her starting homewards. she had, she said pathetically, a tender skin. a suggestion of bridge met with immediate favour, until milton, after a feverish search through his things, found he had forgotten the cards. the party looked at each other through the smoke and felt they would like to say what they wanted to. the maid-of-all-work, mary maria, a high-cheeked, raw-boned young woman with engrimed hands and several holes in her bodice, put her wits to work. there was surely a pack in the bar, though it might be a bit tossed, and she'd send up to father a trip to the sea 161 clancy's, for it so happened that she knew he played spoil five. they might get one from him. mary maria returned proudly, bearing the cards from below, bethumbed, porter tainted ; almost indecipherable horrors, which left a trail upon the fingers that-as cromartin, who had returned gloomily without any keating, said-you could run a drag on. the priest's, coming later, had a merely cleanly whiff of whisky and tobacco, and were gladly played with. but to be happy at the kildore hotel required iron resolution. dinner, which was partaken of at a long and dirty table, consisted of an over-kept and straggling chicken, and a roast leg of athletic mutton. it was flung at you by mary maria, with under-boiled potatoes on a plate and tinned peas in a sauce boat. the plates were not innocent of their last visit to the same table ; there were hideous suspicions that some one had eaten eggs for breakfast, or rice-pudding for lunch. one other guest, a red-faced commercial traveller, shared the meal-a man with a blunt nose and one of those moustaches which lead you to believe that a man has got hold of a hayfork above his mouth. altogether it was a dreary evening, enlivened as it could be by whisky-tainted cards and the happy prophecies of milton as to all the snipe he would shoot upon the morrow. from his account it seemed well that he did not shoot often, or the birds would suffer extermination at his hands. haviland, who eyed him mildly, said little, only once remarking sadly that he wished he as far ii 162 three girls and a hermit could manage to bring down three with a right and left, and still have another to kill a stray bird that flew over. " it was fine shooting,” said major haviland thoughtfully. “you were a bit off that time, milton, when we shot cromfort last year." milton said he had a beastly gun that day, and also a sprained wrist, and haviland nodded as if satisfied “he never goes to a shoot,” he said—" to give all us duffers a chance, i suppose. that was the only day you went last year, milton." cromartin remarked that milton shot best when he shot alone, and milton looked from one to the other with open suspicion, quelled by their guileless faces; and moira, who could aim straight herself, clasped her hands with enthusiasm. even the hermit, whose brilliant shooting was the admiration of borrisdeane, missed occasionally. with bated breath she asked if captain milton had ever done so. milton, with the tail of his eye upon major haviland's face, said “of course he had. once when he had fired from a dog. cart, going fast, he had only winged his bird, and againbut here major haviland upset the coal bucket, saying, “for god's sake let's go to bed," and the tale of the second miss remained untold. it was a lively night, with no lack of tiny guests in the uncleanly beds. mary maria, taxed with the fact in the morning, said it must be the brothers' school that was there last week, for up to that she never saw but three. it would appear she had counted ( a trip to the sea 163 )) them carefully. eva and moira woke unrefreshed, to clamour for baths, and be informed that there were but two in the house-one already adopted by the havilands, with reversion to mr. cromartin; the other, now in the room of captain milton, just across the passage. the soft sea-air poured through the open windows, the lap of the waters awoke memories of borrisdeane, the two yearned to be up and out in the now brilliant sunlight. mary maria, summoned , again and again, bore inquiry patiently, but was apparently too shy to hurry milton over his dressing. james, the boots, is away to mass,” she said, “an' sure i couldn't be inthrudin' on the gentleman. but in a minnit, miss, in a minnit." the morning called invitingly, and mary maria came not ; further peals on the bell were unanswered, so that moira, her pretty hair all tumbled, went to the door to call. “for i'm sure i heard her coming up," she said to eva. "poor thing; i think i'll have to tell him to hurry myself as she's too shy, perhaps, to knock." moira had undoubtedly heard mary maria come up-in fact, on opening the door she saw that timid damsel upon her knees, her eye fast glued to the keyhole of the opposite door. a huge pail of hot water steamed by her side. she turned unabashed and smiling, raising her hand for silence, and affixed her eye afresh ere she answered. “ i'll have the bath for ye in no time now," she whispered joyously. "in a minnit-one minnit, the captain is jusht stheppin' out of it ! ” the sudden yell of moira's laughter made her step to her feet with a surprised expression. c 164 three girls and a hermit 1 “ wasn't i watching for ye for tin minnits before i could tell him to put it out to me?" said mary maria proudly, as she entered with a flat and rusty bath. “ i hadn't the face, d'ye see, to hurry him.” captain milton, arriving at breakfast in harris tweeds of startling hues, was anxious to know what amused them, and was surprised by a further burst of apparently foolish merriment; for moira had told mrs. haviland, and she, being a good wife, had told her husband. mary maria, ignorant of having helped to amuse, gave them a bad breakfast pleasantly. it was a glorious morning; the sea shone in the sunlight, dimpled and sparkled as a woman a before her lover, till its surface was a glitter of light. kildore is really a lovely little spot, worth visiting if some better landlady took the hotel. to the east a long low range of hills run out until their low points nose into the water. there, at the point, the great tradesman time had used his hatchet, cutting a slice from the land's end, so that the waters passed through leaving a tiny rocky island. the cliffs about the bay are wreathed with trailing ivy, crowned by gorse, and, in summer, grey with sea-pinks and the gold of the gorse blossoms; the brown weed on the slabs of bared rock hung limply, threshing the water as it rippled up to them. as they sat out on the low wall the people went by. mary maria, a shawl about her frowzy hair, drove off to leap, a smile on her red face. one forgot the discomfort of the hotel as the soft voices a trip to the sea 165 of the country people whined in tune to the peace of the day, and one looked across the quiet waters to the far shore. moira strayed away along the cliffs, looking down at the narrow reaches of pebble bared by the fallen tide. there were no bays or golden sand here, no long shore with its fringe of tumbling, crested waves; the waters ran deep into shore, cold and still, with just a heave in their green-hued depths. “charming, isn't it?” milton had followed moira. there was no real love of the peaceful beauty in his voice ; his manner, in fact, suggested that it was only pretty because he had suggested coming there, and he was therefore disposed to take credit for each hue of land and water. " it is lovely,” said moira quietly. “a tame sea, chained and gentle, but very pretty to look at. you should see our shore, all froth and breakers and tumble. see -" she stopped abruptly; to speak of borrisdeane reminded her of the hermit. he would have known how to admire this quiet little place. milton pointed out the way they would drive to the snipe marshes; and moira, forgetting him and blushing softly, dreamt of the sea beneath her. milton did not miss the blush; he appreciated it thoroughly. so pretty a girl, ripping good fun; a jolly house to spend one's time at; but lancelot milton assessed his matrimonial value highly. when he parted with liberty it must be in return for a large yearly income. pretty faces paid no household bills. then, observing that moira was inattentive, he remonstrated in hurt tones. 166 three girls and a hermit “ the sea makes one think.” she flung some pebbles into the still depths. “ it makes me wonder if i shall ever see borrisdeane again, or if, when i do see it, i shall ever leave it." “you mean to go back, then ?” milton asked. “oh yes. we always meant to; but then we hoped the horses would have been a greater success. of course, they may be still. i'm afraid i want to see the world.” " but you are sure to,” said milton. “ you'll marry." eva will. then kathleen and i will be aloneand very poor." moira was wrapped in a cloud of reflection, but milton's tone, as he suggested returning to the village, was remote and nervous. he did not like the trend of the conversation. dispassionately, and with a curious face, she stared at milton, his smart tweeds, with his thin, sleek hair, his fat and self-satisfied face. was this attention which he paid her what was called love ? if he asked her, could she do anything but say yes? a fine shot, a good rider : the hermit could not laugh at her then. " come along,” she said, blushing hotly now. there was business on foot when they got back. marshes and treacherous bogs spread about a lake beyond the hills. martin cronin, the landlady's son, was to guide them to the home of snipe and duck. he was ready now, and observed, as he scanned milton's suit, that "'twould be better to darken that gintleman with a taste of mud before they loosed him out." » a trip to the sea 167 moira followed on a car, to see the country and the bog. now, there are a great many snipe and some duck about the brown-hued loch granagh, and there were distinctly fewer when two of the men had splashed and squelched and wriggled through breast-high yellowing reed in and out of bog and drains, their eyes ready for the birds which flashed from covert. the third man, as moira came up, was standing alone behind a rock, fidgeting with the lock of his gun. “the hanged thing is out of order," he burst out “ the barrel's bent, and the trigger action is all hampered. i tried a couple of shots once and missed, so i came out to see if i could do anything. it's beastly cold.” moira crouched behind the rock, and took the gun from him. she slid and examined. she could see nothing wrong ; the swish, swish of the reeds told the others were working close. milton's cartridge case was by his side, and he was lighting a pipe. she slipped two cartridges in and peered round the rock, smiling she did so. a little brown body winged swiftly past, moira fired, and the snipe's life was over. may the devil roast me if he hasn't one hit," cried the voice of martin cronin, from an ambush of reeds. martin's brown dog, whose great-grandfather might have been a retriever, came slipping out, fetching the snipe tenderly. milton's face grew pink with wrath; he snatched the gun back with ill-humour. as » 168 three girls and a hermit “ you might have hurt yourself horribly," he said. moira looked at him, she looked at martin cassidy, at the two drenched, muddy men who had finished their shoot, and she said nothing. her faith in this paragon was somehow waning dim. “he to miss two on to his barrel, and hit that one, said the voice of martin, cruelly clear now. major haviland, laden with little dead feathered things, said he thought they would go home. his expression, as he looked at his captain, was not thoughtful, because he had known beforehand. it was, in fact, crystally transparent. “that was a nice shot of yours, miss considine," he said quietly—he had seen her fire—"especially with a broken gun." “i mended it,” said milton haughtily, "as i waited here." major haviland said something to himself about its being a good thing to be a locksmith if one wasn't a shot, and wound up his car. there was nothing more to be said. they did not stay a second night at kildore, but left it in the grey dusk. the harbour lay very still, a single light starring the gloom of the bay. velvet in the dusk, the hills stole to the water's edge, peace reigned upon the little place, and as they raced away between the steep banks, they knew they would like to return. it was mr. cromartin who suggested in his gentle way that they should all return, and milton, as a trip to the sea 169 the keenest sportsman, sleep there for another night. "and why?" said that gentleman, plainly aggrieved. "because you'd be sure of a bag," said cromartin, pulling a lever sharply. chapter x c l e n n e l f o r d whe chen gog's legs returned to their normal appearance of badly turned bedposts, and the star was induced to pick delicately at some oats, there were hopes of another hunt. the meet was at clennelford, some eight miles away, in a hilly, stone-wall country. it was a long way to ride out, so the temptations of james dunne, who again suggested their hiring the roan horse, were irresistible. patsy, "hopin' to god almighty he wouldn't be kilt,” went forth on gog, with the star kicking wildly at one side and jim crow, jogging like an angel, at the other. the roan horse stopped for five minutes at the door, and then fled at so merry a pace before the whip that they speedily overtook patsy, pulled up and looking as if the world was too much for him, while captain milton, standing on the road beside his horse, groaned as he nursed an injured knee. she struck me fair as i rode past, the brute," he explained. “faix, turned round an' got the back of her 170 clennelford 171 eye on him, that she might sthrike him fair," said patsy sourly. “ an' i bawlin' to him to wait till i'd cross the road an' push her agin the bank. the divil is in that one's heart, miss moira.” captain milton remarked with asperity he thought the gentleman mentioned was in her heels; and as a fellow-soldier, who offered to lead his horse, came past, he accepted a proffered seat on the car. the roan horse started without protest, but proceeded in an uneasy, bumping manner, holding himself in readiness to upset them when he could. he might have forgotten his intention had not a passing motor, as they neared the meet, supplied the opportunity. the roan then bolted with a snort, tearing past traps and led horses, while the girls, unsoothed by the remark of dunne's friend "that the horse 'ud sthop whin he was tired,” shrieked aloud. it was in truth a passage perilous, as they whirled down clennelford village at a fiery gallop, with the cart pitching like a small steamer. they sped with a clang of catching metal past a motor-car, grazed a dogcart, and all but upset a donkey trap. moira's feet were swung high in terror ; she scrambled for the well, shrieking, while captain milton, whose manhood required that he should not show his fear, held her tightly round the waist and shouted encouragement. it was not a dignified arrival, and, as the roan horse stopped suddenly, the onlookers' faces might have told the considines it had not furthered them in the eyes of the county. moira's hat was off; she 172 three girls and a hermit ) still clung to captain milton, who, on his part, still embraced her warmly. “the schamer !” said dunne's friend. “ but it might be worse. except the bit he tore from the mothor beyant ”—he looked back pleasantly—“he has no harm done.” it was of course the verekers' car. before they looked they knew they would see mrs. vereker's stony eyes gaze at the long seam in her car's body. " it's fate,” said eva weakly, as she got down. the master's sad little face grew gloomier as he observed moira being hoisted on to the star. "that grey mare has a leg as long as a jew creditor's memory," he said uneasily. the other ballydare people looked at the noisy group and shook their heads; they did not want this kind of thing. these three girls were far toc good to look at to come swooping into a county where maidens were many and men were few. dennis vereker had been seen already to pay eva attention, and had dragged his unwilling mother to call. she had tumbled into some disgraceful scene-tumblers thrown about and whisky splashed all over her, or something like that. mrs. vereker's icy bow was in itself isolating. there is nothing realised more quickly by sensitive people than unpopularity. with cheeks which grew pink, with heads held high, the considines realised that the aloofness of the first day had been no accident; that ballydare meant to have none of them. old knox said “ goodmorning" kindly, but showed no intention of introclennelford 173 ducing them to his wife ; other men came up and talked ; the women, many of them doubtfully as they looked at the pretty young faces, kept away. there were no lack of people to talk to though, for the midshire regiment gathered about them in force, and because they were unhappy the girls talked over-loudly, chaffed over-brightly, were in every way the good fun they were intended to be. “dull old things!” moira's ready tongue flashed remark upon the county women, picking out differences in their looks, with a sharpness she felt to be hateful. there was nothing to do but to ride past with a crowd of men, to laugh as if she had never been so merry, while all the time her eyes were smarting and her heart aching, and she wanted some one to help and advise her; wanted—the thought amazed her suddenly-the hermit. his sad, blue — eyes would have seen her through the difficulty, his quiet voice have directed her what to do; for moira was forced to allow to herself that this was not at all what she had intended it to be. the faint welcome they had been accorded was not the triumphal progress which she had pictured. she knew there was to be a dance at ballyclough in a week's time, to which they were not asked, a big afternoon at knock castle, and a hockey match at kilavon. there were tears in moira's eyes as she flashed back over-smart answers to milton's clumsy badinage, and felt that she welcomed his attentions. he pointed out the country to her, telling her of last year's runs from this particular gorse, and how gallantly he, lancelot milton, had ridden them. 174 three girls and a hermit once, early in the year, a fox had crossed the valley to dirk hills, ten miles away ; they had found late, and run until it was too dark to see the fences on the heathery slopes of the hill. people had been left that evening, but he-he pointed to a cottage on the slope -had jumped a huge coped wall there and got slap off with them. "it was a fizzer, i tell you. a hunt to dream of," said milton, seeing moira's eyes widen in admiration. another memorable day they had run left-handed off the hill, got away from the stone-wall country and crossed the brown bog they could see in the lowlands. it appeared that there were huge drains there, and one in particular about eighteen feet wide, which his good horse had cleared without a scramble. moira's eyes grew brighter; it was an honour to talk to this flyer of the hunt. she thought she would try to follow him if they got away. dennis vereker's pleasant red face drifted towards them; he was clearly looking for eva. “remember the big hunt to dirk from here, milton ?" he said. “not many of us got through that.” milton said people could not see in the dark, but he did not seem to want to talk any more about the hunt. moroney, my mother, knox, and hamilton were alone with them when they were whipped off," went on dennis, oblivious of other topics. “oh, then you didn't get to the hill,” said moira, looking at milton, who had given her to understand otherwise. clennelford 175 “ milton ! he never got off the hill here," said dennis, with brutal candour. “he got about the same start as i did.” “oh!" said moira, while captain milton murmured something concerning bad memories in a peevish voice. the star was not kicking so often to-day, though, if moira had known, she was far more dangerous, for the mare abandoned mere lashes into the brown, and took to diving at an unwary follower with a deadly precision. hounds were thrown into a patch of gorse on bare hillside ; rolling hills all round, fenced with loose stone walls. it was the country which the hermit had spoken of, and moira's spirits rose. the star could jump stone walls. the close gorse crackled as the hounds waded through ; sterns, some tipped with blood, waved in barer places, at times a lean head rose as a hound leaped. a whimper sounded. he was there, lying close in some thick corner. there was no covert to dwell in, and a moment later he broke, a small, light-coloured fox, slipping away down the hill, and ere he was a field away moroney had his hounds out. there was no waiting at ballydare : to kill a fox you must press him. but “smell,” the mysterious, failed them to-day. there was no driving on a red-hot scent, as there had been through the bog. short time as their fox had been gone, they could only hunt in snatches, racing for a moment, pulling up as hounds diverted, and always with wild yells from some neighbouring slope as the countrymen viewed him. for he was a ringing and soon a tired little fox, twisting up and down until 176 three girls and a hermit a he sought shelter in every hedge, without spirit to dash away for some distant covert. there was nothing to jump but the loose stone walls and an occasional single bank. it was the star's day. with her head up, she flew the highest spots, tucking up her long legs like a deer. nothing mattered to moira as they cleared one stiffer than the rest, while more careful people wrestled with a gate. the cheque began to appear once more, the hope of selling the grey to become a certainty. the girl's cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled, she was a very pretty thing in her startling habit as she sat down to the rocketing springs, and felt that, after all, her mare was a treasure. it suited eva also, for there were many gaps to walk through, and constant checks to give the big horse time. dennis vereker, one wary eye upon his mother, also managed to be far behind, and to take eva by short ways which she would never have thought of. and through it, as they circled and galloped and checked, moira was surprised not to see captain milton thrusting ahead. instead she saw him more than once taking his turn at gaps with a strange and unambitious meekness. the explanation was forced upon her at one of the many checks. “ rotten hunt! he was saving his horse for the evening." they galloped on slowly, up one hill, down another, with the yells in front growing in volume. come ye! come on! he was dead beat here, an' the tail thrailing on him. come on, misther moroney, an' kill him. huroo! woo!”—the wild, on, let ) clennelford 177 eerie irish yells rising shrilly in their longing for a kill. sportsmen to the heart's core, if no paid patriots were there to turn their childish minds to thoughts of resentment against the huntsmen who pound across their land. “ begor, ye have him nearly cot.” a man came flying to open a gate. "he's but two minutes up the hedge . here, and he's lookin' for a rat-hole. make on, let ye, with yer dogs!” and the said dogs were at fault. moroney mildly pointed out the difficulty of hurrying. the man remarked with contempt that "they were no use for smhellin', and wasn't there some one schreechin' now beyant? begor, ye'll nivir kill him if ye delay,” he added sourly, as they hit it off and galloped on. the hill they now crossed was fenced with high bramble-grown banks, and the star found life more trying, but the ditches were fortunately narrow, so that she did not come to grief. she was, however, tiring rapidly. " it's lovely. oh, too lovely.” kathleen's eager cry to her sister came to the master's ears, and he absolutely smiled. he had heard mrs. vereker's stories; his hounds had been kicked by the star ; but his heart warmed to a lover of hunting. if he had a wife he would have sent her to call. as it was, he said something sadly pleasant, as he rode past, about the star's wall jumping, and sent moira's spirits to fever point. at the very next fence, mrs. knox came down and moira caught her horse. they were away from the rest of the field. the thin 12 178 three girls and a hermit > lady smiled at the deed, and decided to be civil. clearly this was a day of good fortune. she would come to call. she rode on, listening to moira's prattle with an indulgent smile. meantime, the rings grew smaller, and they were very near a beaten fox; dead tired, he crawled before them, listening to the yap, yap, but two fields behind, and then he saved himself. a marsh lay at the hill's base; cobalt and golden brown, brilliant blue waters aripple against a mesh of coarse grasses and reeds. in its midst rose a little island, and there he found shelter. countrymen dancing on the brink had seen him cross, shrill voices urged the pack to follow. "go on, let ye. cess, cess, he's beyant. arrah, , swhim it over, ye divils.” it was a pretty sight in the sunlight, as hounds splashed and swam on the verge, while the master swore softly. the faint scent had vanished here on the cold bog. there was absolutely nothing to be done, for a wide stretch of deep waters guarded the tiny island, and after some seasonable suggestions advising collapsible boats instead of terriers, they had to leave him “ an' he scharce able to swim," observed the local postman, who had been throwing stones across, with some vague idea that the hounds might go out and fetch them. “ould duck at home'd be better for thim," he added contemptuously. “ if i threw a rock for her, she wouldn't be long, i tell ye." a dark cloud was creeping upwards as they jogged to the next draw; rain coming swiftly over the river. they had just found when it fell ; no ordinary clennelford 179 . shower, but straight and heavy, and tropical in its violence, and with sting of melted hail in its chill touch. the hillside, the square covert, were blotted out; horses were huddled against the green hedges, with some delusive idea of gaining shelter. as they stood in the cold dimness, drenched and wretched, the dirk hills were shadow-flecked, still golden in patches beneath the sun, and the tableland between lay fair and green, a perfect hunting country. what scent there had been was washed away; even hounds faltered, unable to face the storm of pitiless waters. minds detached themselves from fox-hunting, turned swiftly to the glow of firesides ; the comfort of hot water, of steaming tea and buttered toast. horse after horse was slipped away off the hill. moira and eva, standing talking to dennis vereker, yearned for the car and for a shelter, “the road was close by," he told them. his eyes grew sad, for he knew that his house was just beyond it, and that he dared not ask them in. “ you live down there, don't you ?" asked moira. “you will soon be dry." the much-crushed will of denis vereker wriggled and almost stood up. he murmured something incoherent about their being too wet to ask in, and his eyes dwelt upon eva, pretty still, though a stream of water trickled down her face, and her fair hair was drenched. there moments when dennis regretted his habit of serfdomn, and this was one of them. he was as much in love as he dared to be. “1” he raised his head, his red face shining in the rain. “i" were 180 three girls and a hermit “ dennis,” said a voice from the other side of the hedge. “ have you seen dennis ? i want him to come home at once. he had a slight cold this morning dennis !" the clear, hard voice rose to a call. "i think i suppose i had better go." dennis looked at the gap in the hedge—and eva knew he was counting his chances of reaching it before his mother knew who he was talking to. “ yes, i certainly think so," she said drily, and something in her eyes made that long crushed will power wriggle again, this time with a wrench of pain. he rode away quickly, and eva, looking down at her dripping gloves, hummed a tune. it was an air she had often heard two years ago upon the lake at borrisdeane. “glory to the men of old," and to her too came a quick tinge of pain. “ how on earth can you sing songs in the deluge !” said moira wrathfully. "you might be a lorry." eva presumed thoughtfully that she meant a lorelei, and they galloped to find the car. patsy's fears were not heeded now; the horses were so dejected that he led them without difficulty, and even the roan forebore to stop when asked to start. james dunne's friend, who smelt fierily of whisky, and who said huskily " that if he closed his eyes he'd think the dare was rollin' over him," took advantage of this strange gentleness to beat the roan to a canter and keep him at it until they swung on one wheel through the gates at the beeches. here he demanded still more whisky, and was sent away in a somnolent state, » clennelford 181 with james dunne, who promised to return "whin he had the crayther at home;" driving. biddy declared she would rather peel eggs than undo their habits, and pitied them sorely. and old dunne, who returned, quickly made boiling hot tea to comfort and warm them. chapter xi theatre-going it t was moira who suggested going to the theatre. with eyes which sparkled with excitement, she read in the ballydare moderator that mr. seploy and full company were about to play nightly in the town hall. now, moira had read of footlights and powder and patches. she had even had her dream (as almost every girl has) of acting herself; coming, a vision of beauty, in a setting of painted canvas, and holding great london audiences spellbound. but she had seen nothing “we must go, eva"—she waved the newspaper, sweeping her sisters with her in her usual impetuous way. “we must make up a party and go. wear your pale blue (you've not had it on yet), and i my cream, and kathleen" kathleen said she was going out to a far meet, on a horse of malone's. she would be too tired to hunt. mr. stanley and mr. leeds were driving her there. there was no kindly voice to warn the considines that people might raise eyebrows at this method of accepting lifts. “well; we'll go, then. milly will come”-they you can » 182 theatre going 183 used the regimental nickname in private, and moira mentally determined to ask dennis vereker. she met him in the town that morning, waiting in the motor for his mother, and propounded the idea. " have you got any idea of what it's like?" he said dubiously. moira feverishly declared that it was a magnificent company, coming straight from london to act irish plays. lots of people would go. they were longing to, and it would be fun. her match-making mind thought of eva in the flimsy blue chiffon, with a large bow at the back, to hide where the borrisdeane dressmaker had pulled the bodice crooked. dennis knew that on various widely distant occasions ballydare did go to the town hall, and he thought this might be one of them. with a weak protest he promised, and promptly lost himself in the invention necessary to lull his mother's suspicions. dennis at bridge in barracks was fairly safe, and had served before on other occasions ; so he was ready before the coldly handsome presence, wrapped in furs, descended upon him. “dining in barracks. with whom?" mrs. vereker queried sharply. she could not penetrate behind those gloomy, grey walls, and the fear of an after adjournment to the considines was upon her. dennis shaved a donkey-cart with some skill. his brain was not a ready one; he wanted time. as the terrified driver of the ass adjusted herself, and prayed to the virgin to "blight thim mothors," dennis's thoughts were ready. “with cromartin," he said ; and then groaned, >) 184 three girls and a hermit 1 seeing that tall youth in uniform, a bank book in his hand, lounging down the narrow street. that he should hail them, and inquire if he would meet them to-night at the havilands', seemed just what dennis had expected. “when you'd asked me to dine with you?" said dennis unhappily, with contortions of his nose and eyes which made mrs. mahony, glancing from her shop, spread the tale that “misther dennis had the st. vitus got.” cromartin, observing these signs, remembered his hospitality with feverish haste; but dennis's invention had nearly played him false. he dined, instead, at the beeches, and wondere why soup, and roast ducks, and snipe, with ma kate waiting spasmodically in the intervals of talking to patsy), was so much a nicer dinner than the long, gloomy feasts in the great dining-room at knock castle, with footmen to anticipate each want, and wines for every course. the silence ate into one's appetite, there; the marble men and women seemed to watch and grudge. his voice, as he answered his mother, echoed into the corners, until he was glad when there was no answer to make he could eat in silence. eva, in the blue chiffon, was pretty enough to witch a stronger-natured man; there was no captain milton to change the merriment to doubtful chaff, and throw bread at bared arms and necks; and dennis, whose life knew little peace, felt it fall upon him and wrap him about as a warm cloak wraps chilled shoulders. there was no necessity to lie; no need to form and frame the constant excuses which were always upon his lips. and theatre-going 185 yet, as he watched eva, and felt the little spirit left in him quicken to her glance, some instinct seemed to whisper that his chains were stronger than his desire; that the bride who would come with him to knock castle would never be of his choosing thus his weak nature, abandoning thought, was content to be happy, until moira, watching, felt that all was as it should be, and she would soon write to the hermit, telling him of her great success; eva, reigning at the big, quiet house; eva, with diamonds in her pretty hair, with horses and motor-cars, and weak, pleasant dennis vereker as a husband. of eva's own ideas on the subject moira did not think at all. they drove down in the motor. dennis, who had only been to charity entertainments, saw nothing unusual in their evening dresses; but captain milton, who was waiting sourly on the doorsteps, glanced at them with dismay, announcing that not a decent soul had gone in, and he was afraid they would be stared at. better keep on their wraps. but bared necks and rustling frills were not joys to be lightly forgone. the girls took off their coats, and sat down amid an audience which smelt lightly of porter, and heavily of tobacco and many other things. the little stuffy hall, with a dingy curtain drawn across a narrow stage, was not moira's idea of a theatre. she looked about in unveiled disappointment, while the muttered remarks of her neighbours drifted to her ears. "queer ones, the quality.” this from a young woman in a pink flannel blouse and a green hat. 186 three girls and a hermit 66 » were “wouldn't you be ashamed now, misther magee, to come bare like that ?" mr. magee, a stalwart and dirty youth, observed that indeed and he would. “ just a whirl of chiffong for a sleeve," a whisper from another maiden. “my dear, but i'd be cowld in it meself, danny." danny, who was apparently a theatre goer, said he'd seen the quality stripped before. “'twas the only way they'd listen to a play,” he explained. “ he'd seen thim here when the gentlefolk acted a play, here, and away in dublin, where they'd dazzle ye round in the boxes." all these remarks too clearly audible. captain milton stared round haughtily, with the furious expression of the man who does not know how to carry out his fury, and dennis vereker, perceiving they ought never to have come, grew crimson and unhappy. they were a mark for every glance among the soberly dressed crowd, and he clearly caught the eye of their steward, who was away for the night. the play was “the shaughraun," and the house was crowded ; crowded, curiously enough, with a great many priests, and men who bent to whisper to them, as though some plot was on foot. now, it so happened that the same company, playing at ballydare a year before, had deeply offended some of the more religious people there by their reading of the piece. english people are over-apt to burlesque the irish; the catholic church was up in arms at what they deemed mockery of their profession, and were there that night to protest, if certain > theatre-going 187 things were acted in the same way again. the little party from the beeches had unwittingly lighted on an unfortunate evening for their outing, and the curtain rose at last, and the famous drama was played on. despite the drawbacks of her surroundings; despite the hopeless task of english people trying to master the irish accent; despite the vulgarity which they undoubtedly introduced; moira followed it all with shining eyes and bated breath, and a complete lack of attention to her companion, who whispered sneering comments in her ear. "play!" he laughed aloud as the curtain came down. "call that a play! i really believe you looked at it, miss moira." moira, unashamed, said she had. "play! if i could take you to london, to a show at the gaiety! dresses an' songs an' dances an' connie ediss an' payne an' grossmith. that's a play, if you like. none of your hang-talkey talk, but something to laugh at all along, and people you know of to look at." the criticism aptly represented milton's view of life, but moira was lost in its dazzle. she had read of great names, and quoted them now glibly. tree, wyndham, bouchier. if she could but see some of those. "tree?" milton shrugged his shoulders. "oh, if you come to a play with me it'll be to something worth seeing. tree's all right-not that i ever saw him-but he acts shakespeare, rotten old stuff, all about nothing. no, thanks. oh, here's the show on again." 188 three girls and a hermit 6 there had been a whispering among the blackcoated listeners ; a working up, as it were, to some course of action. looks of protest, pointings, hands waved in indignation, and one man, a fat and baldheaded tradesman, was called upon and shoved forward, moving his lips as though rehearsing a speech. the remarks were plainly audible, and dennis listened uneasily. “that's mccann," watching a young priest whisper in the ear of a red-headed man ; "and that old fellow he's talking to is conolly the draper. i wonder what's up, or what's annoying them! they're fair fire-brands, both of 'em." “a gross travesty. i tell ye 'tis that same on our race an' ways.” conolly the draper had a rolling voice. “oh, i'll sphake, yer reverence. i will indeed." he stopped as a cracked bell rang behind the scenes, the curtain was dragged up in jerks, and a grimy hand turned down the footlights one by one. the old play proceeded to the well-known scene of the wake; with con lying dead, and the actors about him doubling their efforts to be merry and make people laugh. it was undoubtedly a burlesque upon the irish customs, but it held the greater portion of the house. father dolan, a thin man with a distinct cockney accent, drew down laughter as he drank whisky from a teapot, and winked out that he did not know it, for "tay." the lady in the pink blouse giggled hysterically. danny, close to them, said “begor, 'twas grand.” but the laughter ceased suddenly, for fat conolly shot to his feet, a priest at either elbow. ) theatre-going 189 » "i protest," he roared loudly; “i protest on yer actin'; 'tis a travesty ye're makin' on our race an' on our ways. sthop ye're play or act it dacent; that's what i'm v'icin now for us here. what's that, ye're reverence ? maybe i am forgettin' what ye told me. anyway, i say i protest; the play must be stopped.” the actors stood amazed. father dolan, holding the teapot, scurried to the wings. · con's mother said “lor' a mussy" as she caught at a stage irishman, who hurriedly replied, “crikey—strike me blind." the audience, for a space, were silent, then, believing it to be right, cheered the interrupters lustily, those who had laughed loudest being the most emphatic. the actors looked at con, who was their actor manager, and the uproar swelled and grew. mr. conolly very testily called for silence, so that he might speak. “this is no light thing," he said. “i protest. ye're all actin' drunk at a dacent wake, an' that's disgracin' our country an' our clergy. ye do it like this over in england, and people believe 'tis true. i tell ye ye're renderin' is an or-gie-no less." conolly wiped his face. · not a sober man on the stage,” he boomed. the corpse of con, listening to urgent appeals, rolled off the bed and strolled down to the footlights. he was a lean, leisurely man, with a red complexion, badly obscured by powder. his first endeavours to speak were drowned in a storm of boos, but he gained silence after a time. “ bit 'ard, isn't it?" said the corpse thoughtfully ; 66 190 three girls and a hermit “ it was “played it this way for years. no intention to offend. i wasn't drunk, anyhow. was i, eh?” "you were the very worst, sir," thundered conolly, red hot for argument and further oratory. “i was dead, man,” said the corpse plaintively. “dead drunk," a ready irish voice spoke, and the house roared to sudden laughter. con's corpse, eyeing them peevishly, chewed a toothpick and balanced a corpse candle on his forefinger. when given time again, he said he was sorry if they'd offended; they had been taught to act it like that. what, father ? ... a burlyesque, sir,” thundered conolly ; "a carric-a-turey, a turey, a travestie. all of ye dhrunk, includin' yerself, the corpse, that was no betther than the resht, but worse, since he manages it all. did ever one of ye-ye boys," he whirled to his now sympathetic audience“ did iver one of ye see father connol or father maddigan to drink whisky from a teapot an' ye lyin' dead ?” no one seemed to have done so. the appeal wrought instant effect. the men in the audience, with true irish readiness, sprang to their feet. with roars and boos and hisses and howls they swarmed for the stage, thundering curses upon con and his fellow mummers, reserving special threats for father dolan, who was pointing the teapot nozzle at his enemies, vowing as they rushed on that they'd stretch con's corpse into a real one before they'd done. fat conolly, caught by the wave, was unfortunately the first to suffer. he went down beneath the stamptheatre-going 191 ing feet, crawling beneath the chairs for safety, and praying for assistance. con's mother, a young actress, flung her arms about her dead son, shrilling police and murder as she did so at the audience. the curtains were dragged to, and the orchestra, who was a solitary pianist, swarmed for safety over the footlights, howling for mercy as father dolan's teapot, which he had discharged at the audience ere he fled, struck him full in the face. the considines and their escort were swept away by the crowd, engulfed in the mass of angry men, bent this way and that as the uproar increased, and finding the difficulty of staying together greater at each moment. finally moira found herself clinging convulsively to the man she had heard called danny, who, being peaceful, was struggling towards the door. dan held her tight and called her "darlin'," apparently convinced that he was rescuing his own young woman, and also upbraided her when he found breath for not courting quietly over the fire at home. some way off moira could see dennis vereker's red young face as he defended eva, and milton struggling wildly by himself. they got at last into the quiet street, torn, panting, bruised, to fly to the protection of two policemen, who had no idea of the turmoil within. moira abandoned her protector, and fled to seize the coated arm of the law, while danny searched helplessly for katie, still believing he had brought her out. a large portion of the crowd had surged out to wait at the stage door, and her horror-stricken eyes now beheld dennis vereker being taken for one of the actors. 192 three girls and a hermit > his red face had brushed against a wall and was streaked with white, and his dark coat covered his evening clothes. “'tis the corpse, the divil,” bellowed a youth ; and dennis, putting eva behind him, looked into a sea of furious faces and found explanation vain. “ the corpse an' his mamma, no less," said some one else. “we'll tache ye,” and followed the speech with a blow, which caught dennis on the nose. the pain sent caution flying. dennis knew how to fight, and had already injured two assailants, and knocked down danny, who was doing nothing, when his steward, working to his side, yelled his true name to the attackers. the crowd drew back instantly. “god save us; 'tis misther vereker, an' he having put two of me teeth down me throat." dan, the non-combatant, spitting blood, threatened the law for assault, and evil fate ordained that the reporter of the local paper should be swept close to them to hear and note it all. a motor hooted, driving slowly through the crowd. it was cromartin coming home from dinner, and he pulled up. he looked from panting, torn moira to panting, frightened eva; he considered dennis's swollen nose; he stared at the surging crowd and the two policemen, who were rapidly producing order; and he remarked, with feeling, that he did not think he would care for the play at ballydare. “what in the name of heaven's happened ?” he asked, as he wrapped moira in a coat. theatre-going 193 > “ it was the wake,"– moira dashed into the car" and the whisky and the corpse, and he got drunk, or they said he did, and he spoke, and that was it." cromartin, with a worried air, said he saw it all plainly. from his manner it was quite evident that he believed dennis to have been slightly drunk. he looked about. “ vereker was with your sister, but where the dickens is milton?" so far as i could see,” said dennis, “he just lit for safety the moment the fun began.” he got to his car, winding it up hurriedly, and they drove away just as captain milton, who had sheltered in the cloak-room, appeared at the door, and fell to cursing softly his subsequent explanation of having been absolutely swept away, of fighting hard for his own life and that of three shop-girls, was received with some reserve on the part of his hearers. but moira, as she looked at the remains of her cream dress, felt her desire for theatre-going at ballydare die in her. to dennis vereker's horror he saw next day before he got up that concealment was impossible ; for the local reporter, seeking to please the local magnate, described the matter fully. “ the presence of the miss considines, accompanied by captain milton and mr. vereker, of castle knock," was one of the headlines; “young ladies swept away by the crowd -gallant behaviour of a local gentleman." dennis, with blinking eyes, felt shame tingle through him as he read how he had fought, saving eva as he went; how he had been set upon outside, mistaken by 13 194 three girls and a hermit foolish people for con's corpse; how he had stricken and been struck. the thunderous presence of his mother was not long delayed. she had read the paper before he had. black-haired, splendidly handsome, she towered over her supine son, while her quick tongue sought and found words to show her anger. “these shameless girls—mere adventuresses. to have gone where no lady would have entered ; to have led dennis there ! she knew now that he had lied to her. they would see after-these young women--that no decent soul would speak to them.” and dennis vereker, over-used to tyranny, cowered and said nothing. it is hard to break a lifelong leading string, yet eva's pretty face reproached him as he lay silent. she was between his fancy, and his mother's rule might be a greater one than she dreamt of. patsy, who had been to the pit-or what passed for one-with mary kate, said "'twas grand." “ sure, between the play an' the fightin', ye couldn't wish for more,” he said next day; "and the corpse chewin' a feather pen in his mouth an' all. if we had but a few things to be throwin', we might have done a bit more. faix, they left to-day," said patsy disconsolately, “or i'd have gone agin to-night. i was too far back," he added, as he polished up gog's thick hide, “but i got in one clout to a lad that sthepped on me toe-one he'll remember, too; an' i thrampled another's hat, an' that was all i had out of it." so far as the real reason of the row went, patsy was quite devoid of interest. a » theatre-going 195 these were somewhat troublous days for patsy, for he was in love. mary kate, with the puffed hair, had witched his heart from him. in vain did old biddy, whose great-nephew he was, warn him ; in vain did james dunne, now busy at making oat-bins, drop hints concerning mary kate's other attachments and the futility of patsy contemplating matrimony on the sum of fourteen pounds per annum. patsy's wants during his life had been few; he had some money in the post-office bank, and he lavished it now to buy smiles from the fair mary kate. eva's housewifely soul found that such love-making did not help her handmaiden to work. she found there were but faint streaks in layers of dust where polished surface should have appeared, though mary kate declared lightly she'd given it a whip with a duster the very day before, before she ran out for a message—the message being patsy. there were stacks of cups left unwashed in the pantry, and patsy was found washing them when he ought to have been with his horses. the star's delicate appetite missed its pampering, and she grew leaner daily ; gog ate his bed, unchecked by muzzling; even jim crow was not so well. the considines' tender hearts were averse to separating the lovers, but they felt that something must be done. james dunne, consulted delicately, scratched his white locks with thoughtful fingers. it appeared that . he knew for a fact that mary kate was merely trifling, and he advised patience. “sorra a patience i'd have with their likes," stormed biddy. “i'll be away for a packct of hairpins, biddy,' 196 three girls and a hermit says she ; and all the shops shut, an' patsy waitin' on the road." it was in such straits that the hermit's help was so badly wanted. he would have known what to say to patsy, and what to do to the gay mary kate. in her distress at the star's loss of flesh, moira sat down and wrote to him; and the tone of her letter, underlying the constant assertions of success, lacked spirit. eva was growing frightened at the over-quick spending of their money; no one wanted, so far, to buy the horsesthe undercurrent of all this ran through moira's letter to borrisdeane. but, on the other side, she could hint at eva's great conquest; she could recount the tale of their many many gaieties—their motor drives, their bridge parties-and this she did at length. the hermit's reply came as she expected it to-by return of post. “he was not at all sure,” he said, “that he, too, would not leave borrisdeane for a time. after all these years he thought he would like a change. so mrs. vereker did not like them”. there was a blot on the page, as though he had raised his pen to think. "it was strange, that. . and she is handsome still ?" the hermit seemed to think a great deal about mrs. vereker, thought moira, as she read. "but there are better things than great beauty, moira,” he wrote, “and a man learns this after a time. its glamour sweeps one away; rouses the love which is not real love, but a thing red-clad, with wrath and envy, and other evil things drawn in its carriage. then later, perhaps, the same man may learn what real love is : love » theatre-going 197 for a girl whose heart is gold below her childish folliesmoira put the letter down, her little face growing strangely thoughtful. why should the hermit write to her like this? was he, after all these quiet years, in love himself? going away to be married? to whom? moira seemed to hear the dull boom of the waves, hear the whisper of the lake through the reeds; see oliver tremayne's quiet face as he pulled his boat to the landing-place of piled-up stones. he, too, was leaving. if they went back, he would not be there to come across; there would be no one to wrangle with, no one to mock at her flights of fancy, to cut in with a pungent word which laid some wilful folly bare. the stupid old hermit; she had hated him lately; chafed bitterly because she felt in her inmost heart that he might have been right about this expedition which she had forced upon the others. something hurt moira's throat, she felt her eyes grow wet without knowing why. at borrisdeane there had been no bitter experience of being ignored by the people one wished to know; no constant adding up and paying out of losses at this difficult game of bridge; no fears that the horses one counted so much on might go wrong. she took the letter up again. the hermit reproached her for a lack of real news. who had called upon them? did they know people? were the horses really going well? if she wanted help would she not write ? who was this milton she mentioned ? moira frowned now. why should he think so persistently that things had gone wrong? what help 198 three girls and a hermit could oliver tremayne, a mere recluse and hermit, give to her in this new home? and because she knew that things were not all as they should be, and that she wanted the help he proffered, she flashed back a saucy letter full of their joys, and very full of the friendship of captain milton, who rode and fished and shot, and was always out with them; told how kathleen had mounts from a horse-dealer, and was driven out by kindly young men; how they had people to dine, and sat up until one in the morning playing bridge, and various other things, which made tremayne sigh very deeply, and confirmed him in his intention of leaving borrisdeane. moira put her letter away, and went to the yard. a visit to the star lacked power of consolation. the mare was listless, and plainly ill ; her coat stared, she would merely pick at her oats. gog's legs had again swelled to the thickness of “ bolsthers." if they wanted to hunt, it was evident that they must hire from malone, who let horses out. kathleen paid nothing, but they were different. there was a good meet on friday, and they must get out. eva, looking helpless, said it would be four guineas, and they could not afford it, yet allowed james dunne and his donkey-cart to be dispatched to summon malone. the horse-dealer arrived at once to say he could match them with a grey and a black; one a trifle hasty at his lips, and the other a bit fearsome of his foremost legs when he'd land but both great horses that he hired regularly to the officers. also, as they were young ladies, and light-weights, he'd want but three guineas for the two." theatre-going 199 "her he examined the star with dubious eyes. likes, miss moira, niver does no good," he said emphatically. "ye see, she has no middle on her, and one day's huntin' 'd be as bad to her as three to a sthronger med horse. when ye ride the black to-morrow, maybe ye might care to have a swhop. i wouldn't be hard on the bit of boot. with ye're weight on him he'd lasht a lifetime. i could get rid of this one." moira gasped. to "swhop" the star, the peerless mare which was to bring her in hundreds of pounds; to give her and extra money for some broken-down old black who favoured his foremost legs. and malone was serious; he even looked as though he meant it to be a kindness. tears smarted again behind moira's eyelids; she recovered herself with difficulty as she haughtily pointed out to malone that she considered the star extremely valuable. malone observed drily there was "nothin' like one's own opinions." "she is fast, well bred, beautifully bred," clamoured moira angrily. "oh, she's that," said the horse-dealer; "she's that. hasn't she ivery bad point she could take from the racin' side of her? i'd misdoubt me, but this half thoroughbred, sure, if ye handled her shins rough, ye could break them. faix, keep her, miss; 'twas only kindness, and knowin' a felly that wanted a horse for posthin' with me." moira left him examining gog, and advising much. medicine and less hay. it was eva's turn now. they were out to lunch next day with fat mrs. 200 three girls and a hermit haviland, who was unshaken in her kindness, and came back early, bringing major haviland and captain milton with them to play bridge. as they walked up the little path sounds of wailing from the kitchen told them something was wrong. biddy's voice, raised to a high pitch, could be heard in heated argument, the lower tones of james dunne, and the sharp zip, zip, of something being torn. the drawing-room was cold, devoid of fire, and thick with dust. the bridge tables were not out; the breakfast things in the dining-room were still upon the table. mary kate had been given to clearing them away when fancy touched her ; but she had never been so late as this. “something has happened.” eva pealed at the bell, and glanced disconsolately at her guests. to make matters worse, she saw a carriage on the road, and recognised mrs. knox coming to call. biddy, tears in her eyes, hurried to answer the bell. “oh, i said it all along, miss eva ; i said it. there's me poor dead sisther's daughter's bhoy fair dementhed outside, and mary kate off to dublin by the one thrain, leaving a note to say she's away to be married an' to sind on her things. an' patsy, the craythur, to buy her a little traither of a watch that wasn't as big as me thumb top, an' to spind fifty shillin', no less, on a muff for her neck." here milton shook audibly, to biddy's indignation. “he did that same," she said sharply, “a yally fur muff she put about her throat. an' that”-she raised her finger that they might listen—" that ye hear now is patsy, clane crazy, tearin' up her aperns !" theatre going 201 what consolation patsy derived from this will ever remain a mystery; but as mrs. knox clamoured for entrance, they all fled to the kitchen to find patsy rending viciously, surrounded by a pile of torn white calico, falling in ragged strips and jagged ends as he dragged the stuff asunder. james dunne, looking on, said he thought it must "aise" him. patsy looked at the rush of onlookers, rent one more apron in twain, scattered the scraps of the others in the air so that they fell upon every one, and, with a sudden gulp of anguish, fled to the stables, where he locked himself in for the evening, and answered all questions by asserting, amid his sobs, that he had done with "the wimmin." maybe he thought 'twas herself,” said james, removing a piece of calico from his head. “two shillin', no less, she must have paid for some of thim.” they returned to find mrs. knox, who despaired of an answer, laying her cards upon the table. she , could scarcely have gathered a good impression on. this, her first visit, for the fire would not light. there were no hot cakes for tea, and biddy, as she appeared, was covered with ravelled threads of torn calico. but a recital of patsy's wrongs atoned for many things. notwithstanding the tales afloat about the considines, she was glad she had come. since the theatre episode, and the exposing of the perjured dennis in the ballydare moderator, mrs. vereker's bitter tongue had spared no lash of innuendo which could hurt the newcomers. to have her son involved in a disgraceful brawl, struck upon the nose, 202 three girls and a hermit rescued by his own steward, described as a gallant knight, who had put his lady behind him and fought his way forth, was gall to his proud mother. that he had lied to her was a smaller thing, for tyrants expect untruths. dennis's life, while his hurt nose faded to coats of many colours, was not an easy one. he was closely watched, jealously guarded, almost refused leave to go out without his mother accompanying him. mrs. vereker was afraid of eva's pretty face; but she was a power in the county, and used that power now with purpose and with weight. mrs. knox had heard the stories and braved them. bright little moira had found one friend who meant to be kind to her—a friend who recognised that lack of worldly wisdom, and no deeper folly, had led the three considines into coming to ballydare and getting themselves talked about. moira, always anxious to prattle, gave a sketch of their idea of their over-quiet life at borrisdeane, their longing to hunt and see the world. “and you like it very much your world here ?" mrs. knox looked at moira with quietly inquiring eyes. “ it is-great fun.” moira wished the look had not reminded her of the hermit. "perhaps too much fun.” mrs. knox asked for her carriage. she asked them out to luncheon on sunday, and meant then to be mother to the motherless, telling them how they erred in trying to see too much fun, and how three very young girls must imperatively provide themselves with some older lady to live with them. theatre-going 203 biddy, as she announced the carriage, feared the horse must be perished, for patsy had absolutely declined to open the stable door. “he's sitting in the sthar's box," said biddy disconsolately, “hopin' she'll kick him to death. but he has her tied up, and is a long way from her heels all the time." “there is hope for patsy," said mrs. knox, going out. chapter xii the hirelings and the geoghans dono onough moroney, standing gloomily among his hounds, looked up as the considines jogged up to the meet. “thank god," he said, "the grey's at home. that little one's pretty,” he added to himself. he swung himself into his saddle with a happy expression, and jogged on to the first draw. it was a great woodland, carpeted with dying ochre-tinted bracken, the undergrowth all a tangle with bramble vines, their leaves glowing dully. wet rides, where horses' feet sank squelching into an ooze of nud, led through the wood. it was a pretty draw, as hounds came working through, but one at which the field gathered into groups laughing, talking, without much hope of sport. foxes were almost too plentiful there. there was tally ho back and tally ho for'ard; endless chorus of hounds; endless gallops from end to end, but very little chance of a hunt. ambitious spirits galloped with the hounds, shoving through lacing twigs, bending low under heavier branches ; quieter people gathered about the main earth and stood there, letting the chase circle round them. moira and eva, of course, drove the hirelings to every holloa ; kathleen 204 the hirelings and the geoghans 205 а was restrained by her friend malone, who bade her stand with him by the burrow, and then when the hounds “had one cot," they would go on to a good covert. as they galloped, and checked, and waited in the crowd, the chill signs of unfriendliness were no longer to be doubted. the ballydare people were clearly turning polite backs upon them. . when moira, wedged in a gateway, spoke to mrs. o'brien, who was wedged by her, that usually kindly lady answered, but answered in the abstracted tones of one who does not mean to continue a conversation. mrs. vereker's bow would have made ice look torrid, and the knoxes were not out hunting, for they had been summoned away to a sick daughter; so the considines' one friend was gone. unwitting of offence, there seemed to be nothing to do but take things philosophically ; to laugh and talk with the men who came to speak to them, and try to ignore the coldness about them. perhaps it was the custom of a strange hunt to treat newcomers like this. woman's spiteful nature found some slight comfort in flaunting up and down rides with captain milton-his humour was a thrusting one upon the flat-and whisper to him under the baleful glances of miss nellie o'brien, who had considered him her property a month before. it was something when hounds were at fault to have an admiring circle about you, even if every one talked a little loudly and forgot they had come to hunt. malone's hirelings were docile and well-mannered, well fed, and keen to go; they were charming rides after the eccentricities of gog and the star. yet, had they known it, there were many of the ballydare people who found it difficult 206 three girls and a hermit not to be kind. eva's gentle face was a winning one; there was no look of the barmaid ancestry hinted at by mrs. vereker in her quiet bearing, and if moira talked too much she too looked like a lady, and was charmingly pretty. but the cruel poisoned tongue had done its work. there was no hope of hunting in cloneen wood. so violet vereker rode from group to group, commencing to talk about some trivial thing, and ending up with the considines. “ these little adventuresses come husband-hunting --this to mrs. o'brien, who had three daughters and wanted no rivals—"sparing no pains to find one, with the soldiers there all day and half the night bridge-playing, larking ; some men are caught by that kind of thing. the sooner, dear mrs. o'brien, we show them they will be wise to leave ballydare the better. they'll soon go when they find no one asks them out." “there is that miss considine making such a row, but one cannot marvel. i hear, poor things, their mother was a barmaid.” this to lady keene, who, having been an actress herself in her younger days, was desperately particular as to the blueness of her friends' blood. “in a regular brawl the other night at the theatre, down at that town hall among the roughs in ball dresses! can you imagine it! covered with sham jewels, no doubt. they forced my poor dennis to go with them, and he got injured defending them. you won't ask them out, will you, dear ?" then going from girl to girl, rallying them pleasantly. they must look to their laurels now. the hirelings and the geoghans 207 those pretty miss considines were absorbing all the men. no one seemed able to resist them; the ballydare young ladies would be nowhere at any dances this year. until every girl, tingling wrathfully, determined that her mother should ignore these interlopers. mrs. vereker was a power in the county; she would drive these girls from it. sitting up straight in her saddle, her handsome face thickly veiled, mrs. vereker's cold eyes were often upon moira. to the depth of a resentful nature she hated the girl, and she could not tell why. some blind instinct, some fury of jealousy without base or foundation, seemed to whip her on. eva she disliked for dennis's sake, feared lest a weak boy should escape her and be tempted into a foolish entanglement; but moira's bright face stirred every evil instinct in her soul. and moira, catching the grey eyes fixed upon her, often wondered on her part. the lost note in her memory had not been found. where had she seen the perfect features, the cold beauty, before? why, when she looked, did she think of the hermit, his face set in sadness ? she, too, could not tell what made mrs. vereker so interesting to her. this cold-shouldering of the county had another evil effect. lesser lights, who should not have dared to approach, were now clamouring for friendship. mrs. hartigan, the contractor's wife, had called the day before, flaunted her new country residence before them, and bidden them to tea and a hidden-treasure contest. miss geoghar, whose seat on a horse went . east and west, while her tie went north and south, had long hoped to know what she called “the military." 208 three girls and a hermit an acquaintance with the considines would lead her to her ambition. so she sidled up, smiling, tipping her poor galled horse with a cane, and promising that “me mamma” would call upon the morrow; while cornelius, her brother, was now quite devoted to eva. “there's lots of things we might do," gushed miss geoghan sweetly. “we play bridge at home now, though, indeed, mamma is apt to revoke, and we have diabolo, an' we'd be delighted to see you." moira accepted the kindness with reserve. inexperienced as she was, she recognised the fact that miss clara geoghan was not of her world. the bustle of the woodland hunt was over at last, the squelching along wet roads and brushing through tangle of lacing boughs came to an end. one little cub who had never left his great leafy home was hunted down and killed. they jogged away, heads bobbing at the hound trot, which, slow as it seems, eats up the miles so quickly. “ malone says this is tulla gorse, and we are sure of a hunt.” kathleen came cantering up, little jim crow all alert and wiry, arching his neck to her light hand, using himself as if curbs and splints and knocks and old strains were merely spurs to his ambition. says there are woeful great banks”—kathleen pointed to the high green fences—" but you can put these two at anything, and be sure of getting over." moira rode the black which favoured its foremost legs. eva was on the hasty grey. the gorse was on a hillside, dark patches on a swelling green slope ; light sunshine touched it as they came up, turning the gorse to silvery green, making the gorse bushes more brilliant in their dark-hued the hirelings and the geoghans 209 tulla gorse. it was here old james had come to and heard the jilted man ride up and speak hot words to mrs. vereker. had she quite forgotten it? moira looked ahead at the straight, slender back, heard the hard, cold voice speaking to dennis, who rode beside his mother. was there no memory of that old day, and the young fiery heart she had murdered? was it moira's fancy, or did she see the strong hands tighten suddenly on the reins? did a spasm of pain contract the handsome face as it was raised to look at the covert ? moira was riding close. no fancy: twenty-two years had not dimmed the bitterness of the words mrs. vereker had heard then. “we shall find here, i think,” she said to her son. “ sure to." dennis turned his tinted nose round. "who was it was talking to-day of the great run they had from here years ago, right across by knock, up the dirk hills, and killed in the open running into durris ? four finished, and some fellow was nearly killed. twenty years ago now.” “twenty-two. the year i married. yes, i remember the run. i finished it one of the four.” mrs. vereker's complexion seemed borrowed now from her favourite marble figures. “ and the chap who was hurt? he was riding mad, old knox told me, at wire or some awful place." “ the castle crin bounds fence. he was a stranger here.” they left the road, and horses cantered up the field. moira, listening, had caught the ring of pain in mrs. vereker's voice. she did remember, then. 14 210 three girls and a hermit crash. hounds dashed in to covert, gluttons for blood, no scampers of their work; they could find as well as drive. they're at him.” a low note ran its thrill of electricity through the waiting field. another and another : there was scent in the long patch of gorse. “oh ! look at him, look.” oblivious of the master's importance, kathleen had crept close to donough moroney; her fingers in her excitement suddenly gripped his elbow. he turned, looking into the eager, pretty face, his own very thoughtful. “quiet-quiet,” he said, and smiled quietly. the fox had leapt up upon the bank and turned back again. quiet-quiet, every one, stand still. don't say a word.” a daring fox who meant to go his own way, stepping out right among the horses' legs, threading his quick way among the crowd until he reached the bank edging the field they stood in, and whisked over it. hounds drove out on his brush, making the echoes ring. he must travel now to save his life. “ one moment. give them time." donough moroney held the field back. then, “ come along, . little lady,” he said, turning to kathleen. and, unaware of the fact that he never spoke to a woman out hunting, she urged jim crow in his tracks. the black hireling might favour his foremost legs ; the grey be a trifle hasty ; but they were hunters, both of them; it was moira's and eva's first experience of riding good horses. moira's heart rose as the black, without flounder or check, charged lightly on the first narrow bank, and was away; no half the hirelings and the geoghans 211 refusals, no mad fly landing him in the ditch outside. narrow fences, or big walls, or ditches, he was good at them all. hounds were driving ahead, racing each other for the lead, never at fault, running mute now across the dry, sound pastures. their point was a little wood some four miles away, a wood where foxes had beaten them before, for there were rabbit holes, which no man could stop, and hounds seemed to know of. they would have blood, if they could, before they got there. it was not a long hunt, but one to live for, across sound land, with perfect, sound fences to be jumped. the wind rushed against heated faces, the good horses strode ahead, unfaltering, seeming to know by instinct where to put their feet, even where the still leafy bramble vines laced across the ditches. moira's light weight was nothing to the hireling. he carried her well to the front, close to the straining pack, until her eyes were alight with the joy of it all. a little to the left was the master riding his mare hard, and close to him, pumped, but gallant still, little jim crow carrying kathleen. all but the well-bred ones might say good-bye to this hunt; the veriest glutton for pace must have been satisfied. there was a minute's welcome check as cattle foiled the line, only a minute, but it sufficed to allow some clever people who knew a friendly road, and had ridden upon it, to come up-one of them captain milton, who, it appeared, had been the victim of shocking luck. he had stopped in the first field to catch a loose horse, and been obliged then to race hard for his place. his horse was, he said, a marvel to have caught them. a 212 three girls and a hermit old melody had it; they had not lost much time. "and the dunmore bank has to be taken," said moroney, with the aspect of a nurse who tempts her charges to eat pills. "it'll settle a few of us now, with our horses dead-beat." the bank towered before them high and narrow, thickly grown with bush-grass, and with, apparentlyas dennis vereker, taking it first, disappeared from sight-a chasm outside. moroney's long-tailed mare raced at it, springing up easily; flying off and beside him with a mighty bound came the redoubtable jim crow. "he's a fizzer!" said the master quickly, looking back. "an' if i was down i was dead," he added gloomily. dennis vereker and his mother were over. moira dashed down at it, milton by her side. "go first," she said, with the selfishness of the novice; "it looks rotten there." milton looked at her eager face, and looked longer at the towering fence. "i've dropped my cigarette-case," he said, just as the black hireling sprang upwards gallantly, gathered his feet on the narrow, slippery top, and jumped out across the huge ditch. moira, looking round with a gasp, saw no more of captain milton. mrs. vereker's big bay was showing signs of distress, falling in his stride, lathering; and it seemed fate once more that as the hounds broke from scent to view with a sudden mad chorus of triumph, malone's black hireling should stride past the highpriced weight-carrier, beating him for pace. the sun shone out, touching the world to gold. it was glory for all save the poor tired fox, straining his failing limbs to reach the haven so near him. the hirelings and the geoghans 213 yet the end, as his heart seemed bursting and his body lead, was swift and merciful. a wave of pied death closed upon him-one last brave snarl, an impotent snap, as melody and merriment closed upon him, then a little tattered brown thing, which had raced for life and lost it. men flung themselves from panting horses; the tail, the ever-happy tail, which is content to gallop in each other's tracks and never see a hound, came straggling up. they had avoided the well-known bank, getting round by a longer way. milton, swearing at his cigarette-case, appeared with them. yet in quiet tones, away from the others, he described to moira how his horse had jumped the mighty fence as though it were a mere stone-gap. "she's a wonder," he said, patting the mare's wet neck. malone, whose youngster had put him down three times, appeared at this moment. his hat was broken, he was plastered with mud, and absolutely happy. “the four-year-old,” he declared, "was worthy of any man." milton, getting off, was unwise enough to scoff at the muddy coat and again to praise his own brown mare. it so happened that he wanted to sell her. malone, now stroking the grey four-year-old, said, “ surely the brown was a grand mare entirely. and, god's providence, she has thim fine, hard feet on her," he added thoughtfully, looking pensively at the road, along which several late arrivals were still coming milton assumed the hue of a red rose, and turned muttering away. 214 three girls and a hermit a “but—he couldn't help being late ; he stopped to catch a horse," said moira, expostulating. “ 'twas handy for him," said malone dryly. "mighty handy." miss clara geoghan, appearing coyly, furthered her hopes of friendship by saying, “'twas a grand hunt altogether. and i could see moira dashin' like the wind ahead of them all." miss geoghan's smiling face represented the heart of a beet in colour; her tie was now adjusted at the back of her neck, and her black curls fell limply across a streaming brow. but her smile was never-ending ; it curved her lips with a determination more wearing than tears. with a further promise as to “me mamma's” visit, and some allusion to a taste of a sore back the little horse had from the roller in his stable, she rode off homewards. “an' her father servin' in his own shop five years back," said malone easily. “there's changes in the times, miss moira, since me mamma was young." eva, whose hasty grey had not proved quite fast enough, was talking to dennis. she was sheltered by a thorn hedge, and mrs. vereker had gone out upon the road to seek luncheon, so that for the moment he was safe. eva, whose mind was fully innocent of anything except kindness, asked him to come and see them. dennis peered round the thorn hedge, and promised dubiously for saturday. the pretty face drew him when he was with it; his fear of his mother's anger cooled his love when he was at home. weak, vacillating, he scarcely knew which way he wanted to choose to go. " < own the hirelings and the geoghans 215 " his boy's fancy had been touched, but his mother's will, iron and dominant, governed him more completely than any light love he could feel. “i'll come soon,” he said uncertainly. “when i can get away." eva, smiling a little at his anxious glances, realised the situation. it was only to moira that the redfaced boy was haloed about with the world's riches and the splendour of his country home. “i am afraid your nose caused you some trouble," she said with a smile. dennis stroked the tinted feature regretfully, thought of his mother's furious entrance to his room with the ballydare paper in her hand, and said it undoubtedly had. “we ought not to have gone,” he burst out petulantly." it was ridiculous of us. just a place for the town crowd. nice joke it was for me next day, especially as i told my mother i was dining at barracks." "i scarcely see the necessity for that,” said eva, quietly contemptuous, riding out to join the now moving crowd. as many of such brilliant beginnings, the day wound to a disappointing close. it clouded over, a thin cold rain fell steadily, drifting down coat collars, soaking into knees and elbows, until riders and horses were chilled and depressed-at crewchurch, the next draw, a ringing fox led them in ceaseless circles, until the fences were scarred from pounding hoofs, and broken and crumbled into slimy gaps—the kind of evening when one takes a really bad fall over a fence you have jumped safely five times, and then feel a fool for having done it, 216 three girls and a hermit it was a long ride back to ballydare when all was over; they left their fox in the darkness, having beaten them by his cowardly tactics. they were tired from the morning's good gallop; the black hireling moved stiffly, and the grey was a little lame. perfect as the horses had been, the three guineas to be paid for them now gathered to a mountainous sum. aunt martha's legacy was melting over fast, and the great return they had expected was growing dim and nebulous. the sky was grey and dreary, lines of dark hedges looming faintly against the evening gloom. two girls who got stiffly from their horses in the yard at the beeches were depressed and unhappy, and it was only little kathleen who sang as she went in, trilling in a tuneful little treble one verse of a hunting song. "there's the master in boots," lilted kathleen, until moira, who felt the "dead march" in saul would be far more to her mood, grumpily inquired if they thought he would go out in slippers, and also that it was the doctor, and so stopped the song. james dunne, who had found something else to do, was plucking plover for their dinner, raining the feathers down into a sheeny heap of grey and green, and wondering as he did so that any one should care to eat them wild birds, when they could get a good bit of bacon for the money. "there's substhance in a bit of mate," he said reproachfully, "an' ye'd know the pig is afther livin' on good male an' pyates; but thim birds, what flesh is on thim is just worrums and wather, divil a ha'porth more." the hirelings and the geoghans 217 the remark made to moira failed to improve her appetite. they gathered about the fire after dinner, as they had done on the night of their arrival, but without the high hopes which had fired them then. "what"-eva poked recklessly at the blazing coals-"what if, after all, it's a failure, and we go back to borrisdeane, all our money gone?" moira said sharply that, even if the money was gone, many things might happen before the winter was over, her mind's eye travelling as she spoke to castle knock. "when the star fattens again, i shall get all i hoped to for her," she asserted stoutly, " and so will you for gog, eva." "when his legs go down," said eva dolefully. "it's very well to feel hopeful, moira; but i really believe the hermit was right after all, and we should have stayed quietly at borrisdeane." "oh, bother the hermit," stormed moira, and went to bed. the day's hunt unfortunately bore fruit in the arrival next day of mrs. and the misses geoghan, driving an old brown horse in what they called the "phayeeton." the two young women, the second a buxom maiden of some twenty-two years, who was called baby julia and wore her hair down her back in a fat and beribboned pigtail, were even fuzzier as to fringes and ties than they were out hunting. they introduced "me mamma" effusively, but with a visible desire to repress that lady from all speech. they admired everything they saw, and kept restless eyes upon the window for the arrival of the officers they desired to meet. 218 three girls and a hermit now, the considines lacked the experience to snub these unwelcome visitors. with no absolute certainty of the geoghans' social standing, they did not like to be unkind to any one in a new county. perhaps people here were different; so they accepted the gush and praise as a welcome change from the iciness of mrs. vereker, and were even led into a promise of visiting bracken hall on the following friday for a little party of tea and games. baby julia announced proudly that they played bridge. she had won threepence last wednesday week. also diabolo here she stopped suddenly. then the visitors suddenly grew cheerier, and settled down for the afternoon. captain milton and mr. cromartin were announced. now at last they could meet and invite the military. and diabolo," went on miss baby julia, after they had inclined their touzled heads to the introduction. "did y' ever play it now, captain? the queer kind of game it is. the spool was like to whip the nose from me lasht sunday. miss clara said 'twas the price of me for missin' mass." moira and eva found themselves talking to "me mamma," who was exceedingly timid and only discursive, for some hidden reason, on the subject of turkeys and the respective merits of single and double breasts ; while clara and baby julia plunged in the joys of ardent flirtation, as expressed by expressive eyes, giggles, tosses of touzled heads, and many "now, captain, d'ye say so? ah, go on with your nonsense now, turning baby's head," and so forth. the hirelings and the geoghans 219 it is to be feared that the drawing out of the miss geoghans was entirely to milton's taste. a nicer man would have let them alone ; he proposed to make the mess roar that night as he described them. they ate their tea coyly, with crooked little fingers and a lavish use of pocket-handkerchiefs on their laps. “the greased destroy you,” baby julia remarked as she engaged on a hot cake. an invitation for friday was accepted by milton and declined by cromartin, who had come to talk over the hunt and not flirt with the geoghans. his mental resolve was not to come again if he met these people. the geoghan girls waxed discursive and far too lively. miss clara was embalmed in alluring giggles, and tried to wrest baby julia's conquest from her, which, that young lady resenting, there was very nearly a distinct quarrel when it came to "the captain” helping them on with their cloaks ; miss clara finally succeeding, by right of age, in receiving his aid. baby julia, huffily getting into hers alone, retaliated by sweetly saying, “she'd have to hunt alone next meet, for clara" (she pronounced it “ claara") “had the withers worn out of the grey mare. the poor animal'd bow to the ground with the pain if you lay a hand on her," said baby julia plaintively, and avoiding her sister's baleful eye. “isn't claara misfortunate, captain, the way she sits skew ways on a horse ?" eva looked thoughtful when the visitors had all left. "surely we ought not to know those people,” shę 9) » 220 three girls and a hermit said. "they are very impossible, even if other people will have none of us." "they talk of a big place; they've got horses, and hunt. i suppose they are all right," said moira dubiously; "one cannot be uncivil to people in a strange place." "and there is that red-headed brother who haunts me," said eva; "if we go there it will be worse. oh, i wish the hermit was here; he would know." "it's always the hermit," said moira crossly, and going away. chapter xiii a gay afternoon the he dare, running smoothly and decorously through the little town of ballydare, breaks to a riot of beauty just below it, swirls past wooded banks, over mossy rocks, round little islands. the considines, having done a morning's shopping, walked on by the well-worn path and sat down at last, lost in watching the river. november as it was, leaves still clothed many of the trees ; leaves afire with autumn's glory. the river seemed to run on endlessly to the grey skies; smooth flow of deep green in the shadows, with just a dimple of movement on its surface, until suddenly the jutting rocks churned it into foam ; then a roar of troubled waters, a froth of white and translucent brown, all among the slabs of stone, until again it broadened to a wide lake of silvergrey and green and brown, stately now, gliding proudly, with an island, leaf-jewelled, set in its midst. there were no floods as yet ; the rocks were to be seen, russet brown, deepening to dull red if a gleam of sun touched them, spotted with green where the stones had stayed dry through the summer. and always the murmur, the endless whisper of the waters, a 221 222 three girls and a hermit as they passed, as human lives slipping to the sea of eternity. sunshine, and the river woke to it, aung out its limbs to the golden finger, rippled joyously, its foam white as wool; then the sky would darken, the wind come chilly with a moan of rain in its breath, and the river, ever changeful, melted to cold tints, till the white foam leapt, bitter white, against the grey-black of the water. eva—the early winter day was warm as summer in the shelter of the trees-sat with her face on her hand, her thoughts far away. moira's were nearer . home. nothing was as it should be. no part of this trip had turned out as she had hoped. the star had come out again, but sickness had not broken her spirits ; she had flown her banks and fallen into ditches with as much resolution as ever. then, growing a little blown, had refused resolutely, and all but brained a friendly countryman who came to beat her over. “if i was a foot nearer i'd be a dead corpse walking home this night,” he said with some asperity. “ye'd see the white ov her eye comin' round to measure the distance, an' then she let out for me head. wait a while now till i gets to me cyart." he retreated to the road for his whip, and the star tasted the bitter fruits of retaliation, practised by an enemy who could keep out of striking distance. with a scream of rage she jumped at last, but this kind of thing did not keep one in a run. moira, getting out on to a road, saw the hunt sweep over a hill two miles away. the star was scarred by a gay afternoon 223 the lash, and in a furious temper. she reared at the next cross-roads, declining to follow a track which would have led her near the hounds. with a certainty, cold as ice and clear as crystal, moira realised that her purchase would never make a hunter. as for gog, one could always see him at least two fields behind every one else, pounding away steadily. this failure resulted in another day's hiring, and consequently a further payment of three guineas to the smiling malone. the star again suffered from neurasthenia, and utterly declined food. patsy, now a pronounced misanthrope, said she was as bad as a woman to manage, and spent his days proffering her cunning mixtures of bran and flaxseed tea and crushed oats, which she generally upset all over him. horses were not all; there was the social point of view. the geoghans were very easy to get to know and very difficult to get rid of. the considines' house at tea-time meant that they would meet the military, so, baby julia and miss clara-never called miss geoghan, because there was an elder sister, now in a convent-ran in at all hours. now they came with books, now with messages from mamma; and neither eva nor moira was strong-minded enough to send them away. mrs. haviland's kindness was not proof against constant meeting of geoghans. she ceased coming so often ; the nicer men, too, stayed away, and only the younger ones who liked to lark with clara and baby julia filled the little drawingroom. 224 three girls and a hermit "moira "-eva raised her head and pulled out a cheque and account-book-" how much money do you think we've spent?" i suppose over two "the star, and gog, and jim crow "-moira calculated rapidly-" and the rent. hundred pounds, eva." "nearer five," said eva quietly; "over four, certainly. i can't keep it down. the horses seem to swallow hay and straw and oats wholesale; for patsy says what the star doesn't eat she spills; and there was the rent and saddles and clothes and practically new stables. aunt maria's legacy will barely see us through the winter, moira, and then. . . . and then if the horses are not sold, well-a return to borrisdeane, plus our new saddles, habits, and many new dresses, and minus income of thirty pounds, which would have done much to keep us. it is really appalling." eva put away her books. "money just flies here. i paid ten pounds to callaghan, the grocer, today. i paid fifteen for forage. oh, moira, why didn't we listen to the hermit, and why isn't he here?" "he'd just croak all day," said moira gruffly. then her ever-hopeful fancy leapt to the sunshine of the future. was eva blind not to see that all would have been well spent if she and dennis vereker were married? they could stay with her every winter; hunt from there. eva would be so rich, she could help them. "you never look at the bright side," said moira buoyantly. "wait until i get the star fat; wait untilshe nodded a wise head. "we must a gay afternoon 225 (6 succeed. i'm not going back to borrisdeane to have the hermit triumphing at me.” “he won't be there," said eva. biddy heard last night. the hermit is going away.” oh-h,” said moira slowly. he had said so himself, but moira had scarcely believed it. the river seemed to grow colder, to menace her with grim, black waters. no hermit to quarrel with the old white house shut up; the woods perhaps preserved by some strangers. the boom of the heavy sea sounded in her ears, she could smell the salt wind, and the peat, and heather ; see the dim looming hills which they had passed by to gain the world. and they called to her—these things. the waters of the lake had never menaced her there. there were no fears about money in those old peaceful days. aunt maria provided, and they were clothed and fed. there were always chickens, and eggs, and milk, and they seemed to want but little more. moira sighed deeply; even her buoyant temperament was not proof against these thoughts. then, feeling thus, she grew angry and burst into one of her old day-dreams-of all it was to see life, and what they would make of the horses, and countless other things which she knew not to be true. “i wonder”—eva got up, for it was time to go home_“i wonder, moira, if the geoghans, and captain milton, and all the row we make are quite life. i often wonder.” moira stumped off with her pretty nose in the air. “ don't forget there are people coming for bridge," 15 226 three girls and a hermit was )) she said. “have you ordered sardines for sandwiches, and soda water, and whisky, and everything?" eva observed somewhat peevishly that she had done so. also that they owed captain milton fifteen shillings, and she must cash a small cheque and not forget to pay him. on their way back through the town they met dennis vereker. he was alone, and immediately suggested walking back with them. moira's spirits flew to fever point. she raced to the butcher's for chops, and fled home first, moving biddy to extreme anger by her demand for cutlets and sweets at a moment's notice. “ there a bit of cold turkey," she said. “ that should have been enough for ye all. i declare, i might as well be cook for a regiment." here she directed james dunne, who, needless to say, had turned up for his dinner, to beat eggs and boil milk, and wished, with all the fervour of her lonely old soul, that they were back again at borrisdeane. “i'd rather have the old missus scoldin' me," she said, as she bustled, “than all the fine things i have to do here." the party at the geoghans' had fallen through, been adjourned to that afternoon. baby julia wished to make a finer affair of it than they had intended to at first, and they dressed with the faintly bitter knowledge that it was, so far, the only entertainment they had put on their plumes and silken skirts for the roan horse had to be hired, for one could a gay afternoon 227 not walk through the mud, and he elected today to stop but once, choosing the chance to upset an unsuspecting fat woman going home from market, who vanished backwards over a low bank, screaming to the virgin with all the strength of her lungs. bracken hall did not lack pretension. it was a big, square house, painted a lively red, with a great stucco porch disfiguring it, a species of white spot of eczema on an over-coloured face. greenhouses had been put on off the drawing-room, safely excluding all fresh air, and admitting a soothing reek of wet mould and steam. there never seemed to be any flowers. baby julia told them the gardener was always after the horses, which perhaps was the reason. milton and cromartin had promised to meet them. they were asked into a wide hall, chiefly adorned with moth-eaten pieces of foxes, and hung with oleographs, and, having had their names blared forth by the maid, who, in her haste, had forgotten to remove some of her leaden hair-curlers, they came upon a motley gathering of finely dressed young women, and straggling youths with bright ties, who hailed from various offices. tea was magnificent. baby julia and clara had studied papers for the week. they had read that sandwiches were smart ; and there were piles of them, thick and solid, beef and chicken and ham, with smears of mustard and chutney. milton took one, and said, “my god” to himself several times. there was tea and champagne-papa geoghan did not 228 three girls and a hermit lack money and gaudily iced cakes, very fine without and dry within. baby was a vision in pale green silk, and openwork stockings which did not match. clara was in blue. their moment of triumph dawned when they saw the two soldiers come in. there was a game after tea-hidden treasurewhen one took ends of long threads and unentangled them hurriedly to gain a prize for the first completed-very fine prizes: a silver box and a cigarette case. much ingenuity had marked the winding of those threads. they were tied round banisters, and under rugs, about chairs; and one scrambled, and unwove, and collided with fellow-strugglers, sometimes on one's knees and sometimes standing. milton was paired with clara; cornelius, wonderfully clad in green flannels, with a gentle line of red in the pattern, of course took eva, and was not pleased when, declining all dual searchings, she merely directed while he worked, his admiring remarks being curbed by the necessity of grovelling on his knees for his thread. moira received a limp youth, who was quite devoid of enterprise, and said, "d'ye think so now? my, my, isn't it troublesome?" as they came to each tangle. he was hot and tired when moira had finished with him. it was a game which elicited many squeaks, and "give over nows," and "have dones," from the finely dressed young women. miss clara seemed unable to find out anything unless she poked her tangled head very close to milton's. her squeaks of "captain, here now. come a gay afternoon 229 on, captain, we have it," could be heard above all the other ones. their string, a long one, seemed singularly easy to unravel; so much so, that they were miles ahead of every one, when baby julia, appearing radiantly with cromartin behind her, proudly held out the little knot which announced they had reached the end. we have it won,” she said, smiling. miss clara, on her knees by the curtain, arose in sudden wrath-she was just winding in her knot of red thread. “i declare to heavens you broke it, baby julia," she declared furiously as she rose ; and baby julia said nothing. but the light of triumph in her eyes was not a holy one. their announcement that all the others must try on, as they themselves would not take the ladies' prize, kept the room busy. tempers grew thin in the scramble, and the fine young women grew less fine as they toiled for victory. “ that's me string, miss casey, if you please. 'tis unfair, i tell you. i had me hand on the chair as you pulled it from me. ah! oh, hurry, mr. quin, what use are you at all ? " moira had so terrified her limp youth that his eyes seemed possessed of second sight; they were an easy third, and she received the silver box as her reward. more champagne and sandwiches were necessary after this, flanked this time by the appearance of papa himself with a steaming bowl of punch, which he pressed upon his guests. 230 three girls and a hermit “ the only thing for the stomach," he said genially, “after champagne." papa would take no refusal ; he selected the two soldiers as special recipients of his hospitality, until milton's nose warmed to a fiery hue, and his tales of prowess with hound and gun grew with each sip. arm “do, my baby julia, the light of triumph still gleaming in her eyes, appeared at moira's side. she affected a girlish friendship, and squeezed moira's playfully. “ have a drop of punch, now,” she said. dear miss considine. wasn't it fun?” she added. “wasn't clara fit to be tied ? you see, she had it all settled for herself and the captain to win ; for the red string wasn't tied anywhere, only wound about a while. but i was up to her, and i sent mr. cromartin away for a candle, pretending i couldn't see one place, and i whipped out me scissors and cut the whole thing, and told him then i'd got the end found. clara won't come over me so easy," said the baby, tossing her tangled head, and sipping punch. “ aren't they lovely men, the military?" she added in a whisper, her eyes fixed upon milton, who, rapidly melting to a backboneless benevolence, and taking more punch to reduce it, was now informing miss clara, papa, and a circle of young ladies, how, when hunting in leicestershire, he had crossed a river in flood, his horse changing on a coal barge in the centre, and left the whole field behind. even the hounds, it would appear, had crossed by a bridge. cromartin, with anxious eyes, was endeavouring to remove his senior officer. a gay afternoon 231 > a it was time for all to say good-bye. surrounded by loving geoghans, who invited themselves to tea, and made many arrangements for unbroken friendship, the considines were at last allowed to depart. at their last sight of captain milton, they observed that he had got papa by both hands, and was pressing him to dine at mess next day-every day-hospitality was not confined to irishmen. “yes, he must come—immediately, and he'd tell him about a hunt.” "oh, for god's sake, come away,” said cromartin, wheeling his captain round and piloting him to the fresh air, where he sat upon the steps of a carriage, and groaned because the sandwiches had disagreed with him. “the punch disagreed with you," said cromartin, with bitterness, as papa, speeding the parting guest, withdrew his bald pate, and remarked that the english hadn't the heads of feathers. “a few glasses of champagne, and a few spoons of good punch," said papa indignantly. "i declare i'd only be getting thirsty on that same, and the captain is outside with the place wheeling round him.” moira and eva fled hurriedly, their first ideas of offering sympathy being cut short by cromartin's last terse remark. " it-it must have been the sandwiches," said moira, as they got on to the car ; and the roan horse ran backwards with praiseworthy energy. having taken several chips out of the stucco porch, he elected to start at a gallop, striking the carriage which milton still sat on with a jar which brought 232 three girls and a hermit own. that gentleman to his sulky feet, still denouncing the sandwiches. “ bad,” he said unevenly, “raw ham. ptomaine poisoning. see doctor." "punch poisoning,” said cromartin, with emphasis. “there was a bottle of chartreuse in it, and another of brandy. i saw him put them in.” no one felt very well after the geoghans' party. the constant need for the roan horse inspired james dunne with the idea that it would not be a bad thing for his young ladies to have one of their he could, he thought, easily convert a tumbledown shed into another stable, and a friend of his had a black five-year old which would be the very thing. the details of trap and harness did not trouble him. he made his suggestion the morning after the geoghans' party, and it was backed up ten minutes later by the arrival of a black horse, driven in a yellow dogcart which had forgotten what paint looked like. eva's protests as to not wanting a trapper were drowned for a time. " the grandest sthepper he is, as gentle as a lamb." dundon, the owner, drove the black about the little lawn with loose reins and a trusting air. be lookin' ireland for his like in harness. i did but plough and car him, but whin james here tould me, i was away next morning to me uncle's first cousin, that i knew had a fine thrap. an' then, denny o'hagan bein' dead, it just suited, for we wint off to the funeral, an’ while the corpse was waitin' in the chapel, meself an' a couple of fellows dhruv up an' “ ye might a gay afternoon 233 a " down the road to see if the horse would be fit for a lady." even this burst of eloquence was in vain. eva could not see her way to more purchases of horseflesh. moreover, even her unsuspicious eyes saw marks upon its knees, and doubted the soundness of a hind leg ; she was more sceptical than when she purchased the mighty gog. james dunne, on observing her disfavour, veered with the swiftness of a weathercock, rested a suddenly keen vision on several defects, and whispered advice concerning the advisability of sticking to the roan hireling. “sure, afther all, if he did hurt ye, he's not yer own,” said james wisely. “ye wouldn't have to sell him aftherwards, an' that's a great matther." he engaged in a whispered conversation with dundon, in which it is to be feared that his wish to please made him cast many aspersions on the lack of judgment possessed by young ladies. a "glass" was offered, and swallowed with unwinking and unwatered joy by the black's owner, and eva went back to the fire. biddy, laden with coal, was making it up, and grumbling at the cost. “ye'd want a well o gould down here, miss eva," said the old woman unhappily. “ 'tisn't at all like borrisdeane; an' there's not one of ye enjoying yerselves but little miss kathleen. i saw her yesterday evenin' walking up the street with the dogs' masther, as happy as ye plaze—an' a quare little atom of a man he is, too.” biddy, with grimy black fingers, reft a letter from the bosom of her shawl. “ misther tremayne's gone," she said. “i had a 9 ") 234 three girls and a hermit letter this mornin'; james read it to me." this suggested that james was again a visitor for dinner, and had possibly come to breakfast. "he's away from borrisdeane, miss eva; left there three days ago--he and his man-and no one knows whin he'll be back. vo! vo! 'tis bad times," said biddy sadly; "an' old strawberry goin' to have her calf in february, too! oh! miss eva, if i could be back to milk her. that was milk there; not the stuff ye gets here. oh! miss eva, if we could but go home." "i imagine," said eva grimly, "that we shall go there soon, biddy, riding the horses because we can't afford to pay for the tickets." "glory be to god," said biddy. "ye wouldn't get me upon one, miss eva." a visit from captain milton and baby geoghan filled up the afternoon. miss clara was out at a party. "fairly mad she is, my dear," babbled baby julia, with innocent joy. "she had her mind made up, captain, for you to win the case, went down an' bought it, and asked the price of initials, no less; and indeed, i got behind you over it when she wouldn't let me and you hunt together." here baby julia's smile was wide enough to have swallowed a whole continent of hearts, and the rattle of jewellery was as the clinking of curb-chains at a meet. "you were off too early," added the baby. "we had the rugs up, and set a tune on the musical-box and danced till eleven. oh! 'twas great fun altogether. signs by, 'twasn't all as we'd like, for a gay afternoon 235 maggie dayly reddened denny quin's face with the smack she gave him when he kissed her on the stairs; and he came to papa, near to agony. when you'd go as far as that, you might let clouting alone,” said julia philosophically, her beaming eyes on milton. that gentleman, rather depressed by his overenjoyment of punch, had come to suggest taking moira down to a meet of the cloneen staghounds next day. they would go and come back by train, and he would lend her a horse. villiers and cromartin were going, possibly the havilands. it would be great fun, and a ride over a glorious country “ and lots of it on the road," said baby julia irrelevantly, but the tail of her beaming eye dwelt on milton. “i went once, and we pasted the roads all day. i wore the hoof off papa's grey coltand, oh, papa "-her tongue was irrepressible"papa hopes he didn't knock the head off you with the punch, captain. it's a way he has of making it strong, if you wouldn't be used to it. jimmy mack said you were sitting on the carriage steps." with extreme stiffness and a high colour, captain milton remarked that the sandwiches had disagreed with him and made him giddy. he was still, he said, quite afraid that something had been wrong. “not a blessed thing," said the baby, too young to see how she had put her foot in it. “ the meat was from donovan's, and he only kills papa's and lord clargrainey's." » a 236 three girls and a hermit milton thought that a man may desire to murder a buxom young woman with touzled hair and inviting eyes. he took tea with offended dignity, and devoted himself to moira, talking of the morrow. bluebeard, his horse, would carry her splendidly; they would have a great day. moira was carried away by the idea, and oblivious of the effect which baby julia had upon mrs. haviland when she came to call once again. the fat lady froze to a social iceberg, beaten about on all sides by the steel-proof prow of baby julia's desire for friendship, as that young person, perceiving nothing wrong, invited the major's wife to tea, declared she and mamma would call; and, finally, nearly drove poor mrs. haviland crazy by waiting upon her assiduously when tea commenced. the new parlourmaid, it appeared, was a friend of baby's, and was hailed by a pleasant "how are you, mary?" when the brass tray was carried in. "we had that one once," said julia, as she dispensed the considines' hospitality for them; "but she did papa's evening shoes with black lead, and gave him sauce when he ate the face off her, so she had to go. a nice sort of a girl, too. she can cut the cards finely." baby plied mrs. haviland with hot cakes and bread-and-butter, and said, "my, but for a stout woman you eat nothing!" when her overtures were declined. "isn't it funny, that eating?" she said. "i could do with a goose, an' there's no flesh on a gay afternoon 237 me; an' there's claara, that only pecks, draggin' her stays harder every week not to let on that she's getting stouter. i declare you'd hear them groaning often.” mrs. haviland rose, visibly disgusted. "some day, when you are alone, my dear,” she said to eva, who pressed her to come soon. “ i am busy at present. to-morrow the verekers give their afternoon, and thursday the lloyds; friday's a hunt, and the butlers' dinner and dance. it's quite gay." quite gay! and the girls who had come so far for gaiety were not bidden to anything. eva grew pink as she listened; moira bit her lip. these were the things they had hoped for-the little back stream of life which ran at ballydare--and it was denied to them. pretty dresses, plumed hats, languished in their cardboard prisons-so far, only put on once or twice. they don't ask us,” she said with a wry little smile. “mrs. vereker doesn't like us; i don't know 2 why." mrs. haviland looked eloquently at baby julia. she was too mild and kind a woman to say what was in her mind. she looked also at eva's semitheatrical dress and elaborately tired hair, at the haze of smoke, the decanters and glasses brought in after tea, to save milton the trouble of helping himself in the dining-room, and her lips grew tighter. perhaps mrs. vereker was right, and the girls were fast and foolish by design-a mere bevy of little adventuresses, come down to seek for a husband from a 238 three girls and a hermit the midshire regiment. it must, after all, be her last visit. “i could come in on a sunday, if you weren't busy," said eva. mrs. haviland regretted—coldly now but she would be out. eva's pink cheeks faded to white ones. she knew mrs. haviland was never out on sundays, and she had often gone in there to escape from the racket in the little drawing-room at the beeches. moira was determined to accept merriment as life, if she could have nothing else noise passed for smartness to an unsophisticated mind. as mrs. haviland left dennis vereker appeared, and stayed for a short time. he was on his way home from hunting. dennis was clearly depressed ; he stared at eva in a puzzled way, and stroked his red face with his hands as he did so. some glimmering of the right to decide for himself which should have been his was evidently troubling him. moira, very pretty in brilliant yellow, with a string of aunt maria's seed pearls about her round throat, grumbled in undertones to milton. "it's his mother," she said, nodding at dennis. "from the day we let out her prize sheep she has disliked us. i don't know why people don't ask us to all their parties.” “oh, because you're such good fun and good sorts, and so jolly,” said milton easily. “these old fossils at ballydare don't understand your being plucky enough to come and live here alone." a gay afternoon 239 his round pale blue eyes repressed the fact that he, lancelot milton, approved of it, and therefore that it was all right, and she need not worry. "plucky of you, i call it," he said; "getting away from that wretched hole in kerry. of course, the old cats don't approve of you. you're all a hang sight too pretty, for one thing." she could not moira eyed him doubtfully. imagine the hermit telling her that she was a "hang sight too pretty" in that tone. it was a voice which implied good fellowship of so easy a class that moira wrinkled her brows and longed for worldly wisdom. "i don't see how any one could object to our living here-three sisters," she said a little stiffly. "even miss butler said we could. i really often wish," she went on petulantly, "that we had taken the hermit's advice and never left borrisdeane." "oh, but look at the fun you've had," said milton, rising and patting his tie before the narrow glass above the fireplace. "yes, look at it," said moira, without enthusiasm, her eyes upon a muff which baby julia had left behind her. "and the people you've met," said milton, carefully adjusting a tiny curl which he permitted himself just at one side of his parted hair. his increasing baldness was a sad trial to him, and he spent a large sum upon lotions for the hair. "and the people we've met," repeated moira, with 240 three girls and a hermit ance was 66 still less enthusiasm, as she held out her hand to meet his. "to-morrow, then," said milton. " 10.25. 10.25. it will be great fun. don't cut my horse's back, like a good girl.” he went off absolutely satisfied that the wide world held no man whose acquainta greater boon than that of lancelot milton. only kind to be nice to 'em," he said to vereker, as he was given a lift back to barracks. “real jolly little things, with no silly nonsense about 'em.” a sudden access of irritability made dennis wish he could deposit his fellow traveller in the mud. kathleen—who had to leave her horse at malone's and drive with the redoubtable roan-came back late. she was full of the run, and carried a draggled piece of fur in her hand. "i got the brush," she announced. “look! i'll have it mounted. wasn't mr. moroney good ? he said it was no damn use to any one, and perhaps i might like it." "that seemed kind," said eva drily. ran far," prattled kathleen. “not very fast; and malone's grey was splendid. he never made a mistake. there was a huge piece of timber; and there were some banks— oh! high as houses; and once " kathleen looked doubtful—"i was following mr. moroney, and he fell, and i'm afraid—i'm afraid i gave him a teeny, weeny push, and knocked him over. it was all his stupid horse's fault, pausing on « we ever so a gay afternoon 241 the bank. i-i cleared him in the ditch," said kathleen. "and what did he say?" declaimed moira, filled with horror. "he said as he got up-he said we were a wonderful family," said kathleen thoughtfully. 16 chapter xiv of deer-hunting and the hermit ir 1 reland smiled on the day moira considine went deer-hunting. it was one of the country's moods of defiance, when, laughing softly, she declines to accept winter as her master. “ i'll be summer when i choose,” she says, and turns the sky to blue, the sun to warm gold; spreads a silver web of gossamer from flower stalk to flower stalk; mocks at the fallen leaves, all brown upon the earth, and stirs them with a wooing breath of sweet west wind. buds, not dead from nipping frosts, bloom into untimely life, the primroses thrust up pale noses of yellow without fear of the cold, which must come upon them. even the ground, a maze with the spider threads, seems warm. winter, worsted for a day or two, lurks grimly in the shadows, putting out chill fingers to touch the mortals who strayed into them, raising sudden little whirls of cold airs, as if in reply to the blaze of defiant sunshine outside-a day on which spirits rose, despite themselves, on which even misanthropes must be glad to be alive, and on which young blood turned to quicksilver, and made young feet dance in their joy. as moira drove to the station, even the roan horse 242 of deer hunting and the hermit 243 seemed to feel it, for he stepped out freely, champing at his bit, and got them to the train twenty minutes too early, as he had failed to avail himself of the quarter of an hour allowed for stoppages. “will i carry him to the 6.40, miss, to meet ye?” demanded james dunne's friend, whose name was tom riordan. “ you will, tom," said moira cheerily, removing her bag from the car. “ i'm takin' a friend to a funeral," said tom thoughtfully," and if god sind he doesn't sthop too often on the road i'll surely be here. i'll dhrive up for miss eva, for she said she'd like to meet ye. 'tis martin dennehys that's dead," he explained further, "a dacent man that has berried three wives, an' that often took a dhrive with meself, so i can't be afther missin' it. an' i declare corpses upsot this divil,” he added ruefully. “i had five shillin' to take fat micky dundon to bury his a'nt lasht week, an' didn't the scheemer of a horse wheel into the hearse itself, an' kick the coffin out of the min's hands as cliver as any christian could ? good sphort to ye, miss. ye'll have a crowd on the thrain.” it was evident that they would. smiling damsels with gaudy head-gear and many-hued dresses were arriving in scores, a sprinkling of lumpy young men in ready-made shoddy suits and dirty collars amongst them. there were older women with baskets, older men smoking solemnly, a goodly array of priests, all evidently bent upon some trip. it was an excursion to dublin at some very low rate, and a huge crowd swayed at the ticket office, good-humouredly striving for tickets. ") 244 three girls and a hermit milton, stanley, and cromartin turned up rather late, the havilands were evidently not coming, and moira, who knew nothing of training horses, found she had to pay fifteen shillings, a sum which she had to borrow. as they walked towards the train, they had to fight their way through the crowd. carriages were crammed, no distinction of class being observed; and to milton's lively horror, they found themselves overwhelmed by a wedding party, who thrust the bride and bridegroom into an already overcrowded carriage. the englishman's sharp expostulations were received with a carelessness which maddened him; the head porter bade him "be aisy" with friendly patronage; the ticket collector, further appealed to, inquired sarcastically if he'd "wish to lave dacent people on the platform," and he was finally hushed to a furious silence by his subaltern, who was enjoying it immensely. "good-bye, johanna. good luck. good-bye, peter." a score of dirty hands at the window, and the bridegroom, to support himself, wound an appealing arm about milton's neck, knocking off that worthy officer's hat. "no offence, sir," he said pleasantly, bumping back. "no offence." johanna, the bride, was a maiden of many summers, decorously dressed in black, enlivened by pink roses in her hat, and further adorned by black kid gloves, with fingers about an inch too long. "sit down, peter. ye'll be upsot," she said, without emotion. peter wiped his face with a large cotton bandana. of deer hunting and the hermit 245 " ) his collar was evidently a week-old friend, his hands had not seen water for days, he was years younger than the bride; a man with a pleasantly kind face. fears of open amorousness troubled cromartin, as he glanced at moira. "i wonder," said peter. “i wonder, will he give me the calf for four pound tin, johanna ? “i couldn't say," said the bride thoughtfully. peter leant forward ; he was happily and soberly drunk. "jo' dineen,” he said, “is a dacent by—though he had liquor taken to-day. all yer people is dacent, johanna.” the bride thanked him placidly. “ye see we were married this mornin'," said peter, turning a smiling face upon moira and cromartin, who looked sympathetic. “an' we have to shift for “ ourselvės now; 'tis the way of the world. i came over yesterday," he explained, “and i'm taking her home to tullabram. 'tis a long journey whin ye wouldn't be used to ways of the line.” here he found he had no ticket, and was much perturbed. "i came over by cyar," he said ; "and a chaper way, too. isn't it one an'a pinny ache now to tullabram? but there's a calf and two pigs back in the cyart, so johanna was anxious to come this way. weren't ye, johanna ?” johanna, the unemotional, said “ yes.” “we only met yestherday,” observed peter, pulling a bottle from his pocket, “but, faix, we're well satisfied.” he pinched one of the kid-gloved hands, which johanna withdrew coyly. she also refused 246 three girls and a hermit his offer of some whisky, though peter assured her there was “nothin' like a dhrop of dhrink to make the journey jump." the raw and fiery spirit increased his affability; he beamed upon them all, and held his fellowtravellers by his eloquence. all save milton, who sat as an offended god, his whole face expressing acute disgust. “saw her but yestherday, and all as pleasant as ye'd plaze," said peter, wiping his mouth. “faix, we sat up till one, an' divil such a pleasant party ever ye saw. not so much as a lie passed for the evenin'. better luck i had than me cousin mickey hennessy. they med up a match for him with a giril at rathdreen, all as nice as ye'd wish, with a cow and three geese and twinty pound in dhry money to come to him; and mickey's a warm by himself, with a tidy bit of land. well, he missed the thrain the night before, an' was only there jusht in time to sthart for chapel. rose cassidy she was, an' ould cassidy, her father, was just sittin' her above on a fine side-cyar when mickey turned up. an' a fine giril she was; a bit thin, mickey said, but nate an' gintale, with a yally fur around her neck. “i thought ye'd be here now,' says old cassidy, says he. jesht in time, for father malone 'ill be waitin'. i'll introduce ye to the others afther,' says he, 'but let ye sit up with rose now,' says he, on the other fall of the cyar.' well, with that mickey lights up, 'an' 'tis a fine day,' says he ; the signs by he tould me afther 'twas rainin'. i reckon 'tis,' says she, with a twisht from amerikee on her tongue. well, mickey takes a look on that, an' he c of deer-hunting and the hermit 247 passed another remark, sayin' 'he was sorry he was late.' "i calkerlate it's all the same,' says she, very pleasant; and with that mickey never says another word till they were foreninst the chapel gate; then he gits down and walks round to where the ould man was tyin' the reins to the gate. "misther cassidy,' says mickey, says he, 'ye nivir towld me yere dather was a say rambler, and i won't marry her,' says he. an' what's more he didn't, though they nearly bate him there an' thin, and he had to pay fifty pound whin the case was brought up. 'but 'twas bether,' he said, ' than a foreigner for a wife'; an' that's the way it was betune thim." moira and the others, excepting, of course, captain milton, laughed merrily. peter took another drink with a pleased expression, and looked at his wife contentedly. the train was a slow one, stopping at every station and gathering a fresh crowd of excursionists to its already over-full bosom at each pause. agitated cries rose from the platforms. "get in, mrs. hennessy. ma'am, nivir mind the room. patsy, patsy; have ye the tickets? glory be to god above, maria is left behind on us. jump in, let ye. delia, run to the ass car for me puce scharf; i left it afther me." and so on, until the train lost patience with them, and puffed on its way. peter and his bride alighted at shaneen, the station for their home, bidding every one a somewhat sheepish good-bye. fresh people rushed in to take their places, until milton's presence between two fat women was a mere suggestion crowned by a 248 three girls and a hermit pot-hat, while across him they talked volubly. moira, as the lady, had been left some small space. "ballytubbert, thank god!" ejaculated captain milton, shaking the two old ladies as he plunged to his feet, and rudely interrupting the narrative of a cow which would not fatten. getting out was a difficulty, owing to the swarms of people who wanted to get in, and it fell, of course, to milton's part to be pushed back and urged to keep his place, at least twice, and further that he should emerge at last with the beads belonging to one of his fat neighbours wound about the buttons of his overcoat. the frantic shrieks of the old lady were all but drowned in the bustle, and the train was moving before a heated porter rescued the rosary, reproving milton as he did so for so basely removing holy beads which carried two precious relics on them. "she was near to a fit," observed the porter, as the train disappeared. "will i unbox the horses for ye, sir?" he said as he returned. if we "now, mind-we've got ten miles to ride, and the last train leaves at six," said cromartin. so, if we lose each other, make for this place. miss that train, there is no other until two in the morning." they rode out into a wild green country, fenced almost entirely by big clean banks. houses were few on the rolling slopes of the hills; it was a grazing country, with rich pastures, lonely on its wild fields. nothing here to stop hounds or horses; but a hunter must be bold and free to face those yawning ditches: a coward were better at home. the narrow road of deer hunting and the hermit 249 wound along the slope of a hill, then dipped to a flat tableland-miles of flat fields and perfect fences, with hints of boggy drains among them. "one could be lost here and never found again. see, there is not a house for miles." moira pointed to the expanse of low ground. "how desolate it all is, and yet how splendid!" "they run for hours at times, i believe; leave every one standing still," said cromartin. "it takes a racehorse to live with them. see, that is the meet." they were coming to a little village on the brow of a hill; twenty or thirty thatched cabins, squalid and poor, clinging to the slope; one or two half-empty shops, three public-houses. a crowd of men, whose time did not appear to be valuable, were gathered to watch the sport. the deer-van was drawn up on the road near the meet; the hounds were already there. no whiteand-lemon and black-spotted foxhounds, but black and tan, with dewlaps like bloodhounds. there were only a few people at the meet; most of them mounted on blood-horses: nothing without breeding could live with the knockgreena staghounds. they were to enlarge into a big field just beyond the village, a slope with a giant rock jutting high in the middle. woods clustered to the west; below and to the south stretched the green of the pastureland, unbroken by a scar of tillage. they gathered by the rock, watching the enlargement. the deer jumped out of his van, looked about him, and then cantered off with his curious lopping gait; the bank and ditch which he seemed to skip over proved to be a formidable obstacle when they 250 three girls and a hermit came to it afterwards. then he stood for a little, nodded his head at the shouting country people, and disappeared from view. and then the hounds came pouring down the field, a sombre wave of eagerness, filling the very heaven with their music. you-ow-ow, the great full-throated notes swelled and echoed, till the poorest heart must beat to the tune. horses snorted at the sound, sweating from pure excitement, straining at their bits to follow. you-ow-ow. let any man who has not heard the pack go listen as they aling themselves on the line, for deer-hunting may not be legitimate, but there is no sound like this on earth. on, across the field, below the hill, over the bank, a great mound of green turf with a wide drain at either side, flying now at a pace which meant galloping to live with them. there is no looking for places, except when wire stops the field; each bank is clean and honest, with room for fifty abreast, and even then, straining every nerve, good horses fall behind when the staghounds run hard. moira could have shouted in her excitement as she heard the burst of music, and drove her borrowed mount to keep with the hounds. but deer are self-willed. the morning hunt was not to be one of those fiery gallops which make men for an hour forget fox-hunting. this particular stag grew bored with running away, and came trotting back to them along the road, utterly declining to go anywhere. when pressed, he cantered down the road, giving horses the battering on the macadam-which, of course, there is sometimes too much of—and then galloped round in small circles, seemingly unafraid of the full-throated chorus at his heels. it was halfof deer-hunting and the hermit 251 past two when they took him, standing in a boggy ditch. "if they would only go on," said moira disconsolately; "the fences are too lovely, and this horse jumps so well.” cromartin had had a fall; riding wide, he had tumbled in a great ditch, horse and all, and found himself absolutely alone and unable to get out. “ and if the deer hadn't come round again that way, i was afraid i'd be there till they put the cattle out in may," he said ruefully, shaking his soaked coat. milton was absolutely enthusiastic. he had remained upon the road, allowing the chase to circle round him; and he thought it was the finest sport in the world. "fences to make an old man young," he declared ; though one must sit down to ride at them.” cromartin made the mental decision that his senior officer must have been standing up all day; but he said nothing. “ we'll come again," said milton. “i suppose if we ride slowly back now, we shall not be much too early. they'll do nothing more.' but the master was of another opinion. horses were fresh, so they enlarged again on a strip of road between two hills. there was no hesitation this time when hounds were laid on. the full, baying notes were fainter, for scent was hot, and there was not so much time for music. moira was standing with milton as the deer went away. she hustled him through the gate and down the field, when the pace and a gap or two tempted 252 three girls and a hermit him further. and then riding wide, left of hounds, only moira with him, he was not only ashamed, but afraid to stop. they were lost in an unknown, hugely fenced country, and when one or two wide banks were thrown behind, he knew he would have to jump them again if he stopped—towering things, which one could have driven a cart along the top of, deep ditches with gleams of cold water offending the timid eye. how they raced along, the deep notes of the pack echoing through the still air! and race as they would, hounds gained from all except a couple of thoroughbreds. moira was enjoying it madly; her blood was on fire as she felt the good horse's stride beneath her, felt the glory of her pace, saw the green country unfold itself beneath the bright sunshine. they dwelt for a minute, a welcome breather, and then on again, bending to the right, so that milton and moira were still more isolated. his horse was blown; his own soul sickened at the chasms he had crossed ; and he thought he saw a road, so that a instead of following the line of the pack, milton rode still more to the left, and found a high narrow bank barring his way. he fumbled at his horse's mouth, looked round, heard moira calling, and set his mount at the fence in the half-hearted way which invites a fall. there was a deep drain outside, one which the horse might have cleared if his head had been left alone, but the sudden nervous grasp on the curb made disaster certain. the two were engulfed in muddy softness, and as moira got over lower down she saw milton crawling landwards, while his of deer-hunting and the hermit 253 poor beast was on its back wedged in the ditch. no one near, no hope or help in the quiet field, the yap, yap of the hounds grew fainter in the distance. “ what on earth are we to do ?” said milton hopelessly. moira, riding up and down, thought she saw a stain of smoke on the clear air. it was a case of ropes and help, and she suggested riding until she found a cottage. milton, devoid of gratitude, nursed his horse's head, to prevent it going under water, and sourly supposed she'd better. moira tracked the smoke-trail until she got on to a lane, and found a tiny cottage. but there was no man to give aid, only a kindly woman, who wrung her hands with excitement. “ turned over in the ditch ! vo, vo. d'ye say so now, the crayther? an' ye must have ropes to get him out. have i a sign of a rope, miss?" the woman paused ; then, with a skirl of triumph, she ran towards a small hayrick standing near the cottage, caught up a hay knife which was plunged in it, and rushed at a cart which stood in the yard. there were rope-traces attached to it, which she sawed off, and these, with a pair of rope-reins, were thrust into moira's hands. "god sind they'll howld to dhrag him out. god sind it, miss. if ye had but help, and, mother mary be praised ! here's danny, me son, home from market.” danny, a pallid and ill-fed youth, woke to the occasion. he took the ropes from moira, pointed out a shorter way along a road, and set off at a run. 254 three girls and a hermit moira, trotting in front, thought he was merely crawling “why can't you hurry?" she queried sharply. “i have spasms,” said danny sourly, checking further comment. fate at that moment sent them another friend-one mulligan, driving cattle on the road. danny swept him to his aid. “yer a man, let the cattle off. they'll go asthray or ye? what matther is it, whin there's a horse dhrownding?" mulligan immediately left the cattle, and moira and her helpers hurried to the unhappy milton. it was no easy task of rescue, but it was accomplished at last. milton, rubbing his chilled horse, began to wonder how little reward he could give. danny was no grasper of payment. he accepted half a crown without a thought of severed traces and broken cart-reins, just as mulligan, his friend, was oblivious of several hours to be spent in search of his scattered cattle. yet milton's frame of mind was a happy one as they went fast towards the station. had he not, even if completely against his will, distinguished himself across those terrific fences ? that and his fall would be magnified into mighty matters. " it was really almost unjumpable,” he said, as they trotted along the lonely road. it was just your pulling at him on top, i think," said moira, with the thoughtless candour which is so hard to bear. “it wasn't big." milton grunted scornfully. “but it was lovely. and those big fences are so easy,” said moira enthusiastically. “oh, we hadn't > > of deer-hunting and the hermit 255 far to come. here is ballytubbert; the others aren't in, of course; but we'll have our tea now.” the bright morning was waning to a bitter night: a cold east wind drove across the wood, the sky was pallid with cold, grass was crisping under a sharp frost. the man took the horses, and they turned towards a small hotel standing by the station. now, to give ireland the honour due to it, the place was kept by no true son of the land ; the owner was half english, half american, a trainer of race-horses, who cared nothing for his hotel. the door was opened by a maiden steeped in dirt, a red flannel jacket her only bodice; her skirt a study in gaps. in response to a demand for tea, she ushered them into a room to the left; on entering it, moira started back in dismay. a reek of porter and whisky and vile, stale tobacco drove in her face as a blow. the floor was covered with a filthy linoleum, the one long table with the same; there was no fire, and a baby's perambulator, filled with dirty outdoor garments, stood near the fireplace. captain milton said “good god !” sharply, and thundered on the bell. "was there no other room? they could not take tea here.” the flannel-jacketed maiden considered the question, and led them down a grimy passage into a smaller room, if possible dirtier than the first, but evidently of a more private nature, and apparently, judging by dirty collars and other garments lying on the table, occasionally used as a dressing-room. the thought of taking tea anywhere in the house made moira a 256 three girls and a hermit sick ; she proffered an urgent request to be allowed to go without food, and to sit at the railway-station until train time. captain milton looked at his watch; they had an hour and a half to wait. he interviewed the porter, . who told him they should have entrained at ardgrath, three miles farther back. “ there's a nate little hotel there that all the hunting genthrey goes to," he told them. “tay, and eggs, and jam and all ye'd fancy. sorra a thing in there ”—he nodded strong disapproval at the house they had left—" but the dhregs of porther and whisky. there's none sthops there but thim that can't help it, or wants to drink.” a car drove up to the station, and the porter was struck by a brilliant idea. there's andy o'mally's cyar,” he said, “come in with a parcel from misther o'grady's. he's goin' back to ardgrath. if ye were . arlier ye could dhrive back with him, an' have tay, an' catch the thrain beyond." milton again consulted his watch. if it was only three miles away they still had time, and the idea of tea was alluring--for it was very cold. they took their bags and drove away, leaving word to tell what they had done. andy o'mally declined to be hurried. there were parcels to collect at the station, a box of books on the well, a bag of flour to be strapped on to the driving seat, from which it nodded like a headless alderman. the three miles were irish, and therefore elastic, stretching interminably through a flat, bare land, where the banks flung black shadows in the moonlight. it was bitterly cold now, as the old of deer hunting and the hermit 257 horse jogged monotonously, walking up every slope to spare his breath, and down each hill to spare his spavined hocks. andy o'mally was taciturn and sparing of speech. when asked to hurry he beat the horse softly, but as one who had not the faintest idea of the blow hastening the speed. as they dipped between high hedges into a well of gloom and emerged into the pale, clear light of the moon, a row of trembling lights in front gladdened them. it was then that milton looked again at his watch, and exclaimed feverishly. tea was no longer a consideration, for the hands pointed to 6.5. "drive to the station,” commanded milton. "god, what a horse! we can . “ only catch the train now.” “if ye can do that same," said andy, without emotion. “ 'tis all up hill." for the station at ardgrath is not in the town. with horror they discovered that a mile of hilly road lay between, and even as they looked a long shrill whistle rent the still evening. “ye may as well have ye're tay, now," said andy placidly. "if i was a mothor cyar i wouldn't be there." “they-the others—will explain to eva,” said moira, rather unhappily. “we can go on later." "faix, ye can, at two o'clock," observed andy, as he took payment and drove away. moira had not realised the awkwardness of her plight. they had missed one train, they would go later, that was all. she yawned as they were shown nto a cosy sitting-room, where a bright fire warmed frozen hands and feet. tea, hot toast, eggs and 17 258 three girls and a hermit a cream were rapidly produced, and eaten with hunter's appetite. milton stified his conscience in the comfort of the small room. he took it as good fun, and seeing moira did not mind, glazed it all over lightly. “we can go by the night train," he said easily. moira shivered and yawned. she had a change with her. she would stay all night, and leave in the morning. eva would not expect her until then, or meet her at half-past three at night. “that'll do, won't it?" said moira, without thought. milton looked at her, and with a dense man's lack of perception, misread her carelessness. "i must go by the two," he said limply, not at all sure that he would do so, for the warmth of the room was lapping him to laziness. they would want dinner. jane, the little handmaiden, was confident that they could have some. “ there were chickens up on the roost,” she said, “ that could be cooked in time." on this being firmly. declined, she called to an unseen cornelius, and bade him knock up casey to see if he had a bit of mutton “ fit for the atin." she said 'twouldn't agree with them "atin'” so late as eight, and then withdrew, clearing off the tea things. the oil lamp, badly trimmed, aickered and smelt. the room grew over hot, and the one window was hermetically sealed. as milton, puffing at a huge cigar, reeled forth tale after tale of his feats and prowess, moira grew suddenly wakeful and uneasy. eva would be alarmed, might be angry. the whole thing had been stupid and unnecessary, for she could have of deer-hunting and the hermit 259 now. done without her tea. the stillness of sharp frost held the world outside, broken by the occasional rumble of carts, or the clump of heavy footsteps on the crisp hardness of the roads. it was past seven the train was in, and eva knew of her absence. she could not wire, for the little village held no office. “will you be wantin' andy, sir, for the night thrain ?” said jane, thrusting in her head after a demure cough. “he says if you do he must sit below and not return home.” milton temporised for an hour. the prospect of turning out at two was not alluring. moira, unheeding, was staring into the bright fire, her thoughts far away. she was thinking, with great conviction, that the hermit would not have missed the train. “could one drive back? it's only about twentyfive miles by road ?" she asked, looking up. milton laughed at the idea. andy's old grey would most certainly never get there. moira stared into the fire again, abstracted, and yet strangely restless. dragging her thoughts back with an effort, she looked across at milton, listening vaguely to his tale of how he cut down a leicestershire field. he was good-looking, well set up, and yet moira knew there was no restfulness in sitting listening to his discourse. for companionship there must be sympathy, and lancelot milton was too self-centred to be sympathetic. the idea of listening to moira while she talked about her old life or present experiences never entered into his head. he grew merry as jane appeared with plates, or 260 three girls and a hermit ) the news that cornelius had got the chops, twitting moira on her dulness. “rather fun, after all, isn't it ?” he said superbly, lounging against the mantelpiece—“cosy and jolly in here as we are." the tender note in this was broken short by jane, dish in hand, entreating him "for the love of god not to lane agin the chimney boord, for 'twas only held by one nail, that might give any minit at all.” in her fear, she rushed at him, pulling him away with a jerk which shot a chop into the fireplace. "see that now," said jane, picking it out with the tongs. “ there's not a ha'porth on it but a taste of ashes,” she added, blowing lustily, and greatly surprised when moira ordered its removal. “'twasn't hurt no more than if 'twas cookin'," said jane, offended." the other chops is waitin' on ye," she said, banging down the dish. they were noble chops, cut in thick slabs, straight across some unknown portion of a sheep. they had been fried to a dull brown, and came up supine and greasy, with a little fat-spotted water poured about them. the knife glided off them with a jar of surprise, and when a piece, torn away, was tasted, they proved to be tough as leather, and tasting strongly of turf smoke and frying-pan. moira took potatoes, and was content, but captain milton grumbled savagely. jane bent humbly before his storm of abuse. “ i'm thinkin', afther all, that casey lied," she said penitently. “cornelius saw matty mahers' ould sheep being dhruv up there to-day, and, maybe, 'tis a bit of that same he cut off for him. ye couldn't be up to the ways of thim butchers. there wouldn't be one of deer hunting and the hermit 261 1 here at all, only there's two great houses to be supplied." milton drank fiery whisky. moira had tea. the little clock said half-past eight, and the hoot of a motor suddenly tore at the stillness outside. it was throbbing fast up the road ; they heard it stop outside. glory be to the hevins, a mothor !” cried jane, flinging herself downstairs. they could hear her shrieking to cornelius to turn out the old ass if the gentlemen wanted a house. milton lounged across to moira, who was sipping tea dejectedly. "i hope they won't come in here, whoever they are," he said fatuously. he sat down upon the arm of her chair, and his face, which spoke of untamed whisky, was rather near hers. moira moved away quickly, a hot flush on her face. if captain milton was moved to this mood, she felt that andy and the car out in the cold would be a pleasant alternative. she had all a young girl's fear of seeming too angry, or being stupidly offended, and she glanced at the door miserably. steps were coming up the stairs. milton followed her across. the raw spirit worked in his brain, and moira's flushing face was alluring. it was time for some slight return for weeks of devotion. “what a nuisance, isn't it?” he said, and took her hand in his. “they must go soon, though ; then we'll have a nice time, all alone.” "oh, please," said moira helplessly. “ i've come to take you home, moira," said a quiet voice at the door. 262 three girls and a hermit "why-who the deuce?" said milton. "the hermit! you!" moira shot to her feet with a cry; she dashed across the room, clinging to his hands, feeling as some disconsolate little pleasure boat, which, rudderless and beaten by waves, is suddenly towed into harbour by a steam tug. "oh, how, and where, and when?" she cried. the hermit looked hard at milton, question, as well as anger, in his eyes. the longer he looked the less satisfied he appeared to be. milton, growing visibly uneasy under the scrutiny, began to explain hazily, in a manner calculated to convey that no train could ever have been caught, at any hour. slip into your coat, moira," said the hermit. "i came down to ballydare this morning, and went to the station to meet you. it appears the horse you ordered hurt itself against a hearse. and, when 1 heard of this piece of stupidity"—his eye raked milton fiercely-"i came along to fetch you. we can take you, too," he said politely to milton. moira babbled explanations rapidly: how they had wanted tea, at least, milton had, and how andy's horse had been so slow, and there was no other train. "you were, of course, driving home?" said the hermit to milton, who stood silent for once, with a whipped feeling which he had believed lost in his childhood. "i was going by the midnight train," said milton stiffly. the hermit's face cleared a little, to fall again as jane put her nose in. "andy says he'll wait no longer, yer honour. of deer hunting and the hermit 263 will ye want him or not for the two thrain ? but sure, ye're all off now.” captain milton's answer was not audible. the hermit, still very quiet, paid the bill. they went downstairs to get into a 20-h.p. daracq, which throbbed noisily at the door. moira and the hermit sat in front; milton got in at the back with the man. they bade good-bye to jane, and swooped at the silver streak of road, the keen air cold upon their faces. moira's tongue burst into eager questioning. “why, how, when had the hermit come down ? why had he not written? what did it mean? “he had motored down," he said; "he was going to buy a horse and hunt for a little." he looked down at moira with questioning eyes. " it was a great piece of folly, wasn't it?" he said. "unless" and he looked back a little at milton. what if i had not come to fetch you, moira ? " "i was going back at eight to-morrow," said moira uneasily. “the world has apparently not taught you wisdom. there are some things you may not do," he said sharply. “eva was broken-hearted when the train came in." again he looked at her with a curious question in his eyes, and he sighed a little impatiently. the car devoured the empty road-fortunately almost a straight one-and once they reached coolgranagh there were telegraph posts to guide them. a halo dimmed the peevish moon, telling the silver frost was a mere forerunner of rain ; but the icebreath fell heavily now, crisping the world to silver. it was joy when, having dropped milton, they " 264 three girls and a hermit swung through the narrow gates at the beeches, into the radiance of yellow light cast by the unshuttered windows. there was welcome for the returned prodigal. biddy had prepared an extravagant supper, and they passed from the cold of the frosty night into the warmth of the little square room. but eva, when the hermit, having partaken largely of cold chicken and bacon, hot cakes and much butter, left them, was absent and even vexed. for the first time the elder sister asserted her seniority, daring to question the conduct of the stronger-willed younger girl. " it was a pity, moira; i don't like it. you see, the hermit appeared suddenly just from nowhere, and we went off to the station, meaning to surprise you. the hermit stayed outside in the car: i went to the train, and—” eva's voice grew troubled—“mrs. vereker was there, and she would scarcely speak to me.” "and dennis ?" asked moira eagerly. “dennis, good boy, was held by his mother's hand.” there was faint contempt in eva's voice. “ but then mr. cromartin got out— your sister's missed the train,' he said. “she got to ballytubbert in time, but she went off with captain milton to take tea somewhere, at ardgrath, i believe, and never got to the station.' moira, i saw mrs. vereker turn and look. there's a train back at two,' mr. cromartin said, 'and one early to-morrow morning. miss considine took her bag, so she can stay if she wants to.' he said something under his breath about captain milton then, and he looked so put out. moira, mrs. vereker > of deer hunting and the hermit 265 • won't forget it. it's—it's time we went back to borrisdeane ...." moira, with hot cheeks, said “rubbish," miserably. “ the hermit is here now to hunt," she added ; "we couldn't go.” eva shook a despondent head ; she had not, it would appear, represented things very cheerfully to the hermit. "it chapter xv the night of the party t's all been a great success, then," said the hermit, addressing himself to moira. "of course," said moira stiffly, and the tail of a warning eye dwelt fiercely upon eva. the hermit had arrived to breakfast. he said he knew biddy would give him some. his arrival had occasioned the immediate removal of patsy from his horses, to be dispatched to mary guinane's and tommy sheeby's for an odd egg or so, also the hasty slapping together of a griddle-cake, which was outwardly crisp and inwardly soft and altogether excellent. "you've had a really good time in this new world of yours?" he asked, dodging a well-aimed puff from the fire. "yes," said moira, this time angrily. "the star's a skeleton and gog's legs are bolsters," observed kathleen with unnecessary candour, and apropos of nothing. the hermit's eye travelled slowly round the smokegrimed dining-room. "it's not a very well furnished world," he said thoughtfully. "but there's lots going on," he said cheerily. "the boots at the hotel filled me with information. it was dull for you at borris266 the night of the party 267 deane. well, are you going to the kavanaghs', or to the dance-the leigh dares'-afternoon bridge of course there ?" "we we are engaged this evening," said moira, avoiding the keen blue eyes. "and there's bridge here in the afternoon." little kathleen was irrepressible. "and captain milton is sure to come to see moira." "oh!" said the hermit, very quietly. kathleen, rejoicing in unbaked griddle cake, said a day without captain milton would be an event. she smiled knowingly at the hermit, whose smile in response lacked gaiety. "and miss eva and her vereker boy," said kathleen. "and you?" asked the hermit. "oh! i've the horses," said kathleen thoughtfully. "i hunt nearly every day. mr. moroney says i'm a terror," she added with sudden cheer. "i jumped on one of his hounds last day. i'll show you jim crow," she said invitingly. they went out to the little yard. james dunne was pleasantly engaged in stuping gog's legs, while patsy explained how he himself was whipped away to get eggs. "and they should be fresh," said patsy, "for i had to wait on mary guinane's yallow hin while she laid the brown one." the star, a dejected object, was faintly tasting crushed oats and hot bran. patsy thought she might hunt on the morrow. "she'd break any man's heart," he said, watching an ever-ready heel. "the day afther huntin' she'd fly round her box like a wild sparry, and i declare to god she wouldn't pick as much." 268 three girls and a hermit "there's some comfort in gog," he went on, if what he ate would go into his legs." now. "even a big cheque seemed to be a very long way off moira, ever hopeful, said they would get it in the summer, when the star grew fat and gog's legs grew thin. there would be the winter's hunting reputation to sell them on. her sore little heart was resenting the hermit's appearance and questionings. eva observed gloomily that horses cost sheer fortunes to feed. she seemed to buy something each day. biddy, appearing with food for some stray chickens, which she had refused to kill because they were hens, cast aspersions on all horseflesh. "there was more vally in the old cow an' the two pigs we had beyant," she said stoutly, "that'd ate grass what ye wouldn't miss, an' that male an' scraps'd kape fat an' sthrong." the hermit agreed with her with due gravity. yet he observed a few minutes later that he intended to buy or hire a horse himself, so that he might hunt next day. kathleen immediately suggested malone. the hermit shook his head. "slattery," he said, 'for me. malone if i wanted a good young one, but slattery's will be trained and fit to go." "ould slathery's dead," remarked james dunne, who was staring hard at the hermit, and appeared to have something on his mind. "young martin an' his mamma does the bizness now, and a 'cute young chap he is too." "we'll motor there," said the hermit, "and get back early. they went in to the fire; the morning the night of the party 269 was raw and cold. "and so ballydare actually has three parties to-day, and you say you are engaged elsewhere. who to, moira ?" mamma wants to know, have you a' shape,' miss moira?" said baby julia, putting a coy head round the door. "dear me," said the hermit faintly, bereft of words by the vision. the baby was somewhat flurried and uncurled. perceiving the hermit, she wound her fur about her neck to hide her lack of collar-band, and pranced in. "i'm not got up," she announced truthfully, "for i'm in the kitchen all morning, an' i just lit up in the jennet's inside-outside car-that was after fetching soda-water-and cantered over here to you, mamma being demented. we're short of a round shape, if you have one or two to set the jellies in. we have all ours used, and there's none set to turn out yet. i hope you'll bring your friend to-night," she added sweetly, as moira introduced them. "it's only a little bit of a hop," she said modestly— "just boys and girls and a few officers. but, indeed, we'd be very glad to see you. it's hard to get an arm to give every girl a twirl. an' papa won't forget the champagne, whatever happens. there's life in a drop of champagne," said the baby joyously. "there is indeed," said the hermit gravely. "i"-he looked at moira "i shall be charmed to come." "" "success," said baby julia, with some enthusiasm, 'success to you." biddy appeared with two tin moulds, and julia, taking them in her ample hands, sat down. 270 three girls and a hermit “claara whipped the head off me this morning,” she confided, “and set papa on me no less. she found me making a hiding hole for meself in papa's writing-room. i tell you i caught it." she rose, clutching the shapes and her fur. “i won't be such a figure when you see me again," she babbled. “don't be late now. eight o'clock we'll begin, an' go on till we're tired.” and julia, clasping her shapes, vanished. "so-that's the engagement ? ” said the hermit slowly. “that's the engagement, moira ? papa geoghan is rather a decent person as well as i recollect." "oh, yes," said moira, with an airiness she did not feel. “ he used to sell me harness when i was here," said the hermit—"in his own shop. your world . is assorted, moira." he watched her flushing face. "come, let's go to buy horses, and i'll wind up with the car.” slattery's was some miles away. the daracq slid through the chill grey day at a merry pace. pallid clouds had overcast the air, last night's frost still lay silver in the hollows; but the wind had changed, and its faint sob spoke of swiftly coming rain. the hermit seemed to know his way; they ran through the high hedges bordering the narrow by-roads, and on past malone's house, where moira had had her first encounter with mrs. vereker and her sheep. she spoke of it now, pointing to the gap leading from the road. “she seemed to dislike us from the first," said moira disconsolately, "and to dislike me most of the night of the party 271 all. i've seen her watching me with such a cruel look." "it's curious." the hermit spoke half to himself. "and i-i seem to have seen her before," went on moira. "i felt that from the first." "you can't think where?" asked the hermit, artistically shaving a wandering donkey. "no-o," answered moira slowly. "she seems mixed up in my mind with you, and that's absurd." the hermit said nothing. they climbed to higher ground, and flashed past tulla covert. a faint gleam of sun touched the patch of gorse as they passed. to moira the place always recalled old dunne's tale; she spoke of it now of the life-story brought to a close there so many years ago; of the cruel, cold girl; and the man who, goaded to madness, had spoken his mind, and then tried to ride to his death. "oh, i've pitied him so often, for he was so young," said moira softly. the hermit slowed the car. "a slash from the surgeon's knife may be better than a growing sore," he said, very quietly. "it hurts. yes it hurts." his teeth were set now. "but, supposing he had married the girl who had no more heart than the statues she surrounds herself with, what would his life have been? he was poor, this boy; the inheritance he hoped for then never came. perhaps the pain he bore then was better than a lifelong one yoked to a woman whose soul would have cried out for the things he could not give. men love shadows sometimes, little moira-glorious shadows perhaps, beautiful to see, but cold and chill withal as the mist wraiths on a winter's night. oh, 272 three girls and a hermit andmen's hearts are sore when they find it all out, until some day perhaps the pain dies and they live again, and this time, not for the desire of their boyish eyes, for so much beauty, without one thought of the nature behind the mask which maddens them, but some one who creeps into their hearts, who is lovelier to them now than the being they once deemed perfect.” moira stared hard at the hedges as they slipped by. the hermit no doubt spoke of the girl he meant to marry. the air seemed to grow suddenly sharper, for her eyes smarted. “love is all humbug,” she said gruffly. “do you think so ?” the hermit's voice grew suddenly chill. “you think so, moira ? i suppose , -he laughed suddenly—“no girl could love me, for instance." moira said politely—and she could not understand why, going slowly as they were, her eyes should still hurt—"that no doubt it was all a matter of taste." she conceived a sudden unreasoning dislike for the absent fiancée, and wondered why the hermit would not speak of it openly. “some dumpy, ugly thing,” thought moira with quick wrath. "i suppose that's it”-the car leapt suddenly to fuller speed, licking up the strip of road. “i suppose well, i half expected it all." the hermit's face was strangely sad as he looked ahead; his eyes quietly wistful. “he--would appeal to some tastes." moira asked, “who?" sharply. “ your friend milton," said the hermit. “ he is of course good-looking-in a way.” so, moira. the night of the party 273 "" he's exceedingly handsome," said moira crossly. "but i don't know what he's got to do with yourshe bit off marriage, and left the sentence unfinished. the hermit thought captain milton had a great deal to do with everything, but he said nothing more. slattery's house, a square little building, lay in a hollow below them. ranges of stables, painted black, straggled all round it. a huge hay-barn full of hay and another of straw overhung the front windows. all around was a perfect schooling ground-small fields, fenced by every variety of fence; banks, ditches, water, even timber. young martin was at home, and came smiling to meet them. it astonished moira to see an old helper prick up his head and greet the hermit as "misther grattan" with a cry of surprise. "i had another name down here, you see," said the hermit, explaining. "tremayne is really only a christian name which i passed under at borrisdeane. "how are you, tom?" he said to the old man. "a few more broken bones since you saw me, sir. it's twenty-two years since you bought a horse from us; and the ould man, god rest his sowl, was hale an' well then. an' yet i'm here an' he's gone." stables were opened, horses pulled out. some were rejected instantly, others seen at a gallop and across fences. the hermit's choice from the first fell on a blood-like brown, fired for curbs, but with a hunter-like look about him. there was a bay he rode also a big, raking brute with an awkward 18 274 three girls and a hermit he mouth, but a fine mover, and a bold, if not a clever, jumper. moira had often seen him ride at borrisdeane, but it was a revelation to watch him manage the bay fiveyear-old-steadying it as it rushed, head up, at the fences; easing it round turns; sitting down on the fiat to see how it could move. “how much for the two ?” he asked, slipping down. martin slattery put on his most guileless expression and said as it was two, and not one, he would take two hundred and ninety. the hermit walked quickly round the horses. looked at the brown's hocks, and lighted on a last year's blemish on the bay. “i want them. i'll give you a hundred and eighty,” he said. “and that's more than they're worth.” young martin leant against a haystack in pained horror. “when he put them at their lowest, too. it was useless to talk of a hundred each for such horses." the hermit explained easily that he wasn't doing he was talking of one hundred pounds for the bay, bad puller as he was, and eighty pounds for the fired brown. slattery dismissed the horses more in sorrow than in anger. as a favour he might take off ten pounds for luck: might even stretch it to fifteen; but otherwise—“feed thim horses," he said sorrowfully, “an' clane thim, joe." but joe had disappeared. his absence was followed by the hurried appearance of mrs. slattery, the night of the party 275 " a comely woman of fifty, to insist on their taking refreshment. “don't i recall ye well, misther grattan ?" she said, wringing his hands. “many's the horse slattery sold ye, an' i wish he could come in to see ye himself. he'd not let ye go hungry, so will ye take a bit?" the hermit cast one gruesome thought on what the present appearance of slattery would be like, and accepted politely. “ he wasn't as hard a man as his son," said the hermit, watching the pained back view of martin as he gave some directions to a helper. mrs. slattery said young men were apt to be too clever, and wished to know if it would be whisky or a cup of “tay." the hermit chose tea hastily, though from old experience he knew it would resolve itself into a square meal of boiled eggs and fried bacon and hot bread and jam, and many other things unsuited to a mid-day meal. moira, her existence blotted out of the flood of reminiscence flowing from mrs. slattery's lips, sat down modestly. the hermit inquired for katie, asking if she was now married. mrs. slattery shook a troubled head. her heart, it would appear, was broke from making matches for katie, whom a convent education had rendered too fine for ordinary men. “but i think i have her off with joe magee's nephew," said mrs. slattery, after a lusty call to her absent daughter to come to mr. grattan. a hurried pattering overhead was accelerated to a 276 three girls and a hermit « i'll swift scampering, and then katie, very fine and very breathless, appeared. she was rubbing her hands as she came. “don't mind the wet on me hands, misther grattan,” she said as she held them out. "'tis only the way i'm afther washin' them." the hermit wrung the moist hands warmly, and tea proceeded. moira, who was still neglected, ate eggs and bacon thoughtfully. this was the hermit in quite a new light. in absence of mind she even helped herself to plum jam on to her bacon, and found they did not agree. the hermit rose at last. it was after two, and moira wanted to be back. he said no more about the horses until he was leaving. sorry we couldn't deal,” he said as he left. just look in at old heinihan, to see if he has a screw for me for to-morrow. good-bye." ” heinihan, another old friend, was not at home. there seemed nothing for it but the black or grey hireling from malone. they went slowly back by the lane, past slattery's house, and on by the narrow, twisting roads to ballydare. as they drove round the corner above tulla covert, they were astonished to see young martin slattery, riding a blood horse, galloping across the field towards them. both he and his steed were hot and breathless; also, his coat was not innocent of mud stains. "i galloped straight across," he explained,“ to cut ye off, misther grattan. i'll take yer offer. i wint in directly you were gone, and i tould me mamma all—the price, and what was betune us. "martin,' the night of the party 277 says she, 'don't be a' (martin bit off a red word with difficulty), 'don't be a-a-damn fool,' says she, but take the money the gintleman offered ye.' them's the very words, now, me mamma used to me." the hermit examined the steering gear minutely; when he raised his head he had ceased smiling. he gave directions concerning the taking of his steeds to the meet; made no comment as to the altered price, and drove on. "i hope i shan't have you late, moira," he said as they raced on. "for what?" said moira. "for bridge and captain milton," said the hermit thoughtfully. the little drawing-room was full as they got in. an absence of noise never marked the considines' afternoons. captain milton was romping with kathleen, who accepted it absently and without enthusiasm ; though her retaliation of a glass vase full of water was not ill-aimed. cromartin was putting out the bridge things. biddy had, as directed, left decanters and syphons on a table in the corner. another motor turned in after theirs, and moira saw with pleasure it was dennis vereker. she whispered the news to the hermit. he grew suddenly white and quiet. "so that is young vereker. he must be twenty now," he said. "no; don't introduce me, moira." dennis lifted a parcel. "a book," he said. "no; i really can't come in, miss moira. it's a book your sister lent to me.” 278 three girls and a hermit was. moira demanded with asperity his reason for not taking tea with them. "1-i can't, really"; and dennis stumbled and blushed over the simple words. “eva's in,” said moira. dennis looked through the window. eva, her hair shining and her pretty face rather grave, was throwing down, almost angrily, a flower which milton had pelted her with. a sudden onslaught from kathleen involved her in a moment's romping, from which she had emerged ruffled and clearly annoyed. dennis's lips set suddenly. his mother was stronger than he he looked again-for eva, who knew he was there, never looked out and then he bent over the car. good-bye,” he blurted out. “my mother's waiting." yet, as his car sped over the wide road to the town, weak dennis vereker knew that his eyes were full of tears; knew that he had forged his slave chains afresh in treble steel; had bound his boyish hands with ropes which would never part. “ his father's son," said the hermit. “poor boy! his life is as much moulded as though it had been passed into one of baby geoghan's 'shapes. well; you don't lack gaiety, moira, in your world." he sat apart and quiet, saying he would watch the bridge—a quiet which was almost pungent when they played their hands. borrisdeane had not reached the stage of acute bridge ; but the hermit had been a whist player, and moira's reckless disregard for any ordinary rules made his eyebrows wander to his hair. he came and sat close to her once, watching her the night of the party 279 fumble over a return and distinctly throw away the game. it was rather a troubled little face as he looked down on it, with new, faint lines about the mouth-lines which had no business to be there. "my dear girl”-milton was a man who permitted himself these familiarities—"my dear girl, if you had bottled your ace, and had returned a spade, we must have won four tricks. you are a little duffer." moira shook her head dolefully, and the hermit looked as if an acute desire to hit something had come across him. "a most expensive partner.” milton added up the score somewhat sourly. “ that's seven and six to chalk up." eva, who was looking on, sighed a little. this paying of bridge debts was not the smallest of her troubles. even at half a crown a hundred persistent losses mount up. moira had just reached the stage when her thoughts leaped far beyond her skill, when she essayed coups, and then, unable to count cards, almost forgot what she had tried for. eventually she might play well; but at present she was bound to lose. biddy came in with tea, and her inevitable plate of hot griddle-bread; but milton, yawning openly, declined tea. he filled a long glass with a stiff peg, and was about to drink it when the hermit laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder. he had another tumbler in his hand. "you and i," he said, “can go into the dining" room.” 280 three girls and a hermit “ how » before milton could remonstrate he was spirited away; and as the dining-room was puffing smoke from a dim fire, he returned in a peevish humour. the lack of ceremony at the beeches had been one of its great charms. after tea they played more bridge, and, tired of that, fell to the romping which so often passes for merriment; and through it all the hermit sat quiet and aloof. the geoghans' party necessitated a somewhat early departure for the men. “i wouldn't miss it for fivers." milton looked at his watch and got up, and took moira aside. many waltzes, miss moira, eh ? " moira replied vaguely; she had not enjoyed the afternoon. “well, the first, at all events.” if milton meant his voice to be low, he failed, for it travelled clearly to the ears of the others. “ then, we can sit out a bit and watch the fun. don't fill up until you see me." moira nodded absently, and came back to the fire. she was very much afraid that she would not be able to dance at all, some slight practice with a chair having been her only attempt to learn the art. “the world is rather a noisy place," said the hermit, as he watched the three men go. “ you were always down upon it," said moira resentfully. perhaps i thought it was a wide place for three girls to stray into alone"-his eyes fell rather severely upon the small table and the whisky decanters. “ ballydare, in my day, was stiff and old-fashioned. 6 the night of the party 281 > i am glad the hunting people are all so nice to you, and realise that you are only young." there was something in his voice which banished the angry words which moira meant to flash back. the hermit did not look as if leaving borrisdeane had made him happier. " and now that you've tasted the sweets of all this rollicking, i suppose you'll like to keep to the life, moira: moving about, seeing fresh faces, meeting new people, always in towns? young blood would never care for the stagnation of the old sea coast. the waves and the lake, and the fishing in summer, would not weigh for a fraction's space against this -fun?" there was question, more than certainty, in his words. moira stared hard at the glowing fire. she seemed to hear the plash and shiver of the lake through reeds and on stony beach, hear the distant boom of the sea, feel the west wind on her face, the ecstasy of a suddenly tightened line, the triumph of the moment when a tired fish was slipped into the net; more, to feel again the peace of that old, dull life, where there were no disappointments, and no ring of cold, , disapproving faces. the tug at her heart hurt her; her eyes might smart, but she answered aippantly. time to let the hermit see the failure of the enterprise. “oh yes, i'd love to move about ; to meet heaps : of people. life at borrisdeane was mere stagnationwhere one saw no one, knew no one." she glanced across at eva, who was lost in unhappy thought. it was no > 282 three girls and a hermit “ here it is different," said moira. she would like to have this kind of fun always. "i ... see," said the hermit, and his voice dropped from question to quiet sadness : and his fists clenched once or twice, as if an active animosity was mixed with his musings. at a little before eight two miss considines, radiant in aimsy ball gowns, were ready to start. eva was nervous, because the scanty sleeves which she had insisted on copying seemed to leave her bare and unprotected now. moira was a blaze of assertive blue, with some beads, which the hermit wanted to burn, wound about her soft throat. nothing would induce kathleen to go. she was studying a bulky volume, which she said moroney had sent her by post, so that she might realise what a hound was worth next time she jumped on one. “and i thought i'd better know before to-morrow, for malone is lending me a young one that pulls," said kathleen, settling to her book. the hermit put the hood up and drove them across. needless to say, they were too early. baby julia, whose amplitude of hair-pads neutralised her lack of bodice, burst upon them five minutes after they arrived, and said the breath was out of her from pulling at claara's body. “an' we had to lay a bit of stuff under the lacing at the last," confided the baby. "my! i knew we were late. there's mamma in the kitchen yet, with her puce dress above on the bed in her room.” cornelius, whose shirt front suffered from lack of stamina, and whose white gloves would go on no » the night of the party 283 farther than his thumbs, now bounced into the room to hang over eva, and pray for dances. "you could lay your heel on the floor and 'twould slip to your head," he told her. "baby has it that thick with french chalk. an' the fiddler is tuning up already, inside." people began to straggle in. it was moira's first dance, and she watched breathlessly. the fine young women of the afternoon emerged from much cloaking in a vanity of strange garments, baby julia's white silk, shining moonlike amid a cloud of lesser stars. there were too apparent evidences of neck-bands cut off for the occasion, skirts not intended for dancing, among the visitors. "i just slashed a bit off the top, and bowed up a few yards of ribbon, and wouldn't it do for court?" confided one young woman happily, as she embraced the baby, and said, "hello, corny, ain't you grand in your new black coat?" to the heir of the house. moira, the hermit by her side, moved into the dancing-room. he was very tall and remote among the slouching youth about him; very grave, as he asked baby julia to dance, and declined other introductions courteously. "they'll tear me for spite," said the baby, "they will, indeed. katie malone has her eye on me, asking you. if you could give her one twist ? • " but the hermit, now exceedingly grave, because torn by desire for laughter, could not. "she's eating the face off tommy quin," said the baby sorrowfully, "because he wants to pull her out. it's no go, katie," she shrilled loudly; "you may as well take tommy." 284 three girls and a hermit “it-it”--the hermit was a little breathless as he spoke—“it's wonderful, moira. supposing we dance. not this one-you're engaged-but later." he wrote his name on her programme, bowed and moved to eva, who was striving to escape from cornelius. cornelius left with reluctance, and moodily offered his support to moira. “will we take a turn ?” he said. “the walls can stand without you." moira's first essay of dancing represented a bumping chaos, a firm clasping of cornelius, as he swung her from the ground, and the absolute certainty of striking into every other pair as they met them. cornelius swooped at the floor as he would have at a gap out hunting. if he heard the music, it was not apparent in his steps, and when he landed poor, panting moira up against a sofa, he wiped his brow and said, " 'twas grand." “there's nothing like a bit of steam,” said cornelius. “i'm thinking 'twas we knocked mary raffarty, that's getting up." he pointed to a maiden in pink, who was rising from her knees. moira, faintly, thought it was. “i wouldn't like to be the one to marry that one," ruminated cornelius. “she threw an eye on me now like the blow of a hatchet.” when the dance was ended, cornelius abandoned his partner. as she would not take lemonade or tea, he seemed to have no further use for her. milton was late, and moira again found herself alone. the fine young women were all enjoying themselves hugely. where they had not a partner apiece, they were not too proud to club round anything in dress clothes, and take small shares in its > the night of the party 285 protecting presence. their giggles rose shrilly. miss clara and the baby were, on the other hand, somewhat absent, for the expected party from the barracks were fashionably late. “i have not been to a dance," said the hermit, " for over twenty years.” he appeared suddenly by moira's side, and the fickle groups turned awe-struck to stare at his tall, grave presence, and, to them, eccentrically cut dress clothes. “denny conellan below in mill street'd give you a better fit than that,” said katey malone's brother scornfully. the hermit said it was all so interesting. the lady musician, advancing from the piano, tweaked out a card containing the number, and installed 2 to replace it. the hermit looked down at moira. “if i've not forgotten how," he said, “let's dance.” they slipped into the crowd. the other couples, flopping or bounding, ceased to be nightmare-like bare arm's and black sleeves were glided by untouched. squeaks of “easy now, mr. slattery," “oh, have a care, cornelius, you're squeezing me," floated and were lost. the music was a stirring rhythm, bending awkward, unaccustomed feet to its command. moira forgot the painful steps she had learnt with the chair, she let herself swing as the hermit danced, and her soul thrilled to it. in and out, he never lost an opening, never seemed to hesitate, but danced until moira seemed to float in a misty, musicthrilled haze, with wraiths, half seen, passing and passed. “giddy, eh?" the hermit's voice sounded a menaces. 286 three girls and a hermit long way off. “you would dance perfectly, moira, if you practised." moira rested, breathless, watching the other couples as they fopped, and swooped, and lobbed, in a variety of strange attitudes, past her. the music died with a last crashing chord. “your friend is late, very late," said the hermit. moira's heart was distinctly sore. she considered that the devotion which every one chaffed her about ought to have curtailed milton's dinner, and brought him in time for the dance. unless she accepted the invitations of the so-far-unknown youths, her card appeared likely to remain empty, for the hermit had not asked her to dance again. eva was wrestling with the attentions of cornelius, and wearing a worried expression as she did so. at that point the doorway was filled by four blackcoated figures, and the baby, dropping an unoffending partner as though his presence stung her, fled to meet them. “and then you might have left the bit of pudding and come along," she said reproachfully. “i wouldn't put it the same way, but i think it," said the hermit. milton did not hurry, but seeing moira, he came » across. . “savage hour to begin," he said. “you've kept my dances all right, i hope. supper too .... the hermit caught the glint in moira's eye. “miss considine is taking supper with me,” he said, and moira smiled. the hermit might be trying, but he always seemed to do the things she wanted him to. milton's evening was not at first quite what he had the night of the party 287 » hoped for. moira was angry, and no longer quite complacent. she accepted other partners freely, and showed a complete lack of enthusiasm when he suggested sitting out for two or three dances, behind some of the carefully arranged screens. thoughts came upon her, spurred to life by the lilt of the dance music, and for a space she was absent and absorbed. but the night was young. the hermit, who did not dance again with her, stopped her as she was leaving the room. “ about supper,” he said ; "that, of course, was only to help you out, moira. probably you'd prefer not to change those dances." moira's head went up: a sudden bitterness came cold about her heart. with the quickness of retort which so often led her into trouble, she told the hermit she had no idea of troubling him; crossed his name viciously from her programme, and thenceforth flirted with milton to the depth of his desire. the hermit looked at her, and led miss clara into the fray, abandoning his reserve. “i have never," he said to eva, “enjoyed anything so much in my life. i danced with a miss reidy, who said 'twas lovely, six times, and then told me i might as well call her katie, as she had a sister older than herself.” the hermit grinned with a fervour which was new to him. " and you did it?" said eva. "i did. i also squeezed her fondly, and she said * behave!'” the hermit burst into unchecked laughter. "if you and moira weren't here, i would not have missed it for gold. at present i am 288 three girls and a hermit awaiting the inevitable bursting apart of miss claara's body." “hurry down to supper," said baby julia to them, “ before the breasts are off the turkeys." the geoghans would let no man starve. there were rows of turkeys and chickens, and even geese ; mighty hams and several pigs' heads, flanked by hot potatoes and the home-made jellies, which were backboneless in appearance. champagne flowed freely. the punch-bowl smoked and flung out a headswaying steam. papa himself carved frantically, heaping plates with food. “ there's no bits of things in 'aspect' jelly here," he said, as he laid half a turkey before eva—"just to chill your stomach an' tantalise it. that bird was fed on barley meal for three months." the hermit made faint protest before a fresh mountainous helping. moira, who had no appetite, was pecking at several pounds of ham carved for her by cornelius. “and the champagne's good," said the hermit. “i wonder if the old fellow remembers me.” supper was at eleven, and they might have stayed late had not eva broken up their evening. she had left the room with cornelius, who was not sober, and was sitting out, when the sound of a ringing slap was followed by the frantic appearance of the geoghans' heir holding his hand to his cheek, and the subsequent appeal of eva-following hastily—to the hermit, to get her out of this awful place, as cornelius had tried to kiss her. it was not quite as easy as it looked. cornelius, the night of the party 289 distraught by grief and rage, first drank half a bottle of champagne, and then, for some occult reason known only to himself, perhaps to show his complete indifference, sped into the coolness of the night, and proceeded to wind up and attempt to drive the hermit's motor. the hermit arrived to find his car buzzing impotently against a locked gate, with the steering gear irretrievably damaged, and cornelius declaring he knew all about motors, abusing this particular one for its want of power in hill climbing. “on the top speed, she can't do it," cried cornelius furiously. the hermit with firm despair removed the youth, seating him upon a stone to sober, while he bribed a waiting coachman to drive them home; cornelius, who was now forgetting the car, rising at intervals to hold his sleeve, and assure him that he, cornelius, would never love again. the hermit advised him not to, and with many protests took his leave, with a plea of eva's indisposition. baby julia was not to be hoodwinked. “ 'tisn't a headache at all, but corny's goings on,” she said scornfully. “indeed, you needn't mind, miss eva, for he'd kiss the cook after his supper; and he's daft about you." eva accepted this compliment without comment. "and you're disturbing your sister," said the baby. “she's stuck in a corner these three dances.” the light of amusement died out of the hermit's eyes. he went down the passage and called moira coldly. she was sitting in a corner, but she came with " 19 290 three girls and a hermit alacrity, milton's manner suggesting that if he had not followed cornelius's example, he had again not neglected papa's punch. moreover, as they settled themselves into the borrowed brougham, moira remarked tartly that she thought dances, if people wouldn't dance, were exceedingly foolish, and rubbed her arm as if something had offended it. they drove past the gloomy figure of cornelius, still resting in the cold, and eva, with a sudden laugh, told her tale. “cornelius was-upset," she said, “and he would sit out. and he said my hair was like the hair on his chestnut horse, 'twas that shiny, or maybe 'twas more like a new doll's, and my eyes were blue as his mother's old china set. and if i'd say the word he'd go to papa and get a dispensation if he had to go on his own two knees to rome for it, and when i didn't say the word but tried to go he ... and i think his face will be sore to-morrow," added eva after a pause, “for i had my fan in my hand. the-thewretched creature," she cried, passing from merriment to sudden wrath. “ you must never," said the hermit, “go near those people again. miss kate reidy, no doubt, would not have objected. i think at borrisdeane you would not have cared to know the geoghans. moira was amazed to find a sudden unbidden tear trickling down her nose. she wiped it off, and immediately snapped at the hermit, because she did not know why it had come there. moira went to bed. the hermit, before he walked home, stood talking to eva. ) the night of the party 291 "i suppose it's been for the best," he said. "many things may happen down here. you" he checked himself, remembering moira's caution about dennis vereker," and moirathat is-she cares for that fellow milton-i suppose. he's always here. it-it will be settled, eva?" eva shook her head thoughtfully. "moira has said nothing to me. i know nothing," she answered"nothing, except that it has all been a hideous failure." and eva's face was very sad. 1 1 chapter xvi the meeting of old friends as s the daracq, much indisposed, still leant against the locked gate at the geoghans', the hermit accepted the doubtful pleasure of a drive with the roan horse to the meet. fate elected that it should be at knock castle, and with bitter certainty moira knew that their position in the county's favour would be too speedily made known. others would be pressed to go in, they would be left severely alone, and the hermit's quiet eyes would read the truth. the effect of these ruminations brought moira to breakfast with an expression of unchecked gloom, and her lack of appetite caused biddy to cast aspersions on all ball-goings and their likes. runnin' out without a screed on yer necks," said biddy severely. “ the like of that'd upset anyone's sthomach." she removed the boiled egg which moira should have eaten, and said "the cyar was waitin' on thim, with misther tremayne above on it, an' he lookin' mosht unaisy." the hermit was “unaisy." the roan horse, sent to fetch him, had enlivened the short journey from the town by backing into two coal carts and upsetting a perambulator. as he now circled, despising a hand 66 292 the meeting of old friends 293 on his bridle, across the flower-beds, it was evident that to-day a moving and not a stopping spirit possessed him. the star, leaning piteously against gog, was just then led out of the gate, a grey and woebegone dream, every rib showing under her dry coat, and the roan's temper was not improved by the waiting before it was time to start. biddy advised more breakfast. she proffered the egg “miss moira wouldn't ate, be raison of the chill she got as she sthept lasht night,” and on that being declined, insisted on the hermit's drinking cups of hot tea. it was not a cheerful breakfast party. moira sat wound in a web of depression. eva spluttered out little spurts of varied indignation, always directed against cornelius, and the hermit himself was very thoughtful. “ it is half a lifetime, twenty-two years," he said once, and looking out at the stretch of country. “i wonder if people will remember me-i was twentyone then. forty-three now, and i don't believe i've altered much.” his years sat lightly on him. his fair, soft hair had not receded from his forehead, or basely deserted the crown of his head. his grave face was but little lined, and his eyes, when they were not sad, were strangely youthful. “lying in a backwater does not age one," he said again, and had his musings rudely broken in upon by the determined attempt of the roan horse to come in at the window, and the subsequent remark of james dunne's friend that there wouldn't " 294 three girls and a hermit be a bit of the "cyar” together if they didn't go soon. they drove off into a softly clouded day; grey drifts of vapour sailing across a pallid, misty blue; faint gleams of sunlight turning the distant hills to silver in patches. all the world seemed to be going to this meet, and the roan horse resented the crowd. yet he behaved with discretion until they turned into the narrow road leading up to knock, and a pony trap, with a rattling, jingling bell, came up behind. . from that moment the hands of james dunne's friend were fully occupied ; the car pitched and rolled to the furious plunges, and ever, as the horse grew quiet, the bell arrived again to set him wild. the third occasion—when the roan grated the car against a wall, and took them over a heap of stones with a perilous tiltąbroke the silence of james dunne's friend. turning round, he looked at the lady driving the pony with a long and baleful glance: “i wish that god almighty could see her dead this night, an' yer bell along with her," he said heavily, but without emotion, and then succeeded in getting past the next trap and beyond the sound of the jingle. the hermit remarked that he thought he would have included the roan horse in the wish, and they arrived at the meet. it had seemed to moira as they drove out that a breath, colder even than usual, was to be blown upon them. the roan gave scant time for greeting, but one or two women she knew had turned their heads away as though they did not wish to see her. as they pulled up on the lawn, horses and motors and traps streamed past them up towards the gleaming statues, by the sweep before the door. the meeting of old friends 295 ) the hermit looked about him quietly, as if waiting to see them greeted by their friends-waited, with a look which made moira's cheeks burn miserably. • who is that ?” he said. a pretty woman was getting on to her horse. "lady anne knox. she is very nice.” lady anne had often talked to moira, and the girl nodded now, smiling but the cold breath was unmistakable. lady anne looked, and deliberately turned away. the roses on moira's cheeks faded sharply: she said nothing. there was clearly something wrong. as the hermit slipped from his coat, moira was moved to an “oh!” of unstinted admiration, and then sat staring at him with thoughtful eyes. other people passed : mrs. bellew, mr. mcartney, and they, too, looked away with clear intent. “grattan!” it was a positive cry of welcome. old general knox came trotting across the grass. “ noll grattan. after all these years. after all these years. one would know you anywhere." you've grown younger," said the hermit. he was only the first. in a few minutes moira saw the hermit, the man she had so loftily looked down upon, surrounded and welcomed by these people who had been so cold to her. they engulfed him, carried him away, and she drifted near on the star, listening to the greetings, and watching the house through one of the openings in the trees. dennis vereker, coming down the steps, saw her ; she could see him stop, and stare, and hesitate. a dark figure came out behind him-his mother's—and « and you. 296 three girls and a hermit moira then saw her nod in their direction-saw mrs. vereker take mrs. knox by the arm and whisper in her ear. there was something fresh, then; the bitter tongue was not sparing them-passive avoidance was not enough, they were to feel the whip of active resentment. a sob rose in her throat. she rode along the white iron railings nearer the hermit. "moroney, come here." old knox was calling to every one. "you were a kid in those days. here's noll grattan who jumped the boundary fence out of the wood here-and left us all." the master rode up, giving warm greeting. "here, condon, don't you remember young grattan?" the hermit's grave face grew soft at his welcome. he rode among them laughing, exchanging memories of bygone sport. he had been with them for two years, and known and loved the place; now the fear of return, which had been heavy upon him, was passing swiftly away. dennis vereker came across the lawn between the house and the railings. "violet's boy." old knox looked suddenly uneasy. "i've seen him," said the hermit quietly. dennis laid a hospitable hand upon the hermit's bridle. "come along," he said, "and have something : cherry brandy-coffee. i'll look for my mother." he led the horse to the door. but mrs. vereker came out again herself-tall, erect, and handsome, coming slowly down the marble steps, between the four guarding, gleaming statues ; cold as they were; beautiful despite her years, her the meeting of old friends 297 pale, perfectly featured face unlined, her dark eyes clear and hard, her black hair untouched by silver. “ dennis ”—she spoke sharply—“you'll not forget what i told you about — dear heaven! oliver!” she was alive now, whiter than the figure she reeled against, but the mask off her face, and fear and pain and lashing memory driving in waves across it. "you remember me, then, violet?” the hermit held out his hand and took hers. the fear and pain merged to a sudden flash of triumph, or was it something more?—some gleam of a hope, hard held, which the long years had failed to kill ? the people about seemed to melt away. heads were nodded, whispers hissed from lip to lip. so that was it. oliver grattan had come back to his faithless love, now a rich and handsome widow. the long years would be as naught. he would forgive the past and come to reign at knock castle. moira, standing by the railings, saw the two meet, and looking at them-knew. this was the boy old dunne had told her of. it was oliver tremayne, the quiet old hermit, who had flashed out those words of fiery scorn, and then tried to ride to his death. she knew now why some strange instinct had made her think so much of the story, knew with a strange throb of pain why she had so disliked mrs. vereker. the missing note in her memory rang out with clarion clearness as she remembered how she had seen the photograph in the hermit's book; how she had bent in rapturous admiration over the lovely face, and then watched him burn it. “a picture of a dead friend," he had said. yet 298 three girls and a hermit now she saw him walk to greet the dead, and stand isolated while the hunt got to horse. he could forgive; he could forget; could come all this way to marry the dead old man's widow; live on the dead old man's riches. it was unlike the hermit, yet, with that dull pain throbbing at her heart, she supposed love planed all roughnesses smooth. this was what he had spoken of when he wrote; this was the change he meant to make. baby julia, habited in a bright brown, with a blue tie straying under one ear and a false fringe straying over another, rode to her side. the baby's aspect was hostile; they knew the long-longed-for officers themselves now, and no longer wanted the considines. also, they were annoyed by the treatment of cornelius, who had been found asleep by mary maguire's carriage, and, having contracted a really violent cold, was now in bed. "nice stories we hear about you," said baby julia spitefully. "mrs. vereker has it all over the place, an' i heard it coming out-how you slipped off with the captain and stayed out all night. oh, fie! fie for shame!" said julia, with acid-tipped playfulness. "i came home with mr. grattan," said moira coldly, yet realising with quick remorse how foolish she had been. she knew now why heads were turned away. they had gone too far. "isn't it nice of him to say so now?" said julia, openly incredulous. "wasn't it bad luck mrs. vereker being at the station to hear, and you having your little spree settled so nicely? not that i mind a farthing," said baby julia; "but mamma does." clear warning, even from the geoghans, that the meeting of old friends 299 friendship was to cease. had she been mad to go to this girl's house, to treat her and her people as friends, and now to suffer in consequence playful and venom-tipped impertinence? "i really don't understand you," flashed out moira, and turned away, while baby julia, who was not bad-hearted, sucked her whip-handle and wondered if she had said too much. it was miss clara who had urged her on. moira rode across to dennis vereker pass her faced greeting. eva just in time to see sister with a stiff, shameeva flung her head up and looked with a queer smile at moira. "mr. vereker," she said clearly. "i can't stop. got to speak to moroney." he rode on, his red face paling, his hands unsteady on the reins, and his boy's heart knew its own bitterness. "you see, moira-i wanted you to see-that i shall never reign here among the statues." eva smiled again. "poor foolish boy. i have seen your plan all along, moira, but it only amused me-for-." she paused. "my plans are always otherwise." "eva!" said moira, unhappily looking at the gloomy, imposing frontage of the house. "there are better things than money and big, cold houses," said eva. "i've watched, smiling through it all; and now, moira, people are cutting us." moira knew, and knew why. her folly and her fault. she had led the others all through; she had taken the noisy merriment for smartness; she had scoffed at the elder sister's gentle remonstrances. and now.... it had been fortune or failure, and they had been doomed from the commencement. 300 three girls and a hermit bitterest of all, the hermit was here to see the fulness of the failure. she sought for one redeeming hope, and could find none. money had melted ; the horses were valueless; in a few weeks they must return to borrisdeane, to live there for evermore : poor ; with no thought of ever leaving it, with no hope to write in golden letters across life's page : lonely ; no hermit to fetch her to fish and to walk and to wrangle. the hermit would be here in ballydare; master in the big, silent house, moving through the dim corridors, past lines of gleaming marble figures, with handsome violet vereker, her faithlessness forgiven, by his side. the jog and pounding of the horses' feet, the laughing voices all round, seemed a dull boom of pain, a menace of sorrow, as moira realised how cruel life can be to those who fail. soft hands stretch sweetly to help success to a still higher pinnacle ; hard-booted feet kick failure from rock to rock, turning callously aside as he bumps to the lake at the bottom of life's mountain. moira looked back ; the crowd had left mrs. vereker and her old lover alone. she could see them standing together, as the groom led up a big thoroughbred with a lady's saddle on it. “ will you put me up?" as some one in a dream, mrs. vereker moved towards the horse. did she remember then that he had put her up twenty-two years before, on the day she had told him of her falseness? it had seemed easier to let him know out hunting, where he would not make a fuss. “ if i have not forgotten how." he took her foot in his hand, and before she lowered her thick veil he the meeting of old friends 301 saw her turn scarlet. “you are no heavier," he said quietly ; "the years have passed you by." then they rode on, out past the grey stone dragons by the gate, across the wide lawn—and still she rode as a woman in a dream. "you came back, oliver ?" she questioned him. " why?" “ to see some friends of mine-the considine girls. i want them to be happy here, as they most foolishly came.” there was no emotion on his face, save a quiet look of relief—that of a man who, having feared a hurt, finds he is without pain and whole. "most foolishly,” she said ; "they are the talk of the county." she knew why: how she herself had spread each bitter story; and now, with some tangible ground, had flashed such cold glare of scandal that no one would speak to them. looking ahead to where moira was jogging, silent and alone, the unreasoning flood of dislike which she had felt before tore at violet vereker's heart. “to make them happy ?" she said coldly. “it would be better to send them back to where they came from. the girl in front has made herself conspicuous with a captain milton. they must go away." "i think not,” said the hermit slowly. “you can do a great deal for them, violet." as he spoke her name the hope sprang to life again-sprang and trembled, dreading a second living death. she had possessed riches, beauty, a slavish husband, a docile son, yet was it all now worth it? she had thought so then. but now, with youth 302 three girls and a hermit behind, with age holding his iron door open in front, mrs. vereker doubted; knew that she had missed something which could never be hers again. “ you'll stay for the winter?" she asked. i may." his face clouded. “it depends—upon what happens. i cannot read the future just now." “but-you can forget the past ? ” the scent of the huge bunch of violets which she wore drove to his nostrils as she bent across to him; her eyes shone under the thick meshes of her veil. "i can-most happily,” he answered steadfastly. mrs. vereker drew a quick breath. was it fate that they should ride again to tulla covert, seeing the dark patch of gorse far off on the green hillside ; that they should jog down the lane where she had told him what she meant to do; and stand together where he loosed a storm of fiery words upon her, and she had laughed at him? the hermit drifted away a little. hounds were in covert, but no whimper stirred the waiting crowd. moira, still riding alone, came up at the far side of the hedge, and stood still, letting the thin star eat the grass. donough moroney stood at one corner of the gorse watching intently. he looked round as the hermit came near. “you rode a great hunt from here, didn't you ?” he said. “i was a schoolboy, but i remember it. right away to rathallen. it's a thick gorse now.” then he stayed silent for a minute. “ you're with the considines ?” he asked. the hermit said that he was. " they're a wonderful family,” said the master » the meeting of old friends 303 mournfully. “the little one has two hounds lamed for me. she will follow me," he added, with a sudden spasm of something which was not resentment. “there's one on a grey clothes-horse, and one on a motor-'bus; but the little one can shove you to rights off a bank-if you delay a minute." the hermit smiled at kathleen, who was hovering near. meanwhile moira, as the star tore up juicy mouthfuls, sat silent and miserable; and mrs. vereker, on the other side of the hedge, was unaware of her presence. she talked in her clear, cold voice to mrs. knox, who had been away for some time. moira heard her own name. “they are impossible, nelly. you cannot be kind to them.” with a suggestion worse than open accusation, mrs. vereker gave the history of the missed train. " mere folly, of course, but one cannot tolerate folly . . . of that class. they are sworn allies too of those impossible geoghans. dennis, silly boy, was attracted by the fair one ; they laid traps for him, but i put my foot down. he understands now that he is never to do anything but say good-morning. they can marry a geoghan, as they came here in search of husbands." each word beat as a sledge hammer on to moira's bruised heart. all this, the fruit of her cherished scheme. this to greet the hermit when he came to see its working. " and dennis will obey me," the cold voice went on slowly. "his fancy was merely a passing one. i must say i cannot understand how a man of 304 three girls and a hermit mr. grattan's class comes to be mixed up with them." youth knows its own bitterness, it gathers sorrow to it with the full belief that having come it will never leave again. moira tasted this now; high hopes hurt as they fall from their giddy perches. moira had brought the others here, had built her sand castles, woven her foolish webs, all on this trip. and for a time believed she had been right. was there nothing, no one triumph or achievement which could be put forward ? hounds were speaking in covert, but it was a difficult place to get a fox away from, and the field knew they might have some time to wait. miss clara geoghan rode through the gap with captain milton. her expression, as she spied moira, changed to a lofty unfriendliness, and she bade goodmorning with full memory of cornelius's wrongs. on observing that milton meant to remain with moira, the smiles miss clara had turned upon him changed to obvious sneers. "i wouldn't intrude,” said miss clara spitefully. “ "oh, dear no. indeed, i wouldn't." she tossed her loosely done hair, and looked frankly spiteful. and you never asked for poor cornelius," she said, evidently loth to leave, “that's in bed with his lungs, no less. nicely your mousey sister treated him, indeed, and no fear he'll trouble her again, i can tell you." " i trust not," said moira sharply. milton was smoking a huge cigar; the long delay in covert prophesied a poor scent; he had been at peace with the world, but miss clara's first words 9) the meeting of old friends 305 made him anxious. the story of the deer hunt had also reached his ears. good fun and flirtation were one thing; entwining of names in other ways hinted at the seriousness of marriage, and he had no inclination towards this step. but moira's face in its sorrow was so pretty that he could not abandon his old form of light compliment. "you're looking stunning," he said. "don't mind me," said clara geoghan viciously, and, smiting her patient horse, rode away. moira looked at milton steadily. if he were really in love with her, meant to ask her to marry him, it would at least be something. whatever her own feelings were-and she felt that she could not contemplate a whole life spent with milton-the fact of an engagement would justify the trip. so she smiled at him with such pitiful sweetness that milton's expression deepened to something even more fatuous than its wont. the distant notes of the pack, the hopes of a hunt, were drowned as she waited. "" hang silly story some one's spread about us," was what milton said. i must get grattan to say what really happened-how he fetched us, and so on." the hermit rode slowly round the hedge, and looked hard at them. "i want you, moira," he said. "i want you out here with me." "the very genuine sultan," said milton crossly to himself. "moira, moria. it has not been a success," 20 306 three girls and a hermit mane. said the hermit unhappily. he had heard many things. the sharp retorts of the borrisdeane days were dead; a tear splashed down on the star's ragged then moira recovered herself. " it may be," she said. the hermit looked at milton and grunted. his muttered words were inaudible. they rode together among the crowd. heads that had been turned away in the morning were bent in greetings now. he took her along the hedge to where mrs. vereker was standing. the elder woman's eyes flashed in sudden anger on moira's pretty downcast face. well, oliver,” she said, ignoring his companion, we may finish near knock. you'll come in, of course ?" “i am with miss considine," he answered, and his eyes challenged hers to a response. " i've been here since i motored her home from stag-hunting a day or i had arranged to fetch her." mrs. vereker coloured faintly, she knew what he meant; knew he had heard of her spreading this story and others. “ i hope "—she spoke stiffly—“that miss considine will also come in to tea." “ thank you." the hermit did the answering. “ if there is any of the car left we'll send the roan to pick us up, moira." “and you.” mrs. vereker rode with them as they went on. "when your brother dies—it can be only months, i hear-shall you hunt here, oliver ?. you'll have so many homes then.” ") two ago. > " ) the meeting of old friends 307 ) “ the inheritance took long to come," he answered, looking at her. “you have eaten the twenty years of riches, which might have been those of comparative poverty, violet.” “ and found them bitter on the tongue,” she answered. "1-l-am rich still, oliver." moira wrenched the star away. why talk thus before her ? but just as she turned, the fox broke out across the field beneath them, straight for dirk hills, six miles and more away. "come, moira, to the right. come with me." he knew the way. the star thundered by the brown horse, pulling wildly; moira wondering when she would fall. hounds were racing close on their fox; across flat fields, fenced with ragged, difficult banks. flash, the grey mare cleared the first, the second she kicked back at. to every horse, however bad, comes one day when it will jump. this was the star's. the impulse to refuse was not upon her. if she jumped nothing well, she got over safely to the far side, while better horses came to earth. on, still racing down the slope to the valley, with no check or hesitation, while the field tailed behind them, and they knew that they had got a flying start. a huge log of timber barred a gap in front. the hermit checked his horse as they faced it. “can she, moira ?” he asked. “she can clear any height,” gasped moira, her cheeks pink, her eyes alight, for this was something to live for. over with a rap went the brown, over with a soaring plunge flew the grey. hounds swung to . them along the fence, so that they had to steady their 308 three girls and a hermit 6 horses. the master, closely followed by kathleen, was riding on their right, a few others to the left. pace had choked slow horses, a bad start had left many. " it's going to be the old line, noll”—knox, on his striding black, shoved up beside them—“dirk hills over the top and away to ballybushy. don't try the rails and river to-day, my boy." “to-day i want to live, for i have something to do," said the hermit. "steady her, moira. it's narrow." the star flew the whole thing, and the hermit, watching, groaned. they bent to the west now, , along the swelling rise of the hills. . fences were smaller, the going lighter; luckily, for horses faltered in their stride, blown by the deep ground in the valley. they viewed their fox as they breasted the . hill: he was crossing through a spur, going strongly still. horses sobbed as they toiled up, stumbling through heather and over stones, but the long descent gave them breath, and hounds worked more slowly over the rough ground. the star was tiring. she changed her stride, and blundered frequently. a fall was only a matter of time. as they galloped on they came near a wide ditch edged by strong railings, with a low-built wall beyond. hounds dwelt for a moment where the tired fox had turned sharply. i jumped that,” said the hermit, pointing, “ long (6 ago." “ and got over? moira asked. “no, we struck the rails this side, and i was the meeting of old friends 309 thrown against the wall, as i thought i should be. i wanted to kill myself. instead, i was only badly hurt. i'll tell you all about it soon, moira." "i think i know," she answered quietly. “the old man, dunne, told us the story. oh, listen to them. look!" from scent to view now, with a suddenly bloodthirsty crash of music, every hound racing for blood. a last turn, a minute's gaining, the bared teeth, and the swift death of a gallant fox pulled down in the open. moira was not destined to finish the hunt, for as they crossed the road, running very fast, the tired star caught her knees in the bank and turned over on to a heap of loose stones, cutting herself badly. moira jumped up unhurt, and the hermit, as he poured whisky and water upon the mare's wounds, said it would be a long job. “and a good thing, too,” he said cheerily. “for i'd never have seen you ride the brute again.” two fields away they could hear the merry death cry of the hunt, and see the people as they crossed to their right, the jaded horses galloping stiffly, and jumping with effort. a distant clattering told them the more remote tail was coming along the road they stood on. cromartin, stopping, told them where the people mrs. vereker had fallen, and gone home; he had picked her up, and she had sent them a message to be sure to come in. eva was miles behind, plodding hopelessly. little kathleen, they knew, was in front, and had probably got another brush. were. 310 three girls and a hermit “ come, “we'll go to knock," said the hermit. moira. thanks, cromartin." the miss geoghans had heard the invitation, their morning's haughtiness melted. round-eyed, they had heard how oliver grattan would shortly be lord glendine, with a large income and several places. baby julia reproached clara hotly, and now rode up, beaming coyly. the hermit's sotto voce direction to snub that woman hard was not needed. moira's sore heart had suffered too much to forgive. and you flying like a bird,” babbled the baby. “i declare we could see you a mile away. my, but that's the great mare, and i forgot this morning, but mamma hopes you'll all come to tea to-morrow, you and your friend,” beamed julia, wishing he was already a lord. moira regretted that they were engaged. “ then i'll bring round your shapes in the morning,” said baby julia, “and we'll have a chat." moira said she was sending patsy for the shapes. her manner was sufficiently remote to check further advances, and the miss geoghans fell back, fighting furiously. “and the way you an' mamma cautioned me to beat them," wailed the baby. “an' we as thick as thieves before. and one of them perhaps goin' to marry that lord that's to be." the hermit would have called it a new title ; but as he was not there, miss clara only denounced "all snobs," and then said " she'd eat the face off mamma with her stories." " 9) the meeting of old friends 311 " “you liked it, moira ?" the hermit's face was very quiet, set in its saddest lines. he seemed to have been lost in thought. “ liked it!” moira held the limping star tightly. " it was glorious. if one could hunt year after year, upon good horses." “soldiers' wives are so often in places where hunting is impossible," said the hermit, looking hard at her. "and they only keep ponies and traps when they are in a hunting country." moira looked contemptuous. "but, oh! think of the eternity of borrisdeane winters after this." “and borrisdeane summers; the big trout in the : old lake; the sea thundering on the shore : they were not so bad, little moira.” voice failed her, for she knew now how good they had been. to hunt, one must have money. enjoyment was half swept away by the cares which marred the world here—snubs, averted faces, over-friendly geoghans. worst of all, the hermit, in a wayso often despisedturning up to set all things straight. they arrived at knock at the same moment as mrs. vereker and the roan horse. that lady, in fact, was being driven on their car, having broken her stirrup-leather, and the roan had treated her to a variety of stops and bolts, which were very trying to the nerves. she turned to welcome the hermit, her cold face very handsome, her eyes still alight. “i am glad you came, oliver,” she said, with a strange gentleness. "and i am glad you asked us, violet.” 312 three girls and a hermit 6 the flashing look beneath mrs. vereker's eyelashes was half question, half wonder. “come!” she said quietly. they followed her through the splendidly furnished, but chill, unhomelike hall, and down the long corridor, where the statues gleamed white in the dusk. their voices seemed to tone to the stillness of it, to die to an echoing hum even as they spoke of their hunt. they were the first to come in. mrs. vereker led them into the drawing-room, with its glimmer of white shaded lights and dimness of many shadows, and treasures of silver and marble where the lights fell. “do you like my house, oliver ?” she turned to him with a certain pride, standing with her hand on an exquisite copy of apollo. “ it is a wonderful house, violet. you have gathered treasures into it,” he answered. moira, standing by the fire, felt her heart contract. the hermit would be master of these treasures ; husband to the cold, treacherous love he was about to forgive. “it is a big house—and lonely," she said thoughtfully. there was no mistaking the note of appeal in her voice, the look in her eyes. “ you could make it less lonely," he said, almost carelessly. footmen brought in tea. a stately meal, handed ceremoniously, with glimmer of gold plate and fragile white china, and dishes of expensive sandwiches and cakes; and nothing moira thought half as good as biddy's hot griddle-cakes, which one must eat the meeting of old friends 313 carefully, because of their too lavish allowance of butter. dennis came in then, bringing a train of splashed, red-coated men, whose cheery voices sank and whose faces lengthened as they partook of half-cold tea and rich cake. some openly preferred the solider comforts of the dining-room, and went softly across the thick carpet, making their way through the patchwork of light and shadows to the heavy curtains guarding the dining-room door. moira, chilled and hungry, tired by the inevitable reaction of the run, sat quietly in her corner unnoticed, yet with keen ears straining for every word. old knox, seeing her, came across. "in the dark, miss moira," he said, and even his voice sank to a half-whisper. "and in the cold," he added, wheeling her satin-covered chair nearer to the dull fire, before he sat beside her. "a great surprise for us all to-day "; he nodded towards the hermit. "young noll, after all these years. he can show us how to go as he could then, and i suppose "-the old man's voice saddened a little--" that he has come back to settle here." moira made no answer. it was hard that chilled tea, swallowed two minutes before, should seem to choke her. "and yet," general knox shook his head. "oh, of course, it's all as it should be-but she treated him villainously. if it had been done to me, miss moira, i could not forgive-even after a score of years." moira looked up at the hermit's quiet face-a strong face, despite its gentleness; it was strange to her that he could. "a dead friend," he had said, yet 314 three girls and a hermit « we c he stood beside that friend, and she was alive and rich and very handsome. “of course this place is hers for life.” old knox talked on, not noticing the girl's silence. “hers, with a tremendous jointure, to do as she likes with. and the title may carry no money ; i don't know." "shall i take your cup, moira ?” the hermit had seen the tired, white little face, and came over. had better go back." “i shall be at home to-morrow, oliver.” mrs. vereker followed him. “a few people whom you would like to meet. will you come ?" as before, he looked at moira, and mrs. vereker understood. with some show of cordiality she asked the considines also. a aicker of red blood warmed her pale cheeks; her eyes still shone. moira accepted quietly. it was at least something that the ban passed by the county should be lifted off them. “ they would be glad to come.” vi-thank -as i never thought it would be." the hermit's hand closed upon his old love's with a warmth which made moira sniff contemptuously. they drove home through a golden twilight, with faint shadows of grey and purple, and the distant hills bathed in a sea of pallid gold. the roan horse sped swiftly, too anxious for oats to stop. as they lurched up and down the steep bridge crossing the dare, the hermit broke the silence which had held them. “ i would like to tell you, moira,” he began, “ of an oldthank you, you. this " the meeting of old friends 315 " " james dunne told me when first we came," said moira shortly. " james dunne," said the hermit blankly. "told me about you—and mrs. vereker, though then i did not know that it was you. now i remember the photograph you showed me at borrisdeane. it's all very romantic,” said moira, with a complete lack of appreciation for romance in her manner. " it was-very romantic once," he answered, looking at her thoughtfully. “ well, that story needs no telling. there was another--a newer one—which, since i've come down, i think i had better keep to myself for a time.” and moira thought she knew that also. “a dream—and perhaps a bitter awakening, moira" -his voice grew insistent. “ can't you say you are glad i came down-to help you ?" “ it makes absolutely no difference to me," said moira tonelessly. chapter xvii how the trip succeeded pata atsy came to meet them cheerfully. he said “the star's pastern jint was hangin' on by a bit of skhin, an' he feared she'd niver walk agin. miss eva,” he added, “had come back two hours ago, bein' left two miles behind the lasht man of all, an' gettin' tired of it. an' indeed gog's legs were already swhellin' up finely." having nothing further pleasant to tell them, patsy retired to his stables, whistling a kerry dirge. but there was cheer in the house. biddy had built up a mighty fire. james dunne had purchased turf and bog wood from some distant friend, and the old woman was happy. “ the smhell of thim would hearten you," he said, as they came in. “if ye'd shut yer eyes ye might be back at borrisdeane. moira ran to change, and returned to find the hermit welcoming a second tea, and talking earnestly to biddy. this tea was hot, and the thickly buttered griddlebread light as a feather; but to moira both were chill and tasteless; her world was hollow; the bitterness of complete failure was cold upon her. if one thing, just one good thing, would come of the trip 316 how the trip succeeded 317 she had organised! crouching close to the fire, with its faintly pungent fragrance, she lashed hope to a faint life. now that mrs. vereker was once more friendly, eva and dennis might come together again. her sister might yet reign at knock. the transparency of her nature forced the wish to utterance; she put it forward almost roughly. "" "as one outcome for all you have spent? the hermit saw plainly what moira meant. "but he is a weak creature, moira, who gives a girl up at his mother's bidding. also, he is a mere boy, younger than eva; and unless i am and have been blind, i doubt if your sister would say 'yes.'" moira hung her head sulkily. "eva could not say-say 'no,'" she answered. "it would mean too much." then eva, radiant, pink-cheeked, a thick letter in her hand, burst in upon them. it was evident that some great joy had befallen her. "moira!" she cried. "eva! has anybody bought gog?" said moira. "" bought gog! the poor old cart-horse." eva sat down and got up again, restlessly. "has?" wild thoughts raced through moira's brain. "eva, we are all asked to knock to-morrow." "i shall not go." eva spoke with determination. "dennis vereker was rude to me to-day. yet perhaps i may. oh, moira-hermit; it's-it's-derek! the hermit remarked without surprise that he thought it would be derek-some day. "it's derek. he's coming back at once to shoot at borrisdeane. he wants me there. he did not write, because he had promised his father there should 318 three girls and a hermit be no engagement for a year he half told me. and now his father's dead, and he has money, and it's all too splendid." eva rhapsodised heartlessly, singing the late mr. carstairs' requiem with complete joy. it was at least evident that no regret for castle knock occupied her thoughts. “so, as far as that was concerned," said moira, when she had kissed her sister, "we need not have come to ballydare." eva, too happy to do anything except think, had drifted off again. “ it would seem so." the hermit leant against the mantelshelf, looking down at moira's brown hair, which the twilight turned to red gold. “ and-for you—moirap" “for me?" she laughed shortly, and answered a little unsteadily. "for me ballydare does not seem . to have worked wonders. but at least it is over. any money we have left must go to buy eva's trousseau. i shall go back and live at lake cottage. and suppose you will never come to borrisdeane now." the wide lake, the beating sea, the ripple of wind across the coarse grasses of the bog seemed to rise before her. she could see them all, and feel with the vision a cold and lonely wind rushing across the land. no hunting ; no horses ; no hermit to wrangle with daily. “i-that would depend." he stared hard at her, and looked as a man who wants to ask a question, when kathleen came bursting in. “ a hunt-oh, such a hunt. jim crow had never faltered, never made a mistake, and she had not even you—i a how the trip succeeded 319 jumped on a hound. mr. moroney said at the finish, it was because—they were too far in front of me,” said kathleen, with sudden thoughtfulness. they dined well off biddy's cookery, with the new maid, whom patsy would not even speak to, waiting with a cheery and noisy inefficiency. even the homely aroma of a goose, roasted before the fire, and stuffed with a haunting mixture of onions and potatoes, could not dispel a soberness which clung to them. moira had a latent cold, and sniffed occasionally. eva was wrapped in the radiant silence which looks at food, and wonders how people can wish to eat; and little kathleen seemed immersed in the solving of some problem of her own, at which she wrinkled her white forehead and bit at her lip, and nodded to herself as if summing up and giving judgment. an absent-minded game of bridge in the evening was marked by eva inquiring if she might play to dereks, and wondering, round-eyed, why they laughed, and by kathleen, as she fingered her cards, replying, “ after you, please." the hermit, as he bade them good-night, said he would call for them at three. stillness fell on the little house, but not peace, for one girl lay wide-eyed, too happy to sleep, and one, with her head deep in her pillow, hoped biddy would not notice its salt dampness in the morning. the daracq, speedily mended, came gliding to fetch them—eva and moira—for kathleen said she had business, and could not go. the hermit looked with interest at the plumed hats with plumes faintly uncurled ; at the trailing gowns " 320 three girls and a hermit 66 which hailed from ballydare ; but he said nothing, for moira's face, robbed of its colour and radiance, was strangely pretty in its pallor and sadness. the hermit had heard many things that morning from old friends at ballydare : hints of the considines' foolish wildness; of how they had offended people there ; further hints of the attachment between milton and moira ; how he had conspicuously paid the girl attention for some time, and how, following the expedition to the staghounds, no doubt the engagement would be published immediately. when the hermit observed that he himself had fetched miss considine home, he was met by the polite how-nice-of-you-to-say-it-old-chap look, which cannot be met by hot words, as it is a silent expression of thought. he was therefore in a gloomy temper as he wheeled in at the gate of the beeches; distinctly snappy to patsy when he tendered information concerning the ills of the horses, and inclined to pass at reckless speed among the donkey and coal carts in the town. it was a grey day, chill and gloomy: dark masses of clouds on the horizon, whisper of coming rain in the sobbing wind, the bare branches all moving restlessly. they crouched under the fur rugs as the motor sped along the narrow roads, and moira, whose hands were icy from holding on her big hat, and whose heart was heavy and sad, never spoke. past the grim, grey lions, pawing endlessly at unseen foes, through the regularity of the flower garden, where four white figures kept guard. the doors of knock castle swung to receive them to-day; the butler had no gloomy forebodings of a scolding how the trip succeeded 321 as he preceded them into the warm silence of the long corridor. little groups of people were collected about, idling in the hall, playing cards, or looking vaguely for a disc which should give them a prize if they found it. clouds had been grey outside, and the shadows fell deeply in the half-lighted drawing-room. white shapes showed ghostly and dim, with rounded limbs showing sharply where the rays from a lamp touched them. there were only two or three people in the drawing-room. mrs. vereker turned quickly as she heard the butler murmur “ the miss considines," confidentially. the radiance of yesterday, the new hope's faint life nursed through a sleepless night was with her—was alive in faintly glowing cheeks and softened eyes. the years that were past seemed to wither up as a scroll as she came to meet them; the softness of old lace, the bloom of velvet, the shimmer of diamonds helping to fling age from her. no thread of silver in the dark hair ; scarcely a line on the cold, handsome face. as moira shook hands, she felt suddenly the tawdriness of her plumes and trailing, ill-made skirt, her own insignificance before this splendid woman. "you are late. they are playing bridge, or looking for a hidden treasure.” there was a roundness in the voice which moira had never heard before. eva went away with cromartin. moira slipped into the lurking shadow near the window and stood alone, fingering a huge cineraria-a thing scentless and stiff, a mass of tiny mauve flowers. 21 322 three girls and a hermit "we do not want to play, oliver; we can talk." "of many things," he said quietly. "of life-and loneliness." she moved full into the lights, daring their radiance. "oliver, i ask you again, have you forgiven?" completely," he said tranquilly; yet he turned almost sadly from the light which leapt to his old love's dark eyes, and looked about the room. "you said, too, you liked my house. i think i have made it good to look at. but it's big, oliver. dennis will marry and go to craglaughan, and i shall be here." 66 among your statues," he answered; but his voice was not happy. "they have been friends to me." the woman's voice shook. "if i sinned-perhaps i suffered.” her eyes looked quickly at the picture of an old man-white-bearded, bald-headed, with a wrinkled, kindly face. she watched the hermit then, almost moodily. "yet you have had all you wanted, vi. and i—i had hoped, before i came here, to have what i want." the note of love, which is always youth, sounded in oliver grattan's voice. "i wish, violet, for old sake's sake, that you had been kinder to my friends." her glance followed his to a figure in the shadows by a distant window, to a young face which came suddenly into an arc of light. moira could bear no more. she slipped through a curtained doorway and found herself in a conservatory. electric lights gleamed softly from globes fashioned like flowers; there was wealth of colour how the trip succeeded 323 66 and the soft scent of plant life. cyclamens flung up quaint, gay hoods; friesias, all-powered waxiness ; and long-stemmed narcissi, yellow and white. moira passed among them to a cushioned seat. a wave of hopeless bitterness swept over moira. these things of sweetness and colour were for ever outside her life. if one thing—but one-could happen to justify the trip! the curtains at the far end parted, and milton came in. “looking for a place to smoke," he explained. “what luck to find you!” she looked at him in dreary questioning. if he asked her, she thought—as she had thought yesterday -it would be something. and, by jove, how shining you look !” he sat down by her, fatuously contented. perhaps this was how men proposed. moira waited, the same look of dreary questioning on her face. “ a little hipped, but ripping." his fingers sought hers. “i tell you, we've had a good time here." “i am going away," said moira quietly, resisting the impulse to pull her hand away. oh she was pretty-very pretty. milton thought of the stories afloat; but the wan little face near him moved him to foolishness, and to attempt at making things clear. “but we'll meet again. silly asses have been talking, miss moira. just jealousy of your prettiness, and you all being such good sorts. no straight-laced, starchy nonsense. you shall run over to town, bring a sister, or any one, and i'll give you a good time: theatres, lunches, or, if the times tell you . . 324 three girls and a hermit are good, stand a frock to enjoy them in. on the q.t., because, you see-my people live there.” his fingers closed on hers; the magic of her wide eyes made his tongue run faster. "if things were different, moira, we might fix everything up, for i'm really gone on you--but one's people are so silly. they wouldn't understand you're only jolly and good sorts. they are so particular about a fellow's future-and then money." moira understood at last. this man—this veritable last straw to her burden of false hopes, was telling her—moira considine, that if she were another class of girl he would almost honour her by asking her to marry him. she grew scarlet and then pale, and he was too dense to take warning. his fingers pressed hers. a kiss would be no harm. “you dare !” she flashed and started up, sending some flower-pots crashing down. he stared at the angry girl. the curtains parted, and the hermit came in. “ moira. it is tea time. ah!”—the hermit paused. then, “anything the matter?" he said. "oh-nothing that i do not deserve. moira was never reticent. "merely"-she flung out an accusing hand—" that this-gentleman-has just told me he would have liked to ask me to marry him if i had been a girl whom his people could have received." “oh!” there was no surprise in the hermit's voice; but the light in his eyes was one of swiftly moving expression. "oh! it seems a pity that you did not explain to him, moira, before he spoke, that you were engaged to me." moira's face changed. as the wave of hopeless c > how the trip succeeded 325 " > bitterness had swept over her, a second wave of comfort dashed the spume of the cold waters on. she could have laid her head on the hermit's shoulder and wept. for the cup of her misery had been full, and now she seemed to move from outer darkness into the warmth and shelter of a lighted room. “yes, it would have been better if i had," she said proudly, looking at milton. milton, who had been merely acting according to his lights, muttered foolishly ; too amazed to proffer explanation, and went away, his humour a black one. the future lady glendine was quite another person from little foolish moira considine. “oh, hang it," said lancelot milton, as the curtains closed upon him, and he passed into outer light. "but ... why?" asked moira, her eyes wet. “ it seemed for the moment to meet the case. to punish the fellow," said the hermit. "moira, you've been foolish, and this man at this point moira poured out her opinion of milton with unmeasured wrath. “and yet”-she destroyed several friesias thoughtlessly—“and yeti would have accepted him if he had asked me. just to justify my coming here, to show we had done something by leaving borrisdeane. ... and after all”the wan look settled on her face again—" he will know soon that it is not true-see that you only said it to help me. perhaps i shall be gone away first. back-" “ back to lake cottage ?” he asked. “to live there all my life," she said. “ need he know? need you either ? ” said the hermit quietly. » 326 three girls and a hermit she stared until the glowing flowers massed and waved, and seemed to twist about her. “ moira. do you remember what i said to you going out to slattery's? how a man may live to be glad of the sorrow he has suffered ? i thought you cared for this-milton." the hermit thoughtlessly kicked a worm which wriggled from one of the broken pots. “but you-you've come down here to marry." moira pointed to the drawing-room. “perhaps i have. the lake will be blue in the spring time, soon, moira. the danogue will be full of trout, the old sea all a-thunder on the beach. if you could put up with that for half a year—for i love my home there—and hunt in winter, and, incidentally put up with me also, why not let things stand ? could you, little moira ?” the soft colours melted, and merged into a strange wheel of light as moira listened. could she? having realised for a week how she cared. knowing now that happiness had suddenly wrapped his sunlit cloak about here, and that the hermit was the sun of that happiness. and then, dimly, she realised that the hermit was still talking. something now about a man's sore heart and a wilful child, and if she could carethen he stopped, for moira's face answered him. “and oh, it was just because i cared that i fought with you," said moira, as she recovered her voice. just like the star and the curb, which she went best in afterwards.” the hermit, drily, said it was an excellent simile. his hand upon her arm, they went back to the how the trip succeeded 327 drawing-room, empty still, save for the hostess, who stood near the fire. she turned and started as she saw them. “so, it is that?” she said dully. for his face spoke. "i hope so, violet.” it was mrs. vereker who moved into the shadows now-close to a marble clodion. the hope she had cherished all night bit deep at her heart, and in that anguish died. for the future she knew she would move alone in her quiet house, among her still white companions, with one live thing, regret, ever beside her. then something made her come forward and take moira's face in her hand, turning the girl's face up gently. "you are very pretty, child,” she said. to him for what i took away." no one had ever seen the cold woman cry; yet what she wiped from her cheeks was salt and strong. in that moment violet vereker knew the bitterness she had dealt to the man at her side twenty-two years before. she had laughed then; she did not laugh now, as, for the second time, she saw they must part. “ thank you, violet,” said the hermit simply. “in that we make a true peace.” the rest of the evening was a blur to moira. she went through it vaguely, sometimes seeing eva, sometimes dennis, who hovered near her, his face full of boyish sorrow. they flashed home, and there were plans to be discussed, for eva wanted to go back. moira, smiling, explained that on her part she did not want to seek more fortune, as she was going to marry the hermit. “ make up 328 three girls and a hermit but the hermit said that as he had waited so long for a wife he thought he would like one at once, and suggested an immediate marriage, and finishing the season here in another house, “and with little kathleen with us," he said. kathleen looked up thoughtfully. she said, after a pause, that they need not bother about her, for she had been asked to stay at carrickdown. unmoved by a burst of sisterly wrath and quick reminders that donough moroney had no sister, kathleen stroked her chin, and then, as the flow of words subsided, remarked that she was nineteen. the hermit said severely that he did not know what young moroney could have been thinking of. “he said i wouldn't kill so many hounds if i always rode his horses," observed kathleen meekly. “do you mean he wants to marry you ?” burst out moira. “he said it's the only way he could manage it," said kathleen placidly. a sudden light dawned in moira's eyes. they flashed triumph upon the hermit. “ then it has been a success after all," she cried. “oh, i perceive,” he said sadly, “that i shall never be able to criticise the wisdom of your idea." but he smiled contentedly. " protex of the the end sot printed by hazell, watson & viney, ld., london and aylesbury, england. jun 1 8 19.40 4 the library of the sivers omnibus. artibus class 8443829 jh book : 1 . 1 1 1 the hermit in prison. . the hermit in prison; translated from the french of e. jou y, member of the institute, and author of the hermit of the chaussée d'antin, sylla, foc. ; and a. jay in two volumes. vol. i. london: g. and w. b. whittaker, ave-maria lane. 1823. kibiti wanita اجدد e london printed by cox and baylis, great queen street. ), 8445827 jh preface. а we had just been condemned to a month's imprisonment by the royal court of paris, on the appeal of the king's advocate. twenty-four hours were allowed us to abuse our judges : but we contented ourselves with pitying them, and sat down quietly to our dinner. there must certainly be something in the air of the palais de justice, which sharpens the appetite; else it would not be easy to account for the famous way in which we conducted ourselves at table, or the jolly obesity of the greater part of our magistrates. if i were one of the faculty, ard there should fall into my hands some of those sybarites, who are always on bad terms with their stomach, i would prescribe for them a two hours' walk in the hall of the palais, and after breathing the air of that place for a short time, i am quite sure they would come away with a ravenous appetite. let some of our distinguished doctors find out the cause of this phepro nomena. mai 9 35 at table we began to discuss the matter of our trial, the fluency of the advocate general, the eloquence of mons. dupin, and the sentence 6264 vi preface. against us. do what we would with the subject, it was all in vain, to attempt escaping this conclusion : we must go to prison !' i do not know five words in the language more difficult to pronounce ; they do not convey a single agreeable idea. we have friends, a family, grandchildren ; and we must part from them. what is still worse, they will feel the confinement that awaits us, more than we shall feel it ourselves. there will be regrets, bitter complainings, even tears to be wiped away,--and every thing which the law does not foresee, but which aggravates the punishment. in such circumstances we suffer more for others than for ourselves. but the lot is cast, and we must go to sainte-pélagie. it is not enough, however, to go to prison, one should know what to do there. time has no wings for the captive; on the contrary, he marches with slow steps, sometimes even he takes it into his head to make a full stop. this is a great inconvenience, which ought to be remedied. if we can contrive to escape from the heaviness of time, we shall so far escape from the oppression of captivity. why not invent something to fill up the thirty days of our confinement? though the free exercise of the body le denied us, shall we a preface. vii therefore be prohibited the use of our intellectual faculties ? no: the mind is as free behind bolts and bars, as it is in the fields : no decree of court can put it under arrest. « all that," observed a friend, who had listened to these reflexions, “is very reasonable. you will behold new objects, and experience new sensations. if you resolve to describe the one and express the other, you will never be embarrassed by any leisure time. the collection of your remarks will form a work that will at least have the merit of originality. no one will accuse you of having made up a book out of other books,-a charge which is becoming every day more common, and better founded. something of sainte-pélagie, of its government, and of the most remarkable prisoners you may meet with there. you will find characters to de scribe, misfortunes to relate, and philosophical observations worth repeating. in such a work, the useful and the agreeable will unite most admirably. what would you have besides ?" these sagacious counsels determined our resolutions. but something more is wanting after we have chosen our subject, and even after we have written upon it. there must be a title ; perhaps the most important point of all, at least tell us a viii preface. with the bookseller. i am acquainted with some who are so profound in the philosophy of titlepages, and so skilful in their selections, that they would be able to give circulation even to a volume of academical harangues. for ourselves, we shall be contented with any title, however modest, provided it be significant. “ what do you think of this ?— the hermits in prison, or consolations of sainte-pélagie? there is no pretence about it, and it conveys all it means to convey. it will even excite some interest: for at the present day, it is worth hearing how people manage to console themselves in prison.” our friend was in raptures with the notion. “ i hope," said he, “that your consolations will afflict no one, and that it may not be said of you as it was of a certain writer, thạt his pleasure was the misfortune of his readers.' we will endeavour to avoid the inconvenience; but who can answer for destiny ? the public, though sometimes an indulgent judge, is often a severe one ; fortunately it is independent. and its decrees are not the result of any dictation. let us hope ! a. j. the hermit in prison. nº i.-april 20, 1822. our admission to sainte-pélagie. virtus est domare quæ cuncti pavent. seneca. > behold me condemned to pass a month in sainte-pélagie. “well, be it so," said i to mons. coche, our solicitor ; “i am ready to drain the cup: so let us enter ourselves at once in the books of the prison.”_“you are monstrously impatient,” he replied; “ but it is not every one who wishes it, can get vol. i. b 2 our admission to into prison. first, the three days allowed for your appeal must expire; then your sentence, properly docketed, must be returned to the office of the king's advocate: then he, or his substitute, will grant you permission to obey the sentence of the court. all this preliminary business being dispatched, we must find some loyal tipstaff who will consent to be our escort; and then, after all these formalities, i will deposit you legally at the office of saintepélagie.” “ my dear mons. coche, you talk like a solicitor of great experience, like a man versed in the vernacular of law-courts; you know excellently well their usages and customs, and we cannot possibly do better than follow your advice. if the world knew what an interest you take in the affairs of sainte-pélagie. 3 your clients, the activity and intelligence with which you smooth away all difficulties, you would be positively overwhelmed with business. do the best you can for us, and contrive that my companion and i may obtain as soon as possible the liberty of being imprisoned !” at length the matter is effected; behold us in the office of sainte-pélagie. i embraced my son-in-law and my poor girl, who turned away with a throbbing heart and eyes full of tears; she was astonished to find me as calm as if it were but an ordinary occasion of life. i have long since learned to estimate things at their proper valve. “ where are you taking us?” asked mons. jouy of the turnkey, who pointed to a dark narrow staircase. b 2 4 our admission to you can “ i am leading you to your rooms in the red gallery.” this red gallery was very black; it is divided into the great and the small gallery, which communicate with each other, and are under the same superintendance. « no. 4 of the small gallery is your lodging,” said the turnkey to my fellowprisoner ; "you will be very well off there: see the debtors in the court through the grating, and that will distract your attention : it is the pleasantest sight we have in the prison.” i expected to be placed in the adjoining cell. " oh, no," said the keeper, « they have thought it best to separate you ; and you must come along to no. 17 in the great gallery." “ as i have seen your cell, come and ) sainte-pélagie. 5 look at mine," said i to mons. jouy. we followed our guide, and about the middle of the gallery we found a numerous group of prisoners, detained for political offences, who were waiting to give us a friendly welcome. our answer was such as their politeness deserved, and we conversed with them for a few moments. an event which had happened that very day in the prison formed the subject of the conversation. a young woman who had just quitted her husband, a debtor, had shot herself with a brace of pistols. they raised her up, covered with blood, and carried her into an adjoining house. the cause of this desperate act was still unknown. amongst the persons who surrounded us i remarked a young man of pleasing, intelligent countenance, whose manners b3 6 our admission to denoted a liberal education. i learned that his name was magallon, and immediately recollected the album, his trial, and mons. alexis dumesnil. from that moment i determined to become acquainted with mons. magallon. after saluting these gentlemen, i enter my little cell. i place the lamp on a small unpainted wooden table, which constituted the most beautiful ornament of my apartment; and, as it is yet early, i set about putting the place in order. a small shelf on the wall will serve me as a book-case: come, let us arrange the few books i have brought with me; that will occupy my mind for a short time. the manual of epictetus. whenever i am tempted to complain of the injustice of men, and the infamy of calumniators, i sainte-pélagie. 7 will demand the opinion of epictetus. if any feeling of hatred springs up in my breast, i will have recourse to him. for instance : « tell me, epictetus, ought i not to seek for some revenge, and return evil for evil?”-“ ah, my friend,” he replies, “ they have done you no evil, since good and evil exist only in your own will. besides, if any one injures himself in doing you an injustice, why should you hurt yourself in striving to return the injustice?"-" but they have strangely wronged me; they have accused me of impiety!”—“ very well ! did they not accuse socrates in the same way?"~" but they have sentenced me !"-"was not socrates also condemned? reflect that there is no punishment except where there is real guilt, and that the two things cannot b 4 8 our admission to be separated. do not consider yourself unhappy. which, think you, was the more unfortunate, socrates or his judges?” in these consolations there is something a little too stoical for me : but i will turn them over in my mind, and see what advantage a prisoner of sainte-pélagie can derive from them. what book shall i put at the side of epictetus? the gospels ;-and why not? some persons will have it that philosophy and religion are irreconcileable foes, but i maintain the reverse. it is only in very, unimportant points that they differ; the fundamental principles of both are the same. i will demonstrate, whenever it may be required, that to be really religious, it is necessary to be a philosopher. i will preserve my evangelists; they will furnish sainte-pélagie. 9 me with texts, if i shall need any, against human depravity, and the fatal consequences of iniquity. what is this? hume's history of the stuarts. i am glad of it: i love history when written with impartiality. this praise has been denied to hume. it is said that he was too eager to lessen the faults of the stuarts ; that he was too much of a scotchman, and a royalist. i will read him again with attention, and shall then know what to think of this imputation. i promise myself a great deal of pleasure from the examination of the colours he has used in painting the famous judges scroggs and jefferies. hume was a master painter. i wish to study, his manner, as the day may come when i shall have occasion to use it. moreover, it is perfectly just that he should b 5 10 our admission to be confined in sainte-pélagie. he has dared to say that colonel harrison, one of those who sat in judgment on the unhappy charles i., was graced with many excellent qualities. he has also eulogized sir harry vane, one of the most fiery demagogues of the long parliament. it has been proved in court, as clear as day, that such language is an absolute attack upon public morals. i condemn hume, therefore, to suffer in my cell one month's imprisonment; the crime being the same, it is just that the punishment should be equal. but this little volume is a treasure ! the fables of fontaine.amiable comforter! philosopher without pomp, moralist without pretence, great poet without seeming to be conscious of it; and yet this affected good-nature was not without a touch sainte-pélagie. 11 of malice. i could quote, if i dared, some i of his best epigrams, in which certain persons would not find much cause for laughter. but i am afraid of the construction which would be put upon them, and am like the hare in his own fable, who was afraid lest his ears should be mistaken for horns. i am treading on live coals, and must stop. if, like the hare, i could run freely about the fields, i should ask nothing better.-let us proceed. report made to the minister of the interior on the prisons of paris, by m. de laborde.-excellent! this is the very thing for my case, and i will contrive to make some good use of it. travels in the united states of america, by m. de la rochefoucauld liancourt. this is my book book. it is the work of a genuine. b6 12 our admission to philosopher, and a sincere friend of humanity. it will enable me to while away my time deliciously: it will recall some of those wonderful places which i myself have seen; it will remind me of those just and equal laws under which i have so long lived, of those manners which are so familiar to me; it will speak to me of men arrived at a high degree of civilization, and in comparison with whom, spite of our niggard vanity, we are still barbarians. what an infinite debt of gratitude do i not owe to m. de la rochefoucauld, its noble author! we shall find ourselves together on those fertile plains, in those populous cities, where protecting authorities watch over society, and, like providence, are only visible in the effects of their paternal solicitude. happy land, where the 'worth of sainte-pélagie. 13 human liberty is known; where jealous l power is not armed with criminal severity, and does not stretch out the laws like snares under the foot of the citizen; where compassion is not a crime, and where humanity is to be met with, in public institutions as well as in private manners. from the narrow precincts within which i am shut up, imagination will transport me to those spots where i have heretofore received such vivid impressions, and where justice and peace reign undisturbed and serene. i shall once again listen to the free language of men who know their own dignity, and the spectacle of a corrupt world will for a moment cease to sadden my reflexions. such were my speculations when i turned again to my books. i had just taken up a plato, when a strange 14 our admission to noise burst upon my ears. it was the clatter of bolts, and the harsh grating of the key turning in a massy lock. my illusions vanished ;-i was again in france ; -i was a prisoner ! it is time for repose, and my couch is ready. i am alone, my conscience is pure, i shall sleep tranquilly,—more tranquilly, i dare to believe, than many of those who are softly stretched on the down of power. . nor was i mistaken, for no harassing dream has disturbed my repose. it is six o'clock, and they are opening the door of my cell. i can ramble at pleasure in the red gallery, and even descend into a court, where a few stunted plants escape with regret from the arid soil, as if they had a feeling of their captivity. i was preparing to go down, when a sainte-pélagie. 15 66 do you young man, confined for his political opinions, approached me with an agitated look, and eyes wet with tears. know what has happened in the prison this morning ?--mons. magallon has been taken away by force.” «« taken away by force! who? the young man whose appearance was so interesting, and for whom i already felt a sentiment of friendship? has he committed any new offence? has he disturbed the order of sainte-pélagie? what grave subject of complaint is there against him?” “ no, indeed : his character is full of gentleness; all the prisoners were charmed with his society : the turnkeys themselves (and that is saying every thing) could not avoid feeling an interest for him. there : 16 our admission to was no announcement of the misfortune which threatened him ; he slept quietly till about five o'clock, when two men entered abruptly into his room, and ordered him to go down to the office, telling him at the same time that he was to be transferred to the central prison of poissy. mons. magallon, astonished at this information, begged to remain a few hours to speak with his wife, and prepare her for this new separation. that young woman, a fond . wife and affectionate mother, is overwhelmed with woes, pale with suffering, in a wretched state of health, and all her strength was just enough to support her here for the solace of her husband. the request of mons. magallon, so just and so natural; was refused. it was by a higher sainte-pélagie. 17 order ;-he must depart. he summoned up his courage, grasped my hand, and descended to the office.” here the young man stopped to wipe away a tear, and then continued his story in these words : “ mons. magallon was accompanied by some gend'armes. they told him that they must put on the poucettes, that is, bind his thumbs tightly with cord : a species of torture hitherto reserved for the vilest criminals; fasten him to a galley-slave, who had been a second time condemned for robbery; and compel him, in this way, to pass through paris, in open day, on his route to poissy. mons. magallon exclaimed against tuch treatment. he begged, at least, to be allowed a carriage at his own expense; observing, that it was seven : 18 our admission, etc. leagues from paris to poissy; and that such a march on foot, in such a state, would be an insufferable torture. the officer of the gendarmerie could scarcely suppress his emotion when he looked at the prepossessing exterior of mons. magallon; he took out his pocket-book, and 1 drawing forth his order, shewed it to my friend in silence. mons. magallon raised his head, and summoning all his fortitude, stretched out his hands to the soldier, and turning his eyes to heaven, exclaimed, “ my poor wife-she will die!" a. j. no. ii.-april 21. the morning, le vrai peut quelquefois n'être pas vraisemblable. boileau. méret! méret! bring me the team and the newspapers ! -no one comes, and i cannot find the cord of my bell ;-) shall be obliged to go and awake him myself. hark! there is some one in the antichamber :-méret! méret ! “ what are you about ?” said i.what am i about ! parbleu, i ought to ask you that question; as change of lodging sometimes prevents one from sleeping." 20 the morning. “ change of lodging !-in truth, this little grated window, this door with a wicket, this paper-covered lamp, this face that i do not recognize : surely i am not at home!-where the devil am i ?” my good sir, you are in prison."--" in prison? i in prison ?"_“yes, just the same as any one else might be ; and if you do not believe me, your comrade will be here in a few minutes to tell you so. in the mean time collect yourself. there, your door is open, and you may take the air in the gallery, where you will find most excellent company." in saying these words, the head-turnkey (for it was indeed a turnkey) saluted me by raising his hand to his cap, and then left me to my reflections. here am i then, seated on my little bed, the morning. 21 tha this am and gazing idly round me; my ideas gradually recovering themselves, and resuming their usual order in my head. yes, yes, i remember, i did come into st. pélagie last night, under a sentence of the royal court, which condemned me to a fine and imprisonment, for having said, that in 1815 the times were not the same as in 1793. 40 in he ni e . " j'avais tort, soit; la chose est par trop claire, “ et la prison a prouvé cette affaire.” and was this an offence worth occupying such an august areopag us for five long days ? honour, which has taken refuge in the conscience of the magistrates (as the keeper of the seals wittily observed), has explained the words, 6 times were changed." the advocate general lavished the flowers and the thunders of his 22 the morning. even worse. eloquence to point out all their subtlety and perfidy. i said, 66 the times were changed ;” and they contended that i meant to say they were the same, and 6 why,” said my distinguished advocate, “the poor man did not mean anything malicious by the expression. he knew, as well as any academician, its meaning, and gave to the words and figures the same signification which they bear in the dictionary; 1815 was no longer 1793 : that is what he said, what he thought, and what will seem to him indisputable, until you shall have decided otherwise." an inferior tribunal has so decided, and the decision has been confirmed by a decree of the royal court. we submit to qur sentence out of respect to the offence, : the morning, 23 but as there is no situation from which an honest heart, and a well directed mind, cannot derive advantage, let us see whether ours does not afford some consolation. in the first place, i would say with cicero: “i value the approbation of my own conscience far more than the opinions of the world." i have already appealed to that infallible tribunal, and it has completely reversed the decree of the royal court, supreme as it is : i look upon myself as acquitted. this solemn act of personal justice will not, it is true, shorten my imprisonment a single hour, but it will mitigate it; it will sweeten so-litude, and nourish in my soul those sentiments, to which i owe all that i am worth, and the strength of which is too often 24 the morning, enfeebled by the years which weigh upon my head. besides, this state of loneliness is without inconvenience to the man of lonely tastes, and has this advantage, that it fits us for the hardships of our times, by habituating us to behold, cool and unmoved, the last and most imperious necessity of all. most of the evils with which life abounds, spring with the greater part of men from their invincible dislike of solitude. rarely do men wish to act alone; they wish to act with others. another reflection presents itself to my mind. there are few, circumstances where a man, during his life-time, can obtain a correct measure of the interest which he inspires, and discover the place which he holds in the esteem of his fellow men. at every age one of the greatest the morning. 25 miseries of life, is the not knowing whether we are loved or not; and though, among the modes of ascertaining this fact, a judicial sentence is not exactly the proof i should have chosen, yet since it has happened, i congratulate myself sincerely, at finding in the tokens of good-will and regard which i have received, a soothing consolation for the severity of the court. thus it is that self-love pays itself in the feeling of persecution of which it sees itself the object; we think that it raises us in our own eyes; there is a sort of pride of circumstance which does not misbecome modesty itself. never have i thought so favourably of myself, never tasted so completely the success of my last dramatic work, as when i saw the public throng to vol. i. с 26 the morning. the sixty-fourth representation of sylla, on the very day that the judgment was confirmed that visited me with a punishment, which the law in every country reserves to sharpers and vagabonds. there is another consolation, by which, more than by any other, i am upheld : it is the season in which we entered into our new abode. the spring, which seems desirous of sympathizing with us, keeps back, and scarcely promises even that which shakspeare so poetically calls “ the uncertain glory of an april day." it is a kind of opportune necessity which is inflicted upon us, of passing within four walls that season, which is no longer winter and yet not spring. to continue: yesterday i was happy, tranquil, honoured in the bosom of a family which the morning. 27 heaven had bestowed upon me as some recompense for all the misfortunes which it is sometimes pleased to heap on a single human being ; to-day i find myself, without knowing wherefore, under four massy bolts, in a prison where i must pass 726 hours of the latest, and therefore the shortest, period of my life. in this reflexion there is, no doubt, something painful : but i am acquitted in my own mind; the regard of my friends, the syml pathy, and i dare to say it, the esteem of the public, accompany me to my prison. the severe cold, so disagreeable to captive, has already passed away, and the beautiful days of the country have not yet returned. i have already formed the idea of a little work, which cannot be executed any where but in the prison а c 2 28 the morning. 66 where i am ; i will therefore bear my misfortune patiently, and say of myself, what lactantius said of cicero, “he was already consoled, by reason, conscience, and his friends, for that calamity which he continued to lament." e. j. no. iii.april 22, 1823. m. magallon. an injustice done to a single man is a threat to the whole world. maxims of confucius. the fears of mons. magallon have not been realized. his wife, it is true, suffered dreadfully on learning the transference of her husband, and above all, the cruel treatment he had undergone; but she collected all her strength, and recalled the energy requisite to support her under this new trial. the convict to whom mons. magallon had been bound was eaten up with c3 30 m. magallon. the itch, and as he passed through the streets, and along the whole of the road, he never ceased calling out, “ the galleyslaves for ever! huzza, for the galleyslaves !”* the pointed manner in which he uttered those shameful exclamations, as if to force the attention of all who passed, has given rise to a suspicion, that he had received some secret instruction concerning it. this last circumstance would betray such an excess of malignity, such a refinement of barbarity, that for the honour of human nature i will not believe it. mme. magallon hastened to the central prison of poissy. pale, trembling, dismayed, she asked for her husband : she * “ vivent les galériens ! honneur aux galériens." m. magallon. 31 beheld him clothed in the dress of a felon, and would have flung herself into his arms : but he, fearful of having caught the shameful disease which afflicted his comrade, drew back, and told his wretched wife the danger she ran. but what can damp the ardour of virtuous love ? the by-standers melted into tears at the sight, enough to soften, if such a thing were possible, the savageness of an inquisitor. but we must be just. the recital of these severities, published in those journals not ministerial,* united the honourable and candid of all parties in a feeling of surprise and reprobation. an honourable deputy of paris, mons. alexandre de la borde, with whom the opportunity of assisting * the constitutionnel, courier français, drapeau blanc, journal de commerce, and pilote. c4 32 m. magallon. the unfortunate is a piece of good fortune which he never rejects,* determined himself to verify such extraordinary facts. he went to poissy; he saw mons. magallon clothed in the shameful uniform of the place, thrown into the midst of felons, and compelled to a kind of hard labour, conformable neither to his education nor strength. he ascertained that the convict to whom he had been bound was in the hospital for the cure of that leprosy, the very name of which cannot be pronounced without disgust. mons. magallon told mons. de la borde that he had offered the gend'armes to pay for a carriage, a thing which is not refused even to the greatest criminal : and * the expression in the original is too idiomatic to bear translation: pour qui l'occasion de secourir le malheur est une bonne fortune à laquelle il ne résiste jamais. m. magallon. 33 the brigadier answered that he could not grant him the favour. from whom did the orders given to this brigadier emanate? by whose hand were they signed? whose imagination conceived this new species of torture, to chain a man to contagion, and to deliver him to a punishment as repugnant to justice as to humanity ? we might almost believe that they wished to make us regret the bastile ; if that be the ultimate design of those who are the natural enemies of all liberal institutions, they will never succeed in their intention. it is true that the confinement of men of letters in the bastile was far from being rigorous, and that they never were mixed up with thieves and convicts. marmontel, in his memoirs, has left us a description of his abode in the bastile, which does not excite 1 c 5 34 m. magallon. any painful feeling; he lived there like an epicurean, who was fond of good cheer, and who was conscious of it; he praises the obliging manners of the governor, and the care he took to ameliorate his situation: yet it was against all law, against every principle of justice, that marmontel was detained. tried at the caprice of a courtier, condemned without being heard, arrested by a lettre de cachet, and ignorant of the extent of his imprisonment, he suffered under the iron rod of despotism. he was not allowed to raise the voice of a freeman against oppression, nor protest in the sight of heaven against his oppressors. had he shewn the slightest sign of anger in his chains, they might have plunged him into a dungeon, and left him to perish by a slow death of years. at the present day we may m. magallon. 35 complain : this is the solace of the unhappy. at the present day, whatever be the actuating motive, still the forms of law are observed. you are brought before a tribunal; the charge is discussed ; you make your defence, and that defence is public. the general opinion condemns or acquits you. in our times, there must be, if not a sufficient motive, at least a plausible pretext for the accusation and the prosecution: formerly, arbitrary power decided every thing. a loose woman procured her husband's arrest; the hatred of a great lord, or the vengeance of a clerk in office, was enough to deprive you of liberty, and a favourite mistress dictated the list of proscriptions. there was no fixed law beneath which to find shelter from the attacks of despotism. i am aware c 6 36 m. magallon, that laws may be abused, and that they are often employed to gratify the vilest purposes; but the triumph of iniquity cannot be long-lived, when it opposes the morals and the opinions of the public. publicity alone is an invaluable protection against the protracted excesses of oppression ; and little is lost when it is in the power of an energetic protest to expose the oppressor to indignation and contempt. the an. cient parliaments strongly disapproved the abuses of power. distinguished magistrates, who knew and maintained their duties, contended in behalf of the victims of despotism ; but their courageous voices ; were not heard, they died away at the feet of ministerial tyranny, and could not penetrate into those obscure dungeons where innocence so often languished. no, the m. 37 magallon. conduct of the judicial police towards writers confined for their political offences, will never make us regret the days of lettres de cachet, or sigh for the restoration of the bastile. observe what has taken place in this unfortunate case of mons. magallon! cruelty is silent, and does not attempt to make even an apology; they would, if it were possible, deny the more atrocious circumstances of the transference: that remnant of shame we owe to publicity. with respect to the fact itself, freed from its disgraceful accessories, an attempt has been made to palliate it by saying it is the custom in such cases. it is, say they, an administrative measure, applied to all such as the law condemns to an imprisonment beyond a 38 m. magallon. year. mons. de la borde has given to this objection a triumphant reply. “ the tribunals,” he observes, “ in condemning a person to imprisonment, leave the execution of the sentence to the admi. nistration, which takes such precautions with reference to the individuals as it thinks their safe-keeping requires. thus it is by a simple order of the police that thieves and refractory criminals are marched on foot, with their hands bound, and guarded by soldiers, because the greater part of those who are in the hands of justice have no other idea but that of escaping, to begin again their infamous career; it is natural enough, therefore, that a particular dress should be given to them, in order that they might instantly be recogm. magallon. 39 nized if they should escape from prison. but is it to be credited that these shameful precautions should be applied to persons of condition, voluntarily surrendering themselves to the prison they are condemned to, and who can never have any wish to escape ? for them the sentence of banishment would be a hundred times worse than that of a short imprisonment. is it to be believed that such men are to be dragged through the streets of paris, a public gazingstock ;-a punishment more cruel than the pillory itself, since it constantly renews itself in every quarter through which they pass? is it to be believed that a gentleman is to be fastened to a leprous convict, and to be exposed to the hazard of a disease as dangerous as it is disgusting? what judge, asks mr. bentham, has ever con6 40 m. magallon. demned a culprit to rheumatisms, fevers, or contagious maladies?' “ when the head of the old government commuted to indefinite imprisonment the capital punishment to which the polignacs had been condemned, it never entered into his mind to oblige these gentlemen to put on the dress of convicts, and to card wool and pick cotton : such an atrocious clemency would have disgusted every one, and the polignacs themselves would have scorned to buy their lives at such a price. how then can they, at the present day, add to a simple punishment of ordinary police, so that which would have appeared barbarous in the days of despotism, though in exchange for the penalty of death?” it is perfectly clear that the article 40 of the penal code, which has been cited in m. magallon. 41 justification of the mode in which some persons detained for political offences have been treated, was intended by the legislator to apply to felons and vagabonds only. that this is true appears from the questions addressed to ministers during their discussion on the laws relating to the press. they were asked whether political writers would be subject to the ordinary regulations of prisons. mons. de serre, the keeper of the seals, indignantly replied, that “ to think so was an insult to the royal government; that it was odious to suppose the adnistration so destitute of good sense, justice, and humanity, as to treat men of letters, whose offence was often nothing more than an incorrectness of opinion, or intellectual mistake, in the same way with rogues and felons. such had indeed been the case in 42 m. magallon, 1793, but it would never be seen under a royalist ministry.” it was even talked of fixing some distinct place of confinement for political and literary offenders. it is clear, therefore, first, that the authors of the penal code, in fixing the penalties for material offences, never included those of the press, which were then unknown, or at least were punished as political crimes; and the culprits, as i have observed, were confined apart in the state prisons, where they were subject to no sort of personal disgrace; second, that the deputies of the two chambers, in voting on the laws relative to the press, never intended more than simple confinement, and by the magistrates ! would it not be a gross insult to suppose that, in condemning a writer to a single month's detention, for a phrase m. magallon. 43 somewhat audacious, and frequently susceptible of various interpretations, they meant to sentence him to the dungeons of bicêtre and poissy ; that they included handcuffs, binding to a galley-slave, and hard labour! no man of sense will deny the truth of this reasoning, and the present administration must therefore have the credit of the treatment which those detained for political offences have received. it has confounded us with the dregs of the human race. subterfuge and apology are useless : it is more honourable boldly to avow their conduct, and spare themselves the trouble and disgrace of hypocrisy. there is, nevertheless, a prison society; a sort of general council of philanthropists. what has taken place proves the 44 m. magallon. inutility of all such societies, which are no doubt animated by the best feelings, but are without any rallying point of action. they meet together, deliver speeches carefully prepared, draw up reports whose foundations are generally inexact; and whilst they debate and speechify, justice is outraged, and humanity suffers. a single man, unsupported and alone, has done more in this respect than all the philanthropic societies in the world : that man was howard, the englishman who voluntarily passed his life in prisons. he associated with the unfortunate, only to relieve them; he listened to their complaints, like some messenger from heaven, and then made them resound through the palaces of kings. nothing discouraged him ; neither the fatigues of his mission, m. magallon. 45 nor the discouragements of power; his virtuous importunity burst through every obstacle. how many unhappy wretches owe to him their repose ! how many inno! cent victims has he not rescued from de' spair! the necessity of being useful to his fellow creatures multiplied his energies; and there was not a dungeon in great britain, however obscure, which he did not visit, and into which he did not introduce a gleam of hope. to enter these he did not need a formal stamped certificate of admission, which cost the prisoner three pence halfpenny. but even this was not enough for him. he passed over to the continent, and without noise, without parade, he visited all the prisons of europe. like providence, he was recognized only by his acts of goodness. he 46 m. magallon. gave rulers advice, and prisoners consolation; he dried up the tears of the unhappy, and he received his reward. howard was the first who gave the idea of those gaols, which, in england and the united states, receive vice and depravity, and make them disappear before a system, wisely conceived, and religiously executed. how anxiously ought we to wish such examples followed in france ! but we will not despair ; there is amongst us one who has : inherited the virtues of howard. who knows what is yet to be accomplished by alexander de la borde? a. j. no. iv.-april 23, 1823. dialogue between him and myself. suus cuique mos. terence. oye in power ! rarely have i known your justice, and three times have i suffered from your oppression. nizami, the persian poet. (khamsa, 5th fable.) he. well ! what do you think of it? two soothsayers at rome could not meet without laughing; two philosophers, two moralists, like you and i, who find them selves on a fine morning in the prison of sainte-pélagie, ought they not to salute in the same way? 48 dialogue between 1. laugh as much as you please, but i warn you that my temper is not quite so gay. i shall wait until you shew me the ludicrous side of this business, before i begin to smile. he. how ! do you not find it an amusing circumstance, that at our age, fathers of a family, nay even grandfathers, enjoying a reputation well established for discretion, and able to produce good certificates of character,—that we should see each other in a prison, under the same bolts and bars with thieves and vagabonds? i. no: it seems to me abominable, : odious,—and i do not yet know how to make a jest of public decency. he. have a care, my dear comrade in prison and in philosophy, lest there enter him and myself. 49 into your indignation a slight portion of personal feeling; for we are not the only honest people here, as you will soon discover; and the evil, of which you complain for the first time, has existed for a long period. 1. do you believe that ten years are enough to signalize all the abuses, verify all the injustice, and to set off all the follies which may have arisen, been established, and perpetuated in a country like ours ? it is my habit to speak of such things only as i know them from experience. he. and you murmur when they come before you! let us talk coolly: set down on the foot of my bed, until i get another chair, and let us consider together whether we cannot derive some benefit from vol. i. d 50 dialogue between our present situation. we are in prison, that is certainly true ; we have no cause to blush, neither before others nor alone, for that which brought us here; and if we only knew how to employ the month we are obliged to pass here, it may perhaps form an honourable epoch in our life. what shall we do? 1. i have already distributed my time. i shall read a great deal : reading has a special charm for persons in our situation ; it is a mixed state, between conversation and reflection : which has neither the frivolity of the one, nor the fatigue of the other, and unites the advantages of both. he. as for me, i will write a book on the uses and pleasures of a prison. i. for heaven's sake, do not sell the honours of persecution so cheap, you will him and myself. 51 disgust its victims, and weaken the hatred which we ought to feel against our oppressors. i intend to write something which the philosophy of the occasion may dictate. i have already planned a work, in which i will paint men in power as i see them from sainte-pélagie, and this shall be the motto : dis-moi qui tu châties, et je te dirai qui tu es. he. the same cause produces on us very different effects. a prison, which sours your temper, sweetens mine, as the night increases the bliss of love. 1. my mind is not so stoical. when i suffer i must cry out, and i call men and things by their proper names. a dungeon is to me a tomb beneath the earth, where nothing attaches us to the world except the recollections of honour and virtue'; d 2 52 dialogue between me. these recollections oppress what degradation of spirit! what weakness of heart! the social world, as they are now reconstructing it, will soon become a gothic dungeon. france ! where is all thy genius, thy power, thy glory? in vain have thy philosophers written, thy heroes fought; in vain has voltaire, like the daystar, showered forth floods of light for more than a century. the african is still bought and sold, and the trade in whites has not ceased : they make bargains at senegambia, and treaties at verona. every where the development of human virtue and human intellect is arrested ; states totter and are partitioned; kings are cast down, nations are imbruted. here we meet with. fakirs, there with austrian garrisons ;in the south, censorship and the police ;him and myself. 53 in the east, viziers, the stake, and the mutes;-every where jugglers, halters, and decorations. i will write the history of slavery. he. you might as easily undertake an universal history. with only thirty days before you, why engage in a labour of twenty years ? 1. you are right : i will contract my canvass, and set about a tragedy. the subject is already in my brain, and i shall have time enough to sketch out some of . the scenes. he. what is its title? or 1. cambyses, the prevaricating judge. he. this time you need not fear that your writings will be applied to living persons : thank heaven we live in an age d 3 54 dialogue between when there are no prevaricating judges. but if your tragedy have nothing to apprehend from the censure, does not the subject itself present an insuperable difficulty? 1. not at all. it is a passage of pure history which i adapt to the stage. you have seen in the museum that dutch picture he. what! where there is a wretched judge skinned alive by command of the ferocious cambyses, in order that the bench on which the prevaricator sat might be covered with his skin as a warning to others? i. il n'est point de serpent ni de monstre odieux, qui par l'art imité ne puisse plaire aux yeux. he. horace and boileau forbid that this poetic maxim ever be applied to our stage, him and myself. 55 unless with great restrictions : there are monstrosities which we can endure to witness in the real world, but which would strike us with horror on the stage; and, moreover, what would be the moral and philosophic purpose of such a work? to το make us equally abhor inhuman justice and execrable tyranny. i am quite content to see prevaricating judges punished, but i do not wish to see them skinned alive. est modus in rebus. i. when i reflect for a moment, it strikes me that you are right. i abandon the idea of my tragedy of cambyses, especially as i dislike narratives on the stage, and i foresee that it would puzzle me a good deal to manage the catastrophe in actual representation: but now what am i to do? for it a d4 56 dialogue between is absolutely necessary i should do something. he. if you will be guided by me, let each of us follow his old trade of observer and gleaner. plato imagines himself to be enclosed in a dark cavern which had only one small opening, through which the shadows of the bodies that passed by on the outside were traced on the opposite wall. now we are in the same situation which plato imagined for himself. from the centre of our gloomy chamber we shall behold for the next month nothing but dim shadows passing before us : let us trace out on the walls these shadowy outlines, transfer them thence to our album, and on quitting the place we will publish our sketches. i am much mistaken if the him and myself. 57 public do not receive them with great good-will. 1. to business then! the idea is excellent, and i leave you to set about it. e. j. d 5 no. 5.-april 24, 1823. history of my apartment. uno avulso, non deficit alter. virg. а that walls have ears has long been known; but i have discovered that they have a voice and language also. i have separately questioned those between which i am confined ; they have answered me, and it is from their recitals that i have composed the history of my apartment, of which the following is a faithful description. it is situated at the lower end of the red gallery, which might have been history of my apartment. 59 just as well named from any other colour, seeing that a mild obscurity prevails there, which scarcely allows one to distinguish the numbers inscribed over the doors, in figures about two inches long. my apartment is no. 4: it is ten feet long, seven broad, and eight high ; so that a person of the loftiest stature may stand upright, and walk about at his ease. formerly, air and room were less liberally allowed to the prisoners, though then indeed crimes of intention, allusion, insinuation, and tendency were unknown. thus every thing is balanced ; and under this point of view, at least, the progress of the age towards a better order of things does not appear to me to be so very evident. perhaps there is a little pettishness in this opinion, and thered 6 60 history of fore i quit these reflexions, and resume the topic-my apartment. the window, which is crossed by massy bars, lets in the first rays of the dawn, and enables me to look out into a court planted with trees, where two classes of prisoners enjoy, at different hours, the pleasures of a walk. one of my predecessors has left in the cell marks of his sojourn. the papered canvass with which the walls are still covered, and the ceiling hollowed out in the centre, to give it the look of a marquee, shew that a soldier has made in this narrow place one of those humiliating halts which a great general has characterized by a stronger epithet. whilst i was examining more minutely some parts of the wall which the unglued paper left my apartment. 61 bare, my eye fell upon some capitals written with a pencil, and now almost defaced. one has always time to spare in a prison, and i set about decyphering the inscription, by joining the parts of the strokes which still remained. here is a fac-simile of those fragments of the writing which time had respected: ?? . o els after filling up the parts of the first letter, i clearly perceived that it was meant for a j. i was a full half hour engaged in combining in twenty different ways the remains of the second letter; and having found that it would stand for a z or an l, i chose the last, because a greater number of french names begun with it than with the other. the third detained me a shorter 62 history of time; the extremities, unite them by what stroke i would, belonged only to a p. with respect to the last, after fumbling for two or three hours in vain, i found in it the elements of b, as written by the english. having finished this part of the business, i then tried to ascertain to which of my predecessors these initials would apply, but could discover no one. i was about to abandon the riddle, when one of my young companions in captivity entering the cell, i told him of my perplexity, and pointed to the monogram. « how !" said he, “ can you not guess the meaning? nothing is more easy. those letters belong to the most amiable and most illustrious captive the walls of sainte-pélagie ever enclosed-josephine la pagerie bonaparte." my apartment. 63 « is it possible !" i cried, in an unusual transport of joy !". nothing more certain,” he replied. “in 1793 the good and beautiful josephine was confined in saintepélagie, and these letters are a certain proof that she inhabited this cell." there is one objection,” i observed, “which overthrows your otherwise-plausible conjecture: the illustrious josephine, at the time of her imprisonment, had not yet assumed the name of the hero who cast such a glory over her life. she was arrested in 1793, and did not take the name of bonaparte until 1797.”_ but then she bore that of her former husband, beauharnais, which serves equally well to explain your monogram.' this observation was borne out by the fact. mme. de beauharnais was indeed 64 history of confined for some months in sainte-pés lagie, and in this same gallery; and from all the information i could procure, and the circumstances being compared, i was convinced that my poor cell was consecrated by the recollection of the august and amiable josephine. this idea made me feel younger by thirty years, and i was carried back to those days of mourning and civil discord, when power, in the hands of a stupidly fe, rocious faction, persecuted, in the name of france and freedom, their noblest and most ardent defenders. i beheld, in the middle of a tempestuous night, a young fenale, more beautiful even from her terror and the scanty dress in which she was surprised, conducted into these gloomy vaults by a band of madmen, whom her tears could not soften. the terrific bolts my apartment. 65 are drawn upon her; i see her silently seated before the window where i now write, and i thrill with all the emotions which disturb her bosom. she speaks, and i am dumb.6. wherefore am i in this prison ? what crime have i committed? -1, the wife of a patriot soldier, whose glory and services have been recompensed by the scaffold? but they arrested me on a foreign soil ! was my destiny linked to that of the enemies of france ? no, no : -my best affections were placed where duty to my country commanded : and yet have they dragged me, faint and dying, from the bosom of my family, to wait a prisoner for that knell of death which has already tolled for so many unhappy victims!” she wept, and her eyes fell with a shudder upon the sombre objects which 66 history of a encircled her. gradually the agitations of her heart were quieted; she seemed to listen to the consolations of some internal monitor, and the smile of a far-off hope beamed upon her lips. the amiable captive draws from her bosom a talisman, on which is inscribed : you will weep, you will suffer ; but hope,wait,and you will become queen of a mighty empire.” “poor amica,” she cried, after having read this prediction ; “ my kind nurse, half of your prophecy is already accomplished ; but what power on earth will enable me to realize the other? yet i will still hopei will wait--for your predictions have never yet deceived me.” the series of astonishing events by which fortune fulfilled the oracle of the mulatto, and led, as it were, by the hand my apartment. 67 the lovely creole of martinique, from the cell no. 4, of sainte-pélagie, to the first throne of the world, is well known. it would be unfair to suppose that such an example was able to excite any ambition in my breast, or that i flattered myself that, by starting from the same point, i was one day to reach the same height as my illustrious predecessor ; first, because no one has ever prophecied that i should be made a king; and next, because i am bound to say frankly, in order to discourage such as may have turned their eyes towards me, that it is a sort of business for which i have not the slightest propensity. from 1793 to 1815, it is quite clear that my room could not have remained empty, although the walls do not inform me of the names of its occupants : but on 68 history of the 21st of april (i shall not soon forget that date), in that sadly memorable year, a slightly-made man, of the middle height, with a quick black eye, of a tawny complexion, and his lips firmly compressed, took possession of the cell no. 4, in the red gallery. this was mina, the famous guerilla chief, who defended with so much courage and perseverance his noble country against the conqueror of europe and his valiant army. at his return from elba, napoleon, learning that mina was then at paris, caused to be arrested, in the midst of peace, that spanish warrior, who had so often flung a gloom over our arms during an unjust war, the last result of which was to be so fatal to its author. in this retreat, where the foreign hero languished for a month, and during which he was my apartment. 69 heaping up the materials of future vengeance, he had leisure to recall to mind the many glorious memoirs with which history will appropriate his name : the words salinas, vittoria, the carrascales, which he wrote upon the wall beneath those of ocagna, talavera, which a french hand had previously written, form an answer perfectly worthy the pride of a castilian. general mina had for his comrade at sainte-pélagie, mons. de torreno, whom the cause of constitutional freedom counts in the present day in the list of its defenders. mina's prodigious activity did not well suit the tranquillity of a prison, and a promenade in a court far too small for so large an establishment, was to him but an insipid sort of exercise. he converted the covered gallery, which extends along one 70 history of of the sides of the parallelogram, into a tennis court. the paintings with which he ornamented the wall, at the two extremities of the gallery are still visible. the terrible events of the month of june 1815, flung open to general mina the gates of his prison, but not those of his country. he had fought gloriously for the cause of a national and constitutional king ; but ferdinand, on his restoration, desirous of wielding an absolute sceptre, comprehended in his proscriptions all the partizans of a constitution which placed restrictions upon the royal power. the insurrection, which was then called at madrid the revolt of the island of leon, revived the hopes of the hero of catalonia. he quitted france in 1820, and repaired to the banks of the ebro, where he is this a my apartment. 71 moment one of the principal arbiters of his country's destiny.* the cell which the foreign general mina left vacant, was a few days afterwards occupied by the unfortunate french general bonnaire. how brilliant, and yet how melancholy was his destiny! a soldier, seventeen years old, ssues from the department of aisne in 1792, and opens his path, sword in hand, to the honours of war : from battle to battle gerard bonnaire became general of brigade. he was struck by a spanish bullet in the campaign of 1813, and rose severely wounded, to take the command, two years afterwards, of the garrison of the reader will perceive that this is a mistake. general mina who was confined in sainte-pélagie, was the nephew, and not espoz y mina now. commanding in spain. 72 history of а condé, which had been entrusted to him by napoleon during the hundred days. bonnaire commanded there when some soldiers of the garrison shot a french officer, who came in the name of the allied powers to propose a surrender. sentence of death was passed by a council of war against the aid-de-camp miéton, who was charged with having given the order for this disloyal act; and general bonnaire, so nobly and energetically defended by chaveaulagarde, was condemned to the infamous punishment of transportation. conducted to sainte-pélagie, after the afflicting degradation which he underwent at the base of that triumphal column, on which glory had inscribed his name and his exploits,he could not survive the physical and moral anguish of which he had so plentimy apartment. 73 . fully drank, and died at the end of two months of agony ;-the words honour and my country were the last which he uttered, as he felt with a feeble hand for that “ star of the brave,” which he found no longer on his breast, so often furrowed by the sword of the foe. in this cell he poured forth his last sigh! i mentioned that the first and latest recollection which my cell excited, related to the soldier who had given it the shape and appearance of a tent, which it still prethis officer was colonel aimé duvergier, who was sentenced to five years' imprisonment, as the instigator or accomplice of “ the troubles of the month of june.” to time and to history i resign the office of revising those trials for opinions, on which justice itself never proserves. vol. i. e 74 history of nounces until it has listened to the politics of power. in such a cause, one who is himself a prisoner and a defendant might fairly be suspected of some partiality. in colonel duvergier, therefore, i recognize merely my immediate predecessor in the little realm where i now preside. this officer was thirty-six years of age when the decree was made which condemned him to five years' imprisonment. such a lapse of time, lost to every sort of glory, appeared to him sufficiently tedious, and his first business, in entering saintepélagie, was to devise the means of his escape. he was, however, forced successively to abandon all the projects he had conceived, when a friendly hand came to his assistance, and smoothed away those obstacles, against which his courage and my apartment. 75 a his patience had laboured in vain. this enterprize, which i look at in a dramatic point of view only, does too great honour to the heart and mind of its leader, to permit that i should pass by in silence its principal details. a young friend of colonel duvergier, mons. eugène pradel, was at this time a prisoner for debt in sainte-pélagie, in a quarter of the building completely distinct from that which was occupied by the pri. soners for political offences. both classes enjoyed, but at different hours, the favour of walking in the same garden, where they saw each other without ever being able to meet. the debtors are treated with less rigour than the others, to the great regret of their creditors an order of persons whose hearts are fintier than those e 2 76 history of even of gaolers. the debtors may correspond by writing with persons without, and their friends and relatives may visit them in their apartments, at all hours of the day. mons. pradel had kept up a communication with his friend colonel duvergier, on the subject of his escape, for more than a month, and in the most ingenious way. on the eve of the day fixed for its execution the colonel wrote to his friend : “ i cannot make up my mind to quit the prison without my grenadier.” (this was captain laverderie) : “ tell me, my dear eugène, if you think you can save us both; if not-i remain.” this incident, by which the difficulties of the enterprize were doubled, only augmented the zeal and courage of friendship. the first obstacle to surmount was the transferring the two prisoners my apartment. 77. from the red gallery to that side of the building which the debtors occupied. it was at length effected in this way. on christmas day, at one o'clock, when the political prisoners were about to quit the garden to make way for the debtors, colonel duvergier and captain laverderie contrived to elude the vigilance of the keeper, and remain concealed in the garden, which was open to the debtors the moment that the others had quitted it. at a previously concerted signal they glided into the debtor's side of the prison, and took refuge in the room of a common friend (mons. marchebout), where their protecting angel instantly joined them. up to this moment the two fugitives had effected nothing more than a change of bolts and keepers: they then set aboût e 3 78 history of disguising themselves. the immense whiskers of the colonel were shaved away, and a complete metamorphosis was wrought in their appearance. the prisoners were scarcely recognizable, and they had now only to go out in the characters of two visitors, in whose name m. de pradel had obtained certificates of admission, by paying for them at the prefecture of police. these admissions, which are left with the inner turnkey upon entering the prison, are given up to the visitors when they go out. the difficulty was to place the admissions of two persons who had not entered, amongst those which the keeper had received, and without the return of which, escape would be impossible. eugène, who for several days had become very intimate with the my apartment. 79 keepers, through presents of wine and segars, and still more so by showing them some drawings which he had made in the prison, went down with his collection of designs under his arm, and drawing it from the case, excited the curiosity of the keeper with whom the admissions were deposited, so much, that he begged to be allowed to look it over. eugène consented, and whilst the gaoler's attention was occu. pied by the drawings, he affected to be surprised at the great number of visitors whose admissions were lying on the table. he pretended alarm that they should be left in so loose a state, and so liable to be lost ; they ought to be put in a case ; and as he said this, he took them up and placed them in the cover of the album, gliding in at the same time the admissions for the e 4 80 history of two unknown persons. the keeper thought the design a good one, and said that if the administration did not allow him one, he would buy it at his own expense. “ keep mine,” replied eugène, clapping him familiarly on the shoulder. whilst the turnkey was thanking him, duvergier and laverderie presented themselves. they demanded their admissions: the turnkey examined them for a moment,_their hearts throbbed, but no sign of fear appeared in their faces; the admissions were found and given to them; the three wickets opened, and once more the two captives breathed the grateful air of freedom. this action of mons. de pradel was only generous,---but that which followed was rare and noble indeed. the escape of the prisoners brought the head my apartment. 81 gaoler and turnkeys into great peril, and was likely to be the cause of new rigours towards the other prisoners. mons. de pradel instantly avowed his share in the transaction, and three additional months of severe imprisonment, whilst it satisfied the law, procured for him the unalloyed esteem and sympathy of the public. it is in a prison that the imagination is warmed and exalted; like all natural powers, when compressed, it acquires a higher portion of energy, and expands itself in the ratio of the resistance which is opposed to it. i had thus passed an entire day in company with the four prisoners whose memory my apartment awakened. for more than two hours the sound of bolts drawn, and triple locks, warned me that until the next sun-rise i could hold e 5 82 history of my apartment. no communication with any living being. the lamp had wasted away, and i stretched myself on my truckle bed. some notion of the strength of the illusions which had fastened upon me may be conceived, when i say that i fancied i saw, and i actually did see before me, those persons whose history , was associated with that of my apartment. the conversation which passed between us will be found in the ensuing chapter. e. j. no. vi.april 25, 1823. the living and the dead: a dialogue. pour qui connut les misères humaines, mourir n'est pas le plus grand des malheurs. madame deshoulieres. josephine. i cannot imagine by what sort of double enchantment it is that i am made to behold once more the light of day, which for more than eight years i had quitted, and to find myself in your company in this little room, where i remember to have passed some frightful days during the reign of terror, mina. the miracle perhaps is not so wonderful as that which procures me the e 6 84 the living pleasure of once more beholding your majesty. the dead may revisit the world again, but that bodies like those of col. duvergier and myself should be in two different places at the same time is a prodigy indeed! duvergier. it is useless to waste any time in endeavouring to comprehend what is incomprehensible. since we are all assembled here, in spite of probability, in a paltry cell in the rue de la clef, let us talk a little about our beloved france, where this lady at least has left behind her a cherished memory. josephine. some such assurance as this was necessary to erase the remembrance of those frightful circumstances which embittered my last moments. i had seen cast down from the loftiest throne in the and the dead. 85 world, him who raised me to it; i had seen france invaded by united europe, and the inglorious standards, of foes a thousand times vanquished, float from the battlements of the french pantheon. to crown all my sorrows, my son, in exile, was unable to receive my parting sighs. bonnaire. the august josephine had, some years earlier, been tried by a misfortune which should have made her feel this last one less sensibly. josephine." in divorcing me, the emperor divorced himself from his own high fortune. of that i had an infallible presentiment, and the thought afflicted me infinitely more than the loss of the crown which encircled my brows. in the political interests of the measure, i saw the motive' of a divorce which shattered our 86 the living destinies; but i should have been able, if not to approve it, at least to yield more calmly, had he espoused a native of france. mina. at any rate, you would have believed that love had some part in his choice. josephine. i should have been less certain of his misfortune, and consequently less unhappy myself. often had i heard napoleon inveigh against those diplomatic marriages, of which, he used to say, the slightest evil was to denationalize kings down to the third and fourth generation. his mode of proving this had something so severe and positive about it, that i have not forgotten it. “ i suppose an instance," said he, “ where an european monarch marries a negress; the hereditary prince born from such a marriage will necesand the dead. 87 sarily be a mulatto. suppose this prince should marry a black woman, the royal heir will approach still more closely to the colour of his mother; and if he becomes, in his turn, the husband of a negress, it is evident that his children, as black and woolly as the natives of guinea, will have in their veins but a slight tinge of european blood, which, in succeeding generations, would entirely disappear. now, in the place of negresses, fancy just so many strangers introduced into the royal beds of france, and tell me what will remain of the national blood at the end of seven or eight generations ?” this, however, was the weakest of all the objections which he urged against foreign matrimonial alliances. with history in his hand, he shewed how they had been 88 the living almost always a source of misfortune and of war, both to princes and nations. i recalled to napoleon his own words, on that day when his minister of hateful memory came to prepare me for the most painful of sacrifices. “ remember,” said i, “ that henry iv. is almost the only sovereign of his race who espoused a french woman : yet he repudiated margaret de valois, to marry the foreigner mary de medicis : recollect the consequences of that deplorable alliance." but i spoke in vainpride and policy had dictated the decree, and napoleon united himself with the granddaughter of maria theresa. five years afterwards his throne was subverted, the enemy poured in torrents over france, and stranger sovereigns surrounded my funeral couch! but i see that i am giving way to the sad 9 and the dead. 89 pleasure of telling those sorrows which death has sealed, without knowing those to whom i am speaking. the hermit. it is my business to do the honours of the humble apartment to which justice has condemned me for a month, and where the strength of fanciful associations has recalled your presence. the individuals before you are general bonnaire, colonel duvergier, general mina, and the hermit of the chaussée-d'antin, whose pages have sometimes amused your leisure hours. at the name of mina, the mild looks of the empress were fixed with astonishment on the spanish general. 66 you at saintepélagie!” said she. mina. like yourself, madam, under a 90 the living plastic form, which does not prevent me from fighting in catalonia at the same moment. this last circumstance is something surprising, but the other i can easily explain. desirous of touching gently on the object of your affection, i will not now complain of the treatment which i experienced from napoleon on his return from elba ; but merely say that, in the midst of peace, he caused me to be arrested at paris, and to be confined in this prison, where i passed sixty-five days in the very apartment where we now are. josephine. perhaps buonaparte too bitterly remembered your conduct in the spanish war. he often spoke to me of your talents and courage in the field, but i ought to say that he strongly censured and the dead. 9) your severity towards prisoners, and the nature of those means of attack and defence which you frequently employed. mina. the war which he declared against us was unjust. without any provocation, and after having fomented civil discords in the bosom of our country, he invaded it. he wished to set over us a king of his own family, and to annihilate our liberties, without giving us, as a recompense, that independence and glory which france owed to his genius and his arms. we fought for our fire-sides, for our existence, for our honour, against legions used to victory, led on by the greatest captains of modern times. i will not dissemble, that i myself exercised a terrible influence in that terrible war, catalonia, arragon, and 92 the living avala, saw me an ever-moving and indomitable scourge, bearing in every quarter havoc and death. amongst us, courage bore the character of despair, and wrath was elevated into vengeance. the new, or rather the ancient government of france, has succeeded to the inheritance of injustice and hatred which napoleon bequeathed them. the happiness and freedom that spain enjoyed under a constitution, which (with the exception of the emperor of france) all the sovereigns of europe recognized in 1812, have become a subject of alarm on the other side of the pyrenées. the french have repaired to the banks of the ebro, and i have once more resumed my arms, to defend the liberty of spain against foreign armies. and the dead. 93 . josephine sighed, and turned her eyes towards general bonnaire, whose features she endeavoured to recollect. bonnaire. you have rarely seen me, madam. my life has been passed in camps, and that foreign general, against whom i have so long and so often fought, is the only one present of whom i have any personal knowledge. even my country herself scarcely knows me, except through my misfortunes. my blood had been shed for the third time on the spanish soil, when fortune brought back the bourbons to the throne of france. the emperor had abdicated; i sent in my adhesion to the royal government, after the declaration of st. ouen : i wounded, and they gave me no employment. on the 20th of march in the ensuing year, napoleon reappeared in france ; was 94 the living he thought that i might still be of some service in defending a garrison, and he entrusted me with the command of condé. i was in that town in the month of june 1815, when a french officer, sent with a flag of truce from the allies, was killed by some soldiers of the garrison, before i could have the slightest knowledge of the danger which he run. dragged before a council of war, i was condemned to the infamous punishment of deportation ; but i . was destined to suffer only the most terrible part of it. i saw myself, without dying on the instant, led to the base of the column of austerlitz. “ kneel,” cried out a foreign voice.“ alas !" i replied, “ i am unable to kneel; these knees, which you require me to bend, have been stiffened by a wound received in battle.” at the same . and the dead. 95 moment a ferocious grasp forced me, in the midst of torment, into the attitude of a suppliant. i underwent the public infamy of degradation. the mortal blow had been given; they transported me to saintepélagie, and in this very room, a few weeks afterwards, i ceased to exist. at this recital josephine gave way to a burst of tears, which she had vainly endeavoured to repress. duvergier. how can i think of lamenting my fate, in the presence of such a noble victim ! let me be permitted, however, to justify, in your eyes, that exile into which i have been forced. after having served my country with honour, and of an age to serve it still, i consoled myself for the loss of our glory, in the hope of that civil and political freedom, the inappre96 the living ciable value of which had been guaranteed by the royal charter. the rights of the nation are there recognized and consecrated; but even here in sainte-pélagie it must be admitted, that the five or six administrations, which have so rapidly succeeded each other for the last eight years, have not yet conceded to us a complete enjoyment of its blessings. in the month of june 1820, the ardent and patriotic crowd of young men who then attended the schools of medicine and law, assembled several days in succession around the chamber of deputies, to protect certain members of the constitutional opposition from the insults of which they had been the object. chance led me and kept me in the midst of one of these unfortunate assemblages, of which the cry vive la and the dead. 97 charte! was the only rallying point. it was thought necessary to employ force for the dispersion of these groups of unarmed young men. i was arrested in the midst of them, tried, and condemned to five years' detention in sainte-pélagie. this decree appeared to me to be too severe. a friend resolved to commute the punishment, and procured me the means of shortening my imprisonment. i fled, and in the exile in which i am forced to live, i pray, as themistocles did, to heaven, that it may bestow upon my country multitudes of more valuable citizens than myself. whilst he was speaking, my lamp gradually expired, the charm had vanished, i fell asleep only to change the character of my dream. e. j. vol. i. f no. vii.april 26, 1823. the resources of a prison. qui uti scit ei bona. terence. the mind must be very happily constituted in order to appreciate the advantages of a prison. at that word alone the imagination is excited : it sees nothing but bolts, grates, keepers with savage faces; it hears nothing but groans and sighs. a a wise man does not allow himself to be surprised by these sinister notions : he wishes to understand before he offers to the resources of a prison. 99 judge. i have a narrow cell, which i can traverse in two steps. it will not admit a numérous company, but it will hold my family, and leave room for a friend. socrates did not ask for a larger space,-and why should i be more difficult to please than socrates ? napoleon passed from the sumptuous palace of a monarch to a wretched cabin at longwood. but fortune, in precipitating him from the summit of human greatness, had gained no mastery over his soul : that was still upon the throne, and reigned even in captivity. what did he lose ?-wealth, gilded canopies, courtiers, and flatterers. but none of these were peculiar to him alone : they are found with the mogul as well as at paris. he remained to himself; he abdicated neither his genius nor his glory; f 2 100 the resources he was at longwood, as he was every where else-napoleon ! we are shut up every night, and thus divided from the whole world. is there not something frightful in this? i confess, indeed, that at first this ceremony was very unpleasant. the deafening clang of bars and bolts sounded disagreeably in my ears. i am at length accustomed to it. i reflect that i used to enclose myself at night in my own chamber without any painful feeling ; and that, after all, the mode of shutting up was in itself a matter of great indifference. i have, therefore, chosen the part of a rational man; and whenever i hear the periodical noise of the turnkey, i think of the poor man's solicitude, who keeps me under lock and key as though i were something precious. he must watch a of a prison. 101 his prisoners; he must be always in motion; he must have his ear constantly open. am i not more at liberty than such a man ? but you insist upon the matter, and urge that i am shut up in the same prison with malefactors with men degraded by vice; that i ought to blush at coming in contact with such people ; and you ask me what i have to urge in reply? i answer without hesitation, that if i were called upon to blush, it would be for those who confound what ought to be separated; i should blush for a civilized country, where men, destitute of every human feeling, would cover themselves with dishonour, by using their brief authority of a day as an instrument of vengeance and of hatred. poor wretches ! f 3 102 the resources they have the ferocious joys and pleasures of the tiger! but as to myself personally, what have i to do with this affair? must i answer for all the folly and brutality that i may hear ? no. my responsibility does not extend quite so far. as long as the life of a man is pure, and his conscience without reproach, nothing can force him to blush. shame is the portion of the wicked; it is a punishment which they can neither inflict nor avoid. after all, who are those unhappy beings, clothed in the livery of wretchedness, that i behold from my window? they are the ignorant ones, which a badly organized society has abandoned to their own depravity. many of them were born with of a prison. 103 good inclinations, but the blast of want has poisoned the seed, and withered ; their soul. surrounded by the necessities of life, they strove to escape from their destiny, and fell into vice. how much guiltier do those appear who are so renowned in the world, but who have attained wealth and distinction only by the aid of baseness and crime! their understandings have been cultivated; they are sufficiently enlightened to know themselves; but their infamy is gilded over-their shame is covered with purple : -the vulgar soul, dazzled with the sight, gazes with stupid admiration, while the honest man turns away from it with contempt. the world itself-what is it but a prion ! true it is more capacious than sainte-pélagie : but in both there are to be met with f4 104 the resources a mixture of all sorts—the weak and the wicked, the virtuous and the depraved. and is it to be accounted a shameful thing, to live in the same world with corrupt men, multiplying daily before our eyes ?to breathe the same air,mbe warmed by the same sun,--and often to live under the same roof? in this narrow prison i am condemned to pass a single month; in the larger prison of the world i have perhaps some years to linger. behold the difference between them ! it is generally thought that a prison is à tiresome place to reside in : it may be so to those whose existence depends on material objects only—who are oppressed by time and space; but he whose mind is informed, who can escape on the wings of fancy from the narrow circle which confines of a prison. 105 him, never feels weariness or ennui. when he seems to be absorbed, he is in reality far away from his prison. the imagination, that unparalleled magician! touches him with her aerial wand, and transports him to other times and other scenes. a throng of fascinating images crowd upon his sight, a thousand gentle recollections agitate his heart. and even if one would dwell upon more palpable objects, there are here objects enough for attention and meditation. i said that the world was a vast prison : sainte-pélagie is a little world. opposite characters develope themselves there, the investigation of which is full of gratification; there we may study at leisure the human heart. for instance, my nearest , neighbour is a famous vine-dresser from a vanvres, and he is worth examination, f5 106 the resources father blin-that is his name is a prodigy at vine cutting, and sings psalms to perfection. his renown has travelled over the whole of the district of sceaux, and his air and manner betray a consciousness of merit. he is the proprietor of four or five french aeres of vines, which he cultivates himself, and which have raised him to the dignity of an elector. he is about sixty years of age, and has lived so long without having ever misconducted himself. how happens it, then, that he should be in prison? in his quality of chapel clerk, he has a special respect for the bottle ; he never sells all the half hogsheads of his vintage, and often assures one that, on solemn occasions, “ he never failed to put himself in prime order!” he is the wag of the of a prison, 107 district, and his jokes are quoted as far as the tap-houses of vaugirard. his character is very jovial ; all the young love him, and no holiday is complete without his presence. one day, one unfortunate day—it was shrove tuesday-father blin opened his cellar ; he tippled quietly with other vine-dressers, his friends, when he learned that some squabbles had troubled the general tranquillity, and that, in order to prevent any further discord, mons. jouanin, the mayor of vanvres, had suspended the village festival, proscribed the rustic music, and opposed his redoutable veto to the immemorial law of the country, which ordains that every body must dance at vanvres on shrove tuesday. blin, if he had been prudent, would have obeyed the commands of authority; but his blood f6 108 the resources was heated, and his imagination on fire. the information filled him with indignation. 6. what! not dance on shrove tuesday! that never happened, and never shall happen,” said he, jumping up in a passion; “ follow me, my lads, i'll dance, we'll all dance !" father blin immediately put his daring project into execution. he went to the salon to prepare for the ball; the dancers of both sexes, and all the rest of the villagers, crowd around him. what must we do?” they cry from all sides, addressing this nestor of vine-dressers.“dance, my friends,” he answered, in a voice that echoed again, “dance !"_" but the order of mons. jouanin !” __here father blin ventured a remark a little too smart, and calculated to put a village mayor into a rage. an englishman would а of a prison. 109 have styled it “ excessively indelicate,” and i dare not write it down. however, the musicians, who had been dispersed, assembled again under new auspices. our friend blin, to set the example, and to revive the drooping spirits of the company, led out a partner; the rest followed his example; the signal is given, and away they foot it. but the watchful mons. jouanin, whose authority was a little compromised by this disobedience, was not far off, and presently, he appeared with an armed force, and demanded the managers of this most seditious ball. all was betrayed, and poor father blin, in the very height of his triumph, was nabbed by the gend'armes. a procès-verbal was drawn up, stating that he had been taken flagrante delicto, and, together with two others of 110 the resources the most unruly among the dancers, he was dragged before the police, and sentenced to a month's imprisonment. and this is the way that father blin managed to get into sainte-pélagie. that his relation is literally true, may be established by the testimony of all vanvres. father blin is the most conscientious of historians. i have persuaded him more than once to go through his tragic story, and he never varies in the slightest incident. i wish that all our historiographers had the same veneration for truth. it may be an object of interest to some persons to learn how our hero conducts himself in sainte-pélagie. the first two or three days he was rather gloomy. he thought of the vines which suffered from his absence ; he regretted his wife, who is of a prison. 111 a famous housewife, and whose pathetic supplications could not soften the heart of mons. jouanin. he spoke of his son, whom he was anxious to bring out into the world: but who, somewhat wiser than himself, was content to cultivate his hereditary vineyard. he thought, also, with tenderness of the singing-desk of vanvres, to which all his glory was attached, and which had so often trembled under his vociferous intonations. these melancholy thoughts, however, gradually faded away; his sadness was soothed by frequent visits to the canteen, and already had his goodhumour resumed its ascendancy, when the royal court prescribed for me, as a salutary regimen, a month's residence in sainte-pélagie. there it was that i first had the pleasure 112 the resources of studying the character of father blin tothe bottom. i have before mentioned that the characters of men shew themselves more openly in a prison than elsewhere. people very seldom give themselves the trouble of putting on a mask. every one appears with all his good and bad qualities in full relief. it is of great advantage therefore to a moralist to be in prison, whenever he wishes to pursue his studies in humanity. the basis of our friend blin's character is vanity: it enters into all his conversation. he did not suffer me to remain long in ignorance of the fact that he held a very distinguished rank among the vintagers of his native place, and that his substance, to use his own expression, amounted to near forty thousand francs. he is likewise very of a prison. 113 vain of his wife, who belongs to the boutilliers, or boutiliers, of meudon: i write the name of her family in both ways, that i may not be liable to a process, as inportant as that which brought before the tribunals the descendants of the houses of croi and croui. the family of boutilliers, or boutiliers, traces its descent from a wealthy pastry-cook, whom fortune, in one of her civil moods, conducted by the hand from a shop in the rue st. denis to the honourable fabrication of churchwarden at meudon. i am not at all surprised that father blin should be vain of such an alliance. he is, moreover, vain of his son, whose education has been so carefully attended to, that he can write a famous hand whenever he has a mind to do it. to crown all, he is proud of his counter114 the resources a tenor voice, which has been the admiration of the whole parish for the last forty years. this pride as a chaunter lately received a blow, which still rankles in his breast, and will not soon be forgotten. every sunday in the chapel of the prison mass is celebrated, at which the greater part of the prisoners attend. blin was brought in on saturday. the next day he went, like the rest, to the chapel, and as soon as the creed began, he, thinking he was still at vanvres, opened his monstrous mouth, and bellowed out in a voice like thunder. the awful noise filled the whole congregation with fright. his nearest neighbour immediately clapped both hands over his mouth, and ordered him to be silent. he was told that it was prohibited the prisoners to sing at mass. father of a prison. 115 blin never speaks of this event but with the deepest bitterness. “what an insult," he said to me one day, “ to a singer of my power and my practice ! these people have no ears.” in other respects father blin is the best fellow in the world. he never had a quarrel with any one; his peaceable disposition, gaiety, jocoseness, and wine, have made him the delight of the inhabitants of his village. if, gentle reader, you should ever visit vanvres, and should meet by chance with a man above the middle height, with thighs and legs rather slender, his walk a little pompous like that of a schoolmaster, his mouth wide, nose red, face the colour of wine-lees, head sharp and covered with a black silk cap, puffing up his cheeks now and then as if 116 the resources of a prison. on very good terms with himself as i have sometimes seen mons. lacretelle, the historian, do-you may confidently say—“ there goes father blin! who was imprisoned for a month in sainte-pélagie, because he would dance on shrove-tuesday!” a. j. no. viii. april 27, 1823. liberty. il n'est point de misères attachées à la condition humaine qui ne soient accompagnées de ces consolations qui, en les adoucissant, en prouvent la nécessité. nicole. o slavery! slavery ! disguise thyself as thou wilt, thou art a bitter draught. sterne. waenever i reflect that the larger portion of the world is sunk in the most frightful slavery,—that in europe alone two or three hundred thousand human beings are perishing, at the very moment i am writing, in the obscurity of dungeons, look upon myself as comparatively free in sainte-pélagie; and the meditations 118 liberty. in which ny mind indulges do not spring from any painful feeling of personal privation. yesterday evening, as i was sitting near my window, which i somewhat pettishly style my vent-hole, i beheld the last beams of daylight fade away, and gazed through my gratings upon that sky, of which i could see so small a part. judges have sentenced in vain : they cannot bind down the thoughts; and mine had sprung upon their wings, and traversing, as milton has it, “ the concave of this airy dome,” assembled around me beings from all countries, and of all complexions ; having first contracted their dimensions, like milton's imps, that they might enter pandemonium. as fast as they presented themselves i ranged them along the four walls, without any regard to the colour of their skins : liberty. 119 caffres, italians, turks, tartars, brazilians, greeks, patagonians, and persians ; then passing the whole human race in review, in the person of its representatives, i put to each of them this question, are you free ? “ very free,” answered the italian, “on condition that i may visit the madonna, once at least every day; that i make no sort of use of my ten fingers for the maintenance of my family on sundays and holidays, that is to say, a full third part of every year ; and that i be not obliged to go into my own house whenever i find the sandals of father carceretto at the door." “ i am infinitely more free,” said a man with a turban, “ for i can insult a franc, or kill a greek, whenever i take the whim into my head; and can choose between the 120. liberty. bow-string and the scimitar, when his highness the sultan has need of my head to ornament the walls of the seraglio.” “ there is no liberty,” cried an inhabitant of thibet, “ except in those places where the daïly-lama reigns. in my country there never was any revolution, and no wars of succession; since, by the grace of bud, we have a king who never dies, and whose bonzes exercise their power in the most paternal way imaginable, provided we pour exactly four-fifths of our revenues into the treasure of the ministerial convent; provided we enrol all our male children, at the age of sixteen, in the standing army, which the reigning bonzes keep up on the frontiers of mogol and china; provided we receive with the profoundest respect, and swear to die in liberty. 121 defence of the pouch, when the grand lama vouchsafes to decorate us with it; provided we work three days in each week for the advantage of the immortal, that is to say, for five hundred priests, with long beards, who represent him ; provided we eat the flesh of no ruminating animal, and that we visit, three times a day, the grand pagoda; provided we do all these things, we are free as air, and certain after death of passing into the body of a cow, or at least into that of a she-goat." “what liberty!” cried an inhabitant of the north of europe. « tell me of that which we enjoy on the banks of the spree. putting on our uniform the moment we get rid of our swaddling-clothes, we beat all the world in our military evolutions. recently our youth, somewhat too strongly a vol. i. 122 liberty. tinctured with the prejudices of the schools, foolishly supposed that there could be some other industry besides that of handling a musket,--some other liberty than that of killing or being killed, in order to transform an electorate into a kingdom; and that, after all, mankind could have some other destination on earth than that of marching in step, and charging in quick time ; but happily this beardless insurrec; ; tion had no lasting effect, and we remain, as before, the freest, that is, the best disciplined nation in europe.” « if by liberty, you mean passive obedience,” interrupted a chinese, “we ought, it strikes me, to proclaim ourselves the freest people on earth. confucius has said that there is no freedom where there are no laws. now, as we have more laws liberty. 123 1 than all other nations together, and mandarins without number to put them into execution, it is clear that there must be more liberty amongst us than any where else. as the excess of population might embarrass our paternal government, we are at liberty to expose our children on the banks of the river. our women have strong passions; and as the sedentary life to which the laws and the care of our honour confine them would not suit them very well, we are at full liberty to bind up the feet of our daughters in their infancy, so as to render them useless when they arrive at an age at which they might abuse them. our great king fo-hi has defined liberty to be order joined with politeness, and this in truth is the great distinction of the chinese. what stranger is not struck with g 2 124 liberty. admiration when he traverses the streets and markets of canton and pekin; in the midst of an immense crowd, arranged in two files, each marching steadily along in contrary directions, without any noise or confusion to disturb their course. if, by chance, any hair-brained fellow derange this beautiful procession, the policemandarin, accompanied by two exécutioners, is always at hand to administer justice. brought before this ambulatory judge, who squats himself down in the street on a cusliion which is carried behind him, the delinquent is stripped to his waist, and receives on the shoulders so many half-scores of blows of the chambouc as the magistrate raises fingers during the operation. the patient dresses himself again, bows to the chambouc-bearer, kisses liberty. 125 the mandarin's hand, and withdraws. all his passes, on both sides, with a politeness and tranquillity which cannot be too much admired.” « silence ! vile slave !" exclaimed a mahratta, as he brandished his 'assagay ; “ is it for you, a people conquered by some hordes of tartars, who can defend yourselves only by building massy walls, and who are ruled by a bastinado, is it for you to raise your voices when liberty is the theme? they alone are free who choose their own leaders, who make their neighbours tremble, who know no laws but those of nature, strength, and courage. freemen are the most daring pirates, and the best knights in the world; and such are the mahrattas. true our peishwa has the right of life and death over the whole nation; but that most g 3 126 liberty. a excellent prince never uses it, and has always been content to hire out a part of his subjects, at the price of a rupee per head, to our friends the english, who pretend to be still more free than we are.” “ since this class of beings,” cried the european islander, with a smile of disdain, • has had the insolence to name the english people, when speaking of our stipendiaries on the persian gulph, i will take the trouble to shew that not only is there no liberty except in the united kingdom, but that there cannot be any elsewhere, because such is our sovereign will and pleasure. no one will deny, i suspect, that modern freedom had its birth in our island, and that the title of majesty of the people, given by lord chatham, is the result of our sovereignty, proclaimed by the liberty. 127 voice of victory from one end of the world to the other. if indeed we have left to our chief the name of king, which was so offensive to the romans, we have managed to restrain his power by those laws of which he is the first subject. we live under the empire of a representative government, whose strength consists in the wise balance of the three powers which constitute it; and we enjoy with too just a pride the freedom we have conquered, to suffer any other nation to participate in the blessing. perhaps there will be objected to me facts, which belie every day the rights of which we are so proud. i shall be asked, what the liberty of that country is, where two or three families have made themselves masters of the government, which concenters all the prejudices and all the abuses g4 128 liberty. of aristocracy,—where the sovereignty of the people is confined to the saturnalia of the hustings,where the citizen, who is taking his walk on the banks of the thames, may be pressed by a parcel of drunken sailors, and at the orders of a subaltern agent of the admiralty put on board a vessel, which transports him to the other end of the world, to the tune of rule, britannia !' i shall be asked what liberty is in a country, where the law of habeas corpus does not prevent a man from being thrown into prison for a debt of five shillings, at the first request of a creditor, to whom he may prove, when he gets out, that he owes only three, i shall, perhaps, be asked a thousand questions of this nature: instead of answering them, i shall say, that we englishmen are free to knock 6 a liberty 129 out the brains of a ministerial candidate, to box in the street with a peer of the realm, to sell our wives at market, and to break the windows of the king's.coach when he goes down to parliament." after this discourse from the representative of the majesty of the british people, i thought myself called upon to say a few words. “i hope," said i, raising my voice, “ that this gentleman will not be offended when i assert, that if liberty be in fact the fruit of the highest civilization, of the oldest recollections, and of the proudest glory that any nation ever yet attained, then france ought to be accounted its classic soil. it was the spirit of liberty . which presided there a thousand years ago, over the confederation of the gaulish republics, and which consecrated the stone ġ 5 130 liberty. of the oath, around which their deputies assembled. it was liberty which presided over the meetings of the champs de mai, and which raised on high the great shield on which the bravest was borne, consensu populi. for some centuries the feudal system had exiled it from the soil of france, but philosophy and victory brought back freedom to their country. she reigned there under the sway of a constitutional chart, where the duties of the prince are marked out, and where his rights and those of the people are guaranteed. with us all men are perfectly equal in the eye of the law ; taxes are equally divided, ministers are responsible, the judiciary power is independent, the judges are unremovable, and every citizen who loves his country, and who contributes to its prosperity by his industry liberty. 131 and his talent, and who confers honour on it by his virtue, lives happy, free, and is under the protection of the laws.” at these words, a loud laugh burst from all of my cell_all my guests vanished, and their voices repeated, as they died away in the air, he is in saintepélagie! corners > a. j. g 6 no. ix.april 28, 1823. stoicism. l'homme est un être ondoyant et divers. montaigne. since my residence at sainte-pélagie, i have read a great many philosophical writers. i have attempted to make myself acquainted with the doctrines of the different sects, which, from pythagoras down to mons. azaïs, have taken possession of the human mind as their own domain. i have more particularly applied myself to the study of morals, as being more essential to me in my present situation. it would not vex me to know to a certainty stoicism. 133 whether the world be eternal or not, or whether it had a beginning or not; to know the true principle of motion, a point which has often set me a dreaming ; to be able to explain with precision by what laws it is that the vegetables grow up around me, that brute animals act, and that man deliberates and reasons. mons. azaïs would explain it to me very satisfactorily if i would but listen to him ; but that would be a sacrifice of labour, for my understanding does not reach to that point: i must content myself, therefore, with that which is within my grasp.. i am positively certain, that i live in a country named france, under a government which calls itself constitutional ; that i have written certain phrases, in which the king's advocate finds something very 134 stoicism. : frightful, and that i am in prison. what concerns me most is, to know how i qught to conduct myself in this situation. mora) philosophers alone can satisfy my curiosity in this particular : i have at various times applied to them, in the leisure of confinement, and have calmly examined their different systems : and, after all, i have found only two of them that were worth the trouble of attending to, and have balanced for some time between the epicureans and the stoics. i agreed in the outset with epicurus, as the fundamental principle of my system, that pleasure was , the chief good. this maxim, on the first glance, appeared to me to be perfectly reasonable : but upon examining it more closely, i perceived that it was only a chimera. a precept, which is not applistoicism. 135 cable to all the circumstances of life, can never serve as a rule. what am i to do, for instance, to attain pleasure in saintepélagie? i might torture myself in a thousand ways, and all without effecting my purpose. the sight of the gratings, and the aspect of my gaolers, would put mirth and laughter instantly to flight. i must choose my part, and i renounce the doctrine of pleasure. still i am desirous of having good reasons for not being unfortunate, in whatever situation of life my fortune may fling me. i have found the object of my search, and have become a stoic. in me you behold a genuine disciple of zeno. i defy injustice and persecution ; i disdain calumny; i am armed 7 against all the attacks of fortune. i even make it a point to tell the world of it, in 136 stoicism. order that it may be known to all who are about to give themselves the pain or the pleasure of sending me to prison, that i shall not feel the slightest grief from it. the excellence of stoicism is that it never quits you, and is always at your command the very moment you require it. if, for example, i experience some sad reverse of fortune, and am deprived of that property so, laboriously acquired, do you suppose i would work myself into a rage against destiny, curse heaven and man for my cruel fortunes, and burst into complaints and outcries ? not so: all this is well enough for vulgar people, but for me, i shall say calmly with zeno, “ it does not depend upon yourself to be rich, but it rests with yourself to be happy. riches themselves are not always a blessing, and stoicism. 137 certainly they are always of short duration ; but the happiness which is derived from wisdom endures for ever." to understand this consolation properly, we must know who is a wise man according the stoics. he is one who has neither desires nor fears, and who, to use an expression of the schools, gives his soul to freedom. though the heavens should tumble upon his head, he would not be more agitated than if it were only a shower of roses. he exists for the outward world by accident only, he is centered all in himself. that wisdom which he has created for his own use suffices for all occasions : he is always happy, because he is always virtuous. a stoic chained, like mons. magallon, to a leprous convict, condemned, like him, to the punishment of public ex138 stoicism posure in all the quarters of paris, compelled to march on foot to poissy, and there to work as a hatter, would have completely disappointed the hopes of the authors of such treatment. he would have looked upon all this as a poor jest. imagine it to have been arian or simplicius. he would have reasoned with himself thus : “ the slavery of the body is the work of fortune, that of the soul is the consequence of vice. he whose body is free, if his soul be trammelled and confined, is a slave; and he whose soul is unfettered, though weighed down by his chainsis a perfect freeman.” i doubt whether i myself, with all my anxiety, shall ever attain this high point of perfection. stoicism requires that we should keep down our wrath, as a passion stoicism. 139 at once fatal and unbecoming a philosopher. now, i wish, like alceste,* to rail whenever it suits me against the whole world. there are some things to which i cannot habituate myself, do what i may. i must watch over myself with great vigilance, to repress any outbreak of my feelings : they are always on my lips, or at the end of my pen; but i discipline myself according to the precept of crates as much as i can, and i do not despair of becoming, in the end, as patient as epictetus himself. that which would require from me. the least sacrifice, in this effort to become a perfect sage, would be the forgiveness of injuries. my hatreds are fugitive-they pass away more speedily than my contempts. the doctrines of the porch do * in le misanthrope of molière. 140 stoicism. . : not prevent me from despising what is base, and i cherish the privilege; in these times there are objects enough deserving our contempt to employ the leisure of an honest man, and i require nothing more. the porch interdicts from its disciples ambition and vanity; it commands them to fear neither grief, nor fetters, nor death : in a word, to be always the same in all the circumstances of life. i shall examine these precepts in their order, and see if i am in a condition to obey them. ambition. this is a malady of which it will not be very difficult to cure me. if i had any great power, i should not know what to do with it, and it would be to me an intolerable burthen. i could endure it for a short time in the hopes of doing good, if it were possible; but if this were difficult, i would get rid of it at once. stoicism. 141 the honour which authority confers has no temptation for me: i would rather do honour to my situation than seek honour from it. i do not find that the titles my lord, your highness, &c. have a more musical sound than many others to which no importance is attached; all they can do is to flatter the ear of a fool, and i have been told that this is not unfrequently the case. vanity. without ambition, what could i do with vanity? it would be a very disagreeable companion, wearying me to death. besides, my character is one which does not at all incline to a weakness of that sort. i know the infirmities of human nature too well to feel vain for belonging to such a miserable species. i cultivate letters from inclination, because it gives a 142 stoicism. salutary exercise to my understanding : but the fumes of literary glory never intoxicate my brain, nor are my views, like those of most of my fellow students, always fixed . on the future. i am not so well contented with my writings myself, as to hope much from posterity. let it decide as it pleases, i declare before-hand, that i shall never appeal from that decision, however severe may be. with respect to my contemporaries, if their opinions of me resemble mine of a great many amongst them, i have no great reason to be proud. one thing alone is able to excite a sentiment of vanity in my breast, and that is my prison. i would give way to it but for the strong desire i have to pass for a philosopher. the fear of pain and fetters. this is a it а stoicism 143 little more serious. the followers of the porch talk of it at their ease; they pretend that pain is merely a chimera—that it exists merely in idea. it strikes me that there is something very exaggerated in this pretence. i do not think that i could follow the example of that philosopher, who when bruised to pieces in a mortar, cried with his last breath, “oh pain, they can never force me to confess that you are an evil." all that i can promise the stoics is, that i will arm myself with patience, whenever pain comes upon me; but if i could get rid of it by complaining, i think i should not be able to withstand the temptation. but patience is something, and the rest will come in due time. with respect to death, i do not precisely know what it is, and therefore i think as little 144 stoicism. of it as possible. if it be, as i hope it is, true, that families and friends meet again, and recognize each other in the great rendez-vous of humanity, it is clear that death, by separating us from the wicked and the persecuting, is a blessing instead of a calamity. here my course of philosophy ends. i méan for the future to be firm as a rock against all the accidents of life; i mean to give way neither to harassing emotion, nor passion, nor resentment-i will be wholly impassive. i had just written these lines, when the person who watches over my safety with such inquiet solicitude, informed me that my wife and daughter had come to visit me. zeno himself does not forbid us to love our family, and i embraced them with pleasure. they related stoicism. 145 to me a little misfortune which had happened to them. my old and faithful dog, who for years had been always near me, and was anxious to see me once more, accompanied them to the prison, and had been refused admission by the keeper. a stamped certificate from the police was necessary, and they had forgotten to obtain it. poor zerbina whined most piteously at the gate of the prison, and melted every heart, except that of the turnkey. i wished to see my poor dog ; irritated by the disappoint: ment, i burst out into reprobation, and was full of wrath at such petty despotism. farewell my philosophy!—farewell to my stoical dreams!-i am a human being once more. a. j. vol. i. h no. x.-april 29, 1823. illustrations of a prison. quisnam igitur liber ? sapiens, sibi imperiosus, quem neque pauperies, neque mors, neque vincula terrent. responsare cupidinibus, contemnere bonores fortis. horace. whenever we attempt to shew off our erudition on the subject of human sufferings, it is easy to display a great deal of scholarship at a very small expence. examples multiply under the pen; our faculties are absolutely beset with them ; and the page covered over with facts has no room left for reflections. if i were not afraid some one would find out, in a simple remark, a feeling of vanity as far illustrations of a prison. 147 from my disposition as it is unbecoming my situation, i would say that persecution always directs itself against some superiority, real or pretended; and that, to attain a high reputation, we must have the courage to bear up against great injustice. sophocles was dragged before a tribunal by his own children. aristides and themistocles were exiled. phocion and socrates drank hemlock: the memory of the last was insulted by cicero himself, who, in one of his familiar epistles, speaks of him as an usurer, when he gives orders under his hand to buy up the property of his friend the crotoniat, confiscated by a judicial decree. the virtuous plato was accused of envy by athenæus, of falsehood by theopompus, of theft by aulus gellius, of avarice by suidas, of debauchery by porh 2 148 illustrations phyry, and of impiety by that rogue aristophanes, who was paid by the athenians for calumniating the most virtuous men of the age, and who worked well for his wages. with regard to the corporal punishment of a prison, with which i am at present more particularly occupied, because i have the subject under my own eyes, it would be easy to fill a volume with the names only of scholars, men of letters and philosophers, on whom this chastisement has been inflicted. anaxagoras was imprisoned for having asserted that there was à god; boethius for having been an upright minister ; buchanan for speaking the truth ; galileo for demonstrating that the earth revolved round the sun. it was in prison that of a prison. 149 boethius wrote his most valuable work, and buchanan his beautiful paraphrases of the psalms of david. five years' imprisonment were inflicted on the most courageous and the most grateful of poets-pelisson; and there he wrote his verses for posterity. the immortal author of the jerusalem delivered died in a dungeon; and don quixote first saw the light in one. there is no better work on english jurisprudence than fleta, composed in the fleet, by a lawyer confined for debt, and who remained there till his death. louis xii., duke of orleans, was imprisoned before he ascended the throne ; and in the old tower of bourges he first received his lessons in the art of governing. it is remarkable that two of the best н 3 150 illustrations : kings that france ever had, louis iv. and henry iv., received the same lesson of misfortune; and, what is still more wonderful, knew how to turn it to advantage. raleigh wrote his history of the world, -a chef-d'ouvre of eloquence and good sense, --in a cell : he died because he had been a hero. selden composed most of his valuable works in a prison. polignac occupied his hours of confinement with the anti-lucretius. fréret studied bayle during his long sojourn in the bastile; and the great genius of our age, voltaire, sketched out, in the same place, the plan of the only epic poem we possess. the royalist poet, davenant, whose life milton saved during the protectorate, and who returned the favour to the english homer after the restoration,-davenant finished of a prison.' 151 ! his poem in carisbrook castle, where he was confined by order of cromwell. the author of robinson crusoe, the only book which rousseau would permit to be placed in the hands of children, finished his romance in newgate. de foe had written against those ministers who disgraced the nation : they sent him to prison; and, when he was liberated, they had lost their situations, and he had achieved his own. a prison seems to bring good fortune to authors. the gondibert of sir william davenant is the only one of his works which was worth preserving; and the review of de foe, which he began in the cells of newgate, and which has been so happily imitated by addison and steele in the spectator, was the origin of a hundred h 4 152 illustrations periodical essays of the same sort, of which england boasts, and which i have endeavoured to introduce into france under the title of the hermit. the prisoner of sainte-pélagie pays this homage to the prisoner of newgate, for whatever success he may have obtained in a kind of writing of which de foe was the inventor. politics also flung wicquefort into a state prison, where he wrote his curious treatise on ambassadors. few persons are aware that an italian named maggi, after having defended, with as much courage as talent, the city of famagosta, besieged by the turks, became their prisoner, and was treated by them in the true turkish style. they burnt his house, books, instruments, and flung him into a subterraneous dunof a prison. 153 geon, where he was entombed for fourteen months, and where he composed his excellent essay de tintinnabulis. it is said that misfortune disarms envy, and that the envious are sometimes susceptible of compassion. this remark is refuted by experience; the powerful feel a desire to pardon the deserving; the weak, who are the envious, never pardon it. an imbecile prince delighted in being able to burn the works of the abbé trithemus, who was guilty of having invented stenography; but poor virgilius, bishop of salzbourg, was burnt himself at the request of an envious theologian, for having had the audacity to write that the earth was round, and that there must necessarily be antipodes. it would be too easy to increase this h 5 154 illustrations catalogue of unfortunate scholars, with names collected from all kinds and classes of talent; but i leave to those who are aspiring to the class of sciences and belles-lettres" these gratifying researches. since the persecution of philosophers and men of letters appears to be the invariable maxim of all governments, and that they will not, even in this enlightened age, allow them a separate prison, i would propose (without prejudice to the severities which they might still wish to exercise against the living) that an expiatory monument should be raised to the dead. whatever form the artist might think proper to give to this edifice, i should desire that the following portraits be placed there, without any respect to age, country, or the kind of their calamity : of of a prison. 155 camoens, who perished of hunger in the public streets ; of otway, who expired on : the straw in a garret, after having sold his last moveables a few days before; of tasso, who borrowed two shillings for his support during the week : non avendo candele per iscrivere i versi suoi ; of ariosto, who complains in his satires so bitterly of having but one ragged cloak : of dryden, who was nearly all his life in the pay of tonson the bookseller, and рау who sold for twelve pounds, ten thousand of the best verses in the english language; and of gilbert, who died in a hospital. the prominent places should be set apart for milton, forced to sell bis paradise lost for ten guineas; for le sage, who in his old age lived upon the bread of charity; for corneille, who had not even н 6 156 illustrations of a prison. a basin of broth the evening before his death; for vondel, who wrote his tragedies in a miserable shop, where he died at the age of ninety years; for voltaire, who passed in exile sixty years of his glorious life; for rousseau, a wanderer; for david, a proscript; for sydenham, who died in a lock-up-house ; for the learned adanson, who apologized, at eighty years of age, for not going to the academy, because he was without money to purchase a pair of shoes. the inscription for such a monument should be here at last we may repose. e. j, no. xi.-april 30, 1823. la détention;* the president of the robbers. il n'est point d'homme parvenu à un certain degré de perversité qui n'ait de soi une idée supérieure. duclos. i should have been greatly dissatisfied with myself if i had left sainte-pélagie without having acquired a perfect knowledge of that place of sorrow, where so many illustrious victims of our political dissentions have pined, and which receives, * this is the name of a particular part of the prison, and the translator has retained it in preference to any english word. 158 la detention. at the present day, by an arbitrary sentence, whatever of honourable or base is to be met with in society. at different hours of the day i see, walking about in what is called the court-yard of la détention, sometimes men who are dressed in jackets and trowsers of coarse grey cloth, and sometimes children, who appear to be condemned to the same punishment. before i speak of these prisoners, i will say something of their place of confinement. the gallery of la détention occupies the whole of the second story of the principal building of sainte-pélagie, and a part of the third. it forms a right angle, one side stretching to the south, the other to the west. it is in the exterior galleries of the ground floor that the shops are, where the greater part of the prisoners labour. they la detention. 159 1 make lace, ornaments of mother-o'-pearl, straw hats, and various other things, the profit from which is thus divided. one third goes to the administration of the prison, another to the workmen, and the other is retained. this last is likewise the property of the prisoner, but he does not receive it until he gains his freedom. this precaution is deserving of praise. some rooms have been built in the galleries for the superintendants. on the first floor are the cells where the disorderly and refractory are confined. in the north-west part is the préfecture, the name given by the prisoners to the apartment where they are subjected to a sort of temporary confinement on their arrival. a camp bed occupies its whole length on one side. there they remain until they have obtained 1 160 la detention. * the pistole,* an odd expression, which i will presently explain. opposite this dépôt, and on a line parallel with it, is the apartment for the old men : the rest of the gallery consists of rooms for the workmen. the gallery which forms the line opening to the south, is called the pistole gallery, a word meant to indicate every thing necessary to form a bed. this is a favour which is not granted indiscriminately to the prithe pistole belongs of right only to those whose term of confinement does not exceed three months. others, who wish for this privilege, cannot obtain it without using the most strenuous exertions. the prefect of the police is the a a soners. it is impossible to translate the arbitrary and unmeaning technicals of a prison : the original names therefore have been retained. : la detention. 161 arbitrary dispenser of the pistole, granting or refusing it at his own pleasure, and thus the prisoners who solicit this high favour, never fail to address him with the title of “ my lord,” and to extol his humanity to the clouds. those who have the happiness to possess a completely furnished bed, may likewise obtain some other of the more necessary articles of furniture, and these are the sybarites of sainte-pélagie. but to return to the préfecture, our place of dépôt. there all kinds of inisery, depravity, and suffering are crowded together. at six every evening, the inhabitants of this sad chamber are shut up. they sleep on straw, and in the severest weather have only a single rude covering. the place is much too small for the number of the prisoners, and as the greater part of them 162 la detention. smoke tobacco, and cannot quit the room even on the most urgent necessities, the atmosphere is necessarily hot and polluted. it is here that men are crowded together, to the shame of humanity, and though condemned for offences of various degrees of criminality, are all made to undergo the sâme torture. ye pompous friends of religion who thus abuse your power, come here and behold the unfortunate! look upon those whom the gospel commands you to regard with compassion, even in their most abject state! come and behold them, stretched upon their straw, breathing a tainted air, and covered with loathsome vermin, and on the verge of the convulsions of despair ! those who are degraded by vice, and are condemned to imprisonment by the law, are la detention. 163 condemned in mercy, and not in wrath. whence, then, these hitherto unheard-of severities ? allow them, at least, to inhale a less polluted air ;-do not condemn them to infection, the inevitable source of so many maladies. you make a constant parade of benevolence and charity: show yourselves, then, charitable and benevolent. your words are religious, let your actions be so likewise. if you do not fear men, at least respect the judgment of god! until nine o'clock every night, this earthly hell resounds with a confusion of voices. sometimes the brigadier* of the préfecture commands silence, and announces * this is a name given to the person who superintends the distribution of the daily allowance. it is usually a prisoner with a trifling allowance and some privileges. 164 la detention. that a new prisoner is desirous of relating his story. this is generally some rascal, who makes a speech either to detail the circumstances and the motives of his arrest, or to celebrate the exploits of some old comrade, who perished in the field of honour, that is, in the place de grève. * his recital is commonly listened to with the greatest interest, though expressed in a jargon wholly unintelligible to the civilized part of society. if the speaker in the course of his story, points out any new and crafty mode of eluding the law, and completing the crime, the interest is redoubled, the audience are moved with delight, and applaud with enthusiasm. thus it is that they mutually strengthen each other in crime, and that the moral where the public executions take place, la detention. 165 contagion spreads even amongst those whose hearts are not yet hardened, and whom a humane treatment and wise admonitions might have led to repentance. this haunt contains not only orators, but likewise poets, who, in their gross rhymes, sing their brutal amours and adventures in a prison. here, too, are advocates, who can discuss the penal code better than any jurisconsult, and who explain it to their hearers with a surprising sagacity. but nine o'clock strikes-the hoarse voices of the keepers echo heavily along the gloomy vaults of the galleries, and a deep silence begins. soon the watch is called, the gate creaks on its hinges, and the massy bolts are drawn. at day-break 166 la detention. the tumult recommences, and is continued until night. such prisoners as are more than sixty years of age, or labour under some apparent infirmity, are dispensed from all sort of labour, and receive every day a full allowance. this allowance consists of a little broth, some wine, and a small piece of boiled meat. it is the first sign of an ameliorated system, with which humanity has cause to be gratified. the old men sleep alone in beds, consisting of a straw bed, a mattrass, and pair of sheets. the greater part of these prisoners are patriarchs of the science of plunder. i shall presently say something of a prisoner, now in his ninety-fifth year, who is held by all the rest of his tribe in great veneration as la detention. 167 president of the order in france, and probably throughout europe. the fourth story of sainte-pélagie is occupied, at the south end, by the debtors; and the west by the mummies, the name given to a crowd of children who have not yet attained their sixteenth year : they are chiefly children who have been abandoned, or vagrants, who have pursued or might pursue some criminal calling. some of these froward or vicious children have been delivered by their parents over to the rigours of justice; others are punished in this way for publicly begging in the streets. not a few of these poor creatures, who are thus beginning life with such wretched auspices, are under eight years of age. they are divided into two classes --the great and small : this distinction, 168 la detention. however, is merely nominal. they live together, sleep in the same apartments, and are compelled to perform the same labours. the only difference is, that the larger and older boys are always beating the others, an abuse of strength not uncommon in other places. these children are awakened like other prisoners at day-break. one of the officers of the house is appointed to keep order and silence amongst them. as they sleep in pairs, they are obliged to comb and dress each other reciprocally, and discharge those little services which their unfeeling parents refuse to perform. when these are over, prayers begin, and then they proceed to their daily work. they are employed in carding wool or cotton. at half-past ten their workshop is opened, and they go down into a court la detention. 169 which is large enough, but which is somewhat deficient in free circulation of air, in consequence of the lofty buildings which surround it. here they make up for the silence which is imposed upon them for the rest of the day. the thoughtlessness and gaiety natural to childhood is manifest upon their countenances, some of which seem to have escaped from the pencils of raphael and michael angelo : still there is something sad and cruel even in their sports. they are violent, throwing each other down, and then dragging the weaker along the pavement, and spattering them with mud; their most peaceful relaxations 1 are tinged with a mixture of brutal humour and ferocious passion ; they play for a sou with the gloomy energy and greedy interest of a gamester, risking on a vol. 1. i. 170 la detention. fatal card the fortunes of his family and the repose of his own life. every few minutes the court re-echoes with the most frightful execrations. the keeper, who walks about in the erowd carrying a whip made of bull's hide, is treated with very little attention by them. his whip falls only on the more obstinate of the gamblers, and those who conquer in the struggles. it is in this court that they receive their provisions. whatever be the severity of the weather, they go down there with naked feet or wooden shoes, and very thinly clad. all administrations we know are notorious for their economy, but the managers of this prison carry their frugality to a vicious extent. i am told that 'these poor creatures are sometimes in a state of want which excites the liveliest comla detention. 171 passion : for there is something vivacious and graceful in childhood which is inconsistent with the notion of depravity, and inspires a touching interest in its favour. the course which is adopted in regard to the education of these children is very irrational. they have a master who follows the ancient method of instruction, and whose labours are almost always unprofitable. their principal instruction is limited to church-music: every thursday an hour is set apart for practice. in the days of charlemagne this would have been something ; but in our times humanity is bound to bestow on these unhappy beings a more judicious civil and religious education. under such regulations these children cannot contract any other than vicious propensities. they abandon them1 2 172 la detention. selves gladly and prematurely to those consuming passions, which are the scourge of society. many among them languish and die about the age of fourteen ; those who survive, and are not still kept there through any motives of precaution, receive their liberty when they have completed their sixteenth year. they are then flung back into the bosom of society, without haring the slightest notion of their new duties, and they soon fall into the guiltiest it is about three months since two of them were liberated : a fortnight afterwards they were again sent to another prison for a burglary, and sentenced to be ironed. these children have the opportunity of seeing the duke de montmorency* five excesses. at that time the minister to whom the superintendance of the prisons belonged. la detention. 173 a or six times every year. the visit of this personage is always a great blessing to them. they are informed of his visit beforehand, and with great diligence get together their old sabots, wash their hands and faces, and put on whatever linen and clothes they may have, and appear before him in a tolerably. decent state. the duke sees them, talks for a few minutes with the overseers, believes that every day is like that of his visit, and retires perfectly satisfied with the progress which these poor creatures have made in the gregorian chaunt ! were i the minister to whose superintendance the public prisoners were consigned, i would pursue a very different course. in the first place, i should require that the children be fed as became their age, at which nature needs great strength for 1 3 174 la detention. ! its gradual and healthy development. at present, during five days of the week they eat nothing but bread; it is only on thursday and sunday that they receive a little greasy soup and boiled meat. that which is now the exception, should, in my method, be the general rule. in the season they should have a certain quantity of ripe fruit : it is infinitely cruel to deprive children of those fruits which they love so passionately, and which no doubt do them so much good. they should be always decently clothed, and i would give them shoes of leather instead of wood : a man or a child covered with rags is not likely to feel much respect for himself. in place of teaching them church-music, which is of very little use in common life, i would set apart for them a place for a school of : la detention. 175 mutual instruction. labour in common excites emulation, and the regularity of these schools lays the foundation of those habits of order which is so necessary to inculcate upon children. their master should instruct them in reading, writing, and a little arithmetic; the elements of religion, and especially the moral part of it, should form the basis of their education. i would not have the name and nature of hell constantly drummed into their ears; but they should be frequently taught the nature of their social duties, the advantages of an industrious life, and the respect and happiness which always follow good conduct. these principles should be put in practice. those who abstained from swearing, passion, and ferocious sports, should obtain distinctions and slight privileges ; 14 176 la detention. the others should not be beaten with a bull's hide, but they should be subjected to contempt and privations. the incorrigible should always be separated from the rest ; they would be few in number, or my knowledge of the human heart is incorrect. when they arrived at the age of sixteen, and the law required their freedom, i would take good care that they were not abandoned to themselves. i would have a fund in reserve to place them in some situation, according to their industry and their progress. i would keep my eye upon them, and would not be satisfied until i saw them leading a regular life, useful to themselves and to society. to' adopt and execute such a system, some other and better place is needed than sainte-pélagie, such an establishment might require new la detention. 177 construction, and would occasion some . expense: and thus my visions, like those of saint-pierre, would never be realized. statues and opera houses will be built at a vast expense, and the children of sainte-pélagie will continue to learn psalm-singing. i have already spoken of the advanced age of some of the prisoners; of them there is no hope-they will die as they have lived, utterly depraved. among these,, father tristan,* nearly a hundred years of age, is a striking example. though he has outlived many generations of thieves, he still looks back with complacency on his past life, and flatters himself that he shall yet achieve something to command the attention of the ! a * i call him by this name, as i am told that his family and relations are very respectable. i 5 178 la detention. world. his father, according to his statement, lived to the age of one hundred and twenty-five, and his mother to one hundred and fifteen ; and he calculates that he is himself entitled to live to the mean age of one hundred and twenty years. tristan was a slater by trade, and up to his fortieth year had never been accused of any disgraceful action. one day, as he was at work upon the roof of a house in the rue st. honoré, he saw through a half-opened window a superb gold watch hanging from a chimney-piece, and feeling a violent desire to make himself master of the valuable toy, he had not moral strength enough to resist the temptation. the chance was in his favour : he crept secretly into the chamber, and carried off the watch. from that instant he was a lost man. the sale : la detention. 179 of the watch enabled him to live for some time in idleness. this sort of existence appeared very agreeable ; he lost the habits of a labourer, the only protection for the morality of the lower orders; he became a frequenter of ale-houses, made acquaintance with profligate characters, and in a short time was up to all the mysteries of the profession. tristan had some reading, and was not without shrewdness; he drew up a sort of theory for his own use, and is at the present moment ready to develope his principles, and to explain his conduct. “ i know,” said he to a person confined for a political offence, from whom i received these details, “what people think of me; they treat me with severity, and look at me with disgust. this would not have been so if i had lived in sparta, 6 180 la detention. where my industry and intelligence would have excited the admiration of my fellow citizens. you think it is otherwise in france : and so it is, with regard to petty thieves like myself; but had i been a villain on a larger scale, it would have been a different thing. had i ruined at a single blow hundreds of families, had i secured a fortune of millions by putting it in foreign funds, or entering it in my wife's name, instead of being here i should have been driving my carriage, bearding my, creditors, giving balls, and contracting loans ; the counsellors of the state would speak to me with respect, and ministers themselves stretch out a friendly hand; i should have my house and table crowded with friends, who would extol my prosperity to the third heavens. la detention. 181 “ when i got out of conceit with my trade of slater, where i ran a constant risk of breaking my arms and legs, i sat down to look about me, and saw nothing but rogues and dupes. as i had no wish to be a dupe, i became a rogue-of a petty order, it is true, because i had neither the knowledge nor the funds necessary to esta blish agencies, and to catch the turns of the market, or to speculate with the public fortune, and escape from peril at the proper moment. i could not swim in the open sea, and was forced to fish in troubled waters; and as i could not be a plunderer on a larger scale, i became a thief in detail. “ i took a fancy one day to turn honest man. i was then pretty nearly seventy years of age, and had just passed six of 182 la detention. them in prison. tristan, said i to myself, take warning by your last lesson; you see that your course is a very rough one; choose another, and perhaps you may find it a smooth one. i was plunged in this reverie, when i was met by an old comrade, who had some how or other become a confidential valet to a newly created prince, « ah,' said he, i have fallen in with you very opportunely; step a little this way, and i will tell you something worth listening to. i have just seen on my master's table a large pocket-book full of bank notes, and close by it a pile of napoleons. what do you say to that?' i answered, that the notes and the gold of his master should soon tumble into my pockets, and that we would divide them like honest la detention 183 fellows, provided he would give me the necessary information. i asked him if there were any sort of repairs going on about the roof of the hotel. he told me that there was something to be done to his master's country house, and that the architect was to be there the next day to examine the plan, and commence the execution of it. that will do finely,' i answered, and it will be hard indeed if i cannot manage the business. i told him to leave me, in order that we might not be seen together, and to remember to be at the door, in order to assist me if necessary. this i thought was a famous opportunity for turning honest man ; with so many notes, and so much gold, nothing would prevent me from quitting business and living quietly. i was tired of always quarrelling with а 184 la detention. 6 the laws, and it was fit we should at last be good friends. my plan had been well digested. the next day i dressed myself up as an architect; in black, with a white cravat, modest looks, and a rule in my hand, went to the house and asked for the prince. my comrade said, “ah! mr. architect, are you come ? my master is waiting for you.' “ i was shown into a room, where his highness was talking with some person of distinction. • what is your business ?” he asked. the architect,'i answered, who was to have been here to-day is prevented from coming, and he has sent me to i understand-' he replied; go into that cabinet and wait for me.' i entered, and in the twinkling of an eye my business was done. it required all my dexterity, for he 6 la detention. -185 } was close at my heels. the plan was spread out on the table; he shewed it to me, and pointed out in detail all the alterations he wished to have made. i sat on thorns, expecting every minute to see the real architect come in. at last a new visitor was announced, when the prince gave me the plan and dismissed me. quite at ease as to the event, i descended the staircase. some of the rooms were open, and on a chair in one of them i saw a black velvet spencer : recollecting that my grand-niece had that morning asked me to bring her a black spencer, i seized this and put it in my pocket; but a hussey of a servant maid that i had not seen witnessed my appropriation, and cried out thieves ! thieves !' i attempted to escape, but was laid hold 186 la detention. of by two rascally footmen. the treasure was found upon me: i was tried, and condemned for the second time to ten years' imprisonment. thus you see that fate was unwilling i should become an honest man; i must therefore make the best of it, and submit to my destiny." father tristan, however, throughout his long and profligate life, has never been sentenced to any disgraceful . corporal punishment. he has never committed a burglary, or any of those crimes which are punished with the galleys. when he is asked how he has contrived to escape so well, he answers, “i never rob except with the penal code in my hand.” it is commonly reported in the prison that old tristan has between five and six la detention. 187 thousand francs of income; his passion for larceny however is so deeply rooted, that he is wholly unable to resist temptation, and will end his days in poissy or sainte-pélagie. a. j. no. xii.may 1, 1823. the red gallery. .. les cours opprimés ne sont jamais soumis. voltaire. it was necessary to invent a name for those actions which governments resolved to punish, but which did not come within the operation of any ancient law. thus it is that we call political offences certain passages or phrases, or even words of a writing, in which a jury, the judges of intention, may see, or believe it sees, a censure by allusion, of the acts of administration generally, or of any particular minister. the imputed tendency of any the red gallery. 189 writing towards doctrines which government does not hold, or has ceased to hold any longer, is also regarded as a political libel, as well as all those remarks and expressions which, had they been spoken instead of being written, could not have been denounced as seditious, without the grossest absurdity. for the utter repression of these vague offences, which are offences only according to circumstances, a law has been passed, investing the tribunals with the right of deciding on the criminality of such writings, and of visiting the authors with a punishment hitherto appropriated to thieves and vagabonds. when it was 'debated, during the last year, whether this law should be added to that collection of twenty-five or thirty thousand statutes by which we are go190 the red gallery. verned, together with about twenty-four folio volumes of royal ordinances, which are resorted to in case of need, the disadvantages and injustice of the proposition were clearly displayed. those indefatigable defenders of the national rights, messrs. b. constant, foy, manuel, and girardin, contended that, at least some explanation was necessary as to the nature of the imprisonment with which the authors of political libels were menaced, and that the chamber of deputies ought not to associate them with those wretched beings—the refuse of society, with whom the prisons were thronged. the minister himself pretended that such a supposition was an insult : he went so far as to think that even a separate quarter of a common prison would not be a sufficient the red gallery. 191 distinction; and it was nearly decided that 1 a new place of confinement (which was pointed out by name) should be assigned to this class of political offenders; and, until the necessary arrangements might be made, the red gallery of sainte-pélagie was to be exclusively appropriated to them. we have been furnished with the means of ascertaining the precise manner in which these parliamentary promises have been discharged, as will be evident from the following description. the red gallery is composed of twentythree small cells (i will not call them dungeons); all of which are occupied, and some of them by two persons; and yet there are not, at this moment, in this gallery, more than thirteen prisoners for political offences. it will be concluded that . 192 the red gallery. offenders of another class have been in troduced, and that those of the first order have the exclusive enjoyment of the eight feet square cells. the first part of the conclusion is true; the last is not. at six o'clock in the morning i hear the bolts withdrawn, and can then walk out into the gallery. all the doors are opened in succession, and i sometimes amuse myself with observing the morning details of the prisoners, less sumptuous, no doubt, but perhaps more gay than those oft he tuileries. the old milk-woman arrives, and every one is in haste to fill, with milk clarified by the water from the seine, a little earthen jug not quite so beautiful as those from the fabrique à sèvres. little chafing-dishes are lighted on all sides; the milk and coffee begin to simmer : some of the red gallery. 193 the prisoners take breakfast; others, with pipes in their mouths, stride through the gallery with a gloomy or dreaming air; some swear, others sing, and the air which they hum generally indicates the feeling that engrosses them. if this observation be true, to say that the patriotic songs of our distinguished béranger are almost the only ones i have heard during my residence in sainte-pélagie, is enough to make known the characters and opinions of my companions in misfortune. some of these, however, are distinguished by such noble traits, and such estimable qualities, that i cannot deny myself the pleasure of tracing their portraits whilst i have the originals under my eyes. but let us first fling a glance or two over their habitations. i said that each of the apartments was too small to vol. i. k 194 the red gallery. admit of a single prisoner being confined there, without injury to his health in such seasons when the window cannot be kept open; how much more unwholesome and disagreeable must it be when a second bed is introduced, and a man is, in the language of the prison, doubled! nothing can be more hideous than the appearance of these cells in their primitive state : four bare, dirty walls, with a door covered with locks and enormous bolts; lighted by a small square window, whose thick bars form a kind of iron curtain, which intercepts part of the daylight; the furniture (unless by special permission, and at your own expense, you procure something better) consists of a turn-up bed, technicalled' a pistol, a straw mattrass, a bad coverlet, and a bucket, whose uses i can only the red gallery. 195 conjecture. such is the appearance of the greater part of the cells, although some of them present an aspect less repulsive, in proportion to the industry and wealth of their occupants. as a veracious historian, i am bound to state that one of these apartments is very unlike the rest of the gallery: it is that which is occupied by lieutenant de bif we could forget the antichamber which leads to it, we might imagine ourselves in a boudoir of the chausséed'antin. as soon as you enter, the door is concealed from your sight by a fashionable screen. a bed in the shape of a couch, and ornamented with as much taste as elegance, occupies the bottom of the room, which is covered with muslin-paper, bordered with a garland of roses. a superb piano stands opposite the bed. several pictures, and k 2 196 the red gallery. portraits of charming females (the original of one of which i have seen wandering in the gloomy gallery) are multiplied in the mirrors which cover the pannels of the room, and give it a larger look. the windows (there are in this room two) are hung with curtains of purple silk, and the stalks of flowers which are placed along the bars serve to relieve the eye from every thing which could remind you of a prison. it might at first be supposed that this luxury, so foreign to the sumptuary laws that prevail in the red gallery, was the result of some exclusive privilege : but i am anxious to rescue the keeper from any suspicion which compromises his impartiality, and i assure my readers that lieutenant de b-, though an inhabitant of the red gallery, is not confined there on > the rbd gallery. 197 the application of the king's advocate, but simply at the instance of his creditors. in the next chapter i will state the circumstances which have occasioned his being placed in a part of the building distinct from the other debtors. e. j. 3 no. xiii.—may 2, 1823. biographical notices. estetiam ubi profectò damnum præstet facere quam lucrum. plautus. a prison is in one respect like a voyage on board ship : in a single month of forced cohabitation we become more thoroughly acquainted with the characters of our comrades in misfortune or travel, than we should have been from ten years' intimacy under the ordinary relations of life. people generally love to speak of themselves, as being the subject they best understand; and when they can find a pretext so nabiographical notices. 199 tural as that of demonstrating the injustice of their treatment, they readily yield to a temptation which is every day augmented and renewed. whoever sets about to collect this sort of confidence, would run the risk of having nothing to write but panegyrics, unless he paid some attention to the private comments which some other more impartial tongue is generally prompt to furnish. i have had this double ad. vantage. the persons i am about to describe are as yet only at the entrance of their career. i judge them only from their first steps: but i dare to assert that their afterlife will never disappoint the high expectations which their outset has excited. i shall begin with mons. magallon, whose misfortunes have entitled him to a place in the biographical notices. k4 200 biographical notices. dominique magallon was born at bagnols. he was educated at the different lyceums of nimes, grenoble, toulouse, and dix, in all of which he left behind him the reputation of a youth of amiable manners and a superior mind. united by friendship with mons. augier, an advocate at valence, they conceived the project of founding an academy of the poets of the south of france, under the name of the society of troubadours of vaucluse." government approved of the association, and in the early numbers of their productions, published by m. magallon, amongst much agreeable verse there were some pieces full of energy and spirit, which announced that ardent love of country and liberty in the authors (among whom was mons. magallon), which they have since biographical notices. 201 more abundantly displayed. 66 the troubadours are now dissolved. most of the members have quitted their poetical country; and some of them, in the bloom of youth, have enjoyed the honours of that persecution, which the hatreds of power generally reserve for consummate talents. mons. magallon, whose character unites all the social and domestic virtues, has given proofs of the most distinguished poetical powers. his manner is not unlike that of parny. gifted with genuine'sensibility, and a lively imagination, his soul is ever open to the inspirations of a happy and fertile genius. conducted to paris by that impatient love of glory so natural to youth and talent, he married, and engaged in literature as a profession. he became editor of the album, a literary journal, k 5 202 biographical notices. whose success soon excited the watchfulness of the police. the album, above all, attacked with great severity that indestructible sect, which it was believed had perished before the wrath of nations and kings, but which strove in silence to regain the monastic sceptre, which philosophy had torn from its grasp. such was, if not the cause of mons. magallon's misfortunes, at least the pretext for a treatment, the unexampled ferocity of which cannot remain unpunished without attesting the neglect of law, and the triumph of arbitrary power. mons. magallon was arrested as principal editor and proprietor of the album. mons. alexis dumesnil, one of the most courageous and witty men, of a period fertile in wit and courage, avowed himself as the author of the articles directed against biographical notices. 203 that mystical association in which he thought he detected the spirit and the principles of the followers of loyola. he was sentenced to an imprisonment of one month, and mons. magallon to thirteen. this is the reason why he was transferred to sainte-pélagie, where he shared the narrow cell of his young friend mons. barginet, of grenoble. oble. on our entry into the prison we were received by this excellent young man with great kindness, and we ranked, amongst the few consolations that we expected to meet here, the pleasure of his society. the very next day, at five in o'clock in the morning, he was torn from the arms of his friend, and informed that he was to be removed to the disgraceful prison of poissy. he summoned all his strength, clasped his friend to his bosom, k 6 204 biographical notices. and descended to the grates where the gend'armes waited to take him into custody. will any one believe that the facts which i am about to relate took place in france-in a country renowned for its civilization, under a constitutional government, in the midst of a people proud of those laws and that freedom, of which it boasts without cessation ? will it be credited, that a young man of irreproachable character and manners, punished with an excessive severity for an offence, whose importance he had no means of suspecting, which he had aggravated by no resistance and no murmur,—that such a youth was chained to a convict covered with a hideous leprosy,—that he was compelled to traverse paris on foot, and in that condition to march seven leagues with a biographical notices. 205 wretch, who did not once forbear from filling the air with cries of " the galleyslaves for ever!”-that, on arriving at poissy, he was clothed in the livery of guilt, condemned to the same labour, the same pri. vations, in short, to the same life with the miserable beings shut up in that sink of vice and corruption? yet all this is true: it is attested by pure and indisputable witnesses, and excited a general feeling of indignation, but the public attention was fascinated by fêtes and shews, and mons. magallon remains at poissy. mons. alexander barginet is the friend from whom mons. magallon was so cruelly séparated. he was born at grenoble, and educated at the lyceum of that town. he is now about twenty-five years of age, and he entered upon the career of letters when he 206 biographical notices. a was only fifteen years and a half old. some advantages gained over the austrians, who besieged grenoble in 1815, inflamed the youthful imagination of the school-boy, and in the night after the success, he composed extemporaneously, under the title of “ the austrians at montmeillant,” a little vaudeville, the performance of which was commanded by the civil and military authorities, and received with port by the fellow-citizens of barginet, who called loudly for the author. he was led upon the stage, where the public lavished upon him all kinds of encouragement and congratulation. from that moment barginet devoted himself to literature, and had already commenced his serious studies, which were interrupted by the return from the isle of elba. a singutransbiographical notices. 207 > lar circumstance happened to him, which, as it belongs to the most marvellous event of the age, is worth relating: it is that young barginet, on the road from lamure to vizille, had with napoleon a conversation of some length, in which the young scholar gave this “man of prodigies ” (as he has been baptized by mons. de fontanes) such topographical information as determined napoleon to proceed the same night to grenoble. barginet followed the emperor to paris (it must not be forgotten that he was then only sixteen years of age); he received a brevet of admission as a national pupil to the military school of st. cyr, and was even excused from providing the school appointments, a formality until then indispensable. he preferred, however, to enter into the regiment of 208 biographical notices. corsican flankers, which accompanied napoleon from the isle of elba, in which he made the terrible campaign of 1815, and was wounded at waterloo. mons. barginet came to paris in 1817, to resume his course of study, and published successively several writings, all of which shew much flexibility of talent, with great nobleness of heart and independence of spirit. i will mention some of the most successful.* the latest work published by mons. barginet was entitled histoire véritable de tchen-tcheou-li. it is the history, under * la guerre de trois jours, a poem on the subject of the disturbance in the affair of mons. bavoux. généalogie critique et littéraire des maisons de croï-chanel et de crożd'havré. la nuit de sainte-hélène. l'apocalypse de 1821. de la reine d'angleterre et de napoléon buonaparte, tous deux morts d'un cancer à l'estomac. considérations politiques et religieuses sur l' emancipation des grecs. biographical notices. 209 chinese names, of a minister now in disgrace, and of the persons who belonged to his administration. for the publication of this allegorical satire mons. barginet was sentenced to fifteen months' imprisonment, and a fine of three thousand francs. · he was brought to sainte-pélagie, where, in the gallery of la détention, the first five months of his confinement passed away. he was obliged to put on the shameful dress of the felons, and forced to drink fetid water, and eat the black bread which was allowed to the prisoners. at length he obtained the favour of being removed to the red gallery. he is now occupied with a collection of traditions of dauphiny, which he intends to publish under the title of the highlanders. they are short poems in prose, in the style of ossian, 210 biographical notices. the subjects of which are drawn from the traditional history of his own province, and have been sketched out on the spot. it seems that this new macpherson, with the aid of much archeological research, and some study of the romance language, will be able to afford an idea of the poetry of the allobroges and voconces, the ancient inhabitants of the alps, who (like all people in mountainous countries) have preserved until our days some general trace of their primitive manners. this work is worthy of occupying the imagination and the patriotic pen of the youngest denizen of the red gallery. when we consider that, at the epoch in which we live, the severities of the law against the press are intended to check the flight of those young persons, carried away biographical notices. 211 by the notions of glory and independence in the midst of which they have been educated ;--we cannot so easily explain the legal harshnesses, of which men of an age and character like that of mons. bonnin have been the victims. mons. j. b. bonnin is not less than fifty years of age. he was born at paris, and . distinguished himself in his early studies. he intended to pursue the medical profession, when the events of the revolution flung him into the career of politics, where he made himself known by several works,* 米 ​* in 1795, he published réflexions sur montesquieu. in 1798, réfutation des systèmes des publicistes, ou examen des causes de la société et du droit naturel. in 1805, ma. nière d'étudier les lois. in 1806, a pamphlet on the concordat and the law organizing religious worship. in 1807, principes d'administration publique, which went through three editions in the course of two years. his other works are: traité du droit naturel de l'homme et des nations; 212 biographical notices. which have assigned him an honourable rank among publicists. in 1821, he published his etudes législatives, à compilation of some of his former works, to which he affixed a new essay, on la nécesssité de l'etude des discussions in the national assemblies of france, as the sources of positive legislation. for this last writing he was brought before the tribunals, and was condemned to thirteen months' imprisonment and three thousand francs fine, for having attacked religious morality, in a passage where he had spoken of religions in themselves, and des considérations, politiques et morales, sur les constitutions ; histoire de la révolution européenne ; a letter to volney, entitled elémens naturels de la chronologie et la doctrine sociale, which appeared in 1820, and was translated into spanish and portuguese by order of the cortes, to whom he had addressed it. biographical notices, 213 had opposed to them pure and simple morality as the basis of true policy. it would not be easy to convince mons. bonnin that the jesuits, from the depth of their tomb, were entirely strangers to the decree which ruined him, and sent him to prison for thirteen months, on account of a writing published twenty-four years before his condemnation ! he is a peaceable, inoffensive citizen, the father of an estimable family; a well-informed and industrious writer, whose pen has always been guided by conscience, reason, and probity; and yet he is at sainte-pélagie !—perhaps i ought to be still more astonished at finding in the same placemons. le page. this young man was born at paris, and educated at the lyceum of versailles, where he left behind him 214 biographical notices. the reputation of being one of the best scholars of that establishment. at eighteen years of age he went to spain as a subaltern officer, but was soon obliged to leave the army through the feebleness of his health. he left france with the intention of going to mons. deslandes, his maternal uncle, who was private secretary to king joseph napoleon: when he learned at bayonne that his kinsman had been massacred, not far from hiéron, in the arms of his wife. (i recollect that this event formed one of the most touching episodes in the beautiful picture of general lejeune). mme. deslandes was detained for six months in the suite of mina's army, and was finally exchanged for the sister of that officer. it is worth adverting again to the circumstance, that mina himself, a biographical notices. 215 few years afterwards, was imprisoned in the same red gallery of sainte-pélagie in which the nephew of mme. deslandes is at present confined. after residing four years at naples with one of his relatives, who was receiver-general of the province of bari, mons. le page returned to paris in 1816, and demanded, with figaro, what was to be done? they told him that the press was perfectly free, provided he wrote neither about politics, nor philosophy, nor religion. he instantly purchased the courier des spectacles, and soon found that he had hung a mill-stone round his neck. he was accused of having spoken, or of having allowed others to speak of politics by allusion, and the court condemned him to one month, then to two, and afterwards to six months of imprisonment. the only 216 biographical notices. literary title in which mons. le page glories is that of being the author of la journée du lycéen, of which eight colleges dispute the palm. of all the prisoners in sainte-pélagie for political offences, this gentleman is unquestionably the one whose case excites the greatest compassion, and far the greatest surprise. the urbanity of his manners, the extreme prudence of his opinions, and the general mildness of his character, seem to rescue him from every sort of dispute with the police ;-how happens it, then, that he should be a prisoner in sainte-pélagie? i shall not have the same question to ask respecting mons. marchand. this young man, twenty-five years of age, rich, educated, witty, and modest, has been sentenced to six months' imprisonment, on account of biographical notices. 217 letters written to the juries in the affair of rochelle. it is of little consequence that he conducted himself upon his trial with a magnanimity of which there are few examples ; that he took upon himself all the force of an accusation from which he might have escaped; and that he is, in prison, a model of resignation, goodness and beneficence, of which he has shewn the most honourable proofs. justice had nothing to do with all these qualities of his mind and his heart; she had to pronounce upon a writing which the law condemned, and of which mons. marchand was known to be the author, with respect to m.chaufard, a student of medicine, aged twenty-four years, and convicted of having cried with all his strength vive manuel ! under the windows of that vol. i. l 218 biographical notices. deputy on the 3d of march 1823, i must confess that it requires all my respect for justice, and all the deference i pay to her decisions, to prevent me from regarding as a little too severe the punishment of eight months' imprisonment inflicted on this poor young man, for an action which i believe in my soul and conscience to be so much the more innocent, because i have committed it a hundred times myself. indeed i always feel disposed to join, heart and mind, with those who cry out vive manuel ! vive la charte! vive la france, la gloire et la liberte ! if i add to this list of six persons another young manuelist,* the bookseller lhuil* the name bestowed in sainte-pélagie upon those young men who were imprisoned for the same offence. there are several of them. biographical notices. 219 lier, whose painful situation ought to excite a deep sympathy, and three officers whose praise is in the mouths and hearts of every one here, i should mention all the inhabitants of the red gallery who are confined for political crimes. still i do not wish to end this brief biography without mentioning, as i promised, one of our most amiable fellow-sufferers, separated by a particular measure from the other debtors, who live in a different quarter of the building. gustave l. de b., formerly lieutenant of cavalry, and member of the legion of honour, left france for america two years after the disbanding of the army of the loire. on his return to paris, he launched out into all the luxury and disl2 220 biographical notices. sipation of the gay world; his love of pleasure led him into excessive expense, which flung his finances into disorder, and induced him to adopt all the projects which dangerous friends recommended for his relief, one advised him to engage in speculations, by which his ruin was accelerated; and another, by initiating him into the mysteries of the exchange, opened an abyss in which the greater part of his fortune was speedily swallowed up. ruin ensued; his friends abandoned him according to custom, and he was given up to the wrath of his creditors. arrested in 1820, he was conducted to sainte-pélagie, and a few days afterwards contrived a scheme for escaping, which he instantly put in practice. he had not lost every biographical notices. 221 : thing: one friend remained, who came every day to console him in his confinement. to him he imparted his project, and, through the aid of a friendship the most active and ingenious, success crowned his undertaking on the 13th january 1821 he escaped from prison, in a way which would do credit to the imagination of the most skilful dramatist. he found a secure asylum with the friend who had aided him in recovering his freedom. that devoted friend redoubled his care and zeal for the ten days that lieutenant de bremained under his protection ; but this last, fearful of abusing the generous hospitality which he received with so much gratitude, resolved, for the second time, to expatriate l 3 222 biographical notices himself to america. the very day fixed for his departure he was arrested in a café, whilst reading the public journals. one of his former friends recognized him, and addressed him by his name. that name had been too often mentioned in the journals not to be known, and it excited the attention of one of those wretches with whom infamy is a trade. he followed the fugitive: and as soon as he learned the place where the lieutenant was to expect his post-chaise, he ran in haste to saintepélagie, and for the sum of two thousand francs sold to the keeper of the prison the secret of his prisoner's retreat, who was again arrested as he was stepping into the carriage, and reconducted to prison. after a month of vigilance, as unpleasant to the : biographical notices. 223 keeper as to the prisoner, the latter consented to reside in the red gallery, where he now enjoys all the privileges of a prisoner confined for debt. a few months after his second arrest, he made propo;ا sitions to his creditors, which were accepted, and he flattered himself with the hope of freedom. a single detainer, however, filled him with apprehension; it was that of a young and handsome female creditor, who thought thus to revenge herself of the infidelity of a lover. he addressed her in the following verses : a la plus jolie des créancières. en dépit de tout mon courroux, c'est à toi que j'écris, mon ange; toi qui me tiens sous les verroux pour me punir de cette erreur étrange qui me fit te signer plusieurs lettres de change, et garder l'anonyme au bas des billets doux. l 4 224 biographical notices. dans mon âme flétrie, éteinte, le plaisir fait place aux remords, et j'ai lu chacun de mes torts sur chaque mur de cette enceinte. ah! fallait-il une contrainte pour te donner prise de corps ? the anger of mlle. fmelted away before this reparation : the next day she came to sainte-pélagie, and cancelled the detainer,--but on what conditions i have never heard. the negociations with the other creditors were less fortunate, and he then resolved to remain in prison until he had satisfied the provisions of the law, which makes a confinement of five years equivalent to the full payment of all his debts. lieutenant de b— has already been for two years a tenant of the red gallery, dividing his time between music, literature, and the society of the loveliest of creditors. biographical notices. 225 1 it was necessary that i should thus make known individually each of my companions in captivity, to be warranted in saying that it is rare at present in paris to assemble, in the same salon, so many persons remarkable for their wit, amiable qualities, and excellent society. whatever certainty i have acquired from the example of mons. magallon of the hateful treatment to which we are exposed, the example of mons. franchet ought to fill us with hopes of a better future. il connut le malheur et doit y compatir. he was arrested by an order of the council of state in 1811, and conducted to saintepélagie, where he passed three years in the red gallery. true, he was only accused of a secret correspondence with the enemy, a l 5 226 biographical notices. but then that passed for a political offence of the gravest cast, and one trembles to think, that, under the stormy government of that period, so simple an act should have been looked upon as a crime against the state. fortunately mons. franchet was the victim of a simple administrative measure, and the director of the police did not aggravate his punishment; at least i never heard that he was confined in la détention, that they refused him the pistole,—that they put him into the dress of a convict,-nor even that he was compelled to labour eight hours every day in picking wool or cotton. be this as it may, mons. franchet, imprisoned by order of napoleon, was set at liberty by virtue of an order signed “ alexander, biographical notices. 227 emperor of all the russias.” let the poor prisoners for political offences console themselves ;-mons. franchet is director-general of police ! e. j. l 6 no. xiv.-may 3, 1823. the visit of our advocate. we have just been visited by our advocate, mons. dupin. we embraced with cordiality this eloquent defender of so many illustrious victims of our political dissensions. he regretted having failed in our affair; but observing that we were not much disposed to lament our case, he abandoned the subject, and said, looking around him, “ this is your salon de compagnie. the furniture indeed is not very sumptuous, and the ladies who visit you will visit of our advocate. 229 find these seats rather hard. but do you know that it is not very easy to get here for all that? there are almost as many formalities required in order to see a prisoner, as to go to prison one's-self.” “i know it well. the bolts of saintepélagie would have remained immoveable, if you had not been provided with a certificate signed cleau, (a clerk of the ' police), which accords to you the liberty of passing the grate. you will find the description of your person carefully written down in it,—eyes bright and lively,-nose large,--mouth small,—and so on.” exactly so; but what surprised me was, that instead of giving me a single permission to visit you both, they obliged me to take two. this double trouble ap> 230 the visit of peared to me as very useless ; i made the 5 remark to mons. cleau, the agent, who paid no attention to it, and contented himself with a smile, whilst he demanded of me seventy centimes for the stamp.” “ you perceive that it was for the purpose of getting your fourteen sous instead of seven, that they obliged you to take double admission. even the relatives of the prisoners are subjected to this tax. a mother cannot come here to mourn with her son; a wife cannot embrace her husband, without the permission of mons. cleau, and having paid his demand. the revenue speculates on the tenderness of the affection and friendship; its greedy drain is always in operation. but you who are the oracle of our bar, -you who penetrate our advocate. 231 without losing your way into the labyrinth of our laws,—tell me, i beg of you, whether this new sort of tax is legal ?” “ i am sure of the contrary, and these are my reasons. the law relating to stamps says that they shall be affixed to all papers intended for civil and judicial purposes, and to all writings capable of being produced in evidence in a court of justice; the stamp act, therefore, cannot legally be applied to papers used in any other way. so true is this, that a special law was required to extend it to lottery tickets.” “ now only reflect for a moment on this manifest abuse of authority ;-a fine illegally imposed, and what a fine! to sell the rights of nature! to sell a child the 232 the visit of privilege of consoling his unhappy father! but the fact is that this tax, so freely imposed by the police, brings in a considerable revenue.” “ i have no doubt of it. in quitting mons. cleau, and crossing the lobby in front of his desk, i saw that it was filled with men and women covered with the rags of poverty. they came to deposit in the hands of the clerk of the police, the seven sous, which would have purchased their bread for the day. if we recollect the crowd of prisoners who populate the prisons of paris, and the still greater number of visitors, above all, since the law relating to the liberty of the press, it will be perfectly clear that the revenue, from the taxed certificates of admission, ought our advocate. 233 > to bring in a large sum. i look upon this receipt as an abuse, and i had a good mind to say so to mons. cleau. but, frankly, it is worth more to write over your door office for stamps, than office for the prisons.” 6 mons. cleau can do nothing : he fills his subordinate office with integrity, and even with politeness. the responsibility falls upon those who, without the sanction of legislative authority, have arbitrarily extended the operation of this stamp duty. but i speak of responsibility as if this word were not, at the present day, destitute of signification. perhaps it will one day or other acquire a meaning. in the mean time the abuse continues, and you cannot visit a prisoner without paying seven sous to mons. cleau.” 234 the visit of my conversation with mons. dupin had gone thus far, when my fellow-prisoner began to speak. 66 we shall never end, if you will persist in talking about abuses. let us leave mons. dupin to satisfy his curiosity. he seems to regard with attention some of the debtors who are at this moment in the court, or, if you like the sound better, in our garden.” 6 what, is that your garden ?” “ yes; the enjoyment of it is divided. politics are to be found there from six in the morning till noon; then debt gets possession of it, and does not quit it until four o'clock : from that time until seven, politics may build castles there in full quiet.” “ tell me, i pray you, who is that old gentleman with white hair, a remarkable our advocate. 235 a cause physiognomy, and wearing a blue riding coat? i observe that he walks about alone, with a sufficiently sad air.” “ it is the marquis de la roche-aymon, whose trial has made considerable noise in society. he is a lieutenant, who, in the most stormy periods, served the royal with a complete devotion. his son is a peer of france, his relatives hold important situations about the court, and he himself is at saintepélagie.” 66 i feel for the old man : his appearance is venerable and resigned." “ he inspires sympathy in all who behold him. but there are no courtiers who visit here. the marquis de la rocheaymon would not have been in sainte236 the visit of pélagie if he had belonged to a wealthy plebeian family." “ are the debtors subject to the same measures of precaution as the other prisoners ?” same. 66 their treatment is very nearly the they have a more extended permission to receive in their cells indiscriminately all who visit them. but they are so much the more compulsorily watched, as the keeper of the prison is responsible to the creditors for the amount of the debts of any one who effects his escape, and this responsibility is far more serious than that of ministers." “ i perceive amongst them several persons, who might be taken, from their manners and dress, for ordinary laborers.” our advocate. 237 66 you are not mistaken. there are some who are detained for only a hundred and fifty or two hundred francs. personal imprisonment had no other object than the security of commerce, and out of these two hundred prisoners there are not probably more than ten tradesmen. these people are too adroit to allow themselves to be arrested; they know too well how to manage their creditors. the severity of the laws generally falls on those only who are ignorant of business, and who have had the imprudence to accept or draw bills of exchange. this was the case of the marquis of montchenu.” “ who?--the marquis of montchenu, commissary on the part of the french government at saint helena ?” 238 the visit of “ the very same. his creditors paid no greater respect to him on account of his voyage, and they most inhumanly locked him up in this prison. i ought to add, for the honour of the peerage, that he remained in prison only thirty-six hours. if i were not afraid of giving you a bad idea of my own character, i would say, i greatly regretted that he had left the prison when i entered it. i should not have been displeased to see what sort of figure he, who knew so well the nature of captivity, made in confinement himself.” “ his captive suffered much from his imprisonment. how do you bear your restraints ?" “ individually we should be wrong to complain. we owe it to the keeper of our advocate. 239 sainte-pélagie to say, that he has done nothing to aggravate the evils of our situation. it is even probable that the abuses which we have censured in the government of the prison, will be taken into consideration by authority, i presume this from a conversation which i had with the inspector general. it would not be easy to display greater humanity and more love of justice. but if the objections come from a higher quarter, all attempts at improvement will fall to the ground.” pray what does that turnkey want who is coming this way?” “ he comes to tell us that the hours set apart for receiving our friends have already expired. we will go as far as the grate with you. you must excuse our incivility > cc 240 visit of our advocate. > for not going farther. stoop, if you please, or you cannot go out through that door.” “ is it not necessary sometimes to stoop still lower, in order not to come in?” a. j. no. xv.may 4, 1823. philosophical speculations. is it not indisputable that our bodies cannot be in more than one place at the same time? of what importance is it, then, whether this place be selected by the caprice of the individual himself, or by that of a few persons in long black gowns and black caps ? the important point is, wherever we may find ourselves, to be on good terms with our own consciences. imprisonment, when stript of those phy. vol. i. m 242 philosophical speculations, sical sufferings of all sorts with which the dispensers of our draconian code have so copiously embellished it, is nothing more than the necessity of continuing in the same place so long as it may please those who send us there. this constraint is a trifle to him who lives chiefly in meditation. is it not in solitude that the soul learns the nature and extent of all its faculties ? that the mind is forced in every sense to fall back upon its own powers, questioning, examining, investigating itself, and, as montaigne has it, feeling its own pulse? let authors, therefore, be overwhelmed with lettres de cachet and gaols. talents would perish for want of storms, as vessels are useless in a dead calm. what, after all, is talent, or genius itself? philosophical speculations. 243 -the power of turning to the advantage of others the pleasures derived from its studies, its impressions, and its recollections. how can we gain this complete mastery over our moral being, unless we concentre all our faculties in ourselves ? unless we create, if i may use such an expression, a void around us? all these advantages are to be found in a prison. it is pretty generally agreed that the tribunals do not spare men of letters : it may be asserted, therefore, that their severity tends to multiply men of genius and talent throughout france. i should not be at all surprised, however, if these last should consider themselves absolved from every thing like gratitude. reputation is a kind of existence in a m 2 244 philosophical speculations. places where we are not. a prison, aber sence, or death, always add something to the best or worst reputation. there are persons whose nature is so indulgent, that nothing but the grossest injustice can force them to a sentiment of hatred. until that point, they are satisfied with feeling contempt. if the opportunities of making men miserable are very frequent with men in power, it must be admitted that the rulers of our times have not suffered any of them to escape. sir william jones speaks of a country on the banks of the indus, where, every ten years, the judgments of the courts are revised by a supreme council. those who have been condemned may appear there as philosophical speculations, 245 the accusers of their former judges; and if they succeed in proving their own innocence, the magistrates are, in their turn, obliged to undergo the same punishment they may have pronounced. sir william observes, that the supreme tribunal is never convoked ; a circumstance, he adds, which would do infinite honour to the judges of that country, if there were any example of a prisoner having survived his sentence for ten years. which philosopher is it who says, that a police spy is a prudent and timid man, who has carefully calculated all the inconveniences of the profession of a thief, and all the dangers of the trade of an assassin ? a curious book might be written to point out by what scale of baseness, injustice, m 3 246 philosophical speculations. and impudence, the most common-place, the most contemptible, and the most wicked of men, have sometimes contrived to procure the title of your excellency. the french flora is enriched with a foreign plant, which flowers once only every thirty years. this plant would resemble liberty, if the last had, like the other, already flourished on our soil. it is the advantage and disadvantage of a prison, that every thing in it is marked and prominent, as in the depth of silence the lightest sounds are audible. we never write more energetically about freedom than when we are in a prison. milton wrote his account of eden in restraint; apollo pronounced his oracles in the cavern of delos. philosophical speculations, 247 it is by a succession of light echoes that the most petty injustice is made public ;it increases in size every moment, and ends by exciting as much commotion as the most enormous cruelty. vast space is unnecessary to happiness. in all things one feels the want of seeing or feeling a limit. for this reason milton has imagnied paradise to be of trifling size, and hell to be immeasurable in vastness. i will end these reflections, which have no other connecting link than the place which has suggested them, by an anecdote which the painful recollection of the two brothers faucher* recals to my mind. if the strong * it was for some passages in the article on these young men in the biographie nouvelle that mr. jouy was imprisoned. m 4 248 philosophical speculations, personal resemblance between brothers has frequently given rise to fatal mistakes, it has likewise afforded examples of the most heroic devotion. the two brothers montain, both of them distinguished physicians, practised their art at lyons, where they acquired the esteem and friendship of their fellow citizens when, in the year 1815, all who had the spirit of frenchmen in that city, united to oppose a national defence to the torrent of armed foes. doctor montain, senior, was compromised in a charge of conspiracy, and sentenced to five years' imprisonment. he had already passed more than a year in one of the unhealthy prisons of lyons, and contracted such painful diseases, as obtained for him the permission of being transferred to philosophical speculations. 249 paris, and of passing in sainte-pélagie the remainder of his sentence. on quitting the dungeons of lyons, he had so completely lost the use of his limbs, as to be unable to move except with the aid of crutches. his brother accompanied him on his journey, which protracted it considerably, as the gendarmerie were not able to travel more than three or four leagues a day. the air and exercise were, however, of the greatest service to the invalid. on their arrival at paris, doctor montain was locked up in sainte-pélagie; the brothers tenderly embraced each other, and then separated. a week had passed away when the prisoner received a letter, informing him that his brother was safe in one of the m 5 250 philosophical speculations, towns of belgium. he instantly demanded to be brought before the attorney general; who visited him in prison. he, doctor montain, complained that he was kept in confinement illegally and arbitrarily, since it was his brother, and not himself, who had been condemned at lyons. an inquiry was immediately instituted, and it appeared that the younger brother had found the means, during the journey, to substitute himself for the elder, and had been imprisoned in sainte-pélagie in the place of him who had been condemned by the decree. there was no law in the criminal code which applied to this generous action, and the two brothers were thus restored to liberty. philosophical speculations. 251 the memoirs of sainte-pélagie would form a very singular work-i will think of it myself. e. j. m 6 no. xvi.-may 5, 1823. visits. it was only four o'clock in the morning, and i had slept very nearly as ill as if i had been in a palace; without motion, myelbow resting on the little unpainted wooden table, which i could scarcely keep steady on its unequal legs, and my face exposed in profile to the first rays of the rising sun, if my mouth had uttered any harmonious sounds, they might have taken me for the statue of memnon, but instead of singing, i was busy philosophizing. before me lay visits. 253 a five-franc piece, which represented the bust of his majesty, to which i ventured very familiarly to address the following words. “ sire, will you condescend to inform me if you are much freer than i am? to your majesty, who knows horace by heart, i need not recall these lines of the poet : aliena negotia centum per caput, &c. &c. what business! what duties! what ennui ! you must be over head and ears (i beg a thousand pardons for this vulgar expression, but you know better than any person that there is no other way of translating per caput et circa saliunt latus). for me, who am neither perplexed with a spanish war, nor the ministers of france and england, nor the ultras, nor the jesuits, 254 visits. i think myself, and i really am, infinitely more free than a king, whose mind, vast as it is profound, is obliged to struggle through so many affairs at once, to reconcile so many things that are irreconcileable, to separate so many things that are inseparable, and to conduct this most complicated machine of government without breaking any of its springs. if it appear paradoxical to maintain that i, in a prison, am more free than your majesty on a throne, it is at least certain that i am far more happy." etre heureux comme un roi, dit le peuple hébété; pauvres fous! un bonheur que fait la majesté ? i had soared too far into the higher regions of philosophy to stop myself in the career. the greater part of mankind, i said to myself, have no peculiar motions of visits. 255 1 their own : they are influenced in all ways by the breath of opinion, of favour, or of disgrace. individual will is counted for nothing, in the evolutions which these outward impulses produce. imagine forty or fifty thousand poor wretches compelled to wander abroad when they prefer remaining at home : marching, encamping, and decamping without cessation; taking towns garrisoned or defenceless; cannons open or spiked :—these people are as much in prison as i am, for a prison is only a place where you are compelled to remain in spite of yourself, and do whatever you are unwilling to do : with this difference in my favour, that i sometimes think, and these brave fellows never do. solitude has been too inuch calumniated, and i am 256 visits. frequently of scipio's opinion : nunquàm minùs solus quàm cùm solus, said that excellent man, who knew how to be at the same time a hero and an orator; a modest man, and a man of genius. what are the great means of thinking ?-time, patience, and meditation. where can you find any more time than in a prison? where is the patience more effectually tried ? where can we better fit ourselves to habits of meditation? it is in prison, according to the scriptures, that we learn to employ the leisure of every moment; i will further add, that it is in prison that we learn to know our species. i had just ended this last phrase, when the turnkey came to inform me that i was wanted in the salon. this interruption visits. 257 changed the whole course of my ideas, and i foresaw that, after having begun the present chapter with reflections on solitude, i should end it by observations on visits. * after having passed three hours below stairs, i return to myself. i believe i have already said, that the place so emphatically called the salon at sainte-pélagie is a sort of parlour, about five feet beneath the soil of a court planted with stunted trees; which court is, in its turn, called a garden. four are and dirty walls, lighted by a few vent-holes, form a kind of gallery, whose only furniture consists of some worm-eaten benches. there, every day in the week, except thursdays and sundays, 258 visits. we hold our cour-plénière. if any one quarrels with this phrase for its vanity, we could justify it by publishing the list of the assiduous courtiers of our captivity, among whom would be found not only warriors who have filled europe with their glory, great orators whose accents are still echoed from the tribunes, noble peers, illustrious strangers, physicians, men of letters, celebrated artists, and beautiful women; but likewise there would be seen, seated on the same benches, very honest people, artizans, tradesmen, &c. to whom we owe nothing, but who love us sufficiently well to waste their useful time in coming to pay us their visits. i rarely go to the academy, of which i have, nevertheless, the honour to be a member, and visits. 259 i have no right to expect that my thirtynine immortal brethren should come to abase their academic brows beneath the vaults of my prison : six of them, however, have paid me this personal proof of their esteem and friendship, and have come here to assure themselves, by their own eyes, that i have not been sent to poissy chained to a galley-slave. and wherefore not? is it because i belong to the academy? have they not sent to that prison of malefactors m. magallon, and other men of letters, who will, in their turn, be members of the academy when we shall be no more? perhaps it is to shew that the illustrious society to which i belong is instituted, not only to honour jetters, but also to protect those who cul> 260 visits. tivate them ; and that the persecutions of which those last are the subjects, ought not to remain so completely unknown to them. if the academy flatters itself that its members are at all freed from the treatment which young magallon experienced, i would send them in a body to consult that learned advocate, who said a few days ago, with that intemperance of manner which is the peculiar character of his eloquence: “ the law is equal for all; it makes no distinction between what are now-a-days called political offences, and those which have in all times been considered as infamous crimes, and therefore the same punishment ought to be inflicted on the same transgressions." but, to quit the academy, we will say visits. 261 say something of the ladies, who have not deserted us in our solitude. in order that the merit of their self-denial may not be diminished in the slightest degree, we will begin by stating that the youngest of the prisoners, whom they came to soothe with their gentle presence, has already passed his tenth lustre. this will make the contrast still more touching, between this place of horror and disgust and the habits of indulgence and luxury, in which those females are brought up, who are thus shut up with us some hours every day. ladies who are used to breathe an atmosphere embalmed with perfumes and flowers, whose seats are of the eider-down, and whose feet tread upon superb carpets, are not afraid to tempt the thick and humid 262 visits. atmosphere of our subterranean apartment, and to sit down upon these narrow benches, whose hardness is the slightest of their inconveniences. i dwell upon these physical vexations, because they are the only ones to which women attach any importance, and of which they wish that we should remind them of. the conversation at these delightful meetings is only a long commentary on these friendly inquiries : “ how do your healths sustain the privations of the prison ?” 66 what can we do to make your situation more endurable ?” “ how do you manage to pass your time?” -these discourses, which are enlivened by reflexions, more or less piquant, more less gay, upon the manners of our times, would not be sufficiently interesting to be or visits. 263 inserted here. besides, it is four o'clock; our friends are leaving us, and i return to my cell to finish my chapter. i find on my table the piece of money, and continuing my address to the noble effigy which it bears, say :-“ sire, you have known the misery of exile far more cruel than that of a prison : did your friends, like mine, remain faithful to you in your misfortune? were you as happy at hartwell, as i am in sainte-pélagie ?” e. j. end of vol. i. london: printed by cox and baylis, grtat queen street. . university of minnesota wils v.1 844j829 jh jouy, etienne de, 1764-1846. the hermit in prison / tr. from the fren 3 1951 002 086 790 o wilson annex aisle 66 285 bancroft library o the library of the university of california no. 23 beadle's frontier series. (printed in the united states of america)] slastaway, the fearless? *c or, the hermit of spectre isle bt j. milton, hoffman the fearless ranger," "button hole jack," "caefr amity joe," "mournful mose," "gunpowder jim," etc., etc,j j {908, by james all rights reserved* published by the arthur westbrook company cleveland, ohio, u. s. a. slashaway, the fearless, chapter i. the -i-oung man from new york. tl an odd chap, you are, and no mistake. what is your name ?' ; " slash a way, the fearless. sometimes they call me saul.'' ; "they? who?" "the redskins the palefaces everybody. saul slaehaway. is thur anythiu' wrong about the name ? >; " i believe not/' but as the young 1 man said this, he shuddered, an ashy paleness overspread his face, and he took a step backward, while his hot breath panted the stranger's name. " retreating, are you !" exclaimed slashaway, with a hoarse, mad laugh. "a fine way to break company with a friend. suppose you come back." an influence such as he had never before experi enced prompted the young man to retrace his steps. " well, what can i do for you now ?" he asked, jo slash away, the fearless. trying 1 to appear unconcerned. " do yoa want me to tell you who i am f r the angry look went out of the old man's eyes, and bringing his rifle to the ground, lie answered quickly: " i do j im give the world to know your history, for it must be mighty strange mighty strange. where do you live ? who are you? what is your name?" the old man took a step forward. his eyes be<ran to grow in size, and an ugly expression, amounting almost to ferocity, gathered around his mouth. the young man trembled. " what do you want ?" lie said, in a voice anything but steady. " shall i tell you my name?" li yes, your name,your name." " my name is hale edward hale," was the quick reply. " anything more ? v i; how came you on the plains? you wasn'c born k ere not here, at least. 1 reckon not. you don't look much like a hunter a cussed sight too green. a city swell, ain't ye f ' the young man answered without hesitation. ha was gaining in confidence. "i have always lived in the city " he said, "and am now having my first experience on the plains. 1 am an artist by occupation, and drifted westward ia the interest of my trade." i "but how came you here, right, here, and alone v* the old hunters eyes were looking the young man through and through. " let. me explain," said the latter, in as firm a voico as he could command. " i reached the settlement nfty miles or so east ot here about five days ago. 1 *tayed there three days. then i fell in with a man who called .himself' jasper ellis. he was a trapper, tee said, and lived up here somewhere lived in a cave. he persuaded me to accompany him home, and we started. we were both well mounted. my companion was very agreeable. i snspicioned nothing. " well, nothing went aarts. until .about four 8lashaway, the fearless. u wb en some six or eight horrible looking men, 1 should say, suddenly swept down upon us, end before i could hardly realize it, my horse was iaken away from me, my watch and money stolen, and the outlaws were gone. what became of my companion? the robbers carried him off, of c3urse. i didn't know it then, but i know it now he was one of them, the biggest rascal of the crowd." "and he called himself what t" questioned slash* away, half sneeringly. " jasper ellis," was the quick reply, <* but the out laws called him sandy jim." slashaway, the fearless, broke into a bitter laugh. " sandy jim," he repeated, like a man handling something carefully. '' sandy jim, the man with cly one eye. everybody meets him now-a-days verybody but me; and what wouldn't i give to meet iiim face to face. it's mighty strange he never stops me on the road. has he read my thoughts ? is he fra1d of met sandy jim, the outlaw. may the curses of saul slashaway be upon him !" the hunter shouldered his rifle, and, muttering to limself, moved slowly away. suddenly he stopped, turned, and beckoned young edward hale to his side. a moment he glanced savagely around him, then he gathered his breath, and hissed like an adder : " you do not know sandy jim ; i do; that is the difference. sandy jim is a murderer, almost a devil. should you meet him again, shoot him down; trample on him as you would trample a snake ; cut his heart out; kill him by inches, foul, miserable devil that be is. let me tell you something. if you do not hill sandy jim, 1'tt ml you." " heavens ! you do not mean it." slashaway, the fearless, laughed the laugh of a teaniac -it was almost a shriek. his eyes glittered as he continued : " you must kill sandy jim, or die yourself. here, this rifle, take it, and do your work. i meant to shoot jou wb*n i 'first saw you^ but you've' seen sandy jim, u slashaway, the fearless. will see him again, and will shoot him down j there fore i save your life. here, this rifle, take it, and be off." mechanically; edward hale took the rifle from the bunter's hand. he said nothing", he did not move. " why don't ye leave ?" cried slashaway, fiercely. " begone, i sav." " til go at once." and he started, and the hunter watched him until he was out of sight. he was a tall, slim young man this edward hale twenty-five years of age, well-educated, an artist by profession, and, at the time we write, was having, as he had informed the hunter, his first experience wi the plains. l> i don't know much about hunting," he had said to sandy jim when the latter offered him the hospitality of his home. " i can load a gun, i guess, and that's about all. i know nothing of a hunter's life." cl but i'll show you a trick or two if you'll come with me," said sandy jim, by way of encouragement. " as sure as 1'rn a-livin ; , i'll astonish you." as young edward hale found himself some time afterwards alone on the prairie, the words of sandy jim came to him, and he thought with a sigh, that ge had been astonished in more ways than one. " i am at a loss to know what to do," he said, a minute or so after his adventure with slasbaway, the fearless. '* my situation is anything but enviable. i am alone on the prairie, hundreds of miles from home, unacquainted with rny surroundings, no friends, o food, nothing. sandy jim ! so i am commissioned lo shoot him, am i ? well, we shall see, we sbali see." he looked back of him to satisfy himself that slashaway, the fearless, was no longer in sight, then, turning, directed his steps toward a belt of timber to the westward nearly a mile away. "i must get back to the settlement, if possible,*' he began, as he jouvneyed along, " and in the meantime, slashaway, the fearless. 13 bar? file this rifle the best i know how. one thing in particular, i must look to. i must avoid saul slash away. it won't do to meet the crazy old man a second time. he's a dangerous person this saul slashaway a very dangerous man. sandy jim, the rascal, told me about him, said he was crazy, mad, a perfect fiend. at the settlement everybody said : i look out for slashaway, the fearless, he is mad/ strange that the old man should want me to kill sandy jim. "will i do it 1 i think not, i am not a murderer !" ? as the last word escaped the young man's lips, ho stopped and looked back of lira, for he thought ho heard his own name linked with the word murderer, and repeated close to his ear. at first he was frightened, could not utter a word, turned pale, trembled, and stood like a man in a <!ream. " i thought i was alone/ 7 at last, he whispered, il but i am not. some one is following me some one m'ho knows my name. who can it be? slashaway, or sandy jim ? nonsense, it was but the wind i lieard, i am frigljteded. i am nervous. everything startles me. i will go on.'' 1 he continued to advance, reached the timber after a five minutes walk, and halting under the branches of a stunted oak, remarked aloud : " only a clump of trees i thought it was a wood of some extent, or at least a stretch of timber, i ain disappointed. however, i shall not complain, but do the best i can. if i am not mistaken, this timber 1 borders a lake or river of some kind. i think i can see water through the trees. a little nearer and i can ; tell." j he stepped off briskly in the direction of the water, i and had gone about a rod, when a circumstance oc curred which, for the time being, transformed him into a block of marble. a woman's voice was heard singing in the chorus t>f a long-forgtten song. tho v-oise was soft,, sweet, aintive at times, then harsh almost to uu j* slash a way, the fearless. i. ^pleasantness, and again, rising up and outward' la a beautiful nndulating wave of melody. for a time it seemed to edward hale that he was 'istening to an angel's voice, or that he was dreaming, for he could not make himself believe that the plain live notes borne to him on the summer wind were con nected in any way with flesh and blood. " there are women who sing as sweet, probably," be said, at last, " but w ? hat woman would live irt this ont-of-the-way place, and living here, what woman would sing? strange, that i should be so deceived. my imagination is running away with me. i 'hear nothing but the wind, i am a coward." to keep his spirits up he began to whistle and tramp around among the trees j but the 'more he whistled and walked, the plainer the voice of the woman, singing so sweetly, singing so softly, sounded iv, : his ears. edward b<*le was not a coward ; he was only a little tnperstitious, or rather a believer in the wonderful, tind in this case all his superstitious feelings wf:e aroused, and, without knowing it, he began to'tnof*^ slowly out of the timber toward the prairie, leaving the sweet song-bird behind. reaching the edge of the wood he halted, and began to look around him and listen, thinking, perhaps, he might see something, or, at least, catch a few notes of the song warbled so sweetly by the woman of his inncy. but the voice of the singer could not be heard ; it l)tid died softly away on the summer wind, and, foe the time being, edward hale heard it no more in vain he listened, in vain he skirted the timber, approaching nearer and nearer the water which he had associated with the unseen musician ; but the song bird had flown. in a melancholy mood he halted at last by a clump of bushes near the edge of the timber, and, seating limself on the ground, began to muse aloud. " can it be possible," he whispered, "that i heard slaseia.way, the feahles3. 2^ nothing^ slat-i have been dreaming? how strange i feel j. how my heart beats, flutters, pauses. i wonder what -is the matter with. me. i almost wish i had gone on with sandy jim. maybe he would have murdered me ; he probably would, the blood-thirsty rascal ! anyway, i had better be dead than be hero almost.' he stopped speaking suddenly, for at this moment a rabbit bounded across his path, and halting 1 a short distance from him, turned and looked at him. in a manner, as he thought, quite saucily. "impadent thing," cried tinyoung man, "to stop so near me j doubtless knows i never fired a gun iu my life, a good timo to begin, right here. just liko all the rest, don't fear me in the least j stands per fectly ilill, quietly watching me. we shall see, wo shall ee." horaised his rifle to his shoulder, took aim as best he coirld, and tired. a.< soon as he had (i:ed he rushed to the spot, but no rabbit was there, alive or dead he had missed tho mavk almost by a rod. -' it all comes by practice," he muttered, ad he re traced, his steps. '* i'll try again, the next oppor tunity." the next opportunity came about rive minutes after ward, in the shape of a huge buzzard, who settled himself on a rock a shoit distance away, and, all un suspecting, began to clean his bill. " til fix your apple-dumplings for you, old buz zard," remarked the young man, jocosely, as ho brought' his rifle to his shoulder. " prepare to die." a loud report, keen and startling, rang out upon the air, a blue wave of smoke curled up from the wood; and edward hale, instead of seeing the object of his aim full lifeless to the ground, on the contrary, saw it rise from the rock, and sail quietly away. 'a tine artist, i aru, with a gun," grunted young hale, half sreeringly. "i could n''t shoot sandy* ji,:^, if i tc^uted to. suul slashaway commissioned t&& 26 slash aw ay, the fearless. wrong man to do his work when he commissioned me* j^nt i may get up to it. there is nothing like trying. hi'.rk ! what did i hear then 1 some one is following ne. listen i" he halted, and turning his ear to the ground, lis tened intently. but what he thought he heard a bitter laugh or snarl was not repeated. all wa? skll ; he could see i nothing, hear nothing, but the thumping of his own * heart. " surely i heard a laugh," he said, as he went on, looking around him. " it was more like a sneer than a laugh, though a little of both. i wonder if i can again be dreaming. nonsense; i am a nervous wight. i heard nothing. ' ; he began to whistle softly to himself, while hid eves roved over the prairie; his ears caught at every sound that fell, and he appeared, for the time being, like a man who had much to fear, and sadly in nee<l of a friendly hand to help him through. halting at last under the branches of a spreading oak, he directed his eyes to a point in the prairie's iloep expanse, and fixedly looked for several minutes, when he quietly dropped to the ground, and ex cj.umed : " a band of redskins as sure as i am living. in. all i count just twenty-seven. i wonder if they are on the war-path. i think i had better keep dark. i'm not acquainted with the red chaps very much, but what i know of them, i don't like them. oh, they are coming this way. now i can take observations.^ hidden from view by a clump of bushes through which he himself could see quite plainly, our young friend watched and waited, fully determined to see what there was to be seen, when the redskins passed lira by. in single file the indian horde approached the wood, then turning, passed within a hundred yards of ed ward hale, and continued their silent march ovsr. the prairie. slasiiaway, the fearless. tr ' " ugly, scowling devils," whispered the young mfi:<, ns soon as they were out of sight. u good for me tl. >' 1 did not show myself. the rascals lave been up to their old tricks murdering 1 emigrants. if my eyes did not deceive me, i saw three captives in the croud two men and a girl, or rather, woman. i wonder what they will do with them the captives. buni them at the stake, i reckon. too bad, too bad." with no particular purpose in view, young hale shouldered his rifle, and without knowing it, started off in the direction of the water, out of which and over -which had come the voice of the woman singing tlio chorus of the long-forgotten song. as he n eared the water he suddenly became con scious of what he was doing, and started back with a feeling of alarm. then he urged himself foiw-.ird, saying angrily : " fool that lam to thii k of such a thing! a. woman singing in this wilderness. all foolish: i heard nothing more than i can hear at any time a woman of my fancy. let me see what there is to he was about to take a step forward, when to his astonishment, the plaintive notes of a guitar we:e borne to him on the summer wind, hung for a mom. over him like a spell, then died away in a murmur < f melody. at first edward hale knew not what to do, he c dot speak, he could not stir, he could only look, lutc , and wonder. at length recovering his courage, he determi: come what would, to fathom the mystery. so he struck out boldly, pushed from tree to t from rock to rock, stopping only when he found hi...- eelf on the edge of a quiet lake whose waters spre;: i o-ut before him so bright, so beautiful, that for an. ut-e he could but look aiound him in mute surprise. but he looked in vain for the woman the wo; of hid fancy ; she was nowhere to be seen, she la '. disappeared. no song now, no music nothing ! " no woman here," whispered the young man, sei-.t 18 slashaway, the fearless. in.<r h'iroseli on a rock near the water. " still 1 heard a woman's voice, and the notes of a guit.ar. i am hot dreaming, i have not been dreaming. some one is on or near this lake, a woman, a man, or a ghost. heavens ! what do i see ? " he was looking over the water, and his faoe was pale as death. he was looking at a man leaning over the edge of ^ a small canoe a hundred yards from shore. $. the man was fishing, apparently, and his face was 1| turned toward his work. but edward hale could see enough of his face to g convince him that the man was black, also that he | ? was no common personage. the fisherman seemed unconscious of the presence of a stranger, and edward hale was loth to disturb lim. but at length ho cried out : u halloo, there ! halloo ! halloo !" the fisherman looked up quietly from his work, turned his eyes shoreward, grunted, then seizing the oars in the canoe, began to move slowly away. " come back, you lunatic, come back/' cried the young man, unwilling to have his curiosity thus easily defeated. " what do you mean by leaving so sud denly ?" the man in the boat turned and faced him in aa. instant. " " what'll ye have f v he growled, almost fiercely. " don't keep me waiting." ffi it was some seconds before edward halo replied, f and in the interview, he gave the stranger in the boat his closest attention. 10 the age of the man he could not exactly tell, | v wliether he was fifty or a hundred, he had the appear> ance of a centenarian ; he was gray almost to white' ness, bent nearly double, very black, very wrinkled, very careworn, and in his actions very queer and btrange. still, he looked rugged, and despite his age, sla8haway, the fearles& if iitfcs f doubtless, a person whom no common man could in stature he was not much over five feet tall, though he was so bent, his height could not.be well deter mined. he iwas dressed in buckskin, was armed with a rifle and a long glittering knife. the knife was in his belt, the r^fle lay by him in the canoe. "you seem very anxious to get away," at length spoke up edward hale, approaching a little nearer the water's edge. " where do you make your home f" the african pointed to a small, green spot, an island in the middle of the lake, and said, by gesture, that he lived there. " and what do you do in this wild place, and you all alone?" asked edward hale, showing his surprise in various ways. " how do you pass your time?" " i fish and hunt," replied the man, as he gave hia boat a sidelong turn, " and then i hunt and fish." " and do you ever sing 1" questioned the young man, suddenly remembering the voice he had heard. tl i heard some one singing a while ago." "it wasn't me," said the man, slowly j "i nevac sing," " who was it, then t" " i cannot tell you." " you mean you will not tell me." the african's eyes flashed. "you are very wise," he said, half sneeringly, though he smiled as he said it. "what is your name ?" "edward hale." " and you live t" " nowhere just now. to tell the truth 1 am turned around in this wilderness, i am lost." a wild laugh, almost a shriek, came from the negro as he heard this. " i am sorry you are lost," he eslairaed, at length, stopping abruptly in his laugh. "hereafter stay at home as i do, and fear nothing." 80 slashaway, the fearless. for some seconds edward hale was silent. hd was looking at the island on which his strange ac quaintance made his home. 11 1 wouldn't live where you do for all the world," at length he said, pointing to the island. " i'll wager anything the place is haunted. what do you call your island v "i do not call it anything," replied the man-, " but some folks call it, very foolishly though, spectre isle. have you any idea it's haunted ?" something in the negro's voice, in his looks or ae tions, or in the way he said it, caused the young man to shudder; but he mastered himself directly, and re plied : "i don't believe in spectres, but if i did, i should come here to see them." the stranger laughed. edward hale continued : " do you live by yourself alone v the negro gave his interlocutor a searching glance, tli en replied : "folks have called me 'the hermit' for many a day ; and isn't that enough to satisfy ye? who ever saw any one with me?" the african came a little nearer shore, rose to his feet, hauled in his nets, then settling himself down in his canoe, seized the oars, and bending his back to the task, despite young hale's entreaties, rowed swiftly away. " a strange man, whoever he is, v said the .young man, with his eyes on the fast receding boat. " there, be is out of sight ; a bend in the shore has hidden him from view. what i know of him amounts to almost nothing. and the woman whose voice i heard sing ing so sweetly, what have i learned ot her? nothing, absolutely nothing." he lapsed into silence, and waited and watched, hoping for the return of the strange, old man, but h watched and waited in vain; the strange, old man. was gone for good. slash a way, the fearless. 21 "gone, gone/' said the youth, as he turned and en lered the wood. il is it anything strange that i should stand in awe of such a man? i know not what to make of him. i only know that he is very strange and queer hark ! what is that i hear ? 7 ' a slight breath of wind came up from the ravine inden with music the plaintive notes of a guitar, this \ timeaccompanied by a woman's voice of rare sweet j ness; i for a moment edward hale stood as if rooted to | the ground, then, with a hoarse cry and a look of superstitious awe, he walked rapidly away. in a few minutes the woman's voice and the notes of the guitar could not be heard. "'tlie sooner i get out of this ghostly place the better for me," said the young man, as iie hurried along. "i'll wager my head a foul murder has been committed in this wood a uotnan, likely, murdered in cold blood. did the weird old african have any thing to do with it i if he did not, i am badly fooled, badly fooled." reaching the edge of the wood, our young friend came to a halt, and, with his back against a tree, let his eyes wander over the prairie, though to divert his mind from that which had caused his retreat, he could not do. still he continued standing with his back against a tree, looking out over the prairie. presently he thought he heard footsteps approach ing. he listened, w ith his head bent forward. ! he heard nothing, saw nothing j he was foolishly alarmed. i "always frightened, always trembling at my own ( shadow," he said, as he straightened himself up, and turned his eyes once more toward the prairie. u if i am not a coward, what am i ?" to this a reply was given, but edward hale did erot hear it. a hideous monster, in plumes and paint, a scowling s? slashaway, the fearless. savage, closely followed by a vampire looking wretch, was creeping up behind him. the foremost rascal was apparently unarmed j the fiend behind him held in his hand a huge, glittering knife, the blade at least ten inches long. quietly, cautiously . the savage brutes glided from tree to tree. edward hale heard nothing. presently the dusky villains came to a halt, but di rectly, without a word, the one in advance moved for ward* slowly, cautiously, quietly, like a panther ready to spring. pretty soon he stopped, crouched down, and ,with lis glittering eyes fastened on the tree against which young edward hale was leaning, sprang forward with the rapidity of lightning, and before the young man had time to turn aside, he was fastened to the tree bo tightly, that he could not move. the redskin stood behind the tree, but his arms were around it, and between the tree and his arms was edward hale, fastened as in a vice. at first young hale was so frightened that he could not speak, and so tightly was he crowded to the tree, that to get away was out of the question. at length he managed to speak, and what he said was this : tl whoever you are, don't crush the life out of me. i can scarcely breathe. do you want to murder me f the savage, whose arms were around him, did not answer, but the savage who had lingered in the rear, sprang forward at this instant, and shaking his knife in the face of the helpless man, hissed like an adder : " pale rascal must die. saul slashaway told him to shoot sandy jim. sandy jim listen, overhear all, tell redskin to look sharp and kill young paleface devil, belore he kill sandy jim. redskin good war rior, he watch, he listen, he find young hunter, catch him, and now he kill him as he would a dog. ;; the eavage ceased speaking, sheathed his knife, stepped back a pace, and drawing from his belt a slashaway, the fearless. 23 hatchet of polished steel, with a yell that was blood curdling in the extreme, aimed a blow -at the voting man's head. if edward hale ever thought his time had comb, it was at this moment. lie saw the murderous imple ment flash in the light of the melting sun, heard the fierce yell of the monster before him j and terrified, bewildered, \ith a prayer on his lips, he closed his eyes, and awaited the blow that would lay him com in deatb. but the tomahawk of the savage monster fell not on the young man's head, for, before it could descend, the sharp, whip-like crack of a rifle rang out upon the the air, and with a shriek, a gurgle, and a groan, the would-be murderer dropped his weapon, threw up his hands, and fell lifeless to the ground. not knowing whether he was in the world or out of it, edward halo opened his eyes and looked around him, and what he savv was this : on the ground before him lay an indian warrior, shot dead in his tracks; to the left of him, the savage who had held him to the tree, was shooting through the wood like a frightened deer ; arid to his right, the man who had saved his life was making for the lake which lay beyond with all his speed. as soon as he could get his voice, the young man cried out to the latter to halt, but at this, for some reason or other, the man redoubled his speed, and was soon lost to view. ' ; anyway, i know who my perscrver is," said hale, turning his eyes on the fallen redskin " but why he ehould save n^life is more than i can tell. i thought i had more to fear from him than from any one else. but now i know better. the hermit of spectre isle is a man, he saved my life. god bless him !" he was going to say more, but at this moment the cap or sort of hood that covered the redskin's head fell off, revealing to the astonished gaze of young hale, a mass of hair, almost red. *' an indian with red hair !'' exclaimed the yoang u slashaway, the fearless. man, excitedly. " i don't believe it possible. heavens !" a terrible thought came to nim at this moment a thought that nearly took away his breath. "it may be so," at length he said, stooping down and examining the man on the ground. " ah f yes, the man is white. the same, the verv same. dead, dead !" the man on the ground was sandy jim. chapter ii. satjl slashaway and edward hale. saul slashaway's home was a cave, and at the time edward hale made the startling discovery that the man before him was sandy jim, saul slashaway was in his cave, preparing his evening meal. * " people say 1 am crazy/ 7 soliloquized the old man, " but t bar's wliar they're badly fooled. i ain't very crazy, not very at least i think so. howsumever, if folks want to call me a leetle wild, i shan't object it's their privilege." the old man mumbled over something to himself, then went on aloud : "edward hale that's what be called himself, i bleeve, and that's what i shall call biro when i see slashaway, the fearless 25 him, for i shall see him again. mighty, wasn't he frightened when i commanded him to kill sandy jim. blast me, if i haven't a notion that he'll do it. sandy jim dead upon the ground, his throat cut from ear to ear. heavens ! wouldn't i feel happy. sandy jim dead, and slashaway, the fearless, will worship the man who killed him as long as life remains !" the old hunter lapsed into silence, finished prepar ing his food, ate what was before him without a word, then wrapping himself up in his blanket, lay down in one corner of the room, and was soon soundly asleep. he slept until broad daylight without waking ; then be roused himself, ate a light meal of bread and cold venison, after which he took down his gun, and started out for a morning's jaunt over the prairie. 'til find edward hale, if i can," muttered the old man, as he journeyed along. " who knows what the young chap's been up to. maybe he's killed sandy jim. well, we shall see, we shall see." in about an hour the old hunter found hinself on the edge of a dense forest of maple, oak, and ash, and the first sound that greeted him as he entered the wood, was the report of a rifle, sounding out but a rod or two away. at first the old man was startled, but immediately he smiled grimly, and advanced into the wood with a quiet rapidity that betokened anything but alarm. "edward hale that's who it is," said slashaway, in a cheerful voice. " i told him to kill sandy jim, and he has done it. sandy jim, the murderer, is dead." he stopped speaking suddenly, for at this instant le found himself face to face with the object of his search. on finding himself once more in the clutches of slashaway, the fearless, edward hale was frightened enough, but he controlled his feelings as best he could, and said, in as strong a voice tss be -xould command : " i didn't expect to meet you in this wood, old man. do yon live here t" 36 sla8haway, the fearless. f the hunter chuckled. " live here ? of course i don't. i live five mile* from here, maybe more j live in a cave. then ye thought ye'd seen the last of me when ye left me yes terday lioon ? thought so, did ye ? ho ! ho ! i'm not a fool, young man, if i am crazy not a fool. but you what have you been doing? where did you stay last night f "in this wood, of course. where else should i stay r "and you rested well, i reckon ?" continued the lunter ; with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. " ye [ look sort o' spry." "but i don't feel spry, by any means/' replied the young man, with a poor attempt at a laugh. " i came near being devoured last night." " by wolves ?" "yes, by wolves. i didn't sleep very well. wolves are not first-class companions." the old hunter was silent a moment, thinking. then he roused up all of a sudden, his eyes flashed, the muscles of his face twitched convulsively, and bending forward, so that his hot breath touched the young man's face, he fairly roared : " where is sandy jim ? you remember what i told yon. sand)? jim or you must die. have von killed him 1" at first edward hale did not know what to say. should he tell the hunter that sandy jim was dead? or should he wait, and tell him only on compulsion! he concluded not to be in a hurry about disclosing the death of sandy jim j so he answered the hunter as follows : "do yon take me for a murderer? why should i kill sandy jim ? and if you want him murdered so bad, why don't you do it yourself f for you to kill him would be a very small affair, you are so used to killing folks ; but for me to shoot "him, i couldn't do it, i wouldn't do it, for the world." 41 then you haven't killed him ?" slashaway, the fearless. 27 the way this was spoken, the voice, the manner, sent a chill through the young man's frame, startled lira so that he could not say a word. u i asked you have you killed him ?" said the hun ter, in the same peculiar voice, " have you murdered sandy jim ?" the young man felt that to keep the facts from slashaway any longer, would be to run the risk of being killed himself, so he answered very quietly : " sandy jim is dead/' " prove it," cried the hunter, flashing up in an in stant. u if you tell the truth, if sandy jim is dead, anything you ask of me will i do." " then come with me." like a man whose mind is thoroughly made up, young hale shouldered his rifle, and with the hunter at his heels, started for the wood in which he had. left the outlaw's body the evening before. " if the old man wants to think i killed him, let him think so," thought edward hale, as they neared the wood. " mighty, what if the body has been devoured by wolves ? what would saul slashaway say and do f i am almost afraid to go on. bad luck to the wolves !" but the young man's fears were groundless, the body of sandy jim lay where edward hale had left it, untouched, undisturbed, even by the wolves, " now look for yourself," said the young man, as he conducted the hunter to the spot. " didn't i tell you the truth ?" " an ingin warrior," muttered slashaway, at first sight. " look again, a sharper look," commanded young t hale, " what do vou say now ? is it not the body i of sandy jim t" | the old hunter bowed his head, and answered almost in a whisper. " dead at last, the fiend, the worse than murderer, sandy jim ! god bless the man who killed him, bless him forever r*' bending over the lifeless form of his sworn 28 slas1-iaway, the fearless. slashaway, the fea'rks-?, bowed his head, and for sev eral minutes seemed lost as in a dream. at length be rose to bis feet, and with his eyes nrimful of tears, extended his band to the young rnan standing before him, and said, in a bnsky voice : l ' you have done what i could not do, young man, you have taken the life of sandy jim. many a time have i tried to kill him, but it was not for me to take his life, not for me." t: but you would kill a dog," said edward halo, bis cariosity now thoroughly excited, " and sandy jim, you say, was no better than a dog." ".i wanted to shoot the villain bad enough, my lad, wanted to, but i couldn't, i couldn't/' " why couldn't you ?" "a woman was in the way, allers, alters. no sooner would i draw bead on the monster, than the woman would glide between us, glide arid stand thar all white and angel-like, glide between us like a shadow. i couldn't shoot the woman, so sandy jim was safe." as he was telling this, the hunter's eyes rovea about him incessantly, looked wild, strange, unnatural, and there was such a glitter in them, that edward hale slipped back involuntarily, more convinced than ever, that be was talking with a maniac. 11 but bow about sandy jim," be inquired at last, determined, if possible, to sift the matter to the bottom. " had you nothing to fear from him ?" the hunter answered without delay. "nothin' to fear from sandy jim i" he said. "it was not his fault that he didn't kill me, for he has tried to often enough. once he met me face to face, his gun sprang to his shoulder in an instant, but he didn't shoot, and why ? because he couldn't. the same woman that saved hi*n from me, saved me from him !" the hunter ceased speaking, great beads of perspira tion were on his face, and he had the appearance of a man suffering terribly. slab ii a way, the fearless. 20 pretty soon he controlled himself and went on : " once i overheard a conversation between sandy jim and a comrade. " < why don't you kill the old rascal, and be done with it, 1 said the man, in a loud voice. ' shoot him as yon would a dog.* 11 i but i can't shoot him/ was sandy jim's reply. ' the old wretch is haunted. no sooner do i draw bead on him, than a woman glides in before him, and, somehow, 1 cannot shoot, and i guess it's tlio same with him.' " so you see," continued the hunter, lowering his voice, " what a woman, though dead, can do." " and the woman who was she f" asked edward hale, with a feeling of nervousness amounting almost to dread, creeping over him. ' you say she is dead ?" " yas, she is dead," replied the hunter, in an ab stracted manner. " i was with her when she died, more than five years ago." " was she beautiful!" the hunter wiped away a tear. " i thought she was," he replied, " and i had every reason for thinkin' so. she was an angel. she was known to both of us sandy and i. i loved her, sandy did not, though she loved him dearly. but it's over now, all past aud gone." a strange thought at this moment camo into the young man's mind, and he relieved himself of it at once, though in a tone so low that the hunter was not awakened from his melancholy musings. " i cannot help thinking," he said, li that the woman i heard yesterday singing so sweetly, is in some way connected with slashaway and sandy jim. anyway, things have a very singular look, and if i am not careful, i'll find myself in a net out of which i cannot very well escape. wouldn't it be as well to question the old hunter a little concerning the hermit of spec tre isle? it maybe that he can make everything clear. i'll speak to him at once." slaehaway, the fearless, stood with his arms so slashaway, the fearless. and his eyes riveted on the lifeless form before him. edward hale touched him on the shoulder, and said : " you've looked that way long enough, my friend j bow turn your attention to me. i want to ask you something." "weil, ask away/' replied the hunter, as he turned and stood face to face with his companion. " i am ready to answer anything you may ask. since what luis occurred, i cannot do enough for you j i'm sure i can't. 7 ' "well, then, answer me this: do you know of a lake a short distance from here?" if a griake had suddenly sprang up into his face, the old linnter would not have been more startled than lie was when his young companion asked him this. " a lake, did ye say f ' at last he roared. " what do ye know of the lake of shadows, or spectre lake, jis ii's sometimes called ? have ve been thar, voung man ?" the eyes of the hunter were looking the young man through and through. ' ive seen the lake of shadows, as you call it," re pliei young hale, as quietly as lie could. "i was ilerc yesterday. i was called there." the hunter started. " tempted, war ve ? who tempted ye to visit the lake?" "a woman." the hunter's face turned pale. "what was the woman like?" he asked, after a moment's silence. " i didn't see her.' 7 " didn't see her, and she tempted you ?" said tho> banter, slowly. *' i don't understand. strange, very btrange." " strange to you, mavbe, but cot to me." "howl" slash a way, the fearless. 31 " i (lid not see the woman, i only heard her she was singing." " then you followed her voice to the lake?" yes; i followed her voice, and the music of her sik^era she was playing the guitar.'' the hunter was silent a moment, thinking deeply. then he asked : <; what else did ye hear ? and did yo see any one while at the lake ?" * the young man answered without hesitation. " when i approached the lake the music ceased, the voice of the woman died away, and all was still." ' what next ? did ye see any one ?" '' yes, i saw a man sitting in a canoe, fishing. the man was black." 4 did he say anything to you ?" ; i spoke to him, and he answered me ; he was not very talkative." the hunter's eyes glittered. what did the mar. say t' he asked. " anything about the woman t' " i asked him if he had heard the voice of a woman singing, and he said he had not. then i thought i had been dreaming, or had imagined it all. a strange dream, though, i think, very strange." " yes, very strange, very strange/' repeated the hunter, musingly. '' i think you must have been dreaming. you heard nothing; no woman was there. i am sure no woman was there, and .that you heard nothing, very sure." but a minute afterward, edward hale heard the strange old man whispering to himself, and what he said was this : " marguret, my margaret. god bless her and keep her from harm." then he shouldered his rifle, and with a " come on " to his young companion, moved away. retailing the prairie in a few minutes they halted, w_i slashaway 82 slashaway, the fearless. '" this timber won't be very healthy for us in an lour from now, so i guess �e had better leave. sandy jim had a crowd of followers, and they'll bo looking for 1/im, i reckon, before very long. the redskins, too, are very likely to be around here pretty soon. come on. i will guide you to my home." without more ado, the two men struck out boldly over the level plain, and soon the wood, with all its mysteries, was so far behind as to be scarcely seen. ' we'll come to a leetle river pretty soon, my lad/' remarked the old, hunter, as they journeyed along. " the land grows more mountainous every minute, ana pretty soon we'll reach a strip o' timber, and then a liver. you see i know this country very well. the reason is, i've lived here ten years or more jived right here.'' in a few minutes more the river spoken of by the hunter, flowed at their feet. it was a beautiful stream, quite narrow, but very deep and rapid. " now what's to be done," spoke up edward halo, as they carne to a halt on the banks of the river. li shall we go down or up?' 7 il down,' 7 replied r,he hunter, quickly c( but not as we have been traveling afoot. i've got a canoe bore somewhere, that we'll do well to use. we can't af ford to walk when we can ride.'' without much difficulty, slashaway found the boat which lie had hidden some time before, and without delay the two men got into it, and the hunter, seizing the oars, guided the frail bark down the stream. but this was only for a little while. before edward hale knew what his companion was about, the boat was turned into a sort of harbor or indentation in tbd shore and brought to a full stop. " here's where we land/ 7 said the old hunter, quietly dropping the oars in the canoe. " follow me." the hunter sprang ashore. edward hale followed ins example, and together the two men pulled th'a cacoe ashore. slashaway, the fearless so then they started for the hunter's home, distance about half a mile away. "i live here part o' the time, and part o' the time somewhere else," remarked the old man as they neared his place of abode. "my residence is a hole in the ground, or, if you please, a cave." halting at the foot of what seemed to bo a huge pile of rocks, the hunter suddenly stooped down and began to examine, though with considerable agitation, a number of footprints in the sand. " mighty strange, mighty queer and strange," he muttered, at length, rising to his feet and glancing furtively about him. " 1 didn't think the red imps cunning enough to find my hiding-place. howsum ever, the rascals have been here, for look at the moc casin tracks in the sand. thunder, i am almost afraid to go in, for the sheband, for all i know, id ay be packed with redskins." several times the hunter walked around his ocky fortress, but seeing nothing further of a auspicious nature, he quietly removed a large, flat stone from a narrow, upright fissure or crevice in the rocky ledge, and closely followed by his young companion, made his way within, closed the opening with a rock as large as the one on the outside, struck a light, then turning* to his young friend who stood an amazed and silent spectator of the hunter's movements, said, with a quiet smile : u you see my dwelling is no one-horso affair. everything is dry, clean, and comfortable. here i -i live and ask nothing of no one. but i don't intend j to live here always, i'm sure i don't, very sure !" '] something in the hunter's voice, or in the way he ^ wound up his remark, brought to the memory of ed j ward hale, his first meeting with the strange, old man, the facts that he had learned about him at the settle ment, the warning that had been given him couched in the words : " look out for slash a way, the fearless, .ibe is rnad," and many other things associated in some way or other with his strange companion. 34 slashaway, the fearless. u your cave is as comfortable as a cave can be,* uaid the young man at length, tl bat i agree with you when you eay you shan't live here always. in "my pinion the redskins will assist you to remove, and that, too, in a very short time. mercy ! look at those eyes. we are not alone. that black object what is it ? look, look !" a low growl from one corner of the room broke forth at this instant, and almost immediately following, a monster-looking object, nothing less than a huge, black bear, rolled from the darkness, and stood with extended jaws and glaring eyes looking from one to the other of the astonished men. " a horrible monster," cried young hale, as soon as he could get his breath. " let me put a bullet through his brain.'' but when he saw the old hunter rush forward and throw his arms around the monster's neck and caress liin as he would a child, he lowered his rifle and stared at the man and the bear with a look of terror and surprise. " mad as the wind," at length he said ; " slash away, the fearless, is mad, mad. i must kill the brute, or the hunter will be torn into pieces before my eyes." the young man drew his hunting-knife from his belt, and rushed forward ; but before he could thrust it into the bear, the hunter caught him by the arm, and fairly yelled in his ear : " you young villain, what do ye mean ? would you kill my best friend ? then murder this harmless fceast." " mad, mad, crazy as a loon," whispered edward hale, with his hunting-knife still uplifted, and his eyes riveted on the hunter's face. do ' you want that ugly beast to strangle you ?" " harmless as a kitten," returned slashaway, quietly. " young man, this bear is one of the best friends i ever had, and though his name is tempest, slashaway, the fearless. 35 he's as quiet and docile when unprovoked as any ona could wish." " and is he yours this bear, this tempest ?". in quired young hale, slowly sheathing his knife. "mine? no, he belongs to the hermit of spectre isle." when the hunter said this, he turned his eyes on his companion^ face, and looked closely to see what effect his words would produce, and he was not sur~ i prised when he s&w his young friend start ; and lose jf for an instant his self-possession. " he suspicions something the young buck does/' whispered slashaway, to himselt ; " but 1 think he only heard her sing and play ; he didn't see her marguret, my margaret. but i've no time to fool away. something's gone wrong over there, and i arn wanted. how do i know ? tempest, the hermii'a bear, brings me the news. i was badly fooled when i thought my home had been visited by redskins; it was the hermit who made the tracks in the sand. he entered my cave, the hermit did, found me gone, then he went out and left the bear in to tell me that some thing had gone wrong with marguret. heavens ! what if the red imps have been there ? it frighten* roe to think of it. i must be oft 1 at once." he removed a stone from a niche in the wall to let the sunlight in, blew out his torch, and started for tha entrance of the cave without a word. " where are you going ? ;; asked young hale, quick ly f as the old man reached the door or entrance of the cave. "what has happened to disturb you?" the old hunter answered without looking up. " i am going to spectre isle. the old hermit has [ cent for me." * "and am i not going with you ?" asked the young aoan, a little confused. slashaway replied in the same quiet tone as before. *' i am going alone i and the bear. this cave is t safe a place as you can find, and here you can staj 86 slashaway, the fearless. as jong as you wish. plenty of food, plenty of every* tiling 1 j make yourself at home." seemingly anxious to avoid being questioned, the hunter pushed his way out of the cave, and with the bear, tempest, at his side, proceeded to the river, launched his boat, sprang in, seized the oars, and with a word to tempest, seated in the prow of the canoe, rowed swiftly and silently away. chapter iii. fight, flight, and capture. " i don't know what to make of him, i really don't/' said edward hale, as soon as slashaway, the fearless, was out of sight and hearing. " sometimes i think him sane enough, and then again i can't but think that he is mad. anyway, it's just as well that he has gone, and that 1 am alone. now i'll get my traps together, and slashaway shall see me no more." but at this moment the woman of spectre isle, with her beautiful, bell-like voice, came into the young m-in's mind, and, for some reason or other, his deter 'inination to leave all behind him, the woman included, an;! be off,' was abandoned in an instant. "i'll risk the old hunter's madness/' he said, "and stay until the woman of spectre isle ceases to be a ihnig of doubt. ah, i have it now. i'll follow the <:<! hunter to the luke, and do what i can at once to si'lvo the mystery." stasiiaway, the fearless. 3? acting on this latter thought, the young man seized lis rifle, and quickly crawled out of the cave. after looking around him a spell, he shouldered his gun, and without knowing exactly what direction to ake. ra oved rapidly away. " i think i am going right," he muttered, after walking a distance of several yards. "i guess i know what i'm about." but in this he was mistaken, for he was completely turned around ; in fact, he was lost without knowing it. still he continued to advance, wandered about for several hours, and at last halted, with a feeling of dread creeping over hi in. after a short pause he went on, but swifter than he lad gone before, in fact, on a full run, and for this reason : a dozen or more well-mounted redskins were in pursuit. true, they were half a mile or so away, but they were mounted, and being mounted, every bound they made, brough them nearer the man on foot. knowing full well what it was to fall into the clutches of such monsters, edward hale exerted him self to the utmost to escape , he fairly flew over the ground, but it answered him not, the redskins would soon be upon him. " heaven save me from them," cried the young man, with his heart in his throat. " god help me i they are almost up to me. what shall 1 do ?" " why run ye lunatic, run as tho 7 all the imps in hell war arter ye/' exclaimed a voice at this instant close to his ear. as if he had been shot, edward hale stopped run diner, and stared mutely around him. " who's chasm' uv ye, my innocence f w said the voice, louder than before. this time the young man followed thevoice to his source, and saw for the first time that he was on the bank of a small stream, also that there was a canoe 8s slashaway, the fearless. right before him, and in the canoe a man tho maa who bad spoken. when be taw the man, our hero rushed to him and cried : " the redskins ! the redskins ! what shall i do ? what can i do f ' the stranger's face, which at first was pleasant, sud denly assumed a scowling aspect, but his voice said softly : " pile in yer, sonny, an' we'll try tu git away from ? em. i'm sorry the red varmints are chasin' uv ye. w edward hale did not need a second invitation, but got into the boat without delay, and not a moment too soon, for the redskins, at this juncture, dashed down to the river, yelling like fiends. but when they got to the river's edge, young hale and his new-found friend were fifty yards away, rowing with all their strength. wild with rage, the indians sent a volley of rifle shots after them, but warned by the trapper, the men fell down in the boat, and thus escaped unharmed;, "now take us ef ye kin, ye rascals," said the trap per, as the redskins began to howl with disappoint ment. "the red bucks are all in a muddle, they don't know what tu do." " but their horses are fleet/' suggested young hale, " and they may overtake us yet by land." the stranger sai<l nothing; but tossed his head on either side of him as much as to say. " look at the shore." the young man rtid so, and for the first time noticed that all along the river were trees, rocks, brush, and little mounds, impassable barriers to men on horseback. " the red cusses kiu foller us only by water, young man/ 7 at length spoke up the stranger. li ef they hed a boat ,." 11 they've got one. look ! look !" cried edward hale, all of a sudden. "the redskins are right be hind v.s." the trapper glanced quickly around, then ho settled slashaway, the fearless. 39 himself in the canoe, and said in a voice low but firm * " ye speak the truth, my lad, the red critters are ehasin 7 us. i didn't think they could find thor canoe, but they found it. ther boat war in ther bushes near ther stream. it was saul slashaway's boat saul slashaway's and mine. mighty moses, how the red bucks yell." yelling, screaming, and shouting, the blood-thirsty sioux worked like madmen at the oars, and every sweep they made seemed to lessen the distance be tween their victims and themselves. " it's all up with us," said edward hale, as he noticed how rapidly the redskins were gaining on them. " look out there, my friend, they're going to ehoot !' ; as he spoke, the young man fell flat on his face in the bottom of the boat, while almost instantly a volley of rifle shots hissed above him. failing to bring them down by shooting at them, the redskins redoubled their efforts at the oars, expect ing in a few minutes to capture them, or get so near them that they could shoot them down at will. but the whites worked gallantly, and for the dis tance of half a mile, held their own. then they lost strength, and the redskins gained on them rapidly, until at last the fugitives, knowing full well that to remain longer on the water was to fall into the hands of their merciless foes, took to the shore, hoping to find a hiding-place somewhere among the rocks. and they found one, or rather a place of defense, and they found it not a moment too soon, for the red skins were sooii closing around them, yelling lika fiends. in a sort of recess or indentation in a rocky ledge, the whites retreated, and by rolling three or four huge boulders before them, a fortress, tolerably secure^ waa made. "it's the best we kin du, young man," whispered the trapper, as he inspected the priming of his rifle. 40 slashaway, the fearless. "it ain't at all likely thet we'll git off 'ithout * scratch or two, but we'll fling a leetle lead at th varmints jist fer fun. look sharp thar, now, an' don't shoot until ye git a darn good aim. here they come." whooping and howling, the painted monsters emerged from the rocks, and with a recklessness that f boded evil to the whiter, dashed toward them but ! when they saw the rifles of the fugitives gleaming over the rocks, they halted abruptly, and, coward like, quickly withdrew to a safer distance. " they don't like the locks of things, the rascals," remarked edward hale, with some sfxtisfaclion at the way the redskins scampered away. " it wouldn't sur prise me if they troubled us no more. anyway, that's the cast things have at present. what say vou ; my friend f" the young man turned on the trapper an inquiring look, and for the first time noticed his height, general appearance, and attire. the man was over six feet in height, very slim, quite muscular, long arms, long legs, long fingers and hands, a beardless face, set oif with keen, grey eyes, and a nose slightly aquiline and very sarcastic a face at once cold, cunning, and determined, i the trapper's dress was of buckskin, all but the cap, and that was made of the fur of a wildcat, i the name of his new-found friend, as edward after ward learned, was robert blake, nicknamed, for some unaccountable reason, onion bob. , and "onion b," as we shall call him, wns an original character, as the reader will soon perceive, "so ye think we're through 'ith 'em, do ye?" said f the hunter, after surveying the young man from head f to foot; " think they've dug out* tor keeps f \ "it seems so/' replied hale, quickly, " though i don't know for sure/' \ the hunter gave a laugh that sounded very ranch like a snort. " yas, i'm quite sure ye don't know, myself,* ha said, whilo his eye twinkled merrily. " why,. ye lea slashaway, the fearless. 41 tv blubber, the red varmints hev jist opened tlie fray. lx;n't. fool verse if about 'em leavin', but git yer popper in sihooiiu' order, an' look out i'er squalls. the painted murderers 'ill come in sight directly." and the hunter ivas right. the redskins suddenly fchowed themselves in quite formidable numbers, and thinking to take the whites by a determined charge, with blood-curdling veils rushed toward them. but the whites were on the alert, and one of them, edward hale, took a quick aim at the foremost sav age, pulled trigger, and, strange to say, brought him to the ground. at this the savages suddenly became convinced that there was danger ahead of them, so seizing their fallen comrade, they turned and sought safety by a precipi tate retreat. " one redskin less to fight," gaid young hale, coolly leloading his rifle. " the tirst good shot i ever made." " a noble shot, anyway," it-joined orik-r. bob; but lie added to himself: " i'm mighty ; fraid he can't di> it agin; it looked wery much like an accident. iiou gumever, time will tell." not willing to expose themselves to the mnrderor.s fire of the whites, the redskins remained quiet for some time, doubtless deep in the formation of a plan, whereby the fugitives could be brought to terms. " it wou't last long, this quiet, ' ; said the tall hunter, with his eagle eye taking in everything around him. " they're too sharp tu attack us agin in an open manner, so look out for tricks. thunder an' lightniu' ! , b'ars an' buffelers ! lord !" i "what is it? what do you see ?" cried edward f hale, springing up and cocking his rifie. " anything 1 cut of the way 7" " i should think so. look at that large rock yonder.'' "where?" " near thet scraggy tree." "well, what of it f" h; i seed the bull tbing guv a suddint slash a wat, the fearless. an' roll right over. it is round, ye see, almost round. look, thar it goes agin." and sure enough, the rock in question suddenly be gan to move, and being almost round, rolled over sev eral times without stopping. " some one's behind it pushing it," suggested ed ward hale j " an indian warrior, likely. *' "five uv thej; red apes, more likely," replied the trapper, quickly. " don't ye see tbe rook ar mighty big?" " big enough foi the purpose they have in view, no doubt," replied the young man, after a moment's silence. " there it goes again. look !" once more tbe rock rolled over, then again and again, and at every turn, onion bob uttered a quiet curse. " the miserable devils are comin' for us as straight as a string," he growled, " an' what's more, i don't know how to stop 'em. ef it war a tree we could shoot through it but a rock i'm mighty 'fraid it's all up 'ith us." it was a neat trick of tbe redskins this rock busi ness and completely upset tbe calculations of the whites, and put them at their wits end, " we can't stop the red rascals, in my opinion," said young hale, fixing bis eyes on tbe rock. " what shall we do f stick here and fight ?" " i reckon thet's about all we kin du," replied the hunter, with considerable nervousness in his looks and actions. " thar's no use o' runnin'." " and if we stay and fight ?" " thar's a big chance o' us gittin' killed and scalped. howsumever, we mought as well stick to it, au' do the best we kin. thar's notbiu' like tryin'. what do ye say" shall we stick, run, or cave in." *" stick," replied edward, shortly. " let us die fighting." with this deterr.i 5 nation tho two men began to pre pare themselves for tho coming "truggle. the hunter put asi^ big ^un. and t;.king from his slashawat, the fearless. 43 belt a long-bladed knife, and a revolver of almost equal length, examined them both very carefully, after which lie said : " keep yer eyes on the rock, young man, an* the fust head ye see, blaze away at it. i ain't so much afraid uv these chaps as i am uv tae fellers what's waitin back vender in the brush. we may scare these rascals off, but the others i don't know, i don't know." determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible, onr two friends waited the slow approacli of the rock, and as it came nearer and nearer, they grew impatient f*r the struggle, which they well knew would be ona fc< life or death. five minutes passed. the wily redskins were well aware that the palefaces were awaiting their approach, so they made no attempt at silence, but as they pushed and urged the rock along, curses loud and deep, shouts and yells, issued from their throats. " the painted imps make noise enough," said young hale, as the redskins gave a sudden yell. "look there, what do you think of that ? they can roll toe rock no further, it has struck against a tree/' it was even so. the rock had come in contact with a low, dwarf tree or shrub, and lay, an immovable weight, within a dozen yards of the rocky fortress of the trapper and his young companion. finding themselves in a measure defeated, the painted rascals began to howl at the top of their voices, while the whites, overjoyed at the discomfiture ot their savage foes, sent up a shout that made the rocks ring. " i reckon we've got 'em," laughed onion bob, at ] last, " an* in more ways than ono. what think ye, sonny t ?; " i think they'll find some trouble in getting back," xvas the quick reply. " they can't hide behind a rock in going back, not very much they can't/' " aft' it won't do tu git up an' run," suggested the trapper, with a quiet chuckle. " in mv opinion, all 44 sla3haway, the fearless. they kin do is to lay thai and wait for re-enforc4* ments." " which they intend to do, i reckon, by the look* of tilings," put in the young man. " it would do rna good to get a pop at one of 'em." " you'll liev a chance pretty soon," rejoined the hunter, quietly. t{ do ye see anythin' tu yer left ?" the young man turned his eyes in the direction in dicated by his companion, gave a quick glance then turned and said : " the red imps are coming to the assistance of their friends. they will make a rush at us pretty soon in. order to give these scoundrels, )mps, in front of ua a chance to pick us off. "what shall we do?" " fight 'em, in course,' 7 replied the trapper, quickly. " you see to the chaps behind the rock, watch 'e*n clus, an' i'll settle the hash o' the others." the foremost of the redskins, or chief of the band, at this moment yelled something in the indian tongue, and at once dashed forward with a terrible cry, fol lowed by all his braves. but he paid for his boldness with his life, for scarcely lad lie advanced a dozen paces, when the hunter's rifle sprang to his shoulder, a quick aim followed, a report keen and startling rang out upon the air, and uith a shriek, a gurgle, and a groan, the painted wretch threw up his hands, and fell to the ground, dead as a stone. seeing their leader fall, the redskins did not, as is usual in such cases, turn and run, but with maddening cries of rage, rushed forward to avenge his death. then it was that the whites felt that the time of life or death had come, and with a bravery unsur passed in indian warfare, stood firmly at their posts. a second of time went by, then onion bob agaki brought his rifle to his shoulder, and once more a sav age monster bit the dust. this time the redskins quailed, and \ith a wild ciy of mingled rage and disappointment, turned and fied pell-mell back to their retreat. slashaway, the fearless 45 . the fight was over. the redskins behind the rock, with the cowardly instincts of their race, moved not in behalf of their more courageous friends, nor made a single effort to leave their dangerous concealment. this the indians in the bushes noticed, and it made them wild with rage. the whites could hear them cursing among them selves, but what they intended to do to relieve the redskins behind the rock from their embarrassing posi tion, or whether they intended to do anything, was more than they could tell. "it wouldn't surprise me if they went off and left 'em, the cowardly rascals/' at last spoke up edward hale. " it would be paying them up in their own coin. i really wish they would." five minutes passed. then the hunter, noticed a huge warrior coming toward him, bearing something white in his hand, which he soon saw was a flag of ' truce. " they want ter make peace,' 7 whispered he to the young man, as he called his attention to the approach ing savage. lt howsumever " the redskin suddenly halted, and cried out, in broken english : " red man ready to talk. what say palefaces ? won't hurt nobody. talk much, talk little, talk good deal." "what do ye want tu talk about, ole moonshine ?" returned onion bob, in an angry voice. " hev yo got a pain somewhar, an' want td be relieved from duty ? "no pain, no nothing," replied the indian, shaking lis head. " red warrior mightv cross, feel mighty ugly." the trapper laughed sarcastically. " yas, i reckon ye do feel ugly," he said, at length, " an' ye hev reason tu. ef a couple o' my friends bed been busted afore my eyes, i'd feel ugly, tu. but say yer say, my posy, durued quick, an' be off. are ye hungry ?" 46 8lashaway, the fearless. "no hungry, no nothing/ 1 returned-' the redskity sharply, " only mad." " what fer are ye mad f ' "big red cowards behind lock, no good, ought to die. login help ; em no more, but let white chaps kill 'em. will doit!" the trapper divined at once that the redskins in tended to abandon their comrades behind the rock, so lie answered with a will : "kill 'em?' of course we will. jist you an' the rest take yerselves off, an', an' we'll fix 'em. they played'' it pretty low on yon, the cowards. oh,' it's ah right ; we'll see to 'em ; don't trouble yerself about tliet." apparently satisfied, the savage returned to his friends, and to the astonishment of both edward and the huntfer, the whole painted crowd in a few minutes began to move slowly over the prairie. at first the redskins behind the rock could not be jieve their eyes, for none of them understanding eng lish, and no one telling them in their native tongue, it was not possible for them to know the why or wherefore of the case in question. but tli sy were not long in the shade; over the prairie their comrades in arms were moving, on, on, until, in half an hours' time, they could no longer be seen. then the abandoned redskins, realizing how matters stood, began to wail and howl like dogs baying at the moon. this was too much for honest onion bob, who shook his fist at the rock, and fairly roared : " halloo { thar, ye miserable, whinin' devils. what du ye mean by kickin' up sich a racket ? kim out, an' show yer greasy heads, an* we'll fight it out hand tu hand." the redskins did not answer, but one of them at this moment a little too frolicsome in his grief, showed bis head above the rock, whereupon onion bob quickly took it for a mark, and,jjrawing bead, blazed away. slash a way, the feakless. 4f the shot proved effective, fur with an agonizing cry tbe redskin sprang to his feet, reeled backward a dozen or more paces, turned ouce and a half around, then with a gurgle and a groan, fell forward a lifeless wwfeht to the ground. then the remaining savages howled worse than ever, and as they howled, the whites derided them with mocking laughter. " it's all very well to laugh," at length spoke up edward hale, " but to come down to business, please inform me what we're going to do about it. how are we to get out of this trap f" " git out as we kim in, i s'pose," replied the hunter, dryly, " walk out." " and get riddled with bullets/ 7 returned the young man, sharp]?. "the moment we attempt to " they'll blaze away at us, yas.' ; " and the moment they attempt to take themselves off - " we'll blaze at 'em. so ye see they've got us an' we've got 'ern ; au ; that's mighty leetle to brag uv on, either side, mighty leetle. heavings !" at this moment the savages, without any warning, sprang to their feet, and with yells that fairly curdled the blood, dashed down upon the whites. , then a hand to hand conflict ensued, and though t of short duration, it was a bloody strife. with rare presence of mind onion bob seized his revolver, and evading with wonderful alertness the i flashing tomahawks of his foes, emptied every chamber j of his weapon into the savage crowd. " the effect was murderous in the extreme. one hideously painted monster received a ballet through bis head, another rolled to the ground his heart riddled with balls, while a third wiui a wild shriek and an up ward spring, a bullet wound in his breast, fell head ing to the ground. only one redskin was left, and as the trapper turned slash aw ay, tee fearless. from his bloody work, the savage in upon him, and bore him to the ground. then ensued a terrible struggle. ',-' yells, shrieks, curses, groans, rent the &;t, as like i two blood-hbunda the hunter and the sa?age fonghr. at length the redskin got in a blow ou the hunter's head that almost killed him, but at the same instant, ; the savage monster received in return a thrust from the hunter's knife, that laid him cold in death. then the hunter did what he neve* did before, bo i swooned away. in a few minutes consciousness began to return, and ! the first thing he thought of was edward hale. < the young cuss whar is he f ' said the hunter, feebly. a groan answered him. '' dying !" stammered the hunter, looking around ! him. " that he is, poor fellow, 7 ith his head busted." on the ground within a few feet of the trapper, lay edward hale, apparently dead as a stone. quickly the hunter approached him, felt of him, he , was warm ; placed his hand on his heart, it flut : tered ; then he whispered half to himself, half aloud : " the red buck war too much fer him, hit him on the head, nearly killed him. but he'll kirn to in a minute, fer his lips are on the move. thar, he's goin tu speak." the young man's eyes opened, his lips moved, and ke said this, looking straight into the hunter's face : 11 she plays the guitar and sings, and i thought i heard her. maybe i didn't, though. her name is margaret !" he said no more, but closing his eyes, fell back in a dead swoon. slash a way, the fearless. 49 chapter iv. among the indians. when edward hale fainted, onion bob quickly rose to hie feet, and half suspecting that bis friend was dead, muttered sorrowfully : " too bad, too cussed bad. thar's nothin' i hate to see so much, as a young chap 'ith his skull busted. drtrn me, ef 1 don't feel like blubberin' right out. but i must do somethin' for 7 im afore it is too late. what shall i do ?" it occurred to the trapper at this moment that there was a stream of water at no great distance away, and it also occurred to him that a little water on the head and face of the young man might .revive him, so he lost not a moment's time in procuring the water, arid using it as above. and that his remedy was a good one, the hunter had reason to believe, for no sooner had he applied it, than the young man began to show signs of life, tie muscles 'of his face twitched convulsively, his hands moved, and soon his eyes opened, his speech came to him, and he muttered, as one in a dream : " i have boon asleep, dreaming. i can see nothing ; it is dark. where am i, and who is una bending over me f" the hunter placed his hand on the young man's " > ' < tnil <ler, .and replied : ^jl's nil right, ujy lad. don't bother yerself about 60 slash a way, the fearless. whar ye are, bat git ter yer pins as soon as possible the fight is over, the red bucks are all dead, an' both uv our hides, thank god, are tolerably compact* are ye feelin' a trifle better, my innocence ?" the young man ans-wered in a voice a little stronger than at first : " yes, i am feeling better. i'll soon be up, i reckon, soon be on my feet. i must have had a ter* xible fall." the trapper corrected him in an instant. " it wasn't a fall ye had, young man/' he said, 41 not a fall, but a whack over the head ; ith a darn big club, tbet almost busted ye. thar was a bloody fought, ye know. don't ye bleeve it ? then look aroun ; ye ; an' see what a greasy muss thar is, an' be oon winced." as edward hale looked around him, he shuddered^ for he had never seen such a bloody sight before iii all his life* " terrible, terrible," he muttered, half rising to hu feet. "and you killed them all, every one of them, did ye ?" 11 thar's whar ye're right, young man," replied tb<$ trapper, with a jubilant laugh. " i killed 7 ern. j did." and i ? " "you? why, you got a crack over the head. didn't see ye kill anybody, an' i guess ye didn't. howsnmever, it don't matter now who did the killing one thing are sartin the red bucks are dead. are ye able tu move now, sonny 1" the young man rose to his feet, and finding that w could stand without trembling, replied as follows " i can get along, i guess, though i feel anything but strong. where shall we go ?" ' to the home of slashaway, the fearless," was the quick reply. " i've got business 'ith slashaway ." "but he's not at home." " how do ye know, young man ?" "i was there not more than three wvrs slashaway and i are friends." 8la8haway, the fearless. 51 the hunter turned on his young companion a pier cing : look, and with more force in his voice than was really necessary, inquired : ".do ye tell me that slashaway and you are friends 1 slashaway, the fearless, is mad so the people say bo how kirn ye to know him ?" " by accident," replied young hale, "and by acci dent i obtained his friendship. when we first met he t was going to kill me, but he got over that after' awhile, and together we went to his cave. he was very kind to me." the trapper muttered to himself in an abstracted manner. " strange, very strange," he said, " thet slashaway ehould take up 'ith a stranger. still it's jist as well thet the youngster an' he are friends." the hunter wiped the blood from his knife, and shouldering his rifle, with a quiet " come on "to his companion, stepped quickly over the bloody corpses of the redskins, and soon the two men were moving rapidly away from tho little fortress, wherein they had fought so nobly, and so nearly lest their lives. at length, it being nearly sundown, they came to a bait, on the edge of a slight ravine, and while ed ward collected chips and sticks with which to build a fire, the trapper started out to see what he could kill in the line of game. after a while he returned, bearing upon his back a deer, a portion of which he sofln bad roasting over the fire. the men were very hungry, and as the meat was tender and juicy, they ate it with a relish. after they had finished their repast, edward hale made a move to go on, but onion bob remarked that as it was nearly night, they had best remain where they were until the opening of the next day, to this the young man consented, so a quantity of dry leaves were gathered, upon which they could make their beds, and as comfortably as circumstances would admit, the two men lay down to rest. 52 slashaway, the fearless. but before he was quite asleep, edward hale in quired of the hunter, who had risen from the ground, and was sitting with his back against a tree, whether there was any danger of being disturbed by wolves. *' i've been told that there are more wolves than, redskins in this part of the country," he said, " and if that is the case, wo are liable to have a pack of the hungry monsters down upon us at any moment. how is it? are there an)' wolves hereabouts ?" onion bob snorted out an answer in these words : 11 wolves, young man, did ye say ?" why, blast ye, the timber is full uv 'em. wolves that chaw, wolves that howl an' snap, and try to devour ye big wolves. howsumever, i don't think we'll see any to night, an' why ? jist fer this reason : thar's four or five dead red bucks not more'n three miles from here, an' thar's whar the wolves will go. the critters will kirn from miles aroun', an' go right thar, straight as a string." " and is it safe for us to go to sleep f ' asked ed ward, with a little show of alarm. " are you net afraid ?" " 'fraid ?" replied the hunter, scornfully, " no i am not afraid, but ye are, an' tharfore ye'd better go tu sleep. i'll stay awake a spell, an' watch things, an ; ef anythin' suspicious turns up, i'll call ye. go tu sleep, i say, tu sleep." being very tired, the \^oungraan re-arranged his bed of leaves, and with his rifle by his side in easy reach, was soon sound asleep. u he kin sleep the little cuss but i can't," said onion bob, as soon as the heavy breathing of his com panion told him that the latter was asleep. " the youngster are mighty tired, i know, as well as weak from the lickin' he got, an' i want him tu sleep a long while an' get rested, fer thar's no knowin' what's afore us." the hunter ceased speaking, and for several minutes remained perfectly motionless. then he took a heavy, dark-colored pipe from his slashaway, the fearlks3 53 pocket, and filling and lightingit, remarked, as be put it to his mouth : " i'll smoke and watch and watch and smoke, an' the deeper i smoke, the closer i'll watch/' an hour passed by. onion bob, as good as his word, still pulled at his long, black pipe, while not a sound, not even the dropping of a leaf escaped him. at length about midnight, the hunter suddenly put aside his pipe, and turning his head, listened at what be thought was the distant baying 1 of wolves. after listening awhile he straightened up, and knocking the ashes from his pipe, whispered in a voice almost inaudible : " thar's music in the air, and i hear it, it's the howlin' uv wolves, an' cuss me, ef i don't b'lievc the red-tongued devils are comin' toward us. yas, i'm sure they are, i hear 'em now 'ithout listenin'. i reckon i'd better guv the boy a punch an' notify him uv the coming danger." taking the young man by the heels, the hunter cracked the two together, and in this very original way aroused edward from his slumbers. " what's the go, my friend ?" asked the young man, as soon as he was able to speak. " has anything gone wrong f" "listen sharp, an' ye'll know 'ithout assistance from me," answered onion bob. " do ye hear any thin r ' " i hear a variety of sounds/' was the reply, after a .short silence. " wai, do ye hear wolves ? i do/' "and they're comin' toward us," said the young man, with no apparent notice of the trapper':? \orus. " what shall we do ?" " stay whar we are, i reckon," replied tbo hunter. " your shooter is a good one, an' so is mine. v'o thrashed the ingins a while ago, an' now we'll lick the wolves." attracted by the fire, as well as by the meat the hunter had roasted, a pack of ferocious timber wolves 64 slash a way, the fearless. carae up the ravine, and goon our two friends had almost as much to fear from them, as they had ffom the redskins from whom they had so recently and so miraculously escaped. " i hadn't calculated on so many." growled onion bob, as ho counted at least a dozen red-tongned boasts, growling and snapping at various points not over a rod away. " burn 'em, how they howl. yer, take this and begone." quick as a flash the hunter seized a burning brand, and with a yell meant to startle the wolves, hurled the red torch in the midst of the hungry crowd, which had the effect of scattering them in every direction. but they soon came back, and fiercer than ever be gan to show their glistening teeth at edward and the hunter, while at the same time they rushed in and out of the darkness, howling and snarling, snapping and barking, in a way that convinced the men that to fall into their clutches would be an affair serious in the extreme. " it's only the fire that keeps 'em back, young man," said the hunter, as halo tossed a stick or uo more on. the glowing coals. " it's a risk tho' this fire for the red bucks might see it, an' then " " it would be, all day with us/' put in the young man. "come to think of it, suppose we let tue fire go out, and climb a tree. what do you sav ?'' "it might be a good plan, and it might not," re plied the hunter. " it ain't so easy climbin' a tree 7 ith a gun.' ; "if we manage it right, it won't be much .of a trick," responded hale, with great confidence in big voice. "you get up first, i'll hand you the shooters, then i'll follow you. come on." onion bob thought the plan of his young friend a good one, so he prepared to act upon it at once. about a dozen yards from the fire stood a large qak tree, whose branches grew very low and thick, and ; on this tree the hunter had his eye, though how to reach it without being devoured bj the hungry moutere slash a way. the fearlbsa ft gathered around it, was a problem which the hunter could not solve. " we mought make a rush fer it," said he, " but ten chances tu one we'd git chawed inter strings afore we got ihar. kin ye think uv any thin', my lad? ef ye kin, spit it out." j edward hale did not reply, but seizing a brightly ] burning stick from the fire, gave a startling yell, (while at the same time he rushed for the tree around which the wolves were gathered, waving his brand as > tie ran, ' the ruse was successful. the wolves seeing the flaming brand coming toward them, scattered in every direction. then the young man cried out : "don't you see how easy it is? pick up another stick, and come on." the trapper did not wait a second invitation, but seizing a fire-brand, made a rush for the tree, which he reached just as the feet of his young fiiend disap peared'in the foliage above him. " give me the rifles," said the young man, reaching down his hand. <; hoist 'em up, quick." the two weapons were in the speaker's hand in an instant, and in an instant more the hunter was climb ing the tree like a squirrel. " pretty good, pretty good," chuckled onion bob, very well pleased with his new position. " now we'll sit yer an' pop ; em off 'ith nobody tu say aught agin it. thar, look; the hungry varmints are begin < nm' tu show thai teeth n'read^. wai, let 'em growl i an' fight j we don't care." i snapping, snarling, growling, snuffing the air, the | "wolves came slowly toward the fire, and seeing no one 1 there to molest them, made quite bold at length, and began to devour that which the men, had left of their evening meal. at first there was enough for all, but soon the pick ing got so poor that the hungry beasts began to fight 6fc slashaway, the fearless. among themselves, creating a horrible din, to whiol. the men listened with a sort of grim satisfaction. at length edward hale thought it about time to in terfere, so he took good aim at the seeming leader of the pack, and fired. the wolf struggled a moment, then rolled over on the ground, and was quickly pitched into by his com panions, who tore him to pieces, and devoured him in an instant. " the bloody devils," exclaimed the young man, as he saw the ugly beasts picking the bones of their comrade. " the wolf was scarcely dead when they began to snck his blood. well, here goes again." once more the young man's rifle sounded, and a^rain a dusky brute rolled to the ground. then onion bob put iu a shot with a like result. but the hungry monsters would not be frightened away, but devoured one another with a relish, that, to young halo, was sickening. "oh, they're durned nigh famished, the critters,* remarked the hunter, as he rammed home the charge in his gun. "the best way tu feed 'em, is to kill t em. so load up, my lad, an' blaze away." as the hunter spoke, ho leveled his rifle at an open jawed monster, and, without any particular ,aim, blazed away. at the same moment edward hale put in a shot, and, almost simultaneously, two howling brutes keeled over in the throes of death. "we raought as wel) let up on 'em," said the hun ter, after a moment's silence, " fer we're only gittin' away 'hh our ammunition to no purpose. drat me, ef 1 aiirt afraid we'll hev the red bucks down on us ef we continue this rumpus. s'pose we roll up, an' go tu sleep." this proposition struck edward hale as being very comical, and he laughed, as he replied : " i've had all the sleep i shall get to-night, and as for roosting in a tree, i couldn't possibly do it." slashaway, the fearless 57 " but ye kin sleep on the ground v queried the bunter, in a low voice. "yes.* " then let us git down. look, thar's not a wolf tu be seen." with a doubtful expression on his face, edward hale did as he was bid, and true enough, not a wolf could he see. "gone, every rascal of them," said he, looking to ward the fire. " what could have frightened them away ?" "i don't know, i am sure," answered the trapper, in a voice that sounded very cold and strange. " i am * 'fraid tho', mighty 'fraid " " of what ?" quickly interrupted the young man. f " of tngins !" was tlie reply. "thovolvsa left us very suddint, ye know, thet's suspicious." " but the redskins what have they to do with it?'"' " wolves don't like redskins very �ejl, and redskins don't like wolves," was the odd reply, " tharfore the two don't kim together.* 1 "and do you think the red fiends have discovered us ?" questioned the young man with considerable alarm. "have the} 7 taken the place of the wolves t the hunter's reply was emphatic. " i think the red bucks are watching us from the ground," lie said. " in my opinion we are done fer !" edward hale was silent a moment, thinking, then be asked : " is tl ere anything we can do ?" "nothin' but stay whar we are/' was the reply. " ef we could reach the ground '"' j " but we can't if the redskins are watcliin' us. the : l moment we attempt to descend, we'll et positive f warning that it won't go. really, 1 know not \liat ;: to do in this emergency. have you nothing to sug gest r the hunter answered quietly, though in a voice full of determination : " thar's nothiu' we kin do but tu roost yer atu^ tl? 58 slashaway, the fearles& break ol day. in two hours from now it will bo light." with this the hunter pulled his cap over his eyes and refused to say another word, while edward hale, with many gloomy forebodings pressing in on his mind, watched and waited for the coming of the moming'a dawn. t an hour passed by. all was still, all was silent, f not even a leaf rustled, and edwai'd began to think that they were surrounded by perils only imaginary. | but he was soon undeceived. at the first, appearance of light the report of a .rifle ; rang out upon the air. and the men heard the. whiz of a bullet a foot or two above their heads. "a warning said the trapper, quietly. u we'll hear some more of the same music prectv soon. " thar p again a rifle cracked, and again a bullet whizzed over their heads, this time in such close proximity to the hunter's cap, that he involuntarily gave a start which caused him to lose his balance, and he fell headlong, rifle and all, to the ground. at first the trapper thought that every bone in bis body was broken, but this point he had but a moment to consider, for in less than no time three or four screaming redskins were upon him, pounding and ham meiing him into the ground. the trapper turned and twisted, struggled haxd.fco get away, but failing, at length he cried out : " havings an' yearth ! are ye goin' to murder me f pile off, ye nasty brutes, an 1 let me up. i'll surren der, 1 will, by mighty. git off, i say." : satisfied that their prisoner would not attempt to get away, the redskins ceased pounding him,. and rising, with more than brutal ferocity, pulled or rather hoisted , him to his feet. i "durn pretty cusses, ye are," growled the hunter, as he wiped the blood from his face. " what in thun der d'ye mean by treatin' a gentleman trapper r ith so much rudeness ?' ; slashaway, the fealtlbsa 59 if onion bob expected a satisfactory answer to this, fie was mistaken in the men with whom he had to deal all they did was to laugh and yell, and punch him ia ibe side and breast with their guns. 1 5 at length the seeming leader of the band got off \ this in tolerable english : "i " big white cuss tumble from tree, almost break hia '; bead. how like fall, eh ?" " i don't like it very much," replied the trapper ia a voice anything but pleasant. " an' then tu hev a pack uv miserable skunks ready to massacre ye, ar another thing i can't appreciate. what are ye goin 1 tu do ? ith me, ole man ? i am re.ady to travel. come on." the redskin grinned. " another feller in tree," he chuckled, as he peered through the branches. " don't s'pose warrior going to leave him ?" onion bob's countenance fell. he had hoped tho redskins would pass his young friend by. " i thought maybe the devils didn't know he war tbar," whispered the hunter. "wai, let them take ; im." edward hale saw at once that the best thing he could do, was to give himself up without delay, so he quickly came down from the tree, and allowed his hands to be bound behind him. a few m?nites the redskins waited, then, driving their captives before them, they moved swiftly and *way. slash aw ay, the fearless. chapter, v. the wou an of specttce isle. the village of the redskins was about fifteen mile* from the wood in which edward hale and his trapper friend were taken prisoners, and to this village the whites were driven with all possible speed. they reached their destination a little after midday, and were greeted by a noisy crowd of savages, who could not heap indignities enough on their defenceless captives. at length onion bob was taken in tow by four or five stalwart rascals, who thrust him into a sort of rude hut, ami chained him to the ground. then ; returning, they seized edward hale, and soon he, too, was thrust into a dungeon-like arrange ment, and bound securely to the floor. the jail or dungeon in which edward hale -was imprisoned, was divided into two wings or compart ments, and the partition was of logs rudely hewn and put together. the jail was also quite light and dry. the floor was of sand. for several minutes after his captors had gone, the youug man remained very quiet, thinking ; then he thought he heard a sound that resembled very much the regular breathing of a person asleep. elaseiaway, the fearless. ffc but be could see nobody, and to investigate while h: t;upresent position was out of the question. u 1 believe there is another prisoner here some where/' whimpered the young man, as he attempted to arise. " if 1 could reach the wall, i would soon find out who it it. suppose i call out." suiting the action to the word, edward exclaimed aloud ; li who's there f friend or foe ; answer me. i am a prisoner." the breathing stopped almost instantly, a moment of silence ensued, then a voice, low and sweet, in* quired : " who are you? am i dreaming, or did some one speak to me ?" " some one spoke to you, i reckon/ 7 replied hale, dryly. " it was i." *'and who are you?' 7 inquired the voice, in the same low, sweet tones as before. " you are a man, i know, but your name " " is edward hale," was the quick reply. " i am a prisoner, the same as yourself, i suppose. but tell me your .name." a full minute the silence was unbroken, then the voice said sweetly : " it will do you no good to know my name. we shall never see each other." " but 1 must know it; do not deny me." there was a moment of silence, then the voice re plied ; " my name is marguret." edward hale started as though a rifle-bs.il had hit him, and for full five minuter could not speak for the varied thoughts that filled his mind. " and her name is marguret/ 7 thought the young man, " the same name that slashaway, the fearless, so often repeated. the woman of spectre isle margaret, marguret. i wonder if she plays the guitar^ and sings. 7 ' 62 slash a way, the fearless lie stilled bis throbbing heart by an effort of hia will, and asked: il your name is margaret, you say. now answer me' this : do yon play the guitar, and do you sing?" it was an odd question, but the woman answered it at once. " 1 play, the guitar/' she said, " sometimes, and sometimes i .sing." edward hale, more perplexed than ever, closed his eyes, and began to think. it seemed to him that he had been holding converse with an apparition. he thought of the golden-haired woman of whom saul slashaway had spoken the woman who had so sin gularly stood between the hunter and sandy jim. " you mustn't think me a ghost," spoke up the girl, after a while ; " i am only a young thing, and a cap tive, like yourself. you asked me if i play and sing. "why did you ask me that?" the young man replied at once: " because i heard some one playing the guitar the other day, and somehow i thought, i thought " "what?" tl that the musician was yourself. i do not know, i really do not know. tell me if i am right." the woman spoke up with sudden earnestness. '* it was ny guitar that you heard, and i was the player, i saw you, but you did not see me." " then you are the woman of spectre isle you live there t" " i live with black nathan, the hermit of spectre isle. my name is marguiet." " and your other name " " you shall not know ; at least, not now. i do not know you.'' determined to find out all he could, edward hale continued : "'i heard you sing and play, and i saw black nathan, as you call him. it was he who saved my life;" " no, you are wrong." slashaway, the feahi^ess. 63 *how,p " but for me, black nathan would not have raised a finger in your behalf. by accident i discovered sandy jim's 'intentions, i entreated the hemrit. to -fol lowhim and save your life which he did. what think you now ?" edward hale could but utter his thanks in broken words, for it seemed to him that he was dreaming a wild, rnad dream. j "strange, strange," he said to himself, at. length. j " i am not mad, i am not dreaming, still i scarcely 4 know what i am about. i never heard a sweeter vice than margaret's, i never felt my heart beat as it does now. if i could see her angel face, how happy i should be. i wonder if sho is bound, at> i am, to a rock. i will ask her." he spoke to her tenderly, and asked her if she was bound, but though ho repeated his question several times, not a wortf reached him in return. then he began to wonder what had become of her, whether or no he had said anything to offend her, and somehow his mind turned on angel visitants, and it occurred to him that maybe marguret was one of them. " still she spoke to me," he said, trying to shake off tbe feeling of dread that was creeping over him. " maybe she is sleeping. i'll call again." he cried out louder than before, " marguret, mar guret," but no one answered him, the adjoining room was still. then he said to himself in a whisper : " she is gone, marguret, my angel, gone, gone." just then the clanging of a heavy oaken door, and the rapid tramping of feet reached his ear, and with i this he thought he heard the rough voice of onion bob, ' the trapper, approaching from a point to the left of liirn, several yards away. and he was right. onion bob was soon thrust un ceremoniously into the dungeon adjoining the one in which ed waul hale w bound, and with his hands laetened behind him, his feet securely tied, he was left to hirosel, 64 slashaway, the fearless. but before many minutes had elapsed, he let his presence be known, by exclaiming, in his usual, bluff way : lt thunder an' gnakes! i don't like this arrange ment one bit j the varmints hev tied my paws tighter'n lightning an' my hoofs i can't budge. i'll be smashed ef i kin do anythin' but roll aroun' like a chicken 'itk his head off. i wonder whar edward is." t^e young man lost no time in informing the hun ter wvere he was. "i am here, old boy," he said, loud enough for the huntei to hear him. " if you can come a little nearer, do so, ror i want to talk to you." the trapper rolled himself over and over, until he reached the partition, when he vociferated, while he pounded the logs with his head : "te don't tell me thet ye are in thar, does ye, ed ward ? why, gosh, i thought the red bucks had killed ye. my lightnin' ! but i'm glad you're yer. how does ye feel ?" 11 not much like crowing," replied edward, dryly. " i should like to get out very well." " and so should i/' replied the hunter. " do ye know what they're goin' tu do 'ith us the red imps ?'' " no, do you ?" <'yas; "i seed 'em pilin' brush, an' dry wood, an' chips over thar ; an" i reckon, wal, i reckon " " that they're going to burn us alive, roast us?" " thet's what i've concluded." there was silence a moment, when edward hale remarked : " what time of day should you call itf ?; il &bout four o'clock in he arternoon, i reckon," replied onion bob, without much consideration. " and how much longer have we got to live f* " ef it's roastin' they intend tu guv us, we'll git it about midnight. oh, they'll hev a roarin' time the devils." the young man thought a moment, evidently not slas3away, the fearless. 65 very greatly impressed with the hunter's laconic ob servations. he spoke at last. " i don't like to die this dog's death," he said, " and hall not, if i can help it. how are you bound tightly?" " tightly ?" grunted the hunter, " i should say so. all i kin do is tu roll over an' over like a barrel. 'i'm up a stump/ as they say, completely." edward hale made no reply, but began to work his | hands back and forth, half believing he could free j them in a short time by a succession of twists and pulls. the hunter heard him at his work, and divining what he was about, urged him on by saying : " ye kin du it, my lad, i reckon, ef ye try hard enough, fer these cussed leather straps sometimes give like thunder. so pull an' twist, an' yank an' jerk, an' may the good lord help ye." the young man worked until he was tired, which was very soon, then he lay quiet a few moments, after which, the woman suddenly coming into his mind, he said : " you and i are not the only prisoners, onion bob ; there is a woman to keep us company." " a woman !" echoed the trapper. " whar is she, whar is she ?" the young man hesitated a moment, then replied : " i do not" know, i really do not know; i did not see her, i only heard her voice. she was in the room j where you are j at least i thought so, i thought so." " but don't ye know, ye leetle cuss ? whar was | she, i soy, whar was she ?" " she. was in there, but she disappeared suddenly, | and you took her place. you must have seen her, ' certainly," " but i didn't, by a darn sight," answered the hun ter, sharply. " did ye learn her name, ye monkey ?" the young man winced under the hunter's sharp re torts, 'but controling himself, he replied : t66 slash away, the fearless. "her whom) is 'margaret, and she is a resident of spectre isle." * for some reason onion bob was silent. five min utes passed, then be spoke, but what he said was to lira self. " saul slashaway, poor devil, he has more trouble nor any one else. ef i war he, i'd go crazy, too crazy as a bug. i hope the redskins won't kill her fer slashaway 's sake. he thinks a heap o' her, he does, o' 'margaret, an 7 i don't wonder at it, fer she's a fine lass, a mighty fine lass." the hunter ceased muttering, and for some minutea buried himself in silent thought. ; he was aroused at length by edward calling out excitedly : " i'm free, old man, i'm free j that is, my hands are free, and i'll soon loosen my feet, then i'll come to you. glory, glory, glory." tho young man was as good as his word, for his feet were soon untied, and he was on his way to the assistance of onion bob. but here arose an obstacle that for a moment ap peared nnsurmoantable, and the obstacle in question was the log partition. edward examined it, but at first could see no way of getting through it, and his heart began to fail himj when onion bob suggested : " ef ye can't git over, maybe ye kin crawl under,; the floor is urv sand, ye know. begin to dig an f scratch like the devil, my lad, an' i'll wager my hat ye'll succeed/ 7 the suggestion ot the hunter was a good one, and the young man lost no time in useless argument, but began' to work with a will. after digging in the sand a while, he whispered^ just loud enough for onion bob to hear : " i am doing bravely, old fellow, bravely. i'll soon be through." " it was a pretty tight squeeze, but edward hale, ot be defeated, got right down to business, and soon slash a way, the fearless. 9f ftis lithe, slender form pushed into the light of the room where onion bob was bound. the old hunter was delighted at the success ofbis old friend, and when the latter untied his hands and feet, and assisted him to arise, he exclaimed with en ergy : " ye are a bully boy, ed'urd, an' worth a dozen common fellers. gosh o' mighty ! yer right up an* com in'." the young man acknowledged the liunter'g compli ments with a sruile, but he quickly changed the sub ject, by saying : " so far so good, but what are we to do nest ? the redskins may corne in at any moment, then what would become of us ? we must do something at once, what shall it bef before replying, the hunter gave the room a careful examination. u i don't see any way fer us to git out/' he said, " fehet is, at present. we mought burst, a holo in the roof, but we can't do ic no�, the red bucks' ud see .us." u but to-night we can, i reckon," quickly rejoined the yonng man, " and it will soon be dark. but should the redskins visit us before then, what are we to. do?" the hunter picked up from the floor a couple of stones weighing about a pound each, and giving ouo of them to edward, he said, while his eye. 1 * glittered : u ef they come, the red imps, don't stop to think, knock 'em down, brain 'em, then run lor yer life tu the woods, any \har. the red murderers can't more than kill ye, an' ef ye give in, they'll kill ye suro." but fortunately the redskins did not trouble them, and it was dark almost before thay knew it. "i believe a storm is brewing, i hear.it thunder," uhispered young hale, as he crouched down in one corner of the room. " anyhow, it .is going to.beverv dark." " the darker it is the better fer us," grunted the 68 slashaway, the fearless. trapper, as he groped aronnd the room, " and ef it thunders good and stiong, i'll be satisfied." edward hale was about to reply, when at this mo ment the heavy, oaken door sung open with a clang-, and the black figure of an indian warrior stood con fronting the captives. in one hand the savage held a brand of fire, in the other, a piece of meat of about two pounds in weight, which he thrust forward with a giunt. u won't kill white cusses to-night, kill to-morrow,' 1 snarled the painted imp, as he offered the meat ta onion bob. " paleface devils burn like prairie grass. how like to burn, eh ?" for some cause or other the heavy, oaken door at this moment swung to, and as the savage turned as if to open it, the hunter, with the nimbleness of a pan ther, sprang upon him, and grasping him by the throat so that he could not scream, bore him heavily to the ground, then quick as a flash, he pulled a long knife from the redskin's belt, and with one powerrul stroke ended the monster's life. then he said, as he grasped young hale by the shoulder : " the time has come, my lad, fer pluck an y fight. thar are at least a dozen red bucks guardiri' this she bang, an' what we're goin' to du, is to bust right through 'em. so gather a rock, my innocence, an. 1 " f oiler me." fear to delay lest the guards should suspicion that all was not right, onion bob quickly opened the cfoor, and closely followed by edward hale, pushed boldly past the growling sentinels, who at first did not know tbem from their dusky friends. but they soon discovered their mistake, and with blood-curdling yells, started in pursuit. and then ensued a very lively race, which, but for the darkness, would have resulted in favor of the redskins. as it was, one of the whites, edward hale, was re taken, but not by the rascals in pursuit. the way of it was this : as edward and onion bob slashaway, the fearless os were bounding along, tbey became separated, and in the darkness, took almost opposite directions, and tl* first that edward hale knew, he ran plump into some thing, which at first he thought was a tree, brit which he soon discovered was a redskin. but he made this discovery too late, for the redskin hurled him to the ground in a twinkling, and being a very powerful savage, held him down, while he howled lustily for help. and help appeared in about ten seconds, in the chape of a score of dusky brutes who soon jerked the young man to his feet, and as tbey drove him along, kicked and pounded him in the most shameful manner. so in ten minutes from the time he escaped from tbe jail, he went back to it, bruised and bleeding, and thinking, and not without reason, that he would neve* come out alive. as for onion bob, he out-distanced his pursuers, and escaped to the woods. " the old trapper will help me if he can," said the young man to himself, as the redskins left him, bound to the floor of the jail. " i am afraid, though, very much afraid it's all up with me." an hour passed. it was very dark, and the night was creeping on. still the savages did not go to their wigwams, but kept up a continual howl outside the jail. " what do they mean, the rascals ?" questioned ed ward hale, at length. "it cannot be that they in tend to torture me to-night. still i hear the crackling of flames, and the smell of burning wood comes to xrie. merciful heavens ! my flesh fairly creeps. hark ! i hear them corning. god help me, lam lost!" howling, screaming, yelling, arid shouting, half a score of blood-thirsty knaves suddenly made a rush for the prison-house, and bursting down the door, seized young hale, and with more than brutal ferocity dragged him to the stake of torture. then they begaa to dance around him, scream their horrid music in lia cars, thrust burning brands into his face, kick 30 8lashaway, the fearless. pound him, until, goaded to desperation, lie cried out for them to kill him at once, and so end his misery. but this the savage brutes did not intend to'do; they preferred rather to murder him by degrees, and with this purpose in view bound him to a fire-charred stake, and began to heap brush-wood and dry leaves around him ; then firing the pile, they shrieked; yelled, and danced about the slowly creeping flames like so many demons. it was a horrible mcment foi young hale ; he fully realized his situation, and as the hissing, crackling fire approached him nearer *nd nearer, writhing, twining, squirming, he set hi* teeth firmly together, as if determined to die without a murmur. but the redskins were equally determined that he should show his agony j they renewed the tortures, kicked, and struck him, and to make the horror more intense, blistered his face, hands, and arms with burn ing brands. his agony was frightful. he felt as if he would instantly expire. every fibre of his frame shuddered, and he knew that he was rapidly sinking into uncon sciousness. still the fire raged, blistered, and burned ; the skin was beginning to crumble away, shriveling up like parchment, and gaping cracks appeared in the flesh, from which blood spurted forth, and hissed upon the glowing coals. this was more than human nature ouh endure. the young man fainted. /s&a8haway, the fearless. 31 chapter vi. to the kesci7e. th moment edward hale's consciousness left him, and be sank, as it wore, a helpless lump into the fire, the indians, satisfied with the tortures, kicked aside the brands, and cutting the cords with which he was bound, carried him to the nearest wigwam, and there tried every means in their power to bring him to. in a short time they succeeded, and the young man opened his eyes and talked aloud, and so vividly did the horrible past come to him, that he shuddered in* voluntarily. "they almost roasted me, the devils, and i wonder very much why they saved me," the young man said. " i am horribly burned." then turning to an old, weather-beaten hag, who seemed to be the only person in the room, he asked : " who are you ?" the old squaw looked up with a wicked scowl, and " my name is sleeping wave. i am almost a devil. don't ye believe it ? then try to get away, and see." "and did you dress my burns?" questioned tli young man, as he pressed his hand to his face. the old hag answered at once. "i did; i rubbed some ointment on them; th* 72 slashaway, the fearless. braves thought you would die ; i said no, i'd malt* you live. i wanted yon to live, for 1 wanted to se* you burn again. next time no one will help you-** burn to a crisp." i edward shuddered, for it now occurred to him whj the red fiends had saved his life. he was to be tor tured at the stake a second time he was to be burned alive. the thought was a horrible one ; too horrible to be long entertained, and edward hale wrestled with it until his heart fluttered wildly, and he groaned aloud. then he spoke. *' it was no kindness in yni, then, to save my life,* he said ; " i wish you had let rne die. i was strong, then, now i am weak. i am a coward. heavens! how the thought makes me shudder," j the old witch laughed a horrible laugh, and her wild, vindictive merriment, so out of place, so terrible, geemed to edward hale a species of devilish mockery. " ye don't wan't to die, then afraid, are ye ?" sneered the old hag, approaching so near the young man that her breath touched his face. u just like all the rest afraid of death. i know the palefaces well; i've lived among them; they are cowards/' the old witch spoke such good english, that ed ward was not surprised when she informed him that she had spent several years among the whites. " and did they ever treat you ill the whites f" he asked, a singular thought at that instant coming into his mind, " did they try to burn you at the stake ?" the old hag scowled, and a bitter laugh escaped her. " the paleface are dogs," she snarled, "and i hate them. look at this scar and ask me if they tried to kill rne. dog ! devil ! wretch, look !" she bent her neck, and edward saw thereon a scar extending half way round an ugly wound it must have been, and the young man lost no time in asking her how she got it. *' he almost killed me, the white devil, tried to cut slashaway, the fearless. 73 my throat," replied the squaw, and her eyes glittered, j " shall j tell you how it happened v 11 yes, tell me all about it," replied the young man, impatiently. " your face startles me, it looks so familiar. have i not seen you before to-night, some where ? i think i have. but let me have your story, now, at once. what! you think i can tell it better? '. well, then, listen, for here it is." i " ahout seven years ago, as near r.s i can remem ber," began edward, " i was visiting friends in a large western city, and while there, had occasion to render assistance to an old indian woman, who was selling bead trinkets and so forth, on the streets. the way of it was this: it was near nightfall, and the old woman was on her way to her lodging-house, when she was met by three or four drunken scoundrels, who attempted to possess themselves of the articles in her basket, without paying for them. of course the old woman resisted, and a scuffle ensued in which the squaw was roughly handled, she cried, ' jklurder ! murder 1* then something in the indian tongue: and i, who hap pened to be near at that time, ran to her assistance. and i was just in time. one of the cowardly rascals leld a knife in his hand, and i noticed that it was covered with blood, and when i rushed up, he was about to strike a second time, which no doubt would have ended her existence. but i was too quick for him. before his knife could descend, my cane, which was a heavy one, carne down on his head with such force, that his knife flew out of his hand, and he him self fell sprawling to the ground. what happened uext, you know as well as i, for you are the old in dian woman whose life i saved." sleeping wave, the old indian witch, heard the young man through without a woid, but when he turned on her to verify the truthfulness of his story, she said : " the young paleface speaks the truth. i am the old indian woman whose life was saved by. the white boy several years ago. when they brought you 5n^ 74 8lashaway, the fearless. the bravea i knew i had seen you before. 1 thought, i studied, i wondered, then your face came to me, and i was satisfied. you saved my life, now what shall i do for you ? sleeping wave never for gets a kindness. 77 edward hale did not answer for some minutes j he was revolving in his mind how he should proceed with the old witch, for, if it was her purpose to befriend . trim, he wanted to be sure of everything beforehand. \ "i saved your life, you say," he begunat last, | "now what should you do for me save mine, of i course. i am in a tight box, am doomed to a horrible * death, am friendless, alone, only you can save me. i helped you when you needed it, now help me." the dark, scowling face of the old hag bent over the young man, and her eyes glittered savagely, as ehe replied : " the paleface is a coward, he is afraid to die, he wants sleeping wave to gave his life. sleeping wave is a squaw." "she is a woman," returned the young man, " and the paleface boy saved her life, that is enough he will die." the old squaw paced the room back and forth sev eral times, then stopping by the side of the young man, she bent her head, and said in a voice firm, but scarcely audible : "do not fear, sleeping wave will see that the young man escapes. bloody knife is a great warrior, and would kill the old squaw, if he knew what is in her heart. there is plenty of time, the braves are sat isfied, they say you shall live a week, then die. i say you shall live longer, and i speak the truth. but beware what you say, what you think, what you dream sleeping wave is a devil, and if you betray her, you die the death of a dog. beware !" edward hale had no disposition to betray the old witch ; in fact, all he cared for was to escape/ so he answered her unhesitatingly. "do not fear that i shall do anything to betray slashaway, the fbarlbs8. 75 you. .art i ask of you is to give me a little lift in the direction of freedom. you are kind, very kind, to help me. i thank you. w the old bag said nothing, bat seating herself in one corner of the room, doubled herself up in a sort of > $eap, and apparently went to sleep. j but she was only dozing, as edward soon oiscov | ered, for the moment he would move or make a noise { in any way, her eyes were on the alert, aad her ears : ready to take in every sound. in this way matters continued until morning, when the old hag aroused herself and began to look to the wants of the young paleface captive, who certainly weeded her assistance, for his burns were hurting him considerable, and he was very sore and lame. " no sleep, no rest, no nothing," said the old woman, as she bent over him. " next time sleep bet ter, then get well." pouring some ointment frcm a poach, the old bag dressed the young man's burns, and soon he felt easier, besides being very thankful for her kindness. lie would now get well. the. old woman built a fire, baked a sort of bread, roasted a venison stake, and with a little herb tea, brought edward his morning meal. the young man was very hungry, and ate what was set before him with a relish, not did he care very tm'cii when the old hag gave him a wicked bcowl, for he fully believed that she would aid him to escape. ; time passed on. the sun came up full of beauty, and its welcome light stole into the wigwam, danced ! over the young man's face, toyed with his hair, and seemed to speak to him. at -length sleeping wave went oat, and edward rose partly to his feet, and looked around him, for to discover, if he could, how many red devils were guard* ing the building, was his intention. but he could see nothing, hear nothing, but a noisy yelp of dogs, the cry of children, and au occasional whoop of eome last? warrior returning from the chasa ?8 slashaway, the fearless. " they are going to let me rest awhile, i guess, the imps," siiid the young man, as he returned to his conch of furs. "however, that i am closely guarded is plain enough, for the redskins know their business too v;ell to give me a single chance of escape. i am afraid that sleeping wave cannot help me, very much ;t f raid." the old squaw returned after a short absence, and edward saw at once that her mind was ill at ease j something had gone wrong j she was sullen, morose, and little inclined to speak. determined to learn what had induced this change, edward asked : "are 3*ou ill, or have you seen something to dis turb you? what are the warriors about this morn ing f the old witch looked up with a frown, and an swered between her teeth : " the captive girl must die i" the young* man sprang up with a sudden bound, and for a moment his heart fluttered, his eyes looked mildly around him, and it seemed to him that he could fee the fair girl-captive margaret, he supposed -suf fering all the horrors through which he himself had passed, then falling a charred and sightless lump to the ground. then he tried to speak, but he could not lie could only groan. " what ails ye, lad f. said the old squaw, at length " is the white girl anything to you t } "more than any one can tell," replied edward, with liis eyes full on the old hag's face "she is young and beautiful, is she not? 7 ' "she is young," answered the old witch, scowling, " and she may be beautiful i don't know what beauty is. anyway, she burns to-night. bloody knife has spoken j that is enough." edward was silent a moment, thinking. the first thrill of horror and surprise had passed, and he was taow coolly calculating on the chances of his own escape, and wondering how he coald be of service to slash away, the fearless 7t the beautiful girl-captive, in this her day of trial, won dering if he could not rescue her from her cruel cap tors, or in some way induce them to save her life. " the redskins are very cruel to kill her, a girl, innocent and beautiful," said the young man, at .length. "she has been with them several days; it seems strange that they should kill her now." edward hesitated, and look at the old hag, who answered him in a sort of fiendish satisfaction. )" the young braves make fools of themselves," she began, " they think the pale squaw beautiful, and they quarrel and light, and kill one another just for her. bloody knife is wise, he loves to see peace among his warriors, and he knows how to get it he will put the young girl to death." " and you say she dies to-night ?" put in edward, gtill calculating on the chances of her escape, "she dies by fire to-night ?" " bloody knife says so, and he always speaks the truth," replied sleeping wave, with a bitter, unnatural laugh. "i wanted to kill her myself, but they wouldn't let me the warriors i wanted to tear her limb from limb, i hate her 1" -" then you have seen her, know how she looks, and can describe her. i know her, and still i do not know her. my eyes have never beheld her." "then why do ye whine so about her, ye devil?" yelled the witch. " what if she does burn* what id it to you ?" ; " a good deal, i love her." ' the old hag laughed loud and long, she seemed to enjoy the young man's discomfiture, appeared to glory in his distress. " ye love her, do ye ?" at length she sneered. 4t maybe ye'd like to see her before she dies. shall i bring her here." the young man's face flushed, his heart fluttered wildly, and hoping that the beautiful girl captive might be bronght to him, he answered : 78 8la8haway, the fearless. " i should like to see her very much. cannot yon take me to her f the old witch laughed mockingly, and there was a savage glitter in her eyes as she replied : "the little paleface squaw must die. sleeping wave cannot save her cannot even see her; she is guarded by the braves of bloody knife, and to-night she burns at the stake. do ye wish to see her? then come with me to-night and you shall see her as she writhes in the flames, shrieks, screams and yells ; she will be lovely then, and her screams of agony will be as music in your cars.'' she seemed to take especial delight did this old she-devil in depicting the agonies of a captive at the stake, and not til) edward shrieked out for her to cease her devilish jargon, did she stop talking of the coming horror. " she's as blood-thirsty as the rest the old heathen,* muttered edward, as the hag, with a savage grow!, left the room. " i expect every minute to have her thrust a knife into me. i am not satisfied that she is my friend, that she is sincere in her promises of assist ance. i distrust her, she is an indian/' the young man was still a moment, listening j he thought he heard a scratching, scraping sound coming from the outside of the wigwam, and apparently againsmhe logs near his head. a moment he listened, the sounds were a great deal more distinct, a voice was whispering to him too low to be understood it was only to attract his attention. he placed his ear to a chink in the wall and listened, while his heart fluttered as though it would burst its bounds. "who speaks to me?" he said at length, " the white or the red ?" the man on the outside whispered through the chink : " it is i, saul slashaway, and i have come to . you. are you bouad f " 8la8kaway, the fearlessl 79 it seemed to edward that a mighty weight had been lifted from him, and he replied, joyfully : " i am not bound, i am badly injured. the red skins did it attempted to burn me alive. come in.*' "where is the old witch ?" " " gone i don't know where. are ye not afraid of the redskins f ' "no, pm a redskin myself, just now. i killed a red buck and changed clothes with him, and painted toy face i'll pass, i reckon. but you shall see for yourself." the hut of sleeping wave was ot conspicuously situated, and as a consequence, slaehaway got into it unobserved, though, had the redskins seen him they would have suspicioned nothing, so cunningly was he disguised. " i look pretty well, don't i f ' said the old man, taking young hale by the shoulder. " i'll pass, i reckon/' edward looked sharply into the hunter's face, then surveyed his eccentric costume, after which he ex claimed : '" a perfect indian ! i wouldn't have known you had you not told me your name. how did you find me out f who guided you v " i needed no guide," replied the hunter. " i know every wigwam in the village, i am almost an indian." " but you left me in your cave ; how did you know of rny capture by the redskins ?' ; " onion bob told me." u then you have seen onion bob ?" w yes j he is waiting for me now on the outskirts of the village ; he was near you last evening when the red varmints had you at the stake ; he told me all, and here i am to save j t ou and and murguret. have you seen her, my marguret, anywhere v 9 with downcast eyes the young man answered : " no, i have not, but her voice 1 heard j we were prisoners together. she spoke of you," what did she say ? 80 slashaway, the fearless. u she said she knew you, and and-loved i wondered that she should say so." the old man's voice quivered. why shouldn't she love me ?" he said, at length} '*' bhe is my daughter." edward had suspicioned as much, but now he knfrw for a certainty that marguret was the daughter of slashaway, the fearless. " she did not tell me her name that is, only mar* furet," said the young man, thoughtfully. " but now know her name, and who she is; she is your daugh ter ; and you love her." " better than my own life." tf and the hermit of spectre isle who is he?" " a strange old negro, very kind, very good, and as true as steel to marguret and i. the redskins call him the ' black wizard/ and, until now, have kept away from him, thinking him a spirit of evil. when. marguret got back she goes to school, she does ; i send her thari let her stay 'ith black nathan, for i thought she'd be safer there than 'ith me. but some how the red bucks discovered her, and new she is a captive, and the lord only knows what she has suf fered." 'blashaway, the fearless 81 chapter vii. the escape. the hcnter brushed away the tears that gathered in bis eyes, and to a remark of edward's concerning" sandy jim, went on : " ef you'd like to know how it happened, i'll tell you. sandy jim was my wife's brother. one day margaret that is, my wife and jim got into a dis pute about me jim hated me when what do you think he did ? he up and shot her dead ! "then he jumped the country, but 1 followed him, and tried to shoot him, but it wasn't for me to do. every time i'd draw on him, a woman in white, a beautiful woman, marguret, 'ud glide between us. i couldn't shoot her, so i couldn't shoot him. but now he is dead, thank god ! and i've nothing to fear from him} still 1 am not yet out of trouble. marguret, my daughter, is a captive in this village j for aught i know, she is doomed to die. i must save her. can you tell me where she is v & slashaway, the fearless. edward lost no time in informing the old hunter all te knew concerning the captive girl. slasbaway lad not imagined the savages would de liberately torture his fair daughter at the stake, so ^dien edward informed him of the intentions of the tedskins, it seemed to him that he should die of the very thought. " marguret dies to-night," he repeated. " it cannot foe, it shall not be. i'll save her, or die myself. | merciful god ! what shall i do ? i cannot think of t losing marguret, and such a death, too, so horrible, i at midnight, you say, young man ? tv ell, we shall f ^ee, we shall see. are your feet badly burned ?" " i can walk, 77 said the young man, inquiringly, f " why do you ask ?" " because you must get away from here to-day. tthere'll be a row to-night tl at'll make things hum." "but i am safe; the redskins won't harm me sleeping wave, the witch, is my friend j she owes me her life." the hunter stepped toward the door, for at this moment he heard the tramp of feet approaching the house, but before he could get safely out, the old witch had her eye upon, him, and her voice was ring ing in his ears. "who are you?" she screamed. "fool, wretch, scoundrel ! what do you mean by sneaking into my house? a paleface dog dressed up as a redskin. ha, ha! you deceive no one; you are a fool!" at first the hunter did not know what to do; should he answer the old witch, or should he go on, ;and let edward explain away his presence in the house as best he could ? he decided almost instantly, and left the old woman without a word. sleeping wave watched him until he was out of then she went into the house, and her eyes glittered savagely, as she said : " ye are a traitor, ye devil! a white rascal just left my house. what war he doing in here 2" * nothing ; he fe my friend," slashawat, the fearless. 83 11 i r oar friend/*' repeated the squaw, sneeringly j 41 so am i your friend, yet i would cut your heart out at the slightest word. listen, now. to-moitow i'll set ye free, then we'll be even. you saved iuy life, bow i'll save yours." edward was silent. the old hag went about; her work and said nothing. and so the day wore on. at length evening came, and the village which had all day been very quiet, began tc ring wiih the -shonts, whoops, and howls of savage warriors, and goon edward was convinced that preparations were being made for a grand war-dance, at the end of which, maguret, no doubt, would be brought forth to meet her doom. in a fever of excitement the young man watched and waited. the hours went by. he could hear the savages as they ran wildly about, howling and sure;mi ing like so many demons, and as he thought of mar garet and the horrible death that awaited her, he groaned aloud. after a while sleeping wave, the old witch, caught the excitement, and without a thought of edwnrd rushed out, and soon she too, was as busy as the rest in preparing for the coming horror. at length edward could stand it no longer, lie determined to make his egress from the wigwam, and if necessary, die by the side of the suffering girl. with this purpose in view he rose to his feet, and notwithstanding his burns pained him severely, hob bled to the door. then he bethought himself of a weapon, and halt ing, looked around the room to see what he could iiud that would aid him in case of emergency. a small hatchet proved to be the only weapon in. the room, and this he appropriated. quietly, cautiously, he crawled out of the wigwam, and took his way toward a clump of bushes just back of the council-house, and a little way off from a huge fire, around which the redskins were congregated. he reached the bushes in safety, he secreted himself &i slashaway, the feat.**3. be could see the redskin?, but the redskins could not bee him he was comparatively safe. so he watched and waked. an hour passed by. the savages were still dancing around the fire, they were wild with excitement a horde of ferocious, drunken brutes. at length the hour of midnight drew near, and at once a score of howling, besotted devils, made a rush for the council-house, and before half a minute had passed, marguret was at the stake of torture. from bis position in the bushes edward saw all that was passing, and as he thought how weak he was, how little he could do to help the beautiful captive, he groaned aloud. " i have only a hatchet,' 7 he said. " i can do noth ing. god help her ! there, she screams, they are putting her into the flames f with an infuriated yell, two monster redskins sud denly seized the fainting girl, and lifting her above their heads, made a rush for the burning pile as if to throw her in. as the horror struck him, edward held his breath, but to his surprise the two. savages, with the girl still in their arms, leaped the fire and bounded into the darkness which lay beyond. at first the savages were stupefied, they knew not what to think, but directly the truth dawned upon them. the two stalwart men who had carried the girl away were palefaces in disguise. but who they were, their names, the savages did not know. but it was all the same to slashaway and onion bob. they were the men i sla8haw ay. the fea&le3& 85 \ chapter viil the pursuit. as soon as tlie redskins discovered the deception, their rage knew no bounds, and as they started in pur suit, such a howling, cursing, and screaming, edward nor the hunters never heard before. for some minutes marguret was unconscious. slashaway and onion bob carried her a short distance into the darkness, then laid her on the ground, where she quickly revived. but even then she did not know where she was nor what had happened, she only knew that some one was beading over her, and speaking kindly to her a j friend. 4! pretty soon the men lifted her up and carried her 1 to where their horses were concealed, then mounting , them marguret in front of slashaway, the fearless the little party rode swiftly and silently away. i it was the "object of the hunters to make their way etraight to the habitation ol black nathan, which they could reach, they thought, by hard riding, in about three hours. and the time was well calculated. in about an hour tue moon appeared, the clouds drifted away, and 86 slash away, the fearless. in two hours more the little party of fugitive* had reached their destination. but do not think that all this time the redfikins were idle. on the contrary, they had exerted their utmost to overtake the whites, and when morning came, they thought they almost as good as had them in thsir power. as the reader knows, the home of black nathan was in the centre of a lake, on an island called spec* tre isle. it was a small island, and from the shoie looked more like a huge boulder or a rocky ledge than anything else. the house was a cellar-like arrangement, walled in with stone. it was large, roomy, and very light and dry, and fitted up in a manner as comfortable as one could wish. it also commanded a good view of the lake in every direction. as soon as the fugitives had reached the island, and were admitted into the hermit's house, a confer ence was held as to what should next be done. it was decided at last to stick to the house, and let the savages take them if they could. "we kin lick 'ein, i reckon, t�o hundred uv'em,* exclaimed onion bob, taming to slashaway for an approving word. " what think ye, old uu ?" "we'll do the best �e can for 'em," replied slash away, dryly. "for myself i'd as soon fight as not, but marguret " "don't worry about me, father/' interrupted the fair girl. "iain used to bloodshed, and can "gtand most anything now. but yon spoke of a young man named edward where is he ?" the old hunter's face darkened, but the cloud passed away in an instant, and he replied : " he is among the redskins, poor bo} r . however, i think he is safe. sleeping wave will take care of him." " and who is sleeping wave f asked margiift't, "an old indian witch," replied her father. '" ed ward once saved her life; she will repa^y him/' slash a way, the fearless. 87 'at tliis point onion bob changed the subject by saying : " i heerd a howl jist then, slashaway, a howl, an 7 i reckon it war a painted varmint. ye see it's day light, an' the red scalawags 'ill be 'round pretty soon, thicker'n thunder." the old hunter went to the door and looked out over the water. at first he could see nothing but the black, jungle-like wood bordering the lake; a second look, however, and as many as twenty savage warriors appeared before him on the shore. "a savage crowd/' said black nathan, who, : at that moment, was looking over the hunter's shoulder. " it would do me good to kill them one by one j but," he added, " they may kill us !" the hunter did not reply: he. was thinking whether there was a possibility of keeping the redskins from landing on the island. " ef we can keep them from landing/' he said, "we may tire 'em out; "but let them once get a foothold, and the blood 'ill flow like water there'll be a thunderin' fight." the men lost no time in making preparations for the coming struggle, everything that would aid the redskins to gain a landing was removed, and as many obstacles as possible were thrown in their way. full of fight, and knowing that they were powerful in numbers, while the whites were but few, the blood thirsty savages launched their boats, two in number, and pushed boldly for the island, expecting, no doubt, to effect a landing unopposed. but in this they were mistaken. the whites bad their eyes upon them, and con cealed, as they were, behind rocks, had every oppor tunity of doing some bloody work. and they did it. the savages, confident of suc cess, pushed boldly forward, and, as they soon dis covered, right into the jaws of death. as they reared the shore, slashaway and onion bob took deliberate aim at the apparent leaders o 88 bit ash a way, the fearless. the savage crowd, and sent two rifle-balls crushing into their skulls. ; the painted monsters dropped like lead into the water, and the rest, seeing their leaders tall, with | feowls of disappointment, rage, and fright, whirled 1 their boats around, and beat a precipitate retreat. i ! once out of range they halted, and began to wrangle among themselves, howling, screeching, yelling, then i they would shake their guns menacingly at the men i on the island, while at the same time they cursed and ' swore with all their strength. | but the hunters paid no attention to their jeers and fiendish threats, they charged their guns, and waited quietly for the rascals to return. i but the redskins had no intention of making any more reckless advances, the murderous skill of the i whites had taught them that a little prudence in the i way they managed things would not be out of place. ! " they won't disturb us just at present," remarked slashaway, as the savages moved toward the shore. < i wouldn't wonder if we didn't see 'em agin to-day, but to-night we'll catch it." and the hunter was not far frora rightthe savages stationed themselves on the shore in plain i view of the whites, and for several hours not an ag gressive move was made by either party. i and so the day wore on, night came at last, the i moon and stars took their places in the sky, and for a time silence reigned supreme. at length slashaway, whose watchfulness never i left him, discerned a movement among the redskins i that aroused his suspicions. about a dozen painted rascals were seen to cross the ; lake and move up within a short distance of the island, | while the remaining savages drifted to about the same distance on the opposite side. but the movement, though good enough, was plain enough to the hunters. evidently it was the intention of the redskins to try 4o effect a landing at two distinct points, which, k*w slasiiaway, the fearless. 89 ing the strength of the fugitives, they thought they could accomplish with ease. with courage that never flinched, firm, resolute, de termined, the two hunters assisted by black nathan, constructed a rude breastwork near the house, and stationing themselves so as to obtain a good view of the water on either side of them, watched and waited the approach of their savage foes. it was a moment of extreme peril to the hunters. they had little hopes of driving the redskins back. " we'll do the best we kin, fellers/' said onion bob, " but ten chances tu one they'll drive us inter the house. what do ye conclude, si ash a way ?" the hunter answered by pointing his rifle at the redskins, and nodding significantly. onion bob and black nathan understood l-isn, and cast their eyes upon the savages, whom they saw were now within easy rifle range. " shall we let drive at 'em v whispered the negro, as he cocked his rifle. " i'm anxious to spill a little blood." " an* so am i," rejoined onion bob. " then go in l w exclaimed slashawayj bringing his rifle to a dead aim ou one of the redskins. " one, two, three, fire ! 90 8laseaw ay. thit fearless* chapter ix. conclusion. the men selected their game, and almost stauil sjy three reports, keen and startling, rang out on the air, and three dusky savages, with* agamxiog 1 screams, threw up their hands', and i'eli headlocg into the water. at first the savages, seeing their comrades foil, tarned as if u> retreat, but their hesitation was b&fc momentary; with howls, yejls, and screftms, -'tfafey pushed i>>r the shore, while at the same time they sent & volley of rifle balls in among the locks which con cealed our friends. a haud-to-hand conflict was imminent. the men did not have time to reload their guns, but fortunately, slasbaway carried a revolver, onion bob a keen -edged batchet, and the negro a long, glittering knife. yelling, screaming, howling, shouting, tfce savage* advanced ; they were determined, they were tall of fight, and ready for acy deed oi tiood however atrocious. the men waited a moment to let the redskins get a little nearer, then springing to their feet, wito load and startling yells, rushed upon them just as the/ *ere leaving their boats. ofiioo bob and the negro made a rush for the boat slash a way, the fearlessl 01 nonrest the shore, while slashaway started for. the other, and be used his revolver with terrible .effect. six shots in quick succession fell on the savages, sending four of thein to their long homes, and wound a .fifth. the others replied with their rifles, then, turning with wild yells of rage and disappoiiifment> rowed rapidly away. but it was different with black nathan and onion bob. they met the redskins just as they were leav ing their boat, and waiting not a moment, pitched into them with all the fury they could command. then a terrible hand-to-hand conflict ensued. whirling his hatchet above his head, the hunter struck right and left, and, for a moment, the way the blood flowed, the brains scattered, it seemed that ho would vanquish them alone. but the savages were resolute, and with tomahawk and bcalping-knife, pressed around the men, howling like demons let loose. black nathan opened his part of the fight by plunging his long-l>laded knife into a redskin's breast ; then clubbing his rifle, he gave a mad whoop, and rushed into the thickest of the fight, where he dealt out vengeance right and left. pretty soon a blow from a tomahawk felled him, to the earth. then the whole eavajro crowd tamed oa onion bob, and but for the sudden arrival of slash away on the scene, would have killed him, and torn him liuib from limb. the old hunter came up with a rush, and seizing a tomahawk from the hands of a fallen redskin, knocked two savage monsters to the ground at a single blow* then, seeing that defeat was certain, he cried outs 41 boys, run for your lives i to the house!, to .the " the men obeyed, black nathan bringing up the vear, and just as the house was reached, margaret wimg open the door, and the tired and blood-alained vrtcn rushed within. not ten second* behiad, the savages thundered up, 02 slash away, the fearless. but the door was fastened, barricaded from fvithia, and for a time the fugitives were safe. the men were all more or less injured. sla^hawar was badly wounded in the arm ( onion bob's face was covered with blood, while black nathan received a concussion on the head that almost killed him. just how many redskins were killed the hunters could not tell j probably a dozen, maybe more j any low, not enough to frighten tho rest asvay. " they fought like devils, the redskins," said slashaway, as marguret bandaged his wounded arm. . (t but the worst is to come. how are we to get out o* tins trap without being picked off like squirrels? we can do nothing but sit still and starve /" "which ain't my style," quickly rejoined onion bob. wiping the blood from his lace. " i'm goiir* ter fight!" but as he said this he turned pale, and shaking his powder flask, which was empty, looked at slashaway, and inquired : i " ammunitionhev ye got any ?" the reply startled onion bob as he was never star tled before. the hunter said : 11 1 left everything outside my rifle, powder flask, and all ! i have nothing, and black nathan is no better off. there isn't a charge of powder in the house !" onion bob sank in one corner of the room perfectly helpless. in a second he muttered between his teeth : "we're done fer, we're busted! good-bye! the! red bucks i'll gobble us up now fer sure 1" and there was reason enough for the hunter to \ think so. the savages were howling around the house, clamj bering over it, pulling at the stones, and trying very way to tear it down. then they tried to burst down the door, but it was of oak, and withstood the shock. in this way they worked until near morning, when slashaway, the fearless 93 tney succeeded in making a hole in the roof of the bouse, large enough to admit the body of a man. but none of the redskins cared to venture in, nor did they enter, but instead carried great quantities of smoking coals, which they scattered in as promiscu ously as they could. " ef they can't kill us one way they can another/ 1 said slashaway, as he saw what the redskins were about. " might v 1 the smoke is almost suffocating a'ready." howling, screaming, yelling, the painted devils worked like beavers j burning, smoking faggots with out number were tossed in, and heaps of smouldering coals were showered down on the now frantic pris oners. what conld be done? they were dying by inches, five minutes more and they would be suffocated. but to open the door would be instant death. the sav ages would shoot them down without mercy. at length marguret, who ull along had said noth ing, now spoke up. "let us burst down the door, and be killed at once," she said. "this is agony j i can stand it no longer." slashaway clasped his daughter to his bosom, and groaned aloud then he started up with a sudden exclamation, and cried out : "listen! i hear the cracking of rifles* the red skins are running away. we are saved 1" a chorus of yells, this time not of savages, but of whites, burst out upon the air, and breaking down the door, the men saw coming straight toward them a dozen stalwart fellows, headed by no less a personage than edward hale. " saved ! saved v cried the fugitives, in one voice. * taank god ! we are saved !" the trappers, for such they proved to be, gathered around marguret and the rest, and in their rough way joined with them in thanking god for their escape. then edward hale told his story. 8lashaway, the fearless. old witch spirited me away/' he said, u gave me a good horse, and started me in the rig-lit direction* last, evening i met these men, and i traveled with themawhile, when wo run against a wounded redskin, who gave us intimation of what was going on. and didn't we eome here in a hurry? i guess we did, we got here none too soon. the painted brutes w were doing their best to kill you; but it's over now, and yon aro safo." "with most of the trappers onion bob and slash away were acquainted, and for a time the questions and answers that passed between them were numerous, but the question that principally concerned margaret and edward was asked by the hunter, onion bob. ik was tins: " will ye help us git the gal an ? the young feller tu the nisbcst settlement will ye chaps go in fer t?j fcelpus!" and the trappers said they would. and they did. what happened nest we can soon relate. the red skins did not think it to their advantage to attack so large a party, so our friends safely reached their des ttaation. on the way marguret and edward became very well acquainted, and a mutual attachment sprang tip. by the advice of edward, marguret was returned to school, where the young man visited her in a year's time they were married. slashaway, the fearless. to for a time slashaway lived with them, bat he soon tired of the restraints of civilization and went hack to fcie traps and guns. as for onion bob and the negro, they live together on the island so sveli known to our readers as spectre isle, and tbree mcths out of evoty year, slashaway, the fearless, is with them, and defy* the redskins, they hunt and fish at 40 we bid them the long lost friend, x containing x hgiiem.x 0>f ths wonderful ano valuable .arts and remedies for man as well as animals ever discovered for hundreds of years, -with raany proofs of their virtue and efficacy in healing diseases, &c. the greater part of which was never published until thay appeared in, print, for the first time in the unit edbtates, in the year 1830, by the celebrated author and if ecromnncer t john george hoiiiaan, who claims that whosoever carries this little book with him ia safa from all his eneroiea, visible or invisible, and whosoever has this book with him can not die without holy corps of jesus christ ; nor drown in any water: nor burn in any fire ; nor can unjust sentences be passed upou him. i will name a few of the contents of this rare work : how to compel a thief to eetu:a stolen things; how to extinguish fire without water; how to stop blood; j how to besferoy witches; how to find all kinds o; petals; to bankh all kinds of pain; to compel a thief to stand still; how to fasten or spellbind any thing; and many rare and valuable secrete never be fore disclosed. this book contains ," pages (in english or german to tny part of tto world, under doubu>-eeru6d wrappers. y part of the wor ;.tftfee copies for tothersadsro % !a tfie adventure sest* * as the absolutely true and authentic i feory of the lives and exploits of tha james boys, younger brothers, harry tracy, (the dalton gang, rube burrow, 5 ether notorious outlaws el far west we are tsie authorised and exclusive lishers for jesse james' only son, jesse james, jr., atd are the publishers of his great jesse james, my father which is for sale everywhere. buy it you bought tkis book, and rsad tk history cf the life af jssse aseesoe^ :: p[ ibetrltis ffj aj* j (is being the approved, verified, bympathetic and natuntf , .^ orj 'wnitfc and black art for man and beast/ the book of mature and hidden secrets and mysteries of life ua led, being the forbidden knowledge of &ent philosophers, by the celebrated stofr dent, -philosopher,' cheniist, etc. rifig^cf iia*bt which was great, was a native of suabia^ and born in 1215. he was m deatly desirous of acquiring knowledge, find studied t>ith assiduity; but being of blow comprehension, his progress -was not adequate to hia expectafeonsj and. theref ore* in despair, he resolved to relinquish books, and bury himself in retirement. one night, however, he jaw the^vision of a beautiful woman, who accosted him, and inquired the cause of hi* grief. he replied that in epite of all his efforts to eequiro in* orzna * hef eared h^should always remain ignorant. rhave yott&o little replied the lady, "as to suppose that you* prayers �illnoi obtain you cannot of yourself accomplish?" the young man prostrated self at her feet, and ehe promised ail that he desired, but added that aa he preferred philosophy to theology, he should lose his faculties before hia deaths kh& then disappeared and the prediction was accomplished. albertus liecame r ctnwilhngly 9 bishop of rati'sbor^but lie relinquished the see within three years, and resided chiefly at cologne, where he produced macywonaerfulworksp it was said that he constructed an automaton which feoth walked and spoke, answered questionsandbolved the flames. ., when william, court of hollands and king of the was at cologne, albert*s invited him to a banquet, and promised his table should be laid out in the middle of his garden, although it thea winter, and severe weather, william accepted the invita and on arriving at the house of albertus, was surprised to&nd the tem perature of. the air aa mild as io summer^ and the banquet laid out in aa arbor formed of trees and shrubs covered with leaves andflowers, ex haling the aaost delicious odors, which filled the whole of the garden, albertus. was reputed a magician, but nevertheless, after vrhichvoccnrred in 1293, in his eventy%ove jiff*' extraordimmry work omettmes called the gfeat < pow-'wbw or magic cure book," is ield by thousands to be the cmy sure means to & void sickness in their families; to make them fortunate in their.crops and etoek raising, and p in all their undertakings,, enabling them to acquire wealthy their friends and be* une of twekhto hand books. and seventh book hundred receipts, egyptian secrets, sjlairvoyancy* pow to win at draw astrology. standard letter writer f picks with cardso cellar's wizard's manualb mapoleon's oraculum and bdo1t fate, to play checkers and chl?^ wows or long lost friend, dream book and fortijhi hypnotism and how ^o use git ? sale everywhere or sent postpaid upon of ^5 cents. stamps accepted; arthur westbrack awr, st., p-, e i beadle's frontier series 1. the shawnee's foe. 2. the young mocntaineer. 3. wild jim. 4. hawk-bye, the hunter. 5. the boy guide. 6. war tiger of the modocs 7. the red modocs. 8. iron hand. 9. shadow bill, the scout. 10. wapawkaneta, or the rangers of the oneida. 11. davy crockett's boy hunter. 12. the for cm t avenger. 13. old .lack's frontier cabin. 14. on the deep. 15. sharp snout. 16. the mountain demon. 17. wild tom of wyoming. 18. the brave boy hunters of kentucky. 19. the fearless ranger. 20. the haunted trapper. 21. uladman of the colorado. 22. the panther demon. 23. slashaway, the fearless. 24. pine tree jack. 25. indian jim. 26. navajo nick. 27. the tuscarora's vow. 28. deadvtood dick, jr. 29. a new york boy among the indians. 30. deadwood dick's big deal. 31. honk, the guide. 32. deadwood dick's doxen. 33. squatty dick. 34. the hunter's secret. 35. the woman trapper. 36. the chief of the miami. 37. gunpowder jim. 38. mad anthony's captain. 39. the ranger boy's career. 40. old nick of the swamp. 41. the shadow scout. 42. lantern-jawed boh. 43. the masked hunter. 44. brimstone jake. 45. the irish hunter. 46. dave bunker. 47. the shawnee witch. 48. big brave. 49. spider-legs. 50. harry hardskull. 51. madman of the oconto. 52. slim jim. 53. tiger -eye. 54. the red star of the seminoles. 55. trapper joe. 56. the indian queen's revenge. 57. eagle-eyed zeke. 58. scar-cheek, the wild half-breed. 59. red men of the woods. 60. tuscaloosa sam. 61. the bully of the wood*. 62. the trapper's bride. 63. red rattlesnake, the pawnee. 64. the scout of tippecanoe 65. old kit, the scout. 66. the boy scouts. 67. hiding tom. 68. roving dick, hunter. 69. hickory jack. 70. mad mike. 71. snake-bye. 72. bighear ted joe. 73. the blazing arrow. 74. the hunter scouts. 75. the scout of long island. 76. turkey-foot. 77. the death rangers. 78. bullet head. 79. the indian spirit. 80. the twin trappers. 81. light foot the scout. 82. grim dick. 83. the wooden-legged spy. 84. the silent trapper. 85. ugly ike. 86. fire cloud. 87. hank jasper. 88. the scout of the sciota. 89. black samson. 90. billy bowlegs. 91. the bloody footprint. 92. marksman the hunter. 93. the demon cruiser. 94. hunters and redskins. 95. panther jack. 96. old zeke. 97. the panther paleface. 98. the scout of the st. lawrem 99. bloody brook. 100. long bob of kentucky. the arthur westbrook co. cleveland, u.s.a. 108 library of the university of wisconsin dolarnys primerose. dolarnys primerose. or the first part of the passionate hermit. john reynolds london: from the shakspeare press by w. bulmer and co. cleveland-row st. james's. 1816. 137691 jan 11 1910 y +9r81 r13 to the members of the rorburghe club this reprint of dolarnys primerose by j. raynolds is dedicated and presented by their obedient servant francis freeling. june 17 1816. earl spencer president. the duke of devonshire. the marquis of blandford. earl gower. viscount morpeth. viscount althorp. sir mark masterman sykes bart. sir egerton brydges bart. william bentham esq. william bolland esq. james boswell esq. rev. robert holwell carr. john dent esq. rev. thomas frognall dibdin v.p. rev. james william dodd. rev. henry drury. francis freeling esq. henry freeling esq. joseph haslewood esq. richard heber esq. george hibbert esq. george isted esq. robert lang esq. joseph littledale esq. edward littledale esq. james heywood markland esq. john delafield phelps esq. thomas ponton esq. peregrine townley esq. edward vernon utterson esq. roger wilbraham esq. dolarnys primerose. or the first part of the paſsionate her mit: wherein is expreffed the liuely pafsi ons of zeale and loue with an alluding difcourfe to valours ghoft. both pleafant and profitable if iudiciouſly read and rightly vnderſtood. non eft beatus effe qui fe nefcit. written by a practitioner in poefie and a ſtranger amongst poets which caufeth him dread this fentence: nihil ad parmenonis fuem. at london printed by g.eld and are to bee fold by robert boulton at his fhop in smithfield neere long lane end. 1606. to the right honourable efme stew art lord of aubignuy and one of the gentlemen of his maiefties bed-chamber; ennobled with the rareft guifts that honour may afforde or vertue challenge: john raynolds wifheth happy increaſe of all noble and renowmed refolutions. vmmoning my fenfes together (right bo nourable) and weighing your lordships worth and my imperfections: difpaire had almoft checkt my too too prefumptuous forwardneffe onely for intending to pre fent this fimple worke into the hands of fo noble a perfon: but hope (chiefe miftreffe of defire and eni my to feare) began to animate my trembling thoughts with thefe perfuafions. virgil whofe curious inuentions haue made his name im mortall (though not for imitation yet for pleasure) read en nius rough poefies: the delphian oracle gaue socrates as good a fentence for his well meaning mite as to the proudest athe nians for their heapes of treafure. all that was pleaded before the romane senators was not vttered by tully yet was it beard and allowed with plaufible cenfures. xerxes accepted as well of the poore mans handfull of water as of the riche mans goblet of gold. thus bebolding right honorable (as in a mirror )the eftates or proceedings of paled times and bauing in homely manner penned the fe few unpolished lines i prefumed to prefent them into your lordships hands: which although they are not ftret ched to the delicate treble keye of fuch refined poems as a 2 maro the epiſtle dedicatory. maro fung in the eares of auguftus yet they may bee rightly called the fruits of as well intended thoughts. for phidias labored as hard with his (felfe conceipted ſharp) penfil as apelles with his approued fkil. euery painter can not counterfeite lawne with parrhafius nor proportion the ciclops with tymanthes. maiaes fonne refufed not to taft on baucis faire ioue was content with philemons en tertaynement. although fors fortuna gaue vliffes the fen tence for bis curious fmotheneffe yet aiax had an applawdit for his rough plainenes:& as no coun fel could reuoke. fabius but terentias fayrneffe nor no furgion cure hipolite but efculapius fo no funne can beautifie thefe deformed lines but the glimfes of your lordships fauour nor no falue be able to fet the fe mangled firayns a foote vnleffe it be miniftred by your noble protecting band. i feeke not afcanius rich cloake for brauerie but couet with damidas parret to bee ſhel tred from the vultures tirany. then right honourable if it wil please your lordship to bar bour this handfull of barfb founding fillables under the ſafe conduct of your bonours faire protection i shall not onely thinke them fufficiently guarded from enuious tongues: but alfo efteeme my felfe happie to haue them fhadowed under the winges of fo worthy a mecanas. thus hoping (though not for the worth of the prefent yet for the true heart of the gi uer of)your honorsgentle patronage &refting in that hope i wish your honour the happie enioying of your honourable wiſhes. your lordſhips in all duty to be commanded. i. r. to the right honourable lord aubignuy health eternall. w hat nere feene gemme fhall i deuife to fet vpon your helme your temples to ingert? what trophe rare what wreath or coronet can guerdonize your meriting deſert? o let me polliſh fome nere written line to fit your worth for worldlings to peruſe: and place it in that loftie creft of thine whofe filuer ſhowers nourisheth my mufe. making them ſpring as flow'rs from froſty earth which aprill deaws the worlds broad eye to view: which elfe had died and nere obtained birth had they not gain'd incouragement of you. baſe are the thoughts that longs to write and dare not then if you fmile let others frowne (i care not.) your lordships euer humbly deuoted: a 3 iohn raynolds. το lote to the gentle readers' what foeuer. what fhould i fcrape or beg at pardons gate with proftrate termes to helpe my ſtranger rimes: when as i know that in this wauʼring ſtate none well can pleaſe theſe fickle enuious times. therefore i craue no other boone but this vpon my lines let euery fancie deeme: what pleaſe them beft: well meane or flatte amiffe no whit the worſe i will of them eſteeme. for enuious curres will bawle at ſtrangers true when neighbor theeues vnfeene may filch & fteale: but truftie maftifes or by fent or view the priuie drifts of both will foone reueale. then if the learned feeke not to deſpite me let enuie barke i know he cannot bite me. yours i. r. in laudem authoris. though carping fpight fhould fit in momus chaire and zoylus fume gnafhing his venime iawes: though crittick satires raue and rend their haire and enuy threat mee with his fulfom pawes. yet this my pen for raynolds fake ſhall write whofe nouell lines vnfolds a fertill ſpring; reueales at large found loue in zelous plight inchac'd with wo and warlike fonneting. delightfull poems ioyn'd with pleaſant good and harmeleffe pleaſure mixt with loftie ſtraines: then foule therfites ceafe thy rayling moode and giue at leaſt good words for fo much paines. but if abroad thy enuy needs muſt flie defpight not him who feekes to pleaſure thee. abraham sauere gentleman. dolarnys primerofe. when flowring may had with her morning deawes watred the meadowes and the vallies greene the tender lambes with nimble-footed eawes came forth to meete the wanton fommers queene: the liuely kidds came with the little fawnes tripping with ſpeed ouer the pleaſant lawnes. to heare how that dame natures new-come broodes began to set their ſweet melodious notes with fugred tunes amidſt the leauie woodes inchaunting muficke through their pretty throats: by whoſe ſweet ſtraines right well it might appeare the pride of sommer to be drawing neere. then bright apollo threw his radiant fmiles into the lappes of each delicious fpring. where philomele the weary time beguiles in grouie shades fountaines inuironing: the late bare trees there fportiuely did growe with leauie ſprigs on euery branch and bowe. ingarments green the medows fayre did ranck it the vallies lowe of garments greene were glad in garments greene the paſtures proud did pranck it the daly grounds in garments greene were clad: each hill and dale each buſh and brier were ſeene then for to floriſh in their garments greene. b thus dolarnys primerofe. thus as the medowes forefts and the feelds in fumptuous tires had deckt their daynty flades the florifhing trees wanton pleaſure yeelds keeping the funne from out their fhadie fhades: on whofe greene leaues vpon each calmie day the gentle wind with dallying breath did play. the oake the elme the alder and the aſhe were richly clad in garments gay and greene the afpen trees that oft the waters waſh in like arraiment then were neatly feene: the lou❜ly lawrell precious rich and faire with odors fweet did fill the holeseme ayre. their ſpreading armes their branches and their boughes were made a bower for the pritty birds where philomele did come to pay her vowes with fugred tunes in fteed of wofull words: their lofty tops of towring branches fayre dampt with the muficke of delicious ayre. whofe hawty pride regarded mirth nor moanes but with ambition view'd the fommer flowers their labells hang'd with quiuering dew-pearld ſtones did reprefent fpangles on am'rous bowers: there grouy fhade fuch pleaſing ayre did lend as doth on groues and grouy fhades attend. vnweldy trees gorgeous to behold stood hand in hand with branches all combining their gentle armes each other did infold with iuye fprigges vpon their bodies climbing: the more to breake the hot reflexing rayes of bright apollo in the fommer dayes. drawne dolarnys primerofe. drawne by the pleaſure of delightfull ayre thofe checkred borders oft i did frequent and vnderneath thoſe ſhadowes freſh and faire the weary time oft wearily i fpent: where at the length it was my chance to meete an aged man whom i did kindly greet. he myrror like for nurture difcipline repay'd my words with curteous kind regreeting then drew we neere a fayre-ſpread-fhady pine vnder whoſe boughes we folemniz'd our meeting: whereas long time the time did not purſue but that familiar in difcourfe we grew. his aged wit fo pregnant made mee muſe with courtly tearmes and eloquence all flowing and fuch they were that cauf'd me t'accuſe mine owne fo dull that ſpent my time nought knowing: his tongue-ſweet notes ti'd mine eares in chaines so that my fenfes were rauiſht with his ſtraynes. the ſweeteſt muficke tuch'd with curious hand whoſe tones harmonious bath's a lift'ning eare forcing fierce tygers all amazed ſtand vnto his voyce compard did harſhly iarre; which cauſed me with earneſt fute to craue some ſtory from his pleafing felfe to haue. who neither graunted nor denied the motion with pleaſant fadneffe ftood as in a muſe; whilft i infnard with his ſo ſweet deuotion fixed mine eyes his muteneffe to peruſe: but then his tongue broke off his contemplation and thus began diſcourſe with inuocation. b 2 o dolarny's primeroſe. o thou great guider of the guideleffe nine with facred deaw my witleffe wit inſpire water my fenfes with thy nectar fine rauifh my breaſt with thy all hallowed fire: sothat my tongue ftray not in fond delight but in his courſe wonder thy mighty might. when liuely bloud did run within my veines i tookę delight to trauell here and there so much as then my parents gaue my reins vnto my felfe to fee how i could beare: the fickle flights of fortunes turning wheele which like silenus drunkenly doth reele. the ſpring drew on and youth did fill my pores earneft defire bred a ſtraying motion within my breaft to fee the cambrian fhoares that boundes vpon the all vntamed ocean: where huge steep rockes fhadeth each couert plaine beaten with waues from the hiberian mayne and in a morne when phoebus faire did rife out off his bed the mountaines to diſcouer climbing the lofty greffes of the fkies with longing ſteppes to ouertake his louer: my greedy eyes defir'd to feed their fight vpon the ſweet'ft of cambriaes delight. then did i walke toward thoſe riſing hills where carefull paftors of their kids were keeping whil'ft lazie ſwaynes their fore-duld ſenſes kills by entertayning too much time with ſleeping: there did paftoraes with their roundelayes paffe with delight the fommer of their dayes. there dolarnys primerofe. there might i fee the lofty cedar trees frō branch to bough where pritty birds were skipping their honey leaues did feede the buſie bees vnder whofe fhade the milke white does were tripping: their ſpreading armes woare iuie all combining where might be seene the nimble squirrell climbing. there did i fee the valleyes where the flockes of fearfull ewes and tender lambes were feeding the little fprings that do runne by the rockes the leauy fhrubs where pritty birds were breeding: there philomele with fweet recording fills the plaines with muficke ecchoing from the hilles i walkt along that faire adorned field till that i came to a delicious ſpring whoſe ſmiling current did fuch pleasure yeeld as ſweet content vnto content could bring: there did i reſt and ſtay my felfe a while some tedious howers thinking to beguile. for why that fount as pleaſantly was plaſt as if delight ſhould lodge betweene two paps freed with content from boreas northern blaſt or as a carpet twixt two ladyes laps: inuiron'd round with their difplaying tresses whofe amber ſhade that golden carpet bleffes. faire quiu'ring mirtle did ingirt the ſpring with ïefamins ſweet and flowring eglantine vnder whoſe ſhade the pritty birds did fing melodious ftraines celeſtiall and diuine: with delphian tunes fuch as the mufes plays filling the thickets with their ſweet delayes. b 3 the dolarnys primeroſe. the rouling pibbles and the flinty ſtones were foftly by a fhallow current turned the murmering water play'd with filuer ton's loth to depart and ſtaying running mourned: whofe trickling-chriftall muficke-sounding voice into mine eares did yeeld a pleaſing noyſe. such were the mirth and pleaſant harmony the organ ayre did gently feeme to make with dulcean ſtraynes of heauenly melody as once mercurie whiſpred by the lake: whoſe trembling breath new defcants did deuise till iunoes argus clof'd his hundred eyes. the pritty birds did beare a ſweete record the bubling ſtreames the vnder-fong did keepe the dallying wind fuch muſicke did afford that almoſt rockt my ſenſes faſt a ſleepe: and well neare cauf'd me for to take a nappe as i lay mufing in yong tellus lappe. but then i heard a fad lamenting voyce the which did cut a paffage through the ayre and fild the woodes with such a dolefull noiſe that all the groues feem'd cloyed vp with care: which forc'd me from that place for to arife and clof'd againe my well neere flumbring eyes. then drew i neere a little rifing rocke whereas the waues did daſh their high curld browes the birds and beafts togither they did flocke cooling themfelues vnder thofe fhady boughes: which dangling hung like to a golden fleece over the head of fayre amphrifus neece. and dolarnys primerofe. and vnderneath a pleaſant hawthorne tree the which did grow neere to that rockie hill there did i ftand to liſten and to fee the dolefull noyfe the which the ayre did fill: iftayd not long but well i might deſcrie vvhence did proceed that wofull harmonye. for neare that place a ftately pine did grow angerly fhaking of his leauy crowne at whoſe ſterne feet the humble fhrubs did bow fearing the terrour of his rugged frowne: vnder whofe armes a wofull man did dwell the which did hold that bower for his cell. where he did often with lamenting cries bewray the cauſe of all his woefull cares the which did feeme to pierce the vaulty ſkies and to diffolue hard flints to briniſh teares: to fill the woods with noyfe as loud as thunder to ſplitt hard rockes and rend great trees afunder. whom when i did with full aſpect behold i muſing ſtood his grieuous grones to heare his prayers were plaints his fobs his folace told his myrth was moane his cries were full of care: with broken fighes a thouſand times and more thus he began his forrowes to deplore. why did i breath? why did i take theayre? why did i fuck? why was i fed with milke? why was i young? why was i counted faire? why was i nurft? why was i clad in filke: why did i liue? why dyed i not being yong? why was i lul'd? why was i fweetly fung. what dolarnys primeroſe. what cruell planet gouernd at my birth? vvhat diſmall ſtarre that day or night did fhine? vvhat loathſome vapour ouerfpread the earth vpon that fad natiuity of mine? or did the hagges with all their helliſh power inchant bewitch or curfe that fatall houre? o had the midwife when ſhe firſt receiu'd me with nimble hand my vitall powers ſtopt or had my nurſe of liuing breath bereau'd me theſe fields of forrow i had neuer cropt: but both i fummon with impartiall eye as actors in my wofull tragedy. yet did i liue full twenty fommers long in fprings of ioy one running ouer other how then poore foules could they enact my wrongs? no 'twas not they it was my fofter mother: fortune'twas thee that blyffefful men doft fpight thou onely ftolft from me my hearts delight. thou tot'ring elfe with euer turning wheele that firft did fet mee foft vpon thy knee and gau'ft me all thy bleffings for to feele what cauf'd thee thus vnkind to loure on me? no 'twas not fortune ſhe was alwaies kinde filling my faile ftill with a profperous winde. could any wretch be then f'infortunate as 1 poore foule whom fortune feem'd to guide no fortune no it was thy cruell hate the which for me thefe forrowes didft prouide: thou art the wretch thou art the beldame vile thou didft my heauen my heart and hope exile. for dolarnys primerofe. for when my yeares had furniſht forth my youth and twenty times the funne had chang'd his light thou moft perfidious wauʼring ſtill in trueth my filly foule didft croffe with cruel ſpight: and onely thou by falfhood didft deceiue mee of ioy and bliffe thou didst at once bereaue mee. thy circled wheele thou didst to mee forth bring more richly deckt then ere it was before thou fetft me gently on that fickle ring and gau'ft me pleaſure in aboundant ſtore: vvith many fauours ftill thou didst belay mee but with thy falfhood ſtill thou didst betray mee. thou drew'ft mee on with loues intiſing bayte to walke the pathes where thou a net hadft laid vvith thouſand fnares thou didst vpon mee waite vntill i was of all my ioyes betrayd: to defperate dangers thou didft eafly wile mee vvhilft from my life and loue thou didst exile mee then did this heauy hermit ſeeming man stand mutely ftill but ſtill he feem'd to moane his aged vifage lookt both pale and wan his fadneffe he redoubled with a groane: he feem'd a while vnto himselfe to mutter but yet no word at al i heard him vtter. vntill at length him did i plainely ſee a ſtately picture in his hand to take the which i geft a holy faint to be for that fo much of it he feem'd to make: he kift it oft and hugd it as he lay and thus at length to it began to ſay. faire dolarnys primerofe. fayre but vnkind no kind: fie too too cruel thirtie long years with mee i haue thee borne thrife ten yeares told loues fire hath bene my fuel so long my heart thy fayre imprint hath worne: if neftors yeares thrife three times told i liue my loue alone to thee i freelie giue. tell mee my loue tell mee why did'ft thou leaue mee? why to thy loue didft thou proue fo vnkind? pardon my deare was death that did deceaue mee yet art thou toomb'd for euer in my mind: then did he weepe bewayling of his harmes and with theſe words he luld it in his armes. o had theſe armes thy liuing corps imbrac❜d but halfe fo oft as now they have doone thee tr.efe paths of forrow i had neuer trac'd nor died in thrall but liu'd and died free: but fith thou liuing wert not in my power ile hugge thy fhadowe till my lateſt houre. with which fad words his grou❜ling corps did fall with gaftly colour fighs abound-lamenting which forc'd mee rew his fad and wofull thrall with rufull pittie and with teares relenting: i mou'd to ayde him yet as loth to feare him i pauf'd a while before that i came neare him for that he then began to moue his eyes his earth-like hands his heauie troncke did rayſe his fighs did vault into the dimmed ſkyes his tongue forgat not how his loue to prayſe: but fearing leaſt his fecrets ſhould be ſpied from out his bower fullfecretly he pried. then dolarnys primerofe. then with deepe fighs he did agayne repeate the rare perfections of his long dead loue her comly graces and her gesture neat the which did feeme the fenfleffe ftones to moue: which loue-fick plaints my tongu's too weake to tel his penfiue paffions did fo much excell . nor could a volume copie his loues defcriptions that were dislodged from his wo-fwolne heart for he recited with true loues affections a thouſand times each limme and lineall parte: all which by him fo oft pronounced were that almoft dul'd my fhallowe ſenſe to heare. yet did his fweet ſophiſtick ſorrows tie my leaden pow'rs in chaynes of lift'ning ſteele with greedy ears to fucke atentiuely his fugred fobs the which i feem'd to feele: for each fad ftraine that from his lipps did paffe bewrayd the birth-right of his gentle race. then did he take a faire delicious lute whoſe well tun'd ſtring she touch'dwith curious ſkill forcing his fingars with a ſwift purfute to ſtrike the frets of muficks ground at will: his nimble hand guided by fupple veynes with heauenly pawfons clof'd his dolefull ſtreynes. not great apolloes viol-founding laies that forc'd huge tmolus daunce with bufkey haire when filly midas rob'd him of his prayſe might with the defcants of his lute compare: and with a tune would moue a ſtone to pittie he fadly figh'd and fong this mournfull dittie. c 2 the dolarnys primerofe. the hermites fong. y e billes and dales te rockes and vales beare witneſſe of my moane: ye water nimphes andpritty imphes come figh with mee and groane. come ye satyres and ye fawnes come ye from the pleaſant lawnes: from the groues and fhady trees on whofe green leaues the humming bees their thyes do fill at their owne will and whereon ftill with flittring wings poore progne flees. ye fairy elues come ye your felues fom out each bollow caue: and coridon come thou alone thy prefence i do craue: for thy pipe comfortingly equalleth my harmony. mournfull amyntas now and thee are beft to beare me company: for with confort we may report our loues extort with wofull ftraines of melody. ye dolarnys primeroſe. ye siluans all both great and ſmall come listen to my greefe: te kids and lambs come with your dams and bring me fome releefe: thou maide of comes come to me vvith aide in this my miſerie and lead me once æneas-like vnto that vgly stigian dike. that i may mixe and yet perfixe mine eye on stix where cerberus liueth that fowle tyke if that wearie charons ferrie vvill no ways take mee in: vndoubting harmes vvith theſe mine armes ile venture for to fwymme: for fometimes his coaleblacke boate rides not in that road afloate if fo i will in no wife ftay although vnto mine owne decay in unfearing poar's vvith arming oars from off the fboars ile quicklye poft from thence away. for if that i should chance to die and in that lake to wander: yet fhould i gayne on lofty straine aboue c 3 dolarnys primerofe. aboue-loue drown'd leander. but if that well i should paffe vgly charons muddie place and happily to land me there vvithin that faire celestiall sphere then with small payne ifhould attaine elizian plaine: vvhere my loue fits crown'd in a chayre finis. when he had finiſh't vp his mournful fong he lai'd his lute downe by his weary fide himſelfe he ſtretcht upon the graffe along and with fad waylings thus agayne he cry'd: how much avayles it that my trauels farr hath not worne out the print of cupides skarr? what chriſtian land is it that hath not borne mee? what iland was not fubject to my fight? how many woods and deferts ftill do fcorne mee? but nothing yeelds to mee my harts delight: from place to place defire my corpsdoth carry which fame defire there will not let me tary. then did he figh then wept then figh'd amayne then wrung his hands then cried then croft his armes then tore his haire then groan'd then wept againe then with fad teares he thus bewayld his harmes: padua farwell my loue in thee doth lie within thy wals i lost my libertie. and dolarnys primeroſe. native home and albion now to thee my where firſt i did receaue my vitall breath after all paines paine to thee i come within thy bounds to giue myfelfe to death: for fith my loue my loue hath me forfaken my laft farewell of padua i haue taken. but when alaffe when fhall my forrows end? when fhall i ceafe of padua for to cry? when fhall i fee fterne atropos vnbend my wofull threed of fad calamitie? when fhall i leaue in zealous cloake to ftand with loue-ficke cryes to curfe both fea and land? o let mee neuer ceaſe with hideous cryes with dolefull tunes and horred exclamations to fend my❜fighes into the lofty ſkies and pearce the chaos with my inuocations vntil theſe eies that fed their rauin'd ſight: vpon ægeffa be depriu'd of light. thou fullen earth with anger fownding wo ye bleating fawnes fhaded with fheltring twigs ye murm'ring waters that with teares oreflowe ye chirping birds that chant the dauncing ſprigs: come all at once your faddeft defcants bring my fayreægeflaes epitaphs to fing. dead is my loue dead are my hopes and ioyes accurfed fates that of my loue bereft mee curſt be al hopes let hopes be hapleſſe toyes for loue and loy hope hap and all hath left mee: and i remaine vnceffantlie to cry still lyuing ftill ten thouſand deaths to die. dolarnys primeroſe. o let mee curfe that day the time and hower when firſt i left faire padua and my loue o let mee curfe all gold and golden power by whofe fowle force theſe vggly ſtorms i proue: o let mee curſe that time that i did gayne the name of knight to liue in hermites payne. but o my loue my loue and only ioy my fayre egea ægeffa ile come to thee more fayre then helen facke of ftatelie troye once more ile come to fewe to court to woo thee: now i will come to thine immortall fhrine where thou doft liue triumphant and diuine. then why do i thus linger here and there and feeke not out the way t' auernus caue? wretch that i am how can i thus forbeare pining for want of that which i would haue? i glaucus-like do trauell day and night while fhee by circe is tranfformed quite. wherefore ile go like to that thracian bold with this my lute my iourney will i take whoſe fretts and ftrings ile frame of glitring gold then orphe-like ile croffe that muddie lake: and thou fayre pallas and ye muſes nine my hand and tongue guide with your pow'rs diuine. venus i craue a helping hand of thee safe to conduct mee through the lethean fenns and thy ripe wit lend me ſweet mercury that i with eaſe may paffe that mierie themmes: so that blacke charon with his fwartie oares may fet mee fafe on demogorgons fhoar's where delornys primerofe. • where orphe-like to tenarus ile go which vgly gate doth open towards the north there cerberus fowle doth make his triple fhowe there takes he in but none he will put forth: ye fates vnreele my lou's fad deſtinie or i will feeke her with perfephone with that he clof'd his hollowe wo-fwolne eyes and ſtretcht his lims along the fenfeleffe ground his gaftly viſage pierft the vaultie ſkyes sometimes his eyballs feem'd for to turne round: with tortur'd groan's then would he fadly gafpe with emptie palms then did he weaklie grafpe. then did he lie with quiu'ring legs and arms then groueling craules then feeblie fall againe then as one ſtrucke with magick ſpelles and charmes there would he feeme quite breathleffe to remaine: thus did he lie thus did he ſometimes welter but then ſtone ftill the fhadows did him fhelter. at which profpect i could no longer ſtand but foone did runne to helpe him in that cafe and water cold i brought within my hand wherewith i rubd his pale and gaſtly face: i raiſed him vp then fet him downe againe then puld him here then thruſt him thence amay ne. at length a figh mixt with a greeuous groane he fent to tell fome life in him was left the which did moue my very heart to moane for that fo much of fenfe he was bereft: yet laboring ftill i mou'd him here and there untill at length he aſked who it were. d that dolarnys primerofe. that fo did wake him from his quiet fleepe which was fo much vnto his hearts content with that he wept but feeming not to weepe for feare that i fhou'd reliſh what it ment: he wip'd his eyes that were ore-flow'd with teares and feem'd to baniſh all his former cares. then vnto mee theſe ſpeeches he adreſt how could you finde my fillie hermits bower? you did not well to wake mee from my reft for in two dayes i fcarfe doo fleepe one houre: but that i am a hermit as you fee with good cauſe i might with you angrie be. alas (quoth i) good gentle father heare mee and let not anger harbour in your breſt although you chide not well your looks may feare mee for ages frownes may breed a youthes vnreſt: then if you pleaſe to heare what 1 fhall fay i will reueale how i did chance this way. and feeing you lai'd; as i you lying found seeming quite breathleffe in my iudgments eye with armes and legges ftretcht forth vpon the ground pitty did force my harmleffe hand to trie: as halfe amaz'd the vn-approued doubt if natures taper were quite wafted out. for furely fir ifaccident fhould call mee vnto a chance fuch as this chance hath beene i tell you plaine what hap fo ere befall mee the like effect in mee fhould fure be ſeene: for why i durft haue paund my neighbours head your body had from out this world beene dead. thefe dolarnys primerofe. theſe words i vttred fomthing fmilingly with hum'rous gefture and a pleafing vaine becauſe i would not haue him willingly thinke that i knew aught of his wo and paine: and truth to tell i could no better make them becauſe that he could no wayes better take them. forthen he calmelie did defire of mee to fhew what paftimes i did moſt imbrace what country man and what my name might be and eke what chance had brought mee to that place: this did he aske with words fo faire and coole as he his time had ſpent in nurtures fchoole. i not denying of his kinde requeſt with fad difcourfe my name and country told and fome light toye that harbored in my breſt i did not let to him for to vnfold: but for the chance that brought mee to that place thus did i glofe it with a brafen face. auroraes fpring that ripes the golden mornes no fooner pried ore the mountaines tops but that the huntſmen winded out their hornes calling the dogs into a grouie cops: i follow'd on at length there did appeare rowf'd from the wood a luftie fallow deare. the hounds purfu'd the huntſmens ecchoing noiſe did feeme throughout the fhadie groues to ring vnskild of horne fcarfe with a huntſmans voice i follow'd ftill to fee that nouell thing: 'twere foll'in me therfites like to vaunt it but the huntſmen and the hounds did chaunt it. d 2 the delornys primerofe. the greeued hart with teares bewayles his caſe the egar dogs did lightly paffe the grounds a paduan brach was foremoſt in the chaſe for fhe did leade the other crie of hounds: which cauf'd the hart to fcud with nimble heels ore hills and dales ore craggie bracks and fields. then did he fall into a heard of deere then to the foile then to the heard againe then in the woodes he faintlye did appeere then ore the mountaines thence into a plaine: and all this while the houndes had not a checke but ſtill did feeme to take him by the necke. and formoft ftill that faire italian hounde the which was thought to be of spartan kinde of all the reft fhe feem'd to gather ground for fhe did run as fwift as any winde: which cauf'd the deere in's necke to laie his hornes and fo to poft through brambles briers and thornes. the huntſmen glad to ſee their ſport ſo good did winde their hornes to courage vp their houndes the fillie deere did haften to the wood the dogs full crye did keepe a narrowe boundes: so that fometimes they ſeem'd his hanche to nipp which cauf'd him feeblie from there gripes to flippe. ore buſhe and brier the dogs did ſeeme to make him bounce leape and ſkippe when he could ſcarcely go. i follow ftill but could not ouertake him yet did i croffe and meete him to and fro: then in the groues the houndes did ring apace with yelping voyces in that follemne chace then dolarnys primerofe. then here then there the ecchoing wood refounded of thoſe ſhrill notes difplay'd with hornes and hounds the noyfe whereof into the ſkies rebounded throughout the hills and all the daly grounds: which paſtime rare my tongue denyes to tell the hunting muficke did fo much excell. then for to meete the game a neerer way i walkt along a dale hard by a fountaine whereas a while to drinke i there did ſtay then did i climbe the top of yonder mountaine: where i might view at large the vally grounds but could not heare the huntſmen nor the hounds. then looking tow'rd this little fhady plaine like a yong yong huntſman i began to call whereas me thought one anſwered me againe that feem'd my voyce in his for to inſtall: i fomething angry came along the ground but then i knew it was an ecchoes found thus hauing loft the fport i came to fee and knowing not where to feeke the fame againe my minde did with my weary legs agree homeward to go thorough this couert plaine: thus leauing off the lufty red deeres chaſe it was my chance to finde you in this place. then howfoere i pray you pardon mee were you aſleepe or were you in a fownd or in a traunce as fo you well might be but furely dead you feem'd when i you found; chance is but chance then for this chace excufe me sith in my thoughts i did no whit abuſe ye. d 3 thus delornys primeroſe. thus haue i told you all you did demand and more will tell you if you do requeſt it ther's nothing lieth within my powerleffe hand but age fhall haue it els i will deteft it: then aſke and haue ther's nought conſiſts in mee but you free owner of the fame fhalbe. then did he feeme to cloake both wrath and loue the heate of one did quench the others fire where two extremes in one doth feeme to moue it qualifieth the hotneffe of defire: for neither mou'd with loue nor fretfull ſpleene clad in theſe words his ſpeech was neatly feene. your curtefies excel farre my desert my merits no way can them counteruayle but if my loue or aught within my heart can equall them i will in no wayes fayle: but what you haue in kindeneffe fhew'd to mee by mee ſhall no wayes vnrequited bee. for looke what nurture doth by nature owe vnto a ſtranger you haue fhewed to mee then if that i a ftranger fhould not ſhowe such curteous deeds as might with yours agree: well might i gaine my felfe a ſcandall crime and fhew miff-ſpent the trauells of my time. but fith that now the funne hath well neare paſt his half daies courſe climbing the lofty ſphere and that long trauell in your lims hath plaſt hungar and thirft with hunting of the deere: let me intreate you with these cates of mine in this my bower this once with mee to dine. i dolarnys primerofe. i gaue him thankes and feem'd right well content at which my words the hermit turn'd him round vnto his fcrip he then directly went taking a cloth and ſpread it on the ground: and as his cloth and cates he neatly layed with fmyling tearmes theſe words to mee he fayd. sir thinke not now your felfe in towne or court for to bee pamperd with delicious fare for here remaynes no pompe nor ſtately port but thinke you here inuiorn'd round with care: here vſe we not our bellies for to fill but feed at neede fterne hungar for to kill. with that hee went to fetch fome water in while i ſtood mufing for to fee his fare for he had fet a ſkull for to begin which would haue moou'd a prodigall to care: and right againſt it ftood an houre glaſſe where one might fee how ſwiftly time did paffe. then did he fet an earthern pot of flowers whofe colour cleare was withered quite away then did he fet two other whoſe faire powers seem'd to contayne the pleaſures of the day: and then a booke and then a little bell but what that ment my fenfes could not tell. no bit of meate vpon the table ſtood but fome fewe rootes the which alone did lie alas thought i this is but fimple food yet for this once i will not him deny: but i will fit and thinke i haue good meate that i may fee how he theſe cates wil eate. then dolarnys primerofe. then with his pitcher he came in againe fill'd with fayre water from a fountain cleare and purer farre then filuer drops of raine that falleth in the aprill of the yeare: then with theſe words he tooke mee by the hand you fee your fare then doo not muſing ſtand. but fit you downe vpon theſe flowers by mee although courſe fare to dinner you ſhall haue yet fit i pray and beare mee companye for nere good fare was in a heremits caue: yet if that want thereof your fenfe doth dull our table talke ſhall ſurely fill you full. then fat i downe vpon the carpet graffe where after thankes to god for that our meate he did begin the dinner time to paffe with fad diſcourſe but not a bit did eate: for in his hand he tooke the dead mans ſcul the which did feeme to fill his ftomacke full. he held it ſtill in his finiſter hand and turn'd it foft and ftroakt it with the other he fmil'd on it and oft demurely faund as it had beene the head of his owne brother: oft would h'haue ſpoke but ſomething bred delay at length halfe weeping theſe words did he fay. this barren fçull that here you do behold why might it not haue beene an emperours head? whoſe ſtore-houſe rich was heap'd with maffy gold if it were fo all that to him is dead: his empire crowne his dignities and all when death tooke him all them from him did fall. why dolarnys primerofe. why might not this an empreffe head haue beene although nowe bare with earth and crooked age? perhaps it was the head of fome great queene vertuous in youth though now fpoil'd with earths rage: well if it were fo rich a treaſure once now tis no more but rattling gaftly bones. say that it were the head of fome great man that wifely fearcht and pri'd out euery cauſe and that inuented eu'ry day to skanne the deep diſtinctions of all forts of laws: and fomtimes fo cut off his neighbours head why if it were himfelfe is now but dead. and might it not a lady fomtimes ioye t'haue deckt and trim'd this now rainbeaten face with many a trick and new-found pleafing toye? which if that now fhe did behold her cafe: although on earth fhe were for to remaine she would not paint nor trimme it vp againe. why might not this haue beene fome lawiers pate the which fometimes brib'd brawl'd and tooke a fee and lawe exacted to the higheſt rate? why might not this be fuch a one as he? your quirks and quillets now fir where be they now he is mute and not a word can ſay. why might not this haue garniſht forth fome dame whoſe fole delight was in her dog and fanne her gloues and maſke to keepe her from the aime of phebus heate her hands or face to tanne: perhaps this might in euery fort agree to be the head of fuch a one as fhee. e or dolarnys primeroſe. or why not thus fome filthie pander flaue that broaker like his foule doth fet and fell might not haue dyed and in an honeſt graue after his death gone thether for to dwell: and i come there long after he were dead and purchaſe fo his filthy panders head. or fay 'twere thus fome three chind foggie dame the which was fo but then a bawd was turn'd and kept a houſe of wanton venus game vntill fuch time her chimneis all were burn'd: and there fome one with gallian fpice well fped may dye of that and this might be her head. but oi runne i runne too farre aftray and prate and talke my wits quite out of doore say 'twere a king queene lord or lady gay a lawyer minion pander or a whore: if it were noble t'were not for mee to creake on. if it were bafe it were too vile to ſpeake on. but what fo ere it was now 'tis but this a dead mans fcull vfurped from his graue yet doo i make it ftill my formoſt diſh for why? 'tis all the comfort that i haue : in that i may when any dine with mee shew what they were and eke what they ſhall bee. then on the cloath he fet it downe againe and with a figh hart-deepe with halfe a groane which drew falt teares from out his eyes amaine although he cloak'd them with a prittie moane: well fir quoth he although your chear's not great this is the fawfe you fhall haue to your meate. which dolarnys primerofe. which i no nigard wiſh you not to ſpare although it be an ill digeſting meate yet fuch it is that we muſt knowe and heare though wee not that yet that our liues will eate: and who foere with in my bowre fhall dine shall taft this fawfe ere any cates of mine." 2 then did hee giue mee of his rootie foode and bad mee eate and hee tooke of the fame hee eate thereof affirming it were good but i to taſte it knew not how to frame: and yet becauſe that i was hunger-beaten i chaw'd a bit and feem'd as though i had eaten. then did he take his pitcher in his hand and courteouſly did proffer drinke to mee i wil'd him drinke and i at his commande nexte tafter of that fame his drinke woulde bee: hee dronke thereof and after fo did i and fett the pott vpon the ground vs by. then in his hand he tooke the houre glaffe and theſe like words to me he did bewraye behold faith he how here the time doth paffe tread you vpright or go you quite a ſtray: here may you fee how ſwift your time doth runne and ceafeth not vntill your life be doone. this glaffe euen now was full of flipery ſand this glaffe even now was like the prime of youth this glaffe euen now was fill'd with plentyes hand only in this you may behold times truth: here you may fee that time is alwayes fliding this is a mirrour of fickle tims abiding. e 2 see dolarnys primerofe. see how it glides fee fee how fafte it runne say a good life vpon this time did dwell wer't not too foone his houre ſhould be come if hee in vertue others did excell: no were he mofes dauidor salomon his time thus come his life muft needs be gon. now'tis full out the lampe hath burn'd the oyle this houres funne within this glaffe is fet were this a man he now were free'd from toyle all earthly labors now he would forget: and as this fand within this glaffe lie ftill so fhould the earth his breathleffe body hill. without more words the glaffe he did fet downe and tooke two potts of flowers in his hands hee knit his browes and feemed for to frowne yet of the vertues thus at length he ſkans: theſe with'red flowers were as faire as theſe and theſe faire flowers wilbe as foule as theſe. this pot of flowers that dead and with'red be in prime of fhew but yeſterday were growing their blafted lookes thus faded as you fee were yeſterday both pleaſant freſh and flowing: what wee are all by theſe wee may deuine when death fhall cut our thred and fatall line. and theſe faire flowers that now fo faire doo feeme whoſe powers were fofter'd with this mornings deaw their gaudy time as i do iuftly deeme is nigh halfe ſpent as triall fhall proue true: for ere their lookes the morrow light ſhall fee their pleaſant hewe full with'red off fhalbe. theſe dolarnys primerofe. theſe faded flowers are like vnto the man the which cold dead vpon the ground doth lie with gaftly colour vifage pale and wan and many mourners him attending by: his life thus gon his body nothing craue but to be hid within an earthly graue. the with'red flowers then he did fet downe and tooke the flowers equall to the other which when they were each one by other fhowne scarfe could i deeme the on's hew from the other: but that the laft in's right hand he did hold the first of them his left hand did infold. then with fad lookes he figh't and thus befpake behold thefe flowers a paradox in yeares with fuch remorfe theſe ſpeeches from him brake that he did partly fmother them with teares: behold (quoth he) the man that liues in payne and eke the man that doth in ioye remaine. thefe flowers (quoth he) his right had flowers meaning doth reprefent the life of happie men the which with vertue in their bounds conteining do leade their liues that none may looke agen: whofe humane courſe no man hath euer feene to be corupt with fretfull ire or fpleene. theſe flowers are like the man who from his youth hath led his life in pathes of vpright wayes th'are like to him that ftrayth not from the truth but liues in goodneffe all his youthfull dayes: th'are like to him whofe yeares doo not decay but liueth young vntill his lateſt day. e 3 thefe dolarnys primerofe. thefe flow'rs(quoth he ) were cropt two days ago but yet doo keepe their perfect colour ſtill the water is the cauſe why they doe fo for why?brim-full this ſmall pot i did fill: so looke where vertu's fill'd with ſweet content there life or colour will not foone be ſpent yet euen as beauty from theſe pretty flowers though moiftly kept at length will quite confume sofhall that man who hath with all his powers decked him felfe in vertues ſweet perfume: for though he feeds long on moift vertues breath yet at the length he yeelds himſelfe to death. then did he looke vpon his left hand flowers alaffe (quoth he )me thinks i fee you fade the drouth of wo confumeth all your powers y'are burnt with heat though always kept in fhade: for euen as care like fire confumes a man so drouth in fhade your beauteous colours tanne. theſe flow'rs are like the willfull prodigall that vnthrift-like fpendeth his youthfull dayes mounting vp ftill euen fodenly to fall by in directing of his willfull wayes: his riotous life his toyes and lauiſh tongue makes him looke old when that he is but young. th'are like to him that wantons it abroad with midnight reuills kept in venus court sparing no coft but lai'th on golden loade and in a brothell keeps lordly port: but when his purſe and vaynes are all drawn drye though he's but young he lookes as he would die. th'are dolarnys primerofe. th'are not vnlike a vertuous nurtur'd child the which did flowriſh in his tender yeares but got the reines grows headſtrong proud and wilde till all his graine is turn'd to frutleffe tares: then full of care he leaues his fooliſh ioy and looks like age when he is but a boie. good fir(quoth he ) thus haue i to you ſhowne the vertu's of theſe feuerall forts of diſhes my glaffe and flowers you the taft haue knowne although not fill'd with fleſh nor dayntie fishes: and with thoſe words he did ſet downe the flowers feeding againe for to reuiue his powers. not paſt two bits the filly man did eate when in his hand he tooke the booke and bell and thus of them began for to intreat whilft droping teares from his fad eies befel: this booke(quoth he) a mans ſhape ſeems to haue and this the bell that cals him to his graue. this little booke prefents the life of man wherein is wrap'd the fubftance of his foule which be it freſh or be it pale or wan t' muſt ſeparate when as this bell doth toule: how vertuous bad or pure foere it be when death doth call foule muſt from body flee. within this booke doth ſpring the well of life which fountaine cleare giues drinke to al that crauesit heare li'th the fword that ends all kindes of ſtrife deny'd to none but all that feeks it haue it: and they that vfe this fword or water cleare this bells alarum need not for to feare within dolarnys primerofe. within this booke good men renew their fight when as they bathe their liquid veines therein: to heare this bell it doth their foules delight they feare not death they force him not a pin: for when ſterne death thinkes moſt their foules t'anoy this is their ſhield they thinke him but a toy. this booke(quoth'he) fhould vfurers behold and foule vfurpers of their neighbours land that robs the poore and heapes vp hoordes of gold tonote it well they would amazed ſtand: and from thoſe lands and bagges of money fall for feare this bell to limbo fhould them call. if drunkards gluttons or lafciuious men would deeply diue into this ſmall bookes lines their owne black leues they would turne ore agen and foone bewaile their monſter like ſpent times: arming themfelues with this the fcourge of hell leaft they ſhould feare the tolling of the bell. or if that they who fwell with haughty pride within this bookefhould make their looking-glaffe or if falſe theeues fhould here their fhares diuide and view it well before they hence did paffe: pride and celeno they would both go pray for feare this bell to hell fhould them conuay. but if a good and vertuous liuing man should chance to prie within this little booke he neede not feare for he already can the calmie lines with faire digeſture brooke: if death him call he doth him ſtraight defie only he knowes from this world he muſt dye. this dolarnys primerofe. this bell preſents the crier of a court the which in time doth call both good and bad each man thereto muft duly make refort for when he calles an anfwer muſt be had: and when pale death fhall fhut vpall our powers the dolefull bell doth ſtrike our lateſt houres. with which fad words he fet them on the cloath now fir(quoth he) y'haue tafted all my fare the which to fhew to fome i would be loath but ſpeake i pray how doo yee like this cheere: well: but mee thinkes 'tis ill digeſting food no fir quoth he 'tis pleaſant ſweet and good. for if a prince ſhould chance to come this way and in mine arbour fit as now you doo theſe cates and cheere to him i would forth lay him looke and taſte vpon it too: and pray and would not let his pardon for to craue to tell him this doth reprefent his graue. or if a queene with all her courtly traine offtates and peeres of lords and ladies gay should come within this little fhadie plaine and in the cell of poore maluchus ſtay: what ſhould detaine my tongue it might not tell they muſt not aye in earthly pleaſures dwell? let all the lawyers lodg'd within new troy and all the dames that mincing minions are the pandar flaues and ftrumpets ſeeming coye come here to mee and none of them ile ſpare: but tell them all and that with ſmall offence their time will come and that they muſt pack hence. f if dolarnys primeroſe. if miftreffe maudlin with her golden locks whoſe lemman knowes his well-grift-forked browes or miſtreffe maukin who fate twife i'th ſtocks should vndermine thefe hermit-fhading bowes: i would not let their perfon thus to greete amend your end is but a winding ſheete. let them that ſpend the flower of their time the venus wanton and the prodigall who doo not take the funne while it doth ſhine but let it paffe and thinke not of their fall: let them come here but once and dine with mee and here ile tell them what their end fhall bee. let thofe that hoard vp gold and filuer ſtore and neuer thinkes to part from it againe but fterue poore orphans at their wretched dore and fillie foules for want thereof are flaine: let them looke here here fhall they plainly fee at their laſt houre what there beft end ſhall bee. let pride and theft and glutton-drunkenneſſe and all the tribe of mifcreant demeanour with all lafciuious folly and exceffe repaire to this my little fhadie bower: and taſte this fare as you haue done with mee then ſhall they know what their beſt end ſhall be. yet fir quoth he farre be it from your heart that you fhould take a bad conceipt herein but of my words and cheere receiue a part and thinke you welcome to this homely inne: nor doo i fpeake it but that you ſhould gaine some pleaſure by your long ſpent time and paine. but dolarnys primerofe. but now i fee an houre is fully ſpent since we fat downe within this homely place wherefore if you be therewithall content weele end our dinner with a thankfull grace: which being done if that you pleaſe to ſtay we will diſcourſe to ſpend this summers day. i was content the dutie was effected the borde was drawne and all was laid afide each on his feate in fhadow ſweet elected and then the hermit thus his fpeech did' guide: good fir(quoth he)now doo i call to minde the paduan brach that was of spartan kinde. i pray you tell mee doo you know her maister i aske not that a huntſman i would be but that i heard you ſay ſhe did runne faſter then all the hounds in that wood founding crye: faine would i know him that in padua ought her and eke the man that into albion brought her. i bluſht to heare him name the dogge againe that i had nam'd but neither feene nor found for why? the hunting was a morall plaine himſelfe the hart his loue the paduan hound: yet that i might protect my felfe from ſhame thus vnto him an anſwer i did frame sir that faire brach a curteous knight doth keepe who in his armes will hugge the tatling elfe and in his bofome fuffers her to creepe so that the ape growes curft and bites himſelfe; and wer't not that i ſhould be thought to glory of them i could diſcourſe a pretty ſtorie. f 2 no dolarnys primeroſe. no fir quoth he if that you pleaſe to tell that faire diſcourſe deriu'd from italy i cannot thinke that glory vaine doth dwell within that breft where vertue feemes to lie: nor will i fuffer you to take the paine vnleffe by lott you doo the place attaine. for that from padua i did late returne and with theſe eyes i fadly did behold a fight the which doth cauſe me yet to mourne the which my tongue did neuer yet vnfold: wherefore by lot we may difcerne right well which of vs two the firft difcourfe fhall tell. the lots were caft the hermits was the charge he must prepare to tell the firſt diſcourſe when i did thinke that i ſhould heare at large his loue-fick paffions fighed with remorſe: but he as one that reueld in difpaire began his romaine ftorie to declare. 0000 the hermites difcourfe. w here grifly cares floweth vntamed tides within the ocean of a penfiue breft there forrowes ſhip ſtill at an anchor rides beaten with waues of boiling thoughts vnreft: whole ftormes of fighes againſt that ſhip is fent vntill her heart-worne tacklings all are rent. for dolarnys primeroſe. for when my hart began to harbour griefe and that my thoughts had entertayned wo in deferts wilde i fought to finde releefe and path-les paths my vncouth ſteps did know: vntill at length i did behold and fee each fenfeleffe creature boyftrous ftormes did flee. the ſtormes did force the lyon leaue his pray the wily fox to haſten to his hoale the ſtormes did force the wolfe to houle and bray the hinde to fteale to couert with her foale. the ſtormes did force th' antilop for to hide her in fhelters fafe conducted by the tiger. the vgly beare vnto her whelps did runne the briſtled bore retired from his food the bounfing doa vnto the brakes did come the fearefull hare did haften to the wood: and all the beafts that natures art did mould some harbour fought to keepe them from the cold. then did i likewiſe to my chamber go whofe walls were painted with oreflowing teares mixt with the colour of diftreffe and wo drawne out with knots of hopeleffe griefe and feares: my bed of forrowe i had lately bought my fheets with fighs moft fumptoufly were wrought. my bolfter fill'd with fad lamenting groanes my pyllowe all imbrodred ore with care my blanckets framed full of wayling moanes my couering imboffed with difpaire: thus was my chamber deckt on euery ſide with wo and griefe wherein i did abide. f 3 where dolarnys primeroſe. where i had time and place inough to mourne with fainting teares there might i feaſt my fill there might my fighs redoubled well returne from hollow vaults and eu'ry little hill: there to my felfe my ſelfe was left aloane none left to heare the tenure of my moane. for if there had perhaps they would but fmile and laugh and fcoffe at my fad foules lament where with the fighs that i did time beguile would ſhake great hilles or ftony rockes haue rent: but fuch they were as to my felfe were eafing content my minde and to myſelfe were pleaſing. ten thouſand fighs i fent to fill the aire when from the aire i fuckt them vp againe a thouſand times i did repeate my care when ſtill my care did with my felfe remaine: i figh'd i fobd and weeping hands did wring and fometimes fong my woes with fonnetting. but after that i had my felfe tormented with horred groanes whereon i daylie fed so that the rugged breathleffe ftones lamented i wrapt my felfe in that care couer'd bed: where thus my thoughts did meditate on griefe not knowing how nor where to finde releefe. the malecontent is wayted on with wo the louers life is care ore-guilt with ioyes the penitent his breft with fobs doth flowe shedding out teares his penfiue foule auoydes: sighes at a beck to each of them do fall sorrow doth fit attending on them all. the dolarnys primeroſe. the malecontent he neyther eates nor fleeps but meditates vpon he knowes not what his daring eies vpon the earth ftill peepes but what he feekes his fenfes quite forgat: his fuilen thoughts doth feede on bitter gall moft is his mirth when greateſt is his thrall. farre more hee labours in his troubled minde then all the plough-men in a thouſand feelds his harueft reapt when ſeaſons are moſt kinde leffe is his gaine then leaſt of all theirs yeelds: hee thinkes his ftate is happier then many yet loues nor hates nor feares nor cares for any. his life he loues as men loues fommers fnowe for life and death are both to him all one a life to death he's fure that he doth owe hee death imbraceth ere that his life is with this his vayne hee thinkes the gods haue bleft and in this vaine he go❜th a while to reſt him. gone: the louer fad i moane with kinde remorse for why? i knowe no furgeon can him cure his vnfeene wounds are of ſo ſtrange a force that liuing long no wight can them indure: (him) he's frizing hotte and liuing alwayes dead difpayring hopes and loofing thinkes him fped he's well yet ficke and knowes not wher's his griefe he's burning cold he hath and yet he ſkants he's feeking ftill though neuer findes releete his heart feemes pleaf'd yet that he wish he wants twixt two extreames his fhip is alwaies fayling he thinkes him fped when all his baits are fayling. hee dolarnys primerofe. hee mourning fings hee fmiles in forrow fad hee dying liues and liues by alwaies dying hee nought inioyes yet with his nothing glad hee ftill purfewes where hee fees nothing flying: his reftleffe pangs would make a world to wonder yet drowfie fleep doth force him to a flumber. the penitent that doth in anguiſh payne hee finking fwims in gulfes of deepe difpaire in fhade he fitts his funne doth fildome ſhine his drinke is wo his meate is clogged care: hee hopes he feares and thus in hoping ioyes hope makes him glad but fearing him annoyes to vncouth places he doth alwayes hant his penfiue confcience wills him there to wander his tort'red body feemes to feele more want then for his hero did loue-drown'd leander: no defert darke nor pleaſant lawne long holds him but weary ſtill his iuie armes infolds him. he fighing peeps from earth vnto the ſkies then wofull lookes from ſkie to earth againe from earth he came in heauen his comfort lies thus on he walkes twixt mutuall ioy and paine: in darkfom night nor yet in plealing day his life nere ftands at one contented ſtaye. well do i know the teares and bitter moane the penitent doth vtter with his wayling for in that griefe i feele my felfe as one that haue a fhip within that ocean fayling: and hope at length with others that haue ftore to bring my thip vnto a happy fhore. thus dolarnys primerofe. thus did i lie with fundry meditations thus were my thoughts with diuers changes led which mufings were my chiefeft confolations till drowſie fleepe was hanging in my head: which then began my fenſes to ſurpriſe binding the deawie clofures of mine eies. but flumber foft no fooner had inclof'd the watry windows of my wofull eies when as mee thought a champion bold oppof'd my fleeping fenfes with fad miferies: whofe warlike lims in iron rough were girt the which defcry'd the courage of his heart. his burgonet his vaunbrace and his ſheeld were framed all of fire tempered ſteele with golden ſtarres amid a fable feeld whoſe maſſie ſubſtance i did feeme to feele: fixt was his beauer voy'd of plumie fanne or quainte deuife vpon his helme to ſtande. at which dread fight my fenfes were amazed though drowfie winkes did rock them ſtill aſleepe mine eies did feeme to wake and waking gazed yet heauie flumbers clofly did them keepe: but then his voice that feem'd my heart to ſhake vnbound his tongue which then theſe words befpake. awake awake ye winged wits of rome your flying fancies wrapt in fiery ayre sing iulius worth agricola intoombe your fpirits high cloſed in manſions faire too long haue flept in loues delicious awe forgetting ftill your kind agricola. g but dolarnys primerofe. but where am i? or where doe i declare my wofull name with proftrate invocations? what ſhall my forows pearce an albions eare? and fright poore padua with my exclamations? no: let me firſt from faire elizea fal and choake the deep'ft infernall with my thrall. o no: let rome let rome fucke vp mine anguiſh let rome the mother of my infants yeares swell with my fighs in which my foule ſtill languiſh let rome difolue her felfe with dolefull teares: let roman poets fing great iulius name with blazing trophees of eternall fame. but they are gone from romes terreftiall verges whoſe muſe admir'd were crown'd with quiu'ring baies o they are dead that ſhould haue fong my derges with dolefull langours and diftrefffull layes: he liu's in bliffe that fung the warres of troye dead is the fwayn that told of phillis ioye. yet doth he liue eternized with glory that fweetly fung renowmed scipioes warres he liues that told æmillaes laſting ſtory mixt with anthonius and octauius iarres: a thouſand more doo liue whoſe fames doe ring yet none of dead agriola will fing. wherefore fith i of force am fummon'd here the ftorie of my wofull dayes to tell and rome denies to lend her liftning eare attend maluchus and with forrows fwell. that albion faire may wayle my tragedy which fleeping waking thou fhalt heare of mee. when dolarnys primerofe. when great vefpafian wore the diadem of romes large empire and with conquering hand had wonne the wals of faire ierufalem whoſe ſtately towers were at his comand: the romes ſweet aire my youngling daies did nuroiſh her nectar pappes my infancie did cheriſh. where whilſt my years were tender foft and young in learnings cradle i was lai'd to ſleepe my carefull tutor ore mee fweetly fung and i fome ſtraines of his did note and keepe: efteeming them fo highly in my power that i did hug them till my lateſt houre. then did i frame my tongue to courtly charmes and how to tread the diftance of a dance and then i practf'd how to manage armes to toffe a pike and how to weeld a lance: then with found rackets clofe within a wall i nimibly learn'd to toffe a tenniffe ball. to hunt a deere i fomtime tooke delight and fometime fee the lightfote hare to play and fometime with an egar fawlcons flight i would confume the weary long fome day: a foamng fteed then would i learne to pace and fwallow-fwift runne him a double race. then in a ring i would him gently trot a full cariere then did i learne to make then to curuet then for to gallop hot then ftopt him quick that he new breath might take: then on his creft my flattring palme would flide the more to cheere his hot couragious pride. g 2 at dolarnys primerofe. at tilt and tourney then did i learne to ride with clattring fhockes to breake a ſturdy launce after the combate then with portly pride my foaming courfer would himſelfe aduance: whofe fumptuous cariage did ſo much excell that in each tourney i did beare the bell. for fo i manag'd that couragious beaſt that he would vault leape coruet plunge and prance with ftartling furie fold his doubled creft with loftie capers ftowpe ſtop and lightly daunce: with fierie rage ftrike ftare and trample proudly beating the ſtones ftamping and neighing loudly. each ten dayes once olympus feaft we held meeting in tilt with compleat armour bright so that i knew right well my ſpeare to weld and how t'incounter with the hardieft knight: and ſometime hit with counterbuffe ſo ſound that he lay weltring on the fullen ground. whilft the ſpectators voices high did laud mee with hou'ring hattes and lowd tumultuous cries the trumpet thrill did feeme for to applaud mee pearfing the higheſt zenith of the skies where might be heard vnpartiall voyces fay young iulius wonne the honour of the day. then was i brought to liue in ftately court whereas i fed of daintieft painted lookes for gallant dames there dayly did reſort to haue their faces read in fteed of bookes and foone i learned with an am'rous tongue to read the lines that were their bookes among. fortun dolarnys primerofe. fortune did fo aduance my blooming dayes that in the court i gain'd a courtly place and happy he that moſt my name could raiſe i fate fo high in great vefpafians grace: each one vnlearned thought their learned skill if not imploy'd my fantaſie to fill. agricola was bruted through the land no tongue did moue but ſpake of iulius name each martialiſt that did controule a band mutely admir'd to heare of iulius fame: for fweet difcourfe reuels and chiualrie who was renow'nd? agricola euen i. walkt i in court there lamprils eyes defcried mee if in the towne the cittizens would know mee if mountaines bare mee fhepheard fwaines efpied mee in countrie townes each vnto each would ſhow mee: and all would bend with curtefies to mee whilſt i to them would giue like curtelie. what ſhould i ſay? but that i ſhould not ſay? all honour ſtill in court attended on mee i ftill in great vefpafians bofome lay so gratioufly did fortune fmile vpon mee: and as i grew each day to riper yeeres each day renowne did place me with great peeres. but then bellona with her hot alarm's did fummon mee vnto the dint of warre where i with troupes of worthy men at armes refuſe no toile to meete that bloudie iarre: although great neptunes boyling empire lay betweene our land and that rich golden bay. g 3 but dolarnys primerofe. but ftraight we rigg'd our huge fea rending ſhips whofe fpreading failes with gentle eurus aide in thetis fields through glaffie billows flips no croffe of fortune once our nauie ftaide: vntill wee came at that gold-ſhining towne that was the fpring of iulius renowne. where vnawares we thruſt with ſpeed to land and orderly our valiant forces placed with fquadrons faire vpon that forreine ſtrand with glittʼring armour all the plaines defaced: but then our foes like champions ftoute and bold came with their power for to defend their hold. with hot brauado's and vndaunted ſpirits they marcht along from out their cittie gates ambitious all aduancement fought by merits committing life and land to froward fates: nor wee nor they no parle feem'd to craue combat and battaile each one defir'd to haue. for raging furie brooketh no delay armie beards armie in the bloody field their trampling gennets fierie breathings neigh their launces brauely their ſtrong courfers wield: enfignes difplai'd lowd drums and trumpets found whofe threatning terror from the clowds rebound. now warlike mars fome of thy valour ſend mee tip my weake tongue with gads of tempered ſteele or thou braue pallas fome of thy power lend me that i may feeme to make the hearers feele: what buffets blowes lim-parting-ftroakes and fcars are by fterne champions giuen in thy bloudy iars. my dolarnys primerofe. my tongue's too feeble to decipher out the raging furie acted in martiall traines yet will i fhew the proweffe of this route which thus incounter'd on the southerne plaines: the valiant horſemen firſt with ſwift cariers in fundrie ſplinters fhiuerd their piercing ſpeares. then to their carbins then vnto handy blowes then violent ſhot like to the oceans rage with pell-mell-fhocks out off each armie goes each man to win his courage did ingage: and ſtormes of bullets like to winters haile out off each fquadron did their foes affaile. then armours clatter'd fwords gaue blow for blow a hand a hand a foote a foote did craue life life defir'd bloud vpon bloud did flow each curtleax dig'd himfelfe a goarie graue: there did bellona like a lion teare rough irefull gallants on her toffing ſpeare. the radiant skie was darkned with the ſmoake that iffued from the pattering muſket ſhot which flumbring fume our fouldiers feem'd to choake the day and battaile were fo moultring hot: the thundring canons plaied on either ſide whofe dreadfull furie legions did diuide. and as the waues driuen with outragious ſtormes beateth the rampiers of vnmoouing rockes so did our captaines labour with hot alarmes them to repulfe with fhiu'ring launces fhockes: here lies fome dead there other freſhly bleeds trampling vpon them with vnruly ſteeds. abound dolarnys primeroſe. abounding terror tumbled in the feeld death ſtood apaled at his owne invention enuie bedect her felfe in rigors fheeld ruine and horror reuel'd with diffention: raging reuenge fported in fanguin blood the rauin'd earth ore-cloyed belching ſtood. harfh-dying tunes fighing and greeuous groan's wide gaping wounds forced lamenting cries heart-goaring ftabs burſting of leggs and boanes life guſhing teares forced from bloody eyes: men kill'd vnkill'd as dreadfull warre defired liuing and dying while parcas breath retired. yet was the battayle in a ballance found till i vndaunted cheer'd each feeble wing which doone our valiant forces gather'd ground then courage followe all the feeld did ring: then did our foes feare faynt and flattly flie whilft wee as victors victorie did cry. then did our foldiers try ple valour take the ſmall caliuers then did diſcharge apace the pykes and halberts liuing lims did ſhake with feares purfute the targueters did chace: the horſe-men fwiftly did their launces bend the cannons fwiftly did their bullets fend. then in our plumes fortune did feeme to play for that our foes lay weltring in their blood yeelding to vs the honor of the daie the faire greene feeld all fanguined ouer ſtood: here lie ftout champions pearft with deadly launces there laye braue captains leading fatall daunces. here dolarnys primerofe. here fell a body there tumbles off a head here laye one maym'd there laye one flaine out-right here laye a fouldier groueling fcarfly dead there laye a leader here laye a warlike knight: there a coronel here a gallant ſlayne thus were they ſcatter'd ore the purple plaine. and thus at length we forc'd them to retire cloſing themfelues within their cittie walls which wee inuiorn'd round with ſword and fire pelting their frontiers with hot poud❜red balles: whence wee might heare clamorous fhrikes & cries nipped with waylings in the troubled ſkies. then wee began their towring walles to ſcale taking the time by his rough hairie top while fickle fortune flylie brew'd their bale that we the flowre of their delight might crop: short tale to make valour and high renowne our conqu❜ring powres plac'd in that warlike towne. whence many fled to faue their wretched liues many did humbly kneele to kiffe our feete virgins and maides infants and trembling wiues with proftrate teares did all our forces greete: where i proclaimed with a trompet meeke that all ſhould liue that then their liues did feeke. who much did mufe to ſee ſo milde a fo thinking themselues conquered not at all their fad applaufes gaue vs leaue to knowe the ioye they tooke in that their riſing fall: and where before w'had onely woon the towne then of their hearts we feem'd to weare the crowne. h for idag har den mest internetapties and retraitement son the university of illinois library 821 b83472 . a return this book on or before the latest date stamped below. a charge is made on all overdue books. u. of i. library may 22 1939 ovoj may 14.1992 may 15 1982 2 may 2160 jul 18/1981 nl 22 2001 max is the 網 ​feb 0 1 1983 14685-s in quest of the holy grail i n in quest ο f τ η ε holy grail a hermit’s war lyrics selected from his diary by charles brumm revised edition london: c. w. daniel, ltd. graham house, tudor street, e.c. 4 1921 “ have love. not love for one alone but man as man thy brother call, and scatter like the circling sun thy charities on all." schiller. 821 b83 492 20 sept zy dile contents page 9 io 13 18 20 22 24 26 . prologue the rock of cashel ozymandias what see we now? that's my motto, friends the law divine . land of my choice our hymn. bill smith den leeuw van vlaanderen--1914 pro patria. les maraudeurs dandy dan harvesting the v.c. one monster of three the black knight miserere the bantam under the cherry tree the soldier's vow—1915 vanity fair god bless thee, nadine ! florence 27 32 33 34 37 40 41 43 44 46 . lantian . . . 48 . 51 53 54 57 58 enginnin. 1238795 5 629184 6 page 60 61 63 65 67 70 72 73 75 76 79 81 82 . . 84 86 87 carol queen of the night the morn. fourth of august 1917 vivos voco. mortuos plango. fulgura frango manchester hill the deceased wife's sister gloria in excelsis the covenant on the fields of flanders the knockout blow-1917 sword and shield rex apostolicus my knight " tête carrée” oh why? beyond the sunset death into life. the king am i who the woof shall weave? the cock has crowed. the lion of waterloo bouillabaisse karma la belgique the profiteer in memoriam jim, the drummer boy . under which crown ? les franc-tireuses the argo. in a hospital ward tempora mutantur-1918 89 . 91 92 94 96 98 99 1οι . 102 . 103 104 106 . i10 . iii 112 . . 113 114 . 7 . • . . page before god 116 hosanna to him! 117 the professional diplomatist 119 “ la france le veult !”-1920 121 titles 123 miserere nobis, domine 124 j'accuse 125 resurrection 126 faith 127 two roads 128 spirit divine 130 faithful and true 132 british masonic brotherhood 133 freemasonry 134 father of man 135 translated and rhymed from a dead prussian soldier's diary 137 clemenceau 139 we dare—1915 141 morituri te salutant 143 christians, dear brethren, are we 145 12th august 1918. (in the hippodrome) 146 doggie mine : 148 le tambour bat . 153 bon père à tous 155 souvenir de montmartre-1918 157 la déesse liberté 158 prière d'un bulgare—1919 160 pourquoi pas? 162 chauvin parisien à “ grosse bertha”. 164 chantecler réformé? 165 dem schwesterpaar: albion, germania 167 deutschland . 168 . 8 • > . . . . page 171 172 174 176 179 181 182 184 188 190 192 194 196 197 198 199 . weihnachten-1914 “ missa pro defunctis". “apologia pro vita sua”—1915 siegesfest. beichte trauerstille das lied vom hasse vobiscum pax !1920 der gottsucher . starb für's vaterland. es werde. 14th december 1918 christmas greetings-1918 president wilson ave tribunus plebis, mundus te salutat-1918 . the triumph of chaos ode to freedom . hail, saint john's day! the golden years . . . 200 201 202 ceterum censeo cartaginem esse delendam”. oyez! oyez ! the dawn. “the day" 203 204 205 207 prologue "bellaque matribus detesta."-horace. tºo young to idle, too old to fight , , a “hun” by lineage, british by right; i watch the crimson wings of the night for dawn to break, for glory of light. clouds still thunder, the vulture cries, hungry death still mercy defies, at the shrine of a withered paradise priests still bless the gospel of lies. a peace upon earth! from the old world's pyre phenix ascend! ours was the ire-ours be of prayer the sacred fire, ours the strains from the rose-wreathed lyre! 9 io the rock of cashel “gainst war itself, when this war passes, let our bugles sound a charge.” william watson. ) poetry –such as rupert brooke loved to -read, to write, and to live-grants relief to the full heart, and in the tempest of doubt, beneath the clouds of sorrow, its ever-fresh charms invoke heavenborn messages of solace. it is under such a nerve-racking shaking of faith, such a breaking of cherished traditions, that the verses collected in this volume—withered leaves from my war diaryhave been composed. a silent spectator of the world-struggle, by reason of age and prejudice, i have watched with a grief-stricken soul the deadly strife between god's own brotherhood of races and nations, have seen victory sway from side to side, and now, a prayer on my lips, behold the final triumph of the people's cause i love so well. inspired by christ's sermon on the mount, rendering homage to the saints and martyrs, and ii symbolising man's pursuit of the highest and holiest, the knights of old went forth on their quest of the holy grail. they slew the dragons in their path, they sacrificed love to duty, and wandering through darkness and wilderness, sword in hand, taking god's message as their guiding star,-immortal fighters—they aspired ever to the realms of brightness. has such another crusade been in progress during this tragedy of destruction and hatred and conquest? is the dawn of “ the day” to appear under the trembling wings of deadly contention ? have the knights again donned their armour to defeat the powers of evil, raising their standards amidst reeking floods of blood, and the cries of hunger-stricken women and babes, to make the good prevail ? the war with its chivalrous symbols, its records of heroic and vile acts, its history of tottering empires, its lies and intrigues, and its consolidation of a union of hearts in the british commonwealth, has overthrown many idols in religion, in politics, and in commerce. to reconstruct society, to build the temple of peace, to forgive, to forget, to refuse to make the individual suffer in body and mind for the king's and the 12 statesman's sin, is now mankind's great task. throughout this volume, in my symphonie pathétique, in ahasuerus, written in 1914, and in the novel, on the road to hell, to be published shortly, one great idea will be found to the fore—the call for brotherhood ! as i have faith in god the father, so do i cherish the belief that no hard materialism, no methods of barbarism, no despotic rule, no militarist forces can prevail against the moral strength of the people! masks and faces may change, but the canons of truth must remain supreme for ever and ever. even in hours of defeat and peril my courage never faltered, and i claim my written words, if they serve no other purpose, as the proof of an undeviating devotion to the country of my adoption, a record of lifelong aims, combined with the unalterable conviction that “good is the final goal of ill," and that through suffering, sacrifice, faith, and a union of interests, under the blessing of freedom, the holy grail may be at last achieved. “edendale,” whalley range, manchester, on the lord's 1919th birthday. 13 ozymandias “drive my dead thoughts over the universe like withered leaves to quicken a new birth.” shelley. the 'he first edition was presented to an areopagus of guardians or supposed-to-be guardians of “salus populi,” including those martyrs to humanity, the school teacher and the church of england curate, who on a charwoman's wage are entrusted with the godly mission of moulding the character of the world's future rulers. fool that i was to render homage to models of that mutual-admiration clan in whose company, through no fault of my own, i had in vain endeavoured to appreciate victor hugo's dictum, “fortuna favet fatuis”! my experiment of substituting for the fossilised christmas card an exchange of spiritual courtesies brought about strange results. worthy fellow-citizens sent charming messages, or softened their criticisms by pæans on my devotion to a noble cause~comments i treasure, pride of my 14 old age. those whom i would have ignored but for the call of noblesse oblige, failed to appreciate the compliment; so that copies of the hermit's war lyrics are now attesting the author's merit on the dusty shelves of a local second-hand bookstall. a brother consul addressed me as “deer consol”; a recently demobilised jolly bohemian, d.s.o., m.c., reciprocated my greetings with a skit on england's trinity, to wit, saint george, king george, and lloyd george, wisely ignoring the other georges. the missive, being underpaid, was allowed to pass by the censor, although curious dame d.o.r.a. loved as a general rule to investigate my correspondence. some o.b.e.'s, some coalition knights, and a lord mayor, “having arrived,” enwrapped themselves in the dignity of silence. a professor, a tribunus plebis, whose political somersaults are more fascinating than his forensic successes, claimed the spanish inquisitor's right to erase from the memory of man the lessons of history. to him the ides of march, as described in “oyez! oyez!” are but the hallucinations of an enfeebled mind, the babbling of mala lingua. poor misguided brother of mine, who dares to deprive the alsatian of the benefit of humanity's gospel! 15 22 what is granted the dane, the pole, and the slav, what is offered to fossilised realms and to empires still sleeping in embryo, the inalienable right to determine their own destiny, surely the reichsländer may claim ! “mein herz ist mein," says “ tête carrée in my poem. “why the . answer in german?"-has england's man of letters forgotten the ordinance of america's man of letters, the president's ordinance, as immortal as the decalogue, as christ's own sermon on the mount, and, alas! as unfulfilled ? according to official statistics compiled in 1910 from each inhabitant's own declaration, out of 1,218,803 people in alsace, 958 per cent. spoke german ; only to 0.4 was french the mother-tongue. the unfettered thinker was therefore entitled to conclude that the germanspeaking “elsass,” after two centuries under a a foreign yoke, was german again in hopes and aspirations. are these statements garbled ? were these figures falsified ? yes or no? why no plebiscite? is it true that the french expelled 300,000 alsatians from their ancestral homes? let the mask be torn away from the rotting cadaver of lies; for whether in the hands of a “sale boche a “pal foch”-mutatis mutandis force is or 16 no remedy, and hypocrisy is blasphemy before god and man. "employez la force, puisque vous l'avez; mais apprenez que si vous êtes maîtres de mon corps, vous ne l'êtes point de mon âme. libre, dans le région où elle est placée, elle ne craint rien des événements d'ici bas, je touche au seuil d'une autre vie, là je serai à l'abri de la violence et de l'impiété.” thus spoke pope pius vi. in 1798, when france-guillotining france, thieving, blaspheming franceviolated the rights of the holy see. to-day these sentiments resound in the soul of god-fearing men. in the manliness of grief england called the british empire to arms, belgium sacrificed soul and body, america sent treasure and the flower of her chivalry across the seas—for what? to smash the system of prussianism, to renounce the french heritage of conscription, to liberate humanity from the officially nursed sin of national hatred and suspicion, to destroy the philosophy of the beast of prey, confessed in unguarded moments of triumph or defeat; not to enslave freeborn men, not to nurse the ghastly craving for revenge, "wrath laid up against the day of wrath.” to a reborn france, heroic in defence, patient in > 17 suffering, inspired by the glory of mercy, to a truly christian france, to a france that lives for the cause of freedom, we will give our hearts. blessed too be the day when the british empire's workers and thinkers may again hail in a reborn germany, hallowed by suffering and sacrifice, and reviving the glories of days gone by, the spirit of “ brotherly love, succour, and truth”! in publishing a revised second edition of my book i claim the right to voice what many of my fellowcitizens think but refrain from expressing. homage to the dead, justice to the living! for the happiness of future generations, peace-loving brothers all to be, do i pray. eastermorn 1920. 2 18 what see we now? “ôte-toi de là, que je m'y mette.” – pannati. hast thou once more, great spirit, whom as god, as nature, mastering unsolved problems of destiny, and yet who livest in us, sublime creator of the soul immortal, a holy grail where prayers will ne'er fail, proclaimed our fate? hast torn the quivering veil from war's mad craze, the shrieking world to free, humanity one brotherhood to be? man slaughtered man as butchers slaughter swine ; but shall the forest-law our europe govern, the tiger's roar profane the godly silence that fell upon us when the guns were muted and mourning mankind, kneeling at the shrine which denotes peace and bears the name divine, fervently vowed the reeking sword to sheathe, to heaven's grace its vengeance to bequeath? 19 are we scrap-iron, but linked by a screw to wheels of engines crushing ever, ever life's golden seeds, that harvest only gather of tears and curses and of tortured corpses ? great spirit thou,—where now the breeze that blew from mercy, where the sun-kissed waves that threw of faith the treasures and of love the lore, good fairies both, on our forsaken shore? mangy cattle empires we broke and souls for souls we sold, great statesmen prattled of their holy mission, each mob looks down upon the " ” of alien birth ;-great spirit, did we battle for such conception vile, and spend our gold and england's youths ?—they, heroes all, were told, “ as god's own men, justice to guard, we fight!” what see we now? restored the devil's might? eastermorn 1921. 20 that's my motto, friends 2 ) 66 born “i love to hunt the hun, and i shall hunt him to the end of my life."--horatio bottomley, m.p., o.b.e., etc., november 1919. orn in hanover, english by choice" that's my motto, friends! and i challenge the clamant voice of passion, prone to rejoice, — ignoring the pledge of the nationwhen villainous hands seek my dower with slanderous charge to devour. before god i am claiming, friends, honour's guardians of old, the scrap of paper i hold ranks higher than purple or gold ! " england-liberty hall”that's my motto, friends! shattering the towers of thrall, heralding humanity's call, quickening the pledge of the nation 21 that by deeds immortal has wrought the image of love's noble thought! before god i am claiming, friends, the empire's burden to bear, your grief and your joy to share; and those who belie me-beware! ) "confound the thug and his coil” — that's my motto, friends! and the footpad who flashes his foil, and the slanderer proud of his toil,ignoring the pledge of the nationshatter their phials of wrath, break down the barrier, 'tis but lath! before god i am claiming, friends, shoulder to shoulder to fight the battle for right against might, mankind in peace to unite. 22 the law divine take away the sword, states can be saved without it.”-lord lytton. brela reak now the web that cunning demons wove on corpse-fed looms, in shreds the shrouds be torn! war drank my tears, war mocked my faith, war shorn of tender virtues, pitiless its scorn, my will and conscience into bondage drove. since vice-bred lust of liberty the name usurp'd, and bribed the destinies to find in brutal force the saviour of mankind, its glutton eye to love's sweet message blind, my breast became a flaming torch of shame. 'tween frozen conscience and hot burning will i lingered, till in solitude benign my soul craved refuge at the holy shrine, there to seek solace in the law divine, that god made man to love man, not to kill. 23 and then the service of my love i vowed, the love that asks no question, gives its best, fears not of final sacrifice the test; that sets at rest the tempest in our breast, and lives on earth with heaven's grace endowed. 24 land of my choice “as a man is within, so he judges what is without.” thomas à kempis. l and of my birth, land over-sea, where love, the priest at the dawn of life, enchanted the soul, faith to revive, in the gospel of peace, to pray and to strive for the brotherhood of humanity; land of my birth, once dear to me, in pursuit once high, and of noble race; in crusades immortal of heaven-blessed grace, the tempests of passion boldly to face, is there no longer a mission for thee? land of my choice, land of the free, thy challenge i shared by right to abide, and thy sword i honoured, the empire's pride, a union of strife-sick nations to guide to the dream-cherished haven of liberty! 25 land of my choice !-half a century my home, -why mine the harrowing fate to silence slander, to conquer hate in cruel eyes that watch and wait when mercy is claiming her legacy? thou, who in europe's great tragedy, land of my birth, once god's own land, to the four winds hurled the firebrand, break helmet and casque, purge thy blood-stained hand, and homage yield to the deity! at the unsealed springs of destiny, mankind's faith seeks the wand sublime to heal the wounds with the balsam of time, to redeem the soul from the doom of crime, kindling the light of liberty ! 26 our hymn “the people is a beast of muddy brain.” tommaso campanella. the 'he third of georges, proud of british birth, whose clouded spirit schemed to bring to earth all freedom's noblest aims, whose paltry worth e’en england's crouching courtiers dared not praise, one service rendered to the human race. fate in his hands the sword of justice laid, the corsican to smite, and thus was stayed freebooting france's vice, battle-arrayed. then, like the bursting of a prisoned flame, into our birthright, spirit-winged, we came. o'er storm-tossed seas time speeds her strenuous flight. shall now again the fangs of treacherous might asunder rend the charter of man's right? in reborn sin uproot hope's ruddy bloom ? the mail-clad world lead to a carrion's doom? 27 bill smith “majesty of the nature of man! in crowds not i seek thee-only a few ever count.”-schiller. bien ill smith, that's the name-aye, common enough. no beauty was he either : a skipper by trade, rough, gruff, and tough, of the breed that neither shirks nor fears, and his ship, trusting god, to her destiny steers. westward he sailed from the dogger bank with three good hands and a laddie, and silvery fish on deck and in tank, the minefields to cross, and at dawn of day his anchor to drop in dover bay. clear stood the moon and the stars shone bright, white-winged and azure-sandalled ; but the sea gleamed red thro' the veil of night, and the man at the wheel kept a sharp lookout : “aye, ready and steady—the foe is about !” 28 and the anchor, rusty and worn, that knew of the silent depth the horrors, the lore of the storm and heaven's blue, its limbs stretched forth with a sigh and a crack, whispering weird tales to the ropes on the rack. the man at the wheel the voices heard, and he crossed himself; and the skipper with a frown and a curse watched the blackfeathered bird that few round the capstan and cabin beam, with a vicious thrust and a savage scream. and then from the waves a spectre rose, and it shook its uncouth features ; steel-clad the soul, a machine-gun the nose, a torpedo the claws, living harvest to gleanthe enemy's vanguard: a submarine ! and in the distance a phalanx grey, breathing hell's fire and fury, dreadnoughts ready for action lay : lord of the sea, land of the free, mighty albion, we challenge thee !” 29 but round england's coast the mines are laid; the road to cross them, who knows it? woe to the ship and woe to her trade, that rashly attempts to force the main !no mortal eye shall see her again. and a shot rang out—“ship ahoy, stand by!” and bill smith, the skipper, muttered, “ to hell with you all!” but he shouted, aye, aye!” and a boat was lowered and a man stepped on board stern was his eye, and his question was short : “ is there a channel to steer thro' the mines?” “there is,” responded the skipper, and never he flinched. “do you know the lines? ” “ i do." 6. then onward to dover lead, or the fish of the deep on your body shall feed.” “i will,” said bill smith. to his boy he bent : “swing out the dingy and anchor!” and then to the bridge he quietly went ; but his teeth were set and his mood was grim, and he looked at his men, and his men looked at him. 30 and his men understood—“for england to die, that england may live !” the skipper uplifted his eye to the roseate sky, and his soul was with god when he grasped the wheel, into the minefields to turn the keel. crouched in his dingy, the skipper's boy beheld the enemy's squadron ; their errand he cursed to kill and destroy, and his fate he cursed, and he cursed the tide, and he cursed the sea and his lonely ride ; and he cursed the wind and the white-winged sail, onward leading, onward ; and then in the east serene and pale the glory dawned of the new-born day, and the boy fell on his knees to pray. the sun has risen-o'er the glittering plain on a sudden there rolls a thunder! a and crashes, red-flashing, are shaking the main ; high in the air a fierce-glowing spire, the brow of heaven a cauldron of fire! a 31 the sun has risen—comes silence deep, but the spirit of god is moving : what the hand has sown the soul shall reap, women must weep, men must fight, women for love, men for right. bill smith, that's the name-aye, common enough, for there are smiths by the thousanda skipper, rough and gruff and tough, nature's gallant gentleman he, his life gladly gave that we might be free! and the waves shall sing the song of his fame, a song for ever and aye. . rough, gruff, and tough, bill smith, that's the name, of the breed that neither shirks nor fears, and his ship, trusting god, to her destiny steers. 32 den leeuw van vlaanderen-1914 o “ ye who suffer woes untold or to feel or to behold your lost country bought and sold for a price of blood and gold. ..." shelley. prostrate realm, where sins of the impure on weeping victims breathe the war-led flame of savagery! and yet, they cannot tame thy spirit bold nor tarnish thy fair fame of chivalry, time-honoured and mature. justice thy armour bright, thy standard god, thou know'st not fear, thou plead'st for no retreat! on sun-kissed heights redeemed mankind shall greet the lion of flanders-broken at his feet the victor's eagles, the avenger's rod! whilst crowns are shaking, ancient realms undone, from gentle thoughts springs forth love's golden seed, and man hails man, the fervent prayer to speed : " when we of war's behest our souls have freed, then, only then, is freedom's battle won!” 33 pro patria " and war and victory, be thine arms my grave.” johannes evans. ent from the yoke of labour and of years, before the hearth a lonely couple sits; he reads the bible, and the woman knits, and sombre-eyed into the embers peers. bent “for england he fights, for england to live or to die : he asked not why, when they put the hest to the test”: “the lord hath given.” “ the will of the lord be blest.” a silence deep.—“hear'st thou the eagle's cry?" “the cry i hear, the eagle's cry ;-at rest his soul, he solved the supreme mystery, * life touching lips with immortality'”:" the lord hath taken.” “the will of the lord be blest.” 3 34 les maraudeurs "ecrasez l'infâme.”_voltaire. st torm-winged the nightin battle's blast the die is cast; masked the beacon of right, a bauble of tinsel and rags and plaster : the sword is master! valour mates hate, bears in her womb liberty's doom; with steel-clad fate man struggles and writhes ; but it shatters him into tatters. hush! a whisper, a call, — sigh from a breast; to virgin blest, a challenge the world to enthrall ? fear'st death the glutton, the ruthless reaper, war's over-gorged keeper ? 35 the earth asleep; beasts scent a trail, in moon-lit dale to the trenches they creep, vultures obscene, howling and shrieking, the devil soul-seeking. up flares a light on hill, where dead and dying spread, will-o'-the-wisps, red-eyed, shrouds for burial now are shaking : dawn is breaking sack on her back, gun in his right, a shot,—they fight ! then o'er the bloodstained track soldiers rush on, lashed into fury, judges and jury! unpitying! hacked off with knife, finger, still warm with life, wearing a diamond ring; white flesh, red froth, hard by yellow blotches, gold chains and watches. 36 slayers are slain, corpses are meat for vultures to eat, for the winds to sweep them away! man, as the sun shines, mildly caressing, prays for a blessing 37 dandy dan “true love by life, true love by death is tried. live thou for england; we for england died." polperro. god's harvest to od's harvest to reap, mother earth was asleep, and so were my pals; but i on the ramparts stood, lone guard to keep ; and the clouds swept o'er the sky fleecy and white, like a drove of sheep. and then a challenge, the eagle's cry, thro' throbbing silence flew; steel-clawed, its death-feathered arrows from high on love-seeking mankind threw, a ravenous monster-firefly. and the bugles blew and the thunder grew, shoulder to shoulder we stood, when a halo of red rose on heaven's blue, and the earth shivered and shook as if in the throes of immortal woe. 38 he: dandy dan, our captain, "'tention!” says dandy dan, the last of his clan, his moustache as black as ebony, a gentleman spick and span, the monocle as bright as his pedigree. “give them hell!” says he, and the slaughter began. “and when ye're near,” says he, “each man pick his man and go for his man!” · and hell we'll give them!” say we; and “the devil bless you!” says dandy dan. 66 “'tention, fusiliers ! fix bayonets! charge!” no coward fear: with a smile the monocle he firmly set, and we charged with a mighty cheer, and dandy dan to glory us led. a and thro' shot and thro' shell, a whirlwind we sped; switching his cane, spick and span, dandy dan his destiny met. dying says he : “en avant ! " “en avant !” say we, “en avant !" you bet! ) 39 to rest we laid the last of his clan where the debt to nature he paid, with cane and monocle, all spick and span; and the padre his litany said “ 'tention!”-a volley.-good-bye, dandy dan! and now when i think of the days of old, the slaying by kingly command, with a shudder my hands to prayer i fold: may warfare's firebrand never again my eyes behold. 40 harvesting “our souls have sight of that immortal sea, which brought us hither.”_wordsworth. whe then the sword of england our statesmen drew to fight for freedom 'gainst ruthless might, into our message, “ abide by right, man's destiny fearlessly lead to the height,” the voices of heaven we threw. shoulder to shoulder the empire stood, stout hearts never flinched in the roar of the gale, and we mastered our tears, and we solaced the wail of grief-stricken souls, and we swore not to fail, for we knew that our cause was good. our honour we pledged, the pledge we shall keep; and when our comrades to rest we lay in the trenches they gallantly conquered, we pray: almighty god, o hasten the day when mankind the harvest may reap!” 41 the v.c. cavalier sans peur et sans reproche."--bayard. (dedicated to major h. kelly, v.c., d.s.o., m.c., etc.) twas was on a french farm, a devilish hot spot, outnumbered we were by the foe; with his long-necked guns the range and our lines he peppered with shrapnel and shot, the stretchers went to and fro. he had got, up rode a general, his coat black and tan; “can ye hold the farm ? ” wheezed he. · our colonel looked daggers; he growled, “we . can!” and our colonel we cheered : aye, man for man, neither satan nor boche feared we. “ lads, honour bright!' honour bright to keep with a shout and a d----we vowed ; and we watched fiery snakes thro' the valley creep, ruddy tongues from the tanks and the trenches leap; undaunted we stood, unbowed. 42 а then all of a sudden, from hill and ravine dread mists crept over the track, and thro' a green screen, almost unseen, of our flesh and our blood the harvest to glean, the enemy rushed to attack. a our colonel looked daggers, and he growld, you bet, lads, honour bright!” “yes, sir!" the rifle hot, the bayonet red, shot for shot we gave, steel with steel we met, for hell, flaming hell was astir. the victory we courted, the victory we won ; “honour bright” and nothing faked ! why the v.c.?-don't know : every one of my pals did as much as i've done; “honour bright" of england was staked. staked was the honour of england, and now shiver the man-slaying rod ! no nation to conquer, and none to endow with the empire's blood and treasure we vow : “honour bright,” so help us god! 43 one monster of three “il paradiso è all'ombra della spada." d'annunzio (rapagnetta). a “α' n eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,” the jews used to pray, going out to slay : what have ye supermen-christians to say, prophets of paradise, lovers of truth? no quarter expected, no mercy shown; war to the hilt, savagely willed, with corpses the road to heaven filled, supermen-christians—the devil's own! vikings, fanatics, or dupes ? carried on too long, honey-tongued ;--answer the call ! the jury meets—humanity all;and the verdict ? “one monster begotten of three.” 44 the black knight 6 “ jus silet inter arma.” mid: idst dying and dead, where the furrows reek of terrors begotten in hell, where vultures gather and night-owls shriek, where the shell-torn trunks of willows creak, and the winds drawl a woe-born knellon the crest of the hill a rider draws rein, the flare of battle his light; with a fiendish smile he surveys the plain, and in anguish cry out the souls of the slain : “good lord, 'tis revenge, the black knight!” immortal his bond, a spirit bold, he rules o'er death, o'er life; he rules to-day as he ruled of old, enfettering virtue, vice to uphold, in his mission of hatred and strife. 45 up to the crest of the hill march the dead, grey shapes they, splashed with red; a mother's love the body has bred, ambition and greed the mind have fed, till the sword cut life's golden thread. and the rider beholds the slaves of his might; winds blow and the waters roll ;the dawn is breaking ; “angels of light, deliver our sons from revenge, the black knight, betrayer of body and soul!” 46 miserere “ fit via vi.” _virgil. fan 'antasia, gaily winged with music bland, joyfully voicing immortal command, to heaven flew, mankind's forbidden land, light from darkness to sunder, anguished worlds to enchant thro' love's wond'rous wand. the shades of night fair visions have blurred, the voice of hell man's passion has stirred, the songs i loved are no longer heard ; the cannons flame and thunder, storm-sped, while ever onward races the reaper's scythe. blessed be the memory of days gone by, rose-scented the earth and cloudless the sky; too deep now the hatred ever to die, shattered the grail, despised the spirit of christ, woe-worn the soul that had faith ; 47 my conscience is fettered, my prowess is drilled ; to kill being bidden, i obeyed—i killed, doing the deed that the old men willed. brother, who winnows my chatter? the spirits of night incited the fight-and the dawn? at god's sacred altar vigil i keep, in dreams i shudder, at prayer i weep : in blood thou sowest, in blood thou shalt reap!" brother, say, does it matter that o'er our corpses to glory the war-lords leap? 48 the bantam “dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.”—horace. he e feared not death's solemn call, and the men in his platoonbantams, manchesters allhad sworn to conquer or fall :"fire away, boys; fire away! au revoir on the judgment day!” a in ancoats he had been reared, his dad kept a pawnbroker's shop; and when he volunteered his pals only tittered and sneered: “by gum, it's a blooming bluff! he ain't made of soldiering stuff.” but when in the flaming west he followed the fifes and the drums, the joy of life in his breast, to the padre he said in a jest: “ some folk for a lass bail their soul, to my country i pledge my parole.” 49 thunder of guns in his ears, fire and blood on his track, old age he saw broken with tears, green youth consoled by cheers, and the true cross of sacrifice gleamed as a pearl in the blood-red skies. then from the trenches one day a message there was to take across the “no man's” way. “who will the task essay ? the stakes ? death,—the v.c.” “i'll take on the job,” smiling, said he. ) smiling he went o'er the top, 'midst a shower of crashing steel, with a counter-jumper's hopa trait from the pawnbroker's shop; when a bullet struck him.-where? there ! who cares?_onward he raced with a prayer. then something burst at his side ; the wound with his right he clenched. “to hell with your shells !" he cried, , sped on with a lustier stride, 4 50 a till he heard a loud british cheer“who goes there?” “ bantam !" grenadier !” “ here, his message he gave—that's all his hand to salute he raised, in the grasp of death to fall the last post sounded its call, the bantam to rest we laid, and a volley we fired. the padre said: “he has dreamt the splendid dream, proud of his duty and race; he has heard the war god's scream, and the angel's call to redeem. turn towards the sun his face : may he taste the love of god's grace!” 51 under the cherry tree "hush, hush! it is the charm of nothingness.”—joseph ellis. the he sky feathery-white, fragrant the air, a black-eyed thrush woos a rosebud fair, sweet honey gathers the humming bee, and the butterfly dances rejoicingly, under the cherry tree. the old, old song the thrush will sing, and the rosebud dreams of love's golden spring ; when spirits of darkness, breaking the spell, on quivering wings ring a rising knell under the cherry tree. storm-tossed the clouds, and the cannons roar, corpses the harvest, peace nevermore ; satan has thundered his fiendish hest, love's golden spring sank awed to rest under the cherry tree. 52 the black-eyed thrush knows better then, and scorns the allurement of men-slaying men, and the rosebud hearkens and wonders why the rye is in flames, and the wounded cry under the cherry tree. the sun is folding his ruddy wings, the thrush the old, old song still sings, the touch of venus has outshone hell, and the rosebud dreams of the marriage bell, — under the cherry tree. 53 the soldier's vow–1915 "surely the time will come when humanity refuses to be diseased any longer."-edward carpenter. whe then our boys—god bless them !--come marching home, o the day, the day! o the glorious day! brother mine, pray, what will they say ? weary in body, the soul wrapt in gloam, five years spent in serfdom and shambles, and nowbrother mine, say! what now,--and how ? never again shall empires play the blood-rearing game of man-cursing fame, with hatred's deeds love's mission to shame! and here is the soldier's faith-tongued parley : “we fought to gain peace, we fought to be freein the name of the fallen, so shall it be!" 54 vanity fair “is it not written, my house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations ?"-saint mark. la a france, vanity fair, rushed to destiny's lair, sword-braided her bridal veil ; the capricious despot caressing she besought an oracular blessing, buckling on war's shining mail. the drums to quarters beat : england her fate to meet, see, stands up as of old ! we renounced our pleasures, our labours, we sharpened our wits and our sabres, the world to remould, we were told. no visions of conquest we chased, when our deathless standards we raised europe to free was our plea ; and fighting we kept, and praying for the glorious dawn, surveying the paradise yet to be, 55 in the hail of shot and shell, four years of shrieking hell in silence and patience borne ; effacing from life's golden psalter the chapter of love, the altar forlorn, the covenant torn. two millions of broken lives, and untold stores of our goldbehold, we redeemed our word; tho' our lips may in anguish stammer, still are we forging the hammer, in armour our manhood to gird. true to immortal tradition, europe to save from perdition england has buried her dead; yet the harrowing soul of the mother prays that our enemy brother in her goodly footsteps may tread. no glittering guerdon at stake, ours was humanity's sake, and we challenged the terrors of night till hope from a roseate bower, revealing her sacred dower, bequeathed us the glory of light. 56 la france, vanity fair, laurel-crowned her lair, the “reichsland" claims, and say we: “to the foe the rack of contrition, to the friend the saintly mission of mercy and amity.” . cursed be the herald, again bugles to sound! in vain shall the brave of england have died ? 'midst horrors of killing and maiming the bounty on earth we are claiming, too long to our prayers denied. la france, purge thy reeking lair ; erect, thou vanity fair, the cross where the plague-haunts stood : the sword was once our redeemer,master now be the dreamer of god's own brotherhood! 57 god bless thee, nadine! to my grandchild, 23rd april. lot ove-winged, my heart goes out to thee, sweet flower, kissed by purple morn; long-dormant visions, dreams reborn, thy feast shall crown with holy glee, wreathed by roses that bear no thorn. hail to thee, flower on life's bright tree, soul thou of grace and of purity! gather spring's treasure, age to adorn; when time has extended his shadowy wing, what girlhood conceived, the woman shall glean in the bower of love, the harvest of spring !the sun has risen, on the sea-belted green the birds are gathering : hush, hark! they sing: “little queen, little queen-god bless thee, nadine!” 58 florence to my friend, c. f. wurster, esquire. aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem.” horace, carmen ii. a tragedy! the thunder, friend, shook the whole world, god's winnowing fan you braved the storm, you were a man! and thus you spoke: “'tis not the end. life's closing chapter i will read in classic nooks, where rose and vine entwine an ancient heathen shrine, where myth and legend visions breed, where pine and olive overcast each other's boughs, to wondrous dreams invite, where winding arno's streams record the pride of tuscan past. and you were right-why should why should you share the mad world's doom? whilst soul and body grant it yet, weave threads of gold on memory's loom, you fret? 59 bless moon and stars, hail morning's call, the green-clad hills, the valley bright; forget that leaves in autumn fall, remember only-life is light! and when the reaper bends to free you from the bond of direful birth, weary of tarrying on this earth, where love is dead, where hate's full-grown, salute the dawn of the unknown, and hail the boat that founders never, and cross the bar, at peace for ever! 60 carol “amiamoci, la vita è nell' amore, il resto è nulla.” thou "hou minstrel love, who with olympian fire my heartstrings thrillst,-divinity, to free from quivering doubts the plea of chivalry! in radiance growing, as the flame mounts higher, on soaring wings bring saintly homily, disperse blind passion! yet, why still the ire that calls the vanquished who to thee aspire, the outlawed vagrants of humanity ? love, burn for souls, spirit to spirit cry; discordant chants of hatred and the lie, true to thy noble ordinance, defy ! rear tenderer thoughts, o love, to tortured mind; grant godly grace, for brotherhood, assigned to all mankind, the holy grail to find ! 61 queen of the night “retro me, sathana.”—dante gabriele rossetti. hall ail, hail to thee, moon, queen of the night! beaming in silence on earth's shadowed shell, o'er dreamland casting a wondrous spell, ruling supreme in empyreal height. white-winged strays a ray, it leaps to the spray of the brooklet that rushes gaily along from the trance-webbed dell with a merry dingdong, and a rose to caress stops on the way. then calleth the east! hoar sentinel time his bow is drawing of gold-molten hue, shoots a swift arrow into the blue, chases the clouds, and heralds the prime ! little birds are astir, little birds watch the light that flashes from towering spheres, to proclaim the birth of the morn : little birds watch the flame on the dying torch of the queen of the night. 62 “let a new world be, hushing tears and cries, love, the peace-mated master, to crown!”— to the brooklet sparkling in bridal gown the rose bends down, and she blushes and sighs. little birds to the heavens sweet messages bear : glory to god!” and jubilant of life's golden spring the hymn they chant! man searches his soul, man kneels in prayer : “who can doubt and deny, that looks on thee, o holy spirit of mercy and might? shedding as much of love as of light, mingling our souls with eternity.” 63 the morn “the lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad.”—psalm 126. de eep-set the eye, the rifle in his hand, he faces the foe, the terrors of no man's land, and the moon rises, sphered in transparent clouds ; and flaming thro' space the bombs are seeking their shrouds, black-browed, storm-sped, ploughing life's mystic shore with dragon teeth and hell's own tempestuous roar. he cuts the wire, he creeps thro' the stenching mud, trampling on corpses, smeared with thick-crusted blood; lolling heads he sees, weird shapes lurch back, red their track, passion-parted the lips, body and soul on the rack; 64 and he shouts and he stabs, drunk with the ragtime score, till his doom is sealed, till he shouts, till he stabs nevermore.silenced the brazen thunder of battle, forlorn fate's spectral phantoms : “awake! born is the morn!" and the reaper, gathering bloom in the whispering rye, gently touches his breast, gently closes his eye : “son of eternal prime, whom in fell despite thy brother has slain, ascend to the glory of light!” 65 fourth of august 1917 “ thine heart should feel what thou may'st hourly see, that deity's basis is humanity.” robert bloomfield. thr hree years we fought ; still fighting is the world; the more we slay, the greater seems our glory; of flaming steel, of waves of thunder hurled, we, in detachment, daily read the story. of other people's treasure nought we want ; in mankind's soul love's golden seed to plant, we pledged our own, as england's covenant ! some of my friends, god-fearing patriots all, thro' force expect humanity's remission, responding gladly to the empire's call, on duty bent, ennobling proud tradition ; whilst others, guarding well our peaceful rear, with epithets galore to sportsmen dear, as plaintiff , judge, and jury do appear. 5 66 if through some spell, conceived in deepest hell, a nation to immoral acts is driven, nor hate nor fear,---love is the healing well, where angels pray for sins for sins to be forgiven. our brother's guilt with patience to efface, enshrined by valour and redeemed by grace : thank god, that is the birthright of our race! and when i hear of those i'm told to hate, my old-time friends, maybe who keep devising some hellish plot to steer the wheel of fate“ mock not the outcast," must i keep advising ? for freedom is our fight, let us be free! this victory won, a greater victory the people's peace, shall bless humanity! 67 · vivos voco. mortuos plango. fulgura frango” easter 1917. the he spirits of night hurled cloud-wrack which now swims across the moon; weird shadows haunt the diggers on no man's land; the dead lie-white-robed figures, lone star of heaven guard their battered limbs! shouldering his rifle stands the sentinel. “ halt! who goes there?”—'tis but the wind that lifted a bunch of leaves, spring's withered mates, and drifted legends of sunshine to the frozen dell. hush! something stirs—"to arms!” the bugle wakes! thro' stillness sounds the tramp of men advancing, and round their shell-torn trail fierce flames are dancing, cruel reaper death his ruddy harvest takes. 68 deep-voiced the mortars, fleet-tongued cannons shriek; from heaven's brow descends a peal of thunder, and rolls and bursts and tears the earth asunder, as if hell's quivering depth it thought to seek. dark shadows creeping near, the sentinel now sees-good god !—then something sways his vision. “halt! who goes there? the cross ? — an apparition ?stand back!” the gun he clutches with a yell. ” a . and then grey figures climb the parapet, man faces man, man's iron strikes man's body, and down goes man, a mess of flesh and shoddy that surgeon's knife can ne'er reintegrate. man faces man, for man has man to kill ; and yet, 'tis said, “man be to man a brother”. man never harmed, man never knew the other, and yet his duty is man's blood to spill ! the one affirms on freedom's call to fight, the other claims the magic spell of culture, and ogre conquest, the insatiate vulture, covets their treasures and beguiles their right. 69 not to enslave dominions have we fought; sin-burdened souls to rescue from perdition, to love's sweet quest we proudly pledged our mission, and hoped the deed would tally with the thought. the light !-the dawn!—“awake! 'tis easter morn!" ring forth, ye bells ! his enemies forgiving died jesus christ ; and shall to us, the living(glory to him!)—his spirit be reborn ? 70 “ manchester hill" march 22, 1918. “with soaring voice and solemn music sing ! high to heaven's gate let pealing trumpets ring !” lewis morris. when there spanish chivalry of old at saint-quentin french prowess swayed, when long our bones in churchyards mould, legends of valour will be told : how one battalion, honour-bright, the thundering tide of prussian might in blood-drenched trench and ravine stayed. at saint-quentin, a hill bears now the name that world-renowned became, since on its shell-ploughed, cross-sown brow “ pals” of the manchesters did vow : “this is our day, hold on or break, for freedom's sake our lives we stake; fate, throw thy dice, --we play the game!” 71 the game they played, no fool nor knavetrue “sports,” the lads of lancashire ! with throbbing hearts their all they gave on that red hill. here's to the brave . of saint-quentin! may the divine for ever close bellona's shrine, and peace grant to our mortal sphere ! 72 the deceased wife's sister a “'twas a thief said the last kind word to christ." browning. the he body bent, in tatters clad, on crutches too, one leg is short, grief-stricken he comes to the court : “a claim !” “a claim for what?_thou art mad!” " listen! “ wife dead, six bairns alone; her sister tends them sacredly; but says the church : 'it cannot be no marriage !'-yet she is my own. . “a wounded soldier's dreadful plea, let mormon's creed be sanctified.” but oh! the court is horrified “a bad lot thou, a 'worser' she!” 6 73 gloria in excelsis " for all the boundless universe is life,there are no dead!”_tennyson. r ifles reversed, the brow depressed, dread war's first victim we laid to rest ; muffled drums, the bagpipe's wail, soothing chants of the nightingale, the thunder of guns, the crashing of steel, bells never ceasing, death-throes their peal! dust unto dust! to-day 'tis he; the dawn in its glory may next summon me. some of us knelt on the blood-hallowed ground, eager to fight, others stood round; and then of a sudden the bugles awoke, and onward again into battle we broke! when to the beat of the rat-tat-too england's champions their challenge threw, of a holy mission, the inward light, thro’the terrors of night reared the vision bright : “a union of hearts, the world in accord, gloria in excelsis, we praise thee, o lord!” 74 europe aflame, of the grail in quest, war's countless victims we laid to rest ; some of us knelt on the blood-hallowed ground, weary of fight, others stood round; a hero is he who nothing fears but the woman's cry in the vale of tears. europe aflame, dust unto dust; of hatred the fire, of conquest the gust, the wrath of satan, the vengeance of cain, curses and prayers from the maimed and slain ; to the heavens uprises a mighty call, “ gloria in excelsis, peace to us all!” the voices we heard, the message we blest, and the last of the victims we laid to rest, with myrtle and roses enwreathing the shroud; and foeman and friend, now brothers, all vow'd : “witchcraft of hell, we'll break thy foul spell, gloria in excelsis, of war ring the knell.” 75 the covenant "pax consequitur libertatem." speak, herald, speak!” “for freedom strikes he who defies the beasts of prey that slay and lure the yearning of man's mortal clay from visions bright to terror-smitten woe.” “and have the nations all forsworn the day of martial greed, the furies' death-stringed bow, the flaming shafts that set the world aglow, the asses' bray, that led our souls astray?” “did freedom ever, blessing flesh and mind, betray her noble task--the ruddy bloom of fragrant spring that gave sight to the blind ? unseal the urn, and from the hallowed tomb shall rise the spirit to redeem mankind !” “ herald,--thy covenant?"_" the war-lords' doom!" 76 on the fields of flanders “we who find in thee the bulwark for the cause of men.” william wordsworth. " ' was on the fields of flanders, on the fields drenched with blood and with tears : a thousand cavaliers, sons of empire all, awaited the trumpet call. sabres flashing, horses neighing, hearts stout, we rode thro' the rye, , and the sun hung red on the sky, and the air throbbed from the rattle of death, in the voices of battle. > 'twas on the fields of flanders saint george in glory appeared, and we neither tarried nor feared, of serfdom the chains to shiver, man's soul from hell to deliver. 77 'twas on the fields of flanders ; and our colonel the foe defied. laddie,” said he, “we'll ride; theirs is the devil's own wooing, be ours the devil's undoing !” and laddie his trumpet raises, of empire and freedom he sings, and onward a challenge he flings : the spirit of flaming ambition, perdition its blood-reeking mission! and once more his trumpet he raises, to victory onward spurr'd ;alas! not a sound is heard ; laddie, his own life giving, never more calls the living. for the cause he loved he diedbe his the grace of god; the path of duty he trod, to fight for the sake of others, to fight our foemen, our brothers. 78 'twas on the fields of flanders we laid him at eventide ; and the trumpet we placed by his side, on judgment day to call sons of empire all ! 79 the knockout blow-1917 “the greatest of all feelings is the utter forgetfulness of self.” ruskin. a i feel as if a minstrel's saintly lore had carried me to shrines of grace and beauty. my weeping soul hails on a sun-kissed shore the heaven's blue, and hears thro' cannon-roar an angel's voice reveal love's hallow'd duty. faith, sublime faith, to shape our destiny, of truth, the well-beloved, of hope the mother faith, sublime faith, faith in humanity, may god grant thee the blessed master-key the heart to open of my erring brother! when from long-smouldering ashes rose the flame, with frenzied tongues a despot's charter claiming, there was no force, 'midst self-engendered fame, upright and strong to stay the hellish game of loaded dice, the throw for killing, maiming. 80 laws made by warriors do but indicate the road to conquest ; 'tis the poor man's labour that moulds the figure of the modern state, honour's proud shield, a nation's love or hate, gold-burnished virtue, or a harlot's favour. to conjure up from darkness visions bright our sons their lives are bravely, gladly giving ; in freedom's cause england endured the night, at victory's dawn to hail the kindling light of heaven on earth for all our loved and living. ye angry races, hear a hermit's call : this is our mission, our supreme occasion, with mild forbearance mankind to enthrall, peace to proclaim, a priceless peace for all, and speed its hest from nation unto nation. 81 sword and shield “vengeance is mine, i will repay, saith the lord.” epistle to the romans. o ne arbiter there is, one only : god! each feud 'twixt men fresh fecund quarrels breeds; on seeds of fear its vile ambition feeds and turns love's bloom into a fiery rod. to the abyss war's aaming chariot speeds, by furies blest, graced by the devil's nod; on fly the steeds, and fiendish madmen prod their streaming flanks and curse the voice that pleads. the crime-drunk ogre ruddy furrows draws, dread spikes spring up-my breast the harvest field, that bears the traces of the ravener's claws. when to my prayer, o father, wilt thou yield, tyrants to awe, to hallow freedom's cause ?-send forth thy might and shiver satan's shield! 6 82 rex apostolicus louis xiv “l'état c'est moi.”--la france. ") “l e roi est mort!”—“a king and mortal ? "glory to him!” “man's soul he betrayed.” ‘ “glory to him!” “god's law he unmade." “before god's altar he knelt and prayed, the angels to bribe at saint peter's portal.” *le roi est mort !"—the creed is surviving, there is no change; one tyrant has gone, another succeeds, his heir, his son, that's all, and the world goes on, goes on. the poor remain poor, and the rich are thriving. “ dei gratia!" " was the world created for women to slave, to breed, to obey; for men to quarrel, to plot, and to slay by royal command; for one man to say who shall be loved and who shall be hated ?" 83 “ dei gratia!" “and what of the nation, the nation whose honour the king depraved, the nation whose freedom the king enslaved ? he would rival the devil himself, he raved; and the masses cursed him and craved salvation." dei gratia! the masses-the masses ? they feast and they drink, joy-bells they ring ; 'le roi est mort! vive le roi!' they singthe world, my friend, is a circus ring, few men are wise and the masses are asses. 84 my knight “in the wreck of noble lives something immortal still survives." longfellow. two wo eyes wide open challenge the night; hail they the light of splendours unknown? “sun, soul's awakener, lead on thy golden flight!” my voice from the stillness cried in anguish and fear. a knight rode forth : man's pride is to fight to love woman's righti, the woman loved. two eyes my dreams haunt, theirs the seal of night, theirs of things the sight no one living may see. 85 two eyes closed for ever, clouded with anguish; visions bright by the tide borne out to sea. a knight rode forth, i was his bride; whom man divide, god will unite. 86 “tête carrée” 9) “furtum, non exhibitum.” a gallant knight-errant of folk-lore fame, erwin von steinbach (blessed be his name !), in ‘wunderschön' strassburg a minster built : “to the glory of god and man's sacred right, fealty to guard, for freedom to fight, and never to crouch before alien might!” father rhine, dreaming ʼmongst vine-leaved hills, blesses the grapes, and a goblet he fills, and he quaffs the beauty of liquid gold : wunderschön strassburg, to thee my song! !" and his love he toasts with a merry ding-dong, and the drink is strong, and the drink is long ! the east drew the sword, the west is ablaze! • tête carrée' searches his heart and says: “no stranger shall rule my elsassland !” " and he watches the fight, and father rhine watches him, and whispers, “ auf ewig dein!” tête carrée' smiles : “ mein herz ist mein!" 87 oh why? eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani ?” he ; e shot me here at passion-dale ; gave him sheffield steel; he fell, and so did i who live to tell the tale. ; when i awoke, at dead of night, the moon thro' clouds of thunder's breath on heaven's brow, to banish death, shed light; and he was moaning by my side ; his reddened hand he raised to me, and looking through mortality he cried : “ you meant to kill, and so did i ; but why?—for we were meant to love: just for a king's, a statesman's move ? oh why?” 88 he died i lived to hear his cry amidst the screech of shot and shell, nor can my new days drown his, knell: oh why?" 89 beyond the sunset “hope withering fled and mercy sighed farewell."-byron. the 'he maiden, her soul serene as the star in lonely grandeur on heaven's bar, at eventide watches the fallen leaves, the winds that whisper in bracken and sheaves, and of him she thinks who is fighting afar for country and king !overseas the guns are calling, death in white-winged ships is trawling. the youth still nursing the hatred of wrong, with a flaming heart joined the battle throng, where freemen of england asserting the right of the brave and the strong for liberty fight, and die with a smile and a rollicking song, for country and king ! overseas the guns are calling, harvest rich the nets are hauling. a 90 "o lord, who art god almighty, thou to whom in reverence and awe we bow, him whom i love take in thy keep!” on the wings of dread thoughts, a silence deepthen a blood-red cloud on heaven's dark brow; for country and king ! overseas the guns are calling, into night a star is falling. 91 death into life “the play is the tragedy, man, and its hero the conqueror, worm.” edgar allan poe. the 'hey killed him in battle; we laid him to rest with deep-warbled anthems, of soldiers the tramp, the neighing of horses, shouts from the camp, the roar of the guns in the flaming west. 'twas a babel of voices, shell-torn the track, a forest of crosses, rugged and black ! and accursed be he, who hallowed the birth of war's fierce babe! in blue-vaulted bowers gleam golden flowers, and a lark showers o'er the weeping earth sorrow and mirth; 'tis but a dream, man's cruel strife ; redeemer thou,-turn death into life! 92 the king am i > on guard saint peter stood. to heaven's “for this is love, springing out of the very heart of man.” carpenter. . gate the call of death through sulph'rous clouds ascended. the bloom has withered, and the harvest ended ; the soul, from bondage freed, shall meet its fate": thus spake the voice of god, who straightway sent to bless the good, the evil to perdition; when through the ether rose a gruesome vision, myriads of souls, in silence heavenward bent, who mounted up, forsaken and forlorn, in rank and file, shoulder to shoulder knitted. what fearful crime had they on earth committed, to be in death of cheer and solace shorn? from bayonet, lance, and shot, deep wounds they bear, and shattered limbs. harrowed the bloodless faces that hint at torture and reveal its traces. upward they mount in terror and despair. 93 a sharp command—“halt!”-and the bugles ring ; in crown and purple, with majestic vigour admission claiming, stands a lonesome figure : “ the king am i, by grace of god, the king!” " who are these men ?” “soldiers who vainly died; “mine was the crown of victory and glory!” saint peter frowns-_" to satan tell thy story; there is no room in heaven for thy pride. “ the harvest's withered, fruitless is the tree; the lord ordained men should love one another; thou hast corrupted man to slay his brother. the curse of cain shall ever rest on thee!” a shriek-god's deputy had met his fate ! and then the soldiers broke their ranks and kneeling their souls surrendered; when their doom revealing, saint peter smiled, and opened wide the gate. 94 who the woof shall weave? “oh, god! that bread should be so dear, and flesh and blood so cheap!” thomas hood. who tho the woof shall weave?mute stands the frame that spun the yarn, loosely stretched in the loom the warp lies idle; but the trembling boom the challenge awaits that weaves man's doom, love's sooth-seeking aim, -hell's conquering fame. the babe who dreams on his mother's breast a riddle unsolved in the web of life, the youth gaily playing the willow fife, the warrior whose gospel's the glory of strifegod's servants are all, and his sunshine their quest. let the frame stand mute that spun the thread; accursed be the hand stretched forth to weave our hopes into winding-sheets, to relieve the bower of spring of its right, to bereave body and mind of their daily bread! 95 from the tortured bosom of faith arise, o spirit of love !—the flames dash out of sin-born war; in prayer devout rescue the soul from hatred and doubt, reclaiming on earth man's paradise. who the woof shall weave? who the yarn has spun, and the dormant shuttle to life he shall shake, and the blood-stained mesh and its patterns break, and a texture with visions of heaven make for mortals to claim the immortal sun. 96 the cock has crowed "c'est plus qu'une crime, c'est une faute.-fouché. whe then france, crime-seething, freedom to betray, with fratricidal knife defied mankind, to goddess reason swore her soul away, then at the frenzied slaves, blaspheming, blind, sped the fierce hammer of that reborn thor, napoleon, at whose feet all europe crouched : world-conqueror he who chained the thermidor, alas! to steep once more mankind in gore. but bloodshed cried to heaven, and cæsar's crown priest-ridden bourbons grasped with fatuous hands; humanity, befooled by knave and clown, her mask remodelled under jove's stern frown; then the great uncle's little nephew crushed, justice bemocking, france's vagrant soul. with glory's chant the voice of freedom hushed, the second empire to perdition rushed. 97 on rolled the years for bleeding tears to fall in the high name of truth and liberty; of destiny's dread message to forestall, knights-errant sounded the avenger's call! the east enchained, the west but free in name, behold the torch that set the world aflame! the cock has crowed, the cross of christ to shame; man's frenzied passions play the devil's game. 7 98 the lion of waterloo “nought shall make us rue if england to itself do rest but true.” shakespeare. if f nothing stood on this sin-furrowed earth but the laurel-decked lion of waterloo, then, god's own mission, wrongs to undo, england could claim, proud of her worth. when at the frenchified corsican's fall tyrants we swept from their maelstrom of strife, visions were born of a nobler life ;is england to-day revoicing the call ? to heart-stricken europe of freedom she speaks, the heaven-blessed daughter of sacrifice; for the sun she prays in glory to rise o'er the promised land which she proudly seeks,where power newly born shall fashion the rod that crushes foul idols into the dust; where the rich and the their trust in the justice of man and the mercy of god. poor alike put 99 “bouillabaisse” “dead men ye, open the eyes of the living !” charles brumm. cro rowned by roseate morn, mother earth, happy and gay, caressed the babes of may, bud-blighted flowers new-born, and she dreamt the old, old story of love united with glory. a and then of a sudden there fell a shadow across the feast ; a procession led by a priest from a prison emerged, and a bell kept tolling, tolling the sentence that defieth the grace of repentance. man had hated and killed, and laws of the church and state, their warrant to vindicate, condemn him : "his blood shall be spilled. “ man has the right of life-making, man has no right of life-taking !" 100 man to his fate they bade, and the priest chants a something that sounds like the wail of a cat ; a guarding the ghastly parade, lancers ride, pinions streaming, helmets in sunshine gleaming. man to the scaffold is sped with an oath, and a snarl, and a kick; and then with a thud and a click dropped in a basket his head. a sound from the sawdust layer, lips move,-a curse, a prayer ? who cares that he swore, that he cried ! for a drink the grim jailers toss, and the loser grins at his loss homeward the lancers ride, the band plays the marseillaise'tis the day for bouillabaisse. ιοι karma “within the hollow silence of the night i lay awake and listened.” alfred austin. ete ternal, immortal! of death and of life to end the long strife, at the crystalline portal of love's golden shrine thy message divine i humbly obey; and to thee i say: may heaven's pure gladness humanity robe, and the blood-reeking globe free from its madness! o father benign, to us uncondign grant this rich boon, that war may end soon!” 102 1 la belgique “liber in vinculis."-veyder. “m en of england! j justice our plea : from thraldom save us, our champions be!” “who dares make slaves of the brave and free?” “ prussia!" “save ye from bondage we will; and fire and sword be master, until liberty's mission we truly fulfil!” victory gained.—“what now do ye say?" _ “ brother ne'er brother again shall slay !" “men of england, welcome that day!" 103 the profiteer "ad maiorem dei gloriam.”--decreta concilii tridentini. war jar's thundering cloud i care not to see; of its horrors, so-called, i hear only when the press camouflages, and openly then to well-boomed charities pay i my fee. england, bless her, the dear magdalen, in her bonnet has always carried a bee; as the honey is mine, 'twere better for me if instead of one she had carried ten! the ropes i knew, and my yarn i span, and the frame now i dress for a peace homily: enslave pirate hun, curb the teuton clan, his hell-cursed goods from our empire ban, his breed from our shores, his ships from the sea!“and who shall rule england ?” why i am the man ! 104 in memoriam of the interned “ bloody hun,” georg brandauer, who committed suicide on the announcement of his repatriation, april 1918. "fallen, fallen, fallen from his high estate, with not a friend to close his eyes.” dryden. tº o cut life's threads when the rushing loom runes weaves of crime and of shame, into night to wander, withered love's bloom, anguished the soul, 'tis no coward's doomtho' christians give it that name. till fate turned the torch on life's pleasant scene your shield of honour shone bright; commerce your well-wishing fairy had been, but hidden behind the luminous screen there brooded the spectres of night. knight-errant, renowned for generous deeds, you loved the land of your choice; o'er sea you were born, but surely that needs apology none; for our race still breeds from all stocks its sorrows and joys. 105 then into the wond'rous mirror of life a thunderbolt suddenly fell, and demons marched forth to deadly strife, and like brigands of yore, with musket and knife, europe they turned into hell. when, lured by her patrons' relentless chant, dame d.o.r.a. the firebrand denounced each hun as a miscreant, she first interned gave the command : depart to your native land !” you, then " depart you did to your native land, the land where right is right, where e'en dame d.o.r.a. is impuissant; life's thread you cut with a fearless hand, to enter the kingdom of light. 106 jim, the drummer boy “soldiers, we must never be beat,--what will they say in england!”wellington. in n flanders it was, near lace-famed cambrai; terrible slaughter the enemy wrought ; we fought in the dawn, at sunset we fought : "old england for ever!” we stood at bay, when jim, our drummer boy, lithe and fair, with the jaunty air of the devil-may-care, to the firing-line crept, our duty to share. but the colonel, a grumpy old soul, says he : “'tention, my lad, quick march to the rear ! there is no blooming nursery here!” and a tear in his eye, silenced his plea, to the rear marched jim ; whilst with shot and shell batteries and tanks and trenches flashed hell, and death, harpy-footed, sounded the knell. 107 then a monster crept up, a flame its snout, its teeth rent the breast of the plain in twain, its hands and its feet crushed the maimed and the slain; and from throats that shook broke a savage shout! a terror stricken we stood, our doom seemed sealed, and our ranks reeled as in the harvest field the sheaves to the scythe of the reaper yield. a but all of a sudden our souls were stirred, a hurrah we heard, and a humming sound travelled right over the blood-reeking ground: "steady, boys, steady!” blessed be the word, blessed be the sign, and blessed be the beat of the drum, revoicing of crécy the feat : “we conquer or die, but never retreat! a 'twas a motley crowd that rushed from the rearpoilus and yanks, tommies, jack tars, with carbines and poniards and grim iron bars. “steady, boys, steady!” a lusty cheer, and their stand they took, ʼmidst shell and shot, the foe to face. aye, they feared him not“old england for ever!”—they stayed the rot! 108 aglow his soul, pride mingled with joy, in his ear still the sting of the colonel's jeer: “ there is no blooming nursery here!”– in front of all marched a drummer boy“ boom, boom, rataplan, rubadub, rubadub! the kitchen we left,"left stable and tub, rataplan, rubadub, old fritzen to drub!” our colonel saluted, when drumsticks up little jim his men led o'er the top, and no power the rushing tide could stop. * boom, boom, rataplan, rubadub, rubadub!” from the red-splashed rye to the blazing sky there rose a cry that enkindled the eye : “old england for ever! we conquer or die!”— poor little jim! he is laid to rest, where war's fiery chariot onward he sped ; a prayer we said and a tear we shed, and the silent drum we laid on his breast. then a cross we carved, tiny and prim, and scribbled in ink: “here lies our jim!” ” and round the camp-fire we speak of him. 109 and when you are ringing the bells of joy, don't forget to write on the roll of fame, 'mongst england's worthies, the humble name of jim, little jim, our drummer boy! and the colonel now says: "for lads without fear, death to face with a smile and a cheer, there is a blooming nursery here!” 1 i10 under which crown? > “he giveth his cheek to him that smiteth him.” lamentations. "α rmourer, what of thy hammer-strokes, shatter-brained thrown to the flaming sky, by a ravening monster's barbarous cry? armourer, why do the bugles call ?” “ vultures are shrieking, the raven croaks, blood-red the sparks from my anvil fly, swords i'm forging in battle to ply, that men may die, that empires may fall.” “padre, why doth thy radiant eye speak to my soul so tenderly? what is the wond'rous mystery, the saintly peace, that liveth in thee?” “mine is the mission of the most high, mine is the gospel of sacrifice, the prayer for an earthly paradise mine is the love of humanity.” > iii les franc-tireuses “still, girl, thy treasure find in faith and love." lewis morris. when then man fights man, with steel-eyed thongs he breaks the gentle charm of heaven-born chivalry, and weeping tears of self-willed agony on chance's lure his bleeding soul he stakes. stern destiny has granted woman's soul the festal crown, to guard love's rose-wreathed torch, life's course to cheer, to warm, but not to scorch, our fate to guide to a diviner goal. to weave the threads of gladness is her right, wrongs to forgive, faith-thrilled to pray, to preach of brotherhood the gospel, and to teach with soothing lips the saving grace of light. but woe to her should mercy she defy, and nurse with blood-stained hands the mystic fire that quickens hate, revenge, suspicion, ire, foredooming men like bleating sheep to die! > i 12 the argo (to a well-meaning spinster) “a world unreal, as the shell-heard sea.” eugene lee-hamilton. you ou wish to cure our worldly selfishness, mankind with purer visions to endow, the heart-thrilled youth you censure, and you vow problems of sex to solve like games of chess. the power of brain of brain you strive to curb, to tame the flame of passion, to direct love's fate :a maiden's smile, a rose-wreathed cottage gate, flouts your philosophy and makes it lame. wronged motherhood's endowment seems to be your panacea for eve's reputed fall; hot-blooded yearning, lured by nature's call, with scorn defies your sweet-tongued trickery. for ours shall be the argo's golden fleece ; bedecked with flowers, a flaming orb its breast, its shrine we raise, and, true to god's behest, proclaim the age of brotherhood and peace. 113 in a hospital ward "who will no mercy unto others show, how can he mercy ever hope to have ?” spenser. wh chen, on god's errand with a cheerful smile, life's wrecks i see, grief-stricken, anguishfed, on fate's dread shore by war's foul passions spread, the fiends i curse who seeds of hatred bred, empires to shatter, mankind to beguile. how still their forms in sheets of linen white ! e'en whiter shines the face, deep-set the eye that stares in feverish glow, and cannot cry; mute now the tongue, fear-shaken when the sigh of red-robed spectres heaves the breast of night. why tarry, friends ? call justice to the tryst. in stately session, of vile rancour freed, shall man forswear of war the hellish creed, and turn cold steel into a pilgrim's reed, for his redemption through the love of christ! 8 114 tempora mutantur–1918 “the world is not sweet in the end, for the old faiths loosen and fall, the new years ruin and rend.” swinburne. l' iberal party's attorney was he, briefed to fight tory nobility. from landlords and warlords he swore us to free, and with celtic fervour and energy he garnished his speech with a double d. blue-blooded and well-rouged dames were they, who vowed the “limehousing welshman " to slay. and gay primrose-knights predicted “ the day” when the herald of strife in the devil's pay no longer the world would revile with his bray! to-day the limehousing welshman” they greet with bumpers of wine, and they wish him godspeed. his stamps they lick; and, though there's no need, for his soul they pray, old nick to cheat; and in goose-step they march, and kneel at his feet. 115 the gospel of christ, war-worn and torn, to our hearts to restore, brave man, he has sworn : does he think of “the day,” when the foe forlorn brotherhood may claim, when europe, reborn, her armour unbuckles at eastermorn? 116 before god “i loved my country and hated him.”_byron. . two wo hurrying shapes in “ no man's land ” each other faced : stay! who are you?” "to my king and my country staunch and true, on the bugle's call, i took my stand.” “what did you fight for, foeman, say?" “for freedom i fought, i fought for right!” “and i fought for the dawn of the day that should break for ever your empire's might.” “and a priest, a saintly man was he, before god blest the quest of my sword.” and so did the priest who prayed with me, and he in holiness served the lord.” but when at the gate of heaven they stood, saint peter said with a smile serene : "whatever on earth your fate may have been, before god you are of one brotherhood !” ) 117 hosanna to him! "murmured as in a dream, i catch the import of creation.” edward carpenter. e ye love-plighted a heaven unfolds, red the lips, warm, strong the arm that held a woman as the sword it holds proves faithful unto death. drums beat—"sound the bugle!”—england at bay! freedom at stake : men, stand or break! serve the guns!” “aye!" and the children pray: "bless my daddy, o god!” night, withered buds, red-breasted a flood, mute the lips, cold ; and the arm to hold life's golden goblet holds, wrapped in mud, a lump of clotted blood. 118 cursed be the forest beast that bawls into my ear hatred and fear! hosanna to him who my soul enthralls to serve love's godly will! 119 the professional diplomatist an ambassador is an honest man sent to lie abroad for the commonwealth.”-sir henry wotton. thi 'here where ambition enflames i choose willing slaves; the turbulent veering mob i treat with browbeating fools, sweet-tongued, 1 master, and bribe the knaves, coaxing the bishops, the rooks, the kings, and the queens, hoaxing old age, and heart-throbbing life in its teens. pawns are they all, in my game of lying and cheating mine not the call for mercy, for justice and right, chanting of peace upon earth the ludicrous prayer; i 20 hatching my plots, for the devil's own glory i fight, hate and revenge my bloodthirsty mates. at the gates leading to hell i publish the doom of states, my brother i make my brother's gaoler and slayer. 121 " la france le veult!”-1920 “ la recherche de la paternité est interdite.”—code napoléon. (“la a france le veult!") we heard the ” maddening call in ages when her kings robbed souls and lands: 'twas urged by regicides' bloodthirsty bands, and by the corsican whose crimsoned hands (“la france le veult!") made white-bled europe crouch his humble thrall. we heard it when degenerate bourbons ruled, when cæsar's nephew jove's fierce eagle tamed, when communists the new world's statute framed, when atheists man's brotherhood proclaimed, (“la france le veult !") when threatened europe all her manhood pooled. i 22 (“la france le veult!”) proud england, in that fight, millions of lives, thy gold, thy amity thou gav’st : now in the hour of victory defend the charter of humanity! (“la france le veult!") be hers our will! do thou what's just and right! i 23 titles “cradled in flame."--edward carpenter. knew him well. i for england's right, to save the world from the clutch of might, on freedom's call he entered the fight; no gain he courted, he plotted no scheme, his quest was but a visionary gleam, "for duty and honour"--a beautiful dream! in to-day's gazette his name i see : “killed in action"--r.i.p. a "thou wouldst do little for god, if the devil were dead.” swift. i knew him well. precocious and wise, not his was the mission of sacrifice ; england he served—aye, at his price. no danger he challenged, had nothing to fear; for his post of honour was in the rear as army contractor, and profiteer! in to-day's gazette his name i see: a knight he is made of the o.b.e. i 24 miserere nobis, domine 4th august 1918. “si dieu n'existait pas, il faudrait l'inventer.”— voltaire. pledging edging the empire's endurance and might, god for our guide, crusaders we fight, freedom to guard and the people's right. 'tis four years to-day that the sword we drew, justice and truth to defend anew : has england e'er failed to see things through? angel of mercy, pilgrim forlorn, love's wondrous charter is tattered and torn, terrors of hell upon earth are reborn; storm-winged the night, death stands at bay; on thunders the battle! “see'st thou the ray of the roseate dawn? say, brother, say." · let the soul lament, let the body bleed : honour we plighted in word and in deed, and fight we will till we crush the creed of the strong the weak to enslave and flay! slay, brother, slay!—pray, brother, pray, to heaven's great god for the dawn of day!' 125 j'accuse! " treason never prospers: what is the reason? for if it prospers none dare call it treason.” john herrington. a pack of wolves from their lair descend, breathing defiance to foe and to friend. but there is another pack out for prey, , and the two packs meet, each other to slay. and then the biggest beast of them all steps in and snarls, a truce to call. i forbid you to fight, and by right divine as brothers i hail you, for ever mine!” and humanity blesses the saintly deed that the earth for ever from strife has freed. and now the two packs are kept at drill, by the big brother's order, their brothers to kill. i 26 resurrection “l'histoire n'est que le tableau des crimes et des malheurs.” voltaire. imperious rome, to thee dread laws dictate god's chosen tribes, wild chants they hurl of hate at the redeemer, him who makes man's fate a quest of love. . and since for us he died, to peace ordained and brotherhood, rome has in glory reigned, and mind and body to her chariot chained the holy church. war-proud, to compass fame's accursèd crown life's torch man trims, and with a hideous frown shakes it to flame, its spirit but to drown in hell's abyss. rent is the veil, the soul cries anguish-torn, “hast thou forsaken me, o god?” sin-born, love-lorn, the stricken earth prays for the morn, the eastermorn. i 27 faith religion is the voice of reverence, the voice of human pity.” john morley. we listen to the bishop's unctuous sermon ; of brotherhood, goodwill, and peace we chant; we kneel before the great redeemer praying, and we condemn our foes' unchristian cant. our souls are whitewashed ev'ry sunday morning; on monday, cosy in our chairs we read that thousands have been slain-god bless the slayers ! and thousands more to kill, our guns we feed. and kings and statesmen, priests and politicians, still dare this hideous gospel to applaud. my friend, who knows the minds of those above us? perhaps they think our christian creed a fraud! 128 two roads " "faut tirer le diable par le queue.”—romain rolland. ife has two roads, study them well ; the one leads to heaven, the other to hell. where do you wish, my friend, to dwell ? l avoid the bridle-path, stony and steep, where cranks and reformers their revelry keep. in ease and pleasure your harvest reap! yours is the world; for the wizard of old, the master of man, all doors to unfold, the unrivalled power of gold you hold ! ! and the moment you raise that magic key, thro' the flash and the dash of its sorcery, to your service rushes society ! my lord and my lady, sir knight and his dame, in a halo of virtue or gilded shame, all eager and proud are to play your game. a i 29 but shun the rabble that toils on the road, that maunders of christ and the brotherhood code, bemoaning the sins of this earthly abode. and should you desire a title to gain, that magic key will your mission ordain; pay down your cash, and never complain. vanity's fee is £ s. d., and, once gazetted, your dignity to fatuous kinsmen a boon may be. for his majesty's grace is the gilded pill which gives all our jobbernowls such a thrill, and the wishes of tuft-hunters helps to fulfil. and still, when old age sounds the curfew bell, the church will invoke her motherly spell to bless your journey--whither? 9 130 spirit divine “one to destroy is murder, by the law, and gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe; to murder thousands takes a specious namewar's glorious art--and gives immortal fame." young. spiri pirit divine, aflame is the world! red roses, green myrtle, and lilies white, a bower framed in love's golden light, when a blight fell from heaven, the earth shook in fright, and the spectres of wrath threw their torches alight with hate, and man cursed. “ black-browed from cavernous heights flew death, as the land slept in silence ;who sounded the call to arms? where the sea-waves rise and fall, in their millions they gathered, knights-errant all, and of ghosts and of corpses they built a wall,”: “what to guard ?” "spirit divine, aflame is the world! young hearts dream no longer, love's spring is dead, 131 vultures are feeding in pastures red, men and women by statecraft led to the horrors of famine and plague are sped, hell is let loose.” “sisters of fate, the lord made man his image to be; in his soul he set heaven's own seeds, and, blessing his state, created for him the love of a mate; and the harvest, you say, is murder and hate? man i curse!” thus spake the spirit divine. and man? man buries the dead, an endless line, man bends his knee at the holy shrine: virgin immaculate, mother benign, glory to thee, rich loot is mine : thanks!—hallelujah!” the sisters of fate their message gave, and the thunder of battle rolls on, rolls on, over empires shattered, lives woebegone; what the soul had won the flesh has undone, and revenge shall pass from father to son ;feed the guns! 132 faithful and true “life is given to us, we earn it by giving it.” rabindranath tagore. a t freedom's clear call the sword we drew; not for conquest we fought, nor for dominance new; to the cause we adopted our hearts were true ! from tortured worlds for ever to sweep tyrants who made our mothers weep, and our sons the harvest of peace shall reap! trance, thou mad trance of the living clay, that schemed the spirit of christ to betray, broken thy spell, thy mask torn away! 133 british masonic brotherhood “he is a freeman, whom the truth makes free."-byron. bejewelled, white gloved, browbeating pageantry, passwords, a drink, and a wring! heathen rites, and the old jewish sting : master cock crows-silence the hen! “ peace upon earth!” the challenge you fling, hackling and cackling from pen to pen, bloodcurdling oaths you are swearing, and then kissing each other, brothers, you sing : “charity, truth, and amity ever our task be.” joy-bells ring. friends, you blaspheme the divinity grand lodge ordained to keep bellowing: “english masons of hun pedigreepooh!—we taboo! god save the king !' " 134 freemasonry “there is only one religion, though there are a hundred versions of it.”g. bernard shaw, the 'he world one brotherhood, grand master : god! thee, the great architect, humbly i hail ; a seeker of truth, my sin i bewail; in penance i bow, kissing the rod! where churches and states in their charters fail, theirs is the thunder of shell and of shot; but war i denounce as a barbarous plot, to lure us away from the quest of the grail. may the pledge be kept, to treasure, to cheer, to love, through rapids of doubts to ford, no man to hate, and no man to fear, and for ever to sheathe the ravenous sword! by all that is holy to me and dear, may the pledge be kept,-so help me, o lord! 135 father of man "one will, one hand, one all-regarding eye, surveys and governs all."--lewis morris. tho jou hast breathed into me the love of light, of dreams, of wonder tales, which thro' the night with hope-winged force should steer the quivering wheel of destiny; fired by thy godly might my heart i steeled 'gainst hatred's fierce appeal. wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er heal, their part in war signed with a fiery seal, martyrs have built on empires' dust a dome where love-pledged priests shall preach the common weal, the boundless world to be a brothers' home. clear from life's fount, miraculous and old, when over unborn worlds the thunder rolled, thy grace shall rise to still mad europe's feud; shall in sublime array new survey hold, and bless our souls with saintly hope endued. 136 the dawn has silenced battle's clamouring cry and bids us hope. dread phantoms hide. the eye love's mission hails, nobly to nurse, to guide humanity, until in shame shall die the hellish progeny of fratricide. 137 translated and rhymed from a dead prussian soldier's diary . by this we know that our earth falls asunder, being old.” dante gabriel rossetti. a soldier they made me, by king's command into bondage they threw my youth; withered the bloom, blood-tinged the once sun-kissed dew; and into shame and hatred grew the flame of my wrath when i knew my mate to a harlot's trade they had driven by decree of the state : spirit of love, dead now in me, why for me this fate? a soldier i, millions like me whose unscathed will muted and curbed, with limbs enchained in the treadmill of drill. and the soul?-in prussia, that casket of godly bequest counted nil. 138 and the oath they forced me to swear.–curse me, o lord !-i spilled my brother's blood with bayonet and shot, passionswayed i killed. weep and a cripple i, at life's golden gate now i pray for the free-born day when my kin, no longer in battle array, recruits are inflaming in national shambles each other to slay. does love-kindling woman bear child in combat to live, and in thrall ? peace is the birthright of man, for christ gave his life for us all! 1 139 clemenceau * virtute, non ferocia.”-forbes. ) "tige ") iger”--the world knows his name, to throttle the “boche" is his game, “ whilst england applauds the romance and panache of resurgent france. “ tiger” they christened him when, in the commune's gory den of the blood-nursed seventy-one, fratricide's laurels he won. will history hallow his fame, forget his commands to maim, to maul, to torture, to play with his victim, before he slay? to torture, thank god! is not england's way; with a troubled heart she yearns for the day when war-racked, love-lorn humanity shall from the scourge of war be free. 140 we gave of our treasure, our blood we gave, and our dearest ones to an unknown grave, to dictate no peace that revenge restarts; not empires to conquer; to conquer hearts ! victory, o lord, for the people's cause ! chain up the tyrants who break thy laws, create a new world for the meek and good, for believers in thee and man's brotherhood ! 141 we dare-1915 “for a' that and a' that.”robert burns. “α mort le boche!” shrieks he of montmartre, who of old acclaimed the communist charter, and now rules “marianne" with a wizard's rod, with a phrase and a smile, with a frown and a nod. the creed of his life? an avenging god! )) “a mort le boche! by sword and starvation redeem 'la lorraine and free the alsatian!” "to reconquer the reichsland-millions must die!” ” “ 'tis for liberty's sake!” aye, we cheer the cry, obey the ally, and the foe defy. on the fields of flanders to victory speeding, valiant saint george our manhood is leading : “as of yore i clipped the spurs of the cock, ' so i'll now break the wings of the hell-born flock, vultures accursed, that humanity mock.” 142 fight on! fight on! though our hearts are burning, our spirit from tears to smiles is turning ; who cares whether fox and cock and bear be true to the covenant or forswear ? old england for ever! fight on!—we dare ! 143 morituri te salutant “ visions of glory, spare my aching sight; ye sin-born ages, crowd not on my soul.” gray. we e buried him where we had found him dead, the padre muttering a dirge or two, and a handful of rain-sodden clods i threw on his body; gently i covered his head with the foulard which, blood-drenched and torn, love's pledge, on his heart he had worn. the harrowing shrieks of battle were hushed, to their feast the worms were creeping; the sun a web of glittering gold had spun, wreathing the clouds that nightward rushed; and on the brink of that lone grave i sat to think, my soul to save. my friend he had been since our toddling feet took step, life's golden spring to seek; my friend since i learnt my prayer to speak, 144 at marbles to play, and the story to read: friend, what dire wrong hast thou wrought? friend, who is it has thee sought? in the whirlwind of passion man dreams of fame; but the subtle rings of a tangled coil his life entwine till he falls a spoil to the idols of faith or a bigger man's game. friend, so was it, i know, with theefriend, so surely with me it will be ! 145 christians, dear brethren, are we “in atoms shall fall the earthly ball one day like the luck of edenhall.” uhland. ight, flashes of light, moon-wreathed the tide, storm-pinioned the sea; corpses and burning cities their guide, demons of hell to battle ride"christians, dear brethren, are we.” ng will ever again the heavens gleam o'er a sun-kissed sea, that flowers may bloom, and love may scheme, that of life's full harvest men may dream?-“ christians, dear brethren, are we.” death is the fisher with red nets spread, storm-pinioned the sea; kin murders kin, on hatred fed ; man damns man, alive or dead, christians, dear brethren, are we.” io 146 12th august 1918 (in the hippodrome) “the night is far spent, and the day is at hand.” epistle to the romans. i have swallowed the twaddle of statesmen galore, castelar i have heard, and gambetta ; the fire of eloquent italy and the rude art of home-spun rhetoric have stirred my heart. from mortal lips, ah! never before such torrents poured forth of pathos and ire; with sledge-hammer blows and thrusts of the dart supremely you voiced the patriot's part! in royal egypt the priesthood kept of subjects' speeches a special gazette ; at a man's death a feast was spread, and his life was judged as his speeches read. a we english invert the ancients' plan : when a man is dead, in peace let him rest; 147 but we encourage him freely to play the game of humbug during his day. a demagogue, political life you began, and war you cursed with a flaming breast; with a flaming breast now you lead the way a to victory in the world's great fray. a and may he who granted you power to make the gilded pillars of statecraft shake, choose you the fetters of thraldom to break, freedom to win for humanity's sake! 148 doggie mine *wraps me in a most humourous sadness."-shakespeare. o'e 'er the hills i walked, of may's golden dream i talked to doggie mine. the butterfly courted the flower, the thrush from a rose-leaved bower chanted sweet calls. and the clouds wove pictures strange, pictures that roved and changed like a woman's humour. a what's wrong with the world, what's right ?voices and visions of night torment my soul. 149 the war's great tragedy, horrors on land and sea, cry to the heavens! damned be the statesmen who ruled, damned be the princes who fooled christianity! why hate, why maim, why kill, why pray for “ the day”?—why fill old earth with corpses? ours was the land of the free: where now is our liberty, englishman's faith? buried in saxon guile, buried in latin wile, unmourned, forgotten. we were ordered to fight-we fought; no questions we asked, feared nought.and the soul? 150 who bothers about the soul ? chuck the carcase into a holea rataplan, duck under!” rataplan, won't there some day be somewhere the devil to pay, o doggie mine? but doggie mine sighed, and said : “good master, the case, i'm afraid, is much beyond me.” ۱) and doggie mine hung his tail when i called for a pot of ale at the "spotted ox.” as i stood them a round or two, like hyænas at the zoo the yokels chuckled. but when of the war i spoke, they were as dumb as a moke: “no politics, please!” 151 then doggie mine scratched his head; maybe he thought of the dead who fought for freedom. over the hills i walked ; of things that may happen i talked to doggie mine. “que la france marche à la tête de la civilisation. nous suivrons.”_gentz. 153 le tambour bat “la grande nation.”—général bonaparte. dº u bronze en feu la foudre échappe, une auréole monte aux cieux, le tambour bat, le tocsin frappe, o liberté, toi fille des dieux! justice, inspire sa parole ; egalité, rends-toi seigneur ; que notre immortelle idole, l'amour, rayonne dans son cœur. chers frères, que les barrières s'abaissent à jamais. notre cri? navrés des malheurs de la guerre, ecrasons l'infâme tyrannie! gardiens d'un sublime héritage, entonnons le clairon vainqueur ; en rendant aux morts notre hommage, renonçons à l'appel vengeur. 154 du succès n'abusons pas en laches, et que de l'amour le flambeau eclaire une france sans tache, glorieux modèle des héros. plus de craintes, plus de sabres alétris ! les pleurs de notre reconnaissance, amis, ennemis, la patrie ?des nations la sainte alliance ! 155 bon père à tous qui mange du pape, en meurt.”---alexandre vi. ja 'ai rêvé du bon dieu, parmi ines souvenirs une voix dont en vain je cherche à me défendre, jusqu'au fond de mon ceur semble se faire entendre, tarissant mes larmes, bénissant mes soupirs. seigneur, que vos grandes vérités m'inspirent, leurs flammes s'abaissant dans mon âme de preux, que des hommes massacrés le cri monte aux cieux, pour guérir nos souffrances, nos passions attendrir. a vous, tueurs de charité, le gage! la chaîne au cou, terrible et sinistre spectacle des êtres par milliers, martyrs de la débâcle, du glaive de justice implorant l'héritage! 156 dans les ténèbres mystiques de la mer, en l'air, sur terre, vous faites couler des torrents de sang, vous adorez au temple un fétiche insolent, le succès de la force, l'amour de la guerre. héros libérateurs, notre mission à nous : effaçons à jamais les pas du fratricide, ramenons le paradis parmi ce vide ... j'ai rêvé de dieu, bon père à tous. 157 souvenir de montmartre-1918 “alouettes rôties.”—fabliau de coquaigne. a h! mill ventrebleu! un honteux servage, ’ la guerre, notre guerre, foutue la noblesse? ah! non, mon ami, vive mon esclavage, c'est pour la france, mon amour, ma déesse ! “pas à nous de traître, pas à nous de maître ! que le boche, sale bête, crève de faim! la france ne vénère qu'un seul suprême être : clemenceau, le héros républicain.' >) “ mais puisque la flamme aux victoires s'élance, mon âme demande à sa clarté : mon frère, trouveras-tu dans la vengeance l'aurore immortelle de la liberté ?” 158 la déesse liberté. “nous dansons sur un volcan."-salvandy. o souvenir sacré qui regrette l'été, ramène en mon esprit la joyeuse jeunesse, aux sereines vertus redonne ta tendresse, déesse anime-moi, ô rends-moi ta caresse, toi dont la magie fait tressaillir la clarté. parmi les pleurs, les triomphes, les cris, les rires, la trombe des combats, de ton horizon d'or, tu flagornes la mort; et ton appel sonore d'amour fraternel, la triomphante aurore, des droits humains n'ont-ils rien à me dire ? o bonne madone, altière et noble liberté, fille des dieux, accorde-moi ton feu vivant. muette et détournant ton front indifférent, tu vas, l'épée en main, et l'ail étincelant. o bonne madone, m'as-tu donc oublié? 159 mangeons notre pain, buvons notre vin, ni lâche, ni héro, des troupeaux vicieux ; la justice bernée, à l'autel pas de dieu ; honteux de nos crimes, malheureux, hideux, du sublime idéal,-apaches-assassins. 160 prière d'un bulgare-1919 “l'ordre règne à varsovie.”—sebastiani. rºt ol, messager de mort, pour qui seul le canon et le son des fanfares parlent, laurier au front, o caur sinistre de serpent, ton infamie réduit en débris ma malheureuse patrie : regarde tous ces cadavres mutilés, pourrissant dans les champs, oubliés, méprisés ! o sombre recruteur des ombres! la justice, tu la violes et tu flétris ma nation ; tu flétris notre honneur, notre gloire et ton nom. que retombe à jamais sur toi notre supplice! o seigneur, donnez-nous au ciel le bonheur éternel! sur le funèbre lit, les soupirs de la terre etouffent les foudres assoupis de la guerre; ah, mortels éperdus, tous les hommes sont frères,tout s'efface, tout fuit, tout passe ; égarée dans les champs de l'espace, 161 brisée au néant d'infamie, l'âme, à demi raffermie, où retrouvera-t-elle sa vie ? et l'honneur, et la terre promise et l'éternelle fleur, loin des væux de vengeance et des bourreaux des vices, la vision d'amour, les espoirs, les délices ?o seigneur! donnez-nous au ciel le bonheur éternel. ii 162 pourquoi pas? “furia francese.” o n dit que les nègres gardent à francfortet le boche et le noir poussent du même ressortle berceau de goethe,--puisqu'il est mort, pourquoi pas ? on dit que charlemagne “né à aix-les-bains qui gagna pour la france l'alsace et le rhin” fut empoisonné par leurs sales crûs de vinspourquoi pas ? on dit que l'allemagne a inauguré le vol en europe-quel compte à régler, a votre gré, monsieur foch, dictez le brevet ! pourquoi pas ? on dit que les guerres sont finies à jamais; qu'on fasse donc le russe et le polonais nos alliés chéris, gardiens de la paix ! pourquoi pas ? 163 chargez vos fusils, subjuguez l'ennemi, etouffez ses soupirs, ses prières et ses cris, enchaînez son esprit, maîtrisez même sa vie, pourquoi pas ? la grande révolte un jour se fera, ecrasez les infâmes et les têtes en bas !” eh bien, mon ami, que diras-tu à cela ?pourquoi pas ? 164 chauvin parisien a la “grosse bertha" “öte-toi de là, que je m'y mette."-pananti. tri riple sacrebleu! quelle voix brutale et grossière : la force est ton droit et tu t'en sens fière, âme damnée! a dieu vont mes prières, a mon pays ma richesse et mes preux, a l'humanité mes soupirs et mes væux. la france est sans peur, elle garde dans le caur d'un passé vaillant le legs : son honneur. bravache des apaches, lâche, assassin, l'addition s.v.p. boche toi, hun, tiens, brute, zut, je t'aurai à la fin. mes morts, mes blessés, ma haine, mes larmes,ah! debout la france et gloire à nos armes ! l'addition s.v.p. à moi ta proie : à l'alsace, la lorraine! . . . et cambronne à toi ! . 165 chantecler réformé . ? ? “allons, enfants de la patrie.”rouget de lisle. j'es 'entends la trompette guerrière ; salut paradis enchanté par la gloire de la liberté, autel de mes væux, de mes prières ! “chers frères, aux morts nos larmes, aux vivants du bon dieu l'esprit ! le monde entier notre patrie, chers frères, rengaînez nos armes! j'entends le clairon du grand jour et l'âme de l'humanité, comblée d'une joyeuse fierté, exhale le parfum d'amour. j'entends la joyeuse cadence : c'est à la tendresse de jeunesse, que la vindicative vieillesse va céder le sceptre de la france ! “they have all been very kind to me here. but this would i say, standing as i do in view of god and eternity: i realise that patriotism is not enough. i must have no hatred or bitterness against anyone.”—edith cavell on the eve of her execution. 167 dem schwesterpaar: albion, germania “then our great kinsman, heart and mind; then, if god will, mankind.”—lewis morris. (reprinted from the author's “ michel lieder," second edition, published 1895.) nach ach väterart im wandertrieb schau haltend über meer und land, zum port kürt' ich der freiheit strand ; und also kam's, dass hier ich blieb. und also kam's, dass hier ich fand die zweite heimat, traut und lieb der ich mein bürgerrecht verschrieb, die meines herzens klang verstand; die nun mit frohem mund giebt kund! dem waffenstarrn'den erdenrund von zweier völker freundschaftsbund! und ist die wundermähre wahrso segne gott dich schwesterpaar, weltfriedens hüt'rin immerdar! 168 deutschland "il ne faut jamais livrer la patrie à un homme, n'importe l'homme, n'importent les circonstances.”—thiers'histoire du consulat et de l'empire. > (reprinted from the author's “ symphonie pathétique,” october 18, 1914.) deutschland, -einst im glanz der siege die gewaff und geist errungen ernster arbeit sonn’ge wiege, d'ran der völker frohe zungen ihr hosiannah dargebracht,morgenröthe, lenzespracht! gross an zielen einst und pflichten, die wir menschen liebreich pflegen, gross an denken einst und dichten, zu erwecken frieden's segen einer freiheitsfreud’gen welt, die ihr heil auf gott gestellt ! 169 dunk'len flugs die raben kreisen, und der nornen weisen schallen : “ was erbaut durch blut und eisen soll durch blut und eisen fallen, fallen was in sünd' und lug schwertes recht als wahlspruch trug.” preussen's junkerthum sich brüstet, will die welt in fesseln schlagen; und die welt zum kampf sich rüstet, will nicht preussen's fesseln tragen, will nicht werben geistes frohn, will nicht erben knechtes lohn. michel, grauser lust du tödtest, was nicht feind dir je im leben, und der erde brust du röthest bis der rache geister weben menschenzorn zu himmelsfluch, deines reiches leichentuch ! lasst die toten uns begraben, die da leben werden richten ; 170 und was wir zu sagen haben soll kein fürstlich' machtwort schlichten ; aug' um auge, zahn um zahn, bis zerstört der zollern wahn! und wenn sieges preis errungen, recht und sitte unser eigen, wenn des kampfes ruf verklungen, wenn des hasses lieder schweigen, england soll, das land der frei'n, frieden's treuer hüter sein! 171 weihnachten-1914 my christmas-card sent to german friends “ the brave only know how to forgive. a coward never forgave, it is not in his nature."-laurence sterne. nie ie seit in den kämpfen der barbaren mit den erben römischer kultur, auf italien's sonnenheller flur sieger und besiegte beide waren, todesmut'ger stieg zu gott der schwur : im geleucht der waffen wir uns schaaren ein gesetz der welt zu offenbaren dessen ordnung recht und freiheit nur!” weihnacht, traute, stille, heilge nacht bis die losung : “hasse und vernichte,” tück'schen geist's den feuerstoss entfacht. herr, allvater, rufer's sünde richte und wenn siegreich england's werk vollbracht gnäd’ger huld der menschheit irrgang lichte. 172 “missa pro defunctis" e in wand'rer ich, auf gottes stillen wegen gebroch'nen aug's, im westen sinkt die nacht; die herzen auf, der morgen ist erwacht! “allvater mein, des lichtes hehre pracht leg mir auf's haupt und gieb mir deinen segen.” fürbass ich zieh', gedanken mir genossen; wie schön die welt und werth ein mensch zu sein, der seele kraft dem dienst des herrn zu weih'n, zum janustempel tragen stein auf stein auf dass auf ewig er uns bleib' verschlossen! roth röslein prunkt und bräutlich steh’n die bäume, die lerchen singend auf zur wolke zieh'n, es rauscht ein quell im schatt'gen waldesgrün ;glücklich der tag, welch' leuchten, singen, blüh'n, ein glöcklein tönt und segnet mein geträume. 173 glücklich der tag! weh' mir, es es 'zürnt der himmel ! ein mächt’ger ruf der lüfte klarheit füllt, “sein schicksal sei, wie's sünd'gen geist's gewillt der mensch !” die gottheit sprach's und durch's gefild furchtbaren schalles wogt der schlacht getümmel. ) allvater mein, mich fasst ein tiefes grausen, glücklich der tag ? trügt mich ein böser traum ? wo liebe koste, gähnt ein wüstensaum, es flammt die wolke, blutroth sprüht der schaum der wilden wasser und die winde brausen.ich seh' das auge hohl und starr der meinen, ich hör' das schrill getön' gezückter wehr'; vom altar hehr, verkünden hasses mähr mit feu'r und schwert barbaren, liebeleer; die hölle jubelt und die engel weinen. ein wand'rer ich, zieh' sanglos durch die lande, wie schön in frieden's brautkranz war'st du welt! verblüht dein lenz, die distel prunkt im feld ;den totenacker nur hat gott bestellt uns menschen all’n zur busse und zur schande. 174 1915 apologia pro vita sua.”_cardinal newman. es s rauscht der wald, ein zaub'risch klingen zieht, gleich liebeslocken zitternd durch die weite; die erde träumt, der friede gottes blüht, da braust vom himmel sturmes flammend liedeuropa's völker wappnen sich zum streite! der böse geist, der frohn und vehm einst schuf an neuen qualen will den sinn ergetzen; frohlockend schallt des wilden jägers ruf, zur wolke fliegt der rappen feur'ger huf, die hörner schmettern und die rüden hetzen. mir deutschgebor'nem dreut der meute wuth; wie habgier einst verlästert die semiten, wie welsch' gelüst' getränkt die welt in blut, des pöbels hass auf meinem haupte ruht, und raben krächzen, wo die beter knieten. 175 mein recht? der bürgerbrief! ich schwor den eid ein freier mann in freier männer mitte ; zu freud' und leid vor gottes thron ich weiht dem neuen heim der muse feierkleid, der arbeit ernst, des wandels brauch und sitte. der erde fremd, d’rauf meine wiege stand, ein halb jahrhundert all mein denken, streben dir gab ich's england! strafe gott die hand, die sich erfrecht zu schneiden in das band, das mich verknüpft mit deinem lieben, leben! 176 siegesfest “what is man? a beast, no more."-shakespeare. das as dampfross keucht, die pfeife schrillt, aus berges tiefem schacht ein langer, dunkler schatten quillt, und funken sprühn,-ein geisterbild fleucht durch's geträum' der nacht. von fern getön der völkerschlacht, daheim der schrei nach brod' ;lichtlos der zug, stumm seine fracht, die pfeife schrillt, die letzte wacht hält grimmer freud' der tod. wohl an die tausend leiber trägt das gleis zum feuerstoss ; was satanas zusammenfegt, der mensch in bündel niederlegt,-kadaver, namenlos. 177 verzerrt die züge, starr die hand die einst das schwert geführt für könig und für vaterland, der arm mit einem här'nen band dem rumpfe angeschnürt.— die pfeife schrillt; auf, schnitter tod bring ein die ernte dein! zerfetzt gebein, fleisch blutigroth; der priester harrt, die esse loht “nun schmeisst den quark hinein!” ein kurz gebet, es ist vollbracht, “ der seele gottes fried'!” — die nacht verbleicht, der morgen lacht; schwing' dich empor zur himmelspracht, du meiner sehnsucht lied ! schau bruder, schau, wie fein und schlau der teufel treibt sein spiel ; reich mir die hand, trau, bruder trau, dann rüsten wir im weltenbau der eintracht hold' asyl.” 12 178 “reich dir die hand, feind, sei mir freund, die wehr lass uns zerhau'n, die herzen auf, die sonne scheint, wir wollen treusam und vereint den frieden gottes bau'n!” 179 beichte plus ibi (apud germanos) boni mores valent, quam alibi bonæ leges.”—tacitus. züri ürnender himmel! dumpfrollend verhallend sturmes schwinge rauscht durch die eichen ; rasender menschen feuerzeichen sprüht durch's gewölk und würmer schleichen an stinkenden leichen träge sich mästend. ein hölzernes kreuz am walde steht ;wer sprach zum wand'rer : bruder säume? wer grub das grab unter'm hang der bäume, dass in allmutter erde er träume, derweil in flammen europa aufgeht? “ und zög' jesus christus selber durch's land frieden und eintracht der welt zu verkünden, der hölle wir würden uns lieber verbünden, auf ewig zu büssen für unsere sünden, als dem feinde in demuth zu reichen die hand.” 180 leuchtender himmel! erhebe zur sonne singendes vöglein die schimmernden schwingen! leise, gar leise durch's herz zieht ein klingen, will's vom allvater die botschaft mir bringen : “kinder mein, brüder ihr, liebet einander?” 181 trauerstille “if a man should give up all, it is as nothing." --dean farrar. we ie roma einst gehalten streng gericht den völkern juda’s im gelobten land, also dem preussentum, gewaff in hand, europen’s vehm ihr flammend' urteil spricht. , im maienglanz die menschheit kränze wand der deutschen kraft, dem geiste fromm und licht, der wahrheit pries als leben's höchste pflicht und in idealen seine grösse fand. im herbstesgrauen,-mord und lug und trug, der gottheit rechtsspruch und der erde fluch, raubgier'gen ruf's der geier schwarzer zug. und wieder lacht der frühling, glocken schallen !-dass auf die gräber meine thränen fallen, vereint wir woll'n zum heil’gen graale wallen. 182 das lied vom hasse “the greatest foe of liberty is not the tyrant, but the contented slave.”—mazzini. schu chuss gab ich für schuss! es rollte vom blitzenden mund der gewehre stygischer donner! müde des mordens sank mir der arm. morgenroth! wiehernde ! wiehernde rosse; tamboure schlagen alarm; rauschende eichen, stürzende menschen, dass gott sich erbarm', kreuz du am waldsaum! liebet einander ? todt ist die mähre! schlummernde laster teuflische ränke zum feuerbrand schüren ; hass säuget hass, räudigen geistes gebild über die gräber fliegt, aus der erde brust quillt ; hass säuget hass bis geschrieben in blut was die hölle gewillt, über europen's getrümmer furien den reigen führen! 183 einstens schmückten mit rosen den leuchtenden schrein wir der laren ; tönender wall du von stahl, wer türmte dein furchtbar' fanal, leiber und seelen opfernd dem baal? am heiligen graal lodert die flamme und krächzende geier halten ihr mahl ;was mit dem schwert du errungen, nur mit dem schwert kannst du wahren! wieder erweckte die sonne lenzpracht schlummernder bäume, wieder blühen die rosen und vöglein kosen ; das ross wieder lenket zum acker friedsamen sinnes der tross. rauschende eichen! weh' mir allvater, hier stand ich und schoss! kreuz du waldsaum! liebet einander ! leben die träume ? am 184 vobiscum pax! “and thus i am absorbed, and this is life.”—byron. in 3 meeresstille, himmel's sonn'ger klarheit, vor fünfzig jahren landete ich hier. “ werda ?” “ ein deutscher !” “england's willkomm' dir, sei bruder mir im kampf für recht und wahrheit!" und mich durchschauerte ein heiss' begehren und freud'gen sinnes herz und hand ich weiht albion dir, und schwur der väter eid, das welfenhaus in mannestreu' zu ehren. auf neuer heimath blüthumrankter schwelle den laren flocht ich betend meinen kranz ; “vobiscum pax!” im minn'gen maienglanz mir rauschte lebens wunderholde quelle. und was im frühlingszauber ich besungen, des alters kunde wähnt' das werk vollbracht ; bis jäh' vom schlummer einer sommernacht zur wolke stieg der weckruf feur'ger zungen! 185 der sturm brach los, roth türmten sich die wetter, des rosses huf zu staub und asche schlug den acker, der des lebens weisheit trug; der eintracht traum,-zwei brettlein und vier bretter. der donner schweigt; es siegt das ewig-reine; wie's einer welt entflammter zorn gefügt in seines erbfeinds banden michel liegt, es kräht der hahn an aachen's heil'gem schreine. . germania! dir lag das all zu füssen, die fern’sten zonen sangen deinen ruhm ; die sühnungswunde schlug das preussentum, der fürsten schuld, bethörte völker büssen. germania, dich selbst erkennen lerne! sei, was du war’st in frommer ahnen zeit, der menschheit denker, der in lust und leid auf nied'rer erde suchte himmel's sterne! und hast die dornenkrone du zu tragen, durch nacht zum licht! der alte gott noch lebt, ihr freundlich' aug' die liebe sonne hebt, die quellen rauschen und die lerchen schlagen! 186 lass' galliens spottlied von der lor'lei schallen, auf rheingau's türmen seine fahnen wehn,land meiner väter, deine eichen steh'n, nur deine götzenbilder sind gefallen! der donner schweigt, die ihr auf tod und leben, das schwert gezückt einst, eure sippe schaart vor christi kreuz zur grossen pilgerfahrt im bruderkuss die blutschuld zu vergeben! die welt mit minn'ger thatkraft zu beglücken der sieger ruft! sei mir willkommen klang! nun rüst auch ich mich zu dem kirchengang, will glaubensfroh wie einst die laren schmücken! “werda?" “ dein bruder !” “du?" “ der westen, osten des samens aluchte, der erzeuger dir !” “fluch seinem fluch, stand fünfzig jahre schier ein deutschgebor’ner auf all—england's posten!” das land der väter mein, im strom der zeiten des glaubens hort, der künste pflegerin, in heil'ger leidenschaft geklärt den sinn, vereint mit uns will für die menschheit streiten! 187 uns einen himmel woll'n wir bau'n auf erden; der donner schweigt, die liebe hält gericht und zum verlor’nen sohn in gnaden spricht: es soll auch dir der lethe heiltrank werden!” wenn wir, die leben, längst im grabe modern der ew'ge geist einst heerschau halten wird ; “werda ?” “vobiscum pax, der gute hirt'!”. in himmel's firnen freudenfeuer lodern! 188 der gottsucher “o herrgott, wie viel von liebe." —rosegger. und nd soll uns wieder werden ein grosser völkerkrieg, verleih' o herr der erden der menschheit deinen sieg ! der blindheit staar zu stechen, der liebe schwur zu sprechen, gewaff' und schild zu brechen! frisch auf ihr mannen, schwinget den flamberg einmal noch; mit heil'gem eifer ringet uns los von hasses joch! zerhaut der rachgier krallen, lasst hoch zu himmels hallen der freiheit lieder schallen! du schrecken ohne ende,fluch dir, o bruderstreit, 189 und heil der sonnenwende, der holden eintracht kleid mit minn'ger hand zu weben, die seele zu erheben, in gottes fried' zu leben! 190 starb für's vaterland “written on sand."-keats. sonn onnenglanz an himmel's weite, rauschen lind im hag; wanderte dem freund zur seite, düstern blick's er sprach : “drüben in des waldes runde, einst ein grabstein stand; der hier ruht, so scholl die kunde, starb für's vaterland! duft'ger fülle spross der flieder, liebesgruss sein hang, vöglein sangen frohe lieder, und ein glöcklein klang; rosen roth mit minn'gem flüstern, neigten ihre pracht, und die eichen und die rüstern, hielten treue wacht. 191 vöglein's lieder sind verklungen, rosen roth verblüht und das glöcklein ist zersprungen, himmel's glanz verglüht; was den vätern lieb und theuer, hat die zeit verweht, auf des reiches zinnen heuer, feindes herold steht; wehrlos wir zu füssen liegen, seinem siegesrecht, hungersiech die mütter wiegen hungersiech' geschlecht.” “schweigen, dulden, weinen, frohnen, freund, dein leid ist gross, doch du theilst es mit millionen, schwerer ist mein loos; feind im land, das mich geboren, weh' mir, und im land das zur heimat ich erkoren, lieblos, missverkannt, schlug das schwert mein glück in scherben, frei dein busen schwellt, kannst der väter spruch vererben : sterben wie ein held!” wanderte dem freund zur seite,--wandere allein, blutroth leuchtet himmel's weite, und die geier schrein. 192 es werde « θεών εν γούνασι κείται.” –homer. zu u ende sei die zeit, die hehre in deren schooss der freiheit keim mit reichem erntkranz, gott zur ehre, friedfertig schmückte euer heim? verblichen sei der traum, der schöne, dass unser glück auch euer glück und dass europen's zwist vertöne wenn uns verbrüdert das geschick ; dass geistes kraft, die kunst des dichters ein edler' gut, als kriegers stolz, dass mächt'ger als der spruch des richters der liebe wort am kreuzesholz ? kleingläub'ge ihr! ob winter's brausen der erde raubte sonn'ge pracht, es harrt der lenz in stillen klausen des weckrufs ewig junger macht! 193 schwermüth'ger, seel, dem herrn der erde ihr habt gebeicht die schuld, das recht das wir ersiegt auch euer werde ; im staatenbund ein frei geschlecht! 13 194 14th december 1918 “this hand to tyrants ever sworn the foe, for freedom only deals the deadly blow; then sheathes in calm repose the vengeful blade, for gentle peace in freedom's hallowed shade.” adams. ) timi 'ime speeds its wings. i was in paris when the boer we fought, 'midst vengeancecraving men who cursed our queen, our weal, by voice and pen, with shrieks and gestures, born in monkey-den. since then all england gave her soul and gold for the defiler's cause, her freedom sold, freedom's immortal ord'nance to remould !has history ever nobler epic told ? a for ne'er before (do not forget) we met in combat prussia; europe owed a debt to her, who tore french tyrants' foul brevet, thrice foiled their threat the world in chains to set. 195 o'er fame of old, changed into hideous things that bear the brand of hell and teuton kings, time speeds its wings — england her challenge alings to war's base makers, and their bows unstrings. sternly she drilled into obedience blind our flesh and blood, a bond of hearts to find, sternly she now proclaims the empire's mind : no treacherous overtrust to cheat mankind ! 196 christmas greetings, 1918 “iesze polska nie zginela.”—dombrowski. fro 'rom his hut in the mountains the hermit surveys the white-winged plain, whilst dawn's golden rays the woods caress, and the sound of bells to the heavens ascends from worshipping dells ; and, joy in his soul, to god he prays :“spirit divine, glory to thee, for the blessing of peace and liberty!' behind the hut on the rock-bound track a toweret stands, storm-battered and black, once the home of a mighty king ; and the burghers of justice and freedom sing, and the children dance round a snow-belted stack: “ the power of despots ye broke, now rise from shambles and shame, thro' suffering, wise!” : 197 president wilson “mon fils, si des pécheurs te séduisent, ne te laisse pas gagner." proverbes de salomon, fils de david, roi d'israël. 'g ainst demons of hell to statecraft allied, the world fought in vain. thou knight of grace, who to christ's true conception recalled our race, of mankind's destiny soothsayer, guide, – hast thou succeeded war's runes to erase from history's maze? hast muted, defied, tied slanderer's tongue ? hast purified in our angry souls of hatred the craze ? a enshrouded our spirit, our passions inflamed !from france's white cliffs blew a treacherous gale and the lifeboat “ humanity” shattered its sail ; triumphant “ the tiger,” his booty he claimed! “and the fourteen shrines and the holy grail ?" “a beautiful vision, a fairy-tale !" 198 ave tribunus plebis, mundus te salutat-1918 “ the peace of the world rests upon the arch which the war has built across the atlantic.”—henry arthur jones. thou, whom france welcomes as a demi-god, o steel thy heart 'gainst ruse and flattery; for in thy hands lies mankind's destiny, the cup of grace and the avenger's rod. war's ogres, bred in dens of infamy, on europe's soul would heavy vengeance wreak, lull to oblivion saintly thoughts that seek from tyrants' vile intrigues mankind to free. and now we pray : let coming ages glean the harvest which god only has foreseen, his decalogue, thy ordinance of fourteen! columbus bore the cross thro' storm-winged seas-take thou its spirit to the hall of peace, that once for all war's dreadful curse may cease! 199 the triumph of chaos “ex semine messis.” firs ) ' irst year of war, red waves ankle-deep; second and third, to the knee they creep; fourth, on the horse's bridle they leap: charon, no longer thy diptych keep!' millions of wolves and millions of sheep driven to slaughter? up, brothers, and sweep tyrants and slaves from the high and the deep unto the phlegethon's flaming heap ;blood have they sown, blood shall they reap! 200 ode to freedom “o freedom! o shadow and night, forms half shapen in the womb-to the outlet of delivery !”—edward carpenter. beloved eloved and feared, a new-fledged eagle, raise a thy peerless wings, nor weigh our needs by measure ; proclaim abundance, make our work a pleasure, render to man from god the fruits of grace. cradled in heaven's pure precincts, rise and sweep to war's red gulf the bonds of foul oppression ; lead, daughter of god !-announce in solemn session : “let who the grain has sown, the harvest reap!" to see thy triumph, to read in eyes benign my soul's own quest, long thwarted, now attained, the brotherhood of nations and races gained, to living and dead, 'tis a message immortal, divine ! 201 hail, saint john's day! "that, whither love aspires, there shall my dwelling be.” aldana, ail, saint john's day! ye bells, keep ringing, ringing, with soothing tongues and inspiration rare, our prayers to god from mother earth to bear, for anguished souls, the chants of mercy winging. ring out the curse of hatred and suspicion, ring in love's gospel, in our hearts to stay, a living force, with pæans crown “the day,” reveal of brotherhood the glorious vision. the blood-won loot, for europe's own salvation, cast to the winds where all unholy dies; from purer aims let nobler weal arise : : humanity-one hope, one soul, one nation! 202 the golden years “a pardlike spirit, beautiful and swift."-shelley. e now reborn the world's great age, b the golden years for land and sea to gleam in fairy kisses, cherishing the dream of mortals for immortal heritage, and silver-tongued enjoying sweet repose, that nought of war's unholy terror knows. for brighter, loftier aims the call shall rise, and in the saintly splendour of its prime life shall create the visions of mute time, and do the bidding of the pure and wisein spheres that human foot has never trod a harvest reap to please both man and god. 203 “ceterum censeo cartaginem esse delendam” cato. "well, are there not twenty millions of germans too many?” a great personage at the versailles peace congress (statement made by the friends' emergency committee, october 1919). (6 sur a ) urrender the milch cows! of treasure the dearth, of famine the spectre, 'sale boche,' 'tis a lie; and e'en were it true, hunger and die, women and babes ye of curs'd german birth!” england, dear england, hear'st thou the cry? to the heavens it leaps from the death-stricken earth. see'st thou the tears? black night on the hearth, storm-swept the breast of the weeping sky! is this then the fate of our victory, revenge that revels in devilry, the nursery changed to a mortuary? england, deliverer, may god speed thy deed of mercy to teach the heaven-born creed, the starving to feed, love's message to heed ! 204 oyez! oyez! " quoth the raven: 'nevermore.' edgar allan poe. whor horedom their master, greed a willing mate, infamous louis quatorze and hordes of french, with fire and sword the german soul to quench, in ashes laid the fair palatinate. theirs was not war's brave deeds in field and trench, theirs was the homage at hell's flaming gate, a brigandage for reason foul of state, that virtue shammed on sinner's blood-stained bench, c the huguenots, the thermidor, black years, then the commune,—and then fair europe's tears at freedom's bier, and stricken mankind's fears ! and now again, through rhineland marches france;and has she vowed in righteous ordinance of brotherhood to herald the romance ? 205 the dawn “their bodies are buried in peace, but their name liveth for evermore.”—ecclesiasticus. n° longer ’midst yells of shells on grave-dotted sands england's linked legions stand, with bleeding hands from white-hot cannons hurling their thunderbrands! no longer of fifes the shriek, nor of drums the roll ; muted the curse of the maimed and the wail of the soul, faded the profiteer-patriot's aureole; no longer the harrowing dirge of the ravished maid, by tottering empires the holy of holies betrayed, o'er allied cities our airmen's shell-throwing raid !no longer round hell's flaming cauldrons the witches dance? tell me, great spirit, hast thou in saintly romance the covenant sealed, true to divine ordinance ? 206 hungry our hearts, and the eyes that have seen things weep, — soothing, yet suffering, knightly vigil we keep ;graced by love's bounty the blessing of heaven to reap! thou, mother earth, on whose breast of the slain the pall, have we atoned? o christ, redeemer of all, spirit immortal, send forth thy entrancing call! europe's grim tyrants we chained when the prussian host of steel-clad manhood, silenced their emperor's boast, freedom's flag planted o'er the eagle-crowned post. and if creatures there are, still nursing the passion base dread feuds to revive, and its phantoms of glory to chase, alive or dead, deprive them, o lord, of thy grace! 207 "the day" " mehr licht.”—goethe. “fla "laming the sky—and the fight? “man 'gainst the devil's might!" “ brother, is waning the night ?” brother, fear nought and do right!” phoenix divine, from the pyre arise, spirit of liberty, generous, wise, truth expounding, confuting lies, visions of heaven realise, earth, our mother, thy paradise !— deathless star humanity, thy benign magic to see healing life's infirmity, love, the joyous watchword be! printed in great britain by neill and co., ltd., edinburgh. + university of illinois-urbana 3 0112 073224468 217 828 .s5 1916 sei/tech. university of virginia library x030312957 solution of the equation of secular variation by a method due to hermite 3547 :48 dissertation presented to the faculty of the university of virginia by edward staples smith press of the new era painting company lancaster, pa. 1916 1 solution of the equation of secular variation by a method due to hermite dissertation presented to the faculty of the university of virginia by edward staples smith ensin ary 1819 press of the new era printing company lancaster, pa. 1916 gift jul 17 34 binding nov 30 49 virginiana qc €28 ,55 1916 1178016 preface رو the “ equation of secular variations " plays such an important rôle in many analytical investigations, particularly in the determination of the secular variations of the planets, and in fixing the principal axes of surfaces of the second degree, that dr. hancock suggested i undertake its solution by “hermite's method." this is done in the present paper, which has been developed in three distinct parts, as follows: i. a history of the secular variations of the planets, introducing the secular equation. ii. the development of “hermite's method.” iii. the solution of the equation of secular variations and applications. the history has been obtained largely from die mathematischen theorien der planeten-bewegungen, von dr. otto dziobek, from laplace's collected works, vol. xi, page 49, and from moulton's celestial mechanics. no special reference is given in the history to the one of the three authors from whom the material was obtained, as they were all used throughout. the history necessarily deals with the other perturbations as well as the secular terms, but i have attempted to lay special stress on the history of the secular, rather than the periodic, terms. in the development of the form of sturm's theorem known as “ hermite's method of solving sturm's theorem ” weber's algebra has been closely followed. in order to have the method before me in concise form for ready reference, and to develop the method in logical order, i have tabulated in full the material needed to derive the method. in the third chapter, application is made of the method set forth in chapter ii, and the equation is solved independently of any previous solution. the solution is then followed by a few important applications. besides the general credit given above for the source of my material, an attempt has been made to give due credit in footnotes. i wish to acknowledge here my indebtedness to professor w. h. echols, and dr. j. m. page, who labored with me as a student at the university of virginia to make it possible for me to pursue further investigations, and also to thank dr. harris hancock for suggesting the problem. university of cincinnati, march 15, 1916. iii chapter i a short history of the perturbations of the planets, with particular attention to the secular terms the equation of secular variations, the solution of which is the object of this treatise, is so named because of its part in establishing the secular terms in the perturbations of three or more planets. according to laplace,* the planetary perturbations divide themselves into two classes, the periodic and the secular. the periodic are, for the most part, very small, depend on the positions of the planets in their orbits, and usually run their course in a few revolutions of the planet in question. in the earlier investigations the secular inequalities were not considered, as their influence is negligible unless exerted over a very great period, and they were not considered until it was demonstrated that over cycles of centuries their influence is enormous. these inequalities are not dependent on the position of the planets in their orbits, but on the relative positions of the orbits themselves. the history of the disturbance theories begins with newton, who explained the principal irregularities in the movement of the moon in the third book of his principia. he developed the theory of perturbations as applied to the lunar theory by the methods of geometry. clairaut and d'alembert made further progress in their memoirs of 1747, presented to the french academy of sciences on the same day, in which they solved the problem of three bodies when the central force outweighs the remaining in importance. their solution depended on the integration of the differential equation of motion in series. clairaut soon made a forceful application of his brilliant theory, by studying the perturbations of halley's comet. this comet had been observed in 1531, 1607 and 1682 and its period fixed as about seventy-five years. its return was therefore expected at the latest toward the end of the year 1758. clairaut calculated the influence which the then known planets would exercise on it, and reported to the academy of sciences that the disturbance caused by them would delay its return until the middle of april, 1759. he later added this might vary about a month due to small influences he had neglected. while the comet reappeared within the limit given by him, being first seen on march 12, 1759, still there was a greater see laplace's collected works. 1 2 solution of the equation of secular variation difference between his calculation and the actual occurrence than there would have been had the mass of saturn been more correctly known. the methods of geometry were succeeded by the more powerful methods of analysis, and were developed largely by fuler, clairaut, d'alembert, lagrange and laplace. euler (1707-1783) was the pioneer in the applications of analysis to the perturbations, having to develop the methods which he used in attacking the problem. he presented three memoirs on the perturbations of the planets, treating primarily the mutual perturbations of jupiter and saturn, which gained for him the prizes of the paris academy of sciences in the years 1748, 1752 and 1756. in these memoirs he gave the first analytical development of the method of the variations of parameters. his formulas were not entirely general because he did not vary many of the constants simultaneously. still, in the case of two planets he arrived at the proof of the existence of the secular variations of the eccentricity, inclination, perihelion, and node. unfortunately many mistakes appeared in the numerical calculations, but the results were later correctly obtained by lagrange. lagrange (1736-1813) pursued the ideas of euler, and developed still further the method of the variation of parameters. his contributions to celestial mechanics were exceptionally valuable, and should insure him a permanent monument in all works on astronomy. his first work appeared in the mélanges de la société de turin, tome iii, 1766. in this he applied the methods of the variations of parameters to the perturbations of jupiter and saturn, but his procedure was not precise because he regarded the major axes and the epochs of the perihelion passages as constants. however, limiting himself to two planets, he obtained the right final equation for the consideration of the secular periods. this had been given incorrectly by euler. for the inclinations and nodes he obtained correct formulas, so that his numerical results, by the use of the theory of the greatest planetsjupiter and saturnare passably correct. in the year 1773 laplace (1749–1827) presented to the academy of sciences his first work on the theory of the planetary system, which appeared in the year 1776 in the mémoires des savants étrangers. he fixed with full accuracy the formula for the differential quotient of the elements, though this did not at first possess its later elegant form. in this memoir he proved his celebrated theorem that, up to the second powers of the eccentricities and the inclinations, the major axes have no secular terms. the theory of the secular variations of the elements arose because in the customary procedure of the integration through series, terms were produced which were proportional to the time. euler, lagrange and laplace now concentrated their reflections on the effort to remove these terms. soon the by a method due to hermite 3 self-evident fact that the theory of absolute disturbances of the planetary system was not the most suitable, caused the theory of the variations of the constants to be introduced, not at first fully clear, but mixed with the former theory. it was evident that the secular terms must endure, but instead of determining it directly it was grasped in a roundabout way. this was clearly seen in laplace's mécanique céleste where, in the expression for the absolute disturbance of the coördinates, he ingeniously withdrew the terms which were proportional to the time, and then after the introduction of the full theory of the variation of the constants to the integration he found the secular terms of the disturbance theorem retained. poisson proved in 1809, in the treatise “sur les inégalités séculaires des moyens movements des planètes” (journal de l'école polytechnique), that the major axes have no purely secular terms in the perturbations of the second order with respect to the masses. he arrived at his results by a peculiar application of the theorem of active forces. laplace, in his mécanique céleste, livre vi, gave another proof, and lagrange had sought to furnish this proof but serret has shown that his procedure suffered a slight mistake in sign. it was sought to extend this result to the third power of the disturbing masses. thus mathiew, in his “memoire sur les inégalités séculaires des grands axes des orbits des planètes ” (journal von crelle, 1875), began investigations from which he concluded that the secular terms did not appear even in the consideration of the third powers. but finally, harétu proved, in his dissertation at sorbonne in 1878, that there are secular variations in the expressions for the major axes in the terms of the third order with respect the masses. the analytical and numerical development of the disturbance functions, when considering higher powers of the eccentricity and inclination, led to such interesting and important computations that the majority of the important mathematicians have taken pains with it and advanced it. among these we find cauchy, bessel, lubback, hansen, glyden, newcomb and others. gauss, airy, adams, leverrier and many others have made important contributions to the planetary theory in some of its many aspects. adams and leverrier obtained particular prominence by demonstrating the existence of neptune and calculating its apparent position from the unexplained irregularities in the motion of uranus. the secular value of the elements had been developed by laplace and lagrange, limiting their discussion to the second power of the eccentricity and inclination. according to dziobek it was leverrier who first attempted to consider the influence of the neglected terms. later his investigations were carried further by the astronomer lehmann, who, however, died before com4 solution of the equation of secular variation pleting his numerical investigation. it was the opinion of leverrier and lehmann that the influence of these terms is greater than was earlier supposed, and would possibly bring great improvement on the secular periods, as they would be fixed through the roots of the secular equation. the secular equation the way the secular equation enters is shown by the following treatment taken from dziobek.* the secular part of the disturbance functions depends on the quantity w т, т σ γλμ when limiting the secular part, w, of the disturbance function to the terms of second degree of the eccentricity and inclination, w reduces to tw em, m.lil, + ziii: {hi + h + 1 + 1 (px – pu)? (@a )} {iii (h, hy + 14 ) ]. the differential equations of motion then become dh, 1 mx dt aw' ala' jux ax 1 aw dla та dt vuxa, ah, : (1 = 1,2,...,n). dpx ma dt 1 alt aga > vux ax 1 aw mx da, dt mx a apa . substitute the value of w in (2) in these differential equations, limiting to terms in h and l, and the result can be expressed in two groups, those containing only h, and those containing only l. the two groups are brought down in final form to a quadratic form in h. and l. (defined in (8), page 225). these quadratic forms when transformed by linear substitutions into a sum of squares, finally reduce to the set of equations, * dziobek, planeten-bewegungen, pages 221 to 227. † (2), $ 31, page 224. (20), page 227. by a method due to hermite 5 + an, 1 [n, 1] 0 = q1, 1([1,1] – 91) + q2, 112, 1] + 23, 113, 1] + 0 = 21, 1[1, 2] + x2, 1([2, 2] – gı) + 23, 113,2] + ... 0 ai, 1[1, 3] + 22, 1[2, 3] + 23, 1([3,3] ) + + an, i[n, 2] + an, 1[n, 3] 0 = 21,1[1, n] + 22, 1[2,n] + 23, 113, n] + ... + an, 1([n, n) 91). the gå in these equations give the coefficients of the square terms when expressed as sums of squares. the n g's are obtained by eliminating from the equations (20) the unknown ai, 1, 02, 1, 63, 1, an, 1, when there results (n,1] [1,1] 9, 12,1], [3,1], [1, 2], (2, 2] 9, 13,2], (1,3), [2,3], (3, 3) – 9, [n, 2] 0 = in, 3] [3, n), in, n] 9 [1, n), [2,n), the roots of which give us the g's. chapter ii hermite's method of solving sturm's theorem § 1. before passing to the solution of our particular problem we shall develop or tabulate, for convenience of reference, the method known as “hermite's solution of sturm's theorem.”* this method leads frequently to a simpler result than is obtained by direct application of sturm's theorem, and is closely related to hermite's work with the tschirnhausen's transformations. it also depends on the theorem in quadratic forms called by sylvesterſ “the law of inertia of quadratic forms ” which states: “ if we express a real quadratic form y(x) as a sum of positive and negative squares of linear functions (which may be done in an infinite number of ways) then the number of positive and of negative squares, as also of their sum, will always be the same, provided there is no linear relation between the functions." 1) § 2. the quadratic form hg. consider the equation (1) f(x) = do x" + aj xn-1 + az x1-2 + + an-1 x + an = 0, whose roots, x1, x2, xn, we shall assume are all unequal. if x is a root of (1) we can build the expression f(t) (2) {n-1 fo (x) + tn=2 f1(a) + · + tfn-2(x) + fn-1(a), t in which t is an undetermined quantity. the coefficients of the powers of t are here fo(2) = do, = ao x + di, fi(x) f2 (x) (3) do x2 + 212 + 02, . fr-1(x) ao xn-1 + a₂an-2 + aran-3 + + an--2x + an-1. * hermite, “remarques sur le théorème de m. sturm,” comptes rendus de paris akademie, t. 30 (1853). † see philosophical magazine, 1852. 6 by a method due to hermite 7 now construct the function (4) y = ta-fo (2)+– f(x)+... + ti fn-2(x) + tofn-1(x), in which to, ti, ... , tn-l are undetermined constants, and are not to be confused with powers of t. however (4) goes into (2) if th is changed to th. denoting by yı, y2, y3 , the values which y takes for yn x = x1, x2, x3 , xin when x1 respectively and taking a, any fixed real quantity, we next build the expression (5) hq = (x1 a)yi + (x2 – a) yả + + (xn a)ya. this is a quadratic form in the n variables ti, and below it will be shown that the number of its negative terms, for a constant a, gives the number of real roots of f(x) = 0 which are less than a , plus the number of pairs of imaginary roots of f(x) = 0. if xı is a real root, then yı is real, and the term (x1 a) yî is positive or negative according as x1 is greater or less than a. and x2 form a pair of conjugate imaginaries, then yı and y2 are conjugate imaginaries and (x1 a)yi + (x2 – a) yž is composed of a positive and a negative square. this is easily seen if we take yi a = u + iv, a = u – iv, whence (x1 a)yi + (x2 a) yż = 2u’ – 202. from the foregoing it follows that the number n, of the negative squares in h, is equal to the total number of pairs of imaginary roots of f(x) = 0 plus the number of its real roots which are less tha take now a second real number b > a, and form the function h. , representing by n, the number of negative squares of hg. then the difference n. – n. is equal to the number of real roots of f(x) = 0 lying between a and b. ya vez α. § 3. some relations between the coefficients. we have thus a means of determining the real roots of an equation, if we can represent the coefficients of the tit; in the function h, as functions of a and of the coefficients of the 8 solution of the equation of secular variation powers of x in f(x). after a few expressions, which are used in developing the process or in its application, are derived, then we shall proceed to determine these coefficients. the symbol s in front of an expression is used here to indicate the expression is to be summed over all the roots of f(x) = 0. thus s(x) = x1 + x2 + ! tan, s(y) = yı + y2 + + yn: summing both sides of (2) over the roots of f(x) = (0) there results the expressions, s[fo(x)] ndo, s[f1(x)] = (n − 1)ai, (6) s[f2 (x)] = (n 2) az, s[fr-1(x)] = an-1. the left side of (2) gives f(t) f(t) + + t x2 + t xn (7) = ( dtf(t) = na, th–1 + (n 1) a, tn-2 + ... + an-1 and the right side of (2) summed gives (8) s s(:-) f(t) t = fn-1 s (fo(x)] + tn-sifi(x)] + ... + s[fr-1(x)]. comparing coefficients in (7) and (8) the expressions in (6) are found. 84. determination of hermite's form h. represent the product of yf, by (9) yf. eo, o fo + e1, o f1 + e2, o f2 + + en-1, o fn-1 s = 0, 1, 2, ...,n 1. when 8 = 0, comparing coefficients in (9) and yf, obtained from (4), the set of ei, . for s = 0 are found to be, since fo(x) = do, (10) e. 0 = do in-1, e1, o = do tn-2, en-1, a = do to. 9 the remaining e;, ; functions are determined from the following relations, which are true in virtue of (3). by a method due to hermite 9 æf. = ac x = fı – 01, xfı = f2 – 02, xf2 = f3 – 03, (11) afn–2 = fr-1 an-1, xfn-1 = f on, an since f (x) = 0. from (9) and (11) we have, xyf. eo, & fi + e1, &f2 + ... + en-2, ofn-1 (12) a, e., o 22 e1, an-1 en-2,8 an en-1, now define e-1, , by 8 8 (13) do e-1, s + di eo, s + 02 e1, 8 + + an en-1, = 0. multiply (9) by a and subtract from (12) using (13) and we get (x – a)yf, = (e_1, a eo, e)fo + (eo, . ae1, .)fi + ... (14) + (en-2, . aem-1, 2) fn-1. e_1, o may be expressed from the equation (15) ao into tai int8-1 + + ant, = 0, which is obtained by introducing , 11, 112, through the following equations ao tn + ai tn-1 + a2 tn-2 + + anto = 0, (16) ao n+1 + a n + a2 tn-1 + + an ti 0, 0, do tn+2 + atn+1 + a2 tn + + antz multiply equations (11) through, in order, by tn-1, in-2, ..., to and add, whence (17) xy = info + tn-l fi + ... + ti fn-1. similarly multiply equations (11) through, in order, by ta , ta-1, , ti, add and use (16) and (17), and we have, 10 solution of the equation of secular variation 22 y (18) = tnt1 fo + tn fi + ... + t2 fn–1. continuing this process the following system is obtained: y = tn-1 fo + tn-2 f1 + tn–3f2 + + to fn-1, xy = tn fo + tn–1fi + tn-2f2 + + ti fn-1, tn+1 fo + in fi + tn-1f2 + ... + tz fn-1, (19) in+2 fo + in+1 fi + tnf2 + ... + tz fn-1, y = 22 y x y = tnts-1 fo + int8-2 f1 + int8-3f2 + ... + tofn-1. these relations multiplied through, in order, by as, 28-1, ag-2, do 9 and added give the equation yf. eo, ofo + ei, s fi + in which the ei, are defined by (9) + en-1, o fn-1, e_1, 8 = ao ints + ay tnt8-1 + ta, tn asti tn-1 anto, eo, , = do tn 3-1 + ai tn 3-2 + ... + a, tn-1 28+1 tn-2 ants-1, e1, o = ao tn+8-2 + az int3--3 + ... + a, tn-2 0.t1tn-3 an ts-2, e2, . = do tn 18-3 + az in+84 + + a, tn-3 ast1 tnt antz-s, (20) e3-1, 8 = do tn + aiin-1 + t as tn-s ag+1 -1 an to, e., = ao tn-1 + ai tn–2 + + ag tn-8-1, es+1, ao tầ2 + a n–3 + 8 + a, tn--2, en-1, s = dots + ajts-1 + ... + a, to. next introduce a second system of variables 7 through (21) z = tn-1fo + t-2 f1 + ... + tofn-1, by a method due to hermite 11 from which we have, since by (6) s (f:) (n $)as, s[(x – a ) yz) = s[(x a)y{tn-1 fo + tn-2f1 + ... y– + to fn-1} ] s[tn-1 (x – a ) yfo + tn-2 (x – a ) yfi + ... + to(x – a) yfn-1}] (22) σ (ε-..αεο, .) τη--1 + (n − 1)a σ (eo, ae1, 8) 77-8-1 = ndo 0, n-1 8 0, n-1 + an-1 é (em-2, – «en-1, 8) in-o-1. 0, n-1 on making r = t (22) will take the value of h, in (5) being expressed in terms of the coefficients of f (x) and of a. $5. illustrative example. for an example take the case n = 4, for which we find. e_1,0 as to , e-1, 1 = – az tz – az tz 04ti, e_1. 2 = az tz – ay ta, e-1, 3 = – 04 13, aitz az tz az tı eo, 1 az tı ad to, eo, o = ao tz, dz to e., 2 = – az tz – 04 ti, eo. 3 = – 04 ta, el. o = a, t2, e1, 1 = a, tz + ai ta, e1, 2 = – az tı – ad to, e1, 3 = anti, e2, o = ao ti, e2, 1 = a, tz + a, ti, e2, 2 = a, tz + ata + ayti, e2, 3 = to, e3, o = do to, e3. 1 = do ti + ai to, e3, 2 = ao tz + ai ti + az to, ez, a = do tz + a, tz + az ti + az to. 12 solution of the equation of secular variation these values of ei, ; substituted in (22) give s[(x – a ) yz] = t3 t3 h3, 3 + t3 t2 h3, 2 + tz t, h3, 1 + tz to h3, o + t2 t3 h2, 3 to ta t2 h2, 2 + t2 t1 h2,1 + t2 to h2, o + tı 73 h1,3 t ti t2 h1, 2 + ti t1 h1,1 + ti to h1, o + to t3 h0, 3+ to t2 h., 2 + to t1 h0,1 + to to h0, 0. if 7 = t this goes into he = t; h3, 3 + tz to h3, 2 + tz tı h3, 1 + tz to h3, 0 + tz tz h2, 3 + tź h2, 2 + tz tı h2, 1 + tz to h2, 0 + ti tz h1, 3+ ti tz h1, 2 + ti h1, 1+ ti to h1, o + to tz h., 3 + to tz ho, 2 + to ti ho, 1 t t. ho, o. 1 where the hi, ; are given by h3, 3 do (a1 + 400 a), 3a, az qı az a (3aí 2do az), 3aa4 – 02 03 – 2a (až – 21 23 – 2a, as), h., o = – az 24 a(až – 2a, an), h2, 2 h1,1 h3,2 h2, = 2ao d2 3α, α, α, 3 h3, 1 h1,3 зао аз 2ας α2 α, h3. 0 ho, 3 h1,2 h2, 1 h2,0 400 24 do dz a, 4a, 04 – 2a, az – a (2a1 az 3a, az), h. 2 = 3a, 04 a (a, az – 4a, 24), h1,0 = h., 1 = – 2a, 04 a (az az – 3a1 au). to help in the determination of the number of negative terms in ha, we shall use the determinant of the hi, ;, which determinant we shall now develop. $ 6. the determinant of hermite's form. let us now set (23) h σσης, jt, t;. ti . 0 1-1 since hi, ; is the coefficient of tit; we see by (21) and (22) it is given by (24) hi, i s(x – a) fn-i-1 fr–;-1. using this relation we see that the determinant a' of the nạ quantities hi,,, by a method due to hermite 13 that is the determinant of the quadratic form h, is the determinant obtained by multiplying the two determinants below by columns, (x1 alfo(x1), (x1 alfı(ai), (x1 alfn-1(x1) an(a) (x2 – a) fo (x2), (x2 – a)fı(x2), ..., (x2 – a)fn-1(x2) . a-, х (2) ہو گی ... (xn a) f. (xn), (xn – a)fı(xn), ..., (xn – a )fn-1 (xn) (25) fo(x1), fi(xi), .., fn-1(x1) fo (x2), fı(x2), fr-1 (x2) fo(an), f1(xn), ..., fn-1 (zn) > z since ao(x1 a) (x2 a) (x3 a)... (xn – a) = (-1)" f(a), an(a) reduces to fo(xi), f1(xi), fr-1(xi) (-1)"f(a) fo(x2), f1(x2), (26) al(a) :; fn-1(x2) do fo(an), fi(zn), ..., fr-1(2n) this last determinant may be expressed as the product of two determinants, thus fo (21), f1(xi), f2(xi), fr-1(x1) fo(22), f1(x2), f2(x2), fr-1 (x2) 2 = iforam .., fo(an), fi(xn), f2(xn), fn-1 (xn) 0 1, x1, xi, (27) do , 0, 0, ..., 22 di , do , 0, in-1 0 ܕܐ x2, x3, x3, x3, x11, n-1 02, di , do , 0 . an-1, an-2, an-3, do 1, 2, 3, x the square of this product is equal to a; d,* where d is the discriminant of the function f(x). we see then that (28) al(a) = (-1)" aof (a)d. since, by hypothesis, d is different from zero, an(a) can only vanish when we substitute one of the roots of f (x) since an(a) is the determinant of the quadratic form h, we can fix the number of negative squares in h, if expressed as the sum of squares of linear terms, by the number of variations in the chain of principal minors of ah (a). * see (7) $ 50, vol. i, weber. † see v, 8 89, vol. i, weber. 0 for a. 14 solution of the equation of secular variation by the principal minors of 4(a) we mean determinants formed in succession by starting with an (a) and leaving off the last row and last column, then leave off the last row and column of this, and so on down to the last. the chain of these principal minors would then appear as 41(a), 4. (a), a's (a), ..., 41(a), when arranged in reverse order. the number of negative squares in h will then be equal to the number of variations in sign between the functions (29) 1, ai(a), 42 (a), ag (a), : ..., 4(a). since this h, as given in (23), is the same as our hin (5) with the y's expressed in terms of the t's, the number of negative squares in h, is obtained from the variations in the signs between the functions in (29). call this number na, and denote by ng the corresponding number of variations in the chain where ß replaces a , ß > a. that is no is the number of variations in 1, δ, (β), δ, (β), δ, (β), a(b). then na n, will give us the number of real roots of f(x) = 0 lying between a and b. chapter iii the solution of the equation of secular variations and applications $ 1. the quadratic form o'.-we shall now apply hermite's method, as outlined above, to the solution of the equation of secular variations, which we take in the form: di, 1 de , a 1, 2, 01, 3, di, n 9 02, 1, 02, 2 x, a2, 3, 02. n (30) an (x) = = 0. (3, 1, 03, 2, 03, 3 x, (3, no an, 1, an, 2 on, 31 an, n 2 in this we take the ai, j as real quantities, and further ai, i aj, i, i=1, 2, ..., n. j=1, 2, ..., n. if this determinant is expanded, we obtain a polynomial of the nth degree in x, the coefficient of xn being ( 1)". represent this polynomial as (31) f(x) = ao x" + aix"-1 + a2 21–2 + + an, ao = (-1)" and then find the number of roots of (32) f(x) = 0. from (32) form the function h, as shown in (5), (5) hq = (x1 a)yi + (x2 a) yż + ... + (c a) gỉ. then the number, na, of negative squares in this function will give the number of real roots of f(x) = 0, or of an (x) = 0, which are less than a, plus the number of pairs of imaginary roots of this equation. to enable us to find this quantity na, we shall study with the quadratic form hą, another quadratic form whose determinant is an (a). consider the quadratic form (33) $(ti, t2, ..., tn) σ αι, jt, t, di, i = aj, i, i=1, 2, ..., no j=1, 2, ..., 91 15 16 solution of the equation of secular variation whose determinant is (1, 1, 01, 2, ai, n (2, 1, a2, 2, 02, n (34) an, 1, an, 2 , an, in > with this form y build the quadratic form, (35) ø a(ti + t. + + tä), the determinant for which is di, 1 a, 01, 2, di, n 02, 1 a2, 2 -α, d2, n (36) an (a) = an, 1, an, 2 , on, no a the variations in sign between the terms in the chain (37) 1, δ, (α), δ. (α), ..., δ. (α) will give the number of negative terms of '', when expressed as the sum of squares of linear functions. in what follows we shall assume that no two consecutive terms of this chain (37) vanish for the same value of x , and shall later show we are justified in making this assumption. the relation (38) below will help us in determining the number of negative terms in h, from those of the quadratic form '', (38) ax(a) sx – t ax-1(a) ak+1(a).* in (38) sk and tk are rational integral functions of x, and ak(a), ak-1 (a) and akti (a) have the same meaning as in the chain above. it is evident from (38) that if ax (a) = 0, ak-1(a) and akti(a) will have opposite signs. = § 2. relation between the negative squares of h, and o'. now let x pass through a real root of an (x) = 0, say xr. then take a small quantity, h, so small that no root of an (x) = 0, excepting xr, lies in the interval xr h to xr + h, and let xr – h = y and x, + h = 8. since x passes through a root of an (x) = 0 in going from y to & there will be one more negative square in iis than in h,. hg and h, are used here, as other subscripts will be used, to denote the value of h, in (5) when a is made equal to ô and y respectively. correspondingly if, in the chain of functions (37), we let x pass through the root xr, there will be one more variation in sign between the functions of the chain for x slightly larger than xr, than there is in the chain for x slightly * see $ 88, page 291, weber, vol. i. by a method due to hermite 17 less than xr. that is in 1, 41(8), a2 (8), ..., an (8) there is one more variation in sign than there in is the chain 1, 41(y), 12(7), ..., an(7). the fact just stated is true because as x passes through xr an (x) changes sign, while an-1(a) does not, and there will be a variation introduced between these two terms in our chain. at the same time there will be no other variation introduced in the chain of functions. if there could be another variation introduced one of the terms, say ap(x), would have to change sign, and hence would have to pass through zero. but as ap(x) passes through zero no variation in sign is introduced since by (38) when ap(x) = 0, ap-1 (x) and ap+1 (x) have opposite signs. ap (a) will then have the same sign as one of them, say ap-1 (a) and the opposite sign from the other one ap+1 (a), before passing through xr, while after passing through xr, an (x) will have opposite sign to ap-1 (x), and same sign as ap+1 (x) and will, therefore, keep the number of variations between the three consecutive functions the same. this discussion also shows there will be no variation lost in this interval. there will, therefore, be no variation in sign introduced or lost in the chain of functions as x passes through the root, excepting one variation introduced between an-1(x) and an (x). and similarly as x passes through each of the roots of an (x) = 0, there will be one variation in sign introduced between the functions of the chain (37). since, at the same time, as x increases through each of the roots of an (x ) = 0, there is one negative square introduced in hą, the number of negative squares introduced in h, as a passes from a to ß will be the same as the number of variations in sign introduced in the chain (37) as x passes from a to ß. consequently to count the difference in the number of negative squares in hg and h, we can find the difference in the number of variations in the two chains 1, 41(b), a2 (b), ..., an (b) and 1, 41(a), a2 (a), ..., an(a) b> a. but this is the same as finding the difference in the number of negative squares of ¢', when a is replaced by b, and in o' when a is equal to a. before we proceed to use the quadratic form to determine the quantity no na, which gives us the number of real roots of an (x) = 0 lying between a and ß, we shall show we were justified in assuming no two terms of the chain (37) would vanish for the same value of x. 18 solution of the equation of secular variation = first, it is obvious that if ap-1(a), ap (x) and ap+1(x) all three pass through zero and change sign for the same value of x, there will be no change in the variations or permanences in the three functions before and after x passes through this value. suppose, then, for some value of x in the interval in question ap (.) and ap+1 (x ) both vanish, but ap-1(x) does not. in this case we can so choose the ap+1, in which occur in ap+1(x), but not in an (x), that ap+1(x) will not vanish when a, (x) vanishes. this is true because ap+1 ( x ) cannot vanish identically for all values of akt1, i since it contains the term-a3+1, ap-1(x),* which can only vanish if ap+1, p = 0. we can then build a new function an (x), in which the ai, are chosen to differ by less than an arbitrarily small amount, e, from the corresponding ai, i terms of an (x), but so that no two consecutive terms in the chain of principal minors of an (x ) will vanish for the same values of x. e can be made so small that the roots of an (x) = 0 and ān (x) = 0 will differ by less than any assigned arbitrarily small quantity, and consequently a variation will be introduced between an-1 (x) and an (x), and between an-1 (x) and ār (x) within the neighborhood of the same quantity. then the two quantities a and b can be so chosen that in the two chains (i) 1, 41(x), a2 (2), ..., an (x) and (ii) 1, 71(x), ā,(x), ..., ān (x) none of the terms will vanish for x = a or for x = ß. the corresponding members of the two chains will then have the same signs. since no two consecutive terms of the chain (ii) vanish for the same value of x, then the discussion above, regarding the variations in sign introduced as x passes through a root of an (x) = 0, holds for this chain. but the difference in the number of variations in sign of the functions of the chains for x = b and for x = a will be the same for both chains, and may be determined from either. the assumption, therefore, that no two consecutive terms of the chain (37) would vanish for the same value of x did not lead to false conclusions, and the quantity no na can be found by determining the number of negative squares in ' for x = a and x = b. this is done by determining the number of variations in signs between the principal minors of its determinant when arranged in the form of the chain (37). since this at the same time gives the difference in the number of negative squares between hg and hą, and consequently the number of roots of an (x) = 0 . lying in the interval from a to ß, we shall use it immediately for that purpose. * see $ 62, “theory of determinants," by thomas muir. by a method due to hermite 19 $ 3. solution of the equation. since ap(a) = (-1)” qp + pian! + p2 ap? + ... + pr (p1, p2, ..., pr being constants) we note that for a sufficiently large in absolute value, the sign of ap (a) will be the sign of the leading term ( 1)pqp. in the chain (37) 1, 41(a), 42 (a), an (a) for a = 00 each member of the chain is positive [(-1)'( . )being positive whether p is even or odd], there are no variations in sign between these members and n-= 0. for a = + 0, on the other hand, there is a variation between each successive term, as the sign of each term, beginning with the second, is determined by (1)”, which makes a1( + ) negative and each member of the chain after that alternately positive and negative. there are then n variations in the chain of functions for a = + oor = n. hence we have ntoo nno = n and we see that all of the roots of the equation of secular variations are real. § 4. condition for all of the roots to be positive. in order to fix the conditions to be satisfied in order that all the roots of an (x) = 0 may be positive, make a take the value 8, where is a positive quantity so small that there are no positive roots of an (x) = 0 that are less than 8. since the number of variations in sign in the chain of functions a; (a) for a = + co is n, in order to have all the roots of an (x ) = 0 positive it is necessary that, when a = 8, there should be no variations in sign in the functions 1, 41(8), a2 (8), a3 (8), ..., an (8), that is, they must all be positive. by taking d sufficiently small the sign of these functions will be the same as the corresponding principal minors of canla di, 1, 01, 2 , > ai, n amino 1 02, 1, a2, 2, a2, n an ry 1819 an, 1, an,?, an, or of 1, a1, a2, a3, ..., an 20 solution of the equation of secular variation where di, 1, ai, 2 a1 ai, 1, δ, etc. 02, 1, 02, 2 0 are all to be positive then hence if the roots of the given equation an (x) a1, a2, ..., an must all be positive. $ 5. principal planes of surfaces of second degree. as a particular application we shall consider an equation used in finding the principal planes of surfaces of the second degree. the equations of these principal planes depend on the solutions of the equation* a-x, h, 9 h, b\, f = 0. 9, f, c-x we see this is the equation an (x) = 0) with n = 3, and it follows, therefore, that its roots are all real. § 6. relation between the roots of an (x) = 0 and an+1(x) = 0. let us locate the roots of anti(x) = 0 in relation to those of an (x) = 0. note that, since all the roots of an (x) = 0 are real, and there are no variations in sign in the chain (37) for a = – 0 the number of variations in sign of the chain (37) will give the number of roots of an(x) = ( that are less than a. take for a general investigation n = r. let the roots of a, (x) = 0, arranged in order of magnitude, beginning with the smallest, be or-1, ar, ai, a2, a3, and examine the chains of principal minors of δ, (r) and ar+1(x). in the chain of principal minors 1, 41 (ar), a. (ar), ..., 4.-1(ar), a. (ar), arti(ar) since a, (ar) = 0, then ar-1(ar) and ar+1 (ar) have opposite signs, by (38). increase ay by a small amount h, where, as previously used, h is a small positive quantity, so small that none of the functions ai(a) will change sign in the interval qr – h to ar + h, excepting δ, (α). * see echols' calculus, page 361. by a method due to hermite 21 in the two chains of principal minors (i) 1, 41(ar), a2 (qr), ..., ar-1 (ar), ar (ar) and (ii) 1, 41(ar + h), a2 (ar + h), ., ar-1(qr + h), ar (qr + h) all of the corresponding functions will have the same sign excepting the last one, which in the first chain is zero, but in the second chain may be either positive or negative. the second chain (ii) will have r variations, since all of the roots of a, (x) = 0 are less than an + h, having taken ar as the greatest root. having r variations there will be a variation between each pair of successive functions, and consequently a variation between an-1 (ar + h) and ar (qr + h). since ar-1(ar) and art1 (ar) have opposite signs so will ar-1 (ar + h) and ar+1 (ar + h) have opposite signs and from above ar (ar + h) and ar+1 (qr + h) will have the same sign. then the chain (iii) 1, 41(ar + h), a2 (ar + h), ·, ar-1 (ar + h), a. (qr + h), ar+1 (qr + h) will have only r variations, the same as in (ii). hence there are r roots of 4+1(x) = 0 less than ax + h, and since art1 (x) = 0 has r +1 roots there is one root of arti (a) = 0) which is greater than ax + h. that is, there is one, and only one, root of ar+1 (2) = 0 greater than the greatest root of a, (x) = 0. next consider the root op-1, which is the second largest root of af(x) = 0. in the chain 1, 41(ar-1), 42 (ar-1), ..., ar-1(ar-1), a. (ar-1), arti(ar-1), since a, (ar-1) = 0, then by (38) ar-1 (ar-1) and art1 (ar-1) have opposite signs. from this it follows that (a) ar-1 (ar-1 + h) and ar+1 (ar-1 + h) have opposite signs, as they have the same sign as ar-1 (ar-1) and ar+1 (-1) respectively. the chain (iv) 1, 41(ar-1 + h), a2 (ar-1 + h), ..., ar-1 (ar-1 + h), ar (ar-1 + h) will haver – 1 variations, since there are r – 1 roots of a, (x) = 0 less than ar–1 + h. on the other hand there will be only r – 2 variations in (v) 1, 41(ar-1 – h), a2 (ar-1 – h), h), ..., 4.-1 (07-1 h), a, (ar-1-h). as there is a variation gained in (iv) over (v) and is gained by the last function 22 solution of the equation of secular variation 1 of the chain, a. (a), changing sign on passing through the root on-1, then in (v) the last two functions have the same sign, but in (iv) they must have opposite signs. that is (b) ar-1(a-1 + h) and a. (ar-1 + h) will have opposite signs. in the chain (vi) 1, 41(ar-1 + h), a, (qr-1 + h), ..., ar-1 (ar-1 + h), a, (q-1 + h), art1 (ar-1 + h), the functions up to and including a, (qr-1 + h) are the same as in (iv) above, and hence there are r 1 variations in this part of the chain (vi) and, in fact, we shall show there are only r 1 variations in the chain (vi). there is no variation between a, (qr-1 + h) and art1 (qr-1 + h), because by (a) ar-1(ar-1 + h) and ar+1 (ar-1 + h) have opposite signs, and by (b) ar-1(qr-1 + h) and a, (qr-1 + h) have opposite signs, hence ar (ar-1 + h) and ar+1(qr-1 + h) have same sings. therefore there are r 1 variations in sign in the chain (vi), and therefore r – 1 roots of ar+1(x) = 0 less than ar-1 + h, or less than ar-1. the remaining two roots of art1(x) = 0 are then greater than ar-1 and since we have shown that one, but only one, of these is greater than qr, then the other one falls between qr-1 and @r. continuing this process it is easy to show that each root in succession of ar (2) = 0 falls between successive roots of ar+1(x) = 0, going down in order of magnitude. finally for an, in the chain 1, 41(ai), a2 (ai), ..., ar-1(ai), a, (qi), ar+1(ai) ar-1(qı) and ar+1 (ai) have opposite signs, since ar (q1) = 0. this is likewise true of ar-1(q1 + h) and arti (ai + h) as they have the same sign as ar-1(qı) and ar+1(q1) respectively. in the chain (vii) 1, 41(qi – h), a2 (q1 – h), .., ar-1(au h), a, (ai – h) there are no variations, qu – h being smaller than any root of a, (x) = 0. however, in the chain (viii) 1, 41(a1 + h), a2 (a1 + h), ..., ar-1(a1 + h), a. (q1 + h) there is one variation, one root oi, of a, (x) = 0 being less than ai th. being no variation in (vii), while there is one in (viii), which occurs between the last two functions, then ar-1(qi – h) and a. (qu – h) have the same sign, while ar-1(ai + h) and a, (a1 + h) have opposite signs. by a method due to hermite 23 next in the chain 1, 41(qi – h), a2 (qi – h), h), ..., ar-1(ai a – (a b), a, (a ), (ix) arti(qi – h) the functions up to and including a, (au h) are identical with those in the chain (vii), and there will be no variations in that part of the series (ix). however, since ar-1(qi – h) and arti (ai – h) have opposite signs, and ar-1(au – h) and a, (ai h) have same signs, then a, (au h) and ar+1 (qu – h) have opposite signs, there is one variation between the last two functions in (ix) and hence one variation for the chain. it follows, then, that one, and only one, root of ar+1(x) 0, is smaller than «¡ the smallest root of a, (x) = 0. in the set of equations, 41 (x ) = 0, 42(x) = 0, a3 (x) = 0, ar-1(x) = 0, (c) 4(x) = 0, ar+1(x) = 0, an-1(x) = 0, an (x) = 0, an (x) 0 is our equation of secular variations shown in (30), an-1(x) = 0 is found from an (x) = 0 by leaving off the last row and column, and so on down for all of the equations to x, 01, 2 a2 (x) = di, 1 02, 1, 0 a2, 2 and 41 (x) = 21, 1 x = 0, that is, the several equations are the principal minors of an (x ) equated to zero. by our work above, the roots of all of these equations are real, the roots of an-1(x) = 0 lie one by one between successive pairs of roots of an (x) = 0, the roots of an-2(x) = 0 lie similarly between each adjacent pair of roots of an–1(x) = 0, and so on down until finally the root of 41 (a) = 0 lies between the two roots of a2 (x) = 0. in other words, the set of equations (c) form what is called limiting equations.* * see burnside and panton, 1904, vol. i, page 187. 24 solution of the equation of secular variation the roots of the equations (c) when indicated by points of a straight line would be represented by the following scheme, an (x) = 0 n roots an-1(x) = 0 n 1 roots an-2 (x) = 0 n 2 roots 44(x) = 0 4 roots a3 ( x ) = 0 3 roots a2 (x) = 0 2 roots 41(a) = 0 1 root we shall conclude by taking a specific example with numerical coefficients. ai, = 2, 3, a1, 3 = 1 di. ܕܐ 4 5, with the § 7. illustrative example. take as illustrative example n following values for ai, ;. a1, 2 5, a1, 5 a2, 1 a2, 3 a2, 4 22, 6 = 3, 5, a3, 3 03, 4 a3, 5 = 1, 04, 1 44, 4 = 4, – 6, = 2, = 3, 71 02, 2 = 3, 23, 2 = 7, a3, 1 = -5, 04, 2 = 2, 04, 1 5, 1, 04, ܙ ܘ 3 6, 1 5 45, = 25, 2 = 3, 1 05. 2, as, 3 4 25, 5 = 2. 61 1 this gives 2 – x, 3, 5, 3, 3 – x, 7, 2, a: (x ) = 5, 7, 1 – x, 5, 5, 3 1 6, 2 , 4 x, 2 1, 3. 1, 2. , 2 x from which we see a5 (x) = 2db + 1224 + 108.23 215x2 993x + 1217, 44(x) 10.203 113x2 + 23x + 811, = 24 a3 ( x ) = 203 + 6x2 + 72x + 34, a2 ( 2 ) = 22 – 5x – 3, 41 (x) = 2 – 2. by a method due to hermite 25 the roots of the equations formed by equating each of these to zero are equation roots a1(x) = 0 2 42 (a) = 0 0.54138 + 5.54138 a3 (x) = 0 5.659 0.494 + 12.15 a.(x) = 0 – 5.88 3.24 + 2.56 + 16.56 a3 (20) = 0 6.14 3.35 + 1.12 + 3.03 + 17.32 it is seen here that all the roots are real and that the roots of each equation, one at a time, lie between adjacent pair of roots of the equation which succeeds it. this last fact is more obvious from the diagrammatic representation of the roots shown below. in the diagram, on the next page, the graphs of the different functions are shown. no attempt has been made to represent the ordinates accurately, on account of the variation in size between the different curves, which would necessitate a different vertical unit for each curve. the relative size of the ordinates are shown and the point of crossing the axis is accurately given. from these points of intersection with the axis of x , we see very clearly that the relation between the roots of one equation and those of the equation of next higher degree is that stated above. 26 solution of the equation of secular variation (2) a.(e) ag(s) a.(8) agar) la(a) ascenaile) 4-a,(a) a(c) 143(8) ---4 as(ar) a(m) 10 11 18 14_15 16 ka 12 17 (as(c) मा 1a,(c) /as(8) a.(c) date due brodart, inc cat no. 23 233 printed in usa ux3300335 41 264 nypl research libraries 3 3433 06818733 9 2 sinclair zbid by george sinclair o leith. g.fb. g shetland fireside tales; or, the hermit of trosswickness. by g. s. l.,.e. george sinclair, of leith"where the merry dancers' bright flit along the northern sky, basking in their fairy light, thules' bays and islands lie, boldly tower her crags on high; and the sounding ocean waves, mingling with the seabirds' cry, echo through her lonely caves." edinburgh the edinburgh publishing company. london: simpkin, marshall, & co. 1877. chr the new york public library 833075 astor lenox and tilden foundations r 1918 preface. the author of the following pages spent the earlier and happier years of his life amongst the peasant youth of his native islands, sharing with them the perils and pleasures of their daring and manly sports by sea and shore-the gun, the oar, and the cragsman's rope being the familiar and appropriate playthings of those earlier years. happy years, when the long summer days, separated only by a brief twilight, were ever too short to accomplish all that youthful enterprise could plan; and the long winter nights never long enough to tell all the fairy tales, legends, and ghost stories which inspired with pleasure or fear the hearts of youthful listeners. the impression which those wild legends and fascinating fairy tales of a bygone age made upon the author's youthful imagination, has not been lessened by time, but rather deepened as maturer years presented the subject to his mind, not merely as a childish pastime, but as a mirror in which are reflected, more or less distinctly, the habits, thoughts, and feelings of past generations. it was with such feelings, and in such a view of the subject, that the author was led some years ago to write from memory, and in the native dialect, a collection of shetland tales, not with a view to publication, but merely as a private souvenir of past times and old friendships, iv preface. which the recital of those tales so vividly recalled. the idea of publication occurred to him as a later thought, and it was when revising the tales for this purpose that he was led to attempt the more ambitious and difficult task of writing a general story, illustrative of shetland life and manners. in carrying out this design, he has felt justified in still retaining the original title of "shetland fireside tales," because those original tales form to a large extent the natural woof in the web of his story, and because the chief characters who figure in the course of its simple narrative are faithful portraits of faces and forms which once surrounded the shetland cottage fireside, and were the loved and familiar friends of the author's early youth. very high place. satisfaction in he can scarcely hope that amid the multitudinous works of fiction which annually issue from the press, and bearing as they do the recommendation and authority of great names, his humble literary effort can occupy a but be this as it may, he has some believing that his own countrymen will at least appreciate his efforts in trying to preserve. in a written form, some of those familiar tales which once so happily wiled away the long winter nights, and in their present form may still, he hopes, help in some measure to serve the same important purpose. shetland fireside tales. chapter i. then pilgrim turn, thy cares forego, all earthborn cares are wrong; man wants but little here below, nor wants that little long. goldsmith. on the eastern extremity of trosswickness,¹ near an ancient pictish ruin, once stood a lonely hut far remote from any other-human habitation. its solitary occupant was a man named olla ollison, whose strange mode of life and peculiar habits had long rendered him an object of suspicion in the eyes of his ignorant and superstitious countrymen. for reasons which will afterwards appear, olla ollison had become a hermit, and it was his custom to retire to the sea-shore after sunset, and there, seated by himself under the dark shadow of some frowning rock, he would give vent to his grief, and find in the solitude of the scene, and the memory of events which it recalled, some relief from the sorrows which oppressed his heart. in an age when belief in the supernatural was almost universal, and when in the awe-struck imagination of a rude seafaring population the earth, air, and sea teemed with the grim creations of scandinavian mythology, it need not be wondered at if even that education and intelligence which he so fully possessed should not altogether prevent olla ollison from being influenced by 1 see note a. trosswickness. a 2 shetland fireside tales; or, prevailing beliefs, and that, in his ignorance of the true cause of the calamity which had befallen him, he should seek in the supernatural for the revelation of a mystery he could not otherwise penetrate. olla ollison was at this time a man about thirty years of age, of somewhat slender make, and about 5 feet 6 inches in height. his erect gait and polished manners showed that the earlier period of his life had been spent under the softening influence of education and refinement. his beard, which grief had prematurely tinged with grey, descended in luxuriant growth to his waist, while his hair hung in careless profusion around his shoulders. when engaged in conversation, his countenance was pleasant, animated, and expressive; but, when alone, it constantly wore an air of pensive thought and settled melancholy. his dress consisted of jacket and knee-breeches of blue cloth of native manufacture. on his head he wore a worsted knitted cap, and on his feet the common native wooden-soled slippers. a few patches of cultivated soil around his hut produced a scanty supply of potatoes and black oats; and a cow, with a few sheep, which cropped the wild herbage of the headland, more than supplied all his other wants. during the spring and autumn, his time was chiefly spent about his little croft. in summer, he employed much of his time in fishing the small red cod and pilticks which abound around the shores of the shetland isles; but during winter, owing to the tempests which frequently sweep over those headlands, he seldom left his hut. the autumn had now far advanced, and the hermit had just finished his harvest, and put his sheaves in little stooks behind his hut. his day's work being done, he returned to his solitary home to partake of the humble meal which his own hands had prepared, and to 1 see note b. shetland manners and customs. 2 coal fish (merlangus carbonarius) one to three years old. the hermit of trosswickness. 3 cq 1 ) rest until the moon had risen, when he intended to return to the sea-shore, as was his nightly custom at this particular season of the year. the night was calm and beautiful, and no sound fell upon the ear, save that of the murmuring waves, which gently rose and fell around the dark rocky shore of trosswickness. in a cloudless sky, a full-orbed moon rode in silent glory, casting a flickering belt of silvery light across the dark waters which extended far to the distant horizon, the seafowl had gone to rest on the lofty ledges of the ness, and the wild cries of the seamew and kittywake were hushed in the silence of night. after quitting his cottage, the hermit directed his steps to the northern extremity of the headland, where the rock in many places shelves in a steep descent of several hundred feet to the sea. he was about midway down this steep pathway, when he observed an old man ascending the rock, and coming towards him with a heavy "buddie" or creel of sillicks¹ on his back. this old man was yacob of trosswick, who had remained unusually late at the fishing that night, and was now on his way home. on looking up, the old man saw the hermit coming towards him, and in his anxiety to move to one side so as to allow him to pass, he failed to notice a deep fissure in the rock before him, and into which he at that moment stumbled; but just as he was falling, the hermit quickly caught him by the back of the neck, and dragging him up, disentangled his neck from the band of the creel which threatened to strangle him. "my friend," cried the hermit, "why would you so endanger your own life in trying to avoid a fellow creature who never did, and never can, do you any harm?" "ay, ay; lord kens," exclaimed yacob; "ye never did me ony ill, an' noo ye're düne me muckle guid, an' sae may my blissen an' da lord's blissen be on you 1 coal fish, one year old. 4 shetland fireside tales; or, fir it, though i'm gotten a sair shack,' an' lost a hantle o' my sillicks inta da bargain; bit as the auld sayin' is, it's never ill bit it micht a been warr.' i micht a been misackered for a' my days; bit whaur may ye be gaen at dis oor o' da nicht, if it may be a fair question?" 3 "the question is fair enough, my friend," replied the hermit. "i come here for the purpose of meditation, to hold communion with the rocks and the rippling waves, and to listen to their voice, as they soothe the anguish of my soul. i come here to ask the great sea to give me back the treasure of my heart, which it has kept from me these many long years." 5 4 "ah, weel," responded yacob, "i'm been up an doon ower dis heilik, an' roond aboot dis banks, fir da last tretty year o' my life, bit never yet saw or heard onything warr nor mysell, nor ony idder soond bit da roar o' da brack, or da rumble o' da winter sea; bit ye're a man o' eddication, ye see, an' i can dü little main nor read a shapter i' da bible, an' dats bit ill-santafied sometimes, sae muckle as da warr. in my young days, ye see, we learned wir abersay fae da cattages, an' tocht we wir far enouch whin we cud spell com-mand-dement; bit dis is awa fae da point. ir ye no oorie sitte yoursell doon here like a sleepin' baukie on a rudderie skerrie? in coorse ye hae nae wife at hame ta haud oot o' langer wi'; though, faith, atween you an' me, an i hoop it'll geng na farder,-ye're mebbe as weel withod her; adumes 10 o' mysell, i hae a wife, and der's mebbe warr atween dis an' sumburgh head, if shü wid only haud her tongue aff me, bit fae da dim¹¹ rives till blacke 1 shake. 3 see note c. 9 7 11 2 seriously injured. peculiarities of the shetland dialect. 4 slanting rock dipping towards the sea. 5 breaking waves; foam. 7 guilemot (uria). 6 yo 6 feeling dread or lonesomeness. 8 rock submerged at high-water, and covered with balanoides. prevented from wearying. 10 for example. 11 daybreak. jat frie cent the hermit of trosswickness. 0 t dayset, shu's yaag, yaag, yaagin,¹ yacob dis, and yacob dat; as i says till her sometimes, deil clumpse' dee an’ haud dy tongue sometime-lord forgie me for swearin'. in coorse ye're a man o'eddication, an' micht a hed a wife dat wid a kent whin ta hadden her tongue, an' ane dat wid a been blide³ ta made you happy, dats ta say if da clash da folk has aboot you is no true; and dis is my ain opinion noo whin i luik closer at you; ye're no like a bodie ava dat hes düins wi' evil speerits-tangies, brownies, witches, warlocks, or hillfolk." 995 to this harangue the hermit listened attentively; but when old yacob mentioned the words, "an' ane dat wid a made you happy," he heaved a deep sigh, and a tear was seen to tremble down his cheek. "my honest friend!" exclaimed the hermit, wiping away the tear, "i sympathise with you in your troubles, and i thank you for your sympathy with me in mine, and for your good opinion of me; but i desire to be now at my meditations, and if you will come to-morrow to my humble dwelling, i shall be happy to have further conversation with you." "yea dat sall i," said old yacob; "if da lord spares me ta see da morn, i sall truly come up an' see you; an' sae guid nicht be wi' you, an' sit nae langer ipa da cauld stanes nor ye can help." saying this, the old man trudged up the heilik with what remained of his sillicks, and the hermit retired under the dark shadow of the overhanging rock which stood close by. next day old yacob kept his promise to visit the hermit; and on approaching the cottage, tapped gently at the door, when a voice from within cried, "come in, friend." "guid day be here," was yacob's salutation as he entered; i'm blide ta see ye're naithen da warr o' your 66 1 incessant angry talk. 4 gossip; scandal. 2 choke. 5 fairies. 3 glad. 6 shetland fireside tales; or, sittin' stirnin' ipa da cauld ebb stanes last nicht, it's cauld enouch whin ye're takin' da sillicks aff da huik as fast as ye can cleek dem up, bit ta sit stourin² i' da laybrack wi' naithen ta dü ava, it palls³ me ta tink hoo ye can hae da patience ta dü it; bit as i said afore, ye're a man o' eddication, an' it may be presumption in a puir bodie like me ta express my opinions sae freely, bit i hoop ye'll excuse me; an' i'm süre if der's ony wy i can obleege you, i'll be ower blide ta dü it, and niver ax for idder pay or tanks." 66 "take a seat, my friend," said the hermit, pointing to a settle or "restin' chair" which stood at one side of the fireplace. "i am glad to see you, and thank you for those kind sentiments which you have now expressed. and which indeed sound strangely in my ears, so long unaccustomed as they have been to any other sound but the echo of my own voice and the voice of nature, whose gentle whispers have inspired me with hope, and sustained me amid the solitude of many years of sorrow. i feel that i can trust you with what i am about to disclose. i have been long anxious to confide the secret of my sorrow to one who could sympathize with me, and who, when i am gone to join my love in the better land. will tell the story of my life, and show that i was not the wicked person i have been supposed to be; and that i have never consorted with evil spirits or demons in my retirement to the sea-shore." 4 "deed no deed no!" exclaimed old yacob; "wha guid cud dey dü you bit frichten you oot o' your severs senses. lord keep us fae a' dat's uneartly. i aye keep a sherp e'e aboot me in da mirkinnen whin i'm passin crubdykes, muckle grey stanes, or hill-folks' knowes; an whin i'm just passin' da warst places, i canna help rinnin, auld as i am, for i tink i just hear da sough o 5 1 shivering. 3 puzzles or perplexes. or 9 ma 2 staring. 4 dusk of the evening. the 5 a small enclosure where cabbage plants are grown. the hermit of trosswickness. 7 caud dem close at my heels, an' if i gie a gluffed¹ luik ower is is my shouder, i see der ill-faured een glowerin' efter me in track da dark, just as veesably as i see you affore my face dis an be minit. nano "ye'll hae nae doot heard aboot auld peggy moad bda maidwife; 2 ye ken shü wis taen awa ta ane o' da hillhoop folk's wives, an' efter da bairn wis born, shu got sontin³ der in a perrie gless ta rub its een wi'; whin shu wis düin idde dis, shu felt her ain e'e a kind a' yuckie, an' pitten up ture tow 4 8 6 her haand ta claw it, just as you or i wid dü, a nirty nting corn o' da smearin gets intill her e'e, whin, lord be the aboot 'is, what does shu see bit a lock' o' hillfolk ipa fo da middle o' da flüir, makin' a image o' a coo dat dey ssed wir gaen ta tak awa fae a püir man dat nicht. an' long what wir dey makin' da image o', tink ye? just oot o' a 7 o' auld cashies, flakies," an' meshies, 10 an' ony i but lock idder truss dey cud get. whin shü sees dis, shü slips and awa oot by dem, and as shü wis passin' shü slips her keys inta da hert o' dis concern withoot dem seein' her, dis sae der wis nae mair o' dis till da neist day whin shü gengs hame, whin da first news dat shu hears is dat and eddie lourie o' yaafield's best coo wis stark dead; aff and shü sends wird ta him no ta touch a hair o' her, but ta ne yird ¹¹ her within da eart; an' if he'll no believe peggy's th wird, ta open da coo, an' he'll fin' a steel airrow stickin' my trow her hert, an' da bundle o' keys lian atweet her hert an' her lichts; sae dey opens da coo, an' fin's it just hat as peggy hed said, a while efter dis, ae sunday whin en shu wis gaen ta da kirk, wha sud shü meet bit da man ü 11 ep in' 1 frightened. 3 something. 6 small. p o 2 see note d. fairies. 4 little. 7 number or quantity. 5 itching. 8 creels made of straw, which is bound together by ropes of bent, or rashes twisted by the fingers. 9 a large mat for winnowing corn on, and made of the same material as creels. 10 pannier holders made of rashes or bent, and having bands of the same material for attaching to the clibber or pony saddle. 11 bury. 8 shetland fireside tales; or, • o' da hill wife dat shü wis aside. says he,hoo is wi' you da day, peggy;' an' wi dat he blew his breath her face, an' fae dat day ta dis shü never saw a stime more. bit i'm keepin' you standin' ower lang ipa you feet wi' my lang tale. as da auld wife says sometim whin i fin' faut wi' her yatterin', i'm no atagedder fr mysell o' sayin' sometimes mair den i sud say. bit no i'm düne, an' i'll be blide ta hear onything ye're please ta say ta me, an' i'll keep it like blue murder till da tin ye tell me ta speak o' it." 1 blink, or small portion of light. the hermit of trosswickness. 9 hoo is a is breath in wa stime gipa rom sometimes edder fre bit nod re pleased ill da time chapter ii. "i saw her, and the passionate heart of man entered the breast of the wild dreaming boy, and from that hour i grew what to the last i shall be her adorer.' bulwer lytton. "the story of my life," said the hermit, seating himself on a chair close to the settle on which the old man sat, "is indeed a strange and romantic one, and i shall now begin it. "my name is not ollison-the name i am hereabout known by. my real name is roderick douglas. ollison was my mother's maiden name—a name adopted by me in accordance with my grandfather's wish after we left scotland.¹ my father fell on the blood-red field of culloden, on that sad day when the star of the house of stuart was for ever quenched in the blood of scotland's bravest sons. her "my mother in her sorrow decided to leave scotland, and return to shetland, her native country, taking me, only son, with her, then a lad of about twelve years of age. arriving at her father's house, who lived in the island of bressay, we met with a cordial welcome, and experienced every kindness and sympathy. i was shortly afterwards sent to the parish school, which was reckoned the best of the kind in the islands, and continued there or two years, making great progress in latin and mathematics, which i was then chiefly studying. “about this time my mother decided to go and live ith a sister of hers, who was married to a factor on one of the estates in the parish of dunrossness, and i accompanied her. several weeks after our arrival at the illage of skelaburgh, where my aunt lived, it was 1 see note c. shetland surnames. 10 shetland fireside tales; or, ´decided that i should go to a neighbouring school learn navigation, in case i might one day follow th example of the youth of the islands, and go to sea. "after i had been a few weeks at this school, i wa sitting one day on a form near the fire, deeply absorbe in studying a problem in plane trigonometry, whe happening to look over the top of my slate at the childre who were seated on a form on the opposite side, my eye fell upon a face and form which sent a thrill through m veins, and went out at the points of my toes and farge the shock made me look hard at the work on my sla and to hold my breath as if i had done some offend and expected the teacher's switch across my back. tried to get hold of the lost thread of my problem, b found my sines and tangents all playing at hide-and-se on my slate. after a little i ventured to take anoth peep, when a sharper thrill went through my fram making my cheeks glow, and my heart beat quickly. "the cause of all this was a girl, about two yea younger than myself, who had come to the school th day for the first time, and whom i had never seen befor oh how shall i describe her? a fairer form the s never shone upon. her dark auburn hair fell in ri careless ringlets down her snow-white neck and sho ders; her round rosy cheeks blushing their sof tints, and pure as the bloom of the crimson-tipped dai her mouth like a little rosebud; and her eyes-hea itself was reflected in their soft depths when she smi (for she smiled once or twice while whispering to the who sat next her). my heart beat like an imprison bird against the bars of its cage. oh! how i w entranced, spell-bound, as i watched, from behind : slate, the various expressions that passed over her cou tenance; like gleams of sunshine on a summer day, wh the floating silvery clouds cast a faint shadow here a there. while thus gazing upon her, for i had alm forgotten where i was, her eyes met mine, when a ki of timid, wondering, inquiring expression passed over l g the hermit of trosswickness. 11 h ; or, during countenance, as if she had recognised a friend, and then day foll found she was mistaken. i blushed the deepest crimson, and held down my head." go to sea is school, i ometry, my ye "ay, ay," exclaimed old yacob, "just like calf-love, deeply asas da sayin' is: it's winderful guid while it lests; but it's just ower guid ta lest lang. i hed a sma brash¹ o' calfat the chove mysell whin i was 1' my day o' douch; 2 an' tho' i e side, way it dat sudna say it, i wis as prunk a young man as ill throngi vis eneath da' wart hill'; an' wir auld wife wis den es and gst aboot as trig a bit lass is cam in da door o' da ness -k on my slark. bit, leck o' me! a' dat's by an' gane; an' da cauld some offencnter o' auld age sets in efter da simmer o' youth, an' my back. hairst o' middle life, an' leaves us naithin bit frosty problem, bws, widdered shafts, an' cankersome, countermashious hide-and-seturs. bit dis wis no what i wis gaen ta say. take anothe a winderful poor o' unction," mr ollison. in listenin' fram you describin' da bonnie bit lass ye met wi' at da quickly. üle, i just tocht how weel ye cud gie wis a bit screed t two yeame sunday, fae da 'sang o' solomon,' if ye wid only just school the da lent o' da kirk. i'm sure mr shürtiends wid seen befor hinder you da üse o' da poopit. i tink da sang o' rm the solomon' is muckle in da wy o' your gift o' unction. ell in ri's a' aboot da kirk, ye ken; though, owin' ta my want nd sho lear, i never cud ken yet hoo dey fand dis oot,—mair ir sof token, as solomon adümes o' mysell, in his young ed dai ys cared little for idder kirk or minister. bit beggin' hea ur pardon for pittin' you aff da treed o' your story. he smite wir sayin' da bit lass hed fairly pitten you in a ridder, an' nae doot ye wid get warr afore ye got the g prison etter." ir i w hind: 7 8 6 6 "yes," continued the hermit, "this lovely child, for i might call her, won my heart, young as i was. i ft the school that day scarcely knowing what to do y, whith myself. arriving home, i could neither eat nor er cou ere a almc a ki ver a slight attack of fever or illness. 3 smart, manly. 5 power of speech, eloquence. learning. 2 in the prime of life. 4 a hill near fitful head. 6 portion, sample. flurry, state of excitement 12 shetland fireside tales; or, study. i felt a kind of longing pain at my heart, similar to that caused by home-sickness, and sat looking vacantly in the fire, every now and then heaving a deep sigh. my mother seemed distressed about me, and tried, by every endearing expression, to learn from me the cause of my trouble; but i could not tell her. i just said, '0, never mind; it's nothing at all. i just feel tired, and will be all right to-morrow.' i retired to bed early that night, just that i might lie with my eyes shut and see her in the dark; and i did see her. there was her glorious sweet face still before me, so full of sunny smiles; and the merry twinkle of her oft lustrous eyes-how they made my heart dance. how thankful i was that it was dark, for i could lie still and see her, and nobody there to disturb me, or to break the spell which gave me such happiness. at last i fell asleep; and then, oh, such dreams! there she was a little distance from me, smiling and looking as if she wished to speak to me. in my joy i tried to get near her, but my limbs were so weak i could not walk. then i tried to speak to her, but found my voice was gone. i tried again and again to speak, and at last succeeded; but the effort awakened me, when i found my mother at my bedside, wiping the pe piration from my face, and in a state of alarm concering me. i persuaded her to leave me, telling her that i was only dreaming, and would go to sleep again. i slept again, and brighter visions passed bef me. i now got near her, talked to her, caressed pressed her to my heart; and, in the midst of my bl i awakened with the morning light streaming into room and my arms entwined around a portion of bedclothes. "i got up and dressed, and that same morning, on n way school, settled in my mind the course i sho follow. 'i must not be a child,' i said to myself, must be a man; and the path to her heart must through that by which i can win distinction, and sho myself, in some way or other, superior to all other boy the hermit of trosswickness. 13 the and i would here remark, that this new impulse which i felt stirred within me, sprang from the same source as has sprung true chivalry in all ages. fountain of love bursting forth for the first time in the virgin soil of the human heart, how purely it wells up, rippling and sparkling in the sunbeams of hope and noble ambition. under its influence the boy in thought becomes a hero, and longs for manhood and distinction; and the hero, in the glory of his manhood, draws his noblest inspiration from the smiles of his lady love. “give me a man with a heart so ennobled, and a soul so animated by the purest and loftiest of human passions, and he stands there a hero, ready to do, to dare, or to -die in the cause of duty and honour." "ay, ay, ye're richt," ejaculated old yacob; "a tough i dunno ken if i tak up da meanin' o' da fine lang wirds ye hae sae weel at your finger ends. yet i tink i ken whaur ye ir, by da meethes¹ o' da subjeck, as we id say at da haaf. i aye tocht a' my days dat it wis a graand te thing ta be earnest an' leethful at your wark, whidder by laand or by sea; and dis a'm tinkin is sontin laek what ye mean in spaekin' o' love affairs. for stance, if ye're at da sillicks, an' layin' on some leethe, sprootin' da soe¹ weel oot, till da water is clear wi' da lumie, an' keepin' a sharp e'e on your bait, sae as ye can gie your waand a rick da minnit your bait is oot o' sicht, ye'll pilk up da sillicks laek stour, an' your buddie is fu' in twa claps o' a lamb's tail; but if ye sit ipa da stane in a 's kind o' lazy wy, your huik gets inta da waar,' an' da slicks geng dozin' aboot as if dey wir clumpsed. an' se at da haaf, i aye saw a lucky man was a leethfu' man; up as da laverock rave da dim, first at da eela ¹º for 8 5 10 3 active, industrious. 1 landmarks. 2 deep-sea fishing ground. 4 limpits chewed and spit in the water to collect the fish. 5 oil on the surface of the water. 7 a sharp upward motion of the rod. 9 sea-weed. 6 a. fishing-rod. 8 catch quickly. 10 place where sillicks or pilticks are caught. 14 shetland fireside tales; or, 2 3 bait, sets alang da shudder¹ o' da hard grund, catches da snaar o' da tide, hails wi' a easy tow, and comes ashore wi' forty wys o' white fish for twa nichts oot. on da idder haand, da lazy man comes draiglan* ashore wi' twa tüogs an' twa brumplicks, an' a lot o' soor yoägs' an' ill-washin' scags, id da shot o' his boat; an' den he says it's a' fir want o' luck he canna maka fishin'. 5 8 "again, no ta mak da comparishun, dere wis my auld saunted grandmidder (rest her soul wi' da lord). shü wis a earnest woman in a' shu said an' did. ay, i mind weel whin shü üsed ta hear wis wir cattages,10 an' spak ta wis fir da guid o' wir souls, her een grew bricht wi' a kind o' heavenly licht, an' da tears wid trinkle doon her auld widdered cheeks. it aye set me a-greetin mysell; bit catch me ever greetin under a sermon fae da poopit-na, na; no gin i wis ta sit till da day o' pentecost. bit lord be aboot me, i'm clean firyatten mysell, an' keepin' you fae gaen on wi' your story." "next day," resumed the hermit, "as i told you,! went to the school, and as i entered i looked anxiously around to see if the dear child had come, but she had not then arrived. i sat down, and commenced to my work, but kept my eyes constantly fixed on the door-my heart beating quick with excitement. after a few minutes suspense as she entered along with another girl, i almost started from my seat. i breathed so hard, and look so flurried, that the boy who sat next me said, 'hillop olla, what's up?' 'nothing,' i said, and at once covering myself, i proceeded to carry out the plan i ha fixed upon in my own mind. i went up to the teache and said, if he pleased, as i could do the most of m work at home, i would be glad to assist him in settin 1 ridge. 2 change or turning of the tide, when still water favourable for fish taking the bait. 4 slow or lazy motion. mussels. 5 small ling. 8 herrings taken from the aft division of a boat. 3 fishing-line. 6 small tusk. stomach of a fish. 10 catechism. the hermit of trosswickness. 15 ars headlines of copies, or helping the scholars with their lessons in arithmetic; to which he replied, 'that's very kind of you, olla; yes, go and help lelah halcro with her sum.' o that i did not faint with joy! was this my dream of last night come back again to deceive me, or was it reality? here was the scheme i had been planning all the way to the school just come as i wished it. did the teacher really know all about my little love affair? i mentally asked; and has his consideration and kindness thus raised me to the highest pitch and pinnacle of human happiness as a reward for my offered services? with downcast looks, and my cheeks glowing like live coals, i timidly crossed the floor, and went to the table where she was seated. blushing, and almost out of breath, i faltered out, in a kind of whisper, shall i help you with your sums?' 'oh yes, if you please,' she answered, in the most silvery tones that had ever fallen upon my ear, at the same time looking in my face with a kind of innocent child-like wonder in the expression of her face, which nearly put me as far from solving the problem as herself, plain as it had been to me for years. i need scarcely say, that after this i omitted no opportunity of making myself useful and agreeable to this object of my affections. in setting the headlines of inter copy, how beautifully i swept round the hair-strokes almof my capitals! how smooth and perfect the dashes were! ooker presence was the good genius which inspired me, illo and made me perform everything i touched as with the eard of a master." ul it t y. 1 ha ww y h i ha che f m ttin ater ine. k. ish. m. 16 shetland fireside tales; or, chapter iii. love various minds does variously inspire: he stirs in gentle natures gentle fire, like that of incense on the altars laid; but raging flames tempestuous souls invade. dryden. "one day lelah's sums were more than usually trouble some, and, instead of standing in front of the desk, came and sat down beside her, mentally following he nimble pencil on the slate, and answering her inquiries in the softest and most loving tone of voice i could com mand. i crept close to her side, and, almost uncom sciously, put my arm round her waist, which she per ceiving, put her hand round and pushed my arm away but she did it so gently, and with such a blush, and giving my hand at the same time, as i imagined, a gentle squeeze. oh, how can i tell my ecstasy! as the po says'it was bliss beyond compare.' such an amount of perfect happiness-so pure, s heavenlike so free from all the dross of other earthly pleasures! it was enough to sweeten a whole life grief and disappointment. but i was not destined t bask long in the sunshine of my happiness. clouds we gathering upon the horizon of the future, and i not to be allowed to sip the sweet nectar of love with being stung by the thorns which too often surround and so it has ever been in human life: light and da ness, sunshine and showers, fall upon our heads as travel onwards to the tomb. the creator has ordered so for the best and wisest purposes; and, could we co prehend the complex plan of ilis moral government, should see harmony, beauty, goodness, and love, wh as it is, we sometimes can only discern faint glimmeri of light amid darkness and mystery." the hermit of trosswickness. 17 "ay, ay," responded old yacob, "dats effectual callin', i'm tinkin, ye're at; an' it's just ipa da point o' my congue ta say dat da minister, i tink, says ower muckle aboot effectual callin', da elect, ordination, and idder langnebbed doctrines.¹ da idder day, whin i happened ta be spaekin ta rasme o' da heilik, an' he was tellin' me what a hardship he was in fir meal dis year, afore he got it aff da eart; 2 an' noo dat every craeter he hed wis sauld, an' he ower head an' ears in debt ta da laird, he wid just hae to geng an' set aff da land.³ says i ta him, says i, 'rasme, hoo is it dat du's sae ill aff, whin dy neebor man hes a fouth o' a' thing, an' a weel-stocked byre o' baith kye and horses?' says he, 'i'm süre i never ken. some wy or idder it's no ordeened dat things süd dü wi' me.' 6 na, na,' says i, rasme; dere 's naithin' ordeened aboot it.' du kens last voar 4 du lüte dy horse eat tangles an' redwir till he wis at da bons o' meesery, an' in coorse he hed ta dee; an' da hairst afore dat du didna maw da half o' dy girs; an' whin da voar cam, dy kye fell a-liftin' fir want o' meat; sae du needna blame ordination fir what ordination hes naithin' ta dü wi'. an' sae say i noo; it's a' weel eneuch for da minister ta preach aboot ordination dat hes e his teinds as süre as da bank, an' his pouther fools, fat li kye, scots horses, an' glebe wi' a weel-bigged wa' roond e aboot it, and wha needs na care whidder it snaws or rains. bit it'll no dü for wis dat has ta fecht i'da face o' da sea, an' elt i'da dirt o' da eart for a meal bannock or a tatie skin. providence ordeened dat we sud wirk leithfully; dan, if we dunna dü dat, he ordeened dat we sud sterve. bit ye wir sayin' dat things wir beginnin' to luik unkin 10 blate wi' you at da schule." 5 6 9 see note f. calvinism. earth. let, or allowed. 3 give up the farm. 4 spring. 6 resembling a skeleton. unable to rise from weakness; requiring to be assisted. tithe poultry, formerly exacted by shetland lairds and min grovel. 10 very. b 8 18 shetland fireside tales; or, the "yes," continued the hermit; "i found that others schol. but a stood, darting were smitten as well as myself with the fascinating the str charms of this beautiful child-my lelah, as i loved i call her, when nobody heard me; and i found that i had ther's faces. rivals in boys older than i was-and one especially, who did and did error in this re y strength tas saturated greatly alarmed me, not because he was bigger than i was-for, had he been like goliath, it would have made no difference to me but my dread of him was because he was a more handsome boy than myself; and i watched her two him as a trusty sentinel watches a spy from the enemy's fund. ha camp. one day, after the school had assembled, he went ersary wit and sat down on the form beside lelah, and commencederer i whispering to her, and laughing; and i thought i saw her once or twice give him a look of fondness. oh how egy of lor on his do more of t my blood boiled within my veins! i felt sick with rage, art, and the the and would have dashed at him there and then, if it had not been for disgracing myself and the school. play-hour was at one o'clock, and i bottled up my indig twist us ter part of tersary, who nation till then. after we got out on the green, i went fast as the up to him, pale and trembling with rage, and said, 'i want to speak to you, jack' (his name was jack smith) says he,what is it?' 6 says i, what business had my you to speak to lelah halcro the way you did to-day are, butto (i knew this was an impertinent question, but i was blood-st i have a pre er arms ar boiling with rage, and wished to fight him.) says he, her saw icious good mind to thrash you within an inch of your to brea life for your impertinence, you young good-for-nothing the tears say that again!' cried, who did 'what's your business who i speak to? scotch sodger that you are.' ther as, with clenched fist, i dashed a blow in his face thed; brought the blood in a stream down his breast. a none th bruises "here's a row,' shouted the boys, as they closed uttoned a ring around us. we now stripped, and throwing of getting jackets as signals in the arms of our respective cof rades whom we expected to act as seconds, we we scientifically to work-wheeling, backing, dodging. ld think fought shy for a time, parting at each round with my mot drawing blood, for we were the two best boxers in t the hermit of trosswickness. 19 hongt ess. up m school. but at length getting a smart whip under the right ear, i struck him hard, and we fought where we i stood, darting our fists like little engines of war into each other's faces. my opponent showed more coolness than i did, and did not expend his strength so fast, and my error in this respect i had bitterly to rue; for as i felt my strength failing through loss of blood (my shirt was saturated with it), my foe struck harder than ever. and one or two more rounds, and i sank exhausted on the ground. 'have you got enough now?' exclaimed my ble adversary with a sneer. 'say beat,' roared the boys. never! i replied, as i sprang to my feet with all the energy of love and despair, and dashed such a terrific blow on his left temple as laid him prostrate on the sick earth, and there he lay motionless. 'a drawn battlethen, no more of that,' exclaimed the boys, as they rushed beschool wixt us. 'there's the master,' shouted a boy in the puter part of the ring; and all scampered into the school as fast as they could, leaving me and my vanquished adand sersary, who had now revived, to hirple to our respecjack sive homes as fast as our stiff and sore limbs could carry on my way home i went to a burn and washed my did to-ace, buttoning my jacket close about me, so as to conceal but lay blood-stained shirt. as i entered the house, and my other saw my swollen and discoloured face, she threw have a er arms around my neck, and sobbed till her heart was nch of yke to break. 'o! who has touched you?" she cried, -for-noths the tears coursed down her cheeks. 'tell me, tell n!' criede, who did it?' 'i fought jack smith-that's all,' i is face tiplied; ' and i'll fight him again, as soon as i am able, other.' 'oh! you wicked boy,' she exclaimed, as she y closed abuttoned my jacket and helped me off with my bloody wing airt, getting me a clean one, and putting me to bed. i я tive copt none that night—not that i thought of my wounds we wed bruises; my distress and anxiety was what lelah uld think of it all when she heard it. in the morn18. green, businesss. .) says with s in my mother brought my breakfast on a small tray, on it a little neat letter sealed with blue wax. 20 shetland fireside tales; or, knew the writing in a moment, and my heart bounded a flutter. a strange expression passed over my mothe face as she withdrew and left me, not to eat my brea fast, but first with trembling hand to break the seal this most precious billet-doux. i did so, and read follows:'dearest olla-oh! you bad boy, you foolish boy, why wo you fight jack smith, and get yourself hurt so, and all about suc worthless thing as me? o dear! what shall i do? i am so grie about it. dearest olla, are you much hurt? do tell me. how m i will miss you at the school; do get better for my sake. oh! foolish boy, how could you think i cared anything for jack smi now i hope that will please you and make you better, and then will not fight him any more. write me if you cannot come to sc to-morrow. your (i cannot say more) 'lelah halcro before i got to the end, the tears were running de my cheeks. i folded the letter, and putting it in bosom, covered my face with my hands, and sobbe the fulness of my joy. "after i got calm, i ate my breakfast, and then go and dressed. looking in the glass, i was surprise find what a strange-looking face i had; but never warrior feel more proud of his scars; never did knig the age of chivalry shed his blood in defence of youth beauty, and feel more pleasure in its loss. i da about the room in perfect ecstasy at the thought ò good fortune, and that i had the pluck to fight smith. but for this, how long i might have w without knowing whether lelah loved me or not without the fight i would not have got that dear letter from her. i sat down on a chair, and read it and over again; and as i read the words i thought i heard her sweet silvery voice speaking them, and the soft timid glance of her lustrous loving eyes bea upon me. i pressed to my lips that part of the i where her name was, put it in my bosom, and then to an old desk where i kept my pens and paper, and the hermit of trosswickness. 21 odds and ends, and set about answering her letter as follows, for i kept a copy of it, and will now read it to you :'my dear lelah-oh! how kind of you to send me a letter, and to say you do not love jack smith. dear lelah, how happy i am that i fought him, or else you would not have sent me this nice letter. i know you did not want me to fight, but i loved to do it for your sake; and when my shirt was all wet with blood, i was happy it was for you. dear lelah, now when you say you do not love him, i will not fight him any more, nor any boy you don't love. i will come to the school in two or three days, when my face is better, and then i will help you with your sums or anything else. don't let jack smith help you if he comes to the school before me. dearest lelah, i love you very much, and dream beautiful dreams about you, but i know you will not tell any one about it. i am going to send this by tom flaws when he comes, as i think he will call to see me today. your ever loving till death, 'olla ollison. 'p.s.-tom flaws has not come yet, so, as i had nothing else to do, i have made some verses about you which i hope you will like. you will find them enclosed in this letter. 0.0.' 'the verses. 'like the sweet fragrant primrose when summer is nigh, like the crimson-tipped daisy with bright golden eye; so sweet is my lelah, so lovely and fair; wherever she wanders, my heart wanders there. o lelah, dear lelah, how oft do i sigh for the day that unites us, dear lelah and i. 'like a sportive young lammie that skips o'er the green, when white wi' bright daisies in beauty 'tis seen, my lelah wi' feet like a fairy does flee; o weel i love lelah, and lelah loves me. o lelah, dear lelah, how oft do i sigh for the cot we shall live in, dear lelah and i. 'like the soft murmuring waves at the close of the day, like the caloo's soft note when she soars far away, so sweet is thy voice when it sounds in mine ear, when it thrills my fond heart, o lelah, my dear. o lelah, dear lelah, how oft do i sigh for dear wedded love between lelah and i. 'like the fairest azure of serene summer sky, so soft and so lovely is lelah's bright eye; 22 shetland fireside tales; or, 22 her smile is like sunshine on a soft rippling sea-o long be that sunshine, dear lelah, on me. o lelah, dear lelah, how oft do i sigh for the hearth of our home, my dear lelah and i. 'o lelah, great ships may sail without sails, the smallest of fishes may be turned into whales; the rocks they may rend, and the mountains remove, but i ne'er shall prove false to thee, lelah, my love. o lelah, dear lelah, oft this do i sigh, "for lelah i live, and for lelah i'd die." 'n.b.-i think this sings to the tune of a song i have heard grandmother sing, called 'logie o' buchan,' if you know t tune, try, dear lelah, and sing my verses when nobody hears you the hermit of trosswickness. 23 chapter iv. sweet as first love, and wild with all regret, o! death in life, the days that are no more. tennyson. “ye wir quite richt dere, mr ollison," exclaimed old yacob; "dere is a sang ca'd 'logie o' buchan,' an' a bonnie sang it is, though i wid na care ta remark dat your ain is no far ahint it, barrin' da last verse, dat just soonds a sma' thing ower strong for my auld lug; for it taks a hantle less den turnin' sillicks into whaales, or rivin' up hills an' muntins to cuil doon da heat o' calf-love. ah, leck o' me! what a difference is atween young love and auld—i wis gaen to say auld love, bit lord kens if ever sic a thing wis kent o'. dere is na muckle love atween a auld horse an' his tether, whin dat tether keeps him fae gettin' a mouthfu' o' girse aff a bonnie green bank, just a peerie bit farder awa den he can rake tae. no ta geng farder awa, dere wis solomon himsell, in his young days, wha could say bonnier things aboot da lasses den he did? ca'in' dem lilies, an' roses, an' idder far awa floors, dat i never saw a' my days, nor ken i what like dey ir; bit hear him whin he turns auld, though he hed sae mony o' dem ta wale among, he says-'it's naithen bit vanity and vexation o' speerit.' lord pity him if ony o' dem hed a tongue like wir auld wife, for den he micht weel say it wis vexation o' speerit. bit dis is no what i wis ettlin ta speak o'; what i wis gaen for to remark wis da great difference atween wratin' verses whin ye're young an' whin ye're auld. i never hed muckle gift i' da wy o' makin' verses a' my days; for as for wratin' dem, i could wrate nane; but ae nicht whin i wis sittin' windin' simmits at wir fireside, an' da auld wife's tongue wis 1 twisting. 2 ropes made of straw, bent, or rashes. 24 shetland fireside tales; or, gaen laek da clapper o' a mill, says i ta mysell, says i, i could bit mak twa or tree verses o' a bit sang, an ju begin ta sing whin shü begins ta yatter,' it micht tru deaden da noise, if it did na pit her aff o' it atagedde sae i sets ta wark i' my ain mind, an' gets it ta cli brawly weel; an' dis wis it'laek da clapper o' da mill in a muckle speet o' water, wir auld wife's tongue gengs yatter, yatter, yatter. laek da roar o' winter brack, laek da rumble o' da sea, her din in my lugs, maks a waefu melodie. 'fae da rivin' o' da dim, till da sun is in da water, her auld waggin tongue, gengs yatter, yatter, yatter. 'lord, mak her dumb, or me stane deaf; idder wy is welcome, if i get relief.' "whin i sang dis shu was perfectly dumfoonde an' we hed a quiet sough for a ouk or sae efter dat, i tocht it wis gaen to be a perfect success, till shü inta da wy o' firin' shots atween da verses. whin it ta dat, dat my sang wis o' nae mair üse nor a pe whistle in a norwast storm, sae i maun just thole it da best wy i can till by da coorse o' natur i get as as a door nail, an dat canna come ower shüne; altho i'm just tinkin dat whin my lugs gets even as close a sole o' your fit, i'll still hear da soond o' her in trow skull, just as ye hear da ring o' da metal whin ye a knock ipa da boddom o' dat muckle kettle dats whombled dere under your kist; bit lord be aboot 1 scold. 2 week. the hermit of trosswickness. 25 i'm surely foryattin mysell atagedder, and keepin' you frae gettin on wi' your ain story, mr ollison." "a few days after this," continued the hermit, "i went to the school, and as i entered i observed an expression of pleasure pass over lelah's lovely face; and, going up to the table where she sat, i whispered, 'i am all right now, lelah.'" "i now began to excel in everything i did-my lelah was the very sun and centre of my being, the object to which all my hopes and aims pointed, the genius which presided over me while i pursued the path of duty and progress. in everything i attempted to do, the everrecurring questions which arose in my mind were, what will lelah think of it? will she think more of me when she hears i have done this? at home i studied hard, revising what i had learned, and reading the few books i possessed so often that i could almost repeat their contents from memory. in this way i acquired a large stock of general information far beyond that possessed by any one in the parish, either old or young. in continuing to assist the teacher, how proud i was to show off my superior knowledge before the school, as i stood in front of a class acting the dominie, and astonishing the children by the wonderful things i could tell them; and how intense was my delight when lelah would steal a glance at me, and show, by the expression of joy which passed over her countenance, how much she delighted in my success. "all my spare time at home was employed as an amateur mechanic. i constructed miniature watermills, windmills, full-rigged ships, chairs, tables, tubs, cogs, &c. all perfect models on a small scale; and all this with no other tool but my jockteleg,' so that by-and-by all over he parish i got the name of 'the wonderful boy.' ia “i take pleasure in dwelling upon these sweet reminicences of the past, because they are dear to my heart, and 1 pocket knife. 26 shetland fireside tales; or, can only perish from my memory with life itself; and i also prize them for this other reason, that i believe no power on earth but religion itself can so truly ennoble human nature as virtuous love when it is felt as a pure passion, and unalloyed by any selfish or worldly consideration. "see it budding forth in that boy or girl's heart for the first time, how tenderly it grows! how sweetly it blossoms! its perfumes are borne in soft sighs, and wafted in loving whispers to the dear loved one. alas! that ever avarice, selfishness, or worldly interest should like a mildew blight its tender bloom. alas! that vice, like a canker, should strike at its slender root, or scatter its bright blossoms in the dust. "the tender passion in early youth comes forth like a mountain stream, sparkling in joyous murmurs, and reflecting heaven in its transparent beauty. as such god made it, and as such he intended it to flow through all time, gladdening and blessing mankind; but, alas! how soon, and how often, does the stream grow muddy, as in its onward progress it stirs the impurities which lie hidden in the dark channels of the human heart; or, bounding away like a mountain torrent, it dashes on in whirling eddies of uncontrolled passion, carrying its victims into the awful maelstrom of inevitable and irretrievable ruin. "eh! mr ollison, what a gift ye hae," exclaimed old yacob, lifting both his hands and looking up to the roof; "in place o' livin' in a bit hovel here by yoursell, an' makin' your ain bit meat like a boddie dat gengs wi' der staff¹ an' der cashie, ye sud a been waggin' your pow in a poopit, wi' a muckle stipend, a grand manse, servants an' sairin men to wait ipa you; wi' a glebe o' guid infield² land, fat chuckies³ ta your dinner, an' ance in da ouk ta luik ower a lock o' auld sermons, an' wale a ne o' dem fir da sunday; an' dis pits in my mind to say dat i never cud see da meanin' o' feeding da minister sae weel, fir a' my days i aye fan dat a fat man wis a lazy man. 1 meaning a beggar. 2 older cultivated land. 3 fo wls. the hermit of trosswickness. 27 3 dere wis willie bigiltie dat rowed ta da sea wi' me ae simmer. he never wis düne eaten liver¹ muggies till, lord bless me, as he turned as fat as a tiestie,2 and as round as a pellick, and yet, for a' dat, he wis o' nae mair use in da boat nor a ballish stane. an' sae i'm just tinkin it's wi' da ministers-da mair dey hae o' da flesh, the less de'll hae o' da speeret; an' whin onything o' dat kind is gaen, i'm tiukin' it comes mair fae da whiskey keg den fae da lord. bit whin i spaek dis wy, ye mauna tink dat i'm an infeedel for a' dat. i'm read my bible, bit aftener da testament-for der's mony fiklie wirds i' da bible dat i can mak bit little o'-bit as far as i'm read, i come ta dis conclusion, dat it maun be easier to mak christians noo-a-days den it wis lang sin syne, or da wark is no sae weel düne. dere was paul da apostle, lüik at him in his wanderin', watchin', prayin', fastin', an' sufferin' a' kinds o' ill-usage by da haethens he hed to fecht amongan' a' dis afore he could mak christians o' dem. noo readin' a bit sermon as yallow in da paper as my wellicot ance upon a sunday is a' dats tocht o'. nae doot it's easier for da minister tae ca' his flock inta da crüe ance i' da ouk den rin efter dem here an' dere trow da oukdays, whin da horses an' kye, an' da habbleshue o' oot door wark taks a' his time; sae dat a mony a puir body may be crossin' da waters o' jordan atween da monaday an' da setterday, an' he kens little aboot it. puir craters! mony a ane o' dem wid need a bit prayer or a wird o' comfort whin der in da'vailey o' da sheddo' o' death,' as da scripter ca's it. noo, it's no sae muckle wi' da ministers i fin' fau't is wi' da kirk dat maks da ministers. human nater is human nater; an' if onybody is paid weel for düin naethin', or da neist tae it, wha wid 1 fish stomachs filled with liver, and boiled. 2 black gullimot (uria grylle). 3 porpoise (phocoena communis). 4 ballast. 5 flannel shirt. 6 enclosure for driving sheep in when they are to be "rued or shorn. 28 shetland fireside tales; or, be sic a füle is wirk mair den he can help. whin a young chap gets a kirk, dü ye no tink, mr ollison, dat it wid be a great advantage tae himsell if da kirk wis ta say ta him, 'noo, mr minister, we're no gaen to gie you a selery by da year, bit just pay you by da piece; sae if ye wirk weel ye'll be weel paid for it, an' your sermons will be fae half-a-croon ta twinty shillens, accordin' tae da quality.' if dis wis düne, ye wid shüne see a mony a burnin' an' a shinin' licht, whaur noo we hae na da blink o'a üllie collie.¹ bit it's no a lee dat wir auld wife says 'whin i ance begin to spaek, i never ken whin ta haud my tongue.' whaur wir ye wi' your story agen, mr ollison (an' beggin' mony pardons for interruptin' you).' 1 the most primitive form of lamp now known, and similar in some respects to that used by the ancient romans, and found in the ruins of pompeii and herculaneum. the hermit of trosswickness. 29 chapter v. a mermaid sat in her emerald ha', and played on her coral lute. ballad. "after i had been about a year at the school," resumed the hermit, "adam yunson, the ruling elder of the district, called at the school one day, and said he wished to speak to me. so i followed him outside, when he said, 'olla, i hear that you are a very clever lad, and as we want a teacher at hallowmas for the chancein school, we have decided to give you the offer of it, as we believe there is no lad in the parish better qualified.' "in reply, i thanked him for what i considered the highest honour that could have been conferred upon me; and said i would do my utmost to give satisfaction, and should be ready to commence the school at the time mentioned. my remuneration was to be £4 in the halfyear; and this, to my mind, looked like a sum that i should not know how to spend; as up to this time i had never possessed a shilling of my own. after shaking hands with my kind friend, i bounded into the school, but slackened my pace as i passed the inner door, for the teacher maintained very rigid discipline. i went up to where lelah was sitting, and whispered, 'lelah, i am going to be a teacher. i have got the chancein school.' "no!' she exclaimed in a whisper, while her lovely eyes beamed with a mixed expression of wonder and delight, and a soft blush passed over her face, but quickly leaving the white and crimson as pure as before. "yes,' i replied; it is quite true, but i will tell you all about it when we get out.' after the school was dismissed, i got the opportunity of telling lelah that it was 6 30 shetland fireside tales; or, all settled that i was to get the school; that i was to have £4 in the half-year, and that i was to buy her a present when i got my first quarter's salary. "the harvest now being near at hand, i did not go longer to school, as i wished to assist my uncle in the fields; for i was an expert hand at binding sheaves, and all kinds of harvest work. the season happened to be unusually fine; and, during the time of the harvest moon, lelah and i used to walk together down to the sea-shore. how beautiful it was when, in a cloudless sky, the full-orbed moon rode in silent glory in the starspangled firmament, and cast a silvery sheen on the grey lichen-covered stones, moss-covered knolls, and every object around. one such lovely evening we were both seated on a fragment of rock at the top of the heilik where i met you last night, and we sat gazing silently at the moon. above the moon was a bright star, so bright and beautiful that it cast a halo of light around it as it shone and twinkled in its glorious soft light against the dark-blue sky. upon this star lelah fixed her gaze, and seemed lost in thought. 0! how beautiful she looked then-just like an angel adoring some great being above. her eyes were so full of heavenly light, and her features looked so beautiful in the pale moonshine, that i drew closer towards her, and, almost before she was aware, impressed a kiss upon her soft rosy lips. this awakened her from her reverie, and she exclaimed with something like a frown, 'oh! olla, you bad boy.' "this was my first kiss (for i was the most bashful boy that ever lived). o! how shall i express the bliss of that moment. how often have i wished since then that some power from above could have fixed me in that state of happiness, and rendered me for ever incapable of feeling any other emotion; but, alas! like our first parents, this eden of love was destined one day to bepome a valley of tears, full of sighings and heart-rending ef. but let me not dwell upon this sad part of my the hermit of trosswickness. 31 story just yet. after a little i saiddear lelah, what were you thinking about when you were looking so earnestly at yon bright star?' o! olla,' she replied, 'i was thinking how far it might be from us to the star; and then, if we were there, how far it might be to something else; and so on and on: and i wondered if ever there could be an end; when, you bad boy, you put me off the thought. do you think, olla, there is any end to the sky away there?' i said, 'dear lelah, what strange questions you ask. no, i think there can be no end to the sky; for when you come to the end of anything, there must always be something beyond that— either space or substance. but it makes my head reel to think of it, so let us speak about mermaids, or something of that sort.' 66 4 5 999 6 ay, ay," exclaimed old yacob; "your spaekin' o' mermaids pits in my mind da story o' simon o' gott, dat ye hae mebbe heard o'. he was hailen his lines aff da scord o' bressa, wi' a sooth lipper¹ ida water an' da fa' o'a slack tide. efter he hed aboot twa packies² an' a half in, he fan a heavy wecht ipa da tow. says he ta da boy dat sat ida cavil, says he, 'boy, hae da fishstaff ¹ clair, an' lüik oot for a licht.' sae efter a peerie start da boy says, says he, 'i see a licht.' 'what is it? says simon; is it a masgum' or a turbot?' na, na,' says da boy, 'it's a boddie.' boy,' says simon, if du maks a füle o' me, i'll lay dis boatic across dy back.' 'na, na,' says da boy, 'i'm truly no makin' a füle o' you;' an' wi dat, lord preserve us, if dere didna bout up afore his very face a most beautiful mermaid, wi' lang 1 the wavelet or ripple. 2 the quantity of lines each fisherman owns. 6 9 3 to take the hook from the mouth of a fish; also the place in the boat where a man or boy performs this operation. 4 large iron hook with wooden handle for striking into the fish, and lifting them into the boat. 5 ready. 6 short time. 7 shark. 8 a long pole with a hook and spike at the end. 9 to rise quickly above the surface. 32 shetland fireside tales; or, 6 yallow hair hingin' doon her back, an' a muckle t gogar catched her richt under da shin. haund tullie,' roared simon, an' wi' dat he caud da kuif da puir crater's breist, an' snappin da tome sh back i' da sea cryin', ales! ales!' and sank awa lavin' a straem o' red bluid a' da wy efter her. fa day ta da day o' his death simon o' gott never t dat year da storrie wirm üte his corn an' taties da rüit. his kye fell a liftin' an' deid, da taen ef tidder spriklin an' sküil-brüilin in da most awf his horses guid ower da banks, an' he wüor up cam ta da bones o' meesery himsell, an' da last time wis seen wis standin' doon a peerie bit abüin da lay whin a winderful kind o' green mist cam up oot sea, an' closed aroond him, an' whin it cleared dere wis da place, an' awa wis simon; never s heard tell o' more. 6 "den dere wis maikie o' fradigal: ae simmer whin he wis i' da ebb-it wis just aboot da first o' daylicht, an' as beautiful a mornin' as could co o' da lift. it wis a ream¹º calm, an' no a lipper al shore; he wis pickin' at da side o' a muckle ebb whin liftin' up his head ta rake¹¹ ower his hovvie, preserve us, if dere wisna sittin' upon a aff sk peerie bit fae da shore, a most beautiful mermaid, in' her bonnie yallow hair; an' happenin' to lui nearer ta him, he sees a bonnie silkey¹3 skin lyin' tap o' a stane, rowed togedder just as if it hed shald dat a woman bodie hed flung aff her sh whin he sees dis, he maks a spang14 for it, an' r up anunder his airm, he sits doon a peerie¹5 start see what shü wid dü. he said he never saw a 1 a large fish-hook. 2 a fisherman's knife. a grub. 4 3 a hair-line. 6 struggling. 7 moaning; low bel 9 sky 10 soft 12 a small lempit creel. 15 a moment. 13 a s 8 first streaks of twilight. 11 reach. 14 spring. the hermit of trosswickness. 33 . woman fae da oor dat he wis born. the sun wis just comin' oot o' da water, an' da bonnie saft mornin' licht fell apon her face, an' doon ower her body. shu lüiked just as if shu wis made oot o' snaw. shu wis dat white an' pure, an' sae beautifully formed every wy. he hed aye heard dat mermaids wis laek a fish fae da wais' an' doon; bit, lord save him, he said, shu hed as bonnie pair o' legs an' feet as ever cam in da door o' da ness kirk. efter sittin' twa or tree minnits, he gae a kind o' a host,' whin shü luiked aboot an' jimped aff da skerrie, an' cam weddin' in till shu wis aboot half oot o' da water, whin shu saw dat he hed her skin under his airm-for dis skin wis hers-an' its da wy dat mermaids wupples der feet in dis skin o' ders dat made folk tink dat dey hae da tail o' a fish. sae as i wis sayin', shü staunds in da water, an' pointin' her bonnie haund till him, says (she spak english, an' i'm no very guid at dat): mortal, give me back my skin. why wouldst thou steal from me that which can do thee little good, and makes me poor indeed?' na, na, my bonnie leddie,' says maikie; 'lord forbid dat i sud hurt a hair o' your bonnie head, or tak awa your bit skin, unless it wis ta get you sontin far better to pit on; an' if ye wid just bide a glisk whaur ye ir, i wid rin hame for a sark o' my midder's; her dimity coat, an' her pepper an' saut mantle, wid hap you weel; for though it's simmer, ye canna be ower warm at dis time o' da mornin', staundin' i' da cauld water yonder.' 6 i "mortal,' says da mermaid again, 'tempt me not. desire to return to the emerald halls and the coral caves of my ancestors, and to sing sweet songs to my brave knight coraldova, who fights the sea-lions, and slays the great sea-serpent. last night, by the pale moonlight, he left me to hunt in the great sea-plains, and this morning he returns to find me absent. o! kind mortal, give me my skin, and let me go.' 1 cough. с 34 shetland fireside tales; or, "ye'r richt dere, my bonnie leddie,' says maikie kinder mortal never stüd upo' twa legs den maik fradigal; an' dis is what i wid ask you ta fin' oot b efter dis. sae i'll awa hame for da claes, for i'm w see you staundin' ony langer dere in da cauld air, alth ye'r da bonniest sicht dat ever my twa een saw world.' sae wi' dis maikie spangs up da banks, a jiffey comes back wi' da claes, an' a piece o' wid his shudder, dat maybe wid a made sax pair o' soles. sae whin he comes ta da water's edge, he sc da piece o' wid,' an' lays da claes upo' da tap o' it den gies it a bit o' a shiv, an' awa it sails richt til shu seemed ta feel a kind o' saftened at dis, for m wis a decent lad, an' shu seemed ta tink muckle guid sense. sae shü tüik up da sark au' slippit it her head, an' den pat on da rest o' da claes as shü ashore. sae whiniver shu cam upo' da stanes, n cam close up till her, an' cüllied³ aboot her da bes dat he cud; an' says he, 'oh! my dear bonnie leddi sure ye maun hae gotten your death o'cauld. hame wi' me dis moment an' get a cup o' tae; it'll you, an' den if ye winna bide wi' me, i'll gie y your skin wi' a blessin'. but i'll never laeve you if ye tak ta da sea again, i'll follow you, though be smored in da blue deep, or glaped up by a ma sae dünna be angry wi' me, for your bonnie w face has set a beatin' ta my heart, an' a birrin' oo points o' my taes.' but i needna tell mair o maikie said, for, as you will see, he wis in love sayin' is; an' dats a time dat da less dats kent what we say the better; for if wir gettin' inta da da excise depended upo' da sense o' what we s wir shance o' promotion wid be bit sma. "bit what i wis gaen ta say wis dis, dat mern just like idder folk-weel pleased ta hear der ain 2 wood. 1 floats. smothered; choked. 3 fondled; car swallowed. the hermit of trosswickness. 35 i'm seen a auld osmal lüikin' auld maid, wi' a mooth laek a horse happrick,2 an' a nose dat could steer a seventyfour, blinkin' her een wi' delicht whin some haveril chap wis makin' a füil o' her, an' tellin' her dat shu wis winderful bonnie. an' sae it's no ta be windered at dat da mermaid wis weel pleased ta hear what shu kent wis true. an' da upshot o' dis wis dat shü güid hame wi' maikie, an' said naithin' mair aboot her graund coraldova nor a' his winderful exploits; an' maybe shü said ta hersell da auld proverb, wi' a sma' alteration-der's as guid fish oot o' da sea as ever yet wis in it.' in coorse maikie couldna tell his folk dat shu wis a sea-woman, for dat wid a pitten dem oot o' der judgment; although, as for his midder, as a' body kent, shu wid na hae far ta gaen. sae he said shü hed come ashore fae a wrack ship, an' dis made a' thing richt; an' he telled dem dat her name wis mary mermaid, an', puir bodies, dey kent nae better den dat dis wis her rael surname. sae after a time shu cam in winderfully weel ta der wys o' livin', though, as micht a been expecked, she had a awful likin' for fish; an' shü left her fine english, an' spak just as plain as idder you or me; an' dey wir a' sae weel pleased wi' her dat sax monts after dis her an' maikie got mairied, an' dey lived wi' da auld folk, an' wir as happy as da day wis lang. sae dis gengs on for a lock o' years, and der auldest bairns wis grown up ta be muckle rinnin sheelds, whin ae hairst, whin da fedder wis biggin' da screws³ i' da yard, da peerie boy wis rinnin aboot, whin he sees his fedder layin' a auld dried skin anunder a sheaf (for he aye keeped da skin hoided* fae her); sae ders nae mair o' dis, bit in gengs da peerie boy, and tells his midder what he hed seen. shu hears a' bit says naethin, bit gengs ta her bed as peaceably as ever shu did in her days. maikie fa's asleep, au? snores awa till daylicht, whin he opens his een, bit his bonnie mary wis awa. he jimps up, 1 ugly; haggart. 2 corn stacks. 2 a small "cashie," or pannier. hid; concealed. 36 shetland fireside tales; or, an' slips on upon him, an' rins oot ta da yard, whin h sees da hale screw a' tirded¹ an' torn aboot da eart, a da skin clean aff; sae, puir man, he kent what wis wha den. he hed a kind o' doot sometime afore dis dat wis no richt wi' her; for aye whin shü wid be dandlin' d bairn upon her knee, shü wid sing a sang dat maikie di no like ower weel. an' dis wis it :a mermaid sat in her emerald ha', an' played on her coral lute; an' da fishes a' stood on their tails in a raw, an' danced wi' a finny foot. the whaal and the pellick were at it once, an' shook their fat sides wi' glee, to see queer fishes prance in a new fashioned dance, ower da bottom o' da deep blue sea. then gie me back my bonnie coral caves, o gie them back ta me! for though this is my home, i still love to roam o'er da shells o' da deep blue sea. 'sing hey dim diddle, dim diddle, dim diddle, sing hey dim diddle, dim dee; though this is my home, i still love to roam o'er da shells o' da deep blue sea.' bit manage, whidder mony is da time if shü "puir woman! i'm just tinkin she diddled hersell oo a guid hame; and dat her grand coraldova wid na be up i' da skies aboot her whin shu cam back. woman bodies ir kittle ware ta come fae da sea or fae da land. wissed wir auld wife hed been a mermaid. bit rin aff, an' wanted a skin, i wid a gien coo's hide wi' her, altho' i'd no hed a rivelin 2 for å twalmont. bit what's da time wi' your sun ma mr ollison; i'm tinkin it's just time i wis lüikin' e some lempits for da sillocks da nicht?" her a on my "it is past two o'clock when the sun comes to part of the floor," replied the hermit, pointing to a sq 1 scattered. 2 a kind of shoe made of untanned cowhide. the hermit of trosswickness. 37 illuminated spot on the floor, caused by a volume of bright sunlight streaming in through a skylight on the roof.' "ah! well den i'll just awa', an' i'll be ower blied ta come up da morn, efter brakwast¹ time, an' hear da rest o' your story; for i'm tinkin da best o' it is ta come yet." "alas! no," exclaimed the hermit, as a tear stole down his cheek; "my tale is soon to become a tale of sorrow, which will harrow my soul to tell; but i am no less anxious that you should hear it; and, indeed, it was chiefly for this purpose i asked you to come to my humble dwelling. but the first portion of my story has occupied more time than i expected." "ye may weel say dat, mr ollison," exclaimed yacob. "ye wir no like ta ken dat i wis gaen ta tak up da half o' da time wi' my ain clash an' havers; bit dey auld stories an' bits o' sangs o' my young days comes jimpin' in ta my mind whin ye'r spakin' o' da sam subjek, dat i canna haud my tongue." "and there is no reason you should," rejoined the hermit; for it is really my opinion, that if what we have both said were written down, your stories would be considered more interesting than mine." "oh! you're makin' a füle o' me noo, mr ollison," said yacob. "ye see i just spak by rule o' toom," an' accordin' ta nater.' "and that is just where the merit, lies, my friend," rejoined the hermit. "it is only the few out of countless multitudes of writers in all ages who have followed your rule; and those few now stand like great landmarks along the pathway of time, flourishing in immortal fame; and this because they came as little children, and sat at the feet of nature, drank deep of her spirit, and became inspired by the divine power which she imparts to all her true disciples. "those who failed were too learned to be taught of simple nature. they soared above her head, and, like 1 breakfast. 2 thumb. 38 shetland fireside tales; or, icarus, lost their wings, fell, and perished in the dust of the countless forgotten. "but i am detaining you. i shall be happy to see you to-morrow, as early as you can call." "yea, dat sal i," replied old yacob. "i'll be up efter brakwist time, if da lord spares me to see da morn; an' sae guid day be wi' you, mr ollison." and with this parting salutation the old man lifted the wooden latch of the low door of the hermit's cottage, and was soon far on his way down the rugged slope which descends from the top of the ness to the village of trosswick. the hermit of trosswickness. 39 chapter vi. there are more things in heaven and earth, horatius, than are dreamt of in our philosophy. shakespeare. yacob's cottage stood at the east end of the village, with its gable towards the sea. it consisted of one long apartment, divided into "but and ben by two wooden beds or huge square boxes, with sliding doors in front, through which the sleepers entered at night, and made their exit in the morning. these "box beds" were placed with the doors towards each other, and their backs to the wall. the passage between the two beds was covered over the top with pieces of boat's boards, which formed a lame¹ for laying lines, cashies, buddies,² skinjups, sea-boots, and other articles requiring to occupy this elevated position. on the wall, and tied with a piece of boucht, hung a rack for the crockery, spoons, &c. under this rack, and close to the wall, stood an old oak table, with a very deep drawer, containing yacob's pipe, his sealskin cash, with some dutch shag in it; sillock flees, ooin treed, a' auld loopick," a muckle tully, a peerie gipper,10 a pawm," an' a sail needle, a tome-spinner¹² made of peat; a yarkin allishen,13 a norway ladle, a 1 loft. 3 8 2 creels made of straw and "simmits," or of dried dock stems. 3 jacket or frock made of tanned calf or sheep skin. + fishing-line. 5 a kind of press without doors for holding dishes, &c. 7 fishing flies. 6 tobacco-pouch. 8 woollen thread. 9 spoon with a short handle. 10 small knife for gutting herring. 11 thimble fixed in a leather band going round the hand; used by sailmakers. 12 a kind of whorl used for twisting hair-lines. 13 an outseam awl. 40 shetland fireside tales; or, 2 gruel tree,' a cashie-needle, with a variety of smaller articles. on the other side of the cottage, formed of two planks of drift-wood, stood a sort of bench resting on uprights, and having cross pieces fixed into the wall, and on this bench stood one old green painted sea-chest, one oldfashioned land-chest, and one well worn trunk covered with sealskin, but beginning to look bald on the lid and corners. under this same bench, as a convenient place for setting household utensils, stood the muckle kettle, the peerie kettle, the muckle pot, and the peerie pot, one washing sae, one small tub, and one reamicle. the rest of the furniture of the "but-end" consisted of five oak chairs, with very high backs and fir seats, a creepy stool, two seddicks, one high-backed straen chair, which stood in the corner, being old mrs yacob's private property. 3 5 in the "ben-end" the furniture consisted of the kirn, and the kirn-staff, the milk-keg standing on a chair with a piece of canvas over the top of it; then there was one barrel of oat-meal, one barrel of bere-meal, one buggie' with some burstin³ in it, one groff siv, one sma' siv, and a weight.10 9 the floor but and ben was formed of earth and clay, which time and sweeping had rendered quite hard and smooth. the roof was covered with divits," having straw and 1 porridge-stick. 2 wooden needle for finishing the rims of "cashies" and "buddies." 3 tub with "lugs" for lifting by. 4 small shallow tub used for holding milk, porridge, &c. 5 a stool made of straw. 6 made of straw. 7 skin bag made of an entire tanned sheepskin. 8 meal made from bere or barley toasted brown in a kettle placed over the fire and ground in a quern. 9 coarse-a sieve with a larger size of holes. 10 fanner made of an untanned sheepskin stretched on a large hoop, on which the grain is repeatedly thrown up and caught until the chaff or awns are separated. 11 oblong pieces of thin dried turf for thatching houses with. the hermit of trosswickness. 41 1 simmits on the outside. two "lums" on the ridge served the double purpose of letting out the smoke and in the light. against the gable wall of the but-end stood the back stane. the hearth-stane was composed of several pieces of irregularly shaped flat stones raised a few inches above the floor. on this hearth-stane stood the "boiler " on the one side, and the teapot on the other, and the brand iron and "taings" lying in front. as old yacob entered, his ear caught the prelude of the coming storm. this was a kind of low crooning guttural sound the old woman indulged in when she was brimful of wrath. a new peat fire had been put on, and the day being calm, the lazy smoke seemed more inclined to remain inside than to go out the lums, as it ought to have done. it therefore packed itself so closely "but and ben" as to form a sort of moving ceiling a few feet from the ground -dense and dark above this line, but comparatively clear below. old yacob, therefore, on stepping over the floor, had the upper part of his body enveloped in thick darkness, with his legs only visible, so that he was within a few feet of the hearth before his wrathful helpmate observed him. "what's a' da reek aboot?" inquired yacob, as he lowered his head to the level of the line of smoke, and gave two or three short coughs, showing that his bronchial tubes did not take kindly with this rather thick decoction of peat-smoke. 2 "what's a' da reek aboot?" echoed old peggy, for that was her name. "whaur ill vaige is du been a' day, du püir, simple, düless, saft-head snüol,3 dat du is, pittin' aff dy time wi' ony clashan' gapeshot5 bledder o' wind du meets wi' atween dis an' sumbrahead. an' sae may deil sit i' der gapin craigs, an' little less be i' dine, an' i be 1 a large stone against which the fire is placed. 2 indolent; incapable. 3 simpleton. 5 open-mouthed. 4 gossiping. 42 shetland fireside tales; or, 6 hale an' weel, an' dats what am no, fir i'm a püir de objekd, wi' da life just blatterin'¹ in. eh! my insid pressing both her hands on her sides. "dis pain 'ill a tale yet. du'll be pleased when du sees my müld sa on, an' my head taen aboot i' da cauld mirk³ mü drawing her nose downwards between her thumb forefinger, and throwing her hand towards the fire, a she had relieved the aggrieved organ of a consider quantity of moisture, which the eyes had sent down in time to give emphasis to those harrowing allusion "müld sarks" and other spectral paraphernalia. 9 4 66 "gaen stravaigin," she continued, ower da face d eart like a benummed monyment, as if du hed nidder h or coo ta lüik efter. dere's da puir jures o' kye never l der stakes muved dis blissed day yet, nor a lempit tae gettin' a bone o' fish wi', nor a girspuckle for da b meat at nicht, nor da hoes' an' skate rumples boile da grice, nor da kail howed dats gaen ower wi' shicl wirt runshick an' melda,10 nor da twa lives o' sheep fastened i' da ness luiked efter, nor da grain o' dry taen ta da mill dats standin' rawin' an' wastin' i barn; yea, sürely, sürely, i'm ta be petied; left he may say, an' nidder can win or want, a püir bedd creepin' like a wirm fae da bed ta da fire, an' wi’ tribe aboot me, witches an' limmers; bit sathan 'll his ain some day, an' he'll get dem, an' he'll scaud an' sae micht he; an' lord grant it fae my sinfil dat impedent jaad, sara o' northouse, what did sh dis mornin' after du guid fort,¹² comes in wi' her fair an' says ta me, says shü (mimicking the said sa 'peggy, will du gie me a peerie ¹³ 'air o' bland¹¹ i 1 quivering; flickering. 4 wandering; rambling. 13 2 shroud. 3 dark. 5 a term applied to cattle, and expressive of pity or sympath 6 blade of grass. 7 dog-fish (acanthias vulgar 8 tail and backbone of the skate. 9 chickweed. 10 wed 11 bedridden. 12 went out. 14 whey of butter-milk. 13 sinall quanti the hermit of trosswickness. 43 " peerie tinnie ta mak a heat drink ta wir tamie, as he's gotten a awful torment within his stamick? 'yea dat sall i,' says i, simple bein' dat i wis, whin i oucht ta brained her wi' da tainges dat lay at da sheek o' da fire. bit i tinks o' naithin' till da day whin i gengs ta pick oot da drap o' meilk dat wis standin' i' da keg, sae as to get a bit o' guid butter ta set by fir yule, an' sae i begins ta kirn;¹ an' i kirns, an' better kirns, an' winders dere's nae butter comin'; but it cam at last, an' dere it is. 'sees du dat!"" raising her voice to a shrill scream, and pushing a plate with some very white looking butter in it so close up to yacob's nose, that it left a little inverted pyramid of oleaginous matter adhering to its broad tip. this he quietly removed by raising his thick, short, horny forefinger, and rubbing it on the knee of his skin "breeks," and which he continued polishing slowly with the palm of his hand, looking abstractedly at the process, as if he were trying to solve the problem in his own mind, whether, according to the law of compensation, the indignity to his nose, with the loss of the butter, was sufficiently balanced by the benefit to his leather unmentionables. "lüik at dat," she continued, "lüik at dat! i say, dirt! froth! whaur's my bonnie yallow butter noo? whaur's my profit noo? o da diel's buckie! o da devil's witch dat shu is, i hoop shü'll swee² i' his kettle o' brunstane yet; an' den shü'll nidder get bland nor swats³ ta weet her filty craig wi'; an' i hoop he'll shoke her ipa da neist bland she drinks. but du'll go dis very nicht, whin dü comes hame fae da sillicks, an' get me twa or tree hairs aff ane o' her kye, ta lay anunder da boddom o' my meilk-keg, fir i'll hae my profit back again if i süd rive da rüif abün her head.* 1 to churn. 2 singe; scald. 3 a kind of weak beer, obtained by fermenting meal and "sids," husks, the liquid being "swats;" and the solid matter which settl at the bottom of the vessel after the husks have been removed 1. straining is " sowans. 99 * see note h. superstition of the evil eye. 44 shetland fireside tales; or, "i wid na winder ta see da trooker comin' in axin' fir a taings o' fire some mornin' whin i'm kirnin'; bit lit her come, i'll gie her a scaud. da minnit shü grips da taings o' fire, i'll haud da kirn staff hard ipa da boddom o'da kirn, an' shü'll be burnt aff da banes afore i lit her aff. "it was mansie gordie, honest man, dat telled me ta dü dis. ugh! ugh! ugh! eh! dis host 'ill finish me some day. haand me da crum o' lickerish dats lian' i' da rack yonder, yacob." this request was made in a low, breathless croon, as if utterly exhausted, and drawing her breath hard as she put the end of the black saccharine stalk under the only remaining stump of a far back molar. old yacob paused, for he knew by experience the wisdom of remaining silent on occasions of this kind, as any remark from him, good, bad, or indifferent, would have raised another storm, which neither coughing nor want of breath might have so providentially brought to a close; he therefore merely inquired, "hes du ony denner fir me, peggy?" "no i," she replied in the same weak voice. "i wis na able ta pit on fish an' taties, sae du'll just hae ta tak a 'air o' bland an' meal afore du gengs¹ i' da ebb, an' den du'll get a cup o' tea when du comes back agen." old yacob therefore rose from his seat, and lifting the "peerie kettle," which lay "whombled "2 under the bench already described, he proceeded to prepare the bland and meal over the top of the fire, which now showed a cheerful column of flame rising from its centre. just as the mixture attained the proper consistency, which he knew by experience suited his taste, and as he was lifting the kettle from the crook, a voice, in a kind of timid whisper, proceeded from the entrance between the two wooden beds, and said, "guid day be here!" 1 going with the ebb-tide to find limpets. 2 turned bottom up. the hermit of trosswickness. 45 99 "o guid day be ta dee," responded old yacob. "come in trow," he added, as a nice looking modest lass just out of her "teens came in and sat down on a chair. she wore a white short-gown open at the bosom, a blue "claith" petticoat, and a net "mutch" on her head frilled at the sides, but plain on the forehead. "i wis just wantin' a peerie wird wi' peggy," explained the fair visitor. 66 peggy," ejaculated old yacob, for the old woman had sunk back in the recesses of her fortress, the projecting sides of which left nothing in view but her feet and legs. "peggy, here is somebody wantin' dee," and peggy's head at once emerged beyond the ramparts. 66 "o i'm wae fir troublin' you, peggy," apologised the fair visitor. "na! na! it's nae trouble," rejoined peggy. "yacob, geng dee wis ben ower wi' yon;" and yacob, obedient to the order from the seat of government, took his kettle, and went accordingly. as soon as he had disappeared between the wooden dormitories already described, he removed the milk-keg from its accustomed seat of honour, in order to occupy the place himself, for this was the only solitary chair in the apartment. as he shut the door, peggy sprang from her seat with great alacrity, and seated herself on a chair close by her visitor. "what was it, my hinnie?" inquired peggy, laying her hand confidentially on the knee of the former, and drawing in a long breath until her thin lips puckered in over her toothless gums, and the distance between her nose and chin contracted to the smallest possible dimensions. "oh!" whispered leezie, for such was the name of this interesting young woman, "i'm just broucht a sid¹ o' tea wi' me, an' i wis just wantin' you ta lüik in a cup fir me." 66 "o! lord bliss dee," ejaculated 1 small quantity. peggy, as her eyes 46 shetland fireside tales; or, gleamed with either the spirit of divination or love for the black double-strong extract of the chinaman's leaf. "yea, i sall lüik in a cup fir dee; dat sall i, my bairn; an' lord send dee as mony guid tokens in it as i can wis dee." saying this, peggy hung the tea-kettle on the crook, and rinsing out the teapot, laid it on its side on the brand-iron, with its bottom towards the fire.¹ "eh! dear o' me, leezie," continued she, "i'm failin' fast noo, an' sic a band o' deevils o' neeghbours aboot me; it's just killin' me; an' wir güidman is sic a saft düless boddie, he'll no open his mooth ta dem if dey wir pickin' da een oot o' his head. sees du dis," showing her the plate with the butter which still bore the impress of yacob's nose. "dere's my pritty neeghbours! dere's my profit! dere's my yallow butter dat i aye got sic a name fir makin'. dat's sarah o' northouse's wark. dats what shu did dis mornin' wi' gettin' a tinnie o' bland; but wir guidman is gaen ta get twa or tree hairs aff o' her coo da nicht, an' if i dünna get back my profit wi' dat, i'll sneck da limmer atween da een da first time i meet her; but da kettle is boilin' noo, an' i'll mask da sid o' tea, an' lit it stand till yacob gengs to da ebb, fir he's just gaen in a peerie minnit." saying this, peggy shook the tea from the paper which contained it into the teapot, which she placed on the hearthstone opposite a nice opening between two halfconsumed brands. when the masking process was considered complete, she took down a small cup and saucer from the rack, and filling the cup with the dark strong liquid, drank it off with great relish, giving a loud smack with her thin lips, and showing an extraordinary length of lever in the lower jaw, caused by the want of her teeth. holding the empty cup now by the handle, she slowly drained off any remaining drop of liquid, and then proceeded to "cast" the cup. this consisted of giving it several professional taps on the palm of the left hand,1 see note i. cup divination. the hermit of trosswickness. 47 first the sides of the cup, then the bottom, and last the brim. this was to give fortune the opportunity of arranging the stalks and dots of the tea grounds into hieroglyphic pictures, which only the initiated could decipher. then taking her spectacles from her pocket, and placing them on her nose, she held the cup out at full arm's length, exclaiming, "eh! 'm-! my certie, der's sontin here. dat's a bonnie cup. yea, my dear bairn, doo hes a bonnie cup; an' may da lord send de mony a blissen wi' it. yea! yea! der's a letter here just a peerie bit doon, an' den der's a ship wi' full sail; and here's a man boddie standin' as if he just wanted ta speak ta dee. dis man an' dee will come tagedder yet, tak du my wird for dat. an' here's a weddin' company, an' a bonnie company it is. ay, du's gaen ta hae a lock o' bairns ta dis man, dat is du. here der awa doon at the boddam o' da cup, puir tings, as if it wis a whilie ta dat time yet; but dere dey ir, luik du here," and peggy pointed close to a group of black dots with her shrivelled forefinger, having a nail on it like a bird's claw; but though leezie could not exactly see her future offspring amongst the tea grounds, the thought made her plump rosy cheeks blush deeper crimson, and she exclaimed, "oh, peggy, ye're makin' a füil o' me noo." "i!" rejoined peggy;" na, na, my bairn, far be it fae me ta mak a füil o' dee. i'm just tellin' dee what i see, an' what i ken du'll see dy sell, if du's spared. yea, and du's gaen ta hae plenty o' da warld. i didna notice dis afore; but here it is--horses, kye, sheep, an' plenty o' a' thing. eh! it is a bonnie cup indeed a bonnie cup." weel, mony tanks ta you,' said leezie. "i'll just hae ta be gaen noo, as wir folk'll be winderin' whaur i am." "oh, du's welcom, du's welcom, ta ony guid i can dü dee," rejoined peggy; "an' lord bliss dee fir da sid o' tea, fir it's revived me odiously. da wy dat yacob is failed fae gaen ta da sea, an' the hens a' clockin', der's nae wy ta get a maskin' o' 66 1 greatly. 99 48 shetland fireside tales; or, tea unless da lord sends it, as he's düne da day, praise be till his name." "weel, guid day be wi' you, den, peggy," said leezie, as a parting salutation on leaving the cottage. "an' sae be wi' dee," responded peggy, as she settled back in her well-padded chair, there to enjoy the soothing and exhilarating effects of the powerful extract which she had earned as a reward for her soothsaying. the reader's acquaintance with old yacob, and more recently his wife peggy, makes it necessary now to record some additional particulars regarding them. the hermit of trosswickness. 49 chapter vii. my fause lover pu'd the rose, but, ah! he's left the thorn wi' me. burns. old yacob yunson was at this time about sixty years of age, and hale and hearty for his years. he was a short, thick-set man, with a round florid face, thin whiskers, ample forehead, and intelligent expression of countenance. quiet and docile in his temper, he bore his wife's unconquerable and ceaseless "yatterin," as he called it, with more than christian forbearance; and, with the exception of the poetical cure he attempted, as recorded in a former chapter, he never again tried the hopeless task of bringing her into subjection. they had been married for forty years, and their family consisted of an only son, who went to sea when he was eighteen years of age, but from whom they had heard no accounts for many long years. old yacob, as the reader has already had some means of judging, possessed a considerable amount of good common sense, quiet, pawky humour, and considerable power of observation in judging of men and things. his retentive memory had enabled him, during a long life, to acquire a complete knowledge of all the fairy tales, legends, and superstitions known in the islands; and he was so fond of telling these, that, as has already been seen, he could never resist the temptation which the hermit's tale so often put in his way of starting on his own account, when some particular incident in the hermit's narrative recalled a tale of a similar kind to his remembrance. regarding old peggy, the reader must have already drawn such a correct portrait of her in his own mind, that any further description must be unnecessary, except it be to mention a few immaterial points, such as-she d 50 shetland fireside tales; or, i was 5 feet 9 inches in height, slightly bent in the shoulders, wore two binders, and two "toys" on her head, in the following order :-1st, a flannel binder; 2d, a flannel toy; 3d, a muslin toy; 4th, a black binder; and over all this a large thick handkerchief when out of doors. a blue "claith" petticoat reaching a little below her knee, and a "slug"2 of the same material, fixed with a large pin in front, completed her attire. when old yacob returned from the ebb, he found the door of the cottage standing slightly ajar; and as he gently pushed it open, a strange kind of sound fell upon his ear. listening attentively, he found it proceeded from the but end of the cottage, and that it had a striking resemblance to peggy's voice. peering round the corner of the wooden bed, he saw a remarkable phenomenon-peggy engaged in a musical performance. she was humming an old ballad, nodding her head, and beating time to the measure with her foot on the hearth-stone. old yacob could not account for it, because he was equally ignorant of the fortune-telling business and of the exhilarating effects which the strong tea had produced on peggy's susceptibilities, and which had thus caused "a time of singing to be heard in the land." fortunately, he had come just in nick of time to hear her commence the ballad a second time; and placing himself quietly at the head of the bed next the door, he stood there still till she had got to the end of it. it was the fause knight.3 knight emir proved fause to his ladie love, emiralo mralandie; an' she bore to him o' bonnie bairnies twa, doon by the green booth sidie. 1 a hood or "mutch of white muslin, without frills. 2 short-gown. 3 this is an imitation of an old ballad which the author believes to be of scottish origin; but his early recollection only retains the refrain and the affecting incidents of the death and burial of the the hermit of trosswickness. 51 she wrung her hands, an' she grat fu' sair, emiralo mralandie; an' she tore out the locks o' her gowden hair, doon by the green booth sidie. she's ta'en out a peerie penknife, emiralo mralandie ; an' she's ta'en awa the bonnie bairnies' life, doon by the green booth sidie. she's lifted up a marrable stane, emiralo mralandie; an' she's buried them there, a' by their lane, doon by the green booth sidie. here an' there she wandered awa, emiralo mralandie; makin' mane sair for her bairnies twa, doon by the green booth sidie. winter was past and simmer cam fair, emiralo mralandie; an' the ladie sat doon wi' sair dool an' care, doon by the green booth sidie. bonnie birdies sang sweet sangs, i ween, emiralo mralandie; an' twa bonnie bairnies played on the green, doon by the green booth sidie. bonnie bairnies twa, i wish ye were mine, emiralo mralandie; my love for you never would tine, doon by the green booth sidie. i would dress you in robes o' silk, emiralo mralandie; and feed you wi' the forrow cow's milk, doon by the green booth sidie. o mother cruel, once we were thine, emiralo mralandie; but by thy penknife our lives did tine, doon by the green booth sidie. innocents. he regrets that the want of original shetland songs and ballads has in this, as in other cases, forced him to depend so much on his own resources. 52 22 shetland fireside tales; or, now we are dressed in robes of white, emiralo mralandie; and have no need of the forrow cow's milk, doon by the green booth sidie. come away, mother, and join us there, emiralo mralandie; and leave a' your dool, and sorrow, and care, doon by the green booth sidie. what news is ye tell to me, emiralo mralandie? a ladie found dead by a rowan tree, doon by the green booth sidie. lift her tentilly, she's cauld as snaw, emiralo mralandie; and lay her beside her bonnie bairnies twa, doon by the green booth sidie. o! malison upon yon fause knight, emiralo mralandie; an' may he fa' in a bluidy fight, doon by the green booth sidie. in the burdies' nests be locks o' his hair, emiralo mralandie; and the ravens pick a' his banes bare, doon by the green booth sidie. "99 "eh dear o me!" sighed peggy, as she finished last stanza; "i'm forcin' a smile upo' da face o' afflic der's little singin' a my mind, though ance upon a d wis light-hearted an' hallegirt' enouch, bit lammit dat's awa noo.' this soliloquy was rehearsed fo yacob's edification (for she had just observed him em from his hiding-place), and it was intended to make believe that the singing was purely accidental, and no connection whatever with the exhilarating effec strong tea. for, though she was prepared at any to act on the offensive, and could bombard the pa and enduring yacob for hours, without any sense of or compunction, yet, upon the question of smuggle 7 sprightly. the hermit of trosswickness. 53 and cup-reading, she took great pains to dissemble and keep him in the dark, and this for two reasons. first, that old yacob had been instructed by the ruling elder of the district to report any case of cup-reading that came under his observation, in order that the offender might be admonished; and second, the locker of the green chest contained certain well-kept, reek-stained coins, bearing a foreign image and superscription, which peggy knew by experience could never be got into circulation in exchange for the "black leaf," if old yacob knew of any contraband supplies of said article coming from other quarters. the green chest was a fortress which all mrs yacob's engineering could never enable her to penetrate, nor could her heaviest artillery force the governor to surrender the key, or even let her peep within its walls; she therefore had to make a virtue of necessity, and practically own submission before any supplies could be drawn from the military chest, and this took place only on very rare occasions; for, as yacob had long been unable to increase his financial resources, he wisely demurred to reduce them, unless for very pressing and important reasons. 54 34 shetland fireside tales; or, chapter viii. but you and i have shaken hands, till growing winters lay me low; my paths are in the fields, i know, and thine in undiscovered lands. tennyson. next day old yacob faithfully kept his appointment with the hermit, leaving peggy still breathing threatenings and slaughter against sarah o' northouse for abstracting her butter profit, and against himself for not being more expert in obtaining the hair-charm from the said sarah's cow; for in this important enterprise he had failed, owing to that wide-awake individual coming upon him just at the moment he was in the act of applying the shears to crummie's side. as old yacob lifted the wooden latch of the hermit's door, the latter rose to meet him, and, shaking him cordially by the hand, said, "how are you, my friend?" "o brawly, brawly!" responded yacob; "only we've hed a awful storm sin' i saw you last." "indeed," replied the hermit; "i did not hear it. was it during the night?" "ay," said yacob; "it wis baith last nicht an' dis mornin', an da dunder wis a' inside da hoose, an' no upo' da rüif like a norwast storm; lammit ye're ; it's da auld wife, i'm meanin, it's little a rivin' storm frichtens me whin my hoose is ta'en aboot, my screws fastied,' my boat i' da winter noust, wi' meal i' da barrel, and flesh i̇' da rüif. bit da inside storm, mr ollison, is no sae weel tholed; though it does na blaw your boat or your corn awa, it blaws awa what pits you mair aboot; an' dats your peace o' mind, your comfort, an' a da happiness your ain fireside micht gie you. da auld wife tinks da neeghbours is geen aff 1 corn stacks anchored with ropes and stones. the hermit of trosswickness. 55 wi' her profit, and i tink shü'll set da toon in a lowe, if shü does na get it back again. you, dat's a man o' eddication, mr ollison, what is your opinion aboot witchcraft?" "my friend," replied the hermit, "that is a subject my education can help me but little in, for one of the greatest abuses of learning is the attempt to explain the unexplainable. a true philosopher will become humble as he advances in knowledge; because just by his increase in knowledge he is able to measure his ignorance. the great field of the unknown is ever widening, as, step by step, he attains to the highest altitude of intellectual power; while, on the other hand, the self-conceited pigmy in mental growth rushes in where angels fear to tread, declaring that nothing exists in heaven or earth, but what is dreamed of in his philosophy. if in the material universe, where man has only matter to deal with, he is baffled in every step he takes beyond a certain limit, how much more must this be the case when the subject of his study is spirit, which his natural eyes cannot see, nor his natural faculties comprehend; for the natural cannot understand the supernatural. "the sceptic may say he does not believe in the supernatural, because his natural senses do not perceive it. but a man born blind might as well say that the sun does not shine, because he does not see its light. the disbelief in his case arises from his incapacity to see and is it not the incapacity of the human eye, as an organ constructed by the creator to see natural objects, which prevents it from seeing the supernatural? "when elisha's servant saw his master and himself surrounded by a great host, he saw all that could be seen by his natural powers of vision; but when he saw horses and chariots of fire forming a bright and impenetrable cordon around them both, he saw with supernatural eyes; and so, if our eyes were at this moment endowed with such miraculous power, we should see the earth, air, and sea teeming with countless supernatural beings. 56 shetland fireside tales; or, "those beings, we have reason to believe, are representatives of the two great powers in the world—good and evil. if man seek the aid of the good, he will obtain it; for he knows not how near unseen hands are to help him in trouble and temptation; and, on the other hand, if a man seek the aid of the agents of evil, he will obtain such aid; and this is my explanation of withcraft, and in this view of it there is nothing inconsistent with human reason. "a man can only occupy two positions in this great question. if he says, 'i do not believe in the existence of anything but matter, nor of anything i cannot handle with my hands, and see with my eyes;' then i say to him, 'account to me for the forms which matter has assumed in the material world around us. dead matter cannot of itself move; it cannot by its own act mould itself into shapes of beauty, and adjust itself to fulfil wise and beneficent purposes. there must have been spirit exerting itself upon matter before this world, so full of varied beauty and wonderful adaptation of means to an end, could come into existence as we now see it.' 66 "if, on the other hand, a man says, 'i believe in the existence of spiritual power in the world, and also that the creation of the universe could not have taken place without such a power; but i do not believe in witchcraft, or any of those superstitions believed in by the ignorant;" to such a man i say, 'my friend, if you admit the existence of spirit in any one of its manifestations, you admit all that i contend for; and your disbelief in what you are pleased to call superstition, so far from doing honour to your judgment, involves you in a contradiction which one of those unlearned persons you despise would have sagacity enough to see. "do you know the spiritual world so well that you can draw a line between what you call the possible and the impossible? or, when you speak of spiritual powers or spiritual beings, has the word "impossible" any meaning but such as your weak fancy gives it? if none of us the hermit of trosswickness. 57 knows what a spirit can do, how idle it is to attempt to square our beliefs with our experience, when that experience really teaches us nothing regarding the nature of spiritual beings. our experience gives us knowledge of what can be accomplished by natural means, and of what springs from natural causes; and therefore all that is above nature, and all that cannot possibly be accomplished by any of her known laws, must be attributable to supernatural power; and nothing is more absurd or unphilosophical than for any man to attempt to limit the operation of a power which he does not understand. my belief in the existence of a spirit world gives me great comfort, and sustains me in my solitude, because i believe the object of my soul was torn from me by a supernatural power; and that, although my natural eyes cannot see her, yet she may be very near me, and one day shall be restored to me. but more of this by-and-by. afraid i am wearying you with my philosophical arguments." i am "na, na! no ye, mr ollison," said yacob; "though your subject is maybe just a kennan ower learned for da likes o' me; yet i hae a kind a guid groff guess whaur ye ir, an' i'm shüre a' ye hae said is as soond as da gospel; but i'm wearyin' muckle for the rest o' your ain story. i tink ye left aff whaur you an' her wis sittin' doon i' da banks in a bonnie moonlicht nicht, lüikin at da mün, an' winderin aboot da starns." "yes," replied the hermit, "i left off there. well, at hallowmas i commenced my duties as a teacher, and, though too young for such an office, i endeavoured by close attention and a full knowledge of what i taught, to make up for what i wanted in years and experience; and the result was, that i gave great satisfaction to all connected with the school; and as time went on the number of my scholars increased as well as my income. i can truly say at this time i enjoyed unalloyed happiness. esteemed by all who knew me, successful in everything i undertook, i would have been happy even in that en58 shetland fireside tales; or, joyment which the gratification of a noble ambition giv but my highest source of happiness was the pure ardent affection i felt for my lelah, and that soft sw response which my love met with in her own bosom. "she left the school about the same time as i did, her father, though a well-to-do fisherman, could not aff to spare his children from work longer than they w able fairly to read, write, and count. when our atta ment became known to the family (though we managed conceal it for nearly two years from the time i first s her), her parents seemed highly pleased, and i met wit cordial welcome whenever i choosed to call, which i as often as i could make a reasonable excuse for do so. when seated by the fireside on a winter eveni entertaining and astonishing the old man with great stores of knowledge, how happy i felt to be so n my lelah; and how can i describe her at this time w her ripened charms were just in the full glory of wom hood? her merry laugh, so rich and full of the m exuberant mirth, was music in mine enraptured how it thrilled my soul with a fulness of inexpressi delight! that voice, i hear it still; but, oh! is it sible that i shall hear it no more for ever? o g why has thou dealt with me thus? i can bear this longer." and the hermit covered his face with hands, and groaned in an agony of grief. "eh! laek o' me," exclaimed old yacob, "i'm wae see you, mr ollison, takin' on sae. dünna distress yo sell dis wy; it bracks my heart to see you. pit y trust i' the lord; he can help you oot o' a' y troubles yet, an' mebbe bring her back ta you agen.' 66 ور yes, i know he will," cried the hermit, quickly covering himself, and dashing away the tears which gritaf had wrung from him. "i know i shall yet beh her; but whether in mortal form, or as a bright spirit know not. i will wait patiently, and god's will be do i thank you for your sympathy, my kind friend, and will try and not allow my feelings to overcome so far. the hermit of trosswickness. 59 i “as i was telling you, my days and years during this happy period of my life glided on like a placid stream winding its way through a flowery land. sunshine was ever on my path, and hope beckoned me on with fascinating smiles. i knew no care, and dreamed of no sorrow; but, alas! clouds and darkness were gathering on the horizon of the future, and the sunshine of my life was soon to fade in the valley of the shadow of death. 66 'my dear mother was suddenly taken from me, and her gentle voice was hushed in the silence of the grave before i could fully realize my loss. she was one of the most gentle and patient of her sex, and in her youth had been a woman of great beauty; and though years and sorrow had dimmed the lustre of her charms, they had also mellowed into greater beauty and loveliness the brighter ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, a loving heart, and a soul ennobled by a true and living faith. how well i do remember her, with her widow's cap, her soft gentle voice, her sweet kind looks, her words of tenderness and love, when listening to anything i had to tell her about my success at school, or of any other way in which i had distinguished myself. she studied all my wants with more than a mother's care, gliding noiselessly about the house, and doing a great deal with little apparent effort. so happy did she make home to me (for my aunt's house was indeed a home in every sense of the word), that i felt grieved and disappointed whenever i came home and found her not there to meet me. “her gentle and uncomplaining nature would not permit her to say she was ill so long as she was able to go about, for she always had such a delicacy of feeling and unwillingness to give trouble to any one; and thus a slow and insidious disease laid waste her frail constitution, and, like the cankerworm at the root of a tender plant, it was only when the last tendril was severed that she drooped and died. "i had noticed some weeks before her last illness that her step was less elastic, and her movements less active 60 shetland fireside tales; or, than was her wont; but though i saw this, i could not entertain the dreadful thought that she was really suffering from any serious ailment. "it was autumn, and now just about six years since we had come to live with my aunt. i shall never forget that sad evening when i returned from the school—that evening whose lengthening shadows were gathering around me the gloom of my first sorrow. "on entering the cottage, and missing my mother's loving welcome and her dearly-loved form, which my eyes always sought for, i eagerly inquired for her, when my aunt informed me she was in bed. i hurriedly approached her bedside, and said, 'mother, why are you lying thus?' "because i am ill, my dear,' she answered in a soft whisper, and added, 'i fear, my dear boy, i shall never get better any more.' "these words-the prophetic meaning of which i saw in the hectic flush of her cheek, and in that strange mysterious look of her countenance-made my heart sink within me. i grasped her hand, and bent over her, while the hot scalding tears fell thick and fast upon the snow-white coverlet. "o mother! say not so,' i cried, in a voice choked with emotion. 'you will get better; i am sure you will.' 66 "o! no, my son,' she replied in a voice of surpassing tenderness, and with an expression of heavenly calm in her countenance. 'death is no deceiver. he tells me that yonder sun, which now so sweetly sinks beneath the wart, i shall never more behold. open the window, love,' she added, and let in the cool evening air, that i may feel it; and draw the curtains aside, that i may see the fading light, for soon i shall see it no more; but a sun of brighter ray shall arise and light my path across the dark waters of jordan; and then i shall be where there is no need of the light of the sun, or of the moon, for the lamb who dwells in the midst of the throne is the hermit of trosswickness. 61 the light thereof, and he shall wipe away all tears from our eyes.' "o! mother,' i again broke forth in an agony of tears; 'why will you speak so? how can i live without you? how can i come home, and not find you to welcome me? i cannot bear it! i cannot live if you are taken from me! o! let me run for the doctor; do something for you; i am sure he can." 666 he can my son,' said she, in a solemn and impressive manner, and laying her hand gently upon my arm, you have always obeyed me, and you have been a brave and noble boy it has been my happiness in life to see those qualities growing with your years; and surely as you love me, you will not grieve me now by disobeying me when i have most need of your love and obedience.' "o! mother,' i exclaimed, 'i will not disobey you; i will submit, and do whatever you wish me." 6 "well, then, my dear son,' she replied, sit down calmly and listen to me, because i have something to say to you which will be of importance to you after i am gone. what i have now to tell you i might have told you years ago, but i wished to do nothing that could in any way decrease the influence of the great lesson of life you have learned so well, viz., the lesson of self-reliance; and i have therefore now no fear that any knowledge of the superior position in society which awaits you will change your principles, or tempt you to deviate from the path which it has been my highest earthly pleasure to see you walk in. know, then, that you are the true and undisputed heir of your grandfather's property. it was made to you by will shortly after you were born; and this is the reason you were named ollison, after your grandfather, and not your father's name, because this was your grandfather's wish, and we complied with it. i have long been aware of the attachment which has grown up between you and the dear child who is the object of your affections. she is worthy of you, and it is my hope that this attachment 62 shetland fireside tales; or, may continue until riper years bring that happy union which you both look forward to. then, and not till then, you must enter upon possession of your property. at present it is in good hands, and therefore put the knowledge of it from your thoughts, and follow the same course of self-culture and self-reliance which you have followed so closely all your life; but, above all, my dear son, she added solemnly, make celestial wisdom your early only choice. follow the example of the meek and lowly jesus, and seek to put your trust in that blood of atonement which he shed for the remission of sins, and then at last you shall be able to say, as i do now, "o death! where is thy sting? o grave! where is thy victory?" "with those words she clasped her hands and looked up as if she saw bright angels hovering near, and waiting to carry her to the celestial city. then she gently closed her eyes, and in a whisper scarcely audible she breathed, 'come, lord jesus, come quickly.' i at once beckoned my aunt into the room, for i knew her gentle spirit was about to depart. at that moment a ray of light from the departing sun fell on her face, but she knew it not. a brighter light was dazzling her enraptured spirit with the effulgence of its glory, and shone through her countenance in an expression of heavenly beauty. never before had i seen her look so lovely; for the moment i seemed to forget that she was dying-a few moments more, and one soft, long drawn sigh, a passing shadow over her calm and peaceful countenance, and all was still. she lay as if in a peaceful slumber. life's battle was over, and her triumphant spirit was now soaring aloft on the wings of faith and love, to join the blessed throng of the redeemed around the throne on high, where there is joy for ever more, and where they sing the song of moses and the lamb. sympathising neighbours were soon in. the chamber of death, and friendly hands tenderly closed the eyes and composed the limbs for rest-rest to remain unbroken until the resurrection morn. the hermit of trosswickness. 63 "alas! for the uncertainty of life's fairest prospects. in one short week, how great a change! at the beginning of that week i was gliding down the stream of life in bright anticipation of the future, and putting the evil day far away; but ere that week run its course, the cold sod had closed over all that was mortal of my beloved mother. o how can i describe the sense of desolation which oppressed me!—now when her gentle voice could be heard no more, and her loved form no more seen when i returned home at evenings, and when i missed that joyous welcome which i had so long been accustomed to receive; but for my beloved lelah, how cheerfully could i have resigned life, and all its concerns, and followed my dear mother to the tomb! but god has wisely ordered it so, that our sorrows shall yield to the gladdening influences of life, and that the dark shower shall be followed by the bright sunshine. "gradually the natural buoyancy of my spirits returned, and my lelah became more than ever the sun and centre of my being. "she mourned my loss with all the affection of a sister, and oft when we met alone by the sea-shore did she mingle her tears with mine whenever my departed mother happened to be the subject of conversation; but my friend," continued the hermit, as he wiped away the tears which were stealing down his cheek, "i am now near that part of my narrative which, like a thundercloud, appals my soul to enter upon, and pierces me anew with a thousand sorrows; yet it must be told, but not now. let us pause and partake of some refreshment." the hermit here paused, and wiped the cold perspiration from his brow. his blanched cheek and tremulous voice showed how deeply the recital of those affecting events of his life had stirred his keenly sensi;tive nature, and made him fear that if he proceeded further he should betray such great weakness as was not desirable for a stranger to witness. 64 shetland fireside tales; or, old yacob was scarcely less affected. the hermit's impressive manner, and the deep pathos with which he described some of the more touching scenes at his mother's deathbed, held the old man spellbound, nor did he once attempt to offer any comment of his own, which on other occasions he was so prone to do. he sat silent and motionless, with his hands resting on his knees, except now and then he raised his thumb to dash away an unwelcome tear, which hung glistening at the tip of his nose. 66 eh, mr ollison!" he exclaimed at last, "dere's no mony things in dis world dat could draw water fae da e'e o' auld yacob o' trosswick. on da keel o' a misforn¹ boat he's seen neeghbours an' relations torn ane by ane fae his side by da rush o' da wild green waves, bit his e'e wis dry, though his cheek wis weet wi' da saut spray dat lashed sairly in his face-but your bonnie dear midder, sae guid an' sae gentle, cut doon like a daisy afore a mawin' sye,' is mair den i can stand ta hear aboot. ales! ales! it wis na my lot ta hae da like o' her ta sheer my life wi', but a roarin' liven' deevil dat wears da flesh aff my banes wi' her sharg, sharg, shargin', eenin', mornin', and midtime o' day, an' aye liven' an life tinkin' sae muckle as da warr." 66 well, my friend," replied the hermit, "we have all our trials, you see; and you must just bear yours with patience, as you see me bearing mine." "ay, ay, dats true, mr ollison," rejoined yacob. "bit ye see ye're a man o' eddication, an' i may say i just ken a b fae a bull's fit; besides, der is naethin' in dis warl' sae ill ta stand as shargin'. solomon says, ' it's better ta live in a lum-head den wi' a brawlin' woman in a wide hoose;' an' puir samson, though he cud kill a thoosan' men wi' da jaw-bane o' a ass, an' pu' doon hooses aboot da lugs o' da phalistians, yet he hed na strent to stand da shargin o' a woman's tongue." 1 castaway. 2 scythe. the hermit of trosswickness. 65 "you rightly interpret scripture, my friend," replied the hermit; "but come and share my humble meal," he added, as he placed before the old man some dried fish and potatoes which had been cooked in a pot over the fire. the repast being finished, the hermit resumed his tale. "just about a year after the death of my dear mother," continued the hermit, " on a lovely moonlight evening, i met my lelah at our favourite trysting place by the seashore. it was autumn, and the harvest moon was at the full, and cast her silvery light over the dark waters which lay beneath us, and stretched far to the eastern horizon. the stars twinkled softly in a cloudless firmament, and the gurgling waves sang a sweet lullaby at our feet. "o how beautiful my lelah looked as the silvery light fell on her lovely countenance while we sat together on a fragment of rock! how my soul was charmed by the modest and timid glances of those eyes, so full of heavenly light and depth of love, as she listened to the outpourings of my heart, overflowing, as it did, with tender love. "as the 'golden hours with angel wings' sped on, the moon rode high in the firmament, and showed that the hour had arrived when the sillick fishers would return from the cliffs, and when some of them might pass the spot where we were seated, she therefore suggested that we should return home; but i felt that time had fled too fast, and instinctively held the cup of pleasure to my lips, and would not let it go, but which also i was then destined to drink of for the last time. i suggested that we should descend the declivity of the rock and rest at its base, listening to the murmuring waves and the faint cry of the 'peeweep' until the sillick fishers had all passed, when we could return home unobserved. to this she consented, and we descended to the foot of the rock, but had not been seated there many minutes when we heard a moaning sound proceed from one of the creeks about a hundred yards from the spot where we rested. suppose 66 shetland fireside tales; or, ing it to be a wounded seal (for sometimes those animals, after being slightly wounded by the sportsmen, escape, but afterwards crawl up on the rock to die), i asked lelah to wait until i should ascertain the cause of this strange sound, which, i said to her, must proceed from a wounded seal. i kissed her, and tripped lightly over the shelving rock, hearing her loving voice calling after me, take care of yourself, olla, dear.' i entered the dark creek from which the moaning sounds proceeded, groping my way amongst the huge masses of detached rock, which had been piled up in wild confusion by the action of the waves, sometimes clambering over huge boulders, and sometimes creeping on my hands and knees through openings between the fallen masses. in forcing my way through one of those openings i felt myself suddenly seized by the feet from behind. i struggled to disengage myself, but could not. i then tried to force myself back, but the unseen hands with irresistible force crushed my ankles, and forced me forward through the aperture. in vain i struggled with all the energy of despair, until the rock was covered with blood from my lacerated limbs. a faint cry, once or twice distinctly heard, and which i knew to be my lelah's voice, made me struggle for freedom as the drowning man in the wild agony of death struggles to reach the floating wreck. "nature at last gave way, and i sank exhausted and unconscious; and oh! how often have i wished, since that awful hour, that the oblivion which then gathered around me had settled in eternal gloom, and that hated life had not brought back the horrors of unutterable anguish which awaited me; but god's will be done, i know not his dark inscrutable ways, but i know he can make light to shine out of darkness; and that as he shall one day command the obedient sea to give up the dead that are therein, so he shall at the appointed time command it to give me back the treasure of my soul. "when i regained consciousness, the moon had long ince passed the zenith, and the dark shadows of the the hermit of trosswickness. 67 overhanging cliffs cast themselves far over the silent waters. like a bright angel surrounded by darkness, my lelah in a vision stood before me, and in wild transports of joy i stretched out my arms to receive her, but the phantom eluded my grasp. i sprang to my feet, and in an agony of grief i cried, my lelah! o where art thou gone? o my lelah!' but the dark frowning cliffs only mocked me by echoing back her loved name. i rushed to the spot where i left her, but she was not there. i again called aloud on her name, but the reverberating rock mockingly answered my call. o god! how can i describe the anguish of that moment! i rushed to the verge of the rock, and stretched out my arms in eager anticipation of the yawning grave. i sought the friendly gurgling waves to quench the fire of my burning grief, but as i bent back for the fatal leap, a voice murmured in my ear 'hope,' and my strength forsook me, and i fell prostrate on the rock, and sweet oblivion again hid my sorrows under her dark mantle.” 68 shetland fireside tales; or, chapter ix. better be with the dead, than on the torture of mind to lie in restless ecstacy. shakespeare. 6 "hushed whispers," continued the hermit, "fell upon my ear, and i faintly inquired, where am i?' when the well-known voice of my aunt softly answered, 'you are at home, olla; but you are yet too weak to speak; be content to know that kind friends are around you, who will show you every kindness.' "on the fatal night which saw the tragic events enacted which i have just related, my uncle and aunt, as well as lelah's friends, became alarmed when she and i did not return at the usual time; and soon they, with the people from surrounding villages, flocked to the cliffs to seek us. every creek and crevice was explored by the earnest and, in the case of lelah's relatives, grief-stricken searchers, until at last i was found by two young men who descended the rock, stretched insensible where i had fallen; but my lelah-o god, how can i say the word ?— could not be found! many of the searchers, after i was carried home, lingered about the cliffs till dawn; but alas! all in vain; no sound greeted their listening ears but the gurgling waves and the scream of the frighted shelder,' as it flew from its roost by the water's edge; and no sight met their straining eyes but the kitty wake and the shag, resting on the lofty edge of the rock. all concluded that lelah halcrow had perished by falling over oyster catcher (h. ostralegus). 2 (larus tridactylus). 8 cormorant (p. graculus). the hermit of trosswickness. 69 the rock; but as no trace of her body was ever found, many doubts were afterwards entertained as to this being the correct view of the matter. "my own opinion was then what it ever has been since, viz., that the supernatural hands which took my lelah from me also held me a captive under that rock until she was carried beyond my reach, and into the regions of the spirit world, which lie far down in the emerald caves of the mighty ocean." "no a doot bit ye're richt, mr ollison," exclaimed old yacob, unable longer to restrain his desire to record a tale of his own in corroboration of the hermit's opinion. "nae bodie in der senses doots bit dat dere's a hantle mair i' da sea den we ken aboot; an' just as truly as der hill folk, tangies, and brownies upo' da land, sae hae dey der kith and kin in richt guid plenty i' da sea. "nae farder awa den my grandfeader's time, dere wis auld sandy bairnson o' sottrigirt, a man dat a' bodie kent, ae morrin i' da grey licht, whin he wis gaen doon ta da sillicks, he cam upon a muckle grey silkey lien sleepin' i' da scurrick' o' da stane. auld sandy happened ta hae his sea tullie in da boddom o' his buddie, an' tinkin what a prize da skin o' da silkey wid be fir making wiscoats, bonnets, an' tobacco cashes, as weel as twa or tree can² o' gude üiley aff da blubber o' em, he clicks oot da tullie, an afore ye cud turn your heel to whaur your tae stüd, he sticked da silkey anunder da left flipper. da baste gae an awful groan, and jumped up wi' sic a splore, dat he twisted da blade o' da tullie oot o' da shaft, an' guid ower da face o' da stane in a bulder. in coorse, auld sandy wis sair vexed at da loss o' da silkey, as weel as da blade o' his tullie; bit what cud he dü, dere wis nidder hide nor hair o' da baste ta be seen, except a sma' thing o' gletties lumie, upo' da water, whaur he haed gaen doon, an' dis efter a peerie start made the sillicks begin ta 1 hollow. 3 snatches quickly. ? a measure containing about a gallon. boiling, fierce ebullition. oily. 70 shetland fireside tales; or, bool¹ i' da scrüiff' o' da water. but dere's nae mair o' dis, till ae time dat auld sandy an' anidder man gengs awa ta narrawa ta buy a new boat, fir den a days a' da boats cam fae narrawa,3 dey wir biggit wi' timmer pins, bit efter dey cam hame dey were clinkit wi' seam and rüove. da warst o' dey boats wis da misforn knotts dat wir in dem, an' auld sandy wis da best hand dat ever wis kent in shetlan' fir finnin' oot dis knotts, an' naebody laeked ta bring hame a narrawa boat till sandy haed seen her. afore he dee'd he telled his son hoo he kent da meenin o' dis knotts; an' dis wis it. roond black knotts wis misforn knotts; dat wis dat a boat wi' dis kind o' knotts in her wis shüre ta be cassen awa. den dere wis windy knotts; dat wis knots wi' sprains oot fae dem, an' dat shawed dat da boat wid aye hae da luck o' ill wadder. den dere wis da richt kind o' knotts, dat wis lucky knotts, da shape o' ling, keillen," or tusk; an' boats wi' dis kind o' knots aye haed luck ta get plenty o' fish; bit as i wis sayin', auld sandy guid ta narrawa ta buy a boat, an' whin he cam dere, he guid ta see da man dat bigged da boats; sae whin he got a boat till his mind, an' whin he comes in ta da man's hoose ta get some refreshment, he sees a auld man sittin' hurklin i' da chimley nuek, a kind o' cripple lüiken. efter sandy is sittin' doon a peerie start, da auld man turns roond aboot his head, an' taks a gude lüik at sandy, an' den he rakes his hand into a holl o' da wa', an' draws oot a auld rusty blade o' a tullie, an' says he ta sandy, in his broken english-mine goot freen, me ask you eef ever you see dis sküan before.' sandy said, he tocht he sud a faan trow da eart, fir dere, as shure as da lord made him, wis da blade o' his ain tullie; an' sae, withoot sayin' a wird, ye may weel tink he wis blyde ta tak da door ower his head as fast as he cud. "den dere wis auld tammie toughyarn, da sailor, a to stir the calm surface of water, as fish do. 8 see note l. trade with norway. cod. 6 2 surface. 4 iron rivets. 6 a knife. the hermit of trosswickness. 71 man dat wis ower a' pairts o' da warl, an' he tell'd dis ta auld ibbie bartley, dat wis trids o' kin ta my wife's foster midder, an' her oey,' young lowrie legaboot, tell'd me sae, it guid na farder atween, dat ae time da ship dat dis auld tammie wis in, wis lyin' at anchor some place far awa, upon a fine sunday mornin', a marman cam abün da water, an' said dat he wid feel muckle obleeged if the captain wid shift his anchor just a peerie bit ta ae side, as it wis fairly jammin up his door, au' his wife wid be ower late fir da kirk. noo, i tink dis marmaid or seawoman—i tink it's mair proper ta ca' her-might set an exemple ta some dat mebbe tinks mair o' demsells. hoo mony wid laek ta hae a ship's anchor jammed i' der door upon a sunday mornin', just as a gude excuse fir no gaen to da kirk ava, whin a air o' licht smoor,2 or saft flucker, is enouch ta satisfee der conscience dat it's no kirk wadder; bit, mr ollison, i am shüre i'm pitten you oot o' a' patience wi' dis auld failin' o' mines, dat i never can mak my tales sae short as dey oucht ta be, whin idder folk is waitin' ta spaek. bit noo geng on wi' your tale, i tink ye wir come ta da time whin ye wir lyin' in your aunt's hoose, just odious ill, an' nae bodie lippenin* life o' you." "yes," replied the hermit, "i had got to that point in my history; and to resume it-when consciousness sufficiently returned to make me understand my loss, the shock proved too great for my enfeebled frame, and fever already burned in my wandering and tortured brain, and the lamp of life glimmered feebly in the socket. alas! why did not its flickering light go out for ever, so that i might no more have awakened to the knowledge of life's bitterness? but it was to be otherwise, and i cannot penetrate the dark inscrutable purposes of god, nor know what he has in store for me. i will therefore wait patiently until, in his own good time and way, he shall bring light out of darkness. 1 nephew. 3 snow falling in large flakes. 2 fog, drizzle. 4 expecting. 72 shetland fireside tales; or, "by the most affectionate care of my aunt, who nursed me with a mother's love, i was brought through the dreadful ordeal, and awakened once more to a knowledge of life's bitterness, and to find around me one dark and dreary waste howling wilderness, without one ray of light or hope to cheer the solitude of my life. "on my health getting so far restored, an earnest wish was expressed by those interested in the school that i should resume my charge; but i found i could no longer mix with society nor follow its pursuits. i longed to turn my back upon the world, and seek in seclusion that solace for my grief and rest for my aching heart which mankind were incapable of giving. "in this same cottage there lived an old man—a solitary over whose life hung a dark mystery-and to him i resolved to go. i visited the venerable hermit, and unbosomed to him my grief, and expressed a desire that he would permit me to share his humble abode, as the only retreat where life to me could be endurable. he listened patiently to all i said, and then replied"my son, this is a befitting place for one like me, to whom the lengthening shadows of life show that the day is far spent, and that the night is at hand; but to thee, in whose ear the music of life ought to sound sweetly, and whose eye should be gladdened by the sunshine and flowers which brighten the path of youth, why shouldest thou seek the life of a solitary, which can only embalm thy griefs instead of removing them?' "venerable father," i cried, “seek not to turn me from my purpose; my heart is cold and dead to life and all its allurements, and it's only with you that i can bear it as a burden." "well, my son,' the solitary said, 'seeing thou art so minded, welcome to share my humble abode and frugal meal; and i hope thou mayest learn something from old age, while the trials of thy youth teach me that at no period in man's pilgrimage to the tomb is he exempt from the sorrows of life.' the hermit of trosswickness. 73 "for two years this venerable hermit was my only companion, and much i learned from his sage experience; but i never could draw from him the secret of his own life, nor the reason why he had become a solitary. after two years the old man died, and left me sole possessor of this cottage, and of the cultivated patches of ground which surround it. "a blessed retreat it has been to me, because i have been near that dearest spot on earth, the last trysting place with my dearest lelah,-that spot where we met for the last time, and where i joyously pressed her lips and heard her loving voice. it has been the holy sanctuary of the outpourings of a broken heart. yea, with pilgrim's feet i have worn that rock smooth, and my tears, too, might have worn channels in its flinty bosom. and now, my friend, you know the story of my life, and your good and honest heart, i am sure, will do justice to my memory when i am gone. that you will bear witness to the truth, and shield my name from the unjust aspersions which have been cast upon it, is at least one drop of balm in the cup of bitterness which has been wrung out for me to drink alone.” the hermit here paused. the tension upon his overstrained feelings while describing those closing and touching scenes in what had passed of his eventful life, was too great for his sensitive nature, and he would have fallen from the settle on which he rested, had not old yacob caught him in his arms. "oh dear, oh dear, mr ollison," exclaimed the old man as he supported the hermit, ye're just fairly dejasked,' an' nae winder; it wid tak a harder hert den yours ta tell sic a woful tale, an' no brak doon afore da end o' it cam; bit trust in da lord, mr ollison, though he hides his face fir a time, yet his compassion never fails, an' he hes promised dat da brüsed reed he will no brak; an' as he kens dat ye've been a brüsed an' broken 1 exhausted. 74 shetland fireside tales; or, reed, an' lang tossed upo' da billows o' life's ragin' sea, sae will he bring you by-an'-by ta a haven o' rest, an' dat in a wy ye ken little o' at present. i'm a püir sinful craetur, an' kens little o' da wisdom o' dis world; bit i ken dis, dat da lord is nae respecter o' persons, bit will hear da earnest prayer o' da simple an' unlearned, as weel as dem dat's michty in da scripturs; an' i earnestly pray dat her dat wis ta'en awa fae you may yet be restored ta you, and dat me or mine may in some wy or idder be da means o' bringin' dis aboot. "i hed a draem no lang sin syne, an' a winderful draem it wis; an' although i dunna ken a' dat it means, yet i'm shüre o' dis, dat sontin is gaen ta happen near dis place, an' dat gude will come oot o' it baith ta you an' ine." my heartfelt thanks, my dear friend !" exclaimed the hermit, who had now recovered himself, "for those precious words of friendship and comfort; and may god in his mercy grant that your good vision may be realized. i thank the father of mercies that i am now able to say,thy will be done,' whatever his dispensations may be towards me." "ay, dat's da kind o' speerit we a' ocht ta hae,” cried old yacob; "bit noo, i'm tinkin, i maun leave you, fir, as i tauld you, dere wis a storm wi' da auld wife da last time i wis up aside you, an' noo dis time i'm lükin' fir a herrican, as i'm been a hantle¹ langer awa,"bit da yatter an' da yowl o' a auld auld wife, 'll no soond doon i' da cauld grave dreary, nor da sharg an' cuttieshang2 o' her weary weary strife, yacob's auld lugs, like tunner 3 winna hear aye. his sair aekin' head shü'll nae mair deave, when da bonnie cockieloories4 grows on his grave. "an noo, blissen be wi' you, mr ollison; an' may da praesence o' da lord bide wi' you an' comfort you untill, 1 large quantity or space of time. 3 thunder. 2 continued bickering. 4 daisies. the hermit of trosswickness. 75 in his ain gude time an' wy, he brings you oot o' a' your trouble." 66 farewell, my good friend," exclaimed the hermit, as he pressed old yacob's hand with feelings of fervent friendship; for he felt that the burden of his griefs had been greatly lightened by the genuine sympathy and true friendship of this old man. thus parted those two friends, old yacob pursuing his way towards his cottage, and the hermit retiring to his lonely fireside, where he sat for many hours lost in thought, and gazing at the half-consumed peat brands which stood on the bearth, and formed themselves, by the help of his fertile imagination, into many strange fantastic shapes. 1 one remarkable appearance chiefly attracted his attention. this was a half-consumed brand which had a most striking resemblance to the hull of a ship surrounded by foaming surf, the latter being well represented by the whirling snow-white ashes which lay on the hearth. just as the hermit was musing on this singular illustration of what scientific men call pyromancy, another brand fell down and disclosed two smaller ones behind it, and nearer the centre of the fire. these resembled a man and a woman, the former clasping or bearing the latter in his arms, and from the top of each issued a flickering flame, which, by interpretation, meant joy or laughter. although "reading out of the fire," as it was called, as well as cup reading, was not new to the hermit, yet he knew so little of those arts, or believed so little in their pretensions, that those singular appearances produced little other effect on his mind at the time than that of a passing fancy; but when read in the light of the remarkable events which so shortly afterwards followed, he felt the force of the saying, that "coming events cast their shadows before; " and he was also taught this important lesson, that we should be very slow to condemn the opinions and beliefs of others, merely because they differ from our own. 1 see note. pyromancy. 76 shetland fireside tales; or, chapter x. some merry friendly country folks together did convene, to burn their nits and pu' their stocks and haud their halloween. burns. it is night, and the moon has not yet risen, but in the hollow of trosswick vale are seen faint glimmering lights marking the site of the village of trosswick. about three hundred yards from the village, and on the southern slope of the ness, is seen one solitary light; this proceeds from a single pane of glass in the roof of widow harper's cottage, which is lighted inside by a blazing peat-fire and by the "collie" which hangs suspended from the centre of the "rape." writers of novels would say that if the lonely inmate of this humble dwelling ever smiled, it was through her weeds and tears like the sun in a mist; but as this is a true history and not a novel, the truth must be told, that " bawby o' brigstanes was a hale, hearty, buxom, middle-aged widow, "as canty as a kittlin," and one of the most expert match-makers that ever did honour to the trade. 991 according to the fashion of the time, bawby married. when very young, but her experience of matrimony proved sufficiently short to enable her to bear the loss of a venerable husband, without any dangerous consequences to the organ of her affections. old hyndie harper o' helliklees thought that may and december might be better together than separate, and therefore he said, " bawby, will du tak me?" and she aid in reply, "yea, dat will i, hyndie;" and so the 1 see note. bawby o' brigstanes. the hermit of trosswickness. 77 66 knot was duly tied. but old hyndie, by sage experience and mature years, had come to the conclusion that the increase of the population was being sufficiently well attended to by those to whom the fancies or follies of youth could make such matters attractive, and therefore he more wisely left his not inconsolable helpmate without any kind of incumbrance, unless his old sea boots and skinjup," which nobody would take as a present, could be reckoned under that head. bawby o' brigstanes, however, was a widow, and as such she decently put on a black binder over her white starched mutch. but here the principle of contrast interposed, and bawby's smiles and simpers looked all the brighter for that, just as a belt of black cloud over the rising sun makes that luminary look all the more gorgeous. as time went on, bawby set her cap for most of the candidates for matrimony in the parish; but some way or other nothing ever came of it; and as gossips generally have the bump of causality largely developed, so it was discovered by the aid of this phrenological protuberance, that bawby's over-sanguine temperament prevented her from waiting until the tree of love should grow like any other plant, and that in her laudable endeavours to force its growth after the manner of jonah's gourd, it always shared the unhappy fate of that renowned vegetable. disappointments are, however, often blessings in disguise, alike to individuals and communities; and so it proved in the history of the parish in which bawby's usefulness was to be made known. disappointment did not make her a misanthrope, but the very reverse; it made her a philanthropist, doing all, and more than ever, the golden rule required. she set before her the noble task of conferring those benefits and pleasures upon mankind which she could not experience herself. established a regular matrimonial agency office, consisting of a news department, embracing general gossip and the latest matrimonial intelligence; and an assignation department, where introductions and love engageshe 78 shetland fireside tales; or, ments were carefully and punctually attended to. after a short time she added another department for cup reading, the importance and urgent necessity of which soon were made manifest, as matrimonial inquirers felt even more necessity to know something of the future than the past. 995 1 in all the departments no regular fees were charged, but small gratuities were not refused. such as "a nicht's kitchen o' pork," a "cashie o' tatties," "a truncher 2 o' meal in a napkin, wi' a makin' o' tae in ane o' da corners," a "puckle o' oo' when da sheep wis rued," and pieces of "tattie grund" here and there through the parish the latter she generally obtained for "dellin' a day in voar; and as the young folks in the families she assisted in this way were ever ready to help her in working the piece of ground set apart for her, she could always command a good stock of potatoes for winter; and, besides, by thus mixing with various families, she laid in a stock of general gossip and matrimonial knowledge, even more valuable than any vegetable product. she always kept two or three lambs or sheep over the winter, whose comfortable quarters were provided in the outer end of the cottage, and though she had neither hay nor cabbage of her own, the animals were nevertheless always in good condition; but this, like many other puzzles, only requires to be explained, and the explanation is, that "auld halloween" and taking in the sheep from the fields occurred generally about the same time, and most of the lads in the parish seemed to have been born in the world with a ruling passion for throwing_cabbage-stocks down bawby o' brigstanes' "lum" on halloween night; and as evidence. of this, the accumulation of that vegetable on the night in question turned out to form a very fair winter stock of 1 as much pork or beef as serve one meal. 2 plate. 3 pulling the fleece from the sheep's back just when about to fall 4 delving. 5 seed-time. off, the hermit of trosswickness. 79. provender for the four-footed inmates of bawby's cottage. what particular yard the cabbages came from was a useless question for her to ask, even if she had desired any knowledge of the subject: but this was a field of inquiry she felt no inclination to enter upon; and she therefore contented herself with the reflection that "it was just the boys' fun, püir tings," though it is not unlikely that the owners of the cabbages, when they missed them next morning, might have been so obtuse as not to see the matter exactly in that light. it is halloween, and numerous lanterns and fire brands, with tails of streaming sparks moving in the dark like planets, seeking the centre of a new system, are seen seeking that well-known centre of attraction— bawby o' brigstanes' cottage. lads and lasses, fully a score, all in holiday attire as they arrive, take their seats on the long settle by the fireside, or on high-backed wooden chairs, "creepy stools," or any other kind of seat which bawby, radiant with smiles and kind welcomes, can find for them. as "ay, dere's himsell noo; come awa, come awa," exclaims bawby, in her most inviting tones, johnnie o' greentaft steps in over the floor in his thick solid clogs, white duck trousers, and blue jacket, and puts out his lantern, which he places on a chest-lid where others were already standing. yea, yea, we ken what's brocht dee a' dis rod da nicht; no ta see auld bawby, ise warren; na, na, somebodie ell's-ahem;" and bawby smiled and winked, and looked across the fire to "bonnie annie leslie," as the lads called her, who was sitting on the settle blushing like a rose, and knitting with nervous activity. "i sall pluck a craw wi' you fir yon yet, bawby," said annie, in a soft tremulous voice as she glanced from her knitting-wires to bawby, and then at the new comer who was taking his seat on the only vacant chair in the cottage. 66 my bairn!" exclaimed bawby! "i'm shüre i 80 shetland fireside tales; or, said naethin; ye a' herd dat i mentioned nae names; sae haud du dy tongue, my dear bairn; mony a ane wid be blyde ta get da glisk o' a ee fae greentaft cassin der wy," and bawby gave a heavy nudge at johnnie's knee, whose chair happened to be next to hers. "ay, ay, we understand you, bawby," said johnnie, whose equilibrium had been greatly upset by the blushing charms of his sweetheart on the opposite side of the fire-place, and to relieve his embarrassment was swinging his chair on its hind legs in such a perilous way as might have placed the centre of gravity on the wrong side. annie leslie was acknowledged by all the lads "aneth da wart hill" to be "da bonniest lass dat cam in da kirk door;" and therefore, as might have been expected, she had no want of admirers; but as she could only bestow the favour of her heart and hand upon one of them, the gift she wisely reserved for johnnie o' greentaft; and no one better deserved it, as he was a well behaved and handsome lad, and as ardent a lover as ever felt cupid's magic influence, or the pain of his dart when shot from two bright eyes. "du düs na mean ta say dat du's brocht a bate wi' dee da nicht," said johnnie, as he settled his chair down on its four legs, and seized hold of a bundle of dried bent which robie ridland had placed under his limb, and commenced to wind into simmits. 66 dere "i ken deil snüid dü sall wind here dis nicht. --just lit the lambs ate hir," said he, as he pitched the "bate" to the outer end of the house. "boy, du's mad," said robie, as he looked after his bate to see where it fell. "i may as weel wind a bit simmit as du naething, shürly." “dü naethin! an' be blowed ta dee," echoed johnnie; "kiss da lasses, man, if du has naethin else ta dü; dat's mair like halloween's wark, shürly." "weel den, boy, i'll begin wi' dy ane first," responded robie. the hermit of trosswickness. 81 "if du's man fir it, i'll no hinder dee," said johnnie, as annie looked at him with a reproachful, timid glance, while her fingers moved faster at her knitting than ever. "bit i'll no dû it, du sees," rejoined robbie; "i hae mair laekin' for annie den ta toozle her bonnie new net mutch because du bids me dü it." 66 "1 yea, lord bliss dee, du aye hes some sense," said annie smiling, "bit he hes nane. haud du dy tongue, robbie; i sall dance at dy weddin' fir yon yet.' "noo, bawby, what's ta be da ploy?" said rasme o' raunshikbraes ; 66 'ye ken sae weel aboot it, dat we'll just lit you steer da boat, an' we'll row or sail wi' da wind, just as ye blaw it." "eh! my bairns," said bawby, "i'm shüre, what wid ye dü withoot me? ah, weel, i tink every ane sud tell a story or sing a sang, an' den efter dat ye can try your fortins an' some fun laek dat, an' hae it a' by afore da boys begins wi' der stocks. shame fa' dem fir da dirt it maks aboot da fireside; bit hit min just be borne wi'; ye ken bairns will be bairns, an' i never cud hae da hert athin me ta idder rin efter dem or flyte wi' dem fir castin' twa or tree peegs o' kail in trow my lum on a nicht laek dis." "weel, bawby," said rasme, "da sun rises i' da aest, an' just whaur your shair is staandin', sae ye'll better begin, and dat'll set a gude hert in us a', and sae lit wis hae your sang ta begin wi'." "i, i!" exclaimed bawby, "my dear bairns, my time o' singin' is by; anes upon a day i cud a sung as weel as some dat tocht mair o' demsells; bit lammit, dat's a' by an' geen, an' sae sing ye dat cau sing; an' lord grant dat ye may lang sing wi' a licht hert." 66 "o bawby, haud your tongue," exclaimed rasme; ye can sing better yet den i widna gie you o' us. ony yet fir da half o' da young lasses; an' i'm shüre ye're as young luikin yet as da maist o' dem. why, a bodie widna tink ye wir muckle ower twinty.” f 82 shetland fireside tales; or, "o geng awa wi' dee, boy," cried bawby, throwi her hand towards rasme, and her cheeks blushing wi delight as she drank in his well-timed flattery. "we i'm shüre, what can i sing?" she added after a pause, a then began to sing in a shrill quivering voice, the ball of annie and johnny o' the glen'the ballad. 'what bonnie, bonnie lad is yon sae trig an' braw dat's comin' trippin' ower the vadle¹ tree o? it's johnnie o' da glen, wi' his crew o' fishermen come ashore wi' locks o' fish fae da sea-eo. what bonnie, bonnie lass is yon sae trig an' braw, dat's comin', comin' hame wi' da kie, o? it's annie o' da dale, but her cheeks is growin' pale, an' her apron string it winna, winna tie o. o sair, sair shü greets, an' sits by her lane, an' tinks on braw jonnie o' da glen o; an' da promises he made his bonnie bride to wed, an' take her to his ain but an' ben o. what bonnie, bonnie lass is yon sae dow an' wae, dat's wanderin', wanderin' weary by da shore o? it's annie o' the dale, wi' her cheeks sae wan an' pale, seekin' rest aneth da waves fae her sorrow o. what bonnie, bonnie lad is yon sae trig an' braw, dat's comin' rinnin' fast ower da lee 0? it's johnnie o' da glen, left his boat an' fishermen, for dey maunna see da tear dat's in his ee o. what twa lovers true is yon wi' kisses sweet, in ane anidder's airms greetin sairly o? it's johnnie o' da glen, an' sweet annie a' da dale, wi' love ta ane anidder clingin' dearly o. what bonnie, bonnie bride weel busket an' braw, what bridegroom sae gallant an' sae gay o? it's johnnie o' da glen, an' sweet annie o' da dale, airm an' airm on der ain wedden day o.' e formed by a single log spanning a burn which ru of spiggie, near fitful head, to the sea. the hermit of trosswickness. 888 83 1 "noo, bairns, dat's surely my pairt," said bawby. "gude kens if it hedna been til a pleased you, no a cheep wid a come oot o' my head dis nicht. but noo whaa's neist? oh, it's dee, johnnie, my bairn; no a better haand i' da hoose; sae come awa wi' dy sang." 66 "o bawby," said johnnie o' greentaft, "i'm shüre ye ken i can sing nane; but i'll gie you a bit o' a auld rime dat'll sair my turn. i tink it's ca'd da mirry fiddler,' an' dis is it, if i can sing it :— 1 jar. 'i am a fiddler ta my trade, an' a' da world weel knows it, i screw my pins an' plink my strings, an' rub my bow wi' roset. as i go fiddlin', fiddlin', fiddlin', as i go fiddlin' feerie o ; i'll fiddle until my fiddle an' i baith gengs tapstill teerie o. and den whene'er i draw my bow, up quick the lads gets jumpin'; dey wheel da lasses on da flür, an' fast dey a' geng thumpin'. as i go fiddlin', &c. a pig¹ o' gin close at my side aye keeps my bow in motion, an' springs mair sprichtly geng as i get half across da ocean. as i go fiddlin', &c. a dram wi' ivery reel i tak, an' still der's na confusion inta my head, until my pig is brought to a conclusion. as i go fiddlin', &c. an' den i screw my pegs a' doon, an' plink my strings mair slowly, becase da drappie in my ee maks rims aboot da collie.2 as i go fiddlin', &c. 6 2 a ring or circular haze, such as a person with inflamed eyes sees around a light. 84 shetland fireside tales; or, my fiddle den gengs in her case (tree first strings needs restorin'), but "bass goes on wi' steady dron as lang as i can keep snorin'. "" an' nae mair fiddlin', &c. next morning. when i arise and ope my eyes, i find i have been deep inmy banes are sore, as da kill door,¹ is nae saft bed to sleep in, efter my fiddlin', &c.' "noo, i hoop dat will please you," said johnnie, as he finished his song, and lighted his pipe with a live coal held in the tongs. "yea dat will it," said bawby; "if ivery ane düs as weel dey'll dü. noo, lowrie, it's dy turn." "o dear, a dear! what sall i dü?" said lowrie o' lingigart, with an affected sigh. "i can sing nane; an' as fir tales, gude kens my stock o' dem is bit sma'; bit ye maun just tak da will fir da deed, an' i'll dü da best dat i can; an' sae, if ye laek, i'll tell you a hill-folk's story, an' no a wird o' a lee in it, for my midder kent da folk as weel as shü kent her ain fedder and midder. "dey ca'd da man robbie ruttle, an' da wife sissie sandison, an' dey bedd upo' da grund o' brew, an' hed a family o' bairns, an' a lock o' kie, sheep an' horses, an' wir winderful weel aff. bit the wife fell ill, an' efter a while shü deid ta a' appearance, and wis streeked an' kisted just laek ony idder dead boddie; bit whin da men dat wis at da fooneral lifted da dust2 dey said ta ane anidder dat da coffin wis winderful licht, da sam is if dere wis naethin' in it ava, altho' dey niver tocht o' onything bein' wrang, till da news cam oot efter dat. "da nicht efter shü wis buried, da man draemed dat shu cam til him, an' shu says, says shü, 'o robbie, robbie, 1 elevated steps in the entrance to the kiln, where the fiddler usually sits when there is dancing in the barn. 2 a term applied to a corpse. the hermit of trosswickness. 85 i'm no happy, fir i'm taen awa wi' da hill-folk, an' i want dee ta tak me back agen; sae geng du,' says shü, 'da morn's mornin' wi' da first taws o' daylicht ta da muckle stane o' stilligart, an' staand dere a peerie while, and den draw a ring roond aboot dee an' say, 'oot side da ring your power may yet tine, in side da ring lord keep me an' mine.' bit robbie wis a kind o' oorie bodie a' his days, an' tho' he draemed da sam draem ower an' ower agen for monts, he niver hed the corage ta geng ta da grey-stane, as he wis tauld. "da morn efter shü deid dere wis a heavy faa o' snaw upo' da grund, an' some man bodie gaen up ta da hill ta luik efter sheep noticed a great lock o' prints o'sma' feet laek bairns' feet in da snaw a' da wy up fae robbie's hoose alang da yard deck, an' up ta da hill; an' aye here an' dere whaur the prints o' da feet wis, a' da wy up da rod da snaw wis marked wi' draps o' bluid." "o lord save dee, lowrie, an' haud dy tongue noo!" exclaimed girzzie o' glufftoon, as she let her hands and knitting fall on her lap, "du's makin' me dat oorie dat i'll never be fit ta lave dis hoose da nicht o my lord, what's yon!" she again exclaimed, as she sprung from her seat, and fled across the fire, seizing bawby around the neck, and looking behind her with terror depicted in her countenance. "is du mad, girzzie; roared johnnie o' greentaft, "sees du no dat it wis just da cat dat wis anunder dy shair?" 99 "o mercy, what a gluff i got!" sighed girzzie, as she stepped across the hearth, and resumed her seat. 86 shetland fireside tales; or, chapter xi. wi' merry sangs and friendly cracks, i wat they didna weary; and unco tales, and funny jokes, their sports were cheap and cheery. burns. "noo, lowrie," said bawby o' brigstanes, noddin her head towards lowrie o' lingigart, "geng on wi' d story, an' ill trift be ta her füil face dat pat dee aff o't.' "weel," resumed lowrie, "da neist winderful thing da happened aboot da hoose wis da wife's claes. whin sh deid her claes wis a' pairted; da eldest dochter got som an' her sisters got some, an' a auld aunt got sae muckle, b ae mornin' whin dey wauken'd a' da claes wis amissin an' dey tocht dat da claes hed been stown, but wha d tief cud be naebody kent; an' da winderful thing wi dat da claes wis stown oot o' every ane o' da hooses d sam nicht. bit dere's nae mair o' dis till ae day dat d eldest dochter happened ta lift da lid o' da midder's kis whin, da lord preserve a', wisna dere every stick¹ o' d claes lyin' faulded as neat as da haand o' man cud dü i "den dey hed a coo dat da wife got fae her ain midde an' efter shu (dat's robbie's wife dat wis taen awa, mean) efter shü died dis coo wis shifted fae da baan dat shu wis tied wi' til anidder baand, bit in d mornin' da kie wis fund shifted, an' hir coo tied in he ain baand; an' dis happened ower an' ower agen, till de didna shift her ony mair. every nicht dere wis som disturbance aboot da hoose, an' da things a' shifted fa da wy dey wir left whin the folk guid ta bed. d me wid be taen oot o' da rack, an' set upo' da table da fire kindled, an' da tae pot staandin' upo' da hert 1 stitch. 2 crockery. the hermit of trosswickness. 87 stane, as if somebody wis gaen to mak tae. ae time da muckle kettle wis fun i' da mornin' staandin' atween da doors half fu' o' bluid an'"" "noo, lowrie," again exclaimed girzzie o' glufftoon, "if du says anidder wird, du'll pit me oot o' my judgment." "weel trath, girzzie," said lowrie, "i tink du hes na far ta geng, bit i'm düne noo; an' sae just settle dee doon, an' mak dy sock fir supper time, an' den if du's feared ta geng hame, i'll rape dee athin a büddie, an' tak dee hame upo' my back." "i'm shüre du's no able," said girzzie; "du'll eat seven saut barrels yet afore du's able to carry me fae here ta glufftoon." 66 weel," responded lowrie, "i'll waager dee dis ane" (taking hold of his ear), "dat i'll tak dee upo' da tap o' a buddie o' meal, an' carry dee fae here ta da yard deck o' glufftoon." "weel, weel!" interposed bawby, "du'll hae ta geng ta da mill fir da büddie o' meal first, lowrie; an' whin du comes up wi' her, i ken du'll gie bawby a güid plate fu' oot o' her first, an' du'll be weel blyde du did dat afore du gets ta glufftoon wi' girzzie upo' da tap o' her; bit feenish dy story first, my bairn." "o, i'm just düne, bawby," continued robbie, “except dis, dat robbie never hed da corage ta dü as he wis tell'd in his draems; an' i canna help ca'in him a simple, coordly snüil, fir if it hed a been me, i wid a geen an' met her, altho' da ert hed been swarmin' wi' hill-folk, as tick as ever i'm seen da rabbits i' da links in a münlicht nicht; but whaa's neist, bawby? i tink i'm düne my pairt." "i'm shüre du's düne dat, my bairn," said bawby; "an' noo it's dy turn, willie. i ken du hes tales enouch if du laeks ta tell dem; sae come awa, my dear bairn." "i! i!" exclaimed willie bigiltie o' broonknowes, "i'm shüre i kenno what ta tell you, unless it be annider 88 shetland fireside tales; or, hill-folk's story, or i'll tell you twa or tree short anes ta mak up fir lowrie's lang ane. weel, den, dere wis ae time dat dere wis a lock o' hill-folk dat cam inta a hoose upo' da nicht, an' ane o' da hill folk's wives büor a bairn, an' whin dey luiked aboot da hoose fir water ta wash da bairn in, dey cud fin' nane, except some blaand in a kirn; sae dey tuik some o' dis blaand and washed da bairn wi’, and den dey tümed it back agen in da kirn, and said, 'dat'll learn you a lesson da neist time ye geng ta bed an' no lave water i' your hoose;' sae fae dat day ta dis, naebody iver wis kent ta geng ta bed an' no lave water i' da hoose ower da nicht. "anidder story, an' a true ane, fir my midder kent da man as weel as shu kent her ain fedder. da first nicht dat he guid ta see his lass, just as he left his ain folk's hoose, an' güid doon by da peat stack, a great company o' hill-folk cam doon fae da idder side o' da stack, an' followed him a' da wy ta da hoose whaur da lass bedd;¹ bit afore dey cam dere, dey hed ta cross a burn, an' he said, 'lord save him,' as he heard da plash o' der feet i' da water as dey cam efter him just as veevilly2 as he heard himsell speakin' whin he wis tellin da story. whin he cam ta da hoose, dey güid up alang da tae side o'da stack, an' he güid up alang da tidder, an' whin he cam oot a' da hoose ta geng hame agen, dey met him at da fit o' da stack, an' followed him fit for fit until he cam till his ane peatstack, whin he saw nae mair o' dem; bit he never güid back again ta da sam lass, fir he tocht it wis a ill sign." "dud he ever say what laek dey wir?" inquired bawby; "whin dey followed him a' dat gate he cudna bit see veevily enouch da potridge" o' dem." "weel, he said dey wir just laek bairns tree or four year auld, bit winderful sma' an' pirjink aboot da legs, an' a' clead in green claes, just neepid* inta da skin, an' den upo' der heads dey wüor capes o' da sam colour, 1 resided. 2 clearly. 3 portrait. pinched, narrow. the hermit of trosswickness. 89 3 heich an' dwimishin¹ awa ta a sma trointie² at da tap like a flossiecape, or like auld midder hubbard's hat in da peerie pictur books. dey wir awfully soople, an' whin dey danced it wis just like as mony wind baa's jimpin' fae da ert. dey whirled, an' cleekit, and jinket sae lichtly, it wis a graand sicht ta see dem wi' a bricht münlicht nicht. auld eddie edemson o' oootvoe wis as weel acquanted wi' dem as he wis wi' his ain folk, an' great companies o' dem wid a followed him at nicht ony wy dat he guid; an' whin he met onybody an' wanted da hill-folk ta lave him at wance, he wid a just strucken his staff ipa da ert, an' saidskeet howe hame, güid folk!' bit an' whin he said dis every ane vanished in a meenit. whin he wanted dem ta geng hame at their leasir he hed a kind o' rime dat he said, an' as he keepit sayin' it dey slowly vanished awa; an' dis wis da rime— 'da twal, da twal aposels, da eleven, da eleven evengilists, da ten, da ten commanders, da nine da brazen sheeners, da eicht da holy waters, da seven starns i' da heavens, da six creation mornins, da five da tumblers o' my bools, da four da gospel makers, da tree triddle trivers, da twa lily-white boys dat clothed demsells in green, boys; da ane, da ane, dat walks alon, an' now ye a' geng hame, boys.' "da hill-folks wis gude enouch whin ye pleased dem, an' ca'd dem 'guid folk,' an' no hill-folk, fir dey niver laeked dat; bit whin dey wir ill-pleased dey wir very vicious, an' da warst was takin' awa kie and sometimes bairns, an' auld folk as weel. a'body kent dat eric yunson hed 1 tapering. 2 end or snout. 3 cap made of rushes. 90 shetland fireside tales; or, a bairn dat wis taen awa; it just began an' wüor up, an' wüor up, till it wis a perfet veesion; an' somebody gae dem coonsel ta swüp it oot among da ase just i' da first dim-rivin', an' den keep da door open, an' watch fir dey saw a bairn comin' in, whin dey wir ta draw a ring roond aboot it an' say :'ootside da ring your power may ye tine, inside da ring, lord, keep me an' mine.' sae dey did as dey wir tauld, an' ae mornin' just i̇' da first dim-rivin' dey swüped dis eemage oot among da ase, an' oot trow da door, and den dey waited a peerie start, an' in comes a beautiful bairn wi' yallow curlin' hair, an' just da very face o' what dere ain bairn sud a been; an' sae, as ye may tink, dey wir na lang in sayin' da wirds; bit in a meenit da hoose wis filled wi' a kind o' wind dat blew everything aboot da hoose; an' dis was da hill-folk, whin dey cudna get inside da ring, dey blew der breaths upo' da bairn an' da folk; an da niest mornin' der skins wir a' blistered, but efter a while dat a' wür awa, an' da bairn grew up ta be a fine luikin' woman. bit it's noo time ta me ta be düne, i tink; an' sae wha's neist, bawby? it's you dat luiks efter dat." "yea, i sall luik efter you a', my bairns," said bawby ; "bit i'm tinkin' it's just my ain leezie dat's sittin' at dy side dat's gaen ta gie wis a sang noo." “o, bawby, ye micht pass me," said leezie lowrie o' langgate, "for i never ken what ta sing." "dat's just because du hes sae mony o' dem, my bairn," replied bawby; "bit du can gie wis' willie da sailor;' dat's a bonuie sang, an' we'll a' be blyde ta hear it.” "o, dat ane," said leezie, smiling; "i'm shüre i never ken if i mind it a'; bit if i miss ony o' da verses ye can tell me." and leezie sang in a soft clear voice this ballad :• it was in the month of fair july when wild flowers bloom most pleasantly, and the sun shone bright in a summer sky when we abroad were walking. the hermit of trosswickness. 91 66 i said, "my charming mally dear, i cannot wed you now i fear; for my ship to distant lands must steer, and so we must be parting. and then when i am far from you, you'll forget your jolly sailor true, and give your heart to another blue, who may be a deceiver." "o william, william !" aloud she cries, while tears came streaming from her eyes, "your faithful loving mally dies, the day you from her wander. "when you are gone, my william dear, beneath the waves i shall disappear, and the dark sea-weed shall be my bier, and soft shall be my slumber." my arms her waist then did entwine, i wiped her cheeks and kissed her then; cheer up, cheer up, love, you shall be mine, i've said all this to try you. here is a ring for your lily hand, here's gold to buy what you may command, for to-morrow joined in wedlock band we shall no more be parting.' ay, dat's a right sang, leezie," said tammie o' tümheads, who was sitting next to leezie. "i aye laek ta hear a sang dat ends weel." "den i hoop du hes ane ready dat'll end weel, tammie," said leezie, "for it's dy turn neist." "o! an' so it is! "exclaimed tammie. "i wis just firyattin' dat. weel, i'll gie you da 'boatman's sang,' fir dat ane baith begins an' ends weel enouch." the boatman's song. 'janny get my sea bread; i hoop du hes it clare; ¹ da sky is saftly marked ower, a sign o' wadder fair. 1 ready. fir i'm gaen ta da far haaf, because da wadder's fair, an' a bonnie lock o' fish we'll hae ta lay upo' da ayre.2 2 beach. 92 26 shetland fireside tales; or, get me my buddie made o' gloy,¹ dat hings ahint da door; my skinjup an' my sea-breeks, an' see dey're hale afore. fir i'm gaen ta da far haaf, &c. pit in my mittens an' my dags, 2 an' mind a keg o' blaand; ta slock my trist, fir weel du kens da wark we hae in haand, whin we ir at da far haaf, &c. 5 my sea büits an' my küitikens,6 just see dey're in da büddie; my mussel-draig, my lempit7 pick, an' sae my lempit cuddie.8 fir i'm gaen ta da far haaf, &c. my snüids an' handlin rex me doon dey're dere upo' da lame, an noo dat's a', lord be wi' dee, fir i maun geng fae hame, an' geng ta da far haaf, &c. da pirr 10 o' wind is fae da wast, an' we'll heist up da sail, until we come ta fishin' grund whaur we can set an' hail, whin we come ta da far haaf, &c. bit first geng out an' meet wi' me, just as i leave da door; fir weel i ken dy fit hes luck, as i hae fun' afore,11 whin i gaed ta da far haaf, &c. sae lord be wi' dee noo, an' keep baith dee an' a' da bairns; he kens dat baith fir dee an' dem my very hert it yerns, whin i am at da far haaf, &c. 1 stiff oat straw. 4 thirst. 2 half mittens. 5 boots. 3 quench. 6 socks. 7 small iron chisel for removing limpets from the rocks. 8 small creel for collecting limpets in. 9 the thin line put next the hooks in the gear for fishing the sethe. 10 slight breeze gently ruffling the surface of the water. 11 see note o. superstitions of fishermen. the hermit of trosswickness. 93 keep up dy hert an' dünna greet as aft doos düne afore; bit tink upo' da lock o fish we're shüre to bring ashore, whin we come fae da far haaf, &c.' "dy turn neist, sandy," said tammie, as he finished his song and gave young sandy flaws o' flatriggs a nudge with his elbow. "du dat hes sae muckle lear can gie us sontin' graand; sae come awa noo, an' get up ta dy feet, an' say it laek a minister." 66 dy skimp¹ is wilcome," said sandy; "bit since du wants me ta gie dee sontin' in da minister's line, i'll gie da 'lost boat,' an dat's better den mony a sermon du'll hear fae da poopit; an' sae i hoop ye'll a' pay attention, an' sit as quiet as ye wid dü i' da kirk," saying which sandy rose to his feet, pushed back his chair, and gave the following recitation, which was listened to by the whole circle of lads and lasses with breathless attention : the lost boat. 'the summer eve was still and beautiful, the placid bay lay hushed in calm repose, and tiny wavelets broke in murmur sweet upon the silvery sand. o'er thule's hills the radiant western sky, with fleecy clouds, was beauteous fair; all nature sweetly smiled, and grey-haired sage, full deep in weather lore, could not discern of danger in the sky. the anxious fisher hied him to the beach to launch his boat upon the buoyant wave, spreading his sail before the gentle breeze, to seek his finny prey in waters deep. at many a cottage door a loving wife, mother, or blushing artless maiden stood, watching the tiny bark recede from sight that bore away all dear on earth to them. and when just lost to view a falling tear, or inward earnest prayer to him who calms the seas, and rules the raging storms, that he would keep them in his heavenly care, and safely guide them on the pathless deep. 1 irony. 94 shetland fireside tales; or, the sun now sinks beneath the western wave, the lines are set, the boat lies gently rocked upon the bosom of the placid deep, waiting the midnight turning of the tide that brings the fish to many a tempting bait. but look! what mean those sudden swelling waves, while yet the air is still and calm around? it is the prelude of a coming storm, told by the scudding clouds athwart the sky. dull souching sounds are borne across the wave that tell the tempest follows hard behind. the anxious crew now ply the bending oar, and hail" their lines with energetic speed, but soon the breaking waves and lashing spray force them to cut away the straining line. the close-reefed sail now hoisted to the gale, the well-tried skipper, of unrivalled skill, with lips compressed, and strong and sinewy arm, seizes the helm and draws the dripping sheet; fast through the hissing waves the boat she flies, rushing and bounding like a thing of life. with watchful eye, and quick and steady hand, the skilful pilot runs to lee and weather of towering waves that soon would overwhelm his fragile bark beneath the swelling foam. oft from the jaws of death he quickly glides: the yawning grave beneath the crested wave, in clamouring rage wide opens for its prey. alas! to tell the tale: on that sad day, a noble crew thus battled with the storm; a father, two sons, and a son-in-lawa braver crew not found on thule's shore. when just in sight of land, a mighty wave swept quick their boat beneath its surging tide, and left them struggling on the raging foam. now on the slippery keel at last they cling, oft deep submerged beneath the angry waves; rising again into the raging blast, the lashing spray beats on them furiously. ah! who can tell the agonizing thoughts of home and dear ones to be seen no more, that nerved the stiffening forms and numbed grasp of heroes battling with remorseless fate. inscrutable decree! what dare we say? though ties are broken by the angry wave, no tempest rages on that peaceful shore where tears flow not, and parting is unknown. the hermit of trosswickness. 95 with early dawn upon the dizzy heights, mothers, sisters, and wives are seen straining their tearful eyes upon the sea still raging wild with foaming billows white; and as each speck of sail appears in view is raised aloud a cry of hope and fear. at last, all one by one, the tempest-tossed, they round the point and safely gain the strand, except, alas! that one which never more shall fill its place upon the shingly beach. in vain, mother, sister, and a loving wife still gaze upon the sailless watery waste, their slender forms bending 'gainst the blast, while flitting to and fro along the cliff. again and again, in wild despair return they to their friends upon the beach to hear false hopes as kindly oft repeated by lips trembling by sympathetic grief. but, ah! the dread hour at last must come when hope dies out, and whispering groups betray the fatal truth. by friendly arms supported, sorrowfully they reach the cheerless home, now desolate; and then is heard the shriek of agonizing woe! bursting hearts, and eyes that will not weep, for grief has made those friendly fountains dry. is there on earth a beating human heart that all unmoved could see such human woe, could hear that wail of lamentation deep, and not sob out his sympathizing grief? o! thou who temper'st to the shorn lamb the chilling winds of early vernal spring, come with the balm of thine own consolation, and pour it on the wounded, bleeding heart; and in the shadow of this vale of tears shine bright upon the mourners' lonely path, and point them to that heavenly home where friends are not lost, but gone before.' 96 shetland fireside tales; or, chapter xii. when rural life o' every station unite in common recreation; love blinks, wit slaps, and social mirth forgets there's care apo' the earth. burns. "eh less, aless! o dear, a dear !" exclaimed bawby, as sandy finished his recitation and resumed his seat. "dis pits me a mind o' da woful day dat my uncle's boat wis misforne; bit ye're a' luiken sae wae dat i winna say ony mair aboot it; mair by token, as i ken walter can gie us sontin' dat'll sheer us up, fir we maun a' try an' be happy dis nicht. sae walter, come awa; we ken du hes sontin' graand ta gie us." 66 "o bawby, ye're skimpin me," said walter oman o' dürigart, looking straight at the fire while he spoke; "but hoosomever, i'll du my best ta please you a', an' sae i'll gie you a ballant dat wis composed by a shetlan' man efter he had been mony years oot o' shetlan'; an' it shaws dat püir as da kuntrie is, it's no forgotten by dem dat leaves it, an' dat, a' da warld ower, dere's nae place laek hame, an' nae plesur laek da plesurs o' wir young days. da sang is ca'd da guid auld times. "da güid auld times whin i wis young, richt weel dü i remember; whin frosts an' snaws, an' guns an' baa's wi' joy brocht in december. den snaw-drifts roond da yard-decks lay in strange fantastic forms, an' wild waves breakin' on da shore da sport o' winter's storms. upo' da rüif wi' angry sough, loud boreas aft wis roarin'; shrill in da lum he whistled whiles, an' whiles wis loodly snorin'. the hermit of trosswickness. 97 da snawie¹ fuils wi' coorin' wing aroond da door cam' pickin'; an' hungry sheep in snawed-up büols 2 fast in da fans 3 wir stickin'. black stirlins,4 doos, an' maws, an' craws, wi' hunger cam' sae near us; we tocht dey kent us den sae weel, dey never mair wid fear us. at nicht aroond a blazin' fire o' dry peats lowin' brichtly, young lads an' lasses cam' ta spend da winter evenin's sprichtly. da guddick 5 tale, da sang an' joke gaed roond da circle cheerie ; an' games at "kissin' roond da ring,”let ilk lad kiss his dearie. bit tho' on fun ilk ane wis bent, der wark dey aye kept mindin, da lasses knittin' at der socks, da lads der simmits windin'. auld granny in the corner sits, her spinnin' wheel fast hurrin', an' at her feet upo' the hearth da cat wi' joy sits purrin', auld dey wi' gloy an' simmet clews a cashie weel is makin' ; an tho' wi' simmets in his teeth auld jokes he aye keeps crackin'. den whin the 'oor o' supper time cam' aye ower shune fir leavin', to see da rod hame in da dark, bricht lowin' peats wir wayin'. frae hallamas ta auld yüle day, a gay time aye wis den 0; whin mony a happy pair der ain cud ca' a but an' ben 0. 1 the snow bunting. 2 shelter for sheep. 4 the starling (sturness vulgaris). 6 half-consumed peat brands. 3 snow-wreaths. 5 riddle. g 98 shetland fireside tales; or, to kirk or manse hoo fair to see a score o' pairs geng leadin'; wi' ribbins fleein' an' fiddles playin',— just every week a weddin'. wi' merry heels at rants an reels, da barn flürs wis shakin': "but" ower the muckle pot boils brown, sic castin' scones an' bakin'. pork hams, skenk houghs,2 an' reisted³ geese, dried saucer4-meet an' spaarls; milky scones an' soonie scones, heat burstan bread an' faarls.5 der wis a fouth, o' meat an' drink, an' welcome a' micht chance in; to sit doon at the festive board or join the fun an' dancin'! but lit wis leave da weddin' folk, sa dance an' reel till mornin'; an' geng roond by the stane yard deck, dat hes da screws o' corn in. dere eddie tam hes killed his grice, an' eppie puddins makin'; baith black an' white, da meal an' seam, shü heans na weel ta pack in. den in da pot wi' careful haand, shü plumps dem ane by ane in ; an no ta lit dem spleet or spue, fast ower she pricks a pin in. but near da lum, twa triky cheelds, a while dey hae been watchin', an' if dey're lucky, as dey tink, some queer fish dey'll be catchin'. fir four ling huiks, like mussel draig, wi' lead an' string fir lowerin', dey'll quietly slip doon i' da pot, whin eppie taks ta snorin'. 3 smoked. 5 thin bannocks. 6 spares. 1 making pancakes. 2 beef houghs. 4 dried sausages. the hermit of trosswickness. 99 ay, there gengs ane up through da reek o' puddins clare fir eatin', while eppie snores, and eddie glowers, just whaur he's sweein' da feet in. an' dere goes twa, tree, four, and five, da sixt da huik aff jumped, and doon da height o' lum it fell, an' in da kettle plumped. da splash sent oot a waterspoot ower eppie's fit and brunt it; when oot shu roars, "my lord, my fit, my hoose wi' ghosts is hunted." up jimps auld eddie roong in haand, an' oot the door gengs spangin', an' swears he'll catch da puddin' tieves, an' end da sport by hangin'. but aff da riggin' quick as cats. an' ower da yard deck fleein', as weel micht eddie chase twa ghosts, or try if he could see ane. a merry day was auld yüle day, an' up we aye got early, to try wir new yule suits o' claes, an' see dey fitted fairly. fine corduroy or moleskin grey, wi' buttons brichtly shinin'; nae prince in a' da laand e'er tocht his robes he luiked mair fine in. wir güid scots bonnets, red an' black, in cheques aboot da brim wis; da tap a bunch o' flashy red, an' in da croon a rim was. noo see yüle mornin's brakwist set, da table weel is heaped wi' scones an' cakes, boiled cocks and drakes, da bottle an' da teapot. loaf bread an' biscuit fae da toon o lerick fills a basket; an' bairns tak whate'er dey like, an' never need to ask it. 1 singing. 9 833075 100 shetland fireside tales; or, da braekwist ower-wi' baa' an' gun aff ta da links we run fast, an' gled to fin' whin we cam dere dere was nane o' da fun past. dere scores o' boys wi' bang an' noise, da wind baa's keeps careerin'; while shots fae guns wi' big touch holes gae some puir gunners sair een. a' day lang, bang gengs the baas sic fechtin', faain', an' racin', dat new claes maks us sairly dread at hame ta shaw wir face in. wi' legs weel tired at close o' day we slept dat nicht sae soondly; bit still in draem da licht wind baa' kept iver dancin' roondly. auld sober sense, an' prim soor dook micht ca' da day a füle day. bit ta da hert o' sprichtly youth a glorious day wis yüle day. an' noo amid dis world's change in scenes far distant lyin', whaur art o' man wi' fairest forms o' nature ever viein'; da sweetest strains o' music heard wi a' da pomp an' graander, o' city wi' its pleasures gay, whaur youthful choice may wander :yet i can say dey've pleased me no; an' aft ta cure my chagrin, i've wissed ance mair for auld yule day my leaden guns and baa' green.'" "weel, i be hanged," exclaimed johnnie o' greenta slapping his thigh and rubbing it with his hand, "if dat no da best we've heard da nicht; it's really capital! ma whaur fell du in wi' dis, an' fu can du mind on it, sic lent as it is? ay! da wrater o' dat is been a shetland no mistake. he kens a' aboot it; an' weel man, vale." the hermit of trosswickness. 101 "i'm blide ye're a' pleased wi' it," said walter; "bit wha's neist ta carry on da glory o' it? "" "o, it's dee, gírzie, my jewel; come awa an' gie us sontin' sweet," added walter, as he put his arm round her waist, and tried to give her a kiss. 66 geng awa an' kiss jeannie o' voe," cried girzie güillet, as she drew herself away from walter, and lifted her hand to give him a slap on the cheek. "o, mercy!" exclaimed walter, as he covered his ears with his hands; "hae mercy upo' me dis time, and i'll never du it agen; bit come awa, my dautie, an' gie us dy bonnie sang, an' i sall be best man at dy weddin'; an' den, as hill robbie said, 'i'll get drams an' get kiss o' bride enko!" " 66 ay, come awa, my bairn," said bawby, "an' gie us 'da auld wife's fireside;' dat's ane fir me, du kens." "weel," said girzie, "i'll try an' sing dat sang just ta your ainsel, bawby; bit if i cud help it, dis fuil sinner dat's sitten at my side sud na hear a wird o' it," she added, as she sang in a clear merry voice the auld wife's fireside. 'da wind is roarin' i̇' da lum, dere's snawdrifts deep on every side; bit what cares shü for wind or snaw, wi' comfort at her fireside? da auld wife's fireside, wir auld grannie's fireside; nae place in a' da world wide sae cosy as her fireside. her dog an' cat upo' da heart in friendship dear dey aye confide, an' puss purrs ower his waggin' tail by da auld wife's fireside. da auld wife's fireside, &c. her hoose as clean as ony preen, an' things dat wir her midder's pride are dere, nae warr yet o' do wear, by da auld's wife fireside. da auld wife's fireside, &c. 102 shetland fireside tales; or, her wheel rins roond wi' muckle din, her fingers ower da yarn slide; da cairds, da wheel, da knitten' wires ne'er slacken at her fireside. da auld wife's fireside, &c. her teapot's mask'd four times a day, da truth she düsna need ta hide, fir a drap o' tae is just her life an' comfort o' her fireside. da auld wife's fireside, &c. shü says wi' airs o' meal, an teats o' 'o0 "da lord will her provide;" fir aye shü fan' his promise true sin first shü hed a fireside. da auld wife's fireside, &c. in winter nichts aroond her fire da lads an' lasses laek ta bide; fir kind wirds aye shü hes ta say, ta a' dat's roond her fireside. da auld wife's fireside, &c. sic fairy tales as shü can tell an' giants dat tree miles cud stride; wi' ghosts an' goblins maks you grue at nicht ta leave her fireside. da auld wife's fireside, &c. an' whiles shü tinks o' days gane by, an' when shü wis a bonnie bride, sic tochts maks tears come trinklin' doon, when lanely at her fireside. da auld wife's fireside, &c. bit trials tho' mony shü hes hed at providence shu does na chide; tho' a' are noo' laid i' da müld, dat ance wir roond her fireside. da auld wife's fireside, &c. her bible den her only joy, in days whin shü wis sairly tried; an' still shü seeks da "promised laand" in it, oft by her fireside. da auld wife's fireside, &c. the hermit of trosswickness. 103 chapter xiii. the nicht drave on wi' sangs and clatter. burns. "lord bless dy sweet voice, my bairn!" exclaimed bawby; "a bonnie fireside indeed! may we a' seek dat promised laand, an' den we'll no miss dis weary world;" and bawby clasped her hands, looking devoutly up to the lum. noo, my bairns," she added, "da nicht's spendin', sae ony ane dat's neist say awa. ay, it's dee jamie; du'll tell wis a story, an' i ken dere's nane i̇' da hoose dat can beat dee at dat." 66 66 oh, you maunna skimp me," said jamie m'keenie o' scartness; "bit whidder or no, i sall tell you ane o' da best i mind apon; an' no ta hae ony lees in it, i'll geng nae farder awa den last simmer, when i wis rowin' at da ness sea." jamie's tale. "da saith hed begun ta get a kind o' clumpsed, an' shu widna lift i' da scrüiff idder, fir wing¹ or skag, an' draigin, excep fir bait, wisna wirt tryin', sae wir men tocht dat we wid hae a shot wi' da tows. weel we 2 made a' ready, an' wi' a lock o' stanes i' da efter shot, an' a single reef i' da sail, we ran oot an' east till we hed da toogs³ afore da widder, an' den we tüik doon an' set aff; and whin we flang wir ooter bow, we hed da 1 bait cut from the belly of a fish near the gills. 2 fishing sethe by running the line to the bottom (sometimes they are fished in the surface).. "" 3 a fisherman's "meethe or landmark, by which he knows wher to find a particular fishing ground. 4 buoy. 104 shetland fireside tales; or, hammer o' scord¹ at noness. we den ran ta wir inner bow an' began ta hail, an' efter we hed aboot a packie an' a half in, da tow began ta snore heavy upo' da cabe.2 says ita eddie maikimson dat wis hailin', 'ye're shürely i' da grund, eddie,' says i. na, faith, boy,' says he, 'dere's a fish apo' me, an' a heavy ane tü.’ 4 3 "andoo aisie, boys,' says eddie ta da men dat wir upo' da fore taft; an' den in a peerie start he cries agen, shoo; 5 an' wi' dat a perfet monster o' a turbot rises i' da scrüiff, wi' da tows wuppled an' wuppled roond aboot 'em; sae we managed ta get his head upo' da gunnel,“ an', if ye'll believe me, wir keel wis nearly oot o' da water afore we got him in ower; an' den, lord save me, as his tail lay i' da eft stameron,' an' his head across da fore taft, an' as fat as he cud lie within da hide. a peerie while efter we got him in he gies a awful fluffer, till da boat shüick anunder him agen, an' oot he spues a great muckle ling, wi' a winderful muckle belly. eddie taks da tullie ta see what dis is dat's in 'em, an' just as he rits up da fish, oot flees a kittywake.8 shu jimps upo' da mid taft, flapps her wings, an' spues up twa bricht skags, an' aff shu flees skeet-ip-a-leerie." 66 "o, jamie, jamie !" exclaimed rasme rudderhead, "du's a boy!" "düs du mean ta say dat i'm tellin' a lee? inquired jamie with well-feigned surprise. 66 "du, du,” replied rasme; no a wird o' a lee ever du tell'd a' dy days; an' sae we'll no fa' oot aboot it, as geordie here is just waitin' ta gie's a sang." 66 "ay, come awa, my bairn," said bawby, "an' sing wis dat bonnie sang i mind dee singin' here ae time last year. da wirds o' it i tink wis, hoo happy wir da days o' my early youth.'" 1 another "meethe." 4 to pull slowly. 2 thowl. 5 pull backwards. 7 double knee in the stern and prow of a boat. 8 kittie wake (larus tridactylus). 3 rocky bottom. 6 gunwale. the hermit of trosswickness. 105 "o ay, dat's no a bad sang, if i cud only sing it richt," said geordie oman, smiling bashfully; "i'm bit a puir haand at singin' onything, bawby." 66 "o, haud dy tongue, geordie," exclaimed bawby; "dere's no a better singer i' da hoose; sae just come awa noo, an' nae mair aboot it." "dere's nae üse o' me sayin' no ta you, bawby," said geordie, as he cleared his throat, and gave in a fine musical voice,the song. 'how happy were the days of my early youth, when my heart was joyous and free, as i stood on the shore of my native isle and gazed on my native sea! when its murmuring waves sung a lullaby like the mermaid's evening tune; when she sweetly plays on her coral harp by the light of the silvery moon. how sweet was the scene, when at evening serene those murmuring waves were at rest, as quietly they lay in a slumber sweet, like a babe on its mother's breast. when no voice was heard from the silent shore, nor sound from the silent sea, save the evening cry of the caloo bird,¹ with its soft wild melody. "coo a coo a caloo," sang the lonely bird, at the close of a summer's day, when its sweet wild notes o'er the calm still sea in the distance melted away. i've tasted such pleasures as life can afford, and sweetest of music i've heard; but none of them all e'er my heart could enthrall like that song of the caloo bird. for the sun of my life was then rising serene and my heart was a stranger to care; and the murmuring waves and the sea bird's cry were the music that charmed my ear. 1 heralda glacialis. 106 shetland fireside tales; or, when mine eyes close last on this changing scene, and life's sounds in mine ear melt away; let me hear the voice of the caloo bird at the close of a summer day. let me hear the waves as they murmur past and whisper "life's tempest is o'er;" let them hush me to sleep in a slumber deep by my own dear native shore.' "o dear a dear," exclaimed bawby, "what a sweet sang dat is! dat verse aboot da caloo aye maks me laek ta greet, fir it brings back ta my mind da time whin i was a peerie lass staandin' afore my fedder's door in a fine calm simmer's evenin', hearin' da caloos far awa ower da still sea. it was just laek da sweet music o' fairyland, as de saying is. bit, ellie, it's dee neist, my bairn." "o bawby, ye maunna ax me ta sing," said ellie inkster, "fir i'm hearse wi' da cauld; bit i'll tell you a story, an' dis is, i tink, da best ane i can mind upon. "dere wis ance apon a time whin robbers wis gaen aboot da kuntry, an' naebodie wis safe even i' der hooses, unless dey hed strong doors an' bolts, an' plenty o' guns an' swirds aboot dem. a jantleman's hoose stud by itsel in a lonely pairt o' da kuntry, an' da faimily wir a' awa excep ae servant dat wis left ta keep da hoose, an' shu wis tauld whin da faimily güid awa ta lit naebodie in da hoose, idder nicht or day. sae der's nae mair o' dis till aboot a ouk or sae efter da faimily hed left, whin ae nicht efter it wis fairly dark, a auld begger wife cam ta da door shiverin' wi' cauld, an' her teeth clatterin' da taen upo' da tidder. 666 "o, my dear lamb,' says da auld wife, 'i'm lost my wy, an' i'm just laek ta fa' doon wi' cauld an' hunger; an' if ye wid just lit me in ta your ketchin ta warm mysell, i widna bide lang.' 666 "o,' says da lass, 'ye can come in;' fir shu tocht dat a auld begger cud dü na ill ta onybody; sae shu taks her in an' sets her in a shair at da side o' her a het drink; an' sae wi' da heat o' da fire, an' gies da fire an' da the hermit of trosswickness. 107 heat o' da drink, efter a peerie while shü notices dat da begger begins ta get sleepy laek; an' den in a while agen shu's fairly soond asleep, snorin' wi' her head back ower, an' da auld cloak shu hed aboot her a kind o' open wys. da lass tinks shü'll luik an' see what kind o' claes da bodie has on anunder dis auld cloak; an' shü lifts up ane o' da sides o' it carefully, whin, lord preserve us, if shü düsna see a man's coat wi' a ledder belt on, an' a' sticket fu' o' pistols an' daggers; an' whin shü lüiks at da face it's a man's face wi' a' da whiskers shaved aff. when shu saw dis shü nearly screeched oot, bit it wis a mercy fae da lord dat shü didna dü it, fir hed shü waukened da robber shü wid-a shüne been a corp in a short time. shü clespet her haands, an' lüiked wildly aboot ta see hoo shü cud escape, bit der wis nae wy ta her ta flee, fir dere wis shüre ta be robbers ootside waitin' fir a signal, as shu saw da robber hed a whissel fir dis purpose. by dis time his head wis mair back ower, an' he wis lyin' snorin' wi' his mooth open, sae just in a moment shu gripet da boilin' tae-kettle aff da fire, an' poored da bulderin' watter doon his craig. he sprang ta his feet wi' a wild gron, an' den fell flat on his face upo' da flüir. an' a kind o' tremel güid ower his body fir a minit, an' den a' was still. da püir lass wis noo laek to geng oot o' her judgment; shu didna ken what ta du, an' shü prayed ta da lord ta strenten her as shu drew ane o' da pistols fae da robber's belt, an' took da whissel fae his breast. shu noo guid tae da ooter door o' da hoose, an' lüikin' trow da key-holl shu saw tree men walkin' aboot a piece awa fae da door; shu den gie a lood whissel, an' in a minit da biggest ane o' da tree men cam up close ta da door, an' held his lug close ta da key-hole. shu kent dis, fir shu heard da sough o' him drawin' his breath. shu noo cocked da pistol an' emmd as near whaur aboot his head wis as shü cud, den shü fired, an' just as da ball güid thro' da door shu heard a heavy fa' an' a gron ootside. shu now lüiked thro' da holl da ball hed made i' da door, an' saw twa men rinnin' awa as fast as der legs cud carry dem. 108 shetland fireside tales; or, "shü cud dü na mair noo fir daylicht cam, fir shü wis far awa fae ony idder human habitation. sae shü güid an locked hersell inta a upstair's room, an' sat dere till da daylicht cam in. shü den ran ta da nearest toon an' gae da alairm, an' shüne dere wis a number o' offichers at da hoose, an' fan da twa dead robbers lyin', ane i' da kitchen, an' da idder ane ootside da door, whaur he hed fa'en. da idder twa wis catched shün efter, an' dey wir baith hanged. "whin her mester cam hame he wis dat owerjoyed he sed he widna lit her be a sirvant ony mair, bit just be da sam as ane o' his ain faimily; an' sae shu bedd' wi' him fir some years efter dis, until shu wis mairried to a graand jantleman, an' her mester made her a graand weddin', an' settled mony upon her dat shu got sae muckle o' every year as lang as shü lived; an' sae my tale is düne." during the time ellie was telling her story she was listened to with breathless attention. the lasses ceased knitting, and let their hands fall on their laps, and the lads were equally absorbed in mentally following the heroine in so bravely defending her master's house. bawby from time to time gave inaudible expression to her feelings by clasping her hands and looking up to the roof of the cottage. 66 eh, it wis a awfal death fir da sinner ta dee at last," she exclaimed; "but what cud da püir lass dü; shü hed nae idder wy o' savin' her ain life bit by takin' his. i mean da ane dat shü killed wi' da heat watter, fir shuttin' wis no sae awful laek, tho' it mebbe wis as easy ta dee du tae wy as da tidder. ay, we sud a' be thankful dat wi' can sit anunder wir ain vine and figtree, an' nane daurin' ta mak wis afraid, as da scripture says; bit, nannie, it's dee neist, my bairn." "ae story pits anidder in a body's mind," said nannie ollie o' ootvoe; "an' sae i'll just tell you anidder robber's story." 1 remained, 1 the hermit of trosswickness. 109 chapter xiv. as bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, the minutes winged their way wi' pleasure. burns. "dis wis a jantleman's hoose da sam wy as ellie's story," said nannie ollie, as she held her knitting between her and the light, and tried to recover a slipt loop, "bit da mistress wis left at hame hersell wi' twa servants, fir shu hed newly been mairried, an' da jantleman hed gane awa fae hame apon some business. ae nicht efter dark, whin da mistress wis sittin' in her room up da stair, shu herd a awful noise i' da kitchen, an' den twa fearful screechs, an' shu ran doon stairs, an' da first dat met her sicht, wis baith her servants lyin' upo' da flüir wi' da red blüid gushin' fae der breests, an' five robbers standin' wi' drawn daggers i' der haands. as shüne as dey saw da mistress, dey closed roond aboot her, and sed, 'your money or your life! we want da keys o' da jewel kist dats i' da strong celler.' 666 "o,' says da mistress, 'ye sall get da keys an' a' dat's in da kist, fir my husband is very rich, an' we'll never miss it; so come wi' me,' shu says, 'an' i'll tak you ta da celler.' "sae awashe gengs doon a stair, an' da robbers efter her, till dey cam till a great muckle room, an' in da flüir o' dis room wis a hatch dat opened inta da celler aneath, whaur da jewel kist wis. sae shu opened dis hatch, an' tüik a licht in her haand, an' güid doon da ledder an' four o' da robbers efter her, fir dey left ane at da tap o' da hatch to staand watch. shü noo tüik her keys oot o' her pocket, an' tryed da lock o' da kist; bit nane o' dem wid open it. 'o,' says shü, 'dear a me! i'm left da key in my room upstairs-just wait a minute an' i'll fetch it.' sae awa shu trips up da ledder, an' gengs past da man, 110 shetland fireside tales; or, fir he heard what shu wis gaen fir, an' sae never lüiked efter her. da room wis a' dark, except da licht dat cam up trow da hatch, sae da man cud na hae seen her far, even if he hed lüiked; sae just as shu passed by him, shü wheeled aboot an' ran agenst him, wi' da whole poor o' her body, an' doon he fell head foremost! an' doon güid da hatch as quick as lightenin,' an' as it fell it locked wi' a spring, sae dere dey a' wir fast an' ticht." "o lord be praised!" exclaimed bawby, unable longer to restrain her feelings; "i wis just trimblin' fir da püir woman, tinkin' every moment what wis gaen ta come o' her. o da vagabonds, it saired dem weel; i hoop dey niver got oot till dey wir hanged." "ye're just guessed it, bawby," said nanny, " dey wir a' truly hanged. püir woman, shu spent a oorie nicht, her twa murdered servants lyin' ae pairt o' da house, and five blüidy ruffians in anidder pairt o' da hoose; it wid a pitten mony a woman oot o' her reason; bit as shu sed efter, da lord stüd by her, an' da mornin licht brocht help; for some bodie on da rod hed seen da geng gaen da wy for dis hoose, an' sent wird ta da toon; sae dat by daylicht, dere wis offichers at da hoose axin if ony robbers hed been seen, whin da mistress cud tell dem da happy news dat shu hed dem a' secüre; sae dey wir taen up an' hanged, as i'm sed already." "ay, an' saired dem richt," said bawby, "or ony murderin' villans laek dem, dat wid tak da life o' twa püir innicent lasses; bit wha is neist, bairns, fir we maun be moovin' trow, ye ken? "" "it's my turn, bawby," said rasme smith; "bit unless i tell you anidder robber story, dere's naethin' else i mind upon; an' dis is aboot a robber dat wis made up laek a pack o' güids, an' left at a fairmer's hoose. "ae nicht, just i' da mirkenin', dere cam a packman ta da fairmer's door, an' sed dat he wis tired wi' carryin' his pack sae far, an' ower late ta reach da neist toon; n' sae he wid he blyde if dey wid just lit his pack lie ween da doors a' nicht, an' he wid try an' get lodgins the hermit of trosswickness. 111 6 'yea, fir himsell wi' some o' da fairm servants. 'o,' said da fairmer, he wis truly welcome to lit his pack lie dere a' nicht, fir it could dü nae hairm ta onybodie.' sae he lays doon da pack, an' dere's nae mair o' dis, fir da peerie boy comes in dat lüiked efter da kie. dis boy hed gotten a auld gun ta frichten da craws wi', an' he happened ta hae a shot o' pooder an' lead in it at da time. sae he comes tae his maester, an' says he, 'what kind o' a pack is yon dat's lyin' inside da door dere?' says his maester, 'it's just a pack like ony idder pack, i'm tinkin'-cloth an' idder kind o' güids, shürely.' na, na,' says da boy, 'der's mair in it den dat, fir i saw it moovin'.' 'du saw it moovin',' says his maester; 6 du undümious¹ leer dat du is; fu can du tell me dat?' dat i truly did,' says da boy, i saw it moovin', an' i'm gaen ta fire dis shot in it,' at da sam time aimin' da gun fir da pack. lord preserve me!' says da fairmer, 'is da boy red mad? is he gaen ta destroy da man's güids?' bit afore da wirds wir oot o' his mooth, aff gengs da gun wi' a rumble; an' oot spoots a gush o' red blüid wi' a awful gron. baith da boy an' his maester wir like ta fa' doon wi' fricht, bit efter dey cam ta demsells, dey rins an' opens da pack, whin what sees dey bit a robber sittin' dead in a box wi' pistols an' swirds at his belt; an' he hed a whissel i' da tae haand, an' a knife i̇' da tidder, an' dis knife wis ta rit 'up da pack an' lit himsell oot, whin he wis tae whissel as a signal fir da idder anes dat wis ta wait ootside. sae, as ye may believe, da maester tocht muckle o' his boy, an' bocht him a fine new foolin'-piece as a present. da dead robber wis taen awa wi' da offichers da neist day an' buried at a road-side, pack an' a', just as he lay; an' dat wis his end. o, it wis awful times den a days.-i mind a story o' a man dat tüik lodgins in a kind o' a kuntrie inn ae nicht, an' he hed a dog wi' him, sae efter da man güid ta bed, da dog cam ta da foreside o' da bed an' began ta whinge, an' aye he 1 great, unlimited. 112 shetland fireside tales; or, jimped up wi' his fore feet upo' da bed, an' den shived his head anunder da bed. da man tried ta get da dog ta lie doon, bit da mair he spak till him da mair he whinged,¹ till da man tocht he wid get up an' see if dere wis ony thing anunder da bed, when, lord preserve us, what sees he bit a man lyin' murdered dere wi' his troat cutted fae lug ta lug! sae, as micht be tocht, he wis na lang in gettin' on his claes an' fleein' oot o' da hoose fir his life as fast as he cud, an' his dog wi' him." 66 "noo, bawby," exclaimed girzie o' glufftoon, "as da lord made me, i'll never leave your hoose dis nicht; every bit o' me is just quakin'; my very flesh is pipperin' upo' my banes wi' faer wi' hearin' sae mony awful stories." weel, weel, my bairn," rejoined bawby, "du can sleep aside me a' nicht, an' den na bokies" 'll touch dee; bit i tink we'll hae a sang noo, an' dat'll pit da gluff aff o' wis agen. an sae bairns just sae awa-wha's neist? o, it's dee eric; come awa den like a man, an' gie's grannie thule. i ken du can sing dat weel, an' a bonnie tüne it is." "o, bawby," said eric moad, "i tink ye're skimpin' me, fir ye ken weel enouch i'm timmer-tüned; bit never mind, i'll dü as weel as i can, an' da best can dü nae mair," saying which eric cleared his throat, and sang in a good bass voice, the trials o' grannie thule.4 'thule, an auld wifie wha lives on da "rock,”5 shü spins on her wheel, an' shü knits at her sock, shü gets help fae the laand, shü gets help fae the sea, an' shu cheers up her hert wi' a cup o' strong tea. 1 moaned. 2 trembling. 3 bogles, ghosts. 4 allusion is made in these verses to the various acts of oppression to which the islands have been subjected since they were added to the scottish crown. 5 a name sometimes familiarly applied to shetland. the hermit of trosswickness. 113 but, waes ine, püir grannie, sair trials shü hes had, an' tho' aft shü smiles, in her heart shü is sad, when shu tinks o' the wy lang syne shü wis üsed, an' a' her lang life been misca'ed an' abused. o weel may shü ban whin shü tinks o' the loon dat gaed her awa ta da auld scottish croon ; fir fae dat day ta dis shü's been cheat an' oppressed in her hoose an' her hadden been sairly distressed. in da first o' her days her pund was a pund, her bairns hed aye der ain bit o' grund. her lespun' o' butter weighed sixteen pund neat, an' her bysmer naebody cud sae wis a cheat. but da auld pechan laird, in a stammer an' stutter, ae day let it oot dat he wanted mair butter; an' he said it need cause her bit little surprise if her lespun' wis altered ta double da size. grannie said shü hed na grit objection ta dat if da siller was double o' last dat shü gat. but he said na deil plack wad he raise i' da price, though her lespun' o' butter wis da weicht o' her grice, he said mair den dat, he cud weel understand hoo her bairns wir spoilt by bein' lairds o' der land; an' he hed just a mind ta add ta his ain, what "grippin'" by fair means or foul cud obtain. whin da laird hed sed dis he straddled awa, an' puir grannie's cheek was bleached like da snaw. but shü just gaed ben ower an' sat in her chair, an' grat lang an' sair till shü cudna greet mair. den her hens an' her cocks dat shü liked sa weel, it made her hert sair ta hear der lood squeel. whin packed in a büddie by her auldest son gawen, an' aff ta da laird's ta get der necks trawn. den eric, puir fellow, he hated da haaf, an' ta greenland whaal fishin' he just wid be aff. but his fedder was fined in a pound an' a shillin', dat, püir man, ta pay he was sairly unwillin'. as weel micht be tocht, grannie needed her tea, an' tar fir da boat an' lines fir da sea. bit nae shop daur shü geng near tho' cheaper by far den da laird's baith fir tea, an' fir lines, an' fir tar; neist, her fish he maun hae at a price o' his ain, dat he sells ta da dons an' da papists o' spain. an' if shü gets four, whin o' pounds he got twenty, he tocht da auld bodie hed just gotten plenty; but it's nae üse o' tellin' a' shü's hed ta try her, her troubles hae followed like sparks fae de fire h 114 shetland fireside tales; or, an' her feeble auld nerves hae got sic a shock, shü nidder can spin nor knit at her sock; her teeth clatters awful wi' fear an' wi' fricht, an' her friends ir just fearin' shü'll niver come richt. sae bairns, hame an' awa, da question whidder, in da hour o' distress ye'll forsake your auld midder. no! loud raise your voice, let it ring o'er da sea, an' shüre help 'ill come to grannie thule.' "puir bodie!" cried bawby, "shürely shü hed her trials; bit i wis aye tinkin ta spür dee, eric, if du kens wha dis grannie thule wis. da sang says shü lived on da rock; dat wad be da name o' da toon shü lived in; bit dere's nae place o' dat name in dis perrish. be awa at da nord isles, tinks dü?" wid it "o, it's no a auld wife ava, bawby," said eric ; "it's just a sang made up aboot shetlan', an tellin' da wy folk wis ill used lang sin syne; an' trath, as we a' ken, some o' dem is no muckle better üsed yet. bit wha sings neist?" "o, i'm just tinkin," replied bawby, "it's peerie jamie dat's sittin' dere i' da corner, bit he's mebbe dat bashful dat he'll no sing onything; sae some ane o' you 'ill hae ta gie wis a sang fir him.” "weel, ye a' ken," said sandy flaus, "dat i canna sing ony; bit i'll gie you anidder recitation. it's ca'ed 'winter thoughts on thule,' an' it wis composed by da sam man dat wrote 'da lost boat;' an' dis is it— h 4 winter thoughts on thule. dear thule! home of my early youth, bleak thy hills, and dark with many a seamy scaur, around thy rugged shores the wintry tempest raves, and wild tempestuous waves, with thunderous roar, dash full against thy adamantine rocks. earth's fairest scenes beneath italian skies, the orange grove, the graceful drooping palm, the clustering vine, in many a verdant vale, with all the glories of those sunny climes, though spread in sweet enchantment to my view, the hermit of trosswickness. 115 could not emotions half so sweet awake as do thy wintry winds and raging waves, o thule ! those winds that whistled in the cottage door, and sighed deep through thy lonely hills and vales; when stern old winter, armèd took the field, and loud declared his elemental war, shaking his icy spear and snowy mantle with angry grasp full in the northern blast; then seated by the homely cottage hearth, the tempest loud was music in mine ear; the whistling wind, like some æolian harp of sweetest strain, charmed the hours away. the blazing fire-the homely frugal fare a regal feast by sweet contentment made; the heart no sorrow knew-no worldly cares o'er youth's bright day had yet their shadows cast. life, like a golden dream just new begun, knew only joy; and scowling winter's wildest rage was scarcely heard 'mid sounds of youthful mirth. when perched upon the summit of some lofty rock, how much i loved to watch thy mighty waves, and see them sport their wild fantastic forms as on with awful force they madly rushed to dash against the quivering rock. then in the dread recoil, in dazzling white, the seething foam like angry maelstrom boiled (that rages wild near norway's rocky shore), and whirling tempest raised the churned froth like drifting clouds of winter's flaky snow, fast chasing onward in the murky air. on high with pinions spread, in graceful ease the sea-gull soared upon the wintry blast, to watch the tossings of the angry deep, which heaved from ocean's bed the struggling fish, and, darting down, swift carried off her prey. on that same rock, lashed by the briny spray and driving sleet, oft have i watched the curving waves, broke by th' impetuous wind; and in their shadows dark i fondly thought i saw the outline of some mighty wreck which soon upon the shelving beach might lie, and i the owner of the glorious spoil. 116 shetland fireside tales; or, dear thule! home of my infancy and youth, how bright on memory's page those records stand which tell the story of my early days! thy rugged grandeur, and thy stormy waves, my mind inspired with noble and heroic thoughts, and my young heart did fondly wish the day when i might do some mighty deed of valour; best school to teach true manhood's nobler aims where nature spreads her soul-inspiring page,rocks, hills, and vales, with storms and raging waves all whisper deep instruction to the mindsolemnly impressed with awe and veneration. and youth so taught, oft in the race of life outstrips compeers, learned and refined, and at the goal triumphant wins the prize. how true this is, thule, thou bearest witness in many of thy sons who leave thy shores to traverse wide the stormy pathless main, or seek their fortunes in far distant climes,— an honour to the land that gave them birth. the hermit of trosswickness. 117 chapter xv. a towzie tyke, black, grim, and large. burns. "oh, dat's a graand piece," exclaimed bawby, as the last speaker finished his recitation; "bit da nicht is wearin awa, sae wha's neist, my bairns?" she added. "it's maikie here, i tink," said johnny o' greentaft. "weel, bairns," said maikie o' moorigarth, "ye'll mebbe no believe me, bit i can nidder sing, nor hae da wirt o' a story ta tell you; bit i'll read ye ane oot o' a peerie book i hae i' my pouch here. it's just ower lang a story, bit ye can till me whin ta leave aff.” so saying maikie opened his book, and read as follows::black eric; or, the man with the iron staff. fitful head is one of those powerful barriers by which nature fortifies her works, and, in accordance with her great design of combining utility and beauty, forms the most striking feature in the wild, romantic scenery which characterises the western shores of the northern group of the british isles. the mighty internal forces which upheaved those islands from ocean's bed were under the reign of law and that law, directed by the unerring wisdom and foreknowledge of the divine architect, made provision against the power of the atlantic waves, and the destructive agency of those huge icebergs of the glacial period which were borne from west to east by strong ocean currents; and this provision lay in the hardness and durability of the rock, and the height of the headland or cliff being exactly such as should effectually resist the destructive forces by which they were to be assailed. 118 shetland fireside tales; or, situated near the southern extremity of the mainland, fitful head occupies a position exposed to the powerful currents of the atlantic and german oceans, which sweep round its base with resistless force; and during a western hurricane the atlantic rolls itself into mighty waves against those cliffs with the force of ten thousand battering rams. nature, therefore, in raising this bulwark performed one of her greatest feats, for she seems to have cleft a mountain in two in order to obtain the proper combination of strength and beauty-placing the green slope of the mountain towards the east till its lowest extremity fringes the western shore of the loch of spiggie, and its frowning rocky section towards the west to bid defiance to the ocean waves. the traveller, in ascending this headland, would therefore suppose that he is climbing a hill which must have a corresponding slope on its western side, but, on reaching the summit, he is appalled to find that he is standing on the verge of an abyss, the sight of which makes his very blood to curdle. such is a faint description of fitful cliff, in which once dwelt, in an unknown cave, the subject of my tale. black eric, as he was called by the country people, owing to his swarthy complexion and his dark matted hair, which hung in wild profusion around his shoulders, was a man of gigantic stature and proportions. whether he belonged to the celtic or scandinavian race was a point which no one was ever able to determine, as, from the lawless life he led, and his constant exposure to the severities of the climate, all distinctive traces of race were so obliterated that he seemed to have a closer affinity to the ourang-outang or gorilla, than to any tribe of the human family. beneath his shaggy eyebrows gleamed his deep-set, wolfish eyes, his beard and breast resembled that of the grizzly bear, and when enraged he showed a formidable set of clenched teeth which gave a horrible expression to his whole countenance. dress consisted of a buttonless jacket or "skinjup," the hermit of trosswickness. 119 made of untanned calf-leather, with breeches of the same material tied with thongs at the knee. on his feet he wore unclipt "rivelins" of cow-hide, and on his head a dingy fair isle cap of many colours and strange pattern. he walked with a lithe slouching gait, with both hands resting on his haunches, and in them grasping a heavy iron bolt or staff, one end having a sharp point and the other a heavy knob. this formidable weapon he constantly carried with him, and, when asleep (for he frequently slept in the open air in the summer season), he placed his iron staff under his shoulders in such a way that it could not be touched without awakening him. he subsisted entirely by sheep-stealing, and, being as fleet of foot as a native colt, could run them down with the greatest ease. when making his incursions into the neighbouring hills, he generally left his cave after sunset, and when he knew no one was astir, and having secured a pair of the fattest sheep he could select, would bind their feet together, and raising them to his shoulders, by putting his iron staff between their fore and hind legs, march, by long and rapid strides, to the top of fitful cliff. how he descended this pathless steep with such a burden is a mystery which never can be solved, nor can any better opinion be formed regarding it than that which prevailed at the time,-and the popular belief then was, that black eric was in league with the powers of darkness, and that the demon tangie was in his service, conveying him nightly between the top of the cliff and his cave-dwelling. this demon, well known to the natives of shetland, always appeared in the form of a black horse, and as if grazing quietly by the side of lonely paths during the night-time. if the benighted traveller, mistaking him for a real animal, mounted upon his back with the view of being carried a certain distance on his way, tangie, favoured by the darkness of the night, would carry his rider to the nearest cliff, who, happily becoming aware of his danger by hearing the sound of the breaking waves below, would leap off and 120 shetland fireside tales; or, stand horror-stricken to see his horse vanish over the cliff in a flash of blue flame. one remarkable circumstance in favour of the popular opinion regarding black eric's connection with the demon tangie was, that frequently during the night blue lights were seen by boats at the haaf-fishing, ascending and descending between the top of the cliff and a point below where eric's cave was supposed to be; and the hour of the night when these mysterious lights were seen was found to correspond with the time he was known to leave or return to the cliff. one of the greatest sufferers by the depredations of black eric was sandy breamer, who occupied a cottage on the eastern slope of the wart hill, and was one of the largest sheepowners in that district. accustomed to look carefully after his flocks, and keeping them always in good condition, they all the more readily excited the cupidity of the sheepstealer; scarcely a week passed but one or two "gimmers" or fat "hogs" were found to be amissing. although a peaceablydisposed man, sandy could not submit to have his property carried off in this manner by a desperate outlaw who was the terror and scourge of the whole country side; partly therefore on his own account, and partly in the interests of the public, he resolved to capture the thief, or perish in the attempt. from the time sandy determined on this desperate enterprise, to that night in which he carried it into execution, it seemed to absorb his whole being with an intensity which almost banished every other thought from his mind; but he carefully kept his own secret, and when listening to the complaints of others, who suffered like himself, he never allowed any expression to escape his lips which could indicate his own inward emotions. at his own fireside his manner was less reserved, nor could he altogether conceal from his wife the fact that there was something more than usual occupying his mind and deeply absorbing his thoughts. she had observed the hermit of trosswickness. 121 this, and that on his return from the fishing he did not caress his little children as was his wont, but would sit with his arms folded looking abstractedly into the fire, the inward perturbation of his mind showing itself by his compressed lips and knit brow, and the swelling muscles of his powerful arms, and heaving chest, as in thought he called up the immense resources of physical power by which he was endowed, and the great purpose of his life which was now to be accomplished by it. on such occasions his wife would startle him from his reverie by placing her hand gently on his arm and saying, "sandy, what is du tinkin aboot, dat du's aye sittin' stoorin' i' da fire? lord hae a' care o' dee, is dere ony thing da maitter wi' dee? is du vexed aboot da loss o' twa or tree gimmers, whin i'm shüre du kens we hae enouch left? o, sandy, sandy! da tocht sometimes comes into my mind dat du may be temped ta geng ta dat evil place, fitful head, an fa' in wi' dat foul fiend black eric. o! my sandy, whin i tink o' dis it maks my flesh creep, and sets a feichtin' ta my hert, dat i'm like ta fa' doon; may he dat made us preserve us, an' set a watch roond us, an' a' dat belangs ta us! but dey say dat he gengs ower da banks every nicht wi' tangie, in a blue lowe, for da men at da sea hae aften seen blue lichts gaen up an' doon da face o' da banks lang after dayset. o! sandy, if ony thing was ta happen ta dee, what wid come o' me an' dis twa infants? we wad hae ta geng an' beg wir bit fae door to door; for du kens dere is nane idder upo' dy side or mine dat wid tak me ta der fireside." "toot, toot," sandy would say, forcing a smile on his handsome face. "annie, what i' da world pits sic nonsense i' dy head? du's aye frichtenin da bairns wi' black eric, an' noo i tink du's frichtened for him dyself. keep up dy heart, lass, naethin' will happen me till god's time comes. sae get du da tae ready as fast as du can, for i'm baith tired an' hungry, and tinkin little eidder aboot da sheep or black eric, i can assure dee." thus sandy 122 shetland fireside tales; or, would throw off his abstracted air and speak kindly to his wife, whom he loved dearly, and whose fears he was anxious to quiet, but still his purpose was never for a moment shaken, and it was his hope and study to carry it out without his wife's knowledge. being no believer in demonology, he looked upon black eric merely as a beast of prey, which in the interests of society ought to be destroyed, and had the fullest confidence in himself that this task he was able to accomplish. sandy breamer was a man in the prime of life; his blue eyes and light flaxen hair showed his true scandinavian descent. his hair, parted in the middle and plaited in a tail of considerable length, which hung down his back according to the prevailing fashion of the time, gave his handsome countenance an almost feminine expression when animated by the gentle passions of social endearments; but when aroused in anger, that same face would have well represented one of david's "two lion-like men of moab." a sight of his full-developed chest and powerfully knit arms would have rejoiced the heart of any artist painting a hercules. indeed, it was a common remark in the district where he was best known that "sandy breamer never knew his own strength," for in none of his ordinary avocations by sea or land did there ever arise an occasion to fully test the resources of his tremendous muscular power. his ordinary dress was sailor's duck trousers, worn without braces, and a knitted worsted frock, with alternate stripes of black and grey, which, fitting tight around his body, showed off his athletic frame to great advantage. on his head he wore a striped knitted cap, and on his feet the ordinary cowhide"rivelins." the sun an hour ago had sunk beneath the western wave, the dim grey outline of foula isle lay like a fragment of cloud against the distant horizon, and the mariners' guiding star shone out in the dark-blue sky with a twinkling serene lustre. the slumbering atlantic lay hushed in rest, and no sound broke the stillness of the 1 the hermit of trosswickness. 123 night save the tiny wavelets on rerwick sand, or as they gently lapped against the dark rocky masses which lined the shore, or gurgled amongst the tangled seaweed which hung in dense masses around the base of stack or cliff. man and beast had retired to rest, but sandy breamer slept not. the time had come for entering upon the hazardous enterprize which had so long occupied his thoughts, and rising gently from the side of his sleeping wife and innocent babes he quickly dressed, and when ready to quit the cottage he turned to take a last look of those dear ones, lying like emblems of purity and innocence, breathing softly in the slumber of peace and health. his heart yearned over them, and fondly would he have kissed their parted lips, fair as dewwet rose-buds, but he dared not awaken them, and, summoning all his courage, with a softly whispered "god bless you," he gently lifted the latch of the door, and was soon far on his way toward the dark-frowning mass of fitful head. descending the slope of lunnabist, he crossed the vadle brigg, and striking along the western shore of the loch of spiggie, ascended fitful head, keeping far to the east, and then taking a westerly direction along the edge of the cliff until he came within a hundred yards of the spot where the blue lights had been so often observed by boats at the fishing, as has been already mentioned. there crouching down, he crept on silently over the smooth turf, now covered by a thick-falling dew. pausing, and looking between him and a streak of light in the western sky, his heart bounded as he thought he saw the outline of a cowering figure resting on a fragment of rock a few yards from the edge of the cliff. holding his breath and creeping on his hands and knees, as the distance between him and the dark object lessened, his belief increased that the lawless freebooter, the inveterate sheepstealer, the unholy consorter with demons and devils, was at last within his grasp. it is evident that demons, like mortals, are subjected to erratic movements, for the hour had long since passed when shetland files de tales; or, 122 woul his v anxi mon it ou t ] in d a t] i beas be c that s blu nav pla his ga ex so sa 664 ch h 124 tangie patrios but o hould have been attendance on his order 1 cerer im to his rocky cave; the grey daw was beginning to show itself over oness head, and back eric still rested on his stone seat, a:career 2 a deep slumber. his appearance in the c.m tw. was he a huge baboon sitting in a crouch attrae, his head resting on his bosom, and his long shewy arms folded and bei ce him, and within a few feet resti on his knees. of the rock on which he sat, lay is iron staff with the shag pointed the end towards the c... to this object sandy coiling noiseley crept, and, grasping firmly the heavy end of bolt, sprang to his feet. instantly, like a serpent and with a growl, like that of the polar bear, bonded towards sandy, making a desperate clutch at iron staff; but the latter, holding the weapon in his band, dealt his adversary such a tremendous blow his right as sent him reeling for several yards along forward, muttering curses between his clenched but sandy, taking a step or two in advance to itself, black eric shot up from his seat on the rock his left with the rushe teeth d meet eric, need sandy black haand t as dearl midder t save dee soon ener black eric it with rin ewy with a lay hush ex bony art 0, re said in a firm, deep-toned voice, "stop dere, is dy staff; but as dy last 'oor is come, du'll more, an' so here she goes,"-with which rled the bolt over the cliff. again turning to 110 ha : he continued, "noo, eric, we are baith alaek, and an' fit ta fit, wi' a' dy strent sell dy life du can, for i swear by heaven aboon us dat e nor brownie, nor a' da devils o' hell, sall dey'll get dee when i'm dün wi' dee, an' dat'll be, as du'll fin' ta dy cost." to this ttered not a word, for he was almost choked le stood to his full height, his powerful curved and drawn towards his sides, his es clenched as if in mortal agony, his set a horrible grin, and his wolfish eyes and revenge from beneath his shaggy with the hermit of trosswickness. 125 j eye-brows, looking altogether the very incarnation of evil. why sandy did not at once rid the world of such a being, which he could so easily have done by the very weapon he had just thrown over the cliff, may appear strange; but sandy breamer, though a plain man and dressed in a homely garb, was ennobled by that which alone distinguishes the truly great-he possessed all the highsouled chivalry of the knights of the olden time, and scorned to take any undue advantage of even such a depraved and desperate character as black eric the sheepstealer. sandy considered it was the natural right of every creature possessing life to defend that life to the last, and that the conflict between him and his adversary should be on equal terms, and the victory gained by the strongest arm. as the crouching tiger contracts his powerful muscles, and gathers up his strength for the flying leap, which shall fasten him upon his prey; as the hungry wolf on the snowy wastes of siberia flies at the throat of the benighted traveller, so did black eric, with all the enormous strength of his giant frame, bound towards his antagonist, and attempt to grapple him by the throat. but sandy was on his guard, and ere the ruffian could fix his grasp, a powerful blow from the right arm of the former fell on his chest with an almost metallic ring, which made him throw a backward somersault, and roll over almost to the edge of the cliff. there he lay motionless for a few seconds, and then rising slowly, and affecting a limping gait, he advanced a few steps towards his assailant, who was again on his guard, for he knew the cunning of this wild beast in a human form, and that what he could not do by main force he would try to accomplish by stratagem,—and this was too soon proved, for passing sandy, and moving in the direction of the stone seat already alluded to, he suddenly wheeled round, and, eluding the heavy blow aimed at his head, locked his giant arms round sandy's waist and bore him to the earth. and now a fearful struggle began. rolling his 124 shetland fireside tales; or, tangie should have been in attendance on his patron in order to convey him to his rocky cave; but now the grey dawn was beginning to show itself over noness head, and black eric still rested on his stone seat, apparently in a deep slumber. his appearance in the dim twilight was like a huge baboon sitting in a crouching attitude, his head resting on his shaggy bosom, and his long sinewy arms folded and resting on his knees. before him, and within a few feet of the rock on which he sat, lay his iron staff with the pointed end towards the cliff. to this object sandy noiselessly crept, and, grasping firmly the heavy end of the bolt, sprang to his feet. instantly, like a serpent uncoiling itself, black eric shot up from his seat on the rock, and with a growl, like that of the polar bear, bounded towards sandy, making a desperate clutch at his iron staff; but the latter, holding the weapon in his left hand, dealt his adversary such a tremendous blow with his right as sent him reeling for several yards along the smooth turf. quickly recovering himself, he again rushed forward, muttering curses between his clenched teeth; but sandy, taking a step or two in advance to meet him, said in a firm, deep-toned voice, "stop dere, eric, here is dy staff; but as dy last 'oor is come, du'll need her no more, an' so here she goes,”—with which sandy hurled the bolt over the cliff. again turning to black eric, he continued, "noo, eric, we are baith alaek, haand ta haand an' fit ta fit, wi' a' dy strent sell dy life as dearly as du can, for i swear by heaven aboon us dat nidder tangie nor brownie, nor a' da devils o' hell, sall save dee noo; dey'll get dee when i'm dün wi' dee, an' soon eneuch dat'll be, as du'll fin' ta dy cost." to this black eric uttered not a word, for he was almost choked with rage. he stood to his full height, his powerful sinewy arms curved and drawn towards his sides, his huge bony hands clenched as if in mortal agony, his set teeth exposed with a horrible grin, and his wolfish eyes gleami hate and revenge from beneath his shaggy the hermit of trosswickness. 125 eye-brows, looking altogether the very incarnation of evil. why sandy did not at once rid the world of such a being, which he could so easily have done by the very weapon he had just thrown over the cliff, may appear strange; but sandy breamer, though a plain man and dressed in a homely garb, was ennobled by that which alone distinguishes the truly great-he possessed all the highsouled chivalry of the knights of the olden time, and scorned to take any undue advantage of even such a depraved and desperate character as black eric the sheepstealer. sandy considered it was the natural right of every creature possessing life to defend that life to the last, and that the conflict between him and his adversary should be on equal terms, and the victory gained by the strongest arm. as the crouching tiger contracts his powerful muscles, and gathers up his strength for the flying leap, which shall fasten him upon his prey; as the hungry wolf on the snowy wastes of siberia flies at the throat of the benighted traveller, so did black eric, with all the enormous strength of his giant frame, bound towards his antagonist, and attempt to grapple him by the throat. but sandy was on his guard, and ere the ruffian could fix his grasp, a powerful blow from the right arm of the former fell on his chest with an almost metallic ring, which made him throw a backward somersault, and roll over almost to the edge of the cliff. there he lay motionless for a few seconds, and then rising slowly, and affecting a limping gait, he advanced a few steps towards his assailant, who was again on his guard, for he knew the cunning of this wild beast in a human form, and that what he could not do by main force he would try to accomplish by stratagem,-and this was too soon proved, for passing sandy, and moving in the direction of the stone seat already alluded to, he suddenly wheeled round, and, eluding the heavy blow aimed at his head, locked his giant arms round sandy's waist and bore him to the earth. and now a fearful struggle began. rolling his 126 shetland fireside tales; or, antagonist under him, sandy tried to disengage himself from his fiendish embrace, but black eric had learned that he was no match against the swing of the fisherman's powerful arms in a free fight, and therefore he clung to his adversary with the tenacity of a jaguar. as they quickly rolled over each other like two fierce tigers, black eric endeavoured to shift his grasp so as to encircle sandy's chest with the intention of crushing him, as the boa-constrictor crushes the buffalo; but nature, in constructing sandy's physical frame, had used no sparing hand; his capacious chest, as if ribbed with bars of iron, yielded not beneath the savage hug of his fiendish antagonist. by a superhuman effort, he now rolled his enemy beneath him, and, grasping him fiercely by the throat, forced him to unlock his arms, and as they fell by his side sandy sprang to his feet without the least symptom of fatigue. black eric also leaped from the ground, exclaiming, with the words hissing through his teeth, "curse dee, du norwegian dog, but my next grip will brak every bane i' dy ugly carcase, and fling dee ower that black rock as i flung da picked banes o' dy fattest sheep." "black eric," said sandy, in firm measured sentences, "it was my wish ta gie dee a fair death, or else i could hae pinned dee ta da spot whaur du stands whin dy iron staff wis i' my haand; bit it's little gratitude du shaws for my kindness, an' nae mair du sall hae at my haands. dy days are numbered, wi' a' dy sins upo' dy guilty head; repent noo if du can, even at the elevent hour. tink whaur du's gaen, an' dat da master du has served sae lang can gie dee nae better fare den he has ta himsell. du sees dat streak o' licht i' da east sky, an' dat licht tells dee dat da glorious sun is followin' efter it, but du will never see his licht again. before he glints ower the green girss o' sumbro' head, dy body will be stark an' stiff, an' dy püir soul in bitter torment, unless noo, at dy last moments, du cries for mercy." "fause cantin' villan," exclaimed the outlaw, the hermit of trosswickness. 127 foaming with rage, and his eyes gleaming with a lurid glare as if the horrors of perdition were already kindled within his soul; "curse dy preachin', i will preach dee sixty fathoms doon ower da banks dere, and see dee lowin' in hell, an' bricht enouch to shaw me da road afore i come!" with these words he advanced closer to where sandy stood, and, before the latter could parry the stroke, the miscreant dealt him a savage blow across the face, and the blood trickled down his breast. like another samson in the fields of timnah when the young lion roared against him, the spirit came mightily upon sandy, his blood was at last fairly up, and he felt a superhuman strength shoot through his giant frame. rushing upon his assailant, his blows fell with the force and rapidity of two sledge hammers driven by steam, beating the retreating savage almost to the edge of the cliff, and whose sinewy frame seemed to quiver beneath the frightful thuds which were showered thick and fast upon him; but when within a few feet of the awful precipice, he suddenly threw himself flat upon the ground, and darting out his long gorilla arms, he clutched sandy by the feet, which brought him to the earth. the miscreant now sprang to his feet, and with a fiendish glare in his eyes, holding his victim by the legs, attempted to hurl him over the cliff. sandy, having nothing to grasp, was dragged along the smooth grass, and just as black eric, with all the savage strength he could exert, bent back so as to swing sandy fairly over the precipice, the latter, by a tremendous effort, dragged his left foot from his grasp, and struck him such a blow on the pit of the stomach as sent him rolling heels over head down the precipice. as he fell, sandy held his breath, and listened with a sense of awful horror to hear a faint splash in the eddying waters far below; but no sound broke upon his ear, and rising to look over the cliff to ascertain the fate of the miserable wretch, he was almost horror-stricken at the apparition which glared upon him. a few feet from the top of the cliff, clinging to a fragment of rock, blac 128 shetland fireside tales; or, eric was still safe; and, with a spring like a panther, vaulted again to his feet on the grass in front of his adversary, once more to renew the struggle. the unexpected appearance of his enemy, and his bound from the rock he had clung to being quick as a flash of lightning, sandy was for the moment off his guard, and before he could strike down the black, grizzly paw of his enemy, he felt his throat in his iron grasp. almost suffocated, sandy grasped the wrist of the savage, crushing flesh and bone, which loosened his grasp, and extorted from him a howl of agony. at the same moment, sandy in turn grappled him by the throat, and they both rolled on the earth together. the injury sandy had suffered in the dreadful conflict had steeled his heart with revenge, and though the wretch, now in his death grasp, twisted and quivered in the most frightful contortions, he relaxed not his hold. black eric's strength now began to fail, and his protruding tongue and glazing blood-shot eye-balls showed that the last moments of the sheepstealer were fast falling away, when suddenly a flash of light passed over sandy's head, and looking up he saw a black horse galloping in a circle around him. around the head of the animal was a halo of phosphoric light, and from his feet flew flashes of blue flame when they touched the earth. as sandy's eye followed the circling course his speed grew faster, and as children make a ring of fire with a burning stick, so did the dark form of the mysterious beast melt in the fiery ring. a strange dizziness now came over sandy as the earth seemed to be flying around under him, and the luminous ring turned blue, then green, then black, and in its darkness he remembered no more. how long he remained in this state he knew not, but on awakening he found himself resting on his side on the soft turf which around him bore marked traces of a dreadful struggle, but his enemy had vanished. raising himself on his elbow, his heart was gladdened by the glorious light of the sun now risen in the east, casting a the hermit of trosswickness. 129 ruddy glow over the surrounding landscape, and the dewladen grass sparkled with countless shining gems as the slanting mellow rays shot athwart the verdant headland. rising to his feet, he felt refreshed by the gentle morning breeze which fanned his cheek and cooled his fevered brow; and the fierce passions of his soul, which had raged like a tempest during the awful midnight scene through which he had passed, now heard the gentle voice of nature whispering, "peace, be still." like samson, he felt that the spirit of the lord had not departed from him, for as he stretched forth his powerful arms and paced about in the warm sunlight, he felt his strength returning, and he thanked god for this, and for preserving him through such a conflict to see the light of day once more. the thought of his wife and children now shot through his heart like an arrow, and with a deep sigh, and a tear trickling down his manly cheek, he turned his face towards his cottage on the hill side. walking along the smooth, velvety carpet which nature so richly spreads over those headlands, sandy felt deeply impressed with a sense of god's goodness, in adorning the earth with so much beauty. around him on every side grew myriads of wild flowers of every form and hue, giving out their sweet perfume in the balmy morning air, and reminding him of the beautiful language of scripture, which he had so often read and admired "consider the lilies of the field how they grow: they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet i say unto you, that solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. if god so clothe the grass which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, 0 ye of little faith? "" sandy felt that he was one of those of little faith, and he prayed that it might be strengthened, and that he might get a clearer view of the ways of providence, which to his inquiring mind had often suggested dark doubts and difficulties. "why," said he to himself, “amid all this beauty, order, and harmony, should man be the i 130 shetland fireside tales; or, only creature whose presence is so often a plague-spot upon the fair face of creation? and, even at his best, being made to mourn,' he mars the beauty of nature with his tears. "over the edge of the cliff yonder, the gulls and kittywakes are sailing with outspread, snowy pinions on the gentle, morning breeze. how gracefully they float with motionless wings! circling in playful flight, and greeting each other with familiar cries as they pass. how happy they must be! no regrets for the past, no anticipation of evil to come; far below their aerial flight lies the great sea which they know gives them food, and safe on the ledge or in the fissure of the rock, dwells their callow brood, and beyond these objects they know no care and feel no sorrow. "the lark, like a dark speck against yon silvery cloud, is warbling out a gushing flood of music. how clear and full it is, as if the sweet songster was just near at hand, and not so far away as to be almost lost in the distance; surely this bird is happy! its joy is full in the knowledge that its little nest is safe on the earth below, and hidden, as it is, by a few tall blades of grass which grow beside it. there is a humble bee flitting from flower to flower, humming its droning tune of pleasure as it fills its honey-bag with the treasures of many a flower, and carries the day's gathering to its humble storehouse, there to be laid up and enjoyed when the drifting ocean spray, the howling tempest, and the snow drifts sweep over every verdant, flowery spot which now smiles with beauty in all the loveliness of a summer morn. 66 flowers, birds, and insects, no dark midnight scenes with you; no fierce conflicts in which you engage, no demon spirit dwells in you to make you a curse to the earth, and the terror and dread of your species. alas! why then was i made a man, and not a bird or an insect? for then would the brief span of my existence have been spent in joy, and no fierce passion would have the hermit of trosswickness. 131 raged in my breast, nor brought me in conflict with the powers of darkness manifested in man, accursed of god, and sold to the prince of the powers of darkness." such were the musings that passed rapidly through sandy's mind, as with hurried steps he took his way homeward. he felt a gloom resting on his soul, and the dark enigma of his being pressed more heavily on his spirits than ever it had done before. "what is the end and object of my life," inquired he; "does it begin and end here? ah! that is the question; here is only the beginning, and the end is lost in the infinite. that is the reason i have sorrow, and trouble, and a knowledge of evil in this life, because those are the means by which i must be trained for the life to come. yes, this is light shining in a dark place, and i thank god for it.” sandy was now crossing the vadle brigg, and, turning to the left, quickly ascended the road to scousburgh. passing through the village, he came in sight of his cottage, and as he came near it he saw his wife emerge from the door with outstretched arms, and her loose hair floating in the breeze. he ran to meet her, and caught her in his arms, as with a wild shriek she exclaimed, “o my sandy!" and would have fallen at his feet had he not supported her. lifting her gently, as he would have done a child, he bore her into the cottage, and placing her in a chair, tried all the means he could use to bring her back to consciousness. his little boy, on whose sunny locks only three summers had shone, clung to his mother's skirt, and looking up to his father's face with his large, wondering, clear eyes suffused in tears, asked if "mam widna waaken." his little sister, two years younger, fair as a rosebud, and a sweet miniature of her mother, slid down from the chair which she was leaning against, and tried to creep to her mother, who, slightly recovering consciousness, looked with bewildered gaze at her husband, as if to make sure that it was really him she saw. but happening to catch a glimpse of the blood which had stained his white trousers, she went off 132 shetland fireside tales; or, in a wild hysteric fit, her rapid sobs alarming the children, and wringing sandy's very heart with grief and alarm for her safety. gradually getting calmer, sandy tried by every endearing expression to soothe her. "annie! annie!" exclaimed he, "be calm, love; i'm safe an' soond; du's frichtenin' da bairns oot o' der senses. dunna noo, dunna geng on dat wy; canna du see dat der's naethin' da maitter wi' me; tak' up da bairn noo, an' haud dy tongue." "o, cruel sandy," at last sobbed his wife, "why did du lave me? du's murdered; yea, i ken du's murdered, tho' du winna tell me." 66 "o, sic nonsense, annie," said sandy; "hoo can i be murdered, an' yet here beside dee, an' spaekin' ta dee?” "yea, yea, yea, yea!" continued annie, in a low dolorous tone, and without noticing his last remark, "i kent somethin' wis gaen ta happen. dis is my drame o' wirkin' i' green girss; an' da black corbie dat fled ower wir hoose da streen i' da mirkenin'." "oh! niver mind nedder drames or corbies, annie, as lang as i'm safe an' weel," said sandy, who at last succeeded in calming his wife. for several days she tried to get from him where he had been, and what had happened; but he always put her off with the remark, " dat it wisna o' ony consequence, an' he wid tell her a' aboot it sometime." several months passed, and the subject seemed to be forgotten, as sandy was anxious it should be, especially as from the night of the conflict with black eric, none of sandy's flock were missed. at the sametime there was undoubted evidence that the sheepstealer was still alive, and visiting his old haunts, but with greater caution, and with a more sparing hand of his neighbour's property than formerly. a remarkable circumstance, however, occurred at the time, which seems to have entirely changed the mode of black eric's life, and which will be gathered from a conversation which took place between jenny pennon and ellie o' da hill. the hermit of trosswickness. 133 jenny was well known far and wide as a collector and vendor of all sorts of gossip good, bad, and indifferent; and one day calling on ellie, who was an old maid, and lived alone in a small cottage outside the hill dykes, she found the latter at home. coming in softly over the floor, in a quiet undertone she announced her appearance with "gude day be here.” "gude day be ta you," returned ellie. "o!" recognising her, "is dis dee, jenny? come in trow; surely dat's a stranger. tak a share, an' slip aff o' dy feet an' set dem up ta da fire.” “na, mony tanks ta dee," responded jenny; "bit niver du anse my feet, fir i'm shure der ower weel; na, no a grain o' weet is upo' dem," she added, as she drew her hand over the tops of her neatly-clipt rivelins. "fu's a' hame wi' dee," inquired ellie ; nae unkin news aboot you, i'se warren? 66 "" 66 yea, alaek! der's been a hantle o' unkin news dis while. du'll be heard o' sandy breamer's feicht wi' black eric o' fitful?" "i!" exclaimed ellie, 66 no a whisht am i heard; du sees i geng nae wy ta hear news." "weel," continued jenny, "dey say it wis a awful feicht. sandy wrastled wi' him da whole nicht, an' da tief wid niver hae gotten oot o's haands leevin' if tangie hed na come an' pitten some glamour ower sandy, an' taen his strent fae him. bit lord be tanked if a' be true dat's sed, da foul fiend is oot o' shetlan', an' niver micht his feet tak him back agen, an' du an' i be hale an' weel. du wid a kent rasme i' da stanes, da fiddler? weel, as a' body kens, he wis aye taen awa every yule-e'en ta play ta da hill folk, an' sometimes tü whin dey hed a weddin'. he aye slipped awa' i' da mirknin', wanderin' among da muckle grey stanes an' ferrie knowes aboon his hoose; an' if dis wis aboot da middle o' da ouk he widna be seen agen till da monaday efter, an' den he wis aye fun staandin' afore a muckle grey stane wi' his fiddle anunder his airm, perfectly benumed. 134 shetland fireside tales; or, weel, as i wis gaen ta tell dee, aboot twa ouks sinsyne, rasmie guid awa' ta ane o' da ferrie knowes ta see what hed cum ower dem, as he niver hed heard o' a weddin' for iver sae lang afore dat. weel, whin he comes in, wha sees he bit an auld wife sittin' hurklin' upo' da heartstane. says rasmie, says he, 'fu's a' wi' you, an' fu's a’ da rest?' 'o, dool an' sorro'! dool an' sorro'!' says shu; i'm a' dat's left noo, lammit, i' da isles o' shetlan' o' wir kind. wir folk is a' fled ta faroe, an' dey tocht dat i wis dat auld an' dat cripple dat dere wis nae üse o' me followin' dem.' 'an' what's pitten dem awa?' says rasmie. 'o' says da auld wife, da gospel hes spread sae muckle dis while back dat dey cudna bide ony langer in shetlan'. an' sae rasmie,' says shü, 'ye see a blate fireside noo whaur mony a happy yule-e'en ye're seen spent. o, dool an' sorro'! dool an' sorro'! dat ever i sud a lived ta see dis day."" "o, haud dy tongue noo, jenny, an' say na mair," exclaimed ellie, looking furtively over the back of her chair towards the dark end of her hut,-" du'll pit me clean oot o' my judgment wi' faer, du's made me perfectly oorie." "na! lord hae da poor o' dee," ejaculated jenny, "an' a' dat belangs ta dee; an' lord be my blest helper (sneezing), der's naething ta mak dee oorie. as i wis sayin', rasmie fan dat a' da hill folk hed left shetlan' an' gean ta faroe, an' mony says dat baith brownie an' tangie hes followed dem. tangie hes na been seen fir monts, and sin gaawn o' da blate left da claes i' da mill fir brownie, he's niver been seen sinsyne. as mony a ane says, he sud a been mair spairin' o' his gifts, an' geen da claes ta dem dat hed mair need." the demon brownie here alluded to, and who scarcely deserves the bad-sounding prefix to his name, was a useful, if not an amiable, member of the fraternity to which he belonged. his mission was to attend water mills the night; and before the invention of the hopper, ed the eye of the upper millstone with the the hermit of trosswickness 137 corn, so all that was necessary for any one having cost to grind was to leave it in the mill, shut the door, and lift up the water-sluice to set the mill in motion. in the morning the corn was found ground, and the meal ready for being carried home. those who chanced to get a sight of brownie describe him as having the appearance of a tall young lad, but always in a state of nudity; hence the good-natured gaawn, alluded to by jenny pennon, took pity on him and left him a suit of clothes one night, along with a quantity of corn to be ground; but, as the sequel showed, it turned out to be a case of ill-judged philanthropy, resulting in the loss of brownie's services ever after. tangie, as it will have been seen, had left the islands. this was evident, not only from the discovery made by rasmie o' the stanes, but the blue lights in fitful banks, so long seen by the fishing boats, had entirely disappeared, and black eric, deprived of his demon horse, could no longer reach his rocky cave, and therefore had to content himself with less comfortable and less safe quarters. sometimes hiding in the more accessible parts of the cliff, and sometimes sleeping in the open air, he seems to have led a more unsettled kind of life since his escape from the hands of sandy breamer; but at last the fates decreed that the wicked and singular life of the bold outlaw of fitful head should be brought to a close, and in a way that, while it served the ends of justice, avoided the dangerous and painful necessity of personal conflict. the autumn had far advanced, and the horses employed in bringing home the winter-fuel from the hills during the summer months were now allowed to run at large over the green slopes of fitful, and to improve their condition by feeding on its rich grass. sandy breamer owned a splendid animal, a cross between the arabian and pure shetland breed, and going one morning at early dawn to bring home this horse, for the purpose "leading" home hay from the meadows, he met with a of d fireside tales; or, 134 wi 135 e, by which he at last accomplished that nis life-viz., the capture of black eric. , animal grazing quietly on the eastern slope and, sandy mounted on his back, and, taking y course, moved along at an easy trot, keeping ort distance from the edge of the cliff. when a short distance of the memorable scene of his former conflict, what was his amazement to see, in a hollow just before him, his old enemy black eric, lying at full length, apparently in a deep slumber, with the veritable iron staff as a pillow, which sandy had long believed was resting beneath the deep waters which washed the dark, frowning rocks of fitful head. black eric lay with his cap drawn down over his eyes, his arms folded across his face, and his knees slightly drawn up. gazing in breathless silence on the prostrate figure now before him, sandy could scarcely believe his eyes. cautiously dismounting, and taking his horse by the head, he moved with noiseless steps over the soft mossy turf which yielded like feathers beneath his horse's hoofs. in a moment he stood at black eric's feet, and uncoiling a strong rope tether which he carried in his hand, he deftly passed the end under the legs of his captive, and casting a running noose, fixed the other end of the rope around his own waist. he now sprang on his horse, and bending forward, firmly grasped the neck of the animal (for he had no saddle), and whispering, "check, check, check," in his ear, he bounded like an arrow down the declivity. the moment the rope tightened around black eric's ankles, he awakened and sprang to his feet with a savage growl; but as the horse sprang forward he was instantly tripped, coming to the earth with a frightful thud. again and again, as he glided over the smooth turf with almost lightning speed, he bounded from the earth, vainly attempting to clutch the streaming tail of the flying animal; but ere his curved fingers could grasp it he was brought down with terrific force, and each time fell a tempest of curses and imprecations were the hermit of trosswickness. 137 hurled at his flying captor. sandy, however, heeded not, but urged the animal to his utmost speed, and, directing his course towards the vadle brigg, soon saw a number of fishermen, who were on their way to the beach, coming running to meet him. being now on the sandy plat which fringes the western shore of the loch, and just as the men met him, he leaped from his horse, and black eric was instantly surrounded. 66 god be praised!" exclaimed eddie o' clavel, who had suffered much by the depredations of the sheepstealer; "du's catched da tief at last, sandy. noo haud 'em fast, men, or tangie may help 'em tae gie you da slip ance mair yet.” black eric now seeing that all resistance was hopeless, passively allowed his arms to be pinioned behind his back. he uttered not a word, but looked with a sullen, savage scowl on those around him. "we'll tak' 'em ta da büth, boys," said eddie o' clavel; "an' lowrie o' lumpfield, du an' i'll watch 'em a' nicht; an' sandy geng du hame ta dy hoose, du's hed enouch ta dü already wi' da ill-faured tief." on reaching the booth, which stood near the fishing station of spiggie, the two fishermen entered with their captive, intending to man a boat next day and convey him to lerwick for the purpose of lodging him in the tolbooth prison. sandy again mounted his horse and rode back to the spot where he had captured black eric, for the purpose of securing his iron staff, which he wished to keep in his possession as a trophy. arriving at the spot, he found the mysterious weapon where he left it, and dismounting, he threw it over his shoulder, and, taking his horse by the bridle, again descended the slope on his way to his cottage on the hill-side. eddie o' clavel and lowrie o' lumpfield kept watchful guard over their prisoner. being two powerful men, they had no fear of him bound as he was, and they had still less fear of his escape, seeing that the 138 shetland fireside tales; or, door of the booth was locked on the inside, and he placed on a bench between them. as the day advanced, black eric appeared more crest-fallen, and bitterly complained of the cords, which he said were too tightly seized round his wrists. "we micht aise da tow," said eddie, "bit wha kens what micht happen, du's sic a foul tief dat we canna trust dee." "trust me!" echoed black eric, in a whining tone; "ye cruel monsters, is na da door locked? an' gif my haands were loose a' tagedder, i can get nae farder.” "i tink, boy, we micht slacken 'em a bit," said lowrie o' lumpfield. "weel, boy, just plase dysel," replied eddie. lowrie now proceeded to undo the knot of the cord that bound black eric's hands, taking the precaution, however, not to slip out the ends, but merely to slacken it a little; but while accomplishing this, the wily outlaw suddenly drew his hands through the cord, and dashing from his keepers, went through the door like a bomb-shell, making it fly in fragments before him— the door being an old and frail one-and this he had noticed on entering. before eddie or lowrie could recover from their surprise, black eric was several yards in advance of them, taking a southerly direction, and then toiling up the heights to his old haunts. his pursuers strained every nerve to make up with him, but his long practice on the hills in running down sheep now stood him in good stead. by the time he gained the edge of the cliff, he had left his pursuers at least fifty yards behind him. they saw him disappear over the brow of the banks, but at a point where they knew he could find little shelter, and they therefore strove hard to reach the cliff, before he could gain the next gio, where the nature of the rock [would have afforded him a better chance for baffling his pursuers, for at this part of the headland the cliff is not perpendicular as is the case further south, but is broken up the hermit of trosswickness. 139 into gios or creeks, which have shelving slopes of loose rock running midway to the sea. as they anticipated, just as they gained the head of the gio into which black eric descended, he was attempting to swing himself round a dangerously projecting rock which jutted out in a point between the two gios or creeks already spoken of, and, excepting a few narrow ledges, formed a sheer descent of several hundred feet. when the men saw him, they yelled a wild "hey!" which echoed through the surrounding cliffs; and whether by this means he was startled, or had the fatigue he had gone through shaken his nerves and weakened the tenacity of his hold, could not be known; but, horrible to relate, as he made the desperate swing, clinging to a ledge of the rock above him with both hands, and his right foot resting on a narrow ledge below, his foot slipped and he fell. as his hands slipped, he seemed to bound from the face of the rock, and with extended arms, down, down he went! his dark form lessening to the sight of the appalled fishermen as it sped in its awful flight to the dark waters below. they see it plunge, a tiny jet of spray mounts up, falls, and settles in a small spot of frothy bubbles which soon vanish. the eddying waters gurgle a low, murmuring requiem, and the water sprite dances with fiendish glee over the spot where lies fully fifty fathoms deep the stiffened corse of black eric the sheepstealer. "dis is da lord's düin'," exclaimed eddie o' clavel, as he smote his hands together; "his blüid be on his ain head, an' da lord hae mercy on his soul, tho' lord forgie me for sayin' it, for dat prayer is noo ower late. lat's geng hame, lowrie, an' tell what's happened." the two men now descended the headland, and arriving at the village of scousburgh, told the startling news that black eric had fallen over the banks, which seemed to produce a mingled feeling of horror and thankfulness in the minds of the community-horror at the awful termination of the life of this wicked man, and thank140 shetland fireside tales; or, fulness that the peace of the district would no more be disturbed by his presence, nor its interests suffer by his depredations. years rolled on, and the sheepstealer of fitful head seemed to be almost forgotten, and his iron staff rested quietly, with a thick coat of rust on it, in an obscure corner of sandy breamer's cottage. about this time, however, a water-mill owned by sandy required to undergo some repairs, and among other things required a new iron spindle; but the village smith had not a piece of iron suitable for the purpose, and′in the dilemma, sandy bethought him of the useless trophy still in his possession, and that it could not be applied to a better purpose than to make a spindle for the mill. it was therefore at once handed to the smith, who with little workmanship made it serve a more useful purpose than ever it had done before. the mill was finished and set a-going, and it so happened to be on a halloween. all went well till the moon shone over a point on trosswickness, which showed that it was twelve o'clock, when all of a sudden a noise like thunder passed over the roof of the mill, and was quickly followed by low, moaning sounds, and the "collie" which lighted the mill instantly went out, and in the darkness the awful apparition of black eric was seen standing upon the top of the flying millstone with his finger pointing to the iron spindle below. olly o' vinsgart and his son, who had the use of the mill that night, fled in terror through the open door, and for several days remained speechless and in a state of stupefaction. none after this occurrence ever again had the courage to visit the mill. it long remained deserted-at last fell into ruins, and a heap of lichened stones is all that now remains as a memento of black eric of fitful head. the hermit of trosswickness. 141 chapter xvi. nae doubt but ye may get a sight, great cause ye hae ta fear it, for mony a ane has gotten a fright, and lived and died deleerit on sic a night. burns. "bit "dat's baith a lang, an' a winderful tale," said bawby, as maikie closed his book and resumed his seat; i'm tinkin' some o' da lasses 'll be wearyin' now ta get der fortins cassen, an' sae we'll bettir hae dis ower afore da boys begins wi' castin' der stocks." "noo, bawby, i hoop ye're no gaen ta dü ony fearsome thing," cried girzie o' glufftoon; "it aye maks me feared ta hear aboot tellin' fortins. sin dat time dat some lasses got sic an awful fricht. it wis apon a holloween dey hed dipped der sark sleeves in a burn, whaur tree lairds' land met, an' den dey tüik dem hame wi' dem an hang dem upo' backs o' tree shares afore da fire, an den hoided demsells awa at da ooter end o' da hoose, ta see da lads dey wir ta be married til; fir as ye ken, da foregeng o' every lass's lad wis expecked ta come an' turn his sweetheart's sark dat wis upo' da back o' da share." "weel, first comes in ae bonnie lad, an' he turns a sark; but den comes in anidder bonnie lad; an' he turns da second sark, bit instead o' a third bonnie lad dere cam tumlin' in da door-o it maks me quaak ta speak o' it! a black coffin, an' it tumled an' tumled till it cam ta da share whare da sark wisna turned, whin it stüd a peerie while on its end, an' den tumled an' tumled awa oot da door agen da sam wy it cam in. twa o' da lasses fell a soond, an' da idder ane screeched dat wy dat da folk o' da hoose jimped oot o' der beds fir dey wir a' gaen ta bed, an' ran ta da lass an' held her, fir shü hed 142 shetland fireside tales; or, gean i' da fits, sae in a while efter, dey a' tree cam ta demsells, bit twa o' dem wis no da better o' it a' der days, an da third ane dat hed her sark upo' da share, whaur da coffin güid til wis in her grave afore da neist halloween cam roond." "o girzzie!" exclaimed bawby, "du's aye tinkin' aboot some fearsome thing; bit we're no gaen ta dü ony thing dat wy; we're just gaen ta set straes i' da ase, an' drap da white o' a egg in a gless o' water; an' whin da lasses comes hame, dey can fling der clews doon da kill head, an say, 'wha haads i' my clew end.' bit, bairns, dere's a gaist," continued bawby, pointing to a half consumed brand standing upright on the hearth, "wha can dis be, i winder? o, i'll wager you it's auld sibbie rendal; weel i keen sorra bit o' her i'm wantin' ta see. lord bliss dee, eppie, as du's neist da door, an' gie her a dip i' da water dat's i' da tub yonder upo' da flüir." 66 yea, dat sall i," said eppie jarmson, as she rose and took the representative of the unwelcome sibbie in the tongs and dipped it in the tub of water, so that the original might get a thorough drenching of rain when she set out on her visit to bawby o' briggstanes. "noo, bairns, wha will we try first," continued bawby as she took a straw from the floor and nipped in two pieces about an inch and a half in length, one being plain, the other having a knot on it. "dis is sandy flaws," she whispered in johnnie o' greentaft's ear, as she stuck the piece with the knot on it in the hot embers; "an dis is leezie lowrie," she whispered again, as she stuck the plain straw beside it. the effect of the heat on the lower ends of the straw was to give them a wavering motion, first parting and then coming close together again, and at last resting against each other; this was caused by the lower ends of the straw being burned through when no further motion took place. as soon as the two straws thus closed, loud laughter and clapping of hands broke from the whole circle of lads and lasses around the fire. the hermit of trosswickness. 143 "ay, bawby!" exclaimed sandy flaws, "dat pair is a' richt; dat's just da wy you dü your wark, bawby, if dey quarrel ye ken hoo ta get dem tagedder agen." "yea! yea!" cried bawby, "du's richt, my bairn. bawby o' briggstanes niver leaves her wark half düne; ony twa shu pits tagedder needna be feared, peace an' plenty will be der lot, as da sang sings, an' a' dats gude watch ower dem; bit du niver kens," she continued, dis pair wis just dy ain sell an' some bodie no far awa, sae du sees hoo it's gaen ta be." "o mony tanks ta you," said sandy; "i hoop ye'll be richt, an' den ye sall get da bride's piece, an' nane better wirt it, i'm shüre." "ay, lord bless dee," exclaimed bawby; "bit, bairns," she continued, "wha sall we try neist? o i ken, bit i'll no tell ony bodie dis time," she added, as she bent down to place a straw with the knot on it in the embers; but just as she got this representative of a love-sick swain, only known to herself, placed in the proper position, down came from the lum a heavy kail' stock, which, guided by the laws of gravitation, landed right on the middle of bawby's black binder. 66 "o my lord! i'm soved," she exclaimed, as she settled back in a fainting fit. 66 'hes ony o' you a scent bottle?" cried johnnie o' greentaft, as he lifted bawby gently up into her chair. 66 ay, here's ane," cried girzzie güllet, as she held the restorative to bawby's nose; "an' sprinkle dis watter on her broos," cried willie biggiltie, as he held a “tinnie" of the liquid to johnnie o' greentaft, who acted as medical attendant. "rin fort, boys," cried johnnie, an' gie dat vagabonds a trashin' if ye can catch ony o' dem." bawby, though seriously stunned, still retained the fuculty of hearing, and this declaration of war against the stock casters made her gently open up her eyes, 1 a whole cabbage. 2 stunned. 144 shetland fireside tales; or, when, seeing a very large heap of the produce of the kail-yard lying around the fire, she gradually revived, and faintly whispered, "o puir bairns, let dem be, bairns will be bairns, an dey wirna ta ken dat da runt wis ta strick me, ye ken. yea, i'm a perrie corn better noo," she added,'as she settled herself back in her chair, and adjusted her widow's cap, the beauty and symmetry of which had been seriously marred by the cabbaging process through which it had passed. "noo, bairns," she continued, “i'm just pittin' you a' aboot, sae gadder ye up da twa or tree peags o' kail, an' lay dem üdbe¹ aside da lambs, an' set up da fire agen, fir ye're no gaen to loss your fun, idder fir me or da boys." "weel, bawby," said annie leslie, "i truly tink ye're no able fir muckle mair dis nicht, an' ye ken we can dü naithen withoot you; besides geordie here wis oot a perrie meenit sin syne, an' he says da wind is takin' up at da south-east wi' a awful gloweret laek sky; sae i'm feared it's gaen ta be a ill nicht, an' sae i tink we'll a' just mak fir hame afore it comes on warse, au' some o' 'is has far ta geng, ye ken; an' da rods is dark noo whin dere's na mün-licht." "weel, weel, my bairn," said bawby, "it da wadder is gaen' ta tak up i'll no bid you bide langer da nicht, as weel as mebbe da boys is no düne wi' da stocks yet; sae we widna hae muckle mair paece. lord bliss a' your happy faces, fir comin' ta see me da nicht, au' l hoop ye'll no be lang in bein' back agen; bit a' ye dat needs a brand 'll hae ta wait a peerie start fir it taks, ye ken." when bawby had finished her remarks, considerable bustle ensued amongst the lads and lasses, some lighting lanterns, others seeking on the floor for missing clogs, and getting them adjusted to the feet to which they belonged; and those not provided with lanterns seeking in the peat cro² for the proper length and quality of 1 the outer end of the house. 2 corner where peats are kept. 1 the hermit of trosswickness. 145 mossy peats suitable for torches. those provided with lanterns then took their departure, while the torch-bearers had to wait until their peats had become sufficiently ignited to form a very effective flambeau when fanned by a strong breeze. when the last of bawby's visitors had departed, she shut the door, and settled herself down in her comfortable straen chair, to wait further blessings being showered upon her from that horn of plenty commonly called the lum. in this anticipation she was not disappointed, for several of the lads who had just left, immediately returned to brigstanes with as large a load of halloween vegetable offerings as they could carry, and which was safely deposited through the smoke aperture of bawby's cottage, until a very neat little stack of provender accumulated at the side of the peat cro." next day bawby, with careful hand, planted these in a crub which stood near the cottage, in order to keep them fresh until required, either for proveader or domestic use. 66 k 146 shetland fireside tales; or, chapter xvii a life on the ocean wave, a home on the rolling deep. in the last chapter we left bawby o' brigstanes rejoicing over her bountiful kail harvest; and this she did notwithstanding the shock which her cranium had sustained by the first descent of the green manna, as already recorded; and we must now introduce the reader to an individual with whom he has had already some slight acquaintance, and who plays no unimportant part in the curious chapter of the incidents of our story. this individual is no less a personage than the hermit's old rival, jack smith of mirends. jack was an orphan, and lived with an uncle on the mother's side, but from his earliest years he was a wild, daring lad, fond of performing desperate and fool-hardy feats, one of which may be recorded. in the neighbourhood of the village where he was brought up was a cliff several hundred feet in height, and quite perpendicular. the strata of the rock were marked off in layers of great depth by horizontal fissures running in parallel lines across its face, and giving it the appearance of some great wall constructed by titanic hands. in this cliff the gull, kittywake, and shag bred in vast numbers; its inaccessibility guarding them from the intrusion of man, and its deep fissures forming a safe and convenient resting-place for hatching their young. upon this impregnable fortress of the feathered tribe jack had often cast a longing look, but to reach one of its fissures and carry off the coveted booty of eggs or half-fledged young, would have required as great powers of flight as those possessed by the feathered owners 1 the hermit of trosswickness. 147 themselves. but though he had not wings, he found a substitute in a pony's tether, which he one quiet evening possessed himself of, and, proceeding to the top of the cliff, drove the stake firmly into the turf near the edge of the precipice, and putting the running noose at the other end of the rope round his waist, cautiously began the perilous descent. clinging to the face of the rock by fixing his toes and fingers in its narrow crevices, he had nearly reached a gull's nest when his foot slipped, and he fell head downwards. providentially, the rope stood the sudden strain put upon it, and the stake kept its hold in the earth, but jack hung suspended in mid-air head downwards, with the rope drawn so tight around his waist as to cause him the greatest agony. away from the sight of every human eye, and from the hearing of every human ear, there he hung for many hours, until at last a young woman, happening to pass along the road which skirted the cliffs, was startled and surprised to hear cries for help proceed from one of the creeks; but being unable to see the face of the rock from the spot where she stood, she ran to the other side of the "gio," and there saw on the opposite side what in the distance appeared like a spider suspended by a single thread of his web. hastening to the spot, she, with marvellous courage, and such as an islander was alone capable of, seized hold of the rope, and standing on the verge of the precipice pulled him up by sheer force, and when safely brought to bank, she exhibited what might be considered a suitable expression to her feelings by giving him the rope's end round his ears; but so little impression did this adventure make upon our young cragsman, that he returned to the same spot the following week, and, with a stronger rope and more caution, effectually harried the nest which was the cause of his first mishap.¹ to 1 the original of jack smith was a school companion of the author, who went through the same perilous adventure, and was rescued in the same way as here described. 148 shetland fireside tales; or, such reckless daring he added a certain cruelty of disposition, evinced by his love of dog and cock fighting, hanging and drowning dogs and cats, and following other juvenile sanguinary amusements. as might be expected, a youth with such proclivities was not likely to settle down to the quiet and unromantic life of a croftholder, or the more toilsome drudgery of the haaf fishing. he longed for a field more cougenial to his tastes, and one which should afford that excitement and wild adventure which were better suited to his nature; and no paul jones could have desired a better field than that which the smuggling trade on the coast of shetland afforded at this time. this trade was chiefly carried on by dutch vessels manned by dutch sailors, who were sufficiently familiar with the coast by annually visiting it when prosecuting the herring fishing, as the regular smugglers seldom appeared on the coast until after these fishing "busses had returned home, and when picked men could easily be obtained. jack's uncle was a noted smuggler and dealer in contraband goods, which chiefly consisted of gin and tobacco, and was assisted by his nephew in all his daring exploits when landing his illicit commodities at places and in weather which it required the most fearless intrepidity and skill to accomplish; and thus young jack's tastes were formed, and the way opened up for his future career as a bold and successful smuggler. as will be remembered, jack when a schoolboy was smitten by the charms of lelah halcro (his ignominious defeat by the hero of our tale, on the occasion of the bloody conflict in which they engaged on her account, was never entirely forgotten or forgiven by him); and it is therefore not too much to say that from that time a secret determination of revenge was formed in his mind, and a hope at least entertained that what could not be gained by the influence of love might one day be secured force. quiet evening, in the month of august 1744, a the hermit of trosswickness. 149 gaily painted vessel with gaudy pennants, high poop, and large square sail, was seen to heave-to close in with the land, and send a boat ashore to one of the creeks called voe, and which still bears that name. on approaching the shore a number of green-painted casks was observed in the boat, which indicated that a supply of water was the only apparent object the boat had in visiting the shore. while the sailors were engaged in filling their water casks, there approached them a lad about seventeen years of age, of fair ruddy complexion, strongly built, and wearing a compromise in dress between that of a sailor and a landsman. "faader," inquired the new comer, addressing the officer in command, “ you want de youngus on board skip?" "yah! yah!" responded the party addressed, as he shifted a quid of tobacco from right to left in his mouth; "you come board and spraach de capatain -moy skip, plentach grout, steekabrod, schnaps and tabac." our friend jack (for he it was who now appeared on the scene) required no such flattering description of the ship and her liberal supply of stores to induce him to come on board. he longed to stand on her polished decks, and to see her gaudy pennants floating over his head, and to realize the pleasures of "a life on the ocean wave, a home on the rolling deep." he therefore sprang on board the boat as she moved from the jetty, seized an oar, and pulled lustily for the ship. as the boat came alongside, a number of swarthy faces peered over the taffrail at the young stranger, as he trimmed his oar and looked up at his future companions. "wer ist das?" bawled the skipper through a cloud of smoke which he blew from the recesses of his capacious cheeks, as he held his long-stalked pipe in his right hand, and waited for a reply. 150 shetland fireside tales; or, "de youngus hat lust in de skip kommen,” replied the man, mounting the ladder which hung down the ship's side. "yah! yah!" responded the skipper, nodding his head, and taking a vigorous draw at his long pipe, as he eyed jack's agile movements, springing up the ladder like a monkey. the exchange of a few sentences between the captain and the commander of the boat seemed to satisfy the former that he had made a very important addition to his crew, in the person of the young native and already halfmade sailor, who had now entered his service. jack's intimate knowledge of the coast, his experience in the smuggling trade, and his ability to act as interpreter, when dealing with the natives on the west side of the mainland, where the dutch language was very little understood— all rendered his services of the highest importance in the interests of the trade in which he was about to engage. a few weeks on board the .6 bockanier," and jack appeared to be every inch a sailor, his knowledge of the language enabling him to obey orders with the greatest alacrity, and his fearless daring making him quite at home on a yard arm, or in running along the shrouds, as a spider runs along the threads of her web. on the "bockanier" returning to the coast with a full cargo of gin and tobacco, smith boldly piloted the smuggler along the western coast, as far as the island of trondra, and thus not only avoided the chance of legal interference, feeble as it was, but found a far better market with those remote natives who, even at the high price asked, had never bought so cheap before. as might be expected, jack came into high favour both with skipper and owners, and in four years from the time of his giving his friends the slip for the wild life of a smuggler, he stood on the deck of the "bockanier" of overflackkee as chief mate. up to this time, he had never ventured on shore when cruising off any part of the coast between sumburgh the hermit of trosswickness. 151 head and lerwick, as he had no wish to be recognised by any one who had formerly known him; but now his appearance was so much altered, while he spoke the language so fluently, and was so thoroughly dutch, both in build and rig, that even his own mother, had she been alive, could scarcely have recognised him. thus safe from recognition, he omitted no opportunity of visiting the scenes of his boyhood whenever the vessel lay off that part of the coast, and his anxiety to do so mainly arose from a lingering desire once more to get a glimpse of the maturer charms of his schoolmate, lelah halcro. as unkind fate decreed it, this opportunity did occur, and produced results of the most momentous kind in the lives of those who innocently suffered the consequence of his ill-timed curiosity. 152 shetland fireside tales; or, chapter xviii. o mischief, thou art swift to enter in the thoughts of desperate men. shakespeare. in the month of july 1750, on " meadow-mawin' day," a party of dutch sailors were seen approaching by a road which led from the creek of voe, and then, turning to the left, directed their course to the marshy plat, or meadow land, which lies at the bottom of the valley, between sklaburg and brew; for here was a gay gathering seen only on "meadow-mawin' days." the mowers, in home-spun blue knee-breeches, red vests, and knitted caps of the same colour, were gracefully handling their scythes, as they stood erect, and swept, in wide circular swathes, their sharp shining blades through the tall rank grass; while buxom and blooming lasses, in short petticoats, white or coloured slugs,¹ fixed with a single pin at the waist, were actively plying the rake in gathering the hay into ricks, or loading the ponies with it to be carried to the toon2 mails, where it was to be spread out for winning. the sharp ring of the whitling stone on the scytheblades, the merry laughter of the lasses at their work, the general hum of voices, and the shrill whistle of the pony drivers, all combined to form a chorus of music sweet enough to charm even the heart of a dutchman. "goodendach," said the foremost of the party, as he approached a merry group of lasses busy with their rakes amongst the new-mown grass. "goodendach faader," replied an active, middle-aged short gowns. 2 commons, the hermit of trosswickness. 153 female, whose air of responsibility indicated that she was directing the work. 66 "all de moy meshies bein here?" inquired the dutchman, as he anxiously glanced around at the haymakers. nay, one more meshie come dere," said the spokeswoman, as she pointed to a girl approaching with a rake on her shoulder. "ah yah mine gott!" exclaimed the dutchman as he started, and the blood rushed to his cheeks, and then back again to his heart. "come here, lelah; here's dy sweetheart waitin' ta see dee," said one of the girls laughing. ah! thoughtless girl! how little did she know that her language was well understood by the swarthy-looking, heavy-built dutchman, with jewelled ears and fingers, who now stood before her, and that her jest was indeed a terrible reality! he was a sweetheart, and none other than jack smith of mirends, the school companion and discarded lover of lelah halcro; and it was her presence which thrilled his frame, and drew from him the exclamation which he uttered on seeing her. now in the full bloom of womanhood, perfect as a grecian statue, the glance of her matchless eyes, so full of soft liquid beauty, sent the fatal shaft again home to his heart, and the strong man reeled beneath the shock. the die for evil was cast, and days of darkness and trouble were stored up in the future. the apparent dutchman, however, quickly recovered himself, and pointing towards the mowers, he exclaimed, "ver moy! ver moy! de same in my countrie, peoples bein ver happy dese times." with this he turned on his heel, and with a parting "goodendach "repeated by each of the party, the heavy clamp of their wooden shoes soon died away in the distance, as they returned by the same road to join their boat, which waited for them at the head of the voe. "i winder what yon hollonders wir wantin?" said 154 shetland fireside tales; or, janet wirk, as she resumed her rake, and began to pile up a cole of the new cut grass. "lord kens," replied meggie mowat, resting on her rake; "yon wid be da skipper, i'm tinkin', dat spak ta eppie-da ane wi' da rings in his lugs, an' dat had da better kind o' claes on." "yea, i'se warren dee yon wid be da skipper," replied her companion; "i wiss i hed minded ta ax him for sweeticooks; i tink he wid a gean wis some. did ye no notice, bairns, what a change cam ower his face whin he saw lelah halcro comin? what wid ye say dat yon's mebbe johnny smith dat guid awa wi' da smugglers a lock a years sin syne?" "hie tongue lass, an' be na a füle,” replied eppie gordie; "he's nae mair johnny smith den i am. lord pity dee lass, da man cudna spaek a wird o' plain english, far less shetland! na, na, da wicked sinuer dat he wis, i doot he made a warr end." the opinion formed by the haymakers that the supposed dutchman was a skipper was a correct one, for jack smith now owned no superior on board the "bockanier," and as fate sometimes decrees that one man's misfortune shall be another man's good luck, so it was in this case; for when on a voyage to the shetland coast the previous season, the "bockanier" was caught in one of those south-east gales which sometimes sweep the german ocean, and barely escaped foundering with the loss of her bulwarks and lower spars, and two hands with the captain were washed overboard. this occurred while the vessel was lying-to between sumburgh head and fair isle. jack then, as next superior officer, assumed the command; and when the gale moderated, he bore up for the west coast of shetland, and running into scalloway, got his vessel refitted, and then in a cruise among the islands he disposed of his cargo on highly advantageous terms. on his return to holland, as might be expected, he met with a cordial reception from the owners of the the hermit of trosswickness. 155 "bockanier," and was confirmed in the command of that vessel. a few days after the vessel's arrival at overflakkee, captain smith left his ship in charge of one of the owners, in order that he might visit the late captain's widow, to convey to her the mournful intelligence of her husband's death. she lived with an only daughter in a small chateau on the banks of the waal, a few miles above the town of bummel, and was a woman of great personal attractions, and amiable qualities of mind. just before starting on his sad errand, the captain was fortunate enough to meet with a countryman of his own, one bill ericson, a native of lerwick, who had served several years in the dutch trade as mate; and now being out of a ship, had come to overflakkee on a sort of "jackashore" trip. bill had been highly educated, according to the standard of education of those times, and began his career in the medical profession; but disliking further acquaintance with the healing art than that which a ship's medicine-chest afforded, he quickly performed the operation of cutting his studies short and going to sea. the captain being in want of a mate, and knowing by the cut of bill's jib that he was the right sort of craft, engaged him at once. the long boat was then lowered, and the captain, with bill and three other seamen, sprang on board, and the sail being hoisted, she was soon gliding up the smooth waters of the maas. on the arrival at the house of frau vanderboor, she received with becoming sorrow the sad intelligence which her visitors brought, but she did not on that account neglect the duties of hospitality; and on the captain taking his leave, he fancied the cordial grasp she gave his hand indicated that he might safely repeat his visit at some other time, without being considered an intruder. 66 my eye, captain," said bill, after they got into the boat; "thereaway is a nice anchorage. it cheats bill if 156 shetland fireside tales; or, that tidy little dutch craft won't haul down the black flag, whenever she has got true blue to hoist. throw her a tow-line, and haul taut under her quarter, full sail, studsails alow and aloft, all sea dimples and sunshine;' and bill winked and chuckled at the figure which his own fancy had conjured up. 29 "avast there, bill," cried the captain; "i ain't goin' athwart the hawse of that here frigate. i have my weather-eye open in the wake of a nice leetle craft, westnowd-west. bearings 60 north and 1.20 west; and when i next take soundings thereaway, shiver my timbers if i don't have a survey." "ay! ay! captain," replied bill, all right, but belay there a jiffy; what if the skipper and owner all in one be aboard? maybe he'll port helm hard, and run to windward, and then"-and bill struck the side of his nose with his forefinger. 66 'clap a stopper in that jaw tackle of yours, bill," said the captain, not quite liking bill's familiar manner, and still less the unpalatable truth which his figurative speech conveyed. the reader need scarcely be informed, that the captain's allusions were to his old schoolmate lelah halcro, and indicated his intention of seeing her on his return voyage to the shetlands; and this he accomplished, as we saw in a former chapter, when he visited the haymakers on "meadow-mawin' day," in the neighbourhood of skelaburg. as we then saw, the captain and his party (his mate bill being one of the number), were returning to their boat, which waited for them at the head of the voe, and after a steady pull of about two miles off the land, where the "bockanier" lay, the boat brought up under her quarter. on coming on board, the captain and bill retired to their cabin, and placing a bottle of gin between them, sat down for the purpose of imbibing its contents, while they discussed the subject of the expedition in which they had been engaged. the hermit of trosswickness. 157 66 "now i say, bill," cried the captain, as he raised a glass of gin to his lips, "here's to the beauty of dynrastarness (that's the old name of my calf-ground, you know). that lovely leetle frigate i showed you is the one i told you about in holland. my eyes! i was nearly capsized when i saw her, she's so vastly hansomer now. you said some landlubber would have her in tow. may be so; but will he get the weather gauge of jack? no, never," and the captain looked fierce, and brought down his heavy fist on the table with such a thump as made the bottle jump a couple of inches from it. "all right, cap'n," replied bill, slowly draining his glass; "but there's a little dead reckoning here, cap'n, i want to look at; how are you to get a warp aboard when you take this tidy leetle craft in tow? that's the tickler bill can't make out no ways." "jest you belay there, mate," said the captain, as he filled another glass; "jack knows how to tack and wear, and never hauls down his colours when he's got to fight; but here's to my bonnie birdie in a flowing bumper ;" and the captain drained his glass. "and here's to her, i say, cap'n; only once in my life have i seen so lovely a face, and that was afore i put my hands in the tar-bucket. ah! cap'n, that leetle business near made a sheer hulk of poor bill ericson; but no matter, it's all over now. i was not myself for a long spell, an' so out of gear aloft," and bill pointed to his forehead, "that i began to write poetry!" "did you though, bill?" cried the captain, with surprise. "well, i should like to do that 'ere sort of thing, but i don't see any ways how i should get it to splice; can't you show me how to handle the marlinspike, and just have a keek in your locker, and see if you ain't got some spun yarn there away?" "i rather think i have, though," said bill; 66 anyways, i'll overhaul for it;" and bill rose and rummaged in his chest, and after hauling out his "toggery," and turning over a lot of well-worn books, he came on a parcel 158 shetland fireside tales; or, of manuscript, yellow with years and grease. "this here is the best one," said bill, pulling out a paper from the centre of the bundle; "though it does not clink like the chain cable, this is what i now call blank shot, though when i talked finer, and had more larnin' than í have now, i called it blank verse, and i think it will just do for your pretty polly, what you call her?" "lelah," cried the captain, "but fire away, bill; let's have the smell of this blank shot of yours; and there's a match for you," added the captain, filling out another glass of gin. bill tasted the liquor, and then opened out the paper, and read in a fine clear voice, and with perfect pronunciation, as follows:as i wandered through this vale of tears, there fell a ray of light across my path, and by it i beheld the loveliest form that ever sat upon the lap of earth since eve in bliss and case luxurious reclined beneath the shadow of the grove. a maid, in all the glory of her charms, stood bathed in mellow light before me; her auburn locks in wanton ringlets fell adown her snowy neck and heaving bosom her graceful mein and symmetry of mould outvied all powers of ancient grecian art; her cheeks had borrowed from the rose's dye enough to contrast with the lily-white of her fair brow. her eyes. soft as the dove's, sparkled with matchless brilliancy, and through them shone the essence of a thousand human souls. twin roes that fed on hermon's dewy slopes, white like the waving lilies which they crop, nestled beneath the dainty silken bands, which straining, bound them in their sacred fold. salem's wisest king, in boldest imagery and glowing oriental strains, could only tell my ecstacy, thus to behold her heaving bosom rise and fall in gentle undulations like slumbering waves on thule's rocky shore, which oft in early youth i've watched by full orbed moon her silvery rays reflecting. the hermit of trosswickness. 159 tumultuous passions seized upon my soul, and thrilled my frame with countless vibrations; and in that moment of wild ecstacy, i wished to draw her to my beating heart; but as i stretched forth my arms to clasp her, the fading ray of light did melt away in softer rainbow hues, when darker still the shades around me closed; but like a gentle zephyr breathing past, i heard her voice in pitying accents say, "farewell!" "shot and blazes!" exclaimed the captain, slapping his thigh as bill finished his paper, "if that aint lelah to a tee. you call that blank cartridge bill? well, maybe so; but i'm a dutchman and a half if there ain't flash and fire enough in it to blow up a liner; and i'm blowed if i don't have a mind to lower away the longboat, and catch my pretty bird to-night; so what say you, bill? will you be staunch as the best bower, and join me?" now, cap'n, belay there," said bill, looking serious, this 'ere love affair of yours has unshipped your running gear aloft, and put you two points off the course; and if you don't get all clear again, we're in davy jones' locker as straight as a pikestaff. you know," continued bill, placing his arms akimbo, and looking straight at the captain, "this 'ere pretty wench has got friends; and suppose they don't show the white feather, what then? blood an' murder, i guess, with a fast sailing frigate in our wake, and a bow chaser ticklin' our stern post atween wind and water with thirty-two pounder pellets. no, no, cap'n, that little game of yours won't play. port helm, an' take in some canvas till fair weather comes, soft and gently, or it won't do; that's my reckoniu'!" "well, well," said the captain calmly, "maybe your right, bill. next trip anyways i'll take soundings, and prick out on the chart, an' then we shall see the bearings." the reader will no doubt be able to gather from the highly figurative language of those two worthies, that 160 shetland fireside tales; or, the plot to carry off lelah halcro from her friends and home, was only prevented by the clearer judgment of the mate bill ericson, who foresaw that such a daring act could not be attempted in broad daylight without the risk of bloodshed, and certain punishment overtaking the perpetrators of such an outrage; he therefore used his utmost influence to dissuade the captain from entering upon so dangerous an enterprise, and to wait until a more favourable chance should occur for accomplishing his object. calmer reflection also showed the captain that an opportunity of this kind would be best brought about by obtaining such information from the natives as would make it clear whether lelah halcro was really the betrothed of his old rival, olla ollison; and if so, according to the well-known habits of lovers in those parts, they would have a trysting-place. to find out where that trysting-place was, became therefore the first step to be taken. on his return voyage about two months after, he omitted no opportunity, while dealing with the natives. of dunrossness, to learn from them all he could about lelah halcro and her sweetheart; and this he did with great art, and in such a way as entirely to disarm suspicion, always speaking in broken english, and making it appear that it was the beauty and fine appearance of all the girls he saw in the meadow, that made him so anxious about their welfare and matrimonial prospects; and thus gradually he ferreted out the truth that lelah halcro was to be married to the schoolmaster, olla ollison, and that they were accustomed to meet at night at their trysting-place, near the cliffs of trosswickness. the captain, moreover, learned that it was only on fine evenings, and with clear moonlight, that the lovers went to so great a distance, and these circumstances appeared to him to be highly favourable to the success of his scheme, because the same fine weather which would tempt them to stroll so far, would enable him to land in any of the creeks around the ness, and which he the hermit of trosswickness. 161 knew it was impossible to do in rough weather. he therefore determined to cruise off the land, and wait the chance of such fine weather as should one time or other bring together such a combination of circumstances as would enable him to capture the girl without resistance by her lover or friends; and perhaps without its being known by any one what had become of her. in thus maturing his plan, his early experience and knowledge of the coast also came to his aid. he knew every stack and heilig, every "gio" and landing-place around the ness, and he also remembered his experience at seal shooting when a young lad. in those times seals were very numerous around the coast, but owing to the precipitous nature of the rocks, only a very small proportion of the animals wounded were captured; and in many instances wounded seals were known to crawl up on the rocks during the night-time, and be found dead by the limpet-gatherers or sillick-fishers who visited the spot on the following day. a wounded seal on a rock gave out a mournful, moaning sound; and this the captain in his young days used to imitate for the purpose of playing practical jokes on the boys who accompanied him. he would conceal himself underneath a rock, and then, imitating the dying seal, would bring the boys to the spot in great excitement, when suddenly he would. spring from his hiding-place, and laugh at their disappointment. this early accomplishment he now hoped to turn to practical and important use. he hoped that in the event of the lovers descending the shelving rock, as they might very likely do to avoid being seen by the sillick-fishers who passed that way, he could imitate a wounded seal while lying in ambush in one of the creeks, and thus decoy the young man from the side of his sweetheart, and then seize him, while another party in the boat would capture the girl. with his plan thus fully matured, and ready to be put into execution, he continued to cruise off the coast, anxiously scanning the heavens, and wishing for such l 162 shetland fireside tales; or, a favourable lull in the weather as should make it safe for him to land on any part of the coast; but as it was now the month of october, each day seemed to lessen the prospect of settled weather, and at last a strong gale from the east sprang up, which forced him to abandon the coast, and proceed on his voyage to holland, deeply chagrined at his want of luck, as he called it, but fully determined that, at some time during the following year, he would carry out his design, but as much earlier in the season as would give him a better chance of that weather which was necessary for its success. the hermit of trosswickness. 163 chapter xviii. along the solitary shore, while flitting sea-fowl round me cry, across the rolling dashing roar, i'll westward turn my wistful eye. burns. on that evening when lelah halcro and her lover met for the last time at their trysting-place near the "banks" of trosswickness, a boat might have been seen approaching from the south. after crossing the voe she kept close to the shore, and was soon almost concealed from view by the dark shadows which the overhanging cliffs cast upon the silent waters. the rowers, dressed in the garb of dutch sailors, conversed in whispers, as they dipped their muffled oars with slow and steady stroke, and leaving in the wake of the boat, as she glided on, a luminous sparkling stream of phosphoric light. in the stern of the boat was seated a man of somewhat bulky proportions, enveloped in a cloak, and wearing on his head a low-crowned hat, slouched over his eyes. in his right hand he grasped the tiller of the boat, making her turn sharply to every bend in the irregular outline of the shore; in his left he nervously clutched the folds of his cloak, scanning with restless eye the rugged summits of the dizzy heights above, and which were now sharply defined against the clear blue moonlit sky. the reader will scarcely need to be informed that the steersman of this boat was none other than the smuggler jack smith, and now commander of the "bockanier" of overflakee, which vessel lay lazily resting on the bosom of the deep, about two miles off the land, her tall spars 164 shetland fireside tales; ok, and quivering sails reflecting the silvery sheen of a fullorbed moon. the four oarsmen consisted of the mate bill ericson, and three picked men of the ship's crew. this was now the "bockanier's" second voyage to the shetland coast that season. on the first voyage the captain made his annual cruise amongst the islands on the west coast, reserving the east for his second voyage, which would bring him there early in august, so as to catch the fine weather which generally prevails during that month, and upon which depended the success of his enterprise. fortune sometimes favours the tyrant who crushes a nation's liberties, and also the midnight assassin who strikes his victim in the dark; and it favoured jack smith, the smuggler, and now sea-robber, on that calm night, when the silvery moon had wooed the lovers to their trysting-place, and when the restless waves which washed the dark rocky shore of trosswickness were murmuring softly as they bore onward on their placid bosom the spoiler and tyrant-that spoiler who was about to rend asunder and trample under his feet the web of human happiness, sparkling with gems and spotless as snow, which two fond hearts had been weaving for themselves during many long years. alas! how little they dreamed, as they rested on the shelving rock, and looked out upon the broad expanse of the dark waters slumbering at their feet, and gently flickering in silvery undulations beneath the pale moon, that this peaceful scene was about to be overcast by the wild tempest of unholy passion, and that the light and joy of life was about to be quenched in the darkness of grief and despair. the wolf was prowling near for his prey, and the remorseless paw of the crouching tiger was about to strike down lelah halcro's protector from her side, and carry her off to his den. "i say, bill, dus you know birds 'as roosts when the moon hines bright," at last whispered the captain, with chuckle, as he jerked his thumb in the the hermit of trosswickness. 165 direction of the creek to which the prow of the boat was pointing. 66 "i guess i do, cap'n," replied bill, in the same undertone, as he rested his oar; but, to be straight with you, cap'n, shiver me if i much like this 'ere catchin' business, especially as when you catch the hen-sparrow there may be some ugly business to do, if she's got a game cock for a mate, and one as knows how to use his bill and talons." 66 "belay there, bill," replied the captain, in a loud whisper, the words hissing through his teeth as he spoke ; none of your gammon hereaway; a true blue salt never croaks even when it blows hard, and now it's smooth sea and clear lunar observations; so you ain't goin' to disobey orders when the captin's got on the quarterdeck, nor show the white feather when true blue is the hoist. your cock-sparrow or master tommiewake won't have a feather pulled, if he keeps his claws stowed, and puts a stopper on his jaw tackle; but leave me to tackle him anyhow, while you tackle miss kittywake, my pretty bird. i wouldn't hurt a feather of her wing for the bockanier' where she floats; but she must be catched and tamed,” and the captain clenched his fist and looked fierce. bill was not slow to perceive that it was now too late to attempt turning the captain from his purpose, and that any hint in this direction would only bring against himself the charge of cowardice; he therefore merely said, "all right, cap'n. bill knows his duty, and always has done it. catchin' a bird, howsomever, is one thing, and taming another; hopes you do the last as well as bill does the first;" and bill winked, and dipped his oar with a strong pull, in order to bring the boat's head close to the rock at which the captain and his accomplice were to land. this was a level rock, forming a natural jetty on one side of a creek about 200 yards to the east of the lovers' trysting-place. as soon as the boat touched the rock the captain sprang out, followed 166 shetland fireside tales; or, by the sailor vander dunder, who was to accompany him, and both began to ascend the tortuous and dangerous path by which only the lofty summit of the cliff could be reached. "now, dunder," whispered the captain, as the ascent began to get more difficult, "keep your weather-eye open, and don't be falling overboard. you ain't got no standing riggin' here, my lad; so pitch off them clumpers of yours, they won't go to holland without ye." "yah! yah!" replied the dutchman, in a suppressed voice, as he slipped off his wooden clogs, and continued to mount the steep ascent, the captain leading the way. "mein gott, captain," exclaimed the dutchman, as, now midway up the cliff, he gazed in terror from a perilous footing at the overhanging crag above; "you not goin' up dat der place-mine head go dis vay," and the dutchman pointed to his forehead, and made a circular motion with his left hand. 66 by g-, your head shall go that way if you don't stop that," fiercely hissed the captain, as he jerked his arm down in the direction in which vander dunder's head was to pilot his body. "you keep close astern o' me," continued the captain, in a softer tone, "and i'll take you up as sound as a pump-bolt. i have done this here traverse sailin' afore now, and knows the course all right." thus encouraged, the dutchman clambered after his leader, now and then catching hold of the captain's legs when there was nothing better to hold by. at last, after considerable exertion, and many heart-quakings and narrow escapes on the part of the heavy-footed son of the flat country, the summit was gained, and the captain, still leading the way, struck off to the west, and then made a circuit to the north, so as to return to the head of the creek, which lay on the north side of the rocky declivity where the lovers were seated. here the captain, with his companion, descended, and after clamthe hermit of trosswickness. 167 bering to some distance over the huge masses of fallen rock, which the force of the waves had piled up in the head of the creek, they came in sight of the point around which the boat was expected to come, and after waiting a few moments, her dark form was seen stealthily approaching, but keeping so close to the rock as scarcely to be discernible, and was soon again lost sight of as she entered the dark shadow cast by the projecting cliff on the motionless water beneath. as soon as the captain concluded that the boat had reached a stack or isolated rock, where bill, now in command, had been instructed to halt, and which stood near where the lovers were seated, and which concealed the boat from view, he disappeared again amongst the fallen rock, selecting an aperture formed by two rugged masses resting against each other; he here concealed himself under the projecting ends of one of the fragments, while he placed the dutchman in a similar position on the opposite side. he now put his fingers to his lips, and sent forth a loud wail in imitation of a dying seal, which, in the calm night, echoed back from the precipitous cliffs with a mournful cadence. as he anticipated, and as we saw from the hermit's own narrative of what occurred on that eventful night, this stratagem succeeded; for no sooner did the young man hear this sound proceed from the creek than he sprung to his feet, and, bounding away over the sloping rock, was soon lost to view amongst the rugged fragments in the creek already described. entering at a point a little above highwater mark, he threaded his way through the narrow openings until he passed the one where his enemies were lying in ambush. just as he was passing through he felt himself seized by the feet from behind; and the opening being so small that he had not room to turn upon his assailants, he struggled in vain for liberty, until exhausted by loss of blood from the wounds caused by the sharp pointed rock beneath him. while this tragic scene was being enacted, the boat 168 shetland fireside tales; or, noiselessly glided from her hiding-place behind the rock, but was not observed by lelah halcro; for, at that moment, she was earnestly straining her eyes in the direction in which her lover had gone, and anxious to see him return again in safety; but her ear caught the sound of advancing footsteps, and on turning round the apparition of three men met her affrighted gaze. her superstitious fears, so common in that age, flashed across her mind, and converted these three beings, in human form, into demons or ghostly apparitions arisen out of the sea; for the boat was again out of sight, and the horror of the moment chilled her heart, and she swooned away, and would have fallen on the rock where she stood had not the strong arms of bill ericson caught her as she fell, who, rough sailor though he was, felt all the nobler impulses of his nature stirred within him by such an affecting scene; and had the way been open to give effect to his feelings, could at that moment have fought his way through seas of blood in defence of the lovely burden which he now quickly and gently bore to the boat. here, placing himself in the storm sheets, he supported his still unconscious charge, by placing his arm round her waist, her fair drooping head resting on his shoulder. alas! how transient are life's fleeting pleasures! how vain its most fondly cherished hopes! in a few short moments how terrible the change! then, two fond hearts beat in unison, and bright hopes built their aerial tenements of future bliss. now, all has passed into the land of forgetfulness, and loved voices are silent as the grave. one lies stretched upon the cold rock, the blood still trickling from his wounds; the other, a captive, and still unconscious that the cup of bliss has passed from her lips, and one full of human woe and agonizing grief given her to drink in its stead. oh, remorseless nature! how unbending are thy laws! how stern and inflexible are thy rules! how couldst thou be calm, and smile, and sigh, and murmur soft music, while youth, beauty, and innocence were betrayed, and the hermit of trosswickness. 169 the loving spirit of that bright form eclipsed in dark unconsciousness? o stars! why did you twinkle on in undimmed lustre? and thou, pale moon, was there no fragment of cloud to hide thy face from such a scene? thou, author of nature upon thy throne of justice, who holdest the whirlwind in the hollow of thy hand, and lightnings speed at thy behest, why didst thou not smite the spoiler with a blast from heaven, and consume his accursed and cruel heart because it had no pity? dear lelah, child of innocence and truth, god does not cause the lightning and the whirlwind to descend for thy rescue; but he can keep thee spotless and pure; yea, on the raging billow, and in the midst of fierce and lawless men, and in thy long sojourn in a foreign land, no evil shall come nigh thee. he that keeps thee does not slumber nor sleep; and when thy days and nights of sorrow are fulfilled, and when thy pillow shall be no more bedewed with tears, he will bring thee again to the land of thy birth, and to the arms of thy lover and thy longlost friends! as soon as the struggles of their youthful victim had ceased, the captain and van der dunder hurried from the spot, and seeing the boat waiting, gave a loud whistle, which was at once answered by the forward motion of the boat towards the rock jetty, where the captain and his accomplice waited to be taken on board. "god bless you, bill," exclaimed the captain, as he sprang into the boat; "you're a staunch fellow, and every inch of a true blue; and here's my pretty bird at last. she ain't hurt, i hope, bill; is she?" inquired the captain, looking anxiously at the lovely and still almost lifeless form which rested on bill's bosom. 66 'cap'n," said bill hoarsely, "you said, god bless me; and i say amen to that, when i'm out of this 'ere business; but, cap'n, if there be such a bein' aloft, which i sometimes doubt, and if he has got blessin's for you and me to-night, he ain't fair and square if he don't put 170 shetland fireside tales; or, a pinch o' brimstone in them. that's my say, cap'n; and blow my brains out for it, if you like." "avast there, bill!" cried the captain, quivering with rage. "unship!-give me the girl-feather your oar," and the captain sprang to the side of his captive, and bill sullenly rose, and, seating himself at an oar, began to pull. "give way!" hoarsely bawled the captain, and the rowers bent their oars like willows, as the sparkling foam danced from the bows of the boat as she rushed onward, leaving a broad stream of molten silver in her wake. the hermit of trosswickness. 171 chapter xix. beneath the rough coat of the sailor lad an honest heart beats lightly. old play. as we saw from the hermit's own narrative of what occurred on this eventful night-shortly after his assailants had left him, he recovered consciousness, but awakened to find life's joys fled, and the world before him a vale of tears. but cruel fate relented when she looked upon his beloved lelah, now a captive in the tyrant's grasp, and therefore let her dream on. only once or twice during the short passage to the ship did she languidly raise her long silken eyelashes, and look dreamily around; and then, as she fetched a long-drawn sigh, the cloud of unconsciousness again closed over her. he that tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, pitied this poor lamb now shorn of all her earthly treasures, and did not permit her to know at once the darkness and desolation which had overtaken her; he tempered the chill blast of adversity to her feeble strength, and enabled her to pass safely through the fiery ordeal of affliction which awaited her. as the boat entered the dark shadows which the motionless sails of the "bockanier" cast upon the slumbering waters, bill quickly drew in his oar, and springing to his feet, said—“ now, cap'n, as a favour for my share in this business, you just let me take this child aboard; i can do it gently, and i like to do it, cap'n." and bill turned his face away from the captain, and looked up at the drooping pennant which hung from the mast head; for a big tear rolled down his cheek, and his voice quivered as he spoke. "all right, bill," replied the captain, "that same favour ain't by no means a big one; but, big or little, 172 shetland fireside tales; or, you've earned it fairly; so here you are, my lad; i know you won't slip her overboard," he added, as bill raised. the lovely burden in his arms, and tenderly carried her up the steps of the strong wooden ladder, which had been let fall just as the boat approached the gangway. descending the cabin-steps, bill laid the still unconscious lelah on a couch which formed one side of the elegant cabin, and then gazed upon her with a mournful expression on his weather-beaten countenance, while the captain stood by his side, stern and unmoved, with his arms crossed, and his lips compressed, as if determined to hide the contending emotions which warred within his breast. "ain't my pretty polly goin' to flare up, bill ?" inquired the captain, after a pause; and, with an assumed air of pleasantry, he added, "when she does, bill, you'll be nurse, and get her braced round again all taut and square." 66 cap'n," said bill, "just belay there, and bring me a little brandy and water." "here you are, bill," said the captain, as he held a glass of water, and bill sprinkled the shining drops on lelah's forehead, and then, raising her head gently on his arm, he moistened her pale lips with a few drops of brandy from a glass which was also handed him by the captain. as these restoratives were applied, the feeble pulse throbbed, and the pale cheek became gently flushed, and lelah halcro awakened as from a trance. "where am i?" she faintly inquired, "and why does the house move so; and why are strangers here?" "don't you know me, lelah?" exclaimed the captain, coming forward, as bill withdrew to one side, “your old schoolmate, jack smith, that fought for you like a turk, and loved you as his life; and here we are now all right, tight, and happy, on board the gallant bockanier," bound for holland-a jolly country, and a lady i'll make you there. so cheer up, my pretty bird, and don't look 66 4 the hermit of trosswickness. 173 glum ;-fair weather, a fair wind, and your old friend, jack smith, the jolly true blue, and as staunch as the best bower; and what could you wish more?" slowly did lelah halcro raise herself from the couch on which she rested, as the captain's hurried sentences fell upon her ear, the meaning of which her wandering senses did not seem to comprehend, until the dreaded name of "jack smith" was repeated; and then a flash of intelligence passed over her countenance, and she sprang to her feet, as if endowed with superhuman strength. "wretch, fiend, and murderer!" she exclaimed, as she fixed her flashing eyes upon the man who stood before her, and which seemed to penetrate his very soul. "where is my lover? does not his blood call for vengeance from the cold rock where he now lies? but strike here, and let me follow him!" and she pointed to her bosom. "now, now, my pretty lelah," cried the captain, "you've got a list to sta❜bord, and all on the wrong tack. we ain't in the murderin' line at all hereaways; so, just you lower your gaff, my pretty girl, and make yourself at home till we get on the tother side, and then we shall have a leetle bit of neat splicing to do, an' that will make it all square; so give me your hand, my pretty mate, an' let us be friends till something better turns up." "monster!" exclaimed the noble girl, as she shrunk back with horror from the proffered hand, "that hand has blood on it. it is the hand of a murderer; let it not touch me. god gave me life, and i dare not take it away while you leave me alone, captive as i am; but put that blood-stained hand upon me, and i cast myself upon god's mercy, and seek refuge from your power in the cold embrace of death. then take my poor body," she continued, in a solemn voice, "and wrap it in a hammock, and in the silent night let it fall with a heavy plunge in the deep, and let it sink down, down to the land of rest! but when the wind moans through the shrouds of your 172 shetland fireside tales; or, you've earned it fairly; so here you are, my lad; i know you won't slip her overboard," he added, as bill raised the lovely burden in his arms, and tenderly carried her up the steps of the strong wooden ladder, which had been let fall just as the boat approached the gangway. descending the cabin-steps, bill laid the still unconscious lelah on a couch which formed one side of the elegant cabin, and then gazed upon her with a mournful expression on his weather-beaten countenance, while the captain stood by his side, stern and unmoved, with his arms crossed, and his lips compressed, as if determined to hide the contending emotions which warred within his breast. "ain't my pretty polly goin' to flare up, bill?" inquired the captain, after a pause; and, with an assumed air of pleasantry, he added, "when she does, bill, you'll be nurse, and get her braced round again all taut and square." 66 cap'n," said bill, "just belay there, and bring me a little brandy and water." "here you are, bill," said the captain, as he held a glass of water, and bill sprinkled the shining drops on lelah's forehead, and then, raising her head gently on his arm, he moistened her pale lips with a few drops of brandy from a glass which was also handed him by the captain. as these restoratives were applied, the feeble pulse throbbed, and the pale cheek became gently flushed, and lelah halcro awakened as from a trance. "where am i?" she faintly inquired, "and why does the house move so; and why are strangers here?” "don't you know me, lelah?" exclaimed the captain, coming forward, as bill withdrew to one side, “your old schoolmate, jack smith, that fought for you like a turk, and loved you as his life; and here we are now all right, tight, and happy, on board the gallant "bockanier," bound for holland-a jolly country, and a lady i'll make you there. so cheer up, my pretty bird, and don't look the hermit of trosswickness. 173 glum ;-fair weather, a fair wind, and your old friend, jack smith, the jolly true blue, and as staunch as the best bower; and what could you wish more?” slowly did lelah halcro raise herself from the couch on which she rested, as the captain's hurried sentences fell upon her ear, the meaning of which her wandering senses did not seem to comprehend, until the dreaded name of "jack smith was repeated; and then a flash of intelligence passed over her countenance, and she sprang to her feet, as if endowed with superhuman strength. "2 "wretch, fiend, and murderer!" she exclaimed, as she fixed her flashing eyes upon the man who stood before her, and which seemed to penetrate his very soul. "where is my lover? does not his blood call for vengeance from the cold rock where he now lies? but strike here, and let me follow him!" and she pointed to her bosom. 66 now, now, my pretty lelah," cried the captain, "you've got a list to sta❜bord, and all on the wrong tack. we ain't in the murderin' line at all hereaways; so, just you lower your gaff, my pretty girl, and make yourself at home till we get on the tother side, and then we shall have a leetle bit of neat splicing to do, an' that will make it all square; so give me your hand, my pretty mate, an' let us be friends till something better turns up." "monster!" exclaimed the noble girl, as she shrunk back with horror from the proffered hand," that hand has blood on it. it is the hand of a murderer; let it not touch me. god gave me life, and i dare not take it away while you leave me alone, captive as i am; but put that blood-stained hand upon me, and i cast myself upon god's mercy, and seek refuge from your power in the cold embrace of death. then take my poor body," she continued, in a solemn voice, "and wrap it in a hammock, and in the silent night let it fall with a heavy plunge in the deep, and let it sink down, down to the land of rest! but when the wind moans through the shrouds of your 174 shetland fireside tales; or, ship, then list, and hear my ghost shrieking for vengeance! then look and see the drops of my murdered lover's blood falling on your deck; and no water shall ever wash them out; and“o bill, bill,” exclaimed the captain, as he struck his hands on his forehead, and rushed on deck, followed by his comrade, "i cannot stand that," he muttered, gasping as he grasped the taffrail, and trembling in every limb. "not that i suppose," he added, after a pause, "that the fellow is dead, though, no doubts on it, he might soon come a sheer hulk, and water-logged too, if nobody found him out; but what shivers my timbers, bill, from stem to stern, is that infernal old yarn about-stand from under. never since i first heered that same yarn has it got out of my head, and now the croak of that corbie we have got aboard has made it worse than ever; and, if it be true what she says, that the fellow is dead, and maybe she knows, then what are we to do, bill? that's the reckonin' that beats me, and i give it up." 1 "well, well, captain," replied bill, "you know well i told you i did not like at all that catchin' business when you first spoke of it; and now you see what's come of it; but if you want my reckonin', cap'n, this is it all, straight and down on the nail; an' i say, you keep away from this 'ere girl, or she's overboard or through the cabin windows afore ye can say 'jack robison;' and then i guess, cap'n, we shall have two ghosts with a finger in this pie of yours instead of one. now, then, if that's as straight as a pike-staff, you ask what are we to do, and that same question is what i've got to answer; and it is this, cap'n,—that you and i shift our quarters to the night-house upon deck, and let the girl have the cabin all to herself; and if you make that square, i'm out of my reckonin' if i don't bring her round to the wind all right." "but, bill," interposed the captain, "suppose that's the course till we make the dutch coast, how do you steer then, my lad? that's the tickler, i fancy." 1 see note p. sailors' superstitions. the hermit of trosswickness. 175 "o, no tickler at all, cap'n," replied bill; "you just look at my reckonin', an' i'll prick you out on the chart all clear. you know mrs vanderboor, and her pretty leetle polly; there away is a nice anchorage for your lelah, till she gets as tame as a duck.” "just anchor there, bill," exclaimed the captain with animation, and bringing his heavy fist down on the taffrail with a thump; "that's the harbour, and it'll do. you're a clever fellow, you are, bill; and i'll leave you in charge of this 'ere leetle craft, for i see it all clear as the forestay. if i take the helm, she'll yaw an' play the devil with us; so you go below, and see how she looks now after the squall." "all right, captain, thank you," replied bill, as he descended the cabin steps, and found lelah seated on the couch, with her hands clasped, and the tears coursing down her lovely cheeks-a friendly flood which had come to her relief, and cooled the burning fever of her brain. she started as bill entered; but on seeing that it was not the captain, she looked calmer, and said, in a soft meek voice, "now i am ready to die; let death come, and my sorrows shall cease." "oh my good girl!" cried bill, his voice choked with emotion, "don't say that; i am a friend and countryman; and i sware by heaven, that no harm shall come to you while i am mate of this ship. the captain has promised that he will not trouble you, and this cabin you're to have all to yourself till we get to holland, and then i know a friend there as will take care of you; and i know god will take care of you, and bring you out of all this trouble yet;" and bill turned away his face to hide his tears. "is it possible, o god!" lelah exclaimed, clasping her hands and looking up, while the tears flowed afresh, "that i am still under thy care, and that thou hast sent me a friend even in this place, and in this hour of my tribulation? but what are friends to me?" she added mournfully; "my lover lies cold and still on yonder shore; 176 shetland fireside tales; or, and i shall no more hear his loving voice, nor see his loved form. but who are you that offer to be my friend?" she inquired after a pause. "i am bill ericson, mate of this vessel," he replied, "and it was myself that carried you on board from the boat; and it's all because i've got a soft heart, and can't help it; and if it must come out, lelah (for that i know is your name), it is because you are so like my own pretty polly now resting in the churchyard. i love you for her sake, god help me! i shall never love another; but he who hurts you, my dear girl, shall first step over my dead body-that's it ;" and bill looked as if the annihilation of some one was necessary to give emphasis to this declaration. "thank you, and may god bless you," lelah replied. "he has surely sent you in the hour of need. but can you tell me if my lover was murdered, or how i was brought here?" "i hope he was not, lelah," replied bill; "but i do not know, and therefore i will not deceive you; but by-andby i shall tell you all i know; bnt first you need some refreshment, which i will tell the cook to bring;" and bill hurried up the steps. while those thrilling scenes were passing on board the "bockanier," a gentle breeze had sprung up, and filled her broad canvas, every inch of which had been shaken out by the captain's orders; and as the breeze freshened, the gallant ship, as if instinctive with life, and flying from a revengeful foe, gathered speed in her onward course, and dashed the dancing foam from her bows as she left a broad shining track in her wake. far to windward lay the islands, like a dark fragment of cloud against the western horizon; and lelah halcro, a captive, lonely and forlorn, was bidding a long adieu to the home of her fathers, and the scenes of her happy childhood and youth. but sad as her fate was, she was at least safe from intrusion, and from the detested presence of her captor; and this inestimable boon she owed first to her own marthe hermit of trosswickness. 177 vellous courage and nobility of soul, and next to the warm-hearted and generous bill ericson, who, by a thorough knowledge of human nature, and especially of the weak points in the character of his superior officer, had got himself constituted her protector and guardian. why he should have allowed himself to become an accomplice in effecting her abduction may appear at first sight strange and contradictory, but a moment's reflection will show that it was all but impossible for him to act otherwise. it must be remembered that he was only one of the party; and even if any plan for her escape had been practicable, he did not know how far he could rely on the men under his command; besides, lelah halcro never would have sought her own safety while her lover's fate was uncertain, and had she been left at liberty, would have fled to his rescue, with the risk of rendering the tragedy of that memorable night still more terrible than it was. the first glance at the lovely face and form of lelah halcro awakened in the bosom of bill ericson such emotions as he could not conceal. she strikingly resembled his own dear polly, as he loved to call her, though many years had passed since he had laid her under the green sod; but he cherished her memory with undying affection, and felt called upon to protect one who so much resembled her, as he would have protected her. he therefore eagerly took advantage of the captain's superstitious fears, and adopted such a course as would not only protect the object of his solicitude from danger, but bring her into a closer relationship with himself; and in such a way as the sincerity and generosity of his feelings could be best manifested, and yet without compromising his position as an officer of the ship. that lelah halcro, a peasant girl, and with such a limited education as her position in life commanded, should so act the heroine, and put forth such power as to strike terror into the heart of the bold and lawless m 178 shetland fireside tales; or, smuggler, may to some appear strange, if not improbable; but how many instances does history furnish of a similar nature? the poet says"o woman! in our hours of ease, uncertain, coy, and hard to please; when pain and sorrow wring the brow, a ministering angel thou.” and in the hour of trial, or in defence of assailed virtue, woman establishes a still higher claim to the name of angel, and has often risen to an altitude of power, and grandeur of character, which has smitten the spoiler as with a blast from heaven, and turned his craven heart into water. see lelah halcro, on a calm summer eve, when seated by her lover's side, soft and gentle as the cushat dove, her sweet silvery voice musical as an angel's whisper, and her eyes beaming forth the tenderest emotions of the soul; and then see her a captive in the cabin of the "bockanier," and in the hated presence of her betrayer, and fully conscious of the peril to which she is exposed, and you see how the glorious nobility of virtue has changed the simple maiden into the heroine; her matchless beauty giving power and force to that torrent of eloquence which flowed from her lips, the very words of which came to her as if by inspiration, because few of them were to be found in her native dialect. the hermit of trosswickness. 179 chapter xx. i sigh for scotia's home, and i gaze across the sea, but i cannot get a glimpse o' my ain countree. gilfillan. as we saw, when lelah halcro awoke to consciousness in the cabin of the " bockanier," she could not comprehend why she was in such a place, nor how she had been brought there; but when the dreaded name of "jack smith" was understood by her, the mystery was solved, and the dark plot in which he had been engaged was laid bare as if by a flash of lightning. she saw in a moment the danger she was in, and the only means by which she could escape from it. she did not fall on her knees and implore him to release her for the sake of friends and home, for she well knew that jack smith neither feared god nor regarded man. there was only one power on earth which could overawe him, and that was the power of superstition, which held such a sway over the minds of men in that age, and more especially the class to which he belonged; and this power she wielded with such effect as to produce the happy results of being removed from his hated presence, and safe from his machinations. three days and nights of a fair wind filling the broad sails of the "bockanier," and making her skim the ocean like a bird, brought in sight the low lines of the dutch coast. during all that time bill faithfully attended to the wants of his lovely charge, giving the cook special directions on her account, and producing for her table the best the ship could afford, which, owing to the smoothness of the sea, and her exemption from seasickness, she was able to partake of. he also did all in his power to alleviate the anguish of her mind, caused 180 shetland fireside tales; or, by the dreadful uncertainty which hung over the fate of her lover, and the thoughts of the sorrow in which she knew her friends were plunged,-mourning her as one dead. bill took special precautions to protect her from intrusion, by allowing her to lock the cabin door on the inside, opening it only when he gave the password of his own name. the captain was fully aware of how he was loathed by his captive, and that any attempt on his part to make advances towards her might be attended with dreadful consequences, the thought of which had already so scared him. he was therefore content to trust to time and the influence of widow vanderboor to bring lelah to a different state of mind. on the vessel's arrival, therefore, at overflakkee, he allowed her to depart in the boat with bill and two seamen without seeing her, merely remarking to bill as he was about to leave,"tell missus vanderboor as how i shall steer up river next voyage, and see my little kitty wake, an' hopes by that time she's got her as tame as a duck." "all right, cap'n," replied bill; "i shall go over all that sort o' dead reckonin' when i get up; and no manner of doubts the missus will know how many fives make fifteen, and have it all straight and square next trip." so saying, bill returned to the cabin to assist lelah to the boat, and the captain walked forward to give orders to the sailors doing duty there. the owner of a vast fortune and of wide domains, if languishing on a bed of sickness, or racked with pain, would, if health could be restored, feed sweetly on a crust, and sleep soundly on a straw pallet. so it was with lelah halcro; dark and dreary was the path which her feet had trodden during the past few days and nights, lengthened as they were into ages; and darker still was the future upon which she was entering. but to be relieved from the power and presence of the man whom she looked upon as the murderer of her lover was relief indeed, and a soothing of her sorrows; and the the hermit of trosswickness. 181 expression of this feeling passed in fitful gleams over her sad countenance as the boat glided on her course up the smooth waters of the maas. during the passage few words were exchanged, as bill had previously fully acquainted lelah with his design, and the arrangements to be made for her safety,being first to privately inform widow vanderboor of lelah's history, her abduction, and the supposed murder of her lover by captain smith; and next, if he did not find sufficient reason to trust widow vanderboor as lelah's protector and guardian, to run any personal risk on her account, in order to find her a place of safety beyond the captain's reach or knowledge. on bill's arriving with his fair companion at the house of widow vanderboor, he announced himself with, "gooden dach, mein good frau vanderboor," and then introducing lelah, continued,-"dis moy meshie come to you from capitain smitz of de' bockanier;' he come up river next voyage and see you, but not dis time." "oh, ver goot, ver goot," replied the widow, grasping lelah's hand between both hers; "mein ver dear freund, capitain smitz, freund be mein freund, and mein leetle gretchen's freund; and du stay long time, and be so freundlich vit us." “thank you, my good lady," faintly replied lelah, as she sank on a couch to which she had been led by the kind widow. the ominous words which the latter had just uttered, and indicating her friendship for captain smith, shot through the heart of the fair lelah with a thrill of terror; for she imagined how her own safety might be compromised in such a relationship, and forgot at the moment what bill had previously assured her of, that if he found any reason to doubt widow vanderboor's fidelity as her protectress, he should find some other place of safety for her, and leave the other two seamen to return to the ship without him. widow vanderboor, ignorant of the true cause of what 182 shetland fireside tales; or, troubled her fair visitor, attributed it to fatigue, and therefore sympathizingly remarked, "ah, mein ver poor kind, ship not goot for fraulein; but be better in von two days; and den go out vit mein own tochter to de pretty garten, and dat make fraulein vell." bill guessed the cause of lelah's distress, and therefore thought it better to make an explanation at once to widow vanderboor, so as to save any further misunderstanding. he therefore, addressing her, said"me would sprach with you in this odder room for one small moment, and mine friend, lelah, will rest a leetle." "ver goot, ver goot," replied the widow, as she led the way to the adjoining apartment. "now, mine good friend," bill began, when both were seated, "me want to tell you dat capitain smitz is one bad man. he has killed-murdered this poor child's sweetheart, and torn her away from her fadder and modder, and dey tink she is lost-drowned by fallin' over de rocks; and he now want you to help to force this poor child to marry him.”" "ah, mein gott! i sall die," she exclaimed, as she turned ashy pale and trembled with terror. "is it possible," she added, after a pause, "dat what you tell me of capitain smitz is true?" "yes, mine good lady," bill replied, "it is all true, i know it is; and dis is why i want to tell you dat you keep and protect dis poor child, and i will pay you mine own self. not that she can ever be mine sweetheart t; but i love her for mine own poor sweetheart's sake dat is dead, and i shall never marry anoder." "ah, mine goot brave mate!" exclaimed the widow, as she burst into tears, "gott vill bless you, and dis poor kind shall be mine kind, like mine own dear gretchen; and not till dis poor heart beats no more in mein bosom, and not till capitain smitz steps over mine dead bodie, shall any harm come to dis dear freund of yours, and you shall pay noting." the hermit of trosswickness. 183 the declaration of such noble and generous sentiments by this warm-hearted and amiable lady, was more than bill's already overstrained feelings could bear, and the emotion he felt deprived him of the power of utterance. he clasped his hands over his face to hide his tears, while his stalwart frame shook with suppressed sobs. "ah, mine dear lady!" he at length exclaimed, "god will bless you, and bill will pray for you when far away on the billow; though he may not do that for himself. your kindness to dis poor lamb, now lonely and forlorn, will bring down heaven's best blessings upon you; and dis is poor bill's earnest prayer, and he is sure it will come so." 66 tank you, mein ver dear freund," sighed the widow, as she wiped the tears from her face; "but we must now see fraulein lelah, and say vords to comfort her." so saying, she opened the door, and bill rushing up to lelah, who had now fully recovered, exclaimed, “thank god, lelah, it is now all square! this noble lady is your safeguard, and under her roof no one can harm you. the load is now off my mind, and i shall die happy whenever that time comes; and so goodbye, i shall come and see you again next voyage." 66 nay, nay! mine dear friend," cried the kind-hearted widow, "you sit down and get some refreshments vit us, and see mein gretchen who comes here, and vill be so happy to see you and von new freund, fraulein lelah;" and the widow pointed to her daughter, approaching by a winding path which led through the gay parterres which surrounded the chateau on all sides. while the table was being covered with the choicest viands the house could afford, gretchen entered. she was a lovely rosy girl about fourteen years of age, who, smiling and blushing, was led by her mother to lelah, and introduced as "mein own gretchen, your sister; and then turning to gretchen, she said— "meine liebe, diese junge dame wird mit uns bleiben. sie mussen zu ihr freundlich sein, und wersuchen sie glücklich 184 shetland fireside tales; or, machen den ihre freunde sind gestorben, und sie ist sehr unglücklich. 66 ya, meine mutter," replied gretchen, "ich will sie lieben als eine schwester." the repast being over, bill arose to take his departure, and after taking an affectionate farewell of lelah, widow vanderboor, and her daughter, he hurried to the boat with feelings of mingled joy and sadness. he felt his heart oppressed by a sense of melancholy at parting from lelah, and had a presentiment that he would see her no more; but the complete success of his mission, and the safety and happiness of one who lay so near his heart, was in some measure a soothing of his grief. poor bill, the coming event had indeed cast its shadow before, and his presentiment that he should see lelah halcro no more, alas! proved too true; for, on her returning voyage to shetland, the "bockanier" was lost, and all hands on board perished in a fearful hurricane which she encountered when off the doggerbank, but her fate was not known till long after, when a fragment of wreck, bearing her name, was picked up on the shetland coast. it was not till many years after that the sad and untimely fate of her generous friend and protector became known to lelah, and then she mourned him as a brother; and her already wounded heart bled afresh at the loss of one whose friendship was so pure, so noble, and unselfish, and who was willing to sacrifice even his life in defence of her who never could return him any favour. no doubt poor bill died like a true british sailor, and left this changing scene, this vale of tears, with few regrets, for— what was this world to him? his polly was no more; she was not here to meet again, but on the other shore. and as the path there lay, deep through the yawning wave, he smiled as one came rolling on, to seal his ocean grave! the hermit of trosswickness. 185 also beneath that wave sunk, to rise no more, the bold and lawless man, the noted smuggler jack smith, with all his sins upon his head; unless, indeed, he sought forgiveness at the eleventh hour. but here the curtain must fall-we dare follow him no further. if any earthly pleasure could heal a broken heart, lelah halcro might have been happy; for in her new home she experienced at the hands of widow vanderboor more than a mother's kindness, while her daughter loved lelah as her adopted sister with the most devoted affection, and studied by a thousand endearing ways to carry lelah's thoughts from the sorrows of the past to the enjoyments of life, which were now so fully put within her reach. widow vanderboor studiously avoided any mention of lelah's past sorrows, and tried by every means in her power to wean her thoughts from them. she had every reason to believe, from what bill ericson had told her, that lelah's lover was no longer alive, and therefore, to return to her native land would only be to open up the wound afresh in her heart, and leave her in a solitary home to brood in silent sorrow over her irreparable loss, deprived at the same time of those soothing influences which, in her present position, refined society and loving sympathy could so well supply. she therefore considered it her duty even to conceal from lelah the knowledge of any chance which might occur for her returning to her native land; but this was a very remote contingency indeed, as, by the loss of the "bockanier," the only connecting link between widow vanderboor and the sea-coast was broken; nor was she likely again to receive visits from any one from that quarter. fraulein gretchen had just finished her education, and perceiving that lelah, though several years older than herself, was deficient in everything, at once undertook, as a pleasing duty and labour of love, to instruct her adopted sister; and this she did with a zeal and earnestness which soon produced the most gratifying results. 186 shetland fireside tales; or, lelah halcro proved a very apt scholar, and her progress was such as both pleased and surprised her kind friends. she soon learned to speak the german language fluently, which was widow vanderboor's mother tongue. she also made great progress in music, drawing, and indeed in all the accomplishments which fraulein gretchen herself possessed. thus lelah's time was fully occupied either with her studies, or walking out with gretchen in those sylvan retreats which the banks of the waal so amply afforded. it was therefore only when she retired to rest, and when her head was laid on her pillow, that she could indulge in the luxury of tears. then indeed "she wept sore in the night time, and her tears were on her cheeks," but they were blessed tears of relief, and quenched the burning sorrow which consumed her heart; and she was thus enabled, with the commencement of each new day, to put on that air of contentment and happiness which she considered it her duty to show to her kind friends as the only reward she could give them for all their kindness and care of her. thus years rolled on, but the wound in the heart of lelah halcro healed not. "time but the impression deeper makes, as streams their channels deeper wear," she could well say, for ever and anon, the face and form of her long lost olla stood before her, as he appeared in the happy days of their plighted love; and oft friendly sleep opened dreamland, and brought back the bright visions of the past, the trysting-place by the sea-shore, and all the sweet memories which crowded round those happy meetings; but, alas! it was only a dream, for "her sorrows awoke with the dawning of morn, and the voice in her dreaming ear melted away." eight long years had come and gone, and lelah halcro was still the adopted daughter of widow vanderboor, and the loved sister of fraulein gretchen; but as the hermit of trosswickness. 187 the latter had recently become betrothed to a wealthy dutch merchant, her walks with lelah were not quite so frequent, and thus the latter was left much by herself, and which, indeed, she seemed to desire. her native beauty, so bright and dazzling when it bloomed in all its rustic freshness, had now become more spirituelle by sorrow, by the influence of education and refined society; but her smiles, once so sunny, still shone through the veil of melancholy which hung over her lovely countenance-that countenance which no one could look upon without being moved; and many conquests she would have made amongst the young mynheers in the land of her sojourn; but widow vanderboor and her daughter knowing how sternly her purpose was fixed, did all in their power to prevent her being molested in any way by unwelcome addresses. then when walking alone, or when seated by the river, and screened from view by the tall willows which skirted its banks, her thoughts were occupied by strange musings. she would then go back in thought to the land of her birth, and feel a yearning to see it once more. would come up before her the vision of her murdered lover, and the thought that even were she to go back now it must make her heart bleed afresh; and, besides, how could she leave those who had been more than mother and sister to her? and as she tried to banish the subject from her mind, this question would flash back again, was her lover really dead? was there not a possibility that he might still be alive? and if this were barely possible, ought she not to go back, even if it were only to know the worst, and settle for ever those doubts which distressed her? perhaps her father and mother were dead; and if so, then she would only make a short stay, and return again to holland, to live and die beside her adopted mother and sister. these musings so long and often occupied her mind, and formed what to her might be called a feast of joy and sorrow, that she tried to put her thoughts in verse; and 188 shetland fireside tales; or, in doing so, she sought words to suit a very old air which she remembered mothers in her native country singing when putting their babes asleep. as she remembered, it was sung in a low plaintive voice, like a wail of sorrow, as if the unknown future of the babe was the burden of the mother's grief. to such an air lelah's words, as will be seen, were singularly appropriate. she called it the exile's lament. break, o heart, or cease thine aching! let thine anguish now be o'er; friendly sleep, with no awaking, seal mine eyelids evermore. death, o death, why dost thou flee me when i love thy cold embrace? when from sorrow thou canst free me! when from woe my soul release! long i've pined in silent anguish, in this strange and foreign land; yet in grief i still must languish, by a cruel murderer's hand. yes! that hand is stained with crimson; see my lover's blood thereon! see him like a hero dying! all unaided, all alone! loving hands, o lift him softly! smooth the pillow for his rest! kiss, for me, his brow still lovely; spread bright daisies on his breast. bear him gently, lay him softly down into his narrow bed: let the sod be green and flowery that wraps my darling lover's head! but, methinks, a spirit whispers, "olla lives, and oft for me watches by the murmuring billow, gazes on the silent sea." the hermit of trosswickness: 189 by the pale moonlight he wanders weary, lonely, and forlorn ; by our trysting-place, the headland, there his hapless fate to mourn. shall i meet him, o my lover— shall i yet his form embrace? shall our sorrow yet be over-shall i see his smiling face? trosswick banks, shall i behold you, towering with your crags on high? shall your dark outlines unfold you to my tearful, longing eye? sumburgh beacon, brightly gleaming like a twinkling guiding star; will thy light, so joyful streaming, guide me where my treasures are? guide me o'er the stormy billow, where my youthful feet did roam, from the land of flood and willow, to my own dear native home! 190 shetland fireside tales; or, chapter xxi. the wind grew loud, and the sea grew rough, and the ship was rent in twain. ballad. it was on a beautiful evening in autumn, when the russet clothing of tree and shrub, and the scattered leaves resting on the moist pathways, told that ichabod was being written on summer's charms, and that gloomy winter was near at hand. lelah was resting on her favourite rustic seat, which was beautifully trellised around by creeping plants, and concealed from view on the river by the tall reeds which grew thickly on its banks. she had just finished the last stanza of her song, and as its mournful cadence died away in the calm evening air, she thought she heard voices proceed from the river, and again the sound of oars dipping the water. startled and surprised she sprang to her feet, and tripped lightly over the smooth lawn towards an opening in the reedy screen through which a view of the river could be obtained; but just as she reached this spot, a boat shot past within a few yards of the shore, with two seamen pulling, and a man seated in the stern, dressed like an english captain. the moment this person saw her, he raised his hat, and signalled the rowers to stop the boat. "pardon me, gentle lady," said the stranger, "but i wish to speak to you; and i do so in english, because i have just been listening to the words of your song, which, indeed, has quite overpowered me, and filled my heart with strange emotions, for in that song you have mentioned my native land." "and where is your native land, may i inquire?" 3 1 the hermit of trosswickness. 191 said lelah, trembling with excitement, and scarcely able to articulate the words. "shetland is my native country, and trosswick and sumburgh, which you mentioned in your song, are spots which gladdened my youthful eyes, and are still dear to my heart." "great heaven!" exclaimed lelah in a whisper, and then added more audibly, “and what is your name, sir, may 66 i ask?" my name," replied the captain, is tom yunson, and my father's name is yacob, and he is still alive in the village of trosswick, for one of my men has come from that quarter not long ago." lelah's excitement had now become insupportable, and she felt her strength giving way; but she was able to say, in a faint tremulous voice, does your sailor know any one of the name of olla ollison there?" 66 "yes," replied the captain; "i have just been hearing from him all the home news, and there is such a man still alive and well; but he lives as a hermit, and people think him a strange person, because he goes often to the sea-shore, and sits there alone." "o god! is it possible?" she exclaimed, and then fainted away, falling softly against the mossy bank near which she stood. quick as lightning the captain sprang from the boat, which was now close to the river's bank, and raising her in his arms, sprinkled her face with water, which one of the sailors brought him, and lelah quickly recovered, and was led by the captain to a rustic seat close by. "this is a strange adventure, gentle lady," said the captain, again addressing her; "and i beg you will tell me your name, for surely some wonderful fate has led me to find you here." "my name is lelah halcro," replied lelah; “i'm a country woman of your own, and the news you have brought me is passing strange, and has quite overpowered me." 192 shetland fireside tales; or, "merciful providence!" cried the captain, grasping her hand, “is it possible you are really lelah halcro? now i understand it all. you were carried off by that scoundrel jack smith in the bockanier;' but, thank god, all will be well yet; you will find your sweetheart alive and well, and my ship is at your service." "o, am i asleep or awake; or is this a vision again from dreamland to mock me?" soliloquised lelah, clasping her hands, as a flood of tears came to her relief. "it is no dream, my lady," replied the captain; "but if you have any doubt, see, there is my name,” and he bared his arm, showing her his name in full, tatooed with an anchor and chain entwined around it. "there, you see," he added, "that is true blue; and if you come with me, you shall have my cabin to yourself, and everything i can do to make you comfortable, and only a three days' run to sumburgh head." "i thank you, and may god bless you for your kindness," said lelah; "but leave me alone a short time that i may collect my thoughts, and i will decide." "all right, my lady," replied the captain; "we will lie concealed down there by the clump of willows, until you make up your mind, and will be here at the time you appoint.' 19 "i will return in half-an-hour," she replied, as she lightly ascended the bank, and hurried to her favourite bower. as soon as she reached its quiet retreat, she threw herself on her knees, and poured out her soul in fervent thanks for the glad tidings which had been brought to her, and imploring divine aid to guide her in deciding the momentous question which she had only one short half-hour left to consider. shortly she arose from her knees, and her purpose was fixed; for something like a voice from heaven whispered the word in her ear, "go;" but the pang of leaving her dear friends without seeing them shot through her heart like an arrow, and her purpose again faltered. should she yet go back and tell them all, and ask perthe hermit of trosswickness. 193 mission to go with these strangers? this was her duty, and gladly would she have performed it; but would widow vanderboor and her daughter trust her in the hands of strangers? would they believe the report that her lover was still alive, and permit her to cross the tempestuous sea, now so far advanced as the season was? all this she feared they would not do, and much less would they trust her again to walk by herself; and thus the last chance of ever seeing her native land again might be lost. "it must be now or never!" she cried; "but i will write and explain all, and leave it in the bower here." so saying, she opened a portfolio, which she carried with her, and spreading out a sheet, wrote a letter in german, of which the following is a translation:— "dearest mother and sister,-o, pity and forgive me. i must leave you for a little time. my lover is still alive, and i must go and see him. i go in a ship to my native land; and a countryman i know and can trust takes me there. his boat came by accident to the river's bank, near my bower; and i thought to come first and tell you all, but feared you would not believe me, nor trust me to go with strangers, and then i would see my long lost lover no more. but my heart bleeds to leave you, my dearest loving friends; but i will return and seek your forgiveness on my knees. yes, i will soon come back, and pour out my heart in gratitude to you for all your kindness and care of me.-your ever affectionate and loving daughter and sister, "lelah halcro." this letter, wet with tear-drops, she folded and addressed, and, laying it on the rustic seat, hurried to the boat, which was waiting for her at the appointed place. "here you are, my dear lady," said the captain, as he n 194 shetland fireside tales; or, sprang out of the boat, and assisted lelah to step on board; and then seating himself by her side in the stern, he said, addressing the sailors"now, my lads, give way, and keep close by the left bank of the river; then we shall not be observed from the shore." the men bent their oars, and the boat shot onward, gliding swiftly and smoothly down the broad bosom of the river. lelah spoke but little, for her thoughts were swallowed up in pondering over the marvellous events of the day, which had indeed been so strangely brought about. when lelah did not return at the usual time, widow vanderboor and her daughter went to seek her in her accustomed walks, and, coming to her bower, they found the letter there, which had been left for them. on reading its contents, they were both struck speechless with grief and astonishment, but their faith in her remained unshaken; they understood why she feared to come and see them before going away. the distress of the parting scene, and the fear that they would oppose her going at all, were the powerful motives which had forced her to leave them so abruptly. the assurance which she gave in her letter that her lover was still alive, filled their hearts with gladness; for they knew that nothing else in this world could ever remove sorrow from her heart, and enable her again to enjoy life; and they knew she would fulfil her promise, and return to see them at the earliest opportunity. with these thoughts they comforted and consoled themselves, until they should hear further intelligence from her. the reader will remember that, in a former portion of this narrative, it was stated that old yacob had a son at sea, from whom he had received no intelligence for many years; for tom yunson had seen many strange lands, and been where he had no opportunity of communicating th those friends he left behind. returning, howat last to a british port, he got the command of a f the hermit of trosswickness. 195 vessel bound for holland, which vessel was now lying at overflakkee, waiting for a cargo. the leisure thus afforded captain yunson he employed in making excursions in his gig up the canals and rivers of the country, and it was on one of these excursions up the waal that he was led by providence to the spot of lelah halcro's residence, and thus made the means of fulfilling his father's earnest wish, expressed by him on the last occasion when he parted from the hermit; his words, as the reader will remember, being, "an' i earnestly pray dat her dat wis taen awa fae you may yet be restored ta you, an' dat me or mine may in some wy or idder be da means o' bringin' dis aboot." on reaching the ship, captain yunson conducted lelah to the cabin, which he gave up entirely for her accommodation. the ship's cargo being now completed, her broad sails were unfurled to a prosperous breeze, and as the ship went on her course, and as the low-lying coast-line of holland became lost to view, how overwhelming were the thoughts that crowded upon lelah's mind! here she was once again the solitary occupant of a cabin; but how changed the scene! then she was a trembling captive, leaving with heart-rending sorrow her native land, and before her the dark unknown future; now the dark cloud had rolled away, and the star of hope again twinkled brightly in the serene sky of the future. she had drunk the bitter cup of human sorrow to its dregs, and now the cup of pleasure which had been put into her hands was so intoxicating, so overwhelming, that she trembled as she put it to her lips. but, alas, how unstable are all hopes! how transient are life's best joys! for they are indeed like "the snowflake on the rivera moment seen, then gone for ever." or, again, when the goal has been almost reached, one false step, and the prize is lost for ever, and lelah 196 shetland fireside tales; or, halcro is yet once more to be the sport of cruel fate; and when just near her native land, and ready to fly to the arms of her lover, the angry waves are to raise their foaming crests as a barrier in her path, and the wild tempest moan in rage as she stretches forth her hand to secure the precious fruit-the reward of all her sorrow and suffering. the hermit of trosswickness. 197 chapter xxii. the wind grew loud, and the sea grew rough, and the ship was rent in twain. ballad. the reader will remember halloween, when the merry gathering of lads and lasses surrounded the hospitable hearth of bawby o' brigstanes, and when the approach of a south-east storm forced that happy company to break up at an earlier hour than usual. but a on that memorable night the "ocean spray," bearing the precious and priceless freight of a lovely woman, became the sport of the raging tempest, and drifted helplessly on to destruction. captain yunson had sighted the bold rugged promontory of sumburgh head, and was shaping his course for the sheltered bay of levenwick, when the storm broke upon him. few hours more, and he would have reached the haven of safety; but, alas ! it was to be otherwise; his gallant ship was soon to be cruelly gored to death by the pointed rocks of sloga head, and beaten to splinters by the mighty waves which rolled upon the rocky beach of trosswick. it was about ten o'clock at night, when the prelude to the coming storm told the experienced eye and ear that a tempest was following hard behind. fitful gusts shot through the valley of trosswick, and a hoarse murmur came from the distant cliffs, while dark masses of clouds from east to west fled athwart the sky, like demons chasing each other. another hour, and the hurricane reached its height-one loud unbroken roar sweeping on with resistless force, and making every cottage tremble to its foundation, while masses of churned froth from the 198 shetland fireside tales; or, seething waves as they rolled on the shore, were carried high in the air over the house tops, and far into the loch beyond. ere the tempest reached its height, men could be seen, clad in sea-going attire, securing boats and corn stacks, by placing additional ropes, and heavy stones to anchor them to the earth, that they might better withstand the fury of the blast. "he's a wild nicht, tammie," shouted rasme rudderhead to tammie toughlands, as the latter was putting an additional "fastie" on a screw. "ay, man, he's dat," shouted tammie in reply; nicht 'ill be heard o' yet, tak du my wird fir dat.” "dis "man, dey say dere wis a ship seen aff da head aboot day-set," again roared rasme, his voice barely audible above the roar of the tempest. "düs du say sae? den lord hae mercy apo' der souls," ejaculated tammie; "fir dere's nae ship can live in dae sea dat he's on just noo." "ay, i fear it, man," cried rasme; and then added, "kens du if auld yacob has tried to lay da wind da nicht yet?" "i never ken, boy; bit i sall geng alang een noo and see," roared tammie, as he bent his head to the blast, and made for old yacob's dwelling. on reaching it he found the door shut, and on knocking loudly old yacob came, and removing a spade with which it was barred, called out"whaa's dere?" "it's me, yacob," cried tammie. "o, it's dee, tammie," said yacob, opening the door and admitting him, and then quickly bolting it again by the same primitive appliance; and in doing so it required all the strength of his body to hold against the force of the wind which pressed the door inwards. "i just lüikit in alang," explained tammie, as yacob and he advanced towards the inner end of the cottage, ye tocht ye wid be able ta come fort and try ta the hermit of trosswickness. 199 and lay da wind; fir, man, he's fearful ootside; and dey say dere wis a ship seen i' da east sea just afore dayset, sae it's muckle needit baith by laand an' sea if da strent o' da wind cud be broken ony wy." "o spaek na till him, spaek na till him," groaned peggy, rocking herself to and fro in her chair, with her hands clasped and resting on her lap, "unnatural bein' dat he is," she continued; "kennin' dat his bairn is tossin' upo' da ragin' sea, an' he sittin' here wi' a hert as hard as da nedder mill-stane, an' winna geng oot ta sober da wind, though weel he can dü it, as he's düne afore; an' every minit i'm fearin' da tinbill 'ill be laid within da cauld steede, an' den we'll nidder hae hoose nor hald ta geng ta; but we'll no be brunt i' da ruins, dat's ae lord's mercy; fir ye see, tammie, i'm whumbled da kettle ower da fire in case o' ony thing happenin', though it's geen me my death o' cauld up trow da soles o' my feet;" and peggy placed her feet against the sides of the kettle, which covered the few remaining embers on the hearth, now nearly put out by the formidable extinguisher which had been placed over them. "o deil dore dee, peggy," said yacob, "an' haud dy tongue aff me some time; what gude can my layin' da wind dü, i winder? i can thole da wind as lang as da ruif bides on; bit i canna thole dy everlastin' sharg, dats warr den ony nor-east storm dat ever blew." "ay, bit yacob," interposed tammie, "i tink peggy is in da richt dis time; ye ken ye've aften laid da wind afore noo, whin dere wis mebbe no sae muckle need fir it, an' if it does nae gude it 'ill dü nae ill, ony wy." "ah, weel, boy," said the good-natured yacob, "if it 'ill please dee i'm shüre i can try it; sae come awa an' we'll see whidder it can dü ony gude or no." so saying, yacob arose and pulled his knitted cap down over his ears, and buttoning up his jacket, took his staff in his hand, and stepping out over the floor, was followed by tammie. when they got outside, yacob placed himself on the 200 shetland fireside tales; or, "brig-stane," with his face towards the east, and taking his staff in his left hand, raised his right arm, and pronounced the following incantation, sawing the wind with his arm as he spoke :"robbin cam ower da vaana wi' a shü nü; twabbie, toobie, keeliken kollickin, palktrick alanks da robin. güid sober da wind."1 but the wind sobered not; the spirit of the storm, as if in mockery of such feeble attempts to propitiate his .wrath, raged still more furiously, and drove the clouds of salt spray, hail, and sleet, with hurricane force, against the earth, so that old yacob had to beat a hasty retreat to his cottage; and tammie, taking the shelter of the yard dyke, reached his own habitation in safety. few in the village of trosswick slept that awful night, for the tempest raged with unabated violence, and the inmates of many a cottage crowded round their cheerless and fireless hearth, expecting every moment that the roof which covered their heads would be scattered to the winds, and they left exposed to the pitiless blast. as dawn approached the gale slightly moderated, and all able-bodied men were soon astir to see that their boats were safe, and if any wrecks had been thrown upon the shore during the night. a as the foremost of the men approached the head of the creek, fragments of wreck, consisting of pieces of bulwark, spars with torn sails and rigging attached, were seen scattered along the beach, or wildly tossed on the crests of mighty waves, which, one after another, rolled upon the shore in mountains of snowy foam. life-buoy was also picked up with the name "ocean spray" painted on it. all this convinced the men that the hull of a vessel must have struck on some of the 1 these are the exact words of an incantation used by the old men of a bygone generation, when they wished to "lay the wind." the words were repeated to the author by an old woman some years ago. th betw as a stare their herm cowat came the hermit of trosswickness. 201 outlying skerries, and two men were therefore despatched to reconnoitre the shore along the north side of the ness, but they had not proceeded far along the cliff when they were seen to stop suddenly, and point towards the scarf skerries. then came a wild and thrilling cry, borne on the wings of the blast"a ship! a ship! on the scarf skerries." fast the thrilling news spread, and, like another fiery cross, was carried with breathless speed from cottage to cottage, from village to village, arousing alike the stripling and the greyhaired sage, who soon were seen running side by side to the scene of the disaster. in a short space of time the shore was lined with hundreds of spectators, all eagerly straining their eyes in the direction of the stranded vessel, her form now being seen from the beach; but owing to the haze caused by the drifting spray, it was impossible to discern whether any survivors remained. the ship, evidently a brig, had struck on the seaward side of the rock; and as the waves rolled against her she had been gradually forced up its sloping surface until her prow rested on its highest elevation, and her stern still exposed to the fury of the tempest. the flood-tide was now setting in, and it was therefore evident that the stranded vessel could not long remain in her present position, but must soon be swept by the force of the waves into the deep water which lay between her and the shore. as eager groups were watching in breathless suspense the tremendous waves, as they rolled over the skerry, and sometimes almost burying the dark hull of the vessel in their seething foam, the startling cry was raised, "the hermit! the hermit!" and soon all eyes were turned towards the hermit's hut on the ness, from which he came running at his utmost speed down the declivity of the headland, his form bending against the blast, and his long hair floating behind. a few moments more, and he reached the beach, his 202 shetland fireside tales; or, eye flashing, and his whole being as if under the influence of some powerful spell. 66 "thoughtless men!" he exclaimed, as he advanced through the crowd, "see you not that there are survivors on yonder wreck, and soon they must perish! the flood tide is advancing; not a moment is to be lost!" "o, mr ollison," exclaimed old yacob (who was amongst the crowd), as he rushed forward and grasped the hermit's hand," what can men dü in da face o' a sea like dis? we canna see fae here whidder ony o' da crew is still left; bit if dey ir, den lord hae mercy on der souls, fir nane here can help dem." "but i will help them," cried the hermit, "or perish in the attempt." with this, he divested himself of his clothing, all to his shirt and trousers; and taking the kerchief from his neck, bound it round his head, thereby closely concealing his flowing locks within its folds. he next grasped the end of a rope which lay coiled at his feet, and tying it securely round his waist, again addressed the crowd66 "fellow countrymen !" he said, in a solemn and stern voice, as you hope for mercy in the world to come, i ask you now to aid me in this work of mercy. you see every moment the flood tide is gaining strength, and those mighty waves will soon sweep the ill-fated vessel from her present position; therefore obey the instructions i now give you, and mark that i will wait until i see a wave approaching, which i know must overwhelm the ill-fated vessel, and sweep her from the rock, and then as that wave rolls back, i will dive through the one that succeeds it, and swim to the survivors, if they can be saved. they are now clinging to the bowsprit, and that spar will part soon, as the vessel leaves the rock; when i reach the floating spar i will raise my arm as a signal, if the survivors are still on it. then draw the rope quickly to land, waiting till the highest wave approaches, so that the spar may be carried on its crest to the top of the beach; then let some of your strongest the hermit of trosswickness. 203 men be ready, with ropes around their waists, to save us from being drawn back again by the receding wave." 66 "we will do all you say," exclaimed a hundred voices, while old yacob, with tears streaming down his cheeks, threw his arms round the hermit, crying, "o what is dis ye're gaen ta dü, mr ollison-cast your ain life awa in tryin' to save idders? na, na; fir da lord's sake an' my sake, dünna tempt providence; fir nae mortal man can face dis awful sea, every lay comin' in laek da hill o' hallilee." "tempt me not, yacob," sternly replied the hermit; "you know not what you say. in a vision last night i saw this scene before me, and now the hour is come when release from my sorrow is at hand; but whether in life or death this is to be accomplished i know not. god's will be done. duty calls me here, and my mission must be fulfilled." as he uttered these words, a mighty wave rolled upon the shore, and sent its floating foam to the highest elevation of the beach, and then went back with a voice of thunder, caused by the loosened rocks and boulders striking against each other as they rolled down in the descending torrent which madly rushed to meet the succeeding wave. swift as the receding waters fled down the declivity, the hermit followed, drawing the rope after him; and as the next wave, like a wall of emerald, rose high over his head, he was seen to throw his arms round a fragment of rock which projected like a pillar from the beach, and was instantly lost to view in the roaring seething waters which rolled over him, and sent its floods of foam higher up the beach than before. ¹ "o god, he is lost! and there the ship is gone at last!" broke from hundreds of voices, as the moving masses of awe-struck spectators swayed to and fro in an agony of 1 see note q. native courage. 204 shetland fireside tales; or, excitement. it was when this mighty wave, like a mountain, came towering on, that the dark hull of the vessel was seen trembling on its summit, and then in a moment disappeared in the yawning valley behind. that same moment, the hermit's rope was drawn quickly from the shore; and just as the wave broke and poured itself down in one mighty cataract of green, streaked with broken foam, he was seen like a dark speck on the snowy bosom of the waters beyond-striking out as only an expert swimmer could, and struggling hard to reach the floating spar, which had parted from the vessel, just as he predicted it would. "there, he has it!" broke wildly from the crowd on the shore, as he was seen grasping the spar with its precious freight (for two survivors were seen on it). now he attaches the rope to it-there his arm is raised as a signal, and the rope is quickly drawn in by strong arms, as a mighty swelling wave follows. a piercing cry breaks from the beach, as the spar with its living freight rises aloft on the broken wave, and then rolls over and over in the wild seething maelström, which rushes hither and thither in foaming wavelets, like sheeted spectres still bent on the work of destruction; but onwards and upwards, as if guided by unseen hands, that priceless spar is borne, and twenty brawny arms are ready to receive it. three human forms, apparently lifeless, are secured to that spar by ropes. now it is grasped by strong men, standing deep amid the roaring flood; back the wave rolls with awful force; and but for the ropes which secure those brave men to the shore, their destruction is inevitable. another moment, and the spar with its precious burden is lifted bodily and carried high up the beach-snatched from the devouring flood-from the very jaws of death. "the hermit-a sailor-a woman-are saved!" broke in wild acclamation from a thousand voices, as their three apparently lifeless bodies were loosed from the spar, and carried on stretchers to the nearest houses, followed by 1 < the hermit of trosswickness. 205 crowds of weeping, sympathizing women, and many not less feeling-hearted men; while the greater number remained on the beach to await the not less exciting event of the breaking up of the hull of the vessel, and sharing in the much-coveted plunder which was soon to lie scattered along the beach.¹ "oh, care an' dule, care an' düle!" mournfully soliloquised old yacob, as he assisted to carry his friend from the beach to his own house "i kent weel dis wid happen, bit he widna be appered;2 an' noo, puir man, he's casen awa his ain life, an' no düne muckle gude idder; fir, ales! i doot dey twa püir craters dats been brocht ashore 'ill never come back ta dis warld agen. oh, da dangers o' da sea! da weary, weary sea! ales! ales! i winder whaur my puir bairn can be wi' sic a tempest as dis has been; shürely, shürely, dem dats upo' da laand, and hes a rüif ower der head, an' soond sleep i' der bed, hes muckle ta be tankful fir, tho' dey sud eat sparely an' cled barely at times." 1 see note r. wreckers, 2 prevented. 206 shetland fireside tales; or, chapter xxiii. turn, angelina, ever dear, my charmer turn and see thy own, thy own, thy long-lost edwin here, restored to love and thee. goldsmith. the mournful procession now reached old yacob's door, and was met by peggy, who, notwithstanding her generally unbending and unlovable nature, was much moved by the sad spectacle before her; for the hermit's cheek was pale and blanched, and his apparently lifeless body, like an ocean waif, was covered by froth and fragments of seaweed. 66 "o, püir bodie, püir bodie," she murmured, "get him tae da fire, an' get warm blankets aboot him, an' he'll mebbe come ta life yet; an' get oot da yule bottle, yacob, an' mak a drap o' het punch, an' try an' get it doon wi' him. ales! ales a me! little ken i whaur my bairn is; mebbe, fir oucht i ken, some ane hes da sam ta dü fir him da day. o dear a me! dear a me!" and peggy took blankets from one of the wooden box-beds and spread them on the "restin'" chair, while yacob, assisted by the other men who had helped to carry the hermit, divested him of his wet clothes, and supplied their place with garments of his own. a blazing fire was on the hearth, and the hermit was quickly wrapped in the warm blankets, with the heavy bed-rug placed over him, then bottles of hot-water were placed at his feet, while the yule bottle was cheerfully uncorked, and the warm mixture prepared as peggy directed. happily those humane and anxious efforts were at last crowned with success, and the hermit slowly revived, and the first words he was able faintly 1 the hermit of trosswickness. 207 to whisper were, "where are the survivors of the wreck; and are they attended to?" "yea, yea, dat are dey, mr ollison," eagerly replied yacob; "but ye maunna try an' speak muckle yet, ye're no able fir it; tho' it's just laek you, aye tinkin aboot idders, an' no carin' aboot yersell. the man bodie ye saved is in tammie's hoose up by, an' weel taen care o', an' sae is da woman or lady, fir she's mair laek dat; shu's in rasme's neist door, an' dere's signs o' life in dem. baith, da lord be praised fir his mercies." "amen," sighed the hermit, as he clasped his hands, while his lips moved in silent prayer. old yacob spoke truly, for lelah halcro and captain yunson, the only survivors of the "ocean spray," were ministered to by loving hearts and willing hands, and every effort made for their recovery, which the limited means of their humble but kindhearted attendants could afford. as formerly mentioned, the "ocean spray," when caught in a hurricane near the coast of shetland, tried to bear up for the sheltered bay of levenwick; but just when off trosswick, the vessel was struck by a tremendous wave, which carried away her bulwarks, and threw her on her beam-ends; and, while thus drifting on a leeshore, at the mercy of wind and waves, the crew managed to cut away the masts and rigging, which allowed the vessel to right herself, and then they let go both anchors, in the hope that she might ride out the storm; but, owing to the great depth of water, the anchors had little or no hold, and their noble but now disabled bark therefore drifted helplessly on to destruction. then the captain called all hands on the quarter-deck, and addressing them, said, "now, lads, it is all over with us; and therefore i need only say, it is every man for himself, and god for us all. i will remain with the vessel until i see the last of her, for the lady under my charge must have my attention as long as that can be of any avail. if, therefore, you think you can save yourselves in the long208 shetland fireside tales; or, . boat, i will not prevent you trying to do so, though i think the attempt is hopeless; so then, farewell, comrades! may we all meet in a better world, where the storms of life shall be no more known." so saying, the captain shook hands with them all, and the crew immediately proceeded to launch the long-boat; but as the dismantled vessel was rolling helplessly in the deep trough of the sea, with her broadside to the waves, this was a work of great difficulty. at last, when the crew had all got into the boat, and just as they were trying to cast loose, a mighty wave broke over the ship, and, overwhelming the boat, every soul found a watery grave. the captain then returned to the cabin, and, lifting the terrified and almost speechless lelah in his arms, bore her to the deck; and then, as the vessel neared the rocks, he secured her and himself to the bowsprit-the rest is known to the reader. little dreamed those good samaritans of the momentous issues which trembled in the balance, as they watched by the couch on which lay the pale and prostrate form of lelah halcro. the feeble pulse throbbed, and then paused, and the lamp of life glimmered in the socket, as if it would go out for ever; but as the darkest hour is just before the dawn, so the dawn of returning life in the bosom of lelah halcro was to usher in for her once more the day of happiness-the return of departed joys which had so long been shrouded in the darkness of sorrow. it was not till captain yunson had regained consciousness, and was able to speak to those around him, that the villagers of trosswick knew who lelah was, and then surprise and joy was seen depicted on every countenance. but it was agreed by all that her life, as well as that of the hermit, depended on keeping them in ignorance of each other's presence, until such time as they would be able to bear the overwhelming transports of joy which < their meeting must bring. "where am i?" faintly inquired lelah, as she looked 1 $ the hermit of trosswickness. 209 dreamily around on the strange faces which surrounded her couch. "ye're in your ain native laand, my bonnie lady," replied mrs rudderhead, approaching close to her patient's bedside; "bit, dear cratur, ye maunna try to spaek just yet, fir ye're odious weak; bit praise be ta da lord dat ye're in life, fir nane o' wis tocht ye wid ever come dis lent." "yes, ithank god for my deliverance," faintly murmured lelah, as she clasped her hands in the attitude of prayer; and then again, after a pause, she enquired, "what is the name of this place, and can you tell me if the captain or any of the crew are saved?" "yea, lord be praised, the captain is saved," replied mrs rudderhead, "bit a da rest o' da crew is lost, mem, fir naethin' bit a miracle cud save ony cratur in sic a fearful tempest. dis place, lammit, is a lang wy fae your ain hame, bit ye'll be pitten dere safe and soond as shine as ye're able to muve aboot." "thank you, kind friend," faintly replied lelah, as she again closed her eyes, for she felt she was not able to dwell upon the thought that she was once more in her native land, much less could she think of the renewal of sorrow which such a visit might bring with it. "how is the captain, and has he been able to see his wife yet?" anxiously enquired the hermit of yacob as the latter stood by his bedside. "na, no he, mr ollison," replied yacob, "bit we're hoopin' he'll be able ta see her da morn's efternüin, an' if shu's able ta be upo' her feet, dey're baith comin' ta see you; fir dey're just oot o' a patience ta tank you, as dey're tanked da lord already, fir savin' der lives in sic a wy as ye did, fir da laek wis never heard or seen in da isle o' shetland afore, an' winna be forgotten as lang as ony ane is alive dat saw it." " "i shall rejoice to see them," replied the hermit, little dreaming of the sense in which this prediction was to be so truly verified. 210 shetland fireside tales; or, while old yacob spoke, he could scarcely conceal his emotion. the thought that his friend the hermit was so very near his long-lost lelah, and yet not to know it, nor be able to receive the intelligence, was overwhelming, and every moment seemed an age, until the happy meeting should take place. old yacob only knew captain yunson as the captain of the shipwrecked vessel, for years had so changed the appearance of the latter, that neither his father nor mother could recognize him; and he thought it wise to conceal his relationship from them until he had fully recovered. it was known, however, in the village that his name was yunson, but that being a common name in the islands, no one had any reason to suppose that he was old yacob's son. the hermit had come to the very natural conclusion, that the lady he was the means of saving was the captain's wife; and for reasons already explained, old yacob felt the necessity of saying nothing which could alter this opinion in the hermit's mind, until it was safe to allow their meeting together to take place. on the evening of the third day after the wreck of the "ocean spray" had strewed the rocky beach of trosswick, her valuable cargo of tobacco, gin, and other dutch commodities forming a rich prize to the islanders who looked upon it as their lawful right,the low slanting rays of the sun gilded the ness, and nature breathed in soft repose, while the murmur of the yet restless waves fell mournfully on the ear, as they sullenly broke along the distant cliffs. it was then that lelah halcro, leaning on the arm of captain yunson, directed her steps to old yacob's dwelling. she looked pale and anxious, but her native beauty shone out in all its loveliness, for she wore a rustic dress which had been supplied to her by her kind hostess, and this seemed to enhance or bring back that charming implicity of manner and artless modesty which those ho formerly knew her could so well remember. they approached old yacob's cottage, peggy the hermit of trosswickness. 211 occupied her accustomed seat in the high-backed "straen" chair, while the hermit sat in the arm-chair on the opposite side of the fire, and old yacob paced the floor with hurried steps, breathing heavily, and showing other symptoms of extreme agitation; for he knew of lelah's approaching visit, and every moment to him seemed an age. "sit dee doun," yacob, said peggy in a half angry tone, "an spaek ta da jantleman, an' no geng figin' aboot da hoose yon wy, blawin' an puffin' like a pellick, as if dy judgment hed left dee." to this yacob replied not, for at that moment captain yunson and lelah entered, and as they advanced through the narrow entrance between the two wooden dormitories, the hermit rose to meet them, and yacob in a tremulous voice said, "i need na tell you, mr ollison, wha dis is dat's come ta see you." the hermit shook hands with captain yunson, and then gently taking lelah's hand in his, he gazed for a moment in her face, and then exclaimed, in a wild and piercing cry, which sent a thrill to every heart, "my god, my lelah!" and they were instantly locked in each other's arms. the scene was so touching, so overwhelming, that old yacob sobbed aloud like a child, and the captain turned his face to the wall to hide the tears that flowed fast down his weather-beaten cheek. peggy sprang to her feet, uttering a kind of mournful croon, while she ran to the hevel daffock¹ for a little water to sprinkle on lelah's face, for the latter had fainted away in the hermit's arms. in a few moments she revived, and, then raising her soft loving eyes, brimful of tears, looked in the hermit's face, and throwing her arms around his neck, sobbed aloud in transports of joy. the hermit now led lelah to a seat on the settle by the fireside, soothing her with words of fond affection, and trying to suppress, as far as he could, his own i water pail. 212 shetland fireside tales; or, emotion. the captain also stepped forward, and taking peggy's withered hand in his, and looking enquiringly in her face, said, "do you not know me?" "na, na, lord ken o' you, sir, fir i ken you no," replied peggy; " bit nae maitter fir dat, ye're wilcome here as if ye hed a been my ain an' only bairn dat's been lang fae me, an' dat mebbe i'll never see agen in dis life. lord open your wy afore you, an' bring you safely to your ain hame, fir ye're brocht joy ta mony a sorrowful hert in bein' da means o' bringin dis dear cratur ta her ain native laand." "mother, can't you recognize your own tom?" said the captain, and his voice quivered as he spoke. "o my son!" shrieked the old woman, as she locked her arms round his brawny shoulders with a deathlike grasp,{ and then fainted away. old yacob also threw his arms round his son's neck, while the latter supported his mother in his arms till she came to herself. this touching scene was scarcely over, when lelah's father and mother arrived. then followed another scene still more affecting if possible than that which preceded it; for lelah was to them as one risen from the dead, and then tears of joy fell fast while they pressed her to their bosoms with all the yearning tenderness of parental love. as soon as tears were dried and some degree of composure obtained, old yacob brought out the yule bottle, and peggy devoted her attention to the teapot, also preparing pancakes, fresh eggs, and rich butter (for her butter profit had been recovered by the use of a new charm), and when all was ready, the happiest company sat around old yacob's humble festive board that ever shared his hospitality. 66 eh, mr ollison, what a day is dis ta mind apon," said old yacob, when he had an opportunity to speak to the hermit alone. "i kent lang sin syne dere wis sontin winderful gaen ta happen, an' ye'll mind dat i said sae in your ain hoose. shürely, shürely, muckle raisin hes the hermit of trosswickness. 213 every ain o' 'is to say wi' dauvid, 'let us praise da lord fir his goodness, and fir his wonderful works unto da children o' men.' oh, dear-a-me! ta tink, efter sic a life o' separation an' sorrow as ye're baith hed, ta meet agen in dis world, an' fir my ain son ta come back agen in sic a winderful wy till his ain native place: it's shürely an truly da lord's düins, an' mervellous in our eyes. aye, as da paraphrase says, "da hallowed morn sall chase awa da sorrows o' da nicht," an' as da sorrows o' da nicht o' affliction is noo chased awa fae wir herts, an' da gledsome sunshine o' hop an' happiness agen glintin' brichtly ower wir heads, sae may wir herts owerflow wi' gratitude, an' wir days, few or mony as dey be, may dey be hallowed in da service o' him wha's mercy is abüne a' his idder warks, an' nae mercy cud a come ta me mair joyful den da shange dats come ower wir peggy sin dis ship wis wracked. it lüiks as if da storm dat blew da püir ship apo' da rocks o' trosswick hed blawn every breath o' flytin' oot o' peggy's body; an' lord keep it sae, if it's no feyness wi' her! eh, mr ollison, if shü hed aye been as güid as shu's been dis efternüin, auld yacob's head widna been sae muckle laek a lint tap as it is da day." to these impressive and touching remarks the hermit was about to reply, when some one announced at the door that the horse was ready which was to convey lelah to her father's house. the happy company therefore broke up, and lelah was placed on horseback, and accompanied on her way home by her father and mother, and a large number of friends and villagers who joined in the joyful procession. the hermit returned once more to his hut on the ness, no longer to sit solitary by its lonely hearth, but to plan arrangements for fulfilling those engagements which a new and happy era in his life now rendered necessary. 214 shetland fireside tales; or, chapter xxiv. the bride she cometh into the hall, red as a rose is she. coleridge. two short weeks passed, and the herald of day, one december morning, came forth in rosy smiles, and casting his slanting mellow rays athwart the frost-bespangled earth, made it sparkle and twinkle in serene beauty, like a field of countless diamonds. the sparrows on housetop and hedge chirped in unusually clear and musical notes, and the circling flocks of fluttering cushats appeared like queens from fairy-land, all dressed in honour of some great event, for their necks gleamed in the sunshine in colours of the richest shading hues of green and gold, and their soft eyes sparkled with a darker and more beautiful lustre than usual. and why was all this? why were nature and nature's children in such a state of preparation and expectation? just because a wedding company was about to walk in procession to the manse of skelaburg. the bridesmaids, all blooming and rosy, their gay muslin caps trimmed with a profusion of red and blue ribbon, while the bridegroom's men were all dressed in their best, and as fine strapping fellows as ever were reared upon the "lot o' huandal." there they start. the bride wears a pure white silk dress and gay cap, which is more profusely adorned with ribbon than the rest. her smile is of surpassing sweetness, and her matchless beauty is the wonder and admiration of all beholders. the bridegroom walks with a bold and elastic step, his elegant dress and polished manners dicating his superior rank in life. eager and smiling groups crowd at every cottage-door aze at the procession as it passes, and the merry the hermit of trosswickness. 215 music of the fiddle comes thrilling on the calm sunny air, as the fiddler, leading the way a few yards in advance, plays the half joyous, half melancholy air of the "bride's march," the words being— now must i leave both father and mother, now must i leave both sister and brother, now must i leave both kith and kin, an' follow the fate o' a frem'd man's son. the gunner follows at the same distance in the rear, and ever and anon sends out a tiny puff of blue curling smoke, while the report of his gun echoes in loud crackle amongst the stone dykes and "fairy knowes" which skirt the path. need the reader be told that the hermit of trosswickness and his fair lelah are the happy bride and bridegroom in this happy marriage procession, and that the venerable minister of the parish is about to tie the indissoluble knot of their happiness, as soon as the company shall assemble in his front dining-room, which has got an extra dusting and sorting-up for the occasion? it was indeed a rare circumstance for a marriage ceremony to be performed in this apartment, the kitchen being always used for that purpose; and this circumstance was a source of great satisfaction to the worthy pastor, for he attributed, in no small degree, the stability and permanency of his work to the domesticating influence which the savoury smells and "feast of fat things" in his capacious kitchen exercised over the devotees at hymen's altar. he could point proudly to the work of thirty long years, during which innumerable knots had been tied in that homely and comfortable culinary apartment, and not in a single instance had ever the fastening slipped, until the material itself was reduced to the condition of "old junk," while many elegant and highly finished knots done in the drawing-room and in the decorated hall, had" pulled through" under the first strain. as soon as the ceremony was over the procession again 216 shetland fireside tales; or, formed, and the well-rosined bow drew from the merry and sympathetic fiddle the joyous marching strains of "wooed an' married an' a," until arriving at the house of the bride's father, where the company halted on the green to witness the ceremony of breaking the bride's-cake. this hymeneal bakemeat was no pyramid of ornamental sugar, surmounted by satin flags and silver-gilt flowers, but a plain home-made oatcake, which, being broken in fragments in a basket, and thrown over the bride's head, were eagerly picked up by the lads and lasses to place under their pillows at night, when each hoped to see in dreamland the image of a future bride or bridegroom.¹ inside the cottage all was bustle and preparation for prolonged festivities.2 large peat-fires, "but" and "ben," blazed on the hearth, and whole quarters of smoke-dried mutton, "reisted" geese, and pork hams, were served up in large wooden norway plates, scrubbed and polished for the occasion. on groaning tables rose towers and pyramids of "burstan brünies,' "beremeal bannocks," ""saft scones" and "hard scones," -a large proportion of which was contributed by the "auld folk,” for no heads of families, invited to a wedding, would have accepted the invitation without bringing along with them a suitable present in the shape of food supplies. "9 as soon as the company were seated, and the clatter of plates and knives, with the muffled hum of half-articulated sentences, showed that there were no idlers at the festive board, brimming "remicles" of home-brewed ale, and newly broached kegs of smuggled dutch gin, were brought in, and flowing bumpers in horn and glass were quaffed in native fashion, while homely toasts and witty jokes went round; and all this 200 miles from the 1 see note s. "bridecake." 2 up to the beginning of the present century, it was customary in shetland to continue a wedding for three or four days and nights, and sometimes for a whole week. the hermit of trosswickness. 217 nearest exciseman. no wonder a huge bonfire blazed on the wart, and that loud laughter and merry music made the reek-stained rafters of old eric halcro's cottage dirl with the glorious din. it was when the "seven starns"¹ twinkled over a point on noness head, marking the hour of 10 o'clock, that the fiddler again opened his reek-stained fiddle-case, and enlivened the scene by playing "wooed and married an' a," ," "saw ye my pot-ladle?" and other appropriate airs. at 12 o'clock, the whole company proceeded to the barn-the fiddler leading the way. this primitive ball-room had been swept and garnished for the occasion, and the sheaves of black-oats snugly and evenly arranged in one end, so as to form a convenient resting-place for tired dancers or onlookers. one lamp in the kiln-door, and six "lowin' collies" swinging from as many rafters, sent out a blaze of light which illuminated every part of the barn. now the fiddler mounts the steps of the kiln-door, and taking his seat on the second from the topon "screws his pins and plinks his strings, an' rubs his bow wi' roset," and then strikes up the appropriate reel of "mally, put the kettle on." soon as the soul-stirring music thrills the ear, eight merry dancers spring to the floor. "reel!" cries the leader of the dance, and round they wheel through a figure of 8. then, partners opposite, they tread to a measure in quick step, silver-buckled shoes and woollen "smucks" beating the earthen floor in rapid and well-timed thuds. there, on the right, is the queen of the ball-the bride herself, in all her queenly beauty and polished grace, her charming native simplicity enhanced by the rustic costume she wears, for she has laid aside her bridal attire, that she may more fully and freely participate in the nuptial rejoicings now begun, and make her brides'-maids feel that she is as one of themselves. her partner 1 pleiades. 218 shetland fireside tales; or, opposite is no longer the dreaded and awe-inspiring recluse of trosswickness, but a happy bridegroom in the full glory of his manhood. his countenance beams with joy as he gazes on his lovely bride, no phantom now in dreamland to mock him with unreal bliss, but his own loving and long-lost lelah. lightly he skims through the reel, merrily he steps the dance, his silver-buttoned jerkin, and knee-breeches of flemish cloth, showing off his handsome figure to great advantage. his hair, which once fell in wild confusion around his shoulders, is now twisted in the handsome queu of the period, bound with silken cord, and decorated with blue ribbon. next the bridegroom, and no less nimble in his step, dances johnnie o' greentaft, with his partner and future bride, bonnie annie leslie. next is captain yunson, who has chosen for his partner jeannie o' voe, and a handsome couple they are; and last, but not least, in the foursome reel, is lowrie o' lingigirt and girzie o' glufftown, soon to dance more merrily at their own wedding. now faster and faster the fiddler's elbow flies as the merry bow trembles on each sympathetic string, and thrills out the foot inspiring strain, and faster and faster the dancers trip on "the light fantastic toe," and wheel in giddy flight, crying " houch!" "reel!" "success ta da bride an' da bridegrüm," and "success ta da fiddler.” at last the knight of the bow gallantly gives the kissing signal, which he does by drawing his bow quickly across the strings behind the bridge, and giving out a shrill sound or squeak, imitative of a kiss, and then "kiss da lasses!" is repeated by four voices, while four arms encircle four necks, and four smacks are distinctly heard. the reel being ended, eight tired dancers recline on the sheaves, while other eight take their places on the floor; and after all the "young folk” have had their turn in the same order of precedence as they walked in procession to the manse, old eric, as master of ceremonies, enters the barn, carrying a brimming "remicle" of ale, followed by the best man carrying a keg of dutch gin, the hermit of trosswickness. 219 and the bride's mother a large straw-basket full of oatcakes, pancakes, ale-horns, and dram-glasses. 66 noo, folk, come an' hae a dram an' a bite, an' den ye can dance agen," says old eric, as "remicle," keg, and basket are deposited on an old oak table placed at one side of the barn. "here's ta da bride an' da bridegrüm's helt," resounds on all sides, as horns and glasses are drained, and then filled, and emptied again-to "da fiddler's helt," and "da company's helt a-roond.” the repast being over, loud calls were made for the "auld folks'" reels, and four venerable pairs at once took the floor. at "da head o' da flüir” was old yacob and peggy; next them eric halcro and his wife medgie; then tammie toughlands and his wife joan; and last, rasme rudderhead, and his wife doratty. the fiddler plays up "saw ye my pot-ladle?" a slow and appropriate reel, and away the dancers skip; four red nightcaps, with ribbon-tied tails streaming behind, chase four large high-crowned white muslin "toys" till partners opposite, and then the red "tapped" night-caps and muslin "toys" go bobbing up and down as fast as the fiddler's elbow follows his bow. 66 dance, peggy, dance," cries yacob, as he merrily pats the barn-floor in his well-quilted "smucks," his honest face radiant with smiles, and his aged yet manly form encased in a new suit of wadmal-teased, carded, spun, and sewed by his venerable partner opposite. "dance, yacob, dance!" screams peggy, as in "high jinks" she flings herself right and left, and gives a seesaw motion with her head and arms, as if she supposed herself the veritable pot-ladle at work, which the fiddler is musically inquiring after. "naebody deein' da nicht, mr ollison," whispers old yacob, with suppressed merriment, as he skips past 1 a sort of woollen "carpets" or sandals, formerly worn by natives of shetland. 220 shetland fireside tales; or, where the bridegroom is seated on the sheaves, and jerks out his thumb towards peggy, who was skipping through the dance before him. "naebody laek a beddral da nicht, mr ollison," more audibly whispers yacob, as the reel again brings him back to the sheaves, and upon which he rolls in a fit of smothered laughter, his face expanding into a round rosy disc, like a frosty moon, and his fat sides shaking under his two broad hands, which he holds on tightly to lessen the strain on his diaphragm. "naebody yatterin' noo," he again screams out, as the tears roll over his cheeks, and this fit of laughing is succeeded by a fit of coughing which threatens to end tragically. "be no a füle, yacob," cries peggy, as she foots away by herself, opposite yacob's empty place. "come awa noo, yacob-reel," again cries peggy, as yacob quickly recovers the use of his faculties, and his place on the floor at the same time. old yacob's hilarity on this occasion arose from three causes. first, certain horns of home-brewed ale and glasses of dutch gin, which had made him "as happy as a king;" second, peggy's appearance in general, and her step in particular; and, third, the contrast between her normal condition at home and her abnormal condition at the wedding. on still went the old folks' reel, but slower and slower the red night-caps nodded to the white muslin "toys," and slower and slower the sympathizing fiddler drew the bow, till at last "kiss da lasses" was screeched out behind the bridge, and four red night-caps disappeared inside four muslin toys, and four soughs were heard; but whether it was the wind whistling, or 66 auld folks kissin'," there was no time left to inquire, for at that moment loud calls were made for the bride's reels, and eight bonny lasses stepped on the floor, as the fiddler played up "the scallaway lasses." like seven queen bees chasing one butterfly, seven brides'-maids followed the bride, skimming in giddy flight through the reel without stopping, until the report of a the hermit of trosswickness. 221 gun was heard outside, and then all eyes were turned towards the barn-door, and several voices shouted, "da guisers, da guisers!" as the "scuddler" or captain entered with three of his men. the former was dressed in straw kilt, with tippet and high conical hat of the same material, but profusely decorated with ribbon. his face was covered with a blue veil, and in his hands he carried a "bent" brush with a long handle, which he twirled about with great velocity, making a snoring noise, and producing a similar sound through his nose. this he did as he shuffled along the floor, followed by his men, who were all dressed like their captain, excepting the large bunch of ribbon or favour which the latter wore at the apex of his hat. after going through various pantomimic performances, and chasing the girls around the barn with their brushes, the guisers laid aside their sweeping implements, and prepared for the dance, the captain leading out the bride, and his men choosing their partners; and after all the bride's-maids had danced, the guisers drank the bride and bridegroom's health in silence, quaffing the liquor through their veils, and then making their exit incognito. the bride and bridegroom now retired, leaving the rest of the company to continue the merriment till "the cock wis crawin' and the day wis dawin'," and then many a tired dancer reclined in primitive innocence on the sheaves; and, by the passport of a fragment of oatcake beneath the cereal pillow, roamed through dreamland in quest of future brides and bridegrooms. in the kiln door the fiddler reposed in deep slumber beside his fiddle, snoring unmusical bass, and mumbling dreamy toasts to visions of brimming horns of nut-brown ale, and flowing glasses of hollands gin. at nine o'clock the company assembled for breakfast, and at ten o'clock dancing was resumed, and so continued for three days and nights, with intervals of playing at football, or running "comalae" on the green. on the fourth day, the young men held the "weddin' 222 shetland fireside tales; or, treat," which was simply continuing the marriage festivities and rejoicings for another day and night; and this they did at their own expense, as an expression of their goodwill towards the newly married couple, and also as a return for the liberal entertainment which had been provided for all the wedding-guests. on the morning of the fifth day, after paying the fiddler, and distributing among the poor of the district numerous baskets of fragments from the festive board, the company broke up, and all returned to their respective homes, to live in happy anticipation of the next wedding to take place in the district. what now remains of the strange and eventful history of the hermit of trosswickness and his fair lelah, is soon told, and must rejoice the reader's heart; for the sun of prosperity had now arisen upon their path, and a happy future was before them, to compensate for all past sorrows and suffering. after remaining a few days with his father-in-law, the laird of noss (no longer "the hermit"), accompanied by his wife and captain yunson, proceeded to lerwick, intending to sail by the first vessel leaving for holland; for it was lelah's earnest desire to visit without delay her kind benefactresses, widow vanderboor and her daughter, and to convey to them an account of all that had befallen her since the day of her sudden departure from them. arriving in lerwick, they were so fortunate as to find the "vanderstein of yesselmonde lying wind-bound for holland, and in this vessel they at once embarked. three days of a fair wind brought them in sight of the dutch coast; and after other three days, they arrived at the house of widow vanderboor, where they were received with unbounded joy, and entertained in high festival for many days in the midst of a brilliant assembly; parting again with many regrets. on returning to the coast, captain yunson obtained of a vessel bound for scotland, and therefore the hermit of trosswickness. 223 invited lelah and her husband to accompany him, arranging to land them at lerwick before proceeding to his port of destination. after an equally prosperous voyage, the vessel arrived in lerwick, and the laird of noss and his happy wife proceeded to their future home, which was in bressay, there to enjoy the happiness which now awaited them. nor in his day of prosperity did the "hermit of trosswickness" forget those whom duty or affection brought to his remembrance. rasme rudderhead and tammie toughlands were put in possession of farms on his property. by his kindness and liberality, old yacob's declining years were rendered happy, and this happiness increased as peggy's failing strength tended to bring about a change for the better in her walk and conversation-the latter, however, continuing many years after the former had ceased. bawby o' brigstanes kept up her merry evening gatherings to the last, liberally supported alike by old and young-the former for matrimonial favours experienced, the latter for similar favours expected; and lastly, the laird of noss, in the spirit of david when he said, "is there yet any remaining of the house of saul to whom i can show kindness for jonathan's sake?" sought out some distant relations of bill ericson's, and bestowed upon them many marks of his favour. during the future years in the life of the laird of noss and his happy wife, they made an annual journey to dunrossness, visiting the old retreat on the ness, the trysting-place by the shore, and other scenes of their former joys and sorrows; and often by the domestic hearth were those scenes recalled to memory, when a cherub occupant of the cradle was hushed to peaceful slumber by a mother's voice singing "the exile's lament." " c notes to shetland fireside tales. note a, page 1. trosswickness. trosswickness is a small promontory on the east side of the mainland of shetland, about 5 miles north of sumburgh head, and 4 miles east of fitful head. with the exception of a narrow margin of green pasture skirting the irregular outline of the precipitous cliffs which guard the eastern extremity of the ness, the whole region is wild and barren in the extreme, and no hermit could desire a more befitting emblem of his state than that presented by the sterile and stony wilderness which everywhere meets the eye. "" on the highest elevation of this headland, and within a hundred yards of the edge of the cliff, are the ruins of an ancient "brough' or "peight's "house (as such structures are named by the natives). that so many similar structures in shetland are found along the coast-line, and occupying positions where the widest range of view can be obtained, points distinctly to the inference that the primitive builders of those erections must have intended them for watch towers as well as places of habitation-the necessity for their former use arising from the frequent and unwelcome visits of the vikings or sea-robbers from the coast of scandinavia, or other hostile approaches. the name trosswickness applies to both sides of the bight or creek of trosswick; but it is on the southern headland, lying between trosswick and voe, that the scene of the story is laid. note b, page 2. shetland manners and customs. it is characteristic of a primitive people that they cling fondly to old manners and customs, and thus a century may pass over them and leave little or no change in their ideas or mode of life. this fact has enabled the author to place the time of his story about the middle of last century, and yet draw many of its incidents from the experiences of his own boyhood. old people then living could carry their recollection back to the middle of the previous century; р 226 notes. and thus by his own observation, together with the testimony of others, he has had the means of comparing the manners and customs of the shetland peasantry for a period of more than 120 years. note c, page 4. peculiarities of the shetland dialect. that the old norse or icelandic language of the present day was once the language spoken by the natives of shetland there can be no doubt, for the evidence of this is still to be found in the norse derivation of names of places throughout the islands, every creek and headland, every village and croft, bearing names only slightly modified by the dominant influence of the later scottish element. as additional evidence of this, we have the direct testimony of george buchanan, the historian; the rev. mr brand, who wrote in 1700; and also sir robert sibbald, in 1711. with the arrival of the early scotch settlers, their language was gradually introduced, and hence the origin of what we now find, viz.-a mixed dialect with a norse idiom. how very early this change took place, seems to be indicated by the remarkable circumstance that some words found only in the works of the rhyming chroniclers of the 14th and 15th centuries, and long since ceased to be spoken in other parts of great britain, are still used by the natives of shetland. but, early as the scottish dialect began to incorporate itself with the norse language, it is remarkable how distinctly the norse idiom has been retained by the entire exclusion of the lisping sound of th at the beginning of words. the english sound of this double consonant is almost peculiar to the english language. a foreigner either cannot or will not pronounce it, and the shetlander of the present day follows the example of his ancestors by substituting d for the hated th. thus, for this, that, then, they, them, thou, he says dis, dat, den, dey, dem, du, and so of all words beginning with th. this and other peculiarities lead to considerable confusion both in sense and grammar: thus the english noun den is to the shetlander an adverb; and the word clash, a verb, is in the shetland dialect a noun, meaning gossip or scandal, and so of numerous other examples which might be given. but notwithstanding those defects, the shetland dialect possesses, in common with many other dialects, what is often lost when they become the vehicle of written communication and of the higher kinds of oral address, viz., richness of inflection, friendly familiarity, and naturalness; and it is on this account that the author has made use of the dialect where he found it an advantage to do so, there being numerous instances where the full meaning of shetland words and phrases finds no proper equivalent in english. notes. 227 note d, page 7. fairies. the belief in fairies has been amongst the superstitions common to perhaps all european nations, and can be traced back to the early ages of the indo-european race. the name 66 fairy" does not admit of any distinct definition except in a local sense, because the general character and disposition of those imaginary beings have been ever found to vary, and to take their colouring from the social habits of the people amongst whom they were supposed to dwell, as well as from the geographical features of the country which_those people inhabited. thus, in a flat pastoral country such as england, the fairy was gentle and loving, useful in domestic affairs, and ever ready to perform generous and praiseworthy actions; while, in a mountainous country, such as scandinavia or the highlands of scotland, the fairy was cruel, mischievous, and so destitute of any sort of virtue as to fully justify the opinion of its demoniacal origin. in shetland, as might be expected, fairies were of the scandina vian type. their origin was traced to the fall, when the angels who joined in satan's rebellion were cast out, and those who fell in the sea became mermaids and mermen; and those on the land became fairies or "hillfolk,” which is evidently a corruption of the danish "ellefolk." they were composed of males and females of very diminutive stature, something like human dwarfs. their clothing was always green in colour, fitting close to the limbs, as became beings capable of performing such sprightly and agile feats as they indulged in. they walked barefoot, and both sexes wore a sugar-loaf hat of extraordinary altitude. they were capable of rendering themselves invisible to the human eye, and of seeing as mortals could not. this power was obtained by anointing the eyes of the baby fairy at birth with an eye-salve prepared by fairy art. their dwelling-places were fairy "knowes," or tumuli, in which were plain homely places of abode, and nothing of that gorgeous splendour and enchanting grandeur which eastern fiction has described. the northern fairy, however, knew how to enjoy life, and revelled in noisy mirth, and on the "light fantastic toe" tripped to the merry music of the fiddle as only a fairy could. these carousals generally took place after some successful raid upon the property of mortals above ground, for, like the clan m'gregor, the fraternity had a strong penchant for black cattle. though fond of music, they had no genius for the art; as on the occasion of a wedding or at yule rejoicings, they were under the necessity of charming away some expert fiddler from the upper regions, who was, however, always sent safely back, but suffered from a certain jumble or confusion of intellect for some 228 notes. days after the event. though deficient in the art of instrumental music, their vocal performances were of a high order, and on calm summer evenings the soft strains which sometimes fell upon mortal ears in the neighbourhood of fairy dwellings were such as could only come from fairyland. the author remembers, when a boy, an old woman telling, as a "winter fireside tale," her experience of fairies or hillfolk, and that in her youth it was customary to sit near "hillfolk's knowes" in the summer evenings, and listen to the sweet music which proceeded from them. those fairies followed no honest calling, but were a kind of respectable banditti, helping themselves to human or animal subject as occasion required, but doing it in such a way as to give as little offence as possible. if they wanted a cow, they did not flourish their dirks in the air and yell like a lot of wild, hungry m'gregors; they went invisibly to work, and aimed an elf-arrow as near "crummie's" heart as possible. as soon as the shaft was felt, the wounded animal showed symptoms of distress by rolling her eyes wildly and "brülin," as if in a death-struggle. if the shot was a good one, the effigy, which was prepared beforehand, was now left as the dead animal in the room of the real one, which was quietly transported to their subterranean dwelling to garnish the fleshpots of fairyland. if the elf-arrow was blunt, as very often happened, it did not penetrate the hide of the animal, but left an indentation or vacuum below the skin, which in time became equally fatal; but here the village cow doctress interposed with her archangel tar, gunpowder, steel, and incantations, and by means of such weapons, offensive and defensive, fairly beat the enemy off the field. the author has witnessed several such cases, and carefully examined the supposed wound, as well as watched the efficacy of the supposed means of cure. when it suited their purposes to carry off a human subject, their procedure differed to the extent of sometimes leaving a living substitute, but the imposture was generally detected by the quality of the article; for example, for a fair plump healthy child the substitute was a dwarfish ill-thriven creature, which was a burden to itself and a trouble to everybody. in order to recover the proper child, it was necessary to sweep the substitute out of the cottage door along with ashes or other refuse. this operation was generally performed by the child's mother, who thereafter sat by the fireside and watched the door until her own child, in all its health and beauty, walked in, when she at once rushed to the door, and, shutting it, described a circle round the child, and then ejaculated, "god save my bairn!" on one occasion the fairies were so incensed at being outwitted in this way, that they formed a ring outside the consecrated circle, and blew their breaths upon those inside it, until their skins were covered with huge blisters. notes. 229 other characteristics and peculiarities of fairies will be found in the different fairy tales given in the work, and which are rendered as nearly as possible in the exact words of the native storyteller. note e, page 9. shetland surnames. the curious practice existed in shetland amongst the peasant class till about the beginning of the present century, of the christian name of the father of a family being used as the surname of his children. thus, a son of jaarm (jeremiah) edemson would be eddie (adam) jaarmson; or, a son of laurence robertson might be hans laurenceson, and in the same way the daughter of erasmus ollason would be known as osla rasmeson. this of course rendered tracing the genealogy of families beyond a generation or two a matter of much difficulty. note f, page 17. calvinism. there can be no doubt that calvinism, as a system of religious doctrine, and as it was taught by the early reformers, has stood in closer relationship to human progress and general enlightenment than any other creed since the world began; but while this is true in a general sense, it does not hold true with the same force in particular cases. shetland has shown but little progress under the influence of its teaching, because its effect upon the native mind was rather to confirm than uproot the remnant of that pagan belief in fatalism which was common to almost all the nations of antiquity, and, like other superstitions, lingered longer in those remote islands than in most other places. calvinism, as embodied in the standards of the church and taught by old divines, was not the kind of axe to lay to the root of this upas tree, but in its ultimate conclusions rather affirmed than denied the pagan belief. "god foreordained whatsoever comes to pass" was the fundamental principle of calvinistic doctrine-a doctrine true in itself when viewed by the eye of intelligence, and in connection with god's sovereign will as the great first cause working through the operation of law, and recognising human agency as a necessary factor, but pernicious and derogatory to the divine character when viewed through the mists of ignorance and superstition, which obliterated any proper line of demarcation, and made divine providence little else than a household deity of greek or roman mythology, and, as such, superintending and determining the most trivial affairs of human life. the rude, unlettered islander, with his mind still biassed by the lingering influence of this pagan belief of fatalism, was further 230 notes. taught the doctrines of election and predestination. how was he against this to balance the human element of freewill and responsibility? if every event, with all its varied circumstances and most remote influences upon human life and destiny, were known and determined beforehand, human action could not alter what was so decreed; such action could only be the effect but never the cause of anything. so truly does this represent the case, that even in the present day the shetland peasant could not utter a dozen sentences on any subject connected with human effort or enterprise, without showing the influence of his calvinistic teaching. no doubt this has fostered, as it still does, devout feeling and submission under difficulties and trials, but it has also proved a formidable obstacle in the path of individual enterprise and general progress. note g, page 69. norway witches and wizards. history proves that the influence of any system of religious belief lingers amongst a people long after that belief has ceased to be recognised as a national faith, and thus it is that traces of scandinavian mythology exist even in our own' time, faint and distorted no doubt, but still sufficiently marked to identify them with the more elaborate originals which they represent. the belief that witches and wizards came from the coast of norway disguised as seals, was entertained by many of the shetland peasantry even so late as the beginning of the present century; and it is worthy of note that the supposed object of those unwelcome relations of the phocidae family was plunder, evidently showing that the seal-wizard was just the viking or sea-robber of former ages. the terrors which those marauders once inspired still existed in the native mind by tradition and impression, though the real danger had passed away. time and superstition had changed the form, and the supernatural had gradually assumed the place of the natural. it was not, however, supposed that those familiar spirits, in their sea-dress, actually carried off the goods and chattels of the natives, but they accomplished the same purpose by a much easier process. they charmed away whatever they set their mind on-such as fish, cattle, sheep, farm-produce, &c., just as the housewife versed in black art charmed away her neighbour's butter"profit.' it is highly probable that the ancient belief in mermaids and mermen, which can be traced to the arab seamen and greeks, tended to connect the seal with those supposed diabolical adventures of norwegian wizards. again, there was the difficulty of shooting the seal while swimming, owing to his singular capacity of diving the fire, i. e., diving as the powder flashed in the pan of a flintand before the shot could reach him. besides these, many notes. 231 incidents might occur in the experience of the seal-hunter, which were perplexing to his untutored mind, and which he could not refer to any natural or mechanical principle known to him. these thoughts are suggested by an incident which occurred in the author's own experience of seal-shooting, which was as follows:in the shetland islands, the home and breeding-place of the seal is in some wave-worn cave, guarded from the approach of man by inaccessible cliffs. he also has the sagacity, when fishing near frequented places, to keep beyond gun reach of the shore; but this rule was departed from in the case of an aged patriarch of unusual size for a common seal (phoca vitulina), which evidently wished to enjoy a little quiet during the declining years of his life, and for this purpose selected for his home a deep pool formed by two natural jetties of rock in the neighbourhood of the author's birthplace. this pool was overlooked on the north side by a high turreted rock, forming by its rugged pinnacles an excellent place of concealment for the sportsman. during the day this venerable denizen of the deep fished quietly along the shore north or south of his pool, but always returned thither in the evening, where he amused himself by frequently diving and rising to the surface at short intervals. this continued for several years, till at last the author became possessed of the much-prized gift of a gun, and after proving himself a good sportsman with smaller game, he resolved on the more daring exploit of bagging the old gentleman of the pool. putting in therefore a double charge of swan-post and some heavy slugs (similar to those used for shooting irish landlords), he climbed the rock on the north side, and concealing himself behind two sharp natural turrets, waited for a chance. in a few minutes the old wizard broke the surface, rising to his flippers, shaking the water from his grizzly beard, and snorting loudly as if his extreme corpulency had put him out of breath even by the little exercise he was indulging in. "now, mind yourself, old fellow," was whispered, as the gun was levelled at the occipital region of his cranium. the trigger pulled, but missed fire. the piece was now drawn back, priming examined, flint touched up, frizzel scraped, and all made ready for his next rise. gun again levelled, trigger pulled, but not a spark would the flint strike. for two long hours was the process repeated, at intervals of about ten minutes, but with the same result-the gun would not go off. amazed and perplexed, the author now determined to examine the lock carefully, as he believed some spring had gone wrong. he therefore shook the powder clean out of the pan, and cleared it from the touchhole as far in as the chamber. with the piece now lying across his knees, and pointing away from the seal, he pulled the trigger just to see the action of the frizzel-spring, when lo! the gun went off with a loud report, reverberating along the rocky steeps which stretched away in the distance. 232 notes. now, here was a case of an excellent fowling-piece, which was never known to miss fire, when it is pointed towards the seal no amount of human ingenuity and perseverance can make it go off; but no sooner is it pointed in the opposite direction than off it goes, though under conditions which rendered such an occurrence almost an impossibility. was it not therefore natural and excusable to conclude that the cause lay in the seal and not in the gun? and ever since that occurrence took place, the author has felt it a necessity that we should first require to know all that our forefathers experienced before we condemn their beliefs as the offspring of ignorance and stupidity. note h, page 65. superstition of the evil eye. the belief that any housewife versed in the black arts of necromancy can, by charms and incantations, increase the supply of butter in her own churn in proportion as she has the power to diminish that of her neighbours, has long prevailed in shetland, as well as in some other parts of scotland. this superstition is one form of the ancient and general belief in an evil eye, which belief has not been confined to the nations of northern europe, but existed even amongst the enlightened greeks and romans. the greeks called it ophthalmos baskanos, and the romans used the verb fascinare to express the same idea. how this and similar beliefs, now looked upon as childish and absurd, and all but vanished before the light of science and general intelligence, should once have been so firmly believed in by men of all ranks and conditions of life, and by nations socially and geographically widely separated, is one of those interesting and perplexing questions to which modern inquiry is directed. how, for example, did the belief arise that the human eye possessed the power of charming or bewitching in an evil sense? is it not possible that an answer to this may be found in the fact, that the mesmeric power of the eye was known to the ancients, not as a physiological phenomenon connected with psychology, but as a mysterious, unnatural, and demoniacal power exercised on the willing subjects of the prince of darkness? if we can suppose a case where the ancient mesmerist accidentally, and unknown to himself, made this power felt by gazing in the countenance of another person, nothing was more natural than to connect the innocent and unconscious operator with any misfortunes which might afterwards befall the individual who had thus felt the power of his mysterious gaze; and, once a foundation laid, human invention and exaggeration could do the rest. whether this may be the true explanation or not, certain it is that the belief of an evil eye has had a common origin, and was connected with the exercise of some remarkable power or faculty not common to men. notes. 233 against this view may be urged what has been advanced by some writers on the subject of mesmerism, viz., that the operator has no power except what is permitted by the will of his subject; no doubt, in many cases, the power of the operator may be equally balanced by the existing will of the subject; but as no resistance can be offered by an unconscious subject, it surely follows that a highly susceptible individual, ignorant of the subject of mesmerism, may be influenced by one possessing enormous mesmeric power, even although that power may be only accidentally put forth. note i, page 68. cup divination. it was a maxim with the nations of antiquity, that if there are gods, they care for men, and if they care for men they must be desirous to impart a knowledge of future events, because, by this means, man would know how to obtain the good and avoid the evil; but the great difficulty lay in the question, how to find suitable vehicles of communication by which the gods might be propitiated to vouchsafe to men this needed knowledge. the ancient chaldeans sought in the starry heavens to know the fate of nations and of individuals; and the middle ages, for the same purpose, looked in auguries and auspices. there was axinomancy, the art of discovering the perpetration of a crime, by poising an axe on the top of a pole, and judging of guilt or innocence by the direction in which it fell. belomancy, shooting with arrows. bibliomancy, opening the bible and observing the first passage which occurred. botanomancy, divination by plants and flowers. capnomancy, divination by smoke. cheiromancy, reading the lineaments of the hand. cosinomancy, divination by using a sieve and pair of shears. crystallomancy, divination by crystals or precious stones. cup divination, cup reading. geomancy, divination by pebbles. hydromancy, divination by water, or by a mirror. lithomancy, divination by stones. oneiromancy, divination by dreams. pyromancy, divination by fire. rabdomancy, divination by the divining rod, &c. a strange list of delusions indeed, we may now say; and equally strange it is that so many of them have come down to our own day, it being within the author's memory when bibliomancy, cheiromancy, botanomancy, cosinomancy, cup divination, oneiromancy, and pyromancy were all practised in the shetland islands, at least to such an extent as renders it easy to identify each particular superstition with its more elaborate prototype. cup divination by the ancients was a more aristocratic performance than its more modern disciples could attain to. the former placed precious stones, with inscriptions on them, upon gold leaf, and dropped them into water contained in a glass cup, and read the signs 234 notes. on its surface; while the latter used a stoneware cup and a few tea grounds, forming pictures by the fortuitous arrangement of stalks and broken leaf. the author has often had these pointed out and explained to him by an expert; and by a little help of the imagination, wonderful pictures they make of things both animate and inanimate. in foretelling events by the aid of those pictures, the order of time is reckoned from the brim of the cup downwards, the brim being the present, the bottom the distant future, and the scale being days, months, or years, according as the nature of the case requires. the author is bound to say that he has known many wonderful predictions by cup diviners followed by as wonderful fulfilments. note k, page 51. shetland ballads and music. shetland now possesses no ancient songs or ballads known to have been written by native authors, and it is extremely doubtful if any such have ever existed; nor is this to be wondered at, when we consider that the bulk of the native population were for centuries the objects of severe oppression, and that education or higher culture scarcely existed. the petty tyrants who ruled them as with a rod of iron, took care also to keep them in ignorance as the most likely means to reconcile them to their lot; besides, in the doubtful possession of ignoble peace, they knew nothing of the "pomp and circumstance of war," and little of the thrilling theme of romantic love-themes to which the national airs, songs, and ballads of all nations owe their origin. there was evidently only one path in which the ancient shetlanders cared to seek artistic distinction, and that was as a musician and . composer of reel music; and in this he has certainly excelled, for shetland reel music, so far as it goes, is equal to anything of the kind to be found in scotland, or perhaps in any other country. the shetlander of the olden time knew little enjoyment but such as the domestic circle and the social gathering afforded. his toilsome occupation and frequent absence from home during nine months of the year, made the return of winter especially grateful to him. then his fare was best, his leisure most; his courtships, marriages, and merry-makings made him forget for a time both tyrant and toil, and revel in the enjoyment of that " gaytime" which every martinmas brought with it. his fiddle the only instrument of music known to himwas the centre of attraction in every social gathering, and never failed to call forth that wild athletic exercise and those powers of endurance which he could so well exhibit in the native dance or "foursome reel," when the home-brewed ale went round in flowing 1 notes. 235 66 cogs," or the smuggled keg of dutch gin was broached to honour some "rant" or wedding. here, then, according to the universal law of supply and demand, reel music was supplied because it was wanted; to play the fiddle was an accomplishment eagerly sought after by all lads having a musical ear; and those of them who possessed a genius in this way were able, through the course of time, to add original compositions, and all such compositions exhibit the same characteristics, being light, stirring, and expressive of feelings of exuberant mirth and rollicking jollity. note l, page 104. trade with norway. it is within the author's recollection when only two small sailing vessels were employed in the trade with scotland. then, and more especially in earlier times, the principal trade of the islands was carried on with the norwegians and dutch. shetland was entirely dependent on norway for her supply of wood, and to a large extent for that of fishing boats, which were brought over just as they were finished in the builder's yard. they were put together chiefly by "treenails" or wooden pins; but as these were not considered by the shetland fishermen to be sufficiently safe, the boards were farther fastened by iron rivets. like everything else which came from norway, these boats were looked upon with suspicion, and unlucky or "misforn" knots had to be searched for by some aged son of neptune, expert in such matters, before the boat was allowed to float. note m, page 113. pyromancy. pyromancy, or divination by fire, was common amongst the greeks and romans. in offering sacrifices to the gods, the manner in which the victim was consumed was held to prognosticate good or evil. if the sacrifice burned clear of smoke and did not crackle, the omen was favourable, but otherwise it was not. in shetland, pyromancy was closely allied to cup reading-half consumed brands taking the place of tea grounds. when a peat fire is nearly consumed, some of the brands often remain standing in an upright position in the light white ashes by which they are surrounded. and it was the fancied resemblance which those brands bore to persons, animals, ships, &c., which furnished the fire reader with the means of foretelling events. one solitary upright brand, resembling a man or woman, was always called a “guest,” i.e., a stranger or visitor from a distance. if it could be guessed who the 236 notes. person might be, and if welcome, the brand was lifted in the tongs and placed in the centre of the fire, and other brands heaped around it; but if the person was looked upon as an intruder, the brand was dipped in a tub of water, so that the individual represented might get a drenching of rain if he or she attempted the journey. note n, page 114. bawby of brigstanes. the original of bawby o' brigstanes was a well-knowu village gossip bearing the same christian name, in whose cottage the author spent many happy evenings when a boy. note o, page 136. superstitions of fishermen. shetland fishermen, in common with many of their brethren elsewhere, believe that in going to the fishing if they meet certain persons they will have luck, and if they meet others, the very reverse will happen; hence all their acquaintance come to be divided into lucky and unlucky people. so far as those persons are themselves concerned, they may be lucky or fortunate, though the baleful influence they exercise on the calling of others may be of the most marked description. the author has known fishermen on going to the fishing take a different road, in order to avoid meeting with certain individuals whom they saw approaching, or do what is alluded to in the verse-send a member of their own family out to meet them purposely, as a protection from the evil influence of a bad foot when on the way to the boat. note p, page 232. sailors' superstitions. the allusion here is to a well-known sailor's yarn, which is told as follows:jack and bill were messmates. jack made his money "spin" as fast as he got it, but bill was saving and penurious, and hoarded his money, which he kept in a bag concealed in his hammock. jack coming to know this conceived the horrible design to murder his shipmate, in order to get possession of the money; and to accomplish this without the deed being discovered, he one night approached bill's hammock, where he was sleeping, and pierced him behind the ear with a sail needle, which, while it penetrated the brain, left almost no perceptible external wound. in the morning the man was found dead in his hammock, and the believing he had died a natural death, ordered the body notes. 237 66 to be sewed up in a hammock, and committed to the deep, with the usual formalities of a burial at sea. the same night the watch on duty were startled by hearing a voice from the foretop give the usual warning-call, stand from under," which sailors always do before sending anything down on deck. the watch knowing that no one was aloft, were so terror-stricken that none of them had courage to give the response, "let go;" but as the voice still continued the call, and waxing louder and more stern each time, it broke the stillness of the night. at last, one more courageous that the rest answered, "let go," and down fell with a heavy thud on the deck the murdered man's body, sewed in the hammock just as it was put overboard. the captain was then called, and all hands summoned on deck, when each of the crew was put through the ordeal of touching the body. when it came to the murderer's turn he stepped forward trembling, and with horror depicted in his countenance, and for a moment hesitated; but the stern voice of the captain quickened his movements, and he touched the corpse, when at once from behind the murdered man's ear spurted out a stream of blood. the murderer was at once seized, put in irons, and soon after paid the penalty of his crime, when the vessel arrived at her port of destination. note q, page 282. native courage. a young lad, who was one of the author's youthful companions, once performed a feat similar to that assigned to the hermit of trosswickness. it was on a dark december day, when a fearful south-east storm raged along the coast, and strewed the shore with wreck. huge waves rolled with thunderous dash against the dark precipitous cliffs, and sent the rock-beaten spray like pillars of cloud to the sky. in one of those gios or creeks, with which the coast-line is here indented, this lad with a number of others lay watching the landing of wreck, which was borne in by the waves, when observing a piece of plank which had got fixed between two rocks far down the beach, he determined to get possession of it. divesting himself therefore of his outer garments, he stood ready till the receding wave enabled him to run down the beach to the spot where the fragment of wreck was; then, just as the next wave with foaming crest rose high over his head, he threw his arms around pinnacle of rock, and clung to it, while over him rushed the roaring flood. soon as the wave again rolled back, he sprang to his feet, wrenched the plank from its hold, and ran for his life, chased to the top of the beach by a wild mountain wave, foaming and hissing as if in rage at being deprived of its prey. 238 notes. note r, page 284. wreckers. if anything could tempt the law-abiding, peacefully-disposed shetlander to deviate from the even tenor of his way, it would be a wreck cast upon his rugged and inhospitable shore. then indeed the old instincts of his race appear, and the spirit of the wreck is upon him. no fatigue or privation can discourage him, no danger can appal him, if a fragment of wreck can be secured, no matter how trifling its value. he feels this as a ruling passion, which he can neither resist nor explain, and it can only indeed be explained upon the principle, that the love of any pursuit peculiar to a race will live long after that pursuit has been abandoned, and that the influence of habit rests upon races as well as upon individuals. a former generation of shetlanders, in common with the inhabitants of every isolated place around the british coast in those times, considered that the spoils of the sea were their own, and hesitated not to appropriate such whenever an opportunity offered. time and enlightenment have changed all that, but at least in the case of shetlanders the old feeling remains, just as the modern sportsman with a full purse and a well-stocked larder, pursues the game with the same ardour and unwearied perseverance as did his hungry ancestor whose dinner depended on the fortunes of the chase. in both cases alike all consideration of the value of the object to be gained is lost in the intense pleasure of pursuing it. if any one objects to this comparison, the author can only ask such an individual to suspend his judgment till he has witnessed the scene of a shipwreck in a storm on the shetland coast, with salvers at work. compared with a shipwreck and a whale hunt in shetland, both of which the author has witnessed, the princely pursuit of deerstalking is tame, and grouse shooting only a childish amusement. note s, page 304. bridecake. the use of bridecake can be traced back to the romans, and amongst that ancient people consisted of a cake of wheat or barley, which was symbolical of that unity of heart and life which the married state was supposed to bring. the practice of breaking the cake over the bride's head as she entered her new home, is evidently a usage of very remote antiquity, and was once universal both in england and scotland. in shetland, an oat cake is used, which being broken in fragments is put in a basket, and thrown over the bride's head, just as she returns after the marriage ceremony has been performed. here · notes. 239 then is an act of crowning or consecrating, just as ancient kings were consecrated by pouring holy oil on their heads, and there can be little doubt that the former claims as great antiquity as the latter. bread is the staff of life, and was therefore a fitting symbol by which to consecrate or appoint the new-made wife to the duties of her office, and as guide and ruler in her own little domestic kingdom. modern usages, and the growth of luxury, have converted bridecake into a highly ornamental piece of confectionery, and in this way shorn it of all its original, symbolic meaning; and thus it is, that for what a people sometimes gain in advanced civilization and refinement, much is lost in what is beautiful, simple, and natural. note. for motto at chapter xxi read— rich the treasure, sweet the pleasuresweet is pleasure after pain. dryden. commercial printing company, edinburgh. 10 4 nmf yale university library a christian hermit in burma. the buddhist hermit who has become a christian, outside his cave, in which he lived for fifteen years. a christian hermit in burma and other tales illustrated the society for the propagation of the gospel in foreign parts, 4x<>-«c|of\ westminster, s.w. 1914. note. these stories, all of which are true, deal with fields of work in which the society is engaged, with the exception of the last story, " a brave boy." all the stories have appeared in the society's publications. contents. page i. a christian hermit in burma, by the rev. g. whitehead 1 ii. what it means to become a christian, by the rev. c. f. andrews ... ... ... ... ... '" ... 11 iii. how a beat helped to spread the king's message, by the rev. k. w. s. kennedy is iv. a japanese burglar, by the bishop in south tokyo ... 21 v. maqamusela, the first zulu martyr, by dr. smyth, formerly bishop of lebombo 31 vi. sammy : an australian aboriginal, by the rev. h. pitts 35 vii. a story from corea, by c. lillingston 42 viii. a snowstorm in newfoundland 52 ix. the story of father pat 56 x. the life story of ngcombu, by the rev. e. hill ... 64 xi. simeon: a story of the cawnpore mission ... ... 71 xii. the story of venkayya 78 xiii. a brave boy 82 list of illustrations. the buddhist hermit who has become a christian frontispiece the burmese hermit preaching facing page 1 a sikh priest , ,, 11 guarding the crops ... ... ... ... ... ,, ,, 15 kametaro nakazawa .. ... ... ... .. ,, ,, 21 a zulu warrior ... ,, 31 an aboriginal family in western australia ,, ,, 35 corean bride and bridegroom , ,, 48 father pat's old church at rossland b.c ,, ,, 56 a south african catechist with his wife and children ,, ,, 64 an indian clergyman in the telugu country ... ,, „ 78 a tikopian „ „ 82 the burmese hermit preaching. i. a christian hermit in burma. 1v/iaung tha dun was a cultivator in the henzada district, and was in fairly comfortable circumstances. he was religious from his youth up; and like all burman boys, spent some time as a novice in a buddhist monastery. but the life of a monk did not appeal to him, as few of the monks seemed to have any fervour, but were quite satisfied to spend their lives idly but respectably. the monks are greatly honoured, and they pass their time in ease and comfort (with the considerable qualifications that they may not marry and may not eat after midday). so tha dun left the monastery, and afterwards married happily and had several children ; but he was ever looking forward to the time when he should be able to renounce all worldly cares and pleasures for the hard life of a hermit. perhaps this lofty ambition was not wholly christian, for though many true followers of the master are called upon to "leave house, and brethren, and sisters, and father, and mother, i <5m./0.21851) 2 missionary stories and wife, and children, and lands, for christ's sake and the gospel's," yet this desire for the hermit life was mainly for the welfare of a man's own soul ; whilst the lord jesus prayed for his disciples, not that they should be taken out of the world, but that they might be kept from the evil (st. mark x. 28 ; st. john xvii. 25). however, when tha dun could see his way to a provision for his wife and children he parted from them amicably and became a "forest dweller." for thirteen years he continued to live the hermit life, eating only vegetables and fruit, and that only once a day sparingly at dawn. he had, too, become firmly convinced of the existence of the eternal god our loving father ; and was zealous to teach others the truth as far as he himself saw it, and to preach a conversion of heart and life. he would frequently go from village to village preaching ; and sometimes a disciple would erect a rest-house for him to make a lengthened stay. he had come to regard popular buddhism as an evil, and preached much against images, the worship of the monks, and sundry common superstitions. still some of his friends and relatives wished him to become a buddhist monk, and were a christian hermit in burma 3 ready in that case to build a commodious monastery for him ; he would then have a much greater reputation throughout the country, and they themselves would share in his reflected glory. as was the experience of the supreme master, his brethren did not yet believe in him. during all these years he never came in contact with a christian missionary, though he had met with native christians and catechists. whilst there was so much in christianity that appealed to him, he felt that the one-sided preaching of salvation by faith which he heard from some baptist converts tended to negligent conduct ; and he was utterly dissatisfied with both roman catholic and american baptist missionaries because they would frequently go shooting. here, again, he was wrong in thinking that life should never be taken, for he would imagine it was a mortal sin to kill even mosquitoes and flies and snakes, which should be left undisturbed ; but surely it is a mistake when a missionary to the burmese goes out to shoot deer and other game. if one wishes to lead someone to the truth one must not begin by doing some indifferent thing which the other person believes to be a mortal sin, on the principle that st. paul enunciates that " if meat 4 missionary stories make my brother to offend, i will eat no flesh while the world standeth, lest i make my brother to offend " (i cor. viii. 13). afterwards, having heard of our church, the hermit came in to the rev. t. ellis at the mission at kemmendine, some 100 miles away from where he was then living. it seemed a strange case* almost too good to be true, for the missionary is apt to grow distrustful of people who come to him saying that they want to become christians ; the straightforward seeker after truth is often himself too dubious and distrustful to go to unknown quarters to ask the way. mr. ellis tried to put before maung tha dun the truth as it is in christ jesus, and gave him some books to read, and asked him to return after further consideration of the question. then, after he came a second time, the hermit lived a while on the mission premises in kem mendine to learn more of christian faith and practice ; and would accompany the missionary on his tours and tell eager burmese and karens about his own experiences. " come and hear, all ye that fear god, and i will declare what he hath done for my soul" (ps. lxvi. 16). he was then baptized by the name of "john a christian hermit in burma 5 baptist," and was set to try to bring into the fold of the church his own followers, to teach them of the self-revelation of god in our only saviour, the lord jesus christ, by whom alone we have remission of sins. it was not considered needful that he should give up his old distinctive dress of dark-brown bark-dyed cotton cloth or his ascetic life and vegetarian diet ; and when his old disciples asked him if his new european teachers them selves conformed to his custom of abstaining from eating fish and flesh he would reply: "no ; and it is written in the christian scriptures, ' let not him that eateth despise him that eateth not ; and let not him which eateth not judge him that eateth, for god hath received him ' " (rom. xiv. 3) his old disciples continue to support him, both those who have followed him into the church and those who are still considering the question ; and during the last three years — that is, ever since his baptism — his whole time is occupied in retirement and meditation (often in a garden a few miles from kemmendine), or in extended preaching tours among his old friends and others. he has never drawn any salary or allowance from the mission, which is, however, 6 missionary stories at any time ready to pay his railway or boat fares ; but the hermit prefers that his own disci ples should normally bear this charge. the first missionary to accompany the hermit on his tours, and also the first to baptise many of his followers, was the rev. c. r. purser, who writes as follows : — " after nearly a month's wanderings in districts which we have not yet reached before, i have at last got to kyaiklat. you have already heard about the hermit who has accepted christianity. he has been baptised, and was confirmed on st. michael's day. his extra ordinary keeness is most inspiring. he has been round several times to visit his disciples, who are scattered all over the country. "at the beginning of the month we left kem mendine with saya po sa, a burmese deacon, to tour round as many of the villages where the hermit has disciples, as time would allow. never have i had a more inspiring time in the jungle. the visit i paid to nyaung-bin-kaingswe, a village some five miles from paungde, was just magnificent. an old man, eighty years of age, and two women (one of them blind, and both over seventy-five years of age) had walked ten miles to hear the message of christianity. a christian hermit in burma 7 the house where i stayed had been chosen as a meeting-place for those in the surrounding villages who cared to come and hear ' the law.' there were three dear old men, bent with age, but with a look of peace shining from the old faces. " we talked about the christian faith, and told them the story of christ, and for two hours they listened without saying a word. when we had finished the old man could not restrain himself. he got up and said, ' that's the faith. that's what i ' ve been seeking for twenty years ; i want nothing else now, i am happy. it's the old faith which we all had once. but we have lost it. now we have found it again. i am happy.' it was really wonderful. "afterwards he told us his story. he said that twenty years ago he and his house had parted with buddhism. he had spent his days in trying to understand ' the one god.',..' he had been persecuted ; his house had been stoned, his crops destroyed ; he had been abused, but he had withstood it all. and now he and his house would be faithful till death. christianity had met his needs, and he was satisfied. later on in the evening another pathetic incident happened. these old men wanted to 8 missionary stories make us comfortable and happy. they had got some cocoanuts out of the compound, and one of the old men sat down to take off the thick outer fibre. he had finished three cocoanuts when his old limbs began to ache, and he said he could not do any more. then the other old man said, ' go on, brother, remember you will not have an opportunity of doing this to morrow.' and again the dear old man set to work. " i stayed the night in this house, with the result that we sat on the floor talking till mid night. the old blind woman meant to have her say. she said, ' this morning i came here in darkness. i could not see. now it is night and i see.' how the words, 'light at eventide' flashed through my mind ! i could have stayed a week in this village, but it was necessary to move on at 4 a.m. next morning. we had a long walk before the sun got hot. " this is only one example of the many similar experiences which i have had on this tour. the hermit is splendid. he rises at 4 a.m., eats the only food which he takes during the day, says his devotions, and lies down again till the people are astir. the rest of the time he is preaching, preaching, preaching. slowly a christian hermit in burma 9 he is learning the great truths of christianity. day by day he becomes more enthusiastic as he finds something else in christianity which his former life could not give. "we walked through the villages together and caused great excitement. we never had any difficulty in getting people to listen. if we were on the station waiting for a train, we soon became the centre of a great crowd ; then the hermit explained why he became a christian. if we sat down to rest on the wayside, the same thing happened. in fact, the latter part of the tour we avoided public places as far as possible. we crept into the village, looked out for a suit able house, asked if we might stay for the night, and before long we had a sufficient number of people to hear 'the law.' in one village practically the whole of the inhabitants, includ ing the thu-gyi (headman of the village), asked to be admitted as catechumens. " during the journey, i followed the railway line as far as prome, then down the river via donabyu to kyaiklat. " i am glad to get back. almost all has been new work. the nights have been almost as the day. people stayed on, asking question io missionary stories after question ; till i could scarcely keep my eyes open. " but looking back now i rejoice that i have been able to go on this tour. in each village i have left behind a man who will proclaim what he has learnt, which, with god's blessing, will bring forth a tremendous result in the future," a sikh priest. ii. what it means to become a christian. 't'he following story, told by the rev. c. f¦*¦ andrews, will show how [much it means for a hindu to give up his old religion and become a christian. the place to which the story refers is delhi, which has lately become the capital of india, and where the s.p.g. has been working for more than fifty years. " were you born a christian ? " i asked. "no, sahib," he replied; "when i was a young man i used to hate the very name of christian, and in the bazar, when any missionary got up to speak, i used to throw stones and mud, for i was a sikh, and we hated the christians up here near the frontier ; but the pathans hated them worse than we did, and we hated the pathans. it is all hatred up here. " one day i was much worse than usual ; it was as if satan had got possession of me, and i tried to make the missionary angry, but he answered nothing back. he seemed to be praying when he could not make himself heard, and i was afraid. i thought, ' he is calling on his god to curse me.' after the crowd had 12 missionary stories gone he came up to me and said, ' why do you treat me so badly?' i thought he would be very angry with me and said, 'why are you not angry with me ' ? he said ' because in our injil (gospel) it is written, " bless them that curse you." ' i said, ' sahib, they tell me that the injil is an evil book, and that christians are evil people, but that word, " bless them that curse you," is a good word.' ' read the injil yourself,' he said ; do not trust what other people say.' i took it and read it, and you know, padre sahib, what effect the injil has. i soon became a christian." " what followed ? " i asked. " padre sahib," he answered, " god first made me learn all that i had done to others. i used to throw mud and stones at christians, and then everyone threw mud and stones at me. all my family, my father and mother, treated me with such blows that i was bruised from head to foot, while they called out, ' will you give up being a christian ? ' but i knew it was all a punishment from god for my past sins." " what about your wife ? " i asked. his face beamed and he said, " oh, padre sahib, she is indeed a christian. there is none like her for warmth of heart, and she has what it means to become a christian 13 had to endure much persecution. once upon a time we were at , and she had become the friend of a young pathan girl — sahib, you know how fierce those pathans are ! they think nothing of murder! well, at last the good seed of the love of god was sown, and the girl desired to become a christian. when it was known, at once she was cruelly beaten — worse than i was, sahib — and her own husband imprisoned her. but she escaped, and fled for her life to the english missionary, and all the pathans of the city came running out, and the english padre sent word to us, ' come with all your family quickly into our compound. the pathans are out, and they are saying that they will kill your wife.' we got there in safety, and the missionary showed the girl at the window to the pathans and said ' she shall speak for herself ; if she wishes to come to you i will let her go.' then her father and mother came weeping, but she answered, i will be a christian.' then all the pathans shouted out, 'we will murder you ! we will murder you ! ' but she said, ' i will be a christian,' and at last the pathans went away and she was baptized. " once, padre sabib, i was very ill, and so ill that i thought that i was dying. it came to 14 missionary stories the time of sham-ki-namaz (evening prayer), and i said to my wife, ' go to prayer ; do not stay by my side.' she went, and i was all alone. " padre sahib, i speak the exact truth ! i was so ill, i could scarcely lift up my hand. but at the time of prayer i saw one who stood before me, and he said to me, ' turn kirn karo , (work!), and i knew that the lord had work for me to do, and at that very moment 1 got up from bed and walked about the room. my wife was coming back from church. i told her. she said, ' at the time of prayer the padre sahib prayed for you by name. see what is the effect of prayer ! ' " oh, padre sahib, my great wish ever since has been to go away to some island where they have never heard about christ, and do work there." " but," said i, " there are millions here in india who are heathen still." "ah, yes, padre sahib," he said, "your words are true words ; but i often think how glorious it would be to go to some island where not a single word had been spoken about jesus christ and work there ; and sometimes i think that is what the vision meant when the voice came, ' turn kam karo.' " guarding the crops iii. *how a bear helped to spread the king's message. lie was a brown bear. long before day light he had been hard at work digging up an anthill. not the hard, busy, sting ing, little black ants, but the so-called "white ants," had made the hill, and deep underground the queen ant had grown in her royal chamber to a huge ungainly size. very sweet the bear thought her, and licked his lips. then he thought he would like some grain or berries as second qburse or dessert. and so he lumbered off to a little field close to the edge of the jungle where the ant-hill was. part of it was planted with millet and the bear was quite hidden from view as he made his way through the high stalks. upon a little platform, nearly ten feet high, the owner of the field, poor kedar, had watched his crops all night long. for wild deer and pigs play sad havoc with the crops planted in the clearings along the edge of the jungle, 15 1 6 missionary stories unless there is some one to frighten them away. so kedar had built this little platform and made an umbrella like roof of palm leaves to keep off the rain and dew, and night by night he sat there, armed with his little axe, and trusting to the height of the platform to keep him out of the reach of leopards or tigers, while he guarded the crops which he and all his family had laboured so hard to plant. as the bear moved, he shook the tall stalks. in the dim dawning light, kedar saw the heavy millet heads tossing, and shouted loudly to scare away the intruder. but the bear only grumbled to himself, "that stupid man. i wonder what he is making such a noise for ! he can't see me here. i don't want to attack him. i don't eat flesh like the tiger. i'll just get my dessert and go home to bed," and he moved slowly on. kedar saw the millet heads still waving and shouted again. then he said to himself, " that can't be a deer. they always run when i shout. it must be a pig. ah, yes ! i think i can see it dimly now in that place where the stalks are thin. it doesn't seem to hear. i wonder if i how a bear helped 17 could creep up and kill it. the children would so love a good feed of pig's flesh." so he climbed down from the platform, and grasping his axe, he stole softly along in his bare feet, trying to get ahead of the animal and cut off its retreat to the jungle. nearer and nearer he came. sometimes he could see a dark, clumsy form in the half-light and through the high-growing grain. sometimes he could only hear. but gradually he came close up behind it, but before he could do anything, instead of a pig a bear wheeled round and rose up on his hind legs with a great roar. it was impossible to escape. one stroke of the great paw that so easily digs deep into the ant-hills knocked him down, leaving deep claw marks on neck and shoulder. and then the bear seized his left arm in its jaws and tore and worried at it in a terrible rage. the blood gushed out with such force that poor kedar fainted and lay quite still. its rage satisfied, the bear sniffed at him for awhile, and thinking him dead, shambled off muttering and growling. meanwhile, the sun rose, and two of kedar's children came along driving their little herd of goats and two plough-bullocks to graze along the edge of the jungle while they should watch 1 8 missionary stories the crops and set their father free to sleep awhile at home. but as they came they saw the bear, and rushed for protection to the platform where they thought their father was. no sign of him there, so they climbed up and screamed loudly for him or their mother to come and protect them. then they saw their father lying in a space in the field where all the millet seemed beaten down. their screams had brought their mother and soon all screaming together brought more people from their little jungle village. the blood was flowing still, so they knew he was not dead. quickly they collected some cowdung and filled up all the wounds to check the bleeding, and got a cord-bed to carry him home. but as they lifted him on to it the poor arm hung loose and limp, for the bone was broken in several places and most of the flesh torn across. for a whole week he lay in high fever. they plastered on various poultices of roots and leaves supposed to heal wounds. they tied on cowry shells and bear's hair to avert the evil eye. they hired the wizard and offered their best goat in sacrifice to appease the evil spirit who was supposed to be causing the fever. but he how a bear helped 19 only got worse and worse till no one but his wife could endure to come near him to drive the flies from the festering wounds. then a neighbour said, " when i was at bazar (market) one week i saw the padre sahib and a miss sahib putting medicine on very bad wounds, and some people told me that their medicine is very good and they take no pay. you had better take him there. he can only die here. we will all help to carry the bed on a long pole in turns." so they brought him in fourteen miles. and when the mission doctor saw him, he said, " i must cut off his arm at once or he will die." " do what you like," they said " he is dying now." but god was merciful to him. he did not die, and in a few days the doctor became very hopeful. but then he suddenly got lock-jaw, and could swallow nothing. and all hope seemed gone again. but day by day the nurse and doctor worked and prayed, and slowly this disease, which is so seldom cured, was overcome. for weeks he lay in hospital, and every day he heard the prayers for his recovery, and as soon as he was able to be taught, every day he 20 missionary stories learned a little about jesus christ and his religion. then he made up his mind that he would become a christian, but first he must go home to his fields. some of his family had been in the hospital with him all the time, and the farm was greatly neglected. so a schoolmaster from the nearest village to his where there are christians; was told to visit him regularly and teach him more of christianity and help him on with his reading, of which he had learnt a little. and now he and his whole household are being prepared for baptism, and there is good hope that others too in that village may become christians. so you see how a bear helped to spread the king's message, and i hope you will pray for all medical missionaries, who try to spread it by copying our lord himself, who used to heal the sick and preach the good news. ! '' w£0: l^ih gl *%** ^^1 ^^^ r^m 1 w\ {"¦ ^m ii ^¦4 :^l v'ji mp ' ">^w» f/'i ^ljk br "f .'.¦ kametaro nakazawa. iv. a japanese burglar. | ast year there came to tokyo and to the ' house of mr. sugiura, who is a clergyman of our church in tokyo, a man with a long history of crime and punishment reaching over twenty-five years. the son of parents too poor to educate him, he early became the slave of drink and gambling, and at the age of twentysix came a misfortune which sent him utterly to the bad. short of money one day he induced a girl cousin to lend him her best clothes to pawn. before they were returned her mother missed them ; the girl lied through fear, and the police were informed that they had been stolen. there was no difficulty in identifying the man who had deposited them, but when the police went to arrest him he was away on a gambling bout, and was thereupon condemned for burglary by default and arrested by a detective as he was returning home without suspicion. it was easy to explain ; but the detective, thinking it simpler to avoid the trouble of taking the case to court again, took the course (odd according to english 22 missionary stories ideas, but not unknown in japan) of persuading the young fellow to slip away somewhere ; advice which he was fool enough to accept, but which soon left him in loneliness and misery. then the devil suggested to him that as he was already condemned for burglary he might as well commit the crime. thus started his long criminal career of twenty-four years. the jail proved a school of crime ; and each time he was re-committed his heart was harder, till at length, when twenty-nine years of age, he did what, if discovered, would have incurred at leaslr ten years' imprisonment and hard labour. it was not discovered, though he incurred frequent short sentences for minor thefts, and one for stabbing a policeman. but non-discovery did not mean peace of mind. " my heart," he told mr. sugiura, " was always burdened with secret fear. any little noise would wake me and every man walking behind me sounded like a detective." after nine years of this internal misery he felt driven to give himself up to justice. this was in 1899, and the result was that at the age of thirty-five he found himself sentenced to a term of twelve years in jail and sent to the cold north coast of the hokkaido. twelve years a japanese burglar 23 out of what remained of life awoke an anguish which soon turned to something like repentance, and as he looked back on his spoilt life, all this seemed to have come to him for lack of the opportunity of education. so he began to spend his weary prison hours in study ; such money as he earned he spent in books, and more and more he connected his ignorance and his crime as cause and effect. but what was true of himself he thought was true of his companions in jail, about one thousand in number, of whom he found that some seven hundred could neither read nor write ; and he set his heart on lifting them as well as himself. he urged them to study, and he begged of the prison officials to provide them with paper slates that they might learn to write, since with out writing they could hardly hope to get work later on. the appeal seemed in vain, but his strong nature was set on it, and, japanese that he was, he determined to give point to his request by killing the head of the jail who would not listen to it, in the hope that though he sacrificed his own life thereby it would bring his request to notice. to his fellow prisoners he revealed his secret purpose, begging them to study hard and 24 missionary stories never fall into jail through ignorance again after they should have profited by his sacrifice. but before he found the waited-for chance of assass ination, one of the prisoners, hoping thereby to further his own interests, let the secret out to the jailer. our poor fellow found himself separated in solitary confinement, but not before it had been resolved to grant that for which he had striven ; the slates were granted the following month. pleased as he was by that news, in his solitary confinement he was naturally fired by the thought of the faithlessness of the one informer, and his first idea was revenge. he went so far as to buy books that would show him the way to make a bomb ; but the whole plan seeming impossible, all interests failed, and he resolved to take his own life. as a preliminary step and to put the jailers off suspicion he pretended to be becoming insane. he had no knife," but secreted a bit of steel which he found. he gradually ground it to an edge on the brick walls and wooden floor of his cell. he distributed his only possessions, his little library of books, among his fellow prisoners, and at last, when the steel was ready, and no one in sight, he prepared to cut himself open. a japanese burglar 25 " stop !" shouted a man's voice from some where, and a concealed jailer appeared before him. " stop ! aren't you a man of yamato damashi — a man of spirit ? " there was magic in the words. never in his life before had anything like that been addressed to him. he could only stare dumbly, and the jailer went on — " if you want to die, die at once in your old sinful self, but live again with a new, pure heart. your term is up in three years more, and then you can go into the world a new man to a new career." "at that minute," he told mr. sugiura, "i felt as if awak ing from a long dream and my hea'rt made new." the three years passed, and in november, 191 1, aged now fifty years, he was released. but while still in prison he heard grievous news of the man who had savedhim. appointed to another prison this jailer had been killed there by one of the criminals. so the first thing to be done was plain to his japanese sentiment ; he must visit and pay his respect at the tomb of his honoured benefactor. two hundred miles he journeyed for the purpose till there was little left of his scanty savings. and then he saw the grave. what marked it was not the usual little grave-stone of a japanese 26 missionary stories grave shaped like a milestone on a pedestal, but the christian cross. then for the first time he understood ; the jailer had been a christian. offering his flowers he threw himself on the ground before the grave and spoke as to a living friend. sobbing, he confessed his past to the dead, thanking him for the words that had saved him to try again, and promising him that he would never desert the new-found way. crying thus to the dead, he was, though yet he knew it not, drawing near, step by step, to the father in heaven. from the grave he turned his journey towards a neighbouring town in search of work, but on reaching the village, where he must take sea passage, he found himself short by two sen (less than a penny) of the needed four shillings for his fare. two sen only ! he had nothing to sell, and for that trifle must linger and earn it in that out of the way spot. what was two sen to steal for this old and practised thief? but he knew it for temptation — the first tempta tion of his new life — and that oath taken at the grave was ruling his heart now ; he would stay till he could come by his fare honestly at any cost. a japanese burglar 27 before those last shillings were quite gone he got a job. it was as servant in the village inn, and his first task was to carry in the newly delivered goods. they were tubs of sake* — to him that " devilwater " which had enslaved him long ago and spoiled his life. for twelve years in poison he had remembered it and longed for it, and now the pleasant scent of it in his nostrils fascinated and almost maddened him. thus his second temptation was far fiercer than the first. but with his arms round the tubs he knew that if he gave, if he allowed himself one drop of the sake, his salvation would be undone ; and again that oath prevailed, and he fought down the appetite. "these two temptations," he afterwards told mr. sugiura, " brought me to the very edge of the precipice. it was only a miracle of god's power that kept me back." gradually he worked his way towards tokyo ; and at morioka he met a christian worker from whom for the first time he heard the gospel of our lord jesus christ and that doctrine of the new heart which he bestows, who interpreted for him the strange new *i.e. rice-spirit, the usual japanese intoxicating drink. 28 missionary stories experience into which he was entering. at utsonomiya he met one of our own japanese priests, and by him was directed with an introduction to our friend mr. sugiura, in whose words as nearly as possible i have put down this story with detail that would otherwise have been impossible. his journey to tokyo had taken him four months ; but, once with mr. sugiura, he found himself watched and helped in the "christian labour reform union" by men, some of whom had histories not very different from his own. " help the next man" is the rule there, and this man was entrusted to the special guardianship of one who is now as leading a christian as he was notorious a thief : one who could share with him that big tempta tion of those who have been accustomed to live easily and as something of heroes in their old profession, and then late in life find themselves as unfitted as babies for holding their own or even earning a living in ordinary society. i must not enter here into the methods by which mr. sugiura and his labour union strive to help them on their feet ; but i cannot forbear to add one incident of my last visit to a meeting of these men in their own poor quarter of the city. one of them left it to show me back to a japanese burglar 29 the tram. i knew he had once been a wellknown and violent criminal, and i asked him what he was doing now. ' ' only selling ordinary things on a barrow," was his answer ; and then, after a pause, he added, "but it is a splendid opportunity for ' dendo ' — i.e. ' telling the gospel ' — and when one knows that, nothing else matters." that few minutes' walk to the tram was alone worth the whole evening's journey. the above story appeared in the church abroad. the revd. y. sugiura, after reading a copy of this magazine, wrote a letter to the bishop of south tokyo, in the course of which he said : — " many thanks for your kind letter and the magazines. i am very much grateful that the story should be read by so many people in your country by your kind trouble, and that the matter which had occurred in such an obscure corner of the world was brought into the light to glorify the name of god. " my work is getting on very well as ever, but my only trouble at present is that those members of the (labour reform) union, who 30 missionary stories had been already christian and came to me to help the work with some interest, but want to carry themselves with their own will, give me rather hindrance in encouraging other members who were saved by the union itself from the awful life. while these two are moving in one accord it is very nice, but it is difficult to keep always such harmony in mankind. " it is an unutterable distress on my part so at last i was obliged to order the former that they would go away if they do not like to be more discreet. i said to them, ' your pecuniary help and kind trouble are valuable, but the con verted hearts of the poor are more precious : they are greater than you in my union : with out them i can do no work, but without you there great many means by which god help me.' " sometimes i am fired (i.e., obliged) to give such a blow to the hearts of haughty rich and purify my work, whatever difficulties might be aroused by it. there is no more dreadful temptation than to depend upon the human power in carrying my work on." a zulu warrior. v. maqamusela : the first zulu martyr.* about the year 1877, one of the mission aries, mr. ofterbro, of eshowe, had a class of people preparing for baptism. the class was held in the church, and consisted of a few old people, and some little ones. the door of the church was, of course, open, and if anyone liked to come in for a few minutes to listen, they could do so. some who were not members of the class did drop in, in a casual way, and go out again. among the people who did so was a middle-aged man, maqamusela, one of the king's soldiers, but he differed from the others in that he did not hurry away, but came regularly time after time, and stayed till the end. being a soldier, his name was not put down as belonging to the class. at last the time arrived when some members of the class were baptized. after the baptism, maqamusela came to mr. ofterbro and said : "you baptized so-and-so and so-and-so, why did you not baptise me ? " mr. ofterbro asked * note. — this story was related by dr. smyth, formerly bishop of lebombo, in the kingdom. 32 missionary stories him if he had not heard of the king's word, that if any of his soldiers became christians, he would have them killed ; and told him not to be in a hurry, but to think about it, and pray about it. he finally came back, and said that he believed that jesus christ wished him to be baptised, and he wanted mr. ofterbro to do it. there was nothing more to be said ; he had counted the cost ; he knew what it might involve, and he had made up his mind. so it was arranged that he was to be baptised on a certain day. but the king got to hear about it ; and one evening, just before the day for his baptism, he was walking home from church ; and, coming into a valley with some trees in it, he met the soldiers of the king ; and they told him for what they had been sent. one of these men afterwards told mr. ofterbro what had happened. " o, yes," said maqamusela, "but you must give me time to pray first." they made no objection, and, being merely rough, raw, zulu soldiers, they sat down in a ring round him, to prevent his running away, and began to make themselves happy by taking snuff and talking. maqamusela 33 maqamusela stood in the middle, and began to pray. he prayed for himself, that god would have mercy upon him ; and that, although he was not baptised, he would receive him among his children. he prayed for his wife and children, whom he was leaving behind. he prayed for the missionaries who had taught him. he prayed for his king, who had ordered him to be put to death. he prayed for the soldiers who had been sent to do it. he prayed for many zulus by name. and finally he prayed for zululand, that it might become a christian country. when he had finished, he said : "now i have done." those soldiers, being merely raw zulus, had sat down prepared to enjoy themselves ; but when he began to pray, they began to look and to listen ; and, as he went on praying, they looked and listened harder ; and they thought that there was something uncanny about it ; and when he said, " i have done," not one of them durst lift his hand to kill him. but they dared not go back to the king until that had been done for which they had been 34 missionary stories sent. it so happened that, on one of the hills near, there was a herd of cattle in charge of a young man ; so they beckoned to that young man to come, and put a weapon into his hand, and told him what to do ; and maqamusela died. an aboriginal family in western australia. vi. sammy: an australian aboriginal. cammy was born in the neighbourhood of ^ de grey river in northwest australia where the country is very sandy, and vast tracts grow nothing but spinifex, and the white man's sheep farms are about fifty miles apart along the river's bank. when sammy was quite a little baby, or piccaninny as they call them in those parts, he was a beautiful golden brown, but under his eyes and on his arms and other parts of his body were little jet black lines, and these gradually widened and spread till in a few weeks' time he was a very deep chocolate colour, for though we call sammy's people " the blacks," they are not really black at all. at first he used to be carried about in a funny little cradle, or pitchi as it was called, made of a piece of bent bark sewn up at the ends with spinifex fibre and covered with a few green leaves, but when he was a little older he seemed to prefer to sit astride his mother's shoulder or hip and hang on by her hair. 35 36 missionary stories until sammy was ten he wore no clothes and was very seldom bathed as english children are. yet he loved a romp in the water and would often stay there with his brothers and sisters for hours at a time; his house was a little " humpy" on the river's bank, made of a few boughs and a piece or two of old corrugated iron put up on the weather side. as he loved fishing and hunting he would sometimes spend whole days in these pursuits. his method of fishing was to get a long spear and to stand by the edge of a pool waiting patiently till he saw a fish near enough to spear. then down his spear would go, and with quick wrist and ready eye aiding him he would take that fish home to supper. another day with his little "kaila," or boomerang, he would secure a parrot or a few cockatoos and a right royal feast he and his companions would have when the day's work was over and the camp fires were burning brightly on the river bank. sometimes they would have a sing-song at night, and the strange, weird monotone could be heard away on the station verandah far into the night. sammy was afraid of the darkness. he would go on any errand you liked in the day sammy 37 time far away into the lonely bush, but he would not move far at night. the reason was that he and all the other aboriginals peopled the dark ness with evil spirits whom they called " junos," and they believed that they were always on the look-out to do them harm. these "junos" were the spirits of the dead, and as the dead were often buried in trees, they thought that their spirits continued to haunt those trees afterwards. they had no idea of any paradise or of heaven, or of good spirits, or of angels who watched around them in the darkness, or of a great spirit who ruled over them all and sent his son to be a sacrifice for their sins and to open the gates of heaven to all who believed in him. when sammy was about fifteen he was taken away into the bush and solemnly initiated by his elders into his manhood. one of his front teeth was knocked out, he was told the secrets of his tribe, how he must behave himself, and that he must always look up to and obey his elders. he was told, too, that merry little rosie in the next camp, with such laughing bright eyes, was the wife who had been assigned to him in infancy, and that he might now go 38 missionary stories and claim her and marry her at once. he also learned that he belonged to the "emu men," and the story of his origin was told him. it was something like this. "ever so many moons ago" (for black fellows count all time by moons) " a mighty emu came up out of the earth not far from coolcoolinarrina water-hole and wandered about for a long time. when he got tired of walking he changed him self into a man and amused himself by making spirits. of course, being really an emu, he could only make emu spirits. these emu spirits did not at all like having no bodies, so as they had none of their own they began to look about for others to go into. some went into emus and some into little black children who happened to be born in their country. then one day the big emu, who had changed himself into a man, called them all together — all the emus and all the little children with emu spirits — and told them that they were all really brothers and must never eat or harm one another. that was whyemus never ate men and why those men who belonged to the emu group must never eat emu." since he was ten sammy had worked on the sheep station, either helping the shepherd or doing odd jobs, he was fed, clothed, and sammy 39 provided with a new blanket every year. some times, but not very often, when he was lazy and did not want to work (for black fellows, like white men, would often rather play than work) he was given a thrashing, but on the whole, he was kindly treated and not asked to work too hard. once or twice a year he would be given a "pink-eye," or holiday, and then all restraints would be scattered to the winds and right royally would he enjoy himself in the heart of the bush. his hardest work had to be done at shearing time, when thousands of sheep would be brought in from the different paddocks on "the run," and there would be thirty or forty older men shearing, and he would help by taking up the fleeces and carrying them to the tables where they were "classed." sammy was very fond of little rosie, and though he would beat her sometimes because she would not do what she was told, he really loved her in his wild way, and they both loved their two sturdy little piccaninnies and spoiled them fearfully. yet sammy had no respect for women as such, for he had never seen that beautiful picture of the madonna and child, and so the lot of the 40 missionary stories old women was pitiable indeed. they had to do all the dirtiest and hardest work, and were given ragged clothing and the coarsest food. if any luxury was brought into the camp, such as an unusually fat lizard or a specially delicate piece of kangaroo the old men had the first share, then the turn of the younger men came, then that of the younger and prettier women, then that of the dogs, and the old women came last of all. in spite of all their brightness and merry laughter, neither sammy nor rosie were really happy at heart. strange longings would come into their souls sometimes which they could not understand and which made them restless and unsettled and anxious to get away into the bush and live a wild life. you see they had never heard of our blessed lord and his love. there were people in their country who knew and had been told to tell but had not done so. the white men on the station knew, but they were so busy thinking about their sheep and how to make money quickly that they had forgotten about the message which they had been told to give. a good man — bishop gerard trower, of north-west australia — has gone to live in sammy 41 sammy's country now, and he is determined that sammy and all his kin shall know. the government have set apart reserves for them and he wants to teach the aboriginals on these reserves. to one of them, on the forrest river near the little tropical townofwyndham, the missionaries have already gone, and to others we hope that they will soon go. the bishop needs our money and our prayers, and if we give these faithfully perhaps some day sammy and rosie, little jackie and bob, will cease to fear the evil spirits and will enter into the joy of the lord. vii. *"" a story from corea. it was a glorious day in the spring of the year ; everywhere there were signs that the long cold winter was at an end and the summer at hand. as little suni accompanied her mother to the well on the hillside and looked around she knew there would soon be a busy time coming for her, when she would be called upon to take her share in the weeding and tilling of the fields. the feeling of spring in the air was reflected in little suni's heart, and no work seemed too hard to the happy little girl as she thought how near now was the great day to which she had been looking forward for so long. on the following sunday, suni and her parents, together with many of their neighbours, were to receive the gift of holy baptism. all through the winter they been preparing for this great event, and now the time had almost come. you will be wondering who little suni was, and how it came about that she had not been a story from corea 43 baptised as a baby ; and still more that her parents should have waited till they were grown up and old enough to have a little girl like her to be baptised with them, poor little suni was a little corean girl and when she was born her parents knew hardly anything about god, and nothing about the lord jesus. they only knew about evil spirits, and of these they were very frightened and spent a great deal of time and trouble trying to keep them away. it was some time before the day that we are writing of that rumours of christian teaching in corea, the " foreign learning " as it was called, began to reach the town where suni and her parents lived. first they heard stories of people in other towns and villages a long way off who were learning, and very strange and wonderful these stories seemed. these foreign teachers, it was said, could teach them all about ha-na-nim, the great god whom they only vaguely knew about ; and, what seemed more wonderful still, they were not afraid of evil spirits and would not let the people who came to learn the new teaching go on worshipping and propitiating them. then by and by they heard that some of their own relations were learning ; they were very much 44 missionary stories alarmed when they heard that the first thing they did was to turn out of their houses all the things which are supposed to frighten away evil spirits, and to give up many of their old customs, such as the worship of their ancestors and witchcraft. they made sure that something dreadful would happen to them. but when after a time they saw that nothing happened, but that these people were leading better and happier lives than they had ever done before, they began to wish they could learn too. now a number of these corean christians lived on an island, about a day's journey away, and after a great deal of discussion it was decided that suni's father and two or three other men, as well as two or three of the older women, should go over to this island and learn more about the teaching. they were away about three weeks, and had wonderful things to tell when they came back of the friendliness of the christians to them, and the big building which they called a church where they held their services, and the foreign teachers, who looked so strange and wore such funny clothes and yet could speak their language quite well, and had taken so much trouble to a story from corea 45 teach them and to help them to understand. and to their great joy some of the elder christians came back to spend a few weeks with them and to teach them more. one of these newcomers stayed with an aunt of suni's, who lived in the same town and to whom she was related, and well did suni remember the day of her arrival and part of the conversation which she had overheard. " was it true," asked her aunt, " that she had really become a christian and went to church ? " "oh, yes," was the answer, "it was quite true." at first she had been frightened and stayed at home when her neighbours went to the classes ; but they had gradually persuaded her to go with them, and though at first she had been too frightened to go into the room and had only listened outside, she had by degrees become more and more interested. now she and her husband and their two children were all baptised. "and was it true that they no longer worshipped evil spirits ? " " yes," replied her cousin ; " people who worship the lord god must worship him only, they cannot worship evil spirits as well. besides, 46 missionary stories why should they ? if you belong to god he will take care of you." " i've heard," said suni's aunt, " that four or five times in each month you stop your work for the whole day and go to the church and say prayers and sing hymns. is this really true ? " " indeed it is," answered her visitor," for god has ordered that we should rest and worship him once in every seven days." suni's aunt gave a sigh ; she thought of all the work she had to do, the cooking of food for her husband, the making and washing and ironing of his clothes which often kept her at work until the early hours of the morning, and the beatings she got if the things were not ready when he wanted them, or not done as he liked. just think of being able to put it all aside occasionally ! but there was something she wanted to know even more. she looked round furtively as if afraid of being overheard, and then, coming nearer to her cousin, whispered, " i've keard thax if people are christians no second wife is allowed to come into the house. are these true words ? " a story from corea 47 " indeed they are quite true. there is absolutely no such custom among christians." " ah, that is good," and for some moments suni's aunt sat silently gazing out into the courtyard, overcome at the thought of that terrible dread being removed. it is true she had a child, but only a little girl ; and if she should not have a son she knew how probable it was that her husband would bring another woman into the house to usurp her place, and then what misery her life would be ! suni got restless after a time and wandered away. when she came back one of the old women from a neighbouring house had joined the party, and with her long pipe in her hand was squatting on the verandah listening in bewilderment to such talk as had never been dreamt of in her young days. they were talking now of the names given to the christians, and the visitor was telling how every one of them, even the women and the little girls, were given their own name when they were baptised, and how she herself was called " sarah," after one of the women in the bible this is wonderful to a corean, for they think a woman has no soul and do not trouble to give her a name. the names the children are distinguished 48 missionary stories by are more like nicknames and are dropped as they grow older ; when they marry they are known as so-and-so's wife (or, more literally, house), and, if they have a son, as so-and-so's mother. then seeing suni's eyes fixed upon her, she turned to the child and asked her if she wouldn't like to go to school and study like the little girls of her age on the island did. thus directly addressed, suni was too shy to express her wishes, but hung her head sheepishly and murmured, " we have no one to teach us here." " that is sad," answered sarah, " but whilst i am here i will teach you a little every day, and we will pray to god to send you a teacher who can stay here always. and granny must learn too," she added, turning to the old woman, for, like all corean christians, she was anxious to pass on to as many as possible the happiness that had come into her own life. poor old " granny " shook her head ; her mind was too old and dark she said. but sarah was not to be denied ; slowly and perseveringly she taught the old lady, and when she left suni took on the task, passing on everything she learnt herself, till " granny " knew as much as many of the younger ones, and was looking forward as keenly as any of them to her baptism, which corean bride and bridegroom. a story from corea 49 was to take place at the same time as her little teacher's. all this was long ago, but suni still remem bered it quite clearly, and how she had run back to her little friend ka-na-ni, who lived next door, and told her all about it ; and how late she was when she got home and the beating she got in consequence. suni got very few beatings nowadays, but she had one great sorrow, and that was that her little friend ka-na-ni was not allowed to learn the teach ing with her. ka-na-ni's grandfather was a christian ; he had been one of the first people in that town to become one, but his wife had so far held out, and till she gave leave neither ka-na-ni nor her mother, though the latter was a grown-up woman, would be allowed to go near the church even. however, suni had begun to hope that the old woman's heart was softening ; in the early days when her husband first began learning she had given him a terrible time, spoiling his food if he went to the classes, destroying his boots, and making his home life misery to him ; but latterly she had been much less aggressive and had even appeared in church occasionally, sitting quietly at the back and apparently listening to so missionary stories what was being taught; so that suni, who prayed daily to god to turn her heart, began to hope that before so very long she would see the answer to her prayers. and deep down in the bottom of her heart suni had another source of happiness ; she would not have spoken of it to anybody for the world (she would have considered it terribly unmaidenly to do so), but you and i may just take a glimpse into that little heart, where was hidden the knowledge that once she was baptised her parents might not send her away to a heathen household, but must marry her to a christian. a corean girl generally marries at about fifteen or sixteen years of age (she used to be married at twelve or thirteen, but a law has recently been passed preventing this), and the first years of her married life are anything but enviable. she lives with her husband's parents and becomes practically the slave of her motherin-law and the drudge of the household. she dare not sit down in her husband's presence, nor speak to him unless he first addresses her. he looks upon her as little better than an animal, and if he has occasion to speak of her does so with the greatest contempt. her a story from corea 51 position improves somewhat if children are born to her, especially if she has a son ; but should that gift be denied to her, she often has to face the terrible fate of seeing another woman admitted into the household and usurping her position. ever since she had begun to understand about it little suni had dreaded the time when she would be sent to her mother-in-law's house ; but now the prospect had ceased to be alarming, for in a christian household her lot would be a very different one. so, tired though she may have been, it was a very happy little girl that folded up the clothes that evening, and hoisting the bowl, in which she had placed them, on to her head, hastened home with her mother to prepare her father's evening meal. and before she lay down to sleep that night she sent up a very fervent prayer to her heavenly father that he would send many more teachers to her land, so that all the people in it might learn to know .him and be made happy in his love. viii. a snowstorm in newfoundland. newfoundland was one of the first places to which the s p.g. sent mission clergy. from early times the work there has been carried on by self-sacrificing men, who have often laboured under difficulties which might have appalled weaker men. the first entry in two hundred years of the s.p,g. relating to newfoundland is as follows : " in april, 1703, the society took into consideration the deplorable condition of mr. jackson, a pain ful minister in newfoundland, who had gone upon a mission into those parts with a wife and eight children upon the encouragement of a private subscription of ^50 for three years which had come to an end. on may 21st he was adopted as a missionary of the society — ^50 per annum being voted for three years as salary. he was recalled by the bishop of london in 1705. while returning he was shipwrecked and lost all his effects." the following experience of a missionary stationed at grand falls, suggests that there 52 a snowstorm in newfoundland 53 are still difficulties to be faced in carrying on the church's work in newfoundland, which may be compared with those experienced by mr. jackson. he writes : — " we are having very cold weather here. i took a funeral this afternoon, and i was almost perished. . . . walking is at its best now. the snow is very deep, but it is frozen hard. we have cold winds. this afternoon, as i was on my way to take the funeral, the wind threw my cassock round my legs, and before i could release my legs i was sailing down a hill, on the back of my cassock, at about thirty miles an hour. ' how are the mighty fallen ! ' "on january 20th we had a fearful night. the bunk was close to the roof of the camp, and too small for two. (mr. loder, a catechist, and i were together). i was in continual fear of falling out. ". . . we walked across red indian lake to g. j.'s camp, and had something to eat. about a foot and a half of snow fell last night, so walking was bad. the lake is a mile wide here and it took us an hour to get across. at 1 1.30 mr. l. wished to set out for o.g 's camp, about eight miles away. it was a foolish idea, but we agreed to try it. at 1.30 i was standing 54 missionary stories in one corner of a disused camp, by the shore of the lake. of all the storms i had ever seen or heard of, i was then in the worst. as we ploughed along i thought many times we would be suffocated with the snow, and my eyes filled with snow that froze as soon as it settled. i frequently removed pieces of ice from before my eyes. the snow had drifted waist deep in most parts of the way by which we were forced to travel. walking was so awful that mr. l. and i clasped hands and just pushed along together. the wind rose after we left. as i stood in the old camp, the snow was drifting in through the openings that were once windows, and i could not see out of the open door for the snow. "what a terrible time we had after we left the old camp ! after tramping about in the woods through thick snow for more than two hours, we realised, when we were just worn out, that we had taken a wrong track. we had to face the fact that we were lost in the forest. (i have since learned that two others were lost that day, and were found dead the next morning.) we sat down in the snow, but it was too comfortable, and we feared we would go to sleep. the trees looked lovely — especially the spruce a snowstorm in newfoundland 55 and fir, with their green boughs laden with snow. after a very short rest we set off back, and when we had followed our trail for about a mile we decided to strike off in another direction. "how tired i was! i was looking about for a good place to spend the night, and i was plan ning a little service for the two of us, and think ing it would be wise to try and light a fire to guide a search-party — if one should come out to look for us — when mr. l cried, ' i can see a man ! ' i have had some strange feelings at different times, but i never experienced anything like what i felt when i saw he had not made a mistake. we reached the man — who was the cookee, or assistant cook — and he directed us to the camp. as soon as we arrived i removed my wet clothes and hung them by the stove to dry, had something to eat, and lay down in a bunk utterly exhausted. when we had been in the camp a few minutes the ' boss ' arrived. how thankful he was to see us! he said it was the worst storm he had ever been in, and he has lived seven years in the woods. he was going to organise a party and go out to look for us if we had not arrived. " i held a service to-night. all the men — about 25 — attended." ix. the story of father pat. this sketch is of a clergyman who worked amongst the miners in the far west of canada and who was always called by them " father pat." (his other name was henry irwin.) he was educated at oxford, where he was the champion boxer of the university, a fact which greatly helped him in his canadian work. he started for the far west of canada in 1885 and worked at first amongst the men who were engaged in making the great railway which runs across the rocky mountains and reaches at last the pacific ocean. in 1896 he began work amongst the miners at rossland in british columbia. the picture shows father pat in the corner, and below the first church built at rossland. had we entered the church in its early days we should have found a curious con gregation. we might, for example, have heard the following conversation in the middle of the 56 father pat's old church, rossland, b.c. the story of father pat 57 service. the clergyman had just mentioned the name of some person for whom the prayers of the congregation were asked. " hold up, parson," said one of the miners ; " i don't pray for that fellow." " why not ? " " because the papers said so-and-so about him." " well, but the papers don't always speak the truth, do they ? " " not by a long chalk," was the reply. " and if all these stories were true he would need our prayers all the more, wouldn't he ? " " well, i guess you are right, parson ; fire away ! " at these mines were to be found men of almost eyery country in europe, as well as from china. a visitor to rossland one day overheard the following conversation : — " why, dick, did i see you in church this evening ? " " yes, your reverence, i was there. the first time for thirty years. i couldn't stand too much of it at a time, though. so just when it was getting a bit long i went outside and had a smoke. i say, yer reverence, it was good. i went in again after i'd had a bit of a smoke, and it all came back to me as i was used to it when i was a boy, and i tell you i did come down on them amens." 58 missionary stories father pat was one of those men who never could keep anything for himself if he thought it would do somebody else good. on bishop dart's first visit to rossland, after a drive which he described as "a journey through the air with an occasional rest on a seat," he found father pat cosily housed in one of the rooms under the church, which were intended for his parsonage. on the bishop's second visit he found that father pat had given up these rooms to a homeless prospector — the sort of man who is always in search of mineral wealth and then seeks for a capitalist who will buy his secret. father pat had retired in this man's favour to a wretched little shack, made of boards, with rough, uneven wooden steps climbing up a mud bank to a door, planted in a side alley out of sight of the fine view of hill and valley. even this shack he was constantly sharing with another man. his clothing was treated much like his home. his overcoat was so green and thread bare that his congregation summoned up courage to present him with a new one, more suited to the severities of the wintry cold. he accepted their gift with affectionate gratitude, and for a short time appeared in the new coat the story of father pat 59 and spoke of the comfort he found in it. presently the green coat made its appearance again. " where is your new coat, father pat ? " they asked. "what have you done with it?" "well, what could i do?" was the answer. " i met a poor fellow who had no overcoat at all. i couldn't let him go without one in this bitter weather, and i couldn't give him my old one, could i ? " a prospector lay sick away out on the lonely mountain side, thirty miles from doctor or medicine. father pat heard of it. he gathered together medicines and hit the trail. while nearing the cabin he came across three mounted miners who saluted him with the question, '' hello, parson, where are you going ? " he told them. " bill needs a doctor instead of a parson." they commenced to abuse him, and would not let him pass. quicker than lightning the parson jerked one of the miners off his horse, knocked another one off, and cleared the trail. he reached the sick man's side and ministered to his wants. on returning the next day he met the three miners, who had camped on the trail bent on revenge. while being abused he 60 missionary stories appeared as meek as a lamb. the trio surrounded him in a threatening manner. then the parson spoke, "will you see fair play if i will fight one at a time ? " " yes, yes, yes ! " exclaimed they, chuckling at the prospect. a ring was formed, and soon one of the three measured his length on the ground. " come on," said father pat pleasantly, as the other two seemed rather dazed. one came on and followed the first. " next," said father pat, but the third miner took to his heels as though his satanic majesty was behind him instead of only a meek minister. father pat bathed the bruises of the two prostrate miners, and after preaching them a sermon on the iniquity of fighting went his way. on another occasion a miner, finding that no insults to himself provoked father pat, began insulting christ. father pat turned on him fiercely, saying, " i don't mind your insulting me, but you shall not insult my master." the miner drew near threatening to strike him, but in a few moments was lying on the ground unconscious and bleeding. down on his knees went father pat, anxiously examining the man's injuries, and crying aloud, "o lord the story of father pat 61 forgive me for not telling this poor man that i was champion boxer at oxford." here is his own account of one of his trips to minister to these wandering sheep : — " just got in from an eight days' trip on ' the camel,' that will show you what ' tough ' means. after a.m. service here last sunday week i did forty-one miles between i and 7 p.m. for service — that's not bad for an old crock of a horse — then on and up the kettle river for another forty miles, and away back off trails for another thirty miles by wednesday, when on came one of those awful rainfalls we have in summer, cold as charity — and one's light gum coat is no protection, nor would a tarpaulin keep out the soak as you fight your way in and out of deer trail windings. three to four miles away through the very depth of a thick pine forest on a wet day, with a shirt and pants and socks and boots and straw hat and nothing more on will give you my feelings — with nothing to eat but some chocolate and a lump of cheese from wednesday, 7 a.m., till thursday, 9 a.m., in the saddle the whole time ; then into camp, where the tents were the only dry places. next night i struck the tent of two rosslanders lost on the mountains. i wish i 62 missionary stories had a snapshot of the old wagon spread — for that was the tent — under which lay the two owners side by side, and i at the mouth, across their feet, slept as guard with a great fire of logs three feet high, blazing on the graceful scene. then up at 3 a.m. to hunt for horses, off and away at 4 a.m., and twenty miles to breakfast, leaving the pair snoring under their roof, and the night's fire just dying out in smoking gasps. those fellows were glad to see me, as they had just used their last match." after five years of strenuous work his health began to break down and he started to go to montreal in order to rest. on the way he was picked up by a farmer, who found that his feet were frost-bitten. he was taken to the hospital at montreal, where he died a few days later. when his death became known in rossland the miners grieved for him as for their best friend. they at once set about collecting money for some memorial which would keep his memory fresh in their midst. an ambulance was pur chased for the benefit of injured miners, while a drinking-fountain with a lamp above it stands in the main street of rossland, speaking at once of the light of the world and the water of life. whom father pat had ever striven to the story of father pat 63 bring to the thirsty souls that sat in such deep darkness. the inscriptions on the fountain were designed by his old parishioners in ross land. the inscriptions on the monument which they erected to his memory are : — on the east — " i was thirsty and ye gave me to drink." on the west — " i was an hungered, and ye gave me to eat." on the south — "a man he was to all the country dear." on the north — " in memoriam, father pat." " he who would write an epitaph for thee, and do it well, must first begin to be such as thou wert ; for none can truly know thy life, thy worth, but he that liveth so." the life story of ngcombu. though few of our readers will feel able * to pronounce the surname of josiah ngcombu, the story of what he was and what he did in the cause of christian missions in south africa will be of interest to all. we give the story as told by the rev. e. hill. it was during the latter part of the boer war that i was sent as chaplain to naauwpoort and first met josiah, who was working as catechist among the natives in the location and the camps there. his appearance struck me at once as being different from that of the average native ; his high forehead, his stern, dignified expression, which was continually softening into the merriest lines of good humour, and the energy revealing itself in all his actions made me realise that i had a subordinate in office, but a superior as a man to work under me. i was somewhat surprised, after seeing him, to be visited by a deputation from the native church, who came to lay many complaints against him. i did my best to get to the 64 a south african catechist with his wife and children. the life story of ngcombu 65 bottom of their accusations, asked for expert advice and summoned the deputation a second time, but could only gather that perhaps some of his sermons hit too hard, and that one in particular, on drunkenness, had hurt the feelings of a prominent church official. i was surprised that josiah did not volunteer to throw light on the matter, but was favourably impressed by the fact that he carried on his services as usual, obviously quite unconcerned by the agitation against him. i was sitting one morning quite at a loss as to how to deal with these natives when my orderly came in and said, to my consternation, that a lady wished to see me. i told him to put the room straight and show her in, expect ing some officer's wife. to my surprise, it was mrs. josiah in the plainest of dresses and an old shawl over her head, but, like her husband, she too was possessed of a dignity which involuntarily com pelled the orderly to tell me a lady wished to see me. she hadn't much to say, only that i would never find out what it was the congrega tion really had against josiah, as the deputation had no intention of telling me, but now that she heard that they intended burning his hut down 66 missionary stories that night, she thought she ought to tell me that the opposition was due to his being a zulu, and his congregation belonging to some other tribe apparently not having an entente cordiale with the zulus. even this threat failed to disturb josiah's quiet unconcern and calm carrying on of his duty, but it agitated me, and caused me to agitate the whole deputation in a way which greatly relieved my own feelings. the way josiah behaved made me ask him about his past history, and i ascertained that he was the son of a chief who had won much cattle in war and gained several wives, and was looked up to as a great warrior. josiah had left him when he was a youngster. he had been con verted somewhere in zululand or natal, and had eventually made his way along the cape government railway and become boss boy in the big coal shed at norval's pont. there he lived with his wife, and held services regularly for natives. no white missionary visited norval's pont at this time as the boers had passed this point and were holding colesberg beyond, and effectually cutting off all communication between naauwpoort and nor val's pont. here, then, he stood alone for the the life story of ngcombu 67 church, courteously refusing all overtures from a flourishing congregation of dissenters. he prepared men and women for baptism, and christians for confirmation, and when the colony was reconquered by the british and com munication secured again, josiah received his first visitation, and was able to present a number of carefully prepared candidates for baptism and confirmation. he was asked by mr. douglas ellison, of the railway mission, soon after this to give up his lucrative billet as boss boy of the coal shed, and come to naauwpoort for a greatly reduced salary as catechist, with a sail hut, costing 20s. to live in, and the use of a school-room for a church. he readily consented to come, and when i once asked him if he regretted the change and loss of money, he merely said " no, boss, i get more time for prayer now." prayer was the secret of josiah's strength, and even gave him that expression of reserve power which one could not fail to be influenced by. josiah not only had the gift of personal devotion himself, but he also was able to inspire his flock with the same spirit. this was brought home to me one lent when i had told him that, for a lenten discipline, i would put an extra 68 missionary stories eucharist at 5 a.m. on tuesday. to my surprise, i heard his church bell ringing at 4 a.m., and on arriving at 5 and asking the reason for his ringing an hour too soon, he said, with many apologies, that the boy had forgotten it was their late morning. i then discovered that in lent his custom had been to hold service every morning from 4 a.m. to 6 a.m., and it was not a case of his holding a service in an empty church by any means. his influence for good over his flock soon had a still more striking illustration. martial law obtained in the camp, and a military p.c. used to inspect the location and bring natives up to the commandant's court for fines if they broke certain regulations. the native p.c. happened to be a heathen with a grudge against the church, and so was continually running christians in under false accusations, and getting them fined 10s. by a commandant who had enough to do without investigating these charges. while this was going on, josiah came down to me, and asked me if i didn't think the gospel which exhorted us to forgive our enemies seventy times seven a splendid gospel ? i said yes, and he left. he repeated the life story of ngcombu 69 this inquiry with little variation once or twice more until i got tired of him, and thought he was a bit unlike his natural self. however, when he came down again about this old gospel i told him to either tell me what he had at the back of his mind or -to clear. he cleared, but on second thoughts ran back, and went to my colleague, mr. skey, and blurted out — " please how many times may the heathen fine us 1 os. for nothing? i've asked the boss if seventy times seven is correct, and he says it is, but the people say they can't pay any more." it was a long speech for old josiah, and fairly mystified mr. skey, until he got up to the location and secured evidence of a prolonged persecution, patiently borne in obedience to josiah's forcible rendering of the gospel. skey prevented a repetition of this, and its heavenly value remains where old josiah told them to lay it up in generous forgiveness. josiah never lost his influence over his flock, and the candidates he asked me to examine for baptism or confirmation always astonished me. once, when he gave me a list of over ninety confirmation candidates i reduced it to fifty, having ploughed forty in their knowledge of 70 missionary stories christian doctrine. he said nothing to me about these forty until ten days before the bishop's visit, when the whole forty were again produced for another trial, which they all passed, thanks to josiah's determined efforts. josiah was hard to beat, and i never remember him losing a single communicant. he was a shepherd who led them and sought them out and never failed to watch. his death did not come until he had seen a church — st. agnes — and it was under the shadow of this church that he breathed his last, just retaining consciousness long enough to receive telegrams from two old friends of " well done," and " god be with you till we meet again." he is buried under the east wall of st. agnes, and as one stands before his grave one feels how cheap and vulgar is this shallowpated criticism which says you can't make a native a real genuine christian or fit to be a minister. josiah was a man, a christian, and a loyal churchman, and i know not only his native converts, but more than one white man owe more than they can say to that faithful and true life. xi. simeon : a story of the cawnpore mission. hphe following story is taken from a book *¦ called the " story of the cawnpore mission," published by the s.p.g., price 2/6 net. the rev. w. h. perkins was at one time an s.p.g. missionary in cawnpore. there was an old hindu, belonging to the clerkly or writer caste, a very intelligent and well-educated man, who knew persian well. persian, under the mohammedans and in the early days of british rule, held much the same place as italian did in the middle ages in europe. it was the language of the polite, of poetry, literature and the arts. mr. perkins met with him one day while preaching in the bazaar, and was surprised by the knowledge he possessed of the writings of the new testament. it appeared that he had been for a little while at mirzapur with a christian missionary. mirzapur is a station of the london missionary society. the missionary had given him a copy of the new testament, which he had read from 71 72 missionary stories cover to cover. the following day he sought out mr. perkins, and the result of the interview was that in order to be instructed more perfect ly in the things of god he took up his abode in mr. perkins's compound. day after day, with all the humility and teachableness of a child, this aged man sat at the feet of the missionary. " i do not recollect," wrote mr. perkins, "to have met as yet with an instance in which the great truths of the gospel were more intelligently and more joyfully received." his love for christ grew apace. he besought mr. perkins to admit him into the church, and in spite of the endeavours of some of his relatives he confessed the faith, and received in his baptism the name of simeon (shamaiin in hindustani) ; " being one," writes mr. perkins, "ready to depart in peace, having seen the lord's salvation." " there was some thing," he adds, "so pleasing and patriarchal in his appearance and deportment, mingled with almost childlike simplicity, that every member of the mission circle felt that he had a peculiar claim on his tenderest sympathies." after some weeks mr. perkins discovered that simeon had not declared himself a christian to his non-christian relations so openly simeon 73 as he ought to have done. he felt it therefore needful to rebuke him, and in plain words to point out to him his duty. " the poor old man was deeply moved ; the big tears," said mr. perkins, " dropped from his cheeks as he listened to me, and he replied : ' sir, you must not expect me to put off the vices and infirmities of seventy-two years of heathenism in a single day. i am a weak believer, younger than your infant ; he is four or five months old, i was born but a few weeks ago.'" my exhortation seemed to have had some effect ; but still i found that there was some hesitation in boldly confessing his master, and i was compelled again to introduce the subject, and to show him the exceeding sinfulness of his attempting, in any measure, to appear a hindu before his relatives and a christian before me ; how his doing so would grieve the spirit of our lord, destroy his own simplicity, and ultimately bring upon him more suffering and dishonour. i entreated him to strengthen himself for the trial, and accompany me at once to his relatives, and fearlessly acknowledge to them whose servant he was. strong and painful must have been the 74 missionary stories struggle in the old man's breast ; but greater was he that was with him than all who were against him ; the spirit prevailed over the flesh. he bowed his head in assent, and the missionary and his convert went on their way together, that very hour, to simeon's home, a dwelling-house in the centre of the city. there they were received with kindness and civility ; and word was sent out to his relatives, who were very many, and all in a respectable class of life, that simeon had arrived. these soon gathered together to pay their respects to one whom they all seemed to hold in great honour. meanwhile, simeon sat awaiting them under the shade of a spreading tree. a little nephew, who appeared a great favourite, sat on his lap playing with him. what must have been the old man's thoughts as he silently caressed the child ! here in his own home, and the home of his fathers, how often had he sat beneath that very tree with children playing at his feet, and their parents standing round him to listen to his words, honoured and beloved alike by young and old. well he knew that this was the last time the trees of his old home would shade him from the sultry sun — the last time its doors would be open to receive him from the simeon 75 scorching blast. never would that little child who clung so fondly to him run into his arms again — never would the many dear ones come forth to welcome him, but there was one dearer, even there — one who would never leave him nor forsake him — one who died and rose again for him — for him, a miserable sinner — to receive him to himself — one whose name is love ; and for him the aged hindu was resolved to take up his cross, to leave all and to follow him ; knowing that he was faithful and had promised that he would repay him a hundredfold. when all his friends and relations were assembled, simeon rose up in the midst of them, and lifting up his eyes on them he said with quiet simplicity, " brethren, i am a christian." not a word was uttered in reply by anyone. every eye rested on the apostate (as they regarded him) with a gaze of mingled sorrow and anger ; the boy playing by him was called away, as if in danger of pollution by his proximity to his former friend ; and all the persons present retired to a little distance, and sat down. i interrupted the painful silence by the 76 missionary stories inquiry, " did you not know of simeon's having been baptised ? " " know, sir? " exclaimed one with the great est bitterness. " think you not we would have put a knife through his liver, rather than he should have lived to forsake the faith of his forefathers ? he is the head of our family, and he has disgraced us all." after some little time had passed, simeon turned to me, and with his eyes filled with tears said, " well, sir, now i trust that you are satis fied. why should we stay here longer ? we can do no good ! " and being fully satisfied, and sensible that our work was done, i returned with my aged friend, now more deeply bound to me than ever. it is difficult for one who has never known the trial, fully to realise the sacrifice which a man must make who thus cuts asunder strong domestic ties for christ's sake. the events of that forenoon gave me some practical insight into its painfulness. but it must be strong con viction and lively faith which can enable a con vert to meet the pain of such a parting, the bitterness of which follows him into all his sub sequent experience, and meets him at every step. simeon 77 this story shows what is the greatest of all obstacles to the conversion of hindus, viz. their family. the hindu's love for his kith and kin is one of his conspicuous virtues. instead of being impatient that converts in north india cannot yet be numbered by millions, we should rather praise god for the miraculous change which has come over the many thousands who have already become christians. xii. the story of pagolu venkayya. wenkayya was a mala living at * raghavapuram, a village about twentyeight miles from bezwada, which is in the new diocese of dornakal. in his youthful days he was well known for his daring, and was for a time the ring-leader of a band of violent men. when he was about forty-seven years of age his renunciation of idolatry took place. it happened in this wise. a heathen friend, standing with him in the presence of some idols, told him that since he had heard a christian missionary say that idols made by the village carpenter were impotent things, he had ceased to believe in them. venkayya instantaneously accepted the new light and renounced the worship of idols. the same friend told him that the subject of the missionary's preaching had been the great god who was the only true god. venkayya then made a prayer, which from that time he used, in the form : " o great god ! who art thou ? where art thou ? show thyself to me." 78 an indian clergyman in the telugu country. the story of pagolu venkayya 79 from time to time he heard and pondered over fragments of the missionaries' teaching which were carried from hearer to hearer in the villages. once, too, a christian tract was brought to his own village, and he heard it read. it spoke of god as the saviour of the world. this brought more light to venkayya, and thenceforth he changed his prayer to " o great god, the saviour! show thyself to me." one more fragment of the truth he received with avidity. some of his friends and fellowcastemen in a distant village came upon a band of native christians. while they were there, the funeral of one of the christians took place, and these men went to it. the strange things that they saw and heard they carried back to venkayya because they knew that he would wish to hear them. especially they told him that the christians believed that the dead would rise again from their graves. venkayya received this as teaching sent from god. these were the chief fruits, in three years, of venkayya's search after god. the crisis of his life came in 1859, when he was about fifty years old. the great siva rathri festival was being held at bezwada, and 40,000 people gathered to wash away their sins 80 missionary stories in the river krishna, and to worship their gods. venkayya also had come — not, however, to bathe, but to find, if he could, one of the christian missionaries, of whose preaching at this festival he had heard. he sat down by the river-side, and there a remarkable incident followed. a brahman approached him and asked if he were not going to bathe. venkayya replied that water so foul as that of the river had now become could not wash the body, much less cleanse the soul. the brahman asked if he was a christian. venkayya answered that he was not, but wished to be one. the brahman then showed him the mission bungalow, and bade him go there and be made a christian. at the same time, venkayya's friends, wander ing among the crowds, had actually fallen in with the missionary himself as he was preaching, and had heard the invitation given to all to come and be taught at his own bungalow. they hastened back to tell venkayya, and the entire party together went to the bungalow. it was not long before the whole object of their quest was laid bare. mr. darling, the missionary referred to, explained to them the story of the gospel. when he had finished, venkayya rose and solemnly said : " this is my the story of pagolu venkayya 81 god, this is my saviour. i have long been seeking for him ; now i have found him." so ended venkayya's search. of the men that came with venkayya, all except one declared that they too believed, and a day was at once fixed for the missionary's visit to their village. there he spent some time in instructing the new converts. before many days had passed their baptism was arranged and took place in march 1859. venkayya, his wife and five children, and sixteen other men, were the first to be baptised. xiii. a brave boy. /^"aptain sinker, speaking at a meeting of the melanesian mission in november, 191 3, told this story : — " i will take you to an island down in melanesia, because i want to tell you a story about a native. i tell the story to show the pluck of a native boy in the first place, and secondly, to show you how providence comes in and helps the work, when you feel everything is anyhow, and you don't know what to do for the best. the island is called tikopia, and is 180 miles from any other island. the king of tikopia is a powerful chief, and nobody may speak to him unless they kneel in his presence. he expected us white people to do the same, but we told him it was not usual for white people to grovel ; he overlooked it, though not well pleased. we were not able to call there very often in the old days, because we had not enough steam-power ; so we were only able to put a native teacher on this island. i cannot 82 a tikopian. a brave boy 83 tell you how the native teacher would start work with these people, but first of all he would have to learn the language. one of these tikopians took a fancy to his teacher and sat in his hut at night, when he noticed that the teacher knelt down. he could not understand this, because there was no one there to kneel to — the king was not there. the teacher explained that he was talking and praying to the white man's god, a powerful chief, who could do anything for you if you asked him. after a long while this boy got to know something about the white man's god, and he went up to the king and told him about it, and said, ' when i come to speak to you in the future i shall not kneel down, because i find i cannot kneel down to you and the white man's god.' if it was the custom of the place to kneel down to the king, there was no reason why this boy should not do it ; but you will agree with me that he was being led by provi dence. at this the king declared, ' we shall have to kill you.' their method of killing is not very attractive. after sentence is passed they give a man a paddle, a canoe, and a coconut, and tell him to go ; and the man knows that all the people will congregate on 84 missionary stories the beach with bows and arrows, clubs and spears, to prevent him landing, so he does not attempt to do so, and drowns himself. but this boy was not going to kill himself. he said, ' i shall still come back again. the white man's god will take care of me. i shall come back, and you will be glad to have me.' then he was sent off in a canoe, knowing that if he could go on long enough in one direction, keeping the south-east wind behind him, he would eventually come to an island where there was a mission station. so he started off, and was six days and nights in that boat till he sighted the island. then his strength gave out, and he felt he could go no further ; so he made himself secure in the canoe and offered up a prayer ; and then he knew nothing more till he was landed on the island where we have a mission station. if he had been landed five miles on either side he would have been killed and eaten. " the teachers came out and saw what they believed to be a dead boy in the canoe, but they were eventually able to restore him to life. then we came along in the southern cross, and he told us all about it. we were very much surprised to see him, and took him back to the a brave boy 85 island. i made a point of going ashore with him, because i wanted to see the sort of thing that would go on. i knew it would be exciting. the tikopians are a polynesian people, who always rub noses when greeting, like the maoris. when they first saw this boy they rushed away from him, thinking he was a ghost ; and he had to call to them and beckon them to come back, which they did in fear and trembling, and would not come close to him for some considerable time, at last they felt him and pinched him, and then welcomed him as only polynesians can, rubbing noses and pressing him warmly to their hearts. then the boy went to the king, who at first was frightened, then welcomed him warmly, and spoke to all the people of how he did not believe in the white man's god ; but now he was forced to believe that there was such a being, and that he must be a very powerful chief indeed, because he had saved this boy's life. so he wanted everybody on the island to learn something about the white man's god, and set the example himself." roffey & clark, printers, croydon. penny missionary story books these attractive little books do much to secure the sympa thetic interest of young people in missionary matters. just one, given to a child, will impart an understanding of the everyday life of children and others across the seas, which cannot be achieved by oral teaching. simple language is used, but each story in the series is a vivid word-picture, and makes a deep impression on the child-mind. each booklet makes about 16 pages, and is well illustrated and bound in tinted paper cover — a missionary hero. work amongst children in india. story of a japanese boy. a bride of lash i ma (india). story of a chinese clergyman, the story of a kaffir boy, the story of a_ chinese boy. rajah brooke in borneo. east to west. the faithful ones. a little chinese godson, a boy's life in burma. story of a japanese girl. the way to the zenanas. stories of the early christians pandita ramabai. two new guinea boys. lucy and her family. japanese boys and girls. the indian orphans. part i. the indian orphans. part 2. negroes and coolies in b. guiana. two cousins. assam. mtshazi. story of a slave boy. corea and the coreans. (under revision). indians in canada. dyaks and dreams, reminiscences of an old zulu woman. sita or prita. single copies l£d. by post. attractive volumes are obtainable, consisting of ten selected stories bound in a handsome cover. sunday school and bible class teachers, etc., will find them excellent for reading aloud. two distinct volumes are published — 1st and 2nd series — at the low price of 1/net each vol., by post 1/2. obtainable through any bookseller or direct from the society's office, 15, tufton street, westminster, s.w. penny missionary picture books children love pictures. advantage may be taken of this trait, by the presentation of these picture books, to create a missionary spirit in their earliest years of understanding. each contains at least 8 pages of clear, bright photographs printed on art paper. a few words of explanation accom pany each picture, and a brief history of the mission is given. the booklet is bound in an attractive coloured cover. excellent for sunday schools. no. i. burma, i, 2, and 3. no. ii. new guinea. no. iii. jaran. no. iv. cawnpore (india). no. v. corea. no. vi. zululand. no. vii. china. no. viii. s.p.g. house. no. ix. borneo. no. x. tinnevelly and madura. no. xi. madras. no. xii. australian aboriginals. no. xiii. australian bush. no. xiv. north west canada. no. xv. madagascar. no. xvi. medical missions. no. xvii. delhi. no. xviii. kaffraria. no. xix. trinidad, &c. no. xx. gold coast. obtainable through any bookseller or direct from (single copies ijd. by post) the society's office, 15, tufton street, westminster, s.w. recent books world problems. five bishops survey current missionary problems. a book of exceptional interest and value. clearly printed on antique paper and handsomely bound in cloth with gilt embellishments. 104 pp. price (by post 1/2) net 1 /here and there in south india. vivid sketches of native life in a part of the indian empire. excellent illustrations reinforce the text through out. well printed on fine-surface paper and tastefully bound in cloth. 100 pp. crown 8vo. price (by post 1/2) net \jm here and there in north india. a companion volume. the complete difference in the country, peoples, and customs shows strikingly the vastness of india. similar in size, etc., to the above. price (by post 1/2) net 1 jm father pat. (fifth edition.) by mrs. jerome mercier. a stirring story of life in british columbia. the history of a christian man— a hero of the far west. illustrated, and clearly printed on good paper. artistically bound in cloth, price 1/6 net (by post i/g). in paper covers, price (by post 1/2) net \jm three boys. a story book for children. by janet sinclair. 200 pp. of text and 16 pp. of illustrations ; attractively bound in cloth. price (by post 1/9) net 1 /£ obtainable through any bookseller. full illustrated catalogue free on application to the society's office, 15, tufton street, westminster, s.w. yale university a 3 9 0 02 002705839b 131 state historical the x society * founded 1846 wisconsi of : ! 1914 f892c5 h557 the hermits in vienna ་ 11440 f892c5 h55 contents 19 1 24. cast pages 7-9-11 scenes 15 musical numbers 19-21 orchestra 25 synopsis 27 staff 33 officers of club members advertisers' index · 151 153 269 men un gy 2 shotter, faerber & co. insurance of of every kind columbia bldg., prospect & e. 2nd. vien b the c. f. laughlin co. real estate, mortgage loans, insurance, 219 williamson building. 3 borton -and borton ar investment securities leader-news building cleveland 4 the bottle that holds the best ask the hermit that has one (31) weideman compa pure whiskey our number 31 thirty one finest procurable the weideman company cleveland.ohio. established 1881 5 the hermitz in vienna the hermits in vienna a musical comedy in two acts produced by the hermit club of cleveland under under the personal direction of r. h. burnside book by clarence vincent kerr lyrics by r. h. burnside music by milton w. lusk 259 metropolitan theatre june 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 copyright 1914 by r. h. burnside 6 statler cleveland 700 rooms 700 baths "the complete hotel" wing at hotel statler, rememyou are lunching or dinber that the spick-and-span cleanliness of the hotel statler kitchens is more than a point of pride with us—it's a point of honor. standards of food-purity are no higher-and no more rigorously maintained-in the diet-kitchens of the best hospitals than in hotel statler. absolute purity of the food and food-ingredients is insisted upon as strictly as absolute cleanliness. six hundred and fifty peopledining at one time in the various restaurants-can be cared for without confusion or undue haste. visitors to the kitchen are welcome at any time except during the busiest hours. also operating hotel statler, buffalo. hotel statler, detroit, (800 rooms, 800 baths) now under construction; will open in january, 1915. w jc hg 6261 2 july -lib. 155 the hermits hs 2725 66 h424 1914 in vienna cast note-the characters are named in the program in the order in which they enter. countess pauline von bereny horatio n. herriman a society leader rosalie george b. markle niece to the countess tilly james g. pettit a housemaid count gabor von bereny who likes a little fling now and then max tokay capt. carl czardis richter ...chas. a. maher fred g. clarke gabor's friend in joy and sorrow forrest j. dresser who is a suitor for rosalie's hand baron felix puppchen herr picklesnitz.. celestine george b. pettingill a very superior butler ...albert rees davis who likes the ladies milton w. lusk a celebrated dancing master .robert c. rudolf the pet of vienna 0 lieut. bonn adolphus spiggot .russell sadler a young army officer .roger enwright a skilled artisan fritz ......ben b. wickham steward at the café budapest emil earl white a waiter at the café budapest frau adolphus spiggot ..john witt a modern militant 7 रा kelle rauch & lang electrics hermit club 111 tul 401 6 the hermits 片 ​in vienna cast-continued viennese johnnies 1. leonard taylor 5. g. m. humphreys 2. w. wareing 3. c. h. kwiss 4. w. k. page 6. lewis morgan 7. h. w. caldwell 8. a. e. bruch army officers 1. fred hinz 2. earl white 3. paul gaines 4. a. b. kern 1. a. a. brennan 5. w. g. tapping 6. d. e. tanguy 7. b. h. kinnicutt 8. a. k. barnes footmen 2. w. a. heller policemen 1. a. a. brennan 2. w. a. heller hungarian band 1. homer walters 3. john tayler 2. charles stamp 1. fred hinz 4. joseph jamison waiters 3. paul gaines 2. earl white 4. w. g. tapping ιο the higbee co. in connection with james mccreery & co., new york offers complete assortments of seasonable, staple merchandise and novelties almost simultaneously with their introduction in europe and america, and always at the lowest prices consistent with higbee standard of quality. ii the hermits in vienna cast-continued show girls 1. r. g. miller, jr. 2. warrick hayes 3. theodore strong 4. charles couch 5. curtis harsh 6. james card 7. h. e. shaddick 8. e. sanderson society and tango girls 1. j. g. davis 5. w. m. leach 2. kent davis 6. j. g. lynch 3. c. l. findley 7. e. a. logan 4. l. a. krause 8. robert andrews hungarian girls and debutantes 1. h. b. cobb 2. halsey teare 3. robert peal 4. h. j. pavey 5. h. e. gaines 6. kent mitchener 7. j. j. murray 8. f. j. beyer 12 keep your car like fred borton and charley hotchkiss have kept theirs they can't be pried away from their 1909 whites with a crowbar we know, because we have tried white cars are built to keep the white company st. clair ave. at east 79th st. manufacturers of gasoline motor cars, motor trucks and taxicabs 13 the old tavern unionville, lake county, ohio inn open july 4th, 1914 high class auto inn meals a la carte grand ball room for week end or evening private parties 14 ernst and ernst certified public accountants impartial audits practical systems bank examinations cleveland cincinnati new york chicago st. louis 15 the hermits scenes act i in vienna music room at the von berenys' villa on the outskirts of vienna-morning. act ii the terrace of the cafe budapest overlooking the danube -evening. time-the present. • place-somewhere in vienna. orchestration by otto c. a. merz. all dances and groupings devised and arranged by r. h. burnside, assisted by cissie hayden and charles mast. assistant stage manager r. m. dolliver. costumes designed by w. r. barnes and arthur d. brooks. all uniforms made by max and mahieu show girls' gowns by madame reba. ponies' gowns by madame morris principals' gowns by b. altman and co. other gowns by oppenheim and collins and by a. schwartz and co. show men's costumes by english woolen mills co. scenery designed and painted by h. robert law studios, and built by j. j. surridge. (courtesy of messrs shubert.) wigs by hepner. boots and shoes by i. miller and by boyd and dean co. furniture and draperies by sterling welch and co. flowers and plants by the jones-russell co., smith & fetters and the gasser co. victrola by b. dreher's sons co. electrical effects by d. casey. 16 french lick springs is an all year round resort, famed for its healing waters and the out of door attractions of its climate and scenery. the thousand acres of natural park, walks, drives, golf and other outdoor amusements are charming any season. hotel is modern in every respect, affording accommodations for 700 guests, with home comforts; all sleeping apartments are outside rooms, light and airy. a stay of two or four weeks will prove very beneficial. french lick springs waters possess medicinal properties unequalled for the treatment of stomach, liver, bowel and kidney diseases. pluto concentrated spring water is recommended by physicians everywhere and sold at all drug stores in half pint and quart bottles, costing 15c and 35c. write for booklet giving full information concerning the hotel, waters, etc. french lick springs hotel co. t. d. taggert, manager thomas taggert pres. french lick, indiana on the monon and southern railways 17 the hermits in vienna costumes designed by w. r. barnes and arthur d. brooks all uniforms and hungarian costumes made by max and mahieu modern gowns by mme. reba, mme. morris, oppenheim and collins, and b. altman and co. scenery designed and painted by h. robert law studios and built by j. j. surridge, (courtesy of messrs. shubert) wigs by hepner boots and shoes by i. miller and boyd and dean co. furniture and draperies by sterling, welch and co. 18 the halle bros. co. in its new building will show in addition to its present distinctive line of men's furnishings apparel for men and young men including clothing, hats and shoes 19 the hermits 片 ​in vienna musical numbers act i 1. opening-(a) "with joy that is ecstatical". ensemble . (b) song "the tango breakfast". pauline and chorus 2. duet "never worry" gabor and max 3. song "don't get married" tilly and ponies 4. waltz duet-“love is a summer's morning".... carl and rosalie 5. song "looking for a girl like venus".. richter and show girls 6. trio-"that's the kind of man you ought to marry"... ...... ...gabor, pauline and rosalie 7. entrance-"celestine" ..... celestine and male chorus (lyric by frederic s. porter) 8. finale (a) everybody's 'happy in vienna.. (b) we're off for budapest.... ensemble 20 organized in 188 4 the union national bank of cleveland has from that time been strictly a commercial bank caring for the needs of its extensive clientele of diverse interests, extending every reasonable accommodation sought and providing adequate facilities for the prompt dispatch of all banking business entrusted to it. new business is desired on the basis of compensating balances for services rendered. officers geo. h. worthington, president e. r. fancher, vice-president g. a. coulton, w. e. ward, w. c. saunders, e. e. creswell, vice-president cashier ass't cashier ass't cashier 21 the hermits in vienna musical numbers continued act ii 1. opening ensemble (a) solo, "danube so blue" carl and chorus (b) hungarian dance .ponies (c) solo dance... celestine 2. song "that's the way to win a girl," gabor and society girls 3. solo "the gipsy maid" pauline 4. trio-"it's the girls".. gabor, max, lieut. bonn & male chorus 5. quartette-"nay, nay, pauline" .. baron, pauline, carl & rosalie 6. duet-"i like you"..... . carl and rosalie and chorus 7. song "tina" richter lyric by george carleton 8. the tango contest .ensemble 9. song "the rag time twirl" celestine and entire chorus 10. finale 22 professional accounting the audit company 1893 cleveland main 781 503-504-505 citizens building 1914 central 8437 23 0:0:0: the carlton-a favorite of the season; $4 to $6 9435 shm if f it's a walk-over, it's the real thing in style, quality, satisfaction-proven since 1874. walk-over merits and chisholm service make a good combination. they assure the two essentials to shoe-satisfaction-a good shoe and a good fit. chisholm's 1140-1146 euclid avenue bootwalk-over shops superior 322 avenue 24 james hamilton after dinner speaker fresh jokes twice a day parlor entertainers de luxe frank meade castle cup contestant special instruction (given in your home) on the lute and harpsichord 25 the hermits 梨​味 ​in vienna orchestra frank b. meade, director everett l. brown, librarian 1st violin jno. l. miller, jr. walter logan harry r. valentine a. l. ochsner jno. alexander e. r. gibbons 2nd violin. rudolph horlick frank gordon arnold lehman sydney sampson viola will rounds otto jilovek cello ivan francisci a. c. rogers bass frank hannaford o. c. radde oboe c. w. davis flutes a. c. klumph ralph dye clarinets joseph royon dudley p. hard bassoon ray kennedy cornets everett l. brown c. e. burt french horns harry bliss edward gleason trombone claude fenton drums & tympani john sautter richard spencer 26 hermits, in vienna and everywhere else, apollinaris "the queen of table waters." greets you. s com a tr 2 su # e the first briton english throughout--the smartest "low cut" in town today. designed for those close followers of fashion who are exacting as to the correctness of their footwear in black and tan calfskin, low broad heel b svoo as the "v n edile tready sole best leather best workmanship best maker of shoes for men-nettleton the nettleton shoe the kelley bootery co. 2018 east ninth street vien to t snom evelan t of quorativ e plot. 27 the hermits in vienna synopsis a few years ago when the ambitious young author secreted in his inside coat pocket the manuscript of his corkingly good musical comedy, and then hurried down to new york to give some manager a treat, the first question propounded by the theatrical magnate was in substance "is it like the old gilbert and sullivan stuff?" of course the author assured the manager that he had a little something on his english brothers of the operatic craft but admitted that the general style of his piece might be said to follow rather closely the pattern set by the creators of the mikado. but nowadays the producing manager has added a new word to his vocabulary and the first question he puts to the trembling, though self assured, young neophyte of the drama is whether the piece is of the "viennese" type or not. now there may be some question as to just what this really means but to avoid all possible quibbling along this line the authors of the hermit club's play this year have seized the dilemma by the horns and settled the matter once for all-this is a real viennese opera-why? because the scenes of the play are laid in vienna. and so having settled that momentous problem we pass on to the synopsis. be it known that this latter word is really a misnomer for literally it means a sight of the sun when everybody in cleveland knows that during this particular week it is a time for a sight of the stars. but in this program we use the word in its figurative sense and so it becomes a key with which you may unlock the plot. 28 the mutual benefit life insurance company of newark, new jersey :: :: $22,000,000 of our 1913 new business was on the lives of persons already holding policies of this company. satisfied policyholders appreciate our unexcelled service-old policies always up to date. write to j. w. pickard, jr. superintendent of agencies new england building cleveland endowment policies at life rates 29 the hermits in vienna synopsis-continued act i when the curtain rises we find that the countess von bereny is giving a tango breakfast at her villa, in honor of her niece rosalie. it is the intention of the count von bereny to accompany his wife to carlsbad that afternoon but the arrival of his old friend max tokay breaks in upon his plans. a big tango contest is to be held that same night at the cafe budapest, a giddy cafe on the outskirts of vienna, and it is finally decided that the count must play a little deception upon his wife in order that he may attend the alluring function. the countess wants to marry her niece rosalie to baron puppchen and when that fussy old gentleman invites the two ladies to go to the cafe budapest with him to see the tango contest it is agreed that they will accept his offer provided the count is kept in ignorance of their plans. to that end, richter, the butler, and tilly, the maid, are advised that both the count and countess are going out of the city and when two tickets for the contest come into the possession of the servants they decide to go clothed in the title and raiment of the master and the mistress. capt. czardis is in love with rosalie and presents her with an old marquise ring but his suit for her hand does not meet with the approval of the aunt and uncle so the ring is returned and before it finally comes into rosalie's possession again it has a rather long checkered journey. to add to the complications, which have been piling up, celestine, 30 sk the man who owns one, sums up a high a ideal and its achievement. the founders of the packard motor car company have worked with the steadfast purpose of designing and perfecting a motor carriage, such as they themselves would wish to drive-a vehicle that would answer the demand for a smart town equipage and one that would enable their families to tour with safety and enjoyment. in the packard "2-38" six-cylinder car, more than ever before, has this purpose been realized. shipments of the new model began last fall. in the face of winter driving conditions, the "2-38" has established a record for sales commensurate with its unequaled performance on the road. the comments of owners place this car in a class by itself. ask the man who owns one 31 the hermits in vienna synopsis-continu a pretty little french dancer who has been giving the count tango lessons on the q. t., and herr pickelsnitz, a celebrated dancing master, who has been teaching the countess to dance the new dances, come to the von bereny's as guests. a floor polisher, adolphus spiggot, also comes upon the scene and by a freak of chance is mistaken for the dancing master. the act ends with the count and max, leaving, ostensibly, for the city of budapest. act ii the curtain rises on a group of guests dining on the terrace of the cafe budapest. capt. czardis looks on and sings of the beautiful river that flows near by. richter and tilly arrive first and plan an elaborate repast. they are closely followed by the count and max. baron puppchen, pauline and rosalie arrive shortly and to the chagrin of the countess, capt. czardis attaches himself to their party. the marquise ring bobs up again in this act and threatens to cause a rupture between czardis and rosalie but later all is explained satisfactorily to the lovers. of course the count and his wife encounter the culprits richter and tilly later and a strenuous scene ensues but matters are soon adjusted amicably. the tango contest is announced and all the characters are soon brought together in the finale. 32 feed your car better oil and less of it the better the oil, the less you need to use. in fact, it's easy to use too much of a good oil. about the only complaint we get of polarine is from the man who regularly gives his car twice too much of it. polarine is a clean, carbon-free lubricant, that is stable at high temperature and feeds freely down to zero. polarine in your crank-case and + red crown gasoline in your tank is a guarantee of maximum motoring pleasure. it pays to be particular about gasoline. red crown is the trade name for the cleanest, purest motor fuel that can be refined from selected crudes. our tank wagon service will deliver regular supplies right to your garage. if you buy gasoline from the garage man, be sure to ask for red crown, and when you ask for polarine, be sure you get it. better buy it in the original lithographed cans. standard oil company of ohio distributing stations in every county 33 the hermits in vienna show committees business managers charles f. laughlin fred s. bortonmusic jos. c. royon frank b. meade milton w. lusk albert rees davis choristers scenery and costumes homer m. walters frank b. meade c. n. landon gardner abbott e. s. curtiss properties program arthur d. brooks b. b. wickham publicity harry r. valentine ole may fred s. porter george m. rogers advertising arthur h. shotter george m. carleton w. a. daley clarence a. dielhenn arthur j. house j. h. kline a. j. kroenke e. a. petrequin l. p. sawyer a. b. smythe w. a. daley c. n. landon clarence a. dielhenn earl e. martin arthur c. rogers alfred bruch c. k. chisholm frank h. clark w. m. ernst g. r. ingersoll m. p. klumph h. h. neale w. s. pollock s. w. scofield s. e. strong c. l. f. wieber, jr. 34 wire rope trolley wire and messenger guy strands double galvanized telephone and telegraph wire bare and insulated copper and steel wire of every description john a. roebling's sons company 701 st. clair ave. n. e. cleveland, ohio. armature and field coils electrical conductors of all kinds flat steel, tire beadings and wire for every purpose 35 distinction he cadillac car differs from other the cars in the distinction of its design, in the comprehensiveness of its built-in equipment, in the luxurious character of its bodywork and suspension, and in the volume of its quiet, flexible power. five-passenger touring the cleveland cadillac co. 1710 euclid ave. t. h. towell, pres. x 88 36 incorporated 1849. society for savings in the city of cleveland. 37 caldwell woolsey mcallister teare pickerell in the hermits in paris, 1912 nash dawley lamprecht 38 good appearance is a matter of importance to every one. it can be best attained by sending us your wearing apparel at frequent intervals to be properly cleaned and pressed by fuller's perfect process of dry cleaning. phone call brings our auto promptly the fuller cleaning co. foremost cleaners and dyers phone east 2946 wm. m. theobald, pres. princeton 110 chas. h. summers, gen. mgr. 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"old master" represents reliability, responsibilty, quality; -those characteristics have placed old master coffee on that select list of food products universally recognized as the "best of their kind." 39 herman a. harris builder 40 living pine tree spring water pine tree living spring water has the delightful taste of natural spring water, full of life. cetannenbaum water compan loughby, chis finest for table use delivered by your grocer sold at all leading cafes bottled by the tannenbaum water co., willoughby ohio the davis laundry & cleaning co. 1516 east 66th st. specialists in cleaning ladies' and gentlemen's wearing apparel make last summer's suit wearable by a thorough dry cleaning phone for estimates east 3032 princeton 957 4i maher abbott rudolf in the hermits in paris, 1912 morse 42 george w. auer tailor rockefeller building cleveland budweiser beer wm. edwards co. distributors telephones, main 4902 central 775 43 the soutar & brown company bell phone, doan 3997-w mason and cut stone contractors 1476 e. 114th st. builders exchange silent motor oil lubricates every make of car perfectly absolutely guaranteed. 35c per gal. in half-bbls. the middle states cleveland, ohio the cut of his clothes! oil co. designing clothes for particular men is not an incident-at this tailor shop. have been at it-right here in cleveland (since 1889) a quarter of a century. don't you want to share in the benefits of my judgment, born of this mature experience, which you get, whether you choose to pay $25 or $50 or any price between $25 or $50 for your sults or overcoats? i never produce two suits exactly alike-as there are no two men with the same requirements; individuality, personal taste, and other items-as important-considered. one order will make you a "regular" at the reed tailor shop harvey l. reed, "the name-a guarantee" 281-284 the arcade, euclid end over the entrance 44 the o. m. stafford-goss-bedell company automobile insurance plain dealer building a. j. caldwell e. l. worthington r. k. sadler h. e. gaines maher & caldwell in the hermits in paris, 1912 46 some class to this service, fellers! -sutterfie/dorchestra music from 6 to 10 try our evening dinner from 5:30 to 9:00 noonday lunch from 11:00 to 2:00 pfaff bros., cor. e. 55th st. and carnegie 47 by the junior office boy of the cleveland press n. y., may steenth, 1914-my goodniss grashus, i almost fell off my chare when i got a letter this morning it was frum a guy i ust to know in cleaveland, and it sed, the hermitts is going to give anuther show say, what is the idea anyway away back when 3 cent fair was still only a dreem, the hermitts begun giving shows to bild a new club house evry yeer they been giving a show and packing the opry house full of frends and relatives, and cleaning up a wad of dough that would clog up a sewer main wot kind of a club house do they want to bild, anyway, sumthing that will make the statler hotel look like a corn crib? by golly, i expeckt to see the day when i will ride into cleaveland on the lake shore, and they will point out the hermitts club to me about the time we hit panesville i see them famus old stars is still on the job, dock kerr framing up the chatter and milt lusk pulling victor herbert stuff and horrie herriman doing a julian elting, theyre a greate bunch of lads all rite its a wonder to me that horrie, and charley maher, and al davis, and george pettingill, and rodge enrite dont get regler jobs ackting, they ought to be as good as some of these hams that's getting the coin on broadway, or even a little bit better but probly there's reasons, maby their wives won't let them, or sumthing anyway, here's wishing them luck, and all the hermitts johny 48 studebaker "four" touring, · $1050.00 "six" touring, 1575.00 "six" landau roadster, 1800.00 "six" sedan, · 2250.00 f. o. b. detroit the a. r. davis motor co. 2034-36 euclid ave. w. s. bowler h. e. gaines r. c. enwright in the hermits in paris, 1912 l. w. diehl 50 going over tire costs tire costs-the largest single item of upkeep-are worth careful analysis. motorists could save thousands of dollars per year if mileage and satisfaction were made first considerations when buying tires. g. & j. nobby treads-5000 miles guaranteed that five thousand miles settles the mileage question. on g. & j. nobby tread tires you are guaranteed the best materials and workmanship; the benefits of the long g. & j. experience in tire making; advanced processes which are the results of continuous experiment; the reliability under all conditions which world-wide distribution has made possible. write or telephone us and we'll give you the facts and proof. the ohio rubber company main 3395 725-6 st. clair avenue established 1869 cleveland, ohio the j. b. savage co. printing, publishing and blank book making fine catalogue and large edition work 1395 east third street cleveland, o. 51 thos. e. hurley, pres. chas. f. smith, v. pres. frank h. roninger, secy.-treas. the hurley-roninger co. successor to the p. c. o'brien co. fancy grocers and wine merchants 2075 east 9th street bell, north 2144 cuy., central 569 swans down prepared cake flour oleheart baithers swans down prepared) cake flour "not self-rising" he sells it. ask your grocer for a package. pre-eminently the best of its class. sold everywhere swans down (small) sells every day, everywhere. awarded grand prize, world's fair, st. louis, 1904 enclose 2c stamp and we will send free a copy of "cake secrets," a 36 page booklet containing many recipes for cake baking and much valuable information for the housewife. address igleheart brothers, in writing give name and street address of your grocer. evansville, ind., dept 14 look for the store in your neighborhood my mathew swick the boffu & gmary co successors in cleveland to the gt. atlantic & pacific tea co. "stores all over the city" main 1940-headquarters 2159 (ontario-cent. 5093 low quality prices "you can't go wrong" if you buy from the m-s stores 52 b. m. gardner 915 citizens bldg. representing worth brothers co. coatesville, pa. steel plates, boiler, flange, firebox, still bottom, etc. charcoal iron boiler tubes michigan copper & brass co. detroit, mich. sheets, brazed tubes and rods, copper and brass baltimore tube co. baltimore, md. seamless brass and copper tubes c. c. kyhne c. r. couch g. m. carleton h. j. welch in the hermits in paris, 1912 54 not finished nearing perfection the city ice delivery co. we carry a full line of violins and violoncellos musical instruments fine strings orchestra music wood and similar classical editions witmark's complete vocal, instrumental and orchestra catalog we carry the complete sterling edition the ball music store no. 25 taylor arcade bell phone main 1466-j cleveland, ohio cleveland one-man' top insist that your car be equipped with this top. drop forgings and bow sockets made by the cleveland hardware co. 55 independent ani long distance telephone cuyahoga telephone service is accurate the cuyahoga telephone co. electric building, 644 prospect ave. 66 dewar's white label scotch whisky the dealer says: "they dont come back so often, but they do come back for more firestone tires firestone firestone the car owner says: i'm strong for firestone tires-rims because they add to the pleasure and economy of motoring the three tire-wise men endorse firestone the chauffeur says tire changes must be made quickly, but not often that's why i drive on firestone tires and rins restone tires and rims the he car owner, the dealer and the chauffeur are a trio of tire authority from which there is no appeal. their endorsement of firestone equipment is a decree which has its foundation in experience. they have made the test from every angle of service, safety, comfort and economy; of business prestige and profits; of convenience and easy handling. the result is a belief in the reliability of material, integrity of building and perfection of service which has made famous the name of firestone. investigate further the reason why experience favors firestone. look in your dealer's window for the sign of the three tire-wise men. firestone tire & rubber company akron, ohio-all large cities "america's largest exclusive tire and rim makers" t. h. nash l. w. diehl c. a. maher r. c. rudolf in the hermits in paris, 1912 58 health insurance for the babies walker-gordon milk modified milk canfield's certified milk nursery milk the belle vernon company, east side greenstein & co. tailors 258 superior ave., n. e. the gainer electric co. electrical contractors construction, wiring, repairing of all electrical apparatus 80 public square main 765, central 442-r c. w. schmidt tailor 138 arcade cleveland 59 standard oil stocks bought sold quoted booklet descriptive of all standard oil stocks free upon request w. s. snyder & co. members cleveland stock exchange. license no. 3 705 hippodrome bldg. main 2012 ask watson cent. 470 when your shirts do not fit and when you want the best made custom shirts a bunch of hermits are wearing them watson sixth city shirt maker sixth street the j. & m. shoe "j. & m." on your shoes means as much as "hermits" on an entertainment program. you can always depend upon receiving more than your money's worth. pocock-wolfram the store of famous shoes. 520 euclid ave. buy your season's requirements of office and residence fans at the same place you have always purchased your high grade packard mazda lamps. the republic electric co. 2067 east 9th street 60 portage tires the portage rubber co akron, ohio. 0 daisy non-skid tread cleveland branch 1816 euclid avenue chas. e. ball, mgr. dr. f. e. cutler f. j. dresser r. k. sadler in the hermits in paris, 1912 h. n. herriman 62 rough roads made smooth seventy per cent of all 1914 pleasure electrics carry motz cushion tires. they save the car. add to its value. insure a "pneumatic" comfort with none of the trouble. motz cushion tires see the double, notched treads. see the undercut sides and slantwise bridges that turn "cobble" roads into smooth roads. and motz tires contain 46 per cent more rubber than other tires of equal carrying capacity. and this rubber costs 50 per cent more than the usual kind. a written guaranty of 10,000 miles-2 years--accompanies each set. send for descriptive motz book no 189. the motz tire & rubber company akron, ohio branches and distributors in 52 cities. dealers everywhere. build your home when planning your new home do not overlook the heating specify the best around ideal heating american & deal boilers the w. m. pattison supply co., agents cleveland overland r$950 "all that money can buy or man could want" the overland garford sales co. cleveland, ohio take a bath in soft water climalene makes this possible for the toilet and for household use for your protection specify bps paints and varnishes the patterson-sargent co. 63 64 why not make your electric car service unfailingly satisfactory? you don't have to put up with halting, uncertain service. the dependable kind, the kind that makes enthusiasts of electric vehicle users, can be had from your car. it's merely a question of the right battery. the 4 "exide" batteries “exide", "hycap-exide", “thin-exide", "ironclad-exide" meet every demand of electric vehicle service, whether for pleasure car, truck or delivery wagon. they are today giving continuous satisfaction throughout the country, and carry the strongest endorsements ever given to batteries. whether the proper battery for your car is the " tronclad-exide", the hycap-exide", the "thin-exide" or the "exide", the type and conditions of service of the car alone determine. we are just as anxious for you to get perfect service as you are to have it. if you will write us, giving the name of your car and conditions under which it is operated, we will forward you information and help that will enable you to get the maximum of satisfaction from your car. write our nearest office. the electric storage battery co. philadelphia, pa. new york boston chicago st. louis atlanta denver detroit rochester seattle portland san francisco los angeles toronto the " cleveland office, citizens building exide "' is also the highest grade and most widely used battery for gas car self-starting, electric lighting and ignition. 65 act i. rotunda of the hotel l'amerique the hermits in paris, 1912 66 "from the heart of the city to the heart of the city" sixteen limiteds to akron daily five limiteds to canton daily others to massillon, canal dover, new philadelphia, uhrichsville, strasburg, beach city, etc. lines of the n. o. t. & l. co. for akron-leave cleveland 7:20 a. m., 7:50 a. m. and every hour to 9:50 p. m. for canton-leave cleveland 7:20, 10:50 and 11:50 a. m. and 3:50 and 8:50 p. m. for massillon, canal dover, new philadelphia, uhrichsville, etc., leave cleveland at 7:20 a. m. and 3:50 p. m equally frequent north bound limiteds. to the summit water shed lakes lines of this company reach the beautiful lake region of the summit water shed, silver lake, lake brady, springfield lake, meyer's lake, etc., and also make very accessible from akron, long lake, turkeyfoot lake, etc. the northern ohio traction & light company general offices akron, ohio 67 has had no peersfor fifty years golden wedding soft and mellowandpleases bottled in bond, a whiskey bottled in bond fellow all hermits stop at ressler's cafe 5517 euclid just east of 55th street the penton publishing co. cleveland, ohio publishers of the iron trade review (every week) $4 a year the foundry (monthly) $1 a year the daily iron trade (daily except saturday) $10 a year power boating (monthly) $1.50 a year the marine review (monthly) $2 a year sample copies gladly sent on request 68 cable address: alfredare alfred nelson co. 261 fifth avenue near 29th street, new york english and tailors practical breeches makers clothes of every description ladies riding breeches scarletts for field and dress riding, shooting, hunting, polo, racing and buckskin breeches, and pigskin leggings gold medal paris exposition-george kramer 69 act ii.-scene ii. exterior of mrs. skidmore's villa the hermits in paris, 1912 70 no home is complete without 20 mule team borax borax is a marvellous aid to soap and should be used with soap, wherever soap is used, for all kinds of cleansing newark tube & metal works manufacturers of steel tubing mills and office newark, n. j. g. j. nikolas & co. manufacturers of "high grade lacquers" chicago, ills. daily churned butter furnished to the hermit club and to their residences by the medina county creamery co. cleveland, ohio 71 c. l. poston, president t. r. biddle, vice-president wm. harper sec'y and treas. the morris-poston coal co. miners and shippers of dunglen coal and high-grade pittsburgh no. 8 coal mines located at dunglen, on the w. & l. e. ry. capacity, 1,500 tons mine run daily general office: 906 citizens building cleveland, ohio 72 1 the mills-carleton co. cleveland, ohio dealers in pine, fir and hemlock lumber lath, shingles, etc., etc. also compo-board bell phone, main 3840 cuy. phone, central 1296 stack men's clothes fifth floor swetland building 73 george b. pettengill in the hermits in paris, 1912 74 mcmillin's 2053 e. 9th street pianos, sheet music, victrolas, band and orchestra instruments. everything musical the j. n. hahn co. manufacturers of corrugated fibre shipping cases cleveland, o. for good malleable castings, see the canton malleable iron company of canton, ohio the improved champion have your dealer show you this bed spring. it is easy to handle and as strong as any on the market. satisfaction guaranteed. it is a dandy and only costs $6.50. made in cleveland. the champion bed spring co. 75 the general cartage and storage co. can serve you in the packing and moving and storage of household goods and merchandise our long experience assures satisfactory service. try us, and then tell your friends. 1111 superior viaduct both phones 76 the dollars and sense of japalac old things new quite aside from the use of jap-a-lac as a beautifier of homes, it has wonderful economical properties. ways. jap-a-lac saves money in two different in the first place, it saves money by adding years to the life and wearing properties of woodwork, furniture, floors, etc. in the second place, jap-a-lac saves actual dollars and cents by allowing you to do the work yourself, and jap-a-lac is so easy to use that it is a genuine pleasure to use it, for there is a fascination about seeing an old, worn and shabby looking object renew its youth, beauty and strength under one's own hands. jap-a-lac is a most economical covering for floors. a gallon is sufficient to jap-alac the entire floor of an average size rooma quart for a wide border. jap-a-lac is made in all sizes from 10c cans up. jap-a-lac is for sale at quality stores where everything in stock is on a par with it. 77 forrest j. dresser as dick radcliffe in the hermits in paris, 1912 when you build---use brick real truth often is in every human breast there is the desire to own a home. found by reading between no man can afford to go blindly about his home building. the lines. there will the only successful home is the permanent home. be found here valuable first cost of the home is not so important as the cost of maintenance. suggestions that actually one dollar rightly spent in the home means two dollars in repairs saved. mean added dollars the material for the home that means permanency at least cost is brick. and greater comfort brick is the one material that has stood the test of ages. for all who heed the in brick, beauty and adaptability keep pace with permanency. message that is printed you will live to regret it if you fail to investigate brick. between these lines. the cleveland face brick association organized solely for the promotion of the increased use of brick. see next page t when you build---use brick make your home an asset. every man who builds a home should consider the possible necessity of turning it into money again. it is an emergarise in the life of any man. ency that may if you built of wood the depreciation is rapid and you will find a large percentage of your investment sacrificed if forced to sell the house after a few years. the man who builds his home of brick always has a dependable asset. burned-clay, and that is what a brick isbeing practically indestructible, does not deteriorate and cannot be consumed by fire. the difference in original cost of the wooden house and the brick house is so slight that all who give serious thought to the question must decide for the permanent home instead of the dangerously temporary one. do not put the dollars where they cannot be recovered. use a material for the home that is everlasting and better at any stage. combine selling value with comfort. use brick. r. l. beck the arcade cleveland brick sales co. 9th floor schofield bldg. the cuyahoga builders supply co. 13th floor schofield bldg. the euclid brick & supply co. leader-news bldg. hydraulic-press brick co. 9th floor schofield bldg. lake erie builders supply co. 13th floor citizens bldg. the queisser-bliss co. 12th floor schofield bldg. 80 the cleveland twist drill co. new york cleveland chicago drills and reamers of quality the gillsy hotel east ninth st. medium price restaurant in connection 235 rooms try the gillsy turkish baths 81 charles a. maher as larry doyle in the hermits in paris, 1912 82 the harshaw, fuller & goodwin company cleveland new york the bourne-fuller co. iron, steel pig-iron coke cleveland pittsburgh cincinnati bourne fuller steel co. st. louis 883 gardner abbott as jabot in the hermits in paris, 1912 84 buckeye mazda lamps home office for store factory uckeye lamps first be ecause uckeye lamps last more better cheaper light the buckeye electric division national lamp works of general electric co. cleveland 85 c. b. ford c. b. castle a. c. bailey in the hermits in paris, 1912 86 the a. s. gilman printing company railroad and commercial printing st. clair ave. and west third st. cleveland the acme foundry company makers of fine grey iron castings japanning, galvanizing and nickel plating office, corner sweeney avenue and east 51st street 1 87 klondike 30 aluminum paint or highest class silvering & decorative work on any surfac baer brothers klondike gold paint fortniches eclass clong by baer brothers klondike liquid gold or silver, the newest and best for gilding and re-silvering. a child can apply same, and make a perfect finish. manufactured by baer brothers, new york drop, steam hammer, heading machine forgings, foundry chaplets. the champion machine & forging co. the cleveland billiard & mfg. co. · bell phone, main 3054-j cuy., central 4963-l 306 prospect ave. s. e., between ontario and sheriff sts. bargains in remodeled billiard and pool tables also complete line hotel, restaurant & bar supplies buffalo copper & brass rolling mill buffalo, n. y. sheet copper, copper in rolls, sheet brass, brass rods and wire 88 money loaned to build homes for hermits-and others interest paid on savings accounts the cleveland savings and loan company hollenden building w. r. creer, prest. j. c. nichols, treas. a. w. ellenberger, v-prest. j. j. sullivan, secy. do we lose? we bet jack beardslee when we gave al. kroenke this adv. that it wouldn't bring an order the lubric oil co. auto oils, soap, greases 89 r. c. rudolf as olga ivanoff in the hermits in paris, 1912 90 cleveland window cleaning company cleans windows ceilings floors skylights woodwork by the month or job walls estimates furnished north 297-cent. 297 h. r. allen & company wholesale lumber yellow pine, cypress and hardwoods we can furnish anything in crating columbus, ohio the foster bolt & nut mfg. co. cleveland, o. manufacturers of a full and complete line of bolts and nuts bars for reinforcing concrete plain squares, rounds, flats, twisted or spiral bars. squares and rounds 3-8 in. to 1 1-4 in. buffalo steel co. tonawanda, n. y. cleveland office: · h. d. cushman co., rockefeller building 16 pettit dresser welch witt pettengill in the hermits in paris, 1912 92 wheeling & lake erie railroad w. m. duncan receiver मैं solid vestibule trains carrying cafe parlor cars between cleveland and canton zanesville coshocton wheeling only line running through trains without change between cleveland and wheeling all trains operated on eastern time h. w. mcmaster, gen'l manager, r. f. kelley, g. f. & p a. 93 carl c. kyhne as jacqueline in the hermits in paris, 1912 94 h chamberlin metal weather strip for windows and doors watson metal and wood fly screens rust proof--durable 鹽 ​j. j. rauscher · · manager 4500 euclid avenue phone east 1187 cleveland, o. 95 the gray lumber co. mahoning avenue, cleveland bell tel. main 756 cuy. tel. erie 160 abel bros. hay-grain-feed office, 445 the arcade, cleveland, o. elevator and warehouse 2290 to 2310 west third street the scribner & loehr co. wholesale and manufacturing jewelers 2047 e. 9th st. cleveland, o. lewis d. waters, pres. w. j. krause, sec.-treas. the prospect coal co. w. 114th st. and nickel plate r. r. marlo 976 genuine pocahontas cent. 178 otto coke hard coal 96 booksat burrows-the largest book store west of new york-you can obtain in the shortest possible time any book you want, whether new, second-hand or "out-of-print." engravinggiftsour engraving department executes engraving for all purposes, and as we employ skilled engravers exclusively, we are able to guarantee every detail of the work we produce. designs and estimates submitted on request. you can find at burrows a suitable gift for any occasion. our various departments are replete with handsome gifts to suit all purposes. the burrows bros. company john j. wood, president new england bldg. main 3256 central 1925 know your weight. a fairbanks bathroom scale will give it to you fairbanks, morse & company 1354 w. 9th st., cleveland 97 hermit clambake hermit club clam bake friday, sept. 20, 1912 willoughbeach park another genuine rock bake with trimmings similar to the one of a year ago do you remember that feed? assemble at the hermit club at 2 p. m. and see that your auto is loaded to capacity. a few hermits have no machine. an afternoon of indoor baseball (outdoors) and other sports. the bake uncovered at 6 p. m. send in your card quickly as we must know who to provide for. good shelter this year in case of rain the house committee 98 monarch metal weather strips will be the best for that building street-wiltse co. citizens bldg. louisville salad oil appetizing and healthful edible oils famous the world over manufactured by louisville cotton oil co. incorporated louisville, ky., u. s. a. 99 norton experience and science produce results agents for experience is a vital factor in determining the correct wheel to meet existing conditions -or in correcting the conditions. correct conditions mean greater profits. science has been the vital factor in the development of norton alundum and norton crystolon and in the perfecting of the manufacturing processes that are largely responsible for the quality of norton grinding wheels results that take the form of larger production-lower operating cost-better finishconstitute the substance of reports upon the performance of norton wheels from foundries and machine shops everywhere. if you have a grinding problem, there is abundant reason why you should inquire if norton experience can aid in its solution. you have only to write norton grinding wheels cleveland tool & supply co. 1427-1437 w. sixth street cleveland, o. norton company worcester, mass. 100 nau, rusk & swearingen certified public accountants new york 30 church street cleveland american trust bldg. cleveland's great western the hofbrau s ιοι hermclub saturday night, oct. 26th, and sunday morning programmy 1. the orchestra heads the batting order 2. felix, the talking duck under the management of hair doktor enwright, introducing professor noodlebaum, r. s. v. p. g. b. pettengill felix itself h. w. newcomer' 3. alleged mandolin quartette producing harmony almost as close as r. p. raminy silly-phone pickle-o tinpanum j. c. royon j. h. foster h. b. cobb cascarette e. l. worthington cigars will be passed to the best shots in the audience 4. the orchestra again. calm yourselves. 5. the musical burglar. a melange. the burglar mr. milton lusk supported by a strong company, including mr. carl fifi morse a policeman 6. songs of the hour (midnight) by john peter witt throwing eggs may be obtained from the chef das ist alles october stunt night 102 honest t is the best policy lipton chas. a nicola, pres. max myers, v. pres. a. l. stone, sec. & treas. t. c. williamson, gen'l mgr. the lakewood lumber co. lumber and millwork planing mill and yard: 10237 berea rd. near detroit ave. river yard and dock: 2146 w. 3d st. cleveland cuy., central 4745 bell, ridge 338 103 dubonnet registered parse a act of congress te imitate or letti sele is a felony original only genu dubonnet dubonne the greatest tonic and appetizer in the world ubotne hance dubonnet wine the great french appetizer superior to the best cockta dubonnet. 7. rue marney paris ths bottle contains 31 flujo ounces 18% ce alcohol beware of imitations martin importation go new york acaranteed by 1. in importation superior to the best cocktail x beware of spurious imitations 104 by royal warthest isla this label is registered to a p tue mone the old blend whisky the white horse cellar of the cacab. 1748 cellar from the original rec be that are desirous to a edinburgh london other place on their road. in to the white horse cellar edinburgh, at which p duymay & stage coach adhur, which performs the whole j gt days (if god permite) and a and all above, b pence per pound alomag each passenger se pound mackie & coy. distillers u 1754 glasgow and londo stilled and bottiad in scotland wwwwwww liquor kerum viscand d.o.m veritars liquus refedicting bénédictine beware of counterfeits the best after-dinner cordial. white horse a scotch whiskey of high and uniform quality 105 "the hermits' pilgrimage" cleveland *cincinnati *st. louis *chicago *omaha *denver saturday, november 16, 1912 *san francisco itinerary . november sixteenth november seventeenth .november nineteenth .november twentieth november twenty-third november twenty-fifth november thirtieth *cancelled pithy press paragraphs pertaining to prior pilgrimages. "there was a first class show at the opera house last night. it was called 'the hermits' pilgrimage and was given by the hermit club of cleveland, an organization composed of professional actors and musicians and amateur business men. popular prices prevailed, namely, ten, twenty and thirty cents and the show was well worth the money especially as very few of the twenty and thirty cent seats were taken."-medina observer. "the grand theater was ablaze with lights saturday night for "the hermits' pilgrimage.' some of the show was funny especially the dutch blend dialect of al davis who easily rivaled rogers and field or the weber brothers in their qualmy days. as we said, some of it was funny and then again some of it was well, every dog has some fleas."-berea advocate. "we went to the academy of music last night expecting to see something unusual and we did. the show was 'the hermits' pilgrimage.' we had to laugh a lot of times, and we confess to a feeling of genuine pleasure as we watched the curtain descend on the final act. it occurs to us that this may seem ambiguous, but we do not mean it so. try again, hermits."-wellington bugle. continued on page 107 106 the coughlin & laurenson co. surety bonds and insurance 614 williamson building halcomb steel company manufacturers of high speed steel, tool steel, sheet steel, drill rods, fine wire, cold drawn steel and special steels of all kinds 107 the hermits' pilrgimage november 1912-continued "the commencement of the pilgrimage" entitled "the hermits symposium" father hermit (with apologies to f. b. meade) f. s. porter merry hermit merry hermit h. n. herriman s. w. hubbard singing hermits dresser nicholas sadler lundoff musical numbers opening chorus-"happy hollow". teno solo-"flower of a fairer world". baritone solo-"don't you mind the sorrows". character interpolation-"eetaly" bass solo-"rhein wine song" lundoff ... company topical song-"in the future looking back upon the past".herriman closing chorus-"holland" ford zurlinden company sadler .dresser maher intermission "the continuation of the pilgrimage" entitled “the barnstormers" a comedy sketch in one act by f. s. porter characters and cast rube house-proprietor palace hotel.... hi lowe-local resident.. jack-hotel bell boy.. marble hart-manager theatrical troupe members of theatrical troupe. nicholas . spencer zurlinden enwright octave high.. sue brett... barry toner. grabowski trio-mayoff, may; blitz, bliss; fordi, ford time-fall evening place-country town scene-office palace hotel the end of the pilgrimage herriman rudolph .dresser 108 bell the cleveland telephone local long distance telephone american tele bell company telegraph co system telephone one policy one system system universal service the cleveland telephone co. the hermits are in vienna, but after the play will be found at sinnott's euclid ave. and e. 55 st. the finest cafe and restaurant in the east end everything the best to eat and drink 109 hermit club saturday evening, dec. 14, 1912 annual meeting and election of officers for 1913 followed by a meditation programme "the test" a story of the mines by thomas h. nash dick newton.... jim boswell.... characters charles a. maher t. h. nash (pals, and owners of the "nugget," out west in search of a fortune) scene: a small placer mine in the foot hills of the sierras ole may donamay. time: about sundown euphonium virtuoso "over the fence" a vaudeville sketch by c. n. landon characters milton w. lusk gard guymer.. . carl b. ford "one of the least of these" a christmas fantasy by fred s. porter hugh mann, a man.. jenkins, a servant. the child, a boy.. santa claus, a myth... time: christmas eve cast fred s. porter c. n. smith r. c. rudolf .paul s. gill place: the city scene: the man's library music by the hermit orchestra stage manager, s. w. scofield refreshments by the club properties, guy s. gardner ιιο f. h. greene, president j. f. farrell, vice president american materials company 30 church st., new york heavy duty automatic platform scales cleveland chicago sam thompson pure rye whiskey manufactured on the monongahela river, at west brownsville, penna. the oldest brand of whiskey manufactured in pennsylvania. iii established 1796 large 118 years a favorite ⚫ pure rye whiskey bottled in bond rye whiskey at the a grand prize was awarded large ghent (belgium) international exposition, 1913, to which "the wine and spirit trade record" of london, in its issue of august 8th, 1913, referred in the following article. pure monongan whiskey r gahela pittsbur established y laden 1796 ghent exhibition american whiskies in competition confronted the international jury of awards which assembled and concluded its labours at ghent last month. rye whiskies have now eclipsed all other american varieties owing to the achievements of the large distilling co., pittsburgh, pa., who won the grand prix, thereby adding to their triumphs at previous european exhibitions. they now hold the record for more grand prix distinctions than any other american distilling concern for pure genuine unalloyed straight rye whiskey. the bestowal of the supreme distinction is not only given on quality, but after careful scrutiny of the questionnaire by the jury, wherein is recorded previous distinctions and full details as to the process of distillation, maturation, hygienic conditions, conditions under which the whiskey is produced, size of plant, general equipment, capital, output, &c. the interesting fact is also on record that large whiskey has been distilled continuously in the valley of the monongahela, close to pittsburgh, for 117 years. in an article which appeared in one of the american papers, large was described as the vere de bottled in bond vere of rye whiskies. sarge drink little the large distilling co., pittsburgh, pa. 112 c&b ine clevelant c&b seeanddel duffally fare $ 300 daily between leveland buffalo jjjj. seeandbee the great ship "seeandbee" length 500 feet; breadth 98 feet, 6 inches; 510 staterooms and parlors accommodating 1500 passengers. greater in cost-larger in all proportions-richer in all appointments-than any steamer on inland waters of the world. in service june 15th. magnificent steamers "seeandbee," "city of erie" and "city of buffalo" daily cleveland and buffalo-may 1st to dec. 1st leave cleveland arrive buffalo 8:00 p. m. 6:30 a. m. leave buffalo arrive cleveland (central standard time) 8:00 p. m. 6:30 a. m. railroad tickets ask connections at buffalo for niagara falls and all eastern and canadian points. reading between cleveland and buffalo are good for transportation on our steamers. your ticket agent for tickets via c. & b. line. write us for handsome illustrated booklet free. the cleveland & buffalo transit co., cleveland, o. specify the saltiest salt secures satisfactory salt seasoning your grocer will be supplied by any of cleveland's leading wholesale grocers. 113 hermit club, cleveland february stunt, february 8, 1913 programme part i "a stolen slice" a merry satire on the modern problem plan. (stolen bodily-so far as memory will permit-from "a slice of life" by j. m. barrie.) characters and cast henry hyphen-brown, a playwrite. mrs. hyphen-brown, his wife.. frederick their butler.. time-any morning scene-hyphen-brown residence e. l. cheyney .j. g. pettit .r. p. beardslee part ii "some say the devil's dead” dramatized by chas. k. arter a clever and thrilling drama in one act characters and cast paul harman, artist... blake latimer, man of the world.. george calvert, latimer's friend.. time-midnight chas. k. arter chas. a. maher . fred. s. porter place paris scene i-a street scene ii-cafe of the three revellers continued on page 117 114 doan 1606 princeton 1904 r the berg-clark electric co. electrical construction and supplies 10303 euclid avenue c. berg, mgr. cleveland, sixth city el versos the cigar most used by discriminating smokers two sizes, straight 10c, three for 25c sample one conover bumper "turns accidents into incidents" new jersey tube co. makers newark, n. j. : wholesale : baum's :: retail :. : ice cream---ices---pastries we make a specialty of supplying restaurants, clubs and hotels. we also rent china, silver, linen, glass, tables, chairs, etc. central 3057 2006-16 scovill ave. north 494 115 his most excel. lent majesty king william the fourth v. o. p. scotch whiskey f. o. de luze & co. sole agents new york 116 ridgways ridgways w tea riders ridgways silver label tea so'clock tea of stea growths walf pound net the real refreshment for your afternoon guests is ridgways tea i have known many, liked a few, but there is only one "saegertown ginger ale" 117 hermits' meditation february 1913-continued part iii "marguerite, the manicure" a reconstructed grand opera with an interesting story and some of the best music in the world. libretto, lyrics, compilation and arrangement of music, and orchestration all by joseph c. royon characters and cast marguerite, a manicure barbiere siviglia, a barber.. john d. faust, a customer el shino, a bootblack place-any place time-any time .c. f. morse .f. j. dresser .h. n. herriman e. l. worthington scene-any barber shop synopsis of the opera the curtain rises upon a scene exquisite in beauty and wonderful in realism, disclosing the interior of the luxurious tonsorial studio of barbiere siviglia, master barber. there are discovered, barbiere himself standing gracefully at the side of his well beloved swivel chair, and el shino, the champion boot-black, industriously practicing his art at his stand in a corner of the studio. into this scene of tranquillity and splendor enters marguerite, the manicure. the movement quickens and marguerite has a passage revealing her assiduity in seeking her fugitive suitor, whom she has loved not wisely but too well, and disclosing the fact that she has committed the embarrassing indiscretion of bearing him a child out of wedlock. thereupon she prepares for her duties of the day as resident manicure in the establishment of barbiere. presently there enters a customer, john d. faust, who, in an imposing aria, demands a shave and explains that he has to catch a train. barbiere bids him make haste to climb within the chair and in a spirited solo prepares for the operation. as he spreads the cloth he bids el shino to furbish up the customer's shoes and then inquires of the customer if he desires the services of a manicure. the customer assents and barbiere directs marguerite to ply her trade. as marguerite takes the hand of john d. faust within her own, he recognizes the touch and rising quickly, confronts his sweetheart of other days. in a soul stirring duet he tells her how he has long sought for her in vain while she confides to him the story of her sorrow and the fact that they have a son. at its conclusion he demands to know the whereabouts of the son and she triumphantly presents him in the person of el shino. the reunion is the grand climax, and in a glorious quartette they express their joy. curtain. 118 reese-owen-clark agency suretyship and insurance 805 new england building cleveland hotel astor longacre square n. y. city wm. c. muschenheim, pres. central 781 main 4791 j. blackwell & co. fruits and produce 309 huron road restaurant and club trade a specialty hermit club knickerbocker theatre march 15 1913 adb 120 -for home sites in east cleveland, shaker heights and mayfield heights see the berwald-stewart company 913 williamson bldg. don't fuss with mustard plasters there's no sense in mixing up a mess of mustard flour and water and getting everything all mussed up when you can so easily relieve that pain or soreness with a little clean, white terole. musmusterole from sore throat, bronchitis, tonsilitis, croup, stiff neck, asthma, neuralgia, headache, congestion, musterole will is made of oil of mustard and other helpful ingredients, combined in the form of a pleasant white ointment. it takes the place of the out-of-date mustard plaster and will not blister. musterole gives quick relief blister pleurisy, rheumatism, lumbago, pains and aches of the back or joints, sprains, sore muscles, bruises, chilblains, frosted feet, colds of the chest (it prevents pneumonia.) at your druggist's, in 25c and 50c jars, and a special large hospital size for $2.50. demand musterole. if your druggist cannot supply you, send 25c or 50c to the musteroi e company, cleveland, o., and we will mail you a jar, postage prepaid. 121 invitation performance knickerbocker theatre cleveland, ohio, march 15, 1913 overture programme the firing line (a military operetta in one act) characters and cast father grogan, (the chaplain) captain croxton lieut. norwood lieut. brown sergt. flynn 23rd u. s. infantry hermit orchestra mr. maher mr. sadler . mr. lundoff mr. dielhenn mr. gaines scene-island of mindanao, philippines. time-christmas eve. (courtesy of mr. clay m. greene, mr. wm. j. francis, and of "the lambs," n. y.) the test (a story of the mines, by thomas h. nash) characters and cast dick newton jim boswell pals, owners of the "nugget" out west in search of a fortune mr. maher mr. nash scene-a small placer mine in the foot-hills of the sierras. time-about sundown. continued on page 125 122 a beautiful bath room as shown in the illustration, might even tempt a hermit to bathe if he needed it or not. the schneider plumbing co. 4420 euclid avenue bell phone, e. 3752 bell, doan 4092-j cuyahoga, central 1884-r shaper and special mill work john riggs builder and jobber special interior work--office and store fixtures 1561 east 118th street cleveland 123 fall 1913 made spring 1907 green river the whiskey without a headache straight whiskey y without a headache the whiskey trade g.r. s.m. mark green river bottled by kentucky owensboro nriver dis green river distilling co., distillers, second district kentucky. ever the best 8 commended to every looker-on in vienna 124 for beautifying the teeth and sweetening the breath chew white's yucatan gum a flavor that is lasting and pleasant to the taste randall mattresses none genuine without r trade mark this always the best made to order every randall dealer has samples of ticking and cotton felt from which selections can be made, and your mattress made especialy to order. he also carries a fresh stock on hand at all times. this means that when you buy a randall mattress, you are getting one fresh from the factory, made by skilled workmen, of all new material of the highest quality obtainable for each grade. 125 knickerbocker theatre march 13, 1913 marguerite, the manicure (grand opera burlesque, by jos. c. royon) marguerite, a manicure characters and cast barbiere seviglia, a barber john d. faust, a customer el shino, a boot-black mr. morse mr. dresser mr. herriman mr. worthington scene-any barber shop. time-any time. place—any place. some say the devil's dead (a tragedy, dramatized by chas. k. arter) paul harman, an artist characters and cast blake latimer, a man of the world george calvert, latimer's friend scene-no. 1, a street. scene-no. 2, cafe of the three revellers. time-midnight. place-paris. the barnstormers (a medley, by frederick s. porter) characters and cast mr. arter mr. maher mr. enwright rube house, proprietor of palace hotel.. hi lowe, local resident jack, hotel bell boy... marble hart, manager of theatrical troupe. herr bald, musical director of theatrical troupe. abie sells, a peddler..... members of the theatrical troupe octive high sue brett vera smart gideon foote barry toner grabowski trio mayoff blitz fordi mr. arter mr. spencer mr. gaines mr. enwright mr. davis mr. witt mr. herriman m. rudolph mr. pettit . mr. sadler . mr. dresser .mr. a. klumph mr. m. klumph mr. valentine introducing the hermit pony ballet, lamprecht, nash, woolsey and caldwell. scene office of palace hotel. time-a fall evening. place-any country town, 126 belle of nelson the whiskey that made kentucky famous mellwood america's most popular whiskey 127 franklin carton sugar from the cane field to your table made from sugar-cane extra fine net weight franklin granulated sugar standard of purity the franklin sugar refining co. philadelphia franklin carton sugar is cane sugar, refined to the last degree of white, sparkling purity. it is packed in sealed cartons, which keep it clean, dry and wholesome. when you want fine granulated sugar in 2-lb. and 5-lb. cartons for cooking and general use. dessert and table sugar in 2-lb. cartons for use on fruits and desserts. dainty lumps (small cubes) in 2-lb. cartons for tea, coffee, cocoa, etc. powdered sugar for candy making and ice cream. xxxx confectioners' sugar, in 1-lb. cartons, with inside bag of moisture-proof paper for icing and candy making. ask for the blue carton with the head of franklin on it. full weight of sugar guaranteed ask your grocer for our free recipe book, or send postal for it the franklin sugar refining co. philadelphia 128 e. b. brown manufacturing and prescription optician 314-315 schofield bldg. cleveland c. l. douglass, pres. s. h. hutchinson, v. p. and treas. a. w. henry, sec. telephones, bell main 134 cuyahoga cent. 5858 the bingham & douglass co. ::: insurance :: cuyahoga bldg. cleveland, o. the wm. downie co. master painters an ancient firm with modern ideas varnall the original waterproof varnish made and guaranteed by louisville varnish co. new york louisville chicago san francisco j 129 annual pilgrimage of the hermit club cleveland, november 1st, 1913 special announcement in place of the usual formal itinerary, the club has this year decided to give a series of performances upon invitation.* *invitations solicited programme the first objective point of the pilgrimage will be "the hermit clam bake" written, compiled, arranged and expurgated by t. h. nash and f. s. porter leader of the pilgrimage, a. b. smythe opening chorus, “mary ate some oysters, etc.". topical song, "what he said was plenty” (porter). bass drum solo, "die wacht am rhein”. recitation, "cobby at the bat" (nash). bass solo, "a pipe and a glass". trombone solo, “? ! ! ! ! ?” . . . finale, "we won't go home till morning”. intermission the hermits .herriman baumgartner the author wickham enwright the band the clam bake having provided a surfeit of clams and lobsters (this is figurative and has no reference to the actors) you will be in the pink of condition for fitful slumbers, horrible nightmares and the conjuring of visions and therefore suitably prepared to proceed to the second objective point of the pilgrimage, which is "the meade and the medium" a reminiscence with a touch of prophecy, by f. s. porter characters and cast the meade, octogenarian the medium, spookalist the time-later on. the place-anywhere the scene-the medium's parlor. the end of the pilgrimage f. b. meade .e. l. cheyney 130 both phones the paul schmidt co. wines, delicacies and fine liquors 729-731 prospect avenue, s. e. cleveland, ohio a. p. schraner maker of wood and metal patterns 430-480 prospect ave., n. w. pinzon government guaranteed all havana cigars sold at clubs, cafes, drug stores and stands fourteen sizes rich smoke we make clothes that give that favorable impression-first, last, always. we cut from only the best imported goods, and buy exclusive patterns. otto & kub colonial arcade euclid front 131 weber the kelly cleveland co. 132 (erie erie the little hermit i travel from cleveland το pittsburg six times every day via the erie r. r. this means, then, that the erie r. r. has every day in the year six fine passenger trains each way between cleveland and pittsburg. i always pass through youngstown and by way of the p. & l. e. r. r. into and out of the city of pittsburg. 133 1 annual meeting and stuntnite friday, december 19, 1913 at eight o'clock the curtain will rise on a farce comedy entitled the annual meeting act i-annual attempt of the progressives to elect a new president. act ii-annual defeat of same, owing to the wonderful party machine, composed of the orchestra element and junior members. finale-the loyal army, or orchestra, will render a selection expressing joy, rehearsed especially for this occasion for a couple of years. 2 an operetta.... ..by j. c. royon and b. b. wickham "virtue hath its just reward" or "the trial of the tango" time-a short time ago. place room one, billion dollar court house. dramatis personae: wickham .dresser judge grillus hickory, a male portia.. prof. apollo belvedere angel-bott anderson, dancing master, a disciple of terpsichore as she is terped.... mr. argus anthony comstock, inspector of dance halls, city of cleveland .. . does not appear mr. alton payer choate, attorney-at-law and counsel for plaintiff stockwell mr. john sockspill, assistant city solicitor and ex-officio lawyer tillie, the tango queen minnie, the argentine angel tommie, the toe trickster elfie, a sinuous sylph first press reporter.. second press reporter the dear peepul bailiff heeryee, the mainspring of justice. marvin lamprecht carleton witt cheney dautel gaines emery 3 one-act melodrama by charles k. arter and f. s. porter, entitled "the law" characters and cast bob, a waiter john sampson, captain of industry. e. carlisle jones, retired, satellite of sampson william williams, an unfortunate.. frank carson, prosecuting attorney officer mullen, policeman. time-new year's eve., 1946. place the hermit club, cleveland, scene-grill room, . c. b. castle .c. a. maher h. n. herriman c. k. arter f. s. porter .w. a. daley 134 mount verno mount vernon pure rpe whiskey bury bede pure rye cook & bernheimer co whiskey beast branding fo the original and only distillery bottling mount vernon pure rye whiskey is in square bottles only cook & bernheimer co., new york we make real clothes bond & hunt 1859 east 6th street don't ask us for proof. ask our customers. bouvier original buchu gin for the kidneys and bladder bennett-o'connell company warehouse and salesroom 5200 euclid avenue telephones, east 1940 central 4945-w largest manufacturers of polishers and platers supplies and equipment 135 protect yourself the u. s. government puts a green certificate stamp over the cork of every bottle of genuine old taylor whiskey never accept a bottle of taylor whiskey without this green government certificate stamp which shows that it is bottled in bond. there is only one taylor distillery in kentucky. no bottle of taylor whiskey ever leaves the taylor distillery until the government's green stamp is affixed over the cork and our yellow label on the bottle. e. h. taylor, jr., & sons, inc. distillers frankfort, ky. 136 la a 扶持 ​continuous joint weber joint wolhaupter joint the rail joint co. general offices: 185 madison avenue, new york city makers of base-supported rail joints for standard and special rail sections, also girder, step or compromise, frog and switch, and insulated rail joints, protected by patents. highest awards-paris, 1900; buffalo, 1901; st. louis, 1904. rolled from best quality steel catalogs at agencies boston, mass. india bldg. chicago, ill. railway exchange bldg. over denver, colo. pittsburgh, pa. portland, ore. equitable bldg. oliver bldg. wilcox bldg. 50,000 miles troy, n. y. st. louis, mo., commonwealth trust bldg. montreal, can. burden avenue board of trade bldg. london, e. c., eng. 36 new broad st. in use. cleveland frog & crossing co frogs crossings # switches for switch stands steam and electric railways cleveland, ohio 137 valentine meditation february 14, 1914 1 overture by meade et al.. by compulsion 2 walters' wabbly warblers (say it now-and-try it later) they can't sing, but they are good in opera. 3 a scotch emulson, by the valentine twins... dick alias jimmie, harry alias comic 4 if requested, clark's dairy lunch orchestra will hand out some serve-self music at this point. 5 stay for the pictures... pathe-tic weakly 138 percy e. andersonevening dress suits made to order · and to measure $32%½ up we make evening dress suits, (swallowtail), of fine black fabrics (best american and foreign goods) to order, for $32.50, $37.50, $42.50; tuxedo (semi-dress) suits at $30, $35, $40. all prices include guaranteed silk lining-and are lower than must be paid for readymade. ours is guaranteed tailoring, in all that the words imply. english woolen mills co™ tailors and woolen merchants inc (new store) 322 & 324 superior ave. n.e. (opposite post office.) gas and electric securities safe investments-why there is less receivership risk and larger net earning power than in any other class of securities statistics available to substantiate these facts roland t. meacham specialist in public utility securities member cleveland stock exchange citizens building, cleveland 139 hermet club annual dinner, cover for annual dinner menu drawn by hermit henry g. keller 140 the lock that locks brass beds we guarantee our locks against breakage for fifty years. we guarantee the finish on our brass beds to withstand ten years of ordinary wear when properly cared for. manufactured by forest city bedstead co. in cleveland, ohio 141 hermit club stunt night may 2nd, 1914 1 orchestra 2 the reckoning" a serious playlet in two acts. place, the city act 1, scene, the wife's bedroom, 1 a. m., 1904 the wife.. the burglar the husband the sergeant the officer act 2, scene, the same, ten years later hermit herriman . hermit maher hermit enright . hermit porter hermit daley 3 orchestra 4 the house detective a white slave farce in one act (written by mr. henry blossom and presented by courtesy of the lambs' club.) characters desirée la lorme, a designing young person. mr. george carleton pearlie gates, archie's real sweetheart... mr. robert rudolf archie browne, a wronged orphan but a good sport. mr. fred clark pop carson, an aged roue blifkins, a servant in the house.. francois, another servant .... mr. ben wickham . mr. harold cobb mr. harold gaines scene-a road house near nutley, new jersey. time-the present. (the act is followed by two tableaux-vivants.) 142 jerry 0. mcnaughton co. tailors 1001-2-3 citizens bank bldg. have a little moore old possum hollow pure rye whiskey sold everywhere the thos. moore distillery co. mckeesport, pa. geo. h. herron & co. painting and hardwood finishing contractors estimates furnished bell north 825-l $ cuy. central 5862-w 1238 chester avenue, vanderwerf bldg. cleveland, o. jacob halter & sons sheet metal contractors 2604 walton avenue cent. 5547-r, south 750-j cleveland, ohio 143 great western extry dry special reserve (very dry) champagne only goldmeda awarded paris1900 the only american champagne ever awarded a gold medal at foreign expositions: paris exposition, 1867, france, paris exposition, 1889, france paris exposition, 1900, france vienna exposition, 1873, austria exposition, 1897, bruxelles belgium great western bruxelles exposition, 1910, terka 1873 extra dry first prize masan valley wine co rheins belgium pleasant valley wine co. oldest and largest champagne producers in america rheims, n. y. 144 the victrola keeps right on playing this is a victrola ix $50.00 you can dance as much as you wish when you have a victrola in your home. victrolas $15 to $200 the eclipse musical co. 1130 euclid ave. t. h. towell, president c. a. c. bldg. number try a the 2 perfect whiskey little two pure, too-straight, wholesome whiskey at all good cafes and liquor stores for good wines, liquors and cordials demand schuster's "euclid brand" guaranteed absolutely pure by the largest producers in this part of the country the schuster company 2214-16-18 east 4th st. opposite sheriff st. market cleveland, o. 145 costume sketch for the hermits in vienna 146 caster castoldest the and caster manu largest facturers foundry མཀ་ in the world casters for new every purpose york universal caster & foundry co 29 west 42nd street (aeolian bldo) new york put your caster problems up to us fernet-branca of fratelli branca, milan, italy standard bitters of the world best flavor to cocktails beware of imitations wholesaled in cleveland by the weideman company cypress oil consult your physician "schimmel & co." in whooping cough fritzsche brothers new york the king of wines the f. chauvenet burgundy sparkling and still 147 hommel's naturally fermented in the bottle champagnes distinctly american brands: white star red star (special dry) (a sparkling burgundy) extra dry ideal brut (specially selected cuvee) at all better wine merchants, clubs, hotels and cafes for one-half the price of the imported. we are also producers of pure wines and vermouth aling hommel hite sta white star * trade mark special dry m.hommel qualite superieure the m. hommel wine co. sandusky, ohio eee? 148 high-grade castings -in-aluminum, manganese bronze, phosphor bronze, red and yellow brass trolley wheels and gas meter fittings the city brass foundry company cleveland, ohio springfield tire co., new york and akron/ ག founders 1713 tread machinists kelly springfield tires this tire is the result of a desire to keep the quality up and not to cut the price down. they cost more to buy and cost less to own. kelley springfield tire co. o. r. cook, mgr. 149 a. brotks costume sketch for the hermits in vienna 150 a hermit's life is of necessity a hard one, due to his mode of liying-his solitude, his abstinence from rich food and strong drink, and his constant meditation upon the follies of this life and the joys of the life beyond. some of the rough spots may be smoothed out if he will equip his car with perfection springs ask these hermits: p. j. darling, j. f. janes, c. a. otis, jr., m. j. and o. p. van sweringen, forrest j. dresser. our new service station, located at 2008 east 65th street, one door south of euclid avenue, is prepared to make immediate spring repairs or replacements for all makes of cars. springs carried in stock. the perfection spring company main office and factory, central avenue, corner east 65th street. service station, 2008 east 65th street (one door south of euclid.) telephone numbers, east 620, princeton 172 151 the hermits in vienna officers, directors and committees president vice-president. treasurer secretary frank b. meade gardner abbott j. r. kraus .j. c. royon directors to serve until december, 1914 h. n. herriman d. j. hard o. w. prescott c. c. clark c. n. landon fred g. clark c. k. maher gardner abbott to serve until december, 1915 thomas nash frank c. newcomer c. v. kerr to serve until december, 1916 c. c. clark house committee d. j. hard, chairman w. j. crawford, jr. entertainment committee charles laughlin, chairman property master arthur shotter scenery master t. h. nash ben wickham harold e. gaines club historian and dramatic librarian c. a. maher a. c. rogers f. s. porter hanging committee arthur d. brooks stage directors music librarian harold smith publicity committee c. a. dielhenn, chairman hermit host r. c. enwright c. v. kerr h. r. valentine 152 don't think about business now but tomorrow call up your printer and ask him if you could not save money by using hammermill bond the utility business paper for your forms and ordinary letter heads. tell him to get it from the petrequin paper co. cleveland hammermill bond is made by the hammermill paper co., erie, pa. 153 hermit club members abbott, gardner albright, charles a. arter, charles k. augustus, a. a. bailey, albert c. baldwin, wilbur m. barrett, ralph a bauder, george t. baumgartner, fritz beardslee, r. p. berkes, harvey a. berwald, robert f. blakeslee, j. r. bliss, harry a. blossom, dudley s. borton, fred s. bowler, walter s. brooks, arthur d. brown, everett l. brown, m. stanley brown, w. h. bruch, alfred e. bruch, karl f. bulkley, robert j. burt, charles e. caldwell, a. j. cannon, john l. card, jas. g carder, howard a. castle, carl b. casto, dr. f. m. chandler, john c. chapin, f. h. cheyney, edward l. chisholm, c. k. clark, charles c. clark, frank h. cobb, harold b. cool, henry r. coventry, c. c. crawford, h. j. crawford,. randall crawford, w. j., jr. creech, harris crofut, william e. crum, phelps curry, r. a. curtiss, edwin s. cutler, dr. f. e. cutler, sam c. 1215 williamson bldg. 746 euclid ave. 10th floor, marshall bldg. 501 rockefeller bldg. 983 the arcade citizens sav. & trust co. 6541 euclid ave. 525 williamson bldg. 10308 euclid ave. lakeside ave. and marquette ave. 536 rose bldg. 913 williamson bldg. 3830 lakeside ave. 815 long ave. 1433 w. 9th 1433 leader-news bldg. lake shore banking and trust co. the brooks co. 2165 e. 31st st. 902 garfield bldg. 706 rose bldg. 11130 euclid ave. 11130 euclid ave. 1022 garfield bldg. 1012 new england bldg. the brooks co. a b 11th floor, marshall bldg. c 1016 euclid ave. 2130 superior ave. n. e. 1877 e. 75th 520 rose bldg 1203 citizens bldg. 900 schofield bldg. 950 leader-news bldg. 1146 euclid ave. 808 new england bldg. 2041 e. 3d cleveland trust co. 2344 e. 105th 1427-37 w. 6th st. 12th floor, leader-news bldg. 720 cuyahoga bldg. 720 cuyahoga bldg. garfield savings bank forest city rubber co. 1507 williamson bldg. 1900 euclid ave. cleveland trust co. 936 rose bldg. 423 schofield bldg. 154 built for born's steel the e best ranges uyers of a sign of merit the circle for continuous service and endless satisfaction. the triangle for the equally necessary qualities-strength or durability, simplicity or convenience, and saving or economy of time and fuel. the born steel range co. 2163 east ninth bell main 2037 melius c. collart james j. harmacek colart & harmacek tailors 302-304 hickox bldg. euclid ave. corner east ninth street cleveland, o. ask for continental paper towels the best for the price the globe paper co. the weideman co. } cleveland distributors continental paper bag co. whitehall building, new york city cleveland office, 1281 w. 9th st. pommery "sec" and brut" the standard for champagne quality made exclusively of the choicest grapes francis draz & co., 24 hudson st., n. y. sole agents for the united states. 155 what makes the hermits so frisky because they drink the best of whiskey termitage bourbon and hr ermitage rye bottled in bond as old as possible also a curiosity in old whiskey v.o. hermitage bottled out of bond at the distillery distilled by w. a. gaines & co. frankfort, ky. the largest distillers of old fashioned hand made sour mash whiskey in the world-and the best. 156 gould storage batteries for driving electric vehicles. for gould starting, lighting and ignition of gasoline cars storage battery|| vumu these batteries make friends unaided, but our service station also will help you get most from a gould battery investment. we believe in keeping close to our customers so that they will keep close to us. come in and have your battery inspected free, regardless of make. we want to explain what you would gain by getting gould hard-paste-composition plates when renewal gould plates fit jars of any make. time comes. gould storage battery co. 1761-5 e. 18th st., cleveland, ohio gen'l offices, new york city works, depew, n. y. the betz-pierce co. steels of quality" cleveland sixth city vgaagggggg55555 den hast fässerrers ha 157 hermit club members-continued daley, w. a. darling, perry j. dautel, carl davis, albert richard davis, albert reese davis, c. w. davis, edward lockwood dielhenn, c. a. dinsmore, r. a. donahey, j. h. dresser, forest j. duncan, w. m. dyer, j. milton ellenberger, a. w. enwright, r. c. ernst, walter m. evans, w. l. fehrenbach, joseph fenton, a. w. fleming, w. j. ford, c. b. ford, louis j. foster, james h. gage, benj. a. ganson, geo. h. gardner, bert m. gardner, guy s. gay, h. b. gilbert, edward g. gilchrist, albert j. gilchrist, joseph alexander gilchrist, john d. gilkey, w. s. gill, paul stanley gilpin, charles davys grace, frank h. green, frederick c. hamlin, e. b. hamilton, james harbaugh, f. c. hard, dudley j. harris, h. a. hart, ernest g. hart, geo. f. hartley, s. w. hasbrouck, n. b. henderson, j. r. 1138-58 w. 9th st. rockefeller bldg. 312 citizens bldg. 2034 euclid ave. 401 perry payne bldg. 401 perry payne bldg. davis-hunt-collister co. 1250 ontario st. 812 new england bldg. plain dealer building 815 superior ave. n. w. 1201 leader-news bldg. 825 cuyahoga bldg. 1854 scranton rd. n. w. guardian bldg. national carbon co. 849 leader-news bldg. ohio rubber co. 302 society for savings bldg. bourne-fuller co. 917 williamson bldg. electric welding products co. 3152 e. 61st st. 617 cuyahoga bldg. 509 cuyahoga bldg 915 citizens bldg. 579 the arcade 1219 citizens bldg. 911 williamson bldg. 1405 rockefeller bldg. columbia bldg. 856 rockefeller bldg. 1138 w. 9th 806 hippodrome bldg. wellman-seaver-morgan co. 10618 magnolia drive marshall bldg., 9th floor 413 williamson bldg. d 1002 garfield bldg. h 713 prospect ave. 8 st. clair ave. n. w. 5001 lexington ave. 550 e. 99th 322 euclid ave. standard welding co. 720 cuyahoga bldg. 411 electric bldg. 158 chi-name) the original hammer-proof chi-namel is the original varnish waterproof varnish. boiling water, hot plates, etc. do not discolor it. the namel chapin, trull & co. distillers of pure fire copper molasses rum no. 33 broad street boston "drink california california wine" g. a. bentz & company tailors 612 euclid avenue cleveland 159 the kirk-latty m'f'g. co. bolts manufacturers of nuts screws rods rivets and children's vehicles general offices and factory cleveland, ohio 160 the cuyahoga lumber co. arch c. klumph bonds exempt from u. s. income tax bonds free of all taxes in ohio c. e. denison & co. guardian building cleveland, o. right designing changes the expression of a man's clothes we specialize in expertly designing and faultlessly tailoring garments to accord with the fashionable modish requirements of discriminating dressers. the graham company at 9th and prospect you will know fels-naptha soap by the work and time it saves without boiling water 161 hermit club members-continued herriman, h. n. higgins, grover house, j. a. hubbard, sterling w. hughes, felix ingersoll, g. r. jackson, w. b. jamison, r. h. janes, julius f. kerr, c. v. king, h. w. kline, j. h. klumph, arch c. kraus, joseph r. kridler, george m. kroenke, alfred j. kurtz, h. b. lamprecht, w. h., 2nd landon, c. n. larner, chester w. laughlin, charles f. loomis, harry e. lundoff, c. w. lusk, milton w. mcallister, colin mcgowan, roland t. mccowatt, walter r. mcintosh, h. p., jr. mcloud, n. c. mcvey, c. y. macbain, d. r. maher, c. a. martin, earle e. marvin, f. r. mason, e. l. mathers, james mathews, herbert may, ole meade, frank b. merkel, arthur e. merrick, f. c. miller, john l., jr. morgan, a. h. morris, j. v. 862 rockefeller bldg. 12th floor, williamson bldg. h 322 euclid ave. 1314 rockefeller bldg. clarence bldg. lake shore & m. s. ry. 1014 w. 11th 1023 garfield bldg. 3311 w. 73d lennox bldg. osborne bldg. 579 the arcade 1948 carter rd. first national bank 502 b. of l. e. bldg. 1197 w. 67th st 1002 rose bldg. national refining co. 1429 schofield bldg. 7000 central ave. 219 williamson bldg. 5th floor, new england bldg. 1951 e. 57th st. 842 e. 79th st. 2165 e. 31st st. 2176 e. 76th st. 8304 brookline ave. 322 euclid ave. 1205 swetland bldg. the cuyahoga telephone co. 1921 east 97th st. 516 cuyahoga bldg. scripps-mcrae league, press bldg. 718 williamson bldg. cleveland trust co. 702 society for savings bldg. 912 williamson bldg. the cleveland leader 1002 garfield bldg. 702 engineers bldg. 1364 w. 3d st. 512 huron rd. w. j. morgan co. 26 wade bldg. j l m 162 every cleveland owner is a cleveland booster the cleveland folding machine will do more folding per hour, better folding, and a greater range of folding at less maintenance cost than any other machine made. strong claims, these, but proved daily by users of the cleveland, and they know. in the cleveland, no tapes, knives, cams or changeable gears are used in folding. installed on an unconditional guarantee of satisfaction the cleveland folding machine company cleveland, o. the cleveland home brewing co. announces that in connection with its brewery it has opened a modern bottling plant, and is ready to supply for family use its meister-brau and home beer of extra quality bell, east 34 cuy., cent. 4209 163 in the early times we had hermits but like the early times sour mash, kentucky whiskey of today---quite a difference from the old style. test the difference. m main 21 4 6 prompt delivery to all parts of the city and suburbs z just phone the yard nearest your home cent 4045 the zettelmeyer coal co. 164 the a. g. harbaugh company lubricants prospect building cleveland 165 hermit club members-continued murch, maynard h. murray, w. p. myers, louis e. nash, richard p. nash, thos. h. nash, w. f. newcomer, f. c. newcomer, harry w. nicholas, f. m. nichols, a. b. otis, arthur h. otis, charles a. palmer, w. p. perkins, roger griswold petrequin, e. a. pettee, h. f. pettit, james g. philpott, wm. b. pickard, j. w., jr. pollock, w. s. porter, f. s. powers, c. a. prescott, o. w. ranney, r. p. richards, f. b. rieley, óliver r. robbins, laurence s. rogers, arthur c. rogers, george m. rogers, j. e. rose b. h. royon, joseph c. runyon, walter c.. rust, john f. sawyer, leroy p. sayle, w. c. schaeffers, jos. schurch, john f. scofield, s. w. semon, paul o. sherwood, chas. f. shotter, arthur h. smith, arthur m. smith, c. h. smith, frank j. 1059 leader-news bldg. 600 western reserve bldg. m 12th floor, marshall bldg. the cleveland provision co. the cleveland provision co. 2527 canal rd. 1300 schofield bldg. 1300 schofield bldg. 8402 euclid ave. 25 wade bldg. 903 rockefeller bldg. 215 cuyahoga bldg. western reserve bldg. western reserve medical school 1250 w. 3d st. south euclid, o., r. f. d. no. 2 9th floor, marshall bldg. standard oil co. 808 new england bldg. the weideman co. 1016 citizens bldg. martien electric co. 2106 w. 3d st. 1016 citizens bldg. 617 perry payne bldg. 348 the arcade 1101 power ave. citizens bldg. plain dealer 1936 e. 6th st. 748 rockefeller bldg. 1507 williamson bldg. 1316 citizens bldg. 904 citizens bldg. 823 illuminating bldg. 2102 e. 100th st. 1276 w. 3d st. cleveland athletic club 1400 schofield bldg. 1406 w. 9th st. 1616 w. 3d st. 826 columbia bldg. 1900 euclid ave. 13901 shaw place, e. cleveland otis and co., cuyahoga bldg. n 0 p r s 166 celestins vichy alkaline water natural bottled at the springs de la source est sur la c etablissement thermal vichy propriete de letat ask your physician celestins not genuine without the word celestins for repairs or new fenders, hoods, gasoline tanks, underbonnets and other auto sheet metal parts bring your machine to the bunn-hutchinson co. 2076 east 22nd street between prospect & cedar bell phone, prospect 317 we also repair lamps and radiators = 167 the osborn manufacturing co. cleveland hardware specialties brushes & brooms foundry supplies the whiskey supreme! careful selection of only the finest rye, pure mountain spring water and perfect distilling have earned that title for old farm whiskey "it hits the spot" aged in charred oak barrels and bottled in bond. a delightful bouquet and a rich, palatable flavor appealing to those who appreciate good whiskey. ask-yes, insist on old farm at any good bar or cafe. west overton distilling co., f. d. watts, pres. doan 314 w. prin. 1426 w. scottdale, pa. h. l. keiser, treas. prin. 1665 k. the f. d. watts company plain and ornamental plastering contractors builders exchange cleveland pittsburgh plate glass co. glass mirrors paints varnishes brushes 3849-3869 hamilton ave. 168 business founded 1865. manufacture of these bitters begun 1872. c w. abbott & co established 1876 incorporated 1907. trade emblem copyrighted 1899. abbott's bitters best for cocktails. adds zest and bouquet to wine, spirit and soda beverages. abbott's bitters, (on the market over 40 years) besides being the best aromatic flavoring for all mixes, requiring an aromatic aroma, it is also a fine addition to: grapefruit. use teaspoonful or more to half grapefruit.-add sugar to suit. oranges, sliced or minced. few dashes to each portion before adding the sugar. a sherbet. to each pint of lemonade add teaspoonful before freezing. vanilla ice cream. put few dashes in the dish or glass before serving, gives a delightful aroma. iced tea. in large glass 4 filled with cracked ice, squeeze half lemon, teaspoonful of abbott's bitters, fill glass with tea, sweeten to suit. it wins favor by its flavor-try a bottle at home for sale at wine merchants, grocers and druggists 169 hermit club members-continued smythe, a. b. snider, h. m. somers, c. w. spencer, r. s. stage, chas. w. stamp, c. e. stockwell, john n., jr. strong, s. e. thompson, c. e. tucker, b. c. valentine, harry r. valentine, richard f. van blarcom, conant van sweringen, m. j. van sweringen, o. p. walker, f. r. wallace, r. b. wareing, wm. a. wasser, geo. n. welch, henry j. white, philip t. wilson, frank h. wilson, harwood wise, c. c. witt, john p. worden, arthur morley cleveland trust co. 911 swetland bldg. s 521 cuyahoga bldg. iceless refrigeration co., e. 152d st. city hall citizens bldg. 305 city hall strong-cobb co. electric welding products co. 1060 rockefeller bldg. b. dreher sons co. mechanical rubber co. 917 illuminating bldg. 12th floor, marshall bldg. 12th floor marshall bldg. 1900 euclid ave. american ship building co. 1954 e. 73d st. 1102 new england bldg. sterling welch co. bond dept., cleveland trust co. l. s. & m. s. ry. co., general office 1314 rockefeller bldg. 904 broadway lake shore electric ry. 812 citzens bldg. t v w 170 the exline co.. x the beer of cleveland › special brew leisy's "specially made for a critical trade" order a case 1 171 telephone, main 434 the mulcahy-nelson company makers of high-class garments for men $40.00 to $55.00 300-302-304 schofield bldg. angostura தம்ப bitters celebrated appetizer of exquisite flavor dr. siegert's the only genuine beware of substitutes originated 1824 172 importing ailors the w. h. coffee company tailors hippodrome building ! 173 junior members carleton, geo. m. clark, fred george emery, fred h. gaines, harold e. 1886 carter rd. 1087 w. 11th st. guardian bldg. 1059 leader-news bldg. 8205 euclid ave. cleveland trust co. american multigraph sales co. union light & sup. co., 50 church st., n. y. city hayes, warwick j. hobson, f. h. kwis, clye h. kyhne, carl c. leach, wm. m. markle, geo. b. morgan, lewis s. neale, h. h. pickerell, gordon c. rudolf, r. c. smith, harold m. teare, halsey j. tewksbury, bayard walters, homer wieber, chas. l. f., jr. zurlinden, cyril p. ade, george non-resident baker, f. s. bates, geo. d. beebe, r. w. blood, john w. boynton, a. j. bowman, w. p. boynton, f. l. braggins, f. w. bruner, c. t. cady, edwin h. call, d. w. campbell, e. t. carle, richard castle, charles c. condit, e. a., jr. connell, frank connelly, e. k. curtiss, j. s. day, wm. l. denny, c. e. ely, r. w. eppley, e. c. fitzgerald, j. m. graham, chas. j. greene, frank h. griess, justin, jr. hall, g. abel greene, william e. 1451 newton ave. 2063 e. 4th st. 701 columbia bldg. 808 park bldg. 736 orinoco 1081 w. 11th st. 495 e. 115th st. 1918 carter rd. 1868 e. 82d st. 1580 e. 93d st. rauch & lang carriage co. guardian trust co. members brook, ind. tacoma tribune, tacoma, wash. second nat. bank, akron, o. second nat. bank bldg, akron, o. 225 fifth ave., new york city 117 liberty st., new york city elyria, o. 1902 e. 89th, city lorain coal & dock co., columbus, akron, o. guardian trust and savings bank, toledo, o. 30 church st., new york city 1302 transportation bldg., chicago, ill. friars club, new york city 165 broadway, new york city 2348 oliver bldg., pittsburgh, pa. erie, pa. agt. p. & l. e. r. r., pittsburgh, pa. box 444, erie, pa. leader bldg., city 1211 la salle st. station, chicago 135 w. washington, germantown, pa. lima house, lima, o. v. p. western maryland r. r., baltimore graham nut co., pittsburgh, pa. 30 church st., new york city boston belting co., 100 reade st., n. y. city bedford, o. 93 pearl st., boston, mass. 174 lab mc mullen's white label wwwww bass guinness extra foreign and extra ale stout pints and splits gate du attention is called to the well known brand of gold seal gold special seal gold seal special dry. urbana nine company urbanaty gold seal champagne the leading american wine pronounced by connoisseurs to be superior to any wine on the market. in evidence at all social functions, and served at all leading clubs and cafes. try it and be convinced urbana wine company urbana, new york 175 william krause & son costumers theatrical and masquerade costumes for sale or rent theatrical costumes made to order 2042 east 4th street carnival building both phones opp. opera house cleveland, ohio motor accessories company w. a. harshaw, manager 6521 euclid avenue cleveland, ohio the best of everything for your car braender and overman tires and tubes buy gilka kümmel the delightful cordial that stimulates digestion and pleases the palate beware of imitations see al. j. merki for the best printers rollers bell phone south 204-l cleveland 176 topmost tire quality greatest possible mileage-service—is the marathon goal. and to give it, we build the topmost quality—unlimited by cost or by our profit. we give the most possible. this waysea island cotton, the costliest and best. no other or no cheaper kind-is used. and we use more plies and use the finest rubber. hand built: expert tire men build marathons by hand-very slowly. that cuts our profit, but it insures perfect construction. heaped-up tread: note how we concentrate the tread. we put the rubber where the wear comes. that's an exclusive marathon feature and increases wear efficiency. one cure in open steam: by our special wrapped tread process gives unitized construction; makes all parts one. 4,000 miles: every marathon is factory-insured 4,000 miles-and adjustment is made on that basis. but the average service is far above 4,000. the tire proves these facts. go see it at strong, carlisle & hammond co. 1394 w. 3rd st. cleveland, ohio the marathon tire & rubber co. cuyahoga falls, ohio speed marathon end 177 non-resident members-continued hammar, harry c. hannaford, albert m. hungate, wilson hunt, edward m. huntley, f. p. ingalls, f. a. jackson, john jewett, john e. ketchum, frederick h. klumph, m. p. ladd, geo. t. lanahan, frank j. mccormick, douglas mcmahon, h. r. mcmasters, h. w. marks, arthur h. metcalf, c. s. miller, w. s. myers, h. e. odell, clarence p. pettingill, g. b. rawlings, ralph reeve, h. l. richardson, e. m. ricker, wm. w. robbins, sabin, jr. schmock, e. l. stair, j. f. taggart, f. f. terrell, h. m. terry, will a turner, l. h. van orman, fred h. viall, philip o. wagenhorst, j. h. wasey, louis r. wellman, marshall d. whitmer, hubert k. wickham, ben b. wieman, wiliam wilson, j. robert painesville, o. elyria, o. 575 5th ave., new york city american mechanic bldg., trenton, n. j. 30 e. 42d st., new york ingalls shepard forging co., harvey ill. 1956 e. 83d st. 27 chandler st., buffalo, n. y. 27 no. 17th, east orange, n. j. 640 prospect ave., city 1620 farmers bank bldg., pittsburgh, pa. ft. pitt malleable iron co., pittsburgh, pa. 8 e. broad st., columbus, o. oliver. bldg., pittsburgh, pa. 302 1259 leader-news bldg. 45 arch ave., akron, o. 508 city hall, city elyria, o. 720 cuyahoga bldg. 70 broad st., new york city willoughby, o. lansing, mich. 174 e. 70th, new york city 116 w. 32d, new york city 140 cedar st., new york city sabine robbins paper co., middletown, o. willoughby, o. 10406 euclid ave. massillon, o. 713 garfield bldg. room 1226 la salle st. station, chicago, ill. p. & l. e. r. r., pittsburgh, pa. st. george hotel, evansville, ind. painesville, o. second nat. bank bldg., akron, o. lord & thomas mallers, chicago, ill. willoughby, o. 610 ashland ave., buffalo, n. y. 917 williamson bldg. 1407 oliver bldg., pittsburgh, pa. ampere, n. j. honorary members johnston, james d. zamescnik, john s. keller, henry g. 1913 east 86th st. 1430 west 84th st. 1381 addison road 178 meadville rye "puryo" a pure rye 1907 made ring whiskey distilled from choice rye and malt -no corn. exceptional medicinal value bottled in bond 1903 100 meadville pure rye whiskey bottled in bond mu bernsyanania distill distille eadville, berna try a bottle and note the richness and flavor. if too strong, use less whiskey or more water under u. s. government supervision the republic structural iron works company floor and sidewalk lights structural and ornamental iron work reinforcing bars carried in stock lakeside avenue and east 53rd street cleveland, ohio 179 casualty company of america home office, new york city main 3915 workmen's compensation, automobile and teams policies, accident and health insurance and surety bonds. chas. m. mattingly 433 williamson building ford, snyder & tilden general counsel why tolerate a nuisance, when we have cleared hundreds of buildings of rats, mice, roaches, bed bugs and moths and can do the same for you. work guaranteed; no obligation on your part to have us call and explain our method. speed's rat exterminator co. 3404 saratoga ave., s. w. bell phone south 836-j cleveland, ohio. 180 the f. a. pease engineering company civil and consulting engineers municipal improvements electric railways subdivisions surveys designers and constructing engineers for maple leaf subdivisions, gates mills, oakwoodon-the lake, rocky river, mcclellan heights, davenport, ia., forest hill allotment, shaker heights subdivisions, and other high grade property. municipal engineers for cleveland heights village, city of east cleveland, euclid village, east view village, idlewood village. surveys-plans-estimates and reports upon railway projects 802-810 marshall building 181 the hermit club in memoriam h. v. wyman charles h. wellman a. l. rogers t. r. morgan l. w. prior f. h. reeves mortimer w. lawrence george j. bradley william h. teare kenneth c. bolton john f. kilfoyl william b. whiting frank b. wolcott b. k. canfield clifford j. king charles w. hinkley james p. mullin 182 "the society wine" pol roger & co. dry special brut special vintage 1906 brut special vintage 1904 on sale at the leading hotels, restaurants, clubs and wine merchants anthony oechs & co. 51 warren street new york city sole agents for the united states anything electrical anywhere, any time bell phone g. w. malone contractor cleveland the korner & wood co. books, stationery, pictures 183 high & dry gin the best london dry gin made and bottled in london by booths distillery, ltd. established 1740 purveyors, by royal warrant of appointment, to his majesty king george v. 2041 east 3rd street next to the hermit club house the eclipse hl cleve cleveland co. electrompe pe & engraving 184 • its a steinway" pianos pianola-pianos victrolas everything in victor records and player-piano music rolls the b. dreher's sons co. 1028-1030 euclid ave. e. e. teare f. p. potter potter, teare & co. wholesale retail lumber 1918 carter road cleveland, ohio મૈં 185 handy guide to foreign travel by nobody holmes illustrations by the author introduction some people think that all the preparation necessary for a trip abroad is to procure a stout umbrella to be used as a weapon of defence, and take a shower of money, but not so, feargus, travelling in furrin parts is a wild and fearsome adventure, similar to a trip to akron on the b. & o., and needs careful thought and preparation as to the quantity of socks to be taken and the correct amount to tip one's hat to the sommelier and other guardians of the paix. and when the author stops to consider the class of people this book is likely to reach he begs to call particular attention to the chapters on proper costumes for every occasion and deportment on deck. a knowledge of history, a smattering of some foreign tongue, a receptive mind and temperate habits all add to the pleasure of one's companions, but they, of course, may be left to the individual taste of the traveller. assuming, therefore, that the readers of this book will have none of these little frills, the author submits this here guide, r. r. time-table and ad for smart shops and hotels, and hopes that its advice and suggestions will be useful. don't go at all. a few don'ts don't lose your nerve in the presence of cabmen, waiters and other royalties. don't over-tip-remember that ten cents is a million dollars. don't drink water-they keep it polluted on purpose-buy wine. don't think you should worry if the captain says the ship is sinking-it doesn't belong to you. don't tell a beggar you will give him something on your return— they lose a good deal of money giving credit in that way. funds it will be found almost necessary to carry a little pin money or loose change concealed about the person. the exact amount may be determined before leaving and depends on whether one is going to travel with a cook's tour or go on one's own hook. a careful perusal of the prospectuses would indicate that one can travel with a personally conducted tour at practically no expense at all, but some people do not believe this and prefer to choose their own trees to sleep in; in which case the daily expenses may run as high as 6000 yen or $2.80 per day. letters of credit are issued by drug stores to some people, those with money to pay for them being preferred. they are a very handy way to lose money in large quantities. american express checks are a convenient way to carry funds. they are issued in amounts of 25, 50, 75 or $1.00, and 186 "nobby tread" tires are now sold under our regular warranty-perfect workmanship and material-but any adjustment is on a basis of 5,000 miles "nobby tread" tires are the largest selling highgrade anti-skid tires in the world. united states tire company "canadian club” whiskey distilled and bottled by hiram walker & sons, limited walkerville, ont., canada 187 the euclid stag buffet 742 euclid avenue cleveland, o. the koblitz plumbing and heating company the s geo a.dickel&co. cascade distillery old fashn sour mash mellow as moonlight cascade pure whisky ewa dickela cascad cistillers geo a.dickel&co cascade distillery old fashn sour mash distilled under our original process and private formula whisky aged in wood old.a. dichel&co nashville.tenn whisky original bottling has old gold label geo.a.dickel & co.distillers nashville tenn. distilled under our original process and private formula whisky aged in woo0 stern, surranted teddele old a dickel & co nashville tenn 188 interest begins any day you deposit savings at lake shore bank and subject to regulations is paid to the day you withdraw 4% st. clair ave. and 55th st. prospect ave. and huron rd. superior ave. and addison rd. the hollenden 189 are useful when starting something after the bank is closed or on sundays where there is no blind beggar to rob. the traveller will hardly ever find himself in this predicament, however. all real money should be carried in a chamois pocket, which can be worn down the neck or sewed to the lining of the pantaloon. this may be a trifle inconvenient but in fishing around for a kopec or two one can remember with satisfaction that it is just as troublesome to a pickpocket as yourself. experienced travellers often carry a little confederate or mexican money in a handy place. when robbed of this one can enjoy a hearty laugh at the discomfiture of the thief. clothes an excellent system, strongly recommended by the author, is not to carry luggage but to throw things away after they have been worn a week or two and buy new. in this way one's things are almost always fresh, whether they fit or not. care must be taken not to forget and throw one's things away on sunday, in which case it is necessary to send someone from the hotel to replenish one's wardrobe. for those who wish to appear affluent, a number of boxes may be taken for the collection of foreign labels. room not taken up by clothes may be filled with hay. toilet articles, spare jewelry, guide books, left-over fruit and clothes for the laundry may be carried in an ordinary market basket which may be slung from the shoulder by a heavy rope. this leaves the hands free for wraps, umbrellas, lunch and poking people out of the way. life on shipboard on going on shipboard it is best to find the bath steward immediately and cross his palm with silver. in this case he may let you have a bath if you want one. this of course depends on the newness and style of your bath robe. next the deck steward should be sought out and his palm crossed with gold. if you have given him more than anybody else he may put your chair in a good sheltered place where people won't step on your feet when you are trying to sleep. then find the table steward and give him the balance of your money. if he has slept well he will assign you seats near the entrance where a hasty exit can be made when necessary, otherwise he may put you near the kitchen door. these seats are interesting, however; waiters bringing in soup on rough days give a delightful imitation of the fountains at versailles. if you have a particularly good box of cigars with you, present it to the captain and request him not to wreck the ship unless your_mother-in-law is along, in which case you won't care. the week on shipboard will pass all too quickly unless it is rough and one is troubled with mal demer. excellent remedies for this are putting cotton in one's ears, repeating the lord's prayer backwards. wearing a mustard plaster where it will do the most good, and swearing; but if these are not sufficient it is wise to retire to one's berth and yell for help. pleasant days may be spent on deck, gossiping about fellow passengers, playing anagrams and backgammon, and watching the porpoises. other interesting amusements are eating, watching 190 berblain toy the club cocktails the club trade mark manhattan cocktails prepared & bottled by g. feublein & bro new york hartford london will you have a cocktail before your dinner? you can offer this polite attention to the guest who dines with you at your home if you have a bottle of the club cocktails. they are home cocktails. they are on the sideboards of thousands of homes. are they on yours? it's the proper thing to have. the age of the club cocktails, the pure liquors used, the perfect blending, make them better than you can mix; once serve them and you will make a reputation as a cocktail mixer, and your guests will wonder how learned the art. you thousands are doing it. why not you? for sale by all fancy grocers and dealers g. f. heublein & bro. hartford new york london johns-manville service covers the continent the caldwell piano co. cleveland's complete piano house pianos, player-pianos, victrolas e. 9th street prospect ave. huron road 191 the artists' mason & hamlin piano on account of its great depth, brilliancy, purity, vitality and singing quality of tone, the mason & hamlin piano is used and endorsed by the world's greatest artists as well as by many of our own local artists and musical clubs. we are pleased to refer you to wilson g. smith, j. r. hall, chas. heydler, c. e. clemens, carl riemenschneider, wm. saul, wm. fredricks, chas. deharrack, edward krejsa, the fortnightly club, singers club, hermit club and rubenstein club. the mason & hamlin piano is the last word in modern, up-to-date, artistic piano production. exclusive agents: the j. t. wamelink & sons piano company 56 years in business 1242 huron road junction euclid ave. a. teachout sash doors glass mantels frames finish porch and stairwork cleveland, ohio. main stores, 321-331 w. prospect mantel dep't, 2129 e. prospect east end branch, 11718-22 euclid 192 pedigreed english oak m b. when you select our english brown oak for interior finish you can nearly always get an authentic history that adds to its interest. for example: some english brown oak we now have for sale was cut on the duke of portland's estate of welbeck abbey, which is said to contain all that is left of sherwood forest -famed in legend as the haunt of robin hood. come down to our mill, make your own selection, and learn its history. the martin-barriss co. hardwood lumber 2048 west 3d street cleveland b. g. tremaine, prest. f. b. evarts, v. prest. p. w. flicker, sec'y & treas. the evarts-tremaine-flicker co. fidelity and surety bonds fire, life and casualty insurance and real estate telephones bell, main 2183 cuy., central 1934 williamson bldg. cleveland, o. douane 田 ​swh somebody fall overboard and get drowned, throwing overdue fruit at the steerage passengers and betting on coon up or down. these may be varied by stretching a rope across the deck and taking turns at tripping up cripples. this causes much merriment and promotes a feeling of companionship. don't fail to take with you a box of candy to present to the prettiest girl on board, and a kodak to take pictures of retiring or indisposed passengers. crack jokes. introduce yourself to everybody and introduce other people, you will soon find that people will begin to take notice of you, and it will add greatly to the pleasure of your voyage, if you live. eat all you can, it is free, and you will find it more economical in case you make yourself so sick you can't eat for a week after you land. the custom of giving tips is no longer considered in good taste. some try to do it on the sly, but these are invariably the vulgar rich. the stewards seem determined to stamp out this practice and offenders are reported to the captain and cast into irons or thrown overboard. the worst offenders are saved until a school of sharks is neared. this makes an interesting sight, particularly if the traveller is on his maiden voyage. of course the distribution of five dollar bills is countenanced as you near liverpill but one should not try to give to every member of the crew. some of the large liners carry a crew of 1000 and you will find that only about two or three hundred have been able to notice you at all. most of these will be waiting at the gang plank or on the dock, but some, more diffident by nature, will have to be dragged out of the coal hole to receive their money. it is a kind act, and relieves embarrassment, when pressing greenbacks upon them, to say that it is a little contribution to the seamen's aid society, and request them to forward it for you. the customs of the country the customs department is maintained to furnish employment to a lot of fussy individuals and thereby prevent their becoming lawyers, insurance men, etc.; that is to say, it collects most of the pests in one place, where they only annoy the foreigner, which is as it should be. on approaching the frontier the trunks are taken from the train and wheeled into the douane or dogonit. before entering, kiss your family or friends all around in case you have any intention of doing so during the remainder of the day, as you may not want to afterwards, if you are at all inclined to be moody. enter the custom house with a gay and confident manner, approach the official with the most feathers or whiskers, and help him open your luggage and stir up your clothes. it is an amusing game sometimes to see who can paw over them the most, and if one seizes a broom handle or pickaxe the victory is soon won. only those who have done so can understand with what relish this game can be played when the trunk belongs to your mother-in-law. sometimes even these little formalities are done away, and if it is a hot day the boxes are wheeled through the douane and put back on the train without looking. in this case the officials expect something, so bestow a couple of swift kicks on the smallest one and hurry away from there. 193 194 four features found in no-rim-cut tires alone other tires-all of them-lack the four goodyear features. and these are the four major factors in tire mileage. our no-rim-cut feature, which completely ends rimcutting. no other satisfactory method is known. our "on-air" cure, which saves the blowouts due to wrinkled fabric. this one extra process adds to our tire cost $450,000 yearly. our rubber rivets, of which we form hundreds in every tire-during vulcanization-to combat loose threads. our all-weather tread-tough, double-thick and enduring. as smooth riding as a plain tread, yet grasping wet roads with sharp, resistless grips. thus your four greatest tire troubles are met in these tires, in costly ways employed by no other maker. (trade mark) the goodyear tire & rubber co. akron, ohio only the choicest fresh green vegetables, salt, granulated sugar and pure water used in the production of fuller's canned fresh vegetables sanitary healthful nutritious the fuller canneries co. south dayton, n. y. · and · cleveland, ohio 195 the petrequin paper company wholesale dealers. all grades of paper 1250 west third street cleveland this program is printed on our hermit india tint plate finish book. cover stock white congress, single thick 196 hudson six-40 $1750 f. o. b. detroit the hudson leads all other "sixes" the strongest advocates of the fours admit that the sixes lead. and the hudson stands head and shoulders above all other sixes. the highest recommendation a salesman for other sixes knows is: "it's as good as a hudson." the hudson six is the standard by which other makers measure their motors, their body designs, their prices. the hudson first choice if price, and old car allowance, and other conditions were equal, every buyer would choose a hudson six. the hudson is always the first choice. if we would sell a hudson at a "cut price"; or if we offered a big "trading value" for an old car; or if we "threw in" a lot of extra equipment, every man who enters our showrooms would take the hudson. come, see these modern motor cars. drive a hudson six and learn why the hudson leads. we'll allow you full market value for your old car if you have one. we will give you an entirely new meaning of motor-car satisfaction. joseph h. greenwald distributor 6504 euclid ave. east 2580 197 hand luggage in your compartment is not subjected to as rigorous an examination as this. take a pack of fatima cigarettes to smoke so the officials will not linger any longer than they can help. when they approach one will tip his hat and say politely, "allerverdamtiger, by yiminy, was makst du hier already?" you must shake your head and answer "nix," and at this they will know you are a foreigner and traveling for pleasure, and have no opium or foodstuffs concealed between your shirts. some countries prohibit the importation of matches and liquor but trouble may be avoided by confining your travels to siberia or patagonia where there are no such absurd restrictions. dogs are not permitted to be taken into england. it therefore behooves the traveller to look as human as possible, unless one is provided with a pass sport or pedigree. the author remembers with chagrin spending six months in the pound on the occasion of his first visit. museums it will be found necessary to visit a number of galleries and cathedrals in order to tell people that you have been there. in case the traveller is in the butcher business and accustomed to refrigerators, he may enjoy the experience, otherwise he had better wear his ear muffs and hurry it up. always engage the services of a guide, if possible. choose him for his speed. find out what his previous record is, and offer him an extra pourboire if he beats it. if he stops to describe anything in his native tongue do not pay any attention to him as he may be wrong anyway, but wag your head knowingly and point to the next room. cathedrals are dangerous to visit during union hours on account of reconstruction going on. they are covered with scaffolding both inside and out and there is much danger from falling mortar and brick, to say nothing of the noise. it is best to take one's position at the door, just inside the beggar belt, and observe from there, but do not risk your life to get a nearer view of a pink or blue plaster statue of st. swithin. you may not like it, anyway. the exterior architecture is sometimes very beautiful, and may be best observed from a nearby sidewalk cafe. in visiting museums wear your heaviest clothes and take an umbrella to poke at things. always carry a lantern as the rooms are very dark except during the lunch hour, when you are not there. in some you will find opportunities to pick up souvenirs which may be carried away in the pocket or kodac case. uninformed attendants are provided to help you carry out larger articles such as statues or stone settees. in case you do not like the atmosphere, smoke your pipe; you will find statuary conveniently provided for you to scratch matches on. galleries are annoyingly numerous, but cannot be avoided; visit them the first thing in the morning and get it over with so that you will have the entire day to look in shop windows and explore rathkellers. take either one of your guide books and a pencil, stand in front of the largest picture in each room and exhale three or four times, but not too quietly, so people may know you are an art lover. in case your guide book happens to be for that particular gallery, do 198 6% with unquestionable safety t is hard to conceive a better investment it than that afforded by first-mortgage bonds on sixth city business-property-six per cent with safety. you are familiar with the security. it needs no recommendation. invest $100, $500, $1000 or more. partial payments if you choose. the tillotson & wolcott company investment-bonds-ohio license no. 1 guardian building the same old johnnie walker in the new non-refillable bottle cleveland น 199 not pay any attention to the pictures not marked with a star. that would be a fox pass. these will be old masters, mostly dingy and uninteresting, so you can check them off with your pencil and get through very quickly. nice prints of them can be obtained from the sunday supplements, but it is best to buy postal cards everywhere you go. post card collections are very nice to have, although not of the slightest interest to anybody, but will be found handy to get rid of undesirable guests who have come to spend the evening. hotels hotels are mostly delightful in case you do not want the best rooms nor object to paying twice the usual tariff. on arriving at a town you will find a great many busses backed up at the station platform and you will be surrounded by a horde of porters who are willing to assume the responsibility of taking charge of your luggage. do not show any preference, you may offend someone, but wait until the fight is over, when the largest porter will be seen to have possession of any of your luggage that is worth saving. he will bear you off in triumph and pack you away in the bus with the remains of your things planted on your feet and you will be driven to the hotel which is usually right next door. in europe it is no crime to live next to the r. r. station, the principal hotel, the museum and noodle works will usually be found close by. this makes it handy for travellers who are only staying in town for lunch. at least thirty servants will be lined up to receive you in style; in case there are not this many send in for them; you will notice, however, that they will all be present when you escape. the concierge, a large man far gone in whiskers and brass buttons, will size up your luggage and decide what room you are to have. it is best to show dissatisfaction and ask to see others, whereupon you will be shown several inside rooms in the basement. then you can take the one originally allotted you with a feeling that you have shown them that you are a particular guest. they may consider you a nuisance and not hound you with attention which will add to the comfort of your stay. some hotels advertise a lift or ascenseur if the proprietor has a sense of humor, but do not risk your life by taking it in case you happen to be around at the time of its daily trip. you will be shown to your room up and down many flights of stairs and through long dark passages. carry a piece of chalk in your pocket and blaze a trail so you can find your way out again. do not be annoyed at the specimens of furniture in your room; they will either be dilapidated or of the early north german lloyd period, or else elaborate and massive or the late pullman style. it will undoubtedly be carven, probably done by some local wood pecker. get the idea that things are quaint and test them before using and if your bed does not collapse you will find it quite comfortable, unless you have the misfortune to be in germany in cold weather. for coverings on your bed they will give you a mammoth feather pillow three feet thick and weighing a ton. this will keep you plenty warm enough except your shoulders and most of your legs, unless 200 w. h. temblett landscape architect and forester 163 hower avenue east cleveland tel. eddy 773 the louis klein cigar co. handlers of quality cigars extraordinary values new sizes-additional brands six retail stores headquarters c. a. c. bldg., 1120 euclid ave. north 1480 cent. 420 201 the coolest room in the city basement euclid arcade ventilation, service and equipment that is perfect the euclid arcade billiard and bowling parlors 38 tables 15 alleys palation cigar stand and cafe in connection baseball headquarters f. g. smith, manager 202 we e originated the tango shoe tango shoes or slippers made by hand to your measurements. we specialize in shoes for fallen arches. examination without obligation. the boyd & dean company 1276 euclid avenue h. g. dean, orthopedic shoe expert the best of everything in hardware the iste davis-hunt-collister company ontario and prospect avenue cleveland, ohio ૧ otes or omen 203 you curl up under it like a doughnut, in which case you will find your self squashed out perfectly flat by morning. this treatment will be found quite beneficial by those of the elephant brand. some hotels advertise central heating, which means a base burner in the office, but the traveller must beware of a hotel that claims to have any heat at all, as you can tell right at the start that the proprietor is dishonest. for amusement on a rainy day get your laundry out and try to list the various articles on the printed slip they will give you. after you have tried this for a while get a menu or a wine card and see if you can check your things off on either of them. offer a prize to any member of your party who will find a place to list anything. breakfast will of course be served in your room. order it the minute you are up so that your chances of getting it during the morning will be better. sometimes the service is quite prompt and then you can hide in the closet or under the bed while the waiter brings it in. this will give him an opportunity to select any articles of jewelry he may fancy. the continental breakfast consists of a cup of coffee that you can't drink and a couple of yesterday's rolls. if our traveller relishes something a little more hearty he may order eggs or strained honey, but do not order eggs in italy unless you are looking for weird experiences. luncheon and dinner will be served table d'hote, and it is best to take it for many reasons, principally because you can preserve your self-respect with the waiter. anyone ordering a special dinner gets exactly the same things under assumed names at six times the usual price. you will find the food quite good unless you get tired of having the same things every day. în case you want variety change your hotel. notify everybody in the hotel at least a day before leaving, and you will find that quite a nice little demonstration will be arranged for you, particularly if you haven't tipped more than generously. to avoid ill feeling and to promote respect for the american traveller take a handful of coins and give to everyone near the door, including some of the guests to make sure. they will not resent it but will undoubtedly laugh it off as an eccentricity. if you are out of change at any time, hang around the hotel door yourself and get in the way and glare at unprotected females and you will find that you will get quite a nice little collection of coins in a short time. one redeeming feature of the tipping custom (perhaps the only one) is that you will be getting rid of a whole lot of counterfeit coins that have been passed on you. do not be discouraged after reading these notes and decide not to go because you will be more comfortable at home. every traveller knows that, but go anyway and find out for yourself. the hardships of european travel will not be nearly as great as a polar expedition or african exploration, but rank only in third place, tied with mining in mexico during war times. train your sense of humor on everything and do not commence to swear until you are home again, when it will be found that you will not care to curse queer european customs, you will be kept quite busy with some of our own methods. 204 builders exchange cleveland the builders exchange comprising four hundred contracting firms and dealers in material headquarters for the building industry of cleveland offices and exhibition rooms third floor, chamber of commerce building visitors welcome 205 pine. wate (by (jiminy if there haint one over yonder too tot otis raiser of fancy hogs indoor sports chas. a. otis, jr. 206 the clarence h. collings company tiles, mantels brasses fine marbles lighting fixtures and bronzes 4404-4408 euclid avenue la lita cigars will suit the most critical havana smoker. 23 sizes the fred g. gollmar cigar co. 163 arcade 24 arcade rathskeller 207 good! better! best! thenwiltshire! hams, bacon, lard ask your dealer for them cleveland provision co. 208 webster put the "loose" in re-cloose to the tune of a vienna roll now old danny webster had something quite loose, when he said a hermit was but a "re-cluse." we think that's untrue-yes, decidedly wrong, for everyone knows of their jests and their song. like hermits of old, who were good and were true, our sturdy, strong korelock doors beckon to you. to consider not only their joints and their cores, but other parts better than most veneered doors. it's high time you visited us while singing the praises of hermits and doors of "rotary" veneers and of "dovetailed" cores you must not overlook our other good linesthe chests made of cedar and doors built of pine. chesty people never overlook our goods our millwork department is now at its best to offer its service along with the rest. mechanics, material, equipment all good prepared to make anything fashioned of wood. it's plane-we're on the job fine porch-work and stair-work and upson board, too, and certain-teed roofing that makes roofs like new. and good kitchen cabinets here you can buyour prices are low though our quality's high. our goods and prices are on the square although we are modest and care not to boast we claim that a dollar from us will buy most. and though you may travel for many a mile you can't miss it far if you give us a trial. "bill green'' buys a lot from us the ohio sash & door company office and salesrooms, 703-821 canal rd. cleveland 209 gates mill is certainly some place for scenery דו ח whoa indoor sports s. e. strong རུ་ 210 the news is making the fastest advance in the ohio field of evening newspapers by virtue of its unexcelled news service, (the news is the only cleveland evening paper with associated press service) its many exclusive features and its straightforward, fearless policy. ohio's greatest evening newspaper the news 211 oh! mr.chandler why didn't you try: for the castle's cup indoor sports john c. chandler 212 one of detroit's beautiful homes equipped with the mouat vapor heating system the mouat-squires company cleveland 213 the cleveland society for the blind 612 st. clair ave. main 1918 solicits your patronage for brooms order house brooms through the chandler and rudd co. order shop and warehouse brooms direct from the office of the society. for piano-tuning tuners supplied on short notice through the society's office. for weaving your rags will be called for and your rugs delivered. beautiful woven rugs made to match any color scheme. for sewed, knitted and crocheted articles made by the blind women in their own homes. for sale through the courtesy of the higbee co. for chair-caning blind caners do excellent work in their homes. call the society's office for information. 214 compliments of the standard brewing company bats atsaps & abs apsaus apsausapsansansansansansansansansa sa sansa salsatsatsansansansansansansansansats also 33 ansats als absalsalsapsansa sa satsansa sa sansa sausa sausaus aus 215 how do doo! lake shore bank and trust co. the glad hand wallie's getting fat indoor sports walter s. bowler money to oa 216 dunlap hats christy hats scott hats these and other lines for which we are the exclusive distributors in cleveland, go to make up a showing of the best hat products of america and the european countries. "the home of good clothes" bennet & fish 301-303-305 euclid ave. a soda fountain in your home we are prepared to deliver to any home in cleveland any of the following beverages that have proven so popular at our stores: ginger ale lemon phosphate root beer orange phosphate they are identical with the goods served at our fountains and make a delicious table drink-the kind that have made the standard famous-put up in a case of two dozen bottles at $2.00, half of which will be refunded when empty bottles and case are returned, making the net cost just $1.00 for 24 bottles delivered. order a case by phone at our wholesale department or at any of our eleven stores. the standard drug company cor. e. 9th and bolivar road bell phone, main 5930 cuy. phone, erie 10 217 7 it's no trick at all when you know how ball zing! real testai coal busy c ball club moses indoor sports chas. w. somers ατα βου charlie 218 "the hermits in town topics grand social pageant and carnival rivaling in frolic, fun and fantasy any previous tour ever taken by the hermits. minstrelsy, drammer, grand opera, girl show, tragedy and melo all in one and and one in all, presented with transcendentally beautiful scenic, illuminating and costume effects. 1 watch the cleveland town topics for the pyrotechnics attending this big production, unprecedented in scope, daring, brilliancy, beauty and skill. also read the cleveland town topics for its interesting gossip about people and things on which we have a copyright in· cleveland; its society, music, art, automobile and garden club news and views. is cleveland town topics goes into almost every high-class home in cleveland. your's included? if not, why not? cleveland town topics 319 caxton building 219 1 h stanweld in the picturea week's output -twenty-five thousand rims. stanweld rims in vienna γουμ you'll find stanweld rims in vienna-a large number of them. in fact, you'll find stanweld rims wherever motor cars travel. of course, we think the reason is they're better rims; safer rims; lighter rims; easy and quick to operate; and fairly priced. the standard welding company cleveland 220 the macadams company haberdashery “clothes" hats 1008 euclid avenue cleveland the finest store of its kind west of new york the n. o. stone co. 312-euclid-318 the "englishman" "style," says one man-"comfort," says the next-"fit" is on the mind of the other fellow. here is the shoe that combines all three, $5.00 $6.00 $7.00. all leathers, at 221 coles bonnett importers of shirtings makers of high grade custom shirts superior building phone, central 6544-r cleveland, ohio c. w. mahnke contractor builder residence, willson avenue phone, 313 willoughby, o. the wadsworthadelsonbranning tilers of company quality 6024 euclid ave. cleveland, ohio 222 for superior service insure with maxson & perdue 422 leader-news bldg. fancy and white china 1873 dinnerware, cut glass house furnishings silverware glassware 1 1 and 4 electric lamps the geo. h. bowman co. 224-226-228 euclid ave. 囲 ​**** annval dinner 1913 adb 224 onyx, diamonds and pearls set in platinum the latest novelties in jewelry 41 taylor r. o. carter, arcade buell sheet metal works gutters 5312 euclid avenue • · sheet iron ask us. if it is down-spouts or anything in copper or tin skylights east 661-j cent. 6054-w automobile supplies the r. c. hull electric co. both phones 1820 euclid avenue 225 for rent offices stores manufacturing space bradley bros. realty company marion building 1276 west 3rd st. 226 burroughs visible burroughs 0010001 made in several different styles from $175.00 up for the following kinds of work: monthly statements trial balances proof of posting adding hours and minutes adding fractions cost work bank work payrolls, etc. call crane { main 2136 central 871 for a trial during your inventory or any other busy period burroughs calculator non-listing $150.00 9 col. 13 col. · 250.00 repeat orders daily from largest concerns in this territory prove its merit as a burroughs product. call up crane main 2136 central 871 service :: durability :: accuracy $150.00 227 indoor sports w. p. murray 228 kar-a-van el perco coffee "a liquid delight that's always made right” especially prepared for percolators the original and only perfect percolating coffee buy kar-a-van el perco from your grocer. make coffee according to directions governing the use of your percolator and you can always serve the most delicious coffee it has ever been your privilege to drink. packed in one pound tin cans only and guaranteed 100 per cent pure. the gasser coffee company cleveland branch, · 719 woodland avenue s. e. we keep the "hermits in hot water" and hot air hundreds of hermits live in homes in luxury installed by us the stamberger company plumbing and heating 2961 mayfield road phone doan 3380 229 supplies autos storage repairs eckenroth sales company franklin agency franklin service station 731 vincent avenue 621 franklin avenue r. h. eckenroth, mgr. 230 bell main 2173 cen. 242-w luck illustrating company illustrators for the printing press commercial photographers american trust building. cleveland, o. de klyn's unsurpassed candies sent anywhere by parcel post or express the candies par excellence for a discriminating taste 231 indoor sports c. w. stage 232 canopies awnings tents flags navajo blankets equipment for home business house camp or ceremony c.j.wagner awning company new location 6519 euclid avenue main 560 doan 4079 eddy 3729-m the dawson-weir co. architectural plain and ornamental plastering 507 o'brien bldg. cleveland 233 she: '}} bet gree 234922407 plain dealer!" you read that in the c 234 new records made day after day wouldn't you like to smoke a cigar that experienced smokers ask for, come back for and recommend strongly to their friends? el yutan mild cigars sold by all first-class dealers the j. b. moos company distributors seagram's canadian whisky bottled in bond under the supervision of the dominion revenue department and bears the seal which guarantees its age, proof and measure. pure, mild, mellow its superb quality, pleasing flavor and absolute purity make it known as the best canadian whisky sold today. for sale in all first class cafes 235 eva george and the real thing 236 edelweiss beer schgenhofer brewing co schoenhofer brewing co. the fischer & jirouch co. decorative sculptors wood and stone carving exterior and interior composition ornamental plaster and stucco 4821 superior ave., cleveland, o. both phones 237 white top top hammondsport special champagne bell phone white top ho it tops them all white top champagne the bird-fillous co. architectural sculptors composition lighting fixtures ornamental plaster. wood carving studios: 1013 oregon ave. princeton 751 cleveland east 1849 j. l. croft & co. plumbing and steam fitting gas fitting and sewering 1308 addison rd. cor. superior ave. bell prospect 114 cuy. central 3551 warden & leese plumbing, heating, gas fitting, sewerage :::: nineteen-five prospect avenue, southeast 238 the w. s. gilkey printing co. railroad printers 1212 west sixth street, cleveland the chandler & rudd co. grocers bakers confectioners three stores on euclid ave. down town store-234-6 euclid ave. willson store-6000 euclid ave. fairmount store-10609 euclid ave. 239 e, n. indoor sports chas. y. mcvey-handball crack 240 base ball score by innings both phones the bond inn w. j. lomnitz, prop. 1898 east sixth street cleveland, ohio c.r.brown high grade hats 1937-45 east sixth street cleveland flowers that you know are fresh floral decorating our specialty the j. m. gasser co. 1006 euclid avenue cleveland "when you think of flowers remember gasser" clysmic 241 a bando why gardner abbott isn't in this year's show 242 kamerer & benes tailors garfield building bon bons cakes phone main 868 cleveland chocolates delicious ice cream plain and fancy we will be open after the show mcnally-doyle 6412 euclid james g. moore high class haberdasher 809 euclid avenue catering roth's cafe next door to the metropolitan wet goods of all kinds nuf sed 243 +མ་ a. a. augustus german comedian click 244 hermits in vienna would miss that efficient cleveland taxicab service they enjoy at home hermits are discriminating. they want more than a mere cab-they want service-and they get it when they call north 1800. cleveland taxicabs are the only real taxicabs in cleveland because they are the only cabs equipped with taximeters. to get a cleveland taxicab or touring car (you can get a touring car at the taxi rate) just call north 1800 at any time of day or night. a fleet of clean, handsome, sturdy machines, handled by reliable, competent drivers are at your service. but make sure that you get a cleveland taxicab. look for the gray taxi with the meter and the c. t. c. monogram on the door panel. remember the number north 1800 central the cleveland taxicab co. 1618 walnut ave., cleveland 245 c. اله andon al davis in 1950 leading the singers' club 246 letters of credit travelers' checks commercial exchange deposit accounts investment securities custody of securities members of n. y. stock exchange foreign coin and notes drafts, collection and cable bank money orders payments on all parts of the world imports and exports financed and forwarded knauth-nachod & kühne new york · leipzig the william dunbar co. 8201 cedar avenue m gd builders since 1884 we have been doing the best kind of building in town. our new service mill equipped with the latest type of motor-driven machinery enables us to turn out the same good quality work at rapid fire speed. office and service mill 8201 cedar avenue doan 3717 princeton 2258-w 247 ten pounds gained during two weeks stay at the camp the children's fresh air camp cared for over 2000 children, mothers and babies in five departments during 1912 and 1913. supported entirely by personal contributions. 248 travelers when you go abroad carry your funds in the best way by combining the many advantages of the most widely known letter of credit, with the convenience of a traveler's cheque. ask your own banker for a letter of credit on brown, shipley & co., london and some travelers' cheques on brown brothers & co. new york you need not burden yourself with a large supply of travelers' cheques. according to your requirements you can obtain them at all important places abroad by means of your letter of credit, and without extra expense. obtainable at cleveland's leading banks 249 pals 00000 shakespeare charlie maher george m. cohan helhe! wix arkitek drawd by fritz worikur •arschitescksaid-bit mutt walker to little jeff week your construxon is rotten & the blame ruff leekz sed lil jeff weeks such desins ???!!!! ther's nothin bummer sted of a archi-muttech you auto'ye bin a plummer •frum. 9:30.xm. till. 4:2'3 p.q m we luv pittsfield we luv the east but this is the bpplife $99 a after 4:23pm •a•fig for. worry. ·a·tig.for. we'r an our way. to the hermits. show. kronologies to bud. w(f)i j(h) er jimny one eye 251 main 2674 414 prospect avenue third floor the whedon co. steel and copper engravers cleveland engraved wedding invitations business cards visiting cards letter heads social stationery commercial stationery reserved 252 schuster 1833 east 12th street, opposite hotel statler cleveland's new restaurant noted for equipment, cuisine and service la flor de cuba havana cigars in this brand the finest cigars of havana are actually reproduced not imitated but positively duplicated. sold at all clubs 3 for 25c to 25c each j. b. moos co., cleveland, distributors 253 princeton just john rust 254 established 1878 incorporated 1905 the chafer company heating and ventilating contractors power piping a specialty phones bell main 5889 cuy. central 5890 cleveland, ohio 255 dass mistah rajah enwright, he jess gim me two dollahs foh a shine dass nuthin'. he done slip me a five spot foh a bresh-off! 500 256 (ind æetna all casualty lines including automobile insurance accident and health also fidelity and surety bonds w. g. wilson, mgr. sixth floor leader-news building shaker heights village real estate compare this property with all others and then add rapid transit green-cadwallader-long 900 marshall building 257 th advertising statistics he hermits wish to thank the individuals and firms who are advertising in this program and request that their friends patronize the advertisers whose generous support helps to make their shows a success. the following list shows the hermits who have secured two or more pages of advertising: w. s. pollock _28 r. a. barrett_ 334 f. b. meade 174 w. m. ernst.. 32 a. h. shotter 16½ m. p. klumph 3/4 a. j. kroenke…___ 11 f. h. clark.. 3 g. r. ingersoll9 g. s. gardner__. 3 e. a. petrequin 8 a. c. klumph 234 w. a. daley.. 734 j. l. cannon 22 f. s. borton 6 c. y. mcvey ---22 j. r. kraus. 6 f. j. woodworth____ 22 s. e. strong 534 e. g. hart____. 2 f. r. walker 52 l. p. sawyer.. 2 c. l. f. weiber, jr. --5 albert rees davis charles w. davis albert rees davis general insurance 401 perry-payne building cleveland 258 david henderson, sr. doan 2934-j david henderson, jr. doan 2737-w david henderson & son jobbing carpenters and general contractors 2265 east 100th street, s. e., cleveland lydite "more than an alloy" f you are in any way interested in the use of i' aluminum alloys for automobile parts or any other castings, you should be familiar with lynite and the service that goes with it. drop us a line stating your particular problem, or call and see us. we may be able to help. the aluminum castings company lynite and lynux castings 6205 carnegie avenue cleveland 259 this visiting nurse is a general practitioner nurse. she belongs to a staff of nurses supported by contributions to the visiting nurse association and by fees given, when possible, by patients to the nurse and paid by her into the treasury of the association. these nurses welcome the opportunity of co-operating with the medical profession and other social agencies by nursing in their homes, under the direction of a physician, persons suffering with any form of illness not contagious and not provided for by special dispensary care or hospital accommodation. the work of the association thus far has been almost exclusively among the dependent or poor classes of society, therefore, the fees which it has received from patients have been very small and very rare. the visiting nurse association now wishes to extend its work so as to reach the independent, thrifty, self-supporting classes of society who can afford to pay the cost of a visit which is approximately fifty cents. this extension of the work, besides helping to relieve the burden and financial embarrassment which illness frequently brings to families who are too independent to accept aid from any source whatever, and yet whose incomes are too small to stand unusual strain, would, we believe, accomplish an act of mere justice toward people who in our present scheme of life are frequently too little considered. we need the continued support, both moral and material, of our many friends while we try this new venture, which we must carry without relinquishing our former and also much needed ministration since we are the only general practitioner staff nurses in cleveland. the visiting nurse association main office 612 st. clair avenue, n. e. main 4037 central 3620 260 merica steel ай american wire rope hoisting rope of every description for elevators, mines, coal hoists, ore hoists, conveyors, derricks and cranes, stump pullers, steam shovels, dredges, skidder rope for logging, ballast unloading. towing hawsers, mooring lines, tiller rope and ships' rigging. power transmission. suspension bridge cables. rope for all haulage purposes. flattened strand rope. non-spinning rope. steel clad rope, locked coil track cable for aerial tramways. flat rope. special rope made to order to suit any purpose american steel & wire company chicago, new york, worcester, cleveland, pittsburgh, denver. export representative: u. s. steel products co.. 30 church st., n. y. pacific coast representative: u. s. steel products co., san francisco, los angeles, portland, seattle, w. l. evans and his chief hobby donahey-by landon ta ra! dun euphonium solo ole the ambidextrous by landon-by donahey "our cartoonists" by each other 262 c. t. mccarthy quality service f. m. finucan the art electrotype foundry co. copper, nickle or steel, wax molded or new process lead molded printing plates multigraph and flexotype plates curved plates, any thickness, any curve for any rotary press north 890 1104 prospect ave. cleveland 263 the leader has become one of the great daily papers of the country with established news and feature service on a par with any in the west. the sunday leader dominates ohio as a world great paper. it prints better and more exclusive feature sections than any paper in the middle west. the leader "a world great paper" 264 compliments of the w. s. tyler company kill & gardner b gents evrnishings 266 ventually you will come to the rorheimer brooks studios perhaps by merely to see what has been called "one of america's most beautiful shops'e whether you come as a purchaser or as a visitor, you will be impressed the convenient arrangement of our studios ~ the extent of our collection of artwares and the artistic value of every article s l t i the rorheimer brooks studios 1931 east ninth street, cleveland 1 267 a successful car for successful men did model ten-four, $1665 id you ever notice how a successful man is instinctively able to select the best in anything? that's the trait which makes him successful. the intuitive faculty which enables him to sense the real merit in a proposition and eliminate the unworth, marks him as a successful man. you will find a particularly good opportunity to notice this in studying automobile purchases. for instance, watch the cole motor car in cleveland. notice who are using coles. observe that hermit fred m. nicholas has selected a cole six. hermit c. w. lundoff drives a cole roadster. herbert wright and robt. c. suho of the city ice delivery co., frank c. caine, p. j. morgan, wm. lamprecht, b. c. tucker is a veteran cole user. mr. w. e. wall has recently purchased his second six cylinder cole. there are many others. the united judgment of this galaxy of successful cleveland citizens means a good deal to you and puts the undisputed stamp of approval upon standardization which has made possible this wonderful cole. richardson motor car co. distributor of the cole the standardized car cleveland, o. 268 b the brooks coy printers 715 superior ave 00 269 the hermits in vienna advertisers' index c. w. abbott & co. abel brothers acme foundry co. h. r. allen & co., columbus aluminum castings co. american chicle co., new york american materials co., new york american steel & wire apollinaris agency co., new york artcraft co. art electrotype foundry hotel astor, new york audit co. geo. w. auer babies' dispensary & hospital page 168 95 86 a 90 258 124 110 260 26 273 262 118 22 42 276 baer brothers, new york 87 ball music store 54 b baum baking & ice cream co. 114 r. l. beck 89 belle vernon mapes dairy co. 58 hotel belmont 270 bennet & fish 216 bennett-o'connell co. g. a. bentz & co. berg-clark electric co. berwald-stewart co. betz-pierce co. biltmore hotel, new york bingham & douglass co. bird-fillous co. j. blackwell & co. geo. h. bowman co. bond & hunt bond inn building 134 158 114 120 156 284 128 237 118 222 134 240 construction stores office bldgs. warehouses factories the geo. a. rutherford co. 2160 east eighteenth street 270 lang & sarstedt painters and interior finishers both phones 4410 euclid ave. hotel belmont 42nd street at park avenue (opposite grand central terminal) new york an hotel of the highest class, complete in every detail. individual for its central location and ready accessibility to all points of the metropolis. a giant among the hotels of the world, so absolute in its fireproof qualities that the proprietors carry no fire insurance. b. l. m. bates, managing director 271 borton & borton born steel range co. bour co. bourne-fuller co. bouvier specialty co., louisville boyd-dean co. bradley bros. realty co. page 154 3 38 b 82 134 202 225 brooks co. 268 brown bros. & co. 248 e. b. brown 128 c. r. brown 240 buckeye electric division 84 buell sheet metal works 224 buffalo copper & brass rolling mill, buffalo 87 buffalo steel co., tonawanda, n. y. 90 builders' exchange 204 bunn-hutchinson co. 166 burroughs adding machine co. 226 burrows bros. 96 caldwell piano co. 190 california wine assn., new york 158 c canton malleable iron co., canton, o. 74 r. o. carter chafer co. chamberlin metal weather strip co. champion bed spring co. champion machine & forging co. chandler & rudd co. 224 254 94 74 87 238 chapin, trull & co., boston chappell & warren children's fresh air camp 158 272 247 chisholm shoe co. 23 city brass foundry co. 148 the city ice delivery co. 54 cleveland & buffalo transit co. 112 cleveland billiard & mfg. co. cleveland brick sales co. 87 89 cleveland cadillac co. 35 cleveland face brick assn. 78-79 cleveland folding machine co. 162 cleveland frog & crossing co. 136 cleveland hardware co. 54 cleveland home brewing co. cleveland press cleveland provision co. 162 47 207 main 2809 cent. 1866 the smith & fetters co. leading florists 735 euclid ave. cleveland 272 ask your grocer for clover farm brand canned fruits and canned vegetables the higgins-babcock-hurd co. importers, packers and jobbers of food products ontario st. & huron road cleveland main 3384 chappell-warren co. steam fitters 1384 east sixth street charles t. masterson tailor 202-204 hickox bldg. 273 cleveland taxicab co. cleveland savings & loan co. cleveland society for the blind cleveland telephone co. cleveland twist drill co. cleveland window cleaning co. page 88 213 244 c 108 80 90 climalene chemical co., canton clysmic springs co. w. h. coffee co. coles & bonnett collart & harmacek clarence h. collings co. 63 240 172 221 154 206 coughlin & laurenson co. j. l. croft & co. r. a. curry construction co. continental paper bag co. cook & bernheimer co., new york the cuyahoga builders supply co. 154 134 106 237 274 89 cuyahoga lumber co. 160 cuyahoga telephone co. 55 darling co., detroit 234 davis, albert rees.. 257 d davis-hunt-collister co. 202 the davis laundry & cleaning co. 40 a. r. davis motor co. 48 dawson-weir co. 232 deisel & wemmer co., lima, o. 114 deklyn co. 230 c. e. denison & co. 160 john dewar & sons, new york 55 geo. a. dickel & co., nashville, tenn. 187 wm. downie co. 128 francis draz & co., new york 154 william dunbar co. b. dreher's sons co. early times distillery co., paducah, ky. 184 246 163 eckenroth sales co. 229 eclipse electrotype & engraving co. 183 e eclipse musical co. 144 wm. edwards co. 42 the electric storage battery co., philadelphia, pa. 64 george emery 285 english woolen mills co. 138 erie r. r. co. 132. vienna for the artcraft co. the hermits for printing we are known for what we do. it is better to do more than you promise than promise more than you can do. printers engravers: designers 274 the rowland a. curry co. general contractors 1900 euclid building cleveland e. b. horne co. manufacturers' agents 4500 euclid avenue · cleveland tel. east 123 "the connersville system used by the blaisdell machinery co. bradford, pa. manufacturers of 99 stationary vacuum cleaners 275 a financial institution is no better than the men who conduct it. industrial capital correspondence invited we furnish permanent capital to sound industrial corporations directors: f.b. squire, pres. for many years vice-president of the standard oil company of ohio. john a. kling, vice-pres. director first nat bank; director guardian savings & trust co a. w. henn, treas. secretary and treasure national acme manufacturing company. f. f. prentiss. director guardian savings & trust co.; director lake shore banking & trust co. wm. g. mather. pres. national commercial bank; vice-pres. citizens savings & trust co.; trustee society for savings. h.m. hanna, jr. director first national bank director guardian savings & trust co. secretary-m. h. murch counsel-squire, sanders & dempsey leader-news bldg.. cleveland the maynard h.murch co 276 babies saved and given a chance by the out-door ward of the babies' dispensary and hospital a. b. chase pianos are just as good in cleveland as they are "in vienna" in other words, they are absolutely good the world over the caldwell piano company cor. east ninth and prospect ave. cleveland representative 1 1 1 i 277 evarts-tremaine-flicker co. ernst & ernst euclid-arcade recreation club co. the euclid brick & supply co. euclid stag buffett exline co. fairbanks, morse & co. federal steel fixture co. fels & co., philadelphia jos. s. finch & co., pittsburgh h. p. finlay & co., new york firestone tire & rubber co., akron fischer & jirouch co. page 14 201 89 e 187 192 170 96 278 160 f 67 146 56 236 forest city bedstead co. 140 forest city rubber co. 278 foster bolt & nut mfg. co. 90 frank m. fox 116 franklin sugar refining co., philadelphia 127 french lick springs hotel co., french lick, ind. 16 fritzsche bros., new york 146 fuller canneries co. 194 fuller cleaning co. 38 gainer electric co. 58 l. gandolfi & co., new york 146 b. m. gardner 52 g j. m. gasser co. 240 gasser coffee co. 228 the general cartage & storage co. 75 w. s. gilkey printing co. 238 gill & gardner 265 gillsy hotel 80 a. s. gilman printing co. 86 glidden varnish co. 76 fred g. golmar cigar co. 206 goodyear tire & rubber co., akron 194 gould storage battery co., new york 156 henry e. gourd, new york 104 graham co. 160 gray lumber co. 95 green, cadwallader, long 256 green river distilling co., owensboro, ky. greenstein & co. 123 58 joseph h. greenwald 196 thomas bros. manufacturing opticians 211-213-215 schofield bldg. very often, when you think your glasses are no longer strong enough, they just need proper adjusting. we specialize in this. 278 a section of "federal" steel lockers installed at hotel statler by c. a. dielhenn co., gen. agts. 1250 ontario st. cleveland the forest city rubber co. 1543 columbus road stag and meteor golf balls goodrich championship tennis balls diamond tires goodrich mechanical rubber goods 279 j. n. hahn co. halcomb steel co. halle bros. page 74 106 h 18 jacob halter & sons a. g. harbaugh co. e. b. horne co. hammermill paper co., erie, pa. 142 152 164. 274 h. a. harris 39 harshaw fuller & goodwin co. 82 d. henderson & son. 258 geo. h. herron & co. 142 g. f. heublein & bro., hartford, conn. 190 higbee co. 10 higgins-babcock-hurd co. 272 the hofbrau 100 hollenden hotel 188 m. hommel wine co., sandusky, o. 147 r. c. hull electric co. 224 hurley-roninger co. 51 hydraulic-press brick co. 89 ingleheart bros., evansville, ind. h. w. johns-manville co., cleveland branch judson printing co. 51 190 279 j kamerer & benes 242 kelley bootery co. 26 kelly springfield tire co. 148 kirk-latty mfg co. 159 louis klein cigar co. 200 knauth, nachod & kuhne 246 koblitz plumbing & heating co. 187 korner & wood co. 182 wm. krause & son 175 lake erie builders supply co.. 89 lake shore banking & trust co. 188 lake shore elevator 286 l lakewood lumber co. 102 lang & sarstedt 270 large distilling co., pittsburgh 111 c. f. laughlin co. leader i. leisy brewing co. thomas j. lipton, new york 2 263 170 102 main 357 cent. 4765-r the judson printing co. printers to the public bond specialists 321 frankfort ave. n.w. cleveland 280 fairmount boulevard is the euclid avenue of today fifty year restrictions will keep it free from business, apartments or double houses. shaker heights improvement company e. warner white, president t. w. larwood, secretary t. e. borton, treasurer 281 louisville cotton oil co., louisville, ky. louisville varnish co., louisville, ky. lubric oil co. page 98 luck illustrating co. f. o. de luze & co., new york h. e. mcmillin & son co. thomas mcmullen & co., new york mcnally-doyle co. jerry o. mcnaughton co. macadams co. c. w. mahnke g. w. malone marathon tire & rubber co., cuyahoga falls, o. martin-barriss co. j. b. martin importation co., new york chas. t. masterson matthew smith tea, coffee & grocery co. charles m. mattingly maxson & perdue roland t. meacham meade & hamilton meadville, pa. distilling co., buffalo medina county creamery co. percy f. melville, chicago a. j. merki the middle states oil co. mills-carleton co. wm. g. moehring, new york thos. moore distillery co., mckeesport, pa. james g. moore j. b. moos co. morris-poston coal co. motor accessories co motz tire & rubber co., akron mouat-squires co. mulcahy-nelson co. 128 l 88 230 115 74 174 242 m 142 220 221 182 176 192. 103 272 51 179 222 138 24 178 70 155 175 43 72 175 142 242 234 71 175 62 212 171 120 28 musterole co. mutual benefit life insurance co. national distributing co., cincinnati nau, rusk & swearingen alfred nelson co., 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mechanics and road testers have thought and planned and endlessly experimented to make peerless motor cars safe. no doubtful detail has escaped their vigilance. the result is the peerless of today; put any demand upon it—the car will meet it gallantly. safety, comfort and beauty are peerless ideals. the peerless motor car company cleveland, ohio the peerless is licensed under the kardo company patents perless that the name implies i 770.81 h428r. icf on sl. my ignor muz press of the brooks co. 14 wws.8 feb '56 7 89073124299 b89073124299a 89073124299 b89073124299a 89073124299 b89073124299a 308 the hermit of motee a3td ot-keit jhurna, bt c. veenieux. price 1/3. skbx mm the university library university of california, san diego la jolla, california the hermit of motee jhuena, or pearl spring; also indian tales and anecdotes, moral and instructive. " the cheerful sage when graver maxims fail, conceals the moral in a pleasing tale" by c. v e r n i e u x. second edition, recast and enlarged. calcutta: printed at the baptist mission press. sold at all the libraries. 1873. price rs. 1/8. preface. more than sixteen years ago, the hermit appeared in the " calcutta literary gazette" which was con ducted by capt. richardson. it was originally published in nine chapters, but in the present issue, four additional chapters of interesting matter have been added, and the entire tale has under gone a complete revision. the design of the tale is, to bring prominently into view, the character of our moslem neighbours in the country ; the incidents chosen, it is hoped, are calculated both to amuse and furnish the reader with interesting accounts of their personal qualities which, unfortunately, are not so well known as those of the hindoos ; the simple fact that books are more numer ously written about the latter than the former, go to prove the assertion. i have been faithful in delineating the customs, ceremonies, manners and habits of the mahomedans, and their interior domestic life ; not omitting, how ever, to present the reader with a picture of indian life in general, with descriptive sketches of the gorge ous scenery of the country, and hints regarding its undeveloped natural resources. the indian tales and anecdotes were translated and published by me in 1864, and it has for some years past gone out of print. the english reader has, by translations, been long acquainted with the gems of oriental literature. it lias been my desire to furnish a collection of indian 4talcs and anecdotes not to be found in books. they are legendary and oral, and current both in the courts of rajahs, nawabs, and princes; in man sions of opulence, as well as in the hamlets of the poor. i doubt if there be any part in the world so abound ingwith this sort of light oral literature as the east. being as they are, the inhabitants of an enervating climate, they generally beguile the tediousness of their unemployed time by listening to the recital of some stirring event, some pleasing fiction, some pathetic nar rative, or some useful moral precept. it has not been niy design to collect written tales like those of the arabian nights' entertainments, but from the many stories and anecdotes in urdu, hindi, and bengali, i have had the opportunity of hearing, i have gathered such as possess some degree of merit either for the moral they convey, or the light according to which virtue and vice, deceit and integrity, are weighed in an oriental balance. probably, too, it is by such short narratives and pithy sayings among such a people, that a very faint glimmering of the knowledge of good and bad,, right and wrong, is diffused and propagated. i have, in rendering them into english, discarded all embellishment with a view to preserve their ori ginality and identity. c. v. calcutta, november, 1873. contents. page the hermit of motee-jhuma, 1 indian tales. a brahmin and his pupil, 81 the story of six brothers, 85 a merchant and his son, 89 the story of an indolent man, 93 a badsha and his seven daughters, 103 the story of a fakir and an ignorant man, 107 an old man and woman 110 the story of a brahmin and brahminee, 116 rajah nul, .. , 119 the story of a prince and the son of a yizier, , . 126 a grass-cutter, 1 34 tlie story of a lion, 136 a simpleton, 139 the story of a prince, , 142 a washerman and his ass, 147 the story of a fakir, . 149 the two. beggars, 154 story of another fakir, 156 the two sisters dookhee and sookhee, 163 a fox and an elephant, , 168 a pea-seller and his wife, 170 a crocodile and fox, , 171 the two friends, 174 a brahmin, a sandalwood tree and wild trees, 176 a gardener and a wild brinjal plant, 179 a heron and kingfisher, 180 the jungle fever and the cobweb, 182 the son of an honest man, 184 dhurm raja, 189 the story of a badsha, 192 page the story of a merchant, 202 he that diggeth a pit for another falleth into it himself, ... 209 a parody on the cashraerian girl, !...., 210 the tears of sympathy, , 218 tii immit m or pearl spring. chapter i. the right or western bank of the ganges lies the village of seebgunge, in whose vicinity are the ruins of raj girghy, so called under the ancient hindoo government, but subse quently dignified with the title of akburnagur after akbar, and lastly designated raj-mahul, by raja kanare man sing. in the fifteenth century, when the sultans made it the capital of their vice-royalty, it prided itself in possessing elegant buildings of a style of architecture remarkable for accurate proportions, beauty of design, and tasteful execution. the portals and capitals of columns were adorned with numerous figures in basso-relievo, representing the celebration of festivals gateways, large and handsome the interior of buildings ornamented with wreathed mouldings the palace of noges warbag, rungmahal, or painted hall1 jumna musjid, akbara bad mosque, sungge-dullan, or stone hall the tomb of bukht homa, which contained the remains of mirza muhammed, subah of bengal, together with a well finished oratory, having its front lined with highly polished marble, and neatly inlaid with pious sentiments in black marble ; these were edifices whose grandeur and superb architecture were inferior to none on the plains of india. raj-mahul was once the residence of futtehjung khan, sultan shujah, houri-like begums, and polished shazadas. but where now the monuments of their grandeur, where they whose laughter and merriment, bustle of occupation, anxiety and 1 ( 2 ) hopes, which gave life and brilliance to the place of their resi dence ? alas ! all the pomp and pageantry of dignity, the evanescent glitter of glory and ambition's rainbow hues which made earth and existence seem an imaginary paradise, and for time a desirable object of pursuit and acquisition where are they now with their insatiate throb after painted pleasures, their fever of boundless ambition ? they have passed away like summer clouds, at times brilliant in their journey with the hues of sunshine, but for ever vanished into darkness and oblivion. all have been swept away by the irresistible tide of time. the best portions of those buildings themselves, which were more durable than their designers, have been undermined and imbedded with the sand of the ganges, yet the few that remain, bear indications of their pristine magnificence, and may well support the designation of kaj-mahul, or residence of princes. sixteen miles from hence up the river, and two miles below the eminence called sukreegully hill, was the beau tiful and picturesque litte fall, which trickling like a pearl spring, had derived its name motee-jhuma. in its neighbourhood, but at the distance of not more than two hundred yards, stands a venerable banian which spreads out its many lateral branches over an extensive area, beneath which the fibres descending at intervals, form themselves into sturdy columns to support each of the ponderous branches. some parasitical plants that adhere to its trunk, adorn the banian with their diversity of leaves and flowers of the most delicate hue, as well as gather little warblers who sip, poise on the tender twigs, and make the shade musical with their songs of innocent mirth. beneath the umbrage of this wide spread canopy, dwelt a hermit whose fervent devotion, together with the extensive knowledge of medicine and the virtue of plants, which he pre-eminently possessed, spread his fame for many miles around, and attracted to his humble hut, the poor with their gift of flowers and humble donations, the opulent with more costly offerings and presents. ameerjan had the majestic and commanding air of one who well knew the sway he held over the minds of the igno rant and superstitious, and the fear and respect which his reputation for being in league with secret powers, had command over the great. with all his pretensions, however, to occult science, he never made an ostentatious display of his talents, nor abused the in fluence thus acquired, but ever gentle and meek, the most timid would converse with him with perfect unreserve, and always leave him with an impression that though at times seemingly ojf a proud and haughty bearing, ameerjan was the most kind and tender-hearted person in general deportment. in stature he was above the ordinary size, while his frame was muscular and well built. his dark hair which was parted in the centre of his head, waved clustering over his masculine shoulders in graceful ringlets, while his beard that descended two or three inches below the chin, was trimmed in shape like a crescent. constant exposure to the influence of several climes, gave to his complexion, which was otherwise fair, a tinge of olive. a pair oijunghyas or trousers, was worn by him girded about his waist with a silk belt. the upper part of his person was covered with something like a waistcoat, over which, a tunic or cloak was used. a bag, pendant from one of his shoulders, contained different roots and drugs, as also a scrip and cruse with which he would venture forth from his hut on short journies to eaj-mahul and its neighbouring villages. his only companion on such occasions, was a huge shaggy dog of nepaul breed, led by a chain held on his left hand, while his right supported a cane formed of bamboo root, which at the extremity intended for the handle, was inverted, and had two side shoots clipped so as to resemble the head and antlers of a deer. passing the gates of the omrao of raj-mahul, his acquaintance with whom was extensive, and his society was highly appreciated by the amirs on account, not only of his talents, but for his easy, graceful, and refined deportment, he ( 4 ) after such recreative walks, would return to his little cottage which nestled under the shade of the banian. save the cheerful hum of birds, the gentle murmur of the pearl-spring, the sad tones of forlorn beings who repaired to his retirement to request his counsel, the sick and barren to obtain drugs in the concoction of which he was an adept, no human voice ever awoke an audible echo of sentiment from the anchoret. to relieve, however, the dull monotony of his daily occupations, his cottage contained scraps of the koran, and verses of his favourite poets sadi, hafez, and furdosi. these constantly employed his leisure in their deep absorbing study, while the works of the famous zurdhust, or zoroaster, also occupied a portion of his time. there could exist no sympa thy between the followers of mahomed and the disciples of zoroaster. the hermit who was not a bigot, gleaned knowledge from whatever source he could, as he had no such weak pre judices. he admired the works of the great sage of persia for the numerous valuable ethical doctrines enunciated in them, and did not therefore care a straw for objections which bigotry might raise against it, or in disfavour of any other learned productions of wise and good men, be they of whatever couiitry^creed, or nation they might. he was familiar with the arabic and toorky languages, hence it was conjectured that he came from the beautiful city of phars ; but no more of his history was known than that he might be one of the sons of that brilliant clime. from his cottage, through the openings of foliage, you might have a glimpse of the majestic play of the ganges, spark ling and dancing in the sunbeam, and rolling onward unresisted in her course, bearing her tribute of waters to her parent the boundless ocean. of an evening in spring, when the pale empress of night moves majestically over the blue ethereal sea, revealing by her pensive aspect the sorrows with which she too seems to be drenched, it was ameerjan's habit to walk with his setar a few paces from that shade, to one of the projections of the hill near the pearl-spring. there would he touch its deliccate cords into the sweetest thrill. thus awoke into mellow whis pers of pensive melody, it never failed to draw forth a response from his inmost soul. accompanying the instrument at times with his rich sonorous voice, he would give vent to his smothered feelings in the following verses. tell me, zeleikha! tell me why, you glance me with your pensive eye ; why at this distance doth it seem, your heart pours on me its holy beam ? mem'ry ! take back the image fair ; of past events to think i dare ; let chill oblivion wrap or blast, i cannot look on what is past ! smile chandar ! serenely smile, and with thy influence soft beguile my hours of pain, and i will be thy votr'y ever loving thee. with the calm dews of night falling, and thy bright rays softly bending, cool the fever of my throbbing breast and steep my senses into rest. a pleasing placid smile often sported about the lips of ameerjan, though his looks wore indications of a deep settled melancholy which seemed to brood over his heart, and spread its gloom on his countenance, tinging the latter with a sort of serenity that was at times too painful to the contemplation of a tenderly susceptible heart. it was not difficult to discern through its medium, the volcanic eruptions from which the heart suffered, and like its expiring embers, threw out the flicker ing sparks of existence on the visage, by occasional smiles which were robed in gloom more than in cheerfulness. chapter ii. i ust at the hour when the young light of day peeps through c^jj the curtains of the east, gradually mantling the fair cheeks of fleecy clouds with roseate hues, and zephyrs wake from the lap of night and seek the perfumed breath of dew-gemmed flowers ; or when the firmament glows with the farewell kiss of parting day, and mild evening with her cooling breeze fans the weary brow of industry, a young ameer of a pleasing countenance and graceful appearance, would be seen mounted on a toorky charger, richly caparisoned, prancing and curveting on the roads of raj-mahul. mobaruc ulli, for it was he, was equipped in a costly kiii miaub labada, ornamented with gold buttons, and set with gems about the neck. a pair of canary colored silk trowsers waved beneath, displaying a pair of shagreen high heeled slippers, worn on the foot of the gay equestrian. his cashmere shawl turban of emerald green, filigreed with a beautiful lacing of gold embroidery, crowned his head, below which fell a profusion of glossy curls in studied negligence. thus attired, the young noble (for he had not witnessed the revolution of more than two and twenty summers) would take his morning and evening ride, amusing himself and being admired by every idle saunterer about the bazar. they applauded the easy manner in which he curbed the restive steed, or praised the graceful attitude in which he seated himself on the spirited animal, by loud wah ! wahs ! it was not often that the elegant oinrao shed the light of his countenance over the allvivacious chowk. on a road opposite the latter place, at the extremity of which the city terminated, a spacious edifice, somewhat out of repair, rose into view. from the corners and sides of its out-offices which were left to greater neglect, the destructive asud, with other tangled creepers,grew spontaneously. these buildings were enclosed by a high wall which surrounded more than twenty five bigyahs of land, laid out in promiscuous groves of leechees, mangoes, peaches, pomegranates, and other luscious fruits, the lavish product of a fertile clime. the master of the mansion was an amir of decayed fortune, though he had once amassed much silver and gold, and had kept a splendid establishment under the service of the predecessor of sujah. a host of asabardars, or mace bearers waited once on his pleasure ; and several elephants and horses which formed his retinue, gave an air of dignity to the pageantry. where the garden wall swept round in another direction and was closed from the view of the public road promenaders, a small door opened towards a wide plain from whence at some distance, a few motley huts of husbandmen could be discerned covered with the broad foliage of plantains, with the delicately shaded green of the tamarind, and the dense leaves of patches of mangoe topes. mobaruc, either to avoid the inquisitive gaze of idlers, or to pursue the even tenor of his calm undisturbed reflections, made this plain the frequent scene of his evening recreation. the aged noble who lived so much secluded from society, gave little opportunity for people to whisper who were the in mates of that half dilapidated mansion. it was therefore, no doubt, like a vision from above, when nujmoon nissa, the fair inhabitant of that building, weary with the sameness of amuse ment and occupation which engaged her within the precincts of her retirement, sought the private gate with her companion, " in order that from thence, they might contemplate the little world of life which the residents of the bungalows at a distance presented and weave in their minds some brief but pleasing narrative of love, or grief, as the mood in which they lay at the time, might have suggested to beguile a few hours of listless occupation. mobaruc, in passing them, struck with an agreeable surprise at so unexpected a vision of beauty, curbed his prancing horse, and gazing intently, saluted thus ; " fair lady ! who could have ( 8 ) dreamt a moment before that one so beautiful ever respired within those sepulchral walls, and had eclipsed her light and loveliness within their gloomy shadows, but even they which bore an aspect of cheerlessness before, seem now to me as luminous as the ganges when the sun bathes in her his flood of golden light." as this compliment invited no response, andnujmoon modestly drew the veil over her handsome face, he could not but reluctantly pursue the course of his usual ride. nujmoon nissa was a young lady of not more than sixteen years of age, consequently, so little as she was used to the converse of a per son of the opposite sex, she had not sufficient firmness to look up at the stranger, submit herself to be studied with an eye of scrutiny, or bold enough to enlist herself in conversation. mobaruc had traversed the field, and as he turned his horse to repass them, nujmoon who was watching his motion, took a hasty glance, then closing the gate, retired with her associate to her now cheerless apartment. in the meantime he returned to his residence with reflections though not wholly free from sadness, yet that sadness was not unmixed with joy. in that one vehement gaze, his heart had received a deep impress of her image ; and his memory now brought back vividly to the view of his mental eye, her rich drapery of purple silk which composed her trowsers ; her flowered dacca, jaitni dane which covered her figure like a veil, and allowed her hair to be seen running down in graceful plats ; her arms orna mented with armlets and bracelets, set with diamonds, emeralds and pearls; her tapering fingers decked with ringsof value. he had drank the melody of that musical voice which he heard when he first met her, and when she spoke to her attendant ; " it is late, come let us retire." he sighed as he thought he still beheld her tender form of exquisite symmetry, reclining over her companion ; and those orbs of light and life that then bent on him their rays of intelligence, as if still looking with pity and complaisance. ( 9 ) musing thus on a balcony after his ride, he indulged in the following soliloquy : " man seems to live and feel that he is a living being save when he comes into contact and com munion with the fair sex. a thousand indescribable sensations of joy rush through his veins, and other emotions and sentiments grow into a sort of existence new and pleasing to himself, which might have otherwise remained in a state of dormancy for ever, or stagnated in the heart of a recluse, and bred apathy, morose ness, and misanthropy. " i must see her again." repeating the last words, he went to his dormitory and threw himself into the arms of morpheus, to sleep and to dream. nujmoon, in the retirement of her chamber, indulged the image of the handsome stranger ; and made many a conjecture as to who he might be, and if he would visit the field again ? if her behaviour was repulsive, or such that it did not en courage his advances, was it of that nature which could not offend, but leave him hesitating which course to pursue, with out totally checking him with despair ? a woman's feelings and judgment in these matters which are very acute, and give the most accurate interpretation, made her conscious that her person was not disagreeable to him ; and that like herself, he might also desire an interview, and contract an intimacy which his first meeting evidently indicated he sought. while in this mood of perplexity, her attendant, gool chummon, entered her apartment. " well, my ever kind mistress, you seem pleased with something, yet are sad, i hope nothing serious has transpired to make your pensiveness predo minant, and your depression lasting." " you a woman, grool chummun, and cannot read my heart." " to decipher your feel ings i may, beautiful nujmoon," she responded. " they are at present, if i have not already lost my penetration, absorbed with thoughts of the handsome mobaruc, the admiration of all raj mahul, as you would be its perpetual praise, were your beauty suffered to be revealed to its light." 2 " you surprise me much, goolchummun ! how came you to learn particulars connected with him, so early ?" " that is far from difficult to answer. discovering your loss of appetite, i went over last night to the chawk to bring you some dainty confection from our hulwhy, when, describing the person of the stranger, his horse, and its rich housings, the pad and the gold-mohurs jingling at its neck, the confectioner instantly re cognised the omrao who, he said, was entertained high in the service of our mighty sultan sujah bahadoor." thus conversing with her companion, nujmoon pleasantly beguiled her monotonous hours *of lassitude. the anxiously anticipated evening, which had appeared ad vancing with leaden steps, arrived at last. nujmoon could no longer refrain from testifying her impa tience to promenade about the garden, alleging as an excuse that the air about her rooms was too confined to respire freely. groolchummon smiling assent, joined her in the walk. after a few revolutions round beds of flower plants, they were attrac ted to one of the walks leading to the door which admitted an interesting prospect of the maidan and its distant villages. mobaruc was equally impatient to see her as she was, and had therefore come earlier than was his habit, and was exercising his horse in the wide plain. ever vigilant to learn whether nujmoon had come to the gate, he constantly reverted his face towards that quarter, and when from that distance he thought he had spied something like a female form in shadowy outlines, he spurred the animal until the outline of that form became conspicuous, when drawing his horse to a gentle canter, and going up, he greeted her with his usual courtesy. this civility was not, however, assumed as a mere matter of etiquette, a lifeless unmeaning phraseology, but a language intelligible alike to his feelings as to his heart a sincere out pouring of his genuine sentiments. " gentle and ever beautiful lady ! i trust this evening finds ( 11 ) you in health and felicity. absence from you deprives me of peace, while your presence alone restores happiness." " stranger ! your words, if sincere, flatter me much ; but the lovely moon glows only with borrowed light, and we owe all our perfection to your company and conversation, which inter course, had it not been mutual, would have lost all efficacy for imparting the least gratification." "fair lady! to live under the smile of your presence would be the highest boon of mortals. would that i could lay me down where your cur is permitted to crouch with impunity." then presenting her with a bouquet assorted with emblemati cal flowers expressive of his sentiments, he continued : " would you, fair lady, suffer me, like that envied animal, to dwell al ways before you ; and like the frail flowers which now grace your person, and ere long will droop there, will you allow me, when weary of earthly toils, to lay my head and sigh there my last breath of existence ?" " stranger," said nujmoon nissa, " the familiarity which exists between us and our domesticated animals, removes our aversion and engrafts esteem, so your intimacy with our sex, the weaker and dependent beings, suffers you to admit us as your friends and companions." of this tenor was the topic of conversation on this occasion, and at every succeeding interview, which was frequent, moba ruc, who played his part so skilfully because so sincerely, gained much more admission into that heart than his first meeting could promise he would ever attain. ( 12 ) chapter iii. f hough nujmoon nissa, by the inflexible custom of her country, and the rigid rules of her creed, was shut out from the outer world intercourse, and its multifarious amuse ments, she was not bereft of those which her little domain of female seclusion afforded her. she had many kinds of recreation, and varied resources at her command, by which her hours were employed for purposes of not only mere pastime, but profitable occupation, or languid enjoyment. the even tenor of nujmoon nissa's life was agreeably diver sified by the occasional visit of some of her relations, who brought a stock of pleasant news, not gleaned, however, from the knowledge of the several incidents that had, one would suppose, transpired within their individual cognisance, but ob tained from their husbands, or brothers, who had gathered them from the occurrences happening in the great city, or the different out-stations to which business, or pleasure, had taken them. the female relations of nujmoon nissa, who were wont to visit her periodically, came as their custom was, in a palankeen borne by a set of four bearers, a couple of men running in ad vance of the conveyance, each holding a silver mace, and followed by a reserve relay of bearers, dressed in scarlet robes, edged with yellow braid. the palankeen was similarly mantled with scarlet broadcloth, and it had two circular openings at each door, which were work ed up with muslin to admit light and air, and to afford the inmate the means of gratifying her desire to see all objects, without being herself seen by anybody's prying eyes. on the roof of the palankeen, at the centre, rose a graceful little silver dome, and there were four cones of the same metal, in the corners fixed to adorn the conveyance, and distinguish it from those belonging to the poorer classes. when the palankeen had reached its destination, the bear ers, after placing it beneath the portico, or vestibule of the house, retired from thence to a short distance, to permit theamir zadi, or noble lady, to enter the premises to which she had gone on a visit. not only by this means did the stock of her knowledge of the world augment, but nujmoon's duenna, goolchummon, who was a great gossip and an incessant gadabout, and whose insatiable thirst for knowing and meddling with the affairs of all persons, whether acquired by fair legitimate means, and obtain ed as they freely and spontaneously flowed from the history of the lives of honest simple-minded men who held conversation in the streets of rajmahal, at the door of shops, or got them by pumping with insinuations and cunning questions, as well as by other tricks, in all which she had a protracted training, and evinced therefore, a tolerable amount of proficiency in the art of extracting news, though the mode by which she procured them, she did not care for. that this was mean and dishonorable conduct, of this fact she was thoroughly oblivious. considering the motive by which she was actuated to so sedulous a duty of collecting gup, that is, for the purpose of imparting some amusement to the child for whom she had, since her infancy, cherished the ten derest feelings of maternal solicitude, she exonerated herself from self-accusation and remorse, or any tender sentiment if she had actually a single spark of that feeling existing in her heart. reflecting that her poor dove needed it, waa sufficient reason to soothe her scruples, confined as she was within the bars of her cage, and from which she could nei ther soar aloft nor roam abroad, and bathe her lofty spirit in the circumambient light of heaven, sparkling herself with its reflec tion, and pouring out from her bosom a flood of joy, gladdened by the pleasant sights and sounds, and the thrilling emotions which are invariably engendered by such varied scenery the world in her changeful aspects presents to the eye and the thoughtful mind. children belonging to the houses of the wealthy and educated people, or men of high rank, have generally moonshees and maulvies employed to teach them arabic and persian at home. in the case of boys, the instruction is prolonged for some time, while girls receive their mental culture up to their tenth or twelfth year, and as long as they are considered to be very young children. nujmoon nissa had her share of such training. verses of the koran and culma were her first rudimentary lessons, to which other additions were made from time to time by the in troduction of a few secular, elementary books, and by way of a finish to her studies, some ponderous books considered pon derous with regard not only to their bulk, but subject were placed in her hands. aristotle's rhetoric, life of secunder namah, or alexander the great, and shah namah, or the lives of kings works now nearly obsolete, or displaced by more modern books on the same subjects were then in the full flush of their reputation, and therefore held in the highest esteem by the learned men of that time, and recommended by them as class books. in feminine studies and accomplishments, groolchummon was her mistress who taught her to ply the needle with dexte rity in tamboor, braid, cassida, and embroidery works, and also in knitting gloves and socks. when weary of these occupations, and to while away some portion of her ample leisure, she had a few games of sutruiy, or chess, punchisi, baugh-buckri, and diversions of a similar kind. on the northern extremity of the grounds belonging to the omrao, the father of nujmoon nissa, is a spacious quadrangu lar tank that has a ghat, or landing-place on each side, having a flight of steps descending below to the surface of the water. at each ghat is a square, formed of chunar stones, the two entire sides of the square being built of a couch-like shape with masonry, where of a morning or evening in summer, the in mates went to sit, lounge, and converse, when the temperature within the house was too warm and close to be comfortable. ( 15 ) there is a good deal of poetry in the gorgeously glowing tints in their ever mutable hues, which robe the floating clouds ; in the deep transparent azure of the sky, and the mild radiance of the stars and planets set in the firmament like rubies. there is both magnificence and sublimity in the battle of clouds when they are surcharged with electricity, and intensely vivid flashes of lightning disclose their frowning aspect. there is grandeur in the high soaring mountains with their vast undulations, waving across an extensive region, crowned with a mantle of eternal snow ; the many sea-like expansive rivers, and vast fields of primitive forests, densely garbed with foliage of many colours, and standing in the pride of their gi gantic altitude. all these sublimely great, or softly tender objects 6f nature, are cradled on the bosom of an eastern clime in which the subjects of this tale have a local habitation. spring comes in with a fresh verdure and a voluptuous deli ciousness in the balmy air, replete with the odour of lemon, babool, and other fragrant flowers of the season. flowers of many luscious fruit trees impregnate the air with sweet scents, whilst the highly odorous jalioria-champa, the gundraj, bald, chamali, juen, malut/u, and kamni, load the at mosphere of a garden with delicious fragrance, not only intense ly cheering, soothing, and intoxicating in their influence, but inspiring one with feelings and sentiments of love for nature, and all that nature offers to the eye that is beautiful in form, pleasant to the taste, charming to the ear, and attractive to contemplation. birds of gorgeous plumage and melodious song, pleased and excited with the captivating powers of spring, burst forth into a torrent of harmony that spreads from grove to grove, and brings forth a rich flow of swelling music from other choristers in responsive song. while the gentle dyel, seated in melancho ly solitude in the extreme verge of one of the boughs, apart from the joyous throng of merry-making birds, smitten with unrequited love as it were, utters his plaintive song in broken ( 16 ) cadences, till tired of complaining, he falls from sheer exhaustion, into a state of forgetfulness in a doze. * * * * one of the recreations in which nujmoon delighted to in dulge, was to bathe and swim in the tank during the sultry summer months, when persons take a natural pleasure in hot climates to imitate the amphibious denizens of the world, by being as often in water as in land. soon after dusk, when the stars are all visible to the eye, studding the heavens, nujmoon divested herself of her gold anklets, that they might not be any impediment to her easy graceful cleaving of the liquid element, and sporting in the tank like one of the water nymphs. she could swim across the tank, dive deep and pick up shells from the bottom, and rise like a river goddess with a liquid halo round her, while her luxuriant waving hair descended be low her waist like a mantle,from which the blushing waters glided in numerous rippling streamlets, tinged with the moon beam reflection, investing her fairy-like person with the charms of unearthly brilliance, and an ethereal beauty. the ghat alluded to above, was very frequently the place where nujmoon and her nurse spent many hours in so pleasant and absorbing conversation, that when the falling tide of evening deepened into the darkness of night, they were unconscious that the hours had so rapidly glided by with silken strides, instead of the leaden steps with which they desired that time would have marched. when the radiant sun had dipped his burning brow below the western sky, and sleepy twilight was approaching with her softening influences, and the evening zephyrs waving their delicate pinions, the former mellowing the landscape, and the latter rendering the air voluptuous, nujmoon and groolchum mon were seen to step out together from the house to stroll about the grounds, tastefully laid out with groves of luscious fruit trees, and beds of flowers of the richest perfume. ( '7 ) oil these occasions, she was generally attired according to the season. in winter, she wore a green and yellow striped satin trowsers, a purple jacket, studded with gold buttons set with gems, and a cashmere shawl having an elaborate border of gold and silk-work. in spring, a pair of white cotton trowsers, a light canary colour jacket, and a muslin covering of the same hue, a colour which is universally adopted in the east, under a belief that it harmonises well with the season, greatly improves the com plexion, and is most becoming at the time. sauntering under the shady topes of trees, now engaged in light sparkling conversation, now skipping about, and betimes stooping to pick up a fresh fruit, or berry, shaken down by the fanning breeze from the boughs of trees, bent under the weight of their full maturity, too heavy, and possessing a slight hold on the branches to be supported any longer by them, they dropped pattering on the ground. sated with diversions of this sort, and after she had exhausted herself with such gambols, nissa and her nurse rested themselves on the pucka masonry couch at one of the banks of the tank. depression of spirit is often the parent of much mirth, whe ther real or assumed, though the source of either is so deep and hidden, that to the eye of the strictest observer of physiogno mical indications, the cause of certain emotions will always remain a mystery, save that, when it is assumed, the buoyancy of spirit has but an evanescent existence, while the real state of feeling invariably asserts its own power, and is indicated by its predominating influence. in consonance with these observations, nissa, when seated at the ghat, entered into conversation with her nurse, the general tendency of which was of a gloomy complexion. " the thought very frequently obtrudes itself in my mind, chummon," observed nissa, addressing her nurse, " that the laws of nature and of alla are all reversed to favour the claims of men, and that women having nothing to do with them, are 3 ( 18 ) excluded from all g 'participation. the sunshine and air of heaven, and the beauties of creation, were, it would seem, all created for the sole use and enjoyment of man, and for him only. all ani mate existence enjoys as their birthright, the freedom which mowlah had intended for them, and yet we poor creatures are shut out from sharing them, as if we, above all things, were be neath the dignity of rational beings, nay, even below the irrational also." "my darling child!" replied chummon, "how could you permit such sharp thoughts to come across your little head, and embitter your life ? is not my nissa, the sweetest flower that grows in the garden of her father ? is she not surrounded with every enjoyment and pleasure that an indulgent parent has with a lavish hand provided, sparing neither trouble, pains, money, nor influence in procuring them for her happiness, and by a parent too who dotes on his child with a depth of affection that can hardly be fathomed ?" " that is all very true, chummon," added nissa in a sub dued tone, seeing the solicitude depicted in the countenance of her nurse, " but does not our very nature revolt at the idea, that whilst the animals of the forest, and the birds of the air, enjoy the thrilling delights of freedom, we who are equal with men, and are suitable companions, should be cribbed and con fined like the turtle to its shell, is a thing that will always be abhorrent to our feelings." " my little bird," responded chummon, " has taken very capricious fancies into her head this evening, and that very suddenly too. what does my nissa desire ? she who has known no other world, and has been acquainted with no other freedom from her infancy, save the world of her father's house, and the full liberty of roaming within her own extensive resi dence, why should she aspire after things of which she has no knowledge, and therefore not safe to be longing for the un known." " oh! ohummou," cried nissa, " is not accurate knowledge ( 19 ) of persons and things obtained by personal experience, and from seeing, hearing, and judging for myself? does not know ledge expand by freely mixing with society, enquiring for the reasons of things, and finding out the cause, and ascertaining the effect, as also by several other means ?" " if there be some advantage," said chummon, " which men derive from unshackled intercourse with the world, believe me, my darling, there exists a great amount of evil in society, from the contamination of which, my pretty child has been spared, in consequence of her retirement from their destructive and baneful influence." " i would rather be acquainted with both the good and the evil," continued nissa, " which exist in the world, that by com paring the one with the other, the good might shine with a brighter lustre, and the evil appear still more hideous. besides which, there is no true merit in a person who is locked up in eeclusion ; who exercises no moral influence, and whatever be the virtuous conduct she might be applauded for by others, she who has never had to battle with temptation, subdue her pro pensities when they are reprehensible, and restrain her passions, when they are powerfully evoked by circumstance, and every opportunity to break out by fresh incitements which she could have resisted, deserves not the praise that is bestowed on her." " we who are so weak and helpless," interrupted chummon : " so infirm in our resolutions, and so tender in our susceptibili ties, was it not wise and far-sighted in our sages and sires, to adopt such prudent, social rules for our benefit, knowing that in our contest with the rough world to which all our powers are inadequate, and being certain that it would result not only in mortifying defeat, but in our dishonorable conquest ; i say, was it not prudent not to permit the brittle earthen vessels to float down the stream of time along with the hard utensils of brass." " as water is the natural element of fishes in which they must live and thrive," exclaimed nissa with some degree of im patience, " so men and women are intended to live in the world ( 20 ) and receive the training in the school prepared for the sons aud daughters of adam by an all-wise providence. there is an imperative necessity for the good and bad to grow up together, and whatever might be the incidents which are transpiring around us, they are all intended to teach us some lesson, useful to us now or hereafter. our acquired experience and know ledge of things and affairs will set them up as beacons on the pathway of life, to warn us, pilgrims, of the dangers that beset our walks, and to direct our wandering and unsteady steps to safe roads in our journey in this world. " does it not strike you, chummon," said nissa, " that the lords of the world rank us with the inferior animals of creation ; if not, why are we not receiving education of a higher standard, and why are we prevented from joining in so reasonable a service as going to pray at the musjeed, when the matin and vesper muezzin calls all believers to join in the praises of allah ? " has the beneficent being made man with a different nature and constitution, and bestowed on him a more exalted soul than he has given to woman, owing to which that man is made wor thy to hold intellectual communion with his maker, and render him spiritual service, which we cannot, being incapable and falling as it were beneath his notice ?" " o, nissa, you make me very sad with such dark thoughts in which of late you are too often indulging. this spirit of dis content with the existing state of things about you, will, i fear, not pass unnoticed, but by its frequency invite the attention of your loving father ; it would result in an inquisitive enquiry as to who the person was who had put such novel ideas into the head of his beautiful child, and by it was marring her enjoyments, and making her life burthensome. " i cannot solve your doubts, nor answer any of your many questions, but i would advise you to be very cautious before whom you ventilate your numerous surmises, so uncongenial as they are to the manner, modes of thought, and habits of ac tion, belonging to the creed of your fathers." ( 21 ) it was verging on to midnight when chummon coaxed the petted child to retire from the ghat, and forget her sad reflections in the arms of sleep. nissa moved away mechanically from the spot, being led by her nurse to the house and to her apartment, where she threw herself on her couch, and with eyes bedewed with tears, she fell asleep, and oblivion spread her mantle over her agony of the past day. chapter iv. fhe hermit's solitary cell to which mobaruc frequently resorted either to divert his leisure in pleasing and edifying converse, or in the better amusement of acquiring a knowledge of skifully handling the sctar, now on his visit after his late in terviews with nujmoon nissa, began to evince a moody gloom, which, being an unusual symptom in his general deportment, did not pass unobserved by the attentive aad feeling-hearted ameerjan. " a cloud," observed the hermit, " that seldom flitted across the brow of my vivacious friend, hangs darkling with its heavy gloom his ever cheerful aspect. " if ever ameerjan has shared thy joys, or partaken of thy sorrows, impart, my friend, the secret of thy pensive looks, and the cause of thy studied taciturnity, for they too deeply affect me with unpleasant dejection." " pardon me, ameerjan, for i know too well the tender sen sibility of your heart which never fails to offer sympathy to the afflicted, balm to the lacerated spirit, and the benefit of your ex perience and valuable counsel to the helpless and the unhappy. " it was my purpose in coming here to ask your aid, and obtain your advice in a matter that deeply affects my peace. " i would not have hesitated to disclose to you the racking uneasiness of thoughts with which i came burthened, had i known the best method of divulging the sad story. but since you have advanced the point to an issue, nothing remains but a disclosure of the subject. " when my evenings were not given to you, my friend, or to your captivating minstrelsy, i passed them generally in riding over the extensive plains contiguous to a half dilapidated man sion, near the suburbs of raj mahul, where unnoticed, i could muse on the frailty of glory, the emptiness of earthly glitter, and the links of indomitable fate which bind our actions to a course from which it can scarcely be diverted. ( 23 ) " but to begin the narration. so unexpected as it was, conceive my surprise when i beheld at the little private garden gate, a being so transcendant, sylph-like, and shrouded in the graces of so much unearthly loveliness. nujmoon nissa, or ' light of the morning star,' is the name by which the fair inhabitant of that mansion is designated. her melting eyes fringed with dark long lashes ; her cheeks suffused with the glow of health, the airy-like form, with innumerable other bewitching graces, conspired to raise in me a feeling of deep respect and love, not to be easily subdued. her lovely image, her looks, her very movements be came objects of my solicitude ; and like our own shadows, they pursue and disturb the repose of my mind. " i was ill at ease unless i saw her daily, nay every moment of the day if it were possible. " i met nujmoon nissa frequently and have exchanged vows of eternal fidelity. i feel a secret satisfaction in saying that the proffer of my hand, heart, and fortune, were not rejected by the ' light of the star,' or i should rather say, light of my soul. " i feel also that without her, my life would be a barren gloomy existence not worth cherishing. you, my friend, have now learnt my unhappy predicament, and will readily excuse the gloom that gave you uneasiness." " your case is not hopeless, mobaruc, for i am admitted into the private divan of the ex-nabob, on the praise of whose amiable daughter you have been justly lavish ; and if it be your pleasure, i will be your mosata, or bearer of marriage over tures." " though i could not propose the task to you, yet as you my friend, voluntarily tender your assistance in your usual kind manner, you could not lay me under greater obligation, or render me a better service." " say no more, mobaruc. before the crescent moon fills her disk, i hope to be the messenger of glad tidings to you, my friend, and though adverse fate has persecuted me, and un ( 24 ) releutingly doomed me to be the most unhappy of mortals, it has not converted me as yet into a morose misanthropist. i am on the contrary, ever devoted to the service of humanity from which alone i reap abundant satisfaction. it is the only antidote to my lacerated heart, to be useful to others. to relieve and ameliorate the condition of my fellow-sufferers in the weary pilgrimage of life, is the only source of joy which i can derive from existence." " this, ameerj an, reminds me of your repeated promises of narrating the history of your incidental life, and it will not only be a proof of your confidence, but a kind return to my un hesitating candour." " to you i owe my unreserved sentiments, and at a more befitting time when i. can make you happy, and see you more cheerful, i will not fail to communicate them, though in doing so, i cannot fail to smart by opening the wound afresh." the young ameer, bidding a cordial adieu to his friend, the hermit, descended from the hills. he gained the road which ran its mazy course over cultivated fields, laden with a rich crop of mustard, linseed, and rice. the new moon glittered like a silver bow on the azure canopy. it was studded with innumerable stars that shed their lustre on the silent repose of creation. the night breeze had also sprung up in slight whis pers ; it came pregnant with the odour of the scented lime, babool, and champa. the breeze gently dallied with the pendant curls of mobaruc, ruffled the mane of his arabian, and passed away on their downy wings over ears of corn, agitating them with a soft rustling undulation. these were the thoughts which the time and scenery awoke in the mind of the otherwise gay equestrian. " what serenity ! what harmony dwells in the firmament above ! what profound soothing repose ! the moon and the stars are wrapped in a heavenly beam of refulgence, and their aspects present for ever an undisturbed tranquillity ! though their eyes nightly witness a ( 25 ) thousand revolting scenes, fraught with rapine, murder, treachery, ingratitude, still they remain unaffected, and no tears drench their brow, nor passions agitate the calm of their bosom. flowers which beautifully adorn the face of nature, bloom cheerfully and emit a constant fragrant incense to heaven, while their expiring breath is a sweet sigh of gratitude. man is the only vile being who degrades his birth by becoming a dupe to his passions, instead of making them and every thing else, subser vient to his rising in the scale of beings and by indefatigable devotion to all laudable undertakings rising to an atmosphere of purity. why have we the will to do, if the faculty, the power of execution is not at our command ? surely there is a wreck of innate goodness which was a primitive boon with our creation. nature is a divine volume replete with instructions, and he who attentively peruses her pages, will learn much of himself, and much of that mighty being who presides over the glorious fabric he has created and vivifies with his constant presence. oh ! for the wings of a seraph, that i might soar to regions where eternal calm, unvarying harmony, and unchanging love, abandoning the earth on which perpetual tumult and sedition dwell, have taken up their constant habitation in a region of eternal peace and love." chapter v. the neighbourhood of raj mahul there are dense jungles which wildly luxuriate in their pristine glens, sheltering venomous reptiles and other animals, as also the more fero cious tenants as the mouarchs of the woods. from hence the undaunted tiger freely roams abroad, visiting the adjacent villages in his prowls, and occasionally making sad ravages among men, women, children, and the domesticated breed. shecaries who earn their livelihood by giving intimation, and serving as guides to sportsmen, are ever vigilant in learning the rendezvous of the tiger. though they o/ten go and craftily perch on some trees from whence they direct their envenomed shaft at the breast of such foes, yet when a better remuneration is expected by announcing it to the omrao, they will not fail to secure that reward. tigers, either to shake off the drowsy sensation of repletion, or as exercise to digest their meal, are in the habit of stretching their length and scratching the bark of trees, and by it the traces of the animal are discovered. shecaries by this means easily capture them and possessing the jaws, nails, coats of leopards and tigers, they dispose of them for a small amount to such as would pass for a sheerkha, who collect them as trophies of their reckless valour. selling also to such other credulous old people as believe in the medicinal virtue of hair, tooth, and claws. prince sujah to whom the s/tccaries conveyed intelligence of some recent depredation made by tigers, circulated a pro clamation to the ameers of his court, to be ready before dawn, to join him on a hunting excursion. when the morn ing began to peep through the east, one or another of the ameers began to throng the court-yard of the palace. prince sujah descended the flight of steps, and gracefully received the salutation and good wishes of the nobles, then mounted his huge elephant. ( 27 ) the stately animal was painted on the body, and covered with a rich crimson velvet, ornamented with gold work. the howdah was surmounted with silver, and the instrument with which the mnhoot guided him, was of the same metal, but solid. the throng slowly moved through one of the roads of raj mahul, which led to a field situate at the distance of five miles. from thence they proposed setting out after games. when a prince intends mak ing a move in any direction, news circulates as fast as the wind. distant villages through which he would have to pass, were long awake before the cavalcade had stirred from the palace, and were all impatient with expectation. some ran to and fro, some walked out to the distance of a mile to meet him, others through imbecility of age, were content to remain at their doors, smoking away their impatience, and chatting with the idle saunterers. children clapped their little hands with rapture, and shouted with exultation, though far from knowing the nature or extent of fun and frolic they anticipated. young men and virgins posted themselves before their doors, slightly kept ajar, or stood before venetians partially lifted. peerbux, adecrepid old man, who was placed on the pension establishment of the prince, and who had devoted the prime of his life to the service of his beneficent master as an industrious, faithful adherent, also left his warm comfortable bed, and sat himself by his gate with his old partner, who, by her gossip and garrulity, kept him from dozing under the somnifio influence of the cool morning breeze. " well, peerbux," said the woman to her husband, " this is enough to try the patience of our holy prophet. it is an hour since the bustle began on the road by the vagabonds, still no thing is in sight. it has deprived us of our rest two hours before our usual time to stir out, yet the prince and his retinue are not in sight." " why, grolaub, since we are awake, it matters not if we pass our time in gazing at the procession of the prince, or at the animated bustle of men. the unrestrained conversation of the latter, with its merriments, might be more amusing." a fresh simultaneous shout of lads, and the appearance of some assaburdars and sotaburdars, announced the approach of the prince. the stately elephants of sujah, soon after, burst into view, refulgent with the dazzle of gold and silver. next follow ed the no less showy animals of the ameers, and lastly a number of men bearing glittering spears. all the while that the men were passing in procession, the loquacious old wife of peerbux remained silently gazing with awe and wonderment, but so soon as they had gone to some distance, she resumed her chat. " how is it, peerbux, that those handsome and opulent young men do not know how to spend their time better than in risking their sweet lives in hunting wild animals, as if they had no servants or shecarics to send out to destroy them ?" " the children of the great," observed the husband, " whose future lives will some time or another be exposed to the hard ships of warfare, are brought up to these manly sports, in order to exercise their valour and skill in attack and defence. these sports prepare them in some measure to contend with the more inveterate foes of their country. it is to their valour and intrepidity that we owe the peaceful enjoyment of our hearths and lives. they are the best bulwarks of our city ; in times of need and emergency, they withstand the furious rush of our enemies, and repel every unjust foreign aggression." prince sujah, during the course of his journey, addressed his followers with the following conversation in his usual affable manner : " an opportunity for attending these diversions is seldom lost by shufteralli. are his wounds so thoroughly healed as to make him forget his recent encounter ?" " it is the presence of my prince," replied the sturdy shuf teralli, " that invigorates his servant, and makes him willing to endure every trouble and face danger, provided that he has the pleasure of being nigh his protection." ( 29 ) *' are you also with us, mobaruc, leaving the merry tones of you setar to silent neglect, and exchanging it for the dissonant growl and roar of wild beasts ?" " my prince has a prior claim on my devotion, and when better employments do not engage my time, trifles may relieve cnnni, though my prince may remember that on the last scuffle with our enemies, i played more music with my shumshere then my setar." " i acknowledge thy merit, thy zeal, mobaruc ; may the continuance of thy fidelity ever earn for thee as hitherto, the grateful acknowledgment of thy friend and protector." the riders had arrived at the jungle. shecaries and spear men filed off, a portion to the right, and another to the left, forming an extensive crescent within which it was intended to drive the game. on entering the forest which was dense, dark, and tangled, each individual felt a queer dread at the awful silence and solemnity of the place. it was so much so, that were a pin to drop, it could be heard distinctly ; the sense of hearing became exceedingly acute from apprehension. it was all ear and eye. trees of a slender make which opposed the progress of the gigantic animals, were easily broken down. elephants are very sagacious, and they have an instinctive dread of their formidable opponents, and this was evinced by their knowledge of their presence, indicated by a dead halt at places where the tiger had rested. there they paw the ground, strike their trunks, and blow through their proboscis a sound not unlike the blast of a horn. a nullali overrun with sedges and matted with lilies, lotus, and other aquatic plants, was soon crossed over, and on the opposite bank, three immense wild buffaloes were seen to wallow in the shallow stream. they arose irritated at the interruption to their amusement, and with a loud bellow, a wild toss of their horns tangled with weeds, they made a furious rush at the elephants. these withstood ( 30 ) the charge, while from their backs, from the arms of the ameers, flew a dozen well aimed spears. soon followed a few whistling bullets which were lodged in their foreheads. the brutes staggered a few paces, and fell one after another with a great splash. the elephants, who were not mere idle spectators, trampled and put a period to their existence. a few deer, which the well exercised archery of the nobles added to their game, concluded the first day's sport. the party came up on the following morning, to an open space overgrown with high cassia grass. tfre hunters spied in it two noble tigers, feasting on some carcass which lay near them. the ferocious beast which was about sixty yards off, erecting himself in the power of his might, and placing his paws over the work of destruction, sent forth a hideous growl which resounded fearfully through the circumambient forest : his eyes were glowing like balls of fire ; his ears standing erect, and his looks threatening defiance to the unwelcome intruders. " here is sport my men," said the prince, " such as we seldom come across. keep the space clear on the front fall back with your animals a little more to the right and left, so as to prevent their escape. meer sufteralli, your elephant is too near the heels of mine ; pray keep back a little for the play of each animal." the prince advanced a few paces his glittering barb whist led in the air for a moment and then was buried deep on the back of his brindled enemy. the infuriated brute gave a dreadful howl that reverberated through the forest, and not heeding the fragile reed quivering at his side, came 'bouncing onward. after a momentary halt, he made a spring on the prince, before the prince could have time to aim another winged shaft of death. mobaruc, who was all the while a silent but impatient spectator of the scene, aimed his ready arrow at the glarinf eye of the tiger, where it remained transfixed. the wounded beast fell back with a howl, bit the arrow at his side to fragments, and snapped the other in two ( 31 ) foiled in his purpose, and furious with rage and pain, he rushed with a mad, yet instinctive fury, at the prince's elephant from whence he had received the first attack. there he fixed his claws and made a deep wound. the lacerated animal who could not easily shake off the tiger, nor extricate himself from the jaws and claws of his desperate foe, was in jeopardy, as the prince felt himself placed in the same predicament, being unable to use his weapon with effect, from the rolling of the animals which threatened every moment to dislodge him. mobaruc leaped down instantly from his hoicdah with his true persian sabre of approved steel, grasped in one hand, while the other held a well charged pistol. "with the former he made a deep cut in the spine, and the ball of the latter which had pe netrated the heart of the monster, laid him dead at the feet of mobaruc. all this was performed within a short time. the other tiger was despatched with greater ease and facility. during the afternoon, they met with another tiger, besides three leopards. they gave them some sport, as the ameers' elephants, and the omras themselves took back tokens of their fury. the scars were not soon effaced nor forgotten. it afforded a subject for conversation and matter for congratulation for a long time to the individuals who had taken a prominent part in the adventurous exploit. the rage for the chase being appeased on the third day, they returned to raj mahul laden with trophies. the prince distinguished mobaruc with fresh marks of favour. the other ameers were also noticed with tokens of satisfaction, for the display of valour and intrepid conduct of which the hunt gave abundant proofs. chapter vi. the animated bustle of the chase occupied the time of mobaruc, his faithful and devoted friend, the hermit, failed not to obtain an interview with the venerable nobleman. on entering his diwan-khana the parent of the lovely nujmoon nissa lay reclined on a persian carpet, with one arm resting on a velvet pillow, holding to his mouth the point of the snake of his hookah which was made of pure silver, orna mented with flowers of gold leaves and buds formed of emeralds and rubies. he was inhaling from the tube a delicious smoke, which curled above in circling volumes, perfuming the whole apartment with the richly scented tobacco of persia. " i salute thee, ameer," said the hermit, " with peace and length of days to thee and thine." " ah ! is that ameerjan that my eyes behold ! he is as rarely to be seen as the flowers of our fig tree, and therefore do i doubt the accuracy of my vision. but whither have thy steps so long wandered, and from whence comest thou ?" " be assured, ameer, that i am present with my body, and that i come from my humble cell from whence i had never ceased remembering thee in my daily orisons." " thanks to thee, ameerjan ; thy acts are always in union with thy appellation. if no generous deeds had marked thy conduct, thou wouldst not have been distinguished with the favourable designation of the " noble heart." but to what chance do i owe the pleasure of thy kind and agreeable visit ?" " one lovely flower which blooms in the seclusion of your garden, and will some time or other require the society of a man who can duly appreciate her value, and would cherish and protect her with fond solicitude, such a man, while your eyes are open, will be your highest prudence to select." " alas ! ameerjan, those are the very thoughts which seri ously occupy my anxious mind ; but seldom or never do i go out ( 33 ) now and mix with society ; i have therefore little opportunity for learning the temper and qualities that constitute a good character in a husband, so as to make choice of one.' ' " of all the gay youths of the court of our prince (may his shadow never decrease, nor his star decline), i can point out one who is the brightest of them all, and will answer your highest expectation. the name, mobaruo, with whose fame all eaj mahul is ringing, might have reached your ear ere this. " in the field, in chase, in archery, or in musical talents, few will excel him. he is elegant in person, as he is mild in dis position. his attachment to the person of the prince, and his general merit, have raised him to a post of distinction, aspired at by most, but attained by few. his affability, candour, and benevolent spirit, have won him the good opinion of all, and the friendship of many. educated under the tuition of learned moulvies, he is versed in the persian, arabic, and toorky languages, and from a natural taste for ornamental studies, he has acquired many refined accomplishments. " he has recently come into possession of a large property bequeathed to him by his parent. not given to an extravagant waste, either in sinking debauchery, or any of the frivolous in dulgences which young people are in the habit of, a portion is ap propriated to the wants of the indigent, the education and enligh tenment of the poor classes, and in works of public utility. the source from whence those bounties flow, is, however, modestly concealed under the appellation of, " a friend to the poor !" such then is the man whom i strongly recommend to your favourable notice." " the person," observed the nobleman, " who possesses those exalted virtues, lofty endowments, and is at the same time the object of the encomium of ameerjaun, cannot be a man on whom my choice could be misplaced." the hermit saluting him courteously, retired, pleased with himself at having succeeded to his satisfaction in bringing to gether the fortunes of two of the most deserving beings, whom 5 ( 34 ) perhaps the caprice of fate, or the unreasonable severity of parents, migh have separated for ever. he was pleased that he could now be the messenger of happy news, and be enabled to witness the rapture that would brighten the countenance of his much esteemed mobaruo. it would be as a drop of sweet in his bitter cup of woes, an emerald isle, a silver stream in the sahara of his life, sustaining his fainting spirit with the reviving draught of the one, and giving repose to his weary limbs on the other. such satis faction, and ecstacy of joy, an approving conscience invariably bestows on virtuous acts and works of benevolence. his hermitage presented now a more cheerful aspect of com fort than it did before. as he was wiping off the dust from the sitar which lay suspen ded at a corner of the cot, intending to handle and once more draw forth its melody which was chained up so long in silence, mobaruc greeted him with an affectionate filial embrace. " i hesitate," said mobaruc, " to interrogate you regarding the result of your visit to the nobleman, for by one breath, you might kill or bid me live." " nay, impatient mobaruc, you are an ill decipherer of physiognomy. do you behold aught in my countenance that portends a withering blast ? not to keep you in suspense, know then that the father of your beloved nujmoon is disposed to bestow her fair hand to a kind, gentle, and virtuous man, and if such you believe yourself to be, then you are the person to whom the promise has been given." " how can i thank you adequately, or express the unutterable emotions of gratitude. i will owe you the best part of my happiness. you have delivered me from utter ruin to which the torment, the agony of feelings, would have inevitably con signed me." " in serving you mobaruc, in promoting your welfare, i am as much a gainer as yourself, for i have always participated in all your sorrows, and hope now to share your joys." ( 35 ) the preliminaries being adjusted to the satisfaction of all parties concerned in the interesting transaction, the first moon of the following mouth was selected, as being the most propitious time for the celebration of the nuptials of mobaruc and nuj moon nissa. chapter vii. fhe intended celebration of the wedding being generally ^ . known, it gave work and occupation to the hands of the bazar men for several days. all classes of artisans had sufficient employment during the revolution of a month. the old huhchy had to tax his ingenuity in the invention of sweetmeats of all colours, shapes, and niceness. goolsazes were busy in painting transparencies for the gates, garden, and naobutkhana, to suspend coloured lights arranged with fanciful design. during the lugun, a time of merriment, the mansion of the ameer rang for several days with songs of mirth and bustle of occupation. from different quarters of the city, the ameers who came daily to pay their devoirs, were received courteously and with cordial welcome. itur and rosewater were brought into requisition as often as a new guest entered the divan. beetel leaves folded in triangular forms and spiced and scented, were offered to each visitor on rich golden salvers, while cool, fragrant shurbets were handed to such of them as ceased to masticate the former. some were taken up in a mere idle manner in extracting a luxurious treat from costly tuberous penchwans. ameers were entertained with a delectable repast of polao, cullia, cofta, and a libation from goblets glittering with the famed wine of sheraz ; while, for several days, thousands of the poor bore away their moiety of khitchery and pice. some tyfaas of celebrated dancing girls, of exquisite sym metry and grace, were engaged to afford a change of amuse ment to the omraos, by the fascinating witchery of their evolutions. as one or another was touched with the dulcet melody of their voice, or the admirable execution of some difficult parts of the dance, they flung pieces of asshurfees, shawls, and rings, as tokens of their approbation, or with a view to evince the bounty, generosity, or affluence of the respective donors. ( 37 ) naolut-khanahs, which glittered with ornamental works, contributed in no small degree to exhilarate the languor of satiety by pouring occasionally a deafening noise from the nnccdrra, tasha, murpha, robab, duf, roshunchoivky ; but of all the instruments, the latter only gave a faint idea of melody, though the rest were barbarous dissonance, yet harmony to ears attuned to their jarring discord. the happy day at last arrived. the road was lined with men on either side, who bore over their heads artificial flower gardens, or held on their hands, imitation chandeliers. camels and elephants carried bands of gaily dressed musicians. next to them were two elephants on which were seated a couple of respectable looking men, of tried integrity, who had the duty of distributing charity on this occasion of universal joy. they did so by thrusting their hands into spacious bags, and lifting up a handful of rupees, scattered them on the way for a free scramble among beggars. the bridegroom was sumptuously attired and mounted on his favourite charger. over it was held a large beautiful silk umbrella, having a silver handle, and pearls pendant from the top. elephants and horses, differently accoutred with ornaments, manifested the opulence, or dignity of the several equestrians who escorted the bridegroom. after these, appeared the very rich palkee of the bride, half concealed by a velvet covering to prevent the inquisitive gaze of idle strollers, and escorted by assaburdars, chobdars, and sotah burdars. she was attended by vehicles which conveyed her friends and relatives. the rear was occupied by the dependants of the ameers, and by a promiscuous crowd attracted by the rich and diversified pageantry which a great man's wedding invariably promises, also by the curious procession of grandeur and comicality which are the inseparable accompaniments of ceremonies of the kind. ( 38 ) on entering the premises, mobaruc was surprised to see his friend ameerjan dressed in the habille of a cazi, and ready with other muuas to solemnize the ceremony by reading passages from the koran adapted for the occasion, and articles of marriage written in the culma. the cazi on learning that the parties mutually consented to the union, celebrated their nuptials with due formality. thus having finished what the anxious heart of the hermit most desired, he partook unceremoniously of refreshments, and accepted other marks of civility with which mobaruc loaded him. a cheerfulness mantled the face of his friend, to witness which was gratifying to mobaruc. the stream of time bore away days and months rapidly, but they were passed by them with delight, enhanced by the agree able society of each other who entertained reciprocal esteem. as nujmoon was above the ordinary class of society, the culti vation of her mind was not neglected. she could therefore converse with intelligence on most topics, and give fresh interest and pathos by the delicate language in which she dressed her thoughts. every day augmented the felicity of mobaruo, as he ex perienced the many blessings which attended the steps of con nubial life. he found in it many secret sources through which copious streams of joy, not to be found in any other condition so complete and so full, ran refreshing his inmost soul. , if his mind was agitated by any disturbing passion, or his heart throbbed with anxiety, her company and conversation had power to lull or dispel them. before her enlivening smiles, every gloomy thought fled that marred the brightness of his countenance ; and in the sunshine of her cheerfulness and vivacity, he could not but enjoy what he imbibed the gay humour of her buoyant spirit. every idle pastime abroad was totally abandoned for the more rational and pure delights of a home enlivened by the engaging deportment ( 39 ) of her who presided over his domestic comforts, as their sole sacred guardian : and to her it was that he owed his entire reformation from every irregularity of youth. "within the space of two years she gave him as many children, the pledges of love and faithful affection. the boy bore some resemblance to the mother, the girl had a striking appearance that reflected the father's image, yet both were as beautiful and lovely as cherubs. the hermit frequently visited mobaruc, finding great plea sure in his society and that of the little innocent children. their early lispings, and endearing manners, afforded him a calm de light, and inspired the faded heart of ameerjan with a sweet sensation of joy and benevolence. as the children were growing up, he took great interest in their education and welfare. he paid great attention to the growth of their young ideas, entered into their infantile sports with as much hilarity as if he were one of them, and participated in their evanescent grief with much sympathy. his melancholy face glowed with pride and joy, when, as the beautiful infants climbed up his knees to snatch a kiss, their parent taught them to respect and love him as their second bapjan. now that the garden of mobaruc was trimmed and kept under greater care than before, flowers of a variety of species and genus bloomed in their freshness ; while every plant dressed in its vivid green, made it a desirable spot for the scene of their evening re creation. here the setar was resorted to when topics of exhilarating conversation lagged, and in its whispers of melody, the hearts of mobaruc and ameerjaun were steeped in a melancholy joy, more easily felt than described. mobaruc took this opportunity of addressing his friend on the subject of the history of his life. " i have," observed mobaruc, " no thought, no wish which you are not made acquainted with ; no schemes laid, no plans proposed without first consulting you ; in justice then to my ( 40 ) perfect unreserve, you should oblige me with a recital of your adventures without further hesitation." " to the want of sufficient confidence, i hope you, my friend, will not attribute my not having sooner made you the depository of my secret ; and give no unfair interpretation to my studied silence on that subject for so long a period. " as the season has, however, arrived in which i purposed to narrate to you the particulars of my sad history, i will no longer delay indulging you with the narration, leaving you to judge whether i could at all times take a ready pleasure in its publication. " if i now do so, it is only because i can better support the agony of their reminiscence, surrounded as i am with the smiles of your children, your own happy looks, and the sympathy of your tender heart. " the evening being far advanced, and as i should not be able to bring the theme to a conclusion, you will kindly have a little more patience in waiting till i pay you my next visit, which i will endeavour to make earlier than usual, in order to gratify your curiosity, or rather your friendly solicitude." chapter viii. was born in that land where the sky is almost always unclouded ; where the sun sets in unrivalled glory, im buing the firmament with a rich variety of tints ; where birds of gold and emerald plumage, both adorn her groves, and make her vallies resound to their songs of joy, and the most rare and delicious fruits and plants vegetate in lavish profusion, without much care of tillage, or a laborious irrigation. it was the lovely city of phars, whose fragrant air my infant breath first drew ; whose clime matured my feelings, and moul ded them to an intense degree of tender sensibility. a brother and myself, were the only surviving children of my father, who �a.smosaheb,-ot aide-de-camp to sultan nadir shah. nadir vindicated the independence of his country, but his conquering arm which gave no respite to his subjects, involved them in frequent broils, and allowed them no leisure to taste the advantages of peace. my brother and i were the admiration of our country for our graceful horsemanship, and expert use of the bow. my brother was reckoned one of the best poets of the place. so great was the love of my father for truth, probity, and candour, that all the intercession of my brother and mother, could not at one time divert him from his inexorable purpose of giving me a sound correction for denying that i had bro ken one of his valuable pipes, although i have often been guilty of greater damages done to most costly mirrors and vases, and have escaped punishment by merely acknowledging my fault. a proud, haughty, and opulent nobleman, who had a daughter of exquisite beauty, lived near my father's residence. we as children were suffered to play for years together with out interruption. she was about my age, or a year or two younger. i could not have been more than seven or eight years old at that time. 6 ( 42 ) i found an undefiuable pleasure in her company. "we ran together after the gayest butterflies in the garden, and however difficult the task may have been, or whatever impediment thwarted my eager pursuit, i was sure to surmount it in order to entrap the gay fluttered for my playmate. i culled the prettiest and most fragrant flowers and presented them to my zeleikha, who was always delighted with my early assiduity to please her ; one instance of which, a rather hazar dous one, i must relate : a pretty lotus was seen floating on the surface of a tank in the garden. she clapped her hands with innocent exultation, pointing to me the gay flower bedewed with crystal drops of rain and blushing as if through tears. i plunged after it, though ignorant of the art of swimming, but had i even been skilled in the art, it could not have been of any service to me, entangled as i was with weeds. the opportune help of the nurse, however, saved me from being drowned, yet not before i had enjoyed enough of soaking, and drinking more water than i had a thirst for. i found my playfellow after my immersion, looking pale and trembling with fear and agitation. seeing me, however, safe again, tears of joy rolled down her blooming cheeks. she was ever, after this accident, fearful of expressing her admiration of anything in a dangerous place, lest she might involve me a second time in difficulties, but i, who could decipher her wish by the expressive intelligence of her eyes, always gratified her desires as far as they were practicable. we reluctantly separated after play-hours, she to retire to her apartment, i to my father's house, thoughtful and unhappy that she and i were not together for ever. the hope of seeing her every evening and the pleasure which that would infuse, in a manner reconciled us to every day separation. we could not long remain as children, nor be allowed to indulge in recreations, however harmless and innocent in their tendency, without infringing the rules and ( 43 ) violating the laws of decorum or custom ; besides, her father, who was absent for some years, returning about that time, exercised the authority with which nature had invested him as a parent, by prohibiting our interviews. in conformity with the strict injunctions of her master, her duenna became vigilant in watching my fair zeleikha. frequently did i visit the garden, whose flowers she out rivalled, and where she chained my devotion to herself, but, alas ! the eve of that paradise was now doomed to pine in the seclusion of her retirement. i had a glimpse of her once as she stood before one of the windows waving her hand and looking like an angel from the distant world of spirits to bless my ever-longing eyes. she looked pale and wasted, and i could not help shedding many a tear at the visible change i noticed in her appearance. though her form became indistinct from the dark advance of night, still my eyes were fixed in its direction, and i fancied i had an occasional glimpse of her emerging through the sur rounding gloom. i know not how long i might have remained thus in a sweet delusion, had not the gardener announced the lateness of the hour, and his intention of closing the gate. every other attempt that i made to see or hear of her, proved unsuccessful for some time, and during that period of suspense, you might imagine what must have been the degree of torture i was fated to endure. in the mean time, my parent, who had observed a radical change in my demeanour, and was likewise apprised of the attachment which existed between myself and the ameer's daughter, to divert my mind from the object, procured me a post under kurreem khan, one of nadir's lieutenants, an able chief who triumphed over all his adversaries, and substantiated his claims to the musniid by strength of arms. i was deeply engaged for several months in repressing the forays of the rude banditti who shelter themselves in the moun ( 44 ) tain chain which runs through the kingdom from armenia to the persian gulf. thence sally the marauders who spoil rich plains and attack valuable caravans. when their depredations were in some measure suppressed by our troops, i returned to my parent, but not at all cured of my passion, as he had intended and expected, for that on the contrary broke forth with more violence from absence and res traint. i devised every means of effecting an interview, and on this occasion was less unfortunate than i had been for sometime before. gold had power to remove the scruples of the ameer's de pendants, as it had sufficient efficacy in withdrawing bolts and bars. one happy evening, but why do i recal it ? it was my last day of joy on earth i was admitted into the garden, and to our favourite seat. i waited and zeleikha appeared. she ran to my arms and fainted with mingled emotions of joy, fear, and grief. oh ! how time had added to her charms ! if she was beautiful when young, how much more lovely when all her graces were developed and matured by years, and increasing refinements of the mind had expanded. would i not have been content and happy with that precious burthen in my arms, and have been ready to sacrifice life's best treasure to call her mine ? she communicated to me the secret instructions her parent had given to two ruffian toorks in his employ, to destroy me, in the event of their finding me within the walls. i drew out my sabre, observing, that the last drop of my blood would be shed to protect her, and that the arm which felled the foes of my country to the ground, would not lie idle to punish the villains who would dare raise their coward wea pon against an innocent and harmless man. i said everything else to allay her fear, or soothe her grief, but so great was her ( 45 ) apprehension for my safety, that nothing could comfort and compose her mind. she lay her sorrowing face on my bosom, and in that posture, with her mild eyes turned upwards, addressed me in her usual mild accent : " dear mobaruc, this moment repays me for all my past privation and suffering which i have endured in my rigid confinement. your prudent circumspection may, at some future period, afford us the means of enjoying each other's society. my parent may relent at witnessing the protracted suffering, the torture he unnecessarily dooms us to without receiving a single token of violation of our fidelity to each other. promise me, mobaruc, that for my sake you will not thus expose your life to the mercy of menials, and i will contentedly support any affliction my cruel parent may invent with which to inflict me. the night is far spent, and if i should be missed, it would only aggravate the misery of our situation. i cannot, i must not, delay any longer, if not on my own ac count, at least on yours ; so remember my entreaties, dear mobaruc, adieu !" saying which she gave me an affectionate salute, and extricating herself from my arms, rushed into the building and was seen no more. i was led by my conductor to the outer gate from whence my steps led me mechanically to my own residence. i endea voured on the morning to meet an influential friend who was on terms of intimacy with the proud, haughty ameer, and who like myself was an officer in the khan's cavalry. i dis closed to him the attachment which had been cemented from early youth between myself and my neighbour's daughter; that the attachment grew and was strengthened with our years ; that she had become to me as part of myself, and therefore without her, existence would be a desolate waste. i asked him the favour of conveying to her parent the honorable intentions i entertained towards zeleikha. he laid my views before the noble, and urged my suit with all the warmth that friendship and esteem could prompt, but he ( 46 ) found him inexorable, and inflexibly bent on his determina tion, urging as a plea, " that a private gate," alluding to our secret assignation, " was not the most eligible path to obtain, access to his daughter, nor an honorable way to win her con sent, and that he, who could be guilty of such impropriety, was not worthy of his daughter." his ire rose not from this cir cumstance alone, for, pointing to a scar across his forehead, he said, " as long as this mark remains indelible, so long will the memory of what has transpired between the father of that youth and myself, remain unforgotten. bid the young man seek his happiness elsewhere, and if you value my friendship and good opinion, seek not to make any further allusion to the subject which is sufficiently odious to me for more than one reason." chapter ix. had gleaned tlie secret by enqairing of my father's old acquaintances and friends, and learnt that during the early youth of my father, his valour and intrepidity in every daring enterprise, while it procured him complete success in all his undertakings, and his merits which secured the admira tion of his colleagues, provoked the ungenerous envy of his friend to so intense a degree of malice, that he could not rest in peace unless he daily framed and circulated some foul report to asperse and tarnish the unsullied reputation of my father. my father, meeting him in one of his walks in the city, accosted him with resentment, and charged him with spreading invidious insinuations, a base practice unbecoming the dignity of the son of an omrao. this gave him umbrage, and he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. my father drew out his sabre. his anta gonist stoutly defended himself for a time, but as his strength and skill in the use of the sword, was not equal to that of his adversary, he received a deep cut across his forehead, and was in a moment disarmed, and at the mercy of my father, who, wishing to take no further advantage of his victory, left him to resume his walk, after tendering, however, his services to bind his wound, which he disdainfully rejected. alas ! that the man who was himself the cause of the ill usage he had received, should carry his inveteracy so stubborn ly, and so far, as to make us the innocent unhappy victims of his malice ! how bad must that heart be that can feed an evil vindictive temper for so protracted a period without forgiving or forgetting, or feeling its malignity abate from the influence of time. two, to us, dreadful long years had revolved, and within their tardy course, the nobleman made several unsuccess ful attempts to marry his daughter to some omrao, but one uniform refusal she gave every time when such proposals were made. ( 48 ) as the fame of her beauty was the theme of all persia, she had a long train of flattering suitors, among whom was a chief in sway of one of the pachalics, dependant on sultan nadir shah. zeleikha made the following answer, as was communicated to me by one of her confidants : ' i am flattered with the notice the chief deigns to take of me, but regret much i cannot make him happy as he merits to be for his temper, disposition, and the many good qualities he is said to possess. my heart has cherished from infancy the image of but one, and to that man my feelings and affections are already wedded, and to give my hand to him, he would marry but a lifeless statue. the chief, who is known to be as generous as he is humane and discreet, will, as his most prudent action, cease to harass me with his solicitations, for it will be not only useless, as i do not vacillate in my re solution, but will diminish the good opinion i already entertain of him, and the respect i am disposed to evince. acting in studied opposition to the fond wishes of her parent, he became so exasperated at her stubborn non-compliance that his kindness was wholly withdrawn from her. she was refused every gratification how simple soever, for the sole purpose of breaking down that resolution which she so rigidly main tained. she began to pine under her father's obstinate displeasure, the constant persecution of her suitors, and her hopeless situa tion. cheered no longer with a bright prospect of the future, when every day gathered fresh masses of dense dark clouds over the horizon of her once serene existence, her tender spirit shook before the raging blast as the leaf of the cudnia. about this time i was again far away to the south of shiraz on an expedition, and while seated one evening in my tent wearied with my occupations, i had received a message, in timating that her indisposition was so severe, that several skil ful hakims, or doctors, despaired of her recovery, and that she was on the verge of dissolution. i was paralyzed with ( 49 ) this sudden unexpected tidings, and i did not know how to act. " on recovering the proper use of my bewildered faculties, i ran straight to the commanding officer, and obtained his sanction to go back to the city on very urgent affairs that demanded my immediate presence. the general sanctioned my request, and being mounted, i spurred my animal to a full speed, as if he could in one uninterrupted run traverse the distance from shiraz, where i was posted on duty at the time. " after running some miles, my horse was so completely ex hausted, that i feared to lose his service in the early part of a long journey. i was forced to dismount and lead him by the reins till we reached one of the inns on the road, as daylight began to spread over the east. some provender was all i was anxious to secure for my horse, and having done this, i was again ready to start. thus with scarcely any rest or refresh ment, i reached my destination within five days. though expeditious as i could possibly be, i was fated to behold my zeleikha no more on earth. the morning of the day of my arrival saw her remains laid in a beautiful marble mausoleum, resting unmolested by the ashes of her ancestors. " i was left during the frenzy of my grief to hover undisturbed around her remains, watering her tomb with my tears, praying over it, watching, and resting when weary of everything else. it was the only place where my grief flowed copiously and relieved the fever of my brain. i planted cypress and willows round the monument, that they might mourn with me her early unhappy fate. " my brother, who was deeply attached to me, won me with his kind persuasive language to visit the roof of my parent. he led me and i returned, but alas ! with what altered feel ings. i no longer took an interest in pleasure, mirth, friends, relatives, wealth, or property. my father's eyes were bedewed 7 with tears at the sight of me as i stood a wreck of all i was before. he spoke to me many a consoling word in the language of sincere affection, and were it possible to heal the wounded spirit, or calm the tumult of my breast, his kindness, if nothing else, ought to have ameliorated my bitter condition. little did he know of the extent of desolation that had spread itself round my withered heart, and undermined the source of every joy. for months i took pleasure in nothing but visiting the monu ment of her who was my all. her tomb was the grave of every thing dear to me in life, and with her i lost all relish of exis tence. as time glided away, a deep settled melancholy took possession of my spirit ; and as i could not endure the sight of all those scenes and places which were dear to me in her society, i left my father's home with a resolution to visit foreign lands. " in my rambles, i sojourned at mysore, bengal, oude, and upper hiudoostan, and volunteered my services to such maho medan princes as were harassed with foreign invasion, or the unjust aggression of predatory foes. " i fought under azeem-ul-omra against the maharatta power. the marauding jaats, bheels, and thugs, have severally felt the weight of my weapon, nor have chettoo and kurreem, chiefs of pindaree freebooters, escaped receiving a lesson from troops that i had joined, and was one of their leaders. i had received, while at the court of mysore, the news of the demise of my father, and of his leaving me and my brother a large bulk of his wealth, reserving the rest for the erection of a superb mosque. but what would the possession of such dross be to me ? could it bring back one moment of banished joy, a single ray of faded hope, or even a momentary participation of tbat peace i once enjoyed ? " i had not the smallest desire to go back to my country ; and of the amusements of war i was weary. as i came out in disguise, i assumed different characters, but the termination of all assumptions is, as you now find, the garb and character of a lowly hermit, who is fast verging on to the confines of another world." ( 51 ) thus far the hermit continued his narration, when feeling tears fast gathering round his eyes, he lifted his hands to his brow and thus addressed his betrothed : " 0, zeleikha! now that thou art lost to me for ever, what have i to console or comfort me ? where shall i lay my rack ing head and weary limbs, and where find repose for the heart withered and rent by grief and sufferings beyond endurance? still as thou art always present to me in thy ever adored and indelible image, enshrine thyself in my soul which is held sacred to thee from the pollutions of life, that living as thou hast lived in innocence and purity, thy soul may commune with mine, and when the last sleep of life shall have passed away, i may wake to a full vision of thyself, and to the never ceasing joys of paradise ! until then adieu, peace, joy, and repose!" chapter x. fobabuc was reluctant to disturb the full flow of the __ feelings of his friend, but when he had after a time recovered his composure, he tenderly held him by the hand, and with affectionate anxiety observed : " yours is indeed a severe affliction, and well may we weep over a tale so fraught with incidents of no common severity and suffering. " your bleeding heart can receive no cure, no consolation from any earthly balm, but faith and hope may yield some fruits of peace. since regret is unavailing, resign yourself to the fate which allah has in his wise providence assigned you. com fort yourself, my friend, for in me you will find a brother, and in these little ones behold your children. on you now devolves the care of rearing them in the path of virtue ; and to us you will not grudge to give the experience of your age, your agree able conversation, and prudent counsel. useful in the sphere allotted to you for your actions, you will look back with no disappointment on a life spent in piety to god, and benevo lence to mankind/' " the human mind," said the hermit, "is so happily constituted by an all-wise creator, that it can adapt itself to every exigency, and support every trial to which life is exposed. would our calamities, nay our very joys, if to an excessive degree stimu lated, be supportable, if objects which on every hand arrest our attention, and thoughts to which abstract ideas give existence, had they not diverted our cogitations from one channel into another, and interposed to ameliorate the poignancy of the one, and lessen the excitement of the other ? could we bear the spectacle of human wreck, seen as it is in the revolting degra dation to which it is reduced at death, a seeming disappoint ment of our high aspirations, a frustration of our sanguine ( 53 ) hopes, a mockery of our towering thoughts had riot a ray of hope shone forth from the invisible world to cheer the dreary path, and reveal to the eye of reason, the immortality of our existence, and the eternity of future bliss ? " human life would be indeed a galling burthen if there were no future existence, and no future rewards to recompense ex pectations that have grown with our growth. " this alone supports us under every conflict, and reconciles us to every disappointment, the having the assurance that a few revolutions of the sun will usher us to a state of being, vastly different from that we have quitted, and unite us once more and for ever to friends and relatives from whom we were parted but for a season. " teach these little ones who are parts of yourself, to weave lofty sentiments in the most glowing, elegant, and refined lan guage, that, according to their noble descent, their education may appear to be of a dignified order of culture, reflecting the brightest glory and the fairest renown on the possessor, and be a pleasing satisfaction to the hearts of the parents. " but above all, assist them to raise their virgin thought from the lower objects of the present life. in the contemplation of vast objects, pursued through the ocean of unfathomable space, the insignificancy of the visible and the transient will be made apparent." the hermit occasionally spent some of his remaining days with mobaruc, and the lovely little cherubs of his friend, whose innocent mirth ever beamed in their eyes ; from whose tongue the sweet word, father, thrilled the heart of the hermit with a new pulsation of tender solicitude, and lighted up his cloudy brow at times. but for them and mobaruc, his life would have been a condi tion of unmitigated sorrow. to draw him from the solitude of his hermitage, was an attempt on the part of mobaruc as fruit less as extricating a living turtle from its shell. he delighted to reside there and indulge himself in conteni plating the beauties of nature, and in cherishing the habit of calm spiritual devotion it is generally believed, that a person whose life has been spent in a course of uniform austerity, and in total devotion of self at the temple of duty and benevolence; that he who dis regards personal ease and employs his best energy in penances and mortifications, obtains no small share of the favour of hea ven; and the very tendency of the employment of his mind and body to holy purposes and pursuits, inherits, it is believed, a degree of purity and perfection bordering on the superhuman, which the vulgar and the ignorant deify, and to which the in telligent pay respectful homage. thus, ameerjan's character and habits which strictly corre gponded with the above requisition constituting a sacred per sonage in the estimation of the simple, was looked upon with uncommon reverence at first, but after a lapse of years, time that beautifies the dead, gilded his memory with a halo, and enshrined him among the saints, or peers, to be venerated in after ages as the sequel will show. chapter xi. fhe hermit, seeing one day a number of men and women ^. setting out on a pilgrimage from the neighbourhood of raj-ruahul and the adjacent country, his curiosity was power fully excited to join them, and thereby satisfy his insatiable desire to see allah's wonderful works of creative power, and loving benevolence. he doubted not they would be amply displayed by travelling to the south through the wild countries which he would have to traverse in going to the shrine at deoghur, or buddinath, to which the hindu devotees' were at the time bend ing their anxious steps. it was not an unusual occurrence that a good number of hahomedans, whether a hermit, fakir, or tradesman, should be seen at one of .the hindu festivals : nor did it produce any re mark from parties belonging to either the one, or the other profession. throughout hindustan and bengal, a mahomedan or hindu festival generally collects a large concourse of men of all castes and creeds, who sally out to witness the tamashct held by the one, or the other sect. attracted to such places of public gathering, not only for gratifying personal curiosity, or whiling away time with the many gay amusements which such bustling places afford, but a mela, or fair, being invariably held at such times, men jof all countries and classes meet for trade and commerce, if not absolutely for purposes of devotion. the hermit had set out on his journey on a clear pleasant morning in october, in company with two men as his attendants, one of whom carried a carpet and deer skin, a pillow and blan ket, with other indispensable requisites for the journey, while a groom followed the horse on which the hermit was mounted. ( 56 ) in those days when no roads were laid to connect one district with another, and no sure footpath, or, if any had existed which was made by the tramp of travellers through the forest in the past year of their pilgrimage, it was soon effaced by the r.apid growth of tropical vegetation, a journey was therefore under taken, by taking the bearing, or direction in which the temple from the starting point lay. on this accouut, the distance to buddinath lengthened out considerably, persons being under the necessity of going zig-zag through the woods, avoiding a pile of huge boulders in one place, a stream in another quarter, and a rugged difficult ravine in some direction or another. these impediments on the path of the mere pleasure-seekers were sources of inpatient annoyance and frequent complaint, and their murmuring voice was heard by the hermit with some degree of curiosity which craved to know the reason why people started in a journey without calculating the cost, while to his taste and habits, it had diversified sources of absorbing interest, profitable occupation, and pleasurable pastime. as ameerjan usually followed on the wake of the pilgrims, or leisurely moved on the outskirts of the crowd of men, he had ample time to drink deeply of the ever varying beauties of nature, which his poetic mind presented to his fancy in rich fervid colours, and in tints mellowed into supernal softness. there have always been a few men among the mahomedans notably fond of the study of alchemy, mineralogy, and che mistry, and the hermit, by the curious collection of stones of every description seen in his grotto, gave convincing evidence of his being a lover, if not a master, of those sciences. attracted by the curious appearance which stones in certain localities bore, some cropping out of the soil, he would dismount and loiter for some time, examining, exploring, or searching after something in their neighbourhood, an employment which his groom, who had not the same talent and appreciation for such insignificant trifles as he designated them, very generously ( 57 ) attributed to occupations of this nature his master's deficiency of brain, and a want of mental equilibrium, repeating to himself, that he must assuredly be a diwana admi, or madman. his master, however, had he even known it, would not have cared a straw for what opinion his groom had entertained in his own stolid head ; so long as his propensities were gratified, and his enjoyments were all his own creation, he could afford to be indifferent to what other people might think of him or his pur suits. he returned after such explorations with exultation when they were successful, and as his knowledge was extensive, and his penetration deep, it was often that he returned from such rambles with an air of profound gratification, exhibiting a bag full of fantastic stones, some stratified, some granular, but most of them thickly impregnated with silver, gold, copper, or led. the country through which he was passing, indicated by igneous eruptions and certain rock, the presence of metal liferous substances, and that the streams possess auriferous deposits. in his extensive wanderings, he had collected a small store of nuggets and gold dust. whenever the pilgrims halted for the night, the scene became extremely picturesque, lively, and bustling. a thousand extempore ovens, dug in the ground, would blaze with faggots, and look like a grand illumination, while the vessels clattered, and the hissing and bubbling of pans made a sort of music in all directions, rather pleasing to the hungry travellers. after the fatigues of the march, the opulent had their carpets spread on the ground on which they reclined themselves, smok ing and chatting so long as their dinner was getting ready ; not so their poorer neighbours, who had to betake themselves to the jungle to collect fuel for culinary purposes, and to keep fire to scare away the wild animals at night. these were seen mounted on branches of trees, some picking sticks on the ground, but all by turns crakiug the dry branches as they were broken or snapped from the trees. 8 ( 58 ) it happened sometimes that a few ja frees, or pilgrims, went astray from their companions far into the woods, and were attacked by some wild animals who bore the shrieking victim into darker and denser parts of the tangled forest, while the cry of the poor man caused a hasty retreat of the rest, followed by a wild burst of uproar among those who became aware of the depressing tragedy which had happened. almost all men who travel through the territories inhabited by wild animals, provide themselves generally with some wea pon of defence, such as either a spear, sword, gun, pistol, or even an axe, the latter being an inseporable companion with the"poorest ; it being so, and while one or two men were now and then taken away by a tiger, it also happened that the axe of the woodcutter, with two or three ponderous strokes, inspired by agony of feeling, and the instinct of self preservation, had stunned a bear, a wolf, or a hyena, which was borne to the camp, and the man who had performed the daring feat, more by accident than his own skill, was made for sometime a hero in the camp of the pilgrims. the forest through which the hermit jour neyed, was not an unprofitable jungle which yielded nothing that commerce needed, for it was replete with valuable timber for building purposes ; different kinds of woods for cabinet ware; rich with nuts that produced oil ; trees from which shellac, lac-dye, and catechu, were manufactured ; and fruits from which native wine was extracted. here and there, at long intervals, small villages of the wild aboriginal tribes, emerged into sight through luxuriant patches of cane and indian corn cultivation, and topes of mangoe and jack, under whose shadow hamlets lay embosomed in tranquil repose. troops of sontals would at times burst into view as they were returning from their usual hunting excursion. some with a deer tied to a pole, others with hares suspended to a stick, borne on their shoulders, but all equipped with bows and arrows, swords and axes, followed by a pack of hungry, half ( 59 ) starved hounds, whose value lay not so much in their appear ance, as the possession of strong hunting instincts, acquired by a course of early and constant training. the sixth day of the journey proved to be close, hot, and stifling, and the burning rays of the vertical sun almost scorch ing ; the forest therefore became so still, that the slightest stir of a leaf, agitated by the spring of a bird from twig to twig, was audible with a distinctness. the sun had scarcely drawn away his retiring glories from the eastern sky, when tokens of a northwester appeared in the western horizon, in which direction cumulative clouds sprang up in rapid succession, one over another in ever widening circles ; sounds of awe came in the meantime rumbling deeply with the low sullen murmurs of the elements, the sure presages of a coming storm. eagles and vultures were seen with rapid wings to mount the sky in a spiral flight, as if endeavouring to cleave the heavens, and rise above the conflict of the elements ; and as heralds of the gale, gusts ofwind came rushing over the forest in fitful pulses, bending the summits of trees by their violent blasts, and rocking them like huge, angry billows with deep, awful meanings. to this war of the clouds and wind, succeeded the awe-in spiring sounds which assailed the ear, coming from all quarters of the forest in deep moans and frightful roars of the terror stricken animals, as they bounded forward with glaring eyes, and mane erect, to avoid the impending danger. the rain descended in a torrent, and the wind which had acquired its utmost intensity, snapped the branches, and hurled them down to the ground with a crash, while the roll of thunder, and flashes of lightning, rent the air with their incessant glimmer. as if these were not enough of awe-inspiring images, snakes and reptiles, instinctively sought shelter in more elevated localities, rendering the situation of the travellers, not only hazardous, but extremely unpleasant from the repulsive feelings which it called into existence. with a brow fearless and calm, the hermit stood con templating the changeful aspect of grandeur and sublimity, been in the murky sky, or the fitful gloom of the forest ; the electric flash in the clouds, and its deafening peals. though desolation and destruction surrounded him on all sides, his thoughts, full of consciousness of the immortality of its spiritual nature, felt its energy rising proportionate to the emergency of the occasion, so that he could bear to look unmoved at the threatened annihilation which he knew could not reach the soul, but only the temporal tenement which he was inhabit ing. the morning sky succeeding the night of the storm, was peculiarly charming and delicious. it was felt to be cold and refreshing to the body, and cheerful to the mind from the com bined effect producted by the sweet fragrance of the scented wild flowers ; the fleecy clouds sailing like the ripples of a tranquil lake on whose brow the earliest kiss of the sun reposed, evoking a soft ruddy blush over them as they floated onward in modest silence. the pilgrims were now approaching the out skirts of the place in which the celebrated temples of boddheo nath rose in all the pomp in which the bigotry and superstition of a people who knew no better, had invested them. the buzzing of the multitude of the jatrees who were assembled at the place, came floating on the breeze like the distant murmurs of the sea, and it was heard by the hermit while he was yet at the distance of a few miles. the cupolas of the temples, bursting into view above the groves of maugoe and tamarind trees that surrounded them, excited the pilgrims with emotions of joy at the prospect of an early termination to their hardships and privations, and they broke forth into reiterated exclamations of horibole, horibole. owing to the undulatory formation of the country, inter spersed with numerous mounds, streams of the pilgrims could be seen from the camp to which the hermit belonged, converg ing towards the mela from all directions of the wild country, and swelling the circumference and density of the sea of human heads. after the lapse of a few hours, the pilgrims from the direction of rajmahal, had not only arrived, but were in the very vortex of the fair to which all were drawn. the sun shining on the minarets and galleries of the temples, reflected them in a blaze of refulgence, while a strange looking stone image within, drew crowds of deluded men and women who prostrated themselves in unprofitable servility before the impotent deity, where offerings of several kinds were being laid before the shrine, to appease the wrath of boddheonath, obtain his blessing, or make him propitious to their prayer. all the votive offerings of the numerous devotees that aug mented the revenue of the pagodas, also increased the wealth and prosperity of the avaricious priests who presided as their guardians, and the spiritual guides of ignorant men. the seductions of vice and error are more potent in their in fluence than the attractions of truth and virtue ; the hermit therefore looked with heartfelt regret on the infatuated votaries who appeared absorbed with the idle ceremonies of the place, and who were bewitched with ritualistic observances which had nothing rational about them to commend themselves to their reason, but that they yet had absolute power over their warm imagination, and the senses which always solicited for their gratification things in perfect harmony with the material part of their nature ; while their lethargic and apathetic minds shrunk from the labour of investigating the truth, or yielding to its wholesome and beneficial influence when it became known. he was grieved to witness the simplicity of man, or rather the weakness of those who without question, quietly submitted themselves, as well as their reason and judgment, to the control of not only false illusions, but the demeaning sway of ( 62 ) men as fallible as themselves, and who were in some instances not superior in their mental endowments to the infatuated men who stooped to the dust in their presence. but he had not come to moralize and to preach, but to see and know all things, and obtain the knowledge that exists in other places, and among other people, though he could not, from the dogmas of his own creed, help looking with supreme horror and abhorrence on all idolatrous practices. there was everything about the fair, well calculated to ex cite a person to a high degree of distraction, bordering upon absolute bewilderment. there were jugglers and mountebanks, snake charmers and tight-rope dancers, with their inexhaustible tricks and gabble ; and there were sets of dancing boys, singing amorous ditties lustily, and dancing ravingly to the accompaniment of deafen ing music : at a short distance from these, were to be seen bear and monkey dance in full activity. there was a large gathering of brahmins and khettrees, followers of the musnavi sect, byragees, sunyasees, mohunts, jogees, and even the low despised domes, who were busy in carry ing on a brisk trade in bamboo-basket, and other kindred works. but there was also a few select tyfas, or troupe of dancing girls, with small silver bells fastened to their arms and ankles, which made music, their hands and feet in motion, keeping correct time with the instruments, and dancing with the grace of slow mea sured steps, and soft oscillations, heightened into excitement, or mellowed into langour as the occasion required by the style in which the tamboor, tablet, saringa, and other soft-toned instru ments were played upon. booths and tents, with other temporary sheds, made of the branches of trees, formed a spacious bazar, having a walk be tween lines of shops, numbering more than six hundred, ex tending in sections over the whole of a large field, beaten down smooth and even by the tramp of the multitude of pilgrims who were attracted to the shrine and mela. the shops were well-stocked with large quantities of wares of all kinds, and articles of every description, from a trifle, to a rare curiosity, or things of indispensable utility. there were many shops in which several bales of english piece goods, cloths, whether silk, tusser, or cotton fabric of indian manufacture, were laid out ; next to which, in another shop, large quantities of spicery, and then another that exhibi ted brass utensils intended as water vessels, pots, pans, and lamps, all blazing with a yellow lustre, furnished as they had been for the occasion. confectionary of every shape and of divers colours were arranged in heavy masses on trays of brass ; they looked tempt ing and inviting, and crowds of merry children stood admiring and casting longing looks, first at one, and then at another of the trays, seemingly undecided which to chose from, but on the whole, they patronized the confection and the benares toys more largely than any other. great numbers of traders from calcutta, and from many large towns of india, came with their goods for disposal by sale or exchange, while there were others, men of limited resources, who purchased wares and goods intending to dispose of them in remote parts of the country, and the interior of districts, where they purposed to open out retail business which promised to be very profitable, and of undoubted success, from the mere circumstance that competition in such quarters did not exist. each shop was decorated with some fanciful ensign, or orna mented according to the taste or opulence of the proprie tor, intended also as marks to distinguish them from each other, and to guide to the locality those persons who lost themselves in the dense crowd, and recognition of places became a matter of doubt and uncertainty. crowds of religious mendicants were to be seen pushing their way and demanding rather than begging for charity. the dialects of most countries of india were spoken, and the jargon and confusion of voices was excessive and from a dis ( 64 ) tance, the buz was like that which proceeds from a thickly studded wasp hive. in the motley crowd, men dressed in every variety of cos tume, from the rags of a beggar, to the resplendent robes of a native nobleman, served to lend their individual singularity to increase the grotesqueness of the spectacle. the hermit had the good fortune to fall in company with a few travellers who had come on a long journey from the far north, and who appeared to be jaded, weary, and exhausted from protracted travel. he was delighted to find that they were men from the border countries of iran, in persia; and that they were of the same faith as that which he professed, was easy to discover by a single glance. of these three men who had fallen on his way, one of them, the youngest, was peculiarly delicate in the general outline of his figure, form, and profile ; and appeared to be a young man over whose head not more than twenty-six years had revolved. though the years of his life were not numerous, yet that they were not altogether pleasant and joyous, but had rather been pregnant with care, anxiety, and gloom, could be easily dis cerned by a cloud of sadness which was visible on his youthful countenance, and stamped it with the impression that it was the seat of some secret sorrow. he differed from his two associates in several points ; they were tall, robust, and somewhat dark from long exposure ; their eyes were black and deep set, yet they shone with in telligence, unwavering resolution, and a fixedness of purpose from which as if nothing could divert the men. the young man though also slightly tinged with a few shades of brown caused by travelling, was on the whole of a light colour. his hair, which fell in soft ringlets over his shoulders, was dark, and his eyes were lightbrown, full in their orbs, and they possessed an ever varying expression that heightened their lustre and their beauty. ( 65 ) these men on being questioned by the hermit as to what object they had in view that could have induced them to under take so long, laborious, and perilous a journey, replied that it was not only their curiosity to see other countries which compelled them to leave their home to enlist themselves in the service of the emperor of delhi, or any one of the princes of hindustan, where their valour and talent, finding proper scope for their exercise, they could distinguish themselves, and by that means secure respectable posts and lucrative employ ment suitable to their rank and education. some merchants were returning from the mela to upper hindustan, and the two elder travellers joined their company with a view to carry out their intention to visit the court of the emperor. the youngest traveller, whose name was ismail, charmed by the sobriety of the hermit's character, the extent of his wisdom, the gentleness and affability of his manners, and the prudence of his actions, resolved to follow him as a shdgird, or scholar, while the hermit bore the appellation of ustad, or teacher. the sojourn of a week at the fair had so satiated the her init and made him feel so thoroughly tired of the puerilities, the deafening uproar, and the shallow enjoyments of the place, that he began to look back towards raj-mahal, and long for the quietude of his retirement at the pearl spring, so he started one morning long before dawn, with those only who were his per sonal attendants, and his newly acquired companion. the return trip, now that the path was known familiarly, was comparatively of a shorter duration than before, and the road was enlivened by meeting occasionally with merry groups of men, women, and children, who had preceded them in the walk, so the journey terminated after the expiration of a week, the hermit being glad to be back to the serenity of his grotto, and its unruffled enjoyment. 9 chapter xii. fhe hermit, now that his residence was enlivened by the congenial society of a countryman, did not find time hang so heavily as it did before ; and by frequently conversing with ismail on topics that had an intimate connection with the city in which he was born, the pent up associations of "years were stirred into lively activity by the chords of memory being touched upon which awakened them, and he began to feel as if his youthful days were renewed, and that he was living again in the midst of bright and familiar scenes in which life to him had been a prolonged sunshine, and every sensation a throb of joy. after the expiration of a few weeks, when a good deal of the natural shyness and reserve which had existed at the beginning of their acquaintance, had worn out by an increased familiarity, the hermit sought further information. " i desire very anxiously to know, ismail," said the her mit, " something of the class of free* thinkers, or sceptics, in persia, who lived, and their sentiments were rapidly spreading through the country when i was about to leave it, if they still exist and are as popular now as they were at that time." " yes, ustad, i remember the class of men to whom you allude," answered ismail, but he did so with some diffidence, as if not thoroughly conversant with the subject, and afraid that he might therefore commit some blander. " i remember the sect very well, as their peculiar dogmas, and the novel views they held, were often made the subject of serious coversation, and were largely commented upon by many persons. " they are neither attached to the soonni, nor shea sect, and they do not place implicit belief in the doctrines enunciated in the koran. they not only exist, but most people are tainted * a class of religious sect called sufi or sofi. ( 67 ) with their sentiments, whether they avow it publicly or not. do you not think it to be very wicked conduct in those men who are so zealous in subverting the established faith of the country, ' and marring the tranquillity of the people with their new speculations ?" " i do not think, ismail, that, as rational beings, we are not bound to investigate the merit of every subject, whether it be secular, or religious. when we cease to do so, we lock up the exercise of our own reason and judgment, and yield a blind, and not an intelligent assent to what we profess to believe. " religion is so deeply important to each individual, as on it depends his eternal welfare, or his endless misery, that it be comes an imperative duty therefore, not to accept one's religion from his forefathers, but to investigate and choose for himself, inasmuch as he, as a moral agent, will be personally responsible for his actions. " allow me to say in conclusion that allah, who has made the glorious morning and the evening, with the soft moon and the stars that sparkle like gems on the brow of night, made our sentient bodies also, and gave to our minds an immortal flame, that our spirits linked hereafter with the eternal spirit who vivifies the whole universe, we might also live for ever in his presence. " a being so wise, so powerful, so good, and having such benevolent designs towards us, could never have left his rational creatures to grope their way in darkness and mortifying un certainty. " god is the moral governor of the world, and he has therefore furnished his subjects, with moral and divine'laws for regulating their conduct. man though a rational and intelligent being, is not infallible, and under this circumstance, if he is not provided with definite injunctions, he would be erring perpetually, and from the absence of definite laws, he would plead ignorance for his justification, and make excuses for his guilt. ( 68 ) " i differ, then, from those men in persia on this point, and would say that we have the strongest reason to expect that god did give to man a written law, and made him amenable to its injunctions. if some doubt its genuineness and authenticity, and the koran be not the book, yet a revelation must of necessity exist somewhere. he who repudiates the existence of such written laws, indicates the grossness of his desire to live perfectly disengaged from all restraints, and to enjoy an unlimited freedom of action. " but i might pain you with my present reflections, and would on that account change the subject by asking, how was it that you did not of your own free accord tell me the reason which brought you to this distant country, while your other compa nions related to me their reason for doing so with perfect unreserve." " i would have done the same, good ustad" observed ismail, somewhat abashed, not only for the implied want of confidence, but with regard to the quality of the disclosure, " had my reason for leaving my country been of the same complexion as that of my two companions. that which i would have to reveal, was a subject too painful for me to dwell upon, nay, it was intensified agony to think about ; i would yet, that i might not appear unthankful for your kindness and generosity, reveal the secret which lay hid in the depths of my heart for many long weary years. " twelve years ago i was secretly betrothed to a very worthy individual," commenced ismail with his narrative, in relating which, there was much pathos in the tone, and a perceptible modesty and tenderness in the manner of his delivery, which could not but enlist the sympathy of his friend, the hermit. " the growth of that pure and honest affection, on which god who is the essence of love, and who could never look with disdain, man in his blind arrogance, cruel revenge, and influenced by a sordid spirit, condemned. "we were so well known to each other, and our regard which ( 69 ) was mutual, was deep and sincere, because it was based on the thorough appreciation of our respective merits, that no idle rumour, or spiteful detraction, however sedulous to cause a breach, could alienate our affection. " a wily plan was adopted, too long to relate at present, and that succeeded in separating us, though nothing else could ; to be brief, i abandoned the place for its being full of duplicity and trickery, and because i could not endure the bitter reflections which had sprung up in my mind, and the numerous sufferings and persecutions to which i was subjected. " all that i possessed of worldly wealth and grandeur, i left behind, esteeming them as dross, that i might be as free as the air to wander over more congenial countries, enjoy peace and quietude elsewhere, and meet with men who might be more humane, and in whom i might trace some resemblance to the moral image of their maker. " but go where i might, i cannot divest myself of that which forms an element of my own nature. i bear my own thoughts and feelings wherever i go ; hence if any circumstance should for a brief time divert them, the momentary restraint gives them a greater momentum, and redoubles their power." the hermit, whilst listening to this touching disclosure, seemed wrapped with wild and conflicting thoughts ; his head drooped and he stood in all the magnificence of a faithful figure of despair. he who of late years appeared to his friends to bear the calmest exterior, for no trace of human passion disfigured his intellectual brow, or furrowed his tranquil countenance on which rested the serenity that conscious rectitude always pro duces, was moved to blinding tears, and shaken to the core of his heart, for memory that bore a faithful record of past events, was active in tracing a close and sad resemblance in their des tinies. " i accord to you, good ismail, my deepest sympathy, and offer you my sincerest condolence," replied the hermit, with ( 70 ) feelings of earnest pity and compassion, seeing a person so much younger than himself, yet who had borne the strokes of torturing thoughts, commensurate with his own galling ex perience. to offer in a small measure some consolation, poor and inefficacious as it might be, yet which might, he thought, serve to divert him from his brooding cares, and ameliorate the poignancy of his feeling, he spoke thus, addressing ismail. " the good being who has formed us of clay, while he has given us strong minds, and created us with frail bodies, to compensate us for the deficiency, he has provided with counter balancing agencies both in nature and in our capacities, making up as it were for the existing difference. " not only that the most severe pain subverts its own power by its intensity, but the very frequency of suffering, which habituates and familiarises us to its infliction, softens the stroke. "not only so, but observe how, as in the physical and social, so in the mental world, all things are subject to the law of re action. the river has its rising tide, as well as its receding ebb a depressive tendency succeeds the tension of the ner vous system the wildest conflict of the elements subsides into perfect calm, and to the most vehement grief, there is a certain limit, regulated by constitutional capacity, up to which it will rise, andthen a reaction must supervene. " under this altered circumstance and state of feeling, even a child who is prematurely brought to feel the weight of afflic tion, is by his suffering and privation, forced to think and act for himself, and to devise plans for his relief, or build glittering castles in the air to soothe the woes of his young heart, and by these circumstances, though a child in years, he becomes mature in mind and feeling, and old for his age in thoughtful actions. " but a man of maturer years, who manifests the reverse side of the tension point, rises up to the highest tide of grief and watchful care, but descends to total heedlessness, and to abso ( 71 ) lute self-abandonment, luxuriating in fun and frolic, commen surate with the pressure of his former depression. " if these be not the indications of his reactionary mood, it is often seen, that the person who suffers most for a certain thing, makes up for the amount of previous suffering by indulging in very opposite propensities ; he loses an angel, but from that thorough abandonment, he does not care afterwards to hug a monster." " i admit that time blunts the edge of sorrow, but it never thoroughly eradicates the complaint. according to the worth of the character of a person, so is the memory of the good cherished as a valuable gem in a rich and durable casket," ob served ismail, with a pensive expression which indicated, as if nothing could soothe, or which would be a crime for him to study to efface from the page of memory. finding that to border on tender subjects, however remotely, was not calculated to heal but to irritate the wound, the her mit willingly dropped it and made no further remarks, but drew away his young friend to read some books which they were in the habit of looking over together. the works of the persian poets engaged their attention more frequently than a production in metaphysical subjects did. the latter was taken up occasionally, but the former oftener, and as it was at the present time. in this occupation, as it was his wont, he commented on the merits and demerits of some of the compositions of the poets, adding the following remarks, after the observations which preceded it had closed. " most of our poets are very elaborate in singing the praises of all the gay and brilliant things that adorn the features of nature, or transpire in the chequered scenes of life, but we have veryfew muses of a pensive cast in our parnassus. " the gay things of the world have a sparkling lustre and an attractive charm that admit of no question, but the sad things of life possess a melancholy beauty too, which, if garbed in the ( 72 ) rich and delicate drapery of poesy, would appear most pleasing and captivating by their touching sentimentality. " but i forgot that there are one or two isolated instances in which our sweet melodious versifiers, have indulged in pleasing fancies on the topic of grief, but which, however, are happily not mere soarings into the regions of fiction and unreality, but fall within the actualities of life. " one for instance, illustrates the character of a good man, by representing him as a towering rock, standing above the sea ; the wind and wave of affliction strike in vain against him, and the cloud and tempest spend their fury to no purpose : his brow is ever calm, bright, and tranquil, above the angry surge, and the cloudy observations below !" chapter xiii. rom the very beginning of their acquaintance, there was a mysterious something which seemed to envelope the cha racter of ismail, the hermit was awakened by it into a new and delicious existence, half on earth, half in dreamland, yet though he sat trying hard to unriddle the enigma, it was far beyond his power to come to a satisfactory solution as to who he was. he sent his vigilant thoughts rambling in every direction of surmise, and still he was as remote from the fact as ever. there was a softness in ismail's voice, a gentleness in his man ners, a tenderness in his demeanour, all which were a puzzle to him, but what added still more to his perplexity ,was, that the tone, mildness, with the expression which flashed forth at times from his countenance and eyes, were as things that came dawning in slight glimmering lights to his mind as remem brances of some sweet, but hallowed music that had gladdened his heart in earlier, happier days. could he, the hermit thought, have been a school fellow of his, in whose congenial society he had spent the years of his youth in very pleasant companionship ? but as soon as such reflections visited his mind, he was obliged to abandon them, for he could not think of any school fellow between whom and himself there had existed any marked disparity of years, and such intimate companions, as he had the good fortune to possess, were generally young men of his own age, or older than he, but scarcely any one who was twelve or sixteen years younger. these tokens of mystery began to multiply as time ad vanced in its steady onward course, but though they were fraught with much matter for trying speculations, yet they served to keep the attention of the recluse engaged, and divert ed the monotonous life he had lived in unrelieved same ness, before the advent of his couutryman, situated as he was in the solitude of a place seldom frequented by tourists. 10 ( 74 ) it could not but strike the hermit as remarkably singular, that ismail invariably avoided, and never once accompanied him, when he went to the pearl spring for his daily ablutions, though he did so in his absence. there was scarcely anybody in the vicinity of the spring, for it was not only a secluded spot, but was well screened by brush wood growing in its neighbourhood, and a network of tangled creepers that thoroughly concealed its locality, therefore, if ismail, with his singular tastes and habits, had any objection on the point of its being exposed, it could afford him no excuse. the hermit had the misfortune to receive a severe hurt one day, as after his usual bath he was returning from the jjmrna, his right foot, which had trod on one of the many fragments of quartz scattered profusely about the place, slipped, and his ankle had by that accident, received a severe sprain, and was cut with their sharp edge. at first there was neither a swelling, nor any sensible pain, but before night had set in, a. painful inflammation came on, accompanied with a burning fever and excessive thirst. the recluse had studied the medicinal properties of the plants abounding in the jungle, and had communicated to his friend their virtue and efficacy, and these came very opportunely into valuable service on the present occasion, for it helped to soften the severity of his indisposition. ismail who was powerfully agitated by seeing him suffer, ran with all anxiety to the nearest wood, and collected some roots of the kurhur as a febrifuge, and some mem leaves for an embrocation, returning with them with much haste, he boiled the former to make a decoction, and bruised the latter, and prepared with it a warm poultice. no woman could have attended on the patient with greater solicitude, and with so much mild, soothing care; with a fore stalling of his wants and wishes, and with so deep, sincere, and earnest expression of concern, as was depicted in eloquent language in the sorrowing eyes, and melancholy countenance of ismail. ( 75 ) he was, with scarcely any relaxation, seated constantly at the foot of his bed, ministering to his wants, and with his as sumed cheerful conversation, soothing his physical pain, and diffusing a healing balm over his mental sufferings. for three days and nights, the hermit was occasionally delirious, and between a state of half consciousness and partial sleep, he was heard to pronounce, though very softly, the name zuleikha, at intervals. there was surely a spell in that name, or why should it have moved ismail so profoundly. could it have been that he too had associated with that dear appellation all that was beautiful in form, pleasing in manners, and lovely in the graces of virtue, and to whom he had resigned his heart ? or was it that he grew petulant at the reflection that his friend and benefactor did not sufficiently appreciate his ministrations, but was at that time thinking of softer hands to smooth his pillows, and with far more winning ways, tend on his ruffled temper, now rendered capricious through the power of irritating disease ? ismail sat bathed in tears on hearing that name fall from his lips, fall with the softness of the dew and its reviving influence, as after its descent it reposes on the fragrant bosom of some decaying flower, which, but for that timely refreshing visit of heaven's distillation, might have faded for ever under neglect. what could have touched the fountain of his heart, and bid those tears drench his pallid cheeks? were they tears of sorrow or joy, or did they partake of both ? a strong constitution, combined with careful, intelligent, affectionate nursing, subdued the early symptoms of his indis position ; and when in a state of comvalesceuce, he was resting, his countenance looked as peaceful as that of a sleeping child troubled with no disturbing causes, expressing a serenity that revealed the tranquillity which the mind of the hermit was partaking of at the time. when the hermit, who was in a short nap, awoke, he felt a deep concern, for he saw that some strong emotion had disturbed the mind of his good nurse, as that had become too visible in the disorder of ismail's looks, to pass unobserved by him. he beheld tears, and listened to sighs, deep but subdued, thoroughly unconscious that he was the adored object for whom they dropped, and for whom they breathed. his heart pulsated with a wild throb, new to his curbed feelings, and novel to his experience of past years. his mind was beginning to be swayed by tender reflections, and his heart was being ruled by softer feelings. shadowy recollections began to dawn in his mind gradually as the twilight ushers the full day refulgence. he began to wonder less at ismail's lively but delicate modesty, a reserve that was pleasing and attractive, and which eminently distinguished him and was his peculiar characteristic. his conviction amounted almost to a certainty, that the person whom he for months had sheltered in his residence, could be no other than a female in disguise. " my good and kind friend," said the hermit, " pray restrain your tears, and moderate your grief, for they affect me too painfully. " instead of promoting my health, they would prostrate me again, and all the good you have been doing by your affectionate attentions, would be defeated by your present immoderate in dulgence of sorrow." this allusion to ismail's loving sympathy had not the effect of checking his feelings, but served rather to cause a fresh over flow of tears, and under the vehemence of his conflicting emotions, ismail sank down his head at the foot of the cot where he was seated. in doing so, his cloak fell down from his shoulders, and revealed to the astonished eyes of the hermit, a red mole of a singular formation, having a striking resemblance to a shdhddna, or cherry, and it was bright from the contrast of a clear, smooth, and fair complexion on which it was set. ( 77 ) it was now his turn to be intensely overcome at the revela tion, and borne down by its violence, he fell with tears and sobs on the neck of his friend. when they had both risen from the paroxysm of their grief, and their feelings had moderated, the hermit said. " my fair celestial visitant, have you left your bright spirit land above, and come down to be my guardian angel in this desolate place ?" " uh, dear ameerjan, could you have been so sadly deceived by the lying reports spread to achieve a villainous purpose ? how tardy you have been in recognising me, but a woman's instincts which are stronger than a man's perceptions, made me months ago familiar with your real character. i was gratified yet tortured in seeing you grateful and kind to my memory, but suffering from a wrong impression of my supposed death." " that, dearest zuleikha ! was occasioned chiefly by my im plicit belief that you were no longer an inhabitant of this world, but a bright happy resident of the skies." the hermit now in some measure could understand the reason how even without the sanction of his will, he was drawn spontaneously towards his friend with a gushing affection over which he had no control. zuleikha now related to him, that on hearing that ameerjan was deceived by the deception practised upon him by her parents, who caused the erection of a tomb which, however, contained nothing besides bricks and mortar, that he might under the delu sion, abandon his projects, and persist no longer to sue for his daughter's hand ; that being informed of this wicked trick played upon him, and that it was the cause of his forsaking his country, she shortly after, being no longer under the control of her parent, for he had died three months before, matured her plans for coming out in his search, and finding him, might con tradict the report, and defeat the most unnatural, and unjust designs, and the cruel treatment of her relatives. she was well informed of the number of persons who, not ( 78 ) finding employment at home, usually emigrated towards hin dustan in quest of lucrative and respectable engagements, and of positions of trust and honor, according to the talent and capacity they took to the courts of the several princes of the land. she had started with these emigrants in the disguise he saw her, the number thinning constantly as they separated on the journey, some taking a different course, but with the two travel lers who were bound for raj-mahal, with them she cast in her lot. the rest of the incidents being known to the hermit, it needed no further explanation. it was necessary, as he very justly thought, that he ought to send for a mulla, and he did send for one from azimabad, who read the service, and united them privately in marriage, it being not the wish of the hermit to give publicity to the affair, as they fully made up their mind to return to their coun try, and take possession of the property to which they were entitled. one evening, after the sun had set with his retiring glories, the air had been balmy, and the scene softly enchanting, the hermit went and had a private interview with his true friend mobaruc, to whom he communicated about his meeting with some travellers from his country at the fair, who gave him the information, that the daughter of a certain omrao of his country was still alive and not dead, as it was believed, and that this news necessitated him to quit the neighbourhood of baj-mahul, and go back to persia, but should moulah spare his life, he would visit the place, and see him once more. the friends who were locked in each other's embrace, parted with tears of sincere regret, and wishing heaven's choicest bless ing to descend on each other, the hermit retired from the house in which he had partaken of much peace, comfort, and happiness. two days after this painful interview with mobaruc, a bahay lee, drawn by a pair of stately, sturdy oxen, round whose necks ( 79 ) several bells jingled merrily, was seen with labouring steps to ascend one of the acclivities of the undulatory country. two travellers were seated on the bahaylec, zuleikha still re taning the use of her disguise in the journey, and now and then the hermit cast a longing and regretful look behind at the peaceful hermitage he was leaving for ever, abandoned and soon to be in full possession of rank vegetation, and the wild animals of the forest in its vicinity. "dear zuleikha! 1 leave the place with some regret, for driven away as i have been from my home, i sought its shel ter and quietude, and found there the enjoyment of a life of undisturbed peace and tranquillity. save the bitter thoughts of my having lost you, i had no regrets to suffer from, and i indulged in no other aspirations." " having now obtained our hearts' fond desire, we can afford to forgive the treachery of others, and in our present happi ness, study to forget the saddening recollections of our past trials, and be thankful for the enjoyment of this change in our destiny." conversing thus, the bahaylee was lost to sight in the next downward course of the path through the waving country, but it still proceeded onwards, steadily to a distant land. age that undermines all things, had at an advanced period shaken the strength of the hermit's robust frame, and laid him down gently to his final rest in the lovely country of iran, but this was not known to the residents of raj-mahal ; the disap pearance of the recluse from that locality was a secret which was known only to his friend mobaruc. out of respect to the memory of so good a person as the hermit, the residents, as a tribute of respect, erected a stone momument after the lapse of a year. the sudden and unexpected appearance of the tomb was supposed to have been a miraculous erection, as a memento of his holy life on earth, and as the shrine at which to kindle the expiring flame of devotion ; while the ignorant and super ( 80 ) stitious entertained a belief that his body was lifted up and veiled among the clouds on his ascent to firdam, or paradise. thus the tomb acquired a degree of sanctity in the eyes of men, and especially in that of love-stricken maidens. with the offerings of flowers and sweets, the shrine was frequently visited to make the hermit propitious to their pray ers. the overwhelming surge of time has now swept away those votaries who resorted to the spot, and fragments of scattered stones in the vicinity of the rocks, covered with wild flowering creepers, are pointed to by the ignorant as peer-ke-durga, or the tomb of the saint, but which in reality is no other than the supposed tomb of the hermit of motee-jhurna. ioiai $& mb a brahmin and his pupil. brahmin was in the habit of visiting several towns and villages, for the purpose of procuring for himself the means of subsistence, by the gifts and alms of those who considered charity to a person of his holy life and pious cha racter, a high meritorious act. in these pedestrian tours, his pupil was invariably his companion. groing to a certain coun try, he gave some pice to his scholar to make bazar for their use. the youth going to the market, discovered that all things in it were being sold at one uniform rate and value. he had obtained 1 seer of rice for 1 pice, and a seer doll also for 1 pice ; wood, sugar, ghee, all these, and everything else, at the same rate. highly pleased with this idea, and going home to the brahmin, he told him how fine a country it was, recommended him never to leave it on any account, but said that if he did so, his own resolution was made up never to depart from a country so cheap and luxurious. " my son i" replied the brahmin, " you have no experience of the world. all that glitters like gold is not that bright and valuable metal. there is no fair and equitable administration of law in this country, and there can be no im partial redress, as it is evident, or the value of wood would not have been estimated on a par with sugar, ghee, and rice." saying this, and finding that his pupil's resolution could not be 11 ( 82 ) shaken, he took his leave and departed from the country, warn ing him that he would surely come some day into trouble. after the lapse of five or six months, there was a storm in the country, which brought down part of the wall of a house, and it fell on a person and killed him. a woman of the village, in which this sad event happened, went to the king, and com plained about the wall which caused the death of her husband. the king ordered the man to be brought whose wall had fallen. on his being presented at the durbar, his majesty rebuked him severely for not mending the wall, or not building it strongly, so that it would not have fallen and destroyed one of his sub jects, he therefore ordered the man to be suspended on a gibbet. the poor man answered with fear, that it was no fault of his, but of the mason who had erected it with bad materials, though paid by him handsomely for the work. his majesty judged it to be unfair to punish him and not the architect, and so he ordered the mason to appear. the mason, knowing that the king's decision was fickle, heard his sentence pronounced with no emotion of fear, but took courage thereby to frame a plausible story, saying that it was not his fault, but the fault of the ironsmith who made the spade, which was bad and crooked, and he could not work with that to his satisfaction. to the king the story appeared to be true. it was not, he thought, the mason on whom blame could be fixed with justice, but the smith who had furnished the implement, so the ironsmith was in due time summoned, and the king ordered him to the scaffold ; but he too palliated his fault by urging, that if the spade was made badly, it was not on account of his negligence or want of skill, but the wet coal supplied by the collier. the king again commanded the collier to be brought into his presence to answer for the harm he had been instrumental in producing. his majesty scolded and absused him for supplying bad coal, saying that if he had not done so, a human life would not have been destroyed, therefore that he must expiate the crime with his life. it was the turn of the collier to justify himself by ( 83 ) saying that it was not his fault. he was bringing coal in bags laden on bullocks one morning, when a village woman was seen going at the time to fetch water, and he could not help looking at her. while doing so, the bullock had strayed from the path, and had descended into a stream to slake its thirst, and so the bags of coal had got wet, all owing to the woman coming out on the road at that time. the king, whose gullibility was not small, was led to believe that blame was to be attached to the woman. he commanded her to be brought up on trial, but the father-in-law of that woman, thinking that her presence at the public durbar would entail disgrace on the family, will ingly presented himself, requesting that he was ready to suffer for the crime of his daughter-in-law. the king, accordingly, ordered him to be taken to the gallows, but the executioner res pectfully urged, that the man was lean aud sickly, and not quite so well suited for the halter, as a stout man would be. hereupon the king consented that a plump person should be produced. after a diligent search, the executioner's choice fell on the youth who had been the companion of the brahmin, and who had so much admired the country with its wonderful cheap market, and who, on that account, could not be persuaded to quit the country which the judicious brahmin perceived was dangerous to inhabit, where the administrations of the government were so capricious and inequitable. the youth who had spent his time in enjoying the good things of the market, had grown smooth, oily, and corpulent, and for that reason, was the very person the executioner selected for the halter. he was ordered to the gibbet, and when at the place of execu tion, he called to mind the words of his master, and sighed deeply that he had not attended to his good admonition. the report ran through the whole country, that a young man, who was the companion of a brahmin, and was seen travelling through the country some months ago, was on a certain day to be executed. the rumour reaching the ear of the brahmin, deeply affected his feelings with grief for the youth. he travel ( 84 ) led with great expedition, and when come to the country, he ran up to the king, fell at his feet, and said, while he went and firmly embraced the post with both his hands " good and wise king, i have travelled from a great distance to obtain this supeme felicity, suffer me not to be disappointed. i will mount this scaffold most joyfully, and will not permit this insignificant youth to ascend it, for he who goes up this scaffold to-day will surely mount to the paradise above." the king thought within himself, that this celebrated brahmin must have com municated what was true, and, if so, then why not put his decrepid, old, sick, suffering father out of all his trials, suffer ings, and troubles, and send him at once to the region of enjoy ment. arriving at this superlatively wise conclusion, he orderd his father to the gallows. the aged man was executed, not however with sorrow and regret, but with joy on the part of those whose ignorant zeal urged them to accomplish what they deemed a holy act. believed from danger, the youth, with demonstrations of gratitude, joined the brahmin in his journey, never more to quit his side, or neglect his wholesome advice. the story op six brothers. i ^t^ <^p here lived six brothers in a certain country, five of \$k whom had good sight, but the sixth had defective vision, and could, therefore, see but imperfectly. his brothers sepa rated him from their society, giving him a small dilapidated hut, as his portion, in the distribution of their paternal pro perty, with a few other very insignificant or defective things. there stood a large tree near the hut of the bliud brother. some dacoits were in the habit of going under that tree, and dividing their plunder among themselves. one night, the blind man overheard the dacoits saying, as they were sharing the money, "he who did not make a just division, grod's thun der would descend rattling on his head." to take advantage of this accident, he cunningly devised a plan to work on their superstitious fear, by slaughtering a bullock which he had, drying the hide in the sun, and with that stiff rustling hide, he ascended the tree in the evening, patiently waiting the arrival of the thieves. as was their habit, they came with their booty under the tree, and as they were sharing their plunder with a view to insure a just distribution, repeating, " that god's thun der would descend on the head of the person who dealt dis honestly," just at that moment the blind brother let down the dry hide, which descendel with a thundering rattle on their heads. this appalled them so excessively that they jumped up in great consternation, leaving all the money behind. the blind man descended from the tree, picked up all he could col lect, and with that retired into his humble hut. he desired his mother on the following morning to call on his brothers, and ask for the loan of their coonkee measuring-basket that he might weigh out all the money he had taken home. in re turning his brothers their coonkee, he took care to put in two or ( 86 ) three rupees between the rattan ties. the brothers were not a little surprised to discover several rupees sticking to the coonkee, and therefore with anxiety asked their mother where their bro ther could have got so much money, that in weighing out, some had stuck which was not missing. she replied that he had brought home that morning a good deal of money, but from whence he had obtained it, she was perfectly ignorant. she desired them to go and enquire of their brother. they lost no time in visiting him, jealous as they were of his good fortune. they enquired how he came to possess so much riches. the blind brother answered thus : " it is my bad fate that i do not possess several other bullocks. the hide of the old, starved animal, which i had from you, was the means of my obtaining the money. had i as many cows as you have, i could make ten times as much money." on hearing this, the envious bro thers went and slaughtered all the valuable cows they had, tanned their hides, and went to the market to dispose of them. they found to their grief that no purchaser would offer more than a few annas for each hide. they were sadly disappoint ed, and returning to their homes with sorrow and vexation, they exclaimed " our brother has given us evil advice with an intention to injure us, let us therefore go this evening and set fire to his house." they did as they had planned, but the blind brother, on the following morning, very carefully gather ed charcoal from the burnt house, filled two sacks, and hiring a bullock went to effect a sale. while he was going with the coal, he fell in with a company of merchants near sunset. they had their oxen laden with bags containing gold, silver, and precious gems ; the blind man therefore encamped near them, asking permission to be allowed to keep his bags in the same protected spot, urging that he had similar articles for sale, and would rather be in their company than depart at that hour and be plundered in the way by going unguarded. just be fore 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning, before the hour for starting, he crept stealthily from his place, and placing his bags of coal ( 87 ) with theirs, dragged a pair of their bags near his bullock, when he woke them and asked the merchants to be so kind as to help him to lift the bags on his animial, saying that he had a long journey to go, and on that account he intended to begin early. they pitied the blind man, and helped him to load his animal. the blind brother started on his journey with alacrity, and going but a short way in another direction, shaped his course towards his own house, whither he drove his bullock as fast as it could trot. getting home he requested his mother, as before, to go to his brothers and ask for the loan of their coonkee, or measuring-basket. this he did, not with any desire really to weigh out his bags of gold and silver, and gems, but to find an opportunity to put in some small pieces of the treasure, that the spite and envy of his brothers might be mortified, and thereby that they might be rebuked and punished for their wicked designs against him. the brothers seeing some valu able metal adhering to their coonkce when it was returned, ask ed the mother again with greater solicitude, how the blind brother had come to the possession of such valuables. the mother replied, that all she knew was that she saw him collect ing all the charcoal from his burnt house and going to sell it. they ran to their brother eagerly to enquire. the blind bro ther said : " alas ! what a misfortune that i had not several houses. my poor hut was burnt down, and with the charcoal procured from the conflagration, i have earned so much wealth. had i several houses, what a princely fortune i could acquire." the envious brothers therefore went and set fire to their res pective spacious houses, in hopes of obtaining great wealth. going with the charcoal to the market for disposal, but finding no one to offer more than l or 2 annas for each bag, they re turned home with much vexation and sorrow. they consulted together, and were determined to punish their brother very severely for bringing so much distress on them by his wicked counsel. they went therefore, and tying his hands and feet, put him into a sack and let him down in a tank. as soon as ( 88 ) this diabolical work was accomplished, they, to elude detection, decamped from the spot with all haste. at that time some cowherds who were watching the herds grazing in the field, and who had silently witnessed the whole of the atrocious transaction, ran quickly to the tank and rescued the blind brother froin a watery grave, after which they went away to break their fast. as soon as the brother had recovered from the stupor, he drove the herd to his own house, not intending finally to make it his own property, but with the view of punishing his brothers. they were not a little surprised to see him not only safe, but bringing with him a considerable herd of cows. they asked him again about his good fortune and preservation. he answered : " brothers ! how shall i describe to you what hap pened ; when i was thrown into the tank, on opening my eyes, i beheld innumerable cows ; all i had to do was to pull them by the tail and drag them up. i had been but a short time in it and got this large herd. had i continued longer, i could scarcely have driven them home by myself." they became anxi ous to know how they could get them. the blind brother said : " allow me to bind your hands and feet, and fling you into the tank ; i have no doubt that you will meet with better success than i have had by my individual exertion." the deluded brothers suffered him to tie their hands and feet, allowed them selves to be put into sacks, and then let down into the tank. the consequence was that their folly, envy, injustice, and wick edness, produced their own punishment. the blind brother was avenged for all the wrong and injustice they did him. a merchant and his son. wealthy merchant, while lying on his bed indisposed by sickness, and the infirmities of age, itivited his son to his room one day, and spoke to him in these words " my son, from this sickness i may not recover. should i die, i fear you would squander all my hard earned wealth by dissipation and idleness. you know that in my vocation as a merchant, i have prospered and enjoyed all the blessings of this life. i fear you will not be able to conduct the business with care and dis cretion, yet i would recommend your following the profession of your father. in doing so i lay no restraint upon your visit ing every land under the sun, but i strongly dissuade you from ever venturing into the himalayan regions." the son was desirous of knowing the reason why his father prohibited him from going with his merchandise, if he ever traded, in the hima layan mountains. " my son," observed the father, " my long experience of the world, my knowledge of all countries and their denizens, enables me to form a just and accurate estimate of the characters of men. the inhabitants of that region have been found invariably to be very artful and dishonest. they will not only rob a man of his purse, but if they can find an opportunity, or a single excuse, they will without remorse strip him naked and appropriate his clothes. should you ever forget this my parting advice, and go into that country, and fall into any disaster, remember to call on golab sing, the chief of the country, who is a friend of mine ; mention my name to him, seek redress from his justice, and he will enable you to remain there in the peaceful prosecution of your trade." the merchant died shortly after as was expected, and the son, whose curiosity was excited by the merchant's prohibition, re solved upon visiting the lofty hills. to carry out this object, 12 ( 90 ) he procured a large stock of valuable goods, and such as were not only in general demand in the country, but highly valued by the mountaineers. with this merchandize he loaded fifty camels, and set out on a fine morning on this perilous and un certain journey. having arrived in the country after two mouths' tedious travel through interminable forests and fields, the merchant's son thought it to be appropriate to announce his arrival in the usual manner by firing a salute ; but instead of wasting his powder in merely making a report, he deemed it more prudent, that, while the salute was fired, he might as well aim his musket at a heron which he saw seated quietly near the verge of a spacious tank, and thus accomplish two objects at once. having shot the bird he went to pick up his game, but in doing so, he saw a washerman occupied in scouring clothes, who spoke to him thus : " what have you done ? have you not a grain of common sense ? the heron was my father who had transmigrated into the body of that bird, and he was very useful to me, watching and encouraging me in my operations, and guarding the clothes which are spread out to the sun for bleaching purpose. now, pray, resuscitate my father and give him back to me, or lay down four hundred rupees, or you do not go away so easily from hence." while this conversation was being held by the two individuals, another man who had approached the spot, and was silently listening to the conversa tion, and who was blind of one eye, thus accosted the young merchant " your father, peace be to his spirit, was a just and liberal man, who traded in all kinds of things, and dealt in eyes. he took a fancy to my eyes and purchased one of them for six hundred rupees, with a promise of paying me that sum on his next visit to this country. though i am suffering from the loss of one eye, i have not been paid yet for my loss and suffering. i forego the interest on that sum due to me these several years, and as you are his son, i expect that you will discharge that debt willingly, or we must proceed to court. give me the amount or restore the eye to me." in this altercation between ( 91 ) the parties, there was a third person listening to the discourse. she was a woman with a child in her lap, she came forward and saluted the young merchant in a bland soothing manner. " it is my good fortune to meet you in this country, and how happy i am to see you of whom i have heard so favourably from your parent. how well you answer his description, just those eyes, and those arched brows, and that soft outline of linea ment ; i am his poor wife, and this unhappy boy is his last son by a second marriage. at the time of his going away for a short period, he told me to borrow such sums as would defray our expenses, and that on his return he would refund the money with interest. i trust you will help me to pay off the debts incurred during two years and six months, and, as you are like my own son, that you would support me and take me under your protection, that no disgrace may be cast on the honor able name of your worthy father." the young merchant became so confounded with these novel and unexpected attacks and unceremonious demands, that he regretted he had not listened to the salutary advice of his fa ther, the consequence of which was, that he was so soon after his arrival in the country, experiencing so much annoyance, and was plunged into so much trouble. it occurred to him, however, in this distress of mind, that in the event of his suffering from any adverse circumstance, his father had advised him to call on grolab sing, the chief of the country. with this object in view he told the people who were pulling him on each side and al most quartering him, to go with him before the rajah, to whose decision he would submit, and be guided by his counsel. be fore the merchant could arrive at golab sing's residence, these dexterous rogues ran and presented themselves before him to offer their respective complaints, crying out, " help maharaj j help maharaj /" soon after taking their deposition, the merchant also arrived, and was interrogated by the prince as to the country from whence he had come, and what his name was. on discover ing that he was the son of his friend, the old merchant, the prince was moved with emotions of unfeigned grief at the news of his fa ther's death. the rogues seeing the friendly terms on which the merchant stood with the prince, lost all courage and would have decamped from the court rather than advance the prosecu tion. but it was too late to recede ; they therefore screwed up their resolution to stand the investigation. the prince, know ing too well the tricks and stratagems of his subjects, took the merchant aside and advised him what to do in this affair. he said, " when the washerman comes and makes his claims against you, you make this counter charge against him, 'when your father became a heron, my father was a small fish in the river, who swimming and jumping in the shallow water, was journeying home, up the stream, when your father, the heron, pecked at him, and getting him in his bill, swallowed him. produce my father first, and then i will restore yours to you.' to the second claimant say 'my father, it is true, traded in all sorts of things, and also speculated in eyes, but as there are so many eyes in my possession, and i do not know which is yours, give me the other eye, weighing which in the scales, i could ascertain the exact weight and restore the precise eye to you.' to the third say thus, ' i admit the truth of your allegation, for i have heard my father mention to me frequently that he was married in this country, and had a young son ; he told me therefore to bring his wooden sandal, and to give you that to wear and mount the funeral pyre. do that and i will believe that you are re ally his second wife.' ' being thus advised and prepared by the prince, those persons, while endeavouring by all artful means to substantiate their claims, were defeated and confounded by as cogent counter statements from the young merchant as those which they tendered. the merchant being dismissed with marks of regard by the prince, followed his professional occupation in the coun try without any further molestation, while the wicked rogues were sent into prison to chew the bitter cud of reflection, and to work on the roads under the weight of heavy chains. the story op an indolent man. c j here was a certain man who was excessively indolent ; t~a his wife therefore said to him one day, " since you do not work to support me^ and have not brought me a single rupee since the day of our marriage, it is far better that you should consent to my leaving you and working for my own subsis tence." on hearing this, the husband consented to go out in quest of some employment; the wife, knowing that he always did so, but sauntered idly about the streets, and came home always with some frivolous excuse about his bad fortune in getting no employment congenial to his taste, prepared some cakes with poison which she tied up in a napkin for him to eat on the journey, thiukiug that by this contrivance, she would get rid of a useless, idle fellow. the indolent man took the cakes and went out joyously one morning with the intention of enjoy ing them on the road, and then returning with a well-framed, plausible story to appease her displeasure. he had rambled through a good part of the country, when he jjegan to get weary and feel a keen appetite for the cakes. seeing a tank before him with a majestic tree in its neighbourhood, he placed the napkin containing the cakes, together with his walking cane, beneath the tree, and descended the flight of steps for the purpose of washing himself. being so occupied, it happened that in that quarter of the country, a wild ferocious elephant was creating much havoc in cultivated lauds, as well as destroy ing life. the rajah of the district had notified by beat of drum, that whoever would kill the elephant, would be entitled to a handsome reward, and be provided with a lucrative employ ment. it so happened that this elephant in passing the tree, took up the napkin, shook out its contents, and devoured the cakes. in a short time he fell dead on the spot. the indolent man coming up from the tank and finding an elephant lying dead, cut off a piece of the trunk with the intention of taking it home as a trophy of his valour. the people of the village soon gathered themselves round the elephant like vultures about a carcase. some took with them the tusks, and some bore away the tail. with these they presented themselves be fore the rajah with the expectation of receiving the promised reward; but the rajah asked them where the tsunk was, for he who had the trunk was the person who had slain the animal. not being able to furnish a satisfactory answer to this query, they were discovered to be mere pretenders. the indolent man, hearing the particulars, of the elephant story, presented himself in due time before the rajah with the missing trunk. the rajah asked if he had slain the elephant. he said emphatically that he was the author of its destruction. on being questioned how he had effected the death of the monster, he answered boastfully that he did it by merely squeezing the animal, and could, with the greatest ease and facility, dispatch half a dozen others. the rajah being highly gratified with his courage and skill, presented him with a purse of two hundred rupees, and gave him an employment by which he could earn a hundred rupees per month. from this circumstance he was designated the squeezing giant. this prince had frequent territorial disputes with a neighbouring zemindar, in which the parties had several skirmishes, but in most of them the men of the prince were defeated. on the present occasion, however, instigated by the retainers of the prince, the squeezing giant was advised to go and exhibit his prowess before the enemy. as he could not refuse to go, he assented, thinking to himself that when once mounted on the horse for battle, he would get away from the country and go far beyond the reach of the prince. with this resolution he desired to be furnished with a good charger. mounting the animal with all the airs of a general, he desired the men to fasten him. to the horse, that in the heat of battle, ( 95 ) he might not, by any accident, fall and get himself unhorsed. proceeding in a canter until he got out of sight of the palace, it was his desire to turn the head of his horse in the direction of his country, hut the spirited animal, trained to battle, and hearing the beat of drums and the notes of a bugle, began to paw the ground and prance, and much against the disposition of the rider, to shape his course toward that quarter where the men of the zemindar were assembled in battle array to dispute the rights of the prince. in this dilemma, and while the horse was bounding forward, he grasped at the branch of a tree with all his might, either to check his progress towards the scene of danger, or by getting up the tree to escape from his unpleasant predicament ; but neither object being gained, the heavy branch rested in his grasp and on his shoulder. with this strange weapon he was seen advancing towards the field. the men of the zemindar having heard before of the squeez ing giant and his supernatural powers, and seeing too his approach with a tree uprooted as they believed, and thinking that with a single swing of that tree, he might lay thirty or forty men prostrate, broke up the camp in haste and disap peared. the squeezing giant thought no more of returning to his country ; he came back to the prince with proud looks and buoyant hopes, telling him that he had no occasion to unsheathe his sword, the mere appearance of his person in the field had driven away the enemies of the rajah with terror and amazement. the rajah was well pleased with his valuable service, and as a token of his approbation, he conferred on him titles of distinction, augmented his salary, and continu ed to entertain him in his post of honor and responsibility. after the lapse of a year or two, a powerful tiger was re ported to have come into the country, and was daily destroying men and cattle, and there was found no one capable of check ing his devastations. several shicarees, or sportsmen, belong ing to the rajah, had gone out to destroy him, but they came back baffled in their attempts. the rajah then thought of ( 96 ) his " squeezing giant." he called him to the durbar, or court, and informed him that none of his retainers had succeeded in killing the tiger which was doing so much harm to his country. the " squeezing giant," with a show of courage, promptly answered that he would willingly go and slay the tiger, as it was but an insignificant work, but at the same time he was getting icy cold with fear, knowing that the elephant and the battle were very fortunate affairs, and merely accidental occurrences. the thought of this enterprize made him lose his appetite for several days,, but deeply cunning as he was, he made minute enquiries of the sportsmen where the tiger was to be found, and the place which was his chief haunt. on learning that the tiger generally slept under a tamarind tree after it had fed itself, the " squeezing giant" told the sports men to furnish him with all sorts of weapons, to lift and fasten him tightly to the tamarind tree, and that at a convenient time he would show the tiger who he was. this being done according to his instructions, and to his own satisfaction, the sportsmen left him with a secret wish that he might fall a prey to the fierce animal, because, since his entertainment in the rajah's service, their emoluments were meagre, and their reputa tion had suffered in the estimation of their employer on account of his extraordinary exploits. soon after the glaring sun had set, the tiger, as was his habit, came near the tamarind tree, and snuffing the air, discovered that there was a human being in that locality. he cast his glowing eyes hither and thither in search of the man, when they fell on the " squeezing giant" in the tree. fixing his gaze' intently for a time, he gave a terrific howl, and then sprang towards the branch on which the man was. he began to quake with great fear. his trembling hands had no power to hold the weapons with which he had been furnished. they therefore fell from that lofty branch with a force that caused them to penetrate deep into the body, eyes, and neck of the animal. it soon lay weltering in its own blood. when the man came to find the disabled state of the tiger, he ( 97 ) struggled wildly to get free from the cords which confined him to the tree. he succeeded in snapping them, when coming down from the tree, he bawled out lustily for the villagers, and as he saw them stirring about from their huts, and approaching him, he commenced with a volubility of abusive language to beat the back of the expiring auimal with a ponderous branch. hav ing, after such an achievement, marvellous in the eyes of the village rustics, commanded them authoritatively to bear away the tiger to the rajah, he walked slowly behind, musing on the thought that at some future period he was sure, if he continued in his present employment, to come into disagreeable contact with much greater perplexities. the wisest course there fore for him to take, he concluded, would be, to leave the rajah with all his honors thick upon him, and his reputation for courage and strength unmarred. on seeing the rajah, therefore, he asked permission, after so many years' service, to visit his family and country. his sanction having been obtained, he asked the rajah for the use of a horse from his large stud. the horse which he had thus obtained, he mounted after the eastern quixotic fashion, commencing his journey with exultant reflec tions as to what stories he would spin out, and what wonderful things he would do, and how he would make the people stare their eyes out in the recital of his wonderful deeds, when he was in his own house and country. thus beguiling the tedious ness of his solitary journey, the bright sun began to decline with his gorgeous light, and evening's sombre shadows to mantle the landscape, when he came to a hut on the way. here he alighted with an intention to repose and rest himself for the night. it happened to be the residence of a gang of six brothers, in which their six wives and sisters were dwelling with their mother-in-law. the aged woman gladly admitted this traveller. she provided him with all the requisites for supper, giving him, however, wet wood that he might be long engaged in kindling a fire and dressing his dinner, lest he might, after his refreshment, think of pursuing his journey, by which her sons would lose 13 ( 98 ) their opportunity of stripping him of his property. one of the young wives of the robbers, knowing of the treachery and wickedness of her mother-in-law, and knowing too that the robbers not only divested a man of his money, but that it was their invariable practice to murder those they robbed, felt sym pathy for the fate of the innocent traveller. she endeavoured secretly to apprise the man of the danger which awaited him, should he remain till the robbers came back from their excursion. the traveller rose up in alarm, collected his baggage, and came out with the intention of starting on his journey ; but the old wily hag, meeting him at the threshold, tried to dissuade him from his purpose, telling him that he ought to refresh himself before undertaking a laborious journey, and that she would provide him with more ghee, dall, and sweets, if he were not satisfied with that which she had previously provided him. his terror made the power of her soft eloquence of no effect. he gave her to understand that he felt no desire for food, feeling not quite well in health, and that on that account he would not lose his time unnecessarily. the old woman finding the she could not prevail on him to remain, went and tied a purse full of mustard seed to the tail of his horse, that traces of the road he travelled through might be discovered by her sons on their return. when the free-booters came home, the mother expressed her deep regret that they had lost a good prize by the departure of a wealthy traveller, but said that it was possible to find him by the mus tard seed, which they would find strewed in the path by which he was advancing, " don't you, however," she said, " go by yourselves, but take one of your sisters. should you overtake him on the road near some secluded spot,you may despatch him in your usual way by strangling, but in the event of your meet ing with him at any populous place or town, mention within the hearing of others, that he had married your sister yester day, had left her behind, and was running away from her." the robbers not having found the man on the road, followed ( 99 ) him up to a town. the traveller turning round and finding that he was pursued, enquired of the inhabitants if there lived any rajah in the town. learning that there was such a person dge, he urged his horse forward, reached the rajbarce, or palace, and sought shelter and protection from the rajah. to him he disclosed all the events of his last journey, and the danger from which he had escaped, requesting his protection from the wicked design of the robbers who were in pursuit of him and were just in eight. soon after this disclosure, the robbers also presented them selves before the rajah, bowing submissively in his presence, and crying out, " help, maharaj ! help maharaj ! this man married our sister only yesterday, and instead of taking her along with him, he is running away from her secretly, wishing to leave his wife a burden upon us." the rajah desired the robbers and the traveller to rest and refresh themselves, and that on the morrow he would hear their petition. when night had approached, the rajah ordered the robbers a separate dwelling, and the traveller a different apartment with his supposed wife. he instructed one of his own men to remain concealed in one of the rooms next to the traveller's, and to listen to any con versation held between him and the woman during the night. late at night the woman was heard by the spy to tell the tra veller to give up his money, or that she would kill him. he replied, saying, that it would be useless for her to deprive him of life, for by that atrocious act she could not succeed to his property. the affair was known to the rajah, and the crime of his murder and theft would be visited with condign punish ment from the retributive justice of the prince. a small dagger was seen concealed beneath the folds of her ample garment, and to carry out her determination, she was feeling for the weapon, and insisting on his making over the purse, or bearing the consequence of his refusal. the traveller still persisted in saying, that though she killed him, still the money would never be her property. " but before you kill me," he said, " listen first to a story which i have to relate, and when that will be concluded, od what you please with me." she assented, and the story was begun as follows : " there was a merchant who had brought up a parrot, and who, being about to go on a long trading voyage, left strict injunctions with his dependants, that whatever the parrot order ed them to execute, they should obey cheerfully. the parrot accordingly, on the departure of the merchant, commanded a certain parcel of ground which measured twenty biggahs to be properly ploughed and richly manured. the servant announ ced the execution of his order, and wanted to know what other commands he had for them. the parrot ordered them to cul tivate the field with pumpkin creepers. after a month or so, the field was coverd with an abundance of succulent pumpkins of an extraordinary size, and fit for being gathered up. the servants desired to know if they should gather and take them to the market for sale, or dispose them to some speculating farmer. the parrot instructed them to go to the field, and then to irrigate the land with a copious supply of water, so as to immerse the plants and the pumpkins. having done according to the parrot's bidding, the servants came to the parrot to censure his insane proceedings ; telling him that if the produce were taken into market and sold, and not destroyed so ruthlessly, it would have realized for their master more than three hundred rupees. the parrot answered, ' what does that concern you, go now and drain the field, after which when the field becomes dry and is adapted for ploughing, plough and manure it as before, then plant out cuttings of sugar-cane.' after a short time the canes sprung up with a growth of vigorous luxuriance, lofty in height, thick in circumference, and redundant of saccariue matter. the servants came to inform the parrot that the canes had acquired perfect maturity and were fit to be cut ; if allowed to stand longer their productive sap would diminish. the parrot re commended them to go and cut down the canes, after which to lay them in a heap and set fire to the stack. the laborers re plied with amazement : ' what are you going to do with our master's property ?' * what is that to you, go and do as you are bid/ was the parrot's further injunction. having done so, the laborers were told to sweep the place and collect the ashes from the conflagration into a bungalow. ' when this was accom plished, the time for the merchant's return approached. as soon as he had come home, the servants recounted all the impru dences of the parrot ; the merchant being at that time in bad temper on account of the disorders into which some of his other affairs were thrown, got fiercely angry with the parrot, and, without reflection took him out of the cage and dashed him to the ground. " after the lapse of a few days, the merchant thought of ex amining the ashes which had been gathered and stored up in a golah or godown. doing so, he discovered to his surprise that it had, by some secret, mysterious process conducted in the cru cible of nature rather than art, acquired medicinal properties which made it of considerable value ; he lamented, therefore, deeply, his rashness in destroying his faithful bird." the story was heard by the sister of the robbers in silence, but as soon as it was concluded, she repeated her former demand for the traveller's purse, saying that the night had nearly passed by and the dawn was fast approaching. the traveller told her that she would not succeed in obtaining the money ; but, said he, " listen to another short tale, the relation of which i hope may instil into you some portion of common sense : "there lived a father and mother whose family was composed of several childen. the mother placing a bowl of water before her little boy, with which he might play and amuse himself, went for a short while to winnow the corn. just at that spot she tied a weasel. a venomous snake seeing the child playing with water, with no one at that time in the house, made bold to come out from his secret dwelling in the crevices of the old wall to slake his thirst from the water of the basin. the poor child not knowing what it was, put forth his innocent hands to catch and play with that which he might have taken for a pretty arau ( 102 ) sing toy. he played for some time, the snake coiling and dis entangling himself from his arm, till by some accident the boy, unwittingly hurt the snake, and the ill-tempered reptile stung him, and he lay lifeless, but in all the beauty of innocent child hood. witnessing the sudden catastrophe, the weasel cut his string with his teeth, and going into the neighbouring fields, came back to the house with a root which was an antidote for snake poison. at this time the mother who had come back from her occupation, and seeing the child in that state, stood petrified with sorrow and anguish, then she fell on the body of her child and wept bitterly. after she had given full vent to her grief, she stood up to go and announce the mournful occurrence to her husband, when seeing the weasel loose from the tie and approach ing her, she thought that it was by his absence and remissness that her poor boy was lost, and therefore, in a fit of vexation and rage, she grasped the weasel and threw him on the floor with all her might. as the weasel lay dead, a curious root was dis covered in his mouth, which extricating from his clenched teeth, she took in her hand, and thought that it might possess some medicinal virtue which the instinct of the animal had procured. the mother in her agony would leave no means untried, and so she ground the root and administered it to the child. to her great joy the lad began gradually to give indications of return ing consciousness. with the child's recovery the faithful weasel's death was a constant source of grief and compunction to the mother." the spy who had listened to their discourse thus far, and had taken it down on paper, proceeded to the door of the apart ment, and violently knocked. it was dawn, and the traveller and the woman were taken out and conducted before the rajah. the incidents, as transcribed by the spy, being read before the court, the wily woman was sentenced to be transported, after her person had been disfigured with a brand on the forehead, and her flowing hair had been shorn. the six artful ruffians finding the light of day dawning, de ( 103 ) camped from the town, knowing too well that if frustrated in their deep artifices, the further investigation of the case by a court of justice, would but entangle them in their own net of treachery, and bring a heavy judgment against them, disastrous to their lives of infamy. the traveller was set at liberty to pursue his journey, which he did without meeting with any further accident or disaster. by slow stages he came back to the land of his nativity, but in reaching it, the first blow to his joy and his anticipations, was the news which he heard of his wife having taken another hus band, thinking that he had long been numbered with his ances tors. he accused himself severely as the cause of all the misfortune and disaster which had been brought upon himself by want of energy and occupation. the experience which he had acquired in his travels, made him more sober-minded, led him to appre ciate habits of useful industry, and to reflections conducive to right conduct in life, and a proper discharge of social duties. having a small capital of his own, he resolved to apply a portion of it to purposes of trade, to purchase a small farm, to marry a virtuous wife, and live in occupations of usefulness and acts of charity. a badshaw and his seven daughters. was a badshaw who had seven daughters. he \$k called them before him one morning, and asked, '' my children, by whose luck are you supported ?" the six eldest answered that they were dependent on their parent for support, but the youngest replied that she was supported by her own fate. the badaliaw addressed his youngest daughter thus : ( 104 ) " whatever individual i meet with on the morrow, i will make you over to him, you ungrateful child !" a wood-cutter was the first man whom the badshaw saw in the morning. he told the woodman that he would marry his daughter to him, be cause he had resolved upon it in his own mind for the purpose of punishing her. the wood-cutter apologised, and begged that the badshaw would forgive him if he had inadvertently given him offence, since it was only for some such reason, he said, that he was being bantered with. the badshaw told him he was quite serious on the subject. the wood-cutter persisted in saying that he was a poor man who depended for a precarious subsistence on cutting wood, by which he hardly earned enough for his own support, and how, then, could he take a wife and plunge her into trouble and suffering. the youngest daughter, who happened to be present at the conference, told the man not to be discouraged but to consent, as she would do everything for her own maintenance, and would not prove a burden to him. thus they were married, and the man took his wife to his hut, and leaving her there, said ; " you remain here, and let me go to my work, for it is late. by a whole day's hard labour, i can cut but a basket-full of wood, and obtain for that only one hundred and twelve shells. i must therefore be up and doing, or we must starve." his wife inquired : " what, do you always sell your wood at one uniform price, and never sell under or above that rate ? show me your wood before you go to sell it." receiving this instruction, he went forth to his daily occupation, bringing in at the close of the day, a basket of chips. the wife, finding the wood to be no other than sandal wood chips, told the simpleton to make a demand of five rupees for them, and if any one declined to purchase for that amount, to bring them back. as taught, so he asked five rupees, but a buyer laughed and inquired if he had lost his wits during the night, and what had come to pass that he made such an exorbitant demand as five rupees, after haviug ( 105 ) received only a hundred and twenty cowries at .first. the man would not give in, but stuck to his resolution. the tradesman was obliged to take it on the terms of the woodman, and in paying the five rupees into his hands, cautioned him to take the wood no where else, since he would purchase it every day at his own enhanced price. on receiving the five rupees, the wife went and purchased a large stock of all necessaries, after which, she asked the woodman of the size of the tree he was cutting. he told her that it was a very large dry tree, which after the manner in which he was hewing, would take him two years to finish the cutting. she instructed him to take a rupee and engage the assistance of ten or twelve labourers, who would cut the tree down, divide the branches into small logs, and bring the wood home on two or three carts. this being done, the logs were piled up near their hut, and with that stock in hand, they commenced a successful trade. it then occurred to the wife that it was the practice of some men to bury their wealth at the root of such trees. she told her husband, therefore, to go and dig at the roots. doing so, he was surprised to find four jars containing money. this enriched the humble dwellers of the hut, who felt no longer the pangs of poverty, or the bitterness of want. with the riches they now possessed, they began to trade on a larger scale than be fore, and thus, after two or three years of prosperous business, they became people of some consequence. in the locality where the hut stood, a beautiful, stately edifice sprung up, the sole occupiers and owners of which were the woodman and his faithful, intelligent, prudent wife. arriving at this stage of comfort and independence, they prepared a sumptuous entertain ment, to which they invited the men of two or three neighbour ing villages. a large number came and partook of the grand repast, and enjoyed all the amusements which were prepared for their diversion. some of the guests, in conversing with the host and hostess, mentioned casually that the badshaw, who was once so opulent, had come by adverse circumstances 14 ( 106 ) to great poverty -and want ; indeed, such was his indigence that he was compelled to undertake menial offices. the hostess heard the narration with surprise and grief, and tears were forced from her eyes, but though they ran down her cheeks in copious streams, she studied to conceal her emotion from her guests. the woodman's visitors, while retiring from the entertainment, spoke of their hostess in terms of high laudation, observing that it was the ability and prudence of the woman, and not the man, that had raised them from a humble position to one of respect ability, affluence, and comfort. to carry out her secret design, the wife ordered the excavation of a large tank, and for its con struction, she desired her men to bring only such as were really in want, and without anything to eat. many poor men of the village were supported by this work, and several came from the neighbourhood, among whom was the badshaw, but so much changed in his aspect as scarcely to be recognised by any body. the sircar who had the supervision of the excavation, saw that a certain labourer was not at all qualified for the work, for he could neither dig well, nor bear heavy loads. he felt it to be his duty to represent this to his mistress. having done so, she desired him to bring the man before her. when the poor man presented himself before her, he could not recognise her as his daughter, but she was not slow to discover that he was the badshaw, her father. she made herself known to him, and in formed him by what means their circumstances had improved. they were soon locked in each other's arms, and over his ample shoulder where her head rested, she wept at the memory of the past, comparing it with his present altered condition. she invited her father and sisters to reside with her, telling the father to employ his time in conducting her profitable business. she reminded him that what she had asserted before, was not untrue, for in reality every man lived according to the destiny prescribed by an allwise god. ( 107 ) the story op a fakir and an igno rant man. ignorant man asked a fakir, " who are you, why are you seated here, and what are you doing ?" the fakir replied, " i am a beggar in god's service. i have abandoned the world that i might walk with god, though to do so i may have to endure pain, and suffer privation and sorrow. i am studying human nature, and the two classes of men of whom the world is composed the one given to the pleasures of life, the other engaged in the service of holiness and god. in man's opinion there are several classes of indivi duals ; but in god's infallible judgment there exist only two the good and the bad." the ignorant man observed, " you say that you are in god's service, and that you know him, and are acquainted with man's nature, then, pray, allow me to put you three questions, which, if you fail to answer, i will esteem you not only a liar but a deceitful, wicked person, deluding others to earn for yourself a dishonest livelihood. if it happen to be as i surmise, i will beat you away from hence, and take all that you possess." the fakir replied, " by this inconsiderate speech, you disclose the shallowness of your intellect and your want of prudence. well, i am satisfied with your proposal. pray, tell me in what matter you desire my opinion ?" the ignorant man said, " father ! the first question is this : show god to me and tell me of what colour he is ? the second is : satan is formed of fire, and hell is composed of the same element, how then can fire make any impression on satan ? the third is : whatever is being done in the world, is executed by god himself, and not man, for man is impotent and can do nothing by his own power. is it so or not ?" ( 108 ) the fakir began to muse for a> while on the subject, then, after a short time, laughed and looked at the ignorant man, and asked if those three were all the questions he had to ask. " yes, father," he replied " and their answer i have to re quest." the fakir, looking here and there, took up a ball of clay, which he aimed at the ignorant man's head with a force that stunned him. the ignorant man began to make a great noise, and to call out for help, crying and telling the village men that the treacherous fakir had hit his forehead so hard a blow with a stone, that he was quite faint. when the men had heard his complaint, they began to call the fakir all sorts of ill names, and to address him thus : " you say that you are god's beggar, but your action which is so culpable, shows that you have come from the kingdom of satan. we will take you away to the cazi or judge, and then we will see who protects such a pretender." so the men beat and dragged him before the cazi of the place. the cazi inquired why they had offered insult and violence to the poor fakir. the peoplesaid in their justification, ''cazi saheb, this fakir is a pretender. he is of so violent a temper that he has struck this poor fellow a severe blow with a stone on his fore head which had nearly killed him, and all this cruel usage he has perpetrated, too, without the least provocation." hearing this explanation, the cazi was highly enraged at his audacity, and inquired in a boisterous manner, why the fakir had inflicted pain without any reason for it. the fakir, seeing and hearing things not quite consonant with the charac ter of a cazi, told him that he too appeared to lack discretion. the cazi saheb became more irritated at what he considered the fakir's insolence. he remarked, " you, father, appear in sheep's clothing, but the wolf is seen through the flimsy cover let. for what reason, and by what indications, do you recog nise me to be a man of perverted judgment ?" ( 109 ) the fakir said, be not angry, for anger is the symbol of weak ness. pray, consider the truth strictly and reflect on the subject of that man's three questions to me." the cazi calling the ignorant man, inquired what were the questions which being put to the fakir, gave him offence, and led him to retort so rudely. hearing the three questions, the the cazi turning towards the fakir, asked : " fakir saheb, was it proper for you to strike the man instead of answering him ?" . the fakir laughing said, " i have by that deed answered his three questions already. his first question was show god to me and tell me of what colour he is ? my answer is, show me your pain and tell me of its colour, and i will show you god and tell you of what colour he is. his second question was, satan is formed of fire, and hell is composed of the same ele ment, how then can fire make any impression on satan ? my answer is, man is admitted to have clay for his origin. this man asserts that fire makes no impression on fire ; if so, a ball of clay cannot hurt a body of clay. i did not use any stick or sword to strike him, but a lump of clay. according to his argument, therefore, i am justified, for i could not have hurt him. his third question was, whatever is being done in the world, is executed by god himself and not man, for man is im potent and can do nothing by his own power. my answer is, if nothing is done by man, then i have not struck him, but god, according to his showing, and i am therefore guiltless of his accusation." an old man and woman. decrepid old man and his wife who were residing in a dense jungle, received a supply of their wants from god> for he mysteriously furnished them daily with a oake of bread. this gift from his bounty they divided between them selves ; one-half the husband enjoyed, and the wife partook of the other, satisfying their thirst from the water of a pellucid brook which stood in their neighbourhood. one day as the couple were seated conversing in their little hut, the old man heard the voice of a young boy, who called out, " father, may i come in." the old man hearing this familiar address, was not only surprised but also annoyed, thinking that they were provided with just that quantity of bread which sufficed for their own wants, and what then could be done for their unex pected intruder, who had come to diminish their small allow ance by claiming a share. he took no notice of the call, but the heart of the old woman was touched with sympathy. " old man," she said, " we get the cake without our own labour and seeking. what we obtain so freely and generously, let us not grudge to share with the little boy. he might be a comfort to us in our isolation from society, and prove to be greatly use ful in the hour of our highest need. pray, invite him in ; my half share of cake i will joyfully divide with the lad, for in this forest he must starve, and die without our assistance." the boy was invited to go in, and the inquiry was instituted how he had come into such a desolate place. he said, " i was led by some unknown person up to the gate, when he left me, and vanished from my sight. i do not know who he is i rather think god sent me here." thus the boy was fed every day with a quarter of the cake and some fruits from the woods, until he grew up to years of discretion, and became thoughtful and reflective. one day, the boy told his foster parents that he could not re main any longer idle and dependent on them, nor take a share of the cake which was their portion, and which was barely sufficient for their own sustenance. now that he was strong and big, he should be permitted to go to gk>d himself, and ask him to grant him his portion of a cake such as they were al lowed. " do not prevent me," said he, " from seeking out god and presenting my request personally." " why will you leave us," they said, " and expose yourself to danger and privation. why leave us to endure the agitation of mind which a constant apprehension that you may be in want and suffering would create, and why, alas ! are you not satisfied with the little we receive from god, when we get it so easily ? however small the supply, he has supported us so long, and with such regularity, that we have never been under any apprehension that he will fail us. be content and give up all thoughts of your perilous journey." their persuasive eloquence was lost upon him, for he was determined to seek god, and make his wants known to him personally. the old couple, at his de parture, gave him their benediction that he might be guarded from harm, meet with a prosperous journey and success in his undertaking. for three whole days he was trudging through the woods. on the fourth day when he had traversed the entire length of the forest, on its skirts he saw a tree withered down to the very root and fit only for fuel. the tree asked the youth where he was going to. the youth replied that he was going to god to ask him to give him his portion of cake. the tree hereupon said, " if you are going to god, pray take this petition from me. tell him, if you please, that i bear neither blossom nor fruit, and i am stripped of my garment of leaves. i am be come useless and hateful to men, beasts, and birds. i afford no refreshment to any being, nor does the most despicable rep tile seek shelter, as i have none to offer." promising to make the complaint of the tree known to god when the youth ( 112 ) met him, he continued his journey through the tangled creepers and bushy herbage. he had not proceeded far when he beheld a tiger lying on his path in the helpless condition of a cripple. the tiger asked whither he was going. the youth answered that he was going to meet god and to ask him to send his share of cake for support. " go, my son," rejoined the tiger, " and lay my distress before him, and bring me the relief i need, when you return again. i have lain here these twelve years, unable to stir or walk about, and rendered helpless from the loss of the use of my legs. there is no other path but this near me ; pass this way." the youth hesitated, and evinced some symptoms of fear at his friendly request, but the tiger, to allay his needless alarm, added, " when i call you my godson, i can do you no harm. pass near me without any apprehension, but do not fail to remember my miserable situation, and speak on my behalf." the youth consenting to remember his case, proceeded in his search after god. on quitting the forest, he beheld lawns carpeted with the verdure of a vivid green, on which calves and lambs sported with the buoyancy and hilarity of young life, while ewes and cows lay ruminating with eyes half closed , perfectly indifferent to the sport carried on by some crows which hopped and pecked about their backs and ears. he was delighted to see men moving here and there over the ample fields, some cultivating the land with high anticipations of a future golden harvest, some hopeful in sowing the seed, and some active and joyous in reaping the products of a their labour. he was glad to have arrived in the vicinity of habitable place. in passing near the house of the chief man of the village, he was asked, where he was going to. and he replied, as before that he was going to meet god and to ask him to help him. " if you are going to him," said the rich man, " pray, take my petition with you. i have erected a temple for his worship, but the dome tumbles down every night regularly, and every day i am compelled to build it up again." consenting to be the bearer of the rich man's complaint, he departed from the habitations of men, and entered another forest of primeval grandeur, but still gloomier than the one he had traversed be fore. after a few strides into the woods, he came suddenly before an object which was revolting to his feelings. he saw a man covered with leprosy, with eruptions breaking out in all parts of his body, and bleeding in different places. the heart of the youth was moved with feelings of sympathy and compas sion. he asked the man why he was lying in such an uncon genial place. the sick man replied, " where else can i go ? wherever i show myself, i am loathed for my sickness, and people pass me at a distance to avoid contact and contamination. whose help can i therefore calculate upon ?" the youth collect ed a large heap of leaves and wild flowers, and desiring the man to seat himself upon it, hurried away in the direction of the nearest village. from thence he brought a pot, some water, and a burning coal, after which he set the water boiling, and when it had acquired the temperature he desired, he tore out a fragment of his garment, and commenced to sponge the ulcers. under this operation, the sores began to heal and a gold-like complexion to appear. the sick man then asked the youth whither he was bound. the youth replied that he was going to god to ask him for his portion of cake. the person who had assumed the form of a leper, told him that his prayer was heard, and his request granted. " who are you to say so ? i am going to see grod and ask him that favour myself." " i am his messenger sent to meet you, and to try you." " i cannot believe unless you reveal yourself." upon this he disclosed a refulgent form, which satisfied the desire of the youth and confirmed his belief. being advised to return to his foster parents, the youth humbly laid before him the perplexity of the rich man, the infirmity of the tiger, and the barrenness of the tree. with regard to the chief man of the village, he was in formed " tell the chief that he has a grown up daughter, who, after the amusements of the day, retiring to her dormitory at night, heaves a long deep sigh of sorrow and anguish, at which 15 time the dome falls. desire him to marry his daughter to a worthy man, and the accident will cease the day her sigh ceases. the tiger is suffering from the lodgement of some thorns of the cactus in his paws. have the thorns extracted, and the animal will recover the use of his limbs. the tree is a wicked sinner who is standing over a mass of wealth, which he cannot use himself, nor will he permit others to appropriate it to legitimate objects and useful purposes, so that by its wide circulation, thousands of indigent people might be benefited. as he has grasped the whole under the embrace of his avaricious roots, his own life has become barren, his leaves withered, his branches unfruitful, a despicable object in him self, and a useless thing in the company of his numerous companions of the forest. desire him to remove himself to a short distance from the spot, and to allow some one to take away that money, and the tree will then thrive with a greater luxuriance, and flourish with a higher degree of fecundity." having obtained these instructions and received an answer to his petition, he returned homeward with sentiments of grati tude welling up in his heart towards the divine bestower of all good. he met the wealthy man on his return to the village. after being entertained by the chief, he enquired what was said about his peculiar case. the youth told him, the answer received was, that he had a daughter who had arrived at years of womanhood, and who by her nocturnal sighs, caused the fall of the dome. " give her in marriage to a worthy man, and as her sighs cease, so will the falling down of the pinnacle be stayed." the rich man observed to the youth, that he knew very few persons of that character, and none among them worthier than he, for he who sought grod diligently, must ever after walk in the path of life with integrity of heart, simplicity of manners, and honesty of purpose. the rich man marrying his daughter to him, gave his son-in-law wealth, elephants, horses, and a body-guard. the period of six months was spent agreeably and happily under his roof; after which the ( 115 ) youth asked leave to go to his foster parents, and his wife not willing to remain even a few months behind, joined him in his journey. while his camp was directed to take the main road, he continued his walk through the forest. the disabled tiger was seen at the same spot, who with eagerness desired to be informed what the result was of his visit. the youth desired him to hold out his paws, and in examining them, he found some thorns of the cactus festering in them, which he extracted carefully. the tiger being relieved from the pain, stood erect, and, with an elastic spring, fell on a calf and bore away the prize into the nearest thicket to enjoy a feast. con tinuing his journey, he approached the tree, and communicated what he had heard was the reason of its decadence. the tree proposed that, as none was worthier to receive the wealth, while he moved away from the spot, the youth should order his men to remove the money. when the tree had given up its hold of the mass of silver which lay below, by withdrawing its fibrous entanglements, it put forth a vigorous growth of foliage. the youth now sent for his guards who could be seen through a vista in the forest, encamped on the neighbouring plain. they dug up a large quantity of money, and with his wealth and attendants, he went to meet the old couple ; they were bewildered at all they saw and heard. the youth address ed his foster parents thus : " it is no longer necessary for us to inhabit this wilderness ; let us go and build a house in the next village." a fine mansion being rapidly erected, which money only could achieve, they lived in it, surrounded with comfort, and enjoying every happiness this world could bestow. the old man and woman often reflected in their quiet musings, that to befriend one in utter destitution, and to be a father to an orphan, was an act with which grod was well pleased, and testified his pleasure by the communication of his blessings. [this tale appears to me to have been derived from the monks, or priests, who had in their early intercourse with the natives, or the first christian con verts, communicated it to them, they in their turn to others. i am of this opinion, not only from the structure of the story, but from the use and adop tion of the term god-son.] the story op a brahmin and brah minee. rajah who had established a large bazar, ordered his men, saying " whatever may remain unsold in the market until the evening, purchase the whole up from the venders on my account, that the poor may not suffer from loss and disappointment." there was a brahmin and brahminee living in the town, who were in great destitution, so much so, that if by any means they had obtained sufficient food one day, they went starving the two following days. the brahmiuee. who was skilful in devices when pushed to extremity, desired her husband to procure her some branches of the broad leafed plantain, and a new pot. taking the leaves, she tied them into small bundles, these she placed in the new pot, then she covered the pot with a leaf, and fastened the lid by a string. after this operation, she instruct ed the ^brahmin to take it to the rajah's bazar, taking care never to uncover the lid, but to sell it as it was. should any purchasers inquire what article it contained, he was to tell them .that he had collected his misfortunes and taken them for sale. hearing this, some laughed, aud others wondered at his singular conduct, telling him that he must be an idiot to believe that he could find any customers in the market to purchase such a ware ; that they would rather flee from its very presence ; and that every one had his own share of misfortune from which they would, if they could, extricate themselves, rather than bear the burden of another man's ill-luck ; for every man's burden was more than sufficient for his own back. the brahmin could make no reply to these just assertions. he remained silent, but when any new customer approached him and his pot to learn what it contained, he told them that ( 117 ) he had come to dispose of his misfortune. in this manner the day declined, and his singular article remained unsold, and he was almost the only man sitting in the bazar, when the sircar of the bazar, agreeably to the rajah's orders, came to see if there was any tradesman in the place who had not disposed of his goods. fiudiugthe brahmin seated quietly with his pot, he enquired what that was which he had brought for sale, how much he had sold, and what quantity remained unsold. the brahmin answered that he had sold nothing, and had brought that for sale, of which he had more than enough at home, and would gladly part with all. " what is that ?" asked the bazar sircar. " misfortune," was the brahmin's rejoinder. such a novelty for sale, puzzled the sircar not a little. he felt it to be his duty to inform the rajah of this unusual incident, aa without it he deemed he was not at liberty to purchase misfor tune for the rajah, and to hoard it up with his other stores. he told the rajah that a poor brahmin had taken a pot to the bazar which he said contained a stock of misfortune ; but not effecting a sale, he was still in the bazar with it. what the sircar should do in this particular case, was what he was desir ous of learning. the rajah told him, "never mjfid, take it, for i have passed the order that whatever is brought to my bazar for sale, if not sold, i would be the purchaser. i caunot, therefore, violate this order without incurring censure for pre varication." the sircar went back to the brahmin, and asked him what he would take for his ware. he demanded one thousand rupees. the sircar was surprised to hear so exorbi tant and preposterous a demand. " what is this that you ask !" remarked the sircar, adding, " do you think you could readily find a customer to purchase your poverty, or gladly take dis tress upon their own shoulders." the brahmin, not at all disconcerted, replied : " if i sell at all, it must be for that sum, and not a cowree less, otherwise the object for which i have brought it for disposal, will be defeated. if i sell, i intend thereby to divest myself of a weight too insupportable for me to sustain. by selling for less, i would consent to take back a portion of my misfortune to my house and family, which i do not purpose to do." the sircar, finding that he could not bring the brahmin to his terms, had need to go to the rajah again, and communicate his difficulties and his failure in making rea sonable arrangements with the brahmin. the rajah desired his sircar to pay the amount asked by the brahmin for his ware, and to deposit it among his other articles. one night, when the sky was clear and serene, and the stars shone brightly from the vault of heaven, bathing the whole country in a soft flood of bewitching radiance, the rajah finding all his efforts to court sleep ineffectual, got up and seated himself iu one of the bal conies of the palace, to contemplate the beauty of so fine a night. he then beheld the figure of a stately female, majestic in motion, lovely in aspect, attired in a flowing garb, proceed ing from the palace in a direction away from it. her counten ance was illumined with the lustre of benevolence and joy. the rajah called and asked her who she was, and whither she was going? " my name," she said, " is luckee fortune. i am departing from your palace because you have admitted and are sheltering i^isfortune. our characters are antagonistic to each other. beneath the same roof we can never dwell together.'' after some days the rajah met dhormo piety, going out of the palace after the same manner as luckee did. he enquired where she was going? piety answered, "i am going away from your palace because you have sheltered misfortune." the rajah was very sad at these occurrences. he addressed the form which personified piety " pray, tell me he said what evil i have been guilty of, that you are departing from my house after a period of so long a residence ? i am conscious of having done nothing to upbraid myself with, on the contrary by keeping my word and fulfilling my promise, i have done that which is laudable and esteemed pious." after his explana tion, piety, finding that she had no just reason to abandon the rajah's house, went back and remained in her hallowed retire ment. as fortune generally resides in places where piety puts up, lm-kce returned to the palace and remained in the society of piety, being as they were inseparable companions. seeing luckee back again, the rajah asked the reason of her returning. she replied that she was one of dhormo's connec tions, and therefore in whatever place she took up her abode^ luckee must also reside. thus the kajah in no way came to suffer on account of his just, truthful, and benevolent conduct, but on the contrary, prospered more and more by the benign influence of his heavenly guests. rajah nul. pious rajah lived in the southern provinces of india, who governed his country with equity, and who dispensed charity with a liberal hand, in order that his benevolence might ameliorate the sufferings of the poor and the destitute. he had a daughter who was celebrated for her personal charms, praised for her good conduct, and who was married to a rajah of a neigh bouring country. rajah nul, while at his durbar, saw a strange looking person one day, who was having an altercation with the guards in his attempt to obtain an interview with somebody of the court. he commanded his men who were near his per son, to bring the man up to him. on his coming before the guddy, he was asked what was the motive of his visit, and what complaint he had to offer ? the stranger replied, that he was weary with wanderingfrom country to country for thepurpose of selling his misfortune, but he could meet with no purchaser any where, and as a last resource, having heard of the rajah's gener ous disposition and pious habits, he was encouraged to come to him. being questioned for what sum he would sell his mis fortune, the man replied that he wanted three lacs of rupees. ( 120 ) the rajah ordered his dewan to weigh out that sum and give it to the man. the man receiving the money with many sataams, quitted the durbar, repeating a long string of eulogis tic phrases. rajah nul, on waking up next morning, received intelligence from a servant, that all his elephants, camels, horses, and cattle, had died during the night. it was reported to him a short time after, that his khazanchi on opening the treasures, found to his alarm and grief, that all the wealth of the rajah was turned into coal and ashes. the rajah reflect ed for a while ; then, addressing the ranee, " i have little reason," said he, " to complain against these calamities which have come upon me. to help another man in trouble, i wil lingly purchased his misfortune. but all things are at the disposal of him who rules the universe. we have long enjoyed prosperity, and therefore ought not to repine if the wheel of fortune has turned against us. we have lost all that we pos sessed in this place, and it has hecome painful to me to remain here any longer to see the wreck of our property, and need lessly sigh over our losses ; let us depart hence, and seek our livelihood in other countries.." the rajah and ranee got out one night undeb secresy and cover of darkness, and commenced their journey in the garb of mendicants. the first place they arrived at in their aimless journey, was the residence of their daughter who had married a rajah. some men, more shrewd than others, recognizing rajah nul, ran and announced to the ranee, that her parents were coming to her on a visit, and that they were already in the avenue of the road leading to the palace. the daughter went out to the balcony to see if the announcement was true. she was surprised to discover two travellers, dressed in very humble clothing, advancing towards the palace. being told that they had fallen from their former affluence, and were now reduced to trouhle and want, she went rapidly into her apartments, where she placed a heap of gold mohurs on a large rich salver, and covering them up with some confections, sent them as a present to the travellers. rajah nul, on receiving the gift from his daughter, uncovered it, and found nothing but a mass of coals. he buried the contents of the salver under the nearest tree, and then dismissing the man with thanks, remarked to the ranee, that as their fate had undergone a change, they would meet with a succession of mis fortunes, and would find all things prove adverse to their wishes. " do what we may," said the rajah, " if (rod's blessing is not upon us, all that we touch will dissolve, and all we attempt to taste will slip from our lips, or turn into gall. in our alter ed circumstances, our reception might not be all that we could desire from our daughter ; let us, therefore, not obtrude our society on her." they got away from the palace, therefore, and took the road to the fields. by a rivulet that glided noise lessly under weedy aquatic plants, some men sat angling they had caught a few fishes, and as the travellers were not only weary of their long tedious trudge, but hungry, the rajah made himself bold to ask for a couple to roast, in order to appease the cravings of their empty stomach. but they declined to be liberal with that which was inadequate for the wants of their own families. " i have failed in my attempt to move their com passion," said the rajah ; " will you try and ask them now ; it may be that they may be more propitious to your solicitation." the ranee, screwing up her courage, asked the favour. they were not so ungallant as to refuse her, but their assent was given conditionally, that is, that they would give her the next two that they caught. on receiving the two they took them to a short distance, and while the ranee was lighting a fire, the rajah said that he was going for a short stroll into the fields, and would come back when the repast got ready. as soon as the ranee had finished her culinary operation, and had left the fishes on a plantain leaf to cool, they vanished from the leafy plate in an unaccountable manner. she was at a loss what to tell the rajah when he came back for dinner. on returning from his short walk, he requested that their breakfast table should be spread. the ranee begged that he would not be 16 ( 122 ) displeased, as, feeling unusually hungry, she could not refrain from eating both the fishes. the rajah knew too well that she could never have done that, but that some accident must have occurred, and her story was but an excuse. he said nothing, but after resting for a short time, they rose up to pursue their journey. after a walk of a few miles, they met with some fowlers who were entrapping partridges, and who had succeeded in bagging several. the rajah again asked for some part ridges, but he met with the same disappointment as before. the ranee however succeeded in obtaining a brace. when they were being roasted on a slow fire, the ranee proposed that she should go and take a turn in the fields until the time the game was dressed. the rajah took them up from the fire when they were sufficiently roasted, and placed them on some leaves to cool. they had not rested on the leaves for two seconds, when they vanished away as the fish did before. now the rajah understood what had happened to the fish. he mused on the variableness of human affairs, and moralised on the vicissitudes of life. misfortunes, he thought, never ap proach singly, but ever bring a prolific progeny of ills ; they descend not by drops, but pour down as copiously as the rattling showers on a summer day. they were destined now to meet with disappointment from every quarter, even from what in happier days would have tended to usher in success, where success was little expected, or calculated upon or desired. the ranee coming back from her walk, sat in silent expectation of dinner, but the husband resorted to the same excuse, and the ranee remained mute on the subject, being confirmed in her surmise, that the game had taken wing and disappeared, as the fish had done, all owing to their fortune being reversed. traversing through the grass plain, the rajah visited one of his best friends, whose mental and social merits he was eloquent in praising. the friend received them with sincere cordiality, lamented over the recital of their misfortune, and made them a generous offer of his house. when the rajah and ranee had ( 123 ) retired for the night into one of the spacious rooms, and while the former was lying wakeful a good portion of the night, how great was his admiration in beholding an artificial peacock, decorated with real or mock gems, that glistened with the reflection of the light in the apartment with a meteoric refulgence. it stood on a pedestal, and had a costly garland suspended round its neck. the peacock began, after a while, to move and rustle its gor geous plumage, and then to swallow the garland. this novel vision quite bewildered the senses of the rajah. he courted sleep, but the coy visitor fled from his longing lids. as the morn ing began to dawn, he related to the ranee the strange things that had transpired during the night. the necklace was missing from the neck of the peacock in the morning, and none but they were responsible. " if i mention this curious occur rence to my friend, he will scarcely believe that which is so preposterous ; we had therefore better get away, and let time clear up the mystery/' they therefore stole away quietly like people who had perpetrated a crime. they strolled about for some time till they saw a shop, where a man prepared and sold parched rice, peas, and corn. the seller of these light refreshments called out to them, and asked if they were seeking employment, or for what purpose were they loitering about the place. the rajah was glad to get an engagement, and he therefore accepted the offer of the pea-man gladly, residing with him, and holding his situation for some months. the reflections of the rajah now became more cheerful and hopeful. " i think, ranee," said the rajah one day," that now that we have descended to the last step of the declining ladder, our prospect seems to be improving. the first indication that the cloud over our head is dispersing is, that unsought i have obtained an employment ; the next token is, that we have succeeded in getting our meals, and they have not taken their flight on our approach. let us now pay a visit to our friend, and watch the signs of our present destiny by what may happen to us there." as they were leaving his house, ( 124 ) they thanked the pea-seller for his kindness with a promise that if their circumstances should ever improve, they would express their gratitude in a more substantial manner than by mere words. visiting his friend, the rajah was gratified to find his reception as cordial as before, and as if nothing had transpired from the time of their first visit. his friend was desirous of learning the reason of their abrupt departure, but refrained from pressing them for an explanation just then, saying that it would be ample time on the morrow for them to satisfy his curiosity, after they had refreshed themselves, and rest ed for the night. overcome with the fatigues of the journey, the rajah had a profound sleep of several hours, but when towards morning he had unclosed his eyes, the first object on which they rested, was the peacock, which was now seen to disgorge the necklace, inch by inch. before it had put out the entire necklace, the rajah went and awoke his friend to witness the extraordinary feat of his peacock. the rajah now explained to his friend, that the disappearance of the necklace from the room in which they slept, and for which he could assign no rational and satisfactory solution, was his only reason for depart ing without inviting observation, leaving the affair in the custody of time for its clearance and solution. his friend gently chided him for his weakness and want of confidence in his friendship. several days were spent very pleasantly and profitably in converse with his friend, after which, the rajah, with some difficulty, obtained the consent of his friend for their departure. passing the grass fields in which the partridges had been roasted, they were astonished to see the vanished game lying on the leaves just as they had been placed. the famished travellers did not hesitate for a moment to appease their inward craving, but enjoyed the refreshment with a high zest. fur ther on, as they reached the place near the rivulet where the fishes were broiled, they were found untouched on the plantain leaf. partaking of such fare on the road, they came to the tree near which the goldmohurs, which the rajah's daughter had ( 125 ) sent, were buried. they dug the place, and found the gold coins glittering on the salver. placing the whole in their knapsacks, they went and furnished themselves with dresses which suited their rank and station. being equiped from head to feet with becoming apparel, they visited the rajah who was married to their daughter. things having taken a propitious turn, their reception was warm, affectionate, and dutiful. rajah nul now no longer doubted that he would find affairs prosperous in his domain. after their visit to their daughter, where a fortnight was spent very pleasantly, they left her for their own kingdom. arriving at their palace late one evening, the servants who had lingered about the place, recognised the rajah and ranee, and manifested great joy on their return. it was discovered in the morning that the rajah's wealth and the valuables contained in the khazdna-e liana had under gone another transmutation, by which their property had acquired its original quality and value. the rajah's latter condition became in a few years more prosperous than it had ever been at any previous time. the promise he had made to the pea-seller, was fulfilled in the grant of a pension to him for life. the rajah lived a wiser and a better man for the trials through which he had passed, and the experience he had gained. his fame for benevolence, unselfishness, and many other virtuous qualities, obtained for him a world-wide reputation, and won him the regard and respect of all his subjects. ( 126 ) the story op a prince and the son op a vizier. badsha had a son, who, being his only child, was loved by the father with strong affection. this feeling so obscured his judgment, that he became blind to his defects, and indulged the son in his follies and extravagances. it was the will of providence that his vizier had also an only child, a son. these youths, the prince and the vizier's son, daily attended the same place of instruction, and by this means their friendship became so closely cemented, that they did nothing without doing it together walking, eating, sitting, or sleeping. it is most frequently the case that the son of a wealthy parent, hav ing nothing to aspire after, becomes perfectly indifferent to studies that exalt the mind and rectify the conduct; while the eon of a man of moderate fortune, or no fortune, under the apprehension of want, and with an ambition to ascend up to distinction and independence, puts forth an effort which seldom fails to procure him that for which he aspires and labours. while the young prince gave indications of improvement in polished manners, and in the refinements of the court, and had inherent good qualities of the heart, he was silly, and not so wise and prudent as it might have been expected considering his fair opportunities. his friend, on the other hand, neglected no opportunity of adding to his stock of general knowledge and experience, and thus, though young, manifested on all occasions a sound mind, a correct judgment, and a becoming demeanour. in one of their private walks and familiar conversations, the prince spoke to his companion in the following manner: " vizier's son ! i wish you to make me a promise." the vizier's son asked, " tell me if you please what it is, for you can com ( 127 ) mand my service and obedience at all times." the prince said that in the event of his being the first to get married, he would send the princess to the abode of the vizier's son on a visit ; but should the latter marry first, he must not fail to send his wife to the prince's residence soon after the celebration of his wedding. hearing this preposterous proposal, the son of the vizier thought in his own mind that the prince was not only obtuse, but tho roughly void of understanding, and was without a grain of re flection. it was never the custom that the vizier's son ever mar ried before the son of the badsha. the prince becoming angry, said to his friend, " hear, son of the vizier why have you not made me a reply yet. if you will not make me the promise on oath, then our friendship must cease, and i will annoy you in every way." the vizier's son laughing replied, " take my advice and banish this desire from your heart, because what ever oath or promise a man makes, it becomes imperative in him to fulfil." the prince getting irritated said to his friend, " "why do you multiply words unnecessarily, and invent ex cuses. will you, or will you not make me the promise?" his friend finding him persistent on the subject, addressed him in a tone of displeasure, " sir, give me time to consider the subject, and i will make you the desired reply on the mor row." in the mean time, however, they passed the night in their usual congenial conversation, and with friendly attentions towards each other. both the friends in the morning were proceeding to the place of instruction. the prince reminded his friend on the way about his promise. "pray, what is your determination ?" the vizier's son, to divert him from his object, said, "come let us be going to school." arriv ing at the institution, the prince said, "we have come to school, now fulfil your promise." the vizier's son observed, " sir, prince, you will deeply regret this circumstance." after this he meditated on the just remarks of the sages who have said, * women cannot be shaken from their resolution, children are headstrong, hogs are not diverted from their course, and kings ( 128 ) are not thwarted in their wishes.' having thought thus, he took pen, ink, and paper, and placing them before the prince, desired him to write the agreement, he doing the same ; then they exchanged papers. after this transaction, both the young men continued for months and years in friendly intercourse, nothing transpiring to mar their intimacy. it so happened afterwards that a neighbouring badsha began negociations with the father of the prince, the object of which was to solicit his son in mar raige with his daughter. the badsha one day invited his son. into his presence and informed him about the letter. the prince was alarmed to hear of it, and insisted that his father should get his vizier's son married first, and then, he said, he would follow his example. the badsha remonstrated against the folly and imprudence of the prince, saying that such a thing was never heard of; -it was so unusual and reflected disrespect, should a yizier's son marry before the son of the badsha. " in that case," added the prince, " i am in no haste to marry." the badsha permitted his son the period of two months to consider the proposal of the king his friend, and then to inform him of his resolution, that he might answer the letter. after this conversation with his father, the prince met his friend. the vizier's son seeing the prince in a melancholy mood, questioned him as to its cause, and the reason why he was summoned by the badsha. the prince to conceal what had transpired, observed that he had heard that the vizier's son was about to marry. his friend guessed what had actually happened, and therefore remarked sarcastically, " friend, i hope you have not forgotten your agreement." the prince made no reply, but hung down his head. the shazadas, or noblemen of the court and country, after repeated explanations and wise counsels as to the propriety and policy of accepting the overtures of the neighbouring badsha, prevailed upon the prince to consent to the marriage, but the very thought marred his peace, and drove sleep from his eyes for many nights. after a chundroz, or few days, the wedding was celebrated with ( 129 ) great pomp, festivity, and merriment. the prince on return ing with his bride to the palace, and on alighting from his con veyance, ordered his bearers to take the palkee and bride to the vizier's son. the servants were amazed at this singular order, but as they could not disobey their master's injunction, they carried the conveyance to the vizier's house in silent wonderment. the princess was thinking within the curtained enclosure, of the reason for this strange conduct on the part of the prince. that there was some stringent reason for such a procedure she could not doubt, but what that was she could by no means discover. on arriving at the door of the house of the friend of the prince, the palkee was set down. the vizier's son hearing that the princess had arrived, came forth from his apartment with alacrity, to salute and welcome her. coming before the conveyance, he folding his hands as a token of respect, solicited the princess to favour him with her visit. she said with dignified displeasure, " who are you that you should request me to come into your house. should you again repeat the request, i will put an end to your speech, and fill your skin with bran ; or should you touch my palkee, i will have nails driven into your fingers." hearing this threatening language, the vizier's son lost courage and was confounded. he began to reflect how he should proceed with this affair, when thinking of the agreement, he placed it in the hands of her re tainers, and they conveyed it to the princess. the princess read the contents of the paper, laughed, and thought within herself that the duration of her trial was only for one night, it was a small matter to manage. she summoned her attendants and several of them appeared before the palkee to wait on her instruc tions. she desired them to go to the vizier's son, and to request him to take off all the old plaster from the walls of his house, and to replaster them over again as soon as practicable. hearing of this command of the princess, the vizier's son was overjoyed. he quickly sent for a large number of masons, and got the work finished as soon as possible, and then sent a message to 17 ( 130 ) the princess that it was executed. she sent her men to inquire what hour of the night it was. they returned saying that it was nine o'clock. then the princess again desired her men to tell the vizier's son to put a new roof to the house, to wash the floors clean, and. get them to dry soon, or that ehe would have his head blown away by a cannon. the viz ier's son, quite glad, sent for numerous workmen, and ordered the work to be completed with the utmost expedition. when this order was accomplished, he sent word to the princess. she commanded her attendants to go again and enquire of the vizier's son what hour of the night it was. he informed her that it was midnight. she then desired that he would have all his chandeliers and all the lamps of the house, together with the chair on which she was to sit, to be done up again with fresh gilt and polish. this was also done. she then de sired to know what time it was. he said it was three o'clock. the princess once more ordered that the bed-steads should be newly done up, the mattrasses, pillows and cushions, washed and dried, and the furniture of the dormitory newly fitted up expeditiously, otherwise she would have his face blackened, seat him on an ass, and exhibit him in the morning, in a humiliat ing procession through the city. the vizier's son thinking that the affair was now coming to a favourable termination, became happy, and very cheerfully ordered the things to be done up as instructed. on the completion of the work, he went to announce it. the princess inquiring what o'clock it was, heard the gun fire and announce the dawn of day. just then she commanded her attendants to lift up the palkee and to proceed to the palace. the vizier's son looking surprized, asked her what she meant by it. the princess said that the night, which was his, according to the prince's agreement, had expired, and the day which had dawned, was the prince's, there fore he must not stop her conveyance, but allow her to depart. the princess, going to the palace and not having slept for some nights, soon fell into a sound slumber. the prince hear ing that she had come back, and seeing her fast asleep, thought that she had diverted herself with many amusements, and was therefore now weary and fast asleep. from inconsideration and want of reflection and asking no questions, nor ascertain ing the facts from the princess, or her attendants, he put her into a chest in which there were holes in the lid, locked it up, and sent it floating on the stream. in the mean time the fame of the princess for her virtuous conduct, and skilful device, spread far and wide during the day, and it was also reported everywhere that she had ably defeated the vizier's son, and taken herself back a virtuous, spotless person to the palace, while the prince was reproached for his imprudence and want of judgment. the prince hearing of his wife's laudable acts and her good principles, regretted very much for his rashness; tearing his dress in his grief, he put on humbler garments, and thus equipped, he left the palace privately, following the course of the meandering river, set out in search of his worthy wife. the chest floated down with the rapid current, and driven by the wind, went on till its progress was impeded by a ghat at which a prince of another country was beguiling his time in the amusements of angling and playing upon his seetar. he was surprised to see the chest,' which he ordered his men to convey to his residence. half a dozen of his servants bore it tottering under its weight, for the chest itself was ponderous, leaving alone the cargo with which it was freighted. the prince was surprised, on opening it, to see what it contained. by the costliness of her dress, and the peculiar ornaments of wedding jewellery she had on her, he discovered that she was a person of no mean station, and that she must have been not many days ago a bride of some noble family. without askiug her any questions, he supplied her with several kinds of delectable viands that she might refresh herself, attended to all her com forts, and permitted her an undisturbed repose of several hours. when this was done he visited her and enquired of her history. the princess said il all that i can at present recall to my mind, is, ( '32 ) that i was married a few days ago, and while sleeping, was placed in a chest, and thrown into the river. how i am come here, and why i was sent away, i do not know ; these are mysteries." the prince could not long affect indifference to her uncommon beauty. he was charmed with her intelligent conversation, de lighted with her winning manners, and amiable disposition. being inspired by her with sentiments of holy affection, he desired to marry her ; but the princess, like another penelope, contrived to keep him pacified by telling him " at present suffer me to call you brother, and look upon me as your sister. after the period of six months, should my husband not ap pear, and 1 get no intelligence of him, i will then consent to be the wife of the man who has rescued me from a watery grave." the prince who, from the moment of this strange landing of the beautiful princess, had ordered the erection of a superb mansion for her residence, and which he called, " the house of the river nymph," employed himself in directing the build ing of the new palace, that in busy occupation, the hours which now hung on him with a leaden weight, might glide away swiftly, ushering in the time on which was suspended all his future happiness. in prosecuting this work, conducted upon a large scale, artizans of several grades and different skill were employed, together with a large number of operatives. one of the workmen, meeting with a beggar on the road as he was returning home from his day's vocation, was vexed to see a robust, healthy young fellow sauntering about in the idle and disgraceful employment of asking for alms, who, if he could do no better, might easily employ himself as a labourer in the prince's service. " you idle fellow," thus he accosted the beggar, " do you not feel ashamed to beg while you have those strong limbs and possess health and a vigorous youth, when the whole country is ringing with the report of the grand works, for which there is a constant demand for able-bodied men. were your senses fast locked up by the fumes of gunjah that you have not yet heard of the river nymph's house!" when (133 ) he heard all this, the fakir meditated in sadness and sorrow, and imagined that she might perhaps be his own lost wife, in whose search he had wandered so far away from his country and home. most joyfully he promised to be present at the spot on the following morning, hoping thereby to obtain some information about her, or even seeing her personally. buoyed up with this hope, the fakir, or prince in disguise, commenced his work with the labourers in supplying the masons with bricks. he took care to locate himself near a spot from whence he might see the prince and princess, playing some games in the verandah, and superintending the work. the prince, while bearing the load of bricks, repeated the following words in rhyme to himself, but which in reality was applicable to the princess, and the mason whom he was assisting : "i have searched you through many lands but had sought in vain take this load for your erection," saying which he threw the bricks near the work man. the princess, hearing the words, was not slow to comprehend the meaning, nor to discover who was the labourer. in this manner the prince, whilst carrying the bricks, repeated the couplet for three days. the princess playing the game, responded, " by skill delivered from dishonor, shut up and flung away ; why is any search made now ? this is my move in the game." the workmen daily heard the labourer muttering strange things, but they could not comprehend their import, nor could the prince understand the enigmatical words which the princess repeated each day when playing the game, so he got nettled, and closing the game abruptly, requested her to clear the mystery. she informed him in a respectful and grateful manner that she spoke to her husband, in answer to his words, and that the labourer in^disguise was the prince to whom she was married. the prince invited him to his house, ordered a bath for him, and furnishing him with robes of royalty, remarried him to the princess vith great pomp and pageantry, merriment and festivity, for several days. after which ( 134 ) the prince and princess took leave of their generous friend with tears of gratitude, and professions of lasting frendship. they went back to their own country, the prince more matured in understanding, and reformed from the frailties of unthinking youth, by the lessons which bitter experience and severe trial had taught him, and the princess cheerful in spirit and tranquil in mind, inspired by a sense of conscious rectitude and fidelity. a grass-cutter. grass-cutter, with a net bag under his arm, who was going to cut grass in a field with his sickle, meeting with a few men seated by the road side, engaged in earnest conversation, and hearing them mention " that the man who trusts in god never fails to receive his share of food daily," thought in his own mind that there was no longer any necessity for him to go and cut grass. so, abandoning his work, he sat quietly for two days, in the expectation that god would send him his food. but though he did not find that his trust in god was rewarded, he was not discouraged, but made up his mind to continue in that place, and sat expectant for a few days longer, believing that what he had heard from the lips of seve ral honest men, could not be wholly false, but that many of them must have experienced the truth of it in their own lives. while he was thus seated, silently meditating, an angel was seen to descend and ask him what he was doing there. " i am trying if what i have heard, be true or not. i have heard that god sends food to those who place their trust in him." " 1 am commissioned to inquire what you want." " i want no thing more than a loaf and a cup of water." the angel request ed him to suspend his net and sickle to the branch of a tree, under which he was seated, promising to supply him with his ( 135 ) requirements; and the bread and water was found ready, placed for him regularly as each day revolved in its course. a badxlta, who had gone out for an evening promenade, seeing a dead camel lying in his path, asked the men who sur rounded him, why it was lying so helplessly? they answered it was dead. when the badsha asked why it did not move and go about, they told him that the life which had animated the animal and caused his movement and actions, had departed ; hence the body was brought to that state of helplessness. the badsha reflected that, if this was the condition to which life was finally reduced, his wealth and kingdom were not worth keeping. with this idea he dressed himself as a fakir, and went away from his country wandering about in sadness and recklessness. approaching the spot where the grass-cutter was seated beneath a tree, from the branch of which his net and sickle were sus pended, the badsha thought of resting himself for a while ; but the grass-cutter, seeing a stranger approaching him. just at the hour when he was expecting his loaf and water, looked on him with displeasure. he requested that the stranger would go to a distance and rest himself under the next tree, as the one to which he had come, was previously occupied. the badsha, not willing to dispute such small matters with a person who lacked courtesy and did not possess a grain of sense, quitted it as he was bid. when the supernatural visitor came who had brought the grass-cutter his usual diet, he furnished the badsha with rich and varied viands. witnessing this distinction made be tween them, the grass-cutter murmured, saying to himself, " i have trusted in god so long, and am receiving only a loaf and a cup of water, while that fellow, who has for the first day commenced to place his confidence in him, is treated so sump tuously." the angel being acquainted with his thoughts, observed that the badsha had abdicated his throne, wealth, and kingdom, for the service of god, and having made such lar^e sacrifices, was treated according to his position in life. there was no injustice done to him, for what he had asked he received, ( 136 ) and he was not more sparingly fed than he did before in his former position in the world. there was no reason, the angel added, for his murmuring aud envying the prosperity of others. if he were dissatisfied with his portion, all he had to do was to take down his net and sickle from the tree, and resume his former labour. the story op a lion. <^f here was a lion and lioness who had a beautiful cub ^k that pranced and played before his fond parents, de lighting them with his innocent, graceful gambols. the lion, feeling that the infirmities of age were creeping gradually on him, and that he must follow the course of all things, pay the debt of nature, and be no more prowling with the tenants of the forest, felt a paternal wish to leave some useful advice to his progeny before ee departed and was no more. the lion, in his excursions with his mate and cub, addressed the young one in these words : " we, my son, are lords of the desert, and there is no one to dispute our right, or question our supremacy. you have none to fear among the inhabitants of this forest domain, but you have every reason to dread the wickedness and prolific skill of human beings, and therefore study to avoid them." the cub grew up into vigorous maturity. though his parents died some months ago, he had not yet encoun tered a single human being whom his parent lion had taught him to look upon with fear. he became very anxious to see this strange animal called a human being, and for this purpose he began to make a long journey through the forest, resolving not to go back to his lair until his burning curiosity was fully satisfied. jogging on for miles, he saw a huge ( 137 ) elephant coming towards him with a seemingly heavy tramp munching branches of trees, and stripping smaller plants bare of their bark and foliage. he stood looking at him for some time intently, with fear in his aspect, thinking that this mons ter with his legs as thick as trunks of trees, might be a human being of whom his father with good reason had cautioned him. the elephant, on approaching the lion, evinced symptoms of anxiety, and was about to turn into another direction, but the lion hailed him and inquired if he was a human being. " ah f no, i am but an elephant. human beings are very wicked and ingenious. they have captured me and hundreds and thousands like myself from ihe jungles ; they beat us with'rods of iron whenever they wish, mount our necks, and burthen us with heavy loads at their pleasure." the lion's curiosity was still more excited by this relation of man's acts, and as this huge monster was not a human being, what like might then a human being be ? with these thoughts in his cranium he proceeded on his journey with rapid strides, desirous that he might quickly accomplish his design, then return to his den, after having gained a knowledge of things, and made acquaintance with all created beings. the next object that presented itself to his anxious view was a stately camel. this, thought the lion, may after all be a human being. he began to look to the right and left as if wishing to secure a safe retreat in case of danger, but these symptoms of apprehension abated in some degree when he saw the animal hesitating to approach. he called out to the camel and en quired if he was a human being ? the camel answered, " not i, for i am but a servant of human beings, and my whole race are slaves in their service. they bore our noses, fasten us with a string, and a boy may lead a hundred of us at his plea sure in any direction he pleases." the wondering lion went on his search after a human being, and being now about a mile from the verge of the jungle where a carpenter had pene trated to procure some logs of timber for his use, he saw him 18 ( 138 ) advancing in his direction, and instead of testifying any alarm as he did when he met with the elephant and camel, he was emboldened to present himself before the carpenter with an air of supreme contempt. the carpenter was not at all disposed to court his familiar approximation, and was therefore looking up the tree near him to ascertain if it were feasible to mount it in case of need. he was, however, encouraged to remain where he was by the unrepulsive tones and waggish speech of the lion. " are you, you spindle-legged little fellow, a human being or not ? if you are not, pray tell me where i may see one of them ?" " most certainly, friend ! i will show you a human being." telling him this, he took up his axe, and with a few strokes at the root of a tree, felled it to the ground. seeing this operation, the lion began to admire the insignificant fel low's prowess in bringing the tree down with a thundering crash. the carpenter then employed himself in making an in genious trap with two logs, and when the snare was completed, he informed the lion that if he desired to see a human being, he was ready to show him one. the lion was delighted with the idea. the carpenter told him to put his neck through the two logs and to look straight before him, when he would see a true human being. the lord of the forest doing as he was bid, gave the carpenter a fair opportunity to lock him up by his neck. the lion in this sad fix had ample time to reflect on the advice of his parent with a heavy and bitter sigh. man, though a diminutive being, has, by his wisdom and ingenuity, a wide sway of mighty power. he saw that what strength could not accomplish, skill could execute, and on that account a human being was to be dreaded and avoided. ( 139 ) a simpleton. the busy bustling bazar of a populous town, a simpleton was seen to saunter about the place, evidently intent up on the execution of no particular object. a woman of middling age, but cunning looks, and possessing much shrewdness and penetration, was seen watching at the time his motions and actions. she was acquainted with the private history of the man, that is, his possessing some property, and his easy belief in any fiction that might be framed to dupe him. she began to cogitate by what scheme she might extract some money from his hoard, and just as a taking device was planned in her own mind, the simpleton wended his course in the direction of his residence. she slided behind him with quiet stealthy steps, and finding the street not thronged, she addressed him " where are you going, my son ? have you purchased any thing from the bazar ?" " no, i could not find anything to suit my taste or answer my purpose." the artful woman ask ed why he did not marry, when ugly fellows, with crooked backs, and bandy legs, were married, and had happy families. the simpleton answered that he never thought on the subject, not knowing where to find a wife, and whom to ask to marry him. she promptly answered that she could get him a wife from a good respectable house. the simpleton rejoiced to re ceive such good news, and asked her, therefore, what prelimi nary steps were necessary to be taken. she said it was necessary to spend a hundred rupees, if he had that amount. intending to be the bearer of the overture of marriage, it would be indis pensable for her to put on a rich new suit of clothes, and take some presents with her. he gave her the sum that was needed, and told her to be expeditious with her negociation. she ( ho ) brought the tidings after a few days, that his proposal was ac cepted. after two months, the woman again paid him a visit, and mentioned to him that his wedding would be celebrated on the morrow. he was highly delighted to hear of it. he desired to know what sum of money was required for its performance. the artful woman told the green-horn that one hundred rupees would suffice for dress, a few trinkets, and other contingent expenses. he gave her that sum with pleasure, and she went away exulting in her success. on her next visit she announced that his wedding had been solemnized in a respectable manner, and that as he was now married, she expected some reward for having brought it to a happy conclusion. highly gratified to hear that he was married, he readily placed two mohurs in her hand. nine months had quietly waned away without afford ing the cunning hag an opportunity for exercising her tricks, but in the tenth, she visited the dupe, to announce that he had a nice son, the wife having given birth to a boy, a day before. the joy of the man was boundless. he was anxious to know what he was to do on such an occasion. she said that he must provide her with one hundred rupees to meet expenses, paying the midwife, nurse, and providing baby-linen. this sum he handed to her with instructions that great care must be taken of his wife and child. the employer of the simpleton called him one day and gave him instruction to go to a certain country, and execute a com mission for him there. before his departure, therefore, he call ed the woman who brought about his marriage, and told her, that as he was going on a long journey and might be away for a protracted period, he was desirous of seeing his wife and child before he set out. the artful woman requested him to buy some fruit and sweetmeats for his wife and son, and when he was ready to start, to inform her. he did so ; she conduct ed him some part of the way, when, seeing a fine boy near a respectable looking house, she pointed to the lad, and said that that boy was his son, and his wife was in the same house. leav ing him to meet his son, she slipped away from his society, and disappeared into one of the bye-lanes. the father greeted the boy, supposed to be his son, with true parental warmth, hug ging, caressing, kissing him for some time. the boy was tractable and docile under the influence of the fruits and sweets which were showered into his lap, otherwise he might have resisted such unceremonious encroachment, and immoderate liberty, particularly from a person with whom he was not fa miliar. "when the lad was released from the lap and embrace of the simpleton, he ran to his mother, and with a gleesome spirit poured out before her the contents of his frock. the mother, seeing the things, thought that some friend of her hus band's had perhaps come on a visit. she called her maid, whom she desired to take and offer a pipe to the man who was seated in the verandah, and also to serve him with a bowl of milk and a pack of cards to divert himself with until the return of her husband from his morning walk. the simpleton was gratified with the attentions of his wife, as he believed. he eyed the milk and cards with much self-gratulation. when the pipe had been released from his mouth, he drew the milk near, and think ing the fine cards to be some rare kind of edible, intended to be used with milk, he took the pack, and tearing them up into bits, put them to soak in the bowl. while conducting this pleasant operation, the master of the house came home. he saw the strange man, but so intent was he on his own business, and absorbed with his own thoughts, that he passed him on his way into the inner apartments without any notice. the mas ter of the house inquired of his wife who the man was who was seen by him seated in one of the outer rooms. she informed him that she was unacquainted with the man ; but believing that he might be a friend of his, from the presents he had brought for their son, she had ordered him a seat, and sent him some refreshment. the master of the house then went and had an interview with the simpleton, and asked, " whose house are you in search of, and who are you ?" the simpleton, not at all daunted with this, to him, strange query, made a counter inquiry, " pray, who are you, and what do you want here ?" " i am the owner of the house." " you, the owner ! this is my house, my wife is inside, and my child was just this mo ment with me." the master of the house, being a prudent man, soon discovered that he was a simpleton who was imposed upon by some artful person. " my good fellow," said the owner in explanation, " this house is my property, and my wife and children are within. this is a world of deceit and deception. some wicked person has no doubt played you a trick, but have they cheated you of any money ?" the sim pleton related how an artful woman had deceived and drawn from him at intervals of time, some four hundred rupees or more. the man pitied his simplicity and loss, gave him that sum, and cautioned him never more to listen to the flattering tales of old women. the story of a prince. n*^* | n a country that is well watered by numerous streams and their tributaries, is fruitful in every product of the field, and thickly studded with luscious fruit trees in the vicinity of pasture lands, a rajah of ancient times chose for its being a pleasant situa tion for residence. his son, after his death, inherited his paternal estates, but by misfortune or mismanagement, the property which had descended to him, began to dimiinish gradually until the prince came into very straitened circumstances. as he was griev ing over his destiny late one evening, and was cogitating what he should do to retrieve his fortune, he heard the voice of a fakir, who was at the time passing near his residence. the words of ( 143 ) the fakir were these : " act according to circumstance ; never forsake ready food ; clothe the naked ; be the road strait or crooked, even or rugged, never proceed without premeditation." the prince, hearing these four wholesome maxims from the fakir, called the princess, and told her that it would be best that they abandoned the country, because it was overcast with murky clouds, and there was no ray of sunshine to illumine the darkness of their hearts ; that the prospect before them was gloomy, but perhaps in another country, the beams of fortune might once again reflect on them more benignantly and cheer their sinking spirits." " in this country," remarked the prince, " we have nothing to hope for ; we are known to the inhabi tants of every house and hut, and should we seek any employ ment for our support, we will meet with disappointment on account of our very rank, and thus starve in it ; but in a strange kingdom, both you and i could work to provide our selves with our daily wants, besides, it would be carrying out the precept of the fakir, ' act according to circumstance.' " the princess consented readily to this reasonable proposal, and so they set out with buoyant hope on their journey, un perceive by any one about the place. arriving in another country, they met with a few men of the village, who inquired from whence they had come, whither they were journeying, if they intended to remain in the village permanently, and what they were going to do ? the prince replied, that they had come from a distant country in quest of some employment, and be it of whatever description it might, he was not too fastidious about it. one of the villagers offered him a place in his house, saying that he could assist in the operations of the field, while his wife might help the women in bearing water for their use. the prince and princess became reconciled to their new situation and its drudgeries, by remem bering the incidental instruction which the fakir had cornuni cated, " act according to circumstance." continuing their honest labours for several months in the ( 144 ) village, the prince saw a joghee who never associated with any of the villagers on account, as it was reported, of their perverse conduct and for not listening to his good counsels, whenever he proffered them, on suitable seasons. the joghee had lived retired, and at a distance from the motley dwellings of the villagers. he was found one day lying dead in his cabin. as there was little congeniality, and no sympathy be tween the villagers and the joghee, they commanded a low-cast man, a sweeper, to tie his legs up with a string, and in that manner to drag him out of his shed, and fling him into the river. as fae joghee was floating down the stream, the prince and princess were, at near sun set, returning from their daily toil by the border of the bank. seeing that the joghce's head had sunk deep in the water, he observed that there must be some reason why the head had gone down so low. it was an unusual circumstance, and on that account he was anxious to ascertain the cause, but in which way to execute his design he was at loss to think. the princess recommended his fetching a tender shoot of the bamboo, and tying a hook to its extremity to draw the corpse ashore. this being done, the prince unfastened the knots of his shaggy hair, and, to his surprise, discovered a ball of pure gold weighing about a pound, and round that ball the joghee had twined his long knotted hair for concealing his treasure. they consulted together regarding the disposal of the body, saying, that it was not proper to see the joghee floating on the river when it was the custom to bury such men ; they therefore took him up, made an excavation, and interred him at a short distance from the water. going to their humble dwelling and conversing together, the prince mentioned to his companion in trouble, that now, by the will of providence, as they were furnished with a small property, they should provide themselves with better dresses, and then apply to the rajah of the country for employment. the prince met the rajah, who, seeing him, told him that he seemed to be no person of a servile extraction, or poor; what ( 145 ) was he seeking therefore ? the prince replied that had he been affluent, he would not have sought employment. the rajah was pleased with his appearance and manners, and liked him much. he was kept about the palace without holding any particular appointment for some time, till the dewan's death made a vacancy, to which the rajah appointed him : and he filled it with honor, conducting himself with so much prudence, talent, and fidelity in his new office, that it won for him the good opinion of the rajah and the regard of all with whom he had business intercourse. the rajah permitted him to lodge in the lower apartments of the palace, while he occupied the upper floor. as the prince was in the lower floor, he saw the rajah descending very early every morning to the ghat of the river for ablution and prayer, and the queen a short time after following him, but whither, he at first did not know. by some accident, as the prince was proceeding from the house, he saw the queen in an improper state in the room of the gate keeper, when recalling the words of the fakir " to clothe the naked," he flung his own garment over her with inverted face, and walking away, continued his morning exercise. the perfidious queen, finding what was done, and by whom, and the likelihood of a disclosure, rose up hastily. to screen herself from crime, she cried out that the rajah's dewan had attempted to stain her character, and in trying to capture him, he had fled, leaving his garment behind in her grasp. the queen made a'complaint against the dewan to the rajah on his return from the ghat. seeing and recognizing his dress, the rajah had no doubt in his own mind as to the truth of the accusation. the rajah, though grieved with the ingratitude of his dewan, was not willing to destroy him with his own hand ; he there fore resolved upon sending him with a letter to his brother, detailing the particulars of his crime, and asking him to be head the dewan on receiving the letter. the prince, being about to carry the letter to the brother of the rajah, the 19 princess asked him where he was going so early, and in such hurry. he commnnicated to her his business. she desired him to stop and breakfast, as the food was ready. remember ing the words of the fakir, " never forsake ready food," he postponed his journey, requesting the princess to serve out the edibles quickly. at this time the profligate ward of the palace door, who had called on the dewan on some business, asked, " what is it, sir ? " the prince told him he was entrusted with a letter from the eajah to his brother, but as his food was ready he was thinking of partaking of it before setting out on his errand. the durwan requested that he might take it, as he was going in that direction, and that at his leisure,the dewan might follow him. the dewan assented to his offer, but desired him to inform the nobleman that he was on his way, and wouuld soon be with him, and would wait on him for an answer to the letter. the durwan on presenting the communication to the nobleman, was ordered to be beheaded. the dewan, arriving soon after this catastrophe, was kindly and civilly treated by the nobleman, knowing him to be the prime minister of his brother the eajah. he communicated to the dewan what was done to the durwan by his brother's order, and said that he was anxious to know all the particulars of the case. this event brought the fakir's saying to mind, " be the road strait or crooked, even or rugged, never proceed without premedita tion." the nobleman, asking the dewan very pressingly on the subject which appeared to him very enigmatical, he could not help narrating the whole subject from the beginning. the nobleman addressed a letter to his brother, in which he exonerated the dewan for the crime he was charged with, dis closed the guilt of the queen, and told him that the punish ment of the durwan was the retributive justice of providance. the prince set out on his journey, meditating on the salutary lessons of the fakir, and the vicissitudes of the world. arriving at the palace, the eajah was startled to see the dewan back again, but on perusing the letter which the dewan handed ( 147 ) him, he became acquainted with the real posture of affairs. he banished his unfaithful perfidious wife from his domain into another country, got disgusted with his kingdom and its government, and on that account resigned it in favour of the prince, his prime minister, telling him that he required no thing from him but a morsel of bread, and that being all that he actually needed, he would spend the rest of his days, free from cares and anxiety, in prayer and praise, and in peace and tranquillity. a washerman and his ass. washerman, who was in the habit of taking bun dies of dirty clothes on the back of an ass to a tank daily to scour them, passing near a school kept by a moulvie, heard the man of letters scolding some of his pupils, and in his irritation telling them that they were nothing but asses, although he had taken so much pains to make them men. the washer man was glad on hearing that an ass could be made into a man. he thought of the foal at home, and of getting his nature changed. he reflected that, as a human being, he could be of greater value, and render better service. "with this idea, he went over one day to the school-master, and falling on his knees, begged that he would take charge of his foal, and be so good as to make him a human being. the moulvie having sounded the depth of the man, and fiuding how shallow he was, agreed to execute the work on his receiving a hundred rupees for his trouble . the washerman ran to his house, unfastened the foal from the peg to which it was tethered, and brought it to the moulvie, who received the fee, desired the animal to be fastened to a post, and instructed the washerman to come punctually to him on a certain day and hour, when it would be fully metanior phosed for delivery. the anxiety of the washerman led him before the time fixed upon, to call twice or thrice, and inquire how the foal was progressing. the moulvie replied, that he was picking up the language fast enough, was learning good manners, and was giving early proofs of his becoming very soon a human being. instead, however, of the washerman making his appearance on the precise day as he was strictly requested to do, he went a day later to receive his foal, now no longer with elongated ears, but made a man by the teaching of the school-master. the washerman asked to see him, but the moulvie replied, " alas ! why did you not come yesterday ? when i had made a man of him, he was no longer under my control. he is gone away from us ; and has been appointed cazi of jounpore." the washerman could say nothing more after hearing so good news. he went home musing on the road, and thinking that it would be a source of much gain to them now that the ass was the cazi of jounpore. he communicated these glad tidings to his wife, who, together with himself, agreed to go in search of their stray property. by inquiring the road, they reached jounpore. there was no difficulty in finding the cazi. being directed to the place, the washerman saw him seated on a high platform, surrounded by a multitude of suitors and plaintiffs, and as he could not approach, he stood at a respectable distance from whence he could see the gazi, and the cazi see him. he held the bridle in one hand, and showing with the other a bundle of hay, called out, khoor, khoor, khoor, to attract the cazi sahib to him. after the court broke up, the cazi felt some curiosity to ascertain who this whimsical fellow was, who put on such a ridiculous air before the court. the cazi, therefore, asked who he was, and what it was he wanted. the washerman exclaimd, " wah, wah, sir, you don't know me nor seem to be familiar with this cord and bridle, or this pad which went on your back so often. were you not the foal of my ass whom i got made a man by giving a hundred rupees to a moulvie, who makes men ( 149 ) of asses and educates them in language and manners ? you are oblivious of your primitive condition, and wish now to prove ungrateful to your benefactor." the cazi perceived that he was fooled by his simplicity, and imposed upon by an artful person. unriddling the whole affair to the washerman, he in pity presented him with a note of two hundred rupees, and sent him away to his home, a wiser man for his troubles, and the experience he had acquired thereby. the story op a fakir. was a fakir whose name was jellalee shah, and who never went abroad to ask alms, as his brethren of the same profession were in the habit of doing generally. his wife told him one day, if he did not support her, to permit her to go away, and seek her fortune elsewhere. he replied, that the wealth which he once possessed, would have sufficed to maintain ten persons like herself in comfort, had she not squan dered it lavishly by her indiscretion and extravagance. " what use," the fakir added, " will it be to go and beg ; the few pice that i might ohtain by begging, would not suffice to meet your immoderate expenses." the wife begged of him to overlook her past faults and remissness, and to go and solicit assistance from the kind generous inhabitants, saying, that should he find her again prodigal in the management of the house, he was to discontinue asking charity. the fakir, accordingly, got out one morning with his bamboo cane and wallet, and a canonical cap of moslem invention, but in doing so he was accosted by the men on the road, who saw him begging " khan saheb, what can you reap in this little unpopulous, unfertile place ? the most you may gather will be a very few annas, and that for a short time only, for in that ( 150 ) period, you will have shaken all the fruitful trees bare, and shake you ever so hard or often after that as you please, they will yield no recompense for your labour. gro to a place which is but a short distance from this, there a rajah resides, whose mother has recently departed from life, and whose funeral obsequies will be performed very soon, and at that time princely gifts will be distributed to the poor." quite glad as the fakir was, he lost no time in being present at the ceremony, regarding which the people had informed him. while the rajah was engaged in dealing out presents to nu merous applicants, he seeing the fakir, called him, and placing two rupees in his hands, desired him to come every day, and that he would be allowed that amount regularly. the fakir, with humility and supplicating looks, said that he could not come every day, because he was living at a good distance, but if per mitted, he would call and receive his gift on every third or fourth day. the rajah consented. the fakir went home with much joy and satisfaction, and he took out and gave the two rupees to his wife. she managed her expenses with that sum so carefully, that it went a long way, and lasted about a month. the fakir went to the rajah regularly, and received punctually his two rupees. in this manner, after the expiration of several months, he had saved a tolerable amount. one day, when the fakir, as usual, presented himself before the rajah, the calculation as to what he was to receive being duly performed, and the money about to be handed over to him, the rajah's guru, who was present, inquired on what account the man was receiving the money which was counted out to him ? the rajah told his gruru that the fakir was a fine fellow, and he had taken a liking to him, and was allowing him two rupees per day for his support. as the fakir, after receiving his share of allowance, was departing, the gruru also left the durbar, or court, and overtook the fakir on the road with rapid strides, speaking to him thus " you are a stupid, uncivilized, dirty fellow ; when i was at the durbar to-day, i saw you, whilst speaking to the eajah, doing it so carelessly with your face near him, as to spirt your spittle on his person. when you call again, take good care to speak to his honor with your face averted." having communicated this malicious advice to the fakir, he ran back to the rajah, and told him : " maharaj, you are too credulous, and are therefore easily duped hy every vagabond who comes to you with a plausible story of want and distress . the fakir that was here just now, is a great drunkard. i saw him go into one of the drinking houses and spend his money." the eajah was sorry to hear this of the fakir, and regretted much that he had helped him to carry on a course of intemper ance, yet he could hardly believe it. the fakir came again to the eajah, but as he was warned by the guru, he stood at a dis tance, and spoke to the eajah with his face in an opposite direction. it now occurred to the eajah, that what his guru had intimated, was true, and there was satisfactory proof of it in the conduct of the fakir. to get him punished for his trick, he wrote a letter to his brother, in which he desired him to tie the fakir to a pole, serve him out some impressive lashes, and then send him away. with this intention, the eajah handed a letter, which he desired him to convey to his brother. the guru, thinking that his stratagem had failed totally in its design, and that the fakir's bearing the letter to the eajah's brother, might be intended to promote his welfare, went up hastily and joined the fakir on the road, to whom he spoke thus : " the eajah has written to his brother to pay you the sum due to you for the last three days. why need you go so far. here take the six rupees and depart. i am going that way, and will deliver the letter myself." the guru, on taking the letter to the eajah's brother, was treated kindly, received water to wash his hands and feet, got a bath, and then some refreshments. but soon after these tokens of civility, the brother, opening and perusing the letter, was surprised to learn from the contents the actual state of things. he was compelled to order ( 152 ) the execution of the treatment which the rajah had prescribed, but reconsidering the subject, he thought that it could not be a small crime for which punishment to a guru was intended ; he ordered therefore, that the ordeal through which he ought to pass, should be to mark one of his cheeks with chunam, the other with pot black, and have his neck ornamented with a necklace of old shoes, and thus adorned, to parade him about the most thronged parts of the city and markets with beat of drum. when the guru was thus being made a humiliating spectacle in the town, the ranee, seeing him from her lattice, exclaimed with as tonishment to her attendants, that the man who was being punished, did not look like the fakir as it was reported, but rather like their own guru. she ran and acquainted the rajah with the circumstance, chiding him for his severity in thus in sulting the guru, telling him at the same time, that such a crime might bring down disaster on his raj, or kingdom, and some bad luck on himself. the rajah observed, that he had sanctioned the punishment of a fakir who had deceived him by false pretences, and who had taken away a good deal of money to be wasted in debasing drinks, regarding which he had been informed by the guru. the rajah was sorry for what had happened by a sad mis take. he hastened to ascertain if the statement he heard was true, and finding that the man punished was no other than the identical guru, he apologised for the accident, and had him washed and dressed, while he issued strict orders for the apprehension of the fakir, and his immediate presence at court. the rajah's injunction was promptly executed, and the fakir was apprehended. the rajah questioned him as to the manner in which the letter had passed from his hands into that of his guru. " sire," he said, " i am a simple man whose profes sion is begging. i am not an adept in deep artifice, or in complex scheming. i visited you not to obtain your charity by force or deceit. you freely settled that sum on me out of your own benevolent disposition. one day, as i was going ( 153 ) away after receiving your bounty, your guru came and met me ou the road. he asked me, ' in what manner, you worthless fellow, do you speak to the raj ah , that in doing so, your spittle falls on his person ? take care when you next present yourself before him, that you do not dare to look at him when you speak.' when i heard this, i thought it might be true, for i could never believe that your guru could ever be guilty of so mean an act as a lie. when, therefore, i last called for my stipend, i took good care to turn my face round when speak ing, in case my spittle might fall on you. when i did so, and you gave me the letter addressed to your brother, the guru, who overtook me on the way, told me that it was no business of mine to meddle with writing, being illiterate, and therefore unable to decipher characters, and ignorant of their import ; saying which, he snatched the letter, and carried it him self, promising that i should continue to enjoy the allowance of two rupees which i had . hitherto received." the eajah here turning round to the guru, interrogated him as to the truth or falsehood of the fakir's representations. the guru could not deny them. the rajah then acquainted the ranee with the transaction, and the culpable conduct of their spiri tual guide. they agreed, on consulting together, that he should be dismissed from the .service of the palace, but the fakir was invited to leave the unwholesome village in which he was residing, and to take up his quarters in the garden of the rajah. this pleasing invitation he joyfully accepted, living with his wife, free from care and anxiety, and taught in the school of want, to be careful of god's gifts. ( 154 ) the two beggars. here were two beggars who, having a regard for each other, strolled about the streets asking alms. they often passed close to the palace of a badsha. in passing it, one of them was heard to repeat " may the lord give ;" the other " may the badsha give." the badsha, hearing this petition for several days, felt some pity for the man who called on his name, and put his trust in him for support. the beggar being called in, the vizier was instructed to furnish him every morning with a loaf, in which he was told to conceal a gold-mohur. the badsha, when giving him the loaf, desired that he would not go and beg again. the beggar accepted the loaf with grateful sentiments, and retiring from his presence, went and seated himself beneath the shade of a banian tree which was a place of assignation, where, after their labours, the two beggars rested and conversed on the subject of their respective gains and acquisitions. the two beggars on meeting together again beneath the tree, inquired of each other what was the result of their morning labour. the one, who would always repeat, " may god send," related that he had received pice, couries, fruit, grain, and dholl ; the other, with a mourn ful countenance, told his own tale. " friend," said he, " the badsha has ordered me the gift of a loaf every day, with an injunction that i should not beg any more after receiving it. i am puzzled to think how i can satisfy the hunger of my wife, my seven children, and myself, with this single loaf. when i used to beg and obtain rice, i made a simple gruel which answered our purpose better." "well, friend, i will buy it of you for four pice," said the other. the man accepted of his offer, and with it he procured some broken rice, with which ( 155 ) he prepared some gruel, and fed his family. in this manner, for a period of six months, as he got the loaf, he sold it to the other beggar. within this time the other beggar, who exclaimed, " may god give," was seen to thrive in body and prosper in his affairs, while the beggar, who had put his confidence in the badsha, was reduced to a skeleton, and had on dirty tattered clothes. the badsha, seeing through his window the two beg gars passing one morning, observed the difference of their respective appearance the one hale and hearty, the other a walking shadow. he desired his vizier to call the beggar up to him. when he appeared before the badsha t the badsha asked him with surprise how it was that he wore dirty tattered clothes, and looked famished, and if he did not regularly re ceive his allowance of a loaf. the beggar related about the insufficiency of the single loaf to appease the hunger of nine persons, and that on that account, he had sold his loaf to his friend for four pice daily. the badsha told him that he was an unfortunate man to lose the loaf, for with the loaf he had given him sixteen rupees every day, and had therefore expected to see him in a better condition of body, purse, and clothing. the badsha told his yizier to send for a cart, and loading the cart with as much money as it could hold, to see it safely deposited in the house of the poor man, lest so much wealth might tempt the cupidity of some wicked men to rob the man on the lonely road to his abode. the yizier escorted the treasure safely to the door of the beggar, who, leaping down with elated hope, ran into the house with an erect gait, instead of entering with a stoop as before, to avoid contact with the low frame of the door ; the consequence was, that the beggar's head struck violently against it, and he fell down dead on the spot. the yizier, after leaving his men to watch the cart, went and informed the badsha of the sad catastrophe. the badsha was surprised and sorrowful on receiving the tidings. he went to see and to ascertain how the misfortune had happened. going to the beggar's house, he saw him prostrate on the ground, his ( iso ) forehead skinned nearly to the crown of his head. stooping to examine if the cranium had sustained a fracture, he discovered some faint characters on the forehead, which on being deci phered, the following words were found inscribed : " as none can change man's destiny, so no one can give life to the dead." the badsha became thoughtful and reflective after this accident, and as he could not help the man, do what he might, he told his vizier to help his family with a regular supply of all their wants, and to attend to their comfort. story of another fakir. was a fakir whose practice was never to reside more than one night at any village, but like a bird of passage to change place every day of his abode. it happened that, on arriving at a certain village, he was saluted by the vil lagers, thus, " father, you are wandering throughout this wide domain for your daily bread, but without our going a mile from our own country or home, grod provides for our wants, and we receive, seated at home, whatever we ask for." the fakir replied " i am surprised to hear that you get whatever you ask from god. if he gives you all you ask, he will not refuse giving me also." he went on. in his journey, but when he came to a desolate place near the bank of a river, he gave utterance to this prayer: " as thou, grod, givest others, so give me, a child first, then wealth, and last of all a wife." when this strange prayer was offered, a heavy fall of rain descended, that flooded the whole country, and it reached up to the neck of the fakir. he began to reflect, that it might be indicative of the displeasure of grod for the petition he had offered, still he resolved in his own mind, that as he had al ready asked for the gifts, until his request was granted, he ( 15t ) would not stir from the place, though he got drowned by the flood. standing in that position, he began. to feel thirsty, but for some time he found no means of allaying his thirst, the surrounding water being muddy and impure ; but a cocoanut was seen very opportunely to float by where he stood ; he took it up and drank half of its milky fluid. that the remaining juice which it contained might not run out, or the external water of the disturbed stream might not get mixed with it, he closed the aperture of the nut with a stick, after which he sent it down the river. the cocoanut went dancing and whirling on the water, and as it was passing, a princess, who had gone to the river for ablution, seeing it, desired her maid to get within its reach by throwing her flowing gar ment over, and drawing the nut close to the bank. obtaining what she desired, she drank the water it contained, and took the cocoanut home to enjoy the inner substance. she began very soon after to show symptoms of pregnancy, and as the time for her accouchement approached, her situation could not long remain concealed. her condition began to be known to the inmates of the palace, and by them the circumstance was brought to the knowledge of her parents. the rajah could not suffer his child, who had brought, as he was led to think, so much dishonor and disgrace on herself and her parents, to remain any longer in the palace ; he therefore commanded that a palkee, with a female attendant, should be speedily provided, and the princess taken and left by the bearers in the heart of some gloomy forest. the princess being awoke in the morn ing from her disturbed dreamy slumber, by the early songs of forest birds, and the light of dawning day, called her maid and inquired why the bearers had set down the conveyance, and where they had gone ? when the princess and her maid found that they were abandoned by the attendants, their grief knew no bounds. but the emotion of sorrow soon gave place to another feeling apprehension of danger, this roused them to action. the palkee was placed under the trunk of a wide spread ( 158 ) banian. they enclosed from the two poles of the conveyance to the tree, the space with stout branches of thorny plants, for protection from wild animals ; the palkee itself being like a trap, was a sufficient scarecrow for them. the conveyance had been provided with a store of provisions sufficient to last them for several days, so they were under no fear of immediate starvation, nor any necessity just then to ramble in quest of such fruits and succulent herbs as might afford sustenance. the princess after a few days was confined of a beautiful boy. this occurrence, which in any other circumstances would have been a copious source of pure delight to the maternal bosom, was joy not unmixed with regret to her guileless heart. she reflected that, if not destroyed by the denizens of the forest, they might waste and pine away for want of food ; and the same appalling disaster might fall on her lovely child. with these thoughts in her mind, she told her maid that, as soon as the fountain of nourishment with which nature had provided her for the support of the child failed, it was her intention to launch him on the bosom of the river, that some humane person might see and adopt him, and by this means free her innocent progeny from a cruel banishment in a repulsive wilderness. agreeably to this design, when the child grew up, and was not wholly dependent on the mother for his supply of food, but could subsist by means of artificial diet, she prepared an oblong basket of wicker work, lined it with bark and the leaves of the lotus, covered the top with light rush, and placed the little vessel on the stream with its precious cargo, and then offered many tearful prayers for its safety. the little artificial boat glided down to the spot near which the fakir's hut stood on the bank, when it swung round by the eddy, and stuck at the shore where the man stood in silent contemplation of nature, or per haps nature's god. he looked at the object with mute wonder, and thinking with much satisfaction and delight that his first prayer had been granted, lifted the tiny ark with the child, and bore it to his humble residence. high was his gratifica ( 159 ) tiou too, and great his joy, when he beheld the little innocent being whose face was radiant with a smile, throwing out his playful hands, as if they sought the shelter and protection of the fakir's stronger arms. the fakir now released the innocent prisoner from his unconscious bondage, and dandled him with parental fondness. he discovered a small bag in the basket which had been placed near the child ; opening which to satisfy his curiosity, he discovered that it contained jewellery and gems of considerable value. in this occurrence, he found that his second prayer too was in a very signal way answered. days and months passed by in their rapid course, when one day, the rajah, weary of his protracted labours in the constant administration of justice, thought of unbending himself by some recreative indulgences ; to carry out this pleasant project, he commanded his painted boats to be fitted up, with a sufficient complement of men, to be provided with necessaries for the cruise, and to be got ready by the first of the month. with his numerous retinue, the rajah dropped down the stream, and descending occasionally into the woods where deer, rabbits, and hares were shot, and game of several kinds bagged by the sportsmen. the rajah, who was seated smoking his pipe, saw a very fine boy playing at the door of a mean hut further down the stream. ordering his barge to be fastened to the shore, he descended, and with sentiments of pity and surprise, beheld the boy, for he could see no one in the hut, whilst the boy was amusing himself with the pretty flowers of spontane ous growth. where the lad had come from, was a puzzle which he could not easily solve. playing with the boy for some time, he felt an inexplicable fondness for him. when the fakir came back from his short excursion, the king asked him how he came to possess the boy in such an uncongenial place. the fakir replied that he had offered three petitions to god, of which two, which regarded a son and wealth, had been very remark ably fulfilled, and he was now waiting for the accomplishment of his last wish the gift of a wife. ( "60 ) the fakir related to the rajah the manner in which his pray er had been heard and answered. the eajah, who had become so much attached to the child, that the thought of parting with him became truly painful, invited the fakir to leave his desolate retirement, and to return with him to the city in which, as he had several houses, he might take up his quarters with the child in any one of them he fancied. the fakir, considering that it would be highly injudicious to reject so advantageous an offer, and thinking too that it would secure not only the safety of the child, but might advance his welfare and pro mote his future prospects, willingly and thankfully acepted the proposal. "when the exiles were in the rajah's country, there was not a day that passed by without his sending his men for the boy, who beguiled the hours of the rajah's sorrow, anxiety, and care, by his winning manners, and his bewitch ing playfulness. after the expiration of some months, the rajah again proceeded by land on a shooting expedition. when he had gone about a day or two day's journey, he enter ed the very forest where his daughter was left by the bearers. in one direction in the chase, and another, beating the bush in all quarters, he came up to the spot in which the palkee was placed. with much surprise he questioned the sportsmen how such a thing could come there, and what such a conveyance had to do in the dense jungle, for no one in his senses would travel there, and to ascertain if there might be any whimsical traveller in it. in lifting the shutters of the conveyance, they discovered a female fast asleep, of attenuated form, pallid complexion, but possessing handsome features. the rajah could see her also, as the doors were set ajar. he could not forget easily the features of his own daughter, and without hesitation, pronounced this miserable being to be his own child. he regretted deeply that in his haste he had banished his child without satisfying himself of the truth of the report of his daughter's guilt. he embraced her fondly, wept over her bitter ly, and bore her away from the spot giving up the chase which had now no attraction for him. remaining a few days in the palace, in which, in the enjoyment of comforts and nutricious viands, she recovered her health and strength, and with it all the other blessings of life ; still her heart was sad and heavy, and sick with love for her child, whose destiny was unknown to her. as the fakir's child was daily brought to the palace to be caressed and toyed with by the rajah and the inmates of the palace, his daughter saw him on one occasion, so pleasing in his innocent gambols, so beautiful in face and form, and with such attractive lustrous eyes, that she ran up, lifted him, and folded to her bosom with affectionate warmth. this she did every day with increasing intensity of love, but though all were amused and happy in their intercourse with the child, the rajah's own daughter's spirits became ever after depressed. one day, when the ranee was in her own private apartments with none of her attendants present save her daughter, she communicated her suspicions to her, telling her that the child must be her own son. the ranee prevailed on her daughter to disclose her secret, promising not to abuse her confi dence, but to aid her if there should arise any injury to her character by its publicity. the daughter, with genuine innocence recounted, what had happened ; relating how she went out to bathe with one of her maids in the river, and whilst doing so, saw a cocoanut floating, with a stick used as a cork in the aperture ; that, being thirsty, she drank the sweet water it contained, and intending to eat the inner kernel, brought the nut home and placed it in a corner of the wall, where, if not removed, she said it ought still to be. if there was any fault which she had ever committed, it was that, and no other, for she could not accuse herself of any impropriety. this was all that she did, and the symptoms which had appeared subse quently were the result of her partaking of the water of that cocoanut. this strange confession being made to the rajah, he went and met the fakir ; and to sift the matter to the bottom, 21 ( 162 ) he made minute inquiries. "sire, your many perplexing questions," observed the fakir, " evince a tendency to entangle and involve me in some guilt, and perhaps to deprive me of my child. it was for this reason that i did not wish to resign my liberty and happiness where i could enjoy both undisturbed in my solitary cell. i have told your highness that i had asked three gifts from god ; first, that i might have a child, then that i might obtain wealth, and lastly, that he would grant me a wife. when the inundation was high, and i was up to the neck in water, a cocoanut passed where i stood. feeling thirsty, i took the cocoanut, and with a stick made a passage for the water. when i had drank the half, i closed the aperture with a stick, and as i dropped it into the river, my prayer was that whoever drank that water might give birth to a child. i have told you already how god was pleased to send me a child, and with him wealth, and that my last prayer has not yet been answered." all these circumstances being well weighed in the rajah's mind, he narrated the whole subject to his wife, the eanee, when they came to the conclusion that their daughter was fated to be the wife of the fakir, and that on that account they ought to do nothing to impede their nuptials, or oppose the workings of providence. the rajah then took the cocoanut to the fakir, and before showing it to him, asked if he could identify the nut out of which he had drank ? he affirmed that he could. hereupon the cocoanut was produced, and by its marks and the identical stick, the branch of a certain tree, he pronounced it to be the very one used by him. the rajah now disclosed the other incidents mentioned before, and concluded by saying that the child was his, and she who had drank the water of the cocoanut, was his own daughter, and he would therefore give her to be the wife of the fakir. that what god had done so wonderfully in his mysterious providence, should be confirmed by a public marriage. this was done shortly after with the pomp and festivity which generally attend such occasions. f 163 ) the fakir, though raised to affluence and a position of honor in the court, never forgot that it was possible to get all things by prayer. the two sisters-dookhee and sookhee. independent chief who held sway over a large territory covered with wide-spread undulating hills, was celebra ted for his peaceful tendencies, his love and care of his subjects, fondness for field sports, and his active benevolence. he had two daughters, whose respective names were dookhee and soo k/tee, or distress and comfort. on account of the isolated situa tion of his country, and his own natural love of peace, he was induced to marry his daughters to worthy and high born men of his court. after a few years, the chief died, as also the hus band of dookhee, who departed leaving a young daughter behind him. dookhee was living with her daughter in great want ; so reduced was she in her circumstances, that she had a small bungalow built on a mound formed by the ruins of some houses. here she passed her days, being occasionally helped by the miindul, or head man of the village, and the gomasta, or writer's family, with a small quantity of rice, vegetables, and greens. these faithful men were once in the service of her father, and they therefore, in gratitude to his memory, paid some attention to the wants of his bereaved daughter. dookhee one day communicated to the gomasta and the mundul her desire to visit her sister sookhee, who was in a prosperous con dition, and might render her some help. they advised her to go, saying, that the interview might tend to her benefit. with this advice, they gave her, the one a two anna piece, and the other a four anna coin, to help her to prosecute her intended ( 164 ) journey. on arriving at the house of her sister, she was an nounced, but sookhee repudiated all connection with her, ex claiming, " who is niy sister, that chandal dhaagur, that witch my sister ? send that low person away." after a short time, however, she commanded her servants to call her back. on her going in, dookhee saw her sister seated on a costly chair, her feet resting on a stool, and her unfastened hair flowing down and covering the back of the chair, while two maids were employed in combing, oiling, and dressing it. she was desired to occupy herself with the same performance. engaged in this manner for full three hours, her child crying from hunger, herself feeling weary after her journey, and yet not finding her sister offer any refreshment to herself or her child, poor dookhee felt deeply grieved to think that her sister's heart had grown so callous, and she had become quite a different person to what she was before. after the tedious work of playing with her hair idly for several hours, sookhee ordered her maids to give this woman and her child a seer of broken rice. when dookhee was departing, after the receipt of this beggarly dona tion, she was called back, and told that she had not dressed her hair properly ; therefore she must do the work over again. after the expiration of another hour, on dismissing dookhee, her sister told her servant to take back half the' quantity of rice from the woman, on account of her slovenly work. going away from her sister's, dookhee wept bitter tears on the road, reflecting sadly and mournfully on her reception. the nazir, who was in her father's service, seeing her pass his house, call ed out to her, " who is that, is it dookhee? come here my child. where have you been ?" poor dookhee, with a heart rent with grief, obeyed the summons, and in doing so, told her sister's treatment of her, and the help she had obtained for herself and her daughter. the nazir, who was a man of tender sensibilities, was moved on hearing her sad story. the kind man and his wife paid her all attention, tenderly allevia ting her sorrow, fed her with the choicest viands their larder ( 165 ) contained, and gave her and her child a suit of decent clothes, with some money at parting. she went back to her house, and seeing her kind well-wishers, the gomasta and mundul, ready to greet and welcome her home, she, on being ques tioned, repeated her short tale of disappointment. they were stunned to hear it, and felt sincerely for her troubles. the daughter, now growing up to years of maturity, would assist her mother by various little helps which, according to her capacity, she gave cheerfully. she went one day far into the fields and forest, to gather withered branches, and pick up greens which grow luxuriantly on the surface of tanks. having collected a sufficiency of sticks for fuel, and gathered several kinds of greens, she made them into a large bundle ; but how was she to lift it up on her head, for without that she could not carry it away ! at this time, her guardian angel, disguised as a very old man, was seen approaching her, supported by a walking cane. he saluted her, " what do you want my child ?" she told him, she was powerless to lift the heavy load. he entered into conversation with her, regarding what relations she had, and what were the circumstances in which they were placed, asking if she were desirous of marrying, for he was able to provide her with a good man for her husband. she informed the old man of what he was desirous of learning, and consented to his proposal, believing it would be the means of relieving her mother. the man asked her to come again after two days to the forest, then liftiug the bundle, and saying she would feel it light as a feather, he disappeared. her mother was all this time in great anguish of mind, seeing that evening was deepen ing, and her child had not come back. she paced the com pound, going in and out of the house full of anxiety and apprehension for the safety of her daughter, until she faintly discerned a figure at a considerable distance, coming toward the house. when the figure, advancing nearer, became more distinct, and the mother recognising her daughter, ran up to her and said " my poor child, why were you so late in ( 166 ) the forest ? had you no fear of wild animals ? what a load you have on your head. come, i will relieve you." saying which, she lifted the bundle and placed it on her own head, re marking that it was heavy for her to bear, and must consequently have been much more so for her poor child. the daughter said, she did not find it heavy at all. groing home, she boiled a little rice, fried the greens, and made a supper upon that, which, if not dainty, appeased their hunger and invited sleep. as she had promised, the daughter went again to the forest on the third day, and having collected a bundle of twigs, and picked up some greens from the surface of the tanks, she halted to see if her old friend would again help her. just then she saw the old man approaching by the same path as before. when he had come up to her, he told her to leave her bundle where it was, and follow him. going through the forest by his side, she passed many wild animals, and the girl shrunk with fear at their savage looks and fearful howl, but the old man pacified her, saying that for her they were harmless as lambs. after a two hours' journey, the old man conducted her into a superb house, furnished with the costliest articles ; moreover, passing through one of the rooms, she saw a man of uncommon beauty, sleeping on a silver bedstead. after she had noticed these things in thoughtful silence, he took her back to the forest, where her bundle lay. helping her to lift it, the mysterious old man inserted in it a bag of money, saying her mother must employ it in erecting a house, and on prepara tions for the wedding. everything being ready, dookhee in vited her friends, and at the proper time the forest friend brought with him a prince of remarkable beauty, gorgeously dressed, and with a splendid retinue. the wedding was kept up in a style of grandeur, and with a prodigality of entertainment befitting the rank and reputed wealth of the prince. sookhee began during the festival to enquire after her sister. just then, dookhee made her appearance, and saluted her thus ; " sister, why do you enquire after me ? i am neither worthy of your ( 107 ) regard nor your notice, for i am she whom you called by every opprobrious epithet, and to relieve whose distress you gave her some broken rice." sookhee hung down her head in shame and sorrow. her unsisterly conduct was sufficiently rebuked before a large company of respectable people, who witnessed her humiliation and contrition. the friends who were enter tained so sumptuously, had for a week or two no other subject of conversation but the splendid preparations for the wedding, the rich treat, and the excellent music j while the unnatural conduct of sookhee towards dookhee was commented upon, and abundant reproaches were showered upon the delinquent, but the mead of praise was lavished on dookhee, for the amiable traits of her character, her forbearance and patience, and her charitable disposition. several years elapsed, during which the circumstances of dookhee improved, but the increase of wealth and comfort did not corrupt the heart of dookhee nor render it callous. she had an ear for every tale of sorrow, .and while relieving distress with alacrity, she sympathised with the suiferers, nor withal was she given to slander, but spoke words of comfort and kindly greeting. on the other hand, time wrought a painful revolution in the condition of sookhee and her husband. they were so reduced by poverty, that their houses and estates, with everything they possessed, were sold to support them. they were now in rags and without shoes, and in this distress her husband told sookhee, that if she could give him a clean suit of dress, he would go and seek assistance from dookhee, for she was above want ; and might pity their destitution. he went with slow faltering steps to the house of dookhee, not knowing what his reception might be ; and with scarcely courage enough to lift up his head and announce to the servant that he wished an interview with the mistress of the house. some of the old servants, recognising him, though so sadly changed in face and dress, hastened into the house, and informed dookhee that the husband of her sister was at the gate in poor clothes, bare ( 108 ) footed, and with a haggard look. she desired her servants to bring him in immediately. dookhee, seeing the affecting change both in his looks aud condition, was moved to copious tears of sorrow. she upbraided him, not for the treatment she had received from her sister, (for the hand of grod was heavy upon them,) but for his delay in coming to her, and informing her of their ill-fortune. she ordered some clothes to be given him, gave some for her sister, and when he had eaten, desired that they would not scruple to come and make her house and fortune their own. they were grieved and mor tified, but as sorrow and regret for past errors often have a beneficial effect in curing bad habits, they felt happier than ever for being better persons. a fox and an elephant. sheewd fox having motives of self interest, became very intimate with an elephant. in their frequent meetings, the fox diligently informed the elephant of the fields where he might obtain the best fodder, and revel among the most luxuriant crops. the fox having matured his plans, had an audience one day with the prince of the foxes, urging that his lank body and decayed strength, required the flesh of a living elephant for their restoration. the prince was annoyed to hear of this impracticable request, but as he could not, without sacrificing his dignity as chief, remain indifferent to the com plaint preferred, he convened a meeting of foxes, at which he demanded if there was any among them bold and valorous enough to sally forth and procure the flesh of a living elephant. the artful fox, hearing this order, came forward, and with an erect gait and a proud bearing, signified by a prolonged howl, ( 109 ) his willingness to execute the undertaking. before proceeding however, to accomplish his task, he told the prince of the foxes, that he should keep his subjects under strict control during the time he was occupied in hunting, nor even after he had secured his game, should any fox, unless he heard the previously concerted sign, make the least noise. leaving these instructions behind him, the fox, with sly looks, and cunning steps, marched out in the direction where he was sure to meet with his friend, the elephant. saluting the ele phant with winning smiles and flattering speeches, he told him he had seen that morning a fine field thickly planted with large sugar-canes, and that ifhe desired it, he would conduct him to the spot. the elephant was very much pleased with this news. he placed himself willingly under the guidance of his friend. the fox marched onwards till he came within sight of a jheel, or swamp, beyond which the sugar-canes grew temptingly. to show the sincerity of his friendship, the fox desired the elephant to wait on the firm ground where he stood, and that he would advance and try the softness of the ground where a path led through the jheel to the cane field. the fox traversed the swamp, and coming back, told his friend that it was practicable to cross. the fox led the way, but the great weight of the elephant could not be sustained by the flimsy layer of earth, which encrusted the soft clay below, and his feet began to sink. he called out to the fox, telling him the ground would not do, and that he must go back, but the fox encouraged him to go on, saying that the ground where he was standing was particularly marshy and soft, but he would find firmer footing if he stepped a little further on to the place where he stood. the elephant struggled and waded through his difficult journey, but instead of finding the ground improve, he was inextricably buried up to his hips in the marsh. the fox ran to his assistance, and began to pull him by the tail and ears alternately, but finding all his powers of no avail, he asked him if he might call for his 22 ( 170 ) fellows to assist him. having obtained the sanction of the elephant, h,e gave many loud preconcerted hoahs, and in a short time, scores of foxes arrived, and surrounded the helpless animal, who was soon overpowered and eaten. the elephant made these reflections before expiring : " it is always unwise and unsafe to form improper acquaintances, and cultivate friend ship with people between whose nature and our own there is great disparity, nor to give easy credence to the advice of our enemies, who flatter but to destroy." a pea-seller and his wife. pea-seller, to whom nature had given no grace of person, nor bestowed any mental endowments, made up for these deficiencies by a large share of physical strength and energy. his wife, too, if not gifted by na ture with personal attractions, had, by constant companion ship and intercourse with her husband, acquired his shrewd ness and penetration. though their trade was humble, and yielded but a small profit, the pea-seller had, by skill and economy, saved a small amount, and investing it in some other speculations, and more especially in loans of money, he became in time noted as a small capitalist in the place where he was con ducting business. he had a comfortable house to live in, a well from which to draw water for culinary purposes, and near the well stood a large tamarind tree, on a branch of which some hornets had made a large hive. one night, a thief got into the house, and whilst trying to open a latch of the door, was observed by the pea-seller and his wife, who were awake at the time, and guessed that some one had entered their dwelling. shrewdly guessing his purpose, the wife spoke in a whisper, which, however, was sufficiently audible to her husband and the ( 171 ) robber, asking where the money box was concealed, the hus band replied that the box was fastened to a branch of the tamarind tree near the well. the robber, obtaining by chance this information which he was so desirous of learning, aban doned the thought of getting into the house. he went under the tamarind tree, and looking up, discovered by the reflection of the moonbeams, that something like a box was hanging to one of the branches. he climbed the tree with agility, and just as he had put out his hand and seized the hive, the hornets who were disturbed in their night's repose, flew in numbers to resist the wanton attack. they alighted on his face, hands, and back, inflicting a hundred wounds at once, against the torture of which the robber who could not stand, let go his hold of the tree, and fell with a loud splash into the well be neath, smarting. there smarting from the stings, he began to kick and buffet the water for some time. the pea-seller, knowing that the robber was safe, let the night pass away quietly, only now and then inquiring who could be bathing at that hour in his well. the next morning the robber was taken up and consigned to the stocks. by his shrewdness and penetration, the pea-seller saved his own and the life of his wife and preserved his property, showing us that every talent has its use, and that our gifts, of whatever degree and quality they may be, are adapted to our special wants. a crocodile and fox. strong friendship, by mutual kind offices and atten tion, was contracted between a crocodile and a fox. their intimacy was not, however, of long duration, for the crocodile capriciously took offence at the reniissness of the fox, in ren ( 172 ) dering him some service upon which he had fully calculated. the crocodile resolved on the destruction of the fox, and to execute his design, waited near the ghat to which the fox resorted for the purpose of bathing, or drinking. the fox, descending the ghat with a secret presentiment of harm, went down cautiously, and when near the water's brink, he began to lap it with erect ears and vigilant eyes. the crocodile, though himself invisible in the muddy water, could discern every object near the bank. he laid hold of.one leg of the fox with a spring, and was drag ging him away, when the fox exclaimed " i was prudent to put my cane first into the water, to ascertain its depth, or my leg might have been caught by the fellow. let him take away my cane ; it is of small consequence." hearing this, the crocodile felt disappointed and vexed, and in his annoyance, let go his hold of the leg of the fox. the fox, on being extricated from the sharp jaws of his foe, ran up the flight of steps, and called out to the crocodile, '' you fool, does a fox ever walk with a cane ?" the crocodile watched diligently for an opportunity of re venging himself on the fox for his deception and taunts. he therefore crept slowly along, one day, and went quietly into the house of the fox, where he remained silently in the corner, expecting that as soon as the fox returned home after his ram ble, he would pounce upon him, and show him the strength of his jaws. the fox, going back to his residence, merrily wag ging his tail, stood still as soon as he smelt a fishy odour, and beginning to snuff the air and cock his ears, spoke thus : " house, house, why do you not welcome me home this even ing ? i believe there must be somebody within." the croco dile listened for some time, and then thought that he might make a response for the house. he called out to the fox in a disguised voice, asking him to come into his own house as he was wont to do every evening. the fox replied, " thou fool, does a house ever speak ? i know thy treacherous voice, and thy evil design ; so adieu." ( 173 ) baffled in this scheme also, the crocodile thought of another plan to catch the fox. in a field where the bones of dead animals lay strewed bleaching in the sun, and which the fox visited for the purpose of feeding on carrion, the crocodile went and stretched himself down, remaining there for hours showing no signs of life and animation, waiting for the fox. the fox, seeing the crocodile, exclaimed, " this fellow is surely feigning, for dead crocodiles generally turn on their back, and shake their toes." the crocodile heard this speech, and reasoned, that he might as well turn over and confirm the belief of the fox by dispelling his doubts. no sooner had he began to give indi cations of extinct life as he thought, than thefox sung out, " thou fool, does a dead animal ever move, or has it the power of turning over ? " saying which he trotted away. > the crocodile was very much mortified with his repeated failures, but still he would not abandon his malicious design, and knowing the familiar haunts of the fox, he went to a field covered with tall grass not very far from the banks of the river, where he thought of lying concealed and waiting for the fox to pass. he did so, and watching him from sun-rise to noon, he grew weary, and sleep overtook him. the fox, in the mean time, as he travelled through the field, saw the crocodile taking a nap in the sun-shine, surrounded with a quantity of dry grass and weeds ; so he went and procured some fire with which he ignited the grass, and presently the whole field began to burn. the crocodile, who was bent on the destruction of another, fell into the suare himself. the weapons of malice, and the shafts of injury which we aim at others, often rebound fatally upon ourselves. ( 174 ) the two friends. *$f here were two persons who had a sincere attachment for ^i each other ; this sentiment time matured into ardent regard, and the two men were known to be inseparable com panions and bosom friends. the one had, however, contracted a habit of intemperance, whilst the other made long and loud prayers in thronged places every day, from no sincerity of heart, but rather as an ostentatious display, and from motives of worldly aggrandisement. the praying man missed no oppor tunity of telling his friend of the evils of drunkenness, in order to dissuade him from a practice so fraught with harm to his health, injury to his reputation, and so detrimental to the comfort, peace, and the happiness of his family ; dwelling on the results which his indulgence in that vice was calculated to produce. he urged him to reflect on the subject, to abandon what was so great an evil, and to pursue the path of sobriety and right eousness. the unwearied and wholesome counsels of his friend, after some time, had a beneficial effect on the mind of the drunk ard, and he reformed. he gave up the bad habit entirely, became a man of sincere prayer, and of unostentatious piety ; but though the practice was abandoned, he was still seen to frequent the haunts of the devotees of bacchus, but with what motive, that was a secret unknown to his associates. his friend still continued to remonstrate with him against his visit ing public houses, thinking he had not entirely given up the habit of drinking. these friends were going together a short journey on a cer tain day, when one of them, the man of long prayers, happening to find a bag of money on his path, was quite glad at his unexpected good fortune. going still further on, the ( 175 ) other man's foot hit against a thorn which caused severe pain. it was extracted, but not without some difficulty and suffer ing. reflecting upon these favourable and adverse incidents of the journey, the man of long prayers co mmented upon them, drawing the conclusion, that in grod's service, his wor shippers meet with a reward even in this life and receive tokens of his generous favour and goodness, avhile the wicked-doers experience his displeasure, meet with reverses, calamity, and disappointment. about this time an angel descended with lightning speed and glowiug with radiant wings, enquired what they were disputing about. this inquiry was not instituted from an ignorance of what had actually transpired ; for a spirit of a higher nature than man's is conversant with these things, some of their number being present on earth, while others receive intelligence ; but the question was put with a view to elicit conversation. the man of long prayers rehearsed all the circumstances that had transpired, giving a short history of the past regarding his friend and himself. " i am the angel gabriel," said the ethereal visitant, in a soft, rich, winning voice. " i will explain to you the true state of things. you, who make prayers with a worldly mind and motive, have received in that bag a worldly reward, while this man's prayers, which are sincere and a real outpouring of the soul in humility and earnestness, have ascended to the paradise above, and been heard. the never-healing thorn of future remorse which would have rankled in the bosom of this man through eternity, has been averted by this smaller measure of punishment." finishing this short address, the angel took his flight, wrapped up in the folds of the clouds, leaving the two friends silent and impressed. [this story was recited to me by a person of sirdhana, the province of begum shumroe, wife of a trench officer. as she was a catholic, she invited some italian priests who settled in the country and were supported by her. this story, therefore, appears to have a christian idea for its origin.] ( 176 ) a brahmin, a sandal wood, and wild trees. beahmin, being one of the principal persons, is never lost sight of, whatever festival, ceremony, or entertainment may be given in his district within the range of ten or twelve miles, be it the celebration of a marriage, a funeral dinner, or a poojah. a brahmin was accordingly invited by a prince to a sumptuous dinner. going to the entertainment, he had an unpleasant interview with a formidable tiger that was dozing in a field on some soft tufts of grass, which grew plentifully on the spot, and where he lay as if reclining on a bed of ease and comfort. the brahmin thought if he advanced any further, the rustling of the grass, or the decayed fallen leaves under his feet might rouse the terrible enemy ; he began, therefore, to beat a retreat, facing the foe, but walking backwards with a tread as soft and light as fear could make it. with all his vigilance, however, the tiger was up, for though his eyes were closed, his nasal organs were at work, and the smell of a human being, wafted to him on the breeze, was so delectable to his senses that he awoke from his noon-day siesta, and stretching his body to shake off his drowsiness that he might be the better able to run in pursuit of his prize, he sprang forward. the brahmin, shak ing with terror, ran as well as he could to the nearest tree in the neighbourhood with a view to climb beyond the spring of the tiger, but finding the old tree had a cavity large enough to conceal him, he took shelter in the bosom of the tree. by good fortune it happened that it was a sandal tree, which diffused its odour through the air, and the tiger thereby lost all traces of the human being. ( '77 ) the brahmin, who had remaiued concealed in the tree throughout the night, got out in the morning, and went to the rajah's entertainment. wherever he seated himself in the company of the rajah's numerous guests, a strong smell of the sandal wood was emitted from his person. the visitors and the rajah began to inquire from whom it came, because the perfume scented the whole palace. all denied, but the brah min came forward and recounted all that had happened to him the day before on his journey to the rajbari. the rajah was gratified to hear of the valuable tree, which stood not many miles from his residence. he ordered his sappers and miners to bring away every chip of the wood, together with the roots. while this was being done, the servants of the rajah, knowing that the entertainment at the rajbari would last for several days, cut down large numbers of wild flowering plants, wherewith to adorn the festive saloon. there were two wild trees which grew in the vicinity of the sandal tree. they bore an inveterate antipathy to the sandal tree, the scented shrubs, and the richly coloured flowers of the underwood, on account of the commendation they received from every traveller who journeyed by that path, while none regarded the two wild trees, but passed them with contemptuous neglect. when such a fate overtook the flowering shrubs and the scented sandal, the two wild trees gave voice to their own re flections " brother," says the one wild tree to the other, " we had long envied the condition and prosperity of our neigh bours, but we see that their beauty and attractions have proved a snare to them. the flowering shrubs have been robbed of their ornaments and left bleeding at every pore by the wounds inflicted by cruel men, and the proud sandal has been rooted out of the place, no longer to mock our humble birth and lonely condition. it is true that we could not bear to see the homage paid to the sandal and the flowers, by men and women who adorned their person and took away chips of the tree as a great treasure in their pockets, praising too and commending 23 ( 178 ) them in our hearing, while we were considered insignificant. would we now wish to have been in their situtiou ? is it not rather better with all our imperfections to be enjoying health, life, and an undisturbed tranquillity ? though we bear no external beauty, and our hearts send forth no fragrant sigh to enrich the breeze, or delight the hearts of human beings, we are crowned with luxuriant foliage, and bear flowers useful to the feathery tribes ; thousands of birds are fed by us ; and beneath our sheltering arms they pass the dark perilous hours of night in safety. in the morning and at noon, they repay us with a thousand mellow notes and thrilling melodies. at our feet, how often the weary tenants of the woods have rested pro tected from the noonday sun and the pelting rain ; have they not looked up to us with eyes expressive of gratitude ? we have not been, therefore, altogether useless in the sphere and condition in which our lot was cast." a splinter of the sandal wood which had fallen on the ground and remained there, hearing this pompous speech of the wild tree, made this reproving answer : " ye wave your branches proudly now that the noble and worthy ones of the forest have fallen. before their presenc ye were humble and silent. your base hearts cannot appreciate the nobility of theirs, nor are you taught to value the dignity there is in exhaling our very existence away, in doing good to others, in making others happy, and answering the object of our creation, and thereby leaving a fragrant memory behind us." ( 179 ) a gardener and a wild brinjal plant. prince of hindustan had a splendid garden, in which grew all sorts of fruit trees, indigenous as well as of foreign culture ; with flower beds laid out with choice exotics, and some valuable plants of indian growth ; pretty parterres dividing the plots, and arbours, over which trailed creepers of a variety of forms and diverse foliage. the gardener who superintended the pleasure grounds, having gone one day to a distant market through the adjacent fields, saw a wild brinjal plant which had sprung up through a dense undergrowth of grass. the wild brinjal, seeing the head gardener of the prince pass, humbly solicited that his generous heart, which had an affection for plants of all tribes, from the stately palmyra to the humble grass ; from the wide-spread banian to the lotus, would compas sionate his forlorn and destitute condition, for he was choked to death by the smothering embrace of the grass, and could not extract a drop of moisture for his sustenance, on the spot where he was growing, every particle of nutriment being approriated by the wild grass. the briujal requested, therefore, that the gardener would be so good as to transplant him to a corner of the prince's garden, that he might be able to breathe there more freely, and draw only such nourishment from the soil as was not needed by other families of the garden, not doubting that such a generous act would bring good fortune to the gardener, as good deeds were never lost. the gardener's heart was so softened by this speech of humility and flattery, that he transplanted the brinjal to a remote corner of the garden. the garden, being well manured and properly irrigated, the wild briujal grew and spread rapidly, covering a surface of fifty feet square with his progeny of children and grand-chil ( 180 ) dren, within the space of six months. in this rapid extension, the wild plant had destroyed several nursery plants, and a few other hardy ones too. the prince, visiting the garden after some months, and going towards the nursery one evening, discovered the remissness and neglect of his gardener who permitted the growth of the wild brinjal, thereby causing the destruction of several valuable plants. reproving the gardener for his carelessness, he dis missed him from the superintendence of the garden and his service. the gardener when dismissed from his post, passed the brinjal, and upbraided the plant for his ill advice, in tempt ing him to act against his own judgment, for he knew too well that no good could result from planting him in the garden. the plant replied, " knowing my evil propensities were you wisely persuaded t>y my talk ? my presence is never to lerated in any well kept garden. all wise gardeners know that where i flourish, there decay and destruction is wrought on all the plants, and a faithful man's duty is to exclude a baneful plant from those that are good and valuable." a heron and a kingfisher. heron, who had, for some time during the dry season, when the river was low, and tanks, j heels, and canals nearly dry, enjoyed an abundance of good fare, for he could then make use of his long legs and go hither and thither in pursuit of small fishes sporting in shallow water, found that the tide of good luck had ebbed as the tide of the river had riseu with the rainy season. his aquariums had been so much inun dated that he found it hard to get a living any where. the river, the jheels, and the tanks, became equally inaccessible to him. nor, from the depth of water which covered them, could he pick up even a single tiny fish to keep him from starvation. this misfortune made him thoughtful and unhappy, and he could see by the reflection on the water that his lank figure was getting every day still more attenuated. in this^ distress, he thought of visiting the kingfisher, that he might cultivate his acquaintance, and beg assistance in the dark hour of his necessity. " friend, we are of the same profession and pursuit, and i might say of almost the same lineage ; we ought to have more sympathy and regard for each other than we have hitherto shown, and this for a still more cogent reason, for should any misfortune happen to you, who could help you so well as i ? were you to fall sick, and thereby be unable to fish, i would be the very person who could supply you with food every day. again, in the dry season, when the water is too shallow and you cannot plunge and dive safely for your food, and can obtain by chance alone a scanty fare now and then, you would at such times know the value of my friendship, which could keep your larder replenished. as good and bad fortune alter nately happen to all, so it is my turn to experience just now some difficulty in fishing when the country is submerged. should you help me now and then with .a little out of the abundant quantity you get, and thus save me from trouble and starvation, you may calculate on my friendship, and trust to my assistance in all times of need." the kingfisher, who had a generous heart, and who pitied the heron, desired him to live in his neighbourhood during the season of scarcity. thus the kingfisher supplied food to the heron for three mouths, after which, as the water began to recede from the field, and the jheels, tanks, and canals, began to assume a definite out line of form, the heron bid his friend good-bye, with a promise of coming to his help so soon as the dry season would render it necessary. though the kingfisher did not actually need the heron's assistance, still he waited for some months to ascertain if there could be found a single spark of gratitude warming the bosom of a heron. a fortnight after the kingfisher had in ( 132 ) dulged these thoughts, the heron by accident came and roosted for the night on the very cotton tree in which the kingfisher lived. opening his eyes in the morning with some surprise at the proximity of the kingfisher, the heron exclaimed, " friend, your legs are in ugly contrast with your body. pray, why are they so black f " you ungrateful being ! every thing now appears black and ugly, because your design has been accomplished, and you have gained your object. you are a worthless being, with whom i will not deign to hold any fur ther conversation, so fly away and conceal your mean person in stagnant pools and among putrid weeds." the jungle fever and the cobweb. \/a poo-^ wood-cutter, who supported himself and his && family with much toil and difficulty by hewing trees, went into the sunderbuns for the prosecution of his work. the jungle fever and his friend the cobweb, happening to travel through that forest together, the fever told the cobweb that he was going to fasten himself on the wood-cutter, because his poverty could not provide the means of repelling him, for he could not afibrd to call in a doctor. he advised his friend the cobweb not to enter humble dwellings, for his situation in such a house would be so low as t a be within the reach of every man's arm, whose caprice might place him in constant jeopardy. he advised the cobweb to go therefore to the house of a prince. the jungle fever went and perched himself on the wood-cutter, who felt a shivering and pains over his body, and with many heavy lios and has, he was forced to give up his occupation and descend from the tree. the wood-cutter going home, took nothing to provide for the wants of his family. he suffered the whole night from fever, but the cries of his children for food induced him in the morning, though still indisposed, to ( 183 ) take up his tools and go out to work. though shivering under the influence of the fever, the thought of his starving family forced him into vigorous exertion. he worked hard and sweated profusely under the operation. the fever could not any longer stand this effort to throw him off. his inces sant wrestling with the fever subdued him completely, and he was obliged to leave the wood-cutter. the cobweb, who calculated upon remaining undisturbed in the residence of the prince, was disappointed, for the first thing which a mehtcr, or sweeper did in the morning, was to strike the cobweb with a broom several times till it was dislodged from the roof and flung out of the window. the two friends, meeting each other again afterwards, related about their want of success, coming to a unanimous conclusion that it was a great error to think that fever could remain undisturbed on the person of poor man, or that the cobweb's most tranquil residence was the house of a prince. the cobweb now addressed his friend and tender ed this advice " friend, i think you ought to visit the house of a prince, where you will be highly honored with rich covering and receive the respectful attentions of doctors, noble men, and ladies of rank. i will content myself by going into the house of this poor wood-cutter, whose poverty will give him no time to think of me and little leisure to occupy himself with the labour of hunting me out from his residence." being thus resolved, the fever went and settled on the person of a prince. the prince, shivering with the fever, covered himself with rich shawls, and called for several doctors, who made much of the sickness and paid great attention to the patient. the cobweb visited the house of the wood-cutter, and not content with lodging in one corner of the roof, spread his domain all over the ceiling with boldness, fully assured that the poor were so occupied as to take no notice of his presence, and if his intrusion was discovered, the poor man had scarcely sufficient time to drive him out from his networks which he had spread widely through every nook and corner of the ceiling. ( 184 ) the son op an honest man n honest yresto, or family man, who on his deathbed left a son and a wife behind, advised his son about the small sum which he had honestly acquired, and which he had hitherto spent prudently, saying that though he might be com pelled to take service, and his wages might be very small, he should take employment under no one except an honest man. the son and mother lived with the strictest economy for some months, but as the money diminished, the son was forced to look out for a situation. knowing that there was scarcely a single honest man in the village in which he was residing, he thought of visiting the adjacent town, in order to secure the success of his intentions. he called at a respectable man's house, asking for employ ment, and telling him that he did not mind what pay he might obtain, as that was not of any great consideration to him, but he was anxious to secure a place under a man of pro bity. the great man told the youngster that he was a mer chant, and that there wasnot much honesty in a profession like his, desiring him at the same time to visit his younger brother, who was in another country, and who was the most likely person to engage his services. the young man journey ed in search of the house, and was not long in finding out the place, but he was surprised to find the occupant of the house not as he had expected, a younger, but an older man in ap pearance, though he was the younger brother of the person to whom he had at first applied for situation. the young man stated the terms on which he was desirous of engaging himself. the rich man told him his vocation was that of an usurer, and on that account he could not undertake to be honest. the rich man desired him to go to a certain country, where his ( 135 ) youngest brother was residing, as he would be the most suitable person, and with him the young man might take service and find a congenial master. the honest man's son travelled, and discovered the residence of a very old man, although he was the youngest of the three brothers. he found the man oc cupied iu counting cowries, or shells. making the purport of his visit known to him, the old man told him that he was not in affluent circumstances to employ more than one person, but the young man solicited and prayed hard for service in his house, telling him that it was the dying request of his father to decline serving a man who had got rich by dishonest means, however tempting the wages might be, but to serve an honest man, though the salary might be very small. the old man, finding it was not easy to send him away, agreed to employ him for a few quadruple of cowries per month. after the young man had served him for three months, he asked the honest man to be permitted to take leave for three days to go and see how his mother was doing. before leaving the old man, he received all the cowries which became due to him on the day of his departure. after he had gone a day's journey, and come to a market which was half way from his village, and consider ed that the entire journey would occupy four days, and he could not be punctual to his promise, he gave up the thought of going to see his mother just then, but resolved upon doing so after the servitude of six months, when he would be entitled to six days' leave. finding a woman from his village in the market, he purchased a lime for his mother, and sending it by her, he spent the rest of his cowries' in getting a dinner for himself and a clean shave of his chin. going back to his em ployer on the second day, and before his leave had expired, the old man was surprised to see him return so soon, but the young man explained the reason of his speedy arrival. he continued in his service for six months, faithfully discharging his duties, but within that period, a prince of the place where his mother re sided, being laid up with an obstinate disease, a hakim, or doctor, 21 ( 186 ) prescribed certain remedies to be administered with the juice of lemon ; but as the prince's recovery depended on that draught, and it was not obtainable throughout the country, the prince by beat of a drum made his want known to the public, and offered avery handsome reward to the person who would furnish it. the neighbours of the woman who had a lime from her son, ran and communicated the intelligence to her, desiring her to be expeditious in tendering the fruit to the prince. she had stuck it into the roof of her hut, and taking it out, she bore it to the palace. the medicine being duly administered accord ing to prescription, the prince's recovery was rapid. when quite well, he made her a present of a house, land, and a large sum of money. she began to live in comfort, and was sur rounded with all that her heart could desire, yet these could not make up for the absence of her son, for whom she sighed daily, longing to know where he was, and how he was em ployed, but all inquiries on that head terminated in disappoint ment, and her heart remained weighed down with sorrow. the young man was equally desirous of seeing his mother. now that six months had expired, and he was privileged to obtain six days' leave, he asked and obtained his employer's permission to visit her. the old man counted out the shells which were due to him for the six months he had served. with his earnings he got himself shaved, bought some light refreshment for the journey, and pur chased a fish for his mother, to pickle and preserve which from taint, he procured a small quantity of salt. travelling on his way with the fish and salt, he 'thought that it was a pity he had no knife with which to salt the fish. he went to some neighbouring cottages and asked for the loan of a knife. some refused the loan, being too lazy to find out one, but a woman whose heart was full of the milk of kindness, drew one from the reed mat partition, and offered it. he divided the fish, and inserted the salt to preserve it, and while curing it, he discovered in the head of the fish, a gem of inestimable value which, by accident, ( 187 ) touching the iron knife lent him by the woman, transmuted it into pure gold. the instrument being returned to the owner, she was surpris ed to find it changed into gold. she hastened with joy to show it to her neighbours, who, with herself, believed her strange visitant to be a saint, to honor whom would be a privilege and a meritorious work, they ran therefore to find him, but he had gone beyond their reach and sight. the honest youth met no other adventure or molestation in his journey. in due time he arrived at his native village, and not perceiving his maternal residence, inquired what had be come of several matted cottages which existed not long ago in that locality, and where the widow was who had an only son who had gone out to work. to these queries the response was that great changes had taken place in the village, by the sudden elevation of the widow to affluence and comfort, for her son had sent her an ordinary lemon as a present, which being the means of saving the prince from a dangerous indisposition, he had rewarded her liberally, and had made her independent. the son approached his mother's mansion with garments which bespoke poverty and want ; and fear made him feel diffident in asking for admission of the warders, lest they should disbelieve his assertion that he was the son of the owner. he waited patiently for a short while, to see if he could discover any familiar face coming forth from the house, to whom he might confide his story and gain credence. a well known man of the village who was employed by the widow, at length made his appearance, and by him the glad tidings was borne to the anxious mother. being informed of his arrival, the widow ran to meet the object of her only consolation on earth. the son was soon locked in the mother's fond embrace. streams of tears ran down both their cheeks, but they were not the in dications of sorrow, but of joy which had succeeded so sud denly to their late anxiety and apprehension. the mother furnished him with all the necessaries of life which could add ( 188 ) to his happiness or comfort. two days were spent joyously in recounting to each other the history of the past six months, after which, the time approached for him to return to the old man as he had promised ; he accordingly left home after a few days, going to his employer in a comfort able boat. his employer welcomed him with cor diality, for he found him to be a truly faithful, diligent, and honest person, with whom he was well pleased, and with whose service he was satisfied. the young man informed him how the fortune of his mother was made by means of the honestly acquired cowries which had come to him from the coffers of an honest man ; and how he himself had bought a wonderful fish with an invaluable jewel in its head. he was de sirous of touching with the stone everything which the old man possessed, but his employer said that he was perfectly satisfied with his condition, and happy in it, knowing that grod had placed him in that position. the young man warmly invited his employ er to go and spend some weeks with them. he accepted the pro posal with pleasure, intending to witness their happiness, and delight himself with the contemplation of the change wrought in their circumstances by an allwise, beneficent, and gracious providence. the mother was very glad to see and become ac quainted with the good man who had taken care of her son, and who was always his wise counsellor. the honest man, after a residence of a few days, produced the gem with which he touched all their property and changed it into gold. he said it was their right to have the benefit of the stone, and not proper for him to aspire after, that which was not his property, for it would indicate his murmuring spirit, his dissatisfaction, and discon tent. after spending a fortnight with them very happily, he took leave to go to his own country, promising to see them when business brought him again into their locality. by all that transpired in the life of the widow and her son, they learnt the lesson, that acting fairly and justly, in whatever sphere and condition of life we may be placed, meets with a reward in ( 180 ) this world, either by an increase of property, or the pleasing self satisfaction which it inspires, and which is of greater value still. dhurm rajah. rajah's father having died, it became imperative for him to give a dinner to one thousand and one persons, and to distribute alms among all classes of his guests. this circumstance being known to the bazar men, the confectioner, the cloth-merchant, the brazier, and the tyreman, they had all received their respective orders to furnish the rajbari with a large supply of their ware. besides these men to whom instructions were communicated to furnish the necessaries in requisition for the obsequies, the rajah's command was, that if any one brought any article expecting to earn a trifle on such an occasion, he would not disappoint them, but would purchase their goods. tradesmen came flocking in during the whole course of the day with large quantities of their respective articles. when all the guests had arrived, they were served with water to wash themselves, after which, a suit of clothes was given to each brahmin, with other necessary articles. the first course of the entertainment was rice and curry, after that, as a second course, tyre and rice were helped out to them. no sooner had the one thousand and one brahmin partaken of tyre and rice, then they fell down dead on the spot. the rajah was very unhappy on account of this sad accident. he thought people would look upon him with abhorrence, as being the murderer of so many holy men, or at least, if not the actual perpetrator of such an atrocity, still as a man so profligate, that the performance of an act of piety was not permitted him, or that an audacious attempt was undertaken, and a fearful catas trophe betokened the displeasure of heaven. this unfortunate event induced dhurm rajah to place the reins of his government in the hands of his dewan, and to set out on a pilgrimage, and live secluded in some solitary forest, de voting himself to penance and prayer. he journeyed on for some days until he came in sight of a forest which had peculiar attractions for him, and there he resolved to spen d the residue of his days in heavenly contemplation. a sage resided in the forest, who was believed to go to paradise daily for the purpose of attending the court above. dhurm rajah wandered about the forest for two days, and on the third, he came in sight of the hut of this sage, on the back of which he remained concealed for the purpose of ascertain ing the character of the person who resided therein. the sage's last visit to paradise being rather protracted, his wife asked him the reason why he stayed two days away from home. he replied, that " a pious rajah who had recently given an entertainment to some brahmins, performing his duty as a sou to bis deceased father should, and doing an act of charity and piety, had met with a lamentable misfortune. the one thousand and one brahmins who had partaken of the tyre which dhurm rajah ordered to be served out to them, had fallen down dead the moment they had tasted it. " we have been very busy," he said " these two days in investigating the subject. we have been thinking who would be the right person on whom to lay the sin. when the tyre was being taken to the rajbaree, a vulture was flying with a putrid snake for his food over the head of the tyremau. the putrescent matter which dripped from the carcase, fell into a pot of tyre, and that tyre being poured out and mixed with other pots, envenomed the whole fluid, and caused the destruction of the brahmins. were we to charge the snake, vulture, tyrernan, or rajah with the crime of their death ? this question has engaged our thoughts for some time." the rajah was gratified iu obtaining a solution of what appeared to him very mysterious and inexplicable. he now thought of remaining a day longer in his concealment, that the further disclosure of the decisions of the ethereal court, whirl i the sage might make to his wife, would euable him to learn to whom the crime had been imputed. the rajah enjoyed greater peace of mind and more satisfac tion of heart, now that he knew that he was exonerated from the sin, and having more joy in his bosom, he felt a desire to ramble about the forest, as no one there was familiar with his person, and none therefore could lift up the finger of reproach against him. but he was not left long undisturbed even in such a retired spot, for a man issued out of the forest, having a vessel in his hand, who recognised the rajah at a glance. the man exclaimed with surprise, and some fear, " ha! what have i done to see this sinner's face in the morning ; the man who has been the murderer of a thousand and one brahmins ! what misfortune may befall me to-day !" just as the man had spoken these words, and articulated these unjust accusations against the rajah, the sin was recorded in the archives of hea ven against that man. the rajah went and hid himself again behind the house of the sage, waiting his return. the sage came back earlier than before, when he was asked by his wife the reason of his speedy reappearance. he replied that for three days and nights they were employed in discovering whose sin it was, when the rajah going out one morning for a walk, met with a worthless reprobate, who was also sauntering about in the forest. on seeing dhurm rajah, he ejaculated that it was a misfortune to have beheld that morning the face of a great sinner who had slain more than one thousand brah mins. for this wicked speech, and presumptuous charge against the rajah, on whom none of the judges of the heavenly court could place the smallest stigma, it was adjudged that the sin should be recorded in that man's name. " the reason why i have come back," he added, " earlier than before, is because the investigation has closed. dhurm rajah should now go back to his own kingdom, and execute the other rites and ceremo nies as prescribed in the shastcrs, and then rule his subjects with ( 192 ) equity and kindness, as lie has hitherto done." dhurm rajah, hearing this from the place of his concealment, glided away from the forest silently but thoughtfully. he went to his own realm, where he resumed his station and office as before, pacified in his own mind that the sad catastrophe had happened by no sin of his, and which might have been intended to teach him lessons of wisdom and caution, not to judge others hastily, nor arrogate to himself the prerogatives of the supreme ruler of the universe. the story op a badsha. ( m^ ^|p here was a badsha, who sat one evening in his ver ^jl andah, and saw the wide sea extending before him in all directions, in the majesty of an interminable expanse, when a small craft came sailing from some island, and anchored at his very ghat. a jogliee, or religious mendicant, issued from the craft and wended his way to the residence of the badtha. the baikha desired his prime minister, or yizier, to inquire what business the joghee had with him. the man replied that he had come to sell three adages, which might, some time or other, be of great importance and use to his highness. being in vited to the presence of the badsha, after saluting him respect fully, he repeated the purport of his visit, and was asked what sum he desired for selling his three sayings. the joghee asked three thousand rupees. the badsha consenting to his terms, requested him to communicate them " the first," he said, " is that to be awake is better than to sleep ; the second, that to be seated is better than to stand ; thirdly, it is better to walk than to sit." the badsha asked if these were all that he had to com municate. the joghee said that his three adages were told, and that he had nothing to mention besides. the badsha felt disap ( 193 ) pointed and chagrined that for these three simple sayings he would have to pay that high sum ; so out of vexation he palled off a ring of that value from one of his fingers and flung it to the joghcc. he, receiving the costly gem, retired from the durbar with expressions of thankfulness. the bad$ha, in the mean time, going to his chamber, inscribed the words on the walls of his apartment, just before his bedstead. when he had gone to his dormitory for the night, and awoke in the morning, his eyes fell on the words, " to be awake is better than to sleep," he thought, that having spent so much on the maxims, it would be proper that he should test their value, and so he kept himself awake. being awake, he read " to be seated is better than to stand ;" he accordingly seated himself. again, as his eyes rested on the third inscription on the wall, " that it is better to walk than to sit," he got out of his room and began to stride about in the hall right earnestly. in this employment, he saw a gigantic african on a wall of the palace, who, having scaled it, brought the ladder over to the opposite side, and began to descend into the inner court. he then went on to the quarter where the shazadee, or princess, resided, and awaking her from sleep, they removed the cot, by doing which a secret door was opened, leading to another apartment which they entered. the badsha followed them unperceived. having gone after them, he found a superb palace and a pleasant garden which were much finer and costlier than those which he had erected. he now began to perceive that this structure was built by money which came out of his own purse, and done by his daughter who, being an only child, was indulged and gratified with all that she needed, or which her whim and fancy solicited. he then saw the african and the princess, after spreading a carpet of the highest value, seat themselves to play a game of chess. seeing their familiar intercourse, he went behind with his scimitar and de capitated both with one fell stroke. with his open sword he went on walking in the garden, when he discovered another african, brother to the former, of a still more etalwart 25 ( 194 ) and herculean build. the fellow, seeing the badsha approaphing with his naked sword, still reeking with gore, thought no doubt that he had slain his brother, and was now coming from that act of retribution to execute farther vengeance ; so he grappled with him in a deadly contest. they wrestled and struggled from midiiight till near dawn, neither succeeding in subduing his antagonist. adam and eve were passing about this time in the air above their heads, when eve said to adam, " see, the badsha' s life is in jeopardy, and he will in all probability lose it ; his adversary is more powerful than he." then adam spoke to eve in an audible voice that the badsha might hear and follow the advice. he remarked that the badsha was very forgetful in not remembering that the gallows stood not far from the spot, and all therefore which he had to do was to push his adversary forward till he brought him beneath the gallows, when he might fling its pendant rope over the neck of his foe. having taken the hint, the badsha wrestled with his adversary until he dragged him below the gallows, when he succeeded ia placing the rope round his neck. after this performance, he discerned a woman coming to meet the african. she was found to be the daughter of the vizier, who had come to keep her assignation with him. she coming up to the scaffold asked her expiring lover who it was that had hung him. he answer ed that for their sake, meaning her and the princess, both he and his brother were brought to suffering and death. he de sired her to put her little finger in his mouth to allay his pain. when she did so, he bit it off and then expired with it in his mouth. the wily daughter of the yizier, having spied the badsha at a distance retiring to his palace, and to conceal the cause of the loss of her finger, ran back to her house, where, throwing herself on her bed, she began to scream out, crying that the officer of the watch had entered her apartment with an intention to rob, but failing to execute his nefarious design, from her vigilance, he had cut off one of her fingers. this uproar brought her parents to her room, who, learning the cause of the ( 195 ) tumult, ordered the immediate execution of the officer. when the officer was taken before the scaffold, the noise and bustle, consequent on such scenes, awoke the badsha, who, having as certained the reason, sent a message upbraiding the vizier for his rashness in ordering the execution without first apprising him of his intention. the vizier -excused himself by saying, that when the finger of his child was destroyed by such a villain without reason or provocation, his ungovernable passion urged him to take an instant satisfaction. the badsha, who desired his vizier to follow him, told him, that he would have found cause to regret the step which he was about to take, had he not prevented it. they went on to gether till they came to the quarters where the vizier's daughter was residing. there he desired the vizier to help him in lift ing the cot on which his daughter slept, when they discovered a secret door into which the badsha entered first, and then the vizier followed. the vizier began to be surprised how the badsha came to know the privacies of his house. they conti nued the walk up to the garden, when the superb palace was visited, and the carpet of uncommon beauty and value was seen, with the bodies of the princess and the african. the badsha then conducted the silent, wondering minister up to the gallows, where he gave him his cane which had a curved handle. with that he desired him to open the mouth of the african, and the finger of the vizier's daughter, with a ring on it, fell out. the bads/id now gave his sword to him, telling him to destroy and remove the object of his disgrace, and then to bury the two heads, but to bring back their bodies to him. the bodies being taken to the badxlta according to instruction, they were ordered to be exposed at the choick, or the principal square of a bnzar, and a person was set to watch if any one should say any thing regarding the bodies, and to report on it. a merchant who possessed great wealth, and carried on an extensive trade, had come to the country where the badsha presided with his court. he had three daughters ; they took a ( 196 ) fancy to go out one evening in disguise as men, with a view to stroll about without restraint. they walked up to the spot where the bodies were exposed, when one of the sisters remarked before the corpses, that the men used to wear platted hair ; the second sister observed, that the men were in the habit of chew ing beetle and of putting antimony to their eyes ; the youngest sister's remark was, that if she were the africans, she might have shown some better fun. the man who watched the bodies, followed the three sisters to ascertain their residence. having done so, he apprised the badsha of what had transpired. the badsha summoned the three daughters of the merchant that they might come and give the reason of their remarks. the merchant inquired of his daughters if they had been out on the previous day, and in what costume. they told their father of the disguise assumed by them, and what they had spoken about the two bodies exposed at the chowli. they assured their father that they were under no fear to appear before the bad sha, and to tell him the reason of those remarks. they were conveyed in covered palkees and placed before the durbar. the badsha asked the first daughter how she had acquired the in formation that the africans used to wear platted hair ? she answered that she had discovered some marks on their backs which clearly indicated that they had worn their hair after that fashion. the second daughter was asked how she came to know that they were in the habit of chewing beetle, and ting ing their eyes with some black powder ? she replied their fingers bore marks of the beetle which they had frequently used, and the skirts of their garments which had been used to wipe the superabundance of the powder from the eyelids, in dubitably proved the habit they had of colouring their eyelids. the third daughter was asked what fun it was which she would have shown if she were the africans. she replied that she was willing to communicate the secret if the badsha would first draw up twenty-one pitchers of water from a well, aiid pour their contents round the spring. the badsha being pleased ( 197 ) with her wit and spirit, desired that the other two conveyances might be taken back to the merchant's, while he sent his yizier with overtures of marriage to the father. the merchant's consent being obtained, he was married to farcoonda. being again interrogatad about the interpretation of what she had ex pressed, she urged the condition on which she was willing to disclose her secret. the badsjia felt annoyed that she persisted in imposing a task which was beneath his dignity to perform. seeing him so headstrong on the point, she too became obstinate. from vexation, he ordered the erection of a tower on one of the rocks of the sea, which should possess a single aperture for venti lation, and be the medium of communication with the interior for the purpose of supplying daily food to the inmate. into this tower farcoonda was sent and confined. three mouths had passed without anything of interest occurring to break and diversify the monotony of her dull existence in the tower. on the fourth month, early in the evening, she heard the splash of innumer able oars, and being herself the daughter of a merchant, she knew at once that a fleet of some merchant vessels were passing the place ; she, therefore, having inscribed some words on a thin brick slab, flung it through the aperture, and it fell on the seventh and last vessel on which the merchant was. the in scription was to this effect : "i am a handsome woman whom you may possess by releasing." the plate descended just at the feet oc the merchant who, reading the engraving, ordered the inmate to be released. when a gap had been effected, the hand some prisoner was seen and admired by the merchant, but the moment farcoonda saw him, she saluted him with the appella tion of father, saying that her reason for doing so was that she was the wife of a badaha who would be thankful to him for his parental care of her. the merchant's vessels were all moored in the very country where the husband of farcoonda was the reigning badsha. the merchant, at her request, engaged a magnificent house right opposite to the palace. she desired him to spare no expense in procuring twenty-one girls for her, ( 198 ) who might bear the closest resemblance to her in person, figure, and appearance ; and when they were procured, then to expose his goods for public inspection, and especially to invite the badsha to come and make his first choice. when the girls were brought to the merchant's, farcoonda had each of them dressed with an apparel differing from the others, and all bedecked with a profusion of costly jewellery. on the morning when the badsha was expected, one of the maids with a blue garb, was sent to offer some folds of beetle, and otto of roses, on a salver of elaborate workmanship. just as the maid had offered them he, seeing her so like his own wife, exclaimed with pleasure and surprise, " ah, farcoonda, how have you come here ?" and as with this ejaculation he was about to embrace her, the maid, being prepared to make an appropriate answer, re plied : " badsha, it is beneath your dignity to stoop to a servant, and regard her with so much familiarity." another girl was sent on the following day with a scarlet robe, on a similar office, when the icadsha had come on another visit. the badsha was again deceived with the likeness between his wife and these waiting maids. he was again about to embrace her ; when the second maid remarked, " badsha, your taste must be low, and your habits not strictly moral, otherwise you would not evince such familiarity with a menial." in this manner all the twenty-one girls were paraded before him, and he mistook all of them for his own wife, farcoouda. last of all, farcoonda presented herself one morning, when he was about to repeat the same thing. farcoonda observed, " wah, badsha, the twenty-one waiting maids of the merchant were all supposed to be far coondas in your estimation. how low a value you must set on your wife." with this prelude, farcoonda entered into intel ligent and agreeable conversation with the badsha on that and several following days. he was charmed with her wit, good sense, and conversational ability ; nor did the attractions of her person lessen by frequent sight and familiarity, but they rather heightened as her valuable qualities were daily de ( 109 ) veloped. to divert the evenness of their daily intercourse, far coonda proposed to ride on a fine day, and for this purpose, ordered a handsome pony, accoutred with rich trappings for him, and for herself, a noble charger of lank anatomy, but orna mented with grand housings. before riding, it was proposed to the badsha that whoever should arrive first at the house, after going round the course, should be the slave of the other. knowing that the pony would go in a peculiar sort of amble, which, though graceful and easy, was not of any speed, she proffered it to the bads/ta, but he declined, saying that an animal so prettily ornamented was better suited to her riding than his. farcoonda would on no account assent, but pi'evailed on him to ride it. when mounted, she applied the gentle stroke of her whip to the charger, and it bounded forward, leaving the jbadaha far behind. he began to chafe with vexation, lashed the poor animal furiously, fearing to loose the race, but his beating could not augment the natural speed of the pony. farcoonda had, in the mean while, gone far round the ring, and halted near a well, at which she descended, and having exchanged her costume with a farmer's wife, and tethered her horse at an adjacent copse, went and sat near the well with that common dress. resting her head on her knees, she began to cry and wail, louder and more piteously, the nearer she saw the badaha approach. hearing the cry of a lonely woman at the well, he commiserated her distress, and felt for her sad situation. descending from the pony, he inquired the reason of her sorrow, and as she lifted her reclining head, by that act her beauty was partially revealed to the admiring eyes of the badsha. she in formed him that she had a rite to perform, and there was no one to help her, for she was weak of strength to perform it ; that she had an imperative duty in fulfilment a certain vow, and that to lift twenty-one pitchers of water from that deep well. saying this, she essayed to lift the water-pot, and to commence her work, but the gallant badsha offered to help her, as she was letting down her pot. he had thus lifted the water, and poured ( 200 ) round the spring for the twentieth time, when farcoonda slid ed away, and mounting the charger, was soon out of sight, and at home before he could remount the pony. the badaha was again annoyed that he lost time and the race, and on this account he felt no disposition to go to the merchant's, but pro ceeded on slowly and moodily to his own palace. for several days, farcoouda found the bads/ia not disposed to visit her from his disappointment, vexation, and shame. she therefore thought of another device. she dressed herself like a respectable native officer, and mounting a highly mettlesome steed, went every morning and galloped and curvetted before the palace windows, for several consecutive days. the bachlia seeing this singular equestrian every day, capering and pranc ing, became desirous of knowing who he was; for this purpose he was invited to the palace. he inquired who the rider was, what was his name, and what was it that he was seeking. she replied that she was a soldier of fortune, her name was farcoonda khan, and that she was in quest of employ ment. he was so pleased with the handsome looks of the officer, that he willingly engaged his service for e,s. 100 per month, intending to have him always before his eyes, that he might look upon his beautiful person and graceful figure. the bachlia whiled away his unemployed hours in the agreeable and intelligent conversation of the officer, or in play ing chess at night. in this manner, time glided on silently, when farcoonda khan thought of playing a game on a wager. in this game she won from him his signet ring, waistband, and his sword ; having obtained these, farcoonda khan sought her cot, which was not far from the badtjia't, and going to rest for the night, her head dress fell off, and by it he discovered her luxuriant hair, and her sex. now that farcoonda khan had obtained her wish, by getting those articles which belonged to the badsha, to prove her skill and the guiltlessness of her inti macy, she rose up before dawn and went away to the merchant's. she acquainted the merchant that it was now her best time to ( 201 ) go back to the tower, thanked him for his more than parental care of her, promising that some time or other, she might have the pleasing gratification of repaying him for his benevolent action. when she had got within the tower, she desired the workman to build up the gap. when nine months had expired after her self-imposed confinement, she had a son born in the tower. the man who brought her food daily,was surprised to hear the cry of a baby within the building. when he went back after furnishing her allowance of bread and water, he duly informed the badsha of the strange incident. the badsha was greatly incensed on hearing what lie thought would tend to his perpe tual dishonor, so he proceeded to the tower with the intention of cutting her down with his sword after having satisfied himself of the truth of the report. groing and ordering an aperture to be made in the tower, and when an opening was effected sufficiently wide for the admission of a person, furcoonda sent down the un conscious, baby with a looking-glass for the badsha to consult his own physiognomy, and compare it with that of the child; and also his belt, sword, and the signet ring. the badjia became now fully sensible that the child was his own progeny, and the ingeniousness of farcoonda, her innocence and virtuous dis position, were disclosed and made apparent by all that trans pired. he took her home, acknowledging his rashness and hasty disposition, and doating on her much more for the perfec tion of her character which these circumstances had brought to light ; the injustice which he had done her previously, and the severity he had exercised, these he admitted were culpable.* * the story of adam and eve, after the fashion iu which it is given here, leads me to think that this tale has a moslem origin. 26 ( 202 ) the story op a merchant. ^f here was a merchant who was not only famous for his \$. smartness and skill in his occupation, but was known for a good and benevolent man in the country in which he lived. it was indispensable from the nature of his calling, that he should leave his country on long journies at times, in order to pro secute his trade with distant nations. thus he had prepared to set out for a period of twelve years ; but before doing so, he deemed it proper to leave strict instructions with his mother, regarding her care and watchfulness over his wife, whose want of experience and mature judgment might lead her, though un wittingly, into acts of impropriety in the absence of the restrain ing influence of moral example, or wise precept. but there existed, unfortunately, a perpetual disagreement between the mother-in-law and her daughter-in-law. the merchant's mother was glad to have this authority delegated to her, and thought in her own mind that it was now her opportunity to revenge herself upon her untractable, headstrong daughter-in-law ; for the very first fault which she might find her commit, she would endeavour to pack her off from the house. being constantly on the watch, she saw that her daughter-in-law's maid-servant, on getting out early one morning, left the gate open. upon this pretence, she met her, and rebuking for opening the gate at an unseasonable hour and leaving it ajar, desired her daughter-in-law to quit the house instantly. the innocent creature made solemn protestations as to her not being guilty of any improper act, but the old woman, who was deter mined upon sending her away from the house, would not listen to any asseverations which she made. nine months after the departure of her son, on his trading expedition, she sent his wife away, and acquainted him of the ( 203 ) circumstance by letter in an exaggerated form. at the time when the merchant's wife was quitting the house, she informed her mother-in-law that, as she was carrying, and was soon expecting to be confined, she might permit her to live in a hut in the neighbourhood, and after the birth of her child, she would then gladly go away and seek her fortune elsewhere. but determined as she was to revenge herself, she would not listen to any pleading which her daughter in-law had offered. she was forced to go away, but whi ther, she could not determine upon, for want of the know ledge of the country and the roads. her troubles and sorrows had almost driven her to the verge of insanity ; in short, people thought that she had gone crazy. as she was lying in a state of utter helplessness on the road-side, masoom mulna, passing that way and seeing her, asked her history, but she was, from prostration of strength, prevented from saying any more than disclosing the condition of her want and suffering. the mulua invited her to his house, telling her that she might live with his family, who would provide for her wants, and assist her in her confinement. when she was conducted to the mulna's resi dence, his wife, a shrewd and punctilious woman, was displeased that a woman was picked up from the streets, and admitted into the family without knowing who she was, and what character she had previously sustained in the world. " she is in great distress, and is near the time of her confinement," said the humane mulna, " and this is sufficient reason for us to shelter her at present." the over-scrupulous wife would not so easily yield up her point. she rejoined, " for your probity and unblemished character, the people of the village compli ment you by calling you mulua. the presence of a handsome stranger in our habitation might give to scandalous men an excuse to stigmatise your reputation, and you would forfeit your good name thereby. i would, therefore, advise you to send her to live in yonder shed under the cocoanut tree." this proposition being acceded to by her husband, she was placed in possession of the hut. ( 201 ) a village road lay close by the hut, and by that road a zemin dar was journeying, who seeing that the woman belonged to some respectable family, inquired after her circumstances, and finding that she was in actual destitution, sent her a fewrupees to help her in her need. this small assistance was of great use, as she was soon confined of a very handsome son, such as is rarely born even in the house of a prince. the midwife who attended on her, waited to be remunerated for her service. the merchant's wife related her distress, and informed her that she had lately received a pre sent of twenty rupees, out of which she had spent some, but that she was willing to give her eight rupees, and to reserve a few to meet her own future wants. about this time, the wife of a vi zier was also in labour, and his servants were sent to invite the midwife over, but not finding her at home, they had come in search of her. as she was returning from the poor woman's house, they met her and conducted her to the vizier. the midwife, on arriving at the vizier's house, desired to know on what terms he wished to engage her services. he being a wicked cunning man, said, that it was customary to pay four annas at the parturition of a boy, and if a girl, it ought to be but two annas. the midwife informed him that she had attended a short time ago on a poor woman who was dependent on the charity of a mulna, and that she had given her eight rupees, and she was confined of a boy so hand some that even among the noble and affluent, she had never seen his like. the vizier, who had a daughter, dismissed the woman after paying her four rupees for her assistance. he could not forget what he heard about the child of this poor woman, for he was desirous of possessing him, and rear ing the boy up as his son. in the court to which he attended, there were four men who were long known to him as being adepts in all sorts of trickery and villany. he invited them to a private conference, in which he promised them a handsome reward if they could bring him the child secretly. these men, who were quite up to any atrocious deed, and to any desperate ( 205 ) work, hesitated at this novel kind of tax put upon their skill. the vizier, seeing them somewhat reluctant to venture on this sort of undertaking, promised them a higher reward. the love of money tempted men of such black character to any work, stifling their gentler feelings if they possessed any in the deep and secret recesses of their hearts. they went on their errand, consulting with each other as to the best and the most efficient mode of executing the work, when finding very opportunely a pumpkin which grew on a shed on the road which they were pursuing, they took it, and substituting it for the child, brought away the baby and made him over to the vizier, who was highly pleased with the success of his secret wish. he brought up the child as his own, gave him a good education, and supplied all his wants. the poor mother, after so great a loss as the bereavement of her first-born, became distracted in mind. she went about roving from place to place as an insane person, and in doing so she happened to go to the country where her son was witli the vizier. she saw there some fakirs, dervishes, with other destitute classes of persons, going in crowds to a public treat which was to be giveu by the vizier. she inquired of her fellow-travellers on what account the dinner was to be given. they informed her that the vizier had a handsome boy, and as his marriage overtures were completed, the feast was inten ded in honour of the occasion. the poor woman, hearing of this, had strong secret presentment that the lad might be no other than her long lost son for whom she was grieving ; so she ventured to follow the tide of the crowd with the anxious expectation of seeing the dear child by some propitious accident, and that she might by that means ascertain if he were her son for whom she was mourning so long in utter despondence. when she had taken a quiet seat at a distance from the residence of the vizier, the boy, all life and hilarity, came out skipping and playing with other young persons of his own age. the moment that her eyes, in their searching glance, alighted on him, she discovered him to be her own son. unable to ( 20g ) suppress her maternal feelings and her emotions, she ran with tears and sobs, and embracing, kissed him fervently, saying that he was her own lost child. this turmoil and bustle which had collected a number of idle spectators, soon reached the acute ear of the yizier, who suspecting the cause, and fearing the result, instructed the four ruffians, who aided him in the capture of the boy, to convey the mad woman away from the place to some distant field, where they might strangle her, and put her out of the reach of mischief ; but the youth, who was at that time within audible distance from the yizier, concealed by a cloth partition, heariug his cruel request to the men, met them as they were about to go forth on their errand, and threatened to bring them to punishment if they ever dared to imbue their hands in the blood of the poor innocent creature, being, as he was, in possession of the secret of their conspiracy. if they liked, they might conduct her to a distance from the country, where she might be left with a menace never to approach the place where the vizier was, for in fact, she was guilty of no actual crime. he hastened also to have an interview with the woman ; he remonstrated against her imprudence for calling him her son, for a person like the vizier, he added, whose influence was considerable, and whose authority extensive, had it in his power to inflict severe punishment. he warned her not to come to the country again if she valued her life. " you are my own son, how can i live without seeing you ?" she said " let me rather die than be prevented from beholding what to me is more than life." she was taken away, however, and set at liberty in a field, at a considerable distance from the vizier's locality, but she did not quit the country, and remained at the adjacent village, where she made daily minute inquiries where the school was to which the vizier's son went to receive instruction, at what hour he left home, and the way by which he went there. having ascertained these particulars, she went and seated herself patiently on the road by which the youngster was expected to return from the school. ( 207 ) as the vizier's son was going home iu a palkee, his sight fell oil the womau. after passing her a short distance, he stopped, and going up to her, remonstrated against her being seen in the country, and the danger to which she was ex posing herself indiscreetly. she wept, and told him how diffi cult it was for her to part from him, having found him after the lapse of so many years. " enquire, my son," she said " of the midwife who attended on me at your confinement, and who is living in this very country, and she will corroborate the fact and satisfy you if you are my child or not." the vizier's son, hearing all this, returned to his abode with a head full of musings and a heavy heart. he could neither relish his dinner, nor take any pleasure iu his usual recreations, until the mystery was solved to his own satisfaction. going one day for a walk, he took his course towards the house of the midwife, from whom he learnt whose sou he was, and the inci dents of his past life. he became dissatisfied with his situation at the vizier's, having learnt by what means his poor mother had been deprived of her child. he had a private interview the next day with her, and advised her to institute a suit against the vizier in the durbar of the badsha. she adopted his ad vice, but found many obstacles, and met with strong opposition at court, where the influence of the vizier was considerable. the poor woman was about to be driven out of the durbar, with hisses and ridicule cast on her statements and for making invidious charges against the man of rank and position. she could find no sympathy from people whose sentiments were biassed in favour of the man of wealth, but met rather with laughter and derision. the youngster, making his appearance at the court when the wo man was being dismissed, spoke to the badsha without the least trepidation " great bads/id ! you are considered to be the father of your subjects. your government is established in the affection of your people by the impartial administration of justice, and the exercise of equitable laws. can you send this poor woman away without investigating her case, and ( 208 ) not incurring the reproach of foreign princes, and the chiefs, your neighbours, or exciting no discontent among your own sub jects, who possess common sense and a perception of right and wrong. try her case, good badsha ! and if it should prove that her allegations are false, punish rather than set a deceitful person at liberty ; but do not, i beseech you, let a woman, because poor, go away without receiving redress, nor let the innocent suffer wrong and injustice at the hands of a man who is surrounded with power, and screened by his sta tion from punishment, while he continues unchecked in the perpe tration of deeds of atrocity." after this public appeal was made to his justice, the badsha was obliged to give a hearing to her complaint. the midwife gave her deposition at the durbar, and the poor woman substantiated her claim by produc ing the mulna as witness, in whose ground she was residing at the time of her confinement, and from whence she lost her offspring in so tragical a manner ; nor could the vizier give a satisfactory explanation how he had obtained possession of the boy. the weight of these combined evidences inclined the balance of justice in her favour, and so the case was decided to her entire satisfaction. the son, to show that he was not unmindful of the favour and kindness he had received from the vizier, inter ceded for him with the badsha with tears and a glowing elo quence, and on his account the vizier was taken back into favour. the son was soon locked in the arms of his fond mother. they left the country together, and proceeded to the place where his father, the merchant, was expected to return from his protracted journey. they arrived at their own residence one evening. the meeting of the merchant with his wife and son was, though joyous, not unmixed with bitter regret on account of the many sad events which had transpired. now that the mother-in-law, who was the cause of the wife's sufferings, was dead, the past was buried in oblivion. as a good, faithful, and prudent wife, she forbore to reproach him with the faults, not of his heart but his judgment. having passed ( 209 ) through the billows of tribulation, obtained her long lost child, and restored to the society of her husband for whom she had a .deep and sincere regard, she, like a wise woman, studied to forget her sufferings, and to make the best use of the blessings with which she was now surrounded ; and with this nice sense of propriety, she endeavoured to dissipate the gloom, which at times flitted over the life of her husband, when memory held to his view the remorseful picture of the past. he that diggeth a pit for another, falleth into it himself. hebe was a rajah who had a very valuable flower tree in his garden. he ordered his gardener not to permit anybody to pluck a single leaf, or to stand holding one of its branches, and to secure this object, he ordered a sentry to watch the tree, with power to shoot the culprit who violated his order. it so happened, that a poor simple youth had strolled into the garden unperceived by the guard, and holding one of the branches of the interdicted tree, stood looking admiringly at the gorgeous flowers, and inhaling their redolent fragrance. the guard, approaching the youth, told him of the offence of which he was guilty, beat him soundly, and sent him away. the reason why he did not unscrupulously destroy his life was, that he was a simpleton, and that he did it from sheer ignorance. the youngster, smarting under the infliction, and hearing the relation of his offence which appeared to him very preposterous, exclaimed, " ah! what wonderful tree is that for which there are such curious restrictions. i know a tree of incalculable value, called assnce tree, with munca leaf, which bears pearls and yields coral, and on whose branches lacs of birds roost at 27 ( 210 ) night, while the shadow of the tree falls over a circumference of eighty miles." the sentry, hearing this bold expression of the youth, caugh,t and took him before the eajah, he was interrogated regarding the tree. the youth related its virtues and wonderful properties, when the badsha asked him to produce it. the youth, having obtained three months' leave to find the tree, went on in his journey not knowing exactly whither. he came at last to the border of a jungle, entering which he saw a joghee, behind whom he went and stood in breathless silence. the religious mendicant, knowing that some one was stand ing behind, requested him to come before. in doing as the youngster was bid, he saluted the joghee with the conciliatory appellation of father. the joghee observed, " if you have come to serve me, my son, go and fill yonder pipe with gunjah" the youth did as he was requested. the joghee, enjoying his intoxicating pipe, waited the arrival of certain devotees who brought him every morning and evening a variety of edibles as offerings to be presented by him to the rural deities. after accepting these offerings, and going through the religious cere monies, he gave the men back half of what they brought, and retained the residue for his own use. the youth shared daily with the joghee in the refreshments thus brought for their sus tenance. living in this manner for some time, ihe joghee found the youth one day rather moody, and inquired the reason of his abstraction. the youth disclosed to him the reason of his visit to the jungle. the joghee advised him to travel in a certain direction of the forest, where he would come in sight of a tank, near the verge of which he would discover a bushy tree, climb ing it he should remain concealed until he saw some one going to bathe in the tank. the youth did as he was advised. he saw three seraphic visitants from his concealment on the tree. coming near they divested themselves of their outer bright garments, and went down to enjoy the refreshing liquid of the ( 211 ) tank. while they were sporting in the pellucid water, the youth took up and concealed their garments. the celestial beings, coming up to dress themselves, and not finding their garments, were placed in a sad state of perplexity. they called out to any one who might have taken to restore them the articles, and that they were willing to accede to any terms, or requests which might be made for their restoration. the youth, in giving up the things, stipulated that they should consent to marry him. they were compelled to yield, but they intended to defeat his object by some of their many arti fices. the eldest of the three sisters presented herself on the day fixed for the solemnization of marriage, in the revolting condition of a female covered all over with unsightly sores and ulcers. the joghee, who was deeply versed in the occult sciences, and who had a familiar knowledge of all things, perceiving the manoeuvre that was about to be practised upon his protege, winked at the youth not to evince any hesitation, or decline the marriage, but to accept her hand cheerfully and cordially. having succeeded in gaining the hand of the eldest of the celestial purrees, her two younger sisters were easily subdued to his wishes. taking his three wives to the country of his birth, he resided in their happy company, forgetful in the witchery of their charming conversation, of his engagement with the badsha. one day, when his wives' nails had grown beyond a decent length, and they had expressed a desire to have them pared, the barber who was sent for to execute the office, happened to be the rajah's hair-dresser. "when the first wife submitted her hand through the folds of a flowing drapery that answered the purpose of a screen, it was a sight of such dazzling beauty to the barber that he sank motionless to the floor. when the two other sisters presented their hands in their turn, it had the same effect on him. when on the following morning the barber was visiting the rajah, he told him, in the glowing language of admiration and wonder, that he saw the hands of three very extraordinary beauties living with the plain poor youth who was under ( 212 ) engagement to the rajah to produce a very rare tree. the barber strongly urged the rajah to destroy the worthless fellow, as he had not yet executed his commission, and to take two of his wives to himself, and to make him a present of the third. the rajah informed him that the time appointed for accom plishing his promise was not up yet, and therefore to go and remind him of the tree. this the barber did with alacrity. three days, however, before his contract with the rajah would have terminated, the youth became sad and thoughtful, and in that depressed predicament showed little dispositon for the enjoyments of the table. one of the purrees, with winning and persuasive manners, extracted from him the reason of his dejection. he related to her all about the rajah's famous tree, the rules which he had laid down for its preservation, and the stripes which he had endured on account of unwittingly violating his injunction, adding that, in his vexation and suffering, he had uttered the name of a tree of which he had not the remotest idea if it existed any where in the whole universe, and that it was this folly for which he was regretting and repining. the purree requested him to cheer up his spirits, saying that the thing was of easy accomplishment. " gro," she said, " and tell the rajah to make a covered path from our residence to the plain before his palace, and to encircle the field with a wall of cloth and a canopy on the top, covering an area of eighty miles, when the tree will be produced and exhibited before the bad shn, his subjects, and such friends as he may wish to invite to the wonderful show." the preparation being got ready with all expedition, and all the guests invited to the exhibition from neighbouring countries, the eldest purree went to the plain through the covered passage, stood at the centre of the field, and there shook her luxuriant raven tresses loose from their graceful confinement. in a moment she sprouted forth to the full dimensions of a magni ficent tree, her hair forming leaves of gorgeous loveliness, while the entire form and outline was of exquisite beauty. all ( 213 ) stood at first gazing at it with mute attention, wrapt up with thoughts of wondering admiration, and then burst forth into loud and exultant praise at such an uncommon sight. the poor youth was heartily glad to have escaped from a dilemma into which his imprudence had thrown him, but the envious barber would not let him alone. he went to the rujah, and again urged him to destroy the young man, take two of his wives, and bestow on him the third as a gift for his protracted faithful services. the rajah told him that he could not do him an injustice. the barber advised him to send for the youth, order him to put out all the mustard seed from his godown, for the purpose of drying and airing in the sun, and after that to gather the whole, and store the seed in the same place by the evening, taking care that there should not be the smallest deficiency in the quantity, or delay in its ex ecution, for in that case he should be beheaded. the command of the rajah was speedily communicated by the officious barber to the youth. on receiving this unpleasant order, he was made thoughtful and reflective, not only on account of the arduous nature of the task imposed, but justly conjecturing that such a novel and whimsical injunction foreboded no good, but appeared rather to be a snare by which to entangle him. the second purree was made acquainted by him with this other secret grief which was rankling in his bosom. she recommended his banishing all apprehension from his mind, to go to work with alacrity, and after the mustard seed had been spread out, dried, and aired in the sun, according to his instructions, to tell her then, and she would send somebody to gather the seed into the barn without the loss of a single grain. she possessed some secret power and influence over all tribes and classes of pigeons ; she, therefore, by supernatural means, commanded a large flock to appear. they came before her in dark clouds, and waited submissively to hear her commands. they were desired to go with all expedition and gather every particle of mustard grain which was drying in the sun, into the godown of the rajah ( 214 ) before sunset, and to take good care that not a single grain was lost in performing the work. this was executed with celerity, and the necessary care and attention which it needed. the wicked barber, in the performance of his office on the fol lowing day, was informed by the rajah that the youth could not be entrapped. the baffled barber sbt his diabolical genius to cogitate on some other plan to ensnare the youth, and before the day had closed, he presented himself before his royal em ployer with sinister advice, from which he deemed there would be small chance for the youngster to extricate himself. " may it please your highness," said the barber, " to command the youth to pay a visit to your honored parents in paradise, and to bring news from thence how the venerable couple are doing there." the youth was sent for, and the wishes of his sove reign was communicated. he was sore puzzled to know by what means a journey to heaven could be accomplished, but the barber, who was present at the conference, enlightened him on the subject, by informing him that the journey was to be per formed after the same manner as it was done by a suttee. the youth went home with a drooping head, and dejected counten ance, and overwhelmed with fearful forebodings. his third wife, ascertaining the cause of his altered mood, told him to entertain no fear, for that she had the means in her power to preserve him from the destruction his enemies were aiming to execute. while the kajah had ordered a funeral pyre of the scented sandal wood to be erected, and the wood was being piled for the morrow's immolation, the purree, who presided over all rats as their sovereign, invited them to appear before her, and they came tumbling, scratching, and crowding in large herds. she commanded all of them to start off immediately, and commence an excavation from her residence to the spot over which the pyre was being erected, taking care that the whole operation should terminate within the night. the youngster was advised how to act on the occasion, when the rajah's officers came to take him away on the following morning. he ( 215 ) mounted the logs of wood amidst the deafening roar of drums and other equally discordant instruments, and the cheer ing shouts of the spectators ; but as soon as the pile was lighted, and the smoke had risen from the bottom and en shrouded him, he turned over and dropped into the excavation which led him on to the room of his own residence. the barber was highly gratified at the destruction of the youth, and the success of his treacherous scheme. he took an early opportunity to visit the rajah, and to remind him now that the fellow was despatched to the shades below, to take two of his incomparable wives to himself, and make him a royal present of the third. the rajah reminded him that the stipulated time for his return, which was the fourth day, was not yet expired, and on that account, that he could not so soon set about making a division of his wives. on the morning of the fourth day, as the youth was proceeding from his house to the palace, such men as had been spectators of his immolation, seeing him resuscitated, ran away from him with fear. the rajah, with whom was his flatterer, the barber, seeing the youth approaching, fell senseless on the floor, not knowing if he were a spirit, or the same person in his corporeal appearance. so soon as the rajah revived, the youth, saluting him, said, that he had much pleasure in seeing his worthy parents ; they were doing very well, except that his father's beard had grown in conveniently bushy, and his mother's nails had become too long, and that he was delegated to convey the wishes of his respected parents to him, which was to send them their old servant, the barber, to cut his hair, and to pare her nails. the rajah, in the presence of his full court, compelled the barber to pay a visit to his father, as it was, he observed, their united, urgent, and particular wish that he should be sent. the cursing and swearing, and debasing humiliations of the barber, could not avert his fate. he was forced to fall into the snare which he had thrice laid to destroy a harmless innocent person. he was burnt on the pyre the next day to be a warning to those who read his story. a parody on the cashmerian girl. with soorma tinge thy black eyes fringe. l. v. derozio. |tjv et thy eye's soft blue, shine on my view, (^3 that will gladden oft my weary day ; let virtue dress each modest tress, and lena love shall be my lay. lena ! there's many a glitt'ring gem, which the dark caves of ocean bind, but none, thou. dear, and sainted maid, none like thee i e'er shall find ! in seraz walks many tints may glow, which many men may fondly seek ; but who can find, so rare a kind, like that which shades thy brow so meek ? by thy side to walk, with holy talk, pleasant the earth would be to me ; thy chasten'd look, calm as the brook, would bid the clouds of sorrow flee. nay, smile in love, for thou shouldst smile, though the fair world be not our home ; our hopes are bright, and the future light, illumes our path where'er we roam. ( 217 ) that light my love, is from above, no sad'ning darkness we shall know ; that ray was deigu'd, with love unfeign'd, our hearts to gladden with its glow. the worldly life is full of strife, and all its scenes below are sad ; then i would haste, with my angel guest, to that fair world where all are glad. no shades of gloom, would be our doom, in that love's ocean depths above, where the fair field, would ever yield, spontan'ous joy and lasting love. in that verdant shore, where evermore, no sorrow's tears would dare to fivw ; there we would live, no more to grieve, our hearts circl'd with a holy glow then come on love, we'll wing like dove, and mount up to that region of peace ; we will there dwell, leaving this dark vale, with bright seraphs in endless bliss. ( 218 the tears of sympathy an imitation of " the liquid gem," adapted to the same air. flny drops of sparkling dew, changeful in thy lovely hue ; nature's shrine and earthly bower, cradles thee midst morning flower. but the liquid gems that shine, ever truthful and divine, are the holy tears that lie, deep in hearts that ever sigh. tiny drops &c. humid orbs of heavenly love, born of feelings from above ; priceless pearls from holier mine, glisten sweet o'er human shrine. pour thy soft'ning soothing ray, o'er hearts that weep and fade away ; thou soft gem of lasting light, shed thy rays o'er life's dark night. humid orbs &o. , ,r southern regional 001 430 339 hbmb vy> '/, a .,y> y /,v;'/,y, /;>.'' 233 498 columbia libraries offsite cu50726714 580.6 lo8;v.9 a limnological recon botany reading p580,6 butlep i o8 columbia university 9 in the city of new york library didas men sigill mbiae novieboract collegit a10 c university of iowa studies in natural history | volume ix 1920-1921 cine i seijo pennel university of iowa 1921 . apr 1 2 1323 contents volume ix a limnological no. 1. birge, e. a. and juday, chancey. reconnaissance of west okoboji. no. 2. stoner, dayton. nesting habits of the hermit thrush in northern michigan. no. 3. trowbridge, a. c. the erosional history of the driftless area. no. 4. lindsey, a. w. the hesperioidea of america north of mexico. > no. 5. clark, a. h., rathbun, mary j., boone, pearl l., shoemaker, c. r., clark, h. l. reports on the crinoids, ophiurans, brachyura, tanidacea and isopoda, amphipods, and echinoidea of the barbadosantigua expedition of 1918. university of iowa studies in natural history professor charles cleveland nutting, m. a., editor continuation of bulletin from the laboratories of natural history of the state university of iowa volume ix number 1 a limnological reconnaissance of west okoboji by e. a. birge and chancey juday published by the university, iowa city 1 1 1 1 1 a limnological reconnaissance of west okoboji e. a. birge and chancey juday i-situation, area, volume lake okoboji lies in dickinson county close to the northern boundary of iowa; it is situated in t. 99 n; r. 36 and 37 w. its approximate position is lat. 43.35° n; long. 95.13° w. the region adjacent to the lake is thickly studded with other lakes and lakelets. two lakes of considerable sizeeast okoboji and spirit lakes—are connected with it. besides these there are ten or more bodies of water, which are large enough to bear names, and smaller ponds and pondlets by the score. none of these bodies of water, except okoboji lake, has any considerable depth. east okoboji lake reaches a maximum depth of about 8 m. (26 ft.), but most of its area is less than 3 m. (10 ft.) deep. spirit lake has a maximum depth of 7.6 m. (25 ft.), but much of the area is between 6 m. and 7.5 m (20 ft., 25 ft.) deep. okoboji lake has a maximum depth of more than 40 m. (132 ft.)and therefore differs widely from its two neighbors both in physical and biological characters. the following paper records the results of a limnological reconnaissance of the lake, july 28-august 2, 1919. the reconnaissance was made as part of the coöperative work done by the united states bureau of fisheries in connection with the wisconsin geological and natural history survey. the present report is issued with the permission of the bureau. the study was carried on at the iowa lakeside laboratory, to which the authors are indebted for much help and many courtesies. 1 dr. tilton ('16 p. 96) reports a depth of 135 feet. but as nothing is said regarding the calibration of his line, the maximum may still better stand at that found by the regular survey. a 4 iowa studies in natural history * the region about lake okoboji and the lake itself was surveyed by the civil engineering department of iowa state college through its summer surveying camp. the camp was held there from 1905 to 1912, and the topography of the region and the hydrography of the larger lakes were surveyed. in 1913 a pamphlet was published by the college (ford '13) giving the methods employed, together with maps showing the results. among the maps are a topographical map of the region on a scale of 1 in. to 5100 ſt., and a map giving the soundings in okoboji lake on a scale of 1 in. to 2500 ft. the college also kindly furnished us with a blue print map of the lake, scale 1 in. to 1000 ft., which was used in all measurements. this map was reproduced in the iowa report on lakes and lake beds on a scale of about 1 in. to 2030 ft. in this report about one page of description is given to the lake and its area is stated as 3788 acres (iowa '16, p. 56, map no. 18)* the area thus given is accepted in this paper. the small scale map of the lake gives all of the soundings, numbering 732, or about 48 per sq. km. the large scale map gives a selection of these, numbering 261. the soundings were taken from a motor boat which was kept constantly in motion. its position at the moment of sounding was signalled to two observers on shore who kept the boat constantly in sight with transits. by this method the position of the boat could hardly have been determined with minute accuracy, especially in the deeper water, and the maps give no dot or other similar indication of the precise position of the soundings. it is known that the small area which contains the deepest soundings lies somewhat to the west of the place indicated on the map. under these conditions no attempt was made to plat the soundings omitted on the large scale map. in drawing the contours for the hydrography a 20-foot interval was used, since there are not enough soundings along the shores to warrant the use of a 10-foot interval. the areas included in the several contours were measured with the planimeter, with the following result: f * note: appended to this article as plate i. a limnological reconnaissance 5 66 66 66 66 table 1-area of okoboji lake-acres (from map, scale 1 m.=1,000 ft.) area at surface--_3788 acres 20 feet -2750 40 _1629 60 973 80 326 100 114 120 9 132 0 60 66 66 66 60 . note: the surface area is taken from the report of the state highway commission, 1916, p. 56. the contour map and the measurements show that the main slope of the bottom of the lake is fairly uniform to the depth of 80 ft., but that below this depth the slopes are decidedly steeper. in fact, the form of the basin is such as to lead the observer to expect a maximum depth of about 90 ft. or 100 ft. instead of this, however, a small area extends to a depth of 132 ft., or 30 ft. to 40 ft. more than would be expected. from the data thus secured a hypsographic curve of the lake was platted and from this were derived the areas corresponding to 5 m., 10 m., etc. from these data there were computed the area, volumes, etc., of the lake in metric units, as shown in the following table. the same data computed in cubic yards, etc., directly from the areas of the 20-ft. levels give substantially the same results. table 2-okoboji lake–general features length, 8.79 km; 5.46 mi. greatest breadth, 4.57 km; 2.84 mi. direction of main axis, north and south. area, 1535 ha; 3788 a. greatest depth, 40.2 m; 132 ft. mean depth, 12.3 m; 40.4 ft. volume, 188,340,000 cu. m; 246,340,000 cu. yds. length of shore line, 29.3 km; 18.2 mi. shore development, 2.13. volume development, 0.92. mean slope of bottom, 1° 34'; 2.74%. notes: the mean depth is found by dividing the volume by the area of the surface. the volume of the several strata are computed h b 3 upper surface of the stratum, b is the area of the lower surface and h the vertical distance between the surfaces—in this case 5 meters. from the formula (a+b+v ab), in which a is the area of the 6 iowa studies in natural history by shore development is meant the ratio of the periphery of the water to the circumference of a circle of equal area. the mean slope is computed from the formula s= 4216 +1, +1, +13 +in-1 +121 h a 2 n 1' in this formula s=mean slope; 1,, i, etc.=length of contour lines from surface to bottom; n=number of such contours; h=maximum depth; a=area of the lake. (see juday '14, p. 123). table 3-details of okoboji lake volume area area between depth || ha. per cent|| stratum || contours meters of total || meters ha. 0 1535 100.0 0-5 330 5 1205 78.5 5-10 402 10 803 52.3 10-15 274 15 529 34.5 15-20 214 20 315 20.5 20-25 198 25 117 7.60 25-30 67 30 49.9 3.25 30-35 35.3 35 14.6 0.95 35-40.2 14.6 cubic meters 68,310,000 49,900,000 33,100,000 20,880,000 10,360,000 4,020,000 1,520,000 250,000 per cent of total 36.3 26.5 17.6 11.1 5.5 2.1 0.8 0.1 40 0 0 188,370,000 the volume development is the ratio of the volume of a lake to that of a cone of equal base and height. if the lake were a tank with vertical sides the volume development would be three. since in this case the volume development is less than 1.00, the volume of the lake is smaller than that of a cone of equal base and altitude. this condition is rarely found in lakes, especially in lakes of considerable depth, and it constitutes the main peculiarity of the basin of lake okoboji. in most lakes there is a steep slope on the sides below the level to which the work of the waves extends and a nearly flat bottom. in such a lake the volume exceeds that of the cone with which it may be compared. in order that this condition may be better appreciated a comparison is made between okoboji lake and lake geneva, wisconsin-a lake of somewhat larger area but not much exceeding okoboji in depth. the area of lake geneva is 2210 ha.; its maximum depth is 43.3 meters; its mean depth is 19.7 m; and its volume development 1.41. the instructive comparisons are those of percentage of volume and area at certain depths. a limnological reconnaissance 7 per cent per cent table 4-comparison of okoboji and geneva lakes. see fig. 1. depth, area at depth; volume below depth; meters okoboji geneva okoboji geneva 0 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0 5 78.5 80.0 64.7 77.1 52.3 68.5 37.9 58.3 15 34.5 61.0 20.1 41.8 20 20.5 50.7 8.9 27.6 25 7.6 39.0 3.1 16.2 3.25 29.3 0.9 7.6 35 0.95 14.1 0.1 2.2 0.00 2.7 0.0 0.2 43.3 0.0 10 30 40 ome% 10 20 jo 50 60 70 80 90 100% 5 10 10 6 15 15 20 20 25 25 jo 30 35 ایه fig. 1. percentile hypsographic curves of lake okoboji (0) and geneva lake (g). these curves show the area of the lake basin at any depth, as a percentage of the area of the surface. see table 4. the difference between the lakes is striking. the area of the basin of okoboji lake is reduced to one-half that of the surface just below 10 meters; in geneva lake the same reduction is found below 20 meters, and this in spite of the fact that the areas of the two lakes at 5 meters are an al8 iowa studies in natural history most equal per cent of the surface. half of the volume of okoboji lake is found above the depth of about 7.5 m., while the same volume lies at the depth of 12.5 m. in lake geneva. seventy-five per cent of the volume of lake okoboji lies above the level of 13.8 m., while in lake geneva the same level lies about 7 m. deeper, at 21 m. the small volume of the deeper water in okoboji lake has an important bearing on the temperature of the lower water, and so on the mean temperature and on the quantity of heat absorbed by the lake during the open season. in computing the quantity of heat taken in by the lake, it is necessary to know one more physical constant, viz., the reduced thickness of the strata, or the thickness of any given stratum of water if its area is made equal to that of the surface. the mean depth is the reduced thickness of the entire lake, i. e., it is equal to the depth of a vertical sided tank necessary to hold all the water of the lake, if its area is equal to that of the lake's surface. it is convenient for various purposes of computation to select strata as thin as one meter, especially near the surface and in the thermocline. the volume of such thin strata cannot be computed accurately from the soundings, nor is such accuracy needful. the percentile areas at 0 m., 5 m., etc., are platted on coördinate paper and connected by a smooth curve. then the percentages indicated at the middle of each meter of depth will give the reduced thickness of that stratum in centimeters. from the same curve the reduced thickness of any other stratum can also be derived. a limnological reconnaissance 9 table 5-reduced thickness of the several strata of okoboji lake stated to the nearest centimeter depth m. 0-1 1-2 2-3 3-4 4-5 rt. cm. 98 94 89 84 80 445 depth m. 20-25 25-30 30-35 35-40.2 rt. cm. 67 26 10 1.6 75 70 5-6 6-7 7-8 8-9 9-10 65 60 55 325 10-11 11-12 12-13 13-14 14-15 51 46 43 40 37 217 15-16 16-17 17-18 18-19 19-20 33 30 27 24 21 135 in order to appreciate more fully the peculiarities of the basin of lake okoboji, the reduced thickness of its several strata may be compared with those of lake geneva, wis. table 6reduced thickness of the several 5 m. strata of lake okoboji and lake geneva, stated in centimeters depth m. 0-5 5-10 10-15 15-20 20-25 25-30 30-35 35-bottom okoboji 445 325 217 135 67 26 10 1.6 (40.2 m.) geneva 451 370 325 280 225 170 106 43 (43.3 m.) total 12.266 19.70 it will be seen that the upper 5 m., of the two lakes have nearly the same reduced thickness and therefore an equal relative volume; but that the relative volume of the lower strata is much greater in lake geneva. the 15-20 m. stratum of geneva has a relative thickness more than twice as 10 iowa studies in natural history great as that of okoboji; the 20-25 m. stratum is more than three times as thick; the thickness of the 25-30 m. stratum is five times, and that of the 30-35 m. stratum ten times as great as are the corresponding figures for okoboji. the effect of this difference on temperatures is that the lower water of okoboji lake has a higher temperature and a less quantity of heat than would be the case in the lake basin of ordinary form. ii–temperatures table 7-temperature observations on okoboji lake, 1919 depth, meters i vii 29 ii vii 30 8.45 a iii vii 31 10.45 4.00 p 0 25.0 24.7 24.6 a con |||| 24.0 24.4 24.6 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 24.2 23.8 12 18.0 23.7 23.2 20.4 18.2 15.6 14.1 23.1 22.3 21.0 16.6 15.6 14.7 13.8 14.8 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 25 30 34 12.9 12.5 12.1 11.2* 12.1 11.2 11.0 10.8 * 23.5 m. series no. 1 was taken in the mouth of miller's bay. series no. ii near the deepest water, which could not be placed on that day. series no. iii in deepest water found. in the evening of july 29 the hot weather was broken by squalls with rain and the wind shifted to the north, returning to south on july 30 and 31. the weather continued cool and the surface temperature fell, while that at 5 m. and 10 m. rose. the computations are based on the observations of a limnological reconnaissance 11 july 30, supplemented by those of july 31 for depths below 20 m. july 30, 1919 table 8-temperature of okoboji lake depth, meters temperature 0-5 5-10 10-15 15-20 20-25 25-30 30-35 35-40.2_ 24.6° 23.9° 18.8° 13.1° 11.6° 11.1° 10.9° 10.8° mean 21.00 from the observations in table 7, a temperature curve may be platted, as shown in fig. 2; and from such a curve the mean temperature of each one-meter stratum may easily be derived. the figure shows a normal curve, with a strongly marked thermocline, beginning at 11 m., and ending at 15 m. there was a fall of 4.4° between 12 m., and 13 m., and only 1.9' between 13 m., and 15 m. the total fall between 11 m. and 15 m. is 7.6°. in the observation on the 29th there was a decline of 9.1° in the same distance. such variations are of constant occurrence in a lake; and if the thermocline of lake okoboji is defined as the zone within which the temperature falls as much as 1.0° per meter, it will be found to vary from 4 m. to 6 m. in thickness. the irregularity shown at 14 m. to 16 m., on the 30th should not influence us to limit the zone to 3 m. or extend it to 5 m. for this occasion. the mean temperature in table 8 is computed as follows: the mean temperature of the several 5 m. strata is multiplied by the per cent of volume of that stratum, as shown in table 3. the sum of these products gives the mean temperature of the lake as 20.996', or, as stated, about 21.0'. this is an exceptionally high mean temperature for a lake of the area and depth of okoboji. it is due to the high temperature and small volume of the lower water; and the first of these causes is itself largely due to the second. 12 iowa studies in natural history we may state therefore that the mid-summer temperature of okoboji lake in 1919 was close to 21° c. quantity of heat. from the data thus stated it is possible to compute the quantity of heat represented by this rise of temperature to 21°. if this gain is to be stated there must be a starting point from which the gain may be computed. this obviously is not zero, as no lake has so low a temperature. as stated in another paper (birge '15, p. 170), there are two methods of stating the gains of heat. one is the annual heat budget, which takes as its starting point the mean temperature of the water immediately after the time of freezing, or, less accurately, at any time during the ice-period. the other is the summer heat-income, which starts from the temperature of 4°c.—that of the maximum density of water. for reasons stated in the paper referred to, the conclusions to be drawn from either of these methods are much the same. in all cases the gains between the winter temperature and 4° must be discussed apart from those above 4°. in the case of okoboji lake we are limited to the summer heat-income, since the winter temperatures are still unknown. the gains of heat are stated in gram calories per square centimeter of the surface of the lake. a rise of 1° in a stratum 100 cm. thick represents a gain of 100 cal. per sq. cm. of surface. the formula for computing the summer heat-income is (t-4) · rt; in which t is the mean temperature of any stratum and rt the reduced thickness of the stratum stated in centimeters. if the lake is considered as a unit, rt is the mean depth. in this case the mean temperature is 21.0 and the mean depth 12.3 m., or more exactly 1227 cm. the summer heat-income is therefore (21-4): 1227=20849 cal., or approximately 21,000 cal. per square centimeter of the surface. the value of the summer heat-income will vary slightly with the stratum used in the computation. if the computation is made by 5 m. strata the result is the same as that from the mean temperature, as the following table shows: a limnological reconnaissance 13 rt cm. table 9—summer heat-income, okoboji lake depth, meters t-4 calories percent 0-5 20.6 445 9167 44.0 5-10 19.9 325 6468 31.0 10-15 14.8 217 3242 15.4 15-20 9.1 135 1228 5.9 20-25 7.6 67 509 2.4 25-30 7.1 26 185 0.9 30-35 6.9 10 69 0.3 35-40 6.8 1.6 11 0.1 20849 100.0 this result, as well as that of the preceding table, gives the number of calories in a volume of water whose base is 1 sq. cm., and whose total height is equal to the mean depth of the lake. if the computation is made by single meters in the upper water, the result is somewhat larger, as the following table of the upper 20 meters shows: table 10—summer heat-income by single meters 0 m.-20 m. t-4 rt cm. calories 98 94 89 84 80 75 9162 70 depth meter 0-1 1-2 2-3 3-4 4-5 5-6 6-7 7-8 8-9 9-10 10-11 11-12 12-13 13-14 14-15 15-16 16-17 17-18 18-19 19-20 6468 20.7 20.7 20.6 20.5 20.4 20.3 20.2 20.0 19.6 19.2 18.7 17.6 14.8 12.0 11.0 10.2 9.4 9.0 8.6 8.3 65 60 55 51 46 43 40 37 33 2029 1946 1833 1722 1632 1522 1414 1300 1176 1056 954 810 636 480 407 337 282 243 206 174 3287 30 27 24 21 1242 in table 10 the calories in the 10 m.-15 m. stratum and in the 15 m.-20 m. stratum are greater when computed by single meters than when the mean of the five temperatures 14 iowa studies in natural history 100 000 alo rt o tempo 400 20 000 jo 1000 jo 10 70 00 12 10 90 18 e 2000 100 20 c col 10 20 20 16 sol : fig. 2. temperature, summer heat-income, and reduced thickness of okoboji lake. the curve rt gives at any point the reduced thickness in centimeters (p. 8) of a stratum one meter thick whose center is at that point. the curve cal. gives the summer heat-income per meter of depth corresponding to the temperature curve. it is given in calories per square_centimeter of the surface. it is derived from the two other curves by the formula (t-4): rt. see p. 12. is multiplied by the sum of the five rt's. the reason is obvious: the temperatures in the upper part of the stratum are above the mean and are multiplied by the larger numbers representing the reduced thickness. the temperatures in the lower part of the stratum, which are as much below the mean as the others are above it, are multiplied by the smaller rt. the result is to make the sum of the calories greater in the 10 m.-15 m. stratum by as much as 75; in the others the difference is small since the change of temperature is not so great. the larger amount is the more accurate, since it gives proper weight to smaller units of thickness, but in general the difference is not worth noting. in each case the summer heat-income of okoboji lake would be stated as about 21,000 cal. in 1919. the more accurate total is convenient to use in discussing the distribution of heat. employing single meters to 20 m. and 5 m. intervals below that depth, it is 20,933 cal. a limnological reconnaissance 15 the distribution of heat. each square centimeter of the surface of lake okoboji absorbs 20,933 cal. out of the heat delivered to it by the sun after the water has reached 4°; and this heat is distributed through the water of the lake in a manner shown by the temperature curve in fig 2. the length of the warming period is not known from observation, but probably this lake, like lake mendota, reaches the temperature of 4* about april 15 and continues to gain heat in the average year until august 15, although very little is gained after august 1. the sun should deliver about as much heat at okoboji as at lake mendota, since their latitude is practically the same and okoboji is about 5.8° farther west. we may therefore assume that okoboji lake, like mendota, receives about 60,000 cal. per sq. cm, of surface during the period when the summer heat-income is gained, or about 54,000 cal. to august 1. if the lake, therefore, gains about 21,000 cal., it lays up about one-third of its total receipts of heat and about 40% of its receipts to august 1. the remainder is partly reflected; it is partly used in evaporation, and much of it is returned to the air during the night and whenever the temperature of the air falls. it is possible to follow the distribution of the heat received by the surface through the water of the lake, as is shown by the following table: 16 iowa studies in natural history table 11-distribution in depth of summer heat-income stated in calories per square centimeter of the surface of the lake depth meters calories 20933 18904 2 16958 15125 13403 11771 10249 7 8835 7535 6359 10 5303 11 4349 12 3539 13 2903 14 2423 15 2016 16 1679 17 1397 18 1154 19 948 20 774 25 265 30 80 35 11 40.2 0 coro octa cono it must be noted that this table and the account of the heat exchanges of the lake in general take no account of the heat which passes through the water and goes into the mud of the lake. it is obvious, for example, that if the bottom water at the deepest part of the lake stands at a temperature above 10° for months, no small quantity of heat must pass through it into the mud; and this heat must ultimately be supplied from the surface. at less depths the passage of heat into the bottom mud or sand must be even more rapid since the temperature of the water is higher. the number of 21,000 cal. does not represent the total heat which passes through the water of the lake, but that which remains in the water. nothing is known about the mud temperature of okoboji lake, or indeed of any lake, except mendota; and information is far from complete regarding that. perhaps 10% is a fair estimate of the addition which should be made if the heat of the mud is to be accounted for. this statement is not made with any idea of making a limnological reconnaissance 17 further use of so rough an estimate, but that the table may not seem to imply that no heat whatever passes the 40.2 m. level. for certain purposes it is necessary to state the amount of heat at each level in terms of the area at the depth in question rather than in those of the surface. the number of calories, for instance, passing through each square centimeter of the lake at the depth of 10 m. is equal to the number of calories given in table 11 divided by the per cent of the surface area which is found at 10 m., as is shown in table 3. the following table gives the result: table 12–calories per square centimeter at certain depths stated in terms a-of the surface of the lake b-of the area at the depth in question depth area % cal. a. cal. b. 100.0 20933 20933 78.5 11771 15000 10 52.3 5303 10140 15 34.5 2016 5840 20 20.5 774 3780 25 7.60 265 3490 3.25 80 2460 35 0.95 11 1160 s m touro 30 from tables 11 and 12 it appears that nearly one-half of the heat-income remains in the upper five meters of the lake; that more than half of the remainder is left between 5 m. and 10 m.; that more than 90% is found above 15 m.; and that little more than 1% of the income is delivered into the water which lies below 25 m. on the other hand, table 12, b shows that there is a very considerable amount of heat delivered to each square centimeter of the several 5 m. planes of the lake. at the depth of 30 m., for instance, there are found only 80 cal. per sq. om., out of the 21,000 cal. which passed each sq. cm. of the surface. but through each sq. cm. of the 30 m. plane there passed 2460 cal. if that part of the lake below 30 m. be considered as a lake by itself, its area (table 3) is 49.6 ha.; its volume 18 iowa studies in natural history 1,770,000 cu. m.; its maximum depth 10.2 m.; and its mean depth {} is 357 cm its mean temperature is nearly 10.9°, so that t-4 nearly equals 6.9°; and this temperature multiplied by the mean depth equals 2463 cal., or substantially the result shown in table 12 for the heat-income. the transportation of heat. all of the heat accumulated by the lake comes from its surface. even that which is brought in by ground water enters ordinarily at the surface or very close to it and in a lake so large as okoboji the contribution of heat from the ground water—which is plus or minus, according to the time of year—is so small as to be negligible. the temperature of the water in the well at the lakeside laboratory was 11.3 on july 30. there are two agents by which the heat of the summer heat-income may be conveyed from the surface to the deeper water of the lake. it may be (a) delivered directly by the sun to the deeper strata of water, since the water is not opaque; or (b) it may be conveyed by the action of the wind, causing waves and currents by which the water warmed at the surface of the lake is carried downward and mingled with the colder water. it will be seen that in a lake of the type of okoboji the latter method is by far the more important. it will be well to assume at first that the distribution of heat is wholly due to wind and later to estimate the contribution of the sun to this task. so long as the temperature of the water is below 4° there is no trouble in conveying the warmed surface water downward, for it becomes heavier as it warms and it consequently sinks. the excess weight is very small and unless aided by wind the downward movement and consequent mixture would be slow. but wind is not lacking in early spring and even a light breeze is efficient in causing mixture of the water if gravity aids it. but when the temperature of the surface water passes 4 it becomes lighter as it warms and apart from the action of the wind it would remain floating on the colder and therea limnological reconnaissance 19 fore heavier water below. the wind causes both waves and currents; the former efficient in mixing the surface strata; the currents piling up the warmer water on the leeward side of the lake, mixing it with the colder water below it and in spring even setting the whole mass of water in the lake into a sort of rotation. thus the warmer and lighter water is forced downward and mixed with the lower and colder strata and heat is thereby conveyed from the surface into the lake for a greater or less distance. such an operation clearly involves work against gravitation. we shall see that direct insolation is confined to the upper water and that it is quite inappreciable below the depth of ten meters. the bottom water therefore, which at thirtyfive to forty meters may have the temperature of 10.8°, owes all heat above 4' to the action of the wind. how much work is involved in such warming? the process has not been done at once, but in numerous stages, and the net amount of work may be represented by the amount of entrgy necessary to push down through water at its maximum density a stratum of water of the smaller density possessed by water at 10.8*. if the density of water at 4° is taken as 1.000,000, that of water at 10.8° is 0.99652; one liter has lost by warming 348 mg. in weight. for each liter therefore of warmed water carried from the surface to the 35 m.-40 m. stratum a weight of 348 mg. must be moved a mean distance of 37.5 meters. if the volume of the stratum is known, the amount of work can easily be computed. there is, however, a more convenient method of computation. since the heat is expressed in calories per square centimeter of the surface the work needed to distribute it is best expressed in the same way. then the volume of a stratum is represented by its reduced thickness stated in centimeters, which is equivalent to the weight in grams of a column of water whose base is a square centimeter and whose height is the reduced thickness of the stratum. the formula for computing the work is rt.dm.(1.000,000-d) in which rt is the reduced thickness of the stratum stated in centimeters and therefore equal to the weight in grams 20 iowa studies in natural history of a column whose base is one square centimeter. dm is the distance in centimeters from the surface to the middle of the stratum, and (1.000,000-d) is the loss of weight as a decimal fraction of unity. in okoboji lake the values are in the example taken rt of 35 m.-40m.=1.6 cm. (table 5) dm=3750 cm. (1-d)=0.000,348 the result is 2.088; that is, the transport of the warmed water from the surface to the 35m.-40 m. stratum calls for 2.088 gram-centimeters of work per square centimeter of the lake. in this computation no account is taken of the viscosity of the water as a hindrance to mixture. in this way the work needed by each stratum may be computed. the value of rt.dm would be computed once for all for each stratum of the lake likely to be needed; it is called in later tables the factor for that stratum. in general we compute it by single meters to 20 m. and by 5 m. intervals below that depth. the value of (1-d) is taken ( from a table. (see birge '16, p. 391). in this way is computed the value of the direct work as shown by the following table: table 13–okoboji lake. direct and distributed work, july 30, 1919 f g h e gcm. 13.96 40.18 62.83 82.32 100.04 113.30 124.22 130.78 131.58 129.46 a b с d stratum temp. factor 1-d 299.37 0-1 24.7 49 2853 1-2 24.7 141 2853 2-3 24.6 222 2827 3-4 24.5 294 2802 4-5 24.4 360 2777 5-6 24.3 412 2752 6-7 24.2 455 2727 7-8 24.0 488 2677 8-9 23.6 510 2579 9-10 23.2 522 2483 10-15 18.8 2679 1581 15-20 13.1 2332 0611 20-25 11.6 1475 0431 25-30 11.1 715 0378 30-35 10.9 325 0358 35-40.2 10.8 60 0348 971.68 246.41 218.91 192.97 167.60 145.79 124.50 105.67 86.41 69.91 53.35 629.34 422.90 143.99 63.57 27.03 11.64 2.09 441.84 132.22 38.44 8.41 2.78 0.96 0.14 1599.93 1596.47 notes: 1. in col. c, two ciphers 00 are omitted at the right of a limnological reconnaissance 21 each number. in col. d, 0.00 is omitted at the left of each number; the significant figures only being employed in each case. 2. multiplication is done by crelle's tables, using three significant figures. the difference in the total of direct and distributed work is due to omitting some of the final figures in multiplying. 3. the direct work in the 10 m.-15 m. and 15 m.-20 m. strata is the sum of the work of the single meters, as is the case in the strata above. it is therefore not exactly the product of the numbers in cols. c and d. 4. col. c, factor, gives the product rt. dm for each stratum. col. d, 1-d, gives the significant figures showing the loss of density. 1.000,000_d. col. e gives the amount of work per square centimeter of surface of the lake, necessary to raise the stratum from 4° to the temperature stated by mixture of warm water from the surface. jo 100 150 200 250 vio 10 10 15 15 20 me g fig. 3. curves showing the direct work, the distributed work, and the effect of direct insolation. see pp. 19-26. the curves extend to the depth of 20 meters. the entire area enclosed by the curve of distributed work, abdeh, is equal to that of the direct work, aggh. the area, acdb, gives the direct effect of the sun, and the area, acdeh, that of the wind. the table shows that about 1600 g. cm. of work per sq. cm. of surface of the lake were needed to distribute 21,000 cal. per sq. cm. through the water of the lake. the upper and warmer strata of the lake required most of this work. the deeper strata needed very little. the reasons for this are found partly in the small volume of the lower strata, partly in their lower temperature, and partly in the fact 22 iowa studies in natural history that the loss of density per degree is much less at lower temperatures than at higher ones. a full statement of this fact and its results may be found in birge '10, pp. 989-1004. table 13, col. e shows the work done in behalf of each stratum or the work needed to carry the warmed water down from the surface and put it in place. most of the work therefore is done outside of the stratum which is to be warmed. in the case of the 5 m.-10 m. stratum two-thirds of the 629 g. cm. would be needed to bring the warmed water to the top of the stratum and one-third to distribute it through the stratum. in a similar way each upper stratum has its share of the work for all of those below it. it is possible, by a somewhat tedious computation to ascertain the amount of work done in each stratum. the method and details of this computation are shown in birge '16, p. 354. the results for okoboji lake are given in table 13, columns g and h, and show the distributed work. it appears that 971 g. cm., or nearly two-thirds of the whole work are done in the upper 5 m. this amount of work is needed to carry to a depth of 5 m. the heat which goes to the strata below 5 m., and to distribute through the 0 m.5 m. stratum the heat which remains there. similarly, 442 g. cm. of work are done in the 5 m.-10 m. stratum. the rôle of the sun. in this discussion of the distribution of heat it has been assumed that all warming below the surface is done by mixture; that the warmed water is taken from the surface and distributed by the wind. this assumption is, of course, incorrect as it implies that the water is opaque to the sun's radiation. it is necessary therefore to ascertain what aid the sun may give in the distribution of heat. from data so small in quantity as those available for lake okoboji this question can be answered very imperfectly. indeed, the data can tell us only the possible maximum contribution of the sun to the work of distributing heat. observations were made on july 29 with the pyrlimnimeter, an instrument for measuring the penetration of solar radiation into the water of the lake and its absorption by the water. it consists essentially of 20 small thermal a limnological reconnaissance 23 per cent couples which can be alternately exposed to the sun and covered. the electric current caused by the sun during exposure is measured by a d'arsonval galvanometer. the swing of the galvanometer is directly proportional to the heat energy in the solar radiation. if, therefore, the thermal couples are exposed first at a depth of one meter below the surface and then at a depth of two meters, the ratio of the two readings will give the rate at which the stratum of water transmits the solar radiation incident on its upper surface. readings were made in okoboji lake to the depth of four meters with the result shown in the following table: table 14-okoboji lake. readings of pyrlimnimeter, 11.10-11.27 local time. sky clear. transparency of water by secchi's disc, 3.1 m. depth, cm. divisions cal. per cent depth transmission, of air air 219.0 1.53 100.0 50 48.5 0.34 22.0 100 33.5 0.23 15.3 100-200 54 200 18.0 0.13 8.2 200-300 54 300 9.5 0.067 4.4 300-400 400 5.0 0.035 2.3 notes: the column marked divisions gives the swing of the galvanometer when the thermal couples are exposed to the sun. the column marked cal. gives the value of these readings in calories per square centimeter per minute. the fourth column shows the value of the readings in the water as a percentage of the readings in the air. the last column shows the rate at which a stratum of water one meter thick transmits the solar radiation incident on its upper surface. it appears that under the conditions of the observation about 15.3% of the solar radiation reaching the surface of the lake was present at the depth of 100 cm. nearly 85% therefore was either lost or absorbed before reaching that depth. such a result is a common one in lakes. the radiation at 100 cm. rarely exceeds 20% of the total radiation and often falls far below 15%. in absolutely pure water some 43% may remain at that depth. but the stains always dissolved in lake water and the particles of organic and inorganic matter suspended in it rapidly cut off the radiation. it appears also that below the depth of one meter, about 53%-54% of the energy which reaches the surface of each 53 24 iowa studies in natural history . one-meter stratum is transmitted to the surface of the next one-meter stratum. stated in terms of absorption, about 46%-47% of the energy of the solar radiation present at any depth below one meter is absorbed in passing through a stratum of that water one meter thick. thus it appears . that only a small fraction of the solar radiation penetrates the lake to the depth of one meter and that this small amount is very rapidly absorbed. if we assume that the conditions present at the time of observation are average ones, we may compute the general rôle of the sun in distributing heat. for this purpose we estimate as before that the sun delivers to the lake 60,000 cal. cm.” during the warming season. we take from the pyrlimnimeter reading that 22% of this reaches a depth of 50 cm.; that 15% penetrates to the depth of 100 cm.; and that the transmission below 100 cm. is 54% per meter. the result is then as follows: table 15heat delivered to the surface of the lake during the warming season and the amount delivered to various depths by direct insolation. stated in calories per square centimeter of horizontal surface depth cal. air 60,000 50 cm. 13,200 100 9,000 200 4,860 300 2,620 400 1,440 500 760 600 410 700 220 800 120 900 65 1000 66 35 table 15 shows in a very striking way how the direct influence of the sun is confined to the surface strata. at the depth of 5 m., for instance, there would be directly delivered only 760 cal. during the entire warming season of four months, or only about 6 cal. per day. the total is less than may be delivered to the surface in a day. at the same rate of transmission only 35 cal. would reach the depth of 10 m. a limnological reconnaissance 25 in four months, or about as much as may reach the surface in twenty minutes at noon. it is obvious that this computation is not based on average conditions, since on the one hand the reading was made near noon, when the sun was at a high altitude, and on the other hand it was far from the zenith and the path of its rays through each meter of depth would be more than 100 cm. it is quite possible to determine the energy present at 100 cm. and the rate of transmission if the sun were vertical ; and it is also possible from this new curve to determine the same data for the mean conditions during the warming period. the computation has been made with the following result: energy at 100 cm. transmission observed, july 29 15.3% 53%-54% vertical sun 16.0% 56%-57% mean sun, (apl. 15-aug. 15) 14.2% 50%-51% it would be possible to use the computed mean sun in the following work instead of the observed data. but the difference is not great, and the result is at best only a rough approximation. the value of the mean sun is based on five years of observation at madison, wis., in the same latitude as okoboji. effect of direct insolation. we may now go on to compute the direct effect of the sun on the distribution of heat. we have as data (1) the downward movement of heat amounting to 20,933 cal. cm.? at the surface (table 11); (2) the amount of work needed to distribute this heat (table 13, g); (3) the heat directly contributed by the sun to various depths (table 15). the following table gives the result: 26 iowa studies in natural history table 16–contribution of the sun to the distribution of heat depth cm. 0 50 100 200 300 400 500 600 700 800 cal. 20933 20300 19800 19600 17400 16300 15000 14100 13100 12100 sun 20933 13200 9000 4860 2620 1410 760 410 220 120 per cent 100.0 65.0 45.5 26.1 15.1 8.6 5.1 2.9 1.7 1.0 note: the calories which pass through each square centimeter are stated in terms of the area at that depth, in the column headed cal. the direct radiation which reaches the lake bottom, say between 100 cm. and 200 cm. depth, is not available for warming the deeper water. the contribution of the sun must therefore be measured as a fraction of the energy passing through each sq. cm. of the depth in question and not in terms of the surface of the lake. it appears, therefore, that the sun may contribute 9000 cal. of the 19,800 cal. which pass through each square centimeter of the one-meter level ; that it can contribute only 760 cal. at five meters of the 15,000 cal. which pass that level; and that at eight meters only one per cent of the heat comes directly from the sun. this is the maximum possible contribution if the observations represent average conditions, as they doubtless do approximately. the results assume that none of the heat due to direct insolation is lost; that for instance all of the 9000 cal. delivered by the sun during the warming season to the depth of one meter are part of the summer heat-income, none being lost to the lake by cooling at night or during cool periods. this assumption is manifestly far too favorable to the sun, but at present we have no data on which to correct it accurately. the data of table 16 may be applied to fig. 3 and a curve drawn through the points thus determined. then the area, abdeh, represents the total work done in distributing the heat to the depth of 25 m.; the area, acdb, represents the contribution of the direct insolation to the work of distributing heat on the assumption that no sun-placed heat is lost; and the area, acdeh, represents the contribution of the a limnological reconnaissance 27 wind on the same assumption. the areas may be measured with a planimeter, with the following result: table 17–contribution of sun and wind to distributing heat on the assumption that no sun-placed heat is lost depth per cent of work sun wind total 20.3 79.7 0 m.-5 m. 31.6 68.4 5 m.-10 m. 3.8 96.2 0 m.-l m. 66.3 33.7 1 m.-5 m. 20.0 80.0 below 1 m. 12.1 87.9 below 5 m. 2.6 97.4 it thus appears that the maximum possible contribution of the sun to the distribution of heat is about 20%. of this about 95% is in the upper 5 m. of the lake. the sun contributed only about 2.6% to the distribution of heat below five meters, and practically nothing below ten meters. the actual contribution of the sun is less than this. if we assume that the percentage of sun-placed heat lost is the same as the average loss, the figure of 20% will be reduced to 7%-8%, since only about one-third of the sun's radiation is absorbed by the lake. this is certainly too low an estimate of the sun as heat placed at depths of 2 m. or 3 m., or even at 1 m. would be lost far less easily than that in the upper centimeters of the water. perhaps no better estimate can be made at present than to assume that the contributions of the sun below 1 m. is a fair amount and that direct insolation is responsible for 10%-12% of the work of distributing heat and that the wind furnishes 88%-90%. with such estimates we must leave the subject at present. future studies will be able to furnish greater accuracy, but no result is likely to show that the wind furnishes much below 80% or much above 90% of the work needed in the distribution of the summer heat-income through the water of lake okoboji. iii-other temperature observations on okoboji lake the point has been emphasized that the small volume of the lower water of okoboji lake gives rise to exceptionally 28 iowa studies in natural history high temperatures near the bottom. in 1919 the bottom temperature at 34 m. was 10.8* and was probably 10.7° or 10.6° at 40 m. this must be an exceptionally low temperature for the lake since lakes in the same general region had unusually low bottom temperatures in 1919. this situation was due to a period of hot calm weather in june, which heated the surface stratum of the lakes and thereby checked the distribution of heat to the lower water. the bottom temperature of lake mendota on august 1 at 23.5 m. was 9.5°, the lowest recorded; and that of green lake was 4.9° at 72 m., the only temperature below 5.0° found by the wisconsin survey in this lake. that of lake geneva was 7.0°, a low temperature, but not the lowest on record. the general temperature, however, of the water below 10 m. was the lowest recorded. temperature observations on lake okoboji were made by professor john l. tilton, of simpson college in 1915 and 1916 (tilton '16, '17). the record of august 5, 1915, showed a temperature of 15.5°c. (59.8°f.) at a depth of about 35 m. (115 ft.). on the same date the surface temperature was 20.0°c. (68°f.). on july 13 the temperature at 35 m. was 15.0'c. and at about 41 m. (135 ft.) 14.7°c. these observations were made with a minimum thermometer weighted and sunk into place. in 1916 professor tilton took readings in june and july. on july 18 he found a temperature of 13.1°c. at 32 m. this series was read with a leeds and northrop electrical resistance thermometer. this instrument became disabled and on july 26 readings were made with the minimum thermometer, showing a temperature of 15.6° at a depth of 27 m.; the reading at this depth on july 18 was 13.3'. the attention of the authors of the present paper was called to okoboji lake by this work of professor tilton. the readings at first seemed incredible. nothing in our previous experience warranted the idea that a lake could have a midsummer temperature greater than 15° at a depth of 40 m., or even a temperature approximating 15°. lake geneva, the nearest parallel in depth, had shown in 18 seasons a mean bottom temperature of 8.0° with a minimum . a limnological reconnaissance 29 of 5.6° and a maximum of 10.0°. the temperature of okoboji was therefore nearly twice as high as the mean of lake geneva. the maximum gain of geneva above 4' was 6', or about one-half that of okoboji. there is no reason to doubt that dr. tilton's observations show the general character of the lake's temperature. he corrected his minimum thermometer for pressure, which at 135 ft. would have caused a rise of 0.24°c. this correction is not made in the figures given above. the temperature of the lower water of all lakes in this region was exceptionally high in 1915, in most cases at a maximum. this was due to the low temperature of the air during may, june, and july, which favored the distribution of heat. the air temperatures at madison were as follows: mean 1915 1916 may 14.2° 11.1° 14.0° june 19.6° 16.5° 16.5 july 22.4° 20.0° 26.5 there is only one year on record in which the temperature of may was lower than in 1915. june was the coldest on record in both 1915 and 1916, and july, 1915, was the coldest since 1891. may, 1916, was practically at the mean, while july was much above the mean. under these conditions we should expect to find unusually high bottom temperatures in lakes during both years. this condition was present in the wisconsin lakes. lake geneva had a bottom temperature of 9.8° in august, 1915. this is the highest on record except in 1917 when it rose to 10.0°. in that year the temperature of may and june was the same as in 1915, and the first half of july was also cold. there is therefore no reason why the records from okoboji lake in 1915 and 1916 should not be accepted as showing the general situation. on the other hand it does not seem probable that they are exactly accurate. the readings of 1915 near the bottom are as follows: 100 ft. 60.0°f. 110 56.5°f. 115 59.8'f. 30 iowa studies in natural history 21 m. here is apparently a drop of nearly 2.0°c. in about three meters followed by a rise of about 1.8°c. in 1.5 m. such changes at this depth are highly improbable and lead one to query whether the thermometer functioned accurately. if the 110-ft. reading is to be taken as correct, the bottom temperature is 13.6°; if we take the 115-ft. reading it is 15.5°. it may be added that the amount of the oxygen found by us in the lower water forbids the idea of a possible rise of the bottom temperature due to fermentation. (see p. 42). the observations of july 26, 1916, are open to the same criticism. the readings on that date show the following: 18 m. 17.6° 19 m. 16.8° 20 m. 18.6° 17.1° 22 m. 16.5° such irregularities are unprecedented. it is not easy to see how a temperature of 18.6° could be reached at 20 m. with much lower temperatures at 19 m. and 21 m. another though somewhat similar query arises regarding the 1916 series. there is no objection to accepting 13.1° as a correct reading at 32 m. on july 18 and 13.3° at 27 m. on the same day. these readings were made with the leeds-northrop instrument. but if these are correct it is hard to see how we can accept the readings by the minimum thermometer on july 26. this gives a temperature of 15.6° at 27 m. or a rise at that depth of 2.3° in eight days. these these days were bright hot days with little wind, according to weather records at madison. in this case the criticism is not based on the idea that the temperature reported is impossibly high; on the contrary it seems quite within the possible limits. the difficulty is to see how so great gains of heat could have been made in the week available for them. the thermocline was well established on july 18 and therefore conditions would be as unfavorable as possible for the distribution of heat to the lower water. still further the record of the minimum thermometer on july 26 a limnological reconnaissance 31 shows large gains at all depths as compared with july 18. the total gains to the depth of 25 m. amount to nearly 2600 cal. per sq. cm. of surface, or more than 300 cal. per day. this sum must be considerably more than half the heat delivered by the sun, which at madison averaged 460 cal. for the days in question. a gain of this magnitude in july seems impossible. such gains are not infrequently made in april when the temperature of the water is low, so that distribution of heat is easy and when it is also above that of the air so that losses from the surface are at a minimum. in july the mean daily gain of lake mendota is 69 cal. and in july, 1915, it was 97 cal. it seems clear therefore that the apparent rise of temperature between july 18 and july 26 can not be a real one. it is possible, since the volume of the bottom water is so small, that it may be displaced by wind in such a way as to cause this apparent rise, or the apparent fall between june 28 and july 18. (tilton '17, p. 39). if so, these oscillations of temperature are exceptionally great and are themselves worth study. the alternative conclusions can not be avoided, either that okoboji lake is exceptional to a wholly unprecedented degree, or that the readings of the minimum thermometer need further correction. it is best therefore to defer detailed discussion of them until a careful study has been made of the heat exchanges of the lake. in reaching this conclusion we ought not to fail to recognize the great service done to limnology by dr. tilton's observations. he recorded for the first time the bottom temperatures in a deep lake whose basin is of such form as to give rise to very high temperatures at the bottom. he thus showed where exceptional opportunity lay for the study of the effect of the form of the basin on the temperature of lakes and perhaps in other respects. we may be pardoned an illustration of the influence of dr. tilton's records. there is in wisconsin a small body of water, rock lake, whose dimensions are: area, 496 ha.; maximum depth, 20.4 m.; mean depth, 6.1 m.; volume development, 0.90. (juday '14, p. 34, map vii). it is therefore almost a morphometric copy of okoboji lake on a small 32 iowa studies in natural history scale. this lake had been sounded by this survey but no temperature readings had ever been made in it. it was visited in august, 1918 in consequence of the work of dr. tilton and its bottom temperature was found to be 20.0°, while that of mendota (a much larger lake) at the same time and depth was 13.0'. no reading approaching 20' had ever been made before at such a depth in any wisconsin lake. it is plain that in this case also the form of the lake basin profoundly influences temperature. it may be added that in 1919 the bottom temperature, like that of okoboji, was exceptionally low—13.1°. iv. comparisons of temperatures in lakes okoboji and geneva while the bottom temperature of lake geneva in 1919 was not as low as it has been on other years, the mean temperature is the lowest recorded-14.2°, as compared with a 16-year mean of 16.5°. the next lowest temperature was 15.4° in 1897, so that in 1919 the water was 1.2 colder than in any other august on record. the low record of 1919 was due to the temperature of the water below 10 m. since the epilimnion was by no means exceptionally cold on august 30, and earlier in the month it must have been quite up to the average. the most conspicuous difference was in the 10 m.-15 m. stratum which was 5.2° below the mean of 18 years. the thermocline showed a drop of 10.0° in three meters, from 21.0° at 9 m. to 11.0° at 12 m. this is a remarkable decline considering the direction and force of the wind which was from the northwest on august 30. this would tend to spread rather than to condense the isotherms at the place of observation. the thin epilimnion is no doubt an inheritance from the hot weather in june and to this is due the low temperature of the 10 m.-15 m. stratum. the summer heat-income of geneva as measured by the observations on august 30 is as follows: a limnological reconnaissance 33 table 18–temperature and summer heat-income of lake geneva, wis., august 30, 1919 depth temp. cal. rt 0-5 21.3 7802 5-10 20.1 5957 10-15 11.9 2568 15-20 9.4 1512 20-25 8.7 1058 25-30 8.0 680 30-35 7.4 360 35-40 7.1 121 40-43 7.0 12 14.18 20070 if the heat budgets of lakes are to be fairly compared there must be some common adjustment of the temperature of the epilimnion. this is rapidly affected by the temperature of the air and the relative volume of the epilimnion is so great that its temperature has a large influence in determining the heat budget. in okoboji lake in 1919 more than 75% of the summer heat-income was in the epilimnion and in lake geneva nearly 70% was in the same stratum. if therefore a lake is visited at the close of a hot period the temperature of its epilimnion will be found to be high, and both the mean temperature and the summer heat-income will be correspondingly large; while a week later after several days of cool weather the epilimnion may have lost considerable heat. this is the case in the two lakes under consideration. the surface of lake okoboji was at 24.7', while that of geneva was only 21.4°, and the difference in the 0 m.-5 m. stratum amounted to nearly 1400 cal. in favor of okoboji, due wholly to a difference in temperature which was itself largely due to the different dates on which the lakes were visited. on the other hand, the temperature of thermocline and hypolimnion in such lakes as these ordinarily changes very little between the last week of july and the first of september. our observations on wisconsin lakes show that under similar conditions there is but little difference in the midsummer temperature of the epilimnia of lakes in the same general region, whatever the size of the lake or the thickness of the stratum. differences are especially small when 34 iowa studies in natural history lakes of the same order of size or depth are compared. in order therefore to eliminate so far as possible differences in temperature due to weather condition of short period and to employ temperatures which show the effects of the season as a whole, we have been accustomed to assume a midsummer temperature of the epilimnion at the average maximum ordinarily reached. this for our lakes is 23°, so that t-4=19º. this temperature may ordinarily be assumed without any necessity of modifying the lower part of the temperature curve to fit the change in the upper part. the effect of this assumption in okoboji and geneva lakes may be seen from the following table, in which temperatures and calories below 10 m. remain as observed, but the epilimnion is given a temperature of 23°. this reduces the budget of okoboji and raises that of geneva. table 19—summer heat-income of okoboji and geneva lakes compared with epilimnion at 23° okoboji geneva depth, t-4 rt cal. t-4 rt cal. meters 0-5 19.0 445 8455 19.0 451 8569 5-10 19.0 325 6175 17.5 370 6475 10-15 14.8 217 3212 7.9 325 2568 15-20 9.1 135 1228 5.4 280 1512 20-25 7.6 509 4.7 225 1058 25-30 7.1 26 185 4.0 170 680 30-35 6.9 10 69 3.4 106 360 35-40 6.8 1.6 11 3.1 39 121 403.0 4 12 67 total 19844 1970 21355 under these conditions the heat budget of geneva is about 1500 cal. larger than that of okoboji, and most of the excess is in the lower water. the budget of geneva below 15 m. is about 3740 cal. and that of okoboji is 2000 cal. the larger volume of the lower water more than makes up for the lower temperatures of lake geneva. in the 10 m.-15 m. stratum the reverse is true; here okoboji has nearly 550 cal. more than geneva. t-4 is nearly twice as great, and this more than compensates for the smaller value of rt. the table therefore shows very clearly the effect of the volume of the lower water on heat gains. the temperature a limnological reconnaissance 35 of the water in the lake of greater volume is lower but the total quantity of heat is greater. the same point may be further illustrated by considering the temperatures reported by dr. tilton for okoboji in 1916 and comparing these with maximum temperatures for geneva. table 20—comparison of lake okoboji and geneva at high temperatures of the water. okoboji geneva july 26, 1916 sept. 8, 1899 observed | epi. at 23° observed | epi. at 23° depth, || temp. cal. | temp. cal. temp. cal. temp. cal. meters 0-5 26.5 10012 23.0 8455 23.7 8885 23.0 8569 5-10 24.7 6728 23.0 6175 23.7 7289 23.0 7030 10-15 18.6 3163 18.6 3163 22.5 6012 22.2 5915 15-20 17.2 1782 17.2 1782 15.4 3192 15.4 3192 20-25 16.2 817 16.2 817 12.0 1800 12.0 1800 25-30 15.4 296 15.4 296 10.2 1054 10.2 1054 30-35 15.2 112 15.2 112 9.2 551 9.2 551 35-40 15.0 15.0 17 8.6 179 8.6 179 40-43 8.3 17 8.3 17 17 22927 20817 28979 28307 compare first the budgets of okoboji lake in 1919 (table 19) and 1916. they are approximately 21,000 and 23,000 respectively—a difference of 2000 cal. if the temperature of the epilimnion is reduced to 23° they are 19,800 cal. and 20,800 cal., respectively—a difference of 1000 cal. in favor of 1916. yet in that year the temperature of the water below 15 m. averaged more than four degrees higher than in 1919; but as the total reduced thickness of the lake below 15 m. is only 240 cm. this rise in temperature represents an income of only about 1,000 cal. cm.? of the surface. in lake geneva we find a summer heat-income of about 29,000 cal., in 1899, or, placing the temperature of the epilimnion at 23', an income of 28,300 cal. thus geneva may gain from 6,000 cal. to 7,000 cal. more than has been found in okoboji, assuming the correctness of dr. tilton's record of 1916. lake geneva has been visited for so many seasons that we can hardly expect to find in its temperature a much 36 iowa studies in natural history larger range of variations than has already been shown. we may therefore infer that the summer heat-income may range from about 20,000 cal. to 29,000 cal., or that with the epilimnion at the standard temperature of 23° the range will be from 21,000 cal. to 28,000 cal. another 1000 cal. may be added to the maximum if we impose the warmest observed epilimnion on the warmest observed temperature for the lower water. in the case of okoboji the limits are not thus known. temperatures of 1919 are probably close to the minimum for the lower water, and therefore no heat-income is likely to be lower than 19,000 cal. to 20,000 cal, with the epilimnion at 23°. but the volume of the lower water is so small that its temperature has very little influence on the heatincome; and the same fact also brings it about that but little work is needed to raise the temperature of the lower water much above the minimum. in 1916 weather conditions were such as to favor a very high temperature. yet the total heat-income (table 20) was only 2000 cal. above that of 1919 at observed temperatures. a temperature much above that of 26.5° for the upper five meters is hardly to be expected; a mean gain of one degree at all depths of the water below 10 m. means only 460 cal. total gains, and one degree in the hypolimnion below 15 m. means only about 240 cal. under such conditions we can hardly expect the maximum heat-income to rise much above 24,000 cal.-25,000 cal. the latter figures would involve a mean temperature of the hypolimnion close to 20°, or more than 4° above that of 1916. even such extreme temperatures do not seem excluded from possibility—at least not by the amount of work involved in the distribution of heat at such high temperatures. the distribution of heat in okoboji in 1916 when the bottom water reached 15° required 1981 g. cm.; the distribution of heat in geneva in 1899 demanded 2752 g. cm. or nearly 800 g. cm. more than that of okoboji. it would thus seem possible for the wind to do more work on okoboji and under favorable circumstances raise the temperature of the lower water above 15°. if we assume that the a limnological reconnaissance 37 . supply of heat and of wind were such as to add 4 to the temperature of each stratum below 10 m. (the temperature 0 m.-10 m. remaining as in the 1916 series), the work would rise only to 2561 g. cm.—an amount which would seem within the limits of the capacity of okoboji. under these conditions the summer heat-income would be only 24,690 cal., a small gain over 1916 or 1550 cal. for 581 g. cm. of work. apparently, therefore a summer heat-income of about 24,500 cal. is a maximum for lake okoboji. this income would involve a mean temperature of 24° for the water of the lake, and this would imply a mean temperature of about 20° for water in the 15 m.-40 m. region of the lake. the distributing agencies seem theoretically able to effect this. but it would require a rare conjunction of delivery of heat and efficiency of distribution to secure results much greater than those recorded in 1916. systematic study of the lake, therefore, is required to show whether temperatures even higher than those of 1916 are attainable in lake okoboji. such speculations as that just given have very little value, but they may be permissible in the case of a lake so exceptional as okoboji. the possibilities of life in the lower water of such a lake are profoundly influenced by these exceptional possibilities of temperature, and the lake therefore offers chances for unusual problems in the ecology of the plankton as well as similar problems in the physics and chemistry of lakes. a v. dissolved gases west okoboji lake belongs to the temperate type in which there are two circulation periods and two stratification periods each year; these periods correspond in general to the four seasons of the year. the water is in complete circulation for a time in the spring and again in the autumn, but it is in a state of stratification in summer and in winter. during the periods of complete circulation the temperature of the water is substantially uniform from surface to bottom and the dissolved substances are practically the same at all depths; but during stratification the water of the upper and lower strata show important thermal and 38 iowa studies in natural history chemical differences which become more marked as the period of stratification advances. the differences which were found about the middle of the summer period of stratification in west okoboji lake are shown in tables 7 and 21 (pp. 10 and 44). samples of water from the different depths of the lake were obtained by means of a water bottle and the carbon dioxide and dissolved oxygen were determined for the different strata. the former was determined by the seyler method, using phenolphthalein and methyl orange as indicators for the titrations with standard acid and alkali. the winkler method was used for the determination of the dissolved oxygen. (for descriptions of these methods see birge and juday, '11, pp. 13-23). carbon dioxide carbon dioxide is usually present in lake waters in three different states; that is, as fixed, half-bound, and free carbon dioxide. the quantity of fixed and half-bound is dependent upon the amount of the substances present with which this gas is usually combined, chiefly calcium and magnesium. the fixed carbon dioxide is that portion which is held in a close chemical union, most generally with calcium and magnesium, and forms the carbonates of these substances. the half-bound is held in a rather loose combination by the carbonates, converting them into bicarbonates. in addition to these a lake water may hold in solution a certain amount of carbon dioxide in an uncombined state and this constitutes the free carbon dioxide. from the biological standpoint the half-bound and free carbon dioxide are the most important since they constitute the sources from which the aquatic chlorophyllaceous organisms obtain their carbon dioxide for photosynthesis. no portion of the fixed carbon dioxide is directly available for photosynthesis, but indirectly the quantity of it is a very important factor because the amount of half-bound carbon dioxide is dependent upon the quantity of carbonates present in the water. in a water that gives a neutral or acid reaction with phenolphthalein it is assumed that the quantity of half-bound carbon dioxide is equal to that of the fixed. a limnological reconnaissance 39 fixed carbon dioxide. table 21 shows that the quantity of fixed carbon dioxide in west okoboji lake amounted to 38.58 cc. per liter of water from the surface to a depth of 14 m. below this depth the amount was somewhat larger, ranging from 39.59 cc. at 15 m. to 41.20 cc. at 33 m, the bottom. at the close of the vernal period of circulation the quantity of fixed carbon dioxide is substantially the same at all depths; but soon after the water becomes stratified in early summer there is an appreciable difference between the epilimnion and the hypolimnion. there is a decrease of the fixed carbon dioxide in the upper water, due in part to the rise in the temperature of the water which tends to make the carbonates less soluble, and in part to the fact that the chlorophyllaceous organisms of this stratum draw upon the half-bound carbon dioxide. this process gives the water an alkaline reaction and thus tends to precipitate the carbonates, more especially the calcium carbonate. the submerged aquatic plants growing in the shallow water, such as chara, also remove a considerable amount of calcareous material from the upper water. the water of the hypolimnion soon comes to have a distinctly acid reaction, which is due to the free carbon dioxide that is liberated in the decomposition of organic matter in this region and in the respiration of the various organisms that inhabit this stratum. thus any carbonates that are precipitated in the upper water and sink into this region will be redissolved; at the bottom where the water contains the largest amount of free carbon dioxide the fixed carbon dioxide is largest in amount because this acid water dissolves some of the calcareous material in the bottom mud. as the summer period of stratification advances the difference in the fixed carbon dioxide content of the upper and lower water becomes more marked, the maximum difference being found a short time before the autumnal overturn takes place. half-bound carbon dioxide. when the water of a lake is neutral or acid in reaction to phenolphthalein the halfbound carbon dioxide is regarded as equal in amount to the 40 iowa studies in natural history fixed carbon dioxide; but in waters which give an alkaline reaction the quantity of the latter is greater than that of the former. the excess of the latter is equivalent to the amount of free carbon dioxide that would be required to give the water a neutral reaction; in table 21 the deficiency is indicated by a minus sign in the column showing the free carbon dioxide. free carbon dioxide. the epilimnion is preëminently the zone of photosynthesis and where the chlophyl-bearing organisms are abundant a rather large supply of carbon dioxide is required for this process. the demand thus becomes larger than the supply of free carbon dioxide and the organisms draw upon the supply of half-bound carbon dioxide. since this leaves an excess of normal carbonates the water has an alkaline reaction and the degree of alkalinity depends upon the amount of half-bound carbon dioxide that has been used. it has been found that more than 80% of the half-bound carbon dioxide may be thus utilized. as a result of the activities of the chlorophyl-bearing organisms the epilimnion of okoboji lake was distinctly alkaline at the time of these observations. (see table 21, p. 44). this alkalinity was equivalent to 4.28 cc. of free carbon dioxide; that is, it would have required 4.28 cc. of this gas per liter to make this water neutral. the water at a a depth of 5 m. showed the same degree of alkalinity as that at the surface; but at 10 m. it was distinctly less alkaline and became neutral at 13 m. the water of the hypolimnion gave a distinctly acid reaction; a maximum of 1.72 cc. of free carbon dioxide per liter was noted at 33 m. this is the usual condition in lakes of this type. much decomposition takes place in this stratum which furnishes a constant supply of free carbon dioxide and an additional amount is derived from the respiration of the organisms that inhabit this region. since the water of the hypolimnion is cut off from the air during the stratification period and since this gas diffuses very slowly through water, there is very little loss of free carbon dioxide during such periods. as a result the lower water soon gives an acid reaction, even when it is distinctly alkaline a limnological reconnaissance 41 at the time of stratification, and the free carbon dioxide shows an appreciable increase in quantity as the season advances; the largest amount is found at the bottom just before the overturn takes place. dissolved oxygen during the vernal and autumnal periods of circulation this gas is also substantially uniform in its distribution from surface to bottom; the largest amount is found at the close of the latter period because oxygen is more soluble in cold than in warm water. with the rise in the temperature of the water in the spring there is a corresponding decrease in the amount of oxygen but the water remains nearly or quite saturated with this gas as long as the vernal cirulation continues. when stratification becomes established in early summer, however, it is soon followed by appreciable differences in the quantity of oxygen in the different strata. the temperature of the epilimnion continues to rise until the summer maximum is reached which means a decreased capacity for dissolved oxygen. decomposition and respiration also tend to decrease the supply of this gas but the water of this stratum is kept in circulation by the wind and thus freely exposed to the air which tends to keep the supply near the saturation point. another source of supply is the oxygen liberated in this stratum during the process of photosynthesis. in general, then, the quantity of oxygen in the epilimnion does not fall very far below the saturation point during the summer period of stratification and, under favorable conditions, the stratum may even become supersaturated. on july 31, 1919, the dissolved oxygen in the epilimnion of west okoboji lake amounted to 5.80 cc. per liter at the surface and 5.40 cc. at a depth of 10 m. while these quantities represent an abundant supply of this gas, nevertheless they are both well below the point of saturation, the former being 95.5% and the latter only 86.6% of the amount required for saturation. this indicates that the water of the epilimnion was being depleted of its supply of oxygen through decomposition and respiration faster than it was 42 iowa studies in natural history receiving this gas from the air and from the photosynthetic activities of the chlorophyl-bearing organisms. the hypolimnion remains practically uniform in temperature after the formation of this stratum so that its capacity for oxygen is scarcely affected during the summer. on the other hand, however, it is cut off from contact with the air by the epilimnion and conditions are not favorable for photosynthesis at that depth; it is thus deprived of the two main sources from which a supply of oxygen can be obtained and any decrease during the summer remains as a deficiency until the autumnal overturn takes place. decomposition and the respiration of the organisms which occupy this stratum contribute to the decrease of the oxygen supply and the extent of this decrease depends upon the volume of the hypolimnion and upon the abundance of decomposable material and living organisms; if the volume is relatively small and these two processes are fairly vigorous there will be a marked decrease in the supply of oxygen as the summer advances and a portion, or even practically all, of this stratum may be deprived of its dissolved oxygen. it will be noted in table 21 that the hypolimnion of okoboji lake possessed a relatively small amount of dissolved oxygen at the time of these observations; the amount varied from 2.23 cc. per liter at 15 m. to 0.86 cc. at a depth of 33 m. at 18 m., however, the amount was a little more than half a cubic centimeter larger than at 15 m. such differences have been noted in other lakes but the cause of the phenomenon has not yet been definitely ascertained. stated in percentages the quantity of oxygen varied from 36.5 % of saturation at 18 m. to only 10.9% at 33 m. with such a marked decline in the dissolved oxygen at this stage of the summer stratification period it is safe to predict that this gas all disappeared from the lower portion of the hypolimnion, at least, before the time of the autumnal overturn. in the mesolimnion, or thermocline, the quantity of oxygen declined from that of the epilimnion above to that of the hypolimnion below; that is, from 5.40 cc. per liter of water at 10 m. to 2.40 cc. at 13 m., while there was a fura limnological reconnaissance 43 ther decline to 2.23 cc. at 15 m. thus the greater part of the decrease took place in the upper half of the mesolimnion. the last item in table 21 shows the results obtained on water from the well of the lakeside laboratory. this water had a temperature of 11.3°. it will be noted that there was an abundance of free carbon dioxide, about seven times as much as was noted in the lake water at a depth of it also contained almost two and a half times as much fixed carbon dioxide as the surface water of the lake. there was a fairly large supply of dissolved oxygen in this well water; the result shown in the table is undoubtedly too high since, in obtaining the samples, the water was exposed to the air as it was being pumped into the bottles. a set of observations on the dissolved gases of lake mendota was made on august 6, 1919, and the results are shown in table 22. the epilimnion of lake mendota showed the same degree of alkalinity as that of west okoboji lake, but the lower water of the former had a distinctly larger amount of free carbon dioxide. the epilimnion of lake mendota possessed a smaller amount of fixed carbon dioxide than west okoboji lake, averaging about 5 cc. per liter less, but the difference in the hypolimnion was not so marked. the amount found at the bottom, 22 m., in the former lake was the same as that at 15 m. and 20 m. in the latter, while that at 15 m. and 18 m, in lake mendota was the same as that in the upper water of west okoboji lake. both lakes belong to the "hard water" group, with the water of west okoboji lake carrying a somewhat larger quantity of carbonates in solution. a slightly larger amount of oxygen was found in the upper water of lake mendota but there was a distinctly smaller amount in the hypolimnion than in west okoboji lake. 44 iowa studies in natural history cc. per table 21–observations on the dissolved gases of okoboji lake, july 31, 1919. in the column for free carbon dioxide the minus sign indicates that the water gave an alkaline reaction and the plus sign that it gave an acid reaction with phenolphthalein. depth, carbon dioxide, oxygen meters cc. per liter. free fixed per cent liter. of saturation 0 4.28 38.52 5.80 95.5 5 4.28 38.52 5.42 88.8 10 3.21 38.52 5.40 86.6 12 1.07 38.52 3.46 53.5 13 neut. 38.52 2.40 36.0 14 + 0.86 38.52 2.32 32.3 15 + 0.86 39.59 2.23 30.7 2.75 36.5 20 + 1.29 39.59 1.75 22.8 25 0.90 11.5 30 0.90 11.5 33 + 1.72 41.20 0.86 10.9 18 well +11.18 94.16 2.55 32.7 cc. per table 22—observations on the dissolved gases of lake mendota on august 6, 1919. in the column for free carbon dioxide the minus sign indicates that the water was alkaline and the plus sign that it was acid to phenolphthalein. depth, carbon dioxide, oxygen meters cc. per liter. free fixed per cent liter. of saturation 0 4.28 33.70 6.16 100.7 8 4.28 33.70 5.21 83.5 10 + 0.86 38.00 1.40 19.5 13 + 0.86 38.00 0.64 8.2 15 + 1.92 38.52 0.52 6.5 18 + 2.58 38.52 0.20 2.4 22 + 2.58 39.59 0.10 1.2 vi. the plankton the small floating and free swimming organisms that constitute what is known as the plankton may be divided into two groups, namely, (a) those which are large enough to be easily obtained with the regular plankton net and (b) those which are so small that they readily pass through the a limnological reconnaissance 45 meshes of the finest bolting cloth. the former constitutes what is known as the net plankton and the latter the nannoplankton. strictly speaking the latter term has been applied only to organisms whose maximum diameter does not exceed 25 m., but it is such a convenient term that it is proр posed to extend its meaning to include all of the forms that escape through the meshes of the net. methods. the net plankton was obtained by means of a closing net whose coefficient has been determined as 1.2; that is, about 83% of the column of water through which it is drawn passes through the net and is strained. the material was transferred from the plankton bucket to vials and preserved in alcohol. in the subsequent enumeration the volume of the catch and preservative was reduced to 10 cc.; after shaking thoroughly 2 cc. were removed with a piston pipette and the crustacea and rotifers contained therein were counted. the number thus obtained multiplied by 5 gives the total number of the various organisms in the catch. when only a few individuals of the larger crustacea were present the total was ascertained by direct count. the protozoa and algae were enumerated by placing a cubic centimeter of the material in a sedgwick-rafter cell and then counting the various forms in the usual manner with a compound microscope. the dry weight and organic matter of the net plankton were also obtained. for these determinations a net haul was made from surface to bottom (0-32 m.). this catch was concentrated on a small piece of bolting cloth; the material was then carefully removed from the cloth with a knife blade and transferred to a small platinum crucible. considerable care is necessary at this stage to prevent loss of material. a drop or two of chloroform kills the organisms and prevents putrefaction while the material is dry. ing. the air dried material is then placed in a drying oven at 60° for 24 hours and then in a desiccator for 24 hours. the dry weight of the catch is obtained by means of a sensitive assayer's balance. the material is then ignited in an electric furnace until the ash appears white, after which the weight of the ash is ascertained. 46 iowa studies in natural history samples of water for a study of the nannoplankton were obtained from the various depths by means of a water bottle. these minute organisms were removed from the water with an electric centrifuge which has a speed of 3,600 revolutions per minute. the sedimentation was continued for about six minutes and the material from the bottom of the tube with one cubic centimeter of water was transferred to a sedgwick-rafter counting cell and the various organisms were enumerated. these organisms should be counted in the living state since experiments have shown that some of them are destroyed by the various preserving agents. it is necessary, therefore, to count this material as soon as possible after securing the samples. it has been found practical to obtain the dry weight and organic matter in the nannoplankton also. a sufficient amount for this purpose is usually obtained from 90 cc. to 120 cc. of water. with the standard centrifuge 30 cc. of water are centrifuged at each run and the material from three or four runs is concentrated in one tube from which it can be removed after a final centrifuging with one cubic centimeter of water and transferred to a small platinum crucible. a drop of chloroform is added and the water is allowed to evaporate. beyond this point the procedure is the same as that described above for the net plankton. a certain amount of organic matter is dissolved in the water and this is not removed with the centrifuge; it is necessary, therefore, to run a blank for this by determining the amount of loss on ignition for one cubic centimeter of centrifuged water. the net plankton in order to ascertain the vertical distribution of the various planktonts, catches were made with the closing net from each 5 m. stratum of the lake. the organisms in the different strata have been enumerated and the results of these enumerations are shown in table 23. the figures given in this table indicate the number of individuals or colonies per cubic meter of water. phytoplankton. as might be expected the phytoplankton was confined chiefly to the upper 10 m., or the epilimnion, a limnological reconnaissance 47 since the supply of light upon which it is dependent for carrying on photosynthesis is most favorable in this region. only four forms of green and blue-green algae were found in the material, namely, anabaena, gloiotrichia, microcystis, and staurastrum. they were present in relatively small numbers so that these forms constituted a relatively small portion of the total net plankton. four genera of diatoms were present with stephanodiscus as the most abundant; the maximum number of this form was found in the 5 m.-10 m. stratum. ceratium was the most abundant protozoan and it appeared only in relatively small numbers. a few specimens of dinobryon and a heliozoan were found in the 0 m.-5 m. stratum while vorticella was noted in the 5 m.-10 m. stratum. the catches contained only a small number of rotifers and they were confined principally to the epilimnion. they were uniformly distributed in this stratum. the copepods were relatively the most abundant forms and, with the exception of canthocamptus, they were fairly uniform in their distribution from surface to bottom. as a whole they furnished the greater part of the material obtained in each catch. diaptomus was more abundant than cyclops and furnished the major portion of the copepod material. two species of diaptomus were present, namely, d. clavipes and d. siciloides. adults of d. clavipes constituted about 4% of the total number of diaptomi, but the immature individuals of this species composed about two-thirds of the total. these immature specimens contained a rather large supply of reserve food in the form of oil globules and these gave a yellowish tint to the whole plankton catch. cyclops was most abundant in the upper 10 m. and below 25 m., with very few individuals between these two depths. the copepod nauplii also showed a similar vertical distribution; they were much more numerous above 10 m. and below 25 m. than in the intermediate strata. the cladocera were represented by specimens of bosmina, diaphanosoma and three species of daphnia. a few indi48 iowa studies in natural history viduals of bosmina were found in the 5 m.-10 m. stratum while a somewhat larger number of diaphanosoma was noted in the upper 10 m. of the three species of daphnia the most abundant was d. retrocurva which reached 17,000 individuals per cubic meter in the upper 5 m. only about a quarter of these were adults. about a third as many were found in the 5 m.-10 m. stratum and the number was relatively small in the deeper strata. this corresponds to the usual distribution of this form, which is confined chiefly to the epilimnion. daphnia pulex prefers the cool water of the hypolimnion and it was most abundant in that stratum of west okoboji lake. the maximum number was found in the 25 m.-30 m. catch. a few specimens of daphnia longispina var. hyalina were noted in two catches, namely, those from the 10 m.-15 m. and the 30 m.-32 m. strata. this form is usually distributed throughout the entire depth of a lake, but in this instance it appeared only in the mesolimnion and in the lower part of the hypolimnion. the catch which covered the entire depth of the lake (0-32 m.) yielded 211.7 mg. of dry net plankton per cubic meter of water, of which 91.3% (193.2 mg.) was organic matter. the average weight of the individuals belonging to the more abundant forms of crustacea was ascertained. for this purpose specimens were sorted out under a dissecting microscope and these were transferred to small platinum dishes. they were then dried, weighed, and ignited as described above. the results are given in table 24. six different forms of crustacea were weighed. immature individuals of diaptomus clavipes were substantially the same in size as the adults of diaptomus siciloides so that it was impossible to separate the two and obtain weights of each. the adults of d. clavipes gave a larger dry weight and also a larger amount of organic matter for each individual than any of the other crustacea. the average was almost three times as large as that for immature d. clavipes and adult d. siciloides and about 40% larger than daphnia pulex and daphnia longispina var. hyalina. cyclops averaged somewhat larger than the immature d. clavipes and a limnological reconnaissance 49 adult d. siciloides and had a much higher percentage of ash. a immediately following the catch which was used to determine the weight of the total net plankton a second haul from surface to bottom was made and the material was preserved for purposes of enumeration. a computation based on the results of this enumeration and on the average weights of the different crustacea indicates that these six forms of crustacea furnished about 69% of the dry organic matter in the total net plankton, of which about 56% was derived from the two species of diaptomus. table 23—results of the enumerations of the net plankton catches from west okoboji lake, august 1, 1919. the figures indicate the number of individuals per cubic meter of water for the different strata. the following abbreviations have been used: cladocera-b=bosmina, d.h.=daphnia longispina var. hyalina, d.p.=daphnia pulex, d.r.=daphnia retrocurva, di=diaphanosoma; copepoda—ca=canthocamptus, c=cyclops, d=diaptomus, n-nauplii; rotifera--a. c.=anuraea cochlearis, c=conochilus, p=polyarthra; protozoa-c=ceratium, d=dinobryon, h=heliozoan, v=vorticella; green and blue-green algae-an=anabaena, g=gloio. trachia, m=microcystis, s=staurastrum; diatoms-a=asterionella, f=fragilaria, m=melosira, s=stephanodiscus. d.p. d.p. depth, cladocera copepoda rotifera protozoa green and diatoms meters blue-green algae 0-5 d.r. 17,000c 6,300/a.c. 3901c 31,200 an124,800a 23,400|| с 130 d 7,800 g 11,000 f 15,600] di 650 d 11,600 p 390 h 7,800/m 46,800/m 15,600 n 10,700 s 140,400 5-10 b 130 ca 390/a.c. 260 c 15,600 an 31,200 f 23,400) 1301c 4,600 c 130/v 26016 2,000 s 156,000 d.r. 6,000 d 4,700 p 650 m 70,200 di 780n 16,500) s 7,800 10-15 d.h. 1301c 650 an 7,800/f 7,8001 650 d 10,000c 130 m 7,800 s 31,200 d.r. 520n 4,300 15-20 d.r. 1301c 2601 d 9,000 p 130 m 23,400 s 23,4001 n 1,170) 20-25 d.p. 9101c 260 d.r. 130|d 8,500 an 7,800/s 7,800 n 1,170 25-30 d.p. 1,700c 1,600 d.r. 390/d 6,5001 c 7,800/m 7,8001s 7,8001 n 13,700 30-32 d.h. 3001c 4,000 600/d 10,000 n 10,000 a.c. 3001 an 3,100 s 3,100 d.p. 50 iowa studies in natural history table 24—the dry weight, organic matter, and ash of the worms and various crustacea are shown in this table. number dry ash one individual remarks (weighed/ weight in mg. mg. per dry organic cent. weight matter in mg in mg. 70 1.61 10.115 7.14 0.023 0.0213 adult 400 3.22 0.09 3.000.00805 0.00782 diaptomus clavipes diaptomus siciloides and immature d. clavipes cyclops |daphnia | pulex |daphnia longispinal var.hyalina |daphnia retrocurva oligochaeta 95 100 0.905 |0.09 110.000.009531 0.00858 |mainly adult 1.97 10.39 120.000.0197 | 0.0158 mainly adult 75 1.395 0.265|19.0010.0186 0.01506 adult 250 1.43 10.26 18.180.00572 0.00468 |mainly young 180 34.79 11.67 4.8010.19328 0.184 |mixed sizes the nannoplankton a relatively small number of forms was present in the nannoplankton material, but two were found in considerable numbers. (see table 25). the ciliated protozoa were represented by halteria and vorticella; a comparatively small number of each was found in the epilimnion while the former was also found in the material from a depth of 33 m. some specimens of cryptomonas were noted in the samples from 10 m. and 30 m. as well as pandorina at 10 m. minute flagellated monads were distributed throughout the depth of the lake, but they were much more abundant in the epilimnion than in the other strata. only two forms of algae were noted, namely, aphanocapsa and oocystis. a small number of the latter was found in the surface sample. the aphanocapsa consisted of small colonies of minute cells, 25 to 100 in number, embedded in a gelatinous matrix. it seems to have a wide distribution since it appears in the nannoplankton of all of the lakes of this country on which observations have been made. it was found at all depths, but was most abundant in the a limnological reconnaissance 51 upper strata. attention may be called to the fact here that this form has also been found in the lower water of much deeper lakes, such, for example, as seneca lake, new york, which has a maximum depth of 188.4 m. (618 ft.). table 25—— analysis of the nannoplankton. the figures given in this table indicate the number of individuals per liter of water. the following abbreviations have been used: protozoa, c=cryptomonas, h=halteria, m=monas, p=pandorina, v=vorticella; algae, a=aphanocapsa, o=oocystis. depth, protozoa algae meters 0 h 5,200 a 859,100 m 156,200 0 5,200 v 5,200 10 c 10,400 h 5,200 a 781,000 m 234,300 p 5,200 20 m 10,400 a 781,000 30 c 5,200 a 390,500 m 5,200 33 h 5,200 a 390,500 m 15,600 for obtaining the weight of the nannoplankton a composite sample was prepared by mixing equal volumes of water from each 5 m. level of the lake. the dry organic m. matter in the material obtained from this sample amounted to 333.0 mg. per cubic meter of water. this amount plus that in the net plankton (193.2 mg.) gives 526.2 mg. per cubic meter of water for the total plankton; approximately 63% of this total is derived from the nannoplankton and 37% from the net plankton. this sum multiplied by the maximum depth of the lake, that is, 40.2, gives 21,153 mg., or 21.1 grams, per square meter of surface in the deepest water. assuming that this plankton material was uniformly distributed over the whole lake, then the average per square meter of surface for the entire lake may be obtained by multiplying the sum of the net plankton and nannoplankton by the mean depth, namely, 12.3 (see table 2). this gives 6,472 mg., or about 6.5 grams per square meter of surface. again assuming a uniform distribution, the dry organic 52 iowa studies in natural history matter in the total plankton of the entire lake may be calculated from the volume given in table 2; this amounts to 98,520 kg. which is equivalent to about 108 tons. expressed in terms of a unit area this is 64.5 kg. per hectare, or 57.5 pounds per acre. in the living state this material would weigh about ten times as much, since various experiments have shown that about 90% of the live weight of these organisms consists of water. this represents a small amount of organic matter per unit of area but these figures indicate only the standing crop at this particular time of the year. both production and destruction of this material are taking place at all seasons of the year and the quantity of organic matter found at a particular time is the resultant of these two processes. some of the forms reproduce much more rapidly than others and also reproduction is much more vigorous at certain seasons so that there is considerable variation in the quantity of this material at different seasons. the more minute organisms serve as food for the larger ones, such as the crustacea, and these in turn are eaten by the fish and , other aquatic organisms; some forms of the crustacea, in fact, prey upon others. thus the whole problem is a very complex one so that it would be extremely difficult to ascertain, even roughly, the total annual production of plankton. a comparison with results that have been obtained on lake mendota will serve to show the relative plankton productiveness of the two lakes. table 26 gives the amount of net and nannoplankton found in this lake during the last week in july and the first week in august both in 1915 and 1916. the figures represent the average amount of organic matter for these two weeks in both years and they indicate the quantity in milligrams per cubic meter of water. it will be noted that the organic matter in the net plankton of lake mendota in 1915 was substantially the same as that of west okoboji in 1919, but that it was very much smaller in the former in 1916. on the other hand the nannoplankton of lake mendota was about five times as great in both years as that of west okoboji lake. the last column of the table shows that the total plankton was more than three a limnological reconnaissance 53 times as great in the former lake as in the latter. on the assumption that the amounts in this table represent a fair average per cubic meter of water for the whole lake, a computation based on these figures gives an average of 222.2 kg. per hectare of surface for lake mendota in 1915, or 198 pounds per acre. the quantity in 1916 was about 6% less than this amount. this is nearly four times as much as was found in west okoboji lake in 1919. the quantity of total plankton has been determined for only a few of the wisconsin lakes, but, of those on which determinations have been made so far, only one falls as low as west okoboji lake. the total plankton of devil's lake, wisconsin, on august 27, 1919, amounted to 500 mg. of dry organic matter per cubic meter of water, or about 2% less than that of west okoboji lake. this result for devil's lake means a much smaller amount per unit of area since it is a much shallower lake; that is, it represents only 44.5 kg. per hectare, or approximately 40 pounds per acre. on the basis of these results both of these lakes must be classed as plankton poor. table 26—this table gives the number of milligrams of organic matter per cubic meter of water in the net plankton and in the nannoplankton of lake mendota and of okoboji lake in the years indicated. the quantities given for the former lake are the averages of the last week in july and the first week in august each year, while those for the latter lake were obtained in observations made on july 31, 1919. lake year net nannoplankton total mendota 1915 195.7 1,634.3 1,830.0 | mendota 1916 96.5 1,630.6 1,727.1 west okoboji 1919 193.2 526.2 bottom fauna some samples of mud were obtained from the bottom in the deeper water by means of an ekman dredge. this material was sifted through a fine meshed net for the purpose of ascertaining the number and variety of the macroscopic fauna of the bottom. the time that could be devoted to this work was very brief so that hauls were made at only two different depths, namely, 21 m. and 33 m. the results obtained from the samples are shown in table 27; they give 333.0 54 iowa studies in natural history only a very fragmentary idea of the bottom fauna since they are limited to two depths and since they were made at a time when the insect larvae are at their minimum in variety and number. a proper study of the bottom population would require hundreds of observations; these should cover all depths, from the shoreline to the deepest water in various parts of the lake, as well as all seasons of the year. such a study would involve the expenditure of much time and labor but the results would undoubtedly amply justify the undertaking. only three groups of bottom dwellers were found in any abundance. the chironomus larva apparently belongs to the tentans group and all of the specimens were either full grown or nearly so, varying in length from 21 mm. to 25 mm. protenthes was not noted at 21 m. but a few were found at 33 m.; these specimens were substantially full grown larvae also. the oligochaeta included representatives of limnodrilus and tubifex. in addition to these some ostracods and nematodes were noted at both depths. the chironomids were more abundant at 21 m. than at 33 m. while the reverse was true of the oligochaeta. the weight of the forms shown in table 27 were determined and the amount of organic matter per square meter of bottom is indicated in the table in grams. the oligochaeta varied greatly in size so that it was necessary to pick out and weigh all of the specimens in a single haul of the dredge in order to get an average. while the total number of individuals was much larger at 33 m. than at 21 m., the reverse was true on the basis of the amount of dry organic material; the larger number of oligochaeta at the former depth did not compensate for the larger bulk of the chironomids at the latter depth. stated in larger units this bottom fauna yielded 109.6 kg. of dry organic matter per hectare, or 97.6 pounds per acre, at 21 m., and 65.1 kg. per hectare, or 58.0 pounds per acre, at 33 m. the latter figure is substantially the same as the average yield of the total plankton. (see p. 51). these figures, like those for the total plankton, do not represent the annual production, but they indicate the number of a limnological reconnaissance 55 bottom dwellers present at a particular time and the amount of organic matter in them. the annual production involves the yearly turn-over in the bottom population, and this question includes such problems as the number of broods of insect larvae annually, the rate of reproduction of the oligochaeta, and the extent of the depletion of this entire population each year by being consumed as food and by other causes. table 27-observations on the bottom fauna of okoboji lake, july 30 and 31, 1919. the first column for each depth shows the number of individuals per square meter of bottom and the second column gives the number of grams of dry organic matter per square meter. twenty-one meters thirty-three meters number organic matter number organic matter | chironomus 1,110 9.49 355 3.03 | protenthes 266 0.88 oligochaeta i 7,992 | 1.47 14,120 2.60 total 10.96 6.51 56 iowa studies in natural history papers cited birge, '10. an unregarded factor in lake temperatures. e. a. birge. trans. wis. acad. sciences, arts, and letters, vol. xvi. pp. 989-1004; 2 pl. madison, 1910. birge, '15. the heat budgets of american and european lakes. e. a. birge. trans. wis. acad. sciences, arts, and letters, vol. xviii, pp. 166-213; 3 figs. madison, 1915. birge, '16. the work of the wind in warming a lake. e. a. birge. trans. wis. acad. sciences, arts, and letters, vol. xviii, pp. 341-391; 10 pl. madison, 1916. birge and juday, '11. the inland lakes of wisconsin; the dissolved gases of the water. e. a. birge and chancey juday. bull. wis. geol. survey, no. xxii, pp. i-xx, 1-259; 142 figs. madison, 1911. ford, '13. a topographical survey of the spirit and okoboji lakes region. h. c. ford. bull. iowa state coll. vol. xi, no. 6, pp. 1-38; 21 cuts, 4 maps. ames, 1913. iowa, ’16. report of the state highway commission on the iowa lakes and lake beds. 1 vol. text, pp. 1-250, 109 figs; 1 vol. of 72 maps. published by state. des moines, 1916. juday, '14. the inland lakes of wisconsin: hydrography and morphometry. chancey juday. bull. wis. geol. and nat. hist. survey, no. xxvii, pp. i-xv, 1-137; 37 maps. madison, 1914. tilton, '16. records of oscillations in lake level and records of lake temperatures and of meteorology secured at the macbride lakeside laboratory, lake okoboji, iowa, july, 1915. john l. tilton. proc. iowa acad. science, vol. xxiii, 1916, pp. 91-102; 4 figs. tilton, '17. second record of oscillations in lake level with record of lake temperatures and meteorology secured at the macbride lakeside laboratory, lake okoboji, iowa, july, 1916. john l. tilton. proc. iowa acad. science, vol. xxiv, 1917, pp. 34-41; 4 figs. cut gite of the preelden first series no. 38 december 1, 1920 university of iowa studies botany ds8o. studies in natural history volume ix number 2 nesting habits of the hermit thrush in northern michigan by dayton stoner published by the university, iowa city, issued semi-monthly throughout the year. entered at the post office at iowa city, iowa, as second class matter. acceptance for mailing at special rates of postage provided for in section 1103, act of october 3, 1917, authorized on july 3, 1918. university of iowa studies in natural history professor charles cleveland nutting, m. a., editor continuation of bulletin from the laboratories of natural history of the state university of iowa volume ix number 2 nesting habits of the hermit thrush in northern michigan by dayton stoner, ph. d. published by the university, iowa city the nesting habits of the hermit thrush hylocichla guttata pallasi (cab.) in northern michigan by dayton stoner introduction the data which serve as a basis for this paper were obtained at the university of michigan biological station on douglas lake while the writer was a member of the station staff. observations were made during the latter part of july and the first few days of august, 1919. in addition to the writer's own observations and notes, the assistance of the members of the class in ornithology was requisitioned. several other members of the camp also very kindly rendered service in various ways. to all of these obligation is gratefully acknowledged. the douglas lake region lies in the extreme northern part of the southern peninsula of michigan about seventeen miles from lake huron on the east, the straits of mackinac on the north and lake michigan on the west. the soil is exceedingly sandy. the topography is strongly rolling and was formerly covered by hardwoods and conifers but large areas have been cut over and burned over so that little of the original forest now remains. there are numerous lakes in the region of douglas lake which is about two hundred feet above sea level and some two and one-half miles wide by four miles long; its greatest depth is about ninety feet. its shores are variable as to height and slope but are everywhere wooded. near the biological station camp on the east side of the lake where the following observations were made, the shores are low and gradually receding with a long, clean, sandy beach. conifers, maples, birches and aspens, mostly second growth, are found though not in abundance. blueberry bushes and brake fern make up the characteristic smaller vegetation. naturally such situations afford unusual inducements for nesting birds of various species. here song sparrows, ovenbirds, slate-colored juncos, towhees, red-eyed vireos, cedar wax(3) 4 iowa studies in natural history wings and many others find suitable sites for homes and the rearing of their young. the hermit thrush is one of the commoner summer birds of the region and several nests were discovered during the course of the eight weeks' summer session beginning june 30. although numerous papers have been written concerning the nesting behavior of the hermit thush, the observations made by norman mcclintock in the huron mountains forty miles northwest of marquette, michigan, are the most complete and detailed of any that the writer has seen. however, the observations herein recorded are, in some respects, somwhat at variance with those of mcclintock and additional data are also included in this paper. the particular nest here discussed was accidentally discovered on july 5 by one of the members of the ornithology class but it was not under more than casual observation until july 25 when a blind was first put into position for the observers. the nest itself was built on the ground in a partly shaded area about twenty yards from the lake shore and the same distance from the mess tent which was visited three times a day by thirty-nine people. it was partially hidden among the blueberry bushes and brake fern and was composed almost entirely of pine needles with a few dead twigs at the top and on the outside for support. the observation blind of faded, olive-green canvas was erected on two t-poles. it was about forty inches in height by twenty inches in width by thirty-eight inches in length and was placed thirty inches from the nest. observation of the birds and nest was made possible through a slit about six inches long in the canvas and through a round hole two inches in diameter. entrance to the blind was gained on the side away from the nest and it was left in position continuously from the time it was erected until august 8, when the birds left their home. during the process of setting up the blind the female hermit thrush few away thus exposing the five eggs; as soon as the canvas was in place the observer left. the next morning the writer visited the blind but remained only long enough to make sure that the female was incubating. during the following night a heavy 1 mcclintock, norman, a hermit thrush study, auk, xxvii, 1910, 409-418. nesting habits of hermit thrush 5 wind disarranged the blind and while it was being repaired and readjusted on the morning of the 27th the female remained on the nest apparently little excited by the procedure. the female remained constantly on duty until 6:00 p. m. on july 30 when she was flushed, and four nestlings, not more than twenty-four hours old, were disclosed. the fifth egg proved to be addled but remained in the nest during the entire subsequent brooding period. brooding so far as our observations are concerned all the brooding was done by the female. when the young were first hatched the female seldom left them for long intervals, but toward the close of our period of observation the time spent by the adult on or at the nest was much reduced. however, it seemed that both parents were near and ready to swoop down to recover a voided excreta sac. during the first part of the brooding the female would often rise slightly in the nest and look down at the youngsters solicitously. this occurred oftener on warm days and was probably for the purpose of giving the nestlings air. sometimes when in this attitude the female would peck none too gently the heads and eyelids of the nestlings. at times, while brooding, the female reached down into the bottom of the nest with her bill and shaking her head rapidly up and down or from side to side appeared to be loosening the packed-down materials. as the young grew larger the female did not sit on them but hovered over them, clinging with her feet to the sides of the nest. during the last two days of our observations she remained on its edge seldom attempting to brood the nestlings. in brooding the female always rested with her head toward the blind. the male was much more nervous and noisy in his actions than the female. although he took no part in the brooding he was particularly active in securing food for the young birds. usually he left almost immediately after delivering the food, often touching the blind with the tips of his wings in his hasty departure. 6 iowa studies in natural history food and feeding habits perhaps the most interesting part of the entire study was concerned with the food and feeding habits. probably the larger share of all the food fed to the young was gleaned within a few yards of the nest. on the writer's appearance near the blind at 7:30 a. m. of july 31 the male from a near by tree gave a sharp call, and three minutes later a rustling in the leaves on the side of the nest away from the blind betrayed his approach. the brooding female turned her head upward and backward and accepted a bit of food from him. it was impossible to identify this food for the male inserted his bill well down into the wide open mouth of the female. this was the first and, with two exceptions, the only time that one adult bird was observed to feed the other. the following tables, chronologically arranged, will serve to show the principal details regarding the feeding of the young by the parents as well as to give data on nest sanitation. a word of explanation concerning the characters and abbreviations employed in the tables may be opportune ai this poiut. lepid. larva indicates a lepidopterous larva of some kind. acridid refers to any of the several species of short-horned grasshoppers which formed a substantial part of the diet of the young gryllid refers to whatever species of cricket may have been served as food. ad. refers to one of the adults, sex undetermined. juv. refers to one of the nestlings. ? inserted in the “kind of food” column indicates that the food which was brought could not be determined either from lack of ability to see it sufficiently or to properly identify it. a blank space in any colmn indicates that such part of the observation was not made. the usual signs ô (male) and % (female) are used freely. nesting habits of hermit thrush 7 time of feeding kind of food table 1-july 31 remarks disposition of excreta remarks 7:49 a. m. ? 8 feeds 2 juvs. 8:04 a. m. lepid. larva feeds 1 juv. none 8:09 a. m. ? ô gives food to deposited in picked up and swalbrooding 9 nest lowed by who feeds 1 juv. 4:10 p. m. lepid. lar. divides larva none va 142" long between 2 juvs. 4:12 p. m. acridiid feeds 1 juv. by 2 juvs. received directly; swallowed by 4:35 p. m. ? ô feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. received directly; swallowed by ő 4:50 p. m. larva partfeeds 2 juvs. by 1 juv. received directly; ly crushed swallowed by 0 4:52 p. m. ? ô feeds 1 juv. none 4:58 p. m. cutworm $ feeds 3 juvs. none 5:08 p. m. 3 acridiids ô feeds 3 juvs. none 5:17 p. m. ô feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. 5:18 p. m. feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. general remarks un tablo i observations were made between the hours of 7:00 and 9:30 a. m. and 4:00 and 5:22 p. m., a total period of four homs and fifty-two minutes, during which the young were fed twelve times. at 8:39 a. m. the brooding female partly arose from the nest and picked up an excreta sac which had been deposited by one of the young. while in most cases the parent was on the lookout at the time the excreta sac was voided, this was not invariably true. after feeding a nestling the parent bird sometimes waited for from several seconds to a minute at the edge of the nest to see if the excreta sac would be voided. whenever it was expelled the adult ordinarily immediately swallowed it before it fell. as near as could be ascertained this excreta sac was swallowed by the parent at the nest until about noon on august 3, when the adult was first seen to carry the sac away. the excreta sac was not always voided by a nestling immediately after it had been fed as is indicated in numerous instances in the tables. usually when the young voided the excrement both the head and the vent were raised, although on some occasions the head was lowered in this act. the excrement ap8 iowa studies in natural history peared to be contained within this gelatinous sac during the entire time that the young were in the nest. time of feeding kind of food table ii-august 1 remarks disposition of excreta remarks 9:06 a. m. 2 lepid. larvae 9:26 a. m. 9:35 a. m. 9:46 a. m. acridiids o feeds both to by same act occurred imme1 juv. juv. diately after being fed. swallowed by 우 ​ô feeds 2 juvs. by 1 juv. swallowed by ô feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ô feeds 4 juvs. by 1 juv. swallowed by ô ; leaves at once & feeds ? juvs. by 1 juv. 9:52 a. m. ? 9:58 a. m. 3 acridiid feeds 2 juvs. by 1 juv. nymphs 10:14 a. m. lepid. larô feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ô ; va 2" long leaves at once 11:14 a. m. acridiid $ feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. 11:15 a. m. acridiid ô feeds 1 juv. by 2 juvs. received and swallowed by ô 11:16 a. m. hairy lefeeds 1 juv. pid. larva general remarks on table ii observations were made on this date only between the hours of 9:00 and 11:18 a. m. during which period the young were fed ten times. from what the writer saw on this and subsequent occasions he is led to the belief that the parent birds, both of whom fed the young and removed the excreta, exercised very little choice or discrimination in selecting a certain nestling to receive whatever food was brought. one nestling might receive food two or three times in succession, while another might have to go hungry for as many visits. during the first days of feeding the nestlings both parents announced their arrival in the vicinity by a low trill or chirp. invariably upon hearing this note the mouths of all the youngsters were opened widely. the female ordinarily alighted about five feet from the nest, surveyed the situation for an instant, then ran toward the waiting young. the male usually arrived at or very near the nest with a considerable flutter of wings. the hairy lepidopterous larva fed at 11:36 was an unusual nesting habits of hermit thrush 9 morsel for the nestlings; during the entire time that the birds were under observation a hairy caterpillar was not again offered. the larva which was brought to the young by the male at 10:14 was offered to one nestling who made a vigorous but unsuccessful attempt to swallow it. the parent seeing the dilemma of the youngster took it from his throat and ran the larva slowly and carefully through his own mandibles, in this way crushing it; he then fed it to a different nestling who also attempted the impossible. after removing the larva from his throat and crushing it still further and in the same manner as before the parent offered the now sadly bedraggled larva to the original recipient who succeeded in his efforts at swallowing it. the entire performance lasted about three minutes. as again illustrating the fact that the young void the excrement at other times than immediately after being fed the following excerpt from the writer's notes of this date may be quoted: “at 9:19, after the female had been brooding for several minutes, she arose in the nest and took a bit of excrement from one of the nestlings." the hour between 10:14 and 11:14 when the young were not fed was occupied partly by the female in brooding although she did not return to the nest until 10:28 at which time she brought no food. 10 iowa studies in natural history time of feeding table iiiaugust 2 kind of remarks disposition food of excreta remarks 7:06 a. m. ? feeds 1 juv. 7:18 a. m. larva feeds both ? and juv. 7:25 a. m. ? ô feeds both o and juv. 8:08 a. m. insect feeds 1 juv. 8:09 a. m. larva ő feeds 1 juv. 8:21 a. m. larva feeds 1 juv. 8:24 a. m. larva ô feeds 1 juv. 8:26 a. m. larva & feeds 1 juv. 8:42 a. m. larva 9 feeds 1 juv. 8:50 a. m. larva ő feeds 1 juv. 9:02 a. m. larva feeds 2 juvs. 9:30 a m.. ? feeds 2 juvs. 10:01 a. m. insect ô feeds 3 juvs. by 1 juv. 10:31 a. m. insect ô feeds 2 juvs. by 1 juv. 10:40 a. m. gryllid & ô feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. acridiid 10:41 a. m. ? 9 feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ! 11:12 a. m. larva ő feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ő 11:27 a. m. ? q feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ö feeds 3 juvs. 11:34 a. m. acridiid ? feeds 2 juvs. by 1 juv. swallowed by a 11:57 a. m. ? ô feeds 1 juv. 12:01 p. m. lepid lar. & feeds 1 juv. va 2:03 p. m. ? ô feeds 2 juvs. by 2 juvs. swallca ed by ô 2:12 p. m. ? feeds 2 juvs. ry 2 juvs. swallowed by ô 2:23 p. m. lepid. larva ð feeds 1 juv. none 2:28 p. m. ? ô feeds 1 juv. none 2:29 p. m. ? ô feeds 3 juvs. none 3:15 p. m. leg of 9 feeds 1 juv. none acridiid 3:23 p. m. fragment of acridiid . feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ! 3:25 p. m. ? 8 feeds 1 juv. none 3:35 p. m. ? 9 feeds 1 juv. none 3:46 p. m. ô feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by 4:21 p. m. lepid. larva : feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by 4:39 p. m. ? ô feeds 2 juvs. by 1 juv. swallowed by g 4:45 p. m. moth o feeds 2 juvs. none 4:52 p. m. gryllid & feeds 1 juv. none 5:06 p. m. insect feeds 1 juv. none 5:16 p. m. green le& feeds 1 juv. none pid. larva { general remarks on table iii on this date observations were made between 9:00 a. m. and 12:01 p. m. and between 2:00 and 5:18 p. m. during which period thirty-eight feedings were administered. nesting habits of hermit thrush 11 the insect fed to the nestling at 8:08 was secured by the female not more than a foot from the nest. she left her brooding only long enough to capture the insect and to feed it to the nestling then resumed her place on the nest. at 11:34 both parents appeared at the nest with food at about the same time, an unusual occurrence. at 11:52 a. m. and again at 3:02 p. m. one of the nestlings defecated without having been fed. the excreta sac was taken from the vent of the nestling and swallowed by the brooding female on both occasions. at 4:50 the female picked and ate blueberries near the nest but offered none to the nestlings. at no time during our observations were the young offered berries or fruit. 12 iowa studies in natural history time of feeding table iv-august 3 kind of remarks disposition food of excreta remarks m. 9:12 a. ? ô feeds 2 juvs. 9:17 a. m. i feeds 2 juvs. by 1 juv. swallowed by 9:35 a. m. lepid. larva o feeds 2 juvs. by 1 juv. swallowed by ô & 2 acri. diids 9:43 a. m. 2 gryllids ĉ feeds 2 juvs. none 9:54 a. m. 1 gryllid ô feeds 1 juv. none 9:56 a. m. 1 gryllid feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallɔwed by $ 9:57 a. m. spider ô feeds 1 juv. none 10:14 a. m. 2 gryllids ő feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ô 10:15 a. m. 2 gryllids feeds 1 juv. by 2 juvs. swallowed by ? 10:27 a. m. 1 gryllid & ô feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ô as 1 acridiid he flew away 10:42 a. m. lepid. larva ô feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ô & gryllid (not the one fed) 10:43 a. m. ? 9 feeds 1 jur. none 10:50 a. m. gryllid ô feeds 1 juv. none 10:54 a. m. 1 acridiid 7 feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. flies away with & 1 gryllid both insects (not the excrement in bill at same tin:e one fed) 3:10 p. m. insect feeds 1 juv. none 3:28 p. m. insect o feeds 1 juv. 3:42 p. m. 3 insects feeds 4 juvs. 3:45 p. m. insect 9 feeds 1 juv. 3:58 p. m. ? ô feeds 1 juv. none 4:08 p. m. several o feeds 2 juvs. insects 4:11 p. m. larva feeds 3 juvs. excreta swallowed bs 4:22 p. m. ? ô feeds 2 juvs. 4:30 p. m. ? & feeds 2 juvs. (not the ones just fed) 4:35 p. m. ? feeds 1 juv. 4:52 p. m. insect feeds 3 juvs. 4:59 p. m. ? ô feeds 1 juv. general remarks on table iv the observations on this date covered the time between 8:55 and 11:00 a. m. and 3:05 and 5:06 p. m. during which twentysix feedings were administered. the male usually announced his arrival by a low trill and as soon as the brooding female heard it she left the nest. almost immediately after feeding the young he flew away again. this behavior was fairly constant throughout our observations. the foregoing table shows a greater variety of food brought to the nestlings than heretofore. nesting habits of hermit thrush 13 at 9:57 both parents were at the nest with food. at 4:58 the female after having been absent for four minutes returned without food. apparently the young defecate only when one of the parent birds is at the nest. table v-august 4 kind of remarks disposition food of excreta time of feeding remarks 7:25 a. m. ? & feeds 4 juvs. by 1 juv. 7:31 a. m. lepid. larva | feeds 4 juvs. 7:34 a. m. ? ô feeds 1 juv. 7:50 a. m. lepid. larva o feeds 2 juvs. by 2 juvs. swallowed by ô 8:02 a. m. ? $ feeds 1 juv. picks bit of excrement from bottom of nest and swallows it 8:16 a. m. lepid. larva ô feeds 1 juv. (leaves at once). 8:26 a. m. green lepid. larva o feeds 2 juvs. by 1 juv. & flies away with it 8:32 a. m. ? ô feeds 3 juvs. (leaves at once) 8:40 a. m. ô feeds 2 juvs. (leaves at once) 8:43 a. m. ? & feeds 3 juvs. 8:46 a. m. larva ô feeds juv. (leaves at once) 8:50 a. m. ? 8 feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv removed by 8:51 a. .m ? o feeds 2 juvs. 8:52 a. m. ő feeds 1 juv. 9:07 a. m. larva ô feeds 3 juvs. 9:09 a. m. ? feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ! 9:16 a. m. ? ô feeds 2 juvs. none 9:32 a. m. ? 0 feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ! 9:42 a. m. 0 feeds 3 juvs. 9:45 a. m. green lepid. ô feeds 1 juv. larva (leaves at once) 10:03 a. m. insect feeds 2 juvs. by 1 juv. swallowed by ! 10:06 a. m. gryllid ő feeds 2 juvs. by 1 juv. ô flies away with excrement in bill 10:18 a. m. green lepid. ô feeds 2 juvs. larva 10:25 a. m. green lepid. & feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. alies away with exlarva crement in bill 10:48 a. m. green lepid. & feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ! larva 10:55 a. m. ? 9 feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by 3:12 p. m. ő feeds 1 juv. 14 iowa studies in natural history 3:20 p. m. insect 3:31 p. m. insect 3:34 p. m. ? 3:48 p. m. ? 4:02 p. m. 4:03 p. m. 4:08 p. m. ad. feeds 3 juvs. (leaves at once) 8 feeds 1 juv. by same swallowed by ô juv. as fed feeds 1 juv. (leaves at once) ad. feeds 1 by 1 juv. ad. leaves with exjuv. crement in bill ô feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ô 9 feeds 1 juv. ô feeds 1 juv. ly 1 juv. ô flies away with excrement in bill 4 feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by $ ô feeds 2 juvs. ad. feeds 1 juv. feeds 1 juv. ô feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. & flies away with excrement in bill 4:35 p. m. 4:41 p. m. 5:52 p. m. 5:53 p. m. 5:55 p. m. ? general remarks on table v the observations on this date were made between 7:05 and 11:05 a. m. and between 3:00 and 6:02 p. m. during which period the young were fed thirty-nine times. as before, the male usually announced his arrival at or near the nest by a low trill. under the caption “excreta sac removed by ô” the observer was not sure whether the excreta was swallowed or simply removed. in some cases the adults flew away with the excreta sac in the bill. whether it was subsequently swallowed was not ascertained. the nestling fed at 9:09 was one of the three that had been fed by the male at 9:07. it still seemed that the parents used little selection or discrimination in feeding the young. at 9:16 the nestling first fed was the one that had been neglected at the two preceding feedings. at 3:25 both parents were away from the nest and the nestlings were apparently suffering from the heat. neither adult was at the nest between 4:43 and 5:52, an unusually long absence. nesting habits of hermit thrush 15 table vi–august 5 kind of remarks disposition food of excreta time of feeding remarks 9:40 a. m. ; ? 9 feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by 9:45 a. m. ô feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. swallowed by ô (leaves at once) 9:50 a. m. ? 9 feeds 1 juv. 9:55 a. m. ? feeds 1 juv. 10:02 a. m. larva ô feeds 1 juv. (leaves at once) 10:10 a. m. ? feeds 1 juv. (leaves at once) 10:14 a. m. insect ô feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. ô leaves with excrement in bill 10:16 a. m. gryllids ô feeds 2 juvs. 6 picks up excrement from bottom of nest and flies away 10:27 a. m. ? feeds 1 juv. & flies away with excrement in bill 11:14 a. m. gryllids ô feeds 1 juv. (leaves at once) 11:16 a. m. insect o feeds 1 juv. 11:18 a. m. green larva 9 feeds 1 juv. (flies away at 11:19) 11:22 a. m. gryllid feeds 1 juv. 11:24 a. m. ? ô feeds 1 juv. 11:25 a. m. ? feeds 1 juv. 2:02 p. m. gray lepid. ô feeds 1 juv. larva (leaves at once) 2:07 p. m. ? ô feeds 1 juv. (leaves at once) 2:17 p. m. 3 gryllids o feeds 3 juvs. 1 juv. deposits pellet of excrement in nest; seized by who flies away at once 2:22 p. m. 1 gryllid feeds 1 juv. by one juv.—not the one fedswallowed by 2:41 p. m. 1 gryllid ô feeds 1 juv. (leaves at once) 2:51 p. m. 1 gryllid & ô feeds 2 juvs. ô received pellet of excrement 1 acridiid and flew away 2:57 p. m. gryllid feeds 1 juv. $ waits a few seconds for pellet of excrement and flies away 3:05 p. m. gryllid feeds 1 juv. 3:17 p. m. 1 gryllid & o feeds 3 juvs. ! receives pellet of excrement 2 acridiids from 1 juv. and flies away 3:30 p. m. ? feeds 1 juv. 9 swallows pellet of excrement and flies away 3:31 p. m. ? ô feeds 1 juv. ô swallows pellet of excrement and flies away 4:00 p. m. green lepid. ô feeds 1 juv. ô swallows pellet of excrement larva and aies away 16 iowa studies in natural history general remarks on table vi observations were made on this date between 9:30 and 11:30 a. m. and between 2:00 and 4:02 p. m. during which time the young received twenty-seven feedings. the nestlings appeared more active than at any previous date, moving about in the nest, scratching their heads and eyes with their feet and pecking at their own plumage as if dressing and preening it. at 10:35 the female, after an absence of eight minutes, arrived at the nest without food but remained for only three minutes; this time she occupied in pulling and pushing the nest materials about as if to make the home more tidy. at 11:27 the observer noted the female chasing a grasshopper near the nest; she was unsuccessful in her attempts to catch the insect. again at 3:57 p. m. the female arrived without food; upon her arrival all the mouths opened as usual and the adult pecked the inside of the mouth of one nestling as if to make him believe he were being fed. the ruse seemed to have the effect of quieting the youngster. time of feeding table vii–august 6 kind of remarks disposition food of excreta remarks 3:11 p. m. ? 3:23 p.m. insect 9 feeds 1 juv. ô feeds 1 juv. ô receives pellet of excrement and flies away & feeds 2 juvs. none ô feeds 1 juv. o feeds 3 juvs & feeds 1 juv. 3:48 p. m. 3:51 p. m. 4:10 p. m. 4:55 p. m. larva insect insects insect general remarks on table vii observations were conducted only between the hours of 3:05 and 5:06 p. m. during which time the young received six feedings. the adults remained away from their brood a great deal of the time, and the number of feedings was somewhat reduced, averaging but three per hour. the nestlings were now so large as to occupy almost the ennesting habits of hermit thrush 17 tire space within the nest, leaving little room for the parent who often sat at the edge looking at her brood. the young birds were well feathered and appeared more alert to outside disturbances than before. they flapped their wings from time to time in an apparent attempt to leave the nest and pulled and tugged at their plumage as if to clean it. at 3:47 the female returned without food, remained but a moment, then flew away. again at 4:32 the female returned without food and remained sitting on the edge of the nest looking at the nestlings. table viii-august 7 time of kind of remarks disposition remarks feeding food of excreta ? 7:25 a. m. ad. feeds 1 ad, leaves after picking up exjuv. crement 8:00 a. m. ? ad. feeds 3 ad. flies away at once with exjuvs. crement in bill 8:07 a. m. ? ad. feeds 2 ad. waits in vain 2 minutes for juvs. juv. to defecate-flies away 8:17 a. m. ? ad. feeds 1 ad. flies away with excrement juv. 8:22 a. m. ? ad. feeds 1 ad. flies away with excrement juv, 8:24 a. m. ? ad. feeds 1 ad. flies away with excrement juv. 8:26 a. m. acridiid ad. feeds ad. flies away with excrement same juv. as at 8:17 8:31 a. m. ? ad. feeds 1 juv. 8:40 a. m. ? ad. feeds 1 juv. 8:57 a. m. ad. feeds same juv, as at 8:40 10:24 a. m. ? ad. feeds 1 none juv. 10:30 a. m. larva o feeds 3 juvs. by 1 juv. 9 flies away with it 10:37 a. m. black insect & feeds 1 juv. by i juv. $ flies away with it & acridiid 10:40 a. m. acridiid ad. feeds 1 juv. 3:50 p. m. ô feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. ô flies away with it 3:55 p. m. ő feeds 1 juv. by 1 juv. ô flies away with it 3:57 p. m. larvae feeds 3 juvs. not until $ swallows it 4:01 4:30 p. m. ? ô feeds ! juv. 18 iowa studies in natural history general remarks on table viii observations were conducted between the hours of 7:20 and 11:00.a m. and between 3:00 and 5:00 p. m. during which period eighteen feedings were administered and excreta sacs were voided twenty-one times. the nestlings appeared even more restless than on the preceding day. they were continually shifting their positions, preening their feathers, trying their wings and pecking the side of the nest or one another, the adults absented themselves for considerable periods of time. neither parent visited the young between 3:00 and 3:30 p. m. at which time the male returned without food and remained at the edge of the nest for twelve minutes. at 9:16 one of the adult birds suddenly swooped down from a nearby perch, picked up a voided excreta sac and carried it away; again at 9:24 and 9:38 this performance was repeated. at 9:46 the female returned cautiously, obtained a voided excreta sac and flew away. excreta sacs were removed by the adults also at the following hours: 10:07, at which time two sacs were voided by different birds, 10:15, 3:45, 4:04 and 4:44. at none of these times were the adults on the nest but apparently they were on watch near by. food was not brought on any of these visits which were apparently solely for the removal of the excreta sacs. at 8:43 a chipmunk appeared near the blind and immediately upon discovering it the female dashed at the rodent from a near by log. she followed the intruder with much pecking and flapping of wings until he sought the friendly refuge of the mess tent a few yards away. observations on august 8 on august 8 observations were begun at 7:00 a. m. when both parents were absent from the nest. while the writer was attempting to lift up one of the young birds in his hands it escaped, and, at the same time, two of the other nestlings with much squawking, fluttered off through the ferns and bushes amid the excited cries of the parents in the low branches of trees a few feet away. in its effort to repel the intruder one of the adult birds flapped him on the head with its wings. durnesting habits of hermit thrush 19 ing all this excitement one nestling remained on the nest, but at 7:03 it too left, half flying, half running through the blueberry bushes. the young were by this time well scattered and the adult birds called every few seconds for over an hour, the nestlings answering at intervals. at 7:07 the female returned to the nest which now contained only the addled egg and three excreta sacs with one of which she immediately flew away. at 7:10 she returned for another sac and a minute later she flew back for a third sac which she carried away. she did not seem excited at the absence of the nestlings and apparently was preparing the nest for further use. the female visited the nest again for moment at 7:13 and at 7:48 she returned, pecked two or three times in the bottom, walked across it and flew away, returning once more at 7:53 when the same performance was noted. at 8:10 one of the adults with food in its bill alighted on a low limb of a birch tree near by; every few seconds it called to the young. fifteen minutes later an adult bird carrying food was again observed in the vicinity. it uttered an unbroken series of low clucks and after a moment flew to the ground where one of the young was calling and probably fed it, for not a sound was heard from this spot for more than a minute. although the family was now dispersed the adults seemed to be as active as ever in feeding the nestlings and not much time was lost in idleness once the disturbance of the morning had abated. the nest and vicinity were again inspected in the evening but no trace of the adults or young was discovered; only the addled egg remained. our observations were thus brought to a rather sudden and untimely end. however, it seems certain that in another twenty-four hours the young would have left the nest of their own accord instead of in the rather unsummary and irregular manner herein described. although nothing was seen of the young thrushes subsequent to this episode it is likely that they remained in the vicinity for a time or at least until they could fly well. concerning the habits of this species after deserting the nest audubon re20 iowa studies in natural history marks. “the young run after the parents, on the ground, for several days after they leave the nest." similar and corroborative observations have since been made on this point although the writer was unable to follow up this phase of the study to his own satisfaction. date table ix-tabular summary no. hrs. observation no. times food was brought to young july 31 august 1 august 2 august 3 august 4 4 hrs. 52 min. 2 hrs 18 min. 8 hrs. 18 min. 4 hrs. 6 min. 7 hrs. 2 min. 12, ô 6, ? 6 10, ô 4, 오 ​6 38, ø 20, 018 26, ô 15, p 11 39, ô 21, 15 sex undetermined on 3 occasions 27, ô 11, ø 16 6, 6 2, 9 4 18, ô 3, 3 sex undetermined on 12 occasions august 5 august 6 august 7 4 hrs. 2 min. 2 hrs. 1 min. 5 hrs. 40 min. total 38 hrs. 29 min. 176 general surimary 1. observations on the young in the nest were conducted over a period of thirty-eight hours and twenty-nine minutes between july 31 and august 8. during this time 176 feedings were administered. 2. brooding was carried on only by the female. 3. at no time during our observations were the young indulged with a vegetarian diet, although the adults were seen to eat blueberries on at least two occasions. the food of the nestlings was entirely of insects either in the larval or adult stage. 4. on many occasions the parent bird fed more than one nestling. at no time was feeding by regurgitation observed. 5. at no time during our observation was the male hermit thrush heard to sing, although the familiar high-pitched call very like that of the cedar waxwing was given often. 6. the nestlings did not always void the excreta sac immediately after being fed, sometimes not for several minutes or even longer after the act of feeding occurred. 7. during approximately the first half of the nestling period the adults swallowed the excreta sac. during the latter half of 2 audubon, john james, american ornithological biography, i, 1831, 303. nesting habits of hermit thrush 21 the period the sac was usually, although not invariably, carried away. the female was seen to swallow an excreta sac at the nest on august 7. 8. toward the close of the nestling period the adults remained away from the nest for considerable intervals. sometimes the adults returned to the nest without food and only for the purpose of carrying away the voided excreta sacs. 9. the male and female each had their own particular mode of approach to the nest, the female usually alighting a few feet from it and running quietly up to the young while the male usually alighted almost immediately at the nest with food. he was more nervous and noisy in his actions than the female. | obtainable from the university librarian: price $ 40 kepimos om je w first series no. 40 january 1, 1921 dec 141920 university of iowa studies studies in natural history volume ix number 3 the erosional history of the driftless area but 2 by arthur c. trowbridge 115800% to 8 03 published by the university, iowa city issued semi-monthly throughout the year. entered at the post office at iowa city iowa, as second class matter. acceptance for mailing at special rates of postage provided for in section 1103, act of october 2, 1917, authorized on july 3, 1918. tv university of iowa studies in natural history professor charles cleveland nutting, m. a., editor continuation of bulletin from the laboratories of natural history of the state university of iowa volume ix number 3 the erosional history of the driftless area by arthur c. trowbridge published by the university, iowa city 1 1 1 part i multiple erosion cycles in principle # 2 contents page introductory sketch 7 more than one cycle of erosion 9 theoretic considerations 9 evidences of more than one cycle 12 interrupted profile 12 stream terraces 13 intrenched meanders 15 associated sets of straight and crooked streams 19 antecedent streams 21 windgaps 24 even-crested summit areas 26 in regions of folded strata 27 in regions of horizontal or nearly horizontal strata 28 in regions of igneous rocks 30 intermediate plains 31 fluvial deposits on uplands 33 combinations 34 more than two cycles 37 the determination of diastrophic events 39 the number of movements 39 the nature of movements 40 uniform uplift 40 uplift with tilting 40 uplift with warping 41 uplift with faulting 43 subsidence 44 the amount of movement 44 the determination of dates 45 the ages of old erosion surfaces 45 the dates of movement 47 the duration of geologic time 48 conclusion of part i 49 || 4 part i multiple erosion cycles in principle introductory sketch first steps in the interpretation of the erosional histories of regions were taken when (1) the processes of land degradation by streams were worked out, (2) the limits of change were recognized, and (3) the stages of reduction, expressed in the terms youth, maturity, and old age were described. second steps were taken by dutton? who conceived that the arizona plateau had been degraded to low levels and then had been uplifted in such a way as to start new cycles of erosion. following the lead of dutton but bringing to bear upon their studies critical and analytical methods willis", hayes and campbell, davis and others wrote histories of parts of the appalachian mountains, not only presenting and explaining evidences of more than one cycle of erosion, but working out evidences of more than two cycles, describing the degree of completeness of reduction reached in each cycle, giving the geologic dates of each event in the erosional history of the region, interpreting the number, character and dates of uplift, etc. but, by its very thoroughness and accuracy, this work has led unfortunately to confusion. later the principles so well used in the appalachian region were applied, with little consideration, to regions where their application was doubtful. complex series of events were thus assigned to regions whose histories were simple, and there came to be more raised peneplains in literature than in the field. the care1. dutton, c. e., “tertiary history of the grand canyon district," u. s. gcol. surr., monograph no. 2, 1882. 2. willis, bailey, the northern appalachians, physiography of united states, 1895, pp. 169-202. 3. hayes, willard c., and campbell, m. r., “geomorphology of the southern appalachians," nat'l geog. mag., vol. vi (1894), pp. 63-126. davis, w. m.. "rivers and valleys of pennsylvania," nat'l geog. mag., vol. i (1889), pp. 183-253. 7 8 iowa studies in natural history lessness of physiographic interpretation during this time was followed by a period of reaction ushered in by the criticism of tarrl who seems to have been the first to sound a note of warning and present the idea that not all flattish surfaces above streams are old peneplains. but now tarr's argument in turn seems to have been carried beyond the point intended by its author, for many geologists having convinced themselves and others that some physiographic features which have been described as raised peneplains are not old erosion surfaces, have proceeded to the extreme conclusion that there are no such things as raised peneplains and consider no evidence either in favor of or against the peneplain theory in working out the histories of regions in the field. the conclusion that because some upland flats are not old peneplains there is no such thing as raised peneplains is as unwarranted and as great detriment in the search for truth as was the conclusion of the older physiographers that because some upland surfaces were old peneplains, all such surfaces could be identically interpreted. the extreme reaction against the peneplain theory seems to be giving way at present to a revival of interest in the subject, as shown in the spirited discussion among umpleby”, atwood", blackwelder', and rich”, all of whom assume the existence of a raised peneplain and differ among themselves only in regard to the age of the plain. r. t. chamberlin' also clearly believes in the peneplain theory, as evidenced in one of his latest productions. physiographers seem still to be about evenly divided into two groups, the members of one of which disregard the peneplain theory er1 1. tarr. ralph s., “the peneplain," am. geol. vol. xxi (1898). pp. 351-371. 2. umpleby, joseph b., "an old erosion surface in idahoits age and value as a datum plane," jour. gool., vol. xx, no. 2, pp. 139-147; “an old erosjon surface in eastern utah its age and value in time determination,' abstract, wash. cad. sei. jour., vol. 2, pp. 109-110, 1912; "the old erosion surface in idaho," jour. geol., vol. xxi. pp. 221 et seq, 1913. 3. atwood, wallace w., "the physiographie conditions at butte, montana and bingham canyon, utah when the copper ores in these districts were enriched," econ. geol., vol. xi, pr. 687-740, 1916 ; "physiographic conditions and copper enrichment." econ. geol., vol. xii, pp. 545-517, 1917. 4. blackwelder, e.. "physiographic conditions and copper enrichment," econ. geol., vol. xii, pp. 511-515, 1917. 5. rich, john l., "an old erosion surface in idaho: is it eocene," econ. geol., vol. xiii, no. 2, march, 1918. 6. chamberlin, r. t., “the building of the colorado rockies," jour. geol., vol. xxvii, pp. 145-251. 1 erosional history of driftless area 9 tirely in field work, while those of the other group believe that raised peneplains exist, but are doing little constructive thinking or writing in substantiation of the theory itself. it now seems appropriate to bring together all the methods which have been used in the interpretation of erosional histories, to analyze each method, to discuss its uses and abuses, and to attempt to assign to each its proper value. these are the purposes of this paper. both in the analysis of the principles and in the construction of the paper, the writer has been greatly assisted by professors r. d. salisbury, m. m. leighton, and leroy patton, of whom all were so kind as to read the first draft and to make helpful suggestions for incorporation in the final paper. more than one cycle of erosion theoretic considerations the rate of land degradation by streams has been estimated at 1 foot in 9000 years, under conditions which exist in the united states'. if the average altitude of the land today be taken as 2300 feet it would take more than 20,000,000 years for streams to reduce the land to sea level. but the process of degradation becomes slower as the lands are reduced. this progressively decreasing rate of reduction carried through from youth to the ideal baselevelled condition would involve an amount of time approaching infinity. indeed, it seems doubtful if geologic time has been as long as a complete cycle of erosion would be. but, though it be uncertain that lands were ever reduced to base level, they have been reduced to low levels; that is, perfect baselevel plains are probably not formed, but peneplains may be. there is no theoretic reason for believing that extensive areas have not been peneplained again and again. if the history of land surfaces were merely a matter of formation and subsequent degradation, most lands should to-day be in the condition of peneplains. the fact that 1. water supply paper no. 234, u. s. geological survey, pp. 78-83. 10 iowa studies in natural history 1 high lands exist demonstrates that there are forces which give lands high altitudes and that these forces, on the average, at least balance the processes of degradation. these renewing forces are diastrophic. there is not perfect agreement among geologists concerning some of the phases of diastrophism, but the principles involved in land formation are fairly well agreed upon. lands are due to lithospheric contraction. as the lithosphere shrinks, the ocean basins settle more than the continental platforms, the capacity of the ocean basins increases, the water withdraws from the continental platforms, and lands are increased in area or height or both. if lands have been reduced to low levels and the lithosphere shrinks, these lands are left higher by the withdrawal of the sea and a new cycle of erosion is inaugurated. if diastrophism were a continuous process, land would be reduced slowly if general degradation exceeded uplift, it would remain at a generally constant level if degradation and uplift were equal, and it would become slowly higher if uplift took place more rapidly than degradation. the height of land would depend upon a balance between diastrophic uplift and degradation by all agents of which running water is chief. pronounced diastrophism manifests itself periodically rather than continuously. degradation goes on uninterruptedly between periods of diastrophism, but sooner or later the uplift comes, degradation is renewed and new cycles of crosion are inaugurated. the relative duration of erosion cycles and diastrophic periods now becomes important. if the diastrophic period is longer than the erosional cycle, land is totally destroyed and then formed again. if the periodic uplifts come so frequently and the land is uplifted each time so high that the land added by each uplift is not entirely destroyed before the next uplift, the history is one of land increase, partial degradation, further increase, partial degradation, and so on. neither the cycle of erosion nor the diastrophic period is of determinate duration, and therefore there can be no invariable rule in their relative valucs, but a study erosional history of driftless area 11 of geologic history leads to the conclusion that the complete erosion cycle is in most cases at least longer than the diastrophic period. this being the case most cycles of erosion are interrupted by uplift and few if any cycles of erosion have been complete. doubtless there have been cases in which lands have been so reduced by all the agencies at work on their surfaces and by deposition in the sea that the sea spread over them, but probably there has never been a time when whole continents have been so destroyed. in any case the present paper deals only with those surfaces which have not been reduced to the condition of submergence. the question now arises as to what stage of degradation is reached by the average surface before the cycle is interrupted. tarrl has argued that because there are few if any low level plains to-day which have been developed by streams, there never have been any and that pleneplains have never existed. this conclusion is hardly warranted, for the present day may be one closely following an uplift. the writer would agree that probably no continent-wide and perfectly flat erosional plains have been developed in the past, but he cannot agree that smaller areas have not been brought to an earlier stage of reduction which might be defined by the term peneplain. it seems unavoidable to suppose that erosion cycles might be interrupted either in youth, maturity, or old age. but interruption in old age should theoretically be most common, for degradation takes place most rapidly in youth and maturity, and is much slower in old age. land is reduced rather quickly to the peneplain stage but further reduction to complete base level is almost infinitely slow. that is, in a complete cycle the stage of old age would be longer than youth and maturity. if a region rcached old age in the first cycle and has gone only to maturity of the second, some of the characteristics of the first cycle will have held over into the second, and the history should be ascertainable. if on the other hand, a region is in youth of the first cycle when the interruption 1. tarr, r. s., “the peneplain," am. geol., vol. 21, pp. 351-370. 12 iowa studies in natural history 1 1 occurs, and it is in youth of the second cycle at the time of observation, it would be almost impossible to determine that it had entered upon a second cycle. it would be still more difficult to interpret the history of a region in which a cycle of erosion had gone so nearly to completeness that all evidences of a former cycle had been obliterated. indeed, satisfactory determination seems to be almost limited to cases where each cycle of erosion is less nearly complete than those which preceded. . 1 evidences of more than one cycle of erosion several different physiographic features have been used as criteria for more than one cycle of erosion in the history of land surfaces. if their relative values are to be fixed, it is necessary that each of these features be analyzed. interrupted profile streams which have reached grade, normally have concave profiles with progressively decreasing gradients from source to debouchure. (abc fig. 1). if such a profile be 1 fig. 1. a diagram in explanation of interi upted profile due to rejuvenation of a stream. abc is the profile of the stream in old age of the first cycle when sea level was cd. abe is the profile after sea level has taken the position ef and the rejuvenated stream has worked headward to be. developed in old age of a first cycle of erosion and if the region then be uplifted so that a steep bordering slope is formed, rejuvenating the stream, degradation will be renewed first near the mouth of the stream, where a new valley and a new profile will be developed. as this new valley, with its profile, is extended headward, there will come a time when there is a double or interrupted profile (abe fig. 1) in which the upper portion was made in the erosional history of driftless area 13 first cycle and the lower portion in the second cycle of erosion. there are, however, distinct limitations to the use of interrupted profiles as criteria of rejuvenated streams. any stream which flows across resistant to non-resistant rock, and which has not yet brought the resistant rock to grade, may develop an interrupted profile in a single cycle of erosion. (fig. 2). if a relatively flat surface emerged soft rock hard rock soft rock fig. 2. diagram showing how interrupted profile abc may be developed in a single cycle of erosion with reference to sea level cd, due to inequalities in the hardness of the rock formations. from the sea and came to stand distinctly above its surroundings, as in the case of a plateau, water would run down the gently sloping summit surface and down the steep bordering slope and would acquire an interrupted profile which would last until the lower portion of the stream had worked headward to the very source of drainage. any region therefore having unequally resistant rock or any flattish surface bordered by a distinct descent, may have streams with interrupted profiles. in the abstract, interrupted profiles in the streams of a region merely suggest that the region may be in the second cycle; they do not furnish strong evidence, much less proof, of a second cycle. they amount to strong evidence, only after all other possible interpretations have been eliminated by careful study in the field. stream terraces the uplift of a surface in which a stream has previously reduced its bed to grade and developed a valley flat causes the stream to intrench itself in the flood plain and form 14 iowa studies in natural history terraces. (fig. 3). terraces so formed involve more than one cycle of erosion. however, stream terraces are formed in a single cycle of erosion (1) by unequal widening at the levels of un. equally resistant horizontal strata, (2) by the partial removal of glacial or fluvio-glacial fills in valleys, (3) by the o ! 1 c i ☺ b b. fig. 3. diagram showing how stream terraces may be formed by uplift of the surface after a stream has developed a valley fat. the profile abcdfgh is the cross section of the valley after grade level aa has been reached. by uplift a new level was established at bb, the rejuvenated stream cut the new valley cef, and terraces bc and fg were formed. 1 recession of falls through temporarily graded valley bottoms, (4) by the removal of dams, such as landslides, lava flows, sand dunes, etc., (5) by renewed erosion of a valley flat, due to increased volume in a pirate stream, (6) by the intrenchment of graded valley bottoms as a stream acquires greater length and more and longer tributaries and comes to drain a larger area, and increases in volume, (7) by a graded stream receiving less load from its head as gradients are lowered, and intrenching itself, (8) by a stream picking up much fine material from its flood plain and dropping less coarse material in its place, (9) by the shifting of meander belts down stream, etc. these are common processes and all the events in the history of many stream terraces take place in a single erosion cycle. from the above, it is clear that terraces along the streams of a region can seldom be used as adequate evidence of more than one cycle of erosion. on the other hand, if stream terraces can be analyzed and all possibilities can be eliminated except the one involving more than one cycle of erosion, they might be considered to be more than merely suggestive of a second cycle, especially if there are other evidences which corroborate the conclusion. 1 f erosional history of driftless area 15 intrenched meanders meandering streams in young valleys have long been used as evidence of second cycles of erosion in regions. by some they have been used as proof, even in regions which afford practically no other evidence of more than one cycle of erosion'. as commonly interpreted, the history of intrenched meanders is somewhat as follows: (1) in a first cycle of erosion a stream reaches grade, becomes sluggish, and develops a broad valley flat and broad meanders; (2) the surface is uplifted relative to sea, the stream is rejuvenated, and intrenches itself without changing its meandering course. the value of intrenched meanders as evidences of more than one cycle depends upon the definition of meanders, and the accuracy with which they may be distinguished from other crooks in streams. during all stages of their history all streams are more or less crooked. the first water which flows over a newly formed land surface concentrates in crooked courses, (1) where there are original depressions irregularly distributed, (2) where unequally resistant materials are not arranged in orderly fashion, or (3) where there are differences in the amount of water supply. if in this stage the streams are flowing over a low, almost flat surface, they are easily deflected and curves are developed which are identical in principle with meanders developed on valley flats by streams at grade. in this first stage of its history such a stream is said to be consequent and its curves might be called consequent crooks. continuing their histories, such streams lengthen by headward erosion, their heads being extended up the steepest slopes, through the least resistant material, and toward the greatest water supply. inasmuch as these determining conditions are irregularly distributed on most surfaces, this stage of stream adjustment involves the development of a second set of crooks which are also consequent. as the cycle of valley development and the cycle of land reduction continue, a third stage is reached in which stream piracy takes place, fourth gannett, henry, “physiographic types," folio no. 1, u. s. geol. surv. map and page 2. 16 iowa studies in natural history 9 1 streams are diverted and beheaded, drainage is reversed in direction, and still other crooks are developed. during any one of these first stages in stream adjustment, streams may reach temporary grade, on the upstream sides of resistant rock or upstream from glacial dams, blocking lava flows, landslides, or artificial dams, and develop meanders. finally, when the stream has developed its valley to old age, has large tributaries and large volume, and has reached a still later stage of adjustment, the stream is sluggish, is likely to be depositing, is easily turned from side to side, and stream meanders, as the term is commonly applied, are formed. the crooks developed in the first three stages as outlined above, may be formed and intrenched in a single cycle of erosion. it would require an uplift and a second cycle of erosion for the intrenchment of the meanders developed in the fourth stage. if meanders be defined as the curves acquired by a stream in the late stages of valley development, intrenched meanders would be proof of a second cycle of erosion. but a difficulty lies in distinguishing such meanders from crooks developed during earlier stages. the writer does not see any means of distinguishing crooks developed in youth on a flat surface (fig. 4, aa and bb) nor meanders formed on temporary flood plains upstream from obstructions, from meanders developed in old age (fig. 4 dd and ee). it seems even difficult, and in (. many cases impossible to distinguish the meanders of old age from ordinary crooks due to topography, irregularities of resistance, or stream piracy (fig. 4 cc). it has been said that meanders differ from other crooks, (1) in being more symmetrical, (2) in being so arranged that every portion of the stream course is a part of two meanders, and (3) in having a ratio of distance across the necks of meanders to distance around the meanders of about 1 to 7. a study of the courses of the missouri and sioux rivers on the elk point, s. d. topographic sheet, the missouri and platte rivers on the leavenworth, kas, sheet, mississippi river on the baton rouge, la. sheet, missouri river on the marshall, mo. sheet, the wabash, white and patoka river's on the princeton, ind. sheet, the wabash and little erosional history of driftless area 17 r. suora که fig. 4. a series of plats of stream courses of different histories. aa is a part of the course of maple river taken from the casselton, no. dak. topographic sheet. it has a consequent course in youth of its first cycle. curves developed on low, flat land. bb rock river, waterloo, wis. sheet. a consequent stream on the surface of glacial drift. cc deerfield river, wilmington, vt. sheet. a stream in harmony with rock hardness and topography. dd platte river, leavenworth, kas, sheet. meanders developed in old age. ee big sioux river, elkpoint, so. dak. sheet. meanders developed in old age. 18 iowa studies in natural history 1 1 wabash rivers on the new haven, ills. sheet, and nemaha river on the falls city, nebr. sheet, all of which are streams with meanders formed in old age, shows that these three characteristics of meanders are more imaginary than real. few if any distinguishable differences between the meanders of old age and crooks made in other ways are brought out by the comparison of the meandering streams referred to with typical crooked streams not in old age, such as red and buffalo rivers on the fargo, n. d. sheet, otter creek on the brandon, vt. sheet, deerfield river on the wilmington, vt. sheet, des moines river on the boone, iowa sheet, san joaquin river on the westley, cal. sheet, tuolumne river on the westport, cal. sheet, canadian river on the brilliant, n. m. sheet, stanislaus river on the ripon, cal. sheet. there being no distinguishable differences between the meandering streams referred to above and ordinary streams which have never reached old age, it follows that it is impossible to tell from the maps, after a study of the curves themselves, whether intrenched meanders of the second cycle of erosion or ordinary crooks of the first cycle are illustrated in the brazos river on the palo pinto, texas sheet, monongahela river on the brownsville, pa. sheet, canondoquinet creek on the harrisburg, pa. sheet, grant and platte rivers on the lancaster, wis. sheet, and osage river on the tuscumbia and forsyth, mo. (fig. 5) sheets. intrenched meanders might, however, in some cases at least, be distinguished from consequent crooks by the presence of outer valley walls. if the meander belt is located within outer valley walls and the stream is intrenched, the curves would seem to have been inherited from the meanders of an old age stage of valley development in a previous cycle. with this exception, which would rarely apply except in the early stages of a second cycle following a cycle which was interrupted before the valley walls became indistinct, intrenched meanders as evidence of more than one cycle in the erosional history of a surface would seem to have little if any value. only in combination with other and more decisive evidences would they rise in other cases above the rank of mere suggestion. erosional history of driftless area 19 associated sets of straight and crooked streams although it seems impossible to distinguish intrenched meanders from other stream curves by a study of the curves themselves, comparison of a stream and its own tributaries will, in some cases at least, determine whether or not a fig. 5. a plat of the course of white river taken from the forsyth, missouri topagraphic map. the stream flows in a young valley, and its course has been interpreted to be a series of intrenched meanders. reference to figure 4 brings out the danger in such interpretations. so far as the curves themselves are concerned, they might not be intrenched meanders, as that term is commonly applied, and the surface might have suffered only one cycle of erosion. crooked stream is in its second cycle. when a stream is old it meanders and has only a few tributaries which also meander. after rejuvenation, many other tributaries are developed, which do not meander. the early stages of a second cycle then would exhibit two sets of streams, one of which includes only a few large, conspicuously crooked streams, and the other set a large number of small, relatively straight streams. if all the streams of a region were formed in the same cycle under the same conditions, they should all show the same general character and degree of crookedness. if one set is curved and the other set straight, both cannot have been developed in the same cycle. (fig. 6) ( it seems, therefore, that this association of one set of streams which meander and a second set the members of which are conspicuously more nearly straight affords strong evidence that the surface on which the two sets are thus associated is not in its first cycle of erosion. 20 iowa studies in natural history fig. 6. a plat of the drainage of the pittsburg quadrangle. there are two distinct sets of streams, one including the large and most crooked streams, and the other the smaller and straighter ones. the large streams have a sort of curve different from that of the small ones. it seems that the large streams must have been developed to something like their present sizes and must have had their present courses before the small streams were started. the interpretation seems warranted that the courses of the large streams were established in old age of the first cycle of erosion and the small streams in the second cycle. erosional history of driftless area 21 antecedent streams the value of antecedent streams as evidences of more than one cycle of erosion in a region depends upon the definition of the term antecedent. the term was originally applied by powell' to streams which hold previously established courses as their beds are warped, folded, or faulted. the streams were supposed to degrade their beds as rapidly as the beds were warped up. such a history does not necessarily involve more than one cycle of erosion, except in the places where up-warping occurs. later the definition of antecedent streams was greatly broadened by davis, willis, and hayes and campbell, who applied the term to the potomac, susquehanna and other rivers of the appalachian mountains. this whole region was folded and then peneplained, the rivers acquired their present courses on the peneplain, and then uplift of the whole surface took place and the streams intrenched themselves in their old courses. according to this definition antecedent streams are those which develop courses independent of rock structures in old age of an erosion cycle and hold those courses after uplift. such streams are important evidences of more than one cycle. in a folded region, such as the appalachian mountains at the end of the paleozoic era, streams adjust their courses in several distinct stages during the first cycle of erosion. in stage i, the main streams flow parallel with the strike of the strata in the axes of the synclines and the tributaries flow down the limbs of the anticlines parallel with the dip and at right angles to the main streams. in this first stage the slope of the land controls the courses of the streams. in stage ii, those streams acquire an advantage, which first penetrate resistant layers and come to flow on non-resistant layers parallel with the strike. in this stage the main drainage lines shift to the limbs or axes of the anticlines. (fig. 7). now it is the resistance of the rock and the rock structures which control the courses of the streams. finally when old age has been reached and all or most of the rocks 1. powell. j. w., "explorations of the colorado river of the west and its tributaries," p. 163. 1875. 22 iowa studies in natural history have been reduced to grade, those streams which flow the shortest distance to the sea will have higher gradients than others and will therefore gradually absorb these other streams. the result is a drainage system in which the main streams flow the shortest distances to the sea irresfig. 7. diagram to illustrate the change from stage i to stage ii of stream adjustment in regions of folded strata. (after davis). . pective of rock structure or hardness, and even the tributaries flow into the mains by the shortest routes (stage iii, fig 8). near the divides where the streams are not at grade, tributaries may still be flowing parallel with the strike, controlled by the structure. in this third and final stage of adjustment the courses of the streams are again controlled by the topography, but the topography is not the same as it was in the first stage. roughly, stage i would correspond with youth of the cycle of erosion, stage ii with maturity, and stage iii with old age. if a region in which the streams have gone through the three stages of adjustment, be uplifted relative to the sea and the streams hold their courses during and after uplift, the streams in the second cycle would be antecedent according to the more recent use of the term. in a region of folderosional history of driftless area 23 ed strata during maturity, streams which have courses parallel or oblique to the dip and flow the shortest distance to the sea, afford good evidence that the region has suffered more than one cycle of erosion. bmw fig. 3. diagram illustrating stage iii of stream adjustment. (after davis). in case a region under investigation is not one of folded structures, the same general methods as outlined above may be applied. the stages of adjustment can be worked out and the corresponding stage of reduction. if the stage of reduction and stage of adjustment do not harmonize, the stream courses furnish evidence of more than one cycle of erosion. it must be recognized that by extremes in slope streams might work headward through hard rocks and that by extremes in non-resistance, they might extend headward through topographic elevations so as to flow through watergaps, all in the first cycle. it is not probable, however, that anything but the smaller streams of a region would in this 24 iowa studies in natural history way develop courses which would appear to be out of harmony with rock resistance and existing topography in a single cycle of erosion. another case of antecedent streams involves superimposition. streams which develop courses on newly formed surfaces, such as lava plains, emerging sea bottoms, or surfaces of glacial drift, may cut through superficial deposits and become superimposed upon previously existing, irregular, buried surfaces. such streams may have courses entirely out of harmony with the resistance, structure and topography of the old surfaces. superimposed streams are antecedent but they do not indicate that the youngest surface degraded has been reduced in more than one cycle of erosion. from the foregoing, it is seen that certain antecedent streams are significant of more than one cycle of erosion. if the main streams of a region show evidence of having reached a late stage of stream adjustment but if they are not in a late stage of erosion in the present cycle, they offer valuable and almost indisputable evidence of more than one cycle. the susquehanna river shown in fig. 9 practically proves that the region in which it has its course is not in its first cycle of erosion, if local warping under the stream and superimposition can be eliminated. windgaps it has long been the prevalent opinion that most, if not all, windgaps are the result of diversions by piracy of streams flowing in narrows or watergaps across hard ridges, leaving the watergaps without water. if this is the origin of windgaps, they have some value as evidences of more than one cycle of erosion in the region in which they are found. let a region of folded strata go to old age of a cycle of erosion and let the streams attain a final stage of adjustment following the shortest routes to the sea parallel or oblique with the dip of the strata. after uplift of the surface, new streams will be started which will adjust parallel with the strike on the less resistant formations. these streams under the new conditions will have the aderosional history of driftless area 25 vantage of the antecedent streams oblique to the strike and will behead the antecedent streams. this leaves windgaps where the antecedent streams flowed across hard formasusolehanna 121131 ragile fig. 9. part of the harrisburg, pa. topographic nap, showing the antecedent course of the susquehanna river. such a relation between stream course, topography, and rock structure proves that the surface has suffered more than one cycle of erosion. tions, provided these streams intrenched themselves in their old courses before piracy took place. in regions of folded strata there is possibility of piracy and the formation of windgaps in the first cycle of erosion. in passing from stage i to stage ii of adjustment the main streams are diverted from courses on the synclines to courses on the limbs or axes of the anticlines, giving rise to drainage systems some portions of which are parallel with 26 iowa studies in natural history the strike and other portions parallel with the dip. this stage is reached before the streams have reached their depth limits, and piracy may occur. indeed, the change from stage i to stage ii is not accomplished without piracy. in such cases streams parallel with the strike have the advantage of streams flowing across the strike and windgaps are formed which might be indistinguishable from those due to piracy in the second cycle. windgaps are not conspicuous in regions of horizontal strata nor in regions of massive rock, a fact which practically limits the application of windgaps to regions of folded or tilted strata. another limitation in the use of windgaps as criteria for more than one cycle of erosion has recently been emphasized by miller' who explains that windgaps may be formed by two streams working headward from opposite sides of the same divide, developing a permanent divide between their heads and forming a col. such a col could hardly be distinguished from gaps which had once been occupied by streams and then abandoned. a study of the relative sizes and gradients of the streams on either side of the divide might aid in determining the histories of such gaps. so difficult is it to distinguish wind gaps resulting from piracy in the second cycle from those developed during ordinary adjustment or in the establishment of permanent divides in the first cycle that it is doubtful if they would ever, even under the most favorable circumstances afford important evidence of more than one cycle, taken alone. even-crested summit areas perhaps the fact that the uppermost surfaces of some regions approximate planeness and that the summit divides all come up to a nearly uniform level, has been more gencrally used as a criterion of more than one cycle of erosion than has any other evidence. but the principle has been abused. various terms have been used in connection with this point, such as "even-crested hogbacks," "even-crested ridges," "upland plains," "accordant summit levels," "even1. miller, a. m., “windgaps," science, vol. 42 (1915), pp. 571-573. erosional history of driftless area 27 crested divides," "even-crested uplands," and "even-crested skylines.” the term “even-crested summit areas” seems to include every phase of the subject and to exclude intermediate plains, which might be included under some of the other terms and which constitutes a separate point. study of the principles involved in the formation of topographies in which the highest elevations are flat-topped and have about the same altitude, shows that such evencrested summit areas constitute better evidence of more than one cycle if the rocks involved are folded or tilted or massive, than if they are horizontal or nearly horizontal strata. in regions of folded strata: a plain which bevels folded strata might be interpreted as recording the following events: (1) the folding of the strata, forming a topography of high relief with anticlinal ridges and synclinal troughs; (2) erosion of the surface until a large part is brought to grade, leaving the surface relatively flat; (3) uplift of the land relative to sea, renewed degradation by streams and the relatively rapid removal of the non-resistant materials, leaving the outcrops of the harder formations as ridges or hogbacks, the tops of which are remnants of the peneplain developed in the first cycle. it seems difficult to the writer to assign any other history than that outlined above to topographies illustrating evencrested summit areas in regions of folded strata. other possible interpretations may be mentioned. tarri has objected to the idea that the more or less even-crested ridges of the appalachian region represent an ancient peneplain and points out (1) that they are by no means of a common level and (2) that elevations made of about equally resistant rock, starting with their summits above timberline, would be eroded rapidly and about equally to timberline, and then acquire more or less uniform levels, all in a single erosional cycle. it should be noted that these even-crests are not at timberline. other investigators” have proven, 1. tarr, r. s.. am. geol., vol. 21, pp. 351-370. 2. davis. w. m., am. jour. sci. 1889, vol. 37, p. 430 ; willis, bailey, physiography of the united states, pr. 169-202 ; hayes and campbell, nat'l geoy. mag., vol. 6, pp. 65-126. 28 iowa studies in natural history 1 by the application of a combination of other evidences, that the appalachian mountains have been eroded in more than one cycle and that at the accordant summits of the ridges there are remnants of a surface formed in a cycle previous to the present one. it has also been argued that mountain ridges can maintain only a certain elevation because the surrounding area is not able to support the greater pressure which would operate if the ridges were higher. this is a part of the theory of isostasy. no discussion of this theory is in place here. it need only be said that the structure of the rocks in most areas where there are accordant summit levels is such as to prove that the elevations were once much higher than they now are and that they have been reduced by streams. it is also possible to assume, until proven otherwise, that accordant summit levels in a folded region are remnants of a plain of marine denudation. the criteria for distinguishing remnants of such a plain and remnants of a true peneplain are clear. if the sea cut its way on the land for any considerable distance, portions of the wave-cut terrace would become sites of marine deposition and when the seadenuded plain became land, it would be covered with marine sediments, which of course might be removed later. also the border of an old plain of marine denudation would be a shoreline and erosion remnants on its surface would have the contour of islands. it has never been proven that plains of wide extent are made by this method, especially if the plain be inland, and no even-crested summit areas have ever been proven to be remnants of plains of marine denudation. it should not be said that even-crested summit areas in regions of folded strata considered alone, prove more than one cycle of erosion, but they afford strong corroborative evidence to that effect. in regions of horizontal or nearly horizontal strata: accordant summit levels, where strata are horizontal or nearly so, afford possibilities of interpretation not applicable in erosional history of driftless area 29 regions of folded strata. in a previous article by the writeri an upland plain in northwestern illinois was conceived to be (1) an original marine plain of deposition; (2) a marine plain of erosion; (3) a structural plain; or (4) a true peneplain. only in case such upland plains can be proven to be true peneplains do they constitute proof of more than one cycle in the erosional history of a region. for the detailed discussion of the characterizing features of plains formed in the four ways outlined above, readers are referred to the article cited. a plain of marine deposition should be parallel with the rock strata and should not have on its surface deposits of any sort younger than the marine formations which underlie it. a plain of marine erosion should be bordered by higher land and separated from this land by a shoreline. it should bevel the edges of rock formations; its surface should contain marine deposits younger than the formations which the plain bevels and any remnants which stand above it should be isle-like. a structural plain would be located on a resistant formation and would be parallel with the dip of that formation. if upland flats are remnants of a true peneplain, the surface represented by them when reconstructed should not, except in unusual cases, be parallel with rock structure, should be more or less uneven, have dendritic erosion remnants above it, and have fluvial deposits on its surface. there might be cases in which it would be impossible to determine the correct one of these four origins of upland plains, but if they be studied carefully enough and over sufficiently wide areas, correct interpretation should be possible. recently, martinº has expressed the opinion that features of the topography of the driftless area of wisconsin, which have been most generally interpreted as even-crested summit areas representing an old peneplain, can better be explained by assuming that the topography is due to the unequal erosion in a single cycle of series of unequally resistant rock formations having a slight monoclinal dip. after defining a cuesta as “an upland with a short steep descent, 1. trowbridge, a. c., jour. geol., vol. 21, pp. 731-738. 2. martin. lawrence, bull. no. 36, wis. geol. and nat'l hist. surv., pp. 63-70. 30 iowa studies in natural history or escarpment, on one side and a long, gentle slope on the other," and stating that "the gentle slope usually corresponds to the inclination or dip of slightly inclined sedimentary rocks!,” he contends that the upland plains in the driftless area are simply the gently sloping surfaces of cuestas. if this is the correct interpretation of such upland surfaces, (1) the slope of any individual patch of summit area should correspond in direction and amount with the dip of the rock formations, (2) each upland area should be formed by resistant rocks, and (3) the altitude of the summit of any given cuesta should depend upon the resistance of the rocks forming it and the length of time it had been exposed to erosion after the removal by streams of all overlying rock formations. any considerable areas of summit flats now poorly drained and forming broad divides between present streams would hardly be formed in this way in a single cycle of erosion. if individual summit areas were found to bevel the edges of layers or formations, if these areas are large and far from present streams, if some of the rock formations bevelled by the surfaces are non-resistant, and especially if a surface reconstructed by filling the lowlands to the summit areas is found to have a uniform slope in direction and amount, if this slope be uniformly greater or less than the dip of the beds, and if irregularities in rock structure and rock resistance do not influence this surface, the even-crested summit areas co:ild hardly be considered to be merely a series of cuestas. in regions of igneous rocks: if massive igneous rocks solidified below the surface of the lithosphere be eroded in such a way as to leave flat-topped and accordant elevations, it seems that at least two cycles must have been involved in the history of the topography, except in cases where the massive rock had a flat surface to begin with. in the normal case it would require a cycle of erosion to remove overlying rocks and flatten the surface of the igneous rocks, and 1 i 1. op. cit., p. 42. erosional history of driftless area 31 a second cycle to degrade some of the land further and leave the previous surface represented by the flat summit areas. it seems that accordant summit levels would be as strong evidence of more than one cycle in regions of massive igneous rocks as in regions of folded strata. extrusive lava sheets and intruded sills might form flattopped hills, when eroded, without offering more than a bare suggestion of more than one cycle of erosion. in any case there is an unanswerable question as to how flat upland surfaces must be and how nearly to a common level their remnants must come before weight is given to them as evidences of more than one cycle of erosion. even in the regions which have suffered more than one cycle there are several causes of irregularity in the topography of the upland plain. in the first place most peneplains at the close of the first cycles are not flat. a total relief of several hundred feet would not be incompatible with the term peneplain, provided large portions of the surface had been brought to grade. secondly, the surface might be warped, folded, tilted, or faulted as it is uplifted. finally, erosion might roughen the upland surface after rejuvenation of the streams, without entirely destroying its former characters. the larger and flatter summit areas are, and the more nearly accordant they are, the more definitely can the term "even-crested summit areas" be applied to them, and the more certainly can the erosional histories of regions be read from them. the failure of accordance in the uplands of a region could under no circumstances be taken as a proof that the region had not been eroded in more than one cycle. even-crested summit areas should be used as evidence of more than one cycle of erosion only after complete and careful study. intermediate plains the term intermediate plain has not been used before as an evidence of more than one cycle, but the principle involved has been used extensively and to good advantage, without previously having been named. in the present con32 iowa studies in natural history nection an intermediate plain may be defined as one having a position intermediate between the summits of the highest elevations and the bottoms of the deepest valleys (fig. 10). or intermediate plains might be defined as plains fig. 10. diagrammatic section illustrating an ideal intermediate plain. above which stand erosion remnants and below which are valleys. the erosional history of such a region as is shown in fig. 10, would seem to involve two cycles of erosion and to be somewhat as follows: (1) the formation of a land surface at levels at or above the present summits, (2) the reduction of the region and the formation of a peneplain, (3) the uplift of the region, rejuvenating the streams, and (4) the development of the valleys. this sort of topography seems to be and is strong evidence of more than one cycle of erosion, although it hardly amounts to proof. plains having similar relations to erosion remnants and valleys might be structural. it is conceivable that streams might cut through soft surficial material, to a thick, hard formation of rock, then find further degradation retarded to such an extent that by processes of widening, the soft material might be removed over wide areas before the hard formation is cut through, leaving only a few remnants above the level of the top of the resistant formation. the surface in this stage might resemble a peneplain. finally, the streams might sink themselves below the hard formation and develop valleys at levels below the structural plain. however, it seems difficult to conceive that, even under the most favorable circumstances, intermediate plains of wide extent could be formed in this way. rock terraces might be so formed, but hardly plains which spread across divides from valley to valley. such structural plains, also, should be parallel with rock structure and everywhere located on rocks more resistant than their surroundings. erosional history of driftless area 33 if a intermediate plains might be remnants of a plain of marine erosion, but the erosion remnants above it should be isle-like and its surface should contain marine deposits. obviously no intermediate plain of great extent could be an original marine plain of deposition. neither is it clear that the remnants of an intermediate plain could be the surface of a series of cuestas formed in a single cycle. rough topography were developed by streams and then the lowlands were filled, but not to the level of the summit areas, by glacial material or lava flows having a flat surface, streams might so dissect the glacial or volcanic fill as to leave remnants of an intermediate plain which would not record more than one cycle of erosion, in the usual sense at least. fluvial deposits on uplands where stream deposits are found occupying topographic positions distinctly above present stream beds, whether they lie on summit areas or areas of intermediate plain, on divides or on slopes above drainage, there is evidence that streams which once deposited, ceased depositing and began to degrade. as old streams most commonly aggrade and young streams degrade their beds, there is suggestion in such relations of deposits to stream beds, that the streams were once old and deposited and became young again, carving out the valleys below the levels of the deposits. that is, such a relationship suggests that the land was uplifted after some portions at least had been brought to grade and that more than one erosion cycle was involved in the history of the topography in which such relationship exists. in case of upland or intermediate plains due to structure, streams flowing from soft material to the hard rock which forms the plain may be held at temporary grade on the soft material while degradation of the hard rock is in progress, and might deposit on the upstream side of the hard rock. later in the same erosion cycle, when the hard formation has been cut through, the streams might cut down, leaving the deposits on the structural plain. it is hardly conceivable, however, that deposits which have had such histories would be found widely spread over upland surfaces. 34 iowa studies in natural history . it is possible for a stream not at grade to deposit, to shift its course slightly, and to sink its channel deeper, leaving its deposits in small areas as pockets or patches on upper slopes. small patches of fluvial gravel or sand found on slopes above present drainage might be explained in this way, but thick fluvial deposits spread widely over upland flats could not be so explained. the application of this point is also limited by the difficulty in . distinguishing fluvial deposits from marine or eolian or glacial or lacustrine deposits, especially after long exposure. undoubted fluvial deposits spread widely over upland surfaces would disprove that those surfaces represent plains of marine deposition or of marine erosion or are merely the tops of cuestas. they would almost or quite disprove the structural hypothesis for the origin of the upland plain on which they lie. therefore, they constitute strong evidence of more than one cycle of erosion. 1 combinations if the analysis of each of the evidences of more than one cycle of erosion has been followed up to this point, it is clear that no one of these evidences, in the abstract and taken alone, can be said to prove more than one cycle in the erosional history of a region. however, the study of concrete cases of individual points may yield such proof. some of the evidences usually assigned merely suggest more than one cycle of erosion if taken abstractly, but become strong evidence when properly restricted by the elimination of other possible interpretations. others are strong evidence in the abstract, and amount to proof if properly applied and limited. the relative values of these evidences are summed up in the accompanying table. interrupted profile and stream terraces could hardly amount to more than a suggestion of more than one cycle of erosion unless all other possible interpretations had been eliminated by careful study in the field. so nearly impossible is it to distinguish the meanders of old age from other crooks in streams that intrenched meanerosional history of driftless area 35 ders afford no more than a suggestion of more than one cycle. associated sets of straight and crooked streams, on the other hand, are strong evidence of more than one cycle. table showing the relative values of the various evidences of more than one cycle of erosion in regions proof strong evidence x? x? mere suggestion x x x no. name 1 interrupted profile 2 stream terraces 3 intrenched meanders 4 associated sets of straight and crooked streams 5 antecedent streams 6 windgaps 7 even-crested summit areas 8 intermediate plains 9 fluvial deposits on uplands x? x x x? x x x x? x x x? x? those antecedent streams which can be proven to have gone to the final stage of stream adjustment and are not now in adjustment prove more than one cycle of erosion; any antecedent stream, except one in which warping has followed establishment of the stream course or one which is due to superimposition, is strong evidence of more than one cycle. windgaps made by the abandonment of watergaps in the changing of streams from antecedent to adjusted courses form strong evidence and other windgaps merely suggest more than one cycle. especially even-crested summit areas in regions of folded strata, are good evidences of more than cne cycle of erosion, but from these ideal conditions the value deteriorates almost to zero in regions of horizontal strata or where accordance of summit areas is more imaginary than real. it is believed that carefully investigated intermediate plains may prove more than one cycle and that any intermediate plain of wide extent is strong evidence. fluvial deposits either on intermediate plains or on summit areas might prove more than one cycle under certain conditions and would be valuable evidence in any case. it is to be noted that most of the abstract evidences have more weight in regions of folded strata than where strata are horizontal. 36 iowa studies in natural history but the investigator must depend upon certain combinations of the various evidences, rather than upon single points, if he is to prove or disprove that given regions have suffered more than one cycle of erosion. it is unlikely that a surface which has been peneplained and then uplifted relative to the sea would show only one of the evidences of having had such a history. the sequence of events which involves two erosion cycles, and which gives rise to one of these lines of evidence, may give rise to all. if a region shows only one of these evidences the value of that one should be discounted because none of the others is shown. on the other hand a combination of several of these evidences in a region furnishes a progression toward definite conclusions which is geometrical rather than arithmetical. referring again to the table above, nos. 5, 8 and 9, all found together in a region, even without special analysis, would come near to proving more than one erosion cycle in the history of the surface, and if properly analyzed the combination might prove such a history beyond the possibility of a doubt. similarly, proof might be obtained through the combinations of nos. 4, 7 and 9; or nos. 5, 6 and 8; or nos. 4, 5 and 7; or perhaps by a combination of 8 and 9, or 5 and 7. combinations of 4 and 8, 7 and 9, 4 and 6, or 1, 4 and 7 might under certain topographic conditions afford strong evidence or even proof. even nos. 1 and 2 combined might under certain circumstances be strong evidence of more than one cycle. it therefore seems clear that by distinguishing these various features in the topographies of regions, by the proper analysis of their possibilities and limitations under existing conditions, and by certain combinations, it is possible to determine that (1) regions have certainly suffered more than one cycle of erosion, or that (2) they have probably suffered more than one cycle, or that (3) they have possibly suffered more than one cycle. if careful study of a topography reveals no one of these evidences, or if it reveals only one or two whose origin after analysis is found not to involve more than one cycle, it could be concluded that (4) the surface has probably not been eroded in more erosional history of driftless area 37 than one cycle. there would be cases where it would be entirely impossible to demonstrate that (5) the surface had certainly not been eroded in more than one cycle. if the deposits laid in a near-by sea during the erosional history of a land surface are available for study, evidence of more than one cycle of erosion on the land might be found in them. if a series of formations graded upward from conglomerate at the base through sandstone, shale, and limestone to another conglomerate, it would seem that the lower series including coarse, medium, and fine materials would correspond respectively with youth, maturity and old age of an erosion cycle on the land and that the upper conglomerate would record an uplift of the land and the inauguration of a youthful stage of a second cycle. however, such gradations in marine sediments might be due to gradually changing climates, changing depth of water without affecting land and sea relations, or slightly migrating shorelines which do not materially effect the height of land relative to sea. alternation of sediments might be used to good advantage in some cases to check the topographic evidences of erosion cycles. for instance, the cretaceous and tertiary deposits of the atlantic coastal plain should and do, at least roughly, check in this way the erosional history of the appalachian mountains as stated by willis, hayes and campbell, and davis. similarly it is believed that the tertiary and quaternary deposits of the gulf coastal plain of texas will help in interpreting the erosional history of the cordillera. more than two cycles when it has been demonstrated that the erosional history of a given surface has involved more than one cycle, the question of the number of cycles arises. theoretically the number of erosion cycles in a region is limited only by the length of time during which the surface has been subjected to fluvial processes and the frequency of positive diastrophic movements during that time. so far as geologic time and the frequency of land-forming diastrophic movements may be conjectured, there is no known limit to the number of 38 iowa studies in natural history 1 cycles which might have effected a topography. such regions as the piedmont plateau or portions of the laurentian shield, which are thought to have been land since the beginning of the cambrain period, have probably been peneplained and uplifted many times, although the detection of so large a number of cycles would be extremely difficult, if not impossible. on the other extreme, surfaces fashioned by the wisconsin ice sheet have probably nowhere been eroded in more than one cycle, so short has been the time since the retreat of the ice. the number of cycles of erosion which has affected 'a given region is to be determined by the number of sets of evidences of more than one cycle. for instance, in the appalachian mountains, even-crested summit areas, antecedent streams, windgaps, intrenched meanders, associated sets of straight and crooked streams, intermediate plains and fluvial deposits on uplands, all are in evidence, and the combination proves more than one cycle of erosion in the history of the region. obviously, even-crested summit areas which are the remnants of an old peneplain, and an intermediate plain representing an old peneplain, cannot belong to the same set of evidences if they both occur in the same region. most of the antecedent streams and some of the windgaps of the appalachian region belong with the set of evidences represented by the even-crested summit areas, and most of the intrenched meanders and associated sets of straight and crooked streams, and all of the fluvial deposits are clearly correlated with the intermediate plain. there seem to be two sets of intrenched meanders and two sets of antecedent streams, one set of each related to the upper plain and the other set to the intermediate plain. thus, the older set of evidences includes even-crested summit areas, antecedent streams, windgaps and intrenched meanders, and the younger set consists of intermediate plain, fluvial deposits on divides, intrenched meanders, associated sets of straight and crooked streams, antecedent streams and windgaps. each of these sets includes the proper combination of evidences to prove more than one cycle, hence it is concluded that the region is now in its third cycle, the first set erosional history of driftless area 39 of evidences being proof of the first cycle, the second set proving that there was a second cycle carried to a late stage. the evidence of the beginning of the third and present cycle is found in the fact that the second set of evidences is related to a surface distinctly above the present streams. there are certain terrace-like features between the summit areas and the intermediate plain which suggest an additional cycle between the first and second, but as these benches have been proven to be structural and as there are no other evidences in the set, it is concluded that the mountains are in the third, rather than the fourth cycle. the method of procedure then, in determining the number of distinguishable cycles which have been involved in the erosional history of a region is as follows: (1) determine how many of the evidences of more than one cycle of erosion the topography exhibits; (2) sort these evidences into the proper number of sets; (3) conclude that the total number of distinguishable cycles is the number of sets of evidences plus one. the degree of certainty with which the number of cycles is determined depends upon the certainty with which the various sets of evidences record the individual cycles. the determination of diastrophic events because diastrophism is involved in the formation and renewal of lands, the interpretation of the history of land surfaces includes also the diastrophic history. the number of movements in regions in which the land surfaces were originally formed by diastrophism the number of positive diastrophic movements is the same as the number of cycles of erosion. for instance, the appalachian mountains were formed first by folding; this is movement no. 1. movement no. 2 interrupted the first erosion cycle and inaugurated the second cycle; movement no. 3 started the third cycle. the region has suffered parts of three erosion cycles and there have been three upward diastrophic movements. some surfaces, such as those formed by glaciation, by 40 iowa studies in natural history lava flows, or by the draining of lakes, have no genetic relation with diastrophism. on such surfaces the number of diastrophic movements is one less than the total number of cycles. the nature of movements not only the number but the nature of diastrophic movements should be determinable in an interpretation of the erosional history of a region. there are several possible cases : (1) uniform uplift of the whole surface; (2) uplift with tilting; (3) uplift with warping; (4) uplift with faulting; (5) subsidence of the surface, with the four possible phases as outlined for uplift. uniform uplift: if a peneplain were formed and then uplifted uniformly, there would be a change in altitude but not in attitude. if the general slope of an old erosion surface, be its remnants on the summits or at intermediate levels in a topography, is approximately the same in direction and amount as the slopes of other graded erosional surfaces in the region, the inference would be that the uplift had been uniform. the difficulty with this point lies in the fact that no old erosion surface is perfectly flat, and it is difficult to determine whether consecutive graded surfaces are parallel. also a graded plain might be uplifted uniformly and yet not be parallel with a younger peneplain if the streams had higher or lower gradients at the close of the second cycle than at the close of the first. however, if a peneplain represented by even-crested summit areas is practically parallel with an intermediate plain, and with present valley flats on which streams are at grade, the conclusion would be warranted that both the uplift which inaugurated the second cycle and the uplift starting the third cycle were practically uniform. uplift with tilting: if a raised and partly dissected surface which was once a peneplain has a generally uniform slope throughout a given region, but is not parallel with an intermediate peneplain or with graded streams below it, either because its angle or direction of slope is different, the conditions suggest that the uplift which inerosional history of driftless area 41 augurated the dissection of the upper plain was accompanied by tilting. if an upland peneplain and an intermediate peneplain are essentially parallel, but are not parallel with an existing and undissected peneplain, the uplift which started the second cycle was probably uniform and the movement starting the third cycle was a tilting movement. the best evidence of tilting in the renewal of lands by diastrophism is a lack of parallelism between uniformly-sloping, consecutive, graded, erosion surfaces. as in most rules, there are limitations in the application of this one. lack of parallelism between consecutive erosion surfaces, provided it is a matter of amount rather than direction of slope, may be due to difference in the gradients of final grades of the drainage system under different conditions at different times. at the close of a first cycle the streams may have been small and carrying heavy loads, with resulting high gradients and a relatively steeply sloping peneplain. the uplift may have been uniform, but in the second cycle larger streams carrying lighter loads may have developed gradients lower than those of the first cycle, and the two erosion surfaces would diverge upstream. by ву the reversal of the sequence, two peneplains might be caused to converge upstream, without tilting. even differences in the direction of slope of two peneplains in a region might be obtained without tilting, if conditions of structure, proximity to the sea or climate were so changed, during uplift, as to cause reversal or diversion of drainage in the second cycle. it is probable that these exceptions might lead to conclusions that tilting has taken place where it has not in some cases, and that tilting has not taken place where it has in others. perhaps only the more pronounced cases of tilting can be distinguished by this method. uplift with warping: warping during uplift of a plane erosion surface would result in an irregular obliquity between this surface and lower peneplains. the two erosion surfaces would converge and diverge in many directions and at many angles. in a region where such obliquity exists between a summit plain and an intermediate plain, but 42 iowa studies in natural history with the intermediate plain parallel with an undissected peneplain or with graded streams, the first recorded movement seems to have involved warping and the second uplift was uniform. if the upper plain and the intermediate plain are parallel, but with irregular obliquity related to present graded streams, the first movement was uniform and the second one was accompanied by warping. this method of interpretation lacks much of being decisive. in the first place the warping or folding of an erosion surface destroys accordance of levels and makes it extremely difficult to decide whether the surface was once smooth and has been warped, or whether it was never smooth. in the latter case there would be little evidence that there has ever been more than one erosion cycle. the warping of a surface is likely to destroy evidence that there has been any moveemnt at all. there would have to be some evidence beyond the accordance of levels to prove that the surface actually was a peneplain. however, such evidence might consist in fluvial deposits on remnants of the warped surface, or in antecedent streams cutting across the folds of the surface. another difficulty with the interpretation of warping movements grows out of the fact that no erosion surfaces are altogether flat and that there is therefore an irregular obliquity between two consecutive surfaces whether warping has taken place or not. however, departures from parallelism due to erosional irregularities in the surface would show themselves in topographic details and those due to warping would be more general; that is, they would be differences between averages rather than between specific points. careful study of the valleys cut in the old erosion surface during the next cycle should also aid in determining whether the irregular lack of parallelism is due to warping or to erosional irregularities. if the valleys vary in depth or width or stage of development from point to point warping could be called in to explain such variations. after all probably the best evidence of warping of peneplains is found when it is determined that the individual erosional history of driftless area 43 peneplain reconstructed varies in altitude above sea, that it has on its surface stream deposits distributed without reference to the variations in altitude, that the variations are due to flexures rather than to erosional irregularities, and that streams have antecedent courses at right angles or oblique to the flexures. warping may have occurred in regions where there is no evidence of movement of any kind. there may also be suggestions of warping where uplift was uniform. there are doubtless regions, however, such as the appalachian mountains, where warping movements have taken place and where, by application of the principles outlined above, ruch movements can be proven to have taken place. these principles, therefore, are usable, but their use is attended with difficulty and may result in uncertainty. uplift with faulting: one of the best known illustra: tions of a cycle of erosion having been interrupted by faulting is found in the mountains and valleys of eastern california. here an ancient erosion surface which is characterized by mid-tertiary stream gravels which lie on the remnants of the old surface in many places, slopes up from low levels on the west flanks of the sierras and reaches altitudes of more than 14,000 feet at the crest of the range where it is broken by the great fault whose scarp forms the east slope of the mountains. east of this line the surface seems to be buried under the late tertiary and pleistocene sediments of owens valley below altitudes of 2,000 feet. the surface and its gravel deposits appear again in the inyo mountains east of owens valley, reaching altitudes close to 10,000 feet, where the surface is broken by another fault on the east side of these mountains. the evidence of faulting in this case is a series of tilted blocks, each one of the series being sharply set-off from the adjacent one by a fault scarp. it seems that cases of uplift with faulting could be certainly interpreted only where the old erosion surface is distinguishable in spite of great relief within short distances, where the separate blocks are distinct and where differences 44 iowa studies in natural history in altitude of the surface are too abrupt to be accounted for on the basis of warping. subsidence: it is a quibble whether or not the subsidence of a surface starts a new cycle of erosion. however, the study of the erosion cycles in a region may yield evidence of subsidence. if it can be proven that all the graded streams of a region have their beds at levels far above beds which they previously occupied, it seems most likely that the surface of the region has subsided. if the establishment of grades below previous grades indicates uplift, the establishment of new flood plains above previous erosional surfaces is an equally strong indication of subsidence. if uplift raises a previously graded surface above grade, subsidence lowers valley bottoms below the level of grade. this principle seems to be illustrated in the upper mississippi valley region, where the mississippi river and its main tributaries are at grade 100 feet or more above the bedrock beneath. the fills in this region consist of glacial and fluvio-glacial drift. it seems likely that the surface subsided after the deep valleys were cut. another possible interpretation is that the streams were not so heavily loaded before the filling as now, or were larger then than now, and consequently were able to reduce their valleys to a lower depth limit in relation to the gulf of mexico than is possible now. by the application of the principles outlined above for uplift, it might be determined whether subsidence was uniform or was accompanied by tilting, warping or faulting. the amount of movement the interpretation of erosional histories furnishes some basis for determination of the amount of each diastrophic movement. streams which have reached their depth limits in a first cycle of erosion may degrade their beds below these old graded levels in the second cycle by approximatcly the amount of the uplift which rejuvenated them. the difference in altitude between two consecutive graded surfaces, therefore, is roughly the measure of the amount of the uplift which interrupted the one cycle and started the erosional history of driftless area 45 other. in a region in which there is a summit peneplain at 2,000 feet, an intermediate peneplain at 1,000 feet and graded flats at 500 feet, it could be inferred that there had been an uplift of approximately 1,000 feet, and a second one of about 500 feet. this method of interpretation seems simple enough but its application to field conditions involves possibilities of error. differences in altitude between remnants of consecutive graded plains vary from point to point in any region, (1) if uplift was accompanied by tilting, warping, or faulting, (2) if either surface was irregular, (3) if final grades differed because of changes in volume or load of the streams. these being common conditions, it seems possible to get accurate figures on the amount of uplift for individual districts only, and even this is subject to error. for whole regions, only approximate averages are possible. the determination of dates the complete history of a surface involves dates as well as events and sequences. various criteria have been used for the determination of the geologic dates of the various events in the histories of land surfaces. some of these criteria are readily applicable and accurate if properly applied. others are not so valuable. the problem involves the ages of old erosion surfaces, the dates of diastrophic movements, the duration of time involved in erosion cycles, etc. the age of old erosion surfaces it has been customary in designating the ages of raised peneplains to refer to the date at which the plain was completed and still intact rather than the whole time during which it was in process of formation. for instance, the kittatinney peneplain in the northern appalachians is referred to as the cretaceous plain, not because its formation was accomplished during the cretaceous period only, but because it was believed to have been completed during that period. the cycle during which it was formed was probably inaugurated long before the cretaceous. although this departs in a way from the usage of time terms in rela46 iowa studies in natural history tion to rock formations, with this statement, the writer considers it best to continue the custom. various methods may be used in determining the periods or epochs to which certain raised peneplains belong, the method used depending upon the conditions existing in the region under investigation. some of these methods are here mentioned: (1) any graded erosion surface is younger than the youngest formation which it cuts, and (2) younger than any structure it bevels. the youngest system forming the oldest peneplain surface in the appalachian mountains is the pennsylvanian, and the folds and faults across which the surface is developed took place in the permian. the peneplain is therefore not only postpennsylvanian, but is post-permian. (3) an old erosion surface is younger than any formation of which there are distinguishable fragments or fossils in fluvial deposits on the surface. this is illustrated in the driftless area where stream gravels containing chert pebbles and fossils of niagaran age lie on divides where the uppermost rock is pre-niagaran; the divides must be remnants of a surface which is at least younger than mid-silurian. (4) peneplains are contemporaneous with fluvial deposits which lie on them, (5) contemporaneous with or older than other terrestrial deposits lying on them, and (6) older than marine formations lying on them. peneplains are (7) older than valleys which have been cut below them. an old peneplain is (8) younger than rocks forming erosion remnants above the plain and (9) older than deposits in valleys below it. a peneplain is (10) younger than any adjacent peneplain which stands at a higher level and (11) older than any lower adjacent graded plain. in the case where subsidence has taken place and streams have been caused to develop grades at levels higher than was possible before subsidence occurred, points (10) and (11) would be reversed. the higher of two graded surfaces in this case would be the younger. the lower one would be buried and would only in the rarest case be distinguishable. (12) if an erosion surface has been uplifted by tilting, warping, folding or faulting, and there are deposits which have not erosional history of driftless area 47 been disturbed, the surface is older than those deposits. (13) a less accurate method has been used in determining the ages of old erosion surfaces. it has been concluded that a given peneplain is cretaceous because it is known to be post-triassic, and because its formation is assumed to have required all the jurassic, comanchean, and cretaceous periods. or it might be stated that a peneplain is of eocene age because pliocene deposits lie in valleys below it and it would have taken the oligocene and miocene periods to cut the valleys. the inaccuracy in such criteria is due to the varying rates of degradation, by streams under varying conditions and to a general lack of knowledge of the duration of the various geologic periods. not all of the above-mentioned means of determining the ages of raised peneplains are likely to be applicable in any one region, but it seems that among so large a number of possible criteria, enough would be usable to lead to conclusions giving at least the approximate age of an old erosion surface. once the age of an upland plain is established it may become a valuable horizon marker by which the ages of associated topographies and deposits and structures may be determined. if a peneplain known to be of mid-eocene age is uplifted uniformly and partly dissected, all topographies and deposits which lie above it are early eocene or pre-eocene and all topographies and deposits lying stratigraphically below it are late eocene or post-eocene. similarly, structures which the plain bevels are pre-eocene and structures in which the surface of the plain itself is involved are late eocene or post-eocene. the extreme care with which all these points should be used and the difficulties in the way of accurate interpretation are emphasized in the discussion among umpleby, atwood, blackwelder and rich, references to which were given on page 8. the dates of movement the dates of diastrophic movements in the erosional histories of surfaces can be determined in a general way at 48 iowa studies in natural history least from the ages of the different erosional surfaces. for instance, if it has been proven that an upland peneplain in a given district is cretaceous in age and there is an intermediate plain below it which is eocene, it is a short and simple step to the conclusion that the uplift of the upper plain took place at or near the close of the cretaceous period. but if two consecutive erosion surfaces are more widely different in age, as late cretaceous and early pleistocene, the uplift of the cretaceous plain may have taken place at any time between the two periods; that is at the end of the cretaceous, or during or at the end of the eocene, oligocene, miocene or pliocene. in such cases as the last the student is likely to fall back on an estimate of the amount of time it must have taken to produce the second plain after the uplift of the first. if it seems that it would have required the miocene and pliocene periods to produce the lower plain, it might be assumed that the uplift took place at the end of the oligocene, but this assumption would not be without possibility of serious error. if the conclusion was reached that the uplift of the older plain did take place at the close of the oligocene, this plain would probably thereafter be called the oligocene rather than the cretaceous plain, for the period name given it would be that designating the latest period at which the plain is believed to have been intact. the conclusion arrived at is that the dates of diastrophic, movement can be told in a general way from the ages of consecutive erosion surfaces, but that the closer together the surfaces are in age the more accurately can the date of the diastrophism be determined. duration of geologic time a rough estimate of the duration of certain geologic periods might be made if the ages of consecutive erosion surfaces and the dates of uplift are known. for instance, iſ an upland plain with remnants at an average altitude of 2,000 feet is of miocene age and is known to have been uplifted at the end of the miocene period, and if in the same district there is an intermediate plain of early pleistocene erosional history of driftless area 49 age at an average altitude of 1,000 feet, the conclusion is warranted that the land was degraded 1,000 feet during the pliocene period. if it be assumed that all this degradation took place at a rate which is average for all lands through all times and that this average rate is 1 foot in 9,000 years, the duration of the pliocene period would be estimated at 9,000,000 years. the estimate, of course, would be subject to large error in each of the two points of the assumption. however, this method of estimating the duration of geologic time, duly considered and qualified, might be as accurate as estimates based on the rate of accumulation of sediments, the rate of increase of salinity in the sea, the rate of life evolution, or the rate of radio-active changes. conclusion from the foregoing discussions it seems clear that there are many rules for determination of the various events in the erosional histories of regions, that all of them are open to exception and some of them to serious and frequent exceptions, that the full interpretation of erosional history is attended with great difficulty, that such interpretation is safe only after wide areas have been studied closely, and with all criteria and limitations in mind, but that on the whole fairly accurate conclusions may be drawn by the student of diligence, persistence and analytic mind. 1 1 part ii mesozoic and cenozoic history of the driftless area contents page 56 acknowledgements rock formations 57 structure 58 60 the stage of erosion evidences of more than one cycle of erosion even-crested summit areas (the dodgeville plain) 60 60 69 79 84 95 97 the cuesta-single cycle theory the peneplain theory intermediate plain (the lancaster plain) antecedent streams mississippi river other streams intrenched meanders associated sets of crooked and straight streams stream terraces upland fluvial deposits (high level gravels) conclusion 104 105 108 109 111 113 115 the number of erosion cycles the history of diastrophism 116 the dates of events 120 121 the age of the dodgeville plain the age of the lancaster plain summary of events 123 125 part ii mesozoic and cenozoic history of the driftless area in part i the various principles involved in the erosional histories of regions were outlined and each principle was analyzed, without special reference to any given region. in part ii it seems possible to summarize and emphasize the principles discussed in part i and at the same time to contribute something to the history of a region in which much work has been done, on which much has been written, but concerning which there has been some difference of opinion. all who have worked in the driftless area within recent years have noticed that many of the divides within small districts are roughly accordant in level. most students of the region have concluded that the even-topped divides are remnants of raised peneplains and that more than one cycle was involved in the erosional history of the surface'. there 1. bain, h. f., "zinc and lead deposits of northwestern illinois," bull. u. s. geol. surv., no. 246, pp. 13-16. calvin, samuel, "geology of allamakee county." la. geol. surr., vol. iv, pp. 41-44. grant, u. s. and burchard, e. f., lancaster-mineral point folio, u. s. geol, surv., pp. 1 and 2. hershey, 0. h., "the physiographic development of the upper mississippi valley," am. geol., vol. 20, pp. 246-268. howell, j. v.. "the occurrence and origin of the iron ores of iron hill, near waukon, iowa,” la. geol. surv., vol. xxv, pp. 54-62. hughes. u. b., "a correlation of the peneplains of the driftless area," proc. la. acad. sci., vol. 23, pp. 125-132. leonard, a. g., "geology of clayton county," la. geol. surv., vol. xvi, pp. 220-233. macclintock, paul, the wisconsin river valley below prairie du sac, unpublished paper. salisbury, r. d., “preglacial gravels on the quartzite range near baraboo, wisconsin," jour. geol., vol. iii, pp. 655-667. salisbury, r. d. and atwood, w. w.. "the geography of the region about devils lake and the dalles of wisconsin," bull. no. 5. wis. geol, and nat'l surv., pp. 60-64. shaw, e. w. and trowbridge, a. c., "galena-elizabeth folio," u. s. geol. surv., pp. 9 and 10. shipton, w. d., "the geology of the sparta quadrangle, wisconsin," master's thesis, univ. of iowa, unpublished. trowbridge, a. c., “some partly dissected plains in jo daviess county, illinois," jour. geol., vol. xxi, pp. 731-742. "preliminary report on geological work in northeastern iowa,” proc. of the la. acad. sci., vol. 21, pp. 205-209. physiographic studies in the driftless area," abstract, bull. geol. soc. am., 26. p. 76. “the history of devil's lake, wisconsin," jour. grol., vol. xxv, pp. 344-372. trowbridge, a. c. and shaw, e. w., "geology and geography of the galena and elizabeth quadrangles," bull. no. 26. ii. geol. svrv., pp. 126-146. williams, a. j., "physiographic studies in and around dubuque, iowa," master's thesis, university of iowa, unpublished. 55 > 56 iowa studies in natural history has, however, been disagreement concerning the number of cycles, and the dates of historical events. recently, doubt has been expressed that these upland surfaces represent old peneplains, and the belief advanced that all the features of the topography have been formed in a single erosional cycle'. most of the papers so far published on this sub' ject are the results of work done in small and isolated districts within the general region. therefore it is not strange that agreement has not been reached, and that some of the conclusions are incorrect. the writer has seen all of the driftless area which lies in iowa and illinois and much of that which lies in wisconsin and minnesota, and it now seems possible to bring together material from which accurate conclusions may be drawn. acknowledgements the writer wishes to acknowledge, with appreciation, the assistance of several scores of students in the universities of iowa and chicago, who have used the driftless area as a field of instruction under his direction in the ten years during which he was actively engaged in teaching and research work there. special mention is made of a. j. wil. liams, jesse v. howell, w. d. shipton, urban b. hughes, leroy patton and paul macclintock, each of whom has prepared a report on the general geology of some assigned portion of the driftless area, following detailed field work. most of these reports have constituted master's or doctor's theses. not all have been published. mr. williams and mr. howell did their work in the iowa portion of the region, mr. shipton in the sparta quadrangle of wisconsin, mr. hughes in the richland center quadrangle of wisconsin, mr. patton chiefly in the southeastern counties of minnesota, and mr. macclintock along the lower wisconsin river valley. in all the work special attention was given to stratigraphy and structure and to their relations with physiographic forms. the results have been freely drawn upon in the preparation of part ii of this paper. thanks are also due to r. d. salisbury, w. c. alden and 1. martin, lawrence, wis. geol. and nat'l hist. surv., bull, 36, pp. 55-70. erosional history of driftless area 57 frank leverett, who spent several days in northeastern iowa with mr. williams and the writer in 1915, going over some of their data and listening with interest to some of their interpretations. for these interpretations, however, the writer assumes full responsibility. the previous work of grant and burchard in the lancaster and mineral point quadrangles, resulting in folio no. 145 of the u. s. geological survey, were particularly useful. finally to r. d. salisbury, m. m. leighton and leroy patton, thanks are offered for thorough criticism of the manuscript of part ii as well as part i of this paper. rock formations the rock formations of the driftless area range from huronian to silurian in age. hard pre-cambrian quartzite and igneous rocks outcrop in various places in wisconsin, as at baraboo, wausau, necedah, and black river falls and appear to underlie paleozoic sediments throughout the area. the paleozoic group consists of cambrian, ordovician, and silurian formations, the names, thicknesses and relative resistance of which are shown in the accompanying table. the decorah shale is variable in thickness but table showing the rock formation of the driftless area kind of rock thickness resistance in feet to erosion 200 resistant 0-80 nonresistant system formation niagaran silurian alexandrian maquoketa galena decorah ordovician platteville st. peter prairie du chien cherty dolomite thin-bedded limestone shale cherty dolomite shale limestone sandstone cherty dolomite 100-200 nonresistant 240 resistant 0-30 nonresistant 80 resistant 20-300 nonresistant 0-300 resistant cambrian st. croix (potsdam) 1000 nonresistant sandstone, limestone, shale and dolomite quartzite, dolomite, slate, various igneous rocks precambrian 5000+ resistant 58 iowa studies in natural history thin in all places, and, lying as it does between two resistant formations, does not affect topography greatly. so far as their effect on topography is concerned the platteville and galena formations are a unit. the alexandrian formation varies in thickness and resistance and affects topography in such a way as to be inseparable from the niagaran formation in some places, and from the maquoketa in others. there is an unconformity between the st. peter and prairie du chien formations, which causes both to vary in thickness, but the sum of their thicknesses is nowhere far from 300 feet'. the cambrian formations are all weak but vary slightly in resistance. devonian and pennsylvanian formations were perhaps deposited over part or all of the region, but, if so, they have been eroded away. the erosional history of the present surface started with the final withdrawal of the paleozoic seas and continued through the mesozoic and cenozoic eras. structure although in most of the driftless area the strata dip in a general southwesterly direction, there is a northeastsouthwest axis crossing the mississippi river between la crosse, wisconsin, and winona, minnesota, and passing north of sparta, north of which the beds dip northwesterly. in other words, the structure is that of a low anticline with its axis near the north edge of the region, plunging to the southwest, with a long limb to the south and a relatively shorter limb, so far as the driftless area is concerned, to the north. most of the work on which this paper is based has been done south of the crest of the arch and the relationships between topographic forms and structure are consequently best known there. however, mr. patton and the writer worked in the axial area and to some extent north of the axis in minnesota and wisconsin in 1917. the average direction of dip of the formations south of winona and sparta, as determined by twenty-eight computations is s. 26° w., and the average amount 14.6 feet per 1. trowbridge, a, c., ia. acad. sci., vol. xxiv, pp. 177-182. erosional history of driftless area 59 mile. four computations in the area north of the arch show an average dip there of n. 35° w. in direction and 6.9 feet per mile in amount. wbusou con ciore slover pant wobusha sus winona sporto lacrosse minnesota wisconsin viroove 1000 portage minnesota low lowo conong richiond center woukon wisconsin race 000 modison 700 800 lancaster 500 plotter m:8850 ppi river 900 300 dubuque wisconsin illinois coler towo frosport baile vatan anoncool fig. 11. sketch map of the driftless area and its environs showing structure contours on the contact between prairie du chien and jordan formations. structural contour interval equals 100 feet. horizontal scale 1/500,000. contours are broken where courses are conjectural. 60 iowa studies in natural history 1 both the south-dipping and the north-dipping monoclines and to an extent also the nearly horizontal structures of the axial area are interrupted in many places by low anticlines and shallow synclines. the whole composite structure of the driftless area might be said to be a low anticlinorium, plunging southwestward. for additional details see fig. 11. the stage of erosion in the present cycle of erosion the general surface of the driftless area is in late youth or early maturity, although small portions exhibit a later stage of development. the valley of the mississippi and the valleys of its larger tributaries, such as the wisconsin, la crosse, and upper iowa rivers, appear to be mature, but if the thick deposits in them were removed the valleys would have a much more youthful appearance. most of the valleys in the area are young. there are considerable areas of unreduced flattish land on the highest divides and still greater areas at lower altitudes well above the valley bottoms. it is these unreduced upland surfaces which form the chief. physiographic problems of the region and which at the same time give the investigator his best clue to the history of the surface. along the main drainage lines there are narrow graded valley flats which are valuable for comparison with the upland flats. the topography has a relief of over 600 feet within short distances, and before the valleys were partially filled the relief was over 800 feet. evidences of more than one cycle of erosion of the several lines of evidence for more than one cycle of erosion which have been used in determining the erosional histories of various surfaces and which were discussed in part i, the driftless area shows seven, in different degrees of perfection and significance. even-crested summit areas (the dodgeville plain) in most portions of the driftless area the highest divides are noticeably flat on their summits. these flat surfaces erosional history of driftless area 61 forming the summit areas are the sites of cities, towns, villages, farms, wagon roads and railroads. in the baraboo district of wisconsin there is an area more than two square miles in extent so nearly flat that the drainage on its surface is poor, and no spot is 10 feet higher or lower than the general elevation of 1400 feet. in the southern portion of the sparta quadrangle, wisconsin, there is much flat land at about 1335 feet a. t., more than 500 feet above main drainage lines, on which are located the villages of newberg corners, middle ridge and portland (fig. 12). here, fig. 12. view of the summit plain in the south portion of the sparta quadrangle. in an area of 5 miles square there are approximately 7,000 acres of land under cultivation, supporting a prosperous population of 4,500, all on flat-topped divides. from the south edge of the sparta quadrangle a “ridge road” follows a continuous divide for more than 50 miles, passing through the towns of cashton, rewey, westby, viroqua, seneca and eastman, and leaves the crest of the ridge only about a mile from the bluff of the mississippi and two miles from prairie du chien. in this distance the crest of the divide has a relief of less than 100 feet, and the width of the nearly even crest varies from a few feet to a half mile 62 iowa studies in natural history or more. from the main ridge tongues of flat land project out between tributary streams on both sides. in the southern portion of the richland center quadrangle in wisconsin the summits of many of the divides are nearly flat and noticeably accordant in their levels. these divides are spurs and outliers of a wide, continuous area of gently rolling land known as military ridge, extending east and west in the northern part of the lancaster and mineral point quadrangles. military ridge is unbroken from bradtville to blue mounds, a distance of over 60 miles. on or near its summit, bradtville, patch grove, mount hope, mount ida, fennimore, preston, montfort, cobb, edmund, dodgeville and mount horeb are located. connecting these towns are good high roads, whose grades are low and on which bridges are noticeably few in number. from fennimore to blue mounds, the ridge is utilized for the road bed of a branch of the chicago and northwestern railway in the north half of the galena and elizabeth quadrangles in illinois, the highest surfaces are the tops of isolated mounds or short dendritic ridges which include only very small patches of flat land, but which have accordant levels at about 1150 feet a. t. in the south part of these two quadrangles there are many long, continuous, dendritic, flat-topped ridges whose summit areas are the sites of homes, farms and ridgeroads. these ridges have an average altitude around 1,000 feet. at about this altitude there are thousands of acres of excellent farm land. in the north part of these quadrangles the summit levels are 450 feet above the beds of the main streams, and in the south part they are 350 feet above drainage. there are no extensive summit levels in iowa, although upland plains exist. between waukon and church and extending west from waukon toward decorah, east through elon, and southeast to rossville, there are dendritic stream divides whose summits are much more nearly flat than the surrounding surface, and are the sites of villages, main roads and farms. the maximum relief of this surface is less than 100 feet (1200-1300). upland flats are also known m erosional history of driftless area 63 at monona, luana and watson in the southeastern part of the waukon quadrangle, at national, garnovillo, updegraff, colesburg, an area east of graham, luxemburg and other points in the elkader quadrangle, and at or near holy cross, sherrill, rickardsville, bankston, balltown, and tivoli in the lowa portion of the lancaster quadrangle. in the extreme southern part of the driftless area in the iowa portion of the galena quadrangle there are considerable areas of flat land on high divides, which are used for upland farms and roads. flat summit areas with accordant levels are not extensive in minnesota. they are best developed in the western parts of winona and houston counties. in winona county a strikingly flat plain of about 15 square miles in area lies between utica and st. charles and to the south from there. it is approximately 1300 feet above sea level. near spring grove, houston county, at an elevation of approximately 1325 feet, the summit plain is represented by extensive prairie-like uplands, spurs of which ramify from the main area. similar conditions occur also in the neighborhood of caledonia. from the foregoing descriptions, the significant facts concerning the topography of the summit surfaces in the driftless area may be summarized as follows: (1) there are many divides whose summits are noticeably even. (2) some of these areas of upland flat are long and broad. (3) the various areas of upland flat have such slight irregularity in comparison with the rest of the topography that they are favorable sites for farming. (4) if the elevations of isolated summit areas in a given district be compared, they are found to be strikingly accordant, though not identical. (5) accordant summit levels are known in practically all portions of the driftless area. (6) the districts where the summit plains occur are close enough together to warrant correlation from one district to another; from baraboo, through the richland center and mineral point quadrangles to jo daviess county, illinois; from baraboo to sparta ; from sparta through viroqua and prairie du chien to iowa; from dodgeville via bradtville to national, iowa; 64 iowa studies in natural history from iowa into winona and houston counties in minnesota ; from the minnesota line in iowa to dubuque; from the galena quadrangle in illinois to the area south of dubuque in iowa. (7) if the several summit areas of a district be projected until they meet, a surface is constructed which has a relief of something less than 200 feet. (8) if the constructed summit plains of the several districts of the driftless area, as explained in (7) be projected across intervening areas where summit flats are wanting until they meet, an almost reliefless, gently south-sloping plain results which covers practically the whole driftless area. because the surface so reconstructed is well represented at dodgeville, because there is at dodgeville a large area of upland flat, and because, from dodgeville the flat may be traced with certainty in all directions, this uppermost plain, reniggaro 41 maouokela potteville-galang prairis . 3t eroid otsdant combr fig. 13. an idealized north-south section in the driftless area, showing the general relation of the dodgeville plain to the rock formations. the upland surfaces are found in large areas on the resistant prairie du chien, platteville, galena, and niagara formations, but are wanting on the relatively nonresistant cambrian sandstones, st. peter sandstone and maquoketa shałe. constructed by projecting the upland flats until they meet, is hereafter called the dodgeville plain. topography and rock structures are so intimately and fundamentally related that it is always unsafe to draw important conclusions from analysis of topography before these relations are understood. it is therefore necessary . that a careful study be made of the rock formations on which the dodgeville plain lies, the structure of these formations, and the relative attitudes of plain and formations, before interpretation of the dodgeville plain is attempted. failure to give due weight to these relationships, seems to be responsible for certain errors of the past. the dodgeville plain is underlain by different rock formations at different places. in the baraboo district of wis> erosional history of driftless area 65 the uppermost straight line represents the fig. 14. an accurate topographic profile and structure section taken in a curved line from the barabou district to jo daviess county, illinois, crossing the baraboo, denzer, richland center, mineral point, and eliza beth topographic atlas sheets. reconstructed dodgeville plain. (after u. b. hughes). consin it lies on huronian quartzite and in the sparta district on the prairie du chien and st. peter formations. military ridge and its spurs are capped by galena dolomite, as are also the upland divides around waukon in iowa. south of turkey river in iowa, and south of lancaster in wisconsin and illinois, the plain lies on niagara dolomite. in southeastern minnesota it lies for the most part on the platteville formation but it places cuts across to st. peter. in a general way the dodgeville plain bevels the south-dipping formations, lying on progressively younger beds from north to south. either because of a decrease in the slope of the plain north of the iowa line, because of a change in the direction of slope, or because the plain has been very slightly warped since its formation, its remnants are not greatly higher in minnesota than in iowa, and its stratigraphic position is somewhat but not much lower in minnesota than farther south. it also bevels the crest of the arch. no remnants of the plain have been observed north of the axis and therefore it cannot be definitely stated that the northdipping beds are also bevelled by it, although such is probably the case. it is noticeable, however, that only the more resistant formations are found capping the highest divides where these divides are flat-topped and accordant in their 66 iowa studies in natural history levels. wide areas of the plain lie on the prairie du chien, galena, platteville and niagara formations respectively. the st. peter sandstone underlies patches of the plain in very small areas only, and the maquoketa formation is not known to form summit flats at all. in traveling from north to south three distinct belts are crossed, in each of which there are large upland remnants of the dodgeville plain and between which there is none. (figs. 13 and 14) assuming that the dodgeville plain is a geometrical plane, it is possible to ascertain its dip and strike if the relative positions and altitudes of three points on the plane forming a triangle are known. if the elevations of a certain stratigraphic horizon under the three points on the plain can be ascertained it is also a simple matter to compute the dip and strike of the strata and get the relative directions and amounts of dip of plain and strata (fig. 15). plain 1300 а stratum 1240' e d plain 12504 stratum 1000: plain 1200 b stratum 1100 fig. 15. diagram showing how the dip and strike of a plain and of a stratum can be determined if the positions and altitudes of three points are known. a, b, and c are three points on the surface plain at 1300, 1200, and 1250 feet respectively. on the line ab there is a point d at which the altitude is the same as at c, 1250'. the line cd is the strike of the plain. the direction of dip is obtained by constructing line eb at right angles to (1) through b. reading the direction of eb the dip is found to be s 14° e. from e to b the surface falls 50'. scaling eb the amount of din of the plane is found to be 4.4' per mile. knowing the elevations of a stratigraphic horizon under points a, b, and c to be 1240, 1100, and 1000 feet respectively, locating the 1100' point on ac at f, bf becomes the strike of the strata, the dip cg is s 37° w, and the amount of dip is 7' per mile. the results of 13 such computations, based on points south of the axis of the arch are given in the following table. erosional history of driftless area 67 table of results of computations of dip and strike of dodgeville plain and rock strata general location location of points direction of dip of plain amount of dip of plain direction of dip of strata amount of dip of strata south part of sparta quadrangle wisconsin n 57°w 5.3' s 59°w 14' whole sparta quadrangle wisconsin a-c sec. 20 leon twp. b-c sec. 8 portland twp. c-nc sec. 21 washington twp. a-castle rock b-middleridge c-sc sec. 18 jefferson twp. a-fennimore b-dodgeville c-712 mi. s. of wyoming n 43°w 2.6' s 38°w 10.7' lancaster, mineral point and richland center quadrangles, wis. n 20°w 9.4 s 13°w 14.2' elizabeth quadrangle, illinois s 14°w 7.3' s 28°w 34.4' s 56°e 10.9' s 49°e 8.4' northern iowa, waukon quadrangle iowawisconsin s 76°e 1.2 s 40°w 17.1' s 20°e 2.9' s 22°w 9.1' wisconsiniowaillinois wisconsiniowa a-wc sec 19 thompson twp. b-sw sec. 31 woodbine twp. c-nc sec. 33 stockton twp. a-waukon b-church c-rossville a-church b-updegraff c-mt. ida a-sparta b-waukon c-stockton a-sparta b-waukon c-dodgeville a-waukon b-mineral point c-stockton a-sparta b-bankston c-stockton a-waukon b-updegraff c-stockton a-waukon b-dodgeville c-bankston a-denzer b-waukon c-updegraff s 4°e 1.8' s 20°w 9.5' s 21°w 9.6' s 18°w 8.3' iowawisconsinillinois wisconsiniowaillinois iowaillinois s 51°e 3.5' s 37°w 12.8' s 86°e 3.2 s 32°w 16.4' iowawisconsin s 1°e 1.8' s 19°w 12.9' wisconsin iowa s 29°w 2.2' s 12°w 10.8' 68 iowa studies in natural history these computations bring out certain facts. the plain constructed by connecting areas of summit plains across intervening areas is by no means a geometrical plane, for it dips in different directions and by different amounts in different places. in small districts, widely differing results can be obtained by taking different sets of points as bases for computation. local irregularities obscure the general slope. if the results of all the available computations are considered, the average slope of the plain is in the direction s 75º e to an amount of 4.7 feet per mile. if the local estimates be eliminated and only those which involve long distances be included, the effect of local irregularities is minimized and the general slope of the plain is found to be s 23° e, 3.3 feet to the mile. the direction and amount of dip of the strata are much more nearly constant and average s 28° w and 14.2 feet per mile recpectively. nowhere are the plain and the strata parallel. the angle between their respective average directions of dip is 51° and the strata dip more than three times as steeply as the plain slopes. even in small districts where upland plains are broad and cover a considerable distance in directions at right angles to the strike of the strata, the slope of the plain and the beds are not parallel. the lack of parallelism between the dodgeville plain and the strata which underlie it is expressed in the fact that progressively younger beds are bevelled by the plain from north to south on the south limb of the arch. as outlined in part i such a plain as the dodgeville plain is open to several possible interpretations: it might be the original marine plain of deposition, a plain of marine erosion, or a structural plain on a single hard stratum. the apparent accordance of levels might be due to the erosion in a single cycle of a surface underlain by gently southdipping and unequally resistant formations, developing a series of somewhat even-topped cuestas whose summits were never parts of a plain now dissected. or, the dodgeville plain might be a true peneplain. the dodgeville plain cannot be the sea bottom uncovered by the withdrawal of the paleozoic sea, for it is known that erosional history of driftless area 69 niagara dolomite was deposited in this sea over the whole region, and the plain is directly underlain by huronian rocks at baraboo, the prairie du chien formation at sparta, the galena formation at church and waukon and on military ridge. from these portions of the surface younger rocks must have been eroded. also there are monadnocks standing above the level of this surface at several places, for instance, sauk point in the baraboo district, blue mounds at the east end of military ridge, and sherrill and sinsinawa mounds farther south. neither is the dodgeville plain the result of marine denudation. the erosion remnants above it are not isle-like, nor is it bordered anywhere by shore features. a still more significant fact is that marine deposits, younger than the rock formations across the edges of which the plain is developed, are wholly wanting on the summit surfaces of the region, although other deposits have been preserved there. it is also extremely doubtful if such broad wave-cut terraces have ever been developed anywhere, especially far in the interiors of continents. the theory that the dodgeville plain was formed on the surface of a single especially hard formation is untenable for the reasons that the plain lies on different formations at different places, that not all the formations are resistant, and that the plain slopes southward at a considerably lower angle than the angle of dip of the rock formations. the idea that the dodgeville plain consists of a series of unrelated structural plains is incoroprated in the theory that the plain is a series of cuesta tops, and this theory is next to be considered. the cuesta-single cycle theory of the first four possible interpretations outlined above, the idea which has been advanced that the dodgeville plain, as described on previous pages, does not exist and never did exist, but consists merely of a series of unrelated cuestas, is more probable than any of those thus far considered, and is to be accepted or rejected only after the most careful study of the field conditions. a possible source of confusion 70 iowa studies in natural history should be eliminated at once by the statement that whatever has been the history of the upland surfaces they do constitute cuestas. martin' has defined a cuesta as “an upland with a short, steep descent, or escarpment, on one side, and a long, gentle slope on the other.” the three belts containing areas of summit flats answer the definition perfectly, and they are cuestas. the problem remains, however, as to whether their more or less even crests, related as they are to rock structures, could have been developed in a single cycle of erosion. as martin points out in describing cuestas, "the gentle slope usually corresponds to the inclination or dip of slightly-inclined sedimentary rocks and one resistant layer, as of limestone, may determine the whole dip slope." following this definition and description the characteristics of cuestas which have had a history involving only one erosion cycle are illustrated in fig. 16. . crnogora otev galong prairie du chien croix potsdam). fig. 16. diagram illustrating the topography of the drift'ess area as it s'ru'd be if the summit areas are the back slopes of normal cuestas deve og ed in a sing'e cycle of erosion. there are several points which seem to favor the theory that the upland surfaces included in the dodgeville plain are merely the tops of cuestas, developed, together with the rest of the topography, in a single cycle of erosion. (1) the belts in which the upland surfaces are considerable are cuestas. (2) the upland surfaces are practically confined in their distribution to the areas of outcrop of resistant rock formations. (3) there are three resistant formations and there are three conspicuous belts containing upland surfaces south of the anticlinal axis. (4) in individual districts, and in the region as a whole, the upland surfaces have a general southerly slope and the strata dip generally south. however, these arguments are superficial, for their 1. martin, lawrence, wis. geol. and nat'l hist. survey, bull, 36, p. 42. 1 erosional history of driftless area 71 features can be explained as well on the basis of more than one cycle as on the basis of a single cycle. there are also several points now to be brought out by a more careful study of topography, especially in its relations with structure, which cannot be explained on the cuesta-single cycle theory and are in keeping with the multiple cycle theory. (1) the south slopes of the upland surfaces are not parallel with the strata as is normal for cuestas. compare figures 1 and 4. the south slopes of the dodgeville plain correspond with the dip of the strata neither in direction nor in amount, as shown in the preceding table (p.). (2) those portions of the dodgeville plain which lie on a single rock formation bevel the layers of that formation. within the bounds of the sparta quadrangle, the summit of the prairie du chien cuesta lies on 35 feet of prairie du chien dolomite at castle rock, and on constantly increasing thicknesses to the south, until 229 feet of the formation appear below the cuesta top in the southwest corner of the quadrangle. in the galena and elizabeth quadrangles in illinois the surface of the niagara cuesta cuts from a stratigraphic position 60 feet above the base of the niagara formation at the north border of the quadrangles to a position 170 feet above the base at the south edge. likewise the summit of the galena-platteville cuesta lies 80 feet above the base of the platteville limestone near its northern edge in the richland center quadrangle and 300 feet above this horizon on one of the south spurs of military ridge. this bevelling of different beds in formations by individual cuesta tops is also illustrated between church and rossville, and between updegraff and monona in iowa, and at many other localities within the driftless area. (3) in some places at least, two belts of cuesta tops which are roughly parallel with the strike of the strata, are connected by long, continuous, more or less broad summit divides which are roughly parallel with the dip. such a divide is that connecting the prairie du chien cuesta in the south portion of the sparta quadrangle with the galena 72 iowa studies in natural history + vertical scale: 1 inch equa's 100 feet. a cross-section and profile from the prairie du chien cuesta ne ar cashton, wisconsin, along the crest of the mississippi-kickapoo divide, the horizontal distance is 50 miles. to the galena cuesta two miles northeast of prairie du chien. fig. 17. cuesta east of prairie du chien. this divide includes much flat land on its summit. its summit area has a relief of less than 100 feet, and yet it bevels the edges of the prairie du chien, st. peter, platteville, decorah, and galena formations. in its extent of over 50 miles its surface falls from 1300 feet at its north end, to 1200 feet near prairie du chien, although a stratigraphic horizon which has an altitude of 1200 feet in the sparta quadrangle is found at 620 feet at the south terminus of the divide. so independent are the surface and the strata that the change from one formation to another is not expressed in the surface. (fig. 17) it would be impossible to explain the details of such a ridge on the basis of a single cycle of erosion. (4). in areas where the summit plains are broad and flat, and such conditions exist in many places in the driftless area, it is difficult to conceive a way by which the material from above was removed to make the flats, under the theory that there has been but one cycle of erosion. in the sparta quadrangle, 200 feet of niagara dolomite, 100 feet of maquoketa shale, 320 feet of galena dolomite and platteprairie du chien (mopszed) tonas ::: peter plotte ville duo 05 erosional history of driftless area 73 ville limestone, 100 feet of st. peter sandstone, and many feet of prairie du chien dolomite have been removed in such a way as to leave thousands of acres of flat land on the divides, 500 feet above present drainage. the three dolomites are cherty and resistant to mechanical wear, although much of the rock is soluble in water. the sandstone and shale are non-resistant physically, but resistant , chemically. these same rock formations, in varying amounts, have been removed in making all of the many upland flats of the driftless area. on few of these flat surfaces is there any concentration of residual materials such as chert fragments, save those which have been rounded by stream action, although such residual materials are not entirely lacking everywhere. it seems that the removal of the rocks from positions above the flat upland surfaces must have been accomplished by some agent which was capable of removing products of disintegration and of decomposition, even the coarse material. if these surfaces have always been divides, and this must have been the case if there has been no rejuvenation of streams, all of the originally overlying material could not have been removed by streams, for on many of the flats there are now no streams nor stream channels. it is not conceivable that wind degraded the tops of the divides to make flat summits; the region has not been glaciated; waves and currents have been eliminated. it cannot be that solution by ground water has been the method of degradation of these surfaces, for much of the material such as shale, the sandstone, and the chert in the dolomite are practically insoluble. even if it be conceived that the shale and sandstone constituents were removed by the wind and the soluble portions of all the rocks were dissolved and carried away by ground water, there would be left many feet of residual chert. (5) it has been made clear that the dodgeville plain, constructed by joining the various patches of summit plain in each of the three cuestas and the summits of the cuestas across intervening areas, is by no means perfectly flat. but, it is difficult to explain even the rough accordance of summit levels in individual districts and the general slope 74 iowa studies in natural history of the plain southward, on the assumption that the upland surfaces are merely parts of unrelated cuestas. estimating that erosion started when the whole region was covered by 1000 feet of strata now gone, and knowing the amount and direction of dip of the strata and the elevation of the various portions of the summit plain, it is possible to estimate what was the original altitude of the surface and to what altitude the upland surface was reduced at any given locality. the dip of the strata is so slight that the altitude of the original surface may be obtained by adding the thickness of the strata removed to the present altitude of the surface, without appreciable error. the results of a series of such computations for a series of localities from north to south and including each of the three cuestas south of the structural axis are tabulated as follows: . 1 table showing the relation of the original surface of the driftless area to the surface of the dodgeville plain locality original thickness of total thickaltitude altitude various formness of rocks of present of surface. atiens reremoved in upland moved in feet. feet. surface. first series—sparta-lancaster quadrangle castle rock 200-niagara north part 100-maquoketa sparta 2220 240-galena 885 1335 quadrangle 80-platteville 100-st. peter 165-prairie du chien near portland 200-niagara south part 100-maquoketa sparta 2130 240-galena 760 1370 quadrangle 80-platteville 100-st. peter 40-prairie du chien near mt. hope, 200-niagara north part 100-maquoketa lancaster 1600 90-galena 390 1210 quarangle near richardsville, iowa, south part 1260 130-niagara 130 1130 lancaster quadrangle second series—richland center, mineral point, elizabeth quadrangles near highland, 200-niagara south part 100-maquoketa richland center 1693 163-galena 463 1230 quadrangle ! 1 3 erosional history of driftless area 75 1200 1190 1205 1130 1040 1250 near montford, 200-niagara north part 100-maquoketa mineral point 1610 110-galena 410 quadrangle near platte mds. west central 200-niagara part mineral 1440 50-maquoketa 250 point quadrangle four miles south of shullsburg, south part 1375 17c-niagara 170 mineral point quadrangle near erie school, north part eliza1260 130-niagara 130 beth quadrangle terrapin ridge, south part eliza1135 95-niagara 95 beth quadrangle third series—waukon elkader quadrangle in iowa near church, 200-niagara north part 100-maquoketa waukon 1766 216-galena 516 quadrangle near monona, 200-niagara south part 100-maquoketa waukon 1555 45-galena 345 quadrangle near updegraff, central part elkader 1200 10-niagara 10 quadrangle fourth series—baraboo, richland center, lancaster quadrangle gibraltar rock, 200-niagara central part 100-maquoketa baraboo 1870 240-galena 620 quadrangle 80-platteville six miles south 200-niagara of hillsdale, 100-maquoketa southern part 1815 240-galena 545 richland center 5-platteville quadrangle near preston, 200-niagara northeast part 100-maquoketa lancaster 1610 140-galena 1210 1190 1250 1270 1170 440 quadrangle three miles east of bankston, iowa, southeast 1290 140-niagara 140 part lancaster quadrangle 1150 76 iowa studies in natural history 1 original surface these tables show that the original surface was much steeper than the present dodgeville plain; that the amounts of material removed from the divides decrease by a regular progression to the south; that different proportions of resistant and non-resistant rocks have been removed in different places; and that there is a certain definite order in the relations of original altitudes, amount of rock removed, and present altitudes, irrespective of the relative thickness of resistant and non-resistant formations removed (fig. 18). it seems improbable that degradation of the tops of divides would take place in so orderly a fashion unless the streams reduced the general surface to grade. plain fig. 18. diagram to scale illustrating the orderly way in which erosion h as progressed in the formation of the accordant summit levels. dodgeville erosional history of driftless area 77 (6) in a region where so much erosion has taken place it would seem that the relative hardness of the resistant formations would express itself in topography if there had been but one cycle. the most resistant of the three should stand the highest, and the least resistant the lowest. but the general southward slope of the dodgeville plain is uninterrupted by differences in rock hardness, although it is doubtless true that local resistant rocks have influenced local irregularities in its surface. (compare fig. 16 with figs. 13 and 14) (7). if the upland surfaces in the driftless area are entirely structural it would seem likely that the local anticlines and synclines which interrupt the general monoclinal dip would cause undulations in the surface of the dodgeville plain. in the galena and elizabeth quadrangles, where a portion of this plain is well known and where the anticlines and synclines have been carefully mapped, there is no apparent relation between the altitude of the upland surfaces and the folds. the plain bevels the local folds without any expression of the structure in the topography, it is true that there are a few high parts of the upland plain which correspond roughly with anticlines, such as at waukon, but there are also many high places where there are no anticlines, many high places over synclines, and many low places on anticlines. no general effect of local structure can be observed in the topography of the plain. the higher portions of the upland plain are to be interpreted as resistant portions of the rocks or as original inter-stream areas, not as arched structures. (8) it is abnormal for the divides of a surface to be lowered greatly before evidences of old age in adjacent valleys appear. during youth of the normal cycle of erosion the main work of the streams is in the development of valleys and the dissection of the original surface. maturity is ushered in when the upper flat approaches thorough dissection and lasts until lower flats are formed and come to constitute an appreciable portion of the surface. most of the work of lowering the original divides is accomplished 78 iowa studies in natural history after the old age of the valleys has been reached. another principle in the normal erosional cycle is that divides are not degraded much, before permanent divides have been established, that is, before valleys have reached their width and length limits, that is, before the valleys have approached or reached old age. now the summit divides in the driftless area are known to have been degraded by amounts varying from 10 feet to 885 feet (see the fourth column from the left in the above tables), and yet the valleys show few signs of old age, and few of the divides are permanent. if the present surface was formed in a single cycle of erosion, this cycle was not normal. (9) assuming that but one cycle has been involved in the erosion of the surface of the driftless area, reconstructing the original surface by projecting the niagara and older formations over portions where they do not now exist, and getting the altitudes of the lowest points reached by streams beneath the present valley fills; it is found that the streams at la crosse must have reduced their beds from about 2200 feet a. t. to 600 feet in order to reach grade; and the streams in the south portion of the driftless area in the vicinity of dubuque, could have become graded by cutting from approximately 1300 feet to 300 feet. the mississippi and its tributaries should have reached grade at dubuque after cutting through 1000 feet of rock of varying hardness long before they brought their beds to grade at la crosse, where they had to cut through 1600 feet of the same rock, and the topography around dubuque should now be in a distinctly later stage of development than that in the neighborhood of la crosse. but the opposite is true. due to the relative non-resistance of the cambrian sandstone on which the streams have their courses at present in the north part of the area, there is a greater area of lowland there than farther south, and the topography around la crosse has an appearance of greater age than the surface near dubuque. (10) in advance of complete description and interpretation it should be made clear here that there are in many places on the dodgeville plain considerable areas of gravel erosional history of driftless area 79 which have undoubtedly been deposited there by streams which could not carry their loads all the way to the sea. these deposits are known near devil's lake, cashton and seneca in wisconsin, and near church, elon and waukon in iowa, as well as at numerous other places within and south of the driftless area. this fact is not mentioned by martin. it seems to the writer to be a fatal objection to the single cycle theory. the conclusion now has been reached that the dodgeville plain is not an original plain of marine deposition, nor a plain of marine erosion, nor a simple structural plain. the theory that the plain consists merely of three cuestas whose summits were developed in the present cycle of erosion is untenable. the peneplain theory it remains to test the fifth possible interpretation. some of the points in favor of the theory that the plain is an ancient peneplain dissected by erosion in subsequent cycles have been touched upon indirectly in the analysis of the cuesta theory. however, for the sake of definiteness and completeness they are listed below. (1) the plain includes many upland surfaces so large and so nearly flat that some effective agent of transportation, such as streams, must have operated there in order to remove the large amount of material which originally existed at higher levels. (2) the plain has a slope of about 3 to 5 feet per mile in a general southeasterly direction. its slope is notably different both in direction and amount from the dip of the strata. (3) the general southerly slope of the plain is obscured locally by irregularities such as old erosional surfaces show. even locally the slopes of the plain are not parallel with rock structures. (4) the plain bevels the edges of rock formations irrespective of their hardness. (5) in the formation of the plain, thicknesses of rock have been removed, which decrease regularly from north to south, bearing evidence that some sort of a grade was established where the tops of the cuestas now are. (6) the existence of certain continuous north-south ridges 80 iowa studies in natural history same. connecting the cucstas, such as the divide from cashton to prairie du chien, described above (fig. 17), seem to suggest that there was once a plain on non-resistant, as well as resistant material. these connecting ridges are apparently remnants of an upland surface once continuous across inter-cuesta areas. (7) if the dodgeville plain is an old peneplain there is no necessity for conceiving that the divides have been reduced by hundreds of feet in a cycle of erosion in which the streams have scarcely reached grade. (8) there are distinct erosion remnants standing on the plain, far from present drainage lines. in some cases these remnants consist of material which is more resistant than that outcropping on the adjacent plain. in other cases the rock of the remnant and the rock of the plain are the there seems to be no reason why these divides should have been reduced in such a way as to leave remnants above their general flat surfaces, unless the streams reached grade at or near the levels of these surfaces. (9) the presence of stream deposits at many places on the plain not only appears as a fatal objection to the single cycle theory, but it seems practically to demonstrate that the dodgeville plain is a raised peneplain. (10) both cretaceous sediments west of the driftless area and tertiary deposits to the south must have been derived at least partly from erosion in the driftless area and both bear evidence that the land of their sources was low and approaching the peneplain stage. (11) the fact that tertiary deposits of the great mississippi embayment, extending north toward the driftless area, lie in a gently sloping plain which, if projected, would coincide with the dodgeville plain, is distinctly in favor of the peneplain theory. (12) as will be explained more fully within the next few pages, there are lense-shaped bodies of the softer formations underlying the dodgeville plain in two or three places, which show that the surface over them was brought to grade. (13) in addition there are within the driftless area other strong evidences of more than one cycle of erosion, yet to be described, which in combination with the even-crested summit areas increase the value of these upland flats as evidences and the comerosional history of driftless area 81 bination demonstrates that the surface has been eroded in more than one cycle. objections which might be advanced to the peneplain theory have been expressed by martin'. each objection is now to be considered. (1) doubt is expressed if the various areas of upland surface making up the plain are large enough, flat enough, close enough together, and sufficiently accordant in their levels to warrant the conclusion that they are the remnants of a once continuous peneplain. as was brought out in part i, there is no definite degree of flatness which a surface must assume before it can be called a peneplain. also there are various ways in which such a surface may be made irregular in the second cycle. it is not believed that the dodgeville plain was degraded to such extremes that the surface was altogether flat. there were doubtless many gently sloping valley walls as well as valley flats. not all the tributary streams far from the main drainage lines had low gradients. and the facts remain that there are some upland surfaces which are essentially flat; that the upland areas are large enough and numerous enough to furnish thousands of acres of farm land which is notably flat; that the highest recorded slope on the plain is less than 11 feet per mile and the average slope less than 4 feet per mile; and that the dodgeville plain includes more and larger areas of flat land and is represented by more nearly accordant levels than the kittatinny peneplain of the appalachian mountains, the tertiary peneplain of idaho or the miocene peneplain of the sierra nevadas. (2) martin gives some consideration to the time involved in the erosion of the area and concludes that, although there has been sufficient time since the late paleozoic for the formation of a peneplain, there has also been time for the destruction of such a plain. the writer does not see that the time involved furnishes points either in favor of or against the peneplain or cuesta theory. so far as the duration of time is concerned, several peneplains could have been formed and destroyed during the mesozoic and ceno1. martin, lawrence, bull. no. 36, wis. geol. and natl hist. surv., pp. 64-68. 82 iowa studies in natural history zoic eras. there is, however, no indication in this that some relatively recent peneplain, such an one completed in late tertiary, could not to-day be represented by remnants. (3) believing that sediments must have been derived from the surface of the driftless area in the formation of the dodgeville plain, and not certainly finding such sediments in the devonian and carboniferous rock adjacent to the area, martin objects to the peneplain theory. clearly he is laboring under a misconception as to the age of the. plain. whether or not it is an old peneplain, its surface is much younger than the paleozoic. all of the paleozoic formations, including the devonian and carboniferous are known to be bevelled by the dodgeville plain south and west of the driftless area. most of those who have previously interpreted it as a peneplain have assigned it to the cretaceous and the writer will later in the paper present evidence for the late tertiary age of the plain. most likely then the sand, silt, and clay derived in the formation of the dodgeville plain were carried westward into the cretaceous sea, or most likely southward into the tertiary embayment. indeed, both the cretaceous and tertiary systems contain materials which must have been derived from erosion in the driftless and adjacent areas during these periods, and there is evidence that peneplanation was in progress. thus by reference of the dodgeville plain to its proper geological period martin's point of objection to the peneplain theory is converted into an additional argument in favor of that theory. (4) it is true, as pointed out by martin, that the devonian and carboniferous rocks lie on surfaces of less relief than that of the driftless area, and that this does not show that the peneplain of the driftless area is projected to lie beneath these sediments. however, it is not to be considered in any way as an objection to the peneplain theory. the plain is clearly much younger than any paleozoic system. if the cretaceous or tertiary sediments could be proven to lie on a projection of the dodgeville plain, strong evidence would be offered that it is a peneplain. the cretaceous rocks of minnesota are bevelled by the plain and erosional history of driftless area 83 therefore do rot lie on its projection. salisbury has presented evidence that the plain does slope down beneath the tertiary deposits of the lower mississippi valley and that those deposits lie on a plain similar to and continuous with the dodgeville plain in the driftless area. this point affords strong evidence in favor of the peneplain theory. (5) martin concludes his objections to the peneplain theory by stating that there are no wedge-shaped bodies of non-resistant rock overlying the south-dipping resistant layers, as there should have been when the dodgeville peneplain was undissected. he agrees, however, that these wedges could have been removed by the rejuvenated streams. their absence, therefore, is no objection to the peneplain theory, but is in harmony with the cuesta, as well as with the peneplain theory. as a matter of fact, but apparently unknown to martin, there are just such wedges of st. peter sandstone north of the platteville-galena cuesta in wisconsin, and maquoketa shale north of the niagara cuesta in iowa. fig. 5 affords an illustration of the st. peter wedges. other illustrations are found in the south part of the richland center quadrangle, where ever-increasing thicknesses of st. peter cap the north-south divides to the foot of the platteville cuesta, where the full thickness of the st. peter is represented. in iowa the south rim of the valley of turkey river, south of osterdock, is underlain by a few feet of maquoketa shale which dips south with the galena dolomite below. along a road which follows a flat-topped divide southward, the maquoketa gradually thickens until its full thickness is found at the foot of the niagara escarpment. martin says: "they (the wedge-shaped bodies) would furnish excellent evidence of previous baselevelling, but no such remnants are known to exist." now that such lenses of non-resistant material have been discovered, this point is transferred from the unfavorable to the favorable column for the peneplain theory. in conclusion it may be said that the summit areas in 1. salisbury, r. d., bull. geol. soc. am., vol. 3, pp. 183-186, jour. geol., vol. iii, pp. 655-667. 84 iowa studies in natural history the driftless area, after analysis, seem almost certainly to be remnants of a peneplain uplifted since its formation and now almost entirely destroyed by the rejuvenated streams. and yet demonstration of the multiple cycle theory does not rest on this evidence alone. it remains to be seen whether there are other indications of more than one cycle and whether there is a combination of evidence which actually proves the case. intermediate plain (the lancaster plain) at many places in the driftless area there are isolated areas and more or less continuous surfaces, sharply set off from the remnants of the dodgeville plain, but forming divides several hundred feet above drainage. though similar in most respects to the summit surfaces, these flattopped but lower divides occupy a position intermediate between the remnants of the dodgeville plain and the valley bottoms. if the tops of these intermediate divides were projected across the valleys and across the areas where remnants of the dodgeville plain exist, a plain similar to the dodgeville plain would be formed, having a general altitude approximately 200 feet lower than the dodgeville plain. this is the more conspicuous of the two upland plains, and is the one about which most has been written. various names have been applied to this plain by different writers. it is hershey's' plain no. 1. grant and burchard named it the lancaster plain. the writer3 called it the galena plain in jo daviess county, illinois. in iowa it has been called the lower plain or plain no. ii. shipton called it the sparta plain and hughese assigned to it the name limeridge plain. the surface is as well developed in the neighborhood of lancaster, wisconsin, as anywhere, and therefore the name assigned by grant and burchard is retained for this plain. 1. hershey, 0. h., 1m. geol.. vol. 20, pp. 246-268. 2. grant, u. s. and burchard, e. f., lancaster-mineral point folio, u. s. geol. suri'.. p. 2. 3. trowbridge, a. c., jour. grol., vol. 21, pp. 739-741. 4. howell, j. v., iowa geol. suri'.. vol. 25, pp. 59-60. 5. shipton, w. d., geology of the sparta quadrangle, unpublished thesis in library of university of iowa, p. 57. 6. hughes, 'u. b., geology of the richland center quadrangle, manuscript in preparation. erosional history of driftless area 85 portions of the lancaster plain are known in the northern part of the sparta quadrangle at an average altitude of 1100 feet; in the baraboo district at 1200 feet; in the northern and central portions of the richland center quadrangle on divides sloping southward from 1200 to 1100 feet; in the central and southern portions of the lancaster and mineral point quadrangles at levels varying from 1100 to 1000 feet; in the northern and central portions of the galena and elizabeth quadrangles, illinois, sloping southward from 1000 feet to 900 feet; in southeastern minnesota at altitudes of about 1200 feet; and in northeastern iowa from the minnesota line at an altitude of 1100 feet to dubuque, where it lies at and around 900 feet altitude. the best general view of the surface may be obtained from the mississippi river between bellevue, iowa, and la crosse. along this whole extent of river the immediate rim of the mississippi valley appears to be almost a horizontal line except where broken by tributary valleys. nowhere does the dodgeville plain come to the edge of the bluff, although, near turkey river and prairie du chien, remnants of the higher plain are close enough to be visible from the river and appear as monadnocks standing above the plain which forms the rim of the valley. on the whole, the lancaster plain is represented by upland surfaces which are more numerous, larger, closer together, and more nearly continuous than the summit areas which constitute the remnants of the dodgeville plain. in the sparta quadrangle, the lancaster plain is represented by a series of narrow divides above which stand conspicuous remnants of the dodgeville plain such as castle rock and balls bluff. in the baraboo district portions of the lower plain include the general flat crest of the north quartzite range at ableman and at the lower narrows, broad, poorly drained divides between north flowing and south flowing, streams on the south range, and flat benches on the south range, such as the one at 1200 feet 2 miles northeast of denzer. just north of the wisconsin river the plain is best shown on the crests of north-south divides, such as the divides between pine, bear, narrows, 86 iowa studies in natural history and honey creeks, on which are located the main roads of the district, hundreds of prosperous farms, and the villages of limeridge, sandusky, and loreto. wide areas of the plain are found at or near blake prairie, diamond grove, rockville, hurricane, lancaster, (fig. 19), liberty ridge, roger bn chicago ancaster r 957 cek areen pigeon ed की thulicane fig. 19. a portion of the lancaster topographic map showing the extent and distribution of the lancaster plain in its type loca.ity. jamestown, and cornelia in the lancaster quadrangle, and near livingston, rewey, belmont, cuba, and fayette in the mineral point quadrangle. in these two quadrangles the surfaces representing the lancaster plain are long and broad, and are utilized extensively for various sorts of human activity. most of the surfaces are north-south divides or east-west projections of north-south divides. in the elizabeth quadrangle in illinois there are large areas of this intermediate plain, the most conspicuous of which are south of apple river and northwest of stockton, (figs. 20 and 21), where there are surfaces 1x112 miles erosional history of driftless area 87 school sumn mesyu school gle bone millvili rusb certies school 161 yhd sat r s fig. 20. a portion of the elizabeth topographic map where the lancaster plain is exceptional.y well represented. fig. 21. view of the lancaster plain in jo daviess county, north of stockton, illinois. the elevaticns in the distance are the mounds" which are monadnocks on the plain. below the general surface, there are val eys more than 200 feet deep. 88 iowa studies in natural history in extent. these surfaces have maximum relief of less than 10 feet and are poorly drained. above them stand conspicuous monadnocks, and below them are abrupt valleys more than 100 feet in depth. the lancaster plain is represented in the galena quadrangle by the divides between sinsinawa and galena rivers, used as the site of the hazel green pike road, and the divide between galena river and smallpox creek. the tops of these divides consist of flat surfaces or gentle slopes. they average 900 feet above sea, 300 feet above present drainage, and 150 feet below the tops of the mounds which stand conspicuously upon them. in iowa most of the tops of the divides within eight or ten miles of the mississippi river are to be correlated with the lancaster plain; for instance, the divides between upper iowa river and the minnesota line, between clear creek and village creek, village creek and paint creek, paint creek and yellow river, yellow river and bloody run, bloody run and sny magill creek, the divides north and south of yellow river, etc. (figs. 22 and 26). the plain the gorges below it, as seen near waukon fig. 22. view of the lancaster plain an junction, iowa. is also represented in the vicinity of dubuque. the lancaster plain in the minnesota portion of the driftless area erosional history of driftless area 89 forms gently rolling intermediate surfaces, so extensive and so nearly flat as to be known locally as "prairies." areas representing the plain here are known south of preston and in other portions of fillmore county, in houston county south of root river near caledonia, in nearly all parts of winona county and in the southeastern portion of wabasha county. though the areas are most extensive away from the mississippi river, representatives of it are known right to the edge of the river gorge. as in the case of the dodgeville plain, the lancaster plain lies on different rock formations at different places. north of the prairie du chien cuesta in wisconsin it lies on the cambrian sandstone, in minnesota on platteville, st. peter and prairie du chien, south of the prairie du chien cuesta on the prairie du chien and st. peter formations, south of the platteville-galena cuesta on the galena and maquoketa formations. in general, the farther north a portion of the plain is the older the formation, and the lower the part of the formation on which it lies. progressively younger rocks are bevelled by the plain toward the south. the lancaster plain slopes in a general southerly direction at an angle less than the angle of dip of the strata. the details in the relations of the plain and the structure south of the anticlinal axis are shown in the table on page 90. the computations, the results of which appear in the table, show that there is a marked parallelism of plain and strata in several of the individual districts, such as the richland center, sparta and mineral point quadrangles, but that in other districts and where greater distances are involved, this parallelism fails. it is notable that all the local estimates show the intermediate surface sloping in directions west of south, which is the direction of dip of the strata and that those estimates including more widely separated points on the plain show a general slope east of south. considering only the local districts the plain appears to have an average slope of 10.9 feet per mile in the direction s 17°w and the strata dip s 28°w at an angle of 16.6 feet per mile. over the larger areas the average direction 90 iowa studies in natural history table of results of computation of dip and strike of lancaster plain and rock strata general location location of points direction of dip of plain amount of dip of plain ; ft. per mi. direction of dip of strata imount of lip of strata ; ft. per mi. s 25°w 7.6 s 15°w 7.6 s 80°w 12.5 s 59°w 14. s 26°w 8.9 s 29°w 34. s 9°w 7.3 s 9°w 9.1 s 46°w 27.2 s 13°w 13.9 nortir part a-limeridge richland center b-3 12 miles quadrangle south loreta c-212 miles n.e. richland center north part a-1 mile south sparta of castle rock quadrangle b-center sec. 3 burns twp. c-w. c. sec. 23 burns twp. lancaster a-blake prairie quadrangle b-lancaster c-near jamestown mineral point a-rewey quadrangle b-cuba c-fayette galena a-s. sec. 24 quadrangle vinegar hill twp. b-galena c-n. e. sec. 23 galena twp. elizabeth a-foot of quadrangle hudson mound b-warren c-c sec. 9 rush twp. waukon a-412 mi. w. of quadrangle new albin in iowa b-3 mi. s. e. of lansing c-3 mi. s. e. of watson iowaa-near new albin wisconsin b-near watson c-near bloomington wisconsina-near sparta jowab-near new albin illinois c-near stockton wisconsina-near sparta iowa. b-near bloomington c-near new albin wisconsina-near denzer iowa b-near bloomington c-near new albin wisconsina-near loreta jowab-near watson illinois c-near stockton s 8°w 8. s 20°w 9.8 s 77°e 5.1 s 51°w 27.6 s 42°e 2.1 s 22°w 15. n 89°e 3.1 s 7°w 9.4 s 82°e 4. s 9.4 s 16°w 2.8 s 11°w 11. s 1°e 3. s 19°w 11.6 erosional history of driftless area 91 of slope of the plain is s 40'e and the average amount of slope 3 feet per mile, while the corresponding figures for the strata are s 12°w and 11.3 feet. including the results of all the estimates, both local and general, the plain slopes s 11°e to an amount of 7.6 feet to the mile and the strata dip s. 20°w, 14.4 feet per mile. the plain and the strata fail of parallelism by 31° in direction and 6.8 feet per mile in dip. in the literature of the subject the lancaster plain and the dodgeville plain have in some cases been confused; indeed there has been some doubt expressed that they are really distinct. in his criticisms of the peneplain theory to explain the accordant divides of the driftless area, martin' assumes two cases: (1) that there are four upland plains, one for each cuesta, and (2) that there is but one upland plain. he does not consider the problem of two upland plains and appears to believe that all the upland surfaces form a single plain, if indeed they may be said to form plains at all. this confusion doubtless grows out of the fact that there are places where the summit plain only is found and places where only the intermediate plain occurs. in such latter places the lancaster plain could easily be mistaken for a summit plain. there are also some localities within the driftless area in which both plains occur and where they appear to grade into each other. and yet the summit plain and the intermediate plains are distinct. the evidences are as follows: (1) in most portions of the driftless area, as between waukon and the mississippi river (fig. 23), and in the district south of turkey river in iowa, in the galena and elizabeth quadrangles in illinois, in the northern and central portions of the lancaster and mineral point quadrangles, in the richland center quadrangle, in the baraboo district and in the sparta quadrangle in wisconsin, and in minnesota both plains are found and in most of these places the lower plain is so sharply set off from the upper one that the two can be distinctly seen in any general view. (2) even in districts where intermediate levels seem to grade into sum1. martin, lawrence, bull. no. 36, wis. geol. and natl hist. surv., pp. 66-67. 92 iowa studies in natural history mit levels, careful inspection brings out distinct differences in altitude between the two plains. for instance, the lancaster plain around lancaster, seems, on casual observation, to grade into the dodgeville plain on the summit of fig. 23. view east of waukon, iowa, showing both the dodgeville and lancaster plains. the picture was taken from the dodgeville plain which shows in the foreground and forms the skyline. the general topography which forms the rims of the valleys in the middle distance is the lancaster plain. military ridge. grant and burchard' included military ridge and the area around dodgeville with the lancaster plain. however, there are many views obtainable in which military ridge stands distinctly above the intermediate le and carefully drawn profiles show the two plains to be distinct” (fig. 24). (3) where both plains are represented in the same locality, they lie at different stratigraphic horizons, either within the same formation or in different formations, although in practically all cases both lie on resistant rock. (4) if the lancaster plain be projected from districts where the dodgeville plain is missing into areas where the dodgeville plain occurs it is found to lie distinctly below the dodgeville plain. similarly the dodge1. grant, u. s. and burchard, e. f., lancaster-mineral point folio, u. s. geol. surv., p. 2. 2. hughes, u. b., proc. la. acad. sci., vol. 23, p. 131. erosional history of driftless area 93 ville plain projected from cuesta to cuesta, lies on the average 200 feet higher than the lancaster plain in the inter-cuesta areas. (see figs. 14 and 23). (5) where both plains are found together the change from one to the other takes place either along lines parallel with or oblique to the strike. (6) there are many places along the main south-flowing streams, for instance, along the mississippi ro نم fig. 24. a profile from mt. ida on the dodgeville prairie south across a portion of the lancaster plain. the profile makes it clear that two plains are represented. (after u. b. hughes). river, where upland surfaces representing the lancaster plain can be traced continuously from an inter-cuesta area across a cuesta, on the summits of which the dodgeville plain is represented, to connect definitely with the lancaster plain in another inter-cuesta area (fig. 25). there are lines along which the lancaster plain is unbroken by remnants of the dodgeville plain for the whole north-south extent of the driftless area. (7) if it be assumed that the lancaster plain in an area south of a dodgeville cuesta is merely the projection of the dodgeville plain down the dip of the strata, so that the two plains together form the gentle southerly slopes of normal cuestas (fig. 16), three points located so as to include both plains, should show a surficial slope parallel with stratigraphic dips. that this assumption is not true is shown by the table on page 95, in which both plains are represented in each computation. nowhere do the slopes of the surface and the dips of the strata coincide. 94 iowa studies in natural history uiqiy mon buisuon mississippi riser lovel huoy sad.com cambrian loverene limestona lopun uomo jubangsw 420w yoed could prairie du chien dolomito h obviously the lancaster plain is not an original marine plain of deposition, neither was it formed by marine denudation. lying as it does here at one stratigraphic horizon and there at another, it cannot be a simple structural plain. because the lancaster plain is represented by many broad, flattish, intermediate surfaces close enough together to warrant correlation ; because it is distinct from the dodgeville plain; because it has a general southerly slope; because its slope is not parallel with the underlying strata; because the plain bevels the edges of the strata ; because its surface has about the degree of irregularity and slope which a peneplain should have; because it is not confined to cuesta belts but has a wide distribution in the inter-cuesta areas the lancaster plain seems even more surely to be a true peneplain than is the dodgeville plain. it cannot be held to be a series of unrelated cuestas. the lancaster plain, therefore, is believed to be a true peneplain, younger than the dodgeville plain, uplifted since its formation, and now approaching thorongh dissection in the present cycle of erosion. for an additional illustration of the features on which this belief is based. see fig. 26. it should not be understood that this surface was uo hay sandstone fig. 25. a topographic profile and geologic structure section, drawn along the west rim of the valley of the mississippi river from new albin to plottaville limestong bellevue. the horizontal distance is 150 miles. the vertical scale is exaggerated. st peter sandyland banqueกร์" ordovician o 2 galena ostomito daly horny 國 ​maouent shala 17 yod silurian nogard dolomite 며 ​ono neng boaie erosional history of driftless area 95 computations showing the relation between the slope of a plain made by the combination of the dodgeville and lancaster plains and the dip of the strata general location location of points direction of s'ope of plain in ft. per mi. amount of slope of plain direction of dip of strata amount of dip of strata jin ft. per mi. lancaster quadrangle denzersparta-richland center quadrangles waukon quadrangle in iowa a-fennimore (dodgeville plain) b-blake prairie s 16°w 15. s 27°w 22.8 (lancaster plain) c-rockville (lancaster plain) a-denzer (dodgeville plain) b-sparta (dodges 41°w 40. s 28°w 14. ville plain) c-loreta (lancaster plain) a-church (dodgeville plain) b-342 mi.s. e. of lans 76°e 20.6 s 27°w 20. sing (lancaster plain) c-3 mi. s. e. of watson (lancaster plain) a-near graham, iowa (dodgeville plain) b-lancaster, wisconsin (lancaster plain) n 78°e 5.2 s 6°w 8. c-stockton, illinois (lancaster plain) iowawisconsinillinois flat before its upliſt and dissection. many remnants of the higher surfaces stood above it, and even its general lowland topography lacked much of being perfectly flat, as is true of all peneplains. the lancaster plain even considered alone, bears strong evidence in favor of the plural cycle theory. and there is corroborative evidence of other sorts which adds still further to the strength of the case thus far developed. antecedent streams the antecedency of streams and the nature and value of the evidence it bears on the erosional history of a region were discussed in part i, pp. 21-24. streams may become antecedent (1) by local warping of the strata and surface of a region after the course of the streams have been estab96 iowa studies in natural history ! (phoa panoramic view locking up the mississippi river toward lansing, iowa, and showing the flood plain and both valley walls. note the even skyline on both sides extending into the distance. this is the lancaster plain which definite y beve's formations of unequal resistance. tographed by professor w. h. norton). fig. 26. lished, if the diastrophic warping takes place so slowly that the streams can degrade the up-warped areas as fast as they are uplifted, and thus hold their courses as conditions change, or (2) by the uniiorm uplift of a surface which has been reduced to grade and on which the streams have reached a final stage of adjustment, flowing by the most direct routes to the sea, provided again the streams hold their courses during and after uplift. by study of the driftless area it becomes reasonably certain that the tilting and slight warping which the strata have undergone antedated the establishment of the courses of the present streams, for all the structures are bevelled by the dodgeville and lancaster plains. either the streams of the driftless area are in harmony with conditions erosional history of driftless area 97 of slope, resistance, and structure and with the stage of early maturity, or they are antecedent and have courses now which they acquired in some late stage of a previous cycle. if the streams are merely consequent it would seem that the surface of the driftless area is in its first erosional cycle. if they are antecedent they furnish valuable evidences of more than one cycle in the erosional history of the region. in case there has been but one cycle of erosion all the streams should be consequent; if there has been more than one cycle the larger streams are likely to be antecedent, having developed their courses in the first cycle and held them into the second, and the many tributary streams should have been developed in the present cycle and be consequent. the problem then involves especially the major streams. mississippi river study of the present course of the mississippi river shows certain anomolies in its relations to original topography and structure, which are significant. these anomolies can be made most clear by a study of the various stages of adjustment which major streams should have in the normal erosional cycle under conditions existing in the driftless area, and by comparison of the course of the mississippi river with these various stages, considering the present mature condition of the region. as has been stated in previous pages, the strata south from la crosse and sparta dip in an average direction s 26°w to an average amount of 14.6 feet to the mile. but north of winona along the mississippi a dip in the opposite direction is recorded by conformable stratigraphic contacts which decline appreciably from winona to minneapolis. the average dip of the strata north of the arch, which seems to run through galesburgh, winona, and st. charles, determined by taking the averages of four computations by means of the three point method is found to be n 35° w 9.3 feet per mile. the highest portion of the original surface, therefore, must have been near winona and the surface must have sloped down to the north and 98 iowa studies in natural history to the south from the divide. in the knowledge that the formation of this arch antedated the establishment of the present course of the mississippi river and that the various rock formations do not thin out appreciably in approaching the crest of the arch, it is possible to reconstruct the original surface for a line following the present course of the mississippi river. this surface is found to lie at 960 feet at bellevue, 1030 feet at dubuque, 1520 feet at prairie du chien, 1850 feet at lansing, 2000 feet at la crosse, 1870 feet at winona, and 1410 feet at minneapolis. a section showing this original surface and the attitude of the strata beneath it for the whole length of the mississippi river from minneapolis to bellevue is shown in fig. 27. minneapolis wnoni lacrosse lansino prairie ou chien dubuque niagara maquoreta galena platteville st. peter prairie ou thien potsdam (st. cro) fig. 27. a section showing the original surface of the driftless area and the structure of the strata along a line now followed by the mississippi river. the total horizontal distance is approximately 250 miles. vertical scale: 1 inch equals 360 feet. such a surface would be eroded by streams which would exhibit different stages of adjustment in different stages of the erosion cycle. in the first stage of adjustment streams would form, flowing south and north from the crest of the arch. from the main streams, tributaries would develop which would curve headward up the slope of the plain toward the divide from either side. as all the streams in this first stage were flowing on the niagara dolomite there were only slight differences in resistance, and the courses of the streams would be determined primarily by the topographic slopes which were in turn determined by the structure. the generosional history of driftless area 99 f 3 eral northerly and southerly slopes from the axis of the arch were not steep, but are believed to have been steep enough to control the general courses of the streams. the details of the courses might be influenced by the minor structures such as anticlines, synclines, accentuations of the monocline, faults, joints, etc., by local irregularities in the surface, or by slight differences in resistance. the conditions during this first stage of adjustment are illustrated in fig. 28. 1 niagara emaquine taste galena plattevill st. peter prairie buchien potsdam (st. crow) fig. 28. block diagram illustrating the drainage conditions in the driftless area, as they should have been in the initial stage of stream adjustment. as the main streams on the two limbs of the arch cut downward they would, somewhere in their courses, penetrate the resistant niagara dolomite and reach the relatively non-resistant maquoketa shale. on this soft formation the main streams would develop broad valleys and would send out tributaries (fig. 29). when maturity of the erosion cycle was reached and the inter-valley divides had been made narrow, the south-flowing main stream, having greater volume, or a higher gradient, or flowing on less resistant material than the stream on the opposite side of the arch, might work headward through the main divide and steal water by reversion of the main stream flowing in the opposite direction. (fig. 30). in this case it seems that the pirate stream would work headward down the course already established by the 100 iowa studies in natural history reversed stream, that is, in a line roughly parallel with the dip of the strata and with the original slope of the surface. finally when old age has been reached and the main fig. 29. block diagram showing the drainage conditions in stage ii of stream adjustment. fig. 30. block diagram illustrating stage iii of stream adjustment, in case the south-flowing stream has the advantage of the north-flowing one. streams have been reduced to grade throughout their courses, and not before that stream which has the shortest route to the sea would capture all the drainage and would adopt a course, which for the first time would be independent of structure and original slope and dependent upon the slopes of the graded plain. some of the tributary streams, of which there would be few, might still be dependent upon structure (fig. 31). 0 erosional history of driftless area 101 ih fig. 31. block diagram showing the courses of the streams in a final stage of stream adjustment in a first cyc.e of ercsicn. now the prcscnt course of the mississippi river in early maturity of the present cycle of valley development is almost exactly what would be expected if it were determined by two streams flowing in opposite directions from the crest of the arch, the south-flowing stream having captured the north-flowing one, as outlined above (fig. 32). north fig. 32. block diagram showing roughly the course of the mississippi river in its relations to structure. the river is antecedent in the same sense that the susquehanna river in the appalachians is antecedent. of the axis of the arch, between minneapolis and la crosse, the river flows in the general direction, s 51°e, which is an angle of 164° with the average direction of dip of the strata. the river not only does not flow in the direction of the dip but it does not flow parallel with the strike. its average direction lacks but 16° of being opposite to the dip and to 102 iowa studies in natural history the slope of the original surface. the original surface had the theoretical altitude of 1410 feet at minneapolis, 1870 feet at winona and 2000 feet at la crosse, and the present river flows from minneapolis, past winona, to la crosse. south of the axis of the arch and the main divide on the original surface, where the strata have an average dip in the direction s 26°w, which also must have been the average direction of slope of the original surface, the river follows a curved course from la crosse to bellevue in the general direction s 18°e, forming an angle of 44° with the dip of the strata and the slope of the original surface. on neither side of the arch is there any evidence that the minor curves of the river really are controlled by minor structural features such as anticlines and synclines. it should also be borne in mind that the mississippi river, by taking a course more nearly directly south at some point south of st. paul, would have flowed around the southwest end of the plunging anticline, avoiding the crest of the arch and the high portion of the original surface entirely. such a course also would have been little if any longer to dubuque than the course which was actually established. there is a further indication that the mississippi river has had such a history as outlined above in the fact that certain of the larger streams north of the axis of the anticline, for instance, whitewater river, join the master stream with an acute angle down-stream. this suggests that the mississippi river was flowing in the opposite direction while whitewater river was being developed, and that its direction of flow was later reversed. this lack of harmony between rock structures and original slopes on the one hand and the present course of the mississippi river on the other, cannot be explained on the basis of the ordinary superimposition. such an interpretation could be correct only in case some post-paleozoic formation on which the stream could have established its present course, had been deposited over the strata of the district, after they were deformed, so as to let the stream down on the stratigraphic structures and topographies as erosional history of driftless area 103 the covering formation was penetrated. no such covering formation is known to have existed in the driftless area; and it seems extremely unlikely that a deposit so thick did exist and has been so thoroughly removed that no remnants of it are left. there are a few patches of stream gravel on the uplands, which some have considered to be cretaceous and others tertiary in age, but these deposits are local in their distribution and are believed by no one to have covered the entire driftless area. certainly they did not cover it to such depths as to mask the present structures. neither is the glacial drift competent to cause such superposition, for there are considerable areas on both sides of the mississippi which are driftless. furthermore, the drift must have had a thickness of more than 600 feet at minneapolis to have carried the river over the crest of the arch at la crosse. because the mississippi river is generally independent of structure, because it flows for 135 miles in a direction which is up the slope of the original surface, because it cuts across the axis of a fold whose dips are considerable, because the surface of the driftless area is in maturity and shows no signs of old age, and because the river has not been superimposed, the mississippi river is believed to be antecedent and to record more than one cycle in the erosional history of the surface. the relations between the course of the mississippi river and the dodgeville and lancaster plains north of la crosse are not definitely ascertainable. on the south limb of the anticline, however, the general course of the river comes within 5° of being parallel in direction with the dodgeville plain and within 6 of parallelism with the lancaster plain. it seems likely therefore, that the river established its prescnt course in old age of the cycle of erosion in which the dodgeville peneplain was formed and held that course without great change during the dissection of the dodgeville. plain and the formation of the lancaster plain and while the lancaster plain was being uplified and eroded. الی۔ 104 iowa studies in natural history it is not known that this holds in detail for that part of the river north of la crosse. 1 1 other streams all the smaller tributary streams of the driftless area appear to have been formed in the present cycle of erosion, be it the first, second or third cycle which the area has experienced. it would seem likely, however, that if the mississippi river existed in a previous cycle, some of its larger tributaries, such as the wisconsin, la crosse, upper iowa, turkey, root and whitewater rivers might have established their courses at the same time and have held their courses to the present. within the driftless area, wisconsin river flows from prairue du sac to the mississippi in a general direction s 73°w, which is at an angle of 47° with the general dip of the strata and what must have been the slope of the original surface. the whole course of the river in this distance is on potsdam sandstone, but before it had cut quite so deeply it must have flowed from the soft sandstone, across the resistant prairie du chien dolomite, instead of remaining on the soft sandstone as it could have done by developing a course more nearly parallel with the strike of the strata. as wisconsin river is not adjusted to the structure the conclusion seems reasonable that it probably developed a course in harmony with conditions which existed in old age of a previous cycle and held that course during rejuvenation. in the sense in which willis, davis, and hayes and campbell used the term in connection with certain rivers of the appalachians, wisconsin river is, then, probably antecedent and an evidence of more than one cycle of erosion. the direction of dip of the strata in the neighborhood of la crosse river near the crest of the arch is not known accurately, and it is not known whether the river, which flows s 56°w is parallel with or oblique to the axis of the anticline. it may, therefore, be antecedent or consequent. the courses of the streams in iowa doubtless have been influenced by glacial drift which extends eastward almost or quite to their points of junction with the mississippi; erosional history of driftless area 105 and the problem of their antecedency is therefore obscured. upper iowa river has a course n 46°e from decorah to its mouth, which fails of parallelism with the dip by 142°. indeed the river flows for 35 miles in a direction which must have been up an original slope of 10 or 15 feet per mile. if glaciation had nothing to do with the establishment of this course upper iowa river is probably antecedent. turkey river below elkader flows in the general direction s 66°e. as this makes an angle of only 2° with the strike of the strata, turkey river may be considered to be adjusted in harmony with its development within a single cycle. in minnesota, root river has a course out of harmony with the structure and the slopes of the theoretic original surface. it flows in a general direction which is up a stratigraphic dip of 4 feet per mile, although by taking a more southerly course it could have flowed around the end of the plunging anticline. although whitewater river north of the axis of the arch, as stated on p. 102, flows in a direction which is in harmony with structure and original slope, it joins the mississippi with an acute angle downstream, suggesting the possibility that its course was established according to original slope and maintained after reversal of the master stream. thus, while there is little suggestion of antecedency for the whitewater river itself, its course taken in connection with the course of its main, adds strength to the belief that the establishment of the present course of the upper mississippi involved a case of piracy of a magnitude which could hardly have taken place all within the present cycle of erosion. in illinois, sinsinawa creek, galena river, smallpox creek, apple river and plum river are so nearly parallel with the dip that their histories probably do not date back of the present erosional cycle. intrenched meanders if the erosional history of the driftless area has involved more than one cycle of erosion it seems that some of the streams at least should have developed meanders in old age of a cycle and intrenched their meanders in the later cycle 106 iowa studies in natural history t following uplift. the difficulty in distinguishing intrenched meanders from curves made in oiher ways not involving more than one cycle of erosion is brought out in part i, as are also other limitations and possibilities in the application of intrenched meanders to interpretations of the erosional histories of regions. the two major streams of the driftless area, the mississippi and wisconsin rivers, show no intrenched meanders, in spite of the fact that they seem to have had a history which would have developed such features. both streams have flood plains several times the widths of the rivers and the details of their present courses are what would be expected under these conditions; but their curves are not intrenched. except for their details, the general courses of these rivers are quite remarkably straight. if the streams were at grade on the dodgeville plain and developed meanders there they must have straightened their courses as they cut down toward the lancaster plain. either the lancaster peneplain was not sufficiently flattened for the development of conspicuous meanders or meanders were formed in this second cycle and cut off again after uplift of the lancaster plain. it is not unreasonable to suppose that such streams would straighten themselves after rejuvenation ; indeed, it is not clear that a stream could maintain the meanders developed in one cycle much past maturity of the following cycle. therefore, the absence of intrenched meanders in these major streams is not thought to argue strongly against the idea that the driftless area has suffered more than one cycle of erosion. on the other hand the curves of these streams have nothing to offer in favor of this idea. conditions are somewhat different in the cases of smaller streams. upper iowa, yellow, turkey, and little maquoketa rivers in iowa are quite crooked and spurs from the valley walls project into the curves. but a large part of the courses of these streams lie in an area which has been glaciated, and the curves may have been developed on the surface of the drift and superimposed on the bedrock. but erosional history of driftless area 107 on the east side of the mississippi river in wisconsin and illinois, where the area has never been glaciated and where there is no other known cause for exceptionally crooked streams, trempeleau, black, kickapoo, grant, platte, little platte, pecatonica, galena, and apple rivers all have distinctly crooked courses where the area has never been glaciated and where there is no other known cause for exceptionally crooked streams (fig. 33). kummel' studied fig. 33. a map showing a portion of the course of galena river near benton, wisconsin. the curves may constitute intrenched meanders. (after martin). the galena, platte, grant, and pecatonica rivers, described their meandering courses and their mature valleys, and concluded that they could not have been developed in a single cycle, either by superposition or by inequalities in resistance of rock. he concluded that they are true intrenched meanders significant of more than one cycle of erosion. his argument is convincing but hardly conclusive. there are so many ways in which curves might be developed and so difficult is it to distinguish curves made in differ1. kummel, h. b., "some meandering rivers of wisconsin,” science, new series, vol. i (1895), pp. 714-716. 108 iowa studies in natural history ent ways, that the writer believes that these intrenched curving streams, considered alone without reference to relations between mains and tributaries, might have acquired these curves without having experienced more than one cycle. on the other hand it is believed that these intrenched curves bear as much evidence in favor of the plural cycle theory as intrenched meanders ever afford. associated sets of crooked and straight streams but if the crooked courses of these streams within the driftless area have been developed in a single cycle their tributaries must have had the same histories as the mains and should have courses as crooked as the courses of the mains. neither in the case of the above-mentioned streams in the driftless area of wisconsin and illinois nor of those in the slightly glaciated portion of iowa do the mains and the tributaries have comparable natures and 'degrees of crookedness. the fact that the tributaries are less crooked than their mains in iowa is not significant, for it is possible that the main streams developed their course in the drift and that the tributaries were developed under different conditions after superimposition had been accomplished. in the cases of those streams in areas which were not even slightly glaciated, however, and in which the tributaries are straight and the mains are notably curved, a suggestion is offered that the histories of the main streams and of the tributaries have not all been worked out in a single cycle. it would seem likely that the mains developed meanders when they were at grade in maturity or old age of a previous cycle of valley development and that either the tributar-· ies had not reached grade and therebore did not meander before the first cycle was interrupted, or the tributaries did not exist at the close of the first cycle and have developed their straight courses entirely under conditions of higher gradient in the present cycle. there is a marked difference in degree of crookedness between tributaries and mains in practically all of the drainage systems intermediate in size between the largest and erosional history of driftless area 109 the smallest, as illustrated in fig. 34. this fact is of some value as evidence in favor of the idea that more than one cycle was involved in the erosional history of the driftless fig. 34. a plat of part of the course of grant river and its tributaries. the fact that the tributaries are not nearly so crooked as the main stream suggests that the curves of the river were developed in the last stages of a previous cycle and that the tributaries were mainly or wholly developed in the present cycle. area. this evidence is chiefly corroborative, however, and is not conclusive considered alone. stream terraces the driftless area abounds in stream terraces of various sorts, but none of them is significant as an evidence of more than one cycle of erosion. at many points throughout the area there are projections or benches along the valley walls, whose tops are more or less flat, whose outer faces are steep, and to which the term terraces might be applied. these features are well known 110 iowa studies in natural history in jo daviess county, illinois', in the sparta district and along the wisconsin river in wisconsin, and in many of the valleys of iowa, notably in the valley of village creek. these terraces are formed by resistant layers of rock at various stratigraphic horizons, as for instance, certain resistant sandstone layers in the potsdam formation, the mendota limestone member, the cherty member of the galena formation, and the calcareous beds in the upper maquoketa. they are purely structural, occur at different levels, cannot be correlated with either the dodgeville or the lancaster plain, and cannot be used as evidence of more than one cycle of erosion in the driftless area. in several of the main tributaries of the wisconsin river, notably in the valley of the kickapoo river and the valley of pine creek, there are distinct and almost continuous terraces which slope gently downstream. they consist of nonresistant rock, and bevel the layers of the potsdam sandstone. the valleys have a double appearance, there being a narrow, rock-bound valley within a much wider, older one. these terraces are also due indirectly to structure. the wisconsin river flows west and south with a gradient considerably less than the slope of the strata in that direction, so that its bed is on progressively younger strata towards its mouth. although it has now penetrated the resistant prairie du chien formation where it joins the mississippi, there was a time when its lower course was in this resistant formation and its upper course and its tributaries were on the cambrian sandstone. under these conditions the degradation was so much slower on the prairie du chien formation than was possible upstream on the sandstone that a temporary grade was established and maintained on the sandstone. there the main and tributary streams developed broad, open valleys with flat bottoms. when the resistant dolomite at the mouth of the river was finally cut through the sandstone beneath it was excavated rapidly and the streams above the resistant rock were allowed to intrench 1. trowbridge. a. c. and shaw, e. w., bull. no. 26, iii. geol. surv., pp. 144-5. 2. martin, lawrence, bull. geol. soc. am., vol. 28, pp. 148-149. 3. macclintock, paul, the wisconsin river between prairie du sac and prairie du chien, manuscript so far unpublished. erosional history of driftless area 111 themselves. the renewed activity was felt last in the tributary valleys and the terraces have therefore been eroded least there, so that they are now most conspicuous in valleys tributary to the main streams rather than in the main valley itself. there are coarse stream-laid gravels on some of these terraces, as for instance in the valley of pine creek southwest of richland center, and in the valley of honey creek near plain. it is clear that these terraces also are not significant in connection with the erosional history of the general surface of the driftless area. flat-topped terraces, consisting of alluvial and lacustrine materials are found abundantly in nearly all the larger tributary valleys to the mississippi and wisconsin rivers. the origin of these terraces has been worked out and found to be due to a partial filling of the mississippi and wisconsin river valleys by fluvio-glacial material at the time of the wisconsin ice invasion, the consequent ponding of the tributaries, and the re-excavation of the fill in the mains and the tributaries after the retreat of the wisconsin glacier. the origin of these terraces too has little to do with the general erosional history of the driftless area as a whole. although there are many terraces in the driftless area, it is concluded that none of them bears evidence of more than one cycle of erosion in the region. upland fluvial deposits (high level gravels) one of the best evidences that there have been more than one cycle of erosion in the driftless area is found in the fact that stream deposits exist on some of the summit surfaces of the area. these deposits have been known for a long time and have usually been referred to as "high-level yravels." as the term implies, these deposits occupy the highest portion of the topography and consist almost entirely of gravel. 1. trowbridge, a. c. and shaw, e. w., bull. no. 26, ill. geol. surv., pp. 145-152. 2. strong, moses, geol. wis., vol. iv, 1875-79, p. 88. winchell, n. h., geol. and nat'l hist, surv. minn.. vol. i, 1884, pp. 305-310; 353-356. chamberlin. t. c. and salisbury, r. d., sixth ann. rept. u. s. geol. surv., 18848), p. 273. salisbury, r. d., bull. geol. soc. am., vol. 3, 1892, pp. 183-186; jour. geol., vol. iii, 1895, pp. 655-667. 112 iowa studies in natural history so far they have been found at seneca, wisconsin, on the flat summit of the south quartzite range near devil's lake, wisconsin, on the summit plain in the south portion of the sparta quadrangle north of cashton in wisconsin, in the tomah quadrangle, wisconsin, at iron hill near waukon, near church, and near elon in iowa, and in various portions of the driftless area in minnesota. in all these places the gravel is thick enough to form a measurable deposit and at senaca and waukon the thickness is as great as 35 feet. the deposit occupies summit positions in the topography, which position represents the dodgeville plain in each case. in addition to these localities where the gravel is in place, there are many places in iowa and illinois and probably in wisconsin and minnesota, where scattered pebbles which have been derived from the deposit are found at all levels. howcver, there is no place known where the gravel lies in its original position at levels below the dodgeville plain. at devil's lake they are associated with potholes in the summit surface. it is not believed that these patches of gravel are remnants of a formation which once covered the entire driftless area, but that the gravels were deposited only along stream courses. there can be no doubt that these gravels are of fluvial origin. the pebbles range in size from a small fraction of one inch to three or four inches in diameter. the smaller ones are rounded and highly polished and seem to have been carried far, or at least to have undergone transportation for a long time. the large ones are more irregular and some of them seem hardly to have been transported at all. at seneca, waukon and elon, the gravel deposits are distributed in crescent shaped areas resembling the curves of streams. the writer has broken hundreds of the pebbles and has yet to find one composed of anything but silica. most of them are chert, but some are white quartz, some are almost black, and some have the color and appearance of jasper and chalcedony. they are known to include nothing which could not have been derived from the pre-cambrian and paleozoic formations which originally covered the driftless erosional history of driftless area 113 area. at waukon, elon, seneca, and at some points in minnesota, the gravel is firmly cemented with iron, so that a conglomerate exceedingly resistant to erosion is formed. some of the pebbles contain fossils which are of ordovician and niagaran age. some of the pebbles and fossils collected from the sparta quadrangle are shown in fig. 35. the conclusion seems unavoidable that streams were once nearly at grade on the dodgeville plain; that they deposited extensively in their beds, and that deposition ceased as the dissection of the summit plain was inaugurated by uplift. the coarse texture of the fluvial deposit, their apparently local origin, and their association at devil's lake with potholes all suggest that they were not deposited by the largest and oldest streams of the time, but rather by secondary streams whose gradients were still appreciable and whose sources were not far distant, and yet by streams which have long since ceased to exist. presumably the larger streams deposited also, but the material probably consisted of sand and silt rather than of gravel, and these non-resistant deposits have been entirely removed or mingled with the upland soils so thoroughly as to be indistinguishable. the gravel was probably deposited on those portions of the dodgeville plain which were somewhat above the lower valley bottoms, and by subsequent erosion they have come to stand as the very highest points because of their superior resistance. whatever may have been their detailed origin and distribution these fluvial gravels, occurring at widely separated points on the dodgeville plain, hundreds of feet above present drainage, go far to prove that the surface of the driftless area has not been formed by erosion in a single cycle. certainly there is no provision in the cuesta single cycle theory for the occurrence of these deposits on the dodgeville plain. conclusion as was brought out in part i, the most satisfactory proof of more than one cycle of erosion is to be found in certain combinations of evidences. a combination amounting to . 114 iowa studies in natural history q g fig. 35. pebbles and fossils from the summit fluvial deposits in the south portion of the sparta quadrangle. (after shipton). erosional history of driftless area 115 proof exists in the driftless area. it is impossible that a surface could have been developed in a single cycle of erosion, which has (1) even-crested summit areas which, after analysis, represent a peneplain, (2) an intermediate plain which can be interpreted only as a partial peneplain, (3) antecedent streams which could have developed their present courses only in old age of an erosion cycle, (4) intrenched meanders for which no other explanation than that they record more than one cycle have been worked out, (5) associated sets of crooked and straight streams which are valuable corroborative evidence of plural cycles, and (6) undoubted fluvial deposits widely distributed on flat surfaces far above present drainage. the number of erosional cycles the next question which confronts the interpreter of the erosional history of the driftless area has to do with the number of cycles of erosion which have been involved in the formation of the surface. the question can be answered when it has been determined how many distinct sets of evidences of more than one cycle are included among the five evidences outlined above. in the first place, there is no way to ascertain how many cycles, if any, intervened between the time of withdrawal of the last paleozoic sea and the cycle in which the dodgeville plain was formed. there may have been time for several cycles of erosion between these dates. but of any such cycles all evidence was obliterated in the making of the dodgeville plain. if it be assumed that the cycle which was inaugurated by the final withdrawal of the sea was the same cycle as that in old age of which the dodgeville plain resulted, there would be no way to prove the assumption to be incorrect. considering the evidences of more than one cycle of erosion it is clear that the dodgeville plain and the lancaster plain could not have been formed in the same cycle. from foregoing discussions it is clear that the antecedent streams and upland fluvial deposits go with the dodgeville plain, and the intrenched meanders and associated sets of crooked 116 iowa studies in natural history and straight streams with the lancaster plain. evencrested summit areas, antecedent streams and fluvial deposits on divides constitute evidence of one ancient cycle, and an intermediate plain which is a partial peneplain, intrenched meanders and associated sets of crooked and straight streams afford evidence of another one. below the intermediate plain the streams in their deeply excavated valleys show that a third cycle is involved. it is believed that the surface of the driftless area has been eroded in at least three cycles, the first known one being represented to-day by the dodgeville plain, the second one by the lancaster plain, and the third one by the present valleys below the lancaster plain. these cycles are. . called the dodgeville cycle, the lancaster cycle and the present cycle respectively. the history of diastrophism the first recorded diastrophic event involved in the erosional history of the driftless area caused the warping of the strata to form the anticline with its axis crossing the mississippi river at or near la crosse, and with its south and north dipping limbs, together with the gentle and local anticlines and synclines on the limbs of the larger fold. this movement may or may not have accompanied or caused the final withdrawal of the paleozoic seas. an uplift of the surface with warping. after the initial movement and the establishment of the land surface, after the streams had reached grade and developed the dodgeville plain, an uplift occurred which interrupted the dodgeville cycle and inaugurated the lancaster cycle. although the dodgeville plain is not perfectly parallel with the lancaster plain nor with the present flood plain of the mississippi river, this uplift was not accompanied by marked warping or tilting. the local irregularities of the dodgeville and lancaster plains are clearly due to erosion rather than to diastrophism and are neglected in the following estimates. the relative directions and amounts of slope of the dodgeville plain, the lancaster erosional history of driftless area 117 plain, and the graded plain of the mississippi river, south of la crosse, are shown in the accompanying table. table showing the relative directions and amounts of slope of the dodgeville plain, the lancaster plain, and the mississippi flood plain plain dodgeville plain lancaster plain mississippi flood plain average direction of slope s 23°e s 40°e s 18°e average amount of slope 3.3 feet per mile 3 feet per mile 4 inches per mile the difference in direction of slope of the dodgeville and lancaster surfaces is not great, considering the possibilities of error in estimating averages, and could be due to differences in direction of drainage during the respective cycles. consequently, they cannot be said to record warping or tilting of the dodgeville surface during uplift. the amounts of slope of the dodgeville and lancaster plains are almost identical, which seems to prove that there was no notable tilting of the dodgeville surface before the formation of the lancaster plain. the second diastrophic movement recorded in the features of the surface was then one of nearly uniform uplift. the amount of this uplift can be ascertained at least roughly by the average difference in altitude between the dodgeville plain and the lancaster plain. on the average these two plains are 235 feet apart vertically in the. baraboo district, 265 feet in the sparta quadrangle, 148 feet in the richland center quadrangle, 175 feet in the lancaster and mineral point quadrangles, 218 feet in jo daviess county, illinois, 117 feet in the waukon quadrangle, 190 feet in the elkader quadrangle, 125 feet in southeastern minnesota. as the average of these figures is 184 feet, the second recorded diastrophic movement was an uplift of about that amount. the lancaster cycle was interrupted by a third uplift which was the greatest of all the movements which affected the driftless area. streams which had developed graded flats on the lancaster plain during the lancaster cycle were able in the following cycle to cut to the levels of the bottoms of the rock valleys below the later fluvio-glacial fills. the 118 iowa studies in natural history average depth of the valleys cut during this cycle is approximately the amount of the uplift which closed the lancaster cycle. the following table gives details of the depths of valleys cut during this cycle. table showing depths of valleys which measure the amount of the uplift which interrupted the lancaster cycle valley altitude of lancaster plain (feet) altitude of rock bottom of valley (feet) depths of valley below the lancaster plain and amount of uplift (feet) 1100 1200 600 570 500 630 860 490 370 la crosse river near sparta devils lake gap galena river near its mouth upper iowa river near its mouth mississippi river at la crosse mississippi river at prairie du chien mississippi river at dubuque 1150 530 620 1100 470 630 1100 473 627 880 279 601 considering the fact that not all the wells, the records of which were used for the altitudes of the bedrock beneath the surfaces of the fills, are in the middles of the valleys and the probability that not all the streams had reached grade when the filling began, the depths of these valleys are quite remarkably uniform. this average depth, approximately 600 feet, seems to be a fair estimate of the amount of uplift. if the streams were not at grade when degradation ceased and aggradation began the amount of uplift may be considered to have been more than this. of the two uplifts which have occurred since the land surface of the driftless area was established the second one was three times as great as the first. from the table showing the relations between the two upland plains and the bottoms of the present mississippi valley, (p. 117), the inference might be drawn that the uplift which interrupted the lancaster cycle was accompanied by tilting, for the lancaster plain and the present mississippi flood plain are not parallel. however, the nature of this uplift is to be obtained by comparison of the lancaster erosional history of driftless area 119 plain not with the present flood plain, but with the rock bottom of the valley beneath the present river level. the streams rejuvenated by the uplift of the lancaster plain continued to cut downward until the rock bottoms of the present valley were reached. the present flood plains of the streams were established later, under different conditions. although it is impossible to determine the exact slope of the surface represented by the buried bock bottoms of the valleys, it is shown in the last table that the depths of the valleys cut during the post-lancaster cycle and consequently the amount of uplift which inaugurated that cycle are notably uniform. this suggests that the peneplain which would have been developed if this cycle had gone to a late stage would have been roughly parallel with the lancaster plain. this being the case the uplift of the lancaster plain is more likely to have been uniform than accompanied by tilting. the rather low altitudes of the parallel dodgeville and lancaster plains in minnesota suggests the possibility that the movement which interrupted the lancaster cycle was accompanied by warping in that state. on the other hand, a slightly decreased slope in old age of each of the two cycles or a slight change in the direction of slope of the two plains would explain the slight discrepancy equally well. there seems to be no escape from the conclusion that there has been still another period of diastrophism in the driftless area, this time a subsidence rather than an elevation of the surface. the evidence of subsidence is found in the fact that the mississippi river and its main tributaries are now at grade at levels on the average 180 feet above levels to which they were formerly able to reduce their beds. it is not believed that this fact is to be explained on the supposition that the present grade is merely temporary and controlled by some obstruction such as the rock ledge at rock island or the rapids at keokuk. these obstructions are far from sufficient to explain the difference in grade levels now and as they were, for the mississippi river today has a gradient of less than 6 inches per mile from la crosse to the gulf, including the rapids. it is believed, 120 iowa studies in natural history therefore, that the last diastrophic movement in the history of the driftless area was a subsidence of about 150 to 200 feet and that it took place sometime before, during, or just after the partial filling of the valleys by fluvio-glacial debris. if it be assumed that this subsidence was accompanied by tilting, so that the south portion of the driftless area subsided more than the north portion, the apparent parallelism of the dodgeville plain, the lancaster plain, and the rock-bottomed valleys, and the more gentle slope of the present mississippi flood plain would be explained. this assumption is rendered unnecessary, however, if it be considered that the present mississippi has a sufficiently greata er volume and lighter load than all previously existing streams, to allow it to develop and maintain a gradient onetenth as steep as any preceding gradient. the conclusion is reached, therefore, that at least four different diastrophic movements affected the driftless area, namely, (1) uplift with warping and tilting which initiated the land surface; (2) a nearly uniform uplift of about 180 feet interrupting the dodgeville cycle; (3) a nearly uniform uplift of 600 feet or more which started the excavation of the deep valleys; and (4) a subsidence, perhaps accompanied by tilting, which raised the level of grade to that of the present mississippi river. the dates of events the whole history presented in this paper is limited in time between the niagaran epoch on the one side and the wisconsin epoch on the other. the sequence of events has already been worked out. the accuracy with which the dates of these events can be stated depends upon the accuracy with which the ages of the upland plains can be determined. there has been disagreement concerning the ages of these plains and perhaps the final conclusion will have to await further work, but strong evidence now at hand leads to the conclusions here presented. erosional history of driftless area 121 the age of the dodgeville plain there is no known way to determine the age of the dodgeville plain by a study confined to the driftless area. the most promising method lies in the attempt to determine the age of the high level gravels which are contemporaneous with the plain. in 1882 winchell' discovered silts and sands and clays of undoubted chetaceous age in southeastern minnesota, and in the same district he found a gravel deposit later found to be similar in some respects to the hige-level gravel of the driftless area. because the gravels were associated with the cretaceous deposits winchell tentatively assigned a cretaceous age to them. in 1895, after study of the tertiary gravels of the gulf coast and of arkansas and southern illinois, and after seeing the gravel deposits of the driftless area at seneca and devil's lake, salisbury2 concluded that the gravels were not older than cretaceous nor younger than lafayette, and was inclined to believe that they are late tertiary in age. for unstated reasons most recent writers have followed winchell and tentatively assigned a cretaceous age to the highlevel gravels and the plain on which they lie. perhaps the reason is that marine cretaceous rocks in western iowa and minnesota lie on a base of slight relief and bevel the same southwest dipping formations as occur in the driftless area. after having spent part of a field season in southeastern minnesota, assisted by professor leroy patton, the writer is strongly inclined to favor the tertiary age of the plain, for the following reasons: (1) the gravels of the driftless area are dissimilar from the rocks which carry cretaceous fossils in minnesota and from certain deposits of stratified gravels in minnesota believed to be related to or derived from the cretaceous rocks. near new ulm, brown county, there is an exposure of stratified high-level gravels interbedded with sand and clay. the surface rock at this place is regarded as cretaceous. the stratified deposit itself may be cretaceous but might easily have been locally derived 1. 2. winchell, n. h., geol. and nat'l hist. surv. minn., vol. i, pp. 309-310; 353-356. salisbury. r. d., jour, geol., vol. iii, pp. 655-667. 122 iowa studies in natural history from the cretaceous. the latter seems quite probable for the reason that the cretaceous deposits in this district contain pieces of gravel similar to the high-level gravel and also chalky particles which appear in the stratified deposits. the latter particles, however, could not have stood much transportation and are of themselves a strong argument for the local derivation of the high-level gravels. other material derived from the cretaceous in the earlier stages of the dissection of the cretaceous surface might have become widespread as stream gravels on the old surface of the peneplain. (2) it should be noted that although winchell may have been correct in his conjecture that certain gravels described by him were locally derived from cretaceous deposits, it does not follow as a corollary that the time of derivation was cretaceous and that therefore any surface upon which these gravels lie is cretaceous. in winchell's report he distinctly states his belief that the gravels which he here describes were placed in position “by drift forces." whether he meant that they were cretaceous deposits reworked during the pleistocene period by a glacier is not clear. certainly they are not glacial, but undoubtedly they were derived from the cretaceous deposits revealed by postcretaceous streams. winchell seems to have believed that at least some of the gravel deposits in minnesota were of post-cretaceous age. the writer believes that the highlevel gravels of the driftless area, nowhere associated with sands, silts, or clays, are post-cretaceous, though perhaps derived partly from cretaceous formations containing gravel layers or levels. (3) winchell's conclusions were with regard to local and isolated cases only and had no reference to gravel deposits of similar nature found in localities not suggesting a local derivation. (4) the dodgeville plain constituting a stratigraphic base for the gravel has never been traced and found to underlie cretaceous rocks but on the contrary its altitude in minnesota is such as to cause it to bevel the cretaceous. (5) the gravels extend far beyond any known cretaceous and occur extensively where there is not the slightest indication of cretaceous age. winchell, n. h., geol. and nat'l hist. surv. minn., vol. i, p. 309. 1 1. erosional history of driftless area 123 (6) the gravels of the driftless area are strikingly similar to the tertiary gravels of the gulf region. (7). there are numerous patches of similar deposits south of the glaciated area and beneath the drift which seem to connect the gravel formation of the driftless area with the tertiary deposits of the gulf coast. (8) the dodgeville plain on which the gravels lie slopes south toward the tertiary deposits rather than west toward the cretaceous. (9) salisbury's interpretation has been in print for a quarter of a century and all new discoveries seem to corroborate his tentative conclusions. (10) all patches of gravel between the driftless area and known tertiary deposits occupy summit areas in the topography. (11) if the base of the tertiary deposits were projected north it would coincide roughly with the dodgeville plain. (12) the base of the tertiary deposits is in itself a peneplain. (13) the tertiary gravels are known to lie on a raised peneplain in the southern appalachians and elsewhere. these facts seem to the writer almost conclusive of the tertiary age of the dodgeville plain. whether the plain is eocene, oligocene, miocene, or pliocene in age cannot be determined, for the precise age of the tertiary gravels on the gulf coast is in doubt. it is believed, however, to be late rather than early or middle tertiary. the age of the lancaster plain the lancaster plain is clearly younger than the dodgeville plain and is probably therefore late tertiary or pleistocene in age. it has been generally understood that the great uplift in the interior of the united states came at the close of the tertiary, in the epoch known by some as the ozarkian. because the greatest movement which affected the driftless area uplifted and started the dissection of the lancaster plain this plain has been most generally referred to the late tertiary. the writer is not certain that the lancaster plain is not tertiary in age, but he wishes to present some evidences that it was not completed and uplifted before the first ice invasion. the work of the writer during several years, and the work of a. j. williains has shown that there is old williams, a. j., manuscript so far unpublished. 1. 124 iowa studies in natural history drift extending eastward beyond the mapped border of kansan drift on the west side of the driftless area in iowa, almost and in many places quite to the mississippi river. there is also at least one area of this upland drift in illinois'. whereas the kansan drift within the mapped area lies at all levels of the bedrock topography from the tops of the highest hills to the bottoms of the deepest valleys, this drift beyond the kansan border, with the exception of a tongue of supposedly kansan drift near mcgregor, is found most abundantly on the lancaster plain, sparingly on the slopes above the lancaster plain, and still more sparingly on the dodgeville plain. of the several hundred isolated remnants of this drift which are now known, not a single patch is in place in the valleys below the lancaster plain. if this drift were kansan and deposited after the deep valleys were cut, it would seem difficult to explain why it would all have been removed from the valleys and valley benches so that the drift now extends farther east on the narrow divides than in the broad, open, terraced valleys. still more difficult would it be to explain, if the deposition of this drift took place after the valleys were cut, how a glacier thick enough to fill valleys 600 feet and more deep so as to spread over the divides could have advanced, deposited this drift and retreated without so having changed the profiles of the valleys or so having modified the divides or so having marked the rock surfaces as to have left some trace on the surface below the lancaster plain. when it is recalled that almost wherever known this oldest pleistocene drift lies on high divides or benches above valleys believed to have been cut after the deposition of the drift, as in new jersey, montana'', and the san juan mountains of colorado', there is nothing new nor radical in the supposition that in the driftless area also, it antedated in its deposition the formation of the deep valleys. this upland drift has the appearance of great age but perhaps not of greater age than 1. trowbridge, a. c. and shaw, e. w., bull. iii. geol. surv.. no. 26. p. 87. 2. salisbury, r. d., inn. rept. state geologist of new jersey for 1893, pp. 73-123, especially p. 87. 3. alden. w. c. and stebinger, eugene, bull. geol. soc. am., vol. 24, pp. 529-572. 4. atwood, w. w. and mather, k. f., jour. geol., vol. 20, pp. 385-409. erosional history of driftless area 125 the kansan drift, where it is thin. where either drift is thin, it has been brought to its limits of weathering. there is then some evidence, which seems to the writer to be strongly indicative, if not conclusive, that this drift, in a district which has been called driftless, is pre-kansan in age, and that it was deposited while the lancaster plain was still intact and before the deep valleys were formed. otherwise, why should there be no patches of the drift in the valleys? and why should the valleys show not the slightest indication of having been glacially worn? the kansan drift seems clearly enough to have been deposited after the valleys were formed. the above evidence seems to justify the interpretation, at least as a working hypothesis, that the lancaster plain was intact at the time of the pre-kansan ice invasion, but that it was uplifted and partly dissected before the kansan epoch. leverett objects to this interpretation and cites the presence of pre-kansan drift in the bottoms of deep rock-bound valleys in wisconsin and southeastern iowa. so far as the writer has been able to investigate the evidence, he finds it inconclusive. the writer's interpretation is strengthened by e. w. shawº, whose recent work in the ozark district seems to show that the main uplift and the main development of the mississippi valley there took place during the early pleistocene, rather than at the close of the tertiary as was previously supposed. accepting the above interpretations of the ages of the dodgeville and lancaster plains, at least as probabilities, the probable dates of diastrophic events and erosion cycles are easily determined and are stated in the following summary of events. summary of events the first step in the history of the surface of the driftless area was the final emergence of the surface from the sea and the formation of an anticline with its axis running through la crosse and its south limb forming a great 1. 2. personal communications and oral discussions in the field. personal communications to the writer. 126 iowa studies in natural history monoclinorium which extends far beyond the boundaries of the driftless area to the south and southwest. this movement left the surface high above the level of grade, with a stream divide on the axis of the fold. this event took place after the niagaran epoch of the silurian period and probably after the pennsylvanian period, but before the cretaceous. the date may be set roughly at the close of the . paleozoic era. following its initiation, the surface was eroded in one or more cycles and was brought to the condition of a plain with a relief of less than 200 feet, the dodgeville plain. the cycle was not complete, but a stage at least as late as early old age was reached. the divide at la crosse was probably obliterated before the close of this cycle. the stage in the history of the region was probably brought to an end at some time during or at the close of the tertiary period. probably in late tertiary time the gravel-strewn dodgeville plain was uplifted almost uniformly to the amount of approximately 180 feet. the uplift mentioned in the last paragraph inaugurated a new cycle of erosion known as the lancaster cycle, which continued probably until the advance of the pre-kansan glacier in the earliest part of pleistocene period, by which time a second peneplain, the lancaster plain, had been formed. neither was this cycle of erosion complete. however, the surface at this time was much more nearly flat than the present surface. the surface doubtless lacked something of having gone so far in its stage of reduction as was the case during the dodgeville cycle. the lancaster erosion cycle was interrupted most likely at some time soon after the retreat of the pre-kansan glacier in the early pleistocene, by a diastrophic uplift without tilting or warping, amounting to 600 feet or more. this movement raised the lancaster plain to levels high above grade and inaugurated a third cycle of erosion. the details of the post-nebraskan, pre-wisconsin history of the driftless area are not known, but the history seems to have been one of erosion interrupted locally and temerosional history of driftless area 127 porarily by the deposition of at least two bodies of glacial drift on the borders of the area. deep valleys appear to have been cut before the advance of the kansan glacier and the deposition of a thin body of kansan drift on the west border. the valleys of pecatonica and apple' rivers had been cut to depths below their present bottoms by the time of the illinoian (?) ice invasion from the east. some time before or during or immediately after the wisconsin glacial epoch, when the valley trains were deposited in the mississippi and wisconsin valleys, there appears to have occurred a subsidence of the surface amounting to about 180 feet and perhaps accompanied by a tilting of all older graded surfaces slightly to the south. the subsidence rendered it impossible for the mississippi and its tributaries to cut back to their original levels. if tilting occurred the gentler slope of the present flood plain as compared with all previous gradients is explained. after the withdrawal of the wisconsin glacier the mississippi river and its tributaries began to excavate their valleys by the removal of the fluvio-glacial debris but they reached grade 30 or 40 feet below the original top of the deposit and 180 feet on the average above its bottom. having reached grade, the streams have all developed valley flats in the soft material deposited by waters during the wisconsin epoch. 1. trowbridgc, a. c. and shaw, l. w., bull. iii. geol. surv. no. 26, pp. 95-99. obtainable from the university librarian: price $1.00 ut 1 2 first series no. 43 february 15, 1921 university of iowa studies botany rp i 5806 los 94 studies in natural history volume ix number the hesperioidea of america north of mexico by arthur ward lindsey published by the university, iowa city isted monthly throughout the year. entered at the post office at towa city, iowa, as second class matter. "acceptance for mailing at special rates of postage provided for in section 1103, act of october 3, 1917, authorized on july 3, 1918. типтік mo plate i 1. 2. 3. 4. atrytonopsis python edw., hesperia centaureae ramb., xenophanes tryxus cr., hesperia ericeforum boisd., chioides zilpa butl, under surface hesperia ericetorum boisd., hesperia philetas edw., o eantis thraso hbn., pamphila nevada scud, 9. under surface melanthes brunnea h.-s., ( pamphila comma, race colorado sand.. !, under surface pamphila viridis edw., , under surface pamphila comma, race oregonia edw.4, ander surface 9. 10. 11. 12 13. university of iowa studies in natural history professor charles cleveland nutting, m.a., editor continuation of bulletin from the laboratories of natural history of the state university of iowa volume ix number 4 the hesperioidea of america north of mexico a generic revision and synopsis of the species by arthur ward lindsey, ph.d. published by the university, iowa city the hesperioidea of america north of mexico since the time of the early writers who were satisfied to place their skippers in the two genera, pamphila and hesperia, the classification of these insects has been in a more or less chaotic state. the two old genera can readily be subdivided, but the structures of the skippers which are useful in their classification are of a peculiarly unstable character and have therefore proven a stumbling block to those who have attempted such subdivision. this is due to the fact that very few of our species are structurally identical, as a result of which one division has led to another until we have reached the deplorable state where, to be consistent, we must either lump extensively or split still more finely, with most lepidopterists in favor of the former. in the following pages i have attempted to rearrange our species and reorganize our genera to eliminate the confusion which has attended the group in north america, while bearing in mind both the convenience of the classification and the opinions of the learned authors of many genera for which i have been unable to see any necessity. undoubtedly i have erred in some points, especially in the case of the numerous species found in the southwest which belong to genera more typical of the central american fauna, but i believe that the examination of a more complete collection of exotic species will clear up many obscure points for which i have been able to offer only a tentative solution. in the course of my work i have had occasion to ask information of prof. h. f. wickham, dr. j. mcdunnough, and dr. henry skinner. dr. skinner has also supplied me with a number of specimens which i could not otherwise obtain, and prof. wickham has lent a number of books from his private library. dr. barnes of decatur, ill., has very generously allowed me the freedom of his fine collection and library, and also supplied me with many specimens for study. mr. r. a. leussler of omaha . (3) 4 iowa studies in natural history has given me specimens of several species which i had been unable to secure, and mr. nathan banks has kindly examined the collection at cambridge for certain material and furnished transcripts of several necessary descriptions not in my possession. mr. gerhard of the field museum made it possible for me to spend several profitable hours in the examination of the strecker collection in that institution. to all of these men i wish to express my gratitude for their valuable assistance. > the first step toward a rational classification of the skippers was made by scudder in 1874 1 when he proposed the division of the family, as he regarded it, into two tribes, the hesperides and astyci. these represented approximately the genera thymele and pamphila of fabricius' classification in illiger's magazine in 1807. scudder based his tribes on the secondary sexual characters of the males and characters found in the early stages. this paper was followed in 1878 by mabille's work on the hesperiidae in the brussels museum.? mabille adopted the tribes proposed by scudder but subdivided them into several minor groups each. scudder later expressed his approval of these divisions for the hesperidi but reserved his judgment of the astyci. many of mabille's groups are not represented in our fauna; the others have been the subject of very little dispute. in the same year there appeared a paper by burmeister * in which the family is divided into four tribes. i am familiar with this paper only through the remarks of scudder in the butterfles of new england, but these are quite sufficient to show that none but historic interest attaches to the rather remarkable arrangement proposed. a year after this speyer produced a brief work 5 in germany wherein we find the first suggestion of the systematic importance of the position of vein five of the primaries. this suggestion furnished the necessary complement to scudder's foundation for the major subdivisions of the skippers, which are still in use. nothing further of importance was done in the systematic 1 bull. buff. soc. nat. hist. i, 195, 1874. ? ann. soc. ent. belg. xxi, 12, 1878. 3 butt. new eng. ii, 1372, 18. * desc. phys. rep. arg., lep. 245, 1878. o stett. ent. zeit. xl, 477, 1879. hesperioidea of america 5 6 2 study of these insects until 1893, when watson published his “proposed classification of the hesperiidae," which is practically the classification now in use. watson divided the family into three subfamilies, the pyrrhopyginae, hesperiinae and pamphilinae, equivalent to the pyrrhopygini of mabille and the two tribes of scudder. he further subdivided the hesperiinae into two groups and the pamphilinae into three. group c of the pamphilinae is wholly oriental and african. the others correspond to the similar divisions of scudder in part. as watson was working on the collection in the british museum where megathymus was placed in the heterocera, he merely mentioned the genus to indicate that if placed in the hesperiidae it would form an additional subfamily. at this time godman and salvin had been publishing for six years parts of the three volumes on rhopalocera of the biologia centrali-americana. the first signature on the skippers appeared a few months before watson's revision, but the work was not completed until 1901. the subfamilies are those of watson and the hesperiinae are divided as in his classification, but the pamphilinae, worked up by godman after salvin's death, are divided into eight groups. these are not wholly acceptable, but they suggest an improvement over the two groups of other writthe chief systematic interest of the biologia lies in the number of genera described, the excellent plates, and the great value of the work for specific identifications. but one other paper, mabille's monumental “famille hesperidae, "? has been written on the hesperioid fauna of the world since the earliest times. in this work mabille uses the same arrangement as that of watson, excepting the establishment of the subfamily ismeninae to take the place of watson's group c of the pamphilinae, and the definite placing of megathymus in the subfamily megathyminae. there remains to be mentioned dyar's “review of the hesperiidae of the united states." 8 this brief paper is the only one ever published on the skippers of this country, and in spite of omissions and commissions of an unusual nature it has filled a ers. "18 • proc. zool. soc. london, 1893, 3-132, pl. i-iii, gener& insectorum xvii, 1903-4. * jour. n. y. ent. soc. xiii, 111-141, 1905. 6 iowa studies in natural history great need of systematic lepidopterists. it was intended, as the name implies, merely as a synopsis of the genera and species and follows the “famille hesperidae" with comparatively few changes. these works are the foundation of our present system of classification. many others with a wider range have contributed to our knowledge of the skippers but in none of these is any work of importance on the gross classification attempted. 1 it will be noted in the preceding sketch of the history of the skippers that they have been treated as the family hesperiidae, equivalent to the several families of butterfles with which they have been associated. this position is the only one to which they have been widely assigned, though a number of writers have given them superfamily rank. e. reuter carries this a step further and proposes a distinct suborder under the name grypocera, equivalent to the rhopalocera and heterocera, while spuler does likewise, but applies the name netrocera.10 this reopens the question of suborders, for if we accept comstock's frenatae and jugatae the two older groups can no longer occupy this rank and must be either reduced or discarded. i regard them as natural groups though i am inclined to agree with comstock's subdivision. the rhopalocera and heterocera may conveniently be designated as series. in this arrangement i cannot accept reuter's grypocera as indicative of the true relations of the skippers, but the name is still given some use in europe. there are many points, however, in which the skippers show more primitive development or peculiar uniform specialization which distinguish them from the true butterflies, and the most natural arrangement appears to be that of comstock 11 in which they are made a superfamily equivalent to the butterflies proper, according to our present nomenclature this superfamily should be known as the hesperioidea. the following synopsis indicates the foundation of this classification for the suborder frenatae. frenatae series heterocera. antennae rarely clavate. when clavate usually more or less pectinate or ciliate. hind tibiae usual. 1 . act. soc. faun. flor. fenn. xxii. 19 spuler, die schmetterlinge europas i, 70, 1908. 11 manual 364, 1895. hesperioidea of america 7 ly with two pairs of spurs; front legs normal. frenulum present in many families. venation of primaries generalized or characteristically specialized. pupa loose in cocoon, earthen cell or plant tissues. superfamilies sphingoidea, saturnioidea, bombycoidea and tineoidea. series rhopalocera. antennae usually strongly clavate; never pectinate or ciliate. superfamily hesperioidea: pupa suspended in a slight . cocoon. hind tibiae rarely with less than two pairs of spurs; front legs normal. frenulum absent. primaries with twelve veins, all free. (all five branches of radius present and from cell according to comstock's system.) superfamily papilionoidea: pupa naked, usually suspended from silken attachments and specialized for concealment. hind tibiae with only the terminal pair of spurs; front legs in higher families greatly reduced. frenulum absent. primaries with less than twelve veins or with some stalked. in the hesperioidea we have two families, the hesperiidae and megathymidae. the second includes only the genera megathymus and aegiale, and is equivalent to the subfamily of other writers. the first includes all other skippers. the megathymidae are very closely related to the pamphilinae, and some students regard them as a highly specialized branch from the same parent stock. the fact that the boring habit of the larvae is apparently acquired lends color to this opinion, but i cannot regard the small head as a necessary accompaniment of the boring habit. rather than assume an elaborate process of evolution for the reduction of such a specialization as the large head, i regard the megathymidae as a line separated from the parent stock of the pamphilinae before the increase in size of the head, and proceeding by parallel development to a point of higher specialization of similar structures. the three subfamilies of hesperiidae are easily distinguished, apparently natural groups. the only question regarding them is that of relative position, and the present arrangement of the hesperiinae between the pamphilinae and papilionoidea is favored by most of the evidence, though in the structure of the imago 8 iowa studies in natural history cu they are more primitive than the pamphilinae. the close relationship of the pyrrhopyginae with the hesperiinae and of the megathymidae with the pamphilinae leads to their being placed at the beginning and end of the superfamily respectively. the result is a linear series which is not entirely satisfactory, but since no linear series can represent true phylogenetic relations this must be accepted as the best possible, and it does, at least, correctly indicate the general relations of the several major divisions. the separation of genera has been the most troublesome phase of the study of skippers since hübner's classification was first amplified. i have come to the conclusion that the intermediate position of the group, together with the apparently transitional state of many of the structures, is accompanied by a greater blending of forms than has been recognized in the past, and that the normal genus may present a wide variation of structure, provided that a transition between the extremes be present in the included species. this is nicely illustrated by thanaos, hesperia and poanes (sensu b. & mcd., check list). in thanaos we have a group of insects of very similar habitus which no one has ever divided, but within the genus are to be found differences in structure which have been made to separate three genera in other cases. the neuration, shape of the wings, palpi and secondary sexual characters very nearly run the gamut of variation found in group b of the hesperiinae. hesperia is similar but shows an even greater range of variation in the antennal club, shape of the wings, and in the palpi. in fact this variation is so great as to occasion some doubt of its unity, but it is impossible to divide the genus without separating some species whose relationship is apparent. the matter of secondary sexual characters as a basis for the separation of genera is the greatest bugbear of systematists in this family. godman and salvin and mabille have contributed abundantly to the confusion of genera so based, and in many cases these genera cannot be separated by other means. as far as i am aware the only definite stand taken upon the question is that expressed by watson in his revision.* he says: “with * since writing this i have found a quotation from dr. p. l. sclater by col. 0. swinhoo in defense of genera based on secondary sexual characters (ann. & mag. nat. hist. (vii), iii, 108, 1899). # hesperioidea of america 9 ور 6 regard to the vexed question of the generic importance of male secondary sexual characters, the conclusion which has been forced upon me is that, in any particular genus in which male secondary sexual characters are found, the particular male character (be it costal fold, discal stigma, or tuft of hairs) may be either present or absent in different species of that same genus, but is never replaced by a character of different structure.' this seems by far the most satisfactory, attitude to adopt, though it is necessary to understand that in cases such as thanaos and hesperia two or three such characters may be present or absent in various combinations in the several species. in my work, rather than carry the splitting of genera further, i have unhesitatingly followed watson's conclusion. this has resulted in the dropping of a number of familiar genera, but i think that once we are accustomed to the change it will render our classification more convenient and more useful, as well as more natural. some change is demanded for the sake of consistency, and since our genera have already been carried beyond the point of usefulness, “lumping” is the only desirable change. the structures of systematic value in the hesperioidea are found in all parts of the body. the size of the head serves to distinguish the two families, and its appendages, the palpi and antennae, offer a means of separating many genera. the palpi vary in length and position and the relative size of the second and third joints is useful, but it is necessary to look at all of these things in a general way. for example, in pholisora as here treated we find great variation in the vestiture of the palpi and in the relative length of the third joint, but throughout the genus long palpi with smooth deep scaly vestiture, an oblique second joint and a porrect third joint with long scales are present. thanaos has palpi of a similar form but with shaggy vestiture. the third joint in some genera is long, slender and vertical. the antennae have a characteristic slender tip which has been aptly termed the apiculus. this varies from the tiny point found in pamphila to the long one of goniurus, and has been entirely lost in some genera. this modification has apparently taken place by two distinct lines of evolution, first the loss of the apiculus by gradual reduction and second by the thickening and a 10 iowa studies in natural history fusion of the structure with the club. the first has apparently taken place in the pamphilinae and the second in the hesperiinae. the relation of the length of the apiculus to the thickness of the club has been used extensively to separate certain genera of the pamphilinae but i find that its value is limited. it is variable in most species, and only where extremely short or extremely long is this variation negligible. in such species as verna the apiculus is sometimes longer and sometimes shorter than the thickness of the club and is always difficult to measure with satisfactory accuracy. the length of the entire antennae measured in proportion to some other part of the insect is useful to distinguish a few genera of our fauna. the legs offer three important characters, viz., the presence or absence of the epiphysis on the front tibiae, the presence or absence of spines on the mid tibiae and to a certain extent their form, and the number of pairs of spurs on the hind tibiae. the epiphysis does not concern us in a study of the north american fauna and the spurs on the hind tibiae characterize only one genus, but the spinulation of the mid tibiae is useful in several cases and in spite of some evidence to the contrary, i believe that it is a good character, at least to the extent used in this paper. the wings vary greatly in shape, sometimes in a striking way, as in eantis, systasea and goniurus. in certain others, as atrytonopsis, they have a distinctive form which is less useful because less pronounced in the female and difficult to characterize. the neuration is of comparatively little use beyond a few conspicuous features, for it is impossible to pick a reasonably long series of related species without finding some transition in all of the salient features. in spite of this i have made use of the position of vein 11 of the primaries to separate chiomara from thanaos, but in this case there seem to be other grounds, and the one vein furnishes a convenient and apparently reliable corollary. the distance between the bases of veins 6 and 7 of the primaries of pholisora is greater than in most other genera. the relation of vein 5 to 4 and 6 in the primaries distinguishes the megathymidae and most pamphilinae from the other skippers, and helps to separate some genera. the position of veins 2 and 3 of the primaries is another character which must be used with caution, for these veins vary in closely related species and can be dependhesperioidea of america 11 ed upon only in extreme cases. the neuration of the secondaries is scarcely worthy of notice, though some exotic genera are characterized by the presence of vein 5, which is usually absent or very weak. the abdomen is of little service, though it aids in distinguishing the genera of group a of the pamphilinae from certan hesperiinae in that it projects beyond the secondaries in the former and scarcely reaches their anal angle in the latter. the male secondary sexual characters in the hesperiinae consist of the costal fold on the primaries, tuft (always proximal in our species) on the hind tibiae, tuft on the upper surface of the secondaries and the two lobes found at the base of the abdomen on its ventral surface in hesperia. in the pamphilinae the only form found in the north american fauna is the brand or stigma on the disk of the primaries. while i agree with watson's treatment of these characters i believe that the great difference in form between some of the stigmata indicates sufficiently different development of the species possessing them to warrant their generic separation. fortunately in our fauna this character can be supplemented by others. it is necessary to guard agains splitting on this basis, for many stigmata which are superficially different may easily be seen to follow in their fundamental structure a single type. the genitalia, especially of the males, are of great value in making specific determinations, and similarity of genitalia often affords an index of generic relationship. i have found several apparent contradictions to the latter statement, and am therefore inclined to use it very cautiously until more is known about the skippers, but still i hesitate to include in the same genus species whose genitalia are of widely different forms. in attempting to work out the phylogeny of our existing speces i have come to the conclusion that the subfamily ismeninae, made up entirely of old world species, represents the most primitive existing form. the entire subfamily is characterized by the upturned, appressed second joint of the palpi, very similar to that of the hesperiinae of group a, and the long, porrect third joint which is unique. the antennae have a short shaft and a long, moderately thick club with a long apiculus which 12 iowa studies in natural history is never sharply recurved. the hind tibiae of the males are provided with a tuft attached at the proximal end and lying along the upper edge of the joint in a groove formed of strong scales. vein five of the primaries is intermediate between veins four and six. from these structures we may assume that the immediate ancestors of the skippers had antennae enlarged at some distance proximad of the distal end, leaving the terminal portion siender, and that vein five of the primaries in these insects had not yet formed a definite connection with either of the adjacent veins. from such forms evolution has proceeded with the permanent reflection of the apiculus by either a curve or a sharp bend. (i can construe the reflexed club of the pyrrhopyginae only as a further development of the hesperiid antenna, though this does not seem a satisfactory explanation). in addition the apiculus has been reduced as already mentioned and various slight specializations have taken place. the wings of the hesperiinae have changed only in the variably complete loss of vein five of the secondaries and the lengthening of the cell in group a, while in the pamphilinae vein five of the primaries, has formed a definite connection with the median stem (english system; cubitus of comstock and needham), as also is the case with the megathymidae. following these lines i have drawn up the following diagram which i believe will indicate better than a written discussion the relations and phylogeny of the genera used in this work. the arrangement undoubtedly has its faults, but i believe that it corrects a number of features of former arrangements which were more or less unnatural. in the main it adheres to the order of genera which has been in common use. superfamily hesperioidea antennae clavate, in a few genera with the club very slender. club usually with a slender tip called the apiculus. palpi variable, usually relatively large and thick, upturned to porrect. head wide, eyes large and far apart, lashed. insertion of antennae near eyes. body stout, slender in a few genera. wings relatively smaller than in the papilionoidea and with very strong venation in most genera. primaries with twelve veins, all free; cell open or weakly closed. one anal. secondaries with eight hesperioidea of america 13 -pyrrhopyginae group a -phocides -polygonus -nascus -proteides -epargyreus -goniurus -chioides -codatractus telegonus -achalarus -cecropterus thorybes -cabares phoedinus -cogia -plestia hesperiinae hesperiidae group b -timochares grais -thanaos chiomara -melanthes -xenophanes -eantis -systasea -pholisora -hesperia -carterocephalus -butleria -ancyloxypha -oarisma -adopaea -copaeodes pamphilinae q-chaerephon -pamphila hylephila atalopedes augiades -polites -catia -poanes -atrytone -atrytonopsis -oligoria -lerema -mastor -amblyscirtes -epiphyes -lerodea thespieus -calpodes -prenes -megathymidae 14 iowa studies in natural history or nine veins, five usually absent; cell open. two anals. front legs normal, tibiae usually with the epiphysis present (in all north american genera). middle legs with one pair of spurs on the tibiae and with or without spines. hind legs with two pairs of spurs, or with only the distal pair in some genera. the two families are based on the following characters: family hesperiidae: head nearly as wide to wider than thorax. hind tibiae usually with two pairs of spurs. palpi moderate to large. larvae external plant feeders. family megathymidae: head narrower than thorax. hind tibiae with one pair of spurs. palpi rather small. larvae borers in plant stems. imagines larger than most hesperiidae, heavy bodied and strong of flight. family hesperiidae characters of the superfamily, distinguished from the megathymidae as shown in the preceding synopsis. the north american species fall into three subfamilies which may be separated by the following key, which also deals with the groups into which the subfamilies are divided. key to subfamilies and groups 1. club of antennae large, entirely reflexed.... .pyrrhopyginae club variable, never entirely reflexed. 2 2. vein 5 of primaries not curved at base, usually about intermediate between 4 and 6. mid tibiae without spines hesperiinae 3 vein 5 curved at base, arising nearer to 4, or with the mid tibiae spined..... .pamphilinae 4 3. cell of primaries more than two-thirds as long as wing or antennae with a slender reflexed or recurved apiclus ... group a cell two-thirds or less. club curved, blunt or fusiform, but never with a slender apiculus.... ..group b 4. vein 5 intermediate, straight. club blunt. palpi porrect ..group a vein 5 curved at base, nearer to 4. palpi not porrect. group b of authors.. ..5 hesperioidea of america 15 5. third joint of palpi long slender and vertical. antennae short with the club blunt... group b third joint small or antennae with a slender apiculus ..group c cell of primaries two-thirds as long as wing, usually with a recurrent vein or a vestige of it.... group d subfamily pyrrhopyginae this subfamily includes a large number of south and central american species of which only one, araxes, occurs within our territory. the large antennal club, bent back along the shaft or recurved, is typical of all the species. in other respects their structure agrees to a great extent with that found in group a of the hesperiinae. the cell of the primaries is apically produced with the discocellulars outwardly concave, and is about two-thirds as long as the wing. the discocellulars are weak, but clearly traceable. vein 5 is approximately intermediate in the primaries, and absent in the secondaries, though found in a few exotic genera. araxes has been included in the genus pyrrhopyge by all writers with whose works i am familiar, but the difference in habitus and the form of the secondaries have led me to remove it. watson's diagnosis of his genus microceris (p. z. s. 1893, 15) differs in only a few points from the structures of araxes, but the type, variicolor, judging by the original description and figure, is not at all closely related. i am therefore basing a new genus on the points of difference between araxes and watson's description of microceris. genus apyrrothrix gen. nov. similar to pyrrhopyge. differs from that genus in the more gently curved costa and more prominent apex of the primaries and the form of the secondaries. in pyrrhopyge these appear to be longer through the cell than along the inner margin, and the outer margin is even or slightly concave between veins 2 and 7. the abdomen usually equals or surpasses the anal angle of the secondaries. in araxes the secondaries are broad and full, and surpass the abdomen. the outer margin is deeply crenulate, produced between veins 2 and 4 in the male and conspicu16 iowa studies in natural history a 6 ously so in the female. according to watson veins 7 and 8 of the primaries of variicolor are short stalked, while in araxes they are free. watson's figure of the neuration of his genus differs in a few points in the secondaries also, and on the whole the relationship seems to be rather with the typical species of pyrrhopyge than with araxes. fig.1. type: erycides araxes hew. 1. apyrrothrix araxes erycides araxes hewitson, desc. hesp. 2, 1867. pyrrhopyga cyrillus plötz, stett. ent. zeit, xl, 529, 1879. biologia cent.-am., rhop. ii, 252, pl. 73, ff 14, 15, 16, 1893. holland, butterfly book 319, pl. xlv, f. 9, 1898. fig. 1. apyrrothrix a. club of antenna. b. mexico. i have two bred specimens neuration from southern arizona which are very close to araxes but the typical form is not known to occur north of the boundary. qrares hew. la. race arizonae pyrrhopyge araxes, form arizonae g. & 8., biol. cent.-am., rhop. 1, 253, 1893. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 201, pl. x, 1911. dark marks on under surface of secondaries not well defined, suffused with ochreous. outer margin of ochreous area diffuse. arizonae occurs in arizona in august and september. subfamily hesperiinae structure very diverse but always showing the characters mentioned in the key. antennae varying in length, club flattened oval to extremely long and slender, with the distal half or less reflexed or recurved. palpi with the second joint closely appressed and the third minute to long, large and porrect. neuration fairly constant. branches of radius variable in position. vein 5 straight and about intermediate between 4 and 6, 2 variable. secondaries with position of 7 variable and vein 5 absent to weakly tubular at its outer end (thanaos, some specimens), > hesperioidea of america 17 usually marked by a fold. mid tibiae without spines. two pairs of spurs present on the hind tibiae in our genera. secondary sexual characters of the males: costal fold, tibial tuft, tuft on secondaries, and basal lobes on under surface of abdomen. group a group a is more widely represented in south and central america, and a number of our species are merely strays from more southern localities. the genera have been very inconsistently treated in the past, and i am lumping a few of them which show a complete lack of constant structural differences with the exception of the costal fold. several such as cecropterus and thorybes are very closely related but because of the very distinct form of the male genitalia i am retaining them, based on such characters as will serve for their separation. the group is distinguished by the length of the cell and the form of the antennal club. . key to the genera 1. l. d. c. of primaries very long and curved..... .phocides l. d. c. normal.. .2 2. apiculus of antennae longer than rest of club, straight and sharply bent at base. .nascus apiculus otherwise... .3 3. primaries with a tubular, or at least well marked, recurrent vein in cell.... .4 recurrent vein scarcely traceable or absent. .9 4. antennae with a distinct, slender, reflexed apiculus......5 antennal club fusiform, more or less elongate; arcuate or with a well rounded bend at middle... .7 5. secondaries tailed... goniurus secondaries not tailed... .6 6. apiculus sharply bent; primaries apically produced .proteides apiculus recurved ; apex of primaries moderate.. e pargyreus 7. recurrent vein nearer vein 4 than vein 3..... .8 recurrent vein nearer 3... ..chioides 18 iowa studies in natural history ..13 12 8. outer margin of secondaries slightly crenulate. .codatractus outer margin even. .telegonus 9. club of antennae large, fusiform.. .plestia club more slender, with a distinct apiculus.. ..10 10. apiculus much shorter than rest of club, bent at about a right angle...... ..11 apiculus about as long as rest of club, usually sharply reflexed or recurved.. 11. secondaries lobed....... polygonus secondaries broadly rounded or merely produced at anal angle 12. with a tuft of scales on upper surface of hind wings; palpi moderate... ....cogia no tuft. palpi exceeding front by about length of head ..phoedinus 13. vein la of secondaries about two-thirds as long as 1b. primaries with a broad yellow band.. ..cecropterus vein la longer. primaries with spots or a broken yellow band 14 14. outer margin of secondaries broadly rounded; of primaries slightly and almost evenly convex. .thorybes outer margin of secondaries more or less produced and angled at 1b; of primaries slightly sinuate....... achalarus outer margin of secondaries with a slight truncate lobe between veins 3 and 4...... ... cabares genus phocides hübner phocides hbn., verz. bek. schmett. 103, 1820. type papilio palemon cr. erycides hbn., verz. bek. schmett. 110, 1820. type papilio pygmalion cr. dysenius scudder, syst. rev. 46 (67), 1872. type erycides albicilla h. s. palpi oblique, vestiture smooth, deep and scaly; third joint small. antennae with club rather long, moderately thick; apiculus not more than one-half as long as rest of club, very slender and abruptly bent. primaries shaped as in goniurus, with a hesperioidea of america 19 costal fold in the male. cell over two-thirds as long as wing. vein 5 nearer to 6 than to 4; l. d. c. long and strongly curved. vein 3 near end of cell and 2 well toward base of wing. recurrent vein faint, at base of vein 4. secondaries produced toward anal angle with outer margin sharply bent at lb but not lobed. outer margin only slightly irregular. phocides is easily recognized by the general habitus of the species when once seen. fig. 2. the action of former writers in combining these three genera was undoubtedly correct, though some slight differences of structure exist between the species occurring in our country. key to the species primaries immaculate, black. primaries with a red spot above... primaries with hyaline white spots.... ..c fig. 2. phocides batabano lucas. neuration ..batabano ..lilea urania b. bu wa ... 1. phocides batabano eudamus batabano lucas, sagra, hist. cuba, vii, 624, 1857. erycides mancinus h.-s., corr.-blatt regensb. xvi, 143, 1862. erycides okeechobee worthington, papilio 1, 133, 1881. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 199, pl. x, 1911. florida, march and april. tet ed தர் 22 2. phocides lilea erycides lilea reakirt, proc. acad. nat. sci. phil. 1866, 339. erycides albicilla h. s., corr-blatt regensb. xxiii, 169, 1869. erycides socius butl. & druce, cist. ent. 1, 112, 1872. dysenius oruentus seud., syst. rev. 46(67), 1872. erycides sanguinea scud., syst. rev. 47(68), 1872. erycides decolor mab., bull. soc. ent. france 1880, xlvi. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 296, pl. 76, ff. 23, 24, 1893. , skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 199, 1911. the only specimen which i have seen bears the label “colima, mex.” skinner lists a texas record by capt. pope in the mexican boundary survey. ܘܠܗ je till 3. phocides urania erycides urania westw. & hew., gen. diurn. lep. 510, pl. 79, f. 1, 1852. erycides texana scud., syst. rev. 47(68), 1872. ene tithi 20 iowa studies in natural history skinner, ent. news 1, 23, 1890, and 11, 101, pl. 1, 1891. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 198, 1911. texas, arizona and southward. genus nascus watson nascus watson, proc. zool. soc. london, 1893, 28, type papilio phocus cr. watson characterized this genus as follows: “antennae : club rather robust, bent into a hook, terminal portion very slender and rather longer than rest of club. palpi upturned, third joint almost concealed. fore wing: outer margin very much longer than inner margin, the apex being very conspicuously produced; cell more than twothirds the length of costa; male with fig. 3. nascus hesus westw. a. club of antenna. b. outline of a costal fold; discocellulars very primary oblique, the lower one slightly the longer; vein 3 shortly before end of cell; vein 2 close to base of wing. hind wing anally produced, and with an inconspicuous tooth at vein 1b; vein 7 close to end of cell; discocellulars and vein 5 barely traceable; vein 3 immediately before the end of the cell; vein 2 considerably nearer to end of cell than to base of wing. hind tibiae with a long fringe of coarse hairs and with two pairs of spurs." in our fauna the very long apiculus separates this genus from all others. fig. 3. ♡ 1. nascus hesus telegonus hesus westw. & hew., gen. diurn. lep. ii, pl. 78, f. 5, 1852. 9 papilio nicias fab., mant. ins. ii, 86, 1787. 9 eudamus etias hew., desc. hesp. 13, 1867. aaron, ent. news 1, 25, 1890 and 11, 101, pl. 1, 1891. eudamus euribates skinner (not cramer) trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 191, pl. x, 1911. mexico to brazil; skinner includes texas, following aaron, presumably. i have compared cramer's, westwood and hewitson's and skinner's figures, and find that the two latter agree very well, but that, even allowing for the poor quality of cramer's figure, they can hardly be euribates cramer. i have no data on the occurrence of the species in this country. hesperioidea of america 21 fab. a. club of antenna. b. genus polygonus hübner polygonus hbn., samml. exot. schmett. 11, t. 144, 1822-6. type polygonus lividus hbn. acolastus scud., syst. rev. 50, 1872. type hesperia savigny . latr. nennius kirby, wytsman's hübner 105, 1902. new name for polygonus and acolastus. second joint of palpi appressed, densely scaled; third porrect, small. reflexed apiculus abruptly constricted, about one-half as long as rest of club. head slightly wider than thorax. primaries narrow, costa evenly curved, inner margin nearly straight and outer sharply curved opposite cell; no fold in male. cell threequarters as long as wing; vein 5 about fig. 4. polygonus amyntas equidistant between 4 and 6; spur vein neuration of primary scarcely traceable, nearer to 3. secondaries broadly rounded, lobed at anal angle. fig. 4. according to scudder (hist. sk. 253) polygonus was preoccupied by polygona in the mollusca. acolastus was preoccupied in the coleoptera, a fact which was overlooked for many years, and kirby offered nennius to replace it. according to the current international rules of zoological nomenclature a difference of one letter is sufficient to validate a generic name, so polygonus cannot be regarded as preoccupied, and therefore must be retained for amyntas. 1. polygonus amyntas papilio amyntas fab., syst. ent. 533, 1775. polygonus lividus hbn., samml. exot. schmett. 11, t. 144, 1822-26. hesperia savigny, latr., enc. meth. 1x, 741, 1823. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 200, pl. x, 1911. the typical form is very dark. it occurs in florida in aug. and sept. la. race arizonensis erycides amyntas arizonensis skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 209, pl. x, 1911. the western race of amyntas is paler than the typical form, both above and below, and the pale transverse bands of the secondaries are faintly visible on the upper surface. texas and arizona, september. 22 iowa studies in natural history genus proteides hübner proteides hbn., verz. bek. schmett. 104, 1820. type papilio idas cr. dicranaspes mab., ann. soc. ent. belg. xxi, 24, 1878. type papilio idas cramer. proteides is very close to epargyreus, and i think that with a large series of the tropical species the two genera will be found to be scarcely worthy of separation. in our fauna, however, the sharply constricted and reflexed apiculus and the narrow, apically produced primaries of proteides are very distinctive. the male has no costal fold. fig. 5. 1. proteides idas papilio idas cramer, pap. exot. iii, 118, p. cclx, a, b, 1779-80. papilio mercurius fab., mant. ins. ii, 86, 1787. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 301, pl. 77, f. 5, gen., 1893. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 194, 1911. occurs in texas, new mexico and arizona. i have no further data. genus epargyreus hübner epargyreus hübner, verz. bek. schmett. 105, 1820. type papilio tityrus fab. second joint of palpi closely appressed, densely clothed with scales in which the small third joint is almost concealed. antennae about one-half as long as the primaries, club more or less sharply curved at the middle. head not quite as wide as thorax. primaries elongate, rather narrow; outer and inner margins about equal in length, outer slightly more oblique but otherwise similar to goniurus. costal fold present. cell three-quarters as long as wing; vein 5 slightly nearer to 4 than to 6. recurrent vein nearer to vein 3. vein 1 strongly sinuate. seconfig. 5. &. club of antenna of e. daries rounded, lobed at anal angle. zestos geyer. b. club of antenna of p. idas cramer. c. neuration fig. 5. of e. tityrus fab. the primaries are longer and narrower in exadeus than in zestos and tityrus, and the apiculus of a hesperioidea of america 23 the antennae shows a tendency to be more slender and more sharply bent. this has led me to the conclusion stated under proteides that the two genera are possibly not distinct. key to the species 1. under surface of secondaries with a silky white patch... .2 no silky white on secondaires...... .aestos 2. spots of primaries deep yellow and usually broadly contiguous.tityrus spots small and widely separated, or if larger, very pale yellow.exadeus 1. epargyreus zestos proteides zestos geyer, zutr. exot. schmett. 1v, 9, t. 106, ff. 615, 616, 1832. eudamus oberon worthington, papilio i, 132, 1881. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 193, 1911. florida, august and september. 2. epargyreus tityrus papilio tityrus fab., syst. ent. 532, 1775. papilio clarus cramer, pap. exot. i, 66, pl. xli, e, f, 1775. holland, butterfly book 323, pl. xliii, f. 5, 1898. smyth, ent. news xix, 191, pl. x, 1908. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 192, 1911. ranges throughout the united states and into southern canada and south america. june to august. ab. obliteratus epargyreus tityrus obliteratus scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1402, 1889. only three small, rounded spots in place of the discal band, and only one small preapical spot. silver on under surface of secondaries more extensive than usual. 3. epargyreus exadeus papilio ezadeus cramer, pap. exot. iii, 118, pl. cclx, c, 1779-80. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 299, pl. 77, f. 1, gen., 1893. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 194, pl. x, 1911. southern california, arizona, new mexico, march. genus goniurus hübner goniurus hübner, verz. bek. schmett. 104, 1820. type papilio simplicius stoll. eudamus swainson, zool. ill. (2), ii, 48, 1831-2. type papilio proteus linn. ? polythrix watson, proc. zool. soc. london, 1893, 19. type eudamus metallescens mabille. 24 iowa studies in natural history second joint of palpi closely appressed, third porrect, small. antennae a little over one-half as long as primaries, club slender, apiculus shorter and distinctly more slender than remainder. primaries broad and short; outer margin evenly rounded to slightly sinuate, about as long as inner; costa evenly rounded, relatively short, without fold in one species. cell two-thirds as long as wing; vein 5 slightly nearer to 4 than to 6. secondaries with anal angle produced into a long tail ; outer margin slightly excavated opposite cell and before tail, sometimes slightly crenulate. fig. 6. the above description is taken from simplicius and eurycles. proteus has a longer cell as shown in the figure and both proteus and fig. 6. goniurus. a. palpus of simdorantes have relatively shorter plicius stoll. b. club of antennae of simplicius stoll. c. neuration of proantennae. it may prove desirable to use eudamus for these two species, but without knowing more of the related central american fauna i cannot make a satisfactory decision on this point. of the other three north american species which i here remove from goniurus i feel that albofasciatus and zilpa warrant the establishment of a new genus, and that the relationship of alceus to melon, in spite of its tailed secondaries, is too close to be disregarded. key to the species 1. upper surface with shining green hairs.... · proteus without green hairs.... ..2 2. fringes checkered; spots not united to form a straight band..dorantes fringes not checkered; band usually present...... 1.3 3. band always present; no costal fold in male; outer margin of primar. ies slightly sinuate..... ... curycles band sometimes broken or even absent; male with fold; outer margin slightly convex. ... simplicius 1. goniurus proteus papilio proteus linn., syst. nat. i, 484, 1758. scudder, butt . new eng., 11, 1386, 1889. biol. cent.-am., rhop. 11, 277, pl. 75, f. 5, gen., 1893. teus linn hesperioidea of america 25 holland, butterfly book 321, pl. xlv, f. 6, 1898. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 194, 1911. florida and georgia, august to october. arizona and texas, june and july. dr. skinner gives the range as new york to the gulf and southward through mexico and central america. 2. goniurus dorantes papilio dorantes stoll, pap. exot., supp., 172, pl. xxxix, f. 9, 1790. eudamus amisus hew., desc. hesp. 5, 1867. eudamus protillus h.-s., corr.-blatt regensb. xxiii, 171, 1869. biol. cent. am., rhop. ii, 278, pl. 75, f. 7, î gen., 1893. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 197, 1911. southern california, mexico. 2a. race rauterbergi eudamus protillus var. rauterbergi skinner, ent. news vi, 113, 1895. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 197, 1911. skinner says that this form is “smaller and very much darker than protillus; the fringes are far less marked, and the tails lack the admixture of light hairs." texas, arizona and southward; july and september. 3. goniurus simplicius papilio simplicius stoll, pap. exot., supp., 171, pl. xxxix, f. 6, 1790. biol. cent.-am. rhop. ii, 270, pl. 75, f. 1, g gen., 1893. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 196, 1911. some females can scarcely be told from eurycles, but usually the obsolescence of the hyaline marks of the primaries and the slightly different shape of the wings enable one to recognize the species. the males are readily identified by the costal fold. texas, march and october. 4. goniurus eurycles hesperia eurycles latr., enc. meth. ix, 730, 1823. skinner, ent. news xii, 171, 1901. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 197, pl. x, 1911. i have eurycles from guatemala, taken in april, and from colombia taken in november, but aside from dr. skinner's note in the entomological news i have seen no records of its occur rence north of mexico. genus chioides gen. nov. palpi large, porrect; second joint deeply scaled, third strong, 26 iowa studies in natural history conspicuous. antennae less than one-half as long as primaries, club relatively smaller and thicker than in goniurus, and more broadly curved, with the apiculus less distinct. primaries with the apex subtruncate, outer margin concave below apex. cell about three-fourths as long as wing; recurrent vein nearer to vein 3 than to vein 4; bases of 3 and 4 much farther apart than m. d. c. and l. d. c. combined. costal fold present in our species. fig. 7. type: eudamus albofasciatus hewitson. catillus, a central american species, and albofasciatus are very closely related, and agree in the form of the male genitalia. zilpa differs somewhat in the form of the wings and the male genitalia, but on the whole it is apparently related to the other species, and with them distinct from goniurus. the difference is scarcely greater than between proteus and simplicius. 1. chioides albofasciatus eudamus albofasciatus hew., desc. hesp. 3, 1867. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 280, pl. 75, f. 11, ở gen., 1893. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 197, 1911. texas, march. arizona, july and september. distinguished from zilpa by the long narrow white band on the under surface of the secondaries. 2. chiqides zilpa (plate i, fig. 5) goniurus zilpa butler, lep. exot. 109, t. xl, f. 2, 1872. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 279, pl. 75, f 8, ở gen., 1893. patagonia mts., arizona, may. kerrville, tex., september. genus codatractus nom. nov. heteropia mabille, le nat. 1889, 68. type heteropia imitatrix mab. preoccupied in sponges by heteropia carter, ann. &mag. nat. hist. (5), xviii, 47, 1886. structure in general similar to chioides but with veins 3 and 4 of the primaries not so far apart at their bases as the combined length of the two discocellulars and the recurrent vein nearer to 4 than to 3. the anfig. 7. a. detail of neuration end of celi of tennal club is fusiform, more or less primaries. c. club of antenna. e. palpus. codatractus alceus hew: sharply bent near the middle but with b. detail of neuration, end of cell of primary. d. club of antenna. the distal portion not differentiated. hesperioidea of america 27 outer margin of primaries slightly sinuate; no costal fold in male of melon; i have not seen a male of alcaeus. fig. 7. to place such a strongly tailed species as alcaeus with a species in which the secondaries are merely angled is radical, but a study of related central american species has led me to believe that in this case, at least, it is justified. alcaeus agrees with melon very closely in structure, and the male genitalia of the two species are very similar. 1. codatractus alcaeus eudamus alcaeus hew., desc. hesp. 3, 1867. skinner, ent. news xii, 171, 1901. my only specimen is a female from mexico, and i have seen no others. the reference to the entomological news is the only record of its occurrence in the united states with which i am familiar. 2. codatractus melon heteropia melon godman & salvin, biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 297, pl. lxxvi, g. 26, 27, 1893. the typical form of melon is not known to occur north of mexico. 2a. race arizonensis heteropia melon var. arizonensis skinner, ent. news xvi, 232, 1905. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 186, pl. x, 1911. baboquivari mts., ariz., july. differs from true melon in the whiter marginal area of the secondaries below. genus telegonus hübner telegonus hübner, verz. bek. schmett. 104, 1820, type papilio anaphus cramer. palpi oblique, third joint distinct. antennae with a long slender tapering club, not sharply bent but curved at the middle. primaries broad, outer margin equal to inner; costa slightly curved, without a fold in the male; outer margin very slightly sinuate. secondaries produced and angled at 1b; outer margin straight from vein 7 to the anal angle. cell of primaries about two-thirds as long as wing, discocellulars very oblique; vein 5 slightly nearer to vein 4 than to vein 6; recurrent vein near 4; vein 2 over one-half as far from base of wing as from 3. 28 iowa studies in natural history > 1. telegonus hahneli aethilla hahneli staud., exot. tagf. i, 291, 11, pl. 98, 1888. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 306, pl. 77, ff. 13, 14, 1893. skinner, ent. news xii, 171, 1901. staudinger's figure does not agree at all with that of godman and salvin, which represents the species recorded from north america. since the latter authors state, however, that they had specimens from dr. staudinger himself, the best thing that we can do is retain the name in its present usage until the types can be examined. arizona (skinner). i have a specimen from dr. skinner labelled “jamaica.” beyond his record in the entomological news i have no knowledge of the occurrence of the species within our country. genus plestia mabille plestia mab., le nat. (2), 11, 146, 1888. type plestia staudingeri mab. palpi porrect, exceeding front by length of head; second joint with shaggy vestiture of scales and hair, third conical, moderately large. antennae with the club fusiform and pointed, almost as long as the shaft. primaries trigonate, outer margin bent opposite cell; costal fold present fig. 8. plestia dorus edw. a. in male. cell over two-thirds as long club of antenna. c. neuration of wings as wing, recurrent vein absent. vein 5 nearer 6 than 4. secondaries trigonate, prominently lobed at anal angle. legs and under surface of thorax very hairy. fig. 8. 1. plestia dorus eudamus dorus edwards, papilio ii, 140, 1882. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 290, pl. 76, ff. 8, 9, 1893. holland, butterfly book, 322, pl. xlv, f. 11, 1898. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 187, 1911. arizona, may, june and july. new mexico, may. genus ach alarus scudder achalarus scudder, syst. rev. 50 (71), 1872. type papilio lycidas, abbot and smith. hesperioidea of america 29 murgaria watson, proc. zool. soc. london, 1893, 37. type telegonus albociliatus mabille. palpi porrect; second joint closely and roughly scaled; third small, almost concealed in vestiture of second. antennae about one-half as long as primaries; club slender, tapering gradually into the reflexed tip, which is not quite as long as the rest of the club. primaries moderately broad; costa slightly rounded, with or without the fold in the male; outer margin slightly sinuate in the male, more evenly rounded in the female; cell slightly over two-thirds as long as wing; spur vein very faintly indicated, near vein 4; 5 slightly nearer to 4. secondaries angled at lb in the male, more rounded in the female. in epigona this character is very variable, some specimens having the angle acute and others obtuse. vein 5 is not present, as stated by watson (p. z. s. 1893, 34) but is indicated by a slight fold. although it seems very radical to combine these genera, a careful consideration of their structures has failed to disclose any basis for their separation. epigona, formerly placed in phoedinus, is obviously congeneric with albociliatus, and hence under the old arrangement would fall into murgaria, while both dffer from lycidas only in the absence of the costal fold in the males. some specimens of the white fringed species have the anal angles of the secondaries much more acute than in lycidas, and therefore look much different, but as i have stated, this character is very variable. the male genitalia are similar and of a peculiar form. key to the species 1. primaries with yellow spots.... ..lycidas primaries with or without white spots. .2 2. primaries with well defined whitish hyaline spots.... .epigona primaries with an obscure dark band, rarely with a few white spots ..albociliatus 1. ach alarus lycidas papilio lycidas abbot and smith, lep. ins. ga. i, 39, pl. 20, 1797. proteides lyciades geyer, zutr. ex. schmett. iv, 10, ff. 621, 622, 1832. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 188, 1911. new york and pennsylvania, august, and south to the gulf, where it is taken in may and june. 30 iowa studies in natural history 2. achalarus epigona myscelus epigona h.-s., corr.-blatt regensb. xxiii, 167, 1869. eudamus epigena butler, trans. ent. soc. lond., 1870, 493. eudamus orestes edw., (lintner ms.), cat. diurn. lep. n. a. 58, 1877. biol. cent. am., rhop. ii, 332, pl. 80, ff. 9-11, 1893. arizona, june and august. 3. achalarus albociliatus telegonus albociliatus mab., pet. nouv. ent. 11, 162, 1877. eudamus coyote skinner, can. ent. xxiv, 164, 1892. texas and arizona. we have been confusing two species under this name, but at present i am unable to correct the error with certainty. genus cecropterus herrich-schäffer cecrops hbn., zutr. exot. schmett. t. 32, ff. 183, 184, 1818. type cecrops zares hbn. preoccupied in crustacea. cecropterus h.-s., corr.-blatt regensb. xxiii, 131, 1869. for cecrops hbn. rhabdoides scud., butt. new eng. iii, p. 1854, 1889. type eudamus cellus boisd. & lec. palpi larger than in achalarus; second joint oblique, roughly scaled; third porrect, moderate, not concealed by vestiture of second. antennae about one-half as long as primaries; club slender, tapering, bent near middle, with the apiculus scarcely more slender than the basal portion. primaries similar to achalarus 8 and thorybes; cell slightly over two-thirds as long as wing; recurrent vein faint but indicated at base of vein 4; 5 slightfig. 9. cecrop. ly nearer to 4 than to 6; discocellulars less oblique than in achalarus, more as in thorybes; costal fold a. club of annot present in male. outer margin of secondaries rounded, apex broadly rounded ; vein la about twoof secondary thirds as long as 1b. fig. 9. cellus resembles thorybes very closely in most of its structures, but i hardly think that the species belongs there. i do not see anything to separate it from the genus cecropterus, however, and so am placing it for the present with the other species whose banded primaries give them a close superficial resemblance. pseudocell us appears to be closer to achalarus but i have not had material for dissection and so prefer to leave it with cell us. terus cellus bd. and lec. tenna. b. detail of neuration; anal area hesperioidea of america 31 1. cecropterus cellus eudamus cellus bd. & lec., lep. am. sept. t. 73, 1833. cecrops festus geyer, zutr. exot. schmett. v, 21, ff. 907, 908, 1837 biol. cent.-am., rhop. 11, 331, pl. 80, f. 8, ở gen., 1894. holland, butterfly book 326, pl. xlv, f. 12, 1898. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 189, 1911. pennsylvania, july. virginia and west virginia, may and june. texas and arizona, april and august. 2. cecropterus pseudocellus achalarus pseudocellus coolidge and clemence, ent. news xxii, 3, 1911. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 190, 1911. arizona, june to september inclusive. this species is smaller and darker than cellus, lacks the terminal pale area on the under surface of the secondaries and has a pale ring at the base of the antennal club. i have examined a long series in the barnes collection without finding any specimen in which the pale ring could not be seen. genus thorybes scudder thorybes scud., syst. rev. 50 (71), 1872. type papilio bathyllus a. & s. lintneria butler, trans. ent. soc. london, 1877, 57. type papilio daunus cramer. cocceius g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 336, 1900. type eudamus pylades scud. palpi with the second joint appressed, densely scaled; third small, porrect, partly concealed by scales of second. club of antennae moderate, tapering into a slender apiculus which is slightly shorter than the rest of the club. in specimens the apiculus varies from sharply reflexed to slightly recurved. primaries rather short and broad with the costa and outer margin convex; cell slightly over two-thirds as long as wing; recurrent vein barely indicated near vein 4; 5 equidistant between 4 and 6; 2 fig. 10. &. club of an. tenna of cogia hippalus nearer base of wing than to 3. secondaredw. b. neuration of thorybes pylades scud. ies broadly rounded, length along vein 6 c. truncate lobe on outer margin of secondary about equal to or greater than along 1b; of cabares potrillo lucas 32 iowa studies in natural history 1 anal angle sometimes very slightly prominent. costal fold present in pylades and drusius but not in the other species. fig. 10. in establishing cocceius godman and salvin state that it differs from thorybes in the presence of the costal fold and that this indicates that its relationship is rather with achalarus. it is related in many more points, however, to thorybes, and the costal fold does not seem adequate to separate the two groups as genera. the male gentalia of the species are similar. key to the species 1. fringes of secondaries white, at least in middle of outer margin. drusius fringes not white.. .2 2. under surface of secondaries transversely strigate.. .3 under surface not strigate..... .4 3. hyaline spots moderate to small, without dark outlines; ground color dark .mexican hyaline spots large with dark outlines; ground color pale........ .mericanus, race nevada 4. spots usually large, extending from vein to vein; palpi usually pale below ....bathyllus spots usually small; palpi usually concolorous with body below. . pylades spots absent.. . . pylades, ab. immaculata 1. thorybes drusius eudamus drusius edw., can. ent. xv, 211, 1883. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 336, 1894. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 185, pl. x, 1911. arizona, june, july and august. western nebraska, leussler. 2. thorybes pylades eudamus bathyllus harris (not a. & s.), ins. inj. veg. 3rd ed., 312, 1862. eudamus pylades scud., proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xiii, 207, 1870. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 336, pl. 80, f. 23, 1894. holland, butterfly book 324, pl. xlviii, f. 6, 1898. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 176, 1911. occurs throughout the united states and most of canada. in florida and texas it has been taken as early as april and as late as october; far. ther north it flies from may to august. ab. immaculata eudamus pylades immaculata skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 177, 1911. this is a rather uncommon form in which the hyaline spots of the primaries are entirely absent. hesperioidea of america 33 3. thorybes daunus papilio daunus cramer, pap. exot. ii, 44, pl. axxvi, f, 1777. papilio bathyllus abbot & smith, lep. ins. ga. i, 43, pl. xxii, 1797. holland, butterfly book 325, pl. xlviii, f. 5, 1898. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 178, 1911. some females of pylades and bathyllus are difficult to separate but as a rule the size of the spots and color of the palpi in this species are characteristic. the males of this and the following species are easily separated from the others by the absence of the costal fold. florida north and west to pennsylvania, iowa, nebraska and texas. i have seen southern specimens dated may and august, while farther north the species occurs from june to september. 4. thorybes mexicana eudamus mexicana h.-s., corr.-blatt regensb. xxiii, 198, 1869. eudamus ananius plötz, stett. ent. zeit. xliii, 99, 1882. biologia cent.-am., rhop. ii, 334, pl. 80, ff. 15, 16, 17, 1894. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 180, 1911. specimens in the barnes collection which agree with those in the british museum are similar to pylades above but faintly strigate w, and rather darker than normal specimens of pylades. arizona, june and july. colorado, july. 4a. race nevada thorybes nevada scud., syst. rev. 50 (71), 1872. eudamus aemilea skinner, ent. news iv, 64, 1893. holland, butterfly book 325, pl. xlvi, f. 39, 1898 (type). wright, butt. w. coast 254, pl. xxxii, f. 478, 1905. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 182, 1911. ground color rather pale, with a fine terminal line and margins of spots darker. spots large. strigation of under surface usually heavy. california and oregon, june and july. 8000 ft. genus cabares godman & salvin cabares g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 337, 1894. type thanaos potrillo lucas. "antennae with a gradually tapering club, curved in the middle into a crook. palpi porrect, the third joint rather prominent. primaries with the cell more than two-thirds the length of the costa, the second, third, and fourth subcostal seg. ments subequal; lower discocellular rather shorter than the middle, the two forming an oblique line at a large acute angle to 34 iowa studies in natural history the axis of the wing; third median segment less than half the second, and rather shorter than the first; a curved recurrent nervule starts from the end of the cell. secondaries with the discocellulars very slender; third median segment very short; second subcostal segment also short. primaries short, slightly truncate at the tip; no costal fold in the male; secondaries with a projection in the middle of the outer margin from the end of the median nervure. hind tibiae with two pairs of spurs. “type thanaos potrillo lucas." (original description). ) this appears to be a good genus, and the one species which occurs in our fauna can easily be placed by the peculiar lobe on the outer margin of the secondaries. fig. 10. 1. cabares potrillo thanaos potrillo lucas, sagra's hist. cuba vii, 641, 1857. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 337, pl. 80, ff. 24, 25, 26, 1894. the species is occasionally taken in texas. genus cogia butler cogia butler, trans. ent. soc. london 1870, 508. type cogia hassan butler. palpi porrect; second joint heavily clothed with scales; third small but not concealed. antennae about one-half as long as primaries; club moderately thick, tapering into the short, reflexed apiculus. this is about half as long as the rest of the club and is usually bent at about a right angle. shape of wings similar to thorybes but costa of primaries less strongly curved and secondaries a little more produced anally. cell of primaries about two-thirds as long as wing; vein 5 intermediate between 4 and 6; recurrent vein faintly indicated, nearer to 4 than to 3. primaries of male without costal fold but secondaries with a short tuft of scales lying in the fold along vein 1b near the base of the wing. fig. 10. key to the species 1. fringes fuscous. fringes white. ..hippalus 2. subapical spots indistinct; those between veins 2 and 4 usually lacking; color dark.... ......calchas subapical spots clear; those between 2 and 4 usually present; color pale fuscous... ....outis 2 hesperioidea of america 35 1. cogia calchas eudamus calchas h.-s., corr.-blatt regensb xxiii, 188, 1869. spathilepia terranea butler, lep. exot. 111, t. xl, f. 8, 1872. biol. cent.-am., rhop. 11, 340, pl. 81, f. 6, § gen., 1894. texas, october. most specimens can be distinguished from outis by the dark color and limited maculation. 2. cogia outis eudamus outis skinner, ent. news v, 332, 1894. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 184, pl. x, 1911. texas, august. ground color pale fuscous, as in hippalus. the primaries usually have the two hyaline spots between veins 2 and 4 but i have seen specimens in which these were lacking or greatly reduced. 3. cogia hippalus eudamus hippalus edw., papilio ii, 27, 1882. hesperia gila plötz, stett. ent. zeit. xlvii, 91, 1886. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 340, pl. 80, ff. 29-31, 1894. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 184, 1911. southern arizona and new mexico, june, july and august. genus phoedinus godman & salvin phoedinus g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 335, 1894. type eudamus caicus h.-s. i was inclined for a time to unite this genus with cogia, disregarding the tufted secondaries, but the large palpi with their conspicuous third joint serve to distinguish it so easily that it seems better to retain it. the spur vein is very faintly indicated near vein 4. there are no secondary sexual structures in the male. 1. phoedinus mysie thorybes mysie dyar, jn. n. y. ent. soc. xii, 40, 1904. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 181, 1911. this species is not represented in the barnes or strecker collections, and i have seen nothing which answers the description. apparently it is a phoedinus with fuscous fringes and more spots on the primaries than caicus. it was described from the patagonia mts., arizona. 2. phoedinus caicus eudamus caicus h.-s., corr.-blatt regensb. xxiii, 188, 1869. eudamus schaefferi plötz, stett. ent. zeit. xliii, 99, 1882. eudamus moschus edw., papilio 11, 141, 1882. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 335, pl. 80, ff. 18-20, 1894. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 183, 1911. 36 iowa studies in natural history the fringes of the secondaries of this species are pure white, save at the apex and anal angle. arizona, july and august. group b the second group of the subfamily hesperiinae is distinguished from group a by the short cell of the primaries, the form of the antennal club, and the palpi. the cell is never over two-thirds as long as the wing, and is usually a little less; the antennal club is ovate or fusiform, usually somewhat flattened and more or less curved, but never bent as in most of the genera of group a and never with a distinct apiculus; the palpi are porrect or oblique, either large or with hairy vestiture or both. the only similar palpi in group a are found in the genus plestia. the genera of this group appear to be very poorly defined, owing to the structural variation of the species. if we split to the extent reached by some lepidopterists we can make a genus for practically every species, so the opposite course seems advisable, and i have therefore lumped a number of familiar genera to group species which appear to be related. this has resulted, especially in pholisora, in the association of species which can easily be separated by structural differences, but in all cases these characters show a transition through the several species which causes me to regard them as unreliable for the separation of genera. key to the genera 1. secondaries irregular, excavated opposite end of cell and before anal angle; not trigonate. vein 2 of primaries nearer base of cell than to vein 3. ....systasea not such insects.... .2 2. club of antennae long, slender, not distinctly flattened, and scarcely exceeding twice the diameter of the shaft... 3 club thicker in at least one direction... .4 3. primaries slightly excavated below apex; humeral angle prominent, rounded..... ...eantis apex rectangular; humeral angle normal...... xenophanes 4. palpi large; third joint conspicuous; vestiture not roughly hairy .pholisora palpi moderate to large; third joint not conspicuous or vestiture hairy.. .5 hesperioidea of america 37 . 5. club of antennae elongate-ovate, flattened, blunt; species largely white or checkered........ ...hesperia club more or less fusiform and pointed. ...6 6. outer margin of primaries evenly rounded or nearly so...7 apex of primaries subtruncate or rectangular.... ...8 7. vein 11 of primaries arising just beyond middle of cell and reaching costa before end of cell....... ...chiomara vein 11 arising at or beyond outer third of cell and ending in costa beyond end of cell... thanaos 8. anal angle of primaries broadly rounded; outer and inner marging about equal..... ... melanthes anal angle sharply rounded; outer margin distinctly shorter than inner.... ...9 9. cell narrow, about equal to distance between cell and costa .grais cell normal, much wider than this distance. ....timochares • . genus hesperia fabricius hesperia fab., ent. syst. m, (1), 258, 1793. type papilio malvae linn. pyrgus hbn., verz. bek. schmett. 109, 1820. type papilio syrichtus fab. heliopetes billberg, enum. ins, 81, 1820. type papilio arsalte . linn. syrichtus boisd., icones 230, 1833. type papilio proto esp. scelothrix ramb. cat. lep. andal. i, 63, 1858. type papilio carthami hbn. leucoscirtes scud., syst. rev. 52 (73), 1872. type syrichtus ericetorum boisd. muschampia tutt, brit. butterflies, 1, 218, 1906. type papilio proto esp. sloperia tutt, brit. butterflies 1, 218, 1906. type hesperia poggei led. powellia tutt, brit. butterflies 1, 218, 1906. type papilio sao berg. favria tutt, brit. butterflies 1, 218, 1906. type, hesperia cribrellum eversman. bremeria tutt, brit. butterflies i, 296, 1906. type syrichtus bieti obth. 38 iowa studies in natural history palpi porrect; second joint with shaggy vestiture in some species, smooth in others, and of mixed scales and hair. antennae slightly less than one-half as long as primaries; club elongate oval, flattened, blunt. costa of primaries more or less flattened; outer margin rounded, sometimes evenly and sometimes more strongly toward the apex. cell less than two-thirds as long as wing; vein 5 slightly nearer to 6 than to 4; position of 2 and 3 very variable. secondaries broadly rounded with a slight indication of an anal lobe, to sub-trigonate with the outer margin fig. 11. hesperia. antennal clubs: a. nivella, b. cricetorum, c. and d. tessellata, two views, e. syrichtus, f. macaira, g. neuration of tessellata, h. outer margin of secondary of syrichtus, i. outer margin of secondary of nivella, j. costal margin and apex of pri. mary of nivella, k. same of syrichtur, 1. detail of neuration, posterior margin of cell of centaureae, m. same of nivella slightly wavy. secondary sexual characters of males the costal fold, tibial tuft, and abdominal lobes; one or more of these characters may be absent. fig. 11. the north american species have hitherto been placed in three genera, based chiefly on secondary sexual characters. barnes and mcdunnough made a step in advance by avoiding these characters in their contributions 1, pp. 121-2, where they remark: “a better means of separation of pyrgus [including syrichtus, montivaga and philetas) from hesperia (scelothrix) than that given by dyar, and one that would include both sexes appears to be found in the palpi; in pyrgus they are only slightly upturned and the clothing under a strong lens is seen to be rather even and composed largely of scales with a few hairs hesperioidea of america 39 of equal length intermingled; in hesperia the palpi are strongly upturned and very heavily and roughly clothed underneath with long hairs, the scales being confined to the lateral basal portion." it is quite true that this furnishes a good basis for the separation of our species, and the general habitus of each group is also distinctive, but i have unidentified species of the genus from south america which have the habitus of hesperia (sensu b. & mcd.) and the palpi of pyrgus. it seems that the only conclusion which will give a well founded classification is to adopt the genus hesperia of many european writers. i cannot expect unanimous approval of the sinking of heliopetes, but after examining all of the species carefully and comparing them with those of hesperia i am unable to point out any structure which does not find either its counterpart or a similar tendency in the latter genus. the pattern of hesperia is easily traceable in ericetorum and domicella, both above and below; in nivella, laviana and macaira the under surface is puzzling, but the brown pattern may easily be a modification of a superficial vestiture such as that found in syrichtus, while the black marks are so scanty as to afford no comparison. key to the species 1. upper surface of primaries with a broad white discal band or mostly white .8 band narrow and macular or not evident.. ..2 2. spots of primaries subquadrate, well separated. ...3 spots crowded, slender; with an additional row of spots beyond cell..6 3. primaries with a triangular white spot in the angle of vein 2 and the cell ... this spot absent. .centaureae 4. male with fold; subterminal spots on under surface of secondaries deeply crescentic in most specimens, even when reduced in size. . ruralis male without fold; subterminal spots never deeply crescentic, usually poorly defined.... ....5 5. under surface of secondaries without distinct contrasts, whitish; markings of upper surface usually reduced; a pale, glossy species. . scriptura under surface with contrasting markings; upper surface with maculation rarely reduced; darker species..... ...xanthus, macdunnoughi 6. under surface of secondaries with two small submarginal lunules between veins 4 and 6........ ....7 these vague, fused with a marginal white patch or with each other ..tessellata .....4 40 iowa studies in natural history 7. under surface of secondaries very pale, without sharp contrasts. philetas maculation of under surface contrasting; under surface often powe dered with brown scales.... .syrichtus 8. basal third of wings dark. .9 this area not more than slightly dark shaded... .10 9. secondaries with a subterminal esries of large white crescents ericeteorum these crescents much reduced.... ..domicella 10. cell of secondaries below clear white. . nivella cell more or less brown.... ..11 11. secondaries with broad smooth brown shades below..... .12 with a definite yellowish brown pattern, no broad shades. .ericetorum 12. inside of outer shade oblique, almost straight.., ..laviana inside of outer shade curved with outer margin of wing...... macaira 1. hesperia centaureae (plate i, figure 2) hesperia centaureae rambur, faun. ent. andal. 11, 315, pl. 8, f. 10, 1840. hesperia wyandot edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. 11, 21, pl. 5, f. 4, 1863. scudder, butt. new eng. 11, 1542, 1889. holland, butterfly book 327, pl. xlvii, f. 13, 1898. n. europe; labrador, june and july. ontario, canada, may, july. new jersey and virginia, april and may. north carolina, april. colorado, august, 13000 ft. male with costal fold and tibial tuft. 2. hesperia ruralis syrichtus ruralis boisd., ann. soc. ent. france (2), *, 311, 1852. syrichtus caespitalis boisd., op. cit., p. 312. hesperia ricara edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. iv, 203, pl. i, f. 2, 1865. syrichtus petreius edw., trang. am. ent. soc. iii, 215, 1871. holland, butterfly book 328, pl. xlvii, f. 14, 1898. wright, butterflies of the west coast no. 458, pl. xxxi, 1905. oberthür, etudesde lep. comp. vi, 339, pl. cxxxvii, ff. 1204, 1205, 1212, 1912 (types of caespitalis and ruralis). western north america from texas to alberta, april to july. a smaller, darker species than the preceding. male with fold and tuft. hesperia xanthus pyrgus xanthus edw., field and forest ii, 142, 1878. holland, butterfly book 328, pl. xlvii, 15, 1898. colorado, july. xanthus very closely resembles ruralis but most speci. mens have the subterminal maculation of the secondaries poorly defined and reduced as noted in the key, and the males lack the costal fold. 4. hesperia macdunnoughi syrichtus macdunnoughi oberthür, etudes ix, (2), 86, pl. cclxiv, f. 2205, 1913. b. & mcd., contributions mi, (2), 122, pl. x, f. 14, 1916. hesperioidea of america 41 there are five specimens from arizona in the barnes collection under this name. four i am unable to distinguish from xanthus; the remaining one has the secondaries pale below, as in soriptura. 5. hesperia scriptura syrichtus scriptura boisd. ann. soc. ent. france, (2), x, 312, 1852. holland, butterfly book 328, pl. xlvii, f. 12, 1898. wright, butt. w. coast 251, pl. xxxi, 459, 1905. oberthür, etudes de lep. comp. vi, 339, pl. cxxxvii, p. 1206, 1207, 1912 (type f. 1206). new mexico, california, colorado, april to june. this species is read. ily distinguished by the color of the under surface, its glossy appearance, and as a rule by the reduction of the maculation of the secondaries. as in the two preceding, the male has the tibial tuft but no costal fold. 6. hesperia syrichtus papilio syrichtus fab., syst. ent. 534, 1775. pyrgus montivagus reakirt, proc. acad. nat. sci. phil. 1866, 334. skinner, ent. news xvii, 277, pl. xii, 1906. texas and florida, june and july. i have seen the type of montivagus in the strecker collection and it is syrichtus, not tessellata as treated by many writers. i have a long series from florida in which the under surface of the secondaries has a heavy superficial vestiture of brown scales in both sexes. male with both costal fold and tibial tuft. 7. hesperia philetas (plate i, fig. 7) pyrgus philetas edw., papilio i, 46, 1881. arizona and texas, june to october. 8. hesperia tessellata hesperia tessellata scud., syst. rev. 52, (73), 1872. syricthus communis grote, can. ent. iv, 69, 1872. h. montivaga scud., (not reakirt) butt. new eng. 11, 1536, 1889. holland, butterfly book 327, pl. xlvii, f. 18, 1898. wright, butt. w. coast 250, pl. xxxi, 457, 1905. occurs from coast to coast and from the gulf to northern canada, april to october. 8a. race occidentalis pyrgus occidentalis skinner, ent. news xvii, 96, 1906. skinner, ent. news xvii, 277, pl. xii, 1906. california, arizona and texas. this form is scarcely worthy of a name. but may be regarded as a pale southwestern geographical race. i have not looked for differences in the genitalia. 42 iowa studies in natural history 9. hesperia domicella syrichtus domicella erichson, schomb., reise. n. guiana iii, 604, 1848. pyrgus nearchus edw., papilio 11, 26, 1882. holland, butterfly book 327, pl. xlvii, f. 19, 1898. arizona, august and september. this and the four following species, formerly placed in heliopetes, have both the costal fold and tibial tuft in the males. 10. hesperia ericetorum (plate i, fig. 48, 69) syrichtus ericetorum boisd., ann. soc. ent. france (2) x, 313, 1852. syrichtus alba edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. vi, 206, 1866. wright, butt. w. coast 250 pl. xxxi, f. 456, 1905. oberthür, etudes de lep. comp. vi, 339, pl. cxxxvii, f. 1210, 1912 (type). california, april to august. arizona, july. 11. hesperia macaira pyrgus macaira reakirt, proc. acad. nat. sci. phil. 1866, 334. syrichtus oceanus edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iii, 213, 1871. leuoochitonea locutia hew., exot. butt., leuch. t. 2, ff. 19, 20, 1875. brownsville, texas; june. 12. hesperia laviana leucochitonea laviana hew., desc. hesp. 48, 1868. leucochitonea pastor felder, verh. z.-b. ges. wien xix, 476, 1869. pyrgus leca butler, trans. ent. soc. london 1870, 510. texas, june and july. 13. hesperia nivella leucoscirtes nivea scud. (not niveus cr.), syst. rev. 52 (73), 1872. leucoscirtes nivella mab., bull. soc. ent. belg. xxvii, lv, 1883. leucochitonea orbigera mab., le nat. x, 242, 1888. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 446, pl. 90, ff. 22-24, 1897. brownsville, texas; june. 7 genus systasea butler systasea butler, edw., can. ent. ix, 120, 1877. type, leucochitonea pulverulenta folder. celotes g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 452, 1899. type pholisora nessus edw. palpi porrect, moderate; second joint slightly hairy; third slightly drooping in dried specimens. antennae about one-half as long as primaries; club moderate, curved, fusiform, rather blunt. primaries with a costal fold in the male; costa slightly curved; outer margin curved, with a shallow excavation before himit 43 hesperioidea of america la anal angle; inner margin slightly concave, scarcely longer than outer; u. d. c. short, m. d. c. and l. d. c. about equal. vein 2 twice as far from 3 as from base of cell. secondaries very irregular with emarginations opposite cell and before anal angle. as a rule the antennal club of nessus is slightly larger in proportion to the shaft than that of pulverulenta but it varies in each species. in spite of the difference in appearance of the two species i can find nothing to warrant placing them in different genera. it may be that tropical species exist which will fill in the gap between them. fig. 12. key to the species terminal portion of wings with brown dashes..... fig. 12. neuration of systasea pulverulenta .. nessus feld this area without dashes. pulverulenta nii, e $11 1. systasea nessus pholisora nessus edw., can. ent. ix, 192, 1877. spilothyrus notabilis strecker, lep. rhop. 131, 1878. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 452, pl. 91, ff. 27, 28, 29, 1899. holland, butterfly book 329, pl. xlvii, f. 17, 1898. texas and arizona, april to august. 2. systasea pulverulenta leucochitonea pulverulenta feld., verh. z.-b. ges. wien xix, 478, 1869. hesperia zampa edw., trans. am. ent. soc. v, 207, 1876. biol. cent.-am., rhop. 11, 413, pl. 87, ff. 24, 25, 1895. holland, butterfly book 329, pl. xlvi, f. 1, 1898. arizona, july and august. texas, april and october. , la genus pholisora scudder pholisora scud., syst. rev. 51, (72), 1872. type papilio catullus fab. staphylus g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop, i1, 429, 1896. type helias ascalaphus staud. bolla mabille, gen. ins. xvii, 72, 1903. type -pullata mab. hesperopsis dyar, jn. n. y. ent. soc. xii, 118, 1905. type thanaos alpheus edw. the species grouped in this genus offer a troublesome problem ins 9 44 iowa studies in natural history in generic distinctions. bolla was separated from pholisora by mabille on the basis of the more pointed club of the antennae. dyar associates hesperopsis in his description with hesperia instead of pholisora and calls attention to the long palpi, especially the long third joint, and the absence of the costal fold. i have bleached and mounted structures of alpheus, libya, catullus, ceos and hayhurstii and have found the following things to be true: in alpheus the third joint of the palpi is about threefifths as long as the second and both are slender; the vestiture of the third joint makes it appear about twice as long as it really fig. 13. pholisora. palpi: &. alpheus, b. libya, c. catullus, d. ceos, e. hayhurstii. antennal clubs: f. libya, g. catullus, h. ceos, i, hayhurstii, j. neur ation of hayhurstii, k. and 1. outer margins of wings of ceos and catullus is. libya, associated with alpheus, has the third joint relatively shorter, both second and third thicker, the vestiture of the third similar and that of the second deeper. the entire appendage looks more like the palpus of catullus than alpheus. the eleventh vein of the primaries of alpheus arises well before the middle of the cell, while in all of the other species it arises near the middle, usually slightly beyond. ceos differs from catullus in the relatively longer third palpal point and thicker second, and in the short vestiture of the third. in the shape of the wings it is intermediate between catullus and hayhurstü and farthest removed from alpheus. the antennal club is thickest in alpheus and most slender in ceos, but if the same aspect be compared the species are seen to differ but slightly. from this it hesperioidea of america 45 appears that there is no closer bond between alpheus and libya than between libya and catullus, while ceos varies in the opposite direction from catullus but in the structure of the palpi shows some affinity with the first two species. for these reasons i prefer to regard the group as one genus with a wide range of structural variation. in this sense pholisora may be characterized as follows: palpi exceeding the front by the length of the head or more; second joint oblique, rather long, with moderate scaly vestiture; third porrect, slender, long. antennae about one-half as long as primaries; club more or less tapered and blunt. wings rounded; secondaries with or without a slight indention in the outer margin at the end of the cell and sometimes with a slight lobe at the anal angle. neuration variable; vein 11 of primaries never much beyond middle of cell and vein 2 about the same distance from base of cell and vein 3; u. d. c. long, over half the length of m. d. c. male with or without costal fold, never with tibial tuft. fig. 13. key to the species 1. primaries with a transverse series of dark dashes... ..alpheus primaries without dark dashes... .2 2. secondaries with white spots below.. .3 secondaries immaculate..... .4 3. under surface pale, yellowish; upper surface of primaries with transverse row of spots complete.... .....lena under surface usually less pale and with numerous white spots when upper surface is heavily spotted; possibly not distinct from the preceding .. ....libya 4. head and palpi ochreous... head and palpi dark, concolorous with body. .5 5. upper surface of an even shade... .6 with faint, dark, transverse bands.. .7 6. undersurface brownish black... ..catullus under surface grayish glaucous... .ceos .mejicanus 7. primaries with hyaline subapical spots.. .hayhurstii no such spots..... ..brennus * 1. pholisora alpheus thanaos alpheus edw., trans. am. ent. soc. v, 206, 1876. pholisora oricus edw., can. ent. xi, 51, 1879. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 442, pl. 90, f. 15, 1897. holland, butterfly book 331, pl. xlv, f. 2, 1898. 46 iowa studies in natural history wright, butt. w. coast 235, pl. xxx, f. 407, 1905. arizona, new mexico, and colorado, march to july. pholisora libya heteropterus libya scud., bull. geol. surv. terr., iv, 258, 1878. holland, butterfly book 331, pl. xlviii, f. 14, 1898. wright, butt. w. coast 234, pl. xxx, f. 406, 1905. california, june and october. utah, july. arizona, april. 3. pholisora lena ancyloxypha lena edw., can. ent. xiv, 5, 1882. there is one specimen in the barnes collection which appears to be lena and is possibly a good species. it is rather pale in color, but this may be due to fading. on the upper surface resembles a heavily maculate specimen of libya while below it has only a few spots. libya, when heavily spotted above, is also well marked below. the one specimen is from miles city, montana, the type locality. 4. pholisora catullus hesperia catullus fab., ent. syst. iii, (1), 348, 1793. scud., butt. new eng. 11, 1519, 1889. holland, butterfly book, 330, pl. xlv, f. 4, 1898. wright, butt. w. coast 234, pl. xxx, f. 403, 1905. united states and southern canada, april to october. 5. pholisora mejicanus nisoniades mejicanus reakirt, proc. acad. nat. sci. phil. 334, 1866. biol. cent.-am., rhop. 11, 441, pl. 90, ff. 11, 12, 1897. las vegas, n. m. the upper surface is practically the same as catullus but the glaucous gray appearance of the lower surface is unmistakable. 6. pholisora ceos pholisora ceos edwards, papilio ii, 140, 1882. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 432, pl. 89, ff. 7, 8, 1896. arizona, july. 7. pholisora hayhurstii hesperia hayhurstii edw., trans. am. ent. soc. in, 22, 1870. scudder, butt. new eng. iii, p. 1857, 1889. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 433, pl. 89, f. 16, gen., 1896. holland, butterfly book, 331, pl. xlviii, f. 16, 1898. florida, north and west to minnesota and texas, march to october. some specimens have merely a trace of the subapical spots. hesperioidea of america 47 8. pholisora brennus nisoniades brennus g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 434, pl. 89, f. 23, gen., 1896. (mabille in litt.). skinner, ent. news xii, 171, 1901. i do not know this species. it is said to occur in our country along the mexican border. genus eantis boisduval eantis boisd., spec. gen. pl. 13, f. 6, 1836. type urbanus vetus thraso hübner. palpi porrect; second joint rather large, densely and smoothly scaled; third small, distinct. antennae about one-half as long as primaries; club extremely slender and long, the tip curved. costa of primaries rounded in basal half and almost straight to apex; outer margin excavated below apex, thence well rounded to anal angle; cell about three-fifths as long as wing; vein 5 intermediate between 4 and 6. secfig. 14. eantis thraso hbn. a. club of antennae. b. neuration ondaries roughly quadrate; costa and inner margin curved, outer bent to an obtuse angle between 3 and 4 and produced between 6 and 7. fig. 14. 1. eantis thraso (plate i, fig. 8) urbanus vetus thraso hbn., samml. exot. schmett, i, t. 151 ff. 1-4, 1807-16. hesperia tamenund edw., trang. am. ent. soc. iii, 215, 1871. biologia cent.-am., rhop. ii, 405, pl. 87, f. 7, 3 gen., 1895. texas, may and july. genus xenophanes godman & salvin xenophanes g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 387, 1895. type papilio tryxus cramer. palpi oblique; third joint moderate, fig. 15. xenophanes tryxus cramer. &. club of antenna. b. outline of wings 48 iowa studies in natural history conical, not concealed. club of antennae very slender, curved. costa of primaries slightly curved ; apex rectangular; inner margin nearly straight, outer slightly convex between apex and vein 2, thence nearly straight to anal angle. costal fold absent. . cell less than two-thirds as long as wing; vein 5 intermediate; 2 slightly nearer to base of wing than to 3. secondaries broadly rounded; inner margin nearly straight, anal angle sub-rectangular; outer margin slightly concave between veins 4 and 6 and very slightly between 1b and 2. vein 5 present, very weak; 2 about as near to base of wing as to 3. fig. 15 1. xenophanes tryxus (plate i, fig. 3) papilio tryxus cramer, pap. exot. iv, 87, pl. cccxxxiv, g, h, 1781. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 387, pl. 85, f. 18, ở gen., 1895. brownsville, texas, july. the species is easy to recognize in our fauna by the many hyaline spots in the discal area of both wings. do) geneus melanthes mabille melanthes mab., gen. ins. xvii, 80, 1904. type nisoniades brunnea h.-s. in general structure this genus is close to thanaos but the secondaries are relatively a little larger the outer margin of the primaries longer and more oblique, the apex more produced and rectangular and the anal angle more broadly rounded. the antennae are moderate and the club fusiform, sharply pointed and evenly curved. fig. 16. 16. fig. melan. 1. melanthes brunnea (plate i, fig. 10) . thes brunnea h.s. a. club of an. nisoniades brunnea h.-s., corr.-blatt. regensb. xviii, 172, tenna. b. outline 1864. of wings skinner, ent. news xiv, 110, 1903. i have this species from cuba but dr. skinner's record, sugar loaf key, fla., is the only one which has reached me concerning its occurrence in the united states. the even brown shade of the wings, with a few hyaline points on the primaries, is characteristic. genus chiomara godman & salvin chiomara g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 453, 1899. type. . achlyodes mithrax möschler. similar to thanaos; outer margin of primaries only two-thirds hesperioidea of america 49 7, lth as long as inner, strongly curved; vein 11 arising just beyond middle of cell and reaching costa before end of cell. mabe with tibial tuft but no costal fold. fig. 17. gesta appears to belong in thanaos ; the figure of the genitalia in the biologia is distinctly of the thanaos type. tea nd 6 mm create 1. chiomara asychis papilio asychis cramer, pap. exot. iv, 87, pl. fig. 17. chiomara asychia cccxxxiv, e, f, 1781. cramer. neuration of primary pyrgus georgina reakirt, proc. acad. nat. sci. phil. 1868, 88 (fide g. & 8.). biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 453, pl. 91, ff. 1, 2, 3, 1899; p. 741, 1901. texas, arizona, october. i have one specimen from corumba, brazil, taken in march. 3. 7731 រដzz to the tle lama and i 1 tarrak ed. the fistic 16. genus thanaos boisduval thanaos boisd., icones 240, 1832-3. type hesperia juvenalis fab. scudder and burgess, proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xm, 282-306, pl. 1870. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xl, 195-221, 1914. palpi large, exceeding front by about length of head; vestiture shaggy; third joint stout and roughly scaled. antennae moderate; club fusiform, curyed. costa of primaries slightly convex, flattened along fold; outer margin in most species evenly rounded, in some more strongly curved opposite cell; relative width of primaries variable. cell scarcely two-thirds as long as wing; vein 5 intermediate, 7 to 11 in the distal third of the cell, 11 ending beyond end of cell u. d. c. less than half as long fig. 18. thanao8. a. neuration of juvenas m. d. c. secondaries vari. alis, b. outer margins of wings of funeralis itin, 6 $ laat ka na ty bras s tv 1 able in size and shape, broad outro-thin 50 iowa studies in natural history ......5 er margin rounded to wavy; costal fold present except in gesta. hind tibiae of male with tufts in a few species. fig. 18. a key to the species of thanaos based on superficial characters is of comparatively little use, for the species are closely related and there are few which do not intergrade with others. the folrowing key is based on fairly typical specimens, but in a long series i have found many which could not be definitely placed by it, so i have thought it wise to speak a word of caution regarding its use. the genitalia of the males offer the ultimate means of determination, and since they can usually be examined fairly well by brushing away the scales from the tip of the abdomen and using a hand lens or binocular, their use in classification of the species should be practiced. key to the species 1. fringes of hind wings white.. 13 fringes never white.... ..2 2. primaries without distinct hyaline spots, sometimes with one or two clouded spots next to costa. .3 primaries with at least a subapical row of hyaline spots (or with very dark wings, terentius ở )....... 3. expanse under thirty mm; ớ with tibial tuft; apex of primaries rather sharply angled.. ...icelus expanse usually over thirty mm; no tuft in male; apex of primaries more obtuse and outer margin more rounded...... 4 4. gray powdering heavier toward apex of primaries; distribution general .. .....brizo primaries usually evenly powdered with gray scales; inner part of median band usually obsolete or broken; southwestern and californian species... ...burgessi, lacustra powdering scant or absent; dark marks of primaries united to form broad bands; under surface without distinct spots; with tuft but no fold; southwestern species.... ...gesta 5. under surface of secondaries with two pale subapical spots, or at least a trace of them... 6 no subapical spots.... .7 6. gray vestiture mostly of fine hairs.. propertius gray vestiture scaly..... ..juvenalis 7. hyaline spots large, at least a trace of one in end of cell; dark mark. ings of primaries contrasting ( ), or spots lacking; primaries with little or no gray vestiture ( )..... .horatius spots small, color very dark, or gray powdering conspicuous.........8 8. very dark, sometimes with a brownish patch at end of cell; maculation obscure; î with tibial tuft...... ..terentius tuft absent; marks more or less contrasting. 9 الرمز الاول ال) for ار) 5 7 12 13 10 ایم الم 15 plate ii male genitalia of thanaos the figures are mere ourlines of the claspers viewed from the outside, omitting spines and other vestiture. the right and left drawings of each figure are the right and left claspers, respectively, 1. thanacs icelus lint. 2. thanaos brizo bd. & lec. 3. thanaos burgessi skinner. 4. thanaos lacustra wright. thanaos persius scudder. 6. than: aus martialis scudder. 7. thanaos juvenalis fab. 8. thanaos propertius scud. & bul. 9. thanaos horatius seud. & burg. 10. thanaos terentius seud. & burg 11. thanaos pacuvius lint. thanaos scudderi skinner. 13. than: aos clitus edw. 14. thanaos tristis boisd. 15. thanaos funeralis scud. & burg. 12 5 hesperioidea of america 51 ܨܐ. 9. dark marks conspicuous, secondaries checkered; fresh specimens with à purplish lustre.... martialis not such insects...... .10 10. larger, marks more or less obscured toward base of primaries.... ... persius, pernigra usually smaller, marks more evenly distinct over entire wing.... 11. fringes usually evenly colored... .12 fringes pale tipped; western form... · persius, race afranius 12. secondaries with pale spots below clear cut. .. lucilius spots absent or diffuse; western species... ..callidus 13. tufts of dark scales in base of white fringe all along outer margin ...scudderi, pacuvius rarely with a suggestion of such tufts. ..14 14. primaries narrower than normal; ŝ with tibial tuft. .funeralis primaries normal, no tuft.... . tristis, clitus under surface of secondaries with some white inside of fringe.... tristis, var. tatius 1. thanaos icelus nisoniades icelus scudder & burgess, proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xiii, 288, 1870. lintner, 23rd ann. rep. n. y. st. cab. hist. 162, pl. 7, ff. 5, 6, 1872. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1507, 889. holland, butterfly book 333, pl. xlviii, 17, 1898. arizona, colorado, massachusetts, pennsylvania and southern canada; may to july. athabaska and mackenzie, june (cary). north carolina, april (brimley & sherman). 2. thanaos brizo thanaos brizo, boisd. & lec., lep. am. sept. pl. 66, 1833. scudder, butt. new eng., ii, 1500, 1889. holland, butterfly book 332, pl. xlv, f. 7, 1898. atlantic coast to rocky mountains, gulf to southern canada; april to july. eastern specimens of this species are easy to identify, but it is difficult to separate burgessi, lacustra and brizo when all are from the same locality. 2a. race somnus nisoniades somnus lintner, papilio 1, 73, 1881. florida, february and april. this is merely a very dark form of brizo. 3. thanaos burgessi thanaos burgessi skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xl, 203, 1914. arizona and new mexico; march, april and august. 4. thanaos lacustra nisoniades lacustra wright, butt. w. coast 253, pl. xxxii, 480, 1905. california, june. this is not a form of brizo, as has been stated, but is 52 iowa studies in natural history more nearly related to burgessi, though the genitalia differ enough to war. rant regarding it as a distinct species. 5. thanaos gesta thanaos gesta h.-s., corr.-blatt regensb. xvii, 142, 1863. thanaos invisus butler & druce, cist. ent. 1, 114, 1872. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 455, pl. xci, ff. 7, 8, 9, 1899. nisoniades llano dodge, can. ent. xxxv, 78, 1903. texas and arizona; july. 6. thanaos persius nisoniades persius scudder, proc. ess. inst. iii, 170, 1863. scudder, butt. new eng. 11, 1468, 1889. holland, butterfly book 334, pl. xlviii, f. 1, 1898. the typical form has an expanse of about thirty-five millimeters and is dark and obscurely marked, especially on the basal half of the wings. it occurs throughout the united states and north into alaska; may to august. 6a. race pernigra thanaos pernigra grinnell, ent. news xvi, 34, 1905. california, july. a very dark pacific coast race. 6b. race afranius nisoniades afranius lintner, 30th rep. n. y. mus. nat. hist. 175, 1877. california, utah, colorado, arizona; may, july and august. afranius does not exceed thirty millimeters and is rather distinctly marked and gray powdered; the fringes are pale, sometimes almost white, at their tips. 6c. race lucilius nisoniades lucilius scudder & burgess, proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xiii, 287, 1870. lint., 23rd rep. n. y. st. cab. nat. hist. 164, pl. 7, ff. 1, 2, 1872. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1458, 1889. holland, butterfly book 333, pl. xlviii, f. 10, 1898. northeastern united states and southeastern canada, april and may. dr. w. t. m. forbes has kindly identified slides of genitalia in my possession as lucilius, which he regards as a species. i am unable to agree with this and follow skinner in placing it as a race of persius, though a careful study of the early stages may show it to be distinct. it is usually smaller than persius and more distinctly marked. > 7. thanaos callidus thanaos callidus grinnell, ent. news xv, 114, 1904. mcdunnough, ent. news xxviii, 232, 1917. after an eventful and troublesome career callidus has at last been run down by dr. mcdunnough. it proves to be a good species, treated as lilius dyar by skinner in his “studies in the genus thanaos.' the two 1 hesperioidea of america 53 names may apply to the same thing, but in that case callidus has priority. the genitalia resemble those of pacuvius. california, june and july, 8. thanaos martialis nisoniades martialis scudder, trans. chi. acad. sci. 1, 335, 1869. scudder, butt. new eng. 11, 1493, 1889. holland, butterfly book, 335, pl. xlviii, f. 4, 1898. new york, west to colorado and north into canada; may, july, august. dr. forbes tells me that eastern specimens of this species have a brassy lustre, but all which i have seen from the middle west were decidedly purplish. the unusually bright, contrasting pattern is the most reliable characteristic. ab. ausonius nisoniades ausonius lint., 23rd rep. n. y. st. cab. nat. hist. 166, pl. 7, ff, 11, 12, 1872. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1498, 1889. ausonius lacks the subapical hyaline spots and has the transverse series of dark dashes unusually prominent. it was described from a single speci. men taken at center, n. y., on may 12, 1871, and has never been taken since. 9. thanaos juvenalis hesperia juvenalis fab., ent. syst. iii, (1), 339, 1793. nisoniades juvenis hbn., verz. bek. schmett. 108, 1820. nisoniades costalis westw. & hew., gen. diurn. lep. ii, 519, pl. 79, 1852. nisoniades ennius scud. & burg., proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xiii, 296, f. 9, 1870. scudder, butt. new eng. 11, 1476, 1889. holland, butterfly book 335, pl. xlviii, f. 11, 1898. wright, butt. w. coast 252, pl. xxxii, 462, 469 g (not $ tristis), 1905. atlantic coast to rockies, gulf to northern canada; may to august. f. 3, 10. thanaos propertius nisoniades propertius scud. & burg., proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xii, 298, f. 11, 1870. nisoniades tibullus scud. & burg., op. cit., p. 299, f. 12. wright, butt. w. coast 252, pl. xxxii, f. 463, 1905. texas, arizona, california and north into canada; june, july and august. the abundance of hairy gray vestiture in specimens which have not been badly rubbed is very characteristic. 10a. race borealis thanaos propertius, var. borealis cary, proc. u. 8. n. m. xxxi, 455, 1906. type one male from north nahanni river, mackenzie, june 4, 1904. apparently this is a dark race with the pale maculation greatly reduced. 54 iowa studies in natural history 11. thanaos horatius nisoniades horatius scud. & burg., proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xiii, 301 f. 13, 1870. nisoniades virgilius scud. & burg., op. cit. p. 302, f. 14. nisoniades petronius lint., papilio i, 70, 1881. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1486, 1889. holland, butterfly book 336, pl. xlviii, f. 15, 1898. florida and texas, north to colorado and minnesota; may, july, august, october. the females are conspicuously marked but the males resem. ble juvenalis closely. 12. thanaos terentius nisoniades terentius scud. & burg., proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xiii, 292, f. 6, 1870. nisoniades ovidius scud. & burg., op. cit. 295, f. 8. nisoniades naevius lintner, papilio i, 69, 1881. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1490, 1889. holland, butterfly book 336, pl. xlviii, f. 3, 1898. florida, april, may and july. south carolina, may. mississippi, august. the very dark, even color of this species is easy to recognize, and as a rule the brown patch on the primaries is conspicuous. 13. thanaos pacuvius nisoniades pacuvius lint., 30th rep. n. y. mus. nat. hist. 172, 1878. holland, butterfly book 336, pl. xlviii, f. 9, 1898. california, arizona, new mexico and colorado; march, may, june and august. 14. thanaos scudderi thanaos scudderi skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xl, 215, 1914. thanaos paouvius g. & s. (not lintner), biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 458, pl. 91, ff. 16, 17, 1899. texas and arizona, july and august. i am unable to separate this species from pacuvius except by the structure of the male genitalia. skinner points out a slight difference in the hyaline spots. > 15. thanaos clitus thanaos clitus edw., papilio ii, 180, 1882. thanaos maestus g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 457, t. 91, f. 18, § gen., 1899. holland, butterfly book 336, pl. xlv, f. 8, 1898. arizona, may to august; california and colorado. 16. thanaos tristis thanaos tristis boisd., ann. soc. ent. france (2), x, 311, 1852. oberthür, etudes ix, (1), pl. ccxl, f. 2081, 1913, figure of type. california, june and august. arizona. hesperioidea of america 55 form tatius thanaos tatius edw., papilio ii, 179, 1882. arizona, april, june, july, september. 17. thanaos funeralis nisoniades funeralis scud. & burg., proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xiii, 293, f. 7, 1870. holland, butterfly book 336, pl. xlviii, f. 12, 1898. wright, butt. w. coast 253, pl. xxxii, f. 468 and 464 (not clitus), 1905. california, june. arizona, texas and colorado, june and july. march in the far south. the rather narrow primaries, of a dull, brownish color, and the broad secondaries are unlike the other species of the genus. the two following species cannot be fixed at present to any known form: 18. ta anaos plautus nisoniades plautus scud. & burg., proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xiii, 304, f. 16, 1870. described from florida. the figure of the genitalia has some points of similarity with the genitalia of juvenalis. 19. thanaos lilius thanaos lilius dyar, proc. u. 8. n. m. xxvii, 788, 1904. dyar states (jn. n. y. ent. soc. xiii, 122) that the genitalia of lilius are similar to those of tibullus (=propertius), while skinner's description of them in his "studies" suggests those of callidus, which was not correctly fixed at the time when his paper was written. apparently lilius will fall before one of these two species, but an examination of the genitalia of the type will be necessary to settle the matter. i am greatly indebted to dr. mcdunnough for his notes on these species, for all data which i am able to give here are based on his researches. genus timochares godman & salvin timochares g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 417, 1896. type leucochitonea trifasciata hew. palpi moderately large, much as in thanaos, with a hairy second joint and a stout, conical third joint. antennae less than one-half as long as primaries; club moderate, fusiform, curved. costa of primaries convex, with a long fold in the male; apex rectangular, subtruncate; outer margin rounded from vein 6 to anal angle. secondaries trigonate; inner margin about as long as wing measured through cell; outer margin 56 iowa studies in natural history wavy. neuration practically as in t. juvenalis. t. funeralis is structurally very close to this genus, but the apex of the primaries is never distinctly subtruncate and the anal angle is much more broadly rounded. 1. timochares ruptifasciatus antigonus ruptifasciatus plötz, jahrb. nass. ver. xxxvii, 27, 1884. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 418, pl. 88, pp. 1, 2, 1896. i have seen one male from brownsville, texas, in the barnes collection. genus grais godman & salvin grais g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 381, 1894. type anastrus stigmaticus mab. the structure of this genus is very similar to that of the preceding, but the cell of the primaries is of almost equal width throughout, and is approximately equal to the distance between cell and costa. the male has neither costal fold nor tibial tuft. 1. grais stigmaticus anastrus stigmaticus mab., bull. soc. ent. belg. xxvi, liv, 1883. antigonus fumosus plötz, jahrb. nass. ver. xxxvii, 26, 1884. biol. cent.-am., rhop. 11, 381, pl. 84, ff. 24, 25, 26, 1894. kerrville, texas; september. subfamily pamphilinae palpi usually upturned; in a few genera porrect. antennae very variable in length; club usually short and stout with a very slender apiculus but sometimes longer; apiculus sometimes thick or absent. primaries more or less trigonate; secondaries trigonate to rounded and lobed. neuration as in the hesperiinae but with the l. d. c. usually tubular and vein 5 curved toward the base in the primaries, arising nearer to 4 than to 6. front tibiae usually with the epiphysis; middle tibiae usually with conspicuous spines; hind tibiae usually with two pairs of spurs and never with a tuft. in the species of group a the spinulation of the mid tibiae furnishes a convenient means for separating the insects from the hesperiinae. males often with stigma on primaries. the loss of the apiculus in the pamphilinae seems to have been brought about by its gradual reduction, a process of evolution which is nicely illustrated by the transition from oligoria to hesperioidea of america 57 chaerephon in group b. i regard this as furnishing the phylogenetic basis for the separation of group a from the hesperiinae, which makes it necessary to explain their resemblance by parallel or convergent evolution. in place of the two groups into which the pamphilinae have commonly been divided i believe that a modification of the system used in the biologia will be of greater convenience. i have therefore divided our fauna into four groups which are characterized as follows: group a. palpi porrect. vein 5 of primaries straight, intermediate between 4 and 6; cell less than two-thirds as long as wing. club of antennae blunt. carterocephalus and butleria. group b. palpi upturned; third joint long and slender. antennae short; club blunt. vein 5 of primaries curved slightly toward 4 at base. cell less than two-thirds as long as wing. ancyloxypha, oarisma, adopaea and copaeodes. group c. palpi appressed or oblique; third joint moderate or small, long in amblyscirtes. antennae with a slender apiculus in most genera. vein 5 of primaries curved at base, usually arising much nearer to 4 than to 6. cell less than twothirds as long as wing. all north american genera not included in a, b and d. group d. palpi closely appressed, smoothly and deeply scaled; third joint small. club of antennae stout, with a fine, abruptly constricted apiculus. vein 5 arising much nearer to 4; cell about two-thirds as long as wing and with at least a rudiment of a recurrent vein. thespieus, calpodes and prenes. group a key to the genera hind tibiae with one pair of spurs.. hind tibiae with two pairs of spurs.... carterocephalus .butleria genus carterocephalus lederer carterocephalus led., verh, z.-b. ges. wien 11, 26, 49, 1852. type: papilio palaemon pallas. second joint of palpi oblique, loosely clothed with long hairs; third slender, moderately long, enveloped by hairs of second. antennae less than one-half as long as primaries; club large, 58 iowa studies in natural history elongate ovate, flattened on its posterior surface, blunt. pri. maries trigonate with the outer margin rounded, rather narrow. vein 5 intermediate between 4 and 6; l. d. c. not tubular, faint. secondaries rounded; apex prominent and anal angle slightly produced. hind tibiae with one pair of spurs; middle tibiae spined. males without secondary sexual structures. fig. 19. 1. carterocephalus palaemon papilio palaemon pallas, reise 1, 471, 1771. papilio paniscus fab., syst. ent. fig. 19. butleria pirus edw. 8. club of antenna, b. hind tibia, c. neneration, d. 531, 1775. hind tibia of carterocephalus palaemon papilio brontes denn. & schiff. pallas wien verz. 160, 1776. hesperia mandan edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. ii, 20, pl. v, f. 1, 1863. hesperia mesapano scud., proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xi, 383, 1868. cyclopides skada edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iii, 196, 1870. stereoptes skada edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iii, 214, 1871. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1569, 1889. elwes & edwards, rev. or. hesp. 167, 1897. holland, butterfly book 342, xlvii, f. 1, 1898. canada, mountains of new england and rocky mountains; june. cal. ifornia, montana. europe and asia. fort providence, mackenzie, july (cary). yukon territory (winn). genus butleria kirby butleria kirby, syn. cat. 624, 1871. type carterocephalus exornatus felder. dalla mab., gen. ins. xvii, 107, 1904. type cyclopides eryonas hew. very similar in structure to carterocephalus but with two pairs of spurs on the hind tibiae. fig. 19. butleria was first characterized by watson (p. z. s. 1893, 79) but according to mabille his description does not fit the genotype. mabille in turn characterized the genus to correspond with the typical species in vol. xvii of the genera insectorum, hesperioidea of america 59 page 106, at the same time dividing it and naming one part dalla. such differences as he mentions between the two seem to be slight and transitional through the series of species included, and i therefore sink dalla. the description of dalla does not apply to our species as well as mabille's diagnosis of butleria, so if the genera be separated again there is a possibility that butleria, and not dalla will still be applicable in our region. key to the species under surface of secondaries immaculate..., with a number of small pale spots.... with a few large spots..... .. pirus microsticta ..polingi 1. butleria pirus pholisora pirus edw., field and forest ii, 119, 1878. colorado, utah, arizona; june, july. 2. butleria microsticta butleria microsticta g. & 8., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 464, pl. 92, ff, 1, 2, 3, 1900. i have seen no specimens; the species is said to occur near the mexican border. 3. butleria polingi pyrgus polingi barnes, can. ent. xxxii, 44, 1900. arizona, june and july. group b key to the genera 1. wings broadly rounded... .ancyloxypha wings more or less trigonate.. 2 all wings trigonate; male without stigma; club of antennae about as long as shaft..... ..qarisma males with stigma; secondaries, at least, rounded; club not as long as shaft... 3 3. secondaries rounded, primaries trigonate; club small ....copaeodes outer margin of primaries more oblique and rounded; club large, relatively long.. ...adopaea 60 iowa studies in natural history genus ancyloxypha felder ancyloxypha feld., verh. z.-b. ges. wien xii, 477, 1862. type hesperia numitor fab. palpi upturned; second joint normal, deeply scaled; third slender, pointed, almost as long as second. antennae much less than one-half as long as primaries; club blunt, moderately large. costa of primaries rounded at base, less so in outer half; outer margin broadly rounded, cell slightly less than three-fifths as long as wing; vein 5 nearer to 4 than to 6; 2 and 3 near end of cell. secondaries rather long through cell, rounded; outer margin slightly emarginate befig. 20. ancyloxypha numitor fab. a. outer line shows limit of vestiture, c. pal out stigma. fig. 20. club of antenna, 6. section of palpus; tween veins 4 and 6. male withpus, d. neuration 1. ancy loxypha numitor hesperia numitor fab., ent. syst. iii, (1), 324, 1793. thymelicus puer hbn., verz. bek. schmett. 113, 1820. heteropterus marginatus harris, ins. inj. veg., 3rd ed., 308, 1862. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1558, 1889. holland, butterfly book 345, pl. xlvii, f. 2, 1898. atlantic coast west to texas, north into canada; may to august. the disk of the primaries is black below, while that of the following species is ruddy fulvous. ab. longleyi ancyloxypha longleyi french, can. ent. xxix, 80, 1897. described from illinois. a form in which the primaries are glossy black above. 2. ancyloxypha arene heteropterus arene edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iii, 214, 1871. copaeodes myrtis edw., papilio 11, 26, 1882. apaustus leporina plötz, stett. ent. zeit. xlv, 166, 1884, (fide g. & s.). holland, butterfly book 346, pl. xlvii, f. 11, 1898. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 472, pl. 92, ff. 35-38, 1900. arizona, august. differs from numitor in the absence of black from the under surface of the primaries. hesperioidea of america 61 genus oarisma scudder oarisma scudder, syst. rev. 54, (75), 1872. type hesperia powesheik parker. paradopaea g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 469, footnote, 1900. palpi as in ancyloxypha. antennae much less than one-half as long as primaries; club enlongate obovoid, blunt, as long or nearly as long as shaft. costa of primaries straight except at base and apex; outer margin curved only opposite cell ; entire wing trigonate; cell about three-fifths as long as wing; vein 5 near 4 at base; 3 near end of cell ; 2 about as far from 3 as from base of wing, variable. secondaries trigonate, all margins slightly rounded and anal angle very slightly lobed. male without stigma. fig. 21. fig. 21. qarisma garita reakirt: a. club of antenna, d. neuration. key to the species jopaeodes aurantiaca hew. b. club of antenna, c. palpus 1. under surface of secondaries with white veins on a dark ground before vein lb.... . powesheik veins not much paler than ground color. .2 2. upper surface bright yellow-fulvous.... ....edwardsi upper surface fuscous, variably powdered with yellow-fulvous..garita 1. qarisma garita hesperia garita reakirt, proc. ent. soc. phil. vi, 150, 1866. thymelicus hylax edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iii, 274, 1871. paradopaea calega g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, pl. 92, ff. 26-29, 1900. paradopaea garita g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, pl. 92, ff. 23-24, 1900. oarisma powesheik g. & s., (not parker) biol. cent. am., rhop. ii, 469, 1900. holland, butterfly book 343, pl. xlvii, f. 3, 1898. wright, butt. w. coast pl. xxx, f. 408, 1905 (not lena edw.) manitoba, montana, colorado, idaho, arizona; july. calega g. & s. looks in the figure as if it might be a good species but in the text the authors refer it to garita. they also erroneously refer their figures of garita to powesheik. 2. oarisma edwardsi thymelicus edwardsi barnes, can. ent. xxix, 42, 1897. 62 iowa studies in natural history paradopaea garita g. & s. (not reakirt) biol. cent.-am. rhop. iii, pl. 92, f. 25 ĝ genitalia, 1900. colorado, arizona and new mexico; june and july. i have seen the type of this species and the pale upper surface is very different from garita. 3. qarisma powesheik hesperia powesheik parker, am. ent. & bot. 11, 271, 1870. thymelicus garita plötz (not reakirt), stett. ent. zeit. xlv, 287, 1884. scudder, butt. new eng. iii, 1859, 1889. holland, butterfly book 343, pl. xlvii, f. 4, 1898. described from thirty-one males and two females taken june 21, 1870, at grinnell, iowa. it has also been taken in colorado and south dakota, and i have observed it personally so near to the minnesota line in iowa that it probably enters that state. michigan (wolcott). genus adopaea billberg adopaea billb., enum. ins. 81, 1820. type papilio thaumas hufn. similar to copaeodes but with the antennal club larger and relatively longer, and with a rudiment of the apiculus. the outer margin of the primaries is more oblique, relatively shorter, and more deeply sinuate. the stigma of the male is similar. this genus has been incorrectly used in the past in our fauna for eunus and wrighti; it is represented only by an introduced species. 1. adopaea lineola papilio lineola ochs., schmett. eur. i, (2), 230, 1808. morris, british butterflies, 153, pl. 70, 1890. spuler, schmett. eur. t. 18, ff. 6a, 6b, 1910. 47th rep. ent. soc. ont. 142, 1917. introduced from europe. the reference in the report of the entomolog. ical society of ontario records its capture at london, ontario, on july 1, 1910, and every year from then until the date of the publication, genus copaeodes speyer copaeodes speyer, edw. cat. lep. 49, 64, 1877. type heteropterus procris edw. palpi upturned; second joint densely scaled; third fine, pointed, not quite as long as in ancyloxypha. antennae scarcely two-fifths as long as primaries; club rather small, stout, blunt. primaries trigonate; costa straight except at base and apex; outer margin slightly sinuate; anal angle almost rectangular. hesperioidea of america 63 secondaries rounded, slightly lobed at anal angle. wings more elongate in female. primaries of male with a slender, longitudinal stigma. cell of primaries about three-fifths as long as wing; vein 5 arising much nearer to 4 than to 6. fig. 21. 1. copaeodes aurantiaca ancyloxypha aurantiaca hew., desc. hesp. 45, 1868. hesperia waco edw., trans. am. ent. soc. 11, 122, 1868. heteropterus minima edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iii, 196, 1870. hesperia procris edw., op. cit. 215. thymelicus macra plötz, strett. ent. zeit. xlv, 284, 1884. copaeodes candida wright, proc. cal. acad. sci. (2), iii, 34, 1890. copaeodes nanus watson, (not h.-s.), proc. zool. soc. london, 1893, 98 (fide g. & 8.). holland, butterfly book 345, pl. xlvii, f. 9, 1898. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 473, pl. 92, ff. 39-42, 1900. wright, butt. w. coast 236, pl. xxxi, ff. 409, 411, 1905. skinner, ent. news xxix, 150, 1918. arizona, may, july, august and september. texas, california, march, may, august. i cannot agree with dr. skinner that this and the following are but one species, but as he suggests, rayata may fall before the female of procris, in which case the latter name might be restricted to the female type and retained as a species. ! 2. copaeodes rayata copaeodes rayata b. & mcd., contributions ii, (3), 100, pl. 111, ff. 1, 2, 1913. san benito, texas; june and july. i have seen the types of this species and it is abundantly distinct from aurantiaca. the pale ray is variably distinct, but the veins are darker than the ground color and of a somewhat rusty shade on the lower surface of the secondaries. the size is smaller than aurantiaca. ? group c key to the genera 1. club of antennae blunt or with a rudiment of the apiculus .chaerephon club of antennae with a sharp apiculus, sometimes very short ...2 2. vein 5 of primaries well curved toward base, arising conspicuously nearer to 4 than to 6... .3 vein 5 but slightly curved, only a little nearer to vein 4 at base; l. d. c. weak.... ..11 • b 1 e out 64 iowa studies in natural history 3. antennae scarcely longer than width of thorax..hylephila antennae distinctly longer. .4 4. mid tibiae with spines... .5 mid tibiae without spines...... ...atrytone 5. apiculus of antennae shorter than thickness of club or not abruptly constricted... ..6 apiculus at least equal to thickness of club, slender; either abruptly constricted or distinctly longer than thickness of club .... .9 6. primaries apically produced and secondaries lobed; apiculus very short..... ....7 primaries and secondaries moderate; apiculus usually moderately long.... .8 7. male stigma slender; wings of female moderate....pamphila male stigma a large blotch; wings of female similar to those of male... ..atalopedes 8. vein 2 of primaries slightly nearer to base of wing than to vein 3. secondaries well marked with yellow fulvous; see description ...augiades vein 2 variably nearer to 3; when doubtful, secondaries with little fulvous, at the most a transverse band; see description ...polites vein 2 immaterial. club of antennae very stout, with a fine apiculus, or moderate with a thick apiculus.....poanes 9. apiculus slender, about twice thickness of club....oligoria apiculus shorter or thick.... ....10 10. apiculus slender; male stigma large, with large gray scales; under surface fuscous.. .... catia apiculus tapered, not abruptly constricted; male without stigma; under surface not fuscous. poanes apiculus slender, variable, male stigma variable. under surface gray powdered to dark brown..... .atrytonopsis 11. male stigma large; maculation yellow. .epiphyes stigma not large; maculation not pale yellow... 12 12. apiculus fine; shorter than thickness of club......lerodea apiculus longer, or wings immaculate. 13 13. third joint of palpi long (ex. nanno); fringes checkered amblyscirtes third joint short; fringes not checkered. 14 ory 65 hesperioidea of america 1. ben 14. vein 5 almost intermediate between 4 and 6; under surface with purplish lustre... .. lerema vein 5 considerably nearer to 4; under surface otherwise .mastor f doo ender , e med at sout ar a altog i genus chaerephon godman & salvin chaerephon g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 474, 1900. type pamphila citrus mab. second joint of palpi upturned, deeply scaled; third small, oblique, smooth. antennae less than one-half as long as primaries; club large, obovoid, subacute but without a reflexed apiculus. costa of primaries straight except at base; apex produced, rounded acute in males, less sharp in females; outer margin rounded in center and straighter nearer apex and anal angle, though almost evenly rounded in some females. secondaries rounded, lobed at anal angle in male, slightly so in female. both wings appear shorter and broader in antenna of rhesus, b. palpus of fig. 22. chaerephon. a. club of the male than in the female. prieunus, d. neuration of eunus maries of male with a faint stigma composed of an oblique bar above vein 2 followed by two small round patches in line below the vein. fig. 22. key to the species 1. wings yellow-fulvous... eunus, wrighti wings mostly fuscous. .2 2. under surface gray powdery... .simius under surface more or less yellowish..... 3 3. yellow of under surface of secondaries interspersed with dark patches; maculation distinct... thesus yellow pale, dull, even; maculation obscure. carus tarist ܕܐ eunus, c. club of antenna of pete porn lim * 1. chaerephon eunus copaeodes eunus edw., papilio i, 47, 1881. holland, butterfly book, pl. xlvii, f. 10, 1898 (as wrighti). wright, butt. w. coast 237, pl. xxxi, ff. 412, 414, 1905. california, june. *** 66 iowa studies in natural history 2. chaerephon wrighti copacodes wrighti edw., can. ent. xiv, 152, 1882. wrighti is probably a synonym of eunus ; the original description fits eunus, the type localities are in the same part of california, and we do not know of two species of these general characteristics. both of these have been erroneously placed in adopaea in the past, whereas adopaea is closely related to copaeodes and eunus is not at all similar in structure. 3. chaerephon rhesus pamphila rhesus edw., field and forest 111, 116, 1878. biol. cent. am., rhop. ii, 475, pl. 93, ff. 5-7, 1900. skinner, ent. news xi, pl. ii, ff. 19, 20, 1900. kellogg, am. ins. pl. ix, ff. 19, 20, 1904. colorado, arizona. 4. chaerephon carus pamphila carus edw., can. ent. xv, 34, 1883. texas and arizona, may, july and september. 5. chaerephon simius amblyscirtes simius edw., trans. am. ent. soc. ix, 6, 1881. holland, butterfly book 341, pl. xlvii, f. 8, 1898. colorado; sioux county, nebraska, july. this is one of our rarer species. i am indebted to mr. leussler for & specimen taken in sioux county, nebraska, the only one in my possession. genus pamphila fabricius pamphila fab., ill. mag. vi, 287, 1807. type papilio comma linn. ocytes scud., syst. rev. 55, (76), 1872. type erynnis metea scud. anthomaster scud., syst. rev. 57, (78), 1872. type hesperia leonardus harris. palpi upturned ; second joint with a smooth vestiture of scales and some hairs; third about one-half as long as second but partly concealed. antennae less than one-half as long as primaries; club large fig. 23. pamphila and augiades, a. palpus of with a very small apiculus a. enoui, b. club of antenna of p. viridis c. same, female, d. palpus of p. viridis, e. which is a little longer in same, denunded, f. section of palpus of a. syivanus; outer line shows limit of vestiture, the female. costa slightly g. palpus of a. napa d 0 o. hesperioidea of america 67 emarginate to slightly convex; outer margin slightly sinuate to evenly rounded, usually more rounded in the female. secondaries rounded, slightly lobed at anal angle. in all of the species the wings of the females are longer and more rounded than those of the males. vein 5 of primaries arising very near to 4; 3 near end of cell; 2 about intermediate between 3 and base of wing; cell slightly over three-fifths as long as wing. vein 7 of secondaries slightly nearer to end of cell than to 8. mid tibiae spiny. male stigma slender, strong, extending from base of vein 3 to basal third of vein 1 and made up of a long piece in front of vein 2 and a shorter piece behind 2 which is set just outside of the first but is continuous with it. fig. 23. key to the species this key is not to be regarded as a means of ultimate identification; in pamphila no key can be sufficient in itself, for many of our species and forms intergrade to such an extent that only a practiced eye can even sort them properly. the key to the forms of comma included here is based on specimens in the barnes collection which have been compared with the types, and so may be relied on for typical specimens. it will not, however, suffice for the placing of the multitude of intermediate forms which occur in large series. 1. under surface of secondaries with alternating greenish and fuscous areas; veins white on disk. .... under surface evenly colored; veins not white.... .2 2. upper surface fuscous with reduced, poorly defined, pale spots; under surface of secondaries with a pale band.... .metea upper surface more or less fulvous or with well defined spots, or lower surface with separate spots..... .3 3. under surface of secondaries with a pale ray in the cell.. .morrisoni with or without a pale spot in cell..... .4 4. under surface of secondaries yellow to brown with an oblique band of uniform, confluent white spots posterior to vein 6; sometimes with a single spot before this band..... ....columbia spots making up band, when present, not confluent, unequal, irregularly placed or with more than one spot before vein 6. under surface usually greenish in forms which are likely to confuse..... ...5 5. under surface of secondaries with sharply defined white spots or yel. lowish to greenish with the bent macular band traceable...... under surface without sharply defined white spots; immaculate or with traces of separate spots, usually poorly defined or not white......13 6. under surface of primaries fuscous; spots on secondaries small and rounded .. .....seminole under surface of primaries with some fulvous or spots on secondaries otherwise .7 ...uncas ...6 68 iowa studies in natural history 7. spot on under surface of secondaries just behind vein 2 nearer base of wing than rest of band or absent. band sometimes too much mod. ified to show this difference. ... .8 this spot on a line with rest of band or outside of it; band well marked, white .... viridis 8. spots not confluent, their size variable; under surface usually dark with sparse over-scaling.... .. woodgatei spots usually confluent or over-scaling dense.. .9 9. upper surface bright with sharp contrasts; costal area of primaries fulvous; white spots of lower surface very large and bright...... juba upper surface with a variable diffusion of fuscous; when maculation is sharp, the other characters differ. spots below moderate to greatly reduced, white or yellowish.... .10 10. maculation below yellow but not reduced. .sassacus 12 maculation white or greatly reduced... .11 11. macular band with one spot before vein 7, one behind vein 2 followed by a trace of a second; band irregular; superficial vestiture gray. green ...nevada band equally contrasting but more regular and abbreviated, usually with no spot before 7 and only one reduced spot behind 2; superficial vestiture green... ....colorado spots dull white; superficial vestiture golden brown... .. manitoba under surface of secondaries very smooth in appearance, yellow; spots white ...idaho spots greatly reduced, white. .assiniboia spots greatly reduced, yellowish.. ..oregonia 12. under surface of secondaries pale; maculation faint.. under surface dark; maculation contrasting.sassacus, race manitoboides 13. under surface of secondaries dark red-brown with pale, cream-white spots ....leonardus under surface otherwise. 14 14. pale maculation above very diffuse; pale area in end of cell of pri. maries showing two pale nuclei, always vague. .sassacus, race dacotae cell of primaries with two sharply defined spots in end, or with these indistinguishably fused.. ...15 15. disk of secondaries above with fulvous spots (@); under surface very dark (9).......... ....attalus, race seminole disk more or less broadly fulvous (@); under surface pale (!)....16 16. under surface of secondaries yellow-fulvous, with or without vague traces of large spots.... ....meskei under surface of a lighter shade, more or less yellow; spots small or absent.... .17 17. southern species, florida, texas, ohio?... ....attalus prairie species, iowa, nebraska, dakota, montana, and california ...ottoe, pawnee, pawnee race montana .sassacus hesperioidea of america 69 1. pamphila uncas hesperia uncas edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. 11, 19, pl. v, f. 3, 1863. hesperia ridingsi reakirt, proc. ent. soc. phil. vi, 151, 1866. hesperia arius plötz, stett. ent. zeit. xliv, 213, 1883. scudder, butt. new eng. iii, 1862, 1889. holland, butterfly book 349, pl. xlvii, ff. 27, 28, 1898. colorado and arizona, june and july. 2. pamphila lasus pamphila lasus edw., papilio iv, 54, 1884. described from arizona. i do not know the species. 3. pamphila licinus pamphila licinus edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iii, 275, 1871. i do not know this species. 4. pamphila metea hesperia metea scud., proc. ess. inst. iii, 177, 1862. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1650, 1889. holland, butterfly book 348, pl. xlvii, ff. 33, 34, 1898. new jersey, new york, massachusetts, new hampshire and rhode isl. and; may and june. this species is readily distinguished by its dark color, vague, whitish maculation and the tendency of the macular band on the under surface of the secondaries to be produced along the veins. the spots making up this band are neither separate nor very bright as in the other dark colored species. 5. pamphila morrisoni pamphila morrisoni edw., field and forest ii, 116, 1878. hesperia morissoni plötz, stett. ent. zeit. xliv, 215, 1883. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 478, pl. 93, ff. 9, 10, 1900. colorado, may. this is a small, bright species which is readily recognized by the elongation of the white mark in the cell of the secondaries below. 6. pamphila columbia pamphila columbia scud., syst. rev. 56, (77), 1872. pamphiła sylvanoides scud., (not boisd.) mem. bost. soc. nat. hist. 11, (3), 351, pl. x, f. 22 (type), pl. xi, pp. 15, 17, 1874. pamphila california wright, butt. w. coast 241, pl. xxxi, 423, 1905. thymelicus erynnioides dyar, jn. n. y. ent. soc. xv, 50, 1907. california, april and october. all of the specimens in the barnes collection have the band very even, as mentioned in the key; in wright's figure it appears to be somewhat reduced toward the anal angle, but the color of the under surface of the secondary is characteristic. 70 iowa studies in natural history 7. pamphila nevada (plate i, fig. 9) pamphila nevada scud., mem. bost. soc. nat. hist. ii, 347, pl. x, ff. 1-4, pl. xi, f. 3, 4, 1874. wright, butt. w. coast 240, pl. xxx, pp. 418, c, 419, b, c, 421, b, c, 1905. i follow dr. mcdunnough in making this species distinct from comma. there is some difference in the male genitalia and if we restrict nevada to the typical form the under surface differs as noted in the key. arizona to northern canada. 8. pamphila comma pamphila comma linn., syst. nat. 484, 1758. comma is a european species and does not occur in its typical form in this country. 8a. race colorado pl. i, fig. 11 pamphila colorado scud., mem. bost. soc. nat. hist. ii, 349, pl. x, ff. 16, 17, 18, pl. xi, ff. 1, 2, 1874. arizona north to washington, california. in the typical form the under surface of the secondaries is bright green with the band pure white, short, rather even, and the basal marks united to form a u. 8b. race manitoba pamphila manitoba scud., mem. bost. soc. nat. hist. ii, 351, pl. ~, ff. 8. 11, pl. xi, ff. 7, 8, 1874. scud., butt. new eng. 11, 1646, 1889. pamphila manitoba, var. laurentina lyman, can. ent. xxiv, 57, 1892. northwestern united states and western canada. the typical form is golden brown beneath with whitish maculation. 8c. race idaho pamphila colorado, var. idaho edw., can. ent. xv, 148, 1883. wright, butt. w. coast 241, pl. xxxi, f. 422, 1905. california, oregon, north into canada. the smooth, yellow appearance of the under surface of the secondaries is characteristic. 8d. race assiniboia pamphila manitoba, var, assiniboia lyman, can. ent. xxiv, 57, 1892. regina, canada. 8e. race oregonia plate i, fig. 13 pamphila oregonia edw., can. ent. xv, 150, 1883. nevada, west to the coast and north into canada. the maculation of the under surface is similar to that of assiniboia but yellowish instead of white. hesperioidea of america 71 9. pamphila ruricola hesperia ruricola boisd., ann. soc. ent. france (2), x, 315, 1852. described from california. many things have been referred to this species, which may be one of the forms of comma. i know nothing of the type nor of authentic specimens. 10. pamphila juba hesperia comma boisd. (not linn.), ann. soc. ent. france (2), x, 313, 1852. pamphila juba scud., syst. rev. 56, (77), 1872. scudder, mem. bost. soc. nat. hist. 11, 349, pl. x, ff. 19, 20, pl. xi, ff. 5, 6, 1874. wright, butt. w. coast 239, pl. xxx, ff. 417, 418b § (not viridis 9), 1905. oberthür, etudes ix, (1), p. 43, pl. caxi, f. 2082 (comma bdv.). utah, colorado, nevada, california; may and june. . 11, pamphila woodgatei pamphila woodgatei williams, ent. news xxv, 266, 1914. arizona, texas and new mexico; september and october. this has been placed as a variety of juba but i believe that it is distinct. i have had no males for dissection. 12. pamphila viridis (plate i, fig. 12) pamphila juba var. viridis edw., can. ent. xv, 147, 1883. colorado, arizona, new mexico and texas; june and september. the form of the macular band in this species is unique and apparently constant. 13. pamphila leonardus hesperia leonardus harris, ins. inj. veg., 3rd ed., 314, f. 138, 1862. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1673, 1889. holland, butterfly book 349, pl. xlvii, ff. 35, 36, 1898. new york, rhode island, massachusetts, west to the mississippi; occasional in eastern iowa; august and september. scudder records it from ontario and florida, the latter in march and april (butt. new eng. ii, 1676-7). 14. pamphila cabelus pamphila cabelus edw., trans. am. ent. soc. ix, 4, 1881. described from nevada. this is another of our lost species of pamphila. apparently it belongs in the ottoe group. 15. pamphila harpalus pamphila harpalus edw., trang. am. ent. soc. lx, 3, 1881. described from nevada. the same may be said of this as of the preceding. 9 > 72 iowa studies in natural history 16. pamphila attalus pamphila attalus edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iii, 276, 1871. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1653, 1889. holland, butterfly book 349, pl. xlvii, f. 23, 1898. florida, texas. in the barnes collection several specimens are labelled ohio, and scudder (butt. new eng. 11, 1655) mentions records from wisconsin, iowa and new jersey. i think that the middle western records are more likely to be pawnee or ottoe. southern specimens of attalus are darker than these two species, and have the spots of the upper surface dark. er and more reddish. 16a. race seminole ocytes seminole scud., syst. rev. 55, (76), 1872. erynnis attalus quaiapen scud., butt. new eng. 1655, 1889. pamphila slossonae skinner, ent. amer. vi, 138, 1890. florida, april to june, october. seminole is very dark both above and below. the maculation is restricted in the male, and the under surface of the primaries very slightly marked with fulvous, while in the female all spots are whitish and the under surface is not marked with fulvous. scudder describes quaiapen as a female form of attalus. 17. pamphila meskei pamphila meskei edw., can. ent. ix, 58, 1877. pamphila straton edw., papilio, 1, 78, 1881. florida and texas. i have seen only three males in the barnes collection. these resemble attalus above; beneath the secondaries are yellow-fulvous, immaculate in one of the three specimens and with traces of large, diffuse, pale spots in the other two. 18. pamphila ottoe hesperia ottoe edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. vi, 207, 1866. scudder, mem. bost. soc. nat. hist. ii, 348, pl. x, f. 6, pl. xi, f. 13, 1874. in the typical form the males are tawny above with a very narrow terminal border of fuscous, and compared specimens in the barnes collection have the under surface bright yellow. i have taken a species at sioux city, iowa, in late july and early august which i have placed as ottoe and which is distinguished by the ochraceous under surface and the extension of the pale area of the upper surface along the veins into the moderately broad fuscous terminal border. true pawnee occurs in this locality at a different season. specimens in the barnes collection are from montana. 19. pamphila pawnee hesperia pawnee dodge, can. ent. vi, 44, 1874. montana, july. colorado, september. omaha, neb., june. south da. hesperioidea of america 73 kota, sioux city, iowa, late june and early july, late august and early september. described from dodge county, neb. the under surface is usually immaculate yellow, in the female sometimes grayish and usually with small pale spots. the spots on the upper surface of the primaries in the female are very pale, and this sex closely resembles attalus. the males of this species may be distinguished by the more extensive pale areas of the upper surface and their lighter shade. 19a. race montana pamphila pawnee subsp. montana skinner, ent. news xxii, 413, 1911. california, colorado, montana. a specimen in the barnes collection which has been compared with the type is much darker than normal pawnee, both above and below. 20. pamphila sassacus hesperia sassacus harris, ins. inj. veg., 3rd ed., 315, 1862. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1641, 1889. holland, butterfly book 348, pl. xlvi, f. 13, 1898. holland, butterfly book pl. xlvii, f. 44, 1898, (not sylvanoides). kellogg, am. ins. pl. x, f. 5, 1904. new jersey, new york and connecticut, westward into iowa; june, july, august. 20a. race manitoboides pamphila manitoboides fletcher, rep. ent. soc. ont. for 1888, p. 85, 1889. ontario, canada. dr. w. t. m. forbes has called my attention to this relationship of manitoboides, which seems so close that i am adopting his arrangement. formerly it has been called a distinct species or a form of comma, but it is identical with sassacus except in the darker color and greater contrast of the markings of the lower surface. 20b. race dacotae pamphila sassacus, subsp. dacotae skinner, ent. news xxii, 412, 1911. south dakota, june. sioux city, iowa. i have seen paratypes of both sexes in the barnes collection, and in the males the only difference which i can formulate between this form and sassacus is a general darkness of color and obscureness of the under surface. the females have the markings of the upper surface greatly reduced and diffuse, and the lower surface grayish with small, indefinite spots. 21. pamphila horus hesperia horus edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iii, 277, 1871. barnes & mcdunnough, contributions iv, (2), 80, 1918. type locality dallas, texas. apparently this species belongs in pamphila, but i know nothing of it except from the description and barnes and mcdunnough's note. 9 74 iowa studies in natural history genus hylephila billberg hylephila billb., enum. ins. 81, 1820. type papilio phylaeus drury. euthymus scud., syst. rev. 56, (77), 1872. type p. phylaeus drury. this genus closely resembles pamphila in structure but differs in the very short antennae and the straighter stigma. the female, as in atalopedes, does not differ much in general structure from the male; some are almost indistinguishable from campestris, but they never have hyaline spots on the primaries. we have but one species of hylephila. 1. hylephila phylaeus papilio phylaeus drury, ill. ex. ent. i, 25, pl. xii, ff. 4, 5, 1770 and ii, app., 1773. phemiades augias hübner, (not linn.), zutr. exot. schmett. 11, 10, pl. 531, ff. 227, 228, 1821-23. pamphila bucephalus steph., ill. brit. ent. haust. i, 102, pl. 10, ff. 1, 2, 1828. 9 pamphila hala butler, trans. ent. soc. london, 1870, 504, (fide g. & s.). scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1631, 1889. holland, butterfly book, 354, pl. xlvii, f. 40, (not brettus 8 ), pl. xlvi, ff. 18, 19, 1898. wright, butt. w. coast pl. xxxi, f. 437 (not brettus ), 138 o, b and e (not brettoides), 1905. pennsylvania, august; illinois, april and october. southern united states from florida to arizona, april to october. california, june and july. genus atalopedes scudder atalopedes scudder, syst. rev. 57, (78), 1872. type hesperia huron edw. pansydia scud., syst. rev. 60, (81), 1872. type hesperia mesogramma poey. apiculus of antennae longer than in pamphila, over one-half thickness of club in female. stigma a large, black fig. atalopodes campestris boisd, 2. club of antenna, b. pal blotch, so greatly developed as to 3 24. pus, . hesperioidea of america 75 cause distortion of the posterior margin of the cell so that opposite the stigma the width of the cell is less than its distance from the margin. base of vein 3 strongly curved; apical angle of cell more produced than in pamphila; vein 7 of secondaries nearer to 8 than to end of cell in male. there is much less difference in structure between the sexes in this genus than in pamphila. fig. 24. 1. atalopedes campestris hesperia campestris boisd., ann. soc. ent. france (2), x, 316, 1852. & hesperia sylvanoides boisd., ann. soc. ent. france (2), x, 313, 1852. hesperia huron edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. 11, 16, pl. i, ff, 1, 2, 1863. scudder, butt. new eng. 11, 1661, 1884. holland, butterfly book 352, pl. xlvi, ff, 4, 5, 1898. wright, butt. w. coast 245, pl. xxxi, f. 435, 1905. oberthür, etudes ix, (1), pl. caxi, ff. 2082, ô type; 2085, type of sylvanoides, 1905. atlantic to pacific, gulf to northern iowa and illinois; march to october. the large stigma of the male and the hyaline spots on the primaries of the female furnish a convenient means for the identification of this species. genus augiades hübner augiades hbn., verz. bek. schmett. 112, 1820. type papilio sylvanus esper. ochlodes scud., syst. rev. 57, (78), 1872. type hesperia nemorum boisd. palpi upturned; third joint oblique, very small, without its vestiture about one-quarter as long as the second. apiculus of antennae variable but never longer than diameter of club. costa of primaries flattened; outer margin more strongly curved toward apex; cell about three-fifths as long as wing; vein 5 curving slightly toward 4; discocellulars very oblique. secondaries rounded, slightly lobed at anal angle. stigma straight, moderately heavy, extending from base of vein 3 to basal two-fifths of 1, broken on 2. mid tibiae weakly spined. fig. 23. i group this rather varied lot of species because of the extremely short third joint of their palpi. this is not readily . seen except when bleached or denuded, but i have carefully examined sylvanus, sylvanoides, agricola, and snowi and find that they agree, while the others can readily be associated on superficial resemblance. other structures are rather variable. ܝ 76 iowa studies in natural history key to the species 1. spots of primaries shaply defined, often hyaline or subhyaline.. spots more or less ill defined, never hyaline.... 3 2. expanse over one inch; fulvous spots restricted.. .snowi less than one inch; fulvous of secondaries a diffused discal patch ....milo, agricola 3. large; wings pale, tawny, with a little fuscous along the outer mar. gin · yuma smaller; wings not broadly tawny. .4 4. under surface of secondaries with a variably distinct pale transverse band; ground color not pure pale yellowish.... ...sylvanoides, napa under surface without a pale band, yellow. • nemorum, pratincola 1. augiades sylvanoides hesperia sylvanoides boisd., ann. soc. ent. france (2), x, 313, 1852. & hesperia pratincola boisd., ann. soc. ent. france (2), x, 315, 1852. hesperia agricola plötz, (not boisd.), stett, ent. zeit. xliv, 219, 1883. hesperia francisca plötz, stett. ent. zeit. xliv, 220, 1883. wright, butt. w. coast 243, pl. xxxi, ff. 430, c, 432, 433, b, c, 1905. oberthür, etudes ix, (1), pl. ccxl, ff. 2083, 2084, 2089, 1913. california, oregon, washington, british columbia; june to august. la. race napa hesperia napa edwards, proc. ent. soc. phil. iv, 202, pl. i, ff. 3, 4, 1864. colorado, august. this is practically the same in appearance as sylvanoides but is larger and the under surface of the secondaries is less variable. 2. augiades nemorum hesperia nemorum boisd., ann. soc. ent. france (2), x, 314, 1852. pamphila verus edw., trans. am. ent. soc. ix, 4, 1881. wright, butt. w. coast, pl. xxxi, ff. 430b, 431, 431c1, 1905. oberthür, etudes ix, (1), pl. ccxl, f. 2086, 1913 (type). california, june. 2a. race pratincola hesperia pratincola boisd., ann. soc. ent. france (2), x, 315, 1852. oberthür, etudes ix, (1), pl. caxi, f. 2088, 1913 (type). i follow barnes and mcdunnough's check list in placing this form. the insect is not represented in the barnes collection, but oberthür's ex. cellent figure looks like a specimen of nemorum with the fuscous marginal areas of the upper surface greatly reduced. 3. augiades agricola hesperia agricola boisd., ann. soc. ent. france (2), x, 314, 1852. hesperia yreka edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. vi, 207, 1866. pamphila milo edw., can. ent. xv, 34, 1883. hesperioidea of america 77 pamphila nemorum skinner (not boisd.), ent. news xi, pl. 11, f. 21, 1900. kellogg, am. ins. pl. ix, f. 21, 1904. oberthür, etudes ix, (1), pl. coxl, f. 2087, 1913 (type). california, may to july. edward's description states that milo has hyaline spots in the primaries and agricola none; oberthür's figure proves that they are present in the type of agricola, hence milo is probably merely a synonym. 4. augiades snowi pamphila snowi edw., can. ent. ix, 29, 1877. holland, butterfly book 350, pl. xlvii, ff. 29, 30, 1898. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 483, pl, 93, ff. 19-23, 1900. arizona and colorado, june and july. 5. augiades yuma hesperia yuma edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iv, 346, 1873. pamphila scudderi skinner, ent. news x, 111, 1899. skinner, ent. news xi, pl. 11, ff. 9, 10, 1900. california, june. utah and arizona, july. genus polites scudder polites scud., syst. rev. 57, (78), 1872. type hesperia peckius kirby hedone scud., op. cit. 58, (79), type hesperia brettus bd. & lec. limochores scud., op. cit. 59, (80). type hesperia manataaqua scud. pyrrhosidia scud., mem. bost. soc. nat. hist. ii, 346, 1874. type hesperia mystic edw. palpi upturned; third joint about one-half as long as second, slender, distinct. antennae shorter than in augiades, varying from two-fifths as long as the primaries in some females to onehalf in some males; club rather large, usually longer in the female and occasionally almost as long as the shaft; apiculus abruptly constricted and reflexed, shorter than thickness of club though variable in length. wings variable; costa of primaries usually straight except at base and apex but sometimes slightly emarginate or convex; outer margin very slightly sinuate to evenly rounded, more rounded in the female. primaries often apically produced in the male, less so in the female. secondaries broadlyrounded, very slightly lobed at the anal angle. cell of primaries about three-fifths as long as wing; vein 5 much 78 iowa studies in natural history 3 nearer to 4 than to 6 at base; 2 always arising nearer to 3 than to base of wing but variable; discocellulars moderately oblique. mid tibiae with prominent spines. stigma of male in its most complex form made up of an outer oblique black line, a black dash from end of cell to vein 2 and a black spot above the basal third of vein 1, the enclosed space filled with gray scales, and the entire stigma followed by a patch of raised gray scales. in many of the species the stigma is much simpler. fig. 25. i believe that the action of barnes and mcdunnough with reference to this group of species (contributions fig. 25. polites. antennal clubs : a. rerna, b. man. ataaqua 1, c. manataaqua 2. palpi: d. 'verna, e. iii, 130) is the best dorsal aspect, f. manataaqua, g. brettus, denuded. neuration and details: n. peckius ; possible treatment. it i. posterior margin of cell of primaries of peckius 3. same, taumas , k. same, mystic 0,"1. same, may be possible to split sonora ' , m. same, manataaqua , n. middle leg yff limochores but i find such a complete transition in the structures that i hesitate to do so. i place verna here because its relation to manataaqua seems to me much closer than with the species of atrytonopsis, where barnes and mcdunnough place it. the gentitalia of the male are closer to deva, but those of the two genera are of a very similar type. the apiculus of the antennae is usually longer than in polites, but i have found it variable, and in some specimens fairly short. key to the species 1. under surface of secondaries immaculate or with a transverse band of pale spots, never sharply bent opposite cell nor with spot at this point much the largest..... 2 secondaries otherwise below. 7 8 verna, denuded. hesperioidea of america 79 ...3 ...cernes 2. upper surface of secondaries immaculate or with a few very vague spots upper surface always with the transverse row of spots, more or less suffused; usually with a spot in cell...... 5 3. small florida species. stigma of male very small, female usually with a few powdery whitish spots on the under surface of the secondaries ..baracoa usually moderate to large. stigma large. spots, when present, not superficial and powdery, and usually showing slightly on upper surface 4 4. smaller; male stigma with several velvety black areas; female with maculation of primaries tinged with fulvous, costa and cell often partly fulvous... larger; stigma of male continuous or broken only on vein 2; maculation of female pale, whitish, rarely with a little pale fulvous in cell ... manataaqua 5. under surface of secondaries powdered with yellowish to green scales; macular band slender... .sonora color straw yellow to brown; band broader... ...6 6. male stigma slender, broken on vein 2; female usually with much yellow-fulvous above; in western specimens pale below and well marked above ...mystic male stigma with three black areas; female with hazy transverse rows of spots on all wings and some fulvous in cell, not extensively marked; dark below, powdered with yellow. western species.... .mardon 7. pale areas on under surface extending in pale lines along the veins ..sabuleti pale areas at most angulate on veins. .8 8. all spots of macular band large, but not equal, that between 4 and 6 largest; color yellow..... ..peokius spots small except the one between 4 and 6; color white or whitish ....draco pale area covering entire wing except a few dark patches, not divided into separate spots and rarely defined as a band; secondaries sometimes entirely yellow below. female with yellow areas heavily powdered with dark scales; secondaries immaculate above.. .9 9. male stigma very broad. .stigma male stigma moderate.... .brettus, chuska (1) 1. polites verna pamphila verna edw., proc. acad. nat. sci. phil. 1862, 57. pamphila pottawattomie worth., can. ent. xii, 50, 1880. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1742, 1889. holland, butterfly book 360, pl. xlvi, f. 32, 1898. eastern united states, west to colorado, july. 80 iowa studies in natural history 2. polites manataaqua hesperia cernes harris, (not boisd.), ins. inj. veg., 3rd ed., 316, 1862. hesperia manataaqua scudder, proc. ess. inst. iii, 175, 1863. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1720, 1889. holland, butterfly book 357, pl. xlvi, f. 30, 1898. northeastern united states west into nebraska and south dakota; june and july. holland's figure looks like a dark female of taumas. manataaqua is readily distinguished from taumas in the female sex by its darker color, paler maculation and larger size, though the difference is difficult to explain in a key. 2a. race rhena pamphila rhena edw., field and forest ii, 115, 1878. pamphila alcina skinner, ent. news iv, 212, 1893. skinner, ent. news xi, 414, pl. 11, f. 25, 1900 (type of alcina). kellogg, am. ins. pl. ix, f. 25, 1904 (type of alcina). although retained for many years as a species this is apparently only the western race of manataaqua. it is distinguished from the typical form by its paler color, more extensive markings and the larger amount of pale tawny or yellow fulvous which marks the upper surface. colorado. 3. polites taumas papilio taumas fab., mant. ing. ii, 84, 1787. hesperia thaumas fab. (not hufn.), ent. syst. iii, (1), 327, 1793. hesperia phocion fab., ent. syst., supp. 431, 1798. hesperia cernes bd. & lec., lep. am. sept. pl. 76, ff. 1, 2, 1833. hesperia ahaton harris, ins. inj. veg. 3rd ed., 317, f. 140, 1862. butler, cat. fab. diurn. lep. b. m., 277, pl. 2, f. 14; pl. 3, f. 9, 1869. scudder, butt. new eng. 11, 1725, 1889. holland, butterfly book 357, pl. xlvii, f. 20, 1898. united states and canada, april to august. i see no reason to doubt that fabricius' name applies to this species. 9 4. polites baracoa hesperia baracoa lucas, sagra's hist. cuba vii, 650, 1857. pamphila amadis h.-s., corr.-blatt regensb. xvii, 142, 1863. pamphila myus french, can. ent. xvii, 33, 1885. florida, february to april, july, september. i have seen one record of its occurrence at toronto, canada (a list of butterflies taken at toronto, gibson, ont. nat. sci. bull. no. 6, 1910, 35-44. baracoa det. skinner) but the only specimens which i have seen came from florida. the species is smaller and darker than taumas and the males are easily distinguished by the small stigma. some females of taumas run very close, but in most specimens of baracoa the powdery spots mentioned in the key are present. hesperioidea of america 81 5. polites mardon pamphila mardon edw., papilio i, 47, 1881. holland, butterfly book 354, pl. xlvii, f. 26, 1898. washington, oregon, 6. polites peckius hesperia peckius kirby, faun. bor. am. iv, 300, pl. 4, ff. 2, 3, 1837. hesperia wamsutta harris, ins. inj. veg. 3rd ed., 318, f. 141, 1862. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1683, 1889. holland, butterfly book, 353, pl. xlvii, ff. 24, 25, 1898. atlantic coast to texas and arizona, southern canada; may to july. it requires more imagination than i possess to see peckius in cramer's figure of coras. 7. polites sabuleti hesperia sabuleti boisd., ann. soc. france (2), x, 316, 1852. hesperia genoa plötz, stett. ent. zeit. xliv, 207, 1883. wright, butt. w. coast 246, pl. xxxi, 440, 1905. oberthür, etudes ix, (1), pl. ccxl, ff. 2091, 2092, 1913. california, april, july to september. the pale marks of the lower surface are yellowish on a background of darker yellowish color. 7a. race tecumseh pamphila sabuleti, var, tecumseh grinnell, ent. news xiv, 11, 1903. pamphila chispa wright, butt. w. coast 247, pl. xxxi, f. 441, 1905. california, june to august. teoumseh is smaller than typical sabuleti and has the fulvous areas of the upper surface more restricted. the under surface has a greenish-gray tone and the pale spots are smaller. 8. polites draco pamphila draco edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iii, 274, 1871. skinner, ent. news xi, pl. ii, f. 23, 1900. kellogg, am. ins. pl. ix, f. 23, 1904. california, utah and colorado, june to august. > 9. polites sonora ochlodes sonora scud., syst. rev. 57, (78), 1872. pamphila siris edw., papilio 1, 47, 1881. pamphila sylvanoides skinner, syn. cat. n. am. rhop. 84, 1898. wright, butt. w. coast 242, pl. xxxi, f. 425, 426 (not columbia), 1905. washington, oregon, california; may, june, july and august. the only difference which i can see between this and skinner's variety in the series in the barnes collection is the more yellow color of the under surface of its secondaries. 82 iowa studies in natural history 9a. race utahensis pamphila sylvanoides, subsp. utahensis skinner, ent. news xxii, 413, 1911. idaho, wyoming, colorado and utah; july and august. i would apply this name to the specimens of sylvanoides which are green below. 10. polites mystic hesperia mystio scud., proc. ess. inst. 111, 172, 1863. holland, butterfly book 351, pl. xlvi, ff. 22, 23, 1898. new jersey, north into canada and west beyond the missouri river; may to july. most specimens from the western limits of the range are of the race dacotah, but i have typical mystic from sioux city, iowa. in this form the under surface of the secondaries is fairly dark with a contrasting pale band. 10a. race dacotah hesperia dacotah edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iii, 277, 1871. pamphila mystic, subsp. pallida skinner, ent. news xxii, 412, 1911. colorado, june; eastward into iowa. south dakota. the under surface of the secondaries is yellow, scarcely darker than the pale transverse band in extreme specimens. ab. weetamoo thymelicus mystic weetamoo scudder, butt. new eng. 11, 1707, 1889. a dark brown melanic aberration occurring in the female sex. ordinary maculation much reduced, of separate spots. ab. nubs thymelicus mystic nubs scudder, butt. new eng. 11, 1707, 1889. also a female aberration; dark areas suffused with tawny scales. 11. polites brettus hesperia brettus boisd. & lec., lep. am. sept. pl. 75, ff. 3-5, 1833. hesperia wingina scud., proc. ess. inst. iii, 173, 1863. hesperia unna plötz, stett. ent. zeit. xliv, 204, 1883. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1701, 1889. holland, butterfly book 351, pl. xlvii, f. 41, 1898. gibson, ont. nat. sci. bull. no. 6, 42, 1910. florida, north to virginia, west to texas; april, july, august and october. gibson lists one specimen from toronto, canada, determined by dr. skinner. lla. race brettoides pamphila brettoides edw., papilio iii, 71, 1883. western texas and arizona. brettoides has very narrow dark outer margins on the upper surface in the male, with no more than a trace of the patch at the end of the stigma; the under surface is likewise broadly tawny yellow. i do not know the female. hesperioidea of america 83 12. polites stigma pamphila stigma skinner, can. ent. xxviii, 188, 1896. skinner, ent. news xi, pl. 11, f. 15, 16, 1900 (15 cotype). kellogg, am. ins. pl. ix, ff. 15, 16, 1904 (15 cotype). texas, new mexico. i have seen the type of stigma in the strecker collection, and it is similar to brettus but dark, heavily marked above, and has a very large stigma. vibez is intermediate between it and brettus but at present i am not prepared to agree with dyar's suggestion that they are all the same species (jn. n. y. ent. soc. xiii, 128, 1905). godman and salvin make stigma synonymous with vibes (biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 480, 1900). 13. polites chuska hesperia chuska edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iv, 346, 1873. i know nothing of this species. it is placed between sabuleti and draco in barnes and mcdunnough's check list, but this was done merely with a knowledge of the description. the type locality is arizona. genus catia godman & salvin catia g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 481, 1900. type hesperia druryi latreille. catia is structurally similar to polites but differs in the long slender apiculus of the antennae, which always exceeds the diameter of the club, and in the form of the male stigma. the stigma is composed of a velvety black patch below the end of the cell and a similar patch above the inner third of the anal vein, with fig. 26. catia otho a. & s. a. club of antennae, b. neuration large, silky, gray scales between. in the bleached wing it appears as two similar oval spots, one on each side of vein 1. fig. 26. in describing catia godman and salvin say of the peculiar structure of the stigma that it is so remarkable that we think it of sufficient importance to put the species possessing this character into a separate genus." otho is closely related to the species now included in polites and was formerly associated with some of them in thymelicus, but the form of the apiculus sepárates them, and no fundamental or superficial similarity can be traced in the stigmata. 84 iowa studies in natural history 1. catia otho papilio otho a. & s., lep. ins. ga. i, 31, pl. 16, 1797. hesperia drury latr., enc. meth. ix, 767, 1823. thymelicus pustula geyer, zutr, exot. schmett. iv, ff. 625, 626, 1832. hedone aetna scud. (not boisd.), syst. rev. 58, (79), 1872. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1696, 1889. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 482, pl. 93, f. 18, ở gen., 1900. florida and texas, may and june. the southern specimens which i refer to otho tend to & reddish shade on the under surface; on the upper surface of the secondaries there are some discal spots, while the primaries have fulvous on the basal half of the costa, a complete series of subapical spots, and sometimes other fulvous marks in addition to those found in egeremet. la. race egeremet hesperia egeremet scud., proc. ess. inst. iii, 174, 1863. pamphila ursa worth., can. ent. xii, 49, 1880. hesperia cinna plötz, stett. ent. zeit. xliv, 58, 1883. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1696, 1889. holland, butterfly book 351, pl. xlvi, ff. 28, 29, 1898. united states and southern canada, west to the rocky mountains; july. texas in october. under surface pale fuscous, sometimes tinged with brown; secondaries rarely with a trace of discal marks above, and pale spots of primaries limited to three or less beyond the stigma and one or two subapical points. the females of otho and egeremet have the same pale marks as the males. genus poanes scudder poanes scudder, syst. rev., 55, (76), 1872. type hesperia massasoit scud. phycanassa scud., op. cit. 56, (77). type hesperia viator edw. paratrytone dyar, jn. n. y. ent. soc. xiii, 136, 1905. type pamphila howardi skinner. palpi oblique; second joint shaggy, third small, not long though sometimes rendered prominent by its vestiture. antennae about one-half as long as primaries; club large, apiculus varying from rather slender and slightly shorter than thickness of club to long, thick, antennal tapering and not well reflexed. primaries viator, ºb. massasoit, trigonate; costa slightly convex; outer margin c. hobomok, a taxiles, slightly to prominently rounded; apex rather fig. 27. clubs of poanes. &. e. melane hesperioidea of america 85 prominent. secondaries broadly rounded, slightly lobed at anal angle. cell of primaries well over one-half as long as wing; vein 5 moderately curved in basal half, arising nearer to 4 than to 6; 2 nearer to 3 than to base of wing. cell of secondaries less than one-half as long as wing. mid tibiae with a few long spines. fig 27. hobomok, zabulon, taviles, and melane were first placed in poanes by barnes and mcdunnough (contributions iii, 132, 1916). although melane is rather anomalous, it apparently belongs with the other species, whose relation to massasoit through hobomok is obvious. owing to the great range of variation thus introduced into the genus in the structure of the antennae, palpi, and wings, i have added also viator, which differs somewhat in wing form, and the species placed by recent writers in paratrytone. these last possess the stigma in the male but it is so variable that i regard it as in the process of development. in howardi, aaroni, and streckeri it is very slender, sometimes scarcely visible but often well marked, and in yehl it is heavier but very variable. in one of the types it is slender, while in the other it is as heavy as in some specimens of conspicua. including all of these species poanes becomes such a complex genus that i have drawn up the following diagram to show the apparent relations of the several groups: howardi aaroni yehi streckeri massasoit hobomok / zabulon taxiles viator melane 86 iowa studies in natural history key to the species 1. under surface of secondaries with bright yellow marks. .2 no clear yellow on under surface.... 4 2. yellow a broad transverse band crossed by a broad ray through cell..3 yellow much more extensive...... ...zabulon 3. wings broadly yellow-fulvous with narrow fuscous margins; yellow of under surface rather dull. ..... .....taxiles wings less broadly fulvous and more or less fuscous within outer margin; yellow of under surface of secondaries very bright... .hobomok wings dark, with or without small pale spots..... .. massasoit 4. upper surface of secondaries with pale markings indefinite, or faint; sometimes immaculate... 5 this surface with a bright yellow.fulvous patch..... ..8 5. pale spot in cell of primaries at least faintly indicated.... · pocahontas no trace of this spot... ..6 6. wings immaculate above. massasoit form suff usa wings with pale spots.... 7. under surface with some bluish irroration. .zabulong without bluish irroration.... .melane 8. primaries with definite spots or a dark stigma.. .9 spots diffuse, extended, or discal area broadly yellow-fulvous; male stigma pale, slender..... ..10 9. ŝ with stigma; with three small, round, pale spots on under surface of secondaries.... ... yehi ſ without stigma; without such spots... .viator 10. under surface of secondaries with a vague, pale dash through cell howardi, aaroni under surface partly greenish-fuscous with contrasting pale veins ..streckeri ...7 . 1. poanes viator hesperia viator edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. iv, 202, pl. i, f. 5, 1865. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1604, 1889. holland, butterfly book 362, pl. xlvi, f. 15, 1898. new york, new jersey, michigan, southeastern canada, omaha, neb., (leussler); june to august. 2. poanes massasoit hesperia massasoit scud., proc. ess. inst. iii, 171, 1863. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1597, 1889. holland, butterfly book 361, pl. xlvi, ff. 21, 22, 1898. new jersey, new york, rhode island, iowa, july. skinner (cat. p. 80) records it westward and southward to texas and colorado. the male is either immaculate blackish brown above or with a few small yellow-fulvous spots, while the female frequently has the spots of large size an. a very pale shade. hesperioidea of america 87 form suffusa pamphila massasoit, var. suffusa laurent, ent. news iii, 15, 1892. skinner, ent. news xi, pl. ii, f. 22, 1900. kellogg, am. ins. pl. ix, f. 22, 1904. new jersey, new york; june and july. the pale area of the under surface of the secondaries of this form is heavily powdered with rusty brown scales. 3. poanes hobomok hesperia hobomok harris, ins. inj. veg. 3rd ed., 313, f. 137, 1862. atrytone zabuloni scud., (not bd. & lec.), butt. new eng. ii, 1617, 1889. atrytone zabulon holland (not bd. & lec.), butterfly book 364, pl. xlvii, ff. 37, 38, 1898. west virginia north into canada and west into nebraska; may and june. form pocahontas hesperia pocahontas seud., proc. ess. inst. iii, 171, 1863. hesperia quadaquina scud., proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xi, 381, 1868. scudder, butt. new eng., ii, 1617, 1889. skinner, ent. news xi, pl. ii, ff. 3, 4, 1900 (not normal hobomok ). northeastern united states, quebec; june. pocahontas differs from the normal female in the pale shade and greater restriction of the spots on the upper surface, and the brown powdering of the secondaries below. 4. poanes zabulon hesperia zabulon boisd. & lec., lep. am. sept. pl. 76, ff. 6, 7, 1833. hesperia zabulon, form pocahontas holland (not scudder), butterfiy book 364, pl. xlvii, f. 39, 1898. illinois, pennsylvania, kentucky, north carolina; may and august. holland's figure looks much more like the true female of zabulon than like pocahontas, though it is impossible to identify a figure of the upper surface accurately. the under surface of the secondaries of the male of zabulon is bright yellow with a few marks of brown. in the female the brown areas are more extensive and the entire wing is so heavily powdered with rusty scales that it is difficult to trace the pale areas at all. > 5. poanes taxiles pamphila taxiles edwards, trans. am. ent. soc. ix, 5, 1881. holland, butterfly book 365, pl. xlvii, ff. 31, 32, 1898. colorado and arizona, june and july. nevada, n. m. 6. poanes melane hesperia melane edw., trans. am. ent. soc. ii, 312, 1869. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 494, pl. 94, ff. 30-34, 1900. holland, butterfly book 365, pl. xlvi, ff. 7, 8, 1898. wright, butt. w. coast 249, pl. xxxi, f. 453, 1905. 88 iowa studies in natural history california, south into mexico; may. melane and the female of taxiles are similar but they are not difficult to separate; usually the locality from which the specimens come is sufficient. 7. poanes howardi pamphila howardi skinner, can. ent. xxviii, 187, 1896. phycanassa viator holland, (not edwards), butterfly book pl. xlvi, f. 14, 1898. op. cit. pl. xlvi, f. 38. florida. the expanse of specimens which i have seen runs between thirty-two and thirty-six millimeters. aside from this and its darker color the species does not differ superficially from aaroni. 8. poanes aaroni pamphila aaroni skinner, ent. news i, 6, 1890. holland, butterfly book 363, pl. xlvi, f. 37, 1898. new jersey, june and august. i have seen specimens only from anglesea and atlantic city. aaroni expands twenty-seven to thirty-three millimeters and is paler, more yellowish, than howardi. howardi may yet prove to be a southern race of aaroni. 9. poanes yehl pamphila yehi skinner, ent. news iv, 212, 1893. holland, butterfly book 359, pl. xlvi, f. 40, 1898. tennessee, georgia, mississippi; august and september. superficially this species looks more like a relative of a. conspicua but the mid tibiae are spined. the white spots on the under surface of the secondaries in the female are unique. 10. poanes radians hesperia radians lucas, sagra's hist. cuba vii, 650, 1857. pamphila streckeri skinner, ent. news iv, 211, 1893. skinner, ent. news xxviii, 82, 1917. florida. the only specimen which i have seen is the type of streckeri and since it lacks the middle legs it is impossible to place the species definitely. barnes and mcdunnough place it in the genus euphyes in the check list, but without specimens at hand. its superficial resemblance is rather with aaroni. genus atrytone scudder atrytone scud., syst. rev. 56, (77), 1872. type hesperia iowa scud. euphyes scud., syst. rev. 59, (80), 1872. type hesperia metacomet harris. hesperioidea of america 89 anatrytone dyar, jn. n. y. ent. soc. xii, 140, 1905. type hesperia delaware edwards. palpi upturned; second joint closely appressed, smoothly and deeply scaled; third moderate, oblique. antennae about onehalf as long as primaries; club long, moderately thick; apiculus about as long as thickness of club, sometimes a little shorter. costa of primaries flattened or very slightly convex; outer margin moderately and almost evenly rounded; apex usually prominent. secondaries rather small, rounded, slightly lobed at anal angle; a little more apically elongate in the females. cell of primaries normal; discocellulars oblique, weak; vein 5 curved, nearer to 4 than to 6; 2 about intermediate between 3 and base of wing. stigma present or absent, composed of two similar, slender, elliptic pieces placed end to end on opposite sides of vein 1. mid tibiae without spines. the long antennal club and spineless mid tibiae make this a very distinct genus as used here, but no characters are available for the separation of atrytone and euphyes of other writers except the male stigma, which is present only in the species formerly placed in euphyes. the types of the two do not resemble each other, but in the species congeneric with them we find an excellent connecting series, in which arpa and byssus differ very slightly except in the stigma. row key to the species 1. under surface of secondaries immaculate or with a faint, pale, transverse band on disk. .... .2 under surface of secondaries with two pale rays. ...dion under surface with a few diffuse spots forming a curved transverse ..conspicua 2. fringe of inner margin of secondaries white.. bimaoula fringe of this margin not white...... .....3 3. wings immaculate fuscous above and below or with a few small pale spots on primaries ($).... vestris wings with more pale markings. .4 4. wings mostly dark brownish-gray below.... -palatka wings tinged with yellow or red below. 5 5. stigma present.. .arpa 3 stigma absent.. .6 6. upper surface of secondaries fuscous... 7 secondaries with fulvous discal marks. .8 90 iowa studies in natural history 7. primaries with a transverse row of fulvous spots.. ..arpaq with diffuse pale fulvous areas. arogos 8. veins black... .9 veins not black. . arogos 9. wings usually broadly yellow-fulvous with a terminal fuscous band above; immaculate yellow or brownish yellow below..... .... logan wings with the fulvous definitely limited; under surface of secondaries in most specimens with a faint pale transverse band, never clear yellow ... byssus 1. atrytone arogos papilio vitellius a. & 8., (not fab.), lep. ins. ga. i, 33, pl. xvii, 1797. hesperia arogos boisd. & lec., lep. am. sept. pl. 76, ff. 3, 4, 5, 1833. hesperia iowa scud., proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xi, 401, 1868. hesperia mutius plötz, stett. ent. zeit. xliv, 199, 1883. atrytone vitellius holland (not fab.), butterfly book 364, pl. xlvi, f. 6, 1898. florida, august and september. nebraska and iowa, june and july. ocean county, n. j., july (davis). the pale tawny wings with their broad, even, fuscous borders distinguish the male; the female is readily associated with the male, but the fuscous is more extensive, encroaching upon the discal area and often almost obliterating the tawny color. 2. atrytone logan.. hesperia logan edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. 11, 18, pl. i, f. 5, 1863. hesperia delaware edw., op. cit. p. 19, pl. 5, f. 2. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1614, 1889. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 490, pl. 94, ff. 4-6, 1900. holland, butterfly book 365, pl. xlvi, f. 24, 25, 1898. florida to texas, north to montana and illinois; july and august. 2a. race lagus pamphila lagus edw., trans. am. ent. soc. ix, 5, 1881. i regard this as scarcely worth separating from logan. it is the western race, and in extreme forms has the fuscous terminal borders reduced to very slender lines and the under surface very pale. 3. atrytone byssus 9 hesperia bulenta bd. & lec., lep. am. sept. pl. 67, ff. 1-5, 1833. pamphila byssus edw., can. ent. xii, 224, 1880. holland, butterfly book 358, pl. xlvi, f. 20, 1898. florida, august. skinner includes texas (cat. p. 89). dr. mcdunnough places bulenta tentatively as a synonym of byssus. the figure is a striking thing, unlike any known species of north america, but it does bear a remote resemblance to this species. hesperioidea of america 91 4. atrytone arpa hesperia arpa boisd. & lec., lep. am. sept. pl. 68, 1833. florida, june, september and october. the stigma is present in the males of this and all of the following species, which make up the former genus euphyes. 5. atrytone palatka hesperia palatka edw., trans. am. ent. soc. i, 287, 1867. hesperia floridensis plötz, stett. ent. zeit. xliv, 196, 1883. scudder, butt. new eng. iii, 1863, 1889. holland, butterfly book 358, pl. xlvi, f. 21, 1898. florida, may, august to october. skinner gives its range as “gulf states, neb." (cat. p. 89). in the original description the name of this species was spelled pilatka but this was amended by edwards himself in his later writings. it is the largest species of the genus. 6. atrytone dion pamphila dion edw., can. ent. xi, 238, 1879. new york, ohio, wisconsin, michigan, illinois and omaha, neb. (leussler); june and july. st. louis, mo. (knetzger). the pale dashes on the under surface of the secondaries are unique in this genus. 7. atrytone conspicua hesperia conspicua edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. 11, 17, pl. 5, f. 5, 1863. ô hesperia pontiac edw., op. cit. 17, pl. xi, f. 5. hedone orono scud., syst. rev. 58, (79) 1872. seudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1732, 1889. holland, butterfly book 358, pl. xlvi, ff. 16, 17, 1898. new jersey north to massachusetts and west into nebraska; july. 8. atrytone bimacula hesperia bimaoula g. & r., ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y. viii, 433, 1867. hesperia acanootus scud., proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xi, 381, 1868. hesperia illinois dodge, can. ent. iv, 217, 1872. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1718, 1889. ontario, new jersey, new york, iowa; july. skinner lists nebraska (cat. p. 88). i have taken one specimen at sioux city, iowa. the under surface of the secondaries is usually pale with the veins marked in white. the upper surface has a little yellow-fulvous on each side of the stigma in the male, and only two or three small extradiscal spots in the female which are of a very pale color. 9 1 9. atrytone vestris hesperia vestris boisd., ann. soc. ent. france (2), x, 317, 1852. hesperia metacomet harris, ins. inj. veg. 3rd ed., 317, 1862. 92 iowa studies in natural history pamphila rurea edw., proc. acad. nat. sci. phil. 1862, 58. hesperia kiowah reakirt, proc. ent. soc. phil. vi, 150, 1866. . hesperia osyka edw., trans. am. ent. soc. i, 288, 1867. pamphila osceola lint., 30th rep. n. y. mus. nat. hist. 170, 1878. scudder, butt. new eng. 11, 1739 and ni, 1865, 1889. holland, butterfly book 360, pl. xlvi, f. 31, 1898. wright, butt. w. coast 247, pl. xxxi, f. 442, 1905. oberthür, etudes ix, (1), pl. coxl, f. 2093, 1913 (type). united states and southern canada; may to july. form immaculatus pamphila vestris, var. immaculatus williams, ent. news xxv, 267, 1914. described from the jemez mts., new mexico. i have seen it from the white mts., arizona, but not from more northern localities. as the name implies, it lacks the whitish spots usually found on the primaries of the female. genus atrytonopsis godman & salvin atrytonopsis g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. 11, 497, 1900. type hesperia deva edw. palpi upturned; third joint moderate, oblique, not concealed in vestiture of second. antennae slightly less than one-half as long as primaries; club moderate, longer in female than male; apiculus shorter than thickness of club in fig. 28. antennal clubs: a. atrytonopsis dera edw., male, equal to it or b. a pittacus edw., c. a. edwardsi b. & mcd., f. oligoria maculata edw. h. lerodea eufala edw., pal. longer in female. pripi. d. a. deva edw., g. mastor bellus edw., i. le. rodea eufala edw., e. detail of neuration : end of cell maries of male apicof primaries, lerema accius s. & a. ally produced; costa nearly straight; outer margin slightly rounded; apex roundedacute. secondaries rounded; outer margin flattened at end of cell; anal angle slightly lobed ; length from humeral angle to anal angle greater than through cell in male and less in female. cell of primaries three-fifths as long as wing; vein 5 curved at base, nearer to vein 4 than to 6; l. d. c. almost transverse; m. d. c. scarcely visible, very oblique; vein 2 almost interhesperioidea of america 93 a mediate between 3 and base of cell. stigma rudimentary, consisting of a few modified scales faintly indicating the position of the structure; well developed in a few species, where it is similar to that of atrytone but more slender. mid tibiae spiny. fig. 28. the absence of yellow-fulvous, frequent occurrence of gray scales on the under surface of the wings, and the acute apices of the primaries in the males of most of the species give this genus a very distinctive habitus. key to the species 1. fringes not checkered. .2 fringes checkered..... 7 2. under surface of secondaries with a transverse row and three subasal white spots; not heavily gray-powdered..... .loammi spots partly obsolete or hyaline..., 3 3. secondaries with hyaline spots.. pittacus secondaries without hyaline spots.. .4 4. fringes of secondaries white or whitish.. 5 fringes concolorous with wings or slightly paler. 6 5. fringes dirty white, usually dark at anal angle. lunus fringes pure white, rarely intermixed with dark scales, usually not very dark at anal angle. .deva 6. wings very dark.. .hianna wings pale..... .vierecký 7. under surface marbled with purplish; spots semi-hyaline......cestus under surface heavily gray powdered.. ...8 8. spots yellowish, opaque or nearly so... · python spots white, subhyaline.... .. edwardsi 1. atrytonopsis loammi lerema loammi whitney, can. ent. viii, 76, 1876. pamphila regulus edw., trans. am. ent. soc. ix, 5, 1881. skinner, ent. news xi, pl. ii, f. 24, 1900. kellogg, am. ins. pl. ix, f. 24, 1904. florida, march and october. north carolina, july. the dark brown ground color and the pure white, opaque spots on the under surface of the secondaries separate loammi readily from the rest of the genus. 2. atrytonopsis hianna hesperia hianna scudder, proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xi, 382, 1868. hesperia grotei plötz, stett, ent. zeit. xliv, 54, 1883. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1771, 1889. holland, butterfly book, 366, pl. xlvi, ff. 9, 10, 1898. northeastern united states westward into nebraska, manitoba; june. 94 iowa studies in natural history 3. atrytonopsis lunus pamphila lunus edwards, papilio iv, 56, 1884. arizona, june to august. similar to deva but larger and darker, and with the white areas not so pure as in deva. 4. atrytonopsis deva hesperia deva edw., trans. am. ent. soc. v, 292, 1876. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 498, pl. 95, ff. 6-10, 1900. arizona and utah. skinner lists southern colorado (cat. p. 87). 5. atrytonopsis vierecki pamphila vierecki skinner, ent. news xiii, 213, 1902. ft. wingate, new mexico, june; two males, one compared with the type, in the barnes collection are all that i have seen. vierecki is similar to deva but smaller, paler and more grayish, with two spots in the end of the cell of the primaries, sometimes connected, and a well marked stigma in the male. 6. atrytonopsis pittacus pamphila pittacus edw., papilio 11, 138, 1882. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 498, pl. 95, ff. 11-13, and 14, 15 (not python edw.), 1900. skinner, ent. news xi, pl. ii, ff. 17, 18, 1900. kellogg, am. ins. pl. ix, ff. 17, 18, 1904. arizona, july. the straight row of hyaline spots on the secondaries characterizes pittacus among our species. 7. atrytonopsis python (plate i, fig. 1) pamphila python edw., papilio 11, 139, 1882. arizona, may and june. python is the only one of our species in which the spots are distinctly yellowish. 7a. race margarita pamphila margarita skinner, can. ent. xlv, 426, 1913. described from jemez springs, new mexico. i am not familiar with this form. 8. atrytonopsis cestus pamphila cestus edw., papilio iv, 57, 1884. southern arizona. i am not familiar with this species. 9. atrytonopsis edwardsi atrytonopsis edwardsi b. & mcd., contributions n, (2), 135, pl. viii, ff. 9, 10, 1916. hesperioidea of america 95 pamphila cestus wright, (not edw.), butt. w. coast 249, pl. xxxii, f. 482, 1905. arizona. this species was described to correct a common misconception of cestus and the types are undoubtedly distinct from the species on which the description of cestus was based. i believe that the name will fall before hesperia ovinia hew., illustrated in the biologia (pl. 97, ff. 1, 2, 1900) under the name thespieus ovinia. the type of ovinia in the british museum will have to be examined to settle the matter definitely, but even from the figures it is easy to see that the species can hardly belong in thespieus. > genus oligoria scudder oligoria scud., syst. rev. 61, (82), 1872. type hesperia maculata edw. structure not much different from atrytonopsis. male primaries less apically prolonged and without stigma. vein 5 nearer to 4 than in the preceding genus. middle tibiae with a few long spines. apiculus of antennae abruptly constricted, sharply reflexed, very slender and usually about twice as long as thickness of club. dyar remarks (jn. n. y. ent. soc. xiii, 137, 1905) that he is unable to separate this genus from lerodea and therefore places maculata in the latter. he is followed in this by barnes and mcdunnough in the check list, but the differences between maculata and eufala are so striking that they must be separated. since maculata agrees with no other genus known to me, i retain oligoria for the one species. fig. 28. 1. oligoria maculata hesperia maculata edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. iv, 202, pl. i, f. 6, 1865. hesperia norus plötz, stett. ent. zeit. xliv, 36, 1883. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1761, 1883. holland, butterfly book 361, pl. xlvi, f. 35, 1898. florida, may to july. skinner gives its range as the gulf states and occasionally new york. (cat. p. 87). genus lerema scudder lerema scud., syst. rev. 61, (82), 1872. type papilio accius a. & s. palpi oblique; third joint moderate, partly concealed by vestiture of second. antennae about one-half as long as primaries; club moderate; apiculus slender, longer than thickness of club. 96 iowa studies in natural history primaries rather long; costa flattened in middle; outer margin curved, flattened before anal angle; apex rounded-rectangular. secondaries lobed slightly at anal angle, otherwise rounded. cell of primaries over three-fifths as long as wing; discocellulars weak, slightly oblique; vein 5 arising a little nearer to 4 than to 6, al. most straight. male with a slender, well developed stigma running from the base of vein 3 to just within the middle of vein 1. middle tibiae with a few long spines. fig. 28. 1. lerema accius papilio accius a. & s., lep. ins. ga. i, 45, pl. 23, 1797. hesperia monoco scud., proc. ess. inst. ii), 178, 1863. hesperia punctella g. & r., trans. am. ent. soc. i, 1, 1867. hesperia nortonii edw., trans. am. ent. soc. i, 287, 1867. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1768, 1889. holland, butterfly book 366, pl. xlviii, f. 8, 1898. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 554, pl. 99, f. 44, 1900. southern half of united states east of rockies; may, july, august, october, november. skinner (cat. p. 87) mentions a record by aaron from eastern pennsylvania. genus epiphyes dyar epiphyes dyar, jn. n. y. ent. soc. xiii, 132, 1905. type pamphila carolina skinner. i have seen but one poor specimen of the female of carolina. from it nothing can be told except that vein 5 is but slightly curved and not much nearer to 4 than to 6. it therefore belongs with lerema and allied genera, and according to dyar's description of the male stigma it should constitute a good genus. the original description of epiphyes is as follows: “antennal club cylindrical, the point rather obtuse and about equal to the diameter of the club. palpi with the third joint moderate, rather slender; wings normal, vein 2 arising at the middle of the cell, 3 before the end. mid tibiae spiny. male stigma a large, ill defined blotch. type pamphila carolina skinner." 1. epiphyes carolina pamphila carolina skinner, ent. news iii, 222, 1892. holland, butterfly book 367, pl. xlvi, f. 36, 1898 (type). north carolina. the species is easily recognized by the well defined, pale yellow maculation and the form of vein 5 of the primaries. hesperioidea of america 97 genus mastor godman & salvin mastor g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. 11, 567, 1900. type mastor anubis g. & s. ? megistias g. & s., op. cit. 571. type hesperia tripunctata latr. palpi upturned; third joint small. antennae slightly more than one-half as long as primaries in male, less in female; apiculus shorter than thickness of club and variously reflexed; club short, rather stout. costa of primaries flattened; outer margin slightly rounded; apex somewhat produced. secondaries broadly rounded, relatively small; in the female the primaries are less produced and the apex of the secondaries more prominent than in the male, much as in atrytone. the male possesses a small stigma made up of a dot of scales below vein 2 and a longer patch above, variably developed in different specimens. it is much larger in bellus than in phylace, very small in oslari and absent in fusca. cell of primaries normal; vein 5 slightly curved, arising a little nearer to 4 than to 6. mid tibiae with a few spines. fig. 28. i believe that oslari is more closely related to a. nanno than to bellus, and am placing fusca in this genus rather doubtfully. unfortunately i have not had sufficient material for dissection in this group and have therefore been unable to make a careful study of the anatomy of the doubtful species. i am unable to find a good basis of separation for fusca, which godman and salvin say belongs in megistias, but i am not familiar with tripunctata so megistias may not fall before mastor. key to the species 1. vestiture of head and fringes golden... .bellus head golden; fringes whitish... ·phylace without golden vestiture.. 2. under surface powdery gray. .oslari more or less yellowish below, never powdery gray. ..fusca 2 1. mastor fusca hesperia fusca g. & r., trans. am. ent. soc. 1, 2, 1867. southern united states, new jersey, pennsylvania; april to july. st. louis, mo., (knetzger). fusca is usually immaculate grayish fuscous above and slightly tinged with yellowish below, especially on the veins of the secondaries. occasion98 iowa studies in natural history al specimens show a faint trace of spots on the upper surface of the primaries, and frequently the ground color is darker. > 2. mastor bellus pamphila bellus edw., papilio iv, 57, 1884. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 568, pl. 100, f. 36, ở gen., 1900. skinner, ent. news xi, pl. ii, ff. 11, 12, 1900. kellogg, am. ins. pl. ix, ff. 11, 12, 1904. wright, butt. w. coast 247, pl. xxxi, f. 443, 1905. arizona, may to july. 3. mastor phylace pamphila phylace edw., field and forest 111, 117, 1878. arizona, colorado, new mexico; june. 4. mastor oslari pamphila oslari skinner, ent. news x, 112, 1899. new mexico, arizona, colorado; april, june to august. oslari is usually pale fuscous above, but occasionally a series will show some yellow fulvous scales on the disk of the primaries and a faint trace of indefinite spots such as are always present in a, nanno. such specimens may be separated from nanno by the gray under surface of the secondaries with vague pale spots instead of small sharp ones. genus amblyscirtes scudder amblyscirtes scud., syst. rev. 54, (75), 1872. type hesperia vialis. edw.. stomyles scud., op. cit. 55 (76). type pyrgus tector hbn. palpi large, upturned; second joint with shaggy vestiture; third slender, smooth, vertical; almost as long as second except in nanno. antennae moderate; club large; apiculus longer than thickness of club. primaries in most species similar in the two sexes, less apically produced than in the related genera; costa flattened; apex rounded-rectangular; outer margin strongly rounded except toward anal angle; cell about three-fifths as long as wing; discocel. fig: 29. amblyscirtes vialis edw. a. lulars very weak and only slightly club of antenna, b. palpus, c. neuration oblique; vein 5 weakly curved hesperioidea of america 99 toward base, a little nearer to 4 than to 6; secondaries rounded, in most of the species longer through the cell than in the related genera. male stigma small, sometimes scarcely visible, composed of a short, oblique dash above the base of vein 2 and a smaller longitudinal dash below it. middle tibiae spiny. fig. 29. the checkered fringes of this genus are a convenient superficial character, and indeed the only one by which nanno can readily be placed. the other species are readily referred to the genus by the long third joint of the palpi, taken with the apiculus of the antennae. whether nanno should be left in ambly. scirtes is a question which i have been unable to settle; its similar habitus would cause me to hesitate to remove it. cassus key to the species 1. vestiture of under surface of secondaries with no suggestion of green.2 under surface of secondaries more or less greenish.... .9 2. spots on under surface of secondaries connected by { pale lines on veins .textor no such lines.. .3 3. under surface of secondaries with diffused pale spots or immaculate..4 with well defined pale spots..... .8 with a brown patch in the middle.. ..nysa 4. all maculation above yellow-fulvous.... subapical spots of primaries, at least, whitish. .5 5. secondaries without pale spots below.... .vialis with a transverse row of powdery pale spots..... .6 6. maculation of upper surface tinged with yellow-fulvous. no trace of yellow-fulvous.... ....7 7. irroration of under surface smooth, fine.. .alternata irroration with a rough appearance... ...celia 8. under surface dark, irroration sparse; spots small and powdery but sharply contrasting.. ..nanno, elissa under surface finely and smoothly grayish-irrorate; spots very sharply defined, moderate... ...comus 9. under surface pale greenish-gray; primaries with spots between veins 4 and 6 above; southwestern species..... .....nereus darker greenish-gray; very bright in fresh specimens; spots at end of cell of primaries usually lacking; eastern species. aenus ..hegon 1. amblyscirtes nanno amblyscirtes nanno edw., papilio 11, 142, 1882. biol. cent. am., rhop. ii, 504, pl. 95, ff. 31-34, 1900. wright, butt. w. coast 250, pl. xxxi, f. 455, 1905. arizona, july. 100 iowa studies in natural history the primaries of nanno are more apically produced and the secondaries relatively smaller and more rounded than in the normal species of ambly. scirtes. 2. amblyscirtes elissa amblyscirtes elissa g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 505, pl. 95, ff. 40, 41, 1900. skinner, ent. news xv, 344, 1904. i have not seen this species. apparently it is very similar to nanno. skinner reports it from cochise county, arizona. 3. amblyscirtes aenus amblyscirtes aenus edw., field and forest 111, 118, 1878. holland, butterfly book 341, pl. xlvii, f. 7, 1898. colorado, texas, arizona, new mexico; may to july. 4. amblyscirtes cassus amblysoirtes cassus edw., papilio iii, 72, 1883. amblyscirtes simius wright, (not edw.), butt. w. coast pl. xxxi, f. 454, 1905. arizona; june, july and september. the under surface of the secondaries of cassus is heavily irrorate with pale gray scales which give these wings a roughened appearance. the spots are large and distinct but vaguely defined. 5. amblyscirtes celia amblyscirtes celia skinner, ent. news vi, 113, 1895. texas, march, april and july. there is a specimen in the barnes collection which has been compared with the type, and from which i have noted that the under surface of the secondaries is finely but rather sparsely and roughly powdered with gray; spots small but not clear-cut. 6. amblyscirtes vialis hesperia vialis edw., proc. acad. nat. sci. phil. 1862, 58, 1862. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1582, 1889. holland, butterfly book 340, pl. xlvii, f. 5, 1898. united states and southern canada; may, june, july, august. 7. ambly scirtes hegon hesperia hegon scud., proc. ess. inst. iii, 176, 1863. hesperia samoset scud., op. cit. 176. hesperia nemoris edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. 11, 507, 1864. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1589, 1889. holland, butterfly book 340, pl. xlvii, f. 6, 1898. georgia north into canada and west to central iowa; may and june; august in the north. hesperioidea of america 101 hegon is more commonly known as samoset. it is similar to nereus but the transverse row of spots on the primaries is usually less complete and fresh specimens are much more greenish below. the distribution is sufficient to separate specimens which bear locality labels. 8. amblyscirtes nereus hesperia nereus edw., trans. am. ent. soc. v, 207, 1876. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 502, pl. 95, ff. 27-30, 1900. arizona, june to august. 9. amblyscirtes alternata hesperia alternata g. & r., trans. am. ent. soc. 1, 3, 1867. hesperia eos edwards, trans. am. ent. soc. iii, 276, 1871. amblyscirtes meridionalis dyar, jn. n. y. ent. soc. xiii, 135, 1905. georgia; skinner lists cos from texas, georgia and florida. a specimen which dr. mcdunnough placed as alternata in the barnes collection proved to be the same as dyar's types of meridionalis in the strecker collection, and the descriptions of all of the species lead me to believe that they are synonyms. the primaries are apically produced, so that the outer margin is longer than in vialis, and the fringes are an unusually pure white, as in nysa. the under surface has a transverse row of faint, powdery spots on the secondaries and is otherwise similar to vialis. 10. amblyscirtes nysa amblyscirtes nysa edw., can. ent. ix, 191, 1877. pamphila similis strecker, lep. rhop. & het. 131, 1878. texas and arizona, march to june. the under surface of the secondaries is distinctive and the fringes are a clearer white than in any other species than alternata. the upper surface of nysa is very similar to that of alternata in all particulars. 11. amblyscirtes comus hesperia comus edw., trans. am. ent. soc. v, 206, 1876. amblyscirtes nilus edw., field and forest ii, 118, 1878. pamphila quinquemacula skinner, ent. news xxii, 413, 1911. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 502, pl. 95, ff. 25, 26, 1900. texas and arizona, august. from a specimen in the barnes collection compared with edward's material i have noted that the under surface is finely and smoothly grayish irrorate and the spots small, white, sharply defined and not crowded together. 12. ambly scirtes textor pyrgus textor, hübner, zutr. exot. schmett. pl. 89, ff. 515, 516, 1825. hesperia oneko scud., proc. ess. inst. iii, 176, 1863. hesperia wakulla edw., trans. am. ent. soc. 11, 311, 1869. holland, butterfly book 341, pl. xlvii, f. 16, 1898. 102 iowa studies in natural history north carolina and kentucky to texas; august. the under side of the secondaries is very strikingly different from any other species, but i see no structural basis for stomyles, of which textor is the type. genus lerodea scudder lerodea scud., syst. rev. 59, 1872. type hesperia eufala edw. palpi upturned, very smoothly scaled; third joint about half as long as second but buried in vestiture of second almost to its tip. antennae much less than one half as long as primaries; apiculus slender, shorter than thickness of club. primaries apically produced; costa slightly emarginate or straight except at apex and humeral angle; outer margin slightly sinuate, convex from apex to vein 2. secondaries rounded, lobed at anal angle. both primaries and secondaries longer and more rounded in the female than in the male. cell of primaries about three-fifths as long as wing; discocellulars weak, scarcely oblique; vein 5 almost straight, about two-thirds as far from 4 as from 6; 2 much nearer to 3 than to base of wing in both sexes. male without stigma. mid tibiae spined. fig. 28. 1. lerodea arabus pamphila arabus edw., papilio , 26, 1882. arizona, april. differs from eufala in the presence of a dark brown discal shade on the under surface of the secondaries. 2. lerodea eufala hesperia eufala edw., trans. am. ent. soc. 11, 311, 1869. pamphila floridae mab., bull. soc. ent. france (5), vi, p. 1x, 1876. holland, butterfly book 356, pl. xlvi, f. 33, 1898. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 500, pl. 95, ff. 16-18, 1900. wright, butt. w. coast pl. xxxi, f. 445a, b, 1905 (as nereus). florida, texas, arizona; april to july, october and november. group d key to the genera 1. middle tibiae without spines.. . prenes middle tibiae spined.... ....2 2. male with stigma; under surface of secondaries mottled with several shades.. ...thespieus male without stigma; under surface of secondaries uniformly colored.. ...calpodes hesperioidea of america 103 genus thespieus godman & salvin thespieus g. & s., biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 519, 1900. type hesperia dalmani latr. this genus is very close to calpodes and the male genitalia of the two illustrated by godman and salvin are similar, but i have very little material of thespieus and have not seen the typical species, so i hesitate to sink it. 1. thespieus macareus goniloba macareus h.-s., corr. blatt regensb. xxiii, 192, 1869. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 520, pl. 96, ff. 41-43, 1900. skinner, ent. news xiii, 183, 1902. macareus has been recorded from the southwestern part of our country and marco id., fla.; i have not seen the species. genus calpodes hübner calpodes hbn., verz, bek. schmett. 107, 1820. type papilio ethlius cr. palpi upturned, closely , closely appressed; third joint small, almost entirely concealed. the palpi resemble those of most species of group a of the hesperiinae. antennae less than one-half as long as primaries; club stout, apiculus exceeding thickness of club, sharply reflexed. primaries with the apex produced and subtruncate, longer in the female than in the male ; fig. 30. prenes and calpodes. a. club of antenna of p. ocola edw., secondaries strongly lobed at the b. neuration of ocola, c. club of antenna of 0.ethlius cramer anal angle, broader and more rounded in the female than in the male. neuration as in prenes. mid tibiae with short prostrate spines on the inner surface. fig. 30. 1. calpodes ethlius papilio ethlius cramer, pap. exot. iv, 212, pl. cccxcii, ff. a, b, 1782. hesperia chemnis fab., ent. syst. iii, (1), 331, 1793. eudamus olynthus bd. & lec., lep. am. sept. pl. 75, ff. 1, 2, 1833. scudder, butt. new eng. ii, 1750, 1889. holland, butterfly book 355, pl. xlv, f. 3, 1898. 104 iowa studies in natural history biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 507, pl. 95, ff. 45, 46, 1900. florida to texas, june. skinner lists it as occasional in new york, (cat. p. 88). st. louis, mo., (knetzger). ethlius is readily distinguished by its large size, the long cell of the primaries, the form of the palpi and the presence of hyaline spots on the secondaries. 2. calpodes coscinia goniloba coscinia h.-s., corr.-blatt regensb. xix, 54, 1865. 9 hesperia ares feld., verh. z.-b. ges. wien xii, 477, 1862. brownsville and san antonio, texas, may. barnes and mcdunnough list ares as a doubtful synonym of coscinia while godman and salvin in the biologia make it a synonym without qual. ification. if the two names refer to the same species, ares should be used; i know of nothing which will settle the matter at present. coscinia differs from ethlius and t. macareus in the absence of hyaline spots from the secondaries. genus prenes scudder prenes scud., syst. rev. 60, (81), 1872. type hesperia panoquin scud. similar to calpodes but with the wings more angular and the mid tibiae without spines. fig. 30. prenes is very close to the old world genus parnara and may fall before it. dr. w. t. m. forbes tells me that he is unable to separate the two, and from a superficial study of the genotypes i have found nothing which will differentiate them. i prefer to retain prenes, however, until i can make dissections of the type of parnara for more accurate study. key to the species 1. secondaries with a few pale spots below... .....2 secondaries immaculate below or with pale dashes or very faint traces of spots...... .4 2. upper surface powdered with yellowish scales. panoquinoides upper surface without yellowish scales.... ..3 3. a pale spot in end of cell of primaries; spots on under surface bluish .....nero no spot in cell; spots below not bluish... 4. two pale dashes on under surface of secondaries.. panoquin usually immaculate; never with dashes...... ...ocola .errans 1. prenes nero hesperia nero fab., ent. syst., supp. 433, 1798. hesperia nyctelius latr., enc. meth. ix, 746, 1823. hesperioidea of america 105 > goniloba corrupta h.-s., corr.-blatt regensb. xix, 54, 1865. goniloba sylvicola h.-s., op. cit., p. 55. hesperia fusina hew., desc. hesp. 30, 1868. hesperia fufidia hew., ann. & mag. nat. hist. (4), xix, 81, 1877. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 509, pl. 96, ff. 4-7, 1900. florida. differs from ooola in the presence of a pale spot in the end of the cell of the primaries and a transverse row of faint, bluish spots on the under surface of the secondaries. the synonymy is that of godman and salvin. 2. prenes panoquin hesperia panoquin scud., proc. ess. inst. 111, 178, 1863. hesperia ophis edw., trans. am. ent. soc. iii, 216, 1871. scudder, butt. new eng. iii, 1867, 1889. skinner, ent. news xi, pl. 11, ff. 13, 14, 1900. kellogg, am. ing. pl. ix, ff. 13, 14, 1904. florida, new jersey; april, may, august. 3. prenes panoquinoides pamphila panoquinoides skinner, ent. news 11, 175, 1891. skinner, ent. news xi, pl. 11, f. 26, 1900 (type). kellogg, am. ins. pl. ix, f. 26, 1904 (type). florida. this species is slightly powdered with yellowish scales above but less heavily than panoquin, from which it differs also in the absence of the large dashes of the under surface. 4. prenes errans pamphila errans skinner, ent. news iii, 174, 1892. wright, butt. w. coast pl. xxxi, f. 445, 1905 (as nereus). california, july and august. differs from ocola, which it closely resembles, in the presence of a transverse row of pale spots on the under side of the secondaries, which are not bluish as in nero. 5. prenes ocola hesperia ocola edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. ii, 20, pl. xi, f. 4, 1863. prenes hecebolus scud., syst. rev. 60, (81), 1872. pamphila ortygia möschl., verh. z.-b. ges. wien xxxii, 328, 1882. scudder, butt. new eng. iii, 1866, 1889. pamphila parilis mab., comp. rend. soc. ent. belg. xxxv, clxxi, 1891. holland, butterfly book 355, pl. xlvi, f. 34, 1898. biol. cent.-am., rhop. ii, 511, pl. 96, ff. 13-15, 1900. kentucky, florida, mississippi and texas; may, july to october. skinner (cat. p. 88) adds indiana and eastern pennsylvania. ocola is usually immaculate below but some specimens show a trace of the spots which mark errans, though they are not, as a rule, sufficiently well marked as to cause difficulty in separating the species. they never 106 iowa studies in natural history have the marked blue shade found in nero. in the synonymy of ocola i follow godman and salvin (biol. 511), who say that they have seen the types of all three synonyms and find them to show no tangible difference.' doubtful species and genera genus potanthus scudder potanthus scud., syst. rev. 54, (75), 1872. type hesperia omaha edw. 1. potanthus omaha.. hesperia omaha edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. 11, 21, 1863. hesperia mingo edw., proc. ent. soc. phil. vi, 207, 1866. potanthus californica scud., syst. rev. 54, (75), 1872. scudder, butt. new eng. iii, 1861, 1889. potanthus dara dyar (kollar?), bull. 52, u. s. n. m., p. 48, 1902. the early literature gives the range of this species as west virginia, colorado and california. edwards places the species next to palaemon in his catalogue (cat. diurn. lep. 48, 1877), and dyar regards it as the oriental species, padraona dara kollar. it is very difficult to say what it may be from the scanty evidence available. > 2. atrytone kumskaka hesperia conspicua scud. (not edw.), trans. chi. acad. sci. i, 336, 1869. atrytone kumskaka scud., can. ent. xix, 45, 1887. according to the description this is a true atrytone which scudder has mistaken for the female of conspicua. dr. mcdunnough tells me that scudder's figure of the male genitalia resembles those of byssus, but it seems to me that the description itself suggests a dark female of hobomok. the type locality is dennison, iowa, but i have never taken anything in western iowa which might be the species. 3. thanaos rutilius (nomen nudum) nisoniades rutilius mead, u. 8. geog. surv. w. 100th merid. v, 787, 1875. the reference reads as follows: “one individual, now in mr. scudder's hands for description, was taken june 23, at turkey creek junction.” the specimen was probably placed by scudder with another species. family megathymidae barnes and mcdunnough, contributions i, number 11, 1912, revision of the megathymidae. head small, much narrower than the thorax. palpi rather small, oblique. antennae moderate; club large, stout and pyriform to more cylindrical with a rudimentary apiculus. venation much as in the pamphilinae; vein 3 of the primaries varying in hesperioidea of america 107 position between the sexes of several species. larvae borers in stems of plants. fig. 31. barnes and mcdunnough's revision of this family is so satisfactory that i am going into very little detail in treating it. i have worked out the following key to the north american species of megathymus fig. 31. megathy. from the material in the barnes collection, and believe that it will suffice for the determination of most of the material likely to fall into the hands of collectors; those who are deeply interested in the family will doubtless obtain the few articles which are useful to students who make these insects a hobby. only one genus is represented in our fauna. mus streckeri skin ner. club of all. tenna •yuccae 2 genus megathymus scudder megathymus scud., syst. rev. 62, (83), 1872. type eudamus yuccae boisd. & lec. characters of the family. key to the species 1. under surface with a large white patch contiguous to vein 8 of the secondaries, or this spot the largest on the wing; no more than a trace of extra-median pale spots on secondaries..... under surface of secondaries with a more or less complete transverse row of pale spots and with larger spot on vein 8 outward.... .3 2. size large, 55 to 75 mm. spots of upper surface bright yellow. under surface of secondaries gray at margins.. yuccae size smaller, seldom over 55 mm. spots pale yellow. outer margin of secondaries narrowly or not at all pale..... .... race coloradensis size similar to coloradensis. spots yellowish to white. secondaries with a broad pale outer border.... .race navajo 3. size very large, 65 to 90 mm. spots of primaries bright yellow. secondaries without discal spots above and with at most a slender, linear pale margin.... size smaller, not over 70 mm. secondaries with discal spots, a crenulate marginal band or with pale areas not bright yellow..... .....4 4. under surface of secondaries smooth, powdered with blue-gray scales at outer margin... ...cofaqui under surface of shaggy appearance, washed with gray scales and hairs over entire surface, sometimes most evidently between transverse row of spots and outer margin.... 5 5. upper surface of primaries with a pale basal area contiguous to vein 1; spots yellow to yellowish-fulvous, or with a transverse sub-basal row of spots on the under surface of the secondaries...... .6 this area seldom present, if so powdery and not contiguous to vein 1 ursus 108 iowa studies in natural history and with maculation not bright yellow. no transverse row of spots near base of secondaries below.... .7 6. expanse 40 to 50 mm. larger specimens females with pale spots of primaries broadly confluent and veins concolorous... ... polingi expanse 50 to 70 mm., smaller specimens males with spots separated by dark veins or by broader dark areas....... ......aryana, neumoegeni expanse 50 mm, or slightly over. spots small, rounded and whitish. southern california.. ..race stephensi 7. spots yellowish white to pale yellow; at least one extra-discal spot on under surface of secondaries and rarely some above..... ...streckeri spots deeper yellow; extra-discal spots obsolete, not more than one or two fine points present, or with discal spots above. ....... race tezana spots greatly reduced, yellowish; extra-discal band on under surface of secondaries evenly curved but irregular. spot in end of cell of primaries linear, bent, in apical angle.... ..smithu 1. megathymus yuccae eudamus yuccae boisd. & lec., lep. am. sept. pl. 70, 1833. riley, 8th rep. st. ent. mo., 169-182, 1876 (biol.). florida, georgia, south carolina; april and may. la. race coloradensis m. yuccae, var. coloradensis riley, trans. acad. sci. st. louis iii, 567, 1877. colorado, april. 1b. race navajo m. yuccae, var, navajo skinner, ent. news xxii, 300, 1911. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 209, pl. x, 1911. texas, new mexico, arizona, s. california; april to june. 2. megathymus ursus megathymus ursus poling, ent. news xiii, 97, pl. 4, 1902. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 205, 1911. pima county, arizona; august. 3. megathymus cofaqui aegiale cofaqui strecker, proc. acad. nat. sci. phil. 148, 1876. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 203, 1911. georgia, florida; march. the male type is a form of streckeri to which barnes and mcdunnough have given the name texana. the female type represents cofaqui. this sex may be distinguished by the slightly emarginate outer margin of the primaries and the resultant sharpness of the apex. 4. megathymus streckeri aegiale streckeri skinner, can. ent. xxvii, 179, 1895. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 204, 1911. hesperioidea of america 109 southwestern colorado, new mexico, cherry county, nebraska (leussler); may and june. race texana m. streckeri, subsp. texana b. & mcd., contr. 1, no. iii, 39, pl. 11, f. 9, 1912. southern texas. 5. megathymus smithi megathymus smithi druce, biol. cent.-am., het. ii, 320, pl. 69, f. 5, 1896. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 205, 1911. i have seen one specimen from corpus christi, texas, in the barnes collection. > 6. megathymus neumoegeni megathymus neumoegeni edw., papilio 17, 27, 1882. megathymus aryana dyar, jn. n. y. ent. soc. xiii, 141, 1905 (partim); (fide b. & mcd.). skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 206, 1911. skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 207, 1911 (fide b. & mcd.). arizona, september. according to barnes and mcdunnough's revision the females can readily be separated from aryana. they say: “in every instance the could be separated at once on wing pattern, the yellow band on primaries being much broader and either touching or broadly coalescing with the costal spot at end of cell.” of the male they say that neumoegeni is usually a smaller and slighter species, and give the following points of difference: “(1) in neumoegeni the spots are often small, well separated, irregularly rounded; when forming a more or less coalescent band spot 2 from anal angle is usually almost square and its inner margin is not prominently wedge-shaped as in aryana. “(2) the fulvous hairing at base of both wings is much more extended in neumoegeni, covering on the secondaries most of the area between the subterminal spots and the base of wing. the presence or size of yellow spots in the basal area beneath the fulvous hairs we have found of no specific value. “(3) the underside of secondaries of neumoegeni is usually distinctly paler in color, due to a greater sprinkling of white scales (compare figs. 2 and 7). the whitish subterminal band is very variable in both species, in both distinctness and extent, and of no value for purposes of separation.'' in spite of this great similarity of the two species, the form of the male genitalia verifies their distinctness. 6a. race stephensi megathymus neumoegeni wright (not edw.), butt. w. coast 255, pl. xxxii, f. 483, 1905. 110 iowa studies in natural history megathymus neumoegeni subsp. stephensi skinner, ent. news xxi, 126, 1912. barnes & mcdunnough, contributions i, (5), 44, 1912. southern california, texas. 7. megathymus aryxna megathymus aryrna dyar, jn. n. y. ent. soc. xiii, 141, 1905. arizona; july, september and october. 8. megathymus polingi megathymus polingi skinner, ent. news xvi, 232, 1905 ( only, fide b. & mcd.). skinner, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 207, 1911. arizona, september. > bibliography part one includes all separate works and articles bearing particularly on the hesperioidea. part two contains a list of the periodicals consulted. references occurring in all of the works listed have been verified; others are copied from the best available authorities. part i abbott & mith, the natural history of the rarer lepidopterous insects of georgia, two volumes, london, 1797. banks, n. and caudell, a. n., the entomological code, washington, d.c., 1912. barnes, wm. and modunnough, j., revision of the megathymidae, decatur, ill., 1912. check list of the lepidoptera of boreal america, decatur, ill., 1917. contributions to the natural history of the lepidoptera of north america, i, 1911-12. boisduval, j. a., icones historique des lepidopteres d'europe, paris, 1832-43. and leconte, j. l., histoire generale et iconographie des lepidopteres et des chenilles de l'amerique septentrionale, paris, 1829-33. butler, a. g., lepidoptera exotica, london, 1869-74. catalogue of diurnal lepidoptera described by fabricius in the collection of the british museum, london, 1869. comstock, j. h. and a. b., manual for the study of insects, ithaca, n. y., 1895. cramer, p., papillons exotiques des trois parties du monde, l'asie, l'afri. que at l'amerique, amsterdam, i, 1775 to iv, 1782, and supplement by stoll, 1787-1796. doubleday, e., westwood, j. o. and hewitson, w. c., the genera of diurnal lepidoptera, london, i, 1846; ii, 1850. drury, d., illustrations of exotic entomology, london, three vol., 17701775. dyar, h. g., a list of the north american lepidoptera and key to the literature of this order of insects, bulletin 52, u. s. n. m., washington, d.c., 1902. a review of the hesperiidae of the united states, jn. n. y. ent. soc. xiii, 111-142, 1905. edwards, w. h., catalogue of the lepidoptera of america north of mex. ico, trang. am. ent. soc. vi, 1-68, 1877. elwes, h. j., and edwards, james, a revision of the oriental hesperiidae, trans. zool. soc. london xiv, pt. iv, number 1, 1897. 112 iowa studies in natural history fabricius, j. c., systema entomologiae, flensburg and leipzig, 1775. mantissa insectorum, copenhagen, 1787. entomologia systematica, vol. ii, copenhagen, 1793. supplementum entomologiae systematicae, copenhagen, 1798. felder, c., and rogen hofer, r., reise der osterreichischen fregatte novara um die erde, zoologischer theil, ii, abth. 2, vienna, 1864-67. french, g. h., butterflies of the eastern united states, philadelphia, 1886. godman, f. d. and salvin, o., biologia centrali-americana, lepidoptera rhopalocera, vol. ii, 1893-1901, and plates, vol. iii, london, harris, t. w., a treatise on some insects injurious to vegetation, third edition, boston, 1862. herrich-schaffer, g. a., prodromus systema lepidopterorum, in corr.blatt regensb. hewitson, w. c., descriptions of new species of hesperiidae, london, part 1, pp. 1-25, 1867; part 2, pp. 25-26, 1868. holland, w. j., the butterfly book, new york, 1898. hubner, j., verzeichniss bekannter schmetterlinge, augsburg, 1816-1820. sammlung exotischer schmetterlinge, and zutrage zur sammlung, partly by geyer, augsburg, 1818-1832. kirby, w. f., a synonymic catalogue of diurnal lepidoptera, london, 1871; supplement, 1877. kirby, wm., fauna boreali-americana, iv, the insects, london, 1837. latreille, p. a., encyclopedie methodique, ix, article on butterflies, paris, 1819. linnaeus, c., systema naturae, tenth edition, stockholm, 1758. lintner, j. a., entomological contributions, i, 1872 to iv, 1878, (annual report of the new york state museum of natural history, albany). lucas, h., in sagra's historia física, política y naturel de la isla de cuba, vol. vii, paris, 1856. mabille, p., famille hesperidae, genera insectorum, vol. xvii, brussels, 1903-4. ménétries, e., enumeratio corporum animalium musei imperialis academiae scientiarum petropolitaniae, st. petersburg, 1855-1863. mead, t. l., report on the collection of diurnal lepidoptera, etc., u. s. geographical surveys west of the 100th meridian, v, ch. 8, 1875. oberthur, c., etudes d’entomologie and etudes de lepidopterologie comparee, rennes, i, 1876. soudder, s. h., a systematic review of american butterflies, etc., report of the peabody academy of science for 1872, pp. 22-83. historical sketch of the generic names proposed for butterflies, boston, proceedings of the american academy of arts and sciences, vol. x, pp. 91-293, 1875. the species of the lepidopterous genus pamphila, boston, memoirs of the boston society of natural history, vol. ii, part iii, number iv, 1874. hesperioidea of america 113 the butterflies of the eastern united states and canada, with a special reference to new england, cambridge, three vol., 1888-1889. and burgess, e., on asymmetry in the appendages of nisoniades, proc. bost. soc. nat. hist. xiii, 282, 306, 1870. seitz, a., the macrolepidoptera of the world, vol. i, the palaearctic butterflies, stuttgart, 1909. hesperiidae by p. mabille. skinner, h., a synonymic catalogue of the north american rhopalocera, philadelphia, 1898, and supplement to end of 1904. the larger boreal american hesperiidae, trans. am. ent. soc. xxxvii, 169-209, pl. x, philadelphia, 1911. studies in the genus thanaos, trans. am. ent. soc. xl, 195-221, philadelphia, 1914. spuler, die schmetterlinge europas, four vol., stuttgart, 1908-10. staudinger, o., exotische tagfalter, etc., furth, 1888. strecker, h., lepidoptera, rhopalocera and heterocera, indigenous and exotic, reading, pa., 1872-78. tutt, j. w., british butterflies, i, 1905-6. watson, e. y., a proposed classification of the hesperiidae, with a revision of the genera, proceedings of the zoological society of london, 1893, pp. 3-132, pl. i-iii. wright, w. g., butterflies of the west coast, san francisco, 1905. part ii american entomologist and botanist, new york, 1880. annales de la societe entomologique belge, brussels, i, 1857. annales de la societe entomologique de france, first series, i, 1832 (now running without series number). annals and magazine of natural history, london, first series, i, 1838. bulletin of the brooklyn entomological society, i, 1878-vii, 1885. bulletin of the buffalo society of natural science, 1873. canadian entomologist, i, 1869. cistula entomologica, london, i, 1869-iii, 1885. correspondenz-blatt des zoologisch-mineralogischen vereins in regensburg, ratisbon, i, 1847. entomologica americana, brooklyn, i, 1885-vi, 1890. entomological news, philadelphia, i, 1890. entomologische zeitung, herausgegeben von dem entomologische verein zu stettin, stettin, i, 1840. the entomologist, london, i, 1839. entomologists' monthly magazine, london, 1864. field and forest, washington, d.c., i, 1875-iii, 1877-78. illiger, magazin für insectenkunde, brunswick, i, 1801-vi, 1807. jahrbücher des nassauischen vereins für naturkunde, wiesbaden, 1844. journal of the academy of natural sciences of philadelphia, i, 1917. journal of the new york entomological society, new york, i, 1893. memoirs of the boston society of natural history, boston, 1866. papilio, new york, i, 1881-iv, 1884. 114 iowa studies in natural history proceedings of the academy of natural sciences of philadelphia, 1841. proceedings of the california academy of sciences, san francisco, i, 1864. proceedings of the entomological society of philadelphia, i, 1861-vi, 1867. proceedings of the essex institute, salem, 1848-1870. proceedings of the united states national museum, washington, d.c., i, 1878. proceedings of the zoological society of london, london, 1832. psyche, cambridge, i, 1874. report of the entomological society of ontario, toronto, 1871. report of the peabody academy of sciences, salem, i, 1868-vi, 1873. transactions of the american entomological society, philadelphia, 1867. transactions of the chicago academy of sciences, chicago, i, 1867. 1 1 obtainable from the university librarian; price $1.00 ouret a olar may 1927 first series no. 45 march 15, 1921 university of iowa studies botanut 1 54 1o 8 studies in natural history volume ix number 5 reports on the crinoids, ophiurans, brachyura, tanidacea and isopoda,amphipods, & echinoidea of the barbados-antigua expedition of 1918 published by the university, iowa city issued semi-monthly throughout the year iowa, as second class matter. entered at the post office at iowa city, provided for in section 1103, act of october 3, 1917, authorized on july 3, 1918. acceptance for mailing at special rates of postage fed ytv university of iowa studies in natural history professor charles cleveland nutting, m. a., editor continuation of bulletin from the laboratories of natural history of the state university of iowa volume ix number 5 reports on the crinoids, ophiurans, brachyura, tanidacea and isopoda,amphipods, & echinoidea of the barbados-antigua expedition of 1918 the crinoids the ophiurans the brachyura the tanidacea and isopoda the amphipods the echinoidea austin h. clark austin h. clark mary j. rathbun pearl l. boone clarence r. shoemaker hubert lyman clark ! 1 published by the university, iowa city 4 contents crinoids .1-28 29-64 ophiurans brachyura tanidacea and isopoda. .65–90 .91-98 amphipods ..99-102 echinoidea 103-121 report on the crinoids collected by the barbados-antigua expedition from the university of iowa in 1918 austin h. clark curator, division of echinoderms, u. s. national museum preface it was most gratifying to me to be honored with a request to prepare an account of the crinoids of the state university of iowa's barbados-antigua expedition for i have myself visited barbados four, and antigua three times in connection with my studies on the terrestrial fauna of the west indies, and i naturally take a keen interest in everything that concerns these islands. perhaps it may not be out of place here to list the titles of my previous contributions to the zoological literature of the lesser antilles. these are the following: 1903, (a reply to mr. p. foster huggins; deals with birds). the sentry, kingstown, st. vincent, vol. 13, issue of friday, november 20, p. 2. the birds of st. vincent. west indian bulletin (barbados), vol. 5, no. 1, pp. 75–95, 1904. notes on the insects of barbados, st. vincent, the grenadines and grenada. psyche, vol. 11, pp. 114-117, december, 1904. description of a new euphonia from the southern west indies. proc. biol. soc. washington, vol. 18, pp. 19–22, february 2, 1905. preliminary descriptions of three new birds from st. vincent, west indies. proc. biol. soc. washington, vol. 18, pp. 61-64, february 21, 1905. the migrations of certain shore birds. the auk, vol. 22, no. 2, pp. 134-140, april, 1905. an unrecognized subspecies of bellona cristatus. the auk, vol. 22, no. 2, pp. 215–216, april, 1905. shore birds eating small fish. the auk, vol. 22, no. 2, pp. 208–209, april, 1905. 4 iowa studies in natural history the crab hawk (urubitinga) in the island of st. lucia. the auk, vol. 22, no. 2, p. 210, april, 1905. a supposed specimen of the yellow warbler (dendroica aestira) from grenada, west indies. the auk, vol. 22, no. 2, pp. 212–214, april, 1905. habits of west indian whitebait. american naturalist, vol. 39, no. 461, pp. 335-337, may, 1905. extirpated west indian birds. the auk, vol. 22, no. 3, pp. 259– 266, july, 1905. the lesser antillean macaws. the auk, vol. 22, no. 3, pp. 266– 273, july, 1905. the genus conurus in the west indies. the auk, vol. 22, no. 3, pp. 310–312, july, 1905. the former status of the flamingo and the fish hawk in the lesser antilles. the auk, vol. 22, no. 3, pp. 318,319, july, 1905. birds of the southern lesser antilles. proc. boston soc. nat. hist., vol. 32, no. 7, pp. 203–312, october, 1905. the west indian parrots. the auk, vol. 22, no. 4, pp. 338–344, october, 1905. the greater antillean macaws. the auk, vol. 22, no. 4, pp. 345– 348, october, 1905. the west indian black forms of the genus cæreba. the auk, vol. 23, no. 4, pp. 392–395, october, 1906. the macaw of dominica. the auk, vol. 25, no. 3, pp. 309–311, july, 1908. a list of the birds of the island of st. lucia. west indian bulletin (barbados), vol. 21, no. 3, pp. 182–192, may, 1911. piccole note su degli onychophora. zool. anzeiger, vol. 42, no. 6, pp. 253-255, july 18, 1913. two interesting mammals from the island of tobago, west indies. ann. and mag. nat. hist. [8], vol. 13, pp. 68–70, january, 1914. the present distribution of the onychophora, a group of terrestrial invertebrates. smithsonian miscellaneous collections, vol. 65, no. 1, pp. 1-25, january 4, 1915. the present status and breeding season of the giant toad (bufo agua) in barbados, st. vincent, trinidad and demerara. copeia, no. 27, february 24, 1916, pp. 13–14. my notes on the mammals of the lesser antilles with references to the specimens obtained are incorporated in the following paper: mammals of the west indies, by glover m. allen. bull. mus. comp. 1 barbados-antigua reports 5 zoöl., vol. 54, no. 6, pp. 175–263, july, 1911. [on p. 201 under leporidæ the heading oryctolagus cuniculus should read lepus europaeus, and lepus europaeus in the last line on the page should read oryctolagus cuniculus.] historical introduction the island of barbados has long been well known as a locality for recent crinoids. the first recent stalked crinoid discovered was a specimen of isocrinus asteria from martinique described by guettard under the name of "palmier marin" in 1761; but in the very next year ellis described another specimen of the same species from barbados. a second individual from barbados was described by j. s. miller in 1821, together with one from nevis. the second known recent stalked crinoid was also from martinique, and was described by d'orbigny in 1837 under the name of holopus rangii. it had only four rays, and was altogether such an extraordinary form that dujardin and hupé in 1862 suggested that possibly it was a barnacle rather than a crinoid. in 1871 mr. (later sir) rawson w. rawson, the governor of barbados, sent to dr. j. e. gray a drawing of another specimen of this species which was published by the latter under the name of holopus rawsoni. the actual specimen gray never saw. during his residence at barbados sir rawson rawson was so fortunate as to obtain, in addition to several specimens of holopus rangii, examples of isocrinus decorus and endococrinus parræ, and of several species of comatulids. in 1858 d'orbigny described from a recent breccia at guadeloupe, which also contained a human skeleton, a fragment of a crinoid which he called bourgueticrinus hotessieri. in 1871 the united states coast survey steamer “hassler" dredged some specimens of a closely related, possibly the same, species off sandy bay, barbados, which were described by count pourtalès in 1874 under the name of rhizocrinus rawsonii. comatulids were first reported from the west indies in 1825 by the reverend lansdown guilding of st. vincent, who mentioned them incidentally in connection with the description of a new pentacrinite which he called encrinus milleri. in this paper 6 iowa studies in natural history he published the first notice of the curious brachial articulation now known as the syzygy. sir rawson rawson had secured a number of comatulids at barbados, but the first published record for that island was pourtalès' description of antedon (neocomatella) pulchella and a. (n.) alata, which appeared in 1878. in 1912 dr. clemens hartlaub's memoir on the comatulids collected by the united states coast survey steamer “blake" was published, in which were listed a number of species from twenty stations off barbados. isolated records of individual specimens from barbados appeared in 1912 and 1913. the occurrence of isocrinus asteria and of holopus it is an extraordinary fact that in spite of all the dredging that has been done in the caribbean sea and about the west india islands only four specimens of isocrinus asteria have been brought up, one at montserrat by the “blake," one at guadeloupe by the “blake", one off saba by the “investigator," and a part of a stem off havana by the “albatross,'' and only two of holopus rangii, one, a fragment, at montserrat, and one off cuba, both by the “blake.” the majority of the known specimens of both these species have been taken on fishermen's lines, or by shore parties working from a small boat, or discovered on the beaches. the apparent rarity of these species, in contrast to the other species of isocrinus, the species of democrinus and the species of bythocrinus, is undoubtedly due to the fact that they inhabit shallow water, living amongst the gorgonians and corals, like the similarly rare west indian astrophytons. this hypothesis is supported by the occasional occurrence of holopus rangii washed up on the windward beaches of barbados, where it is recorded also that once after a hurricane a large number of individuals of isocrinus of all ages and sizes were cast ashore, and by the capture by sir rawson rawson of two specimens of holopus in 5 fathoms of water. speaking of the habitat of isocrinus sir rawson wrote in a letter to dr. gray: “i have only procured one specimen of the barbados-antigua reports 7 pentacrinus caput-medusa (endoxocrinus parræ), and it was the first; i am therefore more uncertain about the place where it was procured than i am about the habitat of the pentacrinus mülleri (isocrinus decorus). but i believe that they are all procured on the same bank, which, instead of five or six miles from the shore, as i was first informed, cannot be more than a mile, within the hundred-fathom line." from this it is apparent that endoxocrinus parrce and isocrinus decorus occur in relatively shallow water at barbados as elsewhere in the west indies. , the results of the barbados-antigua expedition while a considerable number of species have been described from the caribbean region our knowledge of the crinoids of that area is still in its infancy, and any information of any kind regarding them is therefore of interest and value. to illustrate the paucity of the data regarding the crinoids from the very shallow water in the western atlantic i may mention that, except for tropiometra picta which is locally abundant from tobago, trinidad, and venezuela to southern brazil, there are only six records, one from bahamas (nemaster iowensis), one from the tortugas, florida (nemaster iowensis, discovered by the university of iowa's bahamas expedition), one from st. thomas (antedon dübenii), one from dominica (nemaster iowensis), and two from brazil (antedon dübeniï and nemaster sp.). we probably already know a majority of the species inhabiting the caribbean region; but these have been described from specimens long preserved and without notes regarding the details of their occurrence, color, or other points of interest, while in order to understand any animal we must have far more information than that included in a mere description of its differential structural characters and one or two records of its occurrence. considering the relative rarity of littoral and sublittoral crinoids in the caribbean region and the difficulties attending their capture owing to the roughness of the bottom frequented by them the collection by the expedition of representatives of this group 8 iowa studies in natural history at no less than twenty-five out of one hundred and one stations constitutes quite a remarkable record. the species represented are the following: nemaster iowensis comactinia meridionalis nemaster discoidea analcidometra armata leptonemaster venustus coccometra hagenii democrinus rawsoniż of these seven species one, analcidometra armata, is new to the fauna of barbados, having previously been known only from near the tortugas, florida, and from off colon. the record of nemaster discoidea from antigua is the first record of any crinoid from that island. professor nutting's notes on the occurrence and color of the comatulids at barbados are very interesting and instructive. he says that “as a whole they seemed much more brilliant than the forms encountered on the 'pentacrinus ground' off havana and on the pourtalès plateau by the bahama expedition. few marine animals are harder to secure intact than these, as the very fragile arms are almost sure to be broken in dredging, either with the dredge or tangles. we secured a number of perfect specimens by taking them from the crannies in large coral rocks brought up from time to time in the dredge. here they had been protected and could be taken out without injury; but their colors, alas, soon vanished in preservatives. this habit of living in rocks was quite the usual thing off barbados. we often found these crinoids far in the interior of masses of old coral rock brought up in the dredge, and we were careful to break such rock very thoroughly, as fine comatulæ were often found within a cavity in the very heart of such masses. “it is hard to imagine the use of these brilliant colors in a habitat such as this. of course the rocks themselves were often brilliantly colored by the assemblage of corallines, sponges and gorgonians with which they were overgrown. the predominating colors of these were red and yellow, which also characterized the comatulids as well. i find the following colorations of free crinoids mentioned in my notes: "yellow and white; yellow and red; purple and white; black arms, with yellowish pinnules; . barbados-antigua reports 9 rich deep vermillion, with bright yellow pinnules; lemon yellow, with black upper surface to the arms; grayish in color; violet in tinge; a crimson crinoid arm; black, with greenish yellow arms; magenta, with dark yellowish arms; one specimen very dark gray, almost black, with whitish cirri.'” the crinoid fauna of barbados crinoids have been dredged by the steamers of the united states coast survey at the following stations at barbados: “hassler" station, december 30, 1871, off sandy bay, 100 fathoms neocomatella pulchella comactinia echinoptera neocomatella alata democrinus rawsonii : “blake" station 272, off barbados, 76 fathoms comactinia meridionalis crinometra coronata “blake" station 273, off barbados, 103 fathoms neocomatella pulchella democrinus rawsonii “blake” station 274, off barbados, 209 fathoms bythocrinus robustus "blake" station 277, off barbados, 106 fathoms neocomatella pulchella comactinia echinoptera neocomatella alata comactinia meridionalis democrinus rawsonii “blake" station 278, off barbados, 69 fathoms comactinia meridionalis “blake" station 280, off barbados, 221 fathoms endococrinus parre “blake" station 281, off barbados, 200 fathoms isocrinus blakei “blake" station 283, off barbados, 237 fathoms endoxocrinus parræ “blake" station 285, off barbados, 13-40 fathoms nemaster rubiginosa 10 iowa studies in natural history "blake" station 286, off barbados, 7–45 fathoms comactinia meridionalis 6 “blake" station 287, off barbados, 71/2–50 fathoms neocomatella pulchella “blake" station 290, off barbados, 73 fathoms neocomatella pulchella stylometra spinifera democrinus rawsonii “blake" station 291, off barbados, 200 fathoms isocrinus blakei endo.cocrinus parree “blake” station 292, off barbados, 56 fathoms stylometra spinifera “blake" station 294, off barbados, 137 fathoms neocomatella pulchella neocomatella alata “blake” station 295, off barbados, 180 fathoms isocrinus blakei endoxocrinus parrce “blake" station 296, off barbados, 84 fathoms neocomatella pulchella endoxocrinus parræ isocrinus decorus democrinus rawsonii “blake” station 297, off barbados, 123 fathoms comactinia meridionalis stylometra spinifera democrinus rawsonii “blake'' station 298, off barbados, 120 fathoms neocomatella pulchella leptonemaster venustus neocomatella alata stylometra spinifera isocrinus decorus “blake" station 299, off barbados, 140 fathoms neocomatella pulchella stylometra spinifera according to p. h. carpenter sir rawson rawson obtained at barbados the following crinoids : exocyclic comatulids isocrinus decorus endocyclic comatulids endococrinus parre holopus rangi barbados-antigua reports 11 there are in the british museum the following crinoids from barbados : comactinia echinoptera endoxocrinus parre stylometra spinifera holopus rangir the kiel museum contains two crinoids from barbados, collected in 1873: nemaster discoidea comactinia meridionalis in the hamburg museum there is the following crinoid from barbados : isocrinus decorus thus the known crinoid fauna of barbados in 1913 included the following seventeen species : neocomatella pulchella crinometra coronata neocomatella alata coccometra hagenii nemaster rubiginosa isocrinus asteria nemaster discoidea isocrinus decorus leptonemaster venustus isocrinus blakei comactinia echinoptera endo.cocrinus parre comactinia meridionalis holopus rangi stylometra spinifera democrinus rawsoni bythocrinus robustus it is interesting that specimens of the following, practically half of the total number, had been brought up on fishermen's lines or captured in other ways without the assistance of elaborate dredging gear: nemaster discoidea isocrinus asteria comactinia echinoptera isocrinus decorus comactinia meridionalis endorocrinus parree stylometra spinifera holopus rangii indeed, isocrinus asteria and holopus rangii have both been found washed up on the beaches. the west indian crinoid fauna there are known from recent seas 576 described species of crinoids, representing 142 genera which are distributed among 28 families and subfamilies; of these, 76 species, included in 22 12 iowa studies in natural history genera and 6 families, are stalked, while 500 species, included in 120 genera and 22 families and subfamilies, are of the unstalked comatulid type. in the west indian region there occur 51 species (exclusive of two inadequately described) distributed among 30 genera and 16 families and subfamilies; of these 12 species belonging to 8 genera and three families are stalked, and 39 species belonging to 22 genera and 12 families and subfamilies are comatulids. it will be remembered that dr. p. h. carpenter in 1881, after a cursory examination of the “blake" comatulids estimated the number of west indian species as slightly less than 55. the families and subfamilies represented in the west indian region are capillasterinæ perometrina comactiniinæ zenometrinæ colobometridae bathymetrinæ tropiometridæ pentametrocrinidæ thalassometridæ atelecrinidæ charitometridae pentacrinidæ antedoninæ holopodidæ thysanometrinæ bourgueticrinidæ of the genera the following 16 are confined to the west indian region, though all of these, excepting holopus, are closely related to indo-pacific genera nemaster horaeometra leptonemaster crinometra comatonia hybometra comatilia coccometra microcomatula zenometra comactinia hypalometra analcidometra holopus stylometra isocrinus the following 3 genera occur also in the eastern atlantic, but not in the indo-pacific region neocomatella antedon rhizocrinus barbados-antigua reports 13 the following 11 genera occur in the indo-pacific region as well as in the west indies tropiometra atelecrinus crotalometra endoxocrinus adelometra bathycrinus trichometra monachocrinus pentametrocrinus democrinus bythocrinus this shows graphically the isolation of the crinoid fauna of the caribbean area. the geological significance of the west indian crinoid fauna of the six fossil groups which are represented by recent species, the zygometridæ, pentacrinidæ, holopodidæ, apiocrinidæ, bourgueticrinidæ and plicatocrinidæ, three, the pentacrinidæ, holopodidæ and bourgueticrinidæ, occur in the west indian region, and the plicatocrinidæ, inhabiting the abysses and known from off west africa, probably will eventually be found there. the genera occurring in the west indies which include both recent and fossil species are the following family pentacrinidae isocrinus range of the recent species.-west indies. horizons.—trias and jurassic; europe and north america. family holopodidæ holopus range of the recent species.-west indies. horizon.—tertiary; italy. family bourgueticrinidæ rhizocrinus range of the recent species.-west indies to massachusetts, and northwestern europe. horizons.-cretaceous, new jersey; eocene, europe. democrinus range of the recent species.-tropical atlantic and east indies. horizon.-recent; guadeloupe. as in all the rest of the world there are only two genera, 14 iowa studies in natural history catoptometra and eudiocrinus, both belonging to the zygometridæ and both ranging from the malayan region to southern japan, which are definitely known to include both recent and fossil species, it would seem that the caribbean region has a closer affinity with the past faunas than has any other area. the relative antiquity of the west indian crinoid fauna seems to be attested by the following facts: of the 8 genera of stalked crinoids represented 4, or one-half, occur also as fossils; in the indo-pacific region out of 19 stalked genera only 1 occurs as a fossil.* of the 30 genera of comatulids 23, or 77%, include only five or ten armed species. the comasterinae, himerometridae, stephanometridae and mariametridae, including only multibrachiate species, are not represented; the zygometridae, many species of which are conspicuous for the great number of arms, is also unrepresented. of these 30 comatulid genera 23, or 77%, are monotypic, or are represented by a single species. key to the genera of crinoids represented in the caribbean sea and adjacent waters ci ai no stem; the center of the dorsal side of the animal is occupied by a single more or less thick plate or knob bearing jointed appendages by means of which the animal attaches itself. bi five very long and slender arms pentametrocrinus b2 ten or more arms one or more of the proximal pinnules bears in its terminal por. tion a comb-like structure formed by the production of the distal outer side of each of the segments in the form of a long thin triangular process di more than ten arms el all of the division series are composed of two ossicles; the lowest pinnule is on the second brachial following the last axillary neocomatella e first division series of two ossicles, the second of four of *cf. the ontogeny of a genus, american naturalist, vol. 45, no. 534, june, 1911, pp. 372-374; the comparative age of the recent crinoid faunas, american journal of science (4), vol. 32 (whole no. 182), no. 188, august, 1911, pp. 127-132; das relative alter der rezenten seelilienfaunen, naturwiss. rundschau, jg. 27, no. 15, april 11, 1912, pp. 191-192; on the deep sea and comparable faunas, intern. revue der ges. hydrobiol. und hydrogr., vol. 6, 1913, heft 1, pp. 17-30, heft 2/3, pp. 133-146. barbados-antigua reports 15 which the two outer are united by syzygy, the following of three of which the two outer are united by syzygy; sometimes the division series are very irregular; the first pinnule following the outermost axillaries is on the first brachial nemaster d2 ten arms el cirri short and stout with the dorsal profile smooth, there being no processes on the distal ends of the segments; the segments of the middle pinnules are short and broad, with the distal corners more or less produced comactinia e2 cirri longer and more slender, the outer segments bearing more or less prominent processes on the dorsal side of the distal ends fi the three pairs of pinnules following the first pair on each arm are absent comatilia f2 all of the pinnules are present gi first and second segments of the proximal pinnules with a very high and prominent carinate process of which the outer edge, at least on the second segment, is parallel with the longitudinal axis of the pinnule leptonemaster g2 there are no carinate processes on the basal segments of the proximal pinnules hi cirri slender, but not excessively 80; terminal comb arising at about, or even within, the proximal third of the pinnules of the first pair, composed of exceptionally large rounded teeth which usually much exceed in height the lateral diameter of the segments which bear them, and frequently absent; 4th-7th brachials with prominent spinous median knobs or keels; usually one or more of the earlier segments of p, is twice as long as broad, or even longer; size moderate comatonia h2 cirri excessively slender and threadlike, the enormously elongated segments with greatly gwollen articulations; the penultimate seg. ment, which is much shorter than those preceding, is twice as long as broad; terminal 16 iowa studies in natural history comb confined to the tip of the proximal pinnules, and of the usual type; no carination of the earlier brachials; none of the segments of p, elongated microcomatula c2 no comb-like structures on the proximal pinnules di there are no deposits in the ventral perisome of the pinnules visible to the naked eye el each cirrus socket is bordered proximally and laterally by a prominent raised rim; a narrow circlet of basals separates the centrodorsal from the radials; centrodorsal conical, the cirrus sockets arranged in ten equidistant columns; first syzygial pair and following brachials very obliquely wedge-shaped or triangular atelecrinus e2 no raised rim about the proximal and lateral portions of the cirrus sockets; no basals; first syzygial pair oblong; following brachials oblong or slightly wedge-shaped, later becoming triangular, or at least more obliquely wedge-shaped fi centrodorsal elongate, conical or columpar, with the eirrus sockets arranged in 10 definite columns gi the ten columns of cirrus sockets are closely crowded on a conical centrodorsal; size small; color yellow adelometra g2 the ten columns of cirrus sockets are segregated in five radial pairs separated by high interradial ridges; centrodorsal columnar; size medium or large; color red or purple zenometra f2 cirrus sockets closely crowded, and without definite arrangement gi proximal pinnules absent; lowest pinnule on the fifth brachial hypalometra g2 proximal pinnules present; the second and following brachials bear pinnules hi first pinnule extraordinarily flexible, composed of more than 30 segments which are about as long as broad with their corners cut away, appearing like a string of minute beads; second and following pinnules of the barbados-antigua reports 17 same length, but composed of about half as many much longer segments, and much less flexible cocco etra are h2 most or all of the segments of the first pinnule longer than broad ji proximal pinnules all of the same character; first pinnule shorter than the second, which is shorter than the third ji each brachial has the midline of the dorsal surface raised into a high prominent keel; the division series and first two brachials very broad, in close lateral contact with their neighbors, and only slightly convex dorsally; the genital pinnules are very long, the longest pinnules on the arm; the centrodorsal is very large, columnar or broad truncated conical; the cirri are short and stout, without dorsal processes; the general habitus is stout tropiometra j2 the dorsal surface of the brachials is unmodified, but their distal edges are produced in a frill of long spines; the division series and lower brachials are narrow and well rounded dorsal. ly; the genital pinnules are shorter than the proximal or distal pinnules, which are of the same length; all the pinnules are very slender and stiff, especially the lower, which are thorn. like, the component segments with numerous long spines on their distal ends hybometra iz first pinnule markedly longer than the second and following ji first pinnule very stout, and so large at the base as to give the second brachial the appearance of an axil. lary; edges of the elements of the division series armed with coarse 2 18 iowa studies in natural history short spines; cirri short and stout, with short subequal segments most of which bear high dorsal spines, the more proximal with a transversely elongate chisel-like edge analcidometra j2 first pinnule much elongated, but not especially stout; no true dorsal spines on the cirrus segments ki centrodorsal rounded conical, almost entirely covered with from 40 to 60 cirrus sockets; cirri long, rather slender, composed of from 25 to 30 segments; proximal brachials with the distal edge abruptly everted and conspicuously spinous; first pinnule more slender than those following; division series and lower brachials in close lateral apposition and flattened against their neighbors trichometra k2 centrodorsal very low, flattened hemispherical, with less than 35 cirrus sockets; cirri short, rather stout, with not more than 15 seg. ments; no eversion of the distal borders of the earlier brachials; first pinnule stouter than those succeeding; division series and bases and widely separated; a cluster of perisomic interradial plates in each interradial angle arm antedon narrow d2 the ambulacral grooves on the pinnules and arms are bordered by two rows of minute plates easily seen in dried specimens of which those of the inner row can be closed down over them el cirri short and stout, strongly curved, with not more than 20 segments none of which bear dorsal spines; centrodorsal very broad, more or less columnar or broad truncated conical, the cirrus sockets closely crowded and irregularly arranged; first two pinnules similar, slender, barbados-antigua reports 19 composed of numerous short segments; 20-30 arms; proximal portion of animal usually highly ornamented with spines or tubercles, though sometimes plain crinometra e2 cirri long, with more than 30 segments of which the outer bear prominent dorsal spines; centrodorsal rather small, more or less conical, the cirrus sockets arranged in ten columns; first pinnule longer and stouter than the following fi the segments in the basal half of the genital pinnules are much broadened, forming a roof over the gonads; 10 arms horaeometra f2 the segments of the genital pinnules are not expanded; usually between 20 and 30 arms gi very spinous; the edges of the elements of the division series and lower brachials are armed with long spines, and each of the middle and outer brachials bears a single long curved laterally compressed spine which overlaps the base of the brachial succeeding; division series and arm bases narrow, strong convex dorsally and more or less separated stylometra g2 smooth; the edges of the elements of the division series and brachials are unmodified; division series and arm bases broad and in close lateral apposition crotalometra 22 a stem is present bi the short thick stem or stalk consists of a single unjointed element by which the animal is solidly attached to corals or other hard objects; the arms are very short and stout, six of them being considerably larger than the other four holopus b2 the stem is long and many jointed; its distal end is never attached bearing five articulated processes or cirri; the stem ends abruptly, exposing the distal face of one of the columnals, which is usually more or less worn; size large di all of the division series are of vo elements endoxocrinus d2 the first division series is of two elements, the following always of more than two, the number increasing distally isocrinus 20 iowa studies in natural history c2 there are no modified columnals, and no cirri; at the end of the stem there is a cluster of roots, or radicular cirri, which may extend upward over a number of columnals di the third, sixth and ninth brachials (the fifth, eighth and eleventh ossicles beyond the radials) have a muscular articu. lation at either end; the basals are fused into a solid ring which is broader than long, cylindrical or truncated conical bathycrinus de all the ossicles following the radials are united in pairs by non-muscular articulations; that is, muscular and non-muscular articulations regularly alternate throughout the arm; the basals are separated, or fused into a solid ring which is truncated conical, longer than broad el ten arms (twelve arms in six-rayed species) monachocrinus e2 five arms fi no sutures visible between the basals, which are fused into a solid conical ossicle; four to seven rays rhizocrinus f2 basals always separated by distinct sutures; always five rays gi stem relatively slender, the longest columnals at least twice as long as broad; calyx more or less conical bythocrinus g2 stem stout, the longest columnals rarely so much as twice as long as broad, usually only slightly longer than broad; calyx almost or quite cylin. drical democrinus the plant-like interrelationships of the caribbean crinoids some years ago i stated that the study of the fixed and sedentary marine animals was often rendered exceptionally difficult through the more or less complete assumption of that type of variation which we find among the plants. individuals of many species of plants vary very widely according to the dampness or dryness, richness or barrenness, and brightness or darkness of the locality inhabited, while in other types which will grow only within a relatively small range of conditions the variation is slight. barbados-antigua reports 21 the same thing is true in the fixed and sedentary marine animals, and is well illustrated by the caribbean crinoids. the thermal and actinic range of the stalked species is small, as they are for the most part inhabitants of deep water where conditions are practically uniform; their range of variation is therefore slight and there is little difficulty in delimiting their species. but many, if not most, of the unstalked species in the caribbean sea have an unusually great bathymetrical range, their representatives in the littoral and sublittoral zones living under a great variety of conditions varying in temperature and illumination, and therefore also in the quality and quantity of the food. from this circumstance it comes about that each of the more abundant types occurs in a number of more or less distinct varieties which, intergrading in every conceivable way, are quite plant-like in their interrelationships, and which appear to be proportionate in number to the thermal and actinic range of the species. thus the interrelationships of the forms in the genus comactinia—hartlaub recognizes fifteen varieties of comactinia echinoptera—and in the genus crinometra, with fifteen nominal species, recall the interrelationships of the more difficult sections of such plant genera as cratægus, rubus or rosa, and those of the forms in the genus nem aster the interrelationships of our local species of circæa. the comatulids differ from all the other fixed and sedentary animals in being reduced to practically nothing but a food col. lecting apparatus, the organs not concerned, as are the arms and pinnules, in the collection of food being reduced to an absolute minimum. in the plants the species of rafflesiaceæ are for the most part reduced to a flower only, without leaves, stem or true root, and it is interesting to note that the range in size of the species of rafflesiaceæ and of the comatulids is the same, from less than an inch in diameter to about three feet (rafflesia arnoldi and heliometra maxima). in the crinoids the excretion of waste products is for the most part effected by the formation of small globules (sacculi) chiefly along the ambulacral grooves which are superficially quite similar to the "glands" dotting the leaves in the hypericaceæ and 22 iowa studies in natural history other plants. as a rule in the crinoids, as in many, if not most, other sedentary and fixed types, the pigment is more or less distributed throughout the entire animal (it may even be chiefly or entirely internal in some of the polyzoa) as in most of the plants used for dyeing purposes, and is not chiefly or exclusively superficial as in most active animals. when it is recalled that the variations in the symmetry of flowers are duplicated with great exactness in the zoöids of the fixed animal types and in the crinoids, the odorous features of the menthaceæ, most solanaceæ, etc., are equally characteristic of sponges, the acrid juice of the brassicaceæ is duplicated in most cælenterates (small millepores are called “sea ginger" in barbados), the pleasant odor of many plants is equally a feature of flustra and other marine animals, etc., etc., the comparison between the fixed and sedentary animals and the plants is seen to be quite justified. annotated list of the species obtained family comasteridae subfamily capillasterinæ nemaster iowensis (springer) actinometra iowensis 1902. springer, american geologist, vol. 30, p. 98 (florida reefs, 3 feet).-1903. springer, bull. lab. nat. hist. state univ. iowa, vol. 5, no. 3, pp. 217-221, plate 1. nemaster iowensis 1909. a. h. clark, vid. medd. fra den naturhist. foren. i köbenhavn, 1909, p. 118. station 53: arms only; "arms black, pinnules lemon yellow at tips, shading into black.” station 97: arms only. station 98: arms only. station 99: arms only. station 100: arms only. barbados-antigua reports 23 > barbados; engineers' pier, in 25 feet of water. one specimen; the centrodorsal is very thin, discoidal, the flat dorsal pole 5 mm. in diameter, slightly sunken in a circular area 2 mm, in diameter in the center, the cirri, which are arranged in a single very irregular marginal row, are xxii, 13-15, 13 mm. or 14 mm. long. the 43 arms are about 90 mm. long. the color in life was "sulphur yellow." barbados. arms only; "nearly black." nemaster discoidea (p. h. carpenter) actinometra discoidea 1883. von graff, bull. mus. comp. zoöl., vol. 11, no. 7, p. 127 (nomen nudum; myzostomes). 1884. von graff, “challenger” reports, vol. 10, zoology, part 27, p. 14 (nomen nudum; myzostomes),-1888. p. h. carpenter, “challenger” reports, vol. 26, zoology, pp. 58, 316, 317, 368, 382 (caribbean islands, 88–118 fathoms). actinometra echinoptera var. discoidea 1912. hartlub, mem. mus. comp. zoöl., vol. 27, no. 4, p. 463, pl. 17, figs. 7, 9, 15 (fig. 14, also given as this species, is probably iowensis). nemaster insolitus 1917. a. h. clark, proc. biol. soc. washington, vol. 30, p. 65 (“albatross" station 2146, caribbean sea, 34 fathoms). station 50: arms only. station 51: one magnificent specimen; the centrodorsal is thin, discoidal, the flat dorsal pole 5 mm. in diameter with a shallow central depression; the cirri are xxiv, 13, from 12 mm. to 14 mm. long; ; the twenty slender arms are about 150 mm. long; all of the iibr series are 4(3+4). station 70: arm fragments. station 79: arms only. station 85: part of an arm. 24 iowa studies in natural history station 92: arms only. barbados. one small specimen with 15 arms 45 mm. long. the color in life was “very dark gray, pinnules and cirri whitish, the former banded with darker." detached arms, presumably from another station. the color in life was "black, with yellow pinnules." station 101: one much broken specimen with 19 arms. 9 leptonemaster venustus a. h. clark leptonemaster venustus 1909. a. h. clark, proc. u. s. nat. mus., vol. 36, p. 499 (“grampus” station 5104). station 3: one small specimen; this had "a greenish tinge when fresh." station 7: one small specimen; in life this was "pale yellow." station 11: twenty specimens, with arms from 20 mm. to 50 mm. in length; in life these were "yellow." station 13: one small specimen. station 18: one specimen. station 46: one specimen with arms about 65 mm. long. the color in life is described as follows: “arms barred with cadmium yellow; the base of each arm is of this color up to the main division, and for an eighth of an inch or more distal to this point; beyond this for a quarter of an inch, more or less, the usual white color prevails, then a yellow bar for three-sixteenths of an inch, again a white bar for about the same distance; beyond this the white prevails, the yellow bars being irregularly spaced and one-sixteenth of an inch or less in width; there are from five to seven bars, as a rule, on each arm; the pinnules over each bar tend to be yellowish; the tips of the arms are also yellowish; the cirri are a paler yellow.” barbados-antigua reports 25 station 56: one specimen with arms about 30 mm. long. station 59: one specimen with arms 50 mm. long. the color in life was "yellow." station 67: five specimens with arms up to 65 mm. in length. the color in life was “brownish." station 78: one small specimen. 6 subfamily comactiniinæ comactinia meridionalis (agassiz and agassiz) alecto meridionalis 1865. agassiz and agassiz, seaside studies p. 121, figs. 153, 154 (“a. agassiz, ms.;" coast of south caro lina). comactinia meridionalis 1909. a. h. clark, vid. med. fra den naturhist. forening i köbenhavn, 1909, p. 150. station 9: arms only. in life these were either “light yellow,” or “body of arm light yellow, the pinnules deep carmine, tipped with yellow in most cases.” station 11: four specimens, with the arms about 60 mm. long. in life these had the arms “dark carmine, the pinnules orange with red and yellow spots and tipped with yellow;" or the arms were “bright purple, the pinnules more so." station 14 : one small specimen, with the base of the pinnules strongly purple.” station 51: one young specimen with the arms 40 mm. long. station 67: five specimens with very slender arms up to about 70 mm. in length. in life one was "a rich carmine;" another was "ricb carmine with yellow spots, the pinnules orange yellow.”' station 78: two specimens, the larger with the longest arms about 70 mm long. 26 iowa studies in natural history 66 > station 85: one specimen with arms about 70 mm. long. station 96: four specimens, the largest with the anterior arms 85 mm. and the posterior 47 mm. in length, closely resembling those collected by the “corwin” off french reef. in life one was “dark yellow;' the others had the “arms dark rose pink, the cirri pale yellow, the pinnules pale yellow, banded with burnt sienna." barbados. one specimen, which had the “arms deep mauve, and the pinnules very pale straw yellow banded with grayish purple." family colobometridæ analcidometra armata (pourtalès) antedon armata 1869. pourtales, bull. mus. comp. zoöl., vol. . 1, no. 11, p. 356 (west of the tortugas, in 35 fathoms). oligometra caribbea 1908. a. h. clark, proc. u. s. nat. mus., vol. 34, p. 238 (off colon, in 34 fathoms). station 11 : one very small specimen with arms 15 mm. long. family antedonidæ subfamily thysanometrinæ coccometra hagenü (pourtalès) comatula (alecto) hagenii 1868. pourtales, bull. mus. comp. zoöl., vol. 1, no. 6, p. 111 (of sand key, florida, in 100 fathoms). coccometra hagenii 1908. a. h. clark, proc. biol. soc. washington, vol. 21, p. 129. station 15 : four small and young specimens; the segments of ps are much longer than usual, probably owing to their small size. family bourgueticrinidæ democrinus rawsonii (pourtalès) rhizocrinus rawsonii 1874. pourtales, ill. cat. mus. comp. zool., vol. 4, no. 8, p. 27. barbados-antigua reports 27 station 7: one extraordinarily well preserved specimen, agreeing in all details with pourtalès' types, which were also from barbados. the total length is 178.7 mm.; the arms are 19 mm. long, the calyx (including the radials) 4.7 mm. long, and the stem, which is composed of 58 columnals plus a portion of the root, is 155 mm. long. list of the stations, with the species represented at each station 3: leptonemaster venustus station 7: leptonemaster venustus democrinus rawsonii station 9: comactinia meridionalis (arms) station 11: leptonemaster venustus comactinia meridionalis analcidometra armata station 13: leptonemaster venustus station 14: comactinia meridionalis station 15: coccometra hagenii station 18: leptonemaster venustus station 46: leptonemaster venustus station 50: nemaster discoidea (arms) station 51: nemaster discoidea comactinia meridionalis station 53: nemaster iowensis (arms) station 56: leptonemaster venustus station 59: leptonemaster venustus station 67: leptonemaster venustus comactinia meridionalis station 78: leptonemaster venustus comactinia meridionalis station 79: nemaster discoidea (arms) station 85: comactinia meridionalis station 92: nemaster discoidea (arms) station 96: comactinia meridionalis station 97: nemaster iowensis (arms) station 98: nemaster iowensis (arms) 28 iowa studies in natural history station 99: nemaster iowensis (arms) barbados; engineers' pier, 25 feet: nemaster iowensis barbados : nemaster iowensis (arms) nemaster discoidea comactinia meridionalis station 101: nemaster discoidea report on the ophiurans collected by the barbados-antigua expedition from the university of iowa in 1918 austin h. clark curator, division of echinoderms, u. s. national museum preface by a fortunate combination of circumstances it happened that just before and during the early dredging operations of the u. s. coast survey between 1867 and 1879 (by the steamers “cors win,” “hassler” and “blake”), which were the first intensive deep sea investigations ever undertaken, interest in the ophiurans had reached a pitch of intensity quite comparable to that of the revival of the past ten years centering in the indo-pacific and antarctic, and new material was studied and described as rapidly as it was obtained. the two authors of those days chiefly interested in the west indian ophiurans were theodore lyman of harvard, who studied the ophiurans collected by the ships of the coast survey, and later those of the "challenger," and christian f. lütken of copenhagen to whom were sent a large number of specimens from the danish west indies, mostly from st. thomas, collected by a. h. riise. as many of riise's specimens were later also sent to lyman, the latter was enabled to study authentic examples of many of lütken's species from the original locality. the completeness of the early collections and the thoroughness and accuracy with which the early authors worked are attested by professor kohler's report upon the ophiurans secured by the “albatross” in the west indies (1914) and by dr. hubert lyman clark's memoir on the ophiurans of porto rico (1902) and catalogue of known ophiurans (1915) in which a negligible number of new caribbean types are described, and almost none of the earlier species placed in synonymy. *published with the permission of the secretary of the smithsonian institution. 29 30 iowa studies in natural history within the last few years the study of the ophiurans has taken on a renewed impetus, and a number of large and important memoirs have appeared. a rather unusual feature of this activ. ity has been that all of the authors concerned have worked in perfect harmony and without a trace of other than the most friendly coöperation, with the result that, instead of a mass of new and conflicting ideas and testily debated new genera and species we have before us today an entirely new classification of these animals in its perfected form only two years old yet accepted by all the authorities on the subject, and an increase of something like 300% in the number of known species, over 400 having been described by a single author, very few of which it has been found necessary to place in the synonymy of older forms. to the energy and activity of professor rené kohler of lyons we are indebted for the greatest increase in the number of known types, and to professor hikoshichiro matsumoto of sendai for our new classification; to dr. hubert lyman clark of harvard we are indebted not only for an important increase in the number of known genera and species, second only to that which we owe to professor kohler, but also for a magnificent memoir in which all of the recently described new species are included, assembled under matsumoto’s revised classification. the classification here adopted follows that employed in dr. clark's memoir except that, with professors kæhler and verrill, i recognize the family ophiomycetidæ, the genera of which are placed by matsumoto and by h. l. clark in the ophiacanthidæ. the memoirs which should be consulted in connection with the present paper are the following: report on the ophiuroidea collected by the bahama expedition in 1893. addison e. verrill. bulletin from the laboratories of the state university of iowa, vol. 5, no. 1 (bul. letin of the university of iowa, n. s., vol. 1, no. 6), september, 1899, pp. 1-86, plates 1-8. > a contribution to the study of ophiurans of the u. s. national museum. rené kæhler. bulletin 84, u. s. national museum, 1914, pp. i-vii, 1-173, plates 1-18. barbados-antigua reports 31 9 a new classification of the ophiuroidea. hikoshichiro matsumoto. proceedings of the academy of natural sciences, philadelphia, 1915 (april 12, 1915), pp. 43–92. catalogue of recent ophiurans : based upon the collection of the museum of comparative zoology. hubert lyman clark. memoirs of the museum of comparative zoology, vol. 25, no. 4, december, 1915, pp. 165–376, plates 1-20. a monograph of japanese ophiuroidea, arranged according to a new classification. hikoshichiro matsumoto. journal of the college of science, imperial university of tokyo, vol. 38, art. 2, march 31, 1917, pp. 1-408, plates 1-7. ophiures (collected by kükenthal and hartmeyer in the west indies, a number at barbados). rené kæhler. zoölogischer jahrbuch, supplement 11, heft 3, 1913, pp. 351-380, plates > 20, 21. the caribbean echinoderm fauna on the basis of the available data it is difficult to make any statements of value regarding the subdivisions of the echinoderm fauna of the american side of the tropical atlantic. there is a certain homogeneity about it which suggests that it should be regarded as a single faunal unit locally modified, as a result of diverse ecological conditions, by the partial or complete elimination of certain types which results in local changes in the faunal balance; that is to say, the faunal characteristics of any given region are more closely dependent upon the size and character of the adjacent land mass (features determining the amount and kind of food) than they are upon fundamental faunal considerations. the brazilian section of this fauna includes several characteristic types not known elsewhere in the region. perhaps the most striking of these is paracentrotus gaimardi, which also occurs in west africa. this species appears to be rare and local and it is not by any means certain that it does not occur in the next section. the fauna of the continental shores of the caribbean region, with trinidad and tobago, seems, so far as we can tell, to be 32 iowa studies in natural history essentially similar to the brazilian, minus certain types and plus a few others. the most conspicuous of the latter is the littoral thyraster serpentarius, but this is known only from vera cruz and from off tampa bay, florida (cat. no. 36995 u. s. national museum). the third division, which appears to be merely the preceding minus a number of its characteristic types and plus a few which possibly are not in reality confined to it, includes the antillean islands north of tobago and the atlantic coast of north america to carolina, some of the species even reaching cape cod. this division is richest in species in the greater antilles and southern florida, and poorest in the southern lesser antilles, especially on the oceanic island of barbados. the ophiurans collected by the expedition the expedition brought back representatives of forty-three species of ophiurans; of these 26 were found at barbados only, 14 were found both at barbados and at antigua, and 3 were found only at antigua. of the 40 species collected at barbados the following 11 were there found for the first time: ophiomyxa flaccida amphiodia planispina astrophytum muricatum ophiactis savignyi ophioplus tuberculosus ophiothrix lineata amphiura diducta ophiothrix pallida amphipholis limbata ophiomusium sculptum ophiolepis elegans the 17 species collected at antigua constitute new records ; they were: ophiomyxa flaccida ophiocoma riisei ophiactis mülleri ophioderma appressa ophiothrix angulata ophioderma brevicauda ophiothrix öerstedii ophioderma cinerea ophiothrix suensonii ophioderma rubicunda ophionereis reticulata ophiura acervata ophiocoma echinata ophiomusium validum ophiocoma pumila ophiolepis elegans ophiolepis paucispina barbados-antigua reports 33 the west indian ophiuran fauna there are known from the recent seas 1420 described species of ophiurans representing 192 genera which are distributed among 13 families. in the west indian region there occur 255 species representing 88 genera and all the known families. whereas in the case of the crinoids all the species occurring in the caribbean region are confined to that area, a considerable number of the ophiurans occur more or less generally throughout the atlantic basin, or are represented by closely related types in the east atlantic and mediterranean sea, and some are almost universally distributed. as examples of wide ranging forms the following may be mentioned. amphipholis squamata, which is found from norway to the cape of good hope, on both sides of the atlantic, and from australia and new zealand to juan fernandez, california and hawaii. amphiura otteri, occurring on both coasts of the north atlantic and in lower california. ophiactis savignyi, occurring in shallow water in all warm seas. ophiacantha vepratica, found in the west indies and in fiji. ophiomusium lymani, occurring everywhere in water of moderate depth and temperature. ophiomusium planum, found on both coasts of the middle atlantic and in the indian ocean. amphiophiura sculptilis, found in the west indies, the indian ocean, the east indies and japan. asteronyx loveni, found in all northern seas and southward to the west indies, lower california and japan. the following 21 genera are known from the caribbean region only; those marked with an asterisk (*) are monotypic. *ophiobrachion ophiosciasma *ophiophrixus *ophioholcus *ophioplus *hemieuryale 3 34 iowa studies in natural history > *astrocnida ophiomitra *astrophytum *ophiacanthella * astrogordius *microphiura *astrocyclus *ophioblenna *astrocynodus *ophionema [ tophiochondrus) *ophiothyreus *ophiochondrella *amphipholizona *ophiopæpale while a number of these genera will undoubtedly eventually be found in other parts of the world, still the fact that they represent 24% of the total number of genera occurring in the west indies is significant, and the fact that all but three of them, or 83%, are monotypic is still more so. the existence in the west indian region of these endemic genera indicates that this region constitutes a very marked faunal entity, while the occurrence of so many monotypic genera suggests that faunal stability was attained a long while ago; in other words that, as compared to the other portions of the oceans, faunal evolution has been retarded so that the west indian region may be described as faunally the most ancient portion of the recent seas. so far as we are able to judge from the geological record, taken in connection with the recent fauna, there are two quite distinct types of distribution, always, however, more or less superimposed, in every homogeneous animal group. a newly arisen animal type immediately spreads to the limits of its possible distribution, and within the area overrun by it all sorts of variants appear which may be considered as of varietal, subspecific or specific value. thus a genus or any other homogeneous group represented in a given faunal district by a number of closely related types is a group of recent origin, or of recent introduction. as time passes a number of factors begin to assert themselves, internal and external parasitism, economic pressure of great numbers of individuals, and economic pressure of competing types, which tend to restrict the possible scope of variation and to confine the variants within well marked limits which constantly become narrower and narrower until only a few well marked and distinct types remain each of which has now acquired the status of a monotypic genus. barbados-antigua reports 35 thus a group of animals represented in a given region wholly or chiefly by a number of very distinct types, or monotypic genera, has been more or less isolated in that region for very considerable period. it is interesting to compare the occurrence of the ophiurans in the caribbean region with that of the crinoids. total number of ophiuran families, 13; of crinoid families, 28. total number of ophiuran genera, 192; of crinoid genera, 142. total number of ophiuran species, 1420; of crinoid species, 576. ophiuran families in the west indies, 13; percent of total, 100. crinoid families in the west indies, 16; percent of total, 54. ophiuran genera in the west indies, 88; percent of total, 46. crinoid genera in the west indies, 30; percent of total, 21. ophiuran species in the west indies, 255; percent of total, 18. crinoid species in the west indies, 51; percent of total, 9. endemic ophiuran genera, 21; percent of total in west indies, 24. endemic crinoid genera, 16; percent of total in west indies, 53. monotypic ophiuran genera, 18; percent of total in west indies, 20. monotypic crinoid genera, 11; percent of total in west indies, 37. the recognized families and subfamilies in the recent crinoids are in almost all cases better differentiated than the same divi. sions among the ophiurans as we understand them now. this indicates a phylogenetic advancement of the crinoid over the ophiuran fauna whereby the former has become more definitely crystallized into well circumscribed types. the relationships of the ophiuran and crinoid families, genera and species may be analyzed as follows: ophiurans number of families 13 average number of genera per family 16 average number of species per genus 7 crinoids 28 5 4 36 iowa studies in natural history 0 1 0 4 the greater number of crinoid families indicates that the recent crinoid fauna, if not actually older than the recent ophi. uran fauna, at least developed earlier, as the various forms have become more definitely circumscribed and segregated into well differentiated units. the relative state of undevelopment of the ophiuran fauna is also indicated by the much larger number of genera in each family and of species in each genus, as well as by the larger number of species in each genus in any given locality. only about one-half of the higher groups of crinoids are represented in the west indies, while all of the higher groups of ophiurans occur there. one crinoid family, the holopodidæ, is known only from the caribbean sea. assuming that the malayan region is the present center of distribution for marine animals and the place of origin of most recent types, this is easily accounted for by the much greater facilities for dispersal possessed by the vast majority of the ophiurans, through their pelagic young. only 21% of the known crinoid genera are found in the west indies, while 46%, or more than twice as many, of the ophiuran genera occur there. this also is probably due to the greater facilities for dispersal possessed by the ophiurans. of the known ophiuran species 18% occur in the west indies, as against 9%, half as many, of the known crinoids. this would seem to indicate that as the caribbean crinoid fauna had grown old and become crystallized along definite lines no new accessions had come in from the rapidly developing fauna of the malayan region, whereas the interchange of ophiurans from east to west has kept the ophiuran fauna younger. among the crinoids 53% of the caribbean genera are not represented elsewhere, while among the ophiurans the number is less than half as large, only 24%. this is the result of the crystallization of the west indian crinoid fauna and the lack of interchange with other faunas, which has taken place to a much greater degree than in the case of the ophiurans. exactly the same explanation holds for the fact that 37% of the endemic genera of crinoids are monotypic, while only about half as many of the ophiuran genera, 20%, are monotypic. the 192 genera of ophiurans may be classified according to their geographical ranges as follows: barbados-antigua reports 37 universally distributed, or occurring in all warm seas..68 indo-malayan region only.. ...57 caribbean region only.. .21 antarctic only 8 south australia, tasmania and new zealand.... arctic and north atlantic.. north pacific north pacific and north atlantic. middle atlantic ..... caribbean sea and west coast of central america...... peru to southern california.. caribbean sea to galapagos islands.. caribbean sea and mediterranean.. 1 indo-pacific and mediterranean. 1 southern california and new zealand. 1 (unclassified ... 4] w co co co er os at in order fully to understand the affinities of the west indian ophiuran fauna the following apparently anomalous ranges of certain genera, supplemented by similar cases among the starfishes and echinoids, must be considered. warmer parts of the eastern and western atlantic; mexico to chile narcissia arbacia both coasts of tropical america encope mellita west indies and western coast of central america hemipholis ophiocryptus ophiozona west indies and galápagos islands (probably in reality the same as the preceding) sigsbeia peru to southern california (some only in part) astrocaneum paulia (galápagos islands diopederma also) gymnophiura pharia platasterias phataria 38 iowa studies in natural history nidorellia heliaster amphiaster cænocentrotus (galápagos islands also) tetrapygus west indies and eastern atlantic; hawaiian islands; southern japan; kei islands cænopedina western coast of mexico; hawaiian islands; australia, tasmania and lord howe island; mediterranean sea and eastern atlantic centrostephanus southern and lower california, southern japan, and southern australia heliocidaris west indies and the hawaiian islands podocidaris west indies and southern australia ophioprium southern california and new zealand ophiopteris in view of the past intercommunication between the caribbean sea and the pacific the similarity of certain elements of the caribbean fauna and of that of the western coast of tropical america is not surprising; the latter, however, includes a very considerable number of genera which occur nowhere else, together with a few species of characteristic indo-malayan types, such as mithrodia, acanthaster, anthenea, leiaster, astropyga, etc., which are not represented in the caribbean sea. a significantly large number of genera, including well known and conspicuous littoral types, inhabit a more or less extensive portion of the following anomalous range-mediterranean sea, caribbean sea, southern australia and new zealand, southern japan, the hawaiian islands, and the western coast of tropical america. this discontinuous range, though indicated by very diverse types and only in part by each, nevertheless must be considered a zoogeographic unit. its outstanding feature is the fact that it barbados-antigua reports 39 a represents the extreme outer limits of a tropical and subtropical faunal region the center of which is the indo-malayan region. the types inhabiting it, that is to say occurring only on the extreme periphery of the indo-pacific faunal area (of which the mediterranean sea was at one time a part) may be considered, therefore, as relics of a previous fauna at one time characteristic of the central indo-malayan region from which they have now been extirpated through the competition of younger and more efficient types. the same facts are brought out equally well in many other groups of marine animals, and are also reflected in a modified way in the terrestrial faunas. in the faunas of the colder seas all intergradations are found between types which are quite unique, and types differing little or not at all from others in the indo-malayan region, and this intergradation is complete enough so that we are justified in considering the fauna of the colder waters as similarly ultimately derived from the (past or present) fauna of the east indian region largely through the intermediary of deep water forms. some of these genera of the colder waters, as astriclypeus and glyptocidaris, are extraordinarily restricted in their distribution and rare, while others are abundant and widely spread. one of the peculiarities of the west indian ophiuran fauna is the relatively poor representation of ophiotrichidæ. this family includes 13 genera and 157 species of which 126 belong to the genus ophiothrix, occurring in all the warmer portions of the recent seas and represented by 7 species in the west indies. one monotypic genus, ophiotrichoides, is only known from the ca verde islands, but the remaining 11 genera are exclusively indo-malayan. all of the species of this family are more or less conmmensal in habit, and some are almost parasitic. the species of four of the genera, ophiomaza, ophioæthiops, ophiophthirius and ophiosphæra, live upon comatulids. in one genus, ophiopteron, the arm spines are webbed together and resemble little fins which has given rise to the idea that it is able to swim. the greatest mystery connected with the caribbean ophiurans concerns the genus ophioblenna. the only known species, ophioblenna antillensis, was described in 1859 from two specimens collected at water island, st. thomas. in spite of all the 40 iowa studies in natural history collecting that has since been done in the west indies, and even at water island itself, no others have ever come to light. the ophiurans of the caribbean region those designated with an asterisk (*) have been recorded from barbados. family ophiomyxidæ ophiomyza flaccida ophiosciasma attenuatum *ophiomyza tumida ophiophrizus quadrispinosus ophiomyza brevicauda ophiodera stimpsonii *ophiobyrsa serpens ophioscolex disacanthus ophiobyrsa perrieri *ophioscolex glacialis ophiobrachion uncinatus *ophioscolex tropicus *ophiogeron supinus ophioscoler serratus *ophiosciasma granulatum ophioleptoplax atlantica family trichasteride astroschema arenosum astroschema elongatum astroschema intectum astroschema nuttingi astroschema brachiatum astroschema vicinum * astroschema love *ophiocreas lumbricus • astroschema oligactes ophiocreas oedipus astroschema sulcatum *ophiocreas spinulosum astroschema tenue asteronyx lovéni astroschema clavigerum astrodia tenuispina family gorgonocephalidæ astrogomphus vallatus astrospartus mucronatus astrogomphus rudis astrophytum muricatum *asteroporpa annulata astrogordius cacaoticus * asteroporpa pulchra astrocyclus cæcilia *astrocnida isidis astrocynodus herrarai family hemieuryalidæ ophiochondrus armatus ophiochondrella squamosa *ophiochondrus convolutus • sigsbeia murrhina ophiochondrus crassispinus ophioholcus serradiatus ophiochondrus gracilis ophioplus tuberculosus *hemieuryale pustulata barbados-antigua reports 41 family ophiacanthidæ ophiolebes claviger ophiomitrella lævipellis ophiolebes humilis ophiomitrella glabra ophiacantha anomala *ophiomitra valida *ophiacantha aspera ophiomitra ornata ophiacantha bidentata *ophioplinthaca incisa ophiacantha cosmica ophioplinthaca chelys ophiacantha curima ophioplinthaca dipsacos ophiacantha echinulata ophioplinthaca spinissima *ophiacantha hirsuta *ophiocamax fasciculata ophiacantha lineata *ophiocamax hystrix *ophiacantha mesembria ophiocamax austera *ophiacantha metallacta *ophiacanthella troscheli ophiacantha oligacantha ophioprium cervicorne ophiacantha ophiactoides ophioprium imperfectum *ophiacantha pentacrinus ophioprium permixtum ophiacantha robusta ophiotreta lineolata *ophiacantha scutata ophiotreta mixta *ophiacantha stellata *ophiotreta sertata *ophiacantha valenciennesi ophiotreta littoralis ophiacantha affinis ophialcæa nuttingi ophiacantha levis ophiotoma bartletti ophiacantha segesta ophiotoma gracilis ophiacantha vepratica ophioconis miliaria ophiothamnus chariis *ophiohelus umbella *ophiothamnus exiguus microphiura decipiens ophiothamnus vicarius ophioblenna antillensis ophiologimus secundus family ophiomycetidæ *ophiomyces frutectosus ophiomyces mirabilis ophiotholia mitrephora family amphiuridæ amphiura goniodes ophiochytra tenuis amphiura grandisquamata amphiodia atra amphiura lunaris amphiodia gyraspis amphiura otteri amphiodia limbata amphiura kinbergiensis amphiodia planispina 42 iowa studies in natural history * amphiura palmeri amphiodia pulchella amphiura semiermis amphiodia repens *amphiura stimpsonii amphiodia rhabdota amphiura bihamula amphiodia riisei amphiura complanata amphiodia trychna amphiura crassipes amphiodia lütkeni amphiura diducta amphiodia tymbara amphiura fibulata ophiocmida loveni amphiura flexuosa ophiocnida scabriuscula amphiura kükenthali ophiocnida cubana amphiura rathbuni ophiocnida scabra amphiura vivipara amphioplus abditus hemipholis elongata amphioplus agassizii ophiophragmus brachyactis amphioplus coniortodes ophiophragmus pulcher amphioplus cuneata ophiophragmus lütkeni amphioplus incisa ophiophragmus würdemanni amphioplus nereis ophiophragmus filogranea amphioplus thrombodes ophiophragmus septa amphioplus tumida ophionephthys limicola amphioplus verrilli ophionema intricata amphilimna olivacea amphipholis abnormis amphilimna caribea amphipholis gracillima ophiactis cyanosticta amphipholis pachybactra *ophiactis duplicata amphipholis pentacantha *ophiactis mülleri amphipolis squamata ophiactis plana amphipolis subtilis ophiactis savignyi ophiostigma isacanthum ophiactis lymani ophiactis loricata family ophiotrichidæ *ophiothrix angulata ophiothrix lineata ophiothrix angulata megal*ophiothrix oerstedii aspis ophiothrix pallida ophiothrix brachyactis *ophiothrix suensonii ophiothrix rathbuni family ophiochitonide ophiochiton grandis *ophionereis reticulata barbados-antigua reports 43 *ophioplax ljungmani ophionereis olivacea ophioplaz reducta ophionereis squamulosa family ophiocomidae *ophiocoma echinata *ophiopsila hartmeyeri *ophiocoma pumila *ophiopsila polysticta *ophiocoma riisei *ophiopsila riisei ophiopsila fulva ophiopsila maculata ophiopsila vittata family ophiodermatidæ *ophioderma appressa ophioderma rubicunda *ophioderma brevicauda ophioderma pallidum *ophioderma brevispina ophiomusium rugosum *ophioderma cinerea ophioderma squamosissima ophioderma elaps ophiocryptus dubius ophioderma guttatum ophiarachnella angulata ophioderma holmesi ophiarachnella petersi ?ophioderma januarii bathy pectinura lacertosa ophioderma clypeata bathypectinura tessellata family ophiolepididæ *ophiomastus secundus ophiomusium planum amphiophiura bullata ophiomusium dugosum amphiophiura convexa *ophiomusium serratum amphiophiura coronata *ophiomusium testudo amphiophiura fasciculata *ophiomusium validum amphiophiura metabula ophiomusium sculptum amphiophiura oedignatha ophiomusium stellatum amphiophiura sculptilis ophiomisidium speciosum amphiophiura scutata ophiomisidium pulchellum stegophiura macrarthra ophiolipus agassizii *ophiura acervata ophiophyllum petilum *ophiura falcifera ophiothyreus goësii ophiura irrorata * amphipholizona delicta ophiura lepida *ophioceramis albida ophiura ljungmani *ophioceramis januarii ophiura tenera *ophiozona impressa ?ophioglyphina robusta *ophiozonella antillarum 44 iowa studies in natural history homalophiura abyssorum ophiozonella clypeata homalophiura inornata *ophiozonella marmorea *ophiomusium acuferum *ophiozonella nivea ophiomusium armigerum ophiozonella nivea compta *ophiomusium eburneum *ophiozonella tessellata ophiomusium lymani ophiomidas dubius *ophiomusium monoplax ophiolepis elegans ophiomusium oligoplacum *ophiolepis paucispina family ophioleucidæ ophioleuce depressa ophiopyren longispinus *ophiopæpale goësiana *ophiernus adspersus the following names are based upon color varieties : amphiura vivipara var. annulata h. l. clark ophiothrix oerstedi var. lutea h. l. clark ophiothrix angulata var. atrolineata h. l. clark ophiothrix angulata var. violacea müller and troschel ophiothrix angulata var. phoinissa h. l. clark ophiothrix angulata var. phlogina h. l. clark ophiothrix angulata var. poecila h. l. clark the occurrence of ophiurans at barbados and at antigua in his account of the natural history of barbados published in 1750 the reverend griffith hughes wrote under the heading “the sea scorpion,” “what we call here the scorpion is by petiver called stella marina scolopendroides. its five rays might perhaps properly cause it to be called the stella marina." this is the only ophiuran mentioned by hughes. the sea scorpion, ophiocoma echinata, still called by the same name, i found to be abundant in 1903, and professor nutting states that it occurs almost literally under every stone and scuttles away with amazing celerity when disturbed. it was the most abundant and conspicuous form of animal life under the loose coral rocks uncovered at low tide on both sides of the labor. atory at pelican island. it is most commonly brown in color, with the club shaped spines almost black. the disk shows great variation, often having a central oval or pentagonal area of barbados-antigua reports 45 cream color showing in sharp contrast to the dark brown spines. besides ophiocoma echinata, 0. riisei and 0. pumila were secured, but were much less abundant. professor nutting also mentions the common association of ophiocoma echinata with echinometra viridis. the species of ophiocoma were the most common ophiurans along the shores at barbados, although several other species were more or less abundant. three species of ophiothrix, o. angulata, 0. oerstedii and 0. suensonii, the last named the most abundant, fairly swarmed over some of the gorgonians brought up near hastings by the diver. often the large profusely branched gorgonians were fairly covered with the wriggling ophiurans. professor nutting writes that one of the most beautiful serpent stars he ever saw was taken at station 64, in from 60 to 70 fathoms. it was a large specimen with a spread of about ten inches, with a very distinct band of vivid crimson on a background of light pink along the dorsal surface of the arms and extending to the center of the disk. the spines were very slender, 8 mm. long, quite transparent, with saw-like sides and in three series on each side of the arms. this individual has not come to hand, but undoubtedly it was a particularly fine example of ophiothrix suensonii. of the simple armed basket fish professor nutting says that perhaps the most conspicuous and strikingly marked were asteroporpa and astrocnida from deep water. the arms in asteroporpa are unbranched, while those of astrocnida from stations 55, in — fathoms, and 89, in 80 fathoms, are slightly branched at the tip and ornamented throughout with transverse elevated bands of light gray alternating with depressed bands of deep chocolate. these circular ridges are beset with thorny stubby spines. the bases of the arms are swollen, and the swellings invade the dorsal surface of the disk in the center of which is a star shaped area formed by similar ridges. another simple armed basket fish, astroschema oligactes, is from station 7, and is orange colored and exceedingly hispid all over, feeling like coarse sandpaper, wiry in texture, with arms tapering to a mere coiled thread which can wind itself closely around a support and cling there most tenaciously. a certain flabellate red and white 46 iowa studies in natural history gorgonian was very common in the dredging and almost always a species of simple armed basket fish (astroschema, spp.) was coiled closely around the branches which it matched so perfectly in color that it was very apt to be overlooked. the protective coloration is so commonly found in serpent stars living as symbionts on alcyonarians that many writers have noticed it. professor nutting says that at antigua "our favorite collecting ground was near what we called 'rocky point,' across from barclay point and inside of the pillars of hercules. the echinoderms were perhaps the most conspicuous group at this place, although most of the species were the same as those secured at barbados. at the foot of the pillars of hercules certain species found a refuge in the cracks of the rocks that were continually being scoured by the waves. on these rocky flats everything seemed to be stuck tight and had to be forcibly pried loose. there were small holothurians that wedged themselves in these cracks and held on with remarkable tenacity." ophiurans previously obtained at barbados the ophiurans collected by the "hassler" at barbados in 100 fathoms astroschema oligactes astroschema tenuis asteroporpa annulata astrocnida isidis ophiacantha hirsuta ophiacantha stellata ophiomitra valida amphiura palmeri ophiomyces frutectosus ophiactis duplicata ophiothrix angulata ophiothrix suensonü ophioplar ljungmani ophiura acervata ophiomusium acuferum ophiomusium testudo ophioceramis albida ophioceramis januarii ophiozonella nivea ophiopapale goësiana the ophiurans collected at barbados by the “blake" station 272; 76 fathoms ophiomyxa tumida ophiactis mülleri astroschema lave ophiothrix suensonii astroschema oligactes ophiomusium acuferum asteroporpa annulata ophiomusium testudo barbados-antigua reports 47 ophiomitra valida amphipholizona delicata ophiactis duplicata ophiozona impressa ophiopepale goësiana station 273; 103 fathoms ophioscoler tropicus ophioplax ljungmani astroschema love ophiomusium acuferum asteroporpa annulata ophiomusium testudo ophiacantha hirsuta amphipholizona delicata ophiacantha stellata ophiozonella marmorea ophiactis duplicata ophiozonella nivea ophiozonella tessellata station 274; 209 fathoms ophiocamax hystrix ophiomusium acuferum ophiotreta sertata ophiomusium eburneum ophiactis duplicata ophiomusium serratum ophiozonella nivea station 275; 218 fathoms ophiactis duplicata station 276; 94 fathoms ophiomyza tumida ophiactis duplicata astroschema lave ophiothrix suensonii astroschema oligactes ophionereis reticulata astroschema tenue ophiomusium acuferum asteroporpa annulata ophiomusium testudo hemieuryale pustulata ophiozona impressa ophiozonella antillarum station 277; 106 fathoms asteroporpa annulata ophiomitra valida sigsbeia murrhina ophiothrix suensonii hemieuryale pustulata ophioplax ljungmani ophiomusium acuferum station 278; 69 fathoms ophiomyra tumida ophionereis reticulata ophiobyrsa serpens ophioderma cinerea 48 iowa studies in natural history astroschema oligactes ophiomusium acuferum amphiura stimpsonii ophiomusium testudo ophiactis mülleri ophiozona impressa station 279; 118 fathoms ophiocreas spinulosum station 280; 221 fathoms ophiochondrus convolutus ophiotreta sertata ophiacantha pentacrinus ophiomusium eburneum ophiocamar hystrix ophiomusium serratum ophiozonella nivea station 281; 288 fathoms ophiomyra tumida ophiacantha scutata astroschema arenosum ophiomyces frutectosus ophiocreas lumbricus amphiophiura fasciculata ophiocreas spinulosum ophiomusium acuferum station 282; 154 fathoms ophiomyces frutectosus ophiozonella tessellata station 283; 237 fathoms ophiacantha aspera ophiacantha valenciennesi ophiomitra valida station 285; 13-40 fathoms ophiomyza tumida ophiothrix suensonii ophiothrix angulata ophiopsila risei ophioderma brevispina station 286; 7-45 fathoms ophiothriz suensonii station 287; 71/2-50 fathoms ophiopsila polysticta station 288; 399 fathoms ophiacantha metallacta ophiomastus secundus ophiacantha pentacrinus ophiomusium monoplax ophioplinthaca incisa ophiozonella antillarum amphiura goniodes ophiernus adspersus barbados-antigua reports 49 station 290; 73 fathoms ophiomyra tumida ophiacantha stellata astroschema lave ophiomitra valida astroschema oligactes ophiocanthella troscheli asteroporpa annulata ophiactis duplicata astrocnida isidis ophiothrix suensonii astrocyclus cæcilia ophiomusium acuferum ophiacantha aspera ophiomusium testudo ophiozonella tessellata station 291; 200 fathoms ophiomyza tumida ophiura falcifera ophiogeron supinus ophiomusium acuferum ophiacantha pentacrinus ophiomusium validum ophiacantha scutata ophiozonella antillarum ophiocamax hystrix ophiozonella nivea ophiotreta sertata ophiernus adspersus station 292; 56 fathoms astroschema love ophiothrix angulata asteroporpa annulata ophiothrix suensonii astrocnida isidis ophiomusium acuferum ophiacantha stellata ophiozonella nivea station 293; 82 fathoms ophioscolex glacialis ophiothrix suensonii ophiacantha hirsuta ophiomusium acuferum ophiacantha stellata amphipholizona delicata ophiopæpale goësiana station 294; 137 fathoms ophiothrix suensonii ophiozonella nivea station 295; 180 fathoms ophiocamax fasciculata station 296; 84 fathoms ophiomyra tumida astrocyclus cæcilia astroschema lave hemieuryale pustulata astroschema oligactes ophiothamnus exiguus asteroporpa annulata ophiomitra valida astrocnida isidis ophiomusium acuferum 4 50 iowa studies in natural history station 297; 123 fathoms astroschema oligactes ophioplar ljungmani asteroporpa annulata ophiomusium acuferum ophiomitra valida ophiozonella tessellata ophiotreta sertata ophiopæpale goesiana station 298; 120 fathoms astroschema oligactes astrocnida isidis asteroporpa annulata ophiopæpale goësiana ophiozona impressa station 299; 140 fathoms ophiacantha pentacrinus ophiomusium acuferum ophiozonella tessellata station 300; 82 fathoms ophiacantha hirsuta ophiohelus umbella ophiomusium acuferum ophiuran recorded as in sir rawson w. rawson's collection: astrocyclus cæcilia ophiurans recorded from barbados by professor rené koehler in 1907: ophioplax ljungmani ophioscoles glacialis; astrocyclus cæcilia 82 fathoms ophiurans recorded from barbados by professor kæhler in 1913: ophioderma appressa ophiocoma echinata ophioderma brevicauda ophiocoma riisei ophioderma cinerea ophiocoma pumila ophiozona impressa ophiothrix angulata ophiolepis paucispina ophiothrix oerstedii ophionereis reticulata ophiothrix suensonii ophiurans recorded from barbados by professor kühler in 1914: ophioplax ljungmani astrocyclus cæcilia barbados-antigua reports 51 ophiurans recorded from barbados by dr. hubert lyman clark in 1915 : ophiosciasma granulatum, 94 fms. asteroporpa pulchra, 56-125 fms. ophiacantha mesembria, 140-221 fms. amphiura palmeri, 100 fms. ophiopsila polysticta, 71/2-50 fms. ophiopsila hartmeyeri, 69 fms. amphipholizona delicata, 76-103 fms. ophiomusium monoplaz, 399 fms. ophiozonella marmorea, 103 fms. annotated list of the species obtained ophiurans collected by the barbados-antigua expedition from the state university of iowa, together with the collecting stations listed by the expedition : annotated list of the species obtained order phrynophiurida family ophiomyxidæ ophiomyxa flaccida (say) pelican island, barbados; tide pools.-one specimen. english harbour, antigua.—one specimen. ophiosciasma granulatum lyman station 26: one specimen. family trichasteridæ astroschema arenosum lyman station 46: two specimens. astroschema laeve lyman station 36: one specimen. astroschema oligactes lütken station 7: five specimens. station 34: one specimen. station 35: one specimen. 52 iowa studies in natural history astrochema tenue lyman station 59: part of an arm. family gorgonocephalidæ asteroporpa annulata lütken station 7: one specimen. station 41: one small specimen. station 58: one small specimen. astrocnida isidis lyman station 55: one specimen. astrophytum muricatum (lamarck) carlisle bay, barbados ; 20 feet; found on a gorgonian.-one small specimen with the disc 14 mm. in diameter. carlisle bay, barbados; 5 fathoms.-one small specimen with the disc 12 mm. in diameter. barbados; from fish pots.—two specimens, one with the disc about 50 mm., the other with the disc 30 mm. in diameter. astrocyclus cæcilia (lütken) station 97: one small specimen with the disc 8 mm. in diameter. 9 order læmophiurida family hemieuryalidæ sigsbeia murrhina lyman station 97: four very small specimens, the largest with the disc 4 mm, in diameter. ophioplus tuberculosa (lyman) barbados.--one specimen. hemieuryale pustulata von martens station 2: two specimens. station 36: one specimen. station 51: six specimens. station 57: fifteen specimens. station 64: one specimen. station 70: six specimens. station 82: one small specimen. : : barbados-antigua reports 53 family ophiacanthidæ ophiacantha mesembria h. l. clark station 9: two small specimens. station 15: one specimen. station 28: four small specimens. station 37: two small specimens. station 59: one specimen. : : order gnathophiurida family amphiuridæ amphiura diducta kähler station 1: one specimen. amphiura palmeri lyman station 96: two specimens. amphipholis limbata (grube) station 79: one specimen. amphiodia planispina (von martens) station 1: one specimen, with the disc lacking. ophiactis mülleri lütken station 11: one specimen. station 67: two specimens; one of these has three mouth papillæ. station 101: twenty-two specimens. no locality: two specimens. ophiactis savignyi müller and troschel station 1: one specimen. ophiactis duplicata (lyman) station 6: three specimens. station 45: one specimen. family ophiotrichida ophiothrix angulata ayres station 1: six specimens. station 11: eight specimens. station 13: one specimen. : 54 iowa studies in natural histopy : . station 18: one specimen. station 51: one specimen. station 65: one specimen. station 67: three specimens. station 70: one specimen. station 78: two specimens. station 85: two specimens. station 96: three specimens. station 100: five specimens. barbados; engineers' pier, 15-20 feet. fragments. barbados; off pelican island, 4 fathoms; from gorgonians and corals.-seven specimens. barbados; off pelican island, 50 feet.-one small specimen. barbados; off needham's point; diver.-eight specimens. station 101: four specimens. antigua; english harbour; in eel grass.-two specimens. ophiothrix lineata lyman barbados; off pelican island, 4 fathoms; from gorgonians and corals.-one specimen. ophiothrix oerstedii lütken barbados; engineers’ pier, 15–20 feet; from gorgonians; may 18, 1918.-two specimens. barbados; needham's point; diver.-ten specimens. antigua; english harbour; in eel grass.—three specimens. antigua; english harbour; rocks.-one specimen. ophiothrix suensonii lütken station 53: one specimen. station 59: one specimen. station 62: one specimen with the disc 14 mm. in diameter; the spines on the disc are much more numerous and shorter than usual. in life the disc was olive gray with five radial red bands, and the arms were whitish with the dorsal arm plates dark coral red and the ventral plates lighter. station 89: one specimen. barbados; engineers’ pier, 15-20 feet; from gorgonians; may 18, 1918.-fifty-four specimens. barbados; off pelican island.—two specimens. : barbados-antigua reports 55 barbados; off pelican island, 4 fathoms; from gorgonians and corals.--thirteen specimens. barbados; carlisle bay, 20 feet; on gorgonians.—twenty-nine specimens. barbados; off needham's point; diver.-twenty specimens. barbados; off hastings; june 5, 1918.-thirteen specimens. station 101: two specimens. antigua; english harbour.-seven specimens. ophiothrix pallida ljungman station 96: two specimens. order chilophiurida family ophiochitonidæ ophionereis reticulata (say) station 1: three specimens. station 67: one specimen. station 70: one specimen. station 79: one small specimen. station 101: one specimen. antigua; english harbour.-seven specimens. family ophiocomidae ophiocoma echinata l. agassiz station 96: one specimen. barbados; pelican island; tide pools.—one specimen. barbados; bathsheba; tide pools.-eleven specimens. station 101: one specimen. antigua; english harbour; rocks.—three specimens. antigua; english harbour; in eel grass.-one specimen. antigua; english harbour.–fifteen specimens. antigua.-one specimen. ophiocoma pumila lütken station 96: one specimen. barbados; pelican island; tide pools; may 11, 1918.-four specimens. barbados; pelican island.-one specimen. barbados; needham's point; june 8, 1918.-four specimens. 56 iowa studies in natural history : antigua; english harbour; rocks.-fifteen specimens. antigua; english harbour.—ten specimens. ophiocoma riisei lütken station 1: five specimens. station 96: two specimens; one of these, small and without granules on the disc, was kindly identified for me by dr. h. l. clark. station 100: three specimens. station 101: five specimens. antigua; english harbour; rocks.-seven small specimens. antigua; english harbour.–seven specimens. antigua ; falmouth harbour.-one specimen which in life was "deep reddish brown." no label.-one specimen. ophiopsila hartmeyeri kähler station 53: one specimen. station 96: one specimen. family ophiodermatidæ ophioderma appressa (say) station 11: one small specimen. barbados; pelican island; tide pools; may 11, 1918.—two specimens. barbados; pelican island.—ten specimens. barbados; off needham's point; june 6, 1918.-four specimens. station 101: three specimens. station 103: five specimens. station 104: two specimens. antigua; english harbour; in eel grass.-sixteen specimens. antigua; english harbour.-sixteen specimens. antigua; falmouth harbour; in eel grass; collected by w. k. fisher.-eighteen specimens. ophioderma brevicauda (say) barbados; pelican island; tide pools.--six specimens. barbados; pelican island.-seventeen specimens. barbados; off needham's point; june 8, 1918.-one specimen. antigua; english harbour.-nine specimens. barbados-antigua reports 57 : ophioderma cinerea (lyman) station 78: one specimen. antigua; english harbour.-five specimens. ophioderma rubicunda lyman station 98: one specimen. pelican island: one specimen. station 101: three specimens. family ophiolepididæ ophiura acervata lyman station 116: one specimen. ophiomusium testudo lyman station 2: one small specimen. station 11: one small specimen. station 26: two small specimens. station 51: three small specimens, kindly determined for me by dr. h. l. clark. station 79: one small specimen. ophiomusium validum ljungman station 116: one specimen. ophiomusium sculptum verrill station 4: three specimens. station 7: one specimen; "arms banded with orange on whitish.' station 15: one specimen. station 28: one specimen. station 44: one specimen. station 49: one specimen. ophiozona impressa (lütken) station 51: one small specimen. ophiozonella nivea (lyman) station 1: one specimen. station 3: one specimen. station 26: one specimen. ophiozonella tessellata (lyman) station 62: one specimen. 58 iowa studies in natural history ophiolepis elegans lütken station 11: one specimen. station 18: one specimen. ?barbados.—three specimens. antigua; english harbour.-eleven specimens. ophiolepis paucispina müller and troschel station 1: one specimen. antigua ; english harbour; in eel grass.—thirteen specimens. list of the stations, with the species represented at each the crinoids collected at these stations are also given. station 1 : amphiura diducta ophionereis reticulata amphiodia planispina ophiocoma riisei ophiactis savignyi ophiozonella nivea ophiothrix angulata ophiolepis paucispina station 2: hemieuryale pustulata ophiomusium testudo station 3 : leptonemaster venustus station 4: ophiomusium sculptum station 7: astroschema oligactes ophiomusium sculptum asteroporpa annulata leptonemaster venustus democrinus rawsonii station 9: ophiacantha mesembria comactinia meridionalis station 11: ophiactis mülleri ophiolepis elegans ophiothrix angulata leptonemaster venustus ophioderma appressa comactinia meridionalis ophiomusium testudo analcidometra armata station 13: ophiothrix angulata leptonemaster venustus barbados-antigua reports 59 : station 14: comactinia meridionalis station 15: ophiacantha mesembria ophiomusium sculptum coccometra hagenii station 18: ophiothrix angulata ophiolepis elegans leptonemaster venustus station 26: ophiosciasma granulatum ophiomusium testudo station 28: ophiacantha mesembria ophiomusium sculptum station 34: astroschema oligactes station 35: astroschema oligactes station 36: astroschema læve hemieuryale pustulata station 37: ophiacantha mesembria station 41: asteroporpa annulata station 44: ophiomusium sculptum station 46: astroschema arenosum leptonemaster venustus station 49: ophiomusium sculptum station 50: nemaster discoidea station 51: hemieuryale pustulata ophiozona impressa ophiothrix angulata nemaster discoidea ophiomusium testudo comactinia meridionalis station 53: ophiothrix suensonii nemaster iowensis station 55: astrocnida isidis 60 iowa studies in natural history station 56: leptonemaster venustus station 57: hemieuryale pustulata station 58: asteroporpa annulata station 59: astroschema tenue ophiothrix suensoniä ophiacantha mesembria leptonemaster venustus station 62: ophiothrix suensonii ophiozonella tessellata station 64: hemieuryale pustulata station 65: ophiothrix angulata station 67: ophiactis mülleri leptonemaster venustus ophiothrix angulata comactinia meridionalis station 70: hemieuryale pustulata ophiothrix angulata ophionereis reticulata station 78: ophiothrix angulata leptonemaster venustus ophioderma cinerea comactinia meridionalis station 79: amphipholis limbata ophiomusium testudo ophionereis reticulata nemaster discoidea station 82: hemieuryale pustulata station 85: ophiothrix angulata comactinia meridionalis station 89: ophiothrix suensonii station 92: nemaster discoidea barbados-antigua reports 61 > station 96: ophiothrix angulata ophiocoma pumila ophiocoma echinata ophiocoma riisei comactinia meridionalis station 97: astrocyclus cæcilia sigsbeia murrhina nemaster iowensis station 98: nemaster iowensis station 99: nemaster iowensis station 100: ophiothrix angulata ophiocoma riisei barbados; engineers' pier, 15-20 feet ophiothrix angulata ophiothrix oerstedii ophiothrix suensonii barbados; engineers’ pier, 25 feet nemaster iowensis barbados; pelican island, tide pools ophiomyra flaccida ophiocoma pumila ophiocoma echinata ophioderma appressa ophioderma brevicauda barbados; off pelican island, 4 fathoms ophiothrix angulata ophiothrix lineata ophiothrix suensonii barbados; off pelican island, 50 feet ophiothrix angulata barbados; off pelican island ophiothrix suensonii ophioderma appressa ophiocoma pumila ophioderma brevicauda barbados; carlisle bay, 5 fathoms astrophytum muricatum barbados; carlisle bay, 20 feet astrophytum muricatum ophiothrix suensonü 62 iowa studies in natural history barbados; off needham's point ophiothrix angulata ophiocoma pumila ophiothrix oerstedii ophioderma appressa ophiothrix suensonii ophioderma brevicauda barbados; off hastings ophiothrix suensonii barbados; bathsheba ophiocoma echinata barbados; from fish pots astrophytum muricatum barbados sigsbeia murrhina nemaster discoidea nemaster iowensis comactinia meridionalis : barbados ophiolepis elegans station 101: ophiactis mülleri ophiocoma echinata ophiothrix angulata ophiocoma riisei ophiothrix suensonii ophioderma appressa ophionereis reticulata ophioderma rubicunda nemaster iowensis station 103: ophioderma appressa station 104: ophioderma appressa station 116: ophiura acervata ophiomusium validum antigua; english harbour, in eel grass ophiothrix angulata ophiocoma echinata ophiothrix oerstedii ophioderma appressa ophiolepis paucispina antigua; english harbour, rocks ophiothrix oerstedii ophiocoma pumila ophiocoma echinata ophiocoma riisei barbados-antigua reports 63 antigua; english harbour ophiomyza flaccida ophiocoma rise ophiothrix suensonii ophioderma appressa ophionereis reticulata ophioderma brevicauda ophiocoma echinata ophioderma cinerea ophiocoma pumila ophiolepis elegans antigua; falmouth harbour ophiocoma pumila ophioderma appressa antigua ophiocoma echinata report on the brachyura collected by the barbados-antigua expedition from the university of iowa in 1918 mary j. rathbun associate in zoology, u. s. national museum introduction . > hughes in his “natural history of barbados”, 1750,1 enumerates fifteen kinds of crabs, but the descriptions are so brief and the names so trivial that it is impossible to determine most of the species with any great degree of certainty. only two of the brachyuran crabs are figured; one, the horned crab (pl. xxv, fig. 3) is an undoubted stenocionops furcata, the other, the lazy crab, (pl. xxv, fig. 1) is a composite, having the chelipeds and ambulatory legs of mithrax spinosissimus attached to the body of a parthenopid crab, daldorfia horrida (= parthenope horrida of authors), an indo-pacific species. from the dredgings of the u. s. coast survey steamers “blake" and “hassler”, a. milne edwards1 in 1880 published a list which includes thirty-eight species of brachyuran crabs from the waters about barbados. this is supplemented by the later report (1902) on the oxystomes of the same collection by milne edwards and bouvier," which adds three species to the earlier list. the present expedition obtained ninety-three species of brachyurans of which only one species is found to be undescribed. the range of twenty-nine species is extended by their capture at barbados list of species tribe brachyura subtribe oxystomata family dromiidæ dromia erythropus (george edwards) rathbun, ann. inst. jamaica, vol. i, 1897, p. 39. 1 see bibliography on page 89. 5 65 66 iowa studies in natural history carlisle bay, barbados; in fish pot; 19. brought up by diver off pelican island, barbados; 1 9 ovigerous. dromidia antillensis stimpson rathbun, ann. inst. jamaica, vol. i, 1897, p. 39. p barbados; 1 9 ovigerous. family dorippidæ cyclodorippe perpusilla (rathbun) clythrocerus perpusillus rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 90, text-fig. 4. one mile s. w. of pelican island, barbados; 38 fathoms; bottom of fine coral fragments; may 13; sta. 1; 1%, the same size as the type. known only from the type specimen, off vieques. family raninidae raninoides levis (latreille) ranina loevis latreille, encyc. méth., entom., vol. x, 1825, p. 268. raninoides levis milne edwards, hist. nat. crust., vol. ii, 1837, p. 197. barbados; w. by n. of pelican island 234 miles and drifting off shore; 107 fathoms; bottom of fine sand; tangles; may 16; sta. 10; 1 small 0,1 young. in the young specimen, carapace 6 mm. long, the supra-orbital margin between the two fissures is not produced in a spine but is obliquely truncate. family calappidæ calappa angusta a. milne edwards bull. m. c. z., vol. viii, 1880, p. 18. barbados; lazaretto e. by n. 12 n., pelican island s. e.; bottom of fine sand; june 7; sta. 88; 1 juv. taken at barbados by the “hassler," 100 fathoms, and by the "blake," 103 fathoms. calappa gallus (herbst) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, ܪܙ p. 85. pelican island, barbados; in fish pot; 1 %. barbados-antigua reports 67 cycloes bairdii stimpson rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 85. english harbour, antigua; 1 !, 10.4 mm. long. one mile s. w. of pelican island, barbados; 38 fathoms; bottom of fine coral fragments; may 13; sta. 1; 1 juv. in the west indies, this species seems not to have been reported south of guadeloupe ; although it occurs in the pacific at panama. family leucosiidæ ebalia stimpsonii a. milne edwards rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 87. barbados; cable station e. s. by e., paynes bay church n. e., off shore 34 mile; 35–75 fathoms; bottom alternate sand and rocks; sta. 78; 1 o. described from off barbados, 7 to 50 fathoms, “blake." iliacantha subglobosa stimpson bull. m. c. z., vol. ii, 1871, p. 155. . w. by n. of pelican island, barbados, 2 miles; 75–80 fathoms; sand bottom; sta. 3; 1 9 juv. s. of st. mathias church, barbados, 1 mile; 60 fathoms; bottom of coarse sand; may 20; sta. 21;1 0. w. by n. of telegraph station, barbados, 1/2 mile or more off shore, about edge of drop off; 50–70 fathoms; bottom rocky; tangles; june 1; sta. 66 and 67; 2 juv. ; dredged by the “blake" at barbados, 56 to 94 fathoms. subtribe brachygnatha superfamily brachyrhyncha family portunidae portunus (portunus) sulcatus (a. milne edwards) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 45. english harbour, antigua ; by electric light; july; 1 juv., 3.2 mm. long. bathsheba, barbados; 1 juv. pelican island, barbados; tide pool; may 13; 1 0 juv. 68 iowa studies in natural history portunus (achelous) ordwayi (stimpson) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 46. english harbour, antigua; electric light; july, 1918; 1 juv. callinectes ornatus ordway rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 48. barbados; 1 adult 8. cronius ruber (lamarck) charybdella rubra rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 51. antigua; 1 juv. family xanthidae liomera longimana a. milne edwards rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 25. . barbados; may 15; 10 0 9 9 ovig. on old coral; may 31; 8 7 15 %. on old coral heads; june 4; 12 11 (1 ovig.). needham point, barbados; may 18; 3 0 1 %. one mile s. of sta. 19, off needham point; 84 fathoms; rocky bottom; sta. 20; 20 49. okra reef, barbados; may 13; 35 0 44 (35 ovig.) 8 juv. not previously noted south of guadeloupe. liomera dispar (stimpson) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 25. pillars of hercules, antigua; 1 9. barbados; may 15; 6 ; 21 (8 ovig.). on old coral, may ? 31; 3 0 13 2 juv. on old coral heads; june 4; 4 46. one mile s. of sta. 19, off needham point, barbados; 84 fathoms; rocky bottom; sta. 20; 2 0 49 (2 ovig.). 1 okra reef, barbados; may 13; 3 0 14 & (7 ovig.). not previously recorded south of porto rico. platypodia spectabilis (herbst) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 26. needham's point, barbados; may 18; 1 0 1 & ovig. barbados-antigua reports 69 leptodius floridanus (gibbes) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, > p. 27. pillars of hercules, antigua; 1 .. barbados; 8 3. ovig. 8 pelican island, barbados; tide pools; 20. may 11; 3 o. may 13; 4 (3 ovig.). shallow; 1 0 1 juv. okra reef, barbados; may 13; 1 juv. 1 xanthodius parvulus (fabricius) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 27 pelican island, barbados; shallow; 20. in tide pool; may 11; 1 0 juv. 1 9. barbados; 1 o. no label; 1 . cycloxanthops denticulatus (white) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, . p. 27. pillars of hercules, antigua; 1 0 juv. pelican island, barbados; tide pool; 1 0. bathsheba, barbados; 2 juv. panopeus herbstii milne edwards eupanopeus herbstii rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 28. english harbour, antigua; 1 juv. pillars of hercules, antigua ; 1 0 thin shell, 2 juv. barbados; 2 0 1 %. . panopeus occidentalis saussure eupanopeus occidentalis rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 29. pillars of hercules, antigua; 1 %. panopeus americanus saussure eupanopeus americanus rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 29. pillars of hercules, antigua; 1 0 small. 70 iowa studies in natural history panopeus harttii smith eupanopeus harttii rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 29. pillars of hercules, antigua; 1 8. pelican island, barbados; shallow; 1 0. eurypanopeus abbreviatus (stimpson) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 30. pillars of hercules, antigua; 1 0 1 0 1 juv. hexapanopeus hemphillii (benedict and rathbun) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 31. barbados; from old coral head; june 4; 1 of medium size, identified with some doubt, as both sides of the body are infested with an isopod parasite which has so distorted the carapace that the lateral teeth are abnormal and unlike on the two sides. not before found south of st. thomas and porto rico. micropanope lobifrons a. milne edwards rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 32. s. w. of pelican island, barbados, 1 mile; 38 fathoms; bottom of fine coral fragments; may 13; sta. 1; 2 0 2 9. one-half mile w. of sta. 17; 40 fathoms; bottom coarse sand; may 18; sta. 18; 1 9. w. n. w. of lazaretto, barbados; n. n. w. of pelican island; 33 fathoms; bottom rocky; dredge; may 27; sta. 51; 9 (1 ovig., 3 with rhizocephalids). cable station, barbados, bears e. by s., lazaretto, e. s. e. 42 s.; 35-60 fathoms; bottom mostly rocky, on steep slope; tangles; june 3; sta. 75; 1 0. cable station e. s. by e., paynes bay church n. e., off shore 34 mile; 35–75 fathoms; bottom alternate sand and rocks; june 3; sta. 78; 1 with a small rhizocephalid under the abdomen. w. by n. of telegraph station, barbados; little more than a half mile off ; 30–65 fathoms; bottom of rocks and sand; june 5; sta. 79; 39 (2 with a rhizocephalid larger than the abdomen but attached under it). taken at barbados by the “blake'' in 94 fathoms. . barbados-antigua reports 71 actaea rufopunctata nodosa stimpson rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 33. 114 miles due w. from white lighthouse at needham point, barbados; in line with red house; 67-70 fathoms; bottom stony; may 17; sta. 11; 1 6 juv. taken at barbados by the “blake” in 94 fathoms. actaea setigera (milne edwards) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 34. 2 pillars of hercules, english harbour, antigua; 2 . english harbour, antigua; 1 0 1 juv. okra reef, barbados; may 13; 1 0 3 juv. pelican island, barbados; 1 9 juv. needham point, barbados; 1 0 juv. may 18; 1 ! juv. barbados; 1 8. may 15; 1 0 4 juv. from old coral head; may 31;16 juv., 1 juv. from coral heads; june 4; 1 0 1 juv. not before recorded from so far south. actaea bifrons rathbun bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 34. barbados; 1 o. shoal bank, barbados; 30 fathoms; bottom rough; june 12; sta. 96; 1 o. shoal bank, about 3 miles w. of needham point; 20–40 fathoms; sponge bottom; sta. 101; 1 8. . this species has been found only off porto rico and colon. xanthias nutting rathbun bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 35. barbados; 1 small 8. xanthiam granulimanus (stimpson) plate ii, figs. 2 and 3. rathbun, bull. lab. nat. hist. state univ. iowa, vol. iv, 1898, p. 271. barbados; from coral heads; june 4; 1 & ovigerous. known previously from bahamas and cuba. > 72 iowa studies in natural history carapace guboval, front slightly advanced, regions indicated by shallow furrows; anterior and antero-lateral regions irregularly granulated, the coarser granules forming short lines near the lateral teeth. edge of front bow-shaped, a short median slit. upper margin of orbit transverse and a little sinuous. four antero-lateral teeth beside the angle of the orbit, first tooth low, remote from orbit, remaining teeth sharp-pointed, edge of orbit and teeth granulate. lower surface of carapace densely granulate, lower margin of orbit more advanced than upper, with a v-shaped outer sinus and a thick, triangular tooth at inner angle. chelipeds unequal, exposed surfaces of carpus, manus and proximal ends of fingers coarsely granulate; fingers deeply grooved, the granules extending more than half the length of the intervening ridges in the smaller chela. legs hairy, especially the last three segments, upper margin of merus and upper surfaces of carpus and propodus denticulate. the above description was made from a bahama specimen () in the u. s. national museum. the barbados specimen is much smaller but ovigerous. length of carapace 3.7 mm., width 5.2 mm. chlorodiella longimana milne edwards) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 36. barbados; may 15; 3 79 (1 ovig.) 2 juv. coral heads; may 31; 1 o. on old coral heads; june 4; 30 29. okra reef, barbados; may 13; 2 0 29. one mile s. of sta. 19, off needham point, barbados; 84 fathoms; bottom rocky; sta. 20; 1 o. not previously recorded from barbados; known from guadeloupe and curaçao. ozius reticulatus (desbonne and schramm) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 37. barbados; 1 %. not previously recorded from barbados; the nearest points are guadeloupe and puerto colombia. pilumnus caribaeus desbonne in desbonne and schramm, crust. guadeloupe, 1867, p. 32. needham point, barbados; may 18; 1 9. in this species the lateral spines are 4, including the spine at the outer barbados-antigua reports 73 angle of the orbit; the first and often the second spine is bifid. in the barbados specimen, there is a spine immediately following the orbital spine, which is subequal to it, and the second spine also is double, composed of 2 separate spines, the hinder of the two being smaller; in short, the margin appears to be 6-spined. two spines on the dorsal surface of the hepatic region and one on the branchial region near by, are larger than usual. the outer surface of the larger as well as of the smaller palm is rough all over. not previously known south of guadeloupe. pilumnus barbadensis, sp. nov. plate i 7 type-locality.-barbados; from old coral heads; may 31; 3 0 29; the largest o has been selected as the holotype. (cat. no. mus. univ. iowa.) additional lots.-okra reef, barbados; may 13; 2 young. barbados; from coral heads; june 4; 5 small. measurements.-male holotype, length of carapace 6.7, width 9.4 mm. the largest & is 12.3 mm. wide and too broken to permit measurement of the length; figured %, length 7.6, width 10.7 mm. description. carapace suboval, antero-lateral margin arched but shorter than the postero-lateral margin. surface covered with a short, soft, sparse pubescence which does not conceal the carapace. furrows between regions and gastric subregions well marked. surface minutely roughened, especially along the front and antero-lateral regions where the granules are acutely pointed. the lobes of the front are oblique, slightly convex save at outer end which is right angled; edge crenulate. inner orbital angle acute, elevated; upper orbital margin sloping obliquely outward and backward to a slight outer tooth. edge of orbit finely denticulate. antero-lateral margin armed with 3 slender, acuminate spines, each set in a stout, triangular, denticulate base. the carapace is widest at the posterior pair of these spines; the two interspaces are subequal; between the anterior spine and the orbital angle there is a spinule, little larger than the sharp denticles of the neighboring surface, and confused in dorsal view with several subhepatic spinules. suborbital region covered with coarse, acute granules. lower orbital region more advanced than upper, its spinules more elongate; spinule at inner angle a little larger and more pronounced. chelipeds very unequal, thinly clothed with longer hairs than the carapace; carpus covered with acute granules, and with two spinules, one above the other at the inner angle. only the proximal third or less of the major palm is rough with granules, the roughness forming an oblique band bordering the carpus but stopping short of the lower margin; the proximal two74 iowa studies in natural history thirds of the lower edge is separately roughened; remainder of palm smooth and naked; fingers of $ dark brown with light tips, color not reaching quite to base of immovable finger, color line vertical; a narrow interdigital gape. in the minor cheliped the entire outer surface of the palm is very rough, the granules arranged for the most part longitudinally; the fingers are less gaping and are deeply grooved, the ridges very rough. in the female, the fingers are a lighter brown and in the largest female the roughness on the major palm is less extensive. ambulatory legs slender, bordered with long hair; merus slightly enlarged, upper margin edged with slender spines. dactyli noticeably slender, relationships.-of the pilumnus in the west indian fauna, this approaches nearest to p. spinipes (= micropanope spinipes a. milne edwards 1) in many details such as the ornamentation of the antero-lateral margin, the partial roughness of the major palm, the slender legs. on the other hand, the carapace of barbadensis is more oval and more convex, front more deflexed, and the minor palm rough all over, while in spinipes the granulation is similar on the two palms. p. andrewsii rathbuna is a broad species with antero-lateral margin similar to that of barbadensis, but the interregional furrows are deeper, the upper orbital border has two small but distinct emarginations, the major palm is smooth, the minor one nearly so. pilumnus floridanus stimpson rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 40. w. n. w. of lazaretto, n. n. w. of pelican island, barbados; dredged in from 80–100 fathoms to where rocks begin at about 35 fathoms; bag full of coarse sand; sta. 53; 1 & ovig. not previously known south of porto rico and st. thomas. heteractaea ceratopus (stimpson) pilumnus ceratopus stimpson, ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vol. vii, 1860, p. 215. needham point, barbados; by diver; 1 $. barbados; may 22; 1 juv. from coral heads; june 4; 1 0 4 . not recorded south of guadeloupe. i crust. rég. mex., 1880, p. 326, pl. liv, fig. 3. 2 bull. lab. nat. hist. state univ. iowa, vol. iv, 1898, p. 266, pl. v, fig. 2. t 75 barbados-antigua reports eriphia gonagra (fabricius) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 42. pillars of hercules, english harbour, antigua; 1 juv. barbados; 1 0 3 9 (all small). bathsheba, barbados; 38 (the largest one with abnormal abdomen, which is intermediate in width between ő and adult 9). needham point, barbados; 3 (1 ovig.). pelican island, barbados; tide pool; may 11; 1 !, 1 juv. no label; 3 0 4 $ (3 ovig.). melybia thalamita stimpson rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, > sre 78176 p. 43. slur barbados; 2 0 1 9 ovig. from broken coral; may 27;1 ovig. s. w. of pelican island, barbados, 1 mile; 38 fathoms; bottom of fine coral fragments; may 13; sta. 1; 1 & ovig., 2 juv. not previously recorded from barbados; found at porto rico and colon. z do domecia hispida eydoux and souleyet rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, > p. 43. $ barbados; may 15;1 & ovig. may 22; 1 juv. in coral heads; may 31; 1 9. from coral heads; june 4;1 8. living in acro. pora; 1 0 3 9 ovig. 1 young. okra reef, barbados ; may 13; 1 0 6 ? (4 ovig.). needham point, barbados; may 18; 1 8. one mile s. of sta. 19, off needham point; 84 fathoms; bottom rocky; sta. 20; 1 0 4 (2 ovig.). w. by n. of pelican island, 112 miles; 80 fathoms; bottom rocky; tangles without weight; may 16; sta. 7; 1 young. family goneplacidæ goneplax barbata (a. milne edwards) rathbun, bull. u. s. n. m., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 26, pl. iv, figs. 1 and 3; pl. v. 1 76 iowa studies in natural history w. by n. of pelican island, barbados, 2 miles; 75–80 fathoms; sand bottom; may 15; sta. 3; 1 immature. ; this specimen unites the characters of g. barbatal and g. sigsbei,2 as given in my monograph (pp. 26-27). it will be noted there that all the specimens (4) of barbata recorded are male, while both those of sigsbei are female. the specimen in hand has the lateral dentation of barbata, as shown in plate v., while lacking a branchial ridge, an orbital notch, and a patch of hair on the cheliped, which three characters link it to sigsbei. there is a very small but sharp spine on the upper margin of the arm and the inner angle of the wrist, not the prominent, curved spine of typical barbata, nor the blunt tooth of sigsbei. both barbata and sigsbei are recorded from off grenada, and barbata also from gulf of mexico and straits of florida. > panoplax depressa stimpson rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 47, pl. xii, figs. 1 and 2, text-fig. 21. barbados; 1 0 19. from broken coral; may 27;1 0. not previously noted south of porto rico. family pinnotheridæ parapinnixa hendersoni rathbun bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, p. 109, 1918, pl. xxvi, figs. 1-5. english harbour, antigua; by electric light; july; 1 0 29. this extends the range of the species, which heretofore has been found in n. w. cuba and on the west coast of florida. family cymopoliidæ cymopolia affinis (a. milne edwards and bouvier) rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 196, pl. xlvi, pl. xlvii, fig. 3, text-fig. 121. s. w. of pelican island, barbados, 1 mile; 38 fathoms; bottom of fine coral fragments; may 13; sta. 1; 1 0 1 , both immature. previously taken off barbados in 68 fathoms by the u. s. c. s. str. “blake." 1 rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 26, pl. iv, figs. 1 and 3, pl. v. 2 op. cit., p. 26, pl. iv, figs. 2 and 4. barbados-antigua reports 77 cymopolia bahamensis (rathbun) rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 200, pl. xlvii, figs. 1 and 2. barbados; lazaretto bears s. e. by e., 12 mile off shore; 35 fathoms; bottom rocky; tangles; may 24; sta. 42; 1 & ovig. known only from the bahamas. cymopolia sica a. milne edwards rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 208, pl. xl, figs. 3 and 4, text-fig. 127. 114 miles w. of telegraph station, barbados; 118 fathoms; bottom of fine sand ; may 30; sta. 60; 1 9 ovig. taken by the “blake" off barbados in 82 fathoms. ܕܙ family grapsidæ grapsus grapsus (linnaeus) rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 227, pls. liii and liv, text-fig. 135. barbados; 3 o 4 (2 ovig.). geograpsus lividus (milne edwards) rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 232, pl. lv. pelican island, barbados; may 18; 1 ; nocturnal; color in life, light olive brown, marbled on carapace with dark van dyke brown; legs faintly spotted. goniopsis cruentata (latreille) rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 237, pl. lvii, text-fig. 136. bridgetown, barbados; mangrove swamp; 2019;1 is shedding. n. of bridgetown, mangrove swamp; 1 %. pachygrapsus transversus (gibbes) rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 244, pl. lvi, figs. 2 and 3. pillars of hercules, antigua; 4 0 4 $ (3 ovig.). english harbour, antigua; 1 0 1 9 ovig. 78 iowa studies in natural history bathsheba, barbados; 1 o. needham point, barbados; 1 9. barbados; 1 9 ovig. , ; euchirograpsus americanus a. milne edwards rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 282, pl. lxxiv, text-fig. 144. w. of telegraph station, barbados, 1 mile; 86 fathoms; bottom rocky; may 30; sta. 59; 1 0. cable station, barbados, bears e. by s., lazaretto e. s. e. 12 s.; 35-60 fathoms; bottom mostly rocky, working on steep slope; tangles; june 3; sta. 75; 1 9 1 juv. the type-locality is off barbados, 69 fathoms, “blake." aratus pisonii (milne edwards) rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 323, pl. xcvi. english harbour, antigua; 1 .. pillars of hercules, antigua; 2 (1 ovig.). plagusia depressa (fabricius) rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 332, pl. ci, text-fig. 154. barbados; 1 old male. bathsheba, barbados; 1 small but mature g. percnon gibbesi (milne edwards) rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 337, pl. cv. pillars of hercules, antigua ; 2 3 (1 juv.). english harbour, antigua; 2 o juv. . okra reef, barbados; may 13; 1 0 juv. family gecarcinidae cardisoma quanhumi latreille rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 341, pls. cvi and cvii, text-fig. 155. bridgetown, barbados; 1 large, well-developed 8, 1 adult . 1 mangrove swamp, north of bridgetown; 1 young . barbados-antigua reports 79 ucides cordatus (linnaeus) rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 347, pls. cx-cxiii, pl. clix, figs. 3 and 4, text-fig. 158. barbados; 1 8 small. antigua; mangrove swamp; 2 large . the larger has a carapace 73.7 mm. long, 100 mm. wide. the greatest width compared to the length is intermediate between that given in my monograph for a smaller specimen of cordatus and the width of occidentalis. this antigua specimen lacks the first ambulatory leg on the right side; the first leg on the left side is shorter than the second leg, but may not be normal. the smaller specimen of the two has the ambulatory legs of the right side normal; the first leg on the left side is no longer than, indeed, a trifle shorter than the second leg. both these specimens have the palm straighter below than in the specimens previously described by me. in spite of these variations in cordatus, there is no likelihood of confusion with occi. dentalis, as the palms of the latter are longer and slenderer than any of the cordatus examined, and the carapace is narrower behind in proportion to its greatest width. gecarcinus lateralis (freminville) rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 355, pls. cxix and cxx, text-fig. 161. barbados; 1 0 1 9 1 juv. family ocypodidae ocypode albicans bosc rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 367, pls. cxxvii and cxxviii. barbados; beach on south coast; 2 . pelican island, barbados; 1 9. uca mordax (smith) rathbun, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, p. 391, pl. cxxxiv, figs. 3 and 4, text-fig. 166. english harbour, antigua ; 20. in mangrove swamp;1 , large. 80 iowa studies in natural history n. of bridgetown, barbados; mangrove swamp; 7 0 6, of medium size. superfamily oxyrhyncha family parthenopidæ parthenope (platylambrus) fraterculus (stimpson) lambrus fraterculus stimpson, bull. m. c. z., vol. ii, 1871, p. 130. off lazaretto, barbados; 20 fathoms; bottom rough; tangles; june 6; sta. 87;1 o. this specimen has the dorsal projections more acute than customary, and the chelipeds a little longer, with sharper teeth or spines. not before known from the west indies. its southern boundary has been yucatan in the west, miami in the east: solenolambrus tenellus stimpson bull. m. c. z., vol. ii, 1871, p. 134. barbados; lazaretto bears s. e. by e., 42 mile off shore; 35 fathoms; bottom rocky; tangles; may 24; sta. 42; 1 9 ovig. dredged off barbados by the “hassler," 100 fathoms, and by the “blake" in 56 to 103 fathoms. family inachidæ subfamily inachinæ stenorynchus sagittarius (fabricius) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 53. n. w. 12 n. of pelican island, barbados, w. 1/2 s. of lazaretto; 80 fathoms; bottom fine sand; may 27; sta. 49;1 0. shoal bank, barbados, about 3 miles w. of needham point; 20-40 fathoms; sponge bottom; sta. 101; 1 0. ; taken at barbados by the “blake" in 94 fathoms. podochela hypoglypha (stimpson) podonema hypoglypha stimpson, bull. m. c. z., vol. ii, 1871, p. 127. barbados; paynes bay church bears e. n. e. and the lazabarbados-antigua reports 81 retto s. e. by s., off shore 1/2 mile; 50 fathoms; bottom rocky; tangles; may 31 ; sta. 64; 1 small but adult male. not before noted south of guadeloupe. podochela gracilipes stimpson bull. m. c. z., vol. ii, 1871, p. 126. lazaretto, barbados, bears s. e. by e., 12 mile off shore; 35 fathoms; bottom rocky; tangles; may 24; sta. 42;1 o. cable station, barbados, bears e. by s., lazaretto e. s. e. 12 s.; 35–60 fathoms; bottom mostly rocky, working on steep slope; tangles; june 3; sta. 75; 1 . not before found in the lesser antilles, although off yucatan and colombia. batrachonotus fragosus stimpson bull. m. c. z., vol. ii, 1871, p. 122. s. w. of pelican island, barbados, 1 mile; 38 fathoms; bottom of fine coral fragments; may 13; sta. 1; 1 0. euprognatha gracilipes a. milne edwards rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 58. 2 miles due w. of pelican island, barbados; 80 fathoms; bottom coarse sand; may 17; sta. 13; 1 small . dredged by the "blake" at barbados in 69 to 76 fathoms. arachnopsis filipes stimpson bull. m. c. z., vol. ii, 1871, p. 121. barbados; w. n. w. of lazaretto; n. n. w. of pelican island; 33 fathoms; bottom rocky; dredge; may 27; sta. 51; 1 %. subfamily pisinæ chorinus heros (herbst) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 61. pelican island, barbados; tide pool; may 11; 1 immature. > herbstia depressa stimpson plate ii, fig. 4. ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vol. vii, 1860, p. 57. > 6 82 iowa studies in natural history 3 barbados; may 15; 1 9 ovig.; median length of carapace 14, width 12, length to tip of rostral horns 14.8 mm. besides the tubercles on the carapace mentioned by stimpson there are 4 tubercles or granules forming a transverse oblong on the branchial region, 2 of the granules near the inner angle of this region and the other 2 granules in a line posterior to the middle of the cardiac region. there is also a granule on the dorsal surface which forms a triangle with the 2 marginal spines at the widest part of the carapace. the row of spines on the merus of the cheliped is on its upper margin. not before found south of st. thomas. lissa bicarinata aurivillius plate ii, fig. 1. rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, 4 p. 64. s. w. of pelican island, barbados, 1 mile; 38 fathoms; bottom of fine coral fragments; may 13; sta. 1; 1 9 ovig.; carapace concealed dorsally by a calcareous coating which does not disguise the characteristic elevations. subfamily schizophrysinæ thoe puella stimpson rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, 9 p. 63. > pillars of hercules, antigua; 2 0 3 $ (1 ovig.). mithrax spinosissimus (lamarck) the lazy crab hughes, nat. hist. barbados, 1750, p. 262, pl. xxv, fig. 1 (part: chelipeds and legs only). mithrax spinosissimus rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 66. barbados: w. n. w. of lazaretto; n. n. w. of pelican island; 33 fathoms; bottom rocky; dredge; may 27; sta. 51; 3 young. the largest of these, about 9 mm. long in the median line, shows a small spine on the basal antennal segment at the base of the next segment. mithrax acuticornis stimpson? rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 66. barbados-antigua reports 83 barbados; may 22; 1 juv. with carapace less than 6 mm. long. agrees in the main with m. acuticornis but the carapace is smoother than usual, the tubercles being fewer and lower. mithrax pilosus rathbun bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 66. pillars of hercules, english harbour, antigua; 1 0 juv. barbados; 1 o. not before noted from barbados, but occurring at guadeloupe and caracas. mithrax hemphilli rathbun bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 69. english harbour, antigua; shore; 1 0. mithrax verrucosus milne edwards mag. zool., vol. ii, 1832, cl. vii, pl. iv and explanation. pillars of hercules, english harbour, antigua; 1 o, medium size. fort barclay, english harbour; july 9; 1 . juv. english harbour; shore; 1 9 juv. pelican island, barbados; 1 juv. not previously recorded from barbados; occurs at guadeloupe, martinique and on the coast of brazil. mithrax depressus a. milne edwards bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 68. english harbour, antigua; shore; 1. ő medium, 1 juv. mithrax pleuracanthus stimpson bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 68. barbados; 1 ó juv. from coral heads; may 27; 2 6 1 9 ovig., all small. not recorded previously from barbados, or farther south than martinique. mithrax caribbaeus rathbun plate iii proc. biol. soc. washington, vol. xxxiii, 1920, p. 23. barbados; 2 , one rather large, the other middling small. 84 iowa studies in natural history length of carapace of larger & on median line 53.5, extreme width 71 mm. length of smaller $20.8, width 24.4 mm. approaches m. hispidus in its large size and general shape, but the carapace is a little narrower, and the crenulation of the prehensile edges of the fingers in the gape persists in the old, while it disappears in old hispidus. differs from all its allies in the arrangement of tubercles or tubercles and spines on the postero-lateral region. there is a postero-lateral spine in the young and middle-sized, which becomes a tubercle in the old; it is situated not far behind the spine at the lateral angle of the carapace, and forms the outermost of a transverse row of three, which is subparallel to another row of three tubercles. barbados is the furthest east for this species; it has been taken at porto rico, st. thomas and venezuela. mithrax (mithraculus) sculptus (lamarck) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 71. pillars of hercules, english harbour, antigua; 14 8 6 (4 ovig.). english harbour; 1 d. pelican island, barbados; 4 0. barbados; under sea anemone; 3 0 1 %. m. sculptus is usually olivaceous, the color persisting in alcohol. the 4 specimens taken from under sea anemones are an exception, as they are reddish brown, in alcohol. mithrax (mithraculus) coryphe (herbst) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 71. pillars of hercules; english harbour, antigua; 6 0 7 9 (4 ovig.). ft. barclay, english harbour; july 9;1 0. pelican island, barbados; 2 81%. tide pool; may 11; 1 8 2 & ovig. barbados; 1 0. from coral head; june 4; 1 o. shore; 1 9 ovig. under sea anemones; 3 8 5 (4 ovig.) 1 juv. . . barbados-antigua reports 85 mithrax (mithraculus) forceps (a. milne edwards) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 70. 1 mile s. of sta. 19, off needham point, barbados; 84 fathoms; bottom rocky; sta. 20; 1 9 ovig. barbados; 2 3 juv. mithrax (mithraculus) ruber (stimpson) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 69. > pelican island, barbados; 1 0 1 9 juv. needham point, barbados ; may 18; 3 0 1 ¢ immature. by diver; 18. 1 mile s. of sta. 19, off needham point; 84 fathoms; bottom rocky; sta. 20; 2 0 39. okra reef, barbados; may 13; 6 0 6 %, all small. barbados; shore; 1 9. may 15; 7 4 (2 ovig.) 2 juv. may 22; 1 o. on old coral; may 31; 1 0 1 ! immature. from coral heads; june 4; 4 0 1 9 ovig. 1 juv. not heretofore known south of guadeloupe. mithrax (mithraculus) cinctimanus (stimpson) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 70. english harbour, antigua; shore; 1 %, immature. microphrys bicornutus (latreille) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 72. . pillars of hercules, english harbour, antigua; 10 0 5! (2 ovig.) 1 juv. english harbour, antigua; shore; 4 0 2 (1 ovig.). antigua; 1 & ovig., with the slender, slightly divergent, incurved horns figured by a. milne edwards, in crust. rég. mex., 1873, pl. xiv, fig. 2. bathsheba, barbados; 3 & ovig., 1 juv. pelican island, barbados ; may 11;3! (1 ovig.) 1 juv. tide pool; may 11; 2 8. may 13; 1 o. . needham point, barbados; may 18; 1 juv. barbados ; 4 0 2 & ovig. under sea anemones:10, soft shell. 86 iowa studies in natural history microphrys interruptus rathbun plate ii, fig. 5. proc. biol. soc. washington, vol. xxxiii, 1920, p. 24. fort barclay, english harbour, antigua, july 9; 1 0 1 8 juv. needham point, barbados; may 18; 1 . known previously only from cuba, the type locality. measurements. the male from needham point is only slightly larger than the type male; the male from fort barclay is considerably larger, total length of carapace 16.7, length of horns 2.4, width of carapace without spines 13.6, with spines 13.3 mm. the carapace is widest above the bases of the first ambulatory legs where it exceeds slightly the width between the tips of the postero-lateral spines, which are above the bases of the second ambulatory legs. the egg-bearing female is about the same size as the male and is concealed beneath a mass of algae and other small organisms. relationships.-m. bicornutus is very widespread and abundant, and a very variable species, but the form which i call interruptus appears to be consistently different. it differs from bicornutus in being wider in proportion to its length, and wider across the orbits in proportion to its posterior width; in the greater prominence of the oblique branchial protuberances which are in line with the postero-lateral spine; in the more transverse direction of the arch of four tubercles on the intestinal region; in the shorter and more transverse tooth at the antero-external angle of the basal antennal segment, which is very little advanced in dorsal view beyond the preorbital angle, and in ventral view gives the segment much greater relative width than in bicornutus; in the presence of a small but well-developed tooth or lobe on the infra-orbital margin, just outside the antennal segment; this tooth is lacking in bicornutus. stenocionops furcata (olivier) the horned crab, nat. hist. barbados, 1750, p. 266, pl. xxv, fig. 3. stenocionops furcata rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 73. barbados-antigua reports 87 9 barbados; in shore 200 yards from sta. 22 (14 mile e. of sta. 21, in shore 400 to 500 yards) ; 35 fathoms; bottom rocky; tangles; may 20; sta. 24; 1 . macrocoeloma trispinosum (latreille) milne edwards, hist. nat. crust., vol. i, 1834, p. 336. english harbour, antigua; shore; 1 9 ovig., overgrown with sponge. macrocoeloma trispinosum nodipes (desbonne) in desbonne and schramm, crust. guadeloupe, 1867, p. 15, pl. v, fig. 13. english harbour, antigua; shore; 1 0,1 juv. macrocoeloma subparallelum (stimpson) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 74. bathsheba, barbados; 1 9 ovig. pelican island, barbados; tide pools; may 11; 1 9 immature. barbados; 1 9. shallow water; under large anemone; 1 9 18 ovig. the specimens are almost concealed by seaweed, alcyonarians and other foreign substances. first occurrence at barbados; known from guadeloupe and old providence. macrocoeloma eutheca (stimpson) pericera eutheca stimpson, bull. m. c. z., vol. ii, 1871, p. 112. s. w. of pelican island, barbados, 1 mile; 38 fathoms; bottom of fine coral fragments; may 13; sta. 1;1 0. w. by n. of telegraph station, barbados; 12 mile off shore about edge of drop off'; 60–70 fathoms; tangles; june 1; sta. 66; 19. first occurrence at barbados, though taken at st. croix and colon. macrocoeloma intermedium rathbun bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 75. off lazaretto, barbados; 20 fathoms; bottom rough; tangles; june 6; sta. 87;1 immature. first record at barbados, though taken at dominica and colon. 88 iowa studies in natural history picroceroides tubularis miers bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 76. shoal bank, barbados, about 3 miles w. of needham point; 20-40 fathoms; sponge bottom; sta. 101; 1 juv. not before taken near barbados, but off st. thomas and the coast of brazil. pitho mirabilis (herbst) rathbun, bull. u. s. f. c., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, p. 78. pillars of hercules, english harbour, antigua; 1 %. bibliography 6 desbonne and schramm. crustacés de la guadeloupe d'après un manuscrit du docteur isis desbonne comparé avec les échantillons de crustacés de sa collection et les dernières publications de mm. henri de saussure et william stimpson. 1re partie. brachyures. basse-terre. 1867. [edited by alphonse schramm.) edwards, a. milne. reports on the results of dredging under the supervision of alexander agassiz, in the gulf of mexico, and in the caribbean sea, 1877, ’78, '79, by the u. s. coast survey steamer "blake", lieut.-commander c. d. sigsbee, u. s. n., and commander j. r. bartlett, u. s. n., commanding. viii. etudes préliminaires sur les crustacés. bull. mus. comp. zoöl. at harvard college, vol. viii, no. 1, cambridge, 1880, pp. 1–68, pls. i and ii. edwards, a. milne. recherches zoologiques pour servir a l'histoire de la faune de l'amérique centrale et du mexique, 5e partie, paris, 1881. etudes sur les xiphosures et les crustacés de la région mexicaine, 1873-1880. 368 pp., 61 pls. edwards, a. milne, and e. l. bouvier. reports on the results of dredging under the supervision of alexander agassiz, in the gulf of mexico (1877-78), in the caribbean sea (1878– 79), and along the atlantic coast of the united states (1880), by the u. s. coast survey steamer “blake", lieut.-com. c. d. sigsbee, u. s. n., and commander j. r. bartlett, u. s. n., commanding. xxxix. les dromiacés et oxystomes. mem. mus. comp. zoöl. at harvard college, vol. xxvii, no. 1, cambridge, 1902, pp. 1–127, pls. 1-xxv. edwards, h. milne. sur les crustacés du genre mithrax. mag. zool., vol. ii, paris, 1832, classe vii, pls. i-v. edwards, h. milne. histoire naturelle des crustacés, vol. i, paris, 1834, xxxv and 468 pp. > 7 89 90 iowa studies in natural history hughes, griffith. the natural history of barbados. london, 1750. book ix. of crustaceous animals. pp. 261–266, pl. xxv. rathbun, mary j. list of the decapod crustacea of jamaica. ann. inst. jamaica, vol. i, no. 1, 1897, pp. 1-46. rathbun, mary j. the brachyura of the biological expedition to the florida keys and the bahamas in 1893. bull. lab. nat. hist. state univ. iowa, vol. iv, 1898, pp. 250-294, pls. i-ix. rathbun, mary j. the brachyura and macrura of porto rico. bull. u. s. fish comm., vol. xx for 1900, part 2, 1901, pp. 1-137, pls. i and ii. rathbun, mary j. the grapsoid crabs of america. bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. xcvii, 1918, pp. 1-461, pls. i-clxi. rathbun, mary j. new species of spider crabs from the straits of florida and caribbean sea. proc. biol. soc. washington, vol. xxxiii, 1920, pp. 23-24. stimpson, william. notes on north american crustacea, nos. i and ii. ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vol. vii, new york, pp. 49–93 (1859), pp. 176-246 (1860), pls. i, ii and v. stimpson, william. preliminary report on the crustacea dredged in the gulf stream in the straits of florida. bull. mus. comp. zool. at harvard college, vol. ii, cambridge, 1871, pp. 109-160. explanation of plates plate iii and plate ii, fig. 1, are from photographs loaned by the u. s. national museum. the other photographs on plate ii were made by mr. clarence r. shoemaker and retouched by mr. seward h. rathbun who made the drawings on plate i. plate i pilumnus barbadensis, 9, barbados fig. 1. major chela, x 8. 2. minor chela, x 9.4. 3. an ambulatory leg, x 8. 4. carapace, with eyes and antennae, x 7. plate ii fig. 1. lissa bicarinata, , cat. no. 24120, u. s. n. ji., dorsal view, carapace 9.6 mm. long. 2. xanthias granulimanus, $, cat. no. 20052, u. s. n. ii., ventral view, x 3. carapace 9.2 mm. wide. 3. same, dorsal view, x 3. 4. herbstia depressa, f, barbados, x 2 2-3. 5. microphrys interruptus, , fort barclay, x 3. carapace, including horns, 16.7 mm. long. > plate iii mithrax caribbaeus, o holotype, cat. no. 50363, u. s. n. m., dorsal view, carapace, including horns, 66.3 mm. long. plate i 245 2 4. بوبليليه 3 илиал plate ii 2 4 5 3 plate iii report on the tanidacea and isopoda collected by the barbados-antigua expedition from the university of iowa in 1918 pearl l. boone aid, division of marine invertebrates, u. s. national museum the isopod crustacea of the barbados-antigua expedition conducted by the state university of iowa during the summer of 1918, though a small collection, has proven quite interesting. of the six species represented, one, ecosphaeroma nuttingi, is new to science; another, porcellio parvicornis richardson, represents the second record of this species, which was described from a single specimen secured in the bermudas in 1901. a single representative of the tanaidacea was taken ; namely, apsuedes espinosus moore. an annotated list of the material collected and discussion of the new species is herewith presented. the drawing of the latter was made by mr. seward h. rathbun under my direction. tanaidacea family apseudidæ genus apseudes leach > apseudes espinosus moore apseudes espinosus moore, bull. u. s. fish commission xx, pt. 2, 1902, pp. 165-166, pl. 7, figs. 1-6. richardson, bull. 54, u. s. nat. mus., 1905, p. 38, figs. 34 a-f. one male specimen of this species was collected at station 1, barbados, 1918, and is in the collection of the state university of iowa. moore described the type from a female, taken by the u. s. bureau of fisheries steamer "fish hawk”, at station 6079, off st. thomas, porto rico, 20 fathoms, on coral bottom. 91 92 iowa studies in natural history representatives of this species from the following localities are in the collections of the u. s. national museum; from among algae, no name key, fla.; off the customs house, mayaguez, porto rico, station 6651, in 4-6 fathoms; also from station 6090 off culebra island, s. w. culebrita, porto rico, in 16 fathoms. isopoda family cirolanidæ genus cirolana leach cirolana mayana ives cirolana mayana ives, proc. acad. nat. sci. phil., 1891, pp. 186–187, pl. vi, fig. 6, figs. 3–10.-richardson, bull. 54, u. s. nat. mus., 1905, p. 87, fig. 66. a single adult specimen, collected in sand, june 2, 1918, barbados, was secured and is in the collections of the state university of iowa. type locality: port of silam, yucatan, 3 specimens. subsequent records for this species are: boqueron bay and culebra, porto rico (h. f. moore). santa marta, u. s. colombia (richardson). brandon's, barbados beach ; san francisco bay, lower california (richardson, 1905). i doubt the validity of this last locality. there are no specimens of cirolana mayana ives in the collections of the u. s. national museum. > 2 cirolana parva hansen cirolana parva hansen, vidensk. selsk., skr. (6), v, 1890, pp. 340–341, pl. 2, figs. 6-6b, pl. 3, figs. 1-1d. richardson, american naturalist, vol. 34, 1900, p. 217. proc. u. s. nat. mus., vol. 23, 1901, p. 514. bull. 54, u. s. nat. mus., 1905, p. 111, figs. 93–94. moore, bull. u. s. fish com., 20, pt. 2, 1902, p. 167, pl. 8, figs. 6-8. sixteen specimens from pelican island, barbados, were collected june 13, 1918, 14 of which are in the collection of the state university of iowa and two in the u. s. national museum, cat. no. 53882. one specimen, taken with electric light at english harbour, one taken at dredging station 1, barbados, another from station barbados-antigua reports 93 11, barbados, also one labeled “barbados, may 15, 1918,” are in the collections of the state university of iowa. type localities :-hansen states that he has examined representatives of the species from the following localities : st. thomas, west indies, 5 specimens (krebs, 1867); st. croix, west indies, 2 specimens (oersted); west indies, 1 specimen (kroyer); without locality but probably west indies, 1 specimen; 25° n. b., 34° v. l., 2 specimens (hygom); samoa islands, 1 specimen (mus. godeffroy). this last he offers with hesitation and fears the locality with specimen may be wrong, but states the specimens are identical with the west indian material. in addition, representatives of this species from the following localities are in the collections of the u. s. national museum; between the delta of the mississippi and cedar keys, florida, stations 2369–74, 25–74 fathoms depth; station 2406, gulf of mexico, lat. n. 28° 46', long. w. 84° 49', 26 fathoms; station 7293, gulf of mexico, off northwest channel, 714 fathoms depth, off biscayne key, florida, 16–34 ft. depth; grassy key lake, off grassy key, florida, station 7431, 8 feet depth, no name key, florida, banks, low tide; off knights key channel, n. e. bahia honda key, florida, station 7411, 10 ft. depth; pigeon key lake, florida, station 7404, 101/2 ft. depth; key west, florida, among algae, below low tide; key west, florida; specimens from sponges, lisbon reef, andros island, bahamas; in algae (panicillus capitatus), georgetown, great exuma, bahama, shallow water about the keys, esperanza, cuba; from mangrove roots, boque islands, montego bay, jamaica; mayaguez, porto rico; from porto real, porto rico; ponce, porto rico; playa de ponce, porto rico, on lighthouse reef, arroyo, porto rico; fajardo, porto rico; boqueron bay, porto rico; ensenada honda, culebra, porto rico; off st. thomas, virgin islands, u. s., station 6080, 20 fathoms depth; st. thomas, virgin islands, u. s. family excorallanidæ excorallana stebbing? excorallana subtilis (hansen) corallana subtilis hansen, vidensk. selsk. skr. (6), v, 1890, > i see hansen for characters of family, vidensk. selsk. skr. (6), v, 1890, pp. 311. 313, 317, 376, kjobenhavn. 2 fauna and geography of the maldive and laccadire archipelagoes, ii, pt. 3, 1904, p. 704. 8 94 iowa studies in natural history pp. 382, 383, pl. 7, figs. 3–3e, richardson, proc. u. s. nat. mus., xxiii, 1901, p. 519. excorallana subtilis richardson, bull. 54, u. s. nat. mus., 1905, p. 146, fig. 130 a-d. a single immature specimen of this species was taken at okra reef, barbados, may 13, 1918, and is in the collections of the state university of iowa. hansen described this species from a single young female specimen in the process of ecdysis labelled “st. thomas, krebs, aug. 24, 1858”, which is in the copenhagen museum. two male specimens collected in the harbor of key west, florida, by dr. edward palmer, in 1884, cat. no. 13581, are in the collections of the u. s. national museum. these specimens agree with hansen's description except that they lack the two large tubercles at the base of the abdomen, but it must be recalled that the type was an immature female in process of ecdysis. excorallana oculata (hansen) three specimens of this species were collected with electric light at english harbour, barbados, 1918; two of these are in the collections of the state university of iowa, the third is in the collections of the u. s. national museum, cat. no. 53886. hansen described the species from two specimens collected in the west indies, by krebs, 1866, and deposited in the copenhagen museum. three specimens, collected by the steamer “albatross'' at station 2758, in 20 fathoms of water, off cape st. roque, brazil, are in the u. s. national museum. family cymothoidæ genus anilocra leach anilocra laticauda milne edwards anilocra laticauda milne edwards, hist. nat. crust. iii, 1840, p. 259. anilocra mexicana saussure, rev. mag. zool., 1857, p. 505. anilocra leachi (kroyer) schiödte & meinert, naturhistorisk tidsskrift (3), xiii, 1881–83, pp. 126–131, pl. ix, figs. 1-3. richardson, american naturalist, xxxiv, 1901, p. 528.barbados-antigua reports 95 moore, report u. s. com. fisheries xx, pt. 2, 1902, p. 172, pl. x, figs. 3-4. richardson, bull. 54, u. s. nat. mus., 1905, p. 227, fig. 230. two adult and four young specimens of this well-known fish parasite were collected may 14, 1918, near pelican island, barbados, and are in the collections of the state university of iowa. the type locality of the species was described “habitat la mer des antilles”. the species has been recorded as parasitic on ocyurus chrysurus, bathystoma rimator, haemulon plumieri, h. arcuatum, upeneus martinicus, and abudefduf saxtalis from a series of localities establishing a geographic range from maryland to the straits of magellan. the representatives of the species from the following localities are in the collections of the u. s. national museum: on “grunt, jewfish bush lake, florida; "on fish,” key west, florida; arroyo and vieques, porto rico; west end santa lucia bay, cuba; cape cajon, cuba; on parrot-fish, montego bay, jamaica; on eye of yellow-tail, ocyurus chrysurus, montego bay, jamaica; “from angle of mouth (external) of bathystoma rimator”, jamaica; from small yellow-tail, snug harbor, montego bay, jamaica; on head of haemulon arcuatum, cozumel, yucatan; cat. no. 7660, on fish, st. thomas, west indies; buck island, near st. thomas, west indies; 1 specimen on red-fish, st. croix, west indies; on abudefduf saxatilis, toso point, canal zone, panama; on a, saxatilis, colon reef, panama; cat. no. 20481, 2 specimens, porlamar, margarita island, venezuela; rio de janeiro, brazil. genus cymothoa fabricius cymothoa oestrum (l.) oniscus oestrum linnaeus, syst. nat., 10th ed., i, 1758, p. 636, no. 2; fauna suecica, 2nd ed., 1761, p. 499, no. 2053; syst. nat., 12 ed., i, 1767, pt. 2, p. 1059, no. 2. asellus oestrum olivier, encycl. méthod. iv, 1789, p. 253. cymothoa oestrum fabricius, entom. syst. ii, 1798, p. 505, no. 6,-leach, trans. linn. soc. london, xi, 1815, p. 372; dict. sci. nat. xii, 1818, p. 362. cymothoa dufresnei leach, dict. sci. nat. xii, 1818, p. 352. 96 iowa studies in natural history cymothoa immersa say, journ. acad. nat. sci. phila., i, 1818, pp. 399–400. 7 be cymothoa oestrum desmarest, consid. gén. crust., 1825, p. 309, pl. 47, figs. 6–7, miers, proc. zool. soc., 1877, pp. 671-672,schiödte and meinert, naturh. tidsskr. (3), 14, 1883–84, pp. 271-279, pl. 8, figs. 5–13. richardson, american naturalist, 34, 1900, p. 221; u. s. nat. mus., 23, 1901, p. 530; bull. 54, u. s. nat. mus., 1905, p. 254, fig. 263. four adult specimens of this species were found parasitic on the tongue of "horse-eye cavalli” (fish), may 28, 1918, barbados. about twenty-five very young of the second stage were collected in sand, barbados, june 2, 1918. one of the adults is in the collections of the u. s. national museum, cat. no. 53883. the remainder are in the collections of the state university of iowa. the type locality of this well-known parasite was recorded “habitat in oceano”. it has been recorded as taken from the following hosts : caranz latus, c. ruber, “jack-fish”, from branchial cavity; “red fish" stomach, in the tongue of scombroid fishes, parasitic on the mouth of priacanthus arenatus and trachurops crumenopthalmus; sparisoma abilgaardi, cynocion ciorchus, on strombus giganteus, the various localities cited giving a geographic range from the shore of virginia to the southern shores of the caribbean sea, also the coast of peru. the representatives of this species from the following localities are in the collections of the u. s. national museum: from the mouth of caranx ruber, tortugas, florida; key west, florida; parasitic on trachurops crumenopthalmus, and on priacanthus arenatus, bermuda ; cat. no. 28678, from the “stomach of redfish”, near barbados; from parrot-fish, sparisoma abilgaardi, montego bay, jamaica; from the branchial cavity of jack fish, caranx species, jamaica; curaçao, feb., 1884; from mouth of fish, st. thomas, virgin islands, u. s.; 1 young male specimen on the gills of cynocion ciorchus, colon market, colon, canal zone, panama; swan island, caribbean sea. 看 ​1 barbados-antigua reports 97 family sphaeromidæ sphaerominae hemibranchiatae exosphaeroma nuttingi new species figures 1-2 body elongate-ovate, smooth, ground color creamy yellowish, irregularly mottled with fine black splotches. head two-thirds as long as wide with frontal margin produced to a median point on either side of which it is moderately excavated and thence recurvate for the reception of the antennal joints. eyes large, round, occupying the entire postlateral area of the head. first antennae with the basal article elongate, broad, flattened, second article half as long as the first, very convex; the third article slender, cylindrical, two-thirds as long as the first, and a flagellum of eight slender subequal articles and extends almost to the posterior margin of the first thoracic segment. the second antennae have the first and second joints short, subequal, the third and fourth joints each slightly longer than the second, the fifth joint slightly longer than the fourth and a flagellum of eleven tapering subequal articles which extends almost to the posterior margin of the third segment. the maxillipeds have the lobes of the distal four joints much produced. the first thoracic segment is slightly longer than any of the others which are subequal, the epimera are easily distinguished and have their respective lateral margins rounded and sculptured. the seven pairs of legs are similar, subequal, irregularly, sparsely set with spines along the inner side. the abdomen has the first thoracic segment a trifle longer than the sev. enth thoracic segment and bears three transverse lines indicating the coalescence of four segments, the terminal segment is convex, domelike, with the posterior marginal area on a slightly lower plane than the central area; the posterior margin is broadly rounded, the extreme median area has a broad shallow excavation on the ventral surface, the distal termination of this channel causes a vague almost invisible truncation of the dorsal margin. the uropoda have the peduncle rounded, knob-like, its articulation with the inner branch being difficult to distinguish; the inner branch has the inner lateral margin relatively straight, the outer margin broadly rounded, the distal margin crenulate; the outer blade is four-fifths as long as the inner blade and is broadly oval with its posterior margin crenulate. pleopoda one and two are subequal, similar, fringed; pleopoda three has the exopod two-jointed; pleopoda four and five have the endopods thick, of fleshy aspect, with deep, essentially transverse folds, the exopods submembraneous and rather pellucid, two jointed. the present species may be distinguished from exosphaeroma crenulatum richardson* by the fact that it has three transverse lines on the first abdominal segment indicating the coalescence of four segments; these lines * exosphaeroma crenulatum richardson, bull. 54, u. s. nat. mus., 1905, p. 298, figs. 317-318. 98 iowa studies in natural history are quite differently placed from the two lines of coalescence of exosphaeroma crenulatum; the posterior margin of the telson is different, the uropoda have both blades slightly crenulate only on the distal end, and the lobes of the second, third and fourth joints of the palp of the maxilliped are much produced. the holotype and eleven paratypes are in the collections of the state university of iowa. six additional paratypes are in the collections of the u. s. national museum, cat. no. 53884. all were collected from among the spines of a sea urchin, barbados. named for professor c. c. nutting. oniscoidea family oniscidae genus porcellio latreille porcellio parvicornis richardson porcellio parvicornis richardson, trans. conn. acad. sciences, xi, 1902, p. 302, pl. 40, fig. 57.-bull. 54, u. s. nat. mus., 1905, p. 616, fig. 667. three specimens of this species were collected at indian river, barbados, may 21, 1918. two specimens are in the collections of the state university of iowa and one in the u. s. national museum, cat. no. 53885. these represent the second record of this species, which was described from a single specimen collected by prof. a. e. verrill at the bermudas in 1901, and deposited in the collections of peabody museum, yale university. a explanation of plate fig. 1. exosphaeroma nuttingi new species, type. fig. 2. exosphaeroma nuttingi maxilliped. plate i saphat aropok lobeg od te mail of the in the 41 2 jence 196 rire tions น่ ไม่ 1 report on the amphipods collected by the barbados-antigua expedition from the university of iowa in 1918 clarence r. shoemaker aid, division of marine invertebrates, u. s. national museum the amphipod collection of the expedition is represented by 191 specimens which are included in sixteen species. the records are all new for barbados and four of the species (ampelisca lobata, lembos concavus, chevalia aviculae, and ampithoe intermedia) are reported for the first time from the east coast of america. 1. lysianopsis alba holmes station 1, one mile s. w. of pelican island, barbados, may 13, 1918, 38 fms. 2 specimens this species was described by s. j. holmes in 1905 from woods hole, mass. it was reported by arthur s. pearse in 1912 from gulf of mexico. j. b. henderson and paul bartsch found it off cape san antonio, cuba, in 1914, and in 1915 it was collected by myself at st. thomas, w. i. 2. ampelisca lobata holmes station 1, one mile s. w. of pelican island, barbados, may 13, 1918, 38 fms. 1 specimen this is the first report of the occurrence of this species upon the east coast of north america, the species having been described by s. j. holmes off san nicolas island, southern california, in 1908. 3. amphilochus, species pelican island, barbados, may 13, 1918. 2 specimens these specimens are too imperfect for identification. 4. leucothoe spinicarpa (abildgaard) pelican island, barbados, may 13, 1918. 1 specimen (immature) this species is found throughout the arctic ocean, on the 99 100 iowa studies in natural history coast of norway, northern coast of europe, british isles, azores, bermuda, mediterranean, ceylon, seychelles, british east africa, red sea, mcmurdo sound (antarctic), south georgia, cape agulhas, south orkneys, east coast of north america, gulf of mexico, st. thomas, jamaica, cuba, and south africa. this is the first mention of its occurrence at barbados. leucothoe spinicarpa frequently lives commensal in the branchial chamber of ascidians. 5. batea catharinensis müller pelican island, barbados, may 13, 1918. 3 specimens batea catharinensis was discovered at desterro, brazil, and in 1865 fritz müller created the genus for it. no members of the genus were again met with until 1900 when some specimens were found near woods hole, mass., and described by s. j. holmes as batea secunda. the specific differences which this author points out, however, are very slight and the two species will probably prove to be the same. batea catharinensis has also been found at chesapeake bay, skull creek, s. c., mouth of may river, s. c., and now at pelican island, barbados. > 6. pontogeneia verrilli kunkel pelican island, barbados, may 13, 1918. 1 specimen in 1910 b. w. kunkel described this species from bermuda and this single specimen now from barbados marks the second record. 7. maera in aequipes (a. costa) pelican island, barbados, may 13, 1918. 46 specimens this species has been reported from the azores, mediterranean, bermuda, cuba, and south africa; and the present record is the first for barbados. 8. elasmopus rapax a. costa pelican island, barbados, may 13, 1918. 48 specimens this species has been reported from norway, british isles, france, azores, bermuda, gulf of mexico, jamaica, cuba, and now for the first time from barbados. barbados-antigua reports 101 9. orchestia platensis kroyer station 1, one mile s. w. of pelican island, barbados, may 13, 1918, 38 fms. 1 specimen beach near pelican island, barbados, may 27, 1918. 10 specimens this amphipod has been found upon the beaches of nearly all the temperate and tropical regions of the earth; this, however, is the first record for barbados. 10. lembos concavus stout pelican island, barbados, may 13, 1918. 17 specimens in 1913 vinnie ream stout described this species from laguna beach, california. the specimens taken at barbados are smaller but agree very well with the description. this is the first appearance of this species on the east coast of america. 11. eurystheus lina kunkel pelican island, barbados, may 13, 1918. 35 specimens the first specimens of this species were found at bermuda in 1903 and described by b. w. kunkel in 1910.specimens have been taken also at tortugas, florida, and porto rico and this record from barbados extends the range much to the south. 12. eurystheus, species station 1, one mile s. w. of pelican island, barbados. may 13, 1918, 38 fathoms. 1 specimen this single, female specimen is in too imperfect a condition for specific identification. 13. chevalia aviculae walker pelican island, barbados, may 13, 1918. 18 specimens this species was found by herdman and hornell at ceylon in pearl oyster washings, and described by a. o. walker in 1904. it was later taken at saya de malha bank, cargados islands, and south africa. walker thinks this is probably a tube-building species but nothing yet is known of its habits. the species described by arthur s. pearse as chevalia mexicana in 1912 from the gulf of mexico will probably prove to be the same as walker's species. this is the first record for barbados. 102 iowa studies in natural history 14. amphithoe intermedia walker barbados, under sea anemones. 3 specimens a. o. walker described this species from ceylon in 1904, and in 1905 he reported it from the maldive islands. chevreux in 1907 reported it from the tuamotu islands. in 1909 a. 0. walker recorded it from praslin reef, zanzibar, and red sea. the specimens from barbados agree with those figured by chevreux in having the broad rounded lobe on the lower, anterior corner of the second joint of the second gnathopods. 15. grubia compta (smith) barbados, june 4, 1918 (from coral heads). 1 specimen this species was described by s. i. smith in 1873 and was said to range from north carolina to cape cod. in 1912 arthur s. pearse reported it from harbor key and key west, florida. the present record is the first from barbados. 16. podocerus brasiliensis (dana) pelican island, barbados, may 13, 1918. 1 specimen this is a tropical atlantic species which heretofore has been reported only from rio janeiro and antigua. > report on the echinoidea collected by the barbados-antigua expedition from the university of iowa in 1918 hubert lyman clark museum of comparative zoölogy, cambridge the collection of echinoidea made by the party from the university of iowa, which under the leadership of professor c. c. nutting, visited barbados and antigua in the summer of 1918, is not a large one but it represents well the typical littoral west indian fauna. the 229 specimens belong to 18 species, all but two of which are known, characteristic forms of the caribbean region. the two exceptions are notable indeed, for each represents a genus not hitherto reported from the west indies : one (pseudoboletia) is recorded from the eastern atlantic (ascension island) and the other (centrostephanus) occurs on the western coast of mexico. of the 229 specimens, 178 belong to three very common west indian species, echinometra lucunter, echinoneus cyclostomus and brissus brissus. the equally common species, centrechinus antillarum, tripneustes esculentus and lytechinus variegatus, are represented by very few specimens, presumably because their large size made extensive series undesirable and their commonness made such series unnecessary. these six common species occurred at both barbados and antigua. the only other echini found at the latter island were eucidaris tribuloides and clypeaster rosaceus, which are also common and widespread species. but no clypeaster was taken at barbados. the 18 species fall naturally into two divisions, those which occur along shore, or on reefs easily accessible at low tide, and those which are gotten only by dredging, trawling or the use of tangles. the former are the strictly “littoral" group; the latter belong rather to the “continental” fauna; of course members of the littoral group are often taken in deeper water, sometimes 103 104 iowa studies in natural history c > down to 50 or even 100 fms., but the species of the continental group do not seem to ever come up into the very shallow water. the following list shows the echini of the present collection which belong to the strictly littoral group: eucidaris tribuloides echinometra lucunter centrechinus antillarum clypeaster rosaceus lytechinus variegatus mellita seriesperforata tripneustes esculentus echinoneus cyclostomus brissus brissus in a recent study of the littoral echinoderms of the west indies (1919, publ. 281, carnegie inst., pp. 51–74), i have recorded 7 of these 9 species from barbados and 6 from antigua, relying mainly on the field notes of dr. w. k. fisher who was a member of the iowa party. the present collection adds lytechinus variegatus to the fauna of barbados and clypeaster rosaceus and echinoneus cyclostomus to the fauna of antigua. of the remaining nine species, eight unquestionably belong to the continental groups. the ninth, the unique pseudoboletia, may possibly prove to be littoral but the depth at which it was found is not recorded. the nine species are: stylocidaris affinis lytechinus callipeplus tretocidaris bartletti lytechinus euerces coelopleurus floridanus genocidaris maculatus centrostephanus rubicingulus pseudoboletia occidentalis agassizia excentrica excepting only the two new forms, all these species were taken by the “blake" near barbados, and also near dominica, montserrat or st. cruz. hence their occurrence in the present collection was quite to have been expected. there are no specimens however of any of them from antigua, all having been taken off the southwest coast of barbados in 25-100 fms. but practically no dredging was done at antigua except in the shallow harbors and bays, owing to the high seas outside those sheltered areas. list of species eucidaris tribuloides cidarites tribuloides lamarck, 1816. anim, s. vert., 3, p. 56. barbados-antigua reports 105 cidaris tribuloides a. agassiz, 1872. rev. ech., p. 253; pl. id and pl. ii, figs. 1-3. eucidaris tribuloides döderlein, 1887. jap. seeigel, p. 42. there are three specimens of this well-known sea-urchin at hand; one, 38 mm. in diameter with primary spines 35-38 mm. long, from falmouth harbor, antigua ; one 25 mm. with spines of about that length, from carlisle bay, barbados, 30 fms.; and an interesting young individual, about 16 mm. in diameter, without a locality label but apparently from barbados. this last specimen has the primary spines very stout (15 mm. long by 2.5 mm. in thickness) and more or less flaring at tip. owing to the unusually well developed longitudinal ridges, the tips are quite florescent. the peculiarities of this specimen are probably associated with its youth, as the wear on the spines during maturity and their tendency to become the abiding-place of bryozoans and other fixed animals in their old age usually obliterate such features as are here noted. stylocidaris affinis > cidaris affinis philippi, 1845. arch. naturg., jhg. 11, 1, p. 351. see mortensen, 1903, ingolf ech., pt. 1, pl. i, fig. 1. dorocidaris papillata a. agassiz, 1872. rev. ech., p. 254 (in part); pl. i, fig. 5. stylocidaris affinis mortensen, 1909. ech. deutsch. südpolarexp., p. 52. all of the 5 specimens of this cidarid in the present collection are young, the largest being scarcely half grown. the diameter of the test is 9-17 mm. and the primary spines are 2–2.3 times as much, as a rule. in one specimen, however, 11 mm. in diameter, the primaries are scarcely 15 mm. long. there is some diversity in the coloration of these individuals, for in some the brownishred lines and markings in the interambulaca and on the abactinal system are quite distinct and in others they are nearly or quite wanting. the youngest primaries (i. e., those on the uppermost coronal plates) are normally quite different from the typical spines of the midzone, lacking the longitudinal dentate ridges. occasionally the difference is emphasized by color; in 106 iowa studies in natural history one of the present series, these young spines are distinctly pink and unbanded. fully developed primaries are more than twice the test-diameter, nearly cylindrical or terete, with the distinct, dentate, longitudinal ridges equally developed on all sides. in specimens less than half grown they are often conspicuously banded with 5-8 ill-defined reddish-brown zones. the specimens in the present collection were taken at the following stations off the southwestern coast of barbados. station 9. may 16, 1918. w. by n. pelican island, 242 miles, 100 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 2 specimens. . 2 station 34. may 23, 1918. s. e. of hastings, 2 miles off shore, 80-90 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 1 specimen. station 36. may 23, 1918. s. w. of carlisle bay, 2 miles off shore, 80–90 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 1 specimen. station 46. may 25, 1918. n. n. w. pelican island, due west of prospect, 2 miles off shore, 100 fms. tangles. bottom not recorded. 1 specimen. tretocidaris bartletti dorocidaris bartletti a. agassiz, 1880. bull. m. c. z., 8, p. 69. tretocidaris bartletti mortensen, 1903. ingolf ech., p. 16. 1910, bull. 74 u. s. nat. mus., pls. 2 and 3. as with the preceding cidarid, all of the half-dozen individuals of this fine species are young, not nearly half grown, the test diameter ranging from 10 to 17 mm., with the primary spines 15–27 mm. the color is commonly brighter than in affinis, the reddish tints being usually quite red and the test and small spines being often quite greenish. the bands on the spines are generally distinct and their number may be 8 or 9, although the spines are shorter than in affinis. the two species seem to occur together and the young are easily confused. but aside from any matters of coloration, the form of the primary spines is sufficient for separating the two species, even if the very different globiferous pedicellariae cannot be found. in bartletti, the typical primaries are flattened and the lateral dentate ridges are more conspicuous, with bigger dentations, than those of either dorsal or lower surface. this makes a noticeable contrast to the cylindrical, uniformly ridged and generally longer spines of affinis. barbados-antigua reports 107 barbados is the type-locality for bartletti and all of the specimens at hand came from there. at two of the following stations stylocidaris was also tal en. station 7. may 16, 1918. w. by n. pelican island, 2 miles, 80 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 1 specimen. station 34. may 23, 1918. s. e. of hastings, 2 miles off shore, 80-90 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 1 specimen. station 35. may 23, 1918. s. w. of needham point, 21/2 miles off shore, 80-90 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 1 specimen. station 36. may 23, 1918. s. w. of carlisle bay, 2 miles off shore, 80-90 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 1 specimen. station 37. may 23, 1918. off pelican island, 21/2 miles, 100 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 1 specimen. station 44. may 25, 1918. n. w. pelican island and s. w. lazaretto, 212 miles off shore, 90-100 fms. medium coarse sand. dredge. 1 specimen. > centrechinus antillarum cidaris (diadema) antillarum philippi, 1845. arch. naturg., jhg. 11, 1, p. 355. diadema setosum a. agassiz, 1872. rev. ech., p. 274 (in part). centrechinus antillarum h. l. clark, 1918. bull. lab. nat. hist. iowa, 7, no. 5, p. 24. only a single small specimen of this most characteristic west indian sea urchin is in the present collection. it has the test about 30 mm. in diameter while the primary spines are some 55 mm. in length. they still show traces of the youthful banding, so striking a feature of much smaller specimens, but the general impression of this specimen is unicolor, though it is by no means really black. in the “narrative”, professor nutting says this "black nuisance” is found “almost everywhere in shallow water, both on sandy and rocky bottom”, about barbados, while it is also "abundant” at antigua. apparently it is abundant wherever it occurs, for it is very common at the tortugas and along the > 108 iowa studies in natural history southern florida coast, while at the other extreme of the west indian region, on buccoo reef, tobago, it is more abundant than at any other place where i have personally seen it. centrostephanus rubicingulus: sp. nov. plate i, figs 1 and 2. test 12 mm. in horizontal diameter, 5 mm. high, decidedly flattened both above and below. coronal plates 8 or 9 in each column, with no essential difference between ambulacra and interambulacra in this particular, but the interambulacra are about 4 mm. wide at ambitus while the ambulacra are scarcely 3.5. abactinal system large, 5 mm. in diameter, covered with a fairly thick skin; all the oculars are insert; genital plates large, each with a long genital papilla, the length of which about equals the width of the plate; periproct about 2.3 mm. across, covered with small roundish plates, set in thick skin. uppermost abactinal primary spines, usually two of each vertical series, very small (1 mm. long, more or less), smooth and club-shaped ; all the other primaries, especially those of midzone which are the longest (12–14 mm.), very rough with the usual rings of minute spinelets. peristome 7 mm. in diameter, quite closely covered with non-ambulacral plates among which the five pairs of buccal plates are easily distinguished by their larger size and their clusters of pedicellariae and the spinelets so characteristic of centrostephanus pedicellariae of only two kinds so far as observed, ophicephalous and globiferous. the former have valves .25–40 mm. long, with the loops 10–30 per cent more. these pedicellariae occur on the buccal plates and scattered about sparsely on the test; those on the test are considerably larger than those on the peristome. the globiferous pedicellariae, as in the other members of the genus, have the valves imbedded in heavily pigmented glands; these pedicellariae therefore, though very small, are made conspicuous by their black tips; the valves are .22-.32 mm. long and terminate in 4 short, subequal, somewhat spreading * rubus = red + cingulus = a zone or band, in reference to the banded spines. barbados-antigua reports 109 teeth; the general form of the valves is very similar to that found in c. rodgersii (see mortensen, 1904. siam ech., pl. iv, fig. 19) except that in the australian species there are six terminal teeth. peristome nearly white, but thick skin near mouth, tube-feet and gills yellowish. pedicellariae pale reddish-yellow. from below ambitus upward the epidermis becomes thicker and steadily more and more pigmented until on the periproct it is quite black, especially at center. primary spines whitish or glassy with 2–5 ill-defined but very distinct bands of red; the shade of red is between nopal-red and garnet brown of ridgway's pl. 1 (color standards and nomenclature, 1912), and is quite free from any violet or purple tinge. the little club-shaped primaries on the abactinal plates have their distal halves bright rosepurple in striking contrast to their surroundings; the shade is very near the rhodamine purple of ridgway's pl. xii. holotype from station 101. june 13, 1918. on shoal bank, about 3 miles w. of needham point, 25–40 fms. sponge bottom. dredge. it is a great pity that only a single specimen of this pretty little urchin was taken, for the genus, although occurring on the western coast of mexico and also in the mediterranean, has never been found hitherto in the west indian region. moreover it is probable that this is a very young specimen and it would be interesting to know to how large a size the species grows. the australian species, rodgersii, is the largest, reaching a diameter of 100 mm., while the mediterranean and mexican species attain less than half that size, so far as we yet know. neither species is at all well known. in every way, the west indian species is nearest to that of the mexican coast (coronatus) but it differs in several minor particulars. the coloration is noticeably different for in coronatus, the red which bands the spines is distinctly purplish and there is no trace of purple on the primaries of rubicingulus. more important is the difference in the globiferous pedicellariae; in coronatus, the narrow part of the blade is short and the terminal teeth are very long (see a. agassiz and h. l. clark, 1908, mem. m. c. z., 34, pl. 51, figs. 18, 19) while in rubicingulus, the narrow part of the blade is longer and the teeth are very much shorter. of course, more material is needed > > 9 110 iowa studies in natural history before all the differences between the two species can be clearly set forth. coelopleurus floridanus a. agassiz, 1872. rev. ech., p. 102. 1883, “blake" ech., pl. vii. the specimens of this fine sea-urchin are all from the deeper water off southwestern barbados. all are very young, the tests measuring only 6–13 mm. in horizontal diameter. the spines are generally more or less badly broken but when these are intact they are usually 4-4.5 times the test diameter. the only diversity these individuals show is in the degree of brightness of their coloration. some have no trace of blue or lavender abactinally while others, larger ones, have it quite well marked. the 7 specimens were taken at the following stations : station 7. may 16, 1918. w. by n. pelican island, 2 miles, 80 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 1 specimen. station 19. may 18, 1918. 142 miles west of needham point, 80 fms. rocky bottom. dredge. 1 specimen. station 26. may 20, 1918. due w. of pelican island, 75 fms. rough, stony bottom. dredge. 1 specimen. station 34. may 23, 1918. s. e. of hastings, 2 miles off shore, 80-90 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 1 specimen. station 36. may 23, 1918. s. w. of carlisle bay, 2 miles off shore, 80-90 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 2 specimens. station 88. june 7, 1918. lazaretto e. by n. 12 n., pelican island s. e. depth (?). fine sandy bottom. dredge. 1 specimen. lytechinus callipeplus h. l. clark, 1912. mem. m. c. z., 34, p. 251; pl. 96, figs. 4-6. the rediscovery of this interesting little species by professor nutting's party is of real importance and the five specimens obtained throw a great deal of light on the specific characters, for the holotype was only 8.5 mm. in diameter and the largest known specimen was only 11.5 mm., while the largest in the present series is 20 mm. and another is 17. these larger specimens show barbados-antigua reports 111 that the coloration is more striking and more distinctive than was suggested by the types. each of the five specimens deserves separate consideration. the smallest is only 7 mm. in diameter and 4 mm. high. the whole abactinal surface is more or less reddish with indefinite and inconspicuous blotches in the ambulacra and interambulacra. the periproct, the proximal part of the oculo-genital ring and a large blotch at upper end of each interambulacrum are greenishwhite. the abactinal spines are nearly all coral-red, but some have whitish tips. the next specimen is 9 mm. by 5, and has a somewhat different coloration, very similar to that of a third specimen, 11 mm. by 6.75. in these individuals, the general color abactinally is greenish-white but this is largely obliterated by the development of the red blotches in both the ambulacra and interambulacra. these blotches are more or less coalesced so that the median twothirds of each interambulacrum and about half of each ambulacrum are quite reddish. the larger spines are greenish with red only at the base but the small spines are often tinged with red throughout. the specimen 17 mm. in diameter is 10 mm. high and its coloration is much like that of the largest specimen but it is somewhat greener, the red shades are paler, the markings are less distinct and all the spines, even the actinal, have a reddish tinge. the superb specimen from station 35 is 20 mm. in diameter and 12 mm. high; the abactinal system is not quite 6 mm. across but the heavily plated peristome is 9; the primary spines are 4-5 mm. long. there are 14 interambulacral and 15 ambulacral plates in each column. ocular i is broadly insert but the other oculars are completely excluded from contact with the periproct. the test is greenish-white, nearly white abactinally, with large, squarish but irregular blotches of orange-brown or rusty-red at and above the ambitus. the shade varies according to moisture; it is brightest when wet. there are typically three blotches in each interambulacrum but the one at ambitus is low and imperfect. there are four in each ambulacrum but the one at ambitus is rather faint. in both series, the next to the lowest is largest and brightest. the periproctal plates are nearly white 112 iowa studies in natural history but the plates of the oculo-genital ring are variegated with greenish and reddish tints. most of the abactinal tubercles are pale red. the actinal spines are nearly white but the bases of the larger ones and more or less of the entire length of small ones have a more or less marked greenish tinge. at and above the ambitus some of the spines become more or less pale red, the color being confined to the base of the spine or extending its whole length. the pedicellariae are white, as are the plates which cover the peristome. the additional data which these barbadian specimens furnish show that callipeplus is a very well marked species quite distinct from any other member of the genus. in its coloration, it is more like pictus and anamesus of the western coast of mexico, or verruculatus of the indo-pacific region, than it is like its west indian congeners but the shade of red shown by the tubercles, spines and abactinal spots is entirely different from anything exhibited by the other spotted species. station 7. may 16, 1918. w. by n. pelican island, 2 miles, 80 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 1 specimen. station 11. may 17, 1918. 144 miles due west from white lighthouse at needham point, in line with red house, 6770 fms. stony bottom. dredge. 1 specimen. station 35. may 23, 1918. s. w. of needham point, 242 miles off shore, 80-90 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 1 specimen. station 36. may 23, 1918. s. w. of carlisle bay, 2 miles off shore, 80-90 fms. rocky bottom. tangles. 2 specimens. , lytechinus euerces h. l. clark, 1912. mem. m. c. z., 34, p. 247; pl. 107, figs. 46. this typically west indian sea-urchin is represented in the present collection by only a single specimen. it is 11 mm, in diameter, with the abactinal system 31/2 mm. across, and ocular i nearly or quite insert. a few of the actinal spines show traces of red. the periproctal plates are light apple-green, but elsewhere both test and spines are white or whitish. 7 113 barbados-antigua reports ted rules : hais of sci station 6. may 15, 1918. north of insane asylum off spring garden or freshwater bathing place, 100 fms. rough bottom. 1 specimen. lytechinus variegatus ale medie iding 2 2 po [im, ? isܐ ; per les sthing cidaris variegata leske, 1778. add. ad klein, p. 85. lytechinus variegatus a. agassiz, 1863. bull. m. c. z., 1, p. 24. toxopneustes variegatus a. agassiz, 1872. rev. ech., pt. 1, p. 298; pl. iva, figs. 5, 6. in the narrative of the expedition, professor nutting refers to the occurrence of this well-known species at several places in antigua but does not speak of finding it at barbados. yet the only two specimens in the collection bear the label “barbados". they are of about equal size (78 mm. in diameter with primary spines 13–15 mm. long) but differ strikingly in color and were evidently selected as examples of the extremes in coloration. one has the test pale brownish-white with only traces of green; the tubefeet are very pale brown; the pedicellariae, muscles and small spines are whitish; the peristome, heavily plated, is pale brownish with traces of green; the primary spines are light green, whitish at base, dark at tip; many have one or two faint dusky bands close to the tip; of many, the tips are regenerating. the other specimen has the test dull light green and whitish; the tubefeet are pale brown; the pedicellariae, muscles and miliary spines are white or whitish; the heavily plated peristome is dull greenish; the primary spines are deep, dark green, the tips becoming purplish but not markedly so; the secondary spines are pale yellow-green. in the narrative (p. 189), professor nutting makes the interesting suggestion that the habit which both this species and tripneustes esculentus have, of holding bits of sea-weed and other rubbish all over the dorsal surface, may be for the purpose of protection from the sun. it would be easy to ascertain whether this is the case and the habits of these sea-urchins would well repay careful investigation. be 1 4 tripneustes esculentus 1 cidaris esculenta leske, 1778. add. ad klein, p. xvii. hipponoë esculenta a. agassiz, 1872. rev. ech., pt. 1, pp. 135, 301; pl. via, figs. 1-3. 114 iowa studies in natural history tripneustes esculentus bell, 1879. proc. zool. soc. london, p. 657. > > in the narrative, professor nutting refers often to this wellknown “sea-egg”, one of the very few sea-urchins which have any economic importance. in some cases, the sea-egg is called hipponoë and in others, the correct name tripneustes is used. complaint is made (p. 188) that i have given no clue to the reason for abandoning hipponoë, but this is hardly fair since i have given the full reference to bell's paper where the matter was amply elucidated over forty years ago. it is no innovation of mine, to make use of tripneustes. hipponoë is preoccupied and there is no good reason for persisting in its use. professor nutting calls attention (pp. 80, 188) to two interesting color forms of the sea-egg, and both are represented among the eight specimens in the present collection. the two forms seem to be reasonably distinct and further investigation of their differences and the causes thereof is worth while. apparently in the pallid form the development of pigment is inhibited, only a little on the triphyllous pedicellariae being visible, while the peristome and gills are brown. in the melanistic form, pigment is markedly developed, especially on the peristome (particularly, close to the teeth), in the pedicellariae, in the tube-feet (except the white tips), in the tips of the branches of the gills and even to some extent in the epidermis of the test. the development of the pigment is not correlated with size but whether it is correlated with age is as yet unknown. the specimens at hand range from 34 mm. in diameter to 132 mm. the primary spines on the smallest specimen are notably long (9 mm.), more than one-fourth the test-diameter. as a rule, they are hardly half as much as that. of the eight specimens, seven are from barbados and one is from english harbour, antigua. genocidaris maculata a. agassiz, 1869. bull. m. c. z., 1, p. 262. 1872, rev. ech., pl. viii, figs. 1-18 (as temnechinus maculatus). two bare, dead tests, without buccal membrane or periproctal plates, are the only representatives of this little sea-urchin in the barbados-antigua reports 115 2 collection. both the “hassler” and the “blake” took genocidaris off barbados, but in each case three specimens taken together was the total capture, so it is obviously not common in that region. one of the bare tests of the present collection is 7 mm. in diameter but the other is only 3.5. station 84. june 6, 1918. spring garden bears e. n. e., needham point light, s. e. off shore 112 miles, 100 fms. fine, sandy bottom. dredge. 2 specimens. pseudoboletia occidentalis, sp. nov. plate ii, figs. 1 and 2 test 54 mm. in diameter, 27 mm. high, only a little concave orally and rather flat abactinally. coronal plates 25 in each interambulacral column and 30 in the ambulacra; the interambulacra are about 19 mm. wide at ambitus and the ambulacra about 14. each interambulacral plate in the midzone has 4 large primary tubercles, the outermost is slightly the largest, the innermost is smallest; a large secondary tubercle occupies the outer end of the plate, encroaching on the ambulacra; there are 8-10 much smaller secondary tubercles, chiefly along upper margin of plate, and about a dozen irregularly scattered miliaries; orally the number of primary tubercles becomes reduced to 3 and then to 2 and on the lowest plate to one; the gill slits are very deep, reaching up between the tubercles of the third plate (from the peristome); aborally there are 4 primaries to the tenth plate (from the genital), 3 to the seventh and 2 to the fourth or fifth. each ambulacral plate in the midzone has 2 primary tubercles and a secondary tubercle at each end; the outer secondary encroaches much on the poriferous area; it is wanting only on the lowest two plates and on the uppermost three or four; the inner secondary occurs only in the midzone; the inner primary occurs first on about the twelfth plate from the ocular. pore-pairs in strongly curved arcs of four, the lowest distinctly nearer the ambulacral mid-line than the uppermost. abactinal system small, only 9 mm. across, the periproct only oculars i and v broadly insert, the others not nearly so; > 116 iowa studies in natural history genital pores large near outer end of plate; ocular pores very small, about half way between center and distal margin; genital plates each with a large secondary tubercle, 3-6 large miliaries, and half a dozen or more minute miliaries; oculars with 3-6 large, and a number of minute miliaries. periproct covered with about 20 plates, among which the suranal is scarcely distinguishable; the larger plates each carry 1-3 large miliaries. peristome large, about 22 mm. across, with deep gill-slits; it is well plated but not heavily so; buccal plates large, nearly circular, the two of a pair close together, the pairs separated from each other by about a millimeter. each buccal plate carries about half a dozen slightly club-shaped miliary spines, besides numerous small stout tridentate pedicellariae. most of the nonambulacral plates of the peristome carry one or more miliary spines besides small stout tridentate pedicellariae. primary spines about 12 mm. long at ambitus, terete basally and becoming flattened only slightly near tip; the tip itself is concave, not pointed; each spine has 20–22 well marked striations. secondary and miliary spines, slender, cylindrical, bluntly pointed pedicellariae numerous and diversified but only the small stout tridentate are at all common. in size and form the pedicellariae offer no characters by which they can certainly be distinguished from those of p. maculata. globiferous pedicellariae rare, of two sizes, one with valves about .80 mm. in length, the other with valves about half as large. ophicephalous pedicellariae rare, with valves about .50 mm. long and loops .15 mm. more. tridentate pedicellariae in at least three forms: (a) slender, with valves, 1.25 mm. long; (b) small stout, with valves about .50 mm. long; and (c) big, stout, with valves over a millimeter long, half a millimeter wide and very serrate margins; only one of these big pedicellariae was noted. triphyllous pedicellariae with valves .22 mm. long and about .18 mm. wide near tip. color (in alcohol) pale brown with a distinctly greenish cast, the midzone with about 20 large irregular blotches of a distinctly darker shade; there are two of these blotches in each ambulacrum and interambulacrum but they vary in size and distinctness. primary spines pale fawn-color, decidedly greenish basally and very faintly pinkish at tips; on the dark blotches barbados-antigua reports 117 the primaries are deep brownish-green, light only at the tips, but there is much diversity in the relative proportions of green and pale fawn-color. holotype labelled only "barbados", but professor nutting tells me that "in all probability it came from a depth of between 30 and 100 fms." the discovery of pseudoboletia in the west indian region is certainly one of the most noteworthy results of the barbadosantigua expedition, for the genus is not known on the western coast of tropical america and is really characteristic of the indo-pacific fauna. on june 10, 1904, the "scotia" took two specimens of a pseudoboletia in 40 fms. off the island of ascension, in mid-atlantic but well south of the equator. it is remarkable that the new species from barbados is not very close to this atlantic species," which has five pairs of pores to an arc and banded actinal spines, but is so very close to p. maculata of the philippines that one hesitates to call them distinct. the following differences however warrant keeping them separate, at least until more material is available. in maculata, the inner primary tubercle of the ambulacra appears first on the seventh, eighth or ninth plate from the ocular, in specimens 52-55 mm. in diameter, while in occidentalis it occurs first on the tenth-twelfth plate; this is not an important character and will probably prove inconstant and unreliable. in maculata the periproct is covered by about 30 plates and the oculo-genital ring is more granulated, than in occidentalis. the primary spines of the midzone in maculata are markedly flattened, with bluntly chisel-shaped tips (though with a terminal concavity), and are 14-16 mm. long. their color too, green at base and red-purple or reddish at tip, is quite different from the pale colors of occidentalis. in view of the insignificance of these differences, the question naturally arises whether the barbados specimen was not accidentally brought from the east indian region (or possibly from hawaii). professor nutting assures me there is no doubt whatever that the specimen at hand was collected at barbados. it is not inconceivable that a small specimen of maculata might have been brought on a very foul ship bottom through the panama kohler called the specimens from ascension p. maculata but they really represent quite a different species, which i have proposed (1912, mem. o. z., 34, p. 344) to call atlantica. 118 iowa studies in natural history canal to barbados, but that seems so highly improbable that we are better justified in believing that pseudoboletia is a natural member of the barbadian fauna. it is strange that neither the "blake”, the “hassler”, nor the “albatross”, nor any other collector in the west indies, has met with the genus but the reason may be that the vessels mentioned did nearly all their collecting outside the 100 fms. line while the other collectors have done very little dredging at any depth. the teeming area between 10 and 100 fms. has scarcely been touched as yet. echinometra lucunter echinus lucunter linné, 1758. sys. nat. ed. 10, p. 665. echinometra subangularis a. agassiz, 1872. rev. ech., p. 283, pl. xa, figs. 2-4. echinometra lucunter lovén, 1887. ech. linnaeus, p. 157. of this very common species, there are 94 specimens in the collection, of which 7 are bleached bare tests. only three are from barbados, the remaining 91 being from the pillars of hercules and english harbour, antigua. the largest specimen is 53 mm. long, 43 mm. wide and 28 mm. high, while the smallest is about 9x8x4.5. some of the specimens from english harbour are very dark-colored, a very dark purple-drab or a violet-black. they are also quite wide in proportion to the length and look as though the ambitus were a circle, but examination shows the width is always 1.5-3 mm. less than the length. the barbados specimens are of two types of coloration : 2 are fawn-color becoming purplish-red at spine tips, while the third is dark olive, the primaries with purple tips. at english harbour, specimens taken from the rocks near the entrance show the effects of the heavy surf in which they spend so much of their lives. the primary spines are nearly all distorted or regenerating at the tip. in the narrative (p. 189), professor nutting describes the conditions under which the echinometras flourish at antigua. in speaking of their occur. rence at barbados (p. 83) he says that e. viridis is a “very common form” and that e. lucunter is “less common”. as there are no specimens of viridis in the collection and both barbados а barbados-antigua reports 119 and antigua are well outside its known range, i think dark greenish specimens of lucunter have been mistaken for viridis. clypeaster rosaceus echinus rosaceus linné, 1758. syst. nat. ed. 10, p. 665. clypeaster rosaceus lamarck, 1801. syst. anim. s. vert., p. 349. echinanthus rosaceus a. agassiz, 1872. rev. ech., p. 311; pl. xid, figs. 1, 2. the only evidence of the occurrence of this well known species in the region visited by the iowa party, is a group of fragments of a bare test about 80 mm. long, taken at english harbour, antigua. mellita sexiesperforata echinodiscus sexiesperforata leske, 1778. add. ad klein, p. 135. mellita sexiesperforata meissner, 1904. bronn's thierreichs, 2, abb. 3, buch 4, p. 1384. there are three fine specimens of this well-known "key-hole urchin” from barbados. their color in alcohol is bright yellowbrown. while one specimen is longer than wide, 78x76 mm., the other two are distinctly wider than long, 80x82 mm. and 66 x 69 mm. the labels do not indicate just where or under what conditions these urchins were taken, and there is no mention of them in the "narrative". echinoeus cyclostomus leske, 1778. add. ad klein, p. 109. this well-known cosmopolitan echinoid has taken on new interest recently from the fact that it is now fairly well demonstrated that it is a holectypoid, the genus echinonëus and its near relative micropetalon being the only living representatives of that order (see hawkins, 1920, phil. trans. roy. soc. (b), 209, p. 442). both at barbados and antigua, echinonëus was found in its customary habitat, in the sand beneath rock fragments. there are 3 specimens in the collection from barbados 120 iowa studies in natural history and 33 (of which 18 are bleached, bare tests) from english harbour, antigua. the smallest specimen is 7 mm. long by 5 mm. wide; the largest is 35 x 29 mm. the form of the test shows much diversity, the width ranging from .66 to .77 of the length and the height from .39 to .48. agassizia excentrica a. agassiz, 1869. bull. m. c. z., 1, p. 276. 1883, mem. m. c. z., 10, pl. xxv. twice during the dredging off barbados, the bare dead tests of this species were met with. all are small, ranging from 5.5 to 9.5 mm, in length; the largest is 8.5 mm. wide and 8 mm. high. station 48. may 27, 1918. s. w. of lazaretto, w. by n. of pelican island, 25–72 fms. coarse coral sand. dredge. 3 specimens. station 77. june 3, 1918. cable station bears 342 s. 1 mile off shore. 40-50 fms. dead bottom-coarse sand. 2 specimens. brissus brissus spatangus brissus (var. unicolor) leske, 1778. add. ad klein, pp. xx, 182. brissus brissus h. l. clark, 1917. mem. m. c. z., 46, p. 218. this spatangoid, almost always found associated with echinonëus, was not taken at barbados, although it is recorded from that island and probably occurs there. from antigua there are 48 specimens, of which 4 are bare tests. one was taken at the pillars of hercules but all the others are from english harbour. the smallest specimen is 22 mm. long, 17 mm. wide and 11 mm. high, while the largest is 61 x 45 x 36 mm. one specimen is peculiarly deformed, as a result of a serious injury at some time in interambulacrum 4, which is now entirely healed; this specimen measures 42x35x25 mm. in the narrative (pp. 190–192), professor nutting discusses in a very interesting way the peculiar subsurface habits of brissus and echinonëus. my own observations of these species agree well with those of the iowa a barbados-antigua reports 121 party, but i have not noted that the depth below the surface was as great as six inches. in many cases the animals are just below the surface. as a rule the larger the animal the more deeply it is buried. probably the animals move up and down in the sand with changes in temperature and tidal conditions, and no doubt the larger individuals move more rapidly and greater distances than the smaller ones. the food is certainly in large part diatoms and other unicellular organisms. museum of comparative zoology cambridge, mass. may 28, 1920 plate i 1 2 centrostephanus rubicingulus. x3. 1. oral view. 2. aboral view. plate ii 1 1 2 pseudoboletia occidentalis. nat. size. 1. side view. 2. aboral view. obtainable from the university librarian: price, $1.50 g 1 botany rr butler mar 28 1923 the library of the omnibus artibus of m class book 825m1475 ohee the hermit in edinburgh. the hermit in edinburgh; or, sketches of manners and real characters and scenes in the drama of life. f. m'donough "forsan et hæc olim meminisse jurabit.”—virgil. vol. iii. london: printed for sherwood, jones, and co. paternoster-row. criv. of minn. library 1824. london: shackell and arrowsmith, johnson's-court, fleet-street. a * $35 allen contents το the third volume. page. the mariner the leith stage....... 1 21 the scotch language vindicated .... 33 an article on servants great peoples' servants, (in continuation) returned from paris, and a word about emigrants......... a french circle and advice .... 43 51 ... david blunt a character..... 67 81 93 107 622197 vi contents. page. ways and means, art of living without money... 119 ...... my married friends ..... 137 poor emily 147 ........ the retired officer...... 159 the road to notoriety. 171 an applicant...... 185 come to nothing of joey gallon 199 the king's visit to edinburgh 209 the king's visit (in continuation)………………………….. 223 a recapitulation and conclusion..... .... 233 the mariner. vol. iii. "hominem pagina nostra sapit.”—martial. "am i so chang'd by suffering, so forgot, that love disown me. zillah knows me not?" montgomery. the mariner. it was in a stormy night of march, when the equinoxial gales are truly fearful on the northern coast; the wind blew furiously off shore, and the current ran mountains high; the clouds passed in rapid and gloomy suc cession across a full moon, which just enabled us to discern the lights at leith from time to time but the state of the weather was such, that it was impossible to make the land. "thus," thought i," does the tempestbeaten, climate-struck mariner, brave all the dangers of the main. thus does he endure the extremes of heat and cold. escaping the cannon's destructive mouth; living and b 2 the mariner. weathering out many a heavy and careful menacing of death, to founder in sight of land. touching his native strand, within the glimmer of the fire-light of the humble habitation where first he drew his breath, within the sound of his own parish church, whose ancient wall echoed the plighted vow of his parents at the hymeneal altar, and first received him, directed by their care, in the road of rectitude, and in the path of religion. perhaps, bent down by time and hardships, the old couple now expect a son; or, scarcely daring to trust to the delusion of hope, converse themselves to sleep: partly going over the dangers of the boisterous main, and partly cheating the long nours, and quelling their struggling fears, by fervid orison, and by often repeated wishes or his safety. alas! no morrow shall dawn upon their last and only remaining pledge of love. the gay hearth shall no more blaze for him. his parish church shall toll out the knell of his departed days. or, perhaps, some tender partner, or bosom friend, musing over her the mariner. 5 wheel, with tearful eye, like the faithful penelope at her web, may, at this moment, be retracing all the scenes of lost felicity, which sparkled over her earliest youth, and bloomed in promise of an union; or, a long life passed together in mutual love and truth, she may be reflecting, with becoming pride, on the many offers and temptations which she has spurned for her beloved sailor, when sad reports shall assail her ears, of the havoc which the furious elements must make that night on the wrecks, which the dawn of day may probably discover to afflicted eyes. she will bless her stars, that her william is not expected on such a night; yet will pass her sleepless night in the mental dread and agony which uncertainty must produce; her morning prayer shall die upon her lips, when the cold corpse of her heart's treasure shall be towed to the land. at this instant, i felt a damp chill seize upon every limb. a wave dashed over me; and a piercing shriek issued from the bosoms of two young women, whom i had covered with my tartan cloak, 6 the mariner. and who sat trembling on deck. the master of the vessel, and his small crew, were occupied, and, evidently agitated. we had now lost head-way considerably; and from a flash of lightning, which commenced a second scene of horror, we beheld the coast of fife. enlarging to our view, we had left it for many hours, and fondly hoped to have been landed at leith considerably before this time. dripping with wet, i looked round on every side for a countenance of relief, when a stern visaged seaman, a passenger on board, accented in a hoarse tone, "this is nothing, your honor, to what i have seen;" and then (his features softening, and his eye speaking gentle pity), he addressed himself to the young women, "ladies, there's nothing to fear. i say, master, keep her out to sea. she is a good sea-boat. stay! i'll lend you a hand. see how the rain begins to drop in torrents! heaven be praised! the wind will soon be down. steady as you go, there. la! there's nothing to fear!" all hung on his words, as if an angel had uttered them. he the mariner. 7 took the helm from the weary helm's-man. the rain did pour upon us in torrents; and the wind subsided by degrees. as he perceived it, he cast a glance upwards, with a ghastly smile, which seemed half to say, “hail! once more, ye terrors of the deadly deep ;" and half told us that his nautical experience had not deceived us. i handed him a glass of spirits: in return for which, he threw me his boat-cloak, which i declined ⚫ in the first instance, but accepted, on his observing, "nothing will hurt me. the stormy winds, the thunder, lightning, and rain; the angry waves, and the lowering clouds, and i, are old acquaintances. i am not worth their while-not worth taking care of; for i have nothing to live for. bless you! it is your rich and happy ones as clings to life, and falls prematurely by accidents." here he shook his head; and a solemn pause followed his last words. "the wretch," he resumed again,"must spin out life's cable to the end."here the rain abated considerably; the wind murmured itself to rest; the day 8 the mariner. dawned upon us, and the hardy mariner feebly smiled again. our boat was soon lowered from the deck; our sailors were exhausted, yet they tugged with all their strength, and the bold veteran tar so bore his part, that it was evident he was no novice, no fresh watersailor"no lounging landsman labouring at the oar." i studied his countenance minutely it had possessed another expression, far different to that which hardships and misfortunes served to have tarnished; the lustre of his youth, with the eye, had been impassioned; the smile had been warm and mirthful; the forehead open, candid, and benevolent; there had been a dimple on the cheek planted by the hand of broad humour; his locks had been berrybrown, but now the sudden and opposite changes of climate had shed his hair and sprinkled winter's frost upon his brow; the furrow of care and disappointment seemed to have altered his features entirely; the fire of the mariner. 9 his eye was quenched, and his lip fell like that of attention at a tale of sadness. i longed to learn his history; and now we were landed. the hearts of two brothers danced at beholding their sisters safely land: that delight, too, was once mine, but is mine no more. i received all their thanks for the trifling services which i had rendered them on our passage from the opposite coast; and i brought the sailor into the britannia (he was an honour to her) to breakfast with me. i asked him what business he had in edinburgh; he told me "none," but that what he had to do at leith would soon be settled, and he should very soon again embark on the watery element, on a broader scale, and probably cross the atlantic. "what, so short a stay on shore ?" said i. "yes, your honour; i know no one here-land has no charms for me-1 am more at home at sea." "oh!". interrupted i, you like the sea best ?" "that's another matter," he replied; "we all like dry land best; but who of us gets what he likes best in his passage through life? 66 b 3 10 the mariner. and that's for some wise purpose, i take it." i have heard a rich and eloquent preacher deliver from the pulpit a lengthy discourse, replete with the flowers of rhetoric, the language of high classical education, the skill and ingenuity of learned argument, with action suited to the subject; and yet the amount conveyed not so much as "and that's for some wise purpose, i take it:" the brief yet humble conviction of "i take it" was more impressive than volumes. my admiration for the character of a true british sailor, which i have weighty reasons (wounding my bosom) for, and a womanish feeling, which is all that a dear mother has bequeathed me, prevent me from lengthening and finely drawing out a simple tale, which took so fast a hold of my sympathies, that i think i now see the man of england, in his sailor's dress, seated before me, and that i hear him relate his plain, but (to me) most interesting history. "i am an englishman," said he, on commencing his narrative. "that's an honourthe mariner. 11 able name," answered i. "thank your honour: yes, i am a man of kent"—" and," added i, "that is the soil of the bold"-he smiled. "my father, who was an honest farmer, wanted to put me to a trade; eldest brother was to have had the farm, and he had three sisters to provide for. i could not abide business, for my thoughts were always afloat: i had heard of nelson and other great men, and i wanted to see a little of life. it was my wish to enter the king's service; but my poor old father besought me, with tears, not to bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave, but first to try the merchant-service, and when i had had my whim out, he said, he hoped that i should quit that line, and stay steadily at home. well, i owed the old man obedience, and i did accordingly. i kissed mother and sisters, squeezed dad's hand, and started, for fear of piping. i joined my ship at shields, and got under weigh, first, for scotland, and next for a russian port. we were wrecked off the orkneys, and lost two of our best hands: i had 12 the mariner. a squeak for my life myself, and never should have reached shore, if i had not been used to swimming from my earliest years. i lost all my kit, and i got so severely hurt by a fall, that i kept my bed and spit blood for three weeks; a bad beginning, thought i-it looks as if this was a judgment, for thwarting poor father's wishes. so i was determined to make the best of it, and wrote in high spirits home, making less of the matter than it really was, and not saying a word about the loss of my clothes and money, which i valued very little, except a silk handkerchief which mother gave me, and father's silver bacco stopper, which he kindly put into my hand at parting." here he drew breath, a cloud passed across his face, and he seemed to wish not to go over the sorrows of his life again. i uttered not a word, and he began once more. "well-here" -his tongue faultered-" here i met in with mary m'alpin "-at this name a blush bespoke blighted hope-" well, your honour, i was sick and she attended me; and i was lonely and she cheered me; and i was penthe mariner. 13 marry, nyless and her father sheltered me; so we got spliced together, and lived very happily for a month, by which time the vessel was refitted; we got a supply of money from england and took some goods and passengers on board. i got new rigged out, and resolved, after this first trip, to come back to mary, and to go into some line or another, although i was fit for none. i did not write home to tell father and mother of my marriage, for i knew that they would think me too young to and poll was a poor girl, and we had nothing but our youth between us, so i trusted to mother's being so glad to see her son home again, and poll's good looks, sister's putting in a good word for us, and father's forgiveness; but i was sorely punished for this-" here he again betrayed emotion, but cleared his voice and went on. "i sailed, but we met with another gale; we were picked up by a man of war, the jolly crew gave me too much grog, and as i again lost my new rigging and my time, and was not articled to the master of the merchantman, 14 the mariner. i thought that i would not go home like a fool, but would see a little service; and i entered accordingly: liquor, and not reason, was at my helm at the moment; and i paid dearly for my frolic. to make short of a long story, your honor, i served for nearly ten years, in all parts of the world; i have witnessed hurricanes and thundergusts; have shed my blood for my country in action; have taken and been taken, and have been retaken again; have lost my all and have been fitted out again as well as ever. at last, peace came, but there was no peace for me." i bade him still hope for better times, and forced another glass of spirits on him.-"i did indulge hope, but yet not without dread; for it seemed to me that i was not born to be happy, and my undutifulness came into my mind again." well might he have exclaimed-"hope feebly glimmer'd on my heart's despair.” "i was paid off at portsmouth, and was resolved to see father and mother, brother and the mariner. 15 sisters first, and then to go down to the north to fetch pol up, after breaking my marriage to the old folks; i had a few trifling presents for them, and i trusted that my coming home at last, would make up for all their uneasiness about me. i arrived in the isle of thanet; the house was shut up; the folks was all at work; the farm was all new fangled and done up; there was no old dog to come and fawn upon me, to welcome me; my heart dunted (an expression which he must have picked up in scotland) against my breast, as if to tell me that all was not right. i went to the fields, it was in harvest time; but my poor parents' harvest was got in for the last time they now slept together beneath the sod, and left no trace behind them, but the aching void in their unworthy son's bosom. sisters had died in youth; brother had turned out ill, and had listed for a soldier, after parting with the farm; but perhaps that may be for the best too; he is a bold fellow and a bright scholar, and he may come to som'at at last: at all events, i will be 16 the mariner. sworn that he'll do his duty like a man.” an unwelcome tear intruded in his eye. " i had now prize money, and smart money; a silver watch and half a dozen rings with real jewels, for poll; so i starts for the north again. i could not find a vessel for the orkneys direct, so that i was obliged to take my passage to leith, and to travel on foot, a thing which i was little accustomed to; at length i set sail for the islands, weary, foot sore, and somehow downhearted; for my heart misgave me, and i appeared to myself as if i was born for nothing but trouble; perhaps, thought i, poll is dead too, or in wretched poverty, for i never heard from her. the whole time of my absence; and, as i can't write (for i neglected my education` entirely when i was taken up with the notion of going on board of a man of war) she never had received any certain tidings, about me, and might have left the place; or have been forced to go to service. this would have distressed me much; but i was comforted by the idea, the mariner. 17 that the little money which i had saved would make us all right again. i reached her door. she looks out of the window. ask for her by my own name; and i she did not recollect me in the least. she says, no such a person lives there; and bids me be gone. i inquired next door, and find her married to another man.. -she had had me cried at the shore and pier of leith; at the end of seven years' absence had picked up a whipper-snapper fellow, in edinburgh; and had gone down to orkney to set up a shop. that, your honor, was the death blow. could i take her again? no: trust another." here he gave a long whistle, in order to banish agonizing remembrance-" and that's all— i am now on my way to enter again at leith. fortune can never play me fouler than she has done so success to your honor, and goodday to you, for i fear i have already tired you enough with my story." "we part not thus, honest jack," said i. so detaining him to dinner, i sent him to his quarters in a little better spirits than i found him. many years 18 the mariner. sure, * after this, i met him by accident, in london. he had served out the second war. he had fought and bled again. "i am still afloat, your honor," said he to me, "the billows and the bullets, the boarding spikes and sabres, have spared me till now; and, i am i never got out of their way. my time a'n't come yet: the heart is tougher than we think for. mine was broken long ago; yet i have kept above water, with the wreck of it, as you see-and that's all." "and that's all, indeed!" exclaimed i to myself, "has fortune no balm in store for thy bruised and bleeding bosom? will joy never again beam over thee, in life's dreary * this unassuming statement was uttered so emphatically, that nothing more could be conveyed by the language of the intrepid æneas, in the following invocation:"iliaci cineres, et flamma extrema meorum, testor in occasuvestro, nec tela, nec ullas vit avisse vices danaum, et si fata fuissont ut caderem, meruisse manu." virgil the mariner. 19 voyage? art thou still alone, as it were, in life's crew? and, whilst other men may enjoy the solace of friendship, affection, and the ties of consanguinity? must thy heart be widowed, and thyself fatherless, and a stranger in the land? only thirty-six years in age, yet a century old; in sad reverses and in sufferings. but our bark is not built for very long passages. the winds themselves shall one day cease to blow. there is a port beyond the planet of our inhabiting;" and that it may be a peaceful one to poor jack, and to all those who peruse this humble biography, up to the present day, is the hope and wish of the hermit in edinburgh. the leith stage. "chi va piano, va sano, e lontano." italian prover b. the leith stage. the family of trotter has, for its motto, "festina lente," which means slow and sure. this device would well have become the leith stage twenty years ago, when the dram-drinking coachman took two nods and three drams betwixt the tron kirk and leith. things have mended their pace since that day, and some of the trotters have got into a full gallop in fortune's car; but the leith conveyance is still only up to the accelerè of paris, which is but a jog-trot after all, and which is as different from a city or a piccadilly turn-out, as sheep's-head broth is from genuine turtle soup, which is very long 24 the leith stage. odds. but every man to his taste: some like the simple, some the sublime; some cannot live without importations from regions beyond the line; some adhering to the line of prudence, are content with homely fare; and it is the opinion of many that the introduction of oriental and of accidental luxuries have vitiated the national palate, and debilitated the constitution which was so robust in the days of our ancestors. the dramatic stage has altered as widely from what the coarse taste of the olden times was, as the most superior turn-out of a mail drawn by four thorough-bred horses is to a road-waggon with four dreaming plough-horses in it. the leith vehicle still preserves its measured, steady step, for we are not prepared for the piccadilly touch, and the "down the road," attended with such strife and rivalship, such looking out for fares and fairs, such jockeyship for customers, such having an eye to trade and to pickpockets. our national discretion could not put up with the slang of the brethren of the whip, from dover-street to the leith stage. 25 the corner of bolton-street; and, to say the truth, the liberty given to the organ of speech there, would be inadmissible in the discreet contiguous towns of leith and embri' (edinburgh.) i had tarried so long with the seaman, and written so many letters after his retreat from the inn, that it was dark, and another stormy evening coming on; just one place in the stage, the load of which seemed stowed like herrings in a barrel. i therefore got edged into a corner; and, as the door shut, the driver claimed his dues for the candle. "well," thought i, "we are an enlightened people: he who travels in greece, or has grease to travel with him, can boast no more. besides, there is something discreet in this dip, which casts a glimmer of acquaintance over us. i have felt the doubts and inconvenience of being boxed up with three or more individuals in a travelling machine, and of fearing lest the rosy-fingered morning should have handed in something very unpleasant. in this short way the consideration would have been unnevol. iii. c 26 the leith stage. cessary; but in a long, dark winter's night, it is a serious matter to reflect on. i paid a penny for the condle with much pleasure, and had the advantage of having the mutton-fat go through its process of fusion under my very nose. a fat wife (i hope she was such) and a sick child were my "vis a vis" companions: the lady proved to a certainty that she had strong breath; and the infant put it beyond a doubt that she (it was a lassie) had a weak stomach. "blow high, blow low," was the order of the night. the window was raised and dropped a score of times. the wind blew keenly and fiercely: my fellow-travellers often blew their noses, for reasons which i dare not explain. i rendered mine impregnable by foul vapour, from a double charge of snuff; and we had the good luck to set down the mother and the child mid-way to edinburgh. we took up a worse companion—such are the ups and downs of life: the corpus delicti which was given in charge to the coachman, was a highland drover in the last stage of intoxication. how the leith stage. 27 i longed to be set down!—but it might have been worse. strange bodies are transported in nightcoaches the other side the tweed, and ""tis better to lie drunk than dead," says the song; and so would say any one condemned to be packed up in the same vehicle with the chance customers of a road, be its length ever so short. the drover remained motionless; not so the tongue of miss annie m'clish. she fished for, and found out my birth, parentage, and education, in a few minutes, and even went so far as to enquire about my property. in return, she named a score of rich relations of her own, and at least as many men of mark-a knight, a baron of exchequer, a colonel, a captain of a man-of-war, a minister (of the kirk), an ex-provost of half a century back, a sheriff of inverness, and, lastly, her cusin, a writer. from these family records, she brought me into ancient history; and seemed as well-acquainted with julius cæsar and his descent into britain, as if she had been one of the party. she then monoc 2 28 the leith stage. polized all the conversation by a monologue on the history of her own kintry—detailing the private biography of ro-bert bruce as circumstantially as if it had been an affair of yesterday, and explaining the enmity betwixt the bruces and baliols with no small degree of intelligence. it was evident that she had read a great deal; and it was as clear that she did not hide her "talent under a bushel." from scripture she passed rapidly, but loquaciously, to the douglas cause, of which i saw no end until our arrival, when probably she might have brought me before the inner or outer house, and secured me by the button until i heard all; but a pert london rider, who was in the opposite corner, affronted her, and so put an end to her discourse. having heard her called miss, on being put into the carriage, and contemplating the lines of age, which seemed to mock a bay-wig in full and flowing curls upon her forehead, he asked her by way of a hoax, "pray, ma'am, was you never married ?" she blushed blue, smiled, and replied, "sic non-sense! (making two the leith stage. 29 long syllables of the word)-why ye ken better, for ye hard my uncle's servant-lass ca' me miss." "very much a miss," muttered the would-be-wit to himself; "but would you like to marry an englishman ?" "why," looking girlish-like, "i dinna think that i should shoot (suit, so pronounced) an englishman." "i hope not, ma'am; that would be deadly bad." "suit, ye pronounce it in the south," resumed she, a little flustered by this incivility: "what i mean is that i am unco' fond of hame, and a plain-spoken body, so that your *braw englishman would think the like of me quite an incumbrance." "not a bit, ma'am; you might be very useful," answered he very flippantly: "we englishmen are grave, silent fellows, and you could talk for your husband, provided you would only allow him to think for himself." here the bagman laughed, winked his eye, and looked for applause; but he gained none * this evergreen spinster's having passed her sixtieth year may account for her unconquerable scotch dialect. 30 the leith stage. from me: i felt this wound to humanity, this assault against all delicacy, as though it had been personal. the unmanly triumph over a woman, whether to expose her age, her weakness, or her ignorance (and this charge could not be substantiated against her), is everywhere abominably despicable: yet how many would-be wits and dandies there are (a strange unnatural mixture!) whose principal amusement and occupation consist in detecting a hole in a stocking, or a wrinkle in a coat; a straw sticking to a stocking, or a spot of mud upon a petticoat; a slip of the foot, or of the tongue; an innocent blunder, or a more innocent blush; a national phrase or accent, the brogue or broad scottish dialect, when, perhaps, the self-made critic has a worse accent, a worse phraseology, and ten times more ignorance than the party reviewed and corrected. but ignorance is proud of its little knowledge, effrontery and flippancy exist only at the expense of timidity and humility, of the humble rustic and the lone defenceless female. the present one was a the leith stage. 31 strong instance of this, a complete case in point. dejection sat upon the lady's brow: the aggression was wholly unexpected. miss annie gave a short cough and accented in a low tone, "i'm muckle obliged to ye." silence reigned during the short remainder of our journey, and i was happy to be released from my situation. how i abhor these coxcomb, travelling prigs, lace-venders, order-takers, and samplecarriers, half bucks, half shopmen, vapouring, where unknown, in their gigs, or with their master's horse. i remember one of these fellows who passed himself off for a major amongst the women and at poole's coffeehouse; and another fellow, who was a pastrycook, and who run away with a female under the name of a colonel-major baggs and colonel cook! forsooth, the triumvirate would have been complete, had a travelling tailor been added to them, by the name, style, and title of major bridges, because (as the story goes of a fellow of the trade getting smuggled in at a rout by that name): when 32 the leith stage. detected and hard-pressed, he had an expla natory excuse,by saying, "made your breeches, sir, i meant." to lace the jackets of such fellows, whether tailors, lace-venders, or the travellers of a haberdasher's warehouse, would be no small gratification to the hermit in edinburgh. the scotch language vindicated. "a man convinced against his wil! is of the same opinion still.' butler's hudibras. the scotch language vindicated. with all due deference to the memory of the witty author above named, i think that these lines rather mean, a man set right against his will; and in that point of view, they bear upon a scotch friend of mine, who would never be convinced that the broad scotch phraseology and accent were not the easiest understood, the plainest, the most comprehensive, and the most forcible; there was not a single expression which he did not defend with all his might and main; even bad spelling was considered as a trivial fault by him, and he one day observed, that he did not see why one man had not as good a right as 36 scotch language vindicated. : another to his own particular method of spelling. i sometimes used to amuse myself at his expence; but do what i could, he always seemed to come off at least half triumphant, and was more obstinate and confirmed in his opinion than ever. his shifts and turns to defend his cause were curious enough, and as they often made me laugh, they may perhaps have the same effect on my reader in the words knife, knee, knight, &c. the old scotch pronounce the k very strong, and on my objecting to that pronunciation, he exclaimed, "why man, what business has the k there at all, if it is not to be pronounced? and do you not suppose that the man who first put the k there knew our language as well as we do?" many broad scotch words he clearly proved to be of french origin, adding, "and since you are a' sic fuils as to gang to france for your fashions, why should we not have a fashion in our words ?" nay he positively asserted that if an englishman and a scotchman were to travel together on the continent, without knowing the languages of scotch language vindicated. 87 the countries through which they passed, the scotchman would be generally better understood than the former, because he speaks broader, more emphatically, and pronounces the a, and other letters, more like a frenchman. in holland, the thing is ridiculous, but not less true: an englishman has no chance at all, but broad scotch is quite easily made out; and i knew a scotch lady, who travelled through holland and flanders, and who, whenever french was of no use, spoke broad scotch to the dutch and flemish, who perfectly comprehended what was meant. my shoon, is flemish, but my shoes, would be unintelligible to them; hand shoon, hand shoes, mean gloves, which a scotchman comprehends immediately; but the fact is, that my friend was such a stickler for his ain langage, that he could twist a meaning or etymology out of any thing; for instance the term haberdasher, he proved to me to be pure german, and easily made out by a scotchman. “have that sir," purporting will you have that sir? being its component parts, haben das her; 38 scotch language vindicated. "for," continued he, "the first shops were like booths at a fair, and the travelling or residing merchant was always in front of it, either stationary or walking about, provoking the passer by to purchase, as we see the upholsterers about moor fields, and a number of jew salesmen in different parts of the town. nay, the very term merchant is applied to every trade in france and scotland; a grocer is a merchant in scotland, and deals, as in france, in wines, dried fruit, spirits, wax candles, &c. nay, in france, you have merchants from a wine merchant and upholsterer, down to a match merchant and a ginger-bread merchant un marchand de vin, un marchand de meubles, un marchand d'alumettes, et un marchand du pain d'espice; this is certainly letting down the mercantile men as low as possible, whereas in england, no retail vendor is a merchant, and their merchant is a commercial character of the highest importance; what we call a merchant, is termed a negociant in france. the scotch name for a radish was defined by my friend with much scotch language vindicated. 39 ingenuity; he persisted in its being of very elegant derivation, namely, from the latin verb refero, and as the returning year brings back its annuals with it, refert, (it brings back the radish at its due season) so much for a hard shift; it may fairly be called a far fetched explanation, but it strikes me that rave forte is nearer the thing; be that as it may, he gave one very decided proof that a scotchman can make himself understood in flanders, and can comprehend their meaning more readily than a man who only speaks correct english. two english gentlemen were travelling through brabant, and had occasion to employ a tailor; the amount of his bill, for some trifling repairs of clothes, was twenty francs; and as the travellers had been imposed upon more than once, a receipt was called for; the tailor spoke a little bad french, but could not write it; he accordingly wrote out the receipt in his own native language, which bore"bekent unt fanger 20frs." this was as little to be understood by either of the travel40 scotch language vindicated. • lers, but on one of them saying to his scotch servant, "what the devil does this fellow mean?" sandy cast an eye over the paper, and explained it in an instant, although he could neither speak one word of flemish, or of german (which differ widely.) "eh! sir," exclaimed sandy, quite delighted, "its plain eneugh, feggs it is juist pure scotch, he kent he'd fingered 20frs." the translation was most satisfactory to all parties, and my friend's triumph on relating the story was very great. it must therefore be allowed that the lowlander is as much entitled to his dialect and phraseology as any other nation; the greeks, for instance; how different is the athenian from other greek; the sicilian again, which is very distinct from pure elegant italian; the pays de basque, very little resembling the french; nor is a scotchman with his unco's half so ridiculous as an englishman talking bad french, or a frenchman pronouncing english in such a manner as to make downright nonsense of it, for instance the man who having a written direction to scotch language vindicated. 41 ironmonger lane in the city, stopped a person to enquire for this said ironmonger lane, which he pronounced irons manger l'ane; upon which the person to whom he addressed his enquiries, and who spoke french, replied, "ma foi monsieur, allez manger votre ane on vous voulez." "faith sir, you may eat your ass where you please," and so he left him; no such ridiculous circumstance could have occurred to sandy, nor could he make so gross a mistake as an englishman, who on being informed that, on the memorable day of august, on which the faithful swiss guards were massacred, lewis the sixteenth flew for protection to the national assembly, which he left between two sans culottes, exclaimed, wonderful! and when he repeated the story, he assured his hearers that the king came out of the assembly with two hundred pair of breeches under his arm: avec deux cens culottes sous les bras. and again, another john bull, who upon hearing a frenchman say that he had performed a long journey in a day, and that he proceeded, as it 42 scotch language vindicated. +# were, mechanically, machinallement, cried, "oh! i understand, par une machine alleman!!! can any thing be more absurd? having now, in many instances, vindicated lowland scotch, i shall take leave of my reader in that dialect, saying guid naight, which would be quite clear to a flemish per.. son, naght mynheer, and dak madam, being the ordinary salutations of the country, which are literally nothing but day and night to you; but evidently meaning good day, and good night, as says, at this present writing the hermit in edinburgh. p.s. since writing the above, a fastidious friend observed that he always considered as a very indelicate phrase, the married woman in scotland calling her husband my man, and yet, in polished france, what is ma femme, but my woman? an article on servants. "necessitas non habet legem." "necessity has no law."-proverb. an article on servants. nothing but necessity, i should think, could induce one in humbler classes of life to become a servant; the very idea of being at the nod of an employer-to have the life of a man devoted to another-no will of his own -degrading offices to perform-to be subject to the harsh temper, the caprice, the varying humour of a master, must be a hard thing indeed. then, again, the chance of being thrown into mendicity in old age, to be an outcast when past the time for labouring, must be a sad perspective to a servant who becomes such perhaps from the want of that very education which might be a resource 46 on servants. and support to him in the evening of life; a servant is, indisputably, a degraded class in life, yet what could the great, the proud, the vain, the opulent do without them? idleness is, not uncommonly, the cause of a young man's going to service; and idleness is what multiplies his office. amongst great people the scotchman is a faithful servant, but he is not a smart one; he is dull, he is heavy; the office of an active, intriguing, dashing, lying valet does not suit him, not that he is a bit more disinterested or less servile and obsequious than another man when once he becomes a livery man, but because his cool, plodding, calculating, safe way of going on is at variance with the pert coxcomicality of the hall and anti-chamber; you very seldom see a spruce scotch footman, and when you do he is remarked. i remember one of this description at the house of a general officer's widow in edinburgh, whose three handsome daughters are amongst the "have beens;" they were very proud dashing ladies, censorious to a high degree, and particularly severe upon on servants. 47 their own sex, but pride must have a fall sooner or later. they all married ill, spent their small fortunes, and can now keep no man servant to insult decency and commonsense with as formerly. one of these young ladies (they were so then) had the effrontery to apologise for a female attendant's coming into the room, by saying "i am quite distressed for the want of a footman, as our's got a commission the other day and left us all in a hurry." these ladies had actually procured an ensigncy in a fencible regiment for a handsome rascal who had been their livery servant-this too from the daughters of a military man-for shame! however some one undeceived the colonel of the regiment who never allowed the man to join. this, is, however, (i hope and believe) a solitary instance; and your puppy footmen are in edinburgh amongst the few: they are seldom scotch, a strapping hibernian, or a flashy english servant is more common. a bit of education is what the scot likes to get, and 48 on servants. when once he has that, his mind, as may naturally be expected, soars above servitude, and more particularly above the livery servant. good masters make good servants, as some people say, but i have witnessed the reverse in a number of instances: not but that bad example, harsh, unfeeling treatment, irregular pay, and making too free with domestics, are sure to spoil them; but the reverse will but seldom bind them to fidelity and attachment, and there are many worthless ones who prefer going from place to place to remaining steadily in a moderate, economical, and orderly family. waste is the bad footman's harvest, and those who merely select their servants from their being tall or goodlooking do not deserve trusty ones; for my own part, i like to see an old, grey-headed, steady, faithful looking man-servant. but this would be odious to a dandy or to an affected lady of quality, who must have a brace of fellows like grenadiers behind her carriage, and must have half a dozen or more conceited, pampered attendants, merely to be on servants. 49 passed in review by the frequenters of her routs. having been carried further than i was at first aware of, let us go more particularly into the characters and conduct of this class by a stricter examination of the subject, and particularly of that of the servants of the great, which shall form the subject of the next chapter. vol. iii. d 1 t 4 great people's servants, (in continuation.) d 2 4 for when ruin'd's the rake, the greater the harvest his liv'ry men make." great people's servants. in looking about through life and making observations, it has often struck me that a great and expensive house was more likely to come to decay, from occult and imperceptible causes, than from greater and more obvious objects. these are generally guarded against, whilst the minor ones pass unnoticed until they come to an enormous amount, and produce a crash similar to one occasioned by the giving way of the complex component parts of a piece of machinery, which appeared at the time permanent and in good order. order, counter-order, and disorder, frequently succeed each other with 54 great people's servants. " wonderous rapidity; and, when the latter begins with high life below stairs," the principle is an undermining one. "how are we ruined ?" might be a question frequently made by a nobleman to his numerous attendants, through whose hands his substance is so continually sifted, that it is by no means a wonder that it should be so very often scattered to the winds; the ladder, or scale of perquisites, of itself, is a of itself, is a lofty account, inconsiderable as it may at first seem; but what renders it more injurious to the master's purse is, his ignorance of its existence, like cook's cousin, and butler's brother, a visiting wife to the coachman, and set company parties to my lord's own man. these invisible consumers are little noticed, but their avidity and appetites are felt in time, and most generally when it is too late! the serving man and woman's office places them at the back of him or her who is the head of the house, and for this reason their secret manœuvres are not brought to light. how often have i laughed, or rather smiled as in great people's servants. 55 scorn, when i have detected a stout lazy liveryman turning some dowager duchess into derision as he follows her in the street, waddling like her grace just as he passes a brother worsted laced knave, or white stocking'd varlet, standing with a swaggering air and a cane like a fishing rod, (in token that he and fellow-servant contrive to make a good thing of their place by hook or by crook;) of the same description are the anticks of a brace of conceited footmen at the back of the town landau, coach, chariot, or vis a vis. they will alternately sport their telegraphic mummery to each other, and not unfrequently take the measure of my lady's ancle by a glance as she descends from her equipage, and will saucily make it the standing topic of conversation at the third table, which they contrive to get attended on by the servants of servants, in the shape of poor boys, knife-cleaners, and fags, who depend upon the livery for a dinner, for protection, and a promised place at some future period; thus the peer or rich baronet is only calcu56 great people's servants. lating on three tables to support when he has four or five, one of which may always be managed by broken victuals, never given to the poor, except in the shape of hangers-on, and by a voracious dog, which never broke bread at the board, and by a devil of a black cat, on the back of which all fractures and wastes are laid. it may sometimes happen too, that john and oliver cannot write, and then a servant out of place, as secretary to the lower house, is absolutely wanted, and mary, too, has a sweetheart for whom a kitchen mercury or amatory message carrier becomes necessary; the sweetheart again may at some future convenient period rob the house, but that's nobody's fault. of the insolence of laquais' no one can doubt who has never had to pass through them at a crowded opera, or at the gate of kensington gardens; or if he has remarked their low affectation whilst waiting at a rout, their imitative powers stop at nothing; they must drink, dress, play cards, and intrigue with a relative resemblance to their betters, not to mention their mock titles. great people's servants. 57 and down stairs gambles; we will now come to a living scene or two, and descend to particulars. coming away suddenly from an evening party in consequence of an aunt's indisposition, i very shortly perceived that we were not expected by the party in the kitchen and hall; the latter of which displayed a brilliancy of appearance, which might have owed its existence to a gross of half burned wax lights, or (as i found that it was a birth-night ball) to a more elegant present from the family wax-chandler. the first footman literally looked sulky at our unwelcome return, and the whole establishment entered into a conspiracy to punish us. in the first instance we were kept waiting for a considerable time, whilst some of the servants were changing their dancing dress, and to allow others to complete the figure of the country dance. next there was not one article of provision for supper, although the smell of the lower regions was most inviting. in answer to inquiries on this head, it was observed, that the vile cat had just knocked down a ragout, d 3 58 great people's servants. which the french cook had prepared to be warmed the next day; a glass of wine being called for, it was stated that the butler was gone to bed very ill, but that if we wished he could be called up. this was declined, and some water-gruel was mentioned, but the fire had gone out as we were not expected; but poor robin (a kitchen-pensioner) could soon light it again. this was done, and i heard my poor aunt called an old frump for giving so much trouble, but this i put up with for fear of causing the loss of a place. the game of extreme extravagance however went on until the good lady was forced to reduce her establishment, and to go abroad for the remainder of her days. at a certain general's house, who is since ruined, i remember a dispute betwixt some of the upper servants and the french cook, which was so loud that it was distinctly overheard; the former taxed the latter with not giving them a share of the champagne which he pretended to consume in his made dishes, but which went to his own palate; the winegreat people's servants. 59 drinking domestics in the west end of the town are more numerous than would readily be believed. these honest creatures are not content with the bottoms of bottles, but receive presents from the different trades-people, which must be got back on the articles sold, but which minister to the luxuries of overgrown idlers, who muster more or less strong according to the consequence or extravagance of their employers, and sometimes leave them roofless at the end of a few years service. after which we perceive these retired studgrooms, head coachmen, butlers, valets de chambre, house-keepers, and ladies maids setting up business as inn-keepers, horsedealers, grocers, boarding-house people, and lodging letters at the fashionable watering places, not to mention house-stewards, bailiffs, &c. upon a larger scale, who often purchase in the estate of the ruined rake or soft credulous man of quality, and are rich landowners when their former masters are selfexiled abroad, or disgraced and white-washed at the same time by an insolvent act. 60 great people's servants. the ruin produced by the in-door plunderers of the serving train is also as multiform as it is mischievous. downright dishonesty, in its form, is not the system of acting to be provided against; but the variety of indirect methods and combinations from the many-headed monster to be dreaded by one who is capable of becoming a rich prize to the menial crew. waste, neglect, idleness, pleasure, poverty, and love, are amongst those unhinging and delapidating evils, not to speak of treachery and vice. if waste be general (as is very often the case) in every department of an establishment, how soon must it come to the ground! provisions, clothes, money, liquor, every thing will be lavished; and wants will be so created, that the master will be expending twice or thrice more than is necessary, either in quantity or price, on every article of consumption for himself and family, for his servants and their invisible families. neglect will produce the same effect from a different cause; and the health of the horses employed will suffer great people's servants. 61 severely from such conduct, both from the embezzlement of corn, and general inattention to their comfort. idleness is called the root of all evil. amongst servants it has increased culpability in it; for it injures the employer, first, by the business not done for him, and secondly, by the little duty that is performed, being so by proxy, for which the master has to pay directly or indirectly, i. e. out of his purse, in the dishonest charges and weekly sundries of cook, house-keeper, and butler; or out of the pantry, cellar, corn-bin, and kitchen garden. the neglect of furniture, linen, plate, china, and glass, is one additional evil. pleasure creates poverty in servants, and poverty engenders fraud and theft; whilst love sets the maids and men sweet-hearting, or intermarrying, and then one servant ceases to be a check upon the other. there is a delightful going on of hops (dances) at home and abroad; of stealing away to the play-house, or to fetch a walk. the giving of presents, which masters have the advantage of doing without any re62 great people's servants. turn in honesty, attachment, or fidelity, from their servants. the cellar is drained, and the horses are rode and driven to death, to give airings to the dressing-room lady or handsome nursery-maid; or to get home in time from a party of pleasure to the country; whilst my lord or my lady is deprived of a ride or drive by the sickness or lameness of a part of their stable-establishment. lastly. if a servant be married, it is the safest way to take both parties into the house at once, as both are certain to be pensioned on him or her who has hired one of them. the good sense of the reader will easily perceive that these observations do not effect trusty, industrious old servants (the number of which is comparatively few;) nor do they aim so low as at small establishments of a man and a maid; or a footman with a poor boy under him, over whom he most probably tyrannizes, and who does half his work; neither do they interfere with cookey and her kitchen stuff; nor with the introduction of a washer-woman, or a char-woman, unknown great people's servants. 63 to the family, provided she does not rob the house of linen or provision to a considerable extent; they point at higher game, namely, large establishments, where systems of idleness and dishonesty are very likely to produce the ruin of the property, and at the multiplied offices of servants, who introduce their deputies ad infinitum: such as the butler's bottle-washer; the groom's stable-helper ; the kitchen-maid's dish-washer; a boots, kept among the footmen; a knife-cleaner, fed in the area; a messenger, for the men out of livery; a mistress, for the fat porter; and a secretary (as already stated); or a letterwriter, for the firm of maids. in multiplying servants for show, without a due proportion of employment, idleness, vice, and extravagance must creep into the house, and less work (of what ought to be done) is performed by the many than by the few. stiles, the porter, who looks forward to retiring as a publican and sinner, wont open the gates, or hall-door, unless he knows that his grace, or her ladyship is at it. he has the news64 great people's servants. paper to read, and the junior footman can perform this office for him. the second footman wont answer the bell. coals; let molly do it, for he it is only for has a game at cribbage to attend to. my lady's footman sends the pot-boy with her letter to the post after looking into it, and gives him sixpence; this will come in for postage, turnpike, or something else forgotten last week; whilst the second coachman (the first being drunk in bed) has a parish-boy to do his duty in the stable-mops, brushes and curry-combs will easily provide for him-whilst he goes in a plain coat to the billiard-table or fives court. the confectioner leaves all to the cook; the groom of the chambers has almost a sinecure of it; the comptroller and secretary are mere men of pleasure; and half the gamekeepers and gardeners are working for themselves and friends; stud-grooms are often an incumbrance, and men out of livery (exceeding one or two) would be less expensive and dishonest if they were in it. we shall conclude the following observations by a few great people's servants. 65 articles of advice to masters respecting their servants. first, to keep as few as possible, and those as long as they deserve it, providing for them in old age and infirmity. secondly, keep but one gentleman in the house, and let that be the master himself, unless he have a poor relation or friend; but a gentleman-servant, or servant-gentleman, is a preposterous being. thirdly, overlook your own cellar and stable. fourthly, have no married servants. fifthly, beware of male servants who are particularly handsome or coxcomical. sixthly, keep no men who are fond of liquor, cards, fights, or horse-races. seventhly, let them not resemble you so much in size, &c. that you will have to wear your clothes jointly with them. lastly, pay them regularly, or they will overpay themselves, and allow no deputies to do another's work. these may be useful hints, and are intended as such. "tel maitre, tel valet," is an old proverb, but is not a rule without exception. a good master cannot always make a good servant; but a bad one has no 66 great people's servants. in right to expect to keep a good servant. bad example particularly must produce a want of respect; familiarity, and confiding secrets to domestics, are dangerous experiments; and, if ever they are admissible, it is to tried, faithful, and humble servants. to a trusty creature, born on the estate, and bred up the family, such as those of a certain deceased and deeply regretted duke, who used to observe, that he not only bred his horses, but his grooms, who were, sometimes, the grandsons of his coachman; or to an old corporal trim-like worthy, such as he who has long followed the fortunes of the hermit in edinburgh. returned from paris, and a word about french emigrants. "parbleu qu'il fait bon à paris." comic song for a milord anglais. "freeze, freeze, thou wint'ry sky, thou dost not bite so nigh, as benefits forgot."-shakspeare. returned from paris, and a word about french emigrants. i had scarcely emerged from the leith stage and was preparing to gain my hermitage, when a very old acquaintance touched me on the shoulder and accosted me thus:"why man, you are the very person we have been looking for, do you know that bob only arrived from paris last night, and he will tell you all about it; you will be able to comprehend all these matters of which i know nothing. bob has been to italy too, but one thing at a time is enough;" (so i thought) 66 you will find him very much improved," 70 returned from paris, and (there was room for it) "and he gives a good, sensible account of his travels." "if he gives as good a one of his money,” said i, "you will have nothing to complain of;" "that's true," answered he, "but here we are not quite so well satisfied, he has cost us a mint of money, but one must not be shabby when we send our children abroad, or into the world; every parent would do his best on such an occasion:" (this is true scotch feeling and very meritorious, great sacrifices are often made to indulge it)—“ one would like one's son to do as others do, and to see every thing that is to be seen; and bob says that that's no to be done for a trifle." right," said i; "if a man "-(continued the father)" goes to a cheap country to live and to save money that is one thing, but an enquiring traveller is another; he cannot expect to find things at a low price; his very journies must be expensive, wheels are dear articles of themselves, besides i had made my mind up to the thing, and although it has gone beyond what i calculated, i kept a "he is a word about french emigrants. 71 reserve unknown to bob, and a few retrenchments will bring up all the rest with a little time; but come away and see bob, he will be very glad to meet a man who can talk to him about foreign parts, and who will appreciate his remarks." how a little locomotion on the high roads of france and flanders elevates a man in his own opinion, and in that of the untravelled or unlearned! the very air of paris puffs us up to a certain magnitude. "you have been in paris,” accented in a tone of inquiry, establishes a superiority in a little mind, and the answer generally is, "certainly, oh! dear, yes, more than once;" or, "bless you, i know the french capital as well as my own,” from whence a man becomes a capitalist at once in society, and his remarks pass as current as sir william forbes's notes, if he has a note book. again, he may be rich in remarks, and not wanting in imagination. a very look into a french sea-port makes a man think something of himself; but a fortnight at paris, and a week at brussels, with a peep at vaterloo, as the cockney calls 72 returned from paris, and it, and something taken down in the battlefield, about cater brass (quatre bras), the bell alliance (an alliance pretty much in character with the belle savage and the bull and mouth, which happen to be la belle sauvage and bolougne mouth, or harbour) and hog mount (huguemont) render the traveller an accomplished person and a man of the world all at once; but bob had travelled further, and had tarried much longer than these tasters of information, who would often learn more from a tour printed, than from their own narrow observations and contracted views, of a very little, for a very little while. bob's person did not at all bespeak the paris habituè, or a frequenter of the continent, much less the enthusiast of italy, and the man who had seen the matchless cities of roma, napoli, e genova la superba! bob's person is coarse, but not quite devoid of affectation: his head is extremely large, and he had the good fortune to meet doctor spurzheim at paris, who assured him of the advantage of such a huge knowledge-box, be the cona word about french emigrants. 73 tents of what it might. the young man is coarse made, and not over burdened with beauty, plain in his dress, and rough in his address; but a suit of mourning, a glass, pendant at his button-hole, added to gravity and silence amongst strangers, gave him a passport in paris circles; and although the french people called him john bull, and gros patapouf, yet they fancied that the pocket was well lined, and they welcomed him, in consequence, in company. he had seen so many french emigrants in scotland, he had witnessed the attentions which were paid them --the presents they received, the open doors which awaited them every where,—the common cant of "if ever we return to our own country, the english will see how we remember their reception," was so familiar to his ears, that he had pricked down a regular engagement daily, in his memorandum-book, but he was mistaken in his men; they scarcely recollected him; he had to put them in mind. of his name, his country, day and hour, place and date, where he had met with monsieur vol. iii. e 74 returned from paris, and le comte, le marquis, le baron, le chevalier, et monsieur l'abbé, when he extracted "o! effectivement, je me souviens d'un certain robert-;" or, in bad english, as if intentionally forgotten, "oh! yes, maister robert ; how do you do, sir ?" and, without waiting to ascertain how he could do, in a strange town, "good mon-naing," pronounced through the nose, and accented as a signal for separation. some of these worthies would say, that they were badly lodged (how were they in their garrets in london, whence some of them issued, either to earn their bread by old england, or to partake of our hospitable cheer?) some lived en garçon, as single men --so they did when treated at our taverns and coffee houses-some were such losers by the revolution--so they were thirty years before -in a word, every one had a put-off; and some actually passed by old acquaintances, friends, and benefactors, unnoticed. in the streets of paris, one was brought to on the boulevards by an english officer, who, seeing him fat, and decorated with the order of st. lewis a word about french emigrants. 75 (two new honors, since his return home), begged leave to remind him of a large sum of money, partly given, and partly lent to him: dans l'emigration, the knight was greatly humiliated; but, furthermore, my informant told me not. honest bob assured me that he had been sadly affronted by these short memoried gentry; and what mortified him the most was, that some of them were actually receiving half-pay from our government, whilst others had brought away little fortunes from london, which they could not have amassed, but from every door being open to them, and from the warm and generous patronage of our nobility. a certain countess treated lady g so shamefully, at a party of hers (the emigrant countess's), that she actually returned to her lodgings, sick with disappointment. added honors have been given to some of these returned nobles,-a step in nobility, a ribbon, or a star; and, such is their weakness, whether from age, or debility of mind, or body, that the burden sits so heavily upon them, that they cannot open a hand, e 2 76 returned from paris, and extend an arm, or move a foot to serve an englishman. the ancienne noblesse is every where stiff, unbending, and unmindful of the past. they have suffered persecution; but i leave it to them to say, whether they have, or have not, learned mercy, mildness, or even the virtue of gratitude. shut out, every where, by the emigrants, poor bob, who had no favor to ask of them but civility, informed me, that he got into another sort of society, namely, english settlers, and house-keepers. in paris, who had their motives, too, for emigrating, and for spending their own money in france. this fault was not a reproach to the emigrants of the revolution; or, if it was one, small one indeed. it was a very within the walls of a hotel,* like a palace, with spacious gardens, lofty apartments, and halls formed for banquetting, and for all the other purposes of hospitality, dwells a selfexiled noble. his bifores, or heavy double * our readers are aware that the houses of the nobility are called hotels, as well as the public hotels. a word about french emigrants. folding gates, are calculated to give admission to an illustrious list of visitors,-to open wide to the arts and sciences,-to answer the knock of the numerous poor, but is it so? no: a pale looking man is there buried alive, unless when he makes himself ridiculous by going out alone in a shabby carriage, which, however, shabby as it is, has all the accompaniments of pride in servants ill-dressed, yet imitating the style of a foreign ambassador. these gates know not the tread of the english traveller; nor had honest bob any wish to intrude on the solitary and gloomy pride of a being very unlike a briton. the natives of that nation who, like lord musk, and others, are rich and willing exiles, merit only the contempt of that soil, whose manners, customs, and pleasures, are at variance with theirs, and whose very failings are virtuous, when compared with those which effeminate and enervated countries tolerate. within ten minutes walk of this dreary, yet costly pile, stands the hotel de longpole, formerly the residence of a marshal of the 78 returned from parís, and buonapartean manufactory. here bob was delighted at being received with old irish hospitality. the life of the proprietor seems to be like a long leasehold tenure, taken for a hundred years, and this ancien has hitherto preserved all his faculties. he is one of the breed of a'-grip-a' (to use a scotch joke); for, it -is asserted, that he never got a thing into his hands, that he ever could prevail upon himself to part with, except it were a bottle of wine. he got tired of england, after a fifty years' lawsuit: during which long lapse of time, he never could persuade the lords and commons, the chancellor, the bar, nor the nation at large, that he had a right to the property, on which he laid his tenacious fingers. he, therefore, went off in dudgeon with old england, and arrived, strong-box and all, in -the french capital: for as he found himself in the wrong box, one side of the water, he had certainly a right to bring his money-box where he pleased, and to box the compass until he found a spot where the iron chest might rest undisturbed. he has bought a 3 a word about french emigrants. 79 house, he has bought a title, and daily buys popularity, by keeping open house to a few french flatterers, and a host of needy and fly-blown characters, who leave the land of liberty when it ceases to be such to them. the old gentleman, however, is delightful, according to my informant's account. when he presides at the head of his table, his memory is as tenacious as his touch; and he will repeat tawdry stories, and sing obscene songs, made in the reigns of queen ann, and the two first georges, of the brunswick line, and which he himself has sung, for the edification of youth, in the three last reigns of the sovereigns of that name. the man is a walking history of anecdotes, and likewise a very good tempered, cheerful table companion; and it is declared by those who know him, or are connected with him by family, or other ties, both sides of the water, that 66 7 they ne'er shall look upon his like again.” they are both right, but their reasons for so saying are very different indeed. he has 80 returned from paris, &c. been a very gallant man in his day, and so great is his memory, that it seems to him but yesterday that he lived in amatory story. madame de la france, however, when she hears his love tales, answers, mon sieur c'est possible. one of the advantages of our traveller's introduction to old longpole, was an entre into a house of a french nobleman of the first class, who had visited england, from his attachment to the bourbons, and who, from his civility to the english, evinces that he has not forgotten the asylum which sheltered and fed so many of his countrymen, the victims of the democratical and demoniac delirium of a revolutionized and misled people; but, as this noble edifice, and its inhabitants, merit a separate chapter, they shall not be confounded with longpole, nor the late colonel longbow, or any other rum characters from england, ireland, or from the land which produced the hermit in edinburgh. a french circle, and advice. e s 2 ,, 1.20 *. dari vegnoq rura l etopaouta, fra ghing ed truorten unin apear verstory) par a དངས་ལྷག་རྣན་ "qui facit per alterem, facit per se. a french circle, and advice. our motto in the preceding page is a latin ´saying, which involves much difficulty, and lays heavy responsibility on us : it holds good also in evil deeds, as well as in benevolent actions; but i think that it is a sweeping remark, which certainly should not be admitted without some qualification; and as i was bred to the bar, i think it fair to combat it: my reader will soon perceive with what view, and how it bears upon the present case. let us begin by good, evil comes quick enough of itself. a rich man employs an almoner to dispense extensive charities; the donor of these bene84 a french circle, ficent gifts takes his pleasure all the time, indulges in idleness, revels in all manner of pleasure; from time to time the faithful chaplain, or steward, informs him of a great case of distress which he has relieved with the money of his patron, or of a great number of objects who have been fed and clad by the funds destined for that purpose. the rich man says ""tis well;" perhaps, even, from time to time, the latter will say, "doctor, or reverend father, i hope that you are doing all the good you can with such a sum ?" the almoner offers to convince him, by producing his accounts; but the man of pleasure declines the trouble of inspecting them, and here the matter ends. can it be maintained that this doer of charity by proxy is equal to the mild, zealous, exemplary man, who seeks out personally the gloomy abode of poverty, of sickness, and of suffering-the shade in which bashful and indigent merit withers and pines away; whose active charity examines and exerts itself, and adds counsel and comfort to a donation; who, and advice. 85 whilst it throws a shelter and a covering over the shivering and starving pauper with the one hand, wipes off the tears of affliction with the other. the former really does his deeds by another's hand, the latter by his own. nay, a great part of the good must be attributed to the judgment, the sympathy, the impartiality of the agent employed;-on his trouble, his leisure, and his inclination, far the greater share of these acts of mercy must depend. and, lastly, the promiscuous giver by proxy, he who examines not the treasurer's accounts, knows not what is given, and still less how it is applied. in evil there certainly must be a line drawn between the man who lends his sword to another to defend himself in an affair of honour, and him who, angry and vindictive, borrows that sword, because he knows it to be a good one, and goes out determined to kill his man with it, and actually does so; the one is guilty of culpable indifference, the other of culpable homicide; for gentlemanlike murder seems to to go no farther, at all events, in courts of 86 a french circle, honour. nor can a person who lends his house to a friend, who games, keeps bad company, or scandalizes his neighbours in it, merit the same onus of blame as the borrowing acquaintance thus transgressing the laws of propriety towards the lender and the neigh™ bourhood. if i have made out a good case, i leave its application to my readers, es b9719i must now take up the thread of my dis course, or rather of my relation of facts. bobgot admission to the nobleman's house, where stars and ribands lent a lustre to the lively at homes given there by the fair one to whom this accommodation of a brilliant suite of rooms was afforded. here every one was at home, and the gaping stranger might fancy himself in the bosom of his family. the lady who does the honours is a wholesale article of beauty, if magnitude be a recom mendation. her manners are prepossessing yet dignified: she has a certain air of friendship about her; but whether that sentiment be disinterested or not, 66 c'est une autre chose." to be truly welcome, at this belle 1 and advice. 87 assemblée, a man must be either useful, or ornamental,-bob was neither; but he got his lesson from an old hand, and he appeared to be an object to the party, whence his bit of advice for the benefit of others. the ornamental cavaliers (all of french growth) filled up the corners, furnished the apartments, served as dancing partners to the ladies, sung, played, or stood near the throne of power. the useful visitors at this hotel were flatterers, anglers, introducers, and make-ups at a card-table, or to turn the leaves of a music book; for harmony, dancing, scenic representation, and card-playing, formed the evening's amusements of the circle. all these were very innocent; and the refreshments (which suited not the caledonian's taste) were truly wholesome, and of great benefit to an english guest, coming brimfull of wine and substantial fare from the hotel de longpole, or from any of the public hotels, where john bull's excesses are proverbial; for you might have as much sugar and water, lemonade, or spring-water, neutralized by a little currant. 88 a french circle, jelly, as any feverish patient could desire, and female attractions have a very feverish tendency-" aye there's the rub.” there was, in this gallant mansion, a young lady to get married, and the net of enchantment was cast at or over every supposed great fortune which came in the shape of jacky bull to paris; not that un anglais was a greater favourite than any one else, but that his money was thought safer the only person who ought to have been concerned in this speculation was the least so. very young, modest, and pleasing, she merely looked to the rebuilding up of her parents' fortunes (such things are too common abroad), whilst madame and her allies manoeuvred all the rest. the ex-colonel whom i met at baillie carvey's was one of these, and was (according to my information) as fulsome a flatterer here, as he was a bitter abuser of his own country. a number of unsuccessful attempts were made, beginning by the heir to the longpole property, provided always that no other heir and advice. 89 should interrupt the succession; the pious mother, next, cast an eye on a youth, who passed for a man of fortune and fashion abroad, but who turned out upon scrutiny, only to be the minor part of piano-forte airs, which he played off in paris, and to have but a very moderate income, arising from the notes which his papa had been the operative maker of; all that he could, therefore, do, was to speak to his friends. sly bob, learning all this, from an old stager, had it given out that he was the son of a mercantile man, of immense property, and on his travels on the continent, and as his stay was but short, after his introduction (which he kept a profound secret from the party,) he was sure of a hearty welcome, and at least, three times asking, before any serious question could be put to him. it is an old soldier's, and an old scotchman's trick, never to be on the go, until gone; never to be married, except when at home, or when a wife is present; never to be poor and seem poor at the same time; the departing friend is for90 a french circle, gotten before he is absent; the moving lodger has nothing to expect from his landlady, or host; the motive for pleasing is now at an end; the married man gains no virgin smiles, no matron's attentions, no parent's interest; the poor man has no friend, but whilst sandy pays his way with seeming ease, be the task ever so difficult, whilst the lodger has the appearance of remaining, he is every where welcome, every where looked up to, and can turn to account the very people who thinks that they are turning him to account. bob was well acquainted with all this management, all these peace-time manœuvres, and thus he was fully enabled to see high company abroad, and to talk in a higher tone to his untrammelled friends at home, whilst he could laugh in his sleeve at all the able negociations of the court of venus. the last bold stroke of the house, was an attack on the vacant heart and head of a rich creole; he swallowed the bait, with ease, what would he not have swallowed? but a brain surcharged with wine, and an appetite rather over-dosed, caused the hook and advice. 91 to lose its hold, and masser buckera got free again; the west indian was not particularly nice about delicacies, proprieties, promises, nor the nonsense which wine might have inspired, in the way of flirtation, so he cut adrift and threw himself into the arms of his mamma, and went home, all safe. lucky it was that he sinned only in words, for there were plenty of blades and triggers to resent an attempt at injuring the fair fame of one who deserved defending; but the movers of all this mischief will never escape free from censure, nor will their hiberniam ambassador, who was crest-fallen, at finding young sugar cane impregnable, at home; and on learning that civil law, and peace officers were his referees in matters of difficulty, and in his juvenile scrapes:-but the soirees of the enchanted castle still go on, the lady's husband seems to enjoy a sinecure place, the patron, occasionally sits in awful state, and smiles on the circle before him, the component parts of which are no great characters, save only the returned emigrants, shining in orders, and 92 french circle, and advice. the succession of strangers, who gain admission for the purposes herein above mentioned, bob concluded, by saying that this was a leaf of experience in his book, and that he should advise minors on the point of coming of age, with large estates blooming in promise, to avoid this glittering circle; but he would recommend it to all young men who had nothing to risk, and who wished for an evening's entertainment, à la mode de paris, to get introduced as he was, and to play off the same stratagem, to ensure esteem; and it is with a view of being useful, that this advice of the wary traveller is repeated in this form, and given with the very best wishes, by the hermit in edinburgh. david blunt. et homo sum." le seul honneur solidè et de prendre toujours la veritè pour guide."-boileau. david blunt. "did any one call at the hermitage this morning?" said i to my old fac totum, who is my butler, hair-dresser, footman, courier, and sometimes my adviser; an old highlander, with a very long head, and no very mean, opinion of himself. he took a moment to consider" why surely alpin you must know if any one has called or not? we have not so many visitors at our solitary abode." true, sir," replied alpin; "but then when a person visits you, you would like to know who and what he is, and what he wanted; • hermits do not receive ladies in their cells. 96 david blunt. now i hold it impossible to tell you, that first and foremost he would not tell his name, next i could not make out what he is, and lastly he wanted nothing but to see you." "is he a gentleman, or a tradesman, a man of business, or an idler ?" alpin thought profoundly, the only thing about him which he carried to excess; he was so sicker (secure or cautious) that he would have been the death of a hasty man, or (what would be worse) vice versa. "as for a gentleman he can't be that," quoth alpine deliberately, "for he told me that he was not one; a tradesman i take it he is not, for he looked more like an officer; and then again he told me he was not an officer, his business he said he had none, and he was very much like an idler; i picked out of him that he was an old soldier, but if he was a private i may be any thing." "and why not, alpin ?" said i; "a man has a right to be any thing which his merit can make him; favour and intrigue, corruption and interest, thrust men into very elevated situations which they have no right to; but david blunt. 97 merit may make a man any thing, and his title to possession is hen undeniable." here i threw down my camlet cloak, put my horn mull upon the table of the vestibule, and flung myself into a garden chair, of old fashioned, singular form, like myself, being made of the fantastic roots of trees, which i sometimes persuaded myself had at some time or other afforded their umbrage to william wallace--to the royal fugitive, charles, before the restoration-to the young chevalier, renowned for his misfortunes-and to the able poet, burns, as famous for his disappointments in life. i now made my usual signal for unlacing my gout-boots, and alpin ventured to make his remarks as follow; i dreaded a long story, but i assure my reader it shall not be so. alpin and i were often téte-à-tête, and he passed half his time in thinking what he was to say, and the other in making amends by the length of his tale; old age si garrulous, and we ought to be indulgent to it. "what your honor says," comvol. iii. f 98 david blunt. menced my trusty veteran," puts me in mind of what happened to the son of a lord; he was muckle given to drinking, and street rioting, and to exposing himself and family; so his friends (an odd way of shewing friendship!) got him put up in the tolbooth awhile, to keep him from mischief, and then sent him out o' the country, that he might not affront his name; one day as he was looking out of the bars of a high window in the prison, an acquaintance passed by, and cried-"how the de'el alek did you come there?" "just" quoth he, "as my second brother got his promotion in the army, and as my next brother got a place, that is to say, by no merit, or good actions of my own, but by the interest and interference o' my faimilie;" and i remember puir mrs. mac naggin being sent to inveresk,* just as much mad as i am, and making the same answer to a person who saw her, by accident in the garden of thon dd place; it was a real shame, puir body-she only li-ked (making two distinct * a place where there are private mad-houses. יי david blunt. 99 syllables of the word,) she only li-ked a drap dram, and had been a little wild, or so, and her husband shut her up; feggs, if the wives could do the same, how many a braw gentleman would be wearing out his e'en against the bars, and i remember" stop alpin,” said i, putting an end to his remembrances, "i know now who the visitor is, it is david blunt!" alpin gave a shout of discovery, "exactly," cried he; for he said, is the hermit visible?" "vi-si-ble," repeated i: "he's, oot. who shall i say has called?" "no body." "weel sir," adds i: " then i'll juist say a gentleman, and describe your person." "don't do that," said he, "for there's no kenning what, or who is a gentleman now o'days, i hate the name, and will have nothing to do wi't: you'll say that a man (pronounced as if it had a double n) called." that he was an "officer," interrupted i. "that's juist "that's juist as bad," quoth he: "no, an old soldier, of the tribe of david, and that's blunt." "i booed the person to the door, for i did not take his meaning, but now i see it with half an ee." my boots were now off, f 2 100 david blunt. and i was on an easier footing with myself, which will enable me to give david blunt's short account of the terms gentleman, and officer, with a few prefatory words, forming his history. david blunt is a lowlander, whose father had a very large estate, and went by the name of it; but as it was not entailed, and he married twice, he sold it, and parcelled it out, mostly amongst the children, du second lit, as the french call them; the injusta noverca took care of this, and poor david came off with a very small portion: from this time, he forbid all his acquaintance to call him by the name of the lost acres, (dawnington let us call the estate, for the sound is not unlike it,) and he frequently reprobated the poverty and pride, closely allied, of scottish lairds; either retaining the names of forfeited (i mean sold) land, or of petty estates, not worth a name, (as already has been alluded to in this work ;) his next retrenchment from the designation of his correspondents, was to lop off the esquire from the superscriptions david blunt. 101 of his letters, assuring them, that he was not the follower of a knight, the hanger on of nobility, the horseman or equery of any master, and lastly, no esquire:-determined to pester him with a name, his associates, and his trades' people, now addressed him as captain; this he rejected, having sold his company; adding, that if he were the king, he would expunge the rank from the army, and would substitute that of centurion, commander of a company, or of a man-of-war, chief of a squadron, or any term but captain; whilst it is prostituted to the captain of the night, to a police fellow, to a skipper, to the captain of a jail, and to the leader of a banditti; the word officer, he has much objected to, since the sheriff, every justice of the parish, the excise, customs &c., all share in this honor, but which might be avoided by these animals being denominated, menhunters, magistrates, whippers-in, parish beagles, (not beadles,) blood-hounds, bodydealers, seisers, (not cæzars) night-watchers, and the examiners of goods; so that the 102 david blunt. words hunt and examiner, might still be held up to the people. it was proposed to him, lastly, to designate him david blunt, gentleman; but this he forbade, as positively as all the rest, remarking that every man (almost) who can put a good face on his affairs, gets credit for a handsome suit of clothes, give himself airs in public, and pays his way, styles himself, and procures the ignorant to call him a gentleman; so much so, that trade would now become honourable, if its members went back to master jones, the coppersmith, master maltby, the publican, master selvage, the woollen-draper, and the like; as the master, denoted a master draper, tailor, shoemaker, or tinsmith; but in all common affairs of life, these honest people would look, (he said) very much in their places with simple thomas, robert, daniel, or george before their humble surnames, instead of robert robson, esq., daniel town, esq., and george guttle, esq., alderman and fishmonger, which sound so very like robber robdavid blunt. 103 son, esq., dunall town, a squire, george gutsall, &c. &c. as long as we hear of a company of tailors sitting down to a sumptuous repast at the goose and gridiron, with their president, spencer short, esq. of clipstone-street, in the chair, and the utmost harmony prevailing amongst the gentlemen, and as long as we read a long important looking list of the following licenced guttlers, being the gentlemen appointed to carry up (not a round of beef and a gallon of beer) but an address :—to wit, frank fudge, of the goat's head, cripplegate; benjamin belcher, of the hole in the wall, broadway; frederick froth, of the world's end, wapping; jonathan foulshame, of the cock and dunghill, shoreditch; samuel scor'em, of the blushing rose, curtain-road; and, simon short, of the golden fleece, petticoat-lane; so long, my friend insisted, the word gentleman ought either to be considered as meaning nothing at all, or ought to be given to the few, whilst 104 david blunt. the many might share amongst them, the mister, the master, the citizen, the officebearer, the merchant, tradesman, publican, and servant, since the publican is certainly a servant of the public, whilst the servant of nobility gets his share of gentility by being thrust into my lord's gentleman, which the ignorant are very apt to apply to these characters. the name of merchant is respectable; master denotes power, and the being no longer an apprentice; citizen marks a man's being on his road to civic honors; an office or trade affixed to a name proves unequivocality; viz. sheriff trustworthy, judge sharp, (although judge nott might be better,) inspector keen, surveyor bright, collector close, bailiff bluff, and master tailor, men, so called, would lose nothing in public estimation; nor would an author of to-day, putting esq. to the end of his name be less read if it was given without this very uncertain ambiguous termination. an a.b., a.m., dr., ll.d., r.a., or such like significant initials david blunt. 105 may have weight, but few would read an esquire's book merely on account of his ipsi dixit, being so. joining with david blunt in thinking his unassuming names, plain and becoming, i shall confine myself to a still more obscure one, which courts neither notice or elevation, that is the hermit in edinburgh. f 3 a character. "man never is, but always to be blest."-pope. "man wants but little here on earth, nor wants that little long." "laudet diversa sequentes."-horat. a character. i very often wondered what made my old friend m'millan always wear a smile on his countenance, and preserve the rosy tint of health in the decline of life, when i recollect that he was thin and much paler in youth; and when i consider that his family has been brought to nothing in three generations, and that his means are very circumscribed. what appeared to me still more surprising was, that he had not that happy even temper, when a boy at the high school, and that the disappointments of after-life were not calculated to mend his disposition: nevertheless, at the present day, he has always something good 110 a character. humoured to say to you, and a jest at his tongue's end, a thing not common with my sedate countrymen. "were you ever married, mac?" said a certain lord to him one day. “faith, no ;" replied the former. “that accounts," continued his lordship "for your unruffled and unalterable temper." " you may say that, my lord," quoth honest mcmillan. this reply opened my eyes, in a certain degree; yet, as happiness is the great (generally unattainable) pursuit of man, i deemed it worth my while to make further inquiry; for, up to the present exception to the general rule, i ever found men with whom i was in the habit of mixing, discontent with their situation, envious of that of a neighbour," or employed in seeking after something which was to fill up the measure of their wishes; but which was found on nearer approach, like a glow-worm light, a work as interminable as the web of penelope; a desire as far from being satisfied as the thirst of tantalus; for ambition engenders ambition; pleasure only leads to a further craving of false appetite; a character.. 111 ; wants increase with the possession of worldly goods; and although the poet is right in stating, that "man wants but little here on earth;" and that the period of his want is but short; yet, so blind is he, that he perceives not this obvious truth. man, on questioning my friend on the cause of this happy change in his temper and appearance, he gave me the following account in a very broad scotch dialect, which i shall omit, in favor of my english readers, and give them in plain simple language:-" when i entered life," said the contented "i was mortified enough to find a baronetcy dropped by our family, on account of not having fortune enough to support it; and it was not very pleasing to me to see the estates of my ancestors sold and parcelled out to a grocer, a lawyer, and a broker. i should have liked very well to have been a private gentleman doing nothing, or to have put on a red coat, for which i had vast ambition; but i was too 112 a character. poor for the former, and my family had no military interest to put me forward in the latter. it grieved me to see my cousin adam in the gold laced trappings of his regiment, to behold the grocer keeping a pack of hounds on our estate, and to find that my half brother was making a rapid fortune in the law; and i was cut to the quick, after leaving school, to witness one school-fellow going into the navy, another into the army, a third fitted expensively out for india, a fourth obtaining an easy and lucrative place under government and so on. trade offered a road to independence, but my family's pride forbade me to enter into it, and my capital was too small for any thing else. at last, i took to studying the classics deeply, and became a regular domine, a teacher, a tutor, a translator to anybody. in this my occupation, i met with many humiliations; i was pestered by the tempers of my pupils, oppressed by the arrogance of my employers, often out of place, and once made to set down at a lord's second table, whom i had often helped at school, and a character. 113 with whom i had been most familiar. these were bitter pills to swallow, but they were wholesome for the constitution of the mind. walking one day, in prince's street, i met an old school-fellow, who had been married twelve months to a rich heiress; he had not a shilling which he could call his own at his out-set in life, so that he was still poorer than myself, but his handsome person was his fortune, and through it he married a woman of title, and drove his coach and four. "ah! jemmy," said he to me, "come, and dine with me to-day, lad. it will be a treat to me to have an old friend at my table, to raise my spirits." why, thought i, who ought to be in spirits, if it is not you? i very soon, however, found the reverse. his lady kept dinner waiting an hour. "where's my lady?" said he to one of his footmen, she has but come from her ride, and is now changing herself." "would to fate that she were," whispered he to me; "any change would be for the better."-in a word, i found him the most miserable of beings, tied to a "sir, 114 a character. vixen of quality, who looked down upon his friends, stinted him in his wine, kept the purse herself, and contradicted him in every thing. this was the first lesson that led to my contented state. i would not have changed with him for all the riches of potosi and peru. taking up the news-paper the next day, i saw my cousin adam's name amongst those killed at the battle of talavera. his head was knocked off by a ball. i put up my hand and found mine safe upon my shoulders. lesson the second. i now determined upon employing my little capital, in building a cottage at porto bello, and letting it. in this i succeeded most fortunately; and who should propose himself for my tenant, but my half-brother. i was delighted at this, and mentioned it to a friend, who exclaimed, "take good care to have a regular agreement, for he is the greatest rogue existing; every body hates him, and fears him." another good lesson-i had no cause to complain of my fate; for i was well considered by all who knew me, and had preserved my reputaa character. 115 tion through all my poverty. i was now private tutor to the grocer's son, which was humiliating enough, but he broke his neck when out hunting; and his son, who was now a rich minor, on the eve of setting out on his travels for the continent, gave me a handsome present; and i got rid of a stupid, troublesome scholar. i now resolved on visiting london; and on trying my fortune there, i did so accordingly, and made a decent living by my pen. on running over the gazette one morning, i saw aleck timberhead, another play-mate of mine, in the list of promotion, as high up as a major general. "blind fortune!" cried i, "so young, and so dull a man, to be at the head of his profession!" i wandered in a complaintive mood to hyde park, where i met the general, as thin as a lath, and as yellow as a guinea. "ah! mac," cried he, on approaching me on his pony," what would i give to be as healthy as you. that d-d west indies will be my death. my constitution is broken up entirely. i have neither appetite, rest, or 116 a character. taste for any thing." i now felt elated in spirits; and being then as hungry as a hawk, i quitted the park, walked briskly down oxford-street, and dined with my bookseller, at hampstead. on my return, i recognized another high school-boy, a captain in the navy. he was very glad to see me; but he had lost his right arm, whilst mine yet furnished me with bread. a trifling legacy was left me this year; and i returned to edinburgh, where, with the produce of my cottage, and a few hundreds sunk for an annuity, i exist quietly and contentedly. the proud lord is now ruined, and living on the continent with a view of recovering, in some measure; and one of my acquaintances, in a public office, is proclaimed a defaulter to government, and has fled for it. every body complimented me on my good looks, on my return home; and i found my waistcoat too tight for me, on my arrival in the land of cakes. so have i continued for years, which may account for my cheerfulness. i put my hand upon his lips, at this moment; i heard a character. 117 enough; he smiled, and, in the language of a domine, said "verbum non amplius addam." this is no bad hint to me. nothing better, nor more apropos can be said or done, on this occasion, by the hermit in edinburgh. p. s.-i had nearly forgotten to state, that mr. m'millan's friend, who went out to india never returned; but fell a victim to a liver complaint. ways and means; or, the art of living without money. "i had a horse, i had na mare, i got him frae my daddy," scotch song. ways and means; or, the art of living without money. to the younger son of a good family, or to a handsome subaltern, whose purse being scrimp, (as we call it in scotland,) must have his wits aye ready, a horse, so far from being an encumbrance, is a wonderful resource: it puts a man above the vulgar herd, it raises him to a patrician appearance, for betwixt the equites, peditesque, the distance is very great; here the case is pretty much the same as that between the mounted doctor,* and him who * by mounted doctors, is meant physicians riding in carriages, coach, chariot, or the like; not your vol. iii. g 122 ways and means; or, travels by the marrow-bone stage, or on st. francis's horse, id est, in plain english, upon ten toes; the charge of the cavalry must, necessarily be greater and more effective than that of the infantry practitioner, inasmuch as the former must occasionally administer horse-medicines to his patients, not strong enough for a horse's drug, but strong demi fortune gentry, such as are seen in london, so low as in a solo, in gig, tilbury, or denuet, much less on horseback, as if riding post for practice; no, sandy is too decent and discreet for such a thing, and would almost as soon be hanged himself, as to have his nag hanging upon a sick gentleman, or lady's gate, or led about by the first beggar in the street, who may be within hail for a penny; one horse conveyances suit village and other country surgeons and apothecaries; the solos and landaulets, with a pony in the shafts, are only suited for fiddlers and other music masters, the dancing master, with his kit in his pocket, or the travelling tooth drawer. i may perhaps be reproached for reverting so often to this subject, but i have so high a respect for the faculty, that i cannot help it. "je reviens toujours à mes moutons." the art of living without money. 123 enough for the horse's stomach, because the animal must live by medicine, as well as his master. this short preface is necessary to shew that a good-looking young man has all to gain and nothing to lose by his horse; what lonely widow, or what waning miss can resist the graceful bow of a mounted cavalier? what even obdurate tavern-keeper can refuse tick to the youth whose horse is led up and down for hours before his door,-is it oman? no man, or fortune, (when he was to the fore?) certainly not, for fortune favors the bold; or, m'culloch? no; the beast (the horse be it understood,) is a powerful attraction to him, like a bank token, it is not money, but the hope, shade, or promise of it, so that a promising youth, and his palfrey together, are really two creditable articles; with what ease and familiarity a buck can leap off his horse, at the hour of dinner, at an hotel, or taverndoor; how commandingly he can speak to waiter, chamber-maid, ay and to his host also. g 2 124 ways and means; or, for example, "charles,* i say, is the major arrived? is my lord in the chair? is captain mac to be of our party? what soup have we to-day, oman? or, jessy, show me a room that i may wash my hands; i have just returned from a ride of twenty miles, and-be sure to order the waiter to ice the wine." irresistible! so mac, and tom, and jack, knew well, and calf-faced bobby tried it on for a certain time, until getting a little money, and being naturally of an avaricious turn, added to his submitting to be spouse-ridden, he paid off his old scores, and took to living frugally and decently. bob was one of those, who considered it all fair to get deeply into debt, ("drink deep, or taste not,” hem!) when the prospect of paying was distant, and involved in clouds of doubtfulness, but when the ready penny was at hand, he parted with it with all the tenderness of one who parts with a * charles douglas, a most accommodating waiter, and a good natured man, who might have saved money, but who died in the direst indigence. the art of living without money. 125 dear friend, and to do him justice, he never kept any other friend, not that he never sought for one, nor bore hard upon one; but that having used them like credit, in the tempora nubila of his life, he got rid of them at the cheapest rate: but this is a digression from my subject. i knew three blades who lived for a considerable time, on the strength of their horses, which were nearly as accomplished as themselves, being equal not only to advance, but to make others do the same, and also being as able to stand the charge as to retreat in good order. of these three delightful rakes, one has discharged his debts, since the period alluded to; one has paid the debt of nature, and his name shall be at rest; the third is still scored up, and remembered by all enquiring friends. they were the delight of the ladies, the dread of the jewellers, the army furnishers and tailors, (miss george,* and all,) the con* a man so called from the softness of his manners and speech, so much so, that he might have passed for a dove, were it not for the length of his bill. 126 ways and means; or, stant attendants and support of the tavernkeepers, and the ruin of the wine-merchants; the tavern-keepers having this decided advantage over them, that if the three cavaliers were tardy and uncertain in their payments, they were such magnets of attraction that their friends paid for them, either directly or indirectly-directly, by being proxy for one of the party; or indirectly, by the worthy landlord's scoring them doubly for fear of accident; and why not? this custom was taught them by their brethren in the south. one of this triumvirate used often to say, that any idiot could live well with money; but the art of living without it was what required high talent and ability. the essential qualities necessary for compassing this end, were personal advantages, courage, the art of pleasing, well-judged flattery, good-humour and conviviality; all of which these three characters possessed in a high degree, and their success was effected as follows:-a first strong impression was made, which drew rethe art of living without money. 127 spect from one side of the house, and partiality from the other: the man of the house or shop dared not to be impatient or importunate for his bill; the female (and it was essential that there should be one in the concern) thought two out of the three sweet fellows, and the third a fascinater by his wit, eloquence and adulation, so that her vote of credit and of prorogation was never withheld; and if she had a control over the cellar, warehouse, or pantry, its contents might be commanded. then again, the numerous acquaintances of the party might be offended in the person of either who should be either menaced or coerced. and whenever a feast was set on foot, the three male graces were necessarily asked; so that mine host could not lose on these occasions. fashion-setting and recommending were two other resources, added to goodnature in seeking credit, and eloquence in gaining time. lastly, when all failed-love! mighty love! 128 ways and means; or, was called in to their aid, not in the vulgar form of paddy to his washerwoman, “judy, honey, i can't pay the bill, but i'll marry you, if you like it;" but by more refined manœuvres of prose and verse, sighs and vows (which one of them called his wind bills and bonds), obligations which he was fond of bestowing on his friends, and were happily and dextrously addressed to some female connection, who had a secret, or avowed interest with the dunning or pursuing party. all this, however, was done in so spirited and lively a manner, that it was impossible to be out of temper with the acting person. when it is said that these blades could live without money, that statement is not to be taken exactly as it is made: it is only intended to shew how expensively and how well some people get on with a very little money, the major part of which goes in presents, in flash, and in keeping waiters, chambermaids, and servants regularly and handthe art of living without money. 129 somely feed, another justification of the french song"quand on sait aimer et plaire qu'a' ton besoin d'autre bien ?" the hermit in edinburgh. g 3 my married friends. "love has no gift so grateful as his wings, how fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem, full from the fount of joy's delicious springs, some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings." lord byron. my married friends. this is a dangerous doctrine to promulgate, and might lead to immoral consequences; yet there must be something of truth about it, else, why should cupid always be represented with wings, like a volage? it certainly does not give an idea of constancy, or stability; and, if we listen to all the lovetales, both ancient and modern, all agree that there is no fixing the mischievous urchin. if there were any certain means of effecting this purpose, one would naturally suppose that it was wedlock. in order, however, to ascertain the truth of this idea, i called over in my mind the long list of my married friends. 134 my married friends. prospero was a young man of warm feeling and of sanguine temperament; he married for love; he has a handsome partner and a numerous family. of all the men in the world, i should have expected him to be the happiest, whereas he has become a mere conjugal slave, the fag of an overpowering, overbearing wife, the drudge of a clamorous, over indulged offspring. "warm my shoes, prospy," will his soft spouse say, at one time; ❝ do go and see what is the matter in the nursery;" at another, "i am sure you are no judge of marketing,” will, one day, be the compliment at table. "my husband cannot possibly dine with you to-morrow," will be the sentence on the next occasion;-" my husband won't go without me," is the broad hint in one instance, a wink, and a reminding that it is time to rise from a pleasant party, are the sweets thrown into the hymeneal bowl, whenever poor prospero is growing warm and comfortable, and trying to flap the clipped wings of his former freedom. poor prospy has fastened the noose for himself, but the patient and non-resisting my married friends. 135 look which his features display, proves beyond a doubt, that if he had his liberty once more, he would never surrender it up again. mrs. prospero, however, passes for an excellent wife, an admirable mother and a masterly house-wife; but the question is, whether thrift alone can fill the heart, or economy alone make a man happy? alonso was a volage, a general lover, a prodigious favourite with the softer sex, a too generous fellow and an excellent companion; his better half prides herself upon having married a reformed rake; upon having fixed a voluptuous gay butterfly; upon having saved a giddy youth from ruin; but poor alonso does not represent the matter thus; his reformation has reduced his enjoyments; his being fixed has made him nearly a fixture in his lady's apartment, a fixture without free will, without a voice in domestic government; his saving has left him nothing to save; his retrenchments have created a void in his pocket which produces endless humiliations. "ask your mistress for money, you know i never keep 136 my married friends. the 99 purse," is his answer whenever an article is brought to the house for payment. "go to your mistress, john, and tell her to send me half-a-crown," is his meek request; if he wishes to go to a coffee-house, or to take a hackney coach, and, in general, john has to return to his master, with, "sir, my mistress wishes to know what you want it for," before the coin is parted with; nay, on one occasion, i recollect his deary's questioning him, before company, as to how he had spent the last sovereign which she had trusted him with; bien entendu, that the money was his own, but he had given up the command of it, together with all other power, dominion, and controul. then again, poor alonzo was forced to tell so many untruths, in order to get a day's pleasure, or a piece of gold into his pocket; "say that i am to dine with you to-morrow," whispered he to me, on observing the approach of his gentle sophia. this was in order to get out and to dine with a few old college companions. "sophy, love, i wish you would pay mr. so and so, a guinea my married friends. 137 which i owe him," was the degrading resource of another day, whilst madame pulled out the money and handed it over to him with a frown 1; doubtless he was brought to book as to the purposes to which it was applied; and, if he prevaricated, had a curtain lecture for his punishment. i well know that he has to beg for snuff money, and to pretend to lose at whist, to give charity with what money he can obtain from his female treasurer. docilis is wedded to a stately dame, who has honored him with her hand and nobility of alliance, in return for his handsome person; he was very proud of this match, when it had the charms of novelty, but pride will have a fall, and poor docilis is come down to nothing; her ladyship's arms are on the right of his escutcheon; she has preserved her livery, kindly to put him in mind that he has none of his own; she never lets his memory slumber on the subject of her brother being lord lieutenant of a county; of her grandfather having been one of the sixteen peers; of the part which her ancestors took in the 138 my married friends. 99 troubles of the year forty-five, nor of the importance of her name in the north. if docilis should inadvertently say, "call my carriage,' his proud dame will reply, "my carriage, if you please, mr. docilis; it was stipulated when we married that my establishment should be separate and distinct." then again, if the subdued commoner should inform an acquaintance that his horses cost him so much, the right honorable lady will remind him that her money paid for them; and if an humblelooking visitor be seen in the house, she will contemptuously observe, that it is one of docilis's relations. ernestus was a person of high mental acquirements, a profound scholar and a man of taste; any woman might be proud of such a husband, and might be happy with such a companion; abstraction from the world, and a single hearted disposition, kept ernestus free from the vices of ordinary men, and induced him to consider wedlock as a state of pure felicity. he married for a partner to unbend with, one who would sweeten the hours my married friends. 139 of rest from study, (and my friend lived by literary pursuits) one who would conduct all his worldly concerns, for which he was wholly unfit, one who might look up to him, and be instructed, moulded and formed by him, at least, whose mind might receive that advantage; he, therefore, did not look for fortune, but laboured in his study to provide for all her wants, nor was he unreasonable as to beauty; health, youth, and temper were all that he sought for, and his wife had a temper, yes, it was one of her own, the most varying, uncertain and contradictory in the world; yet it seemed to grow under the maturing flame of hymen, for it was imperceptible before marriage: his dear amanda, the subject both of his prose and verse (when courting) was never satisfied; never in the same mind two days together; the variety of her whims, fancies, amusements, and dresses became ruinous to the author; his toils were useless, his struggles were never crowned with success, whilst she, not only undervalued, but detested the very means of her support, and . 140 my married friends. despised the talent which raised him in the estimation of every one else. never was man more disappointed: if he called her into the library to read her a fine passage in a new production of his, "i have no time, dear," would be her language; "i have things of more importance to attend to; i am quite sick of books, and of authors; i must dress for mrs. newfangle's card party;" or "i shall be too late for the play; my milliner has just brought home a new bonnet, and i can't be bored with attending to your dry stuff." such was the encouragement which he got for his arduous task to support a dressy, pleasurable wife; such the meed of praise which he looked for, from one who might naturally be partial to his talents, whilst amanda was incessantly complaining of him to her neighbours and visitors. "where is your husband?" one would say. "oh! at the old story, stupifying himself over his musty books; up to his eyes in ink and nasty papers; fagging and poring over his lumbering manuscripts: who would marry a bookmy married friends. 141 worm? who would be plagued with an author?" would be her reply to such enquiry; and if asked how she liked his last work? if it was as successful as it deserved? or if she heard it quoted, or praised, she would flippantly tell the enquiring friend that she knew nothing about it; that she never read ernestus's works; that she was sick of the sight of books, and now never read any thing but a newspaper; that she heard of nothing but composition from morning until night, and abhorred the sight of pen, ink and paper, to which she added occasionally, by way of seasoning, the epithets of humdrum and old foguey, applied to her husband, who was scarcely forty. placidus married in the decline of life: he had better have declined it altogether; but he gave his hand and ample fortune to a young woman not only without fortune, but dependent and unhappy in her family. the mirth of her disposition, and the gratitude which he expected, held out a strong hope of happiness; he was, however, } 142 my married friends. repaid by being talked and laughed down whenever he attempted to raise his voice, or to use his authority. "not i, i'll not go to your stupid family parties; i can't be bored with your country walks; i positively will not come home before three in the morning.” these were the rebellions and risings up against age and superiority, rendered more pointed by unceasing remindings of his years and infirmities, and by horse-laughs at his expence. "my old husband," was sometimes the endearing word of the day. "what are you poking about? oh! he'll be an hour before he comes. law, how you creep!" with other equally liberal allusions, were daily bread to him, and, to fill up the measure of his felicity, his rib passed whole nights at balls, gave late and expensive parties at home, broke his rest, by thundering knocks when he had forgotten his plagues by sleep, and flirted away his peace of mind,— not to forget her comfortable habit of, ever and anon, ringing in his ears, the probability of her surviving him and indulging in plans, my married friends. 143 to be carried into execution when that period should arrive, "you shall be my second," passed, for a long time, as a good joke with placidus, but his deary repeated it so often and to so many, that he at last considered it as a wish: it might be a jest with her, but it was a grave subject to him. 66 one of my friends complains of having no family; another says he is to be pitied for having so large a one; one married acquaintance tells me that his bottle is his only comfort; another admires every other man's wife but his own. per contra: one wife murmurs at her husband's want of attention to her, whilst another sprightly dame is plagued to death by that of her spouse: one cannot stir an inch without him; he will never let me have any pleasure," are her accusations against him. "keep my husband a long while over the bottle, whilst i go out," said (in a whisper to me) the warm constitutioned engineer's wife, once so admired at edinburgh and at leith. "here, woman, tak' that pund note and buy bread with it," said benevolus to a poor object; "but dinna let 144 my married friends. the mistress (his wife) ken any thing about it." here a husband hides his expences from his wife; there a wife conceals her extravagance from her husband; the man of fashion blushes for his rustic partner's ignorance; the lettered lady looks down on her plain honest piece of lumber; a contention for dominion characterizes one couple; a constant combat for who shall wear the pantaloons makes another the subject for gossipping of their neighbours; one wife makes her husband a tool, and the next door-husband makes his wife a fool; the man fond of liquor has a water drinking parsimonious wife; the abstemious man's lady is an excellent bottle companion; what a pity that they should be thus paired! and are these the sympathies of wedded life, the sweets and comforts of that delightful state? the pulling together of partners; the"thought meeting thought, and will preventing will," described by the poet? are these the facilimy married friends. 145 ties afforded of stemming the rough tide of life? does the maitresse femme gain consequence from the lowering of her partner? does the active housewife require more credit for thrift, by endeavouring to stultify and make a cypher of her help-mate? will the rose of youth bloom more luxuriantly on the cheek of the wife whose husband's grey hairs are brought with sorrow to the grave? and are the pinchings and parings, the waterings and reducings, the checking of the generous flow of hospitality and charity, calculated to serve as fuel to keep alive the flame of affection and desire? not to mention those jealousies and tears, which are artfully practised to enslave and lay under contribution, by turns, the flouncings and poutings, the weepings and sighings which serve as a cloak to transgressions, or insure the payment of a bill. "domus et placens uxor," is the quotatation of an advertising doctor, but it strikes me, that if he can find the placens uxor without variation or alloy, he may also discover vol. iii. h 146 my married friends. the philosopher's stone, and be nearer to the longitude than either ditton or whiston, so celebrated in doctor swift's dirty line; this, however, is a subject which a solitary celebs can only know by what he has seen in others, nothing would be more pleasant, in this point, than to satisfy the doubts of the hermit in edinburgh. poor emily. н 2 something than beauty dearer should we look, or on the mind, or mind illumin'd face." poor emily. i had not seen her since her childhood, when sporting like a gamesome lamb on the braes of yarrow; she had been since that period at school, in the world (if edinburgh may be considered as such;) she had been admired, sought as a partner in the dance, flattered, disposed of in the gossiping circles, to two or three rich and respectable young men; she had been the pride of a father, now reposing in the field of honor, had been envied, courted, and, lastly, she was married. six moons had now passed over her lovely head since she became a bride, yet she had not completed her nineteenth year; in her 150 poor emily. features there could be no change, their attractiveness and regularity were the same, nor had the doubtful hue of her velvet cheek, where the rose and lily contended for dominion, altered in the least; the glossiness of her auburn tresses was still unimpaired, and the coral of her lips was second in lustre to none, but the fire of her eye seemed half quenched, the expression of her features had assumed a new character, a tinge of melancholy passed across her countenance like the obscuring cloud which sullies for a time the sunny lustre of the landscape, and all playfulness had fled from her for ever. had she been widowed, the language of her eyes would have been easily understood; but she was a young bride, married to him whom she loved alone, and her partner, (as she informed me) was every thing that her heart could wish. what then could bend the rose but to droop its dejected head and weigh it down with the dew-drop of affliction? poverty and the chilling blight of the worldly, the wrath of an offended, ambitious mother, and poor emily. 151 the frowns of the former friends of her dawning days; the hands which had once pressed her's in warmth and seeming tenderness, and which promised protection and support, were now shut in distance or in coldness, or raised to point derision, or to motion her to depart from them; the tongues which had been clothed in the accents of flattery and of praise, of admiration and lavish professions, had now sunk to the key of cruel pity, or to the uncharitable murmur of censure; the relatives who had sought her society now strove to unlink and alienate themselves from all kindred with her; her intimates disowned her acquaintance, and every door was closed at her approach. what was her crime? love. she had wedded the youth of her choice, without fortune or interest, highly educated and well connected, but without any certain income; and not having yet embraced any profession, he had vainly imagined that virtuous love might meet with its reward even in our nether world, and that the heart must be formed of 152 poor emily. adamant which could not exert its sympathies for emily. he had persuaded himself that he had nothing to do but to produce her captivating form and pleading beauties to his rich uncle, in order to ensure forgiveness and the means of living in at least moderate circumstances. he was deceived in the flattering picture which he had drawn of man. the stern old man, verging towards the clay from which he rose, became like the arid clod, unproductive; his scanty crop of benevolence was long reaped in, and nothing but the frost of winter remained in his bosom ; he refused to see what he inhumanly termed the beggars, adding that if she could live upon her beauty, she might for him starve, work, or perish. her mother, a church-going old lady, held her breach of duty as a mortal sin, and one which discharged her from all feeling of maternity towards her. "i dinna consider her any longer as my " (laying strong emphasis on the proud, selfish pronoun) "child," said she; " and he may enlist as a private soldier, and she may go to service if poor emily. 153 they like; two young idiots juist bent on each other's ruin." where did she find this doctrine? was it in her huge, splendid family bible? or in the swellings of arrogance and avarice of her mind? emily was poorly dressed, and i had seen her a star of elegance; trinkets and ornaments had been converted into food; nay, even her wardrobe had dwindled down to a poor display. her unfortunate, enamoured edward had knocked at every gate, had thought himself into a state of stupor, had applied to the former associates of his cloudless years, and found them all fail him in the hour of trial...." how weak it was of him," (they kindly observed) to throw himself away, who might have married anybody." yes, but did he adore anybody-or was anybody or every body, with a fortune, alike to him? they were now completely two outcasts, with all the virtues and perfections which might claim kindness at every hand. on my entering her humble apartment, she thus addressed me:-" this is truly kindh 3 154 poor emily. are you really come to see us in our hovel? i thought that you too had cast me off; or that my mother had poisoned you against me, and had forbidden you to countenance me: my poor edward will consider your visit as a high honor." "yes, by jove," exclaimed i, electrified by her appeal to all that dignifies nature, namely, feeling: "yes, a high honer indeed! the visit of an old man to the handsomest couple in scotland, and one of them known to him from her cradle, and most highly esteemed by him." this language was unexpected, and it drew tears from her: after a short pause, she explained to me the circumstances of their secret marriage, and all the upbraidings which she had to endure. a very few school companions had visited her for a very few weeks, but as she could not entertain them with an overflowing board and with the exterior of prosperity, they had all dropped off from her society; she shewed. me at the same time a volume of letters from her's and from her husband's relations and quondam friends, exhibiting a revolting picpoor emily 155 ture of the human mind in all the dirty, shallow, petty, and contemptible forms of refusals, excuses, puts off, and advice substituted for service rendered: two or three conveyed niggard relief, rendered odious from its form, from its ungraciousness, and from the pride which accompanied it; in one instance it was insulting, so much so, that her husband could do no less than to return the dross, the want of which was so severely felt. such heartless conduct is not national: it is a disgrace to all the most civilized countries. in old scotia, families in general cling together; but the higher the class the more is disinterested love a stranger, the more severe the resentment of parents towards children marrying to please themselves. the fate of such unfortunates seems to me unspeakably hard their situation forms an imperious claim on sensibility. the honest merchant who has failed in his industry is (not often enough) taken by the hand; he whose habitation has been a prey to the devouring ele ment is recommended to general notice; the : 156 poor emily. shipwrecked mariner draws succour from his affluent brother; yet not a bosom beats with the increased tide of sympathy, not a tear of compassion bedews the cheek of humanity; no wide palm of munificence scatters the generous gift on the couch of drooping, desponding love, nor nerves itself to herculean strength to grasp and draw towards it the languid lovely one fainting for want of hope, nor to push forward the manly sufferer, con-, cealing the tide of nature from her with whom he strove to stem the current of wretchedness, and to weather out the storm that lowers its threatenings above their heads. what greater, what more magnanimous act, could a monarch or a rich man perform, than to step in betwixt such a young, loving pair and ruin, and to pilot them to a harbour of ease and shelter? to provide for their wants, and to advance their interests, and direct their steps, in the uncertain journey of life?-to reconcile unkind relations to them, to weary, to importune, to exhort, to condemn them, until the purpose be effected? it does not become met poor emily. 157 to say what i did: my visit, however, was not an useless and worldly one. if this imperfect picture should meet the eye of a harsh parent, acting as has been seen above, it is to be hoped that it will not be read without attention and reflection. happy unions are so rare, that it is sad indeed when we have to complain with burns, and to inquire 6. why should fate sic pleasure take life's dearest bonds untwining?" i am not blind to what makes marriage à la mode the object of satire; but i am not dead to that feeling which would confer unmixed felicity on disinterested wedded love, although i am the solitary hermit in edinburgh. the retired officer. "i have done the state some service." othello. the retired officer. to othello's words opposite might be added these which follow66 but of that no more." 99 such is the lot of the victor, when a few years shall have mouldered away from the crumbling edifice of time: half pay, or no pay, a proud carriage and a broken constitution; these are the ordinary remains of the military man reduced or retired from the service. few are the advantages which he retains-many the obstacles to getting forward again in life. the officer and the gentleman are still his 162 the retired officer. characteristics; but his youth and bloom have fled; poverty is his portion, and he has no longer his mess-room, his servant to attend him; free quarters, bat and forage-money, but must mess and forage the best he can, upon short allowance; and in all the solitude of a pilgrim, there are few exceptions to this general rule, and they most frequently occur in the land of bannacks o' barley meal, because frugality is there at head-quarters; and a man may eke out his half-pay, if he has any, as well as on the continent, where it must grieve every honest heart to find so many hundreds of the defenders of britain, living merely for the advantage of drinking a little thin wine, and of concealing their narrow means from their friends and relations. the character before us is of a different stamp. he had been entrusted with command. he had risen, by long time and hard service, to the rank of lieutenant colonel; and, from having purchased some of the steps of his promotion, and dearly earned the others, he was allowed to sell out, which he did from the retired officer. 163 the honourable motive of paying his debts, and of giving five hundred pounds to a sister, destitute without his aid. when he discharged these duties, which principle and feeling imposed on him, he took out his commission, cast a melancholy glance upon it, locked it up in his drawer, and laying his hand on his trusty old friend (his sabre), rubbing and polishing the blade, and heaving a deep sigh, he hung it upon a nail, with his sash, in a festoon under it, his rusty spurs on each side, and a dutch-clock over the whole. here were the emblems of time and of trial, of by-gone life, and of reduced circumstances. his spurs would be useless to him for life; but his sabre might yet second his loyal arm, should the state require it, although his rank and avocation were gone. a goat-skin, which had covered his charger, served for a carpet in his single room; a field-bed, and four camp-stools, were all his furniture; a few maps, and an engraving of the king, were the only ornaments of his apartment; and as he could not afford to 164 the retired officer. give a suitable frame, he therefore ornamented it with the rosettes of his gorget, which being silver-gilt, he beat out into a drinking-cup, and was all the plate which he was master of; his epaulettes were melted into pewter utensils for his scanty table, and his scarlet-jacket was brushed, put by, and wore on his majesty's birth day. he was a man of social habits, and what is called good company; but he was not of that description of beings, who cannot endure solitude, and who, rather than be alone, submit to be a hangeron at a number of hospitable men's tables, or to the pillar of a tavern, or a coffee-house, where they tell long stories, and allow themselves to be treated by richer idlers than themselves. he would have preferred to have passed whole years, with a few books, and the cultivation of his small garden; but he was not put to the trial. as soon as his retreat was known, in a small village of the north, three brother officers of his, now placed on half-pay, immediately came down, and settled near him. his whole substance was reduced the retired officer. 165 to eighty pounds per annum, the produce of an annuity obtained by sinking the residue of the price of his commission; yet, with this he preserved a degree of dignity, which ten times the sum could not have bestowed on the owner. buttoned-up to the neck in his blue coat, or surtout, with a black stock surmounting it, he shouldered his cane, or carried his umbrella, like a sabre under his left arm, and marched forth from his quarters, as if he had been going to take the command of a brigade. no one could say that he owed them a shilling, or an obligation. a visit, or a glass of wine, for he would not accept of the invitations of his neighbours, but never failed to call on them, if they were in trouble, or sick, and gave to them his advice, consolation, or condolence, as the case might admit. in his morning walks, he was never alone, at least one or two of his comrades were always with him. they looked up to him, and treated him with the utmost respect; nor was there any thing of interest, servility or flattery in their conduct. they considered him still 166 the retired officer. as their colonel, and their brother, although they had nothing to gain by subordination, nothing to apprehend from the authority of a commanding officer. "once a colonel, always a colonel," is a common phrase; but it has not common sense in it. courtesy will continue the title in society, when the office exists no more; but this is a mere affair of words, an empty sound, and goes no further. in every other respect, the individual is a simple citizen,* a man withthere is no character which requires more good sense and decorum to fill than that of a retired officer; or of one who has sold out; the earlier the period of life, the more difficult the task, because an elderly man must have some experience, and have seen something of the world: now the more experience he has, and the more he has seen of the world, the more moderate, liberal, social, and modest he will be; but the young, half-taught man, has the greatest difficulty in passing from the soldier to the private gentleman; and he will most probably over, or under-play his part. if ill health, want of means, or the reduction of the army, has transferred him to a citizen's life, he will be dissatisfied with his situation; restless, uneasy, proud, contemptuous towards those, who have never the retired officer. 167 out weight, or influence; not rich enough to be an object to the designing, and (too often) a cypher guest at every one's table. but the case was very different with this colonel (he was never addressed otherwise); he held his rank in the affections of his companions; he kept his superiority from the free will of those who addressed him less from habit than from heart; he who had known the duty of obedience, could judge of the feeling in others; he who had practised moderation in power, must insure the esteem of those who had served under him; the soldier's friend, although bereft of his external trappings, and temporary rank, must hold a rank in remembrance, and a claim to the mutual service of worn the sash and gorget. he will be vain, voluptuous, and not unlikely give himself up to the bottle, or to idleness. if he has quitted the army from misconduct or disgust, he will be complaintive, unjust, and will abuse his former profession, over-acting the sportsman, the tradesman, or some new character; but the true retired officer is loyal, loves his king, regrets his colours, and is kind to his fellow-citizens. 168 the retired officer. those who have been the companions of his honors and his toils; he who has suffered hardships and privations will never be a petty tyrant, nor will he, who has shared the hottest of the fire with his brave men, pester them to death upon parade, nor be the mere martinet and disciplinarian of pipe-clay and heel ball, oil and emery, bright buttons, and minutely well-cut hair; had the colonel been in time of peace, such a feather-bed commander, he would not have found his old captain and two subalterns stick to him, and hold him in high estimation in the decline of life; they would have avoided and have hated him, whereas they were his daily visitors, to smoke a pipe with the colonel was their delight; they considered his one room and cabbage garden still as head-quarters; and, on the quarterly 25th, each of them had him in turn to an honest joint of meat and a proportionate quantity of whisky-toddy. thus passes his serene life. what a mortification, what a self-reproach it must be to the tyrant, when in office; to the unfeeling commanding the retired officer. 169 officer, or to him, who has shrunk from his duty, or done it negligently and disgracefully; to one who has never seen blood, except on the cat-o'-nine-tails, which his severity has applied to the back of a poor soldier; or to him, who has dressed and domineered upon the private's hard earnings,—what a burning shame it must be to him to meet the man whom he has oppressed, whether officer or private,—to behold, in his eyes, contempt and accusation; to observe the one refuse him a salute, and the other murmur out a malediction; to find himself contemptible in a blue or a black coat, and his abode, even if it were splendid, avoided by all those who have had the misfortune to have served with him: such a one's cabin might become his prison, if sickness confined him to it; no kind brother soldier would converse away the heavy hours with him; and here, the example of my friend, if not amusing, or instructive to the civilian who peruses it, may serve as a necessary lesson to the red and blue coat-flutterers of fashionable corps, to those whose importance dwells vol. iii. i 170 the retired officer. in highly laced crimson pantaloons, or whose scented pelisses have never been put out of shape by a passing bullet; to coffee-house cornets, and to the dandy of the parade, the drill of a procession, or to him who gives the lisped out words of command of a muster-day : whatever be their military rank, they will sink into nothing, whenever they part with it, and will discover, when too late, that the union of starch and stays with gunpowder and naked blades is as unnatural and ridiculous, as monstrous and incompatible as that of a butterfly and a lion, an eagle and a jack-daw. may this hint be of service to them; if not, they will have no apology to qualify it, for it is offered without present respect or any ceremony by the hermit in edinburgh. the road to notoriety. 1 2 11 >) by 19. "money makes the marc to go." { the road to notoriety. in england and its metropolis, the theatre is so extensive that we naturally expect to see a great variety in the drama of life, scenes are shifting, and different actions are incessantly passing before the eye; vicissitudes are so multiplied daily, that their effect is scarcely perceived. thousands are plunged from affluence into poverty, from fashion into contempt; whilst as many are elevated from obscurity into notoriety, and are thrust up from low stations into elevated situations, ample fortunes, and even purchased titles, and mercenary high connexions. from extravagance springs debt; from the emi174 the road to notoriety. nence of fashion issues envy; from giddiness of power, or pleasure, arise intoxication and folly, which undermine the uncertain fabric, and brings it soon headlong to the dust. wealth, without wisdom, is of dangerous and most uncertain tenure, for it is, of itself, a substance, "that knows no sure, no fix'd abiding place, but wand'ring loves from hand to hand to pass." on the other side of the scene, we behold cash accumulated, it matters not how, by fair, or foul means. trade, a legacy, a lucky hit, a lottery-ticket, or a rich wife; gaming, usury, secret-services, intrigues, quack medicines, vice, profligacy, fraud, juggling, monopoly, or embezzlement: the coin buys land, and influence draws acquaintances and connexions, ensures luxuries and consideration, places the possessor in the magistracy, and county influence compasses a borough, and then may aspire to any thing. but these wonderful accessions, and reverses of fortune, are not frequent in the the road to notoriety. 175 more sterile land of thistles; and the stage is so limited, that the performers have not scope enough to figure away to the best advantage. the law and trade are the most ordinary roads to money and promotion, but do not point to the notoriety of high life. a few mutes in the lower house, and here and there a provost, my lorded for a year, and beknighted, or be-baroneted afterwards, are the few splendid instances of fortune's favors to her children of the north; whilst, in the south, she runs full-gallop with her favorites. there are, however, now and then, a character or two, who, from the sale of sugar and rum, the sudden rise on the price of some article, a constitution injured in tropical climates, or good practice as an agent, steps up, on a sudden, to the top of fortune's ladder, which he kicks down instanter, looking contemptuously and highmindedly on his quondam companions and friends; the latter character (the doer or agent), may, if he be highly gifted with cunning, industry, and perseverance, do his extravagant landed clients, 176 the road to notoriety. 29 and step into their shoes, when they are barefooted and pennyless; for bargain buying never leads to a fortune without ruining one of the parties; who, besides the great pull against him of necessity and haste, has an overpowering force of "bussiness done,' law expences, parchments, papers, nay even of valuable advice, and attendance dearly paid for, to kick up the beam to his prejudice; thus time (his is not paid for) as well as tide carry him down the stream, and adieu to his prospects: he may change his views, but they will afford him no other change, not even of a a guinea. these are the most frequent alterations of worldly circumstances in the caledonian capital: trade aspires at the gold chain of office; "a little brief authority;" at getting sons on in the liberal professions and marrying daughters off to lairds, or gentletlemen; at a clumsy carriage and a clumsier high dressed wife, and stops there; seldom indeed does the shop aim at celebrity in fashion's ring, nor do the colonies ambition any thing beyond scrip, long annuities, consols, per cent, reduced navy and exchequer bills, yr86.97 61 871 the road to notoriety. 177 india and other bonds, a slice in the loan, set dinners, a town and country house; but old edina has produced and smiled upon some half dozen characters, who hit at a high mark and were too unlettered to have read the following line in horace"romani tollent equites peditesque chachinnum." 's one of them, a rum puncheon looking fellow, with a face like a sun-flower, travelled to his summit of fashion and eminence through the columns of newspapers; if he and his family went to a watering place, they were gazetted there in print, among the fashionable arrivals; if they had a score of persons to dinner, or a few score to a brag-party, it was mrs. evening party, concert, ball, or at home edged in amongst the right honourables and honourables, who adorned the pages of the morning post, or some other breakfast paper, or the man's name at full length was inserted after ministerial dinners and the opening of the town residences of the great. when peace permitted the exportation of this huge bale of 1 3 178 the road to notoriety. goods, its removal to the continent was announced with as much pomp as if some crowned head had sailed from our shores, and the return of wond'rous self, his lady, and amiable family, produced the congratulations of himself and said family; but he got posted thus-"we congratulate the numerous friends of so and so, or so, so, on the safe return, &c. after visiting (here followed the list of foreign parts); and here we will take leave of the would be important man and his scenic part, placed like an oversized fly on fortune's wheel, and exclaiming as it (the wheel) performs its rotation, "see what a dust we kick up.” titled idlers will always "" be found to visit such people, and keen scented flatterers will not be wanted to smell out a turtle, a haunch of venison, french cookery and french wines; nay, would even stick to the fat man, if he came down to— “rum punch and toddy o !” nay, who would be ungenteel enough to add the road to notoriety. 179 r, for rum, and p, for punch, and d, forthere we leave them. not to trouble our readers with many more purchasers of notoriety, who justify the verity of the proverb, we shall only name one. this gentleman, (since so people are called who have acres and a purse, and esquire, tacked without further inquiry to their name)—this gentleman first took up a quill as a very common man; some think that he wrote nonsense in the line (at so much each) of his profession; others that he wrote common-place stuff, at all events he only made the common profits, and lived for many years in the airest situation of a house, in chambers, honestly and obscurely; a relation died, and the man who lived by the page now found his way into the pages of the public prints. he got two names which double a man's consequence, although they may be as obscure as grub hobson, or any such other denomination. there is something we will allow very taking in two surnames, with the euphony of lordliness about them, such as montague mathew, berkley 180 the road to notoriety. craven, villiers somerset, (we will suppose) granley greville, percy windham, &c. &c. and such names are the most elegant furniture for a novel, and the most attractive signs hanging out to invite rich and romantic maidens to change their own names and conditions; but your budge, foreman, jobson, green, bar, jackson, bunt, white, and the like, are only sufferable in a testament or codicil, and ought never to be named in polished society. nevertheless, this honest man's family surnames were of this last class; yet they came forth, such as they were, with the esquire's arrival at his estate, with his hospitality, the loyal toasts at his dinner, the donations to the parish, with his departures from country for town, and his safe arrivals from, (the name of his place) not to his lodgings in the new town of edinburgh, but to a fashionable hotel in london. there he was lost (not missed) for awhile. we then had him ushered into company who had imposing names, and next noticed as a traveller in great britain. at length he got the road to notoriety. 181 over to the continent, unwillingly, unperceived, for he had kindly allowed the inns on both sides of the water to insert his christian name, family name, and name of adoption per will and testament at full length; but they passed unregarded with the other whites, and browns, and blacks, and greens, with the millers and bakers, the alcocks and hitchcocks, the hancocks, budges, fudges, cods, haddocks, herrings, and other queer persons and fishes which the cessation of hostilities have set afloat, and made travellers of within the last nine years. the two-named commoner had now a new part to take, or he might have been lost to the public for ever. he got mentioned on his grande tour-the world was advertised of his motions-performed and intended to be performed; he was read of in france-perceived in italy announced as about to visit the archipelago. it was hinted that he was a very curious, clever fellow, positively asserted that he actually had, or really intended to purchase and bring home a valuable collection --182 the road to notoriety. of rare matters from the parts which had the advantage of being visited by him; he next flirted and coquetted it with the expectations and regrets of the readers of morning papers; and mr. somebody something was absent from the tea-board for a long time ;-at length he came out again in small print, presented at a court or two, and travelling like some new star northward, taking and making observations; and lastly, being for one second, hand and glove with majesty; for mankind was gravely told that mr. had an audience of one of the modern and minor kings in the globe, who actually shook hands with him. the pope's toe, or rather the " sacra porpora" was nothing to this. what must mamma think, whose birth and appearance were so plebeian ? what must sister (a mantuamaker) feel upon such an occasion? what i will the students and clerks who formed the elite of his company in war-time, and during the days of his mediocrity say to all this. "mirabile dictu!" (let us breathe.) the writer of this account, who occasionthe road to notoriety. 183 ally visited jack or bill in his lofty story says nothing, for nothing surprises him. he remembers his having a chaotic companion place-book, into which he crammed every thing which he could collect from newspapers, magazines, hand-bills, and picked up from private conversations; this proved him to be a person of observation. he recollected his having sung imitations of funny songs, and his having once danced a hornpipe in his own parlour, which gives an idea of activity of body, as well as of mind; nor can he marvel at his getting noticed by the fashionable prints, when he considers that he must have paid fairly for such notice ; and when he bears in remembrance the nephew of a butcher, with not half this man of fortune's capabilities, being gifted with a second name, also, and making his debût from the scotch desk, as hunting with a duke, in the north of england, eminent on the peerage list. this insertion in the newspaper, was * it signifies not much to the reader which. 281 yta joto/ ot ɑ40я tht 184 the road to notoriety. om da on jugar odt ind ofw wollt the first printed, announcing of his first step on fume and fortune's ladder. 59 e fed the reflective enjoyments of the novice great men are like those of monarchs, without the alloy of truth, which is studiously kept from them by flatterers and retainers; and they are not aware of the sneers and harsh remarks of quality, and other illnatured readers of fashionable engagements, { arrivals, and transactions. "who the deuce,. is this man, with two vulgar names?” exclaimed one, who sees him thrust into the columns of a newspaper, whom nobody knows. "what mr. stiles cramp again?" says another, with a smile of contempt; "why we see this fellow every where in print, but no where in person." "oh! yes," observes, a lady of quality, "i recollect meeting a very mean, ugly looking man of that name, at the baths of lucca, a scotchman, who seemed as if he fell from the skies, for nobody knew who he was;" or probably, "let. me think who this man can be; oh! now i have it, it is that over-dressed, officious little the road to notoriety. 185 fellow, who had the impudence to ask me to dance with him, at the banker's ball, at paris;" or, "the everlasting so and so who one is tired of meeting at all the watering places." these are the disadvantages of notoriety; but they are generally hidden from those to whose share they fall. far be it from the mind of humanity to despise or ridicule, to envy or obstruct an honest man arrived at riches by honourable, industrious means, or who has inherited what either his birth-right or merit may entitle him to. such a one may enjoy every comfort in life, without soaring above modesty, or entering fashion's lists, as the rival of the if such a one makes use of great and gay. his affluence, for the benefit of mankind; if he becomes the patron of the arts and sciences, the favourite of his neighbours, and the father of the poor, his notoriety will be praise-worthy; his name will be ennobled by good actions, and recorded in the hearts and memories of those who have benefited by him; but when the mushroom growth of a 186 the road to notoriety. lucky hour exalts itself merely by intrusion into notice; when the wealthy fool pays for puffs and paragraphs, lauding himself for great dinners, houses, carriages, or some other similar article: when the eye is arrested whilst perusing the list of fashion, and surprised by a name which announces nothing, and nobody, or nothing better than mr. the commoner, taking a journey, or his dinner, it is natural to lay down the paper with disgust, and to wonder how folks can thus forget themselves; at least, such has ever been the feeling of the hermit in edinburgh. the applicant. . "blow, blow thou winter's wind, thou art not so unkind as man's ingratitude." shakspeare. ix sous lɛsonoo tɔidvi elanggan phuet, alla mort the applicant. i set my face against all tyranny and oppression, pride, haughtiness, and want of feeling. when these vices are shown undisguised, they are hideous to every beholder. man shrinks from their deformity, and dreads their baneful effects; so it is with that black and base quality ingratitude; but, unfortunately for the dupes of proud and insensible wretches, who lord it over the meek and suffering part of mankind, these abominable defects are hidden under false appearances, escape detection and execration from the ermined mantle of power which covers them, and from the gaudy trappings which conceal their 190 the applicant. deformity. pride and ingratitude are of two kinds, direct and indirect. the man who dares not to be directly disdainful, can wound by indirect tyranny; and he who professes not to forget benefits bestowed, may indirectly rob. another of his time, his talent, his health, and peace of mind, in lieu of which, he gives empty promises, without an idea of ever performing them; holds out delusive hope, which leads on the victim, until patience is worn out, and despair succeeds to agonizing uncertainty. there are titled, and other villains, who joy in the fading cheek of the expecting wretch, who feast upon the disappointments of a throng of misled creatures, looking up to their interest, their affluence, or their power, no share of which they have the smallest idea of imparting to suffering worth, or to their fellow man in distress. i could smite to the earth certain mighty ones, whose halls are filled with attending acquaintances, expecting favors which they never mean to bestow, and whose tables are covered with applications, the applicant. 191 growing out of their false promises, expressions of kindness, or proceeding from the mistaken idea which has been formed of these outwardly kind and courtly beings, whose hearts are rotten to the core. it costs nothing to promise, as little to raise the expectation of the frank and unsuspecting man. it is a common, although a demoniac practise, to give the world to understand that when title, fortune, influence, and high situation fall to the share of the man looked up to. he will think of such a friend, serve such a one, provide for a poor companion, recompense him whose society has charmed, and whose time and purse may have been both sacrificed, or, at least, impaired by associating with the profligate heir to a fortune, the worthless next of kin to him, to a title, or the converted blockhead, whose family interest gains him honors, emoluments, and ascendancy over humbler and better men. how many amiable members of society, persons of high talent, scholars, amusing guests, and obliging acquaintances, are or 192 the applicant. daily sacrificed from being attached to such contemptible characters. they fallaciously conclude, that the festive hours spent with these dissipated revellers, will be recollected when fortune smiles, and that when their nominal friends have it in their power, they will not allow them to taste adversity. it is far otherwise the monsters are either wholly indifferent to their fate, or secretly exult in the distance which worldly prosperity has placed between them, and triumph over their sufferings, whilst their gates and bosoms are alike closed against them, and their letters are left unanswered, and are treated with contempt. the more to elucidate this statement, i shall give a short account of an applicant, who had the misfortune to get acquainted with lord polyphrage, in scotland, at a time when he was only looking up to a coronet, and attempted to be all things to all; when his dissipated company was sought, because he was considered as a good fellow; and when the barrenness of his resourceless brain was supplied by the talents and social qualities the applicant. 193 of those who formed his circle, his golden dream being realized, those friends who had been familiar with him depended on his exertions, and counted on his professed kindness. he let them fall off one by one, and left them to regret ever having known him. of this number was frank freelove, a most entertaining fellow, with a store of wit, kind heart, and cheerful temper. i have seen this same frank voted to the chair, by a numerous meeting of choice spirits. i have marked the noble dunce approve the choice, and join in electing him. i have observed the favourite of a circle of gay fellows, nay, even of scholars and men of talent, hung on to the arm of this body, without heart or mind; and i have marked the ignorant and inexperienced measure him from top to toe, with looks of envy. they conceived that when the sun of power warmed the insect into growth and magnitude, the man would rise with him. patronage was supposed to be so potent, and d so kindly vol. iii. k 194 the applicant. directed, that the man of merit would expand under the ray of favor, and would grow into prospering independence; when the contrary occurred, the vacant stare of surprise was reflected by the more vacant look of the right honourable, wondering at the consummation of all his wishes and seeming to marvel at his being what he was. his papa was a simpleton, his uncle an octogenaire. his mamma. like -(we war not on women), a castaway; so that his chance of succession was (to use the vulgar tongue) duberous. polyphrase had nothing distinguished in his appearance; so that he was more duke humphrey than lord anything; but one sly idea introduced itself into his cranium ; namely, that distance, and inaccessibility would give consequence to him; and he had learned one lesson of his profligate relation, namely, that when a man is determined never to do a kind, or generous act, he must intrench himself in cold and distant civility; but the heir of inheritance even beat the cold original, the applicant. 195 by having a legion of porters and livery-men, of lying-valets, and bullying-blackguards, to fence him round with insolence, and so preserve him from remonstrance, or apprehension. frank freelove trusted too much to appearances; and, when his quondam friend came to england, he considered that the star of promise had risen upon him. the great man, like his brain, was impenetrable. no remembrances ever enlightened the dark page of memory. what has a selfish man to remember except self? but a weak man cannot be alone; so that he judiciously chose a new set and order of beings, preferring mummers, caperers, theatricals, empyrics, conjurers, and female impures, to gentlemen with genius and feeling, who might eclipse (mentally at least) the animated stature of bronze and gilded matter, which blind fortune had set upon a pillar, and before whom the unhallowed incense of gross flattery was daily burned, and further clouded the cloudy. frank freelove's spirit and k 2 196 the applicant. heart were nearly broken by daily attendance at the lord's door, and by incessant application to this living rock; and, it is supposed, that his failure was a further triumph to the ingrate. a good man would scarcely believe that the heart-consumings of the dupes of grandeur are matters of delight to the tumified animal, who contemplates them without a visitation of delicacy or sympathy, just as the ruin of the modest, mildly claiming creditor is the sport of the privileged plunderer, who thrives and fattens on his labours. this last class is more to be pitied than the first. necessity may have led them into crediting discreditable proud ones; but the companion of stupid consequence, must have been any thing but circumspect; for out of nothing, nothing can come, and he who was a mere counterfeit in early youth, and expectancy, can never be supposed to improve in head or heart, in riches and in riper years. sensible men will lose their time with such puppets, but the crime carries the punishment with it; the applicant. 197 frank freelove is now in indigence; with companions of another cast, it had been otherwise with him; however, to heap reproach on suffering, has never been the habit of the hermit in edinburgh. come to nothing; or, joey gallon. "it's pride that puts down half the town, so tak your auld cloak about ye.."-scot's ballad. come to nothing; or, joey gallon. what is pride? is a question involving much perplexity. "it is the departure from simplicity, modesty, and truth," would very naturally answer one acquainted with mankind: true, but it is so multiform that one knows not how to distinguish it. gilded ambition is pride in capital letters; avarice has a number of shapes, yet is pride; selfconceit may be of the body, or the mind; of dress or address; emulation is the proud race of fools; eccentricity is a species of madness, and may as often be detected through the fissures and loop-holes of raggedness, as under the robe and mantle, the civic k 3 202 come to nothing; or, cloak, or a cloak for our sins:-one english lord's pride consists in a beard like a jew of bad colour, the manners of a coachman, the check-shirt and dress of a common sailor, the breeding of a blackguard, without the dexterity of either of them; another prides himself upon his success in vice; a third upon being the king of his company; a fourth on being anything but what he is. now every species of pride is likely to bring a man to nothing, and so it was with joey, whom we call gallon; because it was his habit to drink that quantity in an incredibly short period of time, and to sip out the rest of his dose, until the close of his eyelids, which scorned every influence of, or connexion with, the operations of the sun, or any other planet. whenever joey was in the horizon of his course, or the total darkness of the mind, neither venus nor mars, nor any other star were perceptible objects to him. with the spirit of the time he sunk, and he rose, in the same manner. joey gallon. 203 a great neglect of his person was one of joey's eccentricities; a constant hammering at puny wit, in the form of puns was another; and it might justly be observed of him, that if he now and then made a dead hit, when dead drunk, he never made a clean hit, whether drunk or sober. this rage for punning is not general amongst the norlanders. it ill accords with the gravity of their habits. smart thing is not sandy's fort; yet a few edinburgh wits were strongly infected with this disease, of which number was the great henry erskine, whose professional and other abilities will long live in the remembrance of the many who esteemed and admired him. joey's wit, however, was never above par, and generally had more for its object to make his bottle-companions laugh, than to acquire the reputation of a bright man; in this he succeeded, for his friends were generally laughing with him, or at him. the first was his lot, when he kept a hospitable house and table, not a hundred miles from george's204 come to nothing; or, square, and when his open cash account was as useful to his friends as to himself, and there were plenty of guests to feed joey's vanity, as long as he fed their hunger; but the latter occurred when he ceased (from compulsion) to draw bills and corks in their favor; for then they ceased to report his puns, jokes, and comical stories; and they, only then, discovered that honest joe was a drunkard, a man without order, and his own enemy. it may now be but right to inform the reader, that mr. gallon was a professional man, and that the law was what he both professed and practised, and that his practice brought him in a very handsome annual revenue, which, if taken care of, might have made him comfortable in the decline of life. his abilities, as a lawyer, were above mediocrity, and no man is better acquainted with scotch law; but the spirit of the laws was his favorite study, and so extensive was his practice in this way, that when the spirit was strongest, the flesh was weak indeed. joey gallon. 205 in joey's flourishing time, he boasted of one duke, one marquiss, and about a score of lords and baronets, as his acquaintance, and his dry humour was welcome at their tables, where he was a laughter-moving companion. now, as he was very fond of hearing himself talk, he never suspected that change of circumstances would bring with it a change of countenance; nevertheless, this happened; and as soon as his wine-merchant, and other tradesmen, ceased to credit his merry tales, it was discovered that his love of liquor, and shabby appearance, excluded him from the mansions of the great, and that his old friend, the whiskey-bottle, was his only resource; so that he did not, as heretofore, wait for the usual time for intoxication, but extinguished his own lights as early as possible, considering that as others made light of him, he had no need to be over-nice himself. unfortunately he had, by this time, committed matrimony, and by daily committing himself, he involved a very deserving woman in his ruin and degradation. at length, a sus206 come to nothing; or, : picion of debt brought joey down to the sanctuary of holyrood-house, and there, those whom he had most amused and benefited, left him to solitude, and to his fate there he drank out his best faculties, and would have pined in want and oblivion, if a not quite extinguished ray of intellect had not pointed out to him the road to england, and suggested the possibility of his getting bread there, by explaining the laws and usages of his own courts of justice. it is almost incredible that such a remnant of a man should be consulted on knotty points, and that he should, through the haze of liquor, snuff, and uncleanliness, have been able to give clear and important opinions; yet, so it was, and probably is-nay, but for the sinking properties of his deep and continued potations, he might yet rise again to notice and independence. whilst he was a resident in the environs of holyrood-house, a laughable story is told of his having nonsuited a tailor, by sallying forth at night, and trying on black dittoes, joey gallon. 207 • which fitted him so well, that he walked them off, with the tailor's shop boy at his heels, hugging his ( mr. gallon's) bad habits under his arm, which (on crossing the gutter which separates the creditor from the debtor), were his only security for his account. small as this dirty aqueduct is, yet the stream of lethe is not more powerful in its operations. the oblivion of "i promise to pay," is never failing to those who cross this wonderful piece of water, which is stagnant, and yet has a running effect at the same time. no doubt but, after practising this merry hoax, joey satisfied the tailor; for it is but justice to say, that he was a man of honest principles, and one "more sinned against than sinning." how the lost joey may be faring at this present writing is uncertain. when last he was met, his wardrobe seemed not to be of the best description, and he was covered with snuff, his eye filmy and dull, and he appeared to consider the tonsor's occupation as unnecessary. he was no barefaced impostor, but just as slovenly as ever. 208 come to nothing; or, he had fixed his habitation in the vicinity of the banco regis, whether to keep it in view, or not, is best known to himself. if that kind of pride with which he started in life, namely, the being a great man's jester, a dissipated noble's table friend, the bottle-holder (for he never liked to part with it), of a hard-goer, and the putter off of bad puns, betrayed him into excess and difficulties; a want of pride as to dress, delicacy, and sobriety, is not less injurious to him in premature age and debility. that the scotch are, as a nation, sober, frugal, and prudent, is incontestible; but when once they outstep the bounds of discretion, they are self-devoted martyrs to the vice of intemperance. of this. number, young honeycomb, whose family figured in the law in acquired title, and in a silent seat in parliament, was a melancholy example. this youth, after annihilating his circumscribed intellect, gave himself up to liquor; married but here we owe respecting the dead, to the living silence -suffice it to say, that the victim fell in the season of youth, and yet survived his respectjoey gallon. 209 ability, his first situation in society, and his reputation. of this stamp, too, was the son of a colonel in the army, bred to the bar, heir to a fine estate, and of superior appearance and education; yet who passed through all the degrading and disgusting vicissitudes of life; was a spectre of disease, inlisted repeatedly as a private soldier, next became a beggar, and subsisted for years on charity. these are aweful examples of drunkenness, and far below the level to which poor joey has reduced himself. the first could be tolerated in no decent society, the latter has only put himself out, and possesses the power, although not the will of returning to his place, amongst rational beings. should that ever occur, it will be a rare example; but one which will very much astonish and delight the hermit in edinburgh. 102632 the king's visit to edinburgh. "edina! scotia's darling seat, all hail thy palaces and tow'rs, where once beneath a monarch's feet, sat legislation's sovereign pow'rs! o'er him thy arms extend, for britain's sake defend our father, prince, and friend, god save the king." sheridan's addition to the national anthem. the king's visit to edinburgh. wherever george the fourth may journey, by sea, or land: whether to the warm bosom of green erin, to the stern climate where grows the purple heather, "where the blue bell and gowan lurk lonely unseen;" to the gay soil of france, or to his heavy hanoverian dominions, this prayer, on my part, will follow him; i am a scot, and i hope and believe that the same sentiments filled every bosom on our monarch's arrival in the guid toune; but sandy has a little wintry 214 the king's visit to edinburgh. frost about his heart, which takes time to warm, and he has a stiffness of limb and muscle, which produces an awkward unpliability of neck and knee: not that he is chary in bendings and genuflexions for his interest, but that he is not over nimble, or graceful in performing them, and he was dazzled and taken by surprise on this eventful occasion: one which was calculated to be enrolled in the brightest characters amongst the chronicled fasti (or days of rejoicing) of scotland. his majesty's visit to old holyrood, had a powerful effect; could the ancient walls have spoken, they must have exulted in the royal presence ; it was long since they had been honoured by a regal inmate; the bankrupt, and the broken heart; the exile and fugitive had tenanted the gothic palace's halls for a great lapse of time; what delight then must have risen in the bosoms of the young; what strange associations must have rushed upon the minds of the old! the sanctuary and refuge of the unfortunate, from the prince to the private gentleman, or trader, was now become the the king's visit to edinburgh, 215 temporary home of an amiable reigning sovereign; the roses were here blended in suavity of union; those roses, entwined with the thistle, shamrock, and oak, were now become a column of strength and security; the jubilee year had arrived, and there could be but one cause and one feeling; but what a fuss and pucker there was in adjusting kilts or philabegs, in reviving dormant dignity, in brushing up of beavers, and settling petticoats; in attempting at revived politesse, and in practising ease and courtliness. what constraint in reining in the organ of speech, and in aping the euphony of our brethren of the south! national costume was a prime object on this occasion, and inundated the town with the knights of the thimble, now become men milliners-many a jest and jeer came from sly donald, on beholding st. james's highlanders, and such city mountaineers as sir billy blubberchaps, the fidus achates of the hero of modern romance; for the descendants of the scuthai, scythians, or scoti, were now all knights of romance, and fancied 216 the king's visit to edinburgh. themselves into the days of chivalry, the jest was promoted by the great personage, who had constant cause of mirth in contemplating the grotesque appearance of this aldermanic attendant, who was pretty nearly as much at home in his gaelic trappings as a sick turtle in a wash-hand basin, or an oyster crossed in love on terra firma, and who still shines caricature as nearly to the life, as the print-seller can make him without falling into the clutches of that praise-worthy body, the society for the suppression of vice; his salutations in character to the lord provost, previous to the civic feast, will never be forgotten! it could not be supposed that this scene of gorgeous festivity and splendid pageantry could pass without contests and strifes, where so many strivings and emulations, such vieings and exertions existed, nor did it pass without disputes and bickerings, contests and lawsuits; but they were not of the complexion of the olden times the dirk and broadsword, the battle-axe and highland were not appealed to, but the courts of justice the king's visit to edinburgh. 217 instead of the field of fight became the place of dispute; and instead of half a score of clansmen, with a chieftain or two at their head, becoming food for the worms, this important cause was kept alive by the gentry of the long robe, and was food for them and for all their hungry black-coated followers and assistants. this mighty matter was no other than a dispute between two noted chieftains, then become rivals, and ever since at loggerheads on account of one of them, very presumptuously and incautiously displaying one hair, or smeller more in the rampant lion's beard, on his family banner, than the other; this celebrated cause is still pending, and promises a further harvest to the wordy mouth-pieces of justice, and to the minor limbs* of the law, by limbs of the law, no inurbane personality is intended towards johnny crookedleg, whose name rhymes with dark; justice is painted blind, fortune is blind, and love is blind; then why may not justice, or fame, or fortune be lame? we have a great poet who is lame in person, but not in intellect; the same remark applies to johny, but the vol. iii. l 218 the king's visit to edinburgh. attached to that great body, and looking up to the head of it. one party, after written condescendances of proof, statements supported by argument, and assumptions on either side; after joinders and rejoinders, long petitions and reclaiming petitions, together with replies and duplies, was found by the ordinary wig (the wisdom of which is great) in the outer-house, entitled to wear the addi tional or supernumerary hair in the beard, or crinose fringe of his lion, either as whisker, or smeller, exhibited on his coat of arms; but the other party made a hair-breadth escape, term limb is descriptive of a dependant on the body of the law, a remote branch of the trunk, a crooked shoot from the lofty tree, a thing which if lopped off, would not be missed, but, on the contrary, would render the tree more stately; and becoming of itself clearer and less encumbered, more luminous and obvious, easier perceived and understood, an object of terror to the guilty, of shade and protection to the oppressed; the term limb, in scotland, is one of reproach; it may indicate deformity, or contemptuous comparison; in short, it may be a limb of the law, or a limb of the devil. the king's visit to edinburgh. 219 and carried his cause into the inner-house where, after mature deliberation, weighty argument of counsel, learned in law, before the sixteen wigs, the majority reversed the decision!! but the adverse party, not paying due respect to the decision of the sixteen fullbottomed wigs, nor considering them as infal lible, listened to the advice of jemmy giblets, already notorious and far-famed, (and fame, according to the celebrated french author, has two trumpets, applied to the obverse and reverse) who counselled him to appeal to the house of lords, to the "rerum dominos gentemque tagatam;" now jemmy giblets was for killing two dogs with one stone, (he would kill any thing which his sledge-hammer fist, stone head, or stone heart could master) and, as he left no stone unturned where his client's interests and his own were combined, he beheld, in perspective, the cause of litigar tion going on, whilst he might travel, on his employer's purse, to pay his respects to his old party; (friends cannot belong to the man who is without any friendship or feeling except l 2 220 the king's visit to edinburgh. · • that of the palm contracting on the pressure of coin, or of the clenched shoulder-of-mutton fist, assaulting the defenceless.) by his party is meant the whigs, to whom he clung as vermin may to hair either real or artificial, and from which (the party) he expected to stamp a higher character, than what he at present is considered to possess; by stamps as productive of weight added to his high and exclusive opinion of himself, in the brief reign of the talents, a promise (he says) was positively made to him, and he will not be backward in claiming the pledge, if ever an opportunity should occur: talents of gold and silver are the objects of his idolatry, all other talents are only known to him by name, unless the blowing the coals of discord and party fury be considered as such, and even in that event the spark and the blower must be very different, the one having some brilliancy and fire in it, the other being a mere wind machine, coarse and ill-fashioned in appearance, and only fit for kitchen furniture, or a blacksmith's forge; but, to return to the clanthe king's visit to edinburgh. 221 nish quarrel; how happy it was that the elements of highlanders should be so changed, so sublimated, since the days of yore, since the feudal times, when a chieftain's opinion was an oracle, his fiat a law; but this subject is too grand to treat in common with such materials as jemmy giblets, and as unworthy of being mixed up with him, as venison and turtle is to figure on the same board with tripe and garbage, cat's meat and dog's meat; it shall therefore have its separate attention from the hermit in edinburgh. v 1 the king's visit. (in continuation.) 11 .t, ཟླ་ "il fut un tems "what mighty contests rise from trivial things!" the king's visit. (in continuation.) there was a time, in the annals of feodality, when such a dispute would not have been a wordy one, much less the subject of written papers, and of legal proceedings; the andrea ferrara would have leaped out of its sheath; spear and buckler would have met each other; broken crania would have evinced the organ of destructiveness, and blood would have flowed, instead of the black tide of ink, to settle the matter of contention; but highland habits are on the decline, and the dominion of the law narrows the power of the warl 3 226 the king's visit. like people, so that, were it not for the thrilling descriptions of sir walter"the helmet and hawberk of glittering mail” would be a dead letter, and entirely forgotten. in those days, when the power of life and death was vested in the chief over his vassals, when donald was summoned, by his faithful wife, to come out of his hiding-place to be hanged, and no to anger the laird by his disobedience, which might be the ruin of his familie, the courts of justice would not have been troubled with the feuds and broils of clans, the heads of which (and very hot heads too) would have taken the law in their own hands, as seems evident, from a number of family mottoes:the "furth fortune, and fill the fetters" of the murrays, indicating the command to their followers, to make predatory excursions, and to bring in prisoners; the "touch not the cat but a glove" the king's visit. aan of the m'intoshes, warning the unwary no to anger the laird-not to come within his claws but (without) a glove, id est, the cat and the laird; with many emblems and devices to the same purpose, supported by lions, wild cats, bears, savages, &c. these are purely alpine or highland, whilst the bearings and quarterings of other families have crusadical allusions, such as pilgrim's shells, the double cross of the m'donnels, the robertson's hand supporting the crown, &c. &c. but we repeat it again,—the rock and mountain spirit is on the decline; and but for the minstrel and the pageantry occasioned by royal presence, might dwindle into nothing. there is, it is true, one chieftain who holds such authority over his vassals, that he has nothing to do but to frown upon an enemy, or to point him out with his finger, and he is certain to be devoted to severe chastisement, to pounding and pummelling, to mauling and contusion; and whenever this chief considers his man beneath the trouble of personal attack, he has a thousand proxies ready to do the dirty work for him. 228 the king's visit. however, so degenerate is the present race, so altered the times, that the laird's pocket was made to bleed as copiously as the nose and other features of the victim of a not far distant instance of highland revenge. there remains yet a dull peer and gloomy chief (in one and the same person), who fancies himself into something regal, and signs papers "given at our palace of ;" and another overgrown head of a clan, who talks of his people (whom he takes all possible means of recruiting and increasing,) and of his castle, of his fore-bearers, and his purial-place, of the red scar, and the grey cairn, the border and the pass, with all the importance of primitive ages; but, alas! the one is laughed at, and the other is not listened to; and if matters go on this way much longer, we shall only see genuine highland costume and manners on the stage and in novels, except when the idea is awakened by the loud bagpipe, or the merry strathspey, but which will sink again into oblivion, and be as little attended to as the boastings of the 1 the king's visit. 229 sister kingdom, and their stories of a brian boru, the knights of the red branch, the chieftain of the golden shields, and all the knight-errantry feats of the os and the macs, the indigenous monarchs and petty princes of the green isle, richly embroidered with superstitions and priestcrafts, with domestic battles and pilgrimages to the holy land. and here it is but justice to say that these animating themes might repose in the sleep of the grave, and be forgotten with the wrongs of the soil, were it not for the hibernian bard, moore, whose delicate and warm finger so gracefully, so warmly, and impressively, has awakened the mute harp of his country, and whose feeling has revived that plaintive harmony so characteristic, so natural to his coun-try. albyn, however, seems to gain the day in fashion, and in popularity, from various existing circumstances; the cause, however, certainly is not that a more masterly hand is exerted in her favour. but i am straying from my subject, and must return to and conclude it. 230 the king's visit. the degeneracy of a race is caused by its mingling with the pleasurable, the vain, and effeminate-just as the vitiation of a profession depends, in great measure, on the worthlessness and duplicity which it meets with in the course of its practice. the hordes of the north, which formerly overran and conquered the southern states, have long since ceased to be dreaded exclusively: they only tell in the battle-field, when mixed up with their brethren of the east, west, and south. so it is with the highlander, now aggregated with his lowland neighbours; yet, however interwoven with primitive ruggedness, the highlander and his propensities will always find a place in my affections: if i blame his irascibility and pride, i find generosity and hospitality by their side, as redeeming virtues : if i mark his distant and scowling brow, i recollect his causes for suspicion, and how often he has been the victim, for trusting to the artful and designing. but the daylight is declining, and i must conclude. the ill-natured critic will, probably, be so vastly clever as to discover the king's visit. 231 that i have repeated this subject, and have already touched on his majesty's visit to scotland. i thank him for his trouble-i have done so repetition is the failing of age; but there are things of which it may be said (individually) 66 decies repetita placebit." so says old horace, so also may say the old hermit in edinburgh. recapitulation. "sunt delicta tamen, quibus ignovisse velimus."—horat. .:thus fore and aft having abused them if all for my fancy and gig, any one was to ill-use them, -me, but i'd tickle his wig."-song by dibdin. recapitulation. ere i close these brief and imperfect sketches, drawn from real original matter, it behoves me to say a few words. in the first place, i have written them in perfect good temper with all mankind, in peace and charity with friend or foe, (if such i shall have made by telling the truth.) those who have visited edinburgh will have no hesitation in, allowing it many local and national beauties; to those who have not visited it, these pages will give him or her some idea of the place, of the country, and of the scotch character; they will see all of them impartially described, and they will, at the same time, be aware of 236 recapitulation. the extensive improvement in a city which is not the richest in the three kingdoms, but which, from a spirit of laudable emulation and industry, has effected very much in the last few years, and this spirit of exertion has gone forth to the country at large, and will accomplish many desirable objects with the aid of a few years more of peace. & cold as the climate of scotland is, it has brought forth its due proportion of talent, just as the laborious northern gardener will effect by diligence and toil, what a warmer climate could scarcely produce. the arts, the sciences, literature, arms, and commerce, have had to boast of many scotch names standing at the head of their list of the celebrated and well-deserving; whilst facts can prove that the scale is rising in their favour in these modern times, when compared to the years which are gone by. it is still in the memory of many old people that there was a time when an edinburgher rode up to london as the safest mode of tra velling, when the time taken for such as· " recapitulation. 237 journey was frightful: when it was considered as prudent for a man to make his will previous to his undertaking this herculean enterprize. in the present day, a trip to paris and back again is performed in considerably less time. the same ancients can recollect the building of the two bridges, the want of which must have greatly disfigured the city in those days, the intercourse with edinburgh was nearly as limited from the south to the north, as from the north to the south, so few persons frequented the caledonian capital from mere curiosity or for pleasure; at present it is an object of high interest, not only to the english, but also to foreigners; the lovers of literature, of romance, and of the picturesque, have great delight in examining the peculiarities of edinburgh; and in proceeding to the lakes and to the other parts of the country abounding in romantic scenery, and owing high celebrity to the pens of the scottish bards and other native authors; nor are these scenes of romance, these enchanted or fairy • * 238 recapitulation. " haunts, confined to the lakes, the cataracts, and to the highlands :-lowland scotland is full of them; nay, even the very environs of the city present them to our view, whilst others are to be found within half a day's journey from the northern metropolis. roslin castle, for instance, melrose abbey, the pease bridge, loch lomond, and the falls of the clyde, all of which are beautiful objects to a sentimental, reflective, and tasteful mind. then, again, the whole of the country immediately round edinburgh, the sea prospect, the pentlands, the views from arthur's seat and elsewhere, together with the noble mansions and country seatsas dalkeith palace, new battle abbey, duddingston house, and many other stately edifices. amongst the improvements which blend comfort with good appearance, are the progress made and making in the college, the new superb approach to the city, which formerly was through the vilest and most disgusting part of the town, and the very gently recapitulation. 289 proceeding cleanliness of certain parts of the town, together with the getting rid of customs the most abominable. there are no carriers of a vehicle called "wha wants me?" nor is the danger so great as of yore to the uncautious stranger venturing through a wynd, or a close, of having an epaulette on his coat of a most horrible conformation, nor of his being drenched in filth whilst listening to the gardes des l'eau, or gardes la haut, from which the canongate and old town caution was derived, and which was so unlike the ordinary cation of the nation, which is slow and steady, that it seemed more like the caution to a recruit of ready-present-fire. lucky stars defend us from such a present and fire !!! ". the same spirit of melioration has crept into our language, our table, and our amusements. importations of taste are incessantly made from the mother country and from the continent; pure english (which our ancestors called high english) is much oftener heard in the streets and in society; all the younger people converse in it, unless the 240 recapitulation. males be kept too long at the high school, and are sent too late south, when the accent is spoiled for ever; powerful instances of which we meet daily in scotchmen who have passed half their lives abroad, yet produce the unsophisticated vernacular of auld reekie in conversing with you at st. petersburgh, at kingston, in jamaica, at constantinople, madras, or bengal. nay, there are individuals who are even proud of this unconquered habit; the very highest classes, however, send their sons to the english universities, and thence to the continent for education. the progress of greek also at college is another great desideratum obtained: -in that particular it was not long ago very much behind hand. in addition to all these attractions, advantages, and improvements, fashion, and a turn of the wheel of fortune, have done a great deal in favor of edina in particular, and scotia in general. the tartan robe (which has got into vogue in france and flanders) adorns the london fair ones; the border and other minstrelsy delight the • 241 recapitulation. lovers of literature; the scottish novels turn the heads of the readers of light matter, and even those of the second class are found to amuse their perusers; the stage teems with imitations and representations from the former. who would have thought some years back of the heart of mid loudon,* (mid lothian) becoming a popular subject, or of an italian translation (much less representation) of the lady of the lake—“ la donna del lago!" yet thus far has national talent reached. * in a reign, not very remote, scotia played at least her part in the cabinet; and in later "the heart of mid lothian is none other than the tolbooth, answering to the newgate of london, and a wretched prison it is. from criminal causes, however, and from justiciary trials, a great deal of matter has been raked: the subject does not appear to me as grateful to the ear and eye, it is certainly a very confined one; yet polished paris even treats us 'with her modern trials, a remoter date would be less revolting, and much indeed might be collected from les causes celebres." vol. iii. m 242 recapitulation. years she figured most becomingly in the field in flanders, where circumstances are recent in memory; all honor is given not merely to caledonia, but to the highlanders exclusively; the garb of old gaul, which "dag myneer" calls the soldiers in petticoats, is the decided favourite; the english and irish, (certainly superior in number, and it is to be presumed equal in desert) are scarcely thought of, and the white-horsed regiment is the only one named, unless you put them in mind of the life guards, when they will condescend to reply "o! oui ces beaux hommes."-"oh! yes, those handbut costume and national dissome men." tinction are not without their agency on the mind; and very often it has a most powerful effect; a primitive people appears to the imagination; and where that idea is borne out by good conduct, it will eclipse the equality of a neighbour, differing so little from mankind in general. thus far for externals. as for myself, i regret daily to perceive the wearing off of the highland character, which recapitulation. 243 now consists more in the kilt and bonnet, in the eagle's wing and claymore, in the purse and tartan hose representing the sandal of former times than in the single-hearted character, the hospitable landlord, the intrepid warrior, and hunter. free from guile of the olden times, the highlander now comes south; he disguises his habits, borrows (in all ways) from the lowland men, his estate gets into the market, and with all the talk about "clann nan gadhael ann guailibh acheile." clan and country, kin and property, are all left to go to ruin, and the tie is broken for life; it is true that you will find him when transplanted, what is called clanish; and if he get into power, he will be partial and even prejudiced. but this service comes too late, and is moreover an act of injustice; in like manner the lowlander and scottish borderer are national and even the favourer of a parish or a town; for the highland and border animosities are now nearly rubbed off, nor am 244 recapitulation. i sure that this friction and polishing, this collision and mingling have taken place without impairing some of the pristine value of the character, without a loss in weight and in purity, and without an increase of alloy, and of what the french calls faux brillant, produced by a foil. i had almost forgotten that the field of criticism is greatly occupied by the scotch, and that there are those who observe that there is no small degree of severity amongst them; so that it may be said of them"sunt quibus in satyra videar nimiș acer et ultra legem tendere opus." they have not however enjoyed this power quite undisturbed, witness lord byron's attack and others of less note. to establish a fair balance in the republic of letters, to maintain an honest give and take, live and let live principle, is what would be most pleasing to me, and was the object i had in view in giving to the public this my imperfect work. it appears to me that the laurel and the bay recapitulation. 245 are the common property of the hero and the poet, and that any monopoly or favoritism ought to be inadmissible on parnassus or in the field of honour. there is as much fair play as humour in peter pindar's lines, which runs thus: "i am no cormorant of fame d'ye see, i want not all the laurel but a sprig ; then hear me guardians of the sacred tree, and stick a leaf or two about my wig :" and i recommend them to my countryman's notice; and should i come under the powerful lash of the reviewers for this opinion, i shall submit with the utmost humility, and (with all due respect to their merit and utility) be content with the pot-luck fare of other authors. we scotchmen have as great a right to bear the criticisms, and particularly the jokes of others, as we have to share in those against them; and whilst jack roastbeef, john bull, milord anglais, &c. cause the jests of our continental neighbours, and 246 recapitulation. whilst we, per contra, balance the account with mounseer soupe maigre, frogs and wooden-shoes; and poor pat runs the gauntlet for his bulls, and his brogue, and his blarney; for his own hair and a wig, and his coat buttoned behind (a thing we never saw) to keep his stomach warm; we cannot grumble at our sir archy m'sarcasm, and sir pertinax m'sycophant; at the cottagers of glenburnie; nor at any other strictures which only serve to awaken our national pride, and to rouse us from the sloth, the rust, and the want of cleanliness of less enlightened days. with these reflections it is time to end, nor shall i delay to release my reader from his present occupation: if his intercourse with scotland and scotchmen has been extensive, i think he will not have much to complain of them; and if perchance he be now running over these pages at a scotch breakfast, he need not wish to change it for a dejeuner à la fourchette in the palais royale; the lights and shades of every national character are only to be remarked in proportion as they preponderate, recapitulation. 247 and i will fearlessly leave this investigation to british candour. in my own defence i shall say nothing, but trust that the assertion made by that great poet, pope, will not operate against me:"whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be ; in every work, regard the writer's end, since none can compass more than they intend, and, if the means be just, the conduct true, applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due." thus hopeth the hermit in edinburgh. end of vol iii. london: shackell and arrowsmith, johnson's-court, fleet street. university of minnesota wils v.3 825m1475 ohee m'donough, felix, 1768?-1836. the hermit in edinburgh, or, sketches of 3 1951 002 069 684 w minitex minnesota library access center 9zar06d09s08tf5 267 c si library of the university of illinois 839.73 cide vil . marks 8-34 82321 3/5/55 this book has been digitized and is available online. hvol a novel 6 hermit. ;; .[ amberved witte the fuuslater later affe the hermit. . a pobel, by emilie carlen, author of "the birthright," "the events of a year,” etc. in four volumes. vol. i. london: thomas cautley newby, publisher, 30, welbeck street, cavendish square. 1853. the den generally numerou of grey, a over the the si shone u vol. i 839.73 с 19 ее vil the hermit. is narss first period. 2 j smith chapter i. the fugitive. ... the dense mist which, on a summer's morning, generally envelops the christiana fjord and its numerous creeks, had gradually lifted its mantle of grey, and was dispersing in little wavy circlets over the sea. the sun had just risen, and its dazzling rays shone upon the snow-white wings of several vol. i. b 2 the hermit. sea-gulls, which, now soaring aloft with lightning speed, and now skimming the transparent surface of the water, in search of some early drowsy herring to satisfy their appetites, seemed to regard the reflection of their forms on the silvery mirror with peculiar complacency; here and there upon the cliff were formal lines of solemn-looking sea-mews, still wrapt in pleasant slumber, motionless as mahometans smoking their morning pipes before their harems; at times, only, one would slightly move his leg, and another gently and comfortably flap his wing—a movement which might, perhaps, be regarded as a yawn, or a drowsy kind of appeal to his neighbour, 'if it was not nearly time to get up, and begin the business of the day.' the occupants of a decked boat, of the smaller class, appeared to be more alive than the sea-mews, to the force of the proverb> “ that the morning speaks with lips of gold," the heymit. 3 for the grass-clothed cliffs and rocks, at the foot of which the little town of drammen was situated, already lay behind them, and the magazines, and a few of the larger buildings alone were still distinguishable. to a distant observer the little boat might have appeared to be steering its course through verdant groves and wildly wooded tracts, as it glided along the eastern shore, where a rich growth of trees and numerous white-plastered country-houses were reflected on its lucid surface with the vividness and truth of nature itself. on one side of the after part of this craft flaunted in gaudy letters of yellow paint, the saucy name of “the free sailer," and on the other the name of its port, grafwerna.* the symmetrical build of the little vessel, the evenness of the planking, and the smooth, delicate streaks of resin, which filled up the a rcely noticeable joinings of the deck, and the general finish of every separate part, * the graves. 4 the hermit. would, at once, have satisfied a connoisseur, that this was one of those coasting boats so well known as rapid sailers, in which the traces of the master hand of thomas* of kile, the builder, were everywhere visible. the sail which appeared to have been left hoisted in forgetfulness nung down, idly flapping against the blast, as if languishing for the usual refreshing morning breeze ; while its ; mighty dimensions pretty clearly hinted that when the sea-bird spread her pinions for the flight, few could compete with, and none outstrip, her; many a whisper was rife in grafwerna of how the free sailer had often set the excise yatch at defiance, and how the customs? officers had often cursed thomas of kile in their inmost hearts, because the latter appeared to have adopted the rascally resolve of never letting the excise have one of these clipping brated among * thomas of kile was a noted ship-builder, and celethe islets and coast of bohusland for the construction of these wonderfully fast sailing crafts. the hermit. 5 wave. master-pieces of his handi-work at any price. elias ass-bjornsson, the fortunate owner of this gem among boats, was himself seated at the helm; he was a man of about sixty, whose brown and sunburnt countenance bore marks of many a sharp contest with storm and his muscular form was still, however, unbent, and not a single white hair was to be discovered among the short-cut, curly black locks; and to-day, indeed, the old man looked ; more youthful than usual, for he had—a rare occurence, by-the-way-shaved himself only the day before. that elias was no very zealous admirer of the grand picture which surrounded him, and, perhaps, no friend to calm seas in a general way, might be gathered from the fact that he continually nodded, as well as that, in order to keep himself awake, he often thrust his hand, with great apparent zeal, into the left pocket of his jacket, which contained a neat assort6 the hermit. and energy, ment of little, short, sailors' pipes--the old fellow's special favorites. the second person in the boat, the only son , and heir of old elias, had placed himself comfortably with his back against the mast, and his legs stretched out at full length, and was apparently sleeping with a steady determination sufficient to satisfy any one of the pleasure he had felt, when, wearied out by the monotony of the night, he had made over the morning watch to his father and superior. at length, with an impatient effort, old ass-bjornsson rose, and after he had cast a scanning glance around the horizon, whistled for wind, and fortified himself by a hearty pull at a small oval flask, which he carried in his right pocket, he called out, in a suppressed voice “ carolus carolus, chap; must have slept long enough by this time-dost hear, lad ?” the younger sailor jumped up, rubbed his eyes, and mechanically laid hold of the foresail. the hermit. 7 seeing, however, that any trimming would be superfluous, he gently picked up his fallen sou-wester, struck his arms across once or twice, and then looked at his father with a glance of enquiry. “out with the oars, carolus, and be alive," said the master, “if we get no better wind, we'll hardly cross the fjord to-day.” “that's your own look out, father,” observed carolus, frankly, as he spat on his hand, and set his oars in motion, with an energy which would have done honour to any four ordinary rowers. “own look out," retorted elias, “ does the egg want to be older than the hen ? or what dost mean ?” aye, aye, father, you should'nt have let yourself be persuaded," and here carolus directed a sharp and mysterious glance towards the hatchway, near which a heap of bedding and sail-cloths were evidently stirred by some more living influence than the motion of the 8 the hermit. boat, “ i 66 you should'nt have let yourself be persuaded yesterday evening, to have anything to do with the fjord; for any one might have seen, though we had a pretty breeze then, that when it had blown itself out, we should not have found it an easy matter to get across with a wind like this." aye, aye-of course, you wouldst rather have cast anchor in the town, and gambled away all thy dollars, or flittered 'em away in trumpery for johanna of the bilberry holm." “hush father, how you talk-you know right well, johanna is a little too stiff in the neck to take any presents from me, before you give me that half share in the boat. however, i can see you only want to shy the matter i was speaking of, for you can't bear it if i say a word, or even hint that it might be dangerous taking such like foreign passengers aboard." “old is the oldest,” was the short and somewhat sharp reply > the hermit. 9 “however," urged carolus, "boys can sometimes think for themselves, and not be so stupid after all, when one has a shrewd father --you know, father, that my head is in the right place.” “aye, may be, if 'twere all right, thy mouth would make less to do." oh, nonsense, you only say that to-however, i'll lay a wager that he there,” another glance at the hatchway, “ is just one of those great animals who has got bitten, or has bitten somebody else, and is forced to hide in a strange skin to shy his difficulties.” “hold thy tongue, lad, what is’t to thee whether he's a big fish or a little one ? he has paid his passage honestly, and if he hadn't even paid a couple of stivers i couln't have said him nay; for, d'ye see, one who's lived as long as i have, looks a little farther than a man's teeth—and thou mayst take thy father's word for't, yon man hasn't for many a year known what 'tis to sleep on roses." b 5 10 the hermit. “oh, the father. lord how regal and grandlike you talk; when you begin, it does one's : heart good to hear you; and since you think well of him, why i'll say nought against him. however, this i will say, that it's all for the sake of the wife and the boy—she is so rare and delicate like, for all the world like the virgin mary in the picture over the altar, as she sits there in a golden chair, dandling our blessed lord upon her knee. but as to her husband, well, he's just like the emigrant, old simmerberg used to tell about whom he brought from nantes, and landed on the coast of ireland; he told patron holmer, all about it, and i sat at the door and listened." “ aye, aye, and what was all that ?” asked elias, whistling several times to coax the capricious wind, which now and then came in faint flaws, and died away again before it gained strength to fill even the corner of the sluggish sails. “ well, simmerberg was clearing out of 66 the hermit. 11 " i know, nantes, eight or ten years ago, and only waiting the last visitation, when in the evening the broker told him, that if he would hide an emigrant during the officer's visit, and get him clear out of the country, he should have two hundred francs. you know, father, simmerberg, wouldn't have cared to risk ship and all to earn the hard." aye, aye,” said the old man, and i know too what sort of smuggling that is.” well, ye see, the emigrant came aboard at night-and simmerberg, who's a sly old foxour yacht inspector, wouldn't hold a candle to him-just shoved his passenger into an empty water cask, and put it on deck amongst the rest. the visitation was made, but for all that they have as sly dogs, and good noses, there, as we have here, they never thought of looking for people in water-casks, and simmerberg earned every penny. it was found out afterwards though, and the owners had him up, and 12 the hermit. > wanted him to pay the passage-money, but he laughed in their faces, and got off scot free." when the discourse had lasted a while in this tone, there was a movement about the above mentioned hatchway, and immediately afterwards a female in a long white cloak, with a black crape veil on her light straw bonnet, was seen making her way through the middle of casks and ropes, towards the two men whom she greeted with an inexpressibly gentle smile. “we have a lull just now, dear lady,” said elias, “ but you must have a little patience, the wind will improve by-and-bye, i can see." the young female did not look like one who needed this advice, for patience personified sat upon her pale brow, on either side of which a couple of locks of fair hair fell down in light curls. “ would it be possible to get a little fire ?” she asked in a low voice, with a cautious glance at the resting place which she had just tue hermit. 13 a left. " i should like to make a little coffee before they awake.” “aye, aye, that can be managed. carolus, , give me the oar, and stir about, and make a fire in the iron pot, and if you'll trust him, lady, he'll make your coffee; he served his 'prentice; ship to that work long ago." “i'm only afraid of giving you too much trouble.” “do as you like," said elias, who was too straightforward to make any farther ceremony after once making the offer. carolus, on the other hand, who was young, and as he would have expressed himself somewhat complimentary, answered in a different fashion. “never give yourself needless trouble for that, dear lady," he began, with a peculiar kindly and cheering look; “but just steer here, away with the beans, and you shall have coffee, and that in a trice." you must know, it is not quite the same here as if we were a > 14 the hermit. 66 ashore, or in a craft which had a cabin and a fire-place; this is our fire-place, ye see;" and so saying, carolus hauled over a split iron pot, in which, with a readiness which surprised the lady, he kindled a fire, and set the kettle to boil. now if we had a stiff gale astern," he continued, as he saw that his details were interesting; you may believe it wouldn't stand so nice and still as it does,” pointing to the iron pot, "no, by my soul; then if you want a drop of coffee, or a bit to eat, you must just look out that it don't roll over; and then you must have a sufficiently strong wire passed through the two ears, and then hang him up by a rope's end in the rigging, and your cooking , goes on nicely, while he rocks about fair and easy, and he'll never upset if you only take proper care.” whilst carolus thus entered into the difficulties of cooking in a vessel without a caboose, the hermit. 15 66 the stranger lady took from her travelling bag a bottle containing mealed coffee, and gave it to her handy cook. “ cook, aye, a thousand d-'8,"continued carolus, blowing up the fire with a powerful puff or two from an old bellows, “ look you, dear lady, i don't need to boast; but father ; said only truth when he told you that i had served my 'prenticeship to this; for when i was a boy, i sailed as cook's mate with a captain to england, and if i had given him bad coffee, or ill blacked boots, i should—but sit you down, madam, sit ye down,” and carolus wiped the dust off the bread-box with his jacket, which he had taken off on account of the heat. mother, dear mother, where are you ?" echoed a young voice from the hatchway. “heavens, mother, what a horrid dream i have had do you know what, mother? you fell into the water, and i threw myself in after you in an instant." 66 16 the hermit. the mother hurried towards her son, a boy of eleven years, and made him a sign to be silent, "you will wake your father," she observed. “ father's awake already, though he keeps his eyes closed," answered george, in an equally low tone; but there was a modulation ; in his voice, which signified that he would not have ventured to make this remark aloud. "do not make a noise, notwithstanding; there, there is a biscuit to amuse you for awhile.” george took this preliminary to his breakfast, and as a single look from his mother was the most persuasive language that he knew of, he again dived into his mattress, between two sheets, though at the same time he would far rather have jumped up and made himself acquainted with the boat and what it contained. with a look of affection, at the boy, mrs. letsler—this was the name, under which the family had embarked—took out some knitting a the hermit. 17 and sat down sideways, near the place, where her husband was still reposing with his face covered with his hands; and while her knitting needles flew quickly from one row of stitches to another, she occasionally brushed aside the insects which disturbed him, over whom she watched so tenderly, though neither look nor movement, denoted that her solicitude was noticed. “ all clear for drinking, madam,” reported carolus, holding the coffee pot aloft. “give me a cup, nicoline,” said the man who had hitherto been silent, and as he raised himself and took his seat on a low chest, he displayed a countenance on whose fallen features heavy sorrows or deep seated passions bad ploughed their furrows; the black hair, here and there sprinkled with grey, presented a striking contrast to the false yellowish brown wig, which, however, the careful nicoline quickly re-arranged, so as completely to conceal the natural hair beneath. 18 the hermit. 66 we have not come far,” she observed, as she handed him the coffee and a biscuit. “so i heard," was the reply, "and thou, too, nicoline, thou too hast not slept-poor nicoline-poor, poor nicoline," and with these gentle words the stern looking man, whose lips seemed no longer to possess the faculty of a smile, caressingly patted the hand of his kind, good wife. “not poor,” said she, in a slightly reproachful tone, “not poor, where i have thee and him, and the mother cast a smiling glance at her son, who, from behind the cover of one of the boxes, gave her to understand, by signs, that he wanted his share of the breakfast, "when i have thee and him there is no harm." none,” repeated the husband, slowly,” and the deep furrows on his forehead contracted more closely. nicoline was silent, but there was an elo. quence in her eye, which was no stranger to 1 the hermit. 19 > the man, upon whom her gentle glance was turned. " reach us the box here, carolus,” said old elias. “god's death, we will have a bit of something to eat, too.” “father," whispered carolus, as he placed the bread box on the seat where the old man still sat at the helm, “tis just as i thought, he has done something ill—he has false hairi saw it as plain as i see you now, and when a man sails under false colours, why you know what o'clock it is pretty well.” elias shot an enquiring glance towards the side where their mysterious passenger was seated, shook his head and muttered "hold thy stupid tongue, his hair is as fast on his head as thine or mine either." towards mid-day, as elias had prophesied, the wind arose, and even increased so much that the old man was enabled to issue his orders. 20 the hermit. “now, carolus, set the main and fore-sail, clear away the jib, if the wind hold thus, we'll get on a step to-day, yet.” carolus carried out the orders with alacrity, the oars were unshipped and stowed away, the light breeze filled the sails, and father and son seated themselves comfortably in the close recess by the helm. "ah, dear carolus,” cried george, who, with the openness of his age, and his own bold and frank disposition, was already on good terms with the young sailor, "dear carolus, do take up that pretty white cask—that one floating on the water there. no, just look, there is another and another-and another" “aye, that is a thing to take up indeed," said carolus, laughing, you must not believe, young gentleman, that these casks are there for " > nothing." 2 oh, tell me then, what are they there for ?" asked george, wedging himself in bet een carolus and the old man, to endeavour to get a the hermit. 21 little practice and be allowed to hold the tiller. however, father elias had this in his hand, and with imperturable composure gave no heed to the boy's ardent wishes. “aye, aye, i could tell you that,” answered , , carolus, “these casks are air tight, and are called buoys, they lie there and float, in order that seamen may take heed of such spots where the water is not deep enough; there are plenty of these casks in the christiana fjord.' “it is a fine thing,” continued george, improving his new acquaintance, “it is a fine thing to be upon the sea, and to sail in such a boat as this; but the finest of all would be, if it should come to blow very hard, so as to make a noise in the sails and rigging, and cause the waves to rise like great mountains.”' “ah, indeed, and so little master's been to sea so much already, and knows how the sea runs like mountains ; it's no trifle for such a a 22 the hermit. small gentleman being at sea in such weather as that." “oh, i should think i am no longer so very small,” suggested george, raising his head and shoulders, “but at the time when, as i said, the sea was so high, i was only a very little boy, and could hardly stand upon my legs, when they put me upon the deck, but i knew it for all that, right well, for i like the sea so much, and should so much like, if i dared, just to try, if i could manage the boat now, if , i were to sit at the helm." at the mention of this proposal, which had been engrossing his thoughts for some time, george's young eyes turned so eloquently upon old elias, that with a good natured smile he drew back a little, and allowed the boy, with whom he was much taken, to have his will. proud and delighted, george seated himself carefully in his new and important post, and whilst under the joint instructions of old elias the hermit. 23 and carolus he pursued the occupation so interesting to him, though monotonous enough to others, the conversation became more lively on both sides; but just as carolus was adroitly leading the boy back to the subject of the great mountain waves which he had seen for the first time for many hours, the elder letsler's voice was heard calling the boy, and telling him not to tease the captain and the young sailor, any more, with his questions and curiosity. “sure he don't tease any one,” declared old elias, who was vexed to see the look of dissatisfaction and disappointment, which was evident in the boy's expressive countenance. however, george did not dare to stay any longer, and with a look of the greatest self-denial, he resigned the helm to carolus, and slowly and reluctantly, returned to that part of the deck where his father was still seated on the chest, smoking his cigar and intently regarding the dense old forests on the shores which they were now swiftly passing. a 24 the hermit. mrs. letsler to shelter herself from the sun had taken possession of george's old place, between the two large chests; she had a book in her hand, but seemed more occupied with studying the features of her husband, (a book, the hidden contents of which she could never entirely master,) than the leaves which she at times thoughtfully turned over. george crept past his stern, gloomy father, with light steps, to his mother's side, and bending down to her, whispered with glowing cheeks“did you see how i steered the whole boat by myself? only think how i could have set it aground if i had liked, and i would too, mother, if you had not been in it.” “and why, you wild boy ?" asked nicoline, regarding the lad with a faint smile. why for no other reason but for the sake of the trouble of getting afloat again—aye, i'll warrant that would have made another kind of running and bustle than this.” а the hermit. 25 “ah, heedless child, little do you know what it is to get out of a difficulty, when it once befalls you ; but, george, you should never have such naughty thoughts—you should never, in any case, run wilfully into danger, for that is tempting god.” a little dispirited by these words of reproof, and the unusually severe look which accompanied them, george sat down quite still, and began to amuse himself by carving a bit of wood which was clearly intended to represent a boat, or something like it, and he zealously continued this employment until some new object attracted his attention. “what houses are these ?" said george, as he again stood near carolus, and pointed to some long white buildings which extended along the coast. “what there, on the western beach ? aye, look ye, master george, that is horten-that's a remarkable place, there are the norwegian ship-yards and docks--that is what they call vol. i. с 26 the hermit. а places where ships are built, and brought to be repaired-as we were going to drammen, we had several bohuslanders on board, who wanted work at horten, for they give good wages there, far better than with us; and i knew many poor devils so short of money that they had scarce a bit to eat or a rag to clothe them, and when they returned after a few years, they had, belike, three or four hundred dollars in their pocket.” " it is a fine thing to know where one can earn so much money," said george, thoughtfully, and turning his looks towards horten. “mayhap little master would like to go there and try ?" asked carolus, jestingly, “that would just suit such a dainty young gentleman." “i am no dainty young gentleman," retorted george, pettishly, looking boldly at carolus, " and if you doubt whether i am strong enough for work, just look with your own eyes, if i am such a pitiful, feeble creature." the hermit. 27 so saying he lifted a tolerably large stone which lay upon the deck, and swang it above his head. “aye, aye, upon my honor, that was a proper fellow's heave and does master george much credit,” said carolus, with an approving voice. and now george smiled, and old elias too, and nicoline also, the gentle loving mother, smiled likewise at her boy's delight. letsler alone continued silent, and paid no attention to his son's valorous deeds. with a fresh and steady breeze the free sailer sped on her azure course, evening faded into night, and a bright moon offered a most lovely prospect to the travellers' eyes; the entire sea trembling under her beams like a wide sheet of radiant silver. in the grey morning twilight, the free sailer ran past the mouth of the swine sound. the eyes of both father and son were still closed in slumber; nicoline alone sat wakefully c2 28 the hermit. and passively contemplating the striking contrast offered by the two countries at this their point of union. with sad and melancholy anticipations, she watched the boat as it receded from norway and the beauteous christiana fjord, with its eden like banks and richly wooded holm, and steered towards the swedish coast, which here displayed its wildest and most sterile aspect. and the cloud lay not alone upon old sweden's grey bare rocky shores, but also upon the soul and spirit of poor nicoline; its hard cold poverty struck a chill to her heart, and probably no one could have contemplated the scene here offered, without a sense of deep depression. as soon as the voyager is opposite the swine sound, this abrupt change begins; the contrast is fearfully striking ; on one side, smiling prospects, signs of comfort, cultivation, and happiness on the other, scarce a trace of vegetation, save some straggling thistles and the hermit. 29 cuckoo flowers, springing up in solitude, appear upon the cliffs, and the eye rests upon naked hills and bare rocks of a rusty reddish hue, from the constant dashing of the waves of the western ocean. nevertheless, frightful, waste, and joyless as all this may appear, it is not devoid of interest to the profound and serious observer ; and one who has sailed along these remarkable coasts, has seen how, during the western storms, they are strewed with the wrecks of shattered helpless ships which have been engulphed and lost among their rocks and waves-and has looked upon the spectacle presented, during these wintry gales, when the whole iron-bound shore, fretted with islets, looks like one terrific line of foaming breakers, must admit that the impression produced thereby, is so powerful as to leave a vivid and peculiar picture on the memory, and one which does not easily fade away. nicoline gave a sigh to the beautiful objects which she was leaving. she felt not one a 30 the hermit. attracting impulse towards those which they now were passing ; but she gazed on them with wonder---glad when her eye could rest upon something which resembled vegetable life, even though 'twere nothing but the waving sea-weed. the hermit. 31 chapter ii. the fisherman's hut. a of all the bare and desolate landing-places which enclose the coast of bohusland, like a garland, and which seen from a distance at sea appear like countless rents in the continuous mountain mass, perhaps the western side of grafwerna—a fishing village near the extreme point of sotenäs-is that which excites the most mingled feelings; the gloomy character of which is not, however, without its brighter side, and even its own peculiar poetry. there is a peculiar feeling of sadness in first setting foot on these unfruitful burning sand hills, amid whose circling wreaths the children of the shores build their little houses of 32 the hermit. muscle shells, one hour, to see them swept away the next, by the whirling gust that eddies along the beach. the eye grows dizzy as it follows the precipitous cliffs to their secret fortresses, from whence, as legends say, have sprung hundreds of sea-giants, to struggle for a brief moment, to be dashed to atoms, and to die—and there is in all this, a something of the mysterious—we feel as if these beings of another world were whispering around us, flitting among their own graves, and, in the moaning of the waves, muttering dark sayings, which no tradition has preserved. a certain noble-hearted and philanthropic lady (margaret hwitfelt, who was at one time the great lady of the strand of kongshamn,) founded a burial ground here, and enjoined upon every one of her tenants the duty, under pain of ejection, of never suffering the body of a single shipwrecked mariner, who might be cast ashore, to remain unburied, and thus this strand received its mysterial name of grafwerna the hermit. 33 or to speak more correctly, “grafwarna," than which no term more appropriate, could have been applied to the locality, since its entire western side resembles one vast grave. somewhat farther from the beach its savage and gloomy characteristics decrease--it no longer displays the same aspect of poverty—and at the present period the fishing village passes for one of the most stirring places on the coast, and in union with several others near at hand, forms one congregation, has one church, one pastor, and its own by no means inconsiderable trade. in the cool evening twilight of a summer's day, in 16— the boat which we have seen crossing the christiana fjord glided gently towards the little road of grafwerna (it had been for some time attentively observed, by a woman who was standing on the beach) and at length, dropped its anchor on the western side. the free sailer had not long taken up its accustomed station, when the number on its decks was inc 5 34 the hermit. creased by the above mentioned female, who warmly welcomed the two men composing its crew. > > “good evening, malena," said old assbjornsson, greeting his wife kindly. “ god's peace, father," answered malena, in a hearty tone, “the lord has held his hand over land and strand—thou hast, i see, some gentlefolks with theenow good 'een to thee, carolus, thou hast purchased the barley and the colours which i desired thee ?" “ heard nothing about it,” said carolus, in a roguish tone, and looking sly, “never a mortal word, mother, did ye say to me about barley or colors." “ shame on ye, ye long lout, to stand there and flout thy mother, i'll teach ye manners, i will—but what sort are the gentle-folks you have brought with ye ?" “ it is a gentleman named letslermhe has a wife and son along with him," said elias, “i brought them from drammen.” 2 66 the hermit. 35 “ where are they going to ?” “ i know nought about it, the gentleman himself” and here elias turned with a loud clear voice, towards his mysterious passenger, who was leaning over the galley, and silently, and thoughtfully contemplating, the desolate strand of grafwerna—“the gentleman, himself, will know best what he is seeking here, may be a boat to take him to göteberg." “not exactly," returned the stranger, “i propose to rest here for a few days, in the first place.” “ heaven's sorrow,” interposed old malena, who deemed herself called upon by her household dignity, to mix in the discourse, “ there is nought here fit for gentlefolks, but if ye'll kindly take matters as they are, you shall be heartily welcome to all there is.” thanks, my good madam, * we are not used to be spoiled,” said letsler, giving his 9 66 * the term, madam, is continually used in sweden, to designate a married woman of the lower class.” 36 the hermit. wife his hand to help her out of the boat. george had already sprung on land, and was busily engaged rummaging and scraping among the shells and pebbles, which glittered on the beach in the darkening twilight, like precious stones. the little dwelling of elias assbjornsson, denoted that its possessor, in proportion to his means of support, and frugal wants, was in the enjoyment of a kind of competence ; or was what may be called well to do. besides, the outer or common room, the walls of which were covered with all sorts of such implements as mark the dwelling of a sailor and a fisherman, there were lines and hooks, guns, sealskins, and large bundles of herring nets, and such like; there were two small side rooms, in which the moss had scarce had time to dry in the fissures, and where incontrovertibly, all the treasures which the family possessed, were collected together. the little tables in each corner groaned under a load of pink porcelain, which had been brought home by the father a a the hermit. 37 and son from different from different places they had visited; and on the window, from which hung down the snowy linen curtains, with their delicate network figures, might be seen, in elegant arrangement, all the most superb and various articles which could be imagined, to constitute the mere ornaments of a coast cottage. for instance, a gypsum image of napoleon, with broken nose, was the first article in the collection, the next was a genuine chinese tea-caddy, leaned up against this again, was the half of an english punch-bowl, so slily placed, that it looked almost as if it was entire, there was, moreover, an east indian jar, with a defective lid shaded by an indian fan. and lastly, no one will be surprised at seeing here a dutch vrow's head dress—one of those large wide and towering affairs which make women's headache-paraded between two turkish pipe stems, the extremities of which rested comfortably on their respectable cocoanut bowls; however, we have sufficiently 38 the hermit. entered into a detail of the articles of luxury which these chambers contained. let us now turn to those which were for daily use and comfort, and when we add that the newly scoured floor was as white as the fine sand with which it was strewed; we shall find it quite natural to suppose-especially as one of the rooms contained an excellent bed that the honest hosts indulged a very pardonable feeling of pride as they introduced the stranger family. " look you, sir,” observed old ass-bjornsson casting a long and satisfied glance around, “here is at least a roof to your head; remain as long as it may suit you; we have no lack of fish, such as gentlefolks can eatand mother malena is quite cook enough to know how to dress ling or torsk-the worst is about the bread." “ we have a small provision in those two chests,” said nicoline, giving the old honesthearted elias a friendly look, “and we shall be well pleased to fish for ourselves, if we may be allowed to borrow the necessary tackle." a the hermit. 39 a 2. a (( 16 if these chambers can be let for month," interposed letsler, “ i, as a stranger will most gladly pay the rent of them in advance; i am not rich, but not so poor that any one need be a loser on my account.” “we shall agree at once,” said elias," you can just pay as is most convenient; and if you could not pay a stüber, i should be no loser, for we don't want the rooms until my son carolus tackles to, and marries a wife and as far as i know, that speculation is far enough a-field yet." thus was the contract settled and sealed. “ you always sell every thing at the cheapest rate, father," hinted carolus, when the old ” man, as they were returning to the beach, related what had occurred. may the moment never come when thou mayst be in want of daily bread, thyself," said the father, angrily,“ dost thou need " more? has thy father had more ? have a care, carolus, and beware of seeking after unlawful 66 40 the hermit. and shameful gain in all thy transactions ! hast thou no heart to do ought for the sake of the service thou mayst do, shame on ye.” “but, father," objected carolus, “it cannot be otherwise than allowable and honourable, to take payment for service rendered to those who are able to pay. if i don't look about me while i'm young, i may just grow easily old , like you, and give up all hope of bringing home johanna to these new rooms; and, moreover, she, herself, will be so old by that, that it will be hardly worth the pains.” “aha, my dear carolus," observed elias, , as he rolled the quarter cask ashore, while his son attended to the other barrels. " is that thy wool ? then i can just tell thee right out, and away, that for my part, i don't believe , johanna will be much to be envied, in becoming thy wife ; for look ye, she whom one has loved in her youth, should be loved and honoured in her old age also.” " “i say nought against that, either,” rejoined > 66 the hermit. 41 carolus, "if one has only had her all the while but see now-just to take up with her after she has lost all her leaves, like a water-lily in autumn, and has got wrinkled in her face—now, i don't fancy that.” well, if i had such fancies as that,” said old ass-bjornsson, “ mother malena would have great right to complain—however, that she never shall have." aye, aye; i believe you there,” struck in carolus, with a kind, cheerful laugh. “it's long time now, since the days when you were young, and sang the stave that i like to hum.” 66 ) " the blushing rose on the lily cheek, the bonny maid i love to see, and could i win, the lass i seek, how happy should i be." elias smiled, as, not without satisfaction, and perhaps also a little pride, he regarded his brisk, active, athletic son, who, with his ruddy brown cheeks, and short curly locks, and his 42 the hermit. open chest, broad, with youthful vigor, looked the very picture of a genuine swedish sailor. the eastern sky was already beginning to glow, when at length all their necessary business being concluded, father and son were ready to go into the house and get some rest. mother malena sat up in her bed, and pointed to a table upon which a dish of cold fish, a basket full of fresh oat bread, and a can of fresh beer awaited them. “ hast thou given the strangers aught," asked elias, “ looking towards the little passage that separated the rooms. they required nought, they said they were tired, and went to bed.” “what dost say of them, mother? " “nothing, father, as thou hast given them house-room, my good will shan't fail them, the wife is a kind, friendly body as one can meet with, and i like the boy too, but “ and how do you like this, mother?” said carolus, producing from behind his back, be*" > the hermit. 43 66 sides the colours and the bag of barley, two whole pounds of red, white, and blue, cotton yarn, for a gown for his mother, which she had long wished to weave from a pattern she had got from lysekil--and spreading the articles before the old lady upon the bed. “the thousand, carolus boy, where didst get all the money ?” and mother malena's eyes beamed with joy, wonder, and maternal tenderness. money? why don't ye know, mother, that i stowed away a whole cask of lobsters on my own account--and if, as father says, i do i sometimes stand a glass or two in good company, yet i am no such spendthrift as he at times fancies," answered carolus, with a roguish side glance at old elias, who had seated himself cosily down with a hunch of bread in one hand, and a cold fish head in the other. “now, boy, now," interrupted his father, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his striped > 44 the hermit. shirt. 'tis not always said, that i say all i think; however, if thou hast any merit to boast of, the lord's to be thanked for it, and not thyself.” perfectly satisfied with this answer, which at once cheered and flattered him, carolus took his seat on an old ship's bench opposite to his father, and they both attacked the food with a hearty appetite. long after old ass-bjornsson had been snoring beside his wife, the crib allotted to carolus was still untenanted, he was sitting by the window with a little black-leather pocket book in his hand, contentedly counting out his twelve and eighteen shilling notes, while with an air of no small reverence, he deposited a whole rixdollar by itself; after he had sorted it all, he placed the entire treasure in the drawer of a trunk, covered with leather and ornamented with brass nails, which was his own peculiar property, and which already contained, unknown to his parents, no inconsiderable sum, a the hermit. 45 the earnings of his labor, prudence, and frugality. it was carolus's aim to astonish his father some day by offering to buy the half ownership of the “ free sailer,” which the old man had been, year by year, talking of making him a present of; but nothing had come of it as yet. and next to the happiness of winning johanna of the bilberry holm for his wife, carolus could imagine nothing in the world so good, as his father's astonished look, when he should make the proposal ; and then, when his father should say—-"just keep all them big words till thou canst do the thing,” to go straight to the trunk, fetch the money, and shew that nothing was easier. now we fear it must be confessed, that carolus had not, by a great deal, the stern, steady principles of his father, though he was an honest lad, with a sound heart; no doubt carolus was glad enough to lend a helping hand to any one in distress, and would have 46 the hermit. risked life and limb to do so, if necessary; but when he saw that there was anything to be earned, he never threw away a chance-and many a time, when his parents believed him busy mackerel fishing, he was engaged with another quess sort of fishing, for a merchant in the neighbourhood, and by dint of his slyness and boldness, had managed to smuggle many a good lot of stuff under the very noses of the custom officers—the nearest yachtlieutenant was therefore not so ignorant as the old folks and carolus had often need of all his address and cunning to get off with a whole skin, and house his matters securely. however, these sort of bold adventures were his pleasure, and the bamboozling a spy exciseman he looked upon as the most honorable of transactions — the only point which vexed him, in the whole business, was that he could not talk about his valiant deeds, and boast of them a little for he never dared mention such things to his parents-it would only the hermit. 47 have led to fears and anxiety on their part, and moreover, a confidence of the kind might be attended with danger, and so he was obliged to be satisfied with enjoying his pride and success by himself. the clock now struck five, and carolus thought it best to seek his solitary crib, where, nevertheless, thoughts of the singular stranger, of the gentle wife, and the lively, lighthearted boy kept him awake for a good quarter of an hour longer. his sleeping thoughts were divided between the fair johanna and the “ free sailer" alone. + 48 the hermit. ciiapter iii. the johannis cliff. * sotenas, one of the largest promontories which extend into the sea, from the central coasts of bohusland, derived its name, according to old tradition, from the numerous shipwrecked mariners, who had there died a natural death. now whether there was more ground for this assertion, than for a saying that the term originated from one sote, who had formerly settled here, this district is, all events, much prized by the antiquary, as a rich mine of valuable recollections, and espesot-do-den-signifies a natural death-nas--a promontory or peninsular. at the hermit. 49 cially for its wonderful mountain fastnesses, originally the strongholds of the mighty seakings--but in latter days, affording secure places of concealment to the daring smugglers of the coast. in the rocks of grafwerna, also, if there are no very interesting relics of antiquity to be found, there are a large number of excavations and hollows, deep enough not only to keep many a silent secret, but also to afford a refuge to the living in case of need. the gigantic urns or barrows with which the coast abounds, and out of which perchance the old vikings were wont to drink at their joyous revels, are likewise admirably calculated to play no mean part in the nocturnal adventures which have been going on for centuries, among their naked clefts and rocky coasts, hemmed in by their ocean girdle, and will probably continue to go on for centuries yet to come. at so inconsiderable a distance from the vol. i. d 50 the hermit. strand of grafwerna, that it almost looks as if it had been rent therefrom by some natural convulsion, lies a little rocky islet, called the johannis cliff ; its shape is something like an oval shell, in whose riven centre, between the abrupt sides of the rocky fissure, might be easily found space for a small house; towards ; ; the landward side, these walls are so closely drawn together, that the numerous rocky masses which appear to hover at once over and between them, form in themselves a sort of sheltering roof, the opening to which is almost en tirely hidden by a bed of shivered stones. on a hillock on the strand, just opposite to this cliff, which was so bare, and poor, and naked, that one poor, miserable, solitary thistle alone, had fixed its abode on its barren, desolate slope, as if moved by a sensation of pity. at the period of our story, the solitary stranger often stood and gazed forth on the sea, which incessantly watered the foot of the rock, carefully washing away every benevolent grain of a the hermit. 51 earth, which might perchance wish to linger on its surface. “what sayst thou, nicoline," asked letsler one day of his wife, “if we were to build us a house there ?”' pointing at the same time to the deep fissure in the cliff. a slight shudder affected the young wife's frame, as she somewhat evasively inquired“are you not contented here? is not this place still and lonely enough ? is it not awful enough here in grafwerna ?” “oh, nicoline, thou art but a weak woman; aye, weaker far than i believed, or had a right to expect from thy former courage,” said the husband, turning away from the companion of his life, who sat beside him on the hillock. nicoline quickly grasped his hand, whilst a tear which had tremblingly crept out upon her cheek fell, unseen, upon the hot granite where it quickly dried; a sad picture of poor nicoline's youthful bloom, already prematurely withered in the noonday of life's sandy waste. library university of itinnis d 2 52 the hermit. 9 letsler did not look at her, though he returned the warm pressure of her hand. “my bernhard, look upon me. i am not weak-oh no--not in the least-assuredly not. i thought but of george, not of myself.” “the boy again,” returned letsler, roughly, “thou dost love him more than me--and yet, do i need thy love the most, for he has known no sorrow." “and no joys of childhood either," urged nicoline, gently. “oh, bernhard, thou, who art in all things besides so good, how-how canst thou bear to be so unjust to thine own child ?" " that i am not—no, nicoline ; but thou understandest-canst judge as little of my feelings, as i am capable of judging or determining when the last drop of the wave, which beats but now against yon cliff, will sink back into its ocean bed.” “so hast thou said full often; will, then the time ever come when i shall learn to underthe hermit. 53 stand the thoughts and feelings, which, for twelve long years, have been to me but as a dark riddle." “ long, sayest thou ? aye, aye—i can well believe they have seemed long to thee, although i cannot call to mind that thou hast ever said as much." in these words of letsler's, there lay an expression which caused nicoline's soft heart to tremble; and some few moments elapsed before she ventured to break the silence. at length, she said, in a gentle, carressing, and entirely loving voice, "i meant not the evil which thou thinkest. god sees and knows i meant it not; but, oh! could i, thy wife, be ever so near thy heart, and yet not feel the time long, which has separated me from thy truer self.” it was a wonderful moving picture to look upon-how that stern, cold man, with a sudden wild, up-flaming passionateness, took his wife to his heart, and kissed her fair locks with all the fervor of a youthful lover. 2. a 54 the hermit. “my better self lives not in my thoughts, my nicoline ; in my heart—in my soul-in my spirit, are feelings-only feelings and these are thine, and thine alone-thou loved blue eye.” “ and i may only share thy brighter moments now; but hereafter--how will it be then—" and there was an unspeakably naïve and child-like innocence in the question. “ as now-otherwise it can never bedidst thou not promise, when thou didst pledge truth and love to the unhappy fugitive, that thou wouldst never seek a confidence impossible for him to give; for thee, it was enough that he was a proscribed one, who stood in the urge wide world alone." “ah, and it is so now,” she exclaimed, “think of my folly no more, and i will never thee on this point again.” “and give not way to the childish fancy that i love not our child as i ought. i love him, nicoline, as heartily, as deeply as thou the hermit. 55 dost thyself, though, maybe, in a different way; but he, who has naught left to him in this lone world, save one true woman's heart, likes ill, in even but the smallest measure, to share it with another.'' “ and has then, my bernhard, this measure been disproportioned ?” “i cannot say, my beloved; but what i assuredly meant, is that in thy weakness for him, thou hast sometimes, in some measure, forgotten and neglected me.” nicoline mutely leaned her head against her husband's shoulder ; she had no more to say in her defence--she had but the inward soothing consciousness in herself, that never had she neglected, even in thought, the unspeakably bitter duties which so oft had fallen heavy upon her pure bright spirit, on her warm and faithful heart. “let us speak no more of it," said letsler, who gradually fell back into his usual tone, his usual gloomy seriousness, thou to my proposal ?” what sayest 56 the hermit. nicoline's eyes slowly scanned the spot on which her husband's eyes were fixed. “ah,” she sighed, “it is hard to bind our george to this wild rock-ever and always exposed to the changes of storm and sea." “ is it not better far for him to breathe the pure and wholesome air, than that he should wither in the dull ruins to which he was once confined ?" “in denmark,” whispered nicoline, anxiously, “there are many sweet lonely countries, which" “which, however, are not sweden," interrupted letsler, shortly. “i will—i must breathe swedish air, should it be even only here upon this cliff, where a dwelling raised in the broadest part of yon fissure, would afford sufficient shelter from every tempest; and in order that george should not grow shy, but should early be inured to the only mode of life, for which i can destine him, namely, a life at sea-one too which he likes he shall have > the hermit. 57 an answer. permission to come often here to grafwerna, and accompany elias and carolus in their voyages.” nicoline was, at this moment, incapable of her george's future so dark, cold, and joyless, lay heavy on her heart; but it would have been as vain as unwise to have struggled against it; she saw that the die was cast, and that this desolate spot was too much in unison with the taste and wishes of her husband for him ever willingly to leave it; there was, therefore, nothing left for her, but as usual, to look on the consolatory side of things; but this she could not do at once; she needed time to accustom herself to this new vicissitude, which was to be of long duration. after a while, letsler arose, and turned towards the house, saying“i will seek elias then, and talk over my plan with him, in case i may interpret your silence as consent; you know, nicoline, how d5 58 the hermit. adverse i am to every kind of contact with mankind; here, upon this cliff, which i already love, i can live in quiet.” nicoline nodded a mute assent; but when her husband had left her, the tears streamed down her cheeks, and with looks of horror, and even of despair, she contemplated these gloomy rocks, which were to be her future and continual home; day after day, perhaps for long, long years, she was to sit here, living, as it were, upon her own tombstone, and count the weary hours; and when george, the highest, ; purest happiness of her soul, was away-when she should be alone with this mysterious man, to whom she was so devoted, because she loved and feared him too much to venture to have another thought, than his—how many hot, silent tears would not then flow ?-how many sighs start from her sad bosom, whilst her lips wore a smile, and her looks uttered no complaint; for if letsler should believe she was not happy, he would be quite capable of partthe hermit. 59 ing from her, and dwelling alone in this dreary place; and such an alternative, this true and loving woman felt, would be more trying still than living with him here. whilst nicoline sat thus wrapt in her silent dreams, the sun declined softly into the bosom of the waters, upon the smooth surface of which one or two fishing-boats were gliding aboutma rustling wind waved the rank seaweed, and played among the leaves of a rocking water-lily; while crimson clouds flamed between the gloomy masses of bill, and cast a kindly gleam upon the solitary thistle, which grew upon the johannis cliff. gradually, however, nicoline felt her bosom grow lighter. “ even here," whispered a gentle voice, “even here there may be peace and light; to the storms of each autumn and winter spring and summer will succeed, and every sun which rises and sets in its course invites us to a solemn spectacle, grand and beautiful in its lonely splendour.” 60 the hermit. 4 the plash of oars was heard in the vicinity of the strand, and as the boat glided along the azure surface it left a silvery glittering train behind it. this phenomenon, which sailors account for in various ways, looked strange and lustrous from nicoline's elevated position, and not the least beautiful and attractive object in the picture, to her, was her fair haired son, who, fishing rod in hand, sat in the stern and waved a greeting to her; urged by the sinewy arms of carolus the boat approached even nearer to the shore, whilst carolus trolled forth a song, and george listened attentively to the echo from the mountains. they came alongside the landing, carolus made the boat fast to a stake, and after he had carried in the richly stocked fishing net and the other tackle, hastened after george, who, as soon as he set foot on land, had run up to the hillock, where liis mother was sitting. it was beautiful to see with what nearly fatherly care, carolus, the young and vigorous the hermit. 61 sailor, looked after george, shewed him how to fish, taught him to steer and row the little boat, and entertained him with wondrous tales, which had most of them some reference to the cape of sotenäs. “humbly beg pardon, lady,” said carolus, when he had reached the summit of the rock where nicoline had already received her darling, “i hardly thought that master george was so brisk at climbing these steep crags, and feared he might fall and hurt himself.” " thanks, thanks, good carolus," answered nicoline, nodding kindly to the young man, you are so very good-natured and friendly to my george." oh! yes, mother," interrupted george, “i have never been so happy as here—i would always be with carolus, if i could—i like him so much." “ children are always so easily contented," said carolus, modestly. “but if i durst presume to ask, how is't that the gentleman and lady sit here so often on this hill." > " 62 the hermit. “we are looking at that singular cleft in the johannis cliff, and i have often wondered why it is called johannis cliff-does carolus know ? “aye, aye, i know well enough," said carolus, “ there is a strange saying about yon cliff, which i heard from grandmother, when she was living." “if you have time perhaps you will tell us the story ?” said nicoline, with an encouraging glance, whilst george-in spite of his reluctance-made him sit down, saying, “ i knew right well that carolus had some more stories for us." well, well, as regards myself, a fellow that speaks with no better tongue than he has received from nature; however, if i should make any mistakes—and i can't promise i shall not—you must excuse me, dear lady." and carolus, after this introduction, and having given his forehead and his tarry breeches an encouraging rub, began his narrative as follows. the hermit. 63 “ at that time—for look you-this story is of a time long, long ago—at that time when the old sea-kings lived and ruled here on these coasts, and had their battles and tournaments, which you may see carved and scratched upon the rocks to this day; with their horses and soldiers, and ships, which they called dragons, and also held their fearful great banquets, for they were not only fond of the sword, but of their liquor too—there dwelt a man here in grafwerna, who passed for a lusty warrior, and this man had a daughter, and the saying went forth that she had not her equal for beauty; but she was so masculine in her habits, that she could use the sword and the bow, and set a sail or steer a boat as well as a man, and so she always went with her father to all sorts of fights, dressed like a man, so that nobody might see how beautiful she was, and take a liking to her. “ but take what care she would, one morning the king's son caught a glimpse of her 64 the hermit. before she had put up her yellow hair under her steel bonnet, and as the prince loved pretty women and adventures better than anything else, he was highly delighted at the discovery which he had so unexpectedly made, and came and stood boldly before the damsel, who was uncommonly fierce upon the occasion, and clapped her hand on her sword. "beauteous maiden,' said the king's son, drawing quite near to her, you must not imagine that i wish to injure you; but my father is a very severe man, and he would be sure to take it very ill if he found out that there was a woman in his army, and so let it be a secret between us.' “at that moment, so says the story, the damsel felt as if a mill-stone had fallen upon her lily breast, and that she had spoken with the king's son in an unlucky hour; however, she kept this to herself, and replied,very well, as far as i am concerned.' 6 the hermit. 65 “and so things went on for a time, the maiden was continually persecuted by the king's son with offers of love, and he would fain have persuaded her to fly with him; but she loved another, who was a poor man and not a great one, but who in her mind was more amiable and prouder and handsomer, than any king's son in swealand; and this man whom she liked was called johannes, and was one of the champions of stonge-näs, where there was another king, like him who reigned at sotenäs—there was no want of kings in those days—now as the maiden had plighted her faith to this johannes, she absolutely refused to have anything to say to the prince or his promises, but told her father all about it, and begged for leave to quit the fighting business and go away home, and the father who knew very well that the king's son did not want to marry his daughter, was glad enough to have her safe at home, and got her sent away quite quietly. “but secretly and quietly as it was planned 66 the hermit. . and done, there were two persons who had spied it all out, and these two were the prince himself and johannes, and each had his own ideas about it. well, a short time after the maiden had gone home, she was sitting one evening as you, dear lady, may be sitting now, and looking at the beautiful sunset, and as she sat and sighed for her dearest, who she knew was away at the wars—for it happened just then that the two kings of stongenäs and sotenäs had made an alliance, to chastise a cunning robber chief, who was making havoc of the parish of swarteborg-as she was sitting there, as i said, there came creeping quietly round the point of the rocks a little boat, and the damsel was not slow to get on her feet, for, thought she, there is johannes come to visit me; and in the twilight-it was, perhaps, a little darker than it is just nowshe flew to meet him whom she expected, but scarcely had she beheld the man who; had landed on the strand, than she stopped shortthe hermit. 67 i for, god's death, it was the king's son who stood before her, in his own clothes, and would have embraced her. keep your hands off,' cried the damsel, ' for even if i have no sword or bow, yet i can take care of myself, and that you know.' “but the prince was not to be abashed. w" “i offer,' said he, 'i offer to my beautiful maiden stores of gold and silver, and pearls from the depths of the sea, and rings and golden brooches as much and as many as she likes.' 6. get thee hence, thou persuadest me not,' answered the maiden to his address. “"i will not go,' he returned, but if you won't come by fair means i'll use force.' «do it and take me then,' said she, but before he could lay hold of her she threw a sharp stone at him, and gave him such a buffet on the head, that he felt his top-rigging begin to buzz, and began to run about like mad. “ and now, just at the very worst, another 68 the hermit. 6 c little boat came to land, and, with a cry of joy, the maiden recognized the voice of her lover. «. to sea, my brave lass,' shouted johannes, rushing up the strand so as to get the maiden in his arms. you must know,' said he, that this rascal has ten warriors here in ambush, or else i'd fight him, but now we must fly. “but just see now, the boat had scarcely shoved off when the prince recovered himself so far as to summon his warriors together with his whistle, and they tumbled away, neck and crop, into their boat to fetch back the fugitives. “ when johannes saw how it was, and that it was clean impossible to get out to sea-he landed there yonder, by the cliff—and had just time to get up before the whole swarm were after him, like raging wolves after a lamb. johannes and his dearest were but two against eleven; however, he fought and she fought with superhuman strength, but they soon saw the hermit. 69 that the fight could not end well for them, and so the maiden cried with a loud voice“dear johannes, if thus lovest me, rather hurl me down into the depths of the sea with thine own hand, for, if thou shouldst fall, i know what fate awaits me.' " these words made the blood boil like fire in johannes’ veins, and he cut and slashed and stabbed about him as if he had been a very devil; but when he felt himself getting exhausted and knew that he could not hold out much longer, he fixed his looks sadly on his beloved, and when he had looked into her utmost soul, and she neither turned pale nor shewed any signs of fear, but only looked lovingly and gently in his eyes : he said, ". fare thee well now beautiful maid, we shall soon meet again. it was done in a moment, a slight motion of the water alone denoted the spot where she had sunk. and now johannes paused awhile to breathe, and then collected his whole remaining strength 70 the hermit. for a manly struggle to the last; and the following morning when the sun again shone upon the cliff, there lay no less than six corpses, and amongst them that of the king's son himselfnearest to johannes; and, in memory of this fight, the cliff is called to this day by the name of the johannis cliff. the maiden's name was never known, but on the spot whence she was thrown down sprang up a thistle, which has remained there ever since; and sometimes deep in the night one may hear a song from the sea beneath, and a that is the maiden singing a merry welcome to her bridegroom.” thanks, good carolus, for the pretty story,” said nicoline,“ perhaps i may be fortunate enough to hear the virgin's song sometimes." aye, may be so," returned carolus, for he clung with a kind of predilection to the superstition, which still, and often in a poetical form, shews itself in the boldest natures on 66 66 the hermit. 71 these coasts. “i have myself heard her more than once; it's just as if little plates of silver were sounding against each other; but it must be calmer than it is this evening for you to distinguish it." " and does not johannes too sing sometimes ?” asked george, who had silently and thoughtfully listened to the tale. “no, no, johannes only listens; and i am not surprised at it, however--sometimes--if master george remains here till autumn--when the storm howls and rages one can plainly hear the clash of swords and the struggle of the warriors falling down with a mighty rush, as if the rocks themselves had got on their legs to wrestle with each other. aye, aye, that's as true as can be, master george, you may rely see, there comes mother to say the fish is ready, be so good, dear lady, as to enter and taste them—they are master george's catching when george in the evening wished his upon it. but 72 the hermit. 66 a father good night, the latter, holding his hand fast awhile, asked him, do you like this place, george ?” “yes, father, i never in my life have been happier. every day is so pleasant, and now carolus has promised to take me with him to a little island, named tryggö; there is a singular grave there like a pipe, and in it are said to rest the bones of the old viking, tryggive. you know, father, how king tryggive, in the story, was murdered by the crafty gadröd's warriors; however, i never believed when i read the story, that i should see the island itself.” aye, and that is only one of the many curious things that you may see, if we remain here,” said letsler, in a tone calculated to excite george's fancy for the sea, and the wonders of the coast. " i should like to stay here for good,” he exclaimed with vivacity, “where could we be better than here with elias and carolus ?» 66 , the hermit. 173 6 " but in winter time there are no amusements here: have you thought of that, george ?» “oh, then i must learn to make boats and rig them like the free sailer,' and i can help elias, too, to mend the nets, and go fishing on the ice with carolus." “ but what will mother do ?" asked lestler giving a gentle glance at nicoline, who was leaning against the window, listening to the dialogue between her husband and son. oh, mother will do the same as she does anywhere else.” “ how do you mean ?” “i hardly know-i don't know what she does, but mother always does something to make me feel she is always near me-and that's the best-" “ thanks, my george," said nicoline, pressing a kiss on her son's forehead. vol. i. 54 the hermit. chapter iv. nightly adventures. the changing years come and go. one sows in tears, and reaps in joy, a better and richer harvest than was either hoped for, or expected; another, on the contrary, already rejoicing in the hope of gathering in the most beautiful and noblest fruits, is unexpectedly assailed by nights of frost and tempest, which destroy both seed and harvest; and the fountain of tears so quickly dried up in the former, gushes forth afresh in the latter; while a third wanders onward now as before, on its endless course, over the monotonous and thorny paths of trial and reverse. there are human beings whom one might a 1 the hermit. 75 almost believe to have been destined for martrys from their birth-upon whose heads so many totally unforeseen sorrows have continuously accumulated—that astonished and terrorstricken one is led to ask, can one poor mortal being endure all this? and yet we see but the outward visible signs of all the ravages which these storms of sorrow have left behind—and how poor and little is this in comparison with the depth of torture, and of pangs, which no human eye can fathom or discern in the heart of another. how should we be capable of entertaining the most remote conception of the interior of this close and narrow world, where, perhaps, duty and affection, care, humiliation, shame, and hopeless darkness maintain an eternal struggle -where each hour, and minute, and even each particular second, bears witness to a new sorrow, though self-created. the human heart has not burden enough in real sorrows---but the very remainder--the dregs of life's bittere 3 76 the hermit. ness -even this, it fills up with reflections a thousand-fold more bitter than the real sorrows and sufferings of either body or mind. for three years, now the lonesome thistle on the johannis cliff, had no longer held its solitary dominion over these gloomy crags ; a little building with three windows facing the sea, had found space and shelter in the great cleftby the firm walls of which its gable ends were formed—while its rear so closely adjoined the mountain cavern we have before mentionedthat there was a communication between the two. often as the sun was declining could the distant sailor discern nicoline's fair locks fluttering in the breeze as she sat on the rocky platform before her dwelling, listening to the murmur of the waves, or the soft silver tones of the virgin in the azure waters--many seamen looked upon the whole appearance—the fair beautiful woman, on the wild cliff, surrounded by sea, as a mere splendid aerial deception; the hermit. 77 and supposed it to be one of those inexplicable wonders which the sons of the ocean too frequently encounter in their voyages. on the other hand, in the stormy nights of autumn, when the wild surges broke over the foot of the johannis cliff, waving with the din of a thousand tongues--they could sometimes see how the moon, after being for hours veiled in grey misty clouds, at last, shed a pale beam upon another form, which now, in its turn, occupied the rocky seat. cowering gloomily with folded arms, letsler would contemplate the wild strife of nature--was it good for him thus to vent the hollow half suppressed sighs which burst from his desolate heart; mingling with the howl of the tempest, and the wild roar of the surge; no, it was not; for with each succeeding autumn, that form which had assuredly once been endowed with almost perfect manly beauty, appeared more and more bowed and broken, until at length nothing but a bent infirm old man was left. 78 the hermit. during the first years a young and growing boy might be often seen at his side, and still more oft, an airy being, which, like a gleam of the northern lights, or a ministering angel, seemed to hover around his gloomy nightwatch; but these forms of light afterwards ; disappeared, and for many a long year the seaman beheld but the contour of the mysterious recluse on the johannis cliff. the all-powerful hand of custom had sufficed to dull the first bitter struggle in nicoline's bosom; she no longer shuddered as she had done, the first time she had trodden the threshold of this strange abode; which, in her silent thoughts she named a living grave--no, now the heart had constrained itself to composure, and to patience-no more did she regard the passing sail, with envy and bitterness (such bitterness at least as could dwell in such a soul as nicoline's). she no longer watched with longing looks, for each successive morning sun, she allowed them to come and without ܕ ܐ go, the hermit. 79 busying herself with the painful reckoning, of how long she had been there; without a prospect before her, or around, save clouds and cliffs, and sea. and yet her heart did not break, for she possessed a rich source of consolation in her blooming son, who was at once the object of her grief, and the solace and reward of all her anxious cares. healthy and vigorous, with an inured and hardened body, a spirit full of life, and a warm and kindly heart, he grew up on the sea, accustoming himself to its toils and dangers, which he even thus early loved, as much as he did its pleasures; for next to his tender mother, the sea was the first and dearest object of george's every thought and hope—under carolus's guidance, he learned every wearying toilsome duty of a sailor; and the honest carolus, who loved him for his alacrity and boldness, was a kind of actual master to the boy-and george always parted with carolus, and the free sailer with great reluctance, when he 80 the hermit. ! was obliged in the long autumn evenings to pursue the studies, in which he needed his father's aid; but when nicoline's clear glance beamed upon him, even this task grew light and pleasant. if some curiosity had been awakened, in the little fishing village, by the first arrival of the family in grafworna, and their after settlement on the johannis cliff; it had completely died away again, so that scarce a human being ever mentioned the stranger, who did nothing to excite attention, and therefore escaped it. they guessed, indeed, that the new inhabitant of the strand was not destitute of means, though he received neither visits or letters, nor seemed to be connected with any human being through whom these means could reach himnevertheless, he must have had some resource, for though he supplied his frugal table with fish with his own hand; more than that was requisite to live, and purchase the various and abundant supplies which carolus brought for the hermit. 81 him from the towns, when he returned from his trips. then the arrangement and furnishing of the three rooms which comprised the entire house, though betokening the most unassuming simplicity-were quite distinct from poverty. the middle room of the three which opened on the cliff was inhabited by lestler himself; the one on the left, which had also a separate outlet, was george's; and that on the right, the prettiest and best furnished of them all, was appropriated to nicoline. this curious little chamber, which, to correspond with the opening of the cliff, was triangular, might have easily passed for the cell of a nun, when the pale moon-beams shone into it on a cold dark autumn or winter evening; but if one saw it on a sunny day in spring, or a calm summer evening, and looked out through the pretty jalousies with the bright passion flower, which nicoline had trained up the trellis work of a leafy ivy-if one looked through these jalousies, over which the snowy e 5 82 the hermit, white curtains waved in the gentle breeze, which sighed through the half open windows, and saw the blue sea bounded by stern mountain masses, and studded with rocky coasts and holms, with the waves rolling and dashing upon the red polished shingles, while here and there a proud ship, with swelling sails, sped on its foaming track, and the sea-birds hovered in wide circles above its lofty masts--and last of all, the beautiful woman who sat at the window, her fair golden locks waving and fluttering, and seeming to mingle with the verdant foliage, one might almost fancy it the realisaion of one of those enchanted bowers famed in story, where a fair captive maiden gazed out upon the sea, and awaited the moment of deliverance. in this little sanctuary of nicoline's stood her work-table and book-case, and in a corner of the little sofa, which was pushed into a recess at the end of the room, lay her guitar, to which, in times long past, she had warbled the hermit. 83 > > cheerful ballads. she never sang now, except, perhaps, sometimes when george would urge her, or when sitting alone on the johannis cliff, while her husband and son were absent fishing, she would lull her heart to rest with the well-known notes. when george was at home, it was his chief delight to sit by his mother in this little room, , and scan over the tasks, which his father had set him; for, at this time, letsler was not unmindful of his son's education, and in after years, these hours never faded from his memory. yet, the simplest truth, the gentlest event from his mother's lips, had an infinitely higher worth for him, and his mind must have been pre-occupied indeed, when a word from her had lost its power to engage his attention. this was the case one evening, when, after having laid by his books, and having been twice reminded to get out his colour-box, which he used under nicoline's instructions, he still sat casting longing glances at the door. 84 the hermit. “what do you want, my george ? have you no longer pleasure, then, in being with your inother ?” “oh, yes, certainly, that always gives me pleasure ; but i was to go out with carolus to fish." “but not to stay out all night, dear child." “i know not how soon we shall have doneaccording to what work we have." " but, my dear george, are you not at sea enough when you make long voyages with father elias and carolus ?-why will you always be out dabbling in the water ?” ah, dear mother, the water is like a home to me; and then, though when i go long voyages, they are merry and pleasant, and i see many curious things ; yet they are nothing to the little trips which carolus and i make alone-then it's all good fun, and not so formallike as when old elias sits at the helm." but what sort of trips are these then ? certainly not for the sake of mackerel-fishing. 66 a 66 the hermit. 85 forat night, when, as you know, your father often cannot sleep, and goes out into the air, some, times i follow him, and then i have more than once noticed the free sailer, and sometimes a smaller boat, steered by carolus, glide up to the landing-have you not seen it too, my child ?" “have not i?" answered george, with a triumphant glance, “i have been out with him several nights." “you? when i thought you were in bed and asleep." “oh, yes, nicely i stopped there, you may fancy; but, mother, you can't think how i can manage an oar among the cliffs and rocks, and how strong i am.”' “strong ! and why do you need to be so strong, then ? what do you mean ?” “oh, i mean that one has good need of strong hands to carry bales, sometimes large, and sometimes small-they're not so light, i can tell you—and then to creep, creep along 86 the her mit. the sand, and softly, as softly as any cat, and then to find out the best hiding-places, sometimes in the rocky cliffs, and then in the holes among the cliffs—oh, that is the best of all; but it must be right dark and stormy, so that it whistles again, or else it's not as it ought to be." “but, my dear child, i don't rightly understand all this; where does carolus get all these bales ?-what do they contain ?-and where do they go to after you have hidden them in the clefts ?” nicoline, who was in these matters ignorant and unsuspicious as a child, had yet some instinctive feeling that all was not right. “sometimes,” answered george, “another boat comes and receives the freight after we have brought them a little way, and sometimes we meet a boat which gives them over to us--and then we sometimes bury them--especially in the great giant ruins, and put a stone on for as а the hermit. 87 a lid--and sometimes in other places, which i can't speak of—and again, sometimes we go over to one of the merchants, and unload the goods in their sea-booths." “but don't you think, george, that there is something wrong in these secret trips ?—tell me, now, don't you think so yourself ?” george seemed puzzled what to answer. "i don't know rightly,” he said, at last, “though i can't conceive what harm there can be in it." “does father elias know anything about it? “no, as far as i know, nothing at all; and i know the first time carolus took me with him, he told me, that these sort of journeys never succeeded, if too many people knew of them; however, he said, that he knew i was a handy, silent lad, and so he thought to do me a pleasure.” "and he expressly forbade you to say anything about it to your parents ?" 88 the hermit. “no, no; he did not do that; for then you may believe, i should not have told you this. i never tell anything which i am told to be silent about." “but, dear george," said his mother, caressingly; "why did you not tell me long ago about these nightly excursions ? i tell you, my dear child, that you must make no more of them; for if there is nothing actually wrong ; about their secresy, it is very possible they may injure your health.” “ there see now-i might have thought so -i knew how it would be,” exclaimed george, in a sorrowful tone ; “but now, mother, you understand why i never told you this before ; and why i am very sorry to have told you now." “shame upon you, george ; how can you be so naughty-you grieve me." “ and you grieve me, too! i knew right well that you would be uneasy as soon as you learnt it, and there would be an end of all my 66 the hermit. 89 most delightful pleasures; and yet there can be no harm in it, if carolus serves these merchants and brings them their goods in safety.” “these pleasures, however," said nicoline, gently, caressing the boy's glowing cheeks, they cannot be of so much value as that for them you would willingly make me uneasy-i could never sleep in peace if i knew you were out on the sea--and you must be so cold and wretched." “cold, mother-oh, no! i am sometimes so hot, that i quite perspire—and then i always dress myself, so that i can't take cold; and now, as i have told you so much, i can tell you, too, that i have been with carolus twice to patron holmer's at strand, and he was so attentive and hospitable; and do you know what, mother ?” and kere george's impetuosity and vexation entirely yielded to the pleasure of telling his dear mother something new; “ do you know patron holmer has a little 90 the hermit. daughter fanny—a sweet little girl, and so clever, and good—i have made several little boats for her, and she gave me the nice walnuts and figs which i have sometimes brought you. yes, yes, dear mama, he who goes abroad into the world, sees many things—but my poor, poor, dear mama, you remain there, where you sit, like a little lonely bird, or the maiden's thistle out there on the cliff.” “i do not complain of it, my george ; and i am not left alone like the poor thistle; and dow tell me, if you have not been sorry to have had a secret from me i never believed that it was possible.” "i did not do so of my own liking, mother ; and you may fancy it was hard enough sometimes ; but never, never, dear mother," and here george looked his mother warmly and honestly in the face ; never could i have done so, if i had not been afraid that it would turn out as it has done, and that there would be an end of all my fun, as soon as i said a word about it !" 66 the hermit. 91 “and do you repent your openness then, my child ? “no, mother; i would not have it undone, for all my adventures together; but, oh, dear, how i shall long after them-you can't imagine, dear mother, how sorely i shall miss them.” this discourse, which nicoline believed to have been unmarked, had been overheard by letsler through the half-open door, although the latter sitting by the little stove, had appeared only occupied with his own thoughts. “what is all this spoiling the boy again ?” he enquired, if not severely, at least in no very gentle tone, as he entered his wife's room. “ if, my dear bernhard, you have heard all that has passed,” replied nicoline, deprecatingly, “i hope you approve what i have been saying to george.” -66 not in the very least for a youngster who is to be brought up to get his bread upon the sea---all such restraints are good for nothing—in a word, spoiling wont do-there92 the hermit. fore, my dear nicoline, you must just patiently suffer george to accustom himself to storm and sunshine. alas, he will have to learn more than this—at any rate.” nicoline had long been habituated to respect every decision of her husband's; but in this case, she was inclined to believe herself justified in forming her own opinion, and she, therefore, gently ventured to object. “i believe," she said, “that it will do " george no good, being with carolus in these nocturnal adventures, and therefore i think it would be all the better for him not to be allowed to go." “pray tell me, then, what danger exists therein, for you know that george must be out in all weathers." “alas ! dear bernhard, i know it but too well; but i can only answer your questions by a reference to my own peculiar feelings.” 'which have, however, more than once deceived you; trust me, who have some experience the hermit. 93 of the world, when i tell you, that in these trips, carolus merely undertakes to transfer goods from one hand to another. i cannot give you any more detailed explanation, because you would not understand me without i entered into it at length; be convinced, however, that carolus is undertaking nothing on his own private account, and earns nothing thereby, except by means of an honest arrangement with the merchants to whom he brings the goods." all this, which certainly cannot be called decidedly untrue, and which certainly sounded very well, even if it had been addressed to other ears than those of nicoline, did not, it is true, remove her uneasiness, but had the effect of making her believe that her husband must naturally know best—and, above all, that he would never permit it, if there was anything in it which could injure george's moral perceptions. however, this evening george remained at 94 the hermit. home of his own accord, for, young as he was, and scarcely able to comprehend his own feelings, it yet gave him so much pain, that his mother had been obliged to suffer contradiction, that even if it had not been sufficient thus to give way to her wishes, he would still have done so, merely to show his father how highly he respected them. even letsler, on this occasion, paid a voluntary tribute to the over-flowing tenderness he felt for a wife, whom he, at once, tormented and adored; he caressed george, and said, with unusual affection“it pleases me, boy, that you have remained at home, and though i should not have refused you leave, i should have been ill-satisfied if you had gone out this evening ; never neglect to give way to the feelings of the heart, when they are consistent with honour." the hermit. 95 chapter v. an adventure. in the following spring, there were rejoicings at grafwerna of no common kind, for carolus brought home his young wife; he had been, for upwards of a year, half owner of the free sailer, and his father had now ceded the other half as a marriage gift. carolus was, therefore, now his own master, and not a little proud of being sole owner of the saucy free sailer, as well as of the pretty johanna. the frequent and fortunate trips which he had made during the summer and late into the autumn to helsinger, malmö, and göteberg, gave reason to suppose that now that he was a 96 the hermit. a married man, carolus would give up the somewhat hazardous employment, which, as bachelor, he had so actively engaged in, and this was not a little vexatious to the houses of business, to whom his activity and shrewdness had been so profitable. “god be praised and blest that i have thee once more, my george,” said nicoline, as she pressed her son to her heart on his return from their last autumn voyage, and the mother gazed, with fond pride and tears of joys in her eyes, on the athletic form, lively glance, and proudly curling lip of her son ; his sailor's jacket, and long red neckerchief became him so well, and the little hat, which he stuck so saucily on his head, in all sorts of ways, to shew his mother how he managed to keep it on in a storm. george was fourteen years old; but looked sixteen, and the development of his understanding seemed to keep even pace with the growth of his body—there was not a more the hermit. 97 attentive, affectionate son to be found, and there was something quite affecting in the many little acts of self-denial he would practise when in the various towns which they touched at, in order to expend his money in some little purchase to give his parents an agreeable surprise-generally a pretty flowervase, or a work-box, eau-de-cologne, or such things. this time, however, he brought quite a superb present, to procure which, he had been obliged to forego his ardent wish to visit the marionette theatre, and the wild beasts, and even to deny a little beggar boy, whom he often assisted, a penny, and rogale him with a ship's biscuit instead, and having thus quieted his conscience, he hurried off to purchase his treasure-a beautiful canary bird in a gilded cage. it would be hard to say which was most delighted, nicoline at receiving george's present, which he had denied himself so many vol. i. f 98 the hermit. things to procure for her, or george, when he saw his mother bend down over the cage, and talk to "pretty fanny,”—for george had already named his new pet after the little fairy of strand, and to distinguish the two names, he proposed to call the bird norwegian fanny in speaking not to but of it. about a week after his return, george was one evening sitting in his father's apartment, whither nicoline had also brought her knitting, and was seated as close as possible to the stove, on account of the increasing cold. it was one of those disagreeable, inclement evenings on which the western gales rush whistling along the coast, committing sundry ravages in their course; the little weather-cock on the roof creaked, and the windows rattled so violently on their hinges, that they seemed, to those within, as if they would momentarily be rent away, while the awful roaring of the surf was heard as it broke, at intervals, on the western side of the. johannis cliff, and either dashed the hermit. 99 violently against the naked rocks, or washed over them. george sat at nicoline's work-table, rigging a little boat after the pattern of the free sailer, and almost every time that his father passed as he paced the room, george had a question ready, such as whether the fore-mast was not too heavy, or if the keel was right, and whether his father did not think that the prow had very much the bend of one of thomas's, of kile, boats, and then he wanted to know if it would not be possible to build a large boat after his model. from letsler's curt and absent answers to the boy's lively questions, george and his mother saw that this was one of those days, when his thoughts seemed unusually engrossing, and they, therefore, conversed with each other, and nicoline said, among other things, "only think, george, if you were out now; are you not sometimes frightened at the 100 the hermit. breakers, and the great waves, in the late autumn." " afraid of breakers or great waves ? no, my dear, good mother. i assure you i say nothing i but truth, when i tell you, i know not what fear is. carolus, too, is never anxious, and you may trust me, we have often been out in the free sailer in worse weather than this, and then i would stand in the bows, and hold on by the stay, and when the spray dashed over my face and breast, like heavy rain, i liked it and felt so happy, that i only wished it to last ; and then, too, in the storms, i had such thoughts—such glorious thoughts-oh, if they could come true, you would have plenty of joy in this world, mother.” " what thoughts were these then, my george ?" oh, you know i often long for a berth in a ship-of-war, and then, if we were out in a storm, or the like, i have so ardently wished and prayed to be out in such weather on board 66 the hermit. 101 a king's ship, and at close fight with an enemy. oh, how fine that must be," and george's eyes beamed at the airy castles which he was building; "only think, mother dear—thoughts are cheap—think how, if i was the first, ay, the first to board and plant the jolly swedish flag upon the conquered enemy's ship. the crew disarmed, i know how it is—and then when all is again in order, and our people on board the prize, then all hands are piped on deckand now don't laugh-and then george letsler is called forward, and the captain claps him on the shoulder, and says—let me see, what shall he say? aye, i have it george letsler,' he , says, “thou hast borne thee bravely, and like a man, my lad—thou art gunner, and goest into the cadet's cabin.' now, mother, what do you think ?-would'nt that be fine ? or if he said, “george letsler, thou hast been named with others for a medal-go on so, and thou wilt soon be an officer. " “i see, very well,” rejoined nicoline, smil6 6 102 the hermit. ing gently at the brilliant hopes of her son, " that thou canst build castles in the air, as well as boats--ah, my dear george." “ah, my dear mother, these airy castles are not so stupid after all—they have come true for others, and why may they not for me ? and i should like to see you, mother, when, after , several years, some evening, just as you are to-day,” and here george dropped his voice, you should be sitting in your own apartment, near the dear passion flower, and playing with norwegian fanny, who should be hopping about on the table, and picking hemp-seeds from your lips--and then, as you are sitting there, the door opens, and a tall youth-i, believe i shall be tall-enters, with golden epauletts on his shoulders, and a medal on his breast—and this gentleman--one, two, three -clasps his mother in his arms, and thinks that that is the best of all his happiness." nicoline regarded her george with such a look as mothers alone can bestow upon an only child. the hermit. 103 » “thou dost paint," said she, “with the brilliant colouring with which thine untainted wholesome age endows all the objects of life; but now, bethink thee, if, instead of receiving, with joy, the tall youth, with epauletts and medal, i should get a letter from one of his friends, enclosing the medal as a memorial of my only beloved george, who had fallen in fight." “ aye, it might happen so," returned george, however, the first idea pleases me the most, and i have a good reason for it too, for if i could once get on so far, and earn money enough to be able to buy a nice little house and a pretty garden, in a beautiful country, where there must be a lake, upon which one can sail, then it would be my dearest wish--when father and mother were slumbering, to convey you both away from this comfortless johannis cliff, to the pretty little house, which i had set in order for you, and i promise you there would be a surprise when you woke." 104 the hermit. sense. as he ended his boyish talk, letsler turned · to him somewhat pettishly. “have done chattering such childish noni should really think thou wert a little too old for such silly gossip.” why should it be childish silly gossip ?” asked george, coloring, “to wish that i might be able to take my father and mother away from this place i dream of it nearly every night." " then get rid of thy dreams at once, my boy,” replied his father, in a gentler tone, " for i may as well tell thee, once for all, that they will never be realized.” “ never ?” asked george, impressively, “will you then, both, father and mother too, die on this barren cliff." “we will die here," was the cold answer, “ " and if thou couldst build me a house of gold i would still prefer this naked cliff.” “but thou my, george,” said nicoline, " cheeringly, “thou shalt go forth into the world the hermit. 105 and live there happy and cheerful, and shall come home now and then to rejoice thy parents' hearts." george shook his head sadly; after his father's gloomy words, he could not regain his former cheerful tone. meanwhile the storm increased in violence, and whistled and roared louder and more loud, and at last a mighty blast caught the door and burst it wide open, leaving a free passage to the wind. “shut the door, my child," said nicoline, with a slight shudder, “it is a comfortless thing to live, as it were, nearly in the sea.” “he who may this night be striving with, the wild waves out there, would, i believe, give a great deal, to be as safe as we are though,” replied letsler, as he knocked the ashes from his pipe. “aye, my friend , that is true," said nicoline who felt her conscience reproach her, that she could give way to a complaint regarding herf 5 106 the hermit. a self, at a moment when numberless human beings were probably in imminent danger of their lives, “but it is fearful,” she continued, “to hear how the storm increases, and to think of all the unhappiness it may cause." “that is all a part of the time of year, mother," said george, to comfort her, “and it does not blow so strong now as it did last year, and for many a one before that this last month has been a stormy time." at this instant a whirling gust caught the shutters, so that the bolts gave way, and springing open, they begun to clash loudly against each other. “i'll scon lash them fast," said george, seizing a cord, and hastening out to the platform. there was a thick darkness over sea and land, as if everything had been enveloped in an immense shroud. george had some trouble to get at the window, and after he had made the shutters the hermit. 107 fast, and tried them several times to see that they would not be likely to fly open again, and frighten his mother, he posted himself on the outermost side of the cliff, and strained his looks to seek the sote-head, that high, dangerous promontory, which had already been the destruction of so many a noble ship, and the grave of many a bold warm-hearted sailor. "how it pipes and rages here,” thought george, as he listened to the sea, as it surged up, roaring and rushing among the stones; tearing them loose, and casting them back into the deep, from whence the serf dashed up in high columns of foam, "it's far worse outside there, though—god have all poor comrades in his keeping, who are at sea this night,” he uttered, devoutly, and again entered the little house, which, spite of his love for the sea, appeared to-night most cheering and inviting. nicoline brought up their little supper, which her husband and son seemed to enjoy, but she, herself, was too uneasy to be able to eat. 108 the hermit. “poor tender child, who canst not habituate thyself to this rough life," said letsler affectionately glancing at his true companion. “ah, good bernhard, there are some things to which we can never habituate ourselves, i almost feel as if i should be less timid if it was not so dark outside." "somewhat later the moon will get up, if that will comfort thee, and probably the storm will also soon break, it seldom lasts very long, when it comes in this hurricane fashion, and a din which could not have arisen from the sea, or the tempest, now shook the house, in all its timbers, and a violent flash which glared in through the little hole in the shutters, announced an addition to the hubbub of the elements without. “ lightning,” exclaimed nicoline, anxiously, “oh, this is getting too dreadful-at the end of october, too." u that is not quite unusual," remarked letܕܙ (4 the hermit.' 109 sler, “but what art thou standing there and listening to, george ?" “it seemed to me as if i heard a knocking at the house door.” “knocking at the door? impossible, who could be out this evening ?” but three repeated knocks nearly as violent as the thunder itself, made the family fully aware that there could be no mistake, however, the knocks were well known, for all three at once exclaimed "carolus !" george flew to shove back the bolt. " what is't ?” he asked. “i have no time to talk about it now,” said carolus, rushing by george, into the room; and, forgetting even his usual courtesy to nicoline, he hurriedly approached letsler, and whispered a few words in his ear. “good, good! it shall be done at once," said the latter, and carolus hurried out again, immediately. 110 the hermit “go to thy chamber, my child, thou hadst better go to rest,” said letsler, to his wife, in a tone which betrayed unusual haste and impatience. nicoline made no reply, she was so terrified at the idea of seeing something dreadfulperhaps a mangled corpse—perhaps something -she knew not what_that she was incapable of moving—and as it appeared that letsler had no time to lose, he urged her no farther, but turned to a large press which he alone was in the habit of using. at the touch of a spring in this press, which, to all uninitiated eyes appeared fast to the wall, but in fact moved upon hinges, it separated itself from the wall, and turned back like a door. with mute astonishment, nicoline saw her husband disappear through this door, and again come forth, first with one anker and then another, and afterwards four more; he now called george from the passage, and bade him fill all the ankers with water as quickly as possible, and wait for further oräers. a the hermit. 111 immediately afterwards a violent rushing noise was heard in the passage. now thought she, they are bringing in the poor shipwrecked people, for this idea incessantly occupied her thoughts--however to her unspeakable astonishment, she saw nothing but two large casks, which were rolled in by carolus and his boatswain, stonge-jan. and these casks, were should they be put, but in the secret place, whence the ankers had been just brought out. as soon as they had been happily stowed away there, the spring was touched, the press pushed back, both the doors shut, and there was no outward or visible sign of what had taken place, which could attract the attention of any one. “ is he close upon your heels,” said letsler, in a low tone, to carolus, as he put the key in his pocket. “oh, no, it's not so bad as that, he can't be here for half an hour at least,” replied carolus in the same tone, and giving stonge-jan a sign 112 the hermit. a to go out and help george with the work which had been entrusted to him. “ then you have a small start ?” " “aye, and by my soul, i need it too—and then it won't be quite so easy for him to land here at the cliff-but, trust me, master letsler ; i pressed the free sailer pretty hard-only had a single reef in, in all this weather. you know i am no weak one-but it was as much as i could do to hold the tiller straight, and keep her as close to the wind as might be—and though stonge-jan, who is not a bad chap, either, held on for the bare life at the weatherside, till he nearly went over -the sea ran almost up to the hatchway-well, well, i know the craft, you might put the sail of a frigate on her, and she would not capsize—but you know, sir, there's another tub in the water, and we shan't be long afore we have the old one here; he knows his work, and is a proper chap—and the lord have mercy upon all the honest merthe hermit 113 chants here upon the coast, if lieutenant gran had the free sailer, and carolus, * elias son, at the helm to steer for him. “but why did ye not say that you were going out this evening.” “well, i thought the old chap in the service of the crown would just stop cosy at home to-night, and then i should have brought the cognac straight away to strand at once-however, i must go out and look after the boyand many thanks for your help, mr. letslerand carolus vanished." my god, what means all this ?” stammered nicoline. 66 what chamber is that which i have never seen before; oh, bernhard, i am so fearful and anxious; what was he speaking off ? what did you hide ? who is the old man in the service of the crown ?" “ be calm, my beloved-my dear nicoline, there is no danger except in thine own over > * sirnames are formed on these coasts, by adding the word, son, to the father's christian name. 114 the hermit. you to room.” excited imagination -were you not inconceivably childish, you would easily see, that for the many services which carolus performs for us, and for the security in which i linger here, i am compelled to make some return. " but who is carolus afraid of then ?» “dear child, when we are by ourselves, i'll tell thee all about it-now allow me to take your and letsler took up his beloved wife and bore her himself to her little sofa, and sitting down beside her, sought to sooth and lull her uneasiness—while he listened anxiously to what was passing without. thither let us hasten and take a glance at what is doing-by the light of a lantern held by george carolus and his help, stonge-janso called, to mark his birth-place — were carefully employed obliterating from the above named ankers, every outward vestige of their lately received contents—and when they were all finished up, and had all the requisite ap. а the hermit. 115 pearance of being genuine-two of them were rolled away into a small cleft in the rocks, the appearance of the whole scene, in case of surprise, was that of smugglers, zealously engaged in concealing their goods. “ and now he may come when he will,” cried stonge-jan, with a voice audible above the storm. “i promise the old one he shall have a sniff at some right cognac. ah, my heavens, how i should like to sit in a corner, and see how he will scold when he gets them into the excise house-however, it wont go that far, — i know these customs fellows right well, they always taste the stuff before they sell it, and then-ha-ha-ha, what a nose the yacht lieutenant will make, surely." “hold thy jaw, and don't brag till thou seest the end o'nt--but hark ye, george, douse the light, we need not shew him more of the way than we can help.” george did as he was told, but seemed to be more than half affronted that he had not been no-no. 116 the hermit. taken with them from the first, but when carolus let fall a few words, which amounted to a promise, that if all went well, he would give him the little french frigate which was hanging to the ceiling, in the new room, george's good humour was instantly restored and he had only one feeling now which he shared with the other two, and that was that the old crown officer might come quickly. on the excise yacht, which was meantime dancing wildly before the johannis cliff, the following orders issued rapidly from the lips of the commander. “ i say, the devil's dam has stood godmother to the rogue if he can manage to hide his goods before i come. sharp, oesterberg, shake out t'other reef, she'll bear it-quick now-so -the devil take the knave_hide and hairkeep her full, ye hound—aha, most obedientnow the rascal's doused his glim-no harmdost think i want a light to find the hole, eh? nono, my friend, thou art a young fox, but i tiie hermit. 117 am an old one, look ye. oesterberg, ass, keep her up better-so—that's well-oesterberg, canst see the highest point of the johannis cliff when thou stoop'st ? so thou canst notlook out then next flash—and when you get the point-keep her right on—starboard a bit, seest thou aught ?” and the lieutenant pointed to the sea side. “ aye, aye, sir.” oh, that was a fine flash, starboard-betterbetter still — so, so now-right on—if thou hadst thy windows open thou mightst have seen by the last flash, that carolus was rolling something up the beach—thank godno bushes there—now sawst thou that? “aye-aye, lieutenant, i saw, as sure as i'm alive, carolus and stonge-jan, and the lad, too. faith, he's no bad help either.” “starboard a little more.—so, down with the jib and foresail—now we have it-steer right for the landing, kron-oesterberg, catch hold of the boat hook, and keep her off-hold 118 the hermit. > fast, too, there is a deuce of a swell. still, i say, don't make such an awful row. good row_lay her ashore to leeward of the confounded free sailer--oesterberg, come with me -thou, kron, stay here with the yacht; and if she grazes, look out for your eye, when i come back. give me the dark lantern." “aye, aye, lieutenant.” " and the lieutenant and his follower now landed. “won't you have the goodness to lead the way, lieutenant,” said oesterberg, when he had crept up a bit of the way, and grinning at his own shrewdness; “carolus might fancy i'm alone-and you know he's no joker, as i, know of old." “sneak away then, behind me—but i'll be bound to be changed into a monkey if thy father was not a maker of pots, * now still, thou needest only be by as a witness." * maker of pots, in the swedish, “krukmakare," kruka, not only means & pot, but a pitiful fellow, the play upon words, however cannot be translated. the hermit. 119 the two now cautiously approached the point on the cliff whither the light had shortly before guided them—and soon stood by the rocky cleft where carolus, stonge-jan and george were most zealously employed in not hiding the ankers. “good evening, my dear carolus,” began the lieutenant, "welcome home from helsinger, thou hast been amusing thyself treasure-hideing this awful weather—and all in the dark, too-however, i can easily fancy your light went out-wait a minute, boy, i'll light ye, and instantly the dark lantern shed its glare upon the dangerous ankers, and the smugglers, caught in the act, seemed literally struck all of a heap with terror. aha, what is that, then-so-so, i might have thought thou hadst some venture when thou wouldst not heave toat mysummons—thou hadst loaded a trifle too heavy-wast obliged to lighten a bit on the way—and meanst to fetch it up afterwards, according to the finding, as а 120 the hermit. the judge says-now, however, i hope thou wilt permit me--without further objections,” here the lieutenant dallied with the handle of a little silver mounted pistol, “ to lay hands, in the king's name, upon these four pretty cags, (he pointed to the ankers) and perhaps, too, for old acquaintance sake, thou wilt just help oesterberg carry them down to the yacht.” carolus now sprang up, and the expression of rage and terror, and the paleness which overspread his features, would have done credit to a jesuit. “ lieutenant,” he said, in a tone which sounded in the lieutenant's ear, like the constrained humility of suppressed passion," lieutenant, may i not be allowed to speak a word or two with you, alone." right gladly, friend carolus, as i see that the tiger in thee is inclined to knuckle down, and thou hast, besides, had an opportunity of seeing that the excise yacht, which thou didst not seem to believe it could-in such weather 66 the hermit. 121 -has been able to penetrate into the hole, unhurt-it would be unreasonable in me if i did —i not meet thy wishes so speak, boy, speak.” this insulting jest, which bore witness to the high good humour of the triumphant official, would, no doubt, had the case been more serious, have been sufficiently irritating to put carolus in a frenzy—or, perhaps, have provoked him to some violence--which he might have had after cause to repent—but as matters now stood, he was necessitated, in order not to excite suspicion, to maintain, at least, the outward shew of his real, and well-known character; and with a gesture which satisfied the lieutenant, that his courtesy was only skindeep, he said with a voice, tremulous with pretended rage, “ have a care, lieutenant, i would just tell you, the tiger may be able, some other time, to use his claws—and may then remember that you have spat upon him now.” “ of a surety-no-my blade of honour vol. i. g 122 the hermit, no, i have not done so; on the contrary, i regard in its proper light, the honour of having outwitted the tiger—but what didst want to say to me ? » “ lieutenant, you know that i have never done you any harm." “not me, certainly,” rejoined peter gran, with imperturbable composure, “but so much more the crown, and its rights. dost thou not believe that for a long time, now, though thou hast managed to keep thy skin during the summer, that i had an eye to thy doings ?” "there is not an officer on the coast of bohusland, who can boast of such sharp eyes as the lieutenant-however" “ go on—go 'on, boy. i feel flattered by thy praise, very much.” “well, it's hard work to keep the sea, in all , weathers, and look out from north to southand you'll need something stiff to keep the armth in now lieutenant, you are too shrewd not to understand me-take these four the hermit. 123 ankers of cognac—the one marked h, with the crosses, cost, as sure as my name is carolus eliasson, one rixdollar and three marks, at helsingor, the other three contain naught but common danish brandy." “carolus, my lad, the book says, thou shalt not tempt thy lord. nor the powers that be, either-says the law; and how should i, who am their servant, walk in the ways of the unjust steward ? oh, good master lieutenant, pray forgive me for being so bold, as to fancy that it might pass for once and away.” “ possible, possible, my friend ; if it had been some poor devil who had just began the work—but look ye now, when i return on board my yacht, i enter in the log--the free sailer, carolus eliasson, hailed on patrol, in the night, between twenty-ninth and thirtieth of october, in a smart south-west gale—did not bring to when summoned, and so overhawled—the contents seized, as follows; so and g 2 124 the hermit. so. now carolus, what think'st thou—dost thou imagine that for ten such ankers, i would let such a report as that pass off ? no, no; the man who'll mayhap get a premium, and a good name in the district court, is peter gran." carolus was compelled to twirl his face into a pitiful grin, to repress the laughter which he could only refrain from, with great difficulty, “the lieutenant does his duty,” he observed, resolutely. now, look ye, that's said like a sensible chap; now help us carry down the ankers, like a good fellow, for i must be at home to night before twelve o'clock. i say nothing, but so much i tell thee for thy comfort, that thou dost not figure alone in my books to night.” as long as a sound of the departing yacht was still audible, our adventurers remained quite silent and motionless; as soon, however, as they believed themselves quite secure, they at once burst into a hearty fit of laughter. " let a man do that after me," said carolus, " the hermit. 125 proudly; “that's good ten times that i've done old peter gran; but the cursed yacht sails far better since old truls, of elgö, put a new sail on her. i don't get as much start as i used ?!! carolus now proposed that letsler should give them house room for concealing the brandy until it could be brought to its owner safely; but george objected, in a tone of hesitation, saying: " i would not do it if i were you, carolus ; suppose they should just find out the contents of the ankers, somehow, then we should have the yacht back, and a house visitation, and my father would be the sufferer." “slidder sludder, who is to find out that the press is not fast in the wall, i'd like to know by my soul, i do believe the boy's afraid — look how pale he is." george, who had been arranging something in the room, stood suddenly still before carolus, his dark blue eyes flashing with anger. “this word,” he said, “may be put by, but 126 the hermit. . > you, you should it wo’nt be forgotten, depend on't. this fist," and he held out his clenshed hand, “may one day be as sinewy, as thine own, and theni did not deserve it from that tax me with fear, though i do confess i am afraid for father and mother, whose only remaining refuge is this place. mother would be worried to death, if the yacht lieutenant were to come again and harry the house." carolus had never seen george this way before, and he loved him with all the warmth of an open, unsophisticated nature, and he would not for anything have hurt or insulted his feelings. “my dear george," he said at once, “don't ' be angry with me, i did not mean it-believe i me--thou afraid, thou ! never think that i have forgotten who lay out upon a plank on the thin ice when i fell through, and lent me a rope-10---10---look at me, youngster, and make it up—thou knowest that if 'twere needed, i'd shed the last drop of my heart's blood for the hermit. 127 9 thee, and more besides—that carl eliasson would not do that, for any one, but one whom he knew to be a proper man, though but a boy in years." fully reconciled, george extended his hand, but still held to his opinion that the casks had better be taken away at once. "it's not wilfulness, carolus, but i can't help fearing lest the hiding place might be discovered—i'll go along with you, gladly.” — “do what the boy wishes,” said stonge-jan, "the old one knows right well, that we had cognac on board, when we came here, and if he comes back and finds nothing outside-why he knows too that thou and i could not fly away with it, and if he should chance on the stupid idea of climbing up to the point of the rock, he could just see down between the blocks into the cleft, and peter gran's no such ass as not to know how to spy out the way into a hidingplace.” well, in heaven's name then-but we 128 the hermit. might wait for day-light, as the casks are safe now." “but johanna," suggested stonge-jan, "she knows what has taken us out, and d’ye think she'll close an eye to-night before you return; no, no—be bold, but be reasonable; a sensible fellow would rather set things right while night favors him, than wait for day, and tempt fortune, and so put the excise dogs on the scent." “ well, well, enough talk—it would be a pity about johanna toomand half a mile is soon done in such weather as this—the patron keeps the sea booth open so that we don't need to dally there." “as soon as we are once past the shallows of grosskär,” said george, “it's all plain sailing, for the patron will be sure to have a light at hans reta's on the hill, as usual.” “aye, of course,” nodded carolus, “but hark, ye, jan, jump along first, and reef all the sails, for it blows like the blue burnt the hermit. 129 fiend himself. as thou wilt make one, george, i wont object, but wrap thyself up, ye cripple, no weather for boys to-night, i swear.” * take care of thyself,” returned george, laughing, and hurried off to get his father's permission. letsler, whom george found in his own room, gave him leave, without difficulty, for he considered everything like hardening a good thing for a youth, and such an affair as the present was just the thing for the purpose. and now while the crew of the free sailer, are getting ready, we will just step on board the excise yacht, and see how matters go there. 130 the hermit. chapter vi. the discovery. “i caught the fox at last,” said the lieutenant, chuckling as he seated himself at the helm, after he had busied himself a little about the mainsail. “yes, lieutenant, you came over him like christmas eve over the old woman--he had not even time to blow out a candle. i can just fancy him now, cursing like a turk, and behaving like an angry house dog, from whom a bit of stolen meat has been snatched.” peter gran was not impervious to the soothing influence of flattery. “ it is not a man's own fault after all,” he said, “if he is wiser than other folk; and now, the hermit. 131 if we have luck this evening, boys, we'll make another capture, and you'll come in for some share, according to the finding, as the judge says. oesterberg, hast thou stowed away the ankers, as i ordered thee in the left berth of the cabin-are they all fast with the bungs uppermost ?” “ all right, lieutenant, i'll warrant my back, but shouldn't we reef ? the wind freshens every moment.? cup of tea.” "no chatter—i'll take care of that, but now just jump down and make a fire, wash out the tea kettle and set water to boil—i'll take a " “ aye, aye, sir," replied oesterberg, quickly doing as he was told. the lieutenant now addressed his second follower. “hark ye, kron, thou canst swear that the ankers which we have seized were aboard the free sailer." “no lieutenant, how can i do that. carolus 132 the hermit. was half an hour afore us at the johannis cliff, and had time to change the ankers as often as he liked." “ but didst thou not at least see four ankers lying in his boat? thou must needs have seen that.” “no, indeed, lieutenant, i really did not.” “dog-fish that thou art," continued the lieutenant, impatiently,“ do'st not conceive, then, that if i can't shew that the ankers were in the boat it can't be confiscated, and that boat i will have.” “i do assure you, lieutenant, that i can say nothing but what i really saw; for if it was not so dark as it is now, and we had been even close to the free sailer, you know she is decked, and a man can't see what's under the deck." “good, good, and did oesterberg see nothing either ?" “that i don't know, sir.” “ “thou knowest nothing—but i know that thou wilt be suspended after six months, for the hermit. 133 > thou’rt no more fit for a yacht boy than a dalesland shepher), away with thee, forward.” “the water is put on, lieutenant,” replied oesterberg “light a candle then,” ordered the lieutenant, “ and screw the candlestick tight that it may not upset, with the motion. i'll call ye after a while to see that the bungs of all the ankers are properly sealed-order before all, that was always my late father's maxim, and it shall be mine too." “ light ready, sir." “ very good, take the tiller, oesterbergdevilish gusts-keep your tongues quiet, will ye?" the lieutenant went down, closed the door carefully, and drew the curtain before the window of the cabin. in peter gran's countenance there was a curious mixture of rogue and honest man; his jolly round face, and hair sprinkled with reverend silver, inspired a sort of confidence, 134 the hermit. but if you looked deep into his eyes there was a kind of cattish leer, which bore witness that the man was not altogether the good piece of stuff you were at first sight inclined to believe him. he poured some water into a glass, put in some sugar, and as he stirred it up with a feather, soliloquized as follows: “ oesterberg must see as i choose him to do, he'll just swear that he saw the ankers in the boat. carolus will be put on his oath, he'll refuse to take it, and the boat will be confiscated, and i have the free sailer; there now wait thou there,” he said, putting the glass on one side. “ thou shalt just have a share from. this friend here. aha, no seal--good, the ankers may leak; now then you fellow with the three crosses, you ought to be proof stuff. aye, aye, patron holmer has good taste, now one might just let you bleed a canful, and fill ye up with a canful of water, and no one would find out that ye were less genuine. the hermit. 135 confound it i have nothing but this little jar here, and i can't call," and he balanced a jar, which might possibly contain about a can full, and was now about a quarter full of inferior brandy of his own, 66 and there's ne'er a bottle to pour this into-mix it ? no, pish, that won't do. need knows no law, and so here goes, and he poured the contents of the jar into the sluice hole in the deck. and now thanking heaven most devoutly for the roaring wind and lurching sea, which caused such a creaking as to drown the noise he made in opening the bung, peter gran proceeded to take toll from his capture. aha,” said he, "right spirit, by my soul,” as he gloated over the clear sparkling colour of the liquid as it ran out into his jar. “now then old comrade, thou'll just be corked up, and we'll have the grog over and above,” and filling his glass the lieutenant seated, or to speak more correctly, wedged himself contentedly in between the bench and the table, 136 the hermit. murmuring in a satisfied tone, “ah, not a doubt on't-won't fail this time, no man has been able to touch carolus yet, long as they have been after him; the district chief knows l his smuggling well, he'll name me to the general board of excise, and then there's but one step to superintendant—ha, thy health, captain," and so saying the lieutenant set the glass to his lips, (his excitement had prevented his marking the want of smell,) and instantly spirted out the sugar and water over the floor. if peter gran's fervent ejaculation, on discovering the trick, had been registered it would certainly not have been so to the benefit of himself or any one else. the trick was too gross. he stood still for a moment, and then it might have been seen in his features, that he had hit upon no unworthy resolution—and this was soon manifested. “put the helm hard a'port,” he shouted from the door, so loud that oesterberg gave a spring up, and the other yacht-boy, kron, who the hermit. 137 was wrapt in his imagination, and, in idea, was enjoying himself at home on bacon and grits, fell straight on his face, and nothing saved him from being washed overboard but his managing to catch hold of the forestay in his fall; for the order which had been just given, had the effect of causing the little vessel to ship a sea, which literally nearly swallowed her, and rolling over her, threw her on her side, all of them, the yacht-lieutenant included at first feared that the boat would capsize in going about; but she reversed herself. “my god ! lieutenant,” cried oesterberg, recovering his breath, “what do you mean? we can never hold the sea in such weather ; you are a widower, sir-but recollect that kron and i have wives and children." however, at such moments, peter gran was a commander, and nothing else, as his answer plainly showed. “keep as close to the wind as possible, ye 138 the hermit. 66 hound-or, by all the fiends, i'll knock ye over the sconce with the car." and with undoubted peril of his life, the old seaman reefed the large sail himself, and then helped kron with the foresail. “ “so, my boys,” he now continued in his usual composed manner, now just hark, one word's as good as a dozen—for ye know peter gran thinks before he speaks—all the same if it was the last night we had to live, we must cross the fjord to grosskär, and now ye know it." “but, heaven bless you, lieutenant, that's unreason-" “belay your jaw, i tell ye, if you are inclined to figure in the log as a couple of asses -at least, i won't make a third. i'm not going to have people brag to our noses, that they have done us, and that may be the case yet this evening, if we don't keep our eye open.” “why have not we done our duty this the hermit. 139 6 evening, then ?” oesterberg was bold enough to reply. “aye, the d only listen; now i was just stretching my hand over the crib, to get my dressing-gown, and came across the bung of the anker—and what d'ye think? my hand got wet; i put it to my nose to judge what kind of cognac it was--smelt nothing, but a rat-opened the bung, and trust me, boys, instead of cognac, the ankers were filled with water-water, boys.” the two boatmen, on hearing this, vented a volley of sailor oaths and execrations, which we may be excused for leaving to our reader's fancy. "now then, children, you know what the dane said when he was going to be hanged ? 'wait a bit,' said he, he who laughs last has the best of it;' they will now be for taking the cognac over to strand, and i'm not the man to be fooled by such a lame trick, after following the scent as long as i have done.” 6 140 the hermit. “what will you do then—if i may ask, lieutenant ?" “ why, i'll shew them that i'm not to be done; it would'nt do to go back there, because they have, probably, shipped the right ankers again ere this—they're on their guard, and if they catch a glimpse of the yacht, they shove off, and get to sea, and then we lose the game; but now just listen—the moon gets up at one, and the storm will abate, and the smugglers won't venture to wait longer; we can, meantime, get a good start, and lay the yacht under the lee of the great mountain of grosskär; and whilst kron looks after them, and watches the johannis cliff, i'll go up to halmar, borrow his boat, and thou and i, oesterberg, will just go, properly disguised, over to strand, and catch the rogues in the act." lord, lieutenant, you turn your plans as easily as i would a quid,” said oesterberg; " but,” he added, with a deep sigh, “it will 66 the hermit. 141 66 be no child's play crossing the fjord and passing the axlebrott." “ no danger, my lads ; i've often been worse off ; when we went about, we had furnholme right on the lee, and if we keep our present course, we shall just run past the axlebrott right on grosskär; but, oesterberg, hast not, by chance, a little cognac in thy flask. i struck my foot against my little supply, and upset it all." aye, aye, lieutenant, i dare to say i have a drop or so left,” said oesterberg, readily, and handed his officer a quart bottle, which, to avoid all untoward accidents, he had enclosed in an old stocking, and hanged upon a nail. “i'll just go below, now, for a moment,” announced the lieutenant, “keep on just as ye are—and thou, kron, come to me, at once, if thou seest or hearest aught suspicious; keep thy lugs open as well as thou canst." after peter gran had given his orders, he 142 the hermit. went into his cabin, to give his sugar and water a colour. as the lieutenant had foretold, the storm begun to abate ; and as peter gran was just draining the last drops of his second glass of grog, kron reported that they had passed , the axlebrott, and that grosskär was right a-head. after the lapse of a few minutes more, the excise yacht lay under kron's charge at the appointed spot; the moon was already high enough to enable the eye to distinguish distant objects, though the horizon was misty and obscured by masses of clouds. the lieutenant dinned it into kron's skull, not once, but ten times, that he should look out sharp, and report if he saw anything like the free sailer on the passage, if he wished to go home in a whole skin; and kron, the good simple soul, had such an awe for the commands of his superior, that he was even afraid to take the hermit. 143 a pinch of snuff, and did not venture to allow his imagination to wander back to his fried bacon and porridge with the old woman. “rouse up, sluggards,” was the lieutenant's greeting as he entered the hut of the poor fisher, halmar monson, “ there's money to be earned; up, man, and get to work, sharp. thine old woman can draw the coverlet over her head while i am in the house, for i know she is an honest, decent body, according to the finding, as the judge says.” “i hear—its the lieutenant," answered a rough voice; “but, alack, we have not an ' inch of candle end in the house." “all one,” answered peter gran, feeling for the hearth, "i have a candle in the lantern; just strike a light, will ye ? the awakened fisherman crept out of bed with the greatest caution to avoid disturbing the children, who were reposing near, in the joint society of the cat, and a half-grown pig. at length, after striking and blowing for 144 the hermit. ܪ some time, halmar managed to get a light, and lighted the candle. “now then, my good halmar," said the lieutenant, “thou hast my fishing-clothes, which i left with thee in good keeping, i'll be bound—be alive, and hand them over here, and take these signal flags, and roll them up on a stick ; but first make them fast at both ends, and empty thy boat, and wipe out the fishscales from the stern-thou understandst, i have a little matter afoot; as soon as thou art ready, thou mayst come up and take a dollar for meal for the pig and the brats; but quick -now quick, and don't forget the oars." while halmar was busied in making these preparations, peter gran amused himself with the children, who had been awakened by the stir, and sat staring, with great sleepy eyes, at the guest, whom they, however, knew directly. “look’ye, brats," said peter, “d’ye know what this is ?” and he took from his pocket the hermit. 145 one of the ship’s biscuits, which he had brought with him-he waved this to and fro, and twirled himself here and there, holding it over his head, and then out towards them, as if teaching a dog to jump, and, in a trice, up sprung the three lads, so briskly, that the straw flew about again, and wrestled and fought, with all their might and main, to get at the biscuit, and peter gran laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. at length, the fight was brought to a close, by the biscuit rolling on the floor, when piggy, with great activity, slipped in and secured the prize for himself. halwar now entered with the intelligence that all was in readiness. thanks, my good halwar, thanks for thy trouble; thou wilt find a rixdollar on the table; and now thou hast only to lend oesterberg thy jacket and cap." 66 vol. i. h н 146 the hermit. > “and now, oesterberg," said the lieutenant, as they went down to the boat, “let's see who can play best man. i'll take one oar myself.” and as soon as halwar had helped them to shove off the boat, it flew, urged by their vigorous strokes, across the fjord, spite of the heavy, threatening waves, which, at one moment, reared their foaming crests, as if to bar its progress, and the next sank down powerless as it rose rapidly over the successive surges. this was arduous work; but peter gran was in his full strength, and rowed as vigorously as oesterberg, whose energies were kept alive, by the anticipations of what he was likely to win by the successful issue of the enterprise, as well as the thoughts of a good supper and a dram after his work. the storm had so much abated, that it was now nearly calm, though the sea still ran very high; however, it was fortunately not far from groskär to strand. the hermit. 147 after they had rowed awhile in silence, oesterberg asked, in a tone which somewhat bore out the lieutenant's former remark regarding the pot-making propensities of his father : 66 if his honor the lieutenant did not see something white, at the extreme point by the landing place at strand, which resembled a man without a head ? that is, no doubt,” he added, with a half-suppressed sigh, “ a drowned seaman, who has floated ashore, and not got christian burial." “ trouble not thyself about ghosts,” replied the lieutenant, snappishly; “but ply thine oars, or else i'll give thee a leader over the snout, that will make thy teeth play second with a vengeance.” oesterberg held his tongue-he saw that his commander was reflecting. “keep thine eyes open, and look out,” began peter gran, soon after. 6 dost see the h 3 148 the hermit. free sailer? according to my thoughts-she should be now past the lyngholm.” “i hardly think that, lieutenant; it has got so calm, that they'll need to row to get on at all." “stop now, oesterberg—just hold hard a minute-dost thou not see something there, glancing in the water, right close away under flatskär? now call me a fool, if that's not the smugglers--they're rowing under the — shadow of the holm, in order to escape observation; the thousand now, d'ye see how they ; are coming out from behind the cliff—they must have a little wind there, too, for they have their mainsail up." “yes, by my soul, lieutenant, you are right—i know them by the lofty sail-however, we have a good start--it will be somewhile yet before they come.” “oh, aye, we'll be there good three quarters of an hour before them; but let's row closer l " the hermit. 149 66 in shore, that they mayn't see us; and when we come to the sea booth, just stop a bit, so that the landing place may hide ye; and then leave the rest to me; and now one word more -whatever orders ye get, be quick about them, or else, ye know me.” aye, indeed, at my fingers' ends,” answered oesterberg. the lieutenant now laid aside his oar with the remark that he wanted to arrange something in the boat. this arrangement consisted in spreading a large piece of sail-cloth over the two middle benches, but so ingeniously as to make it appear as if there was something concealed beneath it. “can'st see, oesterberg, if the booth is open-it seems to me as if there is something moving there," whispered the lieutenant; "but sms-sh, sit there now, i saw holmer's -head-he will take charge of the goods in person; so much the better, the business will 150 the hermit. soon be settled then—there, there's thy ghost for thee—thou mayst see that he has his white cloak on-he has surely seen us long ago, the sly old rogue." the excise officer had now got right under the pier, which by reason of the shadow cast over the sea by the warehouse was sufficiently dark to prevent any one approaching from being immediately recognised, and the less, too, that a favoring cloud just now covered the moon. “ carolus," whispered holmer from above, "is't thou ?" “s-s-hsh,” whispered the lieutenant, stooping down, as if to put something right in the boat. “hast thou got the confounded excise dogs at thy heels that thou hast not come in the free sailer-thou canst not have much in this small boat." “sh-sh,” was the only answer which peter gran, still retaining his stooping position, the hermit. 151 and keeping his back to the landing, chose to give. however, after oesterberg had succeeded in bringing the boat apparently close to the pier, the lieutenant clambered quickly up, and the next moment stood beside the astonished merchant. “good evening, good evening, mr. holmer ---you are out late, master patron; however, business before all—that's my maxim too-i hear you are expecting a few casks by carolus -it was a lucky chance that i happened to come—for now i can both see the pass and assist you in unloading at once." “good, lieutenant-no joking now, torted the merchant, in a serious and somewhat pettish tone. "i see that i am found out--and so, short and sweet, will you accommodate the business." “now, patron, you are jumping at conclusions—a man in my important position must re152 the hermit. } be cautious, according to the verdict, as the judge says.” “now, now, lieutenant, you have been longing for my little white pinnace this good while, be satisfied with that." “eh, what, what ! " a neat little thing enough—but won't answer for an excise boat." “well, well, then, that black cloth there, which you got on account in the summer, can't that lay over, for good and all ?" “you talk very sensibly, patron," said peter gran, in a tone as low as holmer's; "and i am not the man who wishes to pinch honest folks in their earnings; but you must see, of , course, that i can't speak of these things with my people myself, it would cause me to lose my respect.” holmer contented himself this time with an enquiring look at the officer. peter gran hemmed, and looked important. 66 the hermit. 153 “i'll go and take a little walk here on the pier," he said. “you know very well what you have to do a ten dollar note in oesterberg's hand, more or less, according to the finding, as the judge says.” “good, good,” rejoined the patron, quite pleased. “i'll not forget the service.” and with these words he turned away, and crept down into the boat to oesterberg. however, he had scarcely accomplished this manæuvre, when, sharp as lightning, the lieutenant loosed the boat, and shoved off, his ministering spirit took the hint as quickly as it was given, and plied his oars almost at the same instant. “now then, oesterberg, away back to the excise yacht, quick--fire in the stove-candles on the table—and out with everything good in the larder—not forgetting a pitcher of english portermand when thou has seen the worthy patron well cared for in the cabin, shut the door close, and return here as fast as ye can.” " h 5 154 the hermit. “sir, sir,” shouted the enraged merchant, from the boat, “such another arch rascal as you, i don't believe there is under the sun; but let the boat return, and we'll settle it all nicely." thank уе, thank ye, for your liberality, called peter gran, while the boat rapidly increased its distance ; “but one must do one's duty, let it be ever so unpleasant.” the last words of this sarcastic speech were unheard by the merchant, whom the lieutenant could perceive giving vent to his choler by loud outcries. little as holmer was noted for valor, he saw that he was not inclined to submit unresistingly to the loss of his liberty, and that he commenced a violent struggle with oesterberg for the oar, until the boat threatened to capsize, and the patron was obliged to submit patiently to the trick which the crafty exciseman had played him. the hermit. 155 chapter vii. (6 6 what a face he will make to-morrow, when he comes and makes his visitation at the johannis cliff,” said carolus to stonge-jan, as he sat at the helm on board the free sailer; as to the press door, he'll never find it, if he searches to all eternity, and even if he should, there is nothing there to take." aye, depend upon it, he'll make his visitation to-morrow, if he does not find out anything before that,” replied stonge-jan; "the lord grant that nothing goes wrong with us to-night. i know petter, and scarce believe that he'll have patience to wait long, without proving his capture. and now take care you don't suffer, for waiting till the moon got up, 156 the hermit. corner or against our advice; it is not unlikely that he is lying lurking about, in some • other." “stuff 'and nonsense,” rejoined carolus, shortly, " is the excise yacht so small that she wouldn't be visible in the moonshine ? no, no, children, no danger–i have often whipped old peter gran-but i do believe this will be the last time, for i begin to weary of all this trouble and botheration—there, we'll soon be there now—and though my eyes are as good as other folks, i can't see a living being on the water." george, who had long sat silent, now said, confidently, “then thou seest worse than usual, carolus, for there is decidedly a row boat on the grosskär side." carolus turned to the point mentioned, and after some effort, discovered that george's eyes had not deceived him. “aye, aye, it's a fisherman, may be, catchthe hermit. 157 ing seals—awkward any how-it can't be the yacht lieutenant, he would not be rowing in a boat by himself—and more by token, let it be who it may, the d-l may care for me -1 for before he can get here, it will all be safe in the booth-and then the patron can take care of himself-look there, by my soul, he is opening the door of the sea booth--but we can't run up so high-must bring to at the end of the landing-jump forward, stonge-jan, and keep her off-so-good now--climb up, george, and run to the patron, and fetch the line to hoist up the casks.” george clambered up one of the side piles of the pier like a cat, and hurried through the half open door into the booth. “now quick, patron, if you please, just give me the lines,” he said, clapping the lieutenant on the shoulder; "why have you no light in " “the wind blew it out,” whispered peter gran, endeavouring to imitate the merchant's your lantern ??? 158 the hermit. (6 voice; "and now i don't know where the confounded ship boys have put the lines. you must seek them as well as you can in the dark." low as the tone was, in which the lieutenant spoke these words, george could easily distinguish that it was not holmer's—and he even fancied that he could discern the lieutenant's features by the dim light which gleamed through the door; and as he quickly turned over in his mind the darkness in the booth with the singular circumstance, that the patron had not shewn himself on the pier, george begun to suspect that the whole affair was just a bit of the lieutenant's cunning. while, however, he pretended to be searching for the lines, he was considering how to warn carolus of his danger; and at length gradually approached the door under the pretence that as the lines were not to be found, they must do without them. the lieutenant followed close upen his heels, and just as he was on the point the hermit. 159 " of shouting out, “ carolus, shove off, here's the lieutenant in disguise," there was a whizzing in his ear, and a swinging buffet from peter gran's muscular fist, sent him spinning and stunned among the casks and boxes. “in the name of her majesty, and the crown, i declare both boats and lading confiscated," thundered the yacht lieutenant, running forward on the pier with incautious haste, and catching hold of the tow line, which, however, to his unspeakable rage and vexation, was at the same moment cut by stonge-jan. the pier was too high to make a spring from it on board the free sailer; but with the bold presence of mind, for which peter gran was distinguished, he seized the divided end of the tow line, and swung himself down by it, in order, if possible, thus to reach the deck of the boat, or at least, gain secure footing in the rigging; he really did succeed in doing the last, but though he held fast on with his legs 160 the hermit. to the shrouds until his position was nearly horizontal, he yet felt the boat leaving him gradually, and that he must either let go with his legs, and hang on by the pier, or loose that; and pitch headlong into the sea. there was nothing else open to him, for carolus and stonge-jan had now grasped the oars, and the lieutenant, who was naturally unable to hold the boat, could not swing himself over to them. peter gran, now absolutely foamed with rage; when, however, at last his feet gradually relaxed their hold, and his long body fell not very gently against the uprights of the pier, his fury knew no bounds, at being obliged to humble himself before the man whom he but a moment before fancied so securely in his power. “ carolus,” he cried, "thou knowest me; if thou wilt not obey my summons, made in the king's name, at least, help me up on the pier again, thou mayst see that i cannot possibly climb up, as i have no firm footing.” the hermit. 161 c “oh, trifle, that,” rejoined the unmoved carolus, plying his oar most zealously, "" you swim like an otter, i know, and so you have i naught to do but to let go and swim ashore." “ but i shall loose my life, or my health, you devil of a man," groaned the lieutenant, making a desperate, though fruitless effort to clamber up. “that would be a shocking pity,” observed carolus, with a coolness which irritated the lieutenant more than the words themselves. but, now, hearken, lieutenant; if you are not inclined for a ducking, why you have the choice of holding on where you are, as the case may be, as the judge says, and then, by way of amusement, you can just think over your logs and memoranda; good night, lieutenant, the while, and thanks for your pleasant company here, and at the johannis cliff.” if the lieutenant had been on board the free sailer when these words were uttered, it 162 the hermit. is very likely carolus might never have uttered another. “ i'll catch ye, yet; you scoundrel,” he shouted, “and trust me, i'll curry your hide so that your own child shan't know ye, just wait, that's all.” these threats just expended themselves upon the winds, however, they were partly heard by george, who had now recovered from the effects of the blow he had received, and was coming out of the sea-booth, he hurried down the pier, and beckoned to carolus, who returned his sig. nal, glad to see that the boy had got no harm. aye, it's a good thing that thou hast come, youngster," said the lieutenant, in a gentler tone, “now just run into the booth, like a good fellow, you'll find a rope ladder there, just fetch it, and fasten it on to the beams—now run for the bare life; i can scarce hold on long, and if i fall, i shall be drowned, or at any rate spoil my telescope and pistols.”' the hermit. 163 6 “ aye, aye, we shall have fine weather now," observed george, coolly, seating himself, without appearing to listen to the lieutenant, and letting his legs hang down over the side of the pier, not far from him—the wind has got easterly, i see, and carolus has main, fore sail, and jib hoisted. it is quite a pleasure to see the free sailer under canvass, what do you think, lieutenant ?" “dos't hear what i said, ye young dogor dost wish to be the death of an honest man --fetch a rope, directly." my ear rings so consumedly from the clout you gave me, that i can't well hear ye.” and so saying, george arose, and hearing the dash of oars, and seeing oesterberg in the boat which was now approaching, he carefully cleared the sea-booth, nodded to the lieutenant, wished him good night, and quietly took the path towards the house. “so that's the way ye creep along, like a miserable tortoise, whether by land or water, was the lieutenant's greeting to his subordinate 66 >> 164 the hermit. as he managed to get safely into the boat, and rested his aching joints. “ god bless ye, lieutenant, i _." — “ hold your tongue, not a word, you should have been here ten minutes ago, at least, and then this devil's fun would not have happened, and now row, row for your life, that i may keep my eye upon carolus, and see where he steers to, he won't venture to the johannis cliff, i'll swear." oesterberg, without replying to his angry superior, set to work with all his remaining powers, but the only result was, that after a quarter of an hour had elapsed, peter gran, became convinced that the chase was hopeless, and soon after had the pleasure to see the free sailer vanish in a south westerly direction in the grey morning mist. and as he thus saw his prey escape him, peter gran folded his hands, and uttered a morning prayer that made every individual hair on oesterberg's head stand on end, as he heard it. tie hermit. 165 chapter viii. at the end of the long and narrow passage which intersected holmer's house, and connected it with the store and counting house, was a large, neat, and well furnished chamber, named the mistress's apartment, and to which we will now pay a visit before george, coming in to report the above mentioned events to the patron, can arrive there. on a handsome bed in a half recumbent position, was a female, who had not yet reached the middle age, though evident traces of illness had destroyed the rose which had once bloomed upon her cheeks, and dimmed the fire of her eye; she seemed to be listening, and her 166 the hermit. glances turned continually towards the door, as if expecting some one. that this female, cornelia holmer, had been gifted with more than ordinary beauty, was clear to the most casual observer and one might almost have fancied one saw a miniature of her former self in her daughter, of eleven years, the little fanny, who having shortly before sprang from her bed, was now sitting half dressed, on a stool beside her mother's bed, leaning her glowing cheek upon her hand. the single candle, covered with a green shade, shed a feeble light through the apartment in which all was so still, that the noise of the raging surf might be heard in all its painful monotony. “what a dreadful night, mother,” whispered fanny, putting back her shining hair from her brow, it is nearly as fearful now as when it was at the worst. oh, if the thunder storm should return." “i do not believe it will, my child, it seems a the hermit. 167 (6 to have abated; but wrap thyself in the shawl which lies at my feet, and hearken once more at the door if father is coming." fanny's slight flexible figure was quickly wrapped in the shawl, and she sprang to the door which she opened, to be better enabled to do as her mother had desired." “well, fanny." nothing, mother, i can hear nothing; but the sea howls worse than old phylax, when he sees the sprite and her following, at night.” does not the dog bark ?" “not now, mother." “i can't conceive why he should have raged so, just now, certainly there must have been strangers here. it is inconceivable why your father does not come in, perhaps he went down too soon—yet at this time all is usually > over.” 2 “perhaps father is waiting in vain for carolus, who has not liked to venture out in this storm." 168 the hermit. just tell oh, carolus likes these sort of nights the best—all goes so slow now. when i was younger and healthy, and had not this gout, it was quite different, now i am only uneasy instead of being active and about." “but tell me, dear mother, what makes father and you so uneasy ? could not these matters be settled by day as well as father's other affairs ? “ you can't understand it, my child, but i'll you this much-there are several sorts of foreign goods, on which so high a duty is laid, as to place them quite out of the reach of folks, such poor inhabitants of the coast here, unless the merchants managed to procure them, without the knowledge of the custom house ; and that cannot always be managed, because the excise officers are nearly always on the watch to prevent it.” “ah, now i understand,” said fanny, “and the yacht lieutenant whom father is so afraid of, is one of those excise officers, who comes as our the hermit. 169 and takes such heavy custom, that father can't sell the goods cheap enough for our poor fishermen." “yes, that's it; but the worst is, that if one don't take good care, one may lose all one has collected; for the yacht lieutenant has the right to institute a house investigation, and seize everything, and then we should have to pay a heavy fine besides." “ah, the nasty people—the spies as father calls them." “we should not say so, fanny, they only do their duty—but you must be careful and not let any of your acquaintances get out of you that father has business out of doors at night-you know you are a simple, stupid girl.” “ i am simple and stupid,” said fanny, repeating the words with an incredulous shake of her head. “do you know, mother, they do . say at the school, at göteberg, that i am such a shrewd, quick-witted girl, that i'm not easily a vol. i. i 170 the hermit. 66 i 66 > , deceived. that's what mamsell blad herself says. but sh-$-$-sh, did i not hear something ? no, no, it was fancy-how tiresome that is." “i feel that something is wrong,” said her mother, restlessly fidgetting on her bed. “i am afraid to call and i cannot go out.” “oh, let me," said fanny, earnestly, “ let me go, i'll creep gently down to the sea-booth, and see how things are.” “oh, no, dearest, you would take cold, and the night is so dark.” “no, dearest mother, i'll wrap myself up quite warın, and i'll take a lantern, and i am not the least afraid of anything." "oh, you don't know, suppose the yacht * lieutenant himself were to meet you, and ask you where you were going-what would you 66 say?" “say ?-oh, let me seesee-give him no answer-cry out and run away as if i had seen a ghost." : the hermit. 171 66 a oh, he would soon overtake you.” “he would get nothing out of me; i'd play him a trick-and so, mother -" and quicker than thought, fanny had thrown on her dress, wrapped herself up in a cloak, lighted the candle in the lantern, and disappeared, saying she would return in a few minutes with good news. “oh, you bold girl, do wrap the mantle round the lantern or the light will betray a you." but fanny was already out of hearing. she tripped softly along the passage, but when she had to open the house-door and go out into the court, she hesitated for an instant, with a feeling not exactly of fear, but not devoid. of a certain kind of sensation ; however, she overcame this--set the lantern down and endeavoured to open the large door with the united strength of both her hands, it was hard work, but at last she succeeded, but poor fanny, she had put down the lantern too near, i 2 172 the hermit and as the door flew open, it broke the glass and extinguished the light. for some seconds our little heroine leaned irresolutely against the door-post; she could easily have found her way back to her mother's room; and then it was cold and dark outside, and phylax was barking so, and the waves rolled and beat so hollow, and the sea-booth looked so ghastly, and the moon--the naughty moon-fanny's best friend, had hid herself behind a great black cloud. fanny began to ponder seriously whether it would not be better to go back, but then how could she ever set up for having courage again; would not her mother always say, recollect, fanny, the night when you were so brave, and wanted to go down to the sea booth. and coming to this vexatious conclusion, she overcame her momentary irresolution, and descending the darkness, went out into the court. here she took post between two great casks, the hermit. 173 which had been set there to catch the rain water; first to accustom herself to the darkness, and then from this little fortress, as it were, to observe what was passing in the sea-booth and its neighbourhood. she soon distinguished that the door was open, and that some one was coming from thence, and she could plainly see that this was neither her father nor carolus ; all at once she heard a cry, as of some one in distress. she knew not whether to go or stay, her anxiety was unbearable ; she would have run down and called for help from the menservants, but before she could adopt a resolution, she heard a peculiar noise, as if something had fallen, and immediately after a violent splashing. this motion, which was occasioned by the lieutenant, in getting into the boat, decided her, and thinking of nothing but her father, she started off with all her force and speed down the long court, but had scarcely got half way when she was stopped short by 174 the hermit. 1 >) two outstretched arms-it was george, who was just about to enter the house. “no--what do i see ? how, in heaven's name, dear, good fanny, are you here-outside and at night too ?” “oh, is it you, george ?" cried fanny, joyfully, breathing freely again, “ then it was a cask or something which fell into the sea. oh, i heard something so frightful from the pier there, which nearly terrified me to death." “that was nothing frightful, fanny; but something, on the contrary, very merry," answered george, in a tone which quite re-assured fanny, “it was the yacht lieutenant, who has been having a cooling himself, after keeping us in hot water all the evening." “then what is father doing there so long ? will he come soon ?" the patron must have gone up to the house, for i found the door open." “no, no, he has been out several times tothe hermit 175 night, to meet carolus; but now he has been out a couple of hours, and mother and i were so uneasy, that i ran down to listen." “and thou didst thus venture, dear, brave little fanny ?” said george, who suddenly got a number of odd ideas into his head. patron holmer being absent from the house, aroused a suspicion that something had occurred at strand, before the arrival of carolus and himself ; but he did not venture to utter his forebodings, for fear of encreasing fanny's uneasiness. “i am certainly not timid," said she; “but the lantern was broken, and it was so dark, and so—was not that provoking ? but what do you think? where can father be ? could he have hid himself in the sea-booth ?" when george recollected the blow he had himself received from the yacht-lieutenant, he thought it far more probable that holmer might be lying there unconscious; however, he kept this supposition to himself, and merely begged 176 the hermit. 6 permission to take fanny back into the house. but she would not hear of it. “we will go to the sea-booth," she said. “no, not yet, my dear fanny ; 'tis far better, and more becoming, for me to go alone. i will just get a lantern." but then we shall alarm my mother,” declared fanny, “and i will not do that, george -so do take me with you. we will open the doors, and then we can see sufficiently, and can feel about with our hands." holmer, however, was not to found, as we know, in the sea-booth, and so george, finding all remonstrance useless, for fanny had become exceedingly distressed and anxious, took her up to her mother, to whom he related all that he knew in as few words as possible. he advised that the people should be called up and a search instituted at once, and kept his ideas on the chance of an encounter having taken place between holmer and the yacht-lieuthe hermit. 177 tenant, to himself, giving mrs. holmer to understand that he apprehended that her husband might have fallen down, and have been stunned. in a few minutes, the people assembled in the court with lanterns, and went over the pier, the sea-booth, and all the neigbouring localities. george led the search ; but just as he was most zealously endeavouring to roll away a great disordered heap of sail-cloth, and bast-matting, quick oar strokes were heard approaching the landing, and immediately after, patron holmer himself appeared—his countenance a little pale and disturbed, but otherwise quite uninjured. “what's the matter here now, children ? why are ye all up ?" was his first question. pray forgive me, patron, i am the cause of all this stir,” exclaimed george, leaving the heap of articles which he had been moving, and which he had half imagined concealed the mortal remains of the patron, “as i a i and_ i 5 178 the hermit. the merchant gave him a sign to be silent, and said, “now go, children, and get to bed again, and don't be so easily gulled another time. i had something to do at grosskär this evening, and was detained by the storm, so that i could not return sooner; hast anything to say to me, my boy ?” addressing george, “come with me into the office." impatient, however, as holmer was to learn the fate of carolus and his cognac, he was, nevertheless, obliged to restrain his uneasiness until he had been in to see his wife and daughter; and after telling the latter to get young letsler something to eat, and bring it into the office, he hastened to lead the way there, to learn the rights of the matter. “and now, george.” “well, patron; and now, what, in heaven's name, did he do with you ?" “ did he take the casks ?" the hermit. 179 66 “oh, yes, finely he took them he had a taste of hanging instead.” “what do you mean ? please heaven i might be allowed to see the knave hanged, for all the vexation and disgrace which he has occasioned me this night.” "aye, aye, it has been a remarkable night for adventures, and no mistake." “but the casks, my boy, the casks ?”' aye, where they are now, god and carolus knows; but i believe they are bound to a place, where peter gran will find it a hard matter to smell them out. this was the way of it.” and george detailed all that we have related to the patron, from the commencement at the johannis cliff, up to his own and carolus's heroic deeds at strand itself, and their pleasant conversation with peter gran, while he was hanging on to the tow-rope, endeavouring to excite their philanthropy. it would be hard to say whether holmer 180 the hermit. was most pleased to find that his goods were still safe, or with the manner in which the lieutenant had been made to rue his impudence ; and with rapidly following expressions of delight, or, perhaps more correctly speaking, of malice, he crossed his legs, clapped his hands, snapped his fingers, and made george repeat, several times, all that peter gran had said and done during the memorable process of suspension. after giving vent to his delight, his next act was to tender george his hearty thanks, for to his shrewdness and invention he ascribed the rescue of his casks, as well as the pleasant revenge which had been taken. “ah, that is not worth making a fuss about," observed george, modestly. “ aye, by my soul it is, and i'll pay you for the service depen on it, george, for if you had not noticed that all was not right, and played him a trick in the sea-booth, carolus would never have had time to get off clear. i have 2 the hermit. 101 > long marked that thou art an active, able lad, and if any kind of employment on ship-board, or in the counting-house, would suit—though, to my fancy, you should stick to the sea-nils holmer is not the man to forget the friends who have served him." and holmer now related to george how the lieutenant and his follower had come disguised, and managed to decoy him into the boat, and carry him off, as above mentioned. “and so," he continued, “ will he, nill he, , i was obliged to make up my mind for a trip on the excise yacht, since better might not be." “what a cunning old cat," said george. “ you may believe i was not very well pleased ; but yet, the time did not hang very ! heavy with me in the cabin, for i found the four water ankers, and managed to pump out of the simple ass, kron, how carolus had done the lieutenant; and this comforted me, and enabled me to become rational and cool again. 182 the hermit. 99 in about an hour the door opened, and peter gran poked his nose in, as red in the face as a boiled lobster; 'the way is open; but we shall meet again,' was all he said, and so i marched out. the boat was clear, i stepped in, and after i had looked in vain after any traces of my casks, oesterberg shoved off--and there's an end of the song.' however, this little adventure did not strike holmer as half so funny as the trick which george and carolus had played his adversary; and he did not seem half to like it, when george laughed as heartily at it as at the other —and remarking that george must be tired, he recommended him to get some rest on the sofa, until fanny had got something warm, and left him. fanny, like a good housekeeper, was too anxious about george to let him wait long, and a little table was soon covered, and they sat down opposite to each other, and ate and joked. oh, it was a pleasant thing, after such the hermit. 183 a night of toil and adventure, to be able to sit down to such a nice supper, in a comfortable little room, and in company with such a cheerful little beauty as fanny holmer. holmer kept them company for a short time; but as soon as he had taken his share of the dainties, he rose, and, with a significant smile, reached his keys to fanny, whispering, “keep house well now, recollect, for three winters-the girl clapped her hands for joy; and as soon as her father had shut the door behind him, miss fanny drew the high chair from the writing-desk to a large walnut-press, and when, by the help of a foot-stool, she had managed to climb up on the chair, she called george to hold the light for her. the eyes of both glistened with delight when the sanctuary of the press was opened, and displayed, to their views, whole shelves, containing glorious rows of citrons, oranges, 184 the hermit. a apples, and drawers full of grapes, raisins, and figs. at first, fanny and her companion amused themselves with looking at these lovely fragrant stores of good things; but a not less charming sight in george's eyes was fanny's little sylphlike form, as she stood there before the great press, with her pretty golden locks aying , wild, which last pleased george more than all, because they reminded him of his mother's fair, silky curls, “is not this good fun ?" asked fanny, “is not it beautiful ?” “yes, indeed; but i know something more > so. “oh! what ?» cried fanny, in a tone of wonder; for it would have been difficult for her to have pictured to herself anything in the world so superb as this great walnut-press of her father's-out of which she had sometimes been permitted to fill her apron and pockets, " what then, george ?" she repeated. the hermit. 185 “thou thyself, fanny, art far more beautiful -nearly as beautiful as my own dear mother ; thy cheeks are redder than the apples, and thine eyes brighter and clearer than the grapes, , when you hold them to the light.” fanny smiled; but declared, though she did think that george, too, was beautiful, and very, very good, yet she could not help saying, for all that, that father's walnut-press was the most beautiful of all. fanny was just eleven. george, on the contrary, nigh fifteen ; and he did not seem quite satisfied with her answer, though he laughed heartily at it. and now fanny made him hold his hat, while she carefully sought out a little store of such things as would be most acceptable to his mother--and as soon as george was supplied, fanny thought of herself, and the apron pockets came into requsition; and then they were fully busied in packing all their nice things in a little basket, when patron holmer 186 the hermit. entered, and announced that day was dawning. george sprang up; he had quite forgotten that his parents would be uneasy about him in case carolus should not return. “adieu, patron--adieu, dear fanny. i must hasten home," and with his basket on his arm, he hurried down the steps to the landing, got the oars, and rowed the boat, and was soon urging her over the seething waves, upon which the dense morning mist hung like a shrowd-nothing was to be seen, nor an oar dash to be heard, except his own. even the sea-fowl, terrified by the past contest of the elements, had taken refuge in the rocks--all was grey, silent, and gloomy. and yet a mighty spirit spoke out of the stillness of the deep, and as the mist lifted, and his eye rested upon the sad vestiges of the departed storm, while the greyish green surges dashed and hissed foaming against the naked rocks, and the sea still trembled from the the hermit. 187 effects of its fury, its heaving bosom covered with fragments of wrecked vessels and cargo. george sighed deeply, for his heart grieved to think of all the misery the past night had caused; but he plied his oars briskly, and cast ; a longing look towards the barren strand of grafwerna. 1 188 the hermit. chapter ix. the return. among the many slender threads of destiny which were spun this night, there was one which had been more tightly strained than the rest, and that one was in the soft heart of poor nicoline. this warm-hearted being who had long ceased to cherish one single selfish wish, lived and breathed but for her husband and her son, and the more strong and affectionately her heart beat for each, the more did it silently tremble at the thought of every evil which might befal them. excited, agitated, and well nigh stupified, though incapable of rightly conceiving the the hermit. 189 connection of what she had heard and seen, she was no longer fooled by the question of right and wrong, and had fallen asleep in the midst of her confusing thoughts; but when the moon rose, and cast her faint beams over the objects around, she was awakened by a voice on the landing. still confused, she started up, and called to mind, as if it had been a dream, though it was a sober fact of reality, that she had just heard the creaking of the mysterious hiding-place. she had but one thought, perhaps they are taking away the dangerous contents by night; oh, that george may not be with them.” she went softly to her husband's room, it was empty. « doubtless he is out upon the cliff," she sighed, while she stood listening at the door of george's chamber, to ascertain if she could hear him breathe; but she could catch no sound; she opened the door and entered—alas ! her foreboding was too true! george's bed was un190 the hermit. 1 2 touched, and he himself nowhere to be found in the house. “perhaps they have not yet departed,” was her next thought, and without a consideration of how ill-calculated her thin apparel was to resist the chilly influence of the night air, she hastened to the cliff, whither she only came in time to see the free sailer vanish round the point. on the mass of rock where he had watched so many weary hours by night, letsler was seated, his hands muffied in the folds of his cloak; he heard not the sounds of his wife's light steps, until she pressed closely to him, and weeping, and with a tremulous voice asked “why—oh why, dear bernhard, dost thou allow george to take part in that which is not right. is he not naturally too much inclined to be heedless and rash without" she got no farther, letsler led her back to i the hermit. 191 her apartment; and now he spoke of smuggling -set it in the most favourable light, shewing a ready sophistry, which evinced his habit of applying the same lullaby to his own conscience; but now that all was clear to nicoline's understanding, this reasoning had lost its power; she saw that the employments in which george was made use of, were unlawful, and might bring down punishment, and it nearly drove her to despair, to think that george should have been encouraged, and even advised, to such actions, and that by his own father. and in such a night toothe weather had abated, but the sea still ran high and tempestuous, and the hurricane might return at any instant, and to nicoline's ideas, it was now doing so, though her husband assured her that what she heard was nothing but the dash of the surf among the breakers. in a state of feverish anxiety she awaited the arrival of the free sailer, and her imagination, ever ready to picture dangers, had ample 12 the hermit. time to indulge its fancies, for hour after hour elapsed, and the boat did not return. however, now letsler became uneasy also: carolus should have been home long since, and it appeared as if he was making unnecessary delay. “go, dear bernhard, and look about," she besought him every moment, and then, as soon as she was alone, she wished him back again, and when he returned without comfort, it was worse than ever. at last day began to disperse the shadows of night, and now it appeared certain that something was wrong, and letsler could not help supposing that the yacht-lieutenant had fallen in with the free sailer, and seized it and . at length, however, as the sun peeped out from the dark clouds, there appeared in the far distance a moving speck, it drew nearer, and soon letsler rushed impetuously in with his telescope, and clasped nicoline to his bosom, its cargo the hermit. 193 in a manner which clearly betokened all that he himself had endured, though silently. “great god !” cried she, “who knew the beatings of this stormy heart, and responded to them-he is here-george, my child, is here." convulsively did nicoline strain the youth to her beating heart, while he almost felt his own ready to break, for repentance and regret at having, amid his enjoyment at strand, for a moment forgotten, that his beloved mother was alone at home with her sorrow. nicoline passed her hand caressingly over the locks of her boy, moistened as they were by the exertions of rowing, as she assured him again and again, that all uneasiness was now forgotten, and that all again was well—and love, and forgiveness, and peace were in the glance which she cast upon her husband, in whose eyes might be seen, at once, the prayer for pardon; and the solemn vow that from hencevol. i. k 194 the hermit. forth george should take part in such enterprises no more. and george, too, vowed the same in his own bosom. and as his dear mother, with tears in her eyes, spoke of her affliction, that her george could look with indifference upon an infraction of the laws, he who had hitherto taken so much pleasure in these lawless adventures, was now nearly led to look on them with abhorrence. *** * and now the uneasiness also spread to the fireside of old elias. neither this day, or the following, or even the next to that, was there the least sign of the free sailer. the storm had recommenced, and played worse havoc than on the night of the smuggling adventure itself. the hermit. 195 mother malena's tears fell silently; but the young johanna’s grief was more clamorous, as she ran here and there making the rocks echo with her despair. in vain did old elias exhort her to calm herself-in vain did he suggest that his son was as sly as peter gran—and that he probably dared not venture out on account of the watchfulness of the excise yacht. “yes, i know,” she exclaimed, proud even in her distress. "i know full well that carolus is a match for old gran-10-no-there is some other cause for his detention;" and she began to weep afresh. "do restrain thyself a little, young woman, and do not thus tempt god with thy clamor, said elias, in a somewhat reproachful tone. “but where can he be then, father? what do you think yourself ?" “that god only knows; but as he is ; ich an audacious chap, as i hear, and has taken to smuggling, and that sort of thing, which you a k 2 196 the hermit. hour; may trust me he never learnt from his father, why i can understand very well that he has laid up in some snug corner, where his wares can be well taken care of, and, may be, he has made a run for it, but nothing worse than that, i'll be bound.” while the free sailer seemed to have vanished alike from sea and land, the excise yacht never intermitted its vigilance for a single and peter gran, who watched the approach to strand as sharply as ever anxious lover looked for the arrival of his beloved, had even instituted a house visitation at holmer's, which though conducted with all imaginable strictness, had, as we may easily imagine, no favorable issue; and patron holmer did affirm, with a smile, when the baffled official had withdrawn, that so much diligence and exactitude deserved a better fate than to be laughed at under his very nose. a week had now elapsed, the moon had entered its last quarter, and not so much as a the hermit. 197 solitary star illumined the dark autumn nights. but peter gran held as vigilant watch as on the first day—he was not the man to give up an undertaking out of regard to his own convenience or comfort-however, he altered his tactics so far as to pretend to leave that part of the coast; but often as he vanished, so often did he quite unexpectedly return. whilst he passed his time in this way, it happened one evening, just as the excise yacht had turned her head towards strand to commence her accustomed watch, a boat, well known about these shores, glided out from between two rocks, and landed at grafwerna. mother malena was sitting over the hearth, watering the threads of the net which she was making for her husband, with hot tears. she could no longer hope, spite of her husband's representations; but mother malena had a quiet, patient spirit—her complaints were never heard-her tears flowed in silence. old elias, who was sitting and carving row. 198 the hermit. locks, looked from time to time at his daughter-in-law, who was quite incapable of employing herself, and walked up and down the room, wringing her hands. the old man would not confess how his own courage began to fail-however, he could not but feel, that hope grew fainter and more faint. suddenly, it was as if an electric stroke had passed through the whole family---some one grasped the handle of the door-a well known grasp—and the next instant carolus stood before them. “gracious, carolus, is’t thou ?” johanna received the first embrace, father and mother the second. “give me something to eat,” were the first words he uttered. “you "you may easily see,” pointing to stonge-jan, “ that this miserable prisoner and myself must have some lining to our waistcoats, before we can use our jaw tackle; and, dear johanna, don't forget to give us a proper good schnapps." 2 1 the hermit. 199 all sat silent, thankful in their hearts to god, who had restored him to them, while carolus and his companion satisfied their wonderful appetites; at last, when carolus had shoved away the empty fish dish, and with folded hands, had uttered his thanks to god for food and drink, he turned to his parents, whose eyes had with warm sympathy, followed his every movement, and from the eagerness of his hunger, elias concluded that he had fared but ill while away. “father,” said carolus, extending his great powerful hand to him across the table, “i can see well enough that you want a promise from me, and mother and johanna, too, and the little ones, they want it, too_and so i say, as sure as i'm called carolus eliasson, and mean to bear the name honestly till i die, you shall have the promise--however, i'll stick to this much-that ne'er a priest, or prophet, or exciseman, cr royal ordinance, if they should reach from here to england, shall make me be200 the hermit. may go henceforth lieve, for an instant, that i am not an honest, good chap, because i have now and then played hide and seek with the revenue boatsfor i'd do it again, and gladly, if i was alone in the world; but now, hark ye, father, while i faithfully vow, i'll become an orderly, quiet man, for so much is to be understood when one weighs the desert and the earning against the difficulty and responsibility—it don't look well—and so to the deuce it and for me. and as he finished his declaration, he gave his hand heartily to each in turn, but when he raised his johanna's tearful face to the light, and regarded the traces left by the last week of anxiety and sorrow, he continued with a softer voice“i'll confess to thee my heart's gold, that i've had many a qualm of conscience, at causing so much sadness, and sorrow here, at home, but god's death, when i once had the devil in the boat, i was forced to land him safe again, the hermit. 201 a a and it was not so easy, for peter gran was after me like a bird of prey, if i did but stick the end of my nose out.” “and how did you manage the?" asked johanna, whose cheeks had now begun to recover their roses, you say he lay there before strand, like a house dog." "aye, did he, just exactly so, for don't ye see as soon as ever the free sailer ventured to stretch out its nose, it had to drag it in again sharp, for the first thing to be seen was the excise yacht.” “but in heaven's name, carolus, where were ye then all the while," and father and mother and johanna, listened with eagerness for his reply. “oh, well, i have some friends down south east. now, now, johanna, no need to look shy, a man may have other friends in the creeks, besides woman kind-for example, one of those *giant urns in which he may not only cook his 66 * sepulchral gigantic urns or barrows in the hills. k 5 202 the hermit. fish, but hide a thing or two at need, and these did not fail me at this pinch. i know a hole, never mind where, where a man can easy hide a large freight, and i thought of letting the casks of cognac lay there awhile, but then i was irked at the thought of giving in to the excise hounds, and when i saw he was obstinate and would not leave strand—why i took my oath-a stupid oath as ever a man took toobut all one-once taken why it was to be kept —that i'd bring the casks to their right destination before i took my leave of them, even if i should wait there till the day of doom.” “well, and then ?” exclaimed they all at once, their attention strained to the utmost. , “well; at length it occurred to petter gran that a clever chap like himself could play a sharper game than that so he'd take himself off by day and return at night, just to see if the free sailerhad ventured out and catch her at it—but the free sailer knew better, and played tricks as keen as clever peter. i 4 the hermit. 203 watched early and late, and this morning when the excise yacht was off to catch another gold fish, which had been thrown in the old one's way, by my suggestion, but which i don't believe he'll find though,” added carolus, with a satisfied smile. "i at once took (as i had settled before hand) the little boat belonging to the boy at risö, for if i had taken the free sailer, old petter gran would have scented her out, if he had been ever so far off, and with a bold face as if i had no end in view, but what was all right, i started out in broad day light, with a lot of sea weed laid over the casks, and as luck favors the bold, i got over safe and well. holmer nearly got apoplexy, when i came in, and asked him to take charge of the casks. 'thou mad chap,' says he, thou'lt ruin me, but i just gave him a little couragea the casks were stowed away safe enough, where neither custom sniffer nor any other christian soul can find them, and as soon as the work was done, and it was all over in half 6 6 204 the hermit. an hour, i went back to my old hiding-place, and aboard the free sailer, and made all ready (as soon as the excise yacht should turn its nose to strand) to be on the watch and slip out for ye see i made such a number of turns and tacks the night he was after me—that i did not want him to know where i had come from, and how bad i'd been off for food, and brandy; and the best and heartiest thing i could hear now would be that he might lay there a fortnight yet and look out for the free sailer. however, this hope was not gratified. carolus's arrival at grafwerna was a novelty which soon spread, and peter gran, who had never believed that there could possibly exist such shameless impudence in any living man, was very near taking a bad illness, on account of the trick he had been played—especially when he heard of the bold smuggler's visit to strand. of course he set a new visitation on foot, а the hermit. 205 but it was just as vain as the first had been. no one had such hiding-places as holmer, and after a week's labour lost, peter gran with, we will not venture to say what sensations, returned home, taking nothing with him but a most severe cold, which, for a long time, prevented him from pursuing his business with his former zeal. and carolus never gave him another chance. 206 the hermit. chapter x. death. the days of trouble had passed away from grafwerna, and left no outward trace of their visit behind. its inhabitants, as well as the family on the johannis cliff fell into their usual train, and nicoline smiled cheerfully again, when she saw her george happy and content. but when she was alone the smile faded from her lips, and often times would a tear drop silently upon the work she was doing for her husband or son. since that unlucky night when, regardless of her feeble health, she had gone out, and the the hermit. 207 cold blast on the johannis cliff had struck a chill through her frame, while feverish anxiety consumed her within — since that night nicoline felt that the hand of death was on her heart-perhaps this chance had merely developed the seeds of illness which had long existed within. death in itself had, for her, no terrors, and she would have welcomed its approach, after her long and severe trials, as a calm and peaceful haven of rest, had not her thoughts upon the fate of him whom she should leave behind, continually filled her heart with sorrow. strongly as her heart clung to george, she yet considered the approaching separation less painful as it might affect him, who was now just about to enter the world, and buy experience, than letsler, who would then be left to brood over his gloomy thoughts in this desolate home alone. the first would, she felt, gradually forget his sorrow, and when he recalled the image of his loved mother it would be with 208 the hermit. sadness, but at the same time with pleasing recollections; but the latter had naught in the wide world to rest his hopes on, but herself, and this thought made nicoline's heart shudder as she anticipated the moment when his eyes would be opened and he should clearly see the affliction that awaited him; and she could not prevail upon herself to recal his thoughts to a subject so painful. she did her utmost on the other hand to prepare george for what was about to happen, she sought to strengthen his energies and his mental powers, so that in the hour of need they might not desert him. when they were alone, she painted the illusions of vice and all their frightful consequences in the most vivid colors, and in such beautiful words that george regarded with wonder and admiration how his calm and tender mother seemed transformed into a spirit of energy and power, who, while she guided and warned him, filled him with confidenoe and hope. the hermit. 209 never did these secret and serious discourses fade from george's memory; but not till she who had uttered them had long ceased to exist, except as a warning angel hovering around him, did they stand in the full clearness of their truth before his soul, then first did he correctly estimate her hints, her entreaties, her uneasiness, and her anxious efforts designed, by unveiling the various dangers of the hour of temptation-to temper and refine his heart before the actual trial should arrive. *** the sun had already melted the cold snow flakes which winter bad left about the foot of the johannis cliff, when letsler, as if awakening at once from an unconscious lethargy, surveyed his wife with looks which testified the most painful uneasiness. she avoided his glance, for she could not thus see his eye fixed upon her with that searching, sad expression without 210 the hermit. an almost irrepressible desire to weep—and she wished to be strong. but letsler once awakened to these distracting thoughts, which soon absorbed all others, sank into a melancholy, more consuming than all the torments he had yet endured—he gave no vent to his feelings in words, but his emaciated cheek, and bent form, spoke too plainly of the loss at once of hope and energy, and a continued restless and wearing strife within. george, who had long watched his father and mother with surprise, wondered that they, who had so often held converse with each other's looks, even when they exchanged no words, now, as if by mutual consent, as if they, conscious of some guilt, seemed to shun each other's eyes whenever their glances chanced to meet-and he felt a cold shudder, like that of death, upon his heart. however, a sadness devoid alike of hope or consolation was something which george could not willingly conа the hermit. 211 66 tell me, ceive or endure. he threw himself in wild despair at his mother's feet. i pray thee, mother, tell methat i deceive myself-or tell me—the truth.” “my son, my george," faltered the surprised mother—she could say no more, but she laid her cheek on george's drooping head, and kissed his forehead. “ and you must die,” sobbed the youth, “ die ere i have been able to take you from this dreadful rock-before you have been permitted to see me become a man. oh, then i will no longer work-no longer live-for thee, thee alone, dear, dearest mother, did i wish to labour or to live, and if thou diest, i will also die." " for god's dear sake, my george, restrain this vehemence, it terrifies me; and must i then believe that i have spoken in vain, all that i have said to thee this winter; and thou wilt not strive to govern the impetuosity of thy 212 the hermit. character, all that is passionate and unbridled in thy feeling—?" “and thou didst catch cold that night, when in my wild petulance, i forgot all thine entreaties, and cautiously crept out, lest thou shouldst awaken, and see how disobedient i was; and yet i could be cheerful and happy there whilst thou wert here at home running into the arms of death." “no, no, my beloved child, it was not thou, do not think it; and inflict needless pain upon thyself-poor george, thou wilt have sorrow enough—no, long, long ago, when we dwelt in norway; before thou canst remember, when we lived in that old nest, and i enjoyed no air and exercise, and never got a glance at the blue bright heavens, except through the narnow windows--then george, then my heart was broken, and it has been god's great mercy alone which has permitted me to remain with you so long, but sms-t, i hear thy father's steps.” the hermit. 213 “no, no," said george, “ there were no steps—and so thou didst then begin to die-mother, i am young, but not too young to understand, and wilt thou, mother, leave me, and never let me know, and sorrow over all that thou hast suffered. i know, ay, well do i know, though for the first time i say it, that it has been much, much and bitter, but oh, i would hope," and here a dark flush overspread george's cheeks, and tears hung on his long lashes; “i would hope that thy tears have burned upon no human heart.” “no, my george-i say it in sad seriousness, and thou knowest that i am incapable of speaking falsely; no tears of repentance have i wept. i have never been a sharer of those gloomy mysteries which have made sad thy father's life. never has he allowed me even to guess them, and often, often as i have felt inclined to complain of the necessity that bou his tongue-(for it was no want of confidence). 214 the hermit. i have yet been thankful for it, for my ignorance in this respect saves me the pain of being obliged to refuse thee aught.” george answered with scalding tears alone, and covered his mother's hand with kisses. nicoline continued, “it would have been both wrong and childish in me, had i wearied thy father with entreaties which he was unable to grant; what more did i need to know than that he was unhappy, and needed all my tenderness and love." 66 and thine own heart, my mother, was always sad ? or had'st thou ever any joy ?” “oh, canst thou ask that, george ? aye, i had my love, and the blessed consciousness that i was the sole joy, the only happiness of my husband; that i was the tie which bound him still to life, and then heaven blessed me with a more precious joy when it gave me thee, my child.” “oh, mother," said george, sighing bitterly, 66 the hermil. 015 .6 if thou did'st but know how much it pains me to think how often i have caused you sorrow instead of joy." “never, never, with intent-no, thou did'st ever love me too well—and whatever anxiety thou may'st have given me as a boy, thou shalt, as a man, make good by laying a stronger restraint upon thy will and feelings, and matured understanding; and the remembrance of me, will aid thee to curb and keep down thy youthful and impetuous blood." yes,” interrupted george, ardently, laying his head upon his mother's breast, "the thought of thee shall keep me back, even were i upon the brink of crime, i often feel as if a wild thought came over me, but let it come. i have promised thee, that i will bridle it-and i will do so; for when god takes thee hence, i will ever believe that thou dost hover around me, and see'st and knowest all i do; ay, and perchance all i think.” 66 2 216 the hermit. would say, though no warm or intimate relation subsisted between george and his father, yet when he saw how he would sit in mute despair, strong in his suffering, resolutely repressing every struggling thought, and never betraying his anguish, save by that look of sorrow which never left his features-george felt his heart yearn towards him. and when letsler marked that george's inclinations led him to approach him as if he “ do i not suffer too; oh, let our hearts open to each other,” a gleam of light waved past his countenance, and he would extend his hand to his son, and make room for him on the rocky seat beside him-but yet no confidence-he seemed to shrink instinctively from a word which might unveil the truth, which, deeply impressed as it was upon his heart, had never as yet been revealed by his lips. young sorrow seeks to relieve itself by confidence. but the struggle in the heart of the the hermit. 217 man, the pain and suffering which have been as a crown of thorns to a whole existence, shuts itself up where no strange eye can penetrate--and shudders at the mere idea of the moment when its pangs shall no longer form its own sad secret. when the sea was again free from ice, and the free sailer was again ready to plough the briny waves, carolus wondered to see george so indifferent, and uninterested; but he was still more surprised when the latter declared, in the most decided tone, that he should not quit the johannis cliff this spring--perhaps not during the entire summer. “and what in heaven's name will you do with yourself all the time," asked carolus, who had hoped that george's melancholy would be dissipated by his favorite occupations. vol. i, l 218 the hermit. a “i will — god knows what,” answered george, with a half repressed sigh—“but this i know, that i will not cause my mother sorrow during this spring—she shall not have to weep or suffer uneasiness on my account-i will remain at home, carolus.” and what a reward was the expression which george read in that beloved mother's eye, when he told her that the free sailer should sail without him this time. and it did so. and sometimes in the calm warm evenings george would row his mother over to a little holm, upon which he had erected a grotto; two of its walls were formed by the rocks, the third he had constructed of stones and rushes, and on the fourth side, which formed the entrance, he hung a curtain of bunting, a whenever he took his mother to this quiet little retreat. and how blessed were the feelings which filled nicoline's eyes with tears at every new the hermit. 219 evidence of the tenderness and love of her son, which were displayed in each visit to this spot. sometimes a chair and stool had been brought the day before ; and sometimes a table covered with the delicate refreshments which he had got from fanny holmer, at strand; sometimes a book or a vase of flowers, always some little agreeable welcome which she had never even thought of; one day, however, george had prepared a far more gratifying surprise. when nicoline, leaning on his arm, entered the grotto, she was met and welcomed by the beautiful childish face of little fanny holmer herself, standing at the entrance with a smile, as she held her little offerings in her apron. “ah, that must be fanny holmer,” said nicoline, delighted, and charmed with the little maiden's beauty and whole air, in which there was such a captivating mixture of childish innocence and firmness. “yes, dear, beautiful lady, i am fanny,” l2 220 the hermit. 66 said the little maiden, making a curtsey and displaying the contents of her apron, among which two fragrant hyacinths were not the least important. nicoline tenderly kissed fanny's brow, while she admired the lively, kind-hearted activity of the child. “and how did you manage to get here alone, little one ?" she asked. oh, i can row myself if it's necessary,” answered she, with an air of pride,“ but to-day, pernilla, the pilot's daughter helped me, and now she is gone over to grafwerna to do something for mother." “and early this morning," said george, his eyes beaming with happiness, “i was over at strand, and asked fanny's mother to allow her to come. and this evening at george's holm was the happiest nicoline had enjoyed for a long long time-she had once more looked upon happy, the hermit. 221 cheerful faces, and had listened to fresh, childish prattle. soon, however, even these little excursions were obliged to cease. and confined to her sofa, in her own quiet apartment, nicoline, with humble devotion, awaited the last summons. she had not yet had power to speak to her husband-his untiring tenderness, his self-denial, renouncing his own rest to keep her company in the long weary nights—all this was soothing balsam to her heart, but holy, warm, affectionate, as was the relation existing between them—they yet mutually avoided the decisive moment. nevertheless it came. it was a calm still night in july—the soft sea breeze streamed lightly in at the slightly opened window, and a pale moon-beam which 222 the hermit. had broken through the thick foliage without, fell upon nicoline's lily-like features, as she reclined on letsler's bosom. she was on the sofa in a half recumbent position, whilst he sat on the corner of the same, and held her in his arms. all was so still without and within, at times only might be heard the light plash of the waves as they rippled on the beach. letsler's silvery hair fell down long and neglected over his sunken cheeks; upon his forehead there was a dark cloud, and an unspeakable expression of tenderness in his eyes as they rested upon the being who reclined half slumbering in his arms. suddenly a shudder passed through nicoline's frame, she was awakened by somethinga burning tear dropped upon her neck, it fell from letsler's eye. sixteen years had she been united to this man, and she had never seen him weep. she raised herself, she regarded him and was struck the hermit. 223 a mute with what she saw it was not the mysterious cold despair which she had been used to meet there, but there was a still unheard, unspoken pang as of death, laboring in his whole soul as well as body. “bernhard, my own dear, beloved bernhard, speak to me,” she begged, with the most heartfelt and affectionate tone, “oh, beloved, speak, speak." “nicoline !” he pressed her closer to his breast and a flood of tears bathed her forehead and neck. now she could answer him-she too, had tears. after some minutes he said softly, and with convulsive efforts“ can words picture what a soul so rent, so sad as mine, suffers, to see the being which constitutes its entire existence vanishing, fading away, never, never to return ?" nicoline pressed her husband's hand, she ventured not to comfort him. а 224 the hermit. 1 knowest thou that thou art dying ?” he asked her in a tone which it would be utterly impossible to describe. yes," she whispered. " and thou art-?" ready—my beloved-devoted and submissive to the will of god.” “but thou goest not gladly hence-oh, say no, say nom-thou wouldst still, if thou wert permitted, delay with the poor hermit whose only sun has risen in thine eyes, whose w. joy in life has hung upon thy lips.” oh, if it were god's will how gladly woulo i stay with thee—but we must be patient, as he has otherwise determined. i have loved thee much, much, and i have been belovedas few, few have been. i have tasted the highest and most beautiful of all life has to give." " and that which is most bitter also, poor, poor nicoline ; to be bound to a being who has been to thee an insoluble enigma, and who the hermit. 235 even now, at this moment, when death waves his pinions over thy soul, cannot venture to unveil the torments which have consumed his heart, and at this moment scorch it up with fiercer flames than ever. oh, nicoline, tender, adored wife—my greatest, heaviest crime was when i took thine innocent heart to my guilty bosom." “oh, my bernhard ! speak not thus ! perhaps though i have long resigned the hope of ever being allowed to share thy long, thy bitter sorrow~-perhaps, for thou knowest no childish curiosity prompts memperhaps i may i yet be granted the happiness to comfort and to sooth thee as far as my weak powers will admit, and i ask thee now with all the warm earnestness of one, who will soon no more be capable of asking, if it would not be soothing to thee to impart thy sorrows to me--to pour out thy sufferings in my bosom--would it not be good if thou couldst think, when i am gone, that we have been one in all i can bear all now for i l 5 226 the hermit. am strong, strong in the will to convince the that god's grace is endless.” “even this last comfort, my heavenly wife, must i renoụnce; my heart pants to lay open before thee all its wounds, but love withholds me—it has compassion on thee. believe me, dearest, i were utterly unworthy of all the tenderness which thou hast lavished on me could i lay this burden upon thee. in all that is beautiful, and pure, and good, our thoughts and feelings have ever been in unison-let naught else intrude between us now.'' “oh, keep then this secret, my bernhard; but tell me, shall not george one day know all ? believe me, when i say it, he is strong in energy; he is capable of aiding thee to bear this burden, while i could not. he will be to thee the tenderest of sons, and the most faithful friend, when my place is vacant.” “yes, george shall one day learn all, i promise sacredly; and now be not farther anxious regarding father and son, they will unthe hermit. 227 derstand each other entirely, when they have a common grief." “and he will be thy comfort.” “no one will be—can be that—my sorrow is too great for comfort. george must hence into the world; the johannis cliff is too narrow ; a stage for him; let me live with my memory alone; and should i ever find peace, 'twill be in the conviction, that every passing day takes one away from the long drear purgatory which life must be to me without thee." nicoline's head sank upon her husband's heart—her sighs replied to the unruly pulsations of his heart-both were silent-but their looks betrayed a suffering deeper, far deeper, than their lips could utter. and the moon, that moon who has gazed upon so many an hour of earthly sorrow, beamed softly down upon the unhappy ones, and their thoughts soared upward as they gazed on her soft radiance, and the realms, where pain and sorrow shall be done away, and where 228 the hermit. they hoped, ere long, to be together, never more to part. * and from this night forward, a beautiful spirit of confiding love reigned between the three who lived on the lone johannis cliff. george knew not how it was, his father fled from him no more, no longer shunned his sympathy; in silent preparation they waited for the hour, which was not long delayed. ere the first cold blasts of autumn came, nicoline was no more, her gentle spirit had passed almost insensibly away, and the silent angel of mercy spread his protecting wings over the two who now, in hopeless sorrow, wept on the bare, deserted cliff. this winter, george prepared for his first the hermit. 229 sacrament, and with feelings deep and holy as ever glowed in a youthful bosom, he awaited the moment which should consecrate him to the trials of life. george could not conceal from himself that his father seemed to look for the hour when he should be left on the johannis cliff alone; but he felt not injured by this sad longing of a sorrowful heart, but sought in every imaginable way so to order their mode of life that his father might feel as little constraint as possible —and the hour of parting came--and letsler was alone. 230 the hermit. chapter xi. the captain-commander and the cabin-boy. who ever had been standing on the strand at frederickswärn on the of august, 184, would have had the gratification of beholding one of the finest spectacles which can glad the eye--namely, that of a large ship-of-war running up to her anchorage under full sail. the flight of fancy—the enjoyment of the moment is unalloyed by the bustle, shouting and running to and fro, which generally the hermit. 231 a characterize a similar manquyre on board a merchant ship, a short whistle, and the majestic ship makes a long, graceful sweep, another and another, and the clouds of canvass disappear, and sails are furled with the rapidity of magic—at brief intervals, a few more lively notes are heard, and at last the ponderous anchor falls to the bottom, athletic forms swarm in the rigging, and in a short time the upper part of the ship becomes a skeleton, but still in its denuded state, retaining all its symmetry and beauty--perhaps, however, no heart feels the sensations awakened by this most glorious beauty more vividly than that of the old invalid seaman, who has long ceased to bear his part in such scenes, except in his dreams of the past. at a short distance from the frigate, whose arrival in the road of frederickswärn we have noticed, lay a small, well-rigged norwegian schooner, which had run into harbour much about the same time as the former vessel ; we a 232 the hermit. will, however, leave her for the present, and go on board the ship-of-war. there it lay, as if slumbering upon the watery mirror, the extreme border of which reflected the orange, red, and violet clouds which surrounded the declining sun. the bell had struck two-the sentinels had echoed their monotonous “all's well;" and the gunner had reported all the fires and lights out, except in the cabin of the officers, and the doctor who was busy extracting a tooth for some poor devil. the men of the watch were sitting away forward, mending their shirts and trowsers, here and there were to be seen some lines with newly washed linen, which at all events “must " be dry before morning, as nothing of the kind was allowed to be seen after sunrise. on the starboard side, at the gangway, engaged in earnest conversation, whilst their glances fell by turns on the aforesaid norwethe hermit. 233 gian schooner, and on a group of the junior officers, who were talking together on deck, were a couple of young cadets, whose uneasy glances betrayed that they had a plan afoot, which had it been discovered by their superiors, might have cost them an hour or two at the mast head. “so, so," said the first, quickly, "good council is dear; but now's the time, and i must take some decided step. nineteen closely written sheets to my bianca make me burn with anxiety, and i shall be half crazy unless i can manage to get the packet on board yon schooner." “it would be hard, as she answered to our hail in passing that she was bound to cadiz, not to be able to send a token to your beloved ; ; but in thy place, i should take it coolly--it is a difficult business. these spanish maidens, with their eyes of fire, and ever vigilant duennas, may be very good for the moment; 234 the hermit. but now we are here in dear old sweden ; for what i care, they may console themselves with another lover as soon as they choose." “ay, and why—because thou hast left thy heart in smaland, i mine in spain—so truce to your nonsense, and strike out something from thy brain-pan that may do thee honour.” " “well then, go away straight to the chief, and ask him for a boat." “capital idea that; if my mother was on ; board the schooner, and i begged a boat to go and pay her a visit, he would most graciously assure me, that the boats of the crown were only available for points of service; and if i was simple enough to state the whole truth, he would probably doubt whether i was in the perfect possession of my senses, and if in one of his most brilliant humours, perhaps tell me to go to the d-1, and turn his back on me.” well, that would not be quite an improbable issue to the affair," remarked the confidant with a provoking smile. the hermit. 235 66 well then, thou seest that-but dost thou see no other plan for gaining my point ?" “oh yes—for instance, if thou could'st persuade some young dare-devil to swim over to the schooner." “bravo, brother; by my soul, thou hast a rare head-real stuff to make a vice-admiral : but now i must be speedy-i know my man already. go thou below, as if thou knewest nothing, and we shall meet again.” the cadets parted, exchanging a mysterious nod. somewhat apart from the watch, under the shadow of the main-rigging, was standing a tall, well-built stripling, busy in mending the arm-hole of a sailor's jacket. as the usual sea-going strictness of costume was somewhat relaxed, he was, at present, attired in a redwollen shirt, and kersey trousers, which had 236 the hermit. once been white, and which, notwithstanding the specks of tar with which they were disfigured, evinced, by their fineness and cut, that they had sprung from some officer's wardrobe. instead of braces, they were supported by a leather strap round the loins, which gave the supple form and the broad shoulders a still more easy and athletic appearance ; every movement of this youth was full of energy and elasticity. under a hat of white sail-cloth, with a broad brim, appeared a countenance browned by the sun, but healthy, ruddy, and beardless as that of a girl and this face, with the rich brown curls that strayed from under the hat, had an unmistakeable likeness to a certain youth whom we once met on the free sailer. the roguish smile which had shortly before played on george's lips had now given place to a shade of melancholy, and as he leaned over the side, and gazed on the changing forms of the gold and purple-sunset clouds, his thoughts the hermit. 237 were far away—they had taken a long flightay, even as far as the johannis cliff, where, sitting by his beloved mother, he had painted such brilliant pictures of his future prospects; he had now learnt the difference, the wide and striking contrast, between imagination and reality-he had started as a cabin-boy, as a cabin-boy he had returned, the sole distinction which he had gained having been that the chief had selected him as his own attendant, or more properly speaking, as a sort of companion and guardian of his son-a boy of twelve years whom his father had brought with him to inure him to the sea, and bring him up for a sailorfor which occupation he, however, evinced not the least inclination. “aye, aye,” continued george, pursuing , his thoughts, as his flashing eye was raised, with a warm glance, toward the heaven, where his loved and heartily regretted mother now dwelt, "aye, aye, now would'st thou have seen, poor و 238 the hermit, mother, how childish i was-epaulettes, sword, medal-all a dream--a vain dream and therefere i'll just give up the fleet, and return to the merchant service." and as his thoughts took this direction, he moved himself quickly from his reflecting posture, and resumed his needle. a hand touched his shoulder, and a youthful voice accosted him with “what art thou doing, george ?” it was the cadet, whom we have just seen, on the point of seeking a true-love messenger, who would not object to play the triton a little. george took off his hat, and answered — “i'm stopping a hole for no 36 tupp." " aha!thou hast turned ship's tailor then ?" “oh no, sir-no such promotion,” replied george, smiling; “but you see, sir, this is how it is—the flag-boatswain, stormbom, chanced > the hermit. 239 56 i say, to give a flourish with his hand so smart, that tupp has got a black eye, and can't see, just now, to mend his own jacket.” say, george,” continued the cadet, with an insinuating tone, “i always thought thee a good friendly soul, and i am glad to see i was right; but that's not all, by a good deal—thou art also a deuced handy lad, and hast no fear in thee, and that's what i like thee for." “well, sir-yes,” returned george, who though this praise was rather unexpected, did not feel it a bit undeserved. “i get along as well as others." “ harkye, you scamp, and the cadet assumed a more confidential posture, “thou seest yon norwegian schooner—its not very far off, is it?" “no, no, sir-just under one's nose, as one might say.” “so i think; and as i have no time for ceremony, i will just ask thee straight on end, a 240 the hermit. if thou wilt do me a favor, and get something aboard her for me ?? “how, sir ?" answered george, looking surprised. “ you may fancy, sir, that i have not st. peter's art of walking on the sea, though i have a little luck betimes." “but, george, thou canst swim--swim like an otter--a regular first class swimmer. i know there's not another like thee." 'but, sir, that won't help us. no man may leave the ship after nine o'clock, you know." “ trifle, george, a dare-devil like thee, what signifies that ?—thou could'st just slip down under the bows, and no one will know when you go or return either.” “aye, aye—that is all very fine, sir; but suppose i should be found out—then you know," and george pointed significantly to a gun. "oh, don't get such stuff as that in your the hermit. 241 head. the first lieutenant is just alongside the doctor, and beginning on the subject of his endless west india voyages, and that story will last out this watch, i'll be bound.” may be, sir; but i've no mind to risk anything any more; the voyage will soon be at an and i'll be discreet.” “well, i never thought that such a smart lad would have so quickly changed into a poor wight. i am really alarmed about thee-i am afraid thou art sick." “oh pray make yourself easy, sir, i am quite well, and wish to get home with a whole skin; however, as to having turned pitiful or fearful, all that you know yourself, sir, is just a fudge, to make me bite !" “my honest george," said the cadet in an unaltered tone, never believe i meant to insult thee. oh no, quite the contrary, but i'm in a state of mind in which i can't weigh my words; tell me, was’t thou ever in love?" aye, sir, i should think so," answered george, his eyes flashing brightly up. (6 vol. i. m 242 the hermit. “then, now, see'st thou, we shall soon understand each other well, there is a maiden in cadiz. the norwegian schooner is about to sail there; and here," pointing to his breast pocket, “is a letter in a little tin box which i would fain send—thou can’st tie it round thy neck-and now has't thou the heart to say no ?” " in truth, i have not, sir,” said george, totally overcome; “no time to lose, i'll be off at once, but,” said he jokingly, pointing to the after part of the ship, “i feel it in · my shoulders, that a storm will come from aft there. now, sir, you'll be kind, and ask for fair weather, if it does.” “i swear i won't leave thee in the lurch if the matter goes too far for thee to get quit thyself." and after watching george depart on his venturous errand, the cadet went down to tell his confidential friend the lucky beginning of his scheme. the hermit. 243 chapter xii. a narrow escape. quite contrary to all expectation, the west india voyager did not even spin out to the end of the watch, instead of extending far into the next; and the doctor was just on the point of seeking his berth, when the first lieutenant suddenly said, “wait an instant,” and fixed his eye sharply on an object which had attracted his attention, “there is something floating there." “a gay buoy, i fancy,” observed the good natured doctor, putting his glass to his eye, and soon discovering the object. m 2 244 the hermit. > a oh yes, a very pretty buoy, indeed,” returted the lieutenant, with a smile,“ by my soul, its a man swimming; aye, and making right for the frigate. wait you here. i'll lay my life its one of our crew.” but very far from attending to the lieutenant's wish, the doctor hastily wished him good night, heartily wishing that the poor devil who had been out of bounds, could be changed into a veritable buoy for a few hours. the lieutenant, however, did his duty, and hurried forward; under the bowsprit he disl covered the hat, jacket, and trowsers of a cabin boy—aha, thought he, there, that's that scamp george, again--and so saying, the officer, whose face seemed to clear up a little at the discovery, hid himself close by the prow, so that the swimmer could not perceive him. directly afterwards, a slight movement of the cable in the hause hole made him aware that some one had climbed up by it. silent and supple as a cat, and not in the the hermit. 254 least calculating upon the encounter which awaited him, george had soon climbed the deck, but involuntarily recoiled a step, at so unexpectedly finding himself face to face with the officer : for in spite of the proud consciousness of being a favourite as well of the captain as of the crew, george really could not venture to hope for a favourable escape, in this critical dilemma. he, however, determined to neglect nothing-short of declaring the truth—and to put the best face on the matter which he could. “be quick and dress yourself,” was the lieutenant's first command, in a harsh voice. “yes, sir,” and before five minutes had elapsed, george stood dressed before his superior. he had, by a rapid glance, convinced himself that the deck was, clear, and tête-àtête with the lieutenant, the affair did not look quite so perilous—and he might venture to talk a little, and give a range to his craftiness. 246 the hermit. > where do you come from ?” said the officer, fixing him with a sharp glance. “well, lieutenant, your honour, since the last time i polished the gun there, i had such a heat in my skin, that i felt i needed a bath to cool it." “i can see that you are lying-don't attempt to play tricks with me.” “the lieutenant sees right through, and through one; well then, sir, i must just tell the truth.” 66 let's hear it then." well, sir, i was angling in the bows there, and such a big, heavy fish gave a bite, that just as i had drawn him up to the surface, he gave a jerk, and pulled me overboard." “ take care, my boy,” said the lieutenant, in rather a sharp tone, which, however, had not much anger in it; “ take care-perhaps you'll change your thoughts, and hit upon the the hermit. 247 6 truth, when you make acquaintance with the gunner's daughter to-morrow. now confess this instant--for i saw you—what business had you at the schooner there ??? george grew hot all over ; but he could not make up his mind to betray his trust, and so resolved to leave all to chance and the lieutenant's generosity. “well now, be quick. will you tell the truth ?" “ yes, lieutenant. i was coming from the norwegian schooner.” what business had ye there ?" “well, i can't tell your honour that." 66 more evasion. you had a small box on your breast as you came up—what was in it?" well, sir, there was nothing in it-i got nothing," said george, “ trying to get through." “ come, come, youngster, you are too bold; i'm losing patience, and i ask you now, for > > 248 the hermit. the last time, if you choose to tell me what was your business aboard the norwegian vessel ?" “well then, sir," said george, seriously and earnestly, “i cannot tell you, sir; but it had nothing to do with the service.” well, well, we shall see to-morrow if the service won't make you find your tongue.” “no more then than now; if a man could get the truth out of me at all on this point, it would be you, sir—for you have been kind to me; but my tongue is my own, and i'll hold it come what may; but one thing i must heartily beg, sir, and that is, if you are determined to let me get the rope's end, i hope you will let it end there; for rather than forfeit your good opinion, sir, for my disobedience, i would polish the gun there three times over." to-morrow you'll get five-and-twenty," said the lieutenant, turning away sharp tha george might not see that he was moved-for 1 > the hermit. 249 whatever the lad might have said in the way of excuse, he knew well that his last words were true. however, the real criminal now came forward—the cadet-he had long since left his berth, and had listened to the whole proceeding “ lieutenant,” said he, with a pale cheek and beating heart, as he stood before his superior, “i should be unworthy of my uniform if i could be any longer a silent witness of george's magnanimity without releasing him from his self-imposed silence. it was i who persuaded him to swim to the schooner, with a letter in the tin-box. i submit myself to answer for my fault; but let me hope, lieutenant, that you will be so generous as to overlook george.” the officer, who was pleased with the cadet's candour, and not sorry to have a pretence for forgiving his favourite, let them both off m 5 250 the hermit. with a reprimand; and george assured the cadet laughingly, when they were alone, that he hoped he was safe now for this voyage; however, he was a little out in his reckoning, and we shall show how. the hermit. 251 chapter xiii. no help for it this time. the following morning we find george again in the execution of his duties, as attendant and companion of the chief's son ; he was engaged in helping the young baron with the rigging of a bran new brig, which stood upon one of the silk covered sofas in the saloon of the captain, commander baron, v.u., his father; while george was left to finish the work above mentioned alone, young master fritz, who had got weary of his toy, amused himself in rummaging about a small cupboard in his father's sleeping-cabin, and had the good 252 the hermit. fortune to discover a carefully closed receptacle full of choice preserves—the contents of which he was not long in examining, after he had once tasted the beautiful peaches, with which the captain had intended, on his arrival at göteberg, to regale the ladies, who would doubtless honour the ship with a visit; he felt it quite impossible to break off the acquaintance, and in order to facilitate the appropriation, he made use of the mast of his new brig, which had not yet been fixed, to decoy one delicacy after another from its retreat. the young baron might have abstracted about three quarters of the contents, when well known steps caused the blood to forsake his cheeks. the drawer was hastily shoved back into its place, and when the captain entered, fritz, with his back turned to the door, was busily engaged in scraping the mast, which had been so improperly applied. “ away with all this play,” said the chief, somewhat out of temper. the hermit. 253 george instantly vanished. some hours after, it happened that the captain wished to get something out of the above cupboard, and found, to his great surprise, as he removed the jars of preserves from one place to another, that several of them were half empty his first suspicion fell upon his son, whose crib was in his father's sleeping-cabin. fritz was called; but when he saw the threatening sternness of his father's features, the timid boy was afraid to confess the truth; but with a violently beating heart, declared that he did not even know that his father's cupboard had contained preserves. it is true that it did not escape his father's observation, as he made the assertion, that his colour varied ; but he knew that an innocent person might shew this agitation out of fear, and as it was quite impossible for him to conceive that his son would venture to tell him an 254 the hermit. 66 untruth-he believed the assertion, and his next suspicion fell upon george. the youth was called, and stood, cap in hand and upright as a dart, before his chief. “thou hast been here several times alone ?" said the captain, with a searching glance. yes, according to the captain commander's orders, i have been here rigging the little brig for baron fritz." “hast thou been into my sleeping-cabin ?-hast thou opened my cupboard, and eaten the preserves which were kept there ?" “no, sir," and george's colour rapidly went and came. “ hast thou never seen them either ?” george was silent. “could you have the audacity to tell me a lie?" no, sir-it would be quite impossible for me to do so.” "however, i have been told that you have played several scampish tricks on board.” the hermit. 255 > “so it is said, captain ; but they have been always innocent." " and thou didst not eat my preserves ?" “no, captain.” “hast thou ever had a taste of the rope's end at the gun there ?" “several times, captain." “go up and tell the flag-boatswain, stormbom, to have all clear above, and a new rope's end—thy comrades shall see how a lie is punished." “aye, aye, sir,” said george, with unshaken com posure, and he departed to communicate the orders he had received. it was very lucky for fritz, who had been present at this examination, that his father had paid no attention to him-for the word 'guilty was too evident on his pale brow and trembling lips. when the captain commander had gone into his sleeping-cabin, fritz slunk upon deck, and whispered to george6 256 the hermit. “i cannot, dare not ask you anything, dear george; but i am so afraid that father should discover all —would you tell all if it pained very much ?" “never fear,” answered george, casting a half contemptuous, half compassionate glance at the spoilt effeminate boy. the chief soon appeared on deck. in military array about the piece, which bore the mystical name of the gunner's daughter, stood the cabin-boys; and george, who was somewhat in advance of the others, had as proud and independant a bearing as if the gun was about to have been used for a salute. by his father's orders, fritz was also present, that he might profit by the example; but his trembling legs would scarce sustain him, and he leaned, for support, against the edge of the gangway, close by the opening of the accommodation ladder. after the commander had spoken a few words to george, but had found him, as he the hermit. 257 believed, quite callous, there succeeded a pause of some seconds and then, at a sign from the captain, the flag-boatswain, stormbom, a veteran seaman, who, from a liking for the business, generally exercised the office of correction, stepped forward. the old man held an artistically plaited cat, gay with red fringes, in his hand. when george had, in the regular way, been placed by two marines on the gun, and the ominous words five-and-twenty had been pronounced, the punishment begun. not the least sound escaped the lips of the youth; but he regarded the little baron with looks which seemed to imply an admonition to let this example be a warning to him. the poor boy perhaps suffered more at thus beholding the punishment of another for his guilt, than if he had been himself the sufferer; but fear kept his lips closed. george had now received fifteen lashes--at the sixteenth the cat wielded rather pitilessly 258' the hermit. by the experienced hand of old stormbom, extorted a half suppressed cry ; but in the very same instant, the culprit rushed impetuously from the gun, leaving his jacket in the hands of the two marines, whose office it had been to hold him, and before a soul could prevent him, plunged into the sea. at the same moment, and in immediate connection with george's disappearance, the cry echoed over the deck, “the young baron overboard.” it had been windy during the night, and was now nearly a storm, and fritz was therefore scarcely able to swim; he had, it is true, received much instruction, but could never get into the way of it; two little hands appeared above the crest of a wave, and again instantly vanished, and immediately afterwards george's white shirt sleeves were seen as he swam in that direction. the commander was silent, but he stretched himself eagerly over the bulwarks, and cast the hermit. 259 anxious looks at the object which alternately rose and sank in the waves, and those who best knew the old chief, declared that this day, for the first time in his life, did his cheek grow pale, and his tongue refuse its office in the hour of danger. meantime george was fortunate enoughbefore the first lieutenant's orders could be carried out and a boat lowered—to arrest young — fritz on his way to exchange life and light for the blue depths of the ocean; he caught him by the hair, and with a rapid whirl succeeded in bringing him to the surface again; the young sailor kaew that assistance would soon be there, and therefore applied all his strength to keep the boy and himself afloat. the boat, rowed by four men, came up quickly, and after the little baron had been drawn in, george clambered in after him like a dog, and immediately began to busy himself with the boy who had come to himself, and only complained of cold. 260 the hermit. > when the commander saw his son rescued, and safe on board, his usual imperturbable composure returned, and in a tone not in the least distinguishable from his ordinary manner, he directed him to be taken down and have dry clothes put on. “nine more lashes to receive, captain,” said george, standing before his chief, and putting his hand to where his cap should have been. “tell stormbom to give thee thy rights, my brave lad,” said the chief, turning hastily away, for george's countenance and look affected him in no common degree. those eyes which perhaps glanced like lightning at the unexpected answer the whole expression of the face struck him as something which he knew, and with slow thoughtful steps he sought his cabin, after giving orders that george should attend him in an hour. the latter, with unmoved firmness, returned to his position at the gun, but the old boatswain was uncommonly awkward in handling the hermit. 261 a his instrument of correction, for all the remaining lashes seemed to fall upon the cannon, instead of the culprit, as soon as all was over, george received a direction from the generous officer, who had the watch the preceding evening to come into his cabin ; what took place there was not known, but george returned soon after, with a fine linen shirt, a neat blue jacket, a new edition of the white kersey trowsers, and a new bengal silk cravat loosely tied round his neck. the whole suit was a present from the first lieutenant, who was glad to show george a kindness, because he had conducted himself so as to gain his hearty approbation. from every one george would not have accepted these tokens of good will, but with some officers he stood on a footing which would have caused it to be regarded as pride, obstinacy, or ingratitude, if he had declined them. at the time appointed for his interview with his chief, george descended with firm steps to 262 the hermit. 2 the saloon, where he found the captain walking thoughtfully to and fro. “you have, in some sort, deceived me, george,” were his first words. “i have never seriously done so, sir." “why did you not tell me who the culprit was? i now know, and by no means approve of your silence.” “i could not have acted otherwise, sir." “it was however wrong, and you therefore in some measure deserved some punishment." george was silent. “i do not,” continued the captain, "i do not so much thank you for having saved my boy's life, any other who was as good a swimmer as yourself could have done that; but you have, to-day, shewn that you possess a firm mind, quick decision, and a good heart--three most essential qualities for a sailor--and to mark my sense of your conduct, i present you with this sword, which i have worn myself.” george's voice was weak as that of a child, . a the hermit. 269 1 as he stammered forth his gratitude—there was a pause of some seconds. though he had received no order to depart, george believed that his audience was at an end, and was about to retire, but just as his hand was on the latch of the door, and he was making his bow, the captain signed to him to remain, and asked“and what do you think of doing on your return home? if our cruise were to last longer, you would, from to-day cease to be a cabinboy." “i will return to the merchant service, captain." “right, my son, the royal navy is a poor career for poor sons of good families to seek advancement in-lives—" there was a visible expression of hesitation in the captain's voice as he concluded the question—"lives thy father still !! george, colored, it was the first time any 264 the hermit. one had questioned him on this point, and he scarcely knew how to reply. “do not make yourself uneasy, it was a casual question, perhaps he is dead, then ?” “no, not exactly that,” replied george, deeming this answer the nearest to the truth. “what would you imply ?” asked the captain, whose attention was evidently excited. “i mean that he still lives, after a fashion, but perfectly alone, entirely secluded from his fellow men, it is his manner, but he is an honorable man." ( where does be dwell ?" “on a lonely cliff, on the rocky coasts of bohusland.” “and your name is george letsler,” continued the captain, with marked emphasis"it's singular, that i should never have noticed your name until to-day-george letsler-george letsler,” he repeated, as if recalling some train of recollections. > the hermit. 265 “i your father's george stood silent and surprised. “do you know if your father is a native swede ?" “i have never heard otherwise, but my own loved mother-alas she is now no more-was a dane." at these words the captain's features clouded. once," ,” he said, half aloud, "i once knew a person of name, he was always gloomy and suffering, he had a wife too, whom he fondly loved, her name was nicoline." “she was my mother,” exclaimed george, his eyes beaming joy, as he heard this name so dear and hallowed to his heart. “well, continued the captain, struggling to regain his self-possession, which was evidently shaken. “i have watched you constantly with attention and satisfaction, you have won the good opinion of your superiors, as well as your comrades—and deserve that i should notice these good qualities---as well as your vol. i. n 266 the hermit. be conduct this day, which has especial claims upon my gratitude--and i therefore intend to befriend you for the future. for the future. when we arrive at göteberg i will see and get your name written off the frigate's books, that you may able to return home and visit your father, who will be anxious to see you; but in the coming autumn and winter you will study navigation at göteberg, at my expense, and as soon as you have passed your mate's examination, i shall see that you get a berth in an east indiaman with a captain who is a friend of mine." at this extraordinary good news george, with difficulty, restrained himself within the bounds of due respect; he could have fallen upon his knees before the captain ; and then have rushed on deck; he would like to have shouted, jumped, laughed, and wept, all at once, but he was obliged to stand still while the floor seemed to burn under his feet, and his heart and brain were on fire. the hermit. 267 а > at length, as if he needed some voucher, that this was not all a wild dream, he stammered forth" is this possible ?” ' aye, aye,” smiled the chief, most graciously, “i am accustomed to keep my word, but i must tell thee one thing, my lad—have not thy heart always at thy tongue's end, for if i am not very much mistaken, thy father will be better pleased the less he is talked about, is it not so ?” “yes, truly, sir," said george, no longer capable of bridling his astonishment, “and i am heartily sorry for it—but i hope and trust that to me, he will one day be open—may i venture, when i see him, to greet him from my commander, and when i converse with him, i can give full vent to all the gratitude, which respect restrains me from expressing now." aye, do so, and when you leave the frigate, you shall have a letter to him, and i will speak with you once more.” and the 66 a n 3 268 the hermit. chief made a slight movement of dismissal with his hand—but in this gesture of the superior to the poor humble cabin boy, there was a something which clearly shewed, that at this moment, and in this matter, the chief had given place to the feelings of the father and the man. the hermit. 269 chapter xvii. george's first care on his return to the deck, whither he seemed to glide rather than walk, was to seek out the old veteran boatswain stormbom, who with his cat over his arm was walking to and fro before the gun, regarding it with a somewhat melancholy smile. george approached him, and expressed his thanks for the mildness of the latter part of his punishment. “ hads’t thou not sailed under false colors, my lad,” replied the old seaman, thou wouldst not have had to prove the excellence of my 270 the hermit. new invention,” and he waved his cat, commonly called the rectifier, a name so well known to all the sailors and boys on board, that its very mention awakened a shuddering sensation along the spine. george who was now less than ever prepared to confess the truth, merely gave the old man a sly look. “good, i understand,” continued stormbom, “thou dost no more trouble thyself about preserved fruit than i do, myself, about a smart rigged young lass; but though thou wilt not let it out, i can see it in thy face, that all has been discovered—come down into my berth with me." george, who had no more ardent wish than to relieve his over flowing heart in such worthy company, followed him with alacrity. when they came into the cabin, the half of which was at old stombom's disposal, the old man made george sit down upon the chest, covered with red sail cloth, and then assuming the hermit. 271 an expression of solemnity in face and tone as if he was about to make his last will-commenced as follows“george, boy, belay, i say, don't spring a-leak in thy heart, man, till i have told thee first, that the moment thou didst step across the threshold of the chief's cabin, i saw that thou was't quit and with honour too of thy duties as cabin boy, and wouldst not need to be used any more as a coverlet to the old cannon yonder, and that thy craft is ir no danger of getting among the breakers of the rectifier again. thou wilt henceforth steer another course, and i heartily wish ye a fair wind throughout, until ye think fit to let the good ship cast anchor in a comfortable harbour, for good and all." george, who was acoustomed to regard the old boatswain with great respect and affection, for the latter had gained the good will and liking of the whole crew, from the captain to а 272 the hermit. i the cabin boys—listened to this preface with as devout attention as if it had been a sermon. “i have,” continued the old man, in his own peculiar and expressive manner, while he raised his still powerful form proudly up, “i have eaten the king's bread these five-andthirty years, and trod the king's planks, but never, and i say it, boy, to thine honor, never did i see the rope's end fall abroad a smarter youngster than thyself—and therefore, ye see, i've always preferred thee, to the other wights who are not fit to hawl at the sheets of a poor (wener-craft*), and to prove that all this isn't mere idle gossip, but true real right down truth, i make thee a present of my new ' rectifier,' with the wish not that thou mayst ever need it for the health of thine own body, but, as my mother would say, when i thanked her for a pair of new breeches, that whenever 6 * wener is a lake of great extent in sweden, and navigable for ships. the hermit. 273 thou lookest at this old friend, thou wilt also give a remembrance to thine old friend and teacher, stormbom, who,” (and the old man here hawled out a bottle to which was tied a little horn drinking-cup, with a wooden bottom)—“ for the future permits thee to call him uncle.” and to give force to these momentous words, he filled the little tumbler, and drinking to george, re-filled it and handed it to him, and george felt obliged to pledge him, and make a little speech himself. “my best uncle, this is really a very great honor, and as truly as this day, from the last night's watch till the present hour, has been full of strange events, and so surely as my name is george letsler, the rectifier plaited by uncle stormbom's own hands, shall accompany me as faithfully through life as this sword just presented to me by our chief himself,” and so saying, he produced the weapon which he had hitherto left concealed. n 5 274 the hermit. “thanks my honest lad, and i know thou dost mean all thou sayest, and i can tell thee i saw a little bit of that there thing when thou didst come up to me near the gun, and i saw at once what o'clock it was! and now just tell me what fine things the old one said to ye aft, there, and that was no little i'll be bound, if one may guess by the time thou wast below." with the exception of what concerned the captain relative to his father, which, after the hint he had received, he deemed it better to be silent regarding, george now related every expression of the captain's, and his promise to procure him a situation on board an east indiaman, as second mate perhaps, as soon as the following year. "boy,” exclaimed stormbom, heartily delighted, “this is great news-grand prospects i would say. i know the old man in the stern cabin, there, he does nothing by halves——thy 2 the hermit. 275 fortune is made, and it was a lucky hour when thou didst embrace the gunner's daughter. i've heard it pretty decidedly spoken of, that his honor is going to his rest, and means to retire, and cast anchor at his old estate in holland, and so to thank thee for saving his son and heir, he is going to frank thee in the merchant service, and i'm glad of it, for no man knows better than i do, that if the crown biscuits are large and good, its a dooms difficult job for men like thee and me to get our teeth into them." “aye, and so when i come to göteberg this autumn, to study navigation, uncle will allow me to come sometimes and have an hour's gossip with him, it will be my best pastime after work." “sometimes, sayest thou. i know something better than that. in the masshugg, * the masshugg is a suburb of gôteberg almost exclusively inhabited by seafaring men, 276 the hermit. a there's a little yellow painted wooden house, the owner of which is named stormbom, and moreover ye see in this house there's a little chamber, with a private entrance. my old woman-thou mayest take an old sailor's word for it-hasn't her like for goodness in the world, and she'll get thy washing up and keep thy matters tidy, and i, i'll be a father to thee, in case thou hast no better at hand.” “belay," said george, highly delighted, “if the chief has no objection, i'll accept your kind invitation, with all my heart—i fancy uncle will not remain long at carlscrona.” 2 their confidential conversation was cut short by a long, shrill whistle, and the hoarse summons of “all hands on deck to weigh anchor, they hurried up, the boats were hoisted up, the capstan manned, and the anchor lifted, to 9 the hermit. 277 the lively song and measured tramp of the seamen, the frigate spread her canvass wings to the freshening evening breeze, and under the silvery radiance of a bright august moon sped on her destined course. 278 the hermit. chapter xv. two days after we have seen the frigate leave her anchorage at frederickswärn, we find her approaching göteberg. the crew which had to-day received orders to dress themselves in blue woollen shirts and trowsers, with black hats, decorated with long silken bands, on which the name of the frigate was displayed in letters of gold, had been shortly before piped to muster by divisions, and were now busy with the hammocks, which were neatly packed and stowed away; an unusual display of activity pervaded the entire ship, the dazzling white deck was thronged with life and all was in readiness for landing the hermit. 279 it was a little after midday, when the frigate approached this fine mercantile town, the officer of the watch received orders to pipe all hands on deck, and the second in command took the trumpet, and assumed direction of the ship. unbroken silence—that indispensable condition of all ship discipline-reigned everywhere—the only sound was the song of the men in the chains, as they heaved the lead, and reported the depth of water, the nature of the bottom, &c. all eyes and ears were bent with anxious attention upon the commanding officer, while the lieutenants were all alert to see that every one was at his post. at length, the voice of the first lieutenant issued the necessary order for the maneuvre to be executed. “all clear forward, sir,” answered a deep bass voice from the bows. a few seconds after, the voice of the officer was again heard> 280 the hermit. “clew up the courses-take in the topgallant sails—be alive, boys." and as he signalled with the trumpet, a piercing whistle echoed from the boatswain, whilst the crew ran away with the ropes. . the frigate had fired a salute, which had been answered from the land. when the lead line shewed five fathoms the topsails and jib were brailed up, and as the frigate lost her speed, the anchor was let go, dragging out fifteen fathoms of the rattling chain cable. the ship now lay motionless by the new wharf. a multitude of people had assembled, gazing with curiosity and admiration on the beautiful ship-of-war, and the quickness and facility with which her active crew climbed the rigging and furled up all the sails. “if they behave as well at carls-crona," said the chief, with a satisfied smi , "we shall have no cause to be ashamed of our crew the hermit. 281 i a give them an extra glass of grog when they go below." “i am quite sure," said the old flag-boatswain stormbom, nudging his friend the steersman mas, “ that my old woman's there on the strand among the rest—but she must have patience—the old man aft there has his eyes about him, and he has his reasons mayhap, for thanks to my rectifier the boys understand their work-ho leave to be looked for to-day. well, well, my old woman is a sailor's wife, and knows very well what subordination means; but i dare say she thinks it a fine thing to look at the frigate which i serve in.” “aye, aye, boy,” answered mas, with a good-natured smile; “and when she embraces thee to-morrow, and takes an overhaul of thy chest, may be she'll find something to suit her taste better, a handsome teapot or so, as a companion to bambus olle,” (the old man's spirit jar.) there was another, however, besides storm» 282 the hermit. bom, to whom their arrival at göteberg was not a little important. george had never, until now that he was approaching the object of his hopes, experienced such powerful longing; his bosom swelled with the thought that he should soon see his father again. oh, how was he now ? from his father, his thoughts flew to the little goddess at strand, how she would have grown, and norwegian fanny, and the passion flower, and the ivy, amid the foliage of which his loved mother's light curls had so often waved, and now-and george sighed a deep and bitter sigh—that little chamber was vacant. but he forcibly withdrew his thoughts from this sad theme, and turned them to brighter visions. carolus, dear, good carolus, and father elias, and mother malena, and the pretty johanna, and the free sailer-how old elias would listen with an approving nod to all he had to tell, while carolus would open his eyes, the hermit. 283 and shake him by the hand with cordial and hearty expressions of good will—and then a feeling of pleasing pride began to arise in his bosom, and he waited with impatience the moment when he should receive his last instructions from his respected chief. he did not waste his time with puzzling over the why such good fortune had befallen himthat it had done so, was the best part of itand perhaps—for george was not entirely without his shade of self-love-it had not come upon one so totally undeserving of it. however, george's fancies were interrupted. supper was ready, and his comrades awaited him. meal time on board a ship of the larger size is one of the most lively and cheerful scenes that can be imagined-here, free from the restraint of duty, these strong, athletic forms, group themselves in easy postures about the long tables, according to their separate messes, how many a merry jest, which has , 284 the hermit. vainly sought to escape during the day, now finds a vent, as the spoon passes between the dish and the mouth, and if the jest is not always the most refined, it suits the taste of those who hear and enjoy it; and if any one wishes to know how hearty laughter sounds, let him hear it ring from the lips of merry sailors. george and a cabin boy, named brännare, had been comrades during the whole voyage, and had played each other many a frolicsome trick; brännare loved george because while he felt that george was of superior class and nature to himself, the latter never alluded to it, but with the sole exception of clinging to some innate habits of delicacy, mixed freely and without constraint among his shipmates in everything. suddenly brännare broke off in the midst of a merry speech, laid aside his spoon, and said, in a sorrowful toneaye, aye, my dear george, now it is done, a the hermit. 285 as the man said, when he perjured himself—we have had our last meal together as comrades, thou'lt become a great man now the chief has taken ye by the hand, while, as for me, 'tis my fate to be a cabin boy for many a long year.” “ah, well, when i get a ship of my ownand perhaps it will not be so many years first -thou shalt sail with me, and be my mate, bräạnare,” said george, with a slight shade of patronage in his tone. “aye, will i, by my soul," answered brännare; “but when thou’rt a captain, and a great man, thou'lt forget all of us poor devils." "i see you don't know me,” replied george "a good comrade i'll never forget; and as sure as my name is george letsler, and i intend to have a brig before i am four and twenty, thou shalt be her mate." “ha, ha, ha,” laughed brännare, with the full force of his deep bass; "thou a captain > > > 286 the hermit. 2 before thou’rt four and twenty; no, boy, no, george, must wait a bit-wilt have a little trouble afore that comes-thou'lt have to lower thy pipe a little, and take up with a coaster." “i'll have nothing to say to coasters-i could have one in a jiffy if i chose--i tell thee, i've set my heart upon a brig, and i rig her out every night in my dreams, and thou shalt see, brännare, that shall be a ship -i don't speak of other brigs—but my brig, captain george letsler's brig.” "poor lad, he's stark crazy–hark ye, tromm, turning to another cabin boy who was standing near, “hast never heard tell of george letsler's brig-hi-hi-hi-thou knowest which i mean, the one afore the sun and a-hint the moon." “aye, aye,” answered tromm, with a sneering laugh, and an expressive gesture; "and i i have heared whisper, as she is to come from greenland with a whole cargo of preserves." 9 the hermit. 287 a 66 " what dost mean by that,” shouted george. “why, that the man who owes his luck to a pot of sweetmeats will soon be saucy enough to be able to load a whole ship with the like, and moreover too~" however, what was moreover did not appear, for as the word left his lips, a buffet from george sent him sprawling under the table. “there now, pitiful titmouse, that thou art, there for taunting me in that sneaking wayventure to say that i owe my luck to a miserable box of sweetmeats, if you dare, and i'll not leave a whole bone in thy skin--and that ye may swear to." “what devil of pride has possessed ye,” groaned out tromm as he strove to rise; “thou think'st, i suppose, that no one's good enough for thee now thou art to leave off cabin boy and study navigation; but what have ye to thank for that-if not-hi-hi-hi-” and tromm hesitated to laugh out right, while he 288 the hermit. 66 regarded with a kind of malicious pleasure, the swelling veins in george's forehead, and the fury which was expressed in all his features—“ if not to-hi-hi-hi-such a joke." whom do i thank for it?" stammered george, alternately red and pale with anger66 whom ? tell me that ?": 66 whom-whom—if not the-ha-haha !" “have a care, tromm,” whispered brän. nare, “or thou'lt have him over thee like the surf on the breakers—have a care, i tell thee, and that's fair warning." “now then out with it, or—" muttered george, between his closed teeth. “out with it, or—" mimicked tromm, who was far below george in bodily power, but would for the rest have gladly been a good knight, and was not without craft at need. “to the , so i will then-_i've no d -1 need to shame for what i've got to say—and the hermit. 289 that is, i have spoken out often enough before i ever saw captain george letsler, and often shall again to the day of my death, and so i say, straight away, so that all may hear it, that thou owest all thy luck, and the fair wind that puffs thee out now with such big words, to the-the-the-harbour of frederickswärn, and the south-east wind which favored ye, when ye jumped overboard and fished up the young baron." at this turn to the observation, a roar of laughter burst from all, in which no one joined more heartily than george himself, who impetuous as he was, was appeased at once-and, in an instant, all grudge was forgotten, and george and tromm became such friends, that as a token of peace and good will, the latter got a present of a watch-chain of gilded brass. george had intended this for carolus ; but he said he would now give him his own. “and now," proposed tromm, “ thou shalt give us the name of captain george letsler's vol. i. 290 the hermit. brig-i mean, ye know, the one which brännare says, lies before the sun and behind the moon." “ay, how wilt thou christen her, george,” asked brännare, “when she is all ready for sea." " god knows, i have not thought of that yet,” returned george ; "the brig nicolineno, the name is too dear to me, to be picked out in yellow paint on a ship’s stern, even the best that ever was built of swedish oak.” and george's thoughts now turned to his little fairy at strand, and he wrote in large characters on the table—“fanny cornelia.” “that don't sound ill,” he said ; " and i know a maiden of the name who is right dear to me.” "aye, aye,” observed brännare, “never heed it; you get the brig first, and we'll soon find a name for her; and now when we go ashore, we'll just have a glass to captain george letsler's brig." the hermit. 291 > “belay,” said george, “and i'll stand treat ---and now i'll just tell ye one thing : if the chance had not turned up about the young baron, i had no intention of making another voyage as cabin boy—and had made up my mind to leave the fleet, and go to the merchant service.” “aye, aye—but it costs money to study navigation.” “of course it does; however, i'm not quite bare of that; and if i had not wished absolutely to make one long voyage, the examination might have been over now.” “ aye, aye-a gentleman's son can do all that better than we poor devils; at any rate, george, my boy, thou hast much to thank our old chief for--and its both honor and happiness to have such a patron as him.” aye, and i am right thankful for it, trust me—and it shan't be my fault, if in a few years i don't one way or other save money to 66 03 292 the hermit. be able to think seriously of the ship i've been talking of.” * ** some days after the confidential chat on the lower deck, george, attired in his best clothes, stood before the chief. he now naturally no longer considered himself as a cabin-boy of the frigate, but as one about to become a candidate as second-mate of an east indiaman, and as a consequence of this notion, he, perhaps, bore himself somewhat more proudly than usual, as well as having, since his discharge from the frigate, donned the usual attire of a swedish seaman, which, in his case, consisted of a jacket and trowsers, of fine blue cloth, a lacquered hat, and a bengal silk handkerchief tied loosely round his neck. “now, my dear george," said the commander, regarding him with a glance which the hermil. 293 66 appeared to george to denote more than mere sympathy, 'we are about to part; what do you think of doing in the first place ?” “i purpose going home immediately, captain." “so i guessed—and you have not far to go? “no, please god, if the wind is any ways fair." “good ! and then ?" “then, with the captain's good leave, i will go to my studies with the zeal of a man who wishes to accomplish his end quickly." “very good, george; you know that i shall pay the expense of your course and residence at göteberg, and you will, consequently, have more money at your disposal than heretofore, and therefore i will only say that it will be pleasing to me, that you should choose your associates well, and not mix with boys and common seamen, for that is not the thing for one who seeks to qualify himself, not only for 294 the hermit. a capable commander, but a respectable man. you comprehend me ?" “i think i do, captain, and though i cannot be haughty, i trust that i can still know my old comrades, while i let them feel that old familiarity cannot last beyond the moment, which, in due course, should put an end to it.” “i have heard, however, that within these few days, you were drinking in mast-hugg with brännare and tromm." “ the day before yesterday, captain, i was a cabin-boy,” said george, candidly, excusing himself. “very good, i see that you take my meaning; haughtiness is ever out of place with those with whom we are to pass our life; but the relations of service require a strict regard to order." “yes, captain, and whether it shall be my part to obey or command, i will continually keep my duty in view; but i would ask, with " the hermit. 295 all respect, if the captain commander has any objection to my lodging with the old flagboatswain, stormbom, on my return to göteberg; he has been kind enough to say that he will endeavour to guide me where i have not sufficient experience myself.” “ a proposition which i quite approve. stormbom is a man of strong, honourable feeling, and an able seaman, and when i part with the old man in carlscrona, i'll speak to him; and now, according to promise, here is a letter for your father, and i have only to add, that as long as your conduct does me credit, you may reckon upon my friendship and protection. as soon as you have past your examination, write me word, and you shall find your berth ready for you." “it is indeed hard to express my gratitude," replied george, with unaffected emotion ; “but my beloved mother in heaven will ever pray for the captain's happiness and welfare.”' “ alas!" replied the latter, and a slight 66 296 the hermit. colour tinged the cheek of the grave old seaman, “she was a glorious woman-i never saw one more beautiful or more gentle. i rejoice, however, that she has left this earth-it was all too rough for her.” “ aye, was it,” said george, with a low sigh; “but on the johannis cliff, one still lives in solitude, who will never more know a joy in this life now that she has left him." “a father who has a hopeful son, about whose prospects he can be happy, should not feel deserted, even if all other ties are rent asunder. i now think of retiring myself, and seeking the repose of home at my old helgenäs.” and as the captain uttered these words, he regarded george with a searching glance; but his features bore no sign of prior knowledge of the name. “i shall become nearly a hermit, and hereafter, you must visit me at helgenäs. i see, however, that it is twelve o'clock—it will not the hermit. 297 be long ere we have a boat load of lady visitors -fare thee well, my dear george. on thine arrival at göteberg, thou wilt find all that is at first necessary-no thanks. god bless thee, boy; go on as thou hast begun, and i shall always be satisfied with thee." and speaking thus, the commander clapped george kindly on the shoulder, and with a tremulous voice, and hardly able to refrain from tears, the latter replied, “it is my firm purpose, with god's good help, never to shew myself unworthy or ungrateful for my captain's kindness." . the old chief once more nodded kindly, and withdrew, while george, with highly excited feelings, returned to the deck. “ good-bye, good george,” said a voice close behind him—it was young fritz, who had crept after him. "i would fain be brave and strong like you; but, as papa says, i am but a poor creature." " fritz will become different as he grows 05 298 the hermit. you allowed older,” said george, “ of that i feel sure, and i am also convinced that fritz will never tell untruths again.” “no, george, i have resolved that it shall never occur again, and when i go home, i will tell elvira all about you, and how yourself to be flogged for my sake, when you need only have said a word to escape-rely upon it, i will never forget you, or that day.” " who is elvira then ? that is a pretty, very pretty name.” “elvira is my sister, and, trust me, she fears nothing—aye, she would have made a better boy than me—for now you are going away, and won't tell anyone, i can tell you, that i am afraid of the sea, just as when i was a very little boy i was frightened at the old tower at home ; but elvira, who is only one year older than memah, she does what she likes, and that is a great deal too." "ah, how i do like that name,” said george, and he thought that some day he should like 3 66 the hermit. 299 saved me to call his brig elvira cornelia, or fanny elvira, " then fritz is very fond of his sister,” he observed. “aye, indeed, you may say that she has more than one taste of father's spanish cane, and often when i have done wrong, she has taken the blame, for she knows very well that father won't touch her." “that pleases me—it is something good in her, and when i become a great gentleman, and come to visit at helgenäs, i hope to see that fritz has got the upper hand—for it is not the right thing for a boy to let a girl master him, and do as she likes with him.” “oh, yes, yes, you say so; but wait, you have not seen elvira yet; but good-bye, dear george, and many, many thanks for all your kindness, and for all the boats which you have built and rigged for me." 300 the hermit. and now george had the painful task of bidding farewell to his old comrades. every one had a kind word for him, and from the first lieutenant he received much good advice, which he faithfully followed. when george went on board the little coaster, he observed that two persons had run hastily after him, and with a few bounds they were on the deck beside him. “good bye, george, we must have one more look at thee,” cried at once brännare and tromm, with a hearty and unusual degree of emotion for them. “ we are not envious of thee, george,' assured tromm, “but thou wilt become a great gentleman-thou—" “ however, thou wilt always be an honourable lad,” said brännare. george gave his hand to each-gave one of them a silk pocket handkerchief, and the other a neckcloth, and then the skipper cried out to come aboard. the hermit. 301 they all three once more waved their hats aloft in token of farewell. the three never met again ! for before captain letsler's brig was ready for sea, brannare and tromm had both departed on the last long voyage from which no one returns. 302 the hermit. chapter xvii. an author has somewhere observed ; “ there are painful moments in human life, but life, on the whole, is a blessing :” sad, sad indeed, is the mental state of him who can go so far as to reverse the sentence, and say; “ there are blessed moments in life, but regarded as a whole, it is a curse.'' letsler had cherished thoughts of the latter description in earlier days, when nicoline's gentle spirit caused him to feel less heavily, the burden of life; but with the loss of his beloved wife, these days vanished, the moments of the hermit. 303 light had for ever fled, and nothing but the curse was there. nicoline was gone--for ever gone. george also was away. never before had letsler known how endless in their weary length, could be the hours, when no human being was near with whom a word, a thought, could be exchanged-alone-ever alone-night and day alone. and in this wide waste of time which he knew not how to kill, there was a boundless evil. he daily went into nicoline's chamber, trimmed the passion flower, and fed the bird; the ivy had withered, its dry and leafless stems alone remained. this was his only recreation, and it brought with it such a sad train of thought, such bitter feelings of sorrow, such painful recollections, that oftimes he fled from the sanctuary, shuddering at the peaceful solitude, and sought refuge in his own apartment. 304 the hermit. and here he would sit for hours, allowing his thoughts to be entirely engrossed with the indescribable slow movements of a tortoise-a present from carolus, as it crept about a space of a few inches, hardly appearing to move. he began to compare his position with that of the animal, and discovered that on comparison with himself, it was at the pinnacle of happiness. this animal, he would say, has no wants; consequently, no cares, no anxiety; it subsists for months on a few drops of water and a handful of leaves. it lives in its shell, has no trouble, for its natural covering protects it from the chilling cold, and the burning sun; and if it thinks, its thoughts at least do not expand, and transform themselves into furies like the thoughts which spring from injured honour, and torture that being most severely, who, born with energies to control them, has yet become their slave; and the poisoned shaft of envy, now rankled with the rest in letsler's bosom. the hermit. 305 he determined to try what the soul, the will, could effect, over the mere body, the tool made but to obey. he placed a pitcher of water and a loaf of bread upon the table, and stretched himself upon his bed; by the severest chastening of 1 the commonest wants of humanity, he would strive to gain the victory over his most contemptible foes, as well as those which were more formidable—his dark and gloomy thoughts; he would bring them to such a state of prostration, that they should no longer possess the power to torment him, and he would then merely vegetate in the same state of lethargy which he pictured to himself to be the envied state of the tortoise. for the first day, the unnatural tension of his spirit prevented the want of food from being felt; but the second, the pangs of hunger came upon him with redoubled keenness. he laughed in scorn, and challenged them with wild menaces to do their worst. he lay there 306 the hermit. and found actual enjoyment in thus, as it were, reducing his corporeal necessities to a skeleton. the third day fever raged in his veins. his pitcher was empty, another mighty necessity—the desire to quench his burning thirst, this was a new torment, and he actually revelled in the bitter struggle against hunger and thirst; for it had vanquished the strife within, but for how long ? he grew weaker. he still regarded the tortoise, which unceasingly continued to creep on its quiet daily round, and he felt tempted to murder it; because, in spite of all his efforts, he was incapable of bringing himself to the same condition. at length, as well, his will, as his energies, were exhausted, and with the bitter laugh of still more bitter scorn, he staggered from his couch to satisfy the craving necessities, which, but a short time previously, he had in his madness, defied. the hermit. 307 and from this day forward he regarded himself with still deeper and more bitter contempt than ever. he had striven to subdue the cravings of his mind by martyrizing the body, he found that simple and scanty as was the food he allowed himself, he could not dispense with it. he discovered too, that the time thus saved by neglecting his bodily wants, left still more on his hands than before. his nights were often sleepless, and the greater number of such waking hours were passed upon the rocks without. rain and storm raged around him, he felt it not, or if he did, he was merely conscious that it was less intolerable than the scorching rays of the sun, for then his thoughts and brain burned too. during the first year after nicoline's death, he had occasionally applied himself to writing and re-arranging his notes, but now he had finished all he had to write, the papers disappeared, he sunk again into gloomy, senseless apathy, he ceased to observe even the bird, 308 the hermit. and tortoise his sole companions; he began by degrees to neglect the flowers, or to visit poor nicoline's apartments; he totally neglected his attire, and winter or summer, wet or cold, he was always wrapped in his old cloak. at the beginning of the summer, at which our narrative has arrived, his powers were well nigh exhausted—he was no longer conscious what he ate, or whether he had eaten it, or whether he had slept; and if his solitude was invaded, he scarcely even noticed the visitor, usually one of old elias's family who came to look after him he even knew not that he was ill—though, in reality, he was intensely so. it was a ghastly, fearful illness—the body moved, existed; but the mind, the light of l existence, had fled; he was obliged to be treated like a child, nothing plagued him, burdened him, or pleased him, he seemed to have attained his wish to have assimilated his condition with that of the tortoise. and so passed several weeks. 1 the hermit. 309 at length, one evening as he lay upon his bed, his senses seemed to return, his looks had long been fixed intently upon an object at the foot of his bed, the powers of the brain seemed to revive, his eyes grew bright, his pulses beat with renewed vitality—he extended his arms, , and a low indescribable cry escaped his lips. the object which had attracted his gaze, was a fairy, golden-locked female form, leaning upon his bedstead, and which on hearing his cry, sprang up and hastened to his side. letsler gazed upon it with wonder; it was not as his imagination would have fain persuaded himnicoline's spirit-but a youthful, beauteous, girlish form. " who is there ?” he asked, in a faint tone, for he was as yet incapable of manifesting emotion. fanny holmer, dear sir,” answered the maiden of fourteen; “ i came here, hearing you were ill, i hoped i might be of some service to you." 310 the hermit. 2. “ fanny holmer, i know nothing of the name,” he said, in a tone of coldness. “ but george does,” rejoined fanny, who had heard sufficient of letsler, not to be discouraged; “george was often with us, and was very fond of me.” “how camest thou hither, maiden ?” “ carolus's wife was at strand yesterday, and mentioned how distressed they all were about you, at grafwerna, and so my parents let me come over." “ it is not proper for you to be here, my child-go back, ineed no human being here." “ ah, do not say so, and do not send me back again, i should so like to stay, and i could make your soup, and boil your eggs, and only come in when i was wanted— dear mr. letsler, may i stay? george would be so glad if he heard i had been here sometimes, and that good, beautiful mrs. letsler, whom i saw once at george's little holm. oh, she would have wished it too. > the hermit. 311 “ sawest thou ?” letsler said no more, but his looks were quicker, and more eloquent than words. “ yes,” continued fanny, who easily understood his meaning; “i saw her, and she was so good natured and kind to me. i always i used to send her my prettiest flowers, and the best fruits which i got from father.” “did'st thou so ? well, sirce thine eyes have ' seen her, since thou hast given her pleasure, i cannot refuse thy request—come here then, sometimes—but seldom, very seldom, and now i must be alone, but believe me, i am not unthankful for the kindness thou wouldest shew me, though i wish to be alone.” fanny did not venture to persist, and withdrew. when letsler was alone, he raised himself with a searching glance around, and gradually the heavy clouds which had somewhat passed from his features, begun to gather there afresh 312 the hermit. --for what had he awakened ? to continue his lonely watch upon the solitary cliff—to exist in the torment of the past, without an object or a hope for the future. his looks now fell upon the continually creeping tortoise, and with an unalterable expression of sadness, he sighed, “i was for a time as thou art, but now the shell has burst.” the illness left him. he rose from his bed and sat again upon the rocky seat upon the cliff, and fixed his rigid looks upon the waves, which, with a kind of monotonous dash, still beat as before against the cliff. he looked as if he were callous and insensible as the granite block on which he sat, but this was outward seeming, arising only from the look being steadfastly turned withinstill did he possess a powerful capacity to feel and to suffer-still did a fire smoulder in this decaying tabernacle which could flame aloft the hermit. 313 with all the soaring vehemence of youth. vainly did the chill nightly blasts rush against his bosom. they cooled it not. had it been a crime? or a folly? or both ? which had thus bowed this once powerful spirit ? god only knew; that, however, something gnawed deeply, and painfully at his conscience, was as certain as that repentance had laid its heavy grasp upon his heart. though, a repentance which had failed to sooth, and was incessantly and restlessly busy in building up, destroying, and again re-building the creations of a distempered fantasy. ** it was a glorious evening towards the end of august, letsler was seated in his usual place, before the house, with little fanny holmer, who had just come over from strand, by his side. fanny, young, fresh, and cheerful, loved the vol. i. p 314 the hermit. mysterious being, and though they said to her at home, do not always be going and teasing a stranger thus; she came, nevertheless, and when she could extract from him the least word or expression of satisfaction, she was happy. “good evening," sounded a hearty voice from behind them, and the still powerful form of old elias ass-bjornsson in his striped shirt and red woollen cap, appeared. “ good evening," said letsler, nodding, and extending his hand to the old man. now, that's beautiful, to see our good old father elias," said fanny, laying her little hand upon his shoulder; “how goes it at home with mother malena and johanna ? have you any letters from carolus, lately.” aye, mamsell, yesterday, and he will soon be back; but what i wished to say, was, that i judge there is some one else on the way home also; the old man has got good eyes, yet. mr. letsler, do you see that little fishing boat 66 the hermit. 315 coming hither ? yon's peter isakson's boat, and there is one in her bows who will be a welcome guest at the johannis cliff.” “ george, goodness, it is george, dear mr. letsler,” cried fanny, clapping her little hands with delight; ah, how charming, how delightful.” letsler turned and looked upon the sea, to discover the object alluded to, but in vain, for at this moment the boat vanished behind a little headland, but the father's cheeks, for a moment, at least, had assumed the color of cheerfulness, and his eye had an expression which fanny had never seen before. “it can scarcely be george ?” he said, looking enquiringly at the old sailor, ay, by soul, but it is—i know the boy as far as i can see, he will be here directly.” what, meantime, were george's feelings, as he approached the place where the fair flowing locks, and the light from of his beloved mother could no longer welcome his return. 66 p 2 316 the hermit. “i shall see them no more,” he said, thoughtfully to himself, and then, if my father should have grown more gloomy and melancholy still, or should he, perhaps, have also left the place, and the old johannis cliff should be there alone, and sterile as ever, with its solitary thistle, and no living heart to bid me welcome. " and under the influence of these saddening thoughts, george scarcely ventured to look towards the barren cliff, as it loomed before him, but when he gathered courage, and did so, did he dream ? or was there not sitting on the rock beside his father, a light form with waving golden locks; and yet that form was not his mother's, but fanny's; and how had she contrived to gain permission to be near his father, could it be a mere vision of his fancy? the nearer, however, he approached, the more undoubted was that which presented itself to his eyes. a year and a half had elapsed since the last а the hermit. 317 time he had seen fanny. the child had expanded into the opening flower, which gave promise of the beauteous girl, and with delighted glances he gazed upon, and extended his arms towards them both; he nodded joyfully to old elias too; he felt so happy, so joyous, to think that his father had not been entirely left alone in his solitude. his boat glided up to the landing. and with a few rapid steps, george, now a tall, well grown, handsome youth, whom fanny looked at with a kind of bashful fear, was by his father's side; he threw himself on his knees before him, as he sat upon the rock, and bowing his face upon his hands-received his blessing in words which had a heavenly sound, for they displayed all the feeling—the rich affectionate feelings of a father--he once more raised his father's hand to his lips, arose, and fanny received his second embrace, not without blushing as she said :a 318 the hermit. > “no, george, you are too tall for that now. oh, how dreadfully tall you have grown.” “and you too, my sweet fanny. you too have shot up like a water-lily, and have grown so handsome too,” and the youth's heart throbbed impetuously. “and now will you shake hands with the old man ?" said elias, with a kindly smile. “aye, surely, my excellent, good father elias. is carolus at home? if he is, i must go over to grafwerna at once—this very evening." “if he had been there, you would have had him over here by this time," said the old man, “but he'll come soon; and now just let me say a word aside-if anything is wanting, you know old elias lives hard at hand and mr. letsler don't trouble himself much, whether there is anything in the house or not.” “ this evening, however,” said letsler, , rising, and his usual bearing had quite changed under the pure influence of human feeling, > the hermit. 319 “this evening, there shall be a festival on the johannis cliff. go thou, my child,” nodding kindly to fanny, “and set the water to boil for tea—and when it is ready, (i see thou hast not forgotten thy little basket) come and call us." “oh, father,” said george, joyfully, as fanny's light form disappeared, “this is more than i ventured to hope. i am so thankfulso affected—so happy.” “do not lull thyself with deceptive hopes," returned letsler, “this child comes here only because she came once, when i was ill, and extorted my consent that she might sometimes return—and this consent pained me more than thou canst well imagine ; but to-day,” he continued, “to-day is an exception to my usual habits—it is doubly festive, for ske," and letsler's eyes were raised to heaven." she 320 the hermit. 6 visited me during the past night—that was a prophecy of happiness—and thou comest, and again, again i welcome thee, for thy looks tell me that thou hast returned as pure in heart as when thou didst leave me.” “yes, my father, she had not else announced my coming." and both sank into deep reflection, as they sat hand in hand upon the mass of rock. “ to-morrow," said letsler, as fanny came to call them to tea, “to-morrow thou shalt tell me all about thy voyages." the hermit. 321 chapter xviii. had george been ever so disposed to believe what he wished the most, one look at his father's apartment, where all betokened the utmost indifference to everything like comfort, would have undeceived him. elias and fanny had done their utmost to supply what was wanting; but it was easy to perceive that this was mere patchwork, and that no spirit of peace presided over that lonely home. as george, with an anxious heart, laid his hand upon the latch of the door leading to the room which had been his mother's, his father said 322 the hermit. “not to-night-do not go in to-night, my son—all is well, but go not in to-night.” george withdrew his hand, and now opened the door of his own apartment—here all was just as he had left it, and when all the old cobwebs had been removed, this chamber was still the pleasantest. " johanna shall come over and help a little," whispered elias to george. george gave a nod of thanks; but letsler observed “oh, we are used to help ourselves, father elias, and women are always superfluous wares here with us." “ ay, to be sure they are,” said fanny, casting a lively glance at letsler. 66 if i had not been here, you would'nt have had any tea.” “aye, and how well you suit this place don't you ?-like a little rose in a sandy desert,” said letsler. "no, fanny, this is 2 the hermit. 323 no place for you—and now, dear child, 'tis time thou wert at home, it grows late.” “don't the tea taste nice ?” she asked, deaf to the hint; the sun had quite set, and the sea was beautifully calm and still. the tea was drank, and the things removed ; the last sunbeams were gilding the mountains and fanny had no excuse for longer delay, when george asked“who is to row thee home, dear fanny ?” “oh, nisse of westräo is in the boat waiting for me—he rows me wherever i like; you can't think, dear george, how thankful the poor thing is, that father gives him food and shelter. you knew nisse of westrao ? or had he not come to strand before you left.” “i almost think i remember the name; but i cannot recollect that i ever saw him." “i'll tell you his little story another time,” said fanny, “but now mr. letsler wants to get rid of me. however, if you will not be troubled with me, mr. letsler, while george is 324 the hermit. here, you'll let me come again when he is gone -promise me, won't you ?" “thou wilt come, whether i allow it or not,” said letsler, caressing the girl's head. 6 “ god bless thee, my child." " “and now, father elias, you'll lend me your boat when it has set you ashore at grafwerna, and i'll go a bit of the way with fanny." aye, aye, with all my heart,” said the old man; and as letsler nodded consent, the affair was settled, and forgetting her fourteen years and seven whole months, fanny tripped down the rocks to the boat, dancing with delight. “when you return, george," said his father, go to your chamber at once. i am going to rest now; but to-morrow early i'll expect 66 jou.” “and now shall i row your boat, fanny ?" asked george, as soon as they got to the landing, where nisse was sitting in the stern, plaiting rushes.. “oh yes, george, if you like ; and, nisse, the hermit. 325 do thou set father elias ashore at grafwerna in his boat, and then bring it after us." and the young pair got into the boat, george took the oars, and fanny the rudder, and wishing old elias good evening, they shoved off. “now, is not this pleasant ?" said george, taking his work very leisurely. “you have been through much on your voyages, and away in foreign lands ?” asked fanny. “aye, you may say that; but now i've taken leave of the fleet, and as soon as i can pass my mates examination, i mean to go on board an east indiaman." “oh, george, and then you'll never come back. these east india people are terrible great folks, and what beautiful silk handkerchiefs they have there-oh, i do like them so." “ah! when i come back from my first voyage, you shall have at least two pieces of the best-rely upon it, fanny. and now tell > 326 the hermit. me, how is patron holmer, and your mother? -and how goes on the smuggling? has any one played peter gran such a fine trick as carolus and i did the evening we hanged him on the pier ?” “oh no, i believe not, indeed ; but he caught father last year, and seized a whole bale of piece goods, and father was fined besides, and i don't think he'll trouble himself much more with the trade. he always says there's no doing without carolus, and he don't smuggle any more, except, they say, a little now and then for himself.” aye, aye, and about thy mother ?" “oh, thank god, mother is well enough in summer; but when the autumn and winter comes, she gets bad again." “aye, and now tell me, fanny, how a young thing like thee managed to venture to the johannis cliff, and how he ever allowed you to come and see him ? “oh,” said fanny, “her cheerful smile ' 66 the hermit. 327 vanishing, "he was very ill, and the good people at grafwerna, thought his mind was astray, and they told us and i thought of you, george, and was determined to see if i could be of any use, but it was a long time before i was allowed to come and go as i liked. “great god, and has it been so bad,” cried george, resting his oars, " and i away too; oh, i fanny, how my heart thanks you for all your kindness to him, i believe there is not another being so good as you. “oh, yes, i know one much better,” said fanny, one whom no one thinks of praising, but who is yet better than any one else. “ and who is that ?" “ 'tis poor nisse,” she said, nodding towards her favorite, who was following them in the other boat. “i really do believe i shall be envious of nisse, what has he done to make himself such a favorite of yours ?" “well, since you will not begin your own 2 328 the hermit. history, i'll tell you all about poor nisse, but look now at our beautiful mountains; have you ever seen any thing grander than that ?” and fanny pointed with beaming eyes to one of the loftiest mountains, the naked perpendicular side of which, shewed not a single cleft where the smallest bunch of moss could nestle, and upon the highest point of which stood a huge peculiarly shaped mass overlooking the sea. in the twilight this stone resembled the figure of a man, and the traditions of the coast relate that it is the spirit of an ancient viking, who once went to war with the mountain spirits because they had sunk his ship, but was conquered, and remains there a pitiful prisoner to this day. “and now for poor nisse's history,” said fanny. “ you know westräo is a very poor little place, with only a few needy families; p a little hut here dwelt nisse's parents, with him and his two little brothers, they were very poor, the hermit. 329 a a few oh, george, you can't think how poor, but they feared god, and thanked him for his mercies every night, whether they had a meal or not, and nisse's father read a portion of an old leather-bound bible aloud, this bible was their comfort and never left them. "the old man worked as a sailor in summer, and nisse picked oakum to eke out their scanty living, and if he earned enough to have pence left to find tobacco or a little coffee for the father and mother, you should have seen how delighted he was. “well, one winter evening, they heard guns of distress, and the father, though he was not a regular pilot, said he had saved the life of many of god's creatures, and notwithstanding the tempest, he would not shrink from endeavouring to help them now. honest bengt, he went, but returned no more, and the next morning the ship was a wreck. " and now nisse read the bible in his 330 the hermit. father's place, and they read it until god's spirit came to their poor hearth, and brought peace to their hearts, and nisse would set on a stone in our court and pick oakum, and hardly give himself time to eat, and always so good and kind the while, and if i gave him any trifle he always asked if i had mother's leave. “ and nisse's mother spun night and day, and they had hard work to get through, but nisse never begged except perhaps a trifle for snuff for his mother. " and they read their bible and said in their hearts that god was with them. well, one year, the winter was very hard, and while the ice lasted, nisse got work with father, but when the thaw came, and the ice gave way, but not so as to clear the passage for boats, the people at westrao could no longer pass to and fro, nowhere was the distress so great as in the hut of nisse's mother. the ice would not disperse, and the poor boy regarded the floating masses with a feeling akin to despair, for at last they the hermit. 331 6 were starving the mother lay exhausted upon her bed, and nisse had not tasted food for two days. he managed to borrow a gallon of potatoes from a neighbour, which he cooked for his mother and brothers, and then proceeded to carry out a project which he had been revolving in his head-he read his bible, and felt his courage revive. "if," he said, "i cannot help them, i can at least die for themfather died to save strangers, and shall not i venture life for those, who are dearest on earth ?' he took a plank and a strong cord, and went down to the sea, where the ice was floating in broken masses. with firm resolve nisse leaped upon the first mass, and drawing his plank after him, managed to throw it across as a sort of bridge to the next, the ice masses trembled and rocked beneath his tread, and several times he was tempted to despair, but he prayed to god and took courage, and thus proceeded on his perilous way, until at last, george, day begun to decline; his limbs 332 the hermit. grew stiff with cold, and he often felt tempted to throw himself into the water, and end his sorrows, but then came the thought of those he had left, and his father's bible and his trust in god, and he said, no i will strive on to the last, and then if it is his will—i can die.' “at length, however, he suddenly found himself on the last piece of ice, and the whole space of sea between him, and strand was open, during the last hour the wind had blown the ice off shore, and now nisse could see no way of getting forward or back, he sat down on the piece of ice, commended his soul to god, and let it drive whither it would, and it drove on, nisse closed his eyes and believed that his hour was come-all at once the mass struck against something, it roused him from his stupor, and only think, george, it was a boat which had got loose and had been fioated out to sea.' “oh, god," exclaimed george, “what must he have felt ?” the hermit. 333 “ what indeed ? he clambered into the boat, and with his plank for a paddle, and renewed courage in his heart, pushed on with his remaining strength for strand, and oh, i never shall forget his looks, when he arrived, they would have wrung tears from a stone.” “well, the next day the water was so far open that they could row across with great peril, but it could be done, and we loaded the boat with provisions, and nisse wept and laughed by turns, now rejoicing at his treasures, and then dreading that he might be too late ; he closed no eye during the night, and as soon as daylight appeared, went off at once, and when he reached westraö, what was the joy of his heart to find that all were still living though exhausted to the last degree, however they soon recovered under his tending, and never ceased to bless their good nisse. “ and god heard the blessing. nisse from this time has worked for my father and saves every shilling for winter stores for his mother, 2 334 the hermit, now, and he works late into the night mending shoes and clothes for a trifle from the labourers and servants, and every sunday he rows over to westraö, and reads the bible to his mother, and examines the children out of the bible and catechism, which they have been reading during the week.” “and i see it in your eyes, my dear fanny, that you have assisted nisse in his difficulties." “oh, not so much, george, for he has service and is so happy, that he can work for his mother and brothers, that i never like to lessen his joy, and only see that he gets work for his leisure hours. but see, george, there is strand before us, how we have gossiped away our time, you should have been back long ago.” and nisse was beckoned—george got into the other boat, and after wishing fanny good night rowed back to the johannis cliff. george had slept but a few hours, when his father was already stirring: 1 the hermit. 835 he had exerted himself to arrange his room, and giveit some appearanee of comfort, made the bed, fetched a woollen cloth out of the press, and spread it over the old torn and patched coverlet, which, however, letsler wjuld not allow to be changed, because looking at the figures formed by the patching, was one of his favorite amusements, which a new quilt would have deprived him of. but making the bed was not all, the room was swept and sanded. some logs laid in the stove to boil the coffee, and as it sputtered and hissed, letsler opened the door which led to nicoline's old room, and which still remained neat and in good order; after opening the window and letting in the morning air, he proceeded to make his humble arrangements for breakfast. and when all was ready and george was called, with what lively surprise and gratitude did he witness the preparations, for he felt that they were all marks of his father's affection. 336 the hermit. and yet again seeing the room where his mother had lived, her bird, her flowers, and all the little things which had been hers, so affected him, that he, with difficulty restrained his feelings, but his father laid his hand upon his shoulder, and said in a tone of calm resigned a sorrow “let us be patient, she is near us always. “yes,” said george, “wiping away the “ tear, which trembled in his eye; and then unable any longer to struggle against his emotion, he threw himself into the corner of the sofa, and wept like a child. a later in the day, when their feelings were more composed, the father and son sat together in letsler's apartment, and now george related his voyages from beginning to end, to which his father listened with marked sympathy, but hen he came to the last part, and the hermit. 337 6 ני 66 for the first time, as if casually, mentioned the name of his chief, letsler's frame quivered slightly, and he exclaimed, turning pale“now, thou didst then serve under-under" and his voice seemed to refuse its office. "yes, my father,” under the captain commander von ugood, i fancied he had long ago retired -how did he treat thee ?" “always according to my deserts, until he discovered “what?cried letsler, springing up in the greatest excitement, what did he discover ? thy name—ah, so-yes, many may be named letsler, but thou wast always a heedless, impetuous youth, and never could learn to be silent-some heedlessness of course.'' “my father, my dearest father.” “not a word, what he discovered was doubtless through thy simple, unthinking answers." 66 vol. i q 338 the hermit. > “but i had received no particular cautions to be silent." “still, i say-still-thou wast old enough i to have understood that no man selects an abode such as this-who has it in his power to choose another. betrayed ! betrayed ! and by my own son.” “be convinced, my father, that whatever ‘ secret may be involved in your residing here on the johannis cliff is in safe keeping with captain von u he is an honourable man, and incapable of betraying a friend.” aye, i believe it," retorted letsler, with bitterness, "he would gain little by doing so, yet i had been glad that no one who had known me in better days should have learned where the spot lies on which i have sought refuge, but now tell me everything, and truly. george told him all, and ended by giving him the letter of his chief. as letsler read it the severe and angry expression of his features grew milder, and they 66 > the hermit. 339 even seemed to brighten—the letter was long, and when letsler had crushed it together, he said, slowly“ thou wert not to blame, george, i was over hasty—the name and the resemblancewell, well, let be-perchance 'twas a happy meeting for thee. captain von u— is a man of honour, and though i had rather thou hadst made thy way in life without his help, yet it is now unavoidable, and he may look to it, to make of thee what he can, according to thine own conduct, and what certain little circumstances render it his duty to do. “if i understand your words rightly,” said george, after a moment's reflection, “ captain “ von u-, in the good which he may do me, umerely pays an old debt.” “no, not exactly that; he may owe me much, or nothing, as it may happen to be; he has done me service too, but i have no ; other claims on him, than such as his honour q 2 340 the hermit. may dictate; regarding it thus--all which he can do for thee is but a duty-nothing else -remember.” "i will never forget it,” replied george. “i owe him much already." “knowest thou,” asked letsler, after a lengthened pause, pause, “if he has any children living besides this son ?" “one daughter, i heard." “a daughter !-aye, exactly, a daughter. she may be about thirteen or fourteen years old; but,” continued he, as if speaking to himself, “the son will have helgenas ! helgenas did he ever mention that name ?" “he said i should pay him a visit there some day.” “ aye, and wherefore not ? however, time enough to think about that. meantime, i am satisfied with captain von u-'s planfollow it, and it will not be long ere you are able to stand alone, and act for yourself." the hermit. 341 (6 “that is my aim,” replied george, “and i will neglect nothing which may lead to its attainment." “and now, should it please god to call me suddenly hence, look here," and touching the secret spring in the press, which opened, and discovered the entrance to the smuggler's hiding-place, which we have mentioned at an earlier period, letsler shewed his son a small cleft in the rock, concealed by a stone well fitted into it, “ this is a place of security known only to ourselves here are all my papers, and what money i have—of the latter, indeed, not much, but sufficient, with what you may here, after be able to add to it, to purchase a ship of your own; the papers will declare all that has appeared dark and mysterious in your father's life, as well as the cireumstances which prevent his placing you in the position which you are entitled to occupy. “i," said george, deeply affected by the excessive depression with which his father had 2 342 the hermit. spoken the last words, “i will ever be satisfied with that position which has been assigned me from my childhood, and, i assure you, that whatever might have been my situation or means, i would, in no case, have made choice of any other than a seaman's life.” “ “bnt," objected letsler, “ thou art proud, ambitious, and hast had bright boyish dreams, which the young man must now abandon.” ( who has not had his childish dreams ?" returned george, colouring vividly as he recollected all the airy castles he had built. “'tis true, i still have my dreams; but they have another aim—in place of the epaulette and sword, and officer's commission, i now exert myself for that which i can obtain without too much delay; and with my present thoughts—for rather would i tread my own deck as a commander, than serve as subaltern in the fleet.", letsler nodded his approval, convinced that george only said what he felt. the hermit. 343 after they had sat silent for some seconds george drew his chair nearer to his father, and with a look of the most expressive reverence and affection, said“perchance so favourable an opportunity may never again occur. dear father, would it give you too much pain now to disclose to me the secret which oppresses you ? i ask it not from curiosity; but it grieves me that i cannot manifest my sympathy, or speak the words of consolation to you, while you yet live." “on this point i can resolve nothing, george. perchance my troubled life may not so quickly end. however, thou art yet too young, and i am not sufficiently callous to touch upon these old and ill-healed wounds; but whenever or wherever thou mayst learn thy father's fate, know that he will neither be comforted or pitied -compassion or comfort would but still deeper pierce the heart, already wounded, in its inmost core.” 344 the hermit. (6 66 "how," replied replied george, sighing deeplý, can there then exist a heart so incurably wounded, that not even a son's deep sympathy can reach it? "perhaps that very sympathy is the most painful of all : but let us leave this subject, my son. should i live some years yet, i will, myself, recur to it-until then, let it be mentioned no more." george pressed his father's hand affectionately, and was silent. in the afternoon, george took his boat and rowed to grafwerna, to visit old elias and his family, and to give them the little presents which he had brought. on leaving them he felt low spirited; the important conversation which he had with his father, and incessantly pondering over what the connexion could be, in which his father the hermit. 345 and captain von u had stood towards each other, and more particularly his father's words, that he could not give him the position he had a claim to ocoupy, united in filling his lively fancy with innumerable images, and his mind with disquiet. he disliked all mystery : with his frank and enegetic temperament, he would have sacrificed all, in order to obtain a clear insight into these matters; but as this could not be, he wished to forget them all, and recover his cheerful tone of mind as quickly as possible. on leaving grafwerna, he steered to the little holm, whither he had been accustomed to conduct his mother. there was still the grotto, and the bank, and the little table, and upon the lattice still lay some dried leaves of the choice flowers whieh little fanny had brought for the beautiful lady-and all these memorials of her whom he had so revered and loved, tended to soothe his excited spirits. he thought of that 5 346 the hermit. dear mother, who, like himself, had been continually kept in ignorance of these circumstances, which were now all clear to her, and the higher his thoughts mounted, the more petty appeared to him all the subjects which had but now so painfully engaged his mindsooner or later he too would be where she had gone before him, and then all strife, uneasiness, and curiosity, would have an end. , “no," thus did he close his self-communing, “no, our time here below is all too short to be lavished in idle fancies. should i learn ought, it may be well, and perhaps not; but, at any rate, i will no longer waste my thonghts upon a subject which can in no wise alter my real position in life.” he now ascended to the highest point of the holm, and cast his eyes over the sea. scarcely had he done so, ere he experienced an undescribable emotion; he descried a boat approaching in full sail, and that boat was no other than the one on which he had spent so the hermit. 347 a many happy youthful hours-on which he had learned to love a sailor's life -it was the free sailer, and the man at the helm, who waved his hat to him, was carolus. he threw himself into his boat, and rowed to meet her, and soon did his feet once more tread the planks, which he could not again behold without feeling his bosom nearly bursting with the excess of his emotion. here was the place where his dear mother had sat on their passage from drammen-here the chest, upon which his father had rested, gloomy and sunk in sadness—and there the spot where his own mattress had been spread; and, after warmly shaking carolus by the hand, he again wedged himself into the place, where he had as an eager boy held the tiller, and exulted in the thought of steering the vessel by himself. “now, see what a proper man the free sailer's boy has become,” said carolus, ' exchanging a look of gratified pride with 348 the hermit. > stonge-jan; 66 but where is the uniform of the fleet? “oh, gone to the deuce,” said george, laughing, “ the 1-1 is in thee, for certain, my lad, that thou hast learned to be wise so soon. i always thought it would be long enough ere thou camest so far-well, and so thou wilt go back to the merchant service." “aye, and that with all sail. luck is all in my favour. favour. i long to tell thee all, and only see what a grand fellow stange-jan has become ! how art thou old stonge-jan ? dost yet remember how we hanged old peter gran ? tu never forgot that as long as i live.” “ neither shall i,” said carolus. “ and i'm sure i sha’nt,” laughed stongejan. “i have got a little flesh on my bones again now, but it was a good year after that hunt before i eould pick it up again.” “hold thy chatter, and now,” said carolus, the hermit. 349 > 66 " let me ask thee, george, how are all at grafwerna ? thou knowest better than i." “ the old folks live like pearls in gold, and what a pair of fine lads—carolus.” “aye, aye; not so bad," said carolus, with a satisfied smile; “ and as soon as they're big and strong enough, they'll away to sea. i hope they'll have the honour to sail under captain george letsler." aye aye; the eldest will just be ready for cabin boy, when i make my first voyage as commander," answered george, in a jesting tone; “ but now, carolus, let me thank thee from the bottom of my heart, for all thy kindness and attention to my poor father. god knows what would have become of him in his hours of sadness and solitude, but for thee." “come, come, none of that now," answered carolus, giving stonge-jan some order, to escape george's thanks. and when the free sailer lay snugly moored at grafwerna, and the whole family had been 350 the hermit. made happy with the presents which carolus always brought home from his longer voyages george and he sat in the apartments of the former, at johannis cliff, and gossipped over old times, and when at last, as day was breaking, carolus rowed away home, george was once again the light hearted cheerful boy he had been in earlier days. adjoining the servant's hall, at strand, was a sort of lumber-room, called the little chamber, the bare comfortless walls of which, had been lately clothed with odds and ends of paper pasted together, which had been collected from the scraps swept out of the shop; the window was curtained by a small piece of white shirting, the edges of which had been cut into points, and fringed. on one side was a bed-place fastened to the wall, and covered with a brown woollen coverlet; and throughout the little room, the remaining furniture of which consisted of a wooden stool, a bench, tuie hermit. 351 and a table by the window, with a small brown press, there was an air of tidiness, and comfort, which was quite striking, notwithstanding the numerous articles for different sorts of work, which it contained, this chamber was nisse's, who had so pleased his young mistress by his continual little services and attentions, that she, at last, could not refrain from telling him to clear out all the old lumber which this little room contained, and consider it as his own domain for the future, and who was now happier than nisse, when he found himself able to withdraw from the servants' hall, and transfer himself and all his worldly goods to this little refuge. it was sunday, and nisse was working away in his sunday clothes, at a little pinafore for his eldest little brother. and near the window stood an old baking trough, filled with earth, which held nisse's winter garden, consisting of southern wood 352 the hermit. and balsam, a small geranium with pale leaves, and still paler blossoms, a few stiff hollyhocks, with some fennel flower, and a little bunch of white daisies. no one who had not seen the glances which nisse cast at this little collection, could have even the most distant idea of the pure unmixed happiness which lightened in his eyes, and displayed itself in the tenderness and affection which he devoted to his favorites, and how proud he was of them. and nisse was so happy as he sat there, at the early morning hour, surrounded by his work, his flowers, and with his pure innocent thoughts that he would not have changed with any mightier or richer man; he was prudent, he was rich in small things, and seldom extended his desires beyond what he had got, and the limit of nisse's ambition was that people might say, nisse of westrao, conducted himself so well, that he was never the hermit. 353 without work, and maintained by his work his old mother, and educated his brothers--the beings he loved most on earth”. nisse was just laying the finished pinafore on one side, as the first sound of the chapel bell sounded from grafwerna; he always timed his work so as to conclude it at the moment that the bell rang, for that was the beginning of nisse's sabbath, and after that, nothing would induce him to touch his needle again that day. he now opened the little press, and with the greatest reverence took out his valuable paternal inheritance, the leather bound bible, and with a devout sigh-nisse's first preparation for the sabbath duties--he seated himself again at the table, and opened the bible, and his piety was in the eyes of all in that house so unaffected, so heartfelt, and so humble, that no one, let the occasion, be what it might, would have disturbed him in its exercise. several times already, had a fair haired head a 354 the hermit. peeped through the open door, but no sound had escaped fanny's lips. the bible was read every sunday morning, in her parents' room, but fanny never felt it as when nisse read it. she felt not nearly so humble and good, when she heard another read. nisse had now finished, and stooped over the flowers to pluck a balsam leave for a mark, his glances wondered from one leaf to another. which could he have the heart to pluck ? he could not, and would not place a withered leaf in the book of life--and then the perfect leaves were the proudest ornaments of the plant. nisse, at length, made choice of one, a little damaged at the edge. fanny now wished him good morning. “ god's peace,” answered nisse; “shall i i do any thing for you, miss." “ yes, good nisse, if “ if i would! oh, miss fanny ? what can you desire of me that i would not do—i at least know nothing. you would.” the hermit. 355 66 “ sunday is, however, your own day. “ and whom have i to thank for that, for all the good which i enjoy, miss fanny, if not yourself—that is of course next to god" “ hark ye, nisse, is it far from westraö to nöddö ? i believe it is not. certainly not, if a person can only row." “ you can do that, nisse, and look you at nöddö, old lars mattsson's wife kauna, is lying on her death-bed, perhaps, however, all may not be over so soon. she may even recover for a while, but you know how wretched and poor she has been ever since her son-inlaw, and her daughter were drowned. i have been getting together a few things for her. she should not suffer want in her last days," and so saying, fanny, without further preface, placed a good sized bundle beside nisse's baking trough. very good, miss, it shall be done." and with a loving look at his flowers, he continued. “ i will give her something too, to cheer her. poor kauna. i will make > 66 356 the hermit. her a little nosegay; to a person down with a lingering illness, nothing is more grateful than looking upon, and enjoying the perfume of flowers.” “ true enough, nisse—but tell me now, is it far from noddo to the little holm which i once shewed you, as we rowed past it. i know not if it has already a name, she continued blushing, but i call it george's holm; because george built a little grotto there for his mother. i have never wished to go there since his departure, but now i would like to look at it, if it was set in order a little; for, perhaps, it may come to pass, that i, or george, or both of us, may pay it a visit." yes, i understand," said nisse, and though it is a good pull from noddo. i'll go there from home, towards evening, and depend upon it, every thing shall be fine there." “ thanks, good nisse,” remember me to your mother, and the little brothers; there is something extra for the children, beside your 66 1 the hermit. 357 breakfast, and give my love to lars mattsson's kauna. i'll come and see her myself-good bye.” and fanny hastened back to her morning duties with a light and cheerful heart. shortly before noon, the same day, a boat was at the landing at strand, and the patron, who was sunning himself in the court, went with a friendly countenance to meet the arrival, who was our george; welcome, heartily welcome, my dear george ; mr. letsler, i should say, for you are too big now to be called by your christian name. now, fanny you have met already—on my soul i was right glad when the girl came and told me that you had arrived." “i thank you heartily, patron, for remembering me so kindly,” replied george ; "and though i can't join in these sort of merry adventures now, yet i feel it a sort of duty to warn you, that i saw the excise yacht in the offinghave you any grounds for expecting a visit ?” 66 358 the hermit. side; 66 “well, sure enough old peter won't make me an official visit to-day," said the patron, as he strolled up with george from the sea" but you see, my boy, how it is ; a few days ago, a nephew came to old peter, a young fellow, to be his deputy, when he has the gout-a deuced fine attack of gout-which he caught, mind you, through that hanging business--and so now the old fox is bringing the young one to make a friendly visit, and to see how the land lies, in case he should have anything to settle in future in my sea-booths, and boats, and so forth.' “i see," replied george, with a laugh ; “peter gran is a shrewd, smart fellow, and would give the merchants lots more trouble if he only had more efficient yacht men.” “efficient enough, they are, by my soulthough after he got rid of that poor, honest soul, kron, he engaged a regular churl of a fellow, who is commonly called, sniffing calle;' for when he is sent out, he snuffs and the hermit. 359 a > snuffs about till he gets the scent, let it be ever so well concealed ; aye, he is a cursed fellow, . that sniffing calle--thanks to him, petter gran seized a whole lot of goods of mine last spring." “i rather guess peter smiled in somewhat a different fashion from what he did when he found the water in the brandy casks." “aye, aye, he puffed and blew like a turkey cock; and i should be very apt to shew the old churl the other way now, if it was not perhaps more prudent to have a look at the young chap, and see what sort of a fellow he is." “people say, patron, that you are thinking of giving up the secret trade.” what's to be done ? one must stir to live —that cursed excise takes enough away from me, as it is—if one half 'scapes scot free, the other half must have the mark, you see-and so it is with everything—bad times-hard 360 the hermit. gone, times, my son—no business to be done which puts money in the box.” and now fanny, who had seen george from the kitchen, came running out with the twirling stick in her hand. “now just look at the wench," said holmer, laughing; "she splashes the cream in our ; faces, as if they were dishes. get thee miss monkey, with thy twirling stick, or i'll tell the mother how nicely you take care of the dairy.” “no tales out of school, father; mother keeps me strict enough without. ah, george, so good of you to come; i was so glad when i i saw you, that i forgot to put the twirling stick back into the pot. mr. holmer hurried in to speak to his wife regarding the expected guests, and george went into the kitchen with fanny, where he soon had cause had cause to admire her activity and dexterity. the hermit. 361 > “i must be active, mustn't i, when mother trusts me to take her place ? besides, i always liked housekeeping from a child." “oh, so long ago, you can hardly remember that, i suppose," said george, with a wicked smile. fanny wrinkled her brows, and tried to look angry. “when one is near fifteen years old, one is no longer a child, i hope." " “i wish you had always remained a child, for you had such a number of little captivating ways, which of course you have lost now you have grown a great girl.” “have i—now there—there are two gingerbread cakes burnt–because you vexed mehave done—and so you think i lose the more the bigger i grow ? now do hold the dish straight. i should like to know any one who can make better gingerbread than that—i did not mean to have any to-day; but as father said the young yacht-lieutenant was to—" > vol. i. r 362 the hermit. “ a-ha, then it wasn't on my account, that you were in such a hurry to stir up the things ? “how--on your account !" said fanny, with the greatest apparent surprise—“on your account! no, indeed, my good george-one forgets little play-fellows altogether, when one expects to see a smart young man; and i have heard that the young yacht-lieutenant is very good-looking, and very polite too." “ah, fanny, i can see that you are no longer a child; you can think about young men, can you ; however, since the old play-fellow is superfluous, he can go back again. adieu, fanny.” “adieu, george." and fanny had a great deal to do all at once at the fire. george pretended to go; but made three bounds back from the door, lifted fanny in his arms, and whirled her round and round, till she exclaimed, laughingthe hermit. 363 “oh, let me go, george, let me go, i shall get giddy." " then who were you making the gingerbread for ?" “for the yacht-lieutenant, didn't i tell you ?" “ah, very well, then we'll have a little dance, just till they're all burnt, they'll be quite good enough for him.” “take care, george-let me loose now-or i'll be angry.” 66 tell the truth then, and i won't keep you another second." “ah, ah, my gingerbread_hark at them hissing—they'll all be burnt to coal-nasty, george." “the truth then-out with the truth." you tell the truth, george, when you said just now that i had lost all my pretty little 66 did ways ?" “i never said so." “then i never said or thought that the r 3 364 the hermit. 2 gingerbread was for any one but you; but now the mischief's done, and you must be satisfied with scorched cakes." “and if they were as black as charcoal, they would be as good as angel's food," said george, putting fanny down upon the hearth ; “oh, you are right-right-right" “sweet !” said fanny, gaily. “no, saucy—you are just the same saucy, clever little thing as ever; but i tell you now, fanny, don't venture to look at this yachtlieutenant; now, i won't stand it.” i " what's to be done--little children may play with those who are good to them.” “ little children-yes—but—" " and then if he takes me on his lap, and shews me something pretty, his watch, his breast-pin, or such like-or-" “take you on his lap ?” cried george, with sparkling eyes, “i would'nt recommend him, that's all. i'll cudgel him black and blue.” “god forbid—a little girl like me, what are , you thinking of ?" the hermit. 365 chapter xix. a visit from an old friend. as we “ most obedient, good madam,” said the voice of old peter gran, as the door opened, were in the neighbourhood, i determined to have the honour of presenting my nephew, and please god my successor, mr. ture gran, a sly, clever youth, as the case may be, as the judge says. “as the nephew of our yacht lieutenant he could not be otherwise,” mrs. holmer could not help saying, as she civilly welcomed the stranger. mr. gran, junior, was tall and slender as the tree* whose name he bore, and his face, if not actually handsome, was fresh-colored, and there + gran a fir tree. 366 the hermit. 66 was something of breeding in the way in which he paid his compliments; his voice was well toned, and gave every little civility, an expression of politeness, a politeness which never forsook him, and was a strong contrast to the rough but good-humored coarseness of old peter gran. “i fear," he observed, with a low bow, to his hostess, “that my uncle is taking rather too great a liberty in thus introducing a perfect stranger.” “oh, not at all, lieutenant,” mrs. holmer {ave the young man the title, in order to conciliate him by her civility. “your uncle, on the contrary, has given us great pleasure; there is such a very confined society in our poor barren coasts here, that the few who compose it really ought to seek each other out.” “ there, that's just what i said to you,” said old peter gran, “sure, said i to my nephew, tre'll just take a holiday and go see, patron holmer, for you see it is just that—the gentlethe hermit. 367 66 man at strand, and i—we have always been on such friendly terms, you know, as the case might be, as the judge says." aye, aye, that's true enough,” interrupted holmer, with a loud laugh, and now look here, lieutenant, here is another old acquaintance, mr. george letsler, who mayhap, in a few years, if he should be content with a coaster, may be a good customer too; he was a saucy ; boy enough, was not he, the—the lieutenant no doubt has not forgotten him.” “aye, aye, a regular young satan,” said peter giving his former adversary a hearty shake of the hand, “the scripture says we should always be forgiving, and i'm an old man-here's the man who shall speak for me for the future.” mr. ture gran, the commander in prospect of the excise yacht, and george letsler, the future captain of the brig elvira cornelia, which was not yet built, measured each other for some seconds, with looks which though 368 the hermit. a differing but little in their expression from ordinary glances, yet left the full conviction on the minds of both that they were not created to be friends with each other. george's open, straight-forward manner could not harmonize with the assumed grace and studied modesty of young gran; they understood at once that they should never understand each other. the guests and george stayed dinner at strand, and after the meal old gran proposed to take the family for a sail in the yacht, which was acceded to by mrs. holmer, who wished to conciliate a person who had so much in his power. the weather was delightful, and the elder gentlemen sat on deck with their cigars and toddy, while ture gran was busy doing the amiable to the ladies in the cabin, but to his no small vexation fanny seemed to be but little amused by his conversational powers, and in a short time beckoning george, she took her bonnet and went on deck. ture gran would gladly have persuaded a the hermit. 369 mrs. holmer to do the same, but she expressed herself perfectly satisfied where she was, and he was therefore obliged to remain and exert himself, to show no outward sign of vexation, and whether mrs. holmer saw that he was put out or not, she most perseveringly kept her seat in the cabin. " “thanks, thanks, dear fanny,” said george, “i could not have stood it much longer." “yes, i saw you were getting out of patience and temper, and thought it better to come on deck, otherwise he rather amused me," she added mischievously. “he did nothing of the kind, and you know it very well; but hark ye, fanny, what think you, which sounds best, cornelia or fanny." “how can you ask, when you are always used to say fanny ?” “yes, but cornelia is your name too; how r 5 370 the hermit. 66 66 do you think it would look painted on a ship’s stern, in letters of gold.” “it will never have the opportunity, all father's boats have names already." but mine, fanny, my ship that is to be." “oh, time enough when you get it." oh, i shall get it, but it ought to have two names, what do you think of elvira cornelia. "fie,” said fanny, “ elvira's an ugly name, who's named so ?" f.“ nobody whom i ever saw; but she is the daughter of my late chief, by whose kindness i hope to get a ship ere long, and ought i not out of gratitude to give it her name? and after all, it is only to have a female name on your account.” “well, i have heard that women's names are unlucky for ships, you had better let it alone." " indeed i shall not let it alone, i hardly thought you would have disliked it." > the hermit. 371 > “oh, i like it very much, and when father builds that galeass, he is talking of, and promises shall sail on my account, i think i shall ask him to call it ture george--not so bad is it.” “well, i think that sounds very vulgaryou have too good an ear fanny, not to feel that these names don't suit each other the least." “ that is just what i think of elvira cornelia.” “well, i can think of nothing prettier, and it is always in my head, night and day-elvira cornelia.” “ and why not cornelia elvira," asked fanny, pettishly, “is not that just as pretty.” “no, nothing like it.” “ah, and so you think my name is best last ?" “yes, because elvira is the shortest name of the two; now forgive me, dear fanny, but 2 > 372 the hermit. > 66 > you must not ask me to let this alone—it gives me so much pleasure.' “oh, well, we shall have time enough to talk about it when you have a ship, and then perhaps you will name it after neither of us, no body knows-why not call it nicoline ?" oh, no, that name is too dear and holy to me, i would not have it read by all, and," added he, coloring, and so it is with fannynicoline and fanny, they are printed on my heart-elvira cornelia shall be on the ship." “well, well, then, let them !” said fanny, with a tone of voice all at once so lovely and bashful, that george started. though fanny was not yet fifteen, she was no longer a child. the last three days had made her as many years older. “now then, that's a nice wench, isn't she ?” asked peter, as he was sitting in the cabin with his nephew, on the way back from the strand. she would be a good catch; a the hermit, 373 what dost think if thou couldst get her eh, the richest girl in these coasts." “aye, a pretty child enough, a neat little doll,” replied the young man, with affected carelessness, lighting a cigar, and throwing himself on the sofa. “aye, aye, good fun enough to be able to play with such a doll, thirty thousand rixdollars, banco, that's money, my lad, in our country—however, i don't think she'll bite at the first cast." “oh, trifle !” rejoined ture gran, "a little coast girl like that, scarcely out of the nursery -no such difficult conquest i should fancy." “so so, a prudent man is never too secure on these matters, he paves his way if he cani, he forces his way if needed, as the case may be as the judge says, but he never brags before the time." “neither do i, uncle, for to speak candidly, i hardly think of trying my luck there, she is too much of a child." (6 call 374 the hermit. “that's an easy fault to cure, two more years will do it, and then in two, or at most three, i shall retire, and so, my dear, ture, that will all just come right.” “she has had no education; her manners are " so very, so" “excellent,” said his uncle, finishing the sentence, “and as to education, she was at school at göteberg, writes like a clerk, and makes flowers and fruits and all that nonsense, that belongs to elegant education." “oh, no, my dear uncle, one don't call that elegant education, that's all less than nothing at all.” “well now, upon my soul i should like, and peter gran looked exceedingly surprised, “i should like to know what you call education then ? yes, uncle, something very different—something very different—something—in shortsomething entirely different.” > the hermit. 375 66 66 “aye, aye, i hear all that, but what does the difference consist in ?" “well--a well educated girl,” began, mr. ture, raising himself from the sofa, and assuming a dignified look to have all possible effect upon peter gran, who sat there with his full glass of grog, gaping at his dear nephew with his eyes wide open, a well-educated girl must, in the first place, understand french, fluently." “oh, the devil.” and german like her mother tongue.” 6 wetter !" "and english for domestic purposes." “ the plague !" “moreover she must draw not only flowers and fruit and such trifles, but drawings of a superior kind-landscapes, sea-pieces, and such like, and be able to paint.” “ thousand fiends," shouted peter gran, clapping down his glass so violently that half the liquor was spilt over the table and floor, why she'd need be a governess for that, but 376 the hermit. you must know, master ture, fanny holmer has money enough to buy pictures if she wants them, and a girl of that sort may occupy herself better than taking away the earnings of those who have to sell their talents." possibly; but you must not forget, uncle, that you requested my opinion regarding a good education and then, besides all this, she must understand music, for, you see, uncle, that is the greatest accomplishment a girl can have.” “hold hard and belay," interrupted peter gran, “thou hast chattered balderdash enough -to the d with all thine accomplishments and graces, if such trash as that is called grace; and i tell thee, i have lived longer in the world than thou hast, and the best ornament of a wife is to please her husband in everything. will she look after the housekeeping while she's playing the piano ?-will she make the children's clothes while she reads french, or darn thy stockings while she's the hermit. 377 dawdling over german-do ye think she'll mind salting herrings and business while she's daubing paper, painting your stupid things ? no, no—such wives and such ornaments are all out of place on our coasts here—to brew, bake, boil, salt fish, and dry it, keep husband and children, and home, wholesome and clean, and well to do—that's the main point--and when she has 30,000 dollars to boot, why i think there is nothing more necessary; and the man who is crazy enough not to understand and value such ornaments as these, why he is only fit to listen to the tinkling of a piano the most diabolical noise i know-all his life long.” and now the young gentleman laughed aloud, and began to find his uncle seriously entertaining " however, let us take the matter in earnest,” continued peter, sipping at his grog. “don't you forget that you were born to great expectations; but your father went bankrupt, 378 the hermit. and now you're as poor as a church mouse; and if i had not helped you by putting you in as an extra hand in the excise, why_” “ why i should have starved long ago, uncle-should'nt i ?" “ aye, aye, and that's been the fate of many a better man than thou art." “should'nt be mine though. powder and “ ball can be got when there's nothing else in the world.” “aye, aye, that's like your big words;" and old peter shook his head deliberately. “i don't like to hear boys brag about meddling with god's handiwork— stick thy pipe in the bag, and take a spoon in your pretty hand, says the proverb.” mr. ture coloured up; fearing to irritate his uncle, he made no further reply; but his very silence irritated the old man; he tossed off the rest of his grog, and said, in a trembling voice, “and now, just let me tell ye a word or two i don't like your ways——they don't more. the hermit. 379 a > please me—and you need not think that i, peter gran, am a man to be bamboozled with all your fine snick-snacks—that may all do very well to take in the women; but i like short and sweet. now, if i am to help thee forward in life, i mean to have a word in the matter, and if not—why, i can serve for the next ten years, just report to-morrow that my health is all right, and i can resume my duties." “now, my dear uncle,” interrupted ture gran, repressing his own rising anger, “have i done or said anything to vex and anger you thus. i am very sorry if i have; but a poor man and one who is dependent is easily hurt.” “well, well—let be, let be,” replied the yacht-lieutenant, who only wished to keep his authority up, and was, in reality, proud of his good-looking nephew, “no harm meant, my i only mean to say, that with the exciseyacht in hand, fanny holmer in prospect, you might be at ease.” son. 380 the hermit. young sailor.” “i have nothing in prospect, my dear uncle -the girl is out and out mad about yon saucy " “stuff, stuff, i tell you. i should like to see it. 'i know a little about him i have a crow to pick with him of old, and let him cross you, and i'll make him feel where the shoe pinches." “ what do you mean, uncle ?” “mean? why that there's a screw loose about these worthies on the johannis cliff; the father came there as if he had dropped from the cloudsno one knows what he is—fish or fowl. “or perhaps a—" and a spark of exultation glanced in ture gran's eye; but he was silent. “as i say, neither fish nor fowl. however, by playing our cards well, we may manage to make the youngster glad to leave the field free to you; he is very fond of his father, and if , he does'nt know his father's secrets, he does > the hermit. 381 know that it would ill please the old man that they should come to light—however, this is all for the future. the man has done no one in our country any harm, and the man who don't hurt you, why don't you hurt him—that's my logic." “and sound logic too, uncle—a good thing a if everybody thought as handsomely." “well, well,” concluded peter gran, “ that's as the case may turn up—as the judge says, an excise officer must hurt people when his duty bids him,'—what i said was 'off duty,' 6 < mind ye.” “aye, aye, uncle, and i understand you most perfectly." several weeks had elapsed since george's arrival at the johannis cliff. during this time, scarce a day had passed in which he had not either visited strand, or the little grotto * on the island, in which 382 the hermit. latter place fanny, accompanied by her true knight, nisse of westrao, often awaited him. at such times, while fanny busied herself with garments for some of her various protègés, george would narrate the tales of his voyages and adventures, and confide to her all his plans for the future. and by way of illustration to his stories, george was obliged to make drawings of the different kinds of boats which he had seen when they had casually visited the frigateand when, to please her, he had constructed a little pirogue, fanny was a sportive child again, and when she made her little voyages, the pirogue always sailed in the track of the boat, attached by a string, until this amusement so completely engrossed her, that george half repented his readiness in inventing it. however, as the time of parting approached, when george was to set out for göteberg, the pirogue was consigned to a hook in her room, and she thought only of the the hermit. 383 giver-nobody had been so kind and good to her as george—so pleasant and entertaining, and this was the sum total of fanny's comprehension of her own feelings. george had also, as yet, scarcely defined his own; he thought of fanny, because it was so natural, and he was very, very sorry to part with her, but, notwithstanding, dear as she was to him, he would not have wished to delay his active exertions, for a single week, on her account. he had been watching for old stormbom's letter; and this had now arrived with the intelligence that the old boatswain had returned home after the frigate had gone into harbour at carlscrona, and was now expecting george at masthugg. “and nowyou must delay no longer,” letsler said to his son, “the sooner you begin, the sooner will your end." “yes,” replied george, “i wish to work, and will work-but it grieves me to the heart to leave you, dear father, so alone; the autumn you attain 384 the hermit. 66 is drawing on, and then comes winter-winter.” trifles, my son, i am used to all this.” oh, but it is a hard and cruel habitudesyou may be ill again.” “ then let us say, god's will be done.” “but i cannot be easy, and i neither can nor will be so, unless some one comes here to stay during the winter." here, come here, art thou mad ?» cried letsler, with surprise, and well nigh indignation; “perhaps you will wish me to take in some old wife, to sweep the rooms, and din my ears with her chatter." “no, assuredly not, i well know, father, that you cannot endure women-but i know some one-a quiet, silent, and good and serious youth." “be quiet with your knowledge, i can take care of myself.” “ i know that very well—but he whom i think of, will never be in the way; he has a certain tact which tells how and where he is tiie hermit. 385 wanted; he is the only one i know who would suit this place.” " as i have told you before, no one will suit me—but who do you mean ?” "a poor, a very poor youth-named nisse, a of westrao," who is now in service at strand, and has often rowed fanny over here. his disposition is such, that he can accommodate himself to any, and every thing; and he will never speak unless spoken to. oh, father, i you would but see him—he could have my room, and you need never trouble yoursel about him.” “ hum,” returned letsler, “i rather think i must have seen him, he always sits at some work or another, or in the boat, and appears s if he neither heard or saw." “no more he does,” rejoined george, d lighted that he had at last broken the ice ; it s not his business to hear or see, excepting what is necessary for the discharge of his duty-he is an honest, good boy, and for a ) vol. i. 8 386 the hermit. very trifling monthly stipend; will be as true as the most faithful dog. but i speak not fairly, he will not be true for the sake of the money, but he will be ever true and unwearied in his efforts to serve him who gives him money to support his mother and brothers. i assure you he would be incapable of disturbing you when he saw how bent you were upon solitude. oh, father, did you but know what a heart that boy has.” “ thou art eloquent, my dear george, and you are well aware that i know how to value and appreciate your good intentions; however, i can make no promise, i cannot so suddenly break in upon habits and customs which have been dear to me meantime i will consider about it." george did not venture to press the matter farther at present, what he had achieved had far exceeded his hopes. when, he soon afterwards met fanny, he asked her affectionately';“ i believe, dear fanthe hermit. 387 > 66 ny, if i were to beg something of you, which you are very fond of, you would be quite capable of giving it up to me, what do you think? do i deceive myself ?” no, certainly, my dear good george if i have anything you want, even my great, beautiful amber heart-you shall have it." oh, said george, laughing, if the talk was of hearts; you have another heart beside the amber one-what i mean, is, whether you would give up to me something that i know you would not like to give to another." “ i can't really think what you can mean, said fanny, a little confused by george's remark about the amber heart. “ well then, i want nisse of westraö. i don't want him for myself, dear fanny ; but see, i have been thinking,” and he took her hand, and pressed it affectionately—“that when winter comes, and the snow lays thick upon the johannis cliff, i always have my father before my eyes; and if he should fall 388 the hermit. ill again, as last year, you may imagine, fanny, i should not have a moment's quiet, if i knew that he was quite alone; and then ; i have been thinking that no one would suit my father so well in all ways as nisse, who could look after their little housekeeping, and have plenty of time to mend shoes and jackets for all grafwerna." “ah, george, what a capital idea, and although i never thought that nisse and i, such good friends, should part, i should be too glad to be able to do your father a service; the most difficult part of the business will be to induce him to take nisse." “i hope it may be easier than we have imagined. i have spoken to him already, and though he has given me no positive promise, he has not yet absolutely refused; but what do you think nisse himself will say ?» oh, nisse will do everything i wish-and father will easily get more workmen than he wants—and so you may be easy about that.” the hermit. 389 “how good and rational you are, sweet fanny, and what a heart you have; when you speak seriously, no one would think that you were just fourteen.” “and seven months and three weeks,” added fanny, waggishly. “oh, goodness, how could i ever have forgotten that most important fact,” returned george, in the same tone; “however, you may depend upon it, that though i may forget your age, i will never forget yourself—and your cheerful, pretty, fair-haired image will accompany me everywhere by land and sea, and it will always be such a comfort and happiness to me to know that you think of me sometimes.” “oh, george, you nearly make me cry. i do believe i shall die for grief when you go away.” " and for joy when i came back again, eh ?" “no, then i will live," said fanny, more ” 390 the hermit. cheerfully; "for then i hope, at least, that “ you will think i have grown big." on this same evening, carolus returned from drammen; the ever restless carolus had again only a few days to spare for his family; and as he was anxious to go to göteberg, it happened luckily that george was able to make his voyage there in his society, and on the free sailer; and this circumstance served to soften his grief at parting with his father and with fanny. and now letsler was again alone. often during his son's stay, he had experienced the longing to be alone again; but now george was gone, he felt that love, affection had become a necessity, and that there the hermit. 391 was something comforting in knowing that a loving, sympathising heart was near. one day, more than ordinarily depressed in spirits, he opened the mysterious hiding-place, and entered-he stood silently before the place which he had pointed out to george, and, after some hesitation, removed the stone which concealed the opening. a light shudder ran through his frame, and with eyes flaming darkly, he looked into the cleft, and again recoiled--after doing this more than once, he, at last, with an effort, grasped the packet of papers. it was two years since he had placed them there; a powerful desire lad now seized him once more to look at them, to read once more that dreadful secret, which as yet known to no living soul, might, if he so willed it, accompany him to oblivion in the grave. · he hastily grasped the packet, and took it out into the chamber; after opening it, some older papers fell out-he pushed them hasti] 392 the hermit. aside, and turned up the first page of the manuscript, which he had begun and finished, some time after nicoline's death, and which bore the superscription—"bernhard letsler's confessions—dedicated to his son." he fixed a long, rigid, and thoughtful look upon these lines. “if,"—thus he murmured to himself—“if i were to cast all these into the fire, who could then relate to him all these old tales of unhappiness and dishonor, without the knowledge of which, he would be quite as happy, nay, probably far happier. should george's eye never rest on these confessions, his childish reverence and affection would never be disturbed. nevertheless,” he sighed deeply, “i have promised her-her-nicoline-who would have so rejoiced to lift the veil from the past-now all is clear to her-oh, nicoline, adored, lost angel, thou wast too pure, too free from passion, to have understood so much weakness, folly, and wretchedness." the hermit. 393 letsler's forehead sunk upon his hands. . oh, could he have but died with the conviction that george would bless his memory, would never dream that there had been a spot thereon-but that was to desire too much he could not be free from stain in that son's recollections and his mind was still too proud to content itself with the love which duty or compassion might call forth. and wherefore then should he actually contemn me—was i not hurried on by fate-afterwards came the consequences—those i prepared for myself—and have i not expiated them with a lost and wretched existence the life of a proscribed being—but with what specious sophistry would i cajole myself? no, much as george's feelings of childish affection might lead him to excuse--yet-yet his sense of right must compel him to condemn. he hastily caught up the papers-a letter fell to the ground—as he lifted it, his eye fell upon the address—"richard tank,” he started 394 the hermit. --shuddered violently—but could not tear his gaze from that name, which, in hollow tones, escaped his lips. “ richard tank-richard tank,” he repeated, in the suppressed accents of bitter sorrow, “art thou not-oh, art thou not yet sufficiently avenged ?" * * * end of vol. i. 1 t. c. newby, l'rinter, 30, welbeck street, cavendish square. university of illinois-urbana 839.73 c19ee c001 v. 1 hermit: a novel. 3 0112 089027541 408 oridin's formula by r. r. winterbotham the formula was a simple equation, but caddo had to have it--for knowing its answer meant he would rule the universe. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories march 1943. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] oridin the recluse listened to the threat wirelessed from the spaceship that was hoving to in a landing orbit about the planetoid azair. "i've a bead on your atmosphere plant," said the snarling voice. "one false move and i'll blast it to star dust." oridin shrugged as he heard the words. one more fool had come to azair looking for the secret that the recluse of the asteroids was supposed to possess. "your threats are unnecessary, stranger," oridin replied in the microphone of his radio. "everyone is welcome here as long as he behaves. i have ways of dealing with those who don't." "i'm warning you," came the voice again, "that i will stand for no foolishness. i'll kill you if you try to resist." oridin smiled. "land, stranger, you need not fear me." the hermit arose and went to the galley of the warm little house that seemed to grow from the solid rocks of the tiny planet. he pressed a button, waited a second and then opened a small compartment. in the box was a steaming pot of coffee, freshly made by oridin's automatic cook. outside the transparent shelter, the air grew blue from the reflection of landing rockets. oridin glanced to the leveled surface on which the ship was coming to rest. he saw a turret training on the little house. oridin was not afraid; the visitor probably would be interesting. even a recluse can grow lonesome on a minor planet. a figure emerged from the spaceship. he wore an oxygen helmet, although oridin plentifully supplied the planetoid with artificial atmosphere from a small plant at the north pole. the stranger did not believe that oridin would not resist. again oridin smiled. deep in the rocks of azair were guns that could have blasted the visitor a thousand times, had oridin wished. but there was nothing clever about blowing a foe to pieces. the foe too often was killed before he sensed defeat. oridin enjoyed an equal battle, or even one against odds. [illustration: _"open up," caddo snarled, "or i'll blow my way in!"_] "open up! open up, i tell you, or i'll burn my way in!" demanded the visitor. "he's certainly not deceiving me as to his intentions," oridin decided. the recluse pushed a button on the wall, and a giant gate swung outward admitting the stranger. the fellow was as tall and as muscular as oridin himself, but the space suit and the gaping blaster he held in his hand made the visitor seem much more formidable. oridin himself was dressed in bell-bottomed slacks and a loosely fitting, slipover coat. his beard softened his countenance and made him seem quite gentle, except for a certain glitter in his eyes that seemed to warn that oridin loved a contest. and this would seem to be a deadly contest. oridin bowed. "you are welcome, stranger," he said. "take off your helmet, for the air is pure. put aside your gun, for i am unarmed and i do not intend to harm you." the stranger hesitated, uncertainly. "no tricks, oridin!" he warned. "tricks?" oridin laughed tauntingly. "you are not very confident for a man of your caliber. i've heard of you often, caddo velexis. they say you have conquered whole nations single-handed, and yet you are afraid of an unarmed hermit." "i'm not afraid of you," caddo said in a tone that hinted he was. caddo removed his helmet and holstered his blaster, but oridin noted that the terrestrial giant did not move the firing button to safety. "will you have some coffee?" oridin asked. "it will refresh you after your long trip, and you must have had a long trip, for we are in a very sparsely filled part of the sky." oridin lifted the pot and poured the brown steaming liquid into a thick, metal mug. caddo waved it aside. "i have no time!" "do not be alarmed," oridin said. "the patrol will not be near azair for three days." oridin sat down. his fingers felt under the arm of the chair where a series of buttons controlled other mechanisms in the room. caddo had relaxed his watchfulness. "in three days i'll be well toward the other side of the solar system," caddo said. oridin lifted his eyebrows. "toward the earth? you have undertaken something this time!" "yes!" caddo said. "it's the earth i am after! i have all i want of the outlying planets and planetoids. you can capture a hundred of them and be no better off than you were at first. but if you capture the earth, you can rule the universe." oridin touched one of the buttons. a tiny pinhole in the wall of the room seemed to blink. there was a blinding flash and the smell of burned leather permeated the place. * * * * * caddo gave a cry of alarm and sprang back, knocking over his chair. he was on his feet holding his blaster in his hand in a second. across the top of his helmet was a scorched streak. "you tried to kill me!" caddo screamed. "you dirty swine." oridin's lips parted in a smile as he looked without fear into the mouth of the trembling weapon. "don't underestimate yourself, caddo," he said. "the hot beam was only a warning--something to let you know that i could kill you anytime i wished. even now, before you could squeeze the trigger on the weapon, i could cause certain things to happen--no, no! you are safe, caddo--i could cause you to die if i wish, but you are interesting, a dangerous man. it would be a better accomplishment for me to give you a punishment you deserve." the fear that shone in caddo's eyes faded away. for a moment he watched oridin. then he laughed. "so it's that kind of a game, is it? i can play it too! your threats do not frighten me. nor am i afraid of your hot beam. look!" caddo thrust his arm forward into the path of the beam. there was a puff of smoke as the tremendous heat vaporized particles of dust on the leather sleeves. then nothing happened. "i have a neutralizing force, powered with a small battery in my clothing," caddo said. "foolishly, i did not have it turned on a moment ago. but you can't hurt me now." oridin shrugged. "i am still not afraid of you caddo. if you had come here to loot, you would have killed me long ago. but what you want is something you cannot gain by killing me. what is it?" "you are going to give me the secret that will make me the master of the earth, and the master of the universe," caddo announced. oridin poured himself a mug of coffee. "i knew you did not want gold, although azair is filthy with the stuff," he said. "but what secret have i that is so powerful?" "the _discovery_!" caddo said. "i have many." oridin nodded toward the wall, and the pinhole of light blinked out. "i want the secret of the universe!" caddo spoke tensely. "come! don't be so melodramatic," oridin chided. "the universe is full of secrets." "you're stalling. you know what i mean!" "i think i do," oridin agreed. "my erratic experiments have revealed a certain mathematical function, _j_, which theoretically opens the door to action without probability. is that what you want, caddo? the value of _j_?" "the mathematical bombsight!" caddo said. "it removes probability and makes certainty of everything. with my calculations based on certainty, i'll be fate itself! i can conquer the world, chain the universe and govern creation." oridin laughed quietly. "alexander, caesar, napoleon, genghis khan and hitler spoke those words and they were willing to bargain with the devil himself to make them come true," he said. "i suppose i am the devil, for i know the answer and i can tell you the answer--for a price." "you'll give it to me for nothing!" caddo patted the blister, now in the holster at his side. "is that your only offer?" oridin asked, still wearing an amused half-smile. "it is!" oridin rose and moved toward a safe under two clocks on the wall across the room. one of these clocks gave the terrestrial days, hours and minutes according to the general meridian time. the other registered the four-hour rotation of azair. "wait!" caddo halted oridin. "no tricks. give me the combination and i'll open the safe!" oridin turned to the space pirate. "the safe is unlocked. the formula is inside." caddo's eyes betrayed his suspicion. the most valuable secret in the world was in an unlocked safe! warily caddo stepped forward. he hesitated, wondering if even his neutralizing force was enough to protect him. "there's no danger. go ahead. help yourself," oridin urged. caddo was desperate. he touched the handle of the door. it was unlocked. he flung it open. inside the safe was a single sheet of white paper. caddo seized it eagerly. his eyes widened in amazement as he read: "the certainty of success in any course of operations, expressed in mathematical terms, represents the sum of all factors, beginning at the starting point, which must be described as _real zero_, and ending with the objective, also reduced to a real numerical value. the constant of certainty, _j_, can be the determining factor which leads an operation from the beginning to the objective." caddo read the paper and reread it again and again. "is this all of it?" he asked, turning to oridin. "every bit," oridin replied. "the formula is simple, like the one to determine the sum of an arithmetical progression--the first number of the progression plus the last number, multiplied by the number of terms in the progression and divided by two. in your case the progression lies between what you have and what you want. the certainty of getting it is the sum of all the factors." * * * * * caddo sat down in a chair at the desk. he seemed to forget his suspicions of oridin, who had placed a stack of paper beside him. caddo was engrossed in the formula and caddo, as a mathematician, knew that everything in the world could be expressed in figures. what would napoleon, or hitler, have given for this formula! "the beginning is _real zero_!" caddo spoke aloud. "which is different from a mathematical zero," oridin said. "i might say that zero, like absolute vacuum, never occurs. even if we have two apples and eat two of them the atoms of the apples continue to exist. in the formula you have a small fraction instead of zero. it serves the same purpose. if you multiply a number x by zero, the answer is zero. multiply a fraction approaching zero, .000,000,001 by another number and that number approaches zero too. if that number is a fraction it will be even closer to zero than our _real zero_. in fact, we are dealing with trans-zero numbers, just like the transfinite numbers discovered by georg cantor." "yes, yes!" caddo said eagerly. he picked up a pencil. he scribbled furiously. his objective was all of the power in the world expressed in ergs; all of the gold in the world, expressed in dollars; all of the land, expressed in acres; the people, in individuals. oridin moved softly behind him. a multiple-calculator made its appearance in the room. paper flew from under caddo's pencil. sweat poured from his space-browned face. the two clocks on the wall recorded the turning of the earth and the planetoid azair. caddo forgot about oridin. he forgot about everything except the figures that revolved in his brain. oridin moved out into the warm artificial atmosphere of his planetoid. he was a recluse again. he was alone. a momentary contact with the greed, and avarice of the human race had been wiped away. far out in space was a glow of rockets. a ship was going to land. it had seemed only a short time since caddo had landed. but that was three terrestrial days ago. this was the patrol. "i've a prisoner for you," oridin informed the captain. "it's caddo." "caddo! he's the no. 1 universal enemy. man, you'll grow rich with the rewards offered on nine planets for his capture." "you can have the reward," oridin said. "take him away. he's a nuisance." they found caddo in the lounge of oridin's house chewing on a book of logarithms. his mind was gone. he could only babble figures. his fingers twitched with cramps from writing with a pencil and punching the keys of the calculating machine. every spark of vitality had been taken from his body. the batteries of his force armor had burned out. "what's the matter with him?" the captain asked. "he wanted too much," oridin replied. "i gave him a simple little formula for success, but the formula ceases to be simple as the definition for success grows more demanding. had he sought perfection, caddo would have seen that even this was unrecognizable, although the certainty was only halfway to infinity--" "sorry, mr. oridin, but i'm not a mathematician," the captain said. "there's nothing difficult in the formula. it proves that certainty is unrecognizable. you'll have to admit that a goal, to be reached has to follow a path and that path is determined by two points. the beginning is one and the second one makes the ultimate objective certain. therefore the second point is certainty. but certainty is unrecognizable--" oridin brought forth his formula and allowed the captain to read it. the patrol officer blinked his eyes and scratched his head. oridin wrote his formula out: j = (a + 1) times infinity/2 "_j_ is certainty, _a_ our starting point and 1 is unity, or perfection," oridin explained. "our starting point is close to zero, but not zero. but for convenience we'll say that it's a fraction so close that we can call it zero. then certainty, _j_, is one-half of infinity, which you'll have to agree does not approach infinity and may be well within the realm of human comprehension, although we will not recognize perfection because we do not know what number is halfway to infinity. caddo overlooked the fact that he went further and further into the transinfinite with each number he added to his equation, for there are an infinity of numbers between any two whole numbers and any two fractions and their sum is always infinity." the patrol captain already was muttering to himself and oridin hurried him out of the house and into the patrol ship with his prisoner. after the space craft had gone, oridin returned to his living quarters and replaced his formula in the unlocked safe. he cleaned the litter made by caddo and sat down. once again, oridin was a recluse and he would remain so until someone else had a dream of conquering the universe. 585 nypl research libraries 3 3433 07587375 6 the hermit doctor of gaya i•a•r• wylie fr wijhe f 1 r l d ons shetistine a mad whirl of sound and colour. "do you mind?" he said. "can you face it?" drawn by william j. shettsline. (see page 266) the hermit dun gaya a love story 1. a. 4 the hermit doctor of gaya a love story of modern india by i. a. r. wylie author of "the native born," etc. "this kiss to the whole world" beethoven's ninth symphony g. p. putnam's sons new york and london the knickerbocker press x 1916 the new york public library 388214a astor, lenox and tilden foundations r 1928 new work l copyright, 1916 by i. a. r. wylie second printing the knickerbocker press, new york 1 contents book i chapter page i. the story of kurnavati i ii.—tristram the hermit • 14 iii. tristram becomes father-confessor 26 iv. the interlopers 42 v. a vision of the backwater . 59 vi.—broken sanctuary 71 vii.-anne boucicault explains 84 viii. the two listeners ix.-lalloo, the money-lender. x.-an encounter ioi • iii 127 xi.-inferno 143 xii.—in which fortune pleases to jest • 149 xiii.-crossed swords xiv. tristram chooses his road. xv. the weavers 167 186 206 xvi.-a meredith to the rescue . iii 217 ansfer from c. o. sep 1928 iv contents chapter xvii. mrs. smithers does accounts xviii.-the feast of siva page 240 · 257 book ii i.-mrs. compton stands firm. 294 ii.-a home-coming 310 iii.-mrs. boucicault calls the tune 327 iv. anne makes a discovery 347 v. crisis. 366 vi. "of your blood" 384 vii. the price paid viii. return 398 413 ix. for the last time · 425 x.-anne chooses xi.-freedom 446 • 465 xii. the meeting of the ways 477 xiii. to gaya! xiv. resurrection xv. the snake-god xvi.-towards morning • 503 513 • 535 • 547 the hermit doctor of gaya 2 the story of kurnavati living. they sat quite still, their skins shining darkly like polished bronze, their eyes blinking at the firelight. only the headman of the village moved, stroking his fierce grey beard with a shrivelled hand. "those were the great days!" he muttered. "the great days!" the silence lingered. the englishman, whose long, white-clad body linked the circle, shifted his position. he lay stretched out with a lazy, unconscious grace, his head supported on his arm, his eyes lifted to the overhanging branches of the peepul tree, whose long, pointed leaves fretted the outskirts of the light and sheltered the solemn, battered effigy of the village god like the dome of a temple. a suddenly awakened night-breeze stirred them to a mysterious murmur. they rustled tremulously and secretly together, and the clear cold fire of a star burnt amidst their shifting shadows. beyond and beneath their whispering there were other sounds. a night-owl hooted, a herd of excited, lithe-limbed monkeys scrambled noisily in the darkness overhead, chattered a moment, and were mischievously still. from the distance came the long, hungry wail of a pariah dog, hunting amidst the village garbage. these discords dropped into the night's silence, breaking its placid surface into widening circles and died away. the peepul leaves shivered and sank for an instant into grave meditation on their late communings, and through the deepened quiet there poured the distant, monotonous song of running water. it was a song based on one deep organ note, the primæval note of creation, and never changed. it rose up out of the earth and filled the darkness the hermit doctor of gaya book i chapter i the story of kurnavati "thus it came about that, for her child's sake, the rani kurnavati saved herself from the burning pyre and called together the flower of the rajputs to defend chitore and their king from the sword of bahadur shah." the speaker's voice had not lifted from its brooding quiet. but now the quiet had become a living thing repressed, a passion disciplined, an echo dimmed with its passage from the by-gone years, but vibrant and splendid still with the clash of chivalrous steel. the village story-teller gazed into the firelight and was silent. swift, soft-footed shadows veiled the lower half of his face, but his eyes smouldered and burnt up as they followed their visions among the flames. he was young. his lithe, scantily-clad body was bent forward and his slender arms were clasped loosely about his knees. compared with him, the broken circle of listeners seemed half i 2 the story of kurnavati living. they sat quite still, their skins shining darkly like polished bronze, their eyes blinking at the firelight. only the headman of the village moved, stroking his fierce grey beard with a shrivelled hand. "those were the great days!" he muttered. "the great days!" the silence lingered. the englishman, whose long, white-clad body linked the circle, shifted his position. he lay stretched out with a lazy, unconscious grace, his head supported on his arm, his eyes lifted to the overhanging branches of the peepul tree, whose long, pointed leaves fretted the outskirts of the light and sheltered the solemn, battered effigy of the village god like the dome of a temple. a suddenly awakened night-breeze stirred them to a mysterious murmur. they rustled tremulously and secretly together, and the clear cold fire of a star burnt amidst their shifting shadows. beyond and beneath their whispering there were other sounds. a night-owl hooted, a herd of excited, lithe-limbed monkeys scrambled noisily in the darkness overhead, chattered a moment, and were mischievously still. from the distance came the long, hungry wail of a pariah dog, hunting amidst the village garbage. these discords dropped into the night's silence, breaking its placid surface into widening circles and died away. the peepul leaves shivered and sank for an instant into grave meditation on their late communings, and through the deepened quiet there poured the distant, monotonous song of running water. it was a song based on one deep organ note, the primæval note of creation, and never changed. it rose up out of the earth and filled the darkness the story of kurnavati 3 and mingled with the silence, so that they became one. the listeners heard it and did not know they heard it. it was the background on which the night sounds of living things painted themselves in vivid colours. the englishman turned his face to the firelight. "go on, ayeshi," he said, with drowsy content. "you can't leave the beautiful rani in mid-air like that, you know. go on." "yes, sahib." the young man pushed back the short black curls from his neck and resumed his old attitude of watchfulness on the flames. but his voice sounded louder, clearer: "thereafter, sahib, the need of chitore grew desperate. in vain, the bravest of her nobles sallied forth-the armies of bahadur shah swept over them as the tempest sweeps over the ripe corn, and hour by hour the ring about the city tightened till the very gates shivered beneath the enemy's blows. it was then the rani bethought her of a custom of her people. with her own hands she made a bracelet of silver thread bound with tinsel and gay with seven coloured tassels, and, choosing a trusty servant, sent him forth out of chitore to seek humayun, the great moghul, whose conquering sword even then swept bengal like a flail. by a miracle, the messenger escaped and came before humayun and laid the bracelet in his hands, saying: "this is the gift of kurnavati, rani of chitore.' "and humayun looked at the messenger and asked: "and if humayun accept the gift of the rani kurnavati, what then?' 4 the story of kurnavati "then shall humayun be her bracelet-bound brother, and she shall be his dear and virtuous sister.' "and humayun looked at the gift and asked: "and if i become bracelet-bound brother to the rani kurnavati, what then?' "then will the rani of chitore call upon her dear and reverend brother, according to the bond, to succour her from the cruel vengeance of bahadur shah.' "and because the heart of humayun loved all chivalrous and noble deeds better than conquest and rich spoils, he took the bracelet and bound it about his wrist, saying: 'behold, according to the custom, humayun accepts the bond, and from henceforth the rani kurnavati is his dear and virtuous sister, and his sword shall not rest in its scabbard till she is free from the threat of her oppressors.' and he set forth with all his horsemen and rode night and day till the walls of chitore were in sight." "well-?" the story-teller had ceased speaking and the englishman rolled over, cupping his square chin in his big hands. "go on, ayeshi.” "he came too late." the metal had gone from the boy's voice, and the firelight awoke no answering gleam in his watching eyes. "the rani kurnavati and three thousand of her women had sought honour on the funeral pyre. the grey smoke from their ashes greeted humayun as he passed through the battered gates. the walls of chitore lay in ruins and without them slept their defenders, clad in saffron bridal robes, their faces lifted to the sun, their broken swords red with the death of their enemies. and humayun, seeing them, wept." . the story of kurnavati 5 ayeshi's voice trailed off into silence. the headman nodded to himself, showing his white teeth. "those were the great days," he muttered, "when men died fighting and the women followed their husbands to the" he coughed and glanced at the englishman. "but ours are the days of the sahib," he added, with great piety, "full of wisdom and peace." "just so." the sahib rose to his feet, stretching himself. "and, talking of wives, buddhoos, if thou dost not give that luckless female of thine the medicine i ordered, instead of offering it up to the village devil, i will mix thee such a compound as will make thy particular hereafter seem paradise by comparison. moreover, i will complain to the burra sahib and thou wilt be most certainly degraded and become the mock of lalloo, thy dear and loving brotherin-law. moreover, if i again find thirty of thy needy brethren herded together in thy cow-stall, i will assuredly dose thy whole family. hast thou understood?" the headman salaamed solemnly. "the dakktar sahib's wishes are law," he declared fervently. "i should like to think so. and now, ayeshi, it is time. we have ten miles to go before morning. give me my medicine-chest. i see that buddhoos has a longing eye on it. come, wickie!" the last order was in english, and a small, curious shape uncurled itself from the shadows at the base of the tree and trotted into the firelight. the most that could be said of it with any truth was, that it had been intended for a dog. many generations back there had been an aberdeen in the 6 the story of kurnavati family, and since then the peculiarities of that particular strain had been modified to an amazing degree by a series of mésalliances. in fact, all that remained of the aberdeen were a pair of bandy legs and a wistful, pseudo-innocent eye. nevertheless, it was evidently an object of veneration. the village elders made way for it, regarding it with gloomy apprehension as it leisurely stretched itself, yawned, and then, with the dignity which goes with conscious yet modest superiority, proceeded to follow the massive white figure of its master into the darkness. the headman salaamed again deeply and possibly thankfully. "a safe journey and return, sahib!" he called. the sahib's answer came back cheerily through the stillness. he looked back for an instant at the patch of firelight and the sharply cut silhouettes of moving figures, and then strode on, keeping well to the middle of the dusty roadway, his footsteps ringing out above the soft accompaniment of ayeshi's patter and the fussy tap-tap of wickie's unwieldy paws. he whistled cheerfully. so long as the sleeping, odoriferous mud-huts of the village bound them in on either hand, he clung tenaciously to his disjointed scrap of melody, but, as they came out at last into the open country, he broke off, sighing, and stood still, his arms outstretched, breathing in the freedom and untainted air with a thirsty, passionate gratitude. there was no moon. the luminous haze which poured out over the limitless space before them was a mysterious thing, born of itself without source, without body. its pallid, greenish clarity stretched in a ghostly sea between the story of kurnavati 7 the earth and the black, beacon-studded sky, distorting and magnifying, as still water distorts and magnifies the rocks and tangled seaweed at its bed. it lapped soundlessly against the cliff of rising jungle land to the right, and beneath its quiet surface the shadow of the village temple floated like a sunken island, its slender sikhara alone rising up into the darkness, a finger of warning and admonition. it was very still. the voice of the invisible, swift-flowing river had indeed grown louder, but it was a sound outside this world of shadows and phantoms. it beat against the protecting wall of dreams, unheeded yet ominous and threatening in its implacable reality. the two men crossed the path which encircled the village and made their way over the uneven ground towards the temple. as they drew nearer, the light seemed to recede, leaving the great roofless manderpam a shapeless ruin, whilst the sikhara faded into the black background of the jungle. the dakktar sahib whistled softly; a horse whinnied in answer, and the amazing wickie bounded forward as though recognizing an old acquaintance. the sahib laughed under his breath. · "we know each other, wickie, arabella and i," he said. "a wonderful animal that, ayeshi." "truly, a noble creature, sahib," ayeshi answered very gravely. a minute later they reached the carved gateway of the temple where two horses had been casually tethered. they stood deep in shadow, but the strange, unreal light which covered the plain filled the manderpam with its broken avenue of pillars, and threw into sharp relief the carved 8 the story of kurnavati gateway and the figure seated cross-legged and motionless beneath the arch. both men seemed to have expected the apparition. ayeshi knelt down before it and placed a bowl of milk, which he had been carefully carrying, within reach of the long, lifeless-looking arms. "for the god thou servest, o holy one," he said, and for a moment knelt there with his forehead pressed to the ground. the old mendicant seemed neither to have heard nor seen. he was almost naked. the bones started out of the shrivelled flesh, and the long, matted grey hair hung about his shoulders and mingled with the dishevelled beard, so that he seemed scarcely human, scarcely living. only for an instant his eyes, half hidden beneath the wild disorder, flashed over the kneeling figure, and then closed, shutting the last vestige of life behind blank lids. the dakktar sahib bent down and placed a coin in the upturned palms. "that also is for thy god, vahana," he said, with grave respect. receiving no answer, he turned away and untethered his horse, a quadruped which even the solemn shadow could not dignify. it must have stood over seventeen hands high and its shape was comically suggestive of a child's drawing-six none too steady lines representing legs, back, and neck. the dakktar sahib whispered to it tenderly and reassuringly: "only ten miles, arabella, on my word of honour, only ten miles. and you shall have all tomorrow. i know it's rotten bad luck, but then i have got to stick it, too-it's our confounded, glorious duty to stick it, arabella, and you wouldn't leave me in the the story of kurnavati 9 lurch, would you, old girl?" then came the crunch of sugar and the sound of arabella's affectionate nozzling in the region of coat pockets. the dakktar swung himself on to her lengthy back. "now, then, ayeshi; now then, wickie!" the three strange companions trotted out of the shadow, threading their way through the long, coarse grass in the direction of the river; but once the englishman turned in his saddle and looked back. by some atmospheric freak, the temple seemed to have drawn all the green phosphorescent haze into its ruined self and hung like a great, dimly lit lamp against the wall of jungle. the dakktar sahib lingered a moment. "they must have dreamed wonderfully in those old days," he said, wistfully. "to have built that-think of it, ayeshi! to have given one's soul an abiding expression to wake the souls of other men thousands of years henceto bring a lump into the throat of some human being long after one's bones have crumbled to dust. well-wellhe broke off with a sigh. "and you believe that tonight the snake god will drink your milk, ayeshi?" 99 "he or his many brethren, sahib. he lies coiled about the branches of the highest tree in the jungle and on every branch of the forest another such as he keeps guard over his rest." "no man has ever seen him, ayeshi?" "no man dares set foot within the jungle, sahib, save vahana, and he is a sadhu, a holy man. he has sat before the temple for a hundred years, and none have seen him eat or heard him speak." io the story of kurnavati "you believe that, ayeshi?" the boy hesitated a moment, then answered gravely: "yes, sahib. my people have believed it." "your people? well-that's a good reason-one of our pet reasons for our pet beliefs, if you did but know it, ayeshi. there's not such a gulf between east and west, after all." he rode on in silence, and then turned his head a little as though trying to distinguish his companion's features through the darkness. "who are your people, ayeshi-your father, your mother, your brothers? you have never spoken of them. are they dead?" "i do not know, sahib. i have never known father or mother or brethren." the dakktar sahib nodded to himself. "you are not like the other villagers," he said. "one feels it one doesn't talk in the same way to you. tell me, ayeshi, have you no ambitions?" "none but to serve you, sahib." the englishman threw back his head and laughed. "well, that's a poor sort of ambition. why, i might get knocked on the head any time-typhoid, cholera, enteric-i'm cheek by jowl with the lot of them half the days of my life. and then where would you be, ayeshi?" "i should follow you, sahib." "that sounds almost biblical. and what for, eh?" "because of this, sahib"suddenly and passionately, he discarded the english language which he used with ease and plunged into his own vernacular. "behold, sahib, there is the snake-bite on my arm, the wound which the story of kurnavati ii the sahib cleansed with his own lips. is that a thing to be forgotten? a life belongs to him who saves it." "pooh, nonsense!" the englishman leant over his saddle. "for the lord's sake, wickie, keep away from arabella's hoofs! are you a dog or an idiot? ayeshi, you don't understand. that sort of thing's my job-there, now, you've nearly run us into the river with your silly chatterthey drew rein abruptly. it was now close on the dawn, and the darkness had become intensified. the stars seemed colder and dimmer. where they stood, their horses snuffing nervously at the unknown, they could hear the steady hurrying of the water at their feet, but they could see nothing. the englishman patted the neck of his steed with a comforting hand. "in a year or two, there will be a bridge across," he said. "then mother ganges won't have such terrors for us." "mother ganges demands toll of those who curb her," ayeshi answered solemnly. "you mean, that no bridge could be built here?" "i mean, sahib, that the price will be a heavy one." the dakktar sahib made no answer. suddenly he laughed, not as though amused, but with a vague embarrassment. "that was a fine story you told us tonight, ayeshi. i don't know what there was about it-something that made one tingle from head to foot. i've been thinking of it on and off all the time. those were days when men did mad, splendid things-bad too-worse than anything we do, but also finer. sometimes one wishes-but it's no good 12 the story of kurnavati wishing. the rani kurnavati and her bracelet are gone for ever." 1 "humayun also is dead," ayeshi said, in his grave way. "you mean? yes, that's true, too, i suppose. but oh lord"-he lifted himself in his saddle with a movement of joyous, fiery vitality-"though i'm no great moghul, worse luck, still, if a woman sent me her bracelet and she were being murdered on the top of mount ararat, i'd" "the sahib would come in time," ayeshi interposed gently and significantly. the englishman dropped back in his saddle. "well, anyhow, arabella, wickie, and i would have a good shot at it," he said, gaily. he turned his horse's head eastwards and touched her gently to a trot. "but it's no good bragging. no one's going to make either of us bracelet brother. that's not for the like of us. and meanwhile, we've got eight miles to go and the dawn will be on us in an hour. i wish we'd got the seven-league boots handy. but you don't know the story of the sevenleague boots, do you, ayeshi? i'll tell it you as we go along. a story for a story, eh?" "yes, sahib." they trotted off along the bank of the river, arabella slightly in advance, wickie skirmishing skilfully on either hand, the dakktar sahib's voice mingling with the song of the waters as he told the story of the seven-league boots. behind them the temple had sunk into profound shadow. the story of kurnavati 13 vahana, the mendicant, still sat beneath the archway. he took the bowl of milk and drained it thirstily. the coin he spat on with a venomous hatred and sent spinning into the darkness. chapter ii tristram the hermit "of course, all that one can do is to hope," mrs. compton said, ruffling up her dark, curly hair with a distracted hand. "i don't know who it was talked about hope springing eternal in the something-something, but he must have lived in gaya. if we hadn't hope and pegs in this withered desert"" "my dear," her husband interposed, "in the first place, gaya isn't a desert. it's the garden of india. in the second place, no lady talks about pegs-certainly not in the tone of devout thankfulness which you have used. pegs is are masculine. they uphold us in our strenuous hours, of which you women appear to know nothing; they soothe our overwrought nerves and prepare the way for a liverish old age in cheltenham. praise be to allah!" mrs. compton sighed and surveyed the curtain which she had been artistically draping. her manner, like her whole wiry, restless personality, expressed a good-tempered irascibility. "anyhow, they keep you human and grant us luckless females a lucid interval in which we can call our souls our what you men would be like if you didn't have your own. 14 tristram the hermit 15 drinks and your tubs and all your other multitudinous creature comforts-well, it doesn't stand thinking about. archie, do you like the curtain tied up with a bow oroh, of course, it's no use asking you, you materialistic lump." she turned from the long, lean figure sprawling on the wicker chair by the verandah window and appealed to the second member of her audience. "mr. meredith, you're a clergyman, you ought to have a soul. do you like bows or don't you?" meredith looked up with a faint smile on his grave face. "i like bows, mrs. compton. i hope it's a good sign of my artistic and spiritual development?" "yes, it is. i like bows myself. oh, dear" she stopped suddenly. "but supposing she's a horror! supposing she paints and smothers herself in diamonds, and gets hilarious at dinner, and has a shrill voice! goodness knows, i don't boast about our morals, but we're immoral in our own conventional way, so that it becomes almost respectable, and anything else would shock us frightfully. you know, i think we're running an awful risk." captain compton guffawed cheerfully, and the smile still lingered in owen meredith's pleasant eyes. "i shouldn't worry, my dear lady," he recommended. "after all, some of them are the last thing in respectability. it belongs to their profession. they're bound to be physically perfect, and physical perfection goes with morality. besides, i understand that there can be genius in that sort of thing, and that she's a genius." "well, genius doesn't go with respectablity, anyhow," 16 tristram the hermit mary compton retorted. "a professional dancer and a guest of the rajah's! what can one hope for?” meredith compressed his lips and passed his hand over his black hair with a movement that somehow or other revealed the anglican. a look of what might have been habitual anxiety settled on his square, blunt features, and he found no answer.. captain compton got up, stretching himself. "the rajah's the best guarantee we could have," he said lazily. "he's a harmless type of the little degenerate princeling who apes the european and lives in a holy terror of doing the wrong thing. he wouldn't set gaya by the ears for untold gold. i know just what's happened. he saw mlle. fersen dance and he sent her a bouquetvery respectfully-and gave a supper-party in her honour -also very respectable and assured her of a warm, respectable welcome in gaya should she ever visit india. well, she's come as why shouldn't she?-and he's trying to do the handsome and the respectable at the same time. you don't suppose old armstrong would have written about her if everything wasn't quite all right." he pulled out his cigarette case and looked round helplessly for the matches. "my dear, you will find that she is not only a perfect lady, but that our ways will shock her into fits, and that we shall have to live up to her." mrs. compton gave him the matches with the air of a nurse tending a peculiarly incapable child. "you disappoint me horribly," she said, and went out on the verandah. a minute later she called the two men after her and pointed an indignant finger in the direction tristram the hermit 17 of the highway. "look at that, archie! how do you suppose anybody's going to respect us with that sort of thing running about! it's positively unpatriotic. it's a blow at the very foundations of the empire!" "why, it's the old hermit," compton interrupted, soothingly. "don't worry about him. if there were a few more hermits-bless the man! what's he doing? ahoy, tristram, ahoy there!" in answer to the shouted welcome, the little procession which had aroused mrs. compton's ire turned in at the compound gates. the dakktar sahib came first. he wore a duck suit with leggings, and carried his pith helmet in both hands as though it were a bowl full of priceless liquid. in its place, a loud bandanna handkerchief offered a slight protection to his head and neck. behind him, at her untrammelled leisure, came arabella, her reins trailing, her nose almost on the ground, her legs obviously wavering under the burden of her protruding ribs. behind her again, in a cloud of sulky dust, waddled wickie, forlorn and spiritless. the three halted at the steps of the verandah, and the dakktar sahib sat down on the first step without ceremony. "i'm done," he said. mrs. compton almost snorted at him. "i should think so! what on earth were you walking for, you impossible person? what is the use of having a horse-if you call that object a horse-if you don't ride?" "arabella's dead beat," he explained simply. he put his pith helmet between his knees and stared down into its depths as though something hidden there interested him. 18 tristram the hermit "i know she's no beauty," he went on earnestly. "but she's an awful brick. never done me or any one a bad turn in her life. can't say that of myself. and just because i paid fourteen quid for her, i don't see why i should put upon her. i suppose we three couldn't have a drink, could we?" compton shook his head. he came and sat down on the step beside the big, travel-stained figure and looked cooler and more immaculate by contrast. "afraid not. if you weren't so delightfully absentminded, hermit, you would know perfectly well that we're not at home. don't you recognize the old dak-bungalow when you see it?" tristram turned and looked about him rather blankly. at that moment mrs. compton, who was feeling unjustifiably irritable, thought he was quite the ugliest man she had ever set eyes on. "no to tell you the truth, i was too dead to notice. i just tottered in. what's happened? the old place looks as though it had had its face washed. who are you expecting?" "ever heard of sigrid fersen?" tristram returned rather suddenly to the contemplation of the mysterious contents of his helmet. "yes-on my last leave home. i saw her dance the night before i sailed." "well, she's coming here-world tour or something. the rajah invited her to gaya, and armstrong gave us a hint to do the hospitable. mary is all on the qui vive, hoping she'll do the high kick at a vice-regal function or something." tristram the hermit 19 tristram made no answer, and his silence was at once irritating and final. he seemed scarcely to have heard. mrs. compton, watching his profile with dark, exasperated eyes, suddenly softened. "you do look fagged!" she exclaimed impulsively. "has it been a bad time, hermit?" he looked up at her. "pretty bad. i haven't seen a white face for two months or slept in the same quarters for two nights running. there's any amount of trouble brewing out there in the villages. it's the drought-and the poor beggars can't get the hang of our notions. anything might develop. i'm going back to heerut tonight. i came along only to get fresh medical supplies. i left ayeshi at the last village. he's a gem." meredith, who had been standing by the verandah railings, drew himself up, his swarthy face was brightened by his eyes, which were alight with a grave, sincere fervour. "yes, ayeshi's unusual," he said. "he's different from the rest. i've often noticed him. i wish we could get hold of him, tristram." "get hold of him?” "give him a chance. you know what i mean. it's that type of man we want. he ought to be encouraged to go ahead." "ayeshi's all right," tristram remarked slowly. "he's happy. and he's a sort of poet, you know. i'd leave him alone, if i were you." meredith laughed good-temperedly. "it's not my business to leave people alone," he said. 20 tristram the hermit there was a silence which unaccountably threatened to become strained. mrs. compton, wearied by her struggles with refractory curtains, drew a chair up to the steps of the verandah and sat down, ruffling her husband's sleek hair with an absent-minded affection. he bore the affliction patiently, his lazy blue eyes intent on the approach of a neat, slow-going dog-cart which had turned the bend of the high-road. "it's the boucicaults' turn-out," he said. "and little anne driving herself, too, by jove! i wonder what she wants round here?" "whatever it is, she must want it pretty badly," his wife remarked. "she hates driving-if the truth were told, i believe that pony terrifies her out of her life. poor little soul!" "no nerve," compton agreed. "broken long ago." meanwhile, with a lightness and agility that was unexpected in a man of his short, heavy build, owen meredith had swung himself over the verandah rails and walked down to meet the new-comer. the trio on the steps watched him in silence. then compton chuckled rather mirthlessly. "she'd make a first-rate parson's wife," he said. "if only" then he broke off and became suddenly businesslike and astonishingly keen. "tristram-stop fidgeting with that damned helmet of yours. i know you're dogtired, old chap, but i want you to go round to the boucicaults before you return to the wilds." tristram looked up. the tiredness had gone out of his face. 'anything wrong-i mean, worse than usual?" tristram the hermit 21 compton threw his half-finished cigarette at wickie. "you don't know what it's been like these last two months. the man's mad, tristram, or he's possessed of the devil. the whole regiment is suffering from c.b. and extra drill and stopped leave for nothing—nothing. i oughtn't to talk about it, i suppose, but something's got to be done. the men are getting nervy and out of hand, and no wonder. there are moments when i feel ready to lash out myself." "can't something be done? can't you get rid of him?" compton laughed shortly. "you know what happens to men who complain of their superior officers. besides, he's so devilishly efficient, and everything he does is done in cold blood. it's drink, of course, but it doesn't make him lose his head. it makes him deadly, hideously quiet. and it's not only the regiment, tristram-there's his wife. we hardly ever see her—and when we do-well, they say99 mrs. compton clenched her small brown fist and thumped her husband's shoulder in a burst of indignation. "they say he beats her," she said between clenched teeth. tristram got up as though he had been stung. "that's-that's damnable!" he stuttered. "that's just the word," mrs. compton acknowledged gratefully. she looked up at him and admitted to herself that, after all, he pleased her profoundly. at that moment he was not ugly in her eyes. in one way, she recognized him to be magnificent. she knew no other man with such shoulders or who carried his height and strength with so 22 tristram the hermit natural a grace. but now even his face pleased her, redbearded and unlovely though it was. in her quick, celtic way, she imagined a sculptor who, in an inspired mood, had modelled a masterpiece, incomplete, rough-hewn, yet vigorous with life and significance. she liked his blue eyes, which usually looked out on the world with a whimsical simplicity and now flared up, dangerously bright. "positively," said mrs. compton, "there are moments when i love you, hermit." archibald compton grimaced and pulled himself to his feet. "anyhow, after that brazen-faced declaration you might help us," he said. "you're a doctor. it's your business to interfere. couldn't you drop a hint at headquarters suggest long leave or something? do-there's a good fellow" tristram had no opportunity to reply, for anne boucicault and her companion were now within earshot. meredith walked at the wheel of her cart and was talking gaily, his face lifted to hers, and, freed for the moment from its habitual expression of fervid purpose, was almost boyish. she smiled down at him, and then, glancing up at the group at the verandah, the smile faded and she jerked the reins of her pony so that the animal came to an abrupt stand-still. "major tristram!" she exclaimed. "why, i didn't know you were back-i thought" she broke off, flushing to the brows. her incoherency and that quick change of colour added to her rather touching sweetness. she was not pretty. neither the dainty white frock nor the shady hat could help her to more than youth. but her tristram the hermit 23 youth was vivid and gracious. there was something, too, in her expression, in the look of the brown eyes, that had all the appeal, the wistfulness of an anxious, frightened child. there was nothing mature about her save her mouth, which was firm, even obstinate. major tristram came to her and gave her his big hand. "i'm back for only a few hours," he explained, “and then my victims have me again. but it's good to catch a glimpse of anything so fresh as yourself. isn't the sun ever going to wither you like other mortals?" the smile dawned shyly about the corners of her lips. "i don't know. i keep out of it as much as possible. i don't like it. i only came out this afternoon becauseshe hesitated and then added rather breathlessly: "i knew mrs. compton was here—and i'm anxious about mother." mary compton laid an impulsive brown hand on the white one which held the reins in its frail, ineffectual fingers. "well, here we all are, anyhow," she said, "and just dying to be useful. what's the trouble, dear?” "mother is ill," anne boucicault answered, with the same curious hesitancy. "i was frightened. major tristram, if only you could comehe did not wait for her to finish her appeal. he scrambled up on to the seat beside her, and took the reins from her hands. "you look after arabella and wickie, compton," he said, "and hand me up my helmet. no-not like that— for goodness' sake, be careful, man! thanks, that's better." "and i hope you're going to wear it," mrs. compton 24 tristram the hermit remarked, with asperity. "i suppose you don't want to arrive with a sunstroke or give mrs. boucicault a fit with that awful handkerchief?" tristram shook his head. "sorry, can't be done. it's occupied already. a patient of mine." he put his battered headgear between his knees and poked gingerly about the depths, producing, finally, amidst a confusion of straw and grass, a tiny bulbul. the little creature fluttered desperately, and then, as though there were something miraculous in the man's hand, lay still, a soft, bright-eyed ball of colour, and stared around it with an audacious contentment. "its wing's hurt," tristram explained. "wickie bit it. in point of fact, wickie and i aren't on speaking terms as a result. it's a subject we shall never agree upon." he soothed the little creature's ruffled plumage with a tender forefinger, and held it out for anne boucicault's inspection. she peered at it curiously and rather coldly. "it's very sweet," she said, "but wouldn't it be kinder to put it out of its misery?" "rather not. besides"-his eyes twinkled in meredith's direction-"it's not my business to put people out of their misery. and i'd rather keep this little chap alive than some men i know of. he's one of creation's topnotes. he's a poem all to himself. he wants to live and he's a right to live, and he's going to. his wing'll mend. i've mended dozens. it's an instinct-mending. i've got a baby cheetah with a broken paw at my diggins99 compton laughed hilariously at his wife's grim disapproval. tristram the hermit 25 "i don't believe you could drown a kitten," she said. "why on earth should i want to drown a kitten?" he put his protégé tenderly back in its impromptu nest. "i brought two tabbies from england, and there are a lot more the whole village looks after them. they believe they're a specially imported sort of devil, and take every opportunity to propitiate them with edible offerings. it's great!" now. mrs. compton looked helpless. "you beware of that man, anne," she said. "he's probably got a dyspeptic rattlesnake in one of his pockets. as to you, tristram tristram, i warn you that sooner or later you will get into serious trouble. you're a sentimentalist. there-go along. and, meanwhile, i'll let arabella eat the grass tidy, and that so-called dog shall have a bone. good luck to you!" "i'm awfully obliged," he said solemnly. "not a chicken bone, please. they stick in his throat." "if i followed my conscience, i should give him poison,' mrs. compton retorted, with her brows knitted over laughing eyes. she had, however, no opportunity to carry out her threat. as the dog-cart turned out of the compound gates the disgruntled wickie, who had been lying afar off, panting and disgraced, picked himself up, and, uttering a hoarse wail of indignation and despair, took to his bandy legs and rolled after the disappearing vehicle in a miniature storm of dust. chapter iii tristram becomes father-confessor so long as the gleaming, unsheltered roadway lasted, tristram remained silent. his eyes were swollen with fatigue, and the sun blinded him. through a silver shimmer of heat, he could see the undulating plain, yellow with the harvest, and his knowledge saw beyond that to the river and the rising jungle land, and the scattered hapless villages where his enemy awaited him. cool and beautiful, gaya lay above them, circling the hillside, the white walls of the bungalows sparkling amidst the dark green of the trees like the gems of a diadem. tristram and his companion watched it thirstily. as they trotted at last into an avenue of flowering mohwa trees, he drew rein and glanced down at the girl beside him. she was sitting very straight as though in defiance of the heat, her hands folded in front of her, her lips sternly composed. the youthful tears were not far off, yet, through a transient break in the future, he saw her as she would be years hence. and somehow the vision amused and touched him. it was as though the phenomenon reversed itself, and a sternfeatured, middle-aged woman had grown young before his eyes. 26 tristram becomes father-confessor 27 "you mustn't worry," he said gently. "i don't suppose it's anything serious. tell me about it. i don't want to worry her with questions." "it won't worry her." he saw how her hands trembled as she clasped them and unclasped them. "she wants to talk-it's terrible-that's why i was so anxiousi had to find some one who would listen-and-and soothe her. i really came for mr. meredith. she doesn't like him, i'm afraid, poor mother, but that's because she doesn't understand. he's so awfully good." "he's a fine fellow," tristram agreed. "and i thought he might help her," she went on, earnestly,--"might give her strength. trouble overwhelms her. she resents it. and she has nothing to fall back on-nothing to console her." tristram did not answer immediately. they were going uphill, and he gave the pony his head, letting him manage the ascent after his own fashion. 99 "it takes a lot to console a man when his machinery's "and one somehow does resent it. and then, i must say, if i had the toothache, i shouldn't want mr. meredith." out of order, he said at last. she gave a little nervous, unamused laugh. "you know quite well what i mean, major tristram." "yes, i do. and i'm wondering if, after all, meredith isn't the man you want. he and i both concentrate on humanity, but we do it from different points of view. i'm the man who looks after the house and sees that it's hygienic and watertight and all that. meredith puts in the furniture and the electric fittings and keeps them polished." 28 tristram becomes father-confessor he glanced whimsically at her puzzled face. "i mean just that the soul isn't my business," he added. she raised eager, trusting eyes to his. "i think it is, major tristram, i'm sure it is." "well, to tell you the truth, i think so too. i believe that the soul is the body and the body is the soul, and that one can't be healthy or unhealthy without affecting the other. but that's heresy, isn't it?" a waxen, beautiful blossom from an overhanging mangotree fell into her lap. mechanically she picked it up and tore it with her restless fingers. "it's not what we are taught to believe," she answered. "no. you see, i'm a pagan, miss boucicault. it's hereditary. my old mother-she's nearly eighty-she still totters up on to the mountain tops to say her prayers. as for me" he gave a contented chuckle-"you hear that little chap chirping inside my helmet? well, he's my consolation for every ache and sorrow i ever had―he and his like, and the trees and the stars and the flowers-even that mango blossom you're tearing up. to me they're just so many parts of god." "oh!"" she looked at the tattered flower in her lap and brushed it aside as though it suddenly frightened her. "i don't think that can be right. i'm sure you're not a pagan, anyhow, major. you couldn't be and do the things you do." they came out of the belt of shadow into the broad sunlight, and the blinding change covered his silence. a company of native infantry came up from a cross-road and swung past them amidst a cloud of slow-rising dust. the tristram becomes father-confessor 29 officers saluted tristram. for an instant they seemed to throw off their weary dejection and to become almost gay. but the men did not lift their eyes. their beards were white with dust and their faces set and sullen. they passed on, the beat of their feet sounding muffled and heavy on the palpitating quiet. "they look pretty bad," tristram commented. "i'm frightened of them," she returned quickly. "some of them mutinied last week, and father was nearly shot. i wake up every night and fancy i hear them firing on us." "they belong to a regiment that stuck to us through thick and thin in 1857," he answered. "it's not like them to turn against us." her lips tightened. "you can't trust any of them," she said. by this time they had reached the first large bungalow of the european quarter. it was at once a sombre, pretentious building, evidently newly done up, and as they passed, a man on horseback turned out of the compound. seeing anne boucicault, he saluted at once with a faintly exaggerated courtesy. the exaggeration matched the ultra-smartness of his english riding-clothes and the unenglish flashiness of his good looks. anne boucicault returned the salutation stiffly, not meeting his direct glance, which passed on with an unveiled curiosity to tristram. the latter urged the pony to a smarter trot as though something had irritated him. "that's a stranger, anyhow," he said. "two months brings changes even to gaya. i thought that place was deserted and haunted for all time." 30 tristram becomes father-confessor "mr. barclay has it now," she answered. "he came six weeks ago. i believe he trades with the native weavers or something. he's very rich." "he doesn't look like an englishman." "he's not not really. an eurasian. his mother was a native, and his father" she broke off. "he makes it a sort of half mystery. he just hints at things-i don't believe he knows himself. anyhow, we hate him and try to avoid him. it's awfully awkward." "i seemed to know his face," tristram said, half to himself. he heard her sigh, and the sigh roused him from his tired search after an elusive memory. "he doesn't bother you, does he?" he asked. she shook her head, but he saw her lips tremble with a new agitation. "not exactly-only it's all going to be so different. we were like a big family, weren't we, major tristram—all friends, all of the same set, and now this man has come, and then-you've heard, haven't you-about this woman, this dancer99 "mlle. fersen, you mean?". "that's what she calls herself." there was a chilly displeasure in her tone, which made her seem suddenly much older. "what does she want here? why does she come? she can't have anything in common with us. she may even be a foreigner-vulgar and horrid—” "i don't think she's like that," he interposed. she flashed round on him. "you know her, then?" "i've seen her-just once," he answered, slowly. tristram becomes father-confessor 31 "is she 99 she seemed to struggle with the question. "is she very beautiful, major tristram?" "no-i think not—not at all.” "that's worse then." and then quickly, passionately: "oh, i wish she wasn't coming! i don't know why the very thought of her frightens me. it's as though i knew she was going to bring trouble-a sort of presentiment"you're tired and anxious," he interrupted, and smiled down at her. "nothing will happen-or perhaps i'm sanguine because i shan't be there to witness the upheaval." "you're going into camp again?" "tonight." "for long?" "until i've got things straight.' 99 he happened to see her hands, and how they were tightly interlocked as though she were holding herself back. but her voice was quiet enough. "will you go on like that always, major tristram?" "until they push me on to the rubbish heap," he answered lightly. "it must be very, very lonely." he plunged his hand into his side-pocket and drew out a big bundle of letters. his blue eyes twinkled. "you'd better not waste sympathy on me, miss boucicault. look at these. i picked them up at the stationtwo by every mail. what do you think of that? and all from one woman!" "a woman?" she echoed, stupidly. "my old mother." he laughed with a boyish satisfaction. "we're the greatest pals on earth, she and i. 32 tristram becomes father-confessor a man couldn't be lonely with her in the background. we've got each other to live for." "but she's in england. how she must miss you!" he put the letters slowly back in his pocket. "yes. it's like a chronic pain. itself into the pattern of one's life. it hurts, but it weaves my mother's like that. my father was out here too, and they were often separated. she accepts it as inevitable." "but you your loneliness must be worse, out there in the wilderness." "it's not a wilderness, it's peopled with all kinds of things-all kinds of" he caught himself up. "and i have friends in all the villages, and my animals and my work." "i know your work is wonderful-the noblest work in the world." she spoke with a grave, youthful wisdom. "but the loneliness must remain all the same, major tristram." he was silent for a moment, and then shook himself as though freeing himself from a burden. "it can't be helped," he said. "no one can share it with me." "many people would be proud and glad to share it," she answered. she held her head high, and there was a fervent simplicity in her low voice which raised the impulsive words above suspicion. he turned to her with warm eyes. "thank you," he said. "i don't think it's true, and i shan't ever put it to the test-but it's good hearing." he turned the pony neatly into the gates of the bouci'caults' bungalow and drove up the shady avenue to the tristram becomes father-confessor 33 porch. a syce ran out to meet them and caught the reins, and a minute later anne boucicault had been lifted gently to the ground. "and we've chattered so much," tristram remarked shamefacedly, "that i don't even know your mother's symptoms." she made no answer, indeed did not seem to have heard him. she had lost all her vigour, all her faintly selfopinionated eagerness. as they stood together in the entrance hall she seemed just cowed and broken, a white, frightened little ghost. "my mother's in here," she said, scarcely above a whisper. she held the door open for him, and he went past her into a room so carefully darkened that for a moment he hesitated blindly on the threshold. then a sound guided him. it was the sound of some one crying. not passionately, not desperately, but with a terrible monotony. then one salient feature detached itself from the shadows-a wicker chair drawn up by the curtained window, and beside it, huddled together, with her face buried in her arms, the figure of a woman. she wore some · loose, dark-coloured garment, and was so small and still that she would have seemed scarcely living, but for the jerking sobs. tristram checked the girl's anxious movement and went forward alone. he knelt down by the piteous heap and put his hand on her arm, and remained thus for a full minute. he did not speak to her, and she seemed unconscious of his presence. the sobbing went on unbrokenly. then he picked her up quietly and effortlessly, and placed her in the chair, dexterously slipping a silk cushion behind her head. 3 34 tristram becomes father-confessor "mrs. boucicault!" she did not answer. were closed. her eyes her small, white face under the mop of fair hair, fast turning grey, was puckered like a child's. her little hands gripped the arms of her chair. from her place near the door, anne watched with a frightened wonder. "mrs. boucicault!" tristram repeated quietly. her eyes opened then. they were tearless and very bright. she stared straight ahead, her under-lip between her white teeth, and began to rock herself backwards and forwards. she was still sobbing. tristram knelt again and took one of her hands and held it between his own. she looked down then-first at her hand, as though it puzzled her, and then at him. suddenly, violently, she freed herself and tore open the heavily embroidered kimono. her shoulders were bare. on the right shoulder was a black swollen stain bigger than a man's hand. "look!" she said. anne boucicault caught her breath with a vague, vicarious shame. she saw that tristram had moved very slightly. his square jaws looked ugly against the dim light of the window. "get hot water and bandages," he commanded. "linen will do and ointment-anything greasy." as she slipped from the room he drew the kimono gently over the poor lacerated shoulder. "you've had a nasty accident, mrs. boucicault," he said, levelly. "it was no accident." her sobs had stopped. her voice sounded like the rasp of steel against steel. "he did it my husband. it's not the first time, major tristram. it won't be the last. he'll kill me-and he'll kill tristram becomes father-confessor 35 her." she nodded towards the door. the words poured from her as though released from a long restraint, but she was coldly, violently coherent. "yes-he'll kill her slowly, by inches. he'll break her. she'll go under fast. she's not like me i'm wiry-she's hard, but she'll snap. for all her prayers and her church and her god, she'll go under." something contemptuous and angry crept into her face. "anne's cowed already. and it's not only us. his men -they tried to shoot him. did you hear?" he nodded. "yes." her eyes blazed. "oh, i wish to god they'd done it!" she burst out, from between clenched teeth. "oh, why didn't they? he's goaded them enough. one of these days they'll murder us all for his sake. he's a devil. he's made life a hell. he likes to make suffering. he likes to see us wince. oh, if he were only dead!" suddenly the tense mask of hatred broke up into piteous lines of helpless misery. two great tears rolled unheeded down her white cheeks. "anne talked about bearing our cross, and prayer, and god's will," she went on chokingly. "but i want to be happy, major tristram, i want to be happy." "you have an absolute right to happiness," he answered. "you've got to be happy, mrs. boucicault. i'm going to see to it." she dropped back wearily among her cushions. her grey eyes, now pale and faded-looking, rested on his face with a childish questioning. "you talk as though-as though you could." 36 tristram becomes father-confessor " "well, i can do something-i promise you. close your eyes." she closed them at once, and he took his handkerchief and brushed the tears from her cheeks. then he resumed his kneeling position, her hand in his, soothing it much as he had soothed the frightened, broken-winged bird. once she sighed deeply, as if released from some stifling weight, and thereafter her breathing sounded quiet and regular. by the time anne boucicault returned, her mother had dropped into a heavy sleep. major tristram got up noiselessly, and motioned the girl to follow him. his movements were curiously light and noiseless, and brought no shadow of change on the sleeper's face. "it's better that she should sleep," he said quietly. "i shall come in again tonight before i leave. i doubt if she wakes before then." they went out together. on the mat the ubiquitous wickie lay extended in a state of dusty misery. he rolled over as tristram appeared, displaying much humility and a blood-stained paw. tristram picked him up and hugged him. "you're not a dog-you're an ass, wickie," he declared. "and i'll wager you consider yourself a martyr into the bargain, you assassin of innocent bulbuls. what do you suppose i'm going to do with you-carry you, i suppose?" he turned a wry, laughing face to his companion. "well, i'll be off now, anyhow," he said. "you'll see me tonight. good-bye till then-and don't worry her or yourself." tristram becomes father-confessor 37 she took his extended hand. "thank you. i thought it would be so terrible for any one to know how things are with us. i haven't minded you a bit." "i'm awfully glad." he took up his impromptu bird's-nest from its place of safety in an empty fern-pot. the contents chirped defiance and terror, and tristram looked up smiling. he saw then that anne boucicault's eyes were fixed on something beyond him, and that they were wide and stupid-looking with dread. he turned. a man stood in the sunlit verandah. against the golden background he bulked huge and threatening, his features and whatever expression they bore blotted out by shadow. the switch which he carried beat an irritable tattoo against his riding-boots. tristram nodded a greeting. "good evening, colonel." "good evening, major." he bowed satirically and crossed the threshold. "this is a pleasant surprise. i understood you were out camping." "i have been for the last two months. i am off again tonight." "then my daughter and i are indeed fortunate to catch this glimpse of you." he came farther into the shade, half turning to fling his helmet and whip on to a table. the light fell on his profile, revealing the livid skin, the brutal line of the jaw. "to what are we indebted, major?" "i came professionally," tristram answered. "on anne's behalf, i suppose?" "no, for mrs. boucicault." he scrutinized the elder 38 tristram becomes father-confessor man deliberately. "perhaps i could do something for you, colonel. you're not looking well. you ought to take a year's leave." colonel boucicault allowed a moment to elapse before he answered. he had the tensely vicious look of a hard drinker who is never drunk, and whose jangling nerves are always writhing under restraint. finally, he seemed to take a stronger hold over himself. he laughed out, shortly. "thanks, i'm very well. i'll last the regiment another year or two-to its infinite satisfaction, no doubt. to mrs. boucicault, your visit was kind but unnecessary. there's nothing wrong in that quarter but feminine hysteria." as "i don't think so," tristram returned. he had coloured slowly to the roots of his ruddy hair, but his voice was even quieter. "i take a serious view of the case. i have ordered mrs. boucicault an immediate return to england." there was another break. the two men eyed each other squarely. "that is an absurd proposition which i cannot sanction," boucicault said in the same tone of violent self-restraint. "i'm afraid you'll have to, colonel." the antagonism, whose note had sounded even in their greeting of each other, now rang out clearly. boucicault's big hands twitched at his sides. "surely, major, that is scarcely fitting language he began. "i don't care a damn for what's fitting," tristram broke in. "mrs. boucicault's going to england with anne. if she doesn't, i'll have you hounded out of the army even tristram becomes father-confessor 39 if i get hounded out myself in the doing of it. that's my bargain." "by god, major———— boucicault took a step nearer. by reason of his heavy build, he seemed to tower over the younger man. his eyes were bloodshot in their inflamed rims; his whole body quivered. "you'd better get out of here," he stammered thickly. "and take my advicekeep clear of this place-keep out of my way." "thanks." tristram tucked wickie more securely under one arm. "i'll be round this evening," he added. he ignored the threatening gesture, and went leisurely down the steps and along the drive. at the gates he stopped, drawing his breath with a quick, deep relief. across the roadway, the stems of the trees stood out black and straight as the pillars of a great temple, whose red-gold lamp had been lowered from the dome and now sank swiftly into an extinguishing pool of shadow. a breeze rustled coolly overhead, brushing away the sweet, heavy incense of many flowers and bringing the first warning of nightfall. a belated finch fluttered amidst the dense foliage, and then all was still again. tristram remained motionless, apparently plunged in his own thoughts, for he started when a hand touched his arm and turned almost angrily. anne boucicault stood beside him. she was breathless, her lips were parted, and the wind had blown the dark, curly hair from her white forehead, adding impulse and eagerness to her staid girlishness. "i had to come," she panted, "to-to thank you. and then you mustn't keep your promise. you mustn't come-it isn't safe40 tristram becomes father-confessor he shook his head. his eyes, after the first glance, had gone back to the fading light. “i shouldn't hurt your father," he said, gravely. "but you!" she exclaimed. "no one knows what he might do to you." "i don't think that matters," he returned, still in the same rather absent tone. "anyway, if he's mad, he's not a fool. you mustn't worry." she lingered. her hand rested tremblingly on his arm. "and i want to thank you, major tristram. you've helped poor mother-and i was so proud. no one's ever faced him like that. i wishshe faltered. "if we could only do something for you"" "" he was silent for a moment, then, as though her words only reached him gradually, he turned with a quick smile. "you can. take wickie in as a boarder, will you? he's lame, and my hands are full already. i couldn't take him with me. ayeshi could fetch him in a week or two. would you mind?" "i'd love to have him." she took the unwieldy, protesting mongrel, and held him rather clumsily in her arms. "and your little bird?" she asked. "no, he'll want special medical treatment. thanks awfully, all the same." he bent and patted wickie's black snout with an apologetic gentleness. "don't fret your heart out, old chap. it's your own fault-and ayeshi shall come for you, upon my honour he shall." "i'll take care of him," anne said. "i know you will." "good-bye, major tristram." the sunlight was in her tristram becomes father-confessor 4i eyes, and they were very bright. the colour in her cheeks deepened. "and god bless you," she added, timidly but very seriously. he smiled down at her. "and you and wickie and everybody," he said. "i'm sure he does." he strode off, and at the bend of the road turned and waved. but long after he had disappeared, she stood there gazing into the dusk, the unhappy wickie pressed tightly against her breast. chapter iv the interlopers rajah rasaldu was wonderfully, if not impressively, european. he wore a frock-coat and grey trousers, english in intention, french in execution. they were almost too perfect. the native, brightly hued turban, an unwilling concession, as he admitted, to local prejudice, came as a rather startling finale, though it suited him better than his europeanism. he was a short, unmuscular little man, built in circles rather than in straight lines, and a determined course of parisian good-living had added seriously to a natural tendency to embonpoint. his manner, even in sitting still, was restless and fussy. he had, in fact, neither the inscrutable dignity of the native nor the self-assured ease of the race he aped. "when i look at you, mademoiselle," he was saying, earnestly, "i forget that i am in this dreadful country, and i imagine myself back to london. i see myself in the darkened box, and you in all the brightness. i hear the music and the roar of applause. i feel at home-almost happy." he stared down at his round, soft hands as though he were rather pleased with their severe lack of adornment, and sighed. the woman he addressed did not look at 42. the interlopers 43 him. she was watching the little groups of white-clad figures dotted about the garden, with her head turned slightly away from him. next her, mary compton and the judge's wife were talking with the lazy earnestness engendered by tea and the cool shade of a flowering mango. "but this is your country," sigrid fersen said. "you are surely happiest here." he shrugged his shoulders. "i was born here. the government has put me in a position of trust, and it is my duty to be at my post from time to time. but my heart is with you-with the west and western civilization. and of all that, mademoiselle, you are the personification." she laughed a little, as though secretly amused. "tell me your impressions of paris, rajah," she said. he told her. from time to time his brown, dissipated eyes shot irritable glances at the figure seated immediately behind his hostess. it was perhaps a somewhat startling figure, and though gaya approved of companions and chaperons, and had indeed heaved a sigh of relief over mrs. smithers's existence, it had none the less been considerably startled by her personality. she was well past middle age, and, in spite of the considerable heat, was dressed severely in black grenadine, and wore a mob-cap on a remarkably fine head of white hair, which she occasionally patted with a nervous hand. if it is true all human beings bear a resemblance to some animal, then mrs. smithers might easily have been associated with a bull-dog of exceedingly determined character. her face was settled in wrinkles of challenging tenacity, but she never moved and 44 the interlopers never changed her expression. she sat there, bolt upright, and only her roving eyes betrayed the fact that she was alive. they expressed also the bitterest and most annihilating disapproval of everything existent. mrs. compton accepted her third cup of tea from an engagingly youthful subaltern and went on talking. "of course he's mad," she was saying. "he hates tristram worse than any one living, which is saying a lot. they had an awful row over mrs. boucicault just before tristram went away, and now boucicault is taking his turn. he refuses to forward tristram's appeal for helpsays the whole thing's a scare, and that tristram is simply fussing for his own glorification. but it isn't true. ayeshi came to my husband last night and told him. it's cholera -oh, my dear susan, don't jump like that! heerut's fifteen miles away, and we've the river between us, and gaya's healthy when everything else is riddled. besides, tristram has got the thing in hand. he hasn't slept for four days. ayeshi said he didn't look human. some of the natives went crazy with fright and got out of hand. but tristram managed them-single-handed, my dear, and with not so much as a revolver. ayeshi talked about him as though he were the tenth avatar, or whatever they call it. of course, he'll do that sort of thing once too often. c'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la guerre. but i love that man. i tell archie once a day at least, and he's getting quite tired about it" "of whom are you talking, mrs. compton?" mrs. compton started, and the rajah, who had been expatiating on french genius as revealed in the bal du c the interlopers 45 moulin rouge, went on for a minute, carried forward by his own momentum. then he stopped and dropped into a silence, which would have been sulky in any one less anxious to appear civilized. as for mrs. compton, the question had come with such self-assured, if quiet authority, that she felt certain that, as a woman on her own ground, she ought to take offence. in fact, all gaya, as represented in the old dak-bungalow's garden, was in much the same position. without performing the high kick at the club dinner or otherwise living up to the conventional reputation of her class, the newcomer had sailed serenely across all their unwritten laws, and not only had gaya not been outraged, but it had been secretly delighted. and it was ashamed of itself for being delighted. mrs. compton was ashamed of herself ashamed that she, the untamable spirit of the station who had insulted colonel boucicault to his face should sit there and meet this woman with a smile of propitiating amiability. "major tristram," she said. "he belongs to the medical service. you haven't met him yet, and i don't suppose any of us will see him for some time. he's fighting the cholera in one of the native villages." sigrid fersen nodded thoughtfully. then she got up. "i heard you say just now that you were interested in old china," she said, abruptly. "i have a piece in the drawing-room which i should like you to see. wiil you come?" "i should be delighted" "your guests, mademoiselle," rasaldû murmured. but his protest passed unheeded, and mrs. compton got 46 the interlopers up and left the judge's wife without a word of apology. mrs. smithers had risen with equal promptitude and brought up the rear. they crossed the garden to the bungalow, and the little parties grouped lazily in the vicinity of the tea-tables became silent, and remained silent until sigrid fersen had disappeared. then they went on talking. very few of them realized that they had ever stopped, much less that they had been staring with the naïve directness of children. they certainly made no comment. only jim radcliffe, the newly joined subaltern, who had the inexhaustible restlessness of a fox-terrier puppy, became quiet to the point of thoughtfulness. "by jove, did you see her walk?" he said to mrs. brabazone. but the latter made no reply, being in a state of dudgeon and not inclined to appreciation. meantime, mary compton had become aware of a profound and very mysterious change in her own psychology. as she crossed the threshold of the darkened drawing-room she perceived that every earnest, painstaking effort of hers to make the place habitable and presentable had suffered a ruthless upheaval. the hours of patient questioning which she had spent on the to-be or not-to-be of the curtain bows had been so many hours wasted. yet her fiery celtic susceptibilities remained unruffled. she admitted at once that the changes were improvements,—small but effective strokes of genius. moreover, various new items had been introduced—a piano procured from heaven alone knew where, a few rich embroideries, a vase or two, and a pale-tinted persian rug. she was busy cataloguing these the interlopers 47 items, when her quick eyes encountered mrs. smithers. mrs. smithers had seated herself promptly on the chair nearest the door, and assumed her former attitude of unbending severity and disapproval. her appearance somehow made a further reduction in mrs. compton's forces of self-assurance, and when her hostess, who had been busy with the contents of a carved chest, came back to her, she was overpowered by an unusual sense of almost fatuous helplessness. whatever this small woman meant to do, she would do. and therewith the fate of gaya seemed sealed. "there you recognize it, of course." mrs. compton forgot gaya and her own lost prestige. in the ten years of her married life, there was one passion for which she and the easy-going, hard-working archie had scraped and saved. it was a passion which was one day to find a fitting background in some english home, a place created almost daily afresh in their minds but always with the abiding features of spacious lawns and an orchard and stables, and within doors oak cupboards guarding the treasures of the hard years. but with all their savings and searchings, they had never possessed anything like this. "it's sèvres-of course-how beautiful! i'm almost afraid to touch it." "don't be. it's yours.' "mine!" mary compton gasped-whether audibly or not, she did not know. she felt that there was fresh cause for offence coming and that she had no adequate forces with which to meet it. "but, of course not"" 48 the interlopers "i bought it for you." mrs. compton nearly regained her usual briskness. "that's nonsense. we haven't known each other a week. and you must have bought that in europe." "yes-i did, years ago. but i bought it for you, all the same. i bought it for some one who would look at it and touch it as you did. and besides, i want you to have something of mine-i am selfish enough to wish to be remembered by those who have been kind to me as you have been. it was the rajah's invitation which brought me to gaya, but only a woman could have welcomed me. any one in my position makes enemies automatically, and without you i should have had to face a whole army of prejudices. but you paved the way-you made it possible to invite all these people without offending them— and this in spite of the fact that you thought you were probably introducing a firebrand." she laughed in her curious, reflective way. "and then it was your hands prepared this beautiful home for me," she added. mrs. compton crimsoned and swallowed the delicate morsel of brazen flattery with a ridiculous pleasure. she made a last effort, however, to retire to her first position of friendly reserve. "of course, we did what we could," she said. "gaya is rather proud of its hospitality. we wanted you to take back a good impression, mademoiselle a quick gesture interrupted her. "" "i'm not 'mademoiselle.' i'm english. my mother was a swede, and i took her maiden name because there never has been a great english dancer, and in england the interlopers 49 what hasn't been can't be. it's just one of the rajah's foibles to give everything a gallic touch. but i'm just miss fersen-or sigrid if you like." the celtic temperament works both ways. the only certain feature is its uncertainty. mrs. compton abandoned her offensive-defensive and with great dexterity managed to cling to the sèvres vase and kiss the giver on both cheeks without disaster. "i'd like it to be sigrid," she said warmly. "and my name's mary-and i'm going to take the sèvres because i want it badly, and because i like you and i shan't mind feeling horribly grateful. and i hope you'll make me your master of ceremonies, and our bungalow your headquarters. you will, won't you?" she thrilled under the touch of the cool, small hand on hers. "yes, i promise you. it's what i wanted. i shall need a friend. a great many people will hate me-men and women. i have seen it in the eyes of one woman already. and, besides that i want to get to know real human beings. all my life i have lived for and in the one thing. people have been shadows to me. now i need them. but they must be real-good, honest flesh and blood. not puppets." she sat down on the big divan drawn up against the wall and patted the seat beside her. "tell me about this major tristram," she said. and mrs. compton, whose rules of etiquette were gaya's social law, sat down and for half an hour talked about major tristram, whilst sigrid fersen's guests wandered unshepherded about her garden. 4 50 the interlopers at the end of the half-hour mrs. compton found her husband near the gates, disconsolate and alone, guarding the rather shabby little turn-out which they called a dogcart. he was in uniform, and had evidently been at some pains to escape notice. * "you said six o'clock and it's half-past," he commented, gloomily. "i shall be confoundedly late. what on earth have you been doing? and what's that you've got under your arm?" she chuckled to herself. "can't you recognize sèvres when you see it?" "by george-what a piece!" his eyes opened with a hungry appreciation. then he shook his head at her. "my dear girl, put it back! i knew we should come to this sooner or later-all collectors do. put it back before it's missed. think of the scandal. and a newcomer, too!" she broke into a half-pleased, half-ashamed laugh and wrapped the precious trophy in the protecting folds of a rug. "she gave it me yes, she did. and she calls me mary, and i call her sigrid, and we've kissed each other, and i've given her the run of our bungalow." she climbed up into the driver's seat and took the reins. "you know how i hate those sort of sudden familiarities, archie. but i've no explanation. have you?" "not one." "she isn't beautiful. i'm better-looking myself." "a dozen times, old girl." she smiled down upon him with a rather absent-minded graciousness. the interlopers 51 "i believe she's got electric wires instead of nerves and sinews," she said reflectively. "i felt them in her hand. it was like putting one's fingers into a steel glove covered with velvet. what bosh i'm talking. i believe i'm hypnotized. i shall go round and look up poor anne and restore my self-respect. mr. meredith told me she looked as though she was breaking her heart over something. of course, it's that brute! why aren't you men plucky enough to shoot him?" "my dear girl99 his wife cut short his protest by turning her pony out of the gates and up the broad avenue which led from the outlying dâk-bungalow to gaya proper. the steep hill, her new possession, and various rather confused speculations accounted for the fact that her pony promptly dropped to a walk and was allowed to proceed in a leisurely fashion, which culminated in an abrupt halt. mrs. compton awoke then. she felt vaguely annoyed with herself, and her annoyance changed to something like consternation when she perceived that the stoppage was not attributable either to the pony's disinclination or her own day-dreaming. a man stood at the animal's head and now came up to the step, his long, brown hand lifted to his topee in greeting. "i called to you, mrs. compton," he said, "but you didn't hear me, and i took the liberty of stopping you. i hope i'm forgiven." she stared down at him. her confusion of warm disjointed musings chilled instantly to her usual trenchant matter-of-factness. 52 the interlopers 1 "if you wanted to speak to me, mr. barclay-" she began. "i know i might have called formally. but i ran the risk either of being refused or landing into a crowd of people. i wanted to see you alone." he waited a moment. his hand rested firmly on the side of the cart, and she could not have driven on without going over him. she saw also the dogged set of his dark face and waited with an angry resignation. "you've just come from from mademoiselle fersen's at home, haven't you?" he asked. "yes." "i used to know her," he said, "that is to say, i was introduced at some big reception in england. she wouldn't remember me. that was in my undergrad days. i was at balliol, you know." mrs. compton's fine lips twitched satirically. she was not feeling charitable, and this man was offering her his credentials in a way that incited derision. he must have seen her expression, for his brown eyes, with their bluetinted whites, never left her face. "i want you to do me a favour," he burst out. "i want you to introduce me again, mrs. compton." her smile faded. she was thoroughly angry, but some other less definable emotion confused her indignation to the point of ineffectuality. "i'm sorry, mr. barclay, but i really haven't the right or the power to introduce any one to miss fersen without her permission." "i know that at least, your friends and acquaintances would be introduced naturally-" he broke off. the nostrils of his fine, aquiline nose distended, his whole face, the interlopers 53 handsome in line and profoundly brooding in its fundamental expression, was tense and strained-looking. he seemed like a man doggedly setting himself to a hated task. "may i be straightforward with you, mrs. compton?" "of course. why not?" "i know you are anxious to drive on-over me even," he said, with a flash from a smothered bitterness. "but you are the only person i feel i can speak to, and i mayn't get you alone again. look here, mrs. compton, i'm an englishman. my father was english-i was educated at an english university-i hold an english degree. i've got any amount of money. it seems to me i've got the right to demand-well, decent civility. so far i've been here two months-i've been out of things. of course, i don't belong to the military lot, and i haven't a government appointment--but it seems to me out here in an alien country-we english ought to hold together" was choking and breaking over his words like a man breathless with running, the fatal mincing accent betraying itself in his gathering excitement, and instinctively mrs. compton looked away from him. he was trembling, and somehow the sight filled her with an odd pity almost stronger than her repugnance. he "what do you want me to do, mr. barclay?" she asked. "after all-it's not much. if your husband would put me up for the polo club-i'm a good player, and i've got some of the finest ponies in india. gaya could beat any team you like with my ponies. your husband's popular -he could easily do it-if he wanted to" "i couldn't ask him," she interrupted hurriedly. "it's 54 the interlopers not my business. i hate backstair influence with husbands." she took refuge in a cowardly compromise. “you ought to speak to captain compton yourself." he laughed shortly. "that means you won't," he broke out suddenly and violently. "it's the touch of the tar brush that's worrying you, isn't it? yet you don't mind kowtowing to a fullblooded native. you'll have that dissipated degenerate rasaldû at all your feasts, though he's not even accepted by his own people. his grandfather was a village cow-herd, and the government set his people up in the place of the hereditary heirs because they were likely to be more tractable. you know all that, and yet you'd lick his boots, whilst i, with your own blood in my veinscaught himself up, smoothing his working features with a desperate effort. "look here, mrs. compton, i want to do the right thing. i want to serve my country loyally. but i've got to have a country-i've got to belong somewhere. otherwise" 99 he she tightened the reins, moving her pony's head round so that she could go forward without driving over him. "i'm sorry," she said, coldly. "i have no prejudices myself, but i also have no right to interfere with the prejudices of other people. you must make your own way. please let me pass99 the pony started under the cut of her whip, and barclay instantly jumped out of danger. he stood then in the middle of the dusty road, his hands clenched at his side, his cheeks wet. he was crying with the helpless passion of a child. the interlopers 55 meanwhile, the swift indian nightfall had risen up out of the plain to gaya's hilltops pouring its shadow army into the dâk-bungalow's neglected garden, veiling its rambling decay with an unfathomable, shapeless beauty. the rajah had been the last to leave, lingering clumsily and obsequiously to the limits of the law, but now even he had gone, and in the place of the voices and subdued laughter there was nothing but a flutter of a night-bird among the trees, the hushed, mysterious rustlings and whisperings of darkness. sigrid fersen had drawn her chair near to the verandah. a lamp burnt behind her, and she was reading intently in some old vellum-bound book. mrs. smithers sat opposite her, knitting a sock, which even now that the day's heat was over had a curiously smothering and woolly appearance. from time to time her faded, truculent blue eyes glanced across to the figure beneath the light, and their habitual expression of grim disapproval yielded to a wistful anxiety. for half an hour there had been no sound but the turning over of the thick leaves and the click of the knitting-needles. now sigrid fersen touched the soft-voiced silver bell beside her. the curtains at the far end of the room parted almost immediately in answer. "tell the syce to have the best horse in the stable saddled by daybreak," she said. "i am riding to heerut. i shall need a guide." there was a moment's perceptible hesitation. the ayah's roe-eyes were large with trouble. "mem-sahib, there is much sickness in heerut." 56 the interlopers "i know." "it may be, mem-sahib, that no guide will dare" "he need not accompany me farther than the river. see to it." "it shall be done, mem-sahib." the curtains fell noiselessly in their place. mrs. smither dropped her knitting-needles. "oh, lawks a-mercy!" she said. "lawks a-mercy!" it was as though some solemn old egyptian sphinx had broken into broad cockney, and, having given vent to its feelings, relapsed into the historic pose of unfathomable and supercilious meditation. sigrid fersen closed her book. she rested her head on its smooth yellow surface with a curious tenderness. "you mustn't be unhappy, smithy, and you mustn't try to prevent me. one way or the other, my days are numbered, and each one of them has to be an episode, something definite and new, something to take with me or to look back on. afterwardsher voice lifted from 99 its veiled softness and rang clearer. "we have travelled a long, long way, smithy, and now we are almost at the end. you have seen it all with your wise old eyes, perhaps better than i have, and you know what life is. what shall it be, smithy?" the old woman clasped her knotted hands together and rocked herself slowly backwards and forwards. "i don't know--i don't know. it's just a nightmare. i wake up sometimes o' nights and ask myself if i've gone clean mad, or what we're doing here in this awful heathen country-you, the greatest of 'em all, hobnobbing with the interlopers 57 ninnies wot don't know taglioni from queen elizabeth, and me trying to be a lady by dint of keeping my mouth shut like a mouse-trap-me, that stood and waited for you night after night and 'dressed' you quicker than the smartest of them-lawks a-mercy, wot am i doing here?" sigrid fersen got up slowly, putting her book on the table, and came and stood at her companion's side. she caressed the grenadine-clad shoulder lightly, affectionately. "you're here because i am, and because you've stuck to me through everything. you can't help sticking to me any more than i can help wanting you somewhere in the background. and i'm here because of this"-she laid her hand on her left side-"and this" she opened a drawer in the table, and, taking out a little shiny-backed note-book, dropped it into the old woman's lap. "open it. now take the bottom figure on the right-hand column from the bottom figure on the left. what does it leave?" mrs. smithers coughed apologetically. "i never was a hand at figures, sigrid." "never mind. take your time." "i don't know rightly-it looks to me like a thousand." "that must be about right. well, that's what we've got. no more. what would you have me do-teach dancing to loutish girls in some stuffy english suburb? no, smithy. you wouldn't. in my art there is no one greater than i-there never has been-and though i want to live' i mustn't burn out like some poor candle. i must be a splendid rocket, lighting up all the country, and most splendid of all at the last. then darkness." the old woman put up her hand blindly. 58 the interlopers "oh, my dear, my dear" sigrid fersen seemed to have forgotten her. "to die in beauty.' that's ibsen. it's the most wonderful thought in the world. it's the only prayer i know. not squalidly, not in misery and decay and ugliness, but in beauty. that is the goal of life." "i don't understand, sigrid. and i can't believe it all. i can't. never to wait for you in the wings-never to hear men shout for you-and see the women crying for love of never to hear you silence them all so that they don't even seem to breathe. lawks a-mercy, when i think of that there waltz-chopin, wasn't it-the tune runs in my head now-i can see the faces in the front row, white as death, sigrid, as though they had seen" her voice cracked. sigrid fersen turned away from her. "no-never again-or perhaps once more just once she went out on to the verandah and stood there motionless, her face lifted to the darkness. chapter v a vision of the backwater the dakktar sahib stepped carefully over the body of ayeshi, who lay asleep inside the doorway, and went down the centre of the street. the village was silent and seemingly deserted. even the grain-dealer, lalloo by name, not unknown as a money-lender with eastern ideas on interest had deserted his wooden booth, and the lean dogs which were wont to nose hungrily in the gutters had gone elsewhere for their hunting-ground. the gutters themselves were clean; there was no cattle to wander haplessly in and out of the open doorways; the half-naked babies were hidden and silent. and in all this silence and garnished peace there was something ominous and dreadful. a mighty scavenger had passed through the village and swept it clear of refuse and misery and sickness and life itself. heerut lay under the burning midday sun like a body awaiting burial, wrapped in the orderliness of death, silent, colourless, for all its piteous poverty, majestic. tristram's footsteps rang out loudly in the stillness. he alone was alive and bore the agony and stress of life stamped on his body. he was ugly with the ugliness of a soldier returning from the battle-field. his clothes were 59 60 a vision of the backwater dirty. he reeled drunkenly, his eyes were bloodshot and swollen in their deep sockets, and a month's growth of reddish beard covered his long chin. he might have passed for a spectre of death itself, stalking through the place of its visitation. he reached the village cross-roads. the pointed leaves of the council-tree hung limply, their soft mysterious voices hushed. underneath, the earth was scarred and burnt by the bonfires around which the village elders clustered at nightfall, listening to the tales from the great past. there had been no bonfire for many nights, and the elders had gone their ways. tristram went on, out of the village, across the ancient half-obliterated path of auspiciousness, through the coarse jungle grass to the river. it flowed broad and swift, swirling against its muddy, artificial barrier with sullen impatience, its farther bank lost in the blaze and shimmer of heat. tristram went on, past the temple whose battered walls glowed warm and golden in the sunlight, to the clump of trees beyond. he entered their shade at a stumbling run like a man seeking refuge from pursuers, and burst through the tangled undergrowth with the whole weight of his body. here, beneath the branches of the stately mohwa trees, the ganges had built herself a backwater. her waters, grey still with the snows of her mountain mother, had turned from their stern course and become clear as crystal and still as the surface of a mirror. they reflected softly the flaming green of the overhanging foliage and the red and gold of the strange flowers growing on their banks. a a vision of the backwater 61 lotus-flower floated like a fairy palace in a patch of subdued sunshine, its pale petals half open and delicately tipped with pink as though the light had awakened them from their white sleep to life. beneath, in the shining, deceptive depths was a world of mystery, forests of twining, sinuous growths, the monster blossoms swaying in the undercurrent. he tristram dropped down on his knees at the water's edge and then rolled over with his face hidden on his arm. lay so still that a golden lizard flashed out from the long grass and lingered almost at his elbow and a water-hen gliding down on to the breast of the water preened herself in complacent security. the patch of sunlight moved on. it left the lotus-flower in an emerald shadow, and rested like a bright, watchful eye on a patch of flaming poppies on the farther bank. the silence deepened. even the gentle parting of the undergrowth behind the spot where tristram slept brought no sound. with a noiseless strength the lean hands of vahana, the sadhu, pressed back the opposing branches. he came forward so slowly, so stealthily, that the foliage seemed rather to thin imperceptibly before him like a green mist, leaving him at last unveiled on the fringe of the clearing. even then it was as though he had been there always, not a man, not even living, but the dead twisted stump of some tempest-riven tree. but the water-hen heard and saw him and rose with a whirr of wings. the lizard flashed back into his hidingplace. tristram did not stir. the emaciated, half-naked body 62 a vision of the backwater glided towards him and bent over him. for a long minute vahana remained thus, scrutinizing the half-hidden face of the sleeper, then he stood upright, tossing the hair from his wild eyes, his long, fleshless arms raised high above his head, with a gesture that was as a salute to some oncoming, resistless destiny. then, in an instant, he seemed to shrivel, his arm sank, and with one swift glance about him he turned and vanished among the trees. tristram awoke suddenly, but not completely. he rested on his elbow, gazing at the blur of colour before him with heavy eyes, then drew himself up and, with the clumsiness of a drunken man, began to undress. presently he slipped into the quiet water; the circles widened about him, and the lotus-flower rocked on the breast of the strange upheaval, but after that the intruder scarcely moved. he became as one of the giant weeds growing amidst the stones, upborne by the water, himself inert and quiescent. his head was thrown slightly back and his eyes had closed again. half an hour later, when he scrambled back on to the bank, the agony of exhaustion had been washed from him. he held himself upright to the air and sun, his body shining white and splendid against the background of foliage, the joy of life in every muscle, in every firm and graceful line. then, with a sigh of unutterable content, he began to dress leisurely, retrieved a battered cigarette case and a box of matches and crouched down, tailor fashion, amidst the grasses. for a time he smoked peacefully, watching the light changing on the water and the swift moving life that hid in the shallows and darted out between the stones and a vision of the backwater 63 swaying weeds. the lizard, tempted by his quiet and perhaps some luscious prospect of supper, wriggled out and took grave stock of him, and he stared back as motionless and absorbed, until the forgotten cigarette burnt him, when he swore and the lizard vanished like a tiny golden streak into its fastness. the man laughed to himself and dropped back upon his elbow. a smile still lingered about his mouth, but his eyes under the big square brows had forgotten their amusement. they were fixed dreamily ahead, and what they saw smoothed out the last lines of tension from his features, and lent them a look of youth and tenderness. and presently he dropped back, and, with his hands clasped behind his head, stared up into the shadowing green, as though whatever dream he conjured up had taken refuge there. he slept again, not heavily as before but on the borderland of consciousness where thoughts break from their moorings, and sail out into a magic, restless sea of change whose bed lies littered with forgotten treasures. when the thud of hoofs broke on the stillness a dream rose up and shielded him, covering the sound with a fantastic picture, so that he slept on. the patch of sunshine travelled upwards. it had forsaken the poppies as it had left the lotus-flower, and rested on the fair head of a woman. though tristram saw her he did not move. she stood scarcely five paces from him near an opening in the trees. one hand rested on the bridle of a tired horse, the other was lifted to her face, the forefinger to her lips, half in reflection, half as though hushing her own 64 a vision of the backwater breathing. a pith helmet and the white coat of her simple riding-habit were fastened carelessly to the pommel of her saddle. she stood quite motionless-as still and living as a bird resting among the flowers. it was that wonderful, restrained lightness in her that made her seem smaller and more fragile than she was. her hair, of a gold paler than the sunlight and parted primly in the middle, waved down smoothly on a forehead that was high and too domed for beauty. her face was small, more round than oval, with small features, exquisitely imperfect, demure, and resolute. there was something victorian about her, and something vitally modern. it was as though a botticellian madonna had thrown off her serene and lovely foolishness and stepped down into life with the mocking happy humour of a faun at the corners of her fine lips and the wisdom of the world in her eyes. and added to all this there was in her expression an odd touch of an impersonal, aloof pity and tenderness. she stood there looking down at the man in the grass with her subdued smile, and he stared back at her. presently she spoke: then "how do you do, major tristram? my name is fersen -sigrid fersen." "i know," he answered. his own voice seemed to break a spell, for he shot up as though she had struck him, his hand flying to the neck of his graceless, unbuttoned collarless shirt. "i beg your pardon-i'm awfully sorryi'd been asleep-and day-dreaming-i thought you were just-not real"" a vision of the backwater 65 "a sort of concrete vision?" she suggested.. "it sounds absurd, of course, but it wasn't an ordinary sleep. in fact, barring today, i don't know when i slept last. that makes a man queer99 "obviously." her enigmatic kindly smile was like sunshine on her demure gravity. "for instance, you said 'i know' when i introduced myself." the blood welled up under the man's brown skin, and she went on lightly. "i saw you half an hour ago. the shade tempted me i was hot and tired. fortunately i came quietly. you had just come out of the water and stood there like a young beethoven-'this kiss to the whole world999 "i felt like that," he stammered. "it just expresses it-only" "of course i went away at once, " she said. "i felt you would be disconcerted if you knew-possibly very shocked. you may be now for, all i know." he looked down at his right hand, and then, as though it annoyed him, thrust it into his pocket. "no," he said, "i'm not." "i didn't think you would be." she led her horse down to the water, and, with accustomed fingers, unfastened the bit. "please sit down again, major tristram." he obeyed her instantly, and with his big hands clasped about his knees watched her as she came towards him. the blood was still dark in his face. "i'm wondering how you knew me," he said abruptly. "gaya described you." he burst out into a big laugh. 5 66 a vision of the backwater "my word! did gaya tell you i usually went about with nothing on or in these evil-smelling rags?" "it is enough that i recognized you," she said primly. she added, as an after-thought: "they didn't tell me you were so beautiful.” "me-beautiful?" "as far as your figure goes." "and my face?" "she looked at him whimsically. "no, not exactly." she slipped down into the long grass beside him with an effortless, unconscious grace. "we're rather like each other," she went on, "both of us— how shall i say?-plain, and both of us quite lovely in our way. a perfect body is worth more than a perfect nose." "yes," he agreed. his voice sounded suddenly thick and tired and he looked away from her. "you're not alone, are you?" he asked. 99 "i have been. i've a faithful syce waiting at the bridge-head five miles up. he wouldn't come any farther. perhaps she studied his hard-set profile with amused eyes. "perhaps you're wishing i hadn't burst in upon you, or perhaps you share gaya's dismay.” "was gaya dismayed?" "very. one or two are still. they thought 1 was an adventuress, partly on account of the rajah and partly on account of my profession. and they were quite right.” the laughter died out of her. her voice sounded grave and eager. "i am an adventuress. i can't conceive myself being anything else. to live is to explore an a vision of the backwater 67 unknown country, with every day a step forward. some people shrink from it and cringe at home, and when they're taken by the scruff of the neck and flung out they're frightened and helpless. i'm not like that-you're not. even my art was an adventure-the greatest. every bar of music, every step, every inspiration that came to me, was like a mountain peak scaled and a new vista into a new country. do you understand?" he turned to her, his sunken, red-rimmed eyes warm with a generous, almost passionate sympathy. "i can understand your feeling like that-i do too, in my way, especially out here. out here nothing lasts. every day brings change-the very trees and flowers and fields and forests-i don't know how it is-one says goodnight to them and in the morning it's as though new friends had taken their place-people whom one had to study and wonder at-and then-" he turned away from her again and stared down at his strong hands"anything can happen-the most wonderful, impossible things" she did not answer him. when she spoke again it was after a long silence and more lightly. "i don't believe you're an official at all," she said. "you don't talk like one. you haven't asked me what business i have here or tell me that i am a danger to myself and a nuisance to everyone else. why haven't you?" "i forgot," he answered quietly. "for one thing, i knew you were not afraid, and people who are not afraid have nothing to fear. and besides that, the infection is over in heerut. the poor beggars are either under68 a vision of the backwater ground or isolated miles away. i did that 'on my own,' and i expect there'll be lots of trouble about it." "you've had a bad time." "yes," he said simply. "mrs. compton told me. i was immensely interested, and made up my mind to call on you. the 'lone fight' has always thrilled me. i don't care whether the fighter is a murderer or a hero so long as he fights against odds." he laughed. "well, i'm not a criminal or a hero," he said. "you can't tell. we're all potentially one or the other or both." he seemed on the verge of protest, but, looking at her, dropped to silence. she leant forward, her chin in the palm of her hand, and he saw that she smiled to herself, her eyes intent on the shadowy water. "doesn't brahma sleep in the heart of that lotus-flower, major tristram?" "he did once-so they say. and it is the lotus-flower which encloses our world. when the pink-tipped petals open then it is dawn with us." he hesitated, and then added with a shy laugh, "shall i fetch it for you?" "no, why spoil it? it is loveliest where it is.” "yes, i know-but if you had wished itbroke off. "somehow i'm glad you didn't," almost inaudibly. he " he said the quiet rose up between them. it was like a mist, veiling them from each other with a drowsy peace. when she spoke again her voice sounded gay but subdued. "major tristram, i'm disappointed-i meant to drop on a vision of the backwater 69 you like a bombshell-and here you sit next me as though it was the sort of thing you had done all your life. you don't even bother to talk to me. do you think we were married in our last pilgrimage?" the man turned his head away from her. 86 anything seems possible, here," he answered. "even hunger," she suggested gravely. "hunger?" the dreamy unreality which had sunk upon them dissolved, letting through the light of every-day facts. she laughed at him. "i'm hungry. i haven't eaten anything since dawn, and i didn't bring food because mrs. compton said you practically lived here. i was sure-after the first skirmish -that you'd ask me to tea." he was on his feet now-less with eagerness than with a half-angry consternation. "mrs. compton misled you" he began hotly. "she didn't-she didn't know i was coming. are you going to let me starve?" "i do live here," he went on stammeringly, "but in a native hovel like the rest of them. i can't take you there." "why not?" her eyes were mocking, her lips pursed into a demure, ironic challenge. "don't you want to?" "it's not thathis opposition collapsed and he faltered like a boy. "only-well, i daresay you know what they call me-tristram the hermit. it's because i've had to live alone so much. no one comes out here. i've got accustomed to it. i'm like a miser with my loneliness." 70 a vision of the backwater "then i had better go," she said gravely. "no-not now. i want you to come. stand betteryou'll underhe bridled her horse and brought it to her. for a moment they looked at each other with a steadiness in which there was a vague antagonism. then the man stooped, hiding his face, and placed his hands for her to mount. she scarcely seemed to touch them. he looked up into her small face, flushed now with an eager colour. "you are lighter than the leaf on the wind," he said. she laughed, but her laugh was more meditative than gay. "and you, major tristram, are a poet in the wilderness,' she answered. chapter vi broken sanctuary he walked beside her, his hand light on her bridle, and silently they made their way through the long grass, along the banks of the grey, wide flowing river, past the temple, and into the empty village streets. only once did she speak to him, bending slightly towards him in her saddle. "i have been wondering what your name is," she said, "your other name. i've been trying to fit you with one." "tristram," he said. "tristram tristram?" he nodded, and she repeated the name thoughtfully under her breath. "that's a curious repetition"yes, my mother liked it. it's the only thing we've ever quarrelled about. i tell her she suffered from lack of imagination, and that she took a mean advantage over my helplessness. what could anybody expect of a tristram tristram?" "and yet it suits you somehow." "i'm not flattered," he answered laughing. the magic sunlight had gone and the low thatched huts 71 72 broken sanctuary were grey and sordid in the rising tide of shadow. here and there a golden patch lingered palely, and the counciltree at the cross-roads blazed in the full flood from the west. "this is my home," tristram said. the hut from the outside was not different from its fellows, save for the big windows that had been cut in the mud wall. the rough wooden doors stood open. sigrid fersen slipped out of her saddle and for a moment he barred her path. "you won't let me go forward to prepare the way?" he asked. "no-i want to see what you are like, major tristram." "it's as though i made you a confession," he said unevenly. "i am woman enough to want to hear it." he stood aside and she passed through the low doorway. at other times the contrast to the foetid street outside must have been overwhelming, but even now the dwelling's cool monastic purity arrested her on the threshold. a curtained doorway appeared to lead into a second apartment. there was scarcely any furniture-a chair, a table, a couple of persian rugs on the uneven floor, a pile of cushions heaped into a divan against the wall. nothing on the walls. yet the old, exquisitely shaded rugs were probably priceless, and all the art and mysterious symbolism of india had gone into the carving of the great chair whose high back was brahma the creator and whose wide arms were pictured with strange fantasies of the avatars. as her eyes grew accustomed to the twilight the woman saw beyond this dignity to details that brought a sudden laugh to her lips. a yellow ball that looked like a spotted broken sanctuary 73 st. bernard pup rolled yelping off the cushions, displaying its teeth and a bandaged paw, and thereby rousing its bedfellow-a common english tabby, who stretched itself, threw an offhand curse at its disturber, then advanced arching its back and purring stormily. sigrid bent down to stroke him, but he passed on with the crushing disdain of his race and rubbed himself against tristram's leg. "that's tim," tristram explained. "he has a wife, but she's probably out hunting. to tell the truth, she does most of the work. there were half a dozen kittens, but they died, worse luck. couldn't stand the heat." "anything else?" "wickie isn't here. and arabella. laid up, both of them." "and pray what is wickie and what is arabella?" she persisted. "i call wickie a dog and arabella a horse," he answered solemnly, "but i'm told the matter is open to dispute. wickie's boarding out with miss boucicault." "ah, anne boucicault!" she echoed the name with an amused inflection of her quiet voice. "an odd little person who detests me. and she is so touchingly conscientious about it. not in the least spiteful, only very religious and full of doubts and scruplesshe made a little gesture which seemed to brush anne boucicault into nothingness. "go on with your menagerie, major tristram. introduce that terrifying little growl-box." 99 he picked up the yellow ball by the scruff of its neck and offered up his fist to the ineffectual first teeth as a sacrifice. 74 broken sanctuary "a cheetah cub. with his paw broken. be able to go home." i found him on the edge of the forest he's nearly all right now, and will "and start his criminal career," she suggested. he laughed. "oh well, that's the risk the world runs every time a new infant is brought into it,” he retorted. but he had become suddenly embarrassed, almost guilty-looking, and, after one glance at him from quizzical brows, she changed the subject. "am i at liberty to inspect, major tristram?” "you must do whatever you wish." he stood at the entrance to the hut and watched her as she crossed straightway to the writing-table. his face, now in shadow, was set in grim resolution. there were two large photographs on the table, and one of these she picked up and held to the light. "a fine old face-your mother, major tristram?" "yes," he assented briefly. "she must be very beautiful." "i think she is,” he answered, with a sudden relaxing of his strained features. "not a bit like you." he feigned a rueful discontent. "not a bit. i always tell her that she was jealous, and wouldn't spare me so much as one good feature.” "whereat, i hope, she boxes your ears for your ingratitude, you mortal with the perfect body!" she replaced the picture regretfully. "and thisshe broke off. it became very still in the low-roofed broken sanctuary 75 room. even the cheetah had ceased its infant growlings as though it felt the tension in the quiet about him. tristram threw back his head, his chin thrust out, and did not speak. suddenly she turned to him. her lips were parted, in a wide, eager smile that was like a child's. impulsively, ingenuously, she held out her ungloved hand to him, palm downwards. "is that your confession, tristram tristram!" for one instant he wavered, the next he was at her side, had taken her hand and bowed over it and kissed it. then he stood back, defiant, trembling, like a man who has committed a world-staggering enormity. but to her, it seemed, nothing had happened, nothing that she had not willed and desired. still smiling, she turned away from him and, seating herself in the high-backed chair, placed the photograph where she could see it best. then she became intent, absorbed. the brief incident and the man who watched her waveringly seemed to have been swallowed up in something greater, some passionate feeling. without a word he left her and she did not hear him go. it was only when he returned presently and placed a cup and saucer before her that she looked up, colouring faintly "a poet in the wilderness and now worcester! major tristram, i begin to think you are a rather strange and wonderful doctor!" he smiled with frank pleasure in her pleasure. "i love beautiful things," he said. "i fancy they are to me what wine is to some men. i'm like my mother in that. she understands. she saved and saved to buy me that cup. there's a teapot-not to match-i hate sets 76 broken sanctuary -but equally lovely. you shall see it when the water boils." "and the chair-and these rugs! i know a park lane plutocrat who would sell his greasy soul for them. was that your mother too?" "no, the rugs are a gift from lalloo the money-lender. his baby son had a bout of something or other, but got over it, and lalloo wanted to shower blessings on somebody. he knows the markets for rare things and i have a shrewd, painful suspicion that he used unholy forces of financial coercion to get hold of these. ayeshi carved the chair for me." "is ayeshi a wood-pecker, or what?" she asked gaily. he laughed with her. "no my aide-de-camp, orderly, servant, friend, all in one. rather a wonderful sort of person. heaven alone knows where he came from. he was brought to me by the man who 'owned' him, he was suffering from snakebite, and after the cure he stuck to me. nobody minded. the people he lived with were afraid of him.” "why?" she asked. "oh, i don't know-he wasn't of their caste any one could see that. he is a brahmin of the brahmins, and believes in his gods. there isn't anything so disconcerting to conventional religionists as genuine belief." tristram was on his way to the door of the inner room. he stopped a moment and looked back at her. "and he can tell the most wonderful stories," he went on slowly, as though overtaken by some memory. "one day you must listen to him as i do-by the firelight, with night overhead." broken sanctuary 77 "i shall come," she answered deliberately. "and i shall see the snake-bite on his arm and think of the story of the man who saved him." tristram had gone. she laughed a little and then fell to her old brooding contemplation of the picture at her elbow. but when he returned with the promised teapot and a plate of sandwiches she pushed it impatiently from her. "tell me, major tristram, are you glad i've broken into your sanctuary?" she asked abruptly. he poured her tea out for her with a hand that shook a little. "i don't know"that's ungracious, major tristram. but you're altogether unexpected. even this room-it's not a man's room. where are your guns, your skins, your trophies?" he looked about him, flushing to the roots of his fair, untidy hair. "i haven't got anyi never had a gun of my own. i've got an army pistol somewhere in the kitchen, but it's got rusty and i don't know what would happen if i fired it." he put the sandwiches near to her and then stalked across to the doorway and sat down cross-legged on the rug, his irregular profile cut sharply against the light. "i can't kill things," he said doggedly. "go on, major tristram. i am getting almost excited. a man who can't kill things!" he heard the irony in her voice and winced, but did not look at her. "oh-i know it's ridiculous-laughable. compton says i'm a sentimentalist-a freak. i can't help it." 78 broken sanctuary "is it a theory-tolstoyism, jainismhe shook his head. -?" "i haven't any theories-it's just instinct-perhaps a kind of revulsion. my father was the finest shot in the indian army. once when i was in scotland i killed a stag. i felt-beastly-like a sort of cowardly criminal who couldn't be punished and knew it." "still go on. tell me more. i came here to get to know you, major tristram, and i am a spoilt woman. yes, you are a freak. i want to know how freaks originate. tell me no, not about your father—i have a fancy he was not freakish-but your motherhe stiffened, averting his head, his brows stern. "my mother is different" he began proudly. "you have known me so long," she interrupted, "did you think i meant to joke at her? haven't you understood better than that?" he turned. twilight had begun to invest them both. in the great carved chair among the shadows she looked almost luminous, a white spirit neither of heaven nor earth, aloof and radiant in fairy immortality and serene with a wisdom high above the man's painful plodding. seeing her, he caught his breath; the anger passed from his face, leaving it with a curious look of bewilderment and pain. "i'm sorry" he said unevenly. "of course i ought to have known. but i am a heavy, unpresentable fellow-rather ridiculous too-and i didn't want you to think i was like her." he turned away again, his eyes intent on the dark strong hands clasped about his knees. "as to my antecedents, there isn't much to tell. my father broken sanctuary 79 was a captain in the indian army. he was killed out here in gaya when i was a baby. no one ever found out how it happened. my mother was in england at the time. she had nothing but her pension. she starved herself to keep me fit and give me my chance." he broke off sharply. "i'd rather not talk about that. it means a responsibility that would be intolerable if i wasn't so proud of it—it would be awful to fail a woman who had starved for you." "i can understand that, major tristram." he seemed to listen a moment as though to an echo of her low voice. on. "all my people had been in the indian army," he went "i knew i should make a dismal failure of soldiering. it seemed to me-it's my nearest approach to a theorythat it's a man's business to make life more tolerable—not to destroy it. so i compromised with the i.m.s. and here i am." "a hermit!" she leant forward, with her chin resting in the palm of her hand. "is that also part of your law of life, major tristram?" "i have my work," he answered. "it's a huge district, and i've got to be at it all the time. it is my life. but i'm a queer cuss-i have other thoughts too-absurd daydreams. i'm alone so much that it's natural enoughand if i came much among men and women i should be afraid99 "-that the vision might become concrete." she waited a moment— "or fail you." he shook his head. 80 broken sanctuary "no not that. but since i have got to be alone always i mustn't want anything too badly." she got up suddenly. "it is getting late," she said. "i promised to be at the bridge-head by nine. mr. radcliffe, who is in the adventure, meets me there and escorts me back to safety. we should be home by midnight, and tomorrow gaya will have a new scandal. mr. radcliffe is very young. he will be so pleased." "i will come with you as far as the bridge-head," tristram returned gravely. "i had expected nothing less." for all her change of tone the suspense which had crept in upon them with the twilight remained unbroken. it lay upon the man like a quivering hand. as he led her horse through the black streets it vibrated on the hot obscurity. they came out on to the plain and it was there also, at his throat, suffocating him. the full moon hung low on the horizon like a silver lamp. there was nothing hid from it. it revealed and transfigured fantastically; the very blades of the high-standing grass were drawn in separate delicate lines of shadow, but they did not look like grass. the great river flooded through the darkness-an endless winding army of ghosts whose murmur was never still. sigrid fersen looked down at the man beside her. as distance brings out the significance of a rough sketch, so now the grey half-light threw into relief lines and hollows of his face which she had not seen before. they were as vigorous and ugly as they had ever been, yet their silhouette broken sanctuary 81 under the helmet rim conveyed to her a new impressionthe thought of something chivalresque and simple, mystic and single-hearted-a pure fool on the threshold of his quest. she bent towards him, stroking her horse's neck with a gentle hand. "and i too have a theory, tristram tristram," she said, as though there had been no silence between them. "it is this-that there can be no going back for any of us. we climb from experience to experience, and grow or shrivel as our experience is a high or low one. there was a man sleeping by the backwater. he is gone, and in his place you walk beside me." "why should i not be the man by the backwater?" he asked. "he knew you also." "since when?" "since two years ago." "tell me how he met me-i have forgotten." "you never knew," he answered. "it was his last night in england. he had said good-bye to all he cared for, and he felt pretty bad. he knew what lay ahead of him-lonely, hard years and perhaps no return. so he did what he had never done before, because money and pleasure had not come his way-he took himself and his pain into a theatre. and there he saw you." "well-and then?". "that's all. there was wonderful music, and you explained it to him. you showed him a new beauty that he had never dreamed of, you unlocked a door, and he entered a new world. when it was over he got up and left the 6 82 broken sanctuary theatre. he behaved like a boy-he went and stood by the river until day broke." "and the photograph." "he bought it to take with him." she smiled to herself, tenderly, ironically. "it did not occur to him to ask for my autograph-to seek me out." "no, then you would have been a reality to him-an unattainable reality. he wanted you as a dream he could live with and conjure up at will." "as he did by the backwater." "yes." he pointed out towards the grey bulk of the temple lying against the forest. his voice lost its habitual "one thing you unevenness, and grew full and clear. danced-do you remember?-the ballet in robert le diable? the scene was a churchyard-an ugly thing of cardboard and clumsy carpentering until you came. but out there is a real temple. at night the moon plays through the great sun-window of the sikhara and fills the space between the pillars. and i have gone there at night-time and seen you dance." "shall you go again, tristram tristram?” "i don't know-i don't know." they went on in silence. there was no sound but the song of the water and the swish of the grass at their feet. presently she drew rein. "we are near the bridge; i can hear voices, and i want to say good-bye to you now. i want to thank you. i have made my experience, and climbed higher." he looked up at her with a wistful smile. broken sanctuary 83 "i don't know about that-i don't know what i have done. i do know that i have grown frightened for you. i've been thinking of infection and cheetahs on the home road and all the horrors i don't believe in. i wish i could go with you to gaya." "there is nothing to fear, tristram tristram. and you will come to gaya tomorrow or the next day or next week and i shall play to you beethoven, chopin, brahms—all the most wonderful music in the world. i shall open new doors for you and new worldshe shook his head. "there's cholera out in bjura." "still you will comeher hand touched his. "" she answered. then she was gone a speck of moving light-into the darkness. chapter vii anne boucicault explains ir was anne boucicault's birthday-her twenty-second -and owen meredith had proposed her health in lemonade -a beverage which he was assured had no unlucky superstition attached to it. the rest responded in champagne. it was not colonel boucicault's champagne, though it was on his verandah that gaya had gathered to celebrate. jim radcliffe, who, since his midnight ride with sigrid and the consequent hubbub, had developed into a very debonair and self-confident young man, had produced a case-full with the satisfaction and mystery of a popular conjurer, and mrs. boucicault showed neither offence nor appreciation at this addition to her hospitality. she sat in the shade near the doorway and scarcely spoke. from time to time her hand rose involuntarily to the high collar which had been added to her elaborate gown, and rested there as though it hid something painful. when a remark reached her a fitful smile quivered about her lips steadied to artificial gaiety. but her pale eyes were wide and unsmiling, their sight turned inwards on to some ugly vision, and never lifted from their unseeing watch on the avenue leading to the high-road. anne sat on 84 anne boucicault explains 85 the arm of her chair and held her hand. she looked very young, and, whilst meredith spoke, almost radiant. he had seen the colour creep back into her pale cheeks, and had become gay and eloquent and a little reckless. for all the lemonade, and the little chilly mannerisms of his calling, he was a passionate young man, and the sight of her fragile pleasure roused in him a fierce pity and tenderness. he betrayed himself, and did not know it. afterwards, when he came and touched her long-stemmed glass with his tumbler, he lingered, looking down at her, his hazel eyes bright with a new purpose and an old hope suddenly and daringly set free. "anne-dear-before i go tonight i have something i want to say to you. give me a chance, will you?” she met his eager gaze for an instant, and then her own eyes faltered and dropped. she looked startled, a little frightened, like a child that has been taken unawares, but her colour remained unchanged. "of course we shall be going into the garden. come with me. i will show you our new rose-trees." "thank you," he answered. he stood back, others crowded to take his place, and she received their good wishes much as she had received him, with a shy graciousness that made her appealingly attractive. only when sigrid fersen held out her glass she stiffened, and grew suddenly much older. it was as though for an instant they had changed places, and the girl had become the woman defending herself coldly and bitterly against the threat of youth. "and i can wish you nothing better than that you should 86 anne boucicault explains always have some one like mr. meredith to wish you so much good, with so much fervour," sigrid said lightly. she turned her head towards the man standing behind anne boucicault's chair, and her eyes in the shade of the big garden hat sparkled with subdued merriment and kindly mockery. "tell me, is mr. meredith so eloquent in the pulpit?" she asked. "you should hear him for yourself," anne replied staidly. "but then, i never go to church." "that is a pity." she flushed a little, her mouth small and tight-looking. "it is especially a pity out herebecause of the natives. but then, of course, you haven't our responsibility." meredith frowned slightly, not at anne's words, but at the expression which he saw pass over the small face opposite him. it was still kindly, but the merriment had become ironic. up to that moment he had felt nothing very definite towards her, recognizing, with an unclerical modesty, that he did not understand her. now he thrilled with an odd dislike. "i'm afraid my eloquence won't cure miss fersen's backsliding," he said, hurriedly good-humoured. "and, in the meantime, behold a new arrival, breathless with congratulations." the new arrival proved to be wickie, escaped from the compound, who bounced up the verandah steps and advanced among the scattered tables practising the ingratiating squirm with which the aberdeen masks his real impertinence. he was received with acclamation, partly anne boucicault explains 87 for his master's sake, partly as a tribute to his own irresistible ugliness. anne whistled timidly to him, but he ignored her and sniffed at sigrid's outstretched hand. "it's almost as though he knew you," anne said sharply. "well, we know of each other at any rate, don't we, wickie?" "how?" the question was rude in its abruptness and anne's manners were always very gentle. sigrid fersen did not look at her. she bent down and balanced a generous portion of cake on wickie's hopeful snout. "major tristram told me about him," she said. "but major tristram has not been in gaya since you arrived." "nevertheless, we have met." she glanced across at radcliffe who chuckled with boyish self-consciousness. "i paid major tristram a visit," she added. "at heerut?" "well, we had tea there-but we met by the river. major tristram had been bathing." anne boucicault sat very straight and still and hardeyed. meredith saw that her hands were clenched so that they were white at the knuckles, and again he felt the passing of a sudden emotion which was this time a mingling of inexplicable pain and dread. "that must have been an unusual-dangerous adventure," anne uttered from between stiff lips. "i had hoped that it might be—it proved to be nothing but a very agreeable afternoon," was the answer. the dialogue passed unnoticed. mrs. brabazone was telling one of her only three stories, and trying to sort out 88 anne boucicault explains the point. gaya listened and waited reverently, and mrs. brabazone, being possessed of a fine sense of her own total lack of humour, finished with a round fat laugh which added a perfecting touch to her rotund figure and creaseless, elderly face. "anyhow, i do amuse you," she said triumphantly. "nobody amuses you like i do. i don't believe you could get on without me. one of these days i shall have that story right, and then you'll see that it was worth waiting for it. you know, i always mix it up with the one about the lancashire woman who' she stopped, her mouth agape. "what on earth was that?" she demanded sharply. 99 "firing," mary compton answered. she raised herself from her comfortable lounging attitude on the long chair, and leant forward with a curious expression on her alert face. "what was it, mr. radcliffe?" the boy got up hurriedly, ostensibly to refill his neighbour's empty glass. his fresh-coloured face, not yet burnt with the indian sun, had turned a dull red. "oh, i don't know," he said. "some silly ass over in the barracks. a rifle gone off by mistake. or a sentry. the sentries have taken to firing at their own shadows." "it may have been at the barracks," mrs. compton pursued, "but that wasn't a rifle, jim radcliffe. it was a squad firing, and you know it." "and how do you know?" mrs. brabazone broke in. "sometimes, mary, i feel that you can't be really nice. you do know such dreadfully unwomanly things." "i was shut up in chitral with archie when the regiment anne boucicault explains 89 mutinied," mrs. compton retorted coolly. "i learnt to know the meaning of every sound-even to the snapping of a twig under a naked foot." mrs. brabazone shook herself like a dog throwing off a douche of cold water. "my dear, don't! you're trying to insinuate that we are on the verge of being murdered in our beds, and i know it perfectly well. i tell the judge so every night, and he says he's sure i shall die of a broken heart if i have to go off peacefully. but then-" her voice trailed off. for once her headlong garrulity failed to evoke a response, and the little group of men and women sat silent, avoiding each other's eyes. it was very still again. a drowsy late afternoon peace hung over the shady garden at their feet. yet the sound which had fallen lingered among them like a long-drawn-out echo. they lived lightly and gaily, these people of gaya, most blessed of indian stations. polo and tennis, a drag-hunt here and there, a constant happy-go-lucky exchange of hospitality, a close fraternity which allowed for scandal and malice and all uncharitableness, and never failed at a pinch. and then for an instant a rift-a glimpse down into the thinly crusted abyss on which they danced-a tightening of the lips, a laugh, a call for a new tune, a fine carrying-on of their life with the secret knowledge that their pleasure and their brotherhood was other and greater than they had thought. mary compton broke the silence. her voice sounded light and careless. "i don't think we're going to die just yet, anyhow," she 90 anne boucicault explains said; "there's colonel boucicault. perhaps he will condescend to tell us what mr. radcliffe won't." she she gave the latter one of those penetrating glances which made her a rather dreaded little personality, and immediately afterwards, catching sight of mrs. boucicault's face she flushed crimson. it was, as she afterwards expressed it, as though she had been caught eavesdropping or prying into a confession not meant for her reading. for mrs. boucicault had sunk together like a faded flower whose stem had been snapped. the elaborate lace dress and the jewelled hands in her lap added painfully to her look of broken helplessness. but it was in her eyes that mary compton had seen her self-betrayal. they were half-closed, and from under the heavy lids they kept watch as a dog watches who has been beaten past protest, even past subjection into a terrible patient waiting. she pushed her daughter's hand aside, and anne smiled down at her with an attempt at careless ease which had its own piteousness. colonel boucicault came up the verandah steps, his hand to his helmet with that exaggerated formality which made the greeting a veiled gibe. "i trust i don't interrupt," he said. "anne is celebrating, isn't she? i heard whispers of something of the sort, but i was not invited. in fact, i suspect that the entertainment was fixed for the afternoon in the hopes that my duties might keep me elsewhere." he accepted the chair which his subaltern had vacated for him. "thanks, radcliffe, always the soul of correctness, and ever to be found where there is nothing more arduous going than champagne. well, what are you all anne boucicault explains 91 silent for? mrs. brabazone, you are positively pale. has anything happened?" mrs. brabazone waved one of her podgy hands with a gesture that was probably an expression of an otherwise inarticulate rage. boucicault laughed at her. whether he had been drinking or not could not be said for certain. he never betrayed himself. his hands and his voice were equally steady. his complexion, sallow and unhealthy, added to the unnatural brightness of his pale eyes, which, like the mouth under the heavy moustache, expressed a deliberate, insane cruelty. anne boucicault met his roving stare and tried to smile. "we heard firing," she stammered. "we didn't know what it was. we were rather frightened." "frightened? of course you were. you're given that way, aren't you, anne?" he held out an irritable hand for the glass which meredith had filled for him. "well, you weren't the only one. five more terrified wretches i never saw-why, i can't think. a transmigration at this time of the year must be rather agreeable." mary compton turned her head sharply. "the five men who mutinied," she exclaimed, “they were shot-just now?" though the sunlight was still strong the garden seemed to have suddenly passed into a chilling shadow. colonel boucicault nodded. "yes, before the whole regiment with the exception of this gentleman who had-what was it-the toothache?" he lifted his glass towards radcliffe, whose boyish face had whitened under the taunt. "allow me to congratulate 92 anne boucicault explains you should be you on your taste in champagne, sir. invaluable on the mess committee at any rate.” radcliffe's lips twitched but he made no answer, and it was sigrid fersen who spoke. she bent down, stroking wickie's pointed ears with a deliberate hand. "wasn't the execution a trifle ostentatious, colonel boucicault?" she asked. he stared back at her, an ugly smile at the corner of his lips. "it was meant to be ostentatious. i'm afraid i cannot always consider the delicate female nerves." "my nerves weren't upset," she returned levelly. "i'm not afraid of anything." "indeed?" he seemed to meditate a moment, as though something either in her voice or appearance struck him, then jerked his head in anne's direction. "my orderly told me there was a messenger for me. bring him here." "here, father?" "that was what i said." anne slipped from her place, and, motioning meredith aside, hurried into the house like some frightened little animal. as she disappeared mary compton started a conversation which was taken up eagerly but without more than a faltering success. it failed altogether as anne returned. "that's ayeshi," radcliffe whispered in sigrid's ear. she looked up. the young hindu had salaamed gravely, partly to boucicault, partly to the assembled company and now stood upright and silent. he was barefooted, and anne boucicault explains. 93 the white loose clothes were grey with dust. yet there was that in the carriage of his slender body and in the dark, delicate featured face which was arresting in its dignity. to boucicault, possibly, the boy's untroubled ease appeared as insolence. he frowned at him moodily. "you are major tristram's servant," he asked in english. "yes, sahib." "well, he has not taught you manners. but that was hardly to be expected. you have brought a message?” "yes, sahib." "deliver it." "it is by word of mouth, sahib." "well, then, deliver it, in heaven's name." ayeshi put his hand to his neck, pushing back the short black curls which escaped from under his turban. he seemed to become suddenly conscious of the attention centred on him, and his eyes, moving over the watching faces, encountered sigrid fersen. he looked at her intently and then at the dog at her feet, and she saw that his lips quivered though not with fear. "it is that there is cholera at bjura," he said. "the dakktar sahib is hard pressed, and begs for help." "he is always doing that. tell him i have no one to send. captain treves is on furlough, and i should not dream of recalling him. the dakktar sahib must manage as best he can." ayeshi held his ground. his mouth had hardened. "the dakktar sahib is ill," he said. "well, let the physician heal himself," boucicault laughed. 94 anne boucicault explains "colonel sahib-it is urgent" boucicault rose to his feet. "you can go," he said. then, as ayeshi lingered, with a suddenness that was awful in its expression of released passions, boucicault lifted his hand and struck the native full on the mouth. "now will you go?" he said softly. mrs. brabazone screamed, but her voice was drowned wholly by a more full-throated sound. wickie, barking furiously and bristling with all the fighting fury of his scottish forbears, broke from a long restraint and flung himself at the aggressor. even his teeth, however, could not prevail against the leather riding-boots, and boucicault kicked himself free. his passion had died down or had become something worse, a cold still fury. "what brute is this?" he asked. he looked at anne, and she tried to meet his eyes and flinched. "it's major tristram's dog-he gave it to me to take care of-it had a broken paw-it was shut up in the compound-i hoped you wouldn't mind, father.” boucicault made no answer. he took the riding-crop which he had carried. there was a tight line about his jaw which betrayed the grinding teeth. he was very deliberate, almost ostentatious in his purpose. anne watched him. she held out a hand of protest-then let it drop. her pallor had become pitiful. sigrid fersen got up. she was so swift and light in her movement that no one realised what she was doing till it was done. she crossed the verandah and picked up wickie in her arms, narrowly escaping the murderous descent of the ridingcrop. then she rose and faced him. anne boucicault explains 95 "i like wickie," she said. "from henceforward, colonel boucicault, he is under my protection." boucicault drew back. his face was grey looking. "you have some courage, mademoiselle," he said almost inaudibly. she smiled composedly. "i am not 'mademoiselle,' and you know it, colonel boucicault. also, as i said before, i am not afraid. i killed a mad dog once, and since than i have been afraid of nothing." she turned carelessly. ayeshi stood behind her. there was blood on his mouth and on the hand which he had raised in self-defence. his eyes were full of a sick suffering which was terrible because it was not of the body. she laid her free hand on his arm. "you are hurt," she said; "please go to my bungalow. mrs. smithers will look after you tell her i sent you. you mustn't mind what has happened--" she looked back mockingly over her shoulder. "colonel boucicault is a little out of temper. he would hit me if he dared.” there was a silence of sheer stupefaction. mrs. compton's temperament, usually leashed by her passionate care for her husband's career, bolted with her, and she laughed outright, and mrs. brabazone settled herself back in her chair with a subdued complacency of one who has seen herself fitly avenged. but anne boucicault had risen to her feet. there was a look on her face more painful than her fear, and almost reckless in its self-betrayal. for an instant she stood looking at the woman who faced her father, and then without a word she turned and slipped into the room behind her. meredith followed. he did 96 anne boucicault explains not speak to her. he knew where she was going, and the knowledge gave him an odd comfort, as though in her need she had remembered him and turned to him. like a shadow she glided along the dim passages. the verandah overlooking the rose-garden was deserted and the garden itself already full of a cool twilight which added to its sad air of neglect and death. roses grew well in gaya, but they did not grow well in anne's garden. she loved them, but not successfully. meredith stood beside her as she lay huddled together on the old bench and waited. though she was so still he felt that she was crying and the knowledge stirred him to a compassion that was not one of understanding. in truth he understood as yet very little -the mere surface of her grief. presently he sat down beside her and drew her hand gently and resolutely from her face. it was wet with tears. "anne!" he said unsteadily. "little anne!" loyally unselfish and modest though he was, yet at that moment he accused himself of a tender insincerity as though his grief and pity were masks covering his own happiness. the thing for which he had longed and prayed had come to pass, so swiftly and splendidly that in his warm faith he seemed to recognize the hand of the god he prayed to. "you mustn't grieve so," he whispered. "people understand-and we are all your friends. we know too what this country can do with a man's character—we can make allowances. and then, dear, no harm was done. miss fersen saved the situation for us all." she withdrew her hand slowly and looked at him. even then, in spite of her girl's tears and the veiling anne boucicault explains 97 twilight, he wondered at the unyouthfulness of her expression. "yes, i suppose she did. she saved wickie. she was very brave." "i thought so too." "and yet i hate her." she made a quick gesture, silencing his involuntary protest. "i hate her-not wickedly. there is a hatred which isn't wicked—the kind of thing we feel for what is harmful and evil. i've tested myself over and over again. i know-i feel that she isn't a good woman—she has no faith, no ideals. she has done harm in gaya already-she sticks at nothing—and because of that she wins, and people yield to her and let her poison them. that is why i hate her." ་ the man beside her was silent for a moment. he had no answer ready. he had felt nothing for sigrid fersen save a masculine admiration for her cool courage. anne's passionate dislike, compared to what he hoped was coming to them both, seemed a little thing and yet it chilled him. the cold shadows of the neglected garden laid hands upon him, checking and paralysing the headlong impulse and joyous confidence with which men win victories. with an effort he tried to free himself. "you may be right," he said quietly, "i don't know. i'm no judge of character. but the truth is, i haven't thought about her. i haven't thought of any but the one woman-of any one but you, anne.” he paused a moment. he no longer dared to look at her, but leant forward, his hands tightly interlocked, his eyes fixed on the on-coming tide of darkness. he did not know that his 1 7 98 anne boucicault explains voice shook. "anne, i haven't dared boast to myselfand yet we have been so happy together-we love the same things and have the same faith; we look at life with the same eyes. all that is surely something. as to myself -god knows how little i have to give you-but i won't apologize for the rest-not for my work. that is the grandest, best thing i have to offer. i know you think sq too." "yes, owen." she put her small, unsteady hand on his arm. and for a second hope blazed up in him, dying down again to grey premonition. "and you weren't boastful to think i cared-i do-but not like that, owen." something impersonal within himself marvelled at the banality of tragedy. people made fun of scenes like this -caricatured them. and he was sick with pain and weakness. "little anne-you're so young-how should you know?" "i do know," she answered. then he looked at her, driven out of himself by the simplicity and strength of her confession. she held herself upright and even though her face was full of shadow he could see the line of her mouth and it frightened him. he knew now what he had always refused to know. ruthlessly, from the secret depths where we bury our hated truths, he drew out a memory and a fear and recognized them for what they were. the recognition was the end of the one hope of personal happiness he had granted himself, and it staggered him. then the man and the christian in him rose triumphant. "i won't pretend i don't guess, " he said quietly and anne boucicault explains 99 naturally. “i do. and, anne, though i was selfish enough to want you myself-still, there was one thing i did want more. it isn't a phrase-it's honestly true. i wanted you to be happy. i think you will be-i think you are so i haven't the right to grumble, have i?" he tried to smile at her. commonplace as his form of renunciation had been, he was not conscious now of any banality either in himself or her. he stood on that rarely ascended pinnacle whence men look down on their daily life and see in its tortuous monotony the weaving of a divine pattern. he felt for the instant glorified as some men are who stand before a miracle of nature, or a great picture, or listen to grand music. it was his vision of the beautiful -willing sacrifice, happy renunciation. but anne boucicault got up and stood beside him, very straight, her hands clenched at her sides. "i am not happy," she said. "i do not think i ever shall be." and she left him standing there in the twilight, a very human and tragic figure, with the grey ash of his vision between his hands. such was anne boucicault's birthday. mrs. compton, driving home from the scene of celebration, met her husband at the barrack gates and forced the reins upon him in order that she might give herself over entirely to invective and lurid description, two pastimes for which she had an unlimited talent. archie compton chuckled at her picture of sigrid's dramatic and triumphant intervention, but his 388214 100 anne boucicault explains chuckle was not all that she had expected, and she caught herself up. "what a brute i am!" she exclaimed repentantly. "i had forgotten. you poor old boy! you must be feeling sick99 "i am," he returned grimly. "it was damnable." his voice was lowered for the benefit of the syce balanced on the back seat, but it was no less vibrant with bitterness. "but that's how it is out here. we you and i-men like tristram-everybody-sweat out our lives, sacrifice every personal wish we've got, play the game from the viceroy down to the new-fledged tommy as, heaven knows, the game isn't often played on this earth-for what? well, we don't talk about that. we just go ahead with our best. and then some blundering ass-some blackguard, is let loose among us and the whole thing is in the fire-we might as well never have been—or played the deuce to our hearts' content99 she caught a glimpse of his drawn, miserable face. "you think-things are pretty bad?" she asked, gropingly. "something will happen?" "sure." his grip tightened on the reins. "something -god knows what-but something19 chapter viii the two listeners it was typical of owen meredith that, as he left the boucicaults' compound behind him, he put aside his own grief and turned sternly to the duty that lay nearest him. that duty concerned ayeshi. possibly, had ayeshi been moulded in the common clay of his race, meredith might have taken his duty with less seriousness, though his blood would still have burnt at boucicault's wanton brutality— as it was, a long-considered purpose now took a definite form. it chanced that, as meredith trudged on his way to the mission, the rajah's english dog-cart swerved round a bend of the dusty road, and came down upon him with the best speed of a rather showy high-stepper. rasaldû drove himself, the knowledge of animals being the one talent that he appeared to have inherited from his cowherd ancestry, and, recognizing meredith, he drew up so smartly as almost to jerk his attendant from off his precarious perch in the rear. "i have just come down from the dâk-bungalow," he explained. "i was to have taken mademoiselle fersen out with my new cob-beauty, eh?-but she was out. happened to have seen her?" ιοι f 102 the two listeners meredith accepted the fat brown hand extended towards him. "i left her at the boucicaults'," he said. "but that was some time back. it was miss boucicault's birthday, you know." "no, i didn't." rasaldû's face fell like that of an offended child, and meredith hastened to add lightly: "it was a very small affair-only a handful of miss boucicault's women friends and an odd male or two like myself. miss fersen was there as a matter of course. i don't think any affair in gaya could get along without her." the rajah chuckled, flattered and reassured. "no, i suppose not. a wonderful woman. daresay she had to go. anything i can do for you, meredith? want a new schoolhouse or anything like that?" well, i "i want money, rajah," meredith returned promptly. "thought so. you shall have it. let me have the list and i'll head it with as much as you like 99 "hadn't you better hear what it's for?" meredith suggested. rasaldû shook his head. "oh, i don't know; that's hardly my business." "in this case, i think. it concerns one of your own people, rajah." rasaldû's smile faded. he looked oddly crestfallen. "a protégé of yours, eh?" "yes, a very brilliant young man-much above his class. though i've not been able to trace his parentage, i imagine he has good blood in his veins. anyhow, i want to give him his chance, perhaps eventually send him to calcutta university." the two listeners 103 "convert, eh?" 99 "that may come, was the grave answer. rasaldû was silent a moment, busy with the restless animal in the shafts. a rather supercilious smile flickered at the corners of his thick lips. "well, you shall have all you want," he said finally. "but send him to london-paris. paris is the place. it opens a man's mind-gives him ideas. we want that sort of stuff out here. don't fuddle him with universities. show him life. and there's nothing like paris for that. it was there i met mademoiselle fersen, you know. a fine woman, eh? fairly taken gaya by storm, i fancy.' "she certainly does pretty well what she likes," meredith admitted with a wry smile. • • "i thought so. she was bound to win. at home she fairly walked over everyone don't know why exactly. it wasn't only her dancing-i couldn't quite understand it myself-not enough of it or too much-and it wasn't her beauty. she isn't in the least beautiful. there were women in paris i knewhe caught sight of meredith's face and burst out into a good-natured laugh. "well, all that won't interest you. but you shall have your money. keep clear of the wheels, my dear fellowthe brute's got the devil in her-good-bye." 99 he raised his whip in salutation, and a minute later was a speck in a rolling cloud of dust. owen meredith trudged on patiently and interwove his thoughts of ayeshi's future, and of the slow piling of stone upon stone which was to make a new temple in india, with the red thread of his own pain. 104 the two listeners meantime the subject of his anxious consideration sat on the top step of the dâk-bungalow and was ministered to by mrs. smithers. mrs. smithers had accepted him much as she would have accepted a herd of wild elephants if they had presented themselves in sigrid's name. she brought hot water and bathed the blood from his face, and set food in lavish quantities at his side, all thisexcept for a single exclamation, "lawks a-mercy!"—without surprise or question or the slightest change in the expression of her grim features. ayeshi seemed scarcely aware of her. nor did he touch the food. he sat with his back against the wooden pillar of the verandah, his knees drawn up to his chin and shivered as though in the grip of a violent ague. mrs. smithers tried to cover him with a rug, but he thrust her offering aside. "i am not cold," he said. "you're very ill, young man," mrs. smithers retorted. he turned his half-closed, suffering eyes for a moment to her face. "it is not my body" he muttered. mrs. smithers gave it up. nevertheless, she drew up a chair on the other side of the steps and sat down with her hands folded in her lap and kept watch over him as though he had been a criminal given over into her keeping. it was thus sigrid found them half an hour later. the brief indian twilight still lingered on the open roadway, but in the happy wilderness which was the garden of the dâk-bungalow it was night, and the figures of the two watchers were only shadows. sigrid stepped out of the white military cloak which the two listeners 105 covered her light dress and revealed the the presence, under one arm, of a black-snouted, alert-eared something which in other days, when aberdeens and their mongrel offspring were unknown, would have been taken for a baby dragon. mrs. smithers's unexpectant lap received wickie, helplessly entangled in the cloak, and sigrid knelt at ayeshi's side. he had tried to rise and salaam, but she forced him back with a resolute hand. "we've had enough of that sort of thing," she said almost angrily. "how you must hate us all!" he gave a long shuddering sigh like that of a child which has exhausted itself with crying, and then was still. "mem-sahib is very good," he said softly. "but he had the right99 "he had not," she flashed back fiercely. "what gives him the right?" "if mem-sahib were not a stranger she would know," he answered in his broken voice. she struck her knee with her clenched hand in a storm of anger. "there is no law" she began. "there is a custom, mem-sahib," he interrupted. "i think many of them were sorry, but had i turned on him and struck him they would have flung themselves on me. that is the difference." "you are as good as he," she protested recklessly. "if you had a chance you would be more than he is. major tristram has told me 106 the two listeners "there are barriers that mem-sahib would be the first to remember," he persisted. but the fire of her outraged chivalry burnt fiercer in the wind of his opposition. "you're wrong, ayeshi. i shouldn't. there are no barriers at least, none like that. goodness knows, we're not born equal, but the inequality that matters isn't of birth or race, but of mind and soul. and you have a mind and soul above most. there are no barriers for you." he bent his head. we are "that is what meredith sahib has said to me. all brothers—that is the message of his god to us. somehow, i do not think that meredith sahib is wise to bring the message nor you, mem-sahib-and yet we who are athirst in the deserthe seemed to meditate and to have forgotten her. he rose stiffly and painfully to his feet. "i go to seek tristram sahib," he muttered. she also had risen with an effortless slowness which made even of the simple movement a kind of wonder. "tristram sahib? is tristram sahib here?" he pointed vaguely out into the darkness. "there—in an hour i am to meet him with the colonel sahib's answer. he would not come himself, for he is hard pressed, and if he met the colonel sahib-" "there would be an end to his theories," she interposed with a little laugh. "and to you also he sent a message, mem-sahib." she turned to him. mrs. smithers, to whom the darkness was in the nature of an impropriety, had lit the high the two listeners 107 lamp in the room behind them, and the dim gold which flooded sigrid fersen's face seemed more the dawn of an expression than a reflected light. "give it me!" she said. his back was to the light. he looked at her for a moment, his face a blank, featureless shadow. "it is here, mem-sahib." from his tunic he drew out a little bundle wrapped in a thick silk cummerbund, and gave it tenderly into her hands. "it was that which made me most afraid," he added. "that!" she said, scarcely above her breath. she held the fragile china cup in both hands, her head bent. "i can't accept it," she said hurriedly. "you must tell him so, ayeshi. it was his mother's gift-he valued ithe loves beautiful things-i couldn't take it"mem-sahib❞—the young hindu's voice sounded rough and uneven-"the dakktar sahib goes to bjura tonight. there is much terrible sickness in bjura, and the dakktar sahib goes weary and single-handed. the cup was precious to him-most precious-and that was why he sent it to the mem-sahib who loves the beautiful as he does. he believed that his mother would have wished it." he waited and then asked: "what message shall i take to the dakktar sahib?" "wait-you must give me time to think, ayeshi-or, no, why should i think?" her laugh sounded low and unsteady. "come, you must sit there in the shadow again. it is not yet time for tristram sahib. wait-i will give him my message sit there" she was gone noiselessly. mrs. smithers, who hovered 108 the two listeners gloomily about the drawing-room in search of the absconded wickie, saw her go to the piano and throw it open. for many minutes she sat before it motionless, seeming to listen, then her left hand touched the keys, and almost inaudibly, like the stir of a newly awakened wind, there sounded the first notes of the andante appassionata. mrs. smithers no longer fidgeted. she stood in the shadow of the curtained window, her old, hard-set face to the darkness. only her mouth had lost something of its grim severity, and had become tender. she did not see ayeshi, though barely the breadth of the verandah separated them. she looked past him as sightlessly as he looked past her. evidently he had turned to go. one foot rested on the lower step and his body was thrown back against the balustrade as though he had been arrested in the very act of flight. the dim light on his face revealed its look of wonder-almost panic-stricken wonder. mrs. smithers continued to disregard him. but presently she turned and went across to the piano. whatever momentary weakness had overcome her had gone and she was again her ruthless, uncompromising self. "sigrid-there's some one out there in the compoundunder the trees-a man. who is he?" "major tristram-the dakktar sahib-a very poor and gallant gentleman-who is perhaps going out to die and now trembles on the brink of paradise." she broke off and passed joyously into the next phrase and through its glowing crescendo her voice sounded with a light distinctness. "i can play too, smithy! and dance. i could dance to this and beethoven would say i knew more of the two listeners 109 his soul than half the fools who gape in stuffy concerthalls. think, smithy, that man out there has never heard such music-only meyerbeer's pompous little ballet —and after that he went and stood by the river until the daybreak-because of me” mrs. smithers shook her head sternly. " "you mustn't, sigrid-you mustn't. it's not fair -you've always been fair. you know nothing can't come of it. you know yourself. you can't change your course"i do know. but sometimes the wind shall blow me whither it listeth. haven't i the right to that much?" "not at some one else's cost, sigrid." there was no answer. sigrid fersen lifted her right hand and touched her lips with her forefinger. it was as though she called the very garden without to a deeper stillness. her left hand passed swiftly from chord to chord, from major to a wistful minor, resting at last on one deep lingering note of suspense. "hush, smithy! don't talk! what does anything matter? now listen! do you remember-the d minor valse do you remember that last night-the grand-dukes and the princesses, what were they all?-was there anything but god and chopin and i-” her fair small head was thrown back, her eyes were bright, but not now with gaiety. her mouth was slightly open, and she was breathing deeply and quickly with the glory of divine movement. mrs. smithers turned away again and went back to the iio the two listeners window. she was crying, her mouth stiff as though it could not yield, even to grief. the man under the trees had taken a step forward and now stood still again. between them ayeshi lay huddled together on the top step of the verandah, his face hidden in his arms. chapter ix lalloo, the money-lender ir had come to be an accepted fact in gaya that the old bungalow lying on the outskirts was haunted and therefore undesirable. not that gaya feared ghosts or anything else in heaven or earth. the average anglo-indian's nerve, strained by the subtle but immediate juxtaposition of frivolity and danger which shade so imperceptibly into each other, that the border-line can be crossed unconsciously and in an instant, cannot indulge in emotionalism or fancies. he has to close his mind both to the fascination and the veiled menace of indian life, or be lost. it is for that reason that he is always the last to admit the fascination, except in regard to the social conditions, or the danger, beyond the obvious ones of ill health and consequent retirement on a beggarly half-pay. so gaya's inhabitants locked up fear, and hid the key where it could not be found even by the most unbaked, fluttered newcomer, and the old bungalow with its ugly secret left them unmoved. but they never denied the existence of the blight which rested on the gloomy, tumbleddown building, and they avoided the place as unpleasant and depressing, and took care that innocent newly appointed iii 112 lalloo, the money-lender officers and their wives, for whom so large and spacious a dwelling seemed eminently suited, should house elsewhere. it was owing to this circumstance that james barclay had been able to obtain possession and a consequent but dubious foothold on the outskirts of gaya's sternly fortified social life. the bungalow had been built in the dim ages before the mutiny, and had been patched and patched till little was left of the original. james barclay promptly renovated it from end to end, and added various bizarre additions of his own which, however, did not alter the place's fundamental characteristic of mouldering gloom and depression. in the room in which he sat talking to lalloo, the moneylender, everything of native origin had been rigorously excluded. the chairs were covered with english chintzes, the curtains were futurist in design and colour; there were copies of european masterpieces in heavy gilded frames on the walls, and a new art bronze lamp suspended from the hand of a marble venus cast a bright, garish reflection on the upturned, contemplative face of its owner. it was curious, therefore, that, as little as he had been able to eradicate the gloom, as little had he been able to oust the indigenous element. the objects might be western, but the atmosphere remained obstinately oriental. perhaps it was the irrepressible outbursts of colour-love betrayed by the chintzes, or perhaps lalloo supplied the cause of this phenomena. he sat cross-legged on the carpet and stroked his grizzled beard with a dark hand, that seemed all the darker for the scrupulous whiteness of his puggri and loose tunic. compared with him, barclay lalloo, the money-lender 113 looked almost blond, almost english. yet lalloo also accentuated what was un-english in him. there were lines about the old usurer's mouth and nostrils which were already dimly suggested in barclay's face. there was a gulf between them, but there was also a bridge across. "there is seetul, who says he cannot pay," lalloo detailed monotonously, and as though he were reading from an account-book. "he has owed us ten rupees these last six months, and still he says he cannot pay. but he has had many fine stuffs in his loom-and his daughter's hands have been busy with rich embroideries on which the sahibs' wives have cast longing eyes. it would be well to claim your due, meester barclay, before it is too late." barclay nodded absently. "good. i can leave that to you, lalloo," he said. "it is well. then heera singh we lent him five rupees a year ago when the harvest failed. twenty-five rupees is what i claimed from him two days ago, and he has nothing -that is to say, he has some fine cattle and this year the rabi has done well. your claim would be a just one, meester barclay." "you'd better make it quick, then, before the beggar sells out. afterwards he'll come whining with some infernal lie. he's had rope enough." "it is well." the old man continued to stroke his beard for a moment in silence, watching the face under the light with a blank intentness which revealed nothing. "nehal pal has paid in full," he resumed at length. "his daughter was given in marriage to meer ali a week since. meer ali 8 114 lalloo, the money-lender is a very old man, and there was some difficulty, for in these degenerate days the tongues of the women wag to some purpose-but the marriage contract was very favourable to nehal pal. and he has paid in full." lalloo patted his waistband and drew out a small jangling bag, which he set with an almost religious gravity at his patron's feet. "these and the other moneys of which i have already rendered account are now before you, meester barclay." barclay picked up the bag and weighed it negligently in his lean, brown hand. "you've got an amazing head for figures, lalloo," he commended. "and you're some business man, as our american friends would say. we shall want both qualities badly in the future. i want money—as much as i can get. i mean to rope in all the industries of every village within three hundred miles and make them paying concerns. at present, they're just in a state of straggling, unprofitable hugger-mugger, out of which nobody gets anything." "i have done my best," lalloo insinuated deprecatingly. barclay tossed the bag on to the polished oak table beside him. "one man's best isn't enough. nothing's of any good without organization, and to organize one must have the power to make others do what they're told. so far we've got most of the grain-dealers into the net, and by the next harvest they'll have to sell me their grain at my own price. but that's a drop in the ocean. the weaving-that's the thing. that's what's going to count. there are three hundred thousand weavers round and about gaya, swamped lalloo, the money-lender 115 by rotten fakes from manchester. i'm going to change all that. it's manchester that's going to be swamped. one of these days, i shall be a power in gaya, lalloo." he said it with a mixture of arrogance, complacency, and appeal which elicited no more than an enigmatic "it may well be, meester barclay," from the expressionless hindu kara cross-legged on the carpet. barclay got up and stood with his hands thrust into the pockets of his riding-breeches, his eyes roving from one to another of the expensive atrocities with which the room was crowded. "i've begun here," he went on, in the same tone. “i daresay they would have fought me tooth and nail for possession of the place if they'd had the power. but they hadn't. even in gaya money spells the last word, and i had money. there isn't another bungalow like this in gaya." "that also is true," lalloo assented. he turned his head for a moment, fixing an intent look on the curtained doorway as though it reminded him of something. "i know the place well. it was here in this room many years ago that i found the body of the great tristram sahib. he had been murdered. there was blood on the flooralmost where meester barclay stands now. the carpet hides the stain. we tried to wash it out, but the blood had soaked into the wood." he made a little regretful gesture. "it had flowed freely, and we came many hours too late," he finished. he gave his account as casually, tonelessly as he had recited his accounts, not noting the uneasy start of the man in front of him, but seeming to fall into a mood 116 lalloo, the money-lender of profound retrospection. barclay came nearer to the light again. "murdered?" he echoed. "in this room-by whom?" the sharp brown eyes lifted for a moment. "that is not known. one could tell, perhaps, but he has been long silent. the young and foolish swear he has not spoken for a hundred years, but that is vulgar superstition. i remember vahana the holy man when he was young and handsome and loved a beautiful wife." he jerked his head significantly. "it was her body i found out in the garden well yonder," he added. "murdered, too?" lalloo smiled subtly. "tristram sahib was handsome and brave and lonely. it was said that he had a way with women—and he was sahib. no doubt she came willingly. in those days, gaya was not as now. she lived with him for a year before the accident. there was a child, but that was never found.” “and vahana?” the smile, unchanged, gained in significance. "he was on a great pilgrimage to holy benares, meester barclay." the old usurer put his hand to the neck of his tunic and pulled up something which hung there by a cord. the thing glittered yellow in the light. "see, this is what i found on her body-an old bracelet-strange and wonderful in design, meester barclay. i wear it, for there is a saying that a murdered woman's jewels shield a man from the evil eye, and i, lalloo, who believe in nothing, am cautious. there was a fellow to it, but that i gave to lalloo, the money-lender 117 vahana in remembrance of the wife he had loved. he thanked me and went his way-some say to kailasa, but there is no knowing, for since that day no man has heard him speak." barclay, who had bent down for a moment, let the bracelet slip from his fingers. he turned away and went and stood near the spot which lalloo had indicated, frowning down at it as though the stain were still visible or bore for him some deeper significance. "and so, because of a sordid tragedy, many years old, the place is boycotted by all save outsiders-such as i am. is that the delicate point of your story, lalloo?" he asked. "they say a spirit dwells in this room," lalloo answered indirectly, "an evil spirit," he added. he'd "or a living one. ghosts, if there are any, are men's deeds which live after them. but there are no ghosts." he shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "look about you, lalloo. a ghost couldn't haunt this room now. lose his bearings. it's changed since those days, eh?" lalloo looked at the marble venus with her lamp. "it is indeed wonderful," he assented. barclay swung on his heel and came back. he was suddenly neither arrogant nor pleading, but utterly and rather terribly sincere. "you don't think it wonderful," he said, softly and bitterly. "what you think, god knows, but at least it's not admiration for me that you're hiding behind your damned impassivity. i'm your partner-a very rich partner. i'm meester barclay, that's all. but the youngest whipper-snapper with a pink and white face and a pair of 118 lalloo, the money-lender epaulettes is sahib." he stopped, trying to master himself physically. the lean brown hands were clenched at his side in the effort. "why am i not sahib?" he asked. lalloo spread out his hands. "i speak to you in english. is not 'meester barclay' the english way?" he asked with deference. barclay laughed. the muscles of his handsome features still quivered with the gust of nervous passion which had swept over him, but there was a certain satisfaction in his laughter. "well, you have always a soft answer-and i understood. i am simply not sahib. they-your mastershave not recognized me, so you do not recognize me. but all that is going to change, and when you see me cheek by jowl with the best of them you will salaam and ask the bidding of barclay sahib." he paced restlessly backwards and forwards in his excitement, the mincing quality of his accent asserting itself. "you know the law, lalloo. a man is what his father was. my father was english-i have got good english blood in my veins. i've always known it-it would be damned awkward for some of them if i proved it. but, at any rate, they've got to have me. i'm forging a gold key to their strongest locks, and if that won't do, thenhe broke off again, changing his tone to one of trenchant decision. "i've got to have money-money enough to swamp them. i've got to have those weavers. once get a hold on the throat of the industries and the rest's easy. start at heerut, lalloo. they've had an epidemic, and will be lalloo, the money-lender 119 ready to sell their souls. you can give them easy terms99 lalloo got up leisurely. "at heerut-no, meester barclay," he said. "not there." "and why not?" "the dakktar sahib lives in heerut. he is a strange man. he has no love for my calling." "well, are you afraid of him?" "no; he drove a devil out of my son," lalloo explained, without particular emotion. barclay laughed irritably. "that means fear, right enough. you think if he can drive out devils, he can also inflict them. i know your ways of argument. well, in the name of the devil he exorcised, who is the fellow?" "tristram sahib.” "tristram?” "the son," lalloo explained, his eyes on the spot near the curtain. james barclay turned on his heel and went over to the window. for a full minute he stood there motionless and silent, seemingly intent on the sound of english voices which drifted towards him over the darkness of the compound. when he spoke again it was with a drawling heaviness. "tristram-the son? that's a curious coincidence. still, i see your point, lalloo. you could not very well oppose him. leave heerut to me. i shall manage you can go now." 120 lalloo, the money-lender the old usurer lingered. he was watching the tall, stooping figure by the window, his head a little on one side, as though he, too, listened, but apparently to other sounds. presently he slid noiselessly to the door and drew back the curtain. a woman entered. lalloo greeted her with silent deference. he lifted his hand half-way to his forehead, looking in barclay's direction, and the gesture was nicely expressive of a courteous equality. then he was gone. barclay continued to stand by the window. he had noticed neither lalloo's departure nor the woman's entry. evidently the english party outside on the road had just returned from some entertainment. he could hear a fragment of a laughing reference to champagne, then an indistinguishable murmur pitched in a graver key, and a woman's exclamation of contemptuous disgust. some one called good-night, a whip cracked, and a light-wheeled vehicle rolled on its way down-hill towards the dâkbungalow. barclay drew in his breath between his teeth like some one who has received a hurt, but he did not move. the woman came nearer to him. her movements were quiet and graceful, and curiously typical of the whole of her. everything about her was harmonious in a supple, boneless way. the big straw hat, made garishly ornate with artificial poppies, flopped over the dark little face and its untidy, beautiful frame of straight, jet-black hair. the light sprig dress revealed the yielding lines of her body, and was in itself pretty and badly made and carelessly put lalloo, the money-lender 121 on. she had all the charm, all the lithesome fascination of a young animal, but there were also lines in her face, in her figure, which gave warning of a less lovely maturity. as she came softly forward she clasped her hands, half in excitement, half in a childish appeal, and they were long-fingered, olive-tinted, and gaudy with bright rings. "jim!" she whispered. "jim!" he started. the moody dejection passed. he swung round, his features blank with the very violence of contending emotions. for a moment he stared at her, whilst the breathless joy in her eyes faded into hesitant questioning, then into fear. "oh, jim," she repeated helplessly. "jim!" he strode up to her, catching her roughly by the wrist, shaking her less with anger than in a kind of panic. "why have you come?" he stammered. "how did you get here?" she cowered like a dog before threatening punishment, and her eyes, lifted to his face, were dog-like in their steadfast, wistful appeal. "by train to bhara and then i drove for two days, jim. but no one knew me. i didn't ask any questions— i didn't tell any one. not a soul. i just found my way here. i had your letters and they described things so wonderfully, i felt i was coming home. jim, how beautiful it all is! much more beautiful than i ever dreamed!” partly she was trying to propitiate him, but partly the exclamation was sincere. her brown eyes were wide and bright as they passed over the room's treasures, resting at last on the culminating vulgarity of the venus. bar122 lalloo, the money-lender. clay followed her gaze, then, without a word, he released her, and going over to the lamp, turned down the wick. it sputtered feebly, throwing up decreasing flashes of light on to the white, stupid loveliness of the goddess, and then died out. through the darkness, barclay's voice sounded thick with anger. "anybody might have seen us from the road," he said. "you must be mad, marie, or bent on doing for my chances. don't you know what i told you-or did you just choose to forget? good god, don't whimper! you're like a child. you smash something and then you cry as though you were the injured party——— "i was so awfully lonely-" she broke in, piteously. he was silent. she could not read his expression, but the quiet following on his first violence suggested a furious effort to regain self-control. she waited, not moving or speaking, and presently he took up her plea, scrutinizing it with the level coldness of suppressed anger. "lonely, you say? hadn't you friends enough? you used to make me sick with your boasts about them. there were the mazzinis and the aostas-in our calcutta days they lived with us, fed on us, borrowed from us. what's become of them? you had money enough to buy the lot. lonely!" he exploded on the word, falling on it with a raging bitterness, then choked himself back to his pose of judicial deliberation. "it did not at all occur to you that i might be lonely, i suppose. it did not occur to you that whilst you were lolling comfortably in your rut, i was cutting new roads for us both through a granite opposition with not a soul to help me. you imagined me in a whirl lalloo, the money-lender 123 of conviviality, no doubt-fêted, courted, the catch of gaya" he laughed out. "you fool!" he flung at her, in a paroxysm of exasperation. she gasped, as though he had struck her across the face, but she was no longer crying. her voice sounded flat and tired like a child's. "i was lonely," she reiterated patiently. "i had the mazzinis and the aostas. i saw them every day, and they were very kind. but they were not you, jim. i wanted you all the time, night and day, worse and worse. i thought i should have died, wanting you. and i did imagine things. i couldn't help it. i thought how brilliant and handsome you were, and i knew you'd win through and climb-ever so high-and i should be left behind. i couldn't bear it, jim, dear. i had to come.". barclay did not answer, but now his silence was no longer the tense, savage thing it had been. she could see his tall, slight figure dimly outlined against the paler darkness of the garden. presently he turned and drew up the chesterfield to the shadow's edge. "come here!" he said authoritatively. she came, groping blindly towards him and knelt down. at his knees. she put her hands up, touching his face, his shoulders, his whole body. "oh, jim!" she whispered huskily. "just to feel you again—just to know you're there near me. it's like slaking an awful thirst-you don't know what it's been" "hush!" he whispered back. she had flung aside her hat, and he bent and kissed her hair. a curious fragrance rose to meet him-eastern, sensuous, intoxicating. 124 lalloo, the money-lender he flung his arms round, dragging her close to him, kissing her eyes, her lips with a ruthless desire. "and haven't i thirsted-haven't i wanted you? do you think i haven't been lonely-among these strangers who turn their backs on me, shrink from me as though i were a leper? hush, don't cry! i'm not angry now. i'm glad. we shall have these few hours together. tomorrow99 "tomorrow?" she interrupted fearfully. "tomorrow you must go back." he laid his hand on her lips, stifling her involuntary cry of pain. his own voice grew clearer and less passionate. "you must. we can't let ourselves be carried away by our feelings like this. it would be ridiculous to sell the whole future for the present." "we were happy before," she whispered. "what more can one be than happy?" he made a little impatient movement. "you were happy. but i couldn't you see for yourself-i didn't belong there-not among your set or the set i'd been brought up in-poor, mean, petty folk, squabbling and wrangling over the degrees of their insignificance. who was your father?—a rotten little clerk, sweating in a government office, too poor to get an english wife. but my father"} he broke off, and then went on rapidly. "i'm different, marie. i've got good blood in my veinsgood english blood. it's restless in me. rot like the others. i've got to get on. through-back to my own people. stand?" it won't let me i've got to win don't you under"yes," she said dully, "and i am afraid." lalloo, the money-lender 125 he went on, with gathering determination: "so you must go back and wait. i shall pull through, but you couldn't, and i couldn't help you. you'd drag me back. you must have patience and faith. when i've made my position safe here" "you will not want me," she interrupted gently. "you'll have climbed too high for me, jim. that's why i am afraid." he laughed a little. his hand brushed the tears from her hot cheeks, and passed on caressingly down her arm to her wrist and lingered there. "you're tired and fanciful, marie. some one's been putting ideas into your head. you've got to trust me and help me "jim-what are you doing?” she whispered. "the bracelet-the one i gave you-you're still wearing it?" "always. night and day. it's been like a bit of you"i want it back"" she tried to wrench herself free from him. “jimdon't-don't, dear." "i want it. hush, don't make a fuss. you shall have it back, i promise you. heavens-what a child!" she was crying now convulsively. he put his arms round her and pressed her closer with an impatient tenderness. "it was all i had of you," she sobbed. "it was our luck -a sort of link-now it's gone"" "-into my pocket," he retorted, good-humouredly, 126 lalloo, the money-lender "and in a week or two it'll be back on your wrist. i'll put it there if i have to come all the way to calcutta. hush, for god's sake; don't cry like that" she became suddenly very quiet. instinctively she knew that he was trying to listen to something beyond her sobbing, and she too listened, intently, with the alertness of a frightened animal. 66 'jim-what is it?" he freed himself deliberately from her arms. "it's down at the dâk-bungalow. some one playing. it's a long way off. the wind must be in the east"the dak-bungalow? who lives there?" "sigrid fersen"" "a woman. jim, do you know her?" he got up. it was as though she no longer existed for him. the d minor valse came down to them on the breath of the night-breeze-maddening and exhilarating—a song of life at its full tide. "yes-i-i know her," he said. "jim, where are you going?" he turned on her, thrusting aside her clinging hands with a cold violence. "stay there!" he said. "don't let any one see you. stay there!" he pushed past her and went down the verandah steps. it was as though he had thrust a dog out of his path. she called to him, but he did not hear her-a minute later, he had vanished into the shadow of the trees. chapter x an encounter ayeshi, with his face buried in his arms, had neither seen nor head, and it was mrs. smithers who stepped challengingly into the man's path. her old heart beat terrifyingly, but she held herself with a very dour and acrimonious determination. "of all the impertinence!" she hissed at him. "go away with you, you nasty, maraudering heathen" but it was then that sigrid saw him, and the d minor valse broke off sharply, leaving a flat and drear silence, as though some splendid, glowing spirit had fallen lifeless. she herself had risen and stood with one hand on the keys, the other at her side. her mouth was still a little open, but no longer with her wide smile of joyous living. she looked tired, and rather wan. "who are you?" she asked, breathlessly. "what are you doing here?" "i beg your pardon." barclay bowed to her. "i assure you, i did not mean to interrupt your playing, but this-this lady caught sight of me and i had to present myself at once or be taken for a burglar. i hope i am forgiven?" 127 128 an encounter she shrugged her shoulder, studying him with an impassivity before which his suave manner faltered and became uncertain. "i neither know you nor your business," she said. "when i have heard your explanation, it will be time to consider whether i can accept your apology." "meantime, i accept the reproof," he retorted. "but we are old acquaintances—at least, we have met before. that is the first paragraph of my excuse. we met at the dinner lord kirkdale gave in honour of your return, and i was introduced to you. my name is barclay-james barclay." "there are many thousands of people who have been introduced to me and whose names and faces i have forgotten," she said, simply. "that does not warrant their walking into my drawing-room at odd hours of the night." his smile, uneasily ingratiating, persisted. "haven't i apologized, and won't you make some allowances? i had missed you this afternoon at colonel boucicault's-business detained me and was was bitterly disappointed. passing your bungalow, i heard you playing— i was mortally tempted-and, relying on the fact that we are in india and not in stiff-necked england, i ventured to present myself at once." "you relied on the facts that i am a dancer, that you once paid half a guinea for a stall to see me dance, that you cadged for an introduction where introductions were valueless, and that, once a woman ventures out into publicity, men of a certain type consider her fair game." she spoke an encounter 129 quietly enough, but there was a whiteness about her distended nostrils which betrayed a rising anger. "well, as you rightly say, we are not in england. the half-guinea stall is of no value here. my privacy is my right, and i beg of you to respect it." he held his ground. his impulse had carried him into an impasse from which he could not possibly retreat with dignity. "you are like royalty, miss fersen," he said fluently. "people whom you don't know, know you. it's the penalty of greatness. you can't be hard on us poor mortals who take the sunshine when they can get it. besides, i have only forestalled events. sooner or later, i should have met you"" "i have lived in gaya for two months," she interrupted, "and i have neither met you nor heard of you, mr. barclay." she closed the piano, sighing impatiently. had she looked at him at that moment she might have repented her only half-intended cruelty, for his insolent ease had become a desperate and rather pitiable humiliation. he had committed a blunder which he had neither the art nor the social adroitness to cover over, and he looked to her to make his escape possible decent. and she ignored him. whereat what little self-possession he owned deserted him, leaving him to the mad guidance of a raw and quivering pride. "you know very well who and what i am, miss fersen," he stammered, "or you wouldn't behave like this. if i'd been one of the others, you'd have welcomed me. you wouldn't have dared treat the merest subaltern as 1 130 an encounter you've treated me. if rajah rasaldû, a full-blown native, from whom you acceptshe turned like a flash. "" "will you go, mr. barclay?" she said, scarcely above her breath. he remained stubbornly unmoved. a minute before, he had been merely a tragi-comic figure, a victim of a midsummer night's ambition, and his own intoxicated senses. he might, to himself at least, have pleaded many things in extenuation-certainly a fundamental harmlessness and even a rather painful humility. now he had become dangerous. "i'll go at my own time," he said unevenly. mrs. smithers had once more intervened and he pushed her back. "i can afford a scandal-you can't—' "" it was at that moment that tristram stalked in through the open verandah. sigrid saw him first, and laughed. "so it's your turn to play deus ex machinâ," she said gaily. it was as though his advent had swept away every vestige of her annoyance. she looked at barclay with bright, malicious eyes. "you've just come in time to show mr. barclay the way out," she said. "he was unable to find it for himself." the two men stared at each other. at that moment either of them could have passed easily for the villain of the little drama, barclay's quivering, passion-distorted features being balanced by the englishman's general appearance, which was ragamuffinly, not to say ruffianly. his white clothes had been washed since sigrid had seen him last, but had not been ironed, an unfortunate omission, an encounter 131 since the result was one of soiled inelegance. the stubble on his unusual chin had become a reddish beard, in itself an unlovely object, and lent his countenance a look of aggression and truculence. barclay laughed. he was beside himself, less with anger than with panic before the inevitable débâcle, and he groped round for any weapon which might deliver him with a semblance of dignity. "i appreciate my blunder, miss fersen," he jerked out. "i had no idea that i interrupted an-an appointment. i can quite understand your annoyance and i apologize. i wish you both good-night." tristram blocked his way. "your name's barclay?" he asked quietly. "it is." "i've heard of you." "i daresay." the eurasian's eyes narrowed. he looked into his opponent's face with a sudden curiosity. "i daresay we have met before, major tristram." "i don't think so." "" "perhaps in a third person." "i don't understand," tristram returned simply. "but i have heard of you. some time i'd like to have a little talk about various things, which concern us both -notably about some friends of mine who have been hard pressed"i shall be delighted to meet you any time, major tristram," barclay retorted. "i, too, may have matters of interest to discuss with you." tristram stood on one side. 132 an encounter "shall we go together now?" he suggested. "since we are both intruding-" "not you, major tristram," sigrid interposed quietly. there was a moment's silence. the way was now open to barclay, and the three implacable watchers gave him no choice. he tried to insinuate into his bearing, into his exaggerated bow, a mocking ease, a cynical suggestiveness which might give him even a semblance of advantage. but he failed, and knew it. he stumbled out, blind and sick with the consciousness of defeat, of a hideous, selfinflicted humiliation. mrs. smithers saw him to the verandah steps as a policeman sees a doubtful intruder off premises specially recommended to his care. she adjusted her neat wig with dignity and a touch of wrathful defiance. "in a brace of shakes, i'd have boxed his ears," she muttered ferociously. "not but what my heart was beating about inside me like a fly in a bottle. the impudent blackguard! called himself an acquaintance! what next! we shall have the sweep dropping in for tea and the butcher leaving his card-" she caught herself up. "there, in another minute, i'd have forgotten i was a lady and said things. shall i see about coffee for you, sigrid?" "please, smithy." sigrid fersen stood near the middle of the room, looking out on to the dark garden, her hand raised to her small face in the familiar attitude of half-whimsical, half-sad reflection. tristram glanced at her and then hurriedly away. an encounter 133 "i was dancing," she said suddenly, with a catch in her breath. "i don't think i'd ever danced like that before. and then he came. it was as though something vital in me had been snapped-a bird brought down in full flight"" "ayeshi came out and told me you were in difficulties," he said. "i was eavesdropping. i suppose i behaved like a cad, too." she shook her head. "i was playing to you-and dancing. i knew you would see me dancing." "then you knew?" "ayeshi told me you were coming. i knew if i played you would come into the garden and listen. i wanted you to come. and you came." he tried to laugh, and the laugh failed him. "i am almost afraid of you," he said. she considered him quaintly. "smithy would say you were quite right to be afraid. and smithy would be right, too. i am dangerous." "and i am a believer in the theory which bids us 'live dangerously," he retorted more lightly. "but with you the theory would work out as self-sacrifice -with me it would mean the sacrifice of others." she drew a lounge chair out on to the verandah and sat down with a little sigh of relief. "how tired i am! the d minor valse always tired me-not my body-that doesn't matter-but the invisible spirit which makes a single step a divine thing. mr. meredith would call it the soul, if he could connect his speciality with anything so vulgar and 134 an encounter mundane." she laughed and snuggled herself back among the cushions. "anyhow, my soul has danced and my soul is tired," she announced contentedly. tristram remained standing. he was looking down at her profile with a puzzled intentness. "yes," he admitted, "very tired." "that means-i'm looking ugly?" she suggested. "no," he answered, abruptly. at that moment, seated there with her back to the light, she looked elfish, something aerial and inhuman. her fair hair, smoothed down with a delicious primness on either side of her small head, made an aureole in which her face gleamed white and transparent. beauty and ugliness were terms inapplicable to her. as well have measured air and fire by the standards of a venus de milo. "still, you're not well tonight," tristram persisted obstinately. "feel that, then, dakktar sahib!" he took her outstretched hand. for a second it lay in his, small, cool, amazingly soft and supple, then clasped itself round his fingers like a steel band made living by electric forces, and he looked up wincing and laughing, and their eyes met. she was smiling at him with a childlike satisfaction. "you see, i am stronger than you, dakktar sahib!" she said gaily. "that wouldn't be saying much tonight," he answered. she still held his hand, but her hold had changed its character. "i had forgotten-ayeshi told us—you are ill—” an encounter 135 "it is nothing," he muttered. she became thoughtful in her silence. wickie made a scrambling rush up the verandah steps and flung himself, with an hysterical yell of triumph, against tristram's legs. by what cunning he had eluded mrs. smithers's methodical but unpractised search cannot be told-but he was there, a wriggling, writhing, panting mass of delirious happiness, tristram caught him up and hugged him. "and how in the name of the creator of mongrel puppies did you get here?" he asked. "i commandeered him," sigrid fersen answered. "i left him with miss boucicault." "and colonel boucicault threatened to knock his brains out, so i commandeered him." tristram glanced down at her wonderingly. "you bearded the colonel? that was plucky of you. anne must have been frightened, poor little soul." a faint, malicious smile quivered at the corner of sigrid's lips. "a little, i think. but she had no time to interfere. i was nearest to the scene of action." "i am awfully grateful. wickie and i are old pals." "i know. if i deserve reward, let him stay with me. what will you do with small dogs out there?" "i don't know—would he stay with you?" "try him!" he set wickie on his short bandy legs and she called the dog by name. he came and sat in front of her, beating the ground with his lengthy tail, his ears flat in an ingratiating humility. she bent and patted him. "you see!" 136 an encounter tristram nodded. his silence became tense and painful, as though he laboured under a physical weakness, kept only at bay by a sheer effort of will. she looked at him critically, and saw that he was trembling. "you are ill, major tristram. sit down and rest. smithy will bring us coffee-it will do you good to sit with me here in the darkness and quiet." "i ought to be on my way," he answered unevenly. "well, then, if not for yourself-for me. i will admit that i am ill and that i need the dakktar sahib's ministrations. it comforts me to have you here. it is your duty, therefore, to remain." "you are stronger than i," he answered, with an unsteady laugh. but he sat down opposite her, his body bent forward, his hands clasped between his knees. she could see nothing of his face, but the outline of his fine head, distorted a little by its mass of thick hair, trimmed by an amateur hand, lent his shadow a look of way-worn distress and physical disintegration. yet it remained an indomitable shadow. she remembered him as she had seen him once before. since then the quixote had had his tussle with the windmill and now, bruised and broken, prepared himself for a fresh onslaught. "why do you do it?" she flung at him, almost angrily. he looked up at her, as though waking from a dream. "do what?" he asked. she shrugged her shoulders. "oh, i know. ayeshi has told me. you're going into that hell single-handed and crippled. boucicault has refused to get you help. why do you let him trample an encounter 137 on you? he is not in your service. are you afraid of him, too?" he met her taunt with a grave simplicity. "no, i am not afraid. up till now, colonel boucicault has blocked my line of communication with the authorities. that's over. there's going to be a tussle to the death between us, and he knows it. that's why i didn't come myself tonight." "then why need you go? any one would exonerate you. ayeshi said it might meanher own thought. she exclaimed. she recoiled from 99 "it's almost your duty not to go,' "do you want me to remain?" he asked. she beat her clenched fist irritably on the arm of her chair. "no-because it wouldn't be you then-because you are a fool, major tristram—a sublime fool whom one wouldn't have changed even to save him from destruction. go, by all means, and sacrifice yourself to your duty. for that you were born." he sank back in his chair, his face lifted to where the jungle of the neglected compound thinned before the night's luminous sapphire. "i don't believe in duty and sacrifices," he said, "but in happiness." "and isn't your happiness here?" she demanded, imperiously; "isn't this happiness-the thing you dreamed of?" she saw his hands clench themselves. "yes-but a dream that can't be fulfilled-a secret 138 an encounter corner of fancy-that isn't enough. in the end-if one lived on it, set it before one as the end-all-one would sicken and starve. the dream itself would die. i've figured it out-happiness is the consciousness of purpose 99 "what purpose can any one of us have?" she retorted scornfully, "we who are ourselves purposeless creations?" he waited a moment. when he answered, his voice sounded clear and steady, though his words were faltering, groping efforts of expression. "i don't know—i mean rather that i can't explain. i'm an inarticulate sort of fellow. it seems to me-ninetynine days out of a hundred we don't worry as to where we're going or why. we do what we've got to do blindly. but the hundredth day is a day of reckoning. you were going to say just now that i might die if i went out there. well, that doesn't seem to me so important. death is the only visible goal we have. what matters, what is vital, what is happiness is that we should reach that goal splendidly-as splendidly as we can. surely happiness is this, that in our moments of reckoning, when we have to face ourselves, or when we reach the goal, perhaps suddenly and unexpectedly, we can look back on our course with the knowledge that, whether punishment or reward or nothing awaits us, we ran straight according to our lights." "and 'running straight' for you means plunging into the sickness and suffering of others?" she asked moodily. she saw him throw back his tired shoulders. "what other 'running straight' is there that matters?” he returned, ardently. "those poor folk out in bjura— i'm the only hope they've got. supposing i fail them? an encounter 139 no one would blame me-no one would say i hadn't run straight-but i should have broken the only law i recognize i should have denied the only god i know. and more than that-i'm english. when i go out there, i carry my colours with me. it depends on me whether those colours signify to these people suffering or happiness, and whether, in the end, they signify happiness or suffering to us" he paused, and then went on quietly. "and they must be held higher and steadier because others have forgotten." "as colonel boucicault has forgotten," she put in. "and is he happy?" he asked quickly. she was silent, and he made a little gesture of apology. "i'm sorry—i'm like all lonely men-i've grown preachy and prosy. i've tired you—" but she turned to him, her head high, her eyes brilliant with a suddenly revealed feeling. "why should you apologize? i also have my theories of life and death. yes-to die splendidly-on the mountain top, in a palace of gold and silver, in the full tide of youth and strength, of one's own free-will, not knowing decay or suffering-to look back on a life without ugliness, without poverty or meanness-that is the goal-that is happiness." "that is your vision," he said, smiling at her wistfully. "but you are fire and air, and i am heavy earth." she got up and went to the steps of the verandah, and stood there with her back turned to him. "oh, your vision of me, major tristram-beware of it. why do you make an idol of me?" 140 an encounter but he did not answer. ayeshi came out of the shadow of the trees, leading the grotesque arabella and his own sturdy pony. tristram half rose. "no!" she said imperatively. "you have made me tired and wretched and angry. you, a physician! you have got to cure me before you go." "what shall i do?" he asked humbly. she was quiet a moment, her finger to her lips. her anger had gone, and she was once more the being of swift and joyous fancies. "look-the moon is showing between the trees. it has made a white pool at my feet, tristram sahib. do you remember what you told me how at night-time you sat by the village fire and listened to ayeshi's stories of the great past? you promised that one day i should listen, too. now i claim fulfilment. we will sit round the moonlight and warm our hands at it, and ayeshi shall tell the story that his sahib loves best. shall it be so?" "yes," he answered. both mrs. smithers and the soft-footed native servant, whom she now marshalled in' with a forbidding air of distrust, were waved imperiously aside. "no-coffee and smithy are civilized-and we are miles from civilization. we are on the borders of the jungle. if i listened, i should hear the howl of the jackals—so i shan't listen, for i detest jackals. there are monkeys overhead peeping at us and chattering soft insults—and birds pluming themselves for sleep. the moonlight will 1 1 an encounter 141 be on our faces, and it will be like the firelight. and the river shall make the music to ayeshi's story." she slipped down on to the stone floor and sat there, cross-legged, her chin cupped in her hand. the circle of pale silver reflected itself back on to her earnest face and painted faint, mocking shadows at the corners of her composed lips. ayeshi crouched dreamingly on the lower step of the verandah. on the other side of the little circle, tristram sat with wickie drowsing at his feet, his hands outstretched as though, to please her fancy, he warmed them at the firelight. once, as ayeshi told his story, he looked across at her and his face was haunted with weariness and suffering and famished desire. thus ayeshi told of the rani kurnavati and her bracelet brother. the moonlight faded. with ayeshi's last words a chill darkness crept over them, hiding them from one another and silencing them. it was as though they had indeed warmed themselves at a fire which had gone out, leaving them to the grey ash of their dreams. silently ayeshi had risen and untethered the horses and led them towards the gates of the compound. but tristram lingered, standing on the steps of the verandah, his face turned from the woman who looked down at him. she laid her hands on his shoulders. "and you who go out very gallantly, perhaps to meet the end which you fear so little-have you nothing to ask first of life, nothing you desire, no fulfilment of mad dreams 142 an encounter dreamed by the river and by your fireside-nothing that i might not grant?" he made no answer. she felt him tremble under her hands. her laugh was subdued, pityingly triumphant. "oh, tristram sahib, do you think i don't know-do you think i haven't read your heart?" she said. and bent and kissed him. chapter xi inferno he pitched his tent outside the village in a paradise of brilliantly painted flowers and high grass, whose bright emerald shone luminously where the dying sun touched it. a pool in the shadow of the trees wore a score of lotusflowers on its still breast, and the ghosts of yellow blossoms from the overhanging mango shimmered tremulously beneath among the tangled undergrowth. but there was no living thing. the sand at the water's edge was unbroken by the familiar pugs, and the trees and the long grasses were empty and silent. death and overabundant sensuous life lay side by side. the very soil, rích and moist, gave out an aroma of sickly sweetness tainted with corruption. the native bearers shook their heads and crouched down near their sleeping quarters, awaiting the loathsome, invisible thing with the fatality of their race. but tristram shouldered his case of medicaments and sought the road leading to the village. the road was ankle deep in a fine powdery dust, which rose at each step and hung in the dead air long after he had passed. there were treacherous ruts which the dust 143 144 inferno covered, zig-zagging through what had been slimy marshland and was now a crumbling, sun-baked bed of miasma. here, too, the stillness was absolute. the village roofs rose out of the flatness like irregular ant-heaps, deserted by their once restless workers. the night which came striding over the plain was a stifling mantle, choking out the last breath of life under its smothering folds of darkness. the quiet itself was eerie, unnatural, the terrible quiet of a suffering which has passed protest. then at last there came a sound-a whimpering, inhuman cry-and the man stood still, peering through the darkness. a form lay by the roadside and held out thin arms of appeal towards him. "siva! siva! have mercy!" he came nearer and knelt down. once it had been a woman, but the mysterious spectre which had laid hold of bjura had laid hold of her and twisted her out of human semblance. a child lay under her side, round-limbed, smooth-cheeked, as sweet as the lotus-flower growing out of the poisoned waters of the pool. the bloated, shapeless horror slobbered and whispered over it. "siva-my little son-have mercy!" perhaps some knowledge of another, gentler faith had reached her that she appealed for mercy to a power which knew none. tristram bent over her and drew the child away from her clawing, swollen hands. "i am not siva. i am the dakktar sahib come to help you. do not be afraid!" "have mercy, sahib!" she lay on her back staring inferno 145 up at him through the gathering gloom with terrible eyes. "have mercy!" "give me your child. i will take care of it. it shall come to no harm-i promise you. trust me!" she gaped at him with the chill non-comprehension of gathering insensibility. only the piteous appeal hung perpetually on her lips like a maddening refrain. he took the child and freed it from its filthy rags, and gave it to ayeshi standing near him, impassive and watchful. "take it back to the camp and do the best you can," he ordered. "and you, sahib?" "i shall go on-presently." he went back to the woman and knelt down beside her, taking the terrible head upon his knee, and forcing a sedative between her lips. a nauseating odour of disease rose up to him, but it did not nauseate him. he knelt there and waited for the first sign of relief. and presently the laboured, agonized breathing softened; she half turned, and her palsied, distorted hand fumbled over his coat, groping its way down the sleeve to his wrist. she took his hand and pressed it against her burning cheek, against her lips. and he bore with her, holding her closer as she neared the brink, whispering to her in her own tongue, a medley of all the words of comfort that he knew. and all at once she sighed deeply, and was quiet, with the quietness which was more than sleep. he got up and straightened out her poor body and covered her with her rags, and went on towards the village. it was night now. a smouldering fire from behind the 10 146 inferno first hut threw up a sullen glow against which the low, ramshackle building stood out spectrely. tristram passed it, and a gust of fœtid wind goaded the flames to a sudden brilliance, so that he saw upon what it was they fed themselves. a gaunt, naked figure crouched near the hideous embers, and, turning as though to see whence the wind came, saw the englishman, and leapt up, wild-eyed, and fled, shrieking, into the black fastness of the village. a now the silence was gone, and in its place there were whisperings and the pattering of naked feet. a woman's scream came from afar off. tristram stumbled over a body which neither moved nor cried out. he stood still, knowing that he was no longer alone. the eye of the electric torch which he carried flashed through the pitch darkness and rested upon distorted faces, turned to him in an agony of dread. and behind them, through the yellow haze, he caught a glimpse of bodies heaped together in the gutter, of cowering figures, faces hidden against the mud walls, of gaping doors, blacker than the pervading gloom, and threatening a nameless horror. he himself stood out in the dim light, tall and white and spectral. he moved, and the faces bowed before him like the heads of corn in the wind, and a voice went up wailing, piteous: "oh, siva, it is the end-the end-" the man whom he had seen crouching by the fire leapt suddenly out at him, and he felt the cold breath of steel against his cheek. he warded off the blow, and the madman came on again and again, and each time he defended himself patiently and without aggression. the circle of faces closed in. his light was out, but he could feel how inferno 147 the air about him grew hot and stifling. they waitedstupidly, hungrily, with a frenzied lust of death. if he fell-though they believed him god-still it would be the end. even then he did not strike out. the last time, the delirious fanatic stumbled and went crashing to the ground. tristram bent over him, turning his light on to the foamflecked old face. "he'll come round all right," he said calmly. "but we've got to get him shut up somewhere before he does damage. help me, some of you." his voice sounded loud and clear amidst their low, formless whisperings, but they did not move, and he picked the old man up as though he had been a child. "make way there!" he commanded. they let him pass, but on the threshold of the hut he came to a halt, arrested by a stench which was like a blow, staggering his senses. with his free hand, he sent the light darting about the corners of the hut, and then turned and came quickly out. there was nothing to be done. death, most hideous, had leered at him in triumph from a dozen frozen distortions of the human body. for one moment, as he stood there, choking down his physical sickness, he may have known the agony of helplessness and isolation. but only for a moment. he looked round, noting the gradual relaxation of the feardrawn faces about him. "it's a pretty bad go," he said cheerfully, "and what your headman was doing not to let us know before i can't think. however, we'll make the best of it. two of you 148 inferno go and pile up that fire i saw as i came in. and i want at least five who aren't stiff with funk to carry these poor devils out. there's not got to be a body left in this village by daybreak. we'll get the rest out into the air where they can breathe, and i'll soak you and the place in carbolic." they still hesitated, and deliberately he turned the light on to his own face. "bless you, i'm not siva. i'm the dakktar sahibsent by the great english raj to put you all straight. but, by the lord, if you don't do what i tell you in a brace of shakes, siva will be a joke by comparison.” the panic broke. the old headman crept out and cringed before him, offering excuses. him on one side. tristram waved "get on with it!" he said, between his teeth. he went from hut to hut, directing, ordering, disinfecting, patient and imperturbable, infinitely gentle. and all night soft-footed processions with their grim burdens made their way out to the monstrous funeral pyre which grew higher and higher. all that night and all through the burning, blinding day to another night, and beyond that again, tristram drove death back step by step from his mauled and helpless victims, bringing peace into a hell of suffering. three nights and three days. and on the fourth night he reeled back to the encampment beneath the trees and dropped down with his face in the long grass, and lay there inert as death itself. and for three days and nights again ayeshi sat beside him, tending him and listening to the muttered reiteration of a woman's name. chapter xii in which fortune pleases to jest the rajah rasaldû was in his element. by sheer force of merit, he occupied the stage to the almost complete exclusion of every other player. gaya hung on his movements, gasped-as much as gaya ever gasped over the reckless twists and turns of his wonderful ponies, and applauded the grace and apparent ease with which he broke the defence and sent the ball spinning between the posts. for, strange to relate, rasaldû could play polo. flabby and unheroic as he was on all other occasions, once in the saddle, he developed into an iron-wristed, coolheaded strategist. what was more, he played for his side and not for himself. men who went into the game disparaging his fatuous conceit and equally fatuous humility, loved him after the first ten minutes of brilliant, unselfish play, and the glow of affection usually lasted for twentyfour hours after he had won for his side. then they tolerated him again until the next challenge came along. rasaldû revelled like a child in gaya's good graces. there was something almost winning in his wide smile of pleasure, as after the first chukka he came over to the select group under the awning and received feminine 149 150 in which fortune pleases to jest gaya's congratulations. had he not played such a daring game he would have cut rather a comic figure. his ridingclothes, taken in juxtaposition with his dark chubby face, were wonderfully and terribly english, and his brown boots, very new and very brown, shone almost too beautifully. between him and the turbaned soldiery crowded against the ropes there was a gulf of false europeanism of which the latter seemed curiously conscious. they alone had not applauded him in his bold assault on the enemy, and they stared at him now with an expressionlessness which, translated, equalled distrust and contempt. meantime, rasaldû chatted with the volubility of success and self-confidence. he chose to address himself chiefly to mary compton, but from time to time his moist brown eyes shot an eager glance at sigrid fersen, seeking her smile, a meed of well-earned admiration. he was a little afraid of her. she was not in the least beautiful, and she undoubtedly owed her position in gaya to his generous patronage, facts which of themselves should have sustained him in her presence. but the quiet, imperious self-belief with which she had silenced alike criticism and opposition and compelled rigid gaya to accept her and her standards, shook rasaldu's self-complacency. it was for that very reason, and also because gaya had mysteriously collapsed before her, that rasaldû hovered about her with the helpless and protesting infatuation of a moth for a naked light. and now today there was added to this emotion the heat and intoxication of his own prowess, and the consciousness that, if she was not beautiful, she possessed something much more vital than beauty-the mysterious force of in which fortune pleases to jest 151 temperament which through all time has made plain women more dangerous, more powerful in the destiny of nations than women endowed with all physical perfection. rasaldû had no talent for analysing temperaments, but he could analyse certain obvious factors in her charm-the pale gold hair, the perfect skin, unprotected by powder, the svelte, tiger-like grace and strength of her reposing body. above all, he could analyse clothes. gaya's women-folk, none too well blessed with money, lived in london's last year's creations and the clumsy imitations of the native tailors. but this simple white dress of some clinging, shimmering material, unknown to gaya, and this simple straw hat almost unadorned, came from paris. rasaldû, who knew his paris, knew that much. and, as a man worships a token from his native soil, so he worshipped sigrid fersen. and presently he ventured to address her directly. "now you have seen what is best in india!" he said. "the rajah rasaldû playing polo?" she asked, smilingly. "you are unkind, mademoiselle," he answered, with the hurt sensitiveness of a snubbed child. "i did not mean to be unkind. there are so many wonderful things in india, rajah, that i hesitated a moment to endorse your opinion. still-yes, it was a fine sight. you should always play polo, rajah. it suits you better than fêting prima ballerinas in london restaurants.” he looked at her and saw that she was serious, and her seriousness mitigated the dubiousness of her compliment. he would have preferred it in the reversed sense, but he had to take what was offered him. 152 in which fortune pleases to jest "i was not really alluding to myself at all," he said, naïvely, "but to the game. the game's the thing." "yes-and the man who plays it," she answered. she was smiling faintly, and he indulged in a flattered selfconsciousness until he realized that the smile was a reminiscent one, and that she was looking through him to some invisible picture of her thoughts. whereupon, rasaldû hastily reverted to mrs. compton, whom also he feared, but in a lesser degree. her tongue was sharp, but at least she did not attract him, and consequently her powers of offence were of a less painful order. sigrid fersen did not notice his dejection. she was looking at meredith, who at that moment had entered the awning. he still wore his clerical clothes, having come straight from the little chapel, where every afternoon he held his service. it was rare that more than one person should represent the congregation. sometimes he managed to collect a few convert school-children, but always anne boucicault was there, devout and trembling, her brown eyes following his every movement with the reverence of a passionate believer in the initiated and anointed priest. that hour in the day was very dear to owen meredith. he believed that it was a religious ecstasy which flooded him as he listened to her low voice give the responses—or at least a pure joy in their fellowship in the one faith. he had not realized how lifeless and empty his own prayers could be without the inspiration of her presence. now a kind of fear oppressed him-a fear of himself, a doubt in his own spiritual integrity. for this afternoon, she had failed him and he had failed himself. he had held the in which fortune pleases to jest 153 service, according to the law which he had made for himself, sparing no detail, but his heart had been dead. now, as he saw her, it started to life again, to the knowledge of pain. she sat beside colonel boucicault, and there was that in her attitude which reminded meredith of a frightened animal cowering under the threat of the lash. all the charm of youth had been twisted out of her by some invisible, iron-handed suffering. and without that charm, she was a drab, colourless little soul, almost ugly. but meredith did not see that she was ugly, only that she was ill and unhappy. he thought he understood. as he came and sat beside her, she shot a quick, frightened glance at him. "father did not wish me to come," she said, in a hurried whisper. "he was fearfully angry about some letter" more she could not say. and even that much would have been dangerous, had not the man beside her been sunk in a sullen, inattentive brooding. she dared say nothing of the appalling scene which had followed on the receipt of that ominous official document, and which had left them stupefied and bruised and sick. in the final phase, boucicault had forbidden her chapel attendance, not because he disapproved, or cared, but because he knew that she wanted to escape him. and all the afternoon he kept at her side, taking an ugly delight in her wincing, broken subservience, and in the knowledge that he held her with him in his self-created atmosphere of fear and hatred. but meredith believed he knew more of her pallor than she even hinted at. "i met ayeshi on the way here," he said. "he gave me the news. tristram is on his way back." 154 in which fortune pleases to jest "yes-?" she queried, dully. "he has been very ill. ayeshi has come on ahead to prepare quarters for him." she was looking down at her hands. he could see how she fought to control their trembling. "if only we could have put him up-but we can'tfather wouldn't-oh, it is terrible to be so helpless." "i told ayeshi to bring him to my bungalow. i will let you know how he is—and perhaps, later on, you could help. i know what a fine little nurse you are"you are very, very good, owen-" 99 "i would be glad to do anything for him," he answered, without significance. then chancing to look up, he found that sigrid fersen's eyes were fixed on him, and guessed that she had heard, or had wanted to hear badly. for an instant, on behalf of anne, he hated her again, and the next he warmed towards her. she met his half-resentful stare as frankly. "i am so thankful he is safe," she said. mrs. compton thereupon chimed in. "if anything happened to major tristram, i should die of a broken heart," she said, "—even if archie divorced me for it." she paid no attention to the laugh in which even anne joined timidly. she was looking at colonel boucicault, who had shifted his position like a sleeper unpleasantly disturbed, but the remark which seemed on the edge of her compressed lips was not destined to be uttered. at that moment a bell announced the next chukka; a stir passed round the enclosure and mrs. compton, who, in which fortune pleases to jest 155 in spirit, played a magnificent game for gaya, forgot boucicault and tristram in her stern concentration on the field. rasaldû braced himself and turned with a smile to sigrid. he felt more confident. in a minute she would be forced to look at him, to admire him, to acknowledge that he also "played the game.' "wish me luck!" he begged cheerily. "return victorious!" she returned, in mock heroics. "for the victors, mrs. compton and i have prepared a mighty feast in the gardens of the dâk-bungalow, and the vanquished shall sit afar off and partake only of the crumbs of our graciousness. be not among the vanquished, o rajah!" "to win the place of honour, i will make a goal every five minutes, or perish," he boasted elatedly. he swung himself on to the back of the pony which his groom held ready for him, and with a flourish trotted to his place on the field. boucicault awoke then completely from his black brooding. he bent forward, staring straight into sigrid fersen's face, his clenched teeth shown in a smile that had in its mirthless, contained fury the elements of insanity. "you are a very great friend of rajah rasaldû, miss fersen," he said. she looked at him steadily, measuring the quality of the challenge which he had thrown down. "does friendship follow on acquaintance?" she questioned back. "in that case, you and i should be friends, 156 in which fortune pleases to jest colonel boucicault, for i have met you more often than the rajah." "then he has marked his joy in your acquaintanceship with remarkable generosity," he retorted. "is generosity your translation for hospitality, colonel boucicault?" "the rajah's hospitality is well known. he gives liberally. he expects a return. and he is impressionable. there is such a thing as love at first sight, miss fersen." he was watching her with a hungry anticipation, but she neither winced nor turned from him. her calm gaze met his, and there was no change in its rather sleepy placidity. but the enigmatic smile which he remembered quivered at the corners of her mouth. "and there is also such a thing as contempt at first sight," she remarked casually, "and that is much what i felt for you, colonel boucicault." "you are an outspoken enemy," he answered, with a quick drawing in of his breath. she looked down for an instant and saw that his big, brutal-looking hands shook. "you have remarked on my outspokenness before." "yes, and i even admire it. but my admiration, miss fersen, cannot influence my sense of duty. i am chief in command in gaya. the social as well as the military authority rests in me. and where i see that a certain individual is lessening our prestige, corrupting our morals, or even upsetting the routine of our social life, then i have the power to expel that individual-to make gaya and india impossible 99 in which fortune pleases to jest 157 "if, to speak clearly, you refer to me, colonel boucicault," she interrupted, "then perhaps i shall have the pleasure of travelling in the same boat with you to england." his bloodshot eyes remained blank and stupid-looking for an instant, then lit up with an insensate fury of understanding. he stumbled to his feet. "you-you-!" he muttered. she saw his clenched fists, and knew that, for all his position and the crowd of witnesses, he had come within an ace of striking her. she looked up at him over her shoulder and laughed. "keep that sort of thing for your family, colonel boucicault," she advised lightly. boucicault turned and pushed through the knot of spectators behind him. he made his way across the paddock where the ponies were being rubbed down, and out on to the high road. his orderly, seeing him, ran after him, and he turned on the man with a curse. "take the buggy back to the stables. i shall walk." "and the mem-sahib-?" "the mem-sahib can walk, too," he answered, grinning. the man saluted, his face hard-set, his eyes meeting boucicault's with military steadfastness. but for an instant the muscles about his mouth had quivered, betraying that there was that beneath the surface which even his native stoicism could not wholly master. and boucicault saw and understood. he strode on down the centre of the dusty, sun-baked road. he had drunk heavily that day, but there was more than drink fomenting in his inflamed brain. there was that letter with its bold, humbugging politeness—after so 158 in which fortune pleases to jest many years of service an inquiry-certain charges-what charges? by whom brought? he muttered aloud, dwelling on a name with a sneering hatred. well-they should inquire he could answer the lot. but then there was anne cowering before him—why had god cursed him with a cowardly girl? and that manthere had been a time when, as a mere captain, his regiment would have followed him through the gates of hell-and now-nowif he went into action tomorrow-what then? he saw the soldier's face again and re-read its significance. strong men made enemies, and he had always had enemies, but he had also had friends in the past. they had gone. the men who had believed in him-adored him-gone. he felt himself haunted by spectres of what was and what had been. they came out of the black abyss of his soul, whirled up by ugly, incoherent passions—regret and remorse, selfloathing and self-pity twisted out of recognition and melted down to one vast, corroding hatred. every other emotion came too late. only hatred remained to him— the last link between him and his fellow-creatures-that and the power to hurt, to inflict suffering-as he suffered. thus carried forward and half-blinded by the glare which emanated more from his brain than from the blazing roadway, he left gaya behind him. he came to a bend in the roadway where a thin belt of trees curved down towards the plain, and there stood still, arrested by an unclear recognition. at first he scarcely knew what had attracted his attention; then little by little the red haze cleared, and something within him started awake, some dormant desire as yet unnameable. in which fortune pleases to jest 159 wickie lay on the fringe of shadow, his black snout between his paws, his ears pricked, his brown eyes, showing the whites, expressive of alert curiosity. a piece of broken cord attached to his collar testified dumbly to a determined and skilful evasion of mrs. smithers's coercive methods of adoption. for a moment or two the man and the would-be aberdeen considered each other. probably in a spirit of goodnatured triumph in his own prowess, wickie had greeted boucicault's appearance by a tattoo executed by his tail on the dusty road, and his eyes had twinkled an invitation to participate in the joke. now he lay motionless, watchful, distrustful. boucicault called him. he did not know why he called him nor as yet what he wanted with the dog. the tumult within his brain had died down. he had become calm and deliberate. the letter, the menacing future, the jumbled vision of failure which had been vouchsafed him in anne's cringing body and in the eyes of his orderly, had given place to a sense of purpose, controlled, extraordinarily calculated, but as yet veiled even to himself. he called the dog again, and showed no signs of impatience when wickie remained unresponsive. underneath his own calm he felt the stirring of a curious pleasure, of a fierce thirsty joy which must be gratified only with an epicurean restraint. and for that he held it back, curbing it, spurring it to the limit of his control, tasting its anguished appeal for freedom with a cruel delight in his own mortification. then, without hurry, without show of passion, he came forward, and, catching hold of the trailing rope, dragged 160 in which fortune pleases to jest wickie to his feet. the dog struggled and growled ominously, and boucicault smiled, showing his set teeth. there was a broken stick of bamboo lying at the roadside, and he picked it up and tested its suppleness leisurely against his boot. the animal snapped at him, recognizing the enemy, and perhaps the impending danger; but boucicault continued calmly resolved. he was like a morphiamaniac who, with the passionately desired drug in his hand, prolongs the delicious agony of desire. he tied the end of the cord round the stem of a young palm and stood back a moment looking down at his captive. wickie sprang at him, and then, suddenly, terribly, he struck with his improvised weapon, bringing it down with a sickening thud on the animal's long back. the scream that answered him was half human. boucicault drew in his breath. like lava under a thin crust of restraining earth, his murderous hatred welled up in him, choking him. this cringing brute, its brown eyes turned on him in dumb horrorwas anne, anne who always cringed, always truckled to him, whom he had so often wanted to strike down. and then anne vanished from the whirling circles of his thoughts, and it was tristram and that pale-haired woman -these two who, in their different ways, had thwarted and defied him, brought him face to face with himself. it was his wife, the officers of the regiment, the men-all with that smouldering, unspoken loathing in their eyes. and he struck like a madman, blow after blow, slaking his thirst for vengeance, making with each stroke a fresh breach in the wall behind which men imprison their infamous insanities. and sometimes the dog whined and in which fortune pleases to jest 161 sometimes, like a human being, set its teeth in stoic fortitude, and sometimes, as the pliant stick fell across its body, screamed uncontrollably. it was one such scream that tristram heard as he rode up from the plain towards gaya. he hung in the saddle like a man whose backbone has been snapped, and the reins trailed from arabella's weary neck. it was fortunate that the road was familiar to her, for tristram neither knew his destination nor cared about it. some one had helped him into the saddle, and there he had remained instinctively; but his mind was empty of all purpose, even of knowledge of himself. the scream roused him a little, but only for a second. there were so many strange sounds and scenes in his brain that he trusted none of them. it was only when arabella jerked to a standstill and stood trembling with pricked ears, that he began to believe in the substantiality of what was before him. even then he sat hunched together in the saddle, gaping stupidly. he had begun to realize, but there seemed to be a hiatus in his mind-a gulf between thought and action which he could not cross. then wickie screamed again, and he rolled off arabella's back and stood there rocking like a drunken man. "colonel boucicault!" his own voice sounded like a shout in his own ears, though in reality it was little more than a whisper, but it reached boucicault, who turned round. tristram knew then that what he saw was not a distortion of his fancy. "colonel boucicault!" he repeated heavily. he found nothing more to say. his inability to think coherently had become an acute suffering. ii 162 in which fortune pleases to jest he saw wickie make a desperate effort to reach him, and the sight roused him to another effort. "let my dog go!" he muttered. boucicault passed his hand over his forehead and laughed. "you've just come back in time, major tristram," he said. "if you really lay claim to this cur, you can stay here and see it thrashed within an inch of its life. a dangerous brute!" he kicked it, yelping, back against the tree. he had made an excuse and was ashamed of it. it spoilt his pleasure in his own untrammelled, inexcusable cruelty. tristram reeled forward, intercepting himself between wickie and his assailant in time to receive a blow across the arm. the sting of it was like a tonic, driving the blood faster to his brain. "you've no right-let my dog go!" "your dog-my dear major! stand out of the way. i am master in gaya. if i may offer advice, i should suggest a bath and a change of clothes. you look-if i may say so not quite worthy of your position. i doubt if even your admirers would care to recognize you." "it would take more than a bath and a change to put me right," tristram managed to return, and then, with the dull obstinacy of a sick man: "let wickie go!" boucicault's momentary self-restraint broke down. he lashed out savagely: "take it yourself then, you sneaking cur.!" tristram flung up his arm. instinctively, for his sight failed him, he warded off the blows which rained about him, but no more than that. his mind was working now, in which fortune pleases to jest 163 very simply, in the two fundamentals of its make-uptwo vast forces fighting for supremacy, the one long dormant, suppressed, scarcely recognized, at the throat of his soul-his faith. so long as the blows fell on him, the latter remained triumphant. he shielded wickie—that was what he had meant to do. he felt as yet no animosity towards the man whose discoloured face seemed to fill his vision. he felt very little pain-only a queer, alarming tightening of his muscles. vague fragments of memory came to him—his passionate love of all things living-even to this man, his simple conception of duty-of life itself. they upheld him; they kept the vital part of him quiet and peaceful in the face of a gathering force of sheer physical revolt. his smarting body cried out for vengeance, but it had no power to move him. he stood there, taking the punishment patiently, almost listlessly. boucicault drew back from him a moment. he was breathing noisily between his teeth. in him the fundamentals had gone to pieces, and he was being carried forward on a flood-tide of ungoverned, monstrous passions. his mind, in the midst of its disruption, reasoned with the swiftness of insanity. this hulking, stupid giant who had set out to ruin him-who bore insult and pain with less spirit than his dog-he could be ruined, too. an inquiry? good-let there be one-a court-martialcashiered, both of them. but first this block had to be roused. possibly he was mad, but he had a madman's instinct and deep knowledge of the secret madness in others. he stepped suddenly on one side. the end of his stick was 164 in which fortune pleases to jest sharp and jagged. with the steel-wristed strength practised on many a day's pig-sticking, he lunged forward, driving the spike straight into wickie's body. tristram had seen too late. he heard the yelp, broken and ending piteously in a child's whimper. then it was done. something in him snapped. mind and body, instinct and reason leapt together. he struck out with all the terrible strength of his great shoulders, with all the force of his outraged love of life, with all his pity-struck to kill. it grew very quiet. he had been battling in the midst of a titanic natural eruption, and now suddenly the violently aroused elements had dropped exhausted, leaving him standing in the midst of ruin. the tide which had flowed through his veins receded, and he became oddly tired and weak and helpless. the old blindness was creeping over him. yet some things he saw in a kind of vague bigness. he did not bend down, but the man lying stretched in the dust seemed quite near to him-an austere, sinister shadow floating on a grey mist which rose higher-close to his face. a faint sound reached him-a dull, soft. thudding. he found himself on his knees, muttering incoherently. wickie lay full length, his short, crooked paws stretched out, seeking relief. there was blood on his brindle side. one brown eye looked out of its corner, half-puzzled, halfreassuring, a little glint of the old solemn humour showing through, as though the joke at mrs. smithers's expense still lingered in the fading brain. the tail beat the dust softly, and into that feeble movement there was compressed in which fortune pleases to jest 165 a love and understanding, almost a pity which defied death and rose above all language. tristram took the head on his arm. he saw that his hand was wet and knew that he was crying. a little, licking his hand feebly. wickie turned "old fellow-dear old fellow-if i hadn't cared so much -if i'd been able to drown a kitten-it wouldn't have he bent lower, kissing the black snout. happened"my best pal!" he went on talking under his breath. he did not know that he talked. some one quite close whispered the words into his ear. he was not conscious of thinking. it began to grow very dark. presently wickie sighed and stretched himself wearily, contentedly, as though it were no more than sleep that were coming-sleep by the camp-fire after a long day's march. then lay still. tristram dragged himself to his feet. out of the deepening blackness of things, an instinct asserted itself dimly. "help-we've got to get help-somehowhe said it aloud. it seemed to him that it had been shouted by the invisible monitor at his side. he stumbled over the prostrate figure lying so simple and still in the dust, reeling back from it, his face turned from gaya. then he began to walk. he walked long after the blackness had become impenetrable. he was no more than the one instinct, tragically dominant over the body which had betrayed him. his body was dead. he could not feel it. it was a machine that he willed to go straight forward to some dim, vast punishment. 166 in which fortune pleases to jest he walked through hours and nights of darkness. at last there were lights in front of him-great yellow balls of haloed flame, which danced in ecstasy to a passionate rhythm. he heard voices-a sea of whisperings which surged towards him on a great wave, breaking over him in one hushed sound. he tried to cling to it through his fading consciousness. it became a face, gazing down at him, serene, triumphant, pitying-it became a hand which touched him, held him in its iron gentleness. he could feel it holding to him surely, as all else broke from him, flinging him down into a bottomless silence. chapter xiii crossed swords in reality, he had not gone more than half a mile. but things had happened to him of which he had had no knowledge-twice he had retraced his steps and once fallen to his knees and groped his way through the dust in a blind circle. the eternities had been less than an hour, the darkness no more than the clear nightfall, the lights a dozen lanterns twinkling from the trees of the dâkbungalow. his consciousness had been a dull, distorted thing, presenting the reality to him in shapeless exaggerations. he had heard music. it had sounded to him like a huge, throbbing symphony in which these nights and days in bjura, the passions which had swept him out of his path, were mercilessly reiterated motives. in reality, it was just carreño's unsophisticated little waltz which sigrid fersen drew out lightly from a steinway already much the worse for its indian sojourn. he heard voices. it was young radcliffe lounging in the shadow of the trees, making a gloomy assault on the susceptibilities of the latest sweetest thing from england, the while his real deeply embittered self was in the drawing-room scowling at rasaldû, who, still crowned with laurels, leant against 167 168 crossed swords the piano staring at sigrid unrestrainedly and with a very naked passion. the last voice that tristram heard, the first and last face that he had seen, had been sigrid's, but that was because she had swamped all other realization. it was mrs. smithers, roaming like a dutiful policeman through the compound, who found him lying huddled together just inside the gates. she made no sort of outcry. having ascertained that he was alive, she did not even hurry herself. she went and stood primly at sigrid's side, her mittened hands folded in front of her, her back to rasaldu, whom she openly detested. "he's there," she said, jerking her head towards the compound; "lying in a dead faint, poor dear. i guess it's your fault-you'd better do something, hadn't you?" after one swift glance at the grim face, and without a word either to smithers or rasaldû, sigrid had got up and gone down the steps into the darkness where tristram lay. she knelt down beside him and touched him on his dry, burning forehead, on his throat, gliding down to his powerless hand. she spoke to him, calling him by name, and she knew that he heard, and recognized her. for a long minute she remained thus motionless, tasting her power to probe beneath his physical consciousness to the self in which he kept his dreams, his quaint beliefs, his simple, world-embracing love of things. and she knew that if he saw her, it was because her face lived in his inner vision, and that if he felt her hand it was because the memory of her touch was seared into his very flesh. she granted him and herself that moment, and then she crossed swords 169 called for help. it came quickly, noisily. but though others intervened, she remained at tristram's side. her instinct told her that he knew she was there, and that she held him back from the abyss towards which he was drifting. they laid him between the faintly scented sheets of her bed. it was her order. the shaded lamp threw a subdued glow on the room's costly loveliness, on the scattered, cunningly grouped treasures of five continents, on fragmentary, priceless testimonies to a rare and varied taste. they exercised a curious influence on the grieved and troubled helpers. it was like a subtle intoxication, as though all that these things represented crept into their blood and fought there for mastery. and in silent, austere contrast was the man lying dimly outlined beneath the white sheet, the rugged, unkempt head tilted slightly back against the pillow, the thin, suffering features composed in a passing phase of grave serenity. they knew whence he came and what he had accomplished, and the rarefied atmosphere of exquisite paganism jarred on them. it was a challenge, a kind of sneer at his whole life. they did not reason about it, they could scarcely define it. but it made meredith's manner cold to the point of antagonism as he turned presently to where sigrid stood in the shadow, her eyes fixed on the old italian vase which she had picked up casually. he hated her again-she was so calm, almost indifferent. he came and stood beside her, hushing his full voice. "i think we've done all we can. he's pretty bad, i'm afraid. i'll have a wire sent to the next best station for a 170 crossed swords doctor and a nurse. of course, he can't stay here—we'll try and move him tomorrow." "i prefer him to stay here," she said, without looking up. he frowned, wishing that rasaldû had not been one of those to help carry tristram and to share in the unconventional intimacy of the scene. it revolted him that he should stand there, watching and listening. the old ugly suspicions which he had sternly repressed in himself awoke again. they were not justly roused-it was only that he was human and incensed. "i don't think tristram would wish it," he said, and unconsciously his voice took on its heaviest anglicanism. "he would not wish you to be put to any trouble. after all, he is almost a stranger to you." "i know him very well," she returned. "i think he has known me all his life. he would leave the decision to me.' "at least, he would not wish you to be burdened with the unconventionality" he stammered, half expecting the vivid contempt with which she turned to him, and conscious of deserving it. "oh, you priest! you would rather your friend died than that your fetish of other people's respectability should be insulted." she waved him aside and flashed past him to the doorway, pulling the curtains noiselessly aside. in the second room, half-boudoir, half-dressingroom, she found mary compton and anne. the rest of the guests had discreetly evaporated, or at most hovered afar off waiting news of the man whom, oddly enough, they crossed swords 171 loved without intimacy. he had lived so much his own life, they had so often laughed at his oddities, and it was something of a revelation to them that, now the inevitable disaster had overtaken him, they were sick and afraid and dumbly remorse-stricken. captain compton stood at the compound gates under the dying lights of the lanterns with a couple of his brother officers, and smoked fiercely. "poor old tristram-good old hermit. it was bound to happen. no human being could go on like that and not crock up. damn it, we oughtn't to have allowed it. we took him too much for granted. it's always the way. good lord, why doesn't some one come? what's rasaldû doing in that galère, i should like to know? and what the devil is that tearing down the road?” rasaldû meantime, delightfully conscious of his utility, had followed sigrid and meredith into the room where the two women waited. mary compton had remained boldly. she sat upright in her chair under the lamp with a rather bleak look of authority and ready-for-anything alertness, which had made her an adored terror in the grim days at chitral. her evening dress, an antiquity cunningly revised, fitted her badly, as though it knew she hated it and meant to pay her out. she jerked her shoulders as sigrid entered, seemingly exasperated by the garment's stiff, restraining influence. "well?" she demanded. "how is he?" "but i think "i don't know yet," was the low answer. he is very ill. i have only seen one person die—it was like that." she turned her fair, smooth head towards owen, 172 crossed swords but did not look at him. "mr. meredith wishes him to be moved. he is afraid my reputation might suffer or that there might be a scandal in his parish." mrs. compton considered the young missionary with a cold curiosity, giving him an almost ludicrous consciousness of the oft-denied but very profound sex solidarity of women. "how idiotic! men are just like babies in a crisisalways fussing about the unessentials. of course, major tristram must stay-at any rate, until he is out of danger. and, sigrid, as a sop to a hopeless passion, let me help nurse him." "we'll pull him through together," sigrid answered. "mr. meredith, don't you think with mrs. compton and mrs. smithers on guard, the situation should pass muster?" he shrugged his broad shoulders. he was looking at anne-anne whose white, tear-stained face peered out of the shadow like a pitiful, frightened ghost's, and somehow the sight filled him with a cold anger. "my suggestion was well meant," he said. "i made it for major tristram's sake as well as for yours. i thought he would prefer to find himself among old friends." "he could have come to us," anne said, in her thin, broken voice. "i have nursed so much-and mother understands sickness, too-" sigrid fersen glanced at her. "i suppose colonel boucicault is an old friend," she said. colonel boucicault, who has helped to kill him—” there was a second of strained silence. anne's face had changed from white to red, and then to a deeper pallor. crossed swords 173 she dropped forward with a little moan, her face hidden meredith took a step the veins on his low, in her hands, crying helplessly. forward, as though to protect her. broad forehead were swollen. "surely" he began hoarsely. sigrid made an imperative gesture. "i cannot be bothered with your loves and hates," she said. "i'm going to save major tristram-that's all that matters to me. you can stay here if you want to both of you-but on my terms." it was like the cut of a whip across the face. meredith found no answer for a moment. he was sick with horror at the tide of anger which swept over him. his primitive instinct was to strike back physically. he knew now that all anne's distrust was justified. the woman was dangerous dangerous, above all, to anne's happiness. he had the right now to combat her-to set himself squarely against her power in gaya. he wanted to assume the authority now, but it was too late. moreover, at the bottom, he knew he could not touch this enemy. she was of another world, impervious to the penalties which his could inflict. and compton stood on the threshold-compton, whose face was a sufficient warning-and behind him ayeshi. both men had reached the verandah steps at the run, and now compton had pulled up, meeting his wife's stare of reproof with a hurried apology. "i'm sorry-i didn't mean to make a row or startle you. ayeshi has just come with bad news. miss boucicault-i think you ought to go home at once. your father has been badly hurt-" 174 crossed swords "my father!" she sprang to her feet, her eyes wide with an incredulous fear. "my father-hurt-?" she echoed. "he was found half-an-hour ago, unconscious. some one must have attacked him. of course, now tristram's done there's no doctor. we'll telegraph at once. cliffe's got his gig-i thought you might go with him." radhe was now honestly conscience-stricken. what happened was only terrible to him because of its significance. it was like a signal of the first break of the storm-the thing for which he had waited. that any one should care personally for the injured man-least of all the girl whose youth he had trodden underfoot-seemed incredible. yet she stood there, white and shivering with shock. he tried to apologize again, but she did not seem to hear; only, as meredith came to her side, she turned to him like a panicstricken child. "please take me home to him, owen-please take me home." compton made way for them both. he beckoned to rasaldû, who obeyed the summons reluctantly. "we'll clear out and leave you the field. ayeshi can bring us the news to the club. suppose i shan't see you again for a bit, old girl." "not till my job's done here. get the ayah to bring round some reasonable clothes." "right-o! so long, old girl." he came up to his wife and kissed her shyly. she patted him. "so long. not too many pegs." crossed swords 175 the room emptied. neither meredith nor anne had said good-bye nor looked at sigrid. rasaldû bowed over her hand, but even he realized that she was not conscious of him. as his broad, fat back vanished down the verandah, mrs. compton got up, shaking herself. "now we can get to business. god defend me in my last hour from sentimentalists of anne's make. borrow a dressing-gown, sigrid?" "do. smithy will give you one." can i "thanks. by the way, i expect boucicault's not the last to go. it's the first bubble on the water, and soon we shall all be in it, and boiling nicely." she made her exit on this rather light-hearted prophecy; but sigrid, who had made a movement to follow her, lingered for a moment. her eyes were cast down as though in thought, but in reality they were fixed on ayeshi's hand. when she raised them suddenly, she found that he too, was watching her. there was nothing insolent, nothing inquisitive in his scrutiny. his expression was grave and reticent. it made him seem much older. he was no longer the boy who had cried on her doorstep. he looked at her with a man's eyes, with a man's understanding and stern power of secrecy. "was it you who found the colonel?" she asked. "yes, mem-sahib." "he is badly hurt?" "i think so. the blow was a terrible one. it seemed to me that he was conscious. he could not move or speak." once he looked at me, but "do you think it was one of his men, ayeshi?" 176 crossed swords "i do not know, mem-sahib." she turned away from him. "there is blood on your hand, ayeshi." he salaamed imperturbably. "i will wash it away. it is a cut-a little thing." . he followed her into the next room with the unobtrusive decision of one whose right to enter could never be challenged. mrs. smithers had moved the lamp behind a screen, but ayeshi, standing at the foot of the bed, looked down through the veil of shadow as though the sleeper's face was an open book in which he read intently. then he looked at sigrid. she had taken her place close to tristram's pillow, and one hand rested lightly on the coverlet. there was a caress in that touch. her fair head was bent in grave, pitying contemplation that was yet touched with a curious detachment, as though she looked down from a great distance. in the half-light, she seemed unreal, fanciful, the very spirit of that beautiful æsthetic paganism which the room breathed. ayeshi shivered a little, and his slender, dark hands resting on the carved wooden bed, tightened their grasp. "mem-sahib!" he said, softly. "yes, ayeshi?” "mem-sahib-i have seen so many die of late. death at its best is sleep. the sahib sleeps deeply. perhaps it is the will of his god that death should come to him now that he has given so much for those he loves. is there not a saying in your book, mem-sahib-'greater love hath no man than this, that he layeth down his life for his friend'?" crossed swords 177 sigrid fersen lifted her head. "yes," she answered steadily. "meredith sahib taught it me. i have forgotten much, but not that. it was true of him. others-those who come here to teach us-preach to us, but he lived. he did not believe-no, not as sahib meredith believed. he believed in the flowers and the birds and the wind and the mountains-he believed in us." he put his hands to his breast, and his eyes glowed in the darkness. "i was his brother-his younger brother," he said proudly. "and he loved you, ayeshi." "he loved all men-even the worst." he came a step nearer to her. "mem-sahib-a woman died out in bjura -died horribly. he stayed with her to the end. she was hideous, and he took her head on his knee and comforted. her as though she had been his mother. there was a little child, and he took it and promised he would care for it. she died happy." her head was bent again. "that was like him, ayeshi." "mem-sahib-if the end comes now it will trouble him that he cannot keep his promise." "he shall keep his promise. i will keep it for him. and you, ayeshi-stay with me." but he drew back, and the light died out of his face. "this is the end, mem-sahib. his and mine. i loved him-i, too, would have given my life-remember that of me, mem-sahib." she looked up at him, and the naked agony in his eyes was something that she indeed remembered long afterwards. 12 178 crossed swords "i think he knows," she said. he salaamed deeply. "i will go and guard the door, mem-sahib." he was gone without a sound. a shadow seemed to have passed from the room. his very voice had been so low, that now the silence flowed over it as though it had never been. yet what he had said lingered. sigrid fersen drew her chair close up to the bedside, and sat there chin in hand watching. the dim light of the lamp threw the shadow of tristram's profile on to the whitewashed wall beyond. ugly enough-the pointed beard thrust out under the broad, unshapely nose—the big forehead made grotesque by the outline of disordered hair. but even the shadow gave a hint of what the face itself revealed in its unconsciousness. the mouth, tender and strong as a woman's may be, passionate and austere, laughter and the joy and love of life in the corners of the closed eyes, and over all, like a veil, pain. quixote with a grain of english humour-quixote at the end, vanquished and conquering he stirred a little in the first uneasiness of coming delirium, and she laid her hand on his and he grew still again. mary compton came in presently. with mrs. smithers, she had been preparing a special fever antidote of her own, and there was an air of resolve about her neat, kimonoclad figure which made death seem afar off. she came lightly up to the bedside, stirring the contents of a maliciouslooking medicine glass. "now, if we can only get him to take a few drops, they will help to keep him quiet. of course, we don't know crossed swords 179 what in the world's the matter with him. it may be the ghastly thing they had in bjura; but i don't think so. he wouldn't have come back. are you afraid?" she glanced down at her companion, and sigrid met her close scrutiny deliberately. "no." "well, you've been crying, anyhow.' "that's possible." "what for?" sigrid's lips were twisted with a wry smile. "i don't know-i was touched about something, i suppose. i think it was because i never thanked him for something he gave me i never gave him anything to take with him when he went out there-i've just remembered." "h'm! how many times have you two met?" "twice-no, three times, and the first time counted most of all." "are you in love with him, too?" "i've been trying to decide—yes, i think so." mary compton poured out the medicine into a teaspoon. "do you mean to marry him? because, if you do, you will." "no, i'm not going to marry him." "why not?" she made a gesture, brief, impatient. "my dear, can't you see? we live at the opposite poles of things,-he, the unbelieving christian, i, the believing pagan. look at his life-look at mine. look at 180 crossed swords this room-these things. you have a flair for what is precious and beautiful-can't you see?" mary compton continued to balance the spoon. her bright hazel eyes were fixed thoughtfully on the other's face. "yes, i see. and i love you, sigrid, as gaya does, without caring who or what you are, or what you mean to do with us. but just sometimes i'm afraid-sometimes i think it would have been more merciful to have let us go on our own old, stodgy way." "you mean-him? he sought me out. i believe he brought me here. there are more things in heaven and earth, mary, than are dreamed of in your philosophy. and even if that weren't true-he knew as well as i did what i was what i wanted-adventure, knowledge of the finest and the best in life and in men—a last splendid hour -he would not have denied it me." the last words had sunk below the whisper of their brief conversation, and mary compton did not hear them. very skilfully she forced the opiate between the unconscious man's lips. "at any rate, we're a nice couple of nurses chattering over poor tristram's head. will you watch for a little? mrs. smithers and i will relieve you." "if you want him to live leave us alone. i shall not sleep tonight." "in those clothes?" she glanced down at her quaint, gold-brocaded dress. "yes. he loves beautiful things." "he may think he is in paradise and you an angel," rather satirically. crossed swords 181 "or perhaps men so near death see clearermary compton sighed and bent and kissed her. "good night, then. if there is any change, send for us. ayeshi is at the door." "good night." now the last sound was gone. even the man's shallow, irregular breathing became for the moment quieter, as though peace had crept into his troubled oblivion. sigrid sat motionless at his side. the light touched her with a dim brilliance; it dwelt on the smooth gold hair, on the gold of her dress, on the rich living whiteness of her arms and shoulders. she shone subduedly like an image on an altar-shrine-an image of life and of life's splendour faced with the shadow of death. presently tristram stirred and muttered to himself. the words were at first thick, indistinguishable, but suddenly he roused himself. she caught sentences, rapid, fever-stricken the incoherent risings from the depths of the man's soul. it was his credo-a fragment of that faith of which ayeshi had spoken, perhaps never before formulated, now poured in a molten stream of delirious sincerity. "i believe in all things living-i believe in beautyi believe in the goodness of men and in their immortality. i believe in the immortality of the flowers, of the trees, of the grass in the wind-i believe in god who is all things, who is myself and her. i believe in the sacredness of all life" an intolerable agony crept into his voice. he repeated the last phrase on a rising inflection. "oh, god, i believe in the sacredness of life" she bent over him. she laid her hand on his forehead 182 crossed swords and suddenly his eyes opened. they rested full on her face, but she knew, for all their extraordinary brilliance, that they did not see her. it was not to her that he spoke, but to the vision of her. "you must go, you too-everything. a man who has broken faith-there is a curse on usan awful curse. we kill what we love-we kill what is holy, unfathomable-every day of our lives-for pleasure, because we must. we're doomed to destroy. we try not to we try to save-but the curse is on us-the curse of cainhis voice had dropped; it broke now with a groan and the brief glimpse of coherent thought was over. he began to mutter again-isolated words, a name, constantly a name. still she remained bent over him. her small face had lost colour, and something of its aloof pity. she was breathing quickly, through parted lips. 99 "tristram!" she whispered. he raised one burning hand and pushed her back. "no-not now-you must go for pity's sake. i've carried you here-here-so long-through the burning days-since that night. you don't know—no other woman -there had been fancies-the flowers by the waterside-the lotus there in the shadows-the lizard in the long grassyou were the golden corn swaying in the wind, the flowers -the stars, the mountains, the slender trees in the stormgreat ships sailed down the river-you came in and out of their ghosts flying over the water-i watched you till dawn-you were the dawn-dancing over the world's grey roofs-you were nature, life, god-" he raised himself on his elbow in a frenzied ecstasy. she put her arm round his shoulders trying to force him back. in a minute his crossed swords 183 voice had changed-grew dry and harsh and imperative. "separate the living from the dead-no flinching-it's a miracle, this life-a_mystery-sacred-fan the flames-the dead, too, are sacred-fire is pure -now it is over-finished -i can sleephe sat upright, head thrown back as one awaiting thirstily release, then lifted his arms high up in a gesture of despair. "the colours-down-down in the dust-a blow straight in the face of god-the goal missed-in a minute-oh! god!-if i cared lesshe fell back exhausted, broken, his breathing so hushed that for a moment she believed that it had ceased for ever. she still held him, her arm crushed under his great shoulders, and she called him by name, recklessly. he turned over a little on his side. "wickie understood," he whispered. "wickie knew i couldn't help it—but my mother-don't let her knownot yet. she's old-so old-one long sacrifice and now to have failedแ 99 'she shan't know-i promise-i promise he did not, could not have heard. his head tossed restlessly on the pillow. the collar of his shirt was open, and she caught a glimpse of a red swollen line across his chest. she drew her breath quickly-staring at it. "you must go back, sigrid-you must. you are not a dream-not now. back up on to the mountain-topto your golden palaces-where there is no meanness-no poverty-no sin-you could not go with me where i am going99 she knelt beside him, holding him with all her strength, his head pressed against her bare shoulder. 184 crossed swords "i am going with you, tristram sahib-tonight at least i'll go with you wherever you go-tonight. i'll try your way of loving and dying-just this one night, tristram." there was a blue, unfamiliar shadow about her lips. the room with its dim treasures was no longer part of her. she had lost her serenity, her easy detachment. not the triumphant quality of her power. this man was dying -not of the body, but of the soul. she could feel him sinking, and she went down with him-down into the vortex of his unknown struggle, fighting as she had danced and lived, with her whole will, with all the splendid vitalness of her being. and his eyes, glazing already, were turned to her and saw her. they became peaceful-content. whatever message she had willed to pierce the dense cloud of delirium had reached him. he sighed, and lay still in her arms. presently she saw that his eyes were closed. a faint moisture glistened on his smooth forehead, and the wild muttering passed into the quiet of an exhausted slumber. still she did not move. the night sank into deeper darkness and stillness. the hours crept on their way, monstrous, heavy-footed. she measured her breathing to his, she held him in arms that had lost all feeling. the shadow about her lips crept over her whole face, blotting out its youth. the dawn came at last, creeping in between the parted curtains, mixing pallidly with the dying lamplight. the rich embroideries and the glittering curios faded, the high carved chair by the dressing-table became spectral, unreal. ayeshi entered noiselessly, passing like a ghost to the crossed swords 185 quiet bedside. tristram had turned over, his face to the coming day, his head resting in the curve of his arm. so ayeshi had often seen him-by the camp-fire, after the day's work. and beneath, on the great tiger-skin, huddled and still, a golden-clad, incongruous figure, which even in that moment retained something imperious, conquering, exultant. ayeshi bent down and touched the pale, disordered hair. he leant across and kissed the man's unconscious handlightly, as if it had been a sleeping child's. then, noiselessly as he had come, glided across the room to the open window and thence out into the morning. chapter xiv tristram chooses his road dr. martin from lucknow had made his examination, and now he sat opposite to the woman on whose husband he was about to pass sentence, and told her the truth with all the delicacy at his command. he was a civilian with a considerable practice among women, and a corresponding belief in his understanding of the sex. but he did not understand mrs. boucicault. possibly the long journey, partly on horse-back, partly on a bone-racking bullockwagon, had upset his nerve and that nice balance of mind which made a correct analysis possible. he had feit oddly and ridiculously sickened by the man whose bedside he had just left. there was something revolting in that great hulk of over-developed, ill-conditioned strength, inert and helpless, without power of speech or motion, with nothing living in it but the eyes. dr. martin had seen a great many ugly sights in his career, but nothing uglier than those desperately living eyes in the dead body. now the wife sat opposite him and smiled at him—a slow, unending smile which might have pointed to a mind deranged by grief if she had not been so eminently practical and calm. she was dressed girlishly in white, with a red 186 tristram chooses his road 187 rose stuck gaily in her belt. the grey fluffy hair had been carefully yet loosely dressed, and there was a faint tinge of artificial colour on her cheeks. her restless fingers glittered with valuable rings. it was still early in the day, and dr. martin had pronounced a sentence which was practically one of death, and he felt that the whole situation was horrid—a kind of danse macabre. the only person who gave him the remotest sensation of preserved decency was the daughter. she sat apart from her mother with her head bowed, her hands tight clasped in her lap, and he had seen a tear fall. he thought her rather pretty and feminine. with the rapid, constructive reasoning of his sex, he placed her in the catalogue of good daughters of adoring fathers and heartless mothers. "and so," said mrs. boucicault, summing up, “you don't think that there is much hope. he may live a long time of course but like that-quite conscious, but helpless. on the other hand, the end might come suddenly. isn't that what you mean?" dr. martin fidgeted. he felt tact was wasted on her. "those are the two extremes of the case," he admitted. "but there are intermediary possibilities. he might get back a certain amount of activity-speech, for instance. it all depends on the treatment. all that i can advise for the present is that he should not be worried or alarmed. get him a long leave-don't talk of retirement-keep him here, at any rate, for the present. that's the best you can do." "it is what i intended," mrs. boucicault returned deliberately. 188 tristram chooses his road again the little doctor felt himself vaguely upset. it was as though just as he was bowling smoothly along a familiar road, some one came and madly jolted him into an uncomfortable rut. he clung obstinately to his course. "i can't say how i sympathize with you," he said. "no one can appreciate more than i do the courage of our women here in india. literally we all go more or less with our lives in our hands. of course, the vast majority of the natives are loyal, but in so many millions there are bound to be one or two degenerate fanatics with a grievance. i understand there has been some question of sedition in the native regiment-at least, a good deal of discontent. we had rumours of it even in lucknow." anne boucicault looked up. she had certainly been crying, but now her brown eyes were bright, and her lips straight and firm. "it wasn't any of father's men," she said on a low note of defiante. "i'm sure it wasn't. father is a fine soldier. when he was captain they used to call him the bagh sahib because of his fearlessness. they worshipped him. one of the older men told me i know they wouldn't have touched him." dr. martin smiled. he felt relieved and pleasantly moved by the quick and passionate championship of the hulk he had just condemned. he had, moreover, heard something of colonel boucicault's past and something of his present. for the latter he was prepared to find some explanation in the grey-haired, bedizened figure of indifference opposite him. "one would be glad to believe that you are right, miss tristram chooses his road 189 boucicault," he said courteously. "if only the dastardly coward could be got hold of" "i believe i know who he is," she interrupted in a hard quick way, which was new to her. "ayeshi, major tristram's servant, has disappeared. he had some money which the rajah gave him for his education, and he has stolen it and gone. i saw him that night when he came and told us that father had been found. i saw blood on his hand." dr. martin hesitated an instant, as though in two minds as to his answer. finally he looked up with a professional twinkle. "feminine intuition again! well, since you've got so far on your own, miss boucicault, i might as well tell you that your surmise is shared by others. i met captain compton at the dâk-bungalow, and he told me there's a hue and cry after this said ayeshi. only it's to be kept quiet. i understand the boy was a sort of protégé of major tristram's, and there's a general opinion that, unless it's necessary, the latter is not to be told. he's pretty weak still, and it's something of a shock to get one of your pet theories bowled over in that way." but i fancy it must anne's eyes sank to her clasped hands. "is major tristram better?" she asked. "fine. well round the corner. have been touch and go with him. that fair-haired woman-miss fersen, isn't that the name?-seems to have fought every inch of the ground." he reflected pleasurably for a minute. "well, that's the sort of nurse a man wants on his death-bed-a real fighter and worth 190 tristram chooses his road looking at to boot-something to make life worth struggling for. great dancer, isn't she? well, i'm a sort of backnumber that never catches up, and there's always a different star on the horizon when i get home on leave, and even then i only get a glimpse. my people hang out in a god-forsaken spot in yorkshire." he rambled on for a time with a man's affable, crushing indifference as to whether his listeners are bored or otherwise, but finally, chilled by mrs. boucicault's enigmatic smile and anne's white silence, he got up. "well, i'll be getting along to the club" mrs. boucicault remained seated. "would you spare me a minute, dr. martin? a little trouble of my own—a bruise, a mere nothing, still perhaps you would look at it. anne, run away, would you?" dr. martin, a little irritated by this fresh and probably petty call on his services, wondered at the girl's dignity. it must be galling at her age to be told to "run away." he scented tragedy, and sized it up and turned to its creator with professionalism and small sympathy. 99 "now, mrs. boucicault, if you could just tell me anne heard the last words and smiled bitterly to herself. she went out on to the verandah and stood there looking down into the sunlit garden with eyes that were blind with misery and anger and contempt. in that quiet room, listening to the doctor's pleasantly modulated voice, she had been through purgatory. she knew that the ways of god were inscrutable-it was the all-covering explanation of her creed-but they were sometimes hard to tread. why had he given a bad woman the power to save the life of a good man? why had he allowed evil to creep in and take tristram chooses his road 191 possession of peaceful gaya? was it perhaps a trial, a test of their strength? that seemed possible. at least she did not doubt the working of god's hand. she had seen it strike-strike terribly. in a few hours it had brought a miracle of change in her little cosmos. the figure of terror had gone down like some monstrous clay-footed idol, and become pitiful and pitiable. she no longer feared it—no longer hated. she yearned towards it as towards a sinner whose punishment has been meted out with an implacable justice. he was a symbol of divine wrath, an awful admonition, but beyond man's hate or censure. he had become almost sacred to her. but her mother had drifted from her, had wilfully stood apart in that solemn moment, with that hateful smile on her lips had seemed to deny the very existence of god himself. anne shuddered. it was as though a mask had fallen from the grey-tinted, childish, wrinkled face, and that anne saw her as she was, petty, cruel, mean-souled-a hard, unlovable woman who had perhaps driven her father to his destruction. her father had been a great man-a fine soldier, brave, daring, much beloved. she thought of him with a dim, uncertain pride which grew stronger and clearer. but her mother sank into a shadow. she was little and selfish. in this awful hour when death hung over them, she thought of her own petty ailments-of a trivial bruise, keeping dr. martin back to discuss herself with a nauseating self-pity. in that moment anne's heart turned towards her father with an overpowering tenderness, a kind of comradeship of understanding. how long they were! presently she heard her mother's 192 tristram chooses his road voice, high-pitched and steady. mrs. boucicault led the way out on to the balcony. she was toying with the red rose, smelling it with a deliberate epicureanism. "i am so glad you are able to stay on a few days, dr. martin. i am giving a dinner and a little dance to the station next week, and of course miss fersen will be of the party. she is rather a friend of mine. you will meet her then. good-bye for the present, and ever so many thanks." dr. martin muttered something. even then anne wondered at him. he took no notice of her, and went stumbling awkwardly down the steps like a man shaken out of his composure. his face was white and rather sickly looking. the two women stood side by side, and watched him clamber up into the dog-cart and drive off. even after he had disappeared they remained motionless as though both feared the first move, the first break in the long silence between them. or perhaps it was only anne who was afraid, for when she turned suddenly she found her mother's gaze fixed absently on the distance, her smile lingering at the corners of her mouth like the forgotten grimace of an actor who has suddenly ceased to act. "mother-you didn't mean it-it was a mistake-i didn't understand you, of course-it isn't true about the dinner-" "why not?" mrs. boucicault turned her faded blue eyes to her daughter's face. "yes, it's perfectly true,” she said. anne was shivering with an almost physical sickness. "it isn't possible," she said breathlessly. "you can't realize with father so ill-so terribly ill. how can you tristram chooses his road 193 think of such a thing? it's wicked-cruel! what will people think?" "i don't really know. but they'll come. sigrid fersen will come, i know. i wish she would dance-just once. i have never seen her." "that woman! you mean to have her-now?" "i thought you'd be glad. she seems to have saved major tristram's life." "the rajah's mistress!" mrs. boucicault laughed lightly. "my dear little daughter, how grown-up of you! is that the sort of thing your religion teaches you?" anne made no answer. but also full of a bitter resentment, as good people are when they have been goaded into an unjustifiable aggression, an ugly, unchristian outbreak. yet she recognized her share of the fault with contrition, and in penance sought to retrace her steps, to bridge the widening gulf between her and the woman who one short week ago had been her companion, her half-protected, half-protecting comrade. she came and laid her hand gently on her mother's. she was ashamed and sorry, "it was horrid of me to say that—it was uncharitable. but i am so unhappy99 "unhappy—are you?" mrs. boucicault smiled vaguely down at the caressing hand as though it amused her. "why?" "mother-isn't it obvious?—isn't it the most terrible thing that could have happened?" "it doesn't seem to me terrible at all." anne held her ground. she was trembling with a kind 13 194 tristram chooses his road of painful excitement. in her own mind there was a picture of herself fighting to bring this shallow little soul up to the heights of realization, to some dim perception of the real tragedy. "it is terrible," she affirmed patiently. "even if you don't love father any more you must see how awful it is to be struck down like that in a minute, without time to make his peace with any of us-and now to lie there dumb and helpless, never able to tell us things-never able to make up for anything. isn't that pitiable? it's the very coldest way one can look at it. but you must feel more than that. after all, you did love him once. of course he was different then, but you must try and remember him as he was in those days99 mrs. boucicault patted the hand on her arm. "that sounds quite pretty and nice, anne. but i haven't time for remembering." "not time? you've got all your life. you must try and make a new picture of him. i shall. i shall think of him as the handsome, brave tiger sahib and learn to love him. we've got to hold together, mother, and make this awful trial bearable for him. after all, we can't tell -it may be a kind of test of us all-it may be the saving of him-of us99 mrs. boucicault shook her head like a playful, obstinate child. "i don't look at it like that at all. i'm free. i'm going to have a rattling good time." "mother!" she still retained her affectionate attitude, but it had become official, perfunctory. all the warmth tristram chooses his road 195 in her died out, leaving a chill horror. "mother-you can't mean what you say! if you do you must be mad or very wicked." "i daresay both, my dear. i really don't care. i'm free that's how i feel about it. i'm going to make up for lost time" anne shrank away from her. "it's awful-horriblemrs. boucicault threw her rose petulantly into the garden. she had only worn it a short time, and it had already withered. "i guessed you would feel like that. if you don't like it you could go down to trichy and stay with the osbornes. they are your father's relations, and they always hated me, so you'll get on. of course i don't want to persuade you. i'm very fond of you, anne. i should like you to stay." "and watch you make a mock of my father's misery?" "no, anne-only having a good time." "it would make me sick to see you." "well, then of course you must go." the two women considered each other for a moment. there was no pity, no relenting to be read on the older face, only an inflexible purpose softened by a childlike look of gay anticipation. anne turned away. "i couldn't bear it-i couldn't bear to live with you she ran down the verandah steps into the garden as though flying from a revelation of evil. mrs. boucicault looked after her, watching till the lightclad figure had disappeared among the trees. then, plucking a fresh rose from the trellis-work, went back into her 196 tristram chooses his road boudoir. a few minutes later she entered her husband's sick-room and motioned the nurse to leave them. in that simple action there was an authority, an easy self-assurance that seemed to change even her appearance. she held herself well, with lifted head as a prisoner does who breathes the free air after many years. boucicault saw her. he could not turn his head, but she stood well within the range of his roving eyes. he stared at her, and she too studied him, the while scenting her rose delicately. he had changed almost beyond belief. the muscles of his face were withered so that it looked much smaller and weaker. the consuming, unappeasable temper was still marked about the mouth, in the black puckered brow, but now it was merely pitiable. it could never make another man or woman cower. it could never make her cower again. perhaps some such reflection passed through both their minds. boucicault turned his eyes away like a sick animal. it was almost the first sign he had given of understanding. hitherto, though obviously conscious, he had refused all response to the code of signals which dr. martin had planned for him, in his bitter humiliation of body seeming to cling to the utter isolation of his mind. now, though he could not move, he appeared to shrink into himself, to cringe before an encroachment which he could no longer avert. his wife came and stood close beside him. she was playing idly with her rose, twisting the stem between her fingers. her eyes were bright, wide open, with two sharp points of light in them which seemed to dance. there was real colour in her cheeks. she was not smiling now, and yet tristram chooses his road 197 her face, her whole body, radiated a fierce vivid amusement. "i've just seen dr. martin, richard," she said. "you'd rather i told you the truth, wouldn't you? he says there's no hope of your getting well-not really well. perhaps, after a long time, you may be able to move a little, but you might also die suddenly. no one can do anything for you. you'll just lie there. i thought i'd tell you. i'm going to have a good time. anne doesn't think it quite proper, but i'm sure you'll understand. i haven't had much fun in the last few years, have i? and i was awfully gay before i married you. you don't object, do you, richard? do say so if you do." she grew bigger-taller, like a bird of prey spreading itself over its maimed and helpless victim. the soldier's whitewashed room, blank of all beauty, made a simple frame for the artificial brilliancy of her. the man whose dead body outlined itself massively under the thin covering, burned and withered in it. his eyes met hers for an instant in understanding and mad defiance. "of course we'll do all we can, richard. we shall stay in gaya. dr. martin advises it, and i want to. it will be nicer for you too, because if we went to a new place— or to cheltenham or something of that sort-nobody would bother about you. here, of course, people are bound to take notice of you. they'll drop in and tell you about the regiment and all that. i shall come in every day, so that you shall hear all i am doing. i expect i shall be very busy." she paused deliberately, assuming an attitude of closer 198 tristram chooses his road interest. "have you tried to tell any one who killed you? i wonder. perhaps you don't want to. i expect it was something discreditable. besides, even if he or they were caught and hanged it wouldn't help you much, would it? you couldn't see it done-unless we dragged you out in a long chair or something" she laughed, and bent over him—a pale-tinted, delicate, very sinister figure. "am i tiring you? you look tired. smell that roseisn't it beautiful?-you can smell still, can't you? but i forgot; you don't care for flowers. you wouldn't let me have any in the house. well, perhaps you will grow to care for them. i will tell nurse to put some in a vase for you." she touched his cheek lightly with the flower and laughed again. "well, good-bye for today, richard.” she pirouetted on her heel like a girl, and went to the door. he could not see her, but he heard her give a little gasp and then utter a name. his eyes opened to the full -he began to breathe quickly and laboriously. the veins on his dark, wizened-looking forehead stood out in the frightful effort to break through, to move, to speak"major tristram-what a shock you gave me! i thought you were at death's door. you oughtn't to be here, i'm sure. i hardly recognized you." "yes i am a sight, aren't i? still, i'm not deadnot by some lengths. may i speak to your husband?" "oh, yes, you may speak to him. you won't mind a monologue, will you? you've heard about it, i expect― spinal column affected or something-but i'm so stupid about these things. do come and talk to me afterwards, won't you, major? i should like to hear all your news." tristram chooses his road 199 the door closed. boucicault lifted his eyes. they were sunken-so black, so lightless that their expression could not be guessed at. it might have been an appalling hatred -anything. tristram did not return the gaze. he stood at the sick man's side, rocking on his heels, fighting a purely physical battle, then suddenly crumbled up on the edge of the bed, his shaking hands to his face. thus he remained for a minute whilst boucicault's eyes rested on him with mute, unfathomable intensity. presently tristram raised himself, and the encounter had taken place, almost actual in the poignancy and force of the memory which flared up behind the mutual scrutiny. neither man flinched. "i had the deuce of a business to get here," tristram said at last quite simply. "i had to humbug and dodge any number of people, and get my own legs to crawl which wasn't easy. but i had to come. i've got to speak to you, boucicault. i'd have come sooner, but i've been a raving lunatic most of the time and this was my first chance. you may think it damnable of me to hound you down when you can't hit back, as it were, but i can't help that. i've got to have it out." he paused a moment, running his hand over his close-cropped head. he seemed to be struggling for coherency. boucicault's stare never wavered. "it's not very much i've got to say. i won't waste time and breath telling you what i feel-i've done something worse than murder you. i smashed you up when i ought to have realized that you were a man with a sick brain. i was a sick man myself and-and couldn't think clearly. 200 tristram chooses his road i just heard poor old wickie scream-well, we won't go into that-it's too beastly. but i've just come to tell you that i'm not going to give myself up to what some people would call justice. that's what i meant to do at firstbut i see now that it was sentimentality and cowardice -the sort of thing that drives some people to confess-a kind of shaking off one's burden of responsibility on to some one else. i'm rambling-it's so infernally difficult to keep one's thoughts clear." he passed his tongue over his cracked lips. boucicault's eyes closed for an instant. "can you understand what i'm saying?" the eyes opened again to their full stare and tristram went on more clearly. "of course, it's possible you may get all right or even be able to denounce me without that. i shan't deny anything. i shall be jolly glad, i daresay. but until then i'm going on with my work. we're men, boucicault-and i won't mince matters-you've smashed up a good many lives in your time-men in the regiment, your wife, anne-and you and i have smashed each other -but that's the end of it. you may or you may not believe me-but i'm not going to be dragged into disgrace if i can help it-for my mother's sake. she's old-very oldshe can't last long-she's had a rotten time, and the last year or two-well, i shall protect them with all my strength." he straightened his shoulders as a man does who, groping through darkness, suddenly sees his way clear. "that's what i conceive to be my duty. you hate me, of course, but you're clever enough to know the sort of man i am and you know quite well that whether i'm punished or not, i've done for myself. that ought to tristram chooses his road 201 he got up. "so i'm going satisfy you for the present." back to my work. i don't know whether you'll understand what i mean when i say that i'm going to try and balance the misery you and i have brought into this world—i've got your responsibilities as well as my own to shoulder because i've smashed your chance of making good. and there's something else if it lies in human power i'll set you on your feet again. if i succeed i shall tell my mother the truth, and i think somehow that then she will feel differently about itit won't be quite the same sort of failure. of course you'll want other doctors-you mayn't trust me but no one else will fight for you as i shall. give me some sign. if you trust me close your eyes once. i shall understand." in the long silence which followed the two men held each other in a gaze so ardent, so penetrating that it was like the physical grappling of wrestlers, one of whom at least knew no pity. the sweat of weakness and recent effort showed itself on tristram's forehead, but his features wore a weary serenity. presently a change showed itself on boucicault's face. there was a shadow at the corners of his stiff, powerless lips-a kind of smile, malicious, calculating, ironic. his eyes closed once. tristram nodded. "that's all i have to say, then." he made his way from the bungalow, circuiting the front verandah where he guessed mrs. boucicault would wait for him, to the compound gates. there sigrid fersen with the rajah's dog-cart awaited him. she bent towards him, her face white with anger. 202 tristram chooses his road "how could you, major tristram! i guessed somehow you had come here and followed you. how could you do it?" "i had to," he answered. he came up to the step of the cart, trying to support himself against the shaft unseen by her. "i had to," he repeated. "a professional visit, i suppose?" she flashed scornfully. "in a sort of way-yes." 99 "well, anyhow-try and climb if you've the strength. i'll drive you back to bed." he looked up at her and she frowned and bit her under lip to keep back an exclamation. "please-will you do something for me?" "what is it, you madman?" "drive me to heerut." "heerut are you really insane? do you want to die?" he smiled wistfully. "oh, lord, no-i've jolly well got to live. but i'm going back to work." "you can't-it's absurd-i won't be responsible." "you wouldn't be responsible," he interrupted earnestly. "listen-i've got to go-there are my poor beggars in quarantine—all sorts of things-believe me, it's urgent, it must be if you don't help me, i shall walk or get some one else." "you know that ayeshi has gone-gone to calcutta." he averted his face. "yes-compton told me." "and wickie-disappeared. you'll be all alone." tristram chooses his road 203 "yes," he agreed simply. she bent a little lower. she was smiling as one does at an obstinate, unhappy child. "in a few weeks i may have to leave gaya. my time is almost up. are you flying from me?" he remained patiently, doggedly silent, and she sighed and drew back. "kismet! so you make fate for us both. i won't try to thwart you. i will take you to heerut. but i make one stipulation.' "yes?" "it is that before i leave gaya we spend one day together -a kind of farewell picnic-a high and solemn feast to the end of all things. it is to be where and when i want it. do you promise?" he did not answer. he was still looking away from her -down the white line of dusty road which wound past the clustered barracks. a far-off, long-drawn-out bugle-call fluttered out on to the hot stillness. she looked down and saw his hand clenched on the splashboard, and the impatient mockery faded from her lips. "i won't make any stipulation. you are too ill to be bargained with. and, after all, it lies in my power to seek you out when i choose as i have done before". her eyes became veiled and intent-"in and out of the ship's ghosts over the water-dancing over the grey roofs of the world99 he frowned perplexedly, following her words through a labyrinth of memory and fancy and finding no end. "is that a quotation?" 204 tristram chooses his road "a sort of one99 "it seems to express somethinghe paused, meditating. the bugle sounded again, louder and more metallic and now in answer came the subdued hurrying of feet, the jangle of steel. suddenly he faced her, fiercely, almost violently, like a man throwing off an obsessing weakness. there was a fire of energy in the throw-back of his great shoulders, in the clear passionate desire of his regard. she faltered under it. it swept her from her light fantastic dominion over him into deep, fast-flowing waters which engulfed her, stupefied her, shook her calm supremacy to its foundations. she did not know what had happened-what had wrought the change in him. he who had fought grimly and knowingly with the realism in the lives of others had somehow come to grips with reality in his own. he had ceased to weave dreams. it was not as a vision and a visionary that they faced each other, but as a man and a woman. a flash of lightning had burst through the unsubstantial mists of their relationship. and behind the figure of the dreaming stoic there loomed the stark, primeval human being, vital, virile, armed with all the white, burning power of unsoiled, sternly guarded passions. they flared in his blue eyes which held hers for the first time with full recognition, with a daring, reckless revelation of their own existence. and though inwardly she faltered, her gaze was as steady as his own. she dared not turn from him. she felt that if she did she would come face to face with herself-as fiercely, as terribly awakened. they spoke very quietly, very naturally to one another. tristram chooses his road 205 "i'll promise," he said. "a last day-no one could grudge it me?" "no one." she held out her hand to him and it did not tremble. "come, now i will drive you to heerut." chapter xv the weavers barclay rode past the boucicaults' bungalow on the afternoon when mrs. boucicault gave her garden party in honour of the regiment's new commander and his wife. it was a very grand function, and rather gruesome if one stopped to think what lay inert and listening in a room somewhere at the back, but to stop and think was a mental pastime in which no one in gaya indulged willingly. mrs. boucicault had been right. gaya was not in the least outraged. it was not even very upset when it found that without a word of farewell anne had gone south to trichy to pay her father's people a long visit. in its casual, easy-going way, gaya understood both points of view and sympathized. the regimental band was playing a waltz and barclay drew in his slender-limbed thoroughbred to listen. a little band of natives with a saffron-robed sadhu in their midst coming round a bend of the white road, he drew out a gold case from his pocket and selected and lit a cigarette with an exaggerated deliberation. the procession drew on one side and the leader saluted the sahib respectfully. barclay, took the salute with a curt, indifferent nod, but 206 the weavers 207 something in the episode must have changed the nature of his thoughts. he threw a glance towards the garden, walled from his view by a circle of high palms, and his black eyes were alight with a childish satisfaction. he heard voices intermingle with the music and two young men in immaculate tennis-clothes lounged out of the compound gates. they looked after the procession, and one of them laughed. "it's nothing—you'll soon get fed up with that native stuff. when you've seen the festival at heerut next week you won't want another dose for years-these sort of fellows with their humbugging old fakir will be pouring in till the place is like an ant-heap. talk about self-governing india -oh, lord!" barclay, a notable figure enough on his beautiful mare stood not three yards away from the speaker, yet he appeared to pass unnoticed. neither of the two looked at him. he drove his spurs into the animal's silken sides, curbing her at the same instant with an iron hand, and set her at a nervous, tortured canter down the road. his tight mouth under the black moustache was curved with a deliberate pleasure as he felt her sweat and tremble under his mastery. he kept her at the pace for a mile through the blaze of sun which poured down upon the unsheltered plain and then, satiated, allowed her to drop to a quivering, resentful walk. he reached the bridge-head half an hour before sunset. a d.p.w. man with a party of assistants was taking soundings for the new traffic bridge which was to link up gaya and the administrative centre three hundred miles 208 the weavers away with the never-ending chain of villages of which heerut was the first and largest. he had had a bad afternoon of it with mother ganges, and he stared savagely at barclay, who drew rein. "getting on?" the latter asked. "damnably. the river's never the same two days running." barclay showed his white teeth in a smile. "that's her speciality. you'll never build that bridge." "won't i?" "the natives have a superstition against it. no white man will ever bridge the holy place. this is the holy place, you know-the spot where the sacred serpents come down from the jungle and take refreshment." he spoke with much the indolent amusement of the two young men outside the boucicaults' compound. he aped it deliberately, not knowing whence came his smarting satisfaction. the englishman mopped a moist and irate forehead. "no, i didn't know," he snapped. "i'm not a native. i haven't got any damned superstitions. perhaps you'd like to have a shot at it." barclay made no answer. the smile passed from his lips. he sat his horse motionlessly, staring at the faintly swaying native bridge in front of him. the englishman, unconscious of his own success, stumped off angrily towards a fresh point of vantage. presently barclay crossed to the farther side of the river, turning his horse from the path, rode through the long grasses to the temple, and here, within a few feet of the carved gateway, he dismounted, and, tossing the reins over the weavers 209 the battered post which was all that marked the old path of auspiciousness, he strolled through into the manderpam. the place was empty. its usual inhabitant had vanished. barclay stood a moment, looking about him with the detached, unfeeling interest of a tourist. the attitude was deliberate, as were all his actions. he was setting the gulf of race and tradition between himself and this austerely sensuous beauty. he held himself an alien, walking idly, but with loud steps over the grass-grown stones, humming to himself, and beating time with his crop against his riding-boots. but the silence, heavy with old dreams and drowsy, bygone meditations, the stately avenue of roofless pillars, daunted him. he came to a halt in the entrance to the antarila and stared round furtively, peering into the purple-tinted shadows, listening as to a sound which troubled and escaped him. a little red-cheeked bulbul fluttered from its nest high overhead on the summit of the crumbling walls, and he watched its flight through the oblique bars of alternate light and shadow with a curious anxiety. it was as though he sought to rivet his attention on something trivial, so that he should not have to face whatever lay beneath the surface. the bulbul came to rest in some hidden rock among the deep-cut, fantastic reliefs of the frieze, and the soft, tender beating of its wings, like the last throb of a dying pulse, passed under the weight of a brooding, deathlike silence. barclay turned and went noisily into the antarila. but here his footsteps rang with a different and startling resonance. they echoed among the broad, stunted pillars and died sullenly in a gloom which shrouded the place in unfathomable dimensions. barclay, raising 14 210 the weavers his hand instinctively, touched the roof, but its dank solidity could not remove the impression of a monstrous nightfall, of a sky black and unlit, stretching up into infinity. on either hand, his knowledge might have told him, were thick walls, but they too carried no conviction, and the darkness went on and on in narrow, endless passages leading down into the bowels of an unholy mystery. the faint gleam of light in front of him, the soft gold of the courtyard behind, were like ghosts, painted luminously on the solid blackness, themselves bringing no light, no relief. barclay stopped, and, with his insolent deliberation, lit a cigarette, afterwards holding the match overhead. he saw that his hand shook and the tiny flame quivered an instant and went out as though a secret breath had blown against it. barclay cursed and bit his teeth together as the echo gibed at him from its invisible lurking-place, and then went on, hushing his footsteps so that they should not follow him. in the holy of holies there was neither light nor darkness, but a haze which at once hid and revealed all things. it was like a pall shrouding the sun, or a gauzy, luminous veil of sunshine thrown over nightfall. it came filtering down from the great sun-window which, high overhead in the slender sikhara, looked out eastwards whence at daybreak laksmi, surrounded with the golden-haired divas of morning, rises up to meet vishnu, who watches for her. it fell softly on the gigantic, monstrous effigy of vishnu himself, cross-legged on his altar, in either hand a writhing serpent, his black eyes fixed in cruel, aloof contemplation on an existence which knew neither joy nor orrow, neither humanity nor its desires and prayers. as the weavers 211 in the old days when men and women had passed worshipping through his temple, so now that the worshippers were still and the courtyard empty and his altar bare of offerings, he remained indifferent and omnipotent. men, generations, and religions pass, the temple crumbles. but so long as death remains, so long are the gods immortal. the knowledge of its immortality was graven into the image's mocking mouth, into the sightless, all-seeing eyes. barclay stood with one foot on the altar steps, and stared up into the frigid face and blew rings of smoke into the wide, cruel nostrils. there was more than a sightseer's insolent disregard in the action. it was a sneer and a defiance. he spat on the altar-step. but when a hand striking invisibly out of the darkness sent him staggering to the wall he screamed like a child whose nerve has snapped suddenly under a long, agonizing tension. his mouth was open, changing the character of his whole face. the cigarette had fallen and lay like a tiny burning eye on the stone flags. vahana, the sadhu, ground his heel upon it. whether he had been kneeling in the shadow or whether he had crept after the interloper could not be told. gaunt and naked, the bones of his chest and ribs starting out under the straining flesh, the wild grey hair tossed back from his face, he sprang up before the idol, protecting it with outstretched arms whose long, attenuated lines flung the shadow of a huge cross on the wall beyond. neither man spoke. barclay bent down and picked up his helmet, which had been knocked off, and, obeying the fakir's imperative gesture, went out of the holy of holies 212 the weavers through the priests' place into the columned, sun-lit outer court. there he laughed. "you're a pretty custodian," he said loudly in english. "enough to frighten a harmless globe-trotter out of his five senses. what sort of tip do you expect after that? or does one pay extra for the thrill?” there was no answer. vahana went past him and squatted down in his accustomed place by the gateway. the fierce outburst was over, and he seemed to have forgotten barclay's presence. the latter stood beside him, propping his shoulders against the lintel, and searched fumblingly for his cigarette case. "i suppose it's allowed here, eh? you should put up a notice, 'no smoking.' oh, i forgot-a vow of eternal silence is your speciality, isn't it? you needn't keep it up with me. i shan't tell.” he laughed again. “you old humbug! i could tell a tale if i chose. what about that evening i caught you sneaking out of gaya? been having a compensating orgy, no doubt." the fakir shot a rapid upward glance which barclay caught with a grunt of satisfaction. "well, you understand english, anyhow, which is a good thing because i want a word with you." he lit his cigarette deliberately, and, folding his arms, surveyed the wide stretch of plain before him. save for the high grass, it was barren to the river edge, but beyond that broad, swift-flowing barrier it became rich with pasture and golden harvest. barclay's eyes narrowed at the still ardent sunlight, but beneath the heavy, drooping lids there was a gleam of some smouldering passion, triumph-resentment. the weavers 213 "not much of that crop that isn't mine," he said loudly. "they needn't call me sahib-not yet-if they don't want to-but i'm lord here, for all that. i've got the whip hand, and that's what matters." the fakir paid no heed to an outburst which was indeed not intended for him. he bent forward from the hips and whistled softly, on one monotonous note, the while swaying from left to right with rhythmic precision. in a minute the tangled growth which, like the first low waters of an incoming tide, spread out from the jungle and lapped the temple walls, rustled, parted, and a black glistening body writhed out into the sunshine. there it paused, listening, its arrow-shaped head lifted out of the tight coils, and moving to the measure of its enchanter. barclay looked down and started and then laughed. "practising for the great show, eh? i suppose it'll keep the old story going-the jungle of serpents. lord, how you must hate us, with our education and uplifting of the masses. one of these days i'll clear the jungle and build a factory, and you can go out of business. that old trick!" still laughing, he crouched down on his heels and hissed gently, his black eyes intent on the reptile's poised and swaying body. vahana continued to whistle. they had entered into a competition which to barclay was a mere jest. but the serpent had grown still, attentive, its ugly head drawn back in an attitude of cold deliberation. from time to time its lithe, evilly forked tongue shot out and then an expression seemed to dawn on the flat face-a kind of satanic pleasure. then, suddenly, as though arrived at 214 the weavers a decision, it uncoiled and came gliding towards barclay. barclay no longer called to it. his eyes were clouded and stupid-looking. he glanced up at vahana and found that he was being watched. between the old man and the uncannily moving adder there had developed an affinity. the fakir's face seemed to have narrowed and sharpened. from the wide cheek-bones down to the chin there were two straight converging lines between which ran the cruel curve of the mouth. the eyes were hard and dead as a basilisk's. but, like the reptile's, they expressed something—a sinister amusement, a soulless, ageless wisdom. barclay made a fumbling gesture. "look here, i didn't know-call the brute off-i never triedhe was stuttering. the defiant arrogance had gone out of him. he had become curiously afraid. vahana whistled again, and within a foot of barclay the adder recoiled, hissing resentfully, and swung to one side. vahana held out his wrist and the sinuous body twisted itself about him in a monstrous bracelet. barclay watched, with a sick fascination. his fear had been neither physical nor passing. in some odd way the incident had shattered his self-assurance, even his self-control. "i didn't know" he began again. "it must just have been chance. i had never tried99 his voice failed, and died into a shaken silence. the reptile, lying with its head on the back of vahana's fleshless hand, held the eurasian in the malevolent circle of its watchfulness. its beady, unflinching eyes neither appeared to move nor to be fixed on any definite object, yet when barclay shifted his position they did not leave his face. 1 the weavers 215 thus they remained, staring at each other. vahana had sunk into an apparent apathy of meditation. but it was no more than an appearance. between the three there was now a living, feverish communication. barclay roused himself at last. "look here i didn't come here for this tomfoolery. look at this. it was my mother's. some one lalloo the kara-told me a tale about it. said it belonged to-to your wife. i want to know. i want to know who the devil if it's true then i shall know." i am. vahana glanced at the gold circlet held out towards him. the adder hissed furiously and he whistled it back to its sluggish content. but he had nodded in assent. barclay drew his breath between his teeth. "so that much was true. i've got to think this out. i'm not your son. i've good english blood in my veins, i've known that since i was a kid. if it was tristram, senior" he stopped. vahana had lifted his head, and the change in him struck barclay silent for a moment. then, gathering his determination, he added rapidly, scarcely above a whisper"whom you murdered." but it seemed that the fakir had not heard, or that if he had heard the words reached him only as an echo, a shadow of something terrible and actual. the change in him was indefinable. he had scarcely moved. yet barclay stared at him stupidly, and a moment looked round to follow the gaze of the fierce expressionless eyes. then he, too, became silent. a horseman rode along the river-bank. evidently he had come some distance, for the nose of his amazingly lean, 216 the weavers steed grazed the ground and he himself hung in the saddle. as he passed he turned his head towards the temple, but either the sun, setting with long upward striking rays behind the hills, blinded him, or the watchers were too well hidden in the shadow of the gateway. he did not see them, and, coaxing the dejected quadruped to a canter, disappeared presently in the direction of heerut. "tristram sahib by the grace of god!" barclay muttered. "tristram sahib!" he repeated the name, pressing into it a restrained bitterness which suddenly burst from him in a wild incoherent deluge. "sahibsahib! good god-and what am i-with blood as good as his-his blood-meester barclay, eh?—damn him— damn them all. what right has he got to treat me like dirt or any of them? what right? aren't i one of them? have i got to pay for their low, mean sins—their little, back-door intrigues? i'm english too-it's their law -why don't they keep to their laws, damn them" his voice quivered. he broke down pitiably. it was as though a garment which he held jealously about him had been torn from him and with it his manhood, his mincing, insolent, yet timorous pride. as he crouched there, the tears of mortification and rage on his cheeks, he underwent a mysterious change. the over-perfect english clothes no longer disguised him. they had become grotesque. vahana looked at him, looked long and intently, and then at the bracelet lying between them. he touched barclay on the arm, and with his forefinger began to write in the thick dust. chapter xvi a meredith to the rescue in the belt of fertile land about heerut the work of irrigation for the khareef had already begun. halfnaked men and women in gay-coloured chudders laboured in the slanting ruts which stretched down from the river and criss-crossed over the wide fields in a maze of intricate cunningly calculated lines. they worked in complete silence, like a colony of ants, hurrying backwards and forwards, their lean, fragile-looking bodies bent under crushing burdens of freshly turned earth, their faces set in patient acceptance. so much depended on the khareef -a meagre sufficiency or a dearth that was always complete—an avalanche of famine sweeping whole communities from existence. not that life or death was of much significance. they fought for life half instinctively, half because the sahibs willed it so. it was a hard business either way, and that much they realized dimly. tristram drew rein to watch them. beyond the river the white ungarnered corn lay in its silver fields awaiting its long-delayed hour. he remembered how in the winter months all heerut had laboured at its irrigation-even as they laboured now-thinking of the harvest. and now 217 218 a meredith to the rescue the harvest was there and had begun to rot. disease and the dreaded, docilely accepted quarantine had stayed the hands which should have gathered it. now those who survived turned to the more pressing task-to the crumbling canals which were to bring life to the summer rice-crop. what was lost was lost. the past was past; but the grim, forbidding shadow of the future remained always. therein lay the tragedy of the unresting, patient figures -the labour that was so often foredoomed to fruitlessness, the struggle against an enemy who could never be wholly vanquished, the hope of a victory that could never be more than a breathing-space, a mere margin of life. but the greater tragedy was their patience, their passive acceptance of life as suffering. it was that tragedy which tristram saw as he watched them. for him it blotted out what was lovely and full of promise in the scene-the gay colours, the rich, deep sunlight on the fruitful fields, the semblance of prosperity. it made his greeting to those who passed him somewhat grim and less cheery than was its wont. the men and women nodded to him and smiled gravely in return. there was no formal, deferential salutation such as the burra sahib would have expected and received. he was less and greater than any of the sahibs who ruled their destinies, and they merely smiled at him. no other man was to them what he had become. rough and ready of tongue, imperious sometimes, occasionally ruthless, he yet was never the representative of a ruling race. other sahibs they feared and worshipped-the great warriors, the myth figures of the rulers beyond the unknown, but a meredith to the rescue 219 tristram was the man of their daily lives, of their great sorrows and little happinesses, the man who sat under the council-tree at night and listened to the last village scandal, or to some wonderful tale told by the village story-teller, who tracked his way down the contaminated stream of their faith to its pure source and drank with them. and they who had known little of pity and less of love came through him to a dim, faltering knowledge. through the busy stillness there sounded a shrill trumpeting and the rustle and crack of the high grasses before swift and headlong passage of an elephant. tristram drew arabella to one side. already in the distance he had seen the glitter and flash of the rajah's gaudy howdah, and was not unprepared for the procession which, now bore down towards the river. there were five elephants in all, the first showily caparisoned with a mahout in splendid livery, the others more seriously equipped for the hunt. rasaldû and his guest, the new colonel, whose face was overshadowed by his helmet, rode in the first, and, seeing tristram, nodded with a cheerful condescension and held up two fat fingers to indicate the success of their expedition. then the procession rumbled past like a noisy, gorgeous carnival of life leaving a cloud of sullen dust and the grey bed-rock of reality. an old man who had taken refuge under arabella's lee put up a palsied hand and pointed in fierce scorn after the disappearing rajah. "his father-a cowherd-" he stammered. "his father served mine and betrayed him to the english." tristram nodded. 220 a meredith to the rescue "and the rajah who then was?" "dead, sahib." "he left no heirs?" the sunken eyes were lifted for a moment. "sahib, there are things we do not even whisper among ourselves." then his expression changed. it was though a vizor had dropped over his shrivelled features. with bowed head he shuffled towards a group of villagers who had gathered farther off, and tristram, becoming uncomfortably aware of a third presence, turned in his saddle. he saw then that, under cover of the procession's passing, he had been overtaken by a second horseman whose delicately built arab showed traces of hard and recent galloping. the rider lifted his brown hand in formal salutation. "i was loafing round the temple when i saw you pass, major," he said easily. "it occurred to me that our longplanned interview might take place now and here. are you agreeable?” "if you wish it." 66 'may i ride with you?" "are you going to heerut?" barclay showed his white teeth in a brief smile. "i hope so." there was a moment of uncertainty on tristram's side. he stroked arabella's long neck thoughtfully. "still, i think we'd better say what we want to say now. your mare looks pretty winded-mine's all in. it won't hurt to breathe them both.' 99 "as you like," barclay answered. his manner was a meredith to the rescue 221 touched with a certain tremulousness which might have resulted from his rash gallop through the treacherous grass. but otherwise there was no trace of the man who had broken down at the temple gateway. "look here," he began abruptly, "do you think you're playing the game, major tristram? what's your idea? what have i done to you? we don't need to beat about the bush. i know quite well whom i'm up against. i tell you straight -i've got a short way with people who oppose me-i smash them. but i don't smash till i've tried reason. why don't you let my affairs alone?" tristram stirred impatiently in his saddle. "i'm not interested in your affairs, mr. barclay, except in so far as they concern my friends." "friends!" barclay laughed out with a forced goodhumour. "and what have i done to your friends, pray? look around you. look at these rotten crops. well, i've lent good money on these crops-lent it to your precious protégés. when am i going to see my money back?" "when you want to," tristram returned. "next harvest, or as soon as the poor devils get a cow they can call their own-and fifty per cent. into the bargain." barclay shrugged his shoulders. "fifty per cent. covers the risks—no more.” "then it's a pity you bother yourself." "that's your idea of humour, no doubt, major. but i'm dead serious. i know what you've done. you've set these people against me. you've used your influence to prevent my doing business with them. i've no doubt you used your power to terrify them." 222 a meredith to the rescue tristram laughed gaily. "i did that," he admitted. "i believe they think you're the devil himself." "and you think that's fair? what right had you?” "i don't care to see people paying fifty per cent. interest." "very well. but what's going to happen? you're so damned thoughtful for your friends-perhaps you'll tell me what's going to happen to them. those weavers-at heerut and bjura and all round-they're smashed. no one will touch their stuff for a year at least. are they going to starve or are you going to advance them money out of your screw?" tristram looked up, his blue eyes resting calmly and even with a certain amusement on the other's dark and bitter face. "in a sort of way—at least i'm getting the government to take a hand." "you-you did that?” "i'm trying to. you're quite right. i've done all i can to keep you and your agents out. i'm a doctor, and the material conditions of my people concern me. i've seen some of your business methods, and i think you're unhealthy, mr. barclay." barclay contained himself with a desperate effort. "my word, that may be truer than you think. i'm unhealthy to people who get in my way. look here, major tristram-i don't want to use the screw-after all, we're englishmen in a foreign country, and it's our infernal duty to hang together-but i won't be kicked out of things like that. i give you fair warning to leave my preserves alone, a meredith to the rescue 223 and i'll tell you why. i know things-i know something that wouldstill on his face. 99 he stopped short. tristram's eyes were they had neither flickered nor lost their quizzical good-humour. "well, what do you know? it's rather funny, but we both seem to have found out something detrimental about each other. for instance, though this is only our second meeting, i'm convinced that you're a thorough-paced blackguard, mr. barclay." "that may be. my father was one." "i'm sorry." "you have good reason to be sorry." his lips were quivering. he burst out ungovernably. "you have your share in him." "mr. barclay” "tristram that's what my name should be. your father was mine"is that your attack, then?” barclay put up his hand as though to hide his unsteady mouth. "no," he said. "it is not. but it is the truth. i can prove it. i guessed it some time back, but i wasn't certain. your-our father, lived in my bungalow. it was there he was murdered-he and my mother by her husband. how much you know" "i didn't know that," tristram put in quietly. he looked away from barclay, and the latter, watching him with a fevered anxiety, saw that the fine hand lying on arabella's neck had lost its absolute steadiness. "you it." must prove 224 a meredith to the rescue "i can do so.' "" "if it's true then i'm sorry-sorry i spoke as i did. you've had the beastliest luck-i beg your pardon." he lifted his head again. the white gravity of his face lent the rather boyish words a sincerity which barclay recognized with an inward faltering of his anger. for a vivid instant the two men touched spiritually, or met on some common ground of emotion-then broke apart. "i don't want pity," barclay exclaimed bitterly. childishly, "i didn't offer you pity. or if i did—i meant it for us both. it's not as bad-but i was rather proud of my father. my mother-we'll leave that out. and, anyhow -i suppose it's a small thing compared to what he did to you. it was a pitiless thing to do." he hesitated, and then added, with a shyness which sat quaintly enough on his big manhood: "i suppose we're brothers, then?" barclay drew back from the outstretched hand. a mad impulse had almost driven him to grasp it and kiss it, but he crushed it under, shivering from head to foot in the violence of the revulsion. "so you acknowledge the relationship?" "why shouldn't i?" "we'd better look the thing in the face. i'm an eurasian, and illegitimate at that. are you going to own me before your friends?" "yes. i don't care what you are by circumstance. illegitimacy and race are nothing to me. a man's a man." "that's not the law," barclay returned sneeringly. a meredith to the rescue 225 "and i don't care a fig for the law either," tristram said with a faint smile. barclay was silent. a dull anger was kindling in him. it was a deeper, more dangerous passion than that which had driven him to strike before he had intended. it had its roots in their fundamental antagonism of character as it revealed itself now, in barclay's failure to strike hatred out of a man he hated. for a moment whatever was fine in him had flashed up in response to tristram's simple humanity, but that was gone, and there remained nothing but the galling recognition of an inferiority which was not that of race or circumstance. and with that recognition the little light he had within him went out. "that's all very well," he said at last, "but it's just talk. it won't help me. if you did recognize me, neither of us would get anything out of it. i should have to leave gaya, and you'd get into trouble. that's not my game. the only brotherly act i ask of you is to leave me alone." "i have told you already i don't want to interfere. i've got to." barclay gnawed at his thick under-lip, holding himself in, calculating. "look here," he began again, "i guess i've inherited something from my mother besides my infernal colour-a sort of instinct a knowledge of people. that night i met you at sigrid fersen's i found out something about you. i knew what was going on in you though you didn't know it yourself. i know what's wrong with you now. well, i'll do the brotherly first. if you treat me fairly, you'll have nothing to fear from me and besides that, i'll give 15 226 a meredith to the rescue 1 you the straight tip-i know something of sigrid fersen. she wants the cream of life—it's a sort of religion with her. in london there wasn't a man or woman who could stand up to her in magnificence. there were the wildest stories told about her, and they were truer than most stories. she wouldn't stand this sort of thing-not if she were dying of love for you. take my word for it-you'll want moneyany amount of it-then you'll stand a chance with hertristram, urged by a sudden disgust, and an intolerable unrest, turned arabella's head and touched her to a walk. but barclay was beside him, leaning towards him, talking rapidly. "well, you can have money, tristram❞—and now he was using the christian name with a deliberate purpose— "you can have as much as you need. i tell you this country is like an unworked mine. i'm going to work it. i'm going to be as rich and powerful as the pioneers in south africa. these anglo-indian officials treat india as though it was a sort of toy--a kind of game against heavy odds. there isn't a business man among them. i'm a business man. and i'll take you into partnership—a sleeping partner with a quarter share and nothing to do but to sleep hard. i swear to you that in a year or two you can marry any one you please-i tell you she's hard up—' tristram pulled arabella to a standstill. "don't talk like that," he blazed out. "i don't want to think you a scoundrel. if there is any blood common to us both i don't want to loathe it. you've had rough luck-it doesn't need to make you a cad." a meredith to the rescue 227 "doesn't it? i'm not so sure. what do you expect me to do?" "throw up this slave-driving business. i'll stand by you. i'll see you through, barclay-whatever one man can do for another i will do99 "will you? will you come and live with me in calcutta -with my people-the only people who won't treat me as though i were a nasty cross between a human being and an animal-blowsy, feckless, shiftless outcasts—will you? well, you might-you're credited with queer things of that sort, but it would do for you. your white blood wouldn't stand it. nor will mine. i've got to get away from them. it's our father in me. but there's nowhere for me to go. i've got to make my world-make it in blood and sweat if needs must. when i've money enough to buy up gaya, gaya will accept me fast enough." tristram shook his head. "you said just now that we behaved as though we were playing a big game," he said. "you may be right. and good sportsmen can't be bought." "can't they? well, we'll see. meantime, if there's a word of sincerity in all you've said, either come in with me or keep out of my way. i can make you a rich man, tristram; don't forget that." "you're asking me to visit the sins of your father and mine on to thousands of these luckless people." "put it that way if you like. i'm going forward, whatever you do." "then i shall fight you with every atom of influence and power i have." 228 a meredith to the rescue barclay tore at his horse's mouth, dragging the animal round on its haunches so that he faced tristram. both men were breathing heavily as though the struggle between them had become a physical one. barclay thrilled with a savage satisfaction as he saw that the man before him was as shaken as himself, black-browed, hot-eyed, with a mouth set like a vice behind the short beard. "then i'll smash you, tristram—i've got reason enough to hate you without that-you've got everything-now i'll smash you-i can and i will99 suddenly tristram's face relaxed. he broke into a big unaffected laugh. "we're like two villains out of old adelphi melodrama," he said. "we've made each other unacceptable offers and threatened each other, and now i suppose it's to be a fight to the finish." barclay nodded. the laugh had been more bitter than a blow. he turned his head away so that tristram should not see the treacherous weakness of his mouth. then with a muttered exclamation that was half a curse, half a sob of ungovernable passion, he gave his trembling mare her head and galloped recklessly back the way he had come. tristram looked after him until arabella, of her own accord, resumed her patient amble towards heerut. the darkness began its race over the plain and swept up the little shadows of the field workers as a wave sweeps up driftwood. they came together silently; in a weary, dejected stream resumed their trudge along the rough tracts, bearing tristram on his gaunt steed in their midst like the high effigy of a god. thus they brought him to a meredith to the rescue 229 the doors of his hut and there left him, each man creeping in the same ghostly silence to his own hovel. owen meredith was seated at tristram's carved table, reading by the light of an oil-lamp. tristram had seen the reflection beneath the ill-fitting doorway, but first had settled arabella for the night, talking cheerily to her and lingering over his task as though deliberately avoiding the moment when he should meet his unknown visitor. now seeing meredith, his face expressed something akin to relief. the two men greeted each other quietly, sincerely, but without effusion. they were men of equal moral rank but of a different spiritual race. they respected each other, but real intimacy was not possible between them. "i thought you wouldn't mind my dropping in on you like this," meredith said. "i've been doing a round of the villages, and it was too late to go on. besides, i was dog-tired. i daresay that's my real reason." he closed his pocket bible as he spoke and laid his hand on it. he had not spoken the whole truth, but of that fact he was not even dimly conscious. he told himself that it was only right to look in on this lonely man. tristram nodded absently. "i'm jolly glad to see you. i've got a shakedown for visitors. you won't mind eating off one plate, will you?" "thankful to eat anything." "that's good." he began to rummage in his little kitchen at the back of the hut and returned presently with the plate and some preserves. "it's not much," he apologized ruefully. "i always forget about food until i'm hungry. and then i want to kick myself." 230 a meredith to the rescue "i expect we'll manage. you're all alone now." "yes. no indoor patients. it's quite queer not having a paw or a wing to bandage up." "you've never found poor wickie." the man seemed to shrink a little. "no. i guess if the next life allows it, he's not far off, poor old chap. he wouldn't be happy in paradise without me." meredith winced. it was the more painful to him because tristram was obviously quite serious. to meredith he seemed like a big, unconsciously blasphemous child. "and_ayeshi—you must miss him, too." "yes." the answer sounded curt, but meredith persisted. he had the feeling that, though gaya's suspicions had been kept quiet for tristram's sake, the latter knew more than he betrayed. "it was rather queer of him, the way he went off in the middle of your illness. you thought he was so devoted." "he was." tristram spread out an old newspaper over the table. "you got the rajah to subscribe for his education. well, i suppose he's gone to be educated. it's what you wanted." "i didn't expect him to go when he did." "he had good reason. i trust ayeshi. but what your education will make of him heaven knows. a rotten, dissatisfied little clerk in a government office, i suppose. a hundred years ago he would have been a king." meredith sighed wearily. "i know you resented my interference. i've got to do what i can in my own way, tristram." a meredith to the rescue 231 "i know. but i wish you'd make christians of our own people first. if you did that thoroughly, you'd find my villagers would come of themselves. they hear a lot about christianity. they don't see much of it." meredith's eyes flashed in answer. he leant forward across the table with his hand clenched on the black-bound bible. "you are quite right, tristram," he said, with restrained passion. "we have failed badly hitherto. we have acted like cowards, whispering and murmuring of our religion as though we were half-ashamed of it. who can believe in cowards? this people has got to see christianity as the romans saw it, apparent weakness pitted against the majority and triumphant. they have got to see what our faith means to us. out here we are the early christians. we must pass through the same ordeals, we must pay the same price. therein lies our only hope of salvation, for ourselves, for these, our brethren for whose souls we are responsible to god." "i don't know much about their souls," tristram returned quietly. "i'm responsible for their bodies. it's quite enough. what do you mean to do?" meredith threw back his square head. there was something vivid and dominating about his personality at that moment which lifted mere fanatical rhetoric to real grandeur. in some such spirit luther might have flung down his immortal challenge. "testify to my faith before cæsar, tristram." "and who is cæsar?" "the people. when they go down to the river to worship their gods-at the feast of siva-" 232 a meredith to the rescue tristram got up, pushing his food from him. "you must be mad," he said hotly. "what should we do, civilized though we are, if at easter some brahmin insulted christ from our altar?" meredith met him without flinching. "yours is the wretched toleration of our age," he said. "there can be no righteous toleration of lies and wickedness." "you know what will happen? there'll be riotingbloodshed"" "possibly. i believe it to be necessary. i don't shrink from it." "that's good of you." tristram ruffled his shock of reddish hair in a fit of angry humour. "what the rest of your victims feel about it doesn't matter, of course. martyrs you'd call them. they wouldn't be martyrs. if a horde of infuriated fanatics descend on gaya, it will be a slaughter stage-managed and engineered by yourself. you and your like would be chucked out of india, and 'serve you right. gaya doesn't want to testify to its faith. i doubt if it knows what its faith is." he stalked over to the open door with his back to meredith. "well, i shall warn the authorities," he finished. there was a silence. meredith considered his companion with a gradual relaxation of his intensity. he got up at last and laid his hand on tristram's broad shoulder. there was something shy and uncertain in his manner, like a school-boy who has been caught in heroics. "you won't need to inform the authorities," he said. "i dare say i'm a pompous idiot. there won't be any a meredith to the rescue 233 slaughter. we're miles from gaya. their enthusiasm won't carry them that far. be about the extent of it." they'll duck me, and that'll tristram looked down at the dark eager face, and, catching the lurking humour in meredith's eyes, laughed. "oh, well, if only you and i are going to be massacred, it's of no consequence whatever," he said. "there, man, finish your supper!" but he himself left his food untouched. he went over to a little roughly carved cabinet and produced a tobacco jar and an old disreputable pipe. meredith looked away from him, playing absent-mindedly with the knife which formed tristram's dinner-service. his pulses had begun to beat faster. he was dimly aware now that he had come to heerut with a purpose that he had cherished secretly and painfully for many months past. "i suppose you've not seen boucicault lately?" he asked suddenly. tristram did not answer at once. he seemed absorbed in the accurate filling of his pipe-bowl. "yes," he said, at last. "i saw him today." "any change?" "none. i'm beginning to be afraid there never will be." "poor anne!" meredith said, scarcely above a breath. tristram came over to the table and sat down on the edge. he lit his pipe, and meredith, alert now for every guiding sign, saw that the hand with the match shook. "why 'poor anne'? it's been ghastly, of coursebut then, what was her life like before? at least, there's no one to cow the spirit out of her. she's free." 234 a meredith to the rescue "you don't understand anne. i've known her so long. perhaps, as a clergyman, i had a deeper insight into her mind. boucicault terrified her, but she loved him. it seems odd, doesn't it, but at the bottom he was a kind of hero to her. she thought of him as he once was-tiger sahib-a daring, handsome leader of men. that's what's uppermost in her now. everything else is forgotten and forgiven. so you can see for yourself what she is suffering. it's the pitiableness of the man's utter helplessness in the face of her mother's amazing attitude" tristram swung himself off the table and began to pace the room with long, impatient strides. meredith watched him unceasingly. "i approve of mrs. boucicault's attitude," tristram said, in angry challenge. "a great many people do. they think she's well rid of a ruffian. but, as i've told you, anne loved him. she has a rare and wonderful spirit, tristram, and she has forgiven. her mother's flaunted happiness and frivolity were unbearable. she fled from it, and now she's longing for her father. she hasn't a penny of her own. it's a ghastly situation. the devil who did for boucicault did for anne." tristram stopped short. he was staring down at his pipe, which had gone out. "you're confoundedly sure of things," he said brutally. "you know her so well. why don't you marry her?" "i asked her to marry me two months ago, was the answer. meredith's hands were clasped on the table in an attitude which, but for his level voice and composed a meredith to the rescue 235 features, would have suggested an almost intolerable suffering. "she wouldn't have me, tristram." "i don't wonder," with a rough laugh. "what woman would care to share your life or mine?" "you don't understand-it wasn't that. she'd be glad and proud to go into the desert with the man she loved. i wasn't the man. that's all." he was breathing thickly, and suddenly he got up with a gesture that even then tristram recognized as poignant. "my god, man, why don't you go in and win?" he burst out. they stared at each other through a long minute of silence. the pipe slipped from tristram's hand and fell with a crack on the hard floor. he bent down and picked it up. the stem was broken. he tried to piece it together with a sightless persistency. "are you you trying to be damned funny?" he stammered. "do you think i should make a jest of a thing like that?" was the fierce retort. "what i've done would be the action of a cad if you weren't the man i know you to be. it hasn't been easy-you can guess that. but i wasn't going to see anne's happiness break up for want of a little sincerity. i believed you cared. i've been watching you. i was almost certain tonight. i understood your principles-you wouldn't ask a woman to share your life-but i know what anne feels-she'd stick by you, tristramhe faltered, the thread of his argument lost in a sudden ugly sense of uncertainty. he saw tristram's face in the shadow, and its sheer expressionlessness frightened him. "i suppose i've behaved like a "" 236 a meredith to the rescue fool," he said. "a man who cares as i do is liable to become obsessed with an idea. forget it” tristram started a little, as though awakening from a he came and stood at meredeep mental abstraction. dith's side, laying the fragments of the old pipe on the table with a mechanical care. "that's the only foolish thing you've said," he remarked, gently. "i don't believe any one ever forgets anything. it's just a sort of comfortable phrase you did quite right -you clergymen have a kind of insight into things-you -you see where the shoe pinches don't worry-i'm awfully grateful. even now, i see what a fine thing you've done-i shall realize it much better later on. you've lived it's a case up to your faith-you've made me respect it. of the old pagan and the early christian. no, i'm not jeering. i'm in deadly earnest. there, turn in and go to sleep. i shan't want my bunk tonight. i've got to think things out-get clear with myself. so many things. have been sprung on me-i've got to be alone. but don't worry. you've done the right thing. good night." he held out his hand, and now it was quite steady. meredith took it and wondered at the strength of it. in the dull, bitter reaction from sacrifice, he visualized the fervour of tristram's happiness. "good night. don't let anne guess"never-on my word." he went out. the night was dark and oppressive. a hush of exhaustion hung over the village. afar off a jackal howled dismally, and was answered nearer by a prowling pariah dog. tristram crossed the deep gutter which a meredith to the rescue 237 lined the uneven roadway. though he could see nothing, he knew every stone, every turn; he could have named the invisible huts and their owners as he passed them. the pariah dog came snuffing round his heels, and he threw it a crust which it was his habit to carry in his pocket for the starving strays of the village. he heard the snap of its famished teeth, and a hurried scamper through the darkness. at the cross-roads a breeze came down from the west. it rustled through the mysterious, never-silent leaves of the council-tree. it seemed to him that their whisperings were the ghosts of familiar voices now still. he stopped to listen. he could hear ayeshi's voice, low-pitched and meditative, the harsher notes of the headman: "ah, those were the great days-the great days—" the headman had been swept away in the last epidemic. ayeshi was gone. he would never sit again by the red firelight and listen to the story of the rani kurnavati. he would never lie and stare up through the fret-work of peepul leaves and dream his boyish dreams of her. gone -all gone. he walked on rapidly. he had no consciousness of distance or any purpose-only a desire to be always moving. but at last a sound broke through to him-the dull, menacing roar of unseen water sliding past him into the darkness. he knew then that he had reached the limit of his respite. the menace was for him. this was the end of driftingof all dreams. here was the reality-the whole future to be faced. he stood there listening-bracing himself. . . . 238 a meredith to the rescue it was close on daybreak when he returned. the lamp still burned dimly. meredith lay on the camp-bed, fully dressed, apparently asleep. tristram glanced at the composed face and then stumbled over to the table against the wall and sat down. the struggle was over, but it had left him exhausted, broken, his mind blank save for odd distortions of memory. he thought he heard wickie patter over the floor to meet him-ayeshi's soft and friendly foot-fall -a voice in his ear-"i could make you a rich man-you could marry whom you pleased—” he heard a woman speaking gently with a subdued triumph-"is this your confession, major tristram?" but meredith was not asleep. he had spent the night in a bitter conflict of uncertainties, in prayer, in alternating thankfulness and dread. up to now, his growing purpose had been a light in his path, brightening as his eyes strengthened to the prospect it revealed. he had hugged sacrifice to himself and grown peaceful in his surrender. now that his sacrifice and surrender had been made full and complete, he had lost his vision. on tristram's return, he had feigned sleep instinctively. now the big, powerful figure huddled by the table fascinated him. he watched through half-opened eyes,' painfully aware that he was eavesdropping, spying, but unable to turn away. something was to be shown, made clear to him. he saw tristram pick up a photograph which had stood hidden in the shadow and hold it before him. he remained thus motionless for many minutes. meredith tried to speak to him, to hinder at all costs the self-betrayal which was to come. but it was too late. without a a meredith to the rescue 239 sound, tristram had dropped forward, hiding the portrait with his body, his face in his arms. thereafter meredith lay still, with closed eyes, sick with an unformed sense of disaster. by daybreak tristram had disappeared. he left a brief note. he had been called to the next village-a case of fever. he hoped that the eggs would be all right for meredith's breakfast. all very matter-of-fact and natural. but the portrait on the table had vanished with him. chapter xvii mrs. smithers does accounts as she would have been the first to admit, arithmetic was not one of mrs. smithers's intellectual strongholds. figures baulked her. they were an inexhaustible enemy which, when aroused, flung themselves upon her in serried legions and battalions, eluded pursuit, barricaded themselves behind mysterious lines, multiplied themselves into preposterous quantities, and utterly refused to "come out" and surrender to mrs. smithers's somewhat individual laws of subtraction and addition. on this particular afternoon, she had determined on a grand assault, and had armed herself with a large sheet of paper, a pencil sharpened to a nicety, removed her mittens, straightened her wig, and figuratively rolled up her sleeves. having made these preparations, which were probably intended more as a demonstration of impending "frightfulness" than as an actual assistance in her task, she took up her position in the dâk-bungalow dining-room and opened fire. she had fought unflinchingly for an hour, when the curtains at the far end of the room were pushed aside with an impatience which mrs. smithers seemed to recognize. 1 240 mrs. smithers does accounts 241 before she even looked up, she turned the sheet of paper, with its pattern of astonishing hieroglyphics on its face, and set her mittens upon it with an air of fixing a tombstone over the body of her enemy. "why, lawks a-mercy, sigrid, i thought you were sleeping!" she exclaimed. "the punkah-coolie. had a nap instead. it was so hot -oh, smithy, what an annoying person you can be! i've been hunting for you for the last hour." 66 "in which case," mrs. smithers commented, with a judicial flavour of speech culled from the law reports, 'you must have looked under all the chairs and tables. i can't see how anybody could hunt for anything in this nasty barn of a place without running into them in ten minutes. not a decent door, not a corner where you can get a moment to yourself-let alone escape from those crawling black things" sigrid fersen sighed. she had been standing in the doorway, one slender arm, from which the sleeve of her pale green tea-gown had dropped back, raised to hold aside the curtain. now she came forward, moving restlessly and noiselessly about the room, picking up one ornament after another and putting it down without apparently having looked at it. "you never will let me wipe my boots on you, smithy," she complained. "i've trained you to be a doormat ever since i was an infant in arms, and you still show not the slightest aptitude. one of these days, i shall lose patience and send you flying." she caught the line of contempt at the corner of mrs. smithers's prim mouth and came over 16 238 a mer it was close still burned din. dressed, apparen posed face and ti wall and sat dow: him exhausted, br tions of memory. the floor to meet h -a voice in his earcould marry whom y speaking gently with confession, major tri. but meredith was 1 in a bitter conflict of u thankfulness and dread had been a light in his pa ened to the prospect it r to himself and grown pea his sacrifice and surrender he had lost his vision. on tristram's return, h now the big, powerful f him. he watched aware that he w turn away. some him. he saw tri stood haiden in t remained thus er tried speak to why was to mrs. smithers does accounts 241 * e she even looked up, she turned the sheet of paper, ts pattern of astonishing hieroglyphics on its face, and mittens upon it with an air of fixing a tombstone e body of her enemy. y, lawks a-mercy, sigrid, i thought you were !" she exclaimed. punkah-coolie. had a nap instead. it was so hot ithy, what an annoying person you can be! i've ting for you for the last hour." hich case," mrs. smithers commented, with a work; hay, avour of speech culled from the law reports, a... 1……..li.. 1.. " *t have looked under all the chairs and tables. how anybody could hunt for anything in this of a place without running into them in ten not a decent door, not a corner where you can ent to yourself-let alone escape from those ck things99 sen sighed. she had been standing in the slender arm, from which the sleeve of her -gown had dropped back, raised to hold aside now she came forward, moving restlessly about the room, picking up one ornament and putting it down without apparently t it. ill let me wipe my boots on you, smithy," "i've trained you to be a doormat ever fant in arms, and you still show not the one of these days, i shall lose patience g." she caught the line of contempt at smithers's prim mouth and came over 242 mrs. smithers does accounts and pinched her ear with real severity. "i saw that sneer, you horrid, disreputable old tyrant! you think i can't get on without you. i wish i could, just to spite you" she stopped short, as though losing interest in her train of thought, and stood at mrs. smithers's side stroking the latter's withered cheek with a light, absent-minded hand. mrs. smithers accepted the attention much as a cat would have done, without gush or undignified gratitude, but with sedate i-fully-deserve-it satisfaction. "smithy, do you realize that we shall have to pack up soon?" "and a very good thing, too. a nice sight you're getting to look in this oven of a place." "am i? i thought so myself this afternoon. it quite frightened me. smithy, make an effort and tell the truth. am i showing signs of-of wear and tear?" mrs. smithers unbent. she took the hand on her shoulder and kissed it abruptly and shamefacedly. "steel doesn't rust, sigrid." "doesn't it? that shows what you know about steel. also it proves you've been reading penny novelettes again. still, there is such a thing as poetic licence, and as a compliment it will pass. no, i shan't rust, smithy—i'd rather snap like the good blade of your metaphor-" she drifted along the currents of her thoughts for a moment, and then added abruptly, "so it's hey for england and the end of things." "the beginning, my dear." "i don't know. we're almost at the end of our tether." "well, you knew that would happen." "yes i suppose i did. i remember making admirable, mrs. smithers does accounts 243 lucid plans to meet the event. nothing particular has happened to upset them." "nothing at all, my dear." "by the way, the rajah has asked me to marry him." mrs. smithers laughed. her amusement was usually of a more restrained kind, and the laugh had a rusty, disused sound. "that's a good joke." "isn't it? i don't think he would have offered me anything so respectable if he had had more pluck. he's terrified of me and of gaya. he imagines gaya would make him impossible if he insulted me. i've outgrown his original intentions altogether." "what did you say?" "i told him he wasn't rich enough. it was horribly vulgar, but it's the sort of thing he understands. i've never seen a man more humiliated. if i had told him he was a blackguard, he wouldn't have minded. it's wonderful how he has assimilated our western ideals." "sigrid" "yes, i know-i'm in a detestable mood. i'm upset, smithy. i've always controlled my life, moulded it into the shape i wanted. i was so sure that i could never be beaten by it. i thought there was only one real catastrophe we human beings were afflicted with-ill-health-and that i was prepared to master in my own way. but now"" mrs. smithers picked up her pencil and tapped the table with a judicial air of summing up. "you're out of sorts, sigrid. look at things straight. two years ago we started off on a wild-goose chase. i 244 mrs. smithers does accounts knew it was a wild-goose chase, but you had to be humoured and so i just let you run. besides, you had a grain of horse-sense in you. if you couldn't find what you wanted in those two years, you'd take the next best thing. well, you haven't found it"" "how do you know? what about the rajah?” "sigrid-your mind wants a good spring-cleaning. it's full of cobwebs and horrors"or major tristram?" 99 mrs. smithers seized upon her mittens and folded them up into a tight ball and smacked them viciously down on the table. "of course, you're in love with him-the poor benighted, footling ninny. that's the whole trouble." "and you're dying for me to marry him. that's why you're always insulting him." she moved away from mrs. smithers's side and stood at the open window looking out on to the garden, her hand to her cheek in her favourite attitude of meditation. ."yes, i am in love with him in a superficial sort of way. it's his absurdity, his unreality, his utterly impossible conception of life. and his love of me. just as absurd as the rest of him. a fantasia. two years' worship of a woman he saw dancing for ten minutes before a vulgar, gaping, unseeing mob! think of it. it's sheer worship, smithy. he sees something miraculous-divine in me. that's the wonderful part of him. he's right. he's gone right through me to what is divine-my art. he saw me dance he was just a country-bumpkin who didn't know beethoven from bizet-and he didn't worry about my mrs. smithers does accounts 245 beauty or the shape of my limbs, or wonder whether my pearls were real or who gave them to me. he saw god in me. i knew that when i found my photograph on his table. in a kind of flash. it wasn't a silly, stage-door infatuation. it was real-a perfect understanding." she threw out her arms with a gesture of freedom, of spiritual expansion. "oh, it tasted good, that understanding. i couldn't have done less than love him." she seemed to sink into a deep, brooding contentment, and mrs. smithers did not move or speak. "but i shan't marry him. i am not young any longer. i have built my house and have lived in it too long. i need space and splendour, magnificence. i should stifle in his hovel. i am no sensualist. i belong to the best of the old greeks. no vulgar display of wealth, no ugliness of poverty-but absolute beauty-that's my religion-the most austere religion of the world. he understands, but he cannot follow. he doesn't know it, but he has chosen the road of the galilean-not the galilean of the cross, but the simple man who loved the sparrows and the lilies-and i follow diana and apolloshe broke off with a sigh and turned away. "so that's the end of that. we shall pack our trunks, and one day it will be just an episode. but today-don't let any one worry me today, smithy. there's some one coming up the drive now. tell them i'm ill-anything-only don't let them worry me "" she touched the old cheek with her lips, and then soundlessly, like a flash of pale light, had vanished. mrs. smithers unfolded her mittens and put them on. apparently unmoved, she was about to resume her offensive 246 mrs. smithers does accounts against her enemy, when mary compton made her appearance on the balcony. whereupon mrs. smithers postponed her attack in order to settle first with the intruder. her manner, however, was almost gracious. she liked mrs. compton. she liked her especially this afternoon because she was wearing one of sigrid's frocks-by no means an old one-which mrs. smithers had altered with her own hands. this detail formed an unbreakable link of affection and fraternity. 1 mrs. compton did not wait for an invitation. she dropped into the nearest chair, discarded her garden hat, and flung her parasol on the floor, proceeding thereafter to ruffle her grey-threaded curly hair with an exasperated hand. "oh, the heat! smithy, for pity's sake, don't tell me i've faced it for nothing. sigrid's in?" "she's in, mrs. compton, but she's not at home." "not even for me?" "not for a living soul." "she's-she's not ill?" "not that i know of." she shot a glance at mrs. compton's crestfallen countenance, and relaxed her official attitude. "you can have a cup of tea if you like." mrs. compton laughed. "well, it's a poor substitute, but i'll take it. i should expire on your doorstep if you didn't give me something to revive me. i met that brute of a barclay on the road and he offered me a lift. the mere thought of it will keep me on the frazzle for days. i only hope he isn't coming here." mrs. smithers does accounts 247 "he'd better not," mrs. smithers observed, with grim significance. there was a moment's silence, and then she jerked her head in the direction of the curtained doorway. "it's the heat," she explained. "it's just wearing her to ribbons. the lord be praised, we shall be going back to civilization soon." mrs. compton sat bolt upright, red with consternation. "she's not going back to england?" "i hope so, i'm sure." "it's-it's an engagement, i suppose?" "h'm, a sort of one." "smithy and it's just as though she only arrived yesterday. what shall i do? everything will be nothing without her. what did she come for? just to make us all hate each other, just to show us what a silly, colourless world we live in? smithy, this means a divorce for me. i shall desert archie. i shall live at stage-doors and spend my fortune on front seats in the pit. i shall see her dance at last99 the very poignant feeling which underlay her desperate humour touched mrs. smithers to the quick. at all times she was inclined to treat facetiousness seriously, most of life's jokes having been made at her expense, and she saw more of mary compton's grief than the latter knew. "my dear, don't you do nothing silly. you wouldn't see her dance." "in london." "no." "in paris, then-" "not in paris-nowhere." 248 mrs. smithers does accounts "but, smithy"if she did, she'd-" mrs. smithers took her tongue between her teeth. she leant across the table, her stiff old body quivering with menace. "don't you breathe a word—don't you let on-if you do, i'll—i'll— what mrs. smithers would or would not have done mrs. compton never knew. in a state of uncomprehending consternation, she almost welcomed the diversion created by the entry of a frightened-looking servant. "mem-sahib-if you please, mem-sahib-" his announcement was also lost. he was pushed roughly aside and james barclay entered. at sight of his tall, perfectly clad figure mrs. smithers was on her feet, and for a moment mrs. compton believed she intended a personal assault-a belief which barclay himself appeared to share, for his attitude became more deferential though not less resolute. he bowed gravely to his opponent, including mrs. compton in the greeting. mrs. compton ignored him. "i am sorry to be forced to intrude in this way," he began with a certain dignity. "it seems to be fated that i should have to burgle my entry. but i was practically certain that an ordinary appeal for admission would be ignored. so i just followed on your butler's heels. may i speak to miss fersen?" mrs. smithers drew a deep breath of indignation. "no, you may not. she's not seeing any one-much less you-you blackguard-" mrs. compton jumped at the sheer vigour and audacity of the attack, and then, as she saw barclay's face, was mrs. smithers does accounts 249 conscious of a pang of the half-angry pity which he had caused her once before. a peculiar pallor showed under his olive skin. he was no longer smiling, and his eyes had a sick, stricken look like that of an animal badly hurt. the next minute he was himself again, cool, resolute, without that insolence which stamped most of his actions as weak and fundamentally diffident. "i am sorry you think of me like that, mrs. smithers, but i won't argue about it. i must see miss fersen99 "do you want me to throw you out with my own hands?" "no, i don't," he returned, with perfect gravity. "all i ask of you is to give miss fersen this letter. it was written in case she refused to see me. it is a business matter." mrs. smithers wavered, obviously nonplussed by the man's quiet resolution. in despair, she appealed to mrs compton. "what shall i do with him?” mrs. compton stared out into the garden. "you'd better take the letter, hadn't you? it gives sigrid a chance to decide for herself." "oh, very well." she snatched the letter from barclay's hands and made her exit with what sounded like the challenging snort of an old war-horse. barclay maintained his position quietly. he made no effort to speak to mrs. compton, who continued to ignore him. but, without knowing it, his restraint began to trouble her, and she resorted to the mannerism of stage heroes when confronted by the villain and a painful situation. she opened a silver case on the table beside her, selected a cigarette, and began 250 mrs. smithers does accounts to smoke with an insulting satisfaction. had barclay offered her the lighter which she was certain he possessed, she felt that she would have infallibly struck him; but he stood stroking his moustache, and apparently as unconscious of her as she pretended to be of him. the silence became intolerable. furiously conscious that he had beaten her on her own ground, she got up and went out on to the balcony, only to realize with increased annoyance that she had been beaten by a second. mrs. smithers had returned. she did not look at barclay, and addressed her message to the opposite wall. "you can go in," she said. he bowed, showing no sign of elation or surprise, and the door closed behind him. mary compton returned, and the two women busied themselves with the tea-things which had been brought in, paying the function more intent interest than was usual. they were both nervous. for all mrs. smithers's excessive clatter, they could hear voices, muffled and continuous, and something in the sound paralysed their initiative. neither wished to listen, but they found nothing with which to cover their compulsory attention. when mrs. smithers spoke at last it was with a breathless tremulousness. "i don't know what sigrid did it for," she said. "she didn't want to see any one, and now this creature comes along. just because he met her once at some reception he'd managed to wriggle himself into-she can be so idiotically good-natured-it was a begging letter, i'm sure: the nasty, cadging blackamoor." mrs. compton did not respond directly. she had what, mrs. smithers does accounts 251 for all men say, is a quality equally rare in both sexes, a profound reverence for the reticences and secrets of her friends, and she wished to avoid the confidences which might be hovering on mrs. smithers's unsteady lips. "i hate meeting that man," " she said, by way of an answer. "he frightens me. i always think of him as an english sin come home to roost-a bird of ill-omen, not necessarily bad, just foredoomed to evil. i wish he hadn't come to gaya." "i wish he'd leave sigrid alone," mrs. smithers muttered. mary compton knew now that barclay had been at the dak-bungalow before, and wished she did not know. the knowledge troubled her, increasing an inexplicable uneasiness. something was going on in that next room. though she could not and would not have heard the words, the voices persisted in attaining her consciousness. their tone was neither angry nor excited, but intensely earnest. business? what business could james barclay have with a woman he scarcely knew? she could not avoid the question. then came a silence infinitely worse than the voices-it was so sudden and prolonged. mary compton became almost panic-stricken in her effort to escape from the fascination of that silence. she turned her attention to mrs. smithers, who had deserted her tea and gone back to her figures. "are you drawing patterns?" she asked hurriedly. mrs. smithers shook her head. "sums," she explained. "never could do them even in me board-school days, and that's some time ago. are you any good?" 252 mrs. smithers does accounts "i wrestle with accounts once a week-not successfully. but that's not the fault of my arithmetic. it's archie's pay. can i help?" mrs. smithers sat back and folded her hands. "what i'm trying to find out," she began, "is, what income would one have if one had two thousand pounds?" "it depends on the rate of interest." "what rate of interest can one have?" "well, three-and-a-half per cent. if you're rich, and five per cent. if you're poor. if one hasn't much, it's a case of sink or swim." "let's split the difference-say, four per cent. hereyou can have the pencilmrs. compton laughed. "i can manage that in my head. eighty pounds would be about your income." "lawks a-mercy!" said mrs. smithers under her breath. she brooded over this information for a minute, in which her companion became aware that sigrid was speaking again-very quietly. if she had spoken angrily mary compton would not have felt her heart beating against her ribs in an absurd, horrible excitement. "it's amazing what a little a lot of money is," mrs. smithers philosophized gloomily. "i've done a powerful lot of saving, and two thousand pounds seems a powerful lot to have saved, but what's eighty pounds a year? a mere drop in an ocean. one couldn't keep oneself in boots and shoes with it." mrs. compton stared. mrs. smithers's elastic-sided foot-gear did not suggest eighty pounds' expenditure, or anything like it. mrs. smithers does accounts 253 "no i suppose not," she ventured. "and two thousand pounds, for that matter," mrs. smithers continued, with increased contempt. "what's the good of that? one couldn't live decently for six months on it." "i could," mrs. compton assured her with a smouldering twinkle in her bright eyes; "but, of course, i'm different. i say, smithy, are you going on the bust-painting gaya red and that sort of thing? do include me in the invitation if you are. i'd just love to do something outrageous." but mrs. smithers remained coldly unresponsive, and she got up with a sigh of discomfort. "well, i'm off. i can't stand that man's voice, and i don't want to see him again. tell sigrid i've been, and implore her to come round to dinner. archie and i are bored stiff with each other." she paused on the edge of the verandah, driving the point of her parasol in between the flags and becoming violently slangy. "i say, smithy dear, you know i look upon you as a sort of guardian angel to sigrid. i just wanted to say -if there's anything wrong—any one who's in need of a kicking or or anything of that kind-or, in fact, if sigrid wants a body-guard physically or otherwise—just drop us the wink. archie and i are on." she was blushing hotly. mrs. smithers cleared her throat. "i shall certainly drop you the wink," she said, in her best manner. mrs. compton nodded, opened her parasol, and set out to face the stretch of hot road back to her own bungalow. ten minutes later the door between the two rooms 254 mrs. smithers does accounts opened. mrs. smithers did not so much as look at barclay, her only intimation that she recognized his passing being a sudden stiffening of her long back. barclay bowed to her, still very calm and unchallenging, and went out. mrs. smithers waited until she heard the crunch of wheels fade along the drive, and then sailed indignantly into the next room. she was trembling a little and desperately anxious to appear merely angry. "i can't think how you did it, sigrid. there was mrs. compton wanting to see you, and instead you talked and talked to that nasty half-caste. i was ashamed-i was really99 she stopped, at the end of artificial fury, but still trembling. sigrid stood by her writing-table. a long beam of evening sunshine rested lightly and lovingly on her. in her delicate shaded gown, her slender body tensely still and living, she looked like a huge butterfly, wings halfspread, poised for flight. her head was bent a little, and she still held barclay's letter in her hands. "i'm sorry, smithy. it was important. it seems there's a kind of matrimonial epidemic in gaya. he has asked me to marry him." mrs. smithers burst into loud and uncontrolled laughter. "i shouldn't have thought it would have taken you all that time to give him his answer-the creature"i didn't give him an answer. to think things over." "sigrid" i didn't know-i've got it grew very still. mrs. smithers's withered hands fluttered up to her breast and rested there in a helpless mrs. smithers does accounts 255 weakness. sigrid began to tear the letter across and across. "why are you so upset, smithy? after all, it's just what we planned-just what you wanted. he's richvery rich. he was explaining to me how rich. and i need money-a great deal of it-to live and die beautifully"sigrid!" the cry snapped the palsy which had laid itself on mrs. smithers's tongue. she came out of her weakness strong and fierce and outraged. it did not matter that her "h's" flew to the winds. there was nothing comic in her as she stood there, stemming the disaster with her utter disbelief. "you can't mean it-it would be a wicked, wicked thing. it would be a crime-a dirty crime -you'd be selling yourself—yes, i shall say it, sigrid. i've stood by you through thick and thin, i 'ave; i've been like a dog that's never questioned, never thought if what you did was right or wrong-i've licked your hand through everything—but you'd be no better than-than a woman on the streets"be silent!" 99 "i won't. this isn't what we planned. it's different. i'll fight you, sigrid. i'll fight you every inch. i've got my share in you-i won't 'ave it spoiled and moiled. i won't." she paused an instant, drawing her breath deep and strong. "i'd kill 'im first," she said, between her teeth. sigrid half turned. her face looked small and white, as though something withering had passed over it. the wry, unsteady smile at the corners of her blue-shadowed lips was like light on something dead. 256 mrs. smithers does accounts "not if i didn't wish it, smithy. i daresay i shan't do it-i don't know yet; but, in any case, you can't get away -you'll lick my hand, as you call it, to the very end." they eyed each other like enemies, battling will against will. the old woman wavered piteously. "sigrid, my dear-'ave pity-just because it's truebecause i can't fight you-because i belong to you-'ave pity on yourself. don't do it, my dear, don't do it, sigrid. i've got a bit of money saved. you can 'ave it-every penny of it. i don't want it. it's your money-what you've given me. an old woman like me doesn't want much. take it, sigrid; it'll keep you for a bit, untiluntil"it won't do, smithy-i want money-a great deal of money. it costs so much to live magnificently—" she spoke with great slowness and deliberation. suddenly she turned. there was a kind of panic in her eyes. "life's hot got to be too strong for me-i've got to go on as i will -stick to me!" a wave of delicate, youthful colour swept up into mrs. smithers's cheeks. her whole life, lived selflessly, loyally, in another's splendour culminated in this moment-in this appeal. she held out her arms, holding the half-yielding half-defiant figure in an embrace which challenged heaven and earth. "as though i shouldn't" she muttered fiercely. "my dear, as though i shouldn't-" chapter xviii the feast of siva they came, so it seemed, from all the corners of india -from the east and west, north and south-thin streams of life trickling across the fields and down the mountain sides, till they converged in a broad, sluggish river which poured ceaselessly, irresistibly towards the place of its dreams and prayers. they had appeared miraculously, as though at a signal they had sprung up on the edge of the horizon and began their pilgrimage, as a conquering army bears down from all sides on a helpless citadel. but in reality they knew nothing of each other, and there was no order in their advance. some had come from the neighbouring villages, some from villages hundreds of miles away. some had packed up with wife, child, and household gods the night before some many months ago. they had come over the mountains, down lonely passes, through wild tracts of country where dangerous and desperate marauders, man and beast, preyed on their defencelessness. they had borne hunger and thirst and much sickness. many of them had dropped by the way. but there had been no lamentation, no turning back. they had no interest in each other. humanity, brotherhood, a common faith 71 257 258 the feast of siva -these things were without meaning for them. yet, where danger threatened, little groups had herded together, driven by fear and instinct rooted deep in the trackless jungle of humanity's beginnings. they knew no pity. a pilgrim died by the roadside, and they looked at him indifferently, as at a commonplace, and he himself watched them pass with patient, unexpectant resignation. suffering and death were part of the scheme of things. they lived under the shadow of a juggernaut, and today it was this man's turn to go under, tomorrow another's. they had no hope and no clear faith. their imaginations could not conjure up much to hope for a child perhaps, the fulfilment of a curse against a neighbour, sufficient harvest-and there were so many gods. and yet they came, mile after mile, footsore and hungry, gravely or passionately intent on a mystic goal whose significance they could not formulate even to themselves. the gods knew, and the priests perhaps; but the gods were silent in these days, and the priests kept their counsel. tristram stood on the outskirts of the village and watched them come down through the glory of the sunrise. they rolled past him in a cloud of dust and a blare of harshthroated instruments and the rattle of native drums. the bright morning rays picked out a hundred glints of colour from among them-here, a gay woman's chudder, there a rich puggri, or the glitter of gold ornaments, carried secretly and at great risk through the long journey, or the saffron robe of a holy man. all the stages of growth and decay were there-youth restraining its steps to the halting measure of age, rags and tatters and gaudy finery, the feast of siva 259 gentle, mysterious-eyed women, lithe-limbed boys and half-naked, pot-bellied babies rolling bow-legged at their parents' side, comic as young puppies. last of all, greybearded and scarcely human, a fakir crawling on hands and knees through the rising dust. so his oath bound him. years ago, he had started out on this pilgrimage. now the end was in sight. he glanced up as he passed, but his face was without expression. perhaps in those years he had reached his goal-indifference, nirvana, where there is neither desire nor hope, pain nor happiness. an odd misery laid hold of tristram as he watched them. it was a pageant of life, all humanity struggling on through the heat and turmoil of years, driven by a secret, fathomless impulse, obeying the behests of self-created gods, seeking a self-created goal out of the desperate need of their hearts. and tricksters and men of god, fanatics, conventionalists, bread-and-butter priests, preying on each other, trampling on each other, pushing always forward in pretended knowledge of the force that drives them. but, to the man standing at tristram's side, it was just a tiresome business. he was a captain in the native regiment, and was there with a handful of men to keep order if order could be kept. "i daresay there'll be a shindy by nightfall," he remarked. "there always is. can't think why we put up with it. we shall have a holy place on every inch of the river if we go on encouraging them like this." "i suppose they've got to have a religion," tristram observed absently. "well, i wish they'd have a nice, quiet, sunday-go-to260 the feast of siva meeting one like mine. besides, it doesn't mean anything to them. it's just their way of taking a summer holiday." tristram laughed and turned away. "oh, well, if there are any bones broken, you'll know where to find me. and keep your eye on meredith. his religion isn't the quiet, unobtrusive kind you favour." "good old meredith!" the other man rejoined comfortably. tristram made his way along the fringe of the procession back to his own quarters. when he closed the door he shut out the light and dust, but not the noise, and for that he was conscious of a vague thankfulness. the quiet of the place had begun to haunt him. rather than help him forget, it reminded him of what was no longer there. he was always looking round involuntarily for wickie, peering into his favourite hiding-place in the shadow, as though the bright brown eyes would have to answer his appeal, with their solemn, impudent contemplation. or he would rap out an order to ayeshi—and catch himself up only to realize the heaviness of the silence which answered him. and there were other things that troubled him-the carved chair where sigrid fersen had sat and looked at him with her disturbing eyes. at the time, she had seemed unreal, a vivid day-dream, a white glowing figure of his fancy, and now she was there always, dominating his consciousness. the place where the picture of the dancer had stood was empty, too, yet he saw her-the radiant head, with its crown of vine-leaves, thrown back, the mouth a little open, as though even in that moment of deliberate the feast of siva 261 pose she breathed the ecstasy of living. that was what mattered, what made her most wonderful, and the poise of her body, stereotyped enough and within the compass of a ballet girl, a thing of supreme art. he turned resolutely away from the empty place, allowing the tumult from without to pour over his vision of her, and went to his day's work. a subdivision of his little kitchen formed a combined laboratory and chemist's shop, and he set about cleaning his instruments, tidying up the bottles, noting failing supplies. that had been ayeshi's job. he thought of ayeshi as he dipped the instruments into the sterilizer, wondering vaguely what he was doing, what he thought. ayeshi, he knew, had found boucicault and wickie's body, and probably had buried the latter out of sight. he had shielded tristram. probably, too, he now sweated in the calcutta university with bitter thoughts of a man who had prated so much of life and half-killed a fellow-creature for the sake of a dog. the idea did not hurt tristram. he ached for the comradeship of the mysterious, romantic boy, but he had no sentimental reverence for himself. he had never realized that he had ever been so much as an ideal-idealizing in his own life too ardently to consider himself at all. he hummed as he worked. to others, the tune might have been unrecognizable, for at the best of times his voice had an uneven quality, and in singing it escaped control altogether. but in his brain the melody ran smoothly and beautifully. in the midst of it, he heard the latch of the door fall, and went out with his sleeves rolled up to meet the newcomer. 262 the feast of siva the door was wide open and framed her as she stood with her back to the sun-flooded village street, smiling at him. "i heard you singing," she said, with subdued mockery. "it was irresistible." he strove to answer her, denying the savage, joyous leap of his pulses. a kind of stupid deliberation settled on his brain. he found himself wondering whether she had removed her helmet because she knew the light would be shining on her hair. "did you come all the way from gaya to listen?" he asked at last, with a brief laugh. "no, i came for the fulfilment of a promise," she answered. "for my day out." "it was a bad-an impossible day to choose." "it was my last day." he was silent for an instant. he had tried to adjust his tone to hers and had failed. now he ceased to try. he spoke roughly, rather brutally. "then you're leaving gaya?" "i don't know-perhaps. it all depends. at any rate, last chance." this was my "i don't know how on earth you got here." "on horseback. i've put my steed with arabella. you don't mind?" "it's not safe for you here on a day like this." she smiled again, and for the first time he realized something new in her amusement-a kind of repressed earnestness. "i'm not afraid. do you want me to go away?" the feast of siva 263 "no-you don't know how glad" he broke off painfully, but she did not look at him or seem to notice that he had faltered. she bent down and put something which she had been carrying to the ground. it was a round yellow something which unrolled itself and developed four short legs, a stumpy tail, a sharp little head peering out of a mass of fluffiness, and a strenuous, defiant yap. "i don't know what it is," sigrid said gravely. "perhaps god does-i don't think any one else could even guess. but i thought you'd like it." "i don't understand," he said gently. he picked the little creature up and rubbed its black nose against his cheek. then, looking at it, he burst into a big roar of real amusement. "my word, what an absurdity!" "yes, isn't it? and utterly forsaken. mr. radcliffe found it somewhere with a rope and a brickbat round its neck. that's why i thought you'd like it. at first, i meant to get you something first-rate-a thoroughbred with a pedigree-and then i thought you'd like this better. you see, it's a sort of memorial to wickie. you know what people do when some one dies whom they lovethey build something or endow something-something the dead person would like. well, i think wickie would like you to adopt that puppy." he looked at her. there was a real tenderness in her eyes as they met his. he fancied that her lips were not quite steady. "if you say so, it must be so," he said. "wickie loved you knew all about him." you. 264 the feast of siva "we knew all about each other." she hesitated and then asked, "you'll keep my puppy?" "rather! it's been horribly lonely-i've wanted someone to give my scraps to” "the best bits! oh, i know you, tristram sahib!" they both laughed. and suddenly the constraint between them had gone. he busied himself eagerly, preparing wickie's old sleeping quarters, filling the tin feeding-plate with recklessly collected puppy dainties. "wickie'll be jolly glad," he said, in his boyish way. "he'd hate me to be lonely. and it's been lonely without him." "yes, i know." she went and stood by his table, playing idly with the letters which lay heaped upon it. “and there's something i want to ask in return-a sort of farewell gift. make this a real day for us both-give me a good time-humour me. let us be real with each other-sincere, just as we really are and feel. a sort of feast of honesty and fellowship. will you?" he stood beside her, looking down at her from his great height. "our day of days?" "the day of our lives." he flushed deeply under his tan, but he met her eyes steadily. a subtle change had come into his feeling for her. he could not have explained it—it was an odd sense of quiet nearness, of understanding. and she, too, seemed different. at other times she had been in earnest, but not as now. there had always been that curious detachment in her, as though she stood apart and laughed at life the feast of siva 265 and herself. now for a moment, at least, she had ceased to be an onlooker. "very well-we'll make each other a present," he said. "a day off from the world-something we won't account for to anybody." all at once he became recklessly happy. "i'll go and collect food," he said. "the pup can stay here and play locum tenens." he came back presently from the kitchen. his sleeves were still rolled up, but he carried a basket under one arm and wore his helmet rakishly at the back of his head. seeing him, the gravity passed like a mist from her eyes. "oh, you caricature of hercules!" she jeered at him. "tell me, have you ever worn decent clothes in your life?" "sometimes. i have to squeeze into regimentals on occasions or into a frock-coat. you wouldn't know me -i look a regular freak." "h'm! and what do you think you look like now?" "ariel shouldn't mock at caliban," he retorted gaily. "even when caliban throws ariel's portrait out of the window." she pointed to the empty place on the table. "have i sunk so far below your thought of me, major tristram?" he became serious in a moment, but without embarrassment. she had a sudden pleasure in him as he came and stood beside her-in his bigness, in his sheer unconsciousness of himself and his strength. she felt oddly compassionate, too-the awestruck compassion of a brünnhilde for a young siegfried. "no," he said. "but i was a boy, at least, in thought 266 the feast of siva and feeling and you were a boy's dream. now i am a man and you are a reality. it would have been an impertinence of me to have kept you." she shook her head. "there's more in it than that, tristram sahib." "yes," he assented gravely. "a great deal more." they remained together an instant, looking down at the empty place as though it held a secret significance for them both; then tristram turned to the door and made a little grandiloquent bow of introduction. his eyes had lost their seriousness and laughed at her. "behold, the day awaits us!" he said. they went out side by side into the glowing morning. the stream of pilgrims had grown denser and filled the street, beating up against the mud huts on either side and spilling over into the open doorways. and there was a thrill and fever in the air which gathered force, as at the cross-roads one stream poured into another and swirled and eddied in the effort to break a passage. shrieks and cries, the beating of drums, the harsh calls of the mendicants, the tramping of thousands of feet, the swirl of dust which could not rise for the pressure of the struggling bodies tristram turned to -a mad whirl of sound and colour. the woman beside him. "do you mind-can you face it?" she laughed a little, with a repressed exultation. "this is the tarantella as i danced it-the beginning before the madness comes-the rising of the tide. can't you feel it beating in your blood?" a fresh band, headed by a swaying banner, pushed its the feast of siva 267 way through the leaderless crowd, and after that, carried on the shoulders of four sweating, staggering men, the image of the triumvirate. the sun poured down over the roofs and glittered fierily on the three faces of the god. they had been gilded afresh for the occasion, and the hand which had laboured at their features had not failed in its simple craftsmanship. benevolence, cruelty, and an unutterable serenity stared over the heads of the tossing multitude. the idol swayed from side to side in its passage, and, as it caught the rays of the sun, gleamed with a living, sinister brightness. there were wreaths of faded flowers on the base of the altar, and there was white dust everywhere. the crowd surged closer, holding up its hands to it in greeting. their lifted faces showed neither reverence, nor fear, nor hope, but a kind of frenzy seeking its outlet. slowly, triumphantly, the image rocked on its way towards the river, a spot of sullen fire on the breast of an ever-changing sea of colour. like a dangerous backwash, the mob closed in, sweeping it forward and leaving behind a sudden relaxation-a breaking-up of the sea into a hundred drifting particles. it was the passing of a mad dream. the sun blazed on to the peaceful bustle. the note of frenzy died down. the old fakir had crawled on his knees into the shade and held out his wooden bowl, bleating monotonously. "alakh! alakh!" a merchant came out from his hiding-place in a cowshed and exhibited his wares. the hovel opposite revealed itself as a cook-shop, where the hungry could buy pulse-puffs 268 the feast of siva and dough-cakes and sweets of a hundred kinds. a sherbetseller pitched his tent a few doors lower down and clinked his coloured glasses alluringly. an ascetic, with the face of a medieval saint, sold gilt-papered corks from champagne bottles as sacred charms of marvellous efficacy. sigrid fersen looked up into her companion's face and they both laughed, scarcely knowing why, but swept away by a childish pleasure in the swiftness of the change, in the naïve volte face of these simple folk, who a minute before had trampled upon each other in a paroxysm of religious frenzy and now wandered wide-eyed and eager amidst all these bewildering fascinations. and perhaps, as the deep secret source of their pleasure, was the knowledge that the day was young and wholly theirs. "i want to buy something," she said gaily. "why should we be superior? it's our feast, too. and who knows if their values are not as good as ours? if their faith in champagne corks isn't as effective as our superstitious belief in the mysterious horrors compounded by an honourable dakktar sahib!" she shot him a demure, malicious glance. "come, i am going to buy recklessly!" a bright-eyed boy beckoned them to the tray behind which he watched cross-legged and eager, like a handsome, ' bewitching spider. it was not in vain that he had bright eyes or that he sold wares dear to the hearts of women. the merchant in cheap stuffs from manchester, and even the sherbet-seller, watched him sourly as the soft-footed, timid women hovered about him pricing his coveted treasures. the feast of siva 269 now he looked up, showing his white teeth in a smile of innocent welcome. "gifts for the mem-sahib-and gifts for him whom mem-sahib loves." sigrid knelt down in the dust beside his tray, and rummaged through the medley of his stock. ear-rings, bracelets, amulets, glass beads, vulgar trophies of western taste-paste diamond brooches stuck on cardboard and labelled rolled gold-these last displayed with almost passionate pride, and here and there a scornfully suppressed relic of days when manchester and birmingham were not. tristram stood beside her and watched her. he had the feeling that all this had happened before, years ago, and that this companionship of a day was just a link in a long, unbroken chain of days. it was so simple, so natural. he felt no constraint, scarcely any excitement, just an allpervading peace. they had always known each other, always shared their days, their thoughts, and desires. he did not think about it. it filled his senses with a wellbeing, a rare and exquisite content. she gave an exclamation and held up something in the palm of her little hand. he took it from her. it was a bracelet made of seven threads of seven different colours and bound with a silver clasp. the boy-merchant shrugged scornfully. "it is nothing-nothing, mem-sahib." "do you remember?" she asked. he nodded-not looking at her now. "the rani kurnavati99 "yes-that night when we sat by the moonlight and 270 the feast of siva ayeshi told us her story" she laid an extravagant sum on the tray. "there, that is all i want." the amazed merchant gasped his blessings after her. she walked on, threading her way through the aimless crowd, inspecting her purchase with a thoughtful pleasure. "i wanted to give it you," tristram protested, aggrievedly. "and i didn't want you to," she retorted. "you have given me enough, major tristram." her solemn reversion to his title amused him. he watched her smilingly as she snapped the bracelet about her wrist. "what have i given you?" "the cup. have you forgotten? i was so miserable because i forgot to thank you. i'd never been remorseful in my life before, but i was remorseful about that." "i'm sorry. remorse is ghastly. and i hadn't expected thanks." "you didn't expect to live. ought i to give the cup back?" "no." "but your mother—?” "i have told her," he said gravely. they reached the confines of the village. the high grass had been trampled down under the passing of a monstrous animal. through the dazzling blaze of sunlight they could see a black mass swarming along the banks, a huge, writhing octopus whose tentacles groped towards the temple with greedy, hurrying persistency. and in the midst of it, like a restless, menacing eye, the triumvirthe feast of siva 271 ate flashed backwards and forwards in evil, delirious triumph. "they're bringing up their offerings now,' "tristram said, rather grimly. "the snake god and his retinue will have food enough for months to come. it's a queer thing no one has seen these serpents in the memory of man, and yet it's true enough that native sceptics who have ventured inside the jungle have either never returned or come out raving madmen. there is madness connected with the whole thing-a kind of delirium which we english don't understand. it's in their blood, just as it's in the blood of some families to respond to supernatural influences which others don't even feel. anyhow, we'd better keep clear of them today." "i have made my plan," she answered, with sedate authority. he knew now where she was going. they made their way in silence down the length of the river, touching the monster only there where its tentacles reached up to the temple, and came at last to the green-shadowed backwater. tristram held aside the branches of the trees for her to pass through, and their eyes met. "isn't this a fitting place to celebrate our day?" she asked, "-here, where a certain romantic hermit beheld a vision and was not afraid?” "visions are not terrifying," he answered. "but the reality?" she did not seem to expect an answer. the boughs of the trees had swung back into their place. they stood together at the edge of the water, looking down into its 272 the feast of siva tangled depths, listening to the silence. nothing had changed. it was as though time had fallen asleep, and they were still living in that first day of their meeting. the dense foliage of the trees walled them in from the heat and glare and tumult. the dull murmur that came to them from time to time seemed no more than the soughing of a rising wind. the peace of it laid itself upon their senses like a cooling hand. they sat down in the fresh grass, talking softly and only a little, fearing to disturb the sleeping spirit of the place. tristram unpacked his basket and produced the day's provisions, over which they laughed subduedly. it appeared that he was cook as well as doctor, and she made wry faces over the probable ingredients of his dough-cakes. for her humour had lost its keenness and had become very young and a little tremulous. he responded loyally and easily. there was no constraint between them, no sense of trouble. they were comrades together, responding light-heartedly to the appeal of the sunlight, and the flowers burning brightly in the cool shadows. they did not know as yet that their real life lay beneath the surface of that easy comradeship in a great stillness where their own voices did not penetrate. but that stillness mastered them at last, flowing quietly and mightily over their broken, careless talk. the sunlight, falling aslant through the trees touched the green stem of a high palm and began its upward journey. tristram watched it. he had slipped lower down the bank, where he could see his own bulk shadowed darkly in the water and the pale, ghostly reflection of the woman behind the feast of siva 273 him. at first, he had lain full length on his elbow looking at her frankly, fearlessly, as she sat above him, her hands clasped about her knees, her fair small head bent a little from the light, so that her eyes seemed dark and more serious than her lips. now he had turned away from her and watched the passing of the sunbeam. a kind of panic had gripped him. the time was passing. it he had begun to realize dimly that what they had set out to do was impossible a defiance of the law of life. a day cannot be set apart from its fellows either for joy or sorrow. is bound up with them by whatever menace or promise they hold, and the menace of yesterday and tomorrow touched him like the breath of a chill wind. he pointed out on to the water and saw that his hand shook. his pulses had begun to beat heavily, thickly. "the lotus-flower has gone," he said. "it is dead. it's so long ago-it seems only yesterday do you remember asking me if i wanted it? you were glad because i let it live out its life." to us. "how did you know that?" "i knew that you loved living things." "isn't that a love common to us all?" she gave a short laugh out of which the joyful irresponsibility had died. or "men love ideas-the fetishes of their intellects. they love their cabbage-patch, or their country. life and humanity are nothing to the majority. but you caredfor everything." it was a long time before she spoke again, and then her voice had changed. it sounded languid-indifferent. "it must be terrible to kill," she said. 18 274 the feast of siva he stirred, drawing himself up. "the unforgettable sin," he said. "unforgettable? have you ever known any one who had killed?” "yes. it was worse than killing. he smashed his man-crippled him for life." "perhaps he didn't care." "he cared desperately. he thought of life as i do" she laughed again. "another tolstoyan! well, he was punished, i suppose." "oh, yes, he was punished. not by the law. he had no belief in that fetish of justice-an eye for an eye. his life was of value-to another. of what use would it have been to have smashed it with the rest? he found the only way to make good the damage he had done-and he took it." he spoke firmly, as a man does who has fought through to a clear issue. he heard her move-he fancied that she had held out her hand as though to touch him, and that her hand had dropped. "perhaps he was mistaken," she said. "some one once said to me there is a curse on us-that we are damned to destroy. perhaps the life he took was justly takenperhaps it was a bad, valueless life' he turned impetuously, with an intensity of feeling far removed from his previous impersonal deliberation. "you can't tell," he said. "that's the ghastly part of it-you can't tell. you find a piece of broken glass on your road. you grind it under foot or throw it away and think you've done your fellow creatures a service. and . 1 the feast of siva *275 then a child comes along crying for its lost treasure. it doesn't matter that you were justified. the thing had its value, after all, and you smashed it. you hurt someone'some one is always hurt," she interrupted. a mist of passionate introspection passed from his eyes, and he saw her face-very pale, with a blue shadow about the lips. he started, almost touching her. "you're ill-tired!" he stammered. "a little-it was the heat and the crowdhe looked at the light on the green stem of the palm, as though to a warning hand. it had reached the end of its journey and had grown dim. he got up, holding himself desperately erect. "it's the end of the feast," he said, "the end of our day." but she shook her head broodingly. "you can't tell that either-only the gods know the end, tristram sahib." something had wrapped itself about their senses. they had talked of impersonal things and-save for that one break of his-without emotion. but the emotion had been there, below the surface, crushed out of sight by an effort of the will which left them no physical consciousness. it walled them within themselves as the trees and dense foliage walled them in from the heat and tumult. thus the storm broke on them without warning. it had risen little by little with the dull boom of an angry sea. they had heard nothing. but there had been a silence so 276 the feast of siva tense, so prolonged that they looked at each other, wondering, waiting, though they did not know it, for the scream that ripped through, tearing down the barriers of their unconsciousness, forcing a breach through which the full fury of the sound bore down upon them. sigrid had risen instantly to her feet. "tarantella!" she breathed. "tarantella!" he did not wait to speak. he pushed through the undergrowth, not knowing that she had followed him. on the fringe of the coppice he turned and found her at his elbow. "something's happened," he said briefly. "we can't stay here we've got to get back to the village" she nodded. a minute before she had looked ill, almost broken. now the colour burnt in her cheek, she held herself lightly, strongly, and her eyes shone as they swept the scene before them. "shall we get through?" "i don't know-i don't know what's happened. it may be nothing99 "you don't believe that yourself. it is something. anyhow, we've got to try for it--" the fear was in him, not in her. even then, striding at her side, bracing himself for whatever lay before them, he wondered at her, thrilled at the joyous adventurousness in her. her head was erect and she was smiling faintly. the howling of the frantic, demented mob which swept backwards and forwards across the plain did not seem to touch her. he felt how, with the coolness of a general, she was measuring the distances, their chances. he saw the tightening of her lips and that she had measured rightly. the feast of siva 277 "if it's us they're mad with, it will be a close finish," she said, with a low laugh. he scarcely heard her. he was watching the men and women who overtook them and ran past. their faces were unknown to him. they looked back at him-with the wild-eyed curiosity of animals. as yet it was only curiosity. they were as ignorant as himself as to the passion which had broken through the crust of restraint and now raged in a mad whirlpool between the temple and the river. but the infection of frenzy was upon them. they muttered as they ran past-broken sentences in a dialect which he could not understand. they were pilgrims from distant provinces. he knew that they were in the majority and that he could have no hold over them. they would sweep the rest with them-even his own people. the sprawling mass of life which had hugged the bank of the river turned and rolled back. in an instant, it had blocked the narrow passage on which he had based his hope of escape. he could see the golden effigy swaying madly above the crowd like a bright, sinister barque on a black, raging sea, now flung back, now forward, but still drawing steadily nearer. through the wild uproar of voices the dull thud of a drum persisted. it was as though in that frenzied movement there was a purpose-a blind, demented will to an end. he stopped short. "we can't go on-it's too late-we must make a dash back and try for the bridge99 "it is too late," she answered simply. he saw then what she had seen. they were cut off. 278 the feast of siva from left and right, the streams of hurrying men and women converged upon them, sweeping them forward as an atlantic roller tosses driftwood on its crest. for an instant they were separated. he fought his way savagely back to her side, and caught her to him with the roughness of panic. she looked up at him, smiling tranquilly, inscrutably. "afraid, tristram?" "yes-horribly-hideously-if i had lost you"you didn't. i'm not afraid." "i can't forgive myself99 "why should you? i am very happy." "we must keep together. give me your hand." 99 she gave it him. he remembered how it had lain in his once before, how the splendid vitality and strength of it had thrilled him. it thrilled him now, it burnt like fire through his nerves. they stood facing each other, holding their ground, swept into a moment's oblivion of all else but themselves. there was exultation in that grave, brief contemplation. the panic had died out of the man's eyes. he no longer pitied her or feared for her. he felt the joy of their new, fierce comradeship. "if it were only myself-i could be glad" "be glad!" she cried back. "isn't it worth it?" they a wave of frantic humanity forced them forward. held together. he heard her laugh—the eager, triumphant laugh of men in the glory of battle. "no one can separate us now!" she said. "no one!" he answered gladly. he knew it was true. nothing, so it seemed to him, the feast of siva 279 could break the steel link of their hands. but he had the instinct grown calmer. he had got to save her. which damns the weak acceptance of annihilation burnt up clearly in him. he gave ground to the force behind him, keeping his feet with the utmost exertion of his strength, striving to force a passage towards the village. it was a vain effort. faces were turned to him. he read their expression. the mere curiosity had become distrust-a furtive antagonism as yet unarmed with purpose. a fakir, wild-eyed, bespattered with filth, his emaciated arms flung up in imprecation, leered up at him. "kill! kill! kill!" it was no more than a whisper. but it passed from lip to lip. they were pushed on, the circle about them tightening in a strangling noose. for all her courage, he knew that the woman beside him was weakening. he heard her voice, strained and breathless. "don't let me go under-don't let me go underhe knew the horror that had forced the appeal from her -the terror which can change a man's heart to waterthe horror of those pitiless trampling feet-of those mad mob rushes under which a human body can be stamped out of recognition. he threw one arm about her. he no longer resisted. it was better to go on-to be forgotten. but the stench of those hot, dust-laden bodies sickened him. it was the smell of hatred-of madness. it sapped his strength. it was like the breathing in of a hideous poison. they swept on. they had reached the densest part of the crowd. above them he could see the golden image, 280 the feast of siva swaying dangerously from the shoulders of its staggering bearers. a ray of red light from the sinking sun was on the face nearest to them. its frozen cruelty seemed to have drawn life into itself-to be sucking up a horrible vitality from the very passions to which it had given birth. to tristram's blurred vision the eyes blazed—the mouth gaped with a grotesque lust of hatred. it was then he saw meredith with his shoulders to the base of the altar, his arm raised, shielding his face. a half-naked fakir sprang at him and dragged the arm down, and tristram saw what had been done. the face was blotted out with blood. the lips were moving. in one clenched hand was an open bible. through the hellish pandemonium tristram caught a single sentence: "father, forgive them" tristram flung the man in front of him aside. he had felt the tense revival of strength in his companion like an electric current through all his nerves. they had got to stand together-to go down with the man of their race, for good or evil uphold him. "we're coming!" tristram shouted. "hold on!” meredith turned his head in their direction. perhaps he saw them through the veil of blood. he made a gesture urging them back, and in the same instant the man whom tristram had flung aside revealed his face. it was lalloo, the money-lender. "dakktar sahib!" he said. "damn you let me go past!” the old man smiled imperturbably, shrugging his shoulders. the whisper, "the dakktar sahib," ran like the feast of siva 281 an undercurrent of sound beneath the screams and curses of the swaying, tossing multitude. a woman spat in meredith's disfigured face. tristram lurched forward, but already they had lost ground. some new force had them in its grip. they were bound in a revolving circle of which lalloo had become the pivot. tristram looked about him. he recognized faces which seemed to have sprung from nowhere. there was mehr singh, the corndealer, and seetul the weaver, peru the village ne'er-dowell-men with whom he had lived and suffered. he cursed at them in their dialect, and they regarded him stolidly. he shook lalloo fiercely with his free hand. "let us get out of this-i've got to get back to my friend do you hear. i've got to help him-do you hear, you lying, grasping old man?” lalloo shrugged his shoulders. the circle rolled on. meredith and the shining figure of the three-faced god had gone down in the black tumult. the roar of voices began to fade like thunder, rolling faintly in the distance. a breath of fresh air fanned their faces. the circle broke suddenly scattering in all directions. tristram still held lalloo by the shoulder. "you-you saved us," he stammered thickly. "you saved us-didn't you know me better than that99 lalloo rubbed his thin dark hands and smiled vaguely. "what have i done, sahib?" he said. "what have i done?" and with an amazing facility freed himself and glided into the shadow of the deserted village. they went on, not speaking, not looking at each other, sick with the horror of that which they had left behind 282 the feast of siva them. at the door of tristram's hut a man came running towards them. it was the captain of the native regiment, cursing volubly. "tristram-where the devil have you been? what's happened! what set them off?” "meredith-preaching the love of god to siva." "oh, damn the parsons!" he mopped his face in helpless exasperation. "well, i've had a nice time of it. men vanished into thin air. they've been queer for months -now they've gone. anyhow, i shall have to stick to itoverawe them with my presence and all that." even in that moment, his english good-humour prevailed. "give us a hand, tristram-you've influence with them. what's happened to meredith?" "i don't know" "well, we'll try and get him out. miss fersen, you stay quietly in there. there's no getting away just yet. if neither of us get back, there'll be relief from gaya as soon as they get wind of this shindy. come on, hermit!" tristram held open the door for her. "you won't mind my going? i may be able to help--" "i want you to go. i am not afraid." "i know." they avoided each other's eyes. for one moment at least they had expected death-perhaps willed to dieand in that moment had dared to live. she went past him, closing the door after her. night came on. it rose blackly out of the far corners of the hut, creeping stealthily and soundlessly up the walls, the feast of siva 283 as water rises in a closed lock. she had sat and watched it and listened to the deep, encircling silence beyond which was sound-indefinable, subdued, continuous. once it had come nearer and instinctively she had sprung up, bracing herself-then rolled back again with a thwarted, muffled murmur. she had fed the stray pup and put it to sleep on wickie's old bed. a disreputable, ill-bred-looking tabby had crept slyly in through the open window and had eyed the intruder with disapproving curiosity, then settled herself down as one accustomed to eccentricities. sigrid had laughed a little at the interlude. it had seemed grotesque and humdrum, a kind of satire on that which the sound painted on the gathering darkness. presently it was quite dark. she got up and lit a candle, and held it high above her head. the flame threw a pale circle of light down on the surface of the still black waters which eddied round her. it gave life to an eerie procession of formless, soft-footed shadows. she watched them slide past, from darkness to darkness. then she went back to the table and sat there with her chin in her hand, her wide eyes fixed broodingly on something far beyond the tiny pillar of light. an hour passed. she got up and moved restlessly about the room. in the struggle, her helmet had been knocked she let it down and smoothed off and her hair loosened. its fair softness with her hands. there was no glass in the place. she took the candle to the carved table against the wall, and knelt down so that she could see a faint reflection of herself in the glass of the big photograph. 284 the feast of siva she began to do her hair with fastidious, delicate carefulness. when it was done she took the photograph and held it to the light. there was a pile of letters on the table. the envelopes bore the same handwriting-strong and clear, yet not with the strength and clearness of youth. it had an indefinable affinity with the old face that looked out at her with its serene, smiling wisdom from the wooden photo-frame. she counted the letters, lingering over them, as though their touch brought her secret knowledge. the cat, sleeping by the wall, lifted its head. a minute later, it got up, arching its back, its fur bristling, its eyes blazing in the darkness. she glanced towards it, aroused by its soft, menacing hiss of anger and fear. then suddenly the silence around her shivered and broke. she turned and slipped into the second room. there was an old hunting-knife lying among the debris of their hastily prepared picnic. she snatched it up and ran back, placing herself against the wall with the light between her and the door. the sound that rushed down upon her was a new thing -more terrible than the roar which had beaten persistently against the outer wall of her consciousness. it was like rain and wind and water tearing through a narrow gully. it came on swiftly, gathering speed and violence. it came with a rush down the village street-nearer and nearer -the patter of countless running feet-the gasp and groan of hard-drawn breath, stifled mutterings, the shrill scream of a woman breaking off into a choking gurgle. nearerin a headlong torrent-right to the closed door. she drew herself up, her lithe body tense and prepared-and it the feast of siva 285 swept past. it raced on in a ceaseless torrent. she heard the jolt of a heavy body sent reeling against the walls of the hut-and a little whimpering sound that was like a child's crying. behind the deluge there was a fresh sound -the clatter of horses' hoofs at the gallop. the door opened and closed. she had taken an involuntary step forward to meet whatever was to come, the knife clenched in her right hand; but, as she saw tristram, she relaxed with a short, shuddering sigh and her hand sank. he stood leaning with his shoulders against the door, staring at her. his clothes were torn and blood-stained. there was something wild and violent in his face which she had never seen before-the look of a fighter straight from a struggle in which every nerve and sinew has been put to a dire test-in which all the primitive passions of men have risen like wolf-hounds tugging at the leash. the sleeve of his shirt had been ripped to the elbow, and she saw the grand curving line of his shoulder, expressive of an immense, tutored strength. the hot colour raced through her pallor. she looked back to his face. his eyes had dropped to the knife which she still held-they met hers now and blazed back her fierce and sombre admiration. they remained thus watching each other through a moment of shaken silence. then he lurched forward, dropping down on the chair by the table, sprawling like a man overtaken by a sudden exhaustion, his bleeding hands clenched before him. "i am sick-sick of bloodshed!" he muttered. she laid the knife quietly on the table and stood looking down at his bent head. 1 286 the feast of siva "meredith" she began. he threw back his shoulders with a bitter laugh. "did you ever know of any one who set out to sacrifice himself and who didn't sacrifice everyone else first? meredith's safe but my people—my poor people—they didn't mean any harm-they saved us-you and me. even though one of our kind had spat in the face of their religion -they didn't forget. you don't know what it meant to them to be so calm and loyal in all that frenzy. then -then the troops came from gaya. there was a stampede -no one meant to hurt any one-but they went under— dozens of them-stamped out of recognition-old seetul and lalloo's little son, whom i nursed oncehe broke off with a harsh, dry sob. she knelt down beside him. she drew his head down to her shoulder, soothing him like a child. "tristram-you mustn't mind so. things happen like that. we don't mean to harm each other-we don't realize or we can't help ourselves. some one has to go under. we're always trampling on some one. it can't be helped. the crowd is too great-we have to fight for ourselves first. we were made like that—” he made no answer. he leant against her with closed eyes. the hurricane of galloping hoofs rolled past, she kissed him lightly, tenderly-"tristram"" his eyes opened. their faces were quite close. their gaze became fixed, intoxicated, deepening in intensity till it seemed as though they held each other, were drawn closer and closer in an embrace of fire which burnt out every intervening thought and consciousness. suddenly, the feast of siva 287 violently, he sprang up, pushing her from him, and lurched towards the door. "i've got-to-see after things-there'll be an escort for you at the bridge-head-later-i'll keep guard outside she also had risen as swift and soundless as a panther. she stood by the table upright and exultant, a point of light shining in her eyes. "stay here-here with me. if you go, it is because you're afraid—” "afraid?" he swung round, his hand still on the door. "of whom?" "of me of yourself. you promised to be honest with me. this was to be our day of days for which no one should demand reckoning. it is not ended yet. you were honest once. that was when you thought we were going to be killed. then you dared to own to what i know already that you belonged to me as i perhaps belong to you to our fate-a fate neither of us can escape, tristram99 he remained motionless; she could see the rise and fall of his great chest. "it isn't wise to be honest," he said thickly. "i'm afraid, if you like afraid of myself. you'd better let me go." "back to your dreams? but they're gone. you were just a grown-up boy, playing with a fancy. now you are a man and i am a woman. we've got to deal with the reality now." "that's true." he came slowly towards her, reeling a little in his stride. "i want you-body and soul." 288 the feast of siva "i know-you told me "whenי?. 99 "the night you lay unconscious in my arms." he put up his hand to his throat, as though something suffocated him. "you had better let me go," he repeated doggedly. "we're both thrown out of our course. at my best, i'm not much-i've learnt that-if i resist-things it's because i don't care. and tonight" "you do care." "yes," he said, between his teeth. "why should we resist what is the most splendid thing in us?" "splendid?" he echoed. "my-my dreams were splendid. as you say they've gone. and the reality -can there be any reality between us-between a divinely gifted woman and the loutish fool who dreams about her? if i'd thought so i'd have gone away-but it seemed to me that you were just kind and pitying-amused evenand i dared go on. and it is impossible-we belong to different worlds-life isn't the same thing to either of us." "we stand on different peaks of the same mountain range," she answered wistfully. "there is the same sun and sky and stars for us both. it seemed to me that we could have watched the sun rise together." he held out his hand as though to touch her, and then drew back, his face drawn and hard with the bitterness of mastered passion. "you don't know what you're saying, sigrid," he began harshly. "nor what you are offering me" the feast of siva 289 "myself," she flung in, with joyful fearlessness. "my love for you." he began to pace the room backwards and forwards, in and out of the light, his hands clenched at his sides. "i can't-oh, my dear-it's hideous, so hopeless.' his voice shook with rough suffering. "even if things were different-if i were cad-enough-you see, i am being desperately frank now-don't you realize what it would mean can't you realize what you'd have to pay?" she watched him patiently. her first fierce energy had died down. the colour had faded from her cheeks, leaving her with a look of pathetic weariness. "i've never bothered about the price of things. it's been a curse in my life, i daresay; i shall never be able to sink into a safe, comfortable mediocrity. i've burnt my boats too thoroughly for that. but, instead, i've had the highest and best in life. i've always dared to live to the utmost, tristram. i wanted to be perfect in my art, and i gave my soul to it. i lived more austerely than a nun, more grandly than an empress. but i never thought of them. for me then-it was like a mountain that i had sworn to climb. i climbed it. and then-then it was over. you can't understand-but i had paid the price to the last farthing. now, before it's too late, i want the greatest, most splendid thing that perhaps a human being can pray for-the happiness of loving." men wanted to love me, there was only one thing her voice had dropped gradually, as though she had forgotten him. he stood still, frowning at her with a hopeless misery in his exhausted eyes. 19 290 the feast of siva "sigrid-if i'd asked you a month ago would you have been my wife?" she started a little, seeming to shrink from what was to come. "no, tristram-not then." "and now-if things were_different-if it were possible?" she shook her head. "no-now least of all." she heard the sharp, painful catch in his breath. "it isn't possible-that's just it," she added wearily. 99 he resumed his restless pacing backwards and forwards. "then it was just a moment in your life you were offering me i was to be part of a new and splendid episode he strode up to her and gripped her by the shoulders. "oh-i'm not proud-you're a creature of fire and air, and i'm one of the earth. you could have walked over me and i'd have been content. and yet-i don't know. i might have cared too much. perhaps i do care too much -but there's something besides that now. i'm not a moral or even a strong man, but there's only to be one woman in my life-the woman i marry.” "yes," she said listlessly. "and anne has promised to be my wife." she looked up at him for an instant. it grew very still. "i might have told you that before. but it was to have been our day-with no one between us—no one to demand reckoning. 1 cheated myself. i'm a rotten sentimentalist, dear and i've ended by doing something mean and low, · the feast of siva 291 like a thorough-paced cad. i deserve to lose all that i have lost." she shook her head. something of her old detachment, a little of her demure humour, tinged with satire, shone in her eyes. "it's almost funny-your blaming yourself. i hunted you down-and i am going to marry mr. barclay." he swung round on his heel, white to the lips. -!" he burst out. "that man"that woman!" she retorted cynically. he fought desperately for self-control. "anne is a good_woman99 "is she? a better human being than barclay? have you started to lay down the standard of values like the rest of us?" for an instant they confronted each other as antagonists, then he made a gesture of despair, of fierce self-loathing. "no-you're quite right. i don't judge i can't. i seem going down-hill fast with my theories-my-my infernal humanity. i can't believe it-everything seems to have gone at once-you didn't care-it wasn't love you felt for me 99 "aren't you glad-doesn't that relieve you of all responsibility?" she watched him for a moment in silence. then her face softened. he was standing against the table, his hand pressed upon it as though he held himself upright only by an effort of will. she laid her hand on his, diffidently, pityingly. "tristram, we're both mad with pain, but don't let's hurt each other more than we must. it's 292 the feast of siva no one's fault. we pick up threads in our lives carelessly and without a thought, and from day to day they weave themselves without our will into a pattern-into tragedy. that's all there is to it, tristram." he nodded silently, and she turned away from him, sighing. "it's quite quiet now. i'll go back to gaya, tristram." he went out beside her into the empty moonlit street. a black shadow lay huddled against the wall, and involuntarily he bent and touched it. "dead!" he muttered. "the feast of siva!" she said. "he who destroys!" her small pale face was lifted to the great silver disk above her. it seemed to his aching eyes that she was no more than a frail white ghost-a haunting spirit of the haunted moonlight. 'sigrid!" he whispered. "hush-it's no good. sahib99 we've got to go on-tristram he walked beside her as she rode out of heerut. it was very still no sound but that of her horse's hoofs and the soft swish of the long arab tail. they went out across the plain. the conflagration of the day had burnt itself out, leaving grey ash and a few stains on the white fields. the temple lay sinister and watchful beneath the shadow of the jungle. it was as though all life had been swept away in a deluge of destruction. he looked up and saw how bravely she held herself. they came within a hundred yards of the bridge-head, and she drew rein. they could hear voices and the jangle of steel. he stood close to her, touching her, feeling the the feast of siva 293 warmth of her, drinking in a faint elusive perfume which was her own. his brain reeled. he was sick and faint at the nearness of the end. suddenly she bent down and took his hand. he felt something clasp itself about his wrist. "i can't give you up-not altogether-i can't, tristram. i want to keep you in my life—the dream of you—to haunt you a little to claim you a little-in this world and the next for good and evil-my bracelet-brother" she was gone. he stood there, listening to the thud of her horse's hoofs. book ii chapter i mrs. compton stands firm "among all the noble, disinterested, selfless things i've done and my life is full of them—this is the noblest, most disinterested, most selfless." mrs. compton stood back and surveyed the dainty dresden figure perched on the shelf with the dignity of renunciation. mrs. brabazone sniffed. it was an uncorrected habit of hers when confronted with the incomprehensible and absurd. "i don't see what you're so upset about," she commented from her large and comfortable pose in the most accommodating chair of which the rather shabby-looking room boasted. "why, i've seen things just as pretty as that in sixpenny bazaars. i'm sure anne won't like it. anne's my type. we both have our spiritual homes in a london suburb-not a garden-suburb, my dear, with nasty modern folk in sandals and djibba-but in the old kind, with good old victorian plush everywhere. it's just a tragedy that we should have to live in india with queer specimens like the judge and tristram." she chuckled. the serene 294 mrs. compton stands firm 295 detachment with which she regarded her own weaknesses and the weaknesses of her fellow-creatures had made her an institution in gaya, and was a good substitute for a talent. mrs. brabazone could not make a joke or tell a funny story without disaster, but she could hold up mirrors for herself and her friends and grimace into them with most excellent results, as far as the gaiety of the station was concerned. it was whispered, however, that the judge's somewhat halting progress towards higher honours was not a little due to his wife's passion for showing plain but superior people just what they looked like. mary compton continued to regard her treasure with wistful tenderness. "tristram will like it, anyhow," she said. "h'm, poor tristram!" "why 'poor tristram'?" "oh, i don't know-a kind of inspiration. anne did want him so badly, and now she's got him. it's a real triumph of goodness. now she can pull long noses at dear, disgraceful eleanor and be sentimental over dear, disgraceful richard. also she can make the place too hot for-for that woman. altogether a wonderful strategic position for any one quite so harmless as dear, respectable anne." there was a distinct and unusual note of asperity in mrs. brabazone's review of the situation, and mary compton turned to her with apparent puzzlement. but her eyes were bright and rather defiant, as though she was preparing for a long-expected engagement. "whom do you mean by 'that woman'?" she asked, not very steadily. 296 mrs. compton stands firm "my dear, there's only one 'that woman' in gaya as far as i know. the rest of us are what are we ladies! or is that victorian again?—in fact, i mean 'that woman,' and you're just pretending not to know whom i mean.” "i won't pretend." mrs. compton steadied to the attack. "if you mean sigrid"i do, my dear." 99 "then i think it's mean and disloyal of you. you were one of the first to kow-tow to hermrs. brabazone settled herself back fatly and serenely unoffended. "i did i don't deny it. i kow-towed. figuratively, i licked her boots. she could have walked over me if she'd had a fancy for mountaineering. she could have done a high-kick under the viceroy's nose and i should have applauded to poor george's everlasting undoing. she could have eloped with that puppy radcliffe. she could have become rani of gaya and worn a nose-ring. my ample bosom would still have welcomed her. but that man! no. it's not only the man, but it's what must be in her to be able to touch him with a fire-tongs. there's a rotten streak in her-there must be. and even if one got over that—well, it isn't feasible. one can't swallow her without him, and it's too big a mouthful. can you imagine sitting down to dinner with him?" mary compton faced her visitor. she held herself very straight, and her brown, alert face had a rigid look about it which boded trouble. "yes, i can," she said quietly. "it's a possibility everybody will have to face who comes here." mrs. compton stands firm 297 "mary!" she lost her first rather she nodded confirmation. tremulous aggressiveness and became quiet and resolute, her hazel eyes sparkling with the zest of battle. "yes, archie and i figured it out as soon as we heard. we don't understand-we don't pretend to-and-and we hate it. nobody can loathe it more than i do. i've run counter to that man, and i can guess what we're in for. but we're going to stick to her. we didn't become her pals on the understanding that she was to marry one of our nice select circle. she was just sigrid. well, as far as we're concerned, she's sigrid still. her husband's her business." "then,' " said mrs. brabazone gravely, "you're in for a fight with the whole station—and, what's more, with an unwritten law which is based on sound principles. 'east is east and west is west and never the twain shall meet.' but they do meet occasionally, and it's then the trouble begins. we can do with a rasaldû because we're not responsible for him-it's like watching a foreigner eat peas with his knife-but barclay, no-he's a scandalous, illegitimate relation, and the more he claims us the more uncomfortable we get. my dear, we shall fight to the last ditch, and you'll be beaten, and badly beaten. you'll damage yourselves, and that's about all." "are you going to help beat us?" mary asked quietly. mrs. brabazone pursed up her fat, good-natured lips. "i can't help myself. i'm really sorry— "rubbish! if you were sorry, you wouldn't do it." "i've got to think of the judge 99 298 mrs. compton stands firm "well, i've got archie. he's got his career, too." "he'll get into trouble with the regiment." "it's more than likely. we're not going to-to behave like cads on that account." mrs. brabazone got up, leaning heavily on her goldtopped stick. she had reddened slightly, but otherwise remained benignly unruffled. "quite right, my dear. i applaud. the trouble is that the majority of us are cads at the bottom-that is, we think of our own safety first. i'm sure i do. the station will ostracize sigrid-has begun to ostracize her already. i can't stem the tide, and i shan't try." mary compton smiled bitterly. "how pleased anne will be!" "eh?" "how pleased anne will be," she repeated. mrs. brabazone paused on the threshold of the verandah. she had become suddenly very angry. "you're a very annoying woman, mary compton. you said that just to upset me. you know i can't bear anne. in a previous existence, i believe we were next-door neighbours in our suburb, and that she played hymns on a pianola. please don't mention anne to me." "and you're fond of me, and you were fond of sigrid," mrs. compton persisted, not without malicious amusement. mrs. brabazone turned round as sharply as her bulk would allow. "she's driving up now," she said helplessly. "my dear, for goodness' sake, get me out-i don't want to meet her-i haven't made up my mind-i'm really not in a fit mrs. compton stands firm 299 state-have pity on an old woman with a weak heart and an indian liver-let me out by the back-do, there's a dear -i'll think it over-i will really"you can go out by the back," mary compton allowed coldly. "you'll probably give the butler a fit, but that doesn't matter. by the way, we're giving a dinner next week. we hope you and the judge will honour us." mrs. brabazone glared from the doorway. "i dislike you intensely," she said, "and i won't be bullied." "nor will i," mrs. compton retorted, and then with an uncontrollable burst of venom. "you nasty old woman!" the curtains fell with a furious rustle and mary compton returned to her dresden shepherdess. her interest was either very intense or very artificial, for she did not appear to hear the dog-cart which rattled up the drive, and started guiltily when she was called by name. she turned and saw sigrid standing on the threshold. the latter still carried her lace parasol over her shoulder, as though she were not certain of coming in, and the tinted shadow which veiled her head and shoulders afforded a delicious contrast to the unrelieved whiteness of her dress. mrs. compton, not given to poetic comparisons, was driven in the first breath to the memory of the cool, intoxicating seductiveness of a narcissus flowering in the fresh winds of an english spring-time. but, in the second breath, she was realizing, not without a little twinge of unreasonable disappointment, that the muslin dress was not english but parisian, and that the graceful lines of the unpretentious garden hat represented an expenditure 300 mrs. compton stands firm which would have covered the greater part of mrs. compton's yearly outfit. "can i come in, or are you not at home?" sigrid asked. her head was a little on one side and her eyes and mouth were quizzical. mary compton promptly kissed her and took charge of the parasol, which she handled with an almost masculine awe of its amazing daintiness. "sigrid, i'm just thankful. i didn't know it was you. i didn't recognize the cart." "it wasn't mine." mouth was uncontrollably wry. "jim brought me in." "oh!" for the life of her, mrs. compton could think of no better answer. she drew her visitor to the chair which mrs. brabazone had just vacated. "anyhow, you're just the person i was longing to see," she added lightly. she hesitated for a second and her sigrid's lips quivered. "am i? well, that's more than mrs. brabazone would have said! poor fady, how she must have hurried. which way did she go? out through the servants' compound?" "my dear sigrid!" mrs. compton turned to her dresden shepherdess to hide the fact that her face was suffused with the red of sheer panic. "don't be so absurd! mrs. brabazone and i have been 'having words,' as mary ann would say. she was too cross to face anybody." the smile lingered about sigrid's lips, as though some secret thought amused her. her eyes, dark shadowed and rather wistful, were fixed absently ahead. mary compton trusted she had not noticed her own confusion. suddenly, though she did not look up, she held out her hand. mrs. compton stands firm 301 "what have you got there, dear?" mrs. compton responded thankfully. she came like an eager child, kneeling at sigrid's feet, the dresden shepherdess held up reverently for inspection. "my pet shepherdess. i don't think you've seen her before, i've made up my mind to part with her. i've been almost in tears over it." "have you?" mary nodded. she was convinced that her visitor was not listening, but she rattled on determinedly, set on holding off an inevitable crisis. "yes. you know, our little bits of china are just like children to us. in fact, they're substitutes-only much nicer. they don't get the measles, they don't become increasingly expensive and unsatisfactory, they don't live to curse your grey hairs. on the contrary, they become increasingly valuable and lovable. you see, when archie and i married, we were desperately in love, but we hadn't a single high-class interest. we adored dancing and tennis and theatres and expensive food at expensive restaurants. there were times when we felt we hadn't a soul between us. you don't know how it worried us, because we do want to go on existing and having good times together in the next world, and we felt we never should if we didn't cultivate our higher selves or something. we thought of children, but you know we don't like children a bit, and we've forty cousins between us, so that there's no chance of our families dying out. when we found we both loved beautiful china, we almost wept for thankfulness. we knew then that there was something in us 302 mrs. compton stands firm above food and drink. and there's our most precious bit. isn't she a gem?" sigrid took the shepherdess and considered it gravely. "yes-a real find. tell me, what were you and mrs. brabazone quarrelling about?" she waited a moment, and then, as mrs. compton, very red and almost sullen in her aggrieved sense of thwarted diplomacy, remained silent, she went on quietly: "you were quarrelling about me. you were discussing whether to cut me or drop me gently; isn't that so?" mrs. compton looked up with a sudden resolution. "we were quarrelling about you." "that's good. that's frank of you, mary." she put the shepherdess on the table and took the elder woman's hand tenderly between hers. "what did you decide?" "there wasn't anything to decide where we're concerned. you can do what you like, sigrid. archie and i are far too much in love with yousigrid laughed. 99 "don't get me into worse trouble by making out that i'm a husband-snatcher. so you're going to stick to me. and the others?" "i don't know, dear." "and you-you're both awfully shocked and horrified." mrs. compton's mouth tightened with the struggle. she did not flinch under the steady, penetrating eyes. "we don't understand-that's all." "you loyal soul!" she was thoughtfully silent for an instant, and then went on: "but you must understandat least a little. it's only fair, since you're going to fight mrs. compton stands firm 303 my battle. if you'd decided differently, i shouldn't have told you. i'm an adventuress, mary-i've never pretended to be anything else-not in a bad sense. i've lived very straightly in some ways, but i've always staked my all on a day. i've lived fabulously-like a roman empress, mary. and one day there was nothing left to stake. in ordinary language, i was bankrupt-or near it. so i took what was left and set out round the world-husbandhunting"sigrid!" 99 "yes, that doesn't sound very ideal, does it? but in reality it was rather a wonderful quest. i was looking for a man who could give me all that i conceived necessary for life who would share it with me in understanding and whom i could care for deeply." she smiled in selfmockery. "that sounds better, doesn't it? but, unfortunately, i never found him." "never?" there was significance in mary compton's eyes-a challenge. "no, never. and three months ago, when mr. barclay asked me to marry him-i had one hundred pounds and my passage left me in the world." mrs. compton sprang to her feet, her hands clasped in consternation. "why didn't you tell us you could have come to us. oh, no, i know that's nonsense-we're poor as mice. but you could have gone back-you could have danced again and in one night you would have made enough" she stopped short, arrested by something that passed over 304 mrs. compton stands firm the other's face a shadow, a wince of physical, deadly pain. "sigrid, couldn't you—” "yes, i could have done that. and the money would have paid for a gorgeous funeral." "sigrid-don't joke-be serious" "i am serious99 her voice hardened. "horribly serious. one night's triumph, if you like—and then the end. that's what i came to tell you. no one else knows except smithy. it's my secret. it's yours now." mary compton stood transfixed. the colour had faded from her face, leaving it sallow with fear and grief. she bit her lips, trying desperately to hold back an overwhelming rush of tears. she hated tears. now they choked her. through a mist, she saw sigrid lay her hand lightly on her side. "a little affair of the heart-c'est tout.” mrs. compton dropped on her knees. reckless of the expensive gown, she buried her face on sigrid's breast, clinging to her with a defiant fierceness. "oh, my dear, my dear-and we didn't know. i can't believe it—you so strong-so perfect" "yes-almost perfect." she passed her hand caressingly over the grey-flaked, curly head much as though the grief was not her own. "perfect in my art-almost perfect in body. but the 'almost' was the price i paid. oh mary, just once again to glide out into the lights, to hear the music to lose the sea of gaping faces-to rise right up on the crest of livingshe drew herself erect, her eyes burning. "oh, my art, the greatest art of all! scientists, musicians, painters-just so many lopsided distortions! but i was the soul and the body, the perfect mrs. compton stands firm 305 i was a union. i was music and poetry and speech. miracle greater than the dreams of science. i was the perfect human body with an inspired soul" her voice failed. the life died out of her eyes. she sank back, laughing brokenly. "isn't that absurd-funny-for i am going to marry mr. barclay." there was a long, heavy silence. both women faced the tragedy, the one with the bitter knowledge that her understanding could only be dim and incomplete. she roused herself at last, disengaging herself gently from the enfolding arm, rubbing the tears from her cheeks. "sigrid-there were other men-good men-of one's own blood99 "oh yes, i know. there was one in england. i meant -but things happened. i can't explain. you've got to take that much on trust. mr. barclay offered me more than money." "you mean"silence." -?" mary compton rose slowly to her feet. she was quiet now and very grave. she gazed at the woman in the chair and realized for the first time a change in her. the old serenity, the laughing, godlike attitude towards life had gone. she had the wan dignity of a fighter who, from a post of easy vantage, has gone down into the arena. "i don't want to know any more. i do take you on trust." "and there was more in it than that," sigrid went on, following the train of her thoughts. "it was a bargain. i, too, had something to offer. that suited my pride. i 20 306 mrs. compton stands firm could do for him what i could not have done for another man. i could give him what he desires, i believe, more than life99 "position?" "yes." mrs. compton shook her head. her seriousness was now business-like, scarcely touched with emotion. "and you think you are strong enough?" "i don't know. i must be. everything that matters to me now depends on it." "if you went away-to another part of india-oh, i don't want you to go-i'm trying to think only of your good" "it would be useless. i have won my position here. i have friends. anywhere else i should just be his wife." "his wife you! oh, it's hardly bearable! just because we are your friends it hurts worse. she ruffled her hair with an unhappy hand. "sigrid, you can count on us, of course. i believe you may count on mrs. brabazone, and the judge follows automatically. she's furious just now, but she has a regular schoolgirl rave on you and it will be too strong for her. i daresay the other women will follow. even anne" she saw sigrid move restlessly in her chair, and hastily swung off, moved by she knew not what consciousness of pain. "it's the men who'll be the hardest to fight. they'd forgive you most things-things we wouldn't forgive-a vulgar intrigue, an elopement with somebody else's husband-but this is against their code. men are conventional, women moral. it's the one vital difference between the sexes. and then mrs. compton stands firm 307 there are other troubles. things are rocky in gaya. we know that the regiment is disaffected. the new colonel makes no headway. boucicault's work was too thorough for that. then there's rasaldû. he regards your engagement as a sort of insult-and, weak tool though he is, we've got to keep him in hand. all that counts against you. oh, it will be a fight, though we shall have tristram. he's always ready for a lost cause" she stopped again. sigrid had risen to her feet. she seemed not to have heard the last sentence. she picked up the dresden shepherdess with a light, reckless hand. "how pretty it is! why are you parting with it? who's the lucky recipient?” "it's a wedding present." she felt a sick misery creep over her. "for anne and tristram-?" her "ah, yes of course-for anne and tristram-" voice was very level and matter-of-fact, rather indifferent, as though she were echoing mechanically something that scarcely reached her intelligence. then a shadow fell across the sunlight patch on the worn matting, and both women looked up. james barclay stood on the verandah. he raised his hand in a military salute. "she "i've come for sigrid, mrs. compton," he said. was such an unconscionable time, and one is naturally impatient. please forgive, if you were discussing secrets." his dark eyes were on mrs. compton's face, intent, curious, vaguely appealing. the thrill of loathing and contempt which had passed through her gave place to a bitter amusement. he was so wonderfully, correctly 308 mrs. compton stands firm dressed, so desperately at ease. she stared back at him, burning with her first instinctive revolt against his presence. then she remembered. she glanced at sigrid, who was still toying idly with the dresden shepherdess. something in the resolute submission of that proud, self-reliant figure set fire to all the chivalry in mrs. compton's blood. she turned again. she heard herself speaking: "we're very pleased-won't you both stay for tea? and -and i was just saying-i'm giving a dinner next week -to celebrate-your engagement-if it suits you" it was done. she felt as though she had cut through a dam, and that the torrent was on her. she saw sigrid look up swiftly and then glance at the man by the window. he bowed gravely, but she caught the triumphant flash in his eyes. "it is very kind. we shall be delighted-this afternoon we've an engagement, haven't we, sigrid?" it was all mrs. compton remembered clearly. looking back on the scene, she had a vague recollection of her own voice flowing on ceaselessly over a seething inner conflict, of a pale face watching her, half in pity, half in gratitude. presently, when they had gone, she flung herself down by sigrid's empty chair and cried with misery and humiliation. and, when the last tears had been shed, she picked up the dresden shepherdess and put her back in her place in the glass cabinet, and turned the key with an air of locking up evil genii. then she thought of her husband for the first time. "poor old archie!" she muttered remorsefully. "poor archie!" mrs. compton stands firm 309 meantime, barclay drove his showy cob towards the dâk-bungalow. "so you've managed it," he said. "you've really managed. you're wonderful-even more wonderful than i thought." she drew farther away from him. "i have kept my part of the bargain.” he laughed. "which is fortunate for everyone concerned." "keep your part!" he made her a little bow, his face suddenly flushed and heavy-looking. "as much as it lies in human nature, dear lady," he answered. chapter ii a home-coming mrs. boucicault welcomed her daughter with the affable irresponsibility which had become her habitual mood. she bore no grudge—not more than a steam-roller bears towards the stones it has ground into acquiescence. she had got what she wanted and was quite pleased that anne should have been equally successful. no one witnessing the warm, rather absent-minded embrace could have guessed at a very bitter parting or at a wedding at which the bride's family was conspicuous by its absence. as a matter of fact, the bitterness had been on anne's side and the wedding had been so recklessly hurried on that mrs. boucicault's excuse that she could not leave poor richard at such short notice sounded acceptable. gaya knew perfectly well that the governor-general's visit and its attendant gaieties was the real reason, but extended a charitable sympathy, and endeavoured to keep anne in happy ignorance, guessing that her understanding would be altogether of a different kind. mrs. boucicault kissed tristram on both cheeks, putting her hands on his shoulder in order to pull herself up to the necessary altitude. 310 a home-coming 311 "my dears, how well you both look! really, i believe you got married just for a month of the hills. how i did envy you! we've been positively baked alive. i nearly bolted, but of course your poor father could not have been moved. it was terrible." she began to wander about the newly furnished room in a restless, over-excited way, giving neither the time to reply. "you must come and admire everything. we all did our bit. i had some furniture sent from lucknow. don't you like the chairs? they're a home product. mrs. bosanquet gave such a lovely tea-service. my ayah smashed a cup in the unpacking, but these accidents will happen. i hope the servants will be all right. you both know how they steal." she led them through the length and breadth of the bungalow, whose decoration had the charm of haphazard good taste. as mrs. boucicault had said, everyone in gaya had taken a hand in tristram's home and given of their best, attaining an unconventional success. but anne followed silently and without expression of approval. her natural composure of manner seemed to have developed. she looked very well and much older. her girlishness had been completely swallowed up in a rather self-conscious womanhood, and much that her girlhood had promised had been fulfilled. the line of her mouth had stiffened. her very clothes, well-made but severe, expressed a character already set within definite and inelastic boundaries. once or twice she glanced back at her husband and her eyes were full of a half-timorous, half-proprietary tenderness. "do you like it all, tris?" 312 a home-coming he nodded, smiling down at her. "it's first-rate. i don't know how they managed it." "yes-it's quite nice. of course, we shall have to rearrange things. it's all so patchy, isn't it?” he did not answer. mrs. boucicault came back to the drawing-room and gave them tea. it was then, seated, facing her with her back to the light that anne noticed the too-vivid red of her mother's lips, the tinge of artificial colour on the grey cheeks. her own eyes hardened a little. "is father better?" she asked coldly. "is there any change? i asked you to write to me, mother, but you never did." mrs. boucicault helped herself daintily to cake. 'there's no change at least, not for the better. he had sir gilbert foster here to see him. he happened to be in lucknow, and, of course, i've spared no effort-no expense. sir gilbert agreed that there was very little hope. sometimes i think it would be more merciful if the end came. he is so utterly helpless. he just lies there and broods. even the official attempt to get at some clue with regard to the man who attacked him doesn't seem to rouse him-and richard was always so anxious to get square with an enemy, wasn't he? of course, i go and sit with him every day and tell him our doings. it's very dull for me, but one has to do all one can. didn't i write? i'm so sorry. i meant to, but we've been so busy—” "i've no doubt," anne interposed, with contemptuous bitterness. "gaya has been quite gay, i hear." mrs. boucicault smiled happily. a home-coming 313 "yes, quite gay. and very upset into the bargain. it's like living on an eruption or a volcano or whatever it is i mean. i suppose you've heard, tristram? the regiment is just seething with sedition. poor richard kept the lid on wonderfully, and now he's gone we're all waiting for the lid to come off with a bang. colonel armstrong is a dear, but he's got beautiful democratic ideas, and bullies and distrusts his equals more than any one i ever knew. so we're all waiting. and things have been made so deliciously worse by the advent of mr. barclay. you've heard of that, too? he's going to marry sigrid fersen in two months. awful, isn't it?” "he's the kind of man a the least she can do anne turned her eyes to her husband. "it's revolting," she said. woman of her type would choose. is to leave gaya." "she's not going to, though. the whole station is a divided camp and armed to the teeth about it. half of us want to cut her and half want to swallow him for her sake. mary compton and mrs. brabazone are for swallowing and so am i. i don't see why people shouldn't do as they like." anne's lips curled. "you would choose the easy way, mother." mrs. boucicault shot her a glance, which was not entirely free from malice. "hardly easy in this case. think of the complications! think of rasaldû going about like a comic thunder-storm! think of our pet official snobs. oh, we shall live to see exciting times. more tea, tristram?" 314 a home-coming he shook his head and placed a half-emptied cup on the vable. throughout mrs. boucicault's garrulous chatter he had been watching her narrowly and almost as though he were listening to something beneath her words. now he turned and met his wife's eyes with an unflinching directness. it seemed to check an impulsive answer. she got up sharply. "i'd better go and help the ayah unpack," she said. "i'll drive round and see father tonight, mother. let him know." "of course, dear. he'll be so delighted. i'll go home now and leave you two to settle down. tell the syce to bring round the cart, will you, tristram?” on parting, she kissed them again with her new absent-minded effusiveness and patted anne's shoulder. "it's so nice to see you happy at last, child. by the way, you've never asked after poor owen-and he's so devoted." a faint flush crept into anne's cheeks. for an instant, at least, her composure wavered. "i hadn't forgotten. how is he?" "dreadfully disfigured, poor fellow-and his sight affected. but he goes on with his work just the same-like a real martyr. it's such a pity the natives don't appreciate it. they pretend he has the evil eye, and run away from him. terrible, isn't it?" "i shall have to look him up," tristram observed. "do-you're so clever." she took her place in the dog-cart with the lightness and ease of a much younger woman. then as the syce jerked the reins, she bent a home-coming 315 down. "tristram, will you be coming round, too, this evening?" "yes," he answered gravely. "well-when you've seen richard—will you have a talk with me a professional talk? i believe i'm getting an indian liver, and the natives seem to have such a holy terror of your concoctions that i'm sure they're effective. will you?" "rather!" he laughed, though the blue eyes remained seriously intent. "and i'll bring my deadliest blue pills with me," he promised. as the cart swung through the compound gates mrs. boucicault turned her head and looked back. tristram waved, but anne gave no sign. her face was set and hard as tristram turned to her. he slipped his arm with a rather shy affection through hers. "aren't you satisfied, dear?" she looked up at him smiling, but perfunctorily, as a grown-up smiles at a child, concealing her real feeling. "oh, so satisfied with you and the home, tris. but i wish mother hadn't welcomed us. she makes me sick to the heart the way she talks about father. i don't want to hate her and yet sometimes i can't help myself. and i didn't want our first day here to be spoilt by hatred. it's like a bad omen." had she been looking at he was silent for a moment. him she might have seen the faint change which passed over his features. it was a change that had come to them more than once during these two months among the hills -a kind of troubled perplexity—of uneasiness. 316 a home-coming "anne, i'm not satisfied with your mother," he began suddenly. "i don't like the look of her. i believe she's hiding something from us" she interrupted him with an impatient, scornful gesture. "it's just her way. she's always imagining there's something the matter with her. when father was almost dying, she worried the doctor about a petty ailment of her own. i think she does it to cover the way she behaves" "aren't you a wee bit hard on her?” "hard? tris, surely it's right to be hard sometimes? one can't be lenient towards what's wrong. and it is wrong to be cruel, and our duty is towards the sick and sorrowful, no matter what they've done. don't you think so?" "yes," he answered thoughtfully. "perhaps our only duty." she shook her head. "our first duty is to god." then, with a quick movement that was an instant's reversion to her girlhood, she slipped her hand into his, pressing it, and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "tris, that sounded as though i were criticizing. i didn't mean it. you're so good-natured and tender-hearted—perhaps too forgiving. but at the bottom we think and feel the same about things, i know. only you're too good for me." "don't let's talk about our respective goodness," he implored lightly. "we shall quarrel. let's go and prospect for your rose-garden instead." they went down the steps together, her hands linked a home-coming 317 over his arm, and followed the path of sunlight through the wilderness of wild-growing flowers and high luxuriant trees which gaya perhaps deliberately had left untouched. "we shall have to make it trim and neat," anne said, sighing. "my roses will never grow in all this shadow. besides, it's so untidy. those big palms ought to be cut down, too, don't you think?" she always appealed to him differently, yet as though his agreement was an assured thing. he looked up, catching a line of azure between the foliage. it seemed to him that for an instant he breathed the scented virgin air of the forests, that soon night would be creeping in stealthily between the slender trunks of the trees and that he would lie full length by the camp-fire and watch the distant beacons flame up in the violet darkness. it was a picture flashed from his memory, perhaps in contrast to those smooth, cool, civilized days among the hills. he closed his eyes to it. "you must have things as you like them, dear," he said. "i want you to have everything-everything that makes you happy." "really? do you mean it?" there was a breathless eagerness in her voice, no mere acknowledgment. he paused an instant and looked down into her earnest face. in a vague, instinctive way she had often resented his eyes or rather the something which their clouded introspection held from her. now she thrilled under them. were clear, intensely, fiercely living. they "yes, i do mean it," he said passionately. "anneif i thought you happy, i should be content. if i knew of 318 a home-coming anything that would give you only a moment's pleasure, i wouldn't rest till i brought it you. i want you to be happy-more than i can say." she flushed girlishly. "do you love me so much as all that, tris?" "isn't that proof?" he asked back. "you are very, very good to me." still she held her ground, watching him with her strange mingling of diffidence and conscious power. "tris-i do want something awfully-something that will make me perfectly contenthe smiled. "then it's yours, if a poor major can squeeze it out of his official fortune." "i want my father here with us." she saw no change in him, and yet, absorbed as she was in her own appeal, she felt the sudden check in his breathing, the tightening of the muscles under her hand. she became reasonlessly frightened. "tris, is it too much to ask?" he turned and continued to walk on. "no-i meant what i said just now. only—i don't understand, anne-in the old days-before the accident -you were so afraid of him. you dreaded him-i think you hated him"" "don't!" she interrupted. "you can't think how it hurts to be reminded of all that. yes, he frightened me. he made us all unhappy. now he is helpless-broken. sometimes, looking back, it seems to me that we were to blame that perhaps mother was not the wife for himthat she didn't understanda home-coming 319 he crushed back the exclamation that had risen to his lips. he dared not admit even to himself that it had been one of bitter impatience. "that doesn't seem quite fair, anne. he may have been ill, mad, if you like. it's the best one can say." "he was considered a fine soldier," she returned, rather primly. "his men worshipped him." "you live in the past, dear," he persisted. something had risen between them, a pulsing, quickbreathing irritation. she pressed his arm. "you don't understand," she said forgivingly. "no, perhaps not." they had reached the gates of the compound, and, arrested by sounds whose thrill for ever outlives familiarity, they stood still, their faces turned to the open high-road. amidst the rattle of drums, and the shrill call of the fifes, the regiment slogged its way sullenly back to the barracks. the dust rose in silver columns under the tramping feet. the red sun, lying already westwards, fell aslant the dark, brooding faces and made a quivering stream of fire of the fixed bayonets. the new colonel rode at the head of the column, chatting with his adjutant. he had a resolute serenity about him, an unimaginative contentment. tristram, saluting, knew that for him there was no significance in that fiery line winding its way up the hill in black silence-no hint of the future. only the common, daily routine. he heard anne's voice at his side, broken and piteous. "oh, if only father were there at the head of his menif we could only bring him back" "i can't do that," he answered gently. "if i could, i 320 a home-coming would. i never realized how much you cared. it's taught me a lot about life-your caring. but if you think he wishes it-he must come to us, whatever it may cost." she smiled at him through her tears. "i know he would wish it. mother is cruel to him-i know she feels cruelly. he will be happy with us. he will get to understand that we both care-oh, tristram, i can't thank you enough. i promise you it shan't trouble you." a scarcely perceptible line deepened about his fine mouth. "don't promise rashly, dear. and remember, i said, whatever it costsit became very still about them. the tramp of feet and the rattle of drums grew muffled and rumbled into silence. they could see the column wind its way up in and out of the broken avenue of trees like a monstrous glittering serpent. the dust sank back peacefully in golden particles, and with the deepening silence there came a sense of relief, of healing. the vague spirit of irritation and opposition laid itself. tristram drank in the silence. in that subconscious self where no thought or desire is formulated, he prayed for its continuation. he held himself motionless so that no movement of his should rouse his companion from her seeming abstraction. for a moment, she had relaxed her hold of him and he shrank back into himself, into a loneliness where he seemed to draw breath, to lay down a burden which he never acknowledged, and to stretch his cramped soul in exquisite relief. the perfumed air, the golden lights and splendid purples of a brief twilight a home-coming 321 penetrated below his senses, and with light, magic fingers opened the closed doors behind which he had imprisoned all that the woman beside him could not understand, all that was repugnant to her. they came out, these ghostly figures of his fancy, and played before him. at first they had been pale and wan, but as they drew in light and air, they regained their youth and glowed with their old splendour. he watched them, fascinated. his blood began to move more swiftly. a thought shaped itself out of the depths-the thought of the nights and days out there on the fringe of the jungle of the work that would claim him back-of life as it might still be to him. service! that remained. he felt anne's fingers tighten on his arm. "look!" she said. the scorn and anger in her voice stung him. the lights grew suddenly dim and the fancies faded. he looked the way she pointed, and his pulses stood still. two riders were coming slowly down the hill towards them. their white-clad figures shone ghostly in the shadow of the trees. they came on, up to the gates. tristram's pulses resumed their beating, heavily, suffocatingly. his hand went up to his helmet, and the fair-haired woman on the arab bowed with grave indifference. the man beside her smiled, showing his white teeth. then it was over. he heard the man's voice break on the silence he was making some ironic comment-and then the beat of horses' hoofs at a mad gallop. anne's eyes were on his face. "tris, how could you!" she said bitterly. 21 322 a home-coming he turned and looked at her. he felt stupid and heavy, as though some one had struck him between the eyes; but even then he realized her expression, the unbreakable will showing through the mask of her femininity. "what should i have done?" he asked, and was conscious of a wry amusement. beneath the surface their wills grappled together. she was so small, so strong. he would be so utterly beaten. "i don't knowyou didn't even wait for her to bow. it's not for me to dictate-surely it wasn't necessary to know her she's outside the pale-and that man-oh, it was sickening, horrible!" her voice quivered. he put his arm about her shoulders. "did you want me to-to cut them?" he asked. "why not? i think it would have been better to do what we must do right from the beginning. we can't know them, tris.” "i must," he responded deliberately. he felt her whole body stiffen. "why?" her voice was very low now, subdued so as to cover its real timbre. "why?" she repeated. "because i have no reason not to," he returned. "a half-caste and an adventuresssomething tortured and leashed within him leapt up, flinging itself savagely against his self-control. "what is an adventuress, anne? a woman who ventures? what better thing can any of us do?" he spoke half-jestingly, striving to ward off the issue that was to arise between them; but there was no pity in the hard eyes which she lifted for a moment to his face. a home-coming 323 "are you going to be one of those who are prepared to sneer at our morality-at the whole prestige of our race?" she asked. even then he marvelled at her. she had been so young, so childish. she challenged him now with a mature fixity of outlook and of character. she might have been an old woman. and he knew that it was no sudden development. it had been there always, a deep-rooted inheritance of her kind. "i cannot be other than i am," he said steadily. "as to prestige-doesn't it belong to our english greatness to shoulder our responsibilities? we're responsible to a man like barclay. he belongs to us more than any man of our own blood. don't you realize he's our fault-we've flung him into his position. we've made him what he is. he had an english father-anne, and he has a claim on me i cannot and will not ignore." he saw the curl of her lips. it was an answer straight from those past generations stronger than all reason. "we must stamp out our sins-not foster them. and that woman-do you expect me to meet her-the rajah's mistress-this man's bought property-" "anne!" a sick horror surged up within him-horror of his own passionate anger-horror in some dim way mingled with a vicarious shame. he turned away from her. but the instinctive chivalry which prompted the action was unnecessary. she held her ground with the resolution of justification. "anne, you're speaking recklessly. i know that what you say is not true. and even if it were i can't judge other people-it's not in me-i 324 a home-coming feel no right in me to judge. there's only one distinction i can make between men and women-the happy and the unhappy, the blessed and the cursed" "the good and the evil," she interrupted stonily. "there is only one morality, tristram-" he drew himself to his full and splendid height. the red sunlight glowed on his impassioned face, in his blazing eyes. for an instant he forgot her--became free, breathing in the glory of his faith. "that ye love one another," he exclaimed with happy triumph. her eyes sank. for that instant her instinct told her that she could not touch him—that he had passed beyond her reach. but, behind their lids, her eyes were bright with a bitter resentment. "do you love sigrid fersen, tris? people said you didhe came slowly back-down to the level, arid country where he was to live his life. he stared down into her white face."do you, tris?" he caught her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. her eyes were sullen and unhappy. their unhappiness shattered his anger, changing it to a burning remorse and pity. "you're my wife. there can be no other woman for me but you. that's my little fragment of morality. isn't that enough?" "you stand up for her" she persisted, with a sudden break in her hard voice. she put up her hands, clinging to him. "oh, tris, you make me afraid-" she cried miserably. "i couldn't bear to lose you a home-coming 325 he held her with a desperate tenderness. he had groped his way to the source of her outburst, and the dawning knowledge threw a pitiless light into his own heart. all the antagonism had gone. in the moment's revulsion he saw her as justified. "if it was because i loved her, i shouldn't fight for her," he said hoarsely. "don't you understand-it's not only her it's barclay, too-it's everyone. i'd trample on every feeling i had for your sake-but not on my religion -don't you understand?" he knew she could not, that the word "religion" had rung like blasphemy in her ears. but she leant against him, crying wearily like a tired child. "and this is our home-coming, tris!" "it makes a mockery of all my promises!" he answered sadly. "what shall i do to make you happy again, little anne?" she bent and kissed his hand. "oh, tris, if we could only go away from here-from gaya-somewhere where we should get away from everyone everyone who makes me afraid-couldn't we? we could start afresh with no one to come between us?” it had grown very dark. though she was watching him again, she could not read his expression. and he was looking past her, straight into the vision which she had called up before him. but it was a vision of all that had been. he saw the old landmarks-the river and the long, broken roads, the camping-place beneath the trees, the familiar faces whose solemn trustfulness he had fought for with his best years, with all the ardour of his youth. he saw the dreams he had dreamed-the hours tight packed 326 a home-coming with action, with all the glory of battle and victory. and now to begin again-to cut new paths through the waste tracts, to call up fresh springs of faith and hope from desert ground. he felt himself suddenly old and very tired. "it should be easy enough," he said gently. "i could get a new district-i'm not popular and they've just left me here but they'd do that for me, i daresay. yes, we will go away and start again, anne.' she was silent for a moment. she was breathing quietly and contentedly. in a flash of knowledge which he despised and hated, he knew that they had fought together and that she had won. "you're so good, tris, so good to me. sometimes we don't quite understand each other. but we're husband and wife, and that's all that really matters, isn't it?” he nodded. the tiredness stupefied him, bewildered him. he fancied he saw something white glide in among the trees a slender figure that moved like a very spirit of life. he fancied there was music in the stillness-afar off, intoxicating. “all that matters, annechapter iii mrs. boucicault calls the tune the male-nurse had put the carefully shaded lamp on the table behind the bed and gone off to take an unobtrusive share in the festivities. colonel armstrong had lent the regimental band for the occasion, and what with the music and the superabundance of champagne and the pliability of the native character, the male-nurse recognized golden opportunities for a break in the tedium of his duties. possibly he was quite justified. it was a dull business nursing a patient who could not even curse at you. moreover, there was nothing to do. what could be done for staring sightlessly up at a log that lay day in, day out, the white ceiling, whose every desire, if desire still lived behind that appalling silence, had to be guessed at? so the male-nurse threw a professional glance round the scene of his activities, noted the perfection of orderliness, and went his way. boucicault continued to stare upwards. the shadows were massed against the ceiling like sultry, motionless clouds. they loomed over the withering body stretched out beneath them in the rigidity of death, their stifling intensity loaded with an overpowering perfume. there 327 328 mrs. boucicault calls the tune were flowers everywhere—on the table, at the foot of the bed, on the chest of drawers, on the shelves, lighting the room's barren simplicity with fierce, burning colour. their vividness seemed a part of the music that came lightfooted into the sombre hush-an echo of the murmuring voices, the merry jangle of harness, the patter of naked feet, the clink of glasses. the room was like a whitecliffed, deserted island in the midst of a moonlit, tossing ocean of life. the wave slapped the walls, and rolled back from them as from something alien and repellent. or again, but for those eyes staring up at the ceiling, the place might have been a death-chamber. there was the same orderliness, the same white silence, the many flowers. and the long, shrivelled body outlined on the bed was quieter than any living thing. a voice broke from the distant murmur and came nearer. it was a woman's voice, rather strained and high-pitched. something white and shimmering fluttered against the darkness on the verandah. "i'm sure it's awfully nice of you, tristram. he'll be so pleased. i usually go in, but this evening i was too busy. don't stay too longthe eyes distended and then closed. perhaps the brain behind them became conscious of a vital change in the stillness, for a moment later they opened again and rested full and direct on the man standing at the foot of the bed. they stared at each other dumbly. the eyes became ironic and cruel in their knowledge of power. but, as the man moved and came nearer, they followed him, showing the whites like those of a sick animal. mrs. boucicault calls the tune 329 tristram sat down on the edge of the bed. the light from behind the bed drifted on to his face. he looked weary and composed, and there was no trace of discomfort under that watching enmity. "i had to come, boucicault," he said quietly. "it got on my nerves-the thought of your being alone like this. you may not want to see me, but, on the other hand, it may give you some satisfaction. i don't carry my secret very well, do i?" he spoke without bitterness or sarcasm, and the eyes gleamed. "and then there are things i have to talk to you about," he added. the regimental band glided into a viennese waltz, and the intoxicating measure came swaying through the silence. the eyes winced, and then steadied angrily, scornfully. tristram stretched out his hand and touched the coverlet. there was something groping and passionately seeking in the movement-an articulate appeal. "boucicault-it's rotten perhaps to come and preachdon't let it eat into you-all this. don't judge harshly. i'm not speaking of myself, you know that. i'm thinking of your wife. you lie there dumb and helpless-i don't know what's going on in your mind. i can't understand. well, it's like that with most of us. words and actions don't matter much. we just hide behind them. but if we could get down to the motive of each other's cruelty, there would be neither hatred nor condemnation-at the worst, pity." he was silent an instant, his strong hands clasped between his knees. he had spoken sadly and with a certain abstraction and unconsciousness of his hearer, which lent his appeal force and took from it all 330 mrs. boucicault calls the tune hint of patronage and mockery. "i say all this because you must think a great deal-lying there—a great deal of the past. for your own peace, it would be better to judge gently a woman you must have cared for. sometimes, behind our worst frivolity, there is a great bitterness" the eyes sneered. tristram met their ferocious gibe unflinchingly. "that is one thing i had to say. and then-there's anne. when i asked her to be my wife, i didn't know what you would feel about our marriage and i didn't care very much. you had made her pretty wretched, and i didn't consider at the time that what had happened between us made any difference. you had been considerably less than a father to her-and besides, you were knocked out. i understand sir gilbert treated you like a brave man and was quite honest with you. he doesn't believe in your recovery-nor do i-chiefly because i've done everything for you that science can do-and failed." he paused again. his sentences had been clipped and hard, the words almost brutal. but his attitude was not that of a strong man talking down from the height of his strength and well-being to a broken victim. the eyes under the straight fair brows revealed pitilessly what lay behind the dogged jaw, the composed and resolute exposition. there can be no sentimentality between suffering and suffering, only equality. "but there was one thing i hadn't understood," he said, "and that was anne's love for you. frankly, i thought she would be freer, happier without you. but i was mistaken. it didn't matter that you'd made her wretched. mrs. boucicault calls the tune 331 • she only remembered that you were her father, the bagh sahib, the fine soldier who had done great things. she cared intensely, and all this-this sort of life smashed her up. if she ran away from it, it was because she felt it as an insult to you-a deliberate cruelty. she just ate her heart out about it. when i realized how matters were there was only one thing on earth i wanted to do, and that was to come along and give her every mortal thing i could to make her happy-you included-everything she'd missed. it seemed to me pitiable to consider your feelings or any conventional notions of-of propriety, as i suppose you'd call it. she needed some one to look after her-some one who cared. well, i cared. now that i have the right, i shall live for her as far as one human being can live for another. it is my most passionate hope to make her happy. i don't know whether i shall succeed-that's another matter. i shall do my best." he got up and stood at his full height. the evening regimentals which he wore did not become him. they looked indefinably grotesque on his bigness-like a child's toy uniform on a grown man. the short eton coat exaggerated the breadth of his shoulders, the black trousers the narrowness of his hips, the length of limb. the gold and red clashed with his tawny hair and the rugged, weathertanned features. he needed a background of forest, of action, of stern living. his body needed the freedom of rough clothing. "anne wants you to live with us, what i have come to tell you. happier, i should be glad, too. " he said. "that is if you both would be there is a great deal i 332 mrs. boucicault calls the tune might be able to do to make things more tolerable for youat least, i should try. i have given up my quarters at heerut. it is for you to decide." the eyes sparkled. it seemed to tristram that they were blazing with satiric laughter. he had a reasonless, overwhelming sense of near disaster. "give me some sign, boucicault. if you consent, close your eyes or " slowly, as if weighed down by disuse, the withered arm lying on the sheet lifted itself from the elbow. it remained upright for an instant, throwing a sinister shadow on the wall, seeming to point upwards with menacing significance, then sank slowly to its place. the eyes were mad with exultation. tristram was back to the bedside at one stride. he laid his fingers on the savagely beating pulse. with rapid, skilful movements, he began to test the muscles and nerve of the now motionless arm. he was breathing quickly. the weariness, the painful deliberation had gone from him. he was himself again—the fighter on the vast field of suffering, the physician glorying in the greatest of all triumphs. "by god, boucicault, you don't know what that may mean! it's what we'd hoped for. look here can you do it again?" the arm remained inert, the eyes were momentarily veiled and insignificant. "how long have you been able to do that?" he was still busy with his examination and scarcely troubled about an answer. he had plunged back into a world where there were no passions or conflicts, but only huge immutable laws, no personal desires or unreal mrs. boucicault calls the tune 333 dreams, but only facts, unending chains of cause and effect, a thousand paths converging on one great end. it was not till he had made every experiment complete that he remembered. he looked up. he looked up. the eyes were turned into their corners, resting on his face. their exaggerated expanse of white gave them a look like that of a vicious dog. they did not move save when tristram lifted himself slowly from his half-kneeling position, and then they followed him with a malicious fixity. the rest of the face was dead-a crumbling mask-but the life in those eyes was inextinguishable, titanic in its will to continuation. he had to escape from them. he went over to the wideopen balcony and stood there with his back turned, staring out into the darkness. for a moment, his brain refused to face this reckoning with the future. he listened to the music which poured through the scented stillness like the drowsy, delicious murmur of running water. a man and a woman came down the pathway which led from the front of the bungalow. he could hear their voices-the man's deep-pitched and earnest, the woman's silvery and ironic. the light from a chinese lantern shining softly among the branches drew a subdued gleam from the gold on the man's collar, from the woman's white, uncovered shoulders. suddenly the man bent down, and they stood together through a tense, suffocating moment of silence. then the woman spoke again-breathlessly, the ironic lightness gonę. tristram drew back. he felt as though he had been drawn out into the night's delirious sweetness; as though in defiance of that silent, menacing figure his pulses had 334 mrs. boucicault calls the tune leapt forward, his blood had clamoured for the fulfilment of its elemental demand on all this wealth of living. he was young still-young in his purity of feeling-young in the unsatisfied forces of desire. youth flung itself on him with its imperative behests-now when he reeled under the knowledge of its passing. for it was over. he reasoned clearly enough through this storm of primitive emotion. boucicault would live. he might come back into life—he, tristram, would bring him back to life. it was the task which his creed set him-not the creed of his profession, but the deeper, sterner creed of his blood. and what if his blood lied, what if his creed were a mad, senseless paradox? was not the happiness of the majority the only good, its preservation the only morality? this man had set himself against the law. in a ghostly, tragic procession, those whom he had hunted out of their rightful heritage passed before tristram's memory-young officers, those six men in the full glory of manhood standing in the barrack yard, their backs to the wall, their faces to their brothers, and the death which was to be dealt out to them; eleanor boucicault grey-cheeked and wild-eyed pursuing the phantom promises of life; anne, cowed and broken, haunted now by a remorseful treacherous memory; a death-stricken little mongrel dog, most harmless, most pitiable of all, with glazed eyes, seeking to understand the black mystery of human cruelty. tristram put his hand to the stiff military collar as though it choked him. the foundations on which he had built his life were crumbling under his feet. was he to give this criminal mind the power to act, to drag his escaped mrs. boucicault calls the tune 335 and maimed victims back into the net of his authority, to add others to that pitiable procession? tristram recognized the issues with an appalling clearness. his trained intellect grappled with them with the same stern impartiality of judgment as he would have used in tracking the source of a disease. with regard to himself, he discarded all false sentiment. as men judge, the blow he had struck had been unfortunate but just. was he to heap an outrageous punishment upon himself, upon anne, upon an old woman who had known no happiness save her joy in him? would it not be a strong and logical following out of his sincere belief if he made no effort to fan this evil flame to life? as yet he was not conscious of any direct temptation. he was only facing the issues-weighing one life against another, as it had happened a hundred times in his professional career. he turned slowly and came back into the room. the eyes followed him, but their malicious knowledge no longer reached him. the fight was not now between himself and this man, but between two fundamental and opposite conceptions of life. there was a little table at the foot of the bed, crowded with the paraphernalia of sickness. he stopped before it, because its interest offered a fresh delay, and idly picked up one of the glass-stoppered bottles. he opened it and smelt its contents. the faint, sickly perfume flashed its significance to his brain. men were given the power to killhe looked up. the eyes burning in that white mask were on his hands. their expression had changed-had 336 mrs. boucicault calls the tune become more horrible. it was the very spirit of fear and triumphant evil. tristram put the bottle back in its place. he came and stood by the bed. "i don't want you to hope too much, boucicault," he said, coolly and professionally. "in the best of cases, it will be a long job. i shall come tomorrow and go over you again and see what's to be done. if sir gilbert is still in the land, we'll have him over. and you must do all you can to help us. as to me-i quite realize i have landed myself in an impasse from which there is no possible escape. i don't know what anne will feel or think. but she'll be so thankful to get you back, the cost won't matter. at any rate, i shall not speak of all this again to you. my business with you is to give you back to life. the afterwards is my concern. good night, boucicault." as he had spoken, his eyes on the mask of bitterness and hatred, something rushed over him. it was like the melting of a frozen stream under the first warm sunshine. it seemed to him that he had looked straight down through those eyes into the very heart of human misery, and had understood. he remembered his own words: "there is only one distinction between men-the unhappy and the happy, the cursed and the blessed." they blazed now with a real significance. men were pitchforked into this world with distorted bodies or distorted souls-what did it matter which? they deserved neither hatred nor condemnation-they were the awful mystery of humanity, the visible symbol of the curse under which humanity totters. "here, but for a wild incalculable chance, go i, tristram.” mrs. boucicault calls the tune 337 he bent down and laid his hand on boucicault's arm. he did not stop to think whether or not his touch might be repugnant to the other man. he acted out of an imperative instinct. "you mustn't worry," he said gently, and almost gaily. "you'll live to do for me yet, boucicault! good night again." the eyes closed as though they had burnt themselves out. tristram moved quietly to the verandah. he had a sudden sense of freedom, of physical relief, which was like an awakening from a suffocating nightmare. he went down the steps into the garden. it was then, as he stood there listening to the music and the distant voices, that he saw sigrid fersen come towards him. his eyes could not have recognized her face, for it was dark and she was moving quickly, like a pale mysterious light, through the shadow of the trees. but he knew her. was it her step-the lithe, familiar motion of her body-or something deep-hidden within himself which irresistibly went out to her? he could not have told. he waited for her. she came on unseeingly to the edge of the faint reflection from boucicault's room, and then stood still, staring at him. her small, white face had an aghast look. he tried to speak to her and could not. his throat hurt him. he knew now that he had never known her, never, even in his dreams of her, realized her potentialities. he knew that she had deliberately thrown down her weapons to meet him in the stern simplicity of his life. she had been too proud, too self-assured perhaps to fear to show herself to him physically at her least. now he saw her at her highest 22 338 mrs. boucicault calls the tune -the priceless, polished stone in a rare and exquisite setting. a languorous breath of night-wind ruffled the smooth gold of her hair and lifted the flimsy scarf from her shoulders. it fluttered out behind her like a pale mist. he saw the single string of pearls at her neck. he fancied he could see the passionate life beating beneath them. and through all her brilliancy, her burning vitality, there was a strain of quaint victorianism, a demure elfishness-like the interweaving of a minuet with the riot of a bacchanal. he could not have spoken to her, and at last a smile dawned at the corners of her mouth. he knew that she had been afraid, and it flashed upon him that in the bitterest moment she would retain her humour, her zest of life. "you quite frightened me, major tristram," she said. "i have never seen you in uniform before." "does it become me?" he heard himself ask back. "no. you look as though you were rather stifled by so much magnificence. and you've never seen me in full gala either, have you?" us. "no." "it suits me, doesn't it? that's the difference between i'm in my natural element. will you take me back, major tristram? i came out for a breath of fresh air and to escape mrs. boucicault. mrs. boucicault asked me to dance. i think she fancied it would be a good method of rehabilitating me in the eyes of outraged gaya. but i didn't want to. what's the use of marrying if you have to go on working for your living?" he walked silently beside her. he did not know this mrs. boucicault calls the tune 339woman with the hard voice—he felt that she did not want him to know her. her hand rested lightly on his arm. he looked at it. it was like alabaster on the red sleeve. "we're going to be married shortly," she went on. "mr. meredith is trying to refuse his services. he doesn't approve. he wants us to leave gaya. it's so absurdly christian, isn't it? my husband's business will be in gaya and i like the place" they had turned the curve of the path and came within sight of the softly-lit garden. they could see shadows of the dancers gliding through mrs. boucicault's rooms to the rhythm of the latest american distortion. little groups had gathered round the tables on the verandah and there was much laughter and the subdued clinking of glasses. the chinese lanterns shone like bright warm eyes amid the trees. sigrid stood still an instant. he heard her draw a deep, unsteady breath. "how gay it all is-fairy-like! one can scarcely believe that there is such a thing as reality. perhaps there isn't. mrs. boucicault is a daring hostess. it requires nerve to dance with a dead husband in the house." it occurred to him then to tell her what he had just discovered. he held back. he was afraid of troubling the surface of their relationship. they did not know one another. the man and woman who had faced each other that night in heerut belonged to a different life. they were shadows-or had become shadows. "by the way, major tristram, what has happened to the wickie memorial? is he still among the living?" "he lives and rejoices in the name of richard," he answered lightly. 340 mrs. boucicault calls the tune "do you sometimes let him out of the compound?" she asked. he did not answer her at once. her voice had sounded casual enough, and yet he knew that there had been something deliberate in her words-a deliberate desire to hurt, to thrust down through his seeming tranquillity to a raw and open wound. "how did you know?" he asked curtly. "i don't know-i guessed." "my wife doesn't like animals about the place," he said steadily. "i do what i can for the little chap. you see, in heerut it was different-and i don't live at heerut now." "of course not. you have become so civilized." they had reached the verandah steps and she turned to him with a laugh. "so civilized. the old landmarks have gone -the beard, the disreputable clothes, the wild-man-o'-thewood's hair-and heaven knows what else! is there anything left of the dakktar sahib, or is he smothered under the respectability of major tristram?" her eyes ran over him-mockingly. he raised his right hand-he could not have told why. it was at once a movement of pain and self-defence. then he saw that her eyes were on his wrist. "i'm sorryshe said, gently. "i am intolerable. there are things one must believe in or perish -forgive me. and, for a wedding-present, will you give richard back to me? i think he would be happier." "" he nodded. he had the feeling that therewith something for which he had fought had been finally surrendered. he followed her silently up the steps. at the top they were mrs. boucicault calls the tune 341 met by anne. she went up to her husband and put her hand on his arm. she did not look at sigrid, and the deliberateness of her disregard betrayed how keenly she felt the other's presence. her obstinate mouth was compressed and unsmiling. "i have been wanting you, tris," she said sharply. "where have you been?" "with your father," he answered. "i'm sorry. i did not know you were looking for me.' "" "you might have told meher voice sounded pettish and breathless. "i should have come with you. and you haven't danced with me once." he laughed. he felt rather than saw that sigrid had turned away and joined one of the parties of the verandah. he heard radcliffe offer her his place and the sulky deference in the boy's voice. it gave him a sudden knowledge of the fight she was waging. "i can't dance-not even as well as a polar-bear," he said. "you've married a loutish barbarian, anne." but "you barbarism seems to appeal to some people," she flashed back. he knew then that she had listened. he could feel no resentment. she looked ill and almost old. her home-made evening dress did not become her, and the indian sun had begun to drain the colour from her cheeks. as though remorse-stricken, she pressed his arm, looking up at him pathetically. "tris, i didn't mean to be cross and horrid. i wanted to go home with you"weren't you enjoying yourself?" he asked. "i couldn't-tris, don't you see?" "" he looked past her into the brightly-lit rooms where a 342 mrs. boucicault calls the tune few couples were still dancing. he saw then what it was that had driven her out to seek him. mrs. boucicault danced the tango with barclay. they were both conspicuous. barclay was the only man in civilian dress, and, thanks to rasaldû's angry absence, his deeper isolation was made more manifest. but he danced well-perhaps too well. mrs. boucicault gave a fierce little laugh of pleasure as he guided her swiftly across the room. she herself was an outrageous figure in her youthful, almost childish dress, high at the neck and loaded with jewellery. her fluffy grey hair looked tossed and disordered, her cheeks were painted. but as she suddenly broke off and came towards them leaning on barclay's arm, tristram saw that there was nothing artificial in her shining eyes. "now, what do you think of me, tristram?" she exclaimed. "isn't there life in me yet? don't you admire me?" he felt anne shrink closer to him. he bowed gravely. "with all my heart," he answered. "oh, it's been splendid! i've been chasing the years and catching them up. mr. barclay dances so wonderfully, anne; you should try your step with his " barclay made a little movement forward. he only glanced at anne. his eyes fixed themselves on tristram's face. "i haven't the pleasure," he said, in his soft mincing way. "perhaps you'd introduce me to your wife, tristram"i don't care whom i dance with as long as our steps match," mrs. boucicault continued, with reckless ecstasy. mrs. boucicault calls the tune 343 there was a moment's silence. barclay had heard. his eyes narrowed a little and his nostrils dilated with his quick breathing. tristram turned to anne. she stared straight up at him. her face was sallow and pinchedlooking. "will you please take me home, tris?" she slipped her arm through his and turned to go. barclay held his ground. his lips were trembling. the little vein of success that he had had with mrs. boucicault had intoxicated him, but many things had happened that evening. it was as mrs. brabazone had said-gaya was fighting to the last ditch. "i don't think mrs. tristram understands," he said huskily. "we're sort of relations, aren't we? won't you do the brotherly, tristram?" he had not meant to say it. it was the look on anne's face which had goaded him-the hundred petty pin-pricks which he had endured patiently, the sudden realization of the impossible gulf between him and the tall standing uniformed figure before him. anne gave a little laugh. it was tremulous and disgusted. "i really think we'd better go, tris." "i'm not drunk," barclay said. "it's true. you'd better ask him. captain tristram was my father right enoughhe swung round. "why don't you own up to it, damn you?" he burst out. the little group nearest him turned to look at him. he was only conscious of tristram and sigrid. the latter had half-risen from her place. he saw her face as a white blank. some one came and touched him on the arm. that 344 mrs. boucicault calls the tune was what he wanted-to come to grips with them, to choke them with some of the humiliation that was like dry dust in his throat. "look here, barclay' "it's perfectly true," tristram said suddenly. "mr. barclay is my half-brother. i understood that he did not wish it known-or i should have acknowledged the relationship before. i do so now." there was a silence. he had spoken simply and very naturally. it was as though a bomb had been thrown into the room and he had picked it up and proved it an empty shell. still more, it was as though a child had burst out with some weighty, wonderful secret and had been met by cool, indifferent laughter. the whole situation seemed to have lost point-become tiresome and ridiculous. the man who had interfered drew back, muttering an apology. mrs. boucicault laughed. "how silly it all is!" she said, half to herself. "what does it matter?" but barclay turned and crossed the crowded verandah and stumbled down the steps. afterwards he ran like a madman. he had not seen tristram's detaining hand. he thought he heard some one laugh, and the sound was like the cut of a whip on an open sore. he ran till his breath jarred from him in aching sobs. he ran till the last light had vanished among the trees, till there was no sound but his own tortured breathing. then he stood still, swaying on his feet, his hands pressed to his wet face. he remained thus many minutes. then he walked on. he was hatless and coatless. as he turned into the gates mrs. boucicault calls the tune 345 of his own compound, a light fell on his face and it showed piteously wild and stupid-looking, like that of a hunted animal. something moved in the shadow of a tree and came out and stood in his path. barclay jerked to a standstill. he passed his hand over his eyes. "who the devil are you?" he muttered. 66 'ayeshi. i've been here waiting for you." barclay gave a little unsteady laugh. "i don't know you. you're not ayeshi. ayeshi's gone to the devil. you'd better clear outthen he was silent, staring at the face which turned itself deliberately to the light. "good god!" he muttered. "vahana sent me to you. i've not tasted food for a week. i didn't dare go to the villages. they're still hunting for me. are you going to give me up?" "where have you been?" "calcutta." "what did you do there?" "i learnt things." "what things?" "i learnt that i had been a fool. hatred, too—" "you mixed with the students?" "yes." "what else?" "i know who i am." both had spoken in english, and each accent had its own quality. barclay peered into ayeshi's face. he was breathing, quickly, with a smothered excitement. "you're ill, aren't you?" 346 mrs. boucicault calls the tune "i am dying." "what do you want to do?" "i don't know yet. are you going to give me up?" barclay looked back over his shoulder into the darkness. he was shivering. "no," he said. "i'll not give you up-not to them." he made a sign, and they went up towards the bungalow, keeping to the shadow of the trees. chapter iv anne makes a discovery anne had given a little tea-party. a tea-party was a favourite function of hers. mrs. brabazone, fond of developing her ideas, set it down to a tendency inherited from the suburban days when anne had played hymns on a pianola. anne liked tea-parties because they were inexpensive, and sober. she liked to be quiet and to talk gently and seriously. gaya had other ideas of amusement, but came nevertheless and sat on the cool verandah and talked gently and seriously, till there was no character in the station that was not in ribbons. and this was not because they were venomous, but because they were bored and their anglo-saxon bodies yearned for violent exercise. a week before, tristram had set out for a brief round of the nearest villages, and the tea-party was a method of filling in a few hours of his absence. anne detested his absences, and gradually he had reduced the camping-out days to the least possible number. she had never pleaded with him. her pressure had been almost imperceptible but persistent. gaya had accepted her invitation to the last available 347 348 anne makes a discovery man. they had had a vague idea that they were thereby “backing up” the poor old hermit, whom they vaguely pitied. only two people in gaya had been ignored, and it was on their account that mrs. brabazone and the two comptons lingered after the rest of the company had excused itself homewards. mrs. brabazone sat on one side of the prim, muslin-frocked figure and mary compton on the other. archibald compton took up his place on the verandah step and smoked innumerable cigarettes. knowing the probable trend of events, he felt wretchedly uncomfortable. anne chatted about her servants. she did not quite approve of mrs. brabazone, who was too irresponsible for her size and years. on the other hand, she was the judge's wife, and what she did not know about native cooks was not worth knowing. so anne related her woes, and in the very midst of them mrs. brabazone blundered in with her attack, for all the world like a squadron of cavalry through a picnic. "you know, anne, you're not playing the game," she said. "that's my feeling about it. you're setting a bad example. we can't go on like this. it's our duty to hang together-not to build nasty little coteries and cliques. we're not living in london, where there's plenty of room for everybody's morals. we've got to put up with each other and pretend we like it. i do my share, you must do yours"" mrs. compton nodded decided agreement. her husband hunted for his cigarette-case. "them's my sentiments," he declared vulgarly. anne makes a discovery 349 anne had started a little. now she looked from one to the other and finally at the unhappy archibald. her lips curled. "of course, i know whom you mean, she said; "but i didn't think you would take that point of view, captain compton. i thought men were so strict about that sort of thing." "what sort of thing?" mrs. compton asked, elbowing her husband from the field of discussion, where he was not likely to distinguish himself. anne's smile persisted. she was not in the least angry, though the war-signals had been in the other's eyes from the outset. she was prepared to discuss the question reasonably and gently. she felt a queer, suppressed little exultation throbbing beneath her reasonableness. "colour," she said. both compton and mrs. brabazone grimaced involuntarily. but mary compton was too accustomed to her advanced position to feel any particular smart. "you mean, because mr. barclay has native blood?" she asked. "it's ridiculous. of course, we none of us like it. we don't even like him. but he's going to marry one of us"not one of us," anne interposed with a quick, upward flash of the grave eyes. "one of our blood," mary compton persisted. "and -and, speaking for archie and myself-one of our friends. we can't have them ostracized by half the station like this. the scene the other evening was intolerable, and it would never have taken place if you had behaved reasonably. 350 anne makes a discovery you don't involve your heavenly salvation by bowing to a man." her fiery temper, which had been severely tested during the last week, had taken the bit between its teeth during her expostulation, and the knowledge that she was now at a disadvantage did not help her to recover it. anne's mouth hardened. the memory of that scene still rankled. "one has to draw the line somewhere," she said. "i daresay. still, it would have been wiser not to have drawn the line at one's husband's brother." "he is not tristram's brother." her voice quivered, and mary compton had the satisfaction of seeing the tears rise to the brown eyes. "they're no relation-no legal relation. these dreadful things happen-but one doesn't acknowledge them or talk about them. it was absurd and unkind of tris to have behaved as he did. he has such ridiculous notions. anyhow, just because it's true, it's all the more impossible for us to have anything to do with him—or his wife. surely you can see that, mary." she paused, and then added: "everyone else does, you know." it was true. mary compton acknowledged it to herself with an angry, sinking heart. sigrid had not been strong enough not strong enough, certainly, to balance the consternation, the uneasy sense of insulted tradition which had punished barclay's outburst. mary compton looked gloomily at tristram's wife, and wondered if it was only a sense of outraged propriety which gave her naturally girlish face that expression of old and set resolution. archibald compton created a merciful diversion. anne makes a discovery 351 "it's a rotten business," he said, in his drawling way; "and i can tell you one thing—it's not going to be settled quite so easily as some of you people think. barclay isn't just an ordinary, feckless eurasian. he's not going to be snubbed for nothing. he's got tristram blood in him. i believe he's got a touch of the devil, too—which tristram senior may or may not have had-and a lot of dangerous explosive stuff in his head which might go off any minute. we've seen that. and i'll tell you something more some natives are jolly touchy about that sort of thing. i've no doubt tristram senior got the knife for his little escapade, and a grudge dies hard. besides, this fellow has an awful hold over the natives. they've pretty well mortgaged their souls to him. he can make himself jolly awkward if he chooses." it was the longest, most dogmatic utterance compton had ever been guilty of, and he got up and groped for his helmet on the chair behind him. "i guess we'd better be clearing, old lady," he said awkwardly. his wife forgot to reprove him. she felt a glow of passionate affection mingle with her general indignation. "i'm sure we deserve whatever happens to us," she said. "we're the pettiest, meanest lot of god-forsaken, benighted idiots that ever made the word 'humanity' ridiculous. anyhow, i shall do what i can. you can all come to our dinner or you can stay away. i've asked sigrid and mr. barclay, and they've accepted. so now you know." it's in their honour. she looked at mrs. brabazone, and the latter lady got up with a fat sigh of resignation. "oh, i suppose i shall come," she said, "and george, 352 anne makes a discovery of course. it seems to be his luck, poor dear, always to be on the wrong side." anne said good-bye to them with her composed little smile. it was amazing how self-possessed, how deliberate she had become in those few months of married life. it was as though her character had been kept deliberately in flux until her mate had been chosen, and had then settled into hard, predestined lines. after the routed deputation had waved its farewell, she went back into the drawing-room and began to rearrange her wedding presents for about the fourth time. they never quite satisfied her. gaya had divided its treasures in the true christian spirit. the family that had two silver candlesticks gave one, and so on, and the result was distressing for any one with a sense of symmetry. she sang softly to herself as she worked, and when she came across the dresden shepherdess she put it in a drawer and turned the key on it with a quiet satisfaction. after that, she found an old foul-smelling pipe hidden behind a vase. she smiled at it affectionately, disapprovingly, as at a child's broken toy, and placed it in the waste-paper basket. then she rang the little silver-tongued bell and a soft-footed servant slid into the room, and, in obedience to her slight gesture, the waste-paper basket and its doomed contents disappeared. it was at that moment that she noticed the shadow of a man on the verandah. his back was to the light, and at the first glance she did not recognize him. nor did he make any movement to recall her memory. he stood there looking at her. anne makes a discovery 353 "why-owen!" she said. "owen!" she ran to him with a joyful relaxation of her staidness, both hands outstretched. he waited for her to come up to him. there was something at once proud and humble in that deliberate waiting. he held his head well up like a soldier, challenging nothing, fearing nothing. it was the first time that they had met since the day when he had seen her off on her way to trichy. between then and now there had been the feast of siva and her marriage. she looked up at him, her hands in his quiet grasp. one side of his face had no resemblance to the other. it had been smashed and mended into a grotesque hideousness-into a leering distortion. the eye was completely closed. the whole face looked like a divided mask-one half human, the other devilish. it was intensely, cruelly pitiable. anne neither winced nor changed colour. she looked up at him steadily. "dear owen!" she said. "dear owen!" the one half of his poor twisted mouth smiled. "i've been hesitating outside for about an hour-listening to your voices. i didn't like to come in—i was afraid of startling you. i suppose you knew-but one can talk about things one can't face." he lisped a little, but the lisp could not weaken his simple, unconscious dignity. "you should have come before," she answered. "i have thought so much of you." "i couldn't come. it took a long time to tinker me up, 23 354 anne makes a discovery and then i tried to go back to my work. it's been rather difficult. the poor beggars think i've got the evil eye or something." she made him sit down in tristram's long wicker chair and sent for fresh tea. there was a gentle solicitude in all her movements that was very touching. when she came near him to bring him his cup, he saw there were tears on her lashes. "anne-it's awfully sweet of you to be so sorry." she smiled at him with unsteady lips. "i don't think i am sorry. it isn't a matter to be sorry about one can only be very proud." a boyish flush crept into his cheek. "there's nothing to be proud of either. i thought perhaps you'd be angry, as the others were." "don't you know me better than that? were the others angry?" "all of them, pretty well. they talked about the risk. tristram said i'd endangered their lives." she considered a moment. "it isn't like tristram to be afraid," she said. you know how big he is. he fairly picked me up "not for himself. my word, no. he came into the thick of that scrum like a lion. he seemed to grow a lot bigger. by the scruff of the neck and hauled me out over their heads. how he managed, i don't know. it was a marvellously brave thing to have done." he laughed. "i've had a kind of hero-worship for him ever since," he added shyly. "you don't need to have. what you did was just as anne makes a discovery 355 brave. it was throwing yourself single-handed against all the forces of evil. i was proud, owen. it made me feel that some of us are still ready to prove our faith at whatever cost. it was as though one of the old martyrs had come back to shame our indifference, our wicked toleration. it gave me new hope "" the colour glowed vividly in her cheeks. he glanced at her, and then turned away again, revealing the distorted profile. there was a moment's crowded silence. she could see his hands working nervously on the arm of his chair. "i was awfully afraid," he said at last, and she knew by his voice that he was living his bad hour of fear over again. "and yet i had to go on. i had never understood how real the voice of god can be. it's easy enough to keep up the ordinary jog-trot service until the summons comes to you then you must either obey or give up your mission. one can deceive one's conscience-not god." "and god saved you," she said eagerly. she said it with her eyes set on his tortured face. he nodded, and laughed whimsically. "and with a strange instrument-a man who cursed me in all the languages for doing the devil's work." "tristram, you mean?" there was no amusement in anne's eyes, but a shadow. "poor tristram, he just doesn't understand. he hates sacrifice i don't think he knows what it means. he wants people to be healthy, and have plenty to eat, and lots of pleasure. he thinks that's all that matters. he doesn't understand the significance of the cross. perhaps he has been too happy.” 356 anne makes a discovery meredith did not answer. he was thinking perplexedly of the man who had lain stretched motionless across the portrait of an unknown woman. it was a glimpse of memory which never wholly faded. it blurred his conception of tristram's happiness. then he looked at the woman opposite him and forgot. he saw her goodness, her purity, her steadfastness of soul. he saw that she had developed. she had been a girl, she was now a woman, strong and self-reliant. a thrill of sheer adoration ran through his senses. she looked back at him steadily. with a passionate thankfulness, he regained those moments of communion when she had knelt before him at the altar and they had been one in worship and understanding. "you are very happy, anne?" he said gently. "very happy." can mean 99 "i am glad. i wanted to see what a true marriage he hesitated. there was something that he had come to tell her. it sickened him, and yet it pleased him, as he knew it would please her. "miss fersen and mr. barclay were married this afternoon, he said. she looked up. the sun had gone down behind the high trees in the compound, and the room was full of fast-deepening shadows. they were in her eyes, and he could not read their expression. "you married them, owen?" he heard the subdued reproach in her voice. "i couldn't help myself. what power had i to refuse? but i confess i hated it. it seemed horrible to me-as though i had taken part in an ugly farce. it was quite anne makes a discovery 357 private-no one knew about it. the banns have been up some time." her lips were set in a hard line. "perhaps they were ashamed," she said. "i only hope they will leave gaya. it is terrible to have them here. i think she wanted to get hold of tristram. wasn't she with him that day at heerut?" she spoke carelessly. he wondered if she knew or only guessed. "yes-she went out to see the festival." "she would like that kind of thing--she is that sort of woman." a spark of passion flashed in her quiet voice. "i always distrusted her. don't you remember, owen?" he nodded. he remembered everything that had ever passed between them. he knew that he could not forget. he did not want to. he hugged his sorrowful happiness close to him. he loved her intensely and purely. he knew that no other human love could ever come into his life, and there was no evil in the knowledge. it had grown so dark that their faces were white ghostly blanks. a native servant brought in a lighted lamp and set it noiselessly at the far end of the room. got up slowly. meredith "i must be clearing," he said. "it's done me good to be with you. you've always understood so wonderfully, anne." "i wish i could help you," she answered. "you have helped me." their hands met in a long clasp. tristram rode up through the shaggy, unkempt avenue. 358 anne makes a discovery it was still light enough outside for his amazingness to be apparent to the two standing together on the verandah. he wore his helmet at the back of his tawny, unkempt hair. three days' stubble was on his chin. he was collarless, and his soiled shirt gaped at the neck. his long legs were out of the stirrups, and dangled absurdly along arabella's sides. arabella had grown, if anything, a little leaner and she exhibited her favourite mannerism of trailing her nose when tired of things in general, and camping-out in particular. they were a wonderful pair. tristram sang as he rode. his soft, rather hoarse baritone struggled with a translation of the melody that was. running through his brain. it failed, and he knew it, but he continued to sing. he had been three days in the open -three days skirting the grey, sombre-flowing river, ploughing through harsh jungle grass and following rough tracts through forests where life lurked and rustled and fled with a hundred distinct, familiar footfalls. for three nights he had camped under the stars. he had seen the moon rise like a silver lamp held aloft by a giant peering down on a sleeping, pigmy land. he had sat under the council-tree and smoked his pipe and listened to the grumbles of the headman, the latest scandal, and many an old legend. he had scolded and bullied and laughed and triumphed: he had touched life again, and regained his grip and his clear vision. he laughed as he swung himself out of his saddle. "you didn't expect me, did you?" he asked gaily. anne ran down to meet him. she kissed at first rapturously and then with a little shudder of irrepressible disgust. anne makes a discovery 359 "oh, tris, a beard again! and you smell horrid-of horses and-and natives and things-you look a perfect sight. what have you been doing?" "not washing, anyhow. you remember that bath i had just before i went? well, it was my last. been too busy for such foibles of an effete generation. hullo, meredith. glad to see you. not going, are you?" "i must; i've been here hours." "anne was jolly glad of your company, i expect. i'm coming round some day to give you the benefit of my medical genius. i believe i know more about things than a lot of your high-brow calcutta folk." "i don't fancy even you can do much," meredith replied. 'i'm a bad job. but it's good of you all the same. good night." "good night." 99 anne would have watched till the white-clad figure had disappeared, but tristram put his arm about her and drew her into the room. he was momentarily serious. "poor old meredith!" he muttered. "they have messed him up. it must be almost unbearable." she drew herself gently away from him. the feel of his arm, with its ripple of steel muscle, had been wont to thrill her. tonight he jarred on some raw susceptibility; his strength repelled rather than fascinated her senses. "i don't think owen feels about it like that," she said. "it's not awful to him. he recognizes it as a cross which he is glad to bear." he shrugged his big shoulders with good-humoured impatience. 360 anne makes a discovery "why should one be glad to bear crosses? it's that sort of spirit which makes crosses possible. our business is to get rid of them-to blot out the very memory of such a thingeagerly. "a holy symbol!" she interjected "i don't see anything holy in it. it's a symbol of man's cruelty to man. if i believed in a devil, i should say he created it and put the idea into our poor heads that it was a thing to be cherished." he chuckled. "well, i shall have a shot at lightening meredith's cross whether he likes it or not, though he doesn't deserve it" "why not?" she asked. he was moving about the room, evidently searching for his lost pipe. she watched him coldly. she had been very happy only a little time ago—very peaceful, very conscious of her own soul. it was as though a dishevelled giant had burst into her world, pulling it about her ears, trampling on her treasures. she loved him, but she was not blind. she saw, almost for the first time, that he was vitally of the earth. "why not?" she repeated. "because through him lives were lost and endangered." "sigrid fersen, for instance?" the little sneer did not reach him. having failed in his search, he produced a briar of disgraceful antiquity from the depths of a trouser pocket. he began to fill it with a lover's tenderness. "lots of decent fellows i knew were trampled to death on that particular afternoon," he said simply. "some of them had saved my life." "you saved meredith," she put in loyally. she wanted anne makes a discovery 361 to be just to him-to admire him, to stifle that feeling of intolerant disgust. he laughed. "why, yes, i suppose i did. it was an inspiration. i just shouted at them that he had the sunstroke and didn't know what he was talking about" "tris!" "it was the best way. i had to fight like mad as it was. i didn't want to have to kill any of my people." he stretched himself out on the long chair and held out his hand. "you don't mind if i rest a bit before i wash up? i've been ten hours in the saddle. don't be cross. of course, i didn't mean that about meredith. he did what he thought was right, and so it was right. i'd do anything i could for him." she gave him her hand and sat down on the edge of the chair beside him. she had herself well under control now. she spoke gently and almost affectionately. "you could help him if you wanted to, tris." "well, i do want to. tell me how." she bent her head, stroking the brown hand on her knee. she did not know that she was stroking it. the action was purely instinctive. "you could use your influence for him with the natives." his vivid blue eyes rested rather anxiously on her face. he sat up a little and drew her restlessly caressing hand into a strong grip. "i couldn't do that, anne." "not even for me?” "i'd do most things for you-chuck my work even. 362 anne makes a discovery but as long as it is my work, i've got to do it as i think right." "isn't it right to help people to be better and happier?” "of course. only it doesn't seem to me that smashing their faith is going to help them." "we can give them a better faith" he shook his head. "not till we've lived it ourselves." she got up abruptly and moved away from him. she felt as though a chasm had opened at her feet. or had it always been there? had she been blinded by her girlish worship of his strength and almost feminine gentleness? she did not know. her. she felt a physical nausea creep over "you promised to make me happy. you don't when you talk like that." he thought a moment. "i do want to make you happy, anne. it's not an exaggeration to say i'd give my life for you. but i was thinking it over whilst i was alone out there—happiness isn't a thing you see in a shop window and buy for a price. you have to have it in yourself if you're going to give it to others. i shouldn't be happy if i pretended to be any one else but myself. i should stifle and have no power to make you happy. i can't humbug-i don't want you to, either. we've both got to be free, or it's the end of everything." he waited a moment, watching her. "anne, do you know whom i've seen?" he asked, with a complete change of tone. "no." anne makes a discovery 363 "sir gilbert foster. i heard that he was tiger-hunting this way, and i tracked him down. i wanted to see him and tell him about some favourable symptoms i have noticed in your father's condition. also i wanted to make a suggestion. well, he agrees with me. it means an operation-a pretty dangerous one. i wanted him to perform it, but he can't. he's got a conference somewhere or other. he thinks i'm the man to go ahead with it." she turned swiftly, suspiciously. she saw the flame under the fine brows-perhaps glimpsed how deep and passionate was his desire for her happiness, how eagerly he had planned this moment. she came back to him and knelt down, her trembling hands on his shoulders. "tris-does that mean―he might get well?" "he might. it's a fighting chance." "oh, tris-if it were only truehe smiled gravely down at her. -!" "you'd pay any price for it to be true, anne?" "any price!" she answered joyfully. he put his arm round her. "we'll do our level best, dear." they remained silent for many minutes. she half crouched, half lay with her head against his shoulder. her antipathy had died down. he was again the strong and perfect hero of her fancies. she loved him. the arm curved about her shoulder was again a thrilling force. she looked down tenderly at the slender, powerful wrist. then she laughed. "tris, why do you wear that silly, common bracelet? it's cheap, and so unmanly." 364 anne makes a discovery she felt his body grow suddenly tense. he answered without effort, almost lightly. "it was a great gift—a gift of friendship." "from whom?" "a friend." she drew herself up. at no time was a sense of humour strong in her. she resented his lightness. "you might tell me "i can't." "is it a secret?" "i suppose so-yes." " "husband and wife ought not to have secrets from one another." he laughed. "oughtn't they? why not?" "they're one." his eyes darkened. he saw that the anger was mounting in her and strove to silence it. but an immense weariness lamed him. all the life and hope which he had gathered to himself out there on those wild fastnesses died out of him. "they're not, anne-heaven forbid. because you and i are to live together all our lives-because we care for each other, our personalities don't cease to exist. we have both our secrets-our very thoughts are secret. we can't help it. i'll wager you don't tell me everything you think about me. do you?" she got up slowly. she went and stood by the light, her head averted. she was very truthful. she recognized the truth of what he had said. she could not have told him then what she thought. anne makes a discovery 365 "i daresay-you're right. it was silly of me." but an immense desire possessed her-a primitive desire beyond her control and based on she knew not what knowledgethe desire to hurt him. "by the way, sigrid fersen was married this afternoon," she said. he did not answer for a moment. she heard him re-light his pipe. the stem was evidently choked, for it drew badly and noisily. "well, that was to be expected," he said. "my word -i am tired-just dog-tired." she kept her eyes averted. she was stifled by an emotion that was half shame, half anger. presently the shame predominated. she turned to him, a word of reluctant kindness ready on her lips. his head had fallen back among the cushions. his outstretched hand still held the pipe, which had gone out again. she saw the great muscles of his bare neck—of the half-exposed chest. his eyes were closed and he breathed deeply and smoothly like a child. the pipe slipped from his hand and fell on the mat with a dull little thud. she crept nearer and picked it up, her lips drawn together in ungovernable disgust. chapter v crisis the comptons had rushed into debt with their eyes open and their teeth clenched. more than one piece of valuable sèvres had vanished from their collection and its place been filled by a judicious rearrangement of the remaining gods. colonel armstrong never met the captain without dropping a hint as to the inexpediency of opposing oneself to the feelings of a touch-and-go community like gaya. the comptons persisted recklessly on their course. archie compton, no military genius, was a fine soldier, prepared to fight to the last cartridge and go down with his superior officer, colours flying. his superior officer in this particular affair was one mary, his wife, and the last cartridge was about to be fired at her command. it could not be said that she faced this last encounter with perfect equanimity. throughout the day she had felt her heart beat loudly and heavily. at the approach of the fatal hour, woman-like, she had arrayed herself in her very best, her courage trickling back to her in the measure that she discovered herself still presentable. the look of awed admiration which her husband threw her 366 crisis 367 from time to time gave her strength to meet the advanceguards of the enemy forces. were they enemy forces or was it a capitulation? at any rate gaya had not turned its back, and that was something to be thankful for. mrs. brabazone, with george in tow, was the first to arrive-probably an intentional move on the part of that good-natured and loyal soul. she kissed mary on both cheeks and squeezed her hand. "morituri te salutant," she whispered. "my dear, you have done things wonderfully. i had hardly recognized the place. what are you giving them to drink?" "" 'champagne-the very best," mary compton replied grimly. "twenty rupees a bottle, and unlimited supplies. i've borrowed a cook from the prevets at lucknow. he's supposed to be a wonder. we may pull it off." "we may," mrs. brabazone agreed. "gaya isn't an ass. it would be a dull station without sigrid, and it knows it. unless anything unlucky happens they'll give in gracefully-especially after dinner. but why on earth did these two go and get married like that? it adds a kind of scandalmrs. compton sighed. "that man wanted it. he was finding the half and half situation too trying. they both wished it to be quiet -sigrid especially. i think she thought we'd rather be out of it"" "i don't wondermrs. brabazone began and checked herself. she was in the unfortunate position of doing something whole-heartedly of which she equally whole-heartedly disapproved. 368 crisis a fresh influx of guests sent her adrift. everybody who had a right to be considered in the first flight had been invited and had accepted. they came in with more formality than was usual with them. it was as though they recognized that the occasion was in the nature of ceremony a kind of symbolic festival. if they swallowed mrs. compton's dinner it was only to be understood that they swallowed the barclays with it. mrs. compton's manner, if not her actual invitation, had made that clear. mrs. compton heaved a sigh of relief when colonel armstrong and his washed-out-looking wife made their appearance. he paid her a little old-fashioned compliment, and she understood from his manner that he had reached toleration, if not approval. mrs. boucicault swept both out of her path. she was radiant. even the painted cheeks and reckless display of jewellery could not detract from the wonder of her vitality, her irrepressible joy of life. it was as though all the winds of heaven had blown in with her. "i passed the barclays as i came along," she said. "mr. barclay has such wonderful horses. he told me he has the finest polo ponies in india just eating their heads off. won't it be splendid if we win the cup? do look at tristram, mary! doesn't he look odd in uniform? anne, of course, loves it. she would, wouldn't she? she made that dress of hers. it's not economy. she has a sort of idea that it's wicked to be beautiful. is so good." she gave a little malicious laugh. know how she came to be my daughter." and anne "i don't crisis 369 she rambled on erratically, but mary compton heard her only as a vague murmur. that moment of which she had been so painfully conscious for the last week had come. she drew her breath sharply between her teeth. she had seen sigrid-sigrid and her husband. the little groups went on talking, but there had been a general, involuntary movement. it was not hostile. they turned towards her as they had always done, scarcely knowing that they did so, drawn by the magnetism stronger than either good-breeding or dislike. and tonight it was not easy to turn away. there was something new about hersomething more arresting than either beauty or even the vivid life which had made her powerful amongst them. they could not have defined it. she was not radiant, not triumphant, not challenging. the gold hair was smoothed down on either side of the small, erect head. her face was colourless, the mouth composed, unsmiling. the eyes were wide open and intensely bright. there was a touch of gold on the white, full-skirted dress-on the slippers, on the small, perfect feet. she was a study of a burning pallor a white flame. barclay came behind her. he looked proportionately dark and very handsome. the cut of his evening clothes proclaimed bond street. he wore a red silk button in the lapel of his coat-an order given him by king leopold in recognition of short but effective service in the unhappy congo. he glanced about him with a sombre distrust. gaya hesitated. even a gathering of well-bred english men and women can be swept by an invisible wave of panic, and gaya was panic-stricken, torn between a headstrong 24 370 crisis admiration and an instinctive, inherent dislike. moreover, it was not easy to take the initiative, and the most seasoned among them wavered. but before sigrid and her companion could reach their hostess tristram had left his wife's side and gone to meet her. "i wish my bracelet-sister all happiness," he said in a low tone. he held her hand for an instant and then turned to barclay and greeted him frankly as though nothing had ever passed between them. but barclay's hand hung at his side. he bowed with an exaggeration that was a veiled sneer. but the ice had been broken, if not dispersed. others came forward, murmuring incoherencies which, they thanked heaven, no one could wait to disentangle. they tried earnestly, and they believed successfully, to include barclay in their welcome, and they would have been surprised to learn that the most any of them accomplished was a sightless nod in his direction. perhaps, at the bottom, they were of opinion that their resignation to his presence was enough. but it all looked well enough from a distance, and there was colour in mrs. compton's cheeks as she kissed sigrid. "we've won," she whispered. "you've won, dear." she gave barclay her hand with a little vacant smile. "you've got to take your wife in, mr. barclay," she said. "you two are the guests of the evening, and must lead the way. i'm sure we're all ready." then another little rush of misery and panic swamped her. she had gone over the points of precedence very crisis 371 carefully. it had seemed to her best and most courageous to take the bull by the horns, to drive the nail home with all her strength. the barclays were not to slip inthey were to be the people of the evening. gaya had got to accept them whole-heartedly and with its eyes open. now she realized the horribleness of theories when applied to human beings. she saw that she had made a blunder and had set one person at least an almost intolerable task. sigrid laid her hand on her husband's arm. the entrance to the dining-room was immediately opposite her-half a dozen yards away, gaya between. it was like running the gauntlet. an almost imperceptible spasm passed over the dead-white face. for an instant mary compton thought she faltered. then the two incongruous figures made their way slowly across the room. but mrs. compton had seen that scarcely perceptible change. she forgot her guests. she stood there, lost in misery and helpless speculation. for what was this intolerable price paid? was this the splendour of living for which a woman might sell herself? what silence could be worth such galling humiliation? if sigrid had committed a crime, surely it was not in this way she would have chosen to escape? then mrs. compton, finding herself on the verge of tears, became exasperated and seized the arm of the man nearest her. "please please take me in," she said imperatively. he obeyed, perhaps aware of the nearness of disaster, and thereby the order and decorum of the evening went to the winds. gaya, however, itself ill at ease, accepted the 372 crisis situation, and followed haphazard, the two forsaken and ill-assorted partners joining forces in good-natured resignation. only compton himself lingered. he had excused himself to mrs. brabazone, who had fallen to his lot, and whose understanding of the situation was probably more poignant than his own. as a rule, he knew what his wife let him know and saw what she pointed out to him, but not much else. he had not the vaguest idea why she had, as he expressed it, "stampeded," but he did realize, as a painstaking host, that one guest had been forgotten-and that guest a personage who would be unlikely to accept the oversight gracefully. compton set himself to wait, therefore, with as much patience as he could muster. it was not till ten minutes later that rasaldû made his appearance. unpunctuality was with him a fetish. on this occasion his ordinary habit had been exaggerated by circumstances which he explained elaborately as he smoothed his sleek black hair before a glass. "only got back this afternoon-marvellous fine shooting -two tigers and a cheetah. i got the tigers myselfmagnificent specimens. the biggest made a devilish fine fight; if it hadn't been for my mahout i mightn't be here now. sorry to have kept you waiting.” "not a bit of it," compton assured him in his languid, incoherent way. "seems a special sort of affair. anything up?" compton stroked his little moustache. there were times when the rajah's anglo-saxon brevity jarred on crisis 373 him. moreover, for other reasons, he felt disinclined to be communicative. "no-nothing special," he said. "all right. i'm ready." for all his apparent good-humour, rasaldû was in a sulky mood. the tiger-hunt had been the expression of an incoherent rage and sense of unforgivable humiliation which gaya had found amusing and not at all serious. but to rasaldû the whole matter had been serious. he had dispensed european hospitality the while retaining an entirely oriental mentality. sigrid fersen had been in part his guest. her marriage was therefore an insult and a gibe. she had made fun of him. "she had made a fool of him." either to forgetting or forgiving. in his own language, and he was not given and now a fresh slight had been put on him. they had gone in without him. they had deprived him of that sense of grandiose arrival which was the most pleasing part of any entertainment. it made him, at least for a moment, the person of paramount importance. his round face was therefore creased with sulkiness as he reached his place at the comptons' table. not even the beauty and promise of the display soothed him. mary compton had borrowed and been within an ace of stealing in order to produce a result which would soften the bitterest opposition. but she had counted without the oriental character. rasaldû merely bowed in her direction, then, before seating himself, he looked round, making the most of his moment. barclay sat immediately opposite him in the centre of 374 crisis but the table, with sigrid on his right hand. outwardly he had borne himself coolly enough, accepting his conspicuous place of honour with an air of rather insolent ease. below the surface the whole man had been tense, agonized, quivering with memories of past humiliations. in every glance, in every word, he read the disparagement which his instinct knew was still in arms against him. he had won. he could look down the length of the table and tell himself that these people were here to meet him, to do him honour. he could remember the hour when his hostess had left him standing in the dust of her cart-wheels. he could look at tristram and recall that twilight scene by the temple. best of all, there was the woman beside him. he could turn to her white, quiet face with the memory of a night when these two had watched him slink out before them like a beaten dog. yes, he had won. he had broken through the invisible barrier of their caste. he had fought his way into their citadel, and yet! it was as though he had grasped at shadows and they had eluded him. he knew that he had never been further from them-never more the stranger and pariah. the english blood in him arose against him in triumph. it showed him what otherwise might have remained hidden-what rasaldû could never have seenthe hearts of these people, their splendid isolation, the impregnable aloofness, their blank denial of himself. as he sat there listening to their quiet, self-certain intercourse, the bandages which he had wrapped about his bleeding pride were ripped off and with them every trace of healing. the sweat stood out on his dark forehead. he hated crisis 375 them. he desired them. he wanted to spit in these serene, immaculate faces. he would have grovelled to them for one word of fellowship. he had as yet scarcely touched the wine before him, but his blood was in an uproar, warring against itself. then suddenly he looked up at rasaldû across the table, staring at him. perhaps that silent, deadly exchange lasted no more than a second or two, yet the unbridled ferocity of it rested like a chilling hand on those nearest and passed on down the table so that the last murmur sank into an appalled quiet. something tigerish had leapt up in the breasts of both men. on the one side the oriental, wounded in every susceptibility, threw off the mask of english breeding; on the other, the english blood, fevered by the maternal heritage, boiled under the insult of those eyes, broke from its own frail bondage of self-control, and by a mad paradox became native blood, native hatred. the seconds passed. then rasaldû, with an insolent little movement of the shoulders, bent down to colonel armstrong on his right and spoke to him in an undertone. the unhappy colonel listened, tugging painfully at his moustache. mrs. compton had half-risen, but barclay forestalled her. he got up, leaning across towards rasaldû. "what's the matter with you?" he said. rasaldu's thick lips curled. he looked at sigrid with the bloodshot, hating eyes of a thwarted animal. "i don't eat with half-castes," he said. barclay seized his glass and threw the contents full into the rajah's distorted face. 376 crisis "you swineherd upstart!" he gasped thickly. then, with a glance that swept the table, he turned and strode out of the room. the silence continued. no uproar could have been more terrible than its unendingness. the rajah stood there quite still, his mouth open, the wine trickling from his face on to the immaculate shirt-front-a ridiculous, sinister figure. mrs. compton tried to master her voice, to say something, but it was as though a gag stifled her. she saw sigrid get up-very slowly. she stood there looking round her-and then across at tristram. he made a movement as though he would have risen, but she lifted her hand slightly, imperatively, and he sank back, not looking at her. her lips were a little parted with an odd. pathetic little smile. it seemed, as she stood here, that she was trying, not to speak, but to grope her way to some thought, to some answer. nobody spoke to her or tried to stop her. but at that moment she belonged to them, was one of them-for the last time. sheer futility lamed all movement, all expression of what they felt. it was as though a frail, beautiful ship had broken from its moorings in a great tempest and they stood there and watched it drift out seawards beyond the reach of their voices, of their help or pity. only mrs. brabazone cried openly-the tears rolling down her fat cheeks. sigrid went out through the silence. she found barclay already in the driving seat of his dog-cart and without a word clambered up beside him. he glanced at her and brought the whip down savagely across the horse's head. crisis 377 the animal did not need the blow. it felt the madness in the man's hand and broke into a wild gallop. they swung through the compound gates out on to the white moonlit road. for an instant they seemed to hover in mid-air, and then, with a grinding jar, the off-wheel came back on to the ground and they raced on, down through the black belt of the palm-trees and out again into the silver road, pursued by their own frantic shadows. only once did barclay speak, and then it was to himself between clenched teeth: "now i know," he whispered. "now i can see clear." she did not answer. she sat very still, gazing steadily ahead into the half-light which ran before them, and encircled them with odd, treacherous shapes, so that now there seemed a barrier where there was none, and now a clear road where suddenly it curved and dipped. he drove well. once the horse shied violently at an overhanging branch, and with a turn of his wrist he brought the animal to a baulked, fretting submission, sigrid gave a short laugh, and he glanced sideways at her. perhaps in that moment a grim admiration one for the other rose between them. at least neither had shown fear. a syce, drowsing on the steps of the old bungalow, ran out to meet them and caught the restive, sweating animal by the head. barclay threw him an order in hindustani and then, without a glance at his companion, led the way to the room where the amazing venus held her lamp. he crossed straight over to the wide-open windows and pulled the curtains to. the door behind sigrid closed softly. 378 crisis still barclay did not look at her. he opened a cigarette box with a theatrical affectation of deliberation, but when he struck a match she saw that his hand shook. the tiny flame near to his face betrayed new, ugly lines cut deep about the mouth and nostrils. 99 "i'll tell you something queer, he said, glancing up over the lighted match. "tristram senior was murdered in this room-just here, where i'm standing. there's a stain under the carpet. the place is supposed to be haunted." she lifted her eyebrows. her eyes were very steady and watchful. "yes?" she queried. "he was murdered by my mother's husband. you see, he had betrayed her. it was a sort of insult to my people." the match went out almost at his finger-tips. he threw it away. "strange how things happen, isn't it?” she made no answer. her cloak had slipped from her bare shoulders and she put her hand up and drew it back, holding it across her breast. he began to move restlessly about the room. "and now tristram junior is in love with my wife.” "you do not know"oh, i know well enough, i've seen it. what was-is. i imagine a man doesn't forget you for that puling little saint. how he must wince! or have you told him? well, you'll have something else to tell him-tomorrow." "we made a bargain," she said sharply. "a bargain! what have you done of your share?” "all that lay in my power." crisis 379 he gave a wretched laugh. "this evening, for instance? well-it's finished, do you hear? i've done with the whole thing. i gave them and you a last chance. now i'm going my own wayand you're my wife. i've got that right left." 99 "you've no right but what i choose to give you." "you'll choose you've got to-you're helplesshe paused, choking. he threw the half-burnt cigarette on the floor and ground it under his heel. "there's no one in this place that's going to bother about either of us. tristram won't play deus ex machind this time-you and i -we're going to have this out alone." he saw her glance towards the door. "it's locked. you can scream to your heart's content. your smithy may hear, but she won't help. the servants have their orders. besides—what right has any one to interfere? you're my wife. you swore before the altarhe stopped again. like an animal lashing itself to fury, he strode towards her and then turned and came back, his face swollen and quivering. his words came in a broken torrent of passion. "there's-there's a sort of compensation-in things-my mother's body was found out there in the well-she was good enough for an hour's sport-a native-what did it matter?-a sort of superior toy for an englishman's pleasure-and the result-a half-caste, a mincing, feckless muddle of two races-let him rot in some stuffy eurasian quarter and drink himself to death. if he dares rise if he dares come among us-if he dares aspire to one of our blood-then spew upon him-roll him in the dust-kick him out-let him feel the whip like 380 crisis the misbegotten hound he is. as to our womankind— hands off, or heaven help him—” "i understand," she threw in breathlessly. "i am to be your revenge on them on your brother” he turned back to her, staring at her. then he burst into a laugh. 99 "revenge? oh, i don't know—nothing perhaps so— so high-flown as that. after all-they'd hardly know, would they? it's it's a sort of instinct-to get level— in one way or another. besides-i want youhe measured her with a savage deliberation. "my god-it's natural enough." he was shaking from head to foot. swift and soundless as a flash of light she put the table between them and stood confronting him. her fair small head was thrown back, her mouth set in an unfaltering line. "by all means—it's useless—i've the right and the mightsuddenly, like a tiger weary of toying with its victim, he flung himself on the table, lifting it with both hands. then, as he did so he stopped shortfaltering. a full minute passed whilst they remained face to face, neither moving. he drew himself slowly upright. "well-why don't you do it?" he asked. "i don't want to not unless i must." "it would be an expensive business." "i don't know. i've paid so much already—it might be better to go on paying-—” "to get what you set out to buy? you don't need to worry about that. i may still keep my share of the bargain. i have other plans. so you had the draw on me all crisis 381 the time? who would have thought so gentle a bosom could hide so much deadliness?" "" "i have always carried it," she answered simply. "it may seem theatrical-but i realized-this might happen.' he smiled ironically. "you are very cool-very brave, sigrid. you-you inflame my admiration. won't you sit down? it is very early yet." "i would rather you unlocked the door. i am tired.” "and sick with disgust? i can quite understand. you are white to the backbone." his voice shook with an uncontrollable despair. "still, i warn you-if i open the door, i win. it is guarded. you see, i took precautions-but i don't want that. i—i have that much english blood in me—i'll fight fair.” "very well. if there is anything you have to say"nothing-except perhaps that it is still early. i can display patience. won't you sit down?” "since you wish it.” he took his place opposite her, the table still between them. it was a wide table and he could not have touched her. she rested her elbow on the polished edge, the little toy-like weapon held lightly but firmly in her lifted hand. he leant forward, his eyes on her, watchful, intent. all passion, all desire had died out of them. they were hard and cold with purpose. "you will tire," he said softly. "i am very strong." "a l'outrance, then?" she smiled faintly. 382 crisis "a l'outrance." but he had seen that flicker of amusement and winced under it. "you think i am as absurd-as-as-i am beastly?" he asked. "no i couldn't think like that-at least, not at the bottom. i understand too well." "you understand?" he stared at her hungrily. "what do you understand?" "that you would have been glad to have acted-and felt differently.” he nodded. "i would have been their friend-a good friend. it's too late now." "yes-too late. i can see that"" it grew still between them. once he moved suddenly, testing her, but her eyes and hand were unwavering, and he dropped back into his old position. as the time passed blue shadows darkened her eyes and crept about her mouth. she seemed to grow smaller and paler, and a kind of wonder came into his patient watchfulness of her an almost pitying admiration. "spare yourself!" he whispered. she made no answer. the hours passed. the man and woman became grotesquely like wax figures in their grey, pallid immobility. the lamplight began to fade. in the dusk the empty face of the venus looked ghostly and unreal. they could hear a heavy bullock-wagon plough its way up the hill to the crack of whips and native imprecations. crisis 383 barclay rose slowly and stiffly to his feet. he went across to the window and pulled the curtains aside, letting in a flood of golden morning. "you've won-this time," he said. "you won hours ago." he did not look at her. he went down the verandah steps and did not turn even though he heard the thud of the revolver as it slipped from her unconscious hand. chapter vi "of your blood" gaya awoke the next morning depressed and rather incredulous. the daylight has a tendency to throw a chill interrogation at whatever the previous night has held either of greatness, tragedy, or passion. the blood cools to a little below the normal and the brain perceives things in their flattest, dullest colours. indeed, until lunch-time the human constitution is too busy working up steam to produce emotion, or even to acknowledge the possibility of anything vital save the getting of the daily bread and the partaking thereof. so gaya went lazily about its business, deferring serious consideration to a convenient future, and meantime vaguely aware of a foolish, unpleasant crack in the neat surface of its daily life which somehow would have to be patched up. barclay also went about his business. beyond a certain sombre abstraction his manner gave no hint of any change. in the early morning a messenger mounted on his favourite arab rode out on the heerut road, and in the afternoon lalloo, suave and impassive, made his appearance in a bullock-wagon which had performed a fifteen-mile journey over bad roads in little over three hours. the two, lalloo 384 "of your blood" 385 and his patron, sat together in the very english library and talked subduedly until the first breath of nightfall rustled among the trees of the garden. then lalloo, as he had come, took his departure, nicely tingeing respect with disparagement and disparagement with respect. barclay himself did not set foot outside the bungalow. at dinner he sat opposite his wife and ate whatsoever the noiseless servants placed before him. contrary to his custom-for he had a morbid respect for all appearanceshe did not attempt to keep up the small talk which usually passed between them. he scarcely spoke to her, and only once looked in her direction. afterwards they stood for a moment together on the edge of the verandah, looking out into the quiet darkness. here, too, custom was broken. it was the first time since their marriage that she had joined him after their ceremonious meal. a memory shot like a light through his moody silence. "aren't you afraid?" he asked brutally. "no," she answered. there was no bravado-only a great physical weariness in her low voice. "i want to know what is going to happen," she said. "nothing." "i thought as i have failed so completely "" -that you could clear out?" he smoked for a moment in sombre consideration, then tossed his cigarette away from him. it glowed on the pathway like a tiny, watchful eye. "of course you're free," he said finally. "i haven't any power to hold you. but if you go, then i shall be free 25 386 "of your blood' too. the last article of our agreement will have been annulled. that's obvious, isn't it?" "yes-if you hold to your agreement." "i shall." he gave a subdued laugh. "i am like shylock, sigrid. and you are one of those good christians trying to cheat and possibly persecute their infidel creditor. what do you expect?" "just that." she waited an instant and then he felt rather than heard that she turned away from him. all i wanted to ask you." "well-? have you decided?" "that's "there was nothing to decide. i shall go on with it— whatever it is." he heard the curtains fall. throughout he had not looked at her. it was as though he withheld from her something which his eyes might have betrayed. when all was still again he took a book haphazard from the pompously crowded shelves and sat down beneath the light-bearing venus to read. he sat very still, his dark eyes resting intently on a spot just above the page which was never turned. the gold-faced clock on the table chimed ten o'clock. the thin, dulcet tones dropped into the quiet like pebbles into a still pool. they seemed to arouse the man beneath the lamplight. he got up and pulled the curtains across the windows. there was a door in the left-hand wall. it led into a room in which he kept his papers, and no one entered it but himself. he took a key from his pocket and unlocked it. "you are safe now," he said in the native tongue. of your blood" 387 ayeshi came out slowly into the light. his eyes were dazed-looking, but rest and food had restored something of their old fire, and that very return of life accentuated the deeper change in him. it was not only the lines which disease and want had chiselled among his features. the one-time boyish beauty had been hardened and sharpened by something more subtle than physical privation. his eyes, as they grew accustomed to the light, were no longer clouded with mystic dreams, but were stern and penetrating. his very bearing was profoundly different. his dignity had been gracious and unconscious; it was now conscious and commanding. "you have done me great service," he said in an undertone. "i shall not forget when the time comes for remembrance." "you are rested sufficiently to go on your way?" ayeshi nodded. he glanced keenly into barclay's impassive face. "you use our tongue to me?" barclay shrugged his shoulders. "is it not mine also?" a faint hauteur compressed the fine lips. he turned away and lifted the edge of the curtain. "i give you great thanks, barclay sahib." "i ask no thanks of you, ayeshi. you will find a horse at the gates. but first, can there be no trust between us? can you not tell me whither you are going and to what end?" ayeshi turned, measuring the other man with a grave, scornful deliberation. 388 "of your blood" "i have learnt to keep my counsel where there is english blood," he said. he did not see the expression which passed like a withering flame over his companion's features. he lifted his hand in salutation, and the curtains fell noiselessly behind him. barclay waited, motionless. his breathing was quick and shallow, his whole body tense with pent-up excitement. as the muffled sound of hoofs reached him he turned the light out and the next instant was running towards the compound gates. a syce leading a horse by the bridle came out of the shadow. without a word barclay caught the helmet and long cloak which was held out to him and swung himself lightly into the saddle. "which way?" "towards heerut, sahib." "see that you remember my orders." "the sahib shall be obeyed." barclay's steel wrist brought his nervous, fidgeting animal to an instant's complete quiet. he listened intently. he could still hear the sound of hoofs, beating in the distance. he drove his heels into the arab's flanks and rode out into the stream of pale starlight which flowed down towards the valley. he rode at a quick canter, dangerous enough on the steep gradation and only justified by his knowledge of every curve in the narrowing roadway. his riding had nothing of the recklessness with which he had driven the night before. he held himself and his horse in the steel grip of a definite purpose. "of your blood" 389 at the bottom of the hill on which gaya perched itself like a beautiful white bird he drew rein and again listened. there was no moon; the intense clarity of an indian night covered the parched and gasping plain with a seeming luminousness in which nothing was visible but unrealities. overhead the black burnished shield of the sky blazed with its mysterious, unreadable devices. but for the monotonous rhythmic thud dying in the distance the silence was absolute, painful, like the suspended breathing of a fevered body. the river was voiceless. barclay rode on. the road had narrowed to little more than a track which the drought and the passing of heavy wagons to and fro to the new bridge had made a trap of crumbling ruts and dust-covered holes. it was five miles to the river, and nearly two hours had passed before the rider caught the first murmur of water. it sounded faint and exhausted. in the vague light the new bridge looked like some monstrous dragon, its body spanning the halfempty river-bed, its thick-set limbs planted stolidly in the sluggish water. it needed no more than a ceremony for it to be complete. yet barclay turned up to the old bridge. in view of its approaching demolition it had been neglected and part of the wooden rail had been broken down, making the crossing at nightfall a matter of some danger. barclay chose it and rode across with slack rein. on the other side he dismounted and tethered his horse and went on on foot through the trackless jungle grass. when he stood still he could catch no sound, neither the thud of hoofs nor the faintest movement. the high 390 "of your blood" grass, as it yielded to his body, rustled and cracked deafeningly in his ears. his own breathing sounded like the loud panting of a hunted animal. the temple lay sullen and dark and silent in the black shadow of the jungle. barclay reached the gateway. the obscurity was here so dense that his instinct alone guided him. he went forward deliberately, noisily, sensing the hands that waited for him, the eyes that watched him. then he struck a light. the next instant that for which he waited came, and, though he had waited for it, its swiftness and deadliness drove a scream from his lips—a scream that was smothered to a choking groan almost at its birth. he stumbled and fell, his hands twisted behind him, his unprotected face grazing the stones. he felt hot breath on his neck, the cut of a cord round his wrists. gagged and helpless, he was jerked back to his knees and a dark lantern flashed its eye on to his bleeding face. beyond the dazzling circle he could see forms no more than shadows painted dimly against the dense blackness of the temple walls. nearest to the light, vahana's wild, expressionless eyes glittered with the cold lustre of a serpent's; but, as he grew accustomed to the light, barclay recognized other faces, two headmen from neighbouring villages, a handful of priests wearing the triple cord on their shoulders, five non-commissioned officers from the native regiment. they crowded round him in a silent circle which contracted like a steel trap. seemed neither to fear nor heed them. his head and looked up into ayeshi's face. but barclay he threw back then he drew "of your blood" 391 himself together as a man does who knows that life and death hover in the balance. "so you were a spy after all, mr. barclay?" ayeshi said in english. "" "no, rajah, your servant, was the swift answer. the fine nostrils distended with a deep-drawn breath. "do you know who i am, then?" "i know that you are ayeshi, the son of ram alla, who was deposed and driven into exile by the english. i know that you were saved by a few faithful who feared to breathe the secret even to you. i know that you have borne willingly a stigma which is another's. i know that you have starved and suffered and learned in the gutters of calcutta that an unworthy english sahib should go unpunished." ayeshi lifted his hand imperatively. "how have you learnt these things?" "i have ears in every village, rajah.” "why did you follow me?" "i have a wish to serve you." "you are english"english!" barclay laughed. "yes, i have english blood in my veins. i am the son of the old tristram sahib who seduced my mother and brought about her death, who hunted down my brothers and our father's servants and shot them from the cannon's mouth, who gave honourable life to tristram sahib, the wealthy and happy and honoured, who gave life to me, an outcaste"yet a night ago you sat and ate with these, thy people"" 392 "of your blood" “that also is true. i fought for their friendship, rajah, i grovelled for it. i schemed for it. i would have sold you and all these, my brothers, if they would have made me one of them. but they would not. they have chosen, not i. last night, rasaldû, the swineherd's son, would not sit at table with me. that was the end." "you have an english wife." barclay laughed again. "who sold herself to me for a high price, who would rather die ten deaths than be a wife to me, who loves tristram sahib-" he broke off and jerked his head towards the intently watching sadhu. "vahana here knows something of what i say. let him testify for me.' the shadowy, unreal circle of faces turned for an instant. vahana bowed his head in assent. "i have told you the truth," barclay went on. "the best and the worst. i have risked life to tell it you. i knew what might await me here-a knife in the dark perhaps without a word spoken-and yet i had to come. life can be more bitter than death. a man cannot live alone as i have done-there comes a time when his soul cries for his people." they looked at him silently, without pity. the agony in his hoarse voice did not touch them. for them also he was the pariah-the outcaste. he read their answer in their eyes and turned back to ayeshi with a burst of passion. "take me-claim me-make me one of you! i have power-i have money-i can do for you what no other man could do. either you must kill me or make me one "of your blood" 393 of your blood. i know too much. there is no other way out for either of us." ayeshi did not move or speak. one of the two priests crept closer, avoiding barclay's shadow. "what can you do for us?" he whispered. "you know very well, o heera singh! the drought is on us. the crops will fail. is there a man in your village who does not owe all that he has to me? what if i make our lord ayeshi their deliverer-if he should free them from me? and i have money. is all that nothing?" the priest was silent, fingering his sacred cord with eager fingers. but ayeshi knelt down and looked full into the eurasian's face. "you said that you would have betrayed us for their friendship," he said. "what if they came now and offered you their hands"" "it is not in their power," was the swift and bitter answer. "they have tried-the river is too wide for them." there was silence again. the yellow light revealed figures lurking behind them, black, vaguely defined forms which glided softly up and down the temple walls. vahana had bent down and with his claw-like finger drew a pattern in the dust. it was the sign of swashtika. barclay drew his breath between his teeth. he laid his hand on the rough-drawn symbol and vahana's hand closed down on his. the priest wetted his forefinger with his tongue and touched barclay's forehead, tracing two horizontal lines. but barclay did not feel him. he was only conscious of 394 "of your blood" that hand, cold, hard, scaly. it seemed to envelop him, to glide up his arm and to reach down and close about his heart. "one of our blood," the priest muttered, "for evil and for good we claim you one of us." but ayeshi made a gesture of proud impatience. "there can be no evil," he said. "the worst that can come to any of us is death. and what is death but release? we who have seen our faith insulted, our gods defiled, our dreams shattered-what is death to us? each one of us has his own bitter wrong. let him avenge it under my banner." he turned authoritatively to one of the native officers. "we have had enough of words. from henceforward there shall be nothing said which does not translate itself into action. you, parga, what have you to tell me?" the man answered with a military salute. "all is ready, lord. we are patient. we do but await your signal." "we have planned for the twenty-fifth of this month, lord," his companion added. ayeshi nodded. 66 y that time we shall have our forces on this side of the river ready. give me the map.' the map was spread out on the ground. ayeshi traced a line down the length of the river, whispering his orders. here and there one of the soldiers assented or offered a suggestion. the priests were silent but watchful. their faces glistened like burnished bronze in the yellow light. but barclay felt and realized only that hand which had "of your blood" 395 rested on his. it was as though he had plunged his arm into icy water and the chill had begun to creep through his whole body. his blood had become cold and sluggish in his veins. he listened, and beyond the subdued voices he heard strange sounds-an intermittent rustling amidst the long grass, a hushed, sibilant whispering, the crack of a branch under the weight of a writhing, twisting body. he lifted his head and it seemed to him that the jungle towered over him, roofing the broken walls of the temple with its sinister shadow. vahana watched him unceasingly. dawn was still afar off as barclay rode his horse over the narrow bridge. once on the farther bank he turned and looked back furtively. nothing was visible. the forest-clad mountains were no more than a monstrous blot on the burnished shield, wiping out a part of its mysterious quarterings. yet their massed blackness fascinated him. they filled him with an inexplicable horror which until now he had held partially in abeyance; but in this loneliness it became an obsessing force of panic. something had happened to him. he sat there in the saddle, but his mind, a second vitally real consciousness, crawled through the trackless undergrowth. his ears heard strange whisperings; things unnamable slid over his limbs and wound themselves about his throat and body, driving the breath from him. he could not taunt himself with feverish 396 "of your blood" imaginings. the man in the saddle might have been a shadow, a figment of the brain, but that second being struggling and gasping for life in those jungle fastnesses was a reality-himself. it was not imagination, but revelation. a sixth sense had been stabbed to consciousness. scales had fallen from his eyes. he forced himself to ride on and in an instant the return became a heedless, panic-stricken flight before an invisible, formless enemy. even in his own compound there was no safety, no escape from whatever hunted him. rather in the black silence of the bungalow he recognized a new menace. he tried to master himself,—to call the sleeping syce, but his tongue was dry and thick in his mouth and refused its office. with shaking hands he tethered his horse and crawled stealthily across the verandah to the open windows of his room. he stood still on the threshold, listening. his own breathing seemed to come from the other end of the room -from some one who crouched amidst the ponderous furniture, watching him. he tried to strike a light, but the match flickered and went out and he dared not try again. he felt that no light could live in that stifling, fœtid atmosphere. and the shadows which he had awakened appalled him. he stumbled blindly to the chair beneath the lamp and crouched down into it, hushing his labouring lungs, forcing himself to confront the darkness, the sweat thick and icy on his forehead. he had dared death that night and had not known fear; but this was different. it was something in himself-an "of your blood" 397 awful disruption, the breaking down of some secret barrier behind which had been imprisoned untold knowledge, a horde of ghostly, inherited memories. he tried to stem them back-vainly. he that second self-saw this stain beneath the carpet. he saw old tristram sahib seated where he sat-vahana crawling out of the darkness-the uplifted weapon. he heard a woman's muffled scream-the bumping of a body falling between narrow walls-the sullen splash of water. these things were to him actual-corporeal. he turned with a shuddering gasp, burying his face in his arms, hiding from them, awaiting in palsied helplessness for the deliverance of the morning. chapter vii the price paid mrs. boucicault and her daughter sat on either side of the wide-open windows and avoided each other's eyes. it was the first time that they had been alone together for many months, and they found nothing to say. had they been total strangers they could have discussed the situation with sympathy, but they were bound together, and to the man on whose return from death to life they waited, by too many ugly memories for any superficial intercourse. they were like galley-slaves, hating each other and the bonds that manacled them to an intolerable intimacy. there was a faint, sickening taste of ether in the hot air. it seemed to permeate everything, and to anne, who knew nothing of the surgical side of illness, it conveyed a suggestion of mysterious suffering and horror. it affected her with the same physical and purely instinctive fear which assails most human beings in their first contact with death. it was not so much the thing that was happening as the grim, immaculate ceremonial surrounding it which terrified her. she would have been glad to have been alone, and in her heart she denied her mother the right to be present. 398 the price paid 399 but convention and decorum were on mrs. boucicault's side and against such opponents anne felt herself powerless to make a stand. once she glanced quickly across at her companion and saw how cruelly the daylight treated the small face now that it was without its persistent animation. neither paint nor powder could conceal the livid pallor beneath the painful slackening of all the facial muscles. only the mouth retained its straight, unbreakable resolution. "one can't live as she does without paying for it," anne thought, and did not acknowledge the little glow of righteous satisfaction which passed over her. instead she went back mentally to the man lying unconscious at the other side of the bungalow and to her own life. for all her painful anxiety she felt strangely content. she had the elevated serenity of one who has passed through tribulation to a well-earned happiness. for she had been very unhappy in her life. there were the days of "misunderstanding" with her father, the days in "trichy" when she had faced the alternatives of a penniless and ill-prepared attack on the unknown world or an ignominious return to a life her whole soul condemned; there were days, even since her marriage, when she realized that the man she had worshipped was not wholly worthy of worship, that in many ways he had fallen below the standard which she set him. but of late these things had sunk into the background. god had been very good. she had longed so much for a child, and that was to be given to her. that fact alone poured like sunshine over all the past. it seemed to her 400 the price paid that with the beginning of that hope everything had combined together to make her happy. her father was to be made well and strong again. sigrid fersen, save where a very few were concerned, had dropped out of gaya's life into a grey seclusion, and with her the man whom she had sought to drag up the heights of her meretricious popularity. and, best of all, that very morning, when so much hung in the balance, she had regained her love, her humble, possessive adoration of her husband. he had seemed so big, so strong and invincible. the fire in his steady, absorbed eyes had thrilled her, the touch of his hand had given her a passionate, child-like confidence. "i know that you won't fail," she had whispered. "god bless you, tris." "i'm sure he will," he had answered, smiling. and though perhaps there was something in that familiar phrase which jarred on her, still it could not weaken her joy in him or her faith in her own blessing. "yes, god had been very good"i think it is over," mrs. boucicault said suddenly. "i can hear some one comingboth women rose instinctively to their feet and turned towards the door. anne's heart throbbed painfully. as dr. martin entered she felt a sudden weakness overcome her so that she could hardly stand. the doctor had discarded his white overalls, but he brought in with him a deeper tinge of that nauseating odour. through a mist she heard him talking, and even in that moment she was conscious of a bitter resentment. he was speaking to her mother. the price paid 401 "yes-wonderfully successful, mrs. boucicault. to tell you the truth i had no idea the i.m.s. concealed such a talent for the knife. remarkable hand-almost inspired, one might say. major tristram can set up in harley street any day. of course we're not out of the wood yet. we can't hope to see much change in your husband for some weeks. shock and all that, you know. there was a lot more trouble than we suspected. old trouble which must have caused a good deal of-eh-mental unrest." he rubbed his chin as though on the point of some further information. "well, i daresay tristram will go into details. he wants me to stop in gaya till we know better where we are, and i shall try and arrange to. very interesting case-very. hullo, here's major tristram himself." with a little cry of joy anne turned to run to her husband, but as she saw the man who entered her purpose faltered. she was not given to analysis, and the change in him, because it was not entirely physical, eluded her. and it frightened her. it was as though all her instinctive fears had taken shape in him. he looked exhausted to the point of breakdown, but that she had seen before, and it was not that which had brought her to a standstill. it was something behind the white stillness of his facethe passionless detachment, the nirvana which, had she but known it, comes to men who have passed through a vast spiritual crisis. "tris!" she whispered. she came to him at last and he put his arm round her. "it's all right," he said simply. his eyes were on 26 402 the price paid mrs. boucicault. "your husband will live," he said. "he may get well." she nodded, twisting the rings round her thin fingers. "how long will it take before he is strong again?" "a few months perhaps." "then i-i have that much time left me." "mother!" anne cried out. she felt tristram's arm slip from her shoulder. he went to mrs. boucicault and took her hand in his. "he may change very much," he said. she laughed. she made a little "perhaps but it will be too late." grimace. "well, i have learned the value of time at any rate. dr. martin, come and see me into my carriage. my daughter wants to have a good cry." dr. martin offered his arm with a grave courtesy surprising in a man of his somewhat casual temperament, and the two went down the verandah steps talking in an undertone. anne watched them in bitter silence. the attitude of these two men towards the wizened, painted woman had thrown a shadow of disgust over her happiness. they had treated her as though she occupied the centre of their stage, accepting her flippant cruelty without reproof, offering her an austere reverence. a scornful comment trembled on anne's lips, but, turning, she saw that tristram had dropped down in one of the chairs, his face hidden in his hands, and her heart melted towards him. she knelt down and put her arms about his neck. "tris!" she whispered. he looked up. "tris!" she repeated on a note of faint reproach. for she had seen the price paid 403 that his face was wet, and tears in a man had always seemed to her rather repulsive. "what's the matter, dear?" she asked. he smiled faintly. "i am an ass, aren't i? i don't often do this sort of thing-some things touch me horribly. besides, i'm a bit rattled still. those two hours were devilish—you don't know" she kissed him solemnly. "i know how splendid you are-dr. martin told us." "did he? well, honestly, i don't believe any other man could have done what i did today. no one else could have wanted to win so badly as i did." "for my sake, husband?" "for yours and mine." "that's sweet of you," she said gently. her moment's irritation had passed. she rested on his bigness, his redeeming strength and tenderness. "i am very happy, tristram." "are you?" he looked into her face eagerly. "really happy?" "happier than ever in my life. so much that is wonderful has happened. it seems to have made everything worth while. all the suffering." she leant against him, her eyes half-closed in dreamy recollection. "sometimes i think it's all been for the best. it's taught us charity, hasn't it to be gentle in our judgment? i know i have often been hard too. today i could forgive even the man who caused it all." his arm tightened about her. 404 the price paid "he'd be glad to hear that, anne"i could forgive." she drew herself up a little. "but i wouldn't help him to escape his punishment, tristram." "you couldn't, dear. no one escapes." "yes, that's true, isn't it? sooner or later they are found out. they say criminals always return to the scenes of their crime. mother told me ayeshi had been seen slinking about heerut at night—” "ayeshi?" he interrupted perplexedly. she gave a quick glance into his face. "yes of course, i'd forgotten, no one's ever told you. you see, you were so fond of ayeshi, and you were ill, and so we arranged that we wouldn't tell you unless-unless he was caught. afterwards no one liked to, and you're such an old hermit-you never hear anything. but now it doesn't matter, does it? it was ayeshi who tried to kill my father." he pushed her away from him as though she had suddenly ceased to exist for him. "i don't understand99 she laughed uncertainly-half-angrily. "why, tris, i've just explained" "i understood that no one was suspected99 "i've explained that, too, dear. i thought you would guess when you heard that he had disappeared like thathe turned on her almost violently, but even she realized in that moment that he was scarcely conscious of her. his blazing eyes had a sightless look in them that frightened her to her feet. the price paid 405 "i might have known," he stammered, "but i am too big a fool-an idiotic sentimentalist-" he steadied and looked at her straightly with seeing eyes. "ayeshi must have disappeared to shield me," he said. "it was i who nearly killed your father." her face was at first only stupid-looking as though his words had had no meaning-then every trace of colour ebbed from her lips. she wavered, and he sprang to her side, and carried her to the chair which he had just left. an intense, torturing pity swept him. she was so small, so very fragile. he felt himself as something monstrous riding over all her happiness. she clung to him. "tris-tris-please don't say things to frighten me" "i've got to. sooner or later i had to tell you. i didn't mean to be so sudden. but it's true." she freed herself. there was no strength in her arms, but he had felt her whole body cower and shrink from him and he stood back from her as though she had struck him. "i can't-i can't believe" she whispered. "you must, anne." he paused, and then went on quietly. "it was after that time at bjura. i was riding home as best i could with a temperature god knows where -i don't tell you that as an excuse, but as a sort of explanation—and i found your father torturing wickie. i know now that probably he was as mad and irresponsible as i was, but at the moment i thought he was simply a devil. i intervened-i believe i appealed to him—i tried to stop him. he struck me repeatedly, but as long as he didn't touch wickie i didn't care. then he ran wickie 406 the price paid through with the sharp end of a bamboo stick-and i struck him. i am very strong-and i had no self-control. it was as though all the brakes had given way-and i struck too hard. that was how it happened, anne.” he waited. he could not have said for what, but he knew that it was something great in her. he had seen this moment many times before and seen it both as an end and as a beginning of a new life between them. it was in her hands. but at the last a kind of proud confidence had swept over him. it did not occur to him to appeal to her. understanding is above forgiveness. either she understood, and there would be no need to forgive, or he was simply a murderer, and then her forgiveness would be valueless. but he had believed that now she would understand. she crouched in her chair, looking at him with horror in her eyes. "i can't-it's too terrible-to have done that—and then to have shirked the responsibilitystill he waited. he had to explain-that was only fair to her and to himself. but he began to lose hope. he saw himself with her eyes and the eyes of her world. "you know that i was delirious for a long time afterwards. when i recovered the whole thing seemed finished. no one was suspected as far as i knew. well, your father meant to smash me. i saw that much in his face. and, frankly, anne, i did not choose to be ruined for his sake. my life my work-was of value to others to whom i owed more than i did to him. if i made no effort to escape the consequences of what i had done i also did the price paid 407 he not immolate myself to a false idea of justice" broke off. it was not what he had meant to say to her. it was cold and ugly. but her eyes told him that everything he could tell her, of the deliberately accepted burden of silence, of the motive of a great filial love which had chosen to crush the inborn, conventional instincts of honour rather than tread the easy, chivalrous road of selfaccusation, of all that the intervening time had held of doubt, and weariness-would be to her so much hypocrisy and cowardly subterfuge. the crisis struck no fire of sympathy in her which might have illuminated his curt and clumsy sentences. to her he was simply a crimibecame one-tongue-tied, selfnal, and before her he distrustful. she spoke at last and instinctively he braced himself. "are you taking shelter behind your mother, or whom?" she asked sneeringly. then, as he did not answer, she got up. the stupor which had restrained her hitherto gave way. she shivered from head to foot, and her face was twisted and livid with the violence of her feeling. "and then you married me!" she cried out-"just to shield yourself"anne!" "well, didn't you?" he strode at her and took her by the shoulders. for a moment she thought, in her horror of him, that he would have struck her, and she threw back her head defying the blow with all the strength of her contempt. but his eyes daunted her. they were neither angry nor guilty -but bewildered. 408 the price paid "anne, why in god's name did you marry me if you thought of me like that?" her lips quivered. "i didn't think of you like that." "no, perhaps you didn't. you couldn't have thought of me at all. you just imagined me-you never knew or wanted to know the man i really am. now that the image is broken, there's nothing left. i am just-somebody you don't know-a total stranger, capable of anything-"isn't it true?" she persisted stubbornly. "no," he said. "it is not true." he thought a moment and then added with grave simplicity, "it would never have occurred to me. you were just some one i was very fond of. i wanted to take care of you." she tried to laugh. "i suppose, having murdered the father, you thought it was your duty to marry the daughter." his hands dropped wearily to his sides. "if i hadn't been instrumental in your father's loss, if i had had the faintest hope of his ever being able to take his place in your life again, i wouldn't have asked you to be my wife. i shouldn't have dared draw you into my life. but you were lonely and unhappy-much as i was99 "you felt guilty and you pitied me," she interrupted with feverish excitement. "i suppose you think you've sacrificed yourself. you never wanted to marry me. it was always that woman-that woman"for pity's sake-don't, anne!" he pleaded. "why shouldn't i? i've the right." the price paid 409 "you have not the right to say that," he said sternly. "i have behaved like a fool-i have done you, as things turned, a great wrong; but i have never thought of any other woman as my wife." "not as your wife, perhaps," she interrupted wildly. he turned away from her. he felt physically sick and broken. the room, with its suffocating propriety, its prim order, seemed to him an integral part of the scene's sordidness. he had only one instinct left-the thirst for the free air and the loneliness of the life to which he had belonged. she watched him in breathless silence, clasping and unclasping her thin hands. she was the more resentful because he had driven her to an outburst of which she was ashamed. "when you found my father was going to get better, what did you expect?" she began again. "i wondersince you had gone so far-that you didn't finish your work." a faint, bitter amusement touched his white lips. "yes, anne, you would wonder that. but i am a doctor not so much by profession as by instinct. i have to save-to heal where i can. even then i might have failed in this instance and not found myself guilty. but he was your father-i wanted you to be happy-i think it-it inspired me to do more than i could otherwise have done." "what did you expect-between us afterwards?" she persisted. the smile lingered, but without its bitterness. "oh, i don't know, anne-but something different -410 the price paid from this. i knew that you'd be pained, even horrifiedthat was only natural. but i thought you knew me well enough to see the less ugly side. i had a foolish fancy even-that in such a crisis we might find each otherunderstand each other better. well-i've been wrong all the way." she was silent for a moment, gathering together the storm-scattered principles of her life. she was trying to be just, charitable, towards him. the tears glistened on her cheeks. "i daresay you did mean to make me happy, tris. but you see, you couldn't. one can't build up happiness on sin." "i did not feel myself guilty-not in that way," he said gently. "but you were guilty." her voice hardened. "it was a crime to have struck a man down for the sake of a mongrel dog-" he turned quickly. he felt mysteriously outraged, as though she had struck straight and deep into something vital in him. "it wasn't only a dog, anne," he said. "it was the pain-all the needless sufferinghe did not try to finish. he could not have explained, it was not in her power to understand. because he knew for the first time he saw all that separated them-not so much a gulf as a world, making her day his night. they were both silent. in a few minutes the superficial wrappings of their life had been torn off and its nakedness held them appalled. the price paid 411 the door opened softly and the new nurse who had come with dr. martin looked in for an instant. "he is coming round, major tristram," she said. "very well, nurse. i'll be with you at once." he went towards the door, but anne forestalled him. her face was composed and very set, though the tears still hung on her long lashes. "i don't want you to-i don't think you ought to he looked at her grimly. "as you wish. dr. martin must be outside somewhere. i'll explain. he can take over the case." "explain-what do you mean?” he shrugged his shoulders. "we've got to begin somewhere. better now." she stared at him blankly. "you don't mean-you can't mean-you're not going to tell people?" "i must. besides, isn't it what you wish?" she turned away and sat down, burying her face in her hands. she was crying softly, helplessly, like a child. he came back to her and stood over her as though his first impulse to comfort her had been checked by recollection. "anne, i am a clumsy beggar-i don't understand-i don't know what you want"" "you "you can't tell everyone," she sobbed wildly. can't, tris. it would be too cruel. think of all the people you'd hurt-who would have to suffer with youall of us, even-even our child-even father. you mustn't do it, tris. father may have changed-he will be so happy-i shall beg him for his own sake as well as for mine. 412 the price paid he'll do as i ask-i'm sure he will. tris-it's awful to know this awful thing oneself-but for others to know too -and all the scandal—” she was incoherent in her piteous despair, but now he understood her. "you forget ayeshi, anne," he said, "and all i owe him." "ayeshi? but people only suspect-he's in hiding because of some money he took-what does he matter? no one could prove anything-only father-and he can clear ayeshi best of all. don't you see that—or don't you care? do you want me to suffer?" he winced. "i'll do whatever you want, anne," he said heavily. "everything on earth i can do. but i've got to think. i'll tell martin i've had marching orders, or some lie. he knows the case, and can do everything as well as i could. i'll clear out to heerut. i've got to see ayeshi. in the meantime, you'll have breathing space to think things over too--and to decide. you can let me know." he went to the door and there hesitated and looked back at her with pitying wistfulness. "anne, i don't repent much what i did to your father-i can't-but you didn't deserve to be hurt. and i've hurt you. i can't forgive myself that-ever." he waited an instant. she did not move and he went out closing the door softly behind him. chapter viii return "when i heard folks say the place was haunted i just laughed in their faces," mrs. smithers asserted moodily. "i don't hold with ghosts and them sort, and in a general way i don't believe in them. but i believe in this ghost all right. we've tried to scrub it out, but it won't go and it's got the grouch on us for trying. it's just sucking the polish out of the furniture. and it's sucking the life out of me; i know that." she turned to her companion lying curled up in the big basket chair and challenged contradiction with her own appearance. sigrid looked back at her gravely. "your wig's crooked, smithy dear. of late its angle has been persistently drunken." "what's it matter!" mrs. smithers returned. "who cares? we might as well be drunk for all the notice these stuck-up nobodies take of us. what's the use of being respectable, if there's no one to see? might as well fade away, comfy, that's my opinion." whereupon, suiting her action to her words, she snatched the offending erection from her head, sat on it, and proceeded to rumple up the short grey hair till the last vestige of propriety was lost 413 414 return in a ludicrously rakish disorder. "well, i've been respectable for your sake for two solid years, sigrid, and it's nigh done for me. now i'm myself again, and i mean to stick to meself or bust; so there." sigrid gave a laugh that ended with a sigh. "your nice, wicked, unprincipled self, smithy! it reminds me of old times." "h'm, does it? well, nothing reminds me of old times in this horrible place. nothing-not even you. you're just the outsides of what you were, sigrid—a sort of husk. i don't know where you are-but the real you isn't here at all—and a good job too." she paused and then wistfully, rather shyly: "you don't even play nowadays, my dear." sigrid got up slowly. "smithy, one couldn't play in this room. i could play fancy beetin a garret or in the streets, but not here. hoven and that marble atrocity! even elgar! no, no, i couldn't." she went out past mrs. smithers on to the verandah and there lingered for a moment. "look at the sunshine!" she said dreamily. "that, at least, is always the same for the just and the unjust, the happy and the unhappy. doesn't that console you?" mrs. smithers shook her head. "it isn't the same. it's an awful thing here. they say if it goes on beating down like that it will mean thousands and thousands of deaths. it's cruel. but, such as it is, it don't come inside this place, sigrid. it beats down on the road out there, but it don't touch us. we're walled in-the lord knows by what-but we're walled in." return 415 sigrid took her lace parasol and went down the steps to the wide avenue which swept round in a semicircle to the road. she still moved with her smooth, tigerish elasticity, but she herself was conscious of an overwhelming fatigue. it was as smithy said—the spirit of the place had triumphed. little by little it had overpowered the garish, incongruous splendours with which barclay had sought to change its character. the life and gaiety which he had schemed for had never crossed the threshold, and now he no longer fought, but in sullen acquiescence watched gloom and decay rise like a sombre tide over its old ground. the place was moribund. the people in it moved softly and spoke instinctively in hushed voices as though somewhere in those empty rooms some one lay dead. sigrid reached the compound gates. it was still early in the morning, but the heat burnt down on the white road with the reflected fierceness of a near and monstrous fire. the air was thick and tasted metallic. a bullockwagon toiled up towards gaya, came to an exhausted halt, and then, in response to listless imprecations, creaked heavily on its way. the mingled sweat and dust lay in ridges on the animals' heaving flanks and scored the dark faces which were turned for a moment in sigrid's direction. man and brute were curiously allied in that blank and yet piteous stare. it was as though both visaged suffering and visaged it dumbly, patiently, accepting it as the decree of life. then all was still again. a man on horseback turned the bend of the road and came at a lumbering walk down-hill towards the bungalow. 416 return she stood and watched him and an odd, unsteady smile of recognition played with the corners of her lips. no other man in gaya rode such a lank, spindle-legged mare, no other man cut so quaint a figure, no other man could have worn those clothes and borne himself so bravely. for, despite that touch of the grotesque, there was something splendid and royal about him, something in his bigness, in the grand lines of his body, in his freedom and unconsciousness that made him physically kin to those giants whose fearless, joyous living glimmers through history and legend-to the siegfrieds and the beowulfs and the parsifals, men of the forest and the mountain, who drank deep of life at its source and died on heights which our day has fogotten. he carried a yellow-haired dog under one arm and an ordinary covered wicker basket was tied to his saddle, and despite his efforts jolted somewhat to the plaintive protests of a cat's mewing. she would have turned and avoided him, but the bigness of him had held her riveted too long. he drew rein and swung himself to the ground beside her. "i've brought you richard," he said simply. he did not offer her his hand or greet her, although they had not spoken to each other for many weeks. he seemed to sweep all ceremony aside. "i ought to have brought him before-i promised, didn't i?—but somehow i couldn't. it was like a slight to wickie. he's had a rotten time though, poor chap. you'll make it up to him, i know." she patted the mongrel's distrustful snout. the man's return 417 proximity shook her composure so that she seized eagerly on the first thought that came to her. "what other passengers have you on board?" she said, with a little nod towards the heaving and mysteriously creaking basket at his saddle. "they've got rather "my tabbies," he said solemnly. obstreperous since we've been civilized. my wife doesn't like them running about after me, so they had to be shut up, poor beggars, and there's nothing like shutting people up for bringing the devil out of them. now i'm taking them with me to heerut." he smiled a little. "i'm going back to the wilderness," he said. he took off his helmet and ran his hand through the thick, tawny hair with a gesture like that of a sleeper freeing himself from the clouds of an evil dream. the light striking through the branches of the mohwa-tree lit up his face, and, looking up at him and reading all that the last months had wrought, she felt a pang of angry pity. if this was siegfried, then it was not the siegfried of brünnhilde's fiery mountain, but the man of the rhine valley, gudruna's man, fettered by civilization and weakened by its trickery and dishonesty. had he also drunk of the cup of forgetfulness, she wondered? had he lost his vision of the fire-girded rocks above where he had won his manhood? a flicker of the old mockery shone in her eyes. "you don't look very well, major tristram," she said. he shook his head. "oh, i'm well enough-physically at any rate." he laid his hand on his heart with a rueful laugh. "i've got a sort of spiritual indigestion though it's this life-it 27 418 return doesn't suit me or my tabbies. it's too neat and tidy. i'm like that what's-his-name person who had to put his hand to his mother earth to keep strong. i need to be doing and fighting, struggling for existence in my mother wilderness to keep decent. well, i shall have enough of that out there. unless the drought breaks soon we're going to have more trouble. the unhappy folk in the village are beginning to die off like flies, and when the famine comes-?" he shrugged his shoulders. "you don't look fit for such work," she exclaimed bitterly. "i'm tired—that's all. i had a stiff day of it yesterday." he looked at her with a flash of boyish enthusiasm. "hasn't any one told you?" "no one has told me anything," she said. "people don't rush here with their latest gossip." he flushed painfully. "oh, well, it isn't exactly gossip. it's about boucicault." "boucicault?" "yes. you know sir gilbert foster gave him up. well, i found something sir gilbert didn't—a little spot on the brain not bigger than a pin's head. i operated yesterday, and i believe he'll get well. isn't that a feather in my cap?" he looked up, smiling into the sunlight, and waited for her to speak, until the silence became oppressive. then he turned to her, drawn by an instinct which the next instant he knew was justified. he caught her by the arm, shaken from all his resolute self-possession by what her face revealed to him. return 419 "sigrid-what is it-you're ill-in painbut she freed herself almost violently, steadying herself, forcing the blood back into her cheeks by a sheer effort of the will. "it's nothing-don't fuss over me. it's the heatnothing more "then you ought not to be out here." she laughed defiantly. "you're not my doctor, major tristram, and i won't be bullied. besides, you've whetted my curiosity. there now, i'm all right again. what were you saying about colonel boucicault? you-you operated, and now he's going to get well?" "i think so." but he answered absently. he was still intent on her face, striving to get beneath the mask. the moment's livid pallor had gone, but she was none the less changed. her voice, level and quiet, had yet a new tone in it—a kind of hoarseness which he knew as a symptom of exhaustion and pain. she turned away, trying to avoid his eyes. "has he been able to speak?" "not yet. he is not even properly conscious. it may last some weeks." she gave a little cynical laugh. "i suppose some one will be glad." "anne-my wife.” "ah, yes-your wife." some new thought struck her. she turned back to him, with a line of perplexity between her arched brows. "aren't you leaving him very soon?" he hesitated, and then answered slowly: 420 return "dr. martin is with him. i have to go to heerut. it's not only my work. i've heard that ayeshi's somewhere in these parts, and i've got to find him." "what do you want with ayeshi?" she asked, no less deliberately. "i've got to bring him back. i only heard yesterday of the suspicion which sent him into hiding, and, i am afraid, to the devil. the suspicion is unwarranted. he's got to come back and be cleared." "poor ayeshi!" she said under her breath. he nodded, his eyes darkened with pain. "he has suffered horribly and unjustly." "needlessly!" she corrected vehemently. "uselessly! who minds sacrifice or suffering or injustice so long as the end-the purpose is clear and attained? it's the pitiable uselessnessshe broke off, tapping the ground with an exasperated foot. but he had heard the tears in her voice. "isn't that the horror of all suffering?" he asked, wearily -"its apparent uselessness? we can only hope it leads somewhere." "oh, for pity's sake don't be platitudinous!" she burst out. "it's almost as though i was listening to anne talking." "my wife!" he reminded her sharply. "oh, you are very loyal!" she retorted. he was silent a moment, and then laughed, covering over his own pallor. "it's only a sense of justice. a wife isn't responsible for the poor qualities of her husband's brains, is she?" return 421 "she may be responsible for his becoming a sleek prig," she said cruelly, then, with a quick, almost girlish gesture of appeal: "don't be angry, major tristram! the heat has disagreed with me mentally and physically. let's talk of something else. tell me something about your mother." he looked at her, puzzled, and naïvely pleased. "what shall i tell you about her?" he asked. "oh, i don't know-tell me if she is well and happy." he bent down to stroke the dog at his feet, hiding his face. "i believe she is. in her last letter she hoped to live to welcome us both home" "will that hope be gratified, major tristram?" "i fear not," he answered unsteadily. she was silent, looking wistfully ahead into the white sunlight. "ever since that day i saw her picture and heard her story i have been interested in your mother," she said at last. "she is the sort of woman whom one wants to be happy-whose happiness one would like to shelter to the end." "one can't protect another's happiness," he said. "i've learned that much." "i also," she said gravely. he straightened up. his blue eyes rested on her face with a treacherous, smouldering trouble. "i can't help feeling that you're you're suffering," he said. "it's the only thing i'm quick at guessing at -if it's only physical-please go in and-and rest" 422 return she shook her head. there was a tenderness in her faint smile which a woman may feel for some big, clumsy, loving boy. "i'm not tired. i come down here every day and watch life go past." 'sigrid99 he faltered. "does that mean that you are very lonely?" 99 she "no-not very. my husband is always away now. mrs. boucicault and mary come sometimes—and even mrs. brabazone. i think they all love me, but they can't alter circumstances, and it makes them desperately unhappy. often i wish they wouldn't come waited a moment, studying his set features with a pitying knowledge. "i know what you're thinking, major tristram. you're comparing this life with the golden palaces and the mountain-tops, with my splendid living and splendid dying." she burst out laughing and patted him on the arm. "oh, my innocent friend, don't you know us mortals better than that-don't you know how we love to air our borrowed souls and talk largely and pompously about the ideals we've cribbed out of a novel? there is nothing in it—nothing. i just sold myself for an easy life in a mud hut in the valley. let that comfort you." he threw back his head, looking her full in the face. "that's a lie," he said. "you must have loved greatly. for a full minute they remained staring at each other in defiant silence. and under his unhappy eyes her expression changed and grew careless and indifferent. "well—perhaps you're right, perhaps i did love with return 423 all my heart." she held out her hand. "but i am very, very tired now. the heat is appalling. i wish you god speed, major tristram." he scarcely touched her. he swung himself up into the saddle with a suddenness which startled arabella into a youthful curvet. the tabbies mewed protest, and tristram laid his hand soothingly on their basket. then he looked down and saw sigrid standing at his knee. the change in her held him motionless for all that every nerve in him ached for motion and action. her small, pale face lifted itself to his in breathless eagerness; her parted lips quivered, the eyes were fiery with the glitter of sternly mastered tears. "tristram-tell me are all the old dreams gone?" she asked huskily. his mouth under the short ruddy moustache hardened. "i am going back to find them." "that's well-go back, tristram. they may be all that are left any of us at the end. our dreams are realreality is nothing. see-!" she laid her hand on her breast with a curious gesture of self-accusation. "i am all your wife would call me—just a mean, soulless fortunehunter. you've found me out. there is not one fine or noble or high thing in me and yet your vision of the woman who danced that night, who has played to you the finest music in the world is no illusion, but the truth. keep it remember it. perhaps"-she smiled faintly"your memory of her may bring undine to her soul." he looked away from her. "i can't help myself" he said roughly. 424 return 99 "don't try. let us keep all the beauty that we can.' she laid her hand on arabella's long neck and stroked it caressingly. and now something elfish and illusive dawned under her expression of intense earnestness. "do you remember-you used to go down to the temple when the moon rose and dream you saw me dance among the ruins"" "i was a romantic boy-half crazed with loneliness" he broke in with repressed vehemence. "the moon rises tonight," she said, so gently that he scarcely heard her. yet something insistent, patient in her forced him to meet her eyes. he saw that they were dry and brilliant, tragically exultant. they betrayed her careless smile, the affectation of demure mockery with which she once more gave him her hand. "major tristram, i have a foolish presentiment that we shall meet just once again-and after that no more. good-bye till then." he did not answer. she turned lightly away from him. and he rode on down towards the valley. chapter ix for the last time memory has many merciless weapons, but none keener, crueller than a room which has belonged to our dead. who amongst us has escaped that moment of return after what seems the culmination of all agonies when the mere position of a chair, a glove thrown down idly and forgotten, a little touch of familiar disorder tears open the freshly and shows us on our way to a new, seemingly endless road of pain? closed grave something of that impotent grief laid hands on tristram as he stood on the threshold of his old home. the barely furnished room was as he had left it that night of meredith's visit. an instinct had forbidden his return. shortly afterwards he had gone to trichinopoly to be married, and since then the place had stood deserted. the camp-bed had been tidied by meredith's conscientious hand, and the few breakfast things washed and replaced, but there was cigarette ash on the table and the lamp stood where it had burnt between them. it had a grey, dead look, as though it had burnt itself out. the chair where he had sat in that final hour of reckoning expressed vividly the movement with which he had risen. 425 426 for the last time there were small, regular fragments of torn cardboard beneath the table, and the dust lay thick and white over them like a shroud. the dust was everywhere. it veiled the photograph of his mother so that he could not see her face. and the dead man whose personality the place expressed so poignantly was himself. he felt towards it as a spirit may do, looking down on the body which it has quitted for ever. not years, but a deep, narrow gulf of experience separated him from the grown boy who had lived out his joyous, romantic creed between these wooden walls, who had striven and dreamed in their cool solitude, and gone thence day after day to fight the bitterest of all realities, human suffering, himself living in a world of his own imagining. looking back, he saw that those had been winged days of inspiration. he saw that in his dreams he had stood close to the inner life of men which is greater than reality and had seen visions and been dimly, gloriously aware of great truths. these things had gone from him. he stood with his feet planted on firm earth and knew nothing but the dust and the turmoil and the darkness. but because there was stern stuff in him, he went about `his work patiently. with the help of the servant who accompanied him, he dusted and tidied like a woman, unpacked his medicine-chest and set out his instruments in their glass cases. the two tabbies which he had set at liberty prowled disconsolately about their old home, seeming to miss something. he called to them and fed them, but they did not respond, and presently they slipped for the last time 427 out into the street and vanished. he let them go. he felt that they would not return. they had forgotten him and had grown wild in their captivity. the brief dusk which precedes the indian night shrouded the village street, when at last, his work done, he came out and closed the door of the hut behind him. the street was empty. that fact did not as yet appear strange to him, for the murderous heat of the day, far from relaxing, seemed to have become intensified and hung thick and sullen in the tainted air. overhead the sky threw off its brazen robes and came out in a luminous purple, whose darker brilliancy was no less sinister. as yet there was no sign of the break for which the land waited in gasping agony. tristram went on his way towards the cross-roads. he passed a little group of old men returning from the river and would have spoken to them, but they salaamed and there was something in that ceremonious greeting, in their stony, expressionless faces which chilled the blood and forced him to go on wordless. it was dark by the time he reached the council-tree. as he approached he had heard a murmur of voices, which were hushed as his shadow loomed up over the circle of squatting figures. in the brightening starlight, he recognized lalloo in the place of honour at the foot of the battered idol. other forms he recognized, and for the first time he became aware that he had seen only old men since his return. the circle greeted him gravely. he sat down at lalloo's side and filled his pipe. he talked of the drought and of 428 for the last time the coming famine and asked after those he knew. the glowing bowl of his pipe threw a dull reflection on his face, and he felt that their eyes were fixed on him. they answered his questions with a measured slowness as though each word had to be chosen and weighed, and when his questions ceased they too became silent. one after another a shadow rose from the circle and glided out into the darkness. presently only lalloo remained. tristram got up. "tell me," he said, "what is happening here?" lalloo lifted himself slowly and stood deferentially bowed, his hand caressing his beard. "nothing, sahib." tristram smoked placidly. "that is a lie, lalloo. once you were my friend." "it is long since the dakktar sahib lived amongst us.' "is friendship forgotten from one day to another?" "there is a saying, sahib, that it must be won every day afresh." tristram was silent for a moment, hiding from the other's eyes how sure and deadly the thrust had been. then he shrugged his shoulders. "i'm afraid fate means to give me another chance to serve you and win your friendship, lalloo." "the wheel turns but once in a life-time,' enigmatic answer. was the "that may be. well, i don't intend to cadge for your good-will. i shall stay here and see you through whatever for the last time 429 is coming. in the meantime, tell me where can i find ayeshi?" lalloo gave no sign. "ayeshi comes no more." he said. "doesn't he?" tristram laughed grimly. "well, the next time he doesn't come, will you tell him that i must see him. perhaps his friendship will have worn better. tell him that he may return to us in safety and honour." "there is no return for ayeshi, sahib." "dead?" lalloo glanced up through the darkness into the englishman's face. for a minute his own manner changed, losing something of its impassive reticence. "sahib, there are things which no man may forget and prosper. for the sake of one memory-leave here, leave gaya-there is an illness coming which even the cunning hand of the dakktar sahib cannot stay99 "is that a threat, lalloo? do you know me so little that you think i should turn tail99 the old money-lender lifted his hand almost with authority. "no man can change the course of his fate, sahib. but i have paid my debt." he salaamed and slipped away into the irregular silhouette which the tumble-down huts threw into the palelylit street. tristram lingered a moment. his pipe had gone out, and he lit it again with an affectionate care, which covered tension. an instinct, more delicate than a seismograph, inherited from men who had learnt at bitter cost the signi430 for the last time ficance of a glance, had warned him. it fed itself on the unbroken silence, on the fevered, palpitating heat. the bo-tree, whose leaves quivered to the faintest breath, was still as though it, too, was aware of an approaching change and listened for its footfall. the very light which filtered down from the stars and poured in a pale stream between the black banks of the street carried with it a suggestion of a near and brooding menace. tristram walked slowly up towards the northern entrance of the village. in the past he would not have walked alone. there would have been ayeshi on one side of him and some woe-begone villager on the other, with wickie scampering in and out among the shadows, pursuing, with the uncrushable optimisim of his kind, the elusive mouse. and tristram, listening in memory to those past sounds and voices, was overwhelmed, not with a sense of an invisible danger, but with a bitter loneliness. he had now only one desire, and that to get away from these silent, watching walls, out into the open. he walked fast, but by the time he had reached the narrow road along the river the first bar of moonlight had struck across the valley. he stood still again, for beneath the sullen muttering of the water he had heard other sounds. two horsemen rode out of the shadow. he made way for them, and as they came abreast the man nearest to him turned his head, so that the light fell full on to his face. tristram sprang to the horse's head, forcing the startled animal to its haunches. the rider made no sound, but his companion turned about instantly and bore down upon for the last time 431 tristram as though to force him back into the river. in that swift course of action not a word had been spoken on either side. the englishman held his ground. with an iron skill, he dragged the plunging horse about so that it came between him and his aggressor, who reined in frantically on the very verge of the steep and muddy bank. "ayeshi!" tristram exclaimed, imperatively. the hindu peered down into his face. the recognition for which tristram waited with passionate hope did not come. ayeshi drew himself up in the saddle. the hope was dead you've got to listen "let me pass, major tristram.” tristram laughed between his teeth. in him. "no, by the lord, i won't. to me first. i don't know what devil's game you're playing, but i know what you've done-what you've sacrificed for me you've got to listen-i've a right to ask this of youthe second rider burst out laughing. tristram could not see his face, but the laugh had a familiar ring. a pale satiric smile quivered at ayeshi's mouth. "i have ceased to be your servant, major tristram!” "have you ceased to be my friend as well?" he waited. he heard a whispered appeal. ayeshi's companion shifted his position and tristram, though he could see nothing, knew that he was now covered by a revolver. he knew, too, that it was no threat but an intention. death tugged at the leash. he drew himself up to meet it. had he possessed a weapon, he would not have sought to defend himself. an overwhelming indifference akin to relief rested on him. he released ayeshi's 432 for the last time bridle and stood back a step. he was like a drowning man, fighting off the final and fatal apathy. "is there no memory, ayeshi, which gives me the right to appeal to you?" he asked. the smile faded from the hindu's haggard features. he threw back the loose white sleeve from his arm and pointed to the wrist. "there is one memory, major tristram, against a hundred wrongs with which your race has afflicted me and mine. that memory has saved you. a life for a life" he made a gesture of proud authority. the next instant, both men were riding at a fast canter into the darkness. tristram listened absently to the water as it poured over the rhythmic thud of hoofs, till there was no sound left but its own languid murmur. the indifference with which he had faced the end receded from him like a narcotic before the returning tide of pain. he saw now that in that moment death had seemed not so much a release as a blotting out of failure, a passing on to the hope of a new and greater achievement. for he had failed. upon the recognition ayeshi had set the seal. he had ploughed and sown and watered the acre of earth which had been given to him in stewardship, and there was no harvest. he had poured out his strength and faith over that beloved ground, and it lay before him in hard unfruitfulness. the magnitude of his bankruptcy staggered and stupefied him. it would have been better for others had ayeshi forgotten his debt-better for anne, entangled innocently in the mesh of his blunders, for his mother who would have seen in that death only a mysterious, tragic repetition. both for the last time 433 would have been spared the pitiable anti-climax of his career, one at least the publicity of an incomprehensible dishonour. he stood at the edge of the water, listening to its luring whisper as it slid past in the blackness beneath him, thinking of those two women. for in them he had worked out his creed of happiness, in them he had failed most utterly. one other woman indeed crossed his thought, but she stood apart, neither failure nor success, but a golden figure of enigma, a fancy, a dream that had become a reality, and had separated itself from him and gone into the turmoil and mystery of life, a separate individuality lost to him forever. the moon rose slowly and majestically above gaya's mountain. it poured its pale splendour over the plain and changed the black-flowing river into a polished, glittering road of silver. the man wrestling with his last problem stood in the midst of the light, his shadow thrown in gigantic outline against the high-standing grasses. and little by little the light permeated his greater darkness and reached his knowledge. he lifted his eyes from the black temptation and despair of the waters to the faintly shadowed disk rising in serene immortality amidst the music of her million worshippers. and suddenly the tension and horror passed from him. he lifted his arms above his head with a gesture of release and greeting. his stifled lungs drew in the iife which came down to him from those vast heights of infinity. this much remained; for the foolish and the wise, for the successful and the failures, for lazarus starving in the gutter and the rich man starving at his loaded table-the 28 434 for the last time earth's godliness, man's oneness with her and with his brother, as yet but dimly felt and broken by devastating storms of passion, yet moving on triumphantly to the divine, far-off event of perfect unity. thus in his isolation he was not alone, but could reach out in fellowship to the whole earth. it did not matter that he had failed. others would follow stronger and wiser than himself. they would till his barren acre-perhaps out of his very dust would spring the harvest which had been denied him. the moment's ecstasy passed, but behind it followed a deep and healing serenity. he walked on slowly. "our dreams are real—reality is nothing," sigrid had said, and now the words were illuminated with his own knowledge. they gave her back to him. they lifted her figure out of the sordid ugliness of the events which had blurred and marred his vision of her. he had known her best when he had known her least, and as he knew her so she would belong to him and go down with him through all the years. he reached the temple gateway. he did not know nor care what power had drawn him there. he stood in the entrance looking into the moon-flooded court, remembering those far-off nights when he had come there to picture her as he had seen her amidst the trumperies of a stage churchyard, transfiguring them with the energizing spirit of her genius. his imagination had painted her amidst the grandeur of these broken pillars. in his romantic fancy it had not seemed incongruous that she should dance against the background of an alien thought and art. fearlessly he had linked beauty with beauty, perfection with perfection. for the last time 435 and as he stood there gazing down the softly radiant avenue of columns towards the black entrance to the antarila he saw her. he knew one moment's agony of doubt, of fear, of mental disintegration as though the marvel of it had torn down the walls of his mind and spirit, thrusting him out into a bottomless void. then, as a falling bird spreads out its wings and swings back in safety to its old heights, his mind rose out of the moment's chaos and went to her in passionate recognition. it did not matter then whether she was fancy or reality, whether he was sane or mad. the splendour and wonder of it was all. at first she was a shadow among shadows. she seemed to hover on the verge of the light as a thought hovers on the verge of form. then, without effort, seemingly without movement, so still and quiet did she hold her whole body, she glided out of the darkness, and, with her arms raised above her head, her face lifted to the flood of moonlight, she stood still, sur la pointe, poised in attitude of joyful waiting. she wore the low bodice and short, full skirts of the old classic ballet. a slender wreath of laurel crowned the smooth, fair head. though as yet she stood afar off from him, he knew that her eyes laughed, that her mouth was open in that wide, frank smile of happiness, that she was breathing deep with the foretaste of ecstasy. he knew, too, for what she waited-for the bar of music which should set her free. it came at last. he heard it rush down through the stillness. it caught her up on its crest and swept her 436 for the last time down the path of silver towards him. he knew it and recognized it. its delirious beauty poured through his blood. and even if his instinct had not seized it she would have taught him. her movements, her hands, her feet, her body sang it to him. she danced. even in these moments when all clear thought was suspended he knew that this was something that his generation had never seen. it was the final word of a great art, often debased, now lifted to the heights where the soul pours through the body to triumphant expression. she danced. her shadow rose and fell upon the grey, time-defaced columns not more silently. there was no technical feat that she did not strike like a note of music in her passage, but the marvel of it was lost. as the daring flight of a gull, swooping from precipice to precipice, becomes a simple thing of ease and beauty, so her laughing, dangerous steps over the uneven flags seemed no more than an instinctive, effortless volition. as the brook leaps and sparkles over its rocky bed, now in sunlight, now in shadow, now rushing forward in headlong eagerness, now caught in a clear pool and held an instant in quivering suspense, so joyously and fearlessly she passed from the quick, brilliant passage of the waltz to its slower, deeper movement. she danced. and it was a religion. amongst the shades of departed worshippers she was the living spirit. she called them back from their dust-strewn oblivion to the rites of their mystic faith. she leapt the barriers of time and race. the ruined hindu temple, its towering sikhara for the last time 437 rising up over its holy mystery to the stars, identified itself with her; she became its priestess, it became her natural background, the splendid shrine of her genius. she danced. as david danced before the lord, so she offered up the incense of her art to whatever was divine in that crumbling monument to man's faith in god. greater than prayer or praise was the joy of her body and the laughter of her face lifted to the moonlight. her she danced. she had the austerity of nature. appeal to the senses was the appeal of a flower, of a butterfly's wing, of a lark singing amidst the azure, of the forest and the mountain and the running water. it was the appeal by which the earth calls men back to their sonship and the knowledge of her divinity. she danced. and to the man who watched her she was all things that he had ever loved, ever believed in, ever hoped for. a cloud passed over the moon and threw the temple into obscurity. she was for the moment only the shadow of herself. it seemed to him that the music had broken off and that she too had faltered. then, as the light came out from behind the drifting darkness, he saw her glide down the avenue of columns, on tip-toe, her arms raised, her small fair head thrown back as though she drank in the growing radiance. but her expression had changed. her face had a look of child-like awe, of breathless, startled wonder. she danced. it was the apotheosis. she came like a leaf blown before the wind and like a leaf sank slowly to the ground. she was so small, so frail 438 for the last time and white, she seemed no more than a flower lying on the great stone flags beneath the pillars. he ran out to her. he knelt beside her and gathered her up with her head against his knee, calling her by name. but it was only the half-dazed dreamer who called her, for one glance at that white still face, with the faintly shadowed lips, told him that she could not answer. he lifted her in his arms. for all the sick horror that drove its claws into him he was still too much the man of action to hesitate. she was so light. it seemed to him that he carried a tired, sleeping child-someth`ng so frail and tender that his own strength seemed giant-like and almost brutal. he scarcely felt the burden of her, and yet before he reached the outskirts of the village he knew himself broken by her nearness. her warmth enveloped him. he could feel the faint, irregular breath against his cheek. a perfume more subtle than a flower's reached his senses and stirred them to an exaltation that was beyond reason, far beyond desire. her face rested against his shoulder and he could have bent and touched her cheek with his lips. he did not. he carried a holy thing—a vessel into which the creator had poured all beauty-a lamp whose flame of genius flickered beneath the breath of death, a woman whom he loved with all the force and passion of his manhood. beneath great banks of sullen cloud rolling up over the moon's silvered field, the village slept or seemed to sleep. he strode through its forbidding silence like a man possessed. he had become invulnerable, omnipotent. there was no force on earth that he could not have met and scorned in that hour save the invisible spectre stalking at his elbow. for the last time 439 he reached his hut at last and laid her on the camp-bed. he lit the lamp and with ruthless, ski ful fingers ripped open the close-fitting bodice about her breast. he forced a stimulant between the blue lips. in everything he was as swift and sure as though no fear knocked at his heart, as though his own pulses beat with the smoothness of old custom. it was done at last-all that he could do. she lay there in her deep unconsciousness like a fair princess from a child's dream. the laurel wreath had freed itself from the pale gold of her hair and fallen back upon her pillow, making a dark frame for her ethereal pallor. he took it gently and laid it on the table. up to that moment he had held himself in an iron calm, but the touch of that simple ornament, with its poignant significance, struck deeper than all his memories. he turned to her and knelt down beside her, pressing the still hand to his lips in an agony of helpless pity. the seconds passed. each one, for the man kneeling there, was measured by the sound of the quick-drawn, shallow breath. each one, as it passed, left behind a deepening hope. his fingers rested on her pulse, and as though his will drew her back from the depths into which she had been sinking, he felt it slowly steady and strengthen. and suddenly he looked up, knowing that her eyes were open. they were very clear-very peaceful. they looked down into his haggard face with a wondering tenderness. her lips moved. twice she essayed to speak. he drew closer to her. 440 for the last time "wasn't it the end?" she whispered. he shook his head. he could not have answered her. “isn't it the end, tristram? i'm-i'm dying, am i not? tell me -i'm not afraid-not very-tell me "no-please god—" she smiled with a ghostly touch of her old mockery. "you--you believe in god, tristram. do you care so much?" "yes i care." she lifted her little hand as though it was almost too heavy a burden for her weakness, and laid it on his bowed head. "it doesn't matter what we say to each other now-we don't need to pretend. i'd hoped there would be no coming back, but now i'm glad. i love you, tristram." "i love you," he answered. and therewith there came silence and peace into his tumult. the warring events of their lives poured into a deep and tranquil river flowing on irresistibly seawards. they knew now with the great certainty which comes in such moments that there was no end, no power in heaven or earth to blot out that simple confession and all that it must mean, now and in whatever hereafter awaited them. he could look into her face over which death had passed its hand, without fear, almost without pain. she too had ceased to suffer. her hand caressed him softly. "i knew you would come, tristram." "i had to—all the time i was coming to you." "i danced for you. i've never danced like that before -it was the last timefor the last time 44i "sigrid-if you knew-why did you do it?-why have you hurt us both?" "have i hurt you?" she drew herself up a little, looking down at him with an exquisite compassion in her fading eyes. "dear, it was to make you happy-to give you back all you had lost-i wanted you to see me at the last on the mountain-top-in my golden palace-don't you remember? not in decay and ugliness—but in beauty." "it has always been in beauty!" he cried out in passionate protest. she shook her head. her eyes no longer saw him. they were fixed ahead on some brightening vision. "not always. you and i-we saw the same sunrise but we were afar off from each other. we stood on different mountain-peaks-there was a great valley between, which one of us had to cross before we could stand together. and one night-i couldn't bear to be so far off from you— and i saw that your mountain-peak was higher than mine and nearer to the sun-and i made up my mind. i came down from my heights and went through the valley. it was so ugly-quagmire and darkness-and loathsome things sometimes i felt i could never be clean againand sometimes that i should not have the strength to reach you-and in that time you could not see me-but in the end we stood together-we're near each other now, tristram-"' her voice faded into an exhausted silence. he knew that her mind was clouded with a rising mist of old memories, old doubts and struggles. he could not wholly under442 for the last time 1 stand, and yet the recognition of an immeasurable, fearlessly born suffering came to him with her broken, fevered murmurs. he bowed his face upon her hands. "my mountain heights-oh, sigrid, they have been low enough-if you knew how low" "i know everything-everythinghe was silent. the certainty, serene and complete, broke in a shaft of light through his darkness. he lifted his face to hers. her eyes were closed. her fair head had fallen a little on one side in an attitude of great weariness. slowly, in answer to his imperative appeal, her eyes opened. they were at first dim and expressionless as though she withdrew her sight from some inner vision. "everything-sigrid?" "everything," she answered. "barclay"" "he told me-but i knew more-i knew everything. because i loved you i understood." a fine, contemptuous smile touched her suffering lips. "i knew anne, too. i knew how she had chosenhe got up, driven to his feet by an intolerable knowledge. "then you shielded me99 "do you grudge me that little comfort?" she whispered. then as he stood staring down at her, she made a little helpless effort to touch his hand. "bracelet-brother -you mustn't be too proud99 “oh, god——" he burst out. "it isn't that don't you know i love you too-and you've suffered” "i've lived as i wished to live," she said with a sudden for the last time 443 thrilling clearness, "and when i couldn't help you any more -when i saw that it was all useless i made an end-my end. i didn't mean to tell you-i meant to leave you a perfect memory-and to go silently. but you called me back. you made me-if you love me-you will be glad." she struggled up on to her elbow, gasping for breath, and he saw the greyness creeping to her cheeks. he turned to fetch fresh stimulants, but she clung to him with an incredible strength. "no-stay with me, tristram-these must be perfect minutes-we've earned them-they're ours-there's nothing to regret—a happy death-it's what we live for-i'm happy-madly happy. stay with me, tristram-don't leave me in all this darknesshe dropped to his knees beside her. he slipped his arm beneath her shoulders, holding her in an embrace of desperate tenderness. she threw back her head, smiling. "kiss me, tristram." their lips met. she fell back with a short sigh and lay still, her mouth a little open as though in the midst of a laughing triumph she had fallen asleep. but presently she stirred and drew closer to him. "happy, tristram?” "yes," he answered. and indeed all anguish, all fear had gone from them both. they had gone down together into a sea in which there was no thought, no memory, no desire. the coming night enclosed them, shielding them from the future. "it's because i'm dyingthen suddenly she laughed softly, contentedly. "those steps-in the fast 444 for the last time movement-no one-no one has ever dared them-no one has ever danced like that-it was a great triumph-the greatest99 he bent and touched her forehead with his cheek, soothing her. she smiled a little as though in gratitude, and sighing, fell asleep. he did not move. he knelt there listening to her breathing. it hypnotized him, drowning his consciousness in its sweet, unbroken rhythm. it conveyed no meaning to him. he had passed out of the regions of hope and dread into the serenity of resignation. far off, in some other world, he heard the whisper of rain, the patter of heavy drops in the dust-laden street. he heard voices-exultant, hysterical. a pregnant coolness crept into the suffocating quiet. he knew that the drought had broken-that the rains had come. but it was another world. in this world there was nothing but himself and this one woman. he bent lower to catch a murmur from her parted lips. one small hand still rested on his breast, clinging to him. its hold was greater than death-stronger than the threat of life. it drew him down with her into her peace. she awoke as the grey, rain-swept dawn crept sullenly through the open doorway. only little by little had she fought back the engulfing oblivion. the shadow of the man standing beside her, watching her, had loomed huge and unreal. but now she saw his face and knew him. "tristram!" she whispered. for the last time 445 he seemed to draw himself up to a greater height. his features were haggard and painted with the livid pallor of the light. "a messenger has gone to gaya," he said. "they will send smithy with a litter" "tristram-i'm going to live?" "yes," he said, "the danger is over." they looked away from one another, finding no word of comfort. the glamour of the night dropped from them. they had drunk of death, and of that intoxicated hour nothing remained but the bitter aftermath of life—an anti-climax, tragic and pitiful, half-grotesque, a little sordid. and as two travellers who have reached what seemed their journey's end only to find the desert stretched before them, they faced the grey, unending road of their future. chapter x anne chooses outwardly the scene was commonplace enough. women, for all their supposed emotional weakness, have for the greater part a knack of facing the graver crises with a deliberate and almost prosaic calm. and for one woman at least in that quiet room the moment could not have been more bitter, more fraught with ugliness and humiliation. yet she sat very straight, very composed, tearing down the sanctity of her life without a quiver. "you must think it very strange of me to come to you like this," she said, "but i had the feeling that, whatever else you would do, you would be frank with me. and i must know the truth. i must know where i stand. i must know what you are to my husband, mrs. barclay." she looked straight at her companion as she spoke. she was not conscious of her own insolence. her words had been forged in a fortnight's agony and had cost too much in their utterance to allow consciousness of any hurt but her own. moreover, to her the pale, delicate-faced woman opposite her had no claim to her consideration. she was "one of those others" whom the remnant of man's prime favourite, the victorian female, passes with gathered 446 anne chooses 447 skirts. for in anne's catalogue of humanity there were as yet only two varieties of her sex, the sexually virtuous and the sexually immoral. they were accordingly good women or bad women, no matter what other failings or qualities they might possess. or, in a word, a woman's loyalty to her husband, prospective or actual, was all that mattered in anne's eyes. mrs. barclay, she knew, was a bad woman. sigrid regarded her thoughtfully from beneath the shadow of her hand. "you are insulting me, mrs. tristram," she said, "but i do not think you mean it. i think you are unhappy, and that is excuse enough. won't you explain exactly what you mean?" "i'm sure you know," anne answered unsparingly. "you were always-i don't know how to express it-but it seemed to me to a great many people-that you tried to entangle my husband-before our marriage—. i could have borne that. i knew my husband so well. in many ways he is careless and unconventional. he doesn't recognize evil easily. but now-now it's different." she halted, fighting the tremor in her voice. it was the first trace of emotion that she had shown, and, in spite of her prim brutality, it was curiously pathetic. "since the the scandal in the temple-i've felt i couldn't bear it any longer. people have talked-they think-oh, i know— though they hide it from me—and i can't do anything. i can't because i don't know" "you don't know what?” "whether it's true." 448 anne chooses "wouldn't it be best-fairer to ask your husband?” there was a moment's silence. the splash of the rain on the trees of the compound sounded dismally in the room's stillness. sigrid shifted her position. she leant forward a little as though to look closer into her visitor's face. the small white hand on her knee clenched itself. but anne turned her face away from the intent, weary eyes. she bit her lips desperately. "i can't" she said. "i can't-that's just it" a tear rolled down her cheek. she brushed it away flurriedly, but the knowledge of her weakness broke down the wall of pride and anger which she had built up in her loneliness. "i can't because i sent him away. we'd quarrelled-no, it wasn't a quarrel-it was something worse than that-and-and he let me choose-and i told him to go. i was very wicked-very unjust. a wife's business is to forgive everything. i see that. but it's too late. he's gone, and now-now i've no one99 it was not what she had meant to say. she had meant to be grave and dignified and judicial, and instead she was crying quietly. but now that the dam was broken her pent-up unhappiness flooded over her irresistibly. she had been intensely lonely. she had no great friend to turn to, and her instincts tended to a stern reserve where marital relations were concerned. she had hidden her growing fears and remorse under a cloak of indifference. then had come the wild story of the temple, of sigrid barclay's night spent in tristram's hut, of her supposed dangerous illness, of her apparently swift recovery. then gaya had begun to whisper, and those whisperings had been more anne chooses 449 than she could bear. she had meant only to seek the truth-instead she had poured out her overladen heart to the woman she most hated. sigrid got up slowly and went to the verandah. she stood for a minute with her raised hand resting on the lintel, gazing out into the rain-soaked gardens. the moist air was full of fragrance and reviving life. when she turned at last there was a splash of colour in her pale cheeks. "mrs. tristram, send for your husband-go to him. he is the sort of man who doesn't need to forgive." "i can't." "you love him"" "i couldn't go to him until i knew" "—that you had nothing to forgive?” anne's silence answered. sigrid studied her with no shadow of change on her own palely composed features. "we're two women, mrs. tristram," she said, "and that makes many impossible things possible—it makes it possible, for instance, though we dislike one another, for us to be honest—even about the man we both love." anne lifted her wet, piteously twisted face. "then it's true?" "it's true that i love him." she played absently with one of the little silver ornaments on the table beside her, and then added: "it is true also that i offered myself to him, though i never meant to marry him-threw myself at his head. and that he refused me"he didn't care -?" sigrid, glancing up, caught that look of mingled disgust 29 450 anne chooses and hope and fear, but it was the hope and fear alone that had significance. "he had asked you to marry him. he told me that there could only be one woman in his life—and that woman his wife." "that is true?" "i give you my word of honour." anne sat very still. the tears were dry on her cheeks. she held herself rather as she had done at the beginning. "and then-that night—a fortnight ago99 "ah, the temple?" she smiled faintly. "you won't understand that so well. you see, i am a mixture of a great artist and a bad woman. and artistically i have always realized how beautiful i should be against such a background. it was an artistic freak-though i daresay the woman in me had a spiteful hope that major tristram might chance that way and realize all he had lost. anyhow, my heart failed me. your husband acted the good samaritan; and that is the whole story." "if that is true i have done my husband a great wrong." "i think you have." anne rose with a vague little gesture. it seemed to indicate barriers over which no reproof could pass. she was quite composed now. the strain and insolence had gone out of her manner, which was faintly patronizing. "i have to thank you for your frankness. i—i shan't ever feel quite the same to you as i have done. indeed -i hardly understand. you say you dislike me and yet you've told me all this" "that's because most unscrupulous people are goodanne chooses 451 natured," sigrid answered with careless amusement. she helped herself to a cigarette, aware that by so doing she was living up to anne's conception of her. "you see, it doesn't cost me anything. this particular incident is closed as far as i am concerned, and you might as well enjoy the benefit of the truth. i am conscious that i tried to hurt you, and i'm sorry." anne nodded. "i'm sorry, too," she said primly. she went towards the door and there hesitated nervously. "you're you're leaving gaya, are you not?" "yes, soon. my husband's business here is finished. it is very fortunate." "yes-very fortunate." she lifted her eyes to sigrid, realizing for an instant why gaya had called her beautiful. an incredible impulse seized her, but she thrust it down in scorn and self-disgust. she made a little tentative movement as though to hold out her hand, and then turned and went out without a word. after all, it was the only thing to do. now that her worst fears were over she saw that the scene had been preposterous, but she was a little thrilled by her own action as conventional people are when they have ventured out of their rut. she had met sin on her own ground and worsted her. in some dim way she believed that she had fought for tristram and his happiness. her anger against him had died-had been transmuted into pity. she saw that behind his bigness he was weak and easily led. well, it was her task to lead him, to protect him. she was his wife. she drove homewards through the steady downpour 452 anne chooses with an exalted consciousness of a duty done and of a clear road before her. she knew now what she had to do. it meant sacrifice because she no longer loved, but sacrifice was a glorious prerogative. in it one found peace and happiness. she was happier already. as she passed the little tin chapel her happiness clamoured for expression, for thanksgiving. she ordered the syce to wait for her, and a moment later she was kneeling in her old place, to the right of the pathetic altar, thanking god for the light that had been granted her. at first she did not see meredith. there were only two side-windows through which the grey light filtered, sinking drearily on to the place's bleak unloveliness, and the figure bowed down before the altar was in shadow and motionless in its utter, almost passionate prostration. but presently he rose slowly to his feet and turned. the lower part of his body was still in darkness, but his face was in the light, lifted to it. and to anne, who now saw him, its hideousness was sublime. she saw in it the seal of god set on his martyr. her intuition flashed down into the depths of the man's patient soul, more seared and scarred even than those dreadful features, and the compassion which she poured out to him was other than her pity for her husband. it was understanding. in truth it was not pity, but she gave that name to it. he saw her. even though the twilight separated them she knew he faltered. she knew the memories that had driven the dark blood into those scars. and she too remembered-all her girlhood and all her girlhood's prayers and fancies which had been born in this poor room. she anne chooses 453 was a woman now. the fancies had been foolish and childish. she had flung away reality for them. well, she would take up her cross. meredith came towards her and took her outstretched hand. "when i saw you it was as though all the old times had come back again," he said with a grave smile. "i came in for quiet," she answered. "i wanted toto thank god for something. and now i've found youmay i speak with you?" he nodded silently and led her into the tiny side-room, where he changed his vestments and gave lessons to a few pariah children who accepted his doctrine in exchange for a certain social status. he offered her the one chair, but she remained standing. "i have just seen mrs. barclay, owen," she said. "i went to see her. it may seem a dreadful thing to have done and it was dreadful-but i know that i did right. she confessed to me." he looked at her and then down at the papers littered on the table. "what did she confess?" "that some of the wretched scandal which has associated her with tristram was true. she did try to drag my husband into a horrible intrigue. but she failed. she swore to me, and i believe it was the truth." "i think mrs. barclay would speak the truth," he said meditatively. "she is shameless," anne retorted with a flash of scorn; "but, at least, now i know that tristram is 454 anne chooses innocent where she is concerned. it is for that i am so thankful." owen meredith drew himself up from his bowed attitude. there was something weary and apathetic in his bearing which was new to her. she felt, with a stab of pain, that he was very ill. "anne-don't you love your husband?" he asked. the feverish blush in her cheeks deepened. but his eyes were grave, even to severity, and admitted no offence. "why, i must love him-he is my husband." his twisted mouth was bitter. "the one thing doesn't always imply the other, anne. men and women are frail. they can't always keep the terrible oaths god makes them swear." "they can do their duty," she interrupted, "as i shall do mine." "duty isn't love," he said. she lifted her head proudly. "it is the best one can give after love has been killed." "has tristram killed your love, anne?" she met his stern gaze unflinchingly. "he has done something i can't forget. i have forgiven it, but i know now how wide the gulf is between us and now 'i can't ever forget it. that's all i can tell you." "anne-anne-we must judge gently—" "i don't judge any one but myself," she answered. "i see that i have been most to blame. i made a great mistake and i accept the consequences. i am going back to my husband." "going back to him?" he echoed heavily. anne chooses 455 she nodded. "i can do nothing here. my father's condition is unchanged. dr. martin is staying on, but he believes that the operation has failed. at any rate, i shall be within reach and my place is at my husband's side. i see that in many ways i could have done more to help him. now i mean to share his life-to stand by him. i am going to heerut." "there's no place for a woman," owen exclaimed. "i think there is. i am a good nurse. i could help him. and out there i should see all that is good in him —oh, owen, i must love and respect him if i can." she lifted her eyes to his and for the moment in which their gaze met they acknowledged to each other the naked, hopeless truth. he turned at last with a broken laugh. "i think hell itself must be paved with useless sacrifice," he said. "oh, owen, don't talk like that-it's terrible. i can't bear it. help me!" "how can i help you?" he asked almost impatiently. "ride with me to heerut this afternoon-take me back to tristram." she did not realize what she asked. she did not see his face. she was possessed with a restless feverish desire for action-to start out on the road she had chosen. "dear, it's not possible. the weather and the roads are too bad. you're not strong enough. a man told me this morning that the river is terribly swollen-dangerous even99 "i am not afraid," she said proudly. "owen, won't you help me this last time?” 456 anne chooses "this last time?" she faltered. "oh, i didn't mean that-it was just a phrase"god knows, it may be the truth-of late i have felt" he broke off and added quickly: "yes, of course i will take you if it can be done." "thank you, owen. i knew you would always help me if you could." "always." their hands met. the tears shone in her eyes, and they were not far from his. he bent and kissed her solemnly between the wet curls on her forehead. "my little sister in god!" he whispered. "dear owen!" and neither of them was conscious of a lie. their hypocrisy was pathetic in its stern sincerity. that same day owen meredith rode with anne to heerut. the pitiless rain, the roads, so deep in mud that their horses had to pick their way at a walk, prolonged the fifteenmile journey into the late afternoon. they scarcely spoke. the strain and physical discomfort kept them silent, and on meredith's part there was an abstraction, a curious detachment which made speech difficult. it was as though somewhere, somehow, a vital link between himself and life had been cut. something was finished-a book had been closed. he knew no more than that, but the vague knowledge numbed even his suffering. from time to time he glanced at his companion, questioning her power to bear so much; but her upright figure, the brilliant flush on her cheek, reassured him. he knew that she was setting out anne chooses 457 on a road of abnegation. he saw how wonderful she was. they reached the new bridge and drew rein for a moment to watch the angry river rush past between the arches. the soffits were already awash. the monstrous flood of roaring water deafened them, and the voice of the engineer who had crawled out of his shanty to watch the progress of events came to them only in gusts. "damnable-you never know where you are these accursed rains-nothing in moderation-my life's workthe lady'd better go back-it's no time to cross"i am going to join my husband," anne said slowly. the man grunted. "better if he joined you," he grumbled. they reached heerut at last and urged their weary horses to a canter down the deserted, evil-smelling street. tristram's hut was empty, but there were signs of a recent habitation—a pipe on the table, some instruments washing in a basin of carbolic, an open book. the dank nakedness of the place drove meredith out of his stupor. “anne, is it wise-hadn't you better come back—you're not strong enough to bear all this privation-" she shook her head with a faint smile. "i'm not strong enough to ride back. besides, i wouldn't. i've set out, and i'm going on." he placed her saddle-bags out of reach of the rain which oozed in through the open doorway. he knew now that he had acquiesced in a reckless, ill-judged adventure, but a spirit of weary fatalism silenced him. perhaps good would come of it—a real and lasting reconciliation. he thought of that night in this very place when he had intervened 458 anne chooses and his whole being winced under the lash of his selfcontempt. he would not intervene again. "so it's good-bye, anne." "good-bye, owen-and thank you.' 99 their hands met. he did not kiss her. though he did not own to it, the presence of tristram was strong in that drear place, and his own passion more vivid, less subdued by resignation than he had believed. "god bless you, anne-i-i-shall pray for you always." "and i for you." such was their leave-taking. there was in it an element of finality which neither analysed nor understood. when the door had closed on him an instant's pang of fear and yearning forced his name from her lips, but he did not hear and she did not call again. she sat down, looking about her. now that she was alone she knew that she was very tired-so tired that even rest offered no relief. at other times, after a long day in the saddle, the thought of sleep had been like a draught of fresh water to a thirsty man, but now it seemed hideously afar off-almost unthinkable. instead her weariness goaded her to movement, whilst her brain was numb. it was as though something mysterious was working up inside her physical being, gathering together for some unknown crisis. she tried to think-to visualize things. she tried to picture tristram's entry and the scene between them. she had gone over it so many times, and now it eluded her. she tried to remember what her husband was like, but could not. a little prayer for strength and guidance came into her mind, but after the first words she forgot that she anne chooses 459 was praying. in despair she drove herself to think of sigrid in this place, of sigrid in her husband's arms; but the picture left her numb and indifferent. her mind rode helpless on a great shoreless sea of exhaustion. nothing mattered but her body, and its rising suffering. her hands and face burnt. the room was stifling. she got up uncertainly to open the door, but on the way remembered her wet things and began to unpack the saddle-bags. in the midst of it she fancied she heard tristram's step and a new desire obtruded itself on her masterless thoughts. she had meant to get a meal ready for him—to make the place homely-to welcome him as his wife, his comrade. she swayed as she drew herself up. she began aimlessly to clear the tablehalf an hour later, when tristram returned, he found his supper waiting for him and his wife unconscious on the ground. the shock, coming as a climax to a fruitless day of labour among men and women who had once loved him and now shrank from his very shadow, did not hinder prompt action. he gathered her up tenderly and laid her on his bed. her clothes were wringing wet, but the fever of her body burnt through them, and, knowing what meredith did not know, he cursed with an anger inspired by pity. he forced a little brandy between her lips, and he was beginning to remove her soaking riding-skirt when her eyes opened. "tris-what's happened? did i faint?-oh, how stupid of me-don't bother-i can manage-i shall be all right in a minute"you must lie still," he said impatiently. "why did 460 anne chooses you come? it was madness. if you had wanted me you could have sent for me. you've made yourself ill." "i don't know-i wanted-" she tried desperately to think, to recall all her plans and motives. they slipped through her fingers. and meanwhile he was tending her skilfully, tenderly. he scarcely heeded her broken muttering. suddenly she stretched out her hand and drew him to her. "tris, i know what it was-i wanted to come to youand tell you that-that-i-i-forgive-i was harshand cruel-i-misjudged. mrs. barclay told me how loyal you had been. i'll stand by you-i'm your wife— it's my duty-i want to do what's right-i'll help youhere-i-" then her body overwhelmed her. it threw her soul to the earth, whining and whimpering. "oh, tris, tris, i'm in such awful pain-such awful pain." "i know," he answered hoarsely, "my poor little anneher eyes turned to his. they cleared for an instant. "tris-you don't think"dear, i'm afraid so. we've got to do the best we can. you mustn't be frightened" she began to cry helplessly. then the pain dried even her tears. she clung to him in a frenzy of agony. "oh, tris-tris-help me” not she passed at last into a merciful unconsciousness. once during that night did she regain knowledge of his presence and yet he knew that even in that mental darkness she suffered as only women are doomed to suffer. watching her, alleviating where he could, he gave no anne chooses 461 thought to the past or future, no thought to the other woman who had lain in the selfsame place, battling with the selfsame enemy. he did not ask himself whether, had this piteous offer of forgiveness been made in the crisis of their lives, it would have stemmed the torrent of events, whether indeed there is any power which can check the course of character and the heart's will. nothing of all that mattered. nothing but this pitiful suffering. he saw anne only in her girlish youth and innocence and ignorance. he saw her as a child ground between life and her own child's beliefs and ideals. she claimed him by the great right of pain. her poor fevered little hand rested in his. even in her unconsciousness she clung to him as though his touch soothed her. but in her delirium she called on owencalled on him incessantlyand in the early hours of the morning her hope was taken from her. owen meredith reached the river shortly before nightfall. the muffled roar of the water sounded louder and nearer than before. as he crossed the bridge he could feel the steel girders quivering under the strain; he could see the yellowish-greyish mass racing from under his feet into the gloom of the coming night. it conveyed nothing to him. he was thinking of anne-praying for her with a dull, stupid persistence. the engineer, encased in waterproof, met him with a torrent of grim abuse. 462 anne chooses "what we poor devils have to put up with! if this blessed thing doesn't hold-i'm dished. bah-india! what the dickens are we doing in this galère? the very elements are against us." he shook himself like a wet dog. "well, you'd better hurry. you'll catch up that fat monkey of a rajah. he's in a towering rage about something somebody been rude to his allmightiness. you'd better soothe him down. there's trouble enough goingmeredith rode on. he did not want to catch up with rasaldû. he was still thinking of anne when the rajah, wet through and mounted on a limping english thoroughbred, loomed up like a ghost in the rain-soaked twilight. he greeted meredith much as the engineer had done. "this rotten climate! look what a mess i'm in. i've just come from heerut-incog. you know. wanted to do the poor beggars a good turn and they threw stones at me-they-they insulted me. it's that damned blackguard barclay. he ought to have been shot. you english are getting too devilish delicate. one's got to hit, and hit hard." he rambled on furiously. meredith understood that rasaldû, without escort, after the fashion of english royalties on their own domains, had sought to act the part of benefactor in heerut and had been repulsed. at another time the incident might have caused meredith a faint amusement, but now he could feel nothing. the desolation of rain and grey, lightless sky pressed down upon him like a stupefying burden. he went on thinking of anne, wondering dully how it was he knew h 1 1 anne chooses 463 so well that he would never see her again. he thought of tristram and pitied him. in that hour he forgot creed and principle. he saw, perhaps for the first time, humanity as one in suffering. two beggars slunk through the mud towards him. they were almost naked. the water ran in streams off their glistening brown skins and matted their beards into black masks. they came up, one to meredith, one to the rajah, whining for alms. meredith threw his man a coin. he did it mechanically. the rajah burst into a fresh stream of curses. he was very wet-very angry. he had been called "swineherd" by his own people and the name rankled like a poisoned dart in his quivering he spurred his horse at the whimpering menflesh. dicant. "get out of my way, you vermin99 something happened. meredith, still weighed down by his own thoughts, was only conscious of a coming change. he half turned to his companion, and as he did so one of the natives sprang past him. it was the leap of a tiger, straight at rasaldu's throat. a gleam of white light streaked through the greyness-a muffled scream ended suddenly by a choking, sickening groan. rasaldû pitched headlong from the saddle. his foot caught in the stirrup. the startled animal swung round and bolted, dragging its rider face-downwards through the mud—a mere inanimate, shapeless bundle. so much meredith saw. he tried to think-to act. but he was like a sleeper waking slowly-too slowlyfrom a narcotic. instinctively he turned to meet his 464 anne chooses own danger. he never saw it. it came noiselessly and quite painlessly. it was like a stupendous stroke of lightning severing the earth under his feet. it sent him spinning through æons of memory and feeling into nothing. chapter xi freedom a covered bullock-wagon which for the last two hours had been struggling with the morass leading up from the valley came to a standstill outside the gates of the barclays' compound. the driver lifted a flap of the canvas covering, and a woman crawled out and clambered stiffly to the ground. she stood for a moment in the steam of the panting and sweating bullocks counting money into the brown calloused palm extended to her in greedy persistence. "no, i shan't want you going back," she said, in answer to his half diffident, half insolent question. "i've come to stop." she gave a little, high-pitched laugh, and, gathering up her untidy skirts, went through the open gates. a syce, holding a lady's saddle-horse, waited at the bottom of the verandah steps. he stared stolidly at the intruder. he did not know her, and he knew everyone in gaya. he had also the unerring instinct of his race and class which discounted the superficial europeanism of her dress and its common gaudiness. he knew her for what she was, and made a gesture of detention as she passed. 30 465 466 freedom "what you want, missy?" he asked in english, and with a mocking flash of his white teeth. "missy not go in there." she turned her head. the expression on her dark, mobile features was composite of dignity and nervousness. "i want barclay sahib," she said. "is he here?" "meester barclay gone away," the man retorted, using the english prefix deliberately. "meester barclay gone away many weeks." "where has he gone?" "not know, missy." she stood irresolute, looking at the saddled horse. at first it seemed to convey no significance to her. then suddenly she flushed up. "i must see some one who does know," she explained. "who lives here?" "the mem-sahib, missy." "who is the mem-sahib?" he stroked the velvet nose the syce made no answer. of his charge and the stranger became aware from his attitude that they were no longer alone. no longer alone. she turned sharply, and the woman standing at the head of the steps immediately behind her returned her stare with a faint smile. "do you want mr. barclay?" she asked quietly. "yes, i do." the eurasian hesitated. the fair-haired fragile-looking woman in the dark riding-habit seemed to frighten her. "i've come all the way from calcutta," she stammered. "that's a long way. i'm sorry-mr. barclay is away freedom 467 -has been away for many weeks. i don't even know where he is. if you would tell me your namethe woman caught her breath audibly. her dark, uneasy eyes had a smouldering look in them-a look that was somehow primitive in its sombre, gathering suspicion. "my name's barclay-marie barclay," she flashed out. "ah, mr. barclay's sister?" "no, his wife." she flung the words down with the defiance of an animal that is afraid of its own temerity. her head, with its over-adorned hat, was thrown back truculently, but her lips quivered. "i'm his wife," she repeated. sigrid had been pale when she came out. now a faint delicate colour tinged her cheeks, bringing life and energy to her listless transparency. she put her ungloved hand to her face with a little familiar gesture of surprise and thought-but to marie barclay it expressed mockery. "it's true," she burst out. "i can prove it"i'm sure you can-only not here. it's so wet. purga, you can walk astora for a little. won't you come inmrs. barclay?" 99 she gave her visitor no opportunity to answer, but led the way to the library where mrs. smithers, with ruffled grey hair and a face of care and perpetual perplexity, sat beneath the marble venus knitting a pair of mittens which no human being was ever likely to wear. "smithy, this lady has come all the way from calcutta. she's mrs. barclay-jim's wife." mrs. smithers let the mittens drop into her lap, but she 468 freedom gave no other sign of consternation. she was in the state of a person who has been subjected to a vigorous course of electric treatment and has become impervious to shocks. "lawks a-mercy!" she exclaimed wearily. “well, and i'm not surprised. it's not the last thing i expected to hear. i warrant there's a good few of 'em about the country if we only knew." "but this is true, smithy-i'm sure it is, isn't it?" she turned, with a quick gracious movement, to the woman at her side, but for a moment the latter did not answer. her full, rather pretty, mouth was desperately closed to hide its trembling. her hands were interlocked in front of her. a strand of straight black hair straggled untidily across her face, and she tried to toss it back with an upward jerk of her head. it was as though she dared not unclasp her hands. "yes, it's true," she said at last. "i can prove it. we were married-years ago-in calcutta. he's kept it quiet-i know-he was ashamed. he thought i'd pull him back. he wanted to get on so badly-and i put up with it. i'd-i'd have put up with anything. he said he'd send for me-afterwards-but he never did. i hadn't heard from him for weeks. he didn't send any money-there was hardly any left-just enough to bring me hereshe looked from one woman to another, and there was a tortured, hunted look in her eyes that made her violent defiance pitiable. "i didn't mean to tell he made me promise-but i've been so unhappyso desperate-when i found he'd gone-and-and you freedom 469 here, i lost my head-i couldn't bear it any longer-i couldn't—” she dropped down into the chair nearest her, her face buried in her hands, crying wildly. "scoundrel!" mrs. smithers ejaculated on the same note of confirmed conviction. sigrid stood looking down at the bowed, shaking shoulders. her eyes were pitying, but her mouth was a little wry, almost whimsical. "you were quite right to tell us," she said. "it's made a great many things clear. you needn't be frightened. i have an idea your husband meant you to come and that he will be glad. i daresay that was why he didn't writemrs. barclay lifted her head, brushing the tears from her wet cheeks. her hat had slipped a little to one side, giving her a look of grotesque and distraught violence. "what are you doing here?" she asked insolently. "who are you?" "nobody in particular-an interloper-it seems.' "oh, i know better than that!" the dark face quivered into a sneer. "i know who you are. you're the white woman he was after. i guessed right enough. he wanted an englishwoman." she sprang suddenly to her feet with an almost threatening gesture. "but it was me he loved-me he married. he didn't care for you-don't you flatter yourself-he wanted you-just to get evenjust to hurt as he'd been hurt. you're nothing but a—” she broke off. sigrid had not moved or spoken, but there was that in the still white face which checked the 470 freedom torrent of savage insult. mrs. smithers got up. she rolled the mittens into a neat ball. "i'm an old woman," she said, "and i hate violence. but just you mind what you're saying, mrs. barclay-" sigrid checked her with a gesture. "mrs. barclay is quite right," she said calmly. "i think she understands her husband very well. she is only mistaken in supposing i did not understand too. i did not know that he was married, but that is neither here nor there. i did know that i was merely a means to an end-as he was to me. now that's all finished and done with." she laughed a little. "do you know, mrs. barclay, you are the second woman in twenty-four hours who has accused me of trying to steal her husband, and, heaven knows, in this instance, it isn't true." marie barclay stared at her in sullen silence. her passion had gone down under fatigue and a natural racial apathy. she had struck with all the strength she possessed, and now came the reaction of helpless tears. "i don't know what to do," she said brokenly. "i've nowhere to go-no one to help me." "we're going to help you," sigrid answered. she came and laid a gentle, controlling hand on the other's arm. "you mustn't break down. there's nothing to be afraid of. you don't know it, but you've done me a great service. and now it's my turn. you'll stay here. it's your home everything in it is yours. there's money you going till he comes back. and he enough to keep will come back. he'll be glad to find you here we were nothing to one another. doesn't that make you happy?" freedom 471 her tone was so gay, so assured that the brimming eyes lifted to hers lost their suspicion and hatred. "i don't know-i don't understand—and you"i shall clear out. i've no right here. we'll be your guests for tonight and we can talk things over. meantime, mrs. smithers will give you tea, and i'll go for a last ride on your horse. i want fresh air and a little quiet. you don't mind?" the full lips quivered resentfully. "you're making fun of me " i've been an intruder and "no-i'm in dead earnest. an unwilling thief, and now i return my ill-gotten gains. smithy, take care of her till i come back. and no violence!" mrs. smithers paid no heed to the injunction. she was trembling in every limb as she followed the quickly moving figure to the verandah steps. she clutched sigrid's hands. her dim old eyes were full of a great dread. "sigrid-my dearest-what are you going to do?” "do? nothing rash, smithy. did you think i might -? don't you see how good it is? i'm free. i'm sigrid fersen-i haven't got to fight daily, hourly, for my integrity-i'm free." she drew in a deep joyous breath of the fresh, rain-soaked air. her eyes shone under the fine, untroubled brows. "i'm going home with you to england, smithy. i'm going to live in the little suburban house and give dancing lessons to the large surburban feet. and in my free moments i shall play beethoven and wagner and chopin on an extravagantly fine bechstein. for i've learnt that one can play noble music anywhere. that's a great lesson, smithy." she smiled tenderly. 472 freedom "and i shall live on your savings, smithy. that'll make you happy, won't it?" "oh, my dear"i know. such queer things make women happy." she grew grave for an instant. "and perhaps i shall live to be very old, as tristram said i might. i may grow so much stronger-i shall outlive you, smithy, and every one who ever cared for me. but i'm not going to funk it now. i shall play my music to the very end.” mrs. smithers made no answer. she could not have answered, for the dimness had crept into her throat and choked her. she lifted the little hand clasped in hers and kissed it. thus sigrid fersen rode down the steep, mud-choked road towards the valley. she told herself that it was for the last time. and because each "last time" in life is a bridge-crossing into a new and trackless country she looked back along the old road, and her thoughts lingered by the high landmarks by which she would never pass again. high up against the horizon a mountain-peak glowed in the warm splendour of this farewell. on its topmost crag she had dwelt a little and alone. she saw the rough and ruthless descent into the world of men, the winding road over strange countries, the always-seeking of those two years, and there on the verge of an abyss the revelation of something as lofty, as splendid as all that she had left behind her. at first she had drawn back. she had even smiled a little at the thought that her feet should tread so desperate a path. but in the end she had gone on-down into the depths and through a suffocating evil freedom 473 darkness and up again at last to the farther summit. and had it been worth it-worth the effort, the sheer, physical effort, the pitiless drain upon soul and body, the inevitable loneliness? she knew her answer. she saw before her the country to which her stern enterprise had led her. she saw it flat and barren and wind-swept, its sparse trees bowed before the solitary storms. she saw that it had its own grandeur. there was a sweet taste in the wind; and the rough earth carried many flowers on its bosom, and they had a fragrance more delicate than all the rich exotic blossoms which had once been dear to her. she welcomed the sweet winds and the great limitless horizons. she stretched out her arms to the blustering storm. she was free. her freedom was not of the mountain crags, but of the great undulating plains where men pass their daily life. and she had ceased to be alone. somewhere on that vast expanse a fellow-traveller pressed on his way, often erring, often misled, but still with head erect, eyes fixed on the down-going sun which was their common goal. she saw him big and careless and unkempt with strays and vagabonds crowded at his heels. she saw the light on his face, and knew that he too was conscious of their comradeship. it did not matter that in that country over which they travelled they would not meet again. they had met once. god himself, if he existed apart from his creation, could not blot out that knowledge or his own decree by which the separate paths of men meet at the end. thus sigrid fersen rode out of gaya. her horse slipped and fretted over the treacherous descent, but her hand was as strong and steady as her thought. she had the quality 474 freedom common to all vitally living things-the love of physical, friendly warfare with the elements. she lifted her glowing face to the warm rain. she felt at peace and happy. she could look with clear eyes into the future. tristram had said that with care she might live to be very old. the thought had no terrors for her now. between dreams and realities she left gaya floating in the grey mists behind her. the solitude and wide stretch of the plain soothed her and gave her a sense of release from a cramping prison. she began to deal practically with the coming years-even, with a faint smile at the corners of her mouth, to furnish the little suburban house, to arrange her days. and then, in the midst of her planning, her horse jerked to a quivering standstill. she leant forward in her saddle, frowning through the veil of rain, and saw that something lay across her road-something black and huddled and shapeless. she tried to urge the frightened animal forward; then something definite checked her-held her in sick, motionless horror. it was a white patch-the shape of a man's hand, the fingers clawed into the mud. a minute later she had managed to dismount. she knelt down by the crumpled body, and, exerting all her strength, lifted it. it was so caked and stiffened with mire and blood that it remained upright, kneeling grotesquely, leaning against her. the disfigured features, made more hideous by their mud-smeared agony, were close to her own. she believed him dead. the horror of him, kneeling there, leering at her, overcame her. she let him sink back-and then only saw that he still lived. his eyes were open. freedom 475 they were already glazed and could not have seen her, but an instinct, kindling for the last time, recognized her presence. "tristram-heerut-warn tristram-warn-" his mouth fell open. his gaze became fixed under the half-sunk lids. it was finished. sigrid fersen rose to her feet. she was not conscious now of fear or hesitation; she walked forward a few paces, tracing the smeared track of meredith's body back to a confusion of hoof-prints in the thick mud. there had been a struggle, and meredith had had strength enough to crawl a few feet-she did not know that each foot had represented hours and the triumph of the man's will over agony and unconsciousness, but she knew what he had tried to do. "warn tristram!" it was a call to her old, unbroken fearlessness, to the eager, adventuring blood and the new faith. gaya and prudence and safety lay behind her; but what was gaya to her, what had prudence or safety ever mattered to her? before her lay the swollen river and sinister, uncomprehended danger. she was going forward. she caught her horse by the bridle. it was no easy task to mount from that slippery road, but she had in that hour an unconquerable energy and resolve. it was done at last. she settled herself firmly in the saddle, her hands on the reins were flexible and strong as steel. through the splashing mire and rain she rode towards heerut. she reached the river-bank. the door of the engineer's 476 freedom shanty stood open and one glance showed her that the place was deserted. she rode over the bridge. the water slid across the roadway with an ugly, slopping gurgle; its deeper voice thundered beneath among the shaken arches. on the farther bank she drew rein for an instant. amidst the rush of the river it seemed to her that another sound had reached her. it was vague and indefinite, and yet unmistakably separate from all else. it was as though close to her, and yet hidden beneath the water, something monstrous and living groaned in the agony of dismemberment. "warn tristram!" she rode on towards heerut. chapter xii the meeting of the ways they had come from all the ends of the province, secretly and one by one from the towns, and in whole companies from the villages. it was for them only another pilgrimage. they brought with them the same childlike faith, the same dim, passionless hopes, the same fatalism. and behind those simple things there was the same incalculable force awaiting the spark which should fire them to a ferocious heroism or headlong panic. they came together in the broad curve of plain where the ganges twisted in a horseshoe towards the foot of gaya's hills. to the west, within half a mile of the encampment, the black impregnable barrier of the jungle followed the river's course past the bridge-head and the temple, forming lower down a crescent around the little plateau on which heerut lay huddled. there were close on two thousand of them, men of all ages, all castes. they carried weapons, but of a strange and varied nature-old army rifles, an ancient sword, the deadly kukri, sometimes no more than a rusty bayonet, stolen or bought from some drunken defaulter. they themselves were as heterogeneous. they herded together 477 478 the meeting of the ways without order or discipline. the rain poured down upon them ceaselessly, saturating their scanty clothing so that it clung to their lean bodies like creased and dirty skins. here and there the saffron robe proclaimed the saddhu, and there were priests, haughty, arrogant-featured men, who stood aloof, as though the matter scarcely concerned them. yet it was they who had worked secretly and cunningly in the towns and villages. it was their infallibility which had welded these strange, inco-ordinate atoms into a weapon. for, undisciplined, ill-armed, and dejected though they seemed, though they came straight from their fields and the enervating atmosphere of the bazaars, these two thousand men were still fighters. in the old days their fathers had scorned the plough and had lived and died by the sword. they had fought for the old rajah and gone with him into exile and ended their adversity in the wildernesses. some of that fighting blood was in the veins of these, their descendants, and some of that stern tradition lay smouldering beneath the veneer of peace which the british raj had forced upon them. but of all this, barclay, riding at ayeshi's side down the irregular front of this strange army, saw nothing. to him they were a sorry, pitiable crew, foredoomed to disaster. he knew now, if he had not always known, the futile madness of the enterprise on which they were launched, he with them. the brief illusion which he had nourished that night in the temple had gone. though he had flung himself into this cause with all his wealth, all his power, he saw it to be lost. the shadow of the future was on these upturned stoic faces, on ayeshi, and on himself. the meeting of the ways 479 yet he would not have turned back nor changed the course of events. a sombre triumph and satisfaction glowed through his foreknowledge. he had found his people. he belonged to them. in the end that was coming he would not be alone. his blood would mingle with theirs. and with them those others would be swept away-those others who had rejected him. he turned his haggard, moody eyes towards distant gaya and laughed. even now he was a little theatrical. he wore the native dress, and it was like a masquerade. all that was english in him stood out the more prominently. the very priests who had admitted him to their caste shrank from his shadow, and quick, dark glances of suspicion followed him as he rode at ayeshi's side. vahana, the saddhu, clung to his stirrup-leather. he was like a mocking spirit of evil, noiseless and remorseless. once barclay had tried to swing him off by a quick turn of his horse, but the old withered figure had leapt with him with the agility of a tiger. afterwards vahana had lifted his face to barclay, showing his teeth in a mirthless grin of understanding. thereafter barclay made no effort to free himself. but he had become afraid-afraid of something other than the end. ayeshi rode to the farther end of the roughly formed square. beyond the jewelled turban and the ancient sword at his waist, he wore no insignia of his rank, and even his knightly seat on the thoroughbred arab could not wholly atone to his followers for this lack of outward splendour. 480 the meeting of the ways they had expected something other-something resplendent, a gorgeous representative of the millennium that was coming,—a god, an avatar. and he was only a boy, with wasted features and restless, unhappy eyes. yet they greeted him as their lord. perhaps even in their minds was the knowledge that their lives were bound up with his, that there was no turning back either for him or them. a brahmin and a native under-officer, still in uniform though without his badges, came out of the ranks to meet him, and for a few minutes they spoke together in an undertone. barclay scarcely listened. he was watching with cynical intentness the play of the priest's astute features, the deferential, courtly movements, the keen flashes of the cruel eyes. in contrast, the soldier seemed brutal and aggressive. his face was pockmarked and sodden with vice, but he was a strong man-more vital in that moment even than ayeshi. between barclay and these two men ayeshi was the shuttlecock-the toy and instrument with which each sought to attain his own petty ends of vengeance and power. for a moment barclay could have pitied him as he sat there, reining in his restive arab with a master's hand, so passionately in earnest, so deeply shaken by premonition. "they will fight, pugra?" he asked repeatedly. "they will keep faith with us?" the soldier grinned significantly. "they have sworn it, lord. there is no cause for them to break their oath. it is a simple matter. will be finished. heera singh leads them. in an hour it he is a good the meeting of the ways 481 soldier. his brother was shot a year ago. he will not fail." "and afterwards?" "we shall join forces with them." "and after that?" the soldier and the priest exchanged a quick glance of interrogation. but the question had rung with an urgent appeal not to be denied. the brahmin drew a step nearer, taking the answer upon himself. "after that the great cities will follow. in calcutta and bombay they do but await the signal. is it not so?" "that is what they told me." ayeshi passed his hand nervously over his forehead. "they swore to me that they were ready. i was to be the torch which should light india"surely, then, it will be so, lord." ayeshi made no answer. he seemed to sink into a fit of brooding, his eyes fixed in the direction of gaya. barclay, who had not ceased to watch him, urged his horse nearer. "of what are you afraid, rajah?" he asked softly in english, adding with a flash of malice: "isn't death the worst that can happen to us?" the echo of the grandiloquent phrase stung ayeshi to a haughty gesture. "i do not fear death.” "whom then? rasaldû? rasaldû is dead. in a few hours there will be no white men left in your kingdom"i know. it is not that. it is for these men-my people. they trust me. they hope great things. if i should fail"" 31 482 the meeting of the ways "you will not fail, rajah. you have the right to call upon them. you are their lord." ayeshi glanced up swiftly. "and if i were not-if it proved a mistake sometimes i am afraid"" barclay shrugged his shoulders. he was growing impatient. the merciless rain began to chill his blood. the roar of the river beat like the incessant thud of a hammer on his ears. "what does it all matter?" he muttered. "if only this infernal rain would stop! it's dangerous. if the water overflows on the high ground up by bjura we shall have to swim for it. that's what matters." but suddenly ayeshi bent down from his saddle and laid his hand on vahana's shoulder. "you promised!" he said, in a tense undertone. "you promised that today you would speak-that you would give me proofs to show my people. now keep your promise to me. vahana-justify me." the fakir lifted his eyes to ayeshi. his lips moved, but no sound came from them. he shrank back against barclay's knee, cowering as from a blow. but his expression was triumphantly evil. and barclay, looking into ayeshi's stricken face, came to a bitter understanding. not only this boy, but all of them, were so many instruments in a master-hand. their hates and ambitions had been woven skilfully into the greater pattern of a patient, insatiable vengeance. they were pawns in vahana's game. they would be swept from the board. vahana would go on to his own end. the meeting of the ways 483 before this selfsame knowledge ayeshi had faltered. now he drew himself up in the saddle. "rasaldû is dead," he said quietly, yet with despair, "and sahib meredith and others others. justify me!" and to that final, irrepressible cry of anguish vahana answered. his unaccustomed tongue wrestled with the words, and formed them slowly and thickly. they fell like blows. "the-rajah-had-no-son," he said. then suddenly he laughed. in that final moment the brain, corroded with hatred, broke down beneath its accumulated burden. the maniacal merriment rang out above the thunder of racing water, it pealed on till it dominated every other sound. as ayeshi turned with lifted hand to strike, it subsided hideously into a broken cackle. still clinging to barclay's stirrup, vahana dropped to his knees. what possessed barclay in that moment he could not have told. he stretched out his arm over the cowering figure, shielding the thing he feared. "" "no, no, ayeshi-it's too late. it doesn't matter who or what you are. you've got to go on with it. you can't leave us in the lurch. there's been bloodshed enoughayeshi's hand sank limply to his side. his lips were quivering. "rasaldû is dead," he repeated. "rasaldû the swineherd-had more right than i-and the sahibs who have done me no wrong"" barclay interrupted him with a curse. was this last catastrophe of his life to end as the others had done, in a travesty-in a gilbertian fiasco? was he to be held up to 1 484 the meeting of the ways ridicule before those cool, insolent men and womenludicrous and ineffectual even in his death? "for god's sake-pull yourself together, ayeshi!" he said imperatively. "what does it matter whether you are wronged or not? you are the leader. chance has made you—the deliverer of your people. save your country-set us free" on his breast with a dramatic gesture. i, who have suffered at their hands. give us our freedom." act like a man. he laid his hand "i ask it of yoube strong, ayeshi. but ayeshi seemed not to listen. his frowning eyes were fixed in front of him, and suddenly he pointed. barclay turned in his saddle. at first the spectacle that met him seemed no more than curious. the belt of high grass which separated them from the river had parted, and a young tigress stood in the opening. she seemed wholly unconscious of the massed enemy before her. she stood there lashing her tail, her velvet flanks heaving with recent hard effort, her fine head lifted in an attitude of listening. for an instant she remained thus. no hand was raised against her. ayeshi and his followers watched her in motionless, superstitious silence. even barclay felt himself incapable of action. it was as though the apparition had for them a deeper, as yet unread significance. with a low growl, not of anger but of fear, the beautiful animal trotted with long, loping strides between ayeshi and the herded crowd of tensely watching natives. no sound was uttered until the lean, striped body had vanished. then a cry went up-at first isolated-then swelling to a shout: t the meeting of the ways 485 "an omen-an omen!" "vishnu has spoken!" "the gods are against us!" "the flood-the flood-!" the last came in a scream. it bore the other cries down into an instant's stupefied silence. the massed square of humanity which had tossed and surged in a gathering storm of panic grew still. barclay lifted himself in his stirrups. he could see nothing. the rain blinded him. yet his ears, alert now, caught a distant ominous boom. "i believe it's true-the animal was bolting for her life-the water must have burst its banks at bjura—if it has, it's coming twenty miles an hour-we've got to run for high ground, ayeshi." the hindu shrugged his shoulders. "there is no high ground-" vahana roused himself from the mud where he had remained in an attitude of apparent stupor. a demoniac energy blazed in the mad eyes. "there is a way-past heerut-i will show you-only let me ride with you, sahib barclay— "" the eurasian nodded. he no longer appealed to ayeshi, who was sunk in an apathy of despair. he raised himself again in the saddle. "there is a way to safety!" he shouted. "vahana, the holy man, will lead us-the gods have sent a warning-the gods are with us-follow!" he lifted vahana into the saddle behind him and swung his horse round towards heerut. ayeshi lingered; barclay 486 1 the meeting of the ways passed him with a gesture of contempt. the control was in his hands now. it was for him to act-to retrieve disaster. he had become the leader-the leader of his people. he heard the rush of feet behind him—the sound thrilled through his blood in a storm of exultation. "follow me!" he shouted. "i will lead you." they followed. they swept ayeshi into their maelstrom and carried him with them, but they too had ceased to heed him. nor did he try to regain his hold. the right to command-even to resist-had gone. he was no longer rajah-exiled and disinherited, yet still lord of his destiny. he was ayeshi, the village story-teller, the servant of tristram sahib, the dreamer bereft of his dreams. he would have been glad to meet the end. but the people he had betrayed bore him in their midst, as they fled before the oncoming waters. tristram heard only the deepening voice of the river, the rain splashing on the roof, and the rush and swirl of the water as it tore through the village gutters. even these things, though they reached his hearing, scarcely touched his consciousness. they walled him in. they formed a sombre background for his wife's voice. he sat beside her, her hot little hand in his, and it seemed to him that they talked together for the first time in their lives. her voice was weak and husky with pain, but the pain itself relaxed its grip on her, allowing her to sink slowly and mercifully. "i'm dying, am i not, tristram?" she had asked, and i the meeting of the ways 487 then, reading his face, added gently: "i want to knowreally. i'm not afraid to die. why should i be? there is nothing to fear-only so much to hope. tell me.” "anne-little wife-i honestly don't know. so much depends on your will to live" her smile was touched with something of its old wisdom. "it depends on god, tris." he nodded. it was too late to show her where their roads met. he could only acquiesce. and presently she spoke again. "it's all been such a big, sad mistake, hasn't it?" "what, dear?" "our marriage." he looked into her pinched face, in which only a childlike wistfulness remained. he looked then at her hand, hiding his own smarting eyes. "i suppose it has. it's my failure" "you didn't love me, tris." "i cared-genuinely. i cared so much that i wanted to make you happy." he hesitated. "but i couldn't make myself to be the man you loved." "no, it was just a mistake," she agreed. "you're very generous, dear." she shook her head. "oh, no-it was my fault most of all. i didn't understand. there are things i don't understand even now." "what things?" "wickie-and-and-that. it seems so wrong-just a dog. you love life so-tris." "i love living things-i can't help it-helpless living things most of all. even now i can't judge what i did— 488 the meeting of the ways it's the old problem-how far one has the right to punishto resist evil. but i haven't any real theories. i can't bear pain-that's all." her eyes softened. "i know. you have been so good-so tender to me. last night i understood better all you are-but it's too late"no, anne-it isn't. live-give me the chance to make up to you. dear, you can. ask god to give you the will. we've muddled it so far, but we've seen our mistakes. we can start again. who knows but if all this trouble and pain wasn't meant to bring us together-to give us a real love and knowledge of each other, anne; couldn't it be?" he was using instinctively the language which she could understand best. yet there was a sincerity behind the artificial sentences, a passionate eagerness which moved her. she turned her head wearily on the pillow, looking steadily into his face. "would you be glad-if i lived?" "unutterably glad." "perhaps we might learn to love each other-in the end"" "i would try to earn your love." she smiled wanly. "i would try to-to make you love me too. i don't know. i would be glad to live—perhaps if i could only sleep a little. is there a chance"only try." "will you stop by me whilst i sleep?" the meeting of the ways 489 "i won't leave you." "i think if you're there-if you wish it-yes-i will try. i will ask god to let me live." he bent and kissed her hand. "you won't leave me, tris?" "i promise you.” her eyes closed peacefully. her hand rested in his. he remained motionless, hushing his own breathing. he did not want to disturb her by the faintest sound, and he himself was tired almost past feeling. he tried to hush even his thoughts-to create an hiatus between present and future in which they could both rest. for an instinct in him knew well that the great battle lay still before them. the time would come when the warmth of reconciliation would grow cold, and they would face each other again in the full strength of their conflicting temperaments. but so long as this silence lasted there was peace, and in that peace they were very close to each other-closer than they had ever been. they were both so unutterably tired. of what use to force the issue now, even in his mind? who knew-perhaps they had indeed learnt their lesson -perhaps they would have patience and help each other. all things were possible. he had sworn to himself to make them possible. he sat there, bent forward, and listened to the rain and the monotonous boom of the river. his hearing was that of a man coming out of an anesthetic-it distorted and magnified sounds, and yet held them a long way off as though they came from another world. he could not bring his thoughts to bear upon them. 490 the meeting of the ways then, amidst the dull persistency of it all, there broke the sharp, staccato beat of hoofs-the splash of a horse galloping through water. tristram rose cautiously to his feet. he had to unclasp his wife's hand and her eyes opened. "what is it, tris?" "my messenger back from gaya, i expect. i didn't believe he meant to go, but it seems i misjudged him." "you won't leave me, tris?" "i've promised you." the horse had been drawn up sharply. tristram went to the door and opened it, letting in a wave of dank air. sigrid stood on the threshold. she was drenched with rain and mud. she went past him, closing the door behind her. "tristram-i-" she began breathlessly. "for pity's sake!" he muttered, in utter consternation. then she saw anne lying on the bed by the wall. there was an instant's silence. anne had lifted herself on her elbow. her cheeks blazed with colour. all the childish wistfulness had gone from her expression, which was old and hard and cruel. "is this an appointment?" she asked clearly. "didn't tristram warn you in time?" "anne-what are you saying?" he came to her side, trying to force her gently back. "i know nothing of mrs. barclay's coming-she will tell you herself—” he looked towards sigrid, standing white and still in the centre of the room, and his voice shook with anger. "mrs. barclay explain to my wife-and to me "" the meeting of the ways 491 but anne freed herself from his hands. "please don't ask her to perjure herself. i don't believe you, tristram-lies are nothing to you—and i shouldn't believe her. she didn't hesitate to try and take you from me before—a woman who can do that is bad"it's not true," he broke in sternly "it is true. she told me so with her own lips. i wouldn't be here now if she hadn't confessed to me. you wouldn't have her that's what she said. now, i don't believe even thatshe stopped, gasping for breath. sigrid took a step forwards, and tristram, as he saw her face, felt the anger go out of him. she also had tried to atone to safeguard the happiness of a woman they had both wronged. it had been in vain, grotesquely, tragically in vain. but she had not spared herself. she went past him, straight to anne's side. "mrs. tristram-" she began, "your husband has told you the truth. he knew nothing of my coming. i bring grave news99 anne shrank back from her. "tristram-tell her to go-i can't bear it-won't you do even that for me? i'm dying-you'll have time enough afterwards. you'll be happy with her then. can't you give me this hour-tell her to gohe stood big and determined before her. "you are unjust, anne. and you are doing yourself harm"does that trouble you?" 492 the meeting of the ways "i tell you, you are unjust. at least, hear why mrs. barclay has come. she may have a message for us— perhaps from your father." she laughed bitterly. "you are very clever, tristram. but i shan't believe her. i won't hear her"you've got to," sigrid interposed resolutely. "mr. meredith is dead. he has been murdered. i found him dying and his last message was a warning to tristram." she had meant to cut short the ugly scene. there was no time to waste. one sentence was to save anne the agony of a suspicion which seemed justified enough. but no relief came into the poor, passion-twisted features— only a more terrible change. without a sound, anne dropped back among her pillows. her eyes were closed, the last atom of colour drained from her open lips. tristram bent over her, his hand on her pulse. the fear of that moment sickened him. "owen,-owen-!" the whispered name, warm with tenderness and grief, silenced them both. they could not look at each other. it was as though they had pried unwillingly into a secret which filled them with shame and a sense of tragic futility. she, too, had borne her burden-her share of their common error. "owen-owen-!" sigrid touched tristram's bowed shoulders. there was an odd diffidence in her touch, as though she had become afraid. the meeting of the ways 493 "i didn't know-how could i have known? have i hurt her?" "it seems our fate," he answered bitterly. "i couldn't help it. there was no time to think. something is very wrong. rasaldû was missed yesterday. then meredith-and there was no one at the bridge. i came as fast i could-to warn youhe drew himself up painfully. "it's no good. we can't leave here. you'd better go back to gaya." he glanced quickly at her. her ethereal pallor, the look of wan spirituality, smote him to the heart, and yet he spoke roughly. "you ought never to have come. why didn't you return to gaya at once?” "he sent me," she said simply, like a child that has been reproached. "he knew that anne was here," he muttered. his eyes returned to the white, still face of his wife, as though he saw her for the first time. sigrid's answer seemed to him no more than the whisper of his own thoughts. "perhaps i should have come anyhow." "you won't be strong enough to ride back." "oh-yes-i am quite strong. it's as you said, major tristram-i think i shall live to be quite old." he heard her turn to go. he remained motionless, his hands clenched at his side. no other words could have expressed more poignantly his own vision of the future, and yet he dared not answer, dared not look at her. "ask them to send help," he said thickly. his voice shook beneath the harsh self-repression. "you see how it is-i can't leave here-i couldn't leave her here" 494 the meeting of the ways "yes i understand-i'll send help." the door opened. yet he knew that she still lingered. "major tristrami'm afraid, somehow, it's too late." he turned. he heard what she had heard. "close the door," he said quietly. she obeyed. there was something inexpressibly gentle and docile about her. he remembered-not in thought, but in a vivid picture-how once before they had confronted each other in that selfsame place he saw her resolute, defiant of life, splendidly self-assured. all that was gone. it was as though her physical being, her bodily vitality had been worn away, and that there was nothing left but the spirit, unbroken, yet intensely weary. the sound of voices grew nearer. the cries, at first blurred into one, became separate, sharp, shrill notes played on the dull bass of the booming waters. inarticulate though they were, they carried an unmistakable significance; they were cries of fear, more terrible, more pitiless than anger. tristram made a gesture of quiet understanding. "yes, it is too late," he said. "it's been working up to this. we shall have to face it together." she assented silently. "i can't do much. i haven't a weapon-not so much as a rusty revolver." he smiled grimly, remembering their first day together. "i shouldn't do much damage, anyway." "i'm glad," she answered. their eyes met. they dared look at each other now. in that steady, passionless encounter there was acknowthe meeting of the ways 495 ledgment and confession. they saw their visions of the future as realities and knew that they had been the creations of their despair. it was all impossible. they could not have gone on. they were exhausted. they had worn themselves out in the effort to bear their burden honourably, to break the rare mysterious decree which binds one being to another in defiance of all human law and circumstance. it was over. soon they would be able to rest. "if only anne were safe!" he said. "we must try and help her "" he felt a hand on his sleeve. he looked down and she clung to him. saw that his wife's eyes were open. "you won't leave me, tris?" "no, no, i promise you." "i'm so frightenedhe could not answer. the vain assurance died on his lips. he could only hold her hand in his, comforting her to the last. the door opened and he turned, facing whatever was to come. barclay entered; vahana, at his heels, lingered sinisterly in the shadow, but barclay strode straight forward, his arrogant eyes flashing from one face to the other. he held himself as he had always longed to hold himself-as the master, as the more than equal. he looked straight at tristram, and in that steadfast regard there was satisfaction, an almost voluptuous foreknowledge of satiated passions. "you are my prisoner," he said. "whom do you represent, mr. barclay?" "the rajah ayeshi." he saw, or thought he saw, 496 the meeting of the ways amusement in tristram's eyes, and pointed to the open doorway-"and two thousand armed men." "is this ayeshi's order?" "it is my order-rajah ayeshi accepts my leadership." "then it was you who murdered rasaldû and mr. meredith?" he smiled. "and others. believe me, there will be no living white man or woman in gaya by midnight-my wife excepted." he made sigrid a little satirical bow. "in spite of circumstances, i am glad of the chance to make that exception. my wife will follow me." "your wife is waiting for you in gaya," she answered. she felt rather than saw anne lift herself on her elbow. she felt tristram's movement and added simply: "mr. barclay was married years ago. my marriage with him was illegal, and i am free." she did not see the ugly little smile quiver about anne's lips. she held her ground, patient, content. she had broken the last link which held her to a loathed life. it was as though she breathed a fresher, purer air. "that frees me from all responsibility, doesn't it?" barclay suggested. "quite." he hesitated. his minutes in the place were numbered. his ears, attuned to catch the first warning, reminded him of the remorseless, oncoming danger, and yet he faltered. a bitter taste of failure was in his mouth. "you had better follow me, tristram. resistance is useless." the meeting of the ways 497 "as you will. i have only one request to make. respect my wife. she is very ill." barclay shrugged his shoulders. "a dying woman? i can grant you that much." but even in the midst of his brutal self-assertiveness, a merciless flash of intuition showed him himself as they saw him. his power slipped through his fingers. he looked from sigrid to tristram, and knew their immeasurable indifference to all that he could threaten. they were not afraid-almost-they were glad. he could not penetrate their mood-he only felt it as an intolerable hurta frustration of that madly aching desire in him. they stood aloof from him as they had always done. he could not reach them-the woman had shaken herself free from his very name as from something loathsome. to the last -ineffectual, beyond the pale. he had meant to strike -he had set them free. he made a gesture, and vahana closed the door. he came and stood close to sigrid, staring into her face. "will you come with me?" he asked. she made no answer. he felt his lips trembling. "i could make you," he broke out. "i think not." "you mean that, sooner or later, you would escape me? i daresay. you are brave enough. but i ask you to come with me of your own free will-as my mistress-as anything on earth i choose to share my life—whatever future i have faithfully99 "aren't you wasting time, mr. barclay?" tristram interposed. 32 498 the meeting of the ways barclay remained with his eyes on sigrid's face. "if you will come with me, sigrid, major tristram can go back to gaya.” she seemed scarcely to hear him. he heard tristram laugh. "isn't this all rather melodramatic, barclay? do you really imagine i am anxious to save my life on such terms? why don't you get on with things?” barclay swung round on his heel. "and does my offer really amuse you? are you amused at the death of a score or so of your countrymen up there in gaya? that's what it amounts to. mrs. boucicault is giving a dinner to the station tonight. in three hours' time, the regiment mutinies, and your friends will be wiped out without being able to lift a hand-unless you warn them. is that amusing?" he drew a deep breath of content. he had seen tristram flinch. he had reached him at last, had forced him down from his heights to meet him in the equality of a life-and-death struggle. he could afford now to be patient and composed. it was sigrid who spoke. her voice sounded curiously flat and lifeless. "why have you told us this?" he turned to her. "because i am asking a great deal of you. this is not our old bargain, sigrid. if you come with me, it must be on my own terms. i don't know where i am going—but i shall be an exile-an eurasian outcast with a price on his head. and you have got to stick to me." the meeting of the ways 499 "and your wife? she believes that you care for her." his hands were clenched. "i have done with caring," he said harshly. “you've taken care that i shouldn't put love first in my life. leave my wife out of this. nothing concerns you but your own decision." "and you are ready to sacrifice your plans?” "i am prepared to give gaya a fighting chance," he interrupted sternly. "i do not pretend that it is more than that perhaps not so much." "if-if i consent, will you keep faith? have you the power-?" "i have the power. ayeshi will consent to anything i suggest. remember-i have to trust you, too———— he hesitated, and then added slowly: "i do trust you." she made a groping, uncertain gesture. "tristrambut he threw back his head in defiance. "it can't be. gaya wouldn't be saved at such a cost." "it isn't what gaya would want-it's what we've got to do we ourselves don't count." "your honour." he burst out. "what is honour?" she retorted finely. "by your own creed, tristram-what other honour is there but our duty towards others?" he fought against her, against the light which he saw gathering in her eyes-against himself. "it's a hideous impossibility." "the hideousness isn't ours. it isn't impossible." "decide-can't you?" barclay flung at them. 500 the meeting of the ways tristram turned to him with a gesture of immeasurable contempt. "so you betray all your masters?" he said. "i am the son of a betrayal," barclay retorted, smiling bitterly. "has that ever troubled you? why trouble yourself now about me?" sigrid's eyes avoided tristram's face. the grey horror of it shook her. "it's as mr. barclay says-we've only got to consider our own actions.” "then you've decided?" "is there any choice?" she asked sternly. for one moment he hated her as a man hates the cause of an intolerable suffering. the next, he saw that she had outstripped him. she had taken the fundamentals of his life and built her own edifice upon them-a higher, finer edifice than his own. "i see that there is no choice for you," he said, with a chivalrous resignation. "and you're right. we don't count." he felt the hand in his tighten. he looked down into his wife's ashen face. throughout she had not spokenscarcely moved. now the change in her startled him out of the stupefying absorption of his pain. he saw that she had ceased to be afraid, and that the malice and anger had gone from her. he saw her as she had been in her girlhood, in her first innocent, incredulous love of him. her failing eyes were full of a deep, unearthly pity. "tris-you are both-very brave." a groan burst from his lips. the meeting of the ways 501 "anne-i can't leave you." "you must. that is my little share in the sacrifice. i shan't be afraid now, tris." he knelt down beside her. she put her weak arms round his neck and kissed him. "good-bye, husband." "little anne-god keep you." she smiled a little. "i'm-sure-he-will." barclay moved impatiently. he saw that they had forgotten him. "will you come, sigrid?" she bent her head in assent. "then you can go your way, major," barclay said. but it was as though the last weapon which his tortured pride had forged for him had shivered against an impregnable armour. they were great-these people even in defeat-even anne, little cowardly anne could face death alone and unflinchingly. he recognized that greatness with a last anguish. he had their blood in him. if they had turned to him, recognized him, appealed to him in the name of their common ancestry, even thenbut they did not think of him. he was a whirlwind driving them apart to their separate destinies-an impersonal, soulless force-no more. "come!" he demanded violently. tristram gave sigrid his hand. they took up their burden of life. it had become heavier; but they took it up. and for a while they would carry it. but in the end there would be rest. that was their message and their farewell. 502 the meeting of the ways tristram went out into the rain-swept street-past vahana, who looked up into his face and laughed. sigrid lingered. she drew shyly near the camp-bed with its little burden. "good-bye” but anne stretched out her hand and drew sigrid down to her and kissed her. "yours is the hardest part. i-judged-harshly. forgive." "there is no need our ways have met in the end." the door closed presently. it grew very still in the little hut. the voices and the clatter of hoofs faded in the distance. all other sounds sank into the deepening, growing call of the flood. anne lay still. her eyes lingered on the shadowy furniture. even now there was wickie's old basket in the corner. poor tristram! she sighed faintly-wearily. somehow now it was so much easier to understand-god was all-merciful. it was growing dark. she tried to compose herself. the shadows were rising up all around her. she was not afraid. owen would be there he would be waiting for her-it would be just as it had always been-only more perfect. she tried to fold her hands. "our father which art99 it was as though a great sea poured over her engulfing her in its peace. chapter xiii to gaya! tristram led arabella out of her stable and spoke gently to her. he showed no sign of haste or trouble. he did not believe barclay. he was convinced that there was no intention to allow him to leave heerut living. even barclay could not betray his followers so openly. yet he had no right to refuse the chance, and in the end it could make but little difference. he mounted and walked arabella down the centre of the flooded street. across the western exit of the village, where the land lay highest, the two thousand had herded together like a pack of hunted wolves awaiting the signal from their leader. ayeshi sat his horse a little in advance, with barclay and the shadowy mendicant to his right. tristram rode towards them unmoved. he held himself with his usual casual ease, a little loosely, with one fist stemmed against his thigh. there was no conscious bravado in the attitude. an instinct inherited from generations of men who had confronted the same enemy at the same odds taught him an unchallenging serenity. as he drew nearer, he looked full into ayeshi's face and read in the sombre eyes the confirmation of his death. 503 504 to gaya! he might have spoken, made some appeal to the old memories that bound them, but something-perhaps the consciousness that for that moment he represented more than himself-held him sternly silent. barclay smiled, but his eyes too, were overshadowed with a knowledge in which there was neither happiness nor triumph. thus the three men met in a last encounter. for an instant they seemed to be alone-to be standing on a lofty plateau above the watching crowd, confronting each other with a tragic perception of something common to them all, and of a destroying, merciless destiny. then vahana laughed, shrilly, exultantly, and it was over. tristram rode past ayeshi. he reached the border of the crowd. arabella hesitated and he touched her gently with his heels. she understood, and, understanding, became insolently irresistible. the first man whom she nosed aside hesitated, his hand on his knife. tristram did not look at him. his eyes passed carelessly over the sea of upturned faces. he did not draw himself up. so he might have ridden among them on a feast day, or as they returned from their work on the plain. his expression was neither defiant, nor contemptuous. to the last, even as he awaited death at their hands, he remained one of them, not judge or master or victim, but man among men. one step more. the sea closed in behind him. would it come now? he knew that it would be in his back. sooner or later the hypnotic spell which his presence threw over them would snap. some hand, bolder, more resolved than the rest, would lift itself, and then the waves would to gaya! 505 close over him for ever each step, the tension of waiting relaxed. he forgot himself. something rose up to him in that heated, fœtid atmosphere of a passion-ridden humanity. it enveloped him with a deeper knowledge of their dim strivings, of their dimmer hopes, and great fears. he saw in their revolt only a thwarted desire, a piteous clinging to the only faith they knew, in their hating cruelty only the curse under which all men, struggling blindly towards their vision of the future, flood their path with the blood of their brothers. yet as he rode on, winning he did not pity them. the burden of their life was his. he forgot himself as the individual. he was part of the universe, part of all life. the instinct in him was to hold out his hands to them in recognition-in acceptance of their common destiny. he did not know that his face had changed as he rode slowly forward, nor that the faith which burnt up in him shone in his eyes. he only knew that suddenly it was over. the last wondering, questioning face flashed past him. he was out in the open-free. arabella broke into a canter. he pulled her back to a walk. the time had not yet come. they would recover now. some of them had rifles. they would use them. there must be no sign of flight, of fear. ten yards-twenty-fifty-still nothing. another pace or two, and he stood on a hillock, his body, as he knew, sharply outlined against the light. he drew in deliberately. still nothing. he went on. he was hidden now. he called to arabella, and then they were galloping towards gaya. 506 to gaya! three hours and fifteen miles of bad road-perhaps partly flooded. so far there was only mud, into which arabella sank up to the fetlocks, but down on the plain itself there would be morass-in places water. his mind foresaw each mile, each obstacle. if it could be done, arabella would do it. no thoroughbred had her pluck and stamina. but it would be a close finish. night was coming on. it would be dark within an hour. he would have to rely on his instinct to guide him. the lights of gaya would not carry half a mile through the rain which fell in a finely woven curtain from the loaded sky. he had ceased to question barclay's action or ayeshi's curious acquiescence. possibly they had not meant him to escape possibly they had relied on his coming too late or on the futility of his warning. it was useless to speculate. he could only act-do the best he could. he breasted the last hillock which separated him from the plain. the roar of the river sounded ominous even then-like the roll of continuous, unmodulated thunder. then on her own initiative, arabella slithered to a standstill, her ears pricked, her lean body quivering with apprehension. tristram brushed the rain from his eyes. for an instant he was only incredulous-distrustful of his own senses. twenty-four hours ago-a wide flat stretch of saturated fertile soil-the bold, sweeping line of the ganges-and now this-this level, rising, onward-flowing surface, broken near the centre by a broad ribbon of sinister, rippling movement-no landmark left, no grass, no trace of land-one stupendous, terrible monotony of water. then he knew what barclay had known. the floods had to gaya! 507 come. the catastrophe of which old villagers had spoken with bated breath had broken over them. he could hear the water lapping against the base of the rising ground. with every minute it grew louder, nearer. in a few hours it might well be that the whole plain might be coveredheerut-the temple itself. he spoke to arabella. he felt that figuratively she shrugged her shoulders. they had done many mad things together in their day, and this was the maddest and the last; but, if he wished it, she had no objection. she went slithering and stumbling down into the water. it rose to her knees, to his feet and there for the time stopped. they waded steadily towards the bridge-head. if it grew no deeper than this the passage might still be possible. he leant forward eagerly in the saddle, waiting for his goal to outline itself against the eternal greyness. there was no sound but the sish of the water as it broke from arabella's shoulders and her own heavy breathing. he had ceased to hear the boom which had first warned him. he was in the midst of it and it became a kind of silence. it was a part of his consciousness-it had been there always. striking diagonally across the plain, he left the black mass of the temple on his right. he could not feel any current, and yet he was aware that they were being drawn insidiously towards the centre. the knowledge did not trouble him. so long as he could keep arabella's head up the river, he could afford to give ground. he did not contemplate the possibility of being sucked into the torrent itself. as yet arabella's foothold was sure and her progress steady. 508 to gaya! no suspicion of the truth had reached him. but still he could not see the bridge. once past the temple it was the first important landmark, and he began to wonder, in spite of arabella's sturdy efforts, whether they were really moving forward. the horror of the passing time coiled itself round him, stifling him. he knew fear -already the drab daylight was failing rapidly. yet there was no bridge. he was drifting nearer to the river's banks. he could mark them definitely by the break in the placid surface -the sudden rush, the eddies and deep pits of the whirlpools. he could judge the pace of the torrent by the passing of odd, as yet unrecognizable fragments. they sped on their way, now disappearing for many minutes, now carried from side to side in cross currents, but always in headlong movement. some of the fragments were like small islands-they stood upright out of the water like pillars of a ruined church, black and straight. still there was no bridge. "mother ganges demands toll of those who curb her." suddenly he understood. he understood barclay's smile and ayeshi's acquiescence. he recognized those pillars. they were motionless. they held their place in the torrent like the defiant remnant of an annihilated army, like tragic monuments to man's futility. the bridge had gone. for a moment he drew arabella to a standstill. he had lost all sense of anxiety, all thought of failure. methodically but rapidly, he threw overboard every unnecessary weight: his water-logged riding boots, various small items to gaya! 509 in his pockets, a heavy belt with a metal clasp, his coat. with an effort he managed to cut the girths and finally to remove the saddle itself, flinging it to the rest. then he turned arabella's head towards the river. they were moving quickly now-perilously quickly. in what seemed no more than a minute they had reached the limit. the water rose above his knees, he could feel it circling round him—a living monster, awaiting its moment. he bent forward and patted arabella's neck and whispered to her, and kissed her warm sleekness. she whinnied challengingly, tossing her head. then plunged. the torrent passed over them. he went down under a crushing opaque mass of delirious water. it seemed many minutes perhaps it was only a second or two-then they rose again. arabella's head was turned downstream. she made no effort. she was panic-stricken-helpless. he called to her. he himself was stunned and could barely keep his seat. invisible forces had hold of him, dragging at him. at last he had her head round, and she struck out with the energy of terror. they were moving now. he could judge their progress by the two pillarsmere specks on the rushing greyness. a fierce exultation possessed him—the glory of struggle they were moving. arabella had found her stride. though they drifted, too, they were not wholly at the mercy of the current. foot by foot, they were winning their way across. it did not matter that they were being swept farther down the river. once on dry land they could make up for lost time. then arabella would not fail. but now he was afraid for her. he could feel in his own 510 to gaya! nerves and sinews the cost of her heroic effort the rising agony of her exhaustion. he believed that already she was finished. he felt her go down under him. then, in answer to a supreme demand of her spirit, she rose again— the blood streaming from her nostrils. he called to her, and she turned her head a little. he could see her eyes, their whites veined with red, and he remembered wickie. it was the same look, the same unfaltering confidence, the same patient acceptance of suffering. for herself alone she would not have struggled farther; but for him, for his life she accepted the crushing, heart-breaking burden of living. strange things raced past them-fragments horrible in their significance an unhinged door, a table, a wooden image swept from some village shrine, its battered face staring from out of the foaming water in grotesque serenity; dead things-the carcase of a bullock, a woman's rigid hand tossed up in horrible semblance of appeal, a baby's body; living things—the hideous snout of a mugger battling against the stream, its jaws snapping greedily at the passing provender, a cheetah, caught perhaps in the midst of some marauding expedition, which struggled to tristram's side and kept close to him. he called to it and it turned its eyes to him in frantic supplication and terror. in that dread moment they were comrades, fighting shoulder to shoulder against the common enemy. they reached midstream. in a minute they would be out of the worst-out of danger. he turned his head; he wanted to measure by the pillars how far they had still to go. he saw the end coming. it was grotesque-absurd to gaya! 511 -a native hovel that had been caught up bodily. it bore down upon him, staggering drunkenly on the full breast of the current. it seemed to blot out the skya monstrous, towering juggernaut. a figure clung to the thatched roof. it was gesticulating wildly-in fear or warning, he could not tell. but there was no escape. the rocking structure was travelling with the speed of an express,-arabella had almost ceased to move. tristram slipped quietly from her back, only holding to her bridle, and she rose buoyantly. in that final moment, a deep-rooted instinct in him had prevailed. she was to have her chance. he struck out-turning his head for a last time towards the onrushing catastrophe. it was not more than twenty yards away. he could see the man's dark face-staring down into the water-aghast, silly-looking. his grotesque vessel seemed suddenly to stop, to draw back, quivering like a frightened, deathstricken animal-then plunged headlong-flashed like a pebble over the edge of a precipice. tristram closed his eyes. he tasted death. he knew the horror of suffocation-the pitiless night which swirled over him, choking him, stupefying him. twenty yards lower down the hut reappeared. its roof was battered in. the clinging, piteous figure had vanished. tristram twisted arabella's bridle about his arm. it was his last deliberate act. he was dimly conscious of movement, of being sucked against warm, heaving flanks, of a hand that closed down blackly on his will to live. he knew that he was letting go his hold-he was beaten. he felt himself go down-then one last thrill of consciousness. 512 to gaya! his feet jarred against something-he was being dragged -dragged over a soft spongy substance. he tried to right himself-but instead stumbled-pitched headlong into oblivion. chapter xiv resurrection 99 99 "that reminds me of a story some one told me once, mrs. brabazone declared. "i think it was georgegeorge, seated three places lower down on the opposite side of the table, looked up anxiously and, meeting his wife's eyes, signalled a denial. "yes, i'm sure it was you, george. anyhow, it's a very good story. it was about a lancashire coal-heaver-or was it a cotton-spinner? what do they do in lancashire? i never can remember. but i know they make a frightful lot of money, and are horribly extravagant." she considered a moment. "yes —it is extravagant, not mean. i get so confused. and one day when he was dying99 some one laughed, and mrs. brabazone glanced up perplexedly. "my dear, that isn't the point-at least, i don't think so. george, do tell it. it's such a good story." the judge, usually the soul of courtesy, turned a deaf ear and fixed his attention with an expression of almost passionate interest on colonel armstrong, who was seated on mrs. boucicault's left. the colonel was discussing the prospects of the rains, his manner beautifully anglo-saxon in its optimistic serenity. 33 513 514 resurrection "i'm sure we can congratulate ourselves that the worst is over," he said. "as long as the banks at bjura hold there is nothing to fear, and rutherford promised to let us know the moment there was any danger-on account of the bridge, of course. poor matherson was rather rattled about the bridge. it's his first single-handed job, however, and a swollen river like that is a severe test. he's kept quiet, so we can presume that it's holding out." mrs. boucicault smiled. she smiled very often-always when a reply was expected of her. it covered over her silence. it was a curious smile. it came suddenly and faded slowly, leaving behind it a kind of grimace. her eyes, abnormally large and intensely blue, were fixed blankly on the length of the table. its display of silver, the many flowers, the subdued lights, the noiseless servants whose dark hands reached out spectrally from the shadows, seemed to absorb her. certainly it was a feast unequalled in the annals of gaya's sociabilities. some of the guests were even vaguely oppressed by it. a pace was being set which none of them could hope to keep up. dr. martin, seated a few places lower down on his hostess's right, scarcely turned his eyes from her face. she seemed to fascinate him. his neighbour-the wife of a newly arrived captain-decided that he was a very stupid little man. he rarely spoke, and seemed to have no appetite. her inherited antipathy for civilians increased to dislike, and she pitied herself intensely. in despite, she amused herself with captain compton, who was her vis-à-vis, dilating rather maliciously on the glories of simla, from whence she hailed. resurrection 515 the conversation never flagged. its feverish persistency covered the splash of the rain outside the open windows and the sound of smothered, angry whisperings somewhere behind the curtained doorways. mrs. compton, who was an old hand at indian life, sensed "nerves" in that perpetual chatter, in that resolute determination to shut out alike thought and silence. the last weeks had been almost unbearable. she herself had never experienced anything to equal the incessant downpour. but it was more than the climate. there was unrest in the air. from her husband she had heard mutterings to the effect that armstrong, good soldier though he was, did not know how to tackle the ugly temper of his men-that a demand had been sent to headquarters for a battalion of white troops. then other things had gone wrong-rasaldû, sigrid, barclay-it was one long sequence of trouble. and now tonight, mrs. boucicault sat at the head of the table with her staring, unseeing eyes and grey, powdered face, looking like a smiling death's-head. mary compton thought of the man who lay paralysed and silent behind the walls, and wondered if beneath their gaiety the others thought of him and of the unknown hand which had struck him down. things happened in india. they came out of the darkness like lightning-struck, and vanished. it was no wonder people had nerves. they were in the minority-in reality quite powerless. it was just bluff-splendid bluff. mrs. compton bit her lip. she had nearly screamed. in the midst of her unpleasant reflections, the voices in the corridor had risen to an angry clamour. suddenly the 516 resurrection curtains were pushed violently aside. the butler entered backwards, expostulating, gesticulating, followed overwhelmingly by mrs. smithers. her entry, her rain-soaked clothes and dishevelled grey hair might have been comic -might have caused amused surprise-discomfort; but there was something else about her—a resolution, a reality of tense anxiety which, reflected on the faces of those who saw her first, brought the rest to an instantaneous silence. she looked round the table, and, seeing mrs. compton, who had half risen, burst into breathless speech. "it's sigrid-she's gone-she's been gone since this morning-i've waited-i couldn't bear it any longer. she'll die. it's her heart. and that man-that scoundrel -his real wife's down there now-crying her eyes out. it made me sick. i had to come. mrs. compton, you cared for her-you'll help me. don't you know anything -don't you know where she's gone?" the broken, incoherent flow came to a more resolute end. the servants made a movement as though to approach her, but mrs. boucicault waved them back. she had become suddenly alert and watchful, as though for something which she had long foreseen. mrs. compton looked helplessly round the table. "does any one know-i haven't seen mrs. barclay for days"" "you can call her miss fersen," mrs. smithers broke in doggedly. "well, you know who i mean. perhaps she's taken shelterresurrection 517 "it was raining when she started out. that was this morning early-after that woman came"what woman-?" "mrs. barclay-a nigger, like him." 99 mrs. smithers was uncompromising-violent. she did not care that she interrupted, that forty of gaya's most important inhabitants stared at her with varying feelings of consternation and annoyance. she was frightened. her fear had tightened its hold with every hour of futile waiting, till what self-consciousness she had was stifled out of her. her fear was everything. these people were nothing. her disparagement of them expressed itself in every line of her grim, ashen features. "you mean"-colonel armstrong leant back judicially in his chair, fingering the stem of his wine-glass"you mean actually that mrs.-your mistress discovered this morning-that-that, in fact, her marriage had been illegal-?" "that's it. she wasn't his wife-never had been, thank god." "isn't it conceivable-i don't want to frighten youthat in her despair she may have done something rash?" mrs. smithers jerked her head with a movement of utter contempt. "you men seem to think we're always in despair if we lose one of you precious creatures-most times it's t'other way round. she was glad. it's the first time i've seen her happy for months and months. he's done away with her and you sit there like a herd of stuck pigs 518 resurrection "really, my good woman” a lot you care. she's "i'm not your good woman. one of your blood-worth the whole crowd of youand you treated her like dirt just because she got into the clutches of one of your-your-wickednesses"smithy!" mrs. compton implored. "i don't care-it's true." 99 armstrong looked helplessly at mrs. boucicault; but mrs. boucicault was staring in front of her with that same look of tense expectancy. the new arrival from simla shivered. she did not understand the scene, but she thought it vulgar and horrid. these out-of-the-way stations were very uncivilized. it was amazing how quickly the smartest people lost their polish. captain compton came suddenly to the rescue. "it's a queer thing," he said, in his deliberate way. "meredith and rasaldû and now miss fersen99 "rubbish!" armstrong knitted his brows at his junior. "meredith has probably taken the rajah with him on his rounds. it's happened before. as to mrs.miss fersen, there are any amount of possible explanations. her horse may have fallen lame. i've always set my face against this silly craze for riding alone, and now he stopped. the stem of his wine-glass snapped under the sudden pressure of his fingers. the simla woman gave a little scream and rose to her feet. he frowned at her. the men exchanged glances. the women were curiously still-looking towards the window. armstrong laughed, mopping up his wine with his napkin. "pon resurrection 519 my word, we're all suffering from nerves. absurd. some sentry99 but no one listened to him. compton got up and ran out of the window-down into the garden. they heard scuffling-a muttered exclamation-the sound of something soft and heavy being dragged up the steps. they sat still-waiting. they saw compton hesitating on the threshold of the light. he was bending down"give me a hand some one, for god's sake!" george brabazone pushed back his chair and turned to his assistance. between them the huddled, shapeless something was pulled into the room. it lay inert. the shadow covered it. one of the men snatched up a light, holding it above his head. "what is it?” "tristram"" "what-not-?" "i don't know-tumbled off his horse. pull the curtains-get the servants out of the room." armstrong took over compton's command. the natives fled noiselessly before his imperative gestures. the curtains were dragged across, shutting out the black, menacing gulf. they were all on their feet now-two brilliant lines of colour -with that blot lying in a pool of mud and rain"give me wine-anything." tristram stirred. with compton and brabazone on either side of him, he dragged himself to his knees. the water dripped from his face-from his clothes. he was almost unrecognizable. "it's nothing-they-missed me. only winded520 resurrection he pushed the proffered glass aside. "rasaldû-meredith mutinies-or--both murdered yesterday-regiment ganized for tonight-not a soul to escape-any minute now. that was the first shot' where have you come from?” "heerut. bridge gone. had to swim for it" "matherson-?" "gone-i don't know. don't talkwho's on duty to"of course not we must act. night?" "farquhar-haverton99 "they must be warned." "it's too late. it'd show them we were prepared. our only chance is to take them by surprisewhat's thatיי?. "firing. poor devils! we shall be the next. who's at the bottom of this, tristram?” "ayeshi-barclay-what's it matter? do something!" they looked at each other. something like a smile passed over their faces. they were very calm-very quiet. the men and women were equally aware that there was not much they could do. they were cut off by hundreds of miles from any real assistance. it would have taken an hour at least to have gathered the rest of gaya together and prepared a defence that might suggest even a fighting chance. as it was, they had perhaps a few minutes-if one or two of them had a weapon in his possession it would be a great piece of luck. the thought of a five-chambered revolver-three chambers empty-which he happened to have slipped into the pocket of his military resurrection 521 overcoat some days back-gave compton such an absurd thrill of satisfaction that he laughed. "we shall have to shy the spoons at 'em!" he said. mrs. boucicault brushed the fluffy grey hair from her forehead. "my husband has a few guns in his rack," she said quietly. "he used them for hunting, but they might do. i think there are some cartridges, too-i don't know-we might look." "better than nothing." armstrong began to direct, heavily but systematically. "compton, get the servants together. shut them up and see that they don't get a chance to communicate with any one outside. five of you had better keep a lookout. the rest stay here. it would be better to go on as though nothing had happened. we shall defend this side of the house-this room, in fact. we're too few for anything more, mrs. boucicault, please lead the way "" he was obeyed. the women reseated themselves. mary compton began to talk. mrs. brabazone took up the tangled thread of her story and unravelled it laboriously. the dead white tablecloth and the brilliant colours of the flowers made their faces look vivid. 99 "it's like old times,' mrs. compton declared. "i expect it's really a blessing in disguise. if we didn't have these periodical shake-ups our livers would never work at all. we do eat such dreadfully unhealthy things. somebody pass me the almonds. let's have our desserts now as well as in the hereafter!" it was an old and rather feeble jest, but it served its 522 resurrection purpose. the simla the simla woman laughed heartily. mrs. brabazone grumbled. "people always seem to find something in mary's remarks. it's base favouritism. i'm every bit as funny-" "a lot more, my dear." mrs. compton's manner was that of a rather over-excited school-girl. she ate salted almonds vivaciously and threw one at tristram, who had stumbled to a chair and sat there with his face between his hands. "you look like a drowned rat, hermit-not a bit lovable. where's anne?" he glanced up with bloodshot eyes. "i think she's dead," he said, hoarsely. “she died alone in heerut. sigrid has gone with barclay. it was his offer you understand? i shouldn't be here now if it wasn't for her. she and anne-they thought of youthey neither of them funked." they were silent for a moment. a spasm passed over mary compton's face. she reached desperately for the sweetmeats. "mrs. brabazone-for mercy's sake, tell that lancashire story of yours99 "it's about a miner," mrs. brabazone began jerkily. "you know how horribly dirty they are. and one day he came home-he was very ill, you know, and his wife said" she laboured on with quivering lips. they listened attentively. a sound of shouting came from the barracks not a quarter of a mile distant. tristram and mrs. compton exchanged glances. "they're working up to concert-pitchresurrection 523 in the quiet, whitewashed soldier's room, armstrong and brabazone were collecting what weapons they could find. mrs. boucicault had underestimated, but even so there was not much hope to be found in the six doublebarrelled guns and the few cases of ammunition. mrs. boucicault stood at the foot of her husband's bed looking at him. they were both so still-the grey-haired, painted woman and the big man lying stretched out beneath the thin sheet-that armstrong almost forgot them. but at the door he remembered and looked back. 99 he 'you'd better explain to your husband-i'll send some one to carry him-he must be where we arehesitated, and then added gruffly: "you don't need to worry, boucicault. you shan't fall into their hands, i give you my word of honour." they went out. still eleanor boucicault remained at her place at the foot of the bed. the man's eyes were fixed on her. they were distended. the dim light could not reveal their expression, yet all the life which had made its last stand in their depths seemed to gather togetherwith a supreme effort to spread over his face-to swell the withered muscles. the distant shouting reached them. the sound released her from her still absorption. she threw herself down on her knees beside him. "they're going to kill us, richard-they're going to kill us. it's the regiment-your regiment.-colonel armstrong says we can't do much. they'll just—just do what they like! do you hear that shouting? that means they're coming. they know we're here—they know 524 resurrection "" you're here. you made them hate us-just as you made me hate you." she gripped him by the shoulders, her words rushing down on him in a fevered, awful torrent. "it doesn't matter to me-i'm dying, anyhow. you've killed me. that's what i want to tell you. i didn't tell you before, because i thought you'd be glad. but now we're going to die together i want you to understand. look at this-' she tore open the bosom of her dress. "you did that-that time you struck me. it never healed-it never will. good time all the same. i've spent your money, richard. i've made you suffer. i've had you to hurt when i couldn't bear the pain any longer. and now-now you're just going to die like a rabbit in a trap." she burst out laughing. there was a long flat chest against the wall, and she went to it with quick, tottering steps and opened it. the neatly folded uniforms, the sword in its leather case -she flung the whole contents down before him with a shrill cry of bitter triumph. "you'll never wear them again, richard. you won't go down fighting-i shall, but not you-you'll just lie there and trust to us to have mercy on you. you're just a wreck--a crumbling, hideous ruin. that's why i hate you-why they hate you those men who are coming to kill us. we loved you so. you were our god-our bagh sahib-and then you becamea devil." it's cancer. oh, but i've had a she knelt down by the heap of red and gold splendour. she was crying, and the tears carved deep channels through the paint and powder. "bagh sahib!" resurrection 525 she put her hand over her mouth. it was as though she had tried to smother a scream, but no sound had come from her lips. she shrank back from him, farther and farther back till she cowered on the floor, watching him. slowly--so slowly yet steadily that the movement seemed supernatural-he was lifting himself up. he did not look at her. his gaunt face was tense and absorbed as though the whole being of the man were turned inwards on the contemplation of a miracle. his arms hung straight at his sides. he lifted them-holding them out before him. "bagh sahib!" he pushed the sheet back and s´ipped his legs over the edge of the bed. they were mere sticks-fleshless, piteous -yet he stood up swaying like a tall reed in the wind. the woman, h ddled on the floor, dragged herself to her feet and stumbled towards him. he put his arm round her shoulders, leaning on her. "nelly-poor nelly-something in my head-it's better -help me” it was a child talking—a mumbling, broken appeal. yet there was a purpose in him stronger than his weakness. he lurched across the room. "nell-sweetheart-my uniform-my parade-things-my sword"they're here-dear-you can't" a shot was fired-this time close at hand. he made an odd little sound like a laugh. "they've not done with me yet-by the lord-they shall meet bagh sahib again-we'll see who's strongest-even 526 resurrection nowhe held out his palsied hands; he was gasping, but it was in the flood-tide of returning life. his eyes shone like a young man's. "nell-you used to know the way-there wasn't a buckle you couldn't managequicker to spot things than a sergeant on parade. no mistakes now--bagh sahib never made mistakes-the smartest man in the indian army. by gad-there's the sword not rusty? no-that's like you-so-now-kiss me"" between each sentence there had been gap of time. she had obeyed him like a woman possessed. now he stood before her-a ghostly figure in the loose-fitting uniform-the shadow of the man whom she had once loved -but at least the shadow. she clung to him-half supporting him, herself shaking from head to foot. "my richard99 "nell-sweetheart-help me to go to them-just to the door and then alone?" "yes-yes"kiss me!" her poor, wizened little face glowed like a girl's as she lifted it to his. the years, with their bitterness, dropped from her memory. she did not need to understand more than one thing, that he had been given back to her as he had once been. nothing mattered now-not even death itself. "lean on me, richard-i am quite strong"" they went together down the gloomy passage, his arm still about her shoulders. she had need of her boasted resurrection 527 strength. at first his weight almost bore her to the ground. but with every step he held himself straighter, freeing at the door of the dining-room himself from her support. he stood upright, only his hands touching her. he kissed her. then he went in alone. a handful of women still sat at the table and talked loudly and incessantly. the rest were helping the men barricade the verandah window. mrs. smithers worked with the grim energy of despair, keeping to tristram's side as though his nearness brought her some comfort. it was she who saw boucicault first, and in her consternation clutched at her companion's arm. "lawks a-mercy!" she whispered. "look!” tristram turned. it seemed to him that he had known incredible though this even before she had touched him. thing was, it was also inevitable. the gaze of the two men crossed. tristram waited for the hating, satiric smile, bracing himself to meet its triumph. but there was no change in boucicault's face-scarcely recognition. a bugle-call rang above the approaching storm. boucicault came forward. he frowned round on them. "gentlemen-gentlemen-this is child's-play! do you suppose my fire-eaters care for a few arm-chairs and a crazy gun? why, we've swallowed whole fortresses armed with cannon in my time. who's in command here?" not even armstrong himself moved. this man had risen from the dead. if their own nearness to death blurred the miracle of it, they were no less under the ban of a miraculous authority. boucicault shrugged his shoulders. he crossed over to the 528 resurrection window and pulled the curtains aside. to the right, towards the barracks, torchlights ran backwards and forwards like distracted fireflies, gradually converging together in a solid block of flame. a black rage settled on the old man's sunken features. "who the devil has been meddling with my men?" he cursed. "the 65th never revolted in its history. whose fault is this? can't somebody speak?" but they could only look at each other in pitying helplessness, he had forgotten. he was back in the old days when he had led his men triumphantly into a fire under which every other regiment had withered. he was bagh sahib, the hero, the demi-god. he had forgotten-and even if they could, they would not have penetrated that merciful oblivion. he settled his helmet. his thin hand rested tremblingly on the hilt of his sword. "the civilians stay here with the women," he said. "the rest follow me." he went waveringly down the steps. and then only they recovered their power of action. tristram was at his side as he reached the garden. "colonel boucicault-you're not in a fit state"" the light from behind him flashed into the cold eyes. "not fit? i'm more fit than those arm-chair soldiers." a wintry smile quivered under the grey moustache. “you were always confoundedly interfering, major tristram." "what do you mean to do?" "take command of my regiment." he turned his back on them. arabella, still panting and covered from resurrection 529 head to foot in mud, had drawn his attention. "your horse, major, i am sure? your mounts were always a disgrace to your service. saddleless, too? howeverbetter than nothing. help me uphe was obeyed. they might have thrown themselves on him-held him back by sheer force, but they could not. he had taken command. dr. martin wrung his hands as though his own death were not howling at him within a couple of hundred yards. "it's impossible-the man was paralysed half an hour ago he ought not to be able to stand. if you allow him to go, i won't take the responsibilitymrs. compton shook him by the arm. shining like two points of fire. 99 her eyes were "shut up-don't you see-he's the bagh sahib-he can do things we can't-it's our only chance." bagh sahib rode down the avenue at a walk. he did not hurry, though the sinister light swept down on him amidst a pandemonium of rattling drums and trumpet calls. his face was resolute-no longer brutal-and the smile lingered at his lips. it was as though the coming encounter amused him. he did not look to see whether he was followed. the men he had commanded looked at one another. compton fingered the revolver which he had retrieved. he glanced at his wife, and she nodded. "well, i'm going, anyhow," he said. the twelve remaining officers of the 65th assented. armstrong himself had already hurried on in front of compton. he was a staid, humdrum type of man, but in 34 530 resurrection 1 that moment the fire was in his blood. none of them remembered that this same boucicault was the source of the very evil which he had set out to master. he was the bagh sahib. that was all they knew of him. they reached the compound gates as boucicault, with tristram at his heels, came in sight of the mutiny leaders. it was still pitch dark, but the rain had stopped and the torches burnt up luridly in the still air. separate from the rest, a gaunt, spectral figure on the ungainly horse, boucicault waited tranquilly. he was so motionless, so unexpected that the seething mass of soldiers came to a sudden halt. a shot rang out from somewhere in the rear, but those in the first ranks wavered. the superstition which was a very part of their blood chilled them to silence. the roll of drums died away to a faint beat, like the throb of a dying pulse. the trumpet no longer sounded. boucicault's eyes passed from one dark, uncertainly lit face to another. then he laughed. "well, what have you got to say for yourselves?" he spoke clearly now. his voice had a metallic ring in it which awoke od memories. but it broke the spell. there were, perhaps, ten yards between him and the leaders, and they rushed, five of them, with a howl of triumph-then again halted-as though they had flung themselves against an invisible barrier. a shot whizzed past boucicault's head. he grinned mockingly. he touched arabella's sides and rode forward, till the last five yards were covered, and he stared down straight into their faces. "you don't shoot as well as you did, men. resurrection 531 that sort of thing won't do. you want drilling, and, by god, you shall get it! that fellow who missed me shall have my special attention. the 65th wants polishing." he removed his helmet, so that the light flickered on his features. "and i shall polish it," he said. they recognized him. it was the thought of him which had goaded them to their revolt. yet now he sat there on his horse-the man whom they believed helpless and stricken-and gibed at them. for them, too, he was as one risen from the dead. a sergeant in the foremost line drew back, cowering from him. bagh sahib!" he muttered. boucicault leant forward and seized the man roughly by his ear. were. "yes-bagh sahib. you shall see that i can spring still. ah, you, heera, so you remember me? in the old days you fought at my heel like the tiger's cub you that was at affra and burda. yes-you could fight then-now you can only mutiny like angry children. then the 65th had a glorious name in india, and i was proud of you-but now" he thrust the man from him so that he went reeling in the mud. "you cowardly pack-lay down your arms!" he thundered. his command fell like the lash of a whip. the man he had struck leapt at him. he had a revolver in his hand and he pointed it straight at boucicault's breast. "bagh sahib-you killed my brother" "and i shall live to court-martial you, my friend." "not now "" "shoot then, you cur!" 532 resurrection a splash of fire was flung up in boucicault's face. tristram, hiding in the shadow, sprang forward with a smothered cry of horror-then stood still-incredulous. boucicault had not moved. he looked down into his assassin's stricken, gaping face and laughed. "you can't touch me, heera. your very weapon refuses. we have fought together too oftenthere was a new note in his voice-stern yet curiously caressing. the man reeled, broke down, sobbing thickly. "bagh sahib-!" he moaned. -!" he moaned. "bagh sahib"it is well, heera. i forgive." he looked over the sea of faces. "you see that you cannot touch me. for the sake of the old days when you fought gallantly, this night's work is forgotten. lay down your arms." for an instant longer they stared at him. the red of his tunic hid the dark, widening stain. they only saw that the bullet had passed through him and left him unharmed. the older men among them remembered how in the bygone days he had passed scatheless through a hail of bullets. then as now he had been a stupendous figure-half god. to the younger men he was a legend. the evil that he had done them was forgotten. he was their own pasttheir own greatness-the greatness of their fathers. they could not touch him. "gentlemen-form your men into their companies. lead them back to the barracks. remember what i tell you this night is to be forgotten." the little group of englishmen behind him obeyed tranquilly. there was the sound of rifles being stacked. the resurrection 533 disorderly crowd formed automatically into sections. the scene had lasted five minutes. now it was finished. but boucicault turned arabella's head and rode slowly back, and tristram, who had seen that black stain upon the tunic, followed him. mrs. boucicault stood separate from the rest upon the balcony and waited. she was smiling. there was no fear-only a girlish pride, a tragic happiness written on the grey face. as he came within the lights of the verandah she waved to him, and he saluted her with a chivalrous dignity. then he toppled from his seat into tristram's arms. they carried him into the bungalow and set him gently on one of the sofas. his wife knelt down beside him and he put his arm about her and held her close to him. "there is nothing to be done the whole breast. am too old a soldier not to know. please leave us these few minutes. we have so much to say to one another." but to tristram he gave his hand, drawing him down so that his face almost touched the dying lips. "majori'm-sorry-about-your dog" tristram knew then that at the last it was not oblivion, but resurrection. he lingered a moment. even as he stood there hesitating, boucicault's body straightened out a little. his wife's head rested on his shoulder, and there was blood mingled in the grey, untidy hair. her eyes were closed, and she seemed asleep. they had so much to say to one another. tristram crept out on tiptoe. he went down again 534 resurrection into the compound. it was very still. the tumult of the last hour had died away. it had all been like an adventure in a mad, terrible dream. arabella nozzled against his shoulder, and he stroked her gently. and, as he did so, the faint light from the room behind him showed him the slender, colourless band about his wrist. it was as though a charm had laid itself on his aching senses. a gate of memory was opened. he passed through. in the tranquil solemnity of an indian night, he heard voices-ayeshi's voice, hushed yet passionate. "behold, according to the custom, humayun accepts the bond, and from henceforth the rani kurnavati is his dear and virtuous sister, and his sword shall not rest in his scabbard till she is free from the threat of her oppressor. the bo-tree whispered mysteriously: "ah-those were the great days-the great days" and tristram sahib swung himself on to arabella's back and once more rode out towards heerut. chapter xv the snake-god vahana ran on ahead. bent and twisted with age, his half-naked figure far outstripped the riders whose horses ploughed heavily through the morass of junglegrass. behind them, again, came the straggle, panicdriven horde of ayeshi's army, and after them the flood, rising over heerut. vahana halted from time to time and looked back, nodding and beckoning. he was too far in advance for them to see his face. but in that feverish agility, in that patient waiting on them there was a malignant joy, the expression of a soundless, senile laughter. they had strange companions-cheetahs, antelopes, wild pigs-all the creatures of the plain-trotting at their sides, unheeded and unheeding, conscious only of their common peril. they moved slowly, dragging themselves painfully free from the clinging mud. it was the flight of an evil dream-the enemy at their heels, their limbs weighted, each step an anguished effort. they made no outcry, but the tortured breathing of these flying thousands became an unbroken moan of terror. vahana led them by a circuitous path back over a ridge 535 536 the snake-god of ground rising to the rear of the temple. they followed unquestioningly. there was no choice. their retreat was already cut off: to the right the flooded plain, to the left the trackless jungle hemmed them in. the ridge was all that remained to them. sigrid rode between ayeshi and barclay. they had not spoken. ayeshi held himself like a sleep-walker, his face blank, his eyes wide open and expressionless. the hand that held the reins was slack and indifferent. his horse, instinctively aware of the danger pursuing them, kept up of its own account, but he did not seek to control it. compared with him, barclay was the very spirit of sombre exultation. he turned persistently to the woman beside him, his eyes ugly with significance. but her small, white face betrayed no consciousness of him. its serenity was deathlike. her body rode beside him, but her mind, the living part of her, eluded him. he had not hoped that it would be otherwise his pitiless intuition had showed him the limit of his power, the limit of all power; but there was tristram, who by now knew the value of the freedom which she had bought for him-tristram, who represented all that he, barclay, had desired and hoped for and loved, all that he now hated with the intensity of a mutilated passion, tristram who would suffer at the last. he laughed at his own thought and pointed a shaking hand at the mournful immensity beneath them. "your friend will have a wet ride. look out there the bridge has gone. it was swept away an hour ago." he laughed again, and urged his horse past her. he had triumphed, but he did not wish to see her face. the snake-god 537 she turned her head in the direction which he had indicated. the night, mingling its sable with the dirty greys of sky and water, shrouded the familiar landmarks, but that very narrowing of her vision widened the boundaries of her hearing. the thunder of the torrent sounded nearer -she heard again the mysterious mutterings which had arrested her at the bridge-head only an hour or two before. she knew that barclay had not boasted. "did you know that too, ayeshi?" "yes, mem-sahib." his voice was callous, toneless. she could not look at him. "and you let him go? you had forgotten so easily?" "have you found it hard to forget, mem-sahib-you whom he loved-?" he awoke suddenly from his apathy. he bent towards her, his fevered hand on her arm. "was not a little of that man's gold, stained with the sweat and blood of men, enough to buy your forgetfulness?" and now she looked at him. she saw the quivering features the eyes bloodshot and wretched with scorn of her. "i went out of his life as you did, ayeshi," she said gently. "was that forgetfulness?" "mem-sahib!" he muttered. "you tried to save him," she persisted-“as i tried. if we have both failed need we reproach each other now?" "mem-sahib!" in that reiteration there was agony. "it was for his sake-? his hand dropped from her arm. barclay sahib threatened you?" 538 the snake-god "yes." "and now?” "now it is for gaya-for those lives your ambition has jeopardized. and even that may be useless." the ridge they were traversing began to slope downwards. the water was at their feet. they could hear it sucking at the long grasses. the men immediately behind them were swept forward and lost their footing. a man who stumbled at sigrid's side clutched at her and then went rolling ludicrously down the mud bank into the rising flood. she saw his head for an instant-his face gazing stupidly up at them. something square and black and evil that had lain like a lump of wood on the surface of the water moved swiftly forward. there was a scream. ayeshi held up his hand before sigrid's face, but she had seen enough. the man had vanished, and where he had been the greyness of the water had turned to red. "oh, god!” she whispered. "tristram!" "no, no, mem-sahib-not that-not that-they meant that he should die, but i—i who served him and loved him, i know that death cannot touch him when he fights for others. he fights for others now, mem-sahib-for those i have betrayed-for my salvation." he laid his hand on his breast with a gesture of unutterable despair. "no -not even he can do that. it is too late. i am accursed -accursed!" and, as though in answer, the crowd he led surged up closer to him. arms were held up to him-thin, supplicating arms. the snake-god 539 "lord-the water-the water-save us!" "i am accursed!" he whispered. "accursed!" she saw his face. the youth in it was dead-stamped out. yet in that instant she recognized in him the boy, the dreamer who, crouched upon the step of her verandah, had told the story of the rani kurnavati. and the pity that surged over her had in it the passion of that memory. "ayeshi-why have you done this?" his wild eyes met hers for an instant's desperate intentness. "mem-sahib-i loved my country-my gods-the history of them was in my blood. and then in calcutta -the misery-the thwarted ambition-my people starving -the englishman in the high place. they told me they were ripe for revolt-only they needed a leader—a leader who would carry the country-people with him. i came back. vahana lied to me. i believed that my father had been robbed and murdered-that my heritage had been stolen from me-that tristram sahib himself had known who i was and made me his servanthis voice broke. "but it was a lie-i had no heritage-no wrongs to avenge i was their tool-and now-mem-sahib, if ever you should meet him, tell him it was a false dream-but that ayeshi loved him" "" she nodded. she could not answer him, and they rode on in silence till suddenly, vahana, whom they could still see dimly ahead of them, turned to the left and pointed up towards the jungle. "there there is escape, o lord ayeshi! the sacred 540 the snake-god path that leads to the shrine of the snake-god. who follows?" the shrill cry died into silence. there was no answer. barclay came splashing back through the water. his face glowed with a sombre excitement. "it seems there's some secret passage up through the jungle. we may be able to get right away. at any rate, it's our only chance." but ayeshi sat rigid in his saddle, and that which barclay saw in his eyes silenced him. "there is a curse on all those who profane the snakegod's sanctity"" barclay burst out laughing. "good god, man, that silly native yarn"i am a native." "still, you can't be such a fool-" ayeshi turned in his saddle and looked back at the black, silent mass behind him. "who follows barclay sahib through the jungle?" he called. there but there was still no answer. they stood there silent and inert, the water rising about their feet. was no cry of terror from among them now. finished. it was those nearest ayeshi lifted their faces to him in stubborn fatalism. "ayeshi, pull yourself together-they'll follow you right enough." "i dare not," was the desperate answer. "afraid-? a coward-? you don't really believethe snake-god 541 ayeshi threw back his head. his features were terrible in their frozen composure. "i believe." "you accept the responsibility for all these lives?" "i cannot help myself-i am one of them." barclay made a gesture of angry impatience. "do you expect me to stay here and drown like a rat in a trap-?" he demanded. "no-why should you? what are we to you or you to us?" barclay shrank back. with a sound like a smothered groan, he turned his horse about and rode towards vahana who still stood motionless and waiting beneath the black shadows of the trees. he dismounted and looked back. sigrid had not moved. the water had risen swiftly to her horse's knees. ayeshi bent towards her and laid his hand on her bridle. "go, mem-sahib-fear nothing-they will not harm you. you are not of our blood or faith. go-do not let me have your death on my hands. mem-sahib-trust him-he will not fail you99 she lifted her eyes to his face. behind his passive despair there shone the old confidence-the re-birth of a faith. she gave him her hand, and he lifted it to his forehead. "mem-sahib-remember that i loved him.” she saw ayeshi for the last time as on the very verge of the jungle she turned and looked back. his silhouette, cut sharply against the fast-fading light, rose up from the midst of his unhappy followers like a tragic, heroic statue 4 542 the snake-god out of a black, uneasy sea. vahana laughed shrilly, and the sound, breaking the spell of inarticulate terror, let loose a wailing cry which swept in a gust over the rising water. "lord-save us-save usshe saw ayeshi lift his hands above his head. she could not have heard his voice, and yet the echo of his impotent agony reached her. "i am accursed-accursed"" she saw him no more. vahana had hurried on into the darkness ahead of them, and barclay half lifted, half dragged her from the saddle. she made no resistance. but her strength had begun to fail. she tried to free herself from his hold-to stand alone. "go on without me-i'm not strong enough-save yourself." he shook his head stubbornly. give "no-i've nothing left but you. keep your promise. the path is steep-i can carry you. we're safe now. the ground's rising all the way. we've nothing to fear -nothing. it's dark, of course-hideously dark. me your hand." his was dry and cold. it filled her with a nameless disgust-a strange pity. it was as though, helpless as she was, he clung to her. "why-you're shivering!" he muttered. "what is it? you're not afraid? what is there to be afraid of? we're safe here" "it's those others-ayeshihe laughed brokenly. "" "what are they to me? what am i to them? didn't the snake-god 543 you hear him? that settled it, didn't it? i'm not one of them—i've got english blood in my veins. i've nothing to fear-nothing." she could not see his face. they were stumbling blindly up the steep and broken path, and the dense growth of jungle walled them in from whatever daylight remained. yet his voice, the touch of his hand, painted him for her against the black canvas. she could see his face, eyes; wide-open and distended, the mouth agape, the sweat she knew him to be possessed by an on his forehead. insidious terror. "what is there to fear?" she asked in her turn. he muttered incoherently. vahana had vanished. they could hear his body brushing against the tangled growths that hung across the narrow path like warning, invisible hands. barclay called him by name, but there was no answer-only a sudden stillness. he faltered-the hand which still held sigrid's relaxed. she stood apart from him. but for the sound of his breathing she could not have known that he was near her. the infinite relief of that moment's freedom kept her motionless, and then she realized that he was moving forward-that he had forgotten her, every ambition, every desire in the one formless, all-mastering dread. "vahana!" stillness. he groped wildly about him. the sudden consciousness of his isolation drove a scream from his dry lips. "vahana!" the answer was almost in his ear-a soft, caressing whisper. 544 the snake-god "i am here, sahib." "don't leave me-i can't see-this darkness." "the path is a straight one, sahib. give me your hand." barclay cowered back. a chill, fœtid breath fanned his face. something familiar coiled itself about his fingers. he tried to free himself. "the mem-sahib!" he gasped thickly. "where is she?" "the mem-sahib is safe. the path leads to one end. come, sahib!" the whisper had grown shriller, authoritative. there was a subtle hint of anger in its caress. barclay heard its echo. overhead a branch cracked under a moving burden. a thing slid over his foot and went hissing into silence. he threw up his free hand to beat off the invisible attack and touched a slimy, gliding mass which dropped on his shoulder, winding itself about his neck. he flung it from him. he was gasping-choking with fear and nausea. he heard vahana's whisper, subdued, sibilant: "sahib-there are no snakes." but the very hand that held him was a hideous memory. something vague, indeterminate, which had begun to hem him in since that night when he had fled from the vision of himself, was closing in faster and faster. this, that was coming, had been from all time, a hand groping up through the black depths of the ages, a monstrous, inert mass rousing itself from long sleep to predestined action. the darkness, the jungle, was a huge prison alive the snake-god 545 with sound and movement. the sounds awoke under his feet and went hissing and murmuring like a train of fire into the far distance, setting alight other sounds till they surrounded him in an awful, mocking circle. the walls of the prison were narrowing-the air, thick and heavy with an evil sweetness, weighed down upon him till his strength reeled. with an effort he freed himself from vahana's clutch and began to run. the steepness of the path, the uneven ground, jolted the breath from his body in agonized gasps. the branches of the trees were alive-sensate, twisting, winding bodies, which beat their cold, slimy tentacles against his face their roots clutched at his stumbling feet, the hissing murmur had become the high, threatening note of a rising wind. and behind him was that pursuing thing-that formless, familiar menace which he had foreseen, which had hung on the outskirts of his life waiting for its moment. he fled before it because his frantic body demanded flight, but he knew its futility. the thing was there, silent and invisible, gibing at his pitiful effort. it was not death-it was horror itselfa pale light broke ahead. he neither knew whence it came nor its significance. he made for it with a last call to every nerve and muscle in him. he reached it. he was dimly conscious of a brightening luminousness, of something black, serenely still, rising up out of the grey transparency before him. then the end. it came upon him with a rush. it closed in in a clammy band about his throat. he turned. a flat head with a wizened face and small dead eyes and pointed mouth swayed before his 35 546 the snake-god vision in a sinister, rhythmic measure. it was vahanayet not vahana. it was not vahana who was slowly dragging his life from him. it was that cold tightening band-and yet vahana was there close to him. he screamed. again and again. the jungle-the whole world, his world, shrinking about him till it was no bigger than his own brain, echoed with his screams. chapter xvi towards morning the rain had ceased. a soft wind blowing from the north swept the low-hanging clouds into the fantastic, tattered fragments, between which a thin moonlight poured down on to the desolation of waters. all that had been had been washed out as though a child's sponge had passed over a slate covered with the laborious work of a life. fields and villages, rich pastures, homesteads, bridges, each of them some man's dream and ambition, lay under that smooth, glittering surface awaiting their resurrection at the hands of a patient humanity. it was by this first break of light that tristram saw the way over which they had still to travel. he sat motionless and upright, scanning the seeming limitless expanse, and perhaps in that moment some dim, unformed appeal went up from him to the unknown which steels the hearts of men to supreme effort. and, swift on the heels of that brief intercession, there followed an aching pity for the faithful comrade whose share in the coming struggle was so much greater than his own, whose purpose in it was no more than to serve him with the last breath of her life. he stroked her ungainly 547 548 towards morning neck, striving to break down the barrier between living things which made his remorse and pity powerless. she answered gallantly with the grand courage of her kind, and the water rose about them. it was a nightmare redreamed, save that now the first violence of the storm had spent itself. the wreckage had gone its way, and the flood's polished bosom shone bare and empty under the wane and glow of light. there was no landmark left by which they could guide their course. the jungle-clad mountains were mingled with the clouds. the temple shrouded itself in the shadow of the jungle. they could but drift with the currents, fighting their way across, hoping-tristram himself scarcely knew for what. for who could have lived in that deluge, what escape was possible? yet he carried with him a belief born of despair, a serenity such as men feel for whom there is no choice, no second possibility. he could not they were now water swept over something black drifted past him. recognize it, and in a moment it was gone. in midstream, where the rush of the arabella's desperately uplifted head. it was then, the moon sailing out unveiled into the open sky, that he saw other black shapes and knew them for what they were. they were the bodies of men-not of isolated victims, of villagers and field labourers trapped separately or even in small communities by the swift disaster. they were many hundreds. they had died together, and death had not separated them. like driftwood, they had been swept into entangled, shapeless piles of floating horror. "sahib! sahib!" towards morning 549 the cry came faintly across the racing waters. tristram, waking from the lethargy of abandoned hope, turned arabella's head sharply upstream. she responded. it was as though in those years of comradeship she had become a part of himself, obeying the same law, acknowledging the same creed. it was as though she recognized a familiar message in that appeal to her last strength, as though her blinded eyes had seen what tristram saw. it was little enough to accomplish-and yet so much. ten feet to go before that agonized, appealing figure, a hurrying blot on the silver pathway, would be swept irrevocably past and beyond hope. it could be done. arabella lifted herself breast high out of the water. she was young again. all the fire of her mixed ancestry blazed up for the supreme effort. five feet-three. it was done. tristram stretched out his hand. it was gripped and held with the tenacity of despair. arabella went down under the double burden-rose again superbly. "ayeshi!" "sahib-i knew that you-would come-she-is-safe -the jungle-path-behind-the temple"hold on, ayeshi"no-sahib-" "" "" for an instant their faces were almost on a level. the brightening moonlight was in ayeshi's eyes-full of a passionate worship. "humuyan came-too-late-not you, sahib-he tried to wrench his hand free. tristram cursed bitterly at him. "you try to let go-you dare try it-damn you, boy, 550 towards morning do you think i'm going to let you go-now-don't play the rajah with me here" they were being swept faster and faster downstream. arabella was dying under him. he did not know it. he could not have unclasped his hand. no reason could have mastered the love in him, or denied the love which illuminated the face lifted to his out of the black waters. "sahib-forgive" "fool's talk-i don't know the word-hold on, d'you hear? i'll get you out of it. you shall go scot, freeonly hold on-ayeshi-" they fought each other, hand clasped in hand, eye to eye. no two enemies, spurred on by the bitterest hatred, could have fought more grimly. tristram laughed. "i'm stronger than you-always was—" something flashed up in the light. "ayeshi-!" he gasped. a faint smile dawned on the native's face. "greater love hath no manthe knife fell with maniacal strength. tristram closed his eyes. no fear, but a sheer incredulous horror lamed all power of self-defence. the second of suspense passed. nothing-only now there was no weight on the hand still clasped in his, only arabella again breasted the torrent with the energy of release from a killing burden. "ayeshi-!" no answer-only that mute, blood-stained hand-grown powerless-and one more figure floating to join its brothers on the great, silver-flooded field. towards morning 551 two boatmen, guiding their flat-bottomed craft between the ruined hovels of heerut, saw him as he waded waistdeep through the receding flood. the brightening dawn was on his face, but they did not recognize him till he called them by name. then silently they paddled towards him and dragged him to safety. they were old men, palsied with the horrors of that night. there was no thought of rebellion left in them. they could only whisper incoherently, like frightened children, looking up into his face as at something at once loved and terrible. "dakktar sahib-dakktar sahib!" he became slowly conscious of them and of their piteousness. "there's nothing to fear," he said compassionately. "i'm not a spirit-my horse brought me across-just got me into my depth, poor girl-i've been wading about-till morning." he composed himself with a stern effort. "row me to my place will you?" but they shook their heads. "gone, dakktar sahib, gone." his face was grey-stiff-looking. "still, row me to where it was.' "" they obeyed him. here and there a wall remained, or a half roof balanced on a few battered, shapeless heaps of mud. a carcase of a sacred bull floated backwards and forwards between two ruins, with a grotesque semblance of life. at the cross-roads the council-tree trailed its leaves sadly in the still water. 552 towards morning but where the dakktar sahib's hut had been there was nothing. he bowed his face upon his hands. the men stared at him blankly, themselves too stupefied by loss for either pity or understanding. the minutes flowed past in mournful, stately silence. at last tristram drew himself up. his eyes were calm-warm with a hardly won knowledge-and the awfulness had gone from him. "row me to the path behind the temple. "dakktar sahib--" they muttered. "i shall not ask you to follow me," he said, gently. they rowed out of heerut towards the rising ground of the jungle mountains. the fiery wheel of the sun rose behind gaya and the temple shone like a black opal in the morning glow. as they drew nearer tristram's eyes sought out the great window of the sikhara. his thoughts were vague, unformed, still and serene as the water flowing peacefully over the plain. through that window vishnu watched for his beloved rising amidst her golden-haired dawn-maidens. "it is here, sahib." they looked at him and now it was with awe—a kind of dumb protest, but he smiled at them, shaking his head. "there is nothing to fear. wait for me." "sahib-the curse." "there is no curse," he said, with the same gentleness. he waded through the water to the place they indicated and pushed aside the tangled bushes. the hidden path lay before him, leading steeply upwards. he went towards morning 553 on. he was climbing from gloom and shadow into light. he knew now neither doubt nor fear. a great serenity possessed him. there could be no curse. strange flowers clustered at the roots of the stark, straight-standing trees -but they were not evil. there was sound-a rustling and crackling among the branches-a frightened scurrying of some wild creature startled from its lair-familiar loved sounds of living things. a warm, consoling radiance sank down between the stems of the trees as light pours down through a cathedral window upon the stately pillars. up steadily upwards, up into a higher, purer air, with a strange heart-beating of foreknowledge. and then at last the end—a wide clearing on the mountain-summit, and on a high altar, not siva, but a golden lakshmi, her face, beatific in its serene sweetness, turned towards the rising sun. vahana squatted in her shadow, his half-naked body bowed over something so still, so huddled that tristram faltered for an instant. then he went forward and vahana, seeing him unrecognizingly, pointed down with a shaking finger of derision. it was barclay. his piteous face, lifted to the peace of the clear sky, was swollen and bloated almost out of recognition. but he bore no trace of violence. vahana shook with a senile laughter. a fangless adder unwound itself from about his wrist, and he held it to the dead man's staring eyes, gibing at him. "there are no snakes-there are no snakes." but tristram had gone on. he had seen her. like a pale lotus-flower cast up by the waters, she lay stretched in the short grass which grew 554 towards morning about the foot of the altar, her fair, dishevelled head pillowed on her arm in an attitude of happy weariness. he knelt down beside her. the moment's dread was gone. he saw the faint colour in her cheeks. her breath came gently, smoothly as a child's. he dared not touch her. her peace was holy to him. but as though his nearness pierced like sunlight into the calm depths of her dreams, she stirred, her lips moved, shaping the shadow of his name. he drew her into the warmth and comfort of his arms. so it had been once before; but now there was no fear, no pain, or conflict. i was so tired. i fell there was nothing to "tristram-i waited for you. asleep. but i was not afraid. fear-nothing. i knew that you would come." she smiled wistfully-tenderly. "bracelet-brother!" he found no answer. he pointed out eastwards. above the desolate plain the sun climbed up in majesty towards a splendid promise of atonement. one day the fields would bear their harvest, men would build their houses upon the ruins-there would be a new bridge across the river, wiser and stronger. the shadow of a curse was lifted. they knelt together, hand in hand, watching, awestruck, at peace. vahana, too, was still. he, too, watched and waited, his mad, hate-filled eyes growing dim in the clearer light of reconciliation. the end a selection from the catalogue of g. p. putnam's sons complete catalogues sent on application drifting waters by rachel swete macnamara author of "the fringe of the desert," "the torch of life," etc. 12°. illustrated. $1.35 the rebellion of a young girl, budding into womanhood, against the jealous proprietorship of a mother's love. there has been much in the married life of this mother to account for her bitterness of soul and to explain her tyrannous affection that demands, from the daughter whom she loves, a singleness of devotion to the exclusion of everyone else. the daughter's fancy is in time, caught in the meshes of love, and the clandestine expression of her attachment, which the circumstances demand, involves developments of far-reaching interest to the unfolding of the story. the scene is in part england, in part egypt-the haunting, glowing, throbbing egypt that the author has again made so real. new york g. p. putnam's sons london bars of iron by e. m. dell author of "the way of an eagle," "the rocks of valpré," "the keeper of the door," etc. 12°. color frontispiece, 560 pages. $1.50 the story of a man who, goaded into a fight, yields to the devil that masters him and hurls his opponent to death. years later, unknowing of her identity and equally unknown, he falls in love with the widow of the man he has killed and kindles in her a friendship that has in it the promise of a stronger feeling. at that stage, he learns by chance the awful part that he had played in her life, and the story is the story of his conduct under the trying conditions of this discovery, of the resolution he formed, the promise he made, and the way his actions, dictated by fear and affection, influenced the woman he loved. g. p. putnam's sons new york london desmond's daughter by maud diver author of "captain desmond, v.c.," "the great amulet," "the hero of herat," "the judgment of the sword," etc. readers of captain desmond, v.c., the great amulet, and candles in the wind will welcome the addition to this trilogy of another glowing anglo-indian tale, including the true story of the tirah campaign. the daughter has the strength of personality that one would expect from the offspring of so virile a character, and the scenes of angloindian life are the true, thrilling scenes that have won fame for the author. g. p. putnam's sons new york london by maud diver captain desmond, v.c. second edition, revised, and in large part rewritten $1.35 net this stirring story of the indian frontier contains a blending of love and heroism. in the background are stalwart types of soldiery,watch-dogs of the gates of empire,-savage hill tribes, schroffs or native moneylenders, station and camp, ravines, nullahs, and jagged red hills. in the foreground are a fighting man,-dominant, devoted, valiant; a girl, fragile as a flower and as incapable, whom, in a moment of witchery, the man proposes to and marries; and her chum, a woman of fine qualities, who proves a friend to both, only in the end to find that there is something stronger than friendship. the great amulet second edition, revised, and in part rewritten $1.35 net a story of the indian frontier with a changing background of government stations, the steaming punjab, cedar-crowned himalayas, and passes choked with snow. it is the story of a man who fights a devil deeply lodged in his nature the living, active temptation of another's dead sin-and who, until he has gained the mastery of self, refuses to jeopardise the happiness of the woman who is his and who yet is not his because of the barriers of selfimposed restraint. love is the talisman that puts failure out of the question, the "great amulet" that makes the world a garden. g. p. putnam's sons new york london 1 the hermit hunter of the wilds. by gordon stables. university of virginia library x030826045 the galignani library engl. & americ. books, paris, 224, rue de rivoli nice, 16, quai masséna library of the university of virginia university 1819 of virginia presented by paul b. victorius m 300 the hermit hunter of the wilds. church periodical club st. pauls mission millis, massachusett church periodical club st. pauls mission minis, massachusetts the hermit hunter of the wilds. by gordon stables, c.m., m.d., r.n., author of "the cruise of the snowbird;" "wild life in the land of the giants;" "from squire to squatter;" "from pole to pole;" "on special service;" &c. with four original illustrations. lucem libris disseminamus versity london: blackie & son, 49 & 50 old bailey, e.c. glasgow, edinburgh, and dublin, 418597 pz 7 .s775h 1889 421329 gift oct 5 45 contents. chap. i. by the firelight, · ii. "it was on just such a night as this, sister,” iii. "the fearfulness of our situation can hardly be realized," iv. among the woods of craigielea, v. "the whole world is full of changes," vi. "run, run!" cried tom; "the man must not die yet!" vii. "here hangs his brother's scalp," page 17 28 42 53 69 65 198 78 viii. "never before had tom experienced such a feeling of awful danger," 89 ix. "the whole sea of mist turned to clouds of mingled gold and crimson," 101 x. "in the forests strange shrieks and sounds were heard," 111 • · • xi. "the trees went down before it like hay before the mower's scythe," 121 xii. "a shower of poisoned darts fell pattering on the stockade," 132 xiii. the dying ayah tells of bernard, 142 xiv. "filled with gold doubloonssirr, are ye listening?" 153 · vi chap. contents. page xv. "next instant the ship was struck and staved," 163 xvi. "a vast green and flowery valley surrounded by romantic hills," 174 xvii. strange life on the beautiful island, 185 xviii. "he was convinced now he had seen a spectre and nothing else," 197 "" xix. 'under the grave you dug are gold and precious stones," 205 xx. "o, bernard, it is your father's ship!" 214 illustrations. in peril of lightning and flood, . page frontis. 131 . tom meets a puma on the mountain-path, "heah i is, sah," said ginger brandy, "you have nothing to fear," said tom, . • 102 155 . 206 the hermit hunter of the wilds. chapter i. by the firelight. ommy talisker was probably one of the most unassuming boys that ever lived. at all events everybody said so. and this is equivalent to stating that the boy's general behaviour gave him a character for modesty. he was the youngest of a family of five; the eldest being his only sister, and she, like her mother, made a good deal of tommy, and thought a good deal about him too in certain ways. "i don't think," said tommy's father to tommy's mother one evening as they all sat round the parlour hearth; "i don't think we'll ever be able to make much of tommy." perhaps tommy's father was at present merely speaking for speaking's sake; for there had been general silence for a short time previously, broken only by the sound of mother's knitting-wires, the 10 gazing into the fire. crackle of uncle's newspaper as he turned it, and the howthering of the wind round the old farmhouse. tommy's mother looked at tommy, and heaved a little bit of a sigh, for she was very much given to taking everything for granted that her husband said. but tommy's sister, who always sat in the left-hand corner of the fireside, with tommy squatting on a footstool right in front of her, drew the lad's head closer to her knee, and smoothed his white brow and his yellow hair. tommy took no notice of anything or anybody, but continued to gaze into the fire. that fire was well worth looking at, though i am not at all sure that tommy saw it. it was a fire that made one drowsily contented and happy to sit by,—a comfort-giving, companionable sort of a fire. built on the low hearth, with huge logs of wood sawn from the trunk of a poplar-tree that had succumbed to a summer squall, logs sawn from the roots of a sturdy old pine-tree that had weathered many and many a gale, and logs sawn from the withered limbs of a singularly gnarled and ancient pippin-tree that had grown and flourished in the orchard ever since this farmer's father was a boy. there were huge lumps of coals there also, and a wall round the whole of dark-brown peats, hard enough to have cut and chiselled the hull of a toy yacht from. reverie. 11 it is not to be wondered at that tommy took no notice of the somewhat commonplace talk that went on around him; he was listening to a conversation that was being carried on in the fire between the blazing wood and the coals and the peat. "you have no idea, my friends," said the poplar log, after emitting a hissing jet of steam by way of drawing attention and commanding silence"you have no idea what a stately and beautiful tree i was when in my prime. i and my fellows, who were all alive and well when i heard from them last, were the tallest and most gracefullywaving trees in the country-side. poets and artists, and clever people generally, used to say we gave quite a character to the landscape. we knew we were very beautiful, because the broad winding river went through the the meadow where we stood, and all day long we could see our faces therein. o, we were very beautiful! i do assure you. the seasons thought so, and every one of them did something for us. spring came first, as soon as she had fastened the downy buds on the waving willows; placed wee crimsontopped anemones on the hazel boughs-five to each nodding catkin; scattered the burgeons over the hawthorn hedges; tasselled the larches with vermilion and green; adorned the rocks with lichen and moss; brought early daisies to the meadow-lands, the gold of the celandine to the 12 what the poplar said. banks of the streamlets, and the silver of a thousand white starry buttercups to float on the ponds; breathed through the woods and awakened the birds to light, love, and song; led the bee to the crocus, the butterfly to the primrose; awakened even the drowsy dormouse and the shivering hedgehog from their long winter's slumber, to peep hungrily from their holes and wearily wonder where food could be found. then spring came to us. spring came and kissed us, and we responded with green-yellow leaves to her balmy caress. ah, the sun's rays looked not half so golden anywhere else, as seen through our glancing quivering foliage. we raised our heads so high in air, that the larks seemed to sing to us alone, and the very clouds told us their secrets. "but summer came next and changed our leaves to a darker, sturdier green. and she brought us birds. the rooks themselves used to rest and sway on our topmost branches, lower down the blackbibbed sparrows built; in our hollows the starlings laid their eggs of pearl, while even the blackbird had her nest among the ivy that draped our shapely stems. "we were things of beauty even when winds of autumn blew; and winter himself must clothe our leafless limbs with its silvery hoar-frost, till every branch and twiglet looked like radiant coral against the deep blue of the cloudless sky." the pine-tree root. 13 "hush! hush!" cried the pine-tree root. "dost thou well, o poplar-tree log, to boast thus of thy beauty and stateliness? i lived on the mountain brow not far off. i marked your rise and fall. out upon your beauty! where was your strength? to me thou wert but as a sapling, or a willow withe bending in the summer air. but my strength was as the strength of nations. on the hill yonder i flourished for hundreds of years; my foot was on the rocks, my dark head swept the clouds, my brown stem was a landmark for sailors far at sea. in the plains below i saw the seasons come and go. houses were built, and in time became ruins; children were born, grew up, grew old and died, but i changed not. the wild birds of the air, of the rock, and the eyrie were my friends-the eagle, the osprey, the hawk, and curlew. the deer and the roe bounded swiftly past me, the timid coney and the hare found shelter near me. i have battled with a thousand gales; thunders rolled and lightnings flashed around me, and left me unscathed. i stood there as heroes stand when the battle rages fiercest, and my weird black fingers seemed to direct the hurricane wind. i was the spirit of the storm. "and i too had beauty, an arboreal beauty that few trees can lay claim to; whether in autumn with the crimson heather all around me, in summer with the last red rays of sunset lingering in my foliage, or in winter itself-my branches sil14 the gnarled pippin log. houetted against the green of a frosty sky. but i fell at last. we all must fall, and age had weakened my roots. but i fell as giants fall, amidst the roar of the elements and chaos of strife. the skies wept over my bier, rain clouds were my pall, and the wild winds shrieked my dirge." there was silence in the fire for some little time after the pine log had finished speaking, and tommy thought the conversation had ceased; but presently a voice, soft and musical as summer winds in the linden-tree, came from the gnarled pippin log: in "o men of pride and war!" said the voice, "i envy neither of you. mine was a life of peace and true beauty; and had i my days to live over again, i would not have them otherwise. my home was in the orchard, and the seasons were good to me too, and all things loved me. spring-time no bride was ever arrayed as i was; the very rustics that passed along the roads used to stop their horses to gaze at me in open-mouthed admiration. then all the bees loved me, and all the birds sang to me, and the westling winds made dreamy music in my foliage. lovers sat on the seat beneath my spreading branches, when the gloaming star was in the east, and told their tales of love heedless that i heard them. in summer merry children played near me and swung from my boughs, and in autumn and even winter what the peat said. 15 many a family showered blessings on the good old pippin-tree. 'peace, my friends, hath its victories not less renowned than war. 292 "o dear me!" sighed a smouldering peat, "how humble i should feel in such company. i really have nothing to say and nothing to tell, for my life, if life it could be called, was spent on a lonesome moor; true, the heath bloomed beautiful there in autumn, but the wintry winds that swept across the shelterless plain had a dreary song to sing. the will o' the wisp was a friend of mine, and an aged white-haired witch, that at the dead hours of moonlight nights used to come groaning past me, culling strange herbs, and using incantations that i shudder to hear. there were many strange creatures besides the witch that came to the moor where i dwelt; and even fairies danced there at times. but for the most part the strange creatures i saw took the form of creeping or flying things; fairies changed themselves into beautiful moths and wild bees, but brownies and spunkies to crawling toads and tritons. but heigho! i fear a poor peat has few opportunities of doing good in the world." "say not so!" exclaimed a blazing lump of coal; "even a humble peat is not to be despised. how often have you not brought joy and gladness to the poor man's fireside, caused the porridge-pot to boil and the bairns to laugh with glee, banished the cold of winter, and infused comfort 16 king coal. and warmth into the limbs of the aged. but you are modest, and modesty is ever the companion of genuine merit." "and you, sir,” said the peat to the coal, “you are very, very great and very, very old-are you not?" << i am very, very old, and i am no doubt very, very powerful. yet my powers are gifts of the great creator, and it is mine to distribute them. to toiling and deserving man. ages and ages ago before this ancient pine log was thought of or dreamt of, before mankind even dwelt on these islands, when its woods were the home of the wildest of beasts, when gigantic woolly elephants with curling tusks roamed free in its forests, and its marshes and lakes swarmed with loathsome saurians, i dwelt on earth's surface. but changes came with time, and for thousands of years i was dead and buried in the earth's black depths. the ingenuity of man has resuscitated me, and now i have gladly become his servant and slave. i warm the castle, the palace, and the humble cot. i give light as well as heat; i am swifter than the eagle in my flight. i am more powerful than the wind; i drag man's chariots across the land, i waft his ships to every clime and every sea. i move the mightiest machinery; i am gentle in peace and dreadful in war. "nay more, the great wizard science has but to lift his wand, and lo! i yield up products more (568) stranger things have happened. 17 wonderful than any yet on earth. gorgeous were the colours that adorned the flowers of the land in ages long gone by, delicate and delightful were their perfumes; but these perfumes and these colours i have carefully stored, and give them now to man." "" what more tommy would have overheard, as he sat there at his sister's knee, it is impossible to say, for the boy had fallen asleep. chapter ii. "it was on just such a night as this, sister. n% "" repeated tommy's father as he proceeded to refill his pipe; "we mustn't expect to make much of tommy." "tommy may be president of america yet," said uncle robert, looking quietly up from his paper. "stranger things have happened, brother; much stranger." 66 pigs might fly," said tommy's father, somewhat unfeelingly. stranger things have hap(" pened, brother; much stranger." tommy's brothers laughed aloud. tommy's mother smiled faintly. but the boy slept on, all unconscious that he was being made the butt of a joke. (568) b 18 tommy the dreamer. tommy was not an over-strong lad to look at. about eleven or twelve years old, perhaps. he had fair silky hair, regular features, and great wondering blue eyes that appeared to look very far away sometimes. for tommy was a dreamy, thinking boy. to tell the truth, he lived as much in a world of his own as if he were in the moon, and the man of the moon away on a long holiday. he seemed to possess very little in common with his brothers. their tastes, at all events, were infinitely different from his; in fact they were lads of the usual style or "run" which you find reared on such farms as those of laird talisker's -called laird because he owned all the land he tilled. dugald, dick, and john were quite en rapport with all their surroundings. they loved horses and dogs and riding and shooting, and they had to take to farming whether they liked it or not. dugald was the eldest; he was verging on seventeen, and had long left school. indeed he was his father's right hand, both in the office and in the fields. his father and he were seldom seen apart, at church or market, mill or smithy; and as time rolled on and age should compel mr. talisker to take things easy, dugald would naturally step into his father's shoes. dick was sixteen, and jack or john about fourteen; and neither had as yet left the parish school, which was situated about a mile and a half beyond the hill. all boys in scotland receive life at the farm. 19 tolerably advanced education if their parents can possibly manage to keep them at their studies, and these two lads were already deeply read in the classics and higher branches of mathematics. what were they going to be? well, dick said he should be a clergyman and nothing else, and jack had made up his mind to be a cow-boy. he had read somewhere all about cow-boys in the south-western states of america, and the life, he thought, would suit him entirely. how glorious it must feel to go galloping over a ranche, armed with a powerful whip; to bestride a noble horse, with a broad hat on one's head and revolvers at one's hip! then, of course, every other week, if not oftener, there would be wild adventures with comanche red-skins, or indians of some other equally warlike tribe; while now and then this jolly life would be enlivened by hunting horse-stealers across the boundless prairie, and perhaps even lynching them if they happened to catch the thieves, and there was a tree handy. jack's classical education might not be of much service to him in the wild west, either in fighting bears or scalping indians; though it would be easily carried. he determined, however, not to neglect the practical part of the business; and so whenever opportunity favoured him he used to mount the biggest horse in the stable and go swinging across the fields and the moors, leaping 20 he would be a cow-boy. fences and ditches, and in every way behaving precisely as he imagined a cow-boy would. several times jack had narrowly escaped having his neck broken in teaching glancer-that was the big horse's name to buck-jump. glancer was by no means a bad-tempered beast; but when it came to slipping a rough pebble under the saddle, then he buck-jumped to some purpose, and jack had the worst of it. mrs. talisker herself was a somewhat delicate, gentle english lady, whom the laird had wooed and won among the woodlands of "bonnie berkshire." her daughter alicia, who was but a year older than dugald, took very much after the mother, and was in consequence, perhaps, the worthy laird's darling and favourite. up one thing must be said in favour of this honest farmer-laird: his whole life and soul were bound in his family, and his constant care was to do well by them and bring them up to the best advantage. but he did not think it right to thwart his boys' intentions with regard to the choice of a profession. there was admittedly a deal of difference between a clergyman of the good old scottish church and a cow-boy. however, as jack had elected to be a cow-boy, a cowboy he should be—if he did not break his neck before his father managed to ship him off to the wild west. but as to tommy, why the laird hardly cared 568 in peril of lightning and flood. bu j. b tom's tutor. 21 to trouble. tommy was uncle robert's boy. uncle robert, an old bachelor, who had spent his younger days at sea, had constituted himself tommy's tutor, and had taught the boy all he knew as yet. uncle robert ruled the lad by love alone, or love and common sense combined. he did not attempt to put a new disposition into him, but he did try to make the very best of that which he possessed. in this he showed his great wisdom. in fact, in training tommy he followed the same tactics precisely as those that successful bird and beast-trainers make such good use of. and what i am going to say is well worth remembering by all boys who wish to teach tricks to pets, and make them appear to be supernaturally wise. do not try to inculcate anything, in the shape of either motion or sound, which the creature does not evince an inclination or aptitude to learn. take a white rat for example, and after it is thoroughly tame and used to running about anywhere, loving you, and having therefore no fear, begin your lessons by placing the cage on the table with the door open. it will run out and presently show its one wondrous peculiarity of appropriation. in very wantonness it will pick up article after article and run into its house with it-coins, thimbles, apples, cards, &c. now, i hinge its education in a great measure on this, and in a few months i can teach it to tell fortunes with cards, and spell words even. a rat 22 22 stories of adventure. has two other strange motions; one is standing like a bear, another is climbing poles. by educating it from each of these stand-points you can make the creature either a soldier or a sailor, or even both, and teach it tricks and actions the glory of which will be reflected on you, the teacher. tommy was exceedingly fond of uncle robert, to begin with, and never tired listening of an evening to his wonderful stories of travel and adventure. uncle lived in a little cottage not very far from the farm; and if he was not at the laird's fireside of a winter evening he would generally be found at his own, and tommy would not be far away. they used to sit without any light except that reflected from the fire. stories told thus, tommy thought, were ever so much nicer, especially if they were tales of mystery and adventure. for there were the long shadows flickering and dancing on the wall, the darkness of the room behind them, and the fitful gleams in the fire itself, in which the lad sometimes thought he could actually see the scenery and figures his uncle was describing; and all combined to produce effects that were really and truly dramatic. well, if by day dugald was his father's constant companion, tommy was his uncle's; and the one hardly ever went anywhere without the other. a buck-jumper. 23 school hours were from nine till one o'clock; and uncle was a strict teacher, though by no means a hard task-master. then the two of them had all the rest of the long day to read books, to wander about and study the great book of nature itself, to fish, or do whatsoever they pleased. it must be said here that uncle robert was almost quite as much a boy at heart as his little nephew. he was a good old-fashioned sailor, this uncle of tommy, and a man who never could grow old; because he loved nature so, and nature never grows old: it is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. uncle robert was quite as good-natured as the big horse glancer. but glancer drew the line at pebbles under his saddle. the best-tempered horse in the world will draw the line at something or other. and uncle was the same. anyone wanted to annoy him they had only to mention tommy in a disparaging sort of way; then, like glancer, uncle robert buck-jumped at once. if so, on that particular evening-a wild and stormy one it was in the latter end of aprilwhen tommy's father talked about the improbability of pigs flying, and tommy's brothers had all laughed, uncle robert had felt a little nettled. "ah, you may laugh, lads,” he said, putting his paper down on his knee and thrusting his spectacles up over his bald brow-"you may laugh, 24 a stormy night. lads, and you may talk, brother, but i tell you that there is more in that boy than any of you are aware of; and mark my words, he is not going to remain a child all his life. boys will be men, and tommy will be tom some day." mrs. talisker looked fondly over at her brother, and she really felt grateful to him for taking her boy's part. whoo-00-00! howled the wind round the chimney, and doors and windows rattled as if rough hands were trying their fastenings. every now and then the snow and the fine hail were driven against the panes, with a sound like that produced by the spray of an angry sea against frozen canvas. at this very time, away down in the midlands of england, spring winds were softly blowing and the buds appearing on the trees; but on the west coast of scotland, where the farm of craigielea was situated, winter still held all the land, the moors, the lakes, and woods, firm in his icy grasp. to-night the moon had sunk early in a purpleblue haze-a new moon it was, and looked through the mist like a turkish scimitar wet with blood. the stars had been bright for a short time afterwards. but the wind rose roaring from the east, driving great dark clouds before it, that soon swallowed everything else up. then it was night in earnest. six years ago. 25 whoo-00-00! was, to be sure! you might have imagined that wild wolves were howling round the house, and stranger voices still rising high over the din of the raging storm. what a mournful sound it whoo-00-00! << what a fearful night!" said mrs. talisker. 'ay, sister," said uncle robert; “it is blowing half a gale outside to-night, i'll warrant, and may be more." by "outside" he did not mean out of doors simply. it is a sailor's expression, and refers to the sea away beyond the harbour-mouth. "it was on just such a night as this, sister, though not on such a cold sea as that which is sweeping over our beach to-night, that the southern hope was lost on the shores of ecuador. heigho-ho! my dear friend captain herbert has never been the same man since. 66 and do you know, my dear, it happened exactly six years ago this very night." (c 'how very strange!" said tommy's mother. "strange, my dear? not a bit of it. what is strange, and how should it be strange-eh?" oh, i meant, brother, that you should think of it. i believe that was what i meant." but let me tell you "c you're not very sure. this, that there never does pass a single 25th of february that i do not think of that fearful shipwreck. ay, girl, and pray too. i've been pray26 wonders on the deep. ing as i sat here—praying with my eyes on the newspaper, when you all thought i was reading it. you look at me, sister; and tommy has woke up, and he is looking at me too. well, you little know how often old sailors like me pray, and what strange things we do pray for, and how our prayers are often heard. you see, sister, those who go down to the sea in ships, and see the wonders of the lord in the mighty deep, get a kind of used to thinking more than shore-folks do. in many a dark black middle watch, we are alone with the ocean, one might say, and that is like being in the presence of the great maker of all. verily, sister, i think the waves on such nights seem to talk to us, and tell us things that the ear of landsman never listened to. no one could long lead the life of a sailor and not be a believer. do you mind, sister, that new testament story of our saviour being at sea one night with some of his disciples, when a great storm arose, and the craft was about to founder? how he was asleep in the stern-sheets, how in an agony of terror they awoke him, how his words 'peace, be still' fell like oil on the troubled waters, and how they all marvelled, saying, 'what manner of man is this, that even the wind and sea obey him?' "well, sister, i never knew nor felt the full meaning of those words until i became a sailor. but sometimes on dreamy midnights, when darkness and danger were all around us, i have in my 66 we obey him." 27 thoughts accused the ocean of remorselessness, the winds of cruelty; and, as i did so, seemed to hear that answer come to me up from the black vastness, 'we obey him.' the winds sang it as they went shrieking through the rigging, the waves sang it as they went toiling past: 'we obey him,' 'we obey him.' then have i turned my thoughts heavenward and been comforted, knowing in whose good hands we all were. "a sailor's prayer, sister, on a night like this, while he sits comfortably by the fireside, is for those in danger far at sea or on some surf-tormented lee shore. but on this particular evening, on this 25th of february, i always add a prayer for my good old shipmate, captain herbert-and may heaven give him peace." "c (( captain herbert is still at sea, brother?" "ay, sister, and will be, if spared, for many a year. he seems unable to rest on shore, although he is rich enough to retire. you see, he never had but the one boy, bernard; and, foolish as it may appear, he cherishes the notion that he still lives, and that some day he will meet him again. and never a strange sailor does he meet in any part of the world, or any port of the world, but he questions concerning all his life and advenmore than once has my friend been thus led astray, and has sailed to distant shores where he had heard some english lad was held prisoner by indians or savages. but all in vain. tures. 28 uncle robert's story. "it was a sad story, you say, sister? indeed, lass, it was. shall i repeat it? ، well, stir the fire, tommy, and make it blaze and crackle. how the storm roars, to be sure." whoo-00-00! whoo-oo-oo! howled the wind again; but the fire only burned the brighter, and the fireside looked the cheerier for the sound. chapter iii. the fearfulness of our situation can hardly be realized." ncle robert sat for some little time with unollis his eyes fixed on those burning logs before he commenced to speak, the firelight flickering on his face. but bygone scenes were being recalled, and events long past were being re-enacted in his memory as he sat thus. he spoke at length; quietly at first, dreamily almost, as if unconscious of the presence of anyone near him, apparently addressing himself to no one, unless it were to the faces in the fire:six years!-six years ago, and only six, and yet it seems like a lifetime, because i, who have been a rover and a wanderer since my boyhood, have come to settle down on this peaceful farm. land of the equator. 29 yet i have been happy, quietly happy, in my sister's family, and with the companionship of her dear children; but the afternoon of a sailor's existence must ever be a somewhat restless one. like the sea over which he has sailed so long, it is seldom he can be perfectly still. in spite of himself he feels a longing at times to revisit scenes of former days, and the lovely lands and sunny climes that time has hallowed and softened till they resemble more the phantasies of some beautiful dream than anything real and earthly. a vision like this rises up before me even now, as i sit here. the wintry winds are howling round the house, but i hear them not, nor noise of hail or softer snow driving against the window panes. i am far away from scotland, i am in a land whose rocky shores are laved by the blue rolling waves of the pacific, i am in ecuador. ecuador! land of the equator; land of equal day and night; land that the swift-setting sun leaves to be plunged into darkness cimmerian, or bathed in moonlight more tranquil and lovely than poets elsewhere can ever dream of; land of mighty mountains, whose snow-capped summits are lost in the blue vault of heaven or buried in clouds of rolling mist; land of ever-blazing volcanic fires, wreathing smoke, and muttering thunders; land of vast plains and prairies; land of swamps that seem boundless; land of forests whose depths are dark by daylight-forests that bathe the valleys, 30 a strange world. the cañons, the glens with a foliage that is green, violet, and purple by turns, darkling as they climb the hills half-way to their rugged crests; land of waterfalls and foaming torrents, over which in the sunlight rainbows play against the moss-grown rocks or beetling cliffs beyond; land of mighty rivers, now sweeping through dreamy woods, now roaring green over the lava rocks, now broadening. out into peaceful lakes or inland seas, with shores of silvery sand; land of tribal savages, wild and warlike or peaceful and uncouth; land of the amazons; land of the fern, the moss, and the wild-flower; land of giant butterflies, with wings of bronzy silken velvet, or wings of colours more radiant than the humming-bird itself, or wings of transparent gauze that quiver and shimmer in the sunlight like plates of mica; land of strange birds; land of the vampire or blood-sucking bat, the tarantula, the centiped, and many a creeping horror besides; land, too, of the condor, the puma, the jaguar, the peccary, the tapir, the sloth, and agouti; land of romance, and a history going back, back, back into the remotest regions of the past; truly a strange and wondrous land! i seem to see it all, everything, among those blazing logs to-night. i lived in ecuador for many, many months. i roughed it with the indians, the zaparos, the napos, and jivaros; i wandered over forest-land and plain and by the banks of the streams; i 1 the southern hope." 31 hunted in the jungle and on the prairies, and after escaping many a danger i returned to the sea-coast, laden with skins and curios and a wealth of specimens that would have made the eyes of a naturalist sparkle with very joy. during all my long wanderings my servants had been faithful; and although our lives had oftentimes been in danger from wild beasts and wilder men, here we were once more at guayaquil safe and sound. i was lucky enough to find a small spanish vessel to take me and my treasures to callao; and here, at this somewhat loud-smelling seaport, my good star was once more in the ascendant; and though i had arrived three weeks before my promised time, the southern hope was lying waiting for me. my welcome on board was a very joyful and gratifying one. captain herbert himself met me in the gangway, and behind him was little bernard. the boy was not content with shaking hands. he must jump joyfully into my arms and up and on to my shoulder; and thus he rode me aft to where good little mrs. herbert sat in her deck-chair nursing baby, with lala, her sable ayah, standing near. "now, don't rise," i cried. "i won't permit it. how well you look, mrs. herbert! the roses have quite returned to your once wan cheeks." 32 the half-caste spaniard. "a nice compliment, mr. robert sinclair," she replied, smiling. "and you too are looking well." "have i got roses on my cheeks?" i said. "yes," she said; "peony roses." "and how is baby?" "o, look at her; isn't she charming?" i gave baby a finger, which she at once proceeded to eat with as much relish as if she had been a young cannibal. and so our reunion was complete. at dinner that day we were all exceedingly happy and full of mirth and fun. we had so much to tell each other, too; for during my sojourn in ecuador the southern hope had been on a long cruise among the pacific islands, where everything had seemed so strange and delightfully foreign to both captain and mrs. herbert, that, they told me, it was like being in another world. the steward-i have good reason for mentioning this-was most assiduous in his attentions at table that day. he was a short, broad-shouldered, strong-jawed, half-caste spaniard, exceedingly clever, as mrs. herbert assured me, but possessed of those dark shifty eyes that seem unable to trust anyone, or to inspire trust in others. when dessert was put on the table-a dessert of such fruits as princes in england could not procure mrs. herbert motioned to him that he might now retire. he only smiled and shrugged mysterious boxes. 333 his shoulders in reply, and presently he was entirely forgotten. i told my so our conversation rattled on. adventures much to the delight of every one, but especially to that of our young mate and little bernard, although the child was barely seven years of age. "" and those mysterious boxes, mr. sinclair," said mrs. herbert, "when will you open those?" "o, not before we get to san francisco; when, you know, i must leave you all, and make my way home overland." from this reply, it will be understood that i was but a passenger on the southern hope. i was travelling, indeed, for pleasure and health combined, but had been altogether nearly a year and a half in this hitherto happy ship; which had been baby's birthplace, for little oceana was born on the ocean wave. hence her name, which we always pronounced 'theena. "no, my dear mrs. herbert," i continued, "those boxes contain greater treasures than ever were brought from the diamond mines of golconda; treasures more beautiful, and rarer far than all the gold in rich peru.” "well, robert," said the captain laughing heartily, "they are heavy enough for anything; and by st. george and merry england, my friend, you do well to keep such treasures in your own cabin." (568) c 34 an uneasy mind. i was at that moment engaged fashioning some marvellous toy for bernard from a piece of orange peel, but happening to look up i found the evil, sinister eyes of roderigo the steward fixed on me with a look i did not half like. i took occasion that same evening to ask mrs. herbert some particulars of this man's history; for he had not been in the ship when i left it. she had little to tell me. james, the old steward, had run away or mysteriously disappeared somehow or other at callao, and the very next day this roderigo had applied for the situation. captain herbert had waited for his steward for a whole week; but as there were no signs of his coming, and no trace of him on shore, it was concluded he had gone to lima. so, as he seemed eminently fitted for the duties of the post, the half-caste spaniard was installed in his place. he proved to be all they could desire, mr. herbert continued, although he certainly was not handsome; but he was very fond of bernard, and doated on baby 'theena. i asked no more, but i felt far from content or easy in my mind. we left callao at last, and proceeded on our voyage to san francisco. the southern hope was a good sea vessel; so our voyage was favourable, though the winds were light until we reached the equator, which we crossed in baffling winds, about 85° west longitude. we soon got enveloped in dense wet fogs, and for are your pistols ready? 35 days it was all but a dead calm. a breeze sprang up at last, however, and we kept on our course, and by and by the sky cleared and we saw the sun. none too soon; for not ten miles to the east of us loomed the rocky cliffs of northern ecuador. they could be none other, yet why were we here? captain herbert could not understand it for a time. he was as good a sailor as ever stood down the english channel or crossed the farfamed bay of biscay. he was not left long in doubt, however. there was villainy on board. treachery had been at work, and the compass had been tampered with. it was about two bells in the afternoon watch when he made the discovery. i heard him walking rapidly up and down the deck first, as some sailors do when deep in thought. then he came below. are your pistols all ready?" he said to me. yes," i answered; "but i sincerely hope there will be no need of them." then he told me what he had discovered, and that he felt sure mutiny was intended. he broke the news as gently as possible to his wife, and gave orders that she should keep to the cabin with the ayah and the children. then he and i went on deck together. 36 mutiny. as i passed the steward's pantry i tried the door. it was locked, and i could see through the jalousies that no one was inside. my doubts of the half-caste had become certainties. call all hands, and let the men lay aft, mate!" this was herbert's stern command. "ay, ay, sir," came the cheerful reply. the southern hope was but a moderate-sized ship, and our men, all told, were but nineteen hands. the mate's sonorous voice and the sound of his signalling boot on the deck could easily be heard all over the ship. captain herbert and i waited uneasily and impatiently by the binnacle. his face was very pale, but firm and set, and i knew he would fight to the death, if fighting there was going to be. alas! we were not left long in doubt as to the exact position of affairs. out of all the crewwhich were mostly a mixed class of foreigners -only five lay aft. "where are the others?" shouted the captain. groaning and yelling came from below forward as a reply. "the men have mutinied," said the mate. the words had scarcely left his lips ere, headed by roderigo himself, the mutineers rushed on deck. "you wanted us to lay aft," cried roderigo. "here we are. mutineers triumphant. 37 what do you want, mr. herbert, for i am captain now?" before the captain could reply, either by word of mouth or ring of pistol-shot, the mate had felled the steward with a capstan-bar. it was a blow that might have killed a puma; but, though bleeding like an ox, the half-caste drew his knife as he lay on deck, and next moment had sprung on the first officer as a jaguar springs on a deer. the fight now became general; but in a very few minutes the mutineers were triumphant. our mate was slain; while, whether dead or alive, the other poor fellows who had so nobly stuck by us were heaved into the sea. a worse fate was probably intended for captain herbert and myself; but meanwhile, our hands were tied, and we were led to the aftercabin and there locked up. no one came near us all that afternoon, nor was there any sound that could give us even an inkling as to the fate of poor mrs. herbert, the children, and the ayah. had they been murdered or even molested, we surely should have heard shrieks or appeals for mercy. i did my best to keep up my companion's heart, but there were moments when i thought he would lose his very reason in the depth of his despair. about an hour afterwards it was quite dark, 38 on the rocks. and we could tell from the singing and roystering forward that the mutineers had broken into the spirit-room and were having a debauch. it had come on to blow too, and the motion of the vessel was uneasy and jerking. evidently she was being badly steered, and an effort was also being made to shorten sail. the storm increased till it blew all but a gale. some sails had been rent in ribbons, and the noise of the flapping was like that of rifle platoon firing. i was standing close by the cabin door, my ear anxiously drinking in every sound, when suddenly i was thrown violently on the deck, and by the dreadful grating and bumping noises under us we could tell that the vessel had struck heavily on a rock. almost at the same moment there was the noise of falling spars and crashing wreck. then a lull, succeeded by the sound of rushing footsteps overhead and cries of "lower away the boats!" the fearfulness of our situation after this can hardly be realized. nothing was now to be heard except the roar of the winds and the thumping of the great seas against the vessel's sides. hopeless as we were, we longed for her to break up had she parted in two we felt that we could have rejoiced. death by drowning would not seem so terrible, i thought, could we but see the stars above us or even feel the wind in our faces; where was bernard? 39 but to die shut up thus in the darkness like rats in a hole was too dreadful to think of-it was maddening! in the midst of our despair, and just as we were beginning to think the end could not be far off, we heard a voice outside in the fore-cabin. 66 husband! husband!" it cried in pitiful tones; "where are you?" "here! here!" we both shouted in a breath. next minute a light shone glimmering through the keyhole, and we knew mrs. herbert had lit the lamp. then an axe was vigorously applied to our prison door, and in a short time we were free. mrs. herbert had fainted in her husband's arms. she slowly recovered consciousness, and then could tell us all she knew. the mutineers had rifled the ship; they had broken open my cabin and boxes, expecting to find treasure, and as soon as the vessel struck had lowered the boats and left the ship. but where was bernard? and where was the ayah? alas! neither could be found. day to this their fate is a mystery. and from that the storm was little more, after all, than a series of tropical squalls. the vessel did not break up just then, and when daylight broke the sea all around us was as calm and blue as baby 'theena's eyes. 40 death of mrs. herbert. in the course of the day we managed to rig a raft and thereby reach the shore. it was a wild and desolate beach on which we landed, and glad we were to find even the huts of indians in which to shelter. there we lived for three long weeks, making many trips in the canoes of the indians to the ship, and bringing on shore as many of the necessaries of life as we could find. but alas! the loss of bernard and the terror of that terrible night had done their work on poor mrs. herbert. she gradually sunk and died. we buried her near the beach on that strange wild shore, and raised a monument over the grave, roughly built in the form of a cross, from green lava rocks. our adventures after that may be briefly told. the ship did not break up for many weeks, and where the carrion is there cometh the "hoody crow." the first coasting vessel that found out the wreck plundered it, and sailed away leaving us to perish for aught they cared. but with the captain of the next we managed to come to terms, and the promise of a handsome reward secured us a passage to callao, and there we found a christian ship and in due time arrived in england. "and what about bernard?" said tommy with eager eyes. "the mystery about bernard still remains, dear someone is coming. 41 boy. he may be living somewhere yet in the interior of ecuador, or he may have been taken away by some passing ship, or—and this is my own opinion-he is dead." "and the baby 'theena is living, isn't she?" said alicia. "she was, dear, when last i heard of her, and the father too is well. heigh-ho! i wonder if he knows i am thinking about him to-night, and telling his strange story and my own?" whoo-oo-oo! roared the storm. the windwolves still shrieked around the house. but suddenly laird talisker lifts a finger as if to command silence. all listen intensely. that is something over and above the 'howthering' of the gale," he says. "hark!" rising unmistakably above the din of the storm-wind could now be heard the barking of dogs, as if in anger. "someone is coming undoubtedly," says uncle robert. then the door opens and old mawsie the housekeeper enters, looking so scared that the borders of the very cap or white linen mutch she wore seem to stand straight out as if starched. "what can be the matter, mawsie?" asks the laird. "o, sir!" gasps old mawsie, "on this awfu' nicht through the snaw and the howtherin' 42 captain herbert appears. wind-storm-a carriage and pair drives up to the door, and a gentleman wi' a bonnie wee lady alichts-" what more mawsie would have said may never be known, for at that moment straight into the room walk the arrivals themselves, and in his eagerness to get towards them uncle robert knocks over his chair, and the long stool on which the boys are sitting goes down with it, boys and all. "by all that is curious!" cries uncle robert, giving a hand to each. however did you come here? talk of angels and lo! they appear." "( he shakes captain herbert by the hand as if he had determined to dislocate his elbow, and he fairly hugs little "theena in his arms. "and this is baby," he cries to tommy's mother, "and here is good old captain herbert himself. why, this is the most joyful 25th of february i ever do remember.” chapter iv. among the woods of craigielea. ith the arrival of captain herbert and little with the arrival of capt o sunshine appeared a to have fallen athwart our young hero's pathway in life. 'theena. 43 as he sat in his corner that evening thoughtfully gazing on her sweet face, while her father and his uncle kept talking together as old friends and old sailors will, tommy thought he had never seen anything on earth so lovely before, and albeit he was about half afraid of her he made up his mind to fall in love with her as early as possible. he really was not quite certain yet, however, that he might not be dreaming. had he fallen asleep again, he wondered, after uncle robert had finished his story? and was 'theena but a vision? she looked so ethereal and so like a fairy child that he could not help giving his own arm a sly pinch to find out whether he really was awake or not. he did feel that pinch, so it must be all right. next he wondered if his two big brothers would appropriate 'theena almost exclusively to themselves while she stayed here. he determined to circumvent them, however. he had a hut and a home in the wild woods not far from the romantic ruin of craigie castle, and he felt sure that 'theena would be delighted with this hermitage of his. she did not look very strong, but she would soon be rosier. he would wander through the woods and wilds and cull posies of wild-flowers, and by the sea-shore and gather shells for her-shells as prettily pink as those delicate ears of hers. what a pity, he thought, that it was still winter! but never mind, spring 44 a boy's love. would come, and he knew where nearly all the song-birds dwelt and built. and o! by the way, 'theena's eyes were as blue as the eggs of the accentor or hedge-sparrow. even deeper, they were more like the blue of the pretty wee germander speedwell that before two months were past would be peeping up through the grass by the hedge-foot. then further on there would be the wild blue hyacinth and the blue-bells of scotlands (the hare-bell of english waysides), and the bugloss and milk-wort and succory-all of them more or less like 'theena's eyes and a score of others besides, he could find and fashion into garlands. 'theena smiled so sweetly when she bade him good-night, and was upon the whole so selfpossessed and lady-like, that the boy felt infinitely beneath her in every way. but that did not matter; he would improve day by day, he felt certain enough on this point. so he went off to bed, and dreamed that he and 'theena were up in a balloon together, sailing through the blue sky, and that down beneath them was spread out just such a romantic land as that of ecuador, which his uncle had described. it was more like a scene of enchantment than anything else. but lo! even as he gazed in rapture from the car of the balloon, it entered a region of rolling clouds and snow mists; it became darker and darker, the gloom was only lit up by the hurtling fires of terrible a dream. 45 volcanoes, while all around the thunders pealed and lightnings flashed. then the balloon seemed to collapse, and after a period of falling, falling, falling that felt interminable, suddenly the sun shone once more around them-'theena was still by his side-and they found themselves in a kind of earthly arboreal and floral paradise. near them stood a tall and handsome young man, dressed, however, like a savage, and armed with bow and arrow. he advanced, smiling, to the spot where they stood, and extending a hand to each: "dear sister and brother," he said, "do you not know me? behold i am the long-lost bernard!" then tommy awoke and found it was daylight, and that the robin was singing on his windowsill expectant of crumbs. • spring came all at one glad bound to the fields and woods of craigielea this year. three weeks had passed away since the night tommy had dreamt that strange dream. captain herbert had gone south. he would sail round the world before he returned to craigielea to take his "little lass," as he called "theena, away with him again. meanwhile he knew she would be well cared for, and grow bigger and stronger. tommy's brothers had made no attempt, or very little of an attempt, to win 'theena over. true, jack had mounted her once or twice on 46 nothing like boys. glancer; but glancer, knowing the responsibility of such a charge, could not be induced to break even into a decent trot. so jack got tired of 'theena, and told her she might never expect to make a cow-boy. and dick could not get the girl to race, or play cricket or hockey, though he tried hard; and she was not even good at climbing trees nor riding on fences, and was positively afraid of towsie, the white, shorthorn bull, because he had red eyes and tore up the ground with a fore-foot, while he bellowed like distant thunder. "it's no good, jack," said dick; "we couldn't make anything of 'theena if we tried ever so long." "i don't think so, dick," was jack's reply. "besides, what is the use of girls anyhow?" not much. i really want to know what they are put into the world for at all." "well," said jack, "we'll give her up, won't we? little cinderella can have her for a plaything, can't he?" "yes, jack, she'll just suit little cinderella." this was the name his brothers always called tommy by, because he always sat by his sister's knee close to the fire, and looked at it for hours. "dick," said jack, "there's nothing like boys, is there?" "nothing much.” on their way to the woods. "and there's nobody like you and me. 47 hurrah! come and give me a leg up to mount glancer, and just see me clear that farther fence. besides, i've got a new way of making glancer buckjump. hurrah, dick! cow-boys for ever!" as the two went tearing along towards the paddock where glancer was browsing, they met tommy and 'theena on their way to the woods. tommy had a fishing-basket on his back, "theena carried the rod. tommy had a bow and arrows besides, and "theena carried a real arab spear. "hullo, cinderella!" shouted dick. "hurrah, cinder!" cried jack. "why, where ever are you off to with all that gear?" we're going to the hermitage," said tommy proudly. "i'm the hermit hunter of the wilds." "ha, ha, ha!" from both the bigger boys. "and," continued tommy, "we're going to play at wild man in the woods; and we're going to gather flowers, and find birds'-nests, and fish in the craigieburn, and perhaps go for a sail on the sea." "ha, ha, ha! well, don't you dare to fall in anywhere and drown your little self," said jack; "else you will catch it. good-bye, cinder. take care of baby. good-bye, eenie-"theenie." and away went dick and jack whooping. "i don't love your brothers much," said "theena, almost crying. "what makes them call you cinder?" 48 in the pine-wood. "i don't know, i'm sure, 'theena; but i don't mind it if you don't." "i shall call you tom." "thank you; but really i don't mind, you know, and if you would prefer-" "no, no, no. i don't like cinderella. you're not a girl." "o, no. i'm a boy, and uncle robert says i wouldn't you like to be a shall soon be a man. boy, "theena?" "yes, dearly." "it would be so nice if you were. we could have even better fun than we have now, and you would be able to get up trees, and shoot, and do everything i do." talking thus they reached the great pine-wood, and entered among the trees. in this silent forest-land there was not a morsel of undergrowth, only the withered needles that had fallen from the pines and larches and formed a thick soft carpet. and the great tree-stems went towering skywards, brown for the pines, gray for the larches, till they ended far above in a canopy of darkest green that would hardly admit a ray of sunshine without breaking it all up into little patches of gold and silver. "theena felt somewhat afraid now, and crept closer to tom, who took her hand, and thus they wandered on and on. and very small the two of them looked among those giant timber trees. under tom's guidance. 49 "you're not very much afraid, are you?" said tom. "you needn't be, you know, for i'm the hermit hunter of the wilds, and could protect you against anything; and connie here would protect us both." connie was the long-haired collie dog, who followed his master everywhere like his shadow. "you could shoot straight with your bow and arrow, couldn't you, tom, if any wild beast came upon us?" "o, very straight." they were following a tiny beaten path that led them through the pine-wood. but it also led them up and up, and sometimes it was so steep that they had to scramble on their hands and knees. by and by the pines gave place to silverstemmed birch-trees, with shimmering, shivering leaves that reflected the sunshine in all directions. the perfume from these trees was delightful in the extreme. they reached a clearing at last, where the heather grew green all round, and where there were lichen-clad stones to sit upon. here one or two large and lovely lizards were basking, and a splendid green speckled snake went gliding away at their approach. tom, being a highland lad, was not afraid of either snakes or lizards. neither was 'theena; for though she was only seven years old she had been in strange countries with her (568) ꭰ 50 the home of the hermit hunter. papa, and had seen far bigger snakes and lizards too than any we have in scotland. having rested for a short time, they resumed their upward journey, and soon came to a little table-land about an acre in extent, and near it, in the shelter of a tall gray rock, with drooping birch-trees, and broom, and whins, lo! the hermitage and woodland home of the hermit hunter. what a business the making of this hut had been, nobody ever knew except tommy himself, uncle robert, and the collie dog connie. but now that it was made, it looked a very complete dwelling indeed, just such as a crusoe would have delighted to live in. "theena was overjoyed. "o!" she cried, "i would love to stay here always; a table and cupboard, and real seats, and real plates and things, and a window, and books and all! i can't read much, can you?" "yes," said tom. "uncle taught me. he teaches me always up here in summer, and he shall teach you too." after 'theena had admired everything sufficiently long, they commenced to climb again, and soon rose out of the greenery of the woods entirely, high up the hill into the very sky itself; and, wonderful to say, here was a noble castle, though now but little more than a ruin. "my ancestors," said tommy proudly, "once dwelt here, and they were great soldiers and castles in the air. 51 warriors. dick and jack don't care anything about ancestors; but i do, "theena. and do you know what i am going to do?" "no," said "theena. "after i grow a big man, i mean.' "yes, after you grow a big man.' "" "well, i'm going to make lots of money first, you know. for i shall be a sailor, and sail away to strange countries where the gold lies in heaps in the woods and wilds, watched over by terrible dragons." "yes, tom, i suppose there would be dragons." "well, i shall kill the dragons, and bring away, o, ever so much gold! then i will sail home in my ship, and i shall furnish this castle all splendid and new again, with beautiful furniture and pictures, and all sorts of nice things. o, but stop, there is something i am going to do before then." "yes, tom, something to do before then." "i'm going to find your brother bernard." "o, that would be nice!" "yes, very. and i'll bring him home, and we'll all live happy here in this splendid castle; your father and my father, and mother, and uncle, and bernard, and alicia, and connie and all." "will your brothers be here too?" "n-no, i think it better not, perhaps. of course dugald would be at the farm, and we could see him sometimes, but dick and jack better go away and preach and be a cow-boy.” 52 the hermitage window. "and then," said "theena, "they would never call you cinder any more. but how very nice it will all be. and o, tom, look at the waves!" from the window of the room in which they stood the view was grand and imposing. hills and rocks and woods on one side, the lovely glen on the other, and down yonder, stretching away and away to the illimitable horizon, the blue atlantic dotted here and there with white sails, with one or two steamers in the far offing, ploughing their way northwards, and leaving their trailing wreaths of smoke and long white wakes. and up from the woods beneath them came a chorus of bird songs. the mellow fluting of the blackbird, the sweat clear notes of the mavis, and bold bright lilt of chaffinch. nearer still the linnet perched on the whin-bush, and high, high in air, dimly seen against a white fleecy cloud, but easily heard, was the laverock itself. and the bright pure sunshine was over everything; glittering on the rippling sea, sparkling on the mountain-tops where the snow still lay, patching the woods with light and shadow, heightening the green of moss and heather, changing the streams into threadlets of silver, spreading out the petals of half-open flowers, the gowans on the lea, goldilocks by the meadow's brink, awakening the bees, and causing ten thousand, thousand rainbow-coloured insects to join in the song of going fishing. 53 gladness that rose everywhere on this lovely spring morning, from nature to nature's god. tom and his companion stood long enough at the window to drink in the essence of the glorious scene, but no longer. the day was young, and they were young. there was a moping owl up in the ivy yonder; they would leave the ruined castle to him, while they should go forth and mingle with, and become part and parcel of, all the light and loveliness that made up the day. (c come, 'theena, we mustn't keep the fish waiting. come, connie; and you must not go and bathe and splash to-day in the stream where we are fishing. 'theena, i want to get a basket full to the top with such trout that will make dick and jack want to kick themselves with jealousy." and off they went, and no one saw either of them again till the sun was going down behind the sea, and changing the waves into billows of blood. c 3 2 30 chapter v. 'the whole world is full of changes." well well," said uncle robert one morning some time after this, "if anybody twenty years ago had prophesied that i should become a schoolmaster in my declining years, i should have 54 a happy life. laughed at him. but come, there is no help for it, and by good luck i've got two of the dearest and best little pupils that ever any teacher could desire." perhaps, though, no boy or girl either was ever taught on so delightful a system before. for, every morning after breakfast-well rolled in fear-nothing plaids if it happened to be raining -uncle robert, with tom and 'theena, took their way towards the pine-wood and the hermitage. if dick and jack happened to be about when they started, they were sure to give them a hail. "good-bye, eenie-"theenie," dick would cry. "fare thee well, old cinder," jack would shout. and uncle robert would pretend to growl like an old sea-lion, and shake his stick at the pair of them as they scampered off, looking nearly all legs, like the figures on the old manx pennies. young as tommy was, he had a very complete knowledge of geography, and even a smattering of navigation; for he had declared his intention of becoming a sailor, and nothing else. but this knowledge of his was not such as you learn in books alone; but from books, and maps, and charts, and the big globe itself. tommy actually knew and felt he was in the world, and not inside the cover of a book. and if you asked him where any country was he pointed in the direction of it at once, taking his bearings as it were the hermitage. 55 by the sun or stars, and the time of day or night it happened to be at the time the question was put. their school was the hermitage in the woods, and here they laboured away most earnestly all the forenoon. then they laid aside their books, and while uncle and 'theena went outside to squat on the green-sward, tom-we shall not call him tommy any more-got ready the luncheon. a very simple repast it was-cheese and cake, and creamy milk. then uncle would light his pipe and perhaps tell a story, and after this they started off in pursuit of pleasure. were there not fish in the rivers, and shells by the sea-shore, and wondrous creatures of fur and feather in the woods and on the hills, beautiful insects everywhere, and wild-flowers everywhere? so passed one summer quickly away; and another summer and another winter after that, and now tom was thirteen and 'theena was nine and over. tom was a man, at least he thought he was; and now, dearly though he loved his old home, an almost irresistible longing took possession of him to go to sea-to sail away and see the world and all that is in it. for tom was already a sailor. one might hardly think this possible, until told that for a year and more hardly a fine day dawned that did not see uncle robert and him, and as often 56 a tiny yacht. as not little 'theena also, afloat in uncle's little yacht-boat. this saucy wee craft had been a man-o'-war's cutter, sold as unfit for further service. but uncle robert had bought her, and had her brought round to the bay of craigie, and there turned bottom upwards in old dem harrison's boat-shed. and between the pair of them, aided by tom and 'theena, who did the looking-on, they soon made the hull seaworthy. no flimsy work either. wherever a plank was in the slightest degree decayed, it was taken out and a light, hard new one put in; the very best of copper nails being used, and nothing else. then she was painted inside and out. this done, she was "whomeld," as old dem called it-that is, turned right side up; and so they proceeded to put a raised deck upon her, and step a nice raking mast with fore-and-aft mainsail and topsail and jibs to match. fine big jibs they were too; honest spreads of canvas, having no resemblance to either a baby's blanket or a biscuit sack. wee yacht had an excellent rudder also, and a false keel that could be raised or lowered at pleasure, or to suit circumstances. the you must understand that the oceana, as she was called, after 'theena, had the most darling little saloon it is possible to imagine. to be sure, uncle robert looked a bit crowded in it; but when tom and 'theena were there by themselves, with only uncle's legs dangling down the 1 over summer seas. 57 companion as he sat steering, the place seemed just made for them. there was a couch at each side, supported by lockers, and prettily upholstered in crimson. there was a lamp in gimbals to burn at night, a natty little locker containing all sorts of dishes and all kinds of dainties, and brackets in the corners with pockets for flowers, and sconces for coloured candles; besides a rack for arms and fishing-gear; while the white paint, the gilding, and the mirrors completed the picture and made the place double the size it really was. just imagine if you can how delicious it was to go sailing away over the summer seas in a fairy-like yacht such as the oceana-the blue above and the blue below, white-winged gulls tacking and half-tacking in the air around. perhaps a shoal of porpoises in the offing, and great jelly-fishes floating everywhere in the water like animated parasols. they were entirely independent of the land when once fairly afloat; for the oceana was well provisioned, and had over and above all her other stores a tiny library of the most readable books of adventure and poetry. no, it was little wonder that tom became a sailor under so pleasant a captain as uncle robert, and on board so fairy-like a yacht. but neither on shore was tom's nautical studies neglected; for in a room of uncle's cottage was situated a huge toy ship, which he had built and 58 nautical studies. rigged himself, and which he and his pupils often dismantled and rigged up again. full rigged she was, with every spar, bolt, and stay in its proper place a very model of perfection. but the most curious thing i have to relate is that 'theena learned every branch of the seafarer's craft quite as readily as, and even more quickly than, tom himself. born and brought up at sea, she appeared to take to everything intuitively. taking it all in all, both uncle robert and his pupils enjoyed themselves very much, indeed, both on shore and afloat; but whether most on shore or most afloat, it would have been difficult to say. "my dear children," said uncle one day at the hermitage, just as they had finished luncheon and were preparing for a long ramble-"my dear children, i shall miss you very much when you go away. i expect i'll begin to get old very quickly after that.” "dear unky," said tom, "you are never going to grow old. don't you believe it." and we are never going to grow any older either, unky," said "theena. uncle robert laughed. well," he said, "i should have no objections to make a bargain of that sort with old father time if we could fall in with him. but, my dears, changes will come, you know. the whole. 1 black tom. 59 world is full of changes, and the whole universe too for that matter. and you, tom, will be going away to sea, and "theena will have to go to school. i might make a sailor of her, but, bother me if i could teach her the piano and dancing and the like of that, unless it were a hornpipe such as the sailors dance on a saturday night. yes, my dears, changes must and will come." black tom came up at this moment and began rubbing his great head against the boy's arm as he lay on the grass. black tom was a cat, and a very wonderful specimen he was; elephantic in size as far as the term could be applied to any grimalkin, with an enormous broad and honestlooking face of his own. he was probably not more than two years of age at this time; but tom-the boy tom-had saved his life when he was little more than full-grown. it was quite a little adventure for the young hermit hunter of the wilds. as far as could be known, the cat had attempted the abduction of a young or puppyfox, but the mother coming home in time a furious battle had ensued. the hermit came up at the very moment the fox had scored victory, and was proceeding to break the cat up, as some day the dogs might break her up. but a well-directed arrow from tom's cross-bow sent her yelping to her den, and then the boy picked up the halfdead cat and carried him to the hermitage. he 60 changes at craigielea. recovered after a few weeks of careful nursing; and since then, wherever the boy went the cat followed, all through the woods and over the hills, and even out to sea in the oceana yacht. boy and cat were inseparable, and throughout the length and breadth of the parish they were known to everybody as "the two toms." when at peace, tom the cat was very contented-looking, though no great beauty, his shoulder and head having been terribly scarred in that encounter with the fox; but he could be very fierce when he pleased. he tolerated connie the collie dog, and even slept in his arms; but if any strange dog came into the hut tom mounted his back and rode him out, whacking him all the way. changes must and will come. yes, and changes came to all about craigielea before very long. first and foremost dick went away to oxford. he had a cousin there who would look after him while at college, and, as uncle robert phrased it, put him up to the ropes. then an american farmer called at craigielea and stayed for a week, telling very wonderful stories indeed about life and adventures in the sunny south of the united states, to all of which jack listened with open-mouthed earnestness. and when this farmer went away he left poor mrs. talisker in tears, for her dear boy jack went away with him. 1 tom gets ready for sea. 61 dear boy jack did not himself take on much about the matter, however. indeed, though he did manage to screw a tear or two out when saying good-bye to his mother and alicia, there certainly were no tears in his eyes as he parted with tom. "ta, ta, old cinder!" he said, shaking his brother's hand. "take care of yourself, my cinder; and if ever you are out our way drop round and see us, and i'll let you ride a buckjumper that will toss you half-way to the moon. ta, ta! be good." the old farm was a deal quieter after dick and jack had gone. there was far less whooping, or barking of dogs, or cracking of whips. uncle robert said the place was not the same at all. then came another change. for captain herbert walked into the house one forenoon as quietly and coolly as if he had not been from home for over a week. this caused the greatest change of all, for tom had to get ready for sea at once. his uncle took him straight away to glasgow to get his outfit; and when the boy was rigged out in his pilot suit, with gilt buttons and cap with badge and band, very natty and neat he looked. "theena was very proud of him now; but at the same time she was very sad, for those brass buttons and that blue pilot-jacket meant separation for many and many a long day. 62 the parting. when tom awoke one morning and looked out of his window he could see a beautiful black painted barque lying at anchor in the bay, with tall tapering spars shining white in the sunlight, as if they had been formed of satin-wood. then tom knew that his time had come. he was not very elated about it at first. it was so sudden; and i do trust the reader will not think him any the less brave when i confess that he sat down beside the window and indulged in. the luxury of a good cry. for remember that the boy was not very old yet. no; and i have known many much older boys than he shed tears at the prospect of leaving home. he was to sail on the very next morning; and that day he and 'theena went to take one last look at the hermitage and the old castle, and the woods and wilds generally. and tom the cat followed them and kept close by his master all the way. "poor fellow!" said the boy, stooping down to caress his favourite; "he seems to know we are to be parted." (6 'purr-rrn!" said tom the cat. that was all he could say, but there was more in it than either the boy or 'theena understood just then. "mind," said tom to "theena, as they stood together at the window of the old castle overlooking the woods and the sea, "i am going to come back rich and bring your brother with me.” afloat at last. 63 "i don't care so much for my brother as for you," said 'theena candidly. "you know you are my brother now." "yes," answered tom abstractedly. then hand in hand they went down the hill and through the woods and forest, and so back home again. tom's mother came to see him to bed this last sad night, and sat long with him in the moonlight giving him good advice-the best of which was that he was to read the little bible she gave him every night, and never to forget to pray. the bustle of starting saved everybody next day from making much display of grief, and everybody was thankful accordingly. only poor little 'theena was half frantic, and could hardly tear herself away from the only brother she had ever known or loved—that is, as far as she could remember. but the parting was all over at last; and when the sun sank slowly behind the waves that night the caledonia was far away on the western waters, ploughing her way southward, with the coast of ireland a long distance on the weatherbow. tom was to be apprentice, and, as he was the only one on board, he messed in the saloon along with captain herbert and the first and second mate. the boy had knocked about too long in his 64 a queer stowaway. uncle's little yacht to feel the effects of the ship's motion in the shape of sea sickness, so he sat down to supper that evening in very good spirits and with a healthy appetite. they were just about to commence that meal, when in at the saloon door, with tail erect and something like a smile on his broad face, walked tom the black cat. "purr-rrn!" he said well-pleasedly as he jumped on his master's knee and rubbed his head against the boy's chest. tom was too much surprised to speak, but the captain and mates laughed heartily. "a stowaway!" said the former. "yes," said tom. "i have no idea how he got on board." "well, never mind. i'll wager a shilling he will bring us good luck." black tom was henceforth installed as ship's cat; and the men were all most kind to him, for every sailor of them knew that though black cats will bring good luck to a ship, nevertheless if ill treated or lost overboard, the luck is sure to turn. at sea. 65 chapter vi. "run, run!" cried tom; "the man must not die yet!" t is not often that the lines of young sailorplace, as of tom talisker on first going to sea. to begin with, he had no extra rough work to do, as is too often the case with apprentices, and even midshipmen, on first going afloat-scrubbing and scraping all day long, their hands in a bucket of tar one minute, and in a bucket of "slush" the next. "" make a man of my lad," had been about the last words of uncle robert to his friend captain herbert; and that honest old tar had proceeded to do so forthwith, not on the old plan of first breaking a boy's heart, and then making a bully of him if he survived it. no, the captain put tom into the second mate's watch, with a request that he should do the best he could for the lad; and as holborn himself, as this officer was called, was an excellent sailor, and a kindly hearted though somewhat rough and uncouth individual, he set about putting tom up to the ropes without loss of time. captain herbert himself superintended the (568) e 66 after three years. lad's book-studies, so on the whole he was well off; and it is no wonder, therefore, that before he had been to sea for three years he was able to reef, steer, and do his duty both on deck and below almost as well as holborn could. but all this time the caledonia had never once been back to england. for captain herbert was quite a wandering jew of a sailor, and the reasons for this are not far to seek. first and foremost, he had never yet given up hopes that he would one day find his lost son, and he certainly left no stone unturned to bring about so wished-for an event. secondly, he was his own master, the barque he sailed being his own property. and thirdly, it paid him to keep going from country to country, as long as there was no real necessity for docking the ship. not that he valued riches for his own sake, but for the sake of 'theena and the son he ne'er again might look upon. if tom had felt a man before leaving england, he now almost looked one. indeed, in size and strength he was a man quite; for whatever some may say, the ocean certainly never stunts a youth's growth. he was a good sailor, too, taking the adjective "good" in every sense of the word. neither his mother's advice, the second mate's care, nor captain herbert's kindness had been thrown away on the boy; and on many a dark and stormy near the end of the cruise. 67 night he proved that he was just as good as brave. another year of voyaging here and there across the face of the great waters passed away. the caledonia was lying at san francisco, and the captain intimated to the officers his intention of bearing up for home. they would double the horn for the last time; then hurrah for merry england! there was rejoicing fore and aft at the glad news; for if there is one word in our language that can convey a thrill of happiness to a sailor's heart, that word is "home." and every seaman on board a ship carries about with him all over the world affections and ties with the dear ones he has left behind that nothing but death itself can sever. "in nine months' time, my lad," said captain herbert cheerily to tom, who was walking the deck with his constant companion the cat at his heels. "in nine months' time i hope we'll be sailing up the clyde. we shall touch at ecuador and at callao, then steer away south." it was not the first time since they had sailed from england that the caledonia had touched at ecuador, so tom was not surprised at what the captain now told him; for the grave of his wife was there on that rugged shore, and it was there, too, he had lost his boy. "i'm getting old, tom," he added. i cannot 68 an undying sorrow. do now what i could have done ten years ago, and i fear i may never be on this coast again.” tom could hardly repress a sigh as he looked at him. he certainly was getting old, and very white in hair and beard; but probably it was his never-ending sorrow that had aged him quite as much as his years. the caledonia lay for many days near the spot where the southern hope was lost. captain herbert seemed to find a difficulty in tearing himself away this time. but when at last the wind began to blow high off the land, sail was set and away southwards once more went the good ship. the captain was inexpressibly sorrowful as the vessel left the land, and tom felt he could have given all he possessed in the world to dispel the clouds that hung so heavily over his dear old friend's heart. but tom was too young to let sorrow depress him long, and that night after he had retired— for it would not be his watch on deck till the morning-he lay awake for hours thinking of home. how would every one be on his return, and how would they look?-his dear mother and quiet kindly father, his sister, his brother, and little "theena? but she would not be so very little now; and he supposed she would have forgotten him to a great extent, albeit she had written many a dear affectionate child letter, callao. 69 every one of which tom had kept under lock and key in his ditty-box. his mother's letters were there also, and a score of other odds and ends that no one knows the real value of except a sailor. he did not fall asleep until he heard the middle watch called, and holborn came down below, and with him tom the cat; for this strange animal evinced quite an affection for the second mate, and frequently kept watch with him even on stormy nights. but he jumped now into tom's bunk with a little fond cry, nestled down in his arms, and the two toms were soon fast asleep. the caledonia had cargo to leave at callao and some to take on board; so the seamen and officers were busy for a time, almost night and day, as the captain was anxious now that no time should be lost. at last, however, the vessel was loaded up, and nothing remained to be done except to bid some friends good-bye, and make purchase of a few curios to take to the old folks at home. tom and captain herbert were on shore, and had dined at one of the best hotels. leaving his friend for a time tom went out for a stroll and to enjoy the evening breeze, for the day had been very hot and sultry. he stayed out longer than he had intended, and was making the best of his way back, when, in a side street through which he was passing by 70 the dying man. way of taking a short cut, he came suddenly upon a wildly-excited group of men and women, who had rushed pell-mell and fighting from the door of an inn. suddenly there was the short, sharp ring of a revolver, then a shrill scream, and next moment the crowd dispersed, running in all directions. tom hastened up to where by the dim light of a hanging lamp he could see a man supporting himself on his elbow, groaning and in agony. "are you much hurt?" asked tom, bending over him. 66 i'm-dying—o! i'm dying," was the man's reply. in the arms of the landlord of the inn and a single watchman he was borne inside and laid on the floor of a badly-lighted room, and soon a medical man entered. the wounded man, a dark evil-countenanced foreigner, lay so still and white one might have taken him for dead. "his hours are numbered," said the surgeon at last. "send for a priest." the doomed wretch opened his eyes now. "yes, yes," he gasped, "a priest. i have that on my mind i dare not die with. boy," he continued, looking bewilderingly at tom, "did i see you with herbert?" "captain herbert," replied tom, "commands my ship." "kneel down beside me then," continued the man. a strange adventure. 71 "heaven sent you. i may yet be forgiven. boy, have you heard him speak of the southern hope and of his steward roderigo?" "yes, yes, a thousand times. are you that villain?" "i am that villain." the man had fainted again. "quick, quick," cried tom, addressing the landlord. "bring brandy. run, run. die yet." he must not "who is to pay me for it?" answered the surly fellow. "i've had enough trouble for one night." tom thrust money into his hand, and some poisonously-smelling spirit was soon produced. after a little had trickled over the throat of the dying man he once more looked up. "speak slowly now," said tom, quietly supporting roderigo with one arm. "tell me more about the southern hope and the boy bernard. o, tell me about him, and captain herbert will forgive you for anything, everything." "yes, yes. the southern hope. we mutiniedwe expected treasure-gold and precious stones— we found but insects, beetles, and stuffed birds. we were wild and wanted revenge. i would have fired the ship-but my comrades would not hear of it. the best revenge, they said, would be-was to but where am i? who are you?" now, tell me of "here, drink a little more. the boy bernard. you remember. yes, you do, 72 news of bernard. i see it in your eye. speak, if you hope for forgiveness." "yes, i will confess all. but why comes not the priest? the boy bernard we took away-" "does he live, tell me that?" "he lives." "( heaven be praised!" exclaimed tom. "o that captain herbert were but here himself! tell me now, roderigo, as you hope to be forgiven, where is the son of captain herbert? where did you take him?” "i-i know not-where he was taken-far into the interior." the dying man was sinking fast. "i saw a trader lately-bernard was with the jivaros" (pronounced heevaros). "he was well. pray for me i am dying." what could tom do but kneel down there beside the poor wretch and pray for his forgiveness through the merits of our saviour. it was the first prayer he had ever presented before the throne of grace otherwise than in the privacy of his own cabin or in his own thoughts, and he was surprised at his own earnestness. "i am forgiven-i feel i am." these were the last words of the dying roderigo. just one last low sobbing sigh and all was over. tom wept a little now as he stretched the unhappy man's arms by his side, and closed his eyelids. then he quietly took his leave. captain herbert's joy at the news tom brought tom's resolve. 73 him hardly knew any bounds. there was no going on board for either of them that night; and they sat till far into the small hours of the morning, talking of the past and laying schemes for the future. or rather considering one particular scheme, which was of tom's proposing, and ultimately acceded to by captain herbert. it was, in short, a plan of rescuing the boy, or rather young man, bernard, from the tribe of warlike indians in which he was a prisoner. "fain would i go with you," said the captain "for i fear the danger will be great; but i am feeble and far from well. i should but hinder you and clog your every movement.” "captain herbert," said tom, "i am young if you are getting old. i am healthy and strong and i am not afraid of anything. i shall go as a hunter-go as my dear uncle went, see all he saw, do all and perhaps more than he did, and return, i doubt not, in company with your son bernard." "may heaven be with you then," said the captain. "i am not superstitious, dear sir," continued tom; "but the strange dream i had has never ceased to haunt me, and if i am instrumental in bringing back poor bernard to his father and sister i shall be happy as long as i live." so it was agreed between them that all preparations should be at once made for tom's expedition 74 ecuador once more. into the wilds of the strange land where bernard was supposed to live, and in a few days after the burial of roderigo, whom the captain had easily identified as his old steward, the caledonia's head was once more turned back towards the shores of ecuador. what a sad and eventful history is that of this lovely land of ecuador! there is romance, too, in every page of it; but a romance, alas! that is all throughout stained with blood. not the blood spilled in battle and with honour, not the blood of patriots and heroes, but blood spilled in civil wars, in petty strife, and the blood of murder and massacre. if the purple mists of oblivion could be dispelled and we had a peep of the far bygone past, we should first find this country peopled by a race called quitus; subjects of a king, but altogether lawless and independent, for the simple reason that communications betwixt tribe and tribe were few and far between, as in many cases were the tribes themselves. if they kept touch with each other it was through traditions, or through the more tangible instrumentality of knife or spear or poisoned dart. thus they may have lived and died for thousands of years, then we read of the first invasion. for some peoples dwelling far to the south had advanced further in civilization than the poor quitus, with a terrible history. 75 the inevitable result-a desire for conquest, bloodshed, and rapine. they were called karans, and made their warlike descent upon the coast in armed boats or rafts. these karans went to work in the usual way with invaders of the past-they slew the men and old of both sexes, enslaving the women and the girls and boys. having once conquered the country they kept it, just as we britons would have done, only we use the more refined expression "annexation." these karans had a fine time of it after this. the country was such a wild and glorious one; no need to work or do anything, except hunt and fish and enjoy life. they called their kings "shyris," though there certainly was very little shyness about any of them. as these kings waxed richer and richer they grew more and more independent, not to say insolent, till their fame attracted the attention and inflamed the ambition of a great inca called tupac yupanqui. then war began in earnest, and lasted till the death of this king tupac. there was a short lull after that; but, the days of his mourning being over, the dead monarch's son huayna-kapak, a still more daring warrior than his father, continued the terrible warfare, and at length in a great battle conquered the karans and slew their last shyri. well, the karans were conquered; but they did not know it, for they simply made the dear king's 76 an emissary from the enemy. daughter their queen and continued to fight under her. huayna-kapak found he had all his work cut out, and that it would take him an age to kill all these warlike karans, who were here, there, and everywhere at the same time. so for a time he was nonplussed. but lo! to his tent one day came an emissary from the enemy. he had not come to sue for peace; very far from it-only for a truce during the flood season, and that the dead might be properly interred on both sides. perhaps kapak was a scotchman, anyhow he was very canny. it would have been easy enough for him to have deprived this emissary of his head, but it would not have been diplomacy. instead of taking his head or even his scalp he treated him very kindly and asked him as many questions as possible, the emissary in return telling him as many lies as he could think of. but there was one thing on which this karan was extremely enthusiastic, namely, the beauty and accomplishments of the young queen. she was more lovely and radiant than the most beautiful bird in the forest, and she was as brave as a jaguar. well, the canny inca went to bed and dreamt about all the karan had told him, and he was not any better when he came to breakfast next morninghe was in love. why should we fight against so charming a queen? it would be easier to conquer the karans by marrying her. so an interview a victim to treachery. 77 was arranged and a marriage next, and this bold but love-smitten inca never went back-another proof, i think, that he must have been of scotch descent-but dwelt in quitu or ecuador and ruled over his people for forty years. after his death the kingdom became divided into two, for the king left one part of it, namely cusco, to huascar, half-brother to atchualpa, the king's son by his shyri queen, the latter falling heir to quitu proper. huascar was a quarrelsome fellow, and finally he declared war on his half-brother, but was defeated and thrown into prison. poor atchualpa some time after this fell a victim to treachery, his retainers were brutally massacred and he himself strangled. after this the government of ecuador became pretty much of a muddle. a chief called rumiñagui made himself king of quitu first, but the spaniards determined to put him down. he was beaten in battle after battle, and on getting nearer to the capital this reckless and cruel chief massacred the "virgins of the sun" and burned the city. he found time to remove even all his gold and treasure, which he took with him to the wilds, burying them in a mountain, which still bears his own name. some day a portion of this treasure, which i am told is still concealed at the base of this mighty hill, may be discovered by some adventurous boy who leaves this country "---78 under spanish rule. with twopence-halfpenny in his pocket, and who will, after killing wild beasts innumerable, return to england and live happy ever after. the spaniards now came into possession of the country, and after a deal of additional wars and a great deal of massacre and bloodshed, ecuador became a republic. this happened about sixty years ago, and ever since it has been as much a prey to rebellions and revolutions as to earthquakes, being probably less happy and contented even now than when it was governed by the easy going kings of the shyri dynasty. the greater portion of the country east of the andes is clad in dense forests, and inhabited by wild beasts and still wilder men. and it was into this wilderness our hero tom was now about to penetrate. chapter vii. here hangs his brother's scalp." he scene is changed. the and such a change! it is but little more than a fortnight since tom was busily engaged getting cargo on board the caledonia at the noisy and far from romantic seaport of callao. it is little over a week since he bade adieu to captain herbert and his friends. 1 starting for the wilds. 79 in the ship, and started from guayaquil on his daring journey into the wilds of this veritable land of mountain and flood. it is little over a week, and yet it seems an age, and here he is at riobamba; a town of strange low houses, few of which can boast more than a single apartment, but standing in their own grounds nevertheless. a town which does not look very imposing from a distance, and certainly does not improve on closer acquaintance; built on a sandy plain, in sight of and surrounded by the highest giants of the andes. it is night, and tom, tired of wandering through the streets, is returning to the outskirts, where his little encampment is stationed. he prefers the company of indians even, to a sojourn for even a single night in the inexpressibly filthy rooms of the city. it is quieter, too, here; the silence only broken occasionally by the yelping of half-wild curs quarrelling over their carrion, or the cries of the night-birds. the moon is shining very clearly, and the stars look so near that the snow-capped mountains seem far above them. yonder is the far-famed chimborazo; altur is also in sight, with its precipitous and rugged sides, and carhuairazo, and mighty tinguragua. it is seldom indeed that they can be seen so distinctly as they are to-night; but when the moon rises slowly up into the deep-blue sky, 80 tom's toldo. flooding all the scene with its dreamy light, the view on every side is grand in the extreme. . and those everlasting hills, the brilliant moon, and the silvery stars, are to tom's mind but steps in a ladder that leads his thoughts to heaven itself. he is so impressed with the solemnity of the whole scene, that before he retires to his tent he must needs kneel down and pray. he has much to pray for; he has not thoughtlessly entered upon the undertaking which has hardly yet commenced. he knew all the dangers to which he would be exposed; and although the very idea of being a lonely wanderer through ecuador wilds appealed to the romance of his character, he would not willingly have risked his young life had not a greater reward than pleasure only seemed to depend upon the success of his expedition, namely, the realization of his dream, and the finding of lost bernard herbert. so he prayed now for a blessing on his endeavours; and for an unseen hand to support him in his journeyings, and to shield him from the dangers in forest, in jungle, and plain. he rose refreshed in spirit, and soon reached his little toldo. his people had built themselves a hut of branches and grass, to shield them from the sun and rain by day and the dews at night. but three of them were waiting to receive him at his toldo door. this toldo, i may here mention, was a kind of gypsy tent of canvas. it had been the indians. 81 captain herbert's last gift to him before they parted, and was made by the sailors on board the caledonia. it had not been difficult for tom to secure servants for his expedition into the interior. he had fifty volunteers at least, and from these he chose five. most of whom were real indians, with a little spanish blood in them. active, young, and strong fellows every one of them, though certainly far from good-looking. neither were they tall. tom towered above them like a giant, or as the great volcanic crater of cotapaxi towers above the neighbouring mountains. i believe each and all of his servants were just a little proud of their young white master, and just a little afraid as well. tom, during the long years he had spent at sea, had not only developed immense strength, but something of a quick and imperious temper as well. not that he was a bad-natured fellow by any means, only he would have things done his own way; he would be obeyed, and he had a pair of eyes that looked a man through and through while he issued an order or asked a question. in brief, tom was not to be trifled with. as he now approached his toldo, three indians who had been squatting in the shade walked forth a few paces to meet him, bowed, and stood silently leaning on their tall spears, waiting for their white chief to speak. in their dark cotton ponchos and trowserets, if i may coin a word, (568) f 82 de debil. their heads dressed in tall feathers, and a bold, half-defiant look on the face of each, they certainly looked picturesque enough. they were indians of different tribes-a canelo, a napo, and a thaparo; but as tom had them armed and dressed precisely alike, it would have been difficult for a stranger to have seen much difference in them, by moonlight at all events. "well, men," said tom, stopping in front of them, "what is the news?" "de news is," said tootu, the canelo, for he was usually spokesman, his english being the best. "de news is dat de tapir and de wild turkey hab eet plenty and go to sleep like pigs, and dat de debil hab come, señor." oko and taoh both bowed, as if to confirm the information, startling though it sounded. tootu, taoh, and oko, signifying wind, fire, and water, were tom's principal men at present. the tapir and the wild turkey were savages of a lower cast, and fit only to look after the horses and dogs, of which there were five of the former and three of the latter. "de debil" himself was the guide par excellence, and for him they had been waiting for two or three days. his name in indian language was samaro, and samaro we must call him in future, though it means much the same. 'light the lamp in my toldo, tootu, and we will receive samaro," 1 an awful ornament. 83 the lamp was lit, and tom, somewhat tired of his rambling walk, threw himself on a mat on the ground. on this mat was curled no less a personage than black tom, the cat, who responded to tom's caress with his usual fond purr-rrn. an attempt had been made to keep this strange puss on board, but all in vain. he had watched his master's every movement, and when one of the sailors had attempted to catch him, with the intention of shutting him up, black tom had made it very hot indeed for that particular sailor. he had been glad enough to let him go. and now samaro entered. samaro was a very clever and very remarkablelooking indian. almost as tall as tom himself, though probably double his age, with straight dark hair, and eyes of a piercing black, his face almost white, and singularly handsome. his poncho was of some light-coloured fur, and rather voluminous; while, as he stood with it thrown back over the arm which held his high featheradorned spear and shield as well, in his girdle could be seen an ugly and business-like knife, and also a huge revolver. on his head was a cap of feathers, and there were toucan's tails dangling to his girdle at one side, and something very dreadful to behold at the other. this was nothing more nor less than the complete skin of 84 a surprise. the head and face of an enemy killed in battle, filled out with moss, but shrivelled to the size of a cocoa-nut, the features awfully pinched and contorted, and the whole appearance of the horrible ornament ugly enough to give one the nightmare. (c señor samaro?" said tom. "de debil, señor, at your service." "we will call you samaro." << << 'si, señor. samaro will do." 'well, samaro, i like the looks of you; though i don't admire that ornament at your belt." "i do not admire that ornament at your side, señor." "that," said tom laughing. "o, that is my pet cat; and he must be your friend as well as mine." "c (6 that is well. i will love him." then we won't quarrel." "no, we cannot. i have a reason to respect you. i was guide to a good white man before. it is many, many years ago. ten years and ten moons, señor." "he was kind to you?" "ah, yes, he was kind to me. forget him." "" his name?" i shall never "robert-señor robert. i think his other name was sinclair." "c samaro!" cried tom, springing up and claspwind, fire, and water. 85 sit ing the astonished indian by the hand. "that was my uncle robert. how pleased i am. down. here tootu, taoh, oko-wind, fire, and water, where are you? sit down on my mat, samaro." so loudly had tom shouted, that wind, fire, and water rushed into the toldo like a first-class hurricane, almost upsetting each other in their eagerness. it.' "" "( bring coffee and food, and be smart about samaro," he continued, "this is delightful! how glad i am to have met you. there, look, even my friend, the cat, is getting fond of you." samaro stroked black tom somewhat dubiously. then he looked up. "señor," he said. "yes, samaro." "this is not your private debil, is it?” (6 no, no. i assure you it is not. i do not keep a private debil. i shouldn't know what to do with one.' "" "then, señor," said samaro in a low voice, and with one rapid glance towards the toldo entrance, "we will say so. we will tell the boys it is your evil spirit." "but why, samaro?" 66 why, señor, it may save your life many times during your stay in the wilds." black tom was meanwhile walking back and 86 clever but not good. fore betwixt his master and samaro, with his tail very erect indeed, singing loudly, and evidently doing his best to cement a friendship thus strangely begun. "samaro, do you remember all my dear uncle's adventures?" "yes, and all he said. is the dear señor alive?" "i trust so. well, we will oftentimes talk of him. i think, samaro, you are a good man." samaro laughed aloud, but not disrespectfully. "i am clever," he said; "but not good. he! he! o, no; goodness does not pay. i am a thorough blackguard." "samaro, you astonish me! and i don't believe you." "but i have been told so. i have fought plenty, i have scalped my enemies, i have revelled in bloodshed." "but you never have betrayed a friend?" 'no, no, no; sooner would samaro die.' "" "and you speak the truth, do you not?" "yes. because one lie told requires five more to shore it up.' "shore it up?" said tom. "that is a sailor's expression. where did you acquire it?" "6 from your good uncle. been to sea. "" "you have been to callao?" but i have much sold as a slave. 87 i know every one there. i have been all over the world too." "do you know that my uncle's ship was seized by mutineers, with one roderigo at their head?" "i know all the story." "samaro, do you know the reason why i am going all alone to the wilds-i mean without a white companion?" "" << like your uncle, you go to hunt." 'no, that is not my chief reason. samaro, listen. the captain of that unhappy ship had a son-a boy-who was stolen from his parents, and carried into the interior—” he was he was "no, no," interrupted samaro. carried no farther than here at first. sold here at riobamba as a slave, and by indians taken away across the terrible mountains. roderigo is a foul fiend! see here," he continued, his dark eyes blazing with excitement. "roderigo had a brother, a fierce spaniard, likewise a fiend; i killed him. here hangs his brother's scalp, and i have sworn that roderigo's shall hang beside it." (6 'samaro, roderigo is dead." samaro laughed, a grim and ghastly laugh. "i know the story. i too have a brother. it was my brother who slew roderigo. he has his scalp by this time. the grave could not hide his foe long from my brother's gaze." "samaro," said tom, "you almost make me 88 the chief guide's story. shudder. surely this villain roderigo has done you and your brother some irreparable injury?" samaro's face grew dark as night. "had roderigo a thousand lives," he said, "he should yield them slowly up one by one before he could atone for the injury he did to me and mine. we will say no more now. believe only this, he—this fiend roderigo-slew my mother, burned our huts, and stole my brother's wife and child." "so terrible a subject," said tom, “is best allowed to rest. but richly indeed did the wretch deserve his fate." samaro sat in silence sipping his coffee for some time after this. but gradually the troubled look that had crept over his face left it, and soon he was talking again cheerfully enough. << and so," said samaro, "i am henceforth to be your guide." "you are to be my chief guide, my steward, my counsellor, and my head man in every way." samaro smiled in a pleased way. "we will begin to get ready at once-to-morrow morning at sunrise," he said, "if it so please you, señor." "that will do, samaro. i long to be on the road. but one other question i wish to ask you before you retire. have you any guess as to where bernard herbert is or what is his condition?" samaro is not hopeful. 89 "absolutely none as to his condition, but he was taken away by the jivaros." "just what the dying roderigo told me." (( 'there was a lady, too," continued samaro, "a delicate young girl, sold at the same time. she came from the far east in your uncle's ship, and had been nurse to mr. herbert's child." "" 'yes, yes; that was the ayah. did they illtreat her?" "c 'no; they were afraid of her. they looked upon her as a being from another world." "did she go with the boy?" "she did." << 'then we may find both?" 'i fear neither." "what?" "i give you no hope of finding either. but we may." ah! yes, samaro, we may. good-night. i'll sleep and dream on that hope." 66 good-night." chapter viii. "never before had tom experienced such a feeling of awful danger." amaro had been exceedingly well recomsamar mended to tom as a perfect guide for the wilds, but the very fact that he had been with 90 the hermit hunter's outfit. his uncle would in itself have been the best of testimony in the man's favour. he proved himself most active and energetic from the first. and there was quite a deal to be seen to. all stores of every kind had been brought from the ship and from guayaquil, and shortly after sunrise samaro proceeded to muster his forces and take stock of everything. the stores were a medley; but the heaviest packages were those that contained articles for barter with the indians of the interior, and these consisted chiefly of light cloth, thread, needles, pins, beads, axes, knives, spear-heads, lookingglasses, an african tom-tom, and a couple of german concertinas. many of these things would be given away as presents, and there was even a gun or two that might also change hands. the stores for the use of tom himself and his indian followers consisted for the most part of the tent, a grass hammock, a few blankets, with plenty of rifles, revolvers, and ammunition. fishing gear had not been forgotten, nor useful tools of various sorts, to say nothing of preserved meats and a few simple medicines. such was the outfit of the hermit hunter of the wilds. a hermit of the old school might have been content with far less, but your modern wanderers do not despise anything which science may suggest as likely to add to their comfort. roughing it. 91 the horses were wiry, useful, willing beasts; strong too, and as sure-footed as mules even. the dogs were probably better than they looked. mongrel greyhounds they were not unlike a breed we find in australia under the name of kangaroo-hounds. the packages were carried by the horses in light, wicker baskets saddle fashion, and all were covered with waterproof canvas. tom had already enjoyed some of the delights of ecuador travelling-if, indeed, there was very much delight in it-and his adventures as far as riobamba would be worth relating were it not that those which followed were far more thrilling. but there had been rivers to cross, over tumble-down bridges, mountains to climb along tracks called roads which sheep in england would disdain, deep forests to force through, and long stretches of sandy plains to struggle over by paths that seemed interminable. but although the rainy season was scarcely past the weather had been comparatively fine; and the scenery, ever varying, according to the altitude above the sea-level, was at times beautiful in the extreme, or grand even to awesome sublimity. tom was fond of nature in all her varied aspects, and all through his journeyings he had the pleasant companionship of birds and flowers and ferns, to say nothing of many a little forest friend 92 on his way to the wilderness. in fur, that hardly thought of running away, so unused were the creatures of the wilds to the presence of man. the greater part of the population of riobamba turned out to see tom start. in addition to the pack-horses he had brought two others to ride-one for himself and the other for samaro. this guide went on first, then tom and the others followed in indian file. it was a delightful morning, with a breeze blowing from the distant mountain slopes of chimborazo; and the throng of indians speararmed and clad in their gay-coloured ponchos, the huts and houses, the cattle, horses, and strange-looking llamas, the greenery of the shrubs and bushes, the jagged hills and blue sky above, flecked with many a fleecy cloud, made up a scene that was both beautiful and picturesque. but all was soon left behind, and solitude reigned supreme. the pack-horses and men were lagging behind. samaro was a long way ahead, and when tom pulled rein and looked about him, hearing nothing but the rustling of the wind through the wild corn and dark-leaved aloe bushes, he realized for the first time that he was really on his way to the wilderness. all the year round the sun sets about six o'clock in the land of ecuador, and a full hour before that time tom gave orders for the halt; . among the creepies. 93 and not far from the banks of a river the tent or toldo was erected, and supper prepared. it would have been easy to have pushed on a few miles farther to the village of penipe, but for the time-being at all events tom was independent of villages of any kind. nor did he have a very high opinion of the cooking and accommodation to be obtained therein. certainly in a town a greater amount of so-called civilization was to be met with; but there the insects were more civilized too. that is how tom talisker argued. out in the open country, even in the bush, although these plagues were to be met with in every shape and form-flying beetles, gigantic mosquitoes, cockroaches, earwigs, scorpions, centipeds, and winged bugs, to say nothing of a host of other creepie-creepies, they were wild; while, on the other hand, those that dwelt in houses were tame, disgustingly so, and au fait in all the ways of the world. besides, there was in the open the blessings obtainable from fresh air. i have already said that hermit hunter though he was tom did not despise his comforts. on my honour now, i think he would have been a fool if he had. what good would it have done himself or anybody else had he dressed in sackcloth and ashes? he could have gotten plenty of both in ecuador had his fancy led him to adopt so sad a costume. but it did not. he preferred alpaca and fine linen, and he actually carried an excel94 tucked in for the night. lent hunting watch. every night, too, while in the wilderness he had his tent erected, his hammock slung, and the whole of the latter neatly surrounded by a mosquito curtain. if ever, dear reader, you go to the wilds, i advise you to adopt the same plan. well then, after samaro had tucked his master in, as you might say, he threw up one side of the tent, and lo! the sweet pure air of heaven swept in. the creepies came too-some of them at all events. the scorpions and centipeds had not a chance, and the flying "ferlies" could only grind their mandibles outside the curtain. mosquitoes are very insinuating though, and if there had been a hole in the curtain big enough to admit the end of a pencil some enterprising mosquito would have found it out and forthwith started a limited liability company, thousands would have joined, and before morning tom's face would have been a sight to see in the looking-glass—that is, if seeing was any longer a possibility. "stay and talk with me to-night," said tom, after samaro had tucked him in. throw up the tent that i may see the stars. that's right. now smoke." 66 is this going to be the order of our evenings?" said samaro. it will be observed that this man talked excellent english, and well he might: he had lived in every country under the sun, snakes. 95 "yes," replied tom, "if you don't mind. you see, it is too soon to go to sleep, and if i have the lamp lit we will have more flying things about us than i care for." to keep stray pumas, or a wandering and inquisitive jaguar-the american tiger, at a respectable distance, a fire of wood was lit every evening, and near this lay talking low, and sometimes singing strange uncouth lilts of love and war, tom's five men. there was one drawback to their pleasure-the snakes. but it was a very slight one; for as a rule snakes do not bite unless you tread on their tails. they take good care you never tread on their heads; they glide away quickly enough to save the front portions of their anatomy. it is the after-part of the procession that cannot be got away in time to save itself, and when the unhappy man's foot comes down the snake strikes at once, and there is but little chance of life after that. well, when one goes first to the wilderness, if he be a green hand, or tender-foot as the yankees call a novice, he keeps thinking about snakes all day long, and they even follow him into his dreams, fevering body as well as mind, and destroying all chance of perfect happiness. but a few weeks in the wilds harden even a tenderfoot, and he finds out as his face gets browner that even snakes never bite except in self-defence, and that if he observes ordinary caution he is 96 samaro's stories. as safe on the plains as he would be in hyde park. "o," said samaro, "i shall be very much pleased." "well then, tell me a story, and sing me a song if you can. i want to feel perfectly at home." and samaro not only this night but every night almost told tom stories of his wild life and adventures, and sang him songs, just as if he had been a little boy at home in his own bed-room. and to tell the truth tom used very often to go to sleep before samaro had done singing. tom, the black cat, invariably retired to the hammock with his master. by day he rode on the saddle sometimes, or he might disappear altogether for half a day at a time. black tom was permitted to do precisely as he pleased, and that is the secret of his affection for white tom. tom was never tired hearing samaro tell all about uncle robert's adventures, and, to a great extent, he determined to do very much as his uncle had done. "it will be such a surprise, you know," he told samaro, "to collect precisely the same kind of curios, and skins of birds and beasts, and butterflies, and beetles as uncle robert did. why, when i go home and show him all these, he will be as happy as the good little boys in the fairybooks." bird-skins and butterflies. 97 this was a happy thought, and samaro entered into the scheme with great spirit and joy. between riobamba, therefore, and banyos they spent three whole weeks. but bird skins and butterflies were almost the sole objects that tom collected in these regions. they had hardly yet come to lions and tigers. he gathered, however, specimens of ore, which samaro assured him contained gold as well as other precious metals. sometimes they met wandering bands of indians. they were quiet and civil as yet, but they were extremely curious to know what brought the white hunter to these regions. they were satisfied each and all of them with samaro's explanations. all englishmen were mad, the guide told them, except a very few, and these were fools. seeing tom pursuing bright-winged butterflies they naturally concluded he belonged to the latter section. "it is well it should be thought so," said samaro. "your fame and reputation will go before you into the wilds." "my reputation as a fool-eh?" said tom laughing. (6 yes, as a fool. then if your friend bernard does indeed live among the jivaros, you will be more likely to find and free him. they will not suspect a fool." (568) g 98 perils of travel. they found the horses very handy at present; but by and by the country would be far too wild to make any use of them. the dogs, however, were as yet of little service. however they occasionally caught a cavy or agouti, and these, roasted whole in gypsy fashion, formed occasionally a very appetizing supper. fruit was everywhere abundant here, and eggs of various kinds of birds added considerably to the contents of the larder. the rain, however, spoiled many a good day's sport, and always after a "spate" or downfall the streams became swollen. they would have to ford these at times with considerable risk; while at other times they found bridges. but terrible bridges they were. it really makes me shudder a little to think of them, although i am not much given to shuddering as a general rule. the best of them were suspension bridges, and the method adopted in their construction was simplicity itself. three or four chains were swung across the stream and tied to the tree trunks, and on these pieces of wood were fastened with withes, and lo! the bridge was complete, but fearfully unsafe. they were very high above the water to prevent their being washed away during floods, and as they were stretched over the narrowest gulleys, the water beneath rushed onward with such rapidity, an adventure on a bridge. 99 that the strongest swimmer that ever lived would not have had the ghost of a chance for his life had he fallen off the bridge. imagine if you can horses having to cross such a bridge. but they often had to. tom had one adventure on a bridge that he is never likely to forget. he was all alone too; that is, no human being was within reach. about four miles down a stream he had found a ford in the morning, but on returning about an hour before sunset he came to this fearful bridge and determined to cross over. he tied his horse up first, then ventured on himself, and went backwards and forwards several times to test its strength. the bridge was not more than four feet wide, but felt firm enough, and it was all right with tom so long as he did not let his eyes fall in the direction of the roaring, tumbling torrent far down beneath. if he did so for a moment he felt as if the whole structure were gliding from under him. but now for the horse. it was not difficult to get the wise creature on, though he walked with excessive care and caution, feeling his way as it were step by step, with his eyes fixed steadfastly on the bank beyond. tom walked on before holding the bridle. the bridge bent as they neared the centre till it assumed almost the shape of a hammock, and tom began to think it must break. he kept up 100 a sudden squall. his heart, however, and with gentle, encouraging words urged his beast to follow. they had reached the middle when, without the slightest warning, a squall came suddenly roaring down the gulley, and the bridge began to sway and swing and creak and crack. never in his lifetime before had tom experienced such a feeling of awful danger. the horse stood still now, shaking with dread, and emitting a low, frightened kind of a whinny, while the sweat poured over his hoofs. tom crouched lower and lower to save himself from falling, but he still kept hold of the bridle; for even in the extremity of his own danger, he did not forget that the touch from man's hand gives confidence to the brute, even when seemingly paralysed with terror. the squall luckily did not last many minutes. then it fell calm again, and in a very short time he and his faithful horse were safely across. but even then he dared scarcely look back and down into that frightful chasm that seemed to have been yawning hungrily for his life. fords and bridges. 101 << chapter ix. the whole sea of mist turned to clouds of mingled gold and crimson." he crossing of streams, either by swingbridges or through fords in which the water roared and rushed with the rapidity of a mill-stream, constituted a source of ever-recurring danger. the bridges at times were of even simpler construction than that already described, especially if the stream or chasm were narrow, for then two trees, or perhaps but one, would have to do duty as a support for the cross-pieces of wood; and as these latter were often so rotten that they snapped in two with the weight of a man, it may easily be perceived that the comfort and feeling of security while on them were but slight. as a rule the natives have but little faith in these frail and fearful structures, and will go a long distance round to find a ford; unless indeed they are intoxicated, which they too often are when a chance occurs. but the bridges as a rule are left standing until they fall with the weight of some unlucky wight. i have said that the horses were exceedingly sure-footed. so they needed to be; for the tracks in this mountain-land sometimes went winding 102 a puma in the path. alongside of frightful precipices, and the danger was quite as great in coming down as in going up. but a horse occasionally got frightened, and lost for a time all his presence of mind. one day tom was riding on in front on just such a pathway as that i have mentioned. it was nowhere more than five feet wide; the mountain rising steep close on one side, the yawning gulf at the other, with bushes clinging to its edges. stones occasionally came tumbling down from above with a hurtling noise; but when they rolled over the precipice they were heard no more, for they had fallen into space, and the sudden silence was awfully suggestive. now and then came a sharp angle or curve in the pathway; and here the danger was at its height, for you could no longer see where the road led. you were riding right on to the cliff; and it was impossible to divest the mind of the idea that next moment the horse you bestrode would be pawing the air, as he and you were being hurled to destruction. it was close to such an eeriesome and uncanny corner as this, and immediately after he had passed it, that tom found himself face to face with a puma, coming along the narrow pathway with long, stealthy, lynx-like steps. the beast was as much startled as anyone. he emitted one low growl, then immediately turned to fly. jat.b. 568 tom meets a puma on the mountain path. half over the cliff. 103 nothing but instant action could have saved tom's life now, for the horse reared and swerved half over the cliff, as his rider threw himself off against the hill and clung to some rhododendron bushes. he had not quitted hold of the bridle, and slight though this support was it probably saved his horse. the beast's hind-legs and thighs had almost disappeared. his nostrils were distended, and his eyes seemed to flash dark fire, as for a moment he hung 'twixt life and death. the shuddering, quivering groan the poor brute gave when he once more stood safe on the path was evidence of his appreciation of the terrible danger he had just escaped. it will be easily seen, therefore, that travelling in ecuador is fraught with many perils, and one may truly be said to take the road with his life in his hand. as far as our hero was concerned, however, this spice of danger certainly did not detract from the pleasures of the journey. he was nevertheless most careful before setting out of a morning to see that his horse and all the horses had been well fed and harnessed; for this concerned the safety of the poor brutes as well. as his own. so simple an accident as the loosening of a belly-band has ere now in this wild land resulted in horse and rider being precipitated over a mountain-side, or swept from a ford into the rapids of some swollen river. dangers come when least looked for; nothing 104 the region of perpetual snow. is certain when travelling except the unexpected, and it is always prudent to be prepared. but i do not mean to hold my hero up as a paragon of prudence, or any other virtue for that matter; and i have to confess that his love of nature, and his search for the beautiful and the picturesque, often led him into difficulties he might otherwise have steered clear of. "i say, samaro," he said one night to his major-domo, "i have a notion to climb one of these lofty mountains. up into the region of perpetual snow. do you understand?" "i understand, señor; but " well, what?" "your uncle would not have dared to do so." "o, i shall dare more than my uncle ever dared. and whatever a man dares he can do." "well, señor, i am ready. will you start to-morrow?" "yes. the hill is at hand, or mountain rather; and it does not seem difficult to ascend. looks quite near, indeed." "excuse me, señor," said samaro, "if i take the liberty of laughing. the mountain certainly seems near, but so does the moon. the air is very clear, señor.” well, all the better for us." tom was early astir next morning; but early though it was he found samaro busy enough. he was squatting under a bush, making for hima toilsome ascent. 105 self what looked to tom something like a pair of leather breeches with feet attached. "ah! i see," said tom. "you expect it will be cold up yonder, so you are utilizing a puma's skin." "i have been there before," said samaro, "with-" "" with whom?" "a mad englishman.” "o! and now you will have to pilot a fool?" "si, señor." "well, are you nearly ready, mr. guide?" "i am ready," replied samaro; "and,” he added, pointing upward at the mighty tinguragua, "the mountain is ready and waiting also." the journey and ascent, for it was both combined, were now commenced. "there is no occasion to hurry," said tom; "we will take it easy." well, mountain climbing does always seem easy at first; but, anyhow, tom was now in grand form: his limbs were as hard and tough as hawsers, and it would have taken a good deal to make his heart palpitate. on they went, and soon leaving the river's bank they penetrated into the depths of the primeval forest, and following a little track made by some wild animals in their nightly visits to the river, began to ascend. the company consisted of tom and his guide, with tootu, taoh, and oko carrying ropes, axes, 106 the tropical forest. arms, provisions, and blankets. it was wonderful how well these three honest fellows agreed. as a rule wind, fire, and water do not pull well together when they meet, but in this case they did. tootu was usually spokesman; but whatever he said, the other two, fire and water, were ready to chime in with, and swear to if need be. onwards and upwards they journeyed now for hours, the pathway sometimes so steep that they had to clamber on their hands and knees. onwards and upwards, then onwards and downwards. this was the worst of it. it was as trying to the nerves as the temper. it did seem a pity that, after they had reached a certain elevation, they should be confronted with a ravine into the very bottom of which the pathway led them before taking them onwards and upwards again. it was like having to do the ascent twice over. but there was no help for it. tom was amply rewarded, however, by the beauty of the tropical forest. i should search in vain through the tablets of my memory for words in which to express the charm and singularity of those woodlands. on the lower grounds, indeed, the vegetation was all a wild and lovely tangle, representing on an enormous scale the struggle for existence that has been going on here for ages. it was one great and continued fight for the sunlight, in which to some extent and for a time the largest and strongest trees gained the strange scenery. 107 victory. but the smaller and weaker plants, the splendidly-flowered creepers, the mosses, the orchids, and lesser ferns were not to be denied. there was nowhere they would not go, no height to which they would not aspire and climb. they draped the tree-stems and branches with blossoms, it is true; but by and by that very wealth of trailing, hanging, waving beauty proved the downfall of the most lordly giants of the forest; and when winds swept through the woods they came down with a crash, and in a few weeks had disappeared off the face of the earth. for here a fallen trunk is seldom seen, in such teeming myriads do busy footed insects work on the ground and beneath it. out at last came the wanderers upon a higher region still, and now they had to traverse for miles a kind of hilly plateau that looked altogether like the work of some wonderful landscape gardener. it was a plateau covered with innumerable little tree-clad, fern-clad, moss-clad, flower-covered hills, with rocks in the shape of gray needles, silvery boulders, square towers, domes, and minarets, peeping up through the foliage everywhere. round and round and among these wound many a little footpath-the footpaths of wild beasts-but none, probably, more dangerous than the timid agouti, the cavy, or peccary. occasionally they crossed small meandering streams that appeared here and there, popping out from 108 rest by the way. banks of foliage or gushing and trickling from the hill-sides, and disappearing again soon in the same mysterious manner. add to this "garden wide and wild” birds that flutter from bough to bough, many silent but of rainbow radiance, others gray and brown and hardly seen, but trilling forth such melody as can be heard from no other feathered songsters on earth; add to it radiant butterflies and moths in clouds; bees also, some of enormous size and dangerous wrathful appearance; and snakes basking on the moss of rocks, gliding swiftly through the little glades, or hanging asleep on the bushes. close to a tiny stream of clear water tom sat down; the weary carriers threw down their burdens, and a welcome meal was made of biscuits and fruit, and a long rest taken before resuming the ascent. the great mountain was there before them still, looking as big and far steeper than when they started. the foliage changed now, and some parts of the mountain over which they climbed were all ablaze with treerhododendrons, while the perfume of wild heliotrope filled the air. heaths, too, were abundant, many of which put tom in mind of those he had wandered among on the mountains of the cape of good hope. climbing began in earnest soon after this; and no one spoke, but clambered on and up in silent ten thousand feet up. 109 earnestness. just about sunset they found themselves once more on a vast plateau, on which grew only the scantiest herbage. after crossing this they found a small cave in the mountain-side, and here for the night the bivouac was made. while dinner was being prepared tom climbed higher up still and sat himself down on a rock; but the vastness and grandeur of the scene, and its indescribable silence and solemnity, must be left to the reader's imagination. he must have been fully ten thousand feet above the sea-level; and yet the snowy craters of carhuairazo, just visible over the bluff bare brow of the mountain, still towered high above him. far below was an ocean of lesser hills, of woods and plains and smiling valleys, with streams that looked like trickling rills or silver threads among the green, and here and there a glassy lake. the sun went down in a blaze of glory, and he now hastened below to enjoy repose and a wellearned dinner. about nine o'clock, though the stars had been very bright before this, a storm-cloud passed over the mountain-side, with a roaring wind, heavy rain, and thunder and lightning. after this tom went out to have one more look at the scene before turning in. nothing was now visible beneath but a dim chaos of clouds, nothing on the horizon either, except, far away to the north, the giant 110 cotopaxi. cone of cotopaxi. its snow-girt crater was lit up every now and then by the gleams of the great fires within-gleams that darted in straight lines up through the rolling clouds of smoke that hung pall-like over it. this is the loftiest and mightiest volcano in the world. talk not of its height in feet or yards-speak of it in miles; and fancy, if you can, a burning mountain nearly five miles in height, the thunders of whose workings can be heard, and have been heard, six hundred miles away! it made tom shiver to think of it. but o, the illimitable distance of the stars that shone above, and to think of god who made them all! a mystery of mysteries! and the stars are voiceless, and these dread volcanoes speak only to us in thunders that we cannot understand, till we are fain to seek for refuge in the only refuge we have: our belief in the goodness of the father, and the religion revealed to us in the book of books. what tom sighed, he knew not why, and crept inside to the shelter of the cave, and wrapping himself in his blanket soon sank to sleep. but many times ere morning he was startled by the roar of falling débris of earth, rocks, and stone, loosened by the recent rain storm. samaro roused his young master early to see the sunrise. but when he went outside he stood for a few moments in silent wonder. where in the clouds. 111 had the world all gone to? it had disappeared, most assuredly-most of it at all events. here was the mountain above and round him, but all the gorgeous scenery he had gazed on last night was swallowed up in an ocean of white mist or clouds. the word "ocean" is precisely the one to use. beneath and as far as the eye could gaze all was a vast white sea, only it was bounded on the horizon by the jagged ridges and crater-cones of the mountains, and these looked like rocks and cliffs overhanging this ocean. it was a marvellous sight; but when presently the red sun showed over the edge the scene was changed, and the whole sea of mist turned to clouds of mingled gold and crimson. chapter x. "in the forests strange shrieks and sounds were heard." i was venture which every true-born healthy t was only that daring and indomitable spirit briton possesses that compelled tom to climb any further into cloud-land to-day. tootu and his companions were left behind at the cave, our hero going up alone with samaro. he meant to reach the snow-line, and he did; 112 not a moment to lose. and had the satisfaction of walking a mile or two over a region of glaciers. unsurpassed anywhere else in the world. apart from the pleasure he felt in having gained his desires, and standing where no human foot had probably ever trodden before, there was little comfort at this sublime altitude. a high cutting wind was blowing, and the cold was intense and piercing. poor samaro looked blue and benumbed; and albeit he had donned those wonderful nether garments of his, he was a very pitiable spectacle indeed. at last he stopped, and pointing to a cloud that seemed fast approaching"has my young chief," he said, "made his will? if we have to die, samaro would prefer to be where the birds sing." so enchanted had tom been with the desolalation and sublimity of the scene everywhere beneath, above, and around him, that he took no heed of anything else, and had hardly felt the cold. but his eyes now followed the direction of samaro's finger, and to his surprise and alarm he noticed that the last shoulder of the mighty mountain was already hidden with a darkling cloud. it was as if this monarch of the andes were himself feeling the effects of the bitter wind and drawing his mantle close around him. "come, sir, come; there is not a moment to lose." ► the blizzard. 113 tom looked now towards the point from which they had entered the plateau; it appeared very far away indeed. (6 "we can run," he said. "nay, nay," was the reply. "we will be exhausted soon enough. as well lie down and die as run." the guide going on in front at a moderately quick pace, with tom in the rear, they now began to retrace their steps. but soon the snow began to drive athwart the track in a blinding shower, the wind and cold also increased till the former gained all the awful strength of a blizzard. in less than five minutes their footprints in the soft snow were entirely obliterated. but samaro held on unheeding, and now and then some hummock of ice dimly seen through the snow-cloud proved to tom that they were still in the right track. there was no talking now. indeed had they shrieked even, their voices would hardly have been heard in the howling of that awful storm. how long they had walked tom never knew: it seemed hours and hours; but he was drowsy, stupid, and all but benum bed. he was aroused at length from his lethargy by the indian violently shaking him, for he had almost sunk down with the terrible fatigue. samaro, standing there by his side all clad in ice and snow, looked like the very spirit of the storm. (568) h 114 steering by the wind. tom pulled himself together once more and followed his guide. at last, at long, long last they were descending. tom could breathe more freely now at every step. the terrible tightness across his chest had gone, and the fearful feeling of suffocation that had half-garrotted him. then the snow changed gradually to sleet, the sleet to rain, and the rain to mountain-mist. in half an hour the sun was shining brightly, though all around the terrible mountain-top the clouds still curled and mixed. they were saved! saved but by the merest chance; for samoro now told tom that had the wind changed by so much as two points of the compass, as it often does during these blizzards, they must both have sunk and perished. "you were steering by the wind, then?" said tom. (( entirely by the wind, señor." in another week's time a change was made in the method of travelling, for the party were now entering a region so terribly wild and trackless that horses would no longer be of any service to them. so well and faithfully, however, had these honest nags served them, that tom determined not to part entirely with them; and as samaro thought it would be possible to trust to the honesty of some of the people of the last village black tom and his friends. 115 through which they passed before entering the wilderness proper, they were left there, and might or might not be awaiting them on the return journey, if ever such a journey should be permitted them. ten additional carriers had now to be hired, and, to his credit be it said, samaro made the very best bargains possible for his young master. altogether, the crew all told, as we say at sea, of the little expedition now consisted of seventeen souls, not including the three dogs and black tom himself, who possibly had souls as well as the rest. here what the poet tupper says on this subject:66 "it is not unwisdom to hold with the savage that brutes (as we name them for dumbness) have souls, for though, as with us, death's fury may ravage their bodies--their spirits it never controls. dumb innocents, often too cruelly treated, may well for their patience find future reward, and the great judge in mercy and majesty seated claims all his creation as bought by its lord." black tom and the dogs, it may be added, were very friendly; though at the same time puss gave the dogs to understand that he was king of the castle, being his master's chief pet and favourite, and sleeping in his arms every night. one evening puss brought home a fine specimen of cavy which he had caught in the forest. he laid it dead at his master's feet; and receiving 116 a gypsy life. the praise that was his due, went immediately forth and brought in another. his master offered those to tootu; but tootu said, "no sah, i not eat de food wot de debil catch." so the cavies were cooked for tom himself, and his guide shared them, washing the excellent food down with a cup of yerba-maté, which samaro assured his white chief came all the way from patagonia. a most delightful beverage it made; and it turned out that the guide had quite a store of it. after drinking it a gentle feeling of comfort seems instilled through every vein and nerve in the body, far more pleasant than that produced by tea, but by no means approaching the stimulating effects of wine or beer. still acting on the advice of his clever guide and companion, tom continued to figure as an eccentric englishman, and made no hurry across country into the land of the indians proper. they had seen but few of these even yet, so the packages of gifts had not been broached. the life now led was quite of a gypsy character. whenever tom found a more comfortable bivouac than usual, "here shall we stay for a day or two, samaro," he would say, and probably this day would be extended to a week or even more. tom fished as well as hunted. in many of the lesser streams the fish were truly marvellously tame. here hardly any science at all was required to catch them. a hook "busked" black tom's diversions. 117 with a little white hair or cotton at the end of a strong line, and a short stout rod, was all that was required. patience is one of the angler's virtues in this country, but in the wilds out there it was not needed; for at times one might work two rods, leaving one line in the water while taking the fish from the other, and even thus he would have plenty of work to do. strange to say the cat always accompanied his master on a fishing expedition; but very seldom, indeed, when he went shooting. cats, we all know, are fond of fish; but there are exceptions, and this particular puss could never be prevailed upon to eat fish raw or cooked. nevertheless he would play with those his master threw out on the bank, and thus had no end of fun. black tom came to the tent one evening with a huge snake in his mouth. he no doubt expected praise for this exploit also; but on being admonished about the matter he evidently made a resolve not to repeat the offence, at all events he never did. one evening, on returning after dark, tom found samaro with the cat on his knee, and nearly all the men standing silently round him. he jumped up laughing as his master approached, and puss sprang on tom's shoulder with his usual fond cry of welcome. "what were you doing with pussy?" asked tom that same night. 118 66 the private debil. hush, chief!" said samaro. "i was keeping up their creed-the servants' creed." 66 and that is"" "that the cat is a debil. i was stroking his back, and the 'lectricity was crackling, and the sparks flying plentifully when you, señor, came up. they think the chief is a great man to have a private debil.” tom laughed, and the subject dropped. in the forests of ecuador, by day as well as by night, there are all kinds of strange shrieks and sounds to be heard; but returning about sunset one evening towards his little camp, and just before leaving the woods, tom heard a plaintive scream that caused him at once to pause and listen. again and again it was repeated, and he hastened in the direction from which it came. none too soon, for there on the top of a large spreading tree was his favourite and pet, and not five yards away a gigantic puma preparing to spring. up came the rifle. he hardly took aim, but nevertheless one minute afterwards the puma was stretched lifeless on the ground, and the cat was singing a song of victory on his master's shoulder. about a week after this, our hero had a very narrow escape from death by drowning. his company were on the march, when they came to in the rapids. 119 an extremely rapid river that had to be crossed acrobatically. it was well for tom that he was a sailor, for the rope bridge is very common in these wilds. this one looked rather insecure, for it stretched with each man till his feet were almost touching the torrent beneath. package after package had been swung over in the loop attached to the rope, and man after man, in somewhat the same way adopted in saving life by a line from a wrecked ship to the shore. the dogs had been taken over, and then it came to tom's own turn the cat, as usual on such occasions, clinging to his shoulder. when about half-way across there was an ominous crack; but still the rope held, and it was not until he was nearly at bank that it gave way suddenly and entirely, and the white chief was plunged into the boiling whirling rapids. he struck out bravely though blindly. he could see nothing and hear nothing save the roaring of the water in his ears. how long he struggled he could not have told. it seemed like an age. he was giving up at last, when all at once the surging sound of the rapids ceased, and he found himself near the bank and in calm water. he caught at a tree-trunk that was floating slowly down stream, and held on till rescued by the indians. but where was black tom? gone undoubtedly. they did not travel much farther that day 120 mourning a friend. before the white chief called a halt, although it still wanted three hours to sunset. the tent was erected, and the men soon built themselves shelters of palm and plantain leaves. the camp fires were lit, and dinner cooked and eaten. then the men settled down for their long forenight's chat and smoke, and as usual samaro threw himself down beside his chief. but his chief was very sad to-night. he cared not for the guide's stories or conversation, nor would he partake of the fragrant yerba-maté all was silence and gloom for a time, but as it grew darker the forest seemed to suddenly awake to life-though a weird wild life it was. the low grumbling growl of the prowling jaguar, the strange medley of notes produced by flying or crawling insects, the plaintive wailings of the night-birds, and now and then these howlings and shriekings from the darkest depths of the woods that make one's spine feel like ice to listen to, and cause the superstitious indians themselves to place their fingers in their ears and cease for a time to talk. 'the señor is very sad to-night," said samaro. "very sad, my friend. very sad." "and i too mourn the friend." "c loss of your poor dark he has been with me so long, samaro." "and he has come through so much, señor.” "c black tom turns up again. 121 and was always so loving and faithful, samaro." what samaro was going to reply will never be known, for at that moment a wild and frightened yell burst from the lungs of the indian servants. something black had leapt over their heads. tom made a spring for his rifle, which lay loaded near him, thinking a jaguar had attacked the camp. but the mystery was speedily solved; for here was black tom himself, none the worse for his adventure, as dry as if he had never been half drowned, and in his mouth a plump little cavy. tom could talk after that. samaro brewed an additional bowl of maté, and it was quite late that night before either thought of retiring. chapter xi. the trees went down before it like hay before the mower's scythe." he road next day led over a very lofty range the of mountains. i say "road" for want of a better word; for, in the direction they took at the advice of samaro, there was not even a path. the forest that they had to penetrate, half the 122 a fine panorama. distance towards the nearest ridge, was an almost impassible jungle. they had to fight almost every yard of the way against trees and creepers and rocks. there were pumas in this forest; they sighted and startled jaguars even, and snakes seemed to be everywhere, but they thought of nothing but how best to get onwards. when they reached the mountain top at last, and lay down to rest-fully five thousand feet above the sea-level-every man in the company felt as tired as if a long day's work had been done. a cool breeze was blowing at this great altitude however, and having partaken of a moderate luncheon, everybody felt once more as active as black tom himself. the view spread out before them here was wide, wonderful, and magnificent in the extreme. probably in no country in the world is the scenery more grand and thrilling than in this land of ecuador. tom felt the influence of the situation in all its force, as he reclined on a moss-covered bank and gazed enraptured on the panorama that was spread out far below him-the wide and beautiful valley, the winding silvery river with its whirling rapids and waterfalls that sparkled in the sun, hills wooded to the top and forests everywhere, the distant sierras on the horizon, and the sky itself bluer in its rifts to-day than thinking of home. 123 ever he had seen it, because there were ominouslooking rain clouds about. "i think," he said to himself, "i could be perfectly happy here if i had anyone to share my pleasure with me. heigho!" he sighed. "even the life of a hermit hunter has its drawbacks." then his heart gave a big throb of joy-expectant, as he thought of the probability of soon having as a companion poor lost bernard, "theena's brother. 'theena! yes, dear little 'theena. he wondered what she was doing just then. but she would not be so little now. "theena at thirteen would look and act differently from the "theena of nine years old, that had to be forced weeping from his arms when he left his native shore, long, long ago. ay, indeed it seemed very long ago; for his young life had been so crowded with strange incidents and events, that the past appeared like an age. and his uncle and dear mother, what would they be doing just then? sitting by the fire perhaps, and talking of him; for though it was early forenoon here, it would be evening in scotland. he began to reckon the time in his own mind. he was right, it would be about nine o'clock. his father would be in the corner with that studious face, and that everlasting long pipe of his; his mother and alicia would be quietly knitting; uncle would be reading his paper with 'theena by his side; and the great logs and the 124 the inspiring dream. coal and peats would be merrily blazing on the hearth as they used to be in the dear old days when jack and dick used to tease and chaff him, and call him cinderella. then he remembered his dream. "o," he said, half aloud, "that dream will assuredly come true. i shall find and free poor bernard if he be in the land of ecuador." the very words suggested action, and he sprang to his feet. in five minutes more the expedition was once again on the move, were i to relate all tom's adventures during his memorable march into the land of the ecuador indians, what a very large book i could make! and what a very large price my readers would have to pay for it! it may not be; i must hurry on with my narrative, my main object being to give but the principle lines in the picture of the life a wanderer must lead in this wild country. one way or another tom and his party spent nearly five months on the journey. it was a long time, but it passed away most pleasantly and quickly; and tom could say what few travellers in ecuador ever could-that he had the utmost faith in his servants, from samaro, his major-domo, down to rooph, the indian boy, who did little else except shoot strange birds with his blow-gun, and whom no threats or punishment either could induce to carry a package of any sort. tom's servants all liked him too, and he in the still night. 125 felt confident they would fight for him if ever there should be any necessity. well, the life these indians now led under their white chief was a very enjoyable one, and as they were engaged to bring tom back to riobamba, they would each have a modest sum at their banker's when they got there—if ever they did. there were times when it really did not seem at all likely any one of the party should ever come up out of the wilderness again. once, for example, they were encamped by the banks of a beautiful river and close to the edge of the forest. it was a charming situation, and they had lain here for over a week. on this particular night tom thought as he took his last look at the sky he had never noticed the stars shining more brightly nor looking more near. there were the usual sounds in the forest and all about, but otherwise the deep solitude was unbroken; for not a breath of wind was there to move the long grass that grew near the tent. it was unusually sultry and hot too. but for the creepies tom would have laid himself down as the men were lying, on a bed of palm leaves, and slept sound till morning. he envied the poor fellows their sweet repose. the creepies did not appear to trouble them. musquitoes might sing and buzz about their heads, drink their blood and go, but the men slept on. centipeds-and in the forest the green-backed ones are quite as dangerous as 126 striking camp. snakes-might crawl over their hands, and cockroaches in scores pass over their faces, but they would not heed even if they felt them. serpents even might take a short cut over their bodies without awaking them, while the mournful cries of the night-birds in the adjoining forest but lulled them to dreamless slumber. it was very different with tom though; he dared no more sleep in the open than in a tiger's den. "señor, señor, awake!" it was samaro's voice, and he was swinging tom's hammock to arouse him. "what is it, samaro?" cried tom, raising himself on his elbow. "we must strike camp at once, señor, or we will be swept away by the flood. listen!" there was little need to listen. that peal of thunder would have awakened rip van winkle himself. "are the men astir?" "si, señor. hurry, señor. hurry, there is not a moment to lose!" tom was on his feet in an instant, and the men were soon busily engaged making up the tent he was a good general, and never during all his long sojourn in the wilds did he retire for the night until he had seen everything ready for a start. there was never any telling what might occur. a sudden attack by hostile indians, a flood, or a fire in the forest might necessitate the storm comes on. 127 instant movement, and if they were not ready for such a contingency, all would be loss and confusion. "now, samaro, whither away? shall we cross back into the plains, for we cannot get over the river?" "we must get to yonder hill," was the reply. "come." the sky was black during the brief intervals in which the lightning did not play. but this was incessant, so that everything around was almost as bright as day, though the light was strangely confusing. they had to go through the forest. this was the most dangerous part of the journey; for here the flashes played around every tree, while every now and then some branch or even tree-trunk would fall crashing across the track. luckily for our adventurers, it was along a path made by tapirs that the route lay, so it was broad and well beaten. these strange animals are about four feet high and fully six feet long, and are exceedingly numerous in the wilderness of the andes, especially in the vicinity of a not too rapid river. the rain now began to patter around them, the lightning became even more vivid, and the terrible thunder-cannonade was increased tenfold. the wind also began to rise; it came down with the storm from the north and west. it was this 128 the jaguar. direction of the clouds that had caused the everwatchful samaro to expect a flood. had the depression come up stream the danger would not have been so urgent. they had still half a mile to go, as the crow flies; and as the pathway, like that of all wild beasts, was very winding, it would be at least half an hour before they could hope to reach a position of safety. samaro was here, there, and everywhere, hurrying and encouraging all hands, using a bamboo cane even to stimulate the flagging calves of a few of the men. suddenly there was a wild and frightened yell from someone in front, a yell that was heard high over the hurtling of the thunder. "eemateena! eemateena!" was the shout from the others. "the jaguar! the jaguar!" and for a few moments every man seemed panicstricken. they even dropped their burdens, and hardly knowing what they were about would have hurried wildly back towards the river, had not samaro and tom, revolvers in hand, barred their progress. the terrible confusion that had ensued was fatal to the poor fellow, who had been attacked by the dreaded king of the wilderness. he might have been saved had tom got to the front in time. as it was, the beast dragged him at once into the depths of the forest. a few more piercing shrieks were heard, then it was evident that all was over. a wall of water. 129 the jaguar, or tiger as he is generally called, must have been coming towards the river, and thus met the unhappy man in his path; for during a storm these animals will hardly ever go out of their way to attack either man or beast. the storm ceased almost as suddenly as it had commenced, though the rain now came down in rushing torrents, and just an occasional flash of lightning shot athwart the inky gloom and served to reveal the pathway. as soon as they reached the high ground or knoll they were safe. here were a hundred pathways instead of one, and all led upwards. the top of the little hill was beaten hard with the feet of the tapirs, and probably peccaries, who for reasons best known to themselves must have assembled here at times. it was only a wonder none of these creatures were found here now; but their strange instincts had doubtless warned them to seek for higher grounds before the floods came down. it rained heavily for hours, then morning broke gray and uncertain over the hills, and about the same time down came the river "bore." tom had never witnessed anything in life so appalling, and even samaro himself confessed that such a quick and rapid "spate" was unusual. the roar of this immense wall of water could be heard for long minutes before it dashed round the bend of the stream, and came tumbling onwards, carrying with it huge masses of rock and (568) i 130 the rising of the river. even soil that looked like islands in the midst of the murky flood. the bore must have been fully twenty feet in height, and the forest trees went down before it like hay before the mower's scythe. the noise at first was deafening; but it gradually subsided, and before ten o'clock had entirely ceased. but at this time the whole valley looked like an immense inland sea or lake studded with little islands. one of these islands was the hill on which tom and his men stood, and on which they were for a time as completely imprisoned and isolated as if the ground had been a rock in mid-ocean. there were three days rain, and all this time the river, instead of going down, seemed gradually rising. it rose, and rose, and rose, as slowly but as surely as fate itself, till the island was limited to little over the site of the tent. then the rain ceased for a time. but the clouds were very dark away towards the north, from which direction low muttering thunder was occasionally heard. was another storm brewing? if another bore came down the stream, though not even half as big as the last, the fate of the little expedition would be sealed, and its doom be swift indeed. all day long they watched the rising clouds. when the sun set at last, forked lightning darted here and there across the dark sky, with now and the welcome moon. 131 then streams of fire rushing downwards from zenith to nadir. these last were followed by tremendous peals of thunder, but still the rain kept off. no one thought of lying down to rest, and for hours and hours no one spoke. all eyes were turned towards the north. they were like men waiting for death. the clouds mounted higher and higher; they saw star after star and constellation after constellation blotted out, or swallowed up as it were in the gloom. still they sat and silently watched. the suspense was terrible; every flash was now like a message from an unseen world, every peal sounded like a knell of doom. tom was praying. he was trying hard, too, to yield himself to the will of heaven; but it seemed sad to die so young. probably he had fallen into a kind of uneasy doze at last, for suddenly he felt samaro clutch at his arm. "it is coming! it is coming!" he cried. "the flood, samaro? is it coming at last?" "no, no, señor. i would not wake you for that. better you should die asleep. but look yonder! look eastwards!" tom did as he was told, and saw in the sky a long line of glittering silver. the moon was rising! up, up, up she sailed, the clouds changing from black to gauze and gold before her, and by 132 released from peril. and by she found a little rift of blue to shine in, and her radiance was reflected from the river beneath as if showers of diamonds were falling on it from the sky. by next morning the flood had gone down considerably, but days must elapse before they could once more resume their journey. what struck tom now as remarkable was the deep impressive silence by night. except in the river there was no life about-no beasts or birds of the forest, not even insect life itself. never a whisper, never a hum, except the little sad lilt the river sang as it went rippling past the island shore. chapter xii. "a shower of poisoned darts fell pattering on the stockade." ne day about three weeks after the adventure one in the floods, as the party were filing over the ridge of a hill, samaro pointed away towards the horizon with his outstretched arm. there was a joyful smile on his face. "at last, señor," he said, "we come to human beings." true; there was a village down there, for blue smoke was curling up over the green of the palmtrees. indian's again. 133 tom was rejoiced. what if bernard himself were in that village! perhaps he would be one of the first to come to meet them. and what a strange story it would be his to tell! tom could not think of his captain's son as a slave. no white man ever remained long in a position of actual slavery among indians; and bernard, if indeed he were alive, would doubtless be some great chief or warrior. they were nearing the land of the jivaro indians. two hours more of a toilsome march across ground which was partly marsh and partly fallen forest brought them to hard open ground. they could hear the beating of drums and shouting of the natives, and presently a dusky crowd swarmed out to meet them. a halt was immediately ordered, for even among indians etiquette must be obeyed. samaro advanced alone with tom; who, by the way, much to the terror of some of the juvenile portion of this wild community, had his feline pet perched upon his shoulder. but their reception on the whole was a hearty one. the general notion that appeared to prevail among these indian villagers was that tom and all his party were starving, for they brought them food of all kinds; and to refuse to taste at least would have been a grave offence. that evening a grand festival was held at one 134 the jivaro village. of the chiefs' houses. tom was not quite sure, indeed, if the man was a chief, or held some office akin to that of our mayors in this country. every one in the village or town was armed in some form or another. even the boys moved about with their blow-guns; while spears and shields formed the defensive weapons of their elders. many of the latter had the awful-looking scalp hanging at their waists, just as samaro wore his. this evidently entitled them to be looked upon as braves; for these scalps had all been taken in battle. tom spent a few days in this village, distributed a few presents, and went on again, having left nothing but good-will behind him, and being therefore assured of a welcome if ever he returned this way. on the evening of the day of their departure from this village of jivaros, and while resting by the camp fire in the solitude of the forest, tom questioned samaro about the probability of their finding bernard among these tribes. samaro's first reply was a negative and solemn shake of the head. then he became a little more explicit. he had feared he said to put questions too directly, but at a feast one evening he had led round deftly to the subject by asking an old warrior whether tom was not the second englishman ever he had seen; tom's uncle robert, who had the child bernard. 135 been here, being reckoned the first. "yes," the brave had replied, "with the exception of a child." this child, he had told samaro later on, had been the cause of a great quarrel; for the jivaros on the other bank of the river had borne him off. the canelo indians had joined against these. but, meanwhile, the boy had been sold to a tribe who had taken him northward and east, perhaps to napo or zaparo-land, and he might be killed. the old warrior knew no more, or would tell no more. this was far from encouraging intelligence to tom, but he determined at all hazards to pursue his wanderings and his investigations until at all events he should discover the fate of bernard herbert. they visited many more villages and scattered hamlets of the jivaros. each of these possess what is called a war-drum, which if beaten at one village is heard at another, and soon echoes throughout the length and breadth of the tribal land. this is a method of calling the warriors together, and is as much resorted to as was the fiery cross in the brave days of old in the scottish highlands. about a month after his visit to the jivaro indians tom found himself with his men descending a ridge of hills towards a river, where 136 a village of the dead. samaro expected to find a village. he had been here before, and was somewhat surprised now to find as they drew near no appearance of smoke, nor any sound of life among the trees. true, many if not most of the tribes in these regions are nomads; but so well situated was this town, on the banks of the aguarico, not far from its conjunction with the napo, that something very remarkable must have occurred to account for its apparent desolation. they were not left long in doubt; for samaro, who had entered the town some distance in front of tom, stopped short, then turning round beckoned to his master to hurry. here on its back lay a corpse. the neck had been fearfully gashed with a spear, and one hand was almost severed through. the unfortunate man must have been alive but a short time before, for decomposition, so rapid in these hot regions, had not yet set in. they found the bodies of many more murdered indians; indeed, almost every house told its sad story of massacre, not even the children nor old women having been spared. the huts had been all plundered, but otherwise left intact. "who has done these fearful deeds?" said tom, addressing samaro. "the awheeshiries, without doubt," was the reply. some broken blow-guns and spears lay about, 1 1 1 on the war path. 137 but otherwise there was scarcely any evidence of a struggle. the attack must have been made at the dead of night; and from the dreadful way the victims had been cut and hacked about, the probability is that revenge had instigated the attack quite as much as the hopes of plunder. close to the village, at a bend of the river, they came upon several boats drawn up on the beach. they had evidently been used very shortly before this, as evidenced by the number of fresh banana skins lying here and there. the hostile indians must have come in these warcanoes therefore; and it was certain they had not gone. indeed, from the care with which the paddles were secured, and the boats themselves shaded by bushes from the sun, it appeared certain they meant to return. where were they now? in all probability they had gone farther inland, bent on plundering other peaceful villages; and tom shuddered as he thought of the awful deeds that might be enacted in that lovely, still, forest land before the sun now declining towards the west should again rise and shine over the greenery of the woods. what must now be done? was the next question to be considered. savages on the war-path, their knives and hands still red with the freshdrawn blood of fellow-savages, are but little likely to brook the presence of strangers in their midst. tom knew he could not expect to gain 138 constructing a fort. anything by fair means. he must be on the defensive; and there was no time to lose. so he held a council of war. tom proposed instant embarkation in the canoes, and a passage down the river. but wiser and more wary samaro vetoed such a plan. they knew the dangers around them now, but to drop down an unknown river at night would almost certainly expose them to worse, not the least of which might be perils from rapids and cataracts. but a sand bank or spit ran out into the river some distance down, and this could easily be fortified, and held against a whole cloud of hostile indians. to decide was to act with tom. the packages and stores were therefore immediately transferred to the boats, and landed on the spit; and at the land-side thereof a long trench was dug, where a kind of fort, formed of the bamboo fences dragged from the village, had been formed. behind this they would be safe against even poisoned darts, for luckily there was no cover for the enemy anywhere very close at hand. the sun was almost set, and tom was having one final run round the village, to find out if there were not some poor wretch still alive that he might render assistance to. he came upon a footpath that led him for some distance directly away from the river, through the bush, to the very gates of an indian compound of far greater a strange meeting. 139 it must pretensions than any he had yet seen. be a kind of palace, tom thought. as he listened before pushing open the door of the hut, he heard the unmistakable moaning of someone in pain. he hesitated no longer, and next moment stood in the inner compartment. here on a kind of raised wicker couch lay the insensible form of a woman, who, a glance told him, was certainly no indian belonging to this land of ecuador. her face, though sadly racked by anguish, was very fair and finely chiselled. her hair-long, dark, and straight, though now dishevelled and her dress betokened her a kind of princess of the tribe. she raised herself on her elbow as tom entered, and looked at him for a moment wildly and wistfully. "o," she exclaimed, "an englishman! you are not my boy, bernard?" "no, no," cried tom advancing excitedly. "i am not bernard. i have come to seek him. o, it is awful to find you thus! you were the ayah on board the southern hope. speak! tell me quickly where i can find bernard." "" find? find my boy? yes, i will tell you." a spasm of pain passed over her pale face, and she fell back as if dead. a calabash of water stood near, and tom moistened her lips and brow, and presently she revived. 140 just in time. "you are wounded," tom said. "i am selfish to ask you to talk now. i will hurry away for help; but first let me bind your arm." it had been frightfully gashed with a knife while she was trying to ward off a blow aimed at her heart. tom brought the edges together, and bound the arm up with leaves and grass cloth. at that moment samaro himself entered. "quick, señor," he said, "the awheeshiries are returning. if they find us here we will have but small mercy." 66 help me then to bear this lady to our camp, my good friend. pray heaven she may live, for she knows bernard's story." between them they carried the ayah princess out and away to the fortified sand-spit. and none too soon. hardly had they entered when savages appeared from the bush, and a shower of poison darts fell pattering upon the stockade. as there was no reply from the fort they came nearer and nearer, brandishing spears and capering and howling like very demons. the reply they sought came at length, however. tom's rifle rang out sharp and clear in the evening air, and the foremost foeman fell never to rise more. consternation seized the indians, and they fled indiscriminately towards the bush; but before they could reach it tom fired his revolver, and some of them were wounded. it was from no the indians fire the forest. 141 spirit of cruelty he opened fire on a retreating foe, but for the safety of his camp. he wished to show these savages what kind of an enemy they had to deal with, and the lesson was well merited. it fell dark now; but presently the moon rose, silvering the beautiful river and casting a glamour over the now silent woods. yes, the woods were silent; for the savages appeared to have fled. but about midnight there were signs unmistakable that they were continuing their unhallowed work in other places; for every now and then, borne along on the light breeze, came sounds that made tom's heart thrill with anger the exultant shouts of victorious indians mingling with mournful cries of agony and fear. then a great red gleam appeared in the north, and dense white clouds of smoke rolled skyward. the savages had fired the forest. nearer and nearer came that red glare as the night wore on, and soon they could hear the crackling of the blazing wood; then the deserted village took fire, and burned with terrible fierceness for a time. constantly all night long after this, in the fitful light of the conflagration, creatures could be seen leaping madly into the river, and swimming towards the other bank for safety. these were the denizens of the woods and wilds; but many must have perished in the merciless flames. 142 the wounded ayah. chapter xiii. the dying ayah tells of bernard. aylight dawned at last, and heavy rain began to fall, and soon even smoke itself had ceased to rise from the blackened woods and ruins of the village. that the enemy still lay in ambush was evident, for now and then dusky forms could be seen moving about among the dark tree-trunks. towards noon they came near enough to shoot darts at the fort from their blow-guns, and tom found it necessary to fire once more. the wounded ayah had remained insensible all night long, but at daybreak revived and beckoned tom to her side. "i am going," she said. "i will be with my dear mistress soon, and if bernard is dead i will be with him. i am glad." "but you do not think bernard is dead?" “i fear—nay, i hope he is. he will be at peace." tom spoke not. he feared to say anything to confuse the dying woman. he tried even to control his feelings as he listened to the ayah's terrible story of her slavery, and that of the poor boy, among the indians. she spoke with difficulty, pausing often, sometimes even fainting the ayah's tale. 143 away entirely. but tom's patience was rewarded at last. the mutineers of the good ship southern hope had taken bernard and the ayah into the interior, as far as riobamba, and there they were both sold. the poor ayah would have been happy even then had they both been bought by the same master, or even by the same tribe. but this was not so; for, while bernard was first taken to the jivaro country, and sold thence to one of the wildest tribes of the far interior, she had remained all along with the zaparo indians. they had not been altogether unkind to her, though the lord and master who had claimed her made her drudge and toil at household duties, like the slaves that the wives of the indians there ever are. she had to prepare and cook his food with. her own hands, see to his arms and clothing, make and dye the very material of which his garments were composed, and, while wandering from place to place and sleeping in the woods, she had even at night to lie down in the place most open to the attacks of the jaguar or puma, or more likely to be traversed by some deadly snake. for all these toils and acts of kindness her reward was nothing save the bite and the blow. finally she had fled, and after adventures innumerable she had found her boy. though it was many years since he had seen her, and he had grown up into a tall skin-clad young savage, 144 condemned to torture. he knew his second mother, and gladly ran away with her. both had been captured by the zaparos, and brought to the very village from which the ayah had fled. here she was condemned to die, and her "injured" lord and master was to be the executioner. as she lay in her grass hut on the night before her intended execution she heard some movement near her, and next minute a tiny dagger was put into her hands. then she knew that her wouldbe deliverer was bernard. she could have cut the cords that bound her now, and once more sought safety in flight, but she would not leave her boy. dead or alive she would be with him. the morning came, and she was led out to die. the indians were there in their thousands to see the grand spectacle of a foreign woman being massacred by their chief. she was led to the stake; for death by torture was her intended doom. bernard was placed close to her that he might witness her sufferings. and now her master approached with stern, set brow to begin the torture. suddenly with her own hand her cords were severed, and with a yell like that of a panther she sprang upon the chief, and cast him on the ground stabbed to the heart. for a moment the tribe was silent, paralysed as it were, and the ayah herself broke the spell. advancing to where bernard stood she cut the the white chief. 145 thongs that bound his hands, placed the spear of the dead chief in his hand, and waving her hands in the air above him: 66 "" behold your chief!" she cried. the white chief of the zaparo indians, sent by the great spirit to rule over them-and i am his mother!" then wild exclamations rent the air, as the indians crowded round their new king and threw themselves on the ground before him. all had been peace for years after this in the camping ground of the zaparos. they became less nomadic in their tendencies, and built themselves better villages by the river. and whenever they were insulted by other tribes bernard led them on the war-path; and they never failed to gain the victory, and to return home rejoicing, laden with spoil and many scalps. the zaparos are very warlike when roused; but prefer hunting to fishing, and are the most expert woodsmen probably in the world, and this is saying a great deal. the spear and the blow-gun are their weapons par excellence, and they are experts with either. he had bernard made a noble young chief. all the wisdom of the white race, combined with the cunning and training of the savages he had dwelt so long amongst. he had no fear, either when hunting or fighting. from hunting his party would return laden with skins and meat. he tackled single-handed either the jaguar or (568) k 146 the chief's last expedition. puma, and many a sturdy tapir fell beneath his spear. from a raid on the foe bernard's warriors came back with joy and song, and for weeks thereafter the sound of the war-drum was heard in all the villages by the river's bank. but bernard was not wholly a savage; and it had come to pass that he was seized with an irresistible longing to see the ocean once more. and find out if possible if his mother still lived, so he chose from among his warriors fifty of the bravest and most trustworthy, and bidding the ayah adieu, amidst the tears of his people he departed on his dangerous journey. then fell the curtain over his life-drama. the dying ayah knew no more. he had never returned; but rumours reached the tribe that their white chief had been captured far beyond the rocky andes, and that all his followers were killed by the hands of hostile spaniards. held tom's hand as her but she evidently was the poor ayah! she life was ebbing away. not afraid to die. the religion that had been instilled into her mind on board the southern hope had been all through her weary life a guiding star to her, and let us hope that when daylight streamed through the fence, and fell on her pale dead face, the soul had gone to a land where there is no more sorrow. they buried her there deep down in the sand; and that same evening the boats were loaded up, down the river. 147 and in the hour of darkness, 'twixt sunset and moonrise, they dropped silently down stream, and succeeded in eluding their dangerous foes, who, no doubt, lay in wait near the sand-spit ready to renew their attack whenever opportunity offered. as soon as the moon began to glimmer over the distant mountains they paddled towards the shore, and hid under the thick foliage till morning. then after a hurried breakfast, principally of fruit, they once more embarked and went gliding down the river. it was no part of tom's intention, however, to keep to the stream. it would have led him on to the great marañon, or even into the wilds of brazil. so the very next morning, being now safe from pursuit, they once more took to the woods, and the long and toilsome march was commenced towards the distant shores of the pacific, and guayaquil. all speed, however, was made on the backward journey. there was no more dallying to collect beautiful butterflies, or to seek for more skins of bird or beast. if tom could but succeed in saving the splendid collection he had already made he felt he should be more than happy. the party still depended on their guns for their living, however, and killed each day just sufficient food to carry them on. their adventures were of the usual sort already 148 betwixt life and death. described, and many a hair-breadth escape both tom and his companions had by flood and field. while nearing guayaquil, however, the fatigues of this terribly-forced march began to tell on tom's excellent constitution, and he fell sick. a few days' rest becamé imperative now. "just a few days, samaro," tom said, "and i shall be well, and able to go on again." that night he was in a burning fever, and for three long weeks he hovered betwixt life and death. but his youth claimed victory at last; and samaro had been a most faithful nurse. it would have been difficult to say which of the two-samaro or black tom-showed the greatest exuberance of delight when the master became quiet and sensible once more. about the first food that tom ate was a tenderly-cooked cavy that this strange puss had caught and brought in. indeed, samaro said that all through tom's terrible illness hardly a day passed that the cat did not bring either a cavy or dead bird in, and he invariably jumped into his master's hammock with the offering, laid it by his cheek, and then sat down to watch his face. so now that tom was apparently out of danger, both samaro and the faithful cat went about singing-each in his own way-from morning till night. one day as tom lay in his hammock, with the end of the tent thrown up to let him breathe the barnaby blunt. 149 fresh, pure mountain air, and feast his eyes on the wild and beautiful scenery all around the camp, he heard strange voices, and in another minute, lo! there stood before him a tall and somewhat ungainly quaker-looking yankee. that he was a yankee tom could tell at a glance, and the first words he spoke confirmed it. "my name's barnaby blunt," he said, throwing his rifle on the grass; "and i'm mighty sorry to see a young britisher in such a plight as you are, sirr. but precious glad i'll be if i can do you a service." tom smiled feebly, and thanked him; but he was far too languid to talk much. that did not matter much, for this yankee could talk for two, or even for half a dozen at a push. and he had not squatted beside tom's hammock much over ten minutes before his listener had his whole history, and that of his wife and wife's family. but barnaby blunt proved himself a true friend indeed, and to his disinterested kindness tom no doubt owed his life. "i'm only hunting about here," he told tom, "and it ain't a deal o' matter where i goes; but out o' this camp i don't budge for a week, and by that time i'll have you taut and trim enough to come along. trust barnaby blunt to do the right thing for a stranger, and all the more if that stranger be a britisher." 150 the yankee turns doctor. tom smiled, and feebly thanked him. my wife's a britisher; but for all that ye won't find a longer-headed old gal about anywhere's than 'liza ann. 'liza ann is my wife's name, and 'liza ann is the name o' my ship; and now you see what kind o' water you're in." but," he added, after a brief pause, "i'm not going to bother you now. i'll come again. my camp's only just over here." barnaby did come again—that very evening, too. and he did not come empty-handed either. before he sat down on a package-which was the only thing by way of a chair the tent contained he began to empty his pockets, and tom could not help smiling at the magnitude and diversity of their contents. pots of jelly, parcels of iceland moss, boxes of marvellous tonic pills, bags of arrow-root, and bottles of wine. he handed the things one by one to samaro, and then he sat down. "now, young fellow," he said, "you haven't got anything else in this world to do or to think about but getting well. and as to that, why, your worthy servant and myself will shore you up in a brace of shakes. no, you mustn't talk. you must listen, and i guess i'll amuse you. see here, you've been in the wilds for about a year, haven't you?" tom nodded. "that's right," continued the yankee. "nod an invitation. 151 your head for 'yes;' shut your eyes for 'no.' give yourself no earthly trouble about anything, and we'll get on like a boundless prairie on fire. you've been out o' the world, i've been in it, and every night i'll tell you or read you some news. barnaby was as good as his word. he came regularly every forenoon and every evening, and read or talked to tom; and no woman could have been more kind or more considerate. it is not wonderful then that, in less than a fortnight, the patient was able to sit once more by the camp fire, and could give information as well as receive it. he told barnaby all his adventures, and those of his uncle and bernard as well. the yankee marvelled very much at all he heard. "" 'of course you have a collection of curios, haven't you?" "" 66 'rather," said tom proudly. then i guess we can deal." "i guess we can't." and tom laughed. "will you sell the cat? why, there's a small fortune in that animile." but tom refused to sell his favourite. "and now," said the yankee one evening, "i'm going to sea for three months, and as you've nothing particular to do, why, come along. it'll set you up for life. what say?" "i accept your hospitality," said tom "and thank you very much." 152 tom parts with his servants. "don't you dare thank me. by thunder, sir, if you thank me i'll throw you overboard. barnaby blunt wants no reward, not even a wordy one. but you'll come?" 66 like a shot." spoken like a man and a britisher. tip us your flipper. now, good-night; i'll go and get ready for the march." good-night, and may god himself reward you." "amen," said barnaby, and next minute he was out of sight. a week after this tom was back in guayaquil, and had bidden his faithful servants a long farewell. the boy rooph was disconsolate in the extreme, and shed tears abundantly. to comfort him in some measure tom gave him his photograph. "ah," said the lad, "you leave wid me, then, your soul! o, i shall ever love it, and i shall weep when i look at it when you are far from poor rooph!" samaro was affected also, though he shed no tears. "perhaps," he said somewhat sadly, "we shall meet again. i will live in hope, señor." on the "liza ann." 153 chapter xiv. filled with gold doubloons— sirr, are ye listening?" the 'liza ann was about as strange-looking ta craft as ever tom had clapped eyes upon. the he was not well enough yet to be hypercritical'; but for all that he could not resist the temptation of making his boatman pull right round and round her at some distance away, so that he might see her from every point of the compass. she lay like a duck on the water, there was no doubts about that; in fact she had about the same comparative breadth of beam that a duck possesses, the same lowness of free-board, and the same depth or rather absence of depth of hull. her masts, two in all, were set in with a pretty, though rather old-fashioned rake. she was brigrigged, though, considering her length, she might easily have been a barque. her spars were not of great height, and her yards were very long. there was no mistake about it, she could take a good spread of canvas. well, she was painted dark green all over; picked out as to ports with a lighter green, and her bulwarks inside were also light green. tom smiled to himself as he sized her up. barnaby blunt saw that smile. he was probably six hundred yards away at the time, and stand154 a friend indeed. ing on the quarter-deck of his own ship; but he had eyes like a hawk, and "barnacles," as he called the lorgnettes that hung in a patent leather case by his side, to aid those eyes. "that britisher is a-sizing of my ship up," he said to pebbles his mate. "britishers don't know everything. i'll talk to him." the yankee was politeness itself to his passenger. he had a seat all ready for him on deck under a snow-white awning, a delightfully easy deck chair, in which one might sleep as comfortably as in a hammock, or dream without sleeping. the mate hastened to assist tom on board, but the captain was before him. "with all due deference to you, mr. pebbles," he said, "i'm going to do everything for our guest with my own hands. if my wife was on board i'd turn him over to her. as she ain't, i does the honours. take my arm, young man. you ain't so strong as you think. you're as shaky as an old chimney-pot." "" "thank you," said tom; "you really are good.' "i'd do the same for a nigger, sirr, if he were as shaky as you; and if my wife were on board, she'd do more. now, sit down there; i'm not going to pester you with any extra attentions. whatever you needs you hollers for." "i don't think," said tom, "i'll have to holler for anything. this chair is delightful, and the awning is a happy thought." i 1 56.8 66 heah i is, sah," said ginger brandy. ginger brandy. 155 "we don't sail before to-morrow morning, cause i've more stores to get off. and now, as we don't dine for an hour yet, suppose we have a drink. what shall it be-wine, old rye, a cup o' coffee, or a cock-tail?" "i'd prefer coffee, i think; but isn't it rather hot?" "o, bless your innocence, we'll have it iced! ginger brandy, where are you?" a bullet-headed nigger boy, dressed in white calico, with face and calves as black as pitch, rushed up. "heeh i is, sah," he said. "mr. talisker, here's your slave. his name is ginger brandy. if he irritates you, don't hit him over the back with a capstan-bar, 'cause you'll break the bar. don't heave a cocoa-nut at his head, 'cause you'll damage the cocoa-nut. just get up and toe his shins. now, ginger brandy, bring the ice, and the coffee, and the lemons, and my pipe, and a bundle of smokes. skedaddle!" ginger skedaddled quickly, brought out a little table from the raised poop, spread a white cloth, and in two minutes more had placed thereon two cups of fragrant coffee, with lumps of clear ice floating in each. and when tom lit his cigar after drinking half of the coffee, ginger brandy took his stand beside his chair with a huge fan, and our hero felt as happy and comfortable as ever he had done in his life. 156 barnaby's little yacht. the yankee's pipe stood on deck, an immense hubble-bubble; the smoke, which passed through iced-water, being conducted to his lips by means of a tube that seemed yards in length. sitting there in his rocker, with his long legs dangling over the bulwarks and his eyes half closed, barnably blunt looked the quintessence of enjoyment. "and what d'ye think o' my little yacht, sirr," he drawled at last. “mind ye, i twigged you sizing her up. i see'd your smile; yes, sirr, i think i heard it." ~66 "well," said tom, to tell you the truth, i never saw so strange a craft before; and had i met her at sea, i shouldn't have been able to say what was her nationality." "you do me honour. she's my own idee. i've sailed in all kinds o' craft, and saved a little pile. 'barn,' says my wife to me onct, 'why don't ye build a boat o' your own, and deal in notions?' well, sirr, the same thing had been runnin' thro' my head for months, and i set to work and planned out the 'liza ann. she is the safest brig that sails. she's maybe not the fastest. safety before speed, sirr. 'i don't mind waitin' a month or six weeks,' says my wife to me; ‘i don't mind that, barn,' says she, but always come home in your own ship, and not atop o' the hencoop.' "yes, sirr, and the 'liza ann won't broach to "" give us your hand." 157 either, and she can't be taken aback, and the sticks won't blow out o' her, and she'll float in shoal water if a punt can, and if she does ship green seas, sirr, why they slide off again like rain off a garden roller. that's what my 'liza ann is, sirr." tom laughed at the yankee's enthusiasm. "all my own idee-all my own and 'liza's remember." "well, it must be a pleasant life—going anywhere and seeing anything." "you bet it is; making a few dollars too. there is nothing i won't trade in. now, those curios o' yours-they did tempt me. i guess you'd better sell. the white ants may eat them all if they lie long at guayaquil." "i've provided against that. they're all preserved in tin cases; but as they are for my uncle, i wouldn't sell them for the world." "what! you're goin' to pawn them then?" "no, no, no; i don't mean that uncle. i mean my uncle robert; who, like yourself, is a splendid fellow and a thorough sailor. and i'm sure he'll be delighted to make your acquaintance if ever he has the good luck to meet you." that little give us your hand, young man. speech is good enough for the senate. i say, what a pity you ain't a true-born american. i guess you're a sailor yourself out and out." tom was indeed a sailor out and out. when 158 "" nothing to do but get well." he went on deck next day he found that the 'liza ann, with all sail set and almost dead before the wind, was ploughing and plunging southwards through the gulf of guayaquil. the anchor had been weighed, and a start made in the moonlight long before the sun or tom either had dreamt of rising. "young man, come in to breakfast," said a voice behind him. "ye can't live without eating, you know. good-morning. i hope you slept— and your cat? droll idee a cat. ha, ha! well, come and tuck in a bit. why, you're looking better already." talking thus, captain barnaby blunt led the way into the poop, which was flush with the upper deck in the grand old fashion. he pointed to two chairs. "" there's a seat for you, sirr, and one for your friend. droll idee, truly. ha, ha, ha! looks as wise as a christian, and i daresay is better than many. now, sirr, you see what's on the table. eat, drink, and be merry; and during all this voyage i'm your servant, brandy's your slave, and you've nothing to do but get well." before touching a knife or fork, however, this strange yankee lifted his right hand piously to his ear to ask a blessing. it was quite the length of a short prayer, but evidently came right away from the speaker's heart. tom liked him better after this. a trusty ship. 159 'now fall to, sir. ginger brandy, keep that fan moving." it was pretty evident that during this voyage barnaby blunt was going to do most of the talking. tom was rather pleased than otherwise that it should be so. he was now in that delightful, half-dreamy stage of convalescence that all must have experienced who have ever been downright ill, and in which existence itself seems a pleasure, and everything one looks at is seen through rosecoloured glasses. but had tom been even in robust health, a voyage like that he was now embarked in would have been pleasant in the extreme. the ship was everything that could be desired · from bowsprit to binnacle. she had every good quality except speed. but who could wish to speed over an ocean like that which sparkled all around them in the sun's rays; a sun, mind, that did not feel a single degree too hot, albeit they were almost on the equator. the wind too was favourable, and kept so for over a week, and when it did at last die almost down, no one on board appeared to regret it; even the ship herself seemed to think it was the most natural thing in the world she should take it easy a bit. there were plenty of books on board, plenty of ice, ginger brandy with his fan, and barnaby blunt with his ever cheery smile and his wealth of droll conversation. 160 a sleepy listener. "say, young man," said barnaby to tom one day as both reclined in their chairs on deck, 'don't you wonder where you're goin' to?" << "no," said tom with half-shut eyes. "it never occurred to me to ask. you said i was to come with you, and i've come. by the way, where are we going? to tahiti, to fife, new zealand, or where?" well, that cat and you are a "ha, ha, ha! pair, i guess. ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha! would enjoy you. how 'liza, my wife, but now, look here. ing to tell you a story." 66 i'm all attention." i'm go"well, don't go to sleep. once upon a time—” "that's a nice beginning," said tom. "once upon a time a ship filled with gold doubloons sirr, are you listening?" "yes, gold doubloons-" "seems to me you nodded. but never mind. she sailed away from calla-o. it was all specie and nothing else she had on board. there must have been pretty near five million dollars. are you awake?" "i'm listening. i like to keep my eyes shut when anyone else is telling a good story. go on.” "well, sirr, a certain bad lot who lived at lima got wind of it, and pursued this craft in a hired cruiser, with a hired crew assassins-overtook — ugly affair spared none australia back sharks plank island mu"i mean to find that pile." 161 tiny gold hidden terrible sufferings death nobody found galapagos islands -" the above disjointed sentences are the skipper's strange story as tom heard it—not as the yankee told it; and at the word "islands" tom dropped to sleep altogether, and did not awake until barnaby had finished. "very remarkable story indeed!" said tom; "very remarkable! and of course they hanged him?" "" hanged whom-eh?" "why, didn't you say that somebodywhy, i do believe i was half asleep." "i guess you were, and so was the cat. but there, it don't matter. i mean to find that pile. if i don't somebody else will, and then barnaby blunt won't have it-eh?" "" certainly not." "and when barnaby blunt does find it and does get it on board, then hurrah! for 'frisco and my old woman 'liza, and no more going to sea for me on this side the grave. only, altho' i must confess you ain't the most inquisitive coon ever i came across, still i thought i'd tell you the strange story, and let you know where i was bearing up for, and the kind o' notion barnaby blunt had in his long head." "well, i'm much obliged, captain blunt, for your confidence in me; and all will, i hope, turn out well and for the best." (568) l 162 the lazy "liza." it may as well be confessed here at once that tom's notions even now as to where the ship was going to were the most hazy imaginable. all went well in the 'liza ann for two more weeks. the men called her the lazy 'liza; but certainly they appeared to enjoy the ship's laziness very much. they were only ten all told, including ginger brandy; but dolce far niente was their motto, from pebbles the mate all the way down. the masts, as i have said, were not tall, and as there was patent reefing tackle they never had far aloft to go; so their work was very easy. but they kept the ship as clean as a new sovereign. they sang all day long, and danced in the evening-verily a happy-go-lucky crew. tom the cat was a favourite forward; indeed, this strange puss, being thoroughly up to the ways of ships and sailors, seemed happier now than ever he had been in his life. he used to sit in the weather-bow of a night till a flying-fish came on board, then catch it and come aft with it to his master, and go back and wait for another. the men averred that these fish flew at tom's eyes, because they looked like a couple of ship's lanterns in the dark. perhaps this was the true explanation. at all events, the fish did fly on board, and were duly cooked for breakfast every morning; and if there be anything nicer for breakfast than a broiled flyinga delightful voyage. 163 fish, i have yet to learn something new about the sea, and things in general. years and years after this, tom—our hero, not the cat-used to look back to the days he spent on board of the lazy 'liza as among the most delightful-dreamily delightful—in all his experience of a seafarer's life. ah! but they came to an end in a sadly unexpected way. chapter xv. next instant the ship was struck and staved." f this breeze keeps," said captain barnaby if blunt "if this breeze keeps up, we should sight chatham to-morrow." "oh, indeed!" said tom. "yes. we are here now, i reckon," continued blunt, sticking a pin in the chart that was spread out on the cabin table. something called the worthy yank on deck just then, and tom closed his book. "i say, brandy, little boy." "i'se a-listenin', sah, propah." "do you know where the ship is going to, and what she is going to do? funny now, but i've 164 a night of inky darkness. never looked at the chart yet. i think i've eaten the lotus leaf." "'spects you has, sah. i don't know nuffin neider, sah. i'm jes' like yourse'f, sah." "well, i've been so happy and so-so-half asleep all the time; but now i'll have a peep at the chart. here we are guayaquil gulf. why, what a zig-zag course the tub has taken. oh! here we are-galapagos! whatever are we going to do here? ah! well, time will tell, and it's nothing to me much.” the day passed dreamily away, like all the other days; and night fell, and with it the wind. before turning in tom went on deck. such a night of inky darkness and mysterious silence he could not remember ever experiencing. the blackness brooded over the sea-it was almost palpable, and the silence seemed to enter one's very soul. hardly a sound in board, no sound at all out yonder in the beyond. the men's voices forward round the bow when they did speak sounded loud and strange. tom even felt relieved when a sail flapped or a bolt creaked to some almost imperceptible roll of the ship. there was never a star in the sky to-night, and a mist that was not a mist appeared to completely envelop the ship. pebbles came aft quietly to where he could dimly see tom's figure in a ray of light streaming from the poop cabin. the apparition. he took tom's hand. << 'come with me," he said, "and listen." 165 he led tom forward through the darkness to the bows. "we've heard it again," said one of the men in a half-suppressed whisper. "listen! away out yonder. it is coming this way; but what is it?" they leant over the bows, "peering," "keening" into the mysterious darkness. the sound was like some great living monster steering through the water, breathing heavily with every stroke-sighing i had almost said— ceasing sometimes, to be heard closer to the ship the next minute. pebbles still held tom's hand, as if in his anxiety he had forgotten to let it go; and tom could feel that hand tremble. "look! look! oh-h!" the "oh-h!" was a simultaneous cry of fear from the men. tom felt like one in a dream. for there in the sea, higher far than the bulwarks, blacker even than the blackness of night, was a shape! next instant the ship was struck and staved. every timber of her shook and shivered from stem to stern, and some loose belaying-pins leapt clear of their holes and fell rattling on deck. all was shouting and confusion on board now. the captain rushed out of his cabin, the mate ran aft; but no one could tell what had happened. 166 tain. "she's going fast." she has run on a snag rock?" cried the cap"" "we cannot say, sir; but we saw the carpenter, lantern in hand, appeared from below. "she is making water at a tremendous rate, sir. shouldn't think she'd float an hour." blunt went away with him to see for himself. when he came up again he entered the cabin, where tom was standing by the table looking white and scared; for he was yet little more than an invalid. "well," said the captain, “this is about the suddentest thing, i guess, i ever came across. it's a sudden thing, sirr, and it's a very solemn thing too. mister talisker, it's a good thing your clothes is on." 'has it come to that?" said tom. "well, sirr, it hasn't come to the hen-coop quite; but it's come to boats. now, i always said the 'liza ann was the safest ship out; but i didn't reckon on snags in deep water. pebbles!" "i'm here, sir." "" 'well, tell the hands to lay aft here. i guess we'll have time for prayers." "c she's going fast, sir." "we'll have time for prayers, i tell you." "very good, sir." tom had never known so cool a sailor as this. with the sound of the water rushing into the taking to the boats. 167 sinking, reeling ship, he nevertheless found time —nay, but made time, to kneel there and pray long and fervently for protection to him who rules on sea as well as on earth, and whose hand and eye are everywhere, in the blackness of night as well as in the sunshine. the men's response of "amen" was deep and solemn. half a minute of dead silence, then all rose from their knees. "now, pebbles!" roared captain blunt, "bustle about. load up the dinghy and the jolly-boat. put in everything we're likely to want-arms, ammunition, water, food. mr. talisker, you'll go in the dinghy with ginger brandy and smith." "ay, ay, sir." "6 well, see after your own affairs. don't forget lights, for keep together we must." there were no signs of weakness about tom now. he appeared to have grown suddenly strong and well. -a lad smith was a sort of hobble-de-hoy sailorof seventeen, with plenty of strength, but not much brains to command action. ginger brandy, the other half of tom's crew, was far more useful; so he gave the nigger charge of the white man. this was reversing the order of nature some might think, but it worked very well indeed on the present occasion. tom showed good generalship. he first had a run below to see how fast the water was gaining. 168 farewell to the ship. it certainly was coming in at a very rapid rate. but she would last an hour, tom thought; so he at once set to work to provision his boat. the dinghy was not over twelve feet long, but she was broad in beam and with a good freeboard. so tom had her lowered, and swung a lantern over the side where she was that its light might shine right into her. then under his directions the lads began to load up. "you'll have her too deep, i reckon," said captain blunt as he passed. "thank you," replied tom, "but i do not think so; for you see if it comes on to blow we can lighten her by pitching the least necessary things overboard." the jolly-boat was ready first, and lay waiting till tom and his crew embarked. both boats had stepped their masts, ready for the least puff of wind; and both had compasses and a ready-made chart each. "" good-bye!" cried pious blunt. keep our light in sight; keep yours hanging on your mast as we have ours. fire a rifle if ye want assistance. may the lord be with you! now, men, three farewell cheers for the dear old 'liza ann.” what sorrowful cheers they were, and how strangely they sounded in the pitchy darkness! "pull round the bows, lads, in close. i just want to put my hand on her once more. give way." now in the boats. 169 these are the last words tom heard the yankee skipper speak, and presently the jolly-boat was swallowed up in the blackness. all except her twinkling light-and by this the dinghy was steered. everything went well till morning. then with the sun, that leapt up like a ball of fire and changed the waters to a pool of crimson, came a breeze of wind. oars were taken in and a little sail set. tom hoped it would not increase, for he desired to save all her stores if possible. about noon that day the jolly-boat was distant nearly a league, about two points on the weatherbow. she was signalling to the dinghy, and presently she took in sail. tom increased his, rightly judging that captain blunt wished him to come closer. the dinghy leaned over now in a most uncomfortable way. tom, still determined if possible to save his precious cargo, made his men sit well to the weather-side, and thus they managed to keep her lee-gunwale out of the water as they tried to get closer to the jolly-boat. the latter was seen to lower sail altogether, and tom could not make out what the matter was. he understood soon, however; for down the wind at that moment he descried rolling along a dark wall of fog. in a few minutes the jolly-boat was engulphed, and soon after the dinghy. all that day the fog lasted; but now and then 170 no sail in sight. tom could hear the ring of a rifle, and steered by that. towards evening the wind had increased in force, and he heard no more firing. the jollyboat would doubtless lie to, however, so tom thought; and by next day, when the fog cleared, he should see the boat again. the fog did not clear next day, however, nor for many days; and when the sun shone at last there was no sail in sight! there was no help for it; they must make the nearest land, and doubtless the other boat would do the same. and now ensued a painful and weary time. the wind had died down entirely. it seemed as though it would never blow again. the sea all round was like molten glass, a long rolling swell coming in from the north-west-a swell that was delusive in the extreme, causing them to believe they were making progress to the south, although the current was dead against them. the sun's rays, beating straight down from the heavens and reflected from the waters, were doubly fierce, and there was no awning for protection. two days passed like this; then poor smith sickened and died. tom had given him the last drop of water that remained in the boat. so between them ginger brandy and he gently lifted the body up and dropped it astern, and the scene that followed was horrible to witness. before their eyes the corpse was torn in pieces by those tigers of the sea-the hammer-headed sharks. i a dreadful feast. 171 there must have been at least a dozen at that dreadful feast, yet next minute several were floating alongside, and casting sidelong glances up at the rowers with their hungry, eager, and awful eyes. on and on and on they rowed, resting often on their oars and gazing round them in the vain hope of descrying a sail. a bird alighted in the water on the forenoon of next day. a strange weird-looking gull, the like of which tom had never seen before. it was so tame that brandy easily knocked it dead with his oar, and they sucked its blood and devoured the flesh raw and warm. horrid meal though this appears to have been, it revived them better than anything else save water could have done. of food there was abundance in the boat; it was water alone they craved for. that same evening it rained a little. they caught the water in their jackets and eagerly drank it. another long dark black starless night; but in the morning the clouds were dissolved, and the sun shone more fiercely than ever. no rain, no mist even. they dipped biscuits in the sea and sucked them, but the thirst grew more intense. tom suffered worst; his agony was fearful. with eyes and brow that felt bursting with pain, and swollen and parched tongue, he sat at the oar and rowed feebly and mechanically. 172 a strange experience. birds came now in larger numbers, but none came near enough to be caught. surely they were nearing land! but nothing was in sight from where they sat. burning sky, only the heaving sea! only the a bright-eyed butterfly flew on board one day, and the negro boy shouted for joy. but tom heeded it not; he was past heeding anything. pain was gone though. he felt nothing. his very mind seemed to have fled. he remembered looking down at his own hands holding the oars, and wondering to whom they belonged. the birds screaming around the boat became spirits with human voices and kept saying things to him, and awful-looking black lizards swam in the water near. then through the mist and haze that had gathered before his eyes he could dimly see the the negro lad approach nearer. the boy took someone's oars gently out of his hand, and laid someone down in the bottom of the boat. but who was the someone, tom wondered. it could not be himself, for he felt nothing. then all was a blank. when he opened his eyes again he was no longer in the boat. the boy was pouring something down his throat. it revived him, and he sat up. he pointed to some immense lizards—the same he had seen in the sea. they were lying together on some igneous rocks in the sunlight, as large as i the enchanted isle. 173 young alligators but ten times more ugly-broad in head with spreading legs, squalid, hideous, fearsome. tom tried to speak as he pointed to them, but could only utter a series of unintelligible vowelsounds with the back of his throat. but poor little brandy understood him. "yes, sah, dey are dere all right. you not dream at all, sah. i see dem." then the boy took a stick and forced them off the rock; though some of them turned round as if to bite, and others caught the stick in their hands in a way that curdles one's blood to think of. tom lay back now and slept again. it must have been near morning when he awoke, feeling almost well. he was quite covered with a piece of sail, and lay on a bed of soft dry sea-weed. for a few moments he could remember nothing, and sadly wondered where he was. but memory soon returned. the stars were shining brightly above. by its light he could see the foam of the wavelets that sang dolefully on the beach. he could see, too, the rocks and boulders near the water. as he gazed on these, to his horror and surprise some of them moved away inland slowly with a harsh and rattling noise. surely i am on an island of enchantment," thought poor tom, "or i cannot be awake!" 66 ginger brandy!" he cried as well as he could. 174 to'toises. "i'se heah, sah. tank de lawd, marster, you hab got your voice once mo', sah!" "brandy, i saw the rocks move slowly away. was i dreaming?" "no, sah. nevah feah, sah. dem not rocks; dey are to'toises, as big as elerphants. i ride on one to-day all 'long de beach. dey are puffikly ha'mless, sah. don't you be 'larmed. i'se fit 'nuff to look arter you. sleep, sah, sleep; de sun rise soon." as the boy spoke a gush of bird-melody came from a neighbouring bush, so entrancingly sweet but so wondrously strange, that tom at once placed his head again on his pillow of sea-weed to listen. sleep the most refreshing ever he had enjoyed in his life succeeded; but all through his slumbers rang the bird-song, mingling with his dreams like chimes from elfin-land. chapter xvi. "a vast green and flowery valley surrounded by romantic hills." u bettah now, sah?" you "o yes, brandy; i'll soon be all right. but where are we?" brandy harnesses a tortoise. 175 "i don't know nuffin''t all. on'y dis is an island -i make shuah ob dat." 66 how long have i slept?" "two day, sah. i gib you plenty watah all de time; and you suckee he down all same's modder's milk, sah. you will lib now." "and thanks to you. with the boat?" but who helped you up "he, he, he! you not believe, plaps. but brandy neveh tell lie. i hab de paintah ob de boat all ready, and presently one big elerphantto'toise come down. plenty quick i hitch de bight ober dat varmint's neck. den i cried 'shoo!' den he pull and i push, and 'way we go cheerily. but la! de elerphant-to'toise, he had strangle his little self. and i make soup of some of him, fo’ true!" hardly believing what brandy said tom got slowly up, and lo! there was the dead tortoise right enough; and tom had never seen such a monster¹ before. nor could he have seen one, for the creature belongs only to the galapagos islands. "why, brandy," he said, "it is bigger than a feather bed. i begin to believe, my boy, we have landed on one of the enchanted islands i used to read of long ago; and i can easily fancy a shipwrecked mariner making a boat of the shell of 1 some of these wonderful tortoises are so large that half a dozen men can hardly lift them from the ground. 176 a hut in a crater. one of these beasts, and with a bamboo for a mast and his jacket for a sail, crossing the ocean to the mainland. and you strangled him?" "no, he strangle his little self, sah. i help jes' a leetle wid de axe. den he bleed-o, he bleed mo' dan one big bull, sah." "and where is the blood, brandy?" "de fly eatee he all up plenty quick, and de ants eatee all de fly leave. den i dink all de rest myself. but come, sah; de soup is all ready." on board the 'liza ann ginger brandy had gone about his duties in a very quiet way, indeed. he had shown himself smart enough, but had exhibited no extra talent of any kind. now, lo and behold! all his nature was changed. he was in the wilds; he was part and parcel of the wilds, and his capabilities of making the best of everything appeared to know neither bounds nor limits. during the time tom had been lying insensible, he had not only got the boat drawn up, but had built a hut inside a broken-down rocky cone, which looked like a small volcanic crater. it was cool and clean. the roof was formed of the sail, and inside was a soft bed of sea-weed. the provisions and ammunition were also carefully stored here; and as there appeared to be no destroying angels in the shape of ants about, everything was safe enough. the soup was splendid. tom felt a new man as soon as he had eaten a shellful. they had no being a crusoe. 177 basins, only shells. but several pannikins or billies were among the precious stores; so there seemed but little likelihood that they would have to live on raw meat for many a day. after dinner tom noticed that ginger brandy was carefully banking the fire with turf and ashes. "why not let it out, brandy? you can light it again." "no, sah; nebber no mo'." "why?" "'cause, sah, i let fall de match. one box catchee fi'. packet of lucifire den i jump on de packet to stamp he out, and all de rest go puff. you bery angry, sah?" no, my friend; it can't be helped. cheer up. i say, brandy?" "yes, sah." "isn't it fun being a crusoe? i used to be the hermit hunter of the wilds; now i've turned a crusoe, and you're my man friday." "befo' de lawd, sah," said ginger brandy looking tremendously serious all at once, "i tink de sun or de soup hab affect you' head!" tom laughed. "don't you know what a crusoe is?" "sumfin' to eat, plaps?" "no, brandy; it's nothing to eat or drink either. come, i'll tell you the story." and as far as he could remember it, tom told (568) m 178 a mysterious place. ginger brandy all the romance of juan fernandez, much to his delight. "dat is fus'rate, sah. aha! you and i play at crusoes. aha! dere is nuffin' like fun. is dere, sah? but now look, marster. de sun go down, all red like one big slice ob pomola. you not well yet, sah. s'pose you go to bed?" and tom did, and found himself so strong next morning that he was able for a good long stroll. ginger brandy came with him and helped to carry his gun. what a mysterious looking place it was, and how black and dreary everything a little way inland looked! those fearsome lizards basking on the dark burned rocks near the sea seemed the evil genii of the place. tom could not look at them without shuddering. but bigger and more powerful genii than they have been at work here and all about in ages long since passed away. the genii of volcanic fire and water. the soil was everywhere brown and scorched looking, extinct craters like shafts of founderies stood here and there, and ugly dark boulders lay scattered in the open as if they had been rained from heaven. among these, snakes of many kinds wriggled hither and thither, or lay coiled up in huge old half-broken shells. the very bushes appeared black and blighted, and at a little distance seemed to have no leaves; while the birds that flew from bough to bough were was he dreaming? 179 dusky, and even the moths and beetles were sad in colour. and yet high above, the sky was blue, and the billows out yonder sparkled in his rays as if diamonds were being scattered on them by angels' hands. the shrubs and cacti that grew further from the sea had branches so wildly erratic, and shapes so weird, that do what he would tom could not disabuse his mind of the notion that either he was really on an island of enchantment, or that he was dreaming, and might awake at any moment on board the 'liza ann. the gun so far was useless; there was nothing to shoot except those huge elephantic tortoises, and that would have been cruel. they were as deaf as posts, but wondrous quick in seeing. at a little distance many of them looked like flat or rounded rocks; and it was therefore rather startling to one's nerves on getting alongside an immense slab of supposed rock to find it had a long neck and awful head, and that it hissed louder than a python, and began to move away. tom was not sorry when the walk was over, and he found himself once more reclining on his sea-weed couch reading shakespeare, while ginger brandy busied himself not far off making tortoise stew, with a bit of bacon in it to give it a flavour. the delicious steam went all round tom's heart each time brandy lifted the lid te peep inside. 180 a novel mode of fishing. tom and ginger brandy spent many days at the seaside, dragging the boat down sometimes and going for a sail. in this way they cruised round a considerable portion of the coast. they found no signs of life anywhere, however, and though they landed at several places they found no tortoises.1 inland they could see high hills, but all the coast-line was bordered with black rocks, boulders, and scoriæ. the ugly lizards were everywhere, and swam in the water as well as crawled on the beach. as regards fish, tom found the island coast a mine of luxury. wherever the water was fairly shallow they found them in shoals, and could capture them with their hands-at least ginger brandy could; and his method of fishing was peculiar, to say the least of it. first he divested himself of his clothes, then overboard he sprang like a frog. holding one hand under the water, he dropped a few crumbs of biscuit from the other. the fish, by no means shy, sailed up at once, and brandy seized them one by one slowly but surely, and threw them into the boat. tom was a fairly clever naturalist, but he could not name a tenth of the many strange 1 owing to the raids made upon these strange animals by the american whalers they had become very scarce, but this island not having been visited for many years, they had recuperated their forces.-g. s. exploring the island. 181 varieties of fish caught, nor even guess the natural orders to which they belonged. most were edible. some were too gaudily coloured to be otherwise than suspicious. these brandy discarded. others were horribly grotesque, with immense heads, diabolical faces and horns. brandy would have nothing to say to these either. he held a frightfully ugly specimen up one day for tom's inspection. 66 'is he for dinner, ginger brandy?" "gully, massy; no, sah. plaps, sah, he one debil. he no aflaid ob de fire nor de f'ying pan. suppose i put he ober de fire, sah, his ugly mouf grow bigger, his horns grow longer, his eyes grow fierce, den he switch his tail, jump out ob de fire and gobble up bof you and me, and fly away in de smoke." "brandy," said tom one morning after breakfast, "i'm strong enough now to explore." "to 'splore, sah?" "yes, brandy. to explore the island.” "well i'se strong 'nuff to 'splore mos' anyting, sah." "all right, we'll start. there is no fear of anyone breaking into the house while we're away, so you needn't lock the door, brandy." it was a delightful day, with a strong breeze chafing the sea and roaring through the stunted shrubs and thorny cacti. the sky too was over182 the sight from the hilltop. cast with clouds; and it being the end of october some showers had fallen, so that the air was wondrously cool considering that they were right under the equator. tom felt as easy-minded and happy to-day as ever he did in his life. there was something in the very air of this semi-enchanted isle of the ocean, that seemed to engender happiness, and hope as well. tom had not begun to think yet if there was any chance of his ever getting away from the island. "one of these days," he said to brandy, “you and i will sit down and do a jolly big think. but there is no occasion to hurry. is there, brandy?" “o, i'se in no 'ticular hurry, sah! not in de slightest. i lub dis little island. 'spose we lib heah always, i not care." for miles and miles they scrambled onwards and upwards, wondering, like the little girl in the fairy tale, where they would come to at last. they took a straight course through the thorny jungle; but afterwards found that though this was the nearest route, it certainly was not the quickest. poor brandy's feet were cut with cinders and rocks, and both had their faces and clothes torn with the cruel briers, that were as sharp and long as penknives. they found themselves on a hilltop at last, and looking down, to their great astonishment, into a perfect paradise. an inland paradise. 183 | what was it like? it is not easy to describe. imagine if you can a vast green and flowery valley, surrounded on all sides by romantic hills. covered half-way to the top with waving woods, their summits round, fantastic, coned, or serrated; the valley itself containing every description of beautiful scenery that can be conceived. yonder are green parks or fields, with cattle and donkeys quietly browsing in them, and shrubby knolls and patches of trees in their midst; yonder a beautiful lake or pond, with cattle wading therein or standing drowsily in its shallows; yonder a racing streamlet, like a thread of silver, winding through the plain till lost among the woods. down towards this paradise the crusoes now hurry, new wonders greeting their sight at every turn. the forest itself is garlanded and festooned with flowers, trailing, climbing, and hanging, and shedding beauty everywhere. and when they leave the woods at last and come into the open, there are more marvels yet in store for them. a herd of wild pigs start squeaking and grunting away from a thicket of bananas, where they have been feeding on the fruit. there are groves of oranges, of citrons, and limes, and further on patches of wild potatoes, yams, and vegetables innumerable. and to crown all the other wonders, lo! they come to a house or rather a hut, and at a little distance off there are others. but no smoke is 184 traces of a crime. now curling up from the compounds around. the fences are decayed and overrun with creepers; snakes glide here and there through what had once been a pretty garden, and the door of the principal hut has fallen from its hinges. nay, not fallen; it has been smashed in, and the two skeletons that lie bleaching not far off— one that of a child-tell the tale of a tragedy that was enacted in these wilds many years ago far more graphically than any words could have done. "i not like de look ob tings at p'esent, sah," said brandy. "nor i either, my friend. but it is pretty evident that this island has at one time been a settlement, that there has been a foul deed done, and that the murderers have fled. never mind, brandy, we shall remove from the desolate tritonhaunted sea-shore to this lovely valley, and build ourselves a hut. as for these poor remains we will bury them. the wretches who committed the crime doubtless landed from a ship, and the story of their terrible iniquity may never, never be known." the crusoes returned to the hut by the sea that same evening, brandy carrying on his shoulder a tiny young pig, part of which he meant to cook for supper. they got up shortly after sunrise next day, and were off to the wild interior again as soon they dug a grave. 185 as breakfast had been discussed. tom carried his rifle, brandy carried a spade. in a little orange grove they dug a shallow grave, and there laid the skeletons side by side. and covered them up. "we'll come some other day, brandy, and erect a cross here," said tom as they walked away. he paused several times to look back at the spot he had chosen for a last resting-place for the remains. it was peculiar, and the more he thought of it the stranger it appeared. three trees had been planted at right angles to the wood that rose over a hill on the east side of the valley. they were equidistant, and close to the centre one, almost overshadowed by it indeed, was the grove of orange-trees and bananas in which they had made the grave. no other trees were anywhere nearer than the wood itself. they must have been planted there as a mark to something. but to what? chapter xvii. strange life on the beautiful island. tom talisker knew nothing for some malter this of the terrible tragedy that time had taken place on the island. the place had 186 the outlook. once been a small penal settlement for political prisoners from ecuador, the governor himself a suspect; but the men had revolted and slain both him and his family, and escaping on a raft or boat had gone no one knew whither, though in all probability to the bottom of the sea. such things as men landing from a passing ship, to rob and mayhap murder a few inhabitants of a lonely island, have happened many times and oft, and might happen again, tom thought. he was determined, therefore, to be prepared. so he built a little outlook, well screened with trees, on the top of one of the highest hills, and here he or brandy could go every morning to reconnoitre, with the aid of the telescope they had brought with them. they could from this vantage ground see passing ships, and if possible signal to them by smoke or otherwise; but if men came on shore who looked like cut-throats, it would be easy for them to hide in the forest. the finding of the skeletons and their burial in the orange grove did not tend to raise the spirits of our hero; but as to ginger brandy, nothing on earth was calculated to depress that boy long. more than once next day, while they were busily engaged building their new hut not. far from the ruins of the old settlement, though nearer to the orange grove, brandy told tom he was glad they had been cast away here, and that building a villa. 187 for his part he would be sorry if any ship found them and brought them away. the building of the new villa, as they called it, was a work of time as well as art. first and foremost they had to transport all their stores to a tent of bamboo and plaintain leaves which they erected near the old settlement. this necessitated a great many journeys back and fore to the coast; and when night came at last, and they could no longer work, both were so tired that they fell sound asleep after supper, and did not awake until well into the morning. some cattle were browsing near, but they fled in wild alarm as soon as they saw human beings. one immense red-eyed fierce-looking bull at first showed fight, but finally retreated slowly towards the other end of the plain, growling ominously as he did so, and giving tom clearly to understand that his presence here was an intrusion that he should one day resent. this bull had evidently been monarch of all he surveyed before tom's arrival, and now to be deposed was hard indeed to bear. but how labour lightens the mind. both tom and his dusky companion were singing and laughing all day long as they worked away at the building of the villa. it really was no child's play, however, which they had taken in hand. all the uprights and transverse beams, the couples, &c., had to be 188 a new hermitage. made of trees cut down in the woods, and borne on the shoulders to the site they had chosen. here they had to be deprived of their bark, for tom knew better than leave any shelter in his house for venomous creepie-creepies. while he would be engaged at this bark-stripping brandy would be busy cooking the one great meal of the day, namely, supper, which they discussed together by the camp fire and under the stars. it took them three whole weeks to complete the building of the house, but when it was at last finished they had good cause indeed to be proud of their handiwork. it was certainly of no great size, nor was it of very showy pretentions. the couples that supported the grass roof came right down to the ground, as they had no iron nails big enough to affix it to the top of the plank walls. a couple of axes, a good saw, some hammers and chisels, were all the tools they possessed, and the nails had to be made of hard wood, the holes to receive them being bored by means of a piece of red-hot iron. all their energies and all their ingenuity too was therefore taxed to make a complete job of this rustic dwelling. "i tell you what it is, brandy," tom said one day, "i thank my stars i had such a clever uncle when a boy. our hermitage in the woods was built something in this fashion, and uncle robert taught me how to use not only the woodman's by the camp fire. 189 axe and the carpenter's saw, but the plasterer's trowel as well." "yes, sah," replied brandy; "and you mus' tellee me mo' 'bout dat same uncle after dinner, sah." that after-dinner hour or two by the camp fire was the most delightful of the whole twentyfour. tom was the story-teller, and his powers of invention were so great that he never once found himself short of material for a good spicy tale of sea and land. all his adventures here and there, in many lands and round the world, were related to his companion with a hundred different verbal embellishments; and brandy made a most excellent listener. but brandy himself had an accomplishment: he could sing. his voice was a sweet contralto; and, strange as it may seem, he always sung in good english, though we know he could not talk the language well. tom taught him a great many songs he had never known before. so, what with story-telling and singing, the long dark evenings passed quickly enough away, and once they laid their heads down on their grass pillows they knew no more about the world until the sun rose once again. brandy was always first up, and tom's breakfast was waiting for him by the time he had come back from the lake, where he used to have his morning swim, much to the consternation of the 190 black tom as an islander. half-wild ducks that floated there, and built their nests among the sedges. when the hut was built it was plastered inside and out with a blackish clay, which finally grew as hard as cement. then some rude seats were made, and a rough table, while all around the house a garden was trenched and inclosed with a plantation fence. all kinds of vegetables were planted or sown in this garden, and flowers from the woods and the valley planted in beds and borders, with climbing ones along the fence; but not along the walls. tom knew better than that, for during their work in the woods he had come across some very awful-looking spiders, and other ugly crawling things that he wished to keep at as safe a distance as possible. if brandy was enamoured of his wild and lonely life, so was black tom, the cat. he was seldom at home from sunrise till sunset; but invariably put in an appearance at dinner-time, and kept up the old sea custom of sleeping in his master's arms every night. tom had come to love this honest cat so much, that he even doubted whether he would not as soon have lost brandy himself as puss. if he happened to be half an hour late of an evening his master would even put dinner back till he came. black tom one day proved himself a friend in need in a very remarkable manner. all unconscious of danger tom talisker was adventure with a bull. 191 coming singing to himself, gun on shoulder, across the plain, when out from the woods rushed that fiery-eyed bull. he was close on tom before he knew what was about to happen. his rifle was unloaded. instinct caused him to run, and he did his best while doing so to get a cartridge in. on rushes the maddened brute, with tail erect and awful horned head at the charge. it seems as if nothing can save tom. the cartridge will neither go in nor come out from where it has stuck. but at that moment something rushes past tom which at first he can hardly see. it is his feline friend, and he springs at once on the bull's head with a yell of anger and claws at his eyes. this is more than the bull has bargained for. he pauses and tosses his head wildly in the air, but the cat keeps firm hold. at last the cartridge goes home, and tom advances now. but where to fire is the difficulty. his aim must be a steady one, else he may kill his little protector. bang! at last, and the bull drops. dead? yes, dead; for the bullet has entered behind and below the ear, torn through the carotid artery, and lodged in the brain itself. the cat comes singing up now and rubs himself against his master's knee, and the two walk home together. the very next day another huge black bull 192 brandy's opinion of black tom. was seen to quietly possess himself of the dead monarch's flock. where he had come from tom could not even guess, but the probability is he had been condemned to a life in the woods during his predecessor's reign. "do cats go to heaben w'en dey dies, sah?" asked brandy one evening as the three friends lounged near the camp fire. 66 'what makes you speak so, brandy?" 66" 'cause, sah, i 'spects dat cat is one angel, sah. i 'spects some day he talk." "well, i shouldn't wonder a great deal. indeed, i would not wonder at anything that happened in this strange island." it may be as well mentioned that never an evening did tom lie down without reading a portion of the bible that his mother had given him, and praying a simple but earnest little prayer for their own safety during the silent watches of the night, and for those who were far, far away in their homes beyond the sea. no work was ever done on sunday, and no stories told except those of bible lands or the sweet old story of our salvation, which the negro boy was never tired listening to. one evening, about three months after they had landed on the island, a terrible storm swept over it. the lightning seemed to set the very woods on fire, and to run along the ground in the awful rain. next day the inland lake was a a sorrowful lad was he 193 little sea, and acres of the forest had been levelled to the ground by the force of the gale. when brandy went out in the morning to prepare breakfast, a sorrowful lad was he; for the rain had completely drowned out the fire, and there were no matches. he was not to be beaten, however; and so set to work to make fire in the usual way adopted by savages-piercing a hole in a piece of soft plank and twirling a pointed piece of very hard dry wood. it took him nearly an hour, however, to accomplish the feat. two months passed away, making five months in all since the foundering of the 'liza ann, but all that time they had never seen a passing ship. true, they spent only a part of the day at the outlook; but the view was so extensive that had a vessel been anywhere within a radius of twenty miles or more they would have discried it. all the food, consisting chiefly of biscuits and tinned meats which they had taken from the ship, had long since been finished; but this was a small matter so long as their ammunition held out. of this, however, tom was now unusually careful; and for ordinary purposes of hunting they used bows and arrows, and soon became very accomplished marksmen indeed. they also paid frequent visits to the seashore, and, embarking in their dinghy, caught fish. as to fruit and vegetables, these were (568) n 194 tom turns tailor and cobbler. abundant; so that on the whole they wanted for nothing. salt, by the way, was at first wanting, till tom thought of the old-fashioned plan of placing seawater in shallows or rocks. when it evaporated it left a crust of saline matter, and this had to do duty as a relish. and now with constant hard work in the forest their clothes began to get somewhat ragged, and also their shoes; so tom had to learn. two new trades, those of shoemaker-or rather cobbler-and tailor. as for ginger brandy, he dispensed entirely with the use of shoes, and almost entirely with clothes even. he told tom that he was not afraid of the sun spoiling his complexion. "but, o marster," he added, "you is getting redder ebery day. bymeby you turn brown, den black, and den dere will be two niggah boys. aha! your ole moder won't know you, sah, when you goes home." "home, brandy!" said tom with a sigh. "heigh-ho! i begin to think we will never, never see home any more." yes, tom had sighed. it was the first sigh for liberty; for albeit the wild free life the two crusoes led now was very enjoyable, there were times when, do as he might, he could not prevent thoughts of home from crowding into his mind. contentment. 195 but he could not help thinking also how happy he was to have such a faithful companion as ginger brandy. to be quite alone on such an island as this at night and all the livelong day would, he thought, have driven him out of his mind. the silence was irksome by day, although then there were the songs of birds and the loud hum of insect life; but at night hardly a hush was to be heard, except now and then a strange eerie cry in the forest that only served to make the solitude feel more deep and awful. they were several miles inland, and yet every night the sound of the waves breaking on the rocks fell distinctly on their ears, and all night long till sunrise awakened once more the voices of the woods and glens. there grew a tree with a tall, slim, even stem not far from the hut, and every saturday afternoon tom cut a notch thereon, and thus kept count of time. one day he reckoned these up. there were thirty-eight in all! he started. he could hardly believe it. but it was true nevertheless. they had been over eight long months on the island! and the time had gone quickly enough by. tom could not say he was unhappy. there was something in the very air they breathed which had seemed to brew contentment, and make the days fly quickly past. 196 a new use for tortoises, birds and beasts too became very tame. wild ducks even came in flocks to the water's edge to be fed, and the new bull was such a gentlemanly fellow that he used to lead his cows towards the hut to be milked. the mocking-birds would sit on the fence at sundown and sing low and sweetly till darkness fell, and moon or stars shone out. but i have something still more wonderful to relate. those elephantic tortoises that came almost every day to look for their favourite food in the valley-a species of sweet and esculent cactus-grew so tame at last that they no longer drew in their necks or even hissed when tom or brandy approached, which they never did without an armful of something for them to eat. they had their regular beaten tracks to or from the high plateau where the crusoes lived. when upon these they turned neither to the right hand nor to the left, but went steadily though slowly on to their journey's end. well, brandy and tom soon fell upon a plan to take advantage of this. if they wanted to go towards the beach they would turn a monster in that direction on his beaten pathway, then mount his back and be hauled away. if the monsters they squatted on felt disinclined to move, they had only to strike two on the shell and off they waddled. this was glorious fun, and only had one drawback-the tortoises seldom moved at a quicker on the hilltop. 197 pace than two miles an hour; but as time was no object to either tom or brandy, it did not make much difference in the long run. they were always good to their strange steeds and never attempted to ride back to the valley, and it is to be hoped the tortoises appreciated their goodness. chapter xviii. "he was convinced now he had seen a spectre and nothing else." w hen a few months more had gone over their heads it is no wonder that the time began to seem a little longer. tom spent more time now alone by himself at the outlook station on the hilltop. i really ought not to say "alone," however, when so faithful a companion as puss was with him. brandy and he had built a sun shelter here, and as there was always a little breeze blowing it was delightful enough to sit under cover and read or write. he read his shakespeare till he had it well nigh by heart, and used to spend hours in reciting. often of an evening too he used to delight his dusky companion by reading nearly a whole play. this was a pleasant way of spending the time. but he thought of an198 waiting for the moon. other, and one which ginger brandy became quite enamoured of. this was simply the good old-fashioned game of draughts; and over this they spent many a quiet and pleasant evening. it was very easy to make a board, and anything did duty as men-slices of vegetables, for instance. although it fell dark shortly after sunset in this island, it must not be supposed they wanted light. no; for from the fat of the animals killed for food they made excellent candles, the wicks being composed of a kind of pith from rushes that grew plentifully near the water's edge. in the mornings brandy went hunting in the woods or over the hills with his master, then he would go by himself to the hut to get dinner ready, and prepare to have a delightful hour or two before retiring. but it soon grew a habit with tom to spend the afternoon with pussy at the outlook. but, alas! he swept the horizon in vain for any signs of the coming ship. one afternoon a sharp thunder-storm kept him longer at his station than usual. but the sun went down, and darkness came on apace, before he had recognized that it was so late. it would be impossible now to find his way down through the woods until the moon should rise. brandy would certainly be anxious about him; but there was no help for it, wait he must. was it a spectre? 199 happily the moon was nearly a full one, when it did rise he would have plenty of light. but waiting here was certainly lonesome. he began to think of home, and before many minutes he was in dreamland. and the spirit of his dreams flew away with him far over the sea, far over the wild mountain lands of ecuador, across colombia, and across the wide atlantic to the dear old farm of craigielea; and he found himself, as he thought, walking towards the house from the pine-wood, with little laughing 'theena by his side. theena was not a whit bigger, nor did she seem a day older, than when he had left her. nor was his mother, father, and uncle at all astonished to see him, but simply made room for him at the fireside, as in the days of yore; and he sat as of old at his sister's feet, with her loving fingers entwined in his hair. how long he had slept he could not tell. he awoke with a start at last; for the cat had sprung on his shoulder, and was growling low and ominously. the moon was very high now, and suddenly escaping from a cloud shone full on the figure of a man, or—was it a spectre? an unaccountable feeling of superstitious dread seized him, and he trembled in every limb. the figure was tall, and as well as could be made out dressed in skins, but with naked brown arms and feet. the face was almost black, and a short dark beard curled round cheeks and chin. 200 among the shadows. next instant he or it had glided silently behind a tree. tom forced a laugh to relieve his mind. "i have been dreaming," he said aloud. but surely there must have been something there, else why had the cat growled? for the first time in his life, as far as he could remember, he experienced something akin to genuine fear as he set out to walk homewards through the woods. the clouds were very high to-night, which gave the moon the appearance of being exceedingly far away. the whole sky, partially overcast with these soft-looking feathery clouds, had little rifts of deep dark blue between, and it was only when the moon escaped into one of these that everything could be seen distinctly. but a hundred times at least during his journey through that wild forest tom started, as he thought he saw that strange skin-clad man lurking among the bushes. what a relief it was to his feelings when he got clear at last of the weird-looking trees, whose very shadows to-night seemed to enter his soul! and, look, yonder was brandy bounding joyfully to meet him. "o, sah, sah, i'se so glad you come. i tink you lost. i tink i nebber, nebber see you no more. and de drefful man, sah! o, he scare poor brandy a'most to def, sah.” the spectre again. 201 "the man, brandy! what, you have seen him too? then it was no apparition." "i dun know nuffin', sah. i was bend down near de fire to makee he burn up more bright, den i hear a footstep. i look up plenty quick, and dere o, it was drefful, sah, dat hairy man, all same's one big baboon!" "which way did he go?" "" 'round by de ruins, sah. den i see him run i tink he one to de forest, o, ebber so fast! ghost, sah. den i tink plaps he hab murder you, and i turn pale wid fear." "come along anyhow," said tom, "and give me some dinner. i am famishing, and food will banish fear; though, brandy, i think it would take a good deal to make you turn pale." hardly anything else was thought about that night except the apparition; and lest he should come again at midnight, tom loaded his rifle and kept it handy by his couch. days wore by, and nothing more was seen of the hairy man, and tom began to think it must after all have been a baboon. brandy and he went to the woods together as usual; but after this somehow neither cared to stay alone at the outlook station, and they were always at home by nightfall. one evening, however,-a clear and starlit one it was, with everything easily seen at a considerable distance-tom was taking a last look 202 the grave violated. round before turning in, when he saw that figure again crossing the plain not a hundred yards away. he followed slowly. he seemed impelled to follow. the figure glided on silently far in front, and finally disappeared in the orange grove where the graves were. while following the strange figure tom had experienced no fear; but immediately it disappeared the same unaccountable feeling of apprehension stole over him, and he retraced his steps to the hut, nor would he have gazed behind him for all the world. he was convinced now in his own mind that he had seen a spectre and nothing else. curiosity led brandy and him to visit the orange grove next day, nevertheless. what they saw almost took their breath away for a moment. the grave had been opened, the skeletons taken up and thrown on one side, and quite a quantity of earth excavated from the bed in which they had lain. "no spectre has done this," said tom as soon as he had recovered the power of speech. << man. look, marster," said brandy; "it is de ebil he hab drefful claws." the sides of the grave really did appear to have been clawed at, and this only deepened the mystery. tom's plan of action. 203 tom touched nothing; he even obliterated the marks of their footsteps, and left the skeletons as they were. "was the creature who had done this deed a ghoul?" he could not help thinking as he walked silently back to the hut with ginger brandy. "brandy," he said that afternoon, "let us have an early dinner to-night." "sartinly, sah. but-" "but what, my friend?" "dere am sumfing strange in your eye, sah. you is goin' to de grabe after dinner to watch?" "you have guessed aright, brandy. going to the grave to watch. i am be this creature man or beast, fiend or ghoul, i shall get to the bottom of the mystery to-night." "brandy go too?" "no, you must stop in the hut; and you must keep black tom in too. the cat might spoil all." "i stay at home den, marster. but i dreffully frightened." 66 there is no occasion to be frightened, brandy. say your prayers, and nothing will happen to you or to me." “o, i pray, sah, fo' true. i pray all de time you away; but i dreffully aflaid all de same." the moon would not rise to-night till past twelve, and there was little likelihood of the creature visiting the orange grove before then. 204 a lonely vigil. but soon after ten o'clock tom, with revolver in belt, left the hut, and betook himself across the plain to the little grove of trees where the now unburied skeletons lay. the tree that overshadowed the place afforded ample room for concealment, so he climbed well and sat down to watch. would the ghoul appear? up how very long the time seemed! the silence was intense to-night, for not a breath of air was stirring among the leaves. the moan of the restless sea was distinctly audible. and at intervals strange voice-sounds came from the woods, and from the lonesome faroff hills; sounds that perhaps birds or beasts emitted, and which it was difficult to locate exactly, for at times they appeared to come from the very sky itself. but they made tom feel very eerie, and more than once he repented of his rashness, and wished he had not undertaken so lonely a vigil. at long last the moon rose red and rosy over the mountains, and soon its light glimmered through the orange trees and fell in patches on and around the grave. tom placed his hand on his revolver, and sat on his perch as silent as the leaves themselves. the creature in the grave. 205 chapter xix. under the grave you dug are gold and precious stones." he creature, whatever it was, came at last, thea and so silently, too, that tom was startled. how his heart did beat! it was audible to himself, it caused him even to shake, and he fancied he could even feel the branch of the tree tremble under him. the figure stood for fully a minute gazing down into the grave; then a sigh escaped it, and descending into the hollow the operation of digging was commenced with vigour. not with the hands or claws, however, but with a huge white shell; and it was the marks of this on the sides of the excavation that had so alarmed poor brandy. the strength of the creature seemed enormous, and the grave got deeper and deeper every minute. but in a short time the figure desisted, and standing up wiped the perspiration from its brow. this was a very human act, and went far to banish fear from tom's heart. almost at the same moment the creature turned its face up towards the moonlight, and tom was able to satisfy himself it was a man and nothing else. he made up his mind for instant action now, and just as this skin-clad savage had commenced 206 a strange capture. to dig again he sprang lightly from the tree and stood before him, revolver in hand. an eldritch scream was the first result of this manoeuvre of tom's, and the wild man attempted to scramble from the grave. "hold, my friend!-hold!" cried tom. "i am armed. you see my pistol. do not force me to fire." fire!-no, no, no!" was the reply in strangely broken and semi-guttural english. "fire me! -no, no! i surrend—i surrend—i prison-i prison-" "yes, you are my prisoner. but you have nothing to fear; only come along with me to my hut. promise me you will not run away, and i and my black servant will do everything we can for your comfort.” "you english? no, i fly not from englishmen. i took you-spanish-ecuador." the strange being was smiling now. "o!" he continued, "i-happy." it was soon evident to tom that this wild man was, like himself, a briton, but must have been so long a recluse that he had forgotten his own language. this became more apparent every minute. tom's voice and talking seemed to recall words and phrases to him, though for weeks after their meeting the man could not finish any long word. great indeed was brandy's surprise and terror jay.b. 568 "you have nothing to fear," said tom. this is an englishman. 207 when tom walked into the hut in company with the very apparition they had both seen, and who had clawed up the grave. "come, brandy, boy, don't stand and stare. this is an englishman. he was only afraid of us because he thought we were spanish. get us supper quick, and get something nice while you are about it." brandy took one more look at the wild man, then laughing heartily held out his hand. this was cordially shaken, and thus friendly relations between all three were speedily established. nay, but between all four, i should say; for black tom soon jumped on the stranger's knee and gave vent to his pleasure in a song. but," said brandy, "i take you for de debil at fust, sah. but now i'se mistaken. aha! o, golly! dere is one big load tumble off dis chile's liber. aha! i not turn pale wid fear no more.' and away bustled brandy to get the supper ready. 22 the wild man ate what was placed before him almost ravenously, though with little regard to table etiquette. indeed, tom half thought at one time he wanted to take the food into a corner quietly and devour it as a tiger does his prey. he spoke scarcely a word all the time supper was being partaken of, but he was evidently far from at ease. the wind had risen now and was moaning drearily round the hut, and he started 208 the wild man of the woods. often and listened as if he heard voices in it. when brandy had cleared away he spoke at last. 'i-go-now," he said with some hesitation, "to the woods." "c "no, no, no!" cried tom. 'my dear friend, you are safe here. yonder on a bed of grass you shall sleep. nothing shall hurt you. to-morrow, or rather to-day-for it is late-we will talk." and the strange wild man extended a sleepy hand to tom, smoothed the cata touch of nature not lost on tom-and went and threw himself on his bed, and almost immediately went sound asleep. before brandy retired he advanced furtively and half fearfully to his master, and pointing to the recumbent figure, "marster," he said, “he safe--puffikly safe? and he not de debilyou is sure? den i sleep. all same, i pray some mo"," both brandy and tom slept late. when they awoke they found the wild man's couch deserted. but he had not fled; he was outside lying under a bush playing with the cat; and when tom proposed an adjournment to the lake for the purpose of ablution and a swim, he joyfully assented. tom was perfectly astonished at the wild man's prowess in the water. he had all the strength and agility of a seal. after breakfast tom and he went off for a walk in the woods. they went not anywhere yanakova. 209 near the orange grove to-day. they passed over the hill where the outlook station was. "i see you often here," said tom's companion. "i wish you had revealed yourself sooner." "i was afraid. house?" say, will you come to my tom looked at him just once. yes, he could trust him. there was something almost benevolent in the man's face, wild though he was and had been. his eye was a dark and kindly one, and strangely enough tom thought that he had seen someone like him somewhere. he was not old, this wild man-probably but little older than tom; and he was remarkably handsome-every movement of his lithe body was as graceful and easy as those of the jaguar. "what shall i call you?" said tom. "my name is yanakova." it he led tom through the woods and wilds for many miles, then into a close dark bit of jungle near the top of a high hill. here was a cave. was lined with skins and carpeted with skins— skins everywhere, indeed. from the doorway of this strange dwelling, where the bushes were tied back with a piece of thong, they could see the ocean spread blue and beautiful far beneath them, the sea-beach with the white line of breaking waters, and all the greenery of hills and dells, ending in the dark and burned border around the sea. (568) o 210 the wild man's story. here the two new-made friends rested for nearly an hour, hardly speaking, for the day was a drowsy one. "my good yanakova," said tom at last, "will you tell me your story? it must be a strange one." "c i'll tell you my story," said yanakova with all the simplicity of a little child. and he spoke as follows, though it would be impossible to give the exact words, or even to describe the wild man's method of talking:— 66 my story is a sad one. i will begin not at the beginning but the end of it, when i met you. i took you for spanish. most of the spanish i hate. but i had one friend among them. he was governor of this island long, long ago. we were convicts all, in number ten. the others had died or been taken away. then the government of ecuador forgot us. sometimes in long intervals a ship would come, but not often. so the governor told me. they came for tortoises, but the tortoises were nearly all killed; then they came but the convicts were bad; they rose one day and killed my friend the governor and his children. i fought like a madman. i loved the governor. but they left me for dead, and went away in a raft from the island. i could not look at the settlement after that. i fled to the woods, and lived as best i could." "had you been long on the island?" no more. the other part of the story. 211 "if i can judge of time, only a year or two. but it seemed an age. o, i feel very old!" "but, yanakova, what had you done to deserve banishment here?" "i was an indian chief. i came from the eastern wilds of ecuador with fifty warriors. they said i conspired against the government; and so they sent me here. i do not now repent it. i have met you." "but stay, yanakova, this is not all your terribly eventful history. go farther back into the past-tell me of your childhood, your earlier days, your parents." "no, no, no!" cried yanakova; "that is all a dream, and some part of it is a fearful dream. i do not wish to dream that dream again." << then listen, yanakova, and i will tell you a story—a brief one." as tom spoke he was sitting on a fallen tree at the entrance to the cave, his wild companion lying at full length at his feet, leaning on his elbows and gazing intently and intensely at tom's face as he proceeded with his story. "there was a ship many years ago" he said, 'that sailed away from england to visit strange islands and countries on the pacific shore; for the captain was rich, owned his ship, and dearly loved a life on the ocean wave. he had a wife and a little boy, and both went with him. nay 212 the lost found. more, on the sea a baby was born; and no one was happier than the kindly captain then." tom paused. "go on. speak quick," cried yanakova. << 'it came to pass soon after, that thinking to make themselves rich, the crew, under the command of an evil-minded half-caste, mutinied. they killed the mate, and those of the men that had taken the captain's part. then they ran the ship on the rocks and left the rest to perish.' "all the rest?" 22 'no, not all the rest. they took away the boy, and the boy's nurse, and sold them both for slaves-" yanakova's excitement was almost fearful to witness. he had raised himself to his knees, and thus remained clutching tom's hands. "the boy's name?" he gasped. "bernard herbert, and you are he!" "then the great spirit has heard my prayer. i have found one who can tell me of my parents. does mother live?" (( alas, no. but your sister and father lives, i hope." "my sister?" "( yes, the child "theena." 'then tell me more, tell me all, and tell who you are." "" so tom had to repeat the story of his own life and adventures from the very beginning, berthe dream has come true. 213 nard never once taking his eyes off his face while he spoke. when he had finished, tom took from a little pocket-book a bunch of portraits, and handed them to his companion. he looked half afraid of them at first. "o," he cried, "is this right? i have seen such things at quito. are these the souls of these peoples stolen away?"1 "no, no," replied tom laughing. "only sun pictures-only shadow likenesses." he handled them rapidly now; but put them all aside except one-his mother's. on this he gazed long and fondly, the tears meanwhile chasing each other adown his sunbrowned face. tom was glad to see him weep. it was so human. he was no longer the savage, no longer the wild man. he was bernard herbert, 'theena's brother. then tom told him more about 'theena, and about the dream he had in his boyhood. "c part of this dream has come true," said tom; “and you see the great spirit has also heard my prayer. the other part about going back to my own country wealthy and restoring the old castle was but a child's idle folly. o, bernard, if ever we can leave this island, and return to dear old 1 this is the idea indians have of photographs. 214 the treasure hoard. craigielea and my parents, i shall be happy even if in rags." "" "o, but stay, brother, stay. you shall be wealthy. in the orange grove down yonder, under the grave you dug, are more gold and precious stones than we could carry or even lift. i found the treasure; but i touch it not unless you consent to share it.” 66 'this, then," said tom laughing now, "is the secret of the grave we had thought desecrated. come, then, we shall bury the skeletons elsewhere; and, if we are fortunate ever to get away from this lonely island, i will share your treasure." "thank you, brother, thank you. how good the great spirit is to us at last!" a chapter xx. "o, bernard, it is your father's ship!" fter the strange meeting with bernard herbert, his imprisonment on the lonely island no longer felt irksome to tom talisker. indeed, for a time at all events, he was in no hurry for "the ship" to come. had it arrived the first week even, i daresay tom would have been a little disappointed. o, it was bound to tom and bernard. 215 appear some day or other; all three prisoners felt sure of that. for they were young and healthy, and therefore they were happy and hopeful. why should they not enjoy life as thoroughly as possible, therefore? they did so anyhow. they hunted, they fished, they roamed through the woods and wild glens, and studied nature in its every phase and form, and in fact really felt part and parcel of the living joys and wonders all around them. 66 it is very well being a crusoe, for a short time all by yourself," tom said one day to bernard; "but it is doubly delightful to have a companion." the very flowers seemed more beautiful now, the trees looked greener, and the sky and sea a deeper blue. strange to say, neither tom nor bernard thought twice of the buried treasure. it was there waiting them when they wanted it. far more in gold alone than would purchase all the lands of craigielea, and half the parish besides. they did not even trouble themselves to wonder how it had come there. a dying convict had told bernard its whereabouts-a convict that he had befriended-and doubtless it had been concealed long years ago by the buccaneers who infested these seas in the good old times. the huge tame tortoises were a source of end216 peter and john. they even two of these less amusement to the crusoes. managed to domesticate them. especially were great pets and favourites. both were old males-bulls bernard called them; and there is really no saying how long they might not have crawled about the island-probably a hundred years if not two. tortoises are animals that take life wondrously easy. they never hurry, and most assuredly never worry; and thus they manage to exist for a whole century, and live happy ever afterwards. one would think that during such a long innings the galapagos tortoise would amass a vast deal of wisdom. perhaps they do; but, if so, they keep it to themselves. they seem to know that silence is golden, and consequently stick to it. these two giants, peter and john the crusoes called them, knew well enough what was good for them; and that is more than some boys do. their food was collected for them, and they stopped eating at once when nature was satisfied; and they never touched anything that was left, a second time. if stale food were offered to them, they snorted and drew in their heads at once; but as soon as the half-dry stuff was taken away, and some nice juicy morsels of cacti placed about a yard off, out came the heads again. not quickly; o, no, they did not even hurry themselves in putting their heads out; though they always managed to draw them in with a jerk strange pets. 217 when offended. black tom was their particular aversion. i cannot understand why, but as soon as he appeared, "pshaw!" they would shout, and in went their heads in a moment; and away black tom would fly, with his tail on end and like a bottle brush. the cat could growl and hiss pretty well himself; but not in the terribly startling way the tortoises did. john was the better-natured of these two race-horses. that is the reason they call him john. the other was a little crotchety so they called him peter. peter did not like anyone to point a stick or even a finger at him. if you did so, you offended him at once. "pshaw!" he would cry, and draw in his head, and one could not help feeling mean. but you might have pointed a finger all day long at john, and he would not have troubled himself. is it possible, i wonder, for huge ungainly monsters like these to possess affection? i myself believe it is; and that john grew really fond of tom. for sometimes after eating his dinner, instead of drawing in his neck and going quickly to sleep as his brother peter did, john started looking or staring at tom, if he happened to be lying reading out of doors. it was a long, steady, stony stare, that lasted for perhaps half an hour at a time. bernard used to say that he saw a smile on john's face; but tom would not admit that. however, there was no mistake 218 a willing pupil. about the staring; for tom used to shift his position, and the head and neck followed him slowly round. but john never turned his body round. that would have been far too much trouble. when tom got tired of being stared at like this he used to call for pussy. that was enough for john. "pshaw!" he would cry, and in would go the neck. in about a month's time bernard herbert, though still dressed in garments made of skin, was as thoroughly civilized as could be wished, and his english was now unexceptionably good. but though a handsome man, he was a terribly red-brown one. the tanning his skin had received in the wilds of the eastern lands of ecuador would probably never leave it; only there was surely nothing to be sorry for on this account. tom had commenced to teach bernard to read, and, partly because his heart was in it, and partly because he really was very clever, he soon made excellent progress. one forenoon when brandy was away in the woods tom had just sat down to give brother bernard, as he called him, a lesson, when they heard a distant shout, and looking up beheld the negro boy coming rushing wildly over the plain. tom ran for his rifle, then hastened to meet him, not knowing what might be the matter. 66 a ship! a ship!" 219 he hailed the lad when near enough; but brandy had no voice now, he could only point away seawards and make faces. "is it a ship?" cried tom. brandy signalled assent, and back ran tom, shouting wildly, madly, exultantly— "a ship! a ship!" and bernard threw his goat-skin cap in the air and joined the chorus, for brandy had recovered his breath, and the very woods and welkin rang with"a ship! a ship! !" then away they all hurried together to the look-out station. the vessel was standing steadily in towards the land, with all sail set. but tom had only to look at her once before he exclaimed: "o, bernard, it is the caledonia! it is your father's ship!" bernard smiled faintly, then pressed both hands to his heart, as if in sudden pain. strong man though he was, the joyful and sudden news was almost too much for him. he recovered in a moment though; then, as if by some sudden impulse, the three joined hands and danced and capered there until they were fain to desist from sheer exhaustion. they quieted down after this. they had allayed their excitement, blown off their steam. but for the time 220 allaying the feelings. being surely no madder, dafter dance had ever been danced on a hilltop. brandy, with his black face and white rolling eyes, the wild red man in his skins, and honest tom talisker in his ragsa comical trio! i think when the dance was over they were all a little ashamed of it; but after all what else could they have done under the circumstances? "well, sah," said ginger brandy, "i'se 'llayed my feelings plenty proper." "and i've allayed mine," said tom. "i think," said bernard, "that dance has saved my reason." "and now," cried tom, "look, yonder goes the anchor down. let us run and meet them." well, surely there is truth in the old saying that wonders will never cease, for who should tom meet near the shore coming panting up the tortoise-path but uncle robert himself. "o, may the lord be praised, my boy, we have found you." and for one moment tom in his rags was pressed to the old man's heart, and, will it be believed, he was sobbing like a child. uncle robert saw he could not speak, though he was trying hard to, so he wisely forestalled his questions. "your mother and father, sister and brothers are all well, and 'theena is here on board the caledonia." "i am your boy." 221 about the same time an earnest-eyed red man in goat skins had rushed up to captain herbert on the beach. "father," he said. "do not start, i am your boy, bernard!" but wonders had not ceased even yet. for, coming along the path, clambering over lumps of scoriæ and kicking away cinders, was barnaby blunt himself. "i tell you what it is, friends, this is about the prettiest bit of an ending to a drama that ever i see'd in all my born days, and i reckon nobody'll care to contradict me. here was captain barnaby blunt foundered at sea, and took to boats, separated from his dinghy and finally picked up by a whaler, who landed him at buenos ayres. here five months afterwards was captain herbert, and my young friend's uncle robert, come out from england to look for their runaway boys, and here we all meet again as unexpected as if we had dropped out of a balloon. if it ain't about the strangest and queerest thing that ever happened, then may barnaby blunt never command a ship of his own again, nor meet his dear old wife, 'liza ann. and here's brandy himself." then this queer old quaker yankee got serious all at once. "i say, men and boys," he said, "don't you think we've all got a deal to be thankful for. then let 222 on board the "caledonia." us just kneel down here among the cinders and praise god's holy name." they did kneel down-just there, where they had been standing, and if barnaby blunt's prayer was brief it was heartfelt. · reader, my story is all but ended, and i am not the one to keep the curtain up a single minute longer than is necessary. just as they were then, in their rags and skins, captain herbert insisted on bundling them on board the caledonia. "bundling" is the right word in the right place. when tom talisker saw advancing to meet him on the quarter-deck a beautiful girl of some seventeen summers—we should always call it summers when talking of a lady's age-he felt inclined to hang fire, and bernard was half afraid too. but tom soon screwed up his courage, took brother bernard by the hand, and both advanced; and when she looked at them 'theena first smiled and then laughed right heartily, though the tears were rolling over her face all the time. and everybody joined in the laugh, even the crusoes themselves. the treasure was safely loaded and stowed, and let me say to his credit that barnaby blunt was not a bit jealous of the young men's luck. farewell. 223 "'liza ann and me has eno', praised be his name," said barnaby, “and i wish you long life and luck to spend your fortune, boys." when boats at guayaquil brought off tom's treasures of natural history, and brought off at the same time his old friend samaro to see uncle robert, the latter was indeed a proud and happy man. and his parting with his quondam guide was quite affecting. "my boy tom may see you again, samaro,” he said, "he is a rover born; but i never shall till we meet up bye. farewell!” "a dios, my good señor. a dios." these were samaro's last words as he went slowly over the side. it was many months after this ere the good ship caledonia was towed up the clyde; but the long voyage had been a very happy one, almost idyllic indeed, and ere it was all ended 'theena had one evening under the silvery stars promised tom talisker that she would take a longer voyage with him the voyage through life. they are living now at craigielea; tom's parents still keep the fine old farm, but tom himself lives at craigie castle, and owns the shootings. black tom, the cat, is also alive and very living like. uncle robert has rooms at the castle too. the place would not be complete without uncle robert. 224 the "southern hope." "" bernard is still a bachelor and likely to be, but he has bought a fine estate not far from tom's place. between them they own a very beautiful yacht, with decks white as snow and sails like sea-bird's wings; but only their most intimate friends know the reason why she is named the southern hope. the end. blackie & son's catalogue of books for young people. including works by g. a. henty. prof. a. j. church. s. baring-gould. g. manville fenn. george mac donald, ll.d. harry collingwood. g. norway. dr. gordon stables. ascott r. hope. rosa mulholland. john c. hutcheson. sarah doudney. and other popular authors. f. frankfort moore. alice corkran. mary c. rowsell. 4 blackie & son's books for young people. by g. a. henty. "among writers of stories of adventure for boys mr. henty stands in the very first rank."-academy. the lion of the north: a tale of gustavus adolphus and the wars of religion. by g. a. henty. with 12 page pictures by j. schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "as we might expect from mr. henty the tale is a clever and instructive piece of history, and as boys may be trusted to read it conscientiously, they can hardly fail to be profited as well as pleased."-the times. "a praiseworthy attempt to interest british youth in the great deeds of the scotch brigade in the wars of gustavus adolphus. mackay, hepburn, and munro live again in mr. henty's pages, as those deserve to live whose disciplined bands formed really the germ of the modern british army."-athenæum. the young carthaginian: a story of the times of hannibal. by g. a. henty. with 12 full-page illustrations by c. j. staniland, r.i. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "the effect of an interesting story, well constructed and vividly told, is enhanced by the picturesque quality of the scenic background. from first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative. it bears us along as on a stream, whose current varies in direction, but never loses its force."-saturday review. "ought to be popular with boys who are not too ill instructed to be affected by a graphic picture of the days and deeds of hannibal."—athenæum. with wolfe in canada: or, the winning of a continent. by g. a. henty. with 12 full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "a model of what a boys' story-book should be. mr. henty has a great power of infusing into the dead facts of history new life, and as no pains are spared by him to ensure accuracy in historic details, his books supply useful aids to study as well as amusement."-school guardian. "it is not only a lesson in history as instructively as it is graphically told, but also a deeply interesting and often thrilling tale of adventure and peril by flood and field."-illustrated london news. with clive in india: or, the beginnings of an empire. by g. a. henty. with 12 full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "in this book mr. henty has contrived to exceed himself in stirring adventures and thrilling situations. the pictures add greatly to the interest of the book. saturday review. "among writers of stories of adventure for boys mr. henty stands in the very first rank. those who know something about india will be the most ready to thank mr. henty for giving them this instructive volume to place in the hands of their children."-academy. true to the old flag: a tale of the american war of independence. by g. a. henty. with 12 full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "does justice to the pluck and determination of the british soldiers. the son of an american loyalist, who remains true to our flag, falls among the hostile redskins in that very huron country which has been endeared to us by the exploits of hawkeye and chingachgook."-the times. "mr. henty's extensive personal experience of adventures and moving incidents by flood and field, combined with a gift of picturesque narrative, make his books always welcome visitors in the home circle."-daily news. blackie & son's books for young people. 5 by g. a. henty. "mr. henty is one of our most successful writers of historical tales."-scotsman. in freedom's cause: a story of wallace and bruce. by g. a. henty. with 12 full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "mr. henty has broken new ground as an historical novelist. his tale of the days of wallace and bruce is full of stirring action, and will commend itself to boys."-athenæum. "scarcely anywhere have we seen in prose a more lucid and spirit-stirring description of bannockburn than the one with which the author fittingly closes his volume."-dumfries standard. through the fray: a story of the luddite riots. by g. a. henty. with 12 full-page illustrations by h. m. paget. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "mr. henty inspires a love and admiration for straightforwardness, truth, and courage. this is one of the best of the many good books mr. henty has produced, and deserves to be classed with his facing death."-standard. "the interest of the story never flags. were we to propose a competition for the best list of novel writers for boys we have little doubt that mr. henty's name would stand first."—journal of education. captain bayley's heir: a tale of the gold fields of california. by g. a. henty. with 12 full-page illustrations by h. m. paget. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "a westminster boy who makes his way in the world by hard work, good temper, and unfailing courage. the descriptions given of life are just what a healthy intelligent lad should delight in."-st. james's gazette. "the portraits of captain bayley, and the head-master of westminster school, are admirably drawn; and the adventures in california are told with that vigour which is peculiar to mr. henty."-the academy. by george macdonald. a rough shaking. by george mac donald, ll.d., author of "robert falconer," &c. with 12 full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. clare, the hero of the story, is a boy whose mother is killed at his side by the fall of a church during an earthquake. the kindly clergyman and his wife, who adopt him, die while he is still very young, and he is thrown upon the world a second time. the narrative of his wanderings is full of interest and novelty, the boy's unswerving honesty and his passion for children and animals leading him into all sorts of adventures. he works on a farm, supports a baby in an old deserted house, finds employment in a menagerie, is taken into service by an old lady, becomes a bank clerk, is kidnapped, and ultimately discovers his father on board the ship to which he has been conveyed. the story will certainly rank amongst the best of dr. mac donald's books for boys. 6 blackie & son's books for young people. by george manville fenn. "mr. fenn is in the front rank of writers of stories for boys."-liverpool mercury. quicksilver: or, a boy with no skid to his wheel. by george manville fenn. with 10 full-page illustrations by frank dadd. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "quicksilver is little short of an inspiration. in it that prince of story-writers for boys-george manville fenn-has surpassed himself. it is an ideal book for a boy's library."-practical teacher. "the story is capitally told, it abounds in graphic and well-described scenes, and it has an excellent and manly tone throughout."-the guardian. "this is one of mr. fenn's happiest efforts, and deserves to be read and re-read by every school-boy in the land. we are not exaggerating when we say that quicksilver has nothing to equal it this season."-teachers' ăid. dick o' the fens: a romance of the great east swamp. by g. manville fenn. with 12 full-page illustrations by frank dadd. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "we conscientiously believe that boys will find it capital reading. it is full of incident and mystery, and the mystery is kept up to the last moment. it is rich in effective local colouring; and it has a historical interest."-times. "we have not of late come across a historical fiction, whether intended for boys or for men, which deserves to be so heartily and unreservedly praised as regards plot, incidents, and spirit as dick o' the fens. it is its author's masterpiece as yet."-spectator. devon boys: a tale of the north shore. by g. manville fenn. with 12 full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "an admirable story, as remarkable for the individuality of its young heroes as for the excellent descriptions of coast scenery and life in north devon. it is one of the best books we have seen this season."-athenæum. "we do not know that mr. fenn has ever reached a higher level than he has in devon boys. it must be put in the very front rank of christmas books."spectator. brownsmith's boy: a romance in a garden. by g. manville fenn. with 12 full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "mr. fenn's books are among the best, if not altogether the best, of the stories for boys. mr. fenn is at his best in brownsmith's boy."-pictorial world. "brownsmith's boy must rank among the few undeniably good boys' books. he will be a very dull boy indeed who lays it down without wishing that it had gone on for at least 100 pages more."-north british mail. in the king's name: or, the cruise of the kestrel. by g. manville fenn. illustrated by 12 full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "a capital boys' story, full of incident and adventure, and told in the lively style in which mr. fenn is such an adept."-globe. "the best of all mr. fenn's productions in this field. it has the great quality of always 'moving on,' adventure following adventure in constant succession."— daily news. blackie & son's books for young people. 7 by george manville fenn. "our boys know mr. fenn well, his stories having won for him a foremost place in their estimation."-pall mall gazette. bunyip land: the story of a wild journey in new guinea. by g. manville fenn. with 12 full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "one of the best tales of adventure produced by any living writer."-daily chronicle. "mr. fenn deserves the thanks of everybody for bunyip land, and we may venture to promise that a quiet week may be reckoned on whilst the youngsters have such fascinating literature provided for their evenings' amusement."-spectator. the golden magnet: a tale of the land of the incas. by g. manville fenn. illustrated by 12 full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 68. "this is, we think, the best boys' book mr. fenn has produced. illustrations are perfect in their way."-globe. the "there could be no more welcome present for a boy. there is not a dull page in the book, and many will be read with breathless interest. "the golden magnet' is, of course, the same one that attracted raleigh and the heroes of westward ho!"-journal of education. the log of the "flying fish:" a story of aerial and submarine peril and adventure. by harry collingwood. with 12 full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "the flying fish actually surpasses all jules verne's creations; with incredible speed she flies through the air, skims over the surface of the water, and darts along the ocean bed. we strongly recommend our school-boy friends to possess themselves of her log."-athenæum. under false colours. by sarah doudney. with 12 fullpage illustrations by g. g. kilburne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "this is a charming story, abounding in delicate touches of sentiment and pathos. its plot is skilfully contrived. it will be read with a warm interest by every girl who takes it up."-scotsman. "sarah doudney has no superior as a writer of high-toned stories-pure in style, original in conception, and with skilfully wrought-out plots; but we have seen nothing from this lady's pen equal in dramatic energy to her latest workunder false colours."-christian leader. robinson crusoe. by daniel defoe. illustrated by 100 pictures by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 6s. "one of the best issues, if not absolutely the best, of defoe's work which has ever appeared."-the standard. "the best edition i have come across for years. if you know a boy who has not a 'robinson crusoe,' just glance at any one of these hundred illustrations, and you will go no further afield in search of a present for him."-truth. 8 blackie & son's books for young people. new edition of the universe. the universe: or, the infinitely great and the infinitely little. a sketch of contrasts in creation, and marvels revealed and explained by natural science. by f. a. pouchet, m.d. with 272 engravings on wood, of which 55 are full-page size, and a coloured frontispiece. tenth edition, medium 8vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, 7s. 6d.; also morocco antique, 16s. "we can honestly commend professor pouchet's book, which is admirably, as it is copiously illustrated."-the times. "this book is as interesting as the most exciting romance, and a great deal more likely to be remembered to good purpose."-standard. "scarcely any book in french or in english is so likely to stimulate in the young an interest in the physical phenomena."-fortnightly review. by s. baring-gould. grettir the outlaw: a story of iceland. by s. baringgould, author of "john herring," "mehalah," &c. with 10 fullpage illustrations by m. zeno diemer, and a coloured map. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "a foremost place in the boys' fiction of the season must be given to grettir the outlaw."-globe. "is the boys' book of its year. that is, of course, as much as to say that it will do for men grown as well as juniors. it is told in simple, straightforward english, as all stories should be, and it has a freshness, a freedom, a sense of sun and wind and the open air, which make it irresistible."-scots observer. by professor a. j. church. two thousand years ago: or, the adventures of a roman boy. by professor a. j. church. with 12 full-page illustrations by adrien marie. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 6s. "adventures well worth the telling. the book is extremely entertaining as well as useful, and there is a wonderful freshness in the roman scenes and characters."-the times. "we know of no book which will do more to make the romans of that day live again for the english reader."-guardian. by rosa mulholland. giannetta: a girl's story of herself. by rosa mulholland. with 8 full-page illustrations by lockhart bogle. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "giannetta is a true heroine-warm-hearted, self-sacrificing, and, as all good women nowadays are, largely touched with the enthusiasm of humanity. one of the most attractive gift-books of the season."-the academy. "no better book could be selected for a young girl's reading, as its object is evidently to hold up a mirror, in which are seen some of the brightest and noblest traits in the female character."--schoolmistress. blackie & son's books for young people. 9 by g. a. henty. "the brightest of all the living writers whose office it is to enchant the boys." --christian leader. maori and settler: a story of the new zealand war. by with 8 full-page illustrations by alfred pearse, g. a. henty. and a map. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. the renshaws lose their property by a bank failure and emigrate to new zealand during the period of the war with the natives. wilfrid renshaw, a strong, self-reliant, courageous lad, is the main-stay of the household, his father being a dreamer whose archæological researches have somewhat weakened his hold upon the present and the practical. even wilfrid, however, would have succeeded indifferently, but for the assistance of his older friend, mr. atherton, a botanist and naturalist, whose herculean strength and unfailing nerve and humour make him perhaps the central figure of the story. during the eventful voyage out, and in the subsequent adventures among the maoris, there are many breathless moments in which the odds seem hopelessly against the party, but they succeed in the end in establishing themselves happily in one of the pleasantest of the new zealand valleys. one of the 28th: a tale of waterloo. by g. a. henty. with 8 full-page illustrations by w. h. overend, and 2 maps. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "written with homeric vigour and heroic inspiration. it is graphic, picturesque, and dramatically effective shows us mr. henty at his best and brightest. the adventures will hold a boy of a winter's night enthralled as he rushes through them with breathless interest 'from cover to cover." "—observer. "contains one of the best descriptions of the various battles which raged round waterloo which it has ever been our fate to read."-daily telegraph. the cat of bubastes: a story of ancient egypt. by g. a. henty. with 8 full-page illustrations by j. r. weguelin. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "the story is highly enjoyable. we have pictures of egyptian domestic life, of sport, of religious ceremonial, and of other things which may still be seen vividly portrayed by the brush of egyptian artists."-the spectator. "the story, from the critical moment of the killing of the sacred cat to the perilous exodus into asia with which it closes, is very skilfully constructed and full of exciting adventures. it is admirably illustrated."--saturday review. the dragon and the raven: or, the days of king alfred. by g. a. henty. with 8 page illustrations by c. j. staniland, r.i. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "we know of no popular book in which the stirring incidents of alfred's reign are made accessible to young readers as they are here."-scotsman. "a story that may justly be styled remarkable. boys, in reading it, will be surprised to find how alfred persevered, through years of bloodshed and times of peace, to rescue his people from the thraldom of the danes. we hope the book will soon be widely known in all our schools."-schoolmaster. 10 blackie & son's books for young people. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty is the king of story-tellers for boys."-sword and trowel. st. george for england: a tale of cressy and poitiers. by g. a. henty. with 8 full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "mr. henty's historical novels for boys bid fair to supplement, on their behalf, the historical labours of sir walter scott in the land of fiction."-standard. "a story of very great interest for boys. in his own forcible style the author has endeavoured to show that determination and enthusiasm can accomplish marvellous results; and that courage is generally accompanied by magnanimity and gentleness."-pall mall gazette. the bravest of the brave: with peterborough in spain. by g. a. henty. with 8 full-page pictures by h. m. paget. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "mr. henty never loses sight of the moral purpose of his work-to enforce the doctrine of courage and truth, mercy and lovingkindness, as indispensable to the making of an english gentleman. british lads will read the bravest of the brave with pleasure and profit; of that we are quite sure."-daily telegraph. for name and fame: or, through afghan passes. by g. a. henty. with 8 full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 58. "the best feature of the book, apart from its scenes of adventure, is its honest effort to do justice to the patriotism of the afghan people."-daily news. "not only a rousing story, replete with all the varied forms of excitement of a campaign, but, what is still more useful, an account of a territory and its inhabitants which must for a long time possess a supreme interest for englishmen, as being the key to our indian empire."-glasgow herald. in the reign of terror: the adventures of a westminster boy. by g. a. henty. with 8 full-page illustrations by j. schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 58. "harry sandwith, the westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat mr. henty's record. his adventures will delight boys by the audacity and peril they depict. the story is one of mr. henty's best."-saturday review. orange and green: a tale of the boyne and limerick. by g. a. henty. with 8 full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "an extremely spirited story, based on the struggle in ireland, rendered memorable by the defence of 'derry and the siege of limerick."-sat. review. "the narrative is free from the vice of prejudice, and ripples with life as vivacious as if what is being described were really passing before the eye. should be in the hands of every young student of irish history."-belfast news. by sheer pluck: a tale of the ashanti war. by g. a. henty. with 8 full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "by sheer pluck will be eagerly read. the author's personal knowledge of the west coast has been turned to good advantage."-athenæum. "morally, the book is everything that could be desired, setting before the boys a bright and bracing ideal of the english gentleman."-christian leader. blackie & son's books for young people. by g. a. henty. 11 "mr. g. a. henty's fame as a writer of boys' stories is deserved and secure."— cork herald. . a final reckoning: a tale of bush life in australia. by g. a. henty. with 8 full-page illustrations by w. b. wollen. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "exhibits mr. henty's talent as a story-teller at his best. the drawings possess the uncommon merit of really illustrating the text."-saturday review. "all boys will read this story with eager and unflagging interest. the episodes are in mr. henty's very best vein-graphic, exciting, realistic; and, as in all mr. henty's books, the tendency is to the formation of an honourable, manly, and even heroic character."-birmingham post. facing death: or, the hero of the vaughan pit. a tale of the coal mines. by g. a. henty. with 8 page pictures by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "if any father, godfather, clergyman, or schoolmaster is on the look-out for a good book to give as a present to a boy who is worth his salt, this is the book we would recommend."-standard. "the hero starts life as a 'gate-boy, and, after years of hard work, makes a fortune and becomes a famous mining expert. the descriptions of pit life are extremely graphic. a thoroughly good book."-pall mall gazette. by f. frankfort moore. highways and high seas: cyril harley's adventures on both. by f. frankfort moore. with 8 full-page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "this is one of the best stories mr. moore has written, perhaps the very best. the exciting adventures among highwaymen and privateers are sure to attract boys."-spectator. "it is pleasant to come across such honest work as f. frankfort moore's highways and high seas, especially as he breathes a vein of genuine humour, his captain chink being a real achievement in characterization." '-scots observer. under hatches: or, ned woodthorpe's adventures. by f. frankfort moore. with 8 full-page illustrations by a. forestier. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "mr. moore has never shown himself so thoroughly qualified to write books for boys as he has done in under hatches."-the academy. "the story as a story is one that will just suit boys all the world over. the characters are well drawn and consistent; patsy, the irish steward, will be found especially amusing."-schoolmaster. perseverance island: or, the robinson crusoe of the 19th century. by douglas frazar. with 12 full-page illustrations. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "this second robinson crusoe is certainly a marvellous man. his determination to overcome all difficulties, and his subsequent success, should alone make this a capital book for boys. it is altogether a worthy successor to the ancient robinson crusoe."-glasgow herald. 12 blackie & son's books for young people. · by george manville fenn. "no one can find his way to the hearts of lads more readily than mr. fenn.”— nottingham guardian. yussuf the guide: being the strange story of travels in asia minor. by g. manville fenn. with 8 page illustrations by j. schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "the narrative will take its readers into scenes that will have great novelty and attraction for them, and the experiences with the brigands will be especially delightful to boys."-scotsman. menhardoc: a story of cornish nets and mines. by g. manville fenn. with 8 full-page illustrations by c. j. staniland. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "they are real living boys, with their virtues and faults. the cornish fishermen are drawn from life, they are racy of the soil, salt with the sea-water, and they stand out from the pages in their jerseys and sea-boots all sprinkled with silvery pilchard scales."-spectator. mother carey's chicken: her voyage to the unknown isle. by g. manville fenn. with 8 full-page illustrations by a. forestier. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "jules verne himself never constructed a more marvellous tale. for anything to match his realistic touch we must go to daniel defoe."-christian leader. "when we get to the unknown isle,' the story becomes exciting. mr. fenn keeps his readers in a suspense that is not intermitted for a moment, and the dénouement is a surprise which is as probable as it is startling."-spectator. patience wins: or, war in the works. by g. manville fenn. with 8 full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "mr. fenn is at his best in patience wins. it is sure to prove acceptable to youthful readers, and will give a good idea of that which was the real state of one of our largest manufacturing towns not many years ago."-guardian. nat the naturalist: a boy's adventures in the eastern seas. by g. manville fenn. with 8 full-page pictures. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "among the best of the many good books for boys that have come out this season. "-times. "this sort of book encourages independence of character, develops resource, and teaches a boy to keep his eyes open."-saturday review. gulliver's travels. 66 by gordon browne. illustrated by more than 100 pictures crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. by help of the admirable illustrations, and a little judicious skipping, it has enchanted a family party of ages varying from six to sixty. which of the other christmas books could stand this test?"-journal of education. "mr. gordon browne is, to my thinking, incomparably the most artistic, spirited, and brilliant of our illustrators of books for boys, and one of the most humorous also, as his illustrations of 'gulliver' amply testify."-truth. blackie & son's books for young people. 13 by dr. gordon stables. 'twixt school and college: a tale of self-reliance. by gordon stables, c.m., m.d., r.n. with 8 full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. a story, the attractiveness of which lies less in the narration of startling adventures than in the incidents of home life which fill up the interval between the school life and college life of fred hallam. dr. gordon stables' interest in natural history and domestic pets is well known, and his clever animal pictures, like that of the eccentric cat in the hermit hunter of the wilds, have always added in no small degree to the charm of his works. the hero is presented by his father with an outlying cottage and garden on the farm, and the gift is turned to pleasant account as a place of residence for a whole menagerie of pets dear to the heart of most healthy-minded boys. by harry collingwood. the pirate island: a story of the south pacific. by harry collingwood. with 8 full-page pictures by c. j. stani-. land and j. r. wells. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 58. "a capital story of the sea; indeed in our opinion the author is superior in some respects as a marine novelist to the better known mr. clarke russell.”—the times. "told in the most vivid and graphic language. it would be difficult to find a more thoroughly delightful gift-book."-guardian. the missing merchantman. by harry collingwood. with 8 full-page illustrations by w. h. overend. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "mr. collingwood is facile princeps as a teller of sea stories for boys, and the present is one of the best productions of his pen."-standard. "this is one of the author's best sea stories. the hero is as heroic as any boy could desire, and the ending is extremely happy."-british weekly. the rover's secret: a tale of the pirate cays and lagoons of cuba. by harry collingwood. with 8 full-page illustrations by w. c. symons. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "the rover's secret is by far the best sea story we have read for years, and is certain to give unalloyed pleasure to boys. the illustrations are fresh and vigorous."-saturday review. the congo rovers: a story of the slave squadron. by harry collingwood. with 8 full-page illustrations by j. schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 58. "no better sea story has lately been written than the congo rovers. it is as original as any boy could desire."-morning post. 14 blackie & son's books for young people. by george macdonald. at the back of the north wind. by george mac donald, ll.d. with 75 illustrations by arthur hughes. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "in at the back of the north wind we stand with one foot in fairyland and one on common earth. the story is thoroughly original, full of fancy and pathos, and underlaid with earnest but not too obtrusive teaching."—the times. ranald bannerman's boyhood. by george macdonald, ll.d. with 36 illustrations by arthur hughes. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 58. "the sympathy with boy-nature in ranald bannerman's boyhood is perfect. it is a beautiful picture of childhood, teaching by its impressions and suggestions all noble things.”—british quarterly review. the princess and the goblin. by george macdonald, ll.d. with 30 illustrations by arthur hughes, and 2 fullpage pictures by h. petherick. crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "little of what is written for children has the lightness of touch and play of fancy which are characteristic of george mac donald's fairy tales. mr. arthur hughes's illustrations are all that illustrations should be."-manchester guardian. "a model of what a child's book ought to be-interesting, instructive, and poetical. we cordially recommend it as one of the very best gift-books we have yet come across."-elgin courant. the princess and curdie. by george mac donald, ll.d. with 8 full-page illustrations by james allen. crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "there is the finest and rarest genius in this brilliant story. upgrown people would do wisely occasionally to lay aside their newspapers and magazines to spend an hour with curdie and the princess."-sheffield independent. by ascott r. hope. the seven wise scholars. by ascott r. hope. with nearly one hundred illustrations by gordon browne. square 8vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, 58. "as full of fun as a volume of punch; with illustrations, more laughterprovoking than most we have seen since leech died."-sheffield independent. "a capital story, full of fun and happy comic fancies. the tale would put the sourest-tempered boy into a good humour, and to an imaginative child would be a source of keen delight."-scotsman. the wigwam and the war-path: stories of the red indians. by ascott r. hope. with 8 full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 5s. "all the stories are told well, in simple spirited language and with a fulness of letail that makes them instructive as well as interesting."—journal of education. blackie & son's books for young people. by g. norway. 15 hussein the hostage: or, a boy's adventures in persia. by g. norway. with 8 full-page illustrations by john schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. the narrative of the adventures of the young prince hussein and his faithful follower askar in their endeavour to free their oppressed tribe from the persian yoke. hussein is for some time held captive by the persians, and askar, after storing a secret cavern with provisions, sets off to rescue him. he is himself kidnapped, however, and sold to a travelling showman. askar at length rejoins hussein, who has escaped in disguise, gathered about him some of his old adherents, and is holding the cavern against the persian forces. these are happily dispersed at the moment when success seems assured to them. the book has the same originality of conception and treatment which characterized the author's previous story-the loss of john humble. the loss of john humble: what led to it, and what came of it. by g. norway. with 8 full-page illustrations by john schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "this story will place the author at once in the front rank. it is full of life and adventure. he is equally at home in his descriptions of life in sweden and in the more stirring passages of wreck and disaster, and the interest of the story is sustained without a break from first to last."-standard. "since the days when we read robinson crusoe no book of its kind has delighted us more. it is just the gift-book for boys."-schoolmaster. 66 'among books of stirring adventure we can highly commend the loss of john humble."-guardian. by sarah tytler. girl neighbours: or, the old fashion and the new. by sarah tytler. with 8 full-page illustrations by c. t. garland. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "one of the most effective and quietly humorous of miss sarah tytler's stories. very healthy, very agreeable, and very well written."-spectator. by g. a. henty. a chapter of adventures: or, through the bombardment of alexandria. by g. a. henty. with 6 full-page illustrations by w. h. overend. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. an east-coast fishing lad, by an act of heroism, secures the interest of a ship-owner, who places him as an apprentice on board one of his ships. in company with two of his fellow-apprentices he is left behind, at alexandria, in the hands of the revolted egyptian troops, and is present through the bombardment and the scenes of riot and bloodshed which accompanied it. they ultimately effect their escape, and in the subsequent terrible voyage their ship is wrecked, and only the hero and a friend are saved. the yarns of an old seaman on board add to the interest of the exciting events of the narrative itself. 14 blackie & son's books for young people. by george macdonald. at the back of the north wind. by george mac donald, ll.d. with 75 illustrations by arthur hughes. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "in at the back of the north wind we stand with one foot in fairyland and one on common earth. the story is thoroughly original, full of fancy and pathos, and underlaid with earnest but not too obtrusive teaching."-the times. ranald bannerman's boyhood. by george macdonald, ll.d. with 36 illustrations by arthur hughes. cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. crown 8vo, "the sympathy with boy-nature in ranald bannerman's boyhood is perfect. it is a beautiful picture of childhood, teaching by its impressions and suggestions all noble things.”—british quarterly review. the princess and the goblin. by george macdonald, ll.d. with 30 illustrations by arthur hughes, and 2 fullpage pictures by h. petherick. crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "little of what is written for children has the lightness of touch and play of fancy which are characteristic of george mac donald's fairy tales. mr. arthur hughes's illustrations are all that illustrations should be."-manchester guardian. "a model of what a child's book ought to be-interesting, instructive, and poetical. we cordially recommend it as one of the very best gift-books we have yet come across."-elgin courant. the princess and curdie. by george mac donald, ll.d. with 8 full-page illustrations by james allen. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. crown "there is the finest and rarest genius in this brilliant story. upgrown people would do wisely occasionally to lay aside their newspapers and magazines to spend an hour with curdie and the princess."-sheffield independent. by ascott r. hope. the seven wise scholars. by ascott r. hope. with nearly one hundred illustrations by gordon browne. square 8vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, 58. "as full of fun as a volume of punch; with illustrations, more laughterprovoking than most we have seen since leech died."-sheffield independent. "a capital story, full of fun and happy comic fancies. the tale would put the sourest-tempered boy into a good humour, and to an imaginative child would be a source of keen delight."-scotsman. the wigwam and the war-path: stories of the red indians. by ascott r. hope. with 8 full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 5s. "all the stories are told well, in simple spirited language and with a fulness of letail that makes them instructive as well as interesting."-journal of education. blackie & son's books for young people. by g. norway. 15 hussein the hostage: or, a boy's adventures in persia. by g. norway. with 8 full-page illustrations by john schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. the narrative of the adventures of the young prince hussein and his faithful follower askar in their endeavour to free their oppressed tribe from the persian yoke. hussein is for some time held captive by the persians, and askar, after storing a secret cavern with provisions, sets off to rescue him. he is himself kidnapped, however, and sold to a travelling showman. askar at length rejoins hussein, who has escaped in disguise, gathered about him some of his old adherents, and is holding the cavern against the persian forces. these are happily dispersed at the moment when success seems assured to them. the book has the same originality of conception and treatment which characterized the author's previous story-the loss of john humble. the loss of john humble: what led to it, and what came of it. by g. norway. with 8 full-page illustrations by john schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "this story will place the author at once in the front rank. it is full of life and adventure. he is equally at home in his descriptions of life in sweden and in the more stirring passages of wreck and disaster, and the interest of the story is sustained without a break from first to last."-standard. "since the days when we read robinson crusoe no book of its kind has delighted us more. it is just the gift-book for boys."-schoolmaster. 66 among books of stirring adventure we can highly commena the loss of john humble."-guardian. by sarah tytler. girl neighbours: or, the old fashion and the new. by sarah tytler. with 8 full-page illustrations by c. t. garland. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 5s. "one of the most effective and quietly humorous of miss sarah tytler's stories. very healthy, very agreeable, and very well written."-spectator. by g. a. henty. a chapter of adventures: or, through the bombardment of alexandria. by g. a. henty. with 6 full-page illustrations by w. h. overend. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. an east-coast fishing lad, by an act of heroism, secures the interest of a ship-owner, who places him as an apprentice on board one of his ships. in company with two of his fellow-apprentices he is left behind, at alexandria, in the hands of the revolted egyptian troops, and is present through the bombardment and the scenes of riot and bloodshed which accompanied it. they ultimately effect their escape, and in the subsequent terrible voyage their ship is wrecked, and only the hero and a friend are saved. the yarns of an old seaman on board add to the interest of the exciting events of the narrative itself. 16 blackie & son's books for young people. by john c. hutcheson. afloat at last: a sailor boy's log of his life at sea. by john c. hutcheson. with 6 full-page illustrations by w. h. overend. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. "as healthy and breezy a book as one could wish to put into the hands of a boy."-academy. "a tale of seafaring life told with fire and enthusiasm, full of spirited incident and well-drawn character."-observer. picked up at sea: or, the gold miners of minturne creek. by j c. hutcheson. with 6 full-page pictures. cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "the author's success with this book is so marked that it may well encourage him to further efforts. the description of mining life in the far-west is true and accurate."-standard. the white squall: a story of the sargasso sea. by john c. hutcheson. with 6 full-page illustrations by john schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. "few writers have made such rapid improvement in the course of a few years as has the author of this capital story. boys will find it difficult to lay down the book till they have got to the end."-standard. "the sketches of tropical life are so good as sometimes to remind us of tom cringle and the cruise of the midge."-times. the wreck of the nancy bell: or, cast away on kerguelen land. by john c. hutcheson. illustrated by 6 full-page pictures. crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "a full circumstantial narrative such as boys delight in. the ship so sadly destined to wreck on kerguelen land is manned by a very lifelike party, passengers and the life in the antarctic iceland is well treated."-athenæum. crew. sir walter's ward: a tale of the crusades. by william everard. with 6 fall-page illustrations by walter paget. crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "this book will prove a very acceptable present either to boys or girls. both alike will take an interest in the career of dodo, in spite of his unheroic name, and follow him through his numerous and exciting adventures."s."—academy. stories of old renown: tales of knights and heroes. by ascott r. hope. with 100 illustrations by gordon browne. new edition. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. "a really fascinating book worthy of its telling title. there is, we venture to say, not a dull page in the book, not a story which will not bear a second reading."-guardian. brother and sister: or, the trials of the moore family. by elizabeth j. lysaght. with 6 full-page illustrations. crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "a pretty story, and well told. the plot is cleverly constructed, and the moral is excellent."-athenaeum. blackie & son's books for young people. 17 by mary c. rowsell. thorndyke manor: a tale of jacobite times. by mary c. rowsell. with 6 full-page illustrations by l. leslie brooke. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. "it is a good story, with plenty of 'go' in it."-times. "miss rowsell has never written a more attractive book than thorndyke manor."-belfast news-letter. traitor or patriot? a tale of the rye-house plot. by mary c. rowsell. with 6 full-page pictures by c. o. murray and c. j. staniland, r.i. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. "here the rye-house plot serves as the groundwork for a romantic love episode, whose true characters are lifelike beings, not dry sticks as in many historical tales."-graphic. meg's friend. by alice corkran. by alice corkran. with 6 full-page illustrations by robert fowler. crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "another of miss corkran's charming books for girls, narrated in that simple and picturesque style which marks the authoress as one of the first amongst writers for young people."-the spectator. margery merton's girlhood. by alice corkran. with 6 full-page pictures by gordon browne. cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "another book for girls we can warmly commend. there is a delightful piquancy in the experiences and trials of a young english girl who studies painting in paris."-saturday review. down the snow stairs: or, from good-night to goodmorning. by alice corkran. with 60 character illustrations by gordon browne. new edition. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, 3s. 6d. "a fascinating wonder-book for children."-athenæum. "a gem of the first water, bearing upon every page the mark of genius. it is indeed a little pilgrim's progress."-christian leader. silver mill: a tale of the don valley. by mrs. r. h. read. with 6 full-page illustrations by john schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. "a good girl's story-book. the plot is interesting, and the heroine, ruth, a lady by birth, though brought up in a humble station, well deserves the more elevated position in which the end of the book leaves her."-saturday review. dora: or, a girl without a home. by mrs. r. h. read. with 6 full-page illustrations. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. "it is no slight thing, in an age of rubbish, to get a story so pure and healthy as this."-the academy. b 18 blackie & son's books for young people. by caroline austin. cousin geoffrey and i. by caroline austin. with 6 full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. elegant, 3s. 6d. crown 8vo, cloth "miss austin's story is bright, clever, and well developed."-saturday review. "a powerfully written and realistic story of girl life. book is pure and good."-practical teacher. the tone of the hugh herbert's inheritance. by caroline austin. with 6 full-page illustrations by c. t. garland. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. "will please by its simplicity, its tenderness, and its healthy interesting motive. it is admirably written."-scotsman. "well and gracefully written, full of interest, and excellent in tone."-school guardian. by e. s. brooks. storied holidays: a cycle of red-letter days. by e. s. brooks. with 12 full-page illustrations by howard pyle. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. "it is a downright good book for a senior boy, and is eminently readable from first to last."-schoolmaster. "replete with interest from chapter i. to finis, and can be confidently recommended as one of the gems of messrs. blackie's collection."-teachers' aid. chivalric days: stories of courtesy and courage in the olden times. by e. s. brooks. with 20 illustrations by gordon browne and other artists. crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "we have seldom come across a prettier collection of tales. these charming stories of boys and girls of olden days are no mere fictitious or imaginary sketches, but are real and actual records of their sayings and doings. the illustrations are in gordon browne's happiest style."-literary world. historic boys: their endeavours, their achievements, and their times. by e. s. brooks. with 12 full-page illustrations by r. b. birch and john schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "a wholesome book, manly in tone, its character sketches enlivened by brisk dialogue and high-class illustrations; altogether one that should incite boys to further acquaintance with those rulers of men whose careers are narrated. we advise teachers to put it on their list of prizes."—knowledge. dr. jolliffe's boys: a tale of weston school. by lewis hough. with 6 full-page pictures. crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 'young people who appreciate tom brown's school-days will find this story a worthy companion to that fascinating book. there is the same manliness of tone, truthfulness of outline, avoidance of exaggeration and caricature, and healthy morality as characterized the masterpiece of mr. hughes."-newcastle journal. blackie & son's books for young people. 19 laugh and learn: the easiest book of nursery lessons and nursery games. by jennett humphreys. profusely illustrated. square 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "laugh and learn instructs and amuses; it is the very book for a wet day in the nursery, for besides solid instruction, admirably given, it contains numberless games and contrivances, with useful and amusing illustrations. the musical drill is remarkably good."--athenæum. "one of the best books of the kind imaginable, full of practical teaching in word and picture, and helping the little ones pleasantly along a right royal road to learning."-graphic. "if you want a really good book for young children, get laugh and learn.” -truth. "every mother of children should have laugh and learn, and go through with them the excellent course it contains."-journal of education. the search for the talisman: a story of labrador. by henry frith. with 6 full-page illustrations by j. schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. "mr. frith's volume will be among those most read and highest valued. the adventures among seals, whales, and icebergs in labrador will delight many a young reader, and at the same time give him an opportunity to widen his knowledge of the esquimaux, the heroes of many tales."-pall mall gazette. self-exiled: a story of the high seas and east africa. by j. a. steuart. with 6 full-page illustrations by j. schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. "it is cram full of thrilling situations. the number of miraculous escapes from death in all its shapes which the hero experiences in the course of a few months must be sufficient to satisfy the most voracious appetite."-schoolmaster. reefer and rifleman: a tale of the two services. by j. percy-groves, late 27th inniskillings. with 6 full-page illustrations by john schönberg. crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d. "a good, old-fashioned, amphibious story of our fighting with the frenchmen in the beginning of our century, with a fair sprinkling of fun and frolic.”—times. the bubbling teapot. a wonder story. by mrs. l. w. champney. with 12 full-page pictures by walter satterlee. crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "very literally a 'wonder story, and a wild and fanciful one. nevertheless it is made realistic enough, and there is a good deal of information to be gained from it. the steam from the magic teapot bubbles up into a girl, and the little girl, when the fancy takes her, can cry herself back into a teapot. transformed and enchanted she makes the tour of the globe."-the times. life's daily ministry: a story of everyday service for others. by mrs. e. r. pitman. with 4 full-page illustrations. crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "shows exquisite touches of a master hand. she depicts in graphic outline the characteristics of the beautiful and the good in life."-christian union. my governess life: or, earning my living. by mrs. e. r. pitman. with 4 full-page illustrations. cloth extra, 3s. 6d. "full of sound teaching and bright examples of character."—sunday-school chronicle. 20 blackie & son's books for young people. blackie's half-crown series. illustrated by eminent artists. in crown 8vo, cloth elegant. new volumes. the secret of the old house. a story for children. by evelyn everett-green. tim, a clever boy of romantic tendencies, and his sister dinah go to stay with their rich grandmother in the country, near an old house which has the reputation of being haunted. they not only see the ghost, but serenade it and make friends with it-the ghost proving to be an unhappy youth who has been allowed to seclude himself in one wing of the mansion. the two children succeed in effecting the restoration of the boy to health and his reconciliation with his grandfather. hal hungerford. by j. r. hutchinson, b.a. a boy sent out by an emigration society to a farmer in canada is charged with the committal of a serious crime. seeing no hope of clearing himself, he leaves his new home with a boy-companion, and they take up residence in an old block-house about which mysterious stories are told. they succeed in unravelling the mystery at no little cost, his companion dying of injuries received in the burning block-house, and he himself escaping death by the merest chance. the story is full of exciting incidents--a smuggler's cave guarded by a skeleton, a pirate's treasure, and the like. the golden weathercock. by julia goddard. the golden weathercock on the church tower has in virtue of his position the privilege of hearing about everything from everybody. from all quarters dainty and interesting stories reach his ears, and the comments and questions of the old gossip himself add piquancy to the interspersed narratives. the hermit hunter of the wilds. by gordon stables, c.m., m.d., r.n. "a boy's book par excellence."-freeman's journal. "pirates and pumas, mutiny and merriment, a castaway and a cat, furnish the materials for a tale that will gladden the heart of many a bright boy.". methodist recorder. white lilac: or, the queen of the may. by amy walton. "one of the most charming stories of the year."-pall mall gazette. "every here and there we are reminded of mrs. tulliver and sister pullet in the quaint dialogue of the story. every rural parish ought to add white lilac to its library."-academy. miriam's ambition: a story for children. by evelyn everett-green. "a high-minded, simple story, such as miss everett-green can tell so well." academy. "miss green's children are real british boys and girls, not small men and women. babs is a charming little one."-liverpool mercury. blackie & son's books for young people. 21 half-crown series-continued. little lady clare. by evelyn everett-green "certainly one of the prettiest, reminding us in its quaintness and tender pathos of mrs. ewing's delightful tales. this is quite one of the best stories miss green's clever pen has yet given us."-literary world. the eversley secrets. by evelyn everett-green. "is one of the best children's stories of the year."--academy. "a clever and well-told story. roy eversley is a very touching picture of high principle and unshrinking self-devotion in a good purpose."-guardian. the brig "audacious." by alan cole. by "this is a real boys' book. we have great pleasure in recommending it."english teacher. "bright and vivacious in style, and fresh and wholesome as a breath of sea air in tone."-court journal. the saucy may. by henry frith. "the book is certainly both interesting and exciting."-spectator. "mr. frith gives a new picture of life on the ocean wave which will be acceptable to all young people."-sheffield independent. jasper's conquest. by elizabeth j. lysaght. "one of the best boys' books of the season. it is full of stirring adventure and startling episodes, and yet conveys a splendid moral throughout."-schoolmaster. sturdy and strong: or, how george andrews made his way. by g. a. henty. "the history of a hero of everyday life, whose love of truth, clothing_of modesty, and innate pluck carry him, naturally, from poverty to affluence. he stands as a good instance of chivalry in domestic life."-the empire. gutta-percha willie, the working genius. by george mac donald, ll.d. "had we space we would fain quote page after page. all we have room to say is, get it for your boys and girls to read for themselves, and if they can't do that read it to them."-practical teacher. the war of the axe: or, adventures in south africa. by j. percy-groves. "the story of their final escape from the caffres is a marvellous bit of writing. the story is well and brilliantly told, and the illustrations are especially good and effective."-literary world. the lads of little clayton: stories of village boy life. by r. stead. "a capital book for boys. they will learn from its pages what true boy courage is. they will learn further to avoid all that is petty and mean if they read the tales aright. they may be read to a class with great profit."-schoolmaster. 22 blackie & son's books for young people. half-crown series-continued. ten boys who lived on the road from long ago to now. by jane andrews. with 20 illustrations. we "the idea of this book is a very happy one, and is admirably carried out. have followed the whole course of the work with exquisite pleasure. teachers should find it particularly interesting and suggestive."-practical teacher. a waif of the sea: or, the lost found. by kate wood. "written with tenderness and grace, the story will appeal to mothers who have felt the pain of being parted from their children, as powerfully as to the hearts and sympathies of younger readers."-morning advertiser. winnie's secret: a story of faith and patience. by kate wood. "one of the best story-books we have read. girls will be charmed with the tale, and delighted that everything turns out so well."-schoolmaster. miss willowburn's offer. by sarah doudney. "patience willowburn is one of miss doudney's best creations, and is the one personality in the story which can be said to give it the character of a book not for young ladies but for girls."-spectator. a garland for girls. by louisa m. alcott. "the garland will delight our girls, and show them how to make their lives fragrant with good deeds."-british weekly. "these little tales are the beau ideal of girls' stories."-christian world. hetty gray: or, nobody's bairn. by rosa mulholland. "a charming story for young folks. hetty is a delightful creature-piquant, tender, and true-and her varying fortunes are perfectly realistic."—world. brothers in arms: a story of the crusades. ford harrison. by f. bay"full of striking incident, is very fairly illustrated, and may safely be chosen as sure to prove interesting to young people of both sexes.' guardian. " the ball of fortune: or, ned somerset's inheritance. by charles pearce. "a capital story for boys. it is simply and brightly written. there is plenty of incident, and the interest is sustained throughout." journal of education. miss fenwick's failures: or, "peggy pepper-pot." by esmé stuart. "esmé stuart may be commended for producing a girl true to real life, who will put no nonsense into young heads."-graphic. gytha's message: a tale of saxon england. by emma leslie. "this is a charmingly told story. it is the sort of book that all girls and some boys like, and can only get good from."-journal of education. blackie & son's books for young people. 23 half-crown series-continued. my mistress the queen: a tale of the 17th century. by m. a. paull. "the style is pure and graceful, the presentation of manners and character has been well studied, and the story is full of interest."-scotsman. the stories of wasa and menzikoff: the deliverer of sweden, and the favourite of czar peter. "both are stories worth telling more than once, and it is a happy thought to have put them side by side. plutarch himself has no more suggestive comparison."-spectator. stories of the sea in former days. "next to an original sea-tale of sustained interest come well-sketched collections of maritime peril and suffering which awaken the sympathies by the realism of fact. stories of the sea are a very good specimen of the kind."-the times. tales of captivity and exile. "it would be difficult to place in the hands of young people a book which combines interest and instruction in a higher degree."-manchester courier. famous discoveries by sea and land. ་ "such a volume may providentially stir up some youths by the divine fire kindled by these great of old to lay open other lands, and show their vast resources."-perthshire advertiser. stirring events of history. "the volume will fairly hold its place among those which make the smaller ways of history pleasant and attractive. it is a gift-book in which the interest will not be exhausted with one reading."-guardian. adventures in field, flood, and forest. "one of the series of books for young people which messrs. blackie excel in producing. the editor has beyond all question succeeded admirably. the present book cannot fail to be read with interest and advantage."-academy. jack o' lanthorn: a tale of adventure. by henry frith. "the narrative is crushed full of stirring incident, and is sure to be a prime favourite with our boys, who will be assisted by it in mastering a sufficiently exciting chapter in the history of england."-christian leader. the family failing. by darley dale. "at once an amusing and an interesting story, and a capital lesson on the value of contentedness to young and old alike."-aberdeen journal. the joyous story of toto. by laura e. richards. with 30 humorous and fanciful illustrations by e. h. garrett. "an excellent book for children who are old enough to appreciate a little delicate humour. it should take its place beside lewis carroll's unique works, and find a special place in the affections of boys and girls.”—birmingham gazette. 24 74 blackie & son's books for young people. blackie's two-shilling series. illustrated by eminent artists. in crown 8vo, cloth elegant. new volumes. the light princess, and other fairy stories. by george mac donald. new edition. nutbrown roger and i: a romance of the highway. by j. h. yoxall. the story of a boy who has been defrauded of his property. he is assisted in his distress by a nobleman, who for various romantic reasons has assumed the garb without adopting the practices of a highwayman. after a series of exciting adventures the two are successful, not only in rescuing the nobleman's betrothed from evil hands, but in bringing about the restoration of the lad's property. a rash promise: or, meg's secret. by cecilia selby lowndes. frank mitchell, a boy who has spent his early years in south america, comes to england to be educated. frank is expert in the use of the lasso, and when one day a favourite dog is found nearly strangled, with the end of the lasso round its neck, he is suspected of the deed and treated as guilty. the truth becomes known to meg, the rector's daughter, and she is tortured by the sight of an injustice which she could remedy but for a foolish promise of secrecy which she feels compelled to keep. a warrior king: the story of a boy's adventures in africa. by j. evelyn. "the friendship formed between the african prince and adrian englefield will remind the reader of the old story of the 'wonderful love' which existed long ago when jonathan and david made a covenant."-dundee advertiser. sam silvan's sacrifice: the story of two fatherless boys. by jesse colman. "there is a spirit of gentleness, kindliness, and tenderness manifest in every lesson, in every illustration, and we might say in every page of this little volume which will make it an influence for good."-christian union. insect ways on summer days in garden, forest, field, and stream. by jennett humphreys. with 70 illustrations. "this book will prove not only instructive but delightful to every child whose mind is beginning to inquire and reflect upon the wonders of nature. it is capitally illustrated and very tastefully bound.”—academy. susan. by amy walton. "a clever little story, written with some humour. the authoress shows a great deal of insight into children's feelings and motives."-pall mall gazette. blackie & son's books for young people. 25 25 66 two shilling series-continued. "a pair of clogs:" and other stories. by amy walton. "decidedly interesting, and unusually true to nature. for children between nine and fourteen this book can be thoroughly commended."-academy. the hawthorns. by amy walton. "a remarkably vivid and clever study of child-life. at this species of work amy walton has no superior."-christian leader. dorothy's dilemma: a tale of the time of charles i. by caroline austin. "an exceptionally well-told story, and will be warmly welcomed by children. the little heroine, dorothy, is a charming creation."-court journal. marie's home: or, a glimpse of the past. by caroline austin. "an exquisitely told story. the heroine is as fine a type of girlhood as one could wish to set before our little british damsels of to-day."-christian leader. warner's chase: or, the gentle heart. by annie s. swan. "in milly warren, the heroine, who softens the hard heart of her rich uncle and thus unwittingly restores the family fortunes, we have a fine ideal of real womanly goodness."-schoolmaster. aboard the "atalanta:" the story of a truant. by henry frith. "the story is very interesting and the descriptions most graphic. we doubt if any boy after reading it would be tempted to the great mistake of running away from school under almost any pretext whatever."-practical teacher. the penang pirate and the lost pinnace. by john c. hutcheson. "a book which boys will thoroughly enjoy: rattling, adventurous, and romantic, and the stories are thoroughly healthy in tone."-aberdeen journal. teddy: the story of a "little pickle." by john c. hutcheson. "he is an amusing little fellow with a rich fund of animal spirits, and when at length he goes to sea with uncle jack he speedily sobers down under the discipline of life."-saturday review. linda and the boys. by cecilia selby lowndes. "the book is essentially a child's book, and will be heartily appreciated by the young folk."-the academy. swiss stories for children. from the german of madam johanna spyri. by lucy wheelock. "c 'charming stories. they are rich in local colouring, and, what is better, in genuine pathos."-the times. the squire's grandson: a devonshire story. by j. m. callwell. "the lessons of courage, filial affection, and devotion to duty on the part of the young hero cannot fail to favourably impress all young readers."-schoolmaster. 26 blackie & son's books for young people. two-shilling series-continued. magna charta stories: or, struggles for freedom in the olden time. edited by arthur gilman, a.m. "a book of special excellence, which ought to be in the hands of all boys."— educational news. the wings of courage; and the cloud spinner. translated from the french of george sand, by mrs. corkran. "mrs. corkran has earned our gratitude by translating into readable english these two charming little stories."-athenæum. chirp and chatter: or, lessons from field and tree. by alice banks. with 54 illustrations by gordon browne. "we see the humbling influence of love on the haughty harvest-mouse, we are touched by the sensibility of the tender-hearted ant, and may profit by the moral of 'the disobedient maggot.' the drawings are spirited and funny."-the times. four little mischiefs. by rosa mulholland. "graphically written, and abounds in touches of genuine humour and innocent fun."-freeman. "a charming bright story about real children."-watchman. new light through old windows. a series of stories illustrating fables of æsop. by gregson gow. "the most delightfully-written little stories one can easily find in the literature of the season. well constructed and brightly told."-glasgow herald. little tottie, and two other stories. by thomas archer. "we can warmly commend all three stories; the book is a most alluring prize for the younger ones."-schoolmaster. naughty miss bunny: her tricks and troubles. by clara mulholland. "this naughty child is positively delightful. papas should not omit naughty miss bunny from their list of juvenile presents."-land and water. adventures of mrs. wishing-to-be, and other stories. by alice corkran. "simply a charming book for little girls."-saturday review. "just in the style and spirit to win the hearts of children."daily news. our dolly: her words and ways. by mrs. r. h. read. "prettily told and prettily illustrated."-guardian. "sure to be a great favourite with young children."-school guardian. fairy fancy: what she heard and saw. by mrs. read. "all is pleasant, nice reading, with a little knowledge of natural history and other matters gently introduced and divested of dryness."-practical teacher. blackie & son's books for young people. 27 blackie's eighteenpenny series. with illustrations in colour, and black and tint. in crown 8vo, cloth elegant. new volumes. the seed she sowed: a tale of the great dock strike. by emma leslie. the heroine, winnie chaplin, is an invalid girl who, though confined to her room, finds a hundred opportunities of doing good and bringing happiness to those around her. the difficulties which the poor have to encounter, especially during great labour troubles, are strikingly depicted, and the lessons of mutual help and self-sacrifice strongly enforced. unlucky: a fragment of a girl's life. by caroline austin. the young daughter of an indian officer, brought up since her mother's death by native attendants, suddenly finds herself no longer the only object of her father's affection. her stepmother and herself misunderstand each other hopelessly. in the end the child's natural goodness enables her to conquer herself, and even to sacrifice her own life for her stepmother. everybody's business. by ismay thorn. the little heroine, loïs, is the good angel of a city court, who, when driven out of the house by harsh treatment, finds a new home under the care of an old shoemaker and his lame son. then trouble comes; the court is fever-stricken. happily, when all seems at its worst, they are cared for by a noble-hearted doctor, who places them in a pleasant country home. tales of daring and danger. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty's heroes are brave and upright, quick and keen, and their doings make capital reading for boys."-athenæum. "white-faced dick' is a sketch worthy of bret harte at his best. just the sort of tales to read aloud by the fireside on a winter's night."-pract. teacher. yarns on the beach. by g. a. henty. "should find special favour among boys. the yarns are full of romance and adventure, and are admirably calculated to foster a manly spirit."-the echo. the seven golden keys. by james e. arnold. "no better fairy book than this has come our way for a long time. it is written with singular grace and skill; so perfect is the illusion, no child will doubt for a moment that it is all a true story."-christian leader. the story of a queen. by mary c. rowsell. "miss rowsell is an excellent story-teller; she is especially successful in historical tales; her chronicle of marie and her trials is thrilling."-guardian. 28 blackie & son's books for young people. blackie's eighteenpenny series-continued. joan's adventures, at the north pole and elsewhere. by alice corkran. "this is a most delightful fairy story. the charming style and easy prose narrative makes its resemblance striking to hans andersen's."-spectator. edwy: or, was he a coward? by annette lyster. "this is a charming story, and sufficiently varied to suit children of all ages.” -the academy. filled with gold. by jennie perrett. "the tale is interesting, and gracefully told. miss perrett's description of life on the quiet jersey farm will have a great charm."-spectator. the battlefield treasure. by f. bayford harrison. "jack warren is a lad of the tom brown type, and his search for treasure and the sequel are sure to prove interesting to boys."english teacher. by order of queen maude: a story of home life. by louisa crow. "the tale is brightly and cleverly told, and forms one of the best children's books which the season has produced."-academy. our general: a story for girls. by elizabeth j. lysaght. "a young girl of indomitable spirit, to whom all instinctively turn for guidance-a noble pattern for girls."—guardian. aunt hesba's charge. by elizabeth j. lysaght. "this well-written book tells how a maiden aunt is softened by the influence of two indian children who are unexpectedly left upon her hands."—academy. into the haven. by annie s. swan. "no story more attractive, by reason of its breezy freshness, as well as for the practical lessons it conveys."-christian leader. our frank: and other stories. by amy walton. "these stories are of the sort that children of the clever kind are sure to like." -academy. the late miss hollingford. by rosa mulholland. "no book for girls published this season approaches this in the charm of its telling, which will be equally appreciated by persons of all ages."-standard. the pedlar and his dog. by mary c. rowsell. "the opening chapter, with its description of necton fair, will forcibly remind many readers of george eliot. taken altogether it is a delightful story."— western morning news. a terrible coward. by g. manville fenn. "just such a tale as boys will delight to read, and as they are certain to profit by."-aberdeen journal. blackie & sons books for young people. 29 blackie's eighteenpenny series—continued. tom finch's monkey: and other yarns. by j. c. hutcheson. "stories of an altogether unexceptionable character, with adventures sufficient for a dozen books of its size."-u. service gazette. miss grantley's girls, and the stories she told them. by thomas archer. "for fireside reading more wholesome and highly entertaining reading for young people could not be found."-northern chronicle. down and up again: being some account of the felton family, and the odd people they met. by gregson gow. "the story is very neatly told, with some fairly dramatic incidents, and calculated altogether to please young people."—scotsman. the troubles and triumphs of little tim. a city story. by gregson gow. "an undercurrent of sympathy with the struggles of the poor, and an ability to describe their feelings, eminently characteristic of dickens, are marked features in mr. gow's story."--n. b. mail. the happy lad: a story of peasant life in norway. from the norwegian of björnson. "this pretty story has natural eloquence which seems to carry us back to some of the love stories of the bible."-aberdeen free press. the patriot martyr: and other narratives of female heroism. "it should be read with interest by every girl who loves to learn what her sex can accomplish in times of danger."-bristol times. madge's mistake: a recollection of girlhood. by annie e. armstrong. "we cannot speak too highly of this delightful little tale. it abounds in interesting and laughable incidents."-bristol times. box of stories. packed for young folk by horace happyman. when i was a boy in china. by yan phou lee, a native of china, now resident in the united states. 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(of this report) unclassified 20. security classif. (of this page) unclassified 21. no. of pages 21 $3.00 for sale by the national technical information service, springfield, virginia 22151 i vlasov equation eigenvalues and eigenvectors for fourier-hermite dispersion matrices of order greater than 1000 by frederick c. grant langley research center summary the connection between the van kampen and landau representations of the vlasov equations has been extended to fourier-hermite expansions containing more than 1000 terms by taking advantage of the properties of tridiagonal matrices. these numerical results are regarded as conclusive indications of the nonuniformly convergent behavior of the approximation curve in the limit of an infinite number of terms and represent an extension of work begun by grant (1967) and by grant and feix (1967). introduction in a fully ionized plasma such as the solar corona, which has a large number of electrons in a debye cube (the edge of which measures the screening distance about an introduced charge), the effect of collisions is negligible and the vlasov equations describe the space-time evolution of the single-particle distribution function. the nonlinear vlasov equations have been studied only for special cases, a common one of which is assumed herein: a single space and velocity variable, periodic spatial boundary conditions, a uniform steady ion background against which the electrons move, and an initial maxwellian electronic distribution function. because of their formidable nature, the vlasov équations have been treated mostly by numerical techniques. however, when ordinary x-v-t space is used, an insuperable difficulty arises in the velocity space. increasingly steep oscillatory gradients with evershorter wavelengths develop in the distribution function. to circumvent the difficulty, transform methods have been introduced, and among these is the fourier expansion on space and the hermite expansion on velocity which lead, in the nonlinear case, to a set of coupled ordinary differential equations for the elements of a matrix, the fourierhermite expansion coefficients of the fourier-hermite representation. (each transformed set of equations is called a representation of the original x-v-t equations.) when the nonlinear fourier-hermite equations are linearized and an eigenvalueeigenvector solution is sought, another matrix appears, the fourier-hermite dispersion matrix. at this point contact is made with two classical linearized representations: that of landau (ref. 1) and that of van kampen (ref. 2). landau uses a fourier-laplace transform on space and time, while van kampen performs essentially a fourier transform on both space and time. as it happens, the continuum of eigenvalues in van kampen's representation are all undamped (real) while the discrete poles of landau are all damped (complex). in particular, a pair of highly excited poles, called landau poles, dominates the motion for long times when the initial conditions are stable. the fourier-hermite representation has discrete, real eigenvalues, and hence it seems clearly akin to van kampen's representation. when numerical integration of the fourier-hermite equations is performed, a numerical instability appears at the highest order hermite index and spreads toward the lower. if a fokker-planck (weak-collision or distant-encounter) term is introduced into the fourier-hermite representation, it damps most strongly the coefficients of highest hermite order. macroscopic physical entities such as the electric field depend on coefficients of the lowest orders, and thus the selective character of the fokker-planck term makes it possible, with many fourier-hermite coefficients, to quench the instability with few collisions and little degradation of the results. at this point the fact that the fourier-hermite representation bridges the gap between landau and van kampen representations was discovered (ref. 3). in reference 3 the transition between van kampen and landau representations of the vlasov equations is shown in terms of a delicate limiting process that requires an indefinite increase in the number of terms kept in the approximate fourier-hermite distribution function and, simultaneously, an indefinite decrease in the strength of the introduced fokker-planck collision term. a full account of the fourier-hermite representation may be found in reference 4. the full matrix techniques used in reference 3 allowed only about 60 terms to be kept because of computer storage limitations. when recursion techniques are used in the tridiagonal dispersion matrices, the storage required is proportional to the matrix order rather than to the order squared. the economy of recursive methods has allowed the calculation of the eigenvalues and eigenvectors for dispersion matrices larger than 1000 x 1000. the ability to treat fourier-hermite matrices of orders as great as 1000 carries the number of fourier-hermite coefficients far enough to make available the appropriate value of fokker-planck damping for best plasma simulation over the entire practical range of expansion coefficient order (several hundred) for the nonlinear problem. in the general, nonlinear problem, as in the linear problem, addition of a small damping term of proper strength extends the time of good simulation at the cost of slightly degraded results. 2 symbols aaß fourier-hermite expansion coefficient b strength parameter of fokker-planck collision term c(f) collision term dn determinant of fourier-hermite dispersion matrix e electric field e magnitude of electronic charge f maxwellian velocity distribution, exp(-v2/2) v21 27 f' df = dv f{} fourier-transform operator f distribution function of electrons fo fourier transform of initial perturbation in f ft fokker-planck collision term #g h в hermite polynomial of order b i = v-1 = 211 k wave number, boltzmann constant wavelength l laplace-transform operator m electronic mass n order of highest term kept in fourier-hermite expansion of f n electron density; fourier-laplace transform of electron density 3 no mean electron density s complex argument of laplace transform t absolute temperature t time v electron velocity v3,0 first component of normalized eigenvector corresponding to jth eigenvelocity w w; w phase velocity, w/k wn nth eigenvelocity x spatial coordinate a,ß fourier and hermite indices, respectively -γ imaginary part of w (y is negative for stability) ab arbitrary small increment in b ad change in dn when w becomes w + aw n δω arbitrary small change in 3 8 small positive quantity δαβ kronecker delta e plasma dielectric constant fo €(k,w=0); permittivity of vacuum a eigenvelocity 3 complex argument, w/k/2 4 w n(k,s) 9 ik2 & fourier transform of time variation of n 4j,j+1 ordinate of histogram between w; and w, w j+1 3 argument of dn; complex eigenvalue (root, pole, eigenfrequency); s/i ' 36 nth order approximation to eigenvalue average over velocity space subscripts: i imaginary part r real part superscript: * complex conjugate analysis fourier-hermite representation consider the ordinary one-dimensional boltzmann equation (in natural units) for the single-particle distribution function f of the electrons: if + v e o = c(1) af + af af ax e f (1 ) ду where the right-hand side denotes a collision term that is a functional off. the natural units of equation (1) are lekt debye length noe2 監 ​ikt thermal speed ut 5 com inverse plasma frequency ne2 the debye length is a measure of the distance at which an introduced charge is screened, and the plasma frequency measures the rapidity of oscillations in electron density. a neutralizing uniform positive background is assumed. the external field e acting on the electrons is the self-field of the electrons themselves given by poisson's equation: ae ax sand 1 (2) if the number of particles in a debye cube is large, as in a thermonuclear plasma, the collision term c may be neglected. in the case of identically vanishing c, equations (1) and (2) are known as vlasov equations. the fourier-hermite expansion of f is v27 f = a=-b=0 [ acp exp(iakx)āg(v)exp(-v2/2) (3) where #g(x) = (-1*exp(v2/2)(a)*exp(-v2/2) dv is rodrigues' formula and s® (v)ęg(v)exp(-v2/2)dv = 8qpv21 n! 2πη α substitution of equation (3) into equations (1) and (2) yields, after multiplication by exp(-ia kx)āg(v) and integration over x-v space, an infinite set of ordinary differen, tial equations for the coefficients auß of the fourier-hermite expansion. this set of equations for the matrix elements a aß is the fourier-hermite representation of the vlasov equations (1) and (2). truncation after the second row yields the fourier-hermite linearization. further truncation at b = n yields the finite approximation to the linearized case. finally, assumption of an expliwt) variation of the elements leads to a dispersion relation of order (n + 1). aaß with maxwell's distribution as background, the fourier-hermite dispersion relation (from ref. 5 with a sign change on b) for cutoff of the expansion at order nis 6 w (1 + k2)1/2 0 0 0 (1 + k2)1/2 w + ib kv2 0 0 det 0 kv2 w + 2ib 0 = 0 (4) 0 0 kn1/2 0 0 0 knl/2 w + nib w in equation (4), w is an eigenfrequency (eigenvalue) and k is the wave number of an assumed small cos(kx) disturbance in electron density. if is a root of equation (4), then so is -w*. the parameter b20 is a measure of the strength of the fokkerplanck collision term (ref. 6), a 1 = b ) and ft b 22f (vf) + (v2) ay2 ду which modifies the one-dimensional vlasov equations (1) and (2) into af af + v at ax of + v e = fi af ε ay ft ae ax be se = f dy 1 = b = the vlasov case occurs at b = 0. when b = 0 the eigenvalues of equation (4) are all real, which suggests the equivalence of the fourier-hermite representation (ref. 5) to that of van kampen (ref. 2) rather than to that of landau (ref. 1). however, as increases from zero, the surprising behavior first reported in reference 3 and shown in figure 1 occurs. all but one of the poles (eigenvalues) move rapidly into the ywr-plane where w = wr iy and f o exp(iwt). the anomalous pole is detained in the region of the landau pole. detailed investigation of the behavior of the anomalous pole for fourierhermite expansions up to order 63 suggested that the equivalence of van kampen and landau treatments was being observed within the fourier-hermite representation. a more powerful numerical technique has verified the behavior to orders over 1000, which is sufficiently near infinity to establish the nonuniformity convergent behavior of the approximation curve as nand b-0. numerical algorithm the improved technique is based on recursion (ref. 7). if the determinant of order (n + 1) in equation (4) is denoted as dn+1, expansion on the last column yields 7 dn+1 = (w + inb)dn nkadn-1 (5) in particular, d1 = w d2 = www + ib) (i + k2) in principle, the value of dn+1 for arbitrary large n is obtained in about n steps, each of simple multiplication and addition. in contrast, the full matrix treatment of reference 3 requires n2 words just to record the elements of the matrix. to apply recursion equation (5) to the eigenvalue problem, the fourier-hermite root (eigenvalue) nearest in value to the real part of the landau pole is identified for b = 0. a small positive increment in b, ab, and a small increment in w, aw, are introduced and the approximate derivative adn+1/4w is computed. use of the approximate derivative in the newton-raphson method gives a first approximation to the shifted eigenvalue. in general, δω n+1 = wn dn+1(b+ab, wn) adn-1 + (6) adn+1 = dn+1(b+ab, wn+aw) dn+1(b+ab, wn) after the first step, iteration on the quasi-newton-raphson equations (6) yields a sharp value of w(ab). a second increment of ab leads on to w(2ab), and in like manner the progress of w(b) = wr iy on the ywr-plane is tracked. the chief difficulties are found in scaling the large numbers which arise for large n and in the necessity of iteration to sharpen the values of w(b). a sample fortran program is shown in appendix a. = use of the recursion equation (5) simplifies the task of finding eigenvalues for the b = 0 (collisionless) case of equation (4). easy evaluation of dn+1(w) at any n per. mits a movement from w = 0 in steps of aw > 0. sign changes of dn+1(w) localize each root within aw, and iteration sharpens the root. the tridiagonal form of the matrix in equation (4) makes trivial (for k = 0.5) the calculation of the corresponding eigenvectors. in reference 5, histograms corresponding to an initial cos(kx) spatial disturbance of plasma density were constructed from the eigenvectors of the matrix of equation (4). full matrix methods were barely adequate to yield histograms for the case of truncation 8 at n = 99, and then only because b = 0 produces real eigenvalues and eigenvectors. with the recursion methods, histograms for n > 103 have now been constructed. the oscillations in density which follow an initial cos(kx) spatial density perturbation may be represented exactly by the following fourier integral over a real phase velocity w: n(k,t) = s +(w)exp(ikwt)dw n (7) 7 where kw = w, a real frequency. the reality of the fourier-hermite eigenfrequencies for b = 0 permits the construction of a histogram analogous to 4(w) in equation (7). in the limit of infinite n the histogram approaches ¥(w). in appendix b the derivation oft is given. as shown in reference 5, the ordinate of the histogram between the jth and (i + 1)th eigenvelocities may be assigned as ! + ( 2 2 vj,0 + vj+1,0) wj+1 w; 1,0) w 4j j,j+1 (wj+1 >w; 0; j = 0,1,2, . . ., n) where v is the first component of the normalized eigenvector corresponding to the nth eigenvelocity w found by solving 'n,0 n w (1 + k-2)1/2 0 0 0 (1 + k-2)1/2 in w 0 0 det 0 v2 w 0 = 0 = (8) 0 0 nl/2 0 0 0 n1/2 w equation (8) is derived by similarity transformations of the matrix of equation (4) and by the introduction of the phase velocity w/k. results and discussion the behavior of the fourier-hermite poles with vanishing collisions is indicated in figures 2 and 3 for approximations up to n = 1023. in figure 2 the behavior of the real = part of the eigenfrequency is shown. a scale to accommodate all the values of n has been used in figure 2(a). the extreme deviations by which the curves reach fourier9 = hermite values at n = 255 and 511 as b goes to zero are quite striking. the curve for n = 1023 lies so nearly on a straight line to the landau value that it would not show in figure 2(a). therefore, the behavior for the three highest values of n is shown at larger scale in figure 2(b). for n = 1023 it can be seen that the chance closeness of the fourier-hermite root to the landau value causes a nearly straight approach to the landau value. actually, a deviation from a straight approach starts at about b = 0.0006. in figure 3 the behavior of the damping is shown for vanishing collisions. again the two parts of the figure are small-scale and large-scale graphs. the curves for the higher n can be clearly seen only in the large-scale graph of figure 3(b). in every case the sharp swerve toward y = 0 from a straight approach to the landau value is striking. it is clear from figures 2 and 3 that, numerically, the connection between the van kampen and landau representations has been demonstrated within the fourierhermite representation. moreover, the pathological character of the curves wr(b) and 7(b) for large values of n as b goes to zero clearly indicates the nonuniformly convergent behavior of the approximation curve in the limit of infinite nat vanishing b. in figure 4 a histogram for n = 1023 is shown along with one for n = 99 that was presented in reference 5. the curve is symmetrical about i = 0, so only the positive half is shown. although a better representation of the curve for n = 6 is obtained with n = 1023 than with n = 99, the peak is still rather crudely modeled despite a tenfold increase in the number of terms in the fourier-hermite expansion. the root separation diminishes so slowly with increasing n that most roots can make only negligible contributions to the peak. the advantage of a collision term barely large enough to move a root very close to the landau pole is suggested by figure 4. with a small collision term, a single fourierhermite root can well represent the landau damping, which is the most prominent feature of the behavior of the plasma at long times for weak initial disturbances of the plasma. concluding remark in addition to yielding conclusive indications of the nonuniformly convergent behavior of the fourier-hermite expansion as order increases to infinity and collisions decrease, the results have provided a guide to the choice of the size of collision term that best simulates the secular behavior of the plasma. langley research center, national aeronautics and space administration, hampton, va., march 23, 1972. 10 appendix a calculation of eigenvalues the fortran iv computer program used to compute the curves for n = 1023 in figures 2 and 3 follows. although the dimensions 100 and 1024 have been used respectively for arrays app (corresponding to successive root approximations) and det (corresponding to the successive determinants in the recursive process), these locations are a luxury for diagnostic purposes. several locations would suffice if the successive root approximations and higher order determinants were written over the earlier values. for the case shown, central processor time on the cdc 6600 computer was less than 30 seconds. program chase (input, output ) , * tracks f-h roots into complex plane as b increases from zero, complex d, omega, derd, deltom, delmeg, app, det, omegao, complex derni, dern2 , real keksor, common ksqr.b, is, scale, dimension app (100), det (1024), k=5,-01, *value of nas used below corresponds to (n-1) hermite functions, n=1024, *landau pole for k=0.5 is at (1.41566, .15336), *fourier-hermite eigenvalue nearest real part of landau pole, omegao= (1.41424,0.), print 900, nok, *maximum number of iterations allowed to fix omega, noit=100, * sharpness criterion for omega, cvlim= 2.f-09, *step size in approximate derivative, deltom= (0.,1.f-05), *b-range and step size, bmin=.0002, deltro.00002, bmax= .0013, ksorok*k, omega= omegao, b=amin-deltb, *loop on e, 1 bebudeltb. *newton-raphson loop, do21=1, no it. *w2, derno=d (n, omega+del tom, det), *number of scalings, is2=is, ܙ 1 ܐܙܙ * dern1 =d (n, omegadet), is1=is, 11 appendix a concluded *check to insure same scaling on w2, w1, if(is2.equisi) go to 4. if (is2-isi.gt.n) go to 6, cern?=dern2* scale, go to 4, 6 derni = derni scale, *approximate derivative (w2-wi/deltom, 4 derde (dern2-derni) del tcm, *newton-raphson root increment, delmeg=dern1 /depd, omega omega-delmeg, app (i) = omega, * check on improvement of omega, 2 if(cabs (delmeg)olt.cvlimi go to 3, ) 3 print 100,3,1, omega, print 101.is, 100 formato 3h b=f10.6,5x11 hiterations = 13,5x6home ga=f11.8, f11.8), = 101 format (1x3his=13), 900 format(1/3h n=1 4/3h k=f6.3/1), if (b.lt.bmax-deltb/2.), 2 go to 1.4 stop, enn, *subprogram for dispersion determinant, complex function d(iord, omega , det), complex omega , det, real ksqr, common ksqr,b, is, scale, dimension det i ord), *first determinants, det( 1 ) = omega, det (? ) = omega* ( omega+cmplx(0.,1.0)*b)-(1. +k sqr ) , scalf=1.f-18, is=0 *re cursion loop, doi 1-3, i ord, det (i) =det (1-1)* ( omega+float (1-1)*cmplx(0.,1.)*b)-float(i-1)*, 2k sqr*det(1-2), *check on size of d, if(cabs (det(i)volt.1.e18) go to 1, *scaling of d. , 2 det(i) =dft ( ! )*scale, det(i-1)=det (1-1)*scale, *scaling count, is=15+1, 1 continue , d=detci ord). return end, 12 appendix b derivation of kla) the linearized one-dimensional vlasov equations, in natural units, for the electronic perturbation f on a uniform ionic background distribution are af af + v at ef' = 0 (bla) əx әe ax ii s f dx (b1b) where f is the unperturbed velocity distribution of the electrons. the fourier-laplace transform of f(x,v,t) may be written as f(8,5) = z1 so at sdx e-ste+{kx f(x,v,t) xsc ks) dt 211 where the same symbol f is used for both function and transform. the corresponding inverse is +100+8 f(x,v,t) 1 20i ds s dk e+ste-ikx f(k,s) -100+ 0 where the integral on s is known as bromwich's integral. on application of the fourierlaplace transform to equations (b1), the result is s f(k,s) ikv f(k,s) f' eſk,s) = fo(k,v) (b2a) tik e(k,5) = sº f(k,s)dv = n(k,8) (b2b) to obtain equations (b2) the usual relations l of at s{{f} f(x,v,0) 3 af ax -ik7{f} 13 appendix b – continued are employed. the notation fo(k,v) refers to 3{f(x,v,0), the fourier transform of the initial conditions. in equations (b2), f(k,s) has an implicit dependence on velocity v, but n(k,s) and e(k,s) do not, since only in equation (b2b) has velocity been integrated upon. v to find if one first solves for f(k,s) in equation (b2a), then integrates over n(k,s) from equation (b2b), and, finally, substitutes s = iw, the result is 1 j n(k,s) i(k,s) e(k,s) = 1.s is fok,v)dv w kv f'dy ky (s = id) 1+ 11 w where the denominator elk,s) is the so-called plasma dielectric constant. under an initial cos(kx) density perturbation the assumed maxwellian electronic velocity distribution f = 1 | v exp(-v2/2) 2 tt is untouched. thus fo(k,v) = f = f' < and in terms of f', 1 som 1 -f' w kv dv v ܚ n(k,s) sº sf'dv 1+ k w kv in the integral of the numerator of n(k,s) the coefficient of -f' may be written as 11 vw kv k -1 1 + w10 ky w kv so that n(k,s) may be written in terms of e(k,w) and e(k,0): eo n(k,s) ik2 €(kw) €(k,0) ik2 € (k,w) ليا e 14 appendix b continued by means of a change in variable w = v/v2, and the substitution w u il 1 u w m w the dielectric constant e(kw) may be expressed in terms of the complex function e-t2 e ) = 1st z(u) dt t u m im(u) <0; h = x + iy kv2 iy as k2 e(k,y) = 1 + k2 + u z(u) in terms of z = zr + izi, kểer = 1 + k2 + xzr y2i kểe; = y2 + xz; r the function z is related to the complementary error function by z(z) = yt e-zerfc(-iz) -22 on the real axis of the l-plane, y = 0; so for real x = w/k, k2 epſk,w) = 1 + k2 + </ <l z je zr( (b3a) v2 12670k,w) zi (b3b) k2 r(k,0) = 1 + k2 (b3c) r k2 €(k,0) = 0 (b3d) inversion by bromwich's integral with the contour along the imaginary axis of the s-plane (8 = 0) yields 15 appendix b – concluded e nľk,t) = hk2 sono rimasto ciutaw the er + 10 i r n( = ik2 21 eiwtdw = so (b4) 21 we 3 at all t<0, n(k,t) = 0; thus 0 r + iº; i -iwtdw 0 = = :s (t > 0) 3 taking the complex conjugate yields noo ir ør iq i ciwtaw 0 so (t > 0) subtraction of ik2/29 times this null member from equation (b4) for n(k,t) yields n(x,t) = ke go or less etwtdw = s piwtaw = sa mweiwtaw vi(w) nk = writing 4 pi in terms of the values of er and ti given in equation (b3) yields + n 1 + k-2 z () tv2 2(kw) + ¢{(kw) € kv2 #w) 1k where the function z+ = -z* is one available on the computer library tape at langley research center. the substitution w = kx (using the same symbol for *) yields n(k,t) = s «()eikata where + ry zi / + (a) = 1+k-2 712 2 ni -2 + e! r i is the function corresponding to infinite n that is plotted in figure 4. 16 references 1. landau, l.: on the vibrations of the electronic plasma. j. phys. (ussr), vol. x, no. 1, 1946, pp. 25-34. 2. van kampen, n. g.: on the theory of stationary waves in plasmas. physica, vol. 21, no. 12, dec. 1955, pp. 949-963. 3. grant, frederick c.; and feix, marc r.: transition between landau and van kampen treatments of the vlasov equation. phys. fluids, vol. 10, no. 6, june 1967, pp. 1356-1357. 4. grant, frederick cyril: fourier-hermite representation of the one-dimensional vlasov equations. ph. d. thesis, virginia polytechnic inst., 1967. 5. grant, frederick c.; and feix, marc r.; fourier-hermite solutions of the vlasov equations in the linearized limit. phys. fluids, vol. 10, no. 4, apr. 1967, pp. 696-702. 6. lenard, a.; and bernstein, ira b.: plasma oscillations with diffusion in velocity space. phys. rev., vol. 112, no. 5, dec. 1, 1958, pp. 1456-1459. 7. faddeev, d. k.; and faddeeva, v. n. (robert c. williams, trans.): computational methods of linear algebra. w. h. freeman and co., c.1963. 17 2.0 b = .020.015 .010 .005 y te landau pole z w-plane 1.0 wr -.6 -.4 -.2 0 y figure 1.movement of fourier-hermite poles into complex frequency plane as collisions increase. n = 63; k = 0.5. 18 1.57 n = 255 n = 511 landau value wp 1.4 n = 31 n = 63 n = 127 1.3 0 1 .04 .02 .06 .08 .10 b (a) wide range of n. 1.46 n = 255 1.44 -n = 511 wp landau value 1.42 zn n = 1023 1.40 0 .001 .002 b (b) higher values of n; expanded scale. figure 2.real part of complex frequency as a function of collision parameter b. k = 0.5. 19 landau value n = 31 n = 63 .1 n = 127 n = 255 0 .02 .04 .06 .08 .10 b (a) lower values of n. .16 landau value y .154 y en = 511 n = 1023 .144 .002 .001 b (b) higher values of n; expanded scale. figure 3.damping part of complex frequency as a function of collision parameter b. k = 0.5. 20 .4 n = 00 = 12 .3 .2 .1 0 1 2. 3 4 (a) n = 99. .4 n = 00 .3 .2 .1 0 1 2 3 4 λ (b) n = 1023. figure 4.exact fourier transform compared with corresponding fourier-hermite histograms for initial cos(kx) density disturbance. k = 0.5. nasa-langley, 1972 25 l-8141 21 一 ​ national aeronautics and space admistration washington, d.c. 20546 postage and fees paid national aeronautics and space administration 2 official business penalty for private use $300 first class mail u.s.mail postmaster: if undeliverable (section 14 postal manual) do not rec "the aeronautical and space activities of the united states shall be conducted so as to contribute ... to the expansion of human knowledge of phenomena in the atmosphere and space. the administration shall provide for the widest practicable and appropriate dissemination of information concerning its activities and the results thereof." national aeronautics and space act of 1958 nasa scientific and technical publications technical reports: scientific and technical information considered important, complete, and a lasting contribution to existing knowledge technical translations: information published in a foreign language considered to merit nasa distribution in english. a technical notes: information less broad in scope but nevertheless of importance as a contribution to existing knowledge. technical memorandums: information receiving limited distribution because of preliminary data, security classification, or other reasons. contractor reports: scientific and technical information generated under a nasa contract or grant and considered an important contribution to existing knowledge. special publications: information derived from or of value to nasa activities. publications include conference proceedings, monographs, data compilations, handbooks, sourcebooks, and special bibliographies. technology utilization publications: information on technology used by nasa that may be of particular interest in commercial and other non-aerospace applications. publications include tech briefs, technology utilization reports and technology surveys. details on the availability of these publications may be obtained from: scientific and technical information office national aeronautics and space administration washington, d.c. 20546 29 30 uc-nrlf b 4 331 525 flora of the hermit shale grand canyon, arizona david white carnegie institution of washington 1929 library university of california santa cruz 1 carnegie institution of washington publication no. 405 institution carnegie o 1902 1929 o of w washing tow copies of this book were first issued december 23, 1929 press of w. f. roberts company lanman engraving company washington, d. c. flora of the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona by david white research associate, carnegie institution of washington published by carnegie institution of washington december 1929 introduction i. geological environment. formations in upper part of the canyon walls kaibab limestone . coconino sandstone hermit shale. . supai formation redwall limestone muav limestone. bright angel shale tapeats sandstone . the hermit shale. conditions of deposition of the hermit shale land surface deposition and stratification. petrological notes of hermit and coconino sediments contents • climate as indicated by the sediments. . evidence of the fossil plants as to climate ii. composition, age, and relations of the hermit flora composition plants animals thallophyta arthrophyta two floral provinces represented age and origin of the flora conclusions as to the age of the hermit shale iii. description of the hermit flora. pteridospermaphyta gymnosperms ginkgophyta coniferophyta iv. animals vermes plates · v qe 920 w5 page 3 6 6 8 9 11 12 12 12 13 13 13 14 15 17 21 26 26 26 27 222222228ii* 30 38 41 41 44 47 95 95 96 115 115 119 flora of the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona by david white 1 1 i 1 s tollay tnk upper walls of the grand canyon from the level of the upper part of the supai formation. "esplanade sandstone" at the left and in "the battleship" (viewed endwise in the center of the photograph). courtesy of n. h. darton, u. s. geological survey. s, supai formation; h, hermit shale; c, coconino sandstone; k, kaibab limestone. carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate a flora of the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona introduction fossil plants were first discovered in the hermit shale at red top, in hermit basin in the grand canyon by professor charles schuchert, of yale university, in 1915. the specimens, representing callipteris, "gigantopteris,"¹ sphenophyllum and walchia, were sent, in 1916, to me for determination, and my report on them, in which they are regarded as probably permian, was published by professor schuchert in the american journal of science, 4th ser., vol. 45, 1918 (page 353). in 1916 dr. l. f. noble, who was then engaged in mapping the geology of the shinumo quadrangle³ for the u. s. geological survey, gathered a small number of specimens which also were submitted to me for examination, the conclusion being as before. however, a few more specimens gathered by dr. noble, in 1920, left the age no longer in doubt.* these discoveries, though meager, were sufficient to prove that the hermit shales, formerly included in the upper part of the supai formation and classed, together with the overlying coconino sandstone and the kaibab limestone, as pennsylvanian, were definitely of permian age. what is more important, they gave evidence of the presence of a permian flora of much interest as well as possible systematic significance. no further collections of plants were made at the grand canyon until the early spring of 1926, when c. w. gilmore, of the u. s. 'the imperfect impression thought at first to be gigantopteris is probably referable to supaia. "the condition of preservation of the fragments is so bad that caution is necessary in basing conclusions of any kind on the material submitted. however, the presence of gigantopteris, walchia, and probably callipteris, if my tentative generic identification of the latter is correct, points to the lower permian age of the flora. * * * in any event, it appears probable that the flora, when it is better known, will be found to indicate a level not below the highest stage of the pennsylvanian." 'the shinumo quadrangle, grand canyon district, arizona, u. s. geol. survey bull. 549, 1914. 'l. f. noble, a section of the paleozoic formations of the grand canyon at the bass trail, u. s. geol. survey prof. paper 131, 1923, page 66: "a close inspection shows it to belong to the genus callipteris, which, the world over, is everywhere recognized as the most characteristic and widespread exclusively permian plant. i judge that the specimen is not even varietally distinguishable from callipteris conferta. accordingly, this evidence practically confirms conclusively the opinions based on fragments previously collected by you and professor schuchert and is of itself probably adequate to prove the permian age of the hermit shale. taken in connection with the plant fragments previously transmitted by professor schuchert and yourself, it can be only permian." 3 4 discovery of fossil plants in the grand canyon national museum, who was collecting fossil footprints from the lower part of the hermit, obtained a number of specimens of sphenophyllum, more or less immersed in the track-bearing silts. he also found fragments of callipteris and supaia. the footprint shown on plate 1 was collected by him at that time. almost immediately thereafter, through the good offices of dr. john c. merriam, president of the carnegie institution of washington, who was stimulating interest in the development both of the scientific resources and of the inspirational and educational possibilities of the grand canyon, funds were allotted by the carnegie corporation of new york to the carnegie institution of washington to cover the travel and field expense necessary to making a collection of fossil plants from the hermit shale. accordingly the first systematic collecting was done in the summer of 1926. most of the specimens in the collections were secured in june of that year. additional material was found during another short trip in june of the following year, when attention was given also to the successful search for traces of life in the lower part of the unkar, proterozoic, series found in the downfaulted blocks near the suspension bridge and on the west side of bright angel creek. the development of a fossil plant quarry in the hermit shale near the yaki trail brought to light further specimens, without, however, appreciably increasing the number of species. during a third short season, in 1928, funded, like the preceding, through the carnegie institution of washington, i found opportunity not only to confirm the continuance of the hermit plant beds in the north rim of the canyon near the new kaibab trail, but also to prove the extension of another plant-bearing stratum in the middle of the supai formation from south to north across the canyon, where, from the splendid exposures along the northern trail, fragments of walchia may be gathered in considerable numbers. the greater part of the time of this visit was spent in the paleobotanical search of the supai and the older formations, including the proterozoic, for fossils, and in the selection of materials for the "geologic column" and the exhibits in the observation station then being built on yavapai point under the joint auspices of a committee of the national academy of sciences, under the chairmanship of dr. merriam, and the committee on outdoor education of the american museums association, dr. h. c. bumpus, chairman, with funding of the construction by the laura spellman rockefeller memorial and of the equipment and exhibits by the carnegie corporation of new york. the search of the shales and sandstones of the supai formation, mainly along or near the yaki trail, gave very meager results except fossil plants in hermit shale 5 . the discovery of two new footprint horizons and some zones of lenticular limestone in which the lime was deposited about and apparently through the agency of fresh-water or possibly brackish-water algæ. fragments of land plants, generally obscure, were, however, collected from within 30 feet of the base of the supai, and these revealed the presence of walchia and taniopteris in association with several coal measures genera of fossil plants which are known to have survived into the lower permian. the general character of the flora of the hermit was sketched before the national academy of sciences in april 1927,¹ and brief announcements of the progress of paleobotanical explorations in the canyon have appeared in the year books of the carnegie institution,2 besides a short note on the pre-paleozoic fossils which was presented to the national academy of sciences in april 1928.3 my thanks are expressly due to dr. john c. merriam, president of the carnegie institution of washington and chairman of the committee on national parks of the national academy of sciences; to the trustees of the institution; to mr. j. r. eakin, former superintendent, and to mr. miner r. tillotson, present superintendent, and his associates in grand canyon national park, for interest, cooperation and constructive assistance in connection with my work at the canyon. in all the geological and palæontological field exploration i was fortunate in having the enthusiastic and capable assistance of the late glen e. sturdevant, park naturalist, whose work of making known to the public the scientific and educational interest of the park had but fairly begun at the time of his lamentable death by drowning in february 1929, while exploring the geology, archæology and fauna of the canyon west of bright angel creek. to the u. s. geological survey and the chief geologist, w. c. mendenhall, who has most effectively cooperated in this project, i am especially indebted for the opportunity to describe the collections, and for photographs and service in completing the plates. the specimens described in the report are deposited in the u. s. national museum, in accordance with the wish of the trustees of the carnegie corporation. 'the flora of the hermit shale in the grand canyon, arizona, proc. nat. acad. sci., vol. 13, no. 8, aug. 1927. 2 carnegie inst. wash. year book no. 26, 1926-27, pages 366-369; and no. 27, 1927-28, pages 389-390. algal deposits of unkar proterozoic age in the grand canyon, arizona, proc. nat. acad. sci., vol. 14, no. 7, pages 597-600, july 1928. i. geological environment formations in upper part of the canyon walls kaibab limestone from any point near grand canyon station, arizona, he who begins the descent into the canyon of the colorado river passes first over ledges of nearly horizontal limestone strata. these blue and gray limestones, piled in cliffs forming the brow or rim of the canyon, extend down about 550 feet and are collectively known as the kaibab limestone. the strata are mostly sea deposits and contain fossil remains of sea shells, crustacea, corals, worms, etc., laid down in permian time-the last epoch of the paleozoic. among the fossils to be found in beds not far from the level on which the observer stands are the shells of one of the last survivors of the trilobites, a group which is common in the lower cambrian, and must have had its origin during a great era before the paleozoic. fossil sponges are abundant in the thick blocky strata near the middle of the kaibab limestone, while near the top of the lower third of this great limestone wall a band of soft reddish or pink and light buff sands is seen, which frequently forms a narrow talus slope underlain by high precipices. the full significance of these poorly cemented sands, which are cross-bedded, and which carry travertines in some places together with conglomeratic fragments of limestone, sandstone and shale derived from older formations, is not yet definitely known. undoubtedly, however, they are due to a movement of uplift of the region slightly above sea-level followed by slow sinking, during which these red and gray sands were laid down as wash and detritus brought from some higher area of erosion, possibly not far distant. the sands are like those of the buff sandstone and the red sands and shales that successively underlie the kaibab limestone, and may have been derived either from them or from common sources. the kaibab is the top formation in the background of plate a. in passing eastward toward colorado, the kaibab limestone becomes interlarded with red shales and sandstones which bear evidence of greater nearness to the region from which, by erosion, the continental sediments were derived. coconino sandstone immediately under the kaibab limestone and with sudden change both in the color and composition is a deposit of pale buff, 6 coconino sandstone 7 fine-grained sandstone, over 375 feet thick, which forms a band of light-colored, nearly vertical cliffs contouring the canyon walls around the promontories and in and out of the gulfs and reentrant angles of the canyon. this light band, which is known as the coconino sandstone, is conspicuous from any point on the rim of the canyon and is especially easy to locate, since it lies immediately above the broad zone of red beds which forms the middle portion of the upper canyon walls. both with the bluish-gray kaibab limestone, on top, and the red (hermit) shale, beneath, it contrasts as strongly in structure as in color; for, while the blue-gray limestone above is laid down in nearly level strata, which in the cliff face suggest a wall in which the rock courses vary in thickness and hardness and are sometimes even marked off by layers of mortar-like chert, the sand of the coconino shows but very distant and often only faint traces of horizontal stratification. the coconino sandstone is mainly composed of imbricating parallel thin sheets of light buff-gray sand lying one against another like the shingles of a roof, though overlapping nearly their entire length and sloping generally to the south or south-southwest at an angle of about 20 to 25 degrees to the horizontal. these southward inclining sand layers really form very thick-sometimes enormous— horizontal tiers, which, themselves, correspond to normal stratification. the thin, parallel, pitching layers, some of which are less than 0.5 inch thick, are "cross-bedding," and represent "foreset" beds built out on the advancing front of the tier, which was in general extending toward the south. the tiers in which the foreset beds lie like the leaves of a tilted book, vary from a few feet to possibly 40 or even 60 feet in thickness. the coconino sandstone is remarkable for the scarcity and thinness of layers of normal horizontally laid sand, or "topset" beds. these mark the levels of transfer of sand along the surface of a tier to the region of final foreset deposition. another not less remarkable feature of the coconino sandstone is the absence of argillaceous strata or of silts. no shales are seen in the cliffs of this formation in the central grand canyon area. the coconino sandstone thins toward the northwest, the source of its sand, and thickens for a long distance to the southeast.¹ the sand grains of the coconino are small and, as shown in plate d, figure 4, are rather uniform as to size. they are partially cemented by silica. by some geologists they are supposed, and possibly with good reason, to represent desert or dune sand; but by others they are believed, quite correctly as i view them, to have been laid down in water, though the sand may have originally been 'l. f. noble, u. s. geol. survey prof. paper 150-c, page 60, 1928. 8 hermit shale in the grand canyon ∞™ washed from dunes and flushed out to the area of its present deposition. the coconino has not yet disclosed any remains of sea shells or other clearly marine life in this region, unless certain trails of worms and crustaceans and some obscure markings suggestive of algae were made by marine types. its sands were probably laid down on a great plain, which verged eastward into the sea. the lack of fossils of the common types is, however, made more than good by a wealth of rather extraordinary features, for the pitching surfaces of the "foreset" beds in the lower 170 feet of the formation are marked by the footprints of great numbers of vertebrate animals. these footprints, many of which are preserved in remarkable perfection, have been recognized by c. w. gilmore, of the u. s. national museum, as belonging to about twenty species, representing several genera and families of extinct amphibians and primitive reptiles.¹ many of the tracks are small and delicate as those of birds; others are large as the feet of a large mastiff. curiously enough, as mr. gilmore points out, practically all of these animals were climbing "up hill" on the "foreset" slopes. they left their footprints on the sand when it may have been moist. then the sand was presumably baked; otherwise the prints might not have been preserved in such perfection. no other remains, such as bones, scales, teeth, claws, or spines, of the animals that left these foot impressions have yet been found in this region-a very remarkable fact. patient search in the grand canyon may bring to light portions of the actual animals. hermit shale as is readily seen along the trails near grand canyon station, the first (lowest) bed of the coconino sand to be deposited was spread out over a remarkably level and smooth surface of red silts, sands and shales of the hermit shale (see plate c, figure 1). in some areas this red surface, which was slightly muddy, seems to have been intensely shrunken and cracked to extraordinary depths, as though under very intense heat of the sun. irregular fissures or "sun-cracks" reaching a maximum width of over 15 inches and extending downward to depths of 25 feet or more into the red rock material of the hermit may be seen on the west side of the bright angel trail 2 and in other exposures in this part of the canyon walls, as shown in plate c. they were filled with the inswept light-colored coconino sand, now cemented by silica so as to form quartzite (plate d, fig'fossil footprints from the grand canyon, smith. misc. col., vol. 77, no. 9, 1926; fossil footprints from the grand canyon: second contribution, op. cit., vol. 80, no. 3, 1927. 'see photograph by charles schuchert, amer. jour. sci., 4th ser., vol. 45, 1918, page 351. carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate b d tr a c view of hermit shale at redtop, hermit basin d, "esplanade sandstone"; c, lower beds of hermit shale deposited in the erosional hollow, or old arroyo, in the esplanade; b, coconino sandstone; a, kaibab limestone. photograph by l. f. noble; reprinted from u. s. geological survey professional paper 131-b. characters of supai formation 9 ure 3). this sand filling, like a dyke, is continuous at the top with the coconino sandstone and contrasts very strongly with the dark blood-red hermit. that the fissures once stood open before the outspread of the coconino sand is shown by "inclusions" or infallen pieces of red shale, caught in the light-colored sand in the deep cracks. the irregular branching of the fissures in different directions horizontally and their distribution in the canyon seems to preclude their explanation by earthquake. more resistant to the weather than the surrounding red silts, these crack fillings now stand out in impressive testimony of a withering sun. the texture of the fissure fillings is shown in plate d, figure 3, and that of the surrounding hermit silts in plate d, figure 2, which represents some of the most "lumpy," fine-grained and ferruginous matter within two feet of the base of the coconino sandstone. the great size of these shrinkage cracks is the more remarkable in view of the proportion of sand in the composition of the red sediments which were evidently in a colloidal state. the cracks present a notable geological exhibit, interesting and valuable for use in the interpretation of the climatic and other environmental conditions under which the first coconino sands were laid down. the sun-cracked floor on which the coconino sandstone rests is the top of a great series of red shales and sandstones forming the canyon wall down through a vertical distance of approximately 1,175 feet. in general effect this succession of red beds, which were formerly included in the supai formation, approaches a warm blood-red, slightly suffused with orange. it stands out in vivid contrast with the pale buff-gray coconino capping and, on account of its color, it is the most conspicuous of the rock series in the canyon walls. it also is the thickest of the several series of beds above the inner gorge of the canyon. the upper part, embracing about 225 to 325 feet of this red series of shale and sandstones, comprises the hermit shale, as already noted. this formation, which contains the fossil plants which form the subject of this paper, will be described more in detail in later paragraphs. supai formation the red beds of the supai proper and the hermit shale are the great sources of paint from which the lower formations have received their redness. the grains of fine sand that compose most of the strata are covered with thin films of red iron oxide, which accounts for their color; and when, during heavy rains, the sandstones and shales are swept by downpouring torrents, the water loosens and picks up the very fine and poorly cemented sand particles, so that sometimes the stream becomes, in effect, a flood of paint, which in the 10 the red walls of grand canyon bright sunlight has nearly the color of pigeons' blood. the downstreaming red water washes across the edges of the underlying gray sandstones and blue and gray limestones, and, in many of the cliffs, stains the outcropping surface of the latter to nearly as dark a red as the supai beds themselves. this is particularly true of the two limestones beneath the supai, the upper of which bears the name redwall, though the rock series, about 550 feet thick, is mostly bluish gray beneath the deeply painted surface. the still lower limestone, known as the muav, which is nearly as light colored as the other, is less completely stained on the outcrop. thus it is seen that the internally red formations of the canyon wall above the tonto platform are for the most part confined to a thickness of about 1,100 feet, and that the redness of much of the outcrops of 800 feet of underlying limestones and portions of the still lower greenish and bluish cambrian shales resting on the tonto (cambrian) platform is only superficial and borrowed from formations higher in the walls. this accounts for the predominance of redness in all illustrations showing the canyon in colors. 2 groups of sand strata, some of which are thick and light gray, characterize the lower and middle portions of the supai, and on some of the bedding planes of a fifty-foot massive white ledge of the middle sandstone group, remarkably distinct and interesting tracks of vertebrate animals were found by dr. john c. merriam, g. e. sturdevant and c. w. gilmore. these tracks, which have been described by mr. gilmore, represent species which are all different from those found either in the lower part of the coconino sandstone or the beds near the top of the red series. some of the sandstones lower in the supai formation also contain footprints. traces of plants, including walchia and rivularites, are found at several levels, and fragments of walchia, taniopteris, neuropteris, cordaites and calamites are found in the red shales and sandstones about 25 feet above the base of the supai, as it is exposed just east of the yaki trail. the red shales, both above and below the great track-bearing ledge in the middle of the supai and below the next lower sandstone ledge, contain irregular bluish concretions or branching nodule-like masses of blue lime formed through the agency of lime-depositing algæ. in some of these masses the thread-like algæ scattered throughout the lime are clearly seen by means of a weak lens. the upper and middle parts, at least, of the supai are terrestrial deposits-laid down on an old floodplain. marine mollusca have not thin zones of the cambrian shales are reddish or pinkish, but these are inconspicuous. 2 fossil footprints from the grand canyon: second contribution, smith. misc. col., vol. 80, no. 3, 1927; fossil footprints from the grand canyon: third contribution, op. cit., vol. 80, no. 8, 1928. supai formation and the red wall 11 yet been found above the beds very close to the bottom of the formation. in the basal part of the supai are found thin, irregularly lenticular deposits of limestone formed about aggregations of calcareous algæ, some of which, now silicified, weather into relief, when they resemble skeins of yarn. the occurrence of the alga beds in the middle and lower portions of the supai lends no support to the view, held by some geologists, that the greater part of this series of red beds is desert deposits laid down by the wind, though it is very probable that the climate of the great floodplain was marked by dry, hot summers; also that the surfaces of the deposits were exposed at times. during some of the time the climate may have been semiarid. certain small, white, nodular aggregates in the upper part of the formation will perhaps be found to have likewise been formed by colonies of lime-forming algæ. about 275 feet below the top of the red-bed series-i.e., below the base of the coconino sandstone-is a group of rather hard, darkred sandstones of an aggregate thickness of about 270 feet, which represent the topmost deposits of the supai formation as the upper boundary of the latter is now drawn. being more resistant to erosion than the overlying beds of the hermit shale, the sandstones form a group of high red cliffs, above which the softer shales have been worn away so as to produce a shelf or bench. this shelf, which may be followed along the contours of the canyon, affords convenient routes for trails around the promontories and coves, and, on account of its scenic relations in the canyon walls, it is known as the esplanade.¹ accordingly, for convenience of reference, the group of hard sandstones which supports and forms this shelf is termed the "esplanade sandstone." it is a purely local member of the supai formation. this sandstone, which lies just beneath the hermit shale, is displayed especially well in the hermit basin, where it plays a leading rôle in producing the picturesque effects in the vicinity of the santa maria spring. redwall limestone in the region about grand canyon station the supai rests on an old limestone surface pitted with sinkholes and underlain with caverns before the red sands were laid down. these limestones, about 500 feet thick, are purplish and greenish glassy at the top, the lower beds being bluish or gray. all are marine and carry shells and other fossils characteristic of the carboniferous, mainly the lower carboniferous, or mississippian. 'see l. f. noble, the shinumo quadrangle, grand canyon district, arizona, u. s. geol. survey bull. 549, pages 21-73, 1914; also, a section of the paleozoic formations of the grand canyon at the bass trail, u. s. geol. survey prof. paper 131-b, page 61, 1923. 12 upper walls of the grand canyon muav limestone immediately beneath the redwall, but generally separated from it by thin purplish limestones or shallow hollow-filling pockets of fish-bearing devonian sandy limestone, is found another series of limestone, dove-colored, slightly drab and gray, and containing more marine shells. these beds, about 385 feet thick, are shown by the fossils to be of upper cambrian age. though the limestones of the muav often lie in contact, parallel, with the mississippian redwall limestone over considerable areas, a vast extent of time, embracing the ordovician and silurian periods as well as most of the devonian, elapsed between the periods of their deposition. during most of this long hiatus in deposition this area of the continent was above sealevel and probably undergoing erosion. together, the redwall and the muav limestones form the massive vertical cliffs that compose the buttresses of the temples and promontories of the canyon walls. they combine, often with only a narrow stepbreak, in producing the most precipitous and nearly impassable of the many cliffs of the canyon side. bright angel shale the muav limestone grades downward into bluish and greenish sandy shale with a few interspersed limestones (the sources of most of the springs of this vicinity) and sandstones, in all about 325 feet,¹ called the bright angel shale. these are marine, and are characterized by immense numbers of casts of slender, "ropy," intermingled and intertwined seaweeds. the lower part of the shale contains several thin dirty-brown sandy layers carrying trilobites and marine mollusca, which prove that this formation, also, is of upper cambrian age. the beds of the bright angel shale are generally relatively soft and wear back in long slopes extending from the foot of the muavredwall cliffs down to the top of the tapeats sandstone which rims the inner canyon of the colorado river. tapeats sandstone rusty, brownish-gray sandy flags, often suggesting masonry, underlie the bright angel shale. they are resistant to erosion and consequently stand in cliffs, sometimes 250 feet high, forming the brink of the inner gorge. these sandstones contain great numbers of the casts of seaweeds, called "fucoids." they are wave-marked, and where the lower beds were laid down on the vishnu schist we find conglomerates containing pebbles of schist and other older rocks as well as quartz, the latter being often rusty yellow or saffron in color. 'this thickness, on bright angel trail, is quoted from l. f. noble, loc. cit., p. 72. conditions of deposition of hermit shale 13 the tapeats sandstone was deposited off a vast, low, flat coast, which was sinking slowly beneath an upper cambrian sea. detailed descriptions, with measurements of the formations in the canyon walls, are given by l. f. noble in a section of the paleozoic formations of the grand canyon at the bass trail¹ and in the shinumo quadrangle, grand canyon district, arizona.2 the hermit shale the hermit shale, which embraces the upper part of the great red series in the upper part of the canyon walls, lies between the base of the gray coconino sandstone above and the top of the sandstone forming the esplanade beneath. the formation thickens to the westward. on the yaki trail it is said to be 225 feet. it measures 260 feet in bright angel trail and about 275 feet in the hermit basin. conditions of deposition of the hermit shale land surface as one follows along the upper surface of the "esplanade sandstone" in the region embracing the hermit basin and the kaibab trail, he finds the shelf made by the top of the sandstone, 270 feet thick, to drop rather abruptly here and there in broad hollows in the sandstone. these hollows, several of which may be seen in the hermit amphitheater, are not mere notches cut by present-day rills. they represent partially excavated erosion channels cut in the "esplanade sandstone" before the overlying shales were laid down. they are irregular in distribution and size and are nowhere observed to be more than 70 feet deep, nor apparently more than a half mile in width in this region. they are well seen in the hermit basin as one looks across from points on the hermit trail below red top and in the vicinity of the santa maria spring, where they have been described and illustrated by noble. in fact, the trail descends through one of these hollows, now partly emptied, in the esplanade at "red top" (plate b,-opposite p. 8). 3 close examination of these hollows shows that they are filled by softer beds, less resistant to erosion, like those overlying the big sandstone; also the shales are more silty and are slightly less brown, and of a warmer red tone than the "esplanade sandstone" in which the hollows are cut. these "filling" deposits compose the lowest part of the hermit shale. they abut horizontally against the edges of the ¹u. s. geol. survey prof. paper 131-b, 1923 (see plates xix and xx). 2 u. s. geol. survey bull. 549, 1914, page 72. see also n. h. darton, guidebook of the western united states, part c, the santa fe route, with a side trip to the grand canyon of the colorado, u. s. geol. survey bull. 613, 1915. l. f. noble, u. s. geol. survey prof. paper 131-b, page 63, pl. 33b, pl. 34a. 14 hermit shale in the grand canyon esplanade sandstones on the bottoms and at the sides of the hollows. from this it is clear that, following the deposition of the supai, the region was uplifted and the "esplanade sandstone" subjected to cutting and trenching by streams with the formation, here and there, of shallow valleys or arroyos and small pond-like basins. cross-sections of arroyos are shown in plate b and plate c, figure 2. the hermit shale in the hermit basin is found by noble to be as much as 320 feet thick where measured from the bottom of the deepest arroyo, and but 265 feet from the intervening levels of the top of the "esplanade sandstone." the length of time between the deposition of the "esplanade sandstone" and the resumption of deposition with consequent filling of the shallow arroyos by the softer hermit shale is not known. it is, however, the belief of the writer that, in spite of the differences in the character of the filling hermit, the erosion interval was, geologically speaking, not long, for the following reasons: (1) the new drainage had merely notched the land surface here and there, leaving broad low, flat, interstream areas which represent the original undissected surface of the supai ("esplanade sandstone"). no "second bottoms" indicating a physiographic history have been noted. the surface of the esplanade may even have served as a floodplain while the arroyos were being filled. this is especially likely during the later stages of the filling process. (2) the sandstones of the esplanade do not seem to have been hardened or lithified before the hollows were filled; for they do not appear to have furnished hard pebbles such as should form conglomerates at the base of the hermit in the hollows and along the streams. such conglomerates as occur, in small areas, near or at some distance above the base of the hermit contain only small pebbles, generally of gray and blue limy rock and pellets of iron. apparently the sands of the esplanade were still relatively soft and subject to easy erosion and disintegration when the arroyos were filling again. as to this point it is, however, to be remembered that in certain areas, never subjected to heat or metamorphic compression, sands of the lower cretaceous are now friable and soft. (3) finally, the "esplanade sandstone" and the lower portions of the supai in this region contain permian plants. though evidently older than the hermit flora, which, as will be shown, is probably upper lower permian, if the permian be viewed as comprising two major divisions, the supai in the bright angel-yaki area is, itself, nevertheless of permian age. deposition and stratification the hermit shale consists mainly of sandy, current-rippled, thinbedded, sandy "shales" and silts, verging into blood-red and in part carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate c s h c fig. 1-view of contact of coconino sandstone with underlying hermit shale as seen looking west from bright angel trail. exposure shows shrinkage cracks in top of hermit filled with cemented coconino sand. c, coconino sandstone; h, hermit shale; e, shrinkage crack filled with buff-gray sand. photograph loaned by professor charles schuchert. fig. 2-view of west wall of hermit gulch from hermit trail near santa maria spring, photographed to show cross-sections of pre-hermit erosional hollows in top of supai formation. red sandstone (s), upper member of supai formation with erosional hollows filled by basal shales of hermit (h). owing to recession slope of soft hermit shales lying on sandstone of esplanade and upward direction of line of vision, the thickness of the hermit is greatly foreshortened in perspective. vertical cliff (c) in upper part of view is coconino sandstone which is surmounted by kaibab limestone, the lower part only of which is seen. photograph by courtesy of h. e. stork, national park service. characters of hermit and coconino sediments 15 suffused by a lighter warm tone, especially where not very fully weathered. thin sandstones, irregularly bedded and soft, occur at several levels, especially in the hollow-fillings on the esplanade, and in the next 50 feet of beds above the esplanade level; also three or four soft sandstones are found near the top of the formation. all appear to lack continuity, and though the grains are generally thickly coated with iron, and more or less cemented by carbonates, the sands are soft and easily eroded. this accounts for the sloping surface from the top of the esplanade to the foot of the light buff cliffs of the coconino sandstone. field specimens accompanied by thin sections illustrating the relatively coarse deposits, the fine, stream-rippled shales, the sun-cracked silts, and the very deeply sun-cracked top zone of the hermit shale have, together with samples of the overlying coconino sandstone and the material filling the great cracks in the top of the hermit, been placed in the hands of c. s. ross, geologist in charge of petrological investigations in the u. s. geological survey, who has kindly furnished the microphotographs shown in plate d, together with the following descriptive notes on the specimens. petrological notes on hermit and coconino sediments (plate d) 1. average sandy shales and silts, mostly intensely rippled. nos. 28-36-37-39 are very similar to 28-14. the proportion of dolomite varies a little, but is about 50 to 60 per cent of the rock. no. 28-37 is the coarsest grained specimen, with sand grains that average nearly 0.04 mm. in diameter ("fine-grained grit"). 2. extremely thin-bedded, ripple marked, fine-grained silt. no. 28-48. a fine-grained silt composed of sand and about 25 per cent of dolomite in the form of rhombs. the sand contains about 5 per cent of plagioclase and orthoclase and a little muscovite. the sand grains are angular to sub-angular in outline. the red pigment of the rock is composed of ferruginous and clay-like material. some of this is in small rounded aggregates and some of it is unevenly distributed as a film around the sand grains. the rock shows bedding planes. where the material is finer grained, there is a concentration of dolomite, and a few magnetite and ilmenite grains are present. 3. relatively "muddy," sun-cracked silt. no. 28-14. not very different from 28-16 in size and form of sand grains, but dolomite is very abundant as it forms about 60 per cent of the rock. 4. streaked, stream-rippled, silty shale (plate d, figure 1). no. 28-3. red areas are a fine-grained sandy silt and the white ones are dominantly carbonate. large areas were originally calcite but this has been partly replaced by small rhombs of dolomite. 16 hermit shale in the grand canyon 5. very fine muddy silt and slime. no. 28-16. calcareous silt composed of about 50 per cent sand grains and 50 per cent carbonate (principally dolomite). the sand grains average about 0.035 mm. in diameter and are dominantly quartz, but plagioclase and orthoclase form about 5 per cent of the rock and a small amount of muscovite is present. the sand grains are angular to sub-angular, and are surrounded by a narrow zone composed of a clay ferruginous cement. 6. upper two feet of hermit shale, cut by great shrinkage cracks (plate d, figure 3). no. 29-1. very dark red ferruginous silt composed dominantly of quartz grains with abundant interstitial material composed of iron oxide with a little clay. the sand grains are very angular and are nearly 0.04 mm. in diameter. in small areas there is a local concentration of dolomite, but this material is not abundant in the rock. the quartz grains are as large or larger than those in any of the specimens, but are much less abundant, since the ferruginous cement forms about 50 per cent of the rock. 7. track-bearing lower portion of typical coconino sandstone (plate d, figure 4). no. 27-41 (56). fine-grained light buff-colored sandstone. composed dominantly of quartz but contains a little feldspar. average diameter of grains about 0.15 mm. there is no calcareous cement and very little interstitial clay material, but a few small pellets resemble kaolin. the quartz grains were originally rounded to subangular, but have been enlarged by the addition of silica. a few grains show that crystal faces have been formed during this addition of silica. 8. fillings of shrinkage cracks in top of hermit shale (plate d, figure 3). 1927-36 and 1929-2 are nearly alike. sandstone composed of about 82 per cent quartz, 16 per cent of carbonate (calcite and dolomite). the quartz grains have been enlarged through the addition of silica and the average diameter is about 0.15 mm. the carbonate grains are irregular in shape and fill the interspaces between quartz grains and thus differ in form from the anhedral dolomite grains of the hermit. most of the rock strata, both sandstones and shales, show crossbedding, but here and there in the old arroyos we find thin beds of sand, usually not more than 5 or 10 inches in thickness, which were deposited very rapidly. these lack planes of stratification, due to uninterrupted deposition. in one ledge the upright fronds of a fernlike plant were thus surrounded by about 9 inches of sand, which was not, however, thick enough to bury completely the standing plant. great difference of opinion exists among geologists as to the conditions under which the hermit as well as the upper part of the carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate d figure 1. photomicrograph of the coarser-grained phase of the hermit shale. the white areas dominantly quartz but a small proportion of feldspar is present. the areas of high relief that have a stippled appearance are calcite and the nearly black areas are a highly ferruginous argillaceous cement. x 86. are figure 2. photomicrograph of the upper, fine-grained, portion of the hermit shale. the white areas are quartz and the dark ones highly ferruginous clay cement. x 86. figure 3. photomicrograph of rock filling shrinkage cracks in the hermit shale. large white and dark areas without relief are quartz, the material with high relief that fills interspaces between quartz crystals is calcite. crossed nicols x 86. figure 4. photomicrograph of coconino sandstone. almost a pure quartz sandstone. the borders of the quartz grains show enlargement. crossed nicols x 86. photographs by courtesy of c. s. ross, u. s. geological survey. i climate attending deposition of hermit shale 17 underlying supai were laid down, it being the belief of some that the red sand was transported and deposited by winds under desert or semi-desert conditions. others hold that, though the sediments might have been more or less subject to wind transportation in an arid environment before final deposition, the materials forming the hermit shale, at least, reached their present resting place by water transportation and were laid down under water. evidence bearing on this question is found (1) in the stratification and structure of the deposits, (2) the petrographical and chemical composition of the rocks, and (3) the characteristics and habits of the life found in the deposits. as will be seen in the following review, the facts point distinctly to water as the medium of transportation and deposition, though they indicate clearly a warm and semi-arid environment. at the outset it is to be remembered that the hermit shale is a thin-bedded formation. its sands are fine, though largely angular. by far the greater part resembles thin-bedded, stream-current waved red sandy silts. no long slopes of "foreset" beds (cross-bedding), like those seen in the coconino sandstone, are found. no long waves are present. cross-bedding of the stream ripple type is, on the other hand, common-omnipresent, in fact. it is seen, often in great refinement, both in the thin, stiff, wavy, sandy shales, which exhibit a relatively rigid, crusty texture on some of the weathered outcrops, and in the thick shales, bedded relatively rigid and hard so as to pass for sandstones, which, in fact, they really are, in spite of the rippling and general thinness of stratification. it is, however, to be observed that on many of the angular and unsymmetrical waves, all of which are small, the very thin cross-beds, while irregularly concave downward and wedging characteristically in knife edges to the crest of the current wave, are truncated, with evidence of repeated scouring and redeposition of the fine grit, which contains limited portions only of clay. we may therefore conclude also that argillaceous matter was scarce and that sedimentation was, on the whole, rather slow. that the sand was not wind-deposited is further shown, for the lower half at least, of the formation, by the horizontality and relative parallelism of the beds. the microstructure of the stream-rippled sand with small-scale cross-bedding is shown in plate d, figure 1. climate as indicated by the sediments here and there, in what were pools or areas of relatively slack water in the arroyos, the wavy ripple layers of the shale are covered with films of silt and argillaceous matter, richer in iron and evidently laid down after slackening or stagnation of the current. they look like shiny slime surfaces, and such they are (see plates 3 and 43). on these 18 deposition of hermit shale in grand canyon slimes, which in the freshly quarried material often retain their gloss, one may find numerous trails left by fragments of debris dragged in the water, and by worms; or, perhaps, the delicate imprints in great perfection of small feet, resembling those of the "mud puppy" and belonging to some early type of salamander or batrachian (plate 3). in many cases the slime surfaces were suncracked (plate 2). evidently, therefore, the footprints were made while the muds were still moist—i. e., soon after the recession, by drainage or evaporation, of the water.¹ sometimes small portions of plants, also, had fallen into and were partially buried in or coated with the slime films (plate 23, fig. 1), before the mud was exposed to the air and hardened. the plant impression may be relatively distinct if found exactly in the slime layer, which may, however, be a mere thin film. generally the fragments of the plant are badly macerated. those portions that rose above the slime surface evidently withered and in most cases wasted away before the water was replenished. often the thin film coats and can not be lifted from the plant whose outline is visible beneath it, as is shown in plate 43 and plate 12, fig. 3. evidence of great fluctation of the water bodies in which animals swam and leaves drifted, to be buried in inwashed sands or settling silts, is unmistakable. suncracks abounding in the lower hermit testify to the very frequent reduction of the water cover, and the molds of salt crystals (plate 33, fig. 2) prove its nearly entire disappearance at times. the slimes are now hard and generally slightly darker colored than the subjacent sand, due both to the greater amounts of iron oxide and the clay content. reference has already been made (page 8) to the giant suncracks in the top of the hermit (plate c). the size and relations of the carbonate crystals in the top beds are construed as indicating the formation of these crystals as the result of evaporation of the water at time of deposition of the silts. that the deposition in the esplanade hollows was, however, rapid at times is shown by the irregular positions of some of the fossil stems and twigs in the deposits. these frequently lie more or less oblique to the bedding, a condition proving the deposition of sediments before the plants had wilted. the occurrence of erect stems is rare except in the case of the relatively rigid stems of the sphenophyllum, which was amphibious. in many cases its stout stalks were buried in place of growth by sand laid in thin and perhaps cross-bedded sheets around them. an example of such erect stems, 'for illustrations and descriptions of the footprints, see c. w. gilmore, fossil footprints from the grand canyon: second contribution, smith. misc. col., vol. 80, no. 3, 1927; fossil footprints from the grand canyon: third contribution, smith. misc. col., vol. 80, no. 8, 1928. plants in stream rippled deposits 19 with their verticils of leaves spread out in the thin cross-bedded rock, is shown in plate 10, figures 5 and 6. such rapid inwashing of sand, though subject to current shifting and cross-bedding, was, of course, more favorable for the accidental entombment and burial of drifting plant debris than the thin-bedded, curly shales, but the minute features characterizing the leaf or twig are generally less distinct on account of the coarser matrix. an interesting result of the current deposition is the not infrequent truncation of leaves or stems by current scour, in the course of which some of the sand was removed, to be redeposited in some other place, so that we have the fragments of fronds cut off more or less cleanly along the planes of current scouring, while in rare instances a part of a frond, originally deposited in one position in the sand, and soon after partly uncovered, was again buried on a new surface of deposition beneath a fresh contribution of current-laid sand, but in a new attitude and often in a disheveled state. so it happens that plant fragments are found at various angles in the rock, a fragment of one leaf being not infrequently laid down on one cross-bedding plane at an angle to the truncated portion of another frond, earlier fallen on a bedding plane of different slope. thickness and toughness of the xerophytic leaf have aided such preservation. some of the cross-bedded sandstones and shales carry fragments of the twigs and branches of walchia, the sprays of which, spreading out frond-like as those of the living araucaria excelsa to which walchia was related, were relatively stiff, the leaves being thick, strong and usually curved or inclined upward with considerable rigidity. occasionally these twigs had dried where they rose above the surface of the sediment. also many of the fragments of the less resistant fern-like plants found in the thin cross-bedded sandstones are torn, rumpled and crushed, despite the fact that most of them were thick and relatively rigid in structure. evident withering is common. this agrees with the abundance of suncracks and the sunbaking of the slimes and silts when exposed by the evaporation of the water. it is important to note that nearly all the plants found in the hermit were such as might grow along stream banks or on the nearby land. most of them came to their present resting places by drifting, which may largely account for their frequently disheveled condition, even when finally buried in lenses of rapidly deposited sand.¹ the conditions leading to the deposition of thin wavy, sandy shales are, in general, very unfavorable for the preservation of fossil plants, unless deposition was very rapid. in fact, well-preserved land plants are extremely rare in such deposits. the relatively good impressions left in the sand by many of the hermit plants was doubtless due to the rigidity and leathery texture of the stems and leaves. 20 conditions of deposition of hermit shales on the whole, the characters of the beds of the formation point clearly to deposition of the lower part, at least, of the hermit shale under water, which was flowing probably in torrents at times, though here and there at other times were stagnant pools lined by bottom slime deposits, on which worms moved about and small batrachians left remarkably distinct footprints. that the water level fluctuated greatly is shown by suncracking, not only of the finer and more or less argillaceous layers of the shale (plate 1), but of the silts as well (plate 2), though to shallow depth. in fact, not only was crackling of the slime layers common, but the preservation of the slimes themselves was in many cases, at least, no doubt due to sunbaking of the material in the air, with deposition of some less soluble salts in the silts, before rising water and renewal of current movement brought new influxes of sediments, scouring away parts of those already deposited, and, in the course of time, further filling the hollows. eventually the sand-bearing floods spread out over the surface of the vast red sand flat or floodplain, rippling above the top of the completely buried "esplanade sandstone." the arroyos were probably comparable to a degree to those seen on a very small scale in the red floodplain of the puerco and little colorado rivers in the region embracing winslow, arizona. they represented a young drainage, shallowly and distantly cut into the plain. apparently some of the pools were at times emptied by evaporation. on the other hand, the stream gradient appears to have been light and the water may even have flowed on the flat interstream areas in times of flood. at the time of hermit deposition there were no rocks in the vicinity from which hard conglomeratic material, including pebbles of quartz, chert, sandstone, and limestone or lava, was washed down over the floodplain in this region. no boulders of harder rock are found to have been rolled into or along the old waterways to become embedded in the shales and sandstones. hence, we must conclude, not only that the area in question was far from the sources of hard pebbles and that the gradient was low, but also that the "esplanade sandstone" was at the time relatively soft and not sufficiently cemented to cause it to break down in blocks or boulders resistant to ready erosion and disintegration. certainly the interval during which the esplanade sandstone was subjected to trenching, before hermit deposition began in the hollows, was not characterized by such changes as might cause the consolidation and lithification, through cementation, of the "esplanade sandstone." further and perhaps more conclusive testimony of the sediments as to climate is seen in the red color of the silts and sands. reasoning from the conditions observed to attend deposition of sediments of plants buried in arroyos and ponds 21 different colors at the present day, red sands and silts are generally recognized, though not without exception, as marking arenaceous terrestrial deposits laid down in a warm climate characterized by long, hot, dry seasons. redness is especially evident if vegetation or other organic matter was sparse, with conditions favorable for its oxidation, as obviously was the case with the hermit. the landscape of the early hermit, while red and semi-arid in aspect, is not proved to be a desert, though, as will be seen, it lacked the humidity of most lower permian basins, including those of the eastern states, and probably was subject to long warm and dry summers. molds of salt crystals are found in one of the plant beds, as shown in plate 33, figure 2, and careful search will probably reveal traces of salts at other levels and localities, where evaporation of the arroyo pools proceeded to the point of crystallization of a part, at least, of their saline contents. such occurrences are, however, probably rare in the hermit. large insects lived in the region (plate 51, figure 2). evidence of the fossil plants as to climate in the foregoing review of the testimony of the sediments and topography as to the environment of hermit sedimentation the criteria offered by the rocks have been found to show that in early hermit time this region was the scene of showers, burning sun, hailstorms,¹ occasional torrents, and periods of drought and drying up of pools. the testimony of the plant life of the hermit as to the climate of the environment in which it grew is not less definitive. as will be noted here and illustrated on later pages, the flora points to a semi-arid climate with a long dry season in this region during hermit time. the plants found in the hermit were growing in the immediate vicinity where they are now found. some of them were rooted in the sandy soil of the bottoms or lower slopes of the hollows. the flora is largely unlike any flora known from the lower permian or the basal upper permian of any other part of the world. it contains some representatives of the old world or "cosmopolitan" permian plant society, with which are mingled a large group of new forms whose closest relations are found in northeastern europe and central asia, and in the gondwana floras of india, australia, africa and south america—that is, the so-called gondwana land. the age of the gondwana beds in which the relatives of these oriental forms occur is disputed, but the terranes in which they are found in the uralian and central asian regions are of uppermost lower permian and zechstein (upper permian) age. here they were mingled with ¹see impressions made by hailstones on the suncracked silts shown in plate 2. 22 conditions of deposition of hermit shales forms either of cosmopolitan range or peculiar to the central eurasian province in middle permian time. most of the species in the hermit flora have, however, hitherto been unknown. although no barriers of water are definitely known to have intervened during hermit time between the region now embraced in northern arizona on the one hand and the great plains region on the other, the hermit flora contrasts very strongly with the lower permian floras of the mid-continent region. quite aside from the introduction of immigrants from the orient, it differs not only from the floras of kansas, oklahoma and texas, but from the european cosmopolitan permian floras, as well, by the absence of nearly all of the moist-climate and swamp-loving types. no representatives of the cordaitales, mostly upland plants, or the calamariales, which like their living relatives, the horsetails, have always favored moist and generally sandy soils, and sphenopteris, or the neuropterid genera, neuropteris, alethopteris, callipteridium and odontopteris-all present in the lower permian of the mid-continent and appalachian regions have yet been recognized, though, of course, traces of one or more of these groups may later come to light. we must therefore conclude either that the hermit flora had its day after the extinction of these groups—which is hardly tenable since most of these genera survived through the lower permian-or that they were barred from the region by climatic obstacles. the genera calamites, neuropteris and cordaites, and probably pecopteris, were present in the grand canyon region in early supai time, and they may be collected near the base of the supai not far east of the yaki trail. they are also present in the lower permian along the rocky mountains in colorado and new mexico. it is, accordingly, evident that changes in the environment as well as a relatively late date, not earlier than the upper rothliegende, for the hermit flora are responsible for the complete absence, so far as yet known, of these pennsylvanian genera from the hermit shale. it is significant that no pre-permian species is found in the present hermit collections. in passing it may be noted that in eastern north america we find the lower permian, about 1,300 feet thick in the appalachian trough, marked by a moderately moist climate under which thick red beds, denoting weather with relatively dry warm summers, were interspersed with numerous coal beds laid down in swamp environments and intercalated with fresh-water limestones. here the flora is composed overwhelmingly of species inherited from the pennsylvanian, or forms obviously descended from pennsylvanian ancestors indigenous to the same basin. the species characteristic of the "cosmopolitan" permian are evidently immigrant stragglers and relatively few at best. hermit climate as indicated by fossil plants 23 farther west, in the mid-continent region, the number of pennsylvanian survivors in the permian is very much smaller. permian conifers become more prominent in the flora, and gigantopteris, an eastern asiatic genus, is abundant, together with taniopteris, which is rare in the appalachian trough. salt and gypsum deposits succeed the lowest permian plant-bearing beds of the mid-continent region. with the increasing aridity of this part of the continent the flora becomes greatly reduced, with rapid disappearance of pennsylvanian species belonging to the groups already mentioned, while the plant association becomes not only more exclusively permian, but it appears to develop provincial aspects in response to environmental differences, chief among which are those of climate. accordingly, in the wellington formation of kansas the representation of pecopteris and neuropteris is very slender, but taniopteris and callipteris are abundant in association with a peculiar genus, glenopteris, which is probably related to supaia in the hermit flora. the region occupied by the wellington formation in kansas had experienced both aridity and alkalinity, more or less fatally inhospitable to the pennsylvanian types. however, the wellington plant-bearing beds are not red; they contain more or less carbonaceous matter, indicating an interval of less aridity, or at least of shorter dry seasons. taniopteris, which is relatively rare in the lower permian floras of the humid regions, is plentiful in the wellington shales and in the upper permian of most parts of the world. great regions of salt deposition, distributed through hundreds of feet, separate the grand canyon region from the great plains. some of this saline deposition took place between the time of the lower permian floras of the appalachian and mid-continent regions or the early supai flora on the one hand, and the hermit shale on the other. there is little room for doubt that adversity of climate was responsible for the exclusion of permian species of some of the pennsylvanian genera from the hermit, notwithstanding the apparently late date of the latter in the lower permian. a rather distinct indication of a climate unfavorable both to the former indigenous plant life and to the plant life of regions of denser plant population is found in the relatively small size of the hermit plants themselves. nearly all the herbaceous forms are low and small. among the impressions or collapsed molds of flattened stems and trunks of trees none has yet been found to exceed 12 cm. in diameter. the herbaceous flora contains callipteris and taniopteris (the latter much more abundant than the former), which are found in other parts of the world, but the greater volume of the herbaceous plant life is composed of previously unknown species of supaia and 24 conditions of deposition of hermit shales "brongniartites?" both of which, though probably derived from late developments of callipteris, find their closest relatives in the upper permian of eurasia and gondwana land, as already stated. these two genera, being adapted to the environment, appear to have largely monopolized the habitable ground along the hermit arroyos. further circumstantial indications of unfavorableness of climate and in particular of long dry seasons are found in the large number, including new kinds, of coniferous trees. in early days as well as at present in most regions of the world, the conifers occupied areas that, on account of marked seasonal severity, especially periods of drought, were less endurable to other classes of vegetation. the genus walchia, which appears to have had its origin in the effort of a moist-climate flora to withstand increasingly dry summers, is most at home in regions of red beds deposition and possibly more or less alkaline soils, and even in basins of highly concentrated salt waters whose evaporation left extensive deposits of gypsum and salt. the genus is rather typically a "red bed" genus, and it becomes relatively prominent as proof of aridity is more abundant, with concomitant disappearance of forms less resistant to drought. not only is walchia represented rather abundantly by several species in the hermit flora, but voltzia, ullmania, and two or three other genera of conifers are also present. direct evidence as to climate is afforded by the distinctly xerophytic characters of the flora. as seen in the photographs, nearly all the herbaceous plants had very thick, leathery leaves, many of which were provided with dense villous or scaly coverings. most of the species of supaia had rigid pinnules. "fuzziness" is prominent. some of the leaves of supaia and the species of sphenophyllum commonly present, which was probably amphibious, seem to have had the habit of rolling back into longitudinal quills, apparently for protection against loss of moisture, like the fronds of pellaea now living in the canyon. rarely is it possible to discern the nervation of most of the fronds unless maceration was advanced, so deeply immersed were the nerves and so dense the covering. laciniation or dissection of the leaf is minimized. simplicity is the rule. the leaves of supaia, which may have grown in tufts from root stocks, were low, with two simply pinnate divisions above a bifurcation, below which the reduced pinnules may have extended to the base of the very short petiole. in some of the fronds of this genus, and in most of the fronds tentatively referred to brongniartites, the pinnules sat oblique to the rachis, and, in certain species, were ventrally concave as though to catch precipitation and pour it into the gutter formed by the ventrad flaring wide decurring laminæ bordering the rachis. the stems and axes of all the fern-like plants evidence of semi-arid climate 25 are thickly clothed with scales or spines (plate 33, fig. 3), which in some species are scattered even along the median nerves. the leaves of several forms are provided here and there with spicules along the borders. petioles are short and scaly. even in taniopteris the axis of the leaf is rugose. thickening of the lamina is prominent in callipteris conferta. another significant feature of the hermit fossils as viewed from the climatic standpoint is the complete absence of all organic matter remaining from the plant substance itself. no carbonaceous residue has been seen in any case. only in thin local lenses or pockets of sand, limited generally to a few inches in extent, has a gray matrix been found about the plants, and even here the organic matter itself is entirely wanting. it is evident, therefore, that conditions were extremely favorable not only for the full oxidation of the iron, but for the destructive oxidation of all the organic matter. further, the underlying "esplanade sandstone" appears not to have been cemented at the time of early hermit deposition. attention has already been called to the lack of supai pebbles in the hermit channels. it is fairly evident that the esplanade was porous at that time, offering good drainage to the uncemented, non-argillaceous hermit sediments, which, accordingly, were adequately aerated, even where rapidly deposited. had there been a water table in the esplanade hollows, such as would have been essential to the maintenance of a permanent water level at or close beneath the surface of the hermit, we should have found not only a less complete oxidation of the iron, but also the carbonized remnants of portions of the carbohydrate plant matters in some of the rapidly accumulated deposits. there should have been sufficient moisture in the latter to preserve some at least of the more resistant plant products from complete decomposition. lack of all traces of carbonaceous residues can not be due to slowness of sedimentation; some of the beds, as has already been described, were rapidly laid down, the plants being enveloped in an upright position. yet no tissue of organic composition has been noted in any stem, branch, cone, or seed. the disappearance of such plant products as spore exines, seed envelopes and cuticles, which are ordinarily indestructible if buried in a moist habitat, is significant and confirms the lack of permanent saturation of the newly deposited sediments. the spaces in the sandstone, shales, or even the silty layers formerly occupied by the plants, are now either collapsed or filled by sand, silts, or soft brownish-red friable iron clay. evidently no water cover retarded the decompositional processes long enough to permit burial of the organic debris beyond reach of sufficient oxygen for the total conversion of the organic matter into co2 and water. ii. composition, age, and relations of the hermit flora composition the hermit flora as now known comprises 35 species of fossil plants, which are here described with three additional fossil forms, probably of animal origin. several insect wings have been found,¹ together with numerous footprints of vertebrates, as has already been mentioned. the present status of the flora is, however, merely momentary, for the number of species will assuredly be greatly increased as the result of further search, with the probable discovery of types now known in other continents, as well, doubtless, as new forms of evolutionary and geographical interest. following is the list of fossil species, here described, in systematic arrangement: thallophyta algæ cyanophyacea ? rivularites arthrophyta r. permiensis n. sp. sphenophyllales sphenophyllum 26 s. gilmorei n. sp. pteridospermaphyta callipteridales callipterideæ callipteris c. conferta (sternberg) brongnart c. arizona n. sp. c. raymondi zeiller c. sp. supaiacea supaia n. g. plants s. thinnfeldioides n. sp. s. rigida n. sp. s. sturdevantii n. sp. s. merriami n. sp. s. compacta s. anomala n. sp. s. linearifolia n. sp. s. breviloba n. sp. s. subgoepperti n. sp. s. sp. s. sp. indet. s.? sp. 1 see typus whitei carpenter, pl. 51, fig. 1. general composition of the flora 27 pteridospermaphyta-cont. supaiaceae-cont. brongniartites yakia, n. g. yakia heterophylla n. sp. neuropteridium ? sp. taniopterideæ taeniopteris t. cf. eckhardti kurtze coniferophyta araucariales ginkgophyta pro-ginkgoales taxales b. yakiensis n. sp. b. aliena n. sp. insecta pinales? t. angelica n. sp. t. coriacea goeppert. psygmophyllum ps. sp. araucariacea walchia w. piniformis (schloth.) brongnart w. dawsoni n. sp. w. gracillima n. sp. w. hypnoides brongnart? ullmannia u. frumentaria (schloth.) goeppert voltzia v. dentiloba n. sp. v. sp. v. sp. paleotaraceœ paleotarites n. g. p. præcursor n. sp. taxites t. sp. brachyphyllum b. arizonicum n. sp. b. tenue n. sp. pagiophyllum p. dubium n. sp. fruits of uncertain affinities (twigs and fructifications) cyclocarpon c. angelicum n. sp. c. sp. carpolithus c. sp. elto varia n. g. e. bursiformis n. sp. gymnospermous ament megasecoptera protodonata typus t. whitei carpenter¹ animals f. m. carpenter, psyche, vol. 35, no. 3, page 188, text-fig. 1, pl. 5, 1928. typus gilmorei was earlier described by the same author from the hermit shale. 28 flora of the hermit shale, grand canyon vermes ? crustacea scoyenia n. g. s. gracilis n. sp. walpia n. g. w. hermitensis n. sp. euripterida? hastimima? h. sp. two floral provinces represented two important features of the composition of the hermit flora are strikingly apparent. first, it is largely composed of forms previously unknown, due largely, at least, to the fact that the flora is younger than the lower permian floras described from other regions of north america. in fact, less than half the species have previously been known from other permian regions and formations. second, the flora presents a unique aggregate, one part of which belongs to and is characteristic of the western european or cosmopolitan permian flora, while the other part is connected with the gondwana flora of eurasia and the southern hemisphere. the first floral element represents or is plainly descended from the floras of the lower permian in the basins east of the rocky mountains in colorado, new mexico, texas, oklahoma, kansas, the appalachian trough and in western europe. of the other or oriental element a small part is specifically bound to the uralian region. the remaining relatively large portion is so closely connected with a peculiar floral group, not found in the cosmopolitan permian flora but characteristic of the late lower and the upper permian of the uralocentral asian region, with relatives and successors in the latest permian and in the triassic or supposed rhetic formations in the regions of permian glaciation-i. e., the so-called gondwana province -as to leave no room for doubt as to their common origin. the province of the gondwana flora embraces portions of india, australia, south africa and southern south america, with an indicated occurrence in antarctica. the hermit relatives in india and the southern continents are found in the floras that followed or grew out of the gangamopteris flora, or so-called "lower glossopteris flora" (lower gondwana flora) that immediately succeeded the great permian ice sheets in this region and occupied the same areas. the gondwana province was marked by distinctive floras, with, at times, distinctive climates, until the rhetic, when the upper gondwana flora became merged in the world-wide jurassic flora, with concomitant disappearance of major evidence of climatic or geographic isolation. the cosmopolitan and oriental elements of the hermit flora will be more fully defined in the discussion of the "age and origin of the flora." two floral provinces represented 29 1 in the hermit flora the herbaceous plants, including the pteridosperms on the one hand and the shrubby or arborescent gymnosperms on the other, are fairly well balanced. no forms recognized by the writer as ferns are present in the collections now in hand. the genus callipteris, primary representative of the cosmopolitan plant association, was long ago shown by grand'eury ¹ to have borne seeds (carpolithus). the reference of supaia and "brongniartites,” of eurasian connections, to the "cycadofilices" is based on (a) their apparently close relations both to callipteris and to gigantopteris (asiatic), which almost certainly was seed-bearing; and (b) the absence of all indications of fern types of fructification. it is not impossible that ferns-more likely related to the marratiaces—will be found in the beds, for they were then living in other regions. scolecopteris, in particular, of western europe, is therefore to be expected. taniopteris, which has never disclosed demonstrable fructification in any paleozoic species, is supposed by certain authors to be related to the neuropterids. it is, i believe, a true pteridosperm. in fact, i am inclined to think that eltovaria, a somewhat doubtful genus, is the fruit either of taniopteris or more probably of the group represented by supaia. 2 yakia is of unknown affinities. by its aspect it seems connected with callipteris (cf. c. strigosa), and i am inclined to regard it as closest to this genus. if the fragments, apparently bearing appendages interpreted as cupules or sporangia, belong to yakia, as i am disposed to believe, the genus is probably pteridospermic. uncertainty remains as to the specific reference of the fertile fragments. on the other hand, yakia may be a gymnosperm. the apparent absence from the hermit shale of the entire calamarian group is probably due to seasons of too great aridity; surely, if the environment were not too dry, it should have some representative such as schizoneura, phyllotheca or calamites in this flora. to the same cause, if not to a too late age of the flora, is almost certainly due the absence of neuropteris, alethopteris, linopteris and odontopteris, pennsylvanian genera, one or all of which are present in most of the early permian basins, including those of central and eastern america, that were inhabited by the cosmopolitan flora. pecopterids of the tree-fern (psaronius) group may later be discovered and so may some permian species of spheno1 'c. grand'eury, comptes rendus, vol. 143, 1906, page 664. 2 mention should be made of the description of sori of marrattiaceous aspect on the upper surface of a species, thinnfeldia lancifolia, of supposed latest permian (lower beaufort) age in south africa. see a. b. walkom, mesozoic floras of queensland, pt. 1 (cont'd): queensland geol. survey pub. no. 257, 1917, page 21, pl. 3, f. 3. 3 the seed seen on the specimen of brongniartites ? yakiensis, illustrated in plate 28, figure 1, though seeming to be attached to the rachis at the base of the mid-nerve of a pinnule, is not definitely shown to be in organic union with the plant. 30 hermit flora, grand canyon pteris, though i regard the presence of the latter as highly improbable. cladophlebis may well be present, if the climate was not too dry. failure to find any leaves of cordaites, or næggerathiopsis, its eurasian equivalent, is notable. some, at least, of the cordaites group were non-swamp plants. possibly slight alkalinity of the soil, such as may be inferred from the presence of the molds of salt crystals, like those shown in plate 33, figure 2, at certain points in the shales, may have been more responsible than a late age for the absence not only of cordaites, but of some of the other abovementioned pennsylvanian genera that are usually sparsely represented in the early permian floras. in addition to walchia, represented by three species, and ullmannia and voltzia, each with one species, all belonging or supposed to belong to the araucarian stock and all having identical or closely related species in the cosmopolitan permian floras, we find several forms apparently related more closely to the yew family and that are more suggestive of a mesozoic than of any known paleozoic flora. these include, in particular, the species described under paleotaxites, brachyphyllum and pagiophyllum. the presence of taxalean fruits on one of the species is especially notable. age and origin of the flora the examination of both the sources and the age of the hermit flora is complicated by the mingling of eastern and western elements and lack of agreement as to the relative ages and correlations of the terranes in the two provinces. no species found anywhere in beds unquestionably as old as the stephanian (upper pennsylvanian) has yet been found in the hermit shale. walchia piniformis, a plant of wide vertical range, appears in fact to be the only species in the list that occurs in beds for which a pre-permian age is sometimes contended. all the species of walchia are european or very closely related to species in the lower and basal upper permian of europe. one species, w. gracillima, seems identical with a species found near the base of the zechstein in the ural region. the presence in the hermit flora of voltzia and ullmannia, which are more characteristic of the upper permian, though ullmannia is reported from the upper part of the lower permian, points to a stage not below late lower permian, or upper rothliegende, in regions where that term is used. the absence of the neuropterid genera, though possibly due to climatic factors, accords with a place above both the lower and the middle rothliegende, if not as high as the zechstein. a reference to so high a stage finds circumstantial support in the presence of neuropterids about 800 feet below the hermit, near the base of the supai, which, also permian age and origin of the flora 31 in age, is separated from the hermit by a minor erosional unconformity. certainly, the neuropterid genera were not excluded from this region in early permian time. 1 it should be noted that ullmannia ¹ is present also in the upper gondwana raniganj group, probably of upper permian age, in the gondwana province, while voltzia is found also in the triassic of europe. it is generally indicative of upper permian or later age, though, like ullmannia, it is rare in the upper part of the lower permian. callipteris conferta is a polymorphous species, in which, however, the polymorphy is more noticeable in the later forms-i.e., in the time sequence-than in a single plant or a single plant association. this may be seen by comparing the forms in the lower rothliegende with those in the upper rothliegende, and, especially, in the zechstein, where sympodial dichotomy is clearly shown, accompanied by great variation in the pinnule, particularly near the apex of the frond. the form with relatively large compound fronds in the hermit may be regarded as typical or normal if we disregard its xerophytic characters. the normal phase is seen in the lower permian (both lower and upper rothliegende). pinna sympodially dichotomous and provided with broad pinnules suggesting, or even referred by error, as i hold, by some authors to odontopteris are especially seen in the zechstein angara flora. to these supaia is unmistakably closely related. among the european plants the nearest approach to callipteris arizona is found in the fronds from the upper rothliegende of bohemia and the lodeve zechstein, illustrated by goeppert 2 and zeiller as callipteris affinis and c. cf. affinis, respectively. 3 the arizona plant which i identify as callipteris raymondi appears to agree with that species, though the pinnules are slightly larger than those from the basin of blanzy and creusot in france, where the containing beds, at charmoy, were classed by zeiller as upper autunian. the three species of taniopteris in the hermit belong to the group with straight, mostly simple, moderately oblique nerves which is common in the upper part of the lower permian and in the upper permian. the group extends with considerable diversity into the upper gondwana floras of the southern (gondwana) province. in europe taniopteris coriacea belongs in the upper rothliegende ¹ as mentioned in the description, some of the specimens referred by me to ullmannia seem to have borne forked leaves, possibly in specific agreement with the specimen from the lower gondwana karharbari described by seward (mem. geol. survey india: paleontol. indica, n. s., vol. vii, no. 1, 1920, page 12, pl. i, fig. 20-25a) as buriadica. 'h. r. goeppert, foss. fl. perm. form., 1864, page 105, pl. xii, fig. 1. 'r. zeiller, bull. mus. d'hist. nat. de marseille, vol. i, no. 2, 1898, page 27, pl. iii, fig. 4. 32 hermit flora, grand canyon and lower zechstein; t. eckhardti in the copper shales of the base of the zechstein. a species extremely close to taniopteris angelica is illustrated by halle from the upper shihotse beds of central shansi in china, where also are found forms close to t. coriacea, which is frequent in the wellington formation of kansas. however, close allies of t. angelica and t. eckhardti occur in the lower shihotse. there is but one known species to which sphenophyllum gilmorei, with its large narrow, spatulate, entire or slightly erose leaves can be compared. that is sphenophyllum stouckenbergi schmalhausen, from the post-artinsk of the west slope of the ural mountains. the latter species has less elongated and smaller leaves, but it is so close to our plant as to leave no doubt as to its common origin and extremely close relationship. in fact, the differences are perhaps no greater than would be expected in plants so widely separated geographically, with reaction to slightly different environments in transit. according to the paleobotanical standards of western europe, the artinsk is somewhat above the base of the lower permian, its upper limit being placed in the saxonian. since sphenophyllum stouckenbergi belongs higher than the artinsk, the question as to whether the migration of sphenophyllum gilmorei was from the ural region to arizona, or vice versa-ignoring its possible origin in some intermediate region-depends on whether the hermit shale is the older deposit. in any case, the migration was assuredly by the pacific route. i have little doubt that this unique type of sphenophyllum crossed from asia to america, or oppositely, by the same north pacific route as that followed in earlier permian time by gigantopteris. in supaia, represented by eight species, and in the two species referred with some doubt to brongniartites, we have an important floral element whose closest relations and principal distribution are found in eurasia and the gondwana province. it is probably derived from the callipteris stock, which in the upper permian has common features in the development of the frond. the rather wide range of forms found in what i term the supaia group meets its congeners and even near-counterparts, not in the lower permian of western europe, though trace of several uralian forms is rarely found there as the result of westward migration, but in the topmost lower permian and the lower part of the upper permian of the uralian region and central asia, and in the province of the gondwana floras. the group is characterized by once bifurcated fronds, in which the strongly 1 mém. comite géol., vol. ii, no. 4, 1887, page 5, pl. i, figs. 1-12. sphenophyllum thonii, of the "cosmopolitan" permian, is represented by forms considered identical by some paleobotanists and certainly related to the french species, in both the lower shihotse series of shansi and in the permian of the ural region. elements of uralo-asiatic origin 33 unsymmetrical divisions, facing each other vis a vis, are simply pinnate or pinnatifid, with the inner pinnules gradually reduced to shrunken lobes in passing downward to the bifurcation of the frond, while the outer pinnules, which are much longer, also decrease in length in passing downward so as to narrow the limb of the frond, decurrent-wise, to a vanishing point a short distance below the dichotomy of the rachis. the lamina of the pinnules is characteristically decurrent and commonly inflated-eared in the base of each pinnule, and the nervation ranges from alethopteroid in the lanciform pinnules, which may be linear, to neuropteroid in some of the broader pinnules-especially the oblong forms, rounded at the top, approaching brongniartites. in the gondwana floras a few forms in which the two equal divisions are bipinnate have previously been included, possibly rightly, in the same genus with the species with simply pinnate divisions. the supaia group is represented by danaopsis hughesi in the lower gondwana flora, where it occurs in the panchet group at the top of the lower (permian) gondwanas and in the transitional beds of the south rewah coal field, classed as middle gondwana, also permian, in india. it is present in the ipswich beds, now generally regarded as lower triassic, in queensland, and in the lower beaufort beds of south africa, of uppermost permian age, though regarded by some palæontologists as lower triassic or even rhetic. it is reported to be present both in the lower zechstein, permian, of the uralian region,¹ and in the middle or upper lower permian of shensi in china.2 the frond of danaopsis hughesi is once dichotomous in the lower part, the equal divisions being unsymmetrical, and it has a neuropteroid apex and semi-neuropteroid nervation in obtusely rounded pinnules. it is now well recognized that its reference to the cosmopolitan mesozoic genus danæopsis is on all accounts erroneous. forms with apparently non-forked, simply pinnate fronds from both the lower and the upper shihotse beds of central shansi, have, with little regard to the characteristic dichotomy of the pinnatifid frond of the gondwana plant, been generically grouped with danaopsis hughesi by halle, who erroneously refers them all to the genus protoblechnum, known only in the upper pottsville of ohio, to which genus he also provisionally refers the plants from the wellington shales of kansas described by sellards as glenopteris, in which 4 1 'm. d. zalessky, bull. soc. oural. d. sci. nat., ekaterinburg, vol. xxxiii, 1913, page 14, pl. 1, figs. 2-6. 2 fr. krasser, denksch. d. k. akad. wiss., wien, math.-nat. kl., vol. lxx, 1900, page 145, pl. ¤, fig. 4. t. g. halle, pal. sinica, ser. a, vol. ii, fasc. 1, 1927, page 131. e. h. sellards, kansas univ. quart., ix, 1900, page 180. 34 age and origin of the hermit flora dichotomy of the frond is as yet unknown. there appears to be good reason for the reference of the shansi plant to glenopteris. both have simply pinnate or simply pinnatifid fronds with thick and slightly expanded bases where attached to the parent axis. as already indicated, i view the inclusion in a single form genus of a group having uniformly once-bifurcated fronds and another group with invariably simple fronds, as in protoblechnum and glenopteris, as untenable. therefore, the genus supaia is in later pages proposed to cover the group, including danæopsis hughesi, with dichotomous simple or simply pinnatifid fronds, in which the conspicuously asymmetrical divisions form a limb that narrows decurrently for some distance below the bifurcation. variations in the forms of the apices of the fronds and in the pinnules of the hermit species of the genus are illustrated somewhat fully in this report. the form from the lower permian of the hei-shan coal field in shantung, described by yabe and oishi¹ as protoblechnum hallei, seems referable to glenopteris and should be recorded as glenopteris hallei (yabe and oishi). the incomplete pinnæ from the chang chiu coal fields in the same province, identified by the same authors² as protoblechnum wongi halle, also should, if the frond is simple, be transferred to glenopteris. the genus supaia is also represented by a group of forms, generally with lanciform pinnules and alethopteroid nervation, in the gondwana province referred by various authors to thinnfeldia. thinnfeldia odontopteroides (morris) feistmantel, apparently the best-known, the oldest, and the most widespread species of the group, is described as embracing not only small dichotomous fronds with simply pinnate divisions, closely approximating some of the arizona plants, but forms with larger fronds, already referred to, that are bipinnate, and in which the ultimate pinnæ are developed, with diminution below the bifurcation of the main rachis, after the plan of the simple fronds. the generic differentiation of these dichotomous species of thinnfeldia from the typical thinnfeldia with simple fronds in the rhetic of europe is obvious, on which account gothan established the genus dicroïdium for the gondwana province plants. however, the examination of the species found at different stages of the uppermost permian and of the triassic of this province, and referred by paleobotanists to thinnfeldia or dicroïdium, shows that nearly all of them are characterized by simply pinnate dichotomous fronds with alethopteroid, sometimes elongated lanci3 'h. yabe and s. oishi, japanese journal geol. and geogr., trans. & abstr., vol. vi, no. 1-2, 1928, page 17, pl. v, fig. 1-2. loc. cit., page 61, pl. xii, fig. 1-4. 'w. gothan, abhandl. naturh. gesell. nürnberg, vol. xix, 1912, no. 3, page 75. floral elements from southern hemisphere 35 form pinnules with alethopteroid nervation, verging into a neuropteroid form. this group is, to my mind, generically distinct from the bipinnate plant with quadrate, ovate, or rounded pinnules and disstinctly odontopteroid nervation, which unfortunately is made the type of gothan's dicroïdium. hence, my preliminary reference ¹ of the hermit plants to dicroïdium was an error. further, i have felt obliged to include nearly all the gondwana species referred to the latter genus, together with danæopsis hughesi, in the genus supaia, whose type is in the hermit flora.² the dichotomous, simply pinnate fronds referable to supaia but included by authors with thinnfeldia odontopteroides are found in the "transitional beds" (parsora, near beli) of upper permian age in the south rewah fields and in the panchet group, also upper permian, in india. figured forms referable to the supaia are present also in the hawksbury and wianamatta beds in new south wales, and the ipswich beds, also of supposed lower triassic age, in queensland; and in beds of the same age, whatever it may be, in the jerusalem basin in tasmania. the approach of the supaia forms with tapering acute leaves to some of the lanciform-pinnuled species described as thinnfeldia from beds regarded as upper triassic in south africa and rhetic in argentina is especially close, and affords a reasonably sound basis for the conclusion that these are derived from the same stock as the arizona plants, which appear generically inseparable. the hermit plants probably are older than any of the gondwana representatives of the genus. if so, the question arises whether supaia was from late lower permian to the rhetic in migrating from arizona to argentina. as already indicated, danaopsis hughesi, which i regard as congeneric with supaia, is reported in the lower part of the zechstein of the ural region, and is possibly present in beds of highest lower the flora of the hermit shale in the grand canyon, arizona, proc. nat. acad. sci., vol. 13, no. 8, aug., 1927; study of the fossil floras in the grand canyon, arizona, carnegie inst. wash. year books no. 26, (1926-27) pages 366-369 and no. 27 (1927-28), 1928, pages 389, 390. 'note: that the close resemblance in form of frond development in two of the species from beds supposed to be of uppermost permian or triassic age in south africa to the arizona plants is merely accidental is suggested by the presence of sporangia of a marrattiaceous type described as on the upper surface of the two species. in no other region is any type of sporangium found definitely correlated with the type of frond exemplified in the supaia group. on the other hand, the very close relation of supaia to certain callipterid species with dichotomous fronds from the zechstein of the urals and from lodeve, illustrated by morris, fisher de waldheim, kutorga, goeppert, zeiller and zalessky as callipteris or odontopteris, is shown not only in the habit of development of the pinnæ, but also by the bifurcated type of frond, especially as it is seen in plants from the uralian zechstein and the upper rothliegende of ottendorf, in bohemia, described by goeppert (foss. fl. perm. form., 1864, page 105, pl. 12, fig. 1) as callipteris affinis, with which zeiller (bull. mus. d'hist. nat. de marseille, vol. 1, no. 2, 1898, pl. 3, fig. 4) compares a frond from lodeve in alsace. the latter, though partially bipinnate, agrees in general form and mode of development with supaia. it is obviously close also to callipteris arizona. 36 origin and age of the hermit flora permian in china, though some, at least, of the specimens from shansi referred to that species or to protoblechnum appear to belong to glenopteris. brongniartites is known only near the base of the zechstein in the ural region and probably in the hermit shale. whether the stock represented by the hermit supaia and "brongniartites?" migrated from america to asia, as seems quite possible, or from an undetermined asiatic center of origin to america and to india, whence it spread to south africa and southern south america in very late permian, to give rise to the austral triassic forms, remains to be proved, but it is important to note that supaia was present in the indian portion of the gondwana province and probably also in the african in late permian time. better as well as less remote criteria for the age correlation of the hermit shale are to be found in the northern russian and central asian areas. in the lower zechstein of pechora, northeastern russia, we find species of gangamopteris, glossopteris, næggerathiopsis and schizoneura characteristic of the lower gondwana flora, together with supaia (danæopsis) hughesi, mingled with psygmophyllum, callipteris and other permian genera of the northern hemisphere. rhipidopsis and other gondwana genera of very wide distribution also are present. the combined evidence of vertebrates, mollusks and plants shows the containing beds to be of lower zechstein (lower upper permian) age. in the kuznetsk basin, of southwestern siberia, and in nearby regions of mongolia, also, the lower gondwana flora is well represented, again with some mingled european genera in beds of long debated but probably later lower permian or early upper permian age. the fact that these representatives of the gangamopteris flora, which followed the ice sheets and which is regarded by many palæontologists as dating back to the beginning of the permian, or possibly to the pennsylvanian, as some argue, seem to have made their first appearance in the northern world at the beginning of the upper permian is interpreted as indicating that sea barriers had excluded them from the regions north of tethys straits until that time. on the other hand, the conclusion urged by schuchert ¹ is that the gangamopteris flora and the ice sheets, with which its origin seems associated, had their beginning near the middle of permian time, i. e., not long before the migration of the plants into the uralian region and as far as the arctic slope of northeastern russia. if this conclusion is valid, no considerable time may have elapsed between the genesis of the gangamopteris flora in the regions of permian glaciation and the appearance of the representatives of that 1 charles schuchert, bull. geol. soc. amer., vol. xxix, 1928 (1929) page 851. · plant relatives in urals and central asia 37 flora in central asia and northeastern russia. further, if the hermit is not of very late lower permian age, the supaia group may have originated in america and migrated thence to central asia and the gondwana province. forms approaching most closely the supaia species with obtuse or even rounded pinnules and with semi-neuropteroid nervation are illustrated by zalessky in his atlas of the permian plants of the uralian border of angara (“angaride").¹ here we find plant associations in beds of lower upper permian (zechstein) age, in which supaia hughesi and species of gangamopteris, næggerathiopsis and phyllotheca, the three latter genera being characteristic of the lower gondwana, mingle with callipteris, sphenopteris, pecopteris, calamites, dicranophyllum, ullmannia and walchia. in this flora, which includes large-pinnuled and sympodially forked callipterids, some of which are so odontopteroid in facies as to be described as odontopteris, we find brongniartites salicifolius (fisher) zalessky, which, so far as illustrated, can hardly be regarded other than as congeneric with brongniartites ? yakiensis, to which it appears very closely related specifically. it is most unfortunate that the text of zalessky's flora has not been published, so that more ample criteria for the systematic comparisons might be available. as already noted, a gymnosperm, apparently identical with my walchia gracillima, is figured by zalessky from the artinsk as w. hypnoides, while among the illustrated fragments of large bifurcating pinnæ, with broad, rounded alethopteroid or even neuropteroid pinnules from the zechstein, several specimens strongly resemble brongniartites (?) aliena and supaia oblonga. no trace of a gondwana flora or of the supaia group, in particular, has been found in the lower permian flora of china as described by halle 2 from the lower shihotse series of central shansi, which contains gigantopteris as well as taniopteris and permian phases of many cosmopolitan genera. this accords with the view held by schuchert that the permian glaciation, the talchir boulder beds, and the lower gondwana (gangamopteris) flora find their place near the middle of permian time. in the upper shihotse series, on the other hand, which is regarded by halle as presenting "no evidence that it extends above the middle of the permian-it may even fall entirely within the lower permian," and which is correlated by grabau as "middle or early upper permian," halle finds representatives of asterophyllites, sphenopteris, pecopteris and odontopteris, along with gigantopteris, taniopteris, 'm. d. zalessky, flore permienne des limites ouralennes de l'angaride, atlas, mém. comt. géol., n. s., no. 176, 1927. see plates iv, v, x, xi, xii and xxxix. 2t. g. halle, paleontologia sinica, ser. a., vol. ii, fasc. 1, paleozoic plants from central shansi, peking, 1927. 38 origin and age of the hermit flora rhipidopsis, cordaites, plagiozamites, psygmophyllum, neuropteridium, and a plant referable to sellard's glenopteris from the wellington of kansas. apparently no demonstrated representative of the supaia group is present, though glenopteris, very likely a callipteris derivative, is probably most nearly related to supaia. agreeing with halle, i can not view the upper shihotse series as upper permian. a single specimen in the hermit collection is perhaps safely regarded either as psygmophyllum or rhipidopsis. psygmophyllum occurs in the artinsk and ranges up into the lower zechstein of the ural region. forms most comparable to ours occur in the lower horizons. rhipidopsis, which somewhat resembles psygmophyllum and which appears to be at home and rather widespread in the upper permian of petschora, russia, and the uralian angaride, occurs also in the gondwana upper permian and is reported from beds in the southern hemisphere supposed to be triassic in age. conclusions as to the age of the hermit shale as already noted, the hermit flora, of which a relatively small number of species has been collected up to the present moment, does not afford so satisfactory a basis as is desirable for long-distance correlation. comparatively few of its species are found in other regions. the determination of its age is further complicated by the mingling of the elements from the cosmopolitan permian with oriental elements from the gondwana province and from the central asiatic region of mingled eastern and western types in beds of uppermost lower permian and lower upper permian (zechstein) age. on the other hand, the presence of the eastern and western elements in the permian of arizona, while requiring the examination of their distribution in two floral provinces, in which there were at times marked climatic differences, offers, at the same time, two series of criteria for use in correlation. the comparison of the hermit flora with the western european permian floras shows that (a) by the distribution of its identical cosmopolitan species, (b) by the facies or stages of development of its elements congeneric and closely associated with cosmopolitan types, and (c) by the apparent absence of lower permian survivors of the pennsylvanian flora, including especially the cycadofilic genera, neuropteris, odontopteris, alethopteris and linopteris, it is to be correlated with beds not earlier than the upper rothliegende, with a portion of which, probably in the upper part of that division, it is contemporaneous. the evidence of the cosmopolitan permian elements, therefore, supports the evidence of the stratigraphy-i.e., the presence of 800 late lower permian age of hermit flora 39 feet of permian redbeds beneath the hermit shale and separated from it by a minor unconformity-in the assignment of the hermit flora to a stage near the top of the lower permian. the presence of permian species of identical pennsylvanian genera in the lower permian of china, as well as in texas, oklahoma, colorado and kansas, establishes the probability that the exclusion of these pennsylvanian genera from the hermit shale of arizona is not due wholly to climatic or other physical barriers. mention may again be made of the fact that the lower part of the supai in the grand canyon has yielded fragments of cordaites, neuropteris and calamites, as well as taniopteris and walchia. so far as known to me, no sea invasion interrupted the continuity of land plant life in this part of arizona between lower supai time and the end of hermit time. on the other hand, the examination of the gondwana, the ural, and the central asiatic floras shows that the congeners with fronds of the type characterizing the supaia group, are hardly known below the topmost stages of the lower permian and the zechstein. the testimony of the sphenophyllum is consistent with that of the pteridosperms. the evidence of the oriental or eurasian group is, accordingly, nearly in agreement with that of the cosmopolitan elements, the weight of the former being in favor of a stage slightly higher than that roughly indicated by the latter. the facts (1) that the most prominent element, the supaia group (including "brongniartites?") in the hermit shale connects with a conspicuous and characteristic element of the latest permian and the triassic floras of the gondwana province, with points of resemblance in the world-wide rhetic flora, and (2) that some of the gymnosperms are relatively modern in facies, combine with the absence of the genera of pennsylvanian range to give the hermit flora as a whole a mesozoic aspect that, at first glance, is deceptive regarding the true age of the hermit shale. in short, the hermit flora is precociously zechstein-the result, probably, of the climatic factors in its environment. the more arid climate of the hermit in arizona appears to be responsible for reduction in the size of the plants and greater simplicity, with simple dichotomy, of the fronds of the cycadofilic (pteridospermic) group, as well as for the distinctly xerophytic characters. it is presumably responsible for specific differences, and may account for the absence of older genera, but it should not seriously affect contemporaneity in other regions of the representatives of the genera or species present, especially in view of the then existing intercontinental land connections, both on the east and on the west. 40 probable upper permian age of kaibab limestone the hermit flora is the latest paleozoic flora yet known in america. to this fact may be due not only its unlikeness to the other permian floras of this continent, but the presence also of both gondwana plants and plants of distinctly mesozoic aspect. it remains to be seen whether oriental elements are to be found in the permian of other parts of america, and what will be the geographical as well as vertical distribution of the types. in view of the lateness of intercontinental land connections proved by this flora, it becomes not unlikely that other gondwana or eurasian types will be found, possibly in associations that will throw further light on the precise date of earliest gondwana glaciation as well as on plant distribution, on climatic provinces, and on intercontinental relations. in view of the presence in the canyon wall, above the hermit shale, of 500 feet of remarkably cross-bedded gray coconino sandstone, possibly of eolian origin, in sharp contrast with the marine kaibab, it is evident that the kaibab limestone, which also is permian, must stand high in the permian scale if the hermit belongs well up in the upper rothliegende-the upper part of the lower permian, if the permian be classified in two principal divisions. the kaibab limestone itself, about 575 feet thick in the vicinity of grand canyon station, may represent an appreciable lapse of time. the lower division, about 75 feet in thickness, contains a gastropod fauna and throughout a large area may readily be segregated stratigraphically as well as palæontologically as a distinct map unit, for it is separated from the upper two-thirds of the formation by a thin zone of red and gray sands, probably derived from the sources of the supai and coconino sands, with which are interbedded travertines and conglomerates showing subaerial exposure and erosion. the upper or major portion of the kaibab carries a varied fauna, including a representative of the trilobites, as well as large ammonoids and giant pelecypods, like allorisma. therefore, notwithstanding the absence of local evidence of unconformities between the hermit and the contrasting coconino, and the coconino and the kaibab, i am unable to view the kaibab limestone as dating earlier than upper permian or zechstein. if subsequent studies by the invertebrate palæontologist confirm this conclusion, while establishing the palæontological as well as stratigraphic relations of the kaibab to the guadaloupe group, we may, i believe, find the red and gray sandstones and gypsiferous marls above the great limestone series in west texas to be contemporaneous as well as homotaxial with the gypsum and salt-bearing marls and sandstones of supposed latest permian age in the central germany and the uralian regions. iii. description of the hermit flora thallophyta alge cyanophyceæ rivularites fliche, 1905 bull. soc. sci. nancy (3) vol. 6, p. 46 rivularites permiensis d. w. n. sp. plates 6, 7, 8 thallus or colony very large, horizontally spreading, irregular in outline, attaining breadths of 50 cm. or more, and marked by irregularly and often reflexly curving, closely forking and interlacing, rather faintly defined bands or axes, 1 to 2.5 mm. wide, between which a thin sheet, leathery or incrusted, rises, as though inflated, in pustuloid rounded protuberances that in average specimens are 3 mm. to 10 mm. in diameter at the base, and 3 to 7 mm. in altitude, very irregular though rounded-polygonal in plan, and generally all leaning or slightly dragged, often with overlap, in one direction. intersections of the axes thickened, somewhat depressed and apparently provided with rhizoid anchorages. the general aspect of the impressions left by the colony described above is shown fairly well in the partly eroded specimen photographed and illustrated in plate 6. in portions of this specimen the traces of the winding and interlacing, inter-foot axes, marked by slight parallel creases, are indistinctly shown. in some cases convex, smooth-surfaced casts resembling flattened tubes lie close in conformity with the strand grooves or appear roundish in cross-section. they may have filled smooth, hollow, cylindrical interiors of the strands. even in fragments of the youngest thalli like that seen in plate 8, figure 1, such tubes, almost surely casts, are seen. the smallest approximate 0.75 mm. in diameter. in the specimens shown in plate 7, figure 1, and plate 8, figure 4, several of the protuberances have exactly the aspect of very thin incrustations broken in at the top of the mound. an example nearly uneroded is shown in plate 7, figure 2. this displays the drag or deformation of the protuberances, to the right in the view, probably in the direction of the stream current. in this specimen the smooth or almost velvety texture of the surface of the thallus is clearly seen. as in other specimens, some of the pro41 42 description of the flora of the hermit shale tuberances have the appearance of having been provided with small apical pores, sometimes faintly mammillate. the latter feature is more distinctly seen in plate 8, figure 4, and plate 7, figure 1. the structure of the strands, which may have been tubular, is obscurely indicated in all the photographs, but is more clearly seen in the compressed and deformed specimens illustrated in plate 7, figures 1 and 3, and in plate 8, figures 2, 3 and 4. inconclusive indications of "holdfast" rhizoids descending from the intersection pits are to be seen in many of the specimens, especially those shown in plate 7, figure 3, and plate 8, figure 4. the general trend of some of the major or master strands is well seen in the figure last named, while in plate 7, figures 1 and 3, the removal of the tops of some of the protuberances by erosion reveals accumulations of coarse sand with a little magnetite and a few very minute flecks of mica washed into the hollows under the leathery or incrusted cover of the protuberances. that the inter-strand carpet of the colony was sufficiently tough to resist erosion in a current strong enough to produce wave ripples of the sand where it was not covered by the carpet itself is seen in plate 8, figure 1. at several points in the figured specimens evidence of rigidity and thickness of the wall is seen in the erosional cross-section. indications of roundish pits at some of the intersections are rather clearly in view in figure 3 of plate 7, and in plate 8, figure 4. we find the strands more clearly defined in a portion of a collapsed and tangled carpet, plate 8, figure 2, the condition of which may have been due to exposure. the fossils from the grand canyon agree well in essential generic particulars with the specimens from the keuper of lorraine, described and photographically illustrated by p. fliche¹ as rivularites repertus. they differ, however, from the upper triassic material mainly by the very bluntly rounded protuberances. in the french specimens the protuberances are more pustulose-pointed and are generally much smaller, being not much more than half the diameter of those in the specimens from the permian of arizona. rivularites was referred by fliche to the blue-green alga (cyanophyceae) on account of the apparently close agreement between the thalli-aggregates from the keuper and the masses formed by the agglomeration of the living rivularia polytes found on the coast of france. however, the relationship between the fossil and the living rivularia does not seem fully proved. it is interesting to note that in the triassic material the carpet covering the upward protrusions is likewise described as leathery or incrusted. in view of the definite 1 bull. soc. sci., nancy, 3d ser., vol. 6, 1905, page 47, pl. 3, fig. 4. rivularites permiensis, an alga 43 characteristics recognizable in the fossil and its probable stratigraphic value, generic and specific names must be applied, however questionable may be the systematic status of the fossil. rivularites permiensis is not rare in the lower part of the hermit shale, especially at a point in the hermit basin about 0.5 mile west of redtop, where it is found spread on the surface of current ripple-marked slabs of considerable extent. some of the thalli or colonies are over half a meter in diameter, though most of them are much smaller. all are irregular in lateral configuration and vague in their marginal definition, due, presumably, to lack of development of the tough leathery texture in the new peripheral growth. the plant is almost indubitably algoid, as is indicated by the apparent lack of vascular structure as well as in mode of occurrence, though in some aspects the fossils suggest liverworts. evidently the colony carpet was somewhat flexible. in a few cases the aspect of the carpet suggests that it floated or possibly pulsated in the water. the hollows beneath the carpet may have confined gases. growth of the plant in a current of water is shown not only by the strong rippling of the fine sandy silts on which the carpet was spread, but by the drag deformation of practically all the protuberances in one direction, which must have been the direction of movement of the current. this is to be noted in nearly every specimen collected. on some of the slabs the silts were washed and lined by the currents beyond and on either side of the colony (plate 8, figure 1), the tough resistance of which was protective to the sediments beneath. in fact, the surrounding deposits were in some cases considerably worn away by the current without appreciable abrasion of the protuberances of the latter. taking into account the relation of the colony to the sedimentary deposit, the texture and adaptation of the carpet to the surface of the deposit, and the physical and palæontological testimony as to occasional evaporation of much of the water in the arroyos, it is suggested that the plant was adapted to survive occasional periods of exposure to the air and drying, as is the case with the algae in the mud playas of nevada. locality: rivularites permiensis is relatively abundant in the hermit basin, where it is seen only in the hollows (arroyos), the basal portion of the hermit. a smaller form appears to be present in the middle and lower portions of the supai formation. 44 description of the flora of the hermit shale arthrophyta sphenophyllales sphenophyllaceæ sphenophyllum koenig, 1825 icones fossilium sectiles, pl. xii, f. 149 sphenophyllum gilmorei d. w. n. sp. plate 9, figs. 1-4, plate 10, figs. 1-6, plate 21, fig. 5 stems very large, rarely branched, mainly or wholly erect, sometimes as much as 8 mm. in diameter, slightly enlarged upward to the nodes, which are 12 to 80 mm. distant; internodes of general aspect typical of the genus, with, in the impressions, 3 rounded ribs marking the angles of the central stele, and traversed by narrow parallel longitudinal slightly separated strands or faint ribs, apparently 12 in number, spread across the entire width, and probably representing vascular strands external to the central wood; leaf verticils open or somewhat oblique consisting of 6 large, transversely oblong scars, which are flattened somewhat along the upper border, and rounded on the proximal side; leaves very large, more or less roundconvex dorsad, thick, broadly spatulate, 15 to 50 mm. long, convexly bordered, widest somewhat above the middle, narrowed above to a broad or obtusely rounded, entire, or faintly erose apex, and very thick at the broad base, where, in some cases, they appear united in a collar in the node; verticils on probably submerged portions, with short leaves oval to elongated oval-rhomboidal, broad at the base, and narrowed toward the top to the narrow rounded apex; lamina thick, coriaceous, generally obscuring the nervation; nerves very close, apparently fasciculate from the thickened base and forking 2 or 3 times at an extremely narrow angle in passing nearly erect, parallel, equidistant, and with slight outward curving, to the border. the species described above is unlike any other known form of the genus except that described by schmalhausen,¹ from the permian above the artinsk in the province of kazan, in the ural mountain region, under the name sphenophyllum stoukenbergi. the relation of sphenophyllum gilmorei to that species is unmistakable, notwithstanding the specific distinction seen in the very much larger leaves of the arizona plant, their greater elongation, the closer and more fasciculate nervation, the broadly flaring, funnel-shaped verticils and the normal attitude of the latter with reference to the axis of the stem. apparently the arizona material is more coriaceous and more xerophyllous than the plant from the uralian region. the only european species which even approaches sphenophyllum gilmorei is sphenophyllum thoni mahr, in which large, very broadly cuneate and even upward-narrowed leaves are sometimes present, as is illustrated by zeiller in figure 7, plate 12, of his fossil flora of the 1 j. schmalhausen, mém. com. géol. vol. ii, no. 4, 1887, page 5, pl. i, figs. 1-12. sphenophyllales-sphenophyllum gilmorei 45 carboniferous and permian of the basin of brive.¹ characteristically, however, the larger leaves of s. thoni are more or less distinctly laciniate. further, in that species as well as all other species except sphenophyllum stoukenbergi, the distinctly cuneate form of the normal leaf is maintained. a notable feature of the arizona plant is the rarity of branching. in fact i have seen but a single specimen, plate 10, figure 4, in which the relations of stem parts are such as to make it appear probable that one was a branch of another. in general the plant appears to have been simple, notwithstanding the notable thickness of the axis and the large size of the leaf verticils. in nearly all cases the leaves are still attached, a feature consistent with lack of permanence of water in portions, at least, of the arroyos. among the specimens collected are two fragments, evidently from the lower or middle parts of stems, in which greatly reduced leaves at nodes about 9 mm. distant bear sporangia in rows of three or more attached distad to the ventral surfaces by short, curved pedicels. the fructification is of the bowmanites type. casts of collapsed sporangia are seen in plate 21, figure 5. the leaves at the top of the figured specimen are normal and sterile though small. sphenophyllum gilmorei is one of the most common plants found in the thin sandstones occurring in the erosional hollows at the base of the hermit shale, near red top, in the hermit basin, though it appears to be relatively rare at other points. there it not infrequently is found mingled with the footprints of primitive amphibians and reptiles in the slime muds covering the surfaces, as illustrated in plate 3. evidently the slimes were very soft and plastic when some of the stems fell in, so that the latter were more or less entirely enveloped in the soft material. occasionally little more than creases, left by the subsidence of the plants and leaves in the viscous silty mud, remain on the bedding planes to show the presence of the immersed plant. if, however, the rock is broken in two, the form and outline of the plant are more clearly revealed, though decomposition may have impaired the state of preservation. some of the impressions or creases marking the embedded stems show only the profiles of the leaves, as seen in plate 3. in such specimens the immersed plants strongly suggest the spinal columns of some vertebrate animal. the same layers of rock which show the molds of the stems and leaves are traversed, vertical to the bedding, by stems which evidently were standing upright when buried. examples are shown in plate 9, figures 1 and 2, and plate 10, figures 5 and 6. the abundant occurrence of these upright stems leaves little doubt that the sphenophyllum were growing in situ in the shallow water of the pools in ¹r. zeiller, bassin houiller et permien de brive: part 2, flore fossile, 1892. 46 description of the flora of the hermit shale which the silts settled to cover the fallen fragments, as well as to build up the sedimentary deposits around stems still erect. in some cases the standing stalks pass through several inches of rapidly deposited sandy material. in all these, the verticils of more or less obliquely inclined leaves are normal to the axis of the stem, as shown in plate 9, figure 2. in fact, i have seen few cases where there was any evidence of obliquity of the verticil to the axis, and these may have been due to the accidents of preservation where fallen stems, in spite of their rigidity, were slightly deformed beneath the cover of sediments. a notable feature of some of the verticils is the greatly reduced length of the leaf, which gives the verticil a star-like form, illustrated in plate 10, figures 1, 5 and 6. in these verticils, the leaves, though relatively broad, are very much shorter and much more pointed. invariably they are thick, rarely revealing nervation, and in many cases the two sides of the leaf form an angle or extremely low keel along the medial line, suggesting an annularia. it is probable that these short, thick verticils, found generally low on the stem, are more or less distinctly peculiar to the portions of the stem which some of the time were below water level. from the fragments in hand we may conclude that sphenophyllum gilmorei was a relatively stout, rigid, and rather showy plant, as much as 3 feet in height, growing in rather dense groups in the sands of the shallow, intermittent pools. the stems, often standing but a few centimeters apart (plate 10, fig. 6), sometimes reached a diameter of nearly a centimeter. they were segmented at intervals of 15 to 80 mm. by nodes provided with broadly flaring, funnel-shaped, stellate rosettes or verticils of spreading, paddle-shaped leaves, sometimes curving very gently outward and not infrequently rolled inward at the lateral borders. the verticils of the lower and normally submerged portions of the stem appear to have been reduced to short, ovate, or narrowly diamondshaped, thick leaves, more pointed at the apex, and ventrally concave and dorsally flatly carinate. the leaf verticils near the top are somewhat smaller, more delicate, and closer together than those farther down on the stem, giving the tops a slightly plumose effect. here and there along the stems densely placed, small verticils concealed the numerous relatively large, oval sporangia. the densely coriaceous, thick lamina of the rigid leaf which usually conceals the close, parallel, and relatively rarely forking nerves, and the frequency with which these leaves are rolled inward at the lateral margins, suggest not only an adaptation to a semi-arid climate, but the husbanding of moisture by reduction of the transpiration surface during dry seasons, marked by the reduction, if not advanced evaporation, of the water in the pools. pteridosperms-callipteris conferta 47 locality: this striking species is named after c. w. gilmore, curator of vertebrate palæontology in the u. s. national museum, who found semi-submerged stems in the shales bearing footprints of vertebrate animals near "red top," in the hermit basin, where it is abundant in one of the "hollows." rarely found also near the bright angel and yaki trails. pteridospermaphyta callipteridales callipterideæ callipteris brongniart, 1849 dict. univ. hist. nat., vol. xiii (tableau), page 66 (17) callipteris conferta (sternberg) brongniart plate 11, figs. 1 and 2; plate 12, figs. 3-5; plate 17, fig. 4? 1709 filix, * * *, scheuchzer, herbarium diluvianum, pl. п, f. 3. 1825 neuropteris conferta sternberg, fl. vorw., vol. 1, fasc. 4 (tentamen), p. xvii; ad. brongniart, hist. vég., foss., vol. 1, 1831, p. 249; sternberg, fl. vorw., vol. 2, 1833, p. 75, pl. 22, fig. 5; goeppert, gattungen foss. pfl., 1846, pts. 5, 6, p. 137, pls. 8 and 9, figs. 2-5. 1826 neuropteris decurrens sternberg, fl. vorw., vol. 1, fasc. 4 (tentamen), p. xvii, vol. ii, fasc. 5-6, p. 75, pl. 20, f. 2. 1828 pecopteris gigantea brongniart, prodrome, p. 66 (57); brongniart, hist. vég. foss., vol. 1, 1834, p. 293, pl. 92; sauveur, vég. foss. terr. houill. belg., pl. 43, f. 2, 3; gutbier, verst. rothl. sach., p. 15, pl. 6, f. 4. 1836 hemitelites giganteus (brongn.) goeppert, syst. fil. foss., p. 331. 1838 alethopteris gigantea (brongn.) presl, in sternberg, fl. vorw., vol. ii, fasc. 7-8, p. 141. 1849 callipteris gigantea brongniart, tableau, p. 69 (19); zeiller, expl. carte géol. france, vol. iv, 1878, p. 64 pl. 67, f. 6, 7. 1849 callipteris conferta (sternb.) brongniart, tableau, p. 66 (17); schimper, traité pal. vég., vol. 1, 1869, p. 466, pl. 32, figs. 1-4; marrat, proc. liverpool geol. soc., vol. 2, 1872, p. 107, pl. 12, fig. 8, 8a; ad. roemer, leth. geogn., 1, 1876, pl. 58, fig. 5; text, 1880, p. 192; schimper, in zittel, handb. pal. (paleophyt.), 1879, p. 119, text-fig. 94; fontaine and i. c. white, 2d geol. surv. penn., rept. prog. pp, 1880, p. 54, pl. 11, figs. 14; k. feistmantel, arch. naturw. landesdurch. böhmen, vol. 4, no. 6, 1881, p. 81, pl. 2, figs. 1, la; renault, cours. bot. foss., vol. 3, 1883, p. 153, pl. xiv, fig. 5, pl. xv, fig. 1; bureau, compt. rend. acad. sci., vol. 100, 1885, p. 1550, figs. 1, 2; credner, élem. géol., 6th ed., 1887, p. 512, text-fig. 287; 9th ed., p. 494, text-fig. 320; schmalhausen, mém. com. géol., vol. 2, no. 4, 1887, p. 8, pl. 2, fig. 22, pl. 3, figs. 14; renault, pl., foss. 1888, p. 307, text-fig. 43; zeiller, bassin, houill. autun et epinac, pt. 2, fl. foss., 1890, p. 87, pl. 5, f. 3, pl. 6, f. 1-3; zeiller, bassin houill. brive, pt. 2, foss. fl., 1892, p. 34, pl. 8, f. 1-2; potonié, abh. k. preuss. landesanst., n. f., vol. 9, pt. 2, 1893, p. 29, pl. 1, f. 1, 2; potonié, op. cit., n. f., vol. 21, 1896, p. 28, text-fig. 19; potonié, naturw. wochenschr., 1897, vol. 12, p. 610, text-fig. 4; potonié, lehrb. pflanzenpal., 1897, p. 56, p. 147, text-figs. 143, 22; potonié, metam. pfl. pal. thatsachen, 1898, p. 12, text-fig. 4; pontonié, zeitschr. f. prakt. geol., 1898, p. 247, text-fig. 90; potonié, naturw. wochenschr., vol. 13, 1898, p. 411, text-fig. 5; potonié, bergsmansfreund, 1899, p. 27, text-fig. 23; hoffmann and ryba, leitpfl. paleoz. steink., 1899, p. 59, pl. 11, f. 1-3; potonié, in engler and prantl, nat. pflanzen., th. 1, abth. 4, 1900, p. 486, text-figs. 282 and 298; zeiller, élem. 48 description of the flora of the hermit shale paléobot., 1900, p. 92, fig. 65; stefani, fl. carb, perm. toscana, 1901, p. 41, pl. 8, figs. 3-7; steinman, einfurh. pal., 1903, p. 34, fig. 30 a; zeiller, bassin houill. perm. blanzy et creusot, pt. 2, 1906, fl. foss., p. 68, pl. 17, fig. 2, pl. 18, figs. 14; gothan, aus d. natur, vol. 2, 1906, pt. 1, p. 21, text-fig. 9; gothan, in potonié, beschr. foss. pfl., pal. mes. form., pt. 5, no. 84, 1907, p. 3, text-fig. 1; no. 85, p. 1, text-figs. 1-9, no. 86, p. 3, textfig. 2 b; sterzel, grossherz. badens geol. landesanst., vol. 5, (karb. rothl.), 1907, p. 581, pl. 38, figs. 4, 5; schuster, geogn. jahresb., vol. 20, 1907 (1908), p. 215, pl. 8, figs. 2-8; pl. 9, f. 8; sellards, univ. geol. surv. kans., vol. 9, 1908, p. 436, pl. 61, f. 12, 13, pl. 63, f. 9, pl. 64, f. 5; gothan, entwick, pfl., 1909, p. 30, text-fig. 18a; seward, foss. plants, vol. 2, 1910, p. 558, text-fig. 367; gothan, handwörterb. naturw., vol. 7, 1912, p. 417, text-fig. 7; gothan, vorgesch. pfl., 1912, p. 65, text-fig. 37; gothan, sitzungsb. ges. naturf. fr., 1915, p. 45, pl. 2, f. 1, 1a-b; gothan, glückauf, vol. 51, pt. 2, 1915, p. 705, text-figs. 11-13; potonié, lehrb. pflanzenpal., 2d ed., 1919, p. 96, text-fig. 86; potonié, zeitschr. f. bot., vol. 13, 1921, p. 87, text-fig. 12; gothan, in guerich, leitfoss, pt. 3, 1923, pp. 26, 63, text-fig. 18, pl. 21, f. 1. 1862 cyatheites confertus (sternberg) geinitz, dyas oder zechst. rothl., pt. 2, p. 141, pl. 27, figs. 1-8. 1869 alethopteris conferta (sternberg) weiss, foss. fl., jüngst. steink. rothl. saar-rh. geb., pt. 1, p. 73, pl. 6, f. 1-7 pl. 7, f. 3-6, 8; weiss, zeitschr. deutsch. geol. gesell., vol. 22, 1870, p. 870, pl. 20, f. 4. 1868 alethopteris conferta confluens weiss, foss. fl. jüngst. steink, rothl. saar-rh., geb., pt. 1, p. 79, pl. 6, f. 1, 2. 1869 alethopteris conferta deminuta weiss, op. cit., p. 79, pl. 7, f. 3. 1869 alethopteris conferta lanceolata weiss, op. cit., p. 79, pl. 6, f. 4, 4a; pl. 7, f. 6. 1869 alethopteris conferta progressa weiss, op. cit., p. 80, pl. 6, f. 3. 1869 alethopteris conferta vulgaris weiss, op. cit., p. 79, pl. 7, f. 4-6, 8. fronds bior tripinnate, the ultimate pinnæ open, close, parallel, nearly touching or slightly overlapping, alternate to subopposite, oblong-linear, or linear, slightly acute, slightly unsymmetrical, much narrowed downward on the distal side near the base, decurrent proximad, with strong, ventrally sulcate, dorsally rounded rachis which is persistent nearly to the apex and punctate with scales; rachis striated, ventrally canaliculate; ultimate pinnæ succeeded by pinnatifid elongated pinnules of the apex of the frond; pinnules alternate to subopposite, open to a right angle to the rachis in the lower portions of the pinnæ and fronds, more oblique near the apex, greatly reduced on the distal side of the base, slightly reduced in length on the proximal side and on down on the parent rachis, oval to linearoblong, often broadest in the middle, curving outward more or less distinctly, blunt or obtusely rounded at the apex, ventrally convex on either side of the depressed midrib, more or less distinctly united, especially in the upper parts of the divisions, by the decurrent lamina, very close to rather distant; lamina thick, deeply depressed on the midrib, often narrowly reflexed or canaliculate at the border; midrib distinct, decurrent and strong at the base, tapering upward, continuing to near the summit; nervilles oblique, relatively strong, especially at the base, rather distant, usually forking but sometimes simple, except in the larger pinnules, where they are once or twice forked while arching outward and usually reaching the margin obliquely, some of the proximal basal nerves in the interpinnate decurrent pinnules being apparently derived from the rachis. the specimen shown in figure 1 of plate 11 is typical of the species as to form and aspect of the ultimate pinnæ. the lamina pteridosperms-callipteris conferta 49 of the pinnules is, however, too thick and too villous to reveal the nervation under the conditions of preservation. traces of chaffy scales on the rachis conform to the xerophytic characters shown in other plants from the hermit. in most of the arizona specimens, such as that photographed in plate 12, figure 4, the margins of the lamina are more or less distinctly folded backward, and in some cases the plants were evidently withered somewhat prior to burial. one of these, in which the pinnules are rolled back into quill-like forms, is a part of a frond standing erect with reference to the bedding. the plane of the frond is nearly at right angles to the bedding, though the rachis runs obliquely across the complete thickness of the sandstone layer, which is about 30 cm. in thickness. portions of two other fronds, probably springing from the same plant, lie in the same attitude, vertical to the bedding, one on the end of the same block and one on the back side parallel to the first. owing in part to the conditions of deposition, the nervation is seen fairly well only in the single small specimen caught in a slime layer shown on plate 12, figure 5. in this specimen, from the upper part of a pinna, the evidently thick texture with the slightly rolled border is plainly indicated in the photograph. some of the nerves are simple, and all of them are oblique and relatively distant. a marked ventral depression along the middle of the rachis is evident in this specimen as well as in that shown in figure 4. not only do these pinnæ bear the scars left, apparently, by the chaffy scales, but the thick midribs have the impressions of very short, tapering spines, characteristic of the xerophytic phase of the species. in the reduced size of the fronds, the very much thickened pinnules, and the rather distinctly scabrous clothing of the relatively thick midribs, the representatives of callipteris conferta from the hermit shale reflect a degree of aridity of climate, or at least an adaptation to a probably distinctly dry season of the year. the specimen seen in plate 12, figure 3, was slime covered before burial by an inwash of sand. thin slime also adheres to portions of the fragment shown in figure 4 of the same plate. to this species possibly belongs the specimen shown in plate 17, figure 4, which has, however, certain characters in common with the originals of plate 12, figure 1, which appears inseparable from the fertile frond tentatively placed with yakia. it is possibly congeneric if not conspecific with the small fragment, plate 24, figure 1, described as supaia sp. perhaps all should be referred to callipteris. the irregular order of the pinnules, many of which are subopposite or opposite, seems to preclude any reference of these specimens to pecopteris. 50 description of the flora of the hermit shale there being few figures of this very common and characteristic plant of the cosmopolitan permian flora in american publications, i have cited many illustrations in the synonymy of the species. localities: this species is one of the less common plants found in the lower part of the hermit shale. most of the fragments are water-worn and more or less obscure. occasionally, however, they were coated by a thin covering of hardened slime, so that now they stand in relief on the stream-washed and wave-marked surfaces of the silts. the species was collected from the hermit, near the bright angel and yaki trails. callipteris arizona d. w. n. sp. plate 13 fronds dichotomous, the major divisions (possibly the entire frond) being conspicuously asymmetrical. rachis very thick, dorsally rounded, densely scabrous, and arching outward from the main axis or (if dichotomous) from the opposing division, obovate or obovate-lanceolate, probably obtuse, broadest in the upper portion, and narrowing downward to the base by reduction in the length of the ultimate pinnæ, which are, however, much shorter on the inner than on the outer side of the division or frond; ultimate pinnæ alternate to opposite, close to distant, those on the outer side being much longer, broader, and less numerous than those on the inner side; outer pinnæ oblong-lanceolate, broadest in the upper portion, obtuse, and tapering downward unsymmetrically to the parent rachis, which is provided with pinnules of decreasing length in passing downward, decurrentwise, to the preceding ultimate pinna; pinnules of the outer pinna ovate to oblong, open nearly at a right angle, alternate to opposite, distant, slightly broader near the middle, obtuse or obtusely rounded at the faintly upturned apex, and rather broadly decurrent along the scaly, ventrally depressed rachis; pinnæ on the inner side of the asymmetrical frond or division narrow, a little distant, longest in the upper part of the division, becoming linear, obtuse, with broad ovate or ovate-round pinnules or lobes, rather closely placed, decurrently united by a narrow wing, and becoming confluent at the apex of the pinnæ; pinnules on the primary (?) rachis crowded and apparently somewhat heteromorphous; lamina thick, depressed concavely over the midrib, ventrally arched near the border, which is thick and apparently rolled backward slightly; median nerves submerged in the thick lamina, slightly decurrent and probably continuous to near the apex of the pinnule. ultimate nervation not seen. a single slab bears all that is known of the above described species. there is some evidence of a major axis passing obliquely through the stratum, and at the left of the frond or division, the greater part of which is shown in the photograph, is a basal portion of another foliate rachis, which possibly belongs to the other half of a bifurcated frond, of which the right half only is seen. however, notwithstanding the conspicuous asymmetry and the difference in the development of the ultimate pinnæ and pinnules on the outer pteridosperms-callipteris arizonæ 51 side of the frond as compared with those on the inner side, and taking into account the arcuate habit of the rachis, which is placed nearly vis a vis with the base of rachis indicated by the shadowed groove at the edge of the photograph, i am not certain that we have here one half of a dichotomous frond, though that seems rather probable. in any event, we seem to have a frond diverging obliquely from a primary axis toward which it curves in passing upward and in which the leaf is very much broader and more elaborately developed on its outer side than on the side toward the parent axis. the division here presented is quite unlike the normal bipinnate frond of a non-forking type and seems to require dichotomy in explanation of its form and mode of pinnation. fracture of the rock has removed the outer pinnæ from the upper portion of the specimen. the aspect of the outer pinnæ is remarkably suggestive of some of the fronds included in the genus laccopteris from the older mesozoic. the pinnæ on the left of the division are alethopteroid in form, and if detached might very appropriately be compared with some of the alethopteroid forms from the permian referred to callipteridium. on the other hand, portions both of the large outer pinnæ and of the inner pinnæ are so like pinnæ to be found in some of the later phases of callipteris conferta that i was first inclined to refer it to the same species with admission of the possibility that the frond was dichotomous at or near the base. dichotomy of the frond in forms referred by different palæobotanists to callipteris is not unknown in the uppermost lower permian and in the zechstein, where the round pinnuled group of callipterids becomes more heteromorphous and where sympodial dichotomy is seen to be more frequently present, especially near the apex of the frond. as illustrating this variability, including dichotomy in fronds described as callipteris affinis, reference may be made to the specimen from an horizon apparently in the lower part of the zechstein, at lodeve, in alsace, described by zeiller¹ as callipteris cf. affinis and the fronds from the base of the zechstein and the uppermost lower permian made by goeppert the basis of callipteris affinis. the stout rachis and its scaly protection which appears also to have been extended to the ultimate pinnæ, and the thickened lamina with concealed nervation, together with the degree of heterophylly in the reduced pinnules on the main rachis, are in consonance with the general xerophytic aspects of the flora. in passing it should be noted that the size of the outer pinnæ near what is apparently the base of the frond or division gives aid ¹r. zeiller, bull. mus. d'hist. nat. de marseille, vol. i, no. 2, 1898, page 27, pl. ш, f. 4. 2 h. r. goeppert, foss. fl. perm. form., 1864, page 105, pl. xii, f. 1. 52 description of the flora of the hermit shale to the view, already discussed, that the real base of the frond is not seen and that this may, after all, be only a division of a probably bifurcated frond in which, as in supaia, the limb, as represented by ultimate pinnæ, descends decurrently while narrowing to the petiole below the bifurcation. in this connection it may be noted that if the ultimate pinnæ in this specimen were represented by pinnules or elongated lobes, the frond, if dichotomous, would be in essentially complete agreement with the fronds of supaia from the same terrane. this specimen, as i view it, is of unusual interest, not only as illustrating the polymorphy in the later development of callipteris, but also as showing the intimate relationship between callipteris and supaia. locality: hermit shale in the hermit basin. callipteris raymondi zeiller plate 12, fig. 2, plate 36, fig. 3 fronds trior quadri-pinnate, but very fragmentarily preserved in the hermit shale collection; penultimate pinnæ linear, slender, acute, with ventrally sulcate rachis, slightly flexuose toward the apex, and very narrowly bordered by the decurrent lamina and interpinnate pinnules; ultimate pinnæ alternate to subopposite, oblique at angles of about 45° to 60°, parallel, close, sometimes touching or slightly overlapping, oblong to linear, widest a little above the base, acute, decurrent; pinnules alternate, close, oblique, relatively widely decurrent along the rachis, and with nearly equal width along the superior rachis in the upper part of the primary pinna, narrowly obcuneate to broadly deltoid or subflabellate on the superior rachis, generally cut obliquely nearly to the median nerve at a very narrow angle into 2 to 7 more or less outward-recurved, narrow, alternate, linearoblong lobes, 0.25 to 0.50 mm. wide, and more or less abruptly rounded at the summit, which is sometimes widest; lamina thick, coriaceous, sparsely provided with short, bristle-like hairs; nervation generally obscure, ventrally depressed, the decurrent primary nerve being forked at a narrow angle to furnish a nerville for each lobe, and tapering while passing, flexuose, to the upper lobe of the pinnule. the fragments of this species, two of which are shown in plate 12, figure 2, and plate 36, figure 3, are so nearly in agreement with the plant described by zeiller¹ from the upper autunien at charmay, in the basin of blanzy and creusot, that i have little hesitation in referring them to this, one of the most delicate and beautiful species of the genus. the example seen in figure 2 of plate 12 is from the apex of a compound pinna in which the leaves are abnormally long and lax. the very small fragment shown, twice the natural size, in 'r. zeiller, bassin houill. et perm. de blanzy et creusot, ii, fl. foss. 1896, page 71, pl. xvii, figs. 3-5. pteridosperms-callipteris arizonæ 53 plate 36, figure 3, approaches near the normal aspect of the average specimen of this plant. like other plants from the hermit shale, the material described above is rather distinctly xerophytic in spite of its minute ultimate divisions. the rachis, which is relatively thick in the lower part of the frond, is sparsely scabrous. locality: base of hermit shale, to the west of the bright angel trail, below el tovar. also present near the hermit trail. callipteris? sp. plate 35, figs. 1, la, 2 two specimens collected by my colleague, c. w. gilmore, in 1927, present faint, thin impressions of a bipinnate frond or segment of a frond, both of which are illustrated in plate 35. the upper pinnules are plaited to correspond to incipient pinnatifidation which appears on the proximal side of a very strong, depressed, ventral, round-canaliculate rachis. the nervation, faintly indicated in a portion of the specimen, is imperfectly shown in the partially retouched photograph, figure 2. the absence, so far as can be observed, of intermediate pinnules along the rachis between the large pinnatifid pinnules or young pinnæ, and the indicated, rather broad decurrence of the lamina between the latter, which range from alternate to subopposite, may be interpreted as showing close relationship to the pinnæ of supaia-a possibility favored by the slightly arcuate shape of the fragment. on the other hand, it is not clear that this pinna is not bilaterally symmetrical. in its bad state of preservation it seems probable that it is symmetrical, on which account, together with the lobation of the pinnules, i am placing it tentatively in the genus callipteris, though admitting the possibility that it may represent an unrecognized bipinnatifid form of supaia. in a second specimen, plate 35, figure 1, smaller pinnules with the same nervation as that seen in the upper part of the other are evidently fertile, as shown by the depressions of the lamina about twothirds of the way from the midrib to the border, which is slightly sinuate to correspond to the slight plications of the lamina. notwithstanding the pecopteroid habit of the fragment shown in figure 2 and enlarged twice the natural size in figure la, i am provisionally including this specimen also in the genus callipteris. the lowermost lobes on the right in figure 1 are, however, somewhat odontopteroid in aspect. it is important that additional material be gathered to illustrate the features of the development of the frond and the detailed characters of the fructification. locality: lower part of hermit shale, hermit basin. 54 description of the flora of the hermit shale supaia d. w. new genus the genus supaia is here established to include a group of permian and older mesozoic species of fernlike plants, present in a wide range of forms in the hermit shale. the principal characters of the genus are bifurcation of the frond into two equal divisions, each of which is simply pinnate or pinnatifid; the divisions, at a narrow angle to each other in most species, are usually more or less distinctly crescentic, arching outward, and asymmetrical, often conspicuously so, with pinnules on the outer sides much longer than those on the inner sides; they are acute or obtuse, with confluent terminal lobes, and are usually widest above the middle, from which point they narrow downward by reduction of the pinnules on the inner sides to short lobes or vestiges at the point of bifurcation, while those on the outer side clothe the rachis, while reducing in length, to a point below the bifurcation of the frond; the pinnules are alternate to opposite, sometimes distant, sometimes overlapping, oblique or open, and are alethopteroid to neuropteroid in general form and in nervation, the slender acute pinnules being alethopteroid, with midribs reaching nearly to the apices, and connate in the upper part of the pinna, becoming more deeply separated, but always united by at least a narrow decurrent lamina in the lower portions of the pinna. in some species the decurrent lamina, which may be relatively broad, is auriculate, and in most cases it is ventrally buckled in a ruffle-like inflation, which is compressed into different forms in the impressions by the flattening both of the wing and of the more or less obliquely set pinnules. the nervation is predominantly alethopteroid, with nerves springing from the rachis in the decurrent portions of the lamina, which is usually slightly convex ventrally between the midnerve and the border. most conspicuous of the above named characteristics, which are seen in nearly all of the group of species described in the following pages, are the single bifurcation in the lower part of the frond, the equality of the two divisions, their simple pinnation, their distinct lateral asymmetry, vis a vis, and the narrowing of the limb from the upper part of the frond to a point a little below the dichotomy. in the arizona species the rachis is short and the distance from the base of the frond to the point of bifurcation is not great. consequently, the narrowing pinnules appear in most cases to reach nearly to the base of the frond. no evidence of repeated or sympodial dichotomy and no clear case of pinnate lobation of the pinnules is seen in the collections from arizona now in hand, though under conditions stimulating greater luxuriance, secondary pinnation might take place. all the plants are pteridosperms-the genus supaia 55 leathery or coriaceous; all present characters regarded as distinctly xerophytic. the simplicity of pinnation of the two divisions is constant in the hermit flora. undulation of the margin is seen in one species, supaia anomala (plate 22), and radially ventrad arching of the lamina in correspondence with marginal sinuosity is present in another species, supaia subgoepperti (plate 25). these species present the nearest approach to lobation or pinnatifidation of the pinnule, and suggest a tendency toward bipinnatifid divisions of the frond. the once-dichotomous, simply pinnate frond might be developed with, finally, equal divisions, from a more complex sympodial type in an environment where frond reduction in the direction of simplicity, if not reversion, was useful as a means of resistance to a semi-arid climate, which in this case was characterized by long hot seasons, and sandy soil, probably alkaline at times. the genus supaia is, i believe, the product of environmental adaptation developed from the later phases of the conferta group of callipterids, which in some species shows nearly equal bifurcation. good examples of the latter are callipteris affinis goeppert¹ and the plant from lodeve, described and illustrated by zeiller 2 as callipteris cf. affinis. the mode of frond development of this species is so unmistakably similar to that in supaia as, under the circumstances, to make reasonably certain the common origin of the forms. the secondary pinnation of the plant from the permian of lodeve may be viewed as corresponding to a lobation of the outer pinnules of the simply pinnate supaia. it is intermediate between the latter and the late or sympodial type of callipteris. the frond described on an earlier page as callipteris arizona (plate 13) which was probably bifurcated near the base, also should be compared. its inclusion in callipteris may be questioned. the usually inward-curving divisions of supaia with their lateral external dilation by the elongation of the outer pinnules in the upper part of the divisions, and the narrowing of the pinnules downward to a point below the bifurcation of the main rachis, as shown in figure 1 (p. 56), or as seen in supaia linearifolia (plate 23), results in a somewhat lyre-shaped frond, slightly suggestive of the early mesozoic clathropteris. on the other hand, in some species of supaia, such as s. sturdevantii and s. compacta, the predominance of the outer over the inner pinnules is very much less marked. the leathery or coriaceous texture and the general masking of the nervation in the thick ¹h. r. goeppert, foss. fl. perm. form., 1864, page 105, pl. xii, fig. 1. r. zeiller, bull. mus. d'hist. nat. de marseille, vol. 1, no. 2, 1898, page 27, pl. iii, fig. 4. 56 description of the flora of the hermit shale fig. 1-supaia linearifolia. diagrammatic restoration of frond. 1/3 natural size. pteridosperms-relations of supaia 57 lamina in the american specimens more probably reflect an unfavorable environment than essential diagnostic characters. among other floras the nearest relatives of supaia are found in the gondwana floras-i. e., the floras characterizing those portions of india, south africa and south america which, with australia and possibly antarctica, embrace the regions of permian glaciation. they are sometimes collectively and loosely termed the glossopteris floras. as we shall see, some of these relatives are found, also, near the base of the zechstein in the uralian region and in floras of very high lower permian or possibly zechstein age in central asia and central and eastern china where elements from the gondwana floras mingle with representatives of the cosmopolitan permian floras. the species of supaia, with lanciform pinnules, like supaia thinnfeldioides and supaia rigida, find their most intimate connections in the upper gondwana flora of the southern hemisphere, where, in beds of latest permian or of triassic age, in india, queensland, victoria, tasmania, south africa and argentina, we meet a group of species with simply pinnate or pinnatifid, equally bifurcated, fronds with elongated or alethopteroid pinnules which, decreasing in length downward from the middle of the pinnæ, border the rachis for some distance below the bifurcation, and in which the nervation is alethopteroid with, generally, a well-developed median nerve. typical in this group of species are those described as (1) thinnfeldia lancifolia (morris), illustrated by walkom¹ from the ipswich and walloon series of queensland; by kurtze² from the supposed rhetic of argentina and chile and by du toit from the upper beaufort series and lower molteno beds of south africa; and as (2) thinnfeldia acuta walkom from the last named area. these species i believe to be distinctly congeneric with the hermit supaia. hardly less strong is the evidence for the assignment to it of some of the species with more typically neuropteroid characters from south africa and argentina. 3 5 the impropriety of including the gondwana species in the same genus with the true european types of thinnfeldia, from the older mesozoic, was pointed out by gothan, who established the genus dicroïdium for the bifurcated gondwana plants previously 1a. b., walkom, mesozoic floras of queensland, queensland geol. survey pub. no. 257, pt. 1, page 21, pl. i, fig. 3, pl. iv, fig. 1, 1917. 2 f. kurtze, atlas d. plantas fosiles d. l' republica argentina: act. acad. nac. cienc. cordoba, vol. vii, pt. 2, 1921, pl. xviii, fig. 174, pl. xix, pl. xx, figs. 267, 270. 3 a. l. du toit, the fossil flora of the upper karoo beds, annals south african mus., vol. xxii, pt. 2, 1927, page 332, text-fig. 5. a. b. walkom, op. cit., p. 23, pl. i, fig. 4; a. l. du toit, op. cit., page 334, textfig. 6 a, b, and page 398, text-fig. 23 3 the european species from the triassic and rhetic may with interest be compared with the fragments shown in figures 1, 2 and 3 of plate 15, or figure 3 of plate 16. w. gothan, ueber die gattung thinnfeldia ettingshausen, abh. d. naturh. gesell. nürnberg, vol. xix, no. 3, 1912, pages 67, 75. 58 description of the flora of the hermit shale included in thinnfeldia. however, the reference which i was at first disposed to make of the hermit plants to the genus dicroïdium, most of whose species, as differentiated by gothan, appear to me plainly congeneric with supaia, seems to be precluded by the fact that dicroïdium has as its type species morris'¹ pecopteris odontopteroides, or thinnfeldia odontopteroides (morris) feistmantel, which, though dichotomously forked, is bipinnate. further, its pinnules, rounded or rhomboidal in form, have an odontopteroid nervation comparable to that of odontopteris osmundæformis, without welldeveloped median nerves. the plants with once-forked fronds, the divisions of which are equal and simply pinnate or pinnatifid alethopteroid, that have been placed in dicroïdium, as well as thinnfeldia, can not, in my judgment, be so classified without violation of the rules of good taxonomic practice. in a purely form classification of fernlike fossil plants, the inclusion of bipinnate fronds, with odontopteroid pinnules and nervation, in the same genus with simply pinnate alethopteroid forms, with alethopteroid pinnules and alethopteroid nervation, is very plainly objectionable. therefore, i would refer the gondwana species with bifurcating simply pinnate or simply pinnatifid fronds and alethopteroid pinnules to the genus supaia, which is founded on the hermit plants. the genus supaia constitutes a well-defined and somewhat unique group and its extension to include the gondwana forms will do much to simplify existing confusion, dicroïdium being restricted, according to present nomenclatural laws, to the bipinnate odontopteroid types of "thinnfeldia." another bond between the supaia group and the gondwana flora is found in danæopsis hughesi, of the middle gondwana of india, and the upper gondwana flora, apparently, of the entire southern hemisphere. an examination of the numerous and excellent drawings of danæopsis hughesi from the south rewah basin of india, published in feistmantel's report of the flora of that region,² immediately shows a close similarity in essential diagnostic characters between it and the genus supaia. the gondwana plant, though more robust, due presumably to a more favorable environment, presents the features of frond division, pinnation and nervation seen in supaia. the apex of the pinna is comparable in form to that of supaia compacta (plate 15, figure 4), while the pinnules are very similar to those of supaia merriami (plate 19). the pinnules of the southern plant, connate in the upper part of the pinna, are 1 j. morris, in strzelecki's physical description of new south wales and van diemen's land, 1845, p. 249, pl. vi. 20. feistmantel, mem. geol. survey india, n. s., vol. 4, pt. 1, p. 24, plates ivvii; viii, figs. 1-5; ix, fig. 4; x; xvii, fig. 1; xviii, fig. 2; xix, figs. 1, 2. danæopsis, protoblechnum and glenopteris 59 decurrent, and in some cases are provided with auricular lobes or small semi-detached lobes at their decurrent bases. besides its distribution in the ipswich series, supposed lower triassic, of australia,¹ the upper beaufort of south africa, and in the supposed rhetic of argentina,³ danæopsis hughesi is also reported to be present in the mixed flora, along with gangamopteris, næggerathiopsis, schizoneura, and other migrants from the gondwana province, in the copper sandstones, of lower zechstein age, in petchora * in northeastern russia. in china, also, pinnæ very similar to the divisions of danæopsis hughesi, and regarded by halle as congeneric with the latter, have been described by him from both the lower and upper shihotse series as protoblechnum wongii, the mistake of referring the gondwana plant with its regularly once-forked frond and supaia type of development of the pinnæ to the marratiaceous danæopsis of the european triassic having long been recognized. later yabe and oishi" discovered the last named species in the chang chui coal field, shantung, china, while a very closely related form from the hei-shan coal field of shantung was described by them as protoblechnum hallei. from the descriptions, however, it appears that no bifurcation has yet been noted in the chinese specimens. therefore, regarding their pinnæ as simple, they are with confidence referred to protoblechnum lesquereux, which was founded upon alethopteris holdeni of andrews.⁹ 6 none of the specimens of protoblechnum which i have examined in the collections of the national museum or at marietta college, ohio, show any traces of bifurcation of the frond. on the other hand, the simply pinnate fronds are symmetrical and have broad attachments at the base of the short and downward enlarging petioles. a much closer relationship, which is certainly congeneric if the fronds in the chinese specimens are simple, is found in the genus glenop'a. b. walkom, mesozoic floras of queensland, queensland geol. survey, pub. no. 257, part 1, 1917, p. 24, pl. vii, f. 1. a. l. du toit, the fossil flora of the upper karoo beds, annals south african mus., vol. xxii, pt. 2, 1927, page 397, pl. xxv; pl. xxvi, fig. 1. 'krasser, denkschr. k. akad. wiss., vol. lxx, 1901, p. 145, pl. ii, f. 4. see also, d. cacheutensis. f. kurtze, atlas d. plantas fosiles d. l'republica argentina, act. acad. nac. cienc. cordoba, vol. vii, pt. 2, 1921, page 138, pl. xvi, figs. 198, 199. *m. d. zalessky, flore gondwanienne du bassin de la petchora, bull. de la soc. ouralienne d'amis. des sci. nat. a ekaterinebourg, vol. xxxiii, 1913, page 14, pl. i, figs. 2-6. 't. g. halle, palæozoic plants from central shansi, paleontologia sinica, geol. survey of china, ser. a, vol. ii, fasc. 1, 1927, page 135, pls. xxxv, xxxvi, and lxiv, fig. 12. h. yabe and s. oishi: a note on protoblechnum wongii halle, japanese jour. geol. and geog., vol. vi, nos. 1-2, sept. 1928, paragraph 61-62, pl. xii. 'a new species of protoblechnum from the hei-shan coal field in shantung, op. cit., page 15, pl. v. 8 l. lesquereux, coal flora, 2d geol. survey of pa., rept. p, vol. 1, 1880, page 188. e. b. andrews, description of the fossil plants from the coal measures of ohio, rept. ohio geol. survey, 1875, page 428, pl. li, figs. 1, 2. 60 description of the flora of the hermit shale teris, described by sellards' from the wellington shale of kansas. glenopteris, as will be pointed out in the discussions of the species of supaia, agrees more closely with respect to the forms of the pinnules, the nervation and, in particular, the auriculation of the decurrent lamina, with the chinese fronds, assuming that the latter are simple, than does the genus protoblechnum. further, protoblechnum is known only from beds of upper pottsville age near rushville, ohio. no known occurrences of the genus in other parts of the world bridge the gap between the pottsville and the stage, high in the lower permian, of the wellington shale, of which glenopteris is characteristic. accordingly, i would refer the plants from shansi and shantung to the genus glenopteris, as has been suggested by halle himself, provided they are found to be consistently symmetrical and non-bifurcate. on the other hand, the reference of danæopsis hughesi to glenopteris or protoblechnum is inadmissible on account of its radically different mode of frond development, which is that of supaia, to which i would refer it. recognizing the close relations of the supaia group to the middle and upper permian callipterids with forking fronds, to which, according to my view, it is most closely bound in origin, comparison should be made of some of the plants of lower zechstein or upper rothliegende age described by zalessky from the uralian region. unfortunately the descriptive text to accompany the atlas on the permian flora of the uralian portion of angara has not been published. however, attention may be called in particular to the photographic illustrations of some of the species described as callipteris and odontopteris. callipteris biarmica zalessky, pl. iii, fig. 2, of zalessky's flora of angaride, has bifurcating pinnæ in which the asymmetrical divisions have the same attitude as in supaia and have alethopteroid pinnules diminishing in size in descending below the point of bifurcation. the two fragments of callipteris demetriana zalessky, shown in figure 3 of the same plate are similar in attitude, but breaking of the rock conceals their precise relations. the pinnules of this species are comparable to those of supaia sturdevantii if allowance is made for the relative luxuriance of the russian flora. similarly, the fragment of odontopteris rossica zalessky (op. cit., pl. iv, fig. 3) invites comparison with supaia sturdevantii and supaia merriami. two apparently unsymmetrical pinnæ in zalessky's plate v, figure 2, callipteris uralensis zalessky, invite comparison with the basal portion of my supaia anomala shown in figure 4 of plate 24. the dichotomous character of callipteris uralensis, which apparently 'kans. univ. quart., vol. 8, 1900, page 180. 'm. d. zalessky, flore permienne des limites ouraliennes de l'angaride, mem. comite geologique, n. s., livr. 176, 1927. relations of supaia to callipteris 61 is sympodial, is shown in zalessky's plate vi. finally, mention should be made of the illustrations of odontopteris tatarica zalessky (plate xxxviii), the relations of which, together with those of odontopteris rossica zalessky (plate vii), seem to me to fall more closely with callipteris than with odontopteris. between supaia and the species tentatively referred by me to zalessky's brongniartites, of which the descriptions have not yet been published, the affinities are obviously very close. in form of development of the frond there may be no important difference. for the present they may be distinguished by the much greater breadth, the relative basal constriction, and the round apices of the generally shorter pinnules, which are generally concave ventrally; by the less leathery lamina, not so puckered at the proximal angle of the pinnule, and by the coarser, more distant, and more oblique nervation of "brongniartites (?)". the apices of the latter are rounded and somewhat capitate and slightly crenulate. largely on the basis of its close relationship to the conferta type of callipteris, which is pteridospermic, the genus supaia also is here classed with the cycadofilices, notwithstanding the description of marrattiaceous sori on the ventral surface of thinnfeldia lancifolia by walkom.¹ strength is added to this classification by the intimate association of seeds with the fronds. very few seeds, except very small forms probably borne by the gymnosperms, have yet been found in the hermit. a rather large, slightly cordiform seed has the aspect in detail of being attached to the badly preserved frond shown in plate 34. absence of carbonized connecting residues prevents definite correlation of the seed and the rachis to the lower part, below the pinnules, of which it seems joined, so far as can be determined in the impression. the seed which was round-cordate, is probably admissible to the genus cyclocarpon, as is the somewhat smaller seed found in the axil of the pinnule of brongniartites (?) yakiensis shown in plate 28, figure 1, though the evidence of union is subject to greater doubt in this case. i am inclined to regard the seed at the base of the limb seen in plate 34 as having grown where it now is. it is possible, on the other hand, that eltovaria (page 113), a problematic fossil, which i would associate with taniopteris, was connected with supaia. the polleniferous organs of "brongniartites ?” are, i suspect, borne by slender appendages of the size of fine yarn springing from the axils of the pinnules. on account of the variation of the pinnules in the parts of the pinna, the differences due to the relative stages of maturity of ¹a. b. walkom, mesozoic floras of queensland, queensland geol. survey, pub. no. 257, pt. 1, page 21, pl. i, fig. 3. 62 description of the flora of the hermit shale the specimens, the nascent stage of development of the genus, and the highly fragmentary character and xerophytic phase of the material collected, the specific differentiation of the hermit specimens is difficult. it is probable, therefore, that further search will result in the revision of some of the descriptions as well as the reassignments of some of the specimens, especially among those not illustrated. at the same time it now seems probable that the number of species of supaia, which appears to have been specially adapted to the hermit environment, so as to occupy most of the room for herbaceous plants, will be increased. the name of the genus is derived from an old indian name, which was borrowed for application to the redbeds series of the canyon wall in which the hermit shale was formerly included. the type species is supaia thinnfeldioides. supaia thinnfeldioides d. w. n. sp. plate 14; plate 15, figs. 1, 2, 3 and 5; plate 16, figs. 2 and 3 frond broadly oval, acute at both ends, divisions at a narrow angle, slightly lax, crescentic, short-oblanceolate, broadest above the middle, narrowing downward with convex borders, which on the outer side descend in diminishing width a short distance below the point of bifurcation; rachis thick, tapering, apparently sparsely clothed with chaffy scales; pinnules oblique above, to very wide open below, distant near apex, close or somewhat overlapping in the lower part of the pinnæ, linear-lanceolate, sometimes elongated, tapering gradually upward toward an obtusely pointed apex, curving slightly outward, hardly narrowed at the base except in the lower part of the frond, the reduction being chiefly at the distal sinus, and decurrent or narrowly confluent in the upper part of the frond; lamina thick, almost totally concealing the nervation, nearly flat and arched ventrad a little at the border; midrib rather thick, dorsally in relief, ventrally slightly depressed, tapering but distinct to very near the apex of the pinnule, very slightly decurrent; nervilles slender, decurrent, passing obliquely and nearly straight to the margin, while appearing to fork once in some cases. the plant illustrated in plate 14 and plate 16, figure 3, represents a graceful and unique type that is less rare than other species of this genus in the hermit flora. in form, size and mode of arrangement of the pinnules, the plant is very closely similar to the larger fragments illustrated by sellards as glenopteris splendens from the wellington shale of kansas, though auriculation, due perhaps to puckering of the decurrent lamina, is but slightly indicated in the arizona specimens. it is here variable and mostly faint. as to that, it may be mentioned that in some of the small fragments of glenopteris splendens, from kansas, in the collections of the geological 1 bull. kans. univ. quarterly, vol. 9, no. 4, 1901, page 182, pl. 37, fig. 1, pl. 38, fig. 1, pl. 40. relation of supaia to thinnfeldia 63 survey, it is difficult to see the auricular flap or buckled lamina in the form shown in sellards's illustrations. the puckering of the decurrent lamina is imperfectly seen in the small hermit fragment shown in plate 16, figure 2, in which, as the result of maceration, the trend, though not the true aspect of the nervation is seen. wrinkling of the leaf substance masks the true nervation. the latter, as faintly indicated in portions of the fragment photographed in plate 15, figure 5, is very oblique and nearly straight from the midrib to the margin, which it meets at an angle of about 40 degrees. forking of the nervilles is probably more frequent than is inferred from the neural tracing in the photographic enlargement (x2) of another specimen, figure 3, of the same plate. a fragment showing the apex of a pinna belonging almost without doubt to this species is seen in figure 1 of plate 15. in this example the margins of the lamina appear to be slightly rolled backward. 3 supaia thinnfeldioides is immediately suggestive of the mesozoic genus thinnfeldia, as found in europe and as illustrated by many authors, though the observation of the bifurcation of the frond and the development of the overlapping, inward-facing crescentic divisions precludes detailed comparison with that genus. on the other hand, the points of similarity between supaia thinnfeldioides and the plants with bifurcated fronds, asymmetrical divisions, and lanciform, decurrent pinnules of alethopteroid fashion and nervation, from the upper permian and mesozoic of australia,¹ south africa,² and southern south america, described under thinnfeldia and dicroïdium are so close, not only as to their habit of growth but also in detailed characters, that i am disposed to place the lanciform species in the genus supaia. the inclusion of the hermit plant in the genus dicroidium, to which i at first referred it, is impossible for the reason that dicroïdium, to which gothan assigned the simply pinnate dichotomous species, was established to contain bipinnate divisions, with rhomboidal or rounded pinnules having odontopteroid nervation, the bipinnate odontopteroid species, thinnfeldia odontopteroides (morris) feistmantel, being made the type of the genus. 4 ¹ see thinnfeldia acuta walkom, queensland geol. survey, pub. no. 257, 1917, page 23, pl. 3, f. 4, and th. lancifolia (morris), op. cit., page 21, pl. 4, f. 1, from supposed triassic beds of queensland. 2 see th. acuta walkom, in a. l. du toit, the fossil flora of the upper karoo beds, ann. so. afr. mus., vol. 22, pt. 2, 1927, page 399; text-fig. 23, page 334; text-fig. 6 a, b from the uppermost permian and from the lower trias. see dicroidium lancifolium (morris) in gothan, abh. naturh. gesell. nürnberg, vol. xix, no. 3, 1912, pl. xvi, figs. 2-4, from the rhetic of argentina; also see thinnfeldia lancifolia (morris) szajn. in f. kurtze, atlas d. plantas fosiles d. l. republica argentina, act. acad. nac. cienc. cordoba, vol. vii, pt. 2, 1921, pl. xviii, fig. 174, pl. xix, pl. xx, f. 267, 270. 'w. gothan, ueber die gattung thinnfeldia ettingshausen, abh. d. naturh. gesell. nürnberg, vol. xix, no. 3, 1912, pages 67, 75. 64 description of the flora of the hermit shale the intimate genetic connection of the arizona species of supaia with the gondwana forms is a most interesting feature of the hermit flora. some of the bifurcating fronds of the lower zechstein and possibly uppermost lower permian of northeastern russia, the uralian portion of "angara" land, and of western mongolia command recognition also as taking part in this common origin and remarkable distribution. the relative ages of the floras in the different regions and the probable directions of migration by the alaska route are briefly discussed in preceding parts of this report (page 35). the occurrence of gondwana types in the uralian region in very early upper permian time is generally regarded as subsequent to the development of the gondwana plants as peculiar to the climate and other environmental features following permian glaciation in gondwana land, from which the plants are supposed to have crossed over to northern russia and western mongolia, where they are mingled with representatives of the middle permian and early zechstein cosmopolitan flora. it remains to be seen whether discoveries of very late lower permian, or possibly basal upper permian plants in other regions of western north america will not disclose the presence of other gondwana types like rhipidopsis or gangamopteris in this continent. supaia thinnfeldioides has many points of leaf development and nervation in common with some of the plants described as danæopsis or protoblechnum from the altai, central shansi and the shantung regions of china. so far as i am aware, however, these plants have simply pinnate fronds that do not fork and are bilaterally symmetrical. if this holds true they are referable without question to sellards's genus glenopteris. supaia thinnfeldioides is distinguished from other species of the genus in the hermit shale by its slightly distant, graceful, tapering, outward-curving, pointed pinnules, which are relatively flat. locality: lower part of hermit shale, in the hermit basin, 7.5 miles west of grand canyon station. supaia rigida d. w. n. sp. plate 17, figs. 1, 2 and 3 fronds oblong-lanceolate, somewhat divergent, acute, with broadly and deeply ventrally sulcate rachis; pinnules subopposite to alternate or opposite, open nearly at a right angle or reflexed in the lower portion of the frond, very distant, straight, linear, rigid, tapering from near the base to the acute or acuminate apex, very narrowly decurrent along the rachis; terminal pinnule linear-lanceolate, with one or two oblique lobes; basal pinnules unknown; midribs strong, ventrally sulcate, dorsally terete, persistent to the apex of the pinnule, hardly decurrent; lamina thick, coriaceous, ventrally convex, and more or less distinctly rolled backward at the border; nervilles concealed in the thick lamina. mesozoic aspect of supaia 65 this imperfectly known species is represented in the collection by a few fragments, three of which are seen in plate 17, figures 1, 2 and 3. the lamina is more reduced than that of any other leaf of this genus in the collection. in the fragment shown in figure 1, it is plainly rolled inward (ventrad) as if by withering, and its very narrow linear form is clearly indicated in several of the pinnules. examination of the latter shows that the midrib though rigid is not so thick as might be inferred from a superficial glance at the specithe nervation is not seen. men. the reference of the apical portion shown in figure 2 of plate 17 to this species is subject to little doubt, notwithstanding the absence of detailed nervation, on account of the very narrow tapering rigid pinnules. to this species also belongs the detached fragment of a slender pinnule shown in figure 3 of the same plate. the mesozoic aspect of this species is strikingly emphasized by a comparison of our figures with the plants from the keuper of thuringia described by compter¹ as cycadites rumpfi schenk (thinnfeldia spinosa). in this connection comparison may also be made of the thinnfeldia figured by kurtze 2 from the rhetic of argentina. a fuller understanding of the development and specific characters of supaia rigida must await the discovery of additional or better preserved specimens. meanwhile the species is readily distinguished by the very distant, narrow, straight, rigid, acutely pointed pinnules, open nearly at a right angle to the rachis. locality: hermit trail, hermit basin, 7.5 miles west of grand canyon station. supaia sturdevantii d. w. n. sp. plate 18, figs. 1, 2, 2a, 2b divisions lanceolate to linear-lanceolate, broadest at some distance below the apex, narrowing gently in the middle and lower portions, with rather strong, ventrally coarsely rugose, irregularly lineate, dorsally terete rachis; pinnules set somewhat oblique to the plane of the axis, subopposite to opposite or alternate, close, usually overlapping more or less, open or but slightly oblique and usually curving outward, or slightly reflexed, oblong, obtusely rounded at the abrupt and slightly upturned apex, widest above the middle, narrowed by a low rounded curve to the base on the distal side, very slightly narrowed, except in the lowest pinnules, on the proximal side which is decurrent in a downward narrowing and ventrally buckled wing that is generally folded by compression so as to simulate an ear or lobe at the base of the pinnule; midrib strong, distinctly decurrent at the very base, persistent to the apex, dorsally rounded; lamina very thick, ¹g. compter, nova acta c. l. c. g. nat. cur., vol. xxxvii, pl. xvi, figs. 5, 7 and 8. f. kurtze, atlas d. plantas fosiles d. 1. republica argentina, act. acad. nac. cienc. cordoba, vol. vii, pt. 2, 1921, pl. xviii, fig. 174, pl. xix, fig. 267, 270. 66 description of the flora of the hermit shale rigid, leathery, apparently smooth or finely rugose, thickened at the border, shallowly carinate dorsad by sloping ventrad from either side of the midrib; nervilles nearly invisible within the thick substance of the lamina, apparently coarse, and sometimes, at least, forking once near the base and possibly again while passing straight, parallel, at nearly 45° to the border. typical fragments of this species are shown in plate 18, figures 1 and 2. apical portions of the pinna are not yet found or have not been correlated. no distinct junction of pinnæ in a dichotomous frond is seen; but the presence of a part of a second pinna, obliquely buried in the rock and converging with that shown in figure 2, is interpreted as indicating forking of the rachis as in other species. such forking would conform to the inequality of the pinnules on the two sides of the pinna. the nervation shown only in the very small portion of pinnule in the lower part of the photograph of the last mentioned specimen, enlarged twice in figure 2b, is rather more distinctly alethopteroid than that of most species of the genus in the collections. the ravages of parasites, probably the larvæ of some permian insect, are seen in the upper pinnules, photographed, twice the natural size, in plate 17, figure 2a. comparable mining of the mesophyll of the leaves of callipteris conferta from the permian of thuringia is described and illustrated by potonié. he compares it with the work of the larvæ of diptera, microlepidoptera and rhynchophorous beetles in plants of the present day. professor f. m. carpenter, of the bussey institution, who has been kind enough to examine the specimens from the hermit shale, expresses the opinion that the mining of the mesophyll was the work of an ancient representative of the coleoptera. the specimen from the permian at crock in thuringia and that from the hermit shale in arizona comprise the earliest examples yet discovered of the work of the leaf-mining larvæ. the suggestion that the mining might have been done by nematodes is discouraged by the fact that so far as known no living nematodes are mesophyll miners. it is interesting to note that in both instances the leaves mined belong to related genera. the tunnels in the leaves of supaia sturdevanti are notably larger than in those in callipteris conferta. in general form supaia sturdevantii strongly suggests a colossal callipteris conferta, with outward curved and slightly obliquely placed pinnules which are faintly upturned at the apex. the specimen shown in plate 18, figure 1, lies oblique to the bedding—i.e., it was buried edgewise. at that it extends completely across the edge of a rapidly deposited but cross-bedded rock layer over 2 inches in thickness. it is probable that this rapidly buried pinna is less pteridosperms-supaia merriami 67 deformed than others and reveals the originally oblique attitude of the pinnules with reference to one another as well as to the rachis better than in other specimens. the ventrad buckling of the decurrent lamina at the bases of the pinnules is present in all cases, though generally lobe-formed, due to flattening on the bedding planes. supaia sturdevanti differs from other species by the form of its stiff, leathery, overlapping pinnules, which curve outward and are slightly upward-pointed at the rounded apices. the pinna narrows more gradually toward the base than in most of the associated species. the resemblance between the illustrated specimens of this species, particularly figure 1, plate 18, and some of the specimens from the classic permian region, belebei, in the ural mountains, described by zalessky¹ as odontopteris rossica, is so strong as to leave little room for doubt as to the close relation between the species. the distinct midribs, the continuity of the decurrent median strands down the ventral surface of the rachis, and the form of the pinnules, indicating, as i view them, bifurcation of the frond, tend to confirm the writer's conclusion, already noted, that the russian specimens above cited belong to the callipterid group rather than to odontopteris, and possibly to the genus supaia, as it might have developed with a more complex frond in a much more' moist habitat. lower part of hermit shale, bright angel trail, locality: below el tovar. supaia merriami d. w. n. sp. plate 19 pinna long, probably linear-lanceolate, with thick, ventrally sulcate, dorsally rounded rachis; pinnules very large, open, opposite to alternate, mainly subopposite, overlapping, broad, oblong, lanceolate or lingulate, obtuse, hardly narrowed at the base except in the lower part of the frond, connate by the somewhat buckled decurrent lamina; midribs not very thick, ventrally narrowly round-sulcate, dorsally raised, hardly decurrent; lamina thick, apparently fleshy, ventrally depressed near the midrib, curved gently backward toward the margin; nervilles generally immersed in the thick lamina, originating at a wide angle, very coarse, sometimes forking once in passing nearly straight or arching slightly to the border, which they meet at a very open angle. the fragment of pinna shown in plate 19 represents the largest frond of supaia found in the grand canyon collection. the insert in the lower right of the plate continues the frond downward in natural scale. the specimen was evidently somewhat abraded and mutilated, notwithstanding a degree of toughness and rigidity of the leaves, possibly as the result of stream rolling before burial in the rippled sand, the texture of which is very curly. 'mémoires du comité géologique, n. s., livr. 176, 1927, page 37, pl. 4, figs. 3 and 4. 68 description of the flora of the hermit shale the nervation of the plant, dimly seen in two pinnules in the upper part and in one near the base of the fragment, is very coarsely and distantly alethopteroid. the nerves, where faintly visible, present a tubular aspect, as though provided with capacity for water movement in the leaf of the plant. in size and close position of the pinnules, as well as in the angle of the latter to the midrib, the specimen figured strongly suggests glenopteris splendens.¹ it differs, however, from that species by the bifurcation of the frond, the arcuate form of the pinna and a degree of inequality in the size of the pinnules on the two sides of the rachis. except for the auriculately buckled lamina at the base of the pinnules, supaia merriami is evidently comparable to the probably congeneric species, also having forked fronds, described in the older gondwana flora as danaopsis hughesi.2 the latter shows some signs of auriculation or its equivalent in the form of lobes or small pinnules beneath the lingulate pinnules. the incorrectness of referring the gondwana plant, which is present in india, australia, south africa and south america, to the genus danæopsis has been already mentioned. plants identified by zalessky as danaopsis hughesi, without mention of dichotomy, are found in the basal zechstein or copper sandstones of pechora in northeastern russia and at other points on the west slope of the urals and in beds of nearly the same age in the region of the altai and northwestern mongolia, in all of which regions it occurs in a flora of gondwana types mixed with forms characteristic of the cosmopolitan permian flora. specimens regarded as identical with danaopsis hughesi have been reported from the shihotse series in central shansi and in the province of shantung. these plants from central and eastern china appear, according to descriptions, to present simple non-dichotomous fronds, on which account they can not, in my judgment, be with propriety placed in the same genus with danaopsis hughesi, which i view as a supaia. on the other hand, halle and yabe and oisha, place the supposed simple chinese forms in the genus protoblechnum lesquereux, which has been found only in the upper pottsville of ohio. it is possible that further discoveries will show that the chinese specimens, which represent large pinnæ, actually belong to bifurcating fronds, though this appears improbable. if the fronds do not bifurcate, the chinese examples are, on the character of the petiole, the form of the frond, the pinnules, and the nervation, undoubtedly to be classed in the genus glenopteris sellards. 1 e. h. sellards, kans. univ., quart., vol. ix, 1900, ser. a, p. 182, pl. xxxvii, fig. 1; pl. xxxviii, fig. 1; xl. 20. feistmantel, mem. geol. survey of india, paleont. indica, ser. xii, vol. iv, pl. 1, 1882, plates i-viii. see especially plate viii, fig. 1. pteridosperms-supaia compacta 69 supaia merriami is strikingly similar in general aspect to some of the fernlike species from the triassic of europe described in the genus neuropteridium, and illustrated especially by neuropteridium voltzii. its aspect is distinctly mesozoic, and on this account it is one of the contributors to the general mesozoic facies of the hermit flora. locality: hermit trail, hermit basin, 7.5 miles west of grand canyon station, arizona. supaia compacta d. w. n. sp. plate 15, fig. 4; plate 16, fig. 4; plate 26, fig. 3; plate 32, fig. 1; plate 35, fig. 3 divisions relatively narrow, oblong to linear, tapering to an acute apex, and narrowing slowly downward from the broadest part, which is some distance above the middle, with ventrally deeply depressed rachis, above which the pinnules, somewhat obliquely placed, stand forward; pinnules close, touching or slightly overlapping in the lower part of the division, alternate to subopposite and opposite, open nearly to a right angle in the lower part of the pinna, and becoming oblique toward the apex, short, ovate-oblong to oblong and linear-oblong, slightly narrowed at the base on the upper side, decurrent at the proximal angle, with borders relatively even and nearly parallel to near the apex, which is but slightly narrowed and nearly round; lamina somewhat rigid, very slightly convex ventrally between the midrib and the border, relatively smooth and buckled so as to protrude ventrad at the decurrent base of the pinnule; median nerve not very wide, ventrally slightly depressed, dorsally terete, smooth, and passing, while tapering, very nearly to the apex, and but very slightly decurrent at the base; nervation very indistinct in the thick lamina of generally alethopteroid development, oblique, and forking apparently once or more in passing, relatively straight, to the border. no large fragments of this species are present in the collection, but the specimens in hand agree so consistently in character that there is little room for doubt that they represent a single rather easily recognized species. oblong fragments of pinnules with parallel margins, relatively flat and comparatively smooth surfaces, with narrow, ventrally depressed midribs and tapering but slightly to the round apices, are not infrequent. the specimen shown in plate 16, figure 4, well illustrates the aspect of the detached pinnules, which in general curve outward slightly. a fragment from the upper part of the pinna in which the large pinnules are becoming shorter and more deeply parted in passing down the pinna is shown in plate 35, figure 4, and both the angle of bifurcation of the frond and the attitude and form of the rapidly reduced pinnules near the angle are illustrated in plate 32, figure 1. in this specimen the pinnules, which appear slightly shriveled, are less rigid than in the other examples, but their leathery aspect is well 70 description of the flora of the hermit shale shown in the photograph, which is retouched only to emphasize the median nerves. crinkling and overlapping of the buckled lamina is seen in the figure just cited. as the result of flattening some pinnules appear to be provided with basal auricles which underlap the upper border of the pinnule next below. this buckling of the decurrent wing is better illustrated in the fragment shown in plate 26, figure 3. here the deposition was such that the leaf is less completely flattened, so that the deformation of the bases of the pinnules and the decurrent wing is rather clearly illustrated, especially in the lower part of the specimen, where the raised border is eroded. on account of the close agreement in form and texture of the pinnules, the terminal fragment shown in plate 15, figure 4, is with little doubt included in the types of this species. the fragment obliquely buried in the sand is slightly dragged, so that the pinnules on the right are steeply inclined and overlapping, while those on the left are slightly drawn apart. supaia compacta is more alethopteroid in facies than any other of the species yet found in the hermit shale, except s. breviloba. it is distinguished from the plant tentatively referred to brongniartites and described on a later page as brongniartites (?) aliena, by the characteristic irregularity in the form of the pinnules of the latter, for while in that species some of the lower pinnules on the pinna, like that shown in plate 26, figure 1, are alethopteroid, resembling in some respects the pinnules of supaia compacta, they are in nearly all specimens easily distinguished by their relatively greater width, by their broader decurrence at the base, by the thinner lamina, by the much stronger midribs, which taper rapidly in passing upward, and by the more oblique nervation. the small pinnules of brongniartites? aliena, as illustrated in the photograph of the small specimen of the latter, figure 2 of plate 36, have upward-curving nervation of the callipteris type in pinnules that bend more or less distinctly outward. between supaia compacta and the typical brongniartites ? aliena, as the latter is illustrated by the mature frond shown in plate 26, figure 4, the distinction is evident. the form of apex seen in plate 15, figure 4, is very suggestive of that illustrated by sellards under glenopteris simplex.¹ in fact, the similarity is even closer in some of the specimens in the collections of the geological survey from the wellington formation of kansas. it is hardly possible, however, that the nervation in the figured specimen from the grand canyon can closely approximate the very loose and irregular type of alethopteroid nervation seen in the kansas plant. on the other hand, the apex of the plant from the grand canyon ¹ sellards, loc. cit., page 184, pl. 37, fig. 2; pl. 38, figs. 2 and 3; pl. 39; and pl. 40. pteridosperms-supaia anomala 71 is strongly suggestive of the terminal fragments figured by zalessky as odontopteris rossica. in my judgment the latter species certainly belongs to the callipteris group, to the latest forms of which supaia is most closely related. supaia anomala d. w. n. sp. plate 20, figs. 1-3, plate 21, figs. 1-4; plate 22; plate 24, fig. 4 1 locality: hermit shale in the hermit basin, 7.5 miles west of grand canyon station. fronds relatively large, very broad, with crescentic divisions extremely wide, reaching a breadth of 30 cm. or more, broadest above the middle and tapering somewhat acutely both upward and downward; rachis strong, dorsally in round relief, ventrally shallowly but broadly sulcate, and rather broadly alate above, very narrowly winged below; apex of the pinna slightly sympodially dichotomous in distant, oblique, narrow, short-linear pinnules, the linear or narrowly lingulate terminal being more or less deeply cut in one or two very short lobes at some distance below the rather obtuse apex; pinnules alternate to subopposite, open at angles of 45° to 60° or more, very distant, sometimes remote, especially near the apex, short-linear near the top, rapidly becoming greatly elongated, linear or ribbon-like, and slightly lax in aspect, reaching lengths of 26 cm. or more and widths of 2 cm., widest near the middle, with gently sinuate or slightly scalloped or obscurely sublobate borders, the scallops being rounded and usually asymmetrically directed distad or even oblique-pointed in the middle and upper portions of the pinnule, and becoming more pronounced in the lower part of the proximal side, which narrows slightly through the lower 10 cm. of the very large pinnules; lamina very thick, apparently thickly pubescentleathery, generally thickened at the borders, with one or two well-developed buckled lobes or pseudo-auricles below the decurrent base of the pinnule, narrowing nearly to the rachis at the base of the proximad pinnule in the middle and lower parts of the fronds, but broader in the upper part of the frond, where on the distal side of the pinnule it gradually narrows with a flatly convex border to or very nearly to the rachis, except in the upper pinnules; midribs strong, dorsally raised and narrow, persistent though tapering very nearly to the apex; nervation nowhere clearly seen; nerves of the decurrent wing originating obliquely and forking probably twice in passing rather obliquely to the border, the nerves from the midribs passing straighter and very obliquely to the margin. this unique species, suggestive of the older mesozoic floras, appears to find no closely comparable permian plant outside of the hermit flora. typical fragments are shown in plate 20, figures 1 and 3, in the latter of which the nervation is faintly indicated. the apical segment, plate 21, figure 1, was at first considered as a species of megalopteris but, after comparison with figure 1 of plate 20, i am unable to regard it except as representing, like that shown in figure 2 of plate 21, the top of the pinna of supaia anomala, in which i place 'm. d. zalessky, mém. com. géol., n. s., no. 176, pl. 7, f. 2, and pl. 10, f. 4, 1927. 72 description of the flora of the hermit shale also the original of figure 2 of plate 20, notwithstanding its narrower decurrent wing. as to the assignment of the segment shown in plate 22, the case is not so clear on account of the wider and less constricted decurrent lamina above the bases of the pinnules which, themselves, are not so reduced gradually on the distal side of the base as in the other specimens cited. in respect to these differences in particular the original of plate 22 should perhaps be referred to supaia linearifolia, which, as seen in plate 23, figure 1, has similar features of the decurrent lamina and open pinnules which also are less narrowed downward to the distal side of the base. the inclusion of plate 22 under this species is based chiefly on the features of the short pinnules on the left which are sinuate-bordered like those illustrated in other representatives of s. anomala. it may belong to s. linearifolia, which i am disposed, on the data now in hand, to view as a species distinct from the other. the inequality in length between the short sinuate-margined pinnules on the left and the greatly elongated pinnules on the right of the same rachis in the specimen shown in plate 22, is less striking, however, than that observed between the corresponding inner and outer pinnules shown in plate 23, figure 1. on the basis of the agreement between the large pinnules of the plant and the mode of decurrence of the lamina in the fragment showing the dichotomy of a young frond, plate 24, figure 4, and the small pinnules seen on the left in plate 22, i have referred this fragment also to supaia anomala. closer spacing of the pinnules near the bifurcation of the frond is characteristic of supaia. in addition to the differences noted above, supaia linearifolia differs from s. anomala by the rigidity of its more leathery pinnules and by the more narrow and more lanceolate and basally constricted pinnules of the apical fragments, one of which is shown in plate 36, figure 4. the basal lobes in plate 23, figure 1, conform in general features with the terminal lobes of the cited apical fragment. locality: lower part of the hermit shale in the hermit basin, and near the bright angel trail, below el tovar. supaia linearifolia d. w. n. sp. plate 23, fig. 1; plate 36, fig. 4; text-fig. 1 divisions very broad, narrowing rather abruptly below and very abruptly above, acute at the distantly sublobate apex, bluntly pointed to the rachis in the contracting base; rachis strong, broadly sulcate ventrally, dorsally raised, apparently scabrous, and bordered a little widely by the decurrent lamina; pinnules distant, oblique except at the base of the divisions, alternate to subopposite or opposite, elongate-linear or narrowly ribbon-like except near the apex and near the bifurcation of the frond where pteridosperms-supaia linearifolia 73 they become very short, oblong or lanceolate, and obtuse; longest pinnules not yet fully seen, probably 15 cm. or more in length, and about 1 cm. wide, relatively rigid, probably obtuse, narrowed very gently for some distance above the base of the distal side, hardly contracted on the proximal side, which is distinctly decurrent by nearly the full width of the lamina except near the base of the frond, where the wing narrows downward, and the pinnule is a little more distinctly contracted on the distal side; uppermost pinnules very oblique, short-lanceolate, somewhat connate, the lanceolate terminal being sublobate; lamina thick, not rough, leathery in aspect, slightly wavy in the largest pinnules, possibly due to deformation in burial, pitching, in ventral view, gently inward to the midrib, so as to form an extremely shallow angle along the latter; midrib rather narrow, ventrally narrowly depressed, dorsally in relief, tapering gently to the apex, slightly decurrent, even in the highest pinnule, clearly descending on the surface of the rachis; nervilles not seen. by the distance separating the pinnules and by the remarkable elongation of the latter on the outer sides of the pinnæ, as well as some similarity of form of apical growth, this plant is so related to supaia anomala as to leave some room for doubt as to whether it should not be referred to the same species. such a reference is encouraged even by the slightly wavy margin of the pinnules seen in plate 23, figure 1. also a slight reduction of the lamina toward the base of the distal side of the pinnule seen in some specimens seems to favor the reference of this specimen to that species, though such basal reduction of pinnule is hardly noticeable in the cited figure, in which, however, the decurrent lamina forms a less narrow and less cuneate wing between the pinnules. nevertheless, in view of the differences remaining, and in default of additional specimens needed to show better the development of the plant, i feel constrained to treat the specimens in hand as a distinct species. supaia linearifolia appears to be distinguished from s. anomala by the narrowness of its greatly elongated and scarcely sinuate-margined pinnules, the relative flatness of the lamina in the vicinity of the rachis, the much less reduction at the distal side of the base in the longest pinnules, and the descent of the lamina essentially without buckling or folding and with less narrowing downward in passing from the base of the pinnule to that preceding. the midrib of the specimens is apparently narrower than in s. anomala. further, not only is the decurrent lamina less raised ventrad along the rachis, but it pitches very slightly toward the mid-nerve, as seen in ventral aspect. as in other species of the genus, the lamina both in the pinnules and in the wing appears to stand slightly above (ventrad) the plane of the rachis. no nervilles are seen in the fragments referred to this species. however, stray fragments of pinnules, possibly belonging to this type, show obscure traces of very oblique and nearly straight nervilles. 74 description of the flora of the hermit shale as already mentioned the pinnules of supaia linearifolia seem to have been more rigid than those of s. anomala, though narrower and possibly as long or longer. notable rigidity was essential to maintaining in position, outspread, the greatly elongated slender pinnules in both species. there is no doubt that the fragment of pinna seen in the lower right of figure 1 of plate 23 represents the mate of the more fully preserved fragment, as is indicated by its attitude, the agreement in the size of the rachis, and the exact accord between the pinnules of the two opposing divisions of the frond as, diminishing, they approach the bifurcation. a restoration of the frond of this species is shown in reduced scale in text-figure 1 (p. 56). the extremely rapid, even abrupt, reduction in length of the pinnules in passing down to the point of bifurcation of the frond, indicated in figure 1, plate 23, is comparable with that seen in s. anomala. the lenticular or oval body shown as extending beneath the long pinnule in the upper left of figure 1, plate 23, is the cast of a fruit probably specifically identical with others described on a later page as eltovaria, which is regarded, partly on circumstantial evidence, as belonging possibly to the genus supaia, but more probably to taniopteris. locality: lower part of hermit shale, near bright angel trail, below el tovar. supaia breviloba d. w. n. sp. plate 33, figs. 1 and 1a pinnæ relatively narrow, linear-lanceolate to linear, acute, compact, with connate pinnules at the apex; pinnules close, touching or slightly overlapping in the middle and upper portions of the pinna, open nearly at a right angle except near the apex, slightly oblique to the plane of the frond, oval or slightly ovate, rounded at the apex, slightly outward-curved, relatively deeply constricted with very narrow sinus on the distal side of the base, decurring by the entire width of the lamina on the proximal side in the middle of the pinna, with more reduced decurrent wing in the lower portion of the pinna; lamina moderately thick, inclined distinctly from the lateral margin inward to the median nerve on the ventral side; midrib not very strong in the upper part of the pinna, more distinct below, persistent very nearly to the apex of the pinnule, dorsally in relief and distinctly decurrent at the base; nervation alethopteroid; nervilles originating at an oblique angle and forking once or twice while turning outward near the base and passing nearly straight and oblique to the margin, which they meet at an angle of about 45° in the middle of the pinnule. the specimen figured, plate 33, figure 1, is the only fragment of this species now in hand in which the pinnules are not rolled inward from the lateral borders with upward curving of the apical portion pteridosperms-supaia subgoepperti 75 so that they are rather broadly synclinal or boat-shaped, as seen in the casts, the keel being dorsad. in profile these pinnæ suggest the outline of alethopteris serlii. the figured specimen shows the slightly oblique positions of the non-rolled pinnules, which at that are probably flattened somewhat in the course of the compression of the matrix under loading. the general aspect of the pinna is suggestive of the shorter pinnules of alethopteris grandini or one of the permian callipteridiums, like c. gigas, though the pinnules of the supaia are more distinctly decurrent and deeper incised on the distal side of the base, especially in the lower part of the pinna. the alethopteroid nervation of the plant is indicated in the photographic enlargement, plate 33, figure la. supaia breviloba is readily distinguished from other species of the genus by its short, closely placed, oval or obovate pinnules, very broadly rounded at the top, deeply incised on the distal side of the base, which in the lowest pinnules is cut nearly to the midrib, and the distinctly alethopteroid oblique nervation. in form the pinna suggests some of the fragments illustrated and described by authors as thinnfeldia, from the upper gondwana floras of the southern hemisphere, and especially from beds of supposed rhetic age in argentina. locality: lower part of hermit trail, on west side of the bright angel trail, below el tovar. supaia subgoepperti d. w. n. sp. plate 25 fronds forking at an angle of about 40°, with very broad, lineate, ventrally deeply depressed rachis; divisions broadly overlapping, relatively broad, apparently oval-oblanceolate, but not fully represented by specimens; pinnules slightly oblique above, open nearly at a right angle below, generally a little distant, alternate to opposite, and, near the top, subalternate, oblong-lanceolate to narrowly triangular-lanceolate, the largest lingulate, obtuse to acute at the apex, decurrent, connate above, basally constricted and prominently inflated ventrad on both sides of the base in the lower part of the frond, the ventral convexity being slightly elongated longitudinally; midribs hardly decurrent, straight, strong, tapering gradually, but distinct and ventrally rather broadly depressed to very near the apex of the pinnule; lamina thick, coriaceous, often inclined toward the midrib on the ventral side, and waved by regularly distributed, very oblique, straight narrow waves or plaits; nervation very indistinctly seen, evidently parallel to the waves of the lamina, rather close, and apparently somewhat fasciculate (?) to correspond to the waves, with simple or onceforked intermediate nerves. the representation of this species in the present grand canyon collection is confined to a single slab, shown in plate 25. at the 76 description of the flora of the hermit shale top of the fragment is an imperfect and rather obscure impression of the lower part of a frond, in which bifurcation, though almost certain, as indicated by the surface and fracture of the rock, is not absolutely demonstrated. the principal features distinguishing supaia subgoepperti are the elongated and more or less narrowly triangular pinnules which are straight or nearly so, and their plication. the ventrad inflation of the lamina on either side of the midrib at the base of the obliquely posed pinnules-a feature characteristic of both supaia and glenopteris-is conspicuously seen. the specimen indicates the development of longer pinnules in the lower part of the frond and nearer the bifurcation than is seen in either brongniartites ? yakiensis or b. ? aliena. sinuosity of the margin and ventral arching or plaiting in the lamina, in correspondence, offer as near an approach to lobation or a bipinnatifid development of the frond as has been found in the hermit representation of the genus supaia. similar and even more marked scalloping of the margin of this lamina is seen in supaia anomala, plates 20 and 21. though the details of the nervation are not visible in the coriaceous or slightly encrusted specimens in hand, it would appear that rather coarse nerves traverse the crests of the ridges. further, from the aspect of the surface of the lamina, it seems possible that these are primary nerves from which lateral nerves originate near the base, with rapid upward curving and parallel trends toward the margin. there is ground for the suspicion, however, that simple or once-forked nerves spring directly from the midrib in the intervals between the apparently more branched or fasciculate nerves of the ridges. the resemblance of supaia subgoepperti to the plant identified by morris as pecopteris goepperti, as the latter is shown in figures 1b, 1c and le, of plate f in the geology of russia¹ is the basis for the name of the grand canyon species. the aspect of our species is so much like that shown by goeppert 2 under neuropteris salicifolia as to suggest that the plant from the zechstein of the belebei district (ural mountains) belongs to the same genus and to a very closely related species. the examination of the figure given by goeppert shows it rather surely to be the right-hand division of a dichotomous frond like that from the yaki trail. ¹r. i. murchison, e. de verneuil, et a. de keyserling: géologie de la russie d' europe et des montagnes de l'oural, vol. ii, paléontologie, 1845. 2 foss. fl. perm. form., 1864, page 102, pl. 12, f. 5. pteridosperms cyclocarpon associated with supaia 77 further knowledge of the features of this interesting plant awaits the collection of additional material. locality: found only near the yaki trail, near the base of the hermit shale. supaia sp. plate 34 the poorly preserved and slightly weathered specimen shown in plate 34 is not now specifically determinable, but it has value as showing in ensemble some interesting features of the anomalous group including supaia and the closely related forms here provisionally referred to brongniartites. the dichotomy forms a relatively narrower angle than in most forms. the pinnæ are broadly overlapping and are but slightly curved upward. the largest pinnules, where the pinnæ are widest, are near the top of the frond. unlike "brongniartites?" the pinnules are here ventrally convex, with decurrent median nerves and, though less close, the upper pinnules resemble those of supaia merriami, of which this possibly is a small and badly preserved frond. the terminal, not seen in the last-mentioned species, may have been short, with two not very widely connate short, oblong, or broadly ovate, rounded lobes. the upper part of the pinna is very similar to the corresponding portion of danæopsis hughesi, which was so well illustrated by feistmantel from the south rewah coal field of india and which i regard as a species of supaia. traces of pinnules diminishing in size in passing downward for a short distance below the bifurcation, after the manner of supaia, are nearly obliterated below the bifurcation of the frond. it is interesting to note, however, that on the left of the rachis, opposite the point of dichotomy, the mold of a large, broadly cordiform seed sits in the place of a lobe. its characters are somewhat indistinct, but the impressions of vascular strands are seen in a narrow marginal zone-not recognizable as a wing, but as part of a probably thick fibrous covering and this fibrous zone appears in the impression to have been originally united by a very short, narrow attachment, about 3 mm. wide, with the rachis. in the absence of carbonaceous residues admitting of physical tracing, and having only a matrix surface scattered with the more or less vague impressions of fragments of macerated debris, it is more than possible not only that a seed might lodge with its base against a rachis in this way, but even that a part of a torn envelope of the seed or a morsel of other debris might leave an impression suggestive of organic union of seed and rachis. nevertheless, while the evidence is inconclusive, i am inclined to regard the seed as in its place of growth. that this may actually be the case appears the more possible 78 description of the flora of the hermit shale since callipteris conferta, to which, as already noted, supaia is related, bore seeds described as carpolithes, and agreeing with forms distinguished as cyclocarpon. on account of maceration and abrasion the seed on the hermit slab lacks characters essential for generic classification, but it suggests cyclocarpon. locality: lower part of hermit shale, near red top, in the hermit basin. supaia sp. indet. plate 32, fig. 2; and plate 33, fig. 3 by way of placing on record a form of supaia that appears to be different from the foregoing species, but which is not sufficiently represented for diagnostic description, and with the object of presenting more clearly some of the xerophytic features of the hermit plants, there is photographed in plate 32, figure 2, a small fragment of supaia broken from a short distance above the point of bifurcation. in this species the pinnules are apparently connate, even in the reduced forms on the outer side of the frond a little above the fork of the latter. the median nerves, shown on the two pinnules at the lower left, are nearly invisible in the succeeding upper pinnules which, due to their texture and the form of the pinnæ, are somewhat cycadaceous in their aspect. i have seen no other species in the hermit collections in which the pinnules near the base were so far united or so far reduced on the outer sides of the pinnæ at some distance above the dichotomy of the frond. the leathery texture, which in the original specimen reflects a pubescent aspect of the pinnules, is very imperfectly shown in plate 32, figure 1. in this photograph the scabrous covering of the rachis is fairly well indicated in the impression left by the dorsal side of the rachis. the photograph has not been retouched. the xerophytic features of both the pinnule and the rachis are shown also in the photograph of another specimen, enlarged twice the natural size, as figure 3 of plate 33. here the impressions left by the scales on the rachis are more distinctly visible. the impression of the pinnules is, however, slightly abraded in consequence of exposure to the weather. locality: lower part of hermit shale near redtop, hermit basin. supaia? sp. plate 24, fig. 1 the specimen illustrated in plate 24, figure 1, represents an obviously thick leaf in which the lamina is apparently cut rather shallowly in lobes which may have curled by rolling inward somewhat pteridosperms genus brongniartites 79 • on the ventral side. no nervation is visible. the slight furrows indicated by deep lines running at right angles from the axis generally to the apices of the lobes suggest a midrib. the actual relief of the specimen is somewhat exaggerated by the mode of illumination in the photograph. on first receiving this specimen i was disposed to regard it as a poorly preserved pinna from a young frond of gigantopteris. it is more probable that it belongs to callipteris or to supaia. the frequency with which the lobes or pinnules are opposite precludes any reference of the fragment to the genus pecopteris. it is even possible that the specimen has to do with some type of fructification. locality: lower part of the hermit shale east of the yaki trail. brongniartites zalessky, 1927 mém. com. géol., n. s., no. 176. p. 27, pl. 9. brongniartites ? yakiensis d. w. n. sp. plate 24, figs. 2, 3; plate 28, figs. 1, 2, 3; plate 29, figs. 1, 1a, 2, 3; plate 30; plate 31, figs. 1 and 2; plate 23, fig. 3; plate 32, fig. 3 fronds relatively small, equally once bifurcated at a narrow angle, obovate-cuneate, tapering downward to a very large, lineate, dorsally rounded, short, chaffy rachis; divisions equal, curving very slightly or straight upward, often nearly erect, always overlapping, distinctly unsymmetrical, broadly oblanceolate, the greatest width about two-thirds the way up the pinna, obtuse or rounded at the capitate sublobate summit, with pinnules becoming shorter downward to the bifurcation, those on the inner side being much shorter than those on the outer; rachis very strong, ventrally narrow and depressed slightly with reference to the plane of the frond, dorsally rounded, lineate and rugose by rough, loosely placed chaffy scales in lower part, continuing to the apex of the frond, while diminishing by issue of very broad lateral divisions or midribs; pinnules longest at two-thirds of the way up the pinna and on its outer side, in series shortening while descending to small rudiments a little below the dichotomy of the frond, subopposite to opposite, or alternate at the apex, open, slightly oblique below the sublobate, broad-rounded, and large capitate terminal, often at a right angle to the rachis, or even reflexed in the middle and lower parts of the pinna, generally nearly touching or slightly overlapping when flat, not distant above, closer below, oval to oblong, reaching a maximum observed length of 15 cm., and a width of 3.5 cm., slightly asymmetrically rounded or very broadly pointed at the apex, widest near the middle, obliquely rounded toward the rachis on the distal side of the base, decurrent on the proximate side by nearly the whole width of the lamina which, while passing downward, with a concave border, to the base of the preceding pinnule is generally folded or buckled so that in many impressions the pinnule appears rounded to the midrib on the lower side; upper pinnules becoming broadly confluent, very short, oblong or even squarrose or slightly rhomboidal, rounded at the apex, decurrent in posture, the two uppermost appearing as slightly developed open lobes of the very large, broadly 80 description of the flora of the hermit shale rounded, often plaited and faintly sublobate terminal, which sometimes appears slightly erose; midrib very broad, sometimes rigid and at a wide angle to the rachis, but usually more or less distinctly decurrent, traceable for some distance down the ventral side of the rachis, and tapering gradually to the apex of the pinnule; lamina rather thick, somewhat rigid, rather leathery, apparently smooth, usually concealing the nerves, but sometimes inflated between the latter in the partially macerated specimen, and often having the appearance of thickening at the border, which is shruken somewhat in many of the specimens examined; usually the lamina on each side of the pinnule is inclined ventrad, forming an obtuse angle at the midrib, and frequently it is faintly and rather closely plaited obliquely; lateral nerves, originating at a narrow angle, simple or forking once and rarely forking again, while rapidly curving to pass, nearly straight and parallel, from near the midrib to the border, which they usually meet at an angle of less than 45°; borders of the leaves appearing sparsely provided with short slender spines. this unique species, relatively abundant in the quarry beneath the yaki trail, is a most interesting representative of the anomalous group of fern-like plants centering in supaia. its close affinities with the latter are fairly evident and are especially apparent in the younger pinnæ which i am referring to its sister species, brongniartites? aliena. commonly the specimens collected represent portions from the middle of the frond, like those seen in plate 24, figure 2, or figures 1 and 3 in plate 28. the detached pinnules are easily recognized by their oval or oblong form, rounded at the summit, narrowed downward deeply on the distal side of the base, and more or less widely decurrent below, according to their position higher or lower in the pinna. it will be noticed that in nearly all specimens the pinnule is ventrally concave. the very shallowly boat-shaped pinnules are shown not only in the photographs cited but in plate 31, figure 1. in plate 28, figure 3, the pinnules were evidently somewhat flattened under pressure which has wrinkled them and partly effaced the aspect of rigidity so well preserved in plate 24, figure 2, plate 28, figure 1, and plate 31, figure 1. another characteristic of the genus as well as the species is the great breadth at the base of the median nerve, which tapers to a vanishing point slightly below the apex of the pinnule. the fragments of very large pinnules seen in figure 3 of plate 28 are among the largest found. this specimen illustrates the remarkably rapid reduction of the pinnules on the inner side of the divisions as compared with those on the outer sides. it will be noticed that the left border of the fragment shown in figure 3 catches the rachis of the other half of the frond-that is, the mate of the larger fragment. the pinnules of the two divisions are seen to overlap rather broadly while they are diminishing in length as the point of bifurcapteridosperms-brongniartites? yakiensis 81 tion is approached. the examination of other specimens indicates that the very small pinnules in the angle of the pinna are little more than rudiments. the same is true of the lowest pinnules on the main axis a short distance below the point of its bifurcation. in passing upward in the pinna we find the pinnules cut less deeply on the distal side of the base and more broadly confluent, as is shown in plate 29, figure 2, and plate 31, figure 2. the specimen figured is plainly somewhat macerated and was covered with slime which became suncracked by exposure before its final burial. even in this specimen the pinnules, though apparently softened and flattened, are still somewhat convex dorsally in the upper left portion of the fragment. apical fragments are illustrated in figure 1 of plate 29, shown twice the natural size in figure la, and figure 3 in plate 24 and figure 2 in plate 28. these specimens, which are sublobate at the somewhat capitate apex, reveal the less rigid, wavy and slightly crenulate young pinnules which in plate 29 are slightly rolled backward at the margin, though in plate 28 the lobes are convex dorsally, the margins being curved in the opposite direction. the nervation in the apical portions, fortunately well preserved beneath the less coriaceous epidermis, is shown, twice natural size, in plate 29, figure la. as seen in plate 32, figure 3, it becomes relatively coarse a little lower in the pinna. like the median nerves, the nervilles of the pinnules taper while forking once or twice and arching near the midrib before passing very oblique and nearly straight to the margin. the general aspect of the nervation in the typical carinate pinnule is indicated in the unusually well-preserved fragment shown twice the natural size in figure 2, plate 24. the specimen in figure 1, plate 31, is interesting on account of the waving or plaiting of the lamina on the proximate side of one of the pinnules. this feature, seen only in this specimen, though suggestive of lobation or incipient pinnatifidation of the pinnule, is probably merely the result of pressure and is comparable to the wrinkling seen at the base of the two pinnules succeeding it on the pinna, for it is not accompanied by fasciculation of the nervation nor any indication of special development in the nerve system. the creases are simply parallel to the regular nervation. it will be noted that in this specimen the wing of the lamina bordering the rachis also slopes strongly downward on the ventral side from the margin to the rachis. the boat-shaped configuration of the pinnules, seen in most of these specimens, with outletting of the ventral synclines into the troughs down the rachis produced by the inclined decurrent marginal lamina, seems to have been well adapted to serve as a drainage sys82 description of the flora of the hermit shale tem. whether or not the ventral concavity of the pinnules was persistent through the life of the plant or developed in age during dry seasons, and whatever the physiological requirements which called this configuration into existence, the slant of the lamina both in the pinnules and in the rachial border was suited to the capture of rain and its diversion toward the point of growth of the frond. it is more or less distinctly characteristic of the genus. unfortunately the coarseness of the matrix does not lend itself to the investigation of the details of the epidermal impressions. another very interesting feature of this species is the presence of long, slender, lax appendages, several centimeters in length, springing apparently from the axillary or distal sides of the bases of the median nerves and variously disposed, like strands of yarn, over the surface of the pinnules or the matrix. they accordingly are seen, always obscurely, to lie along the midribs or across the lamina or beneath the frond as it happens to fall. predominantly they curve outward to the sinus of the pinnule, but apparently they are free from their points of origin. on account of the delicacy of these appendages they are always indistinct and difficult to follow wherever in contact with the sand of the matrix. whether these curious appendages are stipular in nature or play roles in the fructification of the plant remains to be determined. in view of the fact that they appear in some specimens to be dilated, as though knotted or globularly enlarged, at several points near their upper ends, i am somewhat inclined to regard them as filaments supporting clusters of pollen sacs. in any event, i suggest this as a working hypothesis. it is baffling to follow the sinuous and sometimes tangled delicate strands, the length of which may be greater than that of the pinnule. they may be merely stipular or possibly even parasitic. basal portions of these filaments are indicated in the axils of the pinnules of the specimen shown twice the natural size in figure 2, plate 24, where they appear to become lost on reaching the margins in the sinuses. they are obscurely indicated in connection with the outer pinnules shown in figure 2 of plate 29 and figure 1 of plate 31. see especially the winding, worm-like strand just above the base of the midrib of the lower left-hand pinnule. another one is seen passing upward from the axil of the pinnule next above. it is lost in passing across the lamina of the next higher pinnule. the examination of the enlargement, twice the natural size, of a portion of the upper part of a pinna seen in plate 30 shows one of these filaments lying on the lamina of the first and second pinnules from the base on the left. another, imposed on the lamina of the third pinnule on that side, is more distinctly caught by the camera and is seen to pass diagonally across the dorsal surface of the succeeding pinnule. in order to avoid exagpteridosperms-seeds associated with brongniartites? 83 geration, the filaments are not retouched in this photograph. another of the appendages is seen lying lengthwise of one of the pinnules on the left of the specimen, shown twice the natural size, in the unretouched photograph, figure 3, plate 32. examples lying in different directions are seen also in figure 1, plate 28. pending the acquisition of specimens in better preservation, i will not attempt the delineation of the enlargements very faintly shown, which i think may be polleniferous. on the dorsal surface of the specimen last cited a small cordiform fruit, about 1 cm. in length, is seen lying against the rachis of the left of the two divisions of frond. whether this seed, which may be classed under the generic term cyclocarpon, is really attached to the frond is, on account of the absence of carbonaceous matter and the slightly slimy surface of the pinna, uncertain and can not, i believe, be demonstrated. in passing, however, i will add that it has the aspect of being attached to one of the filaments rather than to the rachis, in spite of its contact with the latter. in this connection attention may be called to the presence of another larger cordiform fruit, the base of which is so associated in contact and with traces of fascicular connection with the rachis at the point of the bifurcation of the frond as to make it appear probable that the specimen, shown in plate 34, is actually in its place of growth. however, opinions on this point may differ. i therefore prefer to await the discovery of other material, more conclusive, before reaching a definite conclusion that seeds of the form shown in the photograph are the fruit of this genus and that they are borne on the frond in the position occupied, possibly accidentally, in the example photographed. in the development of the pinnæ, the pinnules and the nervation, these bifurcate fronds are obviously related to the genus supaia, as i have already pointed out. however, by its more rigid pinnæ, its capitate apices, its concavo-convex, less twisted pinnules, which are more deeply cut at the distal angle, by the generally concavo-convex lamina of the pinnule, by the very thick and tapering midrib, and by the presence of the stipule-like appendages, its distinction from supaia appears to be generic rather than specific. there being, however, no other genus more nearly related to it than supaia, i was at first inclined to include it in the latter genus rather than to propose a new generic name. meanwhile, the examination of the atlas of zalessky's valuable monograph of the permian flora of the uralian limits of angaria,¹ which has come to hand since the first collection was made from the hermit shale, shows that forms very similar in the 'mém. com. géol., n. s. no. 176, 1927. see pl. ix, fig. 1, pl. x, figs. 1, 2, and 3; pl. xi, fig. 1; pl. xii, fig. 2; and pl. xxxix, fig. 1. 84 description of the flora of the hermit shale development of the pinnules and nervation have been illustrated by zalessky from the copper sandstones of the lower zechstein, under a new generic name, brongniartites zalessky. unfortunately the descriptive text to accompany this memoir has not yet appeared and the plates are therefore without supplementary information other than brief explanations. all of the seven figures represent one species, described by fischer¹ in 1840 as neuropteris salicifolia, and subsequently discussed by kutorga and brongniart. although without information as to whether the specimens, including kutorga's and brongniart's types, are from once-bifurcated fronds, i am, because of the similarity in the development of the pinnules and nervation, inclined tentatively to refer the hermit specimens to the same genus. it is to be noted, however, that the uralian plants were growing under more favorable conditions as elements in a far more rank vegetation. they are much more robust, with larger and longer pinnules, some at least of which are pinnatifid. also it is not clear that the very large rachis in the russian specimens is so distinctly, not to mention broadly, bordered by the decurrent lamina as in our plant. pending the publication of the descriptions of the angara flora by zalessky, the reference of this species and that next to be described to the genus brongniartites is provisional. some of the fragments of brongniartites ? yakiensis resemble the fragments described by morris as odontopteris fischeri.² the hermit plants are also related to gigantopteris, a lower permian type which appears to have found its way, presumably via the alaska route, from southern china through southern manchuria and korea to the mid-continent region of the united states where it is abundant at some localities in the lower permian of oklahoma and texas. localities: hermit shale on the yaki and hermit trails. brongniartites ? aliena d. w. n. sp. plate 27, fig. 1, 2, and 2a; plate 23, fig. 2; plate 26, figs. 1, 2 and 4 fronds very small, very broadly obcuneate or broadly deltoid-obvate, with a thick, rugose and probably scabrous rachis; pinnæ at an angle of about 35°, straight or but slightly curved, overlapping, narrowly oblanceolate-cuneate, much broader and more convex on the outer side of the rachis, obtusely rounded at the slightly narrowed, capitate apex, narrowing downward below the base of the upper one-third, pinnate; rachis of divisions thick, apparently fleshy, tapering rapidly upward but persistent into the terminal pinnule, ventrally broadly and shallowly depressed, dorsally in relief; pinnules mostly opposite but varying upward to subopposite bull. soc. nat. moscow, 1840, page 492. 'in murchison (r. i.) de verneuil (e.) and keyserling, (a.): géol. d. la russie d'europe, etc., 1845, pages 4, 7, pl. f, 3, a-c. pteridosperms-brongniartites? aliena 85 and alternate, slightly oblique above, wide open or even slightly reflexed below, oval or slightly ovate at the point of division of the frond, those on the peripheral side being much longer than those interiorly placed, and gradually elongating with some increase of width to a maximum at about two-thirds of the way up the pinna, where they are oblong-oval, broadly rounded at the apex, often slightly squarrose, or rhomboidal, narrowed downward obliquely on the distal side of the base, decurrent, and very slightly constricted on the proximal side in the broadest part of the pinna, becoming more round-constricted lower in the frond, more broadly decurrent and connate toward the apex and in the younger fronds, the terminal being very short, somewhat capitate, very broadly rounded, broadly connate with the subjacent pinnules, faintly sublobate, and sometimes appearing plicated and slightly crenulate, possibly as the result of contraction; lamina thick, possibly coriaceous and somewhat rigid in the large pinnules, depressed over the thick midrib, slightly concave ventrally and flatly carinate dorsally, often reflexed or folded at the proximal sinus of the pinnule so as to make the latter appear rounded to the midrib; primary nerve strong, dorsally carinate, often hardly decurrent at base, ventrally depressed, straight or curving back very gently, especially in the young or upper pinnules, and vanishing below the apex of the pinnule; nervilles rarely clearly visible, rather close, springing obliquely from the rachis and midrib and simple or forking once or twice, while curving outward a little, before passing nearly straight and very oblique to the margin, in the larger pinnules, or curving upward in the apical and young pinnules. the frond of this species is developed as in its most closely related congener, brongniartites ? yakiensis, but with very much smaller divisions-less than half the size of those of the latter species—which are rather less capitate; the pinnules are much smaller, sometimes a little distant, but generally overlapping in the young fronds and the upper portions of the mature divisions, with more distinctly alethopteroid pinnules in the younger portions, and with more narrowly decurrent border in the lower portions. the form of the pinnules varies in different parts of the frond and in fronds of different stages of development. the fragment with largest pinnules, seen in plate 27, figure 2, is comparable with the corresponding part and stage of b. ? yakiensis seen in plate 28, figure 3. the callipteris-like phase, plate 26, figure 4, may similarly be compared with plate 31, figure 2; and the young terminal, plate 26, figure 2, with plate 24, figure 3 and plate 29, figure 1 of b. (?) yakiensis. attention is called to the very small, rudimentary pinnules at the base of the pinna, plate 27, figure 2, which in some cases appear like vestiges or mere scales. in the large fragment, the bifurcation clearly indicated by the mold is not to be doubted. in this specimen the pinnules are dorsally convex-carinate, but not so much as in b. ? yakiensis. further, in this example the pinnules seem to have shrunk while lying in the silt, as is indicated by the apparent withdrawal of 86 description of the flora of the hermit shale the margins from the outer lines of the impression. possibly the lamina was very fleshy with lacunose mesophyll. the nervation faintly shown in several of the pinnules of the specimen, figure 2, plate 27, is seen more distinctly in the enlargement, figure 2a, which corresponds with that in b. ? yakiensis, as seen in the same scale in plate 24, figure 2. the upper part of a young pinna which i refer to b. ? aliena is shown in plate 27, figure 1. the asymmetry of the specimen which does not reach the base of the pinna is obvious. plate 26, figure 2, presents a more advanced stage of development of the upper part of a pinna in which both the form and nervation of the outward curving pinnules are of the callipteris conferta type. this form is apparently continued downward into the phase with larger and more mature pinnules shown in plate 23, figure 2, in which the lower pinnules are indistinguishable from the forms figured in plate 27. the immature fragment, figure 2, plate 23, also conforms clearly to the type of b? aliena. less certainty attaches to the reference of plate 26, figure 1, to this species, though its higher pinnules, ovate and broadly attached, with stout tapering median nerves, seem to bind it satisfactorily to the same species as the fragment seen in figure 4 of the same plate. 1 the similarity both in growth and nervation between the fragments shown in plate 26, figure 2, and plate 27, figure 1, and the fragments, included by brongniart ¹ in his odontopteris (callipteris) fischeri is striking. in fact the relative positions of the two uralian specimens suggest a bifurcating frond like those from the yaki trail. of the close relationship between b. aliena, b. ? yakiensis, and supaia subgoepperti with the plant from the uralian permian there is little doubt. locality: hermit shale, yaki trail. yakia, new genus yakia heterophylla d. w. n. sp. plate 39, figs. 1-8; plate 40, figs. 1 ? and 2 ? leaf large, a little dense by reason of closeness of divisions of three known orders, slightly lax, the divisions tapering from a little way above the base to the apex; stem or axis large, over 1 cm. wide in the largest recognized fragments, very fleshy, and separated by two indistinct longitudinal ribs into a central, rather distantly lineate, ventrally shallowly round-canaliculate central axis about half the width of the stem, in the macerated specimens, and two lateral border zones, and provided with pinnules or leaflets between the ultimate branchlets; ultimate branchlets 'in murchison, (r. i. ), de verneuil (e.) and keyserling, (a): géol. d. la. russie d' europe, etc., 1845, pages 4, 7, pl. f. 3, a-c. yakia, a supposed pteridosperm 87 bipinnate, close, overlapping; ultimate segments distichous, alternate to subopposite, from very open to not less than 50° to the axis, close, about 12 mm. to 20 mm. distant, slightly overlapping, linear to linear-lanceolate, narrowed somewhat downward near the base, and tapering upward to a rather slender, slightly obtuse apex, with border of the lamina decurrent near the tip; ultimate axis fleshy, thick, traversed by a narrow, often sinuous nerve strand, which curves downward to join the central axis of the larger division; pinnules, or leaflets, alternate, open nearly at a right angle in the older divisions, more oblique in the younger, 4 to 8 mm. distant oblong-lanceolate to narrowly triangular-lanceolate, generally slightly upturned or clavate-falcate, narrowed at the base where they are twisted or oblique to the stem, apparently very flaccid, the uppermost being oblong, short, upturned, obtusely rounded at the apex, decurrent and slightly connate, the lower ones oblong or clavate or even obcuneate, 1.5 to 2.5 mm. wide, round at the tip and greatly thickened, convex where shrunken, the larger ones being cut into 1 to 4 very distant, very open to oblique, short, parallel-sided very short lobes which may be nearly as wide as the main leaf, and obtusely, sometimes obliquely, rounded at the tip; superior axis provided with heteromorphous leaves, one between each ultimate division; lamina somewhat lax in the youngest pinnules near the growing tip of the division, but coriaceous and leathery in spite of apparent fragility, apparently forming a rather wide border along some of the lax young pinnæ, shrunken and thickened in the lower parts of most of the specimens. fructification tentatively referred to this species consists of groups of generally five oblong sacks (?) closely crowded together to form very large, slightly elongated-rounded sori (?) situated about short columellæ in depressions or pits above the base or near but within the apex of the reduced oblong or short-clavate leaf, and apparently in part, at least, enveloped by the elongated basal lobes of reduced and somewhat specialized pinnules; sporangia (?) spreading radiately at maturity and opening by longitudinal fission along the axial angle. the genus and species described above are rather common in the hermit shale, particularly near the bright angel trail. frequently the brown residues of the shriveled pinnæ of different orders have, when disheveled, the aspect of roots, which is heightened by the wrinkled remains of skeleton-like leaves. in ordinary conditions of preservation the plant is, however, rather easily recognized by the shriveled aspect of the axis, by the closely spaced, relatively even and parallel ultimate divisions, and by the rather distant, narrow, crooked leaves, which have the appearance of being irregularly lobed, the entire leaf and the semi-irregular lobes being narrow, sometimes shriveled, sometimes swollen, but slightly leathery except at the top of the branches. the fragments present an interesting group of morphological characters, some of which are more suggestive of the gymnosperm than of the pteridosperm or the fern. most of the impressions and sandstone casts represent the lower and middle portions of the ultimate divisions, and in superficial aspect rather strongly suggest some of the distantly leaved conifers of the permian and older mesozoic. 88 description of the flora of the hermit shale the general aspect of the fronds, assuming that they are pteridosperms or ferns, is seen in figures 1, 5 and 6 of plate 39. figure 1 shows the demarcation of the central zone of the larger axis, which in a part of the specimen is shallowly grooved, a feature that would appear to indicate that this is a ventral view of the frond. on the other hand, however, the ultimate divisions of the axis are slightly rounded and a little above the level of the leaves or pinnules, suggesting a dorsal view. the latter interpretation finds further support in the visibility of the nerve of the leaf, which in each leaf or lobe seems to be simple, and which in general is slightly in relief in this view. the nerve strand is readily traced downward, decurrently, deep into the flattened fleshy axis of the ultimate division, and may be followed through the outer zone to the median zone of the major axis, along which it, superposed, runs downward for a short distance, before it is lost in the interior of the axis. it is probable that this decurrent nerve passes down on the ventral rather than the dorsal side of this axis, the collapse of which permits the tentative assumption that the axis was provided by a hollow cylinder of probably no great resistance, surrounded by a thick cortical zone, the spongy or lacunose character of which favored ready collapse. this view is consistent with the obviously fleshy and collapsed ultimate axes of the superior divisions into which the strands from subordinate divisions may in most instances be similarly traced. the large pinnule is typically crooked-clavate, open nearly to a right angle, and broadly joined at its fleshy base to the rachis. in some cases the pinnules are very slightly zigzag to correspond to the lobation. the lobes, which number from one to six or seven, are alternate to opposite, seldom longer than the width of the lamina of the pinnule, and are obtusely rounded. generally a trace of a lobe may be seen just above the distal angle at the base of the pinnule, and a lobe on the proximate side not far above the base. the lobes also are open nearly to a wide angle, are short, and rounded at the summit. not infrequently the pinnule is unequally bifurcated in aspect at the apex. due to the fact that the lobes do not all lie in the plane of the axis, or of the main blade of the pinnule, they are seldom completely visible, which gives the pinnules an extremely ragged or tattered aspect. the large pinnule shown in figure 3 is twisted, which causes the narrowed appearance at the base, and the lobes are more or less deformed. a more accurate representation of pinnule and lobe is seen in figure 8, though here some of the lobes are either broken away or folded backward. the specimen shown in figure 5 is relatively well preserved. many of the pinnules have the appearance of bearing lobes from the ventral surface suggesting an extremely narrow, the fruit of yakia heterophylla 89 reduced pattern of a variety of the boston fern in which proliferously refined lobes are developed above the plane of the leaf. it will be noted that some of the pinnæ are opposite; others are subopposite and still others are alternate. heterophyllous growths on the distal sides at the base of the divisions in one specimen suggest aphlebia. in several fragments referred to yakia the pinnules appear to be reduced to short flatly clavate and slightly sublobate forms, pouched with depressions a little above the base, which are marked by circular pits suggesting the scars of attachment of fruiting organs. (see plate 12, figure 1.) appressed longitudinally in the concave side of the pinnule are the impressions of linear-lanceolate sporangia or flaccid appendages apparently attached at or about the scar in the pit. on account of the poor preservation of the specimens, they being mere dim impressions in the fine sand, it is impossible to determine satisfactorily whether the appendages which made the impressions are involucral or sporangial. since these specimens are probably referable with little doubt to yakia heterophylla, it becomes equally probable that the fructifications shown in plate 40, figure 1, are also connected with the same genus and species. here we have a specimen in which the character of the rachis, the spacing, the angle, and the size of the divisions agree with yakia. the pinnæ retain vestiges of pinnules, in the lower part of which, at positions corresponding to the pits mentioned above, we find clusters of five or six elongated, dorsally convex bracts or sacs closely appressed longitudinally, lying nearly at right angles to the rachis. these appear to correspond to the impressions interpreted as sporangia or as appendages, possibly involucral in nature, noted in the specimen last described. in fact, they are, i believe, to be interpreted as groups of sporangia or pollen sacs, though it is possible that they represent a cupule formed by the lobes of a modified leaf. it will be noted that in most cases they lie close together, converging at the apex as if to form an envelope. the probability that one of these alternatives is valid becomes somewhat evident on examining the detached clusters scattered on the slightly weathered bedding plane photographed in figure 2 of plate 40, where we see a number of detached fruiting bodies scattered over the surface of the rock. as sandstone casts they stand in relief or are partly eroded. the fruit consists of five arcuate, oblong, sac-like bodies resembling very large sporangia. they are obtusely rounded at the closely convergent apices, and narrowed slightly at the base, where they appear to be joined to a very short stalk. notwithstanding the sporangial aspect of these casts, the texture of the envelope was evidently leathery, as is shown by their 90 description of the flora of the hermit shale resistance to compression. further, there is slight evidence of a partition or double wall between the divisions. in some of the specimens the sacs, apparently of the same character as the loose casts, are radially spread and are opened lengthwise and collapsed. they show, nevertheless, an interesting degree of rigidity. it is, finally, to be remarked that the casts, which because they were freed and rolled about on the surface of the sand may be regarded as mature, are rather shorter than the sporangium-like bodies shown in figure 1. in short, while there seems little reason for doubt that these fructifications belong to yakia heterophylla, some doubt remains as to whether what seem fructifications in figure 1 are not merely envelopes or cupules in which the actual fructifications with shorter sacs shown in figure 2 were grown. if the bodies are sporangia rather than pollen sacs, they must be exannulate and comparable to some of the eusporangiate ferns of supposed marrattiaceous affinities, and may, in spite of their very large size, be compared with asterotheca and ptychocarpus. the mode of dehiscence recalls scolecopteris, of the upper permian flora, and the fructification is not without similarity, in the grouping of the sporangia also, to the microsporophylls of baiera. obviously certain features of the frond fragments, the mode of arrangement of the fructifications, and the very large size of the latter, which suggests seeds rather than spore or pollen sacs, provoke inquiry as to whether we do not have to do with seeds instead of sporangia and whether the sporangia-like groups seen in figure 1 are not actually cupulate. on the whole, however, in view of the fern-like development of the fragments seen, i am inclined to regard yakia as a pteridosperm related probably to callipteris. the polleniferous bodies of the latter, as described by grand'eury,¹ very much resemble crossotheca, while the seeds attributed by him on purely circumstantial but fairly convincing evidence to the genus are small, oval or rounded sacs, with apparently thin vascular envelope belonging to the genus carpolithes. in fact they closely resemble in size and general aspect the seed found in the axil of a pinna of yakia shown, twice the natural size, in figure 4 of plate 49. comparison of the fructification here attributed to yakia may be made with the inflorescence illustrated by schmalhausen² from the ural region as ullmannia bronni. it may also be compared with the problematical bodies described by sellards as cordaianthus ? sexpartitus from the permian of kansas. the detached fruits or sporangia suggest also the quadrivalvate fruit of callitris. ³ c. grand'eury, comptes rendus, vol. 143, 1906, page 644. 'mém. comité géol., vol. ii, no. 4, 1887, pl. ví, f. 8-10. geol. survey kans., vol. 9, 1908, page 459, pl. lxii, f. 5, 6. fruits comparable to that of yakia 91 the detached fruits from the hermit by their form and size appear more closely to resemble the disordered mass of sporangial groups illustrated by goeppert under the name schutzia anomala geinitz than any other illustrated material of permian age. a cluster seen at the upper margin of goeppert's figure is distinctly similar in superficial features to some of the isolated clusters shown in plate 40, figure 2. 1 the hermit fruit and even the sterile leaf also present points of some similarity to zygopteris cornuta as figured and described by zeiller from the mines at larche in the basin of brives.2 the elongated sporangium of the french specimen is, however, smaller, more numerous in the cluster and-more important-provided by a broad longitudinal dorsal annulus. our supposed sporangia also suggest the microspores of albertia bronni, figured by renault. among the fossil pteridosperms, a form comparable to that of the leaf of yakia, is seen in goeppert's sphenopteris oxydata,* now classed as a callipteris. in the plant from the german permian the pinnules are heterophyllous and apparently subject to shrinkage or retraction as appears to have been the case with the arizona yakia. the sterile fronds are also to be compared with some of the phases of callipteris lyratifolia and with callipteris strigosa. however, while it seems likely that yakia is related somewhat closely to the sphenopteroid group of the genus callipteris, it appears to be excluded from the latter genus, by the characters of its rachis, the irregular mode of development of the pinnule, and the mode of decurrence of the vascular system. 3 locality: present in the lower part of the hermit shale both in the hermit basin and near the bright angel trail, below el tovar. neuropteridium schimper, 1869 traité paléont. vég., vol. 1, p. 447. neuropteridium? sp. plate 16, fig. 1 a single obscure fragment in the collection represents a type that is apparently quite different from any other yet found in the hermit shale. unfortunately the preservation is so unsatisfactory that the discovery of better material may necessitate some revision of the outlining placed on the retouched photograph. 1 foss. fl. perm. form., 1864 pl. xxiii, fig. 4. 2 bassin houill. et perm. de brives, pt. 2, fl. foss., 1892, pl. ix, f. 5. 3 b. renault, cours. bot. foss., vol. 4, 1885, pl. vi, f. 15. 4 foss. fl. perm. form., 1864, page 91, pl. xi, f. 1 a. 92 description of the flora of the hermit shale the provisional reference, with much doubt, of this plant fragment to neuropteridium is based upon the rather faintly indicated form of the lobes and the apparent relations of the two divisions of the frond. it is, however, probable that further search will reveal specimens which will show the characters of the plant and which may relegate it to an entirely different genus. locality: the specimen was found near the base of the hermit shale on the west side of the bright angel trail. tæniopterideæ taniopteris brongniart, 1928 dict. sci. nat., vol. lvii (prodrome) p. 69 (61) tæniopteris cf. eckhardti kurtze plate 37, figs. 1 and 2; plate 38, figs. 1, 1a, and 4 1859 taniopteris eckhardti kurtze, comment. de petrifactis q. i. schisto bitum. mansfieldensi reperiuntur, pp. 34, 38, pl. 3, f. 1; ettingshausen, beitr. z. flora d. vorwelt, 1851, p. 3, 5, pl. xш, f. 2, 3; gothan, entwick. pfl., 1909, p. 64, text-fig. 34a; potonié, lehrb. pflanzenpal., 2d ed., 1919, p. 102, text-fig. 95; gothan, in gürich, leitfoss., 1923, p. 77, text-fig. 70. fronds simple, coriaceous, reaching a width of 6 cm., linear-lanceolate, blunt, tapering downward cuneately to a very thick midrib, which apparently forms a short pedicel at the base; midrib deeply round-sulcate ventrally, half round dorsally, with narrow thickened border zone; lamina thick, generally slightly convex between midrib and backward-curved border; nerves coarse, simple, or forking once near the point of origin, and passing parallel, about 18 to 22 to the cm., and straight or slightly upcurved, from the margin of the midrib to the border of the frond, which they meet at an angle of about 55°. along with the many fragments of taniopteris angelica are several specimens in which the base is rather rapidly narrowed to a thick midrib and in which the nerves are coarse and relatively distant, being 18 to 22 to the cm., and often slightly upward curved, as shown in plate 37, figures 1 and 2. in some instances the middle portion of the pinna of these specimens, plate 38, figure 1, is no wider than the wide leaves of t. angelica, next to be described, but the nervation is coarser. the forking of the nervilles where it is present is so close to the midrib that it is difficult to see. the apex of the frond is bluntly acute. on account of the very close agreement between the specimens from the grand canyon and kurtze's figures and descriptions of t. eckhardti, i provisionally place the specimens under this name, believing that the close examination of good examples may show some nerves to fork at the base in the european plant. pteridosperms-tæniopteris angelica 93 the taniopteris described above differs from t. angelica, the middle portions of whose fronds resemble it, by its bluntly acute apex and the more rapidly narrowed base, as is seen by comparing figure 1 of plate 37 with figure 2 of plate 36. further, the nervation of the taniopteris in hand is noticeably more distant in corresponding portions of the pinna, as is illustrated in figure la and figure 2, plate 38. localities: west side of bright angel trail below el tovar, grand canyon; lot 7881, u. s. national museum. near red top, hermit trail, hermit basin, 8 miles west of grand canyon; lot 7880, u. s. national museum. tæniopteris angelica d. w. n. sp. plate 31, fig. 3; plate 36, fig. 2; plate 38, fig. 2 fronds simple, sessile (?), elongate-linear, faintly lanceolate, reaching a length of 50 cm. and a width of 4.5 cm., broadest near the top of the lower third of its length, and tapering gradually and regularly down to the rather strong rachis, the upper two-thirds gradually narrowing, with a slightly convex border, to the apex, which is rather abruptly rounded; midrib of moderate strength, faintly lineate, ventrally round-sulcate between narrow, flat, thick borders, dorsally round-terete, tapering gradually to the apex; lamina thick, flat, or sloping gently from the borders inward to the midrib on the ventral surface and slightly convex ventrally near the borders; nerves moderately strong, simple or forking once within the border of the midrib, and passing straight, even and parallel, about 28 to 30 to the cm., to the border, which they meet generally at an angle of 60° to 70°. this beautiful species is the most common representative of taniopteris yet found in the hermit flora. the very slender, graceful aspect of the form is indicated by the median portion of the leaf seen in plate 31, figure 3. the apparent narrowing at the top in the photograph is partly due to deformation. a basal portion of the frond is seen in plate 36, figure 2. the latter shows the ventrally depressed median nerve and indicates the width of the rachial border beneath the lamina of the pinna in a large frond. the nervation of taniopteris angelica is seen, photographed twice the natural size, in plate 38, figure 2, which lends itself to comparison with a corresponding portion of taniopteris cf. eckhardti figure la, viewed in the same magnification. a distal portion of a leaf is seen in plate 22. from the appearance of one of the fragments i am inclined to conclude that the fronds of this species were sessile, and that they were clasping at the base in an attachment very slightly, if at all, oblique. taniopteris angelica is distinguished by its very long, ribbon-like pinnæ, which taper very gradually downward as well as upward, the borders being nearly parallel for a long distance in the middle portions 94 description of the flora of the hermit shale of the pinna. its nervation, though similar to that in the species last described (taniopteris cf. eckhardti) is distinctly closer and finer in corresponding portions of the pinna. the plant is readily distinguished from taniopteris multinervis, a common species in the lower permian, by its more elongated pinna, and by the straighter and simpler oblique nervation. a form similar in some respects to the hermit species is found in the lower shihotse series of central shansi, china, and is described by halle¹ under the name taniopteris cf. schenki sterzl. in the chinese species the coarser nerves arch upward in curving outward and the pinnæ, though very large, are not so slender as in the plant from arizona. locality: lower part of the hermit shale near the bright angel trail, beneath el tovar. tæniopteris coriacea goeppert plate 36, figs. 1 and 1a; plate 37, fig. 3; plate 38, fig. 3 1864 taniopteris coriacea goeppert, foss. flora d. permischen formation, p. 130, pl. viii, f. 4, pl. ix, f. 2; sellards, bull. univ. kansas, vol. ii, no. 1 (kans. univ. quart., vol. x, no. 1), 1901, p. 2, pl. 1, f. 6, 8-12, pl. ш, pl. ш, f. 1, 2, pl. rv, f. 1, 4. fronds narrowly linear, faintly lanceolate, narrowed upward from the lower third, first gradually, then more rapidly, to the very narrow obtuse apex, attenuate downward to a broad midrib at the base, which probably is not petiolate; lamina rather thick, sometimes slightly convex ventrally, especially at the margin; midrib strong, tapering gradually to the top of the leaf, round-sulcate and lineate ventrally, with a relatively broad border in the lower part, and dorsally round-keeled; nervilles simple in the middle and upper parts of the frond, sometimes forking within the border of the midrib in the lower part, rather fine, straight, parallel, and meeting the border at an angle of 70° to 75°. the species from the grand canyon appears to agree as well with the specimens figured and described by goeppert as with those found by sellards in the wellington shale of kansas. the slender apical portion of the pinna is seen in plate 38, figure 3, and plate 36, figure 1, which is reproduced twice the natural size in figure la. the midrib is relatively large and tapers upward very gradually from the base of the frond. the basal portion of a large pinna of this species is photographed in figure 3 of plate 37. besides the descriptions and illustrations given by goeppert and sellards, as quoted above, mention may be made, for purposes of comparison, of the forms from the upper shihotse series in central ¹t. g. halle, paleozoic plants from central shansi, palæont. sinica, ser. a, vol. 2, fasc. 1, 1927, page 151, plate xl, f. 5-7. a supposed ginkgophyte 95 1 shansi described by halle ¹ as taniopteris tingii. the latter species, though small, slender, and comparable in size and form with taniopteris coriacea, has very open and relatively distant nerves which fork, often a second time, in passing across the lamina. localities: lower part of hermit shale. present both near the bright angel trail below el tovar and near the dripping springs trail in the hermit basin. gymnosperms ginkgophyta pro-ginkgoales psygmophyllum schimper, 1872 traité pal. vég., vol. 2, p. 192 psygmophyllum ? sp. plate 44, fig. 7 the impression shown in the photograph, plate 44, figure 7, is all that is known of this plant. the leaf itself admits of no descriptive details, for its evidently very thick substance seems to have been covered with a sandy slime now "frozen" to it. a basal cuneate lobe is indistinctly indicated on the probably distal side. the leaf was attached by a thick pedicel nearly 4 mm. wide to a rather large and apparently rigid axis, now collapsed but partly exposed, which diagonals very obliquely entirely across the thickness of the rock, so that the blade of the leaf is buried in a plane apparently 6 mm. above that of the stem at the point of attachment. the fossil in hand is most suggestive of some of the forms from the lower part of the zechstein and the upper part of the lower permian, ranging from the ural mountain region to central shansi in china, described as psygmophyllum. comparisons may be made with psygmophyllum expansum brongniart from the bélebéï district,2 and psygmophyllum mongolicum zalessky, from the angara stage in mongolia.³ in some respects the outline of the fossil is comparable to rhipidopsis, particularly rhipidopsis ginkgoides from the upper gondwana series of india. the leaves of the latter are, however, generally narrowed down to slender pedicels, whereas the lobes of the hermit fossil seem to be divaricately developed. though the tentative reference of this fossil to the genus psygmophyllum, purely on the basis of its configuration, is subject to question, it is rather prob1 op. cit., p. 158, pl. xlii, f. 1-8. 'm. d. zalessky, mém. com. géol., n. s. livr. 176, 1927, pl. xiii, fig. 1. m. d. zalessky, mém. com. géol., n. s. livr. 174, 1918, page 50, pl. vii, f. 4. 96 description of the flora of the hermit shale able that the plant belongs to one of the permian stocks related to ginkgo. locality: lower part of the hermit shale in the hermit basin. coniferophyta araucariales araucariaceæ walchia sternberg, 1826 vers. fl. vorwelt, vol. 1, fasc. 4 (tent.) p. xxii walchia piniformis (schloth.) sternberg plate 41, figs. 1-5; plate 42, figs. 1-5; plate 47, fig. 2 1820 lycopodiolithes piniformis schlotheim, petrefactenkunde, p. 415, pl. 23, f. la, 2, pl. 25, f. 1; schlotheim, merkwürdige verstein., 1832, p. 11, pl. 23, f. 1a, 2, pl. 25, f. 1. 1826 walchia piniformis (schloth.) sternberg, vers. fl. vorw., vol. 1, fasc. 4, p. xxii; geinitz and gutbeir, verst. rothl. sachsens, 1849, p. 23, pl. 10, f. 3-7; geinitz, leitpfl. rothl. zechst. sachsens, 1858, p. 17, pl. 2, f. 10-13; geinitz, zeitschr. d. deutsch. geol. gesell., vol. 13, 1861, p. 693, pl. 17, f. 2; geinitz, dyas, zechst. rothl., pt. 2, 1862, p. 143, pl. 29, f. 7, pl. 30, f. 1 ?, pl. 31, f. 2-4, 6-10?; dana, man. geol., 1863, p. 373, f. 616c; ed. 1880, p. 370, f. 695; ed. 1895, p. 705, f. 1147; goeppert, fl. perm. form., 1865, p. 236, pl. 47, 49, 52, f. 1-5; schimper, traité pal. vég., vol. 2, 1870, p. 236, pl. 73, f. 1, 2?; weiss, foss. fl. jüngst. steink. rothl. saar-rh. geb., pt. 2, 1871, p. 179, pl. 17, f. 1, 2; nicholson, man. pal., 1872, p. 495, f. 391; balfour, stud. pal. bot., 1872, p. 72, f. 55, 56; roemer, lethæa geogn., vol. 1, atlas., 1876, pl. 58, f. 6a, 6b, text, 1880, p. 250; credner, élém. géol., 3d ed., 1876, p. 467, f. 234; 6th ed., 1887, p. 512, f. 289; 9th ed., 1902, p. 494, f. 322; heer, fl. foss. helv., vol. 1, 1876, p. 57, pl. 18, f. 8-9, pl. 22, f. 1; zeiller, expl. carte. géol. france, vol. 4, 1878, pl. 176, f. 3, text, 1879, p. 154; weiss, abh. geol. specialk. preuss., vol. 3, no. 1, 1879, p. 32, pl. 3, f. 20; heer. urwelt schweiz, 2d ed., 1879, p. 20, f. 32; saporta, monde. pl. appar. homme, 1879, p. 186, f. 15 (1-2); achepohl, niederrh. westf. steink. geb., 1881, p. 62, pl. 18, f. 7, 13, pl. 19, f. 1, 2, 7, 8, 12, 17; weiss, fl. steink. preuss., 1881, p. 19, pl. 20, f. 122; leconte, elem. geol., ed. 1882, p. 415, f. 580; twelvetrees, quart. jour., geol. soc. lond., vol. 38, 1882, p. 498, pl. 21, f. 4-5; lapparènt, traité géol., 1883, p. 756, f. 282; bergeron, bull. soc. géol. fr., (3) vol. 12, 1884, p. 533, pl. 27, 28; schenk, in zittel, handbuch (paleophyt.), 1884, p. 273, f. 187; renault, cours. bot. foss., vol. 4, 1885, p. 84, pl. 8, f. 1-3; sterzel, pal. abh., vol. 3, no. 4, 1886, p. 293 (59), pl. 28 (8), f. 4. miller, n. amer. geol. pal., 1889, p. 148, f. 87; potonié, naturw. wochenschr., vol. 3, 1889, p. 165, f. 6; potonié, verh. bot. ver. blandenburg, vol. 31, 1889 (1890), p. 141, f. 6; zeiller, bassin houill. perm. brives, fl. foss., pt. 2, 1892, p. 97, pl. 15, f. 1; sterzel, foss. fl. rothlieg., 1893, p. 110, pl. 9, f. 11. potonié, fl. rothlieg. thüringen, 1893, p. 218, pl. 31, f. 4, 6; renault, fl. foss. bassin autun épinac, atlas, 1893, pl. 79, f. 1, text, pt. 2, 1896, p. 354. sterzel, mitth. grossherz, bad. geol. landesanst., vol. 3, pt. 2, 1895, p. 302, pl. 9, f. 5; sordelli, fl. foss. insubries, 1896, p. 29, pl. 7, f. 2; hoffmann and ryba, leitpf. pal. steink., 1899, p. 103, pl. 20, f. 4-8; potonié, lehrbuch pflanzenpal., 1899, p. 293, f. 296; stefani, fl. carb. perm. toscana, 1901, p. 111, pl. 14, f. 1; steinman, einführ pal., 1903, p. 53, f. 52, 53. berthoumieu, rev. sci. bournonnais, vol. 16, 1903, p. 101, pl. 2, p. 28; fritel, hist. nat. france, 24e bis (pl. foss.), 1903, p. 59, pl. 14, f. 2-4; flahault, paléobot., 1904, p. 119, f. 37; langenhahn, fauna fl. rothl. friedrichroda, 1905, p. 12, pl. 7, araucarialean gymnosperm-walchia piniformis 97 f. 3, 4, 5, 9, 10, pl. 8, f. 7, 9, 10, pl. 9, f. 16; zeiller, bass. houill. perm. blanzy et creusot, pt. 2, fl. foss., 1906, p. 204, pl. 50, f. 3, 5; walther, geol. heim. thüringen, 3d ed., 1906, p. 49, f. 27. paggio, elem. pal. (pl. foss.), 1906, p. 115, f. 56. schuster, geogn. jahresb., vol. 20, 1907 (1908), p. 232, pl. 10, f. 12, 13; sellards, univ. kans. geol. surv., vol. 9, 1908, p. 460, pl. 66, f. 1, 2; gothan, entwick. pflanzen, 1909, p. 53, f. 33a; schullerus, verh. mitt. siebenburg. naturw., vol. 59, 1909 (1910), p. 126, f. 25. hardaker, quart. jour. geol. soc. london, vol. 68, 1912, p. 656, f. 9; seward, foss. plants, vol. 4, 1919, p. 280, f. 745; potonié, lehrbuch. pflanzenpal., 2d ed., 1921, p. 313, f. 248a; kraüsel, senkenb. wiss. mitth., vol. 5, 1923, p. 85, pl. 3, f. 6, pl. 4, f. 9, 10; laube, geol. aufbau böhmen, 1923, pl. 2, f. 8; gothan, in geurich, leitfoss, pt. 3, 1923, p. 170, pl. 45, f. 6. 1828 lycopodites piniformis (schloth.) brongniart, prodrome, p. 89 (83). 1894 walchia piniformis flaccida (goeppert) bosniaski, atti soc. tosc. sci. nat., vol. 9, proc. verb., p. 169. 1859 walchia piniformis latifolia gümbel, denkschr. k. bayer. bot. gesel. regensburg, vol. 4, p. 104, pl. 8, f. 9. generally short twigs and branchlets, rigid, clothed with persistent leaves; twigs open at angles of 45° to 90°, rather close, usually touching or slightly overlapping in the impressions, strong and usually straight or turning slightly upward, not always parallel, tapering slowly to a rather blunt tip, the axis rather large and apparently provided with much lacunose tissue beneath a relatively hard and rigid exterior; leaves spirally arranged, rather close, open at a right angle or as wide as 60°, 5 mm. to 20 mm. in length, according to size and maturity of the twig, with very large, broadly decurrent, high carinate bases, quadrangulate in cross-section, with rounded distal axilla, and trending nearly straight in passing from the base outward for most of their length, or turning slowly upward in the lower twothirds, then curving more rapidly upward and usually more or less distinctly falciform in the upper third, which tapers to an acute or sometimes rather abrupt apex, the angle on the ventral surface being less prominent in the middle and upper portions, the dorsal angle becoming rather broadly rounded; leaf on the superior branch on the proximal side of the twig much longer than the leaves on the twig itself. walchia piniformis is an aggregate of similar forms rather than a single species. this is shown by the differences in the characters of branch and leaf gathered under the name, and by the conspicuous differences in the cones attached to these branches. further, it is premised by the records of the almost world-wide distribution of the species in the lower permian outside of gondwana land. some of the highly diverse fructifications which have been referred by different authors to this species probably belong to distinct genera. in spite of the fact that considerable variation is found in the characters of the twigs and leaves within a single species, it is evident that the material from the permian of different parts of the world figured by authors as walchia piniformis deserves very painstaking examination and more refined specific definition. in the present case i will confine comparisons to particular figures in the literature, while fully illustrating the hermit plant, as it is imperfectly represented in the sandy impressions. 98 description of the flora of the hermit shale the specimens from the hermit shale which i refer to walchia piniformis appear to fall well within the broad limits of the species as figured and described by various european authors. some of them stand in closest agreement, however, with the type figured by zeiller ¹ from the basin of brives. the similarity between the foliage of the latter specimen and that shown in my figure 1 of plate 41 is evident, though in the hermit specimens the twigs are not so plumose nor the leaves relatively so long. the leaves on the parent branch below the base of the ultimate twigs are rather longer in the specimen from lardin. some of the branches, as much as a centimeter in diameter, among the american material are still clothed with leaves, as shown in plate 42, figure 5. impressions showing the thick decurrent bases and the angularity of the thick leaves are seen in plate 41, figure 5, and plate 42, figures 1, 4 and 5. views of the leaves clothing stems collapsed in aspect are noted in figure 4 of plate 41, figure 4 of plate 42, and figure 2 of plate 47. those shown in these figures appear broad to near the apex and somewhat lax. the leaf and its pose in the figure last cited suggest some of the illustrations of w. filiciformis (schlothheim) sternberg. in the specimen photographed in figure 2, plate 41, some of the leaves seem to be forked, an aspect due perhaps to accident of preservation. on account of the agreement in general characters of leaf with the other specimens i assign the slender young twigs, plate 42, figure 2, to w. piniformis, with the assumption, apparently warranted by the delicacy and apparent softness of the attached cones, that the fruit also is immature. specimens probably representing the same form at maturity are seen in plate 41, figure 3. these cones are not unlike that shown by zeiller 2 from the autunien at charmoi, as w. piniformis. they also appear to be in substantial agreement with the cones from naumberg, ascribed by geinitz³ to the same species. that these cones are proper to this species is reasonably well established. the bracts of the hermit cones appear, so far as they are discernible, rather clearly to agree with some of the leaves of the foliate stems. locality: though nowhere common, so far as observed, fragments of the species are found in the lower part of the hermit shale in the hermit basin, and near both the yaki and the bright angel trails. 1 r. zeiller, bassin houiller et perm. de brive, part 2, flore fossile, page 97, pl. 15, fig. 1, 1892. 'r. zeiller, bassin houiller et permien de blanzy et du creusot, part ii, flore fossile, 1896, page 205, pl. 50, fig. 3. the cone seen in figure 5 of zeiller's plate seems to approach more closely those i ascribe to ullmannia. 8 dyas, part ii, 1862, page 143, pl. xxxi, figs. 3, 4. araucarialean gymnosperm-walchia dawsoni 99 walchia dawsoni d. w. n. sp. plate 44, figs. 1, 4 and 4a; plate 42, fig. 6?; plate 43 ? 1871 walchia (araucarites) gracilis dawson, rept. geol. struct. & min. res. prince edward island, p. 43, pl. 2, fig. 23-a. branches apparently flat, distichous, with close parallel and slender ultimate twigs, hardly tapering until near the blunt apex; leaves close, decurrent, linear-lanceolate, dorsally carinate, curving outward, and in the upper part curving upward and inward uncinnately or more or less distinctly falcately at the rather narrowly acute apex, 3 to 6 mm. long, and broadest at the base, which is slightly carinate dorsad. some confusion exists in the american literature as to the characters of the plants listed under the name walchia gracilis dawson (non emmons). the examination of the figure of araucarites gracilis first published by dawson¹ and republished by him in several other papers, in which the original very brief description, also, is reproduced, and comparison of them with the figure given by him in 1871 in the report on the geologic structure and mineral resources of prince edward island (page 43, pl. 2, fig. 23a), leaves little room for doubt that the plant from miminigash, in prince edward island, is specifically different from that earlier figured from nova scotia. the illustrations vary too much to permit acceptance as representing identical species, notwithstanding that both plants are evenly distichous, with very slender parallel twigs and small leaves. as shown by comparison of plate 44, figure 4, with dawson's illustration of the specimen from prince edward island, the fragments from the hermit shale appear to differ in no essential character. the slightly greater rigidity and the apparently thicker leaves of the hermit specimen, figure 4a, may reflect merely a more unfavorable climate. in general form, development and relations of the ultimate branchlets, and in the size, form and attitude of the leaves, the specimen from prince edward island is evidently very closely related to that described by brongniart 2 as fucoides hypnoides, later referred to walchia. in fact it is possible that it should be included in the european species. i hesitate, however, to make this reference on account of the very steadily tapering and blunt appressed leaves of the plant from lodève, whereas the leaf of the tree from the permian of canada, as shown in detail by dawson, is much more slender, tapering mainly toward the tip, which is, however, slender, acute and ¹ araucarites gracilis dawson (non oldham and morris, nec walkom), can. nat., vol. viii, 1863, page 433 (33); dawson, quart. jour. geol. soc. london, vol. xxii, 1865, page 146, pl. 6, f. 14; dawson, acad. geol., 2d ed., 1868, page 425, text-fig. 159-a; dawson, geol. hist. pl., 1888, page 135, text-fig. 60 a. 'ad. brongniart, hist. veg. foss., vol. 1, 1828, page 84, pl. 9-bis, figs. 1 and 2. 100 description of the flora of the hermit shale more strongly upturned near the apex. on the whole it seems highly improbable that a comparison of the american material with typical european specimens of walchia hypnoides will result in the consolidation of the form here described as w. dawsoni under the european name. certainly it is widely different from the fragment from the hermit shale that, on the basis of its approximate agreement with w. hypnoides as figured by zeiller from the upper autunian, i tentatively refer to the latter species. meanwhile, the name walchia gracilis is retained, at least pending the examination of material from nova scotia, for the material from tatagouche, in which the ultimate twigs are apparently more rigid and more distant, while the leaves are generally more lax, obliquely placed, and irregular in aspect as well as, apparently, more slender than in w. dawsoni. the slime-coated specimen shown in plate 43 is with some doubt referred to this species, the thickness of axis and leaf being exaggerated by the adhering silt. as shown in a comparison of figure 4, plate 44, with plate 42, figure 2, which represents the smallest twigs in my collection that appear referable to walchia piniformis, the leaves of walchia dawsoni are much closer as well as more distinctly uncinnate. the species deserves critical comparison with permian specimens from the maritime provinces. locality: hermit shale, in the hermit basin. walchia gracillima d. w. n. sp. plate 44, figs. 2, 3, 5, 5a, and 6 branches graceful, extremely delicate, distichous, somewhat dense, slightly plumose, foliate between the ultimate branchlets; ultimate branchlets or twigs very close, sometimes two to the centimeter in the younger parts of the branch, open nearly at a right angle or somewhat oblique, parallel, extremely slender or attenuate, sometimes reaching lengths of 10 cm. or more, 2.5 to 3 mm. wide, faintly narrowed downward near the base and tapering near the apex to a narrow rather obtuse tip; leaves 2 to 4 or rarely 5 mm. long, strongly decurrent on a slender axis, moderately close to rather distant, very oblique, rarely at more than 40° to the axis, often nearly erect and arched outward slightly in the middle portion of the axis and below the apex which bends inward a little, long-linear-lanceolate, often appearing widest at or above the middle, and narrowed rather rapidly above to the acute or slightly obtuse ventrad curved apex. this species is remarkable not only for its delicacy of structure and for its grace, but also for the relative rigidity of the very slender, apparently attenuate twigs, as indicated by the parallelism of the latter as they drifted into the silt-laden water. some of the incomplete twigs are over 10 cm. in length, and it is probable that the largest considerably exceeded this. the general aspect and attiaraucarialean gymnosperm-walchia gracillima 101 tude of the twigs is shown in plate 44, figures 5 and 6. the former shows portions of two branches lying at different angles. the leaves shown twice the natural size in figure 5a are unusually straight and slender. the characteristic angle and spacing of the twigs is seen in figures 3 and 6, the former of which embraces a fragment of an axis or limb. neither the spacing nor the width of the ultimate branchlets in this species differs appreciably among the great number of specimens seen. some of the broader twigs are shown in figure 6. on the other hand, the leaves shown in figure 2 exhibit an exceptionally strongly arched and open phase of the foliation. near the bases of some of the ultimate branchlets the leaves are relatively broader, more distinctly lanceolate and somewhat shorter. 1 the leaves, imperfectly shown in the photographic enlargements, are in their slenderness and obliquity comparable to the plant originally figured by dawson as araucarites gracilis, though the latter is much more robust and has much larger twigs. however, allowing for probable variation in the true walchia gracilis of dawson, it is probable that the species from the yaki trail finds therein its closest known relative. walchia linearifolia goeppert 2 may also be compared, notwithstanding its far greater size. 3 walchia gracillima is so similar in aspect, spacing, attitude and size of ultimate twigs and even in foliation to the branch figured by zalessky as walchia hypnoides that i should not hesitate to apply that name to arizona specimens, were not brongniart's type apparently so different. the plant from the artinsk of the ural region seems to have leaves slightly broader a little above the base, from which point they taper to an acuminate point. its leaves are distinctly different from those in the small twig from the upper autunian of the blanzy and creusot basin figured by zeiller as w. hypnoides. the beautiful pinnate branches with graceful, slender, arching, parallel twigs is very similar to that of one of the specimens illustrated by zeiller in an earlier publication as walchia hypnoides. however, as already indicated, the leaves of w. gracillima are relatively more distant, more slender, and more acute than in w. hypnoides. locality: lower part of the hermit shale. yaki trail only. 1 quart. jour. geol. soc. london, vol. xxii, 1865, page 146, pl. 6, f. 14. "goeppert, foss. fl. perm. form., 1865, page 242, pl. 51, figs. 9, 10. mém. com. géol., n. s., livr. 176, p. 48, pl. 33, f. 5 and 5a. r. zeiller, explic. carte géol. france, vol. 4, 1879, pl. 176, fig. 4. 102 description of the flora of the hermit shale walchia hypnoides brongniart? plate 49, fig. 5 1828 fucoides hypnoides brongniart, hist. vég. foss., vol. 1, p. 84, pl. 9 bis, f. 1, 2. 1849 walchia hypnoides brongniart, tableau, p. 71; pilla, tratt. geol., vol. п, 1851, p. 479, f. 255; williamson, rev. sci., (2) 1875, p. 1064, f. 46; zeiller, expl carte géol. fr., vol. iv, 1878, p. 155, pl. 176, f. 4; renault, cours. bot. foss., vol. iv, 1885, p. 85, pl. 8, f. 5; zeiller, éléments paléobot., 1900, p. 261, f. 186; fritel, hist. nat. fr., 24e bis, pl. foss., 1903, p. 60, pl. 14, f. 1; zeiller, bassin houill. perm. blanzy et creusot, pt. 2, fl. foss., 1906, p. 208, pl. 50, f. 9, pl. 51, f. 1. in this as in some other species of walchia, more attention has in general been given to the aspect of the foliate branch than to the characters of the leaves themselves. accordingly, we find specimens with outward arching, uncinnate, acute leaves placed in the same species with specimens having appressed nearly flat obtuse leaves. the fragment from the hermit shale is shown twice the natural size in plate 49, figure 5. the solitary example of this form in the collection agrees so fully in characters with the apical twig illustrated by zeiller¹ from the bassin of blanzy and creusot that i regard it as probably proving the presence in the permian of arizona of a form found also in the upper autunian of france. locality: lower part of hermit basin, near the yaki trail. ullmannia goeppert, 1850 monogr. foss. coniferen, p. 185 ullmannia frumentaria (schloth.) goeppert plate 46, figs. 1-6; plate 48, figs. 1, 1a, and 2; plate 51, fig. 7 1820 carpolithes frumentarius schlotheim, petrefactenkunde, p. 419, pl. 27, f. 1. 1850 ullmannia frumentaria (schloth.) goeppert, monogr. foss. conifer., p. 189, pl. 21, f. 1-3; geinitz, leitpfl. rothl. zechst. sachsen, 1858, p. 23, pl. 1, f. 7; geinitz, dyas, pt. 2, 1862, p. 155; hellmann, paleontogr., suppl., vol. 1, 1862, p. 14, pl. 5; goeppert, palæontogr. vol. 12 (foss. fl. perm. form.), 1865, p. 228, pl. 46, f. 1-3; schimper, traité pal. vég., vol. 2, 1870, p. 312, pl. 76, f. 4; saporta, monde pl. appar. homme, 1879, p. 186, fig. 15 (3-4); roemer, lethæa geogn., vol. 1 (palaeozoica), 1876, pl. 60, f. 2, text, 1880, p. 253; geinitz, mitth. k. min. geol. praehist. mus. dresden, vol. 3 (nachtr. z. dyas, 1), 1880, p. 20, pl. 3; solms-laubach, paleont. abhandl., vol. 2, no. 2, 1884, p. 82 (4), pl. 12 (1), f. 2, 4, 7-9, pl. 14 (3), f. 2, 5, 7; renault, cours. bot. foss., vol. 4, 1885, p. 91, pl. 8, f. 11; walther, geol. heim. thüringen, 3d ed., 1906, p. 58, text-fig. 35; zeiller, bass. houill. perm. blanzy et creusot, pt. 2, fl. foss., 1906, p. 219, pl. 50, f. 11-13; schuster, geogn. jahresb., vol. 20, 1907 (1908), p. 232, pl. 10, f. 18; gothan, entwick. pflanzenw., 1909, p. 64, f. 34c; czarnocki and samsonowicz, rezpr. wydz. mat. przy. akad. umiej., vol. 13, b, 1913, p. 278, pl. 17, f. 4-6a, 9; seward, foss. pl., vol. 4, 1919, p. 298, text-fig. 750a-c; gothan and nagel, glückauf, essen., vol. 56, 1920, p. 105, pl. 1, f. 3; gothan and nagel, jahrb. k. preuss. geol. landesanst., vol. 42, 1921 (1922), p. 445, pl. 5, f. 3, pl. 7, f. 3-4; kraüsel, senckenb. wiss. mitth., vol. 5, 1923, p. 86, pl. 4, f. 7-8. 'r. zeiller, bassin houill. perm. blanzy et creusot, pt. 2, fl. foss., 1906, pl. 51, f. 1. buriadica type of ullmannia frumentaria 103 branches coarse, subdividing very infrequently and irregularly, thick, fleshy; ramules retaining their leaves at least until as much as 1 cm. in diameter; leaves spirally arranged, slightly irregular, sometimes a little lax, with very fleshy, protuberant, decurrent bases which leave broadly diamondshaped traces on the larger twigs, linear-lanceolate, acute, very open or oblique except on the smaller ultimate twigs, where they are usually very oblique at the base, decurrent, becoming thin and often lax in passing upward, arching outward somewhat, and more or less distinctly uncinnate, round-convex dorsally, with relatively narrow persistent midrib, concave ventrally above the base, rugose by fine rows of round-protuberant scalelike cells, each marked by a very short hair, and sparsely clothed with short, sharp, rigid spines; cones large, terminal, 5 to 8 cm. long, 2 to 3.5 cm. wide, composed of rather loosely placed, open or somewhat oblique narrowly lanceolate, acute bracts which are generally broader and longer than the large leaves, narrowed at the cuneate base or stalk, which is much thickened, and dilated about 3 to 6 mm. from the point of attachment into a narrowly lanceolate-triangular, concavo-convex upward-curving acute blade; seeds small, oval-round, about 2.5 mm. long, apparently supported in the dilation at the base of the bract. as shown in plate 46, figure 5, the protruding leaf bases are relatively thick and fleshy and sometimes appear dilated. lack of rigidity of the leaves is observed in portions of all specimens examined. the leaves are traversed by a relatively narrow, thin midrib, dorsally rounded and persistent, though tapering, while becoming lax, to the apex. an interesting feature of the midrib is its downward prolongation as a slender strand through the thickened leaf base and far within the border of the thick fleshy cortex of the stem, where it bends down to join the axis. the thick zone of relatively soft and probably lacunose tissue of the stems and leaf bases of this tree suggests the pteridosperm and the lepidophyte. the lamina on either side of the midrib, though coriaceous, is evidently flexible and readily subject to deformation. it is faintly— sometimes rather distinctly-lineate in the longitudinal sense, the lineation corresponding to rows of short or squarrose, round-convex cells, each of which is marked by a minute punctation, the attachment of a short papilla, thus giving the leaf a faintly pubescent covering. besides the apparent pubescence, the leaf is marked on both ventral and dorsal sides by short, rigid sharp spines, varying somewhat in length, but generally less than 0.5 mm. long. they are not oriented parallel to the axis of the leaf, and were evidently upright or nearly vertical to the lamina. the bases of these spines are marked by pits which are particularly distinct along the midrib or median nerve, where, in some places, the impression suggests the presence of a small gland at the base of each spine. the shape and mode of attachment of these spinęs, some of which are rather long, and the occurrence of considerable numbers of detached spines in the 104 description of the flora of the hermit shale matrix, suggest that they were readily removed by abrasion in a way comparable to the detachment of the spines of certain cacti. the molds of some of the shorter spines are seen pressed against the lamina. a notable feature is the occurrence of this xerophytic character in lesser development on the surfaces of the bracts of the cone. the large protruding leaf bases are shown partly in profile, plate 46, figures 4 and 5. some of them have the aspect of having supported sporangia, like those of a lepidophyte, and in one specimen there is a suggestion of a ligular pit. in many instances the leaf blade appears to be prolonged in a slender, almost filamentous, branching, lax proliferation. also, some of the specimens seen in profile seem to exhibit indications of slender, fragile, pinnately but sparsely remote appendicular growths suggestive of soft delicate chaffy scales of branching habit. clearer evidence of the nature, origin and function of these indicated growths is greatly to be desired. that they are not, however, in all cases the mere result of laceration of the lamina, appears to be proved by the presence in the slender appendage of a central strand or nerve. the appendages, if such they are, seem to have been borne here and there very sparsely on both sides of the leaf and at the apex as well as near the base. i regard them as a xerophytic development. it is much to be hoped that better preserved material will serve for their more satisfactory delineation as well as their conclusive interpretation. in plate 46, figures 4 and 5, are shown leaves which fork near the apex in two relatively narrow divisions, apparently in the manner characteristic of buriadica, described by seward and sahni¹ from the karharbari beds of india. in fact, if the latter genus is well founded, on this sole character, the arizona specimen should probably be included under that name. at all events this seems to furnish another connection between the hermit flora and the gondwana flora. the leaves of the series of specimens from the lower gondwana flora illustrated by feistmantel 2 as voltzia heterophylla, with which our material appears to agree, have been reexamined by seward and sahni, and found to reveal bifurcation. it is probable that the appearance of slender, relatively rigid, narrow, open leaves or bracts, sometimes considerably longer than the normal leaf and located seemingly between the leaf bases, as viewed in several specimens, is due either to the midribs of macerated leaves or of leaves seen only in profile. curiously enough, however, they often appear more rigid than the complete leaf. the specimens do not, i believe, justify the conclusion that the leaves of this tree 1 mem. geol. survey india, n. s., vol. vii, no. 1, 1920, page 12. pl. 2, f. 20-25a. 'mem. geol. surv. india, n. s., vol. iii, pt. 1, 1879, pls. xxii-xxv. gymnospermic genus voltzia 105 are polymorphous and that such polymorphism is seen even in the cones, though it would not be surprising if the discovery of better preserved material, especially as carbonized remains, in a more fine-grained matrix, would show such polymorphism. cones without doubt referable to the species here described are shown in plate 46, figures 2, 3, and 6, and plate 48, figures 1, la, and 2, the last two being twice enlarged. detached bracts, probably from similar cones, are seen in figure 1 of plate 46 and figure 7 of plate 51. more or less complete bracts still attached are shown in both photographic enlargements. in one of our specimens, plate 48, figure 2, the dilated leaf base or foot-stalk of the leaf appears much thicker than the blade or bract proper. in this specimen the blade is torn and the leaf base partly detached and pushed back. several seeds are seen indistinctly in plate 48, figure 2. the aspect of the mold of the compressed seed suggests that one or more seeds are placed on the dilated foot-stalk thus suggesting the lepidophyte, rather than within the base of the blade. i am inclined to believe that at least one ovule was borne on either side of the axis on the ventral lobes of the stalk. the cones in plate 48, figure 1, and plate 46, figure 2, are comparable to that shown by zeiller in his flora of the carboniferous and permian basins of blanzy and creusot (pl. 50, fig. 5) as walchia piniformis. the french specimen belongs, i have no doubt, to ullmannia frumentaria, which occurs at the same locality and in the same beds. the specimens, about a dozen in number, representing this species, were more or less macerated before burial, with some deformation, in the sandstone, so that they present a baffling range of more or less indistinct features, the satisfactory elucidation of which must await the discovery of better material from this or some other region. localities: near the base of the hermit, near the hermit trail, in the hermit basin, and to the west of the bright angel trail, below the el tovar. voltzia brongniart, 1828 dict. sci. nat., vol. lvii (prodrome), p. 112 (108) voltzia dentiloba d. w. n. sp. plate 51, fig. 5 scales narrowly cuneate, the lower two-thirds tapering slowly downward, shallowly grooved ventrally, round-carinate dorsad and thick, with slightly concave margins and dilated abruptly at the base of the upper third, which is palmately or flaringly divided into 5 to 12 short, ovatetriangular, dorsally convex, carinate, slightly acute, tooth-like, thick, rigid lobes, which are ventrally somewhat concave, especially toward the base, 106 description of the flora of the hermit shale and apparently creased upward; middle lobes longest and largest, the lateral being shorter, narrower, and apparently less developed; the larger lobes seeming each to bear an ovate or long-oval seed, nearly as wide as the lobe, just above the base, or the lobe is marked by an oval depression above the center of which is a small round scar. the above-described species is represented by but two scales, both rather obviously belonging to a cone. neither is, however, so complete or distinct as is to be desired. figure 5 of plate 51 presents a ventral view in which the lower part of the scale is shallowly grooved near the middle and the teeth are ventrally concave and slightly incurved at the top. the shorter or weaker lateral lobes of the bract are perhaps abortive. in another specimen the scale, in dorsal view, has round-convex, narrow, oval-triangular and distinctly acute teeth. strong nerves emerge in passing up the lower part of the bract, apparently forking, fern fashion, near the dilation of the scale, to furnish a small nerve for each tooth. this species has smaller bracts with narrower bases and more acute teeth than those of voltzia heterophylla, though the scales of the latter sometimes have rather sharp teeth, as is illustrated in the specimen shown by renault.¹ the aspect of the scales is slightly suggestive of cheirostrobus and swedenborgia. locality: lower part of the hermit near hermit trail, hermit basin. voltzia sp. plate 50, fig. 5 among the material from the hermit shale is the impression of a single scale shown in plate 50, figure 5. there being no other specimens to illustrate other forms of the scale, which in this genus is usually highly variable, i merely call attention to its probably unquestionable reference to voltzia and to its similarity to some of the specimens illustrated by geinitz from the copper shales of trebnitz near gera 2 as voltzia liebeana geinitz. the species is quite distinct from voltzia dentiloba described in the foregoing section, which may be recognized by its semi-acute lobes, apparently pitted at their bases, and the slender shank of the graceful elongated, concavely bordered scale. cours de botanique fossile, vol. 4, 1885, pl. 13, fig. 4. 2 h. b. geintz, nachtrag zur dyas, i, 1880, page 26, pl. 5. new taxalean gymnosperm-paleotaxites 107 taxales paleotaxites, new genus paleotaxites præcursor d. w. n. sp. plate 49, figs. 1 and 3; plate 50, figs. 1, 2, 2a, 6, and 6,; plate 48, fig. 3; plate 45, fig. 4 branches linear, tapering to acute apices, very compact and bushy, especially when young, densely clothed with close, rigid, slender, relatively short, spirally arranged twigs, in several, probably as many as six, rows in the longitudinal direction, at angles approaching 45° to the axis, which is provided with leaves much broader and much longer than those on the ultimate branchlets; twigs or ultimate branchlets slender, very close, 2.5 to 6 mm. wide, becoming elongated-linear in later states, hardly tapering, and obtuse at the apices; leaves very small, spiral, compact, relatively broad at the thick base near which they are rhomboidal in cross-section, squammiform, 2 to 4.5 mm. long, broadly angular-carinate dorsad, slightly convex on either side, more prominently and narrowly carinate ventrad, and slightly concave on either side, flaring very open in the lower part, becoming rounded dorsally, and curving rapidly upward at about twothirds of their length, and, while all the time narrowing very rapidly, bent slightly inward at the rather blunt point; buds at the ends of the twigs slightly wider, more compact, oval, and, in length, about 2.5 times the breadth of the twig, with compact imbricated leaves developing substantially as in the lower portion of the twig; fruit oval-obovate, about 9 mm. long and 5 mm. wide above the middle, borne apparently just beneath the apex of the short twigs, or possibly terminal, leathery, becoming hard and somewhat brittle, without ornamentation, so far as observed, at the apex, and adherent to several scale-like rudiments of leaves at and a little above the base. the beautiful conifer here described is one of the effective contributors to the distinctly mesozoic facies of the hermit flora. plumose in density but dwarfed and rigid in the details of its twigs and leaves, it constitutes an unique species. the compactness of the spirally pluriseriate twigs in the young branches is well shown both in plate 50, figure 6, and plate 49, figure 3, in both of which the points of entrance into the rock of the pluriseriate twigs not lying in or near the bedding planes are plainly visible. the very small, blunt, clawlike leaves are shown more clearly in figure 6 of plate 50, and in figure 6a, which enlarges, twice the natural size, some of the leaves and the terminal buds. an older branch with larger and more elongated twigs is seen in plate 49, figure 1. here the branch though obviously polyseriate is flatter than the more plumose, younger branchlets. the specimen is somewhat eroded. plate 49, figure 3, rather dimly shows a part of an elongated plumose branchlet, over 20 cm. in length, which is preserved on the slab. 108 description of the flora of the hermit shale one of the specimens unmistakably belonging to this species is remarkable for the presence of the remains of its large, partially collapsed, fruits attached at or nearly at the ends of each of several of the lateral twigs. portions of five of these fruits are seen obliquely placed at the ends of as many twigs in a segment of a branchlet 12 cm. long. one of the fruits in the lower part of this specimen, plate 50, figure 1 (twice the natural size), shows by its wrinkles the leathery texture of its hard outer envelope. scale-like rudiments of leaves are seen at its base. another seed on the twig to the left is poorly shown in the photograph. portions of two of the fruits, borne by adjacent twigs higher in the branch are seen, twice the natural size, in plate 50, figure 2, where we observe, adhering to the base of the seeds, several rudimentary scales, two of which, on the right, have free apices turned outward away from the seed. in this specimen, shown four time the natural size in figure 2a, the thick wall of the seed, which appears to have been somewhat globular, elongated obovately in the longitudinal direction, seems to have had a brittle outer coat or aril which is crushed. the scale-like protuberances from the lower part of this fruit are generally in ovate patterns, small but variable in size, apparently imbricated spirally from its point of attachment. in these respects the fruit of paleotaxites præcursor is comparable in aspect to the fruit of juniperus or tumion. on the other hand, the form and disposition of the leaves of the tree are somewhat suggestive of the cedar. in the specimen shown in plate 45, figure 4, the twigs had become plastered with mud slime and were later partially washed by current movement before embedding in relatively coarse sand. the result is the flattening of several of the twigs on the bedding plane. the squammose aspect of the dorsally convex surfaces of the leaves is, however, seen in the lower part of the photograph, which has not been retouched. among permian plants of other parts of the world, fertile forms inviting comparison with paleotaxites in a broad systematic sense are found in the twigs from the cupriferous shales of saxony described by geinitz¹ as ultimate fertile shoots of voltzia liebiana; also the naked, rounded, upright seeds borne on the sides of the cone and apparently axillary in position, separately described by geinitz as cyclocarpon eiselianum are strongly suggestive of the fruits of the grand canyon genus. though the saxon twigs are very much larger than ours, and, if the correlations of the parts of the plant are correct, belong to a plainly different genus, they are, however, to be taken into account, together with ours, in any discussion of the phy¹nachtrag zur dyas, i, 1880, page 26, pl. 5, f. 9. gymnosperms-taxites and brachyphyllum 109 logeny or antiquity of the taxalean conifers. in this connection mention may be made also of the presence in the hermit flora of small voltzia cone scales comparable with those figured in the same flora from the trebnitz beds near gera. the naked erect fruit from the hermit shale, reminds one of the fruit from the copper shales of ilmenau described by goeppert¹ under the name ullmannia frumentaria. the associated foliage is, however, quite different. paleotaxites præcursor is easily distinguished from walchia by its spirally arranged twigs, and though the isolated fragments closely resemble those of walchia gracillima, they are readily separated by the angular, large-based, rapidly tapering, rigid, tooth-like leaf. localities: the species was found by dr. l. f. noble in the lower part of the hermit shale in the hermit basin (lot 7880 of the collection of the geological survey). i found specimens near dripping spring in the same basin, and near the yaki trail. it is rare. taxites brongniart, 1828 dict. sci. nat., vol. lvi (prodrome), p. 111 (108) taxites? sp. plate 49, fig. 6 to this genus i tentatively refer an impression which is doubtless gymnospermous and which appears to represent a bud or twig crowned with linear-lanceolate, rather obtuse, ventrally convex leaves, each of which appears to be traversed by a central nerve very indistinctly shown in the impression. the poor preservation of the specimen does not appear to justify further consideration in this place, but it is hoped that by illustrating this fragment attention may be called to the need for securing material sufficient to reveal the characters and relations of the plant. it appears to be different from any gymnosperm yet found in the permian of north america. locality: lower part of hermit shale, hermit basin. pinales? brachyphyllum brongniart, 1828 dict. sci. nat., vol. lvii (prodrome), p. 113 (109) brachyphyllum arizonicum d. w. n. sp. plate 48, fig. 4 branches distichous, with large, scale-like, very oblique leaves, densely clothing the penultimate axis, and, probably, divisions of higher rank; ultimate divisions or twigs close, about 14 mm. distant in the branchlets, 'foss. fl. perm. form., 1864, page 228, pl. xlvi, f. 4. 110 description of the flora of the hermit shale very open, parallel, narrow, straight, relatively rigid and opposite; leaves very short, close, obliquely spiral, open at about 45° to the axis, with very broadly deltoid, dorsally convex, hardly carinate bases, about half the width of the twig, narrowing rapidly with slightly concave borders, while becoming carinate and curving upward, to a short, slightly inward-curved, blunt apex at about one-third the length of the leaf next above. as shown in plate 48, figure 4, this species, of distinctly mesozoic aspect, is conspicuous for the broadly triangular leaf bases which are fully half the entire width of the twig and stand out obliquely in loose imbrication. the leaf narrows very rapidly, while curving upward and becoming more prominently carinate, to a rather blunt inward bent, beak-like apex. the ultimate branchlets are seen to be open, close and parallel, as in walchia, and the parent axis is clothed with oblique overlapping scales, some of which are much broader as well as larger than those of the twigs. 1 the figured specimen of brachyphyllum arizonicum deserves comparison with the specimen from the copper sandstones of the donetz basin illustrated by zalessky as walchia filiciformis (schloth.) sternberg. i am, however, obliged to question the identification, for walchia filiciformis differs not only from the arizona specimen but possibly from the donetz specimen by its very flaring slender leaves, which turn upward far from the axis, so that the twigs are relatively wide. locality: lower part of hermit shale near dripping springs, hermit basin. brachyphyllum tenue d. w. n. sp. plate 45, figs. 1, 2 2a and 3 branches very slender, 2 to 3 mm. wide, slightly rigid, but gently curving and tapering very gradually or, in the ultimate divisions, almost imperceptibly, while repeatedly forking distantly and at a very narrow angle in the peripheral portions; ultimate divisions or twigs linear-elongated, about 1.5 to 2.25 mm. wide, generally slightly curved, obtuse; leaves very small, generally obscure, spirally arranged, very closely appressed, close, overlapping for nearly half their length, broadly attached, ovate, about 2 mm. long, the borders converging, nearly straight, in the upper part dorsally round-convex, medially carinate, especially near the top, and terminating in a short, thickened, narrow acute spine. i know no type among paleozoic gymnosperms that approaches so closely to the branchlets shown in plate 45, figures 1, 2, 2a and 3 as that from the newcastle permian beds of new south wales, australia, and other gondwana lands described by feistmantel 2 and 1 mém. com. géol., n. s., livr. 178, 1927, pl. 33, f. 6. 20. feistmantel, foss. flora australiens, palæontographica suppl. 3, hft. 3, 1878, pl. vii, f. 3-6; mem. geol. surv. n. s. w., paleont., no. 3, 1890, page 162, pl. 15, f. 4, pl. 22, f. 1, 2. gymnosperms-brachypyllum and pagiophyllum 111 others as brachyphyllum ? australe. both plants appear to have the same habit of growth of the twigs, and similarly closely appressed, short-lanceolate acute leaves. the branches and twigs in our specimens are very much more slender, being less than half the width of the gondwana plant, and the leaves are so small and closely appressed against the axis as to be hardly visible to the unaided eye. yet the plants conform so closely in other respects as to raise a question as to whether the arizona plant is not merely a form of the other, reduced by unfavorable environmental conditions. the specific separation of the hermit plant is based largely on the much greater slenderness of the ultimate twigs, which branch more frequently, and on the relatively few leaves and their relatively large size. localities: lower part of hermit shale in hermit basin, and near bright angel trail, below el tovar. pagiophyllum heer, 1881 contrib. fl. foss. portugal, p. 11 pagiophyllum dubium d. w. n. sp. plate 47, figs. 1, 3, 4 (?) and 5 ultimate divisions or twigs rather close, very open, slightly irregular, sub-parallel, slender, narrow, tapering slightly proximad near the base, and distad gradually in the upper portions, with axis rather thick in the impression, as though by the collapse of a thick lacunose mesocortex; leaves distant, very broad at the base, oblique, decurrent, clavate or slightly triangular, thick, apparently fleshy, curving slightly upward or nearly straight, shorter near the base of the twig and toward the apex, tapering moderately from the base to the abruptly and bluntly rounded, or sometimes apparently truncate, apex. the specimens in hand are not sufficient adequately to characterize this species, which, nevertheless, appears, by the disposition of the twigs and the form of the leaves, to be a distinct species. the leaves in some specimens are clavate, as shown in plate 47, figures 3 and 5. in the original of figure 1 some of them appear acute in both dorsal view and in profile, as though a thin acute bract supported a clavate or cylindrical organ or appendage whose rounded apex extended barely beyond the apex of the bract. the aspect of the impressions of both the axis and the leaf of the twig suggest a thick zone of lacunose tissue for water storage. the provisional reference of the plant to the form genus pagiophyllum is non-committal as to the systematic relations of the species, which require validation. the general aspect of the smallest fragments suggests the specimen from the walchia sandstone in the brives basin figured by 112 description of the flora of the hermit shale zeiller¹ as "sphenopteris? sp." the latter is distichous with very oblique pinnules. for the present pagiophyllum dubium may be distinguished by its very short, thick, oblique, and more or less distinctly clavate, distant leaves, which are abruptly rounded or round-truncate at the apex. locality: base of hermit shale; found only in hermit basin. fruits, of uncertain affinities cyclocarpon goeppert and fiedler, 1857 nova acta acad. caes. leop. car., vol. xxvi, p. 291 cyclocarpon angelicum d. w. n. sp. plate 50, fig. 7 ovate seed about 12 mm. long and 9 mm. wide, with very narrow, finely lineate border impression of vascular coverings which are a little denser at the slightly apiculate top, and at the bottom, which is slightly rounded on either side of the point of attachment. the seed shown in natural size in plate 50, figure 7, was probably originally round in cross-section. it appears to have had an outer fibrous, and a thinner, more faintly vascular envelope, both now flattened and forming a border zone, about the nutlet. it is unlikely that the outer test was rigid. 3 the figured specimen may be compared with some of the seeds illustrated by weiss 2 as rhabdocarpus ovoideus from the permian of saxony. these seeds are of the type correlated by grand'eury ³ with the fronds of callipteris conferta. fruits similar to cyclocarpon angelicum or that next to be figured as carpolithus sp. may have been borne by supaia which, as already emphasized, not only is closely related to callipteris, but is probably derived from it. in fact if cordaites and the neuropterid and sphenopterid groups of pteridosperms are absent from the hermit, as now seems to be the case, there would appear to be no plants present except supaia, callipteris, and possibly taniopteris, which could have borne these cyclocarpon types of seeds. the fruit of psygmophyllum, a genus possibly present, is unknown. in general, seeds are unaccountably rare at those localities where the hermit shale has been searched for fossil plants. this is the more remarkable since, with fluviatile deposition, including the presence of occasional pools along the arroyos, the conditions should have been favorable for the accumulation of windblown or drifted seeds 'bassin houill. et perm. brive, pt. 2, fl. foss., 1892, pl. 1, f. 6. 3 * weiss, foss. fl. jüngst. steink. u. rothl. saar-rh. geb., 1872, pl. xliii, f. 18, 1920. 8 c. grand'eury, comptes rendus, acad. sci., vol. 143, 1906, page 664. pteridospermous fruits cyclocarpon 113 in considerable numbers. doubtless at some outcrop yet to be examined seeds will be abundant. locality: near base of the hermit shale, in the outcrop west of the bright angel trail, below el tovar. cyclocarpon sp. plate 49, fig. 4 the seed shown, twice the natural size, in plate 49, figure 4, answers in a general way the description of a group of small forms referred by authors to cyclocarpon and carpolithes. such seeds occur in most collections of plants from the middle permian and the base of the zechstein.¹ some of them may be seeds of noeggerathiopsis or cordaites. similar forms have been correlated by grand'eury,2 on convincing circumstantial evidence of conditions of occurrence, with callipteris, and specifically with c. conferta. the seed here illustrated lies in the axil of a pinna of yakia, and may have been attached to, but is not actually proved to be in union with the rachis. therefore, though it is such a seed as would be expected in a member of the callipteris group, it can not yet be regarded as demonstrated to belong to the yakia on which it lies. the seed now flattened to lenticular shape has a very narrow but well-defined vascular border, and has a very small acute apical beak. in passing it may be noted that the photograph suggests the former presence of similar seeds in the axils of other pinna of the specimen, an aspect that is not, however, so noticeable in the specimen if it is illumined from other directions. locality: in coarse, gnarly, current-rippled, sandy shale from the lower part of the hermit shale in the hermit basin. carpolithus sp. plate 50, fig. 3 oval, flat, very faintly apiculate seed 8 mm. long, 6 mm. wide, and bordered by a very narrow ring including apparently two very thin vascular envelopes, the width of the ring being about 0.5 mm. except at the top, where it is slightly and rather broadly extended upward. the specimen photographed in plate 50, figure 3, is the only one of this form found in the collection. the preservation of the seed leaves much to be desired. probably a pollen chamber was present 'see c. e. weiss, foss. fl. jüngst. steink. u. rothl., saar-rh. geb., 1872, pl. xvm, f. 1-30. 'c. grand-eury, comptes rendus, acad, sci., vol. 143, 1906, page 664. 114 description of the flora of the hermit shale in the slightly dilated top. a small round body in the upper part of the seed may represent the archegonia. traces of the inner integument are very faint. similar seeds from the permian have been described as cyclocarpon. locality: lower part of the hermit trail, hermit basin. eltovaria new genus eltovaria bursiformis d. w. n. sp. plate 50, fig. 4 purse-shaped envelope, probably of fructification, composed of thick leathery lamina, apparently a modified leaf, longitudinally folded in transversely oval or rhomboidal form, the longer, transverse axis about 4 cm. long, the vertical about 2.5 cm., broadly round at the ends with rounded margins, strongly convex though flattened and partially collapsed, and marked by coarse vertical ribs; lamina thickest at the basal angle, at which the envelope is thicker; contents of the envelope apparently three seeds, round in profile, situated near the thickened border; structural details unknown. the structure and nature of the fossil described above are uncertain, but there is little doubt that it represents a leaf modified to serve as envelope for some form of fructification. in texture the leathery envelopes suggest a leaf of taniopteris or supaia, and the fern-like nervation traversing the very coarse ribs (about 11 nervilles to one centimeter) also suggests taniopteris. i am accordingly disposed to regard it as belonging to that genus, and as borne either on the petiole below the blade or on a special stalk. however, the nerves are nearly twice as distant as in t. eckhardti and even farther apart than in some of the taniopteris forms from the oklahoma-texas permian, referred to t. abnormis. apparently the envelope was attached along a portion of the lower border. whether the leaf or bract formed a complete envelope is not shown. as indicated in the photograph, plate 50, figure 4, there appear to be three roundish bodies, now collapsed, in the envelope. whether these are ovules, sporangia or pollen-bearing discs remains to be seen, but it is to be noted that the wall of the ovuliform body evidently was thick. unfortunately the sandy nature of the matrix and the absence of carbonized residues permit no dissection or maceration treatment. eltovaria is slightly suggestive of the rolled scale fronds from the lower gondwana of india and australia ascribed by walkom¹ and zeiller 2 to glossopteris. on the other hand, a distinct analogy in origin and structure is, i believe, found in the inrolled fertile leaves a. b. walkom, queensland geol. survey, pub. no. 270, 1922, page 13, pl. 1, f. 6-8. 2r. zeiller, paleont. indica, n. s., vol. ii, no. 1, 1902, pl. iii, f. 6-8. casts of supposed worm borings 115 from the upper permian of oranetz, russia, described by schmalhausen at vertebraria (?) petschorensis.¹ a specimen of eltovaria is seen partly exposed in the upper left corner of the rock fragment containing portions of supaia linearifolia, illustrated in plate 23, figure 1. since the fossils here described seem to have definite configuration and characters, geographic distribution and stratigraphic significance, they should receive systematic designation. the name eltovaria² is non-committal as to systematic classification and may give place to some older established name when the nature of the fossils is more fully understood, or their organic union with some other previously known plant is discovered. locality: lower part of the hermit shale on bright angel trail, below el tovar, and in hermit basin. gymnospermous ament plate 51, fig. 6 the small fragment photographed as figure 6 in plate 51 appears to represent a poorly preserved ament, probably belonging to a gymnosperm. the specimen was somewhat abraded before burial and the matrix is so gritty as to offer little detail. apparently, however, the flowers consist of four or five stamens clustered about a very slender pedicel which leads to a rather delicate and now crinkled axis. animals vermes? scoyenia new genus scoyenia gracilis d. w. n. sp. plate 4, fig. 3; plate 5 slender ropelike remains, probably molds, of undetermined length, in half relief, or somewhat flattened, linear and often curved, 2.5 mm. to 5 mm. in diameter, densley clothed with more or less closely appressed, linear-lanceolate dorsally convex, tapering, acute, scarcely rigid, bractor leaf-like appendages, which are sometimes free above the middle but without indication of structure. several fragments of thinly and evenly bedded shales are, like the small slab shown in plate 4, figure 3 (twice enlarged in plate 5), strewn with slender curved bodies in semi-relief, having the superficial aspect of molds of some moss-like organism. among plants they ¹j. schmalhausen, mém. acad. imp. sci. st. pétersb., 7th ser., vol. xxvii, no. 4, 1879, page 53, pl. vii, figs. 14-18. in common american reference to the hotel at grand canyon station the spanish article is made a part of the name-e. g., the el tovar hotel. 116 description of fossils of the hermit shale suggest a lycopod, like selaginella. there is no room for doubt that these molds are of the same nature as those described by zeiller¹ from the basin of brive as "animal trails" and again illustrated from the permian of thüringia by potonié,2 who compares them with spongillopsis dyadica geinitz. at both of the european localities we have also vertical molds which in the french specimens are plainly the centers from which the moss-like trails spread out on the bedding planes. in the fragments in hand from the hermit shale, similar vertical molds are not distinctly connected with the slender rope-like remains, though some of them are rather plainly associated with worm borings of the common aspect, also present on the surface of the shale. nevertheless, i am disposed to believe that the fossil is the mold of a boring, though it is difficult to explain the imbricated, sometimes divergent appendages. the specimen described by zeiller is republished by fliche,³ who discusses somewhat at length the nature of the organisms represented and concludes that the fossils represent sponges. notable features of the hermit type are the absence of bifurcation, although the molds vary somewhat in size, and the apparent penetration of one mold by another. in the latter case the appendages of the penetrated mold appear to rest undisturbed against the penetrating mold. as in other fossils in the hermit shale, no trace of carbonaceous residue remains. therefore, the actual nature of these fossils is still doubtful. however, whatever the organism responsible for these trails, which i am inclined to regard as animal, the trails present readily recognizable diagnostic characters for their classification, and appear to have stratigraphic value, as is shown by the distribution of similar species in the permian and triassic of europe. accordingly, the stratigraphic objectives of palæontology will be served by description and illustration of the fossils, which it is hoped will open the way to discovery conclusively proving their nature and origin. the american form described above is more slender and does not appear to be fasciculate, like the illustrated european specimen. further, it is characterized by the frequent divergence of some of the scaleor leaf-like appendages. in several of the fragments, evidently slightly abraded or water-worn, the appendages are less distinct, and present the eroded aspect illustrated by zeiller. in one case they are even somewhat disheveled, a condition which emphasizes their leaflike character. 'r. zeiller, bassin houiller et permien de brive, fasc. ii, flore fossile, études des gîtes minéraux de la france, ministére des travaux publics, paris, page 106, pl. 15, fig. 14, 1894. 2 h. potonié, die flora des rothliegenden von thüringen, abhandl. d. könig. preuss. geol. landesanstalt, n. f., heft 9, theil ii, page 18, berlin, 1893. p. fliche, flore fossile du trias en lorraine et franche-comté, bull. soc. sci. nancy, vol. vi, page 30, pl. i, f. 1, 1905. problematic borings, walpia 117 since the fragments described and illustrated by zeiller represent without doubt the same generic type of remains, they may, on account of their more robust proportions and their frequently radial arrangement, be designated as scoyenia zeilleri. the specimen illustrated by potonié evidently represents the same genus, and may also belong to the french species. the suspicion, developed on examination of the figures of the thuringian example, that some of the scale-like appendages actually diverge from the axis and terminate free in the rock matrix after the fashion of some of the hermit specimens, is probably justified. the genus is named in honor of e. t. scoyen, formerly chief ranger of the grand canyon national park, now superintendent of the zion national park, to whom the writer is greatly indebted for both interest and hearty cooperation. locality: lower part of the hermit shale, near the hermit trail in the hermit basin, and on the east of the yaki trail below yaki point. walpia new genus walpia hermitensis d. w. n. sp. plate 51, figs. 3, 4, and 4a irregularly winding molds, varying slightly in diameter, comprising internal casts surrounded by a pavement of small, irregularly imbricated, lenticular, or lozenge-like bodies of uniform or nearly uniform size, rounded at the edges, and a little thicker at one point which is marked by a minute mammillate or slightly umbilicate scar from near which two short, very thin and shallow incisions, one on either side, diverge at an acute angle; surface of the lenticular bodies very smooth, sometimes minutely wrinkled as though leathery. as shown photographically in plate 51, figures 3, 4 and 4a, these distinctive and clearly definable fossils have the aspect of trails or borings, which, no doubt, they are. the flattened biscuit-like bodies with the slight prominences marked by minute umbilical pits are irregularly disposed, some of them being found to lie wedged against an outside wall or into the central sandstone cast, but the canal or boring is defined by the convex outward facing bodies. at first glance these bodies might be interpreted as eggs, which they strongly suggest, in their aspect, mode of occurrence, smoothness and rather leathery texture. or they may, with better reason, i think, be interpreted as excremental pellicles discharged by some worm or related animal which ingested the fine silty material while it was still filled with organic matter. it is noted, however, not only that, proceeding in the direction of boring, the last deposited are found to lie against those farther back of them, deforming them, but also that 118 crustacean in the hermit shale they truncate them. this feature harmonizes with the view that these impressions are caused by the thrust of some member or appendage of an animal, possibly a crustacean, against the wall of silt through which it was driving. however, some of the bodies are fractured or collapsed, as though they had thin brittle outer walls. on the whole, i am disposed to regard these bodies as flattened pellicles, comprising excrementa pushed against the walls of the boring. this fossil, whose nature may be explained by additional specimens to be discovered, should have distinct stratigraphic as well as palæontologic value. the name is taken from an indian tribe living near the grand canyon. locality: collected by c. w. gilmore from the lower part of the hermit shale near red top, in the hermit basin. eurypterideæ hastimima d. white, 1908 foss. fl. coal meas. brazil, p. 598 hastimima sp. ? plate 51, fig. 1 the rather obscure impression shown in plate 51, figure 1, seems to have been triangular or spadiform, smooth or even shelly in texture, and marked by distant tubercles or wart-like excrescences or short blunt spines. it appears to me to have been produced by some animal, rather than by a plant. nothing is found in the collection that may reasonably be supposed to have borne a large spadix or a leaf base so large and of such characters. the proposal that these fossils may be the impressions of the bony plates of one of the vertebrates whose tracks are found in the shales lacks the encouragement of essential clearness of outline and structure. on account of some resemblance in general form and a closer similarity in ornamentation to the specimens from the permian coal measures of brazil, described by me in 1908 as hastimima whitei,¹ i tentatively range these impressions under the name hastimima. the fossils from brazil which i originally regarded as "portions of the extremities and integument of some animal, more probably saurian or batrachian," are now recognized as eurypterid. they occur with a lower gondwana flora. 'd. white, fossil flora of the coal measures of brazil, in i. c. white, relatario final, comm. estud. minas carvão de pedra d. brazil, 1908, pt. 3, page 589, pl. x, f. 1-4, pl. xi, f. 1-10. plates note-all the plant fossils illustrated in the following plates were photographed in the laboratory of the united states geological survey and are in natural size unless otherwise stated. all are in red sandy shale, without carbonaceous residues or color differentiation. owing to the gritty composition of the matrix, the deposition of many of the leaves in stream-rippled sand or silt, and the xerophytic protection of the leaves, the nervation of the fern-like fronds is very rarely visible. in some cases the photograph shows more than is readily discerned by the naked eye. many of the figures are wholly without retouching; but in most of the photographs slight emphasis of midribs and margins has been given with the aid of a sharp-pointed wax crayon, which is applicable to a gloss print photograph. 119 plate 1 slab of fine silt showing counterpart of thin slime film surface bearing a footprint which, though generically undeterminable, is referable to some primitive amphibian or reptile. shallow suncracking in considerable detail with incipient scaling of the surface of the silt is shown on this slab, which is slightly wavy. photograph submitted by c. w. gilmore, u. s. national museum. specimen in collections of u. s. national museum. photograph in natural size; not retouched. 120 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 1 sun-cracked slime surface, with foot-print. 121 plate 2 lower face of layer of silt deposited upon surface of suncracked silt, on which are impressions of hailstones. a portion of the filling of the suncracks adheres to this covering layer. from the characters of these crack fillings it would seem that following rain and hail the dried sediment had expanded and flattened slightly, with some pinching of the cracked material at the level of the surface of the deposit, which appears to have been slightly washed prior to burial. raised crater rims are rather distinctly seen about the border of some of the hailstone impressions which, as in the case of present-day hail storms, vary in size. photograph in natural size, not retouched. 122 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 2 sun cracks and impressions of rain and hail 123 plate 3 slime-surfaced slab in which a leaf-bearing stem of sphenophyllum gilmorei is nearly immersed. portions of stem and leaf rising above the level of the sediment are seen to have been washed with silt and slime. impressed in the latter numerous footprints of a supposed amphibian, hylopus hermitanus gilmore, are seen, some of them nearly obliterated, some relatively fresh and distinct. photograph in natural size, unretouched. 124 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 3 amphibian foot-prints and slime-covered stem 125 plate 4 fig. 1-casts of supposed worn borings on the bedding plane of a ripple-marked sand. fig. 2-slightly rippled surface of silt pitted by rain drops. fig. 3-scoyenia gracilis d. w., n. g., n. sp. plumose interlacing molds suggesting branches of densely foliate and delicate selaginella. cross-sections of vertical borings are not definitely correlated with the horizontal molds, but may be due to the same organism. the specimen is shown enlarged in plate 5. fig. 4-cast of a coprolite resting on the stream-rippled sand. this excrement, together with associated footprints and trails in the same beds, are the only evidence of vertebrate life yet found in the hermit shale. all photographs are in natural size without retouching. 126 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 4 2 4 fossils from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 127 plate 5 scoyenia gracilis d. w., n. g., n. sp. photograph, in twice natural size, of the specimen seen in plate 4, figure 3. in this view the plumose character of the molds is more distinctly visible; the free ends of the slender, acute, and generally appressed appendages may be seen both on the left and in the middle right of the photograph, which has not been retouched. 128 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 5 c く ​fossils from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 129 plate 6 rivularites permiensis n. sp., d. w. portion of large slab, largely covered with the thalli of this species. the thickened protuberances, the tops of which are eroded in a part of the specimen, are inclined toward the right, presumably in the direction of the flowing water. faint umbilication with suggestions of pores are seen at the apices of some of the protuberances. the thickened interlacing strands are seen in portions of the photograph, the points of anastomosis being located in the pits, as shown rather distinctly at the left, where, as on the upper right border also, abrasion has removed all but the pits. photograph, unretouched, is in natural size. 130 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 6 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 131 plate 7 fig. 1-rivularites permiensis d. w., n. sp., partially eroded. here the thickened strands joining in the pits are more clearly shown, as also is the texture of the rock. fig. 2-rivularites permiensis d. w., n. sp., in which the protuberances, inclined to the lower right, are but slightly eroded. indications of a slightly velvety texture are seen in the more perfect examples. traces of the strands are visible here and there, especially on the right. fig. 3-rivularites permiensis d. w., n. sp., largely eroded, showing traces of the thickened strands and the pits, which appear to be the center of rhizoid holdfasts. specimens in natural size, unretouched. 132 plate 7 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) 3 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 133 plate 8 fig. 1—rivularites permiensis d. w., n. sp., narrow colony, apparently young, in which the protuberances incline downward in the photograph. rippling at the edge is evident. traces of circular pits left by erosion are seen on the lower left. fig. 2-rivularites permiensis d. w., n. sp., collapsed and somewhat tangled colony in which the interlacing strands are distinct. fig. 3-rivularites permiensis d. w., n. sp., specimen in which the mats have evidently been compressed and disturbed. the locations of the strands and pits are nevertheless clearly observable. fig. 4-rivularites permiensis d. w., n. sp., partially abraded specimen, in which the thickened axes are seen to join in the pits in which they apparently are anchored. all photographs in natural size. 134 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 8 2 3 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 135 plate 9 fig. 1-sphenophyllum gilmorei d. w., n. sp. leaf verticil spreading on the bedding plane of a thin stratum of sandstone in which the stem stands erect. specimen exhibits the characteristic aspect of the larger leaves of this species. the large size of the stem is shown by the pit collar of the verticil. fig. 2-sphenophyllum gilmorei d. w., n. sp. small branch standing erect in the bed which is broken at the top to expose portions of the leaves. fig. 3-sphenophyllum gilmorei d. w., n. sp. fragment of stem oblique to the bedding. the axis in this specimen is the most slender yet seen and the verticils are most closely placed. its reference to this species is not without doubt. fig. 4-sphenophyllum gilmorei d. w., n. sp. fragment of verticil enlarged twice the natural size to show the nervation. figures 1, 2 and 3 natural size. i 136 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 9 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 137 plate 10 fig. 1-sphenophyllum gilmorei d. w., n. sp. verticils of erect stems partly buried in slime on the bedding planes. fig. 2-sphenophyllum gilmorei d. w., n. sp. spatulate leaves showing entire or very slightly erose margin, with indication of the character of the nervation. twice the natural size. fig. 3-sphenophyllum gilmorei d. w., n. sp. leaf from stem buried vertically in the sand, showing convexity and nervation. fig. 4-sphenophyllum gilmorei d. w., n. sp. large stem showing leaf bases of leaves buried in the matrix, with profiles of leaves broken across in splitting the rock. this stem, which is of the diameter of many of those found buried in the silty slimes, is approximately of the size of stem bearing the verticil shown in plate 9, figure 1. fig. 5-sphenophyllum gilmorei d. w., n. sp. surface of deposition in which thinly slime-covered leaves are slightly rolled backward, suggesting annularia verticils. such verticils, attached to stems erect in the silts, are frequent in the shale-filled hollow of the hermit north of redtop on the hermit trail. fig. 6-sphenophyllum gilmorei d. w., n. sp. two verticils lying flatwise on the bedding plane. both are attached to stems standing erect at time of burial. two of the leaves in the upper verticil are slightly rolled like those seen in figure 5. 138 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 10 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 139 plate 11 fig. 1-callipteris conferta (sternberg) brongniart. fragment from frond, probably of moderate size, presenting pinnæ and pinnules of characters nearly typical of the species except that the nervation is concealed in the thickened leaf. it will be noted that the midribs, though in relief on the dorsal surfaces of the pinnules, are partially masked in the thick lamina, which appears to have been minutely pubescent. as in the following figure, the rachis, even in the ultimate divisions, was provided with scales, the bases of some of which may be seen in the larger of the ultimate pinnæ of the leaf. fig. 2-callipteris conferta (sternberg) brongniart. in this fragment, the asymmetry of the basal portions of the ultimate pinnæ is more evident, the pinnules are marked by rounded longitudinal depressions over the midribs, and the lamina is rolled backward more or less distinctly near the border. the specimen shows imperfectly the rather densely chaffy or scaly character of the rachis even in the ultimate pinnæ. figures in natural size. 140 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 11 ma nl fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 2 141 plate 12 fig. 1-yakia sp. ? bipinnate fragment of frond suggestive of callipteris in its structure and proportions. the pinnules are, however, marked by pits about some of which elongated appendages, possibly sporiferous or polleniferous organs comparable to those indistinctly seen in plate 40, figure 1, and tentatively referred to yakia, are seen. the specimen, though obscure, had a very thick lamina. the condition of preservation does not reveal further details as to outlines of pinnules or nature of the fructification. fig. 2-callipteris raymondi zeiller. apical portion of slender and slightly disheveled frond in which the pinnules are larger than the average in this species. fig. 3-callipteris conferta (sternberg) brongniart. pinna covered with slime before burial. this fragment is on the back of the slab showing the molds of suncracks and hailstone impressions illustrated in plate 2. fig. 4-callipteris conferta (sternberg) brongniart. portion of ultimate pinna in which the margins of the partially slime-covered pinnules were rolled backward slightly before final deposition. fig. 5-callipteris conferta (sternberg) brongniart. fragment from relatively large pinna in which the rather coarse and relatively distant nerves are obscurely visible. the trough in the matrix along the margins of the pinna bears evidence of thickening of the lamina. all figures in natural size. 142 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 12 2 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 5 143 plate 13 callipteris arizona d. w., n. sp. fragment showing the greater part of a strongly asymmetrical frond which seems to have opposed another division, the extreme' basal portion of whose rachis is seen at the edge of the photograph. it is, however, not clear that the specimen actually belongs to a bifurcated frond. a parent axis is imperfectly indicated in oblique fracture at the lower edge of the rock fragment. in this example, which is mesozoic in aspect, suggesting laccopteris, the more fully developed pinna on the outer side of the frond (right in the photograph) are in strong contrast with the slender, linear, obtusely pointed pinna on the left or inner side. the specimen, by the thickening of the lamina, which was slightly turned backward at the margin, and the spongy aspect of the surface of the lamina, which is vaguely depressed over the midribs, is interpreted as xerophytic. the scabrous character of the rachis is indicated, though not well shown in the photograph. photograph in natural size. 144 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 13 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona ww 145 plate 14 supaia thinnfeldioides d. w., n. sp. though partly effaced, the specimen well illustrates the general aspect of the divisions of this characteristically dichotomous frond. the divisions are seen to lie close together, partly overlapping, and are of equal size. the greater size of the pinnules on the outer side of each division is less noticeable in this species than in some of the others of the genus. some of the pinnules show the pouching or "ear" inflation of the lamina at the base, which in this case strongly suggests glenopteris sterlingi sell. photograph in natural size. 146 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 14 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 147 plate 15 fig. 1-supaia thinnfeldioides d. w., n. sp. apical fragment of pinna in which the uppermost lobes are slightly dragged upward. fig. 2-supaia thinnfeldioides d. w., n sp., showing the obscure lobation of the decurrent lamina. the nervation is seen to be alethopteroid, the nervilles being somewhat erect. the normal position of the pinnules, somewhat oblique or twisted with reference to the plane of the axis, is slightly indicated in the photograph. fig. 3-supaia thinnfeldioides d. w., n. sp. in this small fragment, which is somewhat macerated, the nerves appear to be more regular and rather more distant than in the few portions of specimens in which any nervation whatever is visible. the reference to this species of the specimen, which differs somewhat in the features of the decurrent lamina, is slightly doubtful, notwithstanding the general similarity of the pinnules. photograph twice the natural size. fig. 4-supaia compacta d. w., n. sp. apical portion of one of the divisions of the frond in which, as in most other species of this genus, the pinna is somewhat arcuate, the external pinnnules being longer than those on the inner side of the rachis. fig. 5-supaia thinnfeldioides d. w., n. sp. all specimens except figure 3 in natural size. 148 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 15 2 5 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 149 plate 16 fig. 1-neuropteridium? sp. obscure fragment suggestive of this genus, but referred to it only with great doubt. fig. 2-supaia thinnfeldioides d. w., n. sp. fragment from lower portion of a relatively large pinna, which is badly macerated, with distortion of the nerves in a thick mesophyll. fig. 3-supaia thinnfeldioides d. w., n. sp. fragment somewhat larger than that shown in plate 14 but exhibiting the same angle of bifurcation, overlapping of the divisions, and features of the pinnules. the scabrous character of the rachis is imperfectly shown. fig. 4-supaia compacta d. w., n. sp. specimen showing the greater part, including the apical portions, of four overlapping pinnules. it well illustrates the very slightly convex topography of the lamina on the ventral side, the ventrally slightly depressed midrib, which is relatively narrow and terete dorsad, and the round apex of the pinnule. photographs in natural size. 150 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 16 2 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 151 plate 17 fig. 1-supaia rigida d. w., n. sp. this fragment, a portion of which was broken away from the base, shows the two divisions of the bifurcate frond in which the pinnules are very open or even slightly reflexed, very narrow, ventrally concave, slightly rounded at the edges, and narrowly decurrent. due to the distant spacing and the rigidity of the pinnules, the narrow lamina, and the prominence of the hardly decurrent midribs, the frond has a skeletal aspect. some of the pinnules appear slightly rolled backward, quill fashion, making them appear narrower than they really are. a striking feature, seen in several other species of the genus, is the very rapid shortening of the pinnules on the inner sides of the two divisions in passing downward. fig. 2-supaia rigida d. w., n. sp. apical portion of a division in which the leaves are not rolled backward. fig. 3-supaia rigida d. w., n. sp. portion of slender acute leaf, showing the dorsal angularity of the lamina, which in this specimen is not rolled backward at the margin. in this as in other specimens the nervation is scarcely visible. fig. 4-callipteris conferta (sternb.) brongniart? fragment of pinna showing the greatly thickened lamina covered with a thin film of slime. the midribs, marked by depressions on the surface of the lamina, appear as the points of small rounded casts where the ends of the pinnules are eroded. medial depressions near the bases of some of the pinnules suggest the situations of fructifications. the opposite position of some of the pinnules points to the genus callipteris rather than pecopteris, which in many respects the fragment strongly resembles. photograph twice the natural size. all photographs except figure 4 in natural size. 1 152 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 17 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 153 plate 18 j fig. 1-supaia sturdevanti d. w., n. sp. fragment buried oblique to the deposit and showing the tilted or twisted positions of the pinnules, some of which are partly broken away in consequence of their obliquity. the pinnules on the right lie at an angle of about 140° to those on the left, and therefore appear more oblique in the photograph than they really are. fig. 2-supaia sturdevanti d. w., n. sp. in this impression on the bedding plane the slightly twisted attitude of the pinnules is again shown. the pinnule is broadest three-fourths of the distance toward the apex, beyond which it contracts rapidly to a rounded slightly apiculate apex which points slightly upward a feature not so well shown in figure 1. the thick pinnules in the upper part of the fragment have been mined, probably by the larvæ of some insect. they suggest the work of a coleopterous insect. fig. 2-a-supaia sturdevanti d. w., n. sp. photograph, enlarged twice the natural size, to show the aspect of the leaves mined, probably by some insect larva. fig. 2-b-supaia sturdevantii d. w., n. sp. detail, somewhat diagrammatic, of the nervation of the pinnule seen in the lower left in figure 2. figures 1 and 2 in natural size; figures 2-a and 2-в twice natural size. 154 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 18 2a 2b fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 155 plate 19 supaia merriami d. w., n. sp. the species is characterized by the very large thick, fleshy, close-spaced pinnules, which are obtusely rounded at the apex, with ventrally slightly convex lamina and depressed broad midribs. the inset in the lower right of the plate continues the pinna downward toward the point of probable bifurcation. in this, the most robust of the fronds of this genus yet collected in the hermit shale, the subauriculate, puckered, bases of the pinnules are clearly shown. plainly these pucker so as to overlap the upper margins of the preceding pinnule when compressed. the scabrous character of the median nerve is vaguely indicated. that the frond is probably dichotomous is rather inconclusively indicated by the arcuate form of the division, in which the external pinnules are longer than those on the inner side of the rachis. as in other species of supaia, the pinna is widest near the top, below which it narrows downward to a point beneath the bifurcation of the frond. photograph in natural size. 156 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 19 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 157 plate 20 fig. 1-supaia anomala d. w., n. sp. fragment from the upper part of a division showing the distant, obliquely placed, pinnules which are much narrowed on the distal side near the base. sinuosity of the margins, more apparent in the upper portions of the large pinnules, is plainly visible. no fasciculate development of the nervation is seen to prove that the pinnule is becoming pinnatifid, as may be inferred, although no pinnatifid pinnules have been found in the collection. all the pinnules are broken and fail to show their entire length. fig. 2-supaia anomala d. w., n. sp. fragment from near the apex in which the pinnules are narrow and slightly more oblique. the lower pinnule on the left has a slightly sinuate margin like that seen in the pinnules of figure 1. fig. 3-supaia anomala d. w., n. sp. fragment from the middle of a pinnule seen in ventral view, in which is faintly shown the oblique, slightly arched nerves which appear to fork once and may in some instances fork a second time. photographs in natural size. 158 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 20 3 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona h " sa h 215 in 159 plate 21 fig. 1-supaia anomala d. w., n. sp. apical portion of a division showing megalopteris aspect. the sinuate margin of the lower pinnule on the right accords with the larger pinnules in the middle portions of the fronds. the surface of the lamina suggests the development of nerve systems corresponding to the scallops at the margin, but such nervation is not clearly visible. fig. 2-supaia anomala d. w., n. sp. apical portion of another, less robust division, the upper portion of which is much abraded, on which account an unwarranted aspect of asymmetrical lobation appears. this fragment, like that shown in figure 1, suggests megalopteris, and, if isolated, might readily be regarded as representing that genus. fig. 3 supaia anomala d. w., n. sp. ventral view of portion of long pinnule of the species. fig. 4 supaia anomala d. w., n. sp. fragment of very wide pinnule showing faint sinuosity of the margin and revealing indistinct oblique nerves forking once and apparently twice in some cases. fig. 5-sphenophyllum gilmorei d. w., n. sp. part of fertile branch showing sporangia borne in series on the ventral side of the leaf, as in bowmanites. 160 carnegie inst. washi. pub. 405 (david white) plate 21 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 2 161 plate 22 supaia anomala d. w., n. sp. fragment of a division showing the characteristic decurrence of the lamina, which is sinuate at the borders. the specimen imperfectly illustrates the enormously elongated outer pinnules which, like the inner, have sinuate borders. a fragment of taniopteris angelica d. w., n. sp., is obliquely buried in the lower part of the slab. photograph in natural size. 162 arnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 22 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 163 plate 23 fig. 1-supaia linearifolia d. w., n. sp. fragment from the middle portion of a frond in which, in the center, is seen the left hand division, with extremely long pinnules, the bases of none of which are lobate, while the pinnules on the inner side of the rachis are very rapidly narrowing to the point of bifurcation. it is probable that the outer pinnules also narrow with anomalous rapidity toward the base of the limb, though they are longer throughout the frond than the inner pinnules. a portion of the right division of the same frond lies across the corner of the slab. this indicates that the two divisions overlap little, though the outspread is relatively extraordinary. a fructification, in size and form agreeing with those later described as eltovaria, but lacking surface details, is partly uncovered in the upper part of the specimen. fig. 2—brongniartites? aliena d. w., n. sp. upper portion of a division of a very young frond, the reference of which to the above named species is not beyond doubt. it will be noted that the lobes or pinnules are hardly narrowed on the lower decurrent side, though notched on the distal side of the base, while the midribs are strongly in dorsal relief and extend, while tapering, nearly to the apices of the pinnules. fig. 3-brongniartites? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. apical portion of one of the larger leaves, in which the nervation is faintly indicated. all photographs in natural size. 164 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 23 3 2 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 165 plate 24 fig. 1-supaia? sp. small fragment referred with great doubt to this genus. a notable feature is the depressed axis of the lobe, originating nearly at right angles to the rachis and passing nearly straight to the apex, which is thick and possibly rolled backward. this specimen was at first tentatively placed under gigantopteris. fig. 2 brongniartites ? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. twice the natural size. portion from the middle of a pinna of this species showing the lamina, widely decurrent in the upper part and becoming dissected nearly to the midrib in the proximal portion, the strong midribs being hardly decurrent and carinately prominent dorsally. the nervation is shown unusually well in this fragment, which belongs to the left of the two divisions, as is indicated by the longer pinnules on that side and the curve of the rachis near the base of the fragment. fig. 3—brongniartites? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. apex of a division in this species, seen in dorsal view. the fragment, in which the nervation is imperfectly visible, appears slightly crenulate or sublobed, possibly as the result of conditions of preservation. the much stronger midrib and longer lobe on the left mark that side as external with reference to the two divisions. fig. 4-supaia anomala d. w., n. sp. lower portion of frond, including point of bifurcation, showing the reduction of the pinnules on the inner sides of the divisions. the reference of this specimen to supaia anomala, in the absence of requisite details as to nervation, is based upon the resemblance of the basal portions of the outer pinnules at the top of the fragment to the pinnules in the upper part of the frond of this species. 166 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 24 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 167 plate 25 supaia subgoepperti d. w., n. sp. the fragment shows, at the left, portions of the largest leaves found, while on the right the two fragments, less fully developed, appear to represent a younger stage. though the actual junction of the two pinnæ on the right in the photograph is not clearly demonstrated, the trend of the rachis and the pitting in the rock indicate almost beyond question that both are the divisions of a single frond. photograph in natural size. 168 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 25 fossil plant from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 169 plate 26 fig. 1—brongniartites ? aliena d. w., n. sp. fragment from lower part of left hand pinna. fig. 2—brongniartites ? aliena d. w., n. sp. one side of very young plant. note the reduction, in passing downward, of the pinnules on the inner (left) side of the pinna. fig. 3-supaia compacta d. w. n. sp. lower part of pinna showing the ventrad protuberance of the lamina between the pinnules. fig. 4-brongniartītes? aliena d. w., n. sp. fragment from the upper part of a pinna. the bases of the pinnules are relatively broader, especially on the distal side, than in supaia, and the thick midribs taper rapidly. figures in natural size. 170 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 26 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 4 171 plate 27 fig. 1-brongniartites ? aliena d. w., n. sp. upper part of young pinna a short distance above the bifurcation. fig. 2 brongniartites? aliena d. w., n. sp. middle portion of mature bipartite frond showing the relations of the divisions, the upper portions of which are wanting. traces of the reduced or rudimentary pinnules on the main axis just below the point of bifurcation are shown in the photograph. fig. 2a-brongniartites? aliena d. w., n. sp. lower pinnules on the left of the same specimen photographed twice the natural size to show the nervation. figures 1 and 2 in natural size. 172 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 27 2a fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 173 plate 28 fig. 1-brongniartites? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. portion of the middle part of a young frond of this species. in this dorsal view the lamina of the pinnules is seen to be strongly convex. the impression of a seed about 12 mm. in length and 9 mm. in width is seen in contact with the rachis of the left-hand pinna a little to the left of the center of the photograph. in the impression the seed is placed as though attached to the rachis. fig. 2-apex of pinna of brongniartites ? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. fig. 3—brongniartites ? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. portion of large frond of the species in ventral view. the largest pinnules are incomplete but the form of the typical pinnule of smaller size is shown near the center of the fragment. the rachis of the twin pinna is seen at the margin on the left of the photograph and its pinnules are overlapped by the inner pinnules of the pinna on the right. the fracture at the lower edge of the specimen is about 3½ centimeters above the bifurcation of the frond. all photographs in natural size. 174 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 28 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 3 2 175 plate 29 fig. 1-brongniartites? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. top of pinna showing apex and two young connate leaves. fig. 1a-brongniartites? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. same specimen enlarged twice the natural size to show the nervation and slightly crenulate border near which the lamina is ventrally convex. fig. 2 brongniartites ? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. upper part of young pinna showing the convexity of the pinnules as viewed from beneath and the trough formed by the decurrent lamina, which is here, in dorsal view, seen to be raised toward the axis. fig. 3-brongniartites? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. view of leaf, enlarged twice the natural size, to show the slightly irregular border and the aspect of the nervation. figures 1 and 2 in natural size; figures 1a and 3 twice natural size. 176 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 29 2 la fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 177 plate 30 brongniartites ? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. in this photograph, twice the natural size, the leathery texture of the frond is indicated. the creases betwen the pinnules in the upper part are due to the sloping of the lamina downward toward the midrib and rachis on the ventral side. the nervation is faintly indicated in portions of the specimen. also at several points are seen impressions or molds made by the yarnlike appendages which appear to originate in the axils of the median nerves. the appendage on the left middle of the photograph winds diagonally across the succeeding pinnule. another is seen crossing the lower edge of next to the lowest pinnule on the left. the impression of a third is vaguely shown on next to the lower pinnule on the right. 178 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 30 fossil plant from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 179 plate 31 fig. 1-brongniartites? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. fragment from upper part of pinna in which the pinnules, strongly convex dorsally, are slightly plaited. the trend of the nervation is normal and it is probable that the plaiting is due to a degree of withering. the bordering lamina along the rachis between the pinnules is angularly convex dorsad. fig. 2—brongniartites? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. segment from near the apex of a pinna which was somewhat macerated and filmed with slime which cracked by drying after exposure to the air. fig. 3-taniopteris angelica d. w., n. sp. middle portion of one of the long fronds of this species. all figures in natural size. 180 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 31 1 3 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 181 plate 32 fig. 1-supaia compacta d. w., n. sp. portions of the two divisions of the frond a little above the point of bifurcation. in this species the inner pinnules of the two divisions overlap rather broadly. the specimen evidently is somewhat macerated; wrinkling of the leathery epidermis is shown at several points. fig. 2-supaia sp. fragment of frond near the point of bifurcation, showing the coriaceous and rigid pinnules, the outlines of which are partially seen on the lower left. the impression of the scaly or somewhat spiny dorsal surface of the rachis is plainly visible. fig. 3—brongniartites ? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. fragment from the upper part of the frond, in twice the natural size, to show the nervation. two of the axillary appendages are seen-one traversing longitudinally the upper pinnule on the left, another crossing somewhat diagonally the pinnule in the upper middle of the photograph, which is not retouched. figures 1 and 2 in natural size. figure 3 twice natural size. 182 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 32 3 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 183 plate 33 fig. 1-supaia breviloba d. w., n. sp. upper portion of a pinna showing the characters and aspect of the obliquely placed alethopteroid pinnules. fig. 1a-supaia breviloba d. w., n. sp. the natural size to show the fig. 2-supaia sp. photograph in one-half the natural size to show the bifurcation of the frond which was somewhat macerated and smeared with silt before ⚫ evaporation of the pool in which the frond had fallen had proceeded so far as to cause precipitation of the salty contents of the water. angular impressions made by cubical saline crystals are clearly seen scattered over the surface of the silt. the crystals went into solution when, after the drought, the pool was refilled and the hollows left by them were filled with sand that came in with the influx of water. the species is indeterminable, but the specimen is possibly referable to supaia sturdevantü. portion of the same specimen enlarged twice nervation. fig. 3-supaia sp. indet. photographed twice the natural size to show the impressions of the coriaceous pinnules and of the chaffy scales and spines clothing the rachis. on the lower right the impressions of scales are also visible on the median nerve. figure 1 natural size; figures 1a and 3 twice natural size; figure 2 one-half natural size. no figures retouched. 184 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 33 1 la 3 2 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 185 plate 34 supaia sp. slab showing the greater part of a frond of a supaia which was encrusted with mud and partially decayed before burial. it shows distinctly, however, the bifurcation of the frond, and the equality of the divisions. a cordiform seed lies at the left of the rachis nearly opposite the point of bifurcation. the impression in the muddy silt furnishes ground for the belief that probably the seed was attached to the rachis and is in its place of growth. the aspect and nervation of the best preserved of the pinnules, that near the top of the division on the left, suggest supaia merriami. photograph in natural size. 186 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 34 fossil plant from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 187 plate 35 fig. 1-callipteris? sp. impressions of macerated pinnules that evidently were fertile. fig. 1a-callipteris? sp. the same enlarged twice the natural size to show the pit in which fructifications, now disappeared, were placed. fig. 2-callipteris? sp. fragment of rather badly macerated frond in which the elongated pinnules, possibly referable to supaia, are distinctly cut sublobately on the proximal sides. the fragment represents a species either of supaia or callipteris, the latter seeming more probable, in which the elongated pinnules are becoming pinnatifid. the fasciculate development of the nervation of the newly forming pinnules is indicated in the upper part of the specimen. fig. 3-supaia compacta d. w., n. sp. fragment showing pinnules attached to the rachis in the upper middle of the pinna. figures 1, 2, and 3 in natural size; figure 1a twice the natural size. 188 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 35 =1 2 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 3 189 plate 36 fig. 1-taniopteris coriacea goeppert. fragment of the upper part of the simple frond in dorsal view. fig. 1a-taniopteris coriacea goeppert. the same specimen, twice the natural size, to show the details of the nervation. fig. 2-taniopteris angelica d. w., n. sp. lower portion of the frond, showing the gradual narrowing downward to the rather broad attachment. fig. 3 callipteris raymondi zeiller. fragment of pinna twice the natural size, showing the thick, reduced pinnules. fig. 4-supaia linearifolia d. w., n. sp. apical portions of two pinna in the upper of which the extraordinarily rapid elongation of the pinnules is plainly indicated. in the lower left of the photograph is a portion of the leaf of taniopteris angelica d. w., n. sp., in which the border zone on either size of the ventrally canaliculate rachis is seen. figures 1, 2, and 4 in natural size; figures 1a and 3 twice natural size. 190 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 36 3 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 2 la 191 plate 37 fig. 1-taniopteris cf. eckhardti kurtze. basal portion of a frond showing relatively rapid downward narrowing of the leaf to a short petiole. fig. 2-taniopteris cf. eckhardti kurtze. upper part of a leaf photographed in twice the natural size to show the coarse, parallel, and slightly upward turned nervation, which does not fork after it leaves the border zone of the rachis. fig. 3-taniopteris coriacea goeppert. view of the lower portion of a pinna, which narrows very gradually toward the base and is traversed by a strong ventrally rather deeply sulcate median nerve. fig. 4-brongniartites? yakiensis d. w., n. sp. fragment from just beneath the apex of the frond showing the strong dorsal convexity of the leaf in which the pinnules are spoon-shaped. figures 1, 3 and 4 in natural size; figure 2 twice the natural size. 192 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 37 2 4 3 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 193 plate 38 fig. 1-taniopteris cf. eckhardti kurtze. fragment from the middle of the leaf. fig. 1a-taniopteris cf. eckhardti kurtze, in twice the natural size to show the nervation. the specimen has the aspect of having been infested with a fungus. fig. 2-taniopteris angelica d. w., n. sp. photograph in twice the natural size for comparison with taniopteris cf. eckhardti, also twice the natural size, in figure 1a. the difference in the coarseness of the nervation is apparent, though in both species the nerves do not fork except close to the midrib, while they pass outward at nearly the same angle. fig. 3 taniopteris coriacea goeppert. apical fragment of the leaf. fig. 4-taniopteris cf. eckhardti kurtze. slightly mutilated apex of the leaf. specimen shown twice the natural size in plate 37, figure 2. figures 1, 3, and 4 natural size; figures 1a and 2 twice the natural size. 194 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) 3 2 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona plate 38 195 plate 39 fig. 1-yakia heterophylla d. w., n. g., n. sp. fragment showing the ventrally canaliculate and somewhat collapsed axis traversed by the nerve strands from the subordinate pinnæ. the divisions are in spacing and angle characteristic of the species. most of the leaves, irregular on account of maceration, breakage, or burial of the lobes, are too much inflated to show the nervation. fig. 2-yakia heterophylla d. w., n. g., n. sp. detail showing the irregularity of the lobation of the partially preserved leaves. fig. 3-yakia heterophylla d. w., n. g., n. sp. very young pinna in which the lobes, magnified twice the natural size in the figure, are somewhat twisted so that they appear unduly acute. fig. 4-yakia heterophylla d. w., n. g., n. sp. fragment from upper portion of branch. fig. 5-yakia heterophylla d. w., n. g., n. sp. mold of upper portion of branch in which the leaves, but slightly sublobate, appear swollen. fig. 6-yakia heterophylla d. w., n. g., n. sp. aspect of many of the pinnæ. lobation of the pinnules is indicated on the right. fig. 7-yakia heterophylla d. w., n. g., n. sp. portions of parallel pinnæ in which several pinnules, which are not so far macerated or curled, are better shown. fig. 8-yakia heterophylla d. w., n. g., n. sp. small fragment, twice the natural size, in which portions of the pinnules and lobes, but little deformed, are shown. figures 1, 2, 4-7 in natural size; figures 3 and 8 twice natural size. 196 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 39 2 5 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 197 plate 40 fig. 1-yakia heterophylla? d. w., n. g., n. sp. remnants of frond in which the spacing and aspect of the pinnæ are in agreement with yakia heterophylla, impressions of whose pinnules and lobes are seen in the upper right. the pinnæ on the lower left, which are tentatively referred to this genus and species, are fertile. they are marked with clusters of elongated, dorsally convex, sporangia (?) attached in pits near the bases of the pinnules. it is possible, however, that these are lobes of an involucre formed by modification of the pinnule, or that they originally surrounded or formed a cupule in which was situated the fruit. fig. 2-yakia heterophylla? d. w., n. g., n. sp. detached clusters of sporangia (or possibly seeds) growing attached to short pedicils at the base of each cluster and lying longitudinally appressed. the fructification in this fragment, the only one of its kind in the collection, appears to correspond to that shown in figure 1, though the sporangia, or fruiting bodies, are in this specimen shorter. on the other hand it is possible that in figure 1 are seen lobed cupules in which fruit clusters like those in figure 2 were placed. both photographs in natural size. 198 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 40 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 199 plate 41 fig. 1-walchia piniformis (schloth.) sternberg. branch showing spacing and angle of the twigs, and profiles of the leaves, which open out at a wide angle a little above the base, and are in some cases but slightly upturned near the apex. impressions of the large leaves clothing the axes between the ultimate twigs are shown. fig. 2-walchia piniformis (schloth.) sternberg. fig. 3-walchia piniformis (schloth.) sternberg. by this species. smaller twigs of more lax habit. cones believed to have been borne fig. 4-walchia piniformis (schloth.) sternberg. macerated fragment in which the axis is shrunken as though by collapse of much lacunose tissue. fig. 5 walchia piniformis (schloth.) sternberg. impressions of branches showing the very thick and prominent leaf bases and the sharp angles of the leaf. all photographs in natural sizes. 200 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) 3 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 2 plate 41 201 plate 42 fig. 1-walchia piniformis (schloth.) sternberg. part of impression, oblique to the bedding, of largest branch seen, showing the molds left by the rigid leaf bases. fig. 2-walchia piniformis (schloth.) sternberg. young twigs partially macerated, bearing immature cones (at left). fig. 3-walchia piniformis (schloth.) sternberg. impression of compressed bough of tree in which the leaves are somewhat irregular in position. fig. 4-walchia piniformis (schloth.) sternberg. small twig in which collapse of the soft elements of the tissue has caused dislocation of leaf bases and leaves. fig. 5 walchia piniformis (schloth.) sternberg. large twig showing lateral and dorsal angles of leaves and prominent leaf bases. the tissue beneath the hard outer bark had evidently collapsed. fig. 6-walchia dawsoni d. w., n. sp.? portion of straight branchlet with distichous, close-spaced lateral twigs, doubtfully referred to this species. in some respects it sugests w. filiciformis. 202 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 42 2 3. fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 5 203 plate 43 walchia dawsoni d. w., n. sp. ? pinnate branches coated with slime which completely buries parts of the branchlets and adheres to the leaves. the latter are made to appear abnormally thick and rigid. in the upper left of the photograph one side of a pinna of callipteris conferta is so thinly covered as to show the profile of the pinnules and the trend of the median nerves. the current-bearing slime seems to have moved from the left toward the right with reference to the position of the slab. photograph in natural size; not retouched. 204 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 43 1 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 205 plate 44 fig. 1-walchia dawsoni d. w., n. sp. fragment showing the spacing and alignment of the slender twigs, as in plate 43. fig. 2-walchia gracillima d. w., n. sp. fragment in which the small leaves are more open and more distinctly curved than they are found in most specimens. fig. 3-walchia gracillima d. w., n. sp. specimen showing the close spacing and angle of the very delicate twigs. fig. 4-walchia dawsoni d. w., n. sp. fragment showing characteristic angle and aspect of the leaves, which are more clearly seen in figure 4a. fig. 4a-walchia dawsoni d. w., n. sp., enlarged twice natural size to show the aspect of the leaves, which are rather thick toward the base, laterally sharply carinate, and strongly upward and slightly inward curved near the apex. fig. 5 walchia gracillima d. w., n. sp. portions of two branches illustrating the extremely delicate, close, parallel twigs which taper very slightly. fag. 5a-photograph of part of the same fragment, twice the natural size, retouched to show the slender, oblique, acute or acuminate leaves. fig. 6 walchia gracillima d. w., n. sp. fragment of apparently narrow elongated branch with slightly drooping, but very close and parallel twigs. the aspect of the twigs in this specimen and in that shown in figure 5 is characteristic of the species. fig. 7-psygmophyllum ? sp. fragment with slime-covered, downward coalescent lobes attached to an axis oblique to the bedding plane. figures 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 in natural sizes; figures 4a and 5a twice natural size. 206 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 44 6 5 5a fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 207 plate 45 fig. 1-brachyphyllum tenue d. w., n. sp. fragment showing gently curved and forking twigs which were, however, so slender as probably to droop. fig. 2-brachyphyllum tenue d. w., n. sp. segment lower in the branch showing more frequent division. the axis here photographed is the thickest seen. fig. 2a-brachyphyllum tenue d. w., n. sp. part of the same specimen enlarged twice the natural size to show the closely appressed, minute, imbricated leaves. fig. 3-brachyphyllum tenue d. w., n. sp. fragments of several branches showing a degree of rigidity. in this, as in figure 1, the leaves of the very slender twigs are so small as not to be clearly visible. fig. 4-paleotaxites praecursor d. w., n. g., n. sp. disheveled fragment in which the displaced twigs are partially buried in the silt. however, the positions and forms of the leaves are indistinctly seen in the upper middle. the imbricated-claw aspect in dorsal view is seen in the lower part of the photograph. figures 1, 2, 3, and 4 in natural size; figure 2a in twice natural size. 208 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 45 4 3 2a fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 209 plate 46 fig. 1-ullmannia frumentaria (schloth.) goeppert. a detached blade from bract of cone. fig. 2-ullmannia frumentaria (schloth.) goeppert. cone attached to defoliated stem. fig. 3-ullmannia frumentaria (schloth.) goeppert. cone broken across and showing, in the upper part, the elongated blades of the bracts, the basal, seedsupporting portions of which are thickened. faint impressions of roundish or oval seeds are seen in the lower middle part of the cone. fig. 4-ullmannia frumentaria (schloth.) goeppert. foliate stem in which the apices of some of the leaves appear to bifurcate in a manner similar to the leaves of buriadica. fig. 5-ullmannia frumentaria (schloth.) goeppert. similar larger stem, less macerated. in this specimen also the leaves indicate probable generic identity with buriadica. fig. 6-ullmannia frumentaria (schloth.) goeppert. fragment of cone. all specimens in natural size. 210 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 46 3 sin 6 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 5 211 plate 47 fig. 1-pagiophyllum dubium d. w., n. sp. branchlet with parallel twigs. fig. 2-walchia piniformis (schloth.) brongniart, in which the very open leaves, slightly upturned at the ends, suggest walchia filiciformis. fig. 3-pagiophyllum dubium d. w., n. sp. ultimate twigs showing clavate, open, and rather distant leaves. fig. 4-pagiophyllum dubium d. w., n. sp. disheveled fragment in which the leaves, probably representing this species, are seen in profile. fig. 5-pagiophyllum dubium d. w., n. sp. in this specimen, which is similar to that shown in figure 1, the impressions of the leaves have the aspect of a cylindrical body partially enveloped by an acute concavo-convex bract. fig. 6-two twigs of paleotaxites præcursor d. w., n. sp., one of which bears a fruit near the apex. the fruit of this species is better seen in plate 50. all figures in natural size. 212 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 47 4 5 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 6 213 plate 48 fig. 1-ullmannia frumentaria (schloth.) goeppert. part of impression of cone, in natural size. fig. 1a-ullmannia frumentaria (schloth.) goeppert. the same specimen photographed twice the natural size to show the impressions of several round or oval seeds, the mode of attachment of none of which is clear. fig. 2-ullmannia frumentaria (schloth.) goeppert. similar cone broken across so as to show the much thickened leaf base, and the surmounting scale, one of which is seen in the middle left. the small round seeds appear to be borne in hollows on the ventral side of the dilated base of the scale. enlarged to twice the natural size. fig. 3-paleotarites præcursor d. w., n. sp. the photograph which has not been retouched, clearly indicates the pluriseriate spiral arrangement of the twigs in the upper part of a very dense bushy and somewhat rigid branch. the impressions of the thick dorsally rounded claw-like leaves are somewhat clearly shown in portions of the photograph. fig. 4-brachyphyllum arizonicum d. w., n. sp. in this photograph the spacing and angle of the distichous twigs, the impressions of the large leaves on the main axis, and the twig leaves, very broad at the base and tapering very rapidly with convex borders and thick upward curved apices, characteristic of the species, are somewhat clearly shown. figures 1, 3, and 4 in natural size; figures 1a and 2 twice natural size. 214 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 48 3 la fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 215 plate 49 fig. 1-paleotaxites præcursor d. w., n. sp. fragment from a large branch showing the pits left by the pluriseriate twigs not in the plane of bedding and the short thick claw-like aspect of the leaves which curve upward and inward sharply at the apex. the quadrangular profile of the leaf bases is seen in portions of the specimen. twig. this specimen, photographed four times the natural size, has the appearance of the rather thick, imbricated or appressed, irregularly round-lobed leaves of the type illustrated by some authors as v. heterophylla. however, the specimen is very delicate, and its relationship is uncertain. fig. 2-voltzia? fig. 3-paleotaxites præcursor d. w., n. sp. impression of the upper part of a branch densely clothed with twigs in many series. it is plumose in effect, in spite of the relative rigidity of the twigs. the quadrangular impressions of the thick though very small claw-like leaves are shown on the left. fig. 4-cyclocarpon sp. this seed, situated in the axil of yakia heterophylla, is shown twice the natural size. the aspect of the impression suggests the possible presence of similar seeds in the axils of other pinnæ. fig. 5 walchia hypnoides brongniart? small fragment, twice the natural size, in which the form and arrangement of the leaves on the delicate twigs suggest reference to a young twig of this species. the identification is, however, subject to question. the lower part of the branchlet is stripped of its leaves. fig. 6-impression of apical portion of a coniferous twig with broadly acicular leaves, the only specimen found with this type of leaf. it is provisionally referred to taxites. figures 1, 3, and 6 in natural size; figure 2, four times natural size; figures 4 and 5 twice natural size. 216 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 49 3 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona. 2 5 6 217 plate 50 fig. 1-paleotaxites præcursor d. w., n. g., n. sp. fragment from the lower part of a specimen, enlarged twice the natural size to show one of the fruits in situ at the end of a twig. fig. 2-paleotaxites præcursor d. w., n. g., n. sp. same branch, also twice the natural size, to each of which a large fruit is attached. portion of the upper part of the showing the ends of two twigs, fig. 2a-paleotaxites præcursor d. w., n. g., n. sp. photographic enlargement, four times natural size, of the fruit seen on the right in figure 2. in both figures scales or rudimentary leaves are shown adhering to the lower part of the fruit. fig. 3-carpolithus sp. in this flattened seed a small round impression above the middle of the nucleus may represent the archegonia. fig. 4-eltovaria bursiformis d. w., n. g., n. sp. capsular pod, probably formed by modification of the pinnule of a pteridosperm, possibly taniopteris or supaia. it shows the impressions of what appear to be three seeds, one of which is outlined somewhat distinctly. fig. 5-lobed scale of voltzia resembling some of the scales from the lower part of the upper permian. fig. 6-paleotaxites præcursor d. w., n. g., n. sp. apical portion of a branch showing young twigs bearing buds. the branch lies oblique to the bedding. consequently the lower part of the rock fragment shows the points of penetration of some of the spirally arranged twigs. fig. 6a-photographic enlargement, twice the natural size, of terminal buds seen on the right in figure 6. fig. 7-cyclocarpon angelicum d. w., n. sp. flattened seed with very thin vascular envelope. faint traces of the vascular bundles of an inner seed coat are seen in the lower left of the collapsed fruit. figures 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7, natural size; figures 1, 2, and 6a twice the natural size; figure 2a four times natural size. 218 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 50 28 6a 3 4 6 fossil plants from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona 219 plate 51 fig. 1-hastimima? sp. problematical fossil, regarded as the impression of the thick leathery integument of an animal, possibly a crustacean related to the euripterid hastimima. fig. 2-typus whitei carpenter. portion of the wing of a protodonatan insect, found mingled with the plants near the bright angel trail, photographed in natural size. (see f. m. carpenter, a new protodonatan from the grand canyon: psyche, vol. 35, no. 3, 1928, p. 188, pl. v.) fig. 3-walpia hermitensis d. w., n. g., n. sp. tunnels mined by some animal, probably related to the worms or crustacea. they are lined with flattened lenticular pellicles, irregularly crowded or imbricated, that are perhaps to be interpreted as excrementa backed against the sides of the tunnel. fig. 4-walpia hermitensis d. w., n. sp. fig. 4a-walpia hermitensis d. w., n. sp. size, to show the mammillary the lenticular bodies portions of two tunnels. photographic enlargement, twice the natural points, one on the thickest part of each of fig. 5-voltzia dentiloba d. w., n. sp. dentate lobed scale in which pockets at the base of each lobe mark the locations of seeds. fig. 6—fructification, probably a portion of a coniferous ament, or, less probably, of a sporiferous pinna of unknown relationship. fig. 7—ullmannia frumentaria (schloth.) goeppert. bract from cone. all photographs except 4a in natural size; 4a twice natural size. 220 carnegie inst. wash. pub. 405 (david white) plate 51 48 5 fossils from the hermit shale, grand canyon, arizona. 221 1 1 t { { xx ་ な ​ 1 the university library university of california, santa cruz science library this book is due on the last date stamped below. 1971 jun 7 n.b.hold 50m-4,'69 (j794888)2477 qe920 w5 sci 3 2106 00250 0632 256 257 258 812 b7250 promptness in filling all orders is always a feature of our business. catalogues sent free. any play, dialogue book, speaker, guide book, wigs and beards-in fact anything you want will be sent by ames' pub. co., clyde, ohio. ames' series of standard and minor drama. no. 436. the old virginia hermit. drama. with cast of characters, entrances and exits, relative positions of the performers on the stage, description of costumes and the whole of the stage business ; carefully markcd from the most approved acting copy. price 15 cents. clyde, ohio. ames publishing co. 19 no goods sent c. 0. d. money must accompany all orders. : பார் பார்' படம் 1 1 the old virginia hermit. a drama, in three acts -bys. g. bradfield. to which is added a description of the costumes-cast of the characters-entrances and exits--relative positions of the performers on the stage, and the whole of the stage business. entered according to act of congress in the year 1902 by ames' publishing co., in the office of the librarian of co ress at washiugton. ames' publishing co. clyde, ohio: the old virginia heruit. cast of characters. a hermit in the mountains of old virginia. . a pious old quaker, very submissive. a french villain, . a luno student. . a german furmer, full of life and rim. an uncle of arthur randall's. cecil gregory,. caleb burnham, leon daudet, arthur randall, blink archibald, theodore randall, a minister. three officers. pauline gregory,, dorothy burnham,. catherine gregory, zanky, dora burnham, a daughter of cecil gregory. wife of caleb burnhum. sister of pauline, age 9 or 10 years. a volored girl daughter of culeb burn lium. -x time of playing-2 hours. xcostumes. cecil gregory.–an old hunting suit throughout; should wear shirt open in front, full grey beard. caleb burnham.-linen pants, low cut shoes, long tail coat, grey bald wig, broad brim hat and spectacles. daudet. black mustache and goatee. act 1st., fashionable, black coat. act 2nd., riding suit with leggins. blink archibald.— boots, straw hat, blue pants, short tailed coat ani chin beard. akthur randall.--act 1st., evening dress. act 2nd., light fashionable suit and mustache. theodore randall-prince albert coat, fashionable hat and side whiskers. pauline gregory.-act 1st., neat calico dress. act 3rd., black dress. catherine gregory.–act 1., dark calico dress. acts 2nd. and 3rd., ragged dress. dorothy burnham.-slouchy old fashioned dress. act 3rd., large figured calico dress with smali red shawl about shoulders. dora burnham, act 1st., evening dress and summer hat. act 3rd., neat black dress. zanky.-short ill-fitting calico dress, negro wig, red stockings and hat. xproperties. an old rifle, two daggers or hunting knives and dog for cecil. dagger, money and gloves for leon. dutch pipe, matches, two revolvers, milk pail and stool for blink. spectacles and cane for caleb. feather duster for pauline. basket, mop-stick, chewing gum, cowbell, red parasol and letter for zanky. summer overcoat for arthur. evening wrap for dora. hand-cutfs for officers. bible for minister. 812 67250 soupless the old virginia hermit. act i. scene.—sitting-room of furm cottage--sofa up l., chnirs doron r. and l., rocking chuir up r. blink. (sings on outside to the tune of “litil. dog tray.”) “ven i vas ofer in shermany land mit old mon yacob van boldt; der vas no cows to milkshust four hunderd und dirty-five goatsenter blink archibald, l. e. franklin now i milk der farm und i plow der cows. o dis lif mit dorty is tough; i vould not lif mit her alwaysa century or two is enough." (sits on stool l. and lights pipe as he talks) i dole you i haf some purty lots of droubles, und some besides. i haf sixteen cows to milk, ſo to town und plow till midnight, all before dark. (rises) o! ihaf lots of droubles. 主 ​enter caleb, r. e., runs into blink. caleb. tbee should not be so careless. now say blink, stay here a minute, if thee has a few minutes time. lwould like to speak to thee privately-(luys hands on blink's shoulders blink. vot's der matter caleb? has dorty been pullin? der hair out of your bald head again? (raises caleb's hat and shows partial bald wig) dorty done dat? caleb. i wish thee would not refer to that incident again! things of that nature will happen in the best of families where there is a persistent housewife like dorothy. just wait till thee gets married o and then thee will see things differently, perhaps., blink. but caleb, dat vas impossible. i don't got no divorce, don't you see? culeb. a divorce, divorce! what a stupid man! here you have 13 no 4 the old virginia hermit. was been living on this plantation for twelve years and i never knew thee bad been married. where is thy wife, thou renegade? blink. i vefer said i had been married, caleb, but ven i vas ofer in wurtenburg, shermany-iu de ole country-i knowed a beautiful girl und i asked her to marry me und vencaleb. and she accepted thee and, of course, like a simpleton, thee married her and then separated. tut! tut! such recklessness, such recklessness. blink. nien, caleb, i dond't married her, she vas married already, und she dank me so uice wwd polite as you sefer saw before, but i dond't get a divorce from her. caleb. it does not need a divorce for a mere proposal, but i must say thee needs a severe correction for asking a married woman to marry thee. but now, blink, suppose as thee says, she was so sweet -80 charming and so haudsome-suppose thee bad married her and she had turned out to be such a woman as dorothy-as mean, selfish and so on-what would theeblink. dot vas impossible, she vas married already to a big policeman und i vas afraid he would object to a step husband all in the same family. caleb. but suppose thee had married her? blink. but caleb, i dond't know vat i could do mit der order feller. culeb. (excitedly) suppose—suppose. can't thee imagine for a minute? now if she was thy loving wife and her name dorothyblink. (repeuting after caleb) she vas my darlin' frou und she vas called dorty (uside shust for a few minutes. culeb. and she was bad and mean to thee and sometimes made thee feel that thee couldu't live with her another day. now what would thee do? that is what i am getting at. blink, (in same old tone of voice) und some dimes i feel dat i couldu't stay mit her at all because she pull all de bald hair out my head und do all dese dings und so, und so on. caleb, (unxiously) yes, blink, now wbat would thee do? blink, i vould leaft dot voman ofer in der ole country in shermany. caleb. (unyrily) the devil take such a dummy. oh no, i don't mean that-that is-strictly speaking-what would thee do with dorothy and her devilish ways? really some times i fear that the spirit of her dead brother, cecil gregory, will arise and condemn us all for the way she treats his children, plainly now, what would thee do? blink. stan' back a leetle, caleb, und i vill show you my plan of operation... i vould say, “dorty, i vas goin' to haf my way for a leetle vile," und den i vould come up like a cyclone looking for a small town in kansas, und do dis vay und dot vay, und dose vay und so on. blink takes caleb by the shoulders and kicks him, shakes him and turns him around several times in a violent nummer. caleb. (out of breath) a good plan. yes sir! a good plan. i will just put that plau in operation at my earliest contenience. (exit r. e. the old virginia hervit. 5 blink. und dorty vill put him in operation at de same time. (exit r. e. enter' pauline gregory, l. e., with feather duster. pauline. poor uncle is in trouble again. i can always tell because he always goes to blink for consolation. i suppose the old man will always be in trouble as long as aunt dorothy lives. life on this plantation is becoming so monotonous. i wonder when and how it will all end. ever since i can remember i have been kicked and cuffed around by aunt dorothy. i wonder if this life will ever change? oh! this is the night of jessie riner's party! i am not invited but dora is, and she is going with arthur randall. i wish i was dora and could be dressed up nice and go with him. i guess he loves her birt he acts funny for a lover. he always talks to me the most. he is rich and educated. i am poor--oh, what a differ(comes down r. ence. enter arthur randall, r., e., hurriedly, in evening dress, places hat on stund and approaches pauline, taking her hand. arthur. i have caught you alone at last. i knew my time would come. pauline. arthur; you love dora, (breaks aray) when you come to see her, why do you always seek me? arthur. because you are the object of my visits here and not dora. you know if your aunt knew i came to see you, there would be a family mutiny and you would be the one to suffer most. pauline. you care that much for me? arthur. yes, pauline-for you. pauline. you like me a little then? arthur. why, a little? i love you better than any girl i have ever known. pauline. can i believe you? arthur. can you have any reason to doubt me? pauline. no, and yet it seems impossible. arthur. then why do you always try to evade me, pauline, when i try so hard to be with you? couldn't you see that i preferred your company? pauline. i supposed you did it because you respected me as dora's cousin. arthur. respect and love are kin. pauline. but neither are kin to me; if they are they have never claimed relationship. arthur. what do you mean? pauline. (goes r.) i do not mind telling you. it is this-i scarcely know what love and respect are. if it were not for nucle caleb and catherine, i suppose the words would be without meaning to me. oh! i am so tired of it all. i do hope some thing will happen to change this monotonous struggle for existence. arthur. this is terrible to hear you speak this way. let me assist you to make your life happier, pauline? pauline. oh! no, yoll cannot. you do not worloopstand-you can never stop the indiguities and insults to which i am constantly sub. will you 6 the old virginia hermit. jected. arthur'. but pauline, i love you (kneels and takes her hand) and i sincerely ask you— enter dora burnham, c. e., in evening dress. pauline. (releases hands quickly) arthur, there is dora-you say something-i don't know what to say. (arthur keeps his position and pretends to tie his shoe doru. (to pauline severely) you go! (points to ... u. e. -pauline erit l. u. e.) what does this mean? (luys wrups on table, approaches and fuces arthur) what was that silly girl, pauline, doing in here? surely youarthur. (rising) miss burnham, if you wish to retain my friendship, never again make such a remark about that girl in my presence. (goes up r. doru. oh! i beg your pardon. (goes up l. arthur. never mind, we will drop the subject. how is your mother? she had a bad cold when i saw her last. (approaches and both sit on sofa dora. mother is sick, her lungs are so bad she can hardly speak above a whisper. here she is now. enter dorothy burnham, c. e. dorothy. (takes chair at r. and gradually draws it closer to sofa as she tulks ---peuks loud and fust) oh! mr. randall, i thought maybe i would get to run in for a minute or two. you must pardou the intrusion, but the temptation was too great. oh my! what a fine couple you two do make-about the same age-different complexions -same size-in fact, everything to match. but then, i always knowed mr. randall was a fine looking young man. ha! ha! you most overlook that mr. randall-you know i was young once myself, but i can truthfully say that caleb and i were not such a fine looking couple as you two are. it hurts me to talk or i would tell you of some of the high old times we used to have. i can never forget 'em as long as i live. as i was goin' to say, it was just this mornin' i was a-tellin' caleb as how dora would be a-havin' of company an' she's old enough, and i enjoy it mr. randall-(arthur takes hat and overcoat and places wraps about dora's shoulders) what, must you be agoin' so soon? arthur. yes, we will be late. (they go towards c. e., followed by dorothy dorothy. this is a chilly evenin' and dora ain't a bit well. (exit arthur and dora, c. e.-talking louder) i will trust her in your care, mr. randall, (exit c. e. -talking louder) and you see that her bands are kept under the lap rope (still lower) and her feet kivered up, and don't stay out later than ten o'clock, and dora, don't you eat too much of that fruit cake--you know how the last served you. enter blink r. e. and zanky l. e. zanky. dat's right, mistah randum, keep dem feet of hern under de kiver, she might ketch her damp of dethness in her heel and shiple her sweet disposition. the old virginia hervit. 7 . blink. yah, und dorty had better looks a leetle out, she can't talk above a whisper already. zanky. (looking under stand table) i wonder where dora put her chewing gum, hi! here she am in de same ole place. here is half for you (hunds him qum) aud de rest for me. now lis'en ter me dutchy, i's goin' ter tell yer som fin dat's mighty 'portant. blink. you need not go into details, zavky. zanky. well, las' night ole miss dorty an? miss dora was havin' a private convocation and dis am what dey say. ole miss she says, says she: “i tole you what we'ns do," den she sneezes four or five times, and says she, "dle way we'ns settle dat is to make pauline marry leon daudet, so he will take her and catherine up north to florida.'' blink. (angrily) no dey don't, no dey don't do dat if it cause me to haf a fight. zanky. hol' on dar now-jus' hol' on, an ole miss she says, says she, “den we can get a walnut tree deed to de plantation and hat all de money from de pil--well to build a new house wifi' now jis what power dat walnut treedeed gif 'em is more den dis chile knows. blink. i vill haf 'em all clinin' a tree right avay purty quick, und i vill straighten dings out if i baf to kill caleb, marry dorty und commit sudenside on some pody else. zanky, you shust stay mit old blink if yer want ter be in der swim. (blink starts to exit r. e., zanky catches him by the cout-tuil zanky. dora, she make yo’ head swim if yo' dou' put dat glim back. gin it here. (places gum under table, exit. blink l. e.) big times am a-comin'. lordee, i kin shut my eyes an see a hundred skilitens. (exit l. e. enter caleb, pauline and catherine, c. e.-pauline has arm around caleb, with his right arm resting on her shoulder, catherine holding his left hand. catherine. i tell you uncle, aunt dorothy almost got the best of you, didn't she? pauline and caleb 8it on sofa, catherine sits on foot-stool at caleb's feet. caleb. ah, ha! yes children-ah, ha! she did that, the old man underestimated her resisting power. no, i will never try to subino dorothy anymore. pauline. who put you up to try to conquer her? culeb. blink did. i thought at the time that it was a good idea, but it wasn't, ha, ha! she got the best of the old man. pauline. has aunt dorothy always been this way? caleb. yes. pauline, ever since i have known her; that has been well, me see--well nigh thirty-five years this coming spring. catherine. how could you get along with such a womali so jong? coleb. well, catherine, in the first place i knew if i left lier, fic body else would have her, and as i had taken the contract i thought i would stand by it. then after thee and pauline were left by your dead mother on our bands, i thought it best to stay and do the best i could. pauline. how long bave we been in the family? 8 the old virginia hermit. caleb. well let me see, catherine was one year old and thee eight when thy mother died. puuline. uncle caleb, you promised you would tell us all about cecil gregory--to-morrow i am of age--will you please tell us tonight? caleb. it must be told some time, and i calculate this is as good as any. puuline. why has it always been kept from us and our father always looked upon as a man vot fit to be spoken of? caleb. that has been the strict order of dorothy, the ruler of this bousehold, ever since thee and catherine were children hanging about my knees and begging me for a story or a song. the story of thy father is short and sad. he was thy aunt dorothy's brother, and he once lived with us on this very plantation. everything went smoothly then and while he lived with us we were all happy. cecil hrad some mysterious power over thy aunt dorothy, and a better and more agreeable woman never lived than she. wheu catherine was one year old thy mother died, and soon after thy father became eugaged in business with an honorable man named theodore raudall, and also, a low villain named lewis nordica. iu the course of time nordica made up a plot in which he killed, or thought he had killed theodore randall, and so arranged it that thy father was accused and condemued to die. (all urise, caleb crosses, pauline places arm about catherine pauline. was theodore randall related to arthur raudall? caleb. yes, his uncle. puuline. oh, this is dreadful! catherine. and what became of father? caleb. well, blink was a strong young man at that time, and by his help cecil gregory escaped to the mountains where it is supposed he died, as nothing has been heard of him since. puuline. then is father truly dead? caleb. (goes to l. e.) i fear it children, i truly fear it. puuline. (goes to r. e.) then we are orphans and not a cent that we can call our own. caleb. (asile) no, not that, this plantation and a small fortune belongs to them, but i dare not tell them, for dorothy would kill me. (alvud) pauline, if thee must know the truth, i will tell thee-enter" dorothy, r. v. e., hurriedly, grabs caleb’s cane. dorothy. whatever do you mean, didn't you know that it was bed time an hour ago? i'll show you how to stay up all night. (exit pauline, r. u. e aud catherine r. e.--dorothy striking it euch one us they pass out) i'll have you uns out in that cotton patch by four o'clock in the morning, or my name ain't dorothy. (exit caleb and dorothy, r. u. e. 1 enter leon daudet, c. e. leon. zis vot i cal: life--ze genuine article. i plays for two prizes--ze most beautiful girl in old virginia avd ze valuable valles plantation. it be a great game--ze greatest i have played for years. il's too slow for excitement-like finding it. vell it be 10 wonder. 1 the old virginia hermit. 9 then i zets ze ball a rolling; ten years ago ven zazil gregory was high king in zis country. enter: dorothy, r. u. e. dorothy. how do you do, mr. daudet. leon. (boros very lowo) madam, i bid ze good evening. i hope i find you happy. dorothy. well, i guess not. i never had a worse cold. i actually believe if i was to give up i would be dead in fifteen minutes---/ am't got no time for that though. leon. your husband is well i hope. ze old mon is getting feeble, is he not? dorothy. feeble--nonseuse! he does nothing but complain from mornin' till night. nobody ever hears me open my mouth about my aches and pains; vever--and i am never rid of them either. leon. zo. too bad. how is my future wife, mam'zelle pauline --does she like ze arrarigements? dorothy. no siree! i am afraid we are goin' to have trouble. you see, arthur randall seems to like her almost as well as he does dora. leon. (cross) ah! mine rival, eh? and theodore randall is mine enemy years ago. zings seems badly inixed. (turns dorothy. what can you do? leon. do, madam? why we get her in my power. dorothy. wheu--how can we? leon. zere be no time like ze present, and ze only way, if she refuse me, is to kidnap her sister, zen i keep her until ze mees pauline marry me. see, zat is excellent. dorotliy. oh! mr. daudet, i could not--i can never do it. leon. (approaches) what say you? never mine madam what you can or can not do--we make ze kidnap our last resort. but mine you, if zere be no ozer chance zeu i be ze mon to do ze work. where can ze brat be concealed ? dorothy. if it comes to that, there is an old cabin back of the plantation in the mountains. it will answer the purpose, i reckon. they ain't but a few people knows it's thar. leon. zo, zat is good. i see ma'am, your mind is brilliant still. now, 'e no chicken--years ago we played one game together--zis is our last. excellent, excellent! dorothy. (looks l.) stop! here comes pauline uow. best. (exit c. e. leon. madam burnham, you zivk you play a smooth game-you zink i take the girl off your bands an leave ze money and ze plantation and oil well, el? ha, ha! dream on madam, dream on, but ven dat girl is my wife, you tind me ze same old lewis nordica as i was before i took ze name of leon daudet. (goes ...) ah! madam burnham, i be a villain and you be a fiend, zo zere be a pair of us playing for the same prize. enter pauline, r. e., leon mukes a loro bow. leon. ah! mam’sell, i bid you ze good evening. (offers his hand puuline. (ignores his salute) so you have been plotting, have you? leon. no, my dear mees, nozzin is more foreign to my nature zau now do your 10 the old virginia hermit. plotting-1 be a man of action. (approaches puuline. yes—very dishonorable action. leon. actions which, if carried, will gladden the heart of your kind awt and uncle, to say nozzin of ourselves. pauline. i will do all i can to accomplish that. leon. (bonos) so! i zank you for zat mam'zell. i vill do the rest wbich will be to marry yon you know mam'zell, it has been long understood zal you be my wife. puuline. what do you mean? * leon. simply what i said and nozzin more. is it not enough? puuline. far too much! how can you marry me when i will not marry you? leon. nozzin is easier, mam'zell. pauline. “but how, how can you? leon. at ze proper time you will learn. every zing goes off as smooth as fate-clergyman in robes, prayer book in hand, wedding feast-nozing shall be vanting. puuline. (oneeringly) at least nozing more zan ze bride. (crosses levn. no, not even zat. i have ze sanction of all coulracting powers concerned wiz your welfare. what more za'n a wedding could be expected, mam'zell? pauline. (turns) leon daudet, there is one contracting power you have not consulied, and now i have heard enough of your evil intentions. leon. so! zen you object? you foolishly throw wealth and station in life aside, eh? come now mam'zell, say but ze word and every zing is well. what say you? (approuches putuline. do you suppose i would marry such a beast as i know you to be, as long as i have the strength to resist it? your every word and act is an insult to me. so much do i despise and distrust you that i fear to be in your presence alone. now i ask you to leave me and never iusut me with your presence again (crvsses leon. never? you request an impossible zing. my love for you mam'zeli is too great to be thrown aside as a worthiess zing. what you ask you know not, you be nervous now and lasty, your decisions make you unwise --you have but little experience. totfer only mysell to you as a protetor. (crvsses pauline. i need no protection of yours sir! once more i ask you to leave me and never insult me with your presence again. leon. tusuut you? i zink zat vould be impossible, living on ze kindness of your generous aunt. enter arthur randall, c. e. arthur. (approaches and places arm about her—to leon) what is that you say? leon. she speaks of being insulted; she is not decent to be in ze society of gentle-fulks. enter zanky, c. e., with mop-stick and blink, r. u. e., with milk pail and stool. 9 arthur. you contemptible coward! the old virginia hervit. 11 arthur knocks leon to the floor and then places left arm about pauline -leon starts to arise, blink drops puil and raises stool ready to strike him, zanky raises mop-stick, leon drars dagger. blink. froo down yonr arms, frenchy. zanky. _yes, drap de razer, 'case africa an germany am consoli. dated an france must surrender. quick curtain. act ii. scene.— exterior of an old cabin--cabin door seen up l.-cecil gregory discovered seated, with bowed heud, on an old bench by the side of the cabin door', rifle lying across his lup; he is dressed in hunter's suit, long huir and white whiskers--his doy, bruno, lies at his feet-soft music. cecil. ten years to-day since i bade farewell to the world—to friends and my children-and came here to battle with the wild beasts of the forest, the merciless elements of nature and that irresistible hatred i have unwillingly cultivated against my country which i once loved, and my fellow man whom i ouce honored. but now i hate them as i do the serpent that hisses in my pathway. why not? when years ago they threw me from their ranks a dishonored outcast. tf pauline and catherine were safe how quickly would i throw down this wretched life. one more day and pauline will be of age and can claim her rights. then comes the settlement -then comes the settlement and cecil gregory will be a free man. come bruno, let's make ready for one more chase. (exit into cabin, l.-zanky culls for blink on outside enter zanky, r. e., currying basket. zanky. i jist 'clare ter goodness, dis beats de worl-hit do, for a fack. hit jis 'pears like ebery thing is jis a-swimin'roun' and aroun', and de win' ablowin' an ablowin' forly ways to onst. lawd, cien i kin jis shet my eyes an see a hundred skillitius. i'd better be a geltin' bome 'fore ol' miss gits riled up. (looks all around) but 'ciar ter goodness, i doesn't kuow which way ter strike. 'pears like dis am a private place of some babitashuuer. (looks r. enter cecil, l. e., with rifle. cecil. (aside) what-foiled at last. (aloud) who are you? zuniky. (turns, badly frightened) l’se lost in de mountains, an' [ guess i better go. (starts off r, crcil, stop! come here-who are you? zanky. (approaching timidly) day calls me zanky to home-leastwise dal's w'at caderine au' pawlin' calls me. cecil. (steps closer) pauline, did you say? zumky. yes, sah! but ole miss, she calls me nigger kid, an' she mos'allers puts de accent on de nigger. caleb, he mos' allers calls hip -cecil. are you from the valley plantation ? u. of ill lir. 12 the old virginia hervit, zanky. yes, sah! au' it's high time i'se a gettin' back. (starts off r. cecil. (aside) ah! news from home. (aloud) stop! how long have you lived there? zanky. laws a goodness, man! i'se lived der always. eber since mar's cecil gregory was dead. cecil. (leans upon yun and watches zanky closely). is cecil gregory dead? zanky, yes, sah! didn't yo' know dat? he bin dead mor'an a hundert years, leastwise dai's li'at mars caleb say. blink, he don't say much of nothin', an' miss pawlin, she kinder ticklish on dat subjec'. ole miss, she don't admit ov much a bein' sed, tur she don't hol' up fur pawlin's daddy. i better go, ole miss, she jis tar de house down. cecil. stop! then you know pauline and catherine, do you? zanky. does i know 'em, he! he! be! laws a goodness, w'at a question. does i know 'em ? dem chillen w'at i biv raised up wif ever since belo' ('se bin born. he! he! well i recon i does know 'em. why, if it want fur dem chillen, dis nigger wouldn't stay on de plantation no longer dan hit would take her to gadder up her duds, an' dat wouldn't take long, kase i'se got 'em mighty nigh all on now. dem chillen am mighty good lookin', a heap better dan me, if i do say so myse'ſ, you kin kinder judge from dat. cecil . does dorothy treat them kindly? zanky. dat jist 'pends on what yo' calls kindly. she makes 'em work in de cotton an' terbacker patch, av'talks mighty sassy to 'em. yes, sah! she calls pawlin a pauper, av' blink, he interfeered mighty sudden. i 'spec' i better yo, it's mighty fur bome. (sturits off r. cecil. (axide) thanks to blink archibald, he is yet a true friend. (cloud) stop! i want you to promise that when you get home you will send blink to this place at once. now girl, promise that you will never tell anyone what you have seen to-day. (grups her by the shouliler) you must promise, and if you ever divulge-zunky. (frightened) if i ever die what? cecil. if you ever tell anyone that you have seen me here, i'will send a thousand spooks and ghosts to haunt you day and night. do yon bear? or i might kill you! zonky. i promise if you won't sen' dem hants aroun'. i powerfu askeered of hants, i is. cecil. (points out l.) do you see that old derrick? zanky. yes, sah! i knows de way from dar. cecil. now go and remember your promise. (exit zanky, l. e. is all this world false, and i but a wretched spectator beholding it's hypocrisy. it seems so, it does seem so. were i at liberty to again mingle in the society of men, how quickly would i banish this fiend from the home of my children. cecil gregory dead! not so, thongh he is but a ghastly shadow of his former self. thank heaven, he is not dead. my children paupers in their own home! oh: false sister, ihou fiend. though cecil gregory is weak with premature aye, a mere shell upon the ocean of lile, he is not dead. (blink is heurd singing on the outside to the tune of “little dog tray'' “ven i vas ofer in shermany landt, mit olid mon yacob von bolids, dar vas no cows ou dar l'arın to milk-the old virginia hermit. 13 enter blink, l. e. shust four hundert und dirty--" (stops singing) how you vas, kernel? (shakes hands) i dond't see you before for six years. cecil. still able to provide for myself and dog. blink. vell dot peets caleb. cecil. is caleb dead? blink. nien. but had to feed him mit a spoon dis mornin'. dorty done it. cecil. did what? blink. (lights pipe as he talks) caleb says, “blink, vot is a-goin' to be done, dorty shust runnin' dings crazy," and i says, “caleb, you shust shakes seben kinds ov debils out of her, den you vill haf peace in der family.” crril. well? blink. und now caleb is shust about ready to pass in his beer checks. cecil. i care nothing for that, tell me of my children. blink. vell kernel, i don't say dot eferyding is all right mit 'em. cecil. what do you mean? come, tell me about them. (sits on old bench blink. vell dorty, she got mad und tolta paulin' she vas an outcast, and all dose dings und so on, und den she tolte her dot she must vait ou dorty, und den she call her all de names in de bookshundary und some besides. cecil. and you stood idly by? (both rise blink. (angrily) ven i seed her a-doin' und a-sayin' dose dings, i shust feel me so stout as john l. sampson, umd i stop'em right avay pirty quick. i dole you kernel, i don't like dat feller, leon daudet, mucli no how. cecil. who is leon daudet, and what has he to do with pauline? (comes doron blink. he is a feller dat dorty swears paulin' must marry, if she vants 10 or not, but i dole paulin' und i raised up my hand so, dot i vould stay mit her undil all der buttons drop off her dress, und dot is vat old blink is a-goin' to do. cecil. (uside) curse the two villains, i see it all too plainly now. they shall not marry her against her will. i will face the laws of this cursed land at the risk of my own life. (aloud). blink, are you humai? (approaches blink. nien, kernel, i vas a dutchman. cecil. i mean, blink, can you stand to see this inhuman treatment of my children, knowing, as you do, that their mother is beyond their call and their father a condemned outcast? blink. no, kernel gregory, some peoples mighi do dose dings, but old blink don't been one. cecil. then raise your right hand and place your left over your heart. (buink raises right hand and pluces left over his stomuuch) swear npon your honor, that if necessary, you will protect them with your life--1, blink archibald. blink. (repeats) ich, blink ichabald, from wortemburg, in de ole country14 the old virginia hermit. cecil. do solemnly swear that while i live, i will protect the interest of cecil gregory's children with my life. blink. do swear mit all my constitution dat as long as i am a livin' dutchman, i vill protect dose leetle chillen ov kernel cecil gregory against der whole burnham population, u. s. a., (takes down hamd) und furdermore, if dot two headed leetle voman, dorty, treats dem chillen shust like i know she is a-goin' ter do, by sheemany christmas i vill make her dink she vas in a kansas cyclone, und pler one who dont'd like it, let him keep his mouth shet open, so help me jeff davis. cecil. give me your hand on that old friend. (they shake hands) i lould rather trust that noble resolve than all the laws in this land of boasted liberty. (yives blink revolver blink. (waving revolver over head) shermany is now open for engagemeuts. (exit l. e. cecil. again i am left alone to battle with my own thoughts and desires, fired anew with a fiercer fuel. oh! false woman and fiend to think that a mere child is to yield her most sacred right. o! let me not think of it, for it burus my brain. come bruno, old com rade, one more chase together, perbaps the last. we will be young again 10-day, we will forget our age and infirmities, and will cross such gorges and climb mountains, that years ago stood daring us. come to the mountains once more. (exit r. e., using small wire to lead dog enter leon l. e., holding catherine by hund, she struggling and trying to break away--dressed ragged, hair hanging loosely about face and shoulders, with white handkerchief tied about her mouth. leon. ah! zis be ze exzellent place for ze girl. zar be no inhabitant about here. come, be contented mam'zell. i be your friend. ven i come for you in ze morning, you be rich and haf every zing nice; zen you lofe me. (removes handkerchief catherine. i am afraid of you-let me go. leon. zat is impossible. i puts you in ze cabin, and ven i coom you be rich-i says zen you lofe me. catherine. i hate you worse than anything; i will tell blink and he will kill you. leon. blink is afraid of me. catherine. oh! if my father had only lived, he would kill you in a minute. leon. come on. (pulls her along catherine. i am afraid of you, let me go. leon. coom mam'zell, i fool wiz you no longer. leon forces catherine into cabin, she screams, he starts off l.—the door of cubin may be fustened with a chain in such a muy us to be eusily opened by pushing from inside. enter cecil, r. e. cecil. (plucing gun to shouliler) halt! (leon fuces him amazed leon. (usitle) mou dieu! it's colonel gregory. (aloud) monsieur. (bows very low cecil. what is your business here? leon. te lintrude, i beg pardon. the old virginia hermit. 15 cecil. your business please? leon. i looks around ofer ze plaze of which i have prospects to buy. cecil. your name, sir? leon. leon daudet. cecil. you lie! i know that voice—that pretending courtesy. could i ever forget it when it robbed me of my home and liberty? lewis nordica, we have met at last. leon. so! monsieur gregory, you recognize me? cecil. (placing yun to shoulder) yes, and now for revenge. leon. hold monsieur! (raises hand) zer be a chanze yet for ze home and liberty, or zar be a chanze for ze prison, ab! and ze dungeon. i have ze power to give yon eizher. cecil. dead men have no power, and i know the mountains well now. leon. but monsieur, have you no desire for liberty, home and children? cecil. you have a scheme, what are your terms, sir? (louder's gun leon. monsieur gregory, i so much lofe your daughter-she is all ze worl' to me, and she lofes me like her life itself. i so muchcecil. what! sell my daughter to the devil for my own liberty? l'll kill you first! (brings gun to shoulder leon. (throws up hands) hold! monsieur gregory-have you lost your honor? cecil. (thrmoing loron gun) who dares to say that a gregory ever lost his honor! (tukes tico dagyer's from his belt, throws one at leon's feet) now our chances are even at last. leon. so be it! zen i settle you once for all. leon 718hes at cecil and strikes, cecil catches his wrist and endeavors to strike with his right, which is caught by leon's left hand—they struggle for a moment catherine in cabin screumsleon is brought to his knees and drops dagger', cecil thru los him on his back and raises dagger to strike-puuses. cecil. get up dog. the devil has not yet prepared a place that will do justice lo a soul as black as yours. (leon rises quickly) you are not worth killing. leon. (spicks up dagger and again rushes at cecil). no, but you are. (another brief struggle folloros, in which cecil is stubbed and fulls back, leon thrors down dugger) so suffers ze man zat blocks my way. (puts on gloves deliberately and exits r. e. cecil. (rises to a sitting position with a groun, holding left hand over heurt) i rear that my strength is gone and that the end is wear. catherine. (in cabin, calls) pauline! pauline! cecil. it seems that i beard a voice calling. a coward am i to thus yield myself to a despondent death before my task is done. away such thoughts. (tries to rise, but fulls back in pain catherine bursts open cabin door, rushes out with hair streaming about her shoulders and looks upon cecil in umazement. come, little one, i cannot harm you. catherine. (upprvachiny) are you badly hurt? 16 the old virginia heruit. cecil. yes-no not badly. how came you in that cabin, child? catherine. it was that man, leon daudet. it seems so long ago. (comes closer to him cecil. come, little one, i will not harm you. tell me who you are. catherine. (kneels beside him) i am catherine gregory. cecil. (asiile) it's my child catherine. (alvul) does your father not live? tell me about him. catherine. my uncle says he thinks my father, cecil gregory, died in the mountains years ago. do you live in this wretched lonely place? cecil. yes, little one, this is my home. the mountains are my play ground and the wild beasts are my friends. cuth erine. are you happy here? cecil. (showing signs of puin) happy? well no. happiness, my child, is a frail plant which can flourish only under fair conditions. it will not thrive under the gloom and shadow of the pall. suppose, little one, that your father is not dead. then what? catherine. oh! i would be so glad, for pauline and i could go to him, for aunt dorothy does not treat us kindly. cecil. suppose then that he lives, that he is not as other men are, but old and feeble, that he is ugh and ugly as i am, that his home is in the mountains, away from all society, from the world-everything but the wild beasts, could you then, little one, look upon such a man kindly and call him father? catherine. yes, if he loved me. cecil. then look at me, catherine, for i am cecil gregory, your father. (they embrace while red liyhts are burning slow curtain. act iii. scene.—sitting room or parlor ---sofa r., chairs doron l., tuble up c., chuir by table, ... enter pauline. c. e. pauline. oh! catherine, catherine, where are you to-night? if i knew i would follow, or die iu the attempt. death camuot be worse than this awful suspense, (luys head on table enter caleb, l. u. e., singing some old time hymn, looks at pauline and turns as if to retreut. caleb. the clonds have thickened, my cup of sorrow is not yet full. (approuches tuble) pauline, my child, does thee find more comfort in solitude? pauline. (rises rend lays hands on caleb's shoulder) it's solitude indeed since catherine is missing. where is she uncle, have you heard nothing? caleb. ti thee must know the truth. panline, i have heard nothing; i[ dorothy has word of the child i know it not. i know only that for thee and thy sister catherine, my heart bleeds, and my the old virginia hermit. 17 son) goes out in deepest sympathy, but alas, i can but bow my head iu sorrow and live on and on, each day bringing new and more bitter disappointments. pauline. oh! no, wcle. cheer up! surely brighter days will come. but why should catherine be the subject of some low villain's vengeance? but this is not all-aunt dorothy is going to force me to marry that villain, leon dandel. pauline leuns head upon caleb's left shoulder-caleb raises right hand us if prayiny. caleb. oh! spirit of cecil gregory, look down and aid this thy helpless child. i pliocex right hand on pauline's head) oh! that i should live to see this day. pauline. but you will prevent it uncle? you must. caleb. thee kuows not what thee says, pauline, placing this heavy responsibility upon me. i am as helpless as a child in the hands of dorothy. enter dorothy, l. u. e. dorothy. so you have come to this old baby for consolation, have you? been bawling i see. well, i'll soon dry up your tears. (comes doron l., and caleb goes up r. pauline. and who will dry up your tears when you come to regret your present action? dorothy. (sneeringly) my tears! who ever heard of dorothy burnham shedding a tear? culeb. ah! dorothy, when a heart is hardened by selfishness and devoid of sympathy as yours is, tears would be but a symbol of mockery. dorothy. hold your foolish tongue, caleb burnham. i'd think you'd be satisfied with the lesson i give the other night. culeb. as for myself i am satisfied, but for thee dorothy, my whole soul is filled with apprehensions that haunt me night and day, (ruises right hund) but soon these darkening shadows and earthly trials will be swept away, and then oh! how i rejoice to think of it, i can read my title clear. pauline. aunt dorothy, have you heard from catherine? dorothy. yes, i have important news, but my presence seems so un welcome i'm minded not to read it. (removes paper from dress pocket) she is safe and yet within our reach. caleb. the lord is still with us. praised be his name. pauline. read it, quick! (caleb wipes spectacles and approaches eagerly dorothy. (reads) "dorothy burnham: dear madam:--i have knowledge of the lost child, catherine gregory, but this i cannot teli you for a mere song, although my price is buita tritle more. task the hand of your worthy niece, (pauline turns and places hunds over fuce) and if she is the same sensible girl i know her to be, all will be well aud the child restored. yours hopefully, leon daudet.” caleb. (sits doon wearily) the lord has forsaken 11s. pauline. valefiuntly) he is the fiend who has committed this deed for the sake of forcing me to be his slave. well, his villainous scheme will not work. 18 the old virginia hermit. dorothy. be careful, pauline gregory, you not only openly accuse him of kidnapping, but you refuse the kind ofler he makes you, which possibly dooms caiherine to a miserable fate. you're a false, iubman sister, that's what you are. pauline. i will not marry leon daudet-you cannot force me to. dorothy. pauline, force or compulsion is very far from my mind. you orter see what a burden of care you and your sister is to me. culeb. far from it, pauline, far from it. thee and catherine are the only beams of siwshine that enter this troubled life of mine. dorothy. caleb, if you value the remainder of your hide at anything, (mockingly) thee had better keep still. pauline. aunt dorothy, when catherine is recovered, we will not be a burden to you any longer, if this is the reason you wish me to marry that wretch-before i would marry him, catherine and i wonld go to the city and leave our old home. caleb. (rrsing) what, pauline: puuline. my arms are strong enough, that with honest toil, i can provide for us both. poverty and honor are more desirable to me than riches and such a home as that villian can give. caleb. oh! pauline, my dear child, that thee should have a just and rightful cause to speak thus in thy dead father's old home, sends a pang to my heart and chills my blood. dorothy. all i ask that you marry leon daudet-this you shall do. pauline. (defiantly) mrs. burnham, if my life has come to this, to me it is of little value, but as long as i have strength to move and act, so long will i cry out shame against your fiendish purpose. now do your worst. dorothy. it wili take force, i reckon, to move your iron will. (appronches) well may your purty cheeks turu pale, for your fate is sealed by one who has the power, dorothy burnham, your lawful guardian. (approaches puuline. don't you dare touch me! dorothy. i will stop at nothing. i hate you so much that i could kill you, you miserable outcast. dorothy catches pauline by throat with right hand, and by hair with left and pushes her backwards. caleb. (raises his cune as if to strike) stop dorothy, or i will strike thee. enter blink, l. e. blink. (presents pistol) sthop a leetle. dorothy releases pauline, screams and starts for l. caleb. u. e., wulks on dorothy. i'll have you arrested for murder. blink. so? it don't cost nodding to kill animals. no: move yourself out! dorothy. (exit r. u. e., followed to entrance by blink on vutrue) i tell you l'll have you hung for murder. blink. caleb, vot is a-going to be done? the old virginia hermit. 19 caleb. (comes doron l. limping and rubbing leg) before the lord, blink, i do not know. it seems that the lord has ceased to reign and that the evil one is let loose. blink. she has been loose efer sence i vas been on dis plandation. vat vas a-goin' to be done? (uleb. take thy owu course. i must relieve myself of all responsibility. (exit c. e., limping pauline. (approaching) blink, have you heard anything that enables us to find catherine? blink. nodinys. (pauline sinks into chuir left side of table pauline. oh! this is dreaiful. blink. (tukes red handkerchuf from pocket and wipes his eyes) don't cry, pawlin'. you is no shentlemen if you cry. puuline. this is the worst thing that conld have happened. blink. (comes down) dat vas so. (weeps) i vill see vot is a-goin' to be done. (e.xcitedly) und now you shust be easy like, und don't you stir up dorty any more dimes, or you may not live to be sorry dat you spoke. (erit r. e., hurriedly pauline. (rixing, goes to l. e.) oh! if my father had only lived, how differently would have been my life. enter arthur randall, c. e., in business suit. arthur. panline. (takes her hands, pauline. arthur, have you heard anything of my sister catherine? arthur. nothing definite, but detectives are now on the right track. pauline. and there is a chance of recovering' her? arthur. yes, but pauline, our time is limited, your aunt or dora may come in any moment. pauline. i am so glad that you have come. arthur. so they are going to force you to marry leon daudet, are they? is dora against you in this case? pauline. yes, and for what reason i know not. arthur. well, i'm your friend, pauline, heart and soul, and puuline. i had never hoped for so much from you. i am sure am grateful. if i loved leon daudet, ! would marry him, but my whole soul protests against it. i feel that i have a right to remain as i am, if i choose, and not be married off as a slave girl. arthur. we can stop them. listen to me! i both love and respect you more than any girl i have ever known.. pauline. then you have been interested in my troubles too? arthur. yes, and as i love you inore than anyone else on earth, t have decided to take one of the greatest steps of my life-lo ask you to marry ine. pauline. (lets loose his hands) what! you marry me? arthur. do you refuse me? puuline. think well arthur, before you take this step. arthur. i have thought well. pauline. look at me! i am poor, wretchedly poor, an orphan and a dependent, you are rich and blessed with most honorable parent: placing you in a higher social position then it is ever possible for me to attain. (crosses arthur. are these all the reasons you have for rejecting me? !).. 20 the old virginia hermit. pauline. are they not enough? arthur. no. pauline. then think of my father, although he was an honorable man, he died worse than a felou's death, hunted to the last with a heavy reward upon his head. arthur. is that all? pauline. yes, i know of nothing more. arthur. (approaches) well, you have wasted considerable valuable time telling me something i already know. i care nothing for your poverty, and i have heard of your father. it is nothing compared to the love i have for you. will you consent? (takes her hands pauline. i have told you all except that i love you. i bave always loved you, arthur. arthur. then you will consent? pauline. yes, with more pleasure than i have ever known before. arthur. (they embrace) oh! pauline, i am the happiest man in old virginia since you love me. we will defeat this aggregatiou of plotters-your aunt and leon daudet. (exit l. u. e., arm in urm enter leon daudet, l. e. leon. (goe8 r.) so, my rifal is here, eh? what care i. ze girl will soon be mine, and ze plantation, ah! an' ze money. (romes doian l.) i make no blunders. before i give up now i vould kill mineself, enter blink, l. e. blink. (presents pistol at leon) ich dank i kin safe you dat droubles. leon. (steps back) mon dieu! puts ze fire arms down. blink. (approaches) dat ish too much drouble. now straighten up like a soldier. leon. i haf money: i give you ze five dollar for it. blink. so? all right. (while leon lookx for bill blink empties cartridges from pistol into his buot top-exchange bill and pistol-uside, france and shermany does pisness sthill. leon. (presents pistol) now who is ze best man? blink. (laughing) dat makes me nix; dat gun ain't loaded. leon. (throws pistol down after examination) some more german treachery. (comes doron l. blink. (takes up pistol, takes cartridge from boot tops and londs ic quickly) shermany has a large and powerful magazine. (raises fout leon. you be ove grand rascal. blink. dat makes two of us. now straighten up like a soldier, or dar vill be but one-straighten up, make dot head up straight, throw dot chist out like dot, und dose feet out so. leon. put down ze fire arms! i zink you be ze most elegant man in ole virginia. blink. (aside) hear dat? dot ish vat efery pody says (aloud) dat ish more as ich could say of you. now vat dit you coomes around here for, eh? (leon makes grab for pixtol, blink turns leon. to transact some legal bizness wiz ze madamblink. (steps closer) how vould you like to go und mit de debil and settle dat pizuess? the old virginia hermit. 21 leon. damn you! look out, ze gun might shoot. blink. dat's a fact, but before it does, ich vant to dell you dat you are der meanest mon dat nefer dole a lie. leon. (approaches quickly as if to strike with dagger) siree! blink. sthop talkin'. now straighten up-(to music) march! left, right, left, right! (leon marches across stuge) sthop, turn around about you face, march, left, right, left. (marches back) halt! it vould take a smart man to dell you shust how mean you are. leon. put ze go down! why, you be a good mori, an' you may be president some day-now put ze gun dowii. blink. (aside) hear dot. dorty vould haf to raise my vages. (aloud) now mine herr, you see dose gate? (points 1.) march out, left, right, left. (leon marches out folloidell to entrance by blink-loud) sthop, turn round about you face-come back, march, left, right, left. enter leon, l. e. now straighten up like von solger-how vat do you vậnt here nohow? leon. i come here toblink. sthop talkin', i know all about it; you und dat all fired dorty dank you can pull dat leetle, goot, nice girl, pawlin, ain't it? dar ish shust doo dings vot stand betwixt you und dot girl; one is clis disolver, und de oder is dis dutchman. leon. (backing of) put down ze gun, it might explode. blink. und dot vould be a shame if it was to go off, und kill a nice mon like you. now march, und if you come aroundt here some more dimes, i vill get efen mit you if i haf to shpend dat five dollars you gif me-hear dot? left, right, left, und don't sthop. (exit leon, l. e.) i dauk dot ish der meanest mon vot nefer is. (lights pipe) 1 dank i make ein meestake ven i don'td kill him dead. (sits by tuble) ishust feel me so sick in mine stomach about dat nice girl, und i shust lof her so much dat some dimes ich vish l vas her und she vas me. (u coro bell heard ' l. enter zanky, l. u. e., holds red parasol in front of her. zanky. so now, so, so ther' ole fool. (to blink) w'at yo' 'spose is de matter wif dat ole fool cow? blink. ish it der old muley cow mit der long crooked horns? zanky. yes. blink. she ish skeered at dat umbersall. zunky. (looks at purusol) lawdee! i knowed hit wuz out of style, but who'd a thought that ole country cow would it noticed hit. blink. (ruses) i dole you zanky, dat dorty ain't no shentlemenshe says dat she defies me. now vat does dat mean? zanky. defy--de-fy, why dat means yo'is too boumbastic an' dat. she's goin' ter fire yo’. blink. fire me, eh? i dole you dorty is hot stuff. und vat does boom bastle mean? zanky. strictly on de bum. (looks around and approaches cautiously sav, dutchy, de time fer foolishuess am past. do you know who done gone an' stole dai little chile au' took her away? blini. nien, ich dank vot. zanky. i suchi l'ont au foun'out dąt it was dat frenchiman. 22 the old virginia hermit. blink. i dole you i make ein meestake ven i dont'd kill 'em deaa. (takes two revolvers from top of boots and gires one to zanky) take dis und be careful who you kill. (nouves the other pistol over his hend) do your weeuy worst. shermany bast now declared war. (erit r. e. zanky. (examines pistol cautivusly) dis am warm doin's an' sometliu” an a gwin ter drap. (exit i., u. e. enter dorothy, c. e., well dressed, but old style-faees r. dorothy. (comes down) oh dear! oh dear me, the time fur action is come at last. i'm feered of somethin' but don't kuow what it is. i wonder if i'm a coward after all my braggin'. (leon looks in cautiously at c. e. leon. madam. dorothy. (turns around frightened) oh, it's you, is it! every little poise skeers me leon. (softly) vere is zat infernal german? dorothy. i don't kuow. (lvoks r.) there he goes now down that there lane on my ole wbite horse on a dead run, and niver said a word to me about it. (shakes fist) l'll learn him a lesson when he comes back! now you mark my word if i don't. sich impudence asleon. let ze fool go, let him go to de debil -i fear nozing now. enter leon, c. e. where is mam'zelle gregory, has she given her consent? dorothy. i think everything will be all right. where is the preacher? leon. ze minister is on ze outside. bring mam'zelle in. zis bizness must be done quickly. (comes douan l. dorothy. yes, if done at all. (crosses leon. vat! ze brave madam a coward? . dorothy. almost; i'm too old. this here doin's sickens me. lion. ah! madam burnham, your fortune awaits you. why liesitate to grasp it? in ten minutes ze work is done, and we all be out of your way to florida. ze debil, fear and superstition belony to ze vegro, ze weak and ze ignorant-bring in ze girl and be your oli self again. dorvily. yes, but i'm skeered to do it. (crosses leon. (approaches) nonsenze, madam; remember zat years gone by we worked togezzer, hand in hand. has zings not gone excellent? bring in ze girl. dorothy. an’supposin' she ain't willin'. leon. i am prepared to take her by force. dorothy. oh! dear, i reckin' l'll have to do it jist to please you. i don't care for the money, nor the plantation, but, though of course i'll take it. (erit c. e. leon. talked into ze scheme at last, and ven zis ofer, i talk her out of ze property, enter. pauline, c. e. pauline. (sneeringly) and you are the gentleman who has callea to see me. t'he-old virginia hermit. 23 leon. (boros very lowo) yes, my dear mees gregory, and i vish to offer an apology forpauline. (quickly) i care nothing for your apologies. i ask you to tell me where my sister catherine is. leon. (approuches) you ask impossible zing. pauline. you said you knew of her in the note you sent my aunt. leon. yes, i know a certain mon who knows anozer mon who wants a large sum for bringing home ze kid. i have ze sum necessary, and i have opened my kind heart to do you ze favor, but i expect a small favor in return. pauline. (angrily) i suppose it is that i marry you? leon. ezactly mam'zelle, and i add as a lurzer consideration zat if you refuses, ze child to you is forever lost. pauline. (despairingly) forever lost. (cross) but there is a law. leon. so? you forget in zis country ze law is merchandise, bought and sold. i have no fear. pauline. this is surely a dreadful dream. (sinks into chair and leans on table with face buri d in hands enter zanky, c. e., with a letter and holds same over pauline. zanky. if it's a dream, i kinder wish we uns wonld wake mp. here pauline, am good news for you. (pauline keeps position leon. (takes letter quickly) leave ze room, i give ze letter to ze mees. (exit zanky c. e., leon opens letter quickly and reads aloud) “my dearest pauline: i have seen bliuk and he has told me all. [ have secured officers and will be there in a very short time. yout's faithfully, arthur randall.'' (tears up letter) curse ze luck, they shall not stop me. come, mam'zelle, your time is up. i cau tool wiz trifling matters like zese no longer. pauline. (rising defiuntly) this affair is a trifle is it, leon daudet? it is nothing that i should have my sister stolen and placed in the hands of some wretch who is as void of heart and principle as yourself? it's a trifle, is it, that i should sacrifice myself to yon -trilles indeed to you, whose whole life's bistory is blackened by such fiendish work. (approaches leon with outstretched hunds, he turns from her:) mr. daudet, the life of catherine is as dear to me as my own. how can you ask me to sacrifice one for the other tell me i pray you, tell me where is catherine, and let me go. leon. (crosses to l. e.) what is said is said, and so shall it be. i care nozzing for your burning words or entreaties-now. i avait your decision. enter dorothy, c. e. pauline. (to dorothy) aunt dorothy, has my life come to this? dorothy. yes, it's all for the best, i reckon. wiy do you hesitate? can't you see that the life of catherine is pending on your action at this very moment? pauliiie. (sinks in chair by table) i see nothing. on! why does arthur randall not come? enter minister, c. e. minister. is the bride ispadly? 24 the old virginia hermit. leon. ze mam'zelle seems indifferent. speak to ber. (goes r. minister. (approachex pauline and lys his hands upon lur hend) under the existing circumstances, when there is probably life at stake, 1 deem it advisable for you to take advantage of the golden opportunity mr. daudet has so kindly offered. if mr. daudet's story be true, which i haven't the slightest reason to doubt, it seems reasonable that you would accept withont any furtherpiruline. (rises quickly and places hands to head) oh! catherine, catherine! for you and you alone i sacrifice my most sacreil riglit, my happiness, my love, my life. (to minister) come, let the disgraceful words be spoken). position of characters. dorothy up l. pauline l. c. leon r. c. minister c., with back to audience. minister. if there be any one present who knows of any lawful reason why these persons should not be united in matrimony let him speak or forever keep bisenter. cecil gregory, r. e., dressed in hunting suit and leaning lightly upon catherine's shoulder. officers appear at l. u. e. cecil. hold, good minister, i may have a word to say. cecil comes c., minister doron l., leon goes up r.-pauline recognizes catherine, they approuch quickly and embruce. dorothy. who are you? what business have you disturbing us? cecil. (approaching) look woman, or devil in woman's garb, look upon this twisted form, these suuken eyes, this living mass of sorrow. look! who am i? dorothy. (throws up hands) oh, heavens! it's cecil gregory, my brother (falls back and is caught by officer no, 1. cecil. take her away, take her away! (exit officer no. 1, with dorothy, l. u. e. pauline. what! cecil gregory, my father? catherine. yes, pauline, that is father. he saved me from starving in the cabin where he (pointing to leon) dragged me to starve. cecil. my little girl, pauline. (minister sneaks out l. u. e. pauline. father. (they embrace leon. (ut sume instant picks up hat from table and bows very low) ladies, i bid you ze good evening. (starts for l. u. e. enter blink l. u. e. and confronts him with pistol. blink. helloa! france. dont'd hurry off, it's about diine to straighten up like solyer. throw dot chist out, make dose feet ont straight, make dot hat off, put him on der table down. leon. (uside) (urse ze germall. cecil. lewis nordica, this is a fatal hour for you. ten years ago the old virginia hermit. 25 yon sought the life of theodore randall, yesterday you attempted my life after i had given you your liberty, and now you try to rob my children of their home and honor. though the storins, my miserable exile from the society of men and my kindred, and tlie struggle with the wild beasts of the forest, bave robbed me of my youth and strength, 1 yet live to cause you and taste the sweetness of revenge. thongh my body is a lattered shell from the effects of age and exposure, and my life nearing it's end, yet no torture that i bear can equal the misery of that villainous soul of yours, rent with longings never, never to be realized. go! lewis nordica, to your prison cell with that false sister of mine, and while you await your doom with the memory of your failing plots and your lost love, remember the wasted form of cecil gregory, for at last i give you ruin for ruin, and perhaps death for death. (pluces hund vrer heart and staggers buck). oh! that i had but one living witness to tell the world of my innocence, it would be as the evening dew is to the withered flowers. leon. (approaches a step) zer iz vere i haf you monsieur; you know as does ze vorld, zat you did murder theodore randall. ha, ha! deuy it-can you? pauline places left arm about catherine and they look upon cecil with amazement. enter theodore and arthur randall, l. e.arthur and pauline embrace. theodore. (as leon utter's his last sentence) that's a lie! you are the villain lewis nordica, who attempted his life ten years ago, and successfully laid the crime to cecil gregory, but i too, have lived to free the innocent and bring the guilty to justice, for i am theodore randall and you are in our power. cecil. (advancing to theodore), liberty at last! at last! throdore. (takes cecil's hand in his) what! cecil gregory arisen from the dead: cecil. nay, theodore randall, not the cecil gregory of old, but a frail lenement that holds his bitter memory, his struggling soul, and ois desire that the honorable name of gregory may ever be honorable and his longing for revenge at last appeared. officer, lead out your prisoner. leon up l., blink l. of leon, officer no. 2, r., pauline and arthur l. of table, cecil c., and catherine down r., theodore dowon l. -officer, leon and blink evit r. e. blink. (as they exit -music) left-right-left. zunky. (outside) left-left-did you ever get left. enter zanky, l. u. e., with presented pistol, preceded by minister, who wear's disarranged clothing, hut cuved in. halt! looky, w’at i done fom'. catherine. where did you find it? zmky. our in de hen house ou bis kuees. w'at'll i do wif it? catherine. you can have it. 26 the old virginia iiermit. zanky. laws a goodness, i'se gwin ter start a missionary 'ciety. (punches minister in buck with muzzie of revolver) lead on, brother. (music) left-left-left-right-left. (exit zanky and minister r. e. enter caleb and dora, c. e., approach cecil and take his hand. caleb. cecil gregory, ole friend, the clouds are liſting and out of the darkness of the past comes two witnesses for right aud justice. 1 100 have suffered, and now that i feel that the mystic vail that separates us from the great future is passing away, i pray thee grant me one privilege, that i take the place of dorothy, the mother o! this my child. (luys hands on dora's hend catherine. (pluces arms about caleb's neck) come uncle caleb, you shall both be spared. caleb. what do you say, cecil? dorothy has repented completely, wonderfully; she even goes to the extent of saying, that if she can be spared from the law, that she will be willing to let all on the plantation have their own way, and that she forgives everybody. ceril. such statements from a woman like dorothy burnham, is equal to ten.years imprisonment. they desire a sincere consideration. (arthur and pauline come down and theodore goes up l. arthur. colonel gregory, while you are bestowing favors, i humbly put in my claim. (arthur with arm about pauline, approach cecil cecil. what! rob me of one of my jewels for whom i have suffered ten years exile. pauline. not rob father, simply a new name. cecil. ah! add a name too as lovorable as the name of gregory. theodore. yes, and a name too to which he has added honor. you can trust him, colonel. cecil. (lays one hand on arthur's shoulder and the other upon pauline) take her my boy, and may you be as faithful to preserve the honor of her new name as i have been to preserve the oli. caleb. (with raised hunds) and may the lord help her to bring as much sunshine into thy home and life as she has into mine. curtain. the end. synopsis of events. act i.-sitting-room-blink and caleb—"has dorty been pulling the halr out of your head again?"-arthur declares his love for pauline discovered by dorasunt dorothy gives some advice-zauky--caleb tells pauline the story of ber father being accused of murder by lewis nordica, who is himself the murderer-leon daudet—"i plays for ze beautiful girl and ze valley plantatiou"-leon and dorothy conspire to kiduap catherine. act 11.-exterior-cecil gregory, the hermit-discovered by zanky-the oath-leon kidnaps catherine-cecil recognises in leon dawet inis old evemy, lewis nordica-"now for revenge”.-leou's escape-"i am cecil gregory, your father." act iii.-the letter---dorothy--"i hate you so much that i could kill you"arthur proposes and is acceptel-leon and dorothy try to l'orror pandive into unarriage-cevil-"holil, yond minister, i may have in word to say '-(eril gregory, my brother?" the arrest of leou dandet and dorothy --cecil vinci. cated-all ends happily. broken vows. 4 i farce comedy in 8 acts, by john j. a. collins, for 5 male and 4 female characters. time of playing, 1 hour and 50 minutes. cast of characters. alfred sophocles sniffles, an artist. algernon sylvanus smythe, slightly purtical. major thomas jefferson louder,.. an old war-horse from kentucky. jack nelson a rising young larryer. larry mckeegan, snifflex' calet. dora louder, the major's daughter. irene waite, the major', neice. aurelia louder, ... tho major's sister. minerva jobson,. . dura's muid. synopsis of events. alfred sniffles, algernon smythe and larry mckeegan, bachelors, take a vow of celebracy, to protect themselves against the ladies, who seem anxious to provide themselves with husbands-snittles imagines every lady has designs upon him-smythe is very susurptable to feinale charms, but not anxious to marry-larry's sweetheart left him for a handsome man, consequently he feels he has no use for the deceitful creatures—the play shows how and why the vows were broken-the ladies make a mistake when introduced and think mr. smyth mr. sniffles, which causes many ludicrous blunders the major gets locked in the bouse instead of smythe, who is not wanted at the boat ride--the three men fall in ove, and each one has a reason why he took the vow and why it should be broken the major. jack nelson and dora louder, irene white, with minerva, the maid, make up the cast and assist in breaking the vows. price, 15 cents. a crazy lot. dick smith finding himself in debt and no way out, consumes the idea of becoming insane, have his father send him to a private asylum, and have the doctor, who is a friend of his, make his clarges luigh enough so they can divide up, whereby he can pay his devis, unknown to his father. no sooner thought of than it is put into practice. he becomes violently insane and is sent to the asylum regardless of expense. the doctor agrees to dick's proposal, and with the aids of ricketts, the crazy coon; and the idiotic dude. dick recovers his miud, debts are paid, and the crazy lot are on.ca happy. prive, isou moro a southern rose, & a military drama in 5 acts, for 6 male and 3 female female characters, by j. s. brown. costumes modern. time of playing, 1 hour and 30 minutes. dc ta synopsis of events. p d d 0 act i.-warren's gambling parlors, washington, d. c.-a game of cards for a mau's life. act ii. scene i.-ashlands home at beaumont, s. c. scene ii. tuterior of mill. scene iii.-parlors at ashland's-cursed and forsaken-kate vernon's revenge. act iii. scene 1.-at warren's parlors—a father's peridy. scene ii. –the prison barracks—the assault. act iv. scene i.-sitting room at warren's—defied. soeno ii. in the prison. scene iii.-the escape-recaptured. act v. sceno i.-mrs. mcshane's home. sceno ii.-interior of barracks-the execution foiled-grand finale. price 150ts. a judge by proxy. farce in 1 act, by b. f. moore, for 5 male and 2 female characterf. scene opens in court room; the judge being unable to attend court, sends his friend, pat murphy to act in his place-pat is a good natured irishman, fond of whiskey and good looking woman-undertakes to lay down the law, but gets gay with the female prisoner, and court breaks up in a general fight. a farce full of fun and will give good satisfaction, as there is nothing slow about it. time of playing, 30 minutes. price 15cts. dr. baxter's servants. farce in 1 act, by patrick c. lindon, for 4 male characters. dr. baxter, who is in need of a couple of servants, advertises in one of the leading papers—the advertisement is answered by pete johnson and zeb white, two coons, who have just arrived in town. the doctor employs both, and as the two coons cannot agree as to the amount of work each should do, they get into trouble, but ti: skeleton in the desecting room is a holy terror to them. a good little after pieco. time of playing 10 minutes. prio. 1504. in a spider's web. a musical farce comedy in 4 acts, by mr. and mrs. c. f. kinna. man, for 8 male and 5 female characters. time of per. formance, 1 hour and 40 minutes. synopsis of events. act i.-lawn at “drop_inn"-pet and kid—“gee whiz, you don't like me no how”—tanner, the proprietor of "drop lun". "say, guardy, did you eat any blind robius?"'--fly-henry is stage struck-william shakespere, “you know willie, don't you?"-pét and kid torment fly-dem skeeters mighty bad around here"-fly plays a trick on them and gets even-tanner and zoe—“what! iny daughter marry a hotel clerk ?"'— fritz—“well i nevah, he takes me for satan--mrs. spider--an easy catch-"by george, dead mashed on me, deuced clevah girl”—pet and kid paint a inonkey face on tanner's bald head-charles proposes for zve's band, but is rejected by her father-fritz tries to flirt with pet-porter, erase the country soil from my clothes''-fly, the tonsorial artist –“what you want, bobtail, four-in-hand or pompadour?''-fritz and mrs. spider-the arrival of guests-miss jones, the unprotected female-l'amer and fly have trouble with her luggage-michel o'ratferty mcginnis, m. p., from the 13th ward-pet and kid quarrel-"young lady, i'll send you to a convent"_"i won't go, so i won't"-"de downfall of africa"-charles and zoe plan an elopement and offer fly $5.00 to help them—“o! charles, the shock has killed him"-mcginnis hunting a place for a political convention. act ii.-office in hotel-pet—"i wish henry was here, i am so lonesome"-she tells tanner that she is engaged to kid—“when will you be fifteen years old"-"as soon as i can"-"ain't you proud of me?"'-you littld wretch, i'll twist your neck”-another guest_mrs. spider discovers that the latest arrival is her husband, sport spider"so this is the way he goes on a hunting trip"-"fire! fire!-a put up job by charles-he and zoe are married during excitement-miss jones faints in mcginuis' arms—"the longest faint i ever seen"-dey look like two fairies." act iii.—pionic ground near lake-mrs. spider on the lookout for her husband-fritznoodle arrives on his wheel-flirtation coutinued-hans, the tramp-"dunder und blitzen, .dot baloon vas coming back here”-miss jones, who had been left at home, arrives, looking for mcginnis—"ah! he is such a nice man, what a vice couple we would make"-"mcginnis, your a blackguard, if you spoil the delusion"-miss jones tries to encourage mcginnis to propose-"ohl my poor fluttering heart”—kid comes to the picnio disguised as a jew--mcginnis proposes—sport spider discovers mrs. spider and fritz-looking for trouble--"you are caught in your own web"_"forgive me" you’se a nice lot of people, you is"miss jones jealous—"oh! that huzzy daisy bell"-"heaven defend us from her anger"-mcginnis and miss jones make up-"see that dutohman, kick him"-"brick bats at forty paces”-downfall of ireland-dutohy, there's a nagger up the tree-song-curtain. prioo, 150ta. 9 new plays. following are the plays recently added to the list of ames' series of standard and minor drama price 15 cents eath. pheelim o'rooke's curse. an irish drama in 4 acts, for 15 male and 4 female characters ; doubles in cast so that it can be produced by 7 males and 3 females. the author, geo. a. simms, is rapidly coming to the front as a play writer, and in this piece he seems to have displayed his talent in a marked degree. in this piece abounds fine situations, unlooked for developments, etc. ; can be produced by amateurs. synopsis of events. act i, scene 18t-laurel court, england. the appeal and refusal. the whip. threat. curse of pheeliin o’rooke. the hunting party. hugh carlton. a dangerous servant. song, “bryant olin !" t'he accident. mrs. carlton and olin. scene 2d-pheelim o'rooke. "revenge is sweet!" scene 3d-death of lord carlton. “pheelim o'rooke it was!" act ii. scene 18t-bryant olin and hugh. a perilons under. taking. hugh in danger. scene 2d-atteinpt to kidnap hugh frustrated by bryant. a cowardly blow. scene 3d-mrs.. carlton at home. news of high. despair. the promise. scene 4th-01 the coast. bryant olin as a detective; disguises as a fiddler, anid moets the gang. scene 6th-biddy mcgee, the “island star.” hugh and pheelim. “caged at last!” the idiot boy. the wreck. bryant olin finds hugh, and is discovered by biddy, who gives the alarm. scene 6th-woods. escape of bryant. act iii. scene 18t-america. hugh as newsboy. ira colton, a friend. scene ed.-office of ira colton. hugh as peter donelli. olin in america, in search of hugh.” scene 31—the den. pheelim and peter. peter tells his adveuture, scene 4th-grog shop. peter and bryant. bar-room fight. scene 5th-the den. peter and o'ronke. capt. lennox. peter's illness. suspicions. trouble aheal. a plan. oʻrooke drunk. capt. lennox carries off hugh. brrant in search of hugh. "too late !” mrs. donneyhue. the curse, act iv. scene 181—club room. news of hugh's escape. lennox and clemment to the rescue. scene 2d-hugh escapes troin window. capt. lennox and clemment. the arrest of capt. lennox. sceno 3d-capture of hugh by o’rooke. scene 4th-the dell. the bargain. song. rescue of hugh. death of o'rouky. mooting of mother and son. end of the curse of pheelim ('rooko. the mashers mashed. a marce in two acts, by f. l. cutler; 8 mulo and 7 fomale character. time, thirty minutes; costumos modern. amateurs will find this farce just the thing to please an audience. it is full of fun, caused by the mishaps of the “two mashers”—a warning, to all young men who are inclined to make mashes. a capital farre, etcy to put on; characters all good. send for a copy. price 15 cents. wild mab. a border drama in four acts by minnie polson; 6 male and 2 female characters. time of performance 1-45. costumes to suc characters. prico 15 cents. synopsis. act i. scene 18t. parlor in mr. evans' western home-mr. evans and bert allen. bert allen goes in search of mr. evans' lost daughter. scene 2d. cabin at devil's camp. interview between jane, an old hag, and jack thorn-the quarrel wild mab and "down went mcginty"cold water and jack thorn do not agree. the threatm“coward !" “mab, for god's sake, don't shoot!” sambo and the ghost. jack attempts to shoot sainbo. mab's pisto) always ready to protect the helpless. scene 3d. night at the cabin. arrival of bert allen. thorn's intention to murrier allen. mab warns allen of his danger-"dead men tell no tales !” mab to the rescue. “fly for your life, and the heart of wild mab goes with you!” sambo makes his appearance-tableau. act ii. scene 1st. wood scen allen and mab-the kiss. mab's coinmand and soliloquy-mab overhears conversation between jack thorn and pete hart-attempt to be made to trap mabsambo reveals to mab how she came to be an inmate of devil's camp-she swears vengeance on jack thorn. jack aitempts to shoot sambo. mab's arrival—“shoot him if you dare!" scene 2d. night in the woods. sanibo tells a little incident of his school days. allen as pat, who is going to help pete trap mab. scene 2d. cabin mab and jane. jack's offer of marriage refused. the curse of mab evans-the abduction of mab. act iii. scene 18t. mab a prisoner. jack unties her handsmab shows her temper. pete and mab—“oh, merciful heaven, i have killed him!” arrival of pat and sambo-mab’s flight-pat and sambo start for mr. evans' home. scene 2d. mab in the woods. death of her horse. continued flight. sambo and pat in pursuit. scene 3d. home of mr. evans. mab at home-her plea for protection-father and daughter. her fears concerning pete's death. good news. a little plot. act iv. scene 1st. devil's camp. trouble between jack and pete. arrival of mab and officers-arrest of jack, jane and pete scene 2d. mab at home-her heart disease. the letter. pat throw: off disguise. mab's surprise—“unconditional surrender! happy onding a little heroine; self accused. -ora comedy drama in 4 acts, by charles o. willard, for 8 male and 2 female characters, costumes modern. time of performance 2 hours. synopsis of events. act 1.-home of squire ainsley-pete and the dutchman-news of the robbery-suspicion points to will dayton-an exagerated report-heath aceuses will dayton-pete upholds dayton, and augers heath-tot interferes und saves pete from it licking, and defends the absent friend-will dayton and heath-"i am innocent" -heath pretends to be dayton's friend, in order to betray lim-lula and will-pete and jake, tot frightens thema new dance. att ii. -heath presents dayton with a watch."a friend in need”-heath's soiloquiy is overheard by dent-tlie murder at eagles cliff —"i am in your powp-heath's hatred of will dayton-will dayton saves dent's life-the vow-sinire ainsley in heath's debt--"i will cancel the mortgage, if lula be. (onles iny wife"-dent gives luia the money to pay off the mortgage-heath le 11 sps will of stealing the watch-dent comes forward and accuses himself "istole the watch!”will denies the story_“you saved my life"-arrest of dent. act iii.-pete and jake–the fight, urged on by tot-squire interferes“yiw, jiss tot, shie vas urging us to sthop"--two liars, are pete and jaketoi aud pete arrange to help dent escape from priso11--heath and lula -"i'll horse whip yon"--tot and pete at the prison-heath attempts to kill dent, when pete interferes-dent is about to escape, when there is an ontbreak among the prisoners-dent remains and assists the warden to subdue them-dent afterwars pardoned. act iv.-will dayton's law office-pete as porter-dent and pete-pete he. comes very much frightened, finally recognizes dent-news from the farm johu dayton, will's foster father, returns, is found by will and taken to his office-dent takes off disgnise and makes himself knowu to will-jolin dartou's story --arrival of heath-meeting of heath and john dayton-heath confesses that will dayton is his nepher-will dayton and will dent are both in uocent of any crime-squire ainsley, liila and tot arrive-will and dent's iunocence prover--departure of heath iu disgrace-a double wedding in prospect, due to will dent, the “self accused." price 15 cents each kitty and patsy; or the same thing over again. an irish musical sketch in one scene, by f. l. cutler, for 1 male and 1 female character. costumes, irish. time of playing 15 minutes. price 15 ctg. he ames' plays-continued. -no. m. e. 53 out in the streets 6 4 51 resened. 5 3 59 saved 2 3 102 turn of the tide.. 74 63 three glasses a day. 3 3 62 ten nights in a bar-room 7 3 58 wrecked. 93 comedies. 124 an afflicted family. 7 5 87 biter bit, the... 52 394 bird family 8 5 257 caught in the act. 73 248 captured... 5 178 caste.... 5 3 368 case of jealousy. 4 2 131 cigarette, the.. 4 2 388 farmer larkin's boarders. 5 4 359 girl from the midway, the.. 3 2 207 heroic dutchman of '76. 8 3 199 home... 5 3 421 in a spider's web 85 joshua blodgett. 25c... 7 2 323 johanes blatz's mistake... 4 3 174 love's labor not lost. 3 3 357 london assurance..... 9 3 341 miss blothingay's blunder. 3 3 411 miss topsy turvy. 4 4 418 muldoon's blunders., 25c. 5 3 149 new years in n. y..... 76 37 not so bad after all. 65 338 our boys....... 6 4 126 our daughters.. 8 6 370 our summer boarder's.... 6 3 265 pug and the baby. 5 3 114 passions. 9 4 264 prof. james' experience teaching country school... 4 3 219 rags and bottles. 4 1 239 scale with sharps and flats.. 3 2 404 servants vs. master... 62 375 slight mistake..... 0 5 221 solon shingle.. 14 2 363 stub, 25c 8 3 262 two bad boys.... 7 3 306 three hats, the...... 4 3 240 $2,000 reward.... 2 0 329 valet's mistake.. 5 4 351 winning hand, the.. 6 2 384 widow mcginty, the... 5 4 tragedies. 16 the serf. 6 3 farces&comediettas 132 actor and servant. 2 0 316 aunt charlotte's maid..... 3 3 320 all in a muddle, 3 3 393 andy freckles... 4 3 291 actor's scheme, the.. 4 4 252 awful carpet bag, that..... 33 175 betsey baker. 2 2 86 black vs. white 4 2 352 bridget branigaus' troubles...... 2 2 no. m. 401 box and cox 2 1 344 badly mixed 22 289 colonel's mishap. 5 287 cousin josiah. 1 1 225 cupids capers..... 4 317 cleveland's recept'n party 5 3 324 day in a doctors office. 5 1 345 deacon jones' wife's ghost 4 0 249 double election 9 220 dutchy vs. nigger... 30 379 dutchman's picnic, the... 3 0 188 dutch prize fighter... 30 407 dr. baxter's servants.... 4 0 218 everybody astonished. 4 0 224 fooling with the wrong man.. 2 1 233 freezing a mother-in-law. 3 2 154 fun in a post office, 42 274 family jars. 5 2 209 goose with the golden eggs.... 5 3 307 hallabahoola, the medicine man.. 4 3 271 hans brummel's cafe......... 5 0 116 hash 4 2 140 how he popped the question... 1 1 74 how to tame your motherin-law. 4 2 366 hotel healthy 4 3 398 haunted hat, the.. 2 0 308 irish squire of squash ridge... 4 2 95 in the wrong clothes, 5 3 305 jacob shlaff's mistake. 3 2 299 jimmie jones.. 3 2 11 john smith 5 3 99 jumbo jum.. 4 3 406 judge by proxy. 5 2 303 kiss in the dark, 2 3 389 kitty and patsy. 1 380 katie's deception.. 4 2 228 lauderbach's little surprise... 2 1 302 locked in a dress-maker's room. 3 2 106 lodgings for two. 30 288 love in all corners. 5 3 328 landlord's revenge, thė... 30 139 matrimonial bliss.. 1 1 231 match for a mother-in-law 3 2 235 more blunders than one.... 4 3 69 mother's fool...... 61 208 my precious betsey 4 4 212 my tnrn next.. 4 3 32 my wife's relations. 4 6 273 my neighbor's wife, 3 3 313 matchmaking father. 2 2 356 mike donovan's courtship. 1 3 354 mystic charm, the.... 0 4 349 my mother-in-law. 2 4 285 mashers mashed, the. 5 2 296 nanka's leap year venture. 5 2 259 nobody's moke 5 2 395 nip and tuck. 3 1 e e g pames plays-continued. ' no. m. f. no. m. f. 340 our hotel, 53 253 best cure, the. 4 1 334 olivet. 3 2. 325 coincidence... 8 0 381 our family umbrella. 4 2 222 colored senators... 30 400 obstinate family, the. 33 214 chops... 3 0 57 paddy miles' boy....... 5 2 190 crimps trip.. 50 217 patent washing machine. 4 1 378 sperience in a doe165 persecuted dutchman 63 tor's office 4 2 286 professional gardener 42 153 haunted house... 20 195 poor pilicody.......... 23 24 handy andy.. 20 392 pat mcfree. 73 236 hypochondriae the 20 412 popping the question 24 282 intelligence office, the... 30 276 printer and his devils the 31 319 in for it. 3 1 159 quiet family...... 4 4 361 jake and snow. 2 169 regular fix.. 61 88 mischievous nigger. 4 2 180 ripples 2 0 256 midnight colic....... 2 1 171 rough diamond. 6 3 128 musical darkey.. 20 267 room 44... 20 61 not as deaf as he seeins. 20 315 rascal pat. that. 3 2 353 nobody's son.... 2 0 416 ruben rube. 21 244 old clothes, 30 68 sham professor, the.. 40 234 old dad's cabin 22 295 spellin' skewl, the.. 7 6 246 othello.. 5 0 309 santa claus' daughter 5 7 297 pomp green's snakes. 2 0 138 sewing circle of period 0 5 134 pomp's pranks. 20 115 s. h. a. m. pinafore. 5 3 258 prof bones' latest inven55 somebody's nobody. 32 tion.... 5 0 327 strictly temperance. 22 177 quarrelsome servants. 3 0 232 stage struck yankee.. 42 107 school.. 50 241 struck by lightning.. 2 2 133 seeing bosting. 3 0 270 slick and skinner. 5 0 179 sham doctor 3 1 slasher and crasher 5 2 243 sports on a lark. 30 365 stupid cupid... 4.0 92 stage struck darkey. 2 1 358 snow ball.. 3 2 238 strawberry shortcake.. 20 346 signing an actor.. 1 1 122 select school, the............ 50 418 switched off 08 108 those awful boys......... 50 326 too many cousins. 3 3 245 ticket taker.. 50 339 two gentlemen in a fix 2 0 216 vice versa. 0 137 taking the census. 206 villkens and dinah 167 turn him out.. 32 210 virginia mummy.... 28 thirty-three next birthday 4 2 205 liam tell.. 4 0 292 tim flannigan.... 5 0 156 wig-maker and his ser263 trials of a country editor. 6 2 vants. 30 166 texan mother-in-law 4 2 281 two aunt emilys. 08 guide books, 367 $10,000 wager. 4 2 17 hints on elocution. 312 uncle ethan.. 4 3 130 hints to amateurs. 269 unjust justice. 62 213 vermont wool dealer 6 2 miscellaneous. 7 wonderful telephone. 3 1 215 on to victory, cantata. 250. 5 5 332 which is which?.. 33 250 festival of days.. 151 wanted a husband.. 2 1 260 cousin john's album, pan56 wooing under difficulties. 4 3 tomimes. 70 which will he marry?. 2 8 happy franks songster. 135 widower's trials...... 4 5 399 ames select recitations 147 waking him up...... 1 2 no. 1...... 155 why they joined the re397 mother earth and her veg. beccas.. 04 atable daughters. 414 who's who? 3 2 360 ames' series of medleys, 403 winning a wife. 2 1 recitations and tableaux 111 yankee duelist. 3 1 no. 1....... 157 yankee peddler 73 382 ames' series of medleys, 377 yacob's hotel experience. 30 recitations and pantoethiopian farces. mimes no. 2.. 376 joan of are drill 204 academy of stars. 60 371 victim of woman's rights. 1 0 172 black shoemaker. 4. 2 184 family discipline. 0 98 black statue... 4 2 186 my day and now-a-days... 0 the little gem make-up box. price 50 cents. 0 16 university of illinois-urbana 3 0112 041564805 43 university of californ at los angeles the devil turnd hermit; or, the adventures astaroth baniih'd from hell. a satirical romance. exposing, with great variety of humour, in a series of converfations between that demon and i the author, tlie fcandalous frauds, lewd amour;, and i' t tt: **eckery .. of the monks and nuns; the intrigues <k gr-rtsj the 'ambition, avarice, and cruelty of viniuci-si the in /ir.cerity, luxury ,pro{lituti9n, and ingratitude of ma pri yate characters ; with other capital vices of the pivien: agr. fcarded chiefiy on real fafb, and interfperfed with the portraitj and fecrer hiftry of mott of the confiderable pcrfons that: have lived in europe within thefe thirty years paft. tran/lated from lire original french of mr de m*. london: printed and sold by j. honoes,at the lotting g//i/x, over. againft st afa*nfis's church. ltndan-'erid^e ;" j. ro i k;on,at the fed lym, in lttd^att-strc<t j. wilcox, i. ihe sirand } and j. uiu'. ol>, in neuitttntl-sircct. mdccxli. pa s, advertisement i i o f t h e translator. the author of this ingenious and diverting piece, if we may guefs from fomepaffages interperfed in it, as well ^ as from a similitude of stile throughout the whole, is already well known to the world for works of imagination, and i has had the happinefs to iucceed in them \ beyond moft others of hisage. this, at | leaft, is my opinion , but for fear i mould be angular in it, i chufe not to po ;i c out the writer -, i mean becaufe i am ' convinced, that if my conjecture be well founded, the particular marks that led me into it will, have the lame etrecl: on a. 2 others. 34 i [ iv ] the chief defigo of this advst tifemenr, is only to inform the reader, that i wifh i couki have obliged : him in one thing, whick perhaps he may often think wanting : 1 mean, a compleat key to the characters drawn; in this perfor mance, the �hole satire of which, there is good reafon to imagine, is perfonal. i could eafily have done this to a great num ber of the portraits, the originals of which are public kly known , but, for the very reafon that they are thus known, they want no key at all , and i did not chuie to give one that would be imperfect, be caufe i am in hopes the author, whoever he be, will fhortly prefent us with one himfelf. then we may be abie, as head viles in the perfon of ast a roth, to compare all along the pictures and ori ginals together, which we now can do in iome places , and be as well acquainted with his capuchin friar, as with his sieur de tolva ire. in the mean time, there can be no want of entertainment in any chapter of this book ; and perhaps there will be fome advantage in having one part of ourcuriofity fufpended, that when we we get this piece of information, we may return with new pleafure to the converfa tion of our good-natured communi -in e devil, whofe narratives are all feafon d with that salt which is io pecujuriy ne ccfiary in works of this nature. ,r n e the a u t h o r's preface. dear publick, i am extremely em bar raffed. i am to give you an idea of my work, and know not how to go about it. become an author by the fpe cial favour of deftiny, and, what is more, a diabolical author , my prefumption, no ways inferior to that of all my bre thren, would almoft incline me to give you apanegyrick of this book. if i fol lowed this inclination, which is ufually unfurrnountable among us authors, per haps, authorifed by cuftom, i fhould find the moft pathetic expreflions, to make you believe that, fince the invention of printing, the prefs has never furnifhed a ny thing fo fine. i fhould very naturally finiih this matter-piece of rhetorick by a fhort [v i fhort period, to inform you, that this production colt me but very little pains, and, if i may be allowed the expreflion, no more than the trouble of letting down my thoughts on paper, in proportion as they arofe to my imagination. doubtlefs, friendly reader, you would not have be lieved me. yet i had fallen into this fault, the favourite vice of writers, but for the admonition of ast a roth, who> you may eafily perceive, is not a devil of the worft sort. " what are you ** thinking of?" faid he, when i had communicated to him my project. " learn that nothing is more infipid,. " nor more difagreeable to the publick, *' than fuch kind of prefaces where " in an author praifes himfelf : they " are often dictated by vanity, but often " er by a reafonableapprehenfion that no " dy elfe will take the pains of praifing. " them. befides, who does not know '* that every man has his particular tafte, " and judges of things according to his " favourite prejudice ? do we not every, " day fee the fame book that pleafes one, ** tire another, and to a third feem utter " ly r . ] " ly odious ? such will be the fortune of " yours. diverting to thofe who read ** only for amufement, it will contract " the brows of your men of fcverc 4< morals, who pretend that their taftc '* ought to be univerfal, and that there is " nothing good which has not their appro '* bation. but above of all, added he at dif " ferent reprifals, take care not to pre " vent the publick in your favour. that " cuflom, ulual as it is among the au *' thors of your age, is abfolutely contrary 44 to common senfe, and favours more of " the quack, than the philofopher, or " the man of good senfe." from this reflection, which is not very diabolical, tho' made by ast a roth, it refults, that the attribute of devil,which we give him in the title of this book, fignifies nothing more than a penetrating genius, which, by long experience of the world, has difcovered a great many things without the help of magick. in a word, what can be more natural than to fay what one knows, and relate what one has feen ? all the difficulty then confifted in giving fuch a style to this narration, narration, as is fuitable to works of this sort, and fufficiently merry to amufc the reader. hie 'labor ^ hoc opus eft ; and to this all the work of the author was re duced. erratum. p. 54 1. 1 1, for plus voluif, read detts voluit. a r s e t a t a r t h d t e e h r. prejudice, reader, is a ftrange thing; r i fpeak it not at all to thy praife, but thou o) knoweft it to be true. a mere nothing, againft all the pules of equitv, chan. prevents thee, offends thee, raiftb thy refcnt metit. thou decided often from appearance .. only, and feldom on the fide of truth. me thinks, already, i fee thee ftart upon viewing the frightful title that my hiftor. prefents, -$nd hear fchee cry oyt .with h'-for, qh i the tevil '-the devil ! tis atreatifc ot the black art, a book that ought to be burned. but have a little patience^rf rider ; recover 'thy spi rits, and for once make life of th) reaforv upi-n tlic honour of ast a rot h, thy terror is wth<?ut foundation, and will blind'ly throw thee upon the rock of miftakfe. i know very well [xii ] well that you men paint us under horrible co lours, as fire-brands of hell, spirits inclined to mifchief only, terrible perfecutors of all virtue, profefled enemies to all human hap pinefs. admit that we are fo, and that we are fometimes defcribed like ourfelves ; it muft be owned, at the fametime that we often look lefs like devils in thofe pictures than like men. you would fain caft on us all the ini quity of human frailty : man, to excufe his own crime, pretends, from a fond illufion, to find in us the genuine source of his blackeft actions. but this is a poor unprofitable fiction ! the true devil that hurts him is his own paflio'n. however you may think of that, as t a roth aflures thee, that for his part, far from attempting to feduce, he aims only to inftrua thee. his projeft is laudable and full of charity. if it appears to thee an abfurd problem, that a spirit of falfehood fhould fpeak the truth, read this work, and judge of it for thyfelf j look at his sketches, his va rious pictures ; compare them with their ori ginals, and thou {halt know them. all the world fwarms with crimes; but thou wilt find here more efpecially thofe of the grate, the diforders of the cloifter traced" to the life. that is not all : it is the defign of this work that the errors of another fhould mke thee famewhat v toe what the wifei*~g*4-rot elude this ad drefb, which is long enough already : for after ha v frig given t'ue this charit .ble advice, thou ;!t own that t muft. needs be a good fo^t of t h e~ " contents* b 6 6 k i. chap i. a gentleman in love having loj! himfelf m *** the appehine mountains^ difcovers a her mit of a jlrange specie. why this hermit is 9 and the beginning of his adventures. page i chap ji. cuptt majqued: or, the hijlory cfsijler cor n i c h o n ,and the marquis de stjv l i n . p. 23 chap iii. astaroth *at court. jvhat he fees, and what he does there* p 3*3 c hap. iv. of the occupations tffastaroth, as an ec clefiaflieal chancellor. p. 50 chap. v. new sights which the devil hermit way tnttrtained with at thf court of*** p. 62 chap. vi. the unfortunate lovers: or the tfijlorj cfdw , ^and madam ursula. 0.85 b chap, , ij j: boo k ii. c h a p i. the hi/lory ef sijler as t a r o t h the duana of, a young lady of fifteen* p. 101 chap. ii. 1'he stratagems ofduanas: or, the hi/lory f the count de bel air, and julia de / florenzo. p. i , oo chap iii. scfft'e! to the hijjory of the count and a4ifs julia de florenzo. p. 118 chap. iv. ast a roth, a mendicant friar. p, 125 c h a p. v. a s t a r o t h , chief of the grand sign'tor's eu nucbs. 'the tragical end of the brother >uef tir. p. 138 chap. vi. ititr'igues in the grand signior's seraglio, p. 14^ chap vii. p. 157 [ iii ] book iii. chap. i. the chevalier treats ast a roth ///, and for what reafon. p. ioo k chap. ii. *fhe virtues of the scapulary : or, the hljhrj--qf father casimire,fl barefooted carmelite. the deliverance of astaroth, who dif enchants the chevalier, ctfd lets him fee his miftrefs in all her deformity. p,. t76 chap. iii. f t'he author makes his peace with astaroth, who informs him of fame remarkable fafts, and gives him a great deal of advice. the au thor follows that of returning to hisnative-, country. p. 183 chap. iv. 77># author is tranfported into the capital of (he univerfe . changes that had happened during the time he was abfent. he meets with an adventurer^ whom he knew formerly^ and who tricks him of a good part of his jewels. p193 chap. v. difficulties the author is left in, through the kmvery of the marquis. "to get out of than he be h obliged to fell tys equipage. the con* jit ion he is reduced to+ ana bis refslution to au'it paris. p. 208 c h a p. vi. he evening before his departare, the author has a ft/ion^ which obliges him to go the next day to the palace of luxembourg. his rencoun 1r with ast a roth there: the fever al converfations they have together , and their twcerting a neiy rajnble. p. 2 1 2 chap. ^ idea of the author. by the advice tf/"a<;. t a r o t h he deceives his counterfeit friends ; fells his falfe jewels for vood' ones > and fets holknd.4 defer iptiqn fffi t fffitffi.$$9. sequel of the preeeding : conventions of the au thor with ast a roth, concerning' federal perfonsy whom they meet by ctiance. they pafs thro' divers cities. ast a roth is forced to take 6is flight into another country. p. 247 the devi!. o r, t ii e, adventures o f ast a rot h, banifhed from hell: the first bo o k. , _ chap. i. a gentleman in love* having loft himfelf in the appenine mountains, cbfcovers a hermit of a ftrange specie. who this hermit is, and the beginning of his adventures. en g a ge d by an itch of travelling to ramble thro' the moft confiderable places in europe, i came into italy at the end of the year 1736. i had already for two years wandered from province to province, ni b from 2 the devil hermit. from city to city, when my poor delicate carcafe, fatigued by thefe long journies, was of a fudden feized with an acute fever, which, after many remedies taken, left me in a languid condition, and a very troublefome mifanthropy. my foul, clouded with forrow, looked wildly about her, without fixing to any object. i was then at bologna, a city agreeable and voluptu ous, where the fair fex is neither unhandfome nor unkind. one day lolling carelefly on a window, i beheld a young lady, whofe beauty and mag nificent drefs equally ftruck me. the gallery in which (he walked was near the chamber i lodged in. this amiable object a�akened all my fenfes, and made me affume fame foppifh airs, which fhe took notice of. a charming fmile, with which (he repayed my reverence, gave me the courage to enter into converfation with her. my politenefs pleafed her, as her wit charmed me : infenfibly i offered her my heart, and (he promifed me her efteem. her very eafy behaviour, which however was nothing but the pure effect of her educa tion, filled me with ideas, and thofe ideas led me a great length : in a word, i perfuaded my ielf it"might be eafy to conduct this helen to paphos, there to offer incenfe with her to venus. such is almoft continually the error of young perfons : they perfuade themfelves that, the ci vilities of a lady are the forerunners of ap proaching victory ; they form projects upon her honour, without confidering that there is often found the devil hermit. 3 found in that fex a virtue and conftancy proof againft all the fnares of love. deceived by ap pearances, i built many caftles in spain : but all thefe chimerical edifices vanifhed away, and nothing was left me, as the fruit of my pains, but a violent paffion that had like to turn my brain. mean time the idea of my future happinefs made a prodigious change in my perfon. from that very moment my effeminate face refumed its former colour; my languor left me, and the inquietudes of love took place of my indiffe rence. this metamorphofis gave me charms : but i admired thofe charms myfelf alone, while my miftrefs too* no notice of them. for two months together i had played the part of don quixot vvondroufly well; i had made ufe of prayers, tears, fighs, and all in vain. amo rous even to madnefs, i formed the noble refo lution to throw myfelf headlong into the fea, and was mufing on the execution of this fine project, when i was diverted from it by the ar rival of a monk, who came luckily to my afliftance. it was a fat mendicant, young and jolly, to whom i regularly gave charity every week. perceiving the forrowful plight i was in, he, with continual teifing, and making a thoufand harlequinades, obliged me to difcover the caufe of my chagrin. thefe fort of people in that country are very charitable ; it is with regret they fee a man burn with a fruitlefs paf fion for an inhuman creature. mediators of the fair fex, they know perfectly how to bring to b 2 gether 4 the devil hermit, gether an amorous couple. as they love pro pagation extremely, and are not alone fufficient for all the operations of that great work, they believe it is for the intereft of human kind not to let fo many lovely creatures remain ufelefs, and therefore furnifh them with means for a voiding the fcandal and curfe of fterility. their high employment gives them every where admit tance, and they know all the corners and nooks of a city. crafty to the laft degree, they fo d^xteroufly at their parts, that they are admi red by all the female republic. but their la bours are worthy of reward ; without paying them well, it is in vain to hope for good for tune. this mr san ctity, informed of thefource of my illnefs, burft out into fuch a laugh, as at firfl put me in a pafilon, and fcarce could i for bear making him feel ray refentment ! gently, good sir, (cried he fn a kind of fright, feeing ine ready to curry his h : de) a little patience if you pleafe ! i was never in love with thr.fe blows, and therefore pray com pbfe yourfelf! thefe words had not been fufficient to appeafe my refentment, if the good father had not ad ded, that he had an infallible way to make me beloved by her who was the caufe of my tor ment. his whole quackery, however, confifted only in making my purfe fifty crowns lighter. charmed with his promifes, i made him the pre fent with infinite joy : the hopes of approach ing happinefs were more dear to me than all the fbe devi/ hermit. 5 the riches in the world. could any thing be more extravagant ? the forceries he was to employ to make me happy were mere trifles in themfelves : but the venerable and facred inquifition regaided then} with another eye. in the country where i was, one mufl not play with the ceremonies of religion. this fpecific philtre confifled of a little puppet, and fome confecrated wax, taken from the paf cal taper, with a formulary of prayers almoft like that of st julian. it is certain i was neither hypocritical nor fuperftitious j but the violence of my paflion had blinded me to that degree, that i executed literally all thefe mum meries for more than five days together. what a fool does love make a man ! however, feeing that neither pagod nor prayers produced any thing favourable to my paflion, quite fick of the farce, i threw both idol and formulary into the flames. tnis juft indignation preserved my liberty : two hours after came the emiffa ries of the holy inquifition to fearch my cham ber, when luckily they found me not at home. the rifque 1 had run could not cure the foolifh paffion that difturbed my underftanding. i gave way more than ever to its violence, and like a true madman took it in my head to range the forefts, without keeping to any direct way. all my nourimment confifled of herbs and wild> fruits, and the only confolation i had was that of carving the name and cypher of 'my miftrefs, upon the bark of trees. this wandering life produced its effect. i relapfed into a more in b 3 firm v hermit. firm ftate of health than i had ever been in be fore, and my love diminifhed with my bodily vigour. by little and little my eyes were opened ; i acknowledged my error, tho' late, and refolved to employ the remainder of my ftrength to return into the country which my extravagance had made me leave. bewildered in the midft of a dcfart foreft, i travelled many days without finding the path by which i had entered. the difficulties i met with drove me to defpair, obliged to perch at night upon trees, i faw nothing m the day but wild beafls, which made me every moment in dread for my life. i know not why i was yet afraid of death, in a fituation that ought to have made it defirable. but that vveaknefs i h?.d, if it may be called a weaknefs in mortals. i came into the foreft j why, faid i toniyfelf, cannot i go out? how many unhappy perfons, who have been caft a way on defolate iflands by fhipwreck, have made their efcape ? a thoufand fuch reflexions as thefe revived my courage, and poftefled my brain when i was awake. sometimes indeed my thoughts were of a different nature. my lot appeared moil deplorable, and i curfed the paf fion that had drawn me into a labyrinth from which i had no hopes of efcaping. one evening, when the heavens were wrapped in clouds, and my mind was agitated by cruel reflexions, i perceived a light of a fudden that ftruck my eyes, and appeared not to be far diftant. im mediately forgetting the hazard i ran, in tra velling by night thro' a foieft, i defcended my tree, devil hermit. y tree, and, conduced by the light,"advanced to the place from whence it fhone. at laft, after much fatigue and labour, t got out of the fo reft, and arrived in the midft of rocks, at the mouth of a deep cave. but how great was my terror ! i perceived (can it be imagined) a troop of infernal fpirits fitting round a great fire, and diverting them felves with burning paper under the nofe of an old long-bearded hermit in chains. pro voked at the facrilege of thefe demons, i made five or fix large figns of the crofs ; at which the infernal crew difappeared in a moment, bellowing out horrible cries. elated at my victory i ven tured on without dread, and drew near the holy man. ah, sir, cried he, how many obligations have you laid on me ! had it not been for you thofe infolent fpirits had worried me foundly. but, my good brother, (aid i, why did you not have recourfe to the fame arms i made ufe of, to de liver you from thofe impious creatures ? are you ignorant that the fign of the crofs drives away evil fpirits? alas! replied the hermit, i am abfolutely forbid the ufe of fuch means ; my birth and my profeflion will not permit it. i am a native of hell, and thofe gentry you faw are my fellowcitizens. if i had but once crofled myfelf, i mould be baniftied that king dom for ever, whereas now my exile is only for a time. ay, faid i, with extreme furprize, are you an inhabitant of hell ? of what ufe then are thofe trappings of a hermit ? is it thus that 8 the devi/ hermit. that you prophane the holy habit ? you muft be a ftrange devil indeed to ridicule the moft venerable thing in religion ! ah, sir, anfwered he all in confufion, pleafe to pardon this ad~b of my defpair. i choie this habit, and this defart, only to conceal myfelf from, the fu-y of my comerades. i fhould have h .d a miferable night with them, had it not been for your aflutance. i am banifhed from hell for a hundred years, and all for a mere trifle j nothing but fleeping while a fat canon died. histoul, which had been intruded to me, efcaped, and this flight imprudence occauoned my difgrace. during the twenty five years fmce this misfortune has be fel me, 1 have borrowed fucceffively many bodies, in order to withdraw myfelf from the refent ment of my fellows. i have been a lady of qua lity, an ecclefiaftic, a courtier, a duana to a girl of fifteen, a begging friar, and at laft chief of the grand fignior's eunuchs : but feeing that all thefe fantaftic bodies were inefficient to hide me, i came into thefe defarts in the habit of a hermit. still nay deftiny owes me a fpite, and my ill-fortune purfues me. going fome time ago to bologna, at the requeft of a bro ther mendicant my friend, who had prayed me to ferve a young lover driven to defpair by the cruelty of his miftrefs, i was known by my collegues, who purfued me into my retreat, and put me into the fituation you faw. a good action that i had refolved to do has brought upon me this difgrace, at the devil hermit. 9 at his mentioning this circumftance, which revived the idea of my charmer, love, like a fire half-extinguifhed, rekindled in my tender heart. what do you fay ? cried i with fur prize. i am that individual wretch whom you had undertaken to ferve. be perfuaded then, that if you can enable me to fucceed with that inhuman fair, i will be devoted to you entirely. if i can ? replied he : never doubt that, sir j i have done many fuch good offices fince my exile. i am ravifhed to think i can ferve you. so fine a gentleman as you appear to be, un doubtedly deferves the friendmip of the greateft. lord in our whole empire : judge then of the deference i muft have for you. but you muft unchain me; other wife i can do nothing. i will then ferve you, on the word of a devil, like a domeftic that never receives his wages. but how, faid t, fhall i break thofe chains of yours ? they feem to me of a different fpe cics from all others. you need only go, he replied, into a chapel in the neighbourhood, and bring thence a fmall phial of holy water.. the moment you pour it on my chains, they will difappear. touched with the captivity of this poor de vil hermit, i haftened, as foon as it was day, to fetch the facred water, and fuddenly, without reflexion, came and fprinkled it on his body. but no fooner did he feel the ablution, than he fell a howling moft hideoufly. ah, sir, cried he, like one poflefs'd, what are you doing ? you give me a thoufand times more pain 10 the dev<t hermit. pain and torment than my fcurvy compa nions. pour on the chains, and not on me : i burn with a devouring fire. alas ! do you not jcnow that demons fear nothing ib much as that water ? pardon the miftake, fhid i to the devil 3 i did it without thought. my eager defire to re leafe you made me commit this blunder. come, come, don't be in a paflion ; you fee your chains are gone ; you are at liberty, and a little fcalding will do you no great harm. befides, 'tis proper you fhould pay fomething for all the frolicks you have committed fince you have roamed about the world. after five or fix hours fpent in frightful con torfions, the poor devil hermit feemed to be quiet ; his pains abated infenfibly, and he thought no more of his misfortunes. his liberty lay neareft his heart, which made him aflure ine of all his beft good-will. curious to learn the adventures of a devil of this (lamp, i pray ed him togive me an exact account of them. they follow precifely according to his relation, and undoubtedly they are very true : for he �ould not have dared to impofe on me ; on me who would have punifhed him in fuch a ter rible manner, and who knew he dreaded holy vvater more than a fchool-boy the ferula. my name, faid he, isastaroth. lam none of your devils of the firft clafs : a lefs honeft devil might have made you believe fo, but i chufe to be fincere with you. i own then ingenuoufly that i am but of an inferior race. i have the devil hermit. ,n i have been almoft all my time l u c i f e r's valet de chambre ; and you know, sir, that a viet de cbambre is ufually a-fejlow irom among the dregs of the people, "jjd .very often a great fcoundrel. my good patron > it is true, w-is very much like chofe libertine youni thofe co> -risers, or, if you pleafe, those in jo lent jniniiters, who are governed entirely by their val-ts ae j : ainbre; while the," receive more addreites than their mafters, and rnuft be addrefied too with a full hand, to make them procure you a (ingle audience. thefe rafcals a<3: the men of importance with effrontery, and are a fet of impudent bullies, th. a! out the good graces of their lords with an infupportable pride and prefumption. you fee that my situation was not very unhappy j but i com mitted fo many follies in my employment, that at laft i was turned out of place. my fortune had made me faucy by degrees. before i was advanced to this comfortable poft, my bufmefs had been (and bufmefs i had enough) to tranfport to hell the fouls of falfe devotees. the degree of honour i afterwards held near lu c i f e r's perfon, rendered me fo infolent, that i was continually ridiculing his infernal majefty. i could laugh in his face, and even rob him with impunity. the pacific lu c i fer fuffered all without complaining. if he had heartily curried my hide, poffibly it had made me wifer : but he diverted himfelf with my follies, and i took the lame liberty with his. when i gave him an anfwer, it was with an ironical arrogance. i had 12 the devil hermit. i had already fold above half his wardrobe, to make prefents to my miftrefles : for, sir, beg ging your pardon, miftrefles i had in abundance, notwithftanding my unpolifhed figure. i wore his clothes continually ; i borrowed his figure ; i copied his deportment j and by thofe means played his part with many beauties, who fuf fered themfelves to be thus deceived. lucifer, mean time, fhut his eyes to all my extravagan cies, and i had been yet near his perfon but for a pitiful young dog of a devil, who managed with ib much art as at laft to fupplant me. that in ftant all thofe who had loaded me with carefles, and promifed me an eternal friendfliip, let loofe their tongues againft me. i had no enemies more cruel than thofe whom i had obliged. well then, thought i, there is no probity in hell, and devils are altogether as wicked as men. my life was examined, and all agreed that i was one of the moft profligate valets de chambre of the whole infernal empire. my procefs was drawn up and got ready ; i was unanimoufly con demned to drag into hell the fouls of all eccle fiaftics. o the curfed office ! i could not go thro' it : for certainly there was bufinefs enough for an hundred affociates. my fatigues were ex ceffive overcome with labour, i had the un happinefs to fall afleep juft when the old rogue of a canon was in his laft agony. his place had been a long time pitched on in the moft fa mous apartment of all the infernal regions. his fcandalous life was known to mortals, as well as demons : a number of young and handfome devotees the devil hermit. 13 devotees, who came before him, cried out, like mad creatures, for vengeance. i lad ex prefs orders to bring him in great pomp : my droufinefs however made me neglect my duty. an old owl of a capuchin, more rank than a he -goat, never quitted him till he expired ; and, by dint of exhortation, extorted from him a loud mea culpa ; which to be fure had never happened, if i had been awake, and near him. this, dear sir, was the only cciufe of my banifhment ; and for this reafon i have been revenged on all the race of capuchins, as you fhall fee in the lequel of my adventures. banimed from hell, i was obliged to wander a confiderable time in the air; not knowing where to reft my feet, and dreading the hoots of my companions. where, faid i tomjfelf, (hall i go to (hun them ? for this curfed race befieges almoft all the inhabitants of the globe. whilft i waited for the fight of fome inhabited obje<5t, i formed vaft. defigns againft thofe long bearded hypocrites, one of whom had played me fuch a rafcally trick. by way of beginning i fuddenly raifed a moft furious huricane, which blew down five of their convents. my design was at once to have crufhed all their {linking re treats; but unluckily i met here with my match. all the reft, except thcfe five, were protected by fpirits more mighty than i : befides, that ill fortune which now purfued me, had fo ordered it, that there were but two monks in each of thofe five monasteries^ the reft, accord ing to their laudable cuftom, were all difperjed, c . 5on.e 14 7 'he divil hermit. 'some' were engaged with their dear devotees; for, fince the cafe of the famous father girard, all the brethren of the habit have taken a relifh to that excellent man's way of devotion. others amufed themfelves in emptying the cellars of ftupid citizens, whofe wives and daughters cannot withftand men of this fort, becaufe they look upon them to be difcreet. the wives hope that fuch holy horns will draw down a bleffing on their family affairs, and fettle the heads of their giddy debauched husbands : the daugh ters do it to fave their future fpoufes a laborious task, and facilitate the bufmefs of marriage. others roamed about the country, in order to junket at the expence of the fuperftitious peafant, in a word, this monkifh carrion, which loves retreat as little as zn author loves cenfure, had all taken wing except ten. i fwore like a hea ' then at being difappointed. fortunately, how ever, i flew into a village, where i found three; but three of the moft fprightly and beft fed petitrnaitres of all that baftard race of good st francis. they were only got into a tavern to refrefh their gullets, which they did moll furioufly every moment, by em bracing a great pitcher of wine of between fix and feven quarts. i knew this tavern, and had often been there to fet the drunkards te ther by the ears, and infpire the landlady with that fcurrility which fhe continually vomits out agninft her husband. good, feid i to rnyfelf, i am at home here, and muft give the com pany one caft of iny calling. as j am fer tile the devil hermit. 15 tile enough in the invention of incidents, i pre fently conceived a project which fucceeded to my wim . i perceived by the firefide a nafty drab of a fervant, whofe black and fnining skin was as fmooth as that of a fea-dog. a fhort flat nofe, a mouth enormoufly large, and little round eyes, compofed the phyfiognomy of guil lemette, (that was the name of this young laf's, who was turned of her twefth luftre). this homely huffey, faid i, is terribly forbid ding ; devil as i am, i would have nothing to fay to her myfelf. but a hungry dog will eat dirty pudding : this morfel is ftill dainty enough for fellows of that ftamp. i will ffake my reputation that i fucceed in my project. the fequel proved my reafoning jufr. i went in and fat down by them, and whif pered incontinence, a thing they were not a vcrfe to, in their ears." immediately their ruby faces perfuaded me the train had taken. afiifted by the liquor, . with which they had copioufly fwelled their paunches, i fuddenly kindled an im pure flame in their hearts. such a fire makes more uproar in the breafts of thefe heteroclite wretches, than a thoufand devils unchained and banifhed. i knew their temper too well to think they would repel my temptation?. they gve ear, and began to finger the damfel. uillemette, who had no want of ap petite, and ' had fafted a long time, eafily gave way to their perfuafions. i made her believe that (he fhould be thoroughly fanilified if fhe c 2 granted 1 6 the devil hermit. granted to fuch pious perfons an alms which they had more need of than of liquor. she re ceived their carefies: infenfibly a furious itch feized them all four ; and, in a word, i had brought them well on. the ftable, where the bed of this nymph v;as, tho' filled with naftinefs, appeared to them nt that inftant a magnificent hall. thither they repaired to fatiate their defires. but i took more care then to fleep in the happy moment ; i was too mindful of what my droufinefs had once coft me. alert as a bird i fled to the country man and liis wife, who were in the garden, and infituated that fomebody was robbing them. they ran full fpeed to feiz,e the thieves ; and, feeing nobody in the houfe, were inftantly at the ftable, where they beheld the merrieft farce in the world. a capuchin in clofe quarters with fuch a lump of deformity, is a very diverting fpeclacle. the clown, who had no tafte of raillery, and his wife, jealous that her flat of a servant had paffed her time fo agreeably, fet up fuch an outcry as brought together the neigh tours. they fell upon thefe goats in human fhape, and gave them a hearty drubbing. e very one of them made the beft of his way ; while i, tranfported with joy, and more fatis fied with this fcene than an amorous young girl on her wedding day, took my flight towards the capital of a flourifhing kingdom, fully re folved to purfue my vengeance whenever 1 found opportunity. i found it more than once in the fequel. the devil hermit. 17 fequel, and always made ufe of it to the beft ad vantage. i was already within two leagues of the city, when i perceived a magnificent coach, drawn by fix ftately dun horfes, and carrying a lady of the firft quality. a fine opportunity this, faid i to myfelf, for me to be concealed ! this lady is not yet poflefled, and my com panions muft be very crafty to difcover me under the figure of fuch a woman. in a mo ment i afcended into the air, and formed a thick darknefs round about the coach, under covert of which i tranfported the lady to an in chanted palace. i then aitumed her figure, flipt fuddenly into her place, and arrived at her manfion. one difficulty gave me pain : the lady was married ; and, devil as 1 am, i could not fall in with certain points of complaifance which a husband requires of his wife. it'was with pleafure that i heard that her lord, not withftanding the beauty of this young creature, never came near her but once in fix months : and all merely out of a capricious humour. they had their feparate beds, tables, and domefticks. a reafon in fact: he had, and a very courtly o: , for this procedure. the lady was not of equal quality with him, and he married her only for her riches. an actrefs, infinitely more amiable, captivated his heart. she v/as indeed but a cob ler's daughter ; but the part of a theatrical prin cefs had put her upon a level with the count uc****; c 3 this i8 the devil hermit. this fantaftic body was of great ufe in in troducing me at court. the lady was efteemed there for her virtues, and adored on account of her charms. i had a violent inclination to be acquainted in that region, where i had never been. as we infernal valets are not admitted within its verge, but confined in our functions to poor median icks, it is a particular favour when we are fent to feme burgher. thefe people we often drive tomadnefs, becaufe their virtue is proof a gainft all our wiles ; one of them cofts us more fatigue than a thcufand courtiers. i liked my fituation perfectly well, and would .gladly have kept it during my exile, if le v i a t h a n, one of the chief princes of hell, had not ken my metamorphofis. filled with in-' dign.uien ?,t my afturance, he drove me away from i;irn iir.c a fcotmdrcl. what can be done againft fuperiors? their injuftice is always one's juih there is no demanding the reafon of their tyranny, nor withftanding their wills, without feeling ail the vyeight of their fuprcme power. your plea, tho' ever fo well founded, muft give way to force. it was therefore my fceft expedient to decamp with all expedition. this lordly devil, not content with the infult he had put' on me, fent his bailiffs, i mean his footmen, after me. thefe fellows, as great fcrubs on t'r.ofe on earth, leaded 'me with out rages. i was obli'ied to fly into a remote pro vince, where a courtly ecclefiaftic lent me his figure. but before i entertain you with this fecond the devil hermit. 19 fecond change, it is proper to relate what i did at court. here the hermit teemed to be in diforder, and his whole fantaftic figure was transformed : his eyes began to fparkle ; he fetched a deep figh, and the cave refounded with lamentable cries. i freely confefs, i was not then much at my eafe j for all this devilifm made me trem ble. any other man i believe would have done the fame j thefe infernal blades not being the moft honourable folks in the univerfe. dear lord astaroth, fays i, in more confufion than a spanish virgin furprized with her lover, what is the meaning of all this ? do you want to give me too a fpecimen of your trade ? not in the leaft chevalier, fays he, you need be in no apprehenfion of danger. alas, unhappy me ! but have patience ; a few lafhes perhaps will excufe me. the fact is thus. belphegor, a prince of great power among us, has for three or four years paft worn the borrowed figure of a chinefe mandarin, who was the emperor's prime minifter, in or der to confront and bear down a covetous crew of hypocrites, more crafty than all hell united, i who, to enrich themfelves, have introduced the romifh religion in that country. lord be l fhe gor, a mafter in politicks, perceiving that th-^fe cunning knaves were about to deftroy his power in that vaft country, refolved to make them pay dearly for this their rafh enterprize. hs hns aimed accomplifhed his defign ; and, as he knows whatever pafles in the univerfe, he ha 3 20 he devil her mi f. has heard that you have releafed me from my chains, and that the author of the jewish letters has juft now publifhed the chi nese letters. he knows that i love that writer ; i muft go and pay him a vifit, sir. 'tis a mere trifle, but i cannot refift his e vocations. reft yourfelf here, and be affbred i mail foon return. have no thoughts of go ing'to bologna ; for the holy inquifition is in purfuit of you. at thefe words the devil difappcared like a flafh of lightening, and left me in a furprize that i did not foon recover. a mortal terror took pofteflion of my fenfes : i knew not what courfe to take ; and i had been two hours re flecting upon this adventure, when the return of ast a roth difembarafled me. what ails you ? fays he, appearing before me of a fudden, in the fame manner that he went away : have you not fufficiently learned, from the victory you won over my companions, the full extent of your power on people of my fpecies ? the cu ftoms of thofe we converfe with mould grow familiar to us. it is our way to leave our friends juft in the fame manner i difappeared from you. be it fo then, faid i, recovering my courage at thefe words; i find myfelf already ufed to it. but i was afraid your journey would take, up more time, and i knew not where to retire. befides, it is now two days fmce i have eat or drank, and there iecni^ to. be no nourifh ment in thefe dcfarts, ' at icaft unlefs i return into the devil hermit. 21 into the foreft, where i have run a thoufand hazards. i have provided for your wants, faid asta roth, prefenting me a great piece of venifon, which he pulled out from under his hermit's garb. he had alfo furnifhed himfelf with bread and wine, which i accepted without ceremony, and without inquiring from whence he had them. hunger never gives way to reflexion, and mine was fo great, that i kept fwallowing above an hour without fpeaking a fingle word. asta roth ferved me with liquor as faft i wanted. this refrefhment, whkh i had great need of, put me again in gcod humour ; and then i per ceived that the devil was not fo well pleafed as i, but feemed very uneafy. what ails you, fays i, lord astaroth? you appear as forrowful as a coquet without a lover. cer tainly you have had but an ill quarter of an hour with your devil mandarin. has he ordered you to quit your habit, and take poft near the foul of fome canon ? you feem in as bad humour as a monk retrenched of his pit tance, or who is faft ing at eight o'clock in the morning. no, sir, anfvvered the he rm i t . it is true that i have been a little mifufed by my mafter : but he has not reduced,me to fuch a penance as that 5 he is not quite fo unjuft. he has con demned me for four months to poflefs a nun in defpair. this is what grieves me ; for i have no liking to that fort of people. befides, i have promifed to aflift you in all your undertakings, in 22 the devs! hermst. in return for the fervice you had done me. yet the poor young creature has great need of my help : (he is juft at the end of her litany, and wants to recover her fickle lover, who, after having enjoyed her favours, laughs at her mis fortune. is that all, lord astaroth, faid i tq the devil hermit, that puts you in fuch an ill humour ? certainly you perplex yourfelt for a very trifle. take comfort prithee ; you may eafily difcharge your office with me. provided you favour me with forne hours of your fpare time, lam content. but give me the hiflory of that nun ; for without doubt you know her. it would be ftrange if i did not, faid he ; (he is my pupil : but mum for that ; i have my rea fons for not faying a word. as he had told me all the extent of my power, i was refolved to put it to a trial. no refinance, faid i in a mafterly tone, either the hiftory or the holy water, for there is ftill fome left in the phial. begin then, and this moment : i muft know who that fair nun is that you protect, and be informed of what pafles in thofe facred retreats. then you fhall tell me what you have feen at court. here mr astaroth began to reafon with me : but five or fix drops of that miraculous water, which i threw on his nofe, foon brought him to compliance. ah, dear sir ! faid he, gently (perceiving i was ready to warn him foundly) have a little mercy on my black skin. my carcafs is very fenfible ; it cannot bear the leaft injury. give attention and i will t:he "devil hermit. 23 will fatisfy you : but hide that curfed bottle ; for i cannot look at it in cold blood. chap. ii. cupid mafaued -, or, 'tfye hiftory of sifter cornichon, and the marquis de st julian. *tp h e young nun that i mentioned, mifs * cornichon, is of diftinguimed birth, tho* (he had a very moderate fortune. her charms captivated a rich young gentleman, who promifed her a plentiful allowance. she loved him in good ea-rnefl: : but thinking him falfe, the imagination of his inconftancy made her re tire into a cloifler. too young to examine the intrigues of fuch places, (he blindly gave into the mares which the nuns had fpread to draw her from the world. high birth and a tolerable portion are bewitching cnarms to all nuns in ge neral ; and as nothing can refift thofe holy fouls, it was not difficult for them to captivate corn ic hon. the fame amorous indignation that occafion ed her retreat, revenged her upon herfclf. she imagined this procedure would drive her incon ftant to defpair ; and, deceived by thefe falfe ideas, fhe began and compleated her own fa crifice. you muft think i had a great hand in this, and indeed i afcribe all the honour of it to myfelf. scarce had flic pronounced her vows, but 24 the devil hermit. but i difpelled the clouds with which i had till then furrounded her. she faw, but too late, that, abufed by illufions, her meafures had been fomewhat precipitate. she learned that;* her lover could never have been capable of infide lity, if her own ill-condu&ed jeakmfy had not compelled her to mifufe him. the falfe report of a perfidious confident, drew her into the fnares which had been fpread for her. she was eafily taken ; or, to fpeak more properly, it was impofiible for her to difcover the fprings which had been fet on work to deceive her. i forefaw that (he would be a virtuous woman, but a very bad nun ; and, as i loved her foul, it was neceflary i fhould ufe this ftratagem to preferve it. her friend, very fufceptible of the foft paf fion, could not withftand the gentleman's merit. love took pofleffionof her heart, and determin ed her to betray them both. as a girl thus def perately amorous will omit nothing to accom plifh her ends, fhe conceived the project of fet ting them at variance, that the marquis might become fenfible of her own charms. peret t e (that was the name of this beauty) had fome re femblance of cornichon, but with difadvan tage on her own fide ; fhe therefore deceived her felf, while fhe difunited them. the gentleman, enrag'd at the coldnefs of his miftrefs, flies like a madman to his regiment ; and fhe, no lefs enraged at his inconftancy, fhuts herfclf up in a cloiiler. he knew 'nothing of her retreat, nor fhe of his flight. the falfe friend dextroufly avails herfelf of this feparation : (he informs the marques devil hermit. 25 marquis, by letters full of artifice, that another had captivated the heart of his miftrefs, and that hymen would very foon unite them for ever. rage takes pofleffion of his foul ; he marries without love j and cornichon turns nun without a fpiritual vocation. \vhile he forges himfelf fetters for life, (he weaves for herfeif the bonds of a fevere flavery. the gentleman, upon his return to his pater nal feat, hears with furprize the engagements of his miftrefs. he knows not what to think of her proceedings, and, defirous to be fatisfied c6n cerning a point which gave him fomuch uneafi nefs, fends one of his fifters to the parlour of the nunnery, who relates to cornichon her lover's diforder, and the motives that induced him to leave her fo abruptly. struck with this dif covery, her tears were the only interpreters of her foul. the gentleman, informed of the fitua tion of his miftrefs, finds means to fpeak with her, and juftifies himfelf : fhe explains the caufe of her behaviour, and they jointly detect the bafenefs of their pernicious confident. the tears and fighsof the marquis gave but too much proof that he was innocent, and made cor nichon but too fenfible of the lofs fhe had fuftained. reflecting on her irretrievable mis fortune, her foul is agitated by the moft cruel mnfports ; her fenfes are all confufed ; the lu ftre of her eyes is at once eclipfed, and fhe falls down fpeechlefs in the mldft of" the parlour. the maid', hearing the nolle of her fall, runs to her with fyeed ; whiifr ha lover, fatisfied that d fomcbody 2.6 ihe divil hermit. fomebody was coming to her afliftance, retires, both to ihve his reputation and hide his dilbrder. the grates prevented his flying to fupport her. she, recovering from her fwoon, finds herfelf a bcd in a burning fever, which keeps her fix months in a languifhing condition. during this rime ihe receives a great number of letters from her unhappy lover. thefe letters, far from calming her grief, did but make it the more fe \ ere ; every reflexion was more cruel than the former. i fwam all this time in delight, and felt my fpleen dilated with her pains : for i love extremely to fee diforder in a human foul. her complaints irritated her defires, and her deftres augmented her pains ; while the fituation of her lover was almoft equally bad. the va rious pleafures, however, in which his quality engaged him, by little and little abated his for row. infenfibly he forgets his miftrefs, but not till after a long courfeof intrigues. the mar quis had wit, and was as interprifing as a petit *:iaitre : i prompted him therefore 03 take advan tage of the tendernefs co r n i c h o n ftill retain ed for him. in a word, he fo effectually urged his point, that he arrived at the fummit of his tlefires. all his love was then extinguifhed, and it was only in mere complaifance that he afterwards vifited her. it v/as quite otherwife with mifscornichon : fhe had a true relifh for the fport, and when me obferved not the fame ragernefs in her dear st julian, fhe wrote faim letters in the moft pathetic language. this the devil hermit. 27 this unhappy reclufe moved my compaflion : 1 fled to her relief, and infpired her with fuch gay thoughts, as afforded her lover a moft agree able amufement. i have never abandoned her fince that time, but am every morning in her chamber, aiding her in the composition of her letters. the marquisde st ju li an will ftay yet two months in this city and he makes her a vifit once every week. formerly, he was four hours every day at the parlour grate: but things are mutable in this world. men furfeit in the greateft delight, when confined to the fame object, and it requires a moft difmterefted con flancy to be bound to a nun. befides, it is ufu rping tie property of the clergy. a huge lecherous friar began to grumble. this young pullet ap peared to him a favoury bit, but unluckily ano ther had got hold of it, and the fort was already poimed. within this fortnight indeed he has made himfelf amends for the difappaintment. being in the confidence of fifter corn i c h o n , and playing the mercury for her, his mouth was obferved to water plentifully, every time he fpoke to her. he had leave already to lick her hand, which he improved by degrees to the enjoyment of other privileges. but he has gone to work like a great booby : certain fym toms which the nun perceives make me tremble for her, and i think with good reafon. i will inform you hereafter how {he gets out of this confounded affair ; or rather, in what manner i help her out; for without me the poor girl would deferve to be lamented. she has abun d 2 dance 28 the devil hermit. dance of enemies among her lifters, who all confpire her ruin. her beauty and wit have drawn this envy upon her. now envy in thofe retreats is much to be dreaded, and does infinite ly more mifchief than abroad in the world. a nun tainted with this vice knows neither virtue nor religion. is (he a friend, (he focrifices you j an indifferent perfon, (he hates you.; an enemy, (he calumniates your character : in a word, this paflion is the ruin of all your cloiftcrs. a jealous nun is more to be dreaded than a lionnefs inraged ; (he ufes a thoufand de vilifms to betray and ruin you. hence the ca bals, intrigues, fpies on your conduct, to de tect all your fteps, and poifon all your actions. the fmalleft faults are divulged ?.s fcandalous enormities, and 'the moft upright intentions are mvencmed. her heart, corrupted by this pafiion, never lets her beeafy, and this fort of frenzy al �ays finds means to do you a mifchief. an in uifcret word fhe treats as fcandalous, and a flight irreverence flic calls impiety. are you in the parlour, {he will maintain that (he faw you grant favours to a man, and proceed to very b >ld and impudent familiarities ; that fhe heard tender and equivocal converfations, the fub~ {lance of which fhe whifpers from ear to ear. 'tis a piece of confidence, {he will fay, that has been repofed in her, and {he intrufts it now as a great fecret, thoroughly fatisfied at the fame time that this fecret; will not be kept. this tells it to another, a third to a fourth, and thefe holy creatures always magnify their objects. infenfibly tte devil hermit. 29 infenfibly it comes to the ears of your fuperiors, and fets them againft you, while you are ignorant of the caufe of this prepofieflion ; for that they carefully conceal from you. they never con cern themfelves to give you charitable advice ; that is a virtue unknown to thefe coquets in crape. scandal to them is much fweeter, and the pleafure of furprifmg you in the leaft neglect. thofe circumftances which give little room to fufpicion, grow ftronger by degrees. at laft they chaftife you, and the flighted fault is pu nifhed with the utmoft rigour, merely out of re fentment. self-love then begins to work ; the heart revolts, and you cry out injuftice : in a word, you become the martyr of your own temper, while your fuperiours make you the viclim of their falfe prejudices. the mind, taken up with a thoufand imrer pcrtinent cavils, which they daily raife again.t you, gives way to grief, and grows languid in the practice of virtue. piety appears incommo dious, and the duties of it are performed with extreme negligence : they give no relifh, no de light, while the mind is deftitute of its natural tranquility. the fervour of your devc cooled by the daily mortifications that k ;} you. you pant after liberty ; every th : v ju'pleafes j nothing relieves. farewel to peace, -which the heart is no more capable of /eelh-g. thefe ;:i2 the forts of fr'enfy with which we affecl: a foul that is virtuoufly inclined. you will tell me, perhaps, that thefe tricks arc mere trifles, incapable of reducing a perfon d 3 truly 30 the devil hermit. truly pious. i own they may appear fuch to you, becaufe you have never been expofed to them : but a foul that has particular fentiments, and acertain manner of thinking, cannot di geft thefe little matters. frivolous as they may appear to you, they are capable of difturbing, vexing, afflicting, and of producing indifference and languor. the natural confequence of thefe is want of devotion. but we have introduced the following other maxims, which you will think of more weight. to make you apprehend me the better, i muft firft inform you, that among all the nuns which fill your cloifters, there is not a fourth part, i fay a fourth part, who embrace the mo uaftic life from a pious impulfe. some are compelled to it by inhuman parents, in order to wrich an eldeft fon : others are driven to it by cii (appointed love, when they have conceived that pailion for a man they are not permitted to marry ; and others take this ftep to be revenged of a faithlefs lover. thefe retire to the nunnery out of necefliry, being unable to fupport their quality ; and thofe are allured to it by the nuns, who forever fpread their imperceptible nets : for you are to judge of thofe ladies as of us de vils, that they are never fo pleafed as when they diaw numbers into their own misfortune. the greater their trocp, the more they hugthemfelves, as if the plurality of fufferers cauftd a diminu tion of the mifery. nuns of this later fort are generally young ladies of high rank, or they enter the devil hermit. 31 enter too young to penetrate the confequences of their engagements. is the daughter of a rich family put to board in a nunnery ? the fifters, ever alert when in tereft is in view, (and intereft is the printum mobile of all their actions) will be fure not to let her flip. does the abbefe deiire her company ? ( let us rather fay, her money ) all the fociety is informed of the plot, and every artifice is ufed to cajole the young innocent. she is diftin guifhed from all her companions, and encomi ums and compliments are laviflied on her : every thing me does is applauded, and nothing (he de fires is refufed. all the little dainties, all the fweet-meats fly to her chamber. she is a party in all the diverfions of my lady abbefs, and has a promife of fucceeding her when me dies ; for never, fure, can they have a fifter more worthy. look, fays one of thefe female-quacks, what fweetnefs, what an afpect is there! she is an angel ! oh, yes madam, you are one of the stunned with their applications, poor mifs perhaps utters afew foolifli things. who can help admiring, fays another, that delicate turn of mind, thofe fine fallies of wit ! yes, my foul, my dear little fifter, you are the moft amiable creature alive. you muft never leave us ; i fhould die with grief to lofe you. in a word, they ufe fo many wiles, that at laft they triumph over the poor fimple girl. after this prelude the directors come in play. she is intrufted to a dextrous and fubtile father, to one of thofe . cunning 32 ^he devil hermit. cunning blades who are at the head of their pro feflion, who perform their parts with greateft skill, and who feldom mifs carrying their point at the firft attack. a virgin of fourteen or fifteen is incapable of fage reflexions : her thoughts are all chimerical, and we devils infenfibly foment thefe chimeras, till {he engages, in fpite of parents and friends, to facrifice her liberty. scarce has fhe pafled her noviciate, but the carefles and complaifance are at an end. her fortune is theirs, and that was all they wanted. the young nun, furprized at this change, fays to herfelf, what have i done ? all the fociety ftiun me, and iaugh in my face. a lay-fifter, equally ftupid and unmannerly, fays an impertinent thing to her : me complains, but is only laughed at. the more (he advances in age, the more her underftanding encreafes, and the more mortifications fhe meets with. her reafon by degrees difcovers her imprudence, and (he begins to perceive that a monaftic life is nothing lefs than religious. she fees in it the intrigue's, the gallantries, the envy, the jealoufy, in a word, all the diforders that reign in the ag. if they are lefs glaring than in the world, they are therefore more dangerous. they grow fami liar, and (he gives herfelf up to them with fo much the more facility and ardor, as {he is un acquainted with their confequences. she knows {he has been abufe ? and reftraint irritates her defire. spleen, indignation, and often defpiir itfelf drives her i^o irregularities, that confound all the good difpofitions of her foul. pernicious examples the devil hermit. 33 examples are ever before her : thofe examples corrupt her mind ; (he follows the torrent, and the torrent foon .carries her to gallantry. hav ing never loved before, her tendernefs rifes to excefs, arjd fhe is unable to keep within the bounds of difcretion. scandal foon follows, and after that correction, with an entire priva tion of liberty. here we take full pofleffion of her foul, and make it the victim of her thought lefs facrifice. you will tell me, without doubt, that no examples are fufficient to make a prudent young woman trample under foot the duties of her pro feifion. be it fo : but can this young perfon, flefli and blood, always refift the feducing ob jccls that are continually before her ? a nun, for example, that has no charms, or whole charms are decayed, has a generous good friend, who will make her ample acknowledgment for the favours (he fhall procure from this young fifler. she engages to ufe all her art and inte reft. the men of this age have no great refpedl for a veil. a handfome young gallent, capable of infpiring love, infenfibly wins the heart of the young damfel, who fees it is the cuftom of the cloifler. they infinuate that thought till ihe grows full of it. one of my good brethren flides imperceptibly under her petticoat. could {he withftand many fuch conventions f no : when virtue is too mnch expofed, it always fuf fers fhipwreck. on the other hand, if {lie re bels againft thefe fine inftruftions, (he difpleafes that old friend, who never fails to crofs her on every 34 2"/&* devil her mi f. every occafion. the others all laugh at, and defert her. my fifter, fay they, in a way of irony, you make yotirfelf frightfully ridiculous ; you are going to difgrace our cloiftcr, and we (hall have no, man will come near it. at laft (he finds herfelf obliged to be vicious, to follow the fafhion of thofe charitable nuns. the reft, with much lefs inward vocation, are abundantly more happy. their hearts, already practifed in gallantry, know how to reftrain themfelves within certain limits. their flame indeed is fprightly, but they have the art of difii mulation, and carefully conceal thofe fparklcs which might otherwife evaporate. this lefs active fire is obfcured by certain clouds which hide its materiality. prudence, or, to fpeak more properly, fear prompts them to preferve thofe appearances, which the ignorance of others is unacquainted with. they fecurely commit the crimes without being expofcd to the danger, as they have impenetrable ftratagcms to avoid de tection. in this confifts the cunning we exert in their behalf. if they have not love to make them complaifant, intereft will have the fame effect. a generous lover is more to their tafte than an amiable one, and prefents with them fupply the p'ace of merit. a rich old mifer, pro vided he be not covetous, nor quite nafty, pre vails beyond a fine young gentleman. a block head is preferred to a man of defert, becaufe he is more difcreet, and preferves their reputa tion. sin, committed with fuch an one, always goes on with impunity : his reverence for the fifterhood ihe devil hermit. 35 fifterhood will never fuffer him to blab. thus, sir, we poflefs the nuns in general, and this is the oeconomy of the cloifter. if a decrepid old fitter can make no captives, (he has other batteries, at leaft equally pernicious with thofe i have named. for example, when ihe hears that a young girl is cloiftered on ac count of a gallantry which her parents did not approve, me prefently infmuates herfelf into her confidence. as /he knows that this damfel can have no accefs to the parlour, me "cajoles her till by degrees me gets miftrefs of her fecret. the poor innocent opens her heart tothismegaera, who makes her a thoufand proffers of her fer vice. by her the news of his miftrefs's retreat is conveyed to the deferted lover, letters pafs for wards and backwards, and the fecret is pre ferved, provided flie is well paid. this cou ple by degrees find an opportunity to fpeak together, and they mutually take meafures to relieve their torment. the old hag engages in all their fchemes, and brings them to perfection. at laft the walls are fcaled to fet the damfel at liberty, who flies with her fpark, and marries againft her parents confent. well, sir, what do you think now of the nunneries ? are not thefe proper receptacles for the infernal nation ? indeed a cloifter is our conflant afylum, and we live better there than in any other place in the univerfe, becaufe we almoft ever play a fure game with thefe women. it is not till after he has won feveral fignal vi &ories, that a devu obtains this province. the place, 36 the devil hermit. place, in a word, is a fort of reeompence, like a government to an old officer, who has worn out his life and fpent his eftate in the fervice of his prince. at another opportunity i will give you a circumftantial detail of the life of a monk ; but we muft go foftly on, and you mall have an account of my adventures in all my different metamorphofes. chap. iii. aftaroth at court. pphat he fees, and what he does there. a n hour after having borrowed the lady's fi ^* gure, i arrived at her palace. i received a number of vifits from all the principal courtiers, my husband only excepted, ( for fo i muft call the count de ***, ) during my abode there. his indifference for his wife was founded, as i told you before, merely upon the inequality of her birth : otherwife {he was infinitely worthy of efteem, as well for her beauty as for her virtue. two months the lady had fpent in her journey, which was undertaken to vifit her parents, and engage them to give her a fum of money. her husband, loaded with debts, hsd loft his very equipage in gaming, and now enjoyed it only on his word of honour. she brought enough to retrieve his circumftances ; and, not to wrong him, i muft own, that wkhin two days of my arrivaj, the devil hermit. 37 arrival, meeting me by chance in a gallery, with two counte'tes of his lady's acquaintance, after a thoufand civilities (hewn to them, he en quired coldly concerning my health, and whe ther my journey had fucceeded. having an �ered him in the affirmative, he gave himfelf the trouble in the evening to come to my apart ment, to take poffefiion of fifty thoufand livres which his lady had brought him. he had the extraordinary complaifhnce, moreover, to leave me two hundred livres for pocket-money : r but as to careftes, he had more regard to his honour than to forget himfelr" fo far. his theatrical princefs would have taken it ill, and his own. quality would have been difgraced. i laughed heartily to myfelf at the extravagance of this nobleman; and at the fame time was charmed with his ridiculous deportment, this indiffe rence put me out of danger : for, with all my cunning of a devil, had he come to clofe quar ters with me, i fliould have been plaguily put to it to bring myfelf tolerably well off. but lucki ly he made no offer of that kind, and left ine without ceremony, carrying off with him the ready fpecies. the next day i was obliged to pay my duty to the king, to make my viiits, and, in a word, to appear in public before the whole court. ivly nddrefs alone bore me thro' this ; for i was ah lolutely unacquainted with the chart of that country. but, what a delightful climate for people of my fpecies ! i have feen in hell a great many devilifh tricks, and was myfelf, a s e i have 188134 3 8 'the devil hermit, i have told you, one of die moft arrant va lets de chambre in the whole kingdom ; yet here i found myfelf a mere novice. the natural or der of things is all reverfed in this region. they fleep in the day, riot in the night, and fhorten life by unheard-of excefies. the foul is a ftranger to all fincerity, and all companion. double-dealing, impofture, fcandal, and oflen tation, are the only virtues known to courtiers. a near relation betrays you, an enemy careffes you, a friend ruins and makes a facrifke of you. the husband is never feen with his wife, and the wife flies her husband as much as poffible. what meannefs, faid a nobleman one day to a lady that was his miftrefs, to have fo much re gard for your husband! fie upon fuch a beggarly tafte! you'll pafs f or the wife of a mechanic, a mere plebeian. as if the end of matrimony was mutual love ! you deceive yourfelf, madam, and run counter to all politenefs and good man ners. lord, madam, cried a dutchefs one day as fhe accofted me, i am fo fatigued with the civilities of the duke de***, that he is become quite infupportable to me. it looks as if he had married me only to make me ridiculous at court by his fond behaviour. do but behold that me lancholic man ! always the fame bed, the fame table, the fame coach. he actually kifies me, and talks tender things, till he runs himfelf out of breath, without giving me time to put in a word. how happy are you, madam, fhe goes on, to have a husband you fcarce ever fee ! it is now above four live-long days fmce i have had an opportunity the devil hermit. 39 opportunity to fpend one quarter of an hour with the count de c ***, the man whom i love to diftra&ion. so, here comes the princefs de l*** to join our company. how beautiful, how amiable (he appears ! who can be more happy than that lady ? she has a croud of lo vers, and fuffers not one to languim in defpair. her husband, the count de p ***, always gets out of the way when (he receives them. this is certainly the quinteflence of good manners, and what makes him, in his turn, adored by all the ladies. at this time the king, very much advanced in years, turned all his thoughts to the concerns of another world. in his youth the princes of hell had occafioned great diforders in his court ; but at the decline of his days he had baniflied them all. when this monarch, who died two months after my arrival, came to the banks of the river styx, all the infernal people afcended together in a croud, and took pofleffion of mcfl of his courtiers. i now faw myfelf lucky in my choice of a tabernacle to dwell in, which ftill fecured me in a place where otherwife i muft not have dared to appear, as the fituation was fo coveted by all my fuperiours. the lady whofe figure i had borrowed pafled for a woman fo cruelly virtuous, that my very prefence ftruck an awe on the moft artful devil of them all, and not a fiend would venture to come near me. they wheeled about my perfon, but at a becoming diftance. i had a great inclination, thus dif guifed, to have fome diverfion with one of our e 2 chief 40 tfhe devil hermit. chief lords, by giving him free accefs to my perfon. infenfibly i engaged his regard, and by degrees we became familiar. this devil of quality was a very crafty one, and who tho roughly kneav the hearts of the courtiers : he therefore diverted me between whiles with re lating their characters, and fome of their prin cbal adventures. take notice, fays he to me one day, .of that man in the red cap : he is an excellent fubjeft, and much relpected throughout our empire. he has acquired us an infinite number of proic lytco, and is in fact the evil genius of the ftare, ;md of him that governs it. indulgent to the laft degree, he has given that prince fuch an ad iiiirab!-education, that i have more hopes of him -than of the grand sultan. this pre ceptor, at prefent minifter of ftate, is indeed a mighty good fort of man : he reconciles to his niifcicnce whatever his mafbr requires of him. he often fcolo's ; fwears at every word he fpe.iks, and fometimes even cries : as witnefs la ft night at the reprefentatiori of agnes de cast ro. hah ! here comes tb.2 marquis de ***, the rnoft affable r.nd obliging nobleman in the whole court. every man, without exception, is ad mitted into his converfation. he promifes to every one all his intereft : but the misfortune is, that he thinks for ever of his own affairs, and never of his promifes. he keeps two miftreffes, who ruin his fortune, and folicit:-: a government to fapply the extravagance of thefc heroines. do ibe devil hermit. 41 do you fee that young prince ? he is themoft paffionate and violent man upon earth. when he knows any fellow whom i miftruft, and who is fubject: to certain fits of devotion, that may de prive me of his foul, i prompt his highnefs to fend him into the other world, which he does the firft opportunity. i have already had a good number thro' his means, and indeed he is an in exhauftible treafure for the nether regions. he has an alrefs for his miftrefs, whom he beats like a ftock-fi{h ; which however does not pre vent the lady from diftributing her favours to many others. take a view of that ugly old harradan who comes this way ! obferve her grotefque figure ! that marchionefs now has her lovers, and has run her husband above 100,000 crowns in debt to pay them. it is me that fupports that young gentleman who walks with her. the fellow is poor, and is he not in the right to live at the expence of fuch a baboon ? so, fays i, whence comes the du-tchefs de *** ? she feems to me quite out of breath. a very pretty queftion, anfwers belphegor: (he comes from la si l l ion's, and is running to , where (he has always one of the dcareit apartments. the moft miierable wretch, who is rich, may boaft of having a dutchefs for his money : but fo infatiable is (he on this head, that the moft bountiful gallant never comes often. now obferve a little that ecclefiaftic and that duke, who laugh like a couple of ideots. thofe are mafter and fcholar. and what, fays t, \ e 3 ' the 42 the devil htrnrit. the name of fenfe, can make them giggle fo immoderately ? nothing, he replied, b^;t the conceit of fpending the night together at madam commode's, where they lately made a moft fcandnlous difturbance. t he commiifary, with two of his archers, ran thither at hearing the outcry : but the poor honeft officer was obliged to return in confufion. thefe two lords compelled him and his followers to kifs the lady'a pofieri ors, by way of punimment for having inter rupted their pleafures. this is the whole fub je<5t of their extravagant mirth. the poor commifiary was fo mortified at the egregious affront, that he has lately quitted the city, and is gone to take up his refidence in the country. do you obferve that couple who are now coming towards us ? the man is a notorious cheat, who will ruin the kingdom. he is a jlricuh fugitive, and now meditates great de fi.tns. his pretended wife, with her red and white complexion, is not a jot better than him folf. they have had accefs, by means of my compatriots, to the greateft men in the land . his projects, tho' extremely dangerous, will be put in execution, and they give me plea lure by way cf anticipation : for i hope to gain more by this game than in a raffib cf monks. it will impoverifil fo many families, that ra^e and jefpsir (ball people a whole city of our kingdom, vvirch i had aiiott-d to new converts, who take refute in r oreign countr:c ; . h-'re belphet. a very fhrill cry. d^/r court tefi, faid lie, kc us inltantly efcape. 1 perceive the devil hermit. 43 i perceive a perfon at a diftance that comes this way : 'tis lycophron, that redoubtable phy fician, who has fent an infinite number of in habitants into the kingdom of pluto. the company of that gentleman poifoner will not fuit us, and is only proper ior thofe ladies who have jealous husbands ; or thofe husbands who want to get rid of their wives ; or to feme redu ced heir, who pants after a rkh patrimony* and is quite out of patience. he kills with im punity all that truft to his medicines. but the other day he gave a ftrong dofe of opium to the young monarch, inftead of a cordial. he is the mofr. ignorant quack in the whole world, and never knew what it is to fludy. all the morning he fcribbles over fome wafte paper, which a bookfeller has thecomplaifance to print, in order to fell the (beets afterwards to the wholefale gro cers. after dinner he haunts the coffeehouies, to take in fome novice at gaming. if you fuf fer him to enter your doors, truft me, 'tis all over with you : your husband will imitate a great many others, who -love poor miftrefles that they may enrich them, and rich wives that they may beggar them. our ./esculapius was inti mately acquainted with la br invilliers, and there are very 'weighty reafons to let him go on quietly without panifhinent. all his know ledge lies in the pills of that m e g je r a , which he fells very dear to thofe who are fo unhappy as to want them. in a word, he is a very bafilisk, who kills with his eyes, and poifons with his breath : let us fly him as a woman would fly an impotent 44 the devil hermit.' impotent lover. 1 am very much obliged to you for your advice, faid i tobelphegor: but i know him, and have no inclination to make him an affignment. after this converfation my noble devil left me, without having once fufpe&ed my meta morphofis. immediately i fled home, where a young knight of malta expected me with im patience. he was very intimate with the lady whofe figure i had borrowed. belphegor had inflamed him with defires of enjoyment, and aflured him that he would make me fenfible of his torment, and mollify my virtue. i con fefs that i have a hundred times repented my be ing a devil, incapable of yielding to his paflion, and following the examples of the court ladies ; for certainly adonis had not more charms than this amiable chevalier. his conftancy, for a courtier, was extraordinary: already, for more than four months, he had declared himfelf an adorer of the countefs, without obtaining the leaft favour ; which, on her part, (hewed an ad mirable refolution for a lady of quality. i frankly own, that i had more regard to his paf fion than the countefs ; which made me give him fome hopes of fuccefs. he pumed the point a little home upon me ; but it was out of my power to make him happy. i demanded time to confider the matter, and feemed to capitulate upon honourable conditions ; refolving all the while to infpire the lady with the fame fentiments, whenever (he came home. i have fucceeded to admiration ; and for fix and twenty years part, (for the devil hermit. 45 (for fo long they have had a right understanding together) their reciprocal paffion has not in the diminimed. the knight, as fatisfied as a nun who had juft received her new year's gift, conducted me to a pompous entertainment, that was given one evening at the gobelins by a certain great prin cefs. every thing there was very fplendid j but nothing gave more pleafure than the fe cond deficit. for that reafon it was very long, and the debauch of it was pumed to fc:rie excefs. every female above twenty years oul was prohibited this entertainment. when it was found that the liquor began to operate, all the lights were put out in a. mo ment, that cupid might have full liberty to rove without reftraint. my fprightly young lover did not deep on this occafion, and the fcene at firft put me in a fright : but i prefentljf affumed the fhape of a man, and fo the cheva lier miffed his fcent, when otherwife he would certainly have run me down. a confufed noife was at firft heard throughout the aflernbly. by degrees a profound filence came on, which was followed by fighs from contented hearts, and 3 few feeble exclamations. the foft and tender words that i heard fly about in whifpers, gave me to underrvand that this feaft was to the tafte of the guefts, and infinitely beyond all the di verfions of the carnival ; and the confequences of it fhewed my opinion well grounded. a little while after feveral young virgins difap peared, under pretence of illnefsj and at the end 46 the devil hermit. end of ten months they (hone forth again, with new vermilion in their checks. i had been now at court above three months, fo fully employed that i had not time to look round me. but one night finding myfclf at leifure in my apartment, it came into my head to examine my houfe, and vifit all the fervants while they were under the dominion of mor phe us. my pretended husband had a chamber maid, and i a valet de chambre ; for we both followed the fafliion of the court. there were thirty other domefticks in family, fifteen men, and fifteen maids ; or, if you pleafe, women ; or, to fpeak more juftly, neither maids nor women. i made my tour from chamber to chamber, paying the count, as became me, the firft vifit. the poor gentleman, by miftake, was in the chamber-maid's bed, and i found them very faft aficep. all the reft were coupled in the fame manner, every jack with his joan, down to the very fcullion-boy, who was fnoring in the garret with the hoftler's daugh ter, a girl that had not yet entered in her teens. so, faid i to myfelf, this is like to beavery fruitful houfe. but the beft of it is, that not one creature can reproach another. a very regular gradation, from the meaneft fervant up to the mafter ! this phenomenon, which indeed was no mi racle in that delightful climate, gave me the thought of paying a like vifit to the houfes of feveral courtiers. i found them all pretty near in the fame fituation. in one the husband was abfent 'the devil hermit. 47 abfent ; but a great booby of a footman occupied his place. * the fellow was not afleep, and the lady made good ufe of her time. in another houfe, madam was fleeping by the fide of her chamberlain, while happy monfieur regaled himfelf in the bed of an a&refs. in a third the husband was at reft in the arms of a bloated old governefs, and his lady lofmg her honour in a party at ombre. in a word, having gone thro' about a fcore of palaces, and perceiving that every thing went on much in the fame manner as in the houfe i inhabited, i refolved to play them a trick in my own natural way. with this view i went home, and muttered over certain charms, which buried them all in a pro found lethargy, that i knew would continue till eight o'clock the next evening. i exempted not a foul from the effect of my magic power, but the por ters, and a few leprous wretches that no woman would touch. at five o'clock in the afternoon i took my flight from houfe to houfe, making myfelf invifible to enhance the pleafure of the adventure. i opened all ,the doors to a great number of perfons of both fexes, who came to pay their cuftomary vifits. surprized to fee no body when they entered, the guefts went from room to room, and furveyed at leifure this hu morous afiemblage of love. in one i waked the mafter from the fide of his chambermaid, and the good man burft out into a hearty laugh to fee his dear moiety in the arms of a valet. in another i took the charm from my lady, (that lady who had lodged with her chamber lainj 48 the devil hermit. lain) and (he ftormed like a mad woman at her husband, becaufe fhe caught him with the go vernefs of her children. the lord who had juft rifen from his aclrefs, threw out a thoufand invectives at his wife, whom he furprized in the flagrant acl: of infidelity. the hiftory of this affair, for a confiderablc time, gave a great deal of diverfion to the court. the count my imaginary husband, and his domeftics, tho' guilty ot the fame crimes, were the firft to railly thofe who had been detected. as they were not like to be more referved for the future, i determined to make an example of them too, and put my de fign in execution the very next night. after ha ving lulled them all heartily to deep, i went to the enchanted caftle to fetch home the lady my original, and made her an eye witnefs of the diforders of her family. as fhe was virtuous at this time, fhe drove away all thefe fcandalous domefticks, not omitting ever her husband's chambermaid. hislordfhip, who loved variety, was very well pleafed with this revolution. she who fucceeded took the place of her predeceffor ; as who could long refift the endearments of a count ? having again tranfported the lady back to her former habitation, the fame ceconomy be gan again in the houfe ; whence i concluded them an incorrigible company, and that the de vils had no need to tempt fuch people as thefe. an idle life, good eating and drinking, and above all the -mailer's example, inftruc~ted them the devil hermit. 49 better than hell itfelf could have done. it is not without reafon therefore that our diabolical princes are fond of the court, becaufe they live there in a fweet repofc, and have'fcarce any bufi nefs on their hands. i pa fled my time, you fee, mod agreeably. fortune, however, jealous of my happinefs, no longer continued me in her favour, but put a fudden end to my enjoyment. i have told you, that i had given fome hopes to the knight of malta. belphegor, furprized at my refift ance, (for he was entirely devoted to the che valier ) began to doubt that i was not a real woman, and fufpebd that my form was mere ly fantaftical. immediately he took his flight to hell, and convoked together all the inhabi tants of that empire, who appeared to his fum mons ; they appeared, i fay, all but yourhumbls fervant. then he no longer doubted my ha ving borrowed the lady's figure, and his rage drew from him the moft horrible imprecations againil my poor individual. i knew from ths firft the danger i was expofed to, and therefore went inftantly to the enchanted palace, releafed the countefs, and tranfport'ed her to her cham ber. i then took my flight into the middle re gion of the air, where, alas ! he foon difcovere i me. i was obliged to confefs my crime ; for a crime it was to infmuate myfelf at court. ail his rafcaliy followers, my mercilefs comeradcs, hunted me with fo much brutality, that i trem bled left i fhould never get out of their clutches. by degrees however i made my efcape, and af .< r f havii g 50 7be devil hermit. having rambled thro' feveral provinces, i met by chance a canon or abbot of the court, who gave me an afylum in his body. chap. iv. of the occupations of aftaroth, as an eccle jiaftical chancellor, tt\ o not imagine, sir, that my new hoft ^ was one of your common fort of abbots, your ccclefiaftics reduced to a fimple prebend, your zealous priefts who fet hell at defiance : fuch a thought as that would do me great injuftice ; i was too fond of courtiers to debafe myfelf fo egregioufly. having tafted the pleafures of a court life, i was in no hafie to renounce them. for this reafon they gave me, by way of irony, the name of the courtly djemon, and fome writers have put me upon a level with bel phegor and leviathan. it was in wandering from country to country, in order to cfcape the claws of my enemies, when i was juft ready, out of mere defpair, to take repofe under the frock of a father cordelier, that i found this holy man, who foon made me amends for the affront i had received, in being obliged to leave the countefs be l jse. it is indeed very true, that the court i was now going to acl my part in could not be put m competition with the other. nothing was feen the devil hermit. 51 feen in the firft but magnificence, riches, ban quets, and balls : the fecand, on the contrary, was diftinguifhed only by rapine, niggardli nefs, and fordid intereft. in the firft was an infinite number of fine gentlemen, witty, po lite, and affable ; in the fecond a filthy troop of hypocrites, buried almoft for ever in drun kennefs. yet even here t tafted a great many pleafures, as the mummeries which pafted were ieafoned with a certain fatirical fait, that made them extremely delightful. the perfon who had lodged me was the fe cond man in the ftate, and inferior only to the prince. he held the two chief employments of that ecclefiaftical fovereignty ; which employ ments, notwithftanding, were incompatible in themfelves, and could not be filled up by one and the fame perfon. but what cannot favour perform ? it gives capacity to thofe who have it not. i confefs that the figure of this man made me recoil at firft, and that it was with reluctance i fo debafed myfelf, juft after having quitted a beautiful lady, as to jump down the throat of a creature four foot and a half high, with broad round (boulders, the paunch of a sa n c h o, and a mean crabbed air, which at firft glance gave a full indication of his folly, and that his under ftanding was altogether as fhort as his fight. such was, in reality, this quibbling fophifticat ing monfieur 1' a b b e ', the count de r o l l i n . the ftate has been divided from time immemorial between asmodeus the devil of luxury, and fagel the devil of chicanery. the firft f 2 prefides 52 the devit hermit. prefides over the heads of the community, and the fecond influences the populace only : in a word, as mod e us is as it were the prince, and fa ge t a6b as the chancellor. happily for me i detected, in the form of fe cretary to my new hoft, another difgraced devil whofe name was uriel. he had already officiated for ten years in this character, and with the higheft applaufe from his worthy ma iler. you know doubtlefs that lord uriel is the verrieft thief, and yet the moft arro gant rafcal that ever hell produced. at my ar rival, however, his credit began to diminim: he had committed fo many rogueries to enrich his patron, as to draw on himfelf a great number of enemies. the very imps of as mode us, jealous of his glory, and becaufe he had gone even beyond them in promifes, were trying their i:t;r.oft to cut-reach him. i dextroufly took advantage of the remainder of his credit, to get myfelf acquainted with the intrigues of t'.iis petty court. as i had over him a fort of fuperiority, i commanded him to unmask the fo vereign and his principal courtiers. i was obliged, in order to make him comply, to declare my name ; but it was upon oath firft given, that he would never betray me, nor di (cover my retreat to my perfecutors. the oath of a devil indeed is no very facred thing, as the fcoundrel taught me within four months after, when, to fupport himfelf, he impeached me. but if i am not reven ged on him, never believe ast a roth again. friend the devil hermit. 53 friend astaroth, fays uriel to me one day, i am going to court, to get the depo fition fiened of a gallant ecclefiaftic, who was lately deprived of his benefice for having lived too regularly. if thou wanteft to know the fovereign and his chief courtiers, come with me, and leave thy good mafter a few hours. he fpends the afternoon with madam lecher .ous, and has no occafion for thee: for his own inclination will make him a<st more brutalities than thou art able to fuggeft. let \% go then, my dear ur i e l ; i am ready, faid i, to bear thee company. scarce were we a league from the city when we met a fmali company of people, who were taking the air in a fpacious avenue (haded with poplars, and watered by a fine large river. the firfl thing i enquired was, who thofe men were. they are, anfwered he, the prince and his courtiers. doft thou note that great old fhark of a man, who walks with the help of a crutchftick? that is barnabas, the great ba r n a b a s. what, faid i, the prince ? ay friend, the prince, replies uriel. he ha.}, in my opinion, a very mean afpedl and air : that gray head of his gives me .but an indifferent idea f his wifdom, and capacity for government. what a fool art thou, fays he, for a devil of thy experience! thou oughteft to know, that they are not always men of merit who are raifed to fuch dignities as thefe. a lazy difregard to all the exceffes of the nobility is preferable to any other quality. befides, intrigue a.n.ji f 3 ~ fiajony 54 97^ devil hermit. mony are engines that feldom here fail of, fuc cefs. it was merely to cabal, and the interefc of a few particular men, that this fellow owed his high elevation. they thought, by electing a man without genius, to engrofs the govern ment in their own hands. but barnabas has bit them all : tho* a wretch that formerly often wanted bread, he has violated his probity, and all the ties of friendship, to maintain the au thority they gave him, and has aptly enough taken for his motto, e^rffvohtit. .n&uuta say ft thou fo, friend uriel? replied i. the fellow then is not fuch a fool as i thought him. they prefent him with a liquorifh bit, and he keeps it : i think he is very much in the right. but favour me with a particular account of the manner of this his extraordinary eleva tion. give attention then astaroth, and you {hall be obliged. but firft i muft let you into fome efiential circumftances : for only we princely devils are capable of kncaving the in trigues carried on at thefe elections, and i mould be as ignorant as thou art upon this head, if i had net been ten years in the adminiftraticn. you muft know, in thefirft place, that this ftate is dependent on the great jupiter of the tiara ; that the nomination can be made only by a certain number of perfons, who are all poffef fed by the imps of asmodeus ; and that a man muft be of this body to have any hand in the affair. for this reafon many noblemen of h;eh quality enter themfelves in this fraternity, whenever the fovereignty is vacant. levia than ike devil hermit. 55 than and belphegor order fag el to fet all the electors together by the ears, and di vide them into feveral factions. he afterwards infpires every one to give his voice to him that bkls moft ; and as many are gaping after this lucrative dignity, it always fells high, there be* ing ufually four or five competitors, who all have their partisans. thefe divided parties, after a thoufand diabolical tricks, are gradually united by dint of money, and reduced to two. if thefe two factions are equal, a very large fum goes to get over one or two electors, and then the nomination is made. it cofts his new highnefs indeed, fometimes, about an hundred thoufand crowns : but as he is fure to reimburfe his capital with large intereft, by felling all offices that depend on his fovereignty, the ad vancing the money gives him little concern. he enters up'on a certain fund, that brings in at leaft four hundred thoufand crowns per annum. thefe people, however, are obliged to act cer tain grimaces. they celebrate public prayers, and call down the holy ghoft to their affiftance. but all that is only a finelteof mafter fa gel's, that by fafcinating the eyes of an ignorant po pulace, he may the better fi(h in troubled water. in a word, there pafles fo many apiih, not to fay devilifh. tricks at thefe elections, that i fhould never finifli the irkfome relation. be fides, you will become acquainted with thefe things yourfelf, if you ftay here any time : for yon old fellow is juft at the end of his career, and muft very foon go to receive the puniihment due 56 the devil hermit: due to his avarice and ingratitude. his apart ment is already prepared among us : we wait his coming with impatience, in order to exact from him a fevere retribution for all the goods that he has ravifhed from the poor, to fupport the lux ury of his family. but let us return to his election. this righteous ecclefiaftic was very poor, and fubfifted upon the benevolence of a generous nobleman, who had undertaken to maintain a certain party. but perceiving that all his in trigue and cabal, in fpite of the money he la viflied away, was unable to triumph over the other factions, he was infpired by fa gel to aim at the fovereignty. for this purpofe he had recourfe to certain ftratagems, which are jcnown only in our empire. he imagined that our ecclefiaftic, whom he loaded with fo many favours, and who looked with fuch a fanctified demure countenance, would refign to him the fovereignty, if he could caufe the election to fall upon his head. vainly he thought with in himfelf, that a faint of this fpecies would ne ver be able to bear the weight/ burden of govern ment. he bound him therefore by a fee ret oath. but no foener was our good man elected than he forgot his oath, and his friendflaip, and was fully perfuaded that a perjury of this nature is a mere peccadillo, that a few years of purga tory hereafter will amply atone for. the nobleman, feeing himfelf fo bafely duped, took a fudden trip into our kingdom, to carry thither his complaints, where he waits the coming of thl the devil hermit. 57 this falfe friend, in order to make him fenfible that the laws of friendmip and gratitude are not violated with impunity. i am of opinion, however, that the match will be very unequal ; for the good man, during his reign, has acqui~ red a number of partifans among us, who in all likelihood will be too powerful for his anta gonift. doft thou fee that lubbardly greafy-guts, who diverts himfelf with a foolifh thing he has juft uttered ? that is a pitiful fellow of a verger, whom his highnefs has raifed out of the dirt to make him his prime minifter ; an arrant varlet, born under a lucky conftellation, who, with every bad quality that goes to compofe a per fect knave, hath made himfelf rich at the pu blic expence, by felling all the good graces of his mailer : formerly he was a mercury, now a fole privy counfellor. hah ! what kind of a man is that, who dif torts himfelf yonder like one poffefted ? how, faid he, friend astaroth, doft thou not know that fcoundrel ? i am furprized at it. and yet he is one of that fpecies who caufed thy banimment. he is ape and buffoon to the prince, who delights in his low witticifms, and ridiculous capuchinades ; and has therefore made him the fecond perfon in his council. ay, faid i, is he one of thofe miferable hypocrites ? but he has no beard, and that prevented my know ing him. let it not furprize you, continued uriel, that he wants the tokens of virility : it is becaufe the unlucky poor dog has undergone the 58 the devil hermit. the fate of abe lard, for having made too free ufe of what nature had given him. well uriel, cried i, i muft take vengeance on this great booby, for the fcurvy trick played me by his brother. by your leave, neighbour ast a roth, faid my guide very fmartly, he is under my dominion, and we fhall quarrel if you touch him. it is he that procures the ratifica tion of all my infamies. if i lofe his reve rence, i muft foon pack up and be gone. he is my protector, friend, and it behoves me to take care of him. the other day he obliged the prince, upon my recommendation, to fign the pardon of a young canon, who had got two fitters with child. it had been all over with my fpark but for his interpofition. the very next day, out of mere friendfhip to me, he procured mercy for the curate of a fmall city about two leagues and a half from the capital, who had debauched the four prettieft young girls of all his flock. in fhort, i could not poffibly en rich my matter, if this bon companion did not palliate all my legerdemain tricks. such a bro ther as this is a real acquifition, which hell may be proud of. very well, uriel, i forgive him then ; but here comes another that mall not efcape fo eafily. that end of a man there, is it not a capuchin ? upon the faith of a devil, i (hould think it a tall pruffian grenadier cut in two. be what it will, here goes at him. hold, hold, no quar rels among friends, faid uri e l again ; i pro tect him no lefs than the other, for he is the prince's devil hermit. 59 prince's director. i infinuate to his highnefs, thro' his means, whatever i pleafe j for ex ample, to fell all benefices, or at leaft to con fer them only on infants, incapable of knowing the function they embrace j or on blockheads, without the leaft tincture of literature j or on debauchees, who fpend all the revenues in grati fying their irregular paflions ; or, in a word, on footmen, who, grown haughty by prefer ment, treat with contempt all others who rely on their protection. hence proceed fo many excellent meji, who come in crouds to people our empire ; hence thofe debaucheries, thofe fcandalous amours, which call the blulh into every modeft check ; hence proceed ignorance, drunkennefs, injuftice, ailalfinations, and thofe other (hameful vices which reign with a dread ful tyranny among the populace; hence, in a word, that unruly race of men, who know nei ther probity nor honour. the example of thefe guides leads them blindly into fuch crying diforders, that all ftrangers look upon this coun try, not as a place inhabited by men, but as an infernal colony ; fo that as mode us lives here in mere idlenefs, and fag el has very little to do. but tell me, friend uriel, who is that little original with an italian phiz, and a mali cious fmile in his countenance ? that, fays he, is a cunning (harper, who has made his efcape from the court of the great jupiter of the triple crown. his avarice had led him thither, and he had amafled there abundance of money, by 60 ^he devil hermit. by felling difpenfations at random to all comers. tho' born in the loweft obfcurity, that dwarf ? of a fellow afpired at the purple, which un doubtedly he had merited by his knaveries ; but, unluckily for hell, he was fupplanted, and obliged to return from whence he came. he then got to be fubftitute to the prince, in order to perform the functions of his miniftry. it was wifely done to chufe fuch an accomplifhed cheat, fuch a worm, that will eat out the re^ maining intrails of the people. his pale coun tenance, without difpute, denotes his italian in clinations ; and indeed he takes little pains to mortify his outward man by a life agreeable to his calling. he pafles for a faint however here ; but for an abandoned fellow in the country he left. he is a true imp of hell, and has acquired us more fouls than a dozen of our own emiftaries. he had enriched a niece by his monopolies, whofe husband, fince her death, enjoys with impunity the revenues of the church. and whofe is that fuperb equipage, which ad vances this way ? certainly it muft be fome ambaflador, coming to obtain an audience of the prince ? ast a roth, thou art a mere novice here, faid ur.iel : all that gaudy train is the trapping of a monk. don nicaise, who owns it, has found means, by favour of his habit, to overtop all the prime miniflers of this country. born among the dregs of the people, he renounced, out of humility, a chimerical fucceffion, to catch one more real, as well as more confiderable. the vows of poverty, anj the devil hermit. 61 and renunciation of the world, which he took at the feet of altars, were the means of luxury and ambition. he quitted for god a vile and contemptible condition, in order to embrace one of high diftincyion. a man mull have a very . difintcrefled virtue to take fuch a ep as this. scarce was he richer than the savi our of mankind, having only a, cottage for his habitation, and a waiting-woman for his wife. but now, in a cloifter, he has fplendid coache;;, magnificent palaces, a levee like a prince, and ladies of the firft quality for his miftreiies. with them he devours the fubftance of an infinite number of unhappy farmers, whom he and his predeceflbrs have reduced to beggary. a's m ode us, i fee, is whifpering in his ear: let us hide ourfelves for fear of being known. but this great man, fatd i, feems uneafy and melancholic : what can dlfturb a perfon of his diftinilion ? ah, my dear ast arot h, he has very good caufe. yefterday a gentleman of the firft rank, both for birth and merit, dif puted with him the precedence, and treated hint with a little uncivil language, but fuch as his pride deferved. how could he brook fuch a heinous offence ? asm ode us now prompts him to complain to the fovereign, and to-mor row he will put it in his head to commence a law-fuit with the nobleman, to difpute with him an eftate that joins to the abbey lands ; and, tho' the nobleman's family has portefted it above two hundred years, it will be proved, as clear as the day, that he has no manner of title g to 6 2 the devil hermit. to it. the fuit will laft twelve or fourteen years, and then the nobleman, having fpent half his fortune, {hall pay all certs, and lofe his eitate. this will be the iftue of the quarrel that now begins ; and i muft fay the gentleman well deferves it. what ! a mr.n of his rank not to give way, and to be wanting in refpeft to the fon of a baker ! indeed, his lordmip is an impertinent coxcomb. but let us conclude this dialogue, for it is time to go back to the city. as foon as uriel had prefented his petition, and the prince had figned it without leading, we returned with all expedition to the hotel. ~ chap. v. new sights which the devil hermit was entertained with at the court cf '***. hen i came to the palace i was quite at liberty ; for my carnal habitation was not yet returned from madam lecherous. after having rambled from room to room, i fat myfelf down among the don cftics. an im pertinent valet de chambre, lolling negligently upon a couch, afllimed the man of importance, and ccndefcended to talk with five or fix foot men, �ho flood round him �:th abundance of refpecl. he preached morality to one ; turned ajicther into ridicule; called a third unmanner ly the devil hermit. 63 ly dog, for being covered in his prefence. learn my friend, fays he, that when his excel lency is not at home, i reprefent his perfon ; and it docs not become a pimp of a skipkennel to anfwer me with his hat on. but a prcpos, sirs ; my mailer flays out long to-night. by hea vens ! he ufes me ill. it is pafs one o'clock in the morning. does he think i will break my reft in this manner ? faith, gentlemen, he is deceived, he is miftaken in his man, i am none of thofe vulgar valets de chambre but as good a man, tho* i fay it, as my matter hirnfeif. then addrefiing himfclf to a chambermaid, whom lie wantonly ogled, my father, fays he, was the beft perricvigmaker in our village ; and who is his excellence pray ? \vithout favour he had been inferior to me. o ! here he comes, and faith in a pretty pickle too ; i fancy he wants no fupper : his miftrefs has not ufed him fo ill to-day. what a life is this for an ecclefj aft;c ! what injuftice there is in the world ! well, fortune was fadly miftaken ; fhc had better have raifed me to his poft. next day the chambermaid, who had no ref rft for him, related all this to my landlord. prompted him to turn away the fcoundiel, which was accordingly dene. my chap then lofes in an inftant all his french air, and runs to the footman whom he had infulted the even ing before. my friend framboise, fhid the vark-t in a fubmiffive tone, you know the defe rence and refpecl: i have for your psrfon. aiv' dear mafter loves you; oblige me, and obtain g 2 na/ 64 he .devil hermit. rny favour, and upon the faith of a gentleman of the chamber i will not be ungrateful. fr a m e , : . e , like a cunning fellow, laughed in his face, lnd thruft him out neck and {hour tiers. my charitable hoft had a magnificent palace, adorned throughout with the fpoils of the church and the people. his fervahfs were numerous, and almoft as regular as hirnfelf. the maids lived in perfect harmony with the footmen ; but as they were not enough to make equal ccuples, one of them fen ed two or three. it is true that jealoufy fornetimes occafioned family broils ; but the matter, like aprudent man, always ap , .hem, and laid the blame on the wx-akcfl. aroth, iaid up. i el, this is a con e hi? excellence will not r i.c is owiged, to prefide in another -re he will determine a caufe in fa v our .of a perfon whom lie condemned as guilty i confefs, he does not do it my mafter did not know him, nad made him a prefent of a line colden fnuff-box. but our man has fince d his fault,' and the day before ' .7 fcnt him two ftately horfes, with fifty 'or. this procured him thepromife of a ring will go much in his favour.' sev.: .1 depofitions had been emitted. the fecrctary of the tribunal, an infatiable blood-fucker, was not greaf ed in the hand, . and had therefore laid them a'fide by'iny 'mafle r's order. but when the horfes and ^he devil hermit. 65 and the golden lou is arrived, it was refolved to join thefe papers to the reft ; fo that the honeft man is now fure of victory. i am ravilhed at the thought ; for he is an excellent chapman, who has always abundantly fupplied my neceffi ties with money. two fraudulent bankrupt cies have put upon him a level with the heft men in the whole city. the villain that fues him never gave me a fous, and therefore his claim is ill-founded. he requires that honeft merchant to re-imburfe him twenty thoufand florins, which he lent him before his fecond bankruptcy. now this demand cannot but be unjuft, becaufe the other proves evidently that he has loft above a hundred thoufand florins, which he gave in wedlock with his daughter, who without that could not have married a petty lord of a parifh. what an unfair thing it would be to make him repay fuch a debt ! my equitable mafter therefore has taken the noble re folution to give him large damages, and all cofts of fuit : fo that, friend as t a r o t h , you have abfolutely no occafion to be with him to-day. if you care then to accompany me, you (hall fee a pleafant conclave, in truth as grotefque an one as ever was feen in our kingdom. 1 will give you an idea of thofe who compofe it, when once you have been a witnefs of their deciftons. you will find yoarfclf in a land of great knowledge. yefterday you faw at court the two principal buttreffes of this fenfelefs areopagus; i mean, the fubflitute and thdire&cr of his high nefs. g 3 /.bout 66 *ihe devil hermit. about nine o'clock the fecretary uriel, for fear of fainting, flowed in his paunch five or fix large flices of ham, and two fwinging bottles of wine. so my good friend, faid i mer rily, you are not over fober now for an ecclefia itic. his excellence really is much more regular than you. he has taken nothing this morning but a dim of chocolate, and about half a par tridge, with one fmall bottle of tockay wine. poor gentleman, i pity him ; it is almoft ten o'clock, and he has already been up at leaft an hour. he never dines till half an hour after twelve : judge then, i befeech you, the fobriety of this good man. two long hours without ta king the leaft nourifhment ! this is indeed carry ing his mortification to a very great length. he makes amends for if, town, in the remaining part of the day. he allows himfelf two bottles at din ner, four more before fupper, and one ar.d an half after ; which to be fure is a quanlum fujj cit for a corporation of thofe dimenfions : for i am .certain, 'hat if what he eats and drinks in one day could be colleded together, it would make a body conliderably larger than that which re ceives it. in troth, ast a roth, thou art a merry wag, to preach up abftinence here. kncn ? , my friend, continues uriel, that the corps which i inhabit is the leaft intemperate of all the courtlv fraternity. poor devil, thou art little acquainted, i perceive, with canons yet: but have patience, and thou fhalt fee many other cxceffes in this country. as m ode us, from their the devil hermit. 67 their very birth, accuftoms them infenfibly to this kind of mortification. it is by this that they diftinguifli themfelves from the common burghers, from whom they could not elfe be poflibljr known. they wear the fame drefs, except at church : they have their wives, like your married men ; their concubines, like your petit maitres : they cheat like (hop-keepers, are as covetous as ufurers, as treacherous as artifi cers, without faith and without honour like the populace. very good, faid i, this country pleafes me much ; the people juft hit my tafte, and i fancy i mail ftay among them a long while : but let us go to the conclave ; it is almoft high time. with all my heart, anfwered uriel, and immediately mounts into his coach ; for his in dividual, who was the fon of a journeyman blackfmith, and had never in his youth enjoyed one quarter of an hour's pleafure, but fpent his days in the moft laborious indigence, was now refolved to make himfelf amends for his paft fufferings, by all the ways that effeminacy, and the moft refined luxury could dictate. being arrived at the courthoufe, we went up together into a long gallery crouded with people. monks there were of all colours, eccle fiaftics of every age, women and girls, men and boys ; and upon the vifage of each might be fcen certain fvmptoms, which gave fome infight into their affairs. here a troop of young bi gots, with the moft timorous and humble air, imeafiiy waited for their examination, in hopes to be 68 the devil hermit. be admitted into orders : there a company of priefts, venerable for age and fan&ity, flood ac cufed of praftifmg too much feverity. here young men and maids, with a gay and wanton air, were eagerly ready to part with their money, for leave to put themfelves under the yoke of hymen: there fome of both fexes, more ad vanced in years, were come to make complaints againft their refpe& moieties, in order to obtain a divorce, or leave to fliut up the delinquent party in a cloifter. at the fight of fecretary uriel, they all approached with the utmoft fubmiflion to crave his protection j while he fcarce deigned to vouchfafe them a look. i was a little difgufted, i muft own, at the arrogance of this black guard devilfecretary. he pafted thro' the midft of the multitude with the haughty air of an ar taban, and without returning any falute. what ftupid wretches, fa id i to myfelf, are thefe people ! they all know the origin of this fellow, his extortions, his thefts, and his fcandalous life, and yet they fhew him fo much refpedl ! well, it is certain that favour covers abuncance of filth, fince it is capable to impofe in this manner. but i met with many ether fubjefts of afto nifhment, after i had been an hour in this dia bolical conclave. the young monks were the firft who advan ced. an humble phyfiognomy, and a fervile outfide, conftituted all their merit ; for as to learning, they had little enough of that ; one only excepted. he indeed had good natural part?, and the devil hermit. 6; and loved ftudy ; and he alone was refufed ad miflion. he happened to anfwer the bully of * profeflbr with a little modeft confidence, but the molt pertinently that could be. this raifed the chcler of our pedantick theologue, who im mediately cried out, what an impudent block head is here ! go, my friend, go and ftudy a few years longer. at the fame time i was mo rally allured, that he knew more already than the profeflbr. but here comes a good prieft, whofe gray hairs and venerable afpecl are indications of his real virtue and merit. what, fays my fecrer tary, the parfon of st fiacre ? ah, my good friend, you are a very odd fort of a man. ihear you had the rafhnefs to lefufe the eafter communion to mr joufflu, bccaufe he keeps a concubine under his wife's nofe. it be comes you much, sir, to give yqurfelf fuch airs as thcfe. people report too, that you read the holy fcriptures without permiilion ; which is forbid in this diocefe, and which i now forbid you ag;ain. the curate modcftly anfwered. sir, i have poftefled my benefice now forty years, and my life has been irreproachable during that time. heaven be thanked ihave always done my duty like an honeft man, and am therefore extremely fuiprized at being cited to, come here above ten leagues, in order to be cenfurpd for having excluded a man from the communion, who is not only an adulterer, but. a thief, a murderer, and, in a word, a villain of the firft rate. you 70 the devil hermit. . ".;;, '.i you are to know, my friend, replied the fe cretary, that it is fufficient that we look upon mr joufflu to be an honeft man. it does not belong to fuch a doating old fellow as thou art to take liberties contrary to our orders. the curate anfwereh, i am aftonifhed that fuch a boy (hould pretend to teach me my duty. who, pray, gave you authority to fpeak here ? you are no member of the court : it is for other men than an upftart fecretary to reprove me, fuppo fing that i have offended againft my duty. scarce had the old man uttered thefe words, but a confufed murmur was heard thro' all the affembly. a young fop of a canon, who pafled for a gentleman, bccaufe he had aflumed the name of the count de g**** ; this beardlefs brat, i fay, who is entirely deftitute of common fenfe, broke into a furious paflion againft the poor curate, and vomited out a thoufand im pertinences. after this fit of choler was over, it was refolved, by the general voice of the areopagus, to fufpend the honeft parfon a whole year from all the functions of his office, and confine him in a feminary. a very equitable, fentence this, faid i to myfelf, and worthy to be writ in letters of gold : asmode us him felf could not have dictated a better. cardinal man qjje fneered ; the hypocritical capuchin hung down his head j while another great fan torn of a fecretary, who for twenty years had been ftudying all the crafty fub.terfugcs of the italians, dropped a few obliging expreffions to comfort the poor curate j but as he was known for devil hermit. 71 for a moft refined diflembler, fcarce would the old man vouchfafe him an anfwer. i believe he had very good reafbn for what he did : it is dan gerous to give ear to men of that equivocal character. see gentlemen, cries uri e l fuddenly (aflum ing another air) yonder comes mifs man on. that big-bellied maid wants to be married, and indeed it is high time fhe was. the parfon of her parifh, apprehenfive of fcandal, has defired me by letter to do her the favour of difpenfing with all the three times of asking. the man you know is my friend, and it is for his intereft that the affair be brought to a conclufion. by all means, fays the count de g****, and with a great deal of juftice in my opinion: what think you of it, gentlemen ? all the reft remaining in profound filence, the girl had her bufmefs done for a fmall matter. come in, madam, (ays the fecretary to ano ther woman. this is mrslaidron, who has been a widow three months already. her gallant has iain with her all that time ; for the poor woman cannot live without a little of man. shealfo wants a difpenfation, and pro rnifes an hundred crowns to have her marriage kept fecret, becaufe fhe has entered into con tracl: with two others, who may impede her lawful intention. has {he the hundred crowns here ? fays the count. yes, my lord, the woman modefhy anfwers. difpatch her affair then, adds our bleffed count: it is proper fome times fz we devi! hermit. times to grant favours, in violation of the efta bliflied forms. mifc christ in a too, who comes next, is in hafte to be married. she wants to have one ban only difpsnfed with. and who, my girl, fays the count, is your intended husband ? it is fuch an one, my lord. hereupon the dif penfator grew fevere, and repeating the name with contempt ; o child, you muft publifh your third ban ; v/e grant no fuch kind of difpenfa tions. but, anfwers the damfel, you never re fufe them to other people. * you are miftaken, wench, we grant them only to whom we think proper. but tell me now the truth, haftthou let the cat come at the cheefe before it had re ceived the blefling? haft thou been playing with that blockhead ? no, my lord, fayschris t i n a very deliberately ; but with a young ecclefiaftic of your relations. out of re gard therefore to the blood, i hope you will fa vour me with that little indulgence. o yes, coufin, if it be fo, to be fure the affair fhall be difpatched. come in meflieurs cornu and colo us ; what is your pleafure ? mr cornu fpoke firft, demanding a divorce, and that his wife fhould be (hut up in a nunnery. for what rea fjn, sir, fays the count. my lord, becaufe my wife is run away with the brother mendi cant of the cordeliers-: they have lived toeg ther this month, and the wicked woman has robbed me of all my money. the thing cannot be done mr cornu j thiit friar is a very good the devil hermit. 73 man, and without doubt has taken her away only to correct her. but, my good lord, they have been teen in bed together. you are an impoftor, firrah, replied the count, and fcan dahze a member of the hob/ religion : begone. well, mr colo us, now for your bufin.-fc. i have the fame complaints to make concerning my wife ; only her gallant is a lay young fel low in our neighbourhood. o the vile action ! cries our impartial judge, to ufe an honeft man at this rate. let him not only have a divorce, but an entire difiblution of the marriage, and fhut up the adulterefsall the days of her life. yonder are madam iasqjjeline and madam perelle ; what would they have ? to cloifter our husbands ! they bawled out like a couple of dcmonlcks. the villains have ufed us ill, becaufe we were caught in bed with two canons. difpatch the orders immediately, fays the count, and fee them well fecured. this ended the feflion. well, what doft think now, astaroth, of this famous conclave ? think fays i, why that thefe wretches are lefs honeft, and moie corrupt than we. hell itfelf would never have thought of pronouncing fuch iniquitous and partial judgments. innocent poor devil ! cries out my comerade, all this is but a mere trifle. thou hall feen nothing yet, in comparifon of what they fometimes do. the other day, for example, a moft amiable, young ladv, defirous to marry a worthy gentleman whom fhe loved, could never obtain her lequeft, b^caufe fhe had h refufej 74 7/&<? jdevtt hermit. refufed her favours to the parfon of her parifh, who is an open profligate. they even proceed ed to invent fo many calumnies againft her lo ver, that he was obliged to quit the couritry. but he will be feverely revenged on them, and is at this time almoft ready to make them feel that exemplary punifhment, which their horrid villainy fo well dtferves. let us quit thefe wretches then, dear ur i e l, cried i with fome emotion. as much a devil as i am, it is impoflible for me to hear thefe abominations without being enraged againft fuch abandoned monfters. but give me fome idea of thefe unjuft judges ; for i imagine their man ners muft be yet more perverfe than their judg ments. thou are much in the right, fays he. the two firft you already know. as to the count, he is a pert little coxcomb, immerfed in the moft fcandalous debaucheries. he keeps a brace of whores at a time, who fo drain his finances, that he is every where in debt, and pays nobody. the gigantic pedant, who ex amined and rejected the young monk, is the moft conceited animal of the age he lives in. he believes his own noddle includes all the fci cnce of the univerfe. obftinate and pofitive as a mule, he is mortally hated by all mankind ; and at the fame time that, thro' an excefs of am bition, he has ruined himfelf to ufurp a dig-^ nity, and fupplant the lawful proprietor, the chief honour he has obtained is to become fright fully ridiculous. his tfa-.-devji hermit. 75 his collegue. is what we call a good compa nion, one. who loves his bottle more than his bible. his ruby pimpled free gives a perfect idea oi his life and manners. the fwaggt-ring little blade, with an effeminate face, who fat at the end of the table, is the fultan of a numerous ftraglio, of which he .is unable to do half the drudgery. the liquorifh young pullets, under fiich an impotent director, lie and languifh with defire ; and now and then fome of them take their flight from the nunnery, to feek their jortune elfewhere. as the next day was a fo'emn feftival, i could not be excufed from the duties of my office. befides, it was pay-day, and it is not cuftomary to be abfent on fuch occafions. every canon fcores thofe days down the margin of his al manack, which he turns over fix or feven times a week, inftead of a breviary, to get them all by heart. , when i came in to the church, i was charmed with the modefty of all the ecclefiafticks, and the fimplicity .of their drefs. form to yourfelf the idea of a company of odd mimicks, whofe attitude and geftures would force a laugh even from the originals they affecled to copy. some negligently lolled in their feats, with one knee crofs the other, lifting up the leg in a horizontal line, in order to {hew the fine clock of a pair of filk hofe, or the neat flitches of a long-quarter ed pump. or leaning on one elbow, with inuff box in hand^. they were feen to leer at certain young coquets, who, charmed at being taken h, ^ notice 76 tie devil hermit. notice of by thefe a don is's, put on a thoufand aficcled airs to captivate their hearts, vvhilft .they were a flitting at divine fervice. others, equally attentive as the former to the duties of the place, talked alternately to all who furrounded them, criticiftng with a fcorn ful frnile the behaviour of certain ladies, and pointing them out with the finger, who threw out amorous glances on fome of the fraternity. others again were every moment patting down their periwigs, and brufhing their cravats all be yellowtd with spanilh fnuff, in order to whif per feme ftupid thing in the ear of a pretty wo man who fat near them. in a word, not one was employed in devotion ; the performance of that they left to their underling curates, who received pay only that their lords might be at li berty to play the fool. my tabernacle, not quite fo foppifli as the reft, was in more ferious cogitation. but in ffead of meditating on the myfteries of religion, he was confulting who fhould pay fora fine toi lette, of 2000 livres price, which he had pre fvnted to h;s miftrefs. he met with a man in the afternoon, who was very ready to take the charge on himfelf. here i broke in upon my devil hermit. but lord astaroth, laid i, how did you do to avoid the holy water ? did not your ex cellence run a very great hazard, and expo r e yourfelf to the rieceffity of ufing what you fo muchftar? o dear sir, do you think the'e p.ople airufe'tlitmfelvcs with fuch trifles? they he -devi! hermit. , 77 they enter the church much in the fame man ner as a foldier enters the trenches, and feldoiu think of the holy waterpot. scarce are their heads within the door, but their eyes wander all over the place, and their wanton glance* are darted to every corner, that they may reach thofe of their miftrefles. if they perceive a well-drefted woman, they move that way on purpofe to ftare her in the face ; which they do with fo much impudence, that they put to the blum even the moft arrant coquet. if they per ceive \.t-. r to be ' andfome, they immediately olr f box, and endeavour to fcrape ac quain: , : , her. after (jrviqe we returned home, and foun-1 our dinner prepared. it was high time, indeed, to take fome refrefhment, having been fo fati gued at church j and accordingly my outward man in lulled itfelf at table. but as the cook was abfent, the poor temperate chancellor was very >ndiffereruij krved, and obliged to put up up with a ftrong gravy foop, and two pretty favoury courfes. inftead of bisk he had no thing but a fine bruges capon, garnifhed with fix fnines. he had no appetite that day, and therefore could not eat above two thirds of what was brought before him ; but the frugal feafl was a little made up with a delicate c'eflerr, and a good quantity of wine. after his .two bottles of burgundy, he jwailowed a third, of the beft chamra^n. having well v;6h:alled his camp, he thought of taking a two hours fkep, and then waiting upon 7 the devi! hermit: upon madam lecherous, in order to pafs away the time till midnight : but this once my good chancellor reckoned without his hoft ; he had no afternoon's nap, and was very ill on ths occafion. u'riel, who faw his uneafineis concerning the price of the toilette, brought him in the news of a chapman. this perfon, having learned that a canonicate might pofiibly be vacant in two or three days, came to offer him 10,000 florins, to procure it forhisfon. the lad, fajs he, my lord, is one of the moft wicked young rogues that ever lived. wine and women are all his delight ; and, tho' not above fixtcen, he has already half a dozen mif trefles, to whom he has given above 6oco fionns that he robbed me of. he is withal very lazy ; and, in a word, fit for a canon and no thing elfe. your excellence may depend upon what i fay, and that he has all thefe qualifica tions. mr v a i l l a n t , anfwers the chancellor, i am your friend, and you know i have for merly ferved you. but are you an honeft man ? may i be fure of the io,coo florins ? my lord, they are ready, and here is a bill in proper form for the whole fum. very fuft, replies his excellence. well, i will go directly to the prince, and fecure the prebend for your ion. take care that the fick man dies but within this month, and young mr vaillant {hall certainly fucceed him. lam now once more at court,where my good tabernacle of fiefh lets forth his resell. scarce had the d^vil hermit. 79 had he dene {peaking, but the qanonicatc wag, granted, upon condition only that a thoufand; florins fhould be .given to the prime niini{ier-i the bargain being thus made and ratified, no thing was now wanting' but to fend the prefent pcfteflbr into the other world ; and i took that part on myfelf, and dilpatched it with great expedition. but before i inform you of the ftratagem i made ufe of, i rauft fay a word or two more concerning the court we are now in. his highnefs was at that time engaged in a party of quadrille, with three diftinguiihed men of his court. the fir ftthat ftruck my imagination was a fat droll with a round face, whofe good cafe denoted him to be a canon. his foppifh airs would have impofed on any other but me, to conceive a great idea of his power. but he fmelt fo ftrong at the fame time of rhubard and drugs, that it was eafy to de tect him by the nofe. this little country apo thecary had found the means of rifing to the dignity of page to the prince ; and it was the cuftom of this fovereign to advance all his fer vants to the canonicatc, in order to fave wages ; fo that laqueys, cooks, and turnfpits, with him wore the furred amefs. this fellow lived in the utmoft intimacy with hismatter ; drank fa miliarly to his health ; took upon him the man of importance ; and fometimes thought himfelf worthy of the title of excellence. he had rea fon indeed to fet much value on himfelf, becaufq the prince loved him, which was. an effect o, his good tafte. he repeated to. 'him an infinite number 8.o the devil hermit. number of ftale jokes, which he had learned by heart, and was enabled to (bine h ; me~e din 1 of memoiy. the chapter he h: j intruded : nto was happy in having fuch a member, who kr.ew per fectly well how, by frequent ciyfters, r: eva cuate the riches of the church the fecond was a little meager man, who teemed to be fwelled with infupper.:. r: arro gance. it was credibly reported, that rre had contracted thefe two qualities of his wife, while the good woman was equally flup-d und mafcu line. in fpite of nature and his ftars, re �io deter mined to rafs for a man of wit : dig nity of burgomafter railed him a little above the rank of a common merchant, he thought to put himfelf upon a level with men of quality. he was chief indeed of about a fcore burghers, men who were fitter to make grooir? than ma ' giftr'ates. this little fellow was rich, covetous, and prefumptuous.becaufe he knew the two firft "rules of arithmetic, he would take upon himfelf to 'puzzle the greateft mathematicians. the cancn apothecary turned him to ridicule, and our witty citizen fwallowed all the ironical pills with a clownifh grin, crying out from time to time, o, sir ! you flatter me too much. he lived in a pretty fort of a houfe, almoft over a gainft the man who made the fourth of thi? party: but this houfe was not large enough to fatisfy the vanity of his wife, who was the greateft de vil of a woman in the. whole city ; which is gi ving her a very compleat character, when we obfeive the 'devil hermit. ,81 nbferve. that the women of this country furpafs even the men in debaucheries. tlie.laft is a man of wit, valuable for fe veral good qualities. his father was a coach man, and the fon is now one of the richeft nobleman in the countiy. he owns fever al ca ftles and lordfliips, and among others, a fine fertile eftate about two leagues from the palace of the fovereign, which makes him the lord of feveral noble fiefs. he holds a court of juftice, one of the mod magnificent in the fovereignty. tho' the father had no higher title than mailer james, the fon is faluted baron de ****. here the harlequin capuchin, other wife called the ape of the court, enters without ceremony. no fooner did this ciiginal appear, tut the three dependants inftantly rife ; not out refpe6t to the rmn, but complaifance to the fovereign. our buffoon laughs in their face, and runs en to the prince to ask him for a pinch of fnuff. well, fays his highnefs to this oddity of a man, what news is there ftirring ? the dirty devil an fwers laconically, nothing: i come to ask your highnefs a (mail favour. there is a monk be low, who promifed me ilx pouuds of (huff. his fuperiors have bar.iuvd him to a kind of fo litude, on account of hit, bufy teirp^r, which fprcads diffeiihon wi crcvcr he tomes. his name is father b***, and he begs to he permitted to live in the city. 1 have heard great complaints of that man, fays the prince, and know him to be a mere libertine. he traverfes the i daylong, on purpo'fe to fpungc on the. inhabi tants : 8z n.e devil hermit. tants : in fhort, he is a very par afire, and i can do nothing for him. ah, sir, but my fix pounds of frrjff! thou art in the right my boy, fays his highnefs: i had quite forgot that. write a letter" then from me to his fuperiors, that i will have him continue in my capit:-.]. cut runs the mimick triumphantly, making eve or fix capers ; and 'no fooner was he gone, but the prince cried out in rapture, what an ami able fellow is that ! my folitude would be in fupportable without his company ; and therefore lean deny him nothing. his excellence, my hoft, being returned to the city, fent for the merchant, to inform him that his fen mould be a canon. but you feern concerned, fays he, mr va ill ant; what is the caufe of that forrowful countenance ? the caufe, my lord, is very rational ; the fick man is like to recover, and feems not ready to leave his prebend fo foon as was expected. patience, good friend, fays my tabernacle ; leave the matter to us, and all mall go well. here, in order to fecure to him the 10,000 florins that he fo panted after, i infpired him with the fol jovving fuccefsful fttratagem. our poor languifhing canon, tho' but fixty .years of age, was exceedingly worn ; thanks to three young governeftes, whom he had kept fuc ceffively. a fon and a daughter, who owed their being to the two firft of thefe, had a long fime waited with impatience for the inheritance of his wealth. as they were the children of fuch a worthy father, and two fo amiable mothers, they followed the devil hermit. 83 followed their fteps with the utmoft exa&ncfs, and the 'daughter was at that time the miftrefs of our young canon expectant. i impioved the acceft fhe had to the good old man, and ordered uriel to whifper in her ear that fhe. ought to get rid of him as foon as poflible, becaufe he had formed a defign to alter his will. the poor girl, very open to our infpirations, gave him a ftrong foup, which in twenty four hours fent him to officiate upon the banks of styx j fo that the citizen's fon was put in pofleffion, and we cleared nine thoufand florins by the bargain. the daughter of the deceafed entered very readily into the fervice of the new canon: but the inconftancy of her lover, and his fcan dalous life, obliged her foon after to feek her fortune elfewhere. already had i tafted, for near four months, the fweetnefs of a life extremely voluptuous, among the perfons of firft quality of this country. i cannot fay but i was very well fatisfied with what i had enjoyed, and began to defire, by way of variety, a little recreation in the female cloifter, to which i inftantly took my flight. fag e l, who made this place his ufual refidence, did not detect me. i faw, in thefe holy retreats, the moft charming adventures in the univerfe, and often patted a full half day in the parlour without being weary. often i en joyed the whole world in epitome, and there was no end of receiving vifits. delicate colla tions were here ferved up, to lovers who paid handfomely for them : there amorous addreffes were 84 the devil hermit. were made to the young and handfome who were enraged that thofe who made them did not proceed to action. some exclaimed againft certain indecencies, and teemed to be mighty angry at what was offered, when at the fame time they were making it all extremely fa miliar. meflengers were ringing every mo ment, to deliver in their billet-doux : and the old procurefies came loaded with baskets of fweet meats, bottles of wine, and other delicacies, to pleafe the voluptuous palates of the generous and good natured lifters. a fmall chaplet, or an agnus, was the whole return for all thefe obli ging prefents, which were more agreeable to the fair prifoners than even money itfelf. the converfation of the old nuns was fprink led with malicious fatire. they were all better newfmongers than the dutch gazetteers, or the writer of the hague letters in the daily-adver tifer. thofe that were moft referved had al ways fome piece of fcandalous hiftory ; and every day furniflied them with a new topic. i was very attentive to a ftory, which the mother ab befs of one of thtfe nunneries related to an old ecclefiaftic, who had been formerly her gallant. as they were both then turned of their thirteenth luftre, they made the follies of their neighbours a fort of allevation for their own impotence ; and, incapable of finning themfelves, they (hew ed no mercy to them who had yet ability. thefe holv fouls, without queftion, were per fuaded, that by thus aggravating the fact of ethers, they fhould ftifle the reproaches of their ewn the devil hermit. 8$ own conferences. as the hiftory that this lady related, and to which the charitable prieft, be tween whiles, added a little fait of his own, is fufficiently amufing, i (hall give you the partn culars of it with great fmcerity. c h a p. vi. lloe unfortunate lovers : 0r, 'the pliftory of don bernard end madam ursula; a gentleman of diftin&ion, but the younger "^^ brother of a numerous family, having by chance got acquainted with a very amiable young lady, the heirefs of a confiderrile for tune, fuffered himfelf to be carried away by the movements of his heart, in full perfuafion that his relations would be charmed that he could fo well fupply the defect of his own patrimony. the chevalier, who was a man of merit, and very handfome, eafily got the good graces of the lady. their hearts, mutually inclined, foon found the means to lay themfelves open, and that explication was followed by an inviolable pro mife of eternal love. the gentleman's father, who piqued him (i if much on his antiquateddeeds, being informed of the gallantry of his fon, took an opportunity to acm efs him with an air of authority. i am informed, faid he in a furly manner, that you are in love with mifs sop h i a. -but my deac i sir. 86 77* 'devil hermit. sir, pray what do you think to do with her? do you imagine that a man of my quality will con fent to fuch a defpicable alliance ? is the daughter of a banker worthy to be admitted into my fa mily ? i command you to leave her, young gentleman, or you may expe6t to feel all the weight of my juft indignation for your obfti nacy. never think to dazzle my eyes with her riches : they are no temptation to me, and to prevent their feducing you, i order you to get ready within two days, to go to your brother's regiment. the young gallant falls on his knees at his father's feet, and implores his mercy with all the tender language of a defpairing lover. his fighs, his tears iflue in abundance, to make the old gentleman fenfible of his violent paflion. but his humility, his grief, his defpair, were equally ufelefs. far from foftening this inexo rable parent, it only made him more vehement, and drove him to the utmoft extremity of rage, till at laft he even threatened the life of his fon. our ftedfaft lover, grown mad at fuch treatment, fled to his miftrefs, and related to her all the particulars of this converfition with his father. fair sop h i a was clocked at the unexpected ftorm, and felt all that could be defired from the moft fmcere lover. she advifed him to re tire to the houfe of his nurfe, to avoid a father's refentment ; promifmg to fend him thither all he mould want ; which me accordingly did with infinite pleafure. the* the devil hermit. 87 tho' the banker was ignorant of his cbugfi ter's inclinations, yet as he was a man of good penetration, he took notice of her melancholy, and required to know the reafon of it. mifa was perfuajed that her father loved her fondly, and therefore ingenuoufly owned her paffion, together with the rife of it, and the obftacles that oppofed her happinefs : fhe only concealed the retreat of her lever, whom fhe faw every day. her fre quent vifits had but augmented her flames, fo that all the prudent advice of her father was of no ef feet : neither his menaces nor his promiics were fufficient to conquer her pafiion. it is hard for two lovers, defperately fond, to keep within the bounds of decency. whenever opportunity is at hand, cupid ufually hides himfelf under clouds, in order to palliate what is due to honour. sophia was too complai fant, and could not long refift the eager warmth of her tender adorer. at laft they facrificed' to the cytherean goddefs ; and it became requifite to find means for fecuring their mutual pofief fion. not many months pafled before fome f, mptoms appeared, which predicted a tempo rary illnefs. the beautiful sophia perilled her lover to fly into fome foreign country, tluit they might put themfelves under the yoke of h y m e n : and as {he well knew where the wealth of her father lay, fhe took five or fix bags of gold, and eloped from her paternal houfe. the banker foon perceived the dimunition of his money, and had no fufpicion of nnv other thief than his daughter, whofe conduct, for fome i 2 oavs 88 <tv devtl her mi f. clays before, had give room for jealoufy. he puituecl her clofely, and cat'ght the amorous 'couple in a fmall village not a gn-at way diftant. at the fight of the old gentleman our fpark made his efcape, and carried off the pieces : and the banker conducted back ' his daughter, and fhut her up in a nunnery. on the other hand, the young gentleman's father, having heard of this adventure, made fuch enquiry after his fon, that, by means of his treacherous director, he ibon got him into his hands. this inhuman father, after having cruelly abufed him, had his fon confined in a houfe of correction, where he lauguifhed a full 'year in the moft deplorable condition. at laft, finding means to efcape, he took refuge at the hcufe of an hor.eft prieft, with whom he trufted all his money, and who, f. r on!v fifty louis reward, e;ave him a faithful j-.t count of it, and ofhcioufly found out the nun r^rv.in which the fair sophia was cloiftered. the nuns in that country are the moft tra i.v .b'c thingson earth, and extremely compaflio n. te,to the wtakneffes of young people. this i. indeed the only charity they literally pra&ife ; j;-r do they this but after fuitable prefents, with c.f which their hearts are as hard as a rock. as our lover had ftill a good round fum, he dif pcnfed it with great prodigality; and the covetous nuns readily opened their eyes at the appearance of gold. they not only admitted him to inter views with his miftrefs, but even fuffered her to retire with him in a hall adjoining to the par kur. as that is a place faqred to fcenes of this nature* ike devil hermit. 89 nature, none but the moft generous perfons are admitted into it. soph i a had been cured of her former cholic, by a crifis that is common to fuch fort of difeafes ; and {he no loncer re membered the many ills it had expofed her to, nor the folemn oaths which her pains had ex torted from her. she ventured afrefh to face all the dangers of the fame woful diftemper, and was determined to undergo a fecond ech'pfe. she was more lucky however than to fall into it.; no obftacle oppofed their defigns, and the two lovers were lawfully married in the country they fled to. a few months after the flock be gan to decay, and meagre want, with-her rueful countenance, began to appear : in a word, ex treme neceflity obliged them to return to the place of their nativity. sophia implored the clemency of her father ; and the good man, pverjoyed to fee her, forgave all that was paft. the gentleman's father was dead with rage and indignation. his fon's marriage had caufed fuch a cruel diforder in his mind, that he uttered againft him a thoufarid maledictions at the very time of giving up the ghoft. no fooner was that learned areopagus, of which i have before given you fome faint idea, informed of the arrival of our young, couple, but they difannulled their marriage, and thundered againft them the fentence of ex communication. infenfibly the banker pcrfua ded his daughter into an indifferency for her husband, and made a mere fantom of her mar riage, which at beft he infmuated wus very i 2 fcanduloiu.. 9q ffie, -devil hermit. fcandalous, sophia, either thro'her own ficklenefs, or out of complaifance to her father, would have nothing more to fay to the cheva lier ; who, half mad at the inconftancy of his wife, retired into a monaftery. as rnadam had been ufed to the comforts of matrimony, {he could not long do without them, and a fprightly young canon found the means to be ccme matter of her heart. men of this kind come at once to the point, and have very little regard to a woman's reputation ; and he we are fpeaking of was fo very indifcreet, as to make a parade of his gallantry, fo that their intrigues became publickly known. the difcarded young husband, who had taken the vows, and aftumed the name of dom bernard, was ready to die with grief when he heard of the conduct of his wife, whom he very tenderly loved. he refolved on a terrible revenge, and having obtained from his fupe riors thelibertv of a few daysabfence, he tranf ftrme himfelf into a footman, and found means to getint fhe ferviceof the canon, who had no ac quaintance with him. it is even faid, that per ions of virtue and reputation afiifted him in pro curing this place, which he held three days without being able to effe& his defigns. the fourth day he learned that his faithlefs soph i a was to wait upon the canon. he took his op portunity, and hid himfelf in a place proper to furprize them. at the fight of his wife's infi delity, rage took poflefson of his heart. he bad arms at hand, with which like a madman he the devil hermit. 91 he rufhed 'on 'the canon, and with two plunges of a poinard left him dead on the place. so phia falling into a fit, dom bernard went out, and returned to his monaftery with all the calmnefs. imaginable. madam sop h j a , being recovered, wa<= car ried to her own habitation. a few reflexions difcovered to her, in the murderer of hei lover, her injured husband, whom {he row refolved to imitate. in amort time me entered into a cloift crof the fame order with dom bernard, for whom her paffion began to revive. after fuch a conduct as (he had been guilty of, ihe imagined it impoffible ever to meet with a pardon j and therefore refolved to follow him into his retreat, that at leaft fhe might give him no further uneafv nefs. ursula was the name {he aflumed, in the room of sophia. a year n' : or pronouncing her lad vows, (he was obliged, for the fake of health, to go and take the air. she chofe for thatpurpofe the houfe of a neighbouring gentleman her friend, whom dom bernard knew to be a man of great virtue. hearing that his dear sophia was there, he went to pay her a vifit. his heart leaped at the fight of her, and he could net withftand his violent inclination to come to a defer conference. in a word, they mutually opened their minds, and came to a, reconcilia tion. forgetting all that was pafted, they re folved to live once more together ; and with that view, inftead gf returning to their refpec tive 92 the devil hermit. tive monafteries, they made their efcape within a fortnight into holland. the old governefs, who related this hiftpry, fpoke of the lady with great indignation, and treated her as an infamous libertine ; but the good woman had forgot her own youth, when fhe entertained four lovers at a time, and was not cruel to either of them. her conduct cer tainly was more worthy of cenfure than that of our married couple, whcfe religious vows were abfolutely void in themfelves, and whofe -conjugal obligation flrill fubfifted, in fpite of the ignorance of thofe who had fet it afide. but this wife fynod makes no fcruple of treading un der foot all the laws, both human and divine. i will take another opportunity to relate the conclufion of this hiftory : for our unhappy pair, after all that has pafled, are ftill threatened with a tragical cataftrophe. scarce were four months gone over out heads, before urie l, the moft rafcally of am the fubalterri devils, was terribly threatened by asmodeus for having revealed the fecret of the canon's death ; when, to clear himfelf, he threw the blame of that difcovery on me. what, fays asmodeus, is that poor dog among us ? is it he that takes the liberty to in termeddle in my affairs ? it is true indeed that i have been abfent from the body of his excel lence, being fully fatisned that he would make good ufe of my advice, and that thou flag el wouldft fupply my place on occafion ; but this iccundrel valet de chambre of his luciferiart the devi! hermit. 93 majefty, (hall behave the temerity to come into a country that is entirely devoted to me? i fhall make him remember this, with a ven geance to him ! he then begr.n with his incan tations, and fummoneu me to appear. i found he was in earneft, and that it would be but 3 word and a blow: therefore i made ufe of my cunning, which indeed i had plenty of, and got off with all expedition. my next recep tacle was the body of a duana, into which i chap. vii. aftaroth avenges the knight for the cruet ties of his mifirefs. but, my dear devil hermit, cried i, with fome emotion, methinks you may now very well interrupt the thread of your narration, in order to ferve me according to your promife. here have you amufed me, from day to day, with your diabolical conver fation ; and never once feem to have thought of my inhuman (air, whom you promifed to make flexible. can you not rely on my word then? faid astaroth in a furly tone. i beg of you, sir, to inform yourfelf better con cerning us devils, and not meafure our probity by that of mankind. be aflured friend that i think of you, and wait only for a favourable opportunity 94 the devil hermit. opportunity to do what 1 have promifed. t'ex per, the fair creature to come out of the city. he then went on in a fofter tone : the time of your felicity is at hand ; your charmer is juft now fet out, in company with ; duana, for her country-feat. let us tranfp,,: : ourfelves into her apartment, and you {hall fee what i am able to do. but (he will know me, fays i, as foon as i enter. not in the leaft, anfwered my faithful ast a roth : you (hall enjoy the privilege of invifibility, which is in my power to confer. no fooner fhall i whifper in her car, but your affair will be in a good forwardnefs. you (hall make yourfelf vifible in the evening, under a low lattice that is in the court-yard, "and there have an opportunity of holding fuch convetfa tion with her as i {hall fuggeft on this_occafion. the fair will foon capitulate, and you may inarryher; which indeed is the only thing i can do for your worftiip. nothing but hy men can make you happy, fuppofmg you will never be fufceptible of jealoufy ; for ' indeed, madam will not always be fo fcrupulous as {he is at prefent. your humble fervant, mr devil, faid i : you are going to do me a great piece of fervice indeed, by what i perceive. does all your de vilfhip's skill then confift in the planting of horns on my poor head ? well, this makes it evi dent that all the devils are impoftors and cheats, and that their greateft performances are mere juggling. patience, sir, patience, my demon re plies , t/oe devil hermit. 95 plies : dear me, you are fo hafty. when i propofe marriage to you, i mean the marriage of a french petit maitre, that is, only a trick to impofe on the young creature's confcience. i will place your friendj the father queftor, juft in your way this evening, and he mail give you a {hort benediction. are you frightened at the name of a blcffing man ? this monk is no prieft : confequently your marriage will not be legitimate j and when you grow weary of your bargain, i will inform you how to get rid of it. make yourfelf eafy then en this ar ticle : rely on me, and you fliall find me a devil of my word. when we arrived at the apartment of donna theresa, we found her at her lookingglafs, adjufting her head-drefs, which had been rumpled by the jolting of the coach. how lovely fhe appeared ! the he r m i t went up near her perfon, and blew a purple coloured vapour into her ear, which in a mo ment expanded to her heart. soon after {he began to figh, and to cry out, aloud, heavens ! what is become of him ? shall i never fee him again ? what a fool was i to repulfe fuch an amiable young fellow ! alas ! my feverity drove him to defpair. oh that he would come again to himfelf ! that i could have the happi ncfs to fee him once more ! what would i not do to engage him? as fhe fpoke thefe words, the tears were feen to trickle down her lovely eyes. i was 96 the devil hermit. i was fo touched with this tender fcene, that i was going, like a madman, to throw myielf at her feet, if the her mit, who knew my fentiments, had not fnatched me that mo ment out of the chamber, reproving me fmart ly, with a what now? you frenchmen., he con tinued, are the moft hot-headed hair brained creatures in the univerfe. why man, you had juft fpoiled all. what, in the name of won der, could donna theresa have thought, to have heard your voice without feeing you ? she muft have taken you for a mere phantom of a lover. btfides, no young lady is willing to have it known that fhe is in love. at a time when fhe profefies the utmoft indifference for your perfon, fhe burns with the greateft ardor to enjoy it. what a blunder for a man of wit, who aims at deceiving a woman ! are the ycung fellows in your country capable of committing foch abfurdities in love ? only have patience till the evening? you are already convinced of my little fhare of power ; and you may be fure, this very night, of being happy, and ta king poffeffion of the caftle. the lady, you know, is an only daughter, and has neither father nor mother living : her tutor may foon be brought to reafon, and i will do your bufi nefs effeaually. it muft be imagined that i expected the happy moment with the utmoft impatience. at laft the hour came which i had fo much defired, when i perceived donna theresa leaning on a window, and venting the moft profound fighs. the devil hermit. 97 fighs, i fprung nimbly up towards her, and fhe knew meat firft fight. whence come you, sir ? (he cried out with furprize ; and who in formed you that i was in this place ? my love, madam, anfwercd i. the defpair to which your cruelty reduced me, has made me wander the fields for a long time pad ; and night ha ving overtaken me juft at the gate of this cattle, i got information to whom it belonged. my joys were inexprefiible when i heard your lady fhip named for the owner, and that you was j.uft now arrived here. i inftantly determined to try once more, if you ftill perfift in your inclination to occafion my death. my tor ments are fo very (harp, that i can no longer fupport them. my tears, my declining condi tion, have fuincicr.tly informed you, that you are the only dignity i adore. the flame that con fumes me is too fierce to be any longer borne. you know my family, my birth, my fortune, in a word, 1 have concealed nothing from you : why then do you refufe my love ? is it fo very unworthy of you, o divine th e resa ? cruel woman! see me then, pierce this wretched breaft, and fall a vi&im at your feet. here i performed all the fooleries that are ufual on fuch occafions. i drew my fword, which to be fure i had no great inclination to ftain with my blood. donna th ere s a, perceiving my tranfports, cried out aloud : for heaven's fake, dear knight, hold your hand a moment ! compofe your mind, sir, and hear me with attention, k t i 9 3 ihe devil hermit. i ingf-nuoufly confefs to you then, that i rave conceived a finccre refpeft for your perfon f/er fince i fn ft beheld you : but hearing that the french are often impoftors, inconftanf, and enterprifing in love, i imagined that all your a&ions were feigned, and that you had no other defign than to dimonour me. remem ber, sir, that you never once fpoke to me of marriage; which indeed was what put me on my guard. i know your family. the banker �l;o remits your money has informed me of that,'and of your own particular birth and per* fonal merit : i freely accept your hand there fore, and mall think myfelf honoured in being 'your wife. you ravifh me, madam, anfwered i with the utmoft extafy. what a happy moment is rhis for me ! and how am i at a lofs for expref fions ftrong enough to fet forth my tender love and lafting gratitude ! be aflured, madam, that all rny felicity confifts in our union, and that i will not a moment defer that happine/s which i prize beyond all the riches in the tmiverfe. but, dear madam, tell me, how fhall we bring about this marriage ? i have re ceived orders frpm my parents to leave this place immediately, and can alletigeno plaufible "reafon for not obeying their commands. doubtlefs you would be glad of their confent : but the procuring it would take up fo much time, that i mould certainly die in the interval. i am not fo rigorous, sir, as you imagine, replied the charming theresa. i believe you the -devil hermit. 99 you to be a man of honour, and will entirely confide in your fmcericy. here is a good old friar juft come to the houfe, in order to crayc an alms. if he is willing to marry us, i (hall be fatisfied without any more formality. pleafe to come in. sir, and we will fpeak to him to gether. here the devil hermit took his leave of me, and told me he was going to vifit his nun. you perceive, fays he, that every thing; goes well. it is i that have brought hither the good brother, and inftrudted him in what he is to perform. you muft not feem to know him. farewell, happy chevalier; this night puts you in pofleffion of the queen of all your thoughts. i will meet you in the cave tw days hence. scarce was i entered but i threw myfelf at the feet of the fair theresa. the honeft monk was immediately called. we gave him, on this occafion, the title of father; and tho* not in orders, i cannot help thinking he de ferved it well ; for all fathers are not priefis. we opened the cafe to him without ceremony* the impoftor difiembled moft dextroufly, and performed his part to admiration. the hopes of a good reward made him conceal his being unqualified, and undertake with alacrity to blefs our bed. he did not fpin out the cere mony to any great length. supper was foon ready, and we had no want of appetite. after it was over, i took my full revenge on the fair theresa for. all the pangs that fhe had 1c 2 ioo be devil hermit. made me fuffer. well, faid i to myfelf, there is nothing like having a devil for one's friend. they do a man's btsfmefs at once, without much fatigue or expen.ce. without prefents, without ferenades, the moft hard-hearted mif trefs melts in a moment. enjoyment goes hand in hand with a declaration of love, and no obfhicles arife in the way. i was fo charmed with the good offices of my devil hermit, that finding the phial of holy water in my pocket, 1 inftantly broke it with indignation, refolving never more to m.-ke ufe of it againft any fubjeft of his infer r ai majefly. the devils, faid i, are people of 1" iuw, and it wetild b$ hjvi^rvus to torment t h e the devil hermit. 101 t h e devil hermit: o r, t h e adventures of ast a ro t h banish ed from hell. the second boo 1c chap. i. siquel of the hifyory of s'fitr cornkhon, aitaroth the duana of a young lady cf fifteen. th e delights i tafled with donna theresa, did not make me forget my friend the ti e r m i t . two days after my playing at marriage, under a prcr. : ce of: going a'huiuingjl fled to the cavern, where th 102 ?be devil hermit: the good astaroth expected me with im patience. so, chevalier, fays he, as foon as he "-faw me ; are not you a happy rogue now ? the moft happy dog in the univerfe, anfwered 1 ; fl.iwing fu'ch tranfport of joy, as gave him a full idea of my felicity. my dear fpoufe is the moft obliging creature alive; and all her concern is to pleafe me : in a word, there is no man upon earth, but might envy the felicity i ei-j ''. here the hermit flopped me (hort: i could wifh, faid he, that this fatisfaction of yours might be lafting ; but i forefee it will not. i have other things in view for you, and have chofen for your wife the daughter of a church warden. you do not think of fuch a thing fure, faid i fmartly. what ! abandon an ami able and rich lady, to marry a church-warden's d ughter ? ay, chevalier, the daughter of a churchwarden; but a churchwarden of the firft rank ; one, whofe daughter (hall bring to her portion a rich lordfhip of 300,000 livres annual rent. well, faid i, if that be the cafe, let us go i nd fee her this moment. at this astaroth fell a laughing hearti ly: what then, faid he, donna theresa is no longer the miftrefs of your heart ? you are a mere frenchman, i fee, and that is fay ing ail at once. your countrymen never love be oncl enioyment. but have a little patience, goo: monfteuf] you are condemned to live a year with donna theresa. for three whole months foe will love you ; but after that, sir, the devil hermit. 303 sir, expect to fwallow many a barter pill of her preparing. 'tis but juft, that a fuifick-ut quan tity of vexation (hould follow the fwects of love, and that you fhould fuff r a little for the infmcerity you have made ufe of towards her, as well as for the many other amorous frolicks you have been guilty of from your birth to this hour. some of your tricks i have heard in the cloifter i came from, where, mt long a^o, there was a pretty young girl confined, who bad been feduced by you. come, make a frank confeflion of that intrigue j was it not true? dear mr hermit, fa id i, let mv old amours alone. it makes me mad to think of the malice and artifices of thofe nuns. well, well, the devil replied, fince you defire it, we will drop the fubject : but let me tell you, that thofe ladies are no better pleafed with you, than you with them. your worfhip prom i frd them certain little prefents, fuch as fu^ar, cofitia and tea, but not a grain of either ever came: it is in revenge for this that they have difpofed of your miftrefs's heart elfewhere, and fet her a gainft you. her prefent gallant has bc-.-a much more generous, and you know that nuns never do any thing but for intoreft, but will facrifke honour and conference for ready mo ney. well, have done with my affairs, however, anfwered i, and entertain me with the fortune* of that pretty nun who is under your protec tion, and whofe hiftory you went partly thro* before. alas! sir, replied my falfe hi rmit> the 104 the devil hermit. the poor thing has been idevilimly balked dur ing my abfcnce the whole affair has been difco vered, and they have (hut her up in a dark prifon, from which i hope to releafe her to morrow. i have done all in my power to give her confolation, by infpiring the means of re venge; but the fimple creature was fo over whelmed with grief, that (he would not hear ken to my infpi rations. her misfortune hap pened in this manner. this young sifter corn ic hon, as i told you before, had admitted into clofe quarters a great booby of a monk, who went to work without any precaution. hardly ha i three weeks pa/ted over their heads, but fhe felt the f, mp toms of a dangerous fort of cholic. he: di ftemper was foon difcovered ; for thofe cbafte young virgins are very clear-fighted on that ar ticle. as (he had many enemies, and che abbefs was already prejudiced againft her, {he was pre fently locked up on fufpicion of incontinency, and condemned to live on bread and water a lone. all her companions raifed mod horrible outcries againft her; yet there is not one of all the holy fifterhood, but who deferves at leaft, as much punimment as co r n i c h o n . do but think, chevalier, of the unhappy fi tuation of this poor nun. a captivity the nioft fevere and rigorous ; an old paflion but ill extinguifhed, which ftill gnaws her foul ; vows imprudently made, which condemn her to live all her life among implacable enemies, who breathe nothing but her ruin a and are withal very ingenious tv devil-. hermit. 105. . ingenious to invent a thoufand calumnies, in or der to fatiate their vengeance. are not thefe moft afflicting circumftances? few fouls are ca pable to bear up fteadily under fuch (hocks of fortune; and the nymph, in my opinion, was worthy of commiferation. by degrees (he liften ed to my fuggeftions, and i infpired her with a noble invention for her own deliverance. she has learned how to open the prifon, and this night {he is to fet the nunnery on fire, and make her efcape with the monk, who has been the chief caufe of her difgrace. i muft be prefent at this performance, and can therefore ftay with you but two hours longer. as to the marquis of st julian, as foon as he had heard of his miftrefs's misfortune, he returned to his wife, and never in the leaft troubled his head to re lieve his once dear cornichon ; yet it is not now fix months ago, that he would have facri ficed a thoufand lives for her fervice. such is the inconftancy of lovers! an amiable young virgin, who has the moft obliging things faid to her, meets with indifference, and at laft dif dain, after the moft tender fcenes of love are once over. but let us leave off moralizing, which, indeed, is not my profefiion, and divert ourfelves with the guardian matron, who had now lodged me. i was fuch a little while in the bodv of this creature, that fcarce had i time to ki.ovv my felf. but what could be the reafon of t. ;it 3 good mr hermit ? faid i. a fine queftion m u xj, replied my devjl, the reafon was, tiut&e knew io6 tztf devij hermit. knew more than i, and that, b^fides, i had no inclination to be confined any longer. she had corrupted her young ward, a lady of great virtue,, and that was all that i wanted with her. no fooner had mifs and her duana -fallen into difgrace, but i left them to themfelves, in or der that defpair might compleat what i had fo well begun : yet i cannot deny, but that, dur ing the two months that i continued in the body of this fury, i performed my part very v^elt ; but when once {he was (hut up in a de fart country caflle, i prefently left my habita tion. to oblige you, however, i will give you an ample account of all that i performed in this my old weather-beaten habitation. c ii a p. ii. 'the stratagems of ~duanas \ or, tbe hifto ry of the count da be lair, and ju lia de stflorenzo! the marquis of st florenzo, a noble venetian, united the moft ele. vated fentiments with an auftere, and almoft favage virtue. the lofs of a wife whom he valued, made no alteration in his nature, unlefs that it rendered him more referved than before. two children, a fon and a daughter, the precious remains of this marriage, were all his confolation : and young ftejrenso and his the devil hermit. 107 his fitter had received from their virtuous pa rents a noble education, which directed them in the way of true glory. the old marquis, who loved his children tenderly, was continually thinking how to procure them an advantageous fettlement. his fon was already poflefled of a conilderable employment ; and fuch confidence had the father in his prudent behaviour, that he left him intirely to himfelf, perfuadcd that he would ftill tread in the fteps he had marked out for him to follow. ju l i a, who was but fifteen years old, join ed a noble and generous heart, a heart uncapable of any thing^mean, to the moftexquiiite beau ty. love, with all his addrefs, had yet been unable to reach her, and his moft pointed darts were blunted againft the heart of this cherming creature. yet her father, nofwithftanding her prudence, did not think fit to leave her miftrefs of her own conduit, but looked out for a dua na of known probity. after much enquiry, he, found one, who was recommended to him as the paragon of all italy. the marquis, charm ed with the reputation of this old woman, whofe name was fabricia, relied entirely upon her for the conduct of julia ; and the time of carnival being come, he would by no means deprive this dear daughter of the diverfions u fually taken at venice. accompanied with her tluana, he fent her to the houfe of a noble ve netian lady, whofe condudr, he knew, was ir repro'ichable. donna theodora (that was her name) was fo pleafed with the company of her jo8 'the devil hermit. her lovely young gueft, that (he took her abroad into all the beft companies v where her charms began foon to make great havock. in a little time no converfation was heard, but what turned upon the graces of julia's perfon ; and there was nothing fo complaifant and ob liging, as what was faid of her. a young french gentleman, no lefs diftin guifhed by his birth than by his amiable qua lifications, had made a vifit to theodora. he caft his eyes upon julia; and to fee and to love were with him the fame thing. a vio lent paflion foon took pofleffion of his foul, and determined him to omit nothing, in order to captivate the heart of this lovely creature. his aifiduity, his complaifance to julia, gave umbrage to madam fabr icia, who told her fentiments to her young miftrefs, and asked her, if the count had not made to her fome de claration of love. julia fmcerely confefled to her guardian all the count's proteftations of friendfhip and tendernefs; and declared, that (he never could be eafy for his felicitations : butfhe added, at the end of her narrative, that tho' this young nobleman had an infinite deal of merit, (he did not feel any thing in her heart, that gave her the leaft fufpicion of her being ever enamoured with him. dame fabricia, whom i did not yet poflefs, was ravifhed with this declaration, and gave her frefh inftru&ions relating to her con duel ; advifing her to defy all men in general, efpt daily the french, my dear julia, fays foe, 7 be devil hermit. 109 {he, they are a fet of deceitful, unconftant, in difcreet people ; put no confidence in t'.em, for they are more dangerous than a violent fever ; all their careffes are only with a view to de vour. in the mean time the count, tormented in ceflantly with his paifion, followed julia wherefoever (he went. having overhsard this fine ledture of the duana, he refolved to engage her to his intereft, coflwhat it would. here i ftepped in to his afliftance, and took pofteffion of the old woman's heart ; for, as i always had a regard for the french petits maitres, i thought it a point of honour to ferve this amiable young gentleman. one day, when julia went with donna theodora to vifit fome of the fiftcrs in a nunnery, the count came to her ap partments, under the pretence of paying his refpe&s, and luckily found there dame fabri c i a alone. ah ! madam, fays he, i am over joyed to find you here without witneftes : i muft engage your friendfhip in my behalf with ju lia ; deign therefore to give one moment's at tention. juft at that time i filled her foul with my fuggeftions, and (he confentej to hear what the count had to fay. madam, he begins, i lovemifs julia to diftra&ion. serve me in this particular, and de pend upon the moft grateful acknowledgment. you are not ignorant, chafte fa eric ia, of my birth, my rank, my fortune. i do not aim to deceive your fair miftrefs; i only intreat you not to be againfl an honourable marriage, * l which no the devi/ hermit. which i intend topropofe to her. her alliance with me will not difgrace her : endeavour there fore to infpire her with favourable fentiments towards me. i know you have a daughter of your own, who has not fortune to recommend her to an advantageous match: bring the fair julia to condefcend to. my love, and i here give you a note of my hand for a thoufand pi ftoles to add to your daughter's fortune, and a thoufand more for your own ufe, to be paid as icon as the bufmefs fuccceds. be fo good as to accept this fmall prefent of two hundred louis <i'or. this he fpoke with that grace, which is fo natural to the french. madam, he adds, i do not include this trifle in the fum promifed by note, and beg you would look upon it only as the earneft of what i intend to do for you. dame fa b r i c i a , v/ho already wept for joy at the receipt of fo considerable a sum, forgot at once all her feverity, and promifed the count more than he required of her. she pocketed up the two hundred louifes without much ce remony, and aflu'red her benefactor, that he fhould hear from her in two days at fartheft. |ju l i a , at her return, found the count wait ing for her with impatience; but fcarce would flic vouchfafe to look on him : a cold compli ment, that barely (hewed her breeding, was the utmoft our poor lover could extort from her. all his cringes, all his proteftations of love, conftancy, and fidelity, were to no pur pofe this evening, and could not obtain the jcaft anfwer. the impreflion which her duana's lectures the devil hermit. 1 1 1 le&urcs had left in her mind, was too ftrongfor her to be impofed upon with flattering clif courfe, which {he now regarded as made up of artifice, falfehood, and deceit. the count had fallen into defpair, but for the promitcs of dame fa b r i c i a . thefe revived his hope:, and enabled him to refume his natural gaiety, which was adorned with fo much fprighdinds and wit, as drew on him the admiration of a whole aflembly, he had indeed moil excellent qualities; was a man of probity and honour ; but of a very amorous temper, and who facrifice all to accomplifh his defigns. at night the duana, being alone with her 'ward, in a carelefs manner enquired, what news of the count de be l a i r ? o! fays his fair miftrefs, that man teazes me to death with his addrefles, and the ardor of his paflion ; but fmce you have told me, madam, that the french are very perfidious and inconftant, i have fcarce ever taken any notice of him. well, but my dear julia, replied the matron, i have fince informed myfelf exactly of the count's charac ter : his valet de chambre, who is a young fel low of good fenfe, has allured me, that his in tentions towards you are only honourable ma trimony. now if we were fure, child, of the purity of his intentions, an alliance of that na ture would raifeyou to a rank of high diftinc tion. his lordfhip enjoys the favour of his fo vereign, and pofleffes fome of the moft confule rable pofts in the kingdom : i believe fuch a husband would make you perfectly happy j for l 2 the 1 12 the devil hermit. the manner of living in france, my dear, is much more agreeable than that in italy. wo men there enjoy perfect and full liberty : jea loufy is entirely banifhed from that happy cli mate : that ftupid paflion, which here makes many a wife unhappy, is there unknown. if the count then dees love you fincerely, and i think you have no room to doubt it, your beft way, in my opinion, is to liften to hispropofal, and not lofe fuch an offer thro' an obftinate and ill grounded refervc. but my good dire&refs, anfwered julia, ivhat courfe wculd you advife me to take ? shall i expofe myfelf to the hearing of an equivocal r afiion, which will tarniih my reputation ? he tells me, he loves mej but may 1 rely on fuch a declaration ? bcfides, fuppofe he is really in that mind at prefent, and that he feels all the tendernefs he would make me believe, is it im pofiible for him to change? my dear daughter, replied the duana, you reafon like a perfon of good fenfe: but have you not the fame to fear from a husband of this country? difclofe to me freely the fenti rr.cntsof your heart; do you not love the count, or, at leaft, do you not feala fort of favourable inclination towards him? i cannot but own inger.uouflv, governefs, that this nobleman is not difagreeabie to me : but i depend upon a father ; we muft confult him, and take his in ftruclions concerning my reception of the count's addreites. alas ! my dear ju l i a, the count will not be forward to open his mind to the the devil hermit. r 1 3 the marquis your father, before he is informed whether your heart feels itfelf difpofed to fa vour him. a marl of fine tafte ought to be be holden to his own merit, and not to the or ders of a father, for the gobd graces of his mi ftrefs. the yoke of hymen cannot be'eafy without mutual tendernefs : therefore, child, if his love is not difpleaflng to you, and your heart perceives any inclination towards him, give an ear to what he has to fay, and w-ighhis reafons > it will.be time enough then to delibe rate upon whatcourfe you are to take. my love and arfe'clion to you are fufficiently known; and the advice i {hall give you will always be ho ned and rational. i have more experience of thefe matters than you : confult your own. heart therefore, my dear julia, and repofe on me the whole care of your happinefs. but, madam fabricia, replied our love ly young lady, how would you have a prudent and virtuous virgin explain herfelf? i am in ceflantly purfued : all the aflembly is attentive to our actions, and the leaft nod, the leafl glance of the eye, cannot pafs unobferved. and what then julia, rejoined the good duana, cannot you give him an interview in your own appartment ? for my part, i will do what be comes me; and you may be aflured, that no one living fiiall ever know any thing of the matter. what is this you advife me to, madam !' ex claimed the fair julia. shall a young kdy of honour and birth expofe her reputaioii irt l that 114 the devil hermit. that manner? if i couldeven fuppofe, that all the world would be ignorant of this clan deftine vifit, who can be guarantee of the count's honour ? you have told me, that all the french gentlemen are fprightly, enter prizing, and of a temper not to be withftcod. when i am alone with him, who (hall f cure me from his lawlefs attempts ? can i even be fure of my own fteadinefs and virtue ? oh, fa b r i cia ! one that is too daring on the fea of life, runs a great rifque of being fhipwrecked. not in the leaft, my dear child, anfwers the duana; you hazard nothing \ i {hall be always near you. i will do more, i will bring my daughter beatrice to pafs the night with you : thus (hail we have two witneftes, who will put a damp to all the count's vigorous attacks, even fuppofing that he mould be fo ram, as to attempt any thing againft your ho nour. not that there is the leaft probability of fuch a thing, all his views being as lawful, as his refpecl is real -and profound. here i whif pered an artifice into the ear of the duana, which the chafte young innocent could not w.ithihnd. would you, fays me, have me try him ? i will know firft if he be in earneft. by no means, fabricja, replied the mar quis of florenzo's daughter; i cannot con fcnt to any fuch proceeding. but ; my dear child, you confefs, almoft whether you will or no, that you do not hate this young lord : you will be entirely wanting therefore to your own happinefsand goodfortune.i have fomething come the devil hermit. 115 come into my bead, that will infallibly prevent your being j6k|>&fed : hear what it is. yoii (hall take this evening one of your brother's ha bits i and i too will transform myfelf into a man. the carnival allows of fuch liberties', and no body will cenfure the action. we will, walk together upon st mark's place, and en deavour to join company with him. your fe verity has almoft driven him to defnair, and therefore we may be fure of his being alone. i will talk to you in the character you appear in ; and at the bare pronunciation of your name we {hall know the fincerity of his paflion. the duana, after much converfation, af ter many fair promifes to be faithful, and to conduit this affair fo dextroufly that no one {hould know of it, gained her point. poor julia was taken in the fnare, and confented to have herfelf led as a victim to the flaughter. when fabp. icia had brought her fo far on, flie took care privately to inform the count, who came punctually to the rendezvous. our two adventurers appeared on the fpor, where they faw the count extrerru ly folitary : they advanced up to him, and entered into converfa tion. the matron, who knew her trade per fectly well, and had me befides for an afliftant, faid to her counterfeit young cavalier, shall we go and take a glafs my lord marquis of st florenzo ? this was the watch word : no fooner did the count hear it pronounced, but he fetched a deep figh 3 thiew off his apparent melancholy u6 the devil hermit. melancholy in a moment, and became the moft pfeafant dreature on eartft. dear marquis, fays he^ how happy am i to have the honour thus accidentally of feeing'you ! it is what i have a long while fought for in vain. in a word, he made him a thoufand proteftaticns of friendmip and eftefem ; and julia, who was a mere no vice in love and intrigues, imagined that her face was not known to her lover under this bor rowed habit. she had prepared an anfwer how ever, in cafe the count had known her. this triumvirate (if we may fo call it) went to the coffee houfe, where they were led into a private room. the duana, that (he might not give donna theodora any uneafinefs, had ?.d vifed jclia to inform her of their metamor phofis ; and as diverfions of this kind are much in ufe, the lady had no fufpicion of her conduct. she had indeed' fo high an opinion of the dua na's virtue, that {he was fully perfuaded this lovely creature could pun no rifque with fuch a governefs. here i interrupted the devil hermit, to make him take notice of a troop of armed men, that rode with all fpeed towards a foreft, which was half a league diftant from the ca vern ! who are thofe people, faid i? ah ! che valier, anfwers the devil, they are archers, who are now in purfuif of fomebcdy. wait here a moment, and i will let you know their bufmefs. with that he cleft: the air with an in credible fwiftnefs, and was inftantly back quite out of breath. come along si>, fays he, theft wrctchct tht devil hermit. 117 wretches are going to your caftle ; they are emiflaries of the holy inquiiuion. yet i cannot believe they have already difcovered your clan tleftine marriage,and fudden retreat. by all means, however, let us fly to your houfe, and as we are both inviflble, you run no hazard. if the rafcals commit any outrage, i will punim them fo feverely, that they (hall remember it a long time. scarce were we arrived at the caftle, but thefe imps of the facred office were upon the return. they had been eight days in fearch of the good father queftor and being in formed that he lodge 1 at my houfe, they came to feize his perfon : but as donna theresa, for whom they had a great refpeft, aflured them that he went away the morning before at daybreak, our gentlemen took their leave. the devil hermit, who loved this mendicant brother, thought it his duty to in form him of that terrible tribunal, and to put him in fome place of fafety. in fa&, within a quarter of an hour he brought him into the cavern. i could not divine, for my part, where he found the fellow : but however that was, i am fure he raifed fuch a tempeft upon the poor archers, who were coming back flowly, and forrowful at their difappointment, that i never faw the like in my life. the thunder and lightning fo terrified their horfes, that they took the bit in their teeth, and ran away fu rioufly among the woods and rocks, where moft of the riders were utterly loft. omr ii8 the devil hermit. o mr ast a roth, faid i, what a ma lignant devil art thou ! not half fo bad, anfwer he, as that infamous crew deferved. the in quifi tor has nothing to do but to get more futh ; for thefe will now be of no ufe to him. mean time the friar, who was almoft dead with furprife, returned a thoufand thanks to the hermit. but as his compliments were te dious and fulfome, and quite tired me, i in terrupted him in the midft of them, to make astaroth purfue the hiftory of the mar quis de st florenzo's daughter. chap. iii. sequel to the hiftory of the count ^bz l a i r , and mifs julia de florenzo. hp h e count, who knew that he was fpeak * ing to his miftrefs, and not to her brother, carried on the diflimulation with gre:.t dexte rity. he uttered a thoufand fine things to the counterfeit marquis, all in language extreme ly flattering, and enlarged particularly on the praifes of a lifter of his, whom he faid he had feen at the lady theodora's. at laft he delivered himfelf thus: marquis, if i was but fo happy as to merit your efteem and friendfhip, i ihould prefer it to all that i poflefs. you feem. tfhe devil hermit. 1 1 9 teem too much of a gentleman for me to be afraid of fpeaking my fentiments. i confefs then ingenuoufly, that jhe charms of donna ju lia, your fifter, have penetrated to the very bottom of my foul, and that i languifh for love of her ; while the cruel maid, infeniible of my torments, laughs at what i feel, and fcarce will daign fo much as to look on me. my family, notwithstanding, is fo well known, that you cannot but be convinc'd, that yours would fuf fer no difgrace in an alliance with it. but alas ! adds he with a very deep figh, i am not fo hap py as to engage the good graces of your adora ble fifter. she is already prejudiced in favour of fome other gentleman, who without doubt has more merit than i. the lovely maid has in deed too many perfections, for me to imagine (he would fix her eyes on any objeft unwor thy of her ; and this fingle thought drives me to diftraition. as neither julia nor the duana made any anfwer, he went on in the fame ftrain. i be lieve sir, fays he to the counterfeit cavalier, that you muft be convinced of the purity of my intentions, a houfe fo illuftrious as yours, is more the object of veneration, than that any one fhould attempt to tarnifh the fplendor of its glory. my views in this refpect are fo pure, that i would fooner facrifice my life, than you (hould call tl em in queftion. i am open, fin cere, and incapable of diffimulation. dear marquis, give me an anfwer with the fame franknefs. may i hope to poflefs the adorable julia? i2o the devil hermit. julia ? shall i be fo happy as to have a brother -in law of your extraordinary merit? if you refnpw me your affiftance, i will to-mor row take my leaf* of tills place, and endea vour by abfence to idfcn the flames that now devour me. but alas ! wretch that i am, i too well perceive that my whole life will be only a tiflue of misfortunes and calamities, while i am abftnt fiom themoft lovrfyjv li a .the thought of that tortures me to death. to leave a city that contains the only objes on which my fe licity depends ! this 5$ a martyrdom of the moft exquifite fort, and what mak'.s me trem ble. for heaven's lake, marquis, vouchfafe me a word. can you be affefted with my mifery ? may i flatter myfelf that you will be fenfible of my pain ? count, fays the feigned marquis, my after is a young lady who has never yet been in love : fo much i am fure of. that word, fays the count v/ith a low voice, but loud enough to be underftood, makes me begin to take breath. the marquis went on : i was ig norant, till this moment, of your inclination for her. if (he has no objection to you, as i hope (he has not, i {hall take care to inform you of it. depend upon me ; i will fpare no pains to difcover her fentiments, and aflift you in get ting the victory over her tender heart. but i am afraid my father, who is a man of a very auftere temper, will not confent to this marriage. he is intimately acquainted with a young gen tleman, whom he is willing to have for a fon in the dm/ hermit. 121 in/law. i am very certain, however^, tfca.t my fjfter does not love nijn ; and have too "good an opinion of my ; ^^r,'*n'blwith{landmg'his feverity, to thrnk' tl^at hif .wolfld force her**t wed a ; man for whdm l frre !( !ta3'no value. dear maf&fns, tthfwers the count, how.;a#t i, obliged to^yctur goodnefs? you promi?e"4iie your a/hftartce, *a*n"?lgfforetell from then own happinefs. nfn^the fair' julia, fotj much affe&e'd with the count's merit, and the tendernefs of his paflib'n, betrayed herfelf, and could no longer funport thatchara&er fhe had aftumed. the tears", in'fpite of her, ran down from her lovely eyes. th% wary count took the advantage of this rnornent, threw himfelf at her feet, and declared h6 now knew her. this difcovery at firft raifed a blufli in the cheeks of julia ; but love, by degrees, infmuated with fo much activity into her heart, that fhe fell into a fit. the care they took of her foon brought her to herfelf ; when (he confefled to her tender lover, that he was the only motive of her metamorphofis, and that fhe had not ex pofed herfelf to this adventure, but in order to dive into his real fentiments. you ought to imagine that the count made ufe of his eloquence, and endeavoured by the moft folemn proteftations to diflipate all her doubts. here i let a little fpark of my breath fly intothe very foul of ju l i a ; whofe heart, before too much inclined, furrendered in a mo ment.they fworean eternal tendernefs,and con trived the means of feeing one another privately; m to; 422 tbt devil her mi f. for the carnival was almoft at an end. for fume days they had an intercourfe by letters, and the too charitable duana was the mer cury between them ; but abfence, after a fort nigb*-, became infupportable to them both. midam fabric i a, with much addrefs, managed their nocturnal interviews. she intro duced the ccunt every night into julia's apartment, and that charming maid, by little and little, forgot herduty. the count, not only pro irnfed, but rtfulved never to be unfaithful, and that he would try all poftible means to obtain her of her father. with the confentofhis miftrefs he jnade the demand hhnfelf, and at the fame time employed feveral perfons of the firft rank to fe cond his requeft. all was to no purpofe ; the old marquis had given his word to the noble vene tian his friend, and would not be induced to go from it. his refufal plunged the fair ju lia into an inexprefbble melancholy, and the good duana was unable to moderate her lighs and complaints. all her moft fubtile lhatagems were effayed in vain. the time of julia's marriage was at hand. but as it was for my intereft to prevent its accomplilh ment, i whifpered certain fuipicious into the marquis's ear : the marquis told them to his fon, and they both refolved to watch over the conduct of julia. one night, perceiving the duana to let down a filken ladder to a man, they with great attention obferved the adventure, and fuffered the ftranger to afcend withcut interruption. then the devi! hermit. i?.j then paffing into a contiguous. hall, which had communication with juli a's apartment, they heard enough to convince them of her ill cou du<5l. overcome with rage to fee their ho.ufe difhonoured, they rufhed in like two madmen, (word in hand. the count, who he.ird a noife, put himfelf in a pofture of defence, pivfented two piftols that he always carried ,a bout him, and fwore he would (hoot them both if they refufed to hear his ftory. seeing them difpofed to give attention, m/ lords, (kid he, you know me well enough to believe that my life will coft you dear.tha ex treme paffion i have conceived for j u l i a , is my whole crime, and you are not ignorant that my intention is to marry her. your refufaj, her friendmip for me, and hatred of the man for whom you defign her, have been the caufe of thefe nocturnal vifits. i am ready now to give her my hand. she is my wife by that re ciprocal faith which we have fworn to each other. you cannot refufe her to me therefore any longer, without covering yourfelves witn eternal infamy. ceafe to hate me ; calm your fury, and be allured that i will give you proofs of my probity and honour. the oldmarquis,more capable of reflection than his fon, ordered the latter toappeafe his wrath. julia and her dtiana fell at the father's feet, and the tears of that lovely daughter once more touched her tender parent. though that charm ing creature had never broke through the bounds of refpe and fubmiflion which {he owed to her m 2 father, 124 t&e dtvil hermit. father, yet {he now fpoke to him with a ge nerous boltlnefs, and did not difiemble either her fault or her love. the father, melted into tr ndernefs by the tears and moving words of his child, pardoned what {he had done, and re i'olved to beftow her en her lover. the count, tranfported with an event fo happy, embraced the knees of the marquis, and with repeated oaths, in the mcft folemn manner, declared him ready to execute his promife. in a word, the nuptial rites were concluded. dame fa bric i a alone was the victim of this happy union : they thut her up in prifbn for life ; and i, for my part, left .the oldm eg ear a to her def pair, took mv flight over the alps, and thence towards the rhine; where turning a little to the right, i came to a city famous for its waters, where i amuied myfelf for many days in con templation of the people then aftembled. ifaw there many fcenes of gallantry, which i may relate to you another time ; but one above the reft engaged my attention, the adlors in which were a very cdd fcrt of a couple. they were ro ether, (would you believe it ?) than a devout xichold woman of fixty, and a gouty father recolleft who feemed yet in the prime of his years. this podagrical lump of debauchery i thought very proper to fucceed the duana, and i ftepped the more willingly into his foul, as the country he lived in was the very fame that as mod e u s had before driven me from. chap. the devil hermit. 125 c h a p. iv. astaroth a mendicant friar. hp o make you underftand the part i acted in this new metaphorfis, i muft firft give you an idea ofthefe fellows in frock,and relate the hiftory of him i now occupied ; for i am per fuaded you are not fo well acquainted with thefe people as i am. thefe bigots, for the moft part, rife out of the dunghill ; and the meannefs of their extraction makes them run into all the moft {hameful diforders. incapable of fine fen timents, they deliver themfelves up to an in famous courfe of debauchery. drunkennefs, gluttony, and luxury, are their favourite vir tues. under the vail of a monftrous hypo crify, they hide the moft filthy inclinations. they facrifice the moft facred myfteries of the religion they profefs to a fordid intereft ; they varnifh over the greatcft crimes of thofe, who know how to win them with fuitable prefents : there are no fecrets which they will not reveal, when they meet with a generous man, who pays them largely : in a word, they fell the graces of heaven annexed to their miniftry, witii as little fcruple, as a jew would make merchan dize of a chriftian. a chara&er fo fcandafous,and fo unworthy of a good man, is indeed the true character of a demon : i lived at large there fore in the foul of this honeft monk, as if i m-3 had 126 t:he devil hermit, had been in the beft apartment of all the in fernal ftate. in fail, he palted, and i believe with juftice, for the moft crafty and the moft debauched fellow of his whole'order.he was born in ireland ; and there could not be two better qualities, to make a perfect imp of asmq deus, than thofe of irhhman and mendicant friar. during the twenty years that he had wore the habit, he never once belied his charac ter : and as a bad man always grow worfe and worfe, he was now funk to the loweft degree of libertinifm. an idea of his life will make this truth more apparent. tte remarkable hiflory of a recolkft friar. 't'h is man was born at cork, of a mother '* whofe gallantry had made as much noife as h^r beauty. as this cour.tezan had never fubmit ted to the yoke of hymen, and always en tertained a number of gallants at the fame time, it was impoffible to tell who was his father. however, a young merchant of that city, to whom the honour of owning him was given, took cere of him till he was ten years old, and then fent him over to holland. want and debauchery in time reduced him to herd .with a troop of banditti, who conducted him into flanders, there he affociated with feme bohe mians, and lived among them two years: but juflicc having diffipated this gang, he efcaped into a vilbge of the neighbouring country, where the devil hermit. 127 where he met with an honeft recollect,, wh introduced him into his convent. the good father, finding him a young man of hopeful in clinations, taught him a few words of latin, and in a little time after gave him the frock.our fpark, naturally licentious arrived by degreesat the moft eminent pitch of wickednefs. it would take up too much time to relate all the infa mous actions that blackened his character : a few examples muft fuffice to give you fome fpeci cimen of it. in fpite of his crimes, he had learned to con tract fuch a hypocritical air, that it enabled him to impofe on all the world. his grave deport ment, his feemingly folk! turn of mind, ac quired him the efteem of an infinite number of people of all ranks. a perfon of quality, who liv ed in the neighbourhood, was fo fond of him, that he took him to be the director of his whole family. his power in the gentleman's houfe was quite defpotic. this lord had a handfome young wife : the friar fell in love with her, and refolved to enjoy her. as he was high in the good graces of madam's chambermaid,he made her the confidant of his paflion. jan net on, that was the damfei's name, com paflionated the good man's fufrerings, and pro mi fed to introduce him one night into her mif trefs's apartment, while her maiter was bufy in anfwering fome letters that he had received by an extraordinary courier. no fooner did (he perceive madam to be in a profound fkep, but flie accordingly brought in the monk, who flipped 128 t^ devil hermit. flipped dexteroufly into her bed, and fatiated 1 his infamous defires. the dame, whom his brutality foon wakened, fearing her husband might do himfelf harm, begged him to abate a little of his vigour ; and the game being over, ihe innocently dropt afleep again. the monk then retired highly fatisfied. about four hours after this fcene comes the nobleman to bed, when his lady awaking once more at the noife,and knowing him by the light, asked him if he was not well, and for what reafon he had got up. the husband told her (he certainly dreamed, for that he had not yet been in bed, having been kept up fo long a bout his letters. how, fays {he, have not you been in my apartment fince fupper ? indeed madam, replied he, i have not. here the un happy lady fetched a deep figh, and began to fufpe& what had been done: (he diffembled the matter however till next day, in order the bet ter to come at the truth. she had before en tertain'd feme fufpicion of the monk. certain amorous glances, certain equivocal difcourfes, had perfuaded her that this wretch was a very debauchee, who coloured over his crimes with an affe&ed hypocrify. she had feveral times communicated her fentiments to her husband : but he, far from giving attention to her prudent advice, rejected it as the effect of rafli judg ment. several times fhe made him take notice of the licentious manners of this friar, and his private converfation with her chambermaid : but the gentleman was fo prejudiced in his fa vour, the devil hermit. 129 vour, that he conftrued every thing into an in nocent amufement, and teemed refolved to be the dupe of our fcoundrel hiberian. next day the poor lady, tho' perfe&ly inno cent, was tortured with the moft gnawing re morie. having been informed that the friar went away betimes in the morning, {he took janneton afide, in order to extort the fecret from her. she thought that ftratagem would be the bcft way to come at it ; and accordingly flie deceived her by a falfe confidence. she asked her why father andrew (that was the friar's name) went away fo early without tak ing his leave ? to which the fubtle wench rea dily anfwered, that he had told her the evening before that he was obliged to go to the city be times in the morning, about an affair of con fequence. alas ! faid the lady, with a pitiful tone, t am very forry for it ; i had fomething to communicate to him. but i know, janne ton, that you are difcreet, and love me very much : may i run the hazard of trufting you with the fecrets of my heart ? alas ! madam, fays the damfel, can ydu doubt of my attachment to you ? believe me when i fay, i would facrifice a thou fand lives to ferve you. never hefitate a moment therefore about opening your heart tome. well then, janneton, i frank ly confefs to thee that i am paflionately in love with father andrew : but he is fo holy a man, and fo perfectly pious, that i am afraid he would reject my ardor with indignation. i dare not give him any hint of my paflion : the 130 t'he devil hermit. remains of modefly hinder me. oh, my dear janneton ' how (hall i be obliged to thee, if thou canft make him fenfible of my torment. the fcene ended with a few counterfeit tears which madam let fall to impofe upon her abigail. this contrivance fucceeded to her wifh. the chambermaid, deceived by appearances, feii with out reflection into the fnare, and cried out, in troth, madam, you may make your felf eafy : you are not fo well acquainted with the father as i am. i dare aflure you, he will not be un fufceptible of love. for my part, i have no reafon to complain of him. he has a tender heart, i am fenfible of it, and it is not his fault that we have not****. my dear janneton, continues the lady, do not deceive me. i cannot perfuade myfelf that father andrew, who talks of nothing but the love of god, fafting, penitence, and difcipline, would forget his duty, to give ear to my foolim paflion. you miftake holy friendfhip for gallantry j and he only tried thee the better to found thy foul. i am not mif taken madam, replied janneton: take my word for it, he will think himfelf at the fummit of happinefs when he hears of your kind difpofitions towards him. never tell me fo girl, the lady retorted ; i can by no means flatter myfelf with fuch hopes. thou haft a mind to nourifti my flame, and thy tendernefs makes thee deceive thyfelf. lord madam, ja nn e t on replies, how incredulous you are ! well then, fmce i muft tell you all, know that devil hermit. 131 that laft night, while my matter was writing, i concluded father andrew at his own requeft into your apartment, where, by taking the place of your husband, he obtained your favours. scarce had {he fpoke thefe words when the lady, pierced to the very h art, (creamed out aloud, and fell into a fit. her husband, hear ing her, fled to her relief; but it was with the utmoft difficulty that he brought her again to her lei f. as he moft paflionately loved rier, her difmal fituation almoft drove him mad, and drew from him fuch outcries, as made the whole caftle ring. in the mean rime ma dam began to recover, and looking upon her lord, who was difiblved in tears. my dear hus band, fays me, ceafe your forrow, calm thofe tranfports, and leave a miferable woman, un worthy of you, to die. a villain has deceived you, under a veil of the moft horrible hypo crify : he has this night polluted your bed. think no more of your wife, who is abfolute ly loft to you. alas ! madam, replies the gentleman all in confufion, what is the meaning of this language? it has already thrown me into the moft violent diforder. for heaven's fake explain yourfelf, and tell me the fubjedt of your forrow. the lady, without hefitation, related the horrid ftra tagem which the monk had made ufe of, to rob her of her honour. the waitingwoman, more than half dead with fear, was obliged to confefs her crime, and her own lafcivious com merce with this unworthy father. then the un happy 132 the devil hermit. py gentlemen was fenfible of his whole misfor tune: but refle&ing that his wife was entirely innocent, he endeavoured by carefles to comfort her, and mitigate her tranfport of grief. no thing however was capable to calm her mind : a violent fever feized her, which in four or five days carried her off. the gentleman, though d^ftr-fted with anguiih, thought it pru dent not to divulge this tragical ftorv, and con tented him r elf with cloiftering up the waiting woman, without making any noife. since that time he ian3;u fhes through a melancholy life, and rec.ives no confolation for the lofs of his dear ludy. the rronk had no mind to return to thecafirie; certain donaefticks having inform ed him of the lad)'s dea*h, and what was the caufe of it. but, fp.r from being touched with remorfe, and living better for the future, he has followed the fame courfe ever fince. an adventure happened to him about a year ago, which is very remarkable. he preached during lent in a country village, and lodged with a rich farmer who had a very handfome daughter. already had he tried every wile to corrupt this young girl, without being able to fucceed. she had long been contracted to a youth of her own rank, and the marriage was to be celebrated in the eafter holidays. fa ther andrew waited with impatience for this ceremony, in hopes it would prove favourable to him. he was not deceived. there was a great entertainment made on the wedding-day, when our hyyocrite refufed to come into fo much <the devil hermit. 133 much merry company, and chofe rather to tup alone in his chamber. while they were dancing after (upper, the good father examined carefully the bridal cham ber, which, luckily for him, was feparated from his only by athin fir-tree partition. fie very dextroufly took out a board, that he might get in after the bride. no fooner had they conveyed her to the nuptial bed, but the monk, who liftened all the while, underftood that the bridegroom continued longer with the compa ny. upon this the good father crept into the chamber, and fairly took his place by the fide of his young wife : but fcarce had he attempted to execute his defign, before fhe perceived he was not the man fhe had married, and fcreamed out fo loud, that all the company ran to her afliftance. the audacious monk, who did not expect this difcovery, had no time to efcape. the husband, a ftrong vigorous young fel low, flew at him like a fury, and gave him fuch a hearty drubbing, that he was obliged to be carried home to his monaftery, where he lay two months before he got cured of the blows he received. it was not eight days before i took pofteflion of him, that he had corrupted a youno; g'rl, who waited on a countefs that was taking the waters in this city. impofed upon by his hy pocrify, the wench addrefled herfclf to him for her confeflbr. after a fevere. reprimand, he ordered her, byway of penitence, to wear a cord upon her naked skin. nay more, foyb he, n it >i34 the devil hermit. it is neccftary that i (hould put it on you my ^lf. 1 he poor fimple creature made no re fiftance, but admitted him into her chamber to execute his own fentence. as the girl was pret ty, (he tempted his flcmiy part j and he fo well fet forth his cafe, that he obtained his defire. this adventure was never known ; and well for him that it was not : for if the old devotee had been informed of it, fhe would have loaded him with reproaches, as he had fworn to her an invariable fidelity. while he continued at the waters, i infpired him to perform feveral legerdermain tricks. a mong others he ftole the purfe of a german count, who put the utmofr. confidence in him. his devotee was concerned in the plot, and concealed the theft. this affair having made fome noife, i advifed him to get away ; which he did very prudently : for after much enquiry it was found out that he was the thief. but the good german never attempted to profecute him, for fear of fcandalizing his order : an ex ample that of the moft chriftian moderation ! being return'd to his convent, he lodged in the hands of his guardian, the money he had got, and related to him the ftratagem he had put in practice to make it his own. the good fuperiour laughed at the adventure. you have done well, faid he ; this money might have been employed to profane purpofes, whereas now it will be confecrated to the fervice of god. an excellent facrifice ! faid i to myfelf. without gueftion it will be very agreeable to thefupreme being, the devil hermit. 135 being, who accepts no victims, but what ar 5 holy and innocent. scarce had i been a fortnight in the monaftery, before i was furprized at the frightful diforders that reigned there. one may juftly call this re treat a real cavern of vagabonds, who are all at tentive to glut themfelves by preying on the publick. with infinite pleafure every morning i faw a croud of pretty young girls arrive there, who made no fcruple of facrificing their ho nour to thefe wretched hypocrites. after din ner every one took his flight, in order to go and gourmandife with fome bigot of a burgher, who regaled them with great pleafure, merely to have a (hare in their prayers. i laughed as if i had been mad, at thefe ridiculous mummuries. with regard to my flefhly tabernacle, he di vided his day always between his devotee, and a pious ecclefiaftick, whom he was conducting a great pace towards perdition, by infpiring him with a thoufand fcruples capable of driving him to defpair. he talked to him of nothing but hair-hirts, macerations, fafts, and aufteritics: and, as it fignifies little to us devils in what manner we get human fouls, provided they come to us fafe, i infpired my monk with fuch moving difcourfes, that the unhappy prieft doubted of his falvation, and at laft ran to defpair in earneft. the afternoon he fpent with his old devotee, in making delicate collations, and fatbting his beaftly concupifcence. however, notwithftand ing this voluptuous life, i began to be uiieafy n 2 in 136 the devil hermit. in the foul of this hypocrite ; fo that, having refolved to quit it, i only waited to be firft re venged on that fcoundrel, fecretary uriel. 1 had feen him feveral times, but without any inclination to make myfelf known. you have heard before how that devil fold and betray ed me to asmodeus. i was not ignorant, that his principal fupport was that little bigot of a capuchin, the evil genius of the fovereign ; and having, befides, a mortal hatred againft all the people of that order, i was wholly de termined on vengeance. i engaged my good hoft to debauch a pretty young girl who came to confefllon, and who was not able to refift the power of my temptation. in a word, he played his part with her fo well, that the poor wench found an alteration in her health ; and, upon the importunity of her parents, confefled, that father andrew, her director, was the man that did it. her father, who had accefs to the perfon of the prince, went thither with his complaints. soon after father andrew was cited, by the fovereign's command, before ti:e venerable confiftory, where the little capu chin was to give him a fevere reprimand in his highnefc.'s name. my individual could not bear the admonition with good temper. he anfwered infolently, and 1 ini'l-nubly inspired him with a moft violent puffion. in his rage lie fell like a madman on t! e poor capuchin, and treated him in fuch a piteous manner, that he lay for dead. all the court, upon this, was alarmed. the prince, in formed the devil hermit. 137 formed how the man he loved like another fl-lf, had been aflaulted, ran in perfon to the place, and ordered the good father andrew to be locked up in a dark prifon. no (boner was he fecured, but i made my efcape out of his body, and took my flight towards the middle region of the air, where i wandered the fpace of two or three years, without knowing in what place to fix. i caufed abundance of havock in ; many countries ; but at lad, having vifitcd fe veral remote kingdoms, i alighted upon the grand signior's seraglio. i faw there the chief of the black eunuchs, walking in the gardens with the favourite fultana, and inftantly took up my lodging within him. how much pleafure foever i received in the converfatioa of my falfe hermit, i could not help thinking for ever of donna there sa . i found in her charms which feemed to fee u re her from all danger of my inconftancy, and communicated my thoughts on that fub ject to my good friend astaroth. you are newly married, fiys he, with a fmilc, and your flame continues fierce: it would not be juft to reftrain it too much. go home then to your dear moiety, whofe defires are not lefs ar dent than yours ; but remember always, that i am ready to ferve you with fidelity, and with out any felf-intereft ; which is more than can be faid of many of your own fpecies, wh6 think difintereftednefs afuperfluous virtue. when you defire to receive any farther inftructions, you need only repair again to this cave, v/i.cr-; i n:-3. will i 3 8 the devil hermit. will appear to you upon regular fummons. so let it be, faid i, taking my leave ; i will be with you again in eight days, at the fartheft ; depend upon my grateful acknowledgment, as i rely upon die fincerity of your promifes. chap. v. astaroth chief of the grand signior's eunuchs. the tragical end of the brother queftor. i need not relate here all that paflcd between my wife and i : let the reader imagine what two perfor.s, whofe love was tender and mutual, and who pofleffed one another without fear, would fay and do. eight days palled over with rapidity. my felicity, howe ver, could not make me forget my faithful astaroth : according to thepromifel had inade him r i came to the cave, where i was very much furprized to find him employed in b;;ryii!gour dear brother the queilor. dur j;>a; the abfcnce of ast a rot h, a ferpent had gilded under his frock, as he flept, and bit him grieycfufiy. ths poifon of this animal was ib i'iibti'c, that he died an hour after ; and the lifv. :\: it juft came back time enough to find h.rn alive. you ;n: h. inve been bufy indeed, astar tc". \i , ' ' } to be thus ignorant of the mif fortune t&e devil hermit. '39 fortune of your intimate friend. neither bufy, anfwered he, nor ignorant of what had hap pened: but the courfe of his holy life was at an end, and it was impoflible for me to preferve him from the (hears of the fatal fifter. be fo good, lord hermit, replied i, as to relate to me the adventures of this poor brother. i am very willing to do it, chevalier, rejoined my trufty friend : but i inform you before hand, that they are not over-diverting. i will abridge them therefore, as much as poflibly i can. father pancracio, that was the name of this worthy brother, owes his being to a rope-dancer of the city of naples, and a tur ki(h (lave, the daughter of a bafhaw of ro melia. his mother was taken captive by a neapolitan galley, and given to the vice roy's lady ; but falling in love with this rope dancer, (he eloped from her miftrefs, fled with him into the village of pugliai, where young pancracio firft faw the light. he was brought up in his father's profeflion, and grew eminent, not only for his agility of body, but more for his dexterity in (bowing flight of-hand tricks. the ignorant vulgar, who could not comprehend certain natural fecrets he was mafter of, foon began to look upon him as a dangerous perfon, who held corre fpondence with infernal fpirits. certain phil tres that he gave having fucceeded, all the young rakes had recourfe to him, to enable them to triumph over the indifference of their cruel. 140 the devil hermit. cruel miftrefles. one among them having been accufed of the murder of a citizen's daughter, who had recourfe to law to make him marry her, was taken up, and condemned to an ig nominious death. in his examination he ac cufed signior pancracio, who, upon ad vice thereof, made his efcape to bologna, and got admiflion into a convent at soccolanti. after his noviciate, he was employed in the quefture, that is, in going about to beg for the reft of the fraternity. his juggling talents got him accefs into the principal houfes of bo logna : but having abufed a young lady of di ftinction, he wasarrefted by the hand of ju ftice. his fuperior claimed him back, and they fet him again at liberty. he had an interview with his fair one, and gave her certain reme dies, that caufed her dropfy to difappear. her relations, who had proceeded only on fufpi cions, were obliged, when the fymptoms va nifhed, to make him reparation for the dif grace. his credit by this was fo reftored, that he even pafled for a martyr of calumny ; and the affair, which made a great deal of noife, having turned to his advantage, he continued ta live in his former way. he got confiderable fums by providing for young virgins, who panted after the lofs of their honour. not a ftranger ever efcaped him. he continually vi fited all the inns, to fee who was newly arrived, in. order to become procurer to their diver fions. but fome day sago, an old hag, his aflbciate the devil hermit. 141 aflbciate in the juggling art, having been taken up for a witch, by order of the inquifition, accufed this poor brother of pra&ifing the fame charms ; and, but for me, he had become the victim of that formidable tribunal. the reft of his life is very well known. at this inftant the good father pancracio poffefles a high employment in our kingdom, and is more hap py than i, who would gladly be in his place. but, as we were not now talking of what we wi(h for, let us proceed to fome other fubje&. after this difcourfe my faithful asta roth requefted me to give him an account of my conduct towards donna theresa. i loved him too well to diflemble with him ; but being more curious to learn the particulars of his life, than to relate how i had patted my own time, i foon engaged him to refume the thread of his adventures, which he continued almoft in thefe words. as i told you before, i roved in the air a bout three years. during that time! ravaged many a province, and put many a poor fa mily into confufion ; among which latter was that of lacadiere. it was i that infpired them with all the proofs of that fcandalous profecution, which was fet on foot to deftroy father girard, and ruin his reputation with the publick. it was not my fault that he efcaped the hands of juftice ; for the proofs againft this good director were in appearance fo perfuafive, that i am ftill aftoniftied, they did not bear him down : yet i muft own to you, 142 the devil hermit. you, between friends, that he was only guilty of a few flight indifcretions, fuch as among other people would have paft for mere trifles. but as thofe of his order are mortal enemies to the quefnelifts, and as i favour that fpeciesof fe&aries, i fet every engine to work to tarnifh the glory of that fociety, which, in reality, is the fcourge of hell. i fometimes infmuated myfelf into the com pany of learned men, and thofe matter wits, who decide of all writings with an infuppor table prefumption. i rambled thro' all the coffeehoufes, to prefide in the difputes there. one day i fomented fuch a furious quarrel between two authors, that they could not compromife it without a good number of blows, which they mutually interchanged with each other. one was a hiftorian of the firft rank, who maintained, by found arguments, that the chi nefe letters were well writ, and might be, ranked with the beft productions of the age. he praifed the author of them extremely, and put him in competition with the moft illu ftrious writers. thefe encomiums, i muft own, feemed a little extravagant. the other, on the contrary, who was only an infipid compiler, quite empty of all that is called erudition, was obftinately refolved to run him down. he threw out a thoufand in vectives againft the author. every one laughed in this fellow's face, and ridiculed his igno rance. seeing himfelf become the object of contempt, the devil hermit. 143 contempt, he leaps like a madman upon the marquis d' ar c e n s's panegyrift. the latter returned the affront, and, i believe, if they had not been parted, they would have ftrangled each other. but tell me, faid i, dear lord hermit, you who fet up for a wit, and a perfeft con noiffeur in literary matters, tell me without prejudice, what is your opinion of that au thor and his works ? as to my own fenti ments, sir, anfwers ast a roth, i own to you ingenuoufly, that it is juft the fame with his who made the encomium; and i believe, that all thofe who have any tafte of fcience, will ever allow that writer the praifes he de ferves. he has talents worthy of the higheft efteem ; and one may fay of him, without injuflice, that he is an original. he thinks with great delicacy : it is only to be wifked, that he had more leifure to correct his writings ; but his productions are too numerous for him always to avoid fome repetitions : this defed, however, may claim pardon in a man, who is obliged to write two meets a week : there are not many authors capable of doing fo much with fo few faults. befides, his deficiency on this head is fo amp ly made up, by his fine and delicate reflec tions, that it will not be furprizing to fee the chinefe letters meet with a general approba tion. it is what, i am fure, i heartily wifh ; for the man is one i very highly refpecl: : his way of living pleafes me j and if he had any occafion 144 tbe devi! hermit. occafion for my afiiftance, i would leave all to ferve him ; but as he is already under the pro tection of as mode us, i am not fuch a fool as to meddle with his perfon. i fhould have no thanks, i am fure, for my labour. friend ast a roth, cried j, interrupting him, i beg you to have done with that author. he is a crack-brained fellow, that runs from fubject to fubject : he fpares neither heaven nor earth; and, as much a devil as you are, you would find it difficult to fecure yourfelf againft: fome ftrokes of his pen, if he did but hear you once mention his name. what a fimple tonart thou ! fays ast a roth, and burft out in a laugh. be fo good as to inform me, che valier, what he could have to fay againft the devil ? are you unacquainted with our reputa tion in your hemifphere ? all the civil things imaginable are fpoken of us. befides, the mar quis we are mentioning, is hand to glove with us infernals: we give him his infpira tions ; and of all the inhabitants of the earth he is chief in pluto's favour. all his fine fentiments againft the fathers, and other the moft learned men, which are fo much admired in his works, are fo many fmall marks of his gratitude to asmodeus, his protedlor, and embaflador from our fovereign to his noble perfon. ast a roth was going on: if i had given him ever fo little room, he would have en tered upon a detail that might have lafted, per haps, till this time. he had already begun the hi/bry *ihe devil her ml f. 145 of the marquis and his heroine, when i intreated him to remit his narrative to ano ther opportunity. friend ast a roth, cried i again, i befeech you to let this author alone; a day will not be fufficient for me to hear half his adventures in: rather inform me of what pafled in the feraglio. have patience a moment, chevalier, and you ftiall be fatisfied. an affair is juft now come into my head, which is of no fmall importance. i will not be loag gone j but i muft by all means take a turn to the city. the inquifitor is upon the point of expiring, and i have not a moment to lofe. thefe laft words were fcarce out of his mouth, but my devil, hermit difappeared like a fiafh of lightening. he had not been abfent however above twenty minutes, before he came back capering like a mad creature. his joy proceeded, as he informed me, from his having learned, that four of his infernal brethren had already feized the old monk, and were carrying him in triumph down to the regions of damnation. the hermit was fo tranfported at the very news of this prize, that for above an hour he was ready to burft him felf with laughter. at laft, when his rapture was a little abated, he told me, that, from the foundation of the inquifition till that time, they had never mifled one of thofe people. as i was not at all furprized to hear that, i could not but wonder at his immoderate joy ; but not daring to ask him any more queftions o 0* 146 the de-oil hermit. on that head, for fear cf being f eftered with a long recital, which i already knew the ge neral contents of, i chofe rather to let him alone to his own extravagancies. this com plaifance had all the fuccefs i hoped for. he by degrees came quite to himfelf, and calmly proceeded to rehearfe to me the part he had per formed in the ottoman court. chap. vi. intrigues in the grand signer's seraglio. doubtlefs you are not ignorant, the hermit began, that the chief of the black eunuchs is poffeffed of one of the principal employments of the ottoman empire ; that he enjoys all the grand signior's confidence, and is refpeaed and feared, not only in the palace, but in all the dates de pendant on the porte : even the sultanas take the utmoft pains to engage his good will, per fuaded that his recommendation is of great weight to get them regarded by the sultan, and procure them a (hare in his favours. as this is what they all pant after with the un moft impatience, they fpare neither flatteries nor complaifance, to make a friend of this prime minifter of his pleafuresj who is, ma word, the arbiter of the happinefs or mifery of freer fo hundred_women, that arc_ fruit up rr* the devi! hermit* h7 in the palace. he alone governs them, and 1 procures them what 1'fttle liberty they enjoy j for without him they could have no hope of ever fleeping out of their apartment. they cannot even walk in the garden, unlefs they have his leave : when they have the misfor tune therefore to difpleafe him, they muft fub mit to a fevere flavery, which often plungea them in the moft fatal defpair. as your great beauties are ufually very much inclined to love, i had room here to exercife my charity. very far from putting on a fe vere and barbarous deportment, i dexteroufly infmuated, that i would do all in my power to affift them in carrying on, and concealing their intrigues. surprized at this change, they thought at firft, that i was endeavouring to enfnare them : for before my entrance into the foul of this man, he treated them all with great rigour and inhumanity. by little and little, however, they banifhed al! fufpicion from their hearts. at one time i artfully con veyed to them billet-doux, and carried back: their anfwers ; at another, i introduced in the night certain bold young fellows into the gar dens, where i fecretly brought to each of them one of the sultanas. this behaviour to them made me gradually the objecl of their adoration. i was under no apprehenflon of a furprize, becaufe i could render them invi fible, or fafcinate the eyes of all overlookers. many jews, to whom i gave free ad million, under pretence of coming to fell their toys, o -l nt tbe devil hermit. not only obliged the fair prifoners themfelves, but procured them other afllgnations. i was confulted on every occauon, and always ap pointed to have time and place of rendezvouz. a young greek of diftinguiftied merit, whofe name was zaide, poflefled entirely the sul tan's heart; but this lady, who was but lately eome into the feraglio, could not bear the tranfports of his love. she thought of nothing, but the lofs of her liberty. about four or five months before, flie was taken prifoner by a eorfair of algiers, who fold her to a turkifh aga. as her beauty was matchlefs, the aga made a prafent of her ta the grand signior, who, at firft fight, became defperately in tove with the fair flave. but in vain did he purfue her with prefents and carefies ; (he feemed in fenfible to them all. the captivity of the fe raglio filled her with horror : her religion heightened her fear, and drove her into a de ductive melancholy : her heart at the fame time burned with a violent paffion, which gave her no rcpofe. i refolved to affift this unhappy fair, and reftore her to her lover, who had. made a voyage to conftantinople, in order to redeem her out of fervitude : i concealed my fentiments however, and tried every effort to ga in her confidence,, by giving her from time to time fome news cf her dear ibrahim (that was the name of this unhappy young man.) i had anexprefs order from the sultan to endea vour gain her affections; but, far from ferving fcijjijlgave heca frightful idea of. his capricious and tyrannical. the devu hermit. 149 tyrannical humour. by thefe means i infenfibly acquired her goodwill. but before i proceed' with this narrative, i muft give you ibme ac count of an event which made a great deal of noife all over europe ; i mean the arrival of count bonneval at the porte, count bon n e v a l ? faid i ; i have heard' much talk of him : he has fullied his reputa tion, by fubmitting to be circumcifed. pub jic fame indeed' reports, that the man mver had any religion ; the mahometan merely, there fore, may be the fame thing to him, as tr.e pure dcbine of jesus christ. ycu srs: mifinformed, chevalier, anfwcred the hennir. mr de bonneval has never abandoned' chriftianity : that is only a calumny pubiifhcd by his enemies, in order to render him odious. hear me with attention, and you (hail be con vinced of what i fay : i will inform you of certain circumftances, which are unknown to' almoft all the world. a fortnight after my arrival at tlie ferr.glio,. it was publickly faid all over confb.ntinoplc,. that the count de bonneval was come ro offer hisfervices to the grand sign'or. trac;f ported with the thought of being acquainted 1 with a man, of "whom fanie had publifhcd fa many different' thins.', i waited w it h v impa tience for the sultan to give him an nixiitnce.. but the porte �as in no fuch {;icot v hurry ; the policy of that court does not permit itto grant favours of that" importance, without ma ture deliberation. jt was a full month', before q 3, be: ' ftevil hermit. he could obtain any admiffion; they aligned him, however, in the meantime, a penfion fufficient to fupport him with credit. thebafhaw of scio, his particular friend, and who follicited this audience, had many in terviews with the grand vizir and the mufti. the point infifted on was, that the count fhould fuffer himfelf to be circumcifed, to make him the more agreeable to the emperor, and procure his favour; but m. debonne val conftantly oppofed this propofition, and never would linen to it with the icaft counte nance. it is even certain, that he was upon' the point of leaving the ottoman court, and continuing his journey to perfia, which obliged the vizir to prefs the grand signior to grant the fo-much-defired audience. in the different converfations he' had with the principal officers of the porte, the count artfully gave them to underftand, that it was dangerous to require fuch a flep from a man of honour ; that' whoever is capable of facrificing his religion to courtfavour and interefr, de ferves no confidence ; and that therefore they ought: to excufe his refinance on this head, as that refinance was a proof that he was inca pable o! forfeiting his integrity ; that his fide lity to the ottoman emperor fhould not be in-* ferior to what he had fhcwn to other poten tates, �hofe crying injufkoe towards him, had obliged him to abandon their fervice. at la'l, after many delays, his highnefs de^ termined to give him a private audience 3 and, tie devil hermit. 1 5 1 iin order to dazle the eyes of the people, it was publifhed all over conftantinople, that the count had embraced the mahometan faith, and fubmitted to be circurncifed. in the third volume of the memoirs. which are fold under his name, you may read all the circumftances of this ceremony} his difputes with the imam fent by the mufti to inftrucl him ; his kind of exile into a remote province, of which he was dominated governor ; his retreat into an old caftle, fituate near calcedon ; all which are mere forgeries, the inventions of the honeft author, either to give fome variety to his book, or to fully the count's reputation,thofe wha s know the country he fpeaks of, will fee at firft glance, that the writer has given us gratis all thefe adventures, and that he was not even ac quainted with the map of the country ; for the caftle he makes him inhabit fo long after, was demoliihed in the year 1719. the hiftory of the dcrvife is not in the leafl more probable. thefe turkifh monks never live in the houfes of great men ; nor is marriage at all prohi bited among them. the author had made this novel r much more plauftble, if he had at tributed it' to a fanton } for the fantons never marry, and are frequently received into the principal families of the porte, in the quality of almoners. the arrival of his three miftrefles at con fiantinople is not lefs fabulous. the fame may be faid of all the inftru&ions that he gives to the divan, hw engufli and german ladies both 152 7joe devil hermit. both died in the year 1726: and it is certain that if he had made thofe fine difcourfes before the divan, which we fee in his memoirs, there would never have been a word' of them knowrr out of that artembly. everyone there, is o- bliged to keep inviolably fecret all that paftes, under the penalty of certain death. as i was prefent at all the audiences that were granted him, i may be the more depended upon for an account of them, than any man living. the grand signior received him in a gra cious manner, vouchfafcd him his protection^ and ordered him to examine his troops. somtf~ time after he had a cornmiffion to difciplir.e them after the manner of the europeans, in which he fucceeded perfectly well. he pre vailed on the grand vizir to receive all foreig ners, who were skilled in the military art, with out conftraining any man to altjer his religion; his reafons were well relifhed ; fo that he form ed a body of troops, 20,000 flrong, who were able to make head againft the fame number of any nation in chri/lendom. about three months after his arrival at the porte, an adven ture happened to him that had like to have been his deftru&ion ; out of which, however, he extricated himfelf with great dexterity. an iman, very zealous for his feel:, hoping to tlo a meritorious work, and which would draw ttown on him the benediction of mahomet, determined to lay a fnare for him, to oblige him to embrace the religion of the ottomans. hehad a daughterof great beauty, whom h engaged. the devi! hermit. 153 engaged in the project. every one knows, that when a chriftian has once had any com merce with a turkifh woman, he has no other way to fave his life but by turning mahome tan. this iman was one of the two that had been fent by the mufti. he had fince that time contracted a friendfhip with the count, and engaged him on feveral occafions to come to his own houfe. he even gave him admif fion into his haram ; a very particular favour, which is feldom granted. roxa (that was the name of the iman's daughter) had orders to difplay all her charms before the count. that lord admired and praifed her beauty ; but took not the lead ftep that might indicate he had any affection for her. this was the utmoft mortification to her father. one day, under a pretence of taking a walk, flie threw herfelf full in his way, attended with only one female flave. the count had no fuf picion : he received her with all the politenefs imaginable, and introduced her into his apart ment without the flave. the iman, well acquainted with what his daughter was doing, came in immediately upon them, as it were to pay a vifit ; and expreffing his aftonifhment to find her alone with the count, he made a ter rible outcry, andaflurcd bonne val that if he did not turn mahometan, and marry his daughter, he would facrifke him to his ven geance. it was in vain that the count pro teftcd he had not infringed the bounds of decen cy i all his alterations were disregarded. the iman 154 tte lti-h her mi f. iman carried his complaints to the muft?. as the affair was ferious, and of great confe quence, this chief of the muflulman law en* deavoured to win over the count by a thoufand promifes, in cafe he would fubmit to circumfion : but finding him invincible, the turk orde red him to be arrefted. bonne.val heard of this order, and fuddenly fecreted himfelf from the publick, taking refuge with a greek that was his friend. he was above a month concealed in the houfe of this chriftian. after many fruitlefs enquiries, thegrand sig nior, vexed at having loft a man of merit, or dered a declaration to be publifhed, by which he promifed pardon to the count, and fwore by his turban that no infult fhould be offered him. immediately the 'count appeared again, obtained a private audience, and fully juftified his own innocency. roxa, being fum moned, was obliged to confefs the whole truth, and that her love for bonneval was all her crime. in a word, {he wrought fo much on the count by her amorous protection?, that fhe engaged him to marry her. the divan, in order to punilh her father, fixed her portica at twenty purfes of gold. it was at this time that he retired to a fine houfe, near scutari, upon the bofphorus, and not to an old caftle, as the author of his memoirs has falfely af ferted. let us return to zajde, the fair greek who had captivated the sultan's heart. this un^ virgin fuffered the moft cruel perfccutions, not the devil hermit. 155 not only from the grand signer, but from the sultanas, who, jealous at feeing them ielves fupplanted by this ftranger, did all in their power to torment her. they left no ar tifice untried, to make her lofe the affection of his ottoman highnefs. they invented the black eft calumnies to afperfe her conduct. thefe fevere trials fo impaired her health, that fhe fell into a violent fever, which threatened her life. the fultan was extremely alarmed j he waited on her night and day. in fplte of all the prejudices the sultan's women had endea voured to fill him with, he appeared ftill to be defperately in love with zaide: which fo irritated the sultana valide, that fhe refolved to poifon her ; and had effected it but for my picvention. i now difcovered myfelf to the fair unhappy greek, and aftured her of her li berty as foon as her ftrength was re-eftabliflbed. she gave credit to my words, and this good news abated the violence of her diftemper. in a little time fhe was able to go through the fatigues of a long and toilfome voyage : and as i had formed a refolution to quit the ferag lio, becaufe one of the sultan's wives, whom he had never touched, proved with child, i exe cuted my project without delay. i fent inft-ructions to za ide's lover, who ftill continued at conftantinople, touching the time and manner of carrying off his miftrefs. when all was ready, i conveyed the fair greek into a felucca that waited for her, where ibra him received her with inexpreflible tranfpo rts 156 rfhe devil hermit. of joy. without interruption they pa/ted the dardinel caftles, and arrived at smyrna without the leaft accident ; and from thence embarked for venice. z a i d e 's elopement having driven thegrand signer almoft to defpair, he formed a defign of putting part of the women, and all the black eunuchs, to the examination. at that very time the tidings was brought him of the infidelity of the pregnant sultana. no longer did he defer his refentment, but that inftant ordered thirty of his wives to be fewed up in leathern bags, and thrown headlong into the canal. the chief eunuch, and twenty of his inferiors, were beheaded. as for me, when i faw my individual loaded with irons, i made my efcape out of his body, and patted over into italy, where wandring through this defart, i faw an old hermit at the point of death. loth to lofe fo fair an opportunity, he had no fooner breathed his laft, but i put on his habits, and took pofleifion of his hermitage. such have been my adventures, sir, down to this time. i will finifh my narrative with the hiftory of zara you will not, i believe, be forry to hear the misfortunes of that beautiful greek. chap the devil hermit, 157 chap. vii. the hiftory of z a r. a , and julian c o r n a r o. hp he family of cornaro has ever been * greatly diftinguim'd among the venetian no bility. it has not only given many doges to the republick, but alfo brave commanders, and the moft confummate politicians. of later years indeed, fmce it has been greatly multi plied, there have iflued from it fome branches, that have found themfelves in a very middling fituation : fo that julian cornaro, de fccnded from one of thefe branches, was much more eftimable for his merit than for his riches. to a very advantageous figure, he added a mind extremely well cultivated. as ftudy had been always his chief occupation, he arrived to a degree of fcience that made him admired by all his fellow citizens. an inclination to travel, fo natural to a young man, having got pofieffion of his foul, he had leave from his parents to pafs into dalmatia, to an uncle of his that was there governor. al ready for three weeks had he enjoyed the fweet nefs of that happy climate, when going one day a hunting, he heard the moft piercing cries, which iffued from a wood, fituate on the bor ders of the fea. as he was accompanied by one 58 the devil hermit. of his friends, and fome domefticks, he fet fpurs to his horfe, and rode full fpeed that way ; where he perceived four turks dragging three women towards the fea fide. he prefently ap prehended them to be corfairs, who had made a defcent on the coaft. he attacked them fmartly, and killed two of them on the fpot : the other two in a fright quitted their prey, and faved themfelves by fwimming behind a rock, where they had hid their brigantine. one of the women being falleninto a fit, cornaro difmounted to affift her. scarce had he beheld her charms but he was dazzled with them, and to fee and to love her were with him the fame thing. zara, recovered from her fwoon, and furprifcd at this happy deli verance, teftified her grateful acknowledgment in fuch lively exprefiions, that he might eafily perceive her wit to be equal to her beauty. he offered to accompany her home. she lived in a. handfome country houfe, fituate on the de clivity of a hill, about a mile from the fliore. the fair greek having related to her father the danger (he had been in, and the generoi... afliftance cornaro had lent her, the vene rable old man, who knew him, returned him thanks proportioned to the fervice he had ren dered his daughter ; and as he was exceflively rich, he offered to make him a prefent worthy his quality. but cornaro refufed to accept it : the only thing i ask of you, faid he, is to rank me in the number of your friends, and permit me now and then to come a nd enjoy your the devi/ hermit. 159 your charming folitude. this was granted him, with tokens of the moft fenfible acknowledg ment. after fome hours of converfation, corn aro went home, his mind full of the idea of the lovely zara. the fair greek, on her fide, had not been infenfible of the young nobleman's merit. this firft interview, in reality, united their hearts by an indiflbluble bond. five or fix days after this adventure, the noble venetian, under pretence of hunting, went to pay a vifit to his grecian friend : but perceiving zara walk ing alone in a grove of orange trees, contiguous the houfe, he flew to meet her ; and as the opportunity feemed to be favourable, declared without hefitation the paffion he had conceived for her. zara, far from diflembling, or feeming angry at what he faid, frankly confef fed that me felt the fame inclination for him : but, adds me, what will be the refult of this reciprocal paihon ? you belong to one of the moft confiderable families of the repu fa lick ; your parents will never confent to a marriage fo difproportionate. inform my fa ther of your defign, and perhaps you may to gether find fome expedient to remove thofe dif ficulties i forefee. i cannot, however, flatter myfelf with the hopes of our ever being happy, and this thought gives me the utmoftuneafinefs. feduced by yout merit, and your high birth, 1 could not guard my heart from the (hafts of love; and as i am incapable of diffimulation, i have thought that fuch a confeflion would do me no harm in your opinion. great and generous p 2 foul* x'o ne devil hermit. fouls do not place the wifdom of our fex in thofe mean fubterfuges, by which no lover, that lias the leaft knowledge of the world, can ever li duped. befides, the cuftom of our country, and the maxims we always proceed on, give a f;inb'6n to the ftep i have now taken. i know you are too honeft a man to make an ill ufe of my fmcerity : i love you 'tis true, and per ceive plainly that without you i can never be happy ; but i know at the fame time what is due to my reputation, which i will never fully by any unguarded meafure. cornaro, ravimed with thefe fentiments of the lovely zara, (wore to her an eternal friendfhip, and prom i fed, with the moft folemn oaths, that he would never abufe the confidence fhe had repofed in him. this converfation would have continued lon ger, if the father informed, that fignior cor narowas with his daughter, had not come and interrupted them. overjoy'd at the fi2;ht cf his child's deliverer, he loaded him with civilities. cornarolaid hold of this favou rable moment, to propofe to him the marriage. my happinefs, fays the venerable old man, would be compleat, if i could flatter myfelf with the hopes of having a fon-in-law of your rank and merit. but what you aim at, sir, would be attended with great difficulties. i am rich 'tis true ; my family is antient, and with out blemiih : but at the fame time you know that the venetian nobility have the utmoft con tempt 5fifc devil hermit. 161 tempt for our nation, �hich they hold, as one may call it, in a fort of flavery. all that i can do for you, is to give my daughter a confklerable for tune. endeavour therefore to prevail on your parents to confent to this marriage; and be af fured that on the celebration' of it, you {hall re ceive a hundred thoufand fequins from me. above all, try every effort fo bring over your uncle to your interefts. he knows me perfectly well, and i am perfuaded that if he enters in to this project, you will certainly fucceed. julian cornaro, being returned to the governor, informed him of his adventure with the beautiful zara, and his defign to marry her. his uncle, aftsr having maturely reflected upon the advantages that would refult to his nephew from this alliance, advifed him to proceed to venice, in order to induce his parents to give their confent to it. he gave him all the inftrutions he thought requifitc, and wrote letters tp his father on the occafion. cornaro, having informed his miftrefs and his future father-in-law of the governor's gor.d difpofitions, fet out forvenice. his parents, after many confutations, confented to the marriage, upon condition that it mould be celebrated pri vately, and that the fair zara mould continue fome years in dalmatia, without ufing the name of cornaro till the nuptials had been publifhed and approved by the republick. our lover communicated to his miftrefs, by letter, the reflrictions he was laid under by his parents, p 3 and 1 62 the devi! hermit and found her willing to acquiefce in them all, as fhe was perfuaded the family had too much honour to deceive her. no fooner had ju lian received her confent, but he departed from venice to complete his felicity : but how great was his diftradtion, upon his arrival in dalmatia, when he was informed that an al gerine rover had carried her away a week be fore. coming to her father's houfe, to hear the de tail of this melancholy affair, he found the good old man inconfolable for the lofs of his daugh ter, and ready to give up the ghoft. touched with the moil ienfible grief, cornaro did all in his power to give him comfort, and af fured him that he would either lofe his life, or bring back the fair zar a. and as the -mo ments were precious, he with all expedition fitted out a felucca well armed, and failed in purfuit of the pyrate ; but could get no news of him till he came to algiers, where they both arrived the fame day. here the matter having informed him that zar a was fold to an aga, for the grand seignior's feraglio, he immediately fet fail for constantinople. 7"he pyrate, obfeiving the matchlefs beauty of his fair captive, was afraid to carry her to algiers, for fear the dey fhould deprive him of his lovely prize. he put in at modon therefore, and offered her to the governor of that city. this aga was one of his friends, and accepted her with the more pleafure, as he flood in need of a pro ttclrtis in the feraglio, nor did he only re ceive the devil hermit. 163 ceive her with great joy, but from the firft day treated her more like a queen than a flavc. the fair greek, emboldened by thefe extra ordinary tokens of refpeft, refolved to open herfelf freely to a man who had the appearance of fo much generofity. she was unacquainted with his defign ; and having one day demanded a private audience, (he fpoke to him in the fol lowing terms : zelim, your kind behaviour to me gives me hope that you will not be in fenfible tomy misfortunes. i am able to pay you a large ranfome : do but reftore me to my father, and be aflured that his generofity will furpafs your expectation. my captivity will be the occafion of his death ; and you have it in your power to do an adl of charity, that will render your name illuftrious throughout all chriftendom. madam, replied the aga, i make no doubt of the truth of your promifes ; but it is entirely out of my power to do as i could wifh : i have writ to the porte, and you are defigned for the feraglio of his fublime highnefs. ah zelim! cried the unfortunate zara, what have i done to you, that you mould condemn me to fuch a fevere flavery ? no, cruel man, if that be your intention, my death (hall deliver me from fo great an evil. since there is no more hope for me, the fword or poifon (hall foon terminate my miferable life. with that, in an inftant, '(he fnatched the aga's poinard, and plunged it into her breaft. zelim, furprized at this action, was in the utmoft confufion : the fufpenfion of his fenfes made 164 the devi/ hermit. made him incapable of flying to her relief ; and in vain he opened his mouth to call for af fiftance. at laft reflecting, that after this (he might poffible recover, he ran to the apartment of his women ; who perceiving his diforder,came with him to the fair captive's relief. they bound up her wound to flop the effufion of blood, and fent for an able furgeon to examine it, who foon perceived it was not mortal. the weapon had glanced befide all the noble parts, and only pafled through the flefh. but as it was forefeen that this unhappy creature might take off the drefling, they tied down her hands by way of prevention. as foon as they faw (he was out of danger, the aga put her on board for conftantinople. co r k a r o had already been there a fortnight j and as, notwithftanding all his enquiries, he heard no news of his miftrefs, he began to think the corfair had deceived him, and was accord ingly prepared to leave the city, when i inform ed him of her arrival. this tender lover was fo raviflied with the hope that i gave him of releafing her out of the feraglio, that he offered to make me a prefent of all he had in the world } but i would accept only a ring of pret ty confiderable value ; and to fatisfy him of my fincerity, i aflured him, that when he received that ring again, he might get ready a felucca in a certain place that i mentioned, and i would deliver him his fair greek. you have heard in what manner it was done. here the devil hermit. 165 here astaroth finiftied his relation. i took my leave of him, after having defired the continuation of his friendfhip ; and he af fured me that when i had any occafion of his afliftance, i might find him as ufual in his ca vern. the 1 66 the devil hermit. the devil hermit: or, the adventures o f a st a rot h banished from hell. the t h i r d book. chap. i. fbe chevalier treats ast a roth ///, and for what reafon. t had been now fix months under the yoke of * hymen, when i began to perceive that my fpoufe had no longer the fame tender nefs for me as at firft. an affected devotion, more than commonly ftrong, made me fufpeft fome intrigue. i watched her narrowly for fome time : 1 68 the devi/ hermit. time : but all my attention, all my enquiries, ended only in this ; to let me fee that the in trigues of a fpi ritual coquet are impenetrable to the moft jealous and quick-fighted husband. i loved her, and my love is now degenerated into jealoufy. that fatal paflion deprived me of all repofe. the uncertainty of my fufpicions, added ftill to my torments. i could not with ftand a violent curiolity of knowing the whole fecret of her condndt ; and refolved at laft to get this myftery cleared up by my faithful astaroth. being arrived in the ufual place of our ren dezvous, i was vaftly furprized at my entrance to fee his hermit's habit torn in pieces, and fcattcred all over the cave. the firft idea that this fpetacle gave me, was, that my fubalterri devil had been again difcovered by fome of the infernal lords, who had confequently car ried him away prifoner. i was confirmed in this opinion, when after i had evoked him fe veral times, he did not appear. truly fenfi ble, as i was, of the lofs of fo valuable a friend, i had already bewailed him with tears, and was going to quit the cave, when i was hin dered by the coming in of a very venerable perfonage. form to your felf the idea of one of your courtly abbe's, who is naturally a pretty fellow, and now well fet off, after fome hours fpent at his toiltte : add to the figure of this 1 68 the devil her mi a this , ad on is a red * calot and a -fcamail of crimfon velvet ; in all this you have fome re femblance of the reverend perfon, whofe un expe&ed approach made me fall back three paces. yet who-fliould it beat laft, but ast a roth himfelf ? my furprize threw him into fuch a fit of laughter, that i foon knew him for my old acquaintance. may it pleafe your emi nence, i cried out, to inform me what is become of your monkifh humility ? --what is the man thinking of ? he anfwers. do you imagine humility to be a virtue known among monks ? is it not fufficient that they take the pains fome times to preach it, without fatiguing them felves about the practice ? they harangue you from the pulpit : it is their intereft, and con fequently their duty fo to do. it is yours to humble yourfelves at their feet, to open your purfes, to confide in them as in people who have all power in heaven and on earth, and even in our empire. very good, faid i, this doctrine is ftill more admirable than it is new. your eminence feems perfectly well to under ftand your bufinefs. but may one dare to ask you by what means you have rifen to the dig nity of a cardinal ? by the moft merry means faid he, in the world. upon the faith of a de vil, the fubjedt is worthy of your curiofity ; and i will give you the contents of it in a few * a cardinal's cap. f a bifhop's robe. words the devil her mi f. 169 words. have you never heard talk of prince fortunatus, who, without any merit, has found the fecret of winning his mailer's heart, fo that the pontiff now does nothing but by his direction ? this wretch of a minifter, though already well ftricken in years, took it in his head to fall in love with a courtezan, whofe beauty made a great noife. her name was donna stretta. she had all thofc graces from nature, which are the ufual or naments of her fex ; and the character of her mind was not lefs admirable than the charms of her perfon. never did courtezan fhow her felf fo difmterefted as donna stretta: her heart mufc be inclined to the man before be received any of her favours ; and neither gold nor diamonds could make the leaft im preflion on her, unlefs {he liked the perfon who prefented them. prince fortunatus, whcfe immenfe riches were his only merit, could have here little hope, and he muft have died with grief but for my affiftance. the poor prince, who grew the more enamoured, the more he was repulfed, was at his wits end, when i arrived at rome in the habit of a fim ple ecclefiaftic. my figure and the fprightli nefs of my wit, contributed equally to make me taken notice of by don na stretta. we foon became well acquainted, and i gave her fo much fatisf action, that (lie voluntarily quitted all her amours, to admit only me. the pretty creature diverted me now and then �ith. faying what was true, though flie neither knew q. nor 170 the devil hermit. nor believed it to be fo when fhe fpoke. cer tainly, (he would cfren cry, you are no man ! never had mortal fo much flrength and vigour ! you are either a devil or an angel ! this al ternative would make me burft out in a laugh. i am apt to think i mould have lived for ever with this amiable fair, if my duty had not prevailed over my inclination : but there was 3 work to be done, which would be me ritorious at the infernal court. what his ho holinefs was with regard to his favourite for t u n a t u s, donn a st re t ta was to me. i pretended an ambition to become a cardinal, and made ufe of this pretence to her, to in duce her to make the old minifter happy. the ftratagem had its effect : i obtained the hat, and was loaded with honours and riches; after which prince fortunatus arrived at the jummit of hisdefire. juft in this manner, my .dear chevalier, go all the affairs of human life. intrigue and vice are the fprings by which we move mankind, and by the pra&ice of which we enable them to arrive at honours, that all lead diredly to, and terminate at laft in a place in our empire. i agree with you,faidl,that themercurial fcheme has produced many men of note, who had ever continued in deep oblivion, without this effica cious means of advancing themfelves. but my lord, if i am allowed the liberty to fpeak free ly to your eminence, as i did to the good her mit, i cannot help owning to you the repug nance i qiould have to the ufe of any fuch jnearis, the devil hermit. 171 means, in order to obtain the favours of for tune. think better of the matter, chevalier, reply'd ast aroth ; this is a track that has been beaten by more than one of my brethren ; it is a well known way to dignity. look over all the moft mining clafles of mankind ; gentlemen of the fword, and gentlemen of the law ; even men of letters, whofe names are enrolled in the lift of your academies, where none mould be admitted but perfons of diftinguiflied merit j you will find in them all fomc who have ac quired the honours they enjoy, by the very fame means i have mentioned. a:; ibr yoi-r part, chevalier, how loi>g have you been grow;* fo delicate ? why did. you not make this re monftance before i introduced you to donna there sa ? alas! i faid, that i had done fo in fa&. you dered me happy, it is true, in being propitious to my defires : but that happinefs is pafled away like a dream. i am now the moft unfortunate of all mortals. what ails you now, chevalier ? faid ast aroth with an air of irony. are you no longer pleafcd withdonn atheresa ? well, if that be the cafe, you muft e'en leave her, and marry another. i have a long while, you know, referved for you a rich heirefs. the poor girl languifhes away life, and i dare not promife to give her to you fuch as you would wifli to have her, if you make her flay ever fo little longer. may (he and all her fex, faid i in the anguim of my heart, be for ever curfed! women are all fickle, and incapablo qj. 08 172 the devil "hermit. of conftancy. for my own part, i have re fclved to quit mine, and never to think of ano ther while i live. ah, my lord ! would your eminence have thought that a perfon who has virtue painted in her countenance; that a per fon, i fay, who has fweetnefs enough to charm the mofc infcnfible man ; in a word, that donna theresa could be capable of in fidelity? softly, ibftly, sir, replied ast a koth with his ufual tone of raillery, ought you not to have expected this misfortune ? can a frenchman be fo affc&ed with fuch trifles as thefe ? how is that, a s t a r o t h ? do you call by the name of trifles the infidelities of a wife to her husband ? what a diabolical manner of think ing ! men are very much of another opinion ; at leaft, for my own (hare, i muft confefs that the apprehenfion of this misfoi tune torments me to the foul. my wife is for ever befet by a certain ecclefiaftic, who comes to vifit her with impunity, and i dare not fay him nay. the perfidious woman feemsto have fomewhatmore for him than mere refpecl. for any thing that i jcnow, my dear astaroth, i am already become a member of that famous fociety, which makes more noife in the world than the free mafons. for any thing that you know ? faid he ; why fir, do you doubt it ? what right, i befeech you, have you to be exempt from it ? have you not married a pretty woman, very rich, and pofleited of charms to engage every eye, and devil hermit. tj$ and captivate every heart. and did you think then, that fo many pei lections were for you alone ? be informed, sir, that a young lady of donna theresa'* temper and conftitu tion is deftined to give love and to receive it. as i have withheld nothing hitherto from you,, i dare truil you with the fecret, that it was i inyfelf who infpired her with a paffion; for the grand inquifitor. your abfence makes their mo ments now happy, and their mutual felicity at this inftant engages them both to wifh you may never return. at the end of this jovial narrative, i, more terrified than a man who fhould actually feel horns fprcuting out of his head, fell into a fit of rage that had been fatal to his diabolical eminence, if the foul of this evil fpirit had not been fecure againft all my thrufts, in vain i endeavoured, time after time, to run myfword through his body, and was regretting;;. my im prudence in breaking the bottle of holy water, when it carne to my mind that i had about me a fcapulary, which i accepted out of com plaifance from a nun that i ufed now and then to viiit. the apprehefion that my devil would make his efcapc', induced me at firft to diflemble : but the idea of my faith!e(s fair returning, i clapp'd the piece of fanctified cloth; upon his face at once. it did wonders there : ast a roth fell fiat on the ground,, and ut tered moil horrible cries. for my part, in fenfible of his pain, i made ufe of my advan tage to encreafe his torments, and wrr-ped it 174 tbt devi! hermit. fo faft about him, that he had no power to help himfelf. mercy ! good chevalier, he cried aloud. no quarter, anfwered i; i am inex orable on that head. what! have theimpu dence to feduce my wife ! thou wretch, the moft horrible torments are not fufficient to expricate thy crime. is it thus that thou pre ferveft that fidelity which thou hadft promifed me ? cruel man as thou art ! replied ast a roth, howl ng in the moft frightful man ner : fuffer thyfelf to be prevailed on, and at lead do me the favour to hear me, before thou inflicted on my body a punifhment fo inhu man. his prayers, far from moving me, did but contribute to animate my fury the more. a jealous perfon is never capable of liftening to reafon, or fuffering his heart to relent. the torments of astaroth feemed to alleviate: my own pains ; and i continued them without relaxation, till at laft, quite fatigued, i gave way to a fhort flumber ; which the thought of my misfortunes, however, foon banimed from my eyes. by good luck the fcapulary held my devil all this while, as if he had been nailed to the bottom of the cave. i was tranfported to fee him again, and renewed his chaftifement afrefh, till the want of ftrength obliged me to fufpend my anger. i was now obliged to hear him. he endeavoured at fir ft to make con ditions with me, and infifted upon being fct at liberty, by my taking off the fcapulary while he tcldhis ftory ; but i knew my gentleman: too devil hermit. 17 too well to truft him, and i would only con fent to loofen it a little, and hold it all the while by the firings, that i might make it flacker or tighter as i faw occafion. what apleafant fight mud it then have been r to have feen a poor weak mortal lead in his hand one of the moft malignant and cunning de vils in all hell, and that by a feeble piece 9f fer ret of about half an inch broad ; at the end of which was a fmall bit of cloth cut fquare, and worked with a crofs! shew me the heretic that would not have retracted at the fight of fuch a phcenomenon as this ! but that excommu nication, which is fo juftly thundered againft them, has fhut their eyes both bodily and fpi ritual. a great divine told me, that they would never comprehend even fuch a miracle as this, and that it was neceffary to give them up to their obftinate incredulity. this good man de clared very ferioufly, that he had no opinion of thofe people who made ufe of their reafon. it had been herefy not to believe him upon his ipfe dixit : i had more wit therefore than to dif pute the matter with him, though i then knew the following hiftory, which deferves to be the fubjec~l of a new chapter. c h a p.. i6 the devi/ hermit. chap. ii. the virtues cf the scapulary : or, the biftory of father casimire, a bare-foe ted cdrnttite. i7ye deliverance cf ast a roth, who difenchants the chevalier ', and lets him fa us miftrefs in all her de formity. '"phere is a certain city on the maefe, formerly pretty famous en account of its fituation, and for a very ftrcng caille that de fended it. wonders were here wrought by a bare-footed carmelite, by virtue of a fcapulary, upon which was embroidered a fort of medal, that he had brought from rome, and which he aflured the people had been blefled by the fuc cefibr of the greateft of all the apoftles. father ca sim i re, that was the name of our pious miracle-monger, was a fellow that fcarce had his equal ; large of ftature, ftrong, crafty ; and whofe wanton eyes, added to his martial air, plainly indicated that he was not always em ployed in repeating his rofary. this hypocrite in grain had found the gordian knot of a moft refined courfe of leachery. not a tender young virgin, not a pretty wife, who did not fall into his fnares. there was an emulation of piety among all the fair fex, which exceeded any thing that tver was known ; and every woman was the devi/ hermit. \~ f j xvas ea?,er to have father casimire for her director. this wolf in fneep's clothing had infinuated to the ftupid populace, in the city and circumjacent places, that the medal which had been blefied by the fovcreign pontiff, and which was fattened to the fcapulary, had a won derful fpecifick power in affairs of propagation ; that it gave fertility to wives, and to maids fuch charms, as made them capable to captivate the hearts of thofe young fellows they wifhed to mar ry. never was bookfcller more credulous in jiis favourite author, than the fair fex were in hi.n : never did mountebank find a noflrum that produced fo many effects as our medal, which was emphatically firnamed the eighth wonder of the world. imagine then," that the fair, enchant ed by the numberlefs virtues of this medal, came in droves to good father casimire. there, thefe amiable creatures fell down devout ly on their knees to kifs the precious reliclc, which hung two or three inches below his girdle. this ac~t of adoration, affifted by a certain ef fctice that the father had taken care to get im bibed in the fcapulary, fo tended to heat their imaginations, that they all went home highly fatisfied. in a little time a fpirit of enthufrafm took pofleflion of all their minds, and nothing was talked of among the fex, but the wonder ful things which the monk every day perform ed by virtue of his medal. here a credulous husband was porting to the monaftery with his prcfent, and to render thanks to the venerable i 7 3 the devi! hermit. monk for having procured him an heir, of which he thought himfelf the father : there a tender mother, fenfible of the advantages her child had received, inceflantly fang the praifes of this divine treafure, to whom fhe ratified herfelf indebted for fome booby fon-in-law, who had married her daughter, notwithftand ing her uglinefs and ill conduct but as there are no rofes without thorns, one may in like manner fay, that there is no felicity exempt from troubles. the good father casi m i r e was not long before he felt the effecla of tliis woful truth. the devil, who never fleeps, infpired him with a certain temerity that made him defpife all precaution. the chro nicle of fcandal was not more favourable, than the father was careful j and report, in a little time, began to open the eyes of the leafl bi gotted. it was rumoured, that the good father owed the effects of his medal purely to noclur jial vifits; and fome faid boldly, that the city was indebted to him for a good number of its inhabitants. things were in this ftate, when he compleated his own ruin in the opinion of mankind, by the following act of indifcretion, among others, that obliged him to abfcond. a girl of between twelve and thirteen made his mouth water. this young pullet, more crafty ftill than pretty, was an overmatch for his reverence. she had a heart too tender to confine herfelf to one man, and no longer vvithftood the father's felicitations, than fhe was allured from him, that his fcapulary would pro tect the devil her mi f. 179 teft her from thofe accidents, which are the ufual confequences of the inexpreffible plea fu res of love. the lovely girl was already miftrcfs of the heart of a canon, who had hitherto thought it his duty to fpare her fine fliape ; but father casimire had not been ufed to fuch cautious proceedings. trufting to his induftry and his reputation, the friar kept no medium; and his pretty young pupil foon found herfelf afflicted with a nine months dropfy, which it was impoffible to hide. a canon is feldom the dupe of any one, efpe cially in the affairs of love. in vain his mi flrefs endeavoured to perfuade him, that he was the author of her misfortune : he was too cer tain of what he had done, and knew it could never be. the cunning prieit feemed however to be fatisfied, that (he might have no fufpi cion of his defign ; but, fully convinced, that fome other had plucked the fruit of this young plant, he fet fpies about her, who difcovered his rival. it requires an astaroth, or fome other of his fpecies, to reprefent the fury of this ecle fiaftical minion, when he was fully fatisfied of what had befel him. enraged to think he was over-reached by a mufhroom fellow of a men dicant, he never fufpended the effects of his choler, but in order to render them the more terrible. he refolved, by way of vengeance, to make his rival undergo the fate of abe lar: but the friar, more vigorous and ro buft than the canon's emiffaries, defended himfclf i8o ihe devil hermit. himfclf fo courageoufly, that they had reafon to repent them of their undertaking. as this affair however did not pafs without a great buftle, it made fo much noife in the city, that the good father, for fear worfe mould follow, was obliged to withdraw. the lefs happy canon, befides the mortification of having failed in his enterprize, faw himfelf expofed to the laughter of all the people of famion. in a little time after, his miftrefs,whomhe ftill loved, not with ftanding her infidelity, underwent that pain ful crifis, which made her the mother of a lovely creature, whom all the ill-natured cal led a mixed animal. perfonsof beft fenfe gave all the honour of it to the canon, who was much better able to provide for the poor infant than the carmelite : for that father, fmce his relick had loft its credit, was become very poor. perhaps the fcapulary that i was poileffed of, had not all the virtues that were for a long tims attributed to that of the celebrated father ca st m ip. e : it was fufficient for me that it had the power of charming any devil, that fliould have the malignant impudence to play tricks xvith a man that is fubje&to the holy inquifition, i made the mod of this power a long while, till at laft, relying on the promife that ast a roth made me, of making reparation for all the injury he had done me, i delivered him from his (hackles. no fooner was he free, but he ad dreflcd himfelf to me in v/ords to this effect: che valier, if i did not begin to habituate myfelf to the injuftices. of people of your fpecies, i could have 'the devil hermit. 181 never pardon the punishment you have fo cru elly inflicted on me. however, fince it was my franknefs that brought it on my head, i will live with you for the future like a famionable friend, that is, with a great deal of policy, and very little fincerity. how is that, my lord cardinal ? cried 7. is it in this manner thou beginneft to make me the promifed reparation ? are the injuries thou complained of to be compared to the torments which thy malice has made me fuffer ? what have i done to thee, barbarian, that deferved thofe infidelities of which thou haft made donna theresa guilty? why didft thou at firft lend me thy affiftance, if thy defign was afterwards, under pretence of doing me fervice, to make me the moft unhappy of mortals ? ah, cruel astaroth ! it is for me to com plain ; and if thou reflecleft ever fo little on the condition thou haft reduced me to, thou muft agree that my vengeance, is not equal to the greatnefs of the infult. if that be the cafe, re plied his diabolical eminence, and fince i per ceive that you really think as you fpeak, i par don you all the ill you have done me, upon condition that for the future you never proceed to fuch extremities with me, without firft having well confidered the matter : for i muft teu you, chevalier, that if you are not guilty of cruelty, you are guilty at leaft of want of re flexion. ought you to have expected that i (hould undertake to render favourable a beauty truly chafte ? if i had undertaken fuch a thing, and fucceeded, know that it would not have r been 7 he devil hermit. been in my power to keep her faithful. we devils can do ill faft enough, and fuggeft it into the hearts of mortals } but as it is not in our power to do in reality any one good action, fo nei ther can we prevent thofe diforders that we oc cafion from increafing of themfelves. befides, did rot i tell you that you would foon grow weary of donna theresa ? was it my duty then to foretell a misfortune, which, chimerical as it may be, would have corroded the pleafure of your moft happy days ? ah, chevalier, if i did not dread that choleric vivacity of yours, i could inform you of fome things that would foon give you confolation for the lofs of your miftrefs. what is it you mean ? faid i with precipitation. i mean, anfwered he, that be ing defirousto put you in poffeflion of donn a th e r e s a's wealth, i fafcinated your eyes in fuch a manner, that (he appeared to you young, and the moft charming creature in the world, though flie is in reality old, and the moft ugly of all beings that live on this fide our empire. the grand inquifitor is not lefs duped than you have been, and will be happy no longer than the charm endures. the difcourfe of his diabolical eminence feemed to me at firft an incomprehenfible myf tery : but no fooner had he conducted me to my wife's apartment, and taken off the charm that made her fcem lovely, but i pereceived a creature more ugly than the picture that as taroth had given me of her. my furpnfe made the fly devil laugh, who now opportunely �hifpered m; to take poflefiion of a fmall cat ket, the devil heimit. 183. ket, that contained the moll valuable of don na theresa's jewels. as i had long been accuftomed to put my hand often into a cer tain ftrong coffer, the contents of which vifibly diminifhed, a natural inftinct carried me thither for the laft time, when i left nothing behind me that i thought myfelf able to carry cffclctn. then returning with ast a rot h to the cave, i made him all the reparation he could defire, for my paffionate u r age of his eminence. chap. iii. ^he author makes his peace with ast a. roth, iff be informs him of fome remark, able faffs, and giveshim a great deal of advice. the author follows that of re* turning to his native country. t> e t t e r pleafed at feeing myfelf maf ** ter of donna theresa's jewels, than a aiifer who receives a large intereft upon a fmall capital, i eafily forgot that hoi rid crea ture, and thought of nothing but in what way to make ufe of my riches. astaroth at lirft put on a face of anger, and feemed un willing to vouchfafe me any advice. i had a great deal of pains to reconcile him to me, and all my excufes were infuffic:ent to give him fatisfaction. never fure was there an in fernal fpirit, that flood more upon the puncti lio of honour. it was not the torment i had made him f>:ter, that drew on me his indiffe rence ; i had accufed him of perfidy j and he r 2 could 184 the devil hermit. could not, he faid, pardon me fo outrageous an affront. 7'o confefs the truth, i laughed in my fleeve to fee a devil fo jealous of his reputation ; but giving way to his capricious humour, i declared myfelf guilty, aggravated my crimes, and beg ged pardon for it in fuch a moving manner, that he was at laft overcome by entreaty, re newed his promife of affiftance, and vowed on the faith of a devil to keep it. this peace was not ratified without a formal treaty, which both parties fwore to : i, that i would never fufpec"t his fidelity and probity ; and he, that he would be fubmiflive and faithful to me, till the very moment he was called home to hell. this convention having brought him again in to good humour, he offered me one of the fineft women in all italy, in recompence for my lofs of donna theresa; but feeing plainly by my anfwer, that i was not difpofed to enter again fo foon into the bonds of that faithlefs and deceitful fex, but on the contrary, rather inclined to augment my fortune, he advifed me to enter into the venerable company of tax gatherers. you cannot imagine, fays he, che valier, all the advantages of that profeffion. i know them well, anfwered 1:1 am of a country where they are as much refpecled as hated : but, for my part, i love neither the flattery of great men, nor the hatred of the populace. befides, i am a gentleman by birth, and would not degrade myfelf fo far as to aflb ciate with a body of men, the very heads of whom were born in fervitude, or among the dregs '77* devil hermit-. 185 dregs of the common people. what a whim fical turn of mind you mortals have ! replied his diabolical eminence with a loud laugh. the greateft part of you men of rank pique your felves on a chimerical nobility, which ruins you, and leads you ki the direct road to beggary j whereas a man from among the ineaneft of the people endeavours to pufh hrmfelf by all forts of methods, andfeldom fails of fucccejing. mow many footmen has fortune in ycur time en nobled, whofe children are now arrived to the fummit of dignity ? witnefs the marquis de or a c e, colonel of a regiment,who has a fiirc.' married to a count of an antient lineage. their father was drawer to a tavern, and raifed him ft-lf by iiotrigue to the degree of grandeur he now enjoys, and which has enabled him to make the fortune of his children. i know, faid i, the countcfs and the marquis you fpeak of perfect ly well : i know that their father is farmer general, and that he was of no higher dt-fcent ^tban the greater!: part of his brethren : but t am ignorant what means he made ufe of, to procure himfelf fuch a fplendid eftate as he now feems to be pofleited of. i can give you fat'sfi.fti as to that, replied astaroth, in very few words. p*** is the ion of a miferable poor pea fan t in the province, of burgundy. at the age of fourteen, he quitted his paternal cottage, and went to pari:-, where he get rec-ption in a tavern, the mafter of which he hid ieen in his own country. the lad w::s the;i a good uprightly youth, and we had very trreat hopes r 3 o 186 ths devil hermit. of him in our empire. he had not been long in fervice, before he gave proofs of his mercu rial ability. his firft prank was forgiven him ; but as they watched his conduit more narrow ly after this, his mafter foon perceived that he was not fit for his purpofe, and turned him a flray to feek his fortune. ?*** had luckily got acquainted, and was linked in friendftiip with fome footmen, who. came to drink at his matter's houfe^ one of thefe party-eolour'd gentry recommended him to the wife of an under farmer of the revenue. he had the good fortune to pleafe her, and {he took him into her fervice, without enquiring af ter his character. the good lady began to lofe the bloom of her youth j and p*** } who was nicknamed jasmin, wasjuft in the flower of all hisdays. he was exceeding nice in hisdrefs, : and knew fo well how to feize occasion by the forelock, that he went fnacks with his m fter, who about the fame time was made far mer general. by his miftrefs's order,, and at her expence, jasmin was taught to read and write ; and foon after he had a place givcn h:m, the income of which, though very tolera bie, was not fufficient to fatisfy his vanity. he �as now in pofleflion cf the true key of his own fortune, and made ufe of it to all poflible advantage. in lefs than twelve years, he rofe f; om dc gree to degree, up to the very poft he is new in, and in which he has amafled wealth cnt ugh to maintain his family in that rank, �h re it now fhines fo brilliantly. the devil hermit. 187 i was unacquainted with this hjftofy, faid i to my quondam hermit : but, upon my own knowledge, i fee in the revenue fo many other mining characters of the fame fpe cies, that i can never refolve to incorporate my (elf among fuch people. well, leave them to th.2:nfelves then, replied astaroth, fince you fo diflike them. they are indeed protected by the principal lords of the infernal empire, for which their body is an inexhauftible fource of excellent fubje&s : there has never yet been one member of it that fared in the fealty he had fworn to us. but, continued my counfellor, fince this way of life, the beft indeed that can be chofen, is difagreeable to you, and you are afraid of derogating by it from your nobility ; why, fir, do you not take to the army ? you have riches enough to make a figure there for fome years ; and let the worft come to the worft, after you have fpent all your money, you may get in with fome rich widow, whom i will prevail upon to re-eftablifh your fortune. the army, faid j, would pleafe me mfey well, if a man was not liable there to the difgrace of having others put over his head: but how often, after having fpent all he is worth in the fove reign's fervice, has an officer the mortification to a fee a young beardlefs boy, who has no * other merit but that of high birth or powerful protection, get the ftart of him ? well but, replied astaroth, examine me then from head to foot ; would the fcarlet i am adorned with pleafe you better ?this profeffiorj,in my opinion, has i88 the devil hertrtit. has charms that may feduce the moft modelr. as merit, at this day, has no longer a place a mcng us ecclefiafticks, there is nothing more eafy than to rife in the church. what cha ra&er among men can be more brilliant than ours? we are moft of us rich ; all of us re fpeted ; and we all enjoy privileges that raife vis even above princes. our head is the fiii? of mankind, and there is no one, not the leaft individual of our fpecies, who has not a fhare of the boundlefs power of that fovereign of fo vereigns. ah, chevalier, if you feel any in clination for this happy profeffion, to what de gree of grandeur may you not arife, having me for your friend and proteflor ? for i muft let you know, that nothing is done in this il luftrious body but by cur direction. it is our fovereign that gives a fandiion to all decrees,, that always prefides over their venerable af femblies, from which we take the utmoft care to banifh, and even to anafhamctife, every liv ing man whofe virtue is fufpecled. now,. chevalier, what doft thou think of this? i adrmre, faid i, to ast a roth, this pompous fampie of a defcription, which how ever is literally true. this makes me not wonder at one of our anticnt dcc~tcrs, for faying that your country is paved with eccle fiafticks. for my part, however, i wculd not be one of them, tho' i were fure of obtainin^ the triple crown. befides, as i feel in myfelf no inclination to become a cabalift, i fhould xnake a very fooiifi; figure among ycu, and ton the devil hermit. 189 run a great rifque of never being advanced. you only think fo, anfwered astaroth : but that modefty of yours is owing merely to your want of knowing the world. take this along with you, chevalier, that as appetite comes by eating, the defire of rifing encreafes in proportion as a perfon rifes. do you know the lord cardinal amir oni ? nothing could be more modeft than that famous prelate, when firft he embraced the life of an ecclefiaftic. the moft his birth could admit him to afpire after, was a fimple canonicate. now he keeps a cha pel equal to mine, and forms a defign no left than that of raifing himfelf to the fovereign hiearchy. if this great man mould obtain that eminent poft, i expect he would do more fer vice to our empire, than a whole million of vulgar devils put together. one may juftly fay, that he is entirely devoted to lucifer, and that none of us all out-does him either in ma lice or wiles. this prelate, though born of the meaneft parents, has preferved nothing of the bafenefe of his extraction. his bold and infmuating ge nius, has enabled him to afcend to the higheft degree of fortune. he once governed defpoti cally, or, to fay better, tyrannically, one of the principal monarchies in europe. he was obliged, it is true, to leave that kingdom } yet did not leave off to conduct the affairs of it. nothing is now done there but in purfuance of the max ims he laid down, and all his refined policy is exactly put in practice. it was he that in fpired i po the devil hermit. fpired the war that is lately broke out. h's biain teems nothing continually but great and unjuft projects, whofe fole tendency is to drive an illuftrious family from a certain throne, which he thinks it pofllftes unlawfully. long ago, through his intrigues, thoufands of emiflaries were fent into the dominions of the reigning prince, whom he called a ufurper, in order to lay the train of a fatal rebellion, which muft inevitably have broke out, but for the moft prudent precautions. amir oni is the evil genius of the expelled and banifhed pre tended king, whofe enemy at the fame time he would feem to appear. it is he that ftirs him up, that animates his caufe, that folicits all the powers of the fame communion to ena ble him to recover a crown, which however he could not preferve even if he was peaceably poflefled of it, becaufe he wants all the talents jiecefiary to acquire the affe&ion of a people fo ftubborn, and fo jealous of their liberties. one of the moft flourifhing monarchies of our he* mifphere enters into this vaft project, the exe cution of which has been deemed fo eafy, that his eminence, wht puts all in motion, has dared to propofe an alienee in the name of the �ou'd-be-king. in a word, he is the difturber of all europe, and the inventer of all the confpiracies that have been hatched for more than twenty years paft. you may believe that all the fchemes he put in motion, that his continual hurry, which drives 'deep for ever from his eyes, are fug gefted 7 'be devil her mi v. 191 gefted by intereft and ambition. he predicted that he fhould rife to the fovereign pontificate, and is refolved to omit no ftratagems, that his intriguing genius can furnim him with, to ve rify his prediction, though, for the execution of his project, he {hould fucrifice three parts of humankind. perfuaded that he fhall become neceflary in the midft of difcord, he endeavours to blow the fparks of it at every court. a de ftructive rupture has already broke out be tween two very considerable powers. he la bours, with all his might, to fpread the fame fla ties in the greateft part of chriftendom. if he fucceeds, it will be then his time to fifli in troubled waters, and at laft to feize the triple crown, the morfcl fo much defired by all the members of the facred college. astaroth, who had refumed his good humour, diverted himfclf a long time in relat ing all the juggling tricks of this moft eminent prelate. better than a fecretary that has the largefr. (hare of his mafter's confidence, he was fully acquainted with all the correfpondences and numberlefs intrigues of our famous politician: but as he talked too freely cf the cabinet fecrets of fovereigns, and a little (hocked my naturai difcretion, i broke in upon his narrative, in order to communicate to him a project that was juft then come into my mind. i per ceive, faid i, by reflecting on all the profeffions that you have propofed to me, that there is not one of them will fuit me. without farther de liberation .therefore, i am refolved to give way to 192 ihe devil hermit. to my natural inclination, that is, to continue the life of a knight-errant, which i purfued before my marriage with donna theresa. but, lord astaroth, to render my travels agreeable, i (hall have need of your company. i mould like to wander over both the hemif pheres of our planet i and that i may never lofe the idea of the places i have made any ftay in , i would every where make collections of the moft curious anecdotes, for the diverfion of my friends on my days of repofe. asta roth, my dear astaroth, i know all the extent of your talents : your humour is gay ; your tattle amufing ; in a word, you poflefs all the qualities requifite to fatisfy my ruling pailion, and procure me new delights as the . days re volve. if you will follow me, depend upon it i (hall not be ungrateful, and that you (hall have a powerful protector againft all the fub jefts of your empire, who may be jealous of your reputation. what fay'ft thou chevalier ? cried his dia bolical eminence. one may eafily fee that you were bred up in a court : you are fuch a very courtier when you want to obtain any favour. if i was not devoted to you as i am, i could not withftand the charms of your politenefs. rely on what i fay, sir: i will accompany you wherefoever you (hall pleafe to go. chap. the devil hermit. 193 c h a p. iv. 'the author is tranfported into the capital of the univerfe. changes that had hap pened during the time he was abftnt. he meets with an adventurer, whom he knew formerly^ and who tricks him of good part of his jewels. '"fhe natural tafte that i had for travel -* made me highly delighted with the good graces of my faithful astaroth. i gave him a thoufand thanks ; and, as i was very fond of adventures, propofed to him immedi ately the taking a trip to paris, where i had fome little acquaintance. very good, cheva lier, faid he ; i confent to it: but as i am fub jet to the orders of my fuperiors, i ought to inform you that i mall now and then be obliged to be abfent. all i can promife you is, that i will execute as fpeedily as poffible whatever inftru&ions i may receive, and return to you as foon as i have done, in order to inform you of any thing you {hall wifh to know, aid to give you my advice in times of difficulty. then pulling a fmall phial out of his pocket, here, fays he, take and drink a few diops of this elixir, which has the virtue ofpreferving human nature from all tliofe .wants to which it is continually fubjeft. in fad, 1 had no s fooner 194 the devil hermit. fooner fwallowed five or fix drops of it, but 1 found myfclf almoft in the fame plight with a fat canon, who has fpent fome hours in fluf fing his paunch with the moft nourishing difhes. this elixir has one property in which it ex* celled even the bed food j which was, that it refrefhed the fenfes, and yet preferved from all inclination to fleep. i was admiring the effect cf it to ast a roth, when he told me, that it was-compofed by the abbot chimjerius �ho had found means to ftarve himfclf to death with this important fecret. this, he added^ ought not to furprife you. to fpeak the truth, the abbot, by his conduct, deftroys the reputa tion of his drops. he publimes every where, that they have the virtue of making a man live three months without eating or drinking : but, at the fame time he fo boafts the virtue of his tincture, if any one invites him to dinner, he eats as if it had no other virtue but to whet the appetite, and famifh the perfon who ufes it. it was neceftary to the abbot's character that chefe drops fhould pafs through the hands of fome one of my fpecies. bv that means all vvho ufe them, will conceive the fame idea of them as you now do, and may very foon make his fortune. if you want to know this famous chymift, continued asta &oth, you (hail prefently have it in your power to fee him, without being perceived yourfjlf. my metamorphofed her m i t had no fooner finilhed thefe words, but he truffcd njc up upon his the devi! hcrmt. his (boulders, almoft in the fame manner as ^eneas took his father anchises. the aftoniming rapidity with which he cleft the air, put me into fuch a terrible fright, that i loft at once all the ufe of my fenfes. at laft, waking as from a found fleep, i found myfclf extended upon a grafly carpet, with which nature had adorned the fummit of a high mountain. ast a roth, whom i did not at firft fee, appeared to me all of a fudden. where do you think yourfelf now, sir ? faid he with a laugh. without doubt, faid i, i am juft where it has pleafed your eminence to bring me. but your world has been fo very indifferently defcribed to us, that i ought to be a devil myfelf to know what part of it i am in. look you there,faid he, pointing with his finger; on that fide lies the native country of all po lite people. we have been but three days onr our journey, and i could have brought you hi ther in much lefe time, if i had not been de tained a little at lyons by a job, which was to infpire a very good man with the refolution to rob his brother, for the fervice of a pried whom i protect. i (hall have another opportunity here after to give you a narrative of this affair, whicli was attended with variety of confequenccs, anil a great many curious and interefting fadb r that will afford you (bme diverfion. the joy i conceived at revifuing my native place, took fuch full polfeflion of my mind, that i was not fufceptible of any other pleafure. i did not infift upon the (lory ; and asta s 2 roth 196 we devil hermit. roth, who knew my inward fentfments, took leave of me ; telling me, that fmce i was in a country well known to me, i muft not take it amifs if he left me among my old acquaintance, for that he would come back to me after he had compleated the great work that was begun at lyons. as i had in reality very ftrong engagements in this capital, and expected to find there many relations and friends, without running the rifque of being detected concerning my former frolicks, i gave a carte blanche to my guide, and even left the time of his return to his own difcretion. the moment he quitted me i took the road for paris, and entered that city juft at the clofe of the day. my fir ft care, after providing myfelf with a lodging, was to clothe me in a manner fuitable to the figure i intended to make. i had plenty ofcafh upon me, and fo was furniihed with every thing i wanted in an inftant. an utter {hanger would have thought he had to do with conjurers, fo many workmen were ready to ex ecute whatever i commanded. in lefs than a week i was compleatly equipped, as well with linnen as with every other part of drefs. my ambition however, was not fatisfied, till after i had formed my houfehold, which confifted of feven or eight fervants, three of whom were dreflld in the moft fplendid liveries. i was not then afraid of appearing among my rela tions, who perhaps would have received me lfs couiteoufly if this magnificent equipage had not we dev:/ ticrmif. not dazzled their eyes. my fur.d, great as it was at prefent, was far from being fufficient to fupport the luxury i lived in any long time ; but, as i always depended on the friend (hip of astaroth, i made no fcruple of going on, and had none of thofe anxieties, that the furprifing dimunition of my capital muft otherwife have given me. a continued fucceflion of pleafures, that were every day diverfified, made the moments pafs merrily a way. good eating and drinking, variety cf miftrefles, gaming, and the playhoufe, made up the whole of my employment. both fexes were fond of my company ; all my friends feemed to contend among themfelves who fhould fet the higheft price on my favours, and i was regarded as the oracle of every affembly, that i deigned to honour with my prefence. i muft ferioufly own however, that, though open enough to flattery, i was not entirely the dupe of it. i had too much reafon net to perceive that all my merit, and all the praifes that were lavifhed on me, were owing to my generofity and luxury : yet fuch is the character of human pature in genera^ that it is fond of feeding on an imaginary good. vinity is a kind of drunkennefs, fo much the more dangerous as it leads us into the rrroff foohh extravagancies. six months paftcd'away in this manner, at the end of" which the lownefsof my (lock made me reflect on the ab fence of astaroth. for many days i endeavoured to evoke him, and all to no purpc/c y but as his honcfly could not s 3 poffibly 198 the devil hermit. poflibly be now fufpe&ed by me, after all the fervices i had received from him, i concluded that fome devil of high rank, who had a right over him, was the occafion of this difappoint ment. it, was lucky for me, that i had a good ffock of jewels ftill left. i refolved to dif pofeof a part ofthefe, and began in fome mea fure to retrench my expences. this deprived me of fome of my friends, the lofs of whom i no otherwife regretted, than as a mifer would the lofs of a parafite. the pleafures i received were now lefs noify, but more real and rational. i fpent my time in admiring the ornaments of the city, which are very nume rous, and happily encreafing every day. a man of wit, of my acquaintance, who had free accefs to the provoft of the merchants, introduced me to that magiftrate. he was a man of merit, but infatuated with his o�n projects, of which he talked eternally to all who came near him. one of the keys on the river fide, among other things, which he had caufed to be enlarged at his entrance on his of fice, and to which he added a parapet wall, avas in his own opinion a maflsrly performance, and the fubject of much difcourfe. one day, when my friend and i were in his company, he adjrelted himfelf to us thus: it is furprifing that not one of the wits of the town has thought of making, at leaft one ftanza of fix lines in praife of that public work. we (hall fee if the folar quadrant, which i am going to ere&, will not roufe them from this lethargy. -as 1l:e lciil ferfr.it. ,559 as my friend was the man who patted for thebrighteft fellow in company, and did not do himfelf the injuftice to refufe the honour of that fine quality, he took this reflection as if levelled directly at him. what do you think, (faid he to me, as foon as we were by ourfeives) of the philofopher turgo? does not that mafter-piece of his deferve to be immortalized by an ode ? i think at the lead, fince he is fo modeft as to be content with one ftanza, one ought to oblige him fo far. then taking out his memorandum book, without more meditation 3 he wrote thefe verfes : when provoft turgo was in place. and noted here too little fpace, he .added this fame border. all you that come, and all who go, render your thanks to good turgo, the glory of his order. i had fucked in fomewhat ofastaroth's character,and the character of my friend was not much lefs malignant than mine. i took him to fup with me, when he was eafily perfuaded to make me a prefent of this epigram. i had it imme diately tranfcribed, and fent a fervant to pafte it up over the key. in a word, all paris prefent ly had it by heart ; every one diverted himfelf at the expence of the magiftrate, whofe vanity was well known." you may depend upon it we paid him no more vifits after this our paf quinade. my friend, though known for the author 2roo ike devil hermit. author of the verfes, loft nothing by them but a dinner now and then, which he ufed to get at the provoft's j a lofs which i fully made up to him, as i could never wear out that natural generofity of temper, that gradually reduced me to live by my wits. a good part of my jewell were already fofd, ^nd the money difperfed. i could not prevail on myfelf to difcharge an equipage that i had been fome time ufed to : a gentleman, in my opinion, had much better be dead, than without this mark of diftin&ion. full of this chime rical idea, i durft not look forwards on the uncertainty of my future condition, but i felt my heart pierced with the moft fenfible grief. my recomfe was to ast a roth, whom i e voked to no purpofe. the cruel demon, taken up with other adventures, laughed at my imaginary diftrefs : and indeed i fometimes looked upon my troubles in the fame light my felf, in the confidence i had of his fidelity. in fine, the laft remedy to my uneafinefs was the frequenting of plays and public drverfions, or taking a walk in company. one evening, as i came from the opera, the xinskilfulnefs of the coachman made him run foul of a very fplendid equipage. four fwinging pages, dreifed in gaudy liveries, fell to quarrelling with my fervants, and threatened them hard. as i was afraid the fellows might belong to fome embaflador, or foreign prince, and being loth to have any difpute with a per foa of fueh high quality, i immediately got out. the devi! her mi 'f. 20 r out of my coach to appeafe the fray. the pretended prince fhewed the fame politenefs : but fcarce were his feet on the ground before i knew him for the marquis cramoisi, an italian by birth, and formerly my acquaintance. our fituation with regard to each other, at leaft in appearance, was very different from that in which we had known each other formerly. e-v qually aftoniftred at this rencounter,our firlt fen timents on both fides obliged us to teftify fomc furprife ; but the place not being proper for coming to an explanation together, our equi pages were no fooner difentangled than the marquis made me get into his coach, in which we were driven, followed by mine, to a fu perb hotel that he inhabited. the furniture of it, which i took for his own, made me judge, by its magnificence, that he was one of the richeft lords in europe. amazed at fo advantageous a change in his fortune, i conjectured that he muft have fome genius under his command cf the temper of as mode us, and more punc tual than the faithlefs astaroth. he was indeed fo happy as to be in the good graces of the firft prince of the blood, who governed the whole kingdom, and at the fame time en joyed the favours of madame the princefs of e**, whofe lover he openly profefled himfelf, and to whom he was the chief in regard among many. i had formerly heard fpeak of the lavifh bounty of this princefion the like occafions. as time had very much preyed on her charms, and the marquis was in all the vigour of his age, i confidered 202 fhe devil hermit. confidered this conqueft as the fweeteft morfel that could fall into the mouth of an adventu rer. in effect, he confefled that within a little more than a year paft, which was the time he had been acquainted with her, he had drawn from her near eight hundred thoufand livres, without putting her to any other trouble than that of making him one of the bankers to the parties of gaming, that were held daily in her palace. thefe games was baflet, pharaoh, and lanfqutnet. they began ufually about tea or eleven o'clock in the evening, and conti nued till five or fix the next morning. the marquis offered to introduce me to them, and curiofity made me accept his propofition. we arrived there in very good time, while the company was yet thin : but in a few mi nutes the afiembly became as numerous and brilliant as what i have fecn in an opera, with only this difference, that at the princefs's it was compofed of men only, drefled fome of them more richly than others. several halls, in the midft of which ftood tables appointed for the different games, were illuminated in every par t. scarce did they all feem fufficient to contain the numbers that crowded them. as the marquis was one of the bankers at baflet, he left me to aflume his poft, which muft cer tainly be very lucrative, fmce it conftituted the principal part of his revenue. what furprifed jxe the moft, after viewing the company fome , was to fee a great number of eccle fwfucks the devil tierimif. feo j fiafticks among die cabals of the gameflers. my firft reflection made me look on them as a par cel of dupes : yet i could not refift the caprice of fortune, who i faw was ruining fome, and fliowering down > her favours on others. i had fifty lewis's left, which i always carried in my pocket. seduced by ill ex ample, i hazarded fome of them, which in icfs than an hour were increafed to near an hundred times as many. the fortunate fuccefs of this firft attempt did not permit me to ftop {hort in fo delightful a road : i was animated by the defire of gain to purfue my point, and {laked my money with fo little prudenc, that in a few moments i loft not only what i had won, but the fifty pieces i had in my purfe, which was my whole ftock of ready cam. such is the fatal paffion of gaming, that whether a man wins or lofes, he can never con tain himfelf within reafonable bounds. for my part, diftracted to fee myfelf two hundred lewis's worfe than i had thought myfelf juft before, without reflecting that three fourths of this number belonged .perhaps to thofe who had now won them from me, i could not take the refolution to become wife at my own expence. i went directly to the marquis, who was in another hall, and asked him to lend me twenty five pieces upon a diamond of value that 1 had on my finger. he would not accept the pledge, but told me down in a moment the aim i de manded. thefe twenty five lewis's were in iuflacient to recover my loft fortune : they laftea 204 < fl je devil hermit. lafted me however, with good management, to the end of the play when i had only three or four left. with thefe i retired full of cha grin, as i faw myfelf obliged to a new fale of my jewels, in order to recruit my pockets,and make fatisfa&ion to a friend who had trufted me on my word. how prejudicial foever the meeting of the marquis had been to my fmall fortune, my acknowledgments to him were not the lefs warm. he had lent me money in the moil o bliging manner, and hearing, as we came out, that i had loft it, he made me an offer of the like fum, which i accepted on the condition that he fhould come and dine with me. at this meet ing, i confefs, i found him altogether worthy of the good fortune he enjoyed; and, grate fully fenfible of this double proof of his friend fhip, i thought i could not do better than lay open to him all my cricumftances. he did not feem to think them fo defperate as i did, efpecially after taking an inventory of my jewels, which he valued at above one hundred thoufand franks. my condition however feem ed to affect him, and, in order to repay my freedom of fpeech, at leaft apparently, ;in the fame coin, he advifed me to turn my effects into money,and by making prefents to purchafe the place of gentlemen to the princefs, whofe bounty he lived on. chevalier, faid he, in the moft infmuating tone, a man of your figure may have pretenfions enough at fuch a court as we are in, efpecially when reafon, more than love the cevil hermit. 205 love, engages him to a woman of the princefs's age and inclinations. for my part, who am no longer amorous, far from proving your ri valon fuch nn occafion, i {hall fee with joy your fortune equal to my own, fince it may very well be fo without the leaft prejudice to me. if you had fome employment which gave you accefs to the princefs, it would not be long, i am certain, before you came in fnacks with us ; and your recompenfe, as well as mine now is, would be to become an eighth fharer in the profits which our gaming flock produces ; for the moft famous academy in paris is kept in her palace. as all the prime nobility pun&aally attend there, and we bankers at baffet and pharaoh underftand the play perfe&ly well, our office brings us in an immenfe annual fund. in a word, chevalier, if you except only a few prefents which her royal highnefs now and then honours me with, it is this fund that fupports all my expences on the foot that you fee them. if i had a grateful fenfe of the marquis's firff civilities, i had a much greater of thofe offers, which gave me the profpeit of a fortune as brilliant as his, and to which all my ambi tion tended. i was almoft befide myfelf with refpeft, and eould not tell how to exprefs my thanks in terms fufficiently ftrong. i am en-. tirely yours, cried i, my dear marquis : dif pofe of me as you pleafe. from this time i will conform my conduit to your advice, which i will follow "with all the confidence that your t good 2o6 we devil hermit. good will deferves from an old friend who can never forget you. after having again allured me, that he had nothing more at heart than to oblige me, were i, faid he, in your place, the firft thing i would cio mould be to fell my jewels, money you well know is at this day the primum mobile of all things. one part will ferve to fupport you a little in the way of life you have taken up ; and the reft muft be employed in making pre fents to the princefs's ladies of honour, to whom j will immediately introduce you. by this means you will foon become her highnefs's gen tleman : you muft accept this poft at firft with out any falaryj and that point being carried, your whole future fortune will be in your own hands. the marquis ended his enchanting dif courfe by offering to take on himfelf the dif pofal of my jewels, which he pretended he could nake as much of as any jeweller. if i had reflected, at that moment, on the marquis's former way of life, of which i knew a thoufand anecdotes not very favourable to his reputation, perhaps my diftruft had made rne efcape all his fnares: but, dazzled with a future profpedl that flattered my vanity, i received with joy an offer in which there feemed to be nothing but the moft obliging fmcerity 1 was even in hafte to put him in pofieffion of the remainder of my for tune, and had fo little forefight or fufpicion of the misfortune that threatned me, that i flept fyith the fame tranquility as a man could who the d. r oil hermit. 207 was in the full enjoyment of all his wifhes. my fecurity appeared fo much the better founded, as the marquis came to vifit me the next day, and brought me a thoufand crowns for a diamond which 1 had never valued at more than two thoufand livres, and which in my prefent necefilty i would have parted with for lefs. so great was his affection, that fcarce would he receive the fifty louis's he had lent me. a month however paft, and he had not yet found an opportunity to difpofe of the reft of my effe&s, or to bring me before the princefs. a certain confufed air that i faw in him, every time i went to vifit him, bsgan to give birth to fome fufpicions in my breaft. many par ticular friends, to whom 1 communicated the affair, compleated my diflatisfa&ion ; for they told me that his reputation was not better in paris than in the country where i had known him. at length, opening my eyes on my own misfortune, i hunted and tei zed him in fuch a manner, that, after having put me off from day to day, at the end of two months he gave me a parcel of falfe ftones, fo like thcfe 1 had trufted him with that i gave him a receipt in full, and utterly debarred myfelf from all fu ture demands upon him. t 2 chap. 2o3 lie devil hermit. c h a p. v. d'jpculties the author is left in tiro' the i knavery of the mr.rquis? tfo get cut cf 1 them he is cbliged to fell his equipage. i fhe condition he is reduced to t and his nfolution to qiilt pans. t" o o happy in being got out of the claws * of a (harper, with whom i thought i had , now no farther bufinefs, 1 was determined, for the time to come, to aft with more cau| tion, and not be the dupe of my own credu! lity. a friend, whom i had chofen with judgment, recommended me to a jeweller, a . man of great wealth and intereft, who bought, all that i was willing to fell, at a lefs confide1 rable price indeed than the marquis had taken them, but much more real, becaufe he told me down on the nail the fum he had agreed for. ^ it amounted to forty fivethoufand livres, which jj made then my whole capital, and was my laftl refource. at the rate i went on, this was not j more than fufficient for a fingle year. as i entertained however frefh hopes every day of ast a roth's return, who i was aflured by a certain inward confidence had not abandoned} me, i could not find in my heart to retrench! any thing from my equipage, till i was forced" to the devil hermit. 209 to it by an event that i had been very far from expecting. about a fortnight after the fale of my jewels, one fine fun-fhiny morning, jufl as i rofe, came in the jeweller to whom i had fold them, the friend who had procured me his acquain tance, and two other perfons whom i did not know, but who by their deportment feemed to be officers of juftice. as i had not the leaft apprehenfion of what was the occafion of this vifit, i received them in a frank manner, and defired them all to fit down. scarce had they done fo when the jeweller, with an air of cold nefs, gave me back the goods i had fold him, and asked me whether i knew them to be the fame that he had bought of me, without quef flr, fa id i, i do ; as in reality i did. we muft let you know then, added my friend*, that the whole cargo is merely counterfeit, and not worth a hundred crowns. the gentleman; is come therefore to bring them you again, and to demand back his money. the furprife this compliment threw me in to, had like to have made me die away on th fpot. i was above a quarter of an hour before i was able to fpeak two intelligible words. at lad, being with fome affiftance brought to my felf, i told the jeweller and my friend that they might have been fo kind as to come by them felve, without bringing thcfe witnefles cf whathad paffed, whom i now perceived to l& a commiitary and a notary : that if i had de ceived them, i had much more to complain of t 3. 210 the devil hermit. than they, for that i had been firft deceived myfelf, and all the lofs, by what i could fee, was like to light upon me only. jn a word, i owned to them in what manner i had truft ed to the marquis damoisi, and asked their advice as to the proper method i muft take in order to bring him tojuftice. damoisi was fo well known in paris, that no fooner had i pronounced his name, but the two officers declared they could do nothing but pity me. if you mould fue him, faid they, what would your pretenfions fignify without proofs, efpeciaily againft a {harper who has fuch powerful protectors ( the marquis will make it appear, by your receipts,, that he reftored to you the very individual jewels that you had entrufted him with. he will afterwards fue you for reparation of his injured honour, and you will find all the cofts, befides damages, fixed on yourfelf. in a word, the refult of their opinion came only to this, that my mis fortune was entirely without remedy. mean time i was obliged upon the nail to rcimburfe llie forty five thoufand livres which i had re ceived ; after which the jeweller and his atten .'endants went their ways, and left me a prey to the moft forrowful reflections. i was now unhappily in a fituation which 'equired me to act with the utmoft prudence : but the grief of feeing myfelf reduced to this extremity, .made me lofe all my wonted mode ration. defpair was the guide that conducted me to the marquis, when, without any refpecl to the devil hermit. 211 to fome perfons of quality that were then with him, i treated him like the worft of fcoun drels, and challenged him to fight me. my rage had indeed made me like one dif* trailed, and the marquis very calmly pretended to confider me in that character, and to difre gard all my threats* as he knew however all the tricks of the law, and had witnefles of my infults, the villain thought proper to prevent my fuing him, and begun a profecution againft me for injury done to his honour. such a flagrant piece of impudence, made me lofe the little remainder of my fenfes. thejuftice of my caufe feemed to me fo vifible, that i was refolved to pufh the affair with all imaginable vigour : and in order to be able to do this, i determined that moment to difpofe of all my plate, which i did even to the very ring i had on my finger. but the bufinefs became fb in tricate, that the money i made of thefe, did but a very little advance it. i had even the mortification to hear that the caufe went fo much againft me, as to put my poor carcafe in no fmall danger. the dread of being ar refted at laft opened my eyes ; i faw the ne ceflity of fubmitting to my ill fortune, and came to the refolution to difcharge all my fervants, and fell my equipage. this was the final temporary remedy of my prefent extre mity, and what threw me down at once from a man of rank and figure, to the condition of a private poor fellow, all 212 the devil hermit. all .my ftock did not amount to above a thoufand crowns, and i was more than two thoufand in debt. my creditors, informed of my fituation, dunned me inceflantly. my friends all forfook me ; and my fervants, who had certainly had one of the kindeft of matters, were the firft to publifh what they knew of my w retched nefs. my relations themfelves, who, dazzled with the luftre of my fplendid ap pearance, had offered up their incenfe to my very faults, were my moft open and avowed enemies. in this extremity, i foon perceived that i had no remedy left but that of flying the country, and i was not long in refolving to quit a p'ace, where i had nothing before me but the moft melancholy profpecls. chap vi. the evening before his departure the author has a vifion, which obliges him to go the next day to the palace of luxembourg. his rencounter with ast a roth there :. the federal conventions they have toge ther, and their concerting a new ramble. t ike thofe who have no other guide but *-* their own inclinations, which they blindly purfue, i did not begin to reflect on all the ir jegularities of my conduce, till i was no lon ger. rbe devil hermit. 213 ger able to reform them. dear felf-love would not permit me to lay all the blame of them on my own individual, and i bore very heavily on the infidelity of ast a roth, and his breach of thofe promifes i fo much relied on. as little likelihood as i had of feeing him a gain, i could net prevail on myfelf to banim his idea from my mind, and to forget a friend by whofe afliftancc i had fupported myfelf ma ny years. my only confolation was to feed my fancy with the hopes of his return, and i invoked him every day with the fame confi dence that a spaniard fupplicates fome good laint to be propitious to him in his amours. i was juft upon the point of taking my leave of paris, when, agitated by fuch thoughts as thefe, a gentle {lumber at once took pofleffion of my fenfes. my heated imagination pre fcnted ast a roth to ray tight, under the form that he wore when he took his leave of me. methought we were walking together in the luxembourg garden, and that he heaped on me more riches than i had fquandered away during his abfence. but this felicity, to my great difappointment, was of (hort duration,; all my golden joys vanifhed with my fleep. this flattering dream however had made fo much impreffion on my mind, that i put off my de parture for a few hours, in order to vifit the place awake which had given me fo much plea fure in my fleep. in mort, this imprefllon, was of the fame kind with thofe which your emhufiafts call 214 we devil hermit, call irrefiftable : i have therefore relied much on fuch fort of vifions ever fince. scarce was 1 arrive'd at the luxembourg gar den, hut i fled to the fpot which was ftill prefent to my imagination. there i perceived a little ill-fhaped man, who faluted me with a fmile. surprifed at his complaifance, i went up to him, and defired to be informed if he had any knowledge of me. my name, which he had at his tongue's end, at the fame time in forming me that he had feen me in italy, re doubled my aftoniftiment : but what appeared to me yet more incomprehenfible, was, that in a moment he gave me fuch a detail of a great number of anecdotes relating to my life, that i could not queftion the reality of his pretended acquaintance with me. i could not reflect, however, on my having feen him in any place, snd he diverted'himfelf along time before he made himfelf known. in mort, it was no other than ast a rot h himfelf, who, in one of his diabolical whims, had chofen the very ugglieft body upon the face of the earth. do not reproach me, cheva lier, faid he, after he had declared who he was : the time of my abfence has been longer than i intended ; but you did me juftice in believing, when i did not appear to your evocations, that i was hindered by fome fuperior order. be fides, i could be of no fervice to you againft the marquis da moi si, who is protected by one of the greateft princes of our empire. but comfort yourfelf in refpeft of the lofs he has miuls the devil hermit. 21$ made you fuftain, and continue at paris to be a fpectator of the fudden reverfe of his fortune. in a word, you will foon fee him lock'd up in a jail, from which he {hall efcape only to become a fugitive in a foreign country. does your devilfhip banter me? faid i to the quondam hermit. how does what you fay hang together ? the marquis is protected by a demon of the firft order, and yet will fink under the weight of his adverfe fortune. indeed chevalier, anfwered he, both the one and the other are literally true. you mtrft know then that the marquis's protector has fomething elfe to do than to watch for ever o ver one man. it is his way to engage himfelf on ly for a limited time. the client that has got him in his intereft, muft take care to keep him by his own good conduct : for this prince is very much like thofe of your hemifphere. when he knows a fubjedt proper for our em pire, he clofcly befets him. and ufes every itratagem to win him over ; but when he has once got hold of him, the man's whole bufinefs is done ; the demon abandons him, and goes in fearch of fome other prey. such will be the jot of the marquis da moist, who owes his wealth and advancement to the faid prince. in capable of living within bounds, the moment he is left to his own conduit, he (hall run in, debt.and commit fo many {harping tricks as fhall deprive him of the many powerful friends that now fuppcrt him. you will fee him then act la character in another place, very different from that brilliant one which he has lately fuf fained, jf 2 1 6 7/;<? devil hermit. if that be the cafe, faid i, i fhall have the fatisfa&ion of feeing him as wretched as myfelf, with only this difference, that he is pofteffed of talents which i want, and has the art of ex changing counterfeit jewels for real ones. what then, cried he, do you no longer number me among your friends, that you think your felf in fuch a miferable fituation i satisfy your felf, chevalier, that i am a devil of ftril honour, and incapable of being worfe than my word. have not i promifed to aflift you in all your dfiftculties i but youi honour, faid i, had forgot me for fome time ; or at leaft, if you did not abandon me voluntarily, the power that detained you elfewhere, left me in the neceility of making my ov/n way out of my late tribula tion, without your affiftance. you ought to confider, faid astaroth, that one can enter into no engagement beyond one's power ; nor can one be refponfible for crofs accidents that may now and then happen. when i left you juft without paris, my defign was only to fupport the intereft of an enterprif ing young lord, who has put himfelf under my protection. but fcarce had i done with him, before the rank i then held obliged me to pay my attendance at the ^conclave, which nowr makes fo much noife. thanks to my genius, i have fo embarraited the minds of my collegues > that i believe they will ncteafily agree in elect ing a perfon to prefide over the church. qur power, to fpeak the truth, docs not extend fo far as to flop the courfe of fate ; but it is great enough the devil he rmft. 2 1 7 enough to difturb all human affairs, and i have juftnow made ufe of my right in a manner that will open a great many eyes. upon my fmce rity, my dear chevalier, i could have wifhed you had been my companion : you would have beheld a conclave of the moft humorous ortho doxy. there would have been no occafion to give you an expofition of what they were about : you muft have underftood at once, that all the members could be animated by no other fpirits but thofe of my fpecies. at prefent, while things arejuft in the fituation that i would wifh to have them, i have an opportunity to with draw in order to ferve you, well knowing the great need you have of my affiftance. i am very much obliged to your eminence, good lord ast a roth. the fight of you has difpelled all my uneaflnefs, and provided you never abandon me again, i am perfuaded that every thing will go well. but may i be fo bold as to ask you a (hort queftion ? how could your eminence prevail on yourfelf to quit a body of fuch high rank, and fubmit to take on you the miferable form you now appear in ? thefe are reafons of ftatc, faid he, that i will give you an account of another time. my bu fmefs was to withdraw from the enquiries of my fuperiours. as they knew me to be proudly inclined, i imagined they would never think of fearching for me in fuch a body as'this. de formed however as i am, you ought not to have a bit the worfe opinion of me. tell me u only 2i8 the devil hermit. only what you would wifh to be, and i will give you proof that i am always your .friend. { l-f the different fituations of life were in the choice of mankind, i anfwered, i fhould be glad to be reftored to that which i was lately in ; or if it was more brilliant, fo much the better. plague on your fine tafte, cried astaroth ; do you think me maftcr of all the riches in the univerfe? i beg of you to be a little more mc deft, and have fame regard to the pockets of your friends. you mould confider that one who demands more than can be given him, may be fure of obtaining nothing. very true, anfwe red i i but i ask for no more than the means of jriumphing for a fhort time,over thofe who have turned their backs on me during my misfortunes : ivhen this is done we will leave paris, and make -what figure you plcafe in another place. your propofal is very reafonable, reply'd astaroth, and fuits my humour : this very evening you {hall go to the princefs d'e**'s, and as i know a little more of play than even the bankers themfelves, you may depend upon bringing off a fum fufficient to content your wiraes. i have along while owed thofe gentle men fuch.a caft of my skill. they have made fo many dupes, that i cannot but think it equi table that they fhould be, for once, made fo ..themfelves. bctides^ we are in a country where it is the eftablifhed cuftom for the greateft (harper to trick the reft. this city, in fat is the dtvil hermit. 19 rs the chief academy of the beft fubjecls of our empire. turn your head a little on the right fide, added the metamorphofed hermit, and obferve thofe two perfons whp are talking warmly together. that large lubbard, with a buttery phiz, is a provencial : his name is da mat, r.nd all his bufmefs is to look out for novices in the art of gaming. wherever he goes, he fets up for fale both his wife and jus religion : but as neither of them 1*3 of any great value, he does not difdain to be the mercury of thofe who are willing to employ him. his capacity, though pretty extenfive in the art of intrigues, is yet nothing in comparifon of that of the young man who is with him. their friendmip began in holland. obferve with what heat they talk together. the fubjecl: of their converfation is a certain mantua-maker^ who has heaped tog. ther a great deal of riches ^ and whom they are refolved to have the pick ing of. the meafures they take are in fallible : the poor girl will at once lofe both her honour and her fortune, after which death will foon fend her into our dominions. but how is itpoflible, cried i, that a young woman fhould be fo weak as not to diftruft a phyfiognomy fo fufpiciousas that of ourproven cial ? it will not be he, anfweredast a roth, that {hall do the bufinck; all his prefent em pldyment is to go in queft of new game. .his wifeaffifts him with a great deal of art j and the young man, who takes the reft on himfelf, will perform his part with wonderful addrefs. u 2 his 220 tfo devil hermit. his deceitful countenance, his infmuating air, his enchanting prattle, make him fure of his prey. indeed he very felilom fails of fuccefs. his trains fometimcs are fo well laid, that i fhould not blufh to own myfelf the author of them even in hell. but very lately he found the fecret of getting into the confidence of a no bleman of geneva, whom he ruined with fo much cunning, that the poor gentleman, afham cd of �hat had patted, thought it his beft way to kave paris without giving notice of it even to his fervants. the affair happened in this manner. the nobleman we fpeak of, whofe name is the baron de pl ant amour, is a very rich and amiable young fellow. he came to vifit this city, and fpent his time in admiring all the rarieties worthy the curiofity of a man of pleafure. as he quartered in one of the meft creditable inns, where nobody ufually came but perfons who were unfufpecled, he was not long in getting a great number of acquain tance. among others, he entered into a fr,rict frendfhip with a rich merchant of languedoc, who was in high credit with the bankers of pa ris, and very well known in this inn, where he had lodged feveral times. this merchant, tv a very open and engag ing behaviour, added a thcufand valuable quali ties, which made his company fought after. as he had travelled overall europe, and been feveral times in holland, fortune had thrown him, on different occaiions, into the converfa tion *fbe devi! hermit* 221 tfon of the young man, whom you fee difcour fi-ng with da mat. api, that is the fellow^ name, was ever ready to th'ruft himfeli for wards, and took the fir ft opportunity to meet our merchant abroad. tho' he was in company with the baron de p l a nt a m o u r , and many other gentlemen, our young adventurer, who has a very happy memory, tingled him out by* name, remembred. he had feen him at his fa ther's houfe, and faluted him wilh all the im pudence imaginable. when, he mentioned his own name, the merchant, who knew nothing of his wicked life, nor the bad circumstances his father was in, received. him with great po litenefs. api never lets flip fo favourable aa opportunity : he perceived the neceftlty of paf fing now for a man of importance, act! toki the merchant that he was private feeretary to a minifter of ftate : then, by coldly inviting him and the baron his friend to come ar.d fup -with. him, he got himfelf engaged to go and fperick. the evening with them.. the genevan and languedoc'an were both of a fprightly temper. 7 ?.ridno enemies to gauontry. api, more fubtue titan many fubjects cf oi:r empire, .took them by their foilsk, bwaft:d that he enjoyed the favour, of a certain^ cuchefs, and offered to make them know-ntoheiv e very night, fays he, .towards-twelve .o'clock, i go to the garden of the palace royal; . as they ihut the gates about that time, when all the company is gone out, the duchefs, who has -a private. daoi from, her houfe into this gart'em, u 3 222 the devi! hermit. always putt&ually comes there, with one of her fitters and a chambermaid, who are both yet more beautiful than hsrfelf, but pafs away their moments very poorly together, while madam snd i are in the moft exquifite tranfports. ei ther i am very much miftaken, continued he, or i can dare aflure you that they will receive with joy the proportion that i {hall make them, . of helping each of them to an amiable lover, and a lover by fo much the more fecret as he will not know them, for fo you muft pretend not to do.this night, with your confent, i will fet the negociation on foot, and if it fucceeds,as i make no queftion it will, you may accompany me thither to-morrow night. the propofed adventure was too fingular, not to excite the curiofity of our itrangers. they declared their acceptance of it ; and the next night young ap ; i did not fail to wait on them, and let them know that they fhould ve ry foon be as happy as himfelf. imagine what preparations the amorous baron, and his friend the merchant, made for this meeting. all that art could furnifh them with, to fet off their perfons to advantage, was employed in their drefs. the baron, as the richeft of the three, and the beft flocked with jewels, made the moft brilliant figure. at the appointed hour they all came together to the place of rendezvous ; the gates were ihut, and three ladies in rich difhabille immediately appeared. ' api's apple' was the watch word, which was no fooner given by one of thefe nocturnal beauties, but our three tztf devil hermit. 223 three cavaliers came up to them. every cou ple foon grew familiar ; one to one was an equal match, and they pa fled away fome hours with the utmoft fatisfa&ion. at laft, when day be gan to peep, the ladies thought it time to retire, and the hopes of renewing their pleafures the following night, feemed to leave a delightful impreflion on all the parties. the galants were led filently out of the palace, and about three o'clock in the morning they found themfelves in the rue de richelieu. as young api could not, at this unleafona ble hour, go home to the minifter's whofe fe cretary he called himfelf, he prcpofed to the ba ron and his friend to fpend a few hours at a cof fee-houfe he knew, and where he was certain, he told them, of getting in when he pleafed. they refufed to comply, and invited him, on the contrary, to give them his company to their inn, where their fervants fat up for them. api, who had projected his whole plan, made fome objections to retard the time, and kept them {landing in the ftreet, to relate leve ral particulars of his amours with his duchefs. they were at laft juft upon the point of parting, when three well dreffed gentlemen came along the fame ftreet, whom the young impoftor pre tended to know, and faid one was a count, the other a marquis, and the third a knight. he added to thefe titles, the names of families well known, in order to prevent all fufpicion. by heavens ! cried he, with a foppifh tone, i rauft enquire where the/e i?.ke? have been. as 224 ttc devil hermit. as theycame nearer, he> advanced towards them, and addreffing himfelf direclly to him that made the beft. appearance, marquis, fays he, may cne make bold to ask you what gallant adventure-has made you ramble the ftreets at this time of night ? this queftion was followed by many others, till the three accidental gen tlemen joined in company with api and his two friends. it was then quickly known that the chevalier dwelt juft by, and a propofition was made to go to his houfe, in. order to give one another an account how they had all patted their time. it was in vain for the baron and the merchant to oppofe the motion : they had to do with people. who had too. much intereft in fecuring. their company, and. they were o bliged to fuhmit to their importunity. it was happy for the languedocian, that he did not want for prefence of mind. under pretence of flopping a moment at the corner of aftreet, he found means to get off, and retire to his lodging, where .he informed the baron'-s domefticks that he had left their matter in good company. the honeft merchant was very fin cere in what he faid : far t from fufpe&ing the danger his friend was in, his only reafon for leaving him, was to write fome letters which his bufmefs made neceflary. the baron, for his part, who knew the merchant to be a man of fmcerity, and was acquainted .with his af fairs, was lefc furprixed at his.quitting the com pany, than at the manner in which he got a way. perfwaded that he was in the hands of gentle*.. the devil hermit. 22$ fentlemen, he thought it his duty to excufe his riend, and alledge in his favour all the reafons that he thought the moft plaufible, to reconcile them to his defer ti on. though the {harpers were really mortified at having loft a part of their prey, they yet pretended to take the thing well, and in a man ner fuitable to the characters they reprefented. the chevalier, to fupport the honours of his houfe, ordered a cold collation to be fet before his guefts, and called for flasks of wine in abun dance ; in emptying of which they all heartily joined, and no man more fo than our baron. after they had eat and drank their fill, cards were brought on the table, and one f the company propofed a game at lanfquenet. the baron de plantamou-r, whofe head was warmed with the wine, came into the propo fition without the leaft demur. in a word, the artifice of the four impoftors, aflifted by their good fortune, made him lofe, in lefs than two hours, all his ready money and all his jewels, without excepting even his watch, his cane, his fword, and a gold tweezer that had his amis engraved on it. our too credulous baron coming to himfelf, after this great lofs, could perceive eafily that there was fomething more than good luck in the manner of play which the pretended noblemen he was with >:ad made ufe of. but all the mifchief was cone, and his fword, which he knew well how to ufe, was no longer in his power, jn vain did he offer to redeem that, and 226 the devil hermit. and his other principal moveables, by a note of hand, payable in twenty four hours y they on ly laughed at him, and obliged him to be gone, unlefs he would run a greater rifque than that of being dripped of his all. enraged and a fhamcd to fee himfelf the dupe of fuch defpl cable fcoundrels, he had not refolution to take the neceflary means of bringing them to fignal and exemplary juftice. this experiment h;:d made him wife, and he chofe rather to fupprefs his choler, than to communicate it to perfons who perhaps would have made it publick, and have taken the liberty moreover of diverting felves at his expence. he refolved to fet out the fame day for geneva, his native place, and with that view applied himfelf to a friend he could confide in, who furniflied him with what money he wanted for his journey, and took on himfelf the charge of fending after him his baggage and his fervarrts. yet all thefe precautions were not fufficient to prevent the publication of this affair. the merchant, who thought his honour in fome meafure concerned in it, took it in hand, and profecuted it vigo roufly : but the officers of juftice pay no regard to his remonftrances, except when he delivers them with money in hand. as he has no proof againft api and his accomplices, and founds his prosecution merely on report, the only effect of his complaints will be, to make bis purfe fomewhat the lighter. in the mean time ap i, hardened as he is, dreads the. confequence of this affair, he is con certing -devil hermit. 227 ing with dam at in what manner to deceive the rich mantua-maker i mentioned, in order to make off with her fpoils. they will bring the matter to bear before a week is at an end, and the fellow now before us takes it for grant ed, that he fhall get a hundred piftoles clear by this fpecimen of his art. how it will pleafeme, cried i,if the ill-look ing rafcal fhould at laft fall fhort of his recko ning ! as to that matter, replied astaroth, you may make your felf as merry with him as you pleafe beforehand ; for the poor dog will not get a halfpenny by the bargain. api, who has ten times the cunning of him, will lull him to fleep with his different fchemes, while he carries off the girl, and all her effects, without letting him know a word of the matter. so much the better, faid i. api then will play the part of a fox, and da mat that of the cat, who with her paw takes the chefnuts out of the fire. the rogue deferves well to be bit of a falary, which is the wages of fo much fin: but i pity the poor girl without knowing her, and, if it was in my power, i would glad ly avert from her the misfortunes that hang over her head. fie upon you, chevalier ! an/wered asta* roth : you muft divert yourfelf of all fuch. fentiments of humanity. take my word for it, fir, you muft have a very good (lock of compafiion, to exert it in behalf of all who feem to deferve it. look a little before you -there, and note well that company of citizens. obferve 228 ihe devil hermit. obferve the tall man that walks in the midft of them, with a black coat and perruque. that is an ecclefiaftic metamorphofed to a bookfeller, who keeps the famous (hop over-againft stbfi n e d i c t's cloifter. if i was to give you an account of all the families he has ruined, by pre tending to ferve them, i fhould furnifh matter for a volume in folio. tho' he has taken in a great many of his brethren in foreign countries, by felling them old books under new titles, he has never got near fo much by bookfellingas by lending on mortgages or pledges at an exorbi tant intereft. all this while you would take him, by his looks and convention, to be one of the moft formidable enemies of our empire. no man, in outward appearance, has moreftricl: honour: yet no man knows better the art of picking your feathers, without permitting you to make any noife. by this means he has amafled very large fums, a part of which only brings him an income of thirty thoufand livres per annum. as he is very covetous, and would never marry for fear of charges, all his wealth will defcend to nephews, who wait impatiently for his deceafe, in order to make another ufe of it than he has done. carry your eye a little farther, and obferve that large company, compofed of men and wo men, and fome who look neither like the one nor the other. that abbe, whole hairs begin to grow grev, is well received in the beft houfes in paris, tho' he is publickly known for the father of two children, which his own fitter has taken the the devil hermit. 229 the pains to bring into the world. the poor girl, who is run mad with remorfe of con fcience, is kept clofely confined, and paffes away her time in the moft deplorable manner ; while the good brother, by way of confolation for his lofs, regales himfelf with that little brown bit that you fee there by his fide. that other abbe, who is fo fprucely pow dered out, and whofe gallantries are 'fhocking to all that hear of them, is a prieft without religion, who has tried every trade he knew of for forty years paft, which is the time he hm been in the world. like a true cameleon, he firft quitted the band for the fword and the cockade, and then abandoned that for the habit of a benedicline, and the religion of a monk. he vifitedteveral countries, and behaved in them all with fo little prudence, that, if it had not been for the help of my brethren, he had died ignominioufly on a gallows. having 'efcaped a public execution, he returned into france, �here the protection of an illuftrious princefe, who values merit wherever {he fees it, at pre fent fecures him from all profecutions. he has now refumed his religion, found the fecret of changing his order, of battening at his ea(c, and even of making his company coveted by per fons of quality; tho' not one of them "is ig norant that he lives with a creature, who has 'been the outcaft of a -number of worthlefs fel lows of his own profeflion. i know the man well ast a roth, anfwe ted i, of -whom you are fpeaking. he has ac x quired 2 jo. ybe devil hermit. quired fome reputation by his well-digcrt and very amufmg writings. his faults are de tefted, i acknowledge it; but his converfation is admired, for the fake of which all his little irregularities are eafily over-looked. for my part, i cannot but think he has fuftered fuffi ciently for what he has done, and that the perfon who preferved him from a halter, would have rendered him a much more confide rable fervice, if he could have fecured him from ever falling again in the fame unhappy and fcandalous manner. it ought by no means to furprife you that he could not, replied my quondam hermit. tho 1 our power be pretty extenfive, yet it is ot fufficient to make us the matters of future events. ever fince the world has exifted, there has reigned a perpetual war between you men, .and the people of iny fpecies, in which, tho* we are moft commonly victors, yet are we fometimes vanquifhed. if we could forefee every thing, chevalier, you mortals would all wifh to be in our condition j whereas there is nothing that men now fo much dread, as a rranfition from their ftate to ours, tho' indeed they all a& in fuch a manner, as that very few of them go any other way. but who, faid i, is that effeminate young fellow with reddifh hair, that feems to carry himfelf fo haughtily ? that, anfwers asta roth, is don i. b. a. p. vasqjues de hermlllosas,efq; lord of herbencour, &c. hold! cried 1^ what a number of names and titles devil hermit. 13 1 titles you are giving indeed. without queftion he is a true-born spaniard. verily, chevalier, rot he : but it was in spain, where he lived miferahly for many years, that he aflumed thefe titles, fpaniolized his name, put the don be fore it, and took on him the lofty air fo natu ral to that nation : paris however is the place of his nativity. he is the fon of a woman who had wit enough to procure him feveral fathers. befides the commonly reputed one, two gen tlemen of fortune took that honour on them felves. the good lady knew how to make the moft of their foolifh credulity, and found means to draw from each of them pretty large fums, part of which fhe fpent herfelf, and the remainder the fon is lately come into pofleflion ofj his mother dying very a propos to raife hirn. from the loweft degree of poverty. as he has been ufed to live by his wits, and is now re folved never to pay one of his debts, his de fign.is to travel in the character of a gentleman : but i give him only two years to make a figure in, after which he will plunge again into great er mifery than that which furrounded him be fore his mother's death; do you fee that dapper ecclcfiaftic, who is going in at the carmelite's gate ? is it not, fa^d j, the celebrated preceptor general of the publick ? the very man, anfwered my guide ; the very individual abbe depre, the moft intriguing of mankind, and who furpafles all for a fubtle imagination. he has made fo many dupes in his life, that he now paifes for x 2 a tfa dtvil hermit: a magician among thofe of his own habit. it is a thoufand pities he is not always fuccefsful. some time ago he failed in a very mafterly at tempt, thro' the addrefs of a famous merchant, who proved more cunning than he. this ce lebrated author,, in lave with certain notes that he had made upon fome antient writer, and more in love, with a coarfe fatirical dedica tion that he had prefixed to them, addrefled to the prince of modern, poets under a borrowed name, found the art of getting his work fo well off to a very rich, man, that he obtained from him a letter of credit into holland, whither l.e.waa going, to receive fuch money there as he fhculd want for the beautifi impreflion of this extraordinary book.. he was at firft very well received there, till the merchant, to whom he v/as recommended, having difcovered that the abbe's intention was to appropriate to him felf the whole etlition, and fend it privately a broad for his own advantage, he took fuch ef fectual meafures, and put them in execution with fo much prudence, that monfieur found hirrifelf grievoufly out in his reckoning, at the very moment when he. thought his ftratagem infallible; and thus taught mankind, at his own expence, how dangerous it is to attempt the circumvention of thofe who were more fub tle than themfelves. he has fmce indeed pretty well revenged his ill fuccefs upon a great number of others ; but as all his tricks would take up too much time in the relation, i chufe rather to tuui devil hermit. 233 torn to fome of thofe other perfons who fland a round us. obferve that fine gentleman there, who ap pears fo richly drafted. he is a ridingmafter of great reputation, whofe generous foul in clines him to fpend another's fortune as if it was his own. the gaiety which you fee ex panded all over his face, proceeds from his hav ing lately made a conveyance of certain effects he was never poflfefled of, by which means he has got a difcharge for above a hundred thoufand crowns. his wife, who is very rich, but would never pay any of his debts, has juft now fet him upon his legs. now he is in better circumftances than ever, he begins again to run in debt, as knowing he has nothing more to do, when he comes to a frefh pinch, but to de clare himfelf a fecond timeinfolvent, and make a new ceflion of his goods. that lady, all be plaiftered with red and white, to whom he ad vances with fo much refper., is a woman of pteafure, who will this night furrender to his defires for a bill -of two thoufand crowns. the tall man whom you fee at a little diftance from them, and who feems fo very poor, had never been in that miferable condition, had not fortune too rapidly favoured him. drunk with the overflowing cup, which he has thought could never be exhausted, he gave himfelf up to a courfe of luxury which has reduced him to die neceflity of asking alms of thofe who pafe by. amongft the many numbers who had felt the good effects of his affluence, fcarce does x 3 he 234 the devil hermit. h: find one that now extends to him the cha ritable hand. thoy fly him like a man infe&ed with fome contagious diftemper ; and good rea fon have they for fo doing, beeaufe in a nation where all men's thoughts are employed about pleafures and good living,, there is no vice fo horrible . as mifery, there is no evil fo much to be dreaded as want of money. astaroth now fcemed to ogle a great great many other perfons, with whofe adven tures doubtlefs he was going to entertain me, when i -fuddervly interrupted him-, to put him in mind of his promife. the evening, fays p, comes on apace : i am in great want of feme* thing to eat, and^no* lefs impatient to be at the hotel d'e**. notwithftanding my importu nity, he was very loth to comply with my re tjueft. what a pity is it, fays he, to leave this charming walk, juft at the time when it begins to be full of company ! what an adven ture could i now relate to you, would you but lend me your ear a little! every thing round us is exquifite and^ charmwig! look at that lady all covered with diamonds, who paf fcs along by us : mould not you take her for a p; incefs of the-blood royal ? but alas ! (he is no thing lefs than -that. her husband, from a pe riwig maker, is become a farmer of theexcife, which has made him fo immenfcly rich, that he jiow vies with the firft men in the kingdom. the gentleman at her left, is a perfon of high birth, but very fmall fortune. all his aim is to mend the latter, by marrying thatyoung lady devil hermit. lady which is on the other fide, and who is the daughter and only heirefs of the farmer's wife. this affair has been a long while in his head, and he perfe&ly doats with ruminat ing on it. madam, who has a refpect for him, takes the utmoft pains to difcover the caufeof his melancholy : but the cavalier has not yet trufted the fecret with any body, except mifs herfelf, (who is very prudent,) and one chambermaid, whom he bribes beyond his ability, to engage her to keep alive the facred fire of love in the heart of her miftrefs. mifs, who has not a bit lefe inclination than her mother had at the fame age, is refolvedto tread exactly in herfteps. in a very little while her lover fhall carry her off, at the mother's expence, and agreeable to her advice, who (hall furniflb her with what mo ney me wants, without knowing it is to be employed againft herfelf. but the young, gen tleman's fidelity will be of fhort duration : a clandeftine marriige -will utterly ruinhinvand all who have any hand in it. this affair will even become fo important, , that all europe {hall take part in it. let us now turn, .and examine that pretty young lady who walks towards the parterre, in company with a knight of malta. she is a fe male dutch merchant, immenfcly richa di minutive little fellow, without a farthing of money, found the fecret ot charming her, with verfes that he bought upon truft ; but not with out a promife of paying generoufly for them, m cafe he fucceeded, his marriage having. been celebrated, we devil hermit. celebrated, the mean-fpirited rafcal, dazzled with his wealth, forgot the poet who was au thor both of his verfes and his fortune : but the latter, whom no man could ever injuie without reeling his revenge, found means to decoy his debtor to his own houfe, and there, with a knife held to his throat, extorted from him a bond for the fum he demanded. the new-married man, who had been influenced by fear only, was no (boner out of danger, than he commenced a fuit, and had the poet arrefted. unhappily he was in a country where nothing could be done without proof: the plaintiff could produce none, and the defendant fet forth his caufe with fo much prefence of mind, that he came off with triumph, and got of the merchant very large expences, befides fuch confiderable damages, that he was obliged to break, and fly the country. the young lady, who repented her having taken a husband of fo little prudence, ufed him with the con tempt he deferved, and fupplies her lofs of him with the company of that gentleman who is by her, and whom fhe amply furnimes with all the means of luxury. as the husband too fpends very freely, their ftcck vibly diminifties eve rv day: fo that if death does not prevent them in time, they will be reduced to the fame con dition they were once in. but, good lord astaroth, faid i again, i am in a wcrfe fituation than you imagine ; i am really fo very weak, that i doubt i have not ftrcngth enough to go home to my ffo devil hermit. 237 own lodging, well, anfwered he, let us go into the firft public-houfe we come to then, and never mind the expence we ran to, becaufe we know how to make it up by and-bye. he had no fooner done fpeaking, but we went towards the gate, juft by which we entered into a famous houfe of entertainment, where we called about us like perfons of great importance. i had lived fo very indifferently for fome time pafs'd, and all they brought up on table was fo well drefled, that 1 could not fatisfy my appetite. ast a roth ftared at me with admiration. what a pity is itj faid he, that we are obliged to leave this place ! what can we do, anfwered i ? when one has no cer tain income, one muft refolve to get a living in any way whatfoever. let us go then, fince fortune calls us, and neglect nothing that may render her propitious to ourwiflies. this fhort heroic fally was occafioned by the exquifite meats and rich wines, which we had not fpared in the leaft. as we had hired a coach for all the evening, we, were very foon at the hotel d'e**, where ast a roth played with fo much fuccefs, that when the gamefters broke up, we found ourfelves near a hundred louis's in pocket. this was a very confiderable fum for a. trial ; and the bankers, who thought they knew what they were about, feemed fur prized at it. perhaps they fufpedted my faith ful ast a roth to be a /dealer in the black art : but, however that might be, they earneftly pegged of him never to fet foot within -their li berties 23 8 *fbe devil hermit. berties again, and marked him out to the swifs, who kept the door, as a very dangerous member to their academy. when we came to my lodg* ings, i was going to enter into difcourfe with him about what had pafled ; but the demon flopped me, what, faid he, do you think 1 have nothing elfe to do every night, but to employ myfelf in this manner ? you are ignorant, che valier, what a dangerous place that gaming ta ble is to me, and how i have expofed my felf to ferve you. above three parts in four of the men who compofe that numerous aflembly, are inhabited by fpirits of my fpecies. i was in the utmoft danger of being difcovered, and there fore i pumed my fortune all at once. have you not enough to fatisfy your prefent defires ? is there not left in your power another confide fable refource? why do you notdifpofe of your jewels? of my jewels? cried i, with furprife. did not i inform you in what manner i was tricked of them by the marquis damoisi ? that what i now have in my hands are unfale able ? and what dangers i was expofed to after having fold them to a jeweller ? all that fignifies nothing, replied my quondam hermit. it was your own fault that you ran any hazard at all. if you had quitted the city in time, the jew eller muft have put up with his lofs, and you would have had no room to complain of the marquis. but a propos to that (harper ; do you know that he was arrefted yefterday for debt, while we were walking together ?' the prin ccfs *ihe devil hermit. cefs, who found in him at firft a plcafing lover, has lately expelled him her bank, and will no longer bear the mention of his name. it is lucky for him that his chymiftry, which is the fcience he profefles, has acquired him the protection of the chief prince of our empire. it will be thro* this refource that he mall regain his liberty ; but fo far from being able to fupport i the figure he has hitherto made, he (hall leave his prifon only to become a fugitive among the .antient batavians, where his tricks being un known, his chymical skill may get him a living. i intend to conduct you, into the fame country, this we are in not being fufficiently fafe for my poor particular, becaufe it is pefte red with more devils errant than any other land in the univerfe. chap. vii. idea of fbt author. by the advice of as t a r. o t h be deceives his counterfeit friend, fells his falfe jewels for good ones^ and fets out for holland. a de fcrtytion of that country. vt y ftrong paffion for travel has always * * made me receive with a fort of tranfport every proportion that had any tendency that way. ast a roth fpoke to me of a coun try devtl uenmt. try which i knew by reading only ; i was overjoyed to think of vifiting it myfelf, and only asked of him a few days delay to fatisfy my vanity. though my ftock was nt very confiderable, and amounted to no more than ten thoufand franks, i yet ventured to hire a very fplendid equipage, and took into my ferviceas ma ny domefticks as if i had had a hundred thoufand franks per annum to expend. tins pompous appearance very foon produced the defired ef fect i wiftied for ; my friends, that had been cclipfed to me, became vifible again in an in ftant, and i was propofing to give myfelf the fatisfaction of reproaching their ingratitude and inconftancy, when ast a roth prevented me by a piece of advice worthy of himfclf. all thefe fellows that make their court to vou, faid he, are no better than fo many down right thieves, whofe only aim is at your poc ket. you have experienced how much you have been hurt by your generoftty towards them, and therefore ought now to look upon them as your debtors, and to find -means to pay yourfelf with intereft all the long fums they -owe -you. it is a very common thing among them to of fer to thofe they imagine have no need of it : you muft pretend therefore that you have a mind to try them, and borrow of them all you can, without any other engagement than your word for repaying them again in a few days. astaroth had too much dominion over my mind not to anakc all -the impreflion there he the devil hermit. 241 he defired : i came readily into his project, and promifed to put it in execution ; and as i had him continually for my counfellor, i acquitted myfelf with fo much addrefs, that in lefs than a month i redoubled my capital, without includ ing my expences, which ran very high. this ftep being taken; i made no fcruple of cheating an honeft ufurer, who lent me twenty five thoufand livres upon my counterfeit jewels, which he took for real ones. we then fet out immediately for batavia, without lofing any more time,and were both extremely well fatisfied ; i, that i had duped my relations, and all my friends and ac quaintance,with fo much art jand ast a ro t h for the good fuccefs of his diabolical counfels. to prevent my being difcovered by any one, i had the precaution to difcharge all my do mefticks. my unfrocked hermit would not even permit me to take any others, offering to wait upon me himfelf on the road', and in all the towns where we made any flay. in this condition we advanced by large ftages, and the fecond day we alighted on a high 'tower, on the borders of the country we were bound for. the prudent as t a r o t h had furnifhed himfelf with an excellent te'lefcope, which he ftole fomewhere unknown to me. here, fays he, putting it into my hand, is fomewhat to amufe you with. take a view of all the places that are within the reach of this glafs, and give me your opinion of them. i perceive, faid t, after having looked through it, a very fine level cqyntrv, all the lands of which are culti y rated 242 the devi! hermit. vated with a care that teems to produce an abundance. so many beautiful and large cities, �hich look as if they touched each other, the lately houfes that compofe them, the vafl and magnificent edifices with which they are adorn ed, all thefe give me the idea of a happy and benevolent people, who have enriched themfelves by labour, and v.'ho now eather in peace the fruits of all their toils. such a country, in my opinion, deferves our utmoft attention ; and i am very much inclined to make feme ftay there, before we proceed. never think of any fuch thing, replied my quondam hermitj be fatibfied with what you have already feen, �hich is all indeed worth feeing. the country is in fact what it appears, extenfive, fertile, a bounding with all things neceflary for the pre fervation of mortals, and filled with fine cities at a fmall diftance from each other ; but thefe cities, formerly fo flourifhing, are become defait, through the bad policy of thofe who have been entrufttd with the government of them. all the men of fortune, who had it in their power to make money circulate, have abandoned thefe parts, and there is now little to be feen in the country but juft the tillage of the earth. thofe who live in the cities fpend their days in luxurious indolence, which not only makes them ufelefs to fociety, but fo ve ry proud withal as to think themfelves fupenor to the reft of mankind. this fovereign con tempt which they have for all ftrangers, and very the devil hermit. 143 very high opinion of themfelves, have made all commerce with them infupportable. but turn your teilefcope towards the north, and behold a fptclacle worthy of your curiofity. i did fo, and, deceived by $he we..l:iu-;j of my fight, cried out with aftoniiliment, what do i fee there ! oh fatal defclation ! a city larger than all i have ever feen, fwallowed up by the waves ! what immenfe riches are there funk to the bottom ! flow many miferable mortals have paid dearly for their rafhnefs, in venturing to inhabit fuch a country as this ! did i not tell you, interrupted astap.oth, that i would fhow you fomething worthy of your curiodty ? but what augments the beauty of the profpect is this, that all you behold is nothing lefs real than what you imagine it to be. that city, which feems fo enormoufly large, is only a col lection of many cities that frand near each other, .and which their vicinity, through the optic glafs, makes you take for one continued feries of building. the country, by its low fi tuation, in many places lower than the furfrce of the water, looks at a diftance as if" it was drowned ; yet it is in fact very far from being fo. before night comes i will carry you into this country, and give you fome idea of the people who inhabit it. i have only one re mark to make before we proceed on our jour ney. direct your eye along the large flreet there, which faces this tower. obferve the great number of foreigners that are flattening towards the poll office. he in the middle, y 2 whofe 244 me dwil hermit. whofe garments glitter with gold, is a marquis who has lately had the addrefs to make himfelf mafter of near a million, which he is now go ing to fecure in a privileged city, very com modious for thofe whom we devils protect. by only paying a very moderate fine, a public cheat may make a figure there at the ex pence of thofe he has duped through their cre dulity. there are two of thefe privileged cities in the country we are juft ready to enter. the diverting hiftories they furnim us with are fo very numerous, that i could have where withal to entertain you with them as long as you had the patience to hear me : but there are many things to be previoufly confidered, and we have at prefent no time to lofe. my infernal guide had no fooner finifhed thefe words, but he took me up like a pack upon his fhoulders, and cleft the air with fuch velocity, that in lefs than two minutes he fat me down in a large city, which he told me was the capital of feveral provinces, now united into one community. the prodigious hurry that feemed to reign throughout this flou riming city was to me the more furprifing, as i had been taught, by the account of travellers, to look upon the natives of the whole country in no better light than the camels of afia. for fake, faid ast a roth, that error of yours j wvi are now in that little fpot of the globe, where induftry is employed to the greatefi advantage. its inhabitants, a fort of amphi bious people, are as much in their element by fea we dev:i hermit. 245 fea as by land. they regard no hazard wher? they have a profpedt of getting riches, or of improving thofe they already enjoy. every thing here is in motion ; people of the higheir, as well as of the loweft ran 1 :, are all equally ad dicted to labour: even the greateft part of the women are capable of carrying on large negotia tions. do you not perceive, in every indivi dual of both fexes, an alnioft incredible acti vity ? look at that building, on the back fide cf which is a representation of the divinity that prefides there. it is the moil frequented of all their temples ; the place �h?re they moft rc^.n hrly afiemble, and where they aifiil with the greateft devotion. there are none of your men in black to be ever feen, who receive �agestoteachpeople their duty: the divinity itfelf is their inftru&or, and th y truft their own falvation entirely in their own hands. every one ac~b according as he feels hivnfrlrin fpired. let us enter into the fancluary^ and, if pofiible,make our vvayacrcfs this innumerable multitude of devotees. they are all fo very bufy that they will take no notice of us. ob ferve in what manner they behave, juft as the 1'ove of intercft animates all their actions. no thing is capable of diverting them from this grand point. but ast a roth, cried i, met hints the seal of thefe fanaticks is like to coft me dear, unlefs you deliver me out of their hands. i' fcel myfelf elbowed on every fide, and during the moment i have been here, am almoft ! y 3 fqneezed 246 tfo devil' hermit. squeezed to death. i feem as if i was in the midft of a mob of demoniacks, and i much queftion whether a mortal can fuffer more in the place you are banifhed from. let us fly then, anfwered my guide, with all my heart ; for really i am fick of being among people who are more turbulent than myfelf. we will take a turn in the chief parts of the city, where every thing looks with a fmiling afpe<sl. obferve thofe avenues, thofe canals, thofe cu rious buildings, and that univerfal propriety of all : thefe are entirely but fo many fruits of the people's induftry. this has carried them fo far, that they may be faid to have made an in chanted country of a place that was uninhabita ble. they have even clone more, chevalier. weary of the yoke under which they lived, r.nd which grew every day more infuppor table, they found the fecret, contrary to all human probability, to (hake it off their moulders, and arofe to the higheft degree of power, by means which feemed inevitably to threaten their de flection. but the perfons who undertook, and accomplimed fuch great actions, were not the very individual men you now ice. the glory of fuch exploits is due only to a fimple race of people, a people conftant in their purpofes, with out luxury, enured to live on little, and to bear fatigues. they were the anceftors of a fmall part of thofe who now inhabit the coun try. but things are very much changed here within half a century paft. the equitable laws introduced by the government^ having drawn hi they t6e devi! hermit. 247 hither an infinite number of foreigners, luxury has likewife been brought in with them, and, thanks to our infernal fovereign, vice has now the predominancy here over virtue. not but that there are ftill many men in the country truly great ; but virtue being no longer honoured, here, any more than in moft other parts of the world, their merit mines with no luftre, and. is difficult to be difcovered. chap. viii. sequel of the preceding : comer fat ions of the author with ast a roth, concerning federal per fans, ivhom they meet by chance* fbey pafs thro* divers cities. asta roth is forced to take his fight into a mther country . t" 1 h e beauty of the place i was in, could * not for fome time fatiate my eyes. how* ever, as one grows weary by degrees of looking always on the fame objedb, ast a roth, who difcovered my fentiments, informed me that i had feen every thing, for that there was no o ther difference among the cities but in their magnitude. \vhat remains for me to give you 1 an idea, of faid he, and which will appear to you furprifing, is the indolence of thefe very people, 248 t/:e devil hermit. pie, who at firft fight appeared to you fo ac tive. one would be apt to think, by going to vifit them at 'different times, that they hud two fouls, one of which was deftgned to mo derate the turbulence of the other. you have feen the men in the place of their daily devo tions: 1st us now enter the circles of their af femblies. obferve thofe two merchants who accoft one another upon the bridge there. by the coldnefs with which they receive each other, would not you imagine that they were utter {grangers, and that this is their firft interview?" all this while they are own brothers, who love one another fincerely, and mutually pay their vifits every day. they are both invited into a circle of ladles, where they will pafs away their irkfome moments with incredible pleafure. let us follow them without being feen. we are now in the hall r where you obferve there are yet but few people. she who prefides-as miftrefs of the place, is a countrywoman of yours by birth ; but having been educated nere, ihe has acquired that infolent and formal gravity with which (he falutes all that come to her af feinbly. but look at thofe four nymphs who are now corning up the fteps. one would take them by their drefs and manner to be a<strefles. obferve how all the gentlemen range them felves around their perfons. their beauty and lofty carriage enable them every day to make new conquefts ; yet the eldefr of the four is now far advanced in her eighth luflre. the fecond follows clofely at her heels 5 and neither o the devil hermit. 249 of them all has found the fecret to fix one admi rer. their too haughty behaviour, even towards their equals, has drawn down on them a great number of enemies, who fpare no pains to expofe their faults, and fully their reputa tion. see there comes up a frefh company. re mark that beauty richly clad, whom love has reduced to a very wan completion. the gen tleman who leads her is one of her brothers, and he to whom the father has entrufted the care of her conduct. the fprightly young pul let, who enjoys an elegant tafte, has fuffered herfclf to be charmed by the eloquence of a handfome young fellow, who wants neither learning nor merit. this modim lover is very affiduous in purfuit of his miflrefs, though he pants after her wealth more than her perfon -: but the father of the fair, whofe good for tune has made him forget his original, does not think fit to approve of this match. with out compaffion he rigidly withftands the defires of his" daughter, and by his invincible obfti nacy makes her live a martyr to her pafllon; yet all his precautions cannot hinder thefe ten der lovers from holding a very ftrict correfpon dence together. there are fome good fouls who charitably lend an ear to their love, and ferve them with great zeal. they fee one a nother, they have an intercourfe by letters; and the difficulties fhe meets with, far from difcouraging the fair, do but help to heighten her flame. it is not, i muft own, quite the fame 7/v devil hermit. fame with the young man : perfar.ded that he is altogether as good as his miftrefs, and that his birth and merit make fufficient amends for his want of riches, the contemptuous carriage of his future father-in-law begins already to make him cool, and he is in doubt whether to proceed or retire. ere long he will abandon this fortune for an amiable young lady, who has more beauty, tho' lefs wealth, and v/hofe fa mily is more honourable and lefs haughty. what ! more new faces ? cried i, feeing two beauties enter of an extraordinary figure, whofe skin neither white, nor black, nor red, was of a colour that cannot be defined. do they come to ferve as foils to thofe lovely creatures they are placed by ? you are, very right, replied as t a roth : it is purely an effecl: of malice that they are placed where you fee them. they are countrymen of yours. they had for fome years lived in their own province in very indifferent circumftances, when one of their neareft relations, who had heaped toge ther a great deal of wealth under the protection of a rich uncle, had the generofity to fend for them hither, and to put them into the plight which they now appear in. like all other per fons who are deftitute of education, the change of their condition has almoft turned their brains. their behaviour is fo very haughty, that they are grown infupportable to all about them. not a foul in the world loves them, and they are admitted into fomepublick affemb'lie.s, mere ly out of regard to their relations. now the devil hermit. 251 now they bring in the hot water for the ladies, and pipes for the gentlemen this fcene deferves ycur attention. the order the ladies are ranged in round the table, is worthy to be admired, while the gentlemen ftand behind them, and blow the fmoke into their faces with a coiriic gravity. what is the meaning of this profound filence ? faid i to ast a roth : are they going to celebrate fome myftery? not in the leaft, anfwered he ; they are filent for po other reafon but becaufe they have nothing to fay. but this filence will not be of long duration. that fuperannuated beauty, who is the miftrefs of the houfe, is terribly enraged �ith her fervants, and is going to open the con verfation with moft bitter complaints ; after which every one will pity her without know ing what (he has faid. here come the cards, and the tables are ready for the players : they will be all fixed till nine o'clock at night ; fo let us retire, to avoid the irkfome task of being obliged to keep them company. have you any curiofity, faid he, as xve came cut of this place, to fee fome of the aflemblies of men ? you muft firft inform me, replied i, whether they are any better worth feeing than the aflembly we have been in ; for till then i can give you no direct anfwer. i can aflure you, faid he, that they are much worfe. you will fee nothing there, properly fpeaking, but a parcel of joint ftools, with creatures fitting on them, fome at play, others fmoaking, o thers drinking, others quarrelling together, or calumniating 252 ^he devil hermit. calumniating the abfent, or arguing without a grain of common fenfe. i know enough of thefe matters, faid i, already, not to expofe myfelf to the mortification of being an ocular witnefs of fuch ftupicihies. a walk will be much more agreeable and amufing : let us take a turn this way. i fee a fallow complexion coming towards us at a diftance, and would gladly know who it is. the penfive air of the man denotes him full of proje&s. whi ther is he running in fuch a monftrous hurry ? he is running, anfwered ast a roth, to an audtion juft by, in order to buy cheap what he will fell afterwards at an exorbitant price. that fellow would facrifice father and mother for a fmgle ducat. intriguing to the laft de gree, he knows how to make fomewhat of every thing. as he is but a bad mufician, he tries every means to make amends for this want of skill in his calling. he is become a broker, a ufurer, a {harping gamefler, and has a thou fand other different trades, aflbciated with a woman as crafty as himfelf, both their aims are directed to the fame end. he has found the fecret however to get five hundred ducats out of this woman, who has made him give her a bond for it, with which (he keeps him in awe. being thus obliged to treat her with refpet, he flavifhly fubmits to all fhe requires of him. it is not long ago that the old hag, having; determined to arreft a man who owed her money, made our mufician fubmit to the mean employment of a fetter. by h:r order he he devil hermit. 253 he went to the man that was to be enfnared, and learned from him the precife time in which he intended to go abroad. he was not in the leaft fulpedled, and therefore executed his coin mimon with eafe and addrefs, fecu:ing their prey to the bailiffs, who were in purfuit cf him. such a man as this, faid i, without rjftion, js doomed fer an inhabitant of one of moft gloomy regions in all tartarus. l'o not deceive yourfelf, chevalier, replied as t a rot h> but believe that the actions of mortals are weighed in our empire with the moil scrupulous equity. every one there is treated according to his deferts, and fuch a man as that, whofe picture i have now given a sketch of, will undoubtedly be employed to to,nent the fbu h of others. we hate him as much there, as you do here, and his ."ate will be to continue bufv and miferable, without intermifhon. let us turn our eyes from fi'ch an objecl. i fee a little deformed man, whofe character i want to make you acquainted with. do you not psrceive feme refemblance between his perfon and mine ? there is yet more affinity between our characters. he is a ferpent in human form, whofe venemous tongue fparcs no mortal. it is true indeed that he is grown fomewhat more difcreet of late, fmce a certain adventure t ; iut happened to him, and which he will never forget as long as he lives. he was on a journey, in puriuit of his own mer cantile a (fairs, when coming one day to an z inn. 254 the devil hcrwt. inn, where the convention of the company turned upon the genius of different nations, he took it in his head to fpeak of the swifs in the moft injurious terms. a grifon officer, who fat at the fame table with him, had the patience to hear him for above two hours, with o-it making a word of anfwer. it was now late at night : the company feparated, and our little man , entirely fatisfied with his own elo quence, went to bed as well as the reft. far from thinking he had brought an enfeiny upon );is back, he was fletping with great tranquility, when juft at day-break, he was awaked by certain taps at hjs chamber door. he got up, i-.nd opened it :." uut {row great was his furprife, tc. fee the officer .ftanding without, who told him very politely, and in extreme good french, that he looked upon him to be y ^cn <bman, and that he was come, as a. ''jnerr.ber of the o wife's repub.lick, to demand* -fa'tisfac tion fo rhc . ,r words which,. !he had uttered the evening tefcfcj againft th. body of his nation ? } in vaiii did the merchant make ufe of all hij elgc[ueacd to, get himftlf out of this fcrapc: the officer would liften'tq no other fort of reparation, but that which he demanded as a gentleman. neither praye;s nor tears, tho' vented on his knees, could' abate the juft anger of this military patriot ^ who ftill perfifted in his fir ft demand, till at laft, longer any having no other room to doubt that he. had to deal with tlje moft cowardly of man kind, he faw he had no remedy but the chaf tifcment the devi' i hermit. tifement of the cane, which he inflicted with the greateft feverjty. the vigorous application of this instrument of revenge, made the other cry out in a very pleafant manner. all the gu eft's that lodged that night in the fame inn, wakened by the fhrill found of his' voice, cante running to the place, and arrived time enough to be witneiies of the diverting fpecla cle, the punifhment which his laft night's im pertinence had brought on him. pity at l;vft relieved h-im out of the hands of the enemv,. and he thought himfelf happy in getting fo well off, without pretending to any retaliation, the {hameoffucha cudgelling, prevented i/* doing any more bufinefs in this country, and he took the prudent itep to quit it without de lay. he rode poft home, perfuaded that the adventure could not have blown thither before his arrival, and that then he might conteir. the truth of it when it came to be reported. full of this thought, fcarce had he been an hour come to town, but he made his appearance at a coffee-houie, the raoft frequented of any in this country. without obferving that every one was furprifed at his entrance, . and more fo at his gay and tranquil air; what n w,3 have you, gentlemen ? faid he ; addrefling h:nr felf to feveral perfons that he had jnft pa t d his refpecis to. here is the gazette, sir, 'an fwered one of the company ; take it and read. in the article from frankfoit, ycu � ; !l find a piece oi 'a litfle 01 filft. in a woio, thtiiw. ; v. :: jc re admirably well z 2. 256 we devil ueri:, >< told, with all its circumftanccs. there was ttoih-ingmore wr.nting to flrike him with con tuiujn. he remained dumb and motienlefs : -and having, in this 'manner, fuffain'd the laugh ter'ofthe v;hele company a ful 1 quarter of a nhc.ur, he retired with the utrrvoft diforder, end at : the very brir.k of diftra&ion. since this time, tho' his real character be the fame, it is ob . fcrved that he takes more care whom he fpeaks before, as well as what he fays. ho� many rr.cn are there, who might receive great gocd from &ch a whclfome correction. look at that man who now falutes him : ', cu rray call him the fecond tome of the fame bock. as he had his education under a woman, his chief occupation is calumny, and he has ufcfca ii.fed from his infancy to (peak ul of all jnankir.ci, as �ed thofe whcm he knows, as .tfccfe he does not .know. some days ago, be .ir.g at the pky, he pointed out a young laxly -�itlv-bis: fioger, a^d a m u fed hi m lei f with a friend who was very much like him, at her .sixpences. unhappily he was overheard by a gentleman who had a love for the lady, and had withal no tnfie of raillery. he made our laugher ccnre to him between the featsof the theatre, under pretence of having femething t.f 'importance to whifper in his ear. the compliment, he made him was juft the fame ?.s the swifs cfrkci had made in germany ; arid it was itceived in inuch the fame manner, with very mean excufes. but his enemy prefently jen:. all patience, and attacked him fiercely v/ith tandy -cuffs in the faccjull h laid him fprawjing the devil hermit. 257 at his feet, and fo diverted the whole audience with a very tragi-comical fcene. but what, faid i, became of the young man after ftich sn affront ? did he leave the city ; or was the honour of the other repaired by fome fatisfaclion proportionable to the infult ? neither one nor the other, sir, replied astaroth ; the matter pafied off in filence with regard to him ; only feme perfons, who had no concern in the affair, made themfelves merry with it a long time after, at the expence of the poor fuffefer. it has been fa id -however fmce, that this correlation was not fufficient to fupprefs the venom of his tongue ; for that having lucked in flander with his milk", his maladywes become incurable. if we had time to traverse the whole city, and examine every individual, with whofe character i could entertain you, it would find us a good deal of employment.remark that chariot which is driven on a full tret, and comes along by the ftde of us. the nymph within it is a good-natured beauty, who has " given up her honour, wiirhvery little difcretion, to the gentleman who fitsby her. he is go ing into a country he is acquainted with, �hece (he will very foon be-relicved from a periodical tympany, that . begins to make fome noife in the city. six weeks abfence will make her .a thorough virgin again* when {he will return. to her lodging with as much innocent confidence as the moft chafte veftal in the wcrjd could ba miftrefs of. very few perfons however will be de ceived i -y this deportment : a jealous old maid ha', '/.. 3 discovered 258 73fe devil hermit. difcovered the fecret, and deals it about to all her neighbours: the affair will foon become public ; but mifs, who has a good deal of wit, will laugh it off, and go on in her old way. let us ftand on one fide, and make room for that roach. the perfon it carries is an officer of diftirxslion, who is haftening to difhonour himfelf for ever, by a proceeding that will be altogether as prejudicial to him as inconfiderate. diftra&ed at the infidelity of a very rich wife, whom he married only for her fortune, he gives himfelf up entirely to his patlion, and is refolved to cxpofe his difgrace to the e^e of the public. let is follow him with all fpeed : and fee ! we are come to the end of our journey. the ma giftrates are here within, and the lady ftands aecufcd ot beftowing part of her favours on one of her foctmen. now they enter her chamber, and have fufficient evidence of the crime : but madam, you hear, brazens it out. pleafed that iher rafcally lover has found means to efcape, the kncws, that for her own part, a few months imprifonment is the worft they can inflift on her. thus ail the difhonour will fall on her huiband, who will have time to repent at leifure the irc prudent ftep he now takes in fuch a hurry. ast a roth, laid i, you fpeak of this af fairin a mighty ludicrous m-anner. what, becaufe ?.n hone ft man has the misfortune to marry a debauched woman, is he to be dif graced for the ill conduct of his wife ? does equity countenance fuch, a fenfelefs cuftom as this? *tbe devil hermit. 259 his ? -what can equity do ? anfwered my quon dam hermit; it is an eftablifhed rule in moft countries of the world j and winch neither juflice nor reafon has force enough to abolifti. there is only one way of avoiding a difgrace of this nature, and that your country-men are the only people who know, or at leaft who pradlife. they have eyes and fee not, or pre tend however not to fee, and thus prevent the publication of their difgrace by never complain ing of their misfortune. take a view of that rich burgher, who is now entering his houie. he is a venerable member of an affembly that was inftituted with the higheft wifdom ; but, thanks to my diabo lical brethren, he is now entirely fallen from all that once made him the object -of refpedl. not many years ago he got his bread by his hammer j fince when, having found an opportunity to get into the mercantile way, fortune has fa voured him infuch a manner, that he is become one of the richeft men in the whole republic. his felicity, i muft own, has not been uninter rupted. his wife, a coquet of the firft rate, has made him fwallow many a bitter pill ; but lie, like a prudent man, always took the moft probable meafures for hiding his misfortune from the eyes of the world. he had even fuc cecded, if his wife, more crafty than himfelf, .had not feigned a dreadful cholick, juft at the very moment when they were to iet out on a long country journey. the fatal fitters, fince that, have cut the thread of her debauche* ri<?s, and her wealthy widower lives perfectly at peo thi '/ hermit* at cafe, and refpe&ed by all thofe who pay their worfliip to fortune. but tell me, faid t, what is this body of ple, of which i now make one myfelfr is, anfwered astaroth, is called a very wifeaflembly,tho'rhoft of the members of it have neither wit nor judgment, but are blinded by their paffions, and aft only with a view to their intereft, or from caprice, or fometimes agree ably to the felicitation of their wives. he who prefides among them is ufually a very venerable man, but one who is refpefted only in appear ance, and no farther attended to than his opi nions are conformable to thofe of the ignorant wretches he is obliged to propofe them to, who even a&ed as if they vied with ezch other who fhould thwart him the moft: fo much does pride predominate in this, auguft body. for the moft part, indeed, it is compofed of men who underftand commerce, but whofe knowledge leads them no farther. as they know the whole knot of them to be chofen only out of regard to their fortune-, they think of no thing but aggrandizing themfelves, without tak* ing any trouble to acquire thofe qualities that are requiiite, in order to fill up with dignity the function of their high officer, which requires great capacity and penetration. my dear ast a roth, faid i, will you pleafe to let me have a view of fome of theie aftemblies. i fhould take a delight in hearing fome cafes of confcience decided by men who know nothing more than the current value of foreign coin. their fentimeats, t imagine, devil hrtmit. 26*1 muft vary, like the public flocks among brokers. what you delire, faid ast a roth, is in deed a very humourous piece of diverfion ; but i refuve it for another opportunity. .at prefent we have not a minute to lofe, bec^ufe it is high time we v/ere at ,the moft famous place of the whole country. i would have you prefent at the funeral folefnnity of one of the moft amia ble fubje&s that has for a long time arrived in cur empire. i made him no reply, but followed him with all expedition, and we made fuch hade as to be at our journey's end time enough to fatisfy cur curiofuy. the firft thing my devil did, was to lead me into a houfe fo infe&ed, that the very fmell ftruck me dovrn on the floor. even ast a roth, for his part, little delicate as he was, owned himfelf unable to bear the ftench. this houfe held the dead carcafe of the pcrfon who had brought us hither. "whoever the fubjecl: be, cried 1,-jjj had much rather leave my os riofity ungratified, than run the rifque of getting any contagious diflemper. this infection, anfwered astaroth, proceeds only from their haying, by dire&ion from a.jew,opened the xroi'pfeto embalm it. tho* the wretch was rotting to pieces even before the departure of her foul, the perfon who now takes fo much care of her fune ral doatcd on her. let us go to this houfe, which js : juil by, and i will conduct you quite to his owoi apartment.. would you not think, by the grief you fee him in, that his lofs was irrepajabte r yet all this lamentation is only for 262 tbt .drill hermit. ' for apaultry aftrefs, who play'd her part indeed effectually with him, abridged him of his do mefhcksat pleafure, and fold him her favouis only for ready money. now he is deprived of her, his riches feem to be a burthen to him, and his life, for the future, will be one con tinued fcene of uneafinefs. all his enjoyments are utterly blafted, and he permits nobody to fee him but flatterers, who have the complaifance to bewail his misfortune3',and dwell on the virtues of his lafcivious miftrefs. see that old man that comes in this moment : he is the moft cele brated poet of your nation, and has been enticed hither by the bounties of our wealthy mourner. his bufinefs is to pay the compliment of conda lance, which he accompanies with an elegy, that, tho' it be very languid and jejune, ami much below his other writings, will be better paid for than his beft pieces. he who follows him is a mufician no jefs famous, who comes to raife contribution on the ifraelite, for the prefent of a madrigal, that he has got writ for him, and to which he himfelf has compofed an air. as this little piece is extremely fuitable to the circumftance? the jew is now in, he is not afhamed to fet a price on it himfelf, and will really get the whole fum he demands. but who is he that comes in with fo gay an air, that one would be apt to think his only bufinefs wastoinfult the affliction of the good-natured ifraelite? tr-a% faid astaroth, is another poet, a mm of w-eat reputation, but of fo frank and open a deportment, that 'he cnnnot dutemble, *tbe 'devi! hermtt. 26$ dbternble, he could not fubmit to make any advantage of this opportunity, and his natural' politenels is the only motive of his coming 'hi ther, where he will receive nothing but empty thanks for his candid compliment. hah, re-i plied i, i know that charming poet: he is die very flower of all our wits, and we want no body now here but the hero of parnaflus, that univerfal genius, and mode of good tafte." i eafily comprehend, faid my very good .guide, whom you fpeak of. he has juft been to get him elf puffed in the gazette, and is this mo ment, you flall fee, coming into the city : let us go and rneet him. but, adds my meta morpliofed devil, as he came out of the ifrae lite's houfe, it were to be wifhed, for his fake, that all perfons of underftanding were of your opinion. they would not then lefien his good qualities, by attributing .to him certain bad ones, that are uiually found only in folks of my fpecies, ibr in thofe who are thought the moft to refemble us. what do you imagine he is coming here to do ? his bufmefs is, with out well concerting his fcheme, to bite a book fuler more crafty than himfelf, to whom he has fold a niaiiufcript that he wants to get out of his hands again. obferve how he proceeds. i perceive already, faid i, that the bookfeller refufes him. his pretended delign, conti nued ast a roth, is to make fome correc tions to the advantage of the work : yet the fufpicious fhopkeeper is afraid to truft him, and dos it only on the condition that he ftiall \yrite them l jl them, on the fpo|> without 'taking the copy aw^y. .his petulant genius, which docs .not give him time to think, makes him accept the pro pofition. see him at work there : but what do you think he is doing? he erafcs all the beft parts of the book, and fupplies them wish a few puerilities that hwe -neither fenfe nor connexion. he has finimed his c. i ;,i, and obferve how pleafed he fecms. now he jckes with his bookfeller, and has the indifcretion to confefs what he has done. do but obferve thofe two ironical faces! whoever beheld fuch a hook ieller? he returns his thanks to the impertinent author with as much complaifance, as if he had writ the fineft things in the world. he fo lemnly protefts, that whatever he may be pleasm to. fav, for his own part he is fo very feniible of the excellence of his alterations, that he will put the cepy to prefs directly, and print it with them as foon as poitible. the poet goes out: but fee, he has not got ten yards before a fudden reflection makes him flop. he perceives his own blunder, and confiders . thst v/aat he has done is as contrary to his reputation, as to his honour. he turns back obferve j but it is nojw too late. the fault is committed, and the mercilefs bookfeller will not liften to any accommodation. several perfonsof didmclion (hall for a long while ufe their intereft in vain : the author will ftoop to any thing to obtain his defire ; but all will end only in his own coafufion, aud the triumph of his bookieiler. but tfo devil hermit. 265 but whether is he now going ? he fee ns, inethinks, to meditate fome fecret journey. i have it now. he is to fet out incognito this evening for a neighbouring province, in order to engage the gazette printer to infert in his news a itanza of a piece that he is himtelr' ex tremely fond of, but which the critxks will univcrfally condemn. let us keep all the way at his heels ; and fee, we are already at the printing-houfe, where our author addref fes himfelf in the moft obliging terms, to his very good friend the gazetteer. he tells him, that he enjoys a fenfible pleafure in his corref pondence, that his letters are the moft fpirited he receives from any body, and that his paper is the beft digefted of any now in vogue : in a word, well knowing the man he hus to deal with, he honours him at laft with the title of learned, though he does not even know what the belles-lettres mean, and is ignorant of the very fituation of thofe places he is obliged to mention in his hebdomadal fheet obferve the fawning fycophant ! why does he not tell him, in the lame breath, that he is a very hand fome fellow, and quite genteel ? but, fuch a plain truth as that will give the gazetteer no extraor dinary pleafure. he loves flattery, efpecially from a wit, and upon the fubjeft of his own parts. now hepromifes all that the author re quires of him; and to-morrow he will adver tife, that this ftanza is the laft of many which have been fent to the court of a young king, and me ft gracoufly received by the hopeft \ a a monarc!. 2 66 'the devil hermit. monarch.but what, fays i, fignifies a. news paper puff? will the public, do you think, give credit to it? the public! anfwered my guide; a very pretty jeft indeed! do you not know the public to be a fubtile old fox, that is not fo eafily taken ? the connifleurs.wi.il pene ,-trate the whole fecret, as well as if i, had fpread it myfelf : and no more will be gathered from it, than that the 'gazetteer is the poet's friend ; hut as to the goodnefs of the piece, that time ..rnuft determine. you and. i however may pro nounce the mean while, that the printed itan za is not worth a farthing, and that if the reft of the ode be no better, it will appear that, from an excellent poet, the fieur tolvajre is become a mere verfifier. by what i perceive, faid i to ast a roth, the poet }ou fpeak of is not much in your favour. but happily for h;m, you lie under the imputation of having a very depraved tafte. your judgment will never prevail againft -that of a monarch, who is celebrated all over chri flendom for an exquifite judgment, and who, they fay, has lately honoured our author with a letter under -his own hand, full of the moft obliging teflimonies of efteem and good-will. 1lave you read the epiftle which the fieur <je tolvaire has juft now addrefled to his rrtajefty in return ? can any one fay with juf ticc, that it degenerates from the beauty of.hjs other poems? yet this was his laft work ; arid all impartial perfons mufi therefore conclude from kvil 'hertntf: 267 fronv'it, that his mufe -has not &&tdbffeft hirih ashis' antagonifts would fain make us believe. where are your thoughts now, my dear chevalier r replied as t a k o t h ." " the piert. you' talk of is the moft bunglihglyconceived that can poilibly be imagined : the poet, when he compofed it, muft have been deftitute of all common fenfe. who but he ever undertook to praife'a fon at the expence of a father's re putation' whom he loved, and whofe memory is yet dear in his eyes ? what idea muft ton v a i r e have of the prince whom he flatters^ in this manner ? does he think to enhance the virtues of the new monarch by treating his fa ther as avaritious, unjuft, and cruel? it is not my private judgment, chevalier, that can do any prejudice to the reputation of the poet you fpeak of : but the opinion of all people of tafte muft weigh fomething, and they confpire to regard this epiftle as the very tomb of common fenfe. it has accordingly been treated witli the c'onterript if deferves : his inconfiderate zeal has made him at once lofe all the monarch's ef teem. he now owns the blun'der that has for ever precluded him from the prefence of this prince : but what grieves him the moft, is to lee himfelf fruftrat'ed of a very con fiderable gra tuity, which 'he depended on receiving.. his enemies triumph on this bccjfion : i will (hew you one little' piece, writ by a poet, remarka o'e orhs natural vein of humour, whom per haps you will -know by his ftile. read here, > ' ' a a 3 fir, 268 ibe devil fir, faid he : at the fame time giving me a paper, upon which the following verfes were writ why, faith, tolyaire is a great man : roman or greek, deny't who can ! for talents, none will find his equal, in times elaps'd, or in the fequel. infpir'd he raves in lofty metre, and feems all wild-fire and falt-petre : nor epigram, nor epick drain, can tire his mufe, or give her pain. for hift'ry he was ne'er to feek : he writes a tr&gedy per week. with heaps of philosophic letters, sent in all countries to his betters, all vaftly learn'd and writ in verfe, he tricks up fcience, trite and terfej poet, hiftorian, politician, merchant, bookfeller, and phyfician, comedian, ufurer, and wit, what is there but tolvaire can hit? in newton deep, he knows not why, he meafures light, defines the eye : of every thing the undertaker, . turns delft, empirick, and quaker. his new poetique we expect, ckar, comprehenfive, and correct. great judge of tafte, for public profit, he lately tbrm'd a goddefs of it, and clapp'd her in a ftirine more odd 1 han ever held a heathen god. religion, 2% 'religion, government, rcfnccv he treats with' fcorri, and great rieglccv lock'd up for his poetic licence, (the regent could not bear, his fly fenfe) suftain'd, expos'd to footmen's laughter,' a baftinading thefis after.'' puff'd up with thefe ftrong cauftic lawrels^ for greater honours now he quarrels j a new capeneus, 'ere his time. attacks a mortal god in rhyme. with fuch a prince to make a' rout, whofe elogy will live without, and wants no founding hebrew name f ' but i have quife worn out my theme, and muft conclude, fay all we can, that, faith, tolvaire is a great man. well, faid ast a roth, after having given me time to examine this piece of fatire, what do you think of 'our panegyrick ? who do , on imagine to be the author of it? if it be' not ast a roth himfelf v faid i, lam really in capable of judging. your panegyrick, as you call it, is a very mafter-piece of ill-nature, and could be dictated only from fomc very 'ju ft oc cafion of refentment, or by a malignant turn of temper that would not be pardonable in a moitau but, what, added i, is the meaning of your baftinading.lhcfis, that to l v a is. i; fuftained, expofed to .die laughter of footmen ? it is only, faid he, an allufion to a trifling ijd venture,.. -which is common enough" among 7>o the mufes never infpire with pru a a 3 dence. 270 the devil hermit. tic nee. he was obliged to pay a fmall penalty for a fine fatirical ftroke on the chevalier de r .1 h a n ; that was all. the chevalier had no tufle of raillery, and did not think it would be come him to fight a duel with a poet, whom he had fee n a page not many years before : fo he contented himfelf with giving up tol vaire to a good liberal drubbing, which his footmen ir.fi idled, himfclf (landing by to fee the operation. this hiftorical anecdote, tho' of long franding, couldnot, you fee, efcape the memory of an animated enemy. i am even f'.irprifid that hs did not add to the qualities of mr de tol va ire the title of fmuggler ; for you cannot but know the accident that happe ned to h;m a little while ago, with regard to jbrne pictures that he was going to fend out of one country into another without paying the duties. certainly, anfwered i, that adventure is -known to all the world : but it no otherwife concerns the public than juft to expofe the ava rice of the poet. obferve him now fifing, and paying his refpe&s to the company. what is the meaning of that precipitation? is any important affair come into his head, which obliges him to run away fo abruptly ? ah i chevalier, replied my inftruclor, one jnav eaiily perceive you are no poet, and that you do not fo much as know what a poet is. a poet, fir, is a kind of heteroclite animal, a vtry odd machine, compofed of enthufiafms, ;=nd which moves almoft always by fits and flans. he comes and goes, is in a lurry, the zx'-ivv hermt. or quite indolent, often without knowing for what reafon, or without thinking of what he is about. he before you, pleaftd with having obtained his defire, is irr.patent to be gone into another place. his bookfelier's trick frill runs in his head : for tho' he had been ufed himfelf to deceive others, the ftratagem of this citizen furpaffes his fubtle imagination. he defigns to pav him another vifit, and make ufe ot frefli artifices: let him go by himfelf. we may find him again when we have a mind to it; that is, after i have made you acquainted with ieveral other perfons that i perceive in this city. he who pafles along before us, and whole white hair gives him a venerable afpec"t, is a philofophical merchant, who gilds over all his actions with an affedted fandttty,. which has ac quired him much reputation among a certain fpecies of men. to hear him talk, one would fay that charity to his neighbour was the pri mum mobile of all his aftions : yet he never lends a halfpenny but upon good pledges, which he ufually keeps ; and fometimes his zeal carries him fo far, that he writes againfv the reputa tion of perfons, whom he knows only upon the uftimony of certain hypocrites, who impofe on his pious credulity. blinded by intercft, his governing paflion, he lately took it in his head to write a panegyrick on ufury. according to his fentimcnts, grinding the face of the poor is become a holy work, meritorious in the man who does it, and what will the moft infallibly coududl him to heaven. this fyftern of 2 ;2 ti, devil hen, of his has indeed drawn on his back all the honeft rnen that know him : .but, too proud to acknowledge his fault, and too much under our direction even to fee it, he obfti irately, per fifts to maintain his enormous proportion,, and fpends whole days and nights in collecting to-' gether authorities to infert in his writings, 'that' may at leaft render it probable.thatfhining coun tenance that now approaches him with refpeft, is a mere fpendthrift,vyho impofes on our udirer, and all his fet. forced to fly his .country for having wafted the revenue of the prince who employed him, he had the good luck to take refuge in thcfe provinces, where he found the. fecret of getting in with the heads of thefs : dealers in money, and intercfting them in his misfortune. it is a p-leafurc, chevalier, to fee with what addrefs he plucks them. 1 inufl: own indeed, at the fame time, that lie is very fcrviceable to their whole cabal, as well by h.s intereft in his own country, as by fome ftcret correfpondencies, which enable him to intro duce prohibited books into foreign parts. of all difguifes, there is none more advantageous, than the mask of devotion. a cheat that makes, a judicious ufe of it, may reprefent all forts of characters, and be fare of as many dupes as he converfes with honeft people. look at that troop of humble prim phyfiog nomies : it is a collection of monks and friars, of ecclefufticks and kvuhrs, who all together compofe a bod,; of mountebanks, that formerly cux out work enough for bieu mafferl cannot the devil hermit. 273 cannot at prefent tell what courfe to take. would one not imagine from their affable af pects, that they were a very docile fort of people ? yet is there nothing more arrogant than thefe cabalifts. oftentation is the very^ rule they' go by. under the affe&ed outfide of a matchlets modefly, they conceal a pride which perfuades them that they are infallible in their decisions, and much more able men than their fuperiors. beyond thefe defamatory libels, are a fet of malignant capmen, who inveigh againft the moft venerable perfons. happy in being born with brilliant and fubtile genius's, they had well nigh carried on their point a gainft their antagonifts. thefe latter could fly only with one wing, when the death of a pious man, of the fociety of mountebanks, made them commit fuch extravagancies' that have at laft unmasked them. look at that full-chefted young man, and obferve how pale, meagre, and disfigured he appears. scarce has he ftrength to fet one foot before the other. but a few years ago he was one of the fineft genius's in europe, and the moft familiarly acquainted with polite literature. he was, in a word, the delight of all men of tafte : but being unhappily the fon of an enthu fiaft, he has taken it in his head to follow his father's precepts of divinity. fafts and other aufterities have fo impaired his health, that he is little left than guilty of voluntary felf-mur der. yet, weak as he is, if you were to fee him upon the ftage of our mountebanks, you would w&evil 'hermit: ' wo'ai be equally fjrpnfcd'at his agility and hi* fhength. he will leap you fix foot high, and four of the ftrongeft men are not capable pf holding him down, o .wonder of wonders ! the iitmoft effort of his diabolical majefty's ut rnoft art. how many foolifn fouls fwallow the hook every day, and take for a divine work a mere tragical operation, a mere illufion of the prince of devils f this is one of the fubjecls that i propose in time to let vou thoroughly into, and concerning which i nave many fur prifing particulars to tell you. but how, faid i, fhall we find any agree rrent between fafts and aufterities, and tragi cal operations ? will you be always thus fim ple ? replied ast a roth. do you not know that there muft be a femblance of virtue to gain the populace, ?.nd fecure the confidence of honeft citizens ? be fides, fanatifm is a diftemper that makes mere ravage than the plague. t'ho' there are a great many hy pocrites amongft thofe mountebanks, there may be alfo fome found, who, fcu'uced by enthufi afm, aft with fincerity, and from an involun tary impulfe. that large lean fellow is one of this number. he has faorificed riches, ho nours,friends, and even reafon itfeif, for the glory of the fed. but it is quite otherwife with that plump red-faced lad, with a demure countenance. that is our faithful and dear friend le gilotin. prompted too far by his turbulent fpijit, he was. obliged fome years s^o. to .leave france, in order to efcape the'pu^ nilhment lac devil hermit. 2 ; 5 ttifhrr.ent.due to his intrigues, which were more mercenary than cabaliftic. he was then the very humfcle factor of the mountebanks, a calling the profits of which were not equi valent to the hazards. all that he. acquired therefore 'was poverty ; and at his arrival in this country he looked like a very skeleton: his ragged robes declared his mifery to be moll deplorable ; he had not even flioes to his feet. in this plight he moved the companion of fome tenderhearted people. certain devout fouls, who go to heaven for printing inveflives agair.il others, admitted "him into the number of their domefticks ; and his intriguing genius foon advanced him. he became the head fervant of the printing-houfe, and kqesv fo well how to make a good ufe of his poft, that he printed numbers of books ,forhimfelf at his mailer's expcnce. the mask of hypocrify for a long time protected him : but at laft, the' eyes of his fuperiors were opened, the fraud was attefted, and poor.grlot in was turned out of doors, tho' with more indulgence than was due to his ungrateful crimes. happily for him, he had already got together a good fum of money ; and, little concerned at what the world fay of him, he purfued at his own charge what lie had be gun at the charge of his matters : fet up a print ing houfe for himfelf, and gradually rofe upon their ruin. his intriguing genius carries him tnfo' every thing : he begins already to grow rich ;' and there is no doubt but in a little time be will be one of the firft men of his pro fdbon 276 ike devil hermit. feffion. i have many things to to tell you corr cerninghim: but a fuperior power obliges me to leave you. i cannot ftay a moment. fare well ! you (hall fee me again foon, when per haps you may find me more diverting than you have hitherto done. as he fpoke thefe words, astaroth dif appeared, without giving me time to make him any anfwer, or letting me know how long it would be before he returned. finis. printed by charles tephson in wint office court, fltttftreet. books printed for james ho d g s s, at the looking-glafs on londonbridge, i i. j\ philofophical account of the works of y^-\ nature, as founded in a plan laid down ji jl by the late mr. addifon. containing the feveral gradations remarkable in the mineral, vegetable and animal parts of the creation, tend ing to the competition of a scale of life, a re prefentation of the prefent state of gardening throughout europe in general, and great-britain in particular. new experiments relating to the im provement of barren grounds, timber, fruit-trees, vines, snihds-, falfe, and all kinds ofg.-sia; oh-, fervations on the hufbindry of flanders in lowing flax ; whereby land may be advanced cent, per cent, adorned with variety of curious cuts, drawn, and epgraven by the beft matters. the second e ditbn revifed and greatly augmented. price bound in calf 6 s. ii. the gentleman and farmer's guije for the increafe and improvement of cattle, viz. lambs, sheep, hogs, calves, cows, oxen. alfo the beft manner of breeding and breaking horfes, both for sport and burden : with an account of their re fpedive diftempers, and the moll approved medi cines for the cure of them. alfo fome obferya tions on the many benefits of the woollen mana fa&ures of great britain, and the great advantages arifmg from hides, tallow, &v. llluflrated with copper plates. the third edition. price bound in calf, 4 s. iil hiftory of succulent plants; containing the aloes, ficoids (or fig marygoldi)torch-thiimev melon-thirties, and fuch others as are not capable of an hortus siccus. engraven from the originals, on copper plates. with their defcriptioiis ana man ner of culture, p 2, tv. conv reeks inicd fcr james hodges. iv. complcat seedfman ; {hewing the beft and enfieit method for knifing and cultivating every sort of seed belonging to a kitchen and flower garden ; with neceifary inftruclions for sowing of berries, maft, and seeds of evergreens, foreft trees, and fuch others as are proper for improving of land. price i s. all the above books by richard bradley, profeftor of botany in the univer fity of cambridge, and f. r. s. . v. anewtreatifeof hufbandry, gardening, and other curious matters relating to country affairs : comair.irg a plain and practical method of improv ing all sorts of meadow, failure and arable land, &c. r.nd making them produce greater crops of all kinds, and a; much lil uu2, ) pi'cic^t eipsnce ; linuer tl.e following heads: i. of wheat, rye, oats, ea.rley, pe?.s, beans, and all other sorts of grain. 2. turnip?, carrots, buckwheat, clover, hemp, rape, flax and colefeed, cjrv. 3. weld or would, woad or wade, madder, saffro^p, &v. 4. meadow, failure grounds, and the different manner of feeding cattle, and making other im provements agreeable to the soil of the feveral coun ties in great britain. 5. hops, forcft and fruit trees, vine and garden plants of all sorts. 6. all kinds of flowers, shrubs in general, and green houfe plants. 7. a curious scheme of a farm, the annual expence of it, and its produce. with mn rsy new, uieful, and curious improvements, ne ver before publifhed. the whole founded upon rmny years experience. by samuel trowel, gent. to which are added, severai letters to mr. thomas liveings, concerning hiscompound manure of land, with fome practical obfervations thereon. vi. the britifli angler: or, a pocket com panion for gentlemen i'ifhers. being a new and methodical treitife of the art of angling : com prehending all that is curious and ufeful in the knowledge of that polite diverfi on. as, i. an in troduftion; containing an encomium on rivers and the books printed for james hodges. the art of angling, with general obfervations on the nature of fifh. 2. the angler's apparatus : or, direftions concerning rods, lines, hooks, floats, and the reft of the tackle : alfo, of baits, natural and artificial. 3. an exaft defcription of the feveral kinds of fifh that are found in the ri vers, and on the sea-coafts of great britain ; their size, shape, qualities, seafons, feeding, haunts, &c. 4 the whole practice of angling : teaching the choice and preparation of proper stands ; the method of talcing every species, more particularly the fportive trout, the voracious pike, and other capital game. with defcriptions of our principal rivers, obfervations relating to the weather, and other neceftary remarks. together with fuppli inental difcourfes, i. on fifh-ponds and referva tories. 2. on the laws againft poachers, and in fa vour of the fair angler. alfo, excellent receipts for dreffing fifh, and a complete index, in which the terms in ufe among anglers are occafionally explained. the whole compiled from approved authors, and above thirty years experience. by john williamfon, gent, who has added a verfifi cation of the principal heads, at the end of each chapter, for the help of memory. vii. bibliotheca technoiogica or, a philolo gical library of literary arts and sciences ; <vix. i . theology ; or the fir it principles of natural re ligion! 2. ethics, or morality ; the doftrine of moral virtues. 3. chriftianity ; or the subjeft of the chriftian religion. 4. judaifm ; or the reli gion and state of the jews. 5. mahometanifm ; or the life, religion, and polity of mahomet. 6. gentilifm ; or the deities and religion of the hea then. 7. mythology ; or an explanation of fa bulous hiitories. 8. grammar and language ; par ticularly of the englifh tongue. 9. rhetoric and ; oratory; or the art of fpcakir.g eloquently. 10. logic ; or the art of reafoning and perfi^fion. 1 1 . ontology 5 or the science of b.'ing abftra&edly con i* i fidered. books printed for james hodge?. iidercd. 12. poetry ; or the art of making verfes or poems. 13. criticifm ; or art of judging well of men and things. 14. geography; or a jdefcrip tion of the world. 15. chronology ; or the doc trine of time. 1 6. hiitory ; with the original of nations and kingdoms. 17. phyfio!ogy ; or sci ence of natural philofophy. 1 8. botany ; or the dottrineof plants and vegetables. 19. anatomy; cr a description of the parts of a human body. 20. pharmacy; or the art of making medicines. 21. medicine; or the theory of phyfic and difeafes. 22. polity and oeconomics ; or the doctrine of so ciety ar.d government. 23. jurifprudcnce ; or the knowledge of law or right. 24. heraldry ; or art of blazoning ccat armcur. 25. mif ccllanies ; an account of the mathematical arts and sciences. viii. logsrithmolcgia : or, the whole doc trine of logarithms, common and lcgiftical, in theory and practice. in three f;rts. part i. the theory of logarithms ; (hewing their nature, origin, conftruclicn, and properties, demonftrated in various methods, fix. i. by plain arithmetic. 2. by the logarithmic curve. 3. by dr. halley's infinite series. 4. by fluxions. 5. by the pro perties of the hyperbola. 6. by the equiangular spiral. 7. by a logarithms infpeclional scale of twenty-two inches length. with the conflruftion of the' artificial lines ot numbers, signs, and tan gent?. al.b the nature and conftruclion of i.o $;iflical logarithms. the whole illuftrated and made c,ify by many and fuitable examples. part .if. the praxis of logr.rithms ; wherein all the rules and operations of logarithmical arithmetic, both common and logiftical, by numbers snd in irrjtr.cnts, are ccpicully exemplified. together with the application thereof to the feveral branches of mathematical learning. part iii. a three fold cr.non of logarithms, in a new and mere com pendious method than any extant ; i'ix. i . a ca non books printed for james hodges, non of logarithms of natural numbers. 2. a ca non of logarithms of sines and tangents. 3. a table of logiftical logarithms. the whole being a compleat syftem of this mod ufeful art ; and enriched with all the improvements therein from its original to the prefent time. ix. a new and compendious syilem of optics. in three parts, viz. part i . catoptrics, or the doc trine of vifion by rays reflected from mirrours, or poliihed surfaces. part 2. dioptrics, or the the ory of vifion by rays refrafted through lenfes, or tranfparent subft'.nces. part 3. a practical de fcription of a great number of the moft ufeful op tical inftruments and machines, and their co nft ruc tion {hewn from the theory ; viz. the eye, camera obfcura, fmgle and double microfcopes, refrafting and reflecting telefcopes, perfpeftive glaffes, the magic lanthorn, &c. the manner of adapting micrometers to microfcopes and telefcopes of the reflecting sort. the whole explained, exemplified, and illuitrated by a great variety of copper plate figures as big as the life. by benjamin martin, author of the philological libvary of literary arts and sciences ; and a treatife of logarithms, com mon and logiftical, in theory and practice. x. a treatife of the powers of medicines, by the late learned herman boerhaave, doftor of phi lofophy and phyfic, and prcfeflor of phyfic, ba tany, and chemiftry in the univerfity of leyden. tranflated from the moft correct latin edition, by john martin, fellow of the royal society, and profeflbr of botany in the univerfity of cambridge. price bound in calf 5 s. xi. obfervations in surgery : containing one hundred and fifteen different cafes, with particular remarks on each, for the improvement of young students. written originilly in french by henry francis le dran, of the academy of arts, fworn surgeon at paris, fenior mafter of that company, eldeft surgebn and demonftrator of anatomy at the for books printed for james hodges. hofpital la charite. tranflated by j. s. surgeon. to which is added, a new chirurgical dictionary, for the ufe of young practitioners, and gentlemen refiding in the country ; explaining the terms of art contained in the body of the book, and like wife all fuch as properly belong to phyfick and sur gery. xii. a collection of one hundred and twenty eight fekct obfervations in surgery,made by mr. sa viard, chief surgeon and operator in midwifery, at the hofpital hotel dieu at paris ; with the parti cular remedies ufed in each cafe. wherein the diftempers incident to the female sex are copioufly enlarged on ; among others, that of the defcent of the womb, clearly proving the reality of fuch a difeafe, in oppofition to mr. verduc. xiii. a collection of fcarce and valuable trea tifes upon metals, mines, and minerals. con taining, i . curious obfervations on mines, and the feveral minerals produced ; with plain directions and rules for finding them in all countries. 2. the art of melting, refining, and affaying all sorts of metals ; whereby any perfon, at a fmall charge, may try the value of fuch oars as {hall be found, either by rule or accident. with inflections for forting of oar. 3 . real experiments, to try whe ther any piece offer'd for gold be true or counter feit, what colour any berry, leaf, flower, stalk, root, fruit, seed, bark or wood will give. with an infallible method of preparing colours, which mall neither flain nor fade like ordinary colours. 4. the common way of refining silver by quick filver. with fome new rules added for the better performance. 5. an invaluable difcovery of all sorts of mines, from gold to coal. alfo the com pleat miner, with the liberties, laws, and cuftoms of the lead-mines within the v/apentake of workc worth in derbyshire, in fifty-nine articles, being all that ever were made. 6. the art of dialling, or levelling grooves, greatly defired by all miners -. being books printed for james hodges. being a subjeft never wrote on before, with an ex planation of the miners terms of art, and feveral other curious particulars. being a tranflation from the learned albaro alonfo barba, director of the mines at potofi, in the spaniih weft-indies, and the obfervations of feveral ingenious perfons of our own country, founded on many years experi ence. xiv. the laboratory, or school of arts : in which are faithfully exhibited, and fully explain'd, r. a variety of curious and valuable experiments in refining, calcining, melting, a (laying, calling, allaying, and toughening of gold : with feveral other curiofities relating to gold and silver. 2. choice secrets for jewellers in the management r.f gol-i ii hn-rnelling, and the preparation of en amel colours, with the art of copying precious stones : of preparing colours for doublets ; of co louring fovles for jewels, together with other rare secrets. 3. several uncommon experiments for cafting in silver, copper, brafs, tin, steel, and other metals ; likewife in \vax, plaifler of paris, wood, horn, &c. with the management of the refpeftive moulds. 4. the art of making glafs : exhibiting withal the art of painting and making impreffions upon glafs ; and of laying thereon gold or silver ; together with the method of preparing the colours for potterswork, or delftware. 5. a collection of very valuable secrets for the ufe of cut lers, pewterers, brafiers, joiners, turners, japan ners, bookbinders, diftillers, lapidaries, limners, &c. 6. a diflertation on the nature and growth of salt petre : alfo feveral other choice and uncommon ex periments. to which is added, an appendix; teach ing i. the art and management of dying silks, worded, cottons, &c. in various colours. 2. the art of preparing rockets, crackers, fire-globes, stars, sp'arks, &c. for recreative fire-works. tranf jated from the high-dutch. the second edition. price bound in cilf fiv2 shillings. xv. the books printed for james hodges. xv. the curiofity : or, gentleman and lady's li brary. containing, i. a diftertation on poetry, muiic, dancing, balls, aflemblies, mafquerades, po lite ccnverfation, italian strollers, &c. 2. a dra matic dialogue song, written and performed for the entertainment of his royal highnefs the prince of wales. 3. forlorn hope, or the old maid's sighs j in imitation of sternhold and hopkins. 4. the afiembly, or york beauties. 5. a poem on ri dicule, and the means to avoid it. imitated from horace. 6. the progrefs of a female rake. an epiftle from libertina to silvia ; in which is con tained the a-la-mode syftem. 7. the accomplifh'd rake. 8. the woman of tafte; or the york fhire lady. a ballad opera. 9. a new and ac curate translation of bafia, or the pictures of kif fing. 10. remarks on the farce call'd, the ho ned yorkfiiire man. n. the reformed rake. an epiftle from townly and rakifh. wrote in honour of the fair sex. 12. verfes on a young student at cambridge, on his cutting the ears of a setting dog belonging to dr. b of t y college. 13. some memoirs of the fecret hiftory of sig. farinelli. 14. mac dermot, or the irifli fortune-hunter. a satyr in fix canto's, ic. the parfon's daughter. a tale for the ufe of pretty girls with fmall fortunes. 16. the lady's tu tor ; or inftruftions for making hexameter and pen tameter verfes. price 2 s. 6 d. xvi. the hiftory of the life and reign of the czar peter the great, emperor of all ruflia, and father of his country. containing, i . his tra vels, studies, and perfonal fatigues, for the attain ing of knowledge in civil and military affairs, and the improvement of his subjects. 2. his introduc tion of arts and sciences, naval force, and com merce with foreign nations . alfo his many refor mations in church and state, the army, and the cuftoms and manners of his people. 3 . his wars with the swedes, turks, tartars, and perfians j vic books printed for james hodges. victories by sea and land ; acquifitions of terri tory, and increafe of power. 4. his regard to genius and merit, with the furprizing inflances of his favour to general le fort, prince menzikoff, and the emprefs catherine : and his fevere juftice on offenders, particularly in the proceedings againft the rebellious czarewitz. xvii. mifcellanies in profe and verfe, confid ing of dramatic pieces, humorous tales, fables, &c. by d. bellamy, late of st. john's college, oxford, and d. bellamy, jun. of trinity college, cambridge. xviii. peruvian tales, related in onethoufand and one hours, interfperfed with curious and hifto rical remarks on the cuftoms, inhabitants, sv. of that great empire, in 3 vols. 12010. xix. the compleat gamefter, by richard sey mour, efq; xx. a ftiort view ; or hiftory of the inquifi tion of the kingdoms of spain, portugal, &c . to this day ; under the following heads j its rife, progrefs, and eftablifhment. its boundlefs jurifdicliion. its officers, laws, cuftoms. their judgments, tortures, penances, &c. interfperfed with many curious relations of perfons who have fuffer'd under their arbitrary power ; particularly that of ifaac martin, an englimman, who lay long in prifon at granada, and was releaf ed by the interpolation of his late majefty king george, whofe account has the sanction of a certificate figned by thirteen bifhops, at the inftance of mr. secretary craggs. price ftitch'd two shil lings. xxi. the entertaining correfpondent, or curi ous relations, two vols. 8vo. adorned with cuts, curioufly engraved. xxii. a compleat treatife of menfuration, in all its branches ; containing many new and necef fary improvements, in a much more eafy and fa miliar books printed for james hodges. miliar method than any hitherto extant. the whole adapted not only to be ufeful to experienced mea furers, but alfo to young learners of the rudiments of menfuration, and may ferve as an eafy introduc tion to feveral parts of the mathematicks. by j. robertfon, teacher of the mathematicks. xxiii, chinefe tales, or the wonderful ad ventures of the mandarin fum hoam ; related by himfelf to divert the sultana upon the celebration o her nuptials. written in french by monf. gueulette. tranflated by the rev. mr. stackhoufe, author of the hiftory of the bible, and body of divinity. with fome thoughts concerning tranf migreflion, by the late mr. secretary addifon. a dorned with eight copper plates. price bound two shillings. xxiv. the young mathematician's companion, being a compleat tutor to the mathematicks ; whereby the young beginner may be early inftrucl ed ; thofe who have loil the opportunity of learn ing in their youth, may, with very little pains, and in a fhort time, become proficients in this de lightful and inftru&ive science ; and fuch whofe bu finefs it is to teach, may receive much ufeful affift ance. containing, i. vulgar and decimal arith . metic, extraction of roots by natural numb;rs, and by logarithms. 2. defcription and ufe of the seftor, with the moft ufeful definitions, theorems, and problems in geometry. 3. plain 'and spheri cal trigonometry, aftronomy, dialling, and sur veying of land. 4. curious difcourfes ? calculated to render a practical knowledge of the mathema ticks more eafy and familiar. the whole interfperf cd with delightful and ufeful queftion?, and adorn ed with proper schemes in order to excite the cu riofity, and form the minds of youth. by charles leadbetter, teacher of the mathematicks. price bound 2 s. 6ti. finis. university of california rn regional library facility southern regiot 405 hilgard avenue, los angeles, ca 90024-1388 return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. v f 313 a pleasant discourse by way of dialogue, between the old and new jack catch, occasioned upon the latters being whipped from rosemary-lane to the hermitage, on thursday the 21th. of january, 1685. for scandalous words, etc. or the hangman turneing tumbler-shower. old catch, ha— my old friend, how luckily have i found you this morning; methinks you look a little muddy about the gills: prithee man, how fares it with thee? new catch, but very indifferent, such a journey as i had the other day, must needs, you may well think, put a man of my profession into a sweat; little did i think, i should be put upon such a ramble. o.c. i heard indeed, that you was turned ambler, and was put upon running a race, from rosemary-lane to the hermitage; but it seems, you was so dull, that had you not been spurred to it, 'tis ten crowns to a nutshell, but you would a declined it. n.c. come, come, jack, mocking is catching: it little becomes you to scoff at your friend; it may be your own case another day, and if i am not misinformed, you have been within a spit and a stride of it already. o.c. but was so cunning, you see, to shift it off to him that would needs be taking my trade cut of my hands— why, it was a considerable handsel man, and worthy of remembrance; a thing so remarkable, to know the time of your advancement, that it's ten to oh, if some wag or other, don't make comments on it. n.c. you seem very pleasant, tho' indeed it is very unfair at this time, considering the pickle, my journey as put me into. o.c. it was a journey it's true, to which you was driven with much ado; and those that saw you, say thao you traversed your ground very oddly, and often looked back, as if you had no mind to come to the end on't; but it seems, by the help of driving and leading, you did it at last, though with some reluctancy, as appeared by the blushing of your backside. n.c. right; but methinks, after such handling, you should pity him that succeeds you, in the dignity of the triple-tree. o.c. o! by no means— what pity you, for learning part of your trade, that's a good one indeed; what pity a man, for becoming experimentally acquainted with that, on which his profession chiefly depends: no, no, consider experience is a great master, and rest yourself satisfied. but prithee what was the occasion you was so soon put to your trumpets, i heard something on it confusedly, but seeing we are upon the subject, let us have't out. n.c. prithee cease that inquiry, i would forget it, as a thing no ways pleasant to my remembrance. o.c. 〈…〉 (https://www.pgdp.net) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see 21841-h.htm or 21841-h.zip: (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/8/4/21841/21841-h/21841-h.htm) or (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/8/4/21841/21841-h.zip) the saddle boys in the grand canyon or the hermit of the cave by captain james carson author of "the saddle boys of the rockies," "the saddle boys on the plains," "the saddle boys at circle ranch," etc. illustrated new york cupples & leon company publishers * * * * * * books for boys by captain james carson the saddle boys series 12mo. cloth. illustrated. the saddle boys of the rockies or, lost on thunder mountain the saddle boys in the grand canyon or, the hermit of the cave the saddle boys on the plains or, after a treasure of gold the saddle boys at circle ranch or, in at the grand round-up cupples & leon co publishers, new york. * * * * * * copyrighted 1913, by cupples & leon company the saddle boys in the grand canyon printed in u.s.a. contents chapter page i. the work of the wolf pack 1 ii. ridding the range of a pest 11 iii. the floating bottle 21 iv. the listener under the window 34 v. starting for the grand canyon 46 vi. buckskin on guard 54 vii. standing by the law 62 viii. the moqui who was caught napping 71 ix. "talk about luck!" 79 x. the copper-colored messenger 87 xi. at the grand canyon 98 xii. how the little trap worked 105 xiii. going down the canyon trail 116 xiv. the home of the cliff dwellers 124 xv. the treacherous guide 135 xvi. a wonderful discovery 143 xvii. the windows in the rocky walls 151 xviii. finding a way up 158 xix. fortune still favors the brave 167 xx. another surprise 175 xxi. the little old man of echo cave 184 xxii. turning the tables--conclusion 195 the saddle boys in the grand canyon chapter i the work of the wolf pack "hold up, bob!" "any signs of the lame yearling, frank?" "well, there seems to be something over yonder to the west; but the sage crops up, and interferes a little with my view." "here, take the field glasses and look; while i cinch my saddle girth, which has loosened again." frank haywood adjusted the glasses to his eye. then, rising in his saddle, he gazed long and earnestly in the direction he had indicated. meanwhile his companion, also a lad, a native of kentucky, and answering to the name of bob archer, busied himself about the band of his saddle, having leaped to the ground. frank was the only son of a rancher and mine owner, colonel leonidas haywood, who was a man of some wealth. frank had blue eyes, and tawny-colored hair; and, since much of his life had been spent on the plains among the cattle men, he knew considerable about the ways of cowboys and hunters, though always ready to pick up information from veterans of the trail. bob had come to the far southwest as a tenderfoot; but, being quick to learn, he hoped to graduate from that class after a while. having always been fond of outdoor sports in his kentucky home, he was, at least, no greenhorn. when he came to the new country where his father was interested with frank's in mining ventures, bob had brought his favorite kentucky horse, a coal-black stallion known as "domino," and which vied with frank's native "buckskin" in good qualities. these two lads were so much abroad on horseback that they had become known as the "saddle boys." they loved nothing better than to ride the plains, mounted on their pet steeds, and go almost everywhere the passing whim tempted them. of course, in that wonderland there was always a chance for adventure when one did much wandering; and that frank and bob saw their share of excitement can be readily understood. some of the strange things that happened to them have already been narrated in the first volume of this series, "the saddle boys of the rockies, or, lost on thunder mountain," and which, in a way, is an introduction to the present story. in the first book the boys cleared up a wonderful mystery concerning a great cavern. for several minutes bob was busily engaged with the saddle girth that had been giving him considerable trouble on this gallop. "there," he remarked, finally, throwing down the flap as though satisfied with his work. "i reckon i've got it fixed now so that it will hold through the day; but i need a new girth, and when we pull up again at circle ranch i'll see about getting it. oh! did you make out anything with the glasses, frank?" he sprang into the saddle like one who had spent much of his time on horseback. domino curvetted and pranced a little, being still full of mettle and spirits; but a very firm hand held him in. "take the glass, and see if you can make out what it is," frank remarked, as if he hardly knew himself, or felt like trusting his eyes. a minute later bob lowered the glasses. "there's something on the ground, and i can catch a glimpse of what looks like a dun-colored hide through the tufts of buffalo grass. the yearling was red, you said, frank? all right. then i reckon we'll find her there; but not on her feet." "come on!" as he said these curt words frank let buckskin have his head; and, accompanied by his chum, started at a full gallop over the level, in the direction of the spot where the dun-colored object had been sighted. shortly afterward they topped a little rise, and pulled up. no need to doubt their eyes now. just before them lay the mangled remains of the lame yearling, very little being left to tell the story of how the animal had met its fate. "wolves!" said frank, gloomily, as he sat looking down at the torn hide. "i don't know the signs as well as you, frank, but i'd say the same from general indications. and they had a royal good feast, too. this makes a round half dozen head your father has lost in the last month, doesn't it?" asked bob. "seven, all told. when bart heminway told me he had noticed that one of those fine yearlings seemed lame, i wondered if something wasn't going to happen to it soon. and then, when we missed it from the herd last night, i guessed what had come about. they caught her behind the rest, and pulled her down. the poor thing didn't have a ghost of a show against that pack of savage wolf-dogs." "i'd like to have just one chance at them, that's all," grumbled bob, as he let his hand fondle the butt of a modern repeating rifle, which he carried fastened to his saddle. "this is sure the limit, and it's just got to stop!" declared frank, grimly. "right now?" queried his chum, eagerly. two pairs of flashing eyes met, the black ones sending a challenge toward the blue. "why not?" said frank, shutting his jaws hard, "the day is before us still; and we're well primed for the business of hunting that pack to their den. look at that bunch of rocks a few miles off; that must be where they hang out, bob! queer that none of the boys have ever thought of hunting in this quarter for that old she-wolf sallie, and her brood." "then you think she did it, do you?" asked bob. "sure she did. you can see for yourself where her jaws closed on the throat of the poor yearling. everybody knows her trademark. that sly beast has been the bane of the cattle ranches around here for several years. they got to calling her sallie in fun; but it's been serious business lately; and many a cowboy'd ride two hundred miles for a chance to knock her over." "and yet none of the rough riders have even thought to search that rocky pile for her den, you say?" bob continued. "why, you see, the killings have always been in other directions," frank explained. "just as shrewd animals often do, up to now sallie has never pulled down a calf anywhere near her den. i reckon she just knew it might cause a search. but this time she's either grown over-bold, or else the pack started to do the business in spite of her, and she was forced into the game." "well, shall we head for that elevation, and see what we can find?" asked bob, who was inclined to be a little impatient. "wait a bit. it would be ten times better if we could only track the greedy pack direct; but that's a hard proposition, here on the open," frank observed. "well, what can we do then?" his chum asked. "perhaps put it in the hands of the best trailer in arizona," and with a laugh frank pointed off to the left. the kentucky boy turned his head in surprise, and then exclaimed: "old hank coombs, on his pony, as sure as anything! you knew he was coming along all the while, and just kept mum. but i'm sure glad to see the old cowman right now. and it may turn out to be a day of reckoning for that cunning sallie, and her half grown cubs." the two lads waved their range hats, and sent out a salute that was readily answered by the advancing cowman. hank coombs was indeed a veteran in the cattle line, having been one of the very first to throw a rope, and "mill" stampeding steers in texas, and farther to the west. he was an angular old fellow, grim looking in his greasy leather "chaps;" but with a twinkle in his eyes that told of the spirit of fun that had never been quenched by the passage of time. "howdy, boys," he called out, as he drew rein alongside the two lads. "what's this here yer lookin' at? another dead calf? no, i swan if it ain't a yearling as has been pulled down now. things seem t' be gittin' t' a warm pass when sech doin' air allowed. huh! an' it looks like sallie's work, too! that sly ole critter is goin' t' git t' the end of her rope some fine day." "why not to-day, hank?" demanded frank, briskly. the veteran grinned, as though he had half anticipated having such a question asked. "so, that's the way the wind blows, hey?" he remarked, slowly; and then he nodded his small head approvingly. "jest as you say, frank, thar's no time like the present t' do things. the hull pack hes been here, i see, an' no matter how cunning old sallie allers shows herself, a chain's only as strong as th' weakest link. one of her cubs will sure leave tracks we kin foller. all right, boys count on me t' back ye up. i'll go wharever ye say, frank." "we'll follow the trail, if there is one," said frank, instantly; "but the chances are that's where we'll bring up," and he pointed with his quirt in the direction of the rocky uplift that stood like a landmark in the midst of the great level sea of purple sage brush, marking the plain. after one good look the cowman nodded his head again in the affirmative. "reckon as how y'r' right, frank," he remarked; "but we'll see how the trail heads." throwing himself from his saddle he bent down over the remains of the yearling that had been so unfortunate as to become lame, and thus, lagging far behind the rest of the herd, fallen a victim to the wolf pack. "easy as fallin' off a log," announced old hank, immediately. "jest as i was sayin', thar's nearly allers one clumsy cub as don't hev half sense; an' i kin foller this trail on horseback, 'pears to me." he ran it out a little way; then, once more mounting, went on ahead, with his keen eyes fastened on the ground. bob watched his actions with the greatest of interest. he knew old hank was discovering a dozen signs that would be utterly invisible to one who had not had many years of practice in tracking both wild animals and human beings. now and then the trailer would draw in his horse, as though desirous of looking more carefully at the ground. twice he even dropped off and bent low, to make positive his belief. "i reckon you were right, frank," remarked bob, after half an hour of this sort of travel "because, you see, even if the trail did lead away from the rocks at first, it's heading that way now on a straight line." "thet was only the cuteness of the ole wolf," said hank. "she's up t' all the dodges goin'. but that comes a day of reckonin' for all her kind; an' her's orter be showin' up right soon." when another half hour passed the three riders had reached the border of the strange pile of rocks. and as frank looked up at the rough heap, with its many crevices and angles, he considered that it certainly must offer an ideal den to any wild beast wishing to hide through the daytime, and prowl forth when darkness and night lay upon the land. "here's whar the trail ends at the rocks," said hank, as he dismounted and threw the bridle over the head of his horse, cowboy fashion, knowing that under ordinary conditions the animal would remain there, just as if hobbled, or staked out. both of the saddle boys followed his example, and, holding their rifles ready, prepared to search the rocks for some trace of the wolf den. wild animals may be very cunning about locating their retreat in a place where it will be hidden from the eye of a casual passer; but, in course of time, they cannot prevent signs from accumulating, calculated to betray its presence to one who is keenly on the watch. the three searchers had not been moving back and forth among the piles of rocks more than ten minutes when old hank was observed to raise his head, smile, and sniff the air with more or less eagerness. "must be close by, boys," he said, positively. "i kin git the rank odor that allers hangs 'round the den of wild animals as brings meat home, an' leaves the bones. the air is a-comin' from that quarter, an' chances are we'll find the hole sumwhar over yonder." "i think i see it," said frank, eagerly. "just above that little spur there's a black looking crevice in the rock." "as dark as my hat," added hank; "an' i reckon as how that's whar sallie lives when she's t' home. now t' invite ourselves int' her leetle parlor, boys!" chapter ii ridding the range of a pest "well, what do you think now, frank?" asked bob, as they stood in front of that gloomy looking crevice, and observed the marks of many claws upon the discolored rock, where hairy bodies had drawn themselves along countless times. "i'm wondering," the other replied; "what ails our boys at the ranch never to have suspected that old sallie had her den, and raised her broods, so close to the circle ranch. why, right now we're not more'n ten miles, as the crow flies, away from home. and for years this terrible she-wolf has lived on the calves and partly grown animals belonging to cattlemen in this neck of the land. it makes me tired to think of it!" "but frank, it's a long lane that has no turning," remarked bob; "and just now we've got to the bend. sallie has invited her fate once too often. that lame yearling is going to spell her finish, if old hank here has his way." "it sure is," agreed frank. "and when we get back home with the hide of that old pest fastened to a saddle, the boys will be some sore to think how anyone of the lot might have done the job, if they'd only turned this way." "but what's hank going to do?" asked the kentucky boy, watching the veteran cow-puncher searching on the ground under a stunted pinon tree that chanced to grow where there was a small bit of soil among the rocks. "i don't know for a dead certainty," replied the other; "but i rather think he's picking up some pieces of wood that might make good torches." "whew! then he means that we're to go into the cave, and get our game--is that it, frank?" demanded the other, unconsciously tightening his grip on his rifle, as he glanced once more toward that yawning crevice, leading to unknown depths, where the wolf pack lurked during the daytime to issue forth when night came around. "that would be just like the old chap, for he knows nothing of fear," frank replied; "but of course there's no necessity for _both_ of us to go with him. one might remain here, so as to knock over any stray beast that managed to escape the attention of those who went in." "all right; where will you take up your stand, frank?" asked bob, instantly; at which his chum laughed, as though tickled. "so you think i'd consent to stay out here tamely, while you two were having a regular circus in there?" he remarked. "that would never suit me. and it's easy to see that you count on a ticket of admission to sallie's parlor, too. well, then, we'll all go, and share in the danger, as well as the sport. for to rid the range country of this pest i consider the greatest favor under the sun. but there comes hank with a bundle of torches under his arm." "we're off, then!" chuckled bob. "make sure o' yer guns, lads," said the cowman, as he came up; "because, in a case like this, when ye want t' shoot it's apt t' be in a hurry. an' anybody as knows what a fierce critter ole sallie is, kin tell ye it'll take an ounce of lead, put in the right place, t' down her fur keeps." "i'm ready," frank assured the old hunter. "then, jest as soon's i kin git this flare goin' we'll push in." hank announced. "will we be able to see the game with such a poor light?" asked bob, a trifle nervously, as his mind went back to school days, to remember what he had read of that old revolutionary patriot, israel putnam, entering a wolf's den alone, and killing the beast in open fight; truth to tell bob had never seen a real den in which wild beasts hid from the sun; and imagination doubled its perils in his mind. "fust thing ye see'll be some yaller eyes starin' at ye outen the dark," said hank, obligingly. "then, when i gives the word, both of ye let go, aimin' direct atween the yaller spots." "but what if we miss, and the beast attacks us?" bob went on, wishing to be thoroughly posted before venturing into that hole. "in case of a mix-up," the veteran went on; "every feller is for hisself; only, recerlect thar mustn't be any shootin' at close quarters. use yer knives, or else swat her over the head with yer clubbed guns. we're bound t' git sallie this time, by hook er by crook! ready, son?" both boys declared that they had no reason for delaying matters. since it had been decided as best to invade the wolf den, the sooner they started, the better. true, bob thought that had it been left to him, he would have first tried to smoke out the occupants of the cleft, waiting near by to shoot them down as they rushed out of the depths. but then hank was directing matters now, and whatever he said must be done. besides, hank had known wolves ever since he first "toted" a gun, now more than fifty-five years ago. perhaps he understood how difficult it is to smoke out a pack of wolves, that invariably seek a cave with a depth sufficient to get away from all the influences of the smudge. without the slightest hesitation old hank got down on hands and knees, and began to crawl into the gaping mouth of the crevice. it did not go straight in, but seemed to twist around more or less. all the while the two boys kept close at the heels of the guide who carried that flaring torch. they watched ahead to detect the first sign of the enemy; and had their ears on the alert with the same idea in view. stronger grew the odor that invariably marks the den of carnivorous animals. "we ought to stir her up soon now, frank," whispered bob, on whom the strain was bearing hard, since he was not used to anything of this sort. "yes, unless the sly old beast has a back door to her home; how about that, hank?" asked the cattleman's son. "don't reckon as how it's so," came the ready response. "in thet event, we'd feel a breath of fresh air; an' ye knows as how we don't. stiddy boys, keep yer wits about ye! she's clost by, now!" "i heard a growl!" admitted bob. "and there were whines too, from the half grown cubs," ventured frank. "once we turn this bend just ahead, likely enough we'll be in the mess," bob remarked. "range on both sides of me, boys," directed hank, halting, so that they could overtake him; because he knew full well that the crisis of this bold invasion of the she-wolf's den was near at hand. in this fashion, then, the three turned the rocky corner. "i see the yellow eyes!" whispered bob, beginning to bring his gun-stock nearer to his shoulder. "say, there's a whole raft of 'em, frank!" "sure," came the quick reply, close to his ear. "hank said there was about five of the brood. hold your fire, bob. pick out the mother wolf first." "that's what i want to do; but how can i make sure?" demanded the kentucky lad, trying his best to keep his hands from trembling with excitement. he had sunk down upon one knee. this allowed him to rest his elbow on the knee that was in position, always a favorite attitude with bob when using a rifle. "take the eyes that are above all the rest, and which seem so much larger and fiercer. are you on, bob?" continued the other, who was also handling his gun with all the eagerness of a sportsman. "yes," came the firm reply. "then let her go!" the last word was drowned in a terrific roar, for when a gun is fired in confined space the din is tremendous. even as he pulled the trigger bob knew that luck was against him; for the animal had moved at a time when he could not delay the pressure of his finger. he heard a second report close beside him. frank had also fired, realizing what had occurred, and that in all probability the first bullet would only wound the savage beast, without putting an end to her activities. the torch went sputtering to the floor of the cave, having been knocked from the hand of hank when the wolf struck him heavily. he could be heard trying to rescue it before it went completely out, all the while letting off a volley of whoops and directions. fortunately frank had kept his wits about him. and his rifle was still gripped firmly in his hands, he having instantly pumped a new cartridge into the chamber after firing. the half grown cubs showed an inclination to follow their mother in her headlong attack on the human invaders of the den; for the numerous gleaming pairs of eyes were undoubtedly advancing when frank turned his gun loose on them. the din was simply terrific. bob was more concerned with the possibility of an attack from the ferocious mother wolf then anything else. he had lost track of her after that first furious rush, and crouching there, was trying the best he knew how to locate the creature again. meanwhile old hank had succeeded in picking up the torch, which, being held in an upright position, began to shed a fair amount of light once more. not seeing anything else at which he could fire, bob now started in to assist his chum get rid of the ugly whelps that were advancing, growling, snarling, and in various other ways proving how they had inherited the fearless nature of the beast that had nursed them in that den. perhaps it was all one-sided, since the animals never had a chance to get in touch with the invaders. neither of the boys ever felt very proud of the work; but in view of the tremendous amount of damage a pack of hungry wolves can do on a cattle ranch, or in a sheepfold, they had no scruples concerning the matter. besides, every one along the arizona border hated a wolf almost as badly as they did a cowardly coyote; for while the former may be bolder than the beast that slinks across the desert looking for carrion, its capacity for mischief is a good many times as great. "i don't see any more eyes, frank!" called out bob, presently, as he tried to penetrate the cloud of powder-smoke that surrounded both of them. "that's because we got 'em all, i reckon," replied his chum. "how about that, hank?" "cleaned the hull brood out, son," replied the other, chuckling; "an' no mistake about it either." "but where did the big one go to; has she escaped after all?" asked bob, with a note of regret in his voice; for he thought the blame would be placed on him, for having made a poor shot when he had such a splendid chance to finish the animal. "oh! i wouldn't worry myself about her, bob," chuckled frank, who had already made a discovery; and as he spoke he pointed to a spot close by, where, huddled in a heap, lay the heavy body of the fiercest cattle thief known for years along the border. "she was mortally hurted by the fust shot," said hank, as they stood over the gaunt animal, and surveyed her proportions with almost a touch of awe; "but seemed like the critter had enough strength left t' make thet leap, as nigh knocked me flat. then she jest keeled over, an' guv up the ghost. arter this the young heifers kin stray away from their mother's sides, without bein' dragged off. thar'll be a vote o' thanks sent ter ye, bob, from every ranch inside of fifty mile, 'cause of what ye did when ye pulled trigger this day." hank, being an experienced worker, did not take very long to secure the pelt of the dead terror of the desert. then they left the rocks, finding their horses just where they had left them. all of the animals showed signs of alarm when they scented the skin of the wolf; and domino in particular pranced and snorted at a great rate since his education had been neglected in this particular. so hank, having the best trained steed in the bunch, insisted on carrying the pelt with him on their return trip to the ranch. ten miles, as the crow flies, and they would be at home; and with comparatively fresh steeds, that should not count for more than an hour's gallop. before they had gone three miles, however, bob called the attention of his chum to a horseman who was galloping toward them. it was a cowboy, and he waved his broad-brimmed hat over his head as he came sweeping forward. "is he doing stunts; or does he want us?" asked bob. "it's ted conway," replied frank, with a sudden look of anxiety; "one of the steadiest boys at the ranch; and he acts as if something had happened at home!" chapter iii the floating bottle waving his hat after the extravagant manner of his kind, the cowboy swept constantly nearer the little party. indeed, it was impossible for them to guess whether ted conway bore a message, or was simply delighted to see the son of his employer, and his chum. presently he reached the constantly advancing trio, and under the pull of the reins his pony reared upon its hind legs. "what's wrong, ted?" asked frank, immediately. "wanted at the ranch, frank," came the answer. "the boss has sent me out to look you up on the jump. told me as how you started out on a gallop this way, an' i took chances. reckon i was some lucky to strike you so easy." "but what has happened, ted?" insisted the boy, trying to read the bronzed face of the other, and get a hint as to whether his mission verged on the serious or not. it was so very unusual for colonel haywood to send anyone out to find him, that frank's suspicions were naturally aroused. "well, the colonel had a little tumble with that game leg of his--same one that the steer fell on, and broke two years back, in the big round-up--" began the cowboy, when frank interrupted him. "then he must have been seriously hurt this time, or he wouldn't send you out for me. tell me the worst, ted; you ought to realize that it's better for me to know it all in the start, than by degrees. is my father dead?" "no. last i seen of the colonel, he was a real live man; only he had his leg done up agin in splints; an' the ole doc. from the arrowhead ranch was thar, 'tending to him. no, it ain't on count of his leetle trouble with that leg that made him send me out huntin' for you, frank." "what then?" demanded the boy, curtly; but with a sigh of relief, for his father was very dear to him. "thar come a messenger to the ranch a while ago, an' somethin' he fetched along with him, 'peared to excite the boss right from the word go," ted admitted. "a messenger, ted?" the boy echoed, wonderingly. "never seen him afore, an' think he kim from town," the new arrival went on to say. "leastwise, he looked like a stray maverick, an' had a b'iled shirt, with a collar that i reckoned sure would choke him. atween you an' me i tried to get him to chuck the same; but he only grinned, an' allowed he could stand it." "oh! a messenger from town, was it?" said frank, with a relieved look. "then the chances are it must have been some business connected with a shipment of cattle. perhaps the railroad has had a bad wreck, and wants to settle for that last bunch we sent away." but ted shook his head in the negative. "'t'wan't no railroad man; that i know," he affirmed, positively. "'sides, the boss was holdin' of a bottle in his hand, an' seemed to set a heap of store by it." "a bottle, ted?" cried frank, deeply interested. "that's what," replied the cowboy, energetically. "but jest why he should reckon such a thing wuth shucks i can't tell ye. but he sent me out to bring you back to the ranch house like two-forty. i seen that he was plumb locoed, and some excited by the news, whatever it might be." frank looked at his chum in a puzzled way, and shook his head. "i don't seem able to make head or tail of this business, bob," he remarked; "but there's only one thing to be done, and that's to romp home on the gallop. so away we go with a rush. who's after me! hi! get long, buckskin! it's a race for a treat of oats as a prize! here you are, bob; hit up the pace!" with the words frank gave his horse free rein, and went tearing over the level plain, headed as straight for the distant ranch as though he were a bird far up in the clear air, and could see to make a direct line "as the crow flies!" and after a time, in the distance, they saw the whitewashed outbuildings of circle ranch. frank never viewed the familiar and dearly loved scene with more anxiety than he did now; but so far as he could see there did not appear to be anything out of the ordinary taking place around the ranch house. "looks all right, bob!" exclaimed frank, as though a great load had been taken from his heart. the sudden coming of ted conway, with that queer message that meant a hurried return, had mystified the boy not a little. but he knew that all would soon be made plain now, since they were nearly home. dashing up in front of the house, the two lads jumped to the ground almost before their mounts had come to a halt. the door was open, and frank led the way in a headlong rush. as they entered he saw his father seated in his comfortable easy-chair, with that unfortunate leg, that had given him more or less trouble for two years now, propped on another seat, and bound up. there was a stranger with him, but no sign of the arrowhead ranch cowboy doctor; which would indicate that, having done his duty, the roving physician and bone-setter had returned to his regular business, which was roping and branding cattle. colonel haywood was a man in the prime of life. up to the time that clumsy steer had broken his leg he had been most active; but since then he had not been able to get around on his feet so well, though able to ride fairly comfortably. "hello! frank, my boy!" he exclaimed, as the two came rushing in. "so ted managed to round you up in great style; did he? well, i always said ted was the sharpest fellow on the range when it came to finding things. where have you been to-day?" "doing a little missionary work for the country," replied frank, smiling. "we came across that lame pet yearling, the dun-colored one you thought so much of; and there was mighty little left of the poor beast but a torn hide, not worth lifting." "huh! wolves again!" exclaimed the stock-raiser, with a frown. "sure thing, sir," frank went on. "we saw a heap of signs that told us our old friend, sallie, with the broken tooth, had been on the job again. but that was the last of our beef the old lady'll ever taste, or anybody else's, for that matter." "what's that? did you sight her, and get a shot?" demanded the pleased rancher, forgetting his broken leg in his excitement, and making a movement that immediately caused him to give a grunt, and settle back again. "old hank happened to run across our trail just then," frank continued; "and we made up our minds to track the beast to her lair. where do you suppose we found it, dad, but in the big bunch of rocks that lies about ten miles to the west?" "you surprise me; but go on, tell me the rest, and then i'm going to let you in on something that will open your eyes a little," remarked the stockman. "oh! there isn't much more to tell, dad," the boy hastened to say, for he was eager to learn what all this mystery meant. "we found the opening, easy enough, and made up our minds to crawl in after sallie, the whole three of us. so hank picked up some wood for a flare, and in we went." "and you found her home? you met with a warm reception, i warrant!" the other exclaimed, his eyes kindling with pride as he saw the quiet, confident air with which frank rattled off his story. "sallie was in, ditto five of her half-grown brood, and all full of fight," the boy continued. "but of course they didn't have a ghost of a show against our two repeating rifles. hank held the torch, and bob fired first. then the brute jumped, and nearly got hank, who lost the flare for a few seconds. we keeled over the ugly whelps as they started for us; and later on found old sallie, just as she had dropped. that big jump was her last." "well, i'm glad to hear that, son," declared the rancher, who had suffered long and seriously from the depredations of that sly animal and her various broods, despite all efforts to locate her, and put an end to her attacks. "i'm glad you're pleased with what we did," frank remarked. "it will mean a lot to all honest ranchmen in this section," continued the cattleman. "with sallie gone, we can hope to raise a record herd the coming season, without keeping men constantly on the watch, day and night, for a slinking thief that defied our best efforts. shake hands, bob, and let me congratulate you on making the shot that ended the loping of the worst pest this country has known in five years." "but when ted came whirling along, shouting, and waving his hat, to tell us you wanted me back home on the jump, it gave me a bad feeling, dad; especially when i heard that you'd gone and hurt that leg again!" frank cried, as he, too, seized the other hand of his father, and squeezed it affectionately. "but i told ted to be sure and let you know that it was not on account of my new upset that i wanted you back," declared the ranchman, frowning. "yes, he delivered the message all right, dad; but all the same i was bothered a heap, let me tell you," frank went on. "and now, please, tell us what it's all about; won't you; and what this gentleman has to do with it; also the bottle ted said you were handling?" at that colonel haywood smiled, and looked up at the stranger. "this is a mr. hinchman, frank," he remarked. "he lives in a small place on the great colorado river called mohave city. and one day, not long ago, a man who was fishing on the river at a place where an eddy set in, found a curious bottle floating, that was sealed with red wax on the top, and seemed to contain only a piece of paper. this is the bottle," and as he spoke he opened a drawer of the desk, and drew out the flask in question. frank took it, and turned it around. so far as he could see it was an ordinary bottle. it contained no cork, but there were signs of sealing wax around the top. "mr. hinchman, is, i believe," the ranchman went on, "though he has been too modest to say so himself, a gentleman of some importance in mohave city, which accounted for the fisherman fetching his queer find to him. the bottle had evidently come down the great river, perhaps for one or two hundred miles, escaping destruction from contact with rocks in a marvelous manner, and finally falling into the hands of one who had both the time and the curiosity to examine its sealed contents." colonel haywood thereupon took up a small piece of paper from the pad of the desk. "this is what he found in the bottle, frank," continued the stockman. "it bore my address, and the name of my ranch here; so thinking that it might be something more than a practical joke he concluded to journey all the way across the country to see me. it was a mighty nice thing for mr. hinchman to do, and something i am not apt to forget in a hurry, either." "then the paper interested you, dad, it seems?" frank remarked, eagerly. "it certainly did, son, and i rather think you will feel the same as i did when i tell you whose name is written at the bottom of this little communication," the cattleman went on. "all right, i'm ready to hear it," frank remarked, laughingly. "felix oswald!" replied his father, quickly. the boy was indeed intensely surprised, if one could judge from his manner. "your uncle felix, dad, who has been gone these three years, and whose mysterious disappearance set the whole scientific world guessing. and you say his name is there, signed to that paper found in the sealed bottle? well, you sure have given me a surprise. then he's still alive?" "he seemed to be when he wrote this," the cattleman said, reflectively; "but as he failed to put any date on it, we can only guess how long the bottle has been cruising down the colorado, sucked into eddies that might hold it for weeks or months, until a rise in the river sent it forth again." "say, doesn't that beat everything you ever heard of, bob?" declared frank, turning to his chum. "it certainly does," replied bob, and then the ranchman's boy continued: "perhaps you remember me telling you some things about this queer old uncle of dad's, bob, and how, after he had made a name for himself, he suddenly vanished in a night, leaving word behind that he was going to study the biggest subject any man could ever tackle. and as he didn't want to be bothered, he said he would leave no address behind. they've looked for him all over europe, asia and africa, but he was never heard from again. and now to think that he's sent word to dad; and in a sealed bottle too!" "that looks as if he must be somewhere on the colorado river, don't it?" suggested bob. "undoubtedly," replied the stockman; "in fact, in this brief communication he admits that he is located somewhere along the grand canyon, in a place where travelers have as yet never penetrated. i can only guess that uncle felix must have been seized with a desire to unearth treasures that might tell the history of those strange old cliff dwellers, who occupied much of that country as long as eight hundred years ago. all he mentions about his hiding place is to call it echo cave. you never heard of such a place, did you, mr. hinchman; and you've lived on the lower river many years?" "i never did, colonel," replied the man from mohave city; "and perhaps few people have climbed through that wonderful gash in the surface of the arizona desert as many times as i have." "in this brief note," continued colonel haywood, "uncle felix simply says that he has become aware of the passage of time; and since his labors are not yet completed, and he does not wish to allow his friends to believe him dead, he has concluded to communicate with me, his nephew. and as he knew of no other way of doing so, he resorted to the artifice of the floating bottle." "mighty considerate of him, that's sure," chuckled frank. "been gone now two or three years, and suddenly remembers that there are people who might worry about his dropping out of sight." "but son," remarked the stockman, "don't forget that uncle felix is wrapped up in his profession, and cares very little about the ties of this world. i know him well enough for that. but it happens, singularly enough, that just now it is of the greatest importance he should be found, and communicated with. i would undertake the task myself, only for this unfortunate break that is bound to keep me laid up for another month or two. the doctor set my leg afresh, and tells me that this time i will really get perfectly well, given time. but it's hard to think that my cousin janice, his only child, will lose so great a sum if some one fails to locate uncle felix, and get his signature to a paper inside of another month." "why, how is that, father?" asked frank. "circumstances have arisen that will throw a fortune into her hands;" the stockman continued; "but the time limit approaches, and if his signature is not forthcoming others will reap the benefit, particularly that rascally cousin of mine, eugene warringford. you remember meeting him a year ago, frank, when he came around asking many questions, as though he might have tracked his uncle out this way, and then lost the trail?" "why not send us, dad?" demanded frank, standing up in front of the stockman, with a smile of confidence on his face. chapter iv the listener under the window "that was what i had in mind, frank, when i hurried ted conway out to find you both," colonel haywood remarked, his face filled with pride and confidence. "will you let me see the note, please?" asked bob; who expected some day to study to be a lawyer, his father's family having had several kentucky judges among their number. just as the owner of the ranch had said, the communication was exceedingly brief, and to the point, not an unnecessary word having been written. it was in pencil, and the handwriting was crabbed; just what one might expect of an elderly man, given over heart and soul to scientific research. "i suppose you know the writing well enough to feel sure this came from your noted uncle, sir?" asked bob, as he turned the paper over. "certainly, bob," replied the cattleman, promptly. "there is not the least possibility of it's being a practical joke. nobody out here knows anything about my uncle, who disappeared so long ago. yes, you can set it down as positive that the letter is genuine enough. he's located somewhere up in that most astonishing hole, the greatest wonder, most people admit, in the entire world. but just how you two boys are ever going to find him is another question." "we can try, dad; and that's all you could do if you were able to tramp. it happens that the grand canyon isn't more than a hundred and thirty miles from our ranch here, and we can ride that in a few days. how do you feel about it, bob?" "nothing would please me better," replied the other boy, quickly, his face lighting up with delight at the prospect of a long ride in the saddle, to be followed by days, and perhaps weeks, of roaming through that wonderland, where nature had outdone all her other works in trying to heap up astonishing surprises. "so far as i'm concerned," frank went on, "i've always wanted to visit the grand canyon, and meant to do it some day later on. of course i've seen what the little colorado has to show, because it's only a long day's ride off. mr. hinchman can, i reckon, give us some points about the place, and maybe even mention several smaller canyons where we might be likely to find uncle felix in echo cave." "which i'll be only too happy to attempt," answered the gentleman from mohave city; "and as i said before, i know considerable about the mysteries of the big hole in the desert, all of which is at your service. somehow, the queer way that message in the floating bottle came to me, excited my curiosity; and i'll be satisfied if i can only have a hand in the finding of the noted gentleman who, as your father has been telling me, vanished in the midst of his fame." "and now, dad, please explain just what we are to do in case luck follows us in our hunt, and we run across the professor," said frank. "you are to explain to him that the long option which he held on that san bernardino mine will expire in one more month. the work had been going on in a listless way for three years. all at once some time back they struck a wonderfully rich lode, and vein has been followed far enough to show that it is bound to be a record breaker." "that sounds great!" declared the deeply interested bob. "the mine couldn't be bought for a million to-day," continued the stockman; "and yet uncle felix is probably carrying around with him (for it couldn't be found at his home) a little legal document whereby it will become his sole property in case he chooses to plank down the modest sum of twenty thousand dollars by the thirtieth of next month!" "whew! that's going some, eh, bob?" exclaimed frank, with a little whistle that accentuated his surprise. "then if we are fortunate enough to find uncle felix before that time has expired, what shall we do, sir?" asked the precise bob, who was always keeping an eye out for the legal aspect of things. "coax him to accompany you to the nearest notary public, where he can sign his acceptance of the terms under which he holds the option on the san bernardino. but if this happens after the thirtieth it is all wasted energy; for at midnight of that day, i happen to know, the option expires," the ranchman continued, somewhat impressively. just as he finished speaking he suddenly turned toward the window, at which his keen vision had caught sight of a moving shadow, as though someone might have been crouching without, and listening. "who is there at the window?" he called out, sternly. all eyes were turned that way. after several seconds had passed a figure rose up, and a head was thrust through the opening. it belonged to a dark-faced cow-puncher, named abajo, who was supposed to be a half-breed mexican. although never a favorite with the owner of the circle ranch, abajo was a first-class handler of the rope, and could ride a horse as well as anyone. he had been employed by colonel haywood for half a year. he talked "united states," as frank was used to saying, as well as the average cowman. but frank had never liked the fellow. there seemed something crafty in his ways that was foreign to the make-up of the boy. "it's only me, boss," said abajo, with an attempt at a grin. "i wanted to ask you about that job you set me on yesterday. i took pete along, and we found the lost bunch of stock in a valley ten mile away from thunder mountain in the fox canyon country. got 'em all safe in but seven. never seen hair nor hide of them; but after gettin' back it struck me there was one place they might a strayed to that we didn't look up. if so be you say the word i'll pick up pete again, and make another try." "why, of course you had better go, abajo," remarked the stockman, looking keenly at the other, for he did not like the way in which the half-breed had been apparently loitering under that open window, as though listening to all that was passing in the room beyond. "i told you not to draw rein till you'd found all the missing stock; or knew what had become of them. that's all, abajo." the mexican cowboy hurried away. a minute later and they heard him shouting to pete; and then the clatter of horses' hoofs told that the pair were galloping wildly across the open. "i wonder how much he heard?" said frank; from which it would appear that he also suspected the other of having spied upon them for some purpose. "much good it could have done him, even if he caught all we said," replied his father. "because, of course, he doesn't know anything about uncle felix; and couldn't be interested in whether he is living or dead." "no," remarked mr. hinchman, "but the mention of a mine going a-begging that is worth a comfortable fortune, like a million or two, would interest abajo. i know his type pretty well, and you can rest assured that they're always on the lookout for easy money." "but didn't it strike you, dad," ventured frank, "that his excuse for being under that window was silly?" "yes, because abajo has always been able to understand, without asking what he should do under such conditions. he wanted some excuse for drawing near the open window, and he found it. perhaps he's heard something about the coming of mr. hinchman here, and the queer finding of the bottle that floated down the colorado for one or two hundred miles. i spoke to the foreman, bart heminway, about it." "when would you want us to make a start?" asked bob, looking as though he might be ready to jump into his saddle then and there. "oh! there is no such rushing hurry as all that," replied the cattleman, laughing at the eagerness of the two lads. "your horses are a bit off, just now, and after all that fight in the wolf den you boys need a rest." "but when do we start?" asked frank. "suppose you get ready to move in the morning," colonel haywood replied, after reflecting a moment. "that will give me time to write a letter to uncle felix, so that you can deliver it, if you're lucky enough to find his echo cave; and at the same time you can make up your packs; for you will need blankets, and plenty of grub along." "well, i reckon you're right, dad," admitted frank; "only it seems as if we might be losing valuable time. all the same we're going to do just what you say. now, if you haven't anything more to tell us, we'll just skip out, and begin looking up some of the supplies for our campaign in the grand canyon." "get along with you, then," laughed the ranchman. "i want to ask mr. hinchman a few more questions that have occurred to me since you came home. and, boys, grub will be ready in a short time, now, for there's ah sin stepping to the door every little while, to look around and see if the boys are in sight. you know what that sign means." frank and his chum went off, to make out a list of things they would take along with them on the strange expedition upon which they were about to start on the following morning. "what do you think of that slippery customer, abajo?" bob asked his chum, as the afternoon waned, and they were sitting on the long porch of the ranch house. "i've never liked him ever since he came here; but dad was in need of help, and the half-breed certainly knows his business to a dot," replied frank, who was examining the new girth his chum had attached to his saddle, mentally deciding that whatever the young kentuckian attempted, he did neatly and well. "didn't i hear something about his being a relative to that spanish joe who gave us so much trouble a little while back, on thunder mountain?" bob continued. "well, i couldn't say for sure, but some say he is a nephew," frank answered. "both of them have mexican blood in their veins; and, when you come to think of it, there is some resemblance in their faces." "but do you really think abajo was listening?" the other asked. "it looked like it; that's as far as i've got," laughed frank. "but," bob protested, "even if he knew that there was a big fortune connected with the paper this queer old professor carries on his person, what good would that do abajo?" frank shrugged his broad shoulders as he replied: "well, you never can tell what crazy notions some of these schemers after a fortune will hatch up. he might make up his mind to start a little hunt for the hermit of echo cave on his own hook; with the idea of getting a transfer of that valuable paper." "that's a fact!" declared bob, looking interested. "perhaps, after all, we won't have our work cut out for us as easy as we thought." "small difference that will make," frank went on, with a shutting of his teeth that told of the spirit animating the boy when difficulties hove in sight. "i agree with you, all right, frank," his companion remarked. "and perhaps it'll only make the hunt all the more interesting if we believe we've got opposition. you know how it was when peg grant threw his hat in the ring, and tried to find out what made those queer sounds in the heart of thunder mountain?" "sure i do," came the quick reply. "it stirred us up to doing bigger stunts than if we'd thought we had it all our own way. nothing like competition to get the best out of any fellow." "correct you are, frank. but speaking of abajo, perhaps that's him coming back now," and as he spoke the kentucky boy pointed across to a point where a single rider could be seen heading for the ranch house. he was still far away, but the eyes of frank haywood were very keen. besides, he knew the "style" of every cowboy who was in the employ of his father, and was able to pick them out almost as far as he could see them. "you're away off there, bob," he remarked quietly. "then it isn't the half-breed?" asked his chum. "i know the way that chap sits in the saddle," came the reply. "only one man on the pay roll of circle ranch holds himself that way. it's pete." "pete rawlings, the fellow who went with abajo to round up the missing cattle?" asked bob. "he's the one," frank went on. "and from the fact that he rides alone, i take it he's bringing news." "of the seven head of cattle that have disappeared, you mean, frank?" "perhaps. they may have found them, and abajo is standing by, while pete comes in to make some sort of report. there's that rustler bunch that comes from the other side of the gila river once in a while, under pedro mendoza, you remember. but he'll soon be on deck, and then we'll know. come along, bob, and we'll let dad hear that pete is sighted. he'll be interested some, i reckon." a short time later the single rider threw himself from his saddle after the usual impetuous manner of cowboys in general. "back again, pete; and did you see anything of that seven head?" asked colonel haywood, who had come outside. "ain't run across hair nor hide of 'em, colonel," replied the squatty cattleman, as he "waddled" up to the spot where the little group awaited his coming; for like many of his kind, pete was decidedly bow-legged, possibly from riding a horse all his life; and his walk somewhat resembled that of a sailor ashore after a long cruise. "where did you leave abajo?" asked frank, unable to restrain his curiosity. "didn't leave him," replied the other, with a grin. "he gave me the merry ha! ha! and said as how he reckoned he'd had enough of the old circle. got his month's pay yesterday, you see, an' he's even. i reckoned somethin' was in the wind when i seen him talkin' with that feller." "who was that, pete?" questioned colonel haywood; and the prompt answer made frank and bob exchange significant looks, for it seemed to voice their worst fears. "a gent as you had avisitin' here some time back, colonel. reckon as how he don't feel any too warm toward you, accordin' to the way he used to bring them black brows of his'n down, when he thought you wa'n't lookin'. and his name was eugene warringford." chapter v starting for the grand canyon no one appeared to be greatly surprised at this piece of news. apparently it had been already discounted in the mind of frank, his father, and even bob archer. "so, that's the way the wind sets, is it?" remarked the colonel, frowning. "anyhow, dad, that proves one thing," declared frank. "meaning about that business of listening under the window?" observed the owner of circle ranch. "it certainly does. abajo has been in the employ of eugene warringford from the start. but there must have been some other good reason why that schemer wanted to find uncle felix. he suspected that, sooner or later, the old gentleman would communicate with me, because i used to be quite a favorite of his, years ago." "yes, and he sent the half-breed here to get employment from you just to spy around," declared frank. "all the time he was accepting your money, he had a regular income from eugene." "oh! well, he earned all he got here," said the ranchman, quickly. "say what i may about abajo, he had no superior when it came to throwing the rope, and rounding up a herd. those mexicans make the finest of cowboys. they are at home in the saddle, every time." "also in hanging around under windows, and listening to what is said," added frank. "as for me, i have little use for their breed. and, dad, if ever you give me the reins here, no mexican will ever get a job on old circle ranch." "well," remarked the stockman, laughing at the vigor with which his son and heir made this assertion, "perhaps i'm leaning that way myself. after all, there's nothing like your own kind. we don't understand these fellows. their ways are not the same as ours; and i reckon we puncture their pride often enough. but there's no trouble now about understanding why abajo gave us the go-by to-day." "huh! he had some news worth while carrying to his boss," said frank. "and i can just imagine how eugene's little eyes will sparkle when he hears about that valuable paper; eh, dad?" "you're right, son," the ranchman replied. "because, it stands to reason he couldn't know anything about it before. the mine was a dead one up to a few months back, when that lucky-find lode was struck by accident. eugene will put up a big chase to find this echo cave, now that he knows uncle felix is located somewhere in the grand canyon of the colorado." "but it won't make a bit of difference in our plans, dad; will it?" asked frank. "that depends on you two boys. if you think you can carry the game along, even with eugene against you, i see no reason to make any change," the stockman replied, with a look that spoke of much confidence. the balance of the afternoon was spent in exchanging views, and much study of the map of the famous canyon of the colorado, which it happened the ranch owner had in his desk. all sorts of theories were advanced by first one and then another of the group. it happened that colonel haywood himself had never as yet paid a visit to the strange gash in the soil of northwestern arizona; and he admitted the fact with a rueful face. "then just as soon as you get well, dad, make up your mind you're going to take a little vacation, and see the grand canyon," said frank. "when we come back, perhaps what we have to say will set you wild to go. and we expect to bring news of old uncle felix too, if he's still in the land of the living." "let's go over that ground again," remarked bob. "now you're referring to what was said about the funny old stone dwellings of the cliff dwellers, who used to live there centuries ago," remarked frank. "and he's right, too," declared the ranchman. "i get the point bob makes. it was about these wonderful people that uncle felix was so deeply interested, and he made up his mind to shut himself away from all the world, just to study up their history, as left in the holes in the rock." "and it would seem to follow, then," said bob, readily, "that he will be found located in one of those series of terraces where these holes are discovered. i notice that there are a number of these villages connected with the map of the grand canyon; but the chances are your uncle felix wouldn't take up with any where tourist travel was common." "now, that sounds all right," admitted frank. "in the first place he would have been heard from long ago, if tourists ran across him; because they always talk, and send their accounts to be published in the papers." "besides, these scientific men hate to be watched when they're wrapped up in work like this. i've known a couple back in old kentucky," bob went on. "according to your idea, then," said the colonel, nodding approvingly, "this echo cave he mentions will prove to be some new place that the ordinary tourist in the big canyon has never set eyes on?" "that's my opinion, sir," replied bob. "and if that's so, then it wouldn't pay you boys to waste any time looking into these ruins of the homes of the cliff dwellers located around grand view; and in walnut canyon, some nine miles from flagstaff," the ranchman continued. "i think we'd save more or less time that way, sir," bob declared. "and you still want to go on horseback; when you might reach the railroad, and take a train, easily enough?" asked colonel haywood. the boys exchanged glances. they were wedded to the saddle, and disliked the idea of leaving their favorite steeds behind them when embarking on this new venture. "we've picked out the trail we expect to follow, dad," frank said, pleadingly; "and it seems to run pretty smooth, with only a few mountains to cross, and a couple of rivers to ford. if you don't object seriously, bob and i would prefer to go mounted." "oh! as far as that goes, i don't blame you, boys," the stockman hastened to say in reply; for he could understand the yearning one feels for a favorite horse; and how a seat in the saddle seems to be the finest thing in the world. "thank you, dad!" exclaimed frank. "i reckoned that you'd talk that way. somehow or other i just don't feel more'n half myself out of the saddle. and when we start to go down into the canyon we can find some place to leave our mounts where they'll be 'tended decently enough." ah sin, the chinese cook of the ranch, who generally accompanied the boys when the whole outfit went on the grand round-up, with the mess wagon in attendance, now came outdoors, and beat his gong to announce dinner. the cowboys were not far away, awaiting the summons with the customary range appetites held in check; and when they were seated at the table they presented a merry crowd. frank's mother happened to be visiting east at this time. he had a maiden aunt, however, who looked after the household duties, and sat at the end of the long table to pour the coffee. of course there was more or less talk about the sudden flitting of the half-breed, abajo. nobody had any regrets, for he had never been liked. and there were several who secretly felt pleased, because they had happened to quarrel with the dark-skinned mexican at different times, and did not altogether fancy the way he had of scowling, while his finger felt the edge of the knife he carried in his gay sash, after the manner of his countrymen. colonel haywood did not see fit to explain the real cause for the going of abajo, except to his foreman, bart heminway. but during the evening, when frank and bob were making up their packs so as to get an early start in the morning, the ranch owner might have been seen in earnest consultation with the foreman. presently bart went out, to return with old hank coombs, and another cowman known as chesty lane; who had of course received this name on account of the way he thrust out his figure, rather than from any inclination on his part to boast of his wonderful deeds. "chesty tells me, colonel," said bart, "that he used to be a guide in this same grand canyon, years ago. i never knowed it 'till right to-day. and if so be you intend to send old hank up thar to keep tabs on the doings of that ugly pair, abajo and warringford, thar couldn't be a better man to pick out than chesty. you can depend on him every time." then followed another conference, of which the two boys, wrapped up in their own plans in another room, were of course entirely ignorant. it was decided, however, that the two cowmen should wait until the boys were well on their way. then, supplied with ample funds, they could ride to the nearest station, meet the first train bound north, and be at flagstaff before night came around. in this way the colonel figured that he was safeguarding the interests of bob and frank. already had he begun to regret allowing them to go, and if it had not been for the high regard he had for his word, once given, he might have backed down. however, perhaps the sending of hank and his companion might answer the purpose, and prove a valuable move. the night passed, and with early dawn there was a stir all about circle ranch. every cowboy on the place accompanied frank and bob several miles on their long journey, every fellow wishing he had been asked to join them for the adventure. and when bart hemingway gave the word to turn back, the entire group waved their hats, and cheered as long as the two lads remained within hearing. chapter vi buckskin on guard "a good day's ride, all right, bob!" "you never said truer words, frank. and now, with night setting in, how far do you think we've covered since the start this morning?" the kentucky boy sat in his saddle with a slight show of weariness, which was not to be wondered at, considering the steadiness with which they had kept on the move, hour after hour, heading in a general westerly direction. the satin skin of domino was flecked with foam. even the tough little buckskin mount of frank showed signs of weariness; though ready to keep on if his master gave the word. "that would be hard to tell," replied the rancher's son; "but it must be all of sixty-five miles, i reckon." "then that beats my record some," declared the other. "but it was a glorious gallop all the way through," asserted frank. "that's what; and more to follow to-morrow," his chum hastened to remark. "but a different kind of travel, the chances are, bob. to-day it happened that we were crossing the great mesa, and it was like a floor for being level. over yonder, ahead, you can see the mountains we must cross. then there are rivers to ford or swim. yes, variety is the spice of life; and unless i miss my guess we're due for a big change to-morrow." "think we can make flagstaff by to-morrow night?" asked the kentucky lad, who, at a time like this, seemed to depend very much upon the superior knowledge of his chum, who had been brought up on the plains. "we're going to make a try; that's as far as i've got," laughed frank. "but what about camping here?" "as good as anywhere," answered bob. "fact is, i'm admitting to being ready to drop down in any old place, so long as i can stretch my legs, and roll. no wonder a horse likes to turn over as soon as you take the saddle off. shall we call it a go, frank?" the other jumped to the ground. bob thought he heard him give a little grunt in doing so; but just then he was interested in repressing his own feelings. however, when they had moved about somewhat, both boys confessed to feeling considerably better. as for the horses, there was no danger of their straying after that gallop of many hours in the hot sun. they took their roll, and then began hunting for stray tufts of grass among the buffalo berry bushes. the sun had already set, and twilight told of the coming night. around them lay the mesa, with the mountains cropping up like a crust along the edge. it was a familiar scene, to frank in particular, and one of which he never tired. "i noticed some jack rabbits as we came along," remarked bob, "and as they always come out of their burrows about dusk to play, suppose i try and knock over a couple right now." "wouldn't object myself to a good dinner of rabbit, after that ride," frank admitted, as he proceeded to get the little tent in position, a task that was only a pleasure to a boy fond of all outdoors. so bob immediately sauntered off toward the spot where he had noticed the long-eared animals, calculated to make a good meal for hungry campers. "i heard gophers whistling," called out frank, "and that means there's a village somewhere close by. keep your eyes out for the rattlers; they are always found where prairie dogs live." "i never forget that, frank," came back from the disappearing hunter. frank went on with his preparations. a fire would be necessary, if they expected to cook fresh meat; and it is not always an easy thing to have such when out on the open plain or mesa. but frank had already sighted a supply of fuel sufficient for their needs and it was indeed next door to a miracle to find the dead branch of a pine tree here, far away from the mountains, where the nearest trees seemed to grow. "i reckon it was just lifted up in some little tornado, and carried through the air, just to land where we needed it," he remarked, as he dragged the log closer to where he had quickly put up the tent; and then began chopping at it with his little camp hatchet. as he worked there came a quick report from a point not far away. "that means one jack," he remarked, raising his head to listen; but to his surprise no second shot followed. "well, if he hopes to get a pair, he'll have to hurry up his cakes," frank went on; "because the night's settling down on us fast. but then one will give us a taste all around, and help out." it was some little time before he heard bob coming, and then the kentuckian seemed to be walking rather unsteadily. frank jumped to his feet, with the suspicion that possibly after all bob had met with a misfortune. in the minute of time that he was waiting for his chum to appear, a number of things flashed through his head to give him uneasiness. had bob been unlucky enough to run across one of those aggressive little prairie rattlesnakes after all? could he have wounded himself in any way when he fired his repeating rifle? neither of these might prove to be the case; and yet bob was certainly staggering as he came along. now he could be seen by the light of the little fire. frank stared, for his chum was certainly bending over, as though bearing a load. he had heard no outcry that would signify the presence of others in the neighborhood. ah! surely those were the long slender legs of an antelope which bob gripped in front of him. "bully for you!" exclaimed frank. "where under the sun did you run across that fine game? say, you sure take the cake, stepping out just to knock over a couple of long-ears; and then coming back ten minutes later with a fine antelope on your back. how did you do it, bob?" "i don't know," laughed the other. "happened to start up against the wind, and was creeping up behind some buffalo berry bushes to see if there were any jack rabbits beyond, when this little fellow jumped to his feet. why he didn't light out when we came along, i never could tell you." "oh! he just knew we wanted a good supper, i reckon," frank remarked. "and now to get busy." it did not take them long to cut some choice bits from the antelope, which they began to cook at the fire, thrusting the meat through with long splinters of wood, which in turn were held in a slanting position in the ground. when one part gave evidence of being browned the novel spit was turned until all sides had been equally served. "remember the way old hank showed us how to toll antelope for a shot, when you can't find cover to get near enough?" asked frank, as they sat there, disposing of their supper, with the satisfaction hunger always brings in its train. "you mean with the red handkerchief waved over the top of a bush?" bob went on. "hank said there never was a more curious little beast than an antelope. if he didn't have a red rag a white one would do. once he said he just lay down on his back and kicked his heels in the air. the game ran away, but came back; and each time just a little bit closer, till hank could fire, and get his supper. i've done something the same for ducks, in a marsh back home, trying to draw their attention to the decoys i had out." a small stream ran near by, at which the boys and horses had quenched their thirst. sometimes its gentle murmur floated to their ears as they sat there, chatting, and wondering whether their mission to the grand canyon was destined to bear fruit or not. "i can get the smell of some late wild roses," remarked frank. "and it isn't often that you find such things up on one of these high mesas, or table lands. do you know, i rather imagine this used to be a favorite stamping ground for buffalo in those good old days when herds of tens of thousands could be met with, rolling like the waves of a sea over the plains." "what makes you think so?" asked bob, always seeking information. "the grass, for one thing," came the reply. "then i noticed quite a few old sun-burned remnants of skulls as we came along. the bone hunter didn't gather his crop in this region, that means. besides, didn't you see all those queer little indentations that looked as though they might have been pools away back years ago?" "sure, i did; and wondered whatever could have made them," bob admitted. "i may be wrong," frank continued; "but somehow i've got an idea that those must be what they used to call buffalo wallows. anyhow, that doesn't matter to us. we've made a good day of it; found a jim-dandy place for a camp; got some juicy fresh meat; and to-morrow we hope to land in flagstaff." "and what then?" queried bob. "we'll decide that while we ride along to-morrow," frank answered. "perhaps it may seem better that we leave our horses there, and take the train for the grand canyon; though i'm inclined to make another day of it, and follow the old wagon trail over the mesa, and through the pine forest past red butte, to grand view." "listen to buckskin snorting; what d'ye suppose ails him?" asked bob, as his chum stopped speaking. "i was just going to say that myself," remarked frank, putting out his hand for his rifle; and at the same time scattering the brands of the dying fire so that darkness quickly fell upon the spot. "too late, i'm afraid," muttered bob. "seems like it, because the horses are sure coming straight for us," said frank; "but there are many people moving around in this section, and perhaps some tenderfeet from the east have lost themselves, and would be glad of a chance to sit by our blaze and taste antelope meat, fresh where it is grown. step back, bob, and let's wait to see what turns up!" chapter vii standing by the law "what had we ought to do?" asked bob. "they must have seen our fire, and that's what made them head this way. so, all we can do is to wait, and see what they want," replied frank. "but there don't seem to be many in the party," his chum went on. "i think not more than two, bob." "you can tell from the beat of their horses' hoofs--is that it?" inquired the boy who wanted to learn. "yes, it's easy enough, bob." by this time the sounds had grown quite loud, and both boys strained their eyes, trying to locate the approaching horsemen. in the old days on the plains every stranger was deemed an enemy until he had proven himself a friend. nowadays it is hardly so positive as that; but nevertheless those who are wise take no chances. "i see them!" bob announced; but although the other saddle boy had not said so, he had picked up the advancing figures several seconds before. "one thing sure," remarked frank, as though relieved, "i reckon they can't be horse thieves or cattle rustlers." "you mean they wouldn't be so bold about coming forward?" ventured bob. "that's about the size of it; but we'll soon know," frank went on. as the strangers drew rapidly nearer he began to make out their "style" for the night was not intensely dark. and somehow frank's curiosity increased in bounds. he discovered no signs of the customary cowboy outfit about them. they wore garments that savored of civilization, and sat their horses with the air of men accustomed to much riding. "hold hard there, strangers; or you'll be riding us down!" frank sang out, as the newcomers loomed up close at hand. at that the others drew rein, and brought their horses to a halt. bending low in the saddle they seemed to be peering at the dimly-seen figures of the two boys. "who is it--speak quick!" one of the strangers said; and frank believed he heard a suspicious click accompanying the thrilling words. "two boys bound for flagstaff and the grand canyon," he answered, not wishing to take any unnecessary chances. "where from, and what's your names?" continued the other, in his commanding voice, that somehow told frank he must be one accustomed to demanding obedience. the ranch boy no longer felt any uneasiness. he believed that these men were not to be feared. "i am the son of colonel haywood, owner of the circle ranch; and this is my chum, bob archer, a kentucky boy," he said, boldly. then the other man, who as yet had not spoken, took occasion to remark: "'taint them, after all, stanwix! perhaps we've been following the wrong trail." the name gave frank an idea. he had heard more or less about the doings of a sheriff in a neighboring county, called yavapai, and his name was the same as that mentioned by the second dimly seen rider. "are you gentlemen from prescott?" he asked. "that's where i hold out when i'm home," replied the one who had asked about their identity. "are you sheriff stanwix?" pursued the boy, while his companion almost held his breath in suspense. "i am; and this is hand, who holds the same office in this county of coconino," replied the other, as he threw a leg over his saddle as though about to dismount. both of them joined the boys, leaving their horses to stand with the bridles thrown over their heads, cowboy fashion. frank meanwhile had picked up some small fuel, and thrown it on the still smouldering fire. it immediately started up into a blaze that continued to increase. they could now see that their visitors were two keen-eyed men. the evidence of their calling lay in the stars that decorated their left breasts. both looked as though they could hold their own against odds. and of course they were armed as became their dangerous profession. bob was especially interested. he had never really had anything to do with an officer of the law; and surveyed the pair with all the ardor of boyish curiosity. to see one sheriff was a treat; but to have two drop down upon them after this fashion must be an event worth remembering. "we had the good luck to knock over a young antelope just before dark," frank remarked, after each of the men had insisted in gravely shaking hands with both himself and bob. "perhaps you haven't had any supper, and wouldn't mind taking pot luck with us?" "how about that, hand?" questioned the taller man, turning with a laugh to the second sheriff. "just suits me," came the reply, as the speaker threw himself down on the hard ground. "half an hour's rest will do the hosses some good, too." "thank you, boys, we accept, and with pleasure," mr. stanwix went on, turning again toward frank. bob immediately got busy, and started to cut further bits from the carcase of his small antelope. there would be plenty for even the healthy appetites of the two officers, and then leave enough for the boys' breakfast. "we're in something of a hurry to get on to flagstaff ourselves, boys," the yavapai sheriff remarked, as he sniffed the cooking venison with relish; "but the temptation to hold over a bit is too strong. you see, hand and myself have just made up our minds to bag our birds this trip, no matter where it takes us, or how long we're on the job." "then you're after some cattle rustlers or bad men, i reckon," frank remarked. "a couple of the worst scoundrels ever known around these diggings," replied the officer. "they've been jumping from one county into another, when pushed; and in the end hand, here, and myself concluded we'd just join our forces. we've got a posse to the south, and another working to the north; but we happened to strike the trail of our birds just before dusk, and we've been following it in hopes of reaching flagstaff before they can get down into the gash, and hide." "a trail, you say?" frank observed. "could it have been the one i've been following just out of curiosity, and because it seemed to run in the very direction my chum and myself were bound?" "that's just what it was, frank," the sheriff answered, as he accepted the hot piece of browned venison, stick and all, which bob was holding out. "we saw that there had come into the trail the marks of two new hosses; and naturally enough we got the idea that it might mean our men were being followed by a couple of their own kind." "then when you saw our little fire, you thought we were the kind of steers you wanted to round up?" the boy asked. "oh! well," mr. stanwix replied with a little chuckle; "we kept a touch on our irons when i was asking you who you were; and if the reply hadn't been all that it was, i reckon we'd have politely asked you to throw up your hands, boys. but say, this meat is prime, and seems to go to the spot." "i don't know which spot you mean, stanwix," remarked the other officer, who was also munching away like a half-starved man; "but mine suits me all right. i'm right glad we stopped. the rest will tone the nags up for a long pull; and as for me, i'll be in great shape after this feed." bob was kept busy cooking more and more, for the two men seemed to realize, after once getting a taste, that they were desperately hungry. but he did it with pleasure. there was something genial about the manner of mr. stanwix that quite captured the heart of the kentucky lad. he knew the tall man could be as gentle as a woman, if the occasion ever arose when he had a wounded comrade to nurse; and if his reputation did not speak wrongly his courage was decidedly great. while they sat there the two men talked of various subjects. frank was curious to know something about those whom they were now banded together in a determined effort to capture, and so mr. stanwix told a few outlines of the case. the men were known as the arizona kid and big bill guffey. they had been cattlemen, miners, and about every other thing known to the southwest. by degrees they had acquired the reputation of being bad men; and all sorts of lawless doings were laid at their door. and finally it came to defying the sheriff, evading capture by flitting to another county, and playing a game of hide-and-seek, until their bold methods were the talk of the whole country. then it was the coconino sheriff had conceived the idea of an alliance with his brother officer in the adjoining county, of which the thriving city of prescott was the seat of government. frank even had mr. stanwix describe the two men whom the officers were pursuing. "we expect to be around the grand canyon for some weeks," the lad remarked; "and it might be we'd run across these chaps. to know who they were, would be putting us on our guard, and besides, perhaps we might be able to get notice to you, sir." "that sounds all right, frank," the other had hastened to reply; "and believe me, i appreciate your friendly feelings. it's the duty of all good citizens to back up the man they've put in office, when he's trying to free the community of a bad crowd." then he explained just how they might get word to him in case they had anything of importance to communicate. although the tarapai sheriff knew nothing about wireless telegraphy, he did understand some of the methods which savage tribes in many countries use in order to send news hundreds of miles; sometimes by a chain of drums stationed on the hill tops miles apart; or it may be by the waving of a red flag. "and i want to tell you, frank," mr. stanwix concluded, "if so be you ever do have occasion to send me that message, just make up your minds that i'll come to you on the jump, with hand at my heels. but for your own sakes i hope you won't run across these two hard cases. we've got an idea that they mean to do some hold-up game in the grand canyon, where hundreds of rich travelers gather. and if luck favors us we expect to put a spoke in their wheel before they run far!" chapter viii the moqui who was caught napping sheriff stanwix arose with a sigh. "reckon we'd better be moving on, hand," he said, evidently with reluctance; for it was very pleasant sitting there, taking his ease beside the camp fire of the two boys; but when duty called this man never let anything stand in the way. their horses had not strayed far away. like most animals they had sought the company of their kind, as various sounds indicated, buckskin doubtless showing his prairie strain by sundry nips with his teeth at the strangers. another shake of hands all around; then the sheriffs threw themselves into their saddles, and were off. the last the two lads saw of them was when their figures were swallowed up in the night-mists; and then it was a friendly wave of the arm that told how much they had appreciated the hospitality of the saddle boys. "well, anyhow, it doesn't seem quite so lonely out here, after all," said frank, laughing, as he and his chum settled down again. "why, no," added bob, "i thought we owned the whole coop; but i take it back. there are others abroad, it seems." "i only hope those two fly-by-night birds don't take a notion to double on their trail, and come back to pay us a visit," frank remarked; and of course bob understood that he meant the bad men who were being rounded up by sheriff stanwix, aided by the official of coconino county. "perhaps we'd better douse the glim, then?" bob suggested. "let it burn out," frank remarked; "i don't believe there's much chance of anybody else seeing it now; because it's pretty low. our tent shows up about as plain, come to think of it; but i don't mean to do without shelter." they sat there, chatting on various subjects, for some time. of course their mission to the region of the greatest natural wonder in the world took a leading part in this conversation. but then they also spoke of their recent visitors; and as bob showed signs of considerable interest, frank told all he had ever heard about the valor of the prescott sheriff. "i don't know how you feel about it, bob," he said, at length, with a yawn, "but i'm getting mighty sleepy." "same here; and i move we turn in," bob immediately replied. accordingly, as the idea had received unanimous approval, they took a look at the horses, now staked out with the ropes, and, finding them comfortable, both boys crawled under the canvas. some hours later they were aroused suddenly by a shrill yell. as they sat up, and groped for their rifles, not realizing what manner of peril could be hanging over them, the loud snorting of the horses came to their ears. "come on!" exclaimed frank, in considerable excitement. "sounds like somebody might be bothering our mounts!" bob had not been so very long in the western country; but he knew what that meant all right. horses were supposed to be the most valuable possessions among men who spent their lives on the great plains and deserts of this region. in the old days it was deemed a capital crime to steal horses. so bob, shivering with excitement, but not fear, hastened to follow at the heels of his chum, as frank hastily crawled out of the tent. a rather battered looking moon was part way up in the eastern heavens. though the light she gave was none of the best, still, to the boys, coming from the interior of the tent, it seemed quite enough to enable them to see their way about, and even distinguish objects at a little distance. frank lost no time heading in the direction where he knew the horses had been staked out. "anyhow, they don't seem to have got them yet," remarked bob, gleefully, as the sound of prancing and snorting came to their ears louder than ever. frank stopped for a couple of seconds to listen. "buckskin is carrying on something fierce," he muttered. "he seems to be furiously mad, too. perhaps, after all, it may be a bear sniffing around; though i'd never expect to find such a thing out here, so far away from the mountains." he again started on, with bob close at his elbow. the words of his chum had given the kentucky lad new cause for other thrills. what if it should prove to be a grizzly bear? he had had one experience with such a monster, and was not particularly anxious for another, not being in the big game class. now they were approaching the spot where the two roped horses were jumping restlessly about, making queer sounds that could only indicate alarm. frank spoke to his animal immediately, thinking to reassure him. "easy now, buckskin; what's making you act this way? i don't see any enemy. if you've given a false alarm, it'll sure be for the first time!" "frank!" ventured the other lad, just then. "what is it, bob?" "i thought i heard a low groan!" continued the kentucky boy, in awed tones. "you did?" ejaculated frank, quickly. "have you any idea where it came from?" as if to make it quite unnecessary for bob to reply, there came just then a low but distinct grunt or groan. frank could not tell which. "over this way, frank; he's in this direction!" exclaimed the impulsive bob, as he started to move off. "wait a minute," said the practical and cautious frank. "you never know what sort of game you're up against, around here. some of these horse thieves can toll a fellow away from his camp to beat the band, while a mate gets off with the saddle band. i've been warned against that very sort of play. go slow, bob, and keep a finger on your trigger, i tell you." they advanced slowly, looking all around in the dim moonlight. twice more the strange sounds arose. frank jumped to the conclusion that it was, after all, no attempt to draw them farther and farther away from the tent; because the groans seemed to come from the one spot, instead of gradually moving off in a tempting manner. "here he is, bob!" he said, presently; and the other, looking, saw a huddled-up figure lying upon the ground in the midst of the low buffalo berry bushes. immediately they were bending over the form, which had moved at their approach. "why, it's an indian, frank!" cried bob, in surprise. "yes, and unless i miss my guess, a moqui indian at that," frank replied. "three of them wandered down our way once, and gave us some interesting exhibitions of their customs. you know their home is up to the north. they are said to be the descendants of the old cliff dwellers who made all those holes high up in the rocks, to keep out of the reach of enemies." he was bending down over the other even while saying this; and feeling to see if the indian could have been wounded in any way. "what seems to be the matter with him, frank?" asked bob, when this thing had been going on for a full minute, the stricken man grunting, and frank appearing to continue his investigations. "i tell you what," frank remarked, presently; "i honestly believe he's been kicked by the heels of my sassy little buckskin; perhaps he's badly hurt; and then again, he may only have had the wind knocked out of him. that horse is as bad as any mule you ever saw, when it comes to planting his heels." "but what was he prowling around the camp for?" asked bob, who had a hazy idea concerning the red men of the west, gained perhaps from early reading of the attacks on the wagon trains of the pioneers of the prairie. "oh! these moqui indians wouldn't do a white man any harm, unless they happened to take too much juice of the agave plant, in the shape of mescal," frank hastened to say; "and i don't seem to get the smell of that stuff. so the chances are that he had something of an eye to our horses." "and as he didn't know about buckskin's ways he gave the little pony a chance to get in some dents. but he may be badly hurt, frank," bob went on, his natural kindness of heart cropping up above any feeling of animosity he might have experienced. "i suppose, then, we'll just have to tote the beggar to the tent, and start up that fire again, while we look him over. if those hind feet came slap against his ribs, the chances are we'll find a few of them broken." swinging their rifles into one hand they managed to take hold of the grunting moqui, and in this primitive fashion began hauling him along. buckskin continued to prance and snort as though demanding whether he had not amply fulfilled his duty as guardian to the camp; but no one paid the least attention to him just then. arriving at the tent the boys proceeded to rekindle the fire. "why, he's coming to, frank!" exclaimed bob, as, having finished his task, he turned to see his chum bending over the victim of buckskin's hoofs, and noted that the would-be horse thief was struggling to sit up. "i don't believe he's hurt very bad," frank declared. "i've felt all over his body, and don't seem to find any signs of broken bones." "listen to him gasp right now, as if the breath had been knocked out of him," remarked bob. "he's going to speak, frank, sure he is. i wonder can we understand what he says. moqui wasn't included in my education at the military institution at frankfort." the indian was indeed trying to get enough air in his lungs to enable him to say something. chapter ix "talk about luck!" "no hurt havasupai!" was what he managed to say, hoarsely. "we're not going to hurt you, old man," remarked frank; for he had seen that the indian was no stripling. "what we want to know is, how you came to get so close to the heels of my horse as to be kicked? tell us that, havasupai, if you please." there was no answer, although twice the exhausted red man opened his lips as if to speak. "that knocks the props out from under him, frank," remarked bob; "because he was bent on getting away with one or both mounts." "how about that, havasupai; weren't you thinking of stealing a horse, when that animal just keeled you over so neatly?" frank demanded. the indian was sitting up now. his head was hanging low on his chest. perhaps it was shame that caused this: or it might have been a desire to keep his face hidden from the searching eyes of the white boys. then, as though realizing the utter folly of denying what must appear so evident, he nodded his head slowly. "it is true, white boy," he muttered, in fair english. "havasupai meant to take a horse. he had looked upon the man who beckons, and he was afraid, because he had trouble at his village. he believed every man's hand was against him. and so he would flee to the desert where the white man's big medicine would not find him. there he might die with the poison snakes and the whooping birds." bob was of course puzzled by some of the things the indian said. "what does he mean, frank?" he asked. "i take it the warrior has been in some sort of fuss at his village," the other replied. "perhaps he even struck his chief in anger, and that made an offense punishable with death. these moqui indians are a queer lot, anyhow, i've heard. then he must have skipped out, and by accident seeing our friend, sheriff stanwix, known to him as the 'man who beckons,' he just imagined they were looking for him." "and that locoed him so much that he just couldn't stand it any longer," bob said. "discovering our camp he got the notion in his head that a horse might take him out of the danger zone. so he was in the act of jumping on one of our mounts when your clever little beast took a hand, or rather a hoof, in the matter. but do you know what he means by whooping birds?" "well, i can give a guess," replied frank. "that must mean the little owl that lives with the prairie dogs in their holes, along with the poison snake, otherwise the rattler." "looks like we've just got our hands full to-night, frank!" "you're right, bob. first we feed two hungry sheriffs, and pick up quite a little news about the bad men they're looking for. next, along comes this moqui, havasupai he says his name is, and he gets in a bad fix by trying to run off our horses; and feeling sorry for the old chap we lug him to our tent, and look him over, ready to even bind up his wounds, if he has any." "getting to be a habit, isn't it, frank?" "seems like it," returned the taller boy, as he once more turned toward the seated indian. "here, can you tell us where my horse kicked you?" "it matters not much. havasupai get what he needs because he try to steal horse from good white boys," came the humble reply. "one thing sure," remarked frank aside to his chum, "he's been in touch with the whites a heap, or he wouldn't know how to talk as he does. but then, that isn't so queer. you know that these moquis pick up a lot of good coin from the travelers who come and go at the grand canyon." "why, yes," bob went on to say, "i've always heard that one of the sights of this wonderland was the snake dance of the moquis. i read an account of it in a magazine once. it said that hundreds of people gathered from many quarters to be on hand and see it, because it occurs only once a year. some of them were big guns in science, too." "they're getting more and more interested in these indians of the southwest," frank continued; "and trying all the time to find out just where they fit in the long-ago past. that's what made old uncle felix, who had already made a name for himself, give up his happy home, and hide all these months down here. he wants to learn the long-buried secrets of the past history of the zunis, the moquis, and other tribes that might have sprung from the old cliff builders." "but what can we do with this fellow, frank?" "oh! well, nothing much, i reckon," the other answered, carelessly. "he must have been plum locoed at seeing the sheriff, and hardly knew what he was doing when he set out to grab buckskin. we'll just have to let him sleep here till morning, and then give him a bite of breakfast." "just as you say, frank; you ought to know what's best," bob hastened to declare. "now i wonder what'll be the next thing on the programme? i hope we don't have the two men the sheriff is hunting, drop in to make us a call." "little danger of that now," frank remarked reassuringly. "by this time they're well on their way to flagstaff. here, havasupai, as you call yourself; we don't mean to do you any harm, even if you did play us a mean trick when you tried to steal a mount. understand?" the old indian looked up at frank through his masses of coarse black hair, just beginning to be streaked with gray. "not do any harm," he repeated, as though hardly able to grasp the meaning of the words frank spoke; then his brown face lighted up with a grim smile. "white boys good; havasupai glad him not take horse. bad indian! but not always that way; him carry speaking paper tell how make good," and he thumped his breast as he said this. again did bob's eyes seek the face of his chum in a questioning manner. frank, having been raised amid such scenes, could more readily understand what the moqui meant when he referred to certain things which bob had never heard mentioned before. "he means that he's got a letter of recommendation along with him, written by some tourist, i reckon. perhaps this old fellow may have found a chance to do some one a good turn. he may have run across a greenhorn wandering on the desert; saved a fellow who had been stabbed by the fangs of a viper from the gila; or helped him to camp when he broke a leg in climbing around the grand canyon." "oh! i see what you mean, frank; that this party wrote out a recommendation to all concerned, stating that in his opinion havasupai was a fine fellow, and worth trusting. but then that was before he got into this trouble at this village. if he's a fugitive from justice at the hands of his own tribe, such a paper isn't worth much, i guess." "no more it isn't," agreed frank. "but all the same he means to stick us with it," chuckled bob; "for you can see he's got his hand in his shirt right now, as if searching for something so valuable that he won't even carry it in his ditty bag." "that's right, bob." "and now he's got in touch with that old letter," grunted bob. "i suppose we'll just have to read it to please him." "you can if you care to," remarked frank. "as for me, i'm that sleepy i only want a chance to crawl back into the tent, and take up my interrupted nap where it broke off." "but good gracious! do you really mean it?" exclaimed the puzzled bob. "why not?" demanded his chum. "and leave him loose here, with the horses close by?" bob went on, aghast. at that frank laughed a little. "well," he said, drily; "so far as the horses are concerned, i reckon our old friend havasupai will go a long way on foot before he ever tries to steal a promising looking pony again. as long as he lives he'll remember how it feels to get a pair of hoofs fairly planted against his back. so long, bob. tell the old fraud he can lie down anywhere he pleases, and share our breakfast in the morning." "that's the way you rub it in, frank; returning evil with good," the kentucky boy remarked. "but since you want me to take him in hand, i'll be the victim, and read his letter of recommendation, though i can already guess what it will say." the old moqui had meanwhile succeeded in getting out the paper which he seemed to set so much store by. looking up, and seeing that frank had turned away, he offered it to bob, who took it gravely, and proceeded to hold it so that the light of the little fire would fall upon the writing. frank was half way in the tent when he heard his chum give utterance to a shout. he backed out again, and turning, looked hastily, half expecting to see bob engaged in a tussle with the old indian. nothing of the sort met his gaze. the moqui was sitting there, staring at bob, who had straightened up, and was starting to dance around, holding the paper in his extended hand. "what ails you, bob?" demanded the other. "haven't been taken with a sudden pain, after all that venison you stowed away, i hope." "come out here, frank!" called the lad by the fire. "of all the luck! to think we'd strike such a piece as this! it's rich! it's the finest ever! we go to hunt for clues, and here they come straight to us. talk to me about the favors of fortune, why, we're in it up to the neck!" "you seem to be tickled about something, bob; has that paper any connection with it?" demanded frank. "well i should say, yes, by a big jugfull," replied the kentucky boy. "and you'll agree with me when i tell you it's signed by professor felix oswald, the very man we're going to search the grand canyon up and down to find!" chapter x the copper colored messenger "do you really mean it, bob?" asked frank, with the bewildered air of one who suspects a joke. "take it yourself, and see," replied the other, holding out the discolored and wrinkled sheet on which the writing was still plainly to be read. frank bent over, the better to allow the firelight to fall upon the queer document. this was what he read in a rather crabbed hand, though the writing could be read fairly well: _"to whom it may concern; greeting!_ "this is to certify to the good character of the bearer, a moqui indian by the name of havasupai, who has rendered me a very great service, which proves him to be the friend of the white man, and a believer in the pursuit of science. i cheerfully recommend him to all who may be in need of a trustworthy and capable guide to the grand canyon. "professor oswald." frank looked up to see the grinning face of his chum thrust close to him. "think it's genuine, frank?" demanded the other. "i can see no reason why it shouldn't be," answered the other, glancing down again at the crumpled paper he held, and which the old moqui was regarding with the greatest of pride on his brown face. "looks like that paper mr. hinchman brought to my dad; yes, i'd stake my word on it, bob, that the same hand wrote both." "but how d'ye suppose this greasy old indian ever got the document?" asked the young kentuckian. "we'll have to put it up to him, and find out," came the reply. "he can speak united states all right; we've found that out already; and so you see, there's no reason under the sun why he shouldn't want to tell us." he turned to the moqui. it was not the same sleepy boy apparently who, but a minute before, had started to creep into the comfortable tent, where the blankets lay; but a wide-awake fellow, eager to ascertain under what conditions this fugitive brave could have secured such a letter of recommendation from the man of science, who was supposed to have utterly vanished from the haunts of men without leaving a single trace behind, up to the hour that message came to colonel haywood. holding the paper up, and shaking it slightly, frank started to put the moqui warrior on the rack. "this belong to you, havasupai?" he demanded, trying to assume a stern manner, such as he believed would affect the other more or less, and be apt to bring out straight answers to his leading questions. "the white boy has said," answered the other, for an indian seldom answers in a direct way. "where did you get it?" frank continued, slowly, as if feeling his way; for he did not wish to alarm the indian, knowing how obstinate a moqui may prove if he once suspects that he is being coaxed into betraying some secret or a friend. the black, bead-like eyes were on the face of frank as he put these questions. doubtless the old moqui balanced every one well before venturing a reply. "he gave it," nodding in the direction of the paper frank held. "do you mean the man who signed his name here, professor oswald?" a nod of the head in the affirmative settled that question. "was he a small man with a bald head, no hair on top, and wearing glasses over his eyes, big, staring glasses?" frank aided comprehension by touching the top of his own head when speaking about the loss of hair on the part of the noted scientist; and then made rings with his fingers and thumbs which he clapped to his eyes as though looking through a pair of spectacles. evidently the moqui understood. reading signs was a part of his early education. in fact it comprised nearly four-fifths of all the indian knew. "white boy heap wise; he know that the man give havasupai talking paper. much great man; know all. tell havasupai about cliff men. find much good cook pot, heap more stuff in cave. find out how cave men live. write all down in book. send havasupai one, promise. it is well!" "but where did you meet him?" asked frank; and he saw at once that this was getting very near the danger line, judging from the manner in which the moqui acted; for he seemed to draw back, just as the alarmed tortoise will hide its head in its shell at the first sign of peril. "in canyon where picture rocks laugh at sun," the indian slowly said. "that ought to stand for the grand canyon," remarked the boy. the keen ears of the moqui caught the words, although they were almost spoken in whispers, and only intended for bob. he nodded violently, and frank somehow found himself wondering whether, after all, the shrewd indian might not be wanting to deceive him. he may have conceived the idea that these two white boys were the enemies of the queer old professor; and for that reason would be careful how he betrayed the man who trusted him. "listen, moqui," said frank, putting on a serious manner, so as to impress the other; "we are the friends of the little-old-man who has no hair on top of his head. we want to see him, talk with him! it means much good to him. he will be glad if you help us find him. do you understand that?" the indian's black eyes roved from one to the other of those bright young faces. apparently he would be foolish to suspect even for a minute that the two lads could have any evil design in their minds. still, the crafty look on his brown face grew more intense. "he has some good reason for refusing to accommodate us, i'm afraid," bob said just then, as if he too had read the signs of that set countenance. "why don't you answer me, moqui?" frank insisted, bent on knowing the worst. "we are on the way now to find the man who gave you this letter that talks. we have some good news for him. and you can help us if you will only tell in what part of the grand canyon echo cave lies." the indian seemed to ponder. evidently his mind worked slowly, when it tried to grapple with secrets. but one thing he knew, and this must be some solemn promise he had made the man of science, never under any conditions to betray his hiding-place to a living soul. "no can say; in canyon where picture rocks lie; that all," he finally declared, and frank knew indians well enough to feel sure that no torture could be painful enough to induce havasupai to betray one he believed his friend, and whose magic talking paper he carried inside his shirt, to prove his good character. "that settles it, bob, i'm afraid," he remarked to his chum, who had been listening eagerly to all that was being said. "you might try all sorts of terrible things and he wouldn't whisper a word, even if he believed all we told him." "that's tough," observed bob; "but anyhow, we've got something out of it all, because we know now that the silly old professor must be hiding in one of those cliff caves, trying to read up the whole life history of the queer people who dug their homes out of the solid rock, tier after tier, away up the face of the cliffs." "true for you, bob, and i'm glad to see how you take it. i had hoped the moqui might make our job easier, as he could do, all right, if only he wanted to tell us a few things. but we're no worse off than we were before, in all things, and some better in a few." "i wish i could talk moqui," declared bob; "and perhaps then i'd be able to make the old fellow understand. perhaps, frank, if you gave him a little note to uncle felix, he might promise to take it to him later on!" "hello! that's a good idea, i declare," exclaimed frank; "and i'll just do that same while i think of it." he immediately drew out a pad of paper, and a fountain pen which he often carried for business purposes, since there were times when he had to sign documents as a witness for his father. the old moqui watched him closely. evidently the spider-like handwriting was a deep mystery to him, and he must always feel a certain amount of respect for any white person who could communicate with another by means of the "talking paper." "there," said frank, presently, "that ought to do the business, i reckon." "what did you say?" asked his comrade, who was busy at the fire just then, drawing some of the partly-burned wood aside, so that their supply might hold out in the morning. "oh!" frank went on, "i told him dad had his note, sent in that bottle. then i mentioned the important fact that the mine paper he carried had increased in value thousands of dollars. and i wound up by telling him how much we wanted to see and talk with him. i signed my name, and yours, to the note." "and now to see whether the moqui will promise to carry it to your great-uncle." frank held the note up. "you will not tell us where we can find the little man without any hair on his head, havasupai," he said. "but surely you will not say no when i ask you to carry this talking paper to him. it will please him very much. he will shake your hand, and many times thank you. how?" the cautious old moqui seemed to be weighing chances in his suspicious mind. "three to one he thinks we mean to spy on him, and find it all out that way," was bob's quick opinion. "just what was in my mind; i could read it in his sly old face. but all the same he's going to consent, bob." the kentucky boy wondered how frank could tell this. he was even more surprised when the indian stretched out a hand for the note, as he said solemnly: "havasupai will carry the talking paper to the man who has no hair on his head. but no eye must see him do it. the white boys must say to havasupai that they will not try to follow him." frank looked at his chum, and nodded. "we'll just have to do it, i guess, to satisfy the suspicious old fraud, bob," he remarked; and then raising his hand, while his chum did likewise frank went on, addressing the moqui, who watched every action with glittering black eyes: "we promise not to follow, havasupai, and will hope that this talking paper may cause the man-who-hides to send you for us to take us to him. you understand all that i am saying, don't you?" the moqui said something in his native language, which of course neither of them comprehended. but at the same time he reached out his hand and deliberately took the note intended for uncle felix. "hurrah! he's going to act as our messenger!" exclaimed bob, filled with anticipations of success. "say, that was a pretty smart dodge on our part, after all. but it makes me hold my breath every time i think of our good luck in running across this chap the way we did. and buckskin deserves all the credit. he did it with his wonderful little tap." "all right," said frank; "me for the land of sleep now! havasupai, you can lie down where you will. in the morning we promise you a share of our meat. how?" "it is well, white boy," replied the old moqui, as he dropped in a heap, and evidently meant to sleep just as he was without any further preparations. bob also crawled into the tent, although he had some misgivings, and wondered whether his chum were really doing a wise thing to trust one who had just confessed to a desire to raid their horses. but as bob, too, was tired and sleepy, he soon forgot all his suspicions in slumber. when he awoke he could see the daylight peeping under the canvas. without disturbing his companion, bob immediately started to crawl out. he had suddenly remembered the old moqui; and it seemed as though his fears must have returned two-fold, and nothing would do but that he must hasten to make sure all was well. frank was just opening his eyes a little while later when he saw bob's head thrust in at the opening of the tent. "better get up, frank," the other said. "i've started the fire, and after we've had breakfast we'll be on our way. it was just as you said, though; he had the good sense to keep clear of the heels of the horses." "who are you talking about, the moqui?" asked frank, sitting up suddenly, as he caught a peculiar strain in the other's voice. "yes, our friend, havasupai; who vamoosed in the night!" laughed bob. chapter xi at the grand canyon "do you mean it?" asked frank. "come out, and see for yourself," bob returned. "i've looked all around, and not a sign of the old fellow can i find." "and both horses are there?" frank continued, making a break for the exit. "as fine as you please. our friend didn't want a second try from those clever heels of buckskin. he gave them a wide berth when he cleared out, i warrant. oh! you can look everywhere, and you won't see a whiff of havasupai. he's skipped by the light of the moon, all right." bob backed off, as his chum walked this way and that. he grinned as though he really enjoyed the whole thing. in his mind he had figured that it would turn out something this way, so he was not very much surprised. "what d'ye think, frank," he exclaimed, presently; "don't you remember promising to share our venison at breakfast with the moqui?" "why yes, to be sure i do; but what of that, bob?" "only that he didn't forget," laughed the other. frank immediately glanced toward the carcase of the little antelope. "ginger! he did go and cut himself a piece from it, sure enough," he admitted. "while he thought our company not as nice as our room, still, he didn't object to sharing our meat. and, frank, he wasn't at all stingy about the amount he took, either," bob complained. "oh! well, i reckon there's still enough for us, and to spare. besides, we've got heaps of other things along in our packs, for an emergency, you know. suppose we make a pot of coffee, and start things." "that's all right, frank; i'll attend to it," declared bob; "but why under the sun do you suppose now, that sly old moqui dodged out like that?" "well, for one thing, he may have suspected us," replied frank. "what! after all we did for him, took him in, and forgave his sins, even to offering to mend any broken ribs, if he'd had any, through that horse kick? i can't just understand that," bob ventured, while he measured out enough ground coffee to make a pot of the tempting hot beverage. "he took the alarm, it seems," frank went on, indifferently. "knew we wanted to find the man who had given him the talking paper; and was afraid we might try to make him tell; or, that failing, stalk him when he went to deliver my note. and on the whole i can't much blame the old indian. suspicion is a part of their nature. he believed he was on the safe side in slipping away as he did. forget it, bob. we've learned a heap by his just dropping in on us, i think." "sure we have," replied the other, being busily employed over the fire just then. "and i was thinking what he could have meant when he pointed off in the direction i calculate the grand canyon lies, and said in answer to one of your questions: 'seek there! when the sun is red it shines in echo cave!'" "i've guessed that riddle, and it was easy," frank remarked. "then let me hear about it, because i'm pretty dull when it comes to understanding all this lovely sign language of the indians," bob remarked. "listen, then. the sun is said to be red when its setting; that's plain enough; isn't it, bob?" "all o.k. so far, frank. i won't forget that in a hurry, either." "then, when he said it looked into the cave at sunset, it was another way of telling us the cave faced the west!" frank continued. "well, what a silly chap i was not to guess that," chuckled the other. "and from what i know about the bigness of that canyon, bob, i think that this unknown echo cave must be pretty high up on the face of a big cliff to the east of the river." "why high up? i don't get on to any reason for your saying that?" inquired bob. "you'll see it just as soon as i mention why," remarked his companion. "when the sun is going down in the west, far beyond the horizon, don't you see that it can only shine along the very upper part of the cliffs? the lower part is already lost in the shadows that drop late in the afternoon in all canyons." "of course, and it's as plain to me now as the nose on my face," agreed bob. "queer, how easy we see these things after they've been explained." it did not take long to prepare breakfast, and still less time to eat it once the coffee and venison were ready. just as frank had said, there was plenty of the meat for the meal. "that was a mighty juicy little antelope, all right," remarked bob, as he finished his last bite, and prepared to get up from the ground where he had been enjoying his ease during the meal. "and for one i don't care how soon you repeat the dose," remarked frank; "only it will be a long day before you get one of the timid little beasts as easy as that accommodating chap fell to your gun. why, he was just a gift, that's all you could call it, bob." "that's what i've been thinking myself, though of course i don't know as much about them as you do, by a long shot," bob admitted. "i suppose it's us to hit the saddle again now?" "we're going to try and make flagstaff by night," frank announced, as he picked up his saddle and bridle, and walked toward the spot where buckskin was staked out. the horses had been able to drink all they wanted during the night, for the ropes by means of which they were tethered allowed of a range that took them to the little spring hole from which the water gushed, to run away, and, in the end, possibly unite with the wonderful colorado. in ten minutes more the boys were off at a round gallop. there was no intention of pushing their mounts so soon in the day. like most persons who have spent much time on horseback both lads knew the poor policy of urging an animal to its best speed in the early part of a journey, especially one that is to be prolonged for ten or twelve hours. at noon they were far enough advanced for frank to declare he had no doubt about being able to make flagstaff before sunset. "when we get there, and spend a night at the hotel, we must remember and ask if our friend mr. stanwix and his partner arrived in good time, and went on," bob suggested. just as frank had expected, they made the town on the railroad before the sun had dropped out of sight; and the horses were in fair condition at that. flagstaff only boasts of a normal population of between one and two thousand; but there are times, with the influx of tourists bound for the grand canyon, when it is a lively little place. the two boys only desired shelter and rest for themselves and their horses during the night. it was their intention to push on early the following day, keeping along the old wagon trail that at one time was the sole means of reaching the then little known wonderland along the deeply sunk colorado. after a fairly pleasant night, they had an early breakfast. the horses proved to be in fine fettle, and eager for the long gallop. so the two saddle boys once more started forth. the day promised to be still warmer than the preceding one; and the first part of the journey presented some rather difficult problems. they managed to put the san francisco mountains behind them, however, and from that on the dash was for the most part over a fairly level plateau. now and then they were threading the trail through great pine forests, and again it was a mesa that opened up before them. bob was especially delighted. "think we'll make it, frank?" he asked, about the middle of the afternoon, as they cantered along, side by side, the horses by this time having had pretty much all their "ginger" as bob called it taken out of them, though still able to respond to a sudden emergency, had one arisen. "i reckon so," replied the other. "according to my map we're within striking distance right now. given two more hours, and we'll possibly sight the border of the big hole. that was red horse tank we just passed, you know," and he pointed out their position on the little chart to bob. it was half an hour to sundown when the well known grand view hotel stood out in plain sight before them; and before the shades of night commenced to fall, the tired boys had thrown themselves from their saddles, seen to the comfort of the faithful steeds, and mounted to the porch of the hotel for a flitting view of the amazing spectacle that spread itself before them, ere darkness hid its wonderful and majestic beauty. chapter xii how the little trap worked "what do you think of it?" asked frank, after they had stood there a short time, taking in the picture as seen in the late afternoon. "it's hard to tell," bob replied slowly. "it's so terribly big, that a fellow ought to take his time letting the thing soak in. that further wall looks as if you could throw a stone over to it; and yet they say it's more than a mile from here." "yes," frank went on, "and all along in the grand canyon there are what seem to be little hills, every one of which is a mountain in itself. they only look small in comparison with the tremendous size of the biggest gap in the whole world." "and how far does this thing run--is it fifty miles in length?" bob asked. "i understand that the river runs through this canyon over two hundred miles," the other replied. "and all the way there are scores, if not hundreds, of smaller canyons and 'washes,' reaching out like the fingers of a whopping big hand; or the feelers of a centipede." "that's what i read about it away back; but i had forgotten," bob remarked. "and they say that it would be a year's trip to try and follow the grand canyon all the way down from beginning to end, only on one side." "i reckon it would, for you'd have to trace every one of these lateral gashes up to its source, so as to cross over. and that would mean thousands of miles to be covered." "gee!" exclaimed bob, throwing up his hands as he spoke; "when you say that, it makes a fellow have some little idea of the size of this hole. and to think it's come just by the river eating away the soil!" "they call that erosion," remarked frank, who had of course posted himself on many of these facts, during his previous visit to the canyons of the little colorado. "it's been going on for untold thousands of years; and as the river with its tributaries has gradually eaten away the soil and rocks, it has left the grandest pictured and colored walls ever seen in any part of this old earth." "when that afternoon sun shines on the red rocks it makes them look almost like blood," declared bob. "and already i'm glad we came. i think just now i could be happy spending months prowling around here, finding new pictures every day." "then you don't blame old uncle felix for staying, do you?" laughed frank. "sure i don't," returned the other lad, with vehemence. "and besides, you must remember that he had another string to his bow." "meaning his craze to be the fortunate man of science to unravel the mystery that has always hung over the homes of those cliff dwellers?" frank went on. "i can understand how it must appeal to a man living as professor felix has all these years," mused bob. "and think of those queer old fellows picking out this one place of all the wide country to build their homes." "that was because there could be no place that offered them a tenth of the advantages this did," frank remarked, pointing across the wide chasm to the towering heights that could be seen. "think of hundreds of miles of such cliffs to choose from! and as the softer rock was washed out by the action of floods countless ages ago, leaving the harder in the shape of astonishing shelves and buttes, these people took a lesson from nature, and carved their roomy homes by following the pliable stone." "say," bob exclaimed, "that makes me think of what i read about the catacombs of rome; how, for hundreds of miles, they run in every direction, following the course of veins of earth in the rock, that were selected by those who dug 'em." "of course," said frank, "these people built their homes up in the cliffs in order to be safe. nobody seems to know what they were afraid of, whether savage tribes, or great beasts that may have roamed this part of the country a thousand and more years ago." "and that's the bait that has drawn the old scientist here, to study it all out, and write up the history of the people who looked on this very picture so many hundreds of years back. why, frank, some of the cliffs they say are about a mile high! that's hard to believe, for a fact." "but it's been proved true," the other asserted. "the trouble is, that everything here is on such an awful big scale that a fellow fools himself. actual measurement is the only way to prove things. the eye goes back on you. why, i've looked out on a clear day in colorado, and believed i could walk to a mountain in an hour. they told me it's base was fifty miles away; and there you are." "well, we'll have to put off looking till morning," said bob, regretfully; "because the sun's dropped out of sight, and it's getting pretty thick down there in the hole. and to think that to-morrow we'll be pushing along through that place, with the walls shutting us in on both sides." "not only to-morrow, but for many days, perhaps," frank added; for more than ever did he begin to realize the enormous task that confronted them; it was almost like looking for a needle in a haystack; but if one possesses a powerful magnet, even then the bit of steel may be recovered in time. did they happen to know of any such magnet? almost unconsciously frank's thoughts went out toward that old moqui brave, havasupai, who had fled from his village because of some act which he had committed; but who was now determined to return, and take his punishment with the stoicism indians have always shown. the moqui might be the connecting link! he alone knew where the hermit had his lodging, possibly in one of those quaint series of cliff dwellers' homes, which for some reason he called echo cave. "we must ask if our friend sheriff stanwix has been here," bob suggested, as they went to their room to prepare for supper. "oh!" replied his chum, "i did that when i spoke with the clerk at the desk. you were looking after the ponies at the time, so as to make sure they'd be well taken care of for a week, or a month if necessary." "and what did he tell you, frank?" "they got here, all right," came the reply. "if you'd looked sharp when you were out there in the hotel stables, you might have recognized both their mounts; for they left them here at noon to-day." "noon!" echoed bob; "then they made mighty good work of it, to get ahead of us all that time. i reckon you're going to tell me they've gone down into the canyon, and put in several hours looking for their birds, the two fellows who've given 'em the merry laugh more'n a few times." "guessed right the first shot," frank went on, "but all that doesn't concern us one half as much as some other information i struck." "and you've been keeping it back from me, while we stood there on the piazza, admiring the wonderful view," bob remarked, with a touch of reproach in his voice. "there were people passing us, all the time," his chum explained; "and besides, i wanted to keep it until we were alone, so we could talk it over." "is it about that scheming cousin of your father's--what did you say his name was--eugene warringford?" "you got it straight enough," frank admitted; "and what i learned, was about him. i saw his name on the register, and he's somewhere about the hotel right now. i had a suspicion that i saw some one trying to get near us while we stood there, drinking in that picture; and bob, while i couldn't just hold up my hand and say for sure, i think it was that tricky abajo." "the half-breed cowboy who left circle ranch because he had some news for this eugene that the fellow would be apt to consider mighty valuable, because it meant a stake of a million or two dollars; is that right, frank?" "the same abajo," his chum continued; "which proves that those two are bound up in a plot to win this game. if eugene can only find uncle felix he intends to get that paper in his possession, by fair means or foul." "then it's up to us to put a stopper in his little bottle!" declared bob. "i'm wondering," frank proceeded, "whether they've got any idea where to look for the man who has hidden himself away for three years. perhaps they mean to keep tabs on us, and if we are lucky enough to discover uncle felix, they hope to jump in, and snatch away the prize before we can warn him." "say, this is getting to be a pretty mix-up all around," laughed the kentucky lad. "here we are, meaning to try and follow the old moqui; or failing that, wait for him to fetch us a message from the hermit of echo cave. then eugene, and his shadow, abajo, are hanging around with the idea of beating us at our game. havasupai on his part will be heading for the cave that lies in an unknown part of the grand canyon, and all the while dodging about for fear that he is followed." "yes," added frank, falling in with the idea; "and perhaps there are the moquis from his village who may have had word somehow of his return, searching for havasupai, and bent on bringing him to the bar of their tribal law. to finish the game, think of our friends, the two sheriffs, loose in the big gash, and hunting for the men who have snapped their fingers in their faces so often across the line!" "well, it sure looks like there might be some warm times coming," remarked bob. "i suppose we take our guns along with us when we're going the rounds of the sights?" "wouldn't think of doing anything else," was frank's reply. "no telling when we might need 'em. suppose, now, those two rascals the sheriffs are after should learn in some way about the value of the paper uncle felix has with him, wouldn't they just make it the game of their lives to try and capture him? and i reckon eugene, too, will be so dead in earnest that he won't stop at little things, backed up by such a reckless character as the mexican. yes, the repeating rifles go along, bob!" "this water feels fine after that long, dusty and tiresome ride, eh?" remarked the young kentuckian, as he splashed in the deep basin, and then proceeded to use the towel vigorously. "it certainly does," frank admitted, as he did likewise. shortly afterward the two boys went down to supper. the hotel had its usual number of guests, this being a favorite point for parties to start on the tour. "don't look just now," said frank, as they sat at a table; "but abajo has taken his seat right back of you. and it wasn't accident, either, that made him do it; i believe he has been set to watch us!" from time to time, as they ate, frank would report as to what the half-breed was doing; and while nothing occurred to actually prove the fact, still he saw no reason to change his mind. "and i'm going to find out if he's keeping an eye on us, so as to report to his employer, eugene warringford," frank announced, as they were drawing near the end of the meal. "that sounds good to me," bob remarked; "but how will you do it?" for answer frank drew out a paper from an inner pocket. "you see this document," he observed, with a solemn look. "well, it's only what you might call a dummy, being just an invitation i received a little while back to invest in some worthless mines over in the hualpai mountains of mohave county. i kept it, meaning to figure out how these sharpers work their game. now, when i hand you this, look deeply interested, as though it might be connected with the finding of uncle felix." "oh! i see your move, and go you one better, frank." for some little time they seemed to be conversing intently. frank would occasionally tap the document, which he had sealed up in its envelope, as though he laid great stress on it. finally he placed it on the table alongside his plate, and kept on talking. shortly afterward the boys left the table in apparently such a hurry that they both forgot the envelope that lay there, half hidden by a napkin. passing out of the room, they dodged back, and peered around the corner of the doorway. "there's the waiter at the table," said bob. "now he's found the fine tip you left there, and is putting it in his pocket, with a grin. if everybody treated him as well as that, he'd soon be owning one of these hotels himself, frank." "watch!" remarked his chum, in a low whisper. "now he's discovered the document lying there where i left it. he takes it up. perhaps he sees another dollar coming to him when he runs after us to return it." "but there's somebody at his elbow," bob went on to say; "and it's abajo, as sure as you live. he's saying something, and i reckon telling the waiter that you asked him to get the packet. there, he slips some money in the fellow's hand; and the waiter lets him take the envelope. and we'd better slip behind this coat rack here, for abajo will be heading this way in a hurry." and hardly had they carried out that programme ere the half-breed glided past, one hand held in the pocket where he had thrust the "valuable" document! chapter xiii going down the canyon trail "was i right?" asked frank, after the half-breed had disappeared. "i should say yes," replied his chum, who had followed the vanishing figure of abajo with staring eyes. "he got the precious paper, all right, eh?" frank went on, chuckling. "he sure did, and bribed our friend the waiter to let him carry it off. shows how you can trust anybody in the tourist country, where they are nearly all out for the money," bob declared, indignation struggling hard with a sense of humor. "but just stop and think how easy abajo, sharp rascal that he is, rose to my little bait?" laughed frank. "just as i expected, he was watching us all the time we examined that wonderful paper, and of course he believed it to be something for which his employer would reward him heavily, if he could only lay hands on it." bob himself was laughing now, as the full sense of the ridiculous character of frank's little joke broke upon him. "oh! my, think what will happen when mr. warringford tears open that envelope, and sees how his spy has been fooled!" he exclaimed. "there's only one bad thing about it, bob!" "what is that?" inquired the other. "eugene is, i take it, a clever fellow," said frank, seriously; "and he'll understand that this was done with a purpose. it will make him suspect that we're onto the game, and that we know he has the half-breed watching our every move." "well, what of that, frank?" "nothing, only after this we may expect they'll change their tactics more or less, and play on another string of the fiddle," the other saddle boy replied. "all right," bob remarked. "forewarned is forearmed, they say; and if we know eugene is laying low for us, we can be on our guard." "yes, that's all very good," frank went on, shaking his head; "but once we get into the big canyon it may pay us to keep an eye out for overhanging rocks." "say, you don't mean to tell me you think eugene would go that far?" demanded bob, startled at the very idea of such a thing. "i don't like to think he would; but you never can tell," frank replied. "when a man like eugene warringford sells his soul, and with a chance of getting a big stake, he is generally ready to shut his eyes, and go the limit." "but, frank, that would be terrible! one of those rocks, coming down from the face of a high cliff, would seriously injure us!" "sure it would, and on that account we must keep on the watch all the time," frank continued. "but i don't see abajo anywhere about the piazza of the hotel; do you?" "he's gone, and i reckon to carry that wonderful find of his to the man who employs him," bob remarked. "wouldn't i give a dollar to be hiding close by when he runs across eugene, and they open the envelope you sealed! wow! it will be a regular circus! can't you imagine that yellow face of the half-breed turning more like saffron then ever when he learns that we played him for a softy?" "well, if you were near by, bob, i wouldn't be surprised if you just had to stick your fingers in your ears," chuckled frank. "i reckon they will have a heap to say about it; and abajo, after this, won't take us for easy marks, will he?" bob remarked, in a satisfied tone. a short time later they were in their room. "you don't suppose now, frank, that we'll be bothered to-night?" bob observed, as he stood there by the window looking out toward the grand canyon. at that the other laughed quite merrily. "don't give yourself any uneasiness about that, bob," he remarked. "in the first place nobody would bother trying to get up here, even if they could, when so many better chances of reaching us will crop up after we start into the canyon to-morrow. then again, we haven't anything to be stolen but our rifles, and what little cash we brought along for expenses." "oh! i suppose i am silly thinking about it," admitted bob, "but some way that half-breed seems to be on my nerves. his face is so sly, and his black eyes just glitter as i've seen those of a snake do when he's going to strike. but, just as you say, it's foolish to borrow trouble, and i must get those notions out of my head." "that's the talk, bob," his chum declared, heartily. "morning will find us in fine trim to make a start into this big ditch. and before another night you'll be so filled with wonder over what you see that these other things will take a back seat." "but do you think we ever can find the hermit of echo cave?" asked bob. "i think we've got a pretty good chance, if we're left alone," came the ready reply. "meaning if this eugene warringford keeps his hands off; and nothing else turns up to balk us?" bob asked. "yes, all of that, and more," frank admitted. "but already i find myself wishing we had somebody along with us, like old hank coombs for instance, frank." "well, who knows what may happen?" said the other, a little mysteriously. "d'ye know, bob, i saw my dad winking at hank when he thought i wasn't looking; and on that account i've got half an idea he meant to send the old man, perhaps with a second cowboy, along on our trail. we may run across friends here when we least expect it." "i hope it turns out that way," declared the kentucky boy; "because hank is just what you might call a tower of strength when he's along. remember how fortunate it was he turned up when he did, at the time we wanted to follow that plague of the cattle ranges, the wolf, sallie? i reckon we'd have had a much harder time bagging our game if hank hadn't been along." "well, get to bed now," frank counseled; "and let to-morrow look out for itself." "all right, i'll be with you in three shakes of a lamb's tail," declared bob. but before he left the window frank noticed that he thrust his head out, as if desirous of making sure that no one could climb up the face of the wall, and find entrance there while they slept. bob was not a timid boy as a rule; in fact he was deemed rather bold; but just as he said, that dark face of abajo had impressed him unfavorably; and he felt that the young half-breed would be furious when he learned how neatly he had been sold. nor did anything happen during that night as they slept upon the border of the wonderland. both lads enjoyed a peaceful sleep, and awoke feeling as "fresh as fish," as bob quaintly expressed it. breakfast not being ready they walked about, viewing the astonishing features of the canyon as seen from the bluff on which the hotel stood. down in the tremendous gap mists were curling up like little clouds, to vanish as they reached the line where the sunlight fell. it was a sight that appalled bob, who declared that he felt as though looking into the crater of some vast volcano. "well," remarked frank, "they did have volcanos around here, after this canyon was pretty well formed, though perhaps thousands of years ago. great beds of lava have been found down in the bottom of the hole, so my little guide book tells me. but look away off there, bob, and see that peak standing up like the rim of a cloud. do you know what that is?" "i heard one man say," bob replied, quickly, "navajo peak could be seen on a clear morning, and perhaps that's the one; but frank, just think, it's about a hundred and twenty miles off. whew! they do things on a big scale around here; don't they? i'd call it the playground of giants." "and you'd about hit the bulls eye," his chum observed; "but there goes the call for breakfast." "i feel as if i could stow away enough for a crowd, this mountain air is so fresh and invigorating," bob remarked, as they headed for the dining room. half an hour later they were once more in front of the hotel, and interviewing a guide who had been recommended by the manager as an experienced canyon man. it ended in their making terms with john henry, as the fellow gave his name; though of course frank was too wise to tell him what their real object was in exploring the tremendous gap. that could come later on. at about nine o'clock they started down the trail that led from grand view into the depths of the fearful dip. and as they descended, following their guide, bob found himself realizing the colossal size of everything connected with the rainbow-hued canyon walls. nor was his mind made any easier when frank took occasion, half an hour later, to bend toward him, and say in the most natural manner possible, though in low tones: "they're on the job again, bob--abajo and eugene--because i happened to see them watching us start down the trail; and they had some one along with them, perhaps a guide; so we'll have to take it for granted that they mean to dog us all the time, hoping to steal our thunder, if we make any lucky find!" chapter xiv the home of the cliff dwellers although bob had anticipated such a thing, still the knowledge that it was actually coming to pass gave him a thrill. for some little time he did not say anything; but frank could see him look uneasily up at the walls that now arose sheer above their heads some hundreds of feet. frank had studied the situation as well as he could, both from a map of the canyon which he found in the little guide book, and his own observations. all the while he kept before him that admission on the part of the old moqui whom they had befriended, to the effect that the westering sun shone full in echo cave. so he expected to find the home of the hermit-scientist high up in the wall on the eastern side of the grand canyon. first he intended heading toward the east, and going just as far as they could. days, and perhaps weeks, might be spent in the search for the strange cave that had once been the home of those mysterious cliff people, which cavern professor oswald was occupying while studying the lives and customs of the long departed people who had dug these dwellings out of the rock. at noon they had made good progress; but when the tremendous size of that two hundred mile canyon was taken into consideration, with its myriad of side "washes," and minor canyons, the distance that they had covered was, as bob aptly declared, but a "flea-bite" compared with the whole. and frank declared time and again it had been a lucky thought that caused his chum to suggest that they bring the field glasses along. they were in almost constant use. far distant scenes were brought close, and high walls could be examined in a way that must have been impossible with the naked eye. of course frank was particularly anxious to scrutinize every colored wall that faced the west. the rainbow tints so plainly marked, tier above tier, called out expressions of deep admiration from the two lads; but all the while they were on the watch for something besides. when frank ranged that powerful glass along the ragged face of a towering cliff he was looking eagerly for signs of openings such as marked the windows of the homes fashioned by the strange people of a past age. during the afternoon they actually discovered such small slits in the rock--at least they looked like pencil markings to them when the guide first pointed out the village of the ancient cliff dwellers; though on closer acquaintance they found that the openings were of generous size. "shall we climb up that straggly path along the face of the wall, and see what the old things look like?" asked bob, as the guide made motions upward. "yes, we ought to have our first sight of such places," frank replied, in a cautious tone. "not that i expect we're going to find our hermit there, or in any other village that's known to tourist travel. but we ought to get an idea of what these places are like, you see. then we'll know better what to expect. and perhaps the conditions will teach us how to discover _his_ hiding place." accordingly they started to climb upward, just as many other tourists had been doing for years. there were even places, "aisles of safety," bob called them, where one who was ascending, upon happening to meet a descending investigator, could squeeze into a hole in the rock until the other had slipped by. of course it was a risky climb, and no lightheaded person could ever dream of taking it. but the two saddle boys were possessed of good nerves and able to look downward toward the bottom of the canyon, even when several hundred feet up in the air. then they entered the first hole. it seemed to be a fair-sized apartment, and was connected with a string of others, all running along the face of the cliff; so that those who occupied them in the long ago might have air and light. the boys observed everything with the ordinary curiosity expected of newcomers. frank even investigated to see if there were any signs to indicate that those old dwellers in the canyon knew about the use of fire; and soon decided that it was so. "well, what do you think about this?" bob asked, after they had roamed from one room to another. "for my part i think i'd fancy living in one of those three story adobe houses of the hopi indians, we saw pictures of at the hotel; or even a navajo hogan. but one thing sure, these people never had to worry about leaking roofs." "no," added frank, laughing; "and floods couldn't bother them, because the colorado never rose three hundred feet since it began cutting out this canyon." "and think of the grand view they had before their doors, with the canyon in places as much as thirteen miles across, and mountains in their dooryard, looking like anthills," bob went on impressively. "makes a fellow feel mighty small; doesn't it?" frank remarked, as he stepped to a window to look out again. "makes me feel that i want to get down again to the trail," admitted bob. "i'm wondering whether it's going to be much harder getting back than it was coming up." "that's always the case," frank declared, "as i've found out myself when climbing up a steep cliff. but the guide is ready for you, bob, if you show signs of getting dizzy. you have seen that he carries a rope along, just like the swiss guides do." "oh! come, frank! go easy with me; can't you?" the other exclaimed. "i hope i'm not quite so bad as that." "all the same, bob, don't take any chances; and if you feel the least bit giddy, let me know. this is a case where an ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure. and a stout rope is a mighty good thing to feel when your foot slips." it turned out, however, that the kentucky lad was as sure-footed as a mountain goat. he descended the trail, with its several ladders, placed there of course by modern investigators, without the least show of timidity. they continued along the bed of the wide canyon. at times they followed the ordinary trail. then again frank would express a desire to have a closer look at some high granite wall that hovered, for possibly a thousand feet, above the very river itself; and this meant that they must negotiate a passage for themselves. no doubt john henry, the guide, must have thought them the queerest pair of tourists he had ever led through the mysteries of the grand canyon. but as yet frank had not thought fit to enlighten him. he was not altogether pleased with the appearance of the guide, and wished to wait until he knew a little more about his ways, before entrusting him with their secret. more than a few times during that day frank believed he had positive evidence that they were being watched. of course they met frequent parties of pilgrims wandering this way and that, as they drank in the tremendous glories of the canyon; but occasionally the boy believed he had seen a head thrust out from behind some rock in their rear, and then hastily withdrawn again as he looked. of course he could make a guess as to who was taking such a interest in the progress of his chum and himself. no one, save eugene warringford, would bother for even a minute about what they were doing, since richer quarry by far than a couple of boys would catch the eye of any lawless desperado, like those the two sheriffs were following, bent on making a haul. "frank," said bob, when the afternoon was drawing to a close, and they had begun to think of picking out the spot where they would spend the night; "tell me why you chose to head toward the east instead of the other way, where bright angel trail attracts so many tourists?" frank cast one glance toward the guide, as if to make sure that john henry was far enough in advance not to be able to catch what was said. "i had a reason, bob," he remarked, seriously. "before we got down into the canyon, so as to choose which way we would go, i talked with several men who were coming up. and bob, i learned that an old moqui indian had been seen heading toward the east late last night!" "and you think it may have been our friend, havasupai?" asked bob. "i'm pretty sure of it, from the descriptions they gave me," came the answer. "but frank, think how impossible it seems that he could have reached here almost as soon as we did; unless the old warrior was able to fly i don't see how it could be done." "i'm just as much up a tree as you are, bob," laughed the other; "but, all the same, i believe the moqui has arrived, and is on his way right now to where echo cave lies." "then he must have an aeroplane to help him out, for i don't see how else he could make it," bob insisted. "think for a minute, and you'll see it isn't actually impossible," frank continued. "he could have made flagstaff that night, just as we did." "yes," admitted bob, "that's a fact; for while he said he was tired, and wanted a mount to fly from his people, who were looking for him, still i understand that these moquis are wonderful runners, and game to the last drop of the hat. oh! i grant you that he could have made flagstaff that night sometime." "well, flagstaff is on the railroad, you know," frank remarked. "sure! i see now what you are hitting at," bob observed; "the old indian must have had money, as all his kind have, what with the tips given by tourists day after day. he could have come to grand view on the train. frank, once more i knuckle down to your superior wisdom. that's what havasupai must have done, sure pop!" "anyhow," the other continued, "it pleases me to believe so; and that the moqui is even now hurrying to make connections with the hermit in this mysterious echo cave. there's still another reason, though, why i picked out this course up the river, instead of going down. it is connected with the fact that the moquis have their homes in this quarter." "oh!" exclaimed bob, "i catch on now to what you mean. the chances are that the moqui would be prowling around within fifty miles of his own shack when he ran across the man-with-the-shining-spot-in-his-head, otherwise the bald professor oswald." "that's the point, bob." "it sure beats everything how you can get on to these things, frank. here i'm going to be a lawyer some day, so they tell me; and yet i don't seem to grab the fine points of this game of hide-and-seek as you do." "oh! well," frank remarked, consolingly; "a lawyer isn't supposed to know much about trails, and all such things. that comes to a fellow who has spent years outdoors, studying things around him, and keeping his wits on edge all the while." "i hope to keep on learning more and more right along," said bob. "here comes john henry back, to tell us he has found a good place for camping to-night; so no more at present, bob." it proved just as frank had said. the guide declared that as the sun was low down, the canyon would soon be darkening; and they ought to make a halt while the chance was still good to see what lay around them. accordingly they made a camp, and not a great distance away from the border of the swirling river that rolled on to pass through all the balance of that wonderful gulch, the greatest in the known world. they had come prepared for this, carrying quite a number of things along that would prove welcome at supper time. a cheery fire was soon blazing, and the guide busied himself in preparations for a meal; while the two boys wandered down to the edge of the river, to throw a few rocks into the current, and talk undisturbed. "there are several other camps not far away," remarked frank. "i could see the smoke rising in two places further on." "yes," added bob, "and there's one behind us too, for i saw smoke rising soon after we halted. perhaps that may be eugene's stopping place; eh, frank?" "i wouldn't be surprised one little bit. just look at the river, how silently it pushes along right here. it's deep too; and yet below a mile or so it frets and foams among the boulders that have dropped into its great bed from the high cliffs." "and they do say some bold explorers have gone all the way through the canyon in a boat; but i reckon it must be a terrible trip," bob ventured to say. "excuse us from trying to make it," laughed frank; "by the time we'd reach mohave city, where that bottle was picked up, there wouldn't be much left of us. but let's go back to camp now. john henry must have grub ready." three minutes later he suddenly caught bob's sleeve. "wait up!" he whispered. "there's somebody talking to our guide right now; and say, bob, don't you recognize the fellow?" "if i didn't think it was silly i'd say it was old spanish joe, the cowboy we had so much trouble with on thunder mountain," bob declared, crouching down. "well, think again," said frank; "and you'll remember that abajo is his nephew!" [illustration: "there's somebody talking to our guide right now." _saddle boys in the grand canyon_ _page 134_] chapter xv the treacherous guide "why, of course he is," declared bob; "and it looks as if our old enemies had cropped up again, to join forces with the new ones. that will make three against us; won't it, frank?" "the more the merrier," replied the other, but bob could see that he was inwardly worried over the new phase of the situation. "look at the way spanish joe is arguing with john henry!" said bob. "the guide keeps pointing this way, as if he might be afraid we'd come back, and see him talking with old joe. now they shake hands, frank. do you think any bargain has been struck between them?" "i'm afraid it has," replied his comrade, gritting his teeth with displeasure. "john henry has sold us out, and gone over to the enemy for cash. i saw him hide something in his pocket." "then what will we do about him?" asked bob, clenching his fist, as if it might give him considerable pleasure to take the treacherous guide personally in hand, and teach him the needed lesson. "that's easy," chuckled frank. "we'll keep on guard to-night, and when he sees how we hang to our guns he won't try any tricks, you may be sure." "and in the morning?" bob went on. "why," declared frank, firmly; "there's only one thing to be done--we must fire john henry, even if we have to pay him the whole sum agreed on for the week." "i'm glad to hear you say that, frank; because i'd hate to have him along. why, he might take a notion to step on my fingers when i was climbing up after him, and claim it was only an accident, but if i had a broken leg, or a cracked skull, that wouldn't do me any good, i take it." "there, joe is moving off, and we can head for camp," frank remarked, as they still hovered behind the spur of rocks that had concealed them, though allowing a view of the little camp. "but you don't want to tell john henry that we saw him making a bargain with spanish joe, i take it?" bob questioned. "that's right, we don't; and try to keep from looking as if you suspected him. now his back is turned, come along," and frank, rising, led the way. the preparations for supper went on apace. the guide was unusually talkative, bob thought, and he wondered whether it was not the result of a disturbed conscience. perhaps john henry might not be wholly bad, and was worried over having entered into an arrangement to betray his generous young employers. "what are we going to do for a guide when we let him go?" asked bob, later on, after they had eaten supper, and john henry had wandered down to the river for a dip, as he said. "we'll have to trust to luck to pick up another," frank declared. "and if it comes to the worst, we can go it alone, i reckon. i've never been up against such a big job as this, but i think i'd tackle it, if i had to. but wait and see what another day brings out." when it came time for them to retire they began talking about their ranch habit of standing guard. the guide laughed at the idea of any harm coming to pass while they were there in the canyon. "lots of other tourists are camping inside of three mile from here," he said; "and i heard the sheriff of the county himself is somewhere down in the canyon; so it don't look as how there could anything happen. but just as you says, boys; if it makes you feel better to stand guard, i ain't got a thing agin it." the night passed without any sort of attack. either frank or bob sat up all the time, with a trusty rifle ready; but there was no occasion to make use of the weapon. with the coming of morning they made ready to eat a hasty breakfast. after this was over frank found himself compelled to discharge the guide. "we've concluded to do without your services, john henry," he said, as the man stood ready to start forth on the way along the canyon, heading east. "me? let me go? what for?" stammered the fellow; turning red and then white as a consciousness of his guilt broke upon him. "here's what we promised to pay you for the week," continued frank. "we want no hard feelings about it. never mind why we let you go. you can think what you like. but next time you hire out to a party, john henry, be careful how you let anybody hand you over a few dollars to make you turn against your friends." the man tried to speak, and his voice failed him. they left him standing there, holding the bills frank had thrust into his hand, and looking "too cheap for anything," as bob said. perhaps he feared that the boys might tell what they knew about him, and in this way destroy his usefulness as a canyon guide ever afterwards. "good riddance to bad rubbish!" declared bob, after they had gone on half a mile, and on looking back saw john henry still standing there as if hardly knowing whether to be sorry, or glad over having received full pay for a week after only working a single day. "and here we are cut loose from everybody, and going it on our own hook," laughed frank. "but it would be foolish for us to think of doing without a guide if so be we can find one. we'll ask every party we meet, and perhaps in that way we can strike the right man." during the morning they came upon several parties making the rounds of the wonderland along the beaten channels. sometimes women were in the company, for the strange sights that awaited the bold spirit capable of enduring ordinary fatigue tempted others besides men to undertake one of the trips. just at noon the two boys came upon a lone chinaman sitting at a little fire he had kindled, cooking a fish, evidently pulled from the river by means of a hook and line. "well, what do you think!" exclaimed frank, as he stared at the oriental; "bob, don't you recognize that cousin of our ranch cook, ah sin, the same fellow who was down at our place five months ago? hello! charley moi, what are you doing in the big canyon, tell me?" the chinaman jumped up, and manifested more or less joy at the sight of frank. he insisted on shaking hands with both the boys. "how do? glad see flank, blob! me, i cook for plarties in gland canyon. hear of chance gettee job up gland view hotel. go there now. alle samee like see boys from circle lanch. how ah sin? him berry veil last time hear samee." frank had an idea. "see here, charley moi," he said; "you say you've been about the big canyon a long time now, serving as a cook to parties who go up and down. perhaps we might engage you to stay with us!" "me cook velly fine much all timee. you tly charley moi, you never say solly do samee!" declared the oriental, his moon-like face illuminated with a childlike and bland smile. "but we want you for a guide too, charley; you ought to know a heap about the place by this time," frank went on. "alle light, me do," replied the other, glibly. "no matter, cookee or guide, alle samee. lucky we meet. tly flish. just ketchee from water. cook to turnee. plentee for all. then go like flank, blob say. sabe?" as it was nearly noon the boys were quite satisfied to make a little halt, and taste the fresh fish which the chinaman had succeeded in coaxing from the rushing waters of the nearby colorado. later on they once again made a start. charley moi did everything in his power to prove his fidelity and faithfulness. he seemed proud of the fact that the son of the big owner of circle ranch, where his cousin worked as cook for the mess, trusted him, and had employed him as a guide. never before in the history of the grand canyon had a chinaman held such an exalted office; and charley believed he had cause to feel proud. "can we trust him?" bob asked, as evening came on again. "i've always heard that chinamen are treacherous fellows." "then you've heard what isn't true," frank replied. "a chinaman never breaks his word. over in the far east i've read that all the merchants of british cities are chinese. the japs are a different kind of people. yes, we can trust charley moi. he would never betray us to our enemies." nevertheless, that night the boys also slept on their arms, so to speak. one of them remained on guard at different times, the entire night. frank had learned caution on the range. he did not mean to be taken by surprise; though he really believed that nothing would be done to injure them until after they had found some trace of the hidden hermit of echo cave. before another twelve hours had passed he had occasion to change his opinion. the night did not bring any alarm in its train. charley moi was up several times, shuffling around, looking at the fire, and sitting there smoking his little pipe, as though in satisfaction over having struck such a profitable job so easily; but he gave no sign of holding any intercourse with outsiders. with the coming of morning they were once more on the way. frank noticed with considerable satisfaction that now they seemed to be beyond the ordinary limit of the various trails taken by the regular tourist parties. they were walking along, about the middle of the morning, when they found themselves in a lonely region, where the dim trail led along the foot of rugged walls stretching up, red and apparently unscalable, to the height of hundreds of feet. frank was craning his neck as he looked up overhead, wondering if it could be possible that there was any sign of an abandoned cliff dwellers' village there, when he saw something move, and at the same instant he jumped forward to pull his chum violently back. chapter xvi a wonderful discovery bob opened his mouth to call out, and ask what was the matter, that his chum had seized upon him so fiercely. but he held his breath, for something came to pass just then that made words entirely unnecessary. a huge rock seemed to slip from its notch up on the side of the cliff, and come crashing down, loosening others on the way, until finally the rush and roar almost partook of the nature of a small avalanche. charley moi had skipped out in a lively manner, and thus managed to avoid being caught. bob stared at the pile of broken rock, about which hung a little cloud of dust. "wow! that was as close a call as i ever hope to have, frank!" he exclaimed, with a little quiver to his voice. frank himself was a bit white, and his hand trembled as he laid it on that of his chum. "i just happened to be looking up, and saw it trembling on the break," he said. "only for that we might have been underneath all that stuff." "but did you notice the clever way charley moi avoided the deluge?" said bob, trying to smile, though he found it hard work. "yes, it's hard to catch a chinaman napping, they say," frank went on. "three times this very day i've heard the thunder of falling rocks, and that was what kept me nervous; so i watched out above. and, bob, it seemed as though i must have seen that big rock just trembling as it started to leave the face of the cliff." "well, all i can say then, is, that you jumped to the occasion mighty well. some fellows would have been scared just stiff, and couldn't have thrown out a hand to save a chum. but look here, frank, you don't imagine that thing was done on purpose, do you?" frank looked at his companion, with a wrinkle on his forehead. "i don't want to think anybody could be so mean and low as to want to hurt boys who'd never done them any harm," he said; "but all the same i seem to have an idea that i got a glimpse of a man's arm when that rock started to drop." "whew! you give me a cold chill, frank," muttered bob, gazing helplessly upward toward the spot from which the descending rock had started on its riotous tumble. "yes, and i hope i was mistaken," frank went on. "i don't see anything up there now; and perhaps it was only a delusion. all these bright colors affect the eyes, you see. then, again, it might have been some goat jumping, that started that rock on its downward plunge." "but you didn't see any goat, frank, did you?" bob asked, anxiously. "no, i didn't," admitted the other; "but then there may be a shelf up there, and any animal on it would be hidden from the eyes of those right below." they passed on; but more than once bob craned his neck in the endeavor to look up to that spot, from whence the loose rock had plunged. he could not get it out of his head that foes were hovering about, who thought so little of human life that they would conspire to accomplish a death if possible. the day passed without any further peril confronting them. charley moi seemed to fill the bill as a guide, very well. he also knew the different points of interest, and chattered away like a magpie or a monkey as they kept pushing on. bob became curious to know just how the chinaman could tell about so many things when they were now above the trails used ordinarily by tourists, who gave two or three days to seeing the grand canyon, and then rushed away, thinking they had exhausted its wonders, when in fact they had barely seen them. he put the question to charley moi, and when the smiling-faced chinaman replied, frank caught his breath. "that easy, bloss," said charley, nodding. "happen this way. long time black me 'gage with sahib, like one know out in canton. think have samee big joss some bit up here in canlon. me to bling grub to certain place evly two month. him give me list what buy, and put cash in hand. know can trust chinaman ebery time. many time now me do this; so know how make trail up-river, much far past same tourist use. sabe, flank, blob?" the two boys stared at each other, unable to say a word at first. it was as if the same tremendous thought had come to each. "gee whiz! did you get on to that, frank?" finally ejaculated bob. "i sure did," replied his chum, allowing his pent-up breath full play. "charley says he engaged himself to a gentleman long ago; perhaps it was as much as three years back, the time that the professor disappeared from the haunts of men. and, frank, his part of the contract was to come to a certain point away up here in the grand canyon, once every two months, at a time agreed on, bringing a load of food, as per the list given him by this mysterious party." "it must be professor oswald!" exclaimed frank. "i've been wondering all the time how under the sun he could have supplied himself with food these long months if he'd cut loose from the world, as he said in that note he had. now the puzzle begins to show an answer. charley moi is the missing link. he has kept the professor in grub all the time. did you ever hear of such luck? first we run across that old moqui, who has been in touch with the man we want to find; and now here's the one who comes up here every little while to deliver his goods, and get a new list, as well as money to pay for the same. it's just the limit, that's what!" he turned to the chinaman, and continued: "did you happen to notice, charley, whether this party you are working for is a bald-headed man? has he a shining top when he takes his hat off; and does he bend over, as if he might be hunting for diamonds all the time?" the chinese guide smirked, and bobbed his head in the affirmative. "that him, velly much, just same say. shiny head, and blob this away alle time," with which he walked slowly forward, bending over as though trying to discover a rich vein of gold in the seamed rock under his feet. "shake hands, bob," said frank. "we're getting hot on the trail. now we needn't have any doubt at all about the choice of the eastern route. it's the right one; and somewhere further on we're just bound to find echo cave." "then all we've got to fear, frank, is the work of eugene and his crowd. let us keep clear of that bad lot, and we're going to succeed. any time, now, we may glimpse our old moqui, returning with a message from the professor, if he sees fit to reply to your appeal. he may, though, be so set and stubborn that nothing will move him from his game of hiding. then we'll have to get that paper, with his signature, and save the mine for his family." "that's what i mean to do," replied the other, with grim determination. "if he's so wrapped up in his scheme that he just won't come out, we're going to do the best we can to save his fortune in spite of him. there's his daughter janice to think of. above all, we mustn't let that schemer, eugene warringford, get his fingers on the document." that night they made camp in a little cave that offered an asylum. the boys rather fancied the idea for a change. and they passed a very comfortable night without any alarm. once, bob being on duty near the mouth of the opening, heard a shuffling sound without. he could not make out whether it was caused by the passage of a human being, or a bear. half believing that they were about to be attacked by some animal that fancied the cave as a den, he had drawn back the hammer of his rifle, and watched the round opening that was plainly seen at the time, as it was near morning, and the small remnant of a moon was shining without. but he waited in vain, and, as the minutes passed without any further alarm, bob heaved a sigh of relief. it was all very well to think of shooting big game; but under such conditions he did not much fancy a close battle. when morning came, and he had told frank about it, the other immediately went out to look for traces of the animal. as he came back bob saw by the expression on his chum's face that frank had made some sort of discovery. "how about it?" he asked. "it was no bear," replied the other, decidedly. "but sure i heard something moving, frank, and i was wide-awake at the time, too," bob protested. "i guess you were, all right," frank admitted. "a man passed by, not far from the mouth of the cave. he even stooped down, and looked in, though careful not to let his head show against the bright background. then he went off again up the canyon." "since you know so much, frank, perhaps you could give a guess as to who he was," said bob, eagerly. "no guess about it," came the reply. "i've examined his track before, and ought to know it like a book. it was abajo, bob!" "then ten to one, spanish joe and eugene were close by!" declared bob. "say, do you really believe he knew we were in here?" "of course he did," frank asserted. "perhaps they saw us enter. but abajo also knows that both of us are fair shots. he did not dare take the chance of trying to creep in. it would be more dangerous than our going into that wolf den." "the plot seems to be thickening, frank. it won't be long now before something is bound to happen. if we could only run across the old moqui now, and hear that he carried a message in answer to your note, that would clear the air a heap, wouldn't it?" "well, we must live in hopes," replied frank, cheerfully. "and now, after a bite which charley moi is getting ready for us, we'll be off again, and tackle the roughest traveling in the whole canyon, so he says. but he knows the way, because he was led up here by the old professor, and told to come back every two months." chapter xvii the windows in the rocky walls "well, here it's the fourth day we've been out, and nothing doing yet, frank!" bob spoke gloomily, as though the unsuccessful search was beginning to pall upon him a little. boys' natures differ so much; and while the young kentuckian had many fine qualities that his chum admired, still he was not so persistent as frank. nothing could ever daunt the boy from circle ranch. difficulties, he believed, were only thrown in his way to bring out the better parts of his nature. the more a fellow found himself "up against it," as frank called meeting trouble half-way, the stronger became his character. "oh! well, now, bob, i wouldn't say that," he answered the complaint of his chum. "just think what tremendous progress we've been making right along. and if the very worst comes, didn't charley moi say that it was only a week now before he must get another stock of things to eat, and won't he have to wait at the place of meeting, for the 'learned sahib' to appear, and take them from him, as he has done so often? why, we can be in hiding nearby, and meet the professor, even against his will." "that's so," bob admitted, the argument proving a clincher; "and i reckon i'm a silly clown to think anything else." "no, you're only tired, after a pretty tough day, that's all," frank declared. "when you've had a rest you'll feel better. i'm more used to this sort of thing than you are, old fellow; but all the same we must admit that we're getting the greatest view ever of this old canyon." "that's so, frank, and it's worth all the climbing and sliding, too. but every time we've discovered signs of any of those old deserted homes of the cliff dwellers, why, we find they've been visited time and again by curious folks hoping to discover some treasure, or keepsakes of the extinct people. no chance for the old professor to hide away there." "but pretty soon we're going to discover a new batch of those caves in the face of the rock, something unknown to all other searchers. we'll find it by the aid of this same glass; and because we're looking for it, high up. in all these other cases you see, bob, there were shelves of rock above shelves; and new ladders have been made by the guides, so that anybody with nerve could climb up and up. now these ladders give the thing away. and i've somehow got the notion in my head that in the case of the rock dwellings where the professor is hiding himself, there is no outward sign in the shape of ladders." "but in that case, frank, how under the sun could the old fellows ever get up to their dens, which you said must be near the top of a high cliff?" "well, that's something we're going to find out later on, you see," replied the other, serenely. "perhaps they had some way of lowering themselves from the top by means of a rope, or a stout, wide grape vine. then, again, there may be some cleft in the rock farther away, that no one would notice; but which was used as a trail, running up into the cliff, and to the rock houses." "it does take you to figure out these things," declared bob, in admiration, as they trudged along, with charley moi in advance. "then we haven't yet got to the place where the chinese buyer meets his employer with the eatables?" bob remarked after a little silence. "the last time i asked him he kept saying it was only a little farther along," replied frank. "there, look at him stopping right now; and frank, he's grinning at us in a way that can only mean one thing. that must be where he always waits for the queer old gentleman to show up." "how about that, charley; is this the place where you hang out?" asked frank, as they hastened to join the guide. "allee samee place," replied charley moi, waving his yellow hand around him. "not know where shaib come fromee, always turn roundee rock," and he pointed to a large outlying mass that had, ages ago, become detached from the towering cliff overhead, and fallen in such a fashion as to partly obstruct the canyon trail. frank looked around him eagerly. "we must be getting warmer all the time," he remarked; "and if you just take a look at that river right now, you'll see that up yonder the rock rises up almost from its very flood. when the water is high it must sweep along against the face of that big cliff. and bob, something seems to tell me that somewhere inside of a mile or so, we're going to find what we're looking for." "oh! i hope so!" echoed bob, with a look of expectancy on his face; for he always put great reliance on the common sense of his chum; and when frank said a thing in that steady tone, the kentucky boy believed it must be so. frank called a halt then and there. "we're tired, anyway," he said, "and might as well spend the night here. besides, i just want to find a place were i can take a good look through the glass up at that cliff near the top. it faces the west, all right, you see; and the indications are that somewhere or other i'll find signs of the queer windows belonging to some of those cave houses." the camp was made, and charley moi busied himself with his fire. bob had some things he wished to attend to; while frank took the glass, and, settling down in a place where he believed he could get a fair view of the upper strata of colored rock, began carefully scrutinizing the cliff. "the time is right, because the old indian said the westering sun shone in the mouth of echo cave," frank mused, as he pursued his work, not disappointed because failure came in the beginning. frank had been at work possibly six or eight minutes when he gave utterance to a low exclamation. then he fixed his field glasses upon a certain spot as though something had caught his attention there. "bob!" he called out. "want me?" asked his chum from the spot where the fire was burning. "yes, come here please," frank continued. bob quickly complied with the request. he knew that although his camp-mate spoke in such a quiet tone, he had evidently made a discovery. frank could repress his feelings even in a moment of great excitement, which was something beyond the ability of the more impetuous kentucky lad. "what have you found, frank?" he asked, as he reached the side of the other. "here, take the glass," said frank. "point it toward that little cone that seems to rise up like a chimney above the level of the cliff top. got it now? well, let your glass slowly drop straight down the face of the rock. never mind the glint of the sun, and the fine rich color. i know it's just glorious, and all that; but we're after something more important now than pictures and color effects. what do you see, bob?" "honest now, i believe you've hit the bulls-eye this time, frank." "then you think they're windows, about after the same style as those holes in the rock where we climbed up the ladders to the deserted homes of the old time cliff dwellers?" asked the other. "sure they are; no mistake about it, either," replied bob, and then he gave a low exclamation. "what did you see?" demanded frank, as if suspecting the truth. "i don't know," came the reply; "but something seemed to move just inside one of those openings. it may have been a garment fluttering in the breeze that must be blowing so far up the heights; and then, again, perhaps some hawk, or other bird, has its nest there, and just flew past. i couldn't say, frank; but i saw _something_, and it moved!" frank took the glass, and looked long and earnestly. "whatever it was," he remarked, "it doesn't mean to repeat the act. but all the same, bob, i've got a hunch we've found the place, and that echo cave lies far up yonder in that beetling cliff." "it's a fierce reach up there," remarked bob, as he scanned the height. "how under the sun d'ye suppose that old professor could ever get up and down? too far for him to have a rope ladder; and even if he had, how could he reach the place at first? frank, all the way up, i can't see the first sign of any rock shelves, where ladders might have rested long ago." "that's so," replied the other, reflectively. "the face of the cliff is as even and smooth as a floor. nobody would ever look to find a cluster of cliff dwellers' homes up there; that is, nobody but a man like professor oswald, who has made a life study of such things, and knows all the indications. but something tells me we're pretty near the end of our long trail. the only question now is, how can we get in touch with the hermit of echo cave?" as night settled down the two boys returned to the fire, still perplexed. chapter xviii finding a way up that night they kept no fire going. frank seemed to think it best that they remain quiet, so as not to announce their presence in the neighborhood. though for that matter, it would seem that if any one were perched aloft in one of those slits in the face of the cliff, that represented the windows of the cave dwellings, the entire canyon below must be spread out like a book. nothing happened to disturb them. once frank thought he heard a distant shout, and this excited his curiosity not a little. according to what charley moi said they were now in a neighborhood where ordinary tourists never visited. he thought of the two sheriffs and the lawless men they were pursuing. could it be possible that they were destined to run across those desperate characters sooner or later? the thought was a disquieting one. it served to make frank wakeful, and his restlessness was communicated to bob, although the latter did not know what caused it. but if the fugitives from justice were loitering around in that particular part of the grand canyon, either hiding from the determined sheriffs, or looking for rich quarry, neither they or anyone else disturbed the camp of the saddle boys. again, in the morning, charley moi lighted a fire, and made ready to prepare a modest breakfast. as bob had said, their supplies were running low, and unless something happened very soon the chinaman would have to be dispatched to the nearest store to replenish the food. still thinking of the sound he had heard during the night, and which he believed must have been a human voice, rather than the cry of some wild animal, frank, while they sat cross-legged around the fire, eating the scanty meal, addressed himself to the chinaman. "how many times have you come up this far, charley moi?" he asked. the other commenced to figure on his fingers. having no counting board, used so frequently by his countrymen in laundries, until they get accustomed to the habits of the white man, he took this means of tabulating. "allee fingers and this much over," and he held up the first and second fingers of one hand. "ten and two, making twelve in all," declared bob. "well, you have served the man-with-the-bald-head faithfully and long, charley." "and in all these times i suppose you've never known anybody to be around here?" frank went on. charley shook his head in the negative. "white man, no. sometime moqui come 'long, make for stlore down canlon get glub. see same two, thlee times. charley moi see old moqui last night," the chinaman replied. "what's that you say?" demanded frank, hastily. "that you saw a moqui last night, and after we had come to halt right here?" "thatee so," grinned the other, as though pleased to feel that he was able to interest frank so readily. "just when did this happen, charley moi?" pursued the other. "flank, blob, down by river, make muchee look-look in glass," answered charley. "now, what d'ye think of that?" ejaculated bob, in disgust. "while we were away from camp for ten minutes, something happened. why couldn't it have come about when we were on deck? there's a fine chance lost to get track of havasupai; for i reckon you believe the same as i do, frank, and that the old moqui whom charley saw was _our_ indian?" "seems like it, bob," replied the other, "but don't cry yet. perhaps it may not be too late to remedy matters. see here, charley moi, could you show me just where you saw this moqui last?" the yellow-skinned guide smirked, and nodded his head until his pigtail bobbed up and down like a bell rope. "easy do," he observed, beginning to get upon his feet. "come along bob," remarked frank. "we'd all better be present. three heads are better than one when it comes to a question of deciding what's to be done." "do you think you can track him, frank?" questioned the kentucky boy, eagerly. "i'm going to try," was all frank would say; for he was very modest with regard to his accomplishments as a son of the prairie. charley moi was as good as his word. he seemed to remember just where he had happened to spy the passing indian when looking up from the making of the fire. the moqui had paid no attention to him; indeed, at the time he was creeping past as though taking advantage of the absence of the two boys in order to make a circuit of the camp near the big cliff. "find 'em frank?" asked bob, after he had seen his chum bending down over the ground for half a minute. "yes, and they are the tracks of an indian too, for they toe in," frank replied. "besides, they are made by moccasins instead of shoes or boots with heels. and if i needed any further proof to tell me our friend havasupai made these tracks, and not a strange moqui, i have it in the queer patch across the toe of his right moccasin, which i noticed when he was with us before." "that's just fine!" bob exclaimed, filled with pride over the way in which his chum seemed able to fix the facts so that they could not be questioned. "and will you start after him right away, frank?" "watch me; that's all," came the reply, as frank began to move away, still bending low in order to follow the faint traces of footprints on the rock and scanty soil. the others came close at his heels, bob with a look of assurance on his face, because he felt positive that the game would now be tracked to its hiding place; and charley moi picturing his wonder on his moon-like countenance. so the prairie lad led them in and out among the rocks, and the scrub that grew close to the verge of the river. several times he seemed a little in doubt, as the marks faded entirely away; but on such occasions his common-sense came to the rescue, and, after a look around, frank was able to once more find the trail. "here's where it ends!" when frank made this remark bob could not keep from expressing his surprise. he gaped upward at the bare-faced wall that arose for hundreds of feet, without any particular ledge or outcropping where even a nimble indian could find safe lodgment for his moccasined feet. "but, frank, however could the old moqui get up there to see uncle felix?" he asked. "d'ye suppose he made some sort of signal, and the hermit lowered a long rope with a noose at the end, which would draw him up? wow! excuse me from ever trying to fly in that way! it would make me so dizzy i'd be sure to drop, and get smashed." "you're beating on the wrong track, bob," remarked the other. "no rope could be lowered all that distance; and even if it could no one man would be able to pull another all the way up." "but there must be some way of getting to the place where the slits in the face of the cliff tell of windows. however do you think he did it, frank?" "just because you don't happen to see a ladder, bob, is no evidence there isn't a way to mount upward. one thing about this great cliff i guess you didn't happen to notice. that shows you pass things by. look again, and you'll see that it seems to have been split by some volcanic smash, ages ago. there's a regular crevice running slantingly up the face of the rock. you see it now, don't you?" "sure i do; and i was blind not to take notice of the same before," bob replied. "fact is, i did see that uneven mark, but just thought it was a fault in the make of the cliff, as a miner would say." "well, that crack extends four-fifths of the way up to the top; and far enough to reach the place where we noticed all those dark marks, which we believed must be windows of the many rooms or houses of the cliff dwellers. get that, bob?" "sure i do, frank, and after your explanation i can see what you're aiming at. but where does that ragged crevice start from down here, do you think?" frank stepped forward. just as if he had it all figured out, he bent down, and with his hand drew aside the bushes that grew against the base of the cliff. "well, i declare, there it is for a fact!" exclaimed bob, as he saw a rough opening before him, which came almost together five feet from the ground, leaving only a dark, uneven, slanting line that crawled up the face of the cliff like the photograph of a zigzag bolt of lightning taken with a snapshot camera. "there you are," said frank, with a broad smile. "unless all signs fail, here's the entrance to the mysterious echo cave. we have been more than lucky to find it with so little trouble." "just to think of it," remarked bob, as he bent over to look up into the gap as well as he was able; "here's where the queer old professor has been hiding for all this time, and no one any the wiser. but frank, however in the wide world do you suppose he found out the way to get up there?" "we would have found it sooner or later, even if charley moi had not seen the old indian moving along," replied frank, with the confidence of one who knows what he is talking about. "y--yes, i reckon we would, after you'd prowled around a little, and had some chance to look the ground over. then you believe he must have found the presence of those windows looking out of the cliff just like we did; by using a powerful glass? and, thinking that here was the very place for him to hide and study, he set about looking for the road up, and found it, very likely." "he did it by using common sense, and applying all he knew about the ways of these people of the long ago," replied frank. "and you can see that if he chose, he could have thrown that bottle out of one of the openings up there, so that it would drop in the passing current of the colorado, to be carried down-stream until somebody saw it; and finding the message to my father, sent or carried it to circle ranch." "well," observed bob, with a gleam in his eye, "now that we've found a way to get up to echo cave, have we the nerve to start in?" chapter xix fortune still favors the brave instead of replying at once to this question, as bob undoubtedly thought his chum would do, frank seemed to give a start. he dropped to his hands and knees, and seemed to be examining some marks on the ground. if ever the fair knowledge of reading tracks which frank possessed was called upon to do duty, it was now. bob, of course, could not understand what possessed his comrade; but simply stood there and stared, wondering what frank had found to cause him to exhibit such breathless interest, and all the signs of unusual excitement. when finally the lad on his knees did look up, bob saw a grave expression on his face. "there's something wrong, frank; tell me what it is?" he demanded. "i've made an unpleasant discovery, bob," replied the other. "charley!" he added turning to the wondering celestial, "go back to our camp, and bring our guns right away, both of them, see?" "yep, bloss, me unelstand. charley moi gettee gluns light away quick!" and as he said this the obliging chinaman went on a run, his pigtail and blue blouse flying out behind him. "say, whatever does all this mystery mean, frank?" asked bob, almost helplessly. "just what you might imagine; that there's danger hanging about us, bob." the eyes of the astonished bob sought the ground at the point where his chum had been so deeply interested. "then it must be something you just discovered there, and that's a fact," he declared; "because you didn't act this way three minutes ago." "i happened to discover footprints coming from another quarter," frank went on, calmly; "and they headed into this crevice, just as those of the moccasined moqui did from that side. and they came after old havasupai had gone up, for i found where they wiped out a part of one of his tracks." "footprints, and were they made by the old professor, do you think?" asked bob. "not any. fact is," observed frank, as though deciding to have the worst over, "they were the tracks of three persons, all men!" "oh! my! three, you said, frank; and that would mean eugene, spanish joe, and abajo, wouldn't it?" "just the very ones i meant," replied frank. "then they must have been hiding some place near here, and saw the moqui pass in?" suggested bob, fully aroused by now. "that seems to be what happened," frank observed. "but here comes charley moi with the guns. see how he dodges about, so as to keep hidden from the view of anybody up in those windows above, which we can't glimpse from here." when bob eagerly took his repeating rifle from the hands of the chinaman he exhibited all the evidence of great satisfaction; for he heaved a sigh of relief, and fondled his weapon in a way that caused his comrade to smile. "i feel better now," bob confessed; "because, to tell the honest truth, when you broke the news so suddenly it nearly gave me heart failure, frank, to think that if those rascals sprang out at us we would be next door to helpless. now let 'em be careful how they play their little game. but what does it all mean, do you suppose, frank?" "i can only make a guess, and that may be wide of the truth," the other admitted. "by some accident they managed to get on the track of the moqui. though havasupai thought himself smart, he was no match for such a cunning rascal as spanish joe, who is said to be the best trailer along the arizona border. and they followed him right here." "that was last evening, just when you and i stood there down by the river, looking through the glasses up at the windows of the rock houses above," remarked bob. "yes. perhaps they didn't go up right then." frank went on. "i admit that i can't just make out how long ago these tracks were made. a better trailer might, you see, bob. if old hank coombs were only here now i'd be glad to turn the whole business over to him, and play second fiddle." "but some time between dark and morning these three rascals went in here, and surprised the hermit of echo cave--is that it, frank?" "it covers the case all right," came the reply. "say, do you think they are up there yet?" asked the kentucky lad, in an anxious tone. "i think they must be, bob, because all the tracks point one way, showing that the three men never came back. if they left the cave it must have been by some other way." "no use asking why they would want to get in touch with uncle felix!" continued bob, as if bent on finding out everything he could in connection with the case. "we know what their reason was," frank made answer. "when abajo, hanging about the window of our ranch house, heard what we had to say about the message that came floating down the colorado in that bottle, and carried the wonderful news to his employer, eugene warringford, he set the game going that must end right here. he has come with the intention of making professor oswald turn over that option to him; and he'll do it unless something we can offer prevents." "but frank, if the moqui carried that note of yours to uncle felix, he would be on his guard, and absolutely refuse to sign away the papers?" "i hope he will, but i fear that those three scamps are up there right now, trying to coax or bulldoze him into signing," frank said, with a tightening of his lips, and a flash of his clear eyes. "then we go up, and put a spoke in their wheel, do we?" asked bob, looking as if he were ready to make the start instantly, if his comrade but gave the word. frank glanced around him a little uncertainly. "i've got a good notion to try it," he muttered as if talking to himself. "what's that you say, frank?" asked his companion, who had caught the words, and did not know what to make of them. "i didn't tell you, bob," frank remarked; "but during the night i thought i heard a voice calling far away yonder. and somehow it struck me at the time that there was a familiar cowboy yell about it." "old hank coombs, perhaps, frank?" suggested the other lad, quickly. "that was on my mind, bob. you know history often repeats itself. once before, just when we seemed to need hank the worst way, he came riding along as if he had heard us call. and i was wondering whether he might not be somewhere around here right now." "that would be just prime, if only we could get in touch with him," bob declared. "and, as your father wouldn't send hank alone, there'd be one more cowboy along. that would make a party of four. why, those three rascals would just shrivel, and throw up the sponge, if they saw us break in on 'em. but frank, how about making the old range call?" "d'ye know, i was just thinking it might do to try it," remarked the other. "then start in and give the whoop," bob observed. "no harm done anyhow; even if they hear it up there. and while you're doing all that, i'll just drop on one knee here, and cover the crack in the wall. suppose one of the lot should try and come out while we were off our guard. i'll make him surrender quicker than he can say 'jack robinson'!" presently there sounded upon the morning air the clear "cooee" of the range, particularly well known to every cowboy who had worked at circle ranch. frank and bob listened eagerly to learn whether there would come any response. if not, then they must take up the task of climbing that singular crevice by themselves; and finding out how affairs stood above. their suspense was short-lived, for quickly there floated to their waiting ears a responsive call. turning toward the quarter from whence it seemed to come they saw a hat waving. "it's old hank, sure it is!" exclaimed bob, with a thrill of delight; for the burden of going up against three desperate characters was more than boy nature could stand without more or less uneasiness. "that's chesty with him," announced frank, as two figures were discovered coming toward them. "why, if we'd made all the arrangements ourselves we couldn't have done better, bob. here comes our reinforcements just in the nick of time. and if eugene and his backers are still up yonder in the cliff dwellers' homes, they have stayed a little while too long, that's all." in another three minutes the boys were shaking hands with old hank and chesty; the latter with a cheerful grin on his face, as though he considered it quite a joke to break in on frank's game at the finishing point. of course they were ignorant as to how matters stood. and frank took upon himself the task of explaining all that had happened. "ther up yonder yet, then," announced hank, after he had carefully inspected the footprints, and noted that they all pointed one way; "that is to say, if they ain't got an airyplane along as would allow of them flying off. an' frank, when ye sez the word we'uns are goin' t' walk up this rock ladder t' see what sorter place the ole perfessor keeps." "then i say it now," declared frank, anxious to have the thing settled one way or the other without further delay. "foller arter me, all of ye!" called the old plainsman, as he plunged into the gap. chapter xx another surprise "one thing, we won't need torches this time, hank!" remarked bob as he prepared to follow after the leader. "i reckons not, bobby," chuckled the veteran cowman, who knew that something about the situation must have recalled their entering that cave that day where sly old sallie and her half-grown whelps awaited their coming with bared teeth. just back of hank came chesty, who was a very ambitious young fellow, and always to be counted on with regard to obtaining his proper share in every little excitement that happened. then frank filed along; and at his heels bob climbed; while charley moi brought up the rear, bent on seeing all that might come to pass. the crevice immediately began to mount upward, just as frank had anticipated it would. there were times when the climbing was pretty steep, and frank began to wonder what sort of agile man this old and stubborn professor oswald could be, to overcome such difficulties so often, while in the pursuit of his hobby. bob was soon panting, but no less bent on "keeping up with the procession," as he himself put it. they had been going back from the face of the cliff pretty much all the time, so that there was really no chance to take an observation, in order to tell just how far up they had come. frank felt sure, however, after this labor had kept up for quite a long time, that they must now be getting near the top of the break, or where the crooked crack in the face of the rock ended. he tried to picture what they would find. if eugene and his reckless backers had been in possession of the place for some hours now, they must have tried all sorts of expedients in order to compel the professor to reveal the secret hiding place of the valuable document, and make it over to them. nor would such heartless men hesitate long about adopting torture in order to force a confession from the unwilling victim. then frank wondered if the three rascals would attempt any tactics looking to holding the attacking force at bay. they were well armed, no doubt, and having such a rich treasure hanging in the scales, it might be expected that they would hate to let it slip from their covetous grasp without putting up some sort of fight. but all that could be left to old hank. for many years he had been the leading figure in all the affairs that centered around circle ranch. did the rustlers run off part of the herd, the veteran was put in charge of the pursuing force. sometimes the sly marauders got off scot free; but more often they paid dearly for their audacity in picking out colonel haywood's ranch as the scene of their foray. frank really had no fears as to the result, now that hank had arrived on the scene to direct operations. the three schemers might give them some trouble, but they could not carry the day. "please let a fellow rest up a little, hank!" came from bob, finally. the old cow puncher understood that the pace had been too warm for the tenderfoot; and he considerately halted. perhaps none of the climbers were averse to a breathing spell before the final round. it would put them in better condition for the wind-up, whatever that might prove to be. "frank," whispered bob, as he pulled at the trouser leg of his chum so as to induce him to bend down closer. "what's the row?" asked the other, in somewhat the same guarded tone, as he managed to double over, and bring his face close to that of his friend. "charley moi has just told me something," bob went on. "you know we found out before now that he's got the greatest pair of ears ever for hearing things? well, he says there's something or some one following us up this old crack!" "whew! that's nice, now. a regular procession, it seems," remarked frank. "who d'ye think it can be; and would a bear or a mountain lion pick up our tracks this way?" continued bob, who was trying to work his rifle around, so as to cover the rear. "wait! let's all listen, after i send the word along to hank and chesty," remarked frank. when this had been done even the old cowman thought well enough of the idea to wait until they could find out the nature of the sounds that had reached the keen hearing of the wide-awake chinaman. it was only half light in the break of the rock, and the passage they had been following thus far was so very crooked that no one could see more than twenty feet down the trail. still every eye was fastened on that point where the advancing man or animal would first appear. frank, too, had his rifle bearing on the spot; and taken as a whole the appearance of the little company, flattened out against the break in the mighty rock wall, was rather threatening. all of them could catch the sounds below now. whoever came up the rock ladder must be unused to negotiating such a stairway, for they rattled small bits of loose shale down at times; and frank felt sure he could hear a panting sound, very much like that which tired bob had been making a minute ago. and, as he listened, frank made a discovery that caused him to tighten his grip on that reliable repeating rifle. there were two of the pursuers! and he anticipated that the leader must come in sight ere another dozen seconds passed! there was some sort of movement now, down in the region of the little twist where the steep stairway of the old cliff dwellers made a turn. then a head and shoulders came into view. frank chuckled aloud. just in almost that last second of time he had suddenly guessed the truth, when, in this clinging figure that was staring upward, as though filled with genuine surprise, he recognized an old friend. it was mr. stanwix, the sheriff of the county! he and his mate from the adjoining division of coconino must have just had a glimpse of charley moi disappearing in the dark hole at the base of the cliff; and, being in pursuit of two shrewd law breakers, who had been known to appear in other dress than that of cowmen, perhaps the officers had concluded that here was something that ought to be investigated. frank immediately made a friendly gesture with one hand. he did not want to risk the chances of being fired upon by the officers of the law, who might take the little party for bad men. then he beckoned in a fashion that the sheriff must readily understand to mean caution, and silence. they saw mr. stanwix bend down as though he might be explaining to his fellow officer what an astonishing thing had happened. after that he came on, climbing the steep rock ladder as an exhausted person might. yet his nature was like that of the bulldog; and once he had started to do a thing, nothing could make him stop. when he arrived at a point where he could make his way alongside frank, squeezing past charley moi and bob, the sheriff of yavapai county turned an inquiring look upon his young friend. whereupon frank started in to tell him just who the other three in the party happened to be; and that they were bent upon foiling the lawless game of three rascals plotting for a big stake. in return mr. stanwix intimated that they had suspected something wrong when they saw from a little distance two persons, and one of them a chinaman, disappearing in a cleft of the rocks. further explanations must await a better opportunity, however. they were now too near the series of chambers connecting with one another to hesitate longer. besides, who could say what might not be going on up there a little further, in those holes in the wall where, ages ago, the singular people whom professor oswald loved to study about, had their homes, and lived on from year to year? old hank, when he once more started upward, seemed to have become much more cautious. frank could easily guess the reason. there was a strong possibility that the three schemers might have learned of their presence in the vicinity ere now. and of course eugene knew full well why frank and bob had come to the grand canyon from their ranch home. suspecting that sooner or later the two boys might discover the way up to the cliff house, they would be apt to lay a trap of some sort, thinking to catch them napping when they ascended. old hank could not be taken unawares any easier than might the wary weasel that has never been seen asleep by mortal eyes. frank, keeping well up by the heels of the little cowboy's boots, was ready to draw himself upward at the first sign of trouble. he knew when hank had reached the top of the singular stairway fashioned by nature for the benefit of those who built their habitations near the top of the cliff, far beyond the reach of enemies in the valley below. a few seconds of suspense followed, while chesty was following the veteran into the first hollowed-out apartment. nothing followed where frank had been expecting all manner of evil things. "perhaps they're asleep," was the new thought that flashed through his brain. he did not know what manner of man uncle felix was. now they were all gathered there in that outer chamber that might be called an ante-room of the various apartments running along the face of the cliff for some distance. even charley moi was there, full of curiosity, and willing to lend a hand after a fashion. bob looked around; just as his chum had done as soon as he entered. he saw that some one had certainly been there recently. there were plenty of evidences to that effect. old hank raised his hand with the forefinger elevated. it was recognized as a signal for absolute silence by all the others. even bob restrained his desire to ask questions; and every one listened, as if expecting to catch sounds. was that a human voice? frank started a trifle as the idea came to him. still, it might only have been an additionally strong movement of the breeze; turning some angle that caused it to give forth a sound. he turned to see if any of the others had heard, and judged from the way old hank had his head raised that he, too, had caught the sound; also that it appealed to him as full of significance. again the veteran waved his hand. this time it meant not only caution, but an invitation to advance. hank was about to pass into the next apartment, and wished the others to keep close at his heels. bob was quivering all over with the fever of suspense, as well as pent-up eagerness. he did not know just how much longer he could hold in; for he wanted to yell. still, he did not do it. since coming to this wonderland country of the southwest he had learned many lessons in the way of self control; and every day he was gaining more and more of a mastery over himself. now hank was in the second room, and still heading onward toward another hole in the wall, evidently the only means of communication between the various houses forming the little community. when he reached this, voices were plainly heard beyond. hank kept right on, heading for yet a third doorway; and whoever was doing the talking, he or they must be in that further apartment; so that in another minute frank expected to have his curiosity fully satisfied. chapter xxi the little old man of echo cave "you admit you have carried the document with you, and that it's only a question of refusing to produce it, professor?" frank recognized that drawling voice. he had heard his father's cousin, eugene warringford, speak many times, and generally in this slow way. but frank also knew that back of his apparently careless manner there was more or less venom. eugene could hate, and hide his feelings in a masterly manner. he could smile, and then strike behind the back of the one with whom he was dealing. and somehow his very drawling voice always made frank quiver with instinctive dislike. "i admit nothing, sir," came another voice, quick and nervous, yet with a firmness that told of considerable spirit. "you come upon me in my retreat without an invitation, and at first claim to be a warm admirer of my work, which you seem to have studied fairly well. but now you are taking the mask off, sir; and i can recognize the wolf under the sheep's clothing." frank had heard that the old scientist, though a small man, was full of grit; and he could well believe it after hearing him speak. and bob, who crouched close at the side of his chum, gave frank a nudge as if to say: "what do you think of that for nerve; isn't he the limit, though?" eugene laughed in his lazy way at being accused of evil intentions. apparently he had about made up his mind that there was no use in longer beating about the bush. he had the old gentleman cooped up in this isolated place, where no assistance could possibly reach him. and backed up himself by a couple of reckless rascals, no doubt eugene considered himself in a position to demand obedience. "well, my dear old gentleman," he remarked, and by the sound frank imagined the fellow must be lighting a fresh cigarette, for he seemed to puff between the words; "just as you say, what's the use of carrying the joke on any longer. let's be brutally frank with each other from now on." "very well," replied the other, quickly. "here's the situation then, in a nutshell. you suddenly appear before me, with a couple of men you claim are guides, but whom i have every reason to believe are low minions who are simply in your pay." "careful, professor," eugene broke in. "i'd advise you to go a bit slow. these men talk english, if they do look like mexicans; and they may resent being called rascals." "let that pass," continued the hermit of echo cave, as though waving the matter aside contemptuously. "at any rate, you come suddenly into my habitation here, where i have spent many happy months in solitude, wrapped up in my studies of the people of the cliffs, who spent their lives in this very place, and who have left many traces of their customs behind. my work is almost finished, and in another week i expected leaving here for civilization, with a masterly book on the subject that has mystified the world for a century." "come to the point, professor," broke in the man with the drawl; "and keep all this about your studies for those of your kind, who may appreciate them. we are concerned only about one thing; and that is a certain paper which you will presently take from its hiding-place, sign over to me, and then finish your labors here in peace. understand that?" "by good luck i was forewarned," the sharp voice went on; "and hence i made sure not to carry that document on my person. you have taken the liberty of searching every inch of these cliff houses since you arrived here, but without success. and allow me to inform you, sir, that you might hunt until the day of doom without the slightest chance of finding that paper. it will never be yours!" "oh! i am not worrying in the least, professor," eugene remarked, coolly. "you will see a great light presently, i imagine." "i have already done so, sir," came the snappy reply. "i am awakening to the fact that too long have i been neglecting my daughter; and that since this investment of mine has turned out so happily, it must become her property." "very nice and thoughtful of you, professor," sneered eugene; "and while i dislike to spoil such delightful plans, i fear i must do so. it is my nature to persist in anything i undertake. and i have made up my mind to possess that document; or make you pay dearly for my disappointment." "now you begin to descend to low threats, sir," cried the scientist, who did not seem to be a particle afraid; which proved the truth of the old saying that courage does not necessarily need a big tenement. "we have hunted high and low through this series of ratholes, and without any success," observed eugene, beginning to bite off his words, as though unable to much longer keep up the pretense of being calm. "what have you done with that old moqui who came up here ahead of us?" "ah! you saw him enter the hidden stairway, then, and that was how you learned the way to reach these cliff dwellings?" exclaimed the other, as though one thing that had bothered him was now explained. "yes, that was how it came about," answered eugene. "we have followed him like his own shadow for days, and yet he knew it not. age must have dimmed the sight and hearing of the warrior. after we saw him pass upward, on investigating, we found the stone ladder in the crevice, and we waited several hours for him to come down, for we wanted to make sure of him first. as he did not appear, we finally could stand it no longer, and began to creep up here, inches at a time. then we surprised you, and announced our intention of stopping with you." "yes," declared the scientist, bitterly. "first you pretended that you were sent out by a magazine to search for me, and get some points as to my great work here among the zunis, the hopis and the moquis. but i soon discovered that you had another motive in trying to find professor oswald. you began to hint about your desire to possess stock in certain mines, and especially in one, the ownership of which i had carried in my hand for some years. besides, i had been warned of your real intentions, and was on my guard." "what became of that old moqui indian?" went on eugene. "he climbed up, but he did not come down. we guarded that stairway closely every minute of the time. we have searched every room in this rabbit burrow that we could discover; but still he does not show up. have you put him away in some place, the entrance to which is hidden from our eyes?" the only reply to this question was a scornful laugh. as bob would say, it was as if the defiant little professor had flashed out. "don't you wish you knew?" "well, as the document and the moqui have both vanished mysteriously, there's only one thing i can conclude," went on eugene, between his teeth; "and that is they must be together at this very moment. produce the one, and the other will be found not far away." "what a wise man you are, sir!" remarked the little scientist, with a sneer. "perhaps i may prove a more successful one than you imagine," returned eugene, between furious puffs. "now, all the time i have been turning this old lot of rabbit burrows upside down i've been thinking a whole lot, professor." "bravo!" exclaimed the other clapping his hands vigorously; "it will certainly do you a great amount of good, sir, for i imagine you seldom treat yourself to such a luxury as a good hard think. and may i inquire concerning the result of your labors in that line?" "first of all, i sized you up as a mighty stubborn little bit of humanity." "oh! thank you, sir. really, i am disposed to accept that as a compliment; for you see, a man of my profession could never succeed unless he had mastered his inclination for an easy life, and had become a stoic. and what else did you happen to decide after this wonderful fit of thinking, may i ask, sir?" "this: i made up my mind that once you declined to produce that document, to secure which i have come a great distance, and undergone considerable fatigue, that no threat of bodily harm would induce you to alter your decision!" "it is really very interesting to hear you say this, sir," remarked the one who had lived in that lofty cave for many months, poring over the queer things that he unearthed from time to time in the ruins of the cliff dwellers' homes. "and after reaching such a conclusion as that, how comes it you persisted in trying to carry out your original intention?" "because i had another arrow in my quiver, professor!" remarked eugene, in a penetrating voice, that had a ring of anticipated triumph in it. "h'm! torture, perhaps?" suggested the other; "but my dear sir, nothing of that nature could make me open my lips. i would die rather than submit to your proposals." "but wait a bit, my old friend," chuckled eugene; "there are two kinds of torture, that of the body, and of the mind!" "i suppose you are right, sir," the little scientist remarked; "but honestly, now, i fail to understand the drift of your remarks." "then it shall be my pleasure to enlighten you, professor," eugene continued. "pay attention to me now, and you will quickly have the cataract removed from your eyes. is there anything in the world that you value above that document which you know by this time has suddenly increased in value many times over?" "i can think of but one thing--my daughter janice!" replied the other, quickly. "and she is far beyond your reach in the east." "ah yes, quite true, professor," the schemer went on; "more's the pity. but i think you make a mistake when you say that your daughter is the only thing on earth you value above the million that has suddenly dropped at your feet. how about this, professor?" he evidently held something up, for the other immediately uttered a startled cry. "the manuscript of my forthcoming book on the mysteries of the cliff dwellers of the grand canyon! the hard work of three long years of exile! a labor of love that i expected will place my name among the front ranks of scientists!" "exactly!" sneered eugene. "just keep back, professor, please. my men are not in any too pleasant a mood, and i would not answer for what they might do to you if you made the first effort to snatch this thing from my hands. sit down again, and let us reason together." "you wretch! now i begin to see your game. you would threaten to destroy all my precious work of years, in order to obtain a miserable paper." at that eugene laughed loudly. "it may be all you say, professor," he remarked; "but it represents a snug little fortune that i'd like to possess. the future would be mighty pleasant, once i made that fine hit. and if it appears like so much trash in your eyes, my dear man, there should no longer be any hesitation about giving it up to me. think of the work you have done. it couldn't be replaced, professor, i imagine? if now i should deliberately take a match out of my pocket like this, strike the same, and apply the busy little flame to these papers, the history of the zunis, the hopis, the moquis, and their ancestors the cliff dwellers, would be forever lost to the world, wouldn't it?" "stop, you wretch!" cried the excited hermit, who was apparently greatly alarmed at seeing his precious manuscript in peril. "ah! do you then consent to open your mouth, and tell what i want to know?" demanded his tormentor. "is there no other way out?" asked the prisoner of the cave, hopelessly. "none," replied eugene, harshly. "my men are watching for the moqui to show up every second, and with orders to shoot him on sight. so don't indulge in any hope that he can save you. there, the match has burned itself out; but remember, professor, there are others, plenty of them, where that came from. i will give you one minute to produce that paper." the scientist uttered a sigh that was plainly heard. "i suppose i must yield to fate then," he said, dismally. "but you promise to return my papers to me after i have complied with your outrageous demands?" "to be sure i will, and only too gladly," replied the other, eagerly. "i don't want to make the terms too hard on you, old man. only you must choose now between losing either the fortune, or your work of years. and perhaps we'd find the document after all, too. speak up; where is it?" "examine that rock stool on which you are seated, and you will find that it can be moved," the voice of the hermit went on, steadily. "there, now that you have over-turned the seat, you discover something in the cavity. keep your word, and place in my hands my precious packet of manuscript. threats of taking my life might not move me; but when you place in peril that on which my reputation as a scientist must be based, it is too much. thank you, sir; i see you are a man of your word. and i will sign the papers just as you may wish to have done." chapter xxii turning the tables--conclusion "come on in, boys!" old hank coombs had stood all the while this intensely interesting dialogue was going on, as though glued to the spot. indeed, not one of the party in the adjoining apartment of the cliff dwellers' cave but who had kept drinking in the conversation as though it fairly fascinated them. but when the old cow puncher realized that to all appearances the outrageous scheme of eugene had worked only too well, and that the precious document was even then in the hands of the smooth-tongued plotter, he suddenly awoke to the fact that perhaps they had waited a little too long. through the opening that served as a doorway between the apartments he jumped, followed immediately by chesty, the two sheriffs, and finally the saddle boys, with charley moi bringing up the rear. of course their unexpected coming created quite a breeze among those whom they thus surprised. the little man who wore the goggles seemed delighted, and immediately started to place himself, and his precious manuscript, in a position where he might be covered by these welcome allies. spanish joe and abajo had started to draw their weapons; but when they discovered that they had already been covered, and recognized several among the newcomers as old companions on circle ranch, they promptly elevated their hands. eugene looked just as ugly as he felt. the prize had apparently been about to fall into his hands, like a ripe apple, when this change of front had to occur. he kept his wits about him, however, and like the shrewd fox that he was, played the game to the limit for his own safety. "keep your friends back, professor oswald!" he shouted, as he managed to interpose what looked like a stone table between himself and the two sheriffs, who had their hungry eyes on him. "see here, unless you promise on your word of honor not to proceed against me for this little game that didn't work, i'll tear this paper that's worth a million into little bits, no matter what happens to me afterwards! do you hear, professor?" frank caught his breath. after all the hard work which he and bob had put in to save that precious document for janice, was it to be lost? he wanted to fly at the man, and snatch it from his hands; but did not dare; for only too well did he know that at the first hostile move eugene would proceed to put his threat into execution. to his intense surprise the little man with the big glasses seemed to be shaking as with a convulsion of laughter. it did not seem as though he worried about the fate of the document eugene held so rigidly, while awaiting an answer to his demand. "do just as you please about that, my friend," chuckled the scientist. "if it would afford you any enjoyment to destroy the paper you are holding, i wouldn't cheat you out of it for the world." "but--" stammered the defeated plotter, "it would render void all your right to taking possession of the san bernardino mine, if this document were destroyed!" "oh! dear no, not at all," exclaimed the other, cheerily. "the fact is, that paper is even now on the way to the nearest post office, addressed to my friend and relative, colonel haywood, and is to go by registered mail." "that moqui indian--" gasped eugene, falling back helplessly. "exactly, he carries the packet, with orders to let nothing divert him from his one purpose," observed the scientist; while bob nudged his chum in the side, unable to restrain his delight over the wonderful outcome of the knotty problem. "how did he get out of here?" asked eugene. "we watched the stone stairway every minute of the time, and he didn't go down that way." "oh! well, in my prowling around here, month after month," explained the hermit, "i managed to find a way the old cliff dwellers had for reaching the summit of the rocks, in case of necessity. the moqui possessed the nerve required to crawl along the face of the cliff on a narrow ledge, and make the exit. he is miles away by now, and my daughter's inheritance is safe!" "but--this paper here," asked eugene, faintly; yet with curiosity governing his actions; "it seems to be a legal document, transferring a majority of the shares of the san bernardino mine over to you if the further conditions are fulfilled within a certain time?" "to be sure," laughed the other, "that was the first copy, you might say. there was some little defect about it, which we discovered after it was signed; so a second copy was made. if you had examined that one closer you would have found that the stamp necessary to make it legal was lacking. somehow i happened to keep both copies, never dreaming how valuable this bogus one might prove." eugene threw the paper angrily to the floor. "i'm done!" he cried, shaking his head. "come on, mr. stanwix, if you are after me, and put the irons on; though i don't think you've got any show of convicting me of any unlawful game. i claim to have come here to interview this famous old gentleman about the wonderful discoveries he has made connected with these people of the cliffs. i expected to make a big sum in selling the article to a magazine. perhaps you might give me more or less trouble if you cared; but then it's another thing to show proof. and the professor wouldn't like to stay out here long months, waiting for the case to come on." "that's where you're right, my tall friend," chirped the little scientist; "and as my work is almost finished i do not mean to let anything detain me from getting my book in the hands of the printers." "hear that, mr. stanwix; he says we're going to get off easy, and you might as well wish us good day right now?" exclaimed eugene, nodding to the yavapai sheriff, whom he appeared to know. "well, there's no hurry," remarked that official, pleasantly. "on the whole, my opinion is that it would be good policy to keep you locked up until we know that the document has reached the hands of the one to whom it was sent, and who is, i believe, the father of our friend, frank, here." "i agree with you, mr. sheriff!" declared the old hermit of the cave. "because if he were set free i fear he would chase after the united states mail, if a single hope remained of stealing my property. yes, kindly keep him by you until i come around with news." then he turned to the two cow punchers, who had stood moodily by, listening to all that was being said. "i have no use for either of you men," he remarked, shaking a finger at them; "so the sooner you get down out of this place, the better. and while i continue to remain here a few days, i'm going to ask these brave lads to keep me company as a guard of honor. i've many things to show that may interest them. and i want to accompany frank to his home a little later, if possible." and so it was arranged. old hank and chesty declared that their orders had been to stay as long as frank and bob did; so they also took up their quarters in the apartments that went to make up what the little old gentleman had called echo cave. the two sheriffs took their prisoner away, to place him in some secure nook while they continued their search for the pair of scoundrels whom they had hunted so long, and were determined to get this time. as they will not be seen again in this story it may only be right to say that frank afterwards read an account in a paper of how the sheriffs finally rounded up the arizona kid and big bill guffey, arresting them after a warm resistance in which all of the participants were wounded. and in due time doubtless the bad men who had so long defied the law, paid the penalty for their various crimes. the saddle boys certainly did enjoy the few days they spent with the queer little hermit, while he completed his odd business in the rock dwellings of the ancient cliff men. they found the echo which had caused him to give the place its name, and spent many an hour amusing themselves with its astonishing power to send back sounds. finally havasupai made his appearance, bearing with him a receipt, which proved that the precious packet had been sent by registered mail to circle ranch. and then the professor announced himself as ready to take his departure from the scene of his two years' labors as a hermit, working in the interests of science. "it's a wonderful old place," bob declared as they took their last look at the grand canyon from the bluff in front of the hotel, ere mounting their horses and starting back home across the many miles that lay to the south and east before circle ranch might be reached. "yes, and we'll never forget what we've seen here," added frank. "not to speak of the adventures that have come our way," remarked bob. "tell you the truth, frank, i'll be mighty sorry when our trip is over, because i reckon it'll be a long time before we have another chance for such a great gallop." but although of course he did not know it just then, bob was very much mistaken when he made this prophecy. it happened that events were shaping themselves at that very hour in a way calculated to call upon the saddle boys to make another venture into the realms of chance, and mounted upon their prized horses too. what these events were, and how well frank and bob acquitted themselves when brought face to face with new adventures, will be found set forth in the next volume of this series, under the title of, "the saddle boys on the plains; or, after a treasure of gold." old hank and chesty accompanied professor oswald by way of the railroad to a point nearest the ranch, where a vehicle would be awaiting them. he had been greatly interested in hearing how one of the bottles that he had thrown into the swift current of the colorado had been eventually picked up in far distant mohave city; and thus his note came into the hands of his relatives. of course frank and his chum enjoyed the return gallop even more than when on the way to the grand canyon. they no longer had anything weighing on their minds, since the plans of eugene warringford had been broken up. and besides, the recollection of the astounding wonders they had gazed upon in that great canyon were bound to haunt them forever. the little professor was waiting to see them at the ranch, before starting east to join his daughter, and get his wonderful book under way. "i owe you boys more than i can tell," he declared, when he was saying good-bye; "and you needn't be at all surprised if a nice little bunch of gold mine stock comes this way for each of you, just as soon as my deal goes through, which will be in one more week." he was as good as his word, and when the mine came under his authority he did send both frank and bob some stock, on which they could collect dividends four times a year. frank looked in vain for the coming of the old moqui. charley moi did indeed turn up a little later, anxious to again meet the boys whom he had served in the grand canyon. but havasupai came not to circle ranch; and remembering how he had apparently been fleeing from the wrath of his people at the time they first met him, frank and bob could not but wonder whether the old warrior had gone back to his native village only to meet his fate at the hands of his people, according to moqui law. here we may leave our two young friends, the saddle boys, for a short time, enjoying a well earned rest. but the lure of the great outdoors was so strongly rooted in their natures that it may be readily understood they could not remain inactive long; but would soon be galloping over the wide reaches, following the cowboys as they rounded up the herds, branded mavericks and young cattle, and picked out those intended for shipment to the great marts at kansas city. but while new scenes would likely interest frank and bob from time to time, they could never forget the magnificent views that had been stamped upon their memories forever while in the grand canyon of the mighty colorado. the end * * * * * * the boys' outing library _12mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full color. price, per volume, 65 cents, postpaid._ [illustration] the saddle boys series by capt. james carson the saddle boys of the rockies the saddle boys in the grand canyon the saddle boys on the plains the saddle boys at circle ranch the saddle boys on mexican trails the dave dashaway series by roy rockwood dave dashaway the young aviator dave dashaway and his hydroplane dave dashaway and his giant airship dave dashaway around the world dave dashaway: air champion the speedwell boys series by roy rockwood the speedwell boys on motorcycles the speedwell boys and their racing auto the speedwell boys and their power launch the speedwell boys in a submarine the speedwell boys and their ice racer the tom fairfield series by allen chapman tom fairfield's school days tom fairfield at sea tom fairfield in camp tom fairfield's pluck and luck tom fairfield's hunting trip the fred fenton athletic series by allen chapman fred fenton the pitcher fred fenton in the line fred fenton on the crew fred fenton on the track fred fenton: marathon runner _send for our free illustrated catalogue._ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the jewel series by ames thompson _12mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in colors_ price per volume, 65 cents [illustration] _a series of stories brimming with hardy adventure, vivid and accurate in detail, and with a good foundation of probability. they take the reader realistically to the scene of action. besides being lively and full of real situations, they are written in a straightforward way very attractive to boy readers._ 1. the adventure boys and the valley of diamonds malcolm edwards and his son ralph are adventurers with ample means for following up their interest in jewel clues. in this book they form a party of five, including jimmy stone and bret hartson, boys of ralph's age, and a shrewd level-headed sailor named stanley greene. they find a valley of diamonds in the heart of africa. 2. the adventure boys and the river of emeralds the five adventurers, staying at a hotel in san francisco, find that pedro the elevator man has an interesting story of a hidden "river of emeralds" in peru, to tell. with him as guide, they set out to find it, escape various traps set for them by jealous peruvians, and are much amused by pedro all through the experience. 3. the adventure boys and the lagoon of pearls this time the group starts out on a cruise simply for pleasure, but their adventuresome spirits lead them into the thick of things on a south sea cannibal island. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the bomba books by roy rockwood _12mo. cloth. illustrated. with colored jacket_ price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid [illustration] _bomba lived far back in the jungles of the amazon with a half-demented naturalist who told the lad nothing of his past. the jungle boy was a lover of birds, and hunted animals with a bow and arrow and his trusty machete. he had a primitive education in some things, and his daring adventures will be followed with breathless interest by thousands._ 1. bomba the jungle boy _or the old naturalist's secret_ in the depth of the jungle bomba lives a life replete with thrilling situations. once he saves the lives of two american rubber hunters who ask him who he is, and how he had come into the jungle. he sets off to solve the mystery of his identity. 2. bomba the jungle boy at the moving mountain _or the mystery of the caves of fire_ bomba travels through the jungle, encountering wild beasts and hostile natives. at last he trails the old man of the burning mountain to his cave and learns more concerning himself. 3. bomba the jungle boy at the giant cataract _or chief nascanora and his captives_ from the moving mountain bomba travels to the giant cataract, still searching out his parentage. among the pilati indians he finds some white captives, and an aged opera singer who is the first to give bomba real news of his forebears. 4. bomba the jungle boy on jaguar island _or adrift on the river of mystery_ jaguar island was a spot as dangerous as it was mysterious and bomba was warned to keep away. but the plucky boy sallied forth and met adventures galore. 5. bomba the jungle boy in the abandoned city _or a treasure ten thousand years old_ years ago this great city had sunk out of sight beneath the trees of the jungle. a wily half-breed and his tribe thought to carry away its treasure of gold and precious stones. bomba follows. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york sea stories for boys by john gabriel rowe _large 12mo. cloth. illustrated. colored jacket_ price per volume, $1.00 net [illustration] _every boy who knows the lure of exploring, and who loves to rig up huts and caves and tree-houses to fortify himself against imaginary enemies will enjoy these books, for they give a vivid chronicle of the doings and inventions of a group of boys who are shipwrecked, and have to make themselves snug and safe in tropical islands where the dangers are too real for play._ 1. crusoe island dick, alf and fred find themselves stranded on an unknown island with the old seaman josh. their ship destroyed by fire, their friends lost, they have to make shift for themselves for a whole exciting year before being rescued. 2. the island treasure with much ingenuity these boys fit themselves into the wild life of the island they are cast upon in storm. they build various kinds of strongholds and spend most of their time outwitting their enemies. 3. the mystery of the derelict their ship and companions perished in tempest at sea, the boys are adrift in a small open boat when they spy a ship. such a strange vessel!--no hand guiding it, no soul on board,--a derelict. it carries a gruesome mystery, as the boys soon discover, and it leads them into a series of strange experiences. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the boy ranchers series by willard f. baker _12mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full colors_ price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid [illustration] _stories of the great west, with cattle ranches as a setting, related in such a style as to captivate the hearts of all boys._ 1. the boy ranchers _or solving the mystery at diamond x_ two eastern boys visit their cousin. they become involved in an exciting mystery. 2. the boy ranchers in camp _or the water fight at diamond x_ returning for a visit, the two eastern lads learn, with delight, that they are to become boy ranchers. 3. the boy ranchers on the trail _or the diamond x after cattle rustlers_ our boy heroes take the trail after del pinzo and his outlaws. 4. the boy ranchers among the indians _or trailing the yaquis_ rosemary and floyd are captured by the yaqui indians but the boy ranchers trailed them into the mountains and effected the rescue. 5. the boy ranchers at spur creek _or fighting the sheep herders_ dangerous struggle against desperadoes for land rights brings out heroic adventures. 6. the boy ranchers in the desert _or diamond x and the lost mine_ one night a strange old miner almost dead from hunger and hardship arrived at the bunk house. the boys cared for him and he told them of the lost desert mine. 7. the boy ranchers on roaring river _or diamond x and the chinese smugglers_ the boy ranchers help capture delton's gang who were engaged in smuggling chinese across the border. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the webster series by frank v. webster [illustration] mr. webster's style is very much like that of the boys' favorite author, the late lamented horatio alger, jr., but his tales are thoroughly up-to-date. cloth. 12mo. over 200 pages each. illustrated. stamped in various colors. price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid. only a farm boy _or dan hardy's rise in life_ the boy from the ranch _or roy bradner's city experiences_ the young treasure hunter _or fred stanley's trip to alaska_ the boy pilot of the lakes _or nat morton's perils_ tom the telephone boy _or the mystery of a message_ bob the castaway _or the wreck of the eagle_ the newsboy partners _or who was dick box_? two boy gold miners _or lost in the mountains_ the young firemen of lakeville _or herbert dare's pluck_ the boys of bellwood school _or frank jordan's triumph_ jack the runaway _or on the road with a circus_ bob chester's grit _or from ranch to riches_ airship andy _or the luck of a brave boy_ high school rivals _or fred markham's struggles_ darry the life saver _or the heroes of the coast_ dick the bank boy _or a missing fortune_ ben hardy's flying machine _or making a record for himself_ harry watson's high school days _or the rivals of rivertown_ comrades of the saddle _or the young rough riders of the plains_ tom taylor at west point _or the old army officer's secret_ the boy scouts of lennox _or hiking over big bear mountain_ the boys of the wireless _or a stirring rescue from the deep_ cowboy dave _or the round-up at rolling river_ jack of the pony express _or the young rider of the mountain trail_ the boys of the battleship _or for the honor of uncle sam_ cupples & leon co., publishers new york the boy hunters series by captain ralph bonehill 12mo. illustrated. price per volume, $1.00, postpaid. [illustration] four boy hunters _or, the outing of the gun club_ a fine, breezy story of the woods and waters, of adventures in search of game, and of great times around the campfire, told in captain bonehill's best style. in the book are given full directions for camping out. guns and snowshoes _or, the winter outing of the young hunters_ in this volume the young hunters leave home for a winter outing on the shores of a small lake. they hunt and trap to their hearts' content, and have adventures in plenty, all calculated to make boys "sit up and take notice." a good healthy book; one with the odor of the pine forests and the glare of the welcome campfire in every chapter. young hunters of the lake _or, out with rod and gun_ another tale of woods and waters, with some strong hunting scenes and a good deal of mystery. the three volumes make a splendid outdoor series. out with gun and camera _or, the boy hunters in the mountains_ takes up the new fad of photographing wild animals as well as shooting them. an escaped circus chimpanzee and an escaped lion add to the interest of the narrative. cupples & leon co., publishers, new york the motor boys series by clarence young _12mo. illustrated. price per volume, $1.00, postpaid_ [illustration] the motor boys _or chums through thick and thin_ the motor boys overland _or a long trip for fun and fortune_ the motor boys in mexico _or the secret of the buried city_ the motor boys across the plains _or the hermit of lost lake_ the motor boys afloat _or the cruise of the dartaway_ the motor boys on the atlantic _or the mystery of the lighthouse_ the motor boys in strange waters _or lost in a floating forest_ the motor boys on the pacific _or the young derelict hunters_ the motor boys in the clouds _or a trip for fame and fortune_ the motor boys over the rockies _or a mystery of the air_ the motor boys over the ocean _or a marvelous rescue in mid-air_ the motor boys on the wing _or seeking the airship treasure_ the motor boys after a fortune _or the hut on snake island_ the motor boys on the border _or sixty nuggets of gold_ the motor boys under the sea _or from airship to submarine_ the motor boys on road and river _or racing to save a life_ the motor boys at boxwood hall _or ned, bob and jerry as freshmen_ the motor boys on a ranch _or ned, bob and jerry among the cowboys_ the motor boys in the army _or ned, bob and jerry as volunteers_ the motor boys on the firing line _or ned, bob and jerry fighting for uncle sam_ the motor boys bound for home _or ned, bob and jerry on the wrecked troopship_ the motor boys on thunder mountain _or the treasure box of blue rock_ cupples & leon company. publishers new york (https://www.pgdp.net) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see 23116-h.htm or 23116-h.zip: (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/1/1/23116/23116-h/23116-h.htm) or (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/1/1/23116/23116-h.zip) ruth fielding down east or the hermit of beach plum point by alice b. emerson author of "ruth fielding of the red mill," "ruth fielding at sunrise farm," "ruth fielding homeward bound," etc. illustrated [illustration: tom cast aside his sweater and plunged into the tide. _ruth fielding down east page 113_] new york cupples & leon company publishers books for girls by alice b. emerson ruth fielding series 12mo. cloth. illustrated. ruth fielding of the red mill ruth fielding at briarwood hall ruth fielding at snow camp ruth fielding at lighthouse point ruth fielding at silver ranch ruth fielding on cliff island ruth fielding at sunrise farm ruth fielding and the gypsies ruth fielding in moving pictures ruth fielding down in dixie ruth fielding at college ruth fielding in the saddle ruth fielding in the red cross ruth fielding at the war front ruth fielding homeward bound ruth fielding down east cupples & leon co., publishers, new york. copyright, 1920, by cupples & leon company ruth fielding down east printed in u. s. a. contents chapter page i. the wind storm 1 ii. the mystery of it 7 iii. the derelict 14 iv. the crying need 22 v. off at last 29 vi. "the nevergetovers" 35 vii. movie stunts 43 viii. the auction block 52 ix. a dismaying discovery 67 x. a wild afternoon 77 xi. mr. peterby paul--and "whosis" 86 xii. alongshore 95 xiii. the hermit 104 xiv. a quotation 113 xv. an amazing situation 122 xvi. ruth solves one problem 129 xvii. john, the hermit's, contribution 136 xviii. uncertainties 144 xix. counterclaims 152 xx. the grill 159 xxi. a hermit for revenue only 171 xxii. an arrival 180 xxiii. trouble--plenty 186 xxiv. about "plain mary" 193 xxv. lifting the curtain 199 ruth fielding down east chapter i the wind storm across the now placidly flowing lumano where it widened into almost the proportions of a lake just below the picturesque red mill, a bank of tempestuous clouds was shouldering into view above the sky line of the rugged and wooded hills. these slate-colored clouds, edged with pallid light, foredoomed the continuance of the peaceful summer afternoon. not a breath of air stirred on the near side of the river. the huge old elms shading the red mill and the farmhouse connected with it belonging to mr. jabez potter, the miller, were like painted trees, so still were they. the brooding heat of midday, however, had presaged the coming storm, and it had been prepared for at mill and farmhouse. the tempest was due soon. the backyard of the farmhouse--a beautiful lawn of short grass--sloped down to the river. on the bank and over the stream itself was set a summer-house of fair proportions, covered with vines--a cool and shady retreat on the very hottest day of midsummer. a big robin redbreast had been calling his raucous weather warning from the top of one of the trees near the house; but, with her back to the river and the coming storm, the girl in the pavilion gave little heed to this good-intentioned weather prophet. she did raise her eyes, however, at the querulous whistle of a striped creeper that was wriggling through the intertwined branches of the trumpet-vine in search of insects. ruth fielding was always interested in those busy, helpful little songsters. "you cute little thing!" she murmured, at last catching sight of the flashing bird between the stems of the old vine. "i wish i could put _you_ into my scenario." on the table at which she was sitting was a packet of typewritten sheets which she had been annotating, and two fat note books. she laid down her gold-mounted fountain pen as she uttered these words, and then sighed and pushed her chair back from the table. then she stood up suddenly. a sound had startled her. she looked all about the summer-house--a sharp, suspicious glance. then she tiptoed to the door and peered out. the creeper fluttered away. the robin continued to shout his warning. had it really been a rustling in the vines she had heard? was there somebody lurking about the summer-house? she stepped out and looked on both sides. it was then she saw how threatening the aspect of the clouds on the other side of the river were. the sight drove from her thoughts for the moment the strange sound she had heard. she did not take pains to look beneath the summer-house on the water side. instead, another sound assailed her ears. this time one that she could not mistake for anything but just what it was--the musical horn of tom cameron's automobile. ruth turned swiftly to look up the road. a dark maroon car, long and low-hung like a racer, was coming along the road, leaving a funnel of dust behind it. there were two people in the car. the girl beside the driver--black-haired and petite--fluttered her handkerchief in greeting when she saw ruth standing by the summer-house. at once the latter ran across the yard, over the gentle rise, and down to the front gate of the potter farmhouse. she ran splendidly with a free stride of untrammeled limbs, but she held one shoulder rather stiffly. "oh, ruth!" "oh, helen!" the car was at the gate, and tom brought it to a prompt stop. helen, his twin sister, was out of it instantly and almost leaped into the bigger girl's arms. "oh! oh! oh!" sobbed helen. "you _are_ alive after all that horrible experience coming home from europe." "and you are alive and safe, dear helen," responded ruth fielding, quite as deeply moved. it was the first time they had met since separating in paris a month before. and in these times of war, with peace still an uncertainty, there were many perils to fear between the port of brest and that of new york. tom, in uniform and with a ribbon and medal on his breast, grinned teasingly at the two girls. "come, come! break away! only twenty seconds allowed in a clinch. don't helen look fine, ruth? how's the shoulder?" "just a bit stiff yet," replied the girl of the red mill, kissing her chum again. at this moment the first sudden swoop of the tempest arrived. the tall elms writhed as though taken with st. vitus's dance. the hens began to screech and run to cover. thunder muttered in the distance. "oh, dear me!" gasped ruth, paling unwontedly, for she was not by nature a nervous girl. "come right into the house, helen. you could not get to cheslow or back home before this storm breaks. put your car under the shed, tom." she dragged her friend into the yard and up the warped flag stones to the side door of the cottage. a little old woman who had been sitting on the porch in a low rocking chair arose with difficulty, leaning on a cane. "oh, my back, and oh, my bones!" murmured aunt alvirah boggs, who was not long out of a sick bed herself and would never again be as "spry" as she once had been. "do come in, dearies. it is a wind storm." ruth stopped to help the little old woman. she continued pale, but her thought for aunt alvirah's comfort caused her to put aside her own fear. the trio entered the house and closed the door. in a moment there was a sharp patter against the house. the rain had begun in big drops. the rear door was opened, and tom, laughing and shaking the water from his cap, dashed into the living room. he wore the insignia of a captain under his dust-coat and the distinguishing marks of a very famous division of the a. e. f. "it's a buster!" he declared. "there's a paper sailing like a kite over the roof of the old mill----" ruth sprang up with a shriek. she ran to the back door by which tom had just entered and tore it open. "oh, do shut the door, deary!" begged aunt alvirah. "that wind is 'nough to lift the roof." "what _is_ the matter, ruth?" demanded helen. but tom ran out after her. he saw the girl leap from the porch and run madly down the path toward the summer-house. back on the wind came a broken word or two of explanation: "my papers! my scenario! the best thing i ever did, tom!" he had almost caught up to her when she reached the little pavilion. the wind from across the river was tearing through the summer-house at a sixty-mile-an-hour speed. "oh! it's gone!" ruth cried, and had tom not caught her she would have dropped to the ground. there was not a scrap of paper left upon the table, nor anywhere in the place. even the two fat notebooks had disappeared, and, too, the gold-mounted pen the girl of the red mill had been using. all, all seemed to have been swept out of the summer-house. chapter ii the mystery of it for half a minute tom cameron did not know just what to do for ruth. then the water spilled out of the angry clouds overhead and bade fair to drench them. he half carried ruth into the summer-house and let her rest upon a bench, sitting beside her with his arm tenderly supporting her shoulders. ruth had begun to sob tempestuously. ruth fielding weeping! she might have cried many times in the past, but almost always in secret. tom, who knew her so well, had seen her in dangerous and fear-compelling situations, and she had not wept. "what is it?" he demanded. "what have you lost?" "my scenario! all my work gone!" "the new story? my goodness, ruth, it couldn't have blown away!" "but it has!" she wailed. "not a scrap of it left. my notebooks--my pen! why!" and she suddenly controlled her sobs, for she was, after all, an eminently practical girl. "could that fountain pen have been carried away by the windstorm, too?" "there goes a barrel through the air," shouted tom. "that's heavier than a fountain pen. say, this is some wind!" the sound of the dashing rain now almost drowned their voices. it sprayed them through the porous shelter of the vines and latticework so that they could not sit on the bench. ruth huddled upon the table with tom cameron standing between her and the drifting mist of the storm. she looked across the rain-drenched yard to the low-roofed house. she had first seen it with a home-hungry heart when a little girl and an orphan. how many, many strange experiences she had had since that time, which seemed so long ago! nor had she then dreamed, as "ruth fielding of the red mill," as the first volume of this series is called, that she would lead the eventful life she had since that hour. under the niggard care of miserly old jabez potter, the miller, her great uncle, tempered by the loving kindness of aunt alvirah boggs, the miller's housekeeper, ruth's prospects had been poor indeed. but providence moves in mysterious ways. seemingly unexpected chances had broadened ruth's outlook on life and given her advantages that few girls in her sphere secure. first she was enabled to go to a famous boarding school, briarwood hall, with her dearest chum, helen cameron. there she began to make friends and widen her experience by travel. with helen, tom, and other young friends, ruth had adventures, as the titles of the series of books run, at snow camp, at lighthouse point, at silver ranch, on cliff island, at sunrise farm, with the gypsies, in moving pictures, and down in dixie. with the eleventh volume of the series ruth and her chums, helen cameron and jennie stone, begin their life at ardmore college. as freshmen their experiences are related in "ruth fielding at college; or, the missing examination papers." this volume is followed by "ruth fielding in the saddle; or, college girls in the land of gold," wherein ruth's first big scenario is produced by the alectrion film corporation. as was the fact with so many of our college boys and girls, the world war interfered most abruptly and terribly with ruth's peaceful current of life. america went into the war and ruth into red cross work almost simultaneously. in "ruth fielding in the red cross; or, doing her bit for uncle sam," the girl of the red mill gained a very practical experience in the work of the great peace organization which does so much to smooth the ravages of war. then, in "ruth fielding at the war front; or, the hunt for the lost soldier," the red cross worker was thrown into the very heart of the tremendous struggle, and in northern france achieved a name for courage that her college mates greatly envied. wounded and nerve-racked because of her experiences, ruth was sent home, only to meet, as related in the fifteenth volume of the series, "ruth fielding homeward bound; or, a red cross worker's ocean perils," an experience which seemed at first to be disastrous. in the end, however, the girl reached the red mill in a physical and mental state which made any undue excitement almost a tragedy for her. the mysterious disappearance of the moving picture scenario, which had been on her heart and mind for months and which she had finally brought, she believed, to a successful termination, actually shocked ruth fielding. she could not control herself for the moment. against tom cameron's uniformed shoulder she sobbed frankly. his arm stole around her. "don't take on so, ruthie," he urged. "of course we'll find it all. wait till this rain stops----" "it never blew away, tom," she said. "why, of course it did!" "no. the sheets of typewritten manuscript were fastened together with a big brass clip. had they been lose and the wind taken them, we should have seen at least some of them flying about. and the notebooks!" "and the pen?" murmured tom, seeing the catastrophe now as she did. "why, ruthie! could somebody have taken them all?" "somebody must!" "but who?" demanded the young fellow. "you have no enemies." "not here, i hope," she sighed. "i left them all behind." he chuckled, although he was by no means unappreciative of the seriousness of her loss. "surely that german aviator who dropped the bomb on you hasn't followed you here." "don't talk foolishly, tom!" exclaimed the girl, getting back some of her usual good sense. "of course, i have no enemy. but a thief is every honest person's enemy." "granted. but where is the thief around the red mill?" "i do not know." "can it be possible that your uncle or ben saw the things here and rescued them just before the storm burst?" "we will ask," she said, with a sigh. "but i can imagine no reason for either uncle jabez or ben to come down here to the shore of the river. oh, tom! it is letting up." "good! i'll look around first of all. if there has been a skulker near----" "now, don't be rash," she cried. "we're not behind the german lines now, fraulein mina von brenner," and he laughed as he went out of the summer-house. he did not smile when he was searching under the house and beating the brush clumps near by. he realized that this loss was a very serious matter for ruth. she was now independent of uncle jabez, but her income was partly derived from her moving picture royalties. during her war activities she had been unable to do much work, and tom knew that ruth had spent of her own means a great deal in the red cross work. ruth had refused to tell her friends the first thing about this new story for the screen. she believed it to be the very best thing she had ever originated, and she said she wished to surprise them all. he even knew that all her notes and "before-the-finish" writing was in the notebooks that had now gone with the completed manuscript. it looked more than mysterious. it was suspicious. tom looked all around the summer-house. of course, after this hard downpour it was impossible to mark any footsteps. nor, indeed, did the raider need to leave such a trail in getting to and departing from the little vine-covered pavilion. the sward was heavy all about it save on the river side. the young man found not a trace. nor did he see a piece of paper anywhere. he was confident that ruth's papers and notebooks and pen had been removed by some human agency. and it could not have been a friend who had done this thing. chapter iii the derelict "didn't you find anything, tom?" ruth fielding asked, as helen's twin re-entered the summer-house. his long automobile coat glistened with wet and his face was wind-blown. tom cameron's face, too, looked much older than it had--well, say a year before. he, like ruth herself, had been through much in the war zone calculated to make him more sedate and serious than a college undergraduate is supposed to be. "i did not see even a piece of paper blowing about," he told her. "but before we came down from the house you said you saw a paper blow over the roof like a kite." "that was an outspread newspaper. it was not a sheet of your manuscript." "then it all must have been stolen!" she cried. "at least, human agency must have removed the things you left on this table," he said. "oh, tom!" "now, now, ruth! it's tough, i know----" but she recovered a measure of her composure almost immediately. unnerved as she had first been by the disaster, she realized that to give way to her trouble would not do the least bit of good. "an ordinary thief," tom suggested after a moment, "would not consider your notes and the play of much value." "i suppose not," she replied. "if they are stolen it must be by somebody who understands--or thinks he does--the value of the work. somebody who thinks he can sell a moving picture scenario." "oh, tom!" "a gold mounted fountain pen would attract any petty thief," he went on to say. "but surely the itching fingers of such a person would not be tempted by that scenario." "then, which breed of thief stole my scenario, tom?" she demanded. "you are no detective. your deductions suggest two thieves." "humph! so they do. maybe they run in pairs. but i can't really imagine two light-fingered people around the red mill at once. seen any tramps lately?" "we seldom see the usual tramp around here," said ruth, shaking her head. "we are too far off the railroad line. and the cheslow constables keep them moving if they land _there_." "could anybody have done it for a joke?" asked tom suddenly. "if they have," ruth said, wiping her eyes, "it is the least like a joke of anything that ever happened to me. why, tom! i couldn't lay out that scenario again, and think of all the details, and get it just so, in a year!" "oh, ruth!" "i mean it! and even my notes are gone. oh, dear! i'd never have the heart to write that scenario again. i don't know that i shall ever write another, anyway. i'm discouraged," sobbed the girl suddenly. "oh, ruth! don't give way like this," he urged, with rather a boyish fear of a girl's tears. "i've given way already," she choked. "i just feel that i'll never be able to put that scenario into shape again. and i'd written mr. hammond so enthusiastically about it." "oh! then he knows all about it!" said tom. "that is more than any of us do. you wouldn't tell us a thing." "and i didn't tell him. he doesn't know the subject, or the title, or anything about it. i tell you, tom, i had _such_ a good idea----" "and you've got the idea yet, haven't you? cheer up! of course you can do it over." "suppose," demanded ruth quickly, "this thief that has got my manuscript should offer it to some producer? why! if i tried to rewrite it and bring it out, i might be accused of plagiarizing my own work." "jimminy!" "i wouldn't dare," said ruth, shaking her head. "as long as i do not know what has become of the scenario and my notes, i will not dare use the idea at all. it is dreadful!" the rain was now falling less torrentially. the tempest was passing. soon there was even a rift in the clouds in the northwest where a patch of blue sky shone through "big enough to make a scotchman a pair of breeches," as aunt alvirah would say. "we'd better go up to the house," sighed ruth. "i'll go right around to the neighbors and see if anybody has noticed a stranger in the vicinity," tom suggested. "there's ben! do you suppose he has seen anybody?" a lanky young man, his clothing gray with flour dust, came from the back door of the mill and hastened under the dripping trees to reach the porch of the farmhouse. he stood there, smiling broadly at them, as ruth and tom hurriedly crossed the yard. "good day, mr. tom," said ben, the miller's helper. then he saw ruth's troubled countenance. "wha--what's the matter, ruthie?" "ben, i've lost something." "bless us an' save us, no!" "yes, i have. something very valuable. it's been stolen." "you don't mean it!" "but i do! some manuscript out of the summer-house yonder." "and her gold-mounted fountain pen," added tom. "that would tempt somebody." "my goodness!" ben could express his simple wonderment in a variety of phrases. but he seemed unable to go beyond these explosive expressions. "ben, wake up!" exclaimed ruth. "have you any idea who would have taken it?" "that gold pen, ruthie? why--why---a thief!" "old man," said tom with suppressed disgust, "you're a wonder. how did you guess it?" "hush, tom," ruth said. then: "now, ben, just think. who has been around here to-day? any stranger, i mean." "why--i dunno," said the mill hand, puckering his brows. "think!" she commanded again. "why--why----old jep parloe drove up for a grinding." "he's not a stranger." "oh, yes he is, ruthie. me nor mr. potter ain't seen him before for nigh three months. your uncle up and said to him, 'why, you're a stranger, mr. parloe.'" "i mean," said ruth, with patience, "anybody whom you have never seen before--or anybody whom you might suspect would steal." "well," drawled ben stubbornly, "your uncle, ruthie, says old jep ain't any too honest." "i know all about that," ruth said. "but parloe did not leave his team and go down to the summer-house, did he?" "oh, no!" "did you see anybody go down that way?" "don't believe i did--savin' you yourself, ruthie." "i left a manuscript and my pen on the table there. i ran out to meet tom and helen when they came." "i seen you," said ben. "then it was just about that time that somebody sneaked into that summer-house and stole those things." "i didn't see anybody snuck in there," declared ben, with more confidence than good english. "say!" ejaculated tom, impatiently, "haven't you seen any tramp, or straggler, or gypsy--or anybody like that?" "hi gorry!" suddenly said ben, "i do remember. there was a man along here this morning--a preacher, or something like that. had a black frock coat on and wore his hair long and sort o' wavy. he was shabby enough to be a tramp, that's a fact. but he was a real knowledgeable feller--he was that. stood at the mill door and recited po'try for us." "poetry!" exclaimed tom. "to you and uncle jabez?" asked ruth. "uh-huh. all about 'to be or not to be a bean--that is the question.' and something about his having suffered from the slung shots and bow arrers of outrageous fortune--whatever that might be. i guess he got it all out of the scriptures. your uncle said he was bugs; but i reckoned he was a preacher." "jimminy!" muttered tom. "a derelict actor, i bet. sounds like a shakespearean ham." "goodness!" said ruth. "between the two of you boys i get a very strange idea of this person." "where did he go, ben?" tom asked. "i didn't watch him. he only hung around a little while. i think he axed your uncle for some money, or mebbe something to eat. you see, he didn't know mr. potter." "not if he struck him for a hand-out," muttered the slangy tom. "oh, ben! don't you know whether he went toward cheslow--or where?" cried ruth. "does it look probable to you," tom asked, "that a derelict actor---oh, jimminy! of course! _he_ would be just the person to see the value of that play script at a glance!" "oh, tom!" "have you no idea where he went, ben?" tom again demanded of the puzzled mill hand. "no, mister tom. i didn't watch him." "i'll get out the car at once and hunt all about for him," tom said quickly. "you go in to helen and aunt alvirah, ruth. you'll be sick if you let this get the best of you. i'll find that miserable thief of a ham actor--if he's to be found." he added this last under his breath as he ran for the shed where he had sheltered his automobile. chapter iv the crying need tom cameron chased about the neighborhood for more than two hours in his fast car hunting the trail of the man who he had decided must be a wandering theatrical performer. of course, this was a "long shot," tom said; but the trampish individual of whom ben had told was much more likely to be an actor than a preacher. tom, however, was able to find no trace of the fellow until he got to the outskirts of cheslow, the nearest town. here he found a man who had seen a long-haired fellow in a shabby frock coat and black hat riding toward the railroad station beside one of the farmers who lived beyond the red mill. this was following the tempest which had burst over the neighborhood at mid-afternoon. trailing this information farther, tom learned that the shabby man had been seen about the railroad yards. mr. curtis, the railroad station master, had observed him. but suddenly the tramp had disappeared. whether he had hopped number 10, bound north, or number 43, bound south, both of which trains had pulled out of cheslow within the hour, nobody could be sure. tom returned to the red mill at dusk, forced to report utter failure. "if that bum actor stole your play, ruth, he's got clear way with it," tom said bluntly. "i'm awfully sorry----" "does that help?" demanded his sister snappishly, as though it were somewhat tom's fault. "you go home, tom. i'm going to stay with ruthie to-night," and she followed her chum into the bedroom to which she had fled at tom's announcement of failure. "jimminy!" murmured tom to the old miller who was still at the supper table. "and we aren't even sure that that fellow did steal the scenario." "humph!" rejoined uncle jabez. "you'll find, if you live to be old enough, young feller, that women folks is kittle cattle. no knowing how they'll take anything. that pen cost five dollars, i allow; but them papers only had writing on 'em, and it does seem to me that what you have writ once you ought to be able to write again. that's the woman of it. she don't say a thing about that pen, ruthie don't." however, tom cameron saw farther into the mystery than uncle jabez appeared to. and after a day or two, with ruth still "moping about like a moulting hen," as the miller expressed it, the young officer felt that he must do something to change the atmosphere of the red mill farmhouse. "our morale has gone stale, girls," he declared to his sister and ruth. "worrying never did any good yet." "that's a true word, sonny," said aunt alvirah, from her chair. "'care killed the cat.' my old mother always said, and she had ten children to bring up and a drunken husband who was a trial. he warn't my father. he was her second, an' she took him, i guess, 'cause he was ornamental. he was a sign painter when he worked. but he mostly advertised king alcohol by painting his nose red. "we children sartain sure despised that man. but mother was faithful to her vows, and she made quite a decent member of the community of that man before she left off. and, le's see! we was talkin' about cats, warn't we?" "you were, aunty dear," said ruth, laughing for the first time in several days. "hurrah!" said tom, plunging head-first into his idea. "that's just what i wanted to hear." "what?" demanded helen. "i have wanted to hear ruth laugh. and we all need to laugh. why, we are becoming a trio of old fogies!" "speak for yourself, master tom," pouted his sister. "i do. and for you. and certainly ruth is about as cheerful as a funeral mute. what we all need is some fun." "oh, tom, i don't feel at all like 'funning,'" sighed ruth. "you be right, sonny," interjected aunt alvirah, who sometimes forgot that tom, as well as the girls, was grown up. she rose from her chair with her usual, "oh, my back! and oh, my bones! you young folks should be dancing and frolicking----" "but the war, auntie!" murmured ruth. "you'll neither make peace nor mar it by worriting. no, no, my pretty! and 'tis a bad thing when young folks grow old before their time." "you're always saying that, aunt alvirah," ruth complained. "but how can one be jolly if one does not feel jolly?" "my goodness!" cried tom, "you were notoriously the jolliest girl in that french hospital. didn't the _poilus_ call you the jolly american? and listen to grandmother grunt now!" "i suppose it is so," sighed ruth. "but i must have used up all my fund of cheerfulness for those poor _blesses_. it does seem as though the font of my jollity had quite dried up." "i wish heavy stone were here," said helen suddenly. "_she'd_ make us laugh." "she and her french colonel are spooning down there at lighthouse point," scoffed ruth--and not at all as ruth fielding was wont to speak. "say!" tom interjected, "i bet heavy is funny even when she is in love." "_that's_ a reputation!" murmured ruth. "they are not at lighthouse point. the stones did not go there this summer, i understand," helen observed. "i am sorry for jennie and colonel marchand if they are at the stones' city house at this time of the year," the girl of the red mill said. "bully!" cried tom, with sudden animation. "that's just what we will do!" "what will we do, crazy?" demanded his twin. "we'll get jennie stone and henri marchand--he's a good sport, too, as i very well know--and we'll all go for a motor trip. jimminy christmas! that will be just the thing, sis. we'll go all over new england, if you like. we'll go down east and introduce colonel marchand to some of our hard-headed and tight-fisted yankees that have done their share towards injecting america into the war. we will----" "oh!" cried ruth, breaking in with some small enthusiasm, "let's go to beach plum point." "where is that?" asked helen. "it is down in maine. beyond portland. and mr. hammond and his company are there making my 'seaside idyl.'" "oh, bully!" cried helen, repeating one of her brother's favorite phrases, and now quite as excited over the idea as he. "i do so love to act in movies. is there a part in that 'idyl' story for me?" "i cannot promise that," ruth said. "it would be up to the director. i wasn't taking much interest in this particular picture. i wrote the scenario, you know, before i went to france. i have been giving all my thought to---"oh, dear! if we could only find my lost story!" "come on!" interrupted tom. "let's not talk about that. will you write to jennie stone?" "i will. at once," his sister declared. "do. i'll take it to the post office and send it special delivery. tell her to wire her answer, and let it be 'yes.' we'll take both cars. father won't mind." "oh, _but_!" cried helen. "how about a chaperon?" "oh, shucks! i wish you'd marry some nice fellow, sis, so that we'd always have a chaperon on tap and handy." she made a little face at him. "i am going to be old-maid aunt to your many children, tommy-boy. i am sure you will have a full quiver. we will have to look for a chaperon." "aunt kate!" exclaimed ruth. "heavy's aunt kate. she is just what helen declares she wants to be--an old-maid aunt." "and a lovely lady," cried helen. "sure. ask her. beg her," agreed tom. "tell her it is the crying need. we have positively got to have some fun." "well, i suppose we may as well," ruth sighed, in agreement. "yes. we have always pampered the boy," declared helen, her eyes twinkling. "i know just what i'll wear, ruthie." "oh, we've clothes enough," admitted the girl of the red mill rather listlessly. "shucks!" said tom again. "never mind the fashions. get that letter written, sis." so it was agreed. helen wrote, the letter was sent. with jennie stone's usual impulsiveness she accepted for herself and "_mon henri_" and aunt kate, promising to be at cheslow within three days, and all within the limits of a ten-word telegram! chapter v off at last "the ancients," stated jennie stone solemnly, "burned incense upon any and all occasions--red letter days, labor days, celebrating columbus day and the morning after, i presume. but we moderns burn gasoline. and, phew! i believe i should prefer the stale smoke of incense in the unventilated pyramids of egypt to this odor of gas. o-o-o-o, tommy, do let us get started!" "you've started already--in your usual way," he laughed. this was at cheslow station on the arrival of the afternoon up train that had brought miss stone, her aunt kate, and the smiling colonel henri marchand to join the automobile touring party which jennie soon dubbed "the later pilgrims." "and that big machine looks much as the _mayflower_ must have looked steering across cape cod bay on that special occasion we read of in sacred and profane history, hung about with four-poster beds and whatnots. in our neighborhood," the plump girl added, "there is enough decrepit furniture declared to have been brought over on the _mayflower_ to have made a cargo for the _leviathan_." "oh, _ma chere_! you do but stretch the point, eh?" demanded the handsome henri marchand, amazed. "i assure you----" "don't, heavy," advised helen. "you will only go farther and do worse. in my mind there has always been a suspicion that the _mayflower_ was sent over here by some shipped knocked-down furniture factory. miles standish and priscilla mullins and john alden must have hung on by their eyebrows." "their eyebrows--_ma foi_!" gasped marchand. "say, old man," said tom, laughing, "if you listen to these crazy college girls you will have a fine idea of our historical monuments, and so forth. take everything with a grain of salt--do." "_oui, monsieur!_ but i must have a little pepper, too. i am 'strong,' as you americans say, for plentiful seasoning." "isn't he cute?" demanded jenny stone. "he takes to american slang like a bird to the air." "poetry barred!" declared helen. "say," tom remarked aside to the colonel, "you've got all the pep necessary, sure enough, in jennie." "she is one dear!" sighed the frenchman. "and she just said you were a bird. you'll have a regular zoo about you yet. come on. let's see if we can get this baggage aboard the good ship. it does look a good deal of an ark, doesn't it?" although ruth and aunt kate had not joined in this repartee, the girl of the red mill, as well as their lovely chaperon, enjoyed the fun immensely. ruth had revived in spirits on meeting her friends. jennie had flown to her arms at the first greeting, and hugged the girl of the red mill with due regard to the mending shoulder. "my dear! my dear!" she had cried. "i _dream_ of you lying all so pale and bloody under that window-sill stone. and what i hear of your and tom's experiences coming over----" "but worse has happened to me since i arrived home," ruth said woefully. "no? impossible!" "yes. i have had an irreparable loss," sighed ruth. "i'll tell you about it later." but for the most part the greetings of the two parties was made up as tom said of "ohs and ahs." "take it from me," the naughty tom declared to marchand, "two girls separated for over-night can find more to tell each other about the next morning than we could think of if we should meet at the resurrection!" the two cameron cars stood in the station yard, and as the other waiting cars, taxicabs and "flivvers" departed, "the sacred odor of gasoline," which jennie had remarked upon, was soon dissipated. the big touring car was expertly packed with baggage, and had a big hamper on either running-board as well. there was room remaining, however, for the ladies if they would sit there. but as tom was to drive the big car he insisted that ruth sit with him in the front seat for company. as for his racing car, he had turned that over to marchand. it, too, was well laden; but at the start jennie squeezed in beside her colonel, and the maroon speeder was at once whisperingly dubbed by the others "the honeymoon car." "poor children!" said aunt kate in private to the two other girls. "they cannot marry until the war is over. _that_ my brother is firm upon, although he thinks well of colonel henri. and who could help liking him? he is a most lovable boy." "'boy!'" repeated ruth. "and he is one of the most famous spies france has produced in this war! and a great actor!" "but we believe he is not acting when he tells us he loves jennie," aunt kate said. "surely not!" cried helen. "he is the soul of honor," ruth declared. "i trust him as i do--well, tom. i never had a brother." "i've always shared tom with you," pouted helen. "so you have, dear," admitted ruth. "but a girl who has had no really-truly brother really has missed something. perhaps good, perhaps bad. but, at least, if you have brothers you understand men better." "listen to the wisdom of the owl!" scoffed helen. "why, tommy is only a girl turned inside out. a girl keeps all her best and softest attributes to the fore, while a boy thinks it is more manly to show a prickly surface--like the burr of a chestnut." "listen to them!" exclaimed aunt kate, with laughter. "all the wise sayings of the ancient world must be crammed under those pretty caps you wear, along with your hair." "that is what we get at college," said helen seriously. "dear old ardmore! ruth! won't you be glad to get back to the grind again?" "i--don't--know," said her chum slowly. "we have seen so much greater things than college. it's going to be rather tame, isn't it?" but this conversation was all before they were distributed into their seats and had started. colonel marchand was an excellent driver, and he soon understood clearly the mechanism of the smaller car. tom gave him the directions for the first few miles and they pulled out of the yard with mr. curtis, the station master, and his lame daughter, who now acted as telegraph operator, waving the party good-bye. they would not go by the way of the red mill, for that would take them out of the way they had chosen. the inn they had in mind to stop at on this first night was a long four hours' ride. "eastward, ho!" shouted tom. "this is to be a voyage of discovery, but don't discover any punctures or blow-outs this evening." then he glanced at ruth's rather serious face beside him and muttered to himself: "and we want to discover principally the smile that ruth fielding seems to have permanently lost!" chapter vi "the nevergetovers" after crossing the cheslow hills and the lumano by the long bridge about twenty miles below the red mill, the touring party debouched upon one of the very best state roads. they left much of the dust from which they had first suffered behind them, and tom could now lead the way with the big car without smothering the occupants of the honeymoon car in the rear. the highway wound along a pretty ridge for some miles, with farms dotting the landscape and lush meadows or fruit-growing farms dipping to the edge of the distant river. "ah," sighed henri marchand. "like _la belle_ france before the war. such peace and quietude we knew, too. fortunate you are, my friends, that _le boche_ has not trampled these fields into bloody mire." this comment he made when they halted the cars at a certain overlook to view the landscape. but they could not stop often. their first objective inn was still a long way ahead. they did not, however, reach the inn, which was a resort well known to motorists. five miles away tom noticed that the car was acting strangely. "what is it, tom?" demanded ruth quickly. "steering gear, i am afraid. something is loose." it did not take him long to make an examination, and in the meantime the second car came alongside. "it might hold out until we get to the hotel ahead; but i think we had better stop before that time if we can," was tom's comment. "i do not want the thing to break and send us flying over a stone wall or up a tree." "but you can fix it, tom?" questioned ruth. "sure! but it will take half an hour or more." after that they ran along slowly and presently came in sight of a place called the drovers' tavern. "not a very inviting place, but i guess it will do," was ruth's announcement after they had looked the inn over. the girls and aunt kate alighted at the steps while the young men wheeled the cars around to the sheds. the housekeeper, who immediately announced herself as susan timmins, was fussily determined to see that all was as it should be in the ladies' chambers. "i can't trust this gal i got to do the upstairs work," she declared, saying it through her nose and with emphasis. "just as sure as kin be, if ye go for to help a poor relation you air always sorry for it." she led the way up the main flight of stairs as she talked. "this here gal will give me the nevergitovers, i know! she's my own sister's child that married a good-for-nothing and is jest like her father." "bella! you bella! turn on the light in these rooms. is the pitchers filled? and the beds turned down? if i find a speck of dust on this furniture i'll nigh 'bout have the nevergitovers! that gal will drive me to my grave, she will. bella!" bella appeared--a rather good looking child of fourteen or so, slim as a lath and with hungry eyes. she was dark--almost gypsy-like. she stared at ruth, helen and jennie with all the amazement of the usual yokel. but it was their dress, not themselves, ruth saw, engaged bella's interest. "when you ladies want any help, you call for bella," announced miss susan timmins. "and if she don't come running, you let me know, and i'll give her her nevergitovers, now i tell ye!" "no wonder this hotel is called 'drovers' tavern,'" said jennie stone. "that woman certainly is a driver--a slave driver." ruth, meanwhile, was trying to make a friend of bella. "what is your name, my dear?" she asked the lathlike girl. "you heard it," was the ungracious reply. "oh! yes. 'bella.' but your other name?" "arabella montague fitzmaurice pike. my father is montague fitzmaurice." she said it proudly, with a lift of her tousled head and a straightening of her thin shoulders. "oh!" fairly gasped ruth fielding. "it--it sounds quite impressive, i must say. i guess you think a good deal of your father?" "aunt suse don't," said the girl ungraciously. "my mother's dead. and pa is resting this season. so i hafter stay here with aunt suse. i hate it!" "your father is--er--what is his business?" ruth asked. "he's one of the profession." "a doctor?" "lands, no! he's a heavy." "a _what_?" "a heavy lead--and a good one. but these moving pictures knock out all the really good people. there are no chances now for him to play shakespearean roles----" "your father is an actor!" cried ruth. "of course. montague fitzmaurice. surely you have heard the name?" said the lathlike girl, tossing her head. "why--why----of course!" declared ruth warmly. it was true. she had heard the name. bella had just pronounced it! "then you know what kind of an actor my pa is," said the proud child. "he did not have a very good season last winter. he rehearsed with four companies and was only out three weeks altogether. and one of the managers did not pay at all." "that is too bad." "yes. it's tough," admitted bella. "but i liked it." "you liked it when he was so unsuccessful?" repeated ruth. "pa wasn't unsuccessful. he never is. he can play any part," declared the girl proudly. "but the plays were punk. he says there are no good plays written nowadays. that is why so many companies fail." "but you said you liked it?" "in new york," explained bella. "while he was rehearsing pa could get credit at mother grubson's boarding house on west forty-fourth street. i helped her around the house. she said i was worth my keep. but aunt suse says i don't earn my salt here." "i am sure you do your best, bella," ruth observed. "no, i don't. nor you wouldn't if you worked for aunt suse. she says i'll give her her nevergitovers--an' i hope i do!" with which final observation she ran to unlace aunt kate's shoes. "poor little thing," said ruth to helen. "she is worse off than an orphan. her aunt susan is worse than uncle jabez ever was to me. and she has no aunt alvirah to help her to bear it. we ought to do something for her." "there! you've begun. every waif and stray on our journey must be aided, i suppose," pouted helen, half exasperated. but tom was glad to see that ruth had found a new interest. bella waited on the supper table, was snapped at by miss timmins, and driven from pillar to post by that crotchety individual. "jimminy christmas!" remarked tom, "that timmins woman must be a reincarnation of one of the ancient egyptians who was overseer in the brickyard where moses learned his trade. if they were all like her, no wonder the israelites went on a strike and marched out of egypt." they were all very careful, however, not to let miss susan timmins hear their comments. she had the true dictatorial spirit of the old-fashioned new england school teacher. the guests of drovers' tavern were treated by her much as she might have treated a class in the little red schoolhouse up the road had she presided there. she drove the guests to their chambers by the method of turning off the electric light in the general sitting room at a quarter past ten. each room was furnished with a bayberry candle, and she announced that the electricity all over the house would be switched off at eleven o'clock. "that is late enough for any decent body to be up," she announced in her decisive manner. "that's when i go to bed myself. i couldn't do so in peace if i knew folks was burning them electric lights to all hours. 'tain't safe in a thunder storm. "why, when we first got 'em, jed parraday from wachuset come to town to do his buyin' and stayed all night with us. he'd never seed a 'lectric bulb before, and he didn't know how to blow it out. and he couldn't sleep in a room with a light. "so, what does the tarnal old fool do but unhook the cord so't the bulb could be carried as far as the winder. and he hung it outside, shut the winder down on it, drawed the shade and went to bed in the dark. "elnathan spear, the constable, seen the light a-shining outside the winder in the middle of the night and he thought 'twas burglars. he _dreams_ of burglars, elnathan does. but he ain't never caught none yet. "on that occasion, howsomever, he was sure he'd got a whole gang of 'em, and he waked up the whole hotel trying to find out what was going on. i charged parraday ha'f a dollar for burning extry 'lectricity, and he got so mad he ain't stopped at the hotel since. "he'd give one the nevergitovers, that man would!" she concluded. chapter vii movie stunts jennie stone slept in ruth's bed that night because, having been parted since they were both in france, they had a great deal to say to each other--thus proving true one of tom cameron's statements regarding women. jennie was just as sympathetic--and as sleepy--as she could be and she "oh, dear, me'd" and yawned alternately all through the tale of the lost scenario and notebooks, appreciating fully how ruth felt about it, but unable to smother the expression of her desire for sleep. "maybe we ought not to have come on this automobile trip," said jennie. "if the thief just did it to be mean and is somebody who lives around the red mill, perhaps you might have discovered something by mingling with the neighbors." "oh! tom did all that," sighed ruth. "and without avail. he searched the neighborhood thoroughly, although he is confident that a tramp carried it off. and that seems reasonable. i am almost sure, heavy, that my scenario will appear under the trademark of some other producing manager than mr. hammond." "oh! how mean!" "well, a thief is almost the meanest person there is in the world, don't you think so? except a backbiter. and anybody mean enough to steal my scenario must be mean enough to try to make use of it." "oh, dear! ow-oo-ooo! scuse me, ruth. yes, i guess you are right. but can't you stop the production of the picture?" "how can i do that?" "i don't----ow-oo!----know. scuse me, dear." "most pictures are made in secret, anyway. the public knows nothing about them until the producer is ready to make their release." "i--ow-oo!--i see," yawned jennie. "even the picture play magazines do not announce them until the first runs. then, sometimes, there is a synopsis of the story published. but it will be too late, then. especially when i have no notes of my work, nor any witnesses. i told no living soul about the scenario--what it was about, or----" "sh-sh-sh----" "why, heavy!" murmured the scandalized ruth. "sh-sh-sh--whoo!" breathed the plump girl, with complete abandon. "my goodness!" exclaimed ruth, tempted to shake her, "if you snore like that when you are married, henri will have to sleep at the other end of the house." but this was completely lost on the tired jennie stone, who continued to breathe heavily until ruth herself fell asleep. it seemed as though the latter had only closed her eyes when the sun shining into her face awoke the girl of the red mill. the shades of the east window had been left up, and it was sunrise. plenty of farm noises outside the drovers' tavern, as well as a stir in the kitchen, assured ruth that there were early risers here. jennie, rolled in more than her share of the bedclothes, continued to breathe as heavily as she had the night before. but suddenly ruth was aware that there was somebody besides herself awake in the room. she sat up abruptly in bed and reached to seize jennie's plump shoulder. ruth had to confess she was much excited, if not frightened. then, before she touched the still sleeping jennie stone, ruth saw the intruder. the door from the anteroom was ajar. a steaming agateware can of water stood on the floor just inside this door. before the bureau which boasted a rather large mirror for a country hotel bedroom, pivoted the thin figure of arabella montague fitzmaurice pike! from the neatly arranged outer clothing of the two girls supposedly asleep in the big four-poster, bella had selected a skirt of ruth's and a shirt-waist of jennie's, arraying herself in both of these borrowed garments. she was now putting the finishing touch to her costume by setting ruth's cap on top of her black, fly-away mop of hair. turning about and about before the glass, bella was so much engaged in admiring herself that she forgot the hot water she was supposed to carry to the various rooms. nor did she see ruth sitting up in bed looking at her in dawning amusement. nor did she, as she pirouetted there, hear her nemesis outside in the hall. the door suddenly creaked farther open. the grim face of miss susan timmins appeared at the aperture. "oh!" gasped ruth fielding aloud. bella turned to glance in startled surprise at the girl in bed. and at that moment miss timmins bore down upon the child like a shrike on a chippy-bird. "ow-ouch!" shrieked bella. "oh, don't!" begged ruth. "what is it? goodness! _fire!_" cried jennie stone, who, when awakened suddenly, always remembered the dormitory fire at briarwood hall. "you little pest! i'll larrup ye good! i'll give ye your nevergitovers!" sputtered the hotel housekeeper. but the affrighted bella wriggled away from her aunt's bony grasp. she dodged miss timmins about the marble-topped table, retreated behind the hair-cloth sofa, and finally made a headlong dash for the door, while jennie continued to shriek for the fire department. ruth leaped out of bed. in her silk pajamas and slippers, and without any wrap, she hurried to reach, and try to separate, the struggling couple near the door. miss timmins delivered several hearty slaps upon bella's face and ears. the child shrieked. she got away again and plunged into the can of hot water. over this went, flooding the rag-carpet for yards around. "fire! fire!" jennie continued to shriek. helen dashed in from the next room, dressed quite as lightly as ruth, and just in time to see the can spilled. "oh! water! water!" "drat that young one!" barked miss timmins, ignoring the flood and everything else save her niece--even the conventions. she dashed after bella. the latter had disappeared into the hall through the anteroom. "oh, the poor child!" cried sympathetic ruth, and followed in the wake of the angry housekeeper. "fire! fire!" moaned jennie stone. "cat's foot!" snapped helen cameron. "it's water--and it is flooding the whole room." she ran to set the can upright--after the water was all out of it. without thinking of her costume, ruth fielding ran to avert bella's punishment if she could. she knew the aunt was beside herself with rage, and ruth feared that the woman would, indeed, give bella her "nevergetovers." the corridor of the hotel was long, running from front to rear of the main building. the window at the rear end of it overlooked the roof of the back kitchen. this window was open, and when ruth reached the corridor bella was going head-first through the open window, like a circus clown diving through a hoop. she had discarded jennie's shirt-waist between the bedroom and the window. but ruth's skirt still flapped about the child's thin shanks. miss timmins, breathing threatenings and slaughter, raced down the hall in pursuit. ruth followed, begging for quarter for the terrified child. but the housekeeper went through the open window after bella, although in a more conventional manner, paying no heed to ruth's plea. the frightened girl, however, escaped her aunt's clutch by slipping off the borrowed skirt and descending the trumpet-vine trellis by the kitchen door. "do let her go, miss timmins!" begged ruth, as the panting woman, carrying ruth's skirt, returned to the window where the girl of the red mill stood. "she is scared to death. she was doing no harm." "i'll thank you to mind your own business, miss," snapped miss timmins hotly. "i declare! a girl growed like you running 'round in men's overalls--or, what be them things you got on?" at this criticism ruth fielding fled, taking the skirt and jennie's shirt-waist with her. but aunt kate was aroused now and the four women of the automobile party swiftly slipped into their negligees and appeared in the hall again, to meet tom and colonel marchand who came from their room only partly dressed. the critical miss timmins had darted downstairs, evidently in pursuit of her unfortunate niece. the guests crowded to the back window. "where did she go?" demanded tom, who had heard some explanation of the early morning excitement. "is she running away?" "what a child!" gasped aunt kate. "my waist!" moaned jennie. "look at ruth's skirt!" exclaimed helen. "i do not care for the skirt," the girl of the red mill declared. "it is bella." "her aunt will about give her those 'nevergetovers' she spoke of," chuckled tom. "_ma foi!_ look you there," exclaimed colonel marchand, pointing through the window that overlooked the rear premises of the hotel. at top speed miss timmins was crossing the yard toward the big hay barn. bella had taken refuge in that structure, and the housekeeper's evident intention was to harry her out. the woman grasped a clothes-stick with which she proposed to castigate her niece. "the cruel thing!" exclaimed helen, the waters of her sympathy rising for bella pike now. "there's the poor kid!" said tom. bella appeared at an open door far up in the peak of the haymow. the hay was packed solidly under the roof; but there was an air space left at either end. "she has put herself into the so-tight corner--no?" suggested the young frenchman. "you've said it!" agreed tom. "why! it's regular movie stunts. she's come up the ladders to the top of the mow. if auntie follows her, i don't see that the kid can do anything but jump!" "tom! never!" cried ruth. "he is fooling," said jennie. "tell me how she can dodge that woman, then," demanded tom. "ah!" murmured henri marchand. "she have arrive'." miss timmins appeared at the door behind bella. the spectators heard the girl's shriek. the housekeeper struck at her with the clothes stick. and then---"talk about movie stunts!" shouted tom cameron, for the frightened bella leaped like a cat upon the haymow door and swung outward with nothing more stable than air between her and the ground, more than thirty feet below! chapter viii the auction block helen cameron and jennie stone shrieked in unison when miss susan timmins' niece cast herself out of the haymow upon the plank door and swung as far as the door would go upon its creaking hinges. ruth seized tom's wrist in a nervous grip, but did not utter a word. aunt kate turned away and covered her eyes with her hands that she might not see the reckless child fall--if she did fall. "name of a name!" murmured henri marchand. "_au secours!_ come, tom, _mon ami_--to the rescue!" he turned and ran lightly along the hall and down the stairs. but tom went through the window, almost as precipitately as had bella pike herself, and so over the roof of the kitchen ell and down the trumpet-vine trellis. tom was in the yard and running to the barn before marchand got out of the kitchen. several other people, early as the hour was, appeared running toward the rear premises of drovers' tavern. "see that crazy young one!" some woman shrieked. "i know she'll kill herself yet." "stop that!" commanded tom, looking up and shaking a threatening hand at miss timmins. for in her rage the woman was trying to strike her niece with the stick, as bella clung to the door. "mind your own business, young man!" snapped the virago. "and go back and put the rest of your clothes on. you ain't decent." tom was scarcely embarrassed by this verbal attack. the case was too serious for that. miss timmins struck at the girl again, and only missed the screaming bella by an inch or so. helen and jennie screamed in unison, and ruth herself had difficulty in keeping her lips closed. the cruel rage of the hotel housekeeper made her quite unfit to manage such a child as bella, and ruth determined to interfere in bella's behalf at the proper time. "i wish she would pitch out of that door herself!" cried helen recklessly. tom had run into the barn and was climbing the ladders as rapidly as possible to the highest loft. scolding and striking at her victim, miss susan timmins continued to act like the mad woman she was. and bella, made desperate at last by fear, reached for the curling edges of the shingles on the eaves above her head. "don't do that, child!" shrieked jennie stone. but bella scrambled up off the swinging door and pulled herself by her thin arms on to the roof of the barn. there she was completely out of her aunt's reach. "oh, the plucky little sprite!" cried helen, in delight. "but--but she can't get down again," murmured aunt kate. "there is no scuttle in that roof." "tom will find a way," declared ruth fielding with confidence. "and my henri," put in jennie. "that horrid old creature!" "she should be punished for this," agreed ruth. "i wonder where the child's father is." "didn't you find out last night?" helen asked. "only that he is 'resting'." "some poor, miserable loafer, is he?" demanded aunt kate, with acrimony. "no. it seems that he is an actor," ruth explained. "he is out of work." "but he can't think anything of his daughter to see her treated like this," concluded aunt kate. "she is very proud of him. his professional name is montague fitzmaurice." "some name!" murmured jennie. "their family name is pike," said ruth, still seriously. "i do not think the man can know how this aunt treats little bella. there's tom!" the young captain appeared behind the enraged housekeeper at the open door of the loft. one glance told him what bella had done. he placed a firm hand on miss timmins' shoulder. "if you had made that girl fall you would go to jail," tom said sternly. "you may go, yet. i will try to put you there. and in any case you shall not have the management of the child any longer. go back to the house!" for once the housekeeper was awed. especially when henri marchand, too, appeared in the loft. "madame will return to the house. we shall see what can be done for the child. _gare!_" perhaps the woman was a little frightened at last by what she had done--or what she might have done. at least, she descended the ladders to the ground floor without argument. the two young men planned swiftly how to rescue the sobbing child. but when tom first spoke to bella, proposing to help her down, she looked over the edge of the roof at him and shook her head. "no! i ain't coming down," she announced emphatically. "aunt suse will near about skin me alive." "she shall not touch you," tom promised. "she'll give me my nevergitovers, just as she says. you can't stay here and watch her." "but we'll find a way to keep her from beating you when we are gone," tom promised. "don't you fear her at all." "i don't care where you put me, aunt suse will find me out. she'll send elnathan spear after me." "i don't know who spear is----" "he's the constable," sobbed bella. "well, he sha'n't spear you," declared tom. "come on, kid. don't be scared, and we'll get you down all right." he found the clothes-stick miss timmins had abandoned and used it for a brace. with a rope tied to the handle of the plank door and drawn taut, it was held half open. tom then climbed out upon and straddled the door and raised his arms to receive the girl when she lowered herself over the eaves. she was light enough--little more than skin and bone, tom declared--and the latter lowered her without much effort into henri's arms. when the three girls and aunt kate at the tavern window saw this safely accomplished they hurried back to their rooms to dress. "something must be done for that poor child," ruth fielding said with decision. "are you going to adopt her?" helen asked. "and send her to briarwood?" put in jennie. "that might be the very best thing that could happen to her," ruth rejoined soberly. "she has lived at times in a theatrical boarding house and has likewise traveled with her father when he was with a more or less prosperous company. "these experiences have made her, after a fashion, grown-up in her ways and words. but in most things she is just as ignorant as she can be. her future is not the most important thing just now. it is her present." helen heard the last word from the other room where she was dressing, and she cried: "that's it, ruthie. give her a present and tell her to run away from her aunt. she's a spiteful old thing!" "you do not mean that!" exclaimed her chum. "you are only lazy and hate responsibility of any kind. we must do something practical for bella pike." "how easily she says 'we'," helen scoffed. "i mean it. i could not sleep to-night if i knew this child was in her aunt's control." a knock on the door interrupted the discussion. ruth, who was quite dressed now, responded. a lout of a boy, who evidently worked about the stables, stood grinning at the door. "miz timmins says you folks kin all get out. she won't have you served no breakfast. she don't want none of you here." "my goodness!" wailed jennie. "dispossessed--and without breakfast!" "where is the proprietor of this hotel, boy?" ruth asked. "you mean mr. drovers? he ain't here. gone to boston. but that wouldn't make no dif'rence. suse timmins is boss." "oh, me! oh, my!" groaned jennie, to whom the prospect was tragic. jennie's appetite was never-failing. the boy slouched away just as tom and henri marchand appeared with bella between them. "you poor, dear child!" cried ruth, running along the hall to meet them. bella struggled to escape from the boys. but tom and colonel marchand held her by either hand. "easy, young one!" advised captain cameron. "i never meant to do no harm, miss!" cried bella. "i--i just wanted to see how i'd look in them clothes. i never do have anything decent to wear." "why, my dear, don't mind about that," said ruth, taking the lathlike girl in her arms. "if you had asked us we would have let you try on the things, i am sure." "aunt suse would near 'bout give me my nevergitovers--and she will yet!" "no she won't," ruth reassured her. "don't be afraid of your aunt any longer." "that is what i tell her," tom said warmly. "say! you won't put me in no home, will you?" asked bella, with sudden anxiety. "a 'home'?" repeated ruth, puzzled. "she means a charitable institution, poor dear," said aunt kate. "that's it, missus," bella said. "i knew a girl that was out of one of them homes. she worked for mrs. grubson. she said all the girls wore brown denim uniforms and had their hair slicked back and wasn't allowed even to whisper at table or after they got to bed at night." "nothing like that shall happen to you," ruth declared. "where is your father, bella?" tom asked. "i don't know. last i saw of him he came through here with a medicine show. i didn't tell aunt suse, but i ran away at night and went to broxton to see him. but he said business was poor. he got paid so much a bottle commission on the sales of chief henry red-dog's bitters. he didn't think the show would keep going much longer." "oh!" "you know, they didn't know he was montague fitzmaurice, the great shakespearean actor. pa often takes such jobs. he ain't lazy like aunt suse says. why, once he took a job as a ballyhoo at a show on the bowery in coney island. but his voice ain't never been what it was since." "do you expect him to return here for you?" ruth asked, while the other listeners exchanged glances and with difficulty kept their faces straight. "oh, yes, miss. just as soon as he is in funds. or he'll send for me. he always does. he knows i hate it here." "does he know how your aunt treats you?" aunt kate interrupted. "n--not exactly," stammered bella. "i haven't told him all. i don't want to bother him. it--it ain't always so bad." "i tell you it's got to stop!" tom said, with warmth. "of course she shall not remain in this woman's care any longer," aunt kate agreed. "but we must not take bella away from this locality," ruth observed. "when her father comes back for her she must be here--somewhere." "oh, lady!" exclaimed bella. "send me to new york to mrs. grubson's. i bet she'd keep me till pa opens somewhere in a good show." but ruth shook her head. she had her doubts about the wisdom of the child's being in such a place as mrs. grubson's boarding house, no matter how kindly disposed that woman might be. "bella should stay near here," ruth said firmly, "as long as we cannot communicate with mr. pike at once." "let's write a notice for one of the theatrical papers," suggested helen eagerly. "you know--'montague fitzmaurice please answer.' all the actors do it." "but pa don't always have the money to buy the papers," said bella, taking the suggestion quite seriously. "at least, if bella is in this neighborhood he will know where to find her," went on ruth. "is there nobody you know here, child, whom you would like to stay with till your father returns?" bella's face instantly brightened. her black eyes flashed. "oh, i'd like to stay at the minister's," she said. "at the minister's?" repeated ruth. "why, if he would take you that would be fine. who is he?" "the reverend driggs," said bella. "do you suppose the clergyman would take the child?" murmured aunt kate. "why do you want to go to live with the minister?" asked tom with curiosity. "'cause he reads the bible so beautifully," declared bella. "why! it sounds just like pa reading a play. the reverend driggs is an educated man like pa. but he's got an awful raft of young ones." "a poor minister," said aunt kate briskly. "i am afraid that would not suit." "if the driggs family is already a large one," began ruth doubtfully, when bella declared: "miz driggs had two pairs of twins, and one ever so many times. there's a raft of 'em." helen and jennie burst out laughing at this statement and the others were amused. but to ruth fielding this was a serious matter. the placing of bella pike in a pleasant home until her father could be communicated with, or until he appeared on the scene ready and able to care for the child, was even more serious than the matter of going without breakfast, although jennie stone said "no!" to this. "we'd better set up an auction block before the door of the hotel and auction her off to the highest bidder, hadn't we?" suggested helen, who had been rummaging in her bag. "here, bella! if you want a shirt-waist to take the place of that calico blouse you have on, here is one. one of mine. and i guarantee it will fit you better than heavy's did. she wears an extra size." "i don't either," flashed the plump girl, as the boys retreated from the room. "i may not be a perfect thirty-six----" "is there any doubt of it?" cried helen, the tease. "well!" "never mind," ruth said. "jennie is going to be thinner." "and it seems she will begin to diet this very morning," aunt kate put in. "ow-wow!" moaned jennie at this reminder that they had been refused breakfast. captain tom, however, had handled too many serious situations in france to be browbeaten by a termagant like miss susan timmins. he went down to the kitchen, ordered a good breakfast for all of his party, and threatened to have recourse to the law if the meal was not well and properly served. "for you keep a public tavern," he told the sputtering miss timmins, "and you cannot refuse to serve travelers who are willing and able to pay. we are on a pleasure trip, and i assure you, madam, it will be a pleasure to get you into court for any cause." on coming back to the front of the house he found two of the neighbors just entering. one proved to be the local doctor's wife and the other was a kindly looking farmer. "i knowed that girl warn't being treated right, right along," said the man. "and i told mirandy that i was going to put a stop to it." "it is a disgrace," said the doctor's wife, "that we should have allowed it to go on so long. i will take the child myself----" "and so'll mirandy," declared the farmer. "it is an auction," whispered helen, overhearing this from the top of the stairs. the party of guests came down with their bags now, bringing bella in their midst--and in the new shirt-waist. "let her choose which of these kind people she will stay with," tom advised. "and," he added, in a low voice to ruth, "we will pay for her support until we can find her father." "like fun you will, young feller!" snorted the farmer, overhearing tom. "i could not hear of such a thing," said the doctor's wife. "i'd like to know what you people think you're doing?" demanded miss timmins, popping out at them suddenly. "now, suse timmins, we're a-goin' to do what we neighbors ought to have done long ago. we're goin' to take this gal----" "you start anything like that--taking that young one away from her lawful guardeen--an' i'll get elnathan spear after you in a hurry, now i tell ye. i'll give you your nevergitovers!" "if nate spear comes to my house, i'll ask him to pay me for that corn he bought off'n me as long ago as last fall," chuckled the farmer. "just because you're own cousin to nate don't put _all_ the law an' the gospel on your side, suse timmins. i'll take good care of this girl." "and so will i, if bella wants to live with me," said the doctor's wife. "mirandy will be glad to have her." "and she'd be company for me," rejoined the other neighbor. "i haven't any children." "bella must choose for herself," said ruth kindly. "i guess i'll go with mr. perkins," said the actor's daughter. "miz holmes is real nice; but doctor holmes gives awful tastin' medicine. i might be sick there and have to take some of it. so i'll go to miz perkins. she has a doctor from maybridge and he gives candy-covered pellets. i ate some once. besides, miz perkins is lame and can't get around so spry, and i can do more for her." "now listen to that!" exclaimed the farmer. "ain't she a noticing child?" "well, mrs. perkins will be good to her, no doubt," agreed the doctor's wife. "i'd like to know what you fresh city folks butted into this thing for!" demanded miss timmins. "if there's any law in the land----" "_you'll_ get it!" promised tom cameron. "go get anything you own that you want to take with you, bella," ruth advised the shrinking child. with another fearful glance at her aunt, bella ran upstairs. miss timmins might have started after her, but tom planted himself before that door. the lout of a boy began bringing in the breakfast for the automobile party. ruth talked privately with the doctor's wife and mr. perkins, and forced some money on the woman to be expended for a very necessary outfit of clothing for bella. miss timmins finally flounced back into the kitchen where they heard her venting her anger and chagrin on the kitchen help. bella returned bearing an ancient extension bag crammed full of odds and ends. she kissed ruth and shook hands with the rest of the company before departing with mr. perkins. the doctor's wife promised to write to ruth as soon as anything was heard of mr. pike, and the automobile party turned their attention to ham and eggs, stewed potatoes, and griddle cakes. "only," said jennie, sepulchrally, "i hope the viands are not poisoned. that miss timmins would certainly like to give us all our 'nevergetovers'." chapter ix a dismaying discovery "'the later pilgrims' are well out of that trouble," announced helen, when the cars were underway, the honeymoon car ahead and the other members of the party packed into the bigger automobile. "and i hope," she added, "that ruth will find no more waifs and strays." "don't be knocking ruthie all the time," said tom, glancing back over his shoulder. "she's all right." "and you keep your eyes straight ahead, young man," advised aunt kate, "or you will have this heavy car in the ditch." "watch out for henri and heavy, too," advised helen. "they do not quite know what they are about and you may run them down. there! see his horizon-blue sleeve steal about her? he's got only one hand left to steer with. talk about a perfect thirty-six! it's lucky henri's arm is phenomenally long, or he could never surround _that_ baby!" "i declare, helen," laughed ruth. "i believe you are covetous." "well, henri is an awfully nice fellow--for a frenchman." "and you are the damsel who declared you proposed to remain an old maid forever and ever and the year after." "i can be an old maid and still like the boys, can't i? all the more, in fact. i sha'n't have to be true to just one man, which, i believe, would be tedious." "you should live in that part of new york called greenwich village and wear a russian blouse and your hair bobbed. those are the kind of bon mots those people throw off in conversation. light and airy persiflage, it is called," said tom from the front seat. "what do you know about such people, tommy?" demanded his sister. "there were some co-eds of that breed i met at cambridge. they were exponents of the 'new freedom,' whatever that is. bolshevism, i guess. freedom from both law and morals." "those are not the kind of girls who are helping in france," said ruth soberly. "you said it!" agreed tom. "that sort are so busy riding hobbies over here that they have no interest in what is going on in europe unless it may be in russia. well, thank heaven, there are comparatively few nuts compared with us sane folks." such thoughts as these, however, did not occupy their minds for long. just as tom had declared, they were out for fun, and the fun could be found almost anywhere by these blithe young folk. ruth's face actually changed as they journeyed on. she was both "pink and pretty," helen declared, before they camped at the wayside for luncheon. the hampers on the big car were crammed with all the necessities of food and service for several meals. there were, too, twin alcohol lamps, a coffee boiler and a teapot. altogether they were making a very satisfactory meal and were having a jolly time at the edge of a piece of wood when a big, black wood-ant dropped down jennie stone's back. at first they did not know what the matter was with her. her mouth was full, the food in that state of mastication that she could not immediately swallow it. "ow! ow! ow!" choked the plump girl, trying to get both hands at once down the neck of her shirt-waist. "what _is_ the matter, heavy?" gasped helen. "jennie, dear!" murmured ruth. "don't!" "_ma chere!_" gasped henri marchand. "is she ill?" "jennie, behave yourself!" cried her aunt. "i saw a toad swallow a hornet once," tom declared. "she acts just the same way." "as the hornet?" demanded his sister, beginning to giggle. "as the toad," answered tom, gravely. but henri had got to his feet and now reached the wriggling girl. "let me try to help!" he cried. "if you even begin wiggling that way, colonel marchand," declared helen, "you will be in danger of arrest. there is a law against _that_ dance." "ow! ow! ow!" burst out jennie once more, actually in danger of choking. "what _is_ it?" ruth demanded, likewise reaching the writhing girl. "oh, he bit me!" finally exploded jennie. ruth guessed what must be the trouble then, and she forced jennie's hands out of the neck of her waist and ran her hand down the plump girl's back. between them they killed the ant, for ruth finally recovered a part of the unfortunate creature. "but just think," consoled helen, "how much more awful it would have been if you had swallowed him, heavy, instead of his wriggling down your spinal column." "oh, don't! i can feel him wriggling now," sighed jennie. "that can be nothing more than his ghost," said tom soberly, "for ruth retrieved at least half of the ant's bodily presence." "you'll give us all the fidgets if you keep on wriggling, jennie," declared aunt kate. "well, i don't want to sit on the grass in a woodsy place again while we are on this journey," sighed jennie. "ugh! i always did hate creepy things." "including spiders, snakes, beetles and babies, i suppose?" laughed helen. "come on now. let us clear up the wreck. where do we camp to-night, tommy?" "no more camping, i pray!" squealed jennie. "i am no gypsy." "the hotel at hampton is recommended as the real thing. they have a horse show every year at hampton, you know. it is in the midst of a summer colony of wealthy people. it is the real thing," tom repeated. they made a pleasant and long run that afternoon and arrived at the hampton hotel in good season to dress for dinner. jennie and her aunt met some people they knew, and naturally jennie's fiance and her friends were warmly welcomed by the gay little colony. men at the pleasure resorts were very scarce that year, and here were two perfectly good dancers. so it was very late when the automobile party got away from the dance at the casino. they were late the next morning in starting on the road to boston. besides, there was thunder early, and helen, having heard it rumbling, quoted: "'thunder in the morning, sailors take warning!'" and rolled over for another nap. ruth, however, at last had to get up. she was no "lie-abed" in any case, and in her present nervous state she had to be up and doing. "but it's going to ra-a-ain!" whined jennie stone when ruth went into her room. "you're neither sugar nor salt," said ruth. "henri says i'm as sweet as sugar," yawned jennie. "he is not responsible for what he says about you," said her aunt briskly. "when i think of what that really nice young man is taking on his shoulders when he marries you----" "but, auntie!" cried jennie, "he's not going to try to carry me pickaback, you know." "just the same, it is wrong for us to encourage him to become responsible for you, jennie," said her aunt. "he really should be warned." "oh!" gasped the plump girl. "let anybody dare try to get between me and my henri----" "nobody can--no fear--when you are sitting with him in the front seat of that roadster of tom's," said ruth. "you fill every atom of space, heavy." she went to the window and looked out again. heavy rolled out of bed--a good deal like a barrel, her aunt said tartly. "what is it doing outside?" yawned the plump girl. "well, it's not raining. and it is a long run to boston. we should be on our way now. the road through the hills is winding. there will be no time to stop for a gypsy picnic." "thank goodness for that!" grumbled jennie, sitting on the floor, schoolgirl fashion, to draw on her stockings. "i'll eat enough at breakfast hereafter to keep me alive until we reach a hotel, if you folks insist on inviting wood ants and other savage creatures of the forest to our luncheon table." when the party finally gathered for breakfast in the hotel dining room on this morning, it was disgracefully late. tom had been over both cars and pronounced them fit. he had ordered the tanks filled with gasoline and had tipped one of the garage men liberally to see that this was properly done. afterward captain tom declared he would never trust a garage workman again. "the only way to get a thing done well is to do it yourself--and a tip never bought any special service yet," declared the angry tom. "it is merely a form of highway robbery." but this was afterward. the party started off from hampton in high fettle and with a childlike trust in the honesty of a garage attendant. there were banks of clouds shrouding the horizon both to the west and north--the two directions from which thunder showers usually rise in this part of new england in which they were traveling. and yet the shower held off. it was some time past noon before the thunder began to mutter again. the automobile party was then in the hilly country. heretofore farms had been plentiful, although hamlets were few and far between. "if it rains," said ruth chome farmhouse." "ho, for adventure among the savage natives!" cried helen. "i hope we shall meet nobody quite as savage as miss susan timmins," was aunt kate's comment. they ran into a deep cut between two wooded hills and there was not a house in sight. indeed, they had not passed a farmstead on the road for the last five miles. over the top of the wooded crest to the north curled a slate colored storm cloud, its upper edge trembling with livid lightnings. the veriest tyro of a weather prophet could see that a storm was about to break. but nobody had foretold the sudden stopping of the honeymoon car in the lead! "what is the matter with you?" cried helen, standing up in the tonneau of the big car, when tom pulled up suddenly to keep from running the maroon roadster down. "don't you see it is going to rain? we want to get somewhere." "i guess we have got somewhere," responded jennie stone. "as far as we are concerned, this seems to be our stopping place. the old car won't go." tom jumped out and hurried forward to join henri in an examination of the car's mechanism. "what happened, colonel?" he asked the frenchman, worriedly. "i have no idea, _mon ami_," responded marchand. "this is a puzzle, eh?" "first of all, let's put up the tops. that rain is already beating the woods on the summit of the hill." the two young men hurried to do this, first sheltering jennie and then together dragging the heavy top over the big car, covering the baggage and passengers. helen and ruth could fasten the curtains, and soon the women of the party were snug enough. the drivers, however, had to get into rain garments and begin the work of hunting the trouble with the roadster. the thunder grew louder and louder. flashes of lightning streaked across the sky overhead. the electric explosions were soon so frequent and furious that the girls cowered together in real terror. jennie had slipped out of the small car and crowded in with her chums and aunt kate. "i don't care!" she wailed, "henri and tom are bound to take that car all to pieces to find what has happened." but they did not have to go as far as that. in fact, before the rain really began to fall in earnest, tom made the tragic discovery. there was scarcely a drop of gasoline in the tank of the small machine. tom hurried back to the big car. he glanced at the dial of the gasoline tank. there was not enough of the fluid to take them a mile! and the emergency tank was turned on! it was at this point that he stated his opinion of the trustworthiness of garage workmen. chapter x a wild afternoon this was a serious situation. five miles behind the automobile party was the nearest dwelling on this road, and tom was sure that the nearest gasoline sign was all of five miles further back! ahead lay more or less mystery. as the rain began to drum upon the roofs of the two cars, harder and harder and faster and faster, tom got out the road map and tried to figure out their location. ridgeton was ahead somewhere--not nearer than six miles, he was sure. and the map showed no gas sign this side of ridgeton. of course there might be some wayside dwelling only a short distance ahead at which enough gasoline could be secured to drive the smaller car to ridgeton for a proper supply for both machines. but if all the gasoline was drained from the tank of the big car into that of the roadster, the latter would be scarcely able to travel another mile. and without being sure that such a supply of gas could be found within that distance, why separate the two cars? this was the sensible way tom put it to henri; and it was finally decided that tom should start out on foot with an empty can and hunt for gasoline, while colonel marchand remained with the girls and aunt kate. when the two young men ran back through the pouring rain to the big car and announced this decision, they had to shout to make the girls hear. the turmoil of the rain and thunder was terrific. "i really wish you'd wait, tom, till the tempest is over," ruth anxiously said. "suppose something happened to you on the road?" "suppose something happened to _us_ here in the auto?" shrieked helen. "but henri marchand will be with you," said her brother, preparing to depart. "and if i delay we may not reach boston to-night." "oh!" gasped jennie. "do please find some gas, tom. i'd be scared to death to stay out here in these woods." "one of the autos may bite her," scoffed helen, ready to scorn her own fears when her friend was even more fearful. "these cars are the wildest thing in these woods, i warrant." "of course you must do what you think is best, tom," said ruth, gravely. "i hope you will not have to go far." "no matter how long i am gone, ruth, don't be alarmed," he told her. "you know, nothing serious ever happens to me." "oh, no!" cried his sister. "of course not! only you get carried away on a zeppelin, or are captured by the germans and ruth has to go to your rescue. we know all about how immune you are from trouble, young man." "thanks be! there are no boches here in peaceful new england," exclaimed jennie, after tom had started off with the gasoline can. "oh!" a sharp clap of thunder seemingly just overhead followed the flash that had made the plump girl shriek. the explosion reverberated between the hills in slowly passing cadence. jennie finally removed her fingers from her ears with a groan. aunt kate had covered her eyes. with helen they cowered together in the tonneau. ruth had been sitting beside tom in the front seat when the cars were stalled, and now henri marchand was her companion. "i heard something then, colonel," ruth said in a low tone, when the salvo of thunder was passed. , when the salvo of thunder was passed. "you are fortunate, mademoiselle," he returned. "me, i am deafened complete'." "i heard a cry." "not from captain cameron?" "it was not his voice. listen!" said the girl of the red mill, in some excitement. despite the driving rain she put her head out beyond the curtain and listened. her face was sheltered from the beating rain. it would have taken her breath had she faced it. again the lightning flashed and the thunder crashed on its trail. ruth did not draw in her head. she wore her raincoat and a rubber cap, and on her feet heavy shoes. the storm did not frighten her. she might be anxious for tom's safety, but the ordinary chances of such a disturbance of the elements as this never bothered ruth fielding at all. as the rolling of thunder died away in the distance again, the splashing sound of the rain seemed to grow lighter, too; or ruth's hearing became attuned to the sounds about her. there it was again! a human cry! or was it? it came from up the hillside to the north of the road on which the automobiles were stalled. was there somebody up there in the wet woods--some human creature lost in the storm? for a third time ruth heard the wailing, long-drawn cry. henri had his hands full soothing jennie. helen and aunt kate were clinging together in the depths of the tonneau. possibly their eyes were covered against the glare of the lightning. ruth slipped out under the curtain on the leeward side. the rain swept down the hillside in solid platoons that marched one after another from northwest to southeast. dashing against the southern hillside, these marching columns dissolved in torrents that ruth could hear roaring down from the tree-tops and rushing in miniature floods through the forest. the road was all awash. the cars stood almost hub-deep in a yellow, foaming flood. the roadside ditches were not deep here, and the sudden freshet was badly guttering the highway. sheltered at first by the top of the big car, ruth strained her ears again to catch that cry which had come down the wind from the thickly wooded hillside. there it was! a high, piercing scream, as though the one who uttered it was in great fear or agony. nor did the cry seem to be far away. ruth went around to the other side of the automobile. the rain was letting up--or seemed to be. she crossed to the higher ground and pushed through the fringe of bushes that bordered the road. already her feet and ankles were saturated, for she had waded through water more than a foot in depth. here on the steep hillside the flowing water followed the beds of small rivulets which carried it away on either side of her. the thick branches of the trees made an almost impervious umbrella above her head. she could see up the hill through the drifting mist for a long distance. the aisles between the rows of trees seemed filled with a sort of pallid light. across the line of her vision and through one of these aisles passed a figure--whether that of an animal or the stooping body of a human being ruth fielding could not at first be sure. she had no fear of there being any savage creature in this wood. at least there could be nothing here that would attack her in broad daylight. in a lull in the echoing thunder she cried aloud: "hoo-hoo! hoo-hoo! where are you?" she was sure her voice drove some distance up the hillside against the wind. she saw the flitting figure again, and with a desire to make sure of its identity, ruth started in pursuit. had tom been present the girl of the red mill would have called his attention to the mystery and left it to him to decide whether to investigate or not. but ruth was quite an independent person when she was alone; and under the circumstances, with henri marchand so busy comforting jennie, ruth did not consider for a moment calling the frenchman to advise with her. as for helen and aunt kate, they were quite overcome by their fears. ruth was not really afraid of thunder and lightning, as many people are. she had long since learned that "thunder does not bite, and the bolt of lightning that hits you, you will never see!" heavy as the going was, and interfering with her progress through her wet garments did, ruth ran up the hill underneath the dripping trees. she saw the flitting, shadowy figure once more. again she called as loudly as she could shout: "wait! wait! i won't hurt you." whoever or whatever it was, the figure did not stay. it flitted on about two hundred yards ahead of the pursuing girl. at times it disappeared altogether; but ruth kept on up the hill and her quarry always reappeared. she was quite positive this was the creature that had shrieked, for the mournful cry was not repeated after she caught sight of the figure. "it is somebody who has been frightened by the storm," she thought. "or it is a lost child. this is a wild hillside, and one might easily be lost up here." then she called again. she thought the strange figure turned and hesitated. then, of a sudden, it darted into a clump of brush. when ruth came panting to the spot she could see no trace of the creature, or the path which it had followed. but directly before ruth was an opening in the hillside--the mouth of a deep ravine which had not been visible from the road below. down this ravine ran a noisy torrent which had cut itself a wider and deeper bed since the cloudburst on the heights. small trees, brush, and rocks had been uprooted by the force of the stream, but its current was now receding. one might walk along the edge of the brook into this hillside fastness. determined to solve the mystery of the strange creature's disappearance, and quite convinced that it was a lost child or woman, ruth fielding ventured through the brush clump and passed along the ragged bank of the tumbling brook. suddenly, in the muddy ground at her feet, the girl spied a shoe. it was a black oxford of good quality, and it had been, of course, wrenched from the foot of the person she pursued. this girl, or woman, must be running from ruth in fear. ruth picked up the shoe. it was for a small foot, but might belong to either a girl of fourteen or so or to a small woman. she could see the print of the other shoe--yes! and there was the impress of the stockinged foot in the mud. "whoever she may be," thought ruth fielding, "she is so frightened that she abandoned this shoe. poor thing! what can be the matter with her?" ruth shouted again, and yet again. she went on up the side of the turbulent brook, staring all about for the hiding place of her quarry. the rain ceased entirely and abruptly. but the whole forest was a-drip. far up through the trees she saw a sudden lightening of the sky. the clouds were breaking. but the smoke of the torrential downpour still rose from the saturated earth. when ruth jarred a bush in passing a perfect deluge fell from the trembling leaves. the girl began to feel that she had come far enough in what appeared to be a wild-goose chase. then suddenly, quite amazingly, she was halted. she plunged around a sharp turn in the ravine, trying to step on the dryer places, and found herself confronted by a man standing under the shelter of a wide-armed spruce. "oh!" gasped ruth, starting back. he was a heavy-set, bewhiskered man with gleaming eyes and rather a grim look. worst of all, he carried a gun with the lock sheltered under his arm-pit from the rain. at ruth's appearance he seemed startled, too, and he advanced the muzzle of the gun and took a stride forward at the same moment. "hello!" he growled. "be you crazy, too? what in all git out be you traipsing through these woods for in the rain?" chapter xi mr. peterby paul and "whosis" ruth fielding was more than a little startled, for the appearance of this bearded and gruff-spoken man was much against him. she had become familiar, however, during the past months with all sorts and conditions of men--many of them much more dangerous looking than this stranger. her experiences at the battlefront in france had taught her many things. among them, that very often the roughest men are the most tender with and considerate of women. ruth knew that the girls and women working in the red cross and the "y" and the salvation army might venture among the roughest _poilus_, tommies and our own yanks without fearing insult or injury. after that first startled "oh!" ruth fielding gave no sign of fearing the bearded man with the gun under his arm. she stood her ground as he approached her. "how many air there of ye, sissy?" he wanted to know. "and air ye all loose from some bat factory? that other one's crazy as all git out." "oh, did you see her?" "if ye mean that whosis that's wanderin' around yellin' like a cat-o'-mountain----" "oh, dear! it was she that was screaming so!" "i should say it was. i tried to cotch her----" "and that scared her more, i suppose." "huh! be i so scareful to look at?" the stranger demanded. "or, mebbe _you_ ain't loony, lady?" "i should hope not," rejoined ruth, beginning to laugh. "then how in tarnation," demanded the bearded man, "do you explain your wanderin' about these woods in this storm?" "why," said ruth, "i was trying to catch that poor creature, too." "that whosis?" he exclaimed. "whatever and whoever she is. see! here's one of her shoes." "do tell! she's lost it, ain't she? don't you reckon she's loony?" "it may be that she is out of her mind. but she couldn't hurt you--a big, strong man like you." "that's as may be. i misdoubted me she was some kind of a whosis," said the woodsman. "i seen her a couple of times and heard her holler ev'ry time the lightning was real sharp." "the poor creature has been frightened half to death by the tempest," said ruth. "mebbe. but where did she come from? and where did you come from, if i may ask? this yere ain't a neighborhood that many city folks finds their way into, let me tell ye." ruth told him her name and related the mishap that had happened to the two cars at the bottom of the hill. "wal, i want to know!" he responded. "out o' gasoline, heh? wal, that can be mended." "tom cameron has gone on foot for some." "which way did he go, ma'am?" "east," she said, pointing. "towards ridgeton? wal, he'll have a fine walk." "but we have not seen any gasoline sign for ever so far back on the road." "that's right. ain't no reg'lar place. but i guess i might be able to scare up enough gas to help you folks out. ye see, we got a saw mill right up this gully and we got a gasoline engine to run her. i'm a-watchin' the place till the gang come in to work next month. that there whosis got me out in the rain----" "oh! where do you suppose the poor thing has gone?" interrupted ruth. "we should do something for her." "wal, if she don't belong to you folks----" "she doesn't. but she should not be allowed to wander about in this awful way. is she a woman grown, or a child?" "i couldn't tell ye. i ain't been close enough to her. by the way, my name is peterby paul, and i'm well and fav'rably knowed about this mounting. i did have my thoughts about you, same as that whosis, i must say. but you 'pear to be all right. wait, and i'll bring ye down a couple of cans of gasoline, and you can go on and pick up the feller that's started to walk to ridgeton." "but that poor creature i followed up here, mr. paul? we _must_ find her." "you say she ain't nothin' to you folks?" "but she is alone, and frightened." "wal, i expect so. she did give me a start for fair. i don't know where she could have come from 'nless she belongs over toward ridgeton at old miz abby drake's. she's got some city folks stopping with her--" "there she is!" cried ruth, under her breath. a hobbling figure appeared for a moment on the side of the ravine. the rain had ceased now, but it still dripped plentifully from the trees. "i'm going after her!" exclaimed ruth. "all right, ma'am," said mr. peterby paul. "i guess she ain't no whosis, after all." ruth could run much faster than the strange person who had so startled both the woodsman and herself. and running lightly, the girl of the red mill was almost at her quarry's elbow before her presence was suspected by the latter. the woman turned her face toward ruth and screeched in evident alarm. she looked wild enough to be called a "whosis," whatever kind of supernatural apparition that might be. her silk dress was in rags; her hair floated down her back in a tangled mane; altogether she was a sorry sight, indeed. she was a woman of middle age, dark, slight of build, and of a most pitiful appearance. "don't be frightened! don't be afraid of me," begged ruth. "where are your friends? i will take you to them." "it is the voice of god," said the woman solemnly. "i am wicked. he will punish me. do you know how wicked i am?" she added in a tense whisper. "i have no idea," ruth replied calmly. "but i think that when we are nervous and distraught as you are, we magnify our sins as well as our troubles." really, ruth fielding felt that she might take this philosophy to herself. she had been of late magnifying her troubles, without doubt. "i have been a great sinner," said the woman. "do you know, i used to steal my little sister's bread and jam. and now she is dead. i can never make it up to her." plainly this was a serious matter to the excited mind of the poor woman. "come on down the hill with me. i have got an automobile there and we can ride to mrs. drake's in it. isn't that where you are stopping?" "yes, yes. abby drake," said the lost woman weakly. "we--we all started out for huckleberries. and i never thought before how wicked i was to my little sister. but the storm burst--such a terrible storm!" and the poor creature cowered close to ruth as the thunder muttered again in the distance. "it is the voice of god----" "come along!" urged ruth. "lots of people have made the same mistake. so aunt alvirah says. they mistake some other noise for the voice of god!" the woman was now so weak that the strong girl could easily lead her. mr. peterby paul looked at the forlorn figure askance, however. "you can't blame me for thinkin' she was a whosis," he said to ruth. "poor critter! it's lucky you came after her. she give me such a start i might o' run sort o' wild myself." "perhaps if you had tried to catch her it would only have made her worse," ruth replied, gently patting the excited woman's hand. "the voice of god!" muttered the victim of her own nervousness. "and she traipsing through these woods in a silk dress!" exclaimed mr. paul. "i tell 'em all, city folks ain't got right good sense." "maybe you are right, mr. paul," sighed ruth. "we are all a little queer, i guess. i will take her down to the car." "and i'll be right along with a couple of cans of gasoline, ma'am," rejoined peterby paul. "ain't no use you and your friends bein' stranded no longer." "if you will be so kind," ruth said. he turned back up the ravine and ruth urged the lost woman down the hill. the poor creature was scarcely able to walk, even after she had put on her lost shoe. her fears which had driven her into this quite irresponsible state, were the result of ungoverned nervousness. ruth thought seriously of this fact as she aided her charge down the hillside. she must steady her own nerves, or the result might be quite as serious. she had allowed the loss of her scenario to shake her usual calm. she knew she had not been acting like herself during this automobile journey and that she had given her friends cause for alarm. then and there ruth determined to talk no more about her loss or her fears regarding the missing scenario. if it was gone, it was gone. that was all there was to it. she would no longer worry her friends and disturb her own mental poise by ruminating upon her misfortune. when she and the lost woman got out of the ravine, ruth could hear the girls calling her. and there was colonel marchand's horizon-blue uniform in sight as he toiled up the ascent, looking for her. "don't be frightened, dear," ruth said to the startled woman. "these are my friends." then she called to helen that she was coming. colonel marchand hurried forward with an amazed question. "never mind! don't bother her," ruth said. "the poor creature has been through enough--out in all this storm, alone. we must get her to where she is stopping as soon as possible. see the condition her clothes are in!" "but, mademoiselle ruth!" gasped the frenchman. "we are stalled until captain tom comes back with the gasoline--is it not?" "we are going to have gas in a very few minutes," returned ruth gaily. "i did more than find this poor woman up on the hill. wait!" helen and jennie sprang at ruth like a pair of terriers after a cat, demanding information and explanation all in a breath. but when they realized the state of mind of the strange woman, they calmed down. they wrapped her in a dry raincoat and put her in the back of the big car. she remained quietly there with jennie's aunt kate while ruth related her adventure with mr. peterby paul and the "whosis." "goodness!" gasped helen, "i guess he named her rightly. there must be something altogether wrong with the poor creature to make her wander about these wet woods, screeching like a loon." "i'd screech, too," said jennie stone, "if i'd torn a perfectly good silk dress to tatters as she has." "think of going huckleberrying in a frock like that," murmured ruth. "i guess you are both right. and mr. peterby paul did have good reason for calling her a 'whosis'." chapter xii alongshore mr. peterby paul appeared after a short time striding down the wooded hillside balancing a five-gallon gasoline can in either hand. "i reckon you can get to ridgeton on this here," he said jovially. "guess i'd better set up a sign down here so's other of you autermobile folks kin take heart if ye git stuck." "you are just as welcome as the flowers in spring, tra-la!" cried helen, fairly dancing with delight. "you are an angel visitor, mr. paul," said the plump girl. "i been called a lot o' things besides an angel," the bearded woodsman said, his eyes twinkling. "my wife, 'fore she died, had an almighty tart tongue." "and _now_?" queried helen wickedly. "wal, wherever the poor critter's gone, i reckon she's l'arned to bridle her tongue," said mr. peterby paul cheerfully. "howsomever, as the feller said, that's another day's job. mr. frenchy, let's pour this gasoline into them tanks." ruth insisted upon paying for the gasoline, and paying well. then peterby paul gave them careful directions as to the situation of abby drake's house, at which it seemed the lost woman must belong. "abby always has her house full of city folks in the summer," the woodsman said. "she is pretty near a whosis herself, abby drake is." with which rather unfavorable intimation regarding the despised "city folks," mr. peterby paul saw them start on over the now badly rutted road. helen drove the smaller car with ruth sitting beside her. henri marchand took the wheel of the touring car, and the run to boston was resumed. "but we must not over-run tom," said ruth to her chum. "no knowing what by-path he might have tried in search of the elusive gasoline." "i'll keep the horn blowing," helen said, suiting action to her speech and sounding a musical blast through the wooded country that lay all about. "he ought to know his own auto-horn." the tone of the horn was peculiar. ruth could always distinguish it from any other as tom speeded along the cheslow road toward the red mill. but then, she was perhaps subconsciously listening for its mellow note. she tacitly agreed with helen, however, that it might be a good thing to toot the horn frequently. and the signal brought to the roadside an anxious group of women at a sprawling farmhouse not a mile beyond the spot where the two cars had been stalled. "that is the drake place. it must be!" ruth exclaimed, putting out a hand to warn colonel marchand that they were about to halt. a fleshy woman with a very ruddy face under her sunbonnet came eagerly out into the road, leading the group of evidently much worried women. "have you folks seen anything of----" "_abby!_" shrieked the woman ruth had found, and she struggled to get out of the car. "well, i declare, mary marsden!" gasped the sunbonneted woman, who was plainly abby drake. "if you ain't a sight!" "i--i'm so scared!" quavered the unforunate victim of her own nerves, as ruth ran back to help her out of the touring car. "god is going to punish me, abby." "i certainly hope he will," declared her friend, in rather a hard-hearted way. "i told you, you ought to be punished for wearing that dress up there into the berry pasture, and---land's sakes alive! look at her dress!" afterward, when ruth had been thanked by mrs. drake and the other women, and the cars were rolling along the highway again, the girl of the red mill said to helen cameron: "i guess tom is more than half right. altogether, the most serious topic of conversation for all kinds and conditions of female humans is the matter of dress--in one way or another." "how dare you slur your own sex so?" demanded helen. "well, look at this case," her chum observed. "this mary marsden had been lost in the storm and killed for all they knew, yet abby drake's first thought was for the woman's dress." "well, it was a pity about the dress," helen remarked, proving that she agreed with abby drake and the bulk of womankind--as her twin brother oft and again acclaimed. ruth laughed. "and now if we could see poor dear tommy----" the car rounded a sharp turn in the highway. the drake house was perhaps a mile behind. ahead was a long stretch of rain-drenched road, and helen instantly cried: "there he is!" the figure of tom cameron with the empty gasoline can in his hand could scarcely be mistaken, although he was at least a mile in advance. helen began to punch the horn madly. "he'll know that," ruth cried. "yes, he looks back! won't he be astonished?" tom certainly was amazed. he proceeded to sit down on the can and wait for the cars to overtake him. "what are you traveling on?" he shouted, when helen stopped with the engine running just in front of him. "fairy gasoline?" "why, tommy, you're not so smart!" laughed his sister. "it takes ruth to find gas stations. we were stalled right in front of one, and you did not know it. hop in here and take my place and i'll run back to the other car. ruth will tell you all about it." "perhaps we had better let colonel marchand and jennie have this honeymoon car," ruth said doubtfully. "humph!" her chum observed, "i begin to believe it will be just as much a honeymoon car with you and tom in it as with that other couple. 'bless you, my children!'" she ran back to the big car with this saucy statement. tom grinned, slipped behind the wheel, and started the roadster slowly. "it must be," he observed in his inimitable drawl, "that sis has noticed that i'm fond of you, ruthie." "quite remarkable," she rejoined cheerfully. "but the war isn't over yet, tommy-boy. and if our lives are spared we've got to finish our educations and all that. why, tommy, you are scarcely out of short pants, and i've only begun to put my hair up." "jimminy!" he grumbled, "you do take all the starch out of a fellow. now tell me how you got gas. what happened?" everybody has been to boston, or expects to go there some time, so it is quite immaterial what happened to the party while at the hub. they only remained two days, anyway, then they started off alongshore through the pleasant old towns that dot the coast as far as cape ann. they saw the ancient fishing ports of marblehead, salem, gloucester and rockport, and then came back into the interior and did not see salt water again until they reached newburyport at the mouth of the merrimac. the weather remained delightfully cool and sunshiny after that heavy tempest they had suffered in the hills, and they reached portsmouth and remained at a hotel for three days when it rained again. the young folks chafed at this delay, but aunt kate declared that a hotel room was restful after jouncing over all sorts of roads for so long. "they never will build a car easy enough for auntie," jennie stone declared. "i tell pa he must buy some sort of airship for us----" "never!" cried aunt kate in quick denial. "whenever i go up in the air it will be because wings have sprouted on my shoulder blades. and i should not call an aeroplane easy riding, in any case." "at least," grumbled tom, "you can spin along without any trouble with country constables, and _that's_ a blessing." for on several occasions they had had arguments with members of the police force, in one case helping to support a justice and a constable by paying a fine. they did not travel on sunday, however, when the constables reap most of their harvest, so they really had little to complain of in that direction. nor did they travel fast in any case. after the rainy days at portsmouth, the automobile party ran on with only minor incidents and no adventures until they reached portland. there ruth telegraphed to mr. hammond that they were coming, as in her letter, written before they left cheslow, she had promised him she would. herringport, the nearest town to the moving picture camp at beach plum point, was at the head of a beautiful harbor, dotted with islands, and with water as blue as that of the bay of naples. when the two cars rolled into this old seaport the party was welcomed in person by mr. hammond, the president and producing manager of the alectrion film corporation. "i have engaged rooms for you at the hotel here, if you want them," he told ruth, after being introduced to aunt kate and colonel marchand, the only members of the party whom he had not previously met. "but i can give you all comfortable bunks with some degree of luxury at the camp. at least, we think it luxurious after our gold mining experience in the west. you will get better cooking at the point, too." "but a camp!" sighed aunt kate. "we have roughed it so much coming down here, mr. hammond." "there won't be any black ants at this camp," said her niece cheerfully. "only sand fleas," suggested the wicked tom. "you can't scare me with fleas," said jennie. "they only hop; they don't wriggle and creep." "my star in the 'seaside idyl,' miss loder, demanded hotel accommodations at first. but she soon changed her mind," mr. hammond said. "she is now glad to be on the lot with the rest of the company." "it sounds like a circus," aunt kate murmured doubtfully. "it is more than that, my dear madam," replied the manager, laughing. "but these young people----" "if aunt kate won't mind," said ruth, "let us try it, while she remains at the herringport inn." "i'll run her back and forth every day for the 'eats'," tom promptly proposed. "my duty as a chaperon----" began the good woman, when her niece broke in with: "in numbers there is perfect safety, auntie. there are a whole lot of girls down there at the point." "and we have chaperons of our own, i assure you," interposed mr. hammond, treating aunt kate's objection seriously. "miss loder has a cousin who always travels with her. our own mother paisley, who plays character parts, has daughters of her own and is a lovely lady. you need not fear, madam, that the conventions will be broken." "we won't even crack 'em, aunt kate," declared helen rouguishly. "i will watch jen like a cat would a mouse." "humph!" observed the plump girl, scornfully. "_this_ mouse, in that case, is likely to swallow the cat!" chapter xiii the hermit "now, tell me, miss ruth," said mr. hammond, having taken the girl of the red mill into his own car for the short run to beach plum point, "what is this trouble about your new scenario? you have excited my curiosity during all these months about the wonderful script, and now you say it is not ready for me." "oh, mr. hammond!" exclaimed ruth, "i fear it will never be ready for you." "nonsense! don't lose heart. you have merely come to one of those thank-you-ma'ams in story writing that all authors suffer. wait. it will come to you." "no, no!" sighed ruth. "it is nothing like that. i had finished the scenario. i had it all just about as i wanted it, and then----" "then what?" he asked in wonder at her emotion. "it--it was stolen!" "stolen?" "yes. and all my notes--everything! i--i can't talk about it. and i never could write it again," sobbed ruth. "it is the best thing i ever did, mr. hammond." "if it is better than 'the heart of a schoolgirl', or 'the forty-niners', or 'the boys of the draft', then it must be some scenario, miss ruth. the last two are still going strong, you know. and i have hopes of the 'seaside idyl' catching the public fancy just when we are all getting rather weary of war dramas. "if you can only rewrite this new story----" "but mr. hammond! i am sure it has been stolen by somebody who will make use of it. some other producer may put it on the screen, and then my version would fall flat--if no worse." "humph! and you have been so secret about it!" "i took your advice, mr. hammond. i have told nobody about it--not a thing!" "and somebody unknown stole it?" "we think it was a vagrant actor. a tramp. just the sort of person, though, who would know how to make use of the script." "humph! all actors were considered 'vagrants' under the old english law--in shakespeare's younger days, for instance," remarked mr. hammond. "you see how unwise it would be for me to try to rewrite the story--even if i could--and try to screen it." "i presume you are right. yes. but i hoped you would bring a story with you that we could be working on at odd times. i have a good all-around company here on the lot." "i had most of your principals in mind when i wrote my scenario," sighed ruth. "but i could not put my mind to that same subject now. i am discouraged, mr. hammond." "i would not feel that way if i were you, miss ruth," he advised, trying, as everybody else did, to cheer her. "you will get another good idea, and like all other born writers, you will just _have_ to give expression to it. meantime, of course, if i get hold of a promising scenario, i shall try to produce it." "i hope you will find a good one, mr. hammond." he smiled rather ruefully. "of course, there is scarcely anybody on the lot who hasn't a picture play in his or her pocket. i was possibly unwise last week to offer five hundred dollars spot cash for a play i could make use of, for now i suppose there will be fifty to read. everybody, from jacks, the property man, to the old hermit, believes he can write a scenario." "who is the hermit?" asked ruth, with some curiosity. "i don't know. nobody seems to know who he is about herringport. he was living in an old fish-house down on the point when we came here last week with the full strength of the company. and i have made use of the old fellow in your 'seaside idyl'. "he seems to be a queer duck. but he has some idea of the art of acting, it seems. director jim hooley is delighted with him. but they tell me the old fellow is scribbling all night in his hut. the scenario bug has certainly bit that old codger. he's out for my five hundred dollars," and the producing manager laughed again. "i hope you get a good script," said ruth earnestly. "but don't ask me to read any of them, mr. hammond. it does seem as though i never wanted to look at a scenario again!" "then you are going to miss some amusement in this case," he chuckled. "why so?" "i tell you frankly i do not expect much from even those professional actors. it was my experience even before i went into the motion picture business that plays submitted by actors were always full of all the old stuff--all the old theatrical tricks and the like. actors are the most insular people in existence, i believe. they know how plays should be written to fulfill the tenets of the profession; but invention is 'something else again'." the young people who had motored so far were welcomed by many of mr. hammond's company who had acted in "the forty-niners" and had met ruth and her friends in the west, as related in "ruth fielding in the saddle." the shacks that had been built especially for the company's use were comfortable, even if they did smell of new pine boards. the men of the company lived in khaki tents. there were several old fish-houses that were likewise being utilized by the members of the company. beach plum point was the easterly barrier of sand and rock that defended the beautiful harbor from the atlantic breakers. it was a wind-blown place, and the moan of the surf on the outer reef was continually in the ears of the campers on the point. the tang of salt in the air could always be tasted on the lips when one was out of doors. and the younger folks were out on the sands most of the time when they were not working, sleeping, or eating. "we are going to have some fun here," promised tom cameron to ruth, after their party had got established with its baggage. "see that hard strip of beach? that's no clamflat. i am going to race my car on that sand. palm beach has nothing on this. jackman, the property man (you remember jacks, don't you, ruth?), says the blackfish and bass are biting off the point. you girls can act in movies if you like, but _i_ am going fishing." "don't talk movies to me," sighed the girl. "i almost wish we had not come, tom." "nonsense! you shall go fishing with me. put on your oldest duds and--well, maybe you will have to strip off your shoes and stockings. it is both wet and slippery on the rocks." "pooh! i'll put on my bathing suit and a sweater. i never was afraid of water yet," ruth declared. this was the morning after their arrival. tom had been up to the port and brought down aunt kate for the day. aunt kate sat under an umbrella near where the company was working on location, and she scribbled all day in a notebook. jennie whispered that she, too, was bitten by the scenario bug! "i feel it coming over me," announced helen. "i've got what i think is a dandy idea." "oh, there's too much to do," jennie stone said. "i couldn't find time to dabble in literature." "my, oh, my!" gasped helen, with scorn. "how busy we are! you and henri spend all your time making eyes at each other." "but just think, nell!" cried the plump girl. "he's got to go back to france and fight----" "and so has my tom." "but tom is only your brother." "and henri is nothing at all to you," rejoined helen cruelly. "a fiance is only an expectation. you may change your mind about henri." "never!" cried jennie, with horror. "well, he keeps you busy, i grant. and there go tom and ruth mooning off together with fish lines. lots of fishing _they_ will do! they are almost as bad as you and henri. why!" ejaculated helen in some heat, "i am just driven to writing scenarios to keep from dying of loneliness." "i notice that 'juvenile lead,' mr. simmons, is keeping you quite busy," remarked jennie slyly, as she turned away. it was a fact that ruth and tom enjoyed each others' company. but helen need not have been even a wee bit jealous. to tell the truth, she did not like to "get all mussed up," as she expressed it, by going fishing. to ruth the adventure was a glad relief from worriment. much as she tried, she could not throw off all thought of her lost scenario. she welcomed every incident that promised amusement and mental relaxation. some of the troupe of actors--the men, mostly--were bathing off the point. "and see that man in the old skiff!" cried ruth. "'the lone fisherman'." the individual in question sat upon a common kitchen chair in the skiff with a big, patched umbrella to keep the sun off, and was fishing with a pole that he had evidently cut in the woods along the shore. "that is that hermit fellow," said tom. "he's a queer duck. and the boys bother him a good deal." he was angrily driving some of the swimmers away from his fishing location at that moment. it was plain the members of the moving picture company used the hermit as a butt for their jokes. while one fellow was taking up the hermit's attention in front, another bather rose silently behind him and reached into the bottom of the skiff. what this second fellow did tom and ruth could not see. "the old chap can't swim a stroke," explained one of the laughing bathers to the visitors. "he's as afraid of water as a cat. now you watch." but tom and ruth saw nothing to watch. they went on to the tip of the point and tom prepared the fishing tackle and baited the hooks. just as ruth made her first cast there sounded a scream from the direction of the lone fisherman. "what is it?" she gasped, dropping her pole. the bathers had deserted the old man in the skiff, and were now at some distance. he was anchored in probably twenty feet of water. to the amazement of ruth and her companion, the skiff had sunk until its gunwales were scarcely visible. the hermit had wrenched away his umbrella and was now balanced upon the chair on his feet, in danger of sinking. his fear of this catastrophe was being expressed in unstinted terms. chapter xiv a quotation "do help him, tom!" cried ruth fielding, and she started for the spot where the man and the skiff were sinking. tom cast aside his sweater, kicked his sneakers off, and plunged into the tide. ruth was quite as lightly dressed as tom; but she saw that he could do all that was necessary. that was, to bring the frightened man ashore. this "hermit" as they called him, was certainly very much afraid of the water. he splashed a good deal, and tom had to speak sharply to keep him from getting a strangle-hold about his own neck. "jimminy! but that was a mean trick," panted tom, when he got ashore with the fisherman. "somebody pulled the plug out of the bottom of the skiff and first he knew, he was going down." "it is a shame," agreed ruth, looking at the victim of the joke curiously. he was a thin-featured, austere looking man, scrupulously shaven, but with rather long hair that had quite evidently been dyed. now that it was plastered to his crown by the salt water (for he had been completely immersed more than once in his struggle with tom cameron) his hair was shown to be quite thin and of a greenish tinge at the roots. the shock of being dipped in the sea so unexpectedly was plainly no small one for the hermit. he stood quite unsteadily on the strand, panting and sputtering. "young dogs! no respect for age and ability in this generation. i might have been drowned." "well, it's all over now," said tom comfortingly. "where do you live?" "over yonder, young man," replied the hermit, pointing to the ocean side of the point. "we will take you home. you lie down for a while and you will feel better," ruth said soothingly. "we will come back here afterward and get your skiff ashore." "thank you, miss," said the man courteously. "i'll make those fellows who played the trick on you get the boat ashore," promised tom, running for his shoes and sweater. the hermit proved to be a very uncommunicative person. ruth tried to get him to talk about himself as they crossed the rocky spit, but all that he said of a personal nature was that his name was "john." his shack was certainly a lonely looking hovel. it faced the tumbling atlantic and it seemed rather an odd thing to ruth that a man who was so afraid of the sea should have selected such a spot for his home. the hermit did not invite them to enter his abode. he promised ruth that he would make a hot drink for himself and remove his wet garments and lie down. but he only seemed moderately grateful for their assistance, and shut the door of the shack promptly in their faces when he got inside. "just as friendly as a sore-headed dog," remarked tom, as they went back to the bay side of the point. "perhaps the others have played so many tricks on him that he is suspicious of even our assistance," ruth said. thus speaking, she stooped to pick up a bit of paper in the path. it had been half covered by the sand and might have lain there a long time, or only a day. just why this bit of brown wrapping paper had caught her attention, it would be hard to say. ruth might have passed it a dozen times without noticing it. but now she must needs turn the paper over and over in her hands as she watched tom, with the help of the rather abashed practical jokers, haul the water-logged skiff ashore. she had forgotten the fishing poles they had abandoned on the rocks, and sat down upon a boulder. suddenly she discovered that there was writing on the bit of paper she had picked up. it was then that her attention really became fixed upon her find. the characters had been written with an indelible pencil. the dampness had only blurred the writing instead of erasing it. her attention thus engaged, she idly scrutinized more than the blurred lines. her attitude as she sat there on the boulder slowly stiffened; her gaze focused upon the paper. "why! what is it?" she murmured at last. the blurred lines became clearer to her vision. it was the wording of the phrase rather than the handwriting that enthralled her. this that follows was all that was written on the paper: "flash:- "as in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be----" to the ordinary observer, with no knowledge of what went before or followed this quotation, the phrase must seem idle. but the word "flash" is used by scenario writers and motion picture makers, indicating an explanatory phrase thrown on the screen. and this quoted phrase struck poignantly to ruth fielding's mind. for it was one she had used in that last scenario--the one that had so strangely disappeared from the summer-house back at the red mill! amazed--almost stunned--by this discovery, she sat on the boulder scarcely seeing what tom and the others were doing toward salvaging the old hermit's skiff and other property. thoughts regarding the quotation shuttled back and forth in the girl's mind in a most bewildering way. the practical side of her character pointed out that there really could be no significance in this discovery. it could not possibly have anything to do with her stolen script. yet the odd phrase, used in just this way, had been one of the few "flashes" indicated in her scenario. was it likely that anybody else, writing a picture, would use just that phrase? she balanced the improbability of this find meaning anything at all to her against the coincidence of another author using the quotation in writing a scenario. she did not know what to think. which supposition was the more improbable? the thought was preposterous that the paper should mean anything to her. ruth was about to throw it away; and then, failing to convince herself that the quotation was but idly written, she tucked the piece of paper into the belt of her bathing suit. when tom was ready to go back to their fishing station, ruth went with him and said nothing about the find she had made. they had fair luck, all told, and the chef at the camp produced their catch in a dish of boiled tautog with egg sauce at dinner that evening. the company ate together at a long table, like a logging camp crew, only with many more of the refinements of life than the usual logging crew enjoys. it was, however, on a picnic plane of existence, and there was much hilarity. these actor folk were very pleasant people. even the star, miss loder, was quite unspoiled by her success. "you know," she confessed to ruth (everybody confided in ruth), "i never would have been anything more than a stock actress in some jerkwater town, as we say in the west, if the movies hadn't become so popular. i have what they call the 'appealing face' and i can squeeze out real tears at the proper juncture. those are two very necessary attributes for a girl who wishes to gain film success." "but you can really act," ruth said honestly. "i watched you to-day." "i should be able to act. i come of a family who have been actors for generations. acting is like breathing to me. but, of course, it is another art to 'register' emotion in the face, and very different from displaying one's feelings by action and audible expression. you know, one of our most popular present-day stage actresses got her start by an ability to scream off-stage. nothing like that in the movies." "you should hear jennie stone with a black ant down her back," put in helen, with serious face. "i am sure heavy could go the actress you speak of one better, and become even more popular." "i am not to be blamed if i squeal at crawly things," sniffed the plump girl, hearing this. "see how brave i am in most other respects." but that night jennie exhibited what tom called her "scarefulness" in most unmistakable fashion, and never again could she claim to be brave. she gave her chums in addition such a fright that they were not soon over talking about it. the three college girls had cots in a small shack that mr. hammond had given up to their use. it was one of the shacks nearest the shore of the harbor. several boat-docks near by ran out into the deep water. it was past midnight when jennie was for some reason aroused. usually she slept straight through the night, and had to be awakened by violent means in time for breakfast. she was not startled, but awoke naturally, and found herself broad awake. she sat up in her cot, almost convinced that it must be daylight. but it was the moon shining through a haze of clouds that lighted the interior of the shack. the other two girls were breathing deeply. the noises she heard did not at first alarm jennie. there was the whisper of the tide as it rolled the tiny pebbles and shells up the strand and, receding, swept them down again. it chuckled, too, among the small piers of the near-by docks. then the listening girl heard footsteps--or what she took to be that sound. they approached the shack, then receded. she began to be curious, then felt a tremor of alarm. who could be wandering about the camp at this grim hour of the night? she was unwise enough to allow her imagination to wake up, too. she stole from her bed and peered out of the screened window that faced the water. almost at once a moving object met her frightened gaze. it was a figure all in white which seemed to float down the lane between the tents and out upon the nearest boat-dock. afterward jennie declared she could have suffered one of these spirit-looking manifestations in silence. she crammed the strings of her frilled nightcap between her teeth as a stopper! this spectral figure was going away from the shack, anyway. it appeared to be bearing something in its arms. but then came a second ghost, likewise burdened. gasping, jennie waited, clinging to the window-sill for support. a third spectre appeared, rising like banquo's spirit at macbeth's feast. this was too much for the plump girl's self-control. she opened her mouth, and her half-strangled shriek, the partially masticated cap-strings all but choking her, aroused ruth and helen to palpitating fright. "oh! what is it?" demanded helen, bounding out of bed. "ghosts! oh! waw!" gurgled jennie, and sank back into her friend's arms. helen was literally as well as mentally overcome. jennie's weight carried her to the straw matting with a bump that shook the shack and brought ruth, too, out of bed. chapter xv an amazing situation "'ghost'?" cried ruth fielding. "let me see it! remember the campus ghost back at old briarwood, helen? i haven't seen a ghost since that time." "ugh! get this big elephant off of me!" grunted her chum, impolitely as well as angrily. "_she's_ no ghost, i do assure you. she's of the earth, earthy, and no mistake! ouch! get off, heavy!" "oh! oh! oh!" groaned the plump girl. "i--i saw them. three of them!" "sounds like a three-ring circus," snapped helen. but ruth was peering through the window. she saw nothing, and complained thereof: "jen has had a nightmare. i don't see a thing." "nightmare, your granny!" sputtered the plump girl, finally rolling off her half crushed friend. "i saw it--them--_those_!" "your grammar is so mixed i wouldn't believe you on oath," declared helen, getting to her own bare feet and paddling back to her cot for slippers and a negligee. "o-o-oh, it is chilly," agreed ruth, grabbing a wrap, too. "do tell us about it, jennie," she begged. "did you see your ghost through the window here?" "it isn't my ghost!" denied the plump girl. "i'm alive, ain't i?" "but you're not conscious," grumbled helen. "i can see!" wailed jennie. "i haven't lost my eyesight." "stop!" ruth urged. "let us get at the foundation of this trouble. you say you saw----" "i saw what i saw!" "oh, see-saw!" cried helen. "we're all loony, now." ruth was about to ask another question, but she was again looking through the window. she suddenly bit off a cry of her own. she had to confess that the sight she saw was startling. "is--is that the ghost, jennie?" she breathed, seizing the plump girl by her arm and dragging her forward. jennie gave one frightened look through the window and immediately clapped her palms over her eyes. "ow!" she wailed in muffled tones. "they're coming back." they were, indeed! three white figures in indian file came stalking up the long dock. they approached the camp in a spectral procession and had she been awakened to see them first of all, ruth might have been startled herself. helen peered over her chum's shoulder and in teeth-chattering monotone breathed in ruth's ear the query: "what is it?" "it--it's heavy's ghost." "not mine! not mine!" denied the plump girl. "oh!" gasped helen, spying the stalking white figures. it was the moonlight made them appear so ghostly. ruth knew that, of course, at once. and then---"who ever saw ghosts carrying garbage cans before?" ejaculated the girl of the red mill. "mercy me, heavy! do stop your wailing. it is the chef and his two assistants who have got up to dump the garbage on the out-going tide. what a perfect scare-cat you are!" "you don't mean it, ruth?" whimpered the plump girl. "is that _all_ they were?" helen began to giggle. and it covered her own fright. ruth was rather annoyed. "if you had remained in bed and minded your own business," she said to jennie, "you would not have seen ghosts, or got us up to see them. now go back to sleep and behave yourself." "yes, ma'am," murmured the abashed jennie stone. "how silly of me! i was never afraid of a cook before--no, indeed." helen continued to giggle spasmodically; but she fell asleep soon. as for jennie, she began to breathe heavily almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. but ruth must needs lie awake for hours, and naturally the teeth of her mind began to knaw at the problem of that bit of paper she had found in the sand. the more she thought of it the less easy it was to discard the idea that the writing on the paper was a quotation from her own scenario script. it seemed utterly improbable that two people should use that same expression as a "flash" in a scenario. yet, if this paper was a connecting link between her stolen manuscript and the thief, _who was the thief_? it would seem, of course, if this supposition were granted, that some member of the company of film actors mr. hammond had there at beach plum point had stolen the scenario. at least, the stolen scenario must be in the possession of some member of the company. who could it be? naturally ruth considered this unknown must be one of the company who wished mr. hammond to accept and produce a scenario. ruth finally fell into a troubled sleep with the determination in her mind to take more interest in the proposed scenario-writing contest than she had at first intended. she could not imagine how anybody could take her work and change it so that she would not recognize it! the plot of the story was too well wrought and the working out of it too direct. she did not think that she had it perfect. only that she had perfected the idea as well as she was able. but changing it would not hide from her the recognition of her own brain-child. so after breakfast she went to mr. hammond to make inquiry about the scenario contest. "ha, ha! so you are coming to yourself, miss ruth!" he chuckled. "i told you you would feel different. i only wish _you_ would get a real smart idea for a picture." "nothing like that!" she told him, shaking her head. "i could not think of writing a new scenario. you don't know what it means to me--the loss of that picture i had struggled so long with and thought so much about. i---"but let us not talk of it," she hastened to add. "i am curious regarding the stories that have been offered to you." "you need not fear competition," he replied. "just as i told you, all these perfectly good acting people base their scenarios on dramas they have played or seen played. they haven't got the idea of writing for the screen at all, although they work before the camera." "and that is no wonder!" exclaimed ruth. "the way the directors take scenes, the actors never get much of an idea of the continuity of the story they are making. but these stories?" "so far, i haven't found a possible scenario. and i have looked at more than a score." "you don't mean it!" "i most certainly do," he assured her. "want to look at them?" "why--yes," confessed ruth. "i am curious, as i tell you." "go to it!" exclaimed mr. hammond, opening a drawer of his desk and pointing to the pile of manuscripts within. "consider yourself at home here. i am going over to the port with director hooley and most of the members of the company. we have found just the location for the shooting of that scene in your 'seaside idyl' where the ladies' aid society holds its 'gossip session' in the grove--remember?" "oh, yes," ruth replied, not much interested, as she took the first scenario out of the drawer. "and hooley's found some splendid types, too, around the village. they really have a sewing circle connected with the herringport union church, and i have agreed to help the ladies pay for having the church edifice painted if they will let us film a session of the society with our principal character actors mixed in with the local group. the sun is good to-day." he went away, and a little later ruth heard the automobiles start for herringport. she had the forenoon to herself, for the rest of her party had gone out in a motor boat fishing--a party from which she had excused herself. eagerly she began to examine the scenarios submitted to mr. hammond. the possibility that she might find one of them near enough like her own lost story to suggest that it had been plagiarized, made ruth's heart beat faster. she could not forget the quotation on the scrap of brown paper. somebody on this point--and it seemed that the "somebody" must be one of the moving picture company--had written that quotation from her scenario. she felt that this could not be denied. chapter xvi ruth solves one problem had ruth fielding been confronted with the question: "did she expect to find a clue to the identity of the person who had stolen her scenario before she left the red mill?" she could have made no confident answer. she did not know what she would find when she sat down at mr. hammond's desk for the purpose of looking over the submitted stories. doubt and suspicion, however, enthralled her mind. she was both curious and anxious. ruth had no particular desire to read the manuscripts. in any case she did not presume mr. hammond desired her advice about selecting a script for filming. she skimmed through the first story. it had not a thing in it that would suggest in the faintest way any familiarity of the author with her own lost scenario. for two hours she fastened her attention upon one after another of the scenarios, often by main will-power, because of the utter lack of interest in the stories the writers had tried to put over. without being at all egotistical, ruth fielding felt confident that had any one of these scenario writers come into possession of her lost script, and been dishonest enough to use it, he would have turned out a much better story. but not a trace of her original idea and its development was to be found in these manuscripts. her suspicion had been needlessly roused. ruth could not deny that the scrap of paper found in the sand was quite as mysterious as ever. the quotation on it seemed to be taken directly from her own scenario. but there was absolutely nothing in this pile of manuscripts to justify her suspicions. she was just as dissatisfied after scanning all the submitted scenarios as mr. hammond seemed to be with the day's work when the company came back from herringport in the late afternoon. "i suppose it is a sanguine disposition that keeps me at this game, miss ruth," he sighed. "i always expect much more than i can possibly get out of a situation; and when i fail i go on hoping just the same." "i am sure that is a commendable disposition to possess," she laughed. "what has gone so wrong?" "it is the old story of leading the horse to water, and the inability of making him drink. this is a balky horse, and no mistake!" "do tell me what you mean, mr. hammond?" "why, i told you we had got what the ladies call 'perfectly lovely' types for that scene to-day. you ought to see them, miss ruth! you would be charmed. just what the dear public expects a back-country sewing circle should look like." "oh!" "and they all promised to be on hand at the location--and they were. i have had my experiences with amateurs before. i had begged the ladies to dress just as they would were they going to an actual meeting of their sewing society----" "and they all dressed up?" laughed ruth, clasping her hands. "well, that i expected to contend with. and most of them even in their best bib and tucker were not out of the picture. not at all! that was not the main difficulty and the one that has spoiled our day's work." "indeed?" "i am afraid jim hooley will have to fake the whole scene after all," continued the manager. "those women came all dressed up 'to have their pictures took,' it is true. but the worst of it is, they could not be natural. it was impossible. they showed in every move and every glance that they were sitting with a bunch of actors and were not at all sure that what they were doing was altogether the right thing. "we worked over them as though it were a 'mob scene' and there were five hundred in it instead of twenty. but twenty wooden dummies would have filmed no more unnaturally. you know, in your story, they are supposed to be discussing the bit of gossip about your heroine's elopement with the schoolteacher. i could not work up a mite of enthusiasm in their minds about such a topic." ruth laughed. but she saw that the matter was really serious for mr. hammond and the director. she became sympathetic. "i fancy that if they had had a real scandal to discuss," she observed, "their faces would have registered more poignant interest." "'poignant interest'!" scoffed the manager in disgust. "if these herringport tabbies had the toothache they would register only polite anguish--in public. they are the most insular and self-contained and self-suppressed women i ever saw. these down-easters! they could walk over fiery ploughshares and only wanly smile----" ruth went off into a gale of laughter at this. mr. hammond was a westerner by birth, and he found the yankee character as hard to understand as did henri marchand. "have you quite given up hope, mr. hammond?" ruth asked. "well, we'll try again to-morrow. oh, they promised to come again! they are cutting out rompers, or flannel undervests, i suppose, for the south sea island children; or something like that. they are interested in that job, no doubt. "i wanted them to 'let go all holts,' as these fishermen say, and be eager and excited. they are about as eager as they would be doing their washing, or cleaning house--if as much!" and mr. hammond's disappointment became too deep for further audible expression. ruth suddenly awoke to the fact that one of her best scenes in the "seaside idyl" was likely to be spoiled. she talked with mr. hooley about it, and when the day's run was developed and run off in one of the shacks which was used for a try-out room, ruth saw that the manager had not put the matter too strongly. the sewing circle scene lacked all that snap and go needed to make it a realistic piece of action. of course, there were enough character actors in the company to use in the scene; but naturally an actor caricatures such parts as were called for in this scene. the professional would be likely to make the characters seem grotesque. that was not the aim of the story. "i thought you were not going to take any interest in this 'seaside idyl,' at all," suggested helen, when ruth was talking about the failure of the scene after supper that night. "i can't help it. my reputation as a scenario writer is at stake, just as much as is mr. hooley's reputation as director," ruth said, smiling. "i really didn't mean to have a thing to do with the old picture. but i can see that somebody has got to put a breath of naturalness into those ladies' aid society women, or this part of the picture will be a fizzle." "and our ruth," drawled jennie, "is going to prescribe one of her famous cure-alls, is she?" "i believe i can make them look less like a lot of dummies while they are cutting out rompers for cannibal island pickaninnies," laughed ruth. "tom, i am going to the port with you the first thing in the morning." "by all means," said captain cameron. "i am yours to command." her newly aroused interest in the scenario at present being filmed, was a good thing for ruth fielding. having found nothing at all in the submitted stories that suggested her own lost story, the girl of the red mill tried to put aside again the thing that so troubled her mind. and this new interest helped. in the morning before breakfast she and tom ran over to the port in the maroon roadster. while they were having breakfast at the inn, ruth asked the waitress, who was a native of this part of the country, about the union church and some of the more intimate life-details of the members of its congregation. it is not hard to uncover neighborhood gossip of a kind not altogether unkindly in any similar community. the union church had a new minister, and he was young. he was now away on his vacation, and more than one local beauty and her match-making mamma would have palpitation of the heart before he returned for fear that the young clergyman would have his heart interests entangled by some designing "foreigner." tom had no idea as to what ruth fielding was getting at through this questioning of the beaming hebe who waited on them at breakfast. and he was quite as much in the dark as to his friend's motive when ruth announced their first visit to be to the office of the herringport _harpoon_, the local news sheet. chapter xvii john, the hermit's, contribution a man with bushy hair, a pencil stuck over his ear, and wearing an ink-stained apron, met them in the office of the _harpoon_. this was ezra payne, editor and publisher of the weekly news-sheet, and this was his busiest day. the _harpoon_, ruth had learned, usually went into the mails on this day. "tut, tut! i see. is this a joke?" mr. payne pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow in uncertainty. "a whole edition, miss? wall, i dunno. i do have hard work selling all the edition some weeks. but i have reg'lar subscribers----" "this will not interfere with your usual edition of the _harpoon_," she hastened to assure him. "how's that, miss?" "i want to buy an edition of one copy." "one copy!" "yes, sir. i want something special printed in one paper. then you can take it out and print your regular edition." "tut, tut! i see. is this a joke?" mr. payne asked, his eyes beginning to twinkle. "it is the biggest joke you ever heard of," declared ruth. "and who's the joke on?" "wait and see what i write," ruth said, sitting down at the battered old desk where he labored over his editorials and proofsheets. opening a copy of the last week's _harpoon_ that lay there, she was able to see the whole face of the paper. "i've got the inside run off," said mr. payne, still doubtfully. "so you can't run anything on the second and third pages." "oh, i want the most prominent place for my item," laughed ruth. "front page, top column---here it is!" he bent over her. tom stared in wonder, too, as ruth pointed to an item under a certain heading at the top of the middle column of the front page of the sheet. "that is just where i want my item to appear," she said briskly to the editor. "you run that--that department there every week?" "oh, yes, miss. the people expect it. you know how folks are. they look for those items first of all in a country paper." "yes. it is so. one of the new york dailies is still printed with that human foible in mind. it caters to this very curiosity that your _harpoon_ caters to." "yes, miss. you're right. most folks have the same curiosity, city or country. shakespeare spoke of the 'seven ages of man'; but there are only three of particular interest--to womankind, anyway; and they are all _here_." "there you go! slurring the women," she laughed. "or do you speak compliments?" "i guess the women have it right," chuckled mr. payne. "now, what is it you want me to print in one paper for you?" ruth drew a scratch pad to her and scribbled rapidly for a couple of minutes. then she passed the page to the newspaper proprietor. mr. payne read it, stared at her, pursed his lips, and then read it again. suddenly he burst into a cackle of laughter, slapping his thigh in high delight. "by gravy!" he chortled, "that's a good one on the dominie. by gravy! wait till i tell----" "don't you tell anybody, mr. payne," interrupted ruth, smiling, but firmly. "i am buying your secrecy as well as your edition of _one copy_." "i get you! i get you!" declared the old fellow. "this is to be on the q.t.?" "positively." "you sit right here. the front page is all made up on the stone, marriages, births, death notices, and all. i'll set the paragraph and slip it in at the top o' the column. my boy is out, but this young man can help me lift the page into the press. she's all warmed up, and i was going to start printing when edgar comes back from breakfast." he grabbed the piece of copy and went off into the printing room, chuckling. half an hour later the first paper came from the press, and ruth and tom bent over it. the item the girl had written was plainly printed in the position she had chosen on the front page of the _harpoon_. "now, you are to keep still about this," ruth said, threatening mr. payne with a raised finger. "i don't know a thing about it," he promised, pocketing the bill she took from her purse, and in high good humor over the joke. tom helped him take the front page from the press again. the printer unlocked the chase, and removed and distributed the three lines he had set up at ruth's direction. the crowd from beach plum point came over in the cars about noontime. aunt kate had remained at the inn on this morning, and she and ruth walked to the "location," which was a beautiful old shaded front yard at the far end of the village. helen and jennie had come with the real actors, and were to appear in the picture. the story related incidents at a sunday-school picnic, and most of the comedy had already been filmed on the lot. the scene around the long sewing table under the trees, when the ladies' aid was at work with needle and tongue, should be the principal incident of this reel devoted to the picnic. the heroine, to the amazement of the village gossips, has run away with the schoolmaster and married him in the next county. a certain character in the picture runs in with this bombshell of news and explodes it in the midst of the group about the sewing table. the day before this point had failed to make much impression upon the amateur members of the company engaged in this typical scene. the herringport ladies were not at all interested in such a thing happening to the town's schoolmaster, for to tell the truth the local schoolmaster was an old married man with a house full of children and nothing at all romantic about him. ruth took mr. hooley aside and showed him the copy of the _harpoon_ she had had printed, and whispered to him her idea of the change in the action of the scenario. he seized upon the scheme--and the paper--with gusto. "you are a jewel, miss fielding!" he declared. "if this doesn't make those old tabbies come to life and act naturally, nothing ever will!" ruth left the matter in the director's hands and retired from the location. she had no intention herself of appearing in the picture. she found mr. hammond sitting in his automobile in a state of good-humor. "you seem quite sure that the work will go better to-day, mr. hammond," ruth observed, with curiosity as to the reason for his apparent enjoyment. "whether it does or not, miss ruth," he responded. "there is something that i fancy is going to be more than a little amusing." he tapped a package wrapped in a soiled newspaper which lay on the seat beside him. "thank goodness, i can still enjoy a joke." "what is the joke? let me enjoy it, too," she said. "with the greatest of pleasure. i'll let you read it, if you like--as you did those other scenarios." "what! is it a movie story?" she asked. "so i am assured. it is the contribution of john, the hermit. he brought it to me just before we started over here this morning. poor old codger! just look here, miss ruth." mr. hammond turned back the loose covering of the package on the automobile seat. ruth saw a packet of papers, seemingly of roughly trimmed sheets of wrapping paper and of several sizes. at the top of the upper sheet was the title of the hermit's scenario. it was called "plain mary." she glanced down the page, noting that it was written in a large, upright, hand and with an indelible pencil. ruth fielding had not the least idea that she was to take any particular interest in this picture-story. she smiled more because mr. hammond seemed so amused than for any other reason. secretly she thought that most of these moving picture people were rather unkind to the strange old man who lived alone on the seaward side of the beach plum point. "want to read it over?" mr. hammond asked her. "i would consider it a favor, for i've got to go back and try to catch up with my correspondence. i expect this is worse than those you skimmed through yesterday." ruth did not hear him. suddenly she had seen something that had not at first interested her. she read the first few lines of the opening, and saw nothing in them of importance. it was the writing itself that struck her. "why!" she suddenly gasped. she was reminded of something that she had seen before. this writing---"let me go back to the camp with you, mr. hammond," she said, slipping into the seat and taking the packet of written sheets into her lap. "i--i will look through this scenario, if you like. there is something down there on the point that i want." "sure. be glad to have your company," he said, letting in his clutch after pushing the starter. "we're off." ruth did not speak again just then. with widening eyes she began to devour the first pages of the hermit's manuscript. chapter xviii uncertainties the automobile purred along the shell road, past the white-sided, green-blinded houses of the retired ship captains and the other well-to-do people of herringport. the car ran so smoothly that ruth might have read all the way. but after the first page or two--those containing the opening scenes of "plain mary"--she dared not read farther. not yet. it was not that there was a familiar phrase in the upright chirography of the old hermit. the story merely suggested a familiar situation to ruth's mind. thus far it was only a suggestion. there was something else she felt she must prove or disprove first of all. she sat beside mr. hammond quite speechless until they came to the camp on the harbor shore of beach plum point. he went off cheerfully to his letter writing, and ruth entered the shack she occupied with helen and jennie. she opened her locked writing-case. under the first flap she inserted her fingers and drew forth the wrinkled scrap of paper she had picked up on the sands. a glance at the blurred writing assured her that it was the same as that of the hermit's scenario. "flash: "as in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be----" shakingly ruth sat down before the cheap little maple table. she spread open the newspaper wrapper and stared again at the title page of "plain mary." that title was nothing at all like the one she had given her lost scenario. but a title, after all, meant very little. the several scenes suggested in the beginning of the hermit's story did not conflict with the plot she had evolved, although they were not her own. she had read nothing so far that would make this story different from her own. the names of the characters were changed and the locations for the first scene were different from those in her script. nevertheless the action and development of the story might prove to be exactly like hers. she shrank from going deeper into the hermit's script. she feared to find her suspicions true; yet she _must_ know. finally she began to read. page after page of the large and sprawling writing she turned over, face down upon the table. ruth grew so absorbed in the story that she did not note the passing of time. she was truly aware of but one thing. and that seized upon her mind to wring from it both bitterness and anger. "want to go back to the port, miss ruth?" asked mr. hammond. "i want to mail my letters." his question startled her. she sprang up, a spot of crimson in either cheek. had he looked at her, the manager would certainly have noted her strange look. "i'll come in a minute," she called to him in a half-stifled voice. she laved her eyes and cheeks in cool water, removing such marks of her emotion as she could. then she bundled up the hermit's scenario and joined mr. hammond in the car. "did you look at this?" she asked the producer as he started the motor. "bless you, no! what is it? as crazy as the old codger himself?" "do you really think that man is crazy?" she asked sharply. "why, i don't really know. just queer perhaps. it doesn't seem as though a sane man would live all stark alone over on that sea-beaten point." "he is an actor," declared ruth. "your director says so." "at least, he does not claim to be, and they usually do, you know," chuckled mr. hammond. "but about this thing----" "you read it! then i will tell you something," said the girl soberly, and she refused to explain further. "you amaze me," said the puzzled manager. "if that old codger has succeeded in turning out anything worth while, i certainly shall believe that 'wonders never cease.'" "he has got you all fooled. he _is_ a good actor," declared ruth bitterly. then, as mr. hammond turned a puzzled frown upon her, she added, "tell me what you think of the script, mr. hammond, before you speak to--er--john, or whatever his name may be." "i certainly am curious now," he declared. they got back to the place where the director had arranged to "shoot" the sewing circle scene just as everything was all set for it. mother paisley dominated the half circle of women about the long table under the trees. ruth marveled at the types mr. hooley had found in the village. and she marveled further that any group of human beings could appear so wooden. "oh, ruth!" murmured helen, who was not in this scene, but was an interested spectator, "they will surely spoil the picture again. poor mr. hooley! he takes _such_ pains." it was like playing a child's game for most of the members of the herringport union congregation. they were selfconscious, and felt that they were in a silly situation. those who were not too serious of demeanor were giggling like schoolgirls. yet everything was ready for the cameras. mr. hooley's keen eye ran over all the group. he waved a hand to the camera men. "ready camera--action--go!" the women remained speechless. they merely looked at each other in a helpless way. it was evident they had forgotten all the instructions the director had given them. but suddenly into the focus of the cameras ran a barefooted urchin waving a newspaper. this was the alectrion company's smartest "kid" actor and a favorite wherever his tousled head, freckled face, and wide grin appeared on the screen. he plunged right at mother paisley and thrust the paper into her hand, while he pointed at a certain place on the front page. "read _that_, ma bassett!" cried the news vender. mrs. paisley gave expression first to wonder, then utter amazement, as she read the item ruth had had inserted in this particular "edition" of the _harpoon_. she was a fine old actress and her facial registering of emotion was a marvel. mr. hooley had seldom to advise her. now his voice was heard above the clack of the cameras: "pass it to the lady at your left. that's it! cling to the paper. get your heads together--three of you now!" the amateur players looked at each other and began to grin. the scene promised to be as big a "fizzle" as the one shot the previous day. but the woman next to mrs. paisley, after looking carelessly at the paper, of a sudden came to life. she seized the _harpoon_ with both hands, fairly snatching it out of the actress' hands. she was too startled to be polite. "what under the canopy is this here?" she sputtered. she was a small, wiry, vigorous woman, and she had an expressive, if a vinegary, face. she rose from her seat and forgot all about her "play-acting." "what d'you think it says here?" she demanded of her sister-members of the ladies' aid. "sh!" "ella painter, you're a-bustin' up the show!" admonished a motherly old person at the end of the table. but mrs. painter did not notice these hushed remarks. she read the item in the paper aloud--and so extravagantly did she mouth the astonishing words that ruth feared they might be read on her lips when shown on the screen. "listen!" mrs. painter cried. "right at the top of the marriage notices! 'garside--smythe. at perleyvale, maine, on august twenty-second, the reverend elton garside, of herringport, and miss amy smythe, of perleyvale.' what do you know about that?" the gasp of amazement that went up from the women of the herringport union church was almost a chorus of anguish. the paper was snatched from hand to hand. nobody could accuse the amateurs now of being "wooden." not until mrs. paisley in the character of _ma bassett_, at the signal from mr. hooley, fell back in her chair, exclaiming: "my mercy me! luella sprague and the teacher! who'd have thought it?" did the company in general suspect that something had been "put over on them." "all right! all right!" shouted jim hooley in high delight, stopping his camera men. "that's fine! it's great! miss fielding, your scheme worked like a charm." the members of the sewing circle began to ask questions. "do you mean to say this is in the play?" demanded mrs. ella painter, waving the newspaper and inclined to be indignant. "yes, mrs. painter. that marriage notice is just a joke," the director told her. "it certainly gave you ladies a start and---well, wait till you see this scene on the screen!" "but ain't it _so_?" cried another. "why, mr. garside---why! it's in the _harpoon_." "but you won't find it in another _harpoon_," laughed the director, recovering possession of the newspaper. "it's only a joke. but i positively had to give you ladies a real shock or we'd never have got this scene right." "well, of all the impudence!" began mrs. painter. however, she joined in the laughter a minute later. at best, the women had won from mr. hammond enough money to pay for the painting of their church edifice, and they were willing to sacrifice their dignity for that. chapter xix counterclaims "i declare, ruth! that was a ridiculous thing to do," exclaimed helen, when they were on their way back to the point. "but it certainly brought the sewing circle women all up standing." "i've been wondering all day what ruth was up to," said tom, who was steering the big car. "i was in on it without understanding her game." "well, it was just what the directer needed," chuckled jennie. "oh, it takes our ruth to do things." "i wonder?" sighed the girl of the red mill, in no responsive mood. she had something very unpleasant before her that she felt she must do, and nothing could raise her spirits. she did not speak to anybody about the hermit's scenario. she waited for mr. hammond to express his opinion of it. at the camp she found a letter for her from the doctor's wife who had promised to keep her informed regarding arabella montague fitzmaurice pike. that young person was doing well and getting fat at the perkins' farm. but mrs. holmes was quite sure that she had not heard from her father. "you've got another half-orphan on your hands, ruth," said helen. she made it a point always to object to ruth's charities. "i don't believe that man will ever show up again. if he went away with a medicine show----" "no, no," said ruth firmly. "no child would ever respect and love her father as bella does if he was not good to her. he will turn up." just then tom called from outside the door of the girls' shack. "what say to a moonlight dip off the point?" he asked. "the tide is not very low. and i missed my splash this morning." "we're with you, tommy," responded his sister. "wait till we get into bathing suits." even ruth was enthusiastic--to a degree--over this. in twenty minutes they were running up the beach with tom and henri toward the end of the point. "let's go over and get the surf," suggested jennie. "i do love surf bathing. all you have to do is to bob up and down in one place." "heavy is lazy even in her sport," scoffed helen. "but i'm game for the rough stuff." they crossed the neck of land near the hermit's hut. there was a hard beach almost in front of the hut, and up this the breakers rolled and foamed delightfully. the so-called hermit, hearing their voices, came out and sat on a rock to watch them. but he did not offer to speak until ruth went over to him. "mr. hammond let me read your script, john," she said coldly. "indeed?" he rejoined without emotion. "where did you get the idea for that scenario?" he tapped his head with a long forefinger. "right inside of that skull. i do my own thinking," he said. "you did not have any help about it? you originated the idea of 'plain mary?'" he nodded. "you ain't the only person who can write a picture," he observed. "and i think that this one they are filming for you is silly." ruth stared down at him, but said nothing more. she was ready to go back to camp as soon as the others would, and she remained very silent. mr. hammond had been asking for her, miss loder said. when ruth had got into something more presentable than a wet bathing suit, she went to his office. "what do you know about this?" he demanded in plain amazement. "this story the old man gave me to read is a wonder! it is one of the best ideas i ever saw for the screen. of course, it needs fixing up a bit, but it's great! what did you think of it, miss ruth?" "i am glad you like it, mr. hammond," she said, steadying her voice with difficulty. "i do like it, i assure you." "it is _my_ story, mr. hammond!" she exclaimed. "it is the very scenario that was stolen from me at home. he's just changed the names of the characters and given it a different title, and spoiled some of the scenes. but a large part of it is copied word for word from my manuscript!" "miss fielding!" gasped the president of the alectrion film corporation. "i am telling you the truth," ruth cried, rather wildly, it must be confessed, and then she broke down and wept. "my goodness! it can't be possible! you--you've let your mind dwell upon your loss so much----" "do you think i am crazy?" she demanded, flaring up at him, her anger drying her tears. "certainly not," he returned gently; yet he looked at her oddly. "but mistakes have been made----" "mistakes, indeed! it is no mistake when i recognize my own work." "but--but how could this old man have stolen your work--and away back there at the red mill? i believe he has lived here on the point for years. at least, every summer." "then somebody else stole it and he got the script from them. i tell you it is mine!" cried ruth. "miss fielding! let us be calm----" "you would not be calm if you discovered somebody trying to make use of something you had originated, and calling it theirs--no you wouldn't, mr. hammond!" "but it seems impossible," he said weakly. "that old man is an actor--an old-school actor. you can see that easily enough," she declared. "there was such a person about the red mill the day my script was lost. oh, it's plain enough." "not so plain, miss ruth," said mr. hammond firmly. "and you must not make wild accusations. that will do no good--and may do harm in the end. it does not seem probable to me that this old hermit could have actually stolen your story. a longshore character like him----" "he's not!" cried ruth. "don't you see that he is playing a part? he is no fisherman. no longshore character, as you call him, would be as afraid of the sea as he is. he is playing a part--and he plays it just as well as the parts mr. hooley gives him to play." "jove! there may be something in that," murmured the manager. "he got my script some way, i tell you!" declared ruth. "i am not going to let anybody maul my story and put it over as his own. no, sir!" "but--but, miss ruth!" exclaimed mr. hammond. "how are you going to prove what you say is true?" "prove it?" "yes. you see, the burden of proof must be on you." "but--but don't you believe me?" she murmured. "does it matter what i believe?" he asked her gently. "remember, this man has entrusted me with a manuscript that he says is original. at least it is written in his own hand. i cannot go back of that unless you have some means of proof that his story is your story. who did you tell about your plot, and how you worked it out? did you read the finished manuscript--or any part of it--to any person who can corroborate your statements?" "oh, mr. hammond!" she cried, with sudden anguish in her voice. "not a soul! never to a single, solitary person. the girls, nor aunt alvirah, nor tom----" she broke down again and he could not soothe her. she wept with abandon, and mr. hammond was really anxious for her. he went to the door, whistled for one of the boys, and sent for mrs. paisley. but ruth recovered her composure--to a degree, at least--before the motherly old actress came. "don't tell anybody! don't tell anybody!" she sobbed to mr. hammond. "they will think i am crazy! i haven't a word of proof. only my word----" "against his," said the manager gravely. "i would accept your word, miss ruth, against the world! but we must have some proof before we deliberately accuse this old man of robbing you." "yes, yes. i see. i will be patient--if i can." "the thing to do is to find out who this hermit really is," said mr. hammond. "through discovering his private history we may put our finger on the thing that will aid you with proof. good-night, my dear. try to get calm again." chapter xx the grill ruth did not go back to her chums until, under mother paisley's comforting influence, she had recovered a measure of her self-possession. the old actress asked no questions as to the cause of ruth's state of mind. she had seen too many hysterical girls to feel that the cause of her patient's breakdown was at all important. "you just cry all you want to, deary. right here on mother paisley's shoulder. crying will do you good. it is the good lord's way of giving us women an outlet for all our troubles. when the last tear is squeezed out much of the pain goes with it." ruth was not ordinarily a crying girl. she had wept more of late, beginning with that day at the red mill when her scenario manuscript had been stolen, than in all her life before. her tears were now in part an expression of anger and indignation. she was as mad as she could be at this man who called himself "john, the hermit." for, whether he was the person who had actually stolen her manuscript, he very well knew that his scenario offered to mr. hammond was not original with him. the worst of it was, he had mangled her scenario. ruth could look upon it in no other way. his changes had merely muddied the plot and cheapened her main idea. she could not forgive that! the other girls were drowsy when ruth kissed mother paisley good-night and entered the small shack. she was glad to escape any interrogation. by morning she had gained control of herself, but her eyes betrayed the fact that she had not slept. "you certainly do not look as though you were enjoying yourself down here," tom cameron said to her at breakfast time, and with suspicion. "maybe we did come to the wrong place for our vacation after all. how about it, ruth? shall we start off in the cars again and seek pastures new?" "not now, tom," she told him, hastily. "i must stay right here." "why?" "because----" "that is no sensible reason." "let me finish," she said rather crossly. "because i must see what sort of scenario mr. hammond finds--if he finds any--in this contest." "humph! and you said you and scenarios were done forever! i fancy mr. hammond is taking advantage of your good nature." "he is not." "you are positively snappish, ruth," complained tom. "you've changed your mind----" "isn't that a girl's privilege?" "very well, miladi!" he said, with a deep bow as they rose from the table. "however, you need not give all your attention to these prize stories, need you? let's do something besides follow these sun-worshippers around to-day." "all right, tommy-boy," acclaimed his sister. "what do you suggest?" "a run along the coast to reef harbor where there are a lot of folks we know," tom promptly replied. "not in that old _tocsin_," cried jennie. "she's so small i can't take off my sweater without tipping her over." "oh, what a whopper!" gasped helen. "never mind," grinned her twin. "let jennie run to the superlatives if she likes. anyway, i would not dream of going so far as the harbor in that dinky little _tocsin_. i've got my eye on just the craft, and i can get her over here in an hour by telephoning to the port. it's the _stazy_." "goody!" exclaimed jennie stone. "that big blue yacht! and she's got a regular crew--and everything. aunty won't be afraid to go with us in her." "that's fine, tom," said his sister with appreciation. even ruth seemed to take some interest. but she suggested: "be sure there is gasoline enough, tom. that _stazy_ doesn't spread a foot of canvas, and we are not likely to find a gas station out there in the ocean, the way we did in the hills of massachusetts." "don't fear, miss fidget," he rejoined. "are you all game?" they were. the girls went to "doll up," to quote the slangy tom, for reef harbor was one of the most fashionable of maine coast resorts and the knockabout clothing they had been wearing at beach plum point would never do at the harbor hotels. the _stazy_ was a comfortable and fast motor-yacht. as to her sea-worthiness even tom could not say, but she looked all right. and to the eyes of the members of ruth fielding's party there was no threat of bad weather. so why worry about the pleasure-craft's balance and her ability to sail the high seas? "it is only a short run, anyway," tom said. as for colonel marchand, he had not the first idea about ships or sailing. he admitted that only continued fair weather and a smooth sea had kept him on deck coming over from france with jennie and helen. at the present time he and jennie stone were much too deeply engrossed in each other to think of anything but their own two selves. in a fortnight now, both the frenchman and tom would have to return to the battle lines. and they were, deep in their hearts, eager to go back; for they did not dream at this time that the german navy would revolt, that the high command and the army had lost their morale, and that the end of the great war was near. within tom's specified hour the party got under way, boarding the _stazy_ from a small boat that came to the camp dock for them. it was not until the yacht was gone with ruth fielding and her party that mr. hammond set on foot the investigation he had determined upon the night before. the president of the alectrion film corporation thought a great deal of the girl of the red mill. their friendship was based on something more than a business association. but he knew, too, that after her recent experiences in france and elsewhere, her health was in rather a precarious state. at least, he was quite sure that ruth's nerves were "all out of tune," as he expressed it, and he believed she was not entirely responsible for what she had said. the girl had allowed her mind to dwell so much upon that scenario she had lost that it might be she was not altogether clear upon the subject. mr. hammond had talked with tom about the robbery at the red mill, and it looked to the moving picture producer as though there might be some considerable doubt of ruth's having been robbed at all. in that terrific wind and rain storm almost anything might have blown away. tom admitted he had seen a barrel sailing through the air at the height of the storm. "why couldn't the papers and note books have been caught up by a gust of wind and carried into the river?" mr. hammond asked himself. "the river was right there, and it possesses a strong current." the president of the alectrion film corporation knew the lumano, and the vicinity of the red mill as well. it seemed to him very probable that the scenario had been lost. and the gold-mounted fountain pen? why, that might have easily rolled down a crack in the summer-house floor. the whole thing was a matter so fortuitous that mr. hammond could not accept ruth's version of theut some doubt, in any case. and then, her suddenly finding in the only good scenario submitted to him by any of his company, one that she believed was plagiarized from her lost story, seemed to put a cap on the whole matter. ruth might be just a little "off soundings," as the fishermen about herringport would say. mr. hammond was afraid that she had been carried into a situation of mind where suspicion took the place of certainty. she had absolutely nothing with which to corroborate her statement. nobody had seen ruth's scenario nor had she discussed the plot with any person. secrecy necessary to the successful production of anything new in the line of picture plays was all right. mr. hammond advised it. but in this case it seemed that the scenario writer had been altogether too secret. had ruth not chanced to read the hermit's script before making her accusation, mr. hammond would have felt differently. better, had she been willing to relate to him in the first place the story of the plot of her scenario and how she had treated it, her present accusation might have seemed more reasonable. but, having read the really good story scrawled on the scraps of brown paper that john, the hermit, had put in the manager's hands, the girl had suddenly claimed the authorship of the story. there was nothing to prove her claim. it looked dubious at the best. john, the hermit, was a grim old man. no matter whether he was some old actor hiding away here on beach plum point or not, he was not a man to give up easily anything that he had once said was his. the manager was far too wise to accuse the hermit openly, as ruth had accused him. they would not get far with the old fellow that way, he was sure. first of all he called the company together and asked if there were any more scenarios to be submitted. "no," being the answer, he told them briefly that out of the twenty-odd stories he had accepted one that might be whipped into shape for filming--and one only. each story submitted had been numbered and the number given to its author. the scripts could now be obtained by the presentation of the numbers. he did not tell them which number had proved successful. nor did he let it be known that he proposed to try to film the hermit's production. mr. hooley was using old john on this day in a character part. for these "types" the director usually paid ten or fifteen dollars a day; but john was so successful in every part he was given that mr. hooley always paid him an extra five dollars for his work. money seemed to make no difference in the hermit's appearance, however. he wore just as shabby clothing and lived just as plainly as he had when the picture company had come on to the lot. when work was over for the day, hooley sent the old man to mr. hammond's office. the president of the company invited the hermit into his shack and gave him a seat. he scrutinized the man sharply as he thus greeted him. it was quite true that the hermit did not wholly fit the character he assumed as a longshore waif. in the first place, his skin was not tanned to the proper leathery look. his eyes were not those of a man used to looking off over the sea. his hands were too soft and unscarred for a sailor's. he had never pulled on ropes and handled an oar! now that ruth fielding had suggested that his character was a disguise, mr. hammond saw plainly that she must be right. as he was a good actor of other parts before the camera, so he was a good actor in his part of "hermit." "how long have you lived over there on the point, john?" asked mr. hammond carelessly. "a good many years, sir, in summer." "how did you come to live there first?" "i wandered down this way, found the hut empty, turned to and fixed it up, and stayed on." he said it quite simply and without the first show of confusion. but this tale of his occupancy of the seaside hut he had repeated frequently, as mr. hammond very well knew. "where do you go in the winter, john?" the latter asked. "to where it's a sight warmer. i don't have to ask anybody where i shall go," and now the man's tone was a trifle defiant. "i would like to know something more about you," mr. hammond said, quite frankly. "i may be able to do something with your story. we like to know about the person who submits a scenario----" "that don't go!" snapped the hermit grimly. "you offered five hundred for a story you could use. if you can use mine, i want the five hundred. and i don't aim to give you the history of my past along with the story. it's nobody's business what or who i am, or where i came from, or where i am going." "hoity-toity!" exclaimed mr. hammond. "you are quite sudden, aren't you? now, just calm yourself. i haven't got to take your scenario and pay you five hundred dollars for it----" "then somebody else will," said the hermit, getting up. "ah! you are quite sure you have a good story here, are you?" "i know i have." "and how do you know so much?" sharply demanded the moving picture magnate. "i've seen enough of this thing you are doing, now--this 'seaside idyl' stuff--to know that mine is a hundred per cent. better," sneered the hermit. "whew! you've a good opinion of your story, haven't you?" asked mr. hammond. "did you ever write a scenario before?" "what is that to you?" returned the other. "i don't get you at all, mr. hammond. all this cross-examination----" "that will do now!" snapped the manager. "i am not obliged to take your story. you can try it elsewhere if you like," and he shoved the newspaper-wrapped package toward the end of his desk and nearer the hermit's hand. "i tell you frankly that i won't take any story without knowing all about the author. there are too many comebacks in this game." "what do you mean?" demanded the other stiffly. "i don't _know_ that your story is original. frankly, i have some doubt about that very point." the old man did not change color at all. his gray eyes blazed and he was not at all pleasant looking. but the accusation did not seem to surprise him. "are you trying to get it away from me for less than you offered?" he demanded. "you are an old man," said mr. hammond hotly, "and that lets you get away with such a suggestion as that without punishment. i begin to believe that there is something dead wrong with you, john--or whatever your name is." he drew back the packet of manuscript, opened a drawer, put it within, and locked the drawer. "i'll think this over a little longer," he said grimly. "at least, until you are willing to be a little more communicative about yourself. i would be glad to use your story with some fixing up, if i was convinced you really wrote it all. but you have got to show me--or give me proper references." "give me back the scenario, then!" exclaimed the old man, his eyes blazing hotly. "no. not yet. i can take my time in deciding upon the manuscripts submitted in this contest. you will have to wait until i decide," said mr. hammond, waving the man out of his office. chapter xxi a hermit for revenue only the bays and inlets of the coast of maine have the bluest water dotted by the greenest islands that one can imagine. and such wild and romantic looking spots as some of these islands are! just at this time, too, a particular tang of romance was in the air. the germans had threatened to devastate our atlantic coast from eastport to key west with a flock of submersibles. there actually were a few submarines lurking about the pathways of our coastwise shipping; but, as usual, the hun's boast came to naught. the young people on the _stazy_ scarcely expected to see a german periscope during the run to reef harbor. yet they did not neglect watching out for something of the kind. skipper phil gordon, a young man with one arm but a full and complete knowledge of this coast and how to coax speed out of a gasoline engine, ordered his "crew" of one boy to remain sharply on the lookout, as well. the _stazy_ did not, however, run far outside. the high and rocky headland that marked the entrance to reef harbor came into view before they had more than dropped the hazy outline of beach plum point astern. but until they rounded the promontory and entered the narrow inlet to reef harbor the town and the summer colony was entirely invisible. "if a german sub should stick its nose in here," sighed helen, "it would make everybody ashore get up and dust. don't you think so?" "is it the custom to do so when the enemy, he arrive?" asked colonel marchand, to whom the idiomatic speech of the yankee was still a puzzle. "sure!" replied tom, grinning. "sure, henri! these new england women would clean house, no matter what catastrophe arrived." "oh, don't suggest such horrid possibilities," cried jennie. "and they are only fooling you, henri." "look yonder!" exclaimed captain tom, waving an instructive hand. "behold! let the kaiser's underseas boat come. that little tin lizzie of the sea is ready for it. depth bombs and all!" the grim looking drab submarine chaser lay at the nearest dock, the faint spiral of smoke rising from her stack proclaiming that she was ready for immediate work. there was a tower, too, on the highest point on the headland from which a continual watch was kept above the town. "o-o-oh!" gurgled jennie, snuggling up to henri. "suppose one of those german subs shelled the movie camp back there on beach plum point!" "they would likely spoil a perfectly good picture, then," said helen practically. "think of ruthie's 'seaside idyl!'. "oh, say!" helen went on. "they tell me that old hermit has submitted a story in the contest. what do you suppose it is like, ruth?" the girl of the red mill was sitting beside aunt kate. she flushed when she said: "why shouldn't he submit one?" "but that hermit isn't quite right in his head, is he?" demanded ruth's chum. "i don't know that it is his head that is wrong," murmured ruth, shaking her own head doubtfully. here jennie broke in. "is auntie letting you read her story, ruth?" she asked slyly. "now, jennie stone!" exclaimed their chaperon, blushing. "well, you are writing one. you know you are," laughed her niece. "i--i am just trying to see if i can write such a story," stammered aunt kate. "well, i am sure you could make up a better scenario than that old grouch of a hermit," helen declared, warmly. ruth did not add anything to this discussion. what she had discovered regarding the hermit's scenario was of too serious a nature to be publicly discussed. her interview the evening before with mr. hammond regarding the matter had left ruth in a most uncertain frame of mind. she did not know what to do about the stolen scenario. she shrank from telling even helen or tom of her discovery. to tell the truth, mr. hammond's seeming doubt--not of her truthfulness but of her wisdom--had shaken the girl's belief in herself. it was a strange situation, indeed. she thought of the woman she had found wandering about the mountain in the storm who had lost control of both her nerves and her mind, and ruth wondered if it could be possible that she, too, was on the verge of becoming a nervous wreck. had she deceived herself about this hermit's story? had she allowed her mind to dwell on her loss until she was quite unaccountable for her mental decisions? to tell the truth, this thought frightened the girl of the red mill a little. practical as ruth fielding ordinarily was, she must confess that the shock she had received when the hospital in france was partly wrecked, an account of which is given in "ruth fielding homeward bound," had shaken the very foundations of her being. she shuddered even now when she thought of what she had been through in france and on the voyage coming back to america. she realized that even tom and helen looked at her sometimes when she spoke of her lost scenario in a most peculiar way. was it a fact that she had allowed her loss to unbalance--well, her judgment? suppose she was quite wrong about that scenario the hermit had submitted to mr. hammond? the thought frightened her! at least, she had nothing to say upon the puzzling subject, not even to her best and closest friends. she was sorry indeed two hours later when they were at lunch on the porch of the reef harbor house with some of the camerons' friends that helen brought the conversation around again to the beach plum point "hermit." "a _real_ hermit?" cried cora grimsby, a gay, blonde, irresponsible little thing, but with a heart of gold. "and is he a hermit for revenue only, too?" "what do you mean by that?" helen demanded. "why, we have a hermit here, you see. over on reef island itself. if you give us a sail in your motor yacht after lunch i'll introduce our hermit to you. but you must buy something of him, or otherwise 'cross his palm with silver.' he told me one day that he was not playing a nut for summer folks to laugh at just for the good of his health." "frank, i must say," laughed tom cameron. "i guess he's been in the hermit business before," said cora, sparkling at tom in his uniform. "but this is his first season at the harbor." "i wonder if he belongs to the hermit's union and carries a union card," suggested jennie stone soberly. "i don't think we should patronize non-union hermits." "goody!" cried cora, clapping her hands. "let's ask him." ruth said nothing. she rather wished she might get out of the trip to reef island without offending anybody. but that seemed impossible. she really had seen all the hermits she cared to see! she could not, however, be morose and absent-minded in a party of which cora grimsby and jennie stone were the moving spirits. it was a gay crowd that crossed the harbor in the _stazy_ to land at a roughly built dock under the high bluff of the wooded island. "there's the hermit!" cora cried, as they landed. "see him sitting on the rock before the door of his cabin?" "right on the job," suggested tom. "no unlucky city fly shall escape that spider's web," cried jennie. he was a patriarchal looking man. his beard swept his breast. he wore shabby garments, was barefooted, and carried a staff as though he were lame or rheumatic. "dresses the part much better than our hermit does," helen said, in comment. the man met the party from the _stazy_ with a broad smile that displayed a toothless cavity of a mouth. his red-rimmed eyes were moist looking, not to say bleary. ruth smelled a distinct alcoholic odor on his breath. a complete drouth had evidently not struck this part of the state of maine. "good day to ye!" said the hermit. "some o' you young folks i ain't never seed before." "they are my friends," cora hastened to explain, "and they come from beach plum point." "do tell! if you air goin' back to-night, better make a good v'y'ge of it. we're due for a blow, i allow. you folks ain't stoppin' right on the p'int, be ye?" ruth, to whom he addressed this last question, answered that they were, and explained that there was a large camp there this season, and why. "wal, wal! i want to know! somebody did say something to me about a gang of movin' picture folks comin' there; but i reckoned they was a-foolin' me." "there is a good sized party of us," acknowledged ruth. "wal, wal! mebbe that fella i let my shack to will make out well, then, after all. warn't no sign of ye on the beach when i left three weeks ago". "did you live there on the point?" asked ruth. "allus do winters. but the pickin's is better over here at the harbor at this time of year." "and the man you left in your place? where is your house on the point?" the hermit "for revenue only" described the hut on the eastern shore in which the other "hermit" lived. ruth became much interested. "tell me," she said, while the others examined the curios the hermit had for sale, "what kind of man is this you left in your house? and who is he?" "law bless ye!" said the old man. "i don't know him from adam's off ox. never seed him afore. but he was trampin' of it; and he didn't have much money. an' to tell you the truth, miss, that hutch of mine ain't wuth much money." she described the man who had been playing the hermit since the alectrion film corporation crowd had come to beach plum point. "that's the fella," said the old man, nodding. ruth stood aside while he waited on his customers and digested these statements regarding the man who claimed the authorship of the scenario of "plain mary." not that ruth would have desired to acknowledge the scenario in its present form. she felt angry every time she thought of how her plot had been mangled. but she was glad to learn all that was known about the beach plum point hermit. and she had learned one most important fact. he was not a regular hermit. as jennie stone suggested, he was not a "union hermit" at all. and he was a stranger to the neighborhood of herringport. if he had been at the point only three weeks, as this old man said, "john, the hermit," might easily have come since ruth's scenario was stolen back there at the red mill! her thoughts began to mill again about this possibility. she wished she was back at the camp so as to put the strange old man through a cross-examination regarding himself an himself and where he had come from. she had no suspicion as to how mr. hammond had so signally failed in this very matter. chapter xxii an arrival mr. hammond was in no placid state of mind himself after the peculiarly acting individual who called himself "john, the hermit," left his office. the very fact that the man refused to tell anything about his personal affairs--who he really was, or where he came from--induced the moving picture producer to believe there must be something wrong about him. mr. hammond went to the door of the shack and watched the man tramping up the beach toward the end of the point. what a dignified stride he had! rather, it was the stride of a poseur--like nothing so much as that of the old-time tragedian, made famous by the henry irving school of actors. "an ancient 'ham' sure enough, just as the boys say," muttered the manager. the so-called hermit disappeared. the moving picture people were gathering for dinner. the sun, although still above the horizon, was dimmed by cloud-banks which were rising steadily to meet clouds over the sea. a wan light played upon the heaving "graybacks" outside the mouth of the harbor. the wind whined among the pines which grew along the ridge of beach plum point. a storm was imminent. just as mr. hammond took note of this and wished that ruth fielding and her party had returned, a snorting automobile rattled along the shell road and halted near the camp. "is this the alectrion film company?" asked a shrill voice. "this is the place, miss," said the driver of the small car. the chauffeur ran his jitney from the railroad station and was known to mr. hammond. the latter went nearer. out of the car stepped a girl--a very young girl to be traveling alone. she was dressed in extreme fashion, but very cheaply. her hair was bobbed and she wore a russian blouse of cheap silk. her skirt was very narrow, her cloth boots very high, and the heels of them were like those of jananese clogs. what with the skimpy skirt and the high heels she could scarcely walk. she was laden with two bags--one an ancient carpet-bag that must have been seventy-five years old, and the other a bright tan one of imitation leather with brass clasps. she wore a coal-scuttle hat pulled down over her eyes so that her face was quite extinguished. altogether her get-up was rather startling. mr. hammond saw jim hooley come out of his tent to stare at the new arrival. she certainly was a "type." there was a certain kind of prettiness about the girl, and aside from her incongruous garments she was not unattractive--when her face was revealed. mr. hammond's interest increased. he approached the spot where the girl had been left by the jitney driver. "you came to see somebody?" he asked kindly. "who is it you wish to see?" "is this the moving picture camp, mister?" she returned. "yes," said the manager, smiling. "are you acquainted with somebody who works here?" "yes. i am arabella montague fitzmaurice," said the girl, with an air that seemed to show that she expected to be recognized when she had recited her name. mr. hammond refrained from open laughter. he only said: "why--that is nice. i am glad to meet you, my dear. who are you looking for?" "i want to see my pa, of course. i guess you know who _he_ is?" "i am not sure that i do, my dear." "you don't--say! who are you?" demanded bella, with some sharpness. "i am only the manager of the company. who is your father, child?" "well, of all the---wouldn't that give you your nevergitovers!" exclaimed bella, in broad amazement. "say! i guess my pa is your leading man." "mr. hasbrouck? impossible!" "never heard of him," said bella, promptly. "montague fitzmaurice, i mean." "and i never heard of him," declared mr. hammond, both puzzled and amused. "what?" gasped the girl, almost stunned by this statement. "maybe you know him as mr. pike. that is our honest-to-goodness name--pike." "i am sorry that you are disappointed, my dear," said the manager kindly. "but don't be worried. if you expected to meet your father here, perhaps he will come later. but really, i have no such person as that on my staff at the present time." "i don't know---why!" cried bella, "he sent me money and said he was working here. i--i didn't tell him i was coming. i just got sick of those perkinses, and i took the money and went to boston and got dressed up, and then came on here. i--i just about spent all the money he sent me to get here." "well, that was perhaps unwise," said mr. hammond. "but don't worry. come along now to mother paisley. she will look out for you--and you can stay with us until your father appears. there is some mistake somewhere." by this speech he warded off tears. bella hastily winked them back and squared her thin shoulders. "all right, sir," she said, picking up the bags again. "pa will make it all right with you. he wrote in his letter as if he had a good engagement." mr. hammond might have learned something further about this surprising girl at the time, but just as he introduced her to mother paisley one of the men came running from the point and hailed him: "mr. hammond! there's a boat in trouble off the point. i think she was making for this harbor. have you got a pair of glasses?" mr. hammond had a fine pair of opera glasses, and he produced them from his desk while he asked: "what kind of boat is it, maxwell?" "looks like that blue motor that miss fielding and her friends went off in this morning. we saw it coming along at top speed. and suddenly it stopped. they can't seem to manage it----" the manager hurried with maxwell along the sands. the sky was completely overcast now, and the wind whipped the spray from the wave tops into their faces. the weather looked dubious indeed, and the manager of the film corporation was worried before even he focused his glasses upon the distant motor-boat. chapter xxiii trouble--plenty even ruth fielding had paid no attention to the warning of the reef island hermit regarding a change in the weather, in spite of the fact that she was anxious to return to the camp near herringport. it was not until the _stazy_ was outside the inlet late in the afternoon that skipper phil gordon noted the threatening signs in sea and sky. "that's how it goes," the one-armed mariner said. "when we aren't dependent on the wind to fill our canvas, we neglect watching every little weather change. she's going to blow by and by." "do you think it will be a real storm?" asked ruth, who sat beside him at the steering wheel and engine, watching how he managed the mechanism. "maybe. but with good luck we will make beach plum point long before it amounts to anything." the long graybacks were rather pleasant to ride over at first. even aunt kate was not troubled by the prospect. it was so short a run to the anchorage behind the point that nobody expressed fear. when the spray began to fly over the bows the girls merely squealed a bit, although they hastily found extra wraps. if the _stazy_ plunged and shipped half a sea now and then, nobody was made anxious. and soon the point was in plain view. to make the run easier, however, skipper gordon had sailed the motor-yacht well out to sea. when he shifted the helm to run for the entrance to the bay, the waves began to slap against the _stazy's_ side. she rolled terrifically and the aspect of affairs was instantly changed. "oh, dear me!" moaned jennie stone. "how do you feel, henri? i did not bargain for this rough stuff, did you? oh!" "'mister captain, stop the ship, i want to get off and walk!'" sang helen gaily. "don't lose all hope, heavy. you'll never sink if you do go overboard." "isn't she mean?" sniffed the plump girl. "and i am only afraid for henri's sake." "i don't like this for my own sake," murmured aunt kate. "are you cold, dear?" her niece asked, with quick sympathy. "here! i don't really need this cape with my heavy sweater." she removed the heavy cloth garment from her own shoulders and with a flirt sought to place it around aunt kate. the wind swooped down just then with sudden force. the _stazy_ rolled to leeward. "oh! stop it!" bulging under pressure of the wind, the cape flew over the rail. jennie tried to clutch it again; henri plunged after it, too. colliding, the two managed between them to miss the garment altogether. it dropped into the water just under the rail. "of all the clumsy fingers!" ejaculated helen. but she could not seize the wrap, although she darted for it. nor could ruth help, she being still farther forward. "now, you've done it!" complained aunt kate. the boat began to rise on another roller. the cape was sucked out of sight under the rail. the next moment the whirling propeller was stopped--so abruptly that the _stazy_ shook all over. "oh! what has happened?" shrieked helen. ruth started up, and tom seized her arm to steady her. but the girl of the red mill did not express any fear. the shock did not seem to affect her so much as it did the other girls. here was a real danger, and ruth did not lose her self-possession. phil gordon had shut off the power, and the motor-boat began to swing broadside to the rising seas. "the propeller is broken!" cried tom. "she's jammed. that cape!" gasped the one-armed skipper. "here! tend to this till i see what can be done. jack!" he shouted to his crew. "this way--lively, now!" but ruth slipped into his place before tom could do so. "i know how to steer, tommy," she declared. "and i understand the engine. give him a hand if he needs you." "oh, we'll turn turtle!" shrieked jennie, as the boat rolled again. "you'll never become a turtle, jen," declared tom, plunging aft. "turtles are dumb!" the _stazy_ was slapped by a big wave, "just abaft the starboard bow," to be real nautical, and half a ton of sea-water washed over the forward deck and spilled into the standing-room of the craft. henri had wisely closed the door of the cabin. the water foamed about their feet. ruth found herself knee deep for a moment in this flood. she whirled the wheel over, trying to bring up the head of the craft to meet the next wave. "oh, my dear!" groaned jennie stone. "we are going to be drowned." "drowned, your granny!" snapped helen angrily. "don't be such a silly, jennie." ruth stood at the wheel with more apparent calmness than any of them. her hair had whipped out of its fastenings and streamed over her shoulders. her eyes were bright and her cheeks aglow. helen, staring at her, suddenly realized that this was the old ruth fielding. her chum had not looked so much alive, so thoroughly competent and ready for anything, before for weeks. "why--why, ruthie!" helen murmured, "i believe you like this." her chum did not hear the words, but she suddenly flashed helen a brilliant smile. "keep up your pluck, child!" she shouted. "we'll come out all right." again the _stazy_ staggered under the side swipe of a big wave. "ye-ow!" yelped tom in the stern, almost diving overboard. "steady!" shouted skipper gordon, excitedly. "steady she is, captain!" rejoined ruth fielding, and actually laughed. "how can you, ruth?" complained jennie, clinging to henri marchand. "and when we are about to drown." "weeping will not save us," flung back ruth. her strong hands held the wheel-spokes with a grip unbreakable. she could force the _stazy's_ head to the seas. "can you start the engine on the reverse, miss?" bawled gordon. "i can try!" flashed ruth. "say when." in a moment the cry came: "ready!" "aye, aye!" responded ruth, spinning the flywheel. the spark caught almost instantly. the exhaust sputtered. "now!" yelled the skipper. ruth threw the lever. the boat trembled like an automobile under the propulsion of the engine. the propeller shaft groaned. "ye-ow!" shouted the excited tom again. this time he sprawled back into the bottom of the boat, tearing away a good half of jennie's cape in his grip. the rest of the garment floated to the surface. it was loose from the propeller. "full speed ahead!" shouted the one-armed captain of the motor-boat. ruth obeyed the command. the _stazy_ staggered into the next wave. the water that came in over her bow almost drowned them, but ruth, hanging to the steering wheel, brought the craft through the roller without swamping her. "good for our ruth!" shouted helen, as soon as she could get her breath. "oh, ruth! you always come to our rescue," declared jennie gratefully. "hi! i thought you were a nervous wreck, young lady," tom sputtered, scrambling forward to relieve her. "get you into a tight corner, and you show what you are made of, all right." the girl of the red mill smiled at them. she had done something! nor did she feel at all overcome by the effort. the danger through which they had passed had inspired rather than frightened her. "why, i'm all right," she told tom when he reached her. "this is great! we'll be behind the shelter of the point in a few minutes. there's nothing to worry about." "you're all right, ruth," tom repeated, admiringly. "i thought you'd lost your grip, but i see you haven't. you are the same old ruthie fielding, after all." chapter xxiv about "plain mary" mr. hammond and the actors with him had no idea of the nature of the accident that had happened to the _stazy_. from the extreme end of beach plum point they could merely watch proceedings aboard the craft, and wonder what it was all about. the manager could, however, see through his glasses that ruth fielding was at the wheel. her face came out clear as a cameo when he focused the opera glasses upon her. and at the change in the girl's expression he marveled. those ashore could do nothing to aid the party on the motor-yacht; and until it got under way again mr. hammond was acutely anxious. it rolled so that he expected it to turn keel up at almost any moment. before the blasts of rain began to sweep across the sea, however, the _stazy_ was once more under control. at that most of the spectators made for the camp and shelter. but the manager of the film corporation waited to see the motor-yacht inside the shelter of beach plum point. the rain was falling heavily, and not merely in gusts, when ruth and her friends came ashore in the small boat. the lamps were lit and dinner was over at the main camp. therefore the automobile touring party failed to see bella pike or hear about her arrival. by this time the girl had gone off to the main dormitory with mother paisley, and even mr. hammond did not think of her. nor did the manager speak that evening to ruth about the hermit's scenario or his interview with the old man regarding it. the three girls and aunt kate changed their clothing in the little shack and then joined the young men in the dining room for a late supper. aunt kate was to stay this night at the camp. there was a feeling of much thankfulness in all their hearts over their escape from what might have been a serious accident. "providence was good to us," said aunt kate. "i hope we are all properly grateful." "and properly proud of ruthie!" exclaimed helen, squeezing her chum's hand. "don't throw too many bouquets," laughed ruth. "it was not i that tore jennie's cape out of the propeller. i merely obeyed the skipper's orders." "she is a regular cheerful grig again, isn't she?" demanded jennie, beaming on ruth. "i have been a wet blanket on this party long enough. i just begin to realize how very unpleasant i have been----" "not that, mademoiselle!" objected henri. "but yes! hereafter i will be cheerful. life is worth living after all!" tom, who sat next to her at table (he usually managed to do that) smiled at ruth approvingly. "bravo!" he whispered. "there are other scenarios to write." "tom!" she whispered sharply, "i want to tell you something about that." "about what?" "my scenario." "you don't mean----" "i mean i know what has become of it." "never!" gasped tom. "are you--are--you----" "i am not '_non compos_,' and-so-forth," laughed ruth. "oh, there is nothing foolish about this, tom. let me tell you." she spoke in so low a tone that the others could not have heard had they desired to. she and tom put their heads together and within the next few minutes ruth had told him all about the hermit's scenario and her conviction that he had stolen his idea and a large part of his story from ruth's lost manuscript. "it seems almost impossible, ruth," gasped her friend. "no. not impossible or improbable. listen to what that man on reef island told me about this hermit, so-called." and she repeated it all to the excited tom. "i am convinced," pursued ruth, "that this hermit could easily have been in the vicinity of the red mill on the day my manuscript disappeared." "but to prove it!" cried tom. "we'll see about that," said ruth confidently. "you know, ben told us he had seen and spoken to a tramp-actor that day. uncle jabez saw him, too. and you, tom, followed his trail to the cheslow railroad yards." "so i did," admitted her friend. "i believe," went on ruth earnestly, "that this man who came here to live on beach plum point only three weeks ago, is that very vagrant. it is plain that this fellow is playing the part of a hermit, just as he plays the parts mr. hooley casts him for." "whew!" whistled tom. "almost do you convince me, ruth fielding. but to prove it is another thing." "we _will_ prove it. if this man was at the red mill on that particular day, we can make sure of the fact." "how will you do it, ruth?" "by getting one of the camera men to take a 'still' of the hermit, develop it for us, and send the negative to ben. he and uncle jabez must remember how that traveling actor looked----" "hurrah!" exclaimed tom, jumping up to the amazement of the rest of the party. "that's a bully idea." "what is it?" demanded helen. "let us in on it, too." but ruth shook her head and tom calmed down. "can't tell the secret yet," helen's twin declared. "that would spoil it." "oh! a surprise! i love surprises," said jennie stone. "i don't. not when my chum and my brother have a secret from me and won't let me in on it," and helen turned her back upon them in apparent indignation. after that ruth and tom discussed the matter with more secrecy. ruth said in conclusion: "if he was there at the mill the day my story was stolen, and now submits this scenario to mr. hammond--and it is merely a re-hash of mine, tom, i assure you----" "of course i believe you, ruth," rejoined the young fellow. "mr. hammond should be convinced, too," said the girl. but there was a point that tom saw very clearly and which ruth fielding did not seem to appreciate. she still had no evidence to corroborate her claim that the hermit's story of "plain mary" was plagiarized from her manuscript. for, after all, nobody but ruth herself knew what her scenario had been like! chapter xxv lifting the curtain ruth slept peacefully and awoke the next morning in a perfectly serene frame of mind. she was quite as convinced as ever that she had been robbed of her scenario; and she was, as well, sure that "john, the hermit," had produced his picture play from her manuscript. but ruth no longer felt anxious and excited about it. she clearly saw her way to a conclusion of the matter. if the old actor was identified by ben and uncle jabez as the tramp they had seen and conversed with, the girl of the red mill was pretty sure she would get the best of the thief. in the first place she considered her idea and her scenario worth much more than five hundred dollars. if by no other means, she would buy the hermit's story at the price mr. hammond was willing to pay for it--and a little more if necessary. and if possible she would force the old actor to hand over to her the script that she had lost. thus was her mind made up, and she approached the matter in all cheerfulness. she had said nothing to anybody but tom, and she did not see him early in the morning. one of the stewards brought the girls' breakfast to the shack; so they knew little of what went on about the camp at that time. the rain had ceased. the storm had passed on completely. soon after breakfast ruth saw the man who called himself "john, the hermit," making straight for mr. hammond's office. that was where ruth wished to be. she wanted to confront the man before the president of the film corporation. she started over that way and ran into the most surprising incident! coming out of the cook tent with a huge apron enveloping her queer, tight dress and tilting forward upon her high heels, appeared bella pike! ruth fielding might have met somebody whose presence here would have surprised her more, but at the moment she could not imagine who it could be. "ara-bella!" gasped ruth. the child turned to stare her own amazement. she changed color, too, for she knew she had done wrong to run away; but she smiled with both eyes and lips, for she was glad to see ruth. "my mercy!" she ejaculated. "if it ain't miss fielding! how-do, miss fielding? ain't it enough to give one their nevergitovers to see you here?" "and how do you suppose i feel to find you here at beach plum point," demanded ruth, "when we all thought you were so nicely fixed with mr. and mrs. perkins? and mrs. holmes wrote to me only the other day that you seemed contented." "that's right, miss fielding," sighed the actor's child. "i was. and miz perkins was always nice to me. nothing at all like aunt suse timmins. but, you see, they ain't like pa." "did your father bring you here?" "no'm." "nor send for you?" "not exactly," confessed bella. "well!" "you see, he sent me money. only on tuesday. forty dollars." "forty dollars! and to a child like you?" "well, miss fielding, if he had sent it to aunt suse i'd never have seen a penny of it. and pa didn't know what you'd done for me and how you'd put me with miz perkins." "i suppose that is so," admitted the surprised ruth. "but why did you come here?" "'cause pa wrote he had an engagement here. i came through boston, an' got me a dress, and some shoes, and a hat--all up to date--and i thought i'd surprise pa----" "but, bella! i haven't seen your father here, have i?" "no. there's a mistake somehow. but this nice miz paisley says for me not to worry. that like enough pa will come here yet." "i never!" ejaculated ruth. "come right along with me, bella, and see mr. hammond. something must be done. of course, mrs. perkins and the doctor's wife have no idea where you have gone?" "oh, yes'm. i left a note telling 'em i'd gone to meet pa." "but we must send them a message that you are all right. come on, bella!" and with her arm about the child's thin shoulders, ruth urged her to mr. hammond's office--and directly into her father's arms! this was how arabella montague fitzmaurice pike came to meet her father--in a most amazing fashion! "pa! i never did!" half shrieked the queer child. "arabella! here? how strange!" observed the man who had been acting the part of the beach plum point hermit. "my child!" mr. pike could do nothing save in a dramatic way. he seized bella and hugged her to his bosom in a most stagy manner. but ruth saw that the man's gray eyes were moist, that his hands when he seized the girl really trembled, and he kissed bella with warmth. "i declare!" exclaimed mr. hammond. "so your name is something-or-other-fitzmaurice pike?" "john pike, if it please you. the other is for professional purposes only," said bella's father. "if you do not mind, sir," he added, "we will postpone our discussion until a later time. i--i would take my daughter to my poor abode and learn of her experience in getting here to beach plum point." "go as far as you like, mr. pike. but remember there has got to be a settlement later of this matter we were discussing," said the manager sternly. the actor and his daughter departed, the former giving ruth a very curious look indeed. mr. hammond turned a broad smile upon the girl of the red mill. "what do you know about _that_?" mr. hammond demanded. "why, miss ruth, yours seems to have been a very good guess. that fellow is an old-timer and no mistake." "my guess was good in more ways than one," said ruth. "i believe i can prove that this pike was at the red mill on the day my scenario was stolen." she told the manager briefly of the discovery she had made through the patriarchal old fellow on reef island the day before, and of her intention of sending a photograph of pike back home for identification. "good idea!" declared mr. hammond. "i will speak to mr. hooley. there are 'stills' on file of all the people he is using here on the lot at the present time. if you are really sure this man's story is a plagiarism on your own----" she smiled at him. "i can prove that, too, i think, to your satisfaction. i feel now that i can sit down and roughly sketch my whole scenario again. i must confess that in two places in this 'plain mary' this man pike has really improved on my idea. but as a whole his manuscript does not flatter my story. you'll see!" "truly, you are a different young woman this morning, miss ruth!" exclaimed her friend. "i hope this matter will be settled in a way satisfactory to you. i really think there is the germ of a splendid picture in this 'plain mary.'" "and believe me!" laughed ruth, "the germ is mine. you'll see," she repeated. she proved her point, and mr. hammond did see; but the outcome was through quite unexpected channels. ruth did not have to threaten the man who had made her all the trouble. john m. f. pike made his confession of his own volition when they discussed the matter that very day. "i feel, miss fielding, after all that you did for my child, that i cannot go on with this subterfuge that, for bella's sake, i was tempted to engage in. i did seize upon your manuscript in that summer-house near the mill where they say you live, and i was prepared to make the best use of it possible for bella's sake. "we have had such bad luck! poverty for one's self is bad enough. i have withstood the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune for years. but my child is growing up----" "would you want her to grow up to know that her father is a thief?" ruth demanded hotly. "hunger under the belt gnaws more potently than conscience," said pike, with a grandiloquent gesture. "i had sought alms and been refused at that mill. lurking about i saw you leave the summer-house and spied the gold pen. i can give you a pawn ticket for that," said mr. pike sadly. "but i saw, too, the value of your scenario and notes. desperately i had determined to try to enter this field of moving pictures. it is a terrible come down, miss fielding, for an artist--this mugging before the camera." he went on in his roundabout way to tell her that he had no idea of the ownership of the scenario. her name was not on it, and he had not observed her face that day at the red mill. and in his mind all the time had been his own and his child's misery. "it was a bold attempt to forge success through dishonesty," he concluded with humility. whether ruth was altogether sure that pike was quite honest in his confession or not, for bella's sake she could not be harsh with the old actor. nor could he, ruth believed, be wholly bad when he loved his child so much. as he turned over to ruth every scrap of manuscript, as well as the notebooks she had lost, she need not worry about establishing her ownership of the script. when mr. hammond had examined her material he agreed with ruth that in two quite important places bella's father had considerably improved the original idea of the story. this gave ruth the lead she had been looking for. mr. hammond admitted that the story was much too fine and too important to be filmed here at this summer camp. he decided to make a great spectacular production of it at the company's main studio later in the fall. so ruth proceeded to force bella's father to accept two hundred dollars in payment for what he had done on the story. as her contract with mr. hammond called for a generous royalty, she would make much more out of the scenario than the sum john pike had hoped to get by selling the stolen idea to mr. hammond. the prospects of bella and her father were vastly improved, too. his work as a "type" for picture makers would gain him a much better livelihood than he had been able to earn in the legitimate field. and when ruth and her party left beach plum point camp for home in their automobiles, bella herself was working in a two-reel comedy that mr. hooley was directing. "well, thank goodness!" sighed helen, "ruth has settled affairs for two more of her 'waifs and strays.' now don't, i beg, find anybody else to become interested in during our trip back to the red mill, ruthie." ruth was sitting beside tom on the front seat of the big touring car. he looked at her sideways with a whimsical little smile. "i wish you would turn over a new leaf, ruthie," he whispered. "and what is to be on that new leaf?" she asked brightly. "just me. pay a little attention to yours truly. remember that in a week i shall go aboard the transport again, and then----" "oh, tom!" she murmured, clasping her hands, "i don't want to think of it. if this awful war would only end!" "it's the only war so far that hasn't ended," he said. "and i have a feeling, anyway, that it may not last long. henri and i have got to hurry back to finish it up. leave it to us, ruth," and he smiled. but ruth sighed. "i suppose i shall have to, tommy-boy," she said. "and do finish it quickly! i do not feel as though i could return to college, or write another scenario, or do a single, solitary thing until peace is declared." "and _then_?" asked tom, significantly. ruth gave him an understanding smile. the end * * * * * the ruth fielding series by alice b. emerson _12mo. illustrated. price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid_ _ruth fielding will live in juvenile fiction_. ruth fielding of the red mill _or jasper parloe's secret_ ruth fielding at briarwood hall _or solving the campus mystery_ ruth fielding at snow camp _or lost in the backwoods_ ruth fielding at lighthouse point _or nita, the girl castaway_ ruth fielding at silver ranch _or schoolgirls among the cowboys_ ruth fielding on cliff island _or the old hunter's treasure box_ ruth fielding at sunrise farm _or what became of the raby orphans_ ruth fielding and the gypsies _or the missing pearl necklace_ ruth fielding in moving pictures _or helping the dormitory fund_ ruth fielding down in dixie _or great days in the land of cotton_ ruth fielding at college _or the missing examination papers_ ruth fielding in the saddle _or college girls in the land of gold_ ruth fielding in the red cross _or doing her bit for uncle sam_ ruth fielding at the war front _or the hunt for a lost soldier_ ruth fielding homeward bound _or a red cross worker's ocean perils_ ruth fielding down east _or the hermit of beach plum point_ ruth fielding in the great northwest _or the indian girl star of the movies_ ruth fielding on the st. lawrence _or the queer old man of the thousand islands_ ruth fielding treasure hunting _or a moving picture that became real_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the betty gordon series by alice b. emerson _author of the famous "ruth fielding" series_ _12mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full colors_ _price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid_ _a series of stories by alice b. emerson which are bound to make this writer more popular than ever with her host of girl readers._ 1. betty gordon at bramble farm _or the mystery of a nobody_ at the age of twelve betty is left an orphan. her uncle sends her to live on a farm. 2. betty gordon in washington _or strange adventures in a great city_ in this volume betty goes to the national capitol to find her uncle and has several unusual adventures. 3. betty gordon in the land of oil _or the farm that was worth a fortune_ from washington the scene is shifted to the great oil fields of our country. a splendid picture of the oil field operations of to-day. 4. betty gordon at boarding school _or the treasure of indian chasm_ seeking the treasure of indian chasm makes an exceedingly interesting incident. 5. betty gordon at mountain camp _or the mystery of ida bellethorne_ at mountain camp betty found herself in the midst of a mystery involving a girl whom she had previously met in washington. 6. betty gordon at ocean park _or gay days on the boardwalk_ adventure in high society let loose on the seashore. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the girl scout series by lilian garis _12mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full colors_ _price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid_ _the highest ideals of girlhood as advocated by the foremost organizations of america form the background for these stories and while unobtrusive there is a message in every volume._ 1. the girl scout pioneers _or winning the first b. c._ a story of the true tred troop in a pennsylvania town. two runaway girls, who want to see the city, are reclaimed through troop influence. the story is correct in scout detail. 2. the girl scouts at bellaire _or maid mary's awakening_ the story of a timid little maid who is afraid to take part in other girls' activities, while working nobly alone for high ideals. how she was discovered by the bellaire troop and came into her own as "maid mary" makes a fascinating story. 3. the girl scouts at sea crest _or the wig wag rescue_ luna land, a little island by the sea, is wrapt in a mysterious seclusion, and kitty scuttle, a grotesque figure, succeeds in keeping all others at bay until the girl scouts come. 4. the girl scouts at camp comalong _or peg of tamarack hills_ the girls of bobolink troop spend their summer on the shores of lake hocomo. their discovery of peg, the mysterious rider, and the clearing up of her remarkable adventures afford a vigorous plot. 5. the girl scouts at rocky ledge _or nora's real vacation_ nora blair is the pampered daughter of a frivolous mother. her dislike for the rugged life of girl scouts is eventually changed to appreciation, when the rescue of little lucia, a woodland waif, becomes a problem for the girls to solve. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york the radio girls series by margaret penrose _12mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full colors_ _price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid_ _a new and up-to-date series, taking in the activities of several bright girls who become interested in radio. the stories tell of thrilling exploits, out-door life and the great part the radio plays in the adventures of the girls and in solving their mysteries. fascinating books that girls of all ages will want to read._ 1. the radio girls of roselawn _or a strange message from the air_ showing how jessie norwood and her chums became interested in radiophoning, how they gave a concert for a worthy local charity, and how they received a sudden and unexpected call for help out of the air. a girl who was wanted as a witness in a celebrated law case had disappeared, and how the radio girls went to the rescue is told in an absorbing manner. 2. the radio girls on the program _or singing and reciting at the sending station_ when listening in on a thrilling recitation or a superb concert number who of us has not longed to "look behind the scenes" to see how it was done? the girls had made the acquaintance of a sending station manager and in this volume are permitted to get on the program, much to their delight. a tale full of action and not a little fun. 3. the radio girls on station island _or the wireless from the steam yacht_ in this volume the girls travel to the seashore and put in a vacation on an island where is located a big radio sending station. the big brother of one of the girls owns a steam yacht and while out with a pleasure party those on the island receive word by radio that the yacht is on fire. a tale thrilling to the last page. _send for our free illustrated catalogue_ cupples & leon company, publishers new york 194 princeton university library 32101 072865866 464 44 465 and hopes are with those who "all my sympathies princeton university library to the memory of john bright 1811-1889 britain's great commoner and america's friend in time of need 1480 1928 are for freedom” gift of horence brooks aten e.b.bird ! * -464 44 ! the warning voice of a hermit abroad, who has been compelled to write in his justification, and he hopes for the good of mankind, under the protecting hand of divine providence, (for which he can never be thankful enough,) through a long and tedious passage of the most imminent perils and dangers of being extinguished, and sent to his grave, by richard milnes, of horbury, near wakefield, late of shepley bridge, mirfield, by leeds, yorkshire, wakefield: printed for the author, by e, waller, wood-street, 1825. lrizied lok lue velho el e vites' hood zlleen avkflietd: tale ol beltfa bridge zhrliepd' ez co2 fog prelu of peoples) bonn gátupcusia ba bilazed dilak sexl i be obte of belag tazzezl beede ved dyzger (les part 16 605 36, 4 come on, grondp") 1 wzzd ol dizize leoaideace" barora coaletted lo #reld te na morlilicylion' yиd he hole? cey hernil vbnoyd' mammimg aoige allens, 96 } 1 7 history 14464 6++ of the life of written by himself at above seventy years of age, who has been twice compelled to submit to a bankruptcy, without any other cause but a little want of capital, by putting his hand a little too far, which has happened to many a good and clever man, and been his ruin; but he is thankful and grateful to the almighty, for his preservation and ability to write this, to justify himself and he hopes to benefit society and the world, hoping it may be of use to young men of the rising generation, to guard merit and innocence against error, prejudice, weakness, falsehood, wickedness, and treachery, which have been exercised against him, which many people say, would have killed thousands of men or driven them mad; but little do even such know all the secret causes of his grief, which delicacy will not allow him to declare; though he feels to declare all the secret causes, would complete his justification, which was the original cause of his writing, and at times much inclined to do so, but delicacy and prudence step in, and forbids and conquers his strong and almost unconquerable inclination. i was born at the village of flockton, near wakefield, of reputable but humble parents, who by their industry, care, and economy, became able and willing to give me a good education, but being one of the most stupid ignorant lads, that perhaps ever went to school, to sixteen or seventeen years of age i may truly say, i could learn nothing lut reading, writing and accounts until that time, being more fond of being among the sheep or horses, than going to school; about that age i left school, and was at home with my three brothers, all bringing up to the same occupation, i began to consider we were too many at home for one trade, and though i was sensible of my own ignorance, i felt a spirit of enterprize, and went to london about the age of twenty, into the banking house of messrs. fuller, baker, and halford. i went in the stage coach, we were a week going, when i got there i called a coach to take me to my friend mr. brook's, i forgot to take the number of it, and lost a pair of good boots in the coach: when i had been there about two years, my father and three dbrothers made a contract for the flockton colliery, and their other business increasing, they joined in soliciting me to leave london, and join in the colliery, and all their other concerns, which after repeated solicitations, i consented to, though i felt a strong inclination to pursue my good fortune in london. and being all ignorant and inexperienced in collieries, we soon laid 6 richard milnes, of netherton-hall, near wakefield, yorkshire, late of shepley bridge, mirfield, out six thousand pounds in opening this colliery, and laying a newcastle waggon-way with wood, (for iron roads were not known at that time) but this was the greatest folly, because a turnpike road lay on one side of it, all down hill, and nearer than the waggon-way, which cost us a mint of money, and being made of wood, our returns at that time, could not in any degree justify the expence of making a wood road and repairing of it with wood. but this was done by the managing brother by his own will though the opening of the colliery was done by a short drain, no fire engine, such was our ignorance and folly at that time, that i do think with the hard and long experience which i have since gained, i could establish the same work with little more than twice six thousand shillings. and it is a very singular fact, that the master colliers in this part, have generally begun this trade in ignorance, without going apprentice, as boys do to all other trades, which is the only way i can account for so many losing money or miscarrying. my good father died at sixty-seven years of age, and with a good name, left each of his seven children a small estate, without incumbrance, but not gained by the colliery, for i believe it was near six thousand pounds in debt, when he died, and my pretty little estate was mortgaged after his death, to support this colliery, with the aid of my application and industry, without which, i believe we should have failed, for at that time i gained much by the wood, corn, and malt trades, and the managing partner was so ill, he could do nothing but look after the colliery, it being very near home, and we laboured with it near twenty long years, and it monopolized our capital, by which we might have gained much by our corn, malt, and wood trades. one of the brothers being in a bad state of health, and unable to travel from home, became the manager of the colliery, and got more experience than any of us, and at the time we were near six thousand pounds out of pocket, he discovered he could dry some coal joining to ours, by the drains we had made, at so much expence, time, and trouble; and without our knowledge or consent, bought some coal of sir thomas blackett, and began to work it by our drains, agents, workmen, tools, &c. &c. in short sacrificed the interest of the joint colliery, to the interest of his private one, which had a tendency to deprive us of our birth right; as a proof of this, he was saying one friday at wakefield market, how many coals he was selling a week, in the presence of mr. joseph b 633642 4 the warning voice. whitaker, the then agent to the halifax navigation company, who said what are you doing with the other colliery, you are burning the candle at three ends, or both ends and the middle. this conduct gave his ners much offence, and occasioned much complaining, to reconcile us he said, if we would surrender the lease to him for eighteen years, he would give each of us £300. a year for that term, (perhaps with a further view than the present profit to him) which we agreed to accept, but on as strong conditions as could be expressed, that we should stand in the very same shoes at the end of the term, as to our tenant right to the flockton colliery as we did before we made such surrender. but he made us very little compensation towards the heavy sum we had laid out and time spent in doing it. it pleased the almighty to call him to his mercy, a few years before the expiration of the lease, which he had taken care to get made three years longer than the surrender, with what yiew he got it made longer will soon appear. and he appointed me one of his executors to his will, with two others who had no experience in collieries, which we began to execute, but in the most disorderly and ruinous way, and i could not take upon me to dictate much to the two others, because i had been humbled and depreciated as will appear hereafter. one of them took the lead,, and he was implicitly supported by the other and the widow in all his folly, so that it was in vain for me to attempt to control them. i saw no remedy but the following, and told my brother in what a ruinous way we were conducting our executorship, and that i saw no remedy, but we three offering to give the executors more per year than my late brother had given us, which they agreed to, and we offered, free and independent of all management and outgoings whatever, in the very same way our brother had done to us, to the expiration of the rest of the term, that being the time we were to be reinstated as partners, and to the capital, and then to renew the lease with his two children, they to have the same share as their father. l i cruelty, by striking at what she conceived to be a poor man with a wounded reputation,or else she would not have dared to do what she has done. but if she will read the part-whole of this publication, she may, if she will, discover the reverse, for i here tell her i would not part with my integrity, my honor, my religion, my good name, and all the gifts which god has bestowed upon me, in exchange for millions. justice is due unto all men. tread on a worm and it will complain, though not able to defend itself. and i have received many insults from her son-in-law, but i never resent them, i bear them all with great patience and fortitude; nor would i have written this, but in my own defence and justification, because i know they have both had the folly to attempt to defame me many times, but fortunately i have the hope and comfort to believe that my good name is superior to their slander, wherever i am known. her conduct is a mystery to me, and i will appeal to the world and all who know me, to prove that my friendships are eternal, but my enmities are not so, i know no foundation for her malice, but much for her gratitude. i was the only true, able, and willing friend she had in the world, but she would not know how to value me, perhaps because her judgment was blinded by what she erroneously fancied was her interest. his widow had the folly to pretend to take offence at this generous act of ours, though she was not an executrix, and filed a bill in chancery against me, to turn me out of the trust, for this more than liberal offer. i contended with her several years in chancery, till the term was near worn out, and the complexion of the thing much changed, then i said to my attorney, mr. lee, if she will pay all expences on both sides, i will resign my trust in form, which she agreed to, and paid all, au enormous sum it must be. here, in my own defence and justification, i am compelled to tell this lady she is guilty of the grossest ingratitude. she was, perhaps, some very distant relation of my dear wife's, who in her excess of charity, gave invitations to her, her aunt, and sister, and they were all three visitors at the same time for months and months at a time with us, for several years, without being able to make us a return; in short we caressed and did every thing that was kind and more than generous to them, and the managing brother fell in love with and married her, by which she reached the stately eminence she now sits upon. this, i think, is this, i think, is a proof she owes all she has to me, because he would not have known her had not they visited us so repeatedly. and is not only guilty of great ingratitude, but 1 i am hurt beyond my power to express, that she has compelled me to censure a woman, it never happened to me before, and i hope it will never happen to me again. i am always a most zealous advocate for the fair, amiable, lovely sex. by these crooked, mysterious, unjust, unwise, and complicated proceedings, were we deprived of our birth-right to the flockton colliery. i could enlarge much more upon this nefarious proceeding, but prudence and delicacy forbid me. with this exception, we are one of the most harmonious, affectionate families. a few years before we began to open our flockton colliery, captain crowle, of water frystone hall, near ferrybridge, yorkshire, began to open a colliery in that estate, and as i knew he was sinking money very fast, and in a very unhappy way with his colliery, i always avoided the subject as much as possible, because i think it indelicate and unpolite to mention a subject to any one that is likely to be in the least unpleasant or disagreeable. but he was so fond of his colliery, or so much inclined to gain information, it was the first subject he mentioned when we met at wakefield market, and the last when we parted. he built steam engines, sunk pits, laid newcastle waggon ways with wood, had many law suits with his workmen, &c. and won the colliery, began to get coal, though by this time so much involved, that he was compelled to advertise his colliery to let. a mr. lees, of clark's field, near oldham, lancashire, came to view and treat for it, but returned without making a bargain. the captain was so fond of his customer, that he followed him into lancashire with as much zeal as if he had been going to court a bonny wife, and in the presence of mrs. lees did court him to take his colliery. the captain being a very polite, agreeable, pleasant man, and giving a most plausible account of the colliery, that he made such a favorable impression upon mrs. lees, that she interfered, and the warning voice. 5 begged of her husband to go and see if he could agree, as it appeared very likely to be a very good thing. mr. lees said he would comply with her request, on condition that she would make him a faithful promise that she would not blame him in case it did not turn out well, which the good lady agreed to. he went, and captain crowle granted him a lease for twenty-one years, binding on his part, the tenant to be at liberty at the expiration of any six month's notice. he allowed him to enter to all pits, gins, engines, waggon ways, tools of every description, in short, all the whole stock without paying any consideration whatever. he had only to get the coal and lay it upon the hill, and the captain would take it at a stipulated price, and sell it again to the public, from whence his profits were to arise, as mr. lees was to pay no rent; and if he did not find a profit to his satisfaction, give six or twelve months notice, and the captain engaged to pay him all the money he was out of pocket. he began and worked a year or two, gave notice and demanded the sum he had laid out. the captain looked into the lease and found a passage which said mr. lees should make a full and fair trial, the captain said he had not done so, and would not pay him. mr. lees sued him; it was tried at york and given in favor of mr. lees. the captain had got into so much debt, that his beautiful estate of above one thousand acres, and beautiful mansion, were sold in chancery to richard slater milnes, esq who became member of parliament for york, who was a true whig and true patriot as ever entered the british house of commons, but died at the age of forty-five. and the captain was so vexed and obstinate, they had to take forcible possession, and threaten to commit him to prison before he would sign the conveyance deeds. since this we have had a story told of a south couutry gentleman, who had spent £10,000 in pursuit of lead, and the same sum in pursuit of coal, and still unfortunate. he was coming to yorkshire through a village in the south, and heard a pig cry very bitterly; he met a farmer at the moment and said to him, pray what is the matter with that pig? he said, they are ringing its nose, sir; pray what is that for? said the gentleman; the farmer answered, to keep him from rooting in the earth, sir; the gentleman shook his nose, and said, i wish i had been rung twenty years ago. there is coal in my estate here? he answered in the affirmative; he said do you really think so mr. michell? he said, i do sir; and are you really in good earnest? i am sir. mr. annison here paused a considerable time in high spirits; and said, pray, sir, how deep do you think it may be? indeed, sir, that is a hard question, but at a rough guess i think it may be about a mile and a half deep; from this we may conclude these islands are all coal, but some parts very deep, and at newcastle and whitehaven they work much coal under the sea, and it is supposed to extend to the isle of man and ireland; and some mén conjecture that a subterraneous road may, in process of time, be made from whitehaven to the isle of man and ireland, to accommodate travellers, who would rather trust providence by land than by water, so that the coal is not likely to be done in thousands of years; we have hundreds of thousands of acres of coal in yorkshire which have been in part worked or bored to, and all the beds put together amount in some parts to five yards thick, many a great deal more in earl fitzwilliam's estate, near rotherham, yorkshire; they have bored to three beds all of them nineteen feet thick; and if we include the neighbouring counties, we may say we have millions of acres. the above-mentioned beds we know, having been bored to, and there may be more below which have never been bored to,and most likely all those seams extend to london, the lands end, the east and west coast, newcastle, and through scotland, wales and ireland, with variation in thickness, occasioned by throws. the seams of coal we work in yorkshire lie from ten to one hundred and sixty yards from the surface, of various thickness, from eighteen inches to nine feet thick. in a seam at newcastle they lie from twenty to three hundred yards deep, but how many more seams may be found below between them and the centre of the earth, time only can shew. they say there is coal under the black heath that may perhaps lie a mile and a half deep. there is one coal pit near manchester one hundred and eighty yards deep which contains six seams of coal, one of which is so hard to get, they blow it down with gunpowder. a mr. parkinson, of bollinbroke, near boston, is sinking a coal pit on the plain between lincoln and boston, which the navigation goes over thirty miles, with one small lock only, is two hundred and thirty-two yards and a quarter deep, and going deeper, though it has already cost £2,500. at the time the rev. john michell, was rector of thornhill, near wakefield, a valuable living giving him by the late most worthy and inestimable sir george in the year 1784 married miss hill, of hull, with a savile, bart. mr. michell once had doctor franklin, fortune of nine thousand pounds, which the donor had doctor priestley, and the famous engineer, mr. smeathe prudence to secure to her, one of the most amiable ton, who executed the halifax navigation, and rebuilt and polite women. having associated with many respectthe edystone light house in 1757, after being twiceable families, with whom i was happy many years, and blown down, all together at his house at thornhill, and it was said they were four of the first men in the world, as men of science; and mr. michell was said to be more conversant with the depth and extent of the minerals in this island, than any other gentleman. he happened to be on a visit at mr. annison's, between york and malton, the company were sitting over a good fire at christmas, when one of them said, what a good thing a colliery would be there where coals are so dear, another said it would indeed, another said let us ask michell; mr. annison said, mr. michell do you think now mourn her loss. she was very sickly many years, and kept her bed the three last years of her life, till she was worn to a shadow; and though at times so bad we expected she would die, she was blessed with such an amiable, heavenly cheerfulness, the moment the pains left her she would revive and talk about her ducks, and chickens as cheerful as if nothing had happened. when i entered her room the morning of the day she died, she asked me as cheerfully how i did as ever, i asked her how she did, she said she could not tell, and died that day at four o'clock as easy and happy as if she had the warning voice. 6 been falling asleep; and her amiable good father died with us before her in the same happy manner. the american war, thomas day, esq. author of little during jack, the dying negro, sandford and merton, &c. made many public speeches against that war, some of which were printed and fell into my hands; i was so delighted with them, it became the first wish of my heart to see mr. day, and to have the pleasure of being acquainted with him; it happened that my dear wife was the familiar friend of miss minerva milnes, of wakefield, whom he married; the very first visit they made to yorkshire they visited us at crow nest; they gave us an invitation to visit them in the south, to which we looked forward with much pleasure. idea the horse might be completely broke without the mr. day had an severity of the whip and spur; he was correct in this opinion to a degree; it is certainly most proper to begin to break him by the most gentle means, to bridle him very slack and loose at the beginning, and to let him walk by himself several days, then with the slack bridle lead him gently for a week or two, and after that run him round a considerable time with the bridle a little harder, but don't mount him till he is quite gentle and docile, after that ride him gently; but in the end he must be taught by the whip and spur, to know that his rider is his master, for you cannot reason with him, though we talk of the half reasoning elephant. mr. day fell a sacrifice to his mistaken humanity. he was riding a horse broke his own way without the whip and spur, by a barn door where there was a winnowing machine, the horse jumped, he fell off and died that night, which disappointed our intended pleasant visit, and mrs. day never recovered the grief. a short time after we were married i bought crow nest estate, near dewsbury, and we went to live there, and soon after i bought an estate of above one hundred acres, full of coal, joining to crow nest; and when we had been compelled to surrender the colliery to our 'brother for eighteen years, that and other things caused so much disgust, that i dissolved partnership with him in every thing else. and in the year 1788, i undertook the conveyance of goods to and from hull and manchester by land and water, in which there was much room for improvement; i improved it much to the satisfaction of the public, carried it on about nine years, when one from whom i had every reason to expect 'lenity, protection and support, was severe and forced me to submit to a bankruptcy; my debts were £34,000, my estates and farms almost inestimable; the creditors met and saw i had property of inestimable value, if it was protected. they resolved that i should carry on my business myself, under the inspection of the assignees, 1 and that none of my valuable property should be sold, being confident that by this means the whole of would be paid, and that i might make a fortune. my debts during the nine years i was at this navigation work, i had to labour under the severe opposition of the aire and calder company, the halifax navigation company, and the selby sloop company, when in reality it was the proper interest of the two former which i expected to encourage and support me this hardship upon me and this publication, will, i hope, excite the compasthe cabal which he formed, by the aid of the nabob the principal actor in this play, had the address, by sion and pity of these two great and prosperous navi-lang, to get messrs. taylor and tottie, two most ditors, to carry on my work myself, and my confidence notwithstanding the repeated resolutions of my crethat my property was worth more by twenty thousand pounds, than paying all my debts; he prey became they broke up my work for the sake of the prey, to the so great a temptation, that a conspiracy was formed, and great loss of my creditors, myself and the public, and only paid the creditors 7s. 8d. per pound, many proofs of four hundred and twenty acres, all which came into of the value of the property i can give. i held farins my hands without disturbing any man. acres of it two miles on this side manchester, on the two hundred about or near my house at crow nest, very near dews oldham turnpike road; two hundred and twenty acres bury; about one hundred and twenty of it in fee simple, abounding with coal, all in bad condition when i entered to it, but got into the highest state of cultivation; the rest on lease, some fifteen, some thirty years. to come, all at very low rents. at a moderate computation the good-will and tenant-right was worth £10,000, and i believe they did not take 10,000 shillings for it. intrigue in 1798 and 1799, with a view to the prey, and the conspiraters gave this valuable property away by contrary to the will of my creditors, myself, and the as much as they cost me, being full of coal, which i public. the real estates were worth two or three times gave nothing for. many of us remember that most corn farms in 1798 and 1799, gained as much or more money than the ground was worth. the solicitor bought (though he was forbid by law from buying any thing of dewsbury for five hundred and twenty pounds, and for himself or any other person) the manor and tithes it is said he is certainly making ten thousand pounds of them. and i sued him in chancery to take them from him, till i had done my money, and i had no one to help me. all the other property was almost given away; it is well known it was worth two or three times as much as it was sold for. but if i had been allowed to resolutions of my creditors, it would soon have paid all carry on the work agreeable to the will and repeated the debts, and made me a fortune. then may i not here well exclaim, surely never was innocence, merit, of the world! and property so sacrificed in any country, in any age gation companies, not only to give me the lock dues for one the first year upon all coals i may send to loudon out of these rivers, to enable me to establish the bly requesting, but also individually to join my other coal trade from yorkshire to london, which i am humgood friends in the loan of 5 or £10 10s each, to enable me to execute one of the most interesting works to their confident of success, with the blessing of health. and navigation and the colliers, the introduction of the yorkshire coal to the london market, in which i am i think this can only be effectually done by a method which i intend to proceed upon, which has never been tried before; and as all others who have begun this inmiscarried, it requires much caution and judgment to teresting trade to the navigations and collieries, have succeed in it. the warning voice. 7 respectable attornies, discharged from being solicitors, and himself appointed. never was more valuable property put together, or with more judicious deliberate care and attention. i think the solicitor made a bill of £800, end it was paid him, though i believe they ought not to have paid one half. i bought ossett colliery for nine hundred pounds about the year 1815, and unfortunately engaged to pay for it too soon, and the coal trade became bad, the complaint against two men called assignees, will prove how unlucky that bargain was to me, made so by wicked men. mirfield, 12th april, 1821. 79 to the creditors and friends of richard milnes. "justice and mercy are due unto all men." "a good name is rather to be chosen than great riches. "he that robs me of my purse steals trash.-but he that filches from me my good name, robs me of that which not enriches him, but makes me poor indeed." surely no innocent man, was ever so barbarously used. nothing can restore my peace of mind, credit, and good name, but my hard case being heard by my creditors and friends. when i purchased my colliery for £900. two friends promised me £100. each, and broke their promise, which left my capital too weak, or i should never have known the want of money; yet. i carried it on three years, and by a true profit and loss account, i gained £21. 4s. 2d. the first year: £535. 3s 6d.. the second year; £447. 7s. od. the third year; though i had with much trouble and difficulty brought it to this prosperous state, having improvements to make, and my capital to increase by the purchase of three vessels, horses, &c. and to pay in full for the colliery, and some old debts to discharge, still crippled my capital. and some of my creditors sued and hurryed me for money, and destroyed my credit. an amiable, sensible, judicious friend and creditor, advised me to submit to a friendly commission, as the surest way to protection, then he said i might carry on my business myself, under the inspection of the assignees, as if nothing had happened, and discharge all my debts, being only £3384. 5s. 8d. exelusive of the mortgage, because i had got my colliery into a most prosperous state, and am a good economist. the assignees were appointed by the creditors on this express, and positive condition, they were chosen as friends to me and the creditors, and accepted their trust on these conditions. and further that none of my valua le property should be sold, but to protect and nure it, with a view that i might carry on my business myself, and soon become able to pay the whole debt. i was thus made happy, and courted and caressed them, and did all in my power to please them, these conditions were confirmed by a majority of the creditors at every meeting, and proved and confirmed by four written and signed documents, confirming the same to all intents and purposes. i was so overjoyed, that i repeatedly promised the assignees a reward of £50. each, or more, out of my own pocket, when all my debts were paid, and the property given up into my own hands again. they have no right to charge any thing for their time, or be buyers of any 我​觉 ​part of the property themselves. but to my astonishment, i was soon informed, one of them said he would make £100. of the job. the prey appears to have born down every other consideration and agreement with them. on the 20th of september, 1819, they came and plundered and ransacked my house, one of their wives along with them. she was at my house four days, and at bed and board with them at an inn all the time. one of them was an auctioneer, and the other bought of him to the amount of 40 or £50. in furniture, and it was said at the time he had not is. to pay for it. the other had goods bought for him, and was auctioneer. they took the plate away, and it was never put up by auction. this auctioneer sold my, corii standing,. to his brother and others, much under its value. they sold by private contract (and they had no right to sell any by private contract) five acres of fog, perhaps the best within many miles of it; and grass in the hedge bottoms of eleven acres, to the father of one of them, i am am told for £4. only, and he sold them again for a profit, which was never put up by auction. this should have been eat by the colliery horses, and would have saved £15. in hay. they have robbed me of my peace of mind,, my property, for which i would not have taken £5000 in ready money. my good name, and credit, it might have been more calamitous to me, and driven me to distraction, and into a lunatic asylum. but i say, thanks to heaven, nothing but the almighty hand of providence could have preserved me from such misery, and still give me the hope that i shall live to pay all my debts." " they have not only plundered, sold, and wasted, but literally given much of the valuable property away. though my interest due from my income had been delayed, and i had been without money some time, but fortunately before the plunder of my house began, £50. came to me, which i was to put into their before i began to buy: though in reality they had no right to give, or sell any thing, being forbid by the creditors, and i have always been told creditors can do any thing with their property. to me they have been more savage than the slave dealer, they have robbed me of all that is dear to me, but my innocence, i may say innocence indeed, because no one can bring any accusation against me, but want of capital, occasioned by disappointment. i could have improved the capital above £1,000. by this time, and preserved my property, peace of mind, good name, and credit, and soon paid. all my debts, they sold or gave the crop upon the ground at my house, and the year's rent was due from them, they paid half, and left the other half unpaid. my landlord would not sue them for it, though he was told by his, and three other eminent attorneys, it was due from them, but made a distress upon the very goods i had bought and paid them for, cryed them twice through the village, and forced me to pay £40. the half year's rent. which was due from them. to fill the measure of their iniquity and my sorrows, i have been arrested by a creditor for £35. 12s. od. and he soon made the law more than the debt, he swelled it to above £71. 4s. od. i went with my own letter, sent it into the room, begging his patience, he would 8 cor the warning voice. and not see me, or write me any answer; being thus refused patience and mercy, i with much difficulty reduced this £71. 4s. od. by sundry payments, to £27. 16s. od. yet the bailiff came on the 4th of january, and sold my hay, no better in the kingdom, for 3d or 4d. per stone, i fear less, which had cost me, the grower, i may say 8d. or 9d per stone, and after giving my hay, entered my house and sold or gave part of my furniture. the expences of this 4th of january sale was £18. 8s. od. in addition to the above £71. 4s. od. i had no idea such plunder would have taken place for such a triffe, and i expected money that morning to pay him; i begged he would put off the sale till day after, and i would pay him all; he said he would not put it off for £20. at this time my landlord appeared, having a prior claim by law to this depredator. and though the usual rent day was not come, and plenty of property upon the place, insisted on having his rent, and encouraged the sale, though i begged and prayed he would not do so, saying the goods would be given away, because proper notice had not been given of the safe, there were no buyers, but all in vain. i can fairly prove that by i can fairly prove that by the law expences, and loss of the hay, by this untimely sale caused by the one creditor making sale of my goods for the trifling sum of £27. 16s od, which i would have paid the next day, amounts to £83. 18s. od. the law expences were £39 18s. od. loss by the hay, at a very moderate computation, was £44. over and above the loss by the furniture, all this i have wrote for the good of society, creditors, landlords, and tenants. and i wish it was recorded in the farmer's journal. this was all occasioned by acts committed contrary to the will of my worthy creditors, as appears above. so i had the vexation of seeing my house plundered a second time, and my valuable property given away, when i thought i was protected from all such danger by law, or the bankruptcy. 1 from a state of great prosperity and happiness, and a fortune at my hand, i have been compelled to misery and danger which is a hard and pitiable case indeed, was i to sink under the oppression, it would break my heart. being in perfect health, my faculties perfect, my practice in business improved to this day, which has been the habit of my whole life, and still my first pleasure, feeling myself more capable of it than ever. accounts. i request of the creditors to join me in a petition to the geutlemen, commissioners, which we can do without any expence, praying that they will be pleased to take all books, accounts, papers of every sort, and all money and bills, and every other thing belonging to the said commission out of their hands, and deliver the same to me, to enable me to examine their accounts, as no one can do that but me. and that they will also dismiss them from being assignees, as unworthyof such a trust. i hope you will not shew them this, for as they have much of the creditors money in their hands, they will be glad to go to law with it on any pretence, as they have done before on improper occasi ons. they have forced me to be despised and rejected of men, and to become a man of sorrow and acquainted with grief. and i was much afraid they would have sent me in sorrow to the grave; but that little blessed, heavenly word hope, was my comfort and led me to consolation in the almighty. in addition to the many other wanton, wasteful, and wicked acts, which they have committed, they refused to pay mr thomas › milner, one of my creditors, for coal which they had got in his land, after my bankruptcy, differed with him about four perches of coal, at 12s. 5d. per perch, the whole amount 503, and have thrown away above £120. by a trial at york about this trifle, which he gained last assizes; i do not know a more worthy man than mr. thomas milner, or one more likely to do what is just and right. i have experienced his integrity justice and equity. i am, very respectfully, gentlemen, a your obliged humble servant, richard milnes. to john pemberton heywood, esq. william dawson, and thomas lofthouse potter, gentlemen, acting commissioners in a commission of bankruptcy, awarded and issued forth against richard milnes, in the year 1819. we the undersigned, creditors of the said richard milnes, beg leave most humbly to request of you that you will direct joseph howgate and enoch taylor, the assignees chosen under such commission, to deliver up all books of account, papers of every description, and all money and bills, and every other thing belongi have nothing but an unjust prejudice to conquer, which condemns me unheard, and in the mind of some of my dear relatives, amiable and charitable as any in the world, rageth to such a degree as i never expecteding to the said commission, and also all the inventories, to witness but i do hope this will conquer it, and turn the tide thereof as much in my favor, as it has run against me. and if i do survive it will be like the year of jubilee to the harassed slave. in this once happy land, the meanest culprit that appears at the bar of justice, always meets a candid and impartial hearing from the judge and jury. if i can only obtain that, i shall be justified, and restored to prosperity and happiness, and become an useful member of society again. i think i can prove the assignees have received above £1400. and declared two dividends of 9d. per pound each, only amount to £331. 2s. 6d. i want to know what has become of the rest. i protest against their whole proceedings. i protest against their whole • and accounts of all the sales they have made of the property belonging thereto, unto the said richard milnes and creditors, for the purpose of his investigating and examining the same, being satisfied that no one can so effectually examine them as himself. and we also most humbly request that you will be pleased to dismiss them from being assigness, because we have great reason to be dissatisfied with their conduct in the exercise of their duty and consider them not worthy of such an important trust. we have also reason to believe that they have received £1400. and declared two dividends of 9d. each in the pound only, amounting to about £331. 2s. 6d. and declare they will pay no more. and it appears to us that they have wasted much of our the warning voice. 9 money, and we are much afraid they will waste the whole, if you do not immediately comply with this our humble request. and we also most humbly request that you will direct them to restore to him the said richard milnes, all the goods and furniture they so illegally and unjustly bought belonging to him and us at the sale without delay, not only because it was a stretch of their power, but because we are credibly in formed they had no money to pay for them. in addition to the many other wasteful acts which they have committed, they refused to pay mr. thomas milner, one of the creditors of the said richard milnes, for coals which they had got in his land after the bankruptcy, and differed with him about 50s. and have thrown away above £120. by a trial at york, which the said thomas milnes gained this last assizes. 4 memorandum to the above. saturday, 16th march, 1822.-william oldroyd, a poor mason, told me he had been at taylor two or three times, once to his house at sandal, he promised to send it, but he has not got one penny. june 28-mr. white told me he has not received one penny. july 22-thomas spedding has received nothing. july 26-mr. sidebottom said he has not received one penny. aug 20-joseph tweedale said he has received nothing. ditto-john spence said he has received nothing. £. 8. d. the amount of the debts, including the 24415 9 3 mortgage, were ... the creditors signed this petition to the 2 · ........ ..... } 4028 18 91 amount of... and i believe they have not paid one penny to more than half of the number of the creditors. richard milnes. i have not repaired one breach they made in my house. i have not added one thing to the furniture they left me after the plunder. i now live at netherton-hall, near wakefield, yorkshire, in the character of a hermit, a complete recluse. i tell my friends i keep no company, though i have an independent income. i tell them all my visits are upon credit. i tell them my fortune is out at nurse. the depredators have left me a bed, two tables, five kitchen chairs, a form, one chest of drawers, an old broken looking glass, some kitchen furniture, and my family pictures. no books worth mentioning, though i had an excellent library. thongh in reality they had no right to sell or give any thing, being forbid by the repeated resolutions of my creditors, and contrary to the conditions upon which they were appointed. i have neither tea, coffee, sugar, butter, wine or spirits in my house, nor will i have till i revive and recover my strength, if it please the almighty to permit me. but i live as well as i wish, and i enjoy my victuals, having long since learned, that it is much more pleasant, comfortable and healthy, to eat and drink to live, than to live to eat and drink, and to leave my meat with an appetite. i enjoy this situation and living, and all my friends know how my much i enjoy company, rich or poor; they never saw me in liquor or idle, or extravagant, or i may say guilty of any thing that was bad. having no family, i can' live as i please. i came here with a view to work a colliery, but i dare not begin till i have capital enough, as i would gladly work it with ease and to perfection, as my long hard practice has made it so familiar and easy to me, it will be a play thing to me. good friends have begun a subscription loan for me of £5. 5s. od. or £10. 10s. od. each, to complete my capital, and such will be thankfully received from any friend that may be pleased to join it. the money will be safe, i will not waste it. it would break my poor heart to sink under the oppressions and hardships i am at present loaded with, by two men called assignees. i have only one man servant, who i have had sixteen years, he has a wife and two children who live in the house with me, and find themselves all provisions, so that i have neither trouble or expence of their housekeeping; they keep my house, and provide what i want; when i am at home i want something, when from home i want nothing. he and they look after my borse. i keep no cow, but my neighbours supply me with milk constant. and mr. edward hinchliffe employs and pays my man and his son wages constant; so that i have brought my outgoings into a nut shell, or very small compass. a bason of new milk night and morning is a feast to me; i am by this means saving much out of my income. and whatever may be my prosperity, i am determined to save money to avoid the depredations which knaves and fools have commit ted upon me, in all directions, and if i once get upon my legs, i do not fear soon being in competency. if it please the almighty to grant me a continuance of the great treasures and blessings which i at present enjoy, viz-perfect health and faculties, a young mind, a young spirit and young constitution, which all appear rather improved and invigorated, than impaired by the oppression i have suffered. these i do most heartily wish for, to gratify my good will and charity towards others, and to become able to pay my debts. this is a true history, and if i have any talent, it has opened, and matured late in life, and i have only lately become capable of writing. how hard then do i feel the oppression, which has threatened my extinction, at the time of my value to myself, my friends, and society. when i was in the navigation business messrs. james and joseph kershaw, sons of mr. kershaw, of shaw hill, one of the first families at halifax at that time, went into the cotton trade at manchester; james told me when they were going to begin, his father said to him in a private room, jem you are going into trade with joe, i am sorry i cannot give you much fortune, i have so many of you, but i wish to give you my very best advice; you will find joe is a short tempered lad, and will be in a passion at times, when he is so, be sure thou take care to be in high good humour, he promised him he would. he then called joe, and said you are going into trade with jem, and you know he is a hasty passionate lad, and will at times be out of temper, when he is so, be sure you be cool, pleasant, and cheerful. james said we both promised him, we have observed this rule and never had a wrong word since. 10 the warning voice. in my rugged passage through life, i have learned whether i am dealing with my dog, my horse that i ride upon, my servant, my equal, my superior or inferior, to deal gently with their errors, to give them time to get rid of their prejudices, but to take especial care to leave them no room to complain of me. there are two things we should never fret at viz: things which we cannot help; and things we can help. these rules afford me comfort and pleasure, every day my life. of i advise a place for every thing, and every thing in its place, whether you be upon a large or small scale, in house-keeping or business... let nothing be undone till to-morrow which you can do to day, because you have no security of tomorrow. " t it is said, good often springs out of or is forced by evil. if there be any good in my character, or this publication, it confirms that remark; for i did not think the whole world, from east to west, or pole to pole, would have produced so many knaves and fools as have attacked me in all directions, yet wonderful to my ownself; i am one of the happiest of human beings, in single life, for i am surrounded by some of the most delightful and pleasant neighbours in the world, very old acquaintances, and they will, and do visit me, in this forlorn state, and want me to change my mode of living, but i tell them i will not till i recover my strength. they are of very ancient, noble, and honorable families; among the rest is a miss virtue, one of the most amiable, beautiful, creatures in the world. a mr. hope, of the ancient family of that name of amsterdam, a charming young man indeed, and they say these two amiable creatures are likely to be united, they often come together, and i do think it is not unlikely. a lady humanity and lord charity, a widow and widower, they appear very fond of each other, and often come together, or contrive to meet here and also one of the most ancient and honorable peers of the realm, the duke of philanthrophy, this is a complete gentleman indeed, and i often compare him in my own mind, to his grace the duke of portland, who they say is drank in public company, as one of the best peers in the realm; and they say lord surrey and some other noblemen's sons, look up to, and imitate this amiable and, noble peer. he married one of the rich miss scott's, and the right honorable george canning the other. now is not this good company, to make a man happy. but among my visitors, there are a variety of other amiables. it is true, i like good company of my equals or inferiors. but to be honored with the company of such amiable, ancient, and honorable families as come to me, is heaven upon earth.. } is it not wonderful to see mankind hurry through this world, after they know not what, and neglect the first pleasures and first happiness in this life, viz-true religion, and the true study and exercise of real charity, in all its views and bearings. and to contemplate and admire the wonderful works of the almighty; and to study all these, and the legalizing the sale of game, as much as they study fox hunting, spring guns, steel traps, the preservation and killing of game, horse racing, and card playing. whatever gratification they may find in the seven last pursuits, the study and practice of these mentioned before them, would yield them joy, pleasure, and happiness here and for evermore. a very judicious and well written letter from the hon. and rev. wm. herbert, has just been addressed to the chairman of the house of commons, on the gamelaws. this subject has, it appears, occupied the attention of the rev. gentleman ever since the year 1802, and he submits it as a proposition which will, we think, be generally submitted, that poaching is frequently the first step in a lawless course of life, and that under the laws as they at present exist, no severity of punishment has been, or will be able to lessen its prevalence: further, that as long as wealth is enjoyed by persons who do not possess land, so long they will persist in obtaining game for their own tables, by unlawful means if lawful pur chase is denied them. the furnishing an easy lawful market is, therefore, mr. herbert thinks, the only practicable method of destroying the poaching and illegal sale, and with this view he proposes that all lords or ladies of manors should be permitted to sell game through. their game-keepers or some other servant or agent to persons duly licensed, and that the magistrate, on the recommendation of the lord's or ladies of the manors, should have power to license one or two dealers in each market town to retail game. the pamphlet then proceeds to point out the restrictions and qualifications under which the sale to the retailer should take place, which seem well calculated to effect the object. a bill has been introduced into parliament by lord cranbourne, for legalizing the sale of game, consonant, we understand, to the suggestions contained in mr. herbert's pamphlet, and on the recommendation of the committee. 1 # how many interesting and entertaining subjects card players might find, by which they might gain the three important objects of going into company, viz.-to be entertained, informed and improved, by their visit. surely the following most excellent admonition of pope and young, and my prayers, will arrest their attention, and teach them to study and practice them all; they say, awake my saint john, leave all meaner things to low ambition, and the pride of kings, let us (since life can little more supply, than just to look about us and to die,) expatiate free, o'er all this scene of man, 1 a mighty maze! but not without a plan.' "yet man, fool man, here brings all his thoughts, inters celestial hopes without a sigh." སྠཽ ** 31, 14 the following are my morning and evening prayers. the lord almighty be praised. the lord almighty be thanked for, the comforts of the past day or night.. the lord almighty of heaven be thanked for the protection, mercies, comforts, and blessings bestowed upon me through my whole life. our father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven; give us this day our daily bread; and the warning voice. 11 forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. amen. almighty and most merciful father, we have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep. we have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts: we have offended against thy holy laws: we have left undone those things which we ought to have done; and we have done those things which we ought not to have done; and there is no health in us. but thou, o lord, have mercy upon us, miserable offenders. spare thou them, o god, which confess their faults: restore thou them that are penitent; according to thy promises, declared unto mankind in christ jesu our lord. and grant, o most merciful father, for his sake, that we may hereafter live a godly, righteous, and sober life, to the glory of thy holy name. amen. blessed lord, who hast caused all holy scriptures to be written for our learning; grant that we may in such wise hear them read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that by patience and comfort of thy holy word, we may embrace, and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which thou hast given us in our saviour jesus christ. amen.. <◄◄◄ thirteenth chapter of the 1st epistle of paul to the corinthians. 1. though i speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, i am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. 2. and though i have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though i have all faith, so that i could remove mountains, and have not charity, i am nothing. in my pious thoughts, i have always asked myself the following questions:-what was i before i was born? i answered in the hands of the almighty. what my creator. what shall i be when i am dying and am i in this life? i said every moment in the hands of dead? i said in the hands of the same supreme being. mighty make me? i said to worship him, to do good, if i enjoy the protection of heaven, why did the aland study and practice virtue, charity, and true religion. why did the almighty make the world? this like the comprehension, and lead me to the comfortable remark beginning and end of time, are mysteries above my of pope, that "the proper study of mankind, is man.' compared with the beginning of time, and eternity. and that man's time is a moment, and a point his space, these thoughts and prayers, have removed all fear of death from me, and made me live happy, in the hope, smiling to my grave. why should not there be as much that i shall not go down with gray hairs in sorrow; but happiness at the day of our death, as the day of our ayrton, of malton, a good and clever man indeed, lived birth, if we have led an upright life. the late mr. r. to old age, and when he saw death approaching, gave every direction about his funeral with as much composure, if not as much pleasure, as he gave orders to prepare for his wedding, and retired from this world very happy and very easy soon after. under-supply than just to look about us and to die." then as pope says again, "as life can little more. and the holy sacred scriptures say, "in the midst of life we are in death." will not these thoughts and prayers, accompanied by upright conduct, fill our minds with true piety, be a cordial balm, and everlasting comfort, and remove the and make every moment of our life happy and comfortfear of death in all our difficulties, fears, pains, and dangers. true religion, furnish all this belief. and that the first, does not reason and able. why should it not be so. and only solid comfort and true pleasure of this life is, in doing good. and studiously considering and prac d 3. and though i bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though i give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. 4. charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up. 5. doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; 6. rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth. 7. beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. 8. charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge it shall vanish away. 9. for we know in part, and we prophecy in part. 10. but when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. 11. when i was a child, i spake as a child, i stood as a child, i thought as a child; but when i became a man, i put away childish things. 12. for now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face now i know in part; but then shall i know even as also i am known. 13. and now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity. "the steps of a good man are ordered by the lord, though he fall be shall not be utterly cast down, for the lord upholdeth him with his band, trust in the lord and do good, and verily thou shalt be fed. trust in the lord, wait patiently for him. fret not thyself in anywise to do evil. commit thy ways unto the lord, trust also in him, and he shall direct thy path: and he shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as the noon day." pious thoughts.-old age and death. religious good methodist, assumed the critic on my prosthe most prejudiced tory that i know, who is a very pectus, and laughing, said to me, you have heavenly prayers, and merry stories in the same line. i said, sir, discovered that true piety, is the only true authority for i am sorry, that in all your religion, you have not yet mirth and cheerfulness. and i do believe, sir, that in old age. the woman with child. the sick and dying my prayers, will be found a cordial balm, a comfort to man. sea. the soldier going into battle. the mariner at the miner in the pit. and the fear of death removed from all ages. and the vitals and essence of these prayers will, i think, be found to be my own, dictated to me by the aid of heaven. "" the warning voice. 12 t'cing the golden rule, of doing unto others as we would have them do unto us. i say again, there is no true pleasure or solid comfort in this life, but in this rule, thoughts, and prayers. without them our greatest joys will always feel a sting, and remorse. to us all that the labourer, the pauper, and all ranks what a blessing and ages, may feel the full enjoyment of these thoughts, prayers, and advice. let this rule, thoughts, and prayers, be your study and guide, if you wish to be happy here and hereafter. should not these my heavenly prayers, and those of all others, cause all abandoned wicked sinners, tyrants, and oppressers, to forsake their wicked ways, become religious, worship the true god, and contemplate the wonderful works of the almighty; particularly the sun, moon, stars, and sea, and their wonderful effects upon this our earthly habitation. may i ask such poor, frail, wicked, deluded mortals, if any such there be, should the almighty be pleased to withdraw, or obscure the light, powers, and effects of the sun, moon, and stars, from this their earthly habitation; and prevent the grass and corn growing, and ships swimming, and deprive them of bread, meat, and light, or the power of crossing the ocean, as a punishment for their heinous sins. if such an event would not lead them to pray, that their god and maker, would in his great mercy, restore them all, forgive them their sins, and promise that they would for ever become religious, study the holy scriptures, which he in his great mercy, and goodness, hath given us, for our guide and comfort, and worship the almighty, and for ever after love and practice justice, mercy, and religion, and walk humbly with their god. epitaph on judge nares, written by himself, a few days before his death. in hopes of future bliss content i lie, though pleas'd to live, yet not displeas'd to die, life has its comforts, and its sorrows too, for both to all-wise heav'n our thanks are due. else thoughtless man would fix his place of rest, where nature tells him he can ne'er be blest; how far my hopes are vain, or founded well, god only knows-but the last day will tell. october 22d, 1792, mr. hall's birth-day, of manchester. as miseries attend on length of years, and sorrows constant in this vale of tears, to smooth the passage, heav'n kindly grants reliefs innumerable, to supply our wants; from sympathizing friends, what comforts flow, that its chief ruggedness we scarcely know. through a long scene of vanity and sin, my ninetieth year is this day usher'd in, grant, lord, that i may spend life's residue in deep contrition, and repentance true; which (through his aiding grace) may comfort bring avert death's terrors, and disarm his sting. richard edward hall. mrs. milnes' epitaph on her grave stone in mirfield church yard. here lie the remains of elizabeth, wife of richard milnes, of shepley-bridge, mirfield, daughter of the late 1817, aged 66 years, in the easiest and happiest manner. richard hill, of hull, who died on the 17th of february, passage through a tedious sickness, to the blessed manpatience and fortitude lent their aid to smooth her complaint of pain, in the hope of a happy eternity, sions of eternal happiness, to which she retired without through the merits of our blessed saviour jesus christ. beyond the rage of time and fortune's power, remain, cold stone! remain, and mark the hour when all the noblest gifts which heav'n e'er gave, were center'd in a dark! and lonely grave. oh! taught on reason's boldest wings to rise, and catch each glimm'ring of the opening skies; oh! gentle bosom! oh! unsullied mind! oh! friend to truth, to virtue and mankind; thy dear remains we trust to this sad shrine, secure to feel no second loss like thine. youth and old age. days of my youth ye have glided away, hairs of my youth ye are frosted and grey; eyes of my youth your keen sight is no more, cheeks of my youth ye are furrow'd all o'er; strength of my youth all your vigour is gone, thoughts of my youth your gay visions are flown; days of my youth i wish not your recall, hairs of my youth i'm content you should fall; eyes of my youth ye much evil have seen, cheeks of my youth bath'd in tears have ye been; thoughts of my youth ye have led me astray, strength of my youth why lament your decay? days of my age ye will shortly be past, pains of my age yet a while can you last; joys of my age in true wisdom delight, eyes of my age be religion your light; thoughts of my age dread you not the cold sod, hopes of my age be ye fix'd on your god. dr. franklin-(from the philadelphia franklin gazette.) the following is the conclusion of a will made by dr. franklin as early as the year 1757, on the eve of sailing to england. it has, we believe, never before been in print, and is now published as an additional proof of the pure sentiments and virtuous principles of that truly great man ;"and now humbly returning sincere thanks to god for producing me into being, and conducting me hitherto through life so happily, so free from sickness, pain, and trouble, and with such a competency of this world's goods as might make a reasonable mind easy; that he was pleased to give me such a mind, with mode rate passions, or so much of his gracious assistance in governing them, and to free it early from ambition, avarice, and superstition, common causes of much unland of liberty, with a people that i love, and raised easiness to men; that he gave me to live so long in a bestowing on me, moreover, a loving and prudent wife me, though a stranger, so many friends among them, the warning voice. 13 and dutiful children; for these and all other innumerable mercies and favours, i bless that being of beings who does not disdain to care for the meanest of his creatures. and i reflect on those benefits received with the greatest satisfaction, as they gave me such a confidence in his goodness, as will, i hope, enable me always in all things to submit freely to his will, and to resign my spirit cheerfully into his hands, whenever he shall please to call for it; reposing myself securely in the lap of god and nature, as a child in the arms of au affectionate parent." "b. franklin." copy of a letter from r. milnes, to mrs. ikin, of mirfield, on the untimely death of her dear, amiable, good husband. shepley-bridge, 26th march, 1821. my dear madam, pardon my delaying my duty to express my sorrow, and to condole with you and your amiable family, on your great loss. i most sincerely wish i may alleviate your sorrow, or do you any service at this, or any future time; my respect for you is so great, i hope you will command me whenever you please. your numerous friends i am sure will do all in their power to afford you a cordial balm. but i hope, madam, you will secure to yourself complete consolation, in the belief, that it is the will of heaven; and that he has gone to everlasting happiness, and that we shall soon be called to meet him in that happy state. this resource i am sure you possess in an eminent degree; you know the protection of the almighty is our first and last resource, comfort, and blessing, in all our fears, difficulties, distresses and dangers. i need say no more, your sensible, strong and amiable mind will, i hope, do more for you, than i and all your friends can do. we must leave the rest to heaven. with my most hearty good wishes for your consolation, and that of your whole family and friends. i am, with sincere respect, my dear madam, your most obedient servant, richard milnes. mr, ikin was killed from an unruly half-broken horse with a safety stirrup, such i hear fox hunters use to save their lives, in case they fall off, and hang in the stirrup, the stirrup is to give way and let them loose. but this safety stirrup was his danger and the cause of his death. he happened to quarrel with this unruly horse, and in the contest this safety stirrup leather gave way and came off, the stirrup was lost, and he lost all command of his horse, which run violently away, dashed the rider's head almost to pieces against a post chaise, though the driver, with six passengers, was doing all he could to get out of his way; this new fashioned stirrup was found one hundred yards from the fatal spot. he was a hard rider, and used to ride wild horses. it happened at twilight, and he was so much disfigured, they could not tell who it was till they got a candle. he has left an amiable wife and seven young children. it appears, what he thought his safety, proved his dan ger and his death. then well may it be said, "man's greatest caution often into danger turns, and his guard falling crushes him to death." what a blessing that the almighty hath impressed on the human mind, a wish to live in this transitory, unhappy, wicked world, (unhappiness occasioned too often by our own misconduct to others, as well as to ourselves,) not only those of middle and high rank, but the poorest beggar that we see, has a wish to live. is it not then an obvious conclusion to conclude, that the almighty hath bestowed this great blessing upon us, to give us inclination and time to repent of our sins towards the supreme being, ourselves, and others, and become prepared for everlasting happiness. will not this admonition infuse the spirit of true religion into the heart of the most abandoned and wicked sinner towards the almighty, himself, and others. i hope this will warn every one to consider well how he has spent and is spending his time, and how short a time he has to live. there was an old mrs. elmsall, the widow of the rector of thornhill, who retired to wakefield, and paid tea visits at the age of eighty, kept the best company, and was at tea when the leading topic was a beautiful young lady who was going to be married, and it was said she could sing, play, dance, talk and walk all in very superior style; in short, she was what they called completely accomplished. the old lady heard this story with very great attention, and when it was finished, she said to the teller, pray, madam, can she make a pudding. i have the pleasure of knowing one of the most amiable wives in the world, and her husband the same; he is certainly making a fortune, yet she is so much de termined to keep her daughters out of the path of briers and thorns, that they can make their own beds already, though one of them about eight, the other about ten years of age. and she intends them to go through the kitchen learning, then she says they will be ready for the worst vicissitudes of fortune, and better prepared for the enjoyment of the best; for whatever situation a person is in, if they know, and can do and teach others something, they are always respectable, and of conse quence in their rank, particularly among their servants. i once went to dine with an old farmer, we enjoyed ourselves very much, and happened to get drunk, which seldom or never happened before. his husbandman came home very sober from the plough, they had lived together many years, but the master being tipsey, quarrelled violently with this man about some trifle or other, and insisted the man should leave that night; the man remonstrated in his own way a long time, the master still persisted he should go that night. the man studied a while, and by and by stepped up to his master and said if you do not know when you have a good man, i know i have a good master, and i will not leave you. they went to bed and slept upon it, and were both well pleased next morning. perhaps this story might be applied to me, and some of my servants. i had a house-keeper or upper maid, à footman or groom, a 14 the warning voice. or coal agent or top and bottom steward to my collieries, lived with me all together, each above thirty years, and my present man-servant has been with me sixteen years. the late mr. jona. west, of cawthorne, an attorney at law, a fine open-hearted generous old englishman as ever you saw, kept a true old english hospitable house, cheese and bread and a drink for every poor hungry man who went there on business, who perhaps had not a penny in his pocket, and went with pleasure to this place, because he hoped to get something to eat and drink for nothing. he was a good company keeper, and excellent story teller. he once told me that he was on a visit to mr. wilson, of broomhead, near sheffield, a great antiquarian; he was shewing his company his antiquities and curiosities, and among other things told them his family had enjoyed that place one hundred years, and neither made it more or less than £200. a-year. mr. west said he was very near telling him the following story, but stopped in time. that the old mr. ratcliffe, of mills-bridge, an attorney at law, who they said was a poor lad, but he got forward and laid the foundation of the famous sir joseph ratcliffe's fortune. he used to go rolling down to huddersfield church in his coach, and after evening service, called at the george to drink a tankard of ale, (for wine was not known in those days) and talk the news of the day with the vicar, whose name was thomas twizleton; and among other things the vicar told him he was the thirteenth tom twizleton who had enjoyed an estate of £100. a-year, and never made it more or less; ratcliffe jumped out of his chair and said, then thou art the thirteenth tom fool of that family. i was once riding to wakefield, on a pretty gambler mare, and overtook a miller on a bonny grey horse, he was as white as ever you saw a miller in a mill, and his hat was as white as his coat; he took notice of my gambler mare, and admired her; i said, for the credit of the horse, she was got by gambler, a running horse belonging sir john lister kaye, bart. of grange hall, near wakefield, yorkshire; indeed he said this bonny thing i ride was got by the very same, and if gambler be owned long life, he has all the fifteen perfections that belong to a horse; fifteen perfections! i said i have heard a jockey say, when he was shewing a fine horse, there he goes, sir, he has a neck like a rainbow, a belly as round as a barrel, and a head you may put it in your pocket; but i never heard a man talk so learnedly about a horse before; pray explain the fifteen perfections, for i do think a fine horse is the finest sight in the world, next to a fine woman. he began and classed them in threes; he said, three belongs to the neck, a long neck, a lean head, and fine shoulder, three belonged to a hare, three to a fox, three to an ass, and the three last, he said, belonged to a woman, he was beautiful to meet, gentle to mount, and pleasant to ride. honi soit qui mal y pense. i once heard of a poor lad that was going apprentice to a clothier, and his father gave him his best advice, and among other things said to him, be sure thou always eat thy broth, for if they be good thou can have nothing better, and if they be bad, thou may be sure there is not much to follow. i mention this with a view to recommend economy and prudence, both to the poor and middling people. and we all know that no fortune is safe with extravagance, folly, and imprudence. time travelleth four different paces, with different people, according to their situation and employment. it walks, ambles, trots or gallops it walks with the school boy of fortune, it ambles when he comes nearer leaving school, it trots with the man of business all day, and gallops with the most happy and most miserable, viz. the lovers spending the evening together, and the condemned man going to be hanged, and all those who have laid too long in bed in the morning. very lately charles sowerby, a school fellow of mine, told me, he once came up to three men on foot, and one on horseback, had met the three on a narrow causeway, with a deep ditch on one side, and a pond full of water on the other, neither party could turn off, but scolded awhile, and by and by one of the men set his shoulder to the horse, and forced both horse and rider into the pond, and the rider got out like a half drowned mouse. this story brought to my mind that one very dark night i was riding down westgate-common, upon the causeway, with a deep ditch on each || side, for neither my horse nor i could see upon the road, it was so dark. at a distance i heard a cowd of drunken men coming shouting and hallowing like hunters. when they heard my horse, they said, turn him off, turn him off, he has no business upon the causeway, off with him; i said, my lads be civil. the moment they heard my voice, they said, what mr. milnes, god bless you, give us your hand, give him the causeway, lead his horse by, which they did. they happened to be daw-green clothiers, one of the most rude, unpolished places in the county, which is very near crownest, near dewsbury, where i once lived, and should have been there yet, had not i been forced away by great rogues and great fools. you know it was said by the wise solomon, that a good name is rather to be chosen than great riches. oh! that young men would read and study the proverbs of solomon. as a proof what a stupid lad i was at school, i still write three different hands at three different times, one good plain hand that any body can read; another that nobody can read but myself; and another that neither myself nor any body else can read. through all my toil, with all my care, judgment, industry, and sobriety, i have no particular casualty or misfortune to complain of my endeavours were all attended with success. and to the day of my stopping both times, my lands, farms, collieries, and all my other concerns were in the highest vigour, prosperity, and perfection; so that i have nothing to complain of in this world, but knaves and fools; no little knayes and fools; none but great ones. i i lately went to flockton chapel, and the rev.whitwell, the curate preached a sermon, which pleased me so much, that i took the liberty of introducing myself to him, and thanked him for his excellent sermon; and he told me he was going a missionary to canada; í said can england part with such a treasure as you, he said, sir, you must be careful how you talk to we young curates, for fear you should make us vain. i said, sir, i am no flatterer, i am no babbler, i am no courtier. the warning voice. 15. my brothers saw i was much pleased with this young divine, and gave us both an invitation to dine with him the sunday after, that i might hear him preach again; and he preached a sermon which made me cry from beginning to end. some people may think true religion should be serious and gloomy; and though this young gentleman shewed more real true piety than any i ever met with, he is one of the most cheerful, pleasant companions i have the pleasure of knowing. and i said to my brother, if i had the marquis of stafford's fortune, i would give him £300. a-year to be my chaplain, and he should not go to canada. i am told the marquis has above £365,000 a-year, or £1,000 per day. this great fortune has been much increased by the minerals in staffordshire, and the late duke of bridg-| water's fortune. my crying at this very excellent sermon brought to my mind that i once went with a friend, in london, to see the famous garrick in king lear; we sat with our backs to the front box, and at our back was lord mansfield, on one side, lord thurlow, on the other, a great law lord, and they every one cried at this play; then well might i cry at a good sermon. my dear good father once told me, that in the rebellion in 1745, a person was alarmed for the safety of some money he had, and consulted, whom he thought one of his very best friends, about a place of safety to hide it, till the confusion was over; and they went together, and laid it, as they supposed, in a place of the greatest safety, and the owner went to visit it occasionally to see that it was there; and after many visits it was gone; he was astonished how this could happen, the place was so secret. after mourning for his loss a long time, he told his friend that he had a little more to put to it, and desired he would go along with him for that purpose; when they got there, that which had been lost was in the place, the owner said, ah! art thou there? he snatched it up, and said, i will never trust thee out of my own care again so long as i live. this proves how cautious men should be in their friendships. some men you may know at first blush, some require a long time to know them, some you can never know, and how few know themselves. i think i have said we were four brothers, all partners at the colliery, the two oldest became great shooters, great coursers, great hunters, and cock-fighters. i, as a younger man, imbibed a smattering of some of these diversions, but soon abandoned them all, and business was always the paramount consideration with me; my attention was solely confined to that, and the comforts and happiness of my dear wife. had the two oldest brothers pursued this line of conduct with me, and not caused the discords and divisions which happened, we might with ease, and a good name, have been worth one hundred thousand pounds, which the fine folks in london call a plum. but i say query, should i have been better with all this wealth, than i am in this humble situation? i say with the wealth, because i do think, after much reflection and consideration of this very important point, that my good qualities, if 1 have any, would have been multiplied and magnified, as they ought to be in all others, in proportion to my opulence and power. e my house-keeper is a very pious good woman, has a very great aversion to me or her husband shaving on a sunday, or doing any thing that can be avoided, on that good and blessed day, which i am very glad of. abraham ellis, a waterman, of mirfield, a very pious good man, would never shave on a sunday; went home between eleven and twelve one saturday night, began to shave before twelve, and when he had got half the beard off, the clock struck twelve, he would not shave a cut further, but wore the other half all day on sunday. i do indeed rejoice to see people religious, it is so great a comfort and blessing to themselves and others. and if they will only be truly religious, i would allow them to be so in their own way, in any religion that i know, except the roman catholic. this religion i suppose has been instituted in the dark ages of old, for the purpose of keeping the people blind, and in ignorance, that kings, their ministers, and roman catholic priests might govern them with despotic power. and, as i hate every species of tyranny, i have a hatred for the above-mentioned religion, because it favors that, spirit. and is not this religion an outrage and disgrace to true religion. and so far from my advising catholic claims to be favored, i think it ought to extirpated from the face of the earth, for the above-mentioned and the' foilowing reasons. a young friend of mine, who was born a roman catholic, of a good family, and has great relations in ireland, and many relations of fortune of that religion; this young gentleman had a most liberal education given, and intended to be a minister of the church of rome; but at the age of eighteen he became pious, and bent his whole attention to the study of true religion, and discovered so much the reverse of that in the roman catholic, as to furnish him with the most pure and perfect reasons to abandon it for ever; which he did, (though he thereby lost the continuance of his most affectionate friends and great relations) dictated by the most pure, religious, and conscientious motives, to give up all his sinester prospects, to gratify himself in, the practice of true religion; and among others are the reasons contained in the following letter, addressed to me, which confirmed him in his judicious belief, that the roman catholic religion abounds with ignorance, superstition and danger, to the welfare and existence of the excellent establishment of the constitution of england, in church and state; which constitution and religion, connected as they are in church and state, i do consider superior to any in the known world, besause they have surmounted all the storms and tempests of about ten centuries, and may endure ten times ten centuries more, with the necessary repairs which all thinking men are of opinion the constitution stands in need of, and which i sincerely hope will be done without delay. flockton, 20th august, 1823. dear sir, as you wished me to furnish you with reasons why i abandoned the church of rome, i have the pleasure to 16 the warning voice. inform you that your sentiments of popery are perfectly in unison with my own. the whole system of the whole system of popery may be justly viewed as a political combination, nmanaged by cruelty and falshood, to establish a tempcral empire in the person of the popes, and under the pretence of the good of another world, to engross the good things of this to themselves; else what that assumes the name of christian or of man, would ever in the face of common sense, make such a monstrous assertion as the following, contained in the 5th chap. 4th book, entitled, de pontifice romano, by cardinal bellarmine; that if the pope should, through error or mistake, command vices and prohibit virtues, the church would be bound in conscience to believe vice good, and virtue evil. the constitutions of the church of rome are not less absurd than cruel. cruelty is the very genius of that idolatrous religion. the religion itself, breathes, teaches, and inspires it into its deluded votaries. it is calculated to suppress, yea, extinguish the tenderest emotions of humanity, what could ever produce such a maxim, that it is no more sin to kill an heretic, than a dog: but that impious spirit of cruelty, that is interwoven with the romish religion, is fierce as ten furies, and terrible as hell " before i was emancipated from the delusive dreams, and visionary terrors of popery, had i had power equal to my disposition, i would have extirpated every protestant throughout the whole world, such was my detestation of protestanism, that i thought my very clothes would have been contaminated, if i had but touched the church door, so foolish was i and ignorant. i, sir. for my own part, am fully convinced that popery is the same bloody and detestable thing that ever it was; let some papists be as well bred, good and complaisant as you please, i say whatever good qualities some papists may possess, yet popery itself is the same bloody and deceitful thing now, that it was in the days of fire and faggot. into the hands of papists, it would therefore be worse than madness to put weapons, which their principles engage them to turn against us, whenever a fair opportunity may occur for so doing, which, it is much to be feared, will be the case, if ever roman catholics obtain admittance into parliament. could the public peace and tranquillity, and religious privileges of the british realms, be permanently secured, i should have no objection to see roman catholics rendered eligible to all the offices of political authority. but this can never be, so long as the catholics of these realms profess allegiance to the pope, which they all do. that religious differences should be no bar to the participation of civil rights, i most freely confess. if these differences be not characterized by cruelty, but that this is the case with the constitution or principles of popery, surely no man will deny, who has the least knowledge of that superstitious, idolatrous religion. how is ireland, the garden of europe, one of the most fertile islands in the world, for the production of every species of food for the use of man, with harbours, courting the commerce of the world, with rivers capable of the most effective navigation, with the ord of every metal; ah! low is this interesting country, once famed for its piety and virtue, miserably debased by its religious ignorance, immorality, superstition, priestcraft, popery, and cruelty, which are the infallible sources of all the evils which afflict ireland. here i beg leave to ask, is not this a disgrace to the british empire? it is impossible for the orator who copies from the scence of his vision, to exhibit a correct picture of the sister island. surely, sir, the civil, moral, and religious condition of ireland, will excite the sympathies, and call forth the active benevolence of britain so long incurred, to the laboured of benevolence, and to wipe away the tear from the cheek of sorrow, with the kind hand of charity. by what means may ireland be raised to a level with england, in the scale of nations. by what means can that isle, fruitful in deeds of evil, become as in days of old, the island of saints. by what means can the foul spirit of discord, be made to response to the sound of peace, and the turbulent and factions, be induced to pay their tribute to ceaser, while, at the same time, they give honor to god. these are truly questions of paramount importance, and on which, the learned and good, entertain different opinions. we know that the cause of tumult, crime, and misery, which disturb the peace, and dishonor the character of ireland., lies in her superstitious customs, the absence of her great men, want of poor laws, morals, and the tyrannical conduct of petty land jobbers, to the poor farmers and labourers. one leading error of popery is, their indulgencies, or granting absolutions. they say the pope has power to give pardon and indulgencies, by virtue of which, men are freed from their sins, in the sight of god; besides the blasphemy of this assertion; what is it but a cunning trick and sly artifice, to procure money, this is that indeed which brings grease to the pope's mill. this doctrine, sir, i look upon, as a key that unlocks and opens a door, to all manner of sin and licentiouness, for what need persons regard what sins they commit, if for their money, they can obtain pardon. fox, in his book of martyrs, mentions one that at first was a papist, but reformed, and being brought before bonner, a catholic bishop, in queen mary's time, said, sir, at the first i was of your religion, and then i cared not how i lived, or what sins i committed, because i could with my money, obtain a pardon, but now i am otherwise persuaded, and do believe, that none can forgive sins but god only. the very corner stone of the english reformation was laid, in a just renunciation of this point, for want of which, as a learned writer observes, our kings had long laid under a papal curse, but now god has turned that curse into a blessing. if then i am asked what are the most likely means, to remedy these great and prevailing evils. i answer, let poor laws be established, the rich content themselves in their noble mansions at home, where they may find more real true happiness than abroad, by encouraging their poor tenants, by reducing their rents, tithes, and taxes, and industry in their poor but willing labourers; by this they would become respected and beloved by all their inferiors, equal to the besl of kings and princes, and thus become the most happy of human beings. let the scriptures be circulated throughout the country, sunday schools established, and the gospel the warning voice. 17 preached; then ireland, under the influence of true religion, aided by all the above laudable causes, will be delivered from her degradations and her crimes, become enlightened and peaceable, industrious and frugal, patriotic, loyal, and increasingly benevolent, and happy. hoping, sir, that the day will soon arrive when ireland, the beloved land of my nativity, now comparable to the dreary wilderness, may rejoice and blossom as the rose; be delivered from the hand of popish and political oppression, and universally enlightened by the son of the glorious gospel. i remain, sir, yours, very respectfully, john edward collen, a minister of the gospel. 300 conversion of a village, from popery. a village, called molhausen, in the grand duchy of baden, consisting of about 60 families, or 300 souls, was, at the commencement of the present year, entirely catholic. at the present moment, 48 of these families, or four-fifths of the population are protestants, and the greater part of the remaining fifth are expected to join their former co-worshipers. the following is the manner in which this surprising change has been effected. the cure of the village was a man of remarkable good sense and great assiduity in his pastoral duties, esteemed for his christian virtues, and admired for his learning and moderation. in his sermons to his flock, he endeavoured more to impress upon their minds the general truths of the christian system than the particular dogmas of the catholic church. above all, he inculcated the uselessness of observing external rites and ceremonies, to the exclusion or neglect of internal piety. charity, justice, and all the moral and social duties were more frequently on his lips than the virtues of masses, the power of relics, or the pains of purgatory. this conduct did not suit the vicar-general of the diocese. the cure was summoned into his presence, reproached from his laxness and moderation, and desired henceforth to evince more catholic zeal, or to leave his cure. the good man returned to his village, undismayed by the menaces of his ecclesiastical superior. he called his flock together, with the seigneur of the village at their head, and having recapitulated both the doctrines which he had preached, and those which the vicar-general required him to adopt, he assured them that his concience would not allow him to change his system, but that he would continue to be their pastor as heretofore, if they followed him in the old course and protested against the superstitious bigotry which was attempted to be enforced. the siegneur and upwards of 40 families immediately joined him, and for ever separated themselves from the catholic communion. a petition was sent to the government to appoint another cure for those who continued catholics, but it is now supposed that the expense may be spared, as they are rapidly uniting themselves to the congregation of their old pastor. if the inquisition had existed in baden, this curate and his flock would have made a very pretty au-toda-fee! leeds mercury, nov. 29th, 1823. i shall indeed be very much obliged, if my friends who bought any of my books or pictures, will be pleased to let me have them at prime cost. and that they will also do me the favor, to make this work, public as possible. turnpike and by-roads making. i think all turnpike-roads should be made on the following plan, which, in my humble opinion, might save half the expence at first making, and also in repairs after made; save the poor farmers from the oppression of repairing turnpike-roads, and also them, and other poor travellers from part of the oppressive tolls, by reducing them: please the travellers better than any they ever saw, prevent the danger of carriages being overturned, and serve the cause of humanity, by easing the poor horses' feet. i would make them to fall all one way, which is called an inclined plain. models may be seen made by chance; one a little south of sandal three houses, on the road from wakefield to barnsley. another going up the hill in birstall, the adwalton road. another between huddersfield and lockwood. another between bottom of moor lane, and gomersall. another opposite the fair ground at wakefield. the barrelled roads are made to fall much more on each side than is necessary, in the mode here advised, and great care must be taken that this inclined plain do not fall too much, they must only just fall so much as to be perceived by the naked eye, or that the water will fall. i would lay the causeway on the higher side, and stone it close to the causewaynear to the top, so that either foot or horse may turn off or on without trouble; the space between the causeway and the wall to be kept level with the causeway, or rather to rise a little towards the wall, for the foot people to turn off upon, and they will often walk upon it, if laid so as to keep it dry, as it will be more easy to their feet, and not wear their shoes so fast as the stones. i would set no stones to keep the carts off the causeway, or at least not to stand above the causeway, because there is a penalty upon the driver, and also because such stones are stumbling blocks both by day and night; and many a poor man, and perhaps horse, fall over them in the night, which we never hear of; and such stones perhaps cost more than the damage of the causeway would be in many years. causeways are useful to the rider in winter to keep out of the dirt; and in summer to prevent the horse from raising a cloud of dust to cover the rider, or annoy a fair lady, if one happened to be passing at the time. they are also very useful in the night, because both rider and horse can see them better on a dark night, than the rough stoned stumbling road. they are also very useful to the rider to keep out of the way of coaches, by day and by night, they now run so much too fast. and they may be enjoyed by the horse, without any inconvenience to the foot; if they are laid so that either may turn off with ease. the poor foot people very naturally and very properly claim the causeway as their own; but they are very necessary to both, and may be enjoyed by both with mutual pleasure, if they will only be civil to each other; and civility on one part, will always insure it from the other; and my object is, on all occasions, to create and promote a good understanding between superiors and inferiors, and to see the latter respect the first, and the former respect the latter, for their mutual benefit, pleasure and prosperity. the waggoner will enjoy the causeway, if it be laid so that he can get on or off with ease, to and from his horses. i would stone the road about three earriages or twenty feet broad. i would not put one stone on the other part, which ought to be left seventeen feet broad, without stone, for a summer road. in wet weather the carriages will go upon the stoned part; and in dry weather they will rejoice to go where there are no stones. and it must be stoned so that carriages can go to and from the stoned to the unstoned part at their choice, without much trouble. both the stoned and unstoned must join and lay as one inclined plain, and will require much care to do them judiciously. and great care must be taken that the roads do not fall too much. and if those who execute a new road, will be pleased to take a view of some of the models mentioned above, i think they will be a good guide, though made by chance. this unstoned or stoned road will be very useful to cattle drivers, to turn the sheep and beasts upon, when carriages or horses are passing upon the other. a road made as above described, will be travelled by carriages, each on their own or left side, then they will not have to disturb each other in meeting, as is very common on most roads. in the fine summer weather, the travellers will all be upon the smooth, easy, pleasant road, where there are no stones, and during that time, the surveyor may repair the stoned part, and he must lay his stone where they are to rest, and break them as they go on, and they will lay more solid, than when put on loose, with the shovel or barrow, and never leave a heap of stone unbroke, all night, to narrow the road, or be in the way of man, horses, or carriages to fall over by night or by day; had this rule been in practice, mr. woodcock would not have been killed by his gig running over a heap of stones, and throwing him out of it, and another gentleman being thrown out of the same gig, and very near killed, by running over a second load of stones, in the day time, the 7th of august, 1821, about one mile from pontefract, on the wakefield turnpike-road, road making. 19 € b laid ready to repair the road in winter, to the great annoyance and danger of the travellers, in summer, aud also winter, before laid on. this way of laying the stones on which i advise, will be much cheaper than laying them on the road side, and a man employed to throw them up, and having to take them in their hands or barrows, to lay them on when they do break them, and perhaps laid on in short days, in the depth of winter. and by being broke and exposed to the sun in summer, they would get dry and hard before the wheels come upon them. on tuesday night, the 18th september, 1821, a gentleman's horse fell with him over a load of stones, which were left upon the road unbroke, in boat house lane, hopton, and fractured his shoulder. on monday the 24th of september, 1821, i found a poor weaver in a lane removing a cart load of stones into the hedge bottom, i asked him if he belonged to the road, he said he did not, but was moving the stones out of their way, as they have to go and come home in the dark from their work, and several of them had fallen over the stones. and winter before last a young gentleman was killed by riding over a load of stones at bruneliff thorn. two men broke each a leg by falling over a stone set to save the causeway in bowling lane, near bradford. in autumn, 1829, my cousin, mrs. haigh, of mirfield, was riding behind her man, the horse started, the man checked him, he run back against a load of stones, reared and fell back upon them both, and they were both fast under the horse. turnpike-roads are to be twenty yards broad by act of parliament, over commons; this is much more than is necessary, and a waste of land; for you may very commonly see a wide road, and about one-third or onefourth of it used by the carriages, the other two-thirds occupied by a wide useless ditch on each side; and stones laid in heaps to throw carriages over, and horses and men down by night and by day: many falls over them, are had by men in the night, which we never hear of. but by the way i advise, is never to have a load of stones, or heap of dirt, lay on the road all night, nor any ditch on each side to throw the carriages into. i am of opinion the part of the road without stones,, will, on the average, be travelled six months in the year. i very well remember at the opening of the new road from dewsbury to leeds, in 1817, they would have begun to travel upon the unstoned part in march, and never wanted to go upon the stones till november, which is eight months, the summer proved so favourable; so that the average, including frosts, may be fairly called six months in the year, at least. another advantage in the unstoned part, it would not be so slippery; in a moderate frost, care must be taken to keep the unstoned part always hacked in, and even at all times, both summer and winter, for carriages will prefer it in a moderate frost, and perhaps in a hard frost it may be preferred to rough stones. but they will always go upon the stoned road when the other is soft. consider the hardship upon the poor horses, who are so wonder fully subservient to the cruel will of man. at the opening of a new road, they have to wear the rough stones to a plain path, with their poor lane feet, in summer, for want of the unstoned part to save them, and the same when repaired; the poor horses would tell f • you the hardship, if they could talk. i think all new stoned roads should be covered with furnace cinders, engine ashes, or something small, to save the stones and horses' feet. the covering would lead them to quarter more, and keep the road even. this plan may be extended to by roads, as many of them are wide enough, and much more used in summer than winter ; and the driver of a cart will tell you, how much he prefers a smooth road in summer with his load of hay or corn, to a stoned road. and this unstoned part would save the stones in summer, and they would be ready for winter. though in my opinion the dirt is cleaned too much from roads, particularly in and before the month of march, which is generally a dry month, and would save the stones from being so much worn in summer, if they would let it remain on. but it may be well if they will always cover the stones with it when fresh laid on, to save them and the horses' feet. the want of this covering is one of the greatest errors in road-making and repairing; you may see it very common, both in winter and summer, stones broke small and laid on where the dirt has been shovelled off, the first heavy coach or other heavy carriage wheels that come upon them, breaks them to a sand as small as that they have just taken off, perhaps the same day after laid on. but if the stones were laid on larger and`a good thickness at once, and covered well, even with the sand they have just shovelled off, they could not be so soon broke. how hard that the poor horses are forced to travel upon stones all summer,, which wears the stones, carri-ages, horse shoes, but above all, the poor horses' feet;. and very unpleasant to travellers on foot, horseback, and in carriages, when they might, at a much cheaper rate,, be travelling upon a smooth, easy, comfortable road, without stones. the waggoners will use the unstoped road down hill,, both winter and summer, because it will save them the trouble of putting on the shoe, and also the wear of it, because it will always be smooth where there are no stones, and the locked, waggon wears the road much more going down hill, than being unlocked. but in the soft weather, they will often go down hill unlocked on a moderate hill, when, if they were forced to go upon the stoned part, they would be forced to lock, and have the shoe. the unstoned part down hill will be required to fall more sideway than over the plain, to throw the water off, and prevent it washing too deep; and the jetties, or little hills, to throw the water off, will be required to be kept up with much more care on the unstoned than the stoned part, because the water will have, more power upon the unstoned. to illustrate the above, i would ask the weary traveller on foot, going a long journey, weary and does not know what do with his feet, being hot and sore, on a hot summer's day, how much he would rejoice to find a path where there are no stones? i would next ask the noblemen and gentlemen of fortune, riding out for their pleasure, how much they would be pleased to find a road without stones,. rather than a hard stoned road, and perhaps covered with loose stones in summer? i would next ask the traveller on horseback, with his bags, going a long journey, when travelling over nottingham forest, how much he is pleased with it, because there are no stones? i would next ask the dri9 20 road making. ver of the gig, the one-horse cart, and all sorts of carriages, up to the mail coach and nine inch waggon, if they would not be better pleased with a turnpike-road without stones, in summer, than any they ever sawi i think the owners of estates should always give the land, because it is universally admitted, that turnpike roads improve the estates, much more than the value of the land required, and where they happen to be so impolitic as to refuse to do so, and ask too much for the land; a jury should be called, and be advised, that it is their duty to value the improvement the road will make to the estate, and deduct that from the value of the land required, same as they would add the loss and inconvenience a tradesman would suffer, over and above the prime cost of his property, by being forced by law, to give up his shop, warehouse, or public house, by which he gained his living, i think justice has an equal claim, and i hope will dictate under both these circumstances. • x much more harm than good is done to roads by letting off the water. a gentleman was lately thrown out of his gig by driving over a hole that was made in the road, to let off the water. and if trustees would please to direct their surveyors upon old roads, to lay no heaps of stone or dirt by the causeway side, but to lay them on the opposite side, if they will continue that practice. and they will prevent many a poor man having many a hard fall over them, in the night. i was going from wakefield to dewsbury with a man on foot, and i took notice of a heap of dirt laid in the way; he said he had fallen over that heap, three times in the night; he damned the dirt and the man that laid it there. i also advise them to let the causeway bend downwards opposite field gates, to save the causeway pulling up to get into the fields; and to keep the hedges brushed by the causeway, both these are neg lected upon turnpike and by-roads. 1 || not a greater duty of trustees, than to supply the roads with good watering places, where water is to be found; i know five different places, where the roads have been deprived of watering places by inclosures, and other causes, for want of attention in the trustees. on the on the principal of charity, humanity, and philanthropy, i do most heartily wish to see this plan of road making put in execution, to save the poor horses' feet, and to relieve the poor travellers with one and two horse carts, (who and their horses earn their bread much too hard) and others from part of the oppressive tolls, and to see the side or pick pocket bars taken down, because they extort money contrary to justice; and the intention of the wisdom of the legislature, which is, that every man shall travel a fair proportion of the road for his money; think no man ought to pay toll till he has travelled two miles upon the road, or will travel two miles after he has paid, or make it up two miles before and after he passeth the bar. ii this plan may be put in practice upon old turnpike there is of room in general, and it will only be taking part of the old stoned part to repair the other, and by that means gain an unstoned road for summer. but this will be very imperfect, compared with the summer road, being made when the whole road is made new, as there is generally plenty of room upon old turnpike roads, a great part of which is commonly covered in summer with heaps of stone laid ready to be broke, and spread on thin all across the road in winter, and perhaps not till the road is wet, dirty, and cut deep, at or before or after christmas. i advise the breaking of these stones as they go on in summer, on one side of the road a good thickness, broke three inches square, where they are to lay ready for the carriages when they want them, covered with furnace einders or dross, and they will lay as secure against being worn, as if they were unbroke in heaps, for the carriages will never come upon them till they want them, if there be room left to pass on one side where there are no stones; by this rule, the labour of breaking and laying them on, will perhaps be half reduced, and the stone will perhaps wear twice as long as being broke very small, and laid on thin in winter; and a summer road may soon be had by keeping one half stoned, and the other half unstoned; this rule may be applied to by roads where there is room. " it is my opinion stones are generally broke too small upon turnpike-roads. nearer they are broke to a sand, and less they will wear. and if you would take a coal riddle, and riddle stones broke to six ounces only, you would perhaps find one-third of them go through the riddle, which is no better than the sand they shorel off the road, occasioned by breaking them too small. if they would lay on a good body at once, they would be better broke larger, if three to four inches square, by which money might be saved, and they would be more open and porous, and would let the water through; then cover them with furnace oinders or dross; and plenty may be had from low moor iron works, near bradford, where they have above half a million of tons. advise all navigation companies to let this dross or cinders pass at half lock dues, to encourage the use of them, then they will go far and near to cover the stones, being the best, and perhaps cheapest material for that purpose which i know; and when they get the turnpike-road made down the bailiff bridge valley, to the very easy to that place by land, and may be shipped there for any other place. i think the water wears the roads down hills more than the carriages, especially when a locked waggon has made a gutter, it often collects in the middle of the road, and makes a current so strong as to carry stones above six ounces down, and often wears a deep hole in the road, in danger of turning a mail coach over. this evil will in a great degree be cured, by the road falling all one way, it will throw the water off side way upon a moderate still, and may do the same by making little jetties upon steep hills, which is often done. and a stone gutter may be made down the sides of the hills, to carry the water down, so level it will do that, and not throw a carriage over, if any happen to go into it. since writing the above, i am informed the wakefield and austerland trustees, have ordered the jetties to be taken away, because the coaches find some inconvenience from them. but if they do take them away, they will find much danger of their being overturned, by the holes the water will make upon long hills. the jetties should be made when the new road is made, directly across, and the rise and fall should begin and end at a considerable distance from the top, and rise and fall road making. 21 almost imperceptibly, then the coaches would scarcely discover or find any inconvenience from them. i was paying two-pence for my horse at westgate bar, near wakefield, and a poor chimney sweeper came upon a poor ass, without halter or shoes, for he said he had not money to buy either. the bar man took twopence of him for passing this bar, though justice says the ass should not pay above one-fourth of the horse; and i hope, in future, this regulation will take place, both upon old and new roads, for the ass pays same as the horse on all turnpike-roads that i know. the asses do not contribute much to the support or wear of the road, but the saving of three-fourths of their toll is very important to the owners, with a view to economy, the preservation of roads, and ease and comfort of all sorts of travellers and horses, i advise roads to be made rather winding, if they have an old one to follow to use, and a little rising and falling, rather than straight forward and over a plain, where the ground will admit. by the first, carriages will quarter more; by the second, the water will run off and keep the road dry and clean, when it would be wet and dirty over a plain. and a little hill would also ease the poor horses, by changing their position, though a little drawing up hill, down is a change; as the labouring man always wants to change his hand or position for his ease. i have often had this opinion confirmed by my worthy friend the late mr. henry henshaw, of oldham, who was a very great walker, but never mounted a horse, and seldom a carriage, for many years. he said he would much rather walk over a road a little rising and falling, than over a plain, because it eased him by changing his position. in the early part of his life, he overlooked a great dye-house, by which he impaired his health so much, that he lived upon vegetables and milk above twenty years, the latter part of his life. he said he was of a warm, hasty temper, and when he was walking through the dye-house and saw a man doing wrong, his temper began to warm, and inclined to scold him, but he always turned back and reasoned with him when he was cool. his brother, the late mr. thomas henshaw, and himself, went from the dying to the hat manufactory, lived to old age, and died worth two hundred thousand pounds; and through their whole life were good and liberal masters, did many noble acts of charity, and were good economists. yet they always, to their honour, kept a generous old english hospitable house, where refreshment was always ready for every poor man who went there upon business. and i do hope from whatever house that old english hospitality has fled, it will soon return when this is heard. for these good men were labouring men in their youth, and know the value of a little refreshment to a hungry, travelling, weary, poor man, who perhaps had not one penny in his pocket, and rejoiced all the way he was going to this hospitable mansion, where he knew he should get something to eat and drink for nothing. leave to observe, that thirty pounds a year, a little more or perhaps much less would, in the house of a gentleman of fortune, with the regulation of good economy, do all that is needful for the above mentioned purpose of gratifying the poor, hungry, weary travelling foot man of business. in the year 1918, the dewsbury gentlemen contem. plated a turnpike road from dewsbury to leeds, a distance of eight miles, and were so sanguine, they solicited every man that had, and some that had not £50. to spare, and they signed an instrument which would compel them to pay. the estimate was twelve thousand, and has cost about twenty thousand pounds, when was subscribed, they went to parliament, and obtained an act which cost six hundred pounds. they began to execute, trade became bad, and some could not, and some would not pay; they tried every means to increase their subscriptions, to finish by their own resources, but in vain; the town of leeds only subscribed £150. but as they had begun, necessity at length compelled them to apply to government, who lent them first-£5000. and after that £4000. at five per cent. interest, which interest the trustees engaged to pay; and also five per cent. every year towards paying off the principal, the whole to be paid off in twenty years. they have finished this road, but in the most injudicious, extravagant, ill-contrived manner possible. they have done it as wild and extravagantly as if it had been for napoleon bonaparte, of france, or william pitt, of england, when they were at the summit of their power and extravagance. how is this great error to be accounted for, perhaps some will say, because every bodies business is no bodies, i am inclined to say, for want of attention in the trustees. and perhaps i may not be wrong if i say further, that it is in part, because trustees have no allowance for their trouble, and expences when they meet, i would have it limited, suppose to 5s. per day when they dine, and limit the number to the first ten that entered the room, including the clerk, so that they be not treated when there is a great meeting to contest any matter. why should the plain, sensible, intelligent trustee, who has his own private affairs and family to attend, leave them and go and give his time and expences at a turnpike meeting. had this small expence been paid by the treasurer, and due attention given to the road, many thousands might have been saved in making this eight miles of road, and been worth many thousands more to the public, by having been well exécuted. here i can speak both feelingly and experimentally, i have attended ten meetings of the barnsley and grange-moor trustees without intermission, where i have no interest, but to discharge my duty as a trustee, and to promote roads making on my new plan, for the good of the public, and i have had to pay my own expences. to pay a trustee's expences, would add to his obligation to discharge his duty, and i do think the qualification of a trustee should be reduced from £100. to £50. per annum. humble men often have more experience and pay more i am truly sorry to hear, that drunkennes and extrava-attention to roads than the opulent. they have been gance has driven this laudable old english hospitality in such a hurry to get the road done, they have been out of many of the kitchens of gentlemen of fortune, regardless of the quality of their materials, perhaps used who have charity, and the amiable disposition to serve some stone little better than an unburned brick, laid the poor, hungry, travelling man of business; and beg them on much too thick, and after the road opened forced 22 road making. to cover the small part, which the wheels used with burnt stone, burnt brick, or furnace cinders, to prevent it being cut up to the nave. they have incurred too much expence in land, i am told they paid £4000. for land which should all have been given, or a jury called as above mentioned, and would have been given, if they had paid it due attention. they have laid the causeway in many places so high, that neither foot or horse can get off or on but at each end, and so narrow they cannot meet upon them without danger. the hill between topcliff and dunningley, near the top of tingley-moor, is, i think, four inches rise at the yard, and providence or nature had formed a line by winding there, within about a hundred yards, would i think not have been above two inches rise at the yard. and since writing this, i have been informed there is another line much easier and shorter than either of these, and would have been less expensive, but for want of attention in the trustees. they have choose the worst of the three. in many parts they have cut through valuable land where the old road laid, some within three, five, teu, twenty, some one hundred yards of the new road, where by a little winding, they would have had the benefit of an old, good, solid road, and have saved money, land, and the loss and inconvenience to the poor tenants. and a new road was lately opened from sheffield, through glossop, towards manchester, was estimated at eleven thousand pounds, and they say has cost between thirty and forty thousand, for want of attention and prudence in the trustees. i have no way of accounting for these three great errors, but want of attention in the trustees, for i have the honor and pleasure of knowing many of the dewsbury and leeds, and also wakefield and austerland road trustees, and from my own knowledge, i think them clever and very superior men. these three pieces of extravagance, folly, and want of attention in trustees, and my attending above ten turnpike meetings at barnsley, without intermission, where several diversions are contemplated in the road from barnsley to bradford, (in doing which we have found much difficulty) have exeited my attention to discharge my duty to the public, by writing this upon turnpike-roads, which may perhaps be applied to all other trustees of turnpike-roads in the united kingdom. many gentlemen are frightened and disgusted, and afraid of meddling with turnpike-roads, so many do not pay, and the repairs of them are thrown upon gentlemen's tenants, occasioned by extravagance, for want of attention from the trustees, and nothing else. the dewsbury and leeds trustees take all the tolls, and have thrown the repairs of their new road upon the poor teuants, though they are not able to live upon their farms at their present rents and taxes, though it was only opened in march, 1817. and i am informed the township of soothill has agreed to give the trustees £110. per year, to free them from the repairs of about two miles of this new road; had they executed this road with prudence and attention, they would have prevented this oppression-does not such call aloud for a remedy. i am almost afraid of publishing this censure upon the want of attention in trustees, and bad management of turnpike-roads, for fear-should make it a pretence for taking the roads into their hands; was that ever to happen, we should have the land covered with petty tyrants, which none could, or would control. but i say, god forbid this ever happening in this once happy land of freedom and liberty. when a new road is to be executed, the trustees should go over the line repeatedly, or again and again, and make every inquiry and observation, to find out the best and cheapest line, before they determine upon it, and direct and control their engineer and surveyor, and not have to blame them when the mischief is done. had they observed this rule, and made this road by the plan i advise, and did advise them and which they repeatedly approved, i do think they might have saved much above ten thousands pounds, in making this eight miles of road. engineers and ingenious men, are superior and most valuable in their own way. but the attention of the trustees, and plain pleading men of hard experience on this and many other occasions, would have been found superior to them. i can say as much against the diverting of the road from horbury bridge to grange-moor, about four miles, it should have gone up the valley by smithy brook, close i always understood, that in old times, when money was to the quarry, and over emroyd common, a piece of so plentiful, that every man's pocket was full, and could bad land, covered with coal pit and iron stone hills, pay his way with ease and pleasure, that it was the which land over emroyd would have been given them, practice of trustees of roads to be wary and cautious, and and saved much expence, and avoided cutting the best to use all good economy, with a view to keep low, and of land to pieces, removing a house and two barns out reduce the tolls, and relieve the payers as much as posof their way, cutting through two hills and through a sible. but now when nineteen men out twenty feel garden, and filling up a valley, and the road would have themselves in poverty, and unable to pay their way been much easier; a moderate fall all the way, over even comfortably, is it not wonderful, that trustees should so plain ground, no impediment, no house, barn, or hill to far forget their duty of economy, and adopt extravaremove, or garden to buy at the price the owner choose-gance, and only think of advancing tolls at the time to take, and they would have had a quarry of good hard they should study every means to reduce them, and to stone close to the middle of the line of the road, both to see that every one travel a fair proportion of the road make and repair it in future, so that they appear to have for his money, and not take most of the toll at one followed the bad example of the dewsbury and leeds end of the road, or by side bars, which is too much the trustees. i think they have wasted two thousand pounds practice, which side bars have been occasioned by bar in about four miles, and the road would have been better farmers. i occasionally visit a friend af the distance of by thousands to the public, if they had taken the better five miles, and have to pass three bars, side bars or line, and it should have gone close to the new grange chains, on three roads, and they take from me 44d. farm house, and crossed the caphouse valley, a little though i do not travel much above half a mile upon lower, where it is not half so wide as where they did all the three roads. i do think this is great injustice to cross, and been a much better and easier road. me and others. road making. 23 here i cannot avoid expressing my feelings and charity for the poor mail coach horses, whom government have lately ordered shall be driven at the rate of ten miles per hour, which i am sure few horses will bear long; and i am equally sure there is no necessity for it, and that it increaseth the danger to the travellers, and that the cruelty is a disgrace to our country. a poor horse running in the coach, lately fell down dead at waterloo-bridge, near huddersfield; and another dropped down the moment he arrived at the white bear, in barnsley. i fear many thousands of these noble, generous, useful animals are thus sacrificed, in the year, in different parts of the kingdom. the following extract from the leeds mercury of the 30th of august, 1823, i hope will confirm my opinion, and help to abate this useless oppression and cruelty to the poor horses, and needless hurry and danger to the travellers. "we have received a very pathetic and vigorous remonstrance against the proposed arrangement for effecting the post office communication, between this place and london, in three instead of four days. like the box of pandora, our correspondent represents this project as full of mischief, without finding hope, even at the bottom. his first alligation is, that it would kill the mail coach horses. his next fear is, that it would harrass the post-master and his assistants, by turning night into day. the merchants' clerks, he says, would have to fag at the wrong end of the day, and their morals would be exposed to the danger of late hours. the ladies be alleges, would oppose the measure, en masse, as it would break up their social evening circles, and destroy their husbands' repose. in a word it would, as he conceives, contract the enjoyment of the servant, and increase the anxieties of the master, without producing any benefit, except to speculators and adventurers." having advocated the cause of the poor, in my letter to mr. scarlett; and here accused trustees of roads of want of attention, allow me to guess the turnpike-tolls, and toll bar farmers, cost the nation ten millions per annum, more or less. and yet i never heard a complaint from superiors against this extravagant tax. then how singular, that all superiors appear to have combined in complaining of the cost of the poor, more than any. other tax, which i guess does not amount to four millions per annum, or above half what they are charged with, if a fair account was taken; for i believe many thousands are charged to their account, which does not belong to it. on this last very important subject, i hope i have not written in vain. and that the whole nation will join me in approving the law, and consider it the brightest jewel in the constitution, and rejoice that the wisdom of our forefathers gave us such a law as no other nation in the world enjoys, and attend and see it properly executed, and always in favor of charity. shall i call the present deplorable, miserable state of ireland, where they have no poor law, in support of my argument? or shall i call upon your charity and sound policy, in support of the same? i will go | further, and call upon the vitals of your best private interest: are not the poor the relatives of you or your forefathers? and will none of your children or children's children have to apply for relief from the town? have not we all been poor? aud can you tell who is not to be poor? then i beg we may hear no more complaining of the poor tax, but rejoice that we have such a tax; where there are objects relieve them bountifully, and let your overseers make no more hard bargains with them, by threatening them with the workhouse. and consider you might have been in their situation. but attend and reduce the turnpike-tax, and i will join you heartily in that. or i will join you in executing the poor, law properly, but not uncharitably. that law does not say the idle man shall ride upon the industrious man's back. i do hope from this time the poor will be considered one of the most important earthly subjects. have not they fought our battles? and have not they conquered and saved us from ruin? repeal the select vestry act, and let the poor law be administered by the worthy magistrates, overseers, and inhabitants, as asual, it cannot be in better hands, or better executed than by them. i can even trace the merits of the english poor to the battle of waterloo, they fought and gained that battle. and when the duke of wellington, was complimented upon the victory, his lordship said, no, the merit is not due to me, but the superior physical force, and invincible constancy of the british soldier. weighing machines. the weighing machines are a great expence, a nuisance, a plague to the poor carriers and others, both summer and winter, and dont do the least service to the road. they do no good in frost. they do no good in fine dry summer weather. and in wet weather, when they would carry a few hundreds too much, the most keen eyed philosopher could not tell the difference at few hundreds would make to the wear of the road, supposing the poor carrier had to take it to oblige his customer. but it ought to be considered, that he goes his stages loaded or not loaded, and perhaps at times with half a load or no load, and has the tolls to pay. but many gentlemen can prove that they do an unknown injury, for they are generally let with the toll bars. and instead of doing service, they only give the bar-keeper an arbitrary power of extorting money at his discretion from the poor carrier; then he may carry as much weight as his poor horses can carry, if he only satisfy them. or perhaps they may agree by the year; then they are completely useless as to the preservation of the road, for they may carry as much weight as they please all the year round. not long since a miller paid £6. for a boiler passing agbrigg machine, near wakefield, upon six or nine inch wheels. on the 15th of february, 1822, a gentleman's waggon, with six inch wheels, was weighed at the machine at sandal bar, near wakefield, loaded with furniture, 24 road making. a which could not be loaded in little room, and was charged seventeen cwt. overweight. and also one with three inch wheels was charged twenty-five cwt. overweight; for both of which the bar-keeper demanded 15. 18s. od. t on the 27th of march, deacon, harrison and co. the carriers waggon with six inch wheels, at the same machine was charged thirty-eight cwt. overweight, amounting to £24. 19s. 6d. for which they took a horse out of the team, and sold him by auction, without ever demanding the money; which might have been a much heavier loss, by delaying the goods, had they not been near home to get another horse. deacon, harrison, and co. weighed all these goods and empty waggon separate, and proved to the satisfaction of a respectable bench of magistrates at the wakefield court-house, that the bar-keeper had overcharged them near £8. yet they said no redress could be had but at common law. and as they proved the gentleman's goods were as much overcharged in proportion, they have both commenced actions to seek redress at law. how well that these are rich men, and will, if possible, do themselves justice. but poor men submit to such abuses, rather than have the trouble, and hazard the expence, of a law suit. i hope these reasons will induce trustees of roads to abolish weighing machines as an useless needless plague to the public, and of no use to the road. letting of toll bars. the and consider, they will find they do none of the three; nor anything, but what they, their clerk and surveyor, can do much better than them, and on many occasions, with less trouble and vexation, than they have with the bar-takers. to enumerate the misfortunes that have bappened to many good men, occasioned by the weighing machines, bar-farmers, and oppressive tolls, would take a volume to explain. i know much evil that has been occasioned thereby, too tedious to describe. i expect these complaints against weighing machines and letting of toll bars, may be applied to all turnpike-roads in the united kingdom. i do most sincerely advise all trustees to take all the bars into their own hands, and give their clerks, surveyors, and bar-keepers better wages, and make their places worth having; the bar-keepers will not cheat, but be honest, happy, and comfortable. i also advise them to let the workmen upon the roads have better wages, to enable them them to work, eat, drink, and live comfortable, and no longer let the bar-farmers get the money, which they and their road ought to have for their own benefit, and to enable the trustees to reduce the tolls. the clerks, surveyors, bar-keepers, and workmen upon the roads, form a great body in society, and have as just a claim to protection and comfort as any other men, and as well qualified to discharge their duty with honor and integrity. then why should the bar-keepers be treated like traitors and vagabonds? why are not they to be made comfortable as the servants of individuals? and i do think if the trustees will please to consider this subject well, they will find they have more trouble and vexation with the rich bar-takers, than they would have with the poor bar-keepers; and the trouble and vexation the bar-takers give the public is boundless. and i beg leave to observe, that i think one horse carts should be allowed to run wheels of such breadth, as is most convenient to the owners. and that the same indulgence should be allowed to all other owners of carriages. because i argue, that roads are made for the use, benefit, and convenience of travellers. and that travellers are not made for the use, benefit, and convenience of roads. why do trustees of turnpike roads continue that pernicious practice of letting the tolls to opulent men, who treat poor bar-keepers like dogs, by changing them from place to place, and often turning them out of their houses without employ, at a moment's warning, and have been the cause of the side or pick pocket bars being set up. these bar takers make combinations, gain much money by this idle trade, for doing worse than nothing, and exercise oppression upon poor travellers and bar-keepers. cannot the trustees, their clerk and surveyor, manage a few poor harmless bar-keepers, as well as rich bar-takers. they say there is one in yorkshire has gained forty thousand pounds by this very idle trade; and they travel hundreds of miles to look after these poor bar-keepers. i do believe from my own observation, confirmed by that of others, that the bar-takers have gained by the wakefield and austerland road, twenty thousand pounds within little more than twenty years past; would not these, and other sums they have wasted, have enabled them to reduce the tolls, instead of advancing them, and allowed them to have given the poor workmen and barkeepers better wages, made them honest, comfortable,cles." and happy. i now appeal to the sundry lettings of their bars, for the truth of this my assertion. trustees appear so fond of letting the tolls, that one would almost be led to believe they thought the tolltakers brought more travellers upon the roads, or kept the road in repair, or did some good to the road, that nobody else could do but them. if they will examine a question has arisen out of the provisions of the new turnpike act, that it may be somewhat difficult to determine. by the 10th section of that act, it is provided-"that nothing herein contained relating to the breadth of the wheels of carriages, or to the tolls payable thereon, shall extend or be construed to extend to any chaise, marine, coach, landau, berlin, barouche, sociable, chariot, calash, hearse, break, chaise, curricle, gig, chair, or taxed cart, market cart, or other cart for the conveyance of passengers or light goods or artithe question is, what are light goods? the merchants and manufacturers say, every description of manufactures come under that designation; but the tollbar contractors hold, that woollen cloths and stuff pieces are not light goods, and insist that every cart or waggon laden with them must either have the fellies of their wheels of the breadth of four and a half inches, or pay an extra toll for running with narrow wheels, leeds mercury, 23d may, 1823. road making. 25 turnpike tolls, 1823. mr. cobbett has been exerting himself very laudably and with his usual zeal, to put an end to the exactions which have been practised by many of the toll-bar keepers in the neighbourhood of london, and by some in the country; and to prevent these impositions in future, he has published in his last register, the following clear exposition of the laws regarding the tolls on one horse carts:in 1822, an act was passed, laying an additional toll on one horse carts with narrow wheels. this additional toll was one-half of the old toll: so that, a toll that was 3d. became 41d. this act went into force in january last; and the tolls were then raised accordingly. but mind, tax carts, market carts, and carts for light goods and passengers were excepted. these were not to be charged any additional toll; and they were not; but the additional toll was laid on all other carts; and the foll-collectors so interpreted the law, as to find but very few exceptions: for they made the poor ass cart men pay the additional toll. on the 19th july, 1823, another act was passed, and this new act, in order to do away this exaction of the toll-collectors, and to leave no room for dispute, made (in clause 19) the exemption to extend, immediately, to all one horse carts. so that from that day, all additional toll on one horse carts ceased. and whoever has taken any additional toll on any one horse cart, since 19th july last, is liable to a penalty of £5. it may be proper to add, for the information of ers and others, that it is not sufficient that they should have their names and places of residence placed at the front of the carts, but they must have them put on the side, or they will be liable to the same penalty as if the name was not at all upon the cart. mr. cobbett appeared at bow-street on monday, and laid informations against several turnpike toll-collectors, for having taken too high a toll from poor men, who keep one horse carts. the magistrates convicted them in the penalties for the offence. it appears that they had extorted at least £5. a day more than they had a claim to. 7.1. 20 the causeway at the upperside. my new plan of road making, forty-five feet broad outside the walls or hedges. to fall all one way, (called an inclined plain) so little that you can just see it falls, and that the water will run off, and the stoned and unstoned must join the very same as if it was all stoned, so that carriages may go from one to the other with ease at their pleasure. but it requires much care, attention, and ingenuity to do this. well. the causeway to be laid on the highest side. a stone gutter to carry the water down on the low side where it does not run into the fields. but care must be taken to let it into the fields as much as possible, through the hedges or walls, to prevent it washing the farm-road, which is too common. this appears one of the safest, easiest, pleasantest, cheapest, and most simple experiments that ever was made, for if the unstoned be not approved it can be stoned after it is tried, and if six inches of stone and two or three inches of covering be not enough, it may be increased. the turnpike house should have two rooms on the ground floor, five yards little malt liquor, and a garden, &c. the house door at square each, with a pantry or cellar that will keep a the end, a window on each side near the end, that they may see the travellers come. i advise the turnpike gate posts to be made of stone; in this stone county i expect will come cheaper than wood and more durable, and to be set with stone between them, and the fence walls four feet high. by this new mode of road making, carriages may all travel on their own or left side and not in the middle, and save the trouble of turning each other a side. 20 the path between the causeway and the wall for the foot people to turn off or walk upon when dry. 20 0 stoned six inches thick of stone broke from three to four inches square from side to side, exclusive of the covering; to be covered two or three inches thick with furnace cinders or dross, engine ashes, burnt stone, brick or gravel, then the stone may be broke three to four inches square, then they will be porous and let the water through, stoned close to the causeway, near the top, so that foot or horse may turn off or on to the causeway without trouble. 17 0 unstoned, not one stone or any thing hard to be put upon it for a summer road.. 4 0 the walls or hedges, but i advise hedges on the low side, then the water will run through them into the fields. the walls two feet wide at the bottom, twelve inches at the top, four feet high. 45 or 15 yds. total breadth outside of the walls or hedges. old fashioned plan, forty to forty-five feet broad outside the walls. 30 feet broad all stoned and left uncovered, the rest causeway, walls and ditches. 18 inches thick, stoned at the crown. 26 road making, 15 inches stoned at the ribs, or half way between theprived of his rest and sleep, all for the chance of a crown and skirt. 9 inches thick, stoned at the skirt. barrelled or round so much, that carriages all travel in the middle of the road, and a deep dangerous ditch on each side. compare them and see if half may not be saved, both at first making, and in repairs after made. penny or two. if any one happen to come in the dead of night, a thousand to one but he has paid that day, or will be taken at some other bar on the road, there are now so many bars; or if he come early in the morning, a thousand to one but he will return that day, or be taken at some other bar for want of a ticket. all this hurry, loss of time, and danger to the health of the bar-keepers and travellers, for the chance of a penny or nothing; but supposing a trifle should be gained, i appeal to all gentlemen trustees of roads, whether the loss of the health of the bar-keepers, and others, and the inconvenience to all the travellers, by being stopped on a bad night, will not overbalance the chance of gain a thousand times fold; and if they keep the toll-bars in their own hands, whether they would not allow the bars to be thrown open from ten at night, to four in the morning, to accommodate their friends, the public who support the road, and also the poor faithful bar-keepers. ✓ 图 ​another pernicious effect, occasioned by the pernicious practice of letting toll bars, which i have been desired to insert since i had finished upon road-making. the voracious bar-takers are never satisfied without every penny they can rake together, whatever inconvenience they occasion to the bar-keepers or travellers. they require the bars to be kept shut all night, whatever the loss, danger or inconvenience be to the barkeepers or travellers. the medical gentleman, or any other comes on horseback on a rainy, snowy, cold, frosty night; or a coach or other carriage, they are all stopped starving till the poor bar man can get out with half his clothes on. the medical gentleman in haste, on life and death, and all others exposed to the dreary cold night, and the poor bar-keeper exposed, and dein addition to the evils described above, the poor bar-keeper is exposed to the danger of being murdered and robbed in the dead of night, as the thieves know they always have money; this fear must be a great terror to the poor bar-keepers, and make them very unhappy. agriculture. to the lords of the soil, and their tenants.shewing them the way to the prosperity or ruin of their estates and farms. my lords and gentlemen, as it is the custom in some parts of this kingdom for the landlord to be owner of the tenant-right, and that our custom of the tenant being owner, is called local; a very important question very naturally ariseth between the two, viz.-whether it be more for the benefit of the landlord, the tenant, and improvement of the soil, that the landlord should be owner of the tenant-right, even when he has purchased it of the tenant; or, that the tenant should continue to be the owner, as is the custom in this part of the kingdom. i confess that my opinion is in favor of the custom of this part of the country, because i think it emulates and excites a greater spirit of industry, ingenuity and independence in the tenant; and makes no difference to the landlord, but what is greatly in his favor, by keeping the land in better condition than the landlord being owner of the tenant-right. and the offgoing tenant receiving, and the on-coming tenant paying to him, appears to me the only security for the landlord to have his estate in the happiest state of cultiva tion and condition, and to have good tenants, which makes £20. per acre difference, between that and being run out of condition, and made very poor. since writing the above, i have been in the eastriding of yorkshire, and am informed, where the landlord is owner of the tenant-right, and requires the tenants to take six months' leases, restraining them from selling hay and straw, and binding them to a particular course of husbandry, the tenants are universally poor, weak and debilitated, and unable to cultivate and till the land to perfection, and will soon be unable to pay their rents and taxes, if they be not both reduced. for want of the encouragement which ought to be given to them, by the tenant being owner of the tenant-right, as is the custom of our part, which ought to be practiced all over the world. because i do think it is the only way to revive them, and give them strength, vigour, courage, industry and enterprize. where this is not the case, the tenants are getting all they can out of the land, and making it poor, with a view to leave it, or fall under the load; in either of which dire cases, the ruin of the gentlemen's estates will inevitably follow. this being of the utmost importance to the interest of all landlords, i do think it is worthy of their best attention, and also that of their stewards. my object in wishing to see this published to the world is, to see that sterling, old english, good oldfashioned custom restored in the minds of the landlords, to prefer the old tenant, or his most distant relative, (which fashion, the last war and high price of corn has unfortunately banished with some for a time) and to engraft the great truth, that their interest is mutual, reciprocal, and inseparable; and that that measure which will hurt one, will hurt the other, serve one, will serve the other, eventually. and that they are partners; and it is a partnership of such a nature, that they cannot dissolve without injury to both. and that i do sincerely hope all landlords will treat both their old and new tenants, (who are the most numerous and most valuable parts of society) with that judgment and tenderness, which their present distressed condition requires and calls aloud for; by reducing their rents, which can be paid long, for which i know many of and parliament their taxes, without delay, neither of these two very needful acts are done, then we shall all them have long been inclined to petition, but dare not, for fear of giving offence to their landlords. "when rejoice, and be thankful to the almighty for the great, plenty, and good harvests bestowed upon us, and enjoy our native comfort and happiness, superior to any people in the known world. since, writing the above, some discerning, experi enced, judicious men have said to me-the distress and weakness of the tenants are become so great, and by this cause the land is gone and going out of condition, and becoming so poor, that a famine (in these once fertile islands) will follow, if the landlords do not prevent it, by relieving the farmers by a reduction of rents, and parliament of taxes, and that many farms are become masters of the tenants, and will also become masters of the landlords, if they do not prevent it. it is a great error in landlords supposing, that because their tenants pay their rents, they are doing well. if they will please to consider how anxious every man is,' and how necessary it is, to preserve his credit, and guard against the horror of the depredators called bailiffs, coming and breaking up his humble, only, lonely home and whole establishment, and selling his goods at the they are, to the owner, worth 150. or £200. per cent. rate of fifty per cent. or more under their value, when pay their rents, or pay them out of the scanty capital these are the reasons why tenants borrow money to they have saved by their industry and economy in their youth, in better times, to support them in their declining years. and it is almost as great an error in supposing they are to gain by new tenants; because if a new one enters to a farm in good condition, without paying for the h 28 agriculture. tenant-right, he may make it worse by 10 or £20. per acre, before the landlord or steward be aware of it, and then fall under the load which the old one would not or could not carry, and then be forced to quit the farm, to the irreparable injury of the landlord. i have the honor to be, most respectfully, my lords and gentlemen, your most obedient humble servant, richard milnes. custom of this country between off-going and on-coming tenants to farms. the custom of this part of the kingdom between the off-going and on-coming tenant, is so much the mutual. benefit of the landlord and tenant, and the only certain way to improve the soil, and keep the farm in the highest state of cultivation and condition, that i do think it ought to be known to, and practiced by, all the world which is as follows.-they enter to the farm the 2d. of february, or candlemas day, and the housing the 1st day of may; one-third of the always to grass, and liberty to use and cultivate the other to the best of their skill and judgment. 1st.-the hay, corn, straw aud manure are the property of the tenant, to be paid for by the landlord or new tenant, to the old one when he quits the farm; which appears to me the only sure way to keep the farm in high condition, which is always the landlord's best interest, and the most sure way to encourage the tenant to exercise his ingenuity, his strong arm, labour, and his purse for the benefit of his landlord, himself, and the succeeding tenant. 2d.-the manure or lime laid upon grass and fallows, and no crop taken to be paid for, and also the carriage and spreading on, also for tillage and half tillage, which implies upon fallows plowing, harrowing, quicking, and all other labour. 3d. the manure or lime laid on grass and fallows, and one crop taken, to be considered half tillage, and half as much paid as by no. 2. the off-going tenant is also entitled to the way-going crops, that is wheat sowed upon bean stubble and clover lays. " 4th.-wheat sowed.-5th.-clover.-6th.-fallows. all these depend upon circumstances, situation, and condition, and the value of them must be ascertained by the two valuers, and paid for accordingly. new tenants prefered to old ones. though farms are universally too dear, and tenants break upon them, and many landlords kind, friendly, and well-disposed to relieve their tenants, but it is unfortunate that young ones offer to take them, and perhaps some at the old rents, though it is said they are. generally let lower to new tenants than old ones, those are young men of little experience, adventurers, willing to play the game at hazards, and where the tenant right is not paid as above, they can enter with little capital, though a farmer of one hundred acres ought to have one thousand pounds to keep his farm in good condition, and so in proportion for a greater quantity. but where the tenant right is not demanded of them, they enter with small capital, and if the farm be in good condition, they may run and impoverish it, and soon make it worse by from £10 to £20 per acre, before it can can be discovered by the landlord or steward, become poor and unable to pay their rent, and perhaps leave the farm worse by one or two thousand pounds, if it be a large one, than when they entered. some tenants will not give up till they fall under their load, others will not waste their substance and quit. i do think landlords had better encourage and keep their old tenants, with their experience, by lowering the rents and taxes, where rents were raised according to the past times of prosperity. advice to farmers, how to get their corn in bad harvests. his sheaves made small, and to have them set up in my advice to the farmer, is to take great care to have eights, well and neatly set up, and hooded, then they/ will be ready for bad weather, and sure to be right if good come; and when it is dry, to get it in if possible by day or by night, regardless of the glass, the fine weather, or talk of your neighbours; but be particularly not to get dry, which is an error too careful not to get it before dry, which is an error too common among farmers; had this rule been observed in the year 1821, much corn would have been well got, which was spoiled. the wind in the 1st of october stacks as they laid them on, and though very useful to was so it blew the sheaves from the carts and that was uncut, as much as two loads per acre, and some dry the corn that was cut, it shook some late wheat late oats, where the farmers could not raise strength to cut them soon as ripe, were almost half of them shook on to the ground; this is a proof that the farmer's work is never done, it requires his attention almost day and night, and he may farm seven years, and have seven different seasons to consult; after this tedious trouble with a brisk wind, the late corn on the borders of the some harvest, the month of october provod fine indeed, mountains, second elips of clover and beans were gota well in this month, where they had patience to let them being active, to get wheat when dry, in the year 1816,1 as a of what i have said above, about i had the finest crop of wheat upon my farm, ath boothroyd, cut and dry on the saturday, and my experience was such, that i should certainly have got it in that day with my own and hired teams, but being scarce of money, i had to seek for wages for my colliery, and nothing but that prevented me getting this very dry wheat that day; it began to rain on the sunday, the day after, and rained three or four weeks almost without ceasing, and spoiled all the wheat in the country, ent or not cut; thus missing getting my wheat one single day, was above £100 loss to me, on a very small farm, this £100 would have completely prevented my failure; this long continued wet season, tired the patience of the farmers so much, that many got their corn wet as it was d agriculture. 29 and dryed it upon kilns to make it thrash, and all the wheat was sprit and unsound, cut or not cut, such a wet harvest i never saw before or since, none to compare with it. further advice how to get corn in bad harvests. " 1i like to have my wheats cut rather green, not to stand till ripe, so as to shake, and i always had them bound in smallish sheaves, set eight only together, four of the largest two and two, and the two smallest at the ends, so that they prop and support each other, and the two longest tied ones opened well and drawn up close to each other over the six, and by so doing i scarcely ever had a stack blown down, not even with a very strong wind, the two cap sheaves must be tied together by twisting a little of the but ends of the sheaves (on both sides) together, and when this done and the cap sheaves spread nicely over the other six, neither wind nor rain will hurt the wheat, if it stands out for three, four, or five weeks, being so well covered below the ties; for no one practical failing in a farmer is greater or more ridiculous or injurious than carrying his crops of any sort, too hastily off, as there is ten times more corn injured by being got in too great a hurry, than by stopping too long in the field. and when wheats are cut rather green and covered as above, the straw will feed the corn, and make the flour better and finer. ! tenants not being allowed to sell hay or straw. ་ i think i have observed in my defence of the poor, that there is nothing more common than blaming the whole of them for the faults of a few, this may with equal force be applied to farmers, who by their leases are forbid selling hay or straw, and restrained in other respects, saying it shall be consumed upon their own premises, for fear of making the land poor; this bar is to guard against a bad tenant doing so, and yet it is a clause in all the leases, from such landlords as admit of such a one, and a punishment to all good tenants, for the supposed offence of the few, very few bad ones. • i do think there is nothing more plain than that any injury done to the tenant or farm, will eventually be an injury to the landlord. the tenants are almost universally required to pay more rent and taxes than they are able to pay, with that comfort which i am sure every landlord would wish his tenant to enjoy; then i beg leave to ask, ought they not to have the liberty to get the best price they can for their hay and straw, occasionally, as well as their corn, beef, mutton, wool, &c. for it is only by chance they can or will sell their hay or straw, they will always guard against selling too much, they must and will keep enough for their own stock of cattle. they buy lime and other tillage to their farm, and every best method they can devise, by their labour and ingenuity in the cultivation, to make the land most productive, then why not be allowed to sell hay and straw, occasionally, when they can get a good price, and be assured they will not sell it at any other time. from this time i hope to hear that the above-mentioned bar to selling hay and straw is removed, and that no shackles remain in the way of farmers, except, that simple one, of always having one third of the farm in grass, which i consider a benefit to the tenant, and consequently to the landlord, for to change the land from. grass to corn, and corn to grass often, is most profitable. in every other respect let the tenant live as free as the air he breathes, put no check upon his emulation, industry or ingenuity, let him enjoy them all, and the freedom of this once happy land, so justly famed for its liberty and freedom, let them enjoy them both as the only true source of this country's wealth and greatness, and be assured they will then be all good tenants under these inestimable comforts, and if one happen not to be so, mend him if possible, but dont destroy the pleasure and emulation of the whole of this numerous and valuable body, the farmers, by punishing the many for the faults of the few. let them work under all their difficulties without fear and trembling. stubbing edges and adding field to field, i disapprove. though this is too common, i think it a very unprofitable practice, in this populous part of the kingdom, where small fields and small arms are so much wanted. by mowing a field of grass and giving it fresh to the cattle every day, as they want it, a field will perhaps produce almost twice as much grass as the same field would produce if they were turned into it to eat it bare, dung, tread, and lie down upon the grass; and being fresh every day, they feed more hearty, but the labour" of mowing and feeding them is to deduct. four fields at flockton, 8a. ir. op. have this summer served one head of cattle more by being in four fields, than they would have carried if they had been all in one, and they have four fresh pastures instead of one, over and above the convenience of keeping the cattle separate, if it happen you want to do so, or let them in single fields, or small farms, early sowing. when i was a farmer of between 4 and 500 acres, experience taught me that early sowing gives the best hope of a good crop, and also early reaping. i once had a field upon a clay soil, some part of it wet land, and required watching to get it sowed in time, i told my husbandman to sow it, he said it was too wet, it had better wait; i said sow it, i will have it done, you know you have much to do, your dry land you can sow any time after; being almost forced he did sow it with oats, though some part of it was so wet the horses could scarcely get their feet out, the day after he had finished it began to rain, and rained a month almost without ceasing, so that it could not have been done of a month after, in that time it sprung up and gained strong root, was ready for the hot sun, flourished and was the heaviest crop within many miles; but if i had " n 30 agriculture. missed the day i had it sowed, perhaps the crop would not have been above half as good, if it had been sowed when the sun had become too powerful, and a want of rain this husbandman was a very clever fellow, with many good qualities, but he had two great faults, one was letting the ground get too dry before he sowed it, another was wanting to get his corn before it was dry. he would often come to me and say, such a close of oats wants leading; i said, they are not dry; but he said, it is going to rain; i said, let it rain; i wish it may rain and wet them through, then you will let them be till they are dry. i remember a large field of barley being sowed the 2d of february, at micklefield, a little north of ferrybridge, on a limestone soil, a great snow came after, and it was covered some time; this proved the heaviest crop of barley, was ripe and got in very dry, and much sooner than any within many miles of it. a rainy season began soon after this was in, and spoiled all the barley in that part, because none was sowed so early. a prejudice appears to prevail against early sowing, but i do think where it is once wrong, it is more than six times right. observe the gardener, does not he sow and plant early? and is it not rational? for if you wait till the sun has exhaled the wet, and rain do not come soon after you have sowed, how can your corn get a strong and deep root, for want of moist and rain, which you have missed by a little delay. always sow too soon rather than too late, and much or little to do, you cannot do all at once; and consider the loss of a week or two moist in the spring, how much harm it may do to your crop. watch your season and seed time, even more than your dry corn in harvest; fine dry weather will come again, if you will let it remain out, but the same season for sowing will never return in the same spring; remember this, in favor of early sowing, both in spring and autumn, will generally be followed by early reaping. when your land is in condition, get it sowed soon as you can. الوان 900 hay-making. in hay-making, whether you have two or two hundred acres, or any quantity between them two, i advise you to begin early, and only cut as much down at once, as your number of hands are equal to make, and get up, and into the house, or stack when dry; then cut the same quantity more, and get it in, and so on through the season; and by this rule you will not run the risk of having much spoiled. i have known when i have had a large quantity down at once, and even got into cock, the rain has come so heavy, and continued so long wet and warm, as to wet the cocks to the bottom, and spoil the hay; but the above simple rule will be a security against much loss aud damage, and you can never have much spoiled; and you will also find it the cheapest way to get good hay. there may be an exception to, and this rule may be varied a little, when the weather appears settled and very fine, or very wet; but if you observe this rule, you defy the weather, and never need to have much spoiled.tque todos 10t vb91a jour pho bed and paling ring whether gone to found adi esd springs produced by boring for coal. bur hodig when i lived at crow nest, and was lord of the the valley near the river, at bottom of daw green, near manor of dewsbury, i bored for coal on the waste in dewsbury, from 40 to 50 yards deep, which brought a i also bored upon batley carr, a waste in the valley, never failing spring of water, most useful to the village. spring of excellent soft water, which fills the bore hole, near dewsbury, about 50 yards deep, and found a useful to batley carr cloth mill, and the whole village, never abates or increases, winter or summer, is most the people fetch it a long way in their pitchers, both these springs rise out at the surface without the use of pump or any other machine. in tottenham, near london, it had been an universal complaint, that no good water could be procured; the wells reached only to the blue clay, which at length has been pierced through, and a never failing supply obtained, of clear and brilli ant water, soft, and adapted to every domestic purpose, the wells from 110 to 140 feet deep. the practice of boring may prove of vast consequence on down and wold farms, where such distress is always experienced in dry seasons, for water for the supply of cattle, and every other purpose, especially where it happens to rise to the surface, as above. pro bol uningola local management of spring woods. 65 another local practice in this part of the kingdom, very important to the interest and pleasure of gentlemen, owners of wood lands; suppose one to have 210 acres only, they let them stand till they are twenty-one years old; and by selling 10 acres every year, they have a perpetual fall of 10 acres, which may be cut down in the same proportion every year, where there are a greater number of acres. when a fall is to be sold, the woodman first sets it out for sale, by going through the wood, and marking a proper number of all sorts, for reserves, to stand for improvement, of the handsomest he can find, of 21 years old, grown from old roots, acorns, or other seeds, and rings them round, wit red paint, which he calls wafers; and also a proper number of the handsomest of 42 year's old, which proper number of the handsomest of 63 years old, he rings round with red, and calls poles; and also a which he calls black barks, and rings them round and numbers them with white paint; and also a proper, number of the handsomest of 84 or 105 year's old, or upwards, which he calls lordings, or lords of the forest, and rings them round with white paint, and numbers them, these are all to stand for improvement, then he values all the rest for sale. lisw moted, than letting them stand crowded above 21 years, by this practice, the growth is abundantly more proby weeding and giving them room and air every 21 years, and produceth an assortment of all sorts and ages, dation of the public; and every fall produceth firewood,.. for the sale every year, to the great use and accommocordwood for charcoal, hedgewood and bindings for fences, timber, poles, and rails. and it would be an improvement to plant willows in the soft and boggy parts of the woods. agriculture. 31 it is very singular, that this useful, pleasant, and most profitable rule, is almost confined to the westriding of the county of york, and part of derbyshire; though it might be practiced with the same degree of success all over the united kingdom, and all the world. the woods lately taken down are very ornamental, pleasant, and convenient for shooting or hunting through them. and where they are not so cut, they are very disagreeable for hunters or shooters to pass through, and an incalculable loss to the owners. i am sorry to have to observe and remark in my travels, that the fashion of late has been to plant wood little better than weeds, as if the planters were out of temper with the ancient valuable forest trees, the oak, ash, elm, sycamore, beech, &c. which are the most useful timber, but few very few of them are to be seen in our modern plantations. the larch is a handsome quick growing tree, and i think i have heard almost as durable as oak. this neglect, and destroying the lords of the forest, would have been seriously felt, had not our eminent iron works produce their iron as a substitute for oak in many occasions. last war there was so great a want of oak timber, they built some ships of fir, which is much inferior to oak; and the want of crooked timber for knees was so great, they were compelled to make some of them of iron, which cannot be fastened so well as oak to oak. these islands produce oak superior to any in the world for ships; ours is most tough, the balls bore holes in the ships, which they cork or stop up in battle. the oak of other countries is brittle and splinters. and as our wooden walls are our great bulwark of protection and safety, how wonderful that this most valuable timber, the oak, is not more planted, preserved, and encouraged, some way or other, and particularly crooked oak for knees. the duke of norfolk, earl fitzwilliam, earl of car digan, earl of dartmouth, sir george armitage, bart. sir john lister kaye, bart. sir francis lindley wood, bart, sir william pilkington, bart. colonel and mrs. beaumont, james archibald stuart wortley, esq. godfrey wentworth wentworth, esq. john spencer stanhope, esq. samuel shore, of meersbrook, esq. samuel shore, jun. of norton, esq. beaumont, esq. of whitley hall, thomas thornhill, esq. winn, esq. of nostell, and wentworth castle, have lords of the forest, black barks, and poles, in and out of their woods, to their honor. but in one gentleman's woods, which have lately gone down, there are nothing but wafers to be seen. vernon, esq. of in growing, a tree increaseth a circle every year; so that larger a tree is, and more it groweth in bulk and value, in proportion to its size, which proves how profitable it is to an estate to encourage trees to become lords of the forest. a song, hearts of oak; or, our maratime power. come, cheer up my lads, 'tis to glory we steer, to add something more to this wonderful year; "tis to honor we call you, not press you like slaves, for, who are so free as we sons of the waves? we ne'er see our foes but we wish them to stay, they never see us but they wish us away; if they run, why we'll follow, and drive them ashore, and if they wont fight us, what can we do more? they swear they'll invade us; these terrible foes, they frighten our women, our children and beaux; but if their flat-bottoms, by darkness, get o'er, still britons they'll find to receive them on shore. we'll still make 'em run, and we'll still make 'em sweat in spite of the devil, and brussels gazette ; then cheer up my lads, with one voice let us sing, "our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen and king." the warning voice. shepley-bridge, mirfeld, near leeds, yorkshire, 26th february, 1818, to the nobility, gentry, clergy and freeholders of the united kingdom of great britain and great-britain, ireland. my lords and gentlemen, these thoughts having come to me at various times apon my pillow in the morning, when i had worshipped the almighty, and poured my gratitude to the omnipotent, for the bounties and mercies bestowed upon me, and the whole creation, without respect of persons; it at length occurred to me to address you at the same season; and in that situation might awake your attention to the unhappy state of our country, and incline you to shew the innate principle and disposition of your nature, by pouring out your charity, humanity, and philanthropy on all our fellow-creatures, in imitation of the all-wise being, our creator and protector in all our difficulties and dangers. the poor and labourers are starving for bread, because they cannot find work, and it is said many of them have died for want. many shopkeepers and little manufacturers have fallen, and are falling to poverty, under oppressive i 32 the warning voice. || rents and taxes, and for want of the poor and others being able to procure money to circulate among them. many farmers have fallen, and a great mass of them are falling to poverty, under intolerable rents and unbearable taxes. many of the inland watermen are come, and coming to poverty, for want of their vessels being employed as usual. adopt every possible economy in the public expenditure; reduce rents to the rates they were at, before the war and high price of corn raised them. landlords may as well have the honor, happiness and pleasure of doing it voluntarily, for they will have to do it; because the taxes, saddler, blacksmith, carpenter, salt, malt, &c. &c. &c. had all doubled their rents before the land-valuers came. this should be done without delay, before the land be thrown out of its regular course of husbandry, and so impoverished as to be beyond the power of landlord or tenant to restore it of several years, and at an unknown expence if this remedy be not soon applied, it will become a national calamity, for much of the bountiful earth has ceased to yield its full increase, for want of ability in the farmers, many thousands of poor farmers want to tell this humble tale to their landlords, but dare not, for fear of giving them offence; they say, home is home though ever so homely; they know no other trade, no other place or home where to employ their hands, or rest their weary heads; are forced to take the heavy load upon their shoulders, where they are, and carry it as long as they can, for they cannot live out of doors. but fall they will if you do not invigorate both their body and mind. it is true, when good men are overtaken by distress, to religion they fly; this, throughout every age, has been the universal shelter which the high and the low, the rich and the poor, the giddy and the serious, have sought to gain, when rest could no where else be found for the weary head or aching heart. but i leave you to judge what bad men will do when they are oppressed; and will not oppression change the nature and disposition of good men? i think not a landlord in one hundred will hurt his tenants after he hears these plain facts; and i believe many of their conduct is at variance with their amiable disposition. thousands of colliers are wandering in search of work, and many of those who have work, as well as many other trades, are limited in price or quantity, and only allowed to earn little more than half what they could do. many of our brave tars, the defenders of our country, are begging their bread. and many of the middling and lower orders are deprived the pleasure of giving, by heavy rents and taxes. many of the young, vigorous and ingenuous, emigrate to other countries, where they are received with open arms, because they are jealous of our power, and seeking to rival and undo us, in manufactures, commerce and war. the rich emigrate, because they can live as well for £300. a-year in france as £1000. per annum here; it is said they are spending millions a-year in france and other countries; the loss of the circulation of this money at home, has brought many to poverty, and added much to the general distress. should they happen to read this, i hope they will soon return home, and discover that by your and their united efforts, this dear good country, which gave them birth and fortune, may be made to afford them more solid comforts and true happiness, than any other; and that £500. may afford them as much of both as £50,000. a-year. the two great causes of all these evils are, the unbearable taxes and oppressive rents, both in country. and in towns, which sweeps the money from the middling and poor man's table; leaves the farmer and many others without capital, and unable to employ the poor, or work his farm or trade to advantage as usual. the high price of corn is the cause of all the great evils which come to all nations. every government should prevent the high prices of corn we have known at sundry times, within twenty-five years past, which might be done to check the monopolizer, and not hurt the spirit of agriculture and industry. the lesser farmers are hurt by the monopolizers holding the corn. we have charity, humanity, philanthropy, virtue, prudence, wisdom, talent, piety, experience, local advantages, capital, industry, and mercantile enterprize, superior to any people in the world, and capable to remedy all the evils described above. if we admit that self-love and social are the same, and that it forms the genuine harmony and strength of a state, when the rich encourage and employ the poor, and the poor look up with confidence to the watchful care and guardian | protection of the rich, both concurring in the same end, form that grand column of society, the true happiness of the whole, where all below is strength, and all above is grace; and if you will reduce the interest of money, as the most judicious and effectual way to ease the burdens of the people. abolish all unmerited sinecure places and pensions ; } * 4 1677 repeal the last impolitie corn bill, and do not proceed to any artificial way of keeping up the price of bread, but consider we are now working nation against nation; and if we do not regulate our affairs so as to meet them with our manufactures at market, on equal terms, and keep in friendship with them, we shall be undone. let commercial treaties be made with such powers as may be thought proper, and keep our wool at home for our own use, and do such other good and virtuous acts, as your united wisdom may dictate, and then you will see hope revive the drooping spirit of the nation, industry become busy in every corner of the land, many of the poor become able to support themselves, and assist their relatives or friends; the laudable pride of independence will be restored to them; the prisons will be eased of many thousands. our amiable, họnorable, and venerable judges of the land, will be relieved from many an arduous disagreeable task. virtue and true religion will flourish and take place of superstition and bigotry; and happiness, harmony, and plenty will take place of poverty, oppression, and discord; sedition and rebellion will be forced to fly from this nation, and be heard of no more; and we shall soon enjoy the same degree of happiness, harmony and power which this nation enjoyed forty years ago. may the almighty dictate to you that this is the only j the warning voice. 33 way to save the first nation in the world from ruin, as i feel the aid of heaven in writing this to you. || do not let us be like the romans, and other nations, whose examples and warnings we have in history, fall into confusion and ruin for want of benefitting by their example and folly; let us shew we are superior to them all in sound judgment and management of our affairs. we are a great and mighty nation, let us not fall for want of thought; let us not moulder away before the almighty calls us hence. let not this once happy land, which, like the land of canaan, floweth with milk and honey, become like the parched desert to the hungry traveller. the oppression and poverty of man extend to the noble, generous, useful animal, the horse, and also the ass; many of them are pined and worked to death, and have not the power of remonstrating! does not this tarnish our fairest fame? is not this a disgrace to our country? མ』། we are all creatures of the almighty, and were never made to oppress each other; let us study the golden rule, say live and let live, and restore ourselves to our native happiness. how can you enjoy the good things which heaven has bestowed upon you, while hundreds of thousands of our fellow-creatures cannot get a living with all their hard labour and toil; and many cannot get bread who are your hands and feet best friends and benefactors; do not forget that they are descended from men of property, and perhaps family, who have flourished like the green bay tree; and little do we know whose hard fate it is to fall into their situation. the poor laws i think perfect, except as to settlements; but there is much fault in the execution; men on this, as well as on many other occasions, neglect their duty, and the law is blamed for the fault in the execution. 4 the laws are this country's brightest ornament, the most brilliant and most shining jewel in the consitution of england; they make the people work harder than any in the world. we are told that the irish are an idle people; but when they come here, under the protection of our poor laws, none work harder as coalheavers, carmen, &c. that country has produced many brave, great, and good men; why not produce valuable little men they only want poor laws, and the watchful care and protection of superiors, to mend their pitiable, condition. i wish our poor laws to exist in every unhappy country in the world. to the honor of the reign of good queen bess, and the charity, wisdom and policy of the good people of that age, they gave their children each two valuable fortunes; one that they could soon waste, another that they could never spend, by enacting the poor laws, and teaching them to work and attend to the rules of good economy..." *.* 1 to the honor of the village of mirfield, which i have the pleasure to inhabit, they have an open committee on the evening of the days when the poor are paid, and they execute the laws well, and with pleasure; and though generally composed of plain men, they avoid impositions, and when they come to a knotty point, they always decide in favour of charity, and dispatch with speed and satisfaction. they pay the tax with pleasure, * though many of them with much difficulty, owing to the unjustifiable rents and taxes; when any question ariseth about the settlement of a pauper, they do not rashly go to law, but coolly and deliberately inquire into the truth, and if they think he belongs them, they take him, and if not, they go to the other town, and coolly reason and try to convince them he belongs to them; and by this judicious way they have saved the village many hundreds; and i believe many thousands upon thousands are spent in law suits, and other folly and unnecessary expenses, and charged to the account of the poor. i hope i shall not be thought too sanguine in praise of the poor laws, having heard that men cast upon uninhabited islands have eat dogs and horses, and even their own flesh to satisfy hunger; then what a horror it must be to have the idea of being pined to death. i am, indeed, sorry to hear of all the innocent poor being driven from great towns and cities, and not allowed to beg, where there is the greatest power to relieve; for the fault of a few rogues and vagabonds, the innocent are punished why should this be so, when it was said, "if five righteous men were found, the city should be saved?" i have long anxiously waited expecting to see a more able hand write upon this most important occasion; but knowing that the almighty might any day call me to his mercy, i could no longer suppress my feelings to discharge my duty to my own dear country and all the world, by writing this in the true spirit of charity, humanity, and philanthropy, and on the firm belief that it is the first bounden duty of every one, to do all in his power to promote the welfare of his country and mankind. 1 the writer most humbly hopes any errors will be pardoned, and begs leave to have the honor of subseribing himself, with the utmost deference and respect, my lords and gentlemen, a true and liberal friend to my king, my country, and all mankind. shepley-bridge, mirfield, by leeds, nov. 1820. to the nobility, gentry, clergy, freeholders and merchants, of the united kingdom of greatbritain and ireland. my lords and gentlemen, forty years ago this was the happiest country in the world; every one content and comfortable in his situation. how lamentable! that misery, poverty, discord, and discontent pervade every corner of the land, both in the farming and manufacturing districts, (whose interests are inseparable, and must live or die together;) and increasing with such rapidity as to put the very existence of the state in danger, if a speedy remedy be not applied. none but you can restore us to happiness." 34 the warning voice. you hear of, and may see, those who have neither power nor ability have begun to apply a cure; but if you do not take the work out of their hands, they will destroy the patient. i beseech you, in the name of all that is sacred and good, do not delay: call public meetings in every county, town, and village in the united kingdom; unite the cool and deliberate wisdom of the nation; throw aside every thought about the past; consider coolly our situation, and you will not differ in opinion upon this most important subject; it is a partnership you cannot dissolve; that measure that will hurtone will hurt another, serve one will serve another. || great mass of all nations, and little do we know who are to fall into their unhappy situation;) and i hope to wear the same disposition to my grave. 66 let us all consider that the longest period of our life is short, compared with eternity; and it is said of man, that his time is a moment, and a point his space. then let us not delay, but rejoice and be thankful that we are made superior to the rest of the creation, consider why we are made so, and do as much good as we can, if we cannot do as much good as we wish. inspired by these sentiments, though i am drawing towards the close of life, i am thankful to my maker that i feel more alive to. and more anxious for the good of my country, than when i was beginning my career of life, (though i am at this time one of the most oppressed and unjustly injured of men;) and i do pray that all others may be impressed with the same disposition; then i do think our dear country may and will be saved and restored to the happy days of old. i beg leave to ask, are there any people in the universe who discharge all the duties of society individually, better than the english? this admitted, i will ask in the name of all that is sacred and good, why cannot we do the same collectively? i am sure we can if we will; and i do hope those sentiments may produce the will. to our honor be it told, we are great, wise and good individually. i beseech you, let us be so collectively, and guard against the danger which awaits us all. do not put the best constitution in the world to the hazarddo not let it fall! did not carthage fall?-did not rome fall-did not france fall by those four dire enemies to all nations, luxury, tyranny, oppression, and poverty? did not france exhibit scenes of horror unexampled? (and i do indeed feel for the thousands upon thousandswho will be reduced from competency to poverty by the fall of the funds, if ever this mighty empire falls) but i trust this wise, good and great nation will for ever guard against such evils, and coolly consult each other which is the best is the best way to safety. i say again, do not delay till it be too late. we all know the disease, let us apply a speedy remedy. reduce rents to the rates they were at before the war and high price of corn raised them. reduce the interest of money from five to four per cent. or less, and thereby reduce the taxes eight or ten millions a year. abolish all unmerited sinecure places and pensions. adopt every possible economy in the public expenditure. give freedom to trade, and do such other good and virtuous acts as you in your wisdom may think proper; and you will see every englishman resume his native character, and become like an englishman again; and once more see the happy days of old, and hand them down to posterity unimpared. # where is the use of historians if we will not benefit by history, or the horrors that have happened in our own memory. have not we had recent warning of our danger, and the wrath to come. let us be thankful that we are preserved to this period. 1 1 donot draw any hasty conclusion when you have read this, but reflect and inquire; and you will find they are the unbiassed, unprejudiced, uninfluenced sentiments of all mankind. do not suffer the voice of the alarmist to approach you; do not suffer the voice of designing, you are the fathers and masters of the nation, which you may consider as one family, only on a larger scale; restore it as you would snatch your own from the brink of ruin. your united wisdom will soon discover the deformity of administration, who appear to consider themselves omnipotent, and regardless of you and the people. you will soon discover the imperfection of the house of commons; and they will soon both admit their own imperfection. they will discover the danger and weakness of their system, and voluntarily surrender their works into your hands; they will become true patriots, and like every other man in and out of the house, moderate reformers; and the work of reform will speedily be done with ease, pleasure, and to perfection. do not be afraid of uniting your wisdom-do not be afraid of each other: every one write or speak the sentiments of your heart coolly, deliberately, and respectfully. do not be afraid of administration, your united wisdom will make them appear as chaff before the wind; and when they are no more, all the good things which they distribute will still be to give. be assured there are gentlemen of superior rank, fortune, talent and integrity ready to volunteer their services in their places, for less, or no wages, rather than this unhappy land should fall into ruins. do not be afraid of the people, they will do no harm; if you will shew them you will direct your attention to their welfare, they will join your meetings, and revere, respect and love you ; and the voice of the wrong-heads who presume to take a lead among them, will be lost in the better crowd, and be heard of no more. to restore your own private family would be great joy to you; but to restore the happiness of sixteen millions, the national family, is an act of the first necessity and of the first glory; which would procure you the thanks of every individual in the nation. 1 the almighty smileth upon us in all directions, without respect to persons; all the returns required are our worship, praise, prayers, gratitude and thanks. i do hope we frail mortals shall offer a humble imitation of the omnipotent, and smile upon each other without prejudice, respect to persons, sects or parties, and consider well what our inferiors do for us. study the holy scriptures, particularly the golden rule, the collect for the second sunday in advent, the thirteenth chapter of the first of corinthians, and say "comfort ye, eomfort ye my people, saith your god; speak ye comfortably to jerusalem." from the earliest dawn of my reason i have been the poor man's friend, and consequently a friend to my country; (because the poor and unfortunate are the the warning voice. 35 interested, wicked or weak men to reach your ear. think and act for yourselves, or for the benefit of your united wisdom and the good of your country. suffer neither luxury, tyranny, oppression, or poverty to remain in this land; drive them out of it, and send them where they belong. i have the honor to be, "his majesty has commanded us further to inform you, that he has every reason to believe, that the progress of our internal prosperity and improvement will not be disturbed by any interruption of tranquillity abroad. "his majesty continues to receive from the powers his allies and generally from all princes and states, assurances of their earnest desire to maintain and culti vate the relations of friendship with his majesty, and with the utmost deference and respect, nothing is omitted on his majesty's part, as well to premy lords and gentlemen, your faithful humble servant, richard milnes. the imperial parliament of britain. house of lords.-tuesday, february 3, 1824. parliament was opened this day by a royal commission. the lords commissioners being the archbishop of canterbury, the lord chancellor, the lord privy seal, the president of the council, and the earl of shaftesbury. soon afterwards mr. speaker, preceded and attended by the officers of his house, and followed by a considerable portion of the members, approached their lordships' bar; after which the royal commission was read for the opening of the session, when the lord chancellor, by virtue of the same, delivered the following speech:the king's speech. "my lords and gentlemen, "we are commanded by his majesty to express to you his majesty's deep regret, that, in consequence of indisposition, he is prevented from meeting you in parflament on the present occasion. "it would have been a peculiar satisfaction to his majesty to be enabled, in person, to congratulate you on the prosperous condition of the country. "trade and commerce are extending themselve both at home and abroad. "an increasing activity pervades almost every branch of manufacture. "the growth of the revenue is such as not only to sustain public credit, and to prove the unimpared productiveness of our resources, but (what is yet more gratifying to his majesty's feelings) to evince a diffusion of comfort among the great body of the people. "agriculture is increasing from the depression under which it laboured, and by the steady operation of natural causes, is gradually re-assuming the station to which its importance entitles it, among the great interests of the nation. "at no former period has there prevailed throughout "at no former period has there prevailed throughout all classes of the community in this island, a more cheerful spirit of order, or a more just sense of the advantages which, under the blessing of providence, they enjoy. "in ireland, which has for some time past been the subject of his majesty's particular solicitude, there are many indications of amendment, and his majesty relies upon our continued endeavours to secure the welfare and happiness of that part of the united kingdom. k şerve general peace as to remove any causes of disagree ment, and to draw closer the bonds of amity between other nations and great-britain. "the negotiations which have been so long carried on through his majesty's ambassador at constantinople, for the arrangement of differences between russia and the ottomon porte are, as his majesty flatters himself, drawing near to a favorable determination. "a convention has been concluded between his majesty and the emperor of austria, for the settlement of the pecuniary claims of the country, upon the court of vienna. "his majesty has directed that a copy of this convention shall be laid before you, and he relies on your assistance for the execution of some of its provisions. "anxiously as his majesty deprecated the commencement of the war in spain, he is every day more satisfied that in the strict neutrality which he determined to observe in that contest, and which you so cordially approved, he best consulted the true interests of his people. "with respect to the provinces of america which have declared their separation from spain, his majesty's conduct has been open and consistent, and his opinions have been at all times frankly avowed to spain and to other powers. "his majesty has appointed consuls to reside at the principal ports and places of those provinces, for the protection of the trade of his subjects. "as to any further measures his majesty has reserved to himself an unfettered discretion to be exercised as the circumstances of those countries, and the interests of his own people may appear to his majesty to require. "gentlemen of the house of commons. "his majesty has directed us to inform you that the estimates for the year are prepared, and shall be forthwith laid before you. "the numerous points at which, under present cir cumstances, his majesty's naval force is necessarily di: tributed, and the occasions which has arisen for strengthening his garrisons in the west indies, have rendered unavoidable some augmentation of the establishments by sea and land. "his majesty has, however, the gratification of believing that, notwithstanding the increase of expense incident to these augmentations, it will still be in your make arrangements in some parts of our system of taxpower, after providing for the services of the year, to ation, which may afford relief to certain important branches of the national industry. 66 my lords and gentlemen, "his majesty has commanded us to acquaint you, that he has not been inattentive to the desire expressed by the $6 the warning voice. house of commons in the last session of parliament, that means should be devised for ameliorating the condition of the negro slaves in the west indies. "his majesty has directed the necessary information relating to this subject to be laid before you. "his majesty is confident that you will afford your bestattention and assistance to any proposition which may be submitted to you, for promoting the moral improve-ly ment of the negroes, by an extended plan of religious instraction, and by such other measures as may gradually conduce to the same end. " "but his majesty earnestly recommends to you to treat the whole subject with the calmness and discretion which it demands. "to excite exaggerated expectation in those who are the objects of their benevolence, would be as fatal to their welfare as to that of their employers. "and his majesty assures himself you will bear in mind that where the correction of a long standing and complicated system, and the safety of large classes of his majesty's subjects are involved, that course of proceeding is alone likely to attain practical good, and to avoid aggravation of evil, in which regard shall be paid to considerations of justice, and in which caution shall temper zeal." earl somers moved the address, which was seconded by viscount lorton. united states. the first session of the eighteenth congress of the united states commenced on the 1st of december. on the following day the message of the president, mr. monroe, was presented. it is an interesting and important document, and particularly so at this moment, from the sentiments which it discloses on the threatened attack of the south american republics from europe. the message begins as follows:" complete effect. if kept in the dark they must be incompetent to it. we are all liable to error, and those who are engaged in the management of public affairs, are more subject to excitement, and to be led astray by their particular interests and passions, than the great body of our constituents, who, living at home, in the pursuit of their ordinary avocations, are calm but deepinterested spectators of events, and of the conduct of those who are parties to them. to the people, every department of the government, and every individual in each, are responsible; and the more full their information, the better they can judge of the wisdom of the policy pursued, and of the conduct of each in regard to it. from their dispassionate judgment, much aid may always be obtained; while their approbation will form the greatest incentive, and most gratifying reward for virtuous actions; and the dread of their censure the best security against the abuse of their confidence. their interests, in all vital questions, are the same; and the bond by sentiment, as well as by interest, will be proportionably strengthened as they are better informed of the real state of public affairs, especially in difficult conjunctures. it is by such knowledge that local prejudices and jealousies are surmounted, and that a national policy, extending its fostering care and protection to all the great interests of our union, is formed and steadily adhered to." "fellow citizens of the senate and house of representatives,-many important subjects will claim your attention during the present session, of which i shall endeavour to give, in aid of your deliberations, a just idea in this communication. i undertake this duty with diffidence, from the vast extent of the interests on which i have to treat, and of their great importance to every portion of our union. i enter on it with zeal, from a thorough conviction that there never was a period, since the establishment of our revolution, when, regarding the condition of the civilized world, and its bearing on us, there was a greater necessity for devotion in the public servants to their respective duties, or for virtue, patriotism, and union in our constituents. after this admirable introduction, the message proceeds to give the following information on the present relations of the united sates with foreign powers:"the commissioners under the fifth article of the treaty of ghent, having disagreed in their opinions respecting that portion of the boundary between the territories of the united states and of great-britain, have made their respective reports, in compliance with the establishment of which had been submitted to them, that article, that the same might be referred to the decithat it would be difficult, if not impossible, for any of a power. it being power to perform that office, without great delay and much inconvenience to itself, a proposal has been made by this government and acceded to by that of greatbritain, to endeavour to establish that boundary by amicable negotiation. it appearing, from long experi ence, that no satisfactory arrangement could be formed of the commercial intercourse between the united states and the british colonies in this hemisphere, by legislative acts, while each party pursued its own course, without agreement or concert with the other, a proposal has been made to the british government to regulate this commerce by treaty, as it has been to arrange, in like manner, the just claims of the citizens of the united states inhabiting the states and territories bordering on the lakes and rivers which empty into the st. lawrence, to the navigation of that river to the ocean. for these and other objects of high importance to the interest of both parties, a negotiation has been opened with the british government, which, it is hoped, will have a satisfactory result." "meeting in you a new congress, i deem it proper to present this view of public affairs in greater detail than might otherwise be necessary. i do it, however, with peculiar satisfaction, from a knowledge that in this respect i shall comply more fully with the sound principles of our government. the people being with us the negotiations with the french government on the exclusively the sovereign, it is indispensable that full subject of the " unjustifiable confiscations" of american information be laid before them on all important sub-property during the late war, are said not to have yet jects, to enable them to exercise that high power with arrived at a satisfactory termination. the warning voice. 37 1 a negotiation has been opened with russia, upon the question of that power's claim to the north west coast of the american continent. the president professes to have been particularly desirous of cultivating the russian emperor's good will. a similar negotiation has been opened with great-britain. period of the present year, remonstrances were made to the governor of that island, by an agent who was sent there for the purpose," against those outrages on the peaceful commerce of the united states, of which many had occurred. that officer professing his own want of authority to make satisfaction for our just complaints, answered only by a reference of them to the government of spain. the minister of the united states to that court was especially instructed to urge the necessity of the immediate and effectual interposition of that government, directing restitution and indemnity for "the actual condition of the public finances more than realize the favourable anticipation that were entertained of it at the opening of the last session of congress. on the 1st of january there was a balance in the treasury of 4,237,427 dollars and 55 cents. from that time to the 30th of september, the receipts amount-wrongs already committed, and interdicting the repetied to upwards of 16,000,000 dollars, and the expendition of them. the minister, as has been seen, was ture to 11,400,000 dollars. during the fourth quarter debarred access to the spanish government, and, in the of the year, it is estimated that the receipts will, at least, mean time, several new cases of flagrant outrage have equal the expenditures, and that there will remain in occurred, and citizens of the united states in the the treasury, on the 1st day of january next, a surplus island of porto rico have suffered, and others have of nearly nine millions of dollars." been threatened with assassination, for asserting their unquestionable rights, even before the lawful tribunals of the country. the militia is said not to be completed up to its legal establishment, difficulties in distributing arms have arisen from the neglect of the different states to furnish the necessary returns.. "the usual orders have been given to all our public ships to seize american vessels engaged in the slave "the report of the secretary of the navy, which trade, and bring them in for adjudication, and i have the is now communicated, furnishes an account of the adgratification to state, that not one so employed has been ministration of that department, for the three first quardiscovered, and there is good reason to believe that our ters of the present year, with the progress made in aug-flag is now seldom, if at all, disgraced by that traffic. menting the navy, and the manner in which the vessels in commission have been employed." "the usual force has been maintained in the mediterranean sea, the pacific ocean, and along the atlantic coast, and has afforded the necessary protection to our commerce in those seas." "it is a source of great satisfaction that we are always enabled to recur to the conduct of our navy with pride and commendation. as a means of national defence, it enjoys the public confidence, and is steadily assuming additional importance. it is submitted whether a more efficient and equally economical organization of it might not in several respects be effected. it is supposed, that higher grades, than now exist by law, would be useful. they would afford well merited rewards to those who have long and faithfully served their country; present the best incentives of good conduct, and the best means of ensuring a proper discipline; destroy the inequality in that respect between the military and naval service, and relieve our officers from many inconveniences and mortifications which occur when our vessels meet those of any other nation--our's being the only service in which such grades do not exist." "in the west indies and the gulf of mexico our naval force has been augmented, by the addition of several small vessels, provided for by the "act authorizing an additional naval force, for the suppression of piracy," passed by congress at their last session. that that armament has been eminently successful in the accomplishment of its object. the piracies by which our commerce in the neighbourhood of the island of cuba had been afflicted, have been repressed, and the confidence of our merchants, in a great measure, restored. "the patriotic zeal and enterprize of commodore porter, to whom the command of the expidition was confided, has been fully seconded by the officers and men under his command.-and, in reflecting with high satisfaction on the honourable manner in which they sustained the reputation of their country and its navy, the sentiment is alloyed only by a concern that, in the fulfilment of that arduous service, the diseases incident to the season and to the climate in which it was discharged, have deprived the nation of many useful lives, and among them of several officers of great promise." although our expedition, co-operating with an invigorated administration of the government of the island of cuba, and with the corresponding active exertions of a british naval force in the same seas, have almost entirely destroyed the unlicensed piracies from that island, the success of our exertions has not been equally effectual to suppress the same crime, under other pretences and colour in the neighbouring island of porto rico. they have been committed there under the abusive issue of spanish commissions. at an earlier 64 a report of the postmaster-general is referred to, which proves the post-office department to be considerably in arrear. new checks upon the department are proposed. 1 having communicated my views to congress, at the commencement of the last session, respecting the encouragement which ought to be given to our manufactures, and the principle on which it should be founded. i have only to add, that those views remain unchanged, and that the present state of those countries with which we have the most immediate political relations, and greatest commercial intercourse tends to confirm them. under this impression, i recommend a review of the tariff, for the purpose of affording such additional protection to those articles which we are prepared to manufacture, or which are more immediately connected with the defence and independence of the country. "the actual state of the public accounts, furnishes additional evidence of the efficiency of the present sys38 the warning voice. tem of accountability, in relation to the public expenditure. of the moneys drawn from the treasury since the 4th of march, 1817, the sum remaining unaccounted for, on the 30th of september last, is more than a million and a half of dollars less than on the 30th of september preceding; and during the same period a 'reduction of nearly a million of dollars has been made in the amount of the unsettled accounts for moneys advanced previously to the 4th of march, 1817. it will be obvious that, in proportion as the mass of accounts of the latter description is diminished, by settlement, the difficulty of settling the residue is increased from the consideration, that, in many instances, it can be obtained only by legal process. for more precise details on this subject, i refer to a report from the first comptroller of the treasury." a scheme for the connexion of the waters of the ohio and the chesapeak, is recommended. following is the conclusion of the message:the 要 ​"a strong hope has been long entertained, founded on the heroic struggle of the greeks, that they would succeed in their contest, and resume their equal station among the nations of the earth. it is believed that the whole civilized world takes a deep interest in their welfare. although no power has declared in their favour, yet none, according to our information, has taken part against them. their cause and their name have protected them from dangers, which might ere this have overwhelmed any other people. the ordinary calculations of interest, and of acquisition, with a view to aggrandizement, which mingle so much in the transactions of nations, seem to have had no effect in regard to them. from the facts which have come to our knowledge, there is good cause to believe that their enemy has lost for ever all dominion over them-that greece will become again an independent nation. that she may obtain that rank is the object of our most ardent wishes. "it was stated at the commencement of the last session, that a great effort was then making in spain and portugal to improve the condition of the people of those countries-and that it appeared to be conducted with extraordinary moderation. it need scarcely be remarked that the result has been, so far, very different from what was then anticipated. of events in that quarter of the globe with which we have so much intercourse, and from which we derive our origin, we have always been anxious and interested spectators. the citizens of the united states cherish sentiments the most friendly in favour of the liberty and happiness of their fellow men on that side the atlantic. in the wars of the european powers, in matters relating to themselves, we have never taken any part, nor does it comport with our policy so to do. it is only when our rights are invaded, or seriously menaced, that we resent injuries, or make preparation for our defence. with the movements in this hemisphere, we are of necessity, more immediately connected, and by causes which must be obvious to all enlightened and impartial observers. the political system of the allied powers is essentially different, in this respect, from that of america. this difference proceeds from that which exists in their respective governments. and to the defence of our own which has been achieved by the loss of so much blood and treasure, and matured by the wisdom of their most enlightened citizens, and under which we have enjoyed unexampled felicity, this whole nation is devoted. we owe it therefore to candour, and to the amicable relations existing between the united states and these powers, to declare, that we should consider any attempt on their part, to extend their system to any portion of the hemisphere, as dangerous to our peace and safety. with the existing colonies or dependencies of any european power, we have not interfered, and shall not interfere. but with the governments who have declared their independence, and maintained it, and on whose independence we have on great consideration and on just principles, acknowledged, we could not view any interposition for the purpose of oppressing them, or controlling in any other manner, their destiny, by european power, in any other light than as the manifestation of an unfriendly disposition towards the united states. in the war between these new governments and spain, we declared our neutrality at the time of their recognition, and to this we have adhered, and shall continue to adhere, provided no change shall occur, which, in the judgment, of the competent authorities of this government, shall make a corresponding change on the part of the united states indispensable to their security. "the late events in spain and portugal show that europe is still unsettled. or this important fact, no stronger proof, can be adduced, than that the allied powers should have thought it proper, on any principles satisfactory to themselves, to have interposed, by force, in the internal concerns of spain. to what extent such interposition may be carried, on the same principle, is a question in which all independent powers, whose government differ from theirs, are interested; even those most remote, and surely none more so than the united states. our policy in regard to europe, which was adopted at an early stage of the wars which have so long agitated that quarter of the globe, nevertheless remains the same, which is, not to interfere in the internal concerns of any of its powers; to consider the government de juclo as the legitimate government for us; to cultivate friendly relations with it, and to preserve those relations by a frank, firm, and manly policy, meeting in all instances the just claims of every power-submitting to injuries from none. but in regard to these continents, circumstances are eminently and conspicuously different. it is impossible that the allied powers should extend their political system to any portion of either continent, without endangering our peace and happiness: nor can any one believe that our southern brethren if left to themselves, would adopt it of their own accord. it is equally impossible, therefore, that we should behold such interposition, in any form, with indifference. if we look to the comparative strength and resources of spain and those new governments, and their distance from each other, it must be obvious that she can never subdue them, it is still the true policy of the united states to leave the parties to themselves in the hope that other powers will pursue the same course. the warning voice. 39 "if we compare the present condition of our union with its actual state at the close of our revolution, the history of the world furnishes no example of a progress in improvement, to all the important circumstances which constitute the happiness of a nation, which bears any resemblance to it. at the first epoch our popula tion did not exceed three millions. by the last census it amounted to about ten millions, and, what is more extraordinary, it is almost altogether native, for the emigration from other countries has been inconsiderable. at the first epoch, half the territory within our acknowledged limits was uninhabited and a wilderness. since then, new territory has been acquired, of vast extent, comprising within it many rivers, particularly the mississippi, the navigation of which to the ocean was of the highest importance to the original states. over this territory our population has expanded in every direction, and new states have been established, almost equal, in number, to those which formed the first bond of our union. this expansion of our population, and accession of new states to our union, have had the happiest effect on all its highest interests.. "that it has eminently augmented our resources and added to our strength and respectability as a power, is admitted by lk but it is not in these important circumstances only that this happy effect is felt. it is mani fest, that, by enlarging the basis of our system, and increasing the number of states, the system itself has been greatly strengthened in both its branches. conselidation and disunion have thereby been rendered equally impracticable. each government confiding in its own strength, has less to apprehend from the other; and, in consequence each enjoying a greater freedom of action, is rendered more efficient, for all the purposes for which it was instituted.. སྙ་ "it is unnecessary to treat, here, of the vast improvement made in the system itself, by the adoption of this constitution, and of its happy effect in elevating the character, and in protecting the rights of the nation, as well as of individuals. to what then do we owe these blessings? it is known to all, that we derive them from the excellence of our institutions. ought we not the to adopt every measure, which may be necessary to perpetuate them." james monroe. "washington, december 2, 1823." remarks upon the above-mentioned most excellent document, by the leeds mercury. vit the message of the president of the united states to congress, presented on the 2d of december, 1823, is one of the most interesting documents from that quar ter which have appeared for several years. there are no state papers of the present day, which we read with so much satisfaction as these messages. they are always, plain, candid, and business-like, full of information, breathing in every line a truly public spirit, and bespeaking a government, which, existing simply for the general good, acts boldly, zealously, and honestly. there is no paltry reservation, no sounding profes sion, no studied ambiguity, no attempt to mislead; every sentence shows that a nation is addressed, which knows its interests, and can neither be cheated nor frightened out of them. when this message from the executive authority is perused, depicting as it does the vast resour ces, flourishing condition, and gigantic designs of the nation, and when at the same time its infancy as an independent state is remembered, our astonishment would be extreme, if we did not consider the admirable nature of its institutions, so thoroughly pervaded by the omnipotent spirit of liberty. and even considering this, we cannot restrain our admiration at the lofty tone, which this government of yesterday adopts with regard to its foreign relations. witness the haughty intimation which has been given to the emperor of all the russias, in the discussions that have taken place relative to the right he claims to exclusive navigation on the shores of the north pacific:-"this occasion," says the president," has been judged proper for asserting, as a principle in which the rights and inte "rests of the united states are involved, that the "american continents, by the free and independent "condition, which they have assumed and maintain, "are henceforth not to be considered as subjects for "future colonization by any european powers." there is a grand simplicity in this notification. 66 " we cannot mention a tenth part of the subjects on which the president gives information to congress. the state of the army, the navy, and the finances; the erection of forts, piers,, and arsenals; the establishment of boundaries; the laying down of post-roads; the formation of a grand canal to join the ohio and the chesapeake, like that, just completed between the hudson, and, the canadian lakes; the settlement of foreign, disputes;-these and many other topics are dwell upon, showing the vast concerns of a community, instinct with all the life and energy which freedom and commerce can impart. much to the credit of the government, great anxiety is expressed to effect a total abolition of the slave trade throughout the world. its suppression in north america is declared to be nearly complete, and the ministers of the united states in europe are instructed to entreat the concurrence of the sovereigns, in the universal proscription of the slave trade as piracy. l ? ༄* * the same sympathy is expressed with the greeks, in their struggle against tyranny, as the president avowed in his message of last year; and he declares his belief that their independence will ultimately be secured. the result of the contest in spain and portugal is mentioned in language of regret. << but the most interesting and important passage in this document, is that which relates to the designs of the holy alliance on the liberated spanish colonies. "we owe it," says the president, " to candour, and to "the amicable relations existing between, the united "states and these powers,, to declare that we should "consider any attempt on their part to extend their system to any portion of this, hemisphere, as dangerous to our peace and safety. with the existing colo"nies or dependencies of any european power, we "have not interfered, and shall not interfere. but 66 40 the warning voice. "with the governments who have declared their inde"pendence and maintained it, and whose independence "we have, on great consideration, and on just princi"ples, acknowledged, we could not view any interposi"tion, for the purpose of oppressing them, or controlling in any other manner their destiny, by any european power, in any other light than as the manifestation of "an unfriendly disposition towards the united states." this passage is equivalent to a declaration, that any attempt to re-conquer mexico, colombia, buenos ayres, or chili, all of which republics the united states have acknowledged as independent, will be regarded as an act of hostility towards the latter power. and the following senteuce, especially when combined with the one before quoted relative to the russian claims, includes also peru and every other part of south america; "it is impossible that the allied "powers should extend their political system to any "portion of either continent, without endangering our 66 peace and happiness; nor can any one believe that our "southern brethren, if left to themselves, would adopt "it of their own accord. it is equally impossible, that it is equally impossible, that "we should behold such interposition, in any form, "with indifference. if we look to the comparative "strength and resources of spain, and those new governments, and their distance from each other, it "must be obvious that she can never subdue them." this last sentence appears to be intended to meet the ease, of an armament being sent by france or the allies from a spanish port,-a trick which will not impose on the americans, as they declare that they know spain to be incapable of sending an expedition herself. this, then, is a noble and most gratifying act on the part of the united states. how different from the language of the duke of wellington, on the affairs of spain, at verona! we blush to think how much the english government is degraded by the comparison. if mr. canning, however, is now disposed to adopt a mauly policy, he will find in the united states a firm ally; and what could be wished for more? england and america may stand together against the world. the holy alliance is as powerless on the ocean, as it is irresistible on the continent. we know not but that our cabinet may already have come to the same resolution as the united states, and that the latter may have been acquainted with that resolution before the president's message was composed. should this be the case, we shall rejoice; for this country can pursue no other course with either honor or safety, than that which america is pursuing. england has at least as great an interest in the independence of the late spanish colonies as the united states, and we should be sorry to think that she had not the same spirit to maintain it. we have at length the pleasure to announce that porto cabello, the last town held by the spaniards in colombia, has been captured by the independents. thus terminates the long and bloody contest carried on in this extensive and important territory for freedom. in this contest, spain has manifested the same obstinacy that she displayed in opposing the independence of holland, an obstinacy resembling that of those ferocious animals, which, having once fastened their teeth on an enemy will never lose their hold, though they should 66 66 be hacked in pieces. spain has seen her armieswasting away, and has supplied them with reinforcements till her means were exhausted; unmoved by reverses, she never thought of abandoning the hopeless conflict, and rescuing her devoted forces, but left them to perish to the last man on the scene of her former oppressive dominion. a pile of spanish bones should be erected on the shores of venezuela, as a monument to the world of retributive justice-as a proof that the judgments of providence, though late, are certain, since spain has seen the crimes of pizarro visited on the followers of morales. leeds mercury, dec. 1823. the marquis of lansdown's address, the marquis of lansdown began by expressing his concurrence in that part of his majesty's speech, which alluded to the agriculture of the country. it gave him great satisfaction to observe, while he admitted the improvement which had taken place, that it was acknowledged, in the words of the speech from the throne, to have taken place from natural causes [hear, hear, hear!]. feeling, as he did, the great weight of debt which pressed upon this country, but never despaired of the extent of her resources, it was particularly gratifying to his mind to hear this acknowledgment of natural causes at last superseding the false maxims so long and so violently maintained. the admission, that the present success of our agriculture proceeded from the remission of taxation, and the increased freedom of trade, was one that augured favorably for the future. that the increased freedom of trade had a considerable influence on the renovation of agriculture was not only true in the present instance, but would be found in all cases to have operated in the same way, even to a greater extent than the advocates of free trade themselves expected. the restrictions upon the trade between great britain and ireland were founded, like the rest, upon long continued prejudices. a noble lord on the other side of the house who had filled the situation of secretary for ireland, was found at that period among the opponents of free trade, though perhaps not himself violently prejudiced against the measure. but what was the fact now? it was well known that there were petitions before the treasury in which the removal of those restrictions was urged by the very parties who thought that they were sheltered by them before, and that parliament was to be solicited, after the short experiment of the few years that had passed since the other experiment was tried, to relieve them of the burthen which they once preferred to the great principle. any one who took the trouble to inquire would find, that whenever a tax was repealed, it was not only produc-. tive of relief to the parties for whose immediate benefit it was intended, but, by indirectly increasing consumption and demand, became a general advantage to the community. he had alluded to these causes, because he felt it was not uninstructive to regard them with attention, both as they respected our present and future policy. even including the effect which the failure of the harvest, both in scotland and in ireland, must have had the warning voice. 41 upon the prices of this country, it was evident that our agriculture was much improved, for there was an increased consumption which would be followed by an increased produce of course. having expressed his concurrence in that part of his majesty's speech, he felt it impossible not to notice what was more partially alluded to in the speech, but what appeared to him entitled to as explicit a commentary. he meant the situation of this country as connected with foreign powers, and particularly with the continent of europe. it was much to be wished that this topic had been more fully dwelt upon in the speech. it would have become his majesty's ministers, as the ministers of a free country, especially after having deprecated the commencement of the war in spain, to have expressed their opinion on its most unfortunate termination. he described it as unfortunate, not merely with respect to the particular institutions of spain, but to the general rights of nations. according to those rights, it was manifest that every country might alter its own institutions without consulting any other country, which could have no right to interfere with its proceedings in that respect. when, therefore, they recollected, that during the last summer a hostile army had entered spain, professedly to alter its constitution, he should have thought it impossible for ministers to observe that courtly silence after the success of such an army, from which it could not be inferred whether they were gratified or displeased at the result. he thought it would have been right to put into the mouth of the king of a free people, such sentiments of right and condemnation as the occurrence ought to have inspired. it was an attack upon the independence of nations—a violation of that privilege of improvement which spain had a right to exercise, proceeding by slow degrees, as all excellence is attained, instead of being plunged into the horrors under which that country was now suffering. the noble mover had expressed himself unfriendly to all ultraism, but he would ask, was not spain at present in a state of the most disgraceful ultraism, compelled as she had been by military power to surrender her own prospects of improvement, no matter how imperfectly developed in their infancy? the consequences arising from this principle were still to be apprehended; for when the law of nations was departed from, and a great act of injustice was done, an alteration might be said to take place in the relations of states, and ministers would judge unwisely if they flattered themselves that things would rest there [hear, hear!]. it was the nature of such infringements to produce repeated violations of what was usually called the balance of power, but what he would rather call the independence of nations. let them not flatter themselves, therefore, that the present state of things did not call for their utmost attention and vigilance. he would ask them to look at what that state was, as exemplified by the occurrences of the last six years, after they had been told that the relations of all the states of europe, and the happiness of the people of every state, had been placed on the most solid foundations. since these declarations were made, and while they were still sounding in our ears, the whole continent of europe was governed by three or four great military powers, who exercised a restless, vexatious, and tyrannical influence over the weaker states [hear, hear!]. could ❤ he be contradicted in stating, that, under the present order of things, no country was possessed of independence upon any other ground than force, the force which enabled it to resist injury and oppression? with this exception might it not be said, that a state was liable any time to be called upon to renounce its rights, laws, and usages at the will of the great despotic powers, subject to the control of no tribunal, but following their own caprice and policy, however arbitrary or mistaken? he was sure he should not be called upon to mention instances, nor did the speech from the throne invite them to make any admission to the contrary. but when neither the monarchical character of the governments of wurtenburg and bavaria, nor the acknowledged services rendered by the ancient republic of switzerland to mankind, could exempt them from act of interference, it was in vain to talk of security, and affectation to talk of respect for a principle which nothing but force could secure against their hostility. when there was no difference made between those weaker governments and the government of this country, except that which was drawn by their respective capacities to repeal aggression, could he be contradicted in asserting that there was no law in europe but that of the strongest? the policy of this country had ever been to protect the weak against the strong-bottoming its authority on the law of nations; and those who still maintained a regard for that ancient principle, could not fail to look with an eye of apprehension and disgust on the condition of europe at the present moment. if the state of europe was really such as he had described it—if all chance of future improvement was to be frittered away or chained down by the ordinances of these few despotic powers, and no step could be taken towards ameliorating the condition of mankind, except by the connivance of that corporation of sovereigns, how consoling must it be to those who wished well to the cause of liberty, to see the principles of free trade and constitutional independence assisted in one quarter of the world at least, and so far secured against the poison of false maxims. it was not only for the general interests of the world, but for the peculiar interest of england, to be united on the closest terms with that country, where the principles of free trade and free government were best understood. he was, therefore, glad to see, that his majesty's ministers had taken what might be considered the first step towards conciliating those powers, upon whom the future benefit of the world appeared to depend, by the appointment of consuls within their territories. he thought they ought to have gone further, but was glad they had gone even so far. he also rejoiced to find, that the united states of america had taken that part in the same question which became both its character and its interests. it had not concealed its opinion-it had spoken out boldly and timely, and in throwing its shield over them at the earliest period, by recognizing their independence, had set an example to nations of which this country ought to have been more prompt to avail itself. they were bound to do this, when they considered the narrow-minded system of commerce which had been for some time pursued on the continent-a system which had for its object the almost total exclusion of the manufactures and other exportable produce of this 1 42 the warning voice. abstract from lord liverpool's speech, on the address. country. let their lordships look, on the other hand, of the condition of the slave population in those to the immense magnitude of this question, as it affectcolonies, the noble lord [lorton] had stated much, ed, and was likely to affect, our commercial intercourse with respect to ireland, and he agreed with his lordwith the other side of the atlantic. a great proportionship in thinking that much had been done to remedy the of south america was at this moment free; it was distresses which existed in that country; he felt, howaccessible to our commerce, and was capable by indusever, that the evil lay deeper, and he wished governtry to have its number of consumers increased, upon ment would hold out some efficient remedy for it the the same principle that a part of north america innew tithe system and the police act hath certainly procreased from three millions to ten millions of consumers. duced much alteration; in short, a great opening had at present the population of south america amounted been made, and he trusted it was only an approximation to 16 millions (independent of four millions in the to that which was so much desired. he trusted the brazils), which population, according to the same affairs of ireland would be brought particularly under ratio, might, in the course of the next forty years, be their consideration, and, if so, doubtless the advocacy of increased to from 50 to 60 millions of consumers; and, its interests would fall into much abler hands than his. let it be observed, that the south americans were great his lordship said, in conclusion, that he had little or consumers of articles of european, and particularly of nothing more to add; it was not his intention to probritish manufacture; according to a recent calculation, pose any amendment, but he could not sit down witheach individual upon an average consumed european out again expressing a wish that his majesty's ministers articles to the amount of from 8 to 10 piasters, being had been more open and decided in their tone upon the about 27. annually. he called upon their lordships to points to which he had already alluded, and particularconsider for a moment the serious advantage of securing ly with respect to south america. however, one step a trade so important to the welfare of this country? had been taken in the appointment of consuls, and be but when he made this statement; when he so called trusted it was only a prelude to measures which would upon their lordships, did he mean to say that they at once remove all doubt with respect to the light in ought to do an act of injustice, or that they ought to which he wished to view these colonies, [hear, hear!]. deviate in any way from that open and straight forward course, which it was for the honor, as well as for the interests of this kingdom always to follow? quite the contrary; but he bad yet to learn, that when our honor and our interests equally indicated the course which was to be followed-when, in order to attain what was most desirable, we had only to do that which was an incontrovertible principle in this kingdomnamely, to recognize the independence of a country which had a manifest right to govern itself a right claimed in this instance, as well from habit as from the total incapacity of the parent country to govern it; with these facts before him, he had yet to learn why we should be deterred from forming a connection at once honorable to our character, and beneficial to our best interests. they were bound also to recognize the independence of south america, as by doing so they gave a greater extension to public liberty, and of course to the peace and tranquillity of europe. upon this ground, he could not help wishing that his majesty's ministers had been a little more explicit with the other european powers upon this point. had they been more free and open in the speech delivered from his majesty to-day, he had not a doubt that they would have met with the concurrence and support of every independent man in the country [hear, hear!]. there were other points of a minor nature introduced, which. it was not his intention to enter into at any length, as other, and, perhaps, more proper opportunities would occur of discussing them; but there were some which he found it impossible to pass over in silence. one of these had been spoken of at much length by the noble lord, who moved the address--he meant the state of our west india colonies. he agreed with the noble lerd, in thinking that this subject ought to be treated with the utmost caution; and that a great deal ought to be done, while as little as possible was said upon it;lever losing sight of the main point-the amelioration it was not his intention to go into a detail of the other parts of the noble marquis's speech, as many other and more convenient periods would present themselves for their discussion. one observation, however, of the noble marquis he could not pass over-namely, his expression of regret "that his majesty's ministers had not been more explicit upon certain points connected with our foreign policy." after what took place last session, and after those repeated declarations then made by him, (lord liverpool), it was not, he hoped, necessary that he should now trouble their lordships with a repetition of his opinions. and it was the less so, because their lorships would do him the justice to recollect, that every observation of his last session had been more than fully proved by the events which had since occurred [hear, hear!j. he had never hesitated to say openly, that france ought not to have invaded spain; he deprecated all interference of france with spain; not on the principle that one country has no right to interfere with the internal regnlations of another, because he thought that such a rule was liable to very many exceptions, but because he felt (in this instance) france had no shadow of right to interfere with the internal regulations of spain [hear!] he had been always of opinion that spain ought to be left to herself, and that, however she might be divided by domestic factions, those factions should be allowed to deal with each other; but, when the question did arise, when the invasion of spain was threatened, his majesty's ministers felt it their duty to advise that spain should make a concession, not to france, but to spain herself in order to avert the calamities with which she was threatened; they did this because they felt the warning voice. 43 that by a compromise which could not injure the honor of spain, but, on the contrary, would be likely to secure her a better government, she would avoid the evils by which she was threatened. upon this ground it was that his majesty's ministers interfered, not by menace, but by advice; and he would ask even the most zealous supporters of the constitutionalists of spain, whether they did not at this moment regret that the party did not at once act upon that advice [hear!]? the advice was, however, rejected, and what followed? the french army invaded spain, and he called upon their lordships to recall to their recollection what the reception of that army had been. suppose we had been pressed into that war, suppose we had at once engaged in support of the constitutional spaniards, what must our feelings have been, when we perceived the manner in which the great mass, the immense majority of the spanish people treated the constitution? what must be our feelings when we found them from town to town hailing the french as their deliverers, and uttering every denunciation against the constitution and its supporters? from what did this feeling arise? was it from a love of freedom, or from a love of that of which the constitution went to deprive them? was there, he would ask, a country in the world more jealous than spain was of any foreign interference ? was there any nation more pledged, more devoted to its ancient habits and practices? he would now say what he had said in the course of last april, that however spaniards might hate a foreign enemy-however they might oppose themselves to the interference even of a foreign friend, there was nothing which they hated more than this constitution of which so much had been said [:ear, hear!]. would the noble marquis, then have the government of this country interfere, for the purpose of forcing upon an immense majority of the spanish nation a system of government which they detested? would he have ministers plunge the nation in war, for the purpose of supporting that which turned out to be only a very small proportion of the spanish people? the noble lord (somers) had said, and he fully agreed with him in the assertion, that ultraism of whatever party was to be reprobated. but where was the ultraism in this case? the ultraism of spain was the ultraism of the people; they it was who decided with an ultra feeling, if their lordships pleased, against that constitution which the noble marquis would have ministers force upon them. let them look, as he had already said, to the reception of the french in spainlet them look to the manner in which the illustrious prince who commanded that army was received [hear, hear!]. and here he felt it due to that royal personage (the duke d'angouleme) to state, that while he, (lord liverpool) deprecated all interference with spain by france, he felt bound to declare, that the conduct of his royal highness, while at the head of the invading army, was both noble and generous, and gave a fair promise of what might be expected from him when he succeeded to that throne to which he was at present the presumptive heir [cries of hear, hear! in a peculiar manner from lord holland, which were echoed by several peers in different parts of the house]. his royal highness had, both in france and in spain, " endeavoured to check the spirit of ultraism, and had in many instances succeeded. "for myself (said the noble lord), i could no more think of employing british bayonets to thrust down the throats of the spanish people a constitution which they detested, than i could employ them for the purpose of involving them in the most abject slavery," [hear, hear!]. he next came to a question, touched upon by the noble marquis, and certainly one of the very greatest importance he meant our intercourse with south america. the noble marquis had not found fault with what had been done, but only regretted that ministers had not done enough; and expressed a wish that they had gone further. for himself, he felt not the slightest fear in meeting the question as he had formerly met it, that was to say, in the most open and candid manner. he called upon their lordships to look to the first spanish revolution, last war, and they would find that a strong discussion had taken place, as to whether the british government ought to take part with the court of spain on the one hand, or devote its energies to the support of the independence of south america, on the other. some preferred the former policy; but the british government thought differently, and they found that the wisest policy was to let spain act upon its own resources, always offering our advice to them as to the course which it was most advisable to pursue. their lordships would remember what had taken place before the full appointment of his noble and gallant friend (the duke of wellington) to the chief command in spain; they would also bear in mind the glorious results achieved by his talents and persevering exertions [hear, hear!], when the war in spain was at length concluded, and the king set at liberty, the question with respect to the colonies was agitated, and the mediation of this country was requested, not with a view to the restoration of the colonies to spain, for that was out of the question, but with a view to the amicable adjustment of the then existing differences. spain rejected our offers from time to time; in a word, she rejected them until she found herself stripped of almost her last south american province. under these circumstances, the noble marquis (lansdown), had stated, "that the first step had been taken by appointing consuls to south america, and that he hoped this course of policy would be followed up.' he had only to answer to this, that if any impression was entertained that he were in any way fettered or bound to spain, the persons entertaining it were totally mistaken. one object of the address was to remove every such impression if it existed. we were under no obligation to spain, or to any other power, on the subject. there was nothing to prevent us from pursuing our own course with respect to south america. our hands were perfectly free. we were wholly unfettered. we were at liberty to do whatever the interests of great-britain and the circumstances in which the world was placed, might determine us to do. at the same time he by no means denied that it would be materially advantageous if spain could be induced herself to acknowledge the permanent independency of her colonies. until that were done, however independent they might be de facto, there would always exist a number of ambiguities, and a number of practi44 the warning voice. cal difficulties in the intercourse with those colonies. he therefore perfectly agreed with the noble marquis that if the independence of the spanish colonies were recognized by spain herself, such a recognition would be infinitely advantageous. all that he (lord liverpool) maintained was, that this country was not bound, either by the recognition or the abstinence from receg nition of the spanish government, to act in any other manner than that which might appear to be conducive to its own interests, or rather to the general interests of europe. he had made this distinct statement because it certainly was highly desirable that parliament, and the country at large, should know precisely how this question stood; that they should know that his majesty's government were perfectly free and unfettered with respect to it. | distress, i cannot allow that it is fuir to give govern ment any credit for its present condition. we all recollect, my lords, that when the country was sunk in that deep distress which was the result of the dreadful war which she had so long waged, and of the barbarous system to which she had had recourse for the purpose of maintaining it, the noble earl opposite, on being questioned with respect to the canse of the existing evil, attributed it without difficulty to providence. at one time he told us that providence had made the people of this country much too amorous, and that the population was in consequence excessive; at another time he said that providence was too bounteous, and that the produce of the soil was much too plentiful. now, however, it appears that, although i believe the eloquence of the noble earl, however powerful, has not been able to root the passion of love out of the breasts of our young men, or his devotion, however sincéré, to put a stop to the rains from heaven, we are in a state of great prosperity. that being the case, it does not seem to me to be fair for the noble earl to say see! this is my work." it does not seem to me to be fair that, when we are in distress, providence and nature are to be charged with being the cause of that distress; but that, when we are in prosperity, we are to be called upon to admire the prodigious wisdom of his majesty's councils, as having created that prosperity [hear, hear, hear!]. in the fact, however, of the existing prosperity, i cordially concur; and it is due to me in candour to mention another part of the address, to which i agree. i allude to the passage founded on that part of the speech from the throne which speaks of an arrangement with austria, by which we are to be paid a part of the sum due to us from that country— lord liverpool, across the table" a small part."]. the noble earl says a small part. well, we must be content. we must not look a gift horse in the mouth; although really this payment is any thing but a gift; and if we were to look into its mouth, we should certainly see the marks of age; nor does it require much political jockeyship to discover that a great deal of work has been taken out of it in the shape of interest [a laugh]. [a laugh]. but however that may be, i am bound to acknowledge that the noble secretary of state, and that the noble duke by whom the arrangement was effected, are entitled to praise for their conduct. this is my opinion, even if we get only what will pay lord stewart's embassy to vienna, although i should be glad to hear that we get more. my lords, i am willing to give to all who have participated in this transaction their fair share of praise. i have already said that i am ready to acknowledge the merits of the noble earl and the noble duke with respect to it. however unaccustomed to bestow praise in that quarter, i am even ready to praise the emperor of austria for an act which was certainly of a personal nature,-an act performed not only without the approbation, but against the consent of his ministers. nor, my lords, can i refrain from believing that we, who sit on this side of your lordship's house, are entitled to some little share of praise for this operation. i hope the noble lord who presides over his majesty's councils will not again talk of improprieties in debate; i hope he will hencelord holland's speech. lord holland spoke to the following effect:-i am" afraid, my lords, i shall disappoint the hope expressed by the noble mover and seconder of the address, that it would pass with the unanimous concurrence of your lordships. for, although i do not feel myself called upon to press upon your lordships the adoption of any other address than that before us--although there are many topics in that address in which i cheerfully concur and acquiesce-and although i readily acknowledge that, as it struck my ear, it contained no strong expressions to which i entertain any insuperable objectionyet, before i sit down, i shall feel myself bound to state why i do not think the general tone and temper of that address at all such as should receive your lordships' approbation in the present awful and critical situation of this country, and in the present extraordinary state of europe. before, however, i proceed to that part of the question, i am desirous of saying in what parts of the proposed address i concur. in the first topic of the address i have the satisfaction to say that i completely concur. i most readily, and indeed most happily acknowledge that the internal prosperity of the country is greater, and that the country is in that point of view more flourishing than it has been within my recollection at any former period of the opening of a session of parliament. nay, my lords, i am ready to go a step further. i am ready to acknowledge that that prosperity is, in some degree, owing to the wisdom. and firmness with which this and the other house of parliament, as has already been so ably stated by my noble relation, proceeded to carry into effect the resumption of cash payments; and i owe it more to candour to make this statement, because i was, certainly, somewhat appalled by the contemplation of that proceeding; and, in private at least, expressed my hesitation with respect to the probability of its successful issue. but at the same time, my lords, i am by no means prepared to say, with the noble lord, that it is fair to give to his majesty's ministers some degree of credit for the present prosperity of the country. recollecting the conduct and language of the noble earl opposite, during the time that the country was in the warning voice. 45 t forward acknowledge that a little plain language utter. ed in parliament may sometimes be productive of the most beneficial effects i am sure, indeed, that the noble lord will do this; because there is not one of your lordships who, after he has passed out of the door of this house, will not declare his conviction, that the language held on this side of the house on the subject of the austrian loan, has been mainly instrumental to the arrangement that has been made. i now, my lords, come to a part of the address on which i feel considerable difficulty; completely agreeing as i do with my noble friend near me, that it is a subject on which it is much wiser to act than to speak. if i were called upon to distribute the blame of having brought matters to the state in which they now are in the westindies, i believe that the apportionment would be very general. i am sorry to say that i should feel compelled to blame bis majesty's ministers; that i should feel compelled to blame the body to which i belong, namely the west india planters; that i should feel compelled to blame the african association; that i should even be compelled to blame the house of commons; all parties seem to me to have been to blame. it is a subject, my lords, on which, for various and obvious reasons, i am not disposed to dwell. i would not have touched upon it all, had it not occupied so abstractedly, large a portion of his majesty's speech. abstractedly, i have not only ho objection to the sentiments which the speech contains upon this topic, but they are such as meet with my sincere and hearty concurrence. perhaps, however, it may be a question of prudence and policy, whether or not it was advisable to contrast operating motives so strongly as they are there contrasted; and to call upon parliament in the way in which parliament is there called upon. i can understand that it may be prudent and expedient, on certain occasions, for this and the other house of parliament to advise his majesty on proceedings which require the active interference of the executive government; but i do not exactly understand on what principle it is that his majesty, in his speech from the throne, comes to the parliament of the united kingdom to originate these proposed measures with respect to the west indies. if all that is meant is to require the concurrence of parliament in the augmentation of troops in the colonies, i wish that his majesty's government had considered the fever-i readily admit the improper fever which prevails there, and had been more cautious in the language used on the occasion. as to the measure of augmentation itself, it is a step that appears to me to be indispensably necessary, and in which therefore i shall most cordially concur. opposed as i usually am to any increase in our military establishments, it is especially due from me on the present occasion to say, that in the present state of our colonies in the west indies, it appears to me to be both wise and necessary to augment the military force of the country. the first day of the session is not the time to enter into any details on the subject, but i cannot refrain from strongly recommending, in the event of any insurrection or attack in the island with which i am the most connected, that the system pursued during the maroon war, by that excellent officer, major-gen. walpole, both with respect to the health || and the distribution of the troops, should be immedi ately adopted. i am happy to bear this testimony to an able and zealous officer; not because i have the honor of being his private friend, but because he is an eminent public man, highly distinguished in the discharge of his public duty; most meritorious, and most unrequited! i trust and hope, that if unfortunately the british troops should again be called into operation in the island of jamaica, they may be conducted with as much bravery, skill, enterprize, and humanity, as they were on the occasion to which i have alluded. i now, my lords, come to that part of the address on which it is necessary for me to make a few remarks, in order to explain the reasons which justify me in withholding my assent to it. of the whole tone and temper of that part of the speech, i disapproved when i heard it, and what has since fallen from the noble mover of the address has only tended to confirm that disapprobation. i do think, my lords, that the state of difficulty in which this country is placed with respect to the rest of europe, is any thing but a subject of joy and satisfaction. i am not prepared to say that that state is big with the most evil consequences; but i am preparad to say, that it is a new and awful state: and that to an extraordinary degree. since we last met, my lords-no matter what the form of the spanish constitution, no matter whether it is monarchical, aristocratic, or democratic, but, since we last met, there is one fact which no one can deny the government of france is in military possession of spain. it may have been unavoidable, it may have been prudent, nay, it may have been meritorious, on the part of our government, to abstain from taking any steps by which this possession might have been rendered more difficult, if not wholly prevented; but, surely, my lords, this is not a state of things which the noble lords opposite are warranted in telling us we ought to contemplate with joy and satisfaction. i do not mean that they used those precise words, but in the present aspect of the political horizion, any intimation of that nature seems to me most wonderful. my lords, i hold that the situation of england, with reference to the rest of europe, is such as must give birth to the most anxious apprehensions in every english mind. putting asidealthough to do so is to act in a manner most uncongenial to my own feelings-but putting aside all considerations friendly to human freedom, and looking at the question on the dry ground of mere english interests, i repeat, that the present situation of england appears to me to be fraught with serious danger. my lords, what is that situation? to estimate it duly we must advert to the early period of the french revolution, and of the war which so speedily followed. i contend, my lords, that for the last seven or eight years we have departed entirely from the ancient policy of this country; aye, that we have departed entirely from the very policy which we adopted at the commencement of the revolution in france. having done so; and the departure having led to events which threaten the security and happiness of these kingdoms, i say that it is indispensable that we pause and deliberate before we determine what line of policy we will_henceforward pursue. what was the ancient policy of this country? to prevent the predominance of any indivdual power ---1 46 the warning voice. on the line of coast opposite our own.. it had always been the opinion of our ablest writers, and our wisest statesmen, that if the whole of that extensive coast were subject to one will, the security of great-britain would be seriously endangered what i contend, my lords, is, that it is very immaterial whether this power is in the hands of an individual or of a confederacy; whether it is in the hands of the holy apostolical church of rome, of the grand monarque, of napoleon bonaparte, or of the holy alliance. the war, in the early part of the french revolution, originated in the celebrated decree of the 19th of november; that decree by which the national convention held out a promise of assistance to all people who were disposed to shake off allegiance to their respective governments. why was this decree obnoxious? because it maintained a right of interference on the part of the government of one state with that of another. it matters not what the nature of the government which it is thus attempted to oppose is. it may be a monarchy, it may be an aristocracy, it may be a democracy, it may be the most beautiful form that a happy union of the three could constitute-yet, if attempted to be forced upon a country by foreign bayonets, the attempt is an aggression. it is the domineering principle that ought to be resisted. and yet it is this domineering principle on which the holy alliance have proceeded. it is on this domineering principle that they have invaded a large and powerful territory, and taken possession of it. it is clear, my lords, that there can be no difference in the principle, whether acted upon by an individual, or by a confederacy. it always was the object of this country to prevent the existence of such a state of things. whigs and tories have united in this view of the policy of great-britain. it was the policy of lord somers;-it led to the wars of king william ;-ít led to the wars of lord chatham. but when, by that course of events which i shall always consider most unfortunate, the king of france became the mere nominee of that confederacy, the aspect of affairs was entirely changed. what is the principle on which the holy alliance is formed? "that those persons who are now invested with power over mankind should continue to hold it by their own will, without any responsibility for their actions." my lords unless this is their principle, their treaty of concurrence is a dead letter. το prove that such is their principle, look at their deeds. when first this new system made its appearance, it assumed the shape of an autograph treaty. these despots arrogated to themselves the character of the holy alliance. the secretary of state for this country, lord castlereagh, at its communication, considered it as altogether harmless. he could not subscribe to the fears of those who saw danger in such a combination. "there was nothing at all in it," said the foreign secretary, and it was only because the government of this country was precluded, from the shape and form it wore, by the constitution (which prescribed that to every act of connexion with a foreign power the signature of a responsible minister was necessary), that great britain was not a party to it. this very objection, though founded upon formality, involved the very principle of the question. what minister would have ventured to have put his signature to such a document? at that moment ministers were not aware of its character and nature. they never supposed that in its covert terms it had disguised those objects which both admission and practice have since realized. it soon began to disclose itself. it was, forsooth, an alliance for the conservation of the monarchical principle. monarchical principle! what was that principle? as understood then, and since avowed by these conspirators, it was the right of one man to govern millions, not with respect to their interests or their opinions, but solely in the gratification of his own will or caprice. legitimacy they dared to name, using the term, not in its true and hallowed sig nification, of regard to those laws and precepts which the reason of mankind had sanctioned, but upon the wicked assumption that hereditary power was, under every circumstance, and in every situation, to be upheld and perpetuated, merely because there existed an hereditary claim; disregarding altogether the conduct of the person possessing it, no matter what his misdeeds were -no matter what miseries he heaped upon his unhappy subjects his right to continue in his misrule was never to be forfeited, and those whose happiness he had destroyed were to be assailed if they ventured upon that natural remedy, a change of dynasty. look at the history of naples [hear, hear!]-look at the advances these wretched principles have made since the independence of that country was violated! then, indeed, the light first broke in upon the executive government of this country as to the real purposes of the holy alliance then it was, that for the first time, the minister for foreign affairs, lord castlereagh, perceived that that autograph treaty was not that very harmless, unmeaning, peaceful combination which he had at first imagined and described he felt that it had given out tokens. which left a british minister no doubt that at least great britain could not be a party to it. it was true that the noble secretary did not even then manifest much desire to contradict such pretensions; although he was at length convinced that it embraced a rule of political action with which the policy of that country could not be reconciled. the effort was consequently made, not to oppose such a principle, but, if it were possible, to slip out of the difficulty. there was, indeed, an appearance, in some vague, indeterminate, general language, to express a disapprobation of the principle, but this disapprobation was coupled with the exception that there were peculiar circumstances in the relations in which austria stood with respect to naples, in which that principle was modified. there might exist some considerations of that kind; but stil! i hold that when, for the first time, we were called upon to pronounce an opinion on such a principle, it should have been ree from all appearance of ambiguity and misinterpretation. we should have avoided the exhibition of persons, who "not accepting, did but half refuse!" i trust i feel as strongly as any man the injustice of that violation; i hold in equal abhorrance such wicked aggressions on the rights of independent states, whether the people of those countries be near or remote-whether they hold a greater or a lesser rank amongst the nations of the civilized world. the injustice, the danger, is in the principle, and the attempt, under all circumstances, the warning voice.' 47 should be the object of reprobation. it is very true, however, that in the case of naples, there were peculiar circumstances, as was truly stated by his majesty's ministers, which did not call upon this country for the most active interposition, as compared with more recent transactions. naples, whether from its remoteness, or its slighter connexion with this country, was, without using the words in an invidious sense, in a state of comparative insignificance, as contrasted with our relations with spain. we had not time, besides, from the rapid advance of the austrian army to take an active course. the military occupation of that country by austria left us no opportunity for remonstrance, or even an examination of their pretexts for aggression. no man could view those pretexts with more disgust than i do; and though i argue the question on the principle of policy at this moment, i am as fully persuaded that in the success of that invasion, the honor, the rights, and the happiness of all independent states were but in jeopardy [hear, hear!]. it is, however, admitted, that perhaps there is no power in europe less calculated by any of its movements to excite the apprehensions of this country than austria; but despotic as that power is, it is in the principle that it has avowed and acted upon as to naples that every reasonable mind must discover the danger. naples having thus been treacherously and unjustly invaded the success in that first essay next led to the attack of the holy alliance upon spain and portugal. russia, at first covertly, but feeling its way, soon made a declaration of its intention, nay, of the obligation it was under to interfere with the revolution of spain. it is no part of my case to inquire what were the actual feelings of the spanish people as to the merits of that constitution, which that revolution obtained. i care not what was the preponderating influence of parties. i care not how numerous were the legions of fanaticism, and it forms no part of the question with me, what and how many zealots evinced a desire to restore the old despotism, to perpetuate the system of arbitrary power, and sacrifice to the domination of one the interests of mankind. these are considerations wholly out of a just view of the subject. grant all that the opponents of that constitution assume, yet where in the divisions of a people, on a question affecting the improvement of their own constitution, are these despots to find a justification for the attacks upon the rights of independent states, and the subversion by force, of those institutions which were acknowledged by the organs of the public will [hear, hear!]? i say again, i will not stop to inquire how the people of spain viewed the revolutionary constitution. whatever difference of opinion prevailed, the armies of the holy alliance were not the arbiters [hear, hear!]. the despots thought otherwise; they issued their anathemas against the people of spain, and they decided on the subversion of its consitution by force. the princes of the house of bourbon, true to the principles of that house, became foremost in the crusade against the liberties of mankind [hear, hear!] true, they first hesitated-they were alarmed at the avowal of their own purposes; partly from the fear of consequences, and not from any distaste of the principle itself, and partly from an apprehensive suspicion that great-britain, in unison with her ancient policy, would oppose the attempt, they remained apparently undetermined. when, however, they got at the depth of our policy, and by such knowledge these difficulties were surmounted, the house of bourbon at once put in execution principles congenial with their ancient character. aggrandizement, no matter what the object, no matter what the pretext-and it is too true that they acted upon a principle, the only one in which the people over whom they have been forced, could unhappily be brought to agree with them--aggrandizement was their object [hear!] the materiel was in france. these were the ultra followers of these princes, and worldlyminded and fanatical priests, who never cease, if possible, to realize their own objects, with a relay of bad men of all parties, republicans and napoleonists, who, following the impulse of the national character, thought not, cared not for the desolation they effected, provided their love of plunder, spoilation, and conquest on an unoffending country was successful. acting upon that conviction, m. chateaubriand hailed the invasion of spain as a means of producing national unanimity. it was to be the recovering point for bourbon influence. they were to hand over the independence of weaker but independent countries, as a spoil for french soldiery, to recover a security and a permanence for themselves [hear!]. "dominationem super alios ad servitium suum, mercedem dant" [hear!] but why speak of freedom when talking of the states of the continent? where over its whole extent does freedom exist [hear]? no where through that vast tract. is freedom to be found in russia, austria, or france? i deny it. tell me not of the semblance of freedom, in what we know to be the magistratuum nomina in chambers or assemblies, where one is at a loss to decide whether the profligacy of its connivance, or the disgusting excesses of individuals, n more the subject of reprobation with every enlightened mind. i ask again where freedom is to be found in any part of europe at this moment, but in england? is there a spot where any man would dare to say the sort of things that i am saying now [a laugh, and cries of hear, hear!]? it is probable that i am at this moment speaking what the noble lord (liverpool) does not approve-what is not pleasing (and though i am persuaded that even were he a despot, he would neither send me to prison, much less to execution) [a laugh, and hear, hear!]; yet i tell my noble friend, i feel a much better security in knowing that he durst not, cannot [hear, hear!]. surely, noble lords must feel that they insult the sacred name of liberty, when they venture to assert that the concerns of the people form any part of the views of that combination that domineers over europe-for where can these concerns have a friend, where there is neither recognized the liberty, the reason, or law? in my general view of the distressed continent of europe, i am most willing, on re-consideration, to except the kingdom of the netherlands. so far as its power and its means extend, i sincerely believe there exists a willingness and solicitude to extend the liberties of the subject, and to increase the happiness of the people [hear, hear!]. the noble earl at the head of his majesty's government, in his speech has panegyrised 48 the warning voice. the prince who commanded the french army in its invasion of spain. i am not disposed to dispute the claims that that personage has to panegyric for his immediate and personal conduct in the command of that campaign; but i do declare that i listened to the prediction, that those claims afforded future hopes in his presumptive character, when, proceeding from a british member, with consternation [hear, hear!]. is the noble lord not aware of what france has affected, and by what means? does she not, at this moment, hold military occupation of the whole of the kingdom of spain, its fortresses and harbours? has she not a supreme ascendancy, not alone in spain, but in portugal [hear!]. are not her influence, her power, and her ambition, upheld by a priesthood, vehement and eager to sustain and increase that ascendancy by all those means which they know how to employ, and which are too successful over the mass of mankind [hear, hear is not that ambitious government supported also by a nominal legislature, which so far possesses the power of representation as to be able to lay at the feet of the monarch all the resources of a fertile and industrious country, without the virtue or the ability to check the misapplication. such is the government of france; the head, i would say; but at all events, a member of that wicked confederacy that holds at nought all those principles and rights which were, heretofore at least, acknowledged to be founded on the laws of nature, and of nations. i ask then, is that a state of the world that in a british parliament ought to be made a subject of congratulation [hear, hear, hear!]? i ask the ministers of the crown whether such a position can be satisfactory to themselves? the character of our policy must be strangely altered if such a state of europe can be an object of gratification to an english government [hear! the noble earl has reminded your lordships of the fact, that he had deprecated the invasion of spain by the french government. i ask you also to remember the manner and the tone in which he deprecated that invasion. what was that way? was it not that france would be the sufferer that there was a great improbability of success-that its government did not contemplate not alone the danger from spanish resistance; but the more imminent and more awful danger of hazarding its security in france? was not this the language of every dispatch? look at every document, at every record placed upon your table, and then i ask whether the amount of the noble lord's deprecation was not that war was to be avoided by france, because it was most likely that such war would be attended with the most disastrous events to france. i appeal to the noble duke near him (wellington), who, i am sure, would disclaim and spurn the imputation of having any where used language which he did not feel to be true, whether that was not the burthen of every diplomatic communication. was it not the admonition, the dehortation, if i may say so, of his every note and 'communication, when the project of violation was unfolded at verona [hear, hear!]? disregarded as these admonitions were, it was something beyond official assumption; it was rather too much even for parliamentary acquiescence, to be called upon to admit our proud attitude, our commanding influence; amidst the nations of europe [hear, hear!]. let us for a moment consider the proofs of that ascendancy, of that ability, which our successes afforded to arbitrate for the contract. either the invasion of spain by france was a good, or it was an evil. if it were a good it was accomplished without our consent or our assistance. if it were an evil, where is our boasted ascendancy, when the ministers of england, who take credit for our proud attitude, bought at such unexampled sacrifices, admit, in the same breath, that they themselves deprecated the attempt, and that the result has been effected decidedly against our remonstrances, and, as most men feel, with consequence specially dangerous to british interests [cheers]? i confess, for my own part, that i cannot understand, much less acquiesce, in these causes for self-congratulation. in reflecting on the state of events, i can not, indeed, understand why england might not have felt it politic to interfere in such a question; but it forms, in my mind, no topic of congratulation. i can understand that, crippled and exhausted by efforts in a cause of a more ambiguous character, she was no longer capable to sustain her ancient policy of appearing as the champion of the independence of europe [hear, hear!]. her inability, from previous efforts, i understand, and am ready to appreciate the argument that might be formed on it. but i do not see the propriety or the credit, to use the words of a most eloquent colleague of the noble lord's (mr. canning), i say i do not recognize the propriety of our tricking ourselves out in all the drapery of eloquence; to appear in a character to which our own acts have lamentably proved we have no pretensions. it is most preposterous, and, again drawing upon the language of that right hon. gentleman, i think that though, according to him, it would have been "an act of quixotism to have interfered in the spanish struggle;" i still ventureto hold, that having given up and surrendered all right to that elevation of feeling and spirit of chivalry which characterized the knight of le mancha, there was another quality of that renowned character which with more propriety he and his colleagues might have exemplified-to wit, that altogether dropping their vaunted and non-existing superiority, they should have appeared with some claims to respect, from their regard to decency, as knights of the sorrowful countenance [cheers, and a laugh]. these were the feelings that became them, and yet it was difficult to reconcile such conduct as they pursued with the impressions they must have felt from the nature of the exertions which great-britain had made for europe [hear, hear!]. wasa disregard to her admonitions, to her remonstrances, the fair return for all her sacrifices of blood and treasure, and aye, of honesty too, in her dealings, as the noble eart (liverpool) has at length tardily admitted this night, in reviewing our arrangements of currency and finance? one would have expected, that when the holy alliance refused to listen to the suggestions of those ministers who had recovered for some of them their thrones, and secured the tottering influence of others, that the exclamation of the noble earl, at all› events of the noble duke near him (wellington) would have been→→→ the warning voice.' 49 o peers of england! shameful is this league fatab this contract, cancelling your fame; blotting your names from books of memory; raising the characters of your renown, reversing monuments of conquered france; undoing all, as all had never been!" in place of that natural feeling, uninfluenced by those heroic sentiments at least we should have thought, that disappointed by their former friends, treated with ingratitude where gratitude was due, they would have met the country with a natural, a becoming feeling of humiliation. no such thing. they chuckle at self-congratulation; and, making noodles and doodles of us all, expect, that when the story is out, we must all, as the writer of tom thumb observes— "with nature wear an universal grin." but whatever different views noble lords might enter tain as to the policy of our interposition, i do pray them to reflect on the consequences of allowing the despotic principle of one title governing the destiny and the resources of the whole of continental europe. were this the proper time i could state a variety of suggestions which the prospect or the chance of such a state of things brings to my view. is it possible that if such a state of things was to be successful, that our free constitution-our free press and parliamentary discussions would not become an object of deep and serious hostility? great as are the resources of this country, determined as is the love of independence, and great as is the industry of the people, yet who could pronounce on the result of a warfare waged by europe under one will, against that freedom which those despots abhor? how can we tell, but that, if even the emperor of austria was above all such recollections, that courtiers in his government would not be found who would breathe a lasting enmity against that right of public discussion which talked of despot bankruptcy, and breach of imperial faith? is it no consideration for british statesmen, that priestcraft and fanatacism has had its triumph in that country more directly convenient for extending the same principles and practices where they were likely to meet adherents in the more vulnerable part of our empire? has not our commerce, on which our prosperity mainly hinges, been the object of the unceasing opposition of those sovereigns? view it on every point, it is our duty to be decided. it may be a question, whether it should be our policy to divide the constituent parts of this confederacy, and, by so doing, to nullify its purposes; it may be our policy to place ourselves at the head of vast liberal party existing in every country in europe, in a manner similar to the station england once held at the head of the protestant states; or, if crippled and exhausted by our previous efforts, we should feel disposed to sever and separate from europe, placing ourselves in connexion with the new world-linked with the united states, and looking out for those connections with the emerging governments of the southern districts of that continent, which might compensate for our alienation from europe. these, i say, may be speculations of policy-but all i say at present is, decide. these various considerations are attended with difficulty; but whatever may be the extent of that difficulty: 1 s there is no time for delay [hear, hear!]. the election must be made-any one of these decisions, i say, is much better than the course we are now pursuing-better, i repeat, any one of them, than no system of policy at all [hear, hear!]. in the situation we now are, it is, in my conviction, impossible to persevere without probable disgrace and degradation, and perhaps without ruin and extinction-a destiny which posterity with pronounce we shall have deserved, if, with the means of preservation in our power, we have suffered them to remain in inaction. i have quoted the above-mentioned wisdom and judicious conduct of the united states, to prove the folly of great-britain interfering with the french revolution. and is not that interference, and the loss of our blood and treasure, and the risk we run of being destroyed as an independent nation, a confirmation of the wisdom of the united states of america, and the folly of the ruling power of great-britain." the french declared they had no objection to monarchical government; they only wanted to regulate and improve their affairs, for the good of the king and people, and that they would have no offensive wars, none but to defend themselves; and, with the consent of the king and people, drew up a constitution, which the king accepted and swore to; that, i consider, was the end of the french revolution. and, if we had not interfered, it would have been so, and they would have been a great, peaceable, free, independent and happy nation; as no other dared or would have attacked their infant liberties. but great britain sent her emissaries, and lighted up the dying embers of the revolution, encouraged the king to break his oath, and run away, which he did, which drove them mad, and then they cut the king's head off, and those of many others, and in the broil which we caused, we were driven to the brink of ruin, which we have not yet recovered. much as the world may admire the constitution of america, and much as it may merit their admiration, if the king and people will please to examine the constitution of england, in its original state of purity, they may discover beauties and perfections in it, such as no other country in the world is blessed with. may i here indulge the happy hope that the king and people will unite without delay, and restore the constitution to its original legitimate state of purity, both in the house of commons and elsewhere; that they may have the pleasure and happines of admiring and enjoying it in its original purity, and prevent this dear country from. being exposed to the above-mentiond danger, in future, which would never have happened if the people had been truly represented in the house of commons. the marquis of lansdown's, lord liverpool's, and lord holland's speeches on the address in reply to the speech of the king of great-britain the 2d february, 1824; the president's message to the united states of america, on the 2d december, 1823, together with the remarks of the leeds mercury upon it, surely, all together form one of the most valuable, intelligent, and important documents that ever appeared in the world; because i do hope they will open the eyes and understandings, and remove the blind, bewildered, 50 the warning voice. infatuated state of great-britain, and all europe, and enlighten them all, and convince every lady, and every other individual in the british empire, of the necessity, expediency, comfort, and pleasure of a reformation in parliament; then, i say, who dare or will be any longer against such a salutary, necessary, and happy measure. i do hope and presume we shall become unanimous, and every one will promote it. and if we consider that america is the only power that appears, and has declared itself willing, ready and determined to stem the present terrible, sudden torrent of tyranny and oppression, and to protect, nourish, and promote liberty, freedom, religion, and virtue all over the world. and if we consider that the holy alliance have conspired to destroy these virtues universally, and have executed their machinations in france, spain, portugal, naples, &c. and commanding, controlling, and influencing all europe for these dire and dreadful purposes, to the terror and danger of the freedom, safety, commerce, welfare, dignity, and of all that is dear and valuable to great-britain and all the world. and if we compare the president's message to the king's, or rather the minister's speech to the parliament of great-britain on the 2d of february, 1824, both of which, i hope, will be well considered and compared, by the king and people of this great and mighty empire. can a nation be said to be great, mighty, happy, and safe, which owes almost as much money as it is worth. then how wonderful that the k m of great-britain have not yet expressed the least fear, suspicion, or alarm at their country's above-mentioned danger, on the fall of spain into the hands of the holy alliance. where have they buried all their thoughts and attention? what a mystery it must appear to every one, that our watchmen and guardians, who are so extravagantly paid for their small services, should appear to be asleep or in a lethargy, when their vigilance and attention is more called for than ever was known. surely they must consider themselves superior to the king their master, and also the people. true loyalty, is true wisdom, in true britons. my way of respecting my sovereign, and proving my loyalty, is by endeavouring to protect his dignity, his empire, and his happiness. i evince my love of the constitution, by considering it the guardian of all our rights, and source of our freedom and pleasures. and it is my humble opinion, all women and men should contemplate, study, and learn to know the excellence, virtue, nature, and value of that inestimable constitution, their liberty and freedom, as the source of every thing that is dear to them, and that its preservation is the strongest proof they can give of their true loyalty to their king. and i presume they will find this the most entertaining and interesting subject in the world, embracing true religion, true loyalty, true love, and every thing that is dear, pleasant, and estimable in this life. and i hope. they will throw aside all their trifling talk and amuse, ments, and substitute this for the good of themselves, their king, their country, and all the world. and i presume they will always find this the most entertaining subject in the world, for true lovers who are truly loyal. the following are perhaps the most prominent parts of our incomparable constitution. the foundation of this constitution is its laws, which are the rule of the king's government, and of the obedience of the people. by their own laws, britons are free, as no law can be made or repealed, but by their own consent, given by their representatives in parliament, which makes their subjection to laws, not forced, but voluntary. by these laws, no man can be imprisoned without cause shewn, nor can be denied a writ of habeas corpus, to bring him to trial, which cannot be, but by a jury of his peers. no taxes or loans can be levied in england, without the people's consent; and none can be impressed for soldiers, but such as acts of parliament direct, upon particular emergencies. but here i beg leave to ask, how much is the constitution impaired, by the present practices of bribery and corruption, by money or favors, bestowed directly or indirectly, in sending our members to parliament, and their conduct therein, where it is too well known ; the majority of them are under the influence of, and represent and protect the ministers of the day, and not the people, whom the constitution in its original state of purity, intended they should represent and protect. the monarchy of great-britain is so limited, as to secure the people's liberty, and not to diminish the king's power, if all the other branches do their duty. it is a mixed government of king, lords, and commons, who are all three a check upon each other, and this excellent form of government is now fixed on so sure a basis, as nothing (under god) can remove, except that baneful influence of bribery and corruption, which has imperceptibly crept into the constitution, and like the canker worm, knawing its vitals, and will cause its death, if a speedy remedy be not applied, which dire disease every thinking man is and will soon be alive to, and join in the generous effort to eradicate and restore the dying patient. and the leading object of this publication is to awake the king and people, to a sense of the danger of losing this inestimable treasure, the constitution of england, which is of the most vital importance to us all; and by the most cool and temperate reasoning, to induce loyalty, and truest source of religion, liberty, safety, them to restore and preserve it if possible, as the truest comfort, greatness, dignity, pleasure, and happiness. i am a whig, and this is my way of proving my loyalty to my king, my love of the constitution, and my zeal to preserve them both. i take the liberty of telling, and soon prove to them they all tories who i have the pleasure of conversing with, are whigs in principle, but tories in practice will say they love the constitution as dearly as me, and as anxious way to preserve it, the conduct of the whigs or the tories. to preserve it, then the point at issue is, which is the best i here appeal to the latter, and have so much confidence in the tories, and their good sense and good dispositions, important case. but i shall challenge, or object to all as to make them judge, jury, and witness in this most such, as have anything to hope or to fear, to get or to the warning. voice. 51 save, from the pleasure or displeasure of the because they have formed a phalanx, and established an influence and power of their own, distinct from, and superior to the king and people, and more dangerous to both, and the existence of the constitution than ever was known, and i hope to see the king and people soon unite to extinguish such danger. and if they will please to take an impartial view of the operation of wealth and power, in the transactions of the world, they may soon discover, they as naturally curtail liberty and freedom, and increase oppression, as the sparks fly upwards. the true whig, or true patriot admires the constitution of england, as a treasure of inestimable value, such as no people in the world enjoy when in its original state of purity, but those of greatbritain. he is its anxious and steady friend and guardian, the watchman of its safety, security, and welfare, and considers it his first bouuden duty to hand it down to posterity unimpaired, as his forefathers gave it to him. he loves his king, the peers of the realm, and the house of commons, because they, with the people, constitute this judicious, stately, inestimable, and wonderful fabric. he is coolly and deliberately endeavouring to shew the king and people, how much bribery, corruption, and undue influence have imperceptibly impaired that invaluable and pleasant edifice, the constitution of england. luable and pleasant edifice, the constitution of england. he believes that all thinking men love justice, and admire this inestimable treasure of our own, as much as himself; and will become equally zealous to join in restoring it to its original state of purity. he believes that all thinking men have as strong a hatred of bribery and corruption as himself, on all petty and private occasions, but when they see them two dire enemies attacking with such violence, this darling babe, the constitution of england, they will become deter mined to join in their destruction. .. he treats all men's opinions on politics, with moderation, deference, and respect. he believes they cannot differ upon this most important subject, if they will be cool, candid, and respectful to each other. and consider well that they have one common principle and one common object only, the welfare of themselves, their king and country, and all the world. he studies the golden rule on all occasions. he doeth justice, loveth mercy, and walketh humbly. he hates every species of tyranny and oppression. he is a true protestant, and truly religious.. " 1 1.. the king we all know is a true whig and true patriot, and can do nothing politically wrong, if all the other branches of the constitution do their duty. is there a peer in the realm, who in the presence of the almighty, will lay his hand on his heart and say, he is not a true whig and true patriot? t is there a member of the house of commons, who will appeal to the almighty, lay his hand on his heart and say, he is not a true whig and true patriot? is there a minister of state, who will appeal to the almighty, lay his hand on his heart and say, he is not a true whig and true patriot? ! as is there an individual in the land, who in the presence of the almighty, can lay his hand on his heart and say, he is not a true whig and true patriot? is there a tory in this empire, who will appeal to the almighty, lay his hand on his heart and say, his conduct and practice has not a tendency to promote tyranny, oppression, and the destruction of the heavenly constitution of england, any of which i may venture to say, he will hate in heart and conscien e to be guilty of, whenever he considers well what he is doing? whig, tory, and courtier. a true whig is a patriot, a friend to freedom, and his country, it is a political name for the friends of liberty, in opposition to tory. tier is an attender of a court, one who sides with the a tory is an advocate for absolute monarchy. a courministry, right or wrong, full of promises, without intention to perform. a pecuniary saving to a man's self is a circumstance likely to arrest the attention of every one, though in truth, the saving of the constitution, is an object of more importance, as it compriseth every other; for if the constitution be subdued, our freedom will be lost, and with our freedom, will perish our ingenuity, industry, commercial enterprize, and our martial spirit; all the copious sources of domestic happiness and national consequence, will be choked up for ever. mr. cooper then resumed, and continued to argue (on the authority of lock, milton, lord chesterfield, and other great names,) that free discussion never produced mischief. political discussion was a benefit, because by attacking certain institutions, it called forth able writers in their defence, and was to a like cause, that we were now indebted to lock's treatise on government. neither ancient rome, athens, or the modern dynasty of france fell by the licentiousness of political discussion. they owed their fall to corruption and degeneracy, and the absence of a free press, to correct these vices. while he held the situation of representative in. parliament, he was the zealous supporter of the liberties of the country, and the eloquent and watchful guardian of its independence, and the enemy of bribery and corruption, and he was convinced that his son would tread in his footsteps. luxury, oppression and poverty. prologue to mr. cobbett's address to the men of kent. the manner of the following address i disapprove, but the matter i think praise-worthy, because it is an additional proof that the -have played the same game uniformly, above half a century past to my knowledge, viz.-the game of bribery, corruption, luxury, oppression, and poverty, which are the dire enemies of all men and all nations, without regard to any other game but keeping their places, aggrandizing and enriching themselves, their friends, and adherents, which impoverisheth, distresseth, and oppresseth all those beneath them, in a greater or lesser degree, and spreadeth discord, discomfort, and displeasure, through the land where harmony, comfort, and pleasure should prevail. 52 the warning. voice. they played it in the american war, by which we lost america, and much blood, treasure, &e. but liberty and freedom to the americans, rose triumphant out of the contest which has become the land of independence, charity, religion, and liberty, with the laudable, generous, friendly disposition, to help all the civilized world to enjoy the same; an example which i hope will excite the attention, and be followed by all the world. being the only way to make nations, kings, and people happy, great, safe and strong, and to lead them to conclude, the almighty will bless and protect all such upright nations. and that all governments were instituted for the benefit, good and happiness of the king and people. they played it in their attack upon the rising liberties of france, and without cause, except to prevent a reformation in the english house of commons, forced our dear country to the brink of ruin, from which a wonderful act of providence did preserve us, when nothing else could, and i hope the whole nation doth rejoice in hearty thanks to the almighty, for its preservation, which ended in the restoration of tyranny and oppression in france, and the dissatisfaction of their people, at the expence of many hundreds of millions of debt to us, which hangs like a mill stone about our necks, and left us in imminent danger, which now appears too obvious, and will sink us and destroy our liberties, religion, and commerce, if we do not unite with the king, and exert our talent and wisdom, to prevent it. they played it by joining the holy alliance, which have united to extinguish the rising liberties of all nations, and thereby astonished and terrified their own country, and all the civilized world. they have played it by their neglect to protect and nourish the dawning liberties of spain, and our most vital interests and safety, and have thereby lost us a certain and most powerful ally, the whole kingdom of spain, with the most important maratimeffortresses in the world. by all which they, and their adherents, have given birth to, and joined a confederacy of the tyrants of europe, not only dangerous to our liberties and freedom, and our heavenly constitution, but our commerce and our very existence, as an independent nation. extracts from mr. cobbett's address to the men of kent. cadiz is now in the hands of the french. this is no battle of waterloo affair. the most important maratime fortress in the world, and in their hands it will, in effect, remain as long as the english national debt shall last. the newspapers which give us an account of the fall of cadiz, tell us also that it is said at paris, that the french mean to keep possession of that fortress, as long as we keep possession of gibraltar! good. my readers will recollect that i said, before the french actually marched into spain, that, unless the interest of the english debt were almost annihilated, the french would have us out of gibraltar in three years. cadiz is worth fifty times as much as gibraltar. it is superior to it for every purpose whatever; and in every respect it is beyond all measure more valuable. there are the french in possession of it; and upon what ground are we to object to their keeping possession of it. temporary possession of that and all the fortresses in spain we shall hardly have the impudence, i mean the modesty to object seeing that when we had "conquered france," we insisted upon keeping possession of certain parts of france for five years, and of taking certain fortresses away from her for ever as we thought. our pretext for these was, that our army was pecessary to prevent the "hydra of revolution from rearing its hideous head." and shall not the french keep up an army in spain, and take possession of spanish fortresses, and make the spanish people pay their army for the same purposes? is there one law, one gospel, one moral principle, one rule of right for us, and are there others for them? has mr. brougham bothered us about the greatest captain of the age, until we, at last, believe in good earnest, that we are to bind down all other nations by the strict rules of moral rectitude, while we ourselves, in our quality of the "greatest empire in the world," are to plead an exemption from all rules whatever? if we have brought ourselves to this belief, the french will presently undeceive us; for they will keep posses sion of spain, and monsieur de chateaubriand will give mr. canning some pretty rappings upon the knuckles, if he shall venture to utter a word in the way of remonstrance. these fortresses? why do you keep the cape of good will mr. canning say, by what right do you hold hope and the island of ceylon? you took them, not when at open war against the stadtholder; but when you were professing to make war for the stadtholder, ånd while the stadtholder was actually living in england. again, why did you take and why do you keep malta? malta belonged to the knights of st. john of jerusalem. the french revolutionists took it from the kensington, october 15, 1823. knights. you took it from the french; but did you on the fall of cadiz, and on the state of england, compared with that of france. gentlemen, another of my 66 lying prophecies," now stands before the public. from the very dawn of the french project for the invasion of spain, i warned my readers, that the intention of france was to get possession of the fleets and arsenals and ports of spain, and, in short, to make that country in effect a part of the french dominions. restore it to the knights? oh! no! at the peace of amiens you stipulated solemnly to restore it to the knights; but you went to war again, when you were called upon to fulfil the stipulation, and your ministers openly declared in parliament, that one of the objects of your new war was to enable you to avoid the surrendering of malta! will our minister answer and say: "aye, but these things took place a long while ago; treaties have been the warning voice. 53 made since we took possession of the cape of good hope and of malta; and these places have been ceded and guaranteed to us by these treaties."-" oh" the french minister will say, "is that all you want! morbleu! we will give you treaties enough! you shall have half a dozen of them by the next post; one for cadiz, another for corunna, and, if you wish it, for every sea-port and fortified town in spain; treaties are cheap enough things. they do not cost above fifty livres apiece, though made in the name of the holy and undivided trinity. six penny-worth of paper, pens, ink and wax, and a day's work for a clerk, makes cadiz as lawfully ours as the cape of good hope and malta and gibraltar are yours. however, it must be confessed that there is no ground whatever for our keeping gibraltar, which will not equally serve the french as a ground for keeping cadiz; nay, they have a ground for keeping cadiz, and fair ground, too, which we have not for keeping gibraltar. our minister will hardly pretend that gibraltar is at all necessary to the protection or defence of these islands. if he were mad enough to do it, the french would need only to pull out a map of europe to show him how much more necessary gibraltar must be to the protection and defence of france ! if our minister were to let slip out (and his discretion is quite equal to it,) that it would be insulting and degrading to the spanish king and the nation, for the french to hold this maratime fortress of cadiz; if our witty foreign secretary were, in the plenitude of his discretion, to make use of such an argument, would not the frenchman exclaim, insolent, that you are, evacuate gibraltar or hold your tongue ? what, then, does it amount to, gentlemen? there are two great maratime fortresses in spain. we have possession of the one and the french of the other. their title to cadiz is as good as ours to gibraltar the very same motives that induce us to keep possession of gibraltar, point out to them to keep cadiz. this fall of cadiz; this conclusion to the war in so short a period and at such a season of the year, is a body-blow to our thing, to the boroughmongers, and to the jews, too. it is a stab into the bowels of them both; and, therefore, matter of unmixed joy with me. there are some men, and very good men, too, who bave looked upon the cause of the cortes as the cause of liberty. different men mean different things when they talk about liberty. does the reader recollect a sentence passed by the common sergeant upon one of mr. carlile's shopmen, about fifteen months ago? that shopman, mr. carlile himself, his sister, mrs. wright, are enjoying, according to this gentleman, the blessings of liberty, which blessings, however, we do not see in their true light, until we view them in conjunction with what took place before the government's police justice, dyer, with regard to the right reverend father in god, bishop jocelyn, uncle of the earl of roden, and john movley, a soldier of the foot guards. thus, then, when we look at the sentence on mr. carlile's shopman, and at the speech made on the passing of that sentence, we may guess a little at what the common sergeant means by liberty. so far, so good. and, now, as to the inquisition, the restoration of which is looked upon as certain, and the horrors of which are dwelt upon by our protestant liberty-lovers with a sort of melancholy hankering and delight. curse the inquisition, say i. i would, if i could, stick upon it all the eurses contained in the 139th psalm; but will mr. denman be so good as to show, that the inquisition has, during the last thirty years, inflicted any punishment so severe as those inflicted upon mr. carlile, his wife, his sister, mrs. wright, the shopmen, and joseph swann? my real opinion is, that the inquisition in spain has, during the whole of the last thirty years, indicted no punishments so severe as these. there are, however, some good men, who look upon it that despotism has now triumphed. to a certain degree, and in a certain way, and in a particular quarter, it has triumphed. but those are very much deceived, who imagine that this triumph will be favorable to our borough-mongers; and that is the thing which we have to look after; that is our affair. we are not, like sir francis burdett, to look after the human race. we are to look after ourselves; we are to see how these events will affect our enemies; that is to say, the borough-mongers, who are so delighted with power-ofimprisonment bills, and with six acts. well, then, the reader may be assured that these borough-mongers and all their tools will be exceedingly annoyed by the subjugation of spain, and by the occupation of her muratime fortresses by the french; for they cannot but see that these events must lead to great consequences. until the french resolved to march into spain, our ministers and their adherents affected not to believe that they would march. after the king of france had made his speech to the chambers, our ministers, who are men of a very lively hope, predicted that the french would not succeed. that singularly wise personage, the stern-path-of-duty man, who was made a knight of the garter along with castlereagh, very confidently predicted that the french. would fail; that, after a long protracted warfare, they would be compelled to retreat into france; and that bright youth, mr. holme sumner, observed, that charles v. had truly said, that if you invaded spain with a small army, you were defeated; if with a large army, you were starved. profound statesman! how he has profited from reading history. these instances alone would be sufficient to prove that the ministers, that their hangers-on, and that the hare and pheasant tyrants all over the country, wished the french to experience a great deal of trouble and of loss. they wished the spanish constitution to be des troyed, and all schemes of liberty in that country to be marred and blasted. marred and blasted. but they did not wish that the french should profit from their enterprize. they hoped that they would be a long and tiresome and sanguinary affair, during which france would exhaust herself a good deal, and would throw great disgrace upon herself as well as upon the spaniards; and that, at last, the affair would end with the destruction of liberty in spain, but at the same time, without leaving the french any thing to boast of. and they hoped, at the same time, that they might be called in as media54 the warning voice. tors; and that thus they should keep disguised from the world, their utter inability to go to war. these hopes are now blasted. gatton and old sarum have now got a stab; and if nobody else can see how this is, i can.. when the meeting took place in kent, only just about fifteen months ago, which of us could have thought, that in only fifteen months from that day, the french nation, whom we so recently boasted of having conquered, would be in possession of cadiz, with resolution to keep it (as is said to be the case), as long as we keep possession of gibraltar? one of my arguments in support of the proposition which i had the honor to submit to the meeting at maidstone, was this, that without a reduction of the interest of the debt, this country never could go to war again. the words which i addressed to you upon that occasion; that is to say, in defence of our petition, which had been so rudely attacked in the house of commons by john smith, mr. calcraft,and knatchbull, the brother of captain charles knatchbull, english consul at nantes, of whose works in prison in london we read of the other day; these words, or at least, a small part of them, i cannot refrain from repeating here: l 1 . i this leads us to another and larger and more terrific view of the consequences of this all-corrupting, all-corroding, all-crippling, and all-ruining debt. well have the petitions of the hundred of tapping in norfolk called it a mill-stone, dragging down the british nation; for it is dragging us down, and down we are going at a greater rate than nation ever yet fell! are we secure from the hostility of our neighbours? yet it may now be said of england, that she dares not think of war; that she dare not even to be providing against it, while her enemies are growing to gigantic strength. my wishes can avail nothing; but my sincere opinion is, that if your prayer be not heard; if the interest of this debt be not reduced, this nation is doomed to. become one of the most contemptible upon the face of the earth the american statesmen, i know, regard our debt as their best security. they rejoice at its existence and at the obstinacy of our government in adhering to the system they have so long pursued. in france, i question not, the same sentiments prevail. both those nations disentangled themselves from their debts. they both took care to get rid of the crippling load; and while we are adhering to the enfeebling curse, they are growing strong. by the migration to their shores of the capital, the industry and the genius of englishmen." 2 and the french government is quite convinced that our government dares not attempt such reduction. this is my own opinion, too; for, daddy coke and suffield, and the rest of that crew, would now seem to be begging for eternal execration, if they were to demand that which they have called me a villain and a spy for recommending. thus the thing is most gloriously beset; it has the jews on one side of it, and it has the french on the other. here stand we radicals looking on; we see them tearing and pulling at the thing. our aristocracy and their understrappers, our parsons, and the whole tribe of tax-eaters; these are continually talking to us about the horrors of the french revolution. they never say a word to us about the causes of it. the french were, under the old government, most cruelly oppressed by the aristocracy; and to this oppression we ought to ascribe the far greater part of the horrors of the revolution; but, great as these oppressions were, france might have remained for centuries without a revolution, if it had not been for the effects of the funding system; a system quite infernal in itself; but at last like most other evils, producing its own cure. ! and, indeed, besides the point at gibraltar, who can believe that the french nation, regenerated, reinvigorated, and full of warlike means, will much longer submit to the insult offered it in our possession of the islands of guernsey and jersey? these islands almost touch the french land. the only use of them is to make france look little in the eyes of englishmen and of the world. a very good use; an use that i would still have them put to; but, it is to be believed, that, if we cannot keep the french from occupying cadiz and corunna, we shall be able to keep them from taking back guernsey and jersey? back guernsey and jersey by war, we might, in spite of steam boats; but, without war, does any man in his senses believe, that this can be done for another five. or six years? and, if the interest of the debt be not reduced, we cannot go to war, and, such reduction is neither more nor less than radical reform, and what its enemies call revolution. the french, once in quiet possession of spain, will, beyond all doubt, endeavour to bring back to subjection the south american colonies. and, if she do this, will she not take part of them to herself? can we prevent this? by war we might; but, is it not madness to suppose, that we could do it without war? or, is there yet a man left to believe, that we can stop the march of the french by noisy speeches and paragraphs? the very same reasons which rendered our prayers of no avail in the case of spain, would render them of no avail in the case of her colonies; and, with what face are we, who have grabbed malta, the cape, trinidad, demerara, ceylon, the mauritius, pondicherry, and other matters; with what face are we, who grabbed all these, during our wars againstoff jacobins, usurpers,” and "for the liberties and independence of europe;" with what face are we to object to the french getting a slice of south america as a reward for their putting down “jacobinisın” in spain, 1992 1 and, now, then, we come to this: are we ready for wan, rather than suffer the french to possess mexico or peru? are we ready for war? that is the question. no: one would almost think, that i had received intimation before hand, from some supernatural agent, of all that was going to happen during the next sixteen months. our friend lord darnley, would not hear of any reduction of the interest of the debt. he was too honest a man, he said. wise coke of norfolk, and no less wise suffield, whose name is edward harboard, and whose father-in-law left him five thousand pounds to purchase a seat in parliament. these men abused me as if i had been a thief, and the latter compared me to oliver or edwards, and was followed in his example by parson smythies of hereford; because i had proposed a redu, tton of the interest of the: debtor yet, without such reduction; gibraltar must go! that is my real opinion; the warning voice. 55 they must have mexico and peru too, and give one of them to russia, or a great island to prussia: they must do just what they like; for go to war we cannot without blowing up the debt, which we cannot blow up without blowing up the church establishment and the boroughs! oh, no: we shall not stir. our government will be as fertile in pretexts for peace as it formerly was in pretexts for war the nations all know our state well. they see, that what we have got and grabbed, we have bought with the money that we have borrowed; and they see, that we must now pay back this money, three for one, or blow up our whole thing; for, as i have often said, i do not know what name to call it by. the french know our state well; they describe it in their public papers; they say we cannot stir; and, can any one believe, that they, who are freed from debt, who are rich and really prosperous, will not take advantage of this our state of weakness' after having, by means of borrowed money, got together bayonet men of all nations to "conquer france," we, now that we have the money to pay, are as helpless as babies. the weakness of paper-money is on us. and will the french let slip this opportunity of regaining that which we, by means of troops hired by our loans, wrested from them? the short and long of the matter is this: we have been purchasing conquests and glories with paper money; and, being unable to pay for them, we shall, in due course of proceeding, be obliged to give them up; and, as is usually the case under circumstances of a similar nature we shall, in the end, be compelled to give up a great deal more than we purchased with our paper money. by resolute measures we might save ourselves; but, as these include a great reduction of the interest of the national debt, and as daddies coke, suffield, and wodehouse and gaffer gooch will not hear a word of such reduction, on any account whatever; as lord darnley will not hear of it; as mr. galcraft will make us "ride off," if we mention it; as knatchbull, brother of charles, esquire, our gracious sovereign's consul at nantes, calls it roguery to propose such reduction; as this is the case, we can have no reduction; and must, of course, surrender our "glories," though, in rewards to one single man, they have cost us seven hundred thousand pounds already! alas! but, let us take comfort; for, we shall, in spite of the duc d'angouleme, have "waterloo bridge," and " wellington boots." for whole weeks the newspapers of london contained the most outrageous abuse of a proposition to lessen the interest of the debt. the french government wanted no more than this. "keep you your debt," said they, "and we will get and keep cadiz and corunna." by this time there cannot be a single politician in france unacquainted with our state. every man of them must now see, that our government no more dares to talk of war than it dares to make a radical reform. such facts can never be secret long. there can be no war; no, though the french were to attack the isle of wight; there can be no war without a blowing up of the debt; and the debt cannot be touched without first touching the church and putting down the boroughs, there cannot be another "bank restriction bill," and another game like the last a nation plays such a game but once. p curious affair, gentlemen! the thing's people borrowed hundreds of millions of pounds in order to hire and pay bayonet men to prevent the example of the subjects of the bourbons from working injury to the thing: and, now, those bourbons are insulting and kicking the thing, merely because the thing owes those hundreds of millions of pounds. with this i, for the present, leave the occupation of cadiz and corunna, and indeed of spain, by the french, to be contemplated on by lord darnley, his son, knatchbull, calcraft, john smith, daddy coke, suffield, parson smythies, wise wodehouse, and gaffer gooch. but, mind, gentlemen, they will have no reduction of interest of debt; mind that: that they' are to stand to. epilogue to mr. cobbett's address to the men of kent. sir robert wilson and the army. the above-mentioned, with many others, are an additional proof, and complete confirmation of the merit, courage, wisdom, judicious, patriotic, and praise-worthy conduct of the good, the brave, the great, sir robert wilson, whom his few enemies allow, is one of the bravest warriors of the age; and perhaps been one of the most vital instruments in the hands of providence, which saved our country from being ruined by the misconduct of our-and the power of bonaparte, which entitles him to the thanks and praise of his own dear country, and all the world, for this wonderful act in war, his great and amiable qualities, and his voluntary courage and example in going to fight, with some other brave english officers, in the cause of liberty, and his countries freedom and safety in the late spanish contest in spain. and exhibits a most striking and true picture of the reverse, in the conduct of-on this important question to the safety, commerce, and liberties of our country and the world, who have used this inestimable brave officer so extremely ill, by depriving him of his rank, honors, and emoluments in the army, without a hearing; all or most of which he gained by his prowess, and reduced him from competency and comfort, to poverty; because he dared to be honest, and speak the honest sentiments of his heart, like many other good and thoughtful men. there are many good, thoughtful, and excellent men, but none that think and act for the good of their country like him, and still fewer who are out of the way of the resentment of or the hope of their favors. they did by one of their most evil and vindictive acts, reduce the inestimable sir robert wilson, from competency, comfort, eminence, and fame, almost to as low a state of degradation, imbecility, and misery, as they have reduced the brave and valiant refugees of spain. (the brave champions of freedom and our safety, who have a claim to the pity and relief of this country, and all the world,) by their neglect to protect and cherish their liberties, and our safety, which they might have done with a turn of their hands, or the use of their voice; 56 the warning voice. had they said to the french or the holy alliance, the invaders of spanish liberty and our safety, at your peril you do so, they dared not have done it, and it would have united spain, and they would have defended themselves, become victorious and happy, and been our powerful, grateful, independent friends and allies, with the first maratime fortresses in the world. then we could have bid defiance to the confederacy of europe, without the necessity of going to war with our exhausted treasury and unbearable load of debt, which we now appear likely to be compelled to do, by the unpardon-would ruin your country for ever? able neglect of-and i do most sincerely hope, the above-mentioned, with many others, will be the cause of the whole nation petitioning the king, in favor of injured suffering, innocence, bravery, and merit, and pray that his majesty will be graciously pleased to restore sir robert wilson, to all his rank, honors, and emoluments which he has been so unjustly deprived of, as a just reward for his great merit, suffering, and services. and also to prevent the brave, the noble english army, and the whole nation from suffering in their feelings at the present time, or by the dire example in future, because sir robert was denied a court martial, or a candid hearing, which he and his friends solicited most ardently. this pusillanimous and weak conduct in the regarding the invasion of spain, by the french, or rather the holy alliance, has reduced us and our liberties, to a state of unexampled mystery, difficulty, and danger, and either proves as mr. cobbett prophesied, that we dare not go to war, or that we are so implicated with the holy alliance, that we dont know how to extricate ourselves, or both, but i fear both. why did the french, or the holy alliance invade spain, i answer to extinguish her dawning liberties, and to get possession of her maritime fortresses, to increase their power, and to destroy the rising liberties of the world. are not we all one common family from adam' for the sake of all that is good and sacred, let us consider and enquire of each other what we are doing, a d guard against the wrath to come. with a turn of our hands we may soon make ourselves the happiest and most secure nation under the sun. reform, slavery, or revolution. i know some merchants, manufacturers, and others, who have long been labouring like me for a reform in parliament; they have given up the just and necessary cause in despair, and leave it to chance, and say that a revolution is inevitable. but i wish them, and every one in this mighty empire, to hear me say, oh! horror! horror! guard against it by every means you can all devise. whenever a revolution happens you will all become a mass of beggars, unable to help yourselves or others; and a prey to each other, tearing each other to pieces. what can you do, when your capital, the funds, your heavenly constitution, all social order, and your government are in ruins? consider that other nations are seeking to rival you, and by a revolution you will be an easy prey. what will you do when you have lost your great local advantage, your capital, the funds; and your mercantile enterprize and your industry paralized; and your machinery and your coaches rusting and decaying? i send forth this humble warning voice to this now mighty nation, to warn them against such evil to come, and to tell them that they would never recover it. would you restore and preserve your constitution ? or would you sink under the slavery of the holy alliance and roman catholic religion? or would you hazard the necessity of a revolution, by which you i say again, will you wilfully and thoughtlessly continue to allow the before-mentioned to entail upon your king, your children and children's children? slavery or the miseries of a revolution. " do not be any longer alarmed by the false alarms and hypocrisy of the or infatuated by the poisonous bribes which many of you have so long received from its hands, directly and indirectly. do not wait till they involve you in another ruinous war, which their actions prove they are contemplating as the only way to keep their places. i beg leave to ask the merchants of great-britain to consider well what they have been doing, by supporting these ruinous measures so long, against the welfare of their king, themselves, and country, and why they have been so? the almighty hand of providence having, by a miracle, saved us from being ruined by a foreign enemy in the late revolutionary wars, let us pray that the inspiration of the same almighty power may unite the king and people in the will to save themselves from being destroyed by domestic enemies. do not any longer be afraid of nobody knows what. foreign enemies never can or will hurt us, if we can only effect a complete annihilation of our domestic ones. it is a prominent article of our political creed, and one of which all history affords illustration, that timely reform is the surest preventive of revolution. sir isaac coffin said, that his idea of reform was, that no man should sit there that did not possess either talent or property; the sooner the house was weeded of such men as himself the better. the british constitution. cicero was of opinion that the best government would be one in which all the three simple forms of government should to a certain degree be mixed and combined. such a government the british constitution has secured to these realms we have a monarchy in the king; we have an aristocracy in the house of lords; we have a democracy, on the system of representation, in the house of commons. these are the three branches of our legislature; and in our constitution, they mutually and naturally check the encroachments of each other. so that we enjoy the advantages peculiar to each of the three simple forms of government with the fewest possible of the disadvantages of every one of them. nay, we moreover enjoy advantages that belong to no one of them separately; but that the warning voice. 57 result from the peculiar mode of their combination in our constitution. in confirmation of this assertion, it needs only be observed here how essential it is to liberty, that the whole power of making laws, and the whole power of executing them should not be lodged in the same hands; for otherwise we might have laws made for tyrannical purposes and executed in a tyrannical manner;-calamities that can hardly happen where the sovereign, to whom the whole execution of the laws is intrusted, has but a comparatively small share in framing them; and where they are framed chiefly by men interested that they be not tyrannical. accordingly with us, though the whole executive power rests with the king, yet is the king but one branch, out of the three branches of the legislature, and that in general not the most considerable. thus does our constitution provide, as far as any human contrivance can provide, that our laws be just, and that their execution be regular. and what more can we ask from any government for the security of our liberties, than that we be regularly governed and by just laws? but what is liberty? "civil liberty, says dr. paley, is the not being restrained by any law, but "what conduces in a greater degree to the public "welfare." and what is law?" municipal law, (the "law of the land) says judge blackstone, is a rule of "civil conduct prescribed by the supreme power, in a "state, commanding what is right and prohibiting what is wrong our constitution too has wisely provided for the religious instruction of every part of these realms. at the same time it has secured an enlightened toleration to all persons who shall chuse to dissent from the established worship. "" magna charta. the english constitution was long inclosed in a feudal trunk; and upon its escaping from this bondage, many of our ancient laws and regulations necessarily became obsolete. magna charta principally referred to this feudal system, being enacted when that system existed in its full luxuriance. many of the provisions therefore of the great charter are, at this day, wholly without interest; those which concerns us at the present time are as follow:-1. a freeman shall not be amerced for a little offence, but according to the manner of his offence; and for a great offence he shall be amerced according to the greatness of his offence, saving his contenement, &c. and none of the said amercements shall be affeered, but by the oath of good and lawful men of the vicinage. 2. no freeman shall be taken, nor imprisoned, nor disseized, nor outlawed, nor exiled, nor destroyed in any manner; nor will we pass upon him, nor condemn him, but by the lawful judgment of his peers, or by the law of the land. 3. we will sell to none-we will deny nor delay to none right and justice. such are the clauses of the great charter which concerns us at the present day; and thus anxious were our ancestors to bring within the pale and protection of positive law, with the never-failing assistance of juries, the life, liberty, and property of every citizen-it was their first struggle to shut out arbitrary and anomalous tribunals, and proceedings against the subject otherwise than by the laws, foreknown and declared, and juries impartially collected. magna charta was confirmed no less than thirty times: indeed the first act of every succeeding king was to swear obedience to this charter.both houses of parliament stood as a fence around it, to guard it from ravage, spoliation, and the decay of time; and the people ever looked up to it with veneration, as embodying and republishing those ancient rights and privileges which they derived from their german ancestors. british freedom. but if our constitution be really so free, so just, so liberal, why does it not admit all its subjects indiscriminately, of whatever religious creed or persuasion, to a full participation of the offices, the honors and the emoluments, of the state? why? because, it would then but arm those that have the will, with the power to effect its overthrow. why? because almost all religious societies, like almost all others, naturally aspire to a superiority over all other similar societies; a song on liberty hall, that noble edifice of so that the state can bave no possible way of adverting the fatal effects of their competitions, but by rendering one of them decidedly superior to all the rest. why? because, among the rest, that nominally religions society, which most desires, which most labours, which most cabals, to supplant the prevailing one, will always be found the least deserving to occupy its place.-such briefly, and very briefly indeed, is the british constitution, the work of ages, the boast of our land, the envy, the admiration, the astonishment, of the human race. against this are those detestable hypocrites, the jacobins, indefatigably and perpetually plotting; aiming their blows at the civil part of it through that which is ecclesiastical. a briton. old homer, but what have we with him to do? such heathenish heroes no more i'll invoke, what are grecians or trojans to me or to you? choice spirits assist me, attend hearts of oak. sweet peace, beloved handmaid of science and art, unanimity take your petitioner's part; accept of my song, 'tis the best i can do, but first may it please you, my service to you. perhaps my address you may premature think, because i have mentioned no toast as i drink ; there are many fine toasts, but the best of them all is the toast of the times, that is liberty hall. that fine british building by alfred was framed, its grand corner stone, magna charta, was named; independency came at integrity's call, and form'd the front pillars of liberty hall. 58 the warning voice. that manor our forefathers bought with their blood, and their sons and their sons' sons have proved their deeds good; by that title we live, by that title we'll fall, for life is not life out of liberty hall. in her mantle of honor, each star-spangled fort, playing bright in the sunshine the burnish of gold; truth beams in her breast, see at loyalty's call, the genius of england in liberty hall. ye sweet smelling courtlings of ribbon and lace, ye spaniels of power and beauties disgrace; so pliant, so servile, so passive ye fall," but passive obedience lost liberty hall. but when revolution had settled the crown, and natural reason knock'd tyranny down; no frown cloth'd with terror appear'd to appall, the doors were thrown open of liberty hall. see england triumphant, her ships sweep the sea, her standard is justice, her watch-word be free; our king is our countryman, englishmen all, god bless him and bless us in liberty hall. oh! vere is des hall monsieur vants to know, "tis neither at marlê, versailles, fontainbleau ; 'tis a place of no mortal architect's art, but liberty hall is an englishman's heart. * alfred the great. he died in the year 900, in the fifty-second year of his age, after a reign of twenty-eight years and six months, the greatest part whereof was spent in wars and troubles, and the rest in peace. we have the sum of his character given by a great man, to the following effect:-o! alfred, the wonder and astonishment of all ages! if we reflect upon the devout part of him, he seems to have lived always in a cloyster. if on his conduct and exploits in the field, one would think he had spent his days in a camp. if on his writings and studies, one would conclude the university had engrossed him. and lastly, if we regard his prudence and skill in the administration of government, he seems to have made law and politics his whole study. he used to examine the causes tried in his absence, and in case he found any injustice done out of favor or interest, he punished the judges severely. if they pleaded ignorance, he sharply reprimanded them, and asked how they durst presume to take a commission to determine about life and property, when they knew themselves so wretchedly unqualified! and ordered them either to know better, or quit their posts. thus earls and great men, rather than be turned out of their office with disgrace, applied themselves to study. king alfred, the british worthy, is recorded to have divided the day and night into three parts; eight hours he allotted to eat and sleep in; eight hours to business and recreation; and the remaining eight hours to study and devotion. form of association agreed to by the general meeting of the county of york, held the 28th of march, 1780. whereas during the present expensive and unfortunate war, the trade, manufactures, and land-rents of this kingdom have been greatly diminished; the public burdens grievously augmented by the annual imposition of new and additional taxes; the national debt enormously increased; and the undue influence of the crown extended to an alarming degree by these very circumstances, which threaten the utter impoverishment of this country: and whereas in these times of national difficulty and distress, a just redress of grievances can only be expected from a free and uncorrupted parliament; and measures tending, in a legal and peaceful way, to restore the freedom of parliament cannot effectually be supported but by a general union of independent men throughout the kingdom. we whose names are under-written, considering an œconomical reformatiou in the expenditure of public money to be a most essential and necessary measure for restoring the freedom of parliament; and considering also, that the representation of thepeople in parliament is become extremely unequal, insomuch that a great majority of members is returned by decayed and indigent boroughs, which are either at the command of the crown and a few great families, or else open to general venality; whence support in parliament may be obtained for the measures of any administration, however ruinous they may be to the great landed and commercial interests of this kingdom, contrary to the true intent and use of the insitution of parliament; which unequitable distribution of the right to elect representatives in parliament is now a principal cause of our numerous public evils, to which no radical cure is likely to be applied, till a more adequate representation of the people hath been established by law. and considering further, that when the fund of corruption hath been in some competent degree reduced, and a more equal representation of the people obtained, more frequent elections might be restored, not only to the great content of the people, but with certain advantage to the honor and integrity of parliament itself, without the mischievous consequence of exposing independent gentlemen to vexatious contests with the dependents of any administration. we do declare our assent to 1. the œconomical reform requested by the petitions of the people; that plan of strict and rigid frugality now indispensably necessary in every department of the state; that most important regulation for reducing the unconstitutional influence of the crown. 2. the proposition for obtaining a more equal representation in parliament, by the addition of at last one hundred knights, to be chosen in a due proportion by the several counties of the kingdom of great-britain. 3. the proposition for members of the house of the warning voice. commons to be elected to serve in parliament for a term not exceeding three years.. a and in order more effectually to promote this laudable plan of public reformation, by our joint assistance in a 'pacific way, we do associate for that express purpose, and we do testify the same by our signatures respectively. and we do resolve, jointly and separately, to support these necessary regulations to the utmost of our power, by every measure that may he perfectly agreeable to law and the constitution. more particularly we do resolve, and do mutually and most solemnly engage, that until a reasonable reform in the expenditure of public money hath been obtained, and until regulations for returning at least one hundred additional county members to parliament, and for shortening the duration of parliament to a term not exceeding three years, have been established by law, we will support, with our votes and interest, no candidate whatsoever at the next general election, or at any future election, to represent this county, or any other county or place in parliament, from whose known integrity and attachment to our free constitution, and his assent to these constitutional improvements, declared by signing this association, or in such other 'mode as to each candidate may seem most eligible, we shall not be first fully satisfied that he will give his utmost support in parliament to the following propositions, or to such part of the reform proposed thereby, as shall not then be accomplished, viz. i. for one or more bills to correct profusion in the expenditure of public money; to regulate the manner of making all public contracts, and the mode of keeping and passing public accounts; to reduce exorbitant emoluments of office, and to reform the abuses of sinecure places, and pensions unmerited by public service. } 2. for a bill to establish greater equality in the representation of the people in parliament, by ahowing the several counties of the kingdom of great-britain to elect, in a due proportion, one hundred knights at least in addition to the present number. 3. for a bill to shorten the duration of parliaments to a term not exceeding three years. richard milnes and mr. pitt were both members of this association. is it not wonderful, that the borough-mongering system, and bribery and corruption, hath governed this country so long? to the nobility, gentry, clergy and freeholders of the county of york." consider as conduct base, cowardly, and criminal. having been very long, and, since what has passed during the present session of parliament, more than ever convinced, that nothing can extricate the country from her difficulties but an efficient reform in the representation of the people, i feel most anxious to communicate with those persons in the county of york, who entertain sentiments similar to my own op this most important and vital question. gentlemen, a public debt, more enormous than that under which any nation ever before crouched, and a consequent overwhelming, ruinous, and now nearly intolerable load of taxation, are the causes of the frightful prospects which present themselves to our view. from these grievances we never can expect to be relieved, unless that vicious and unconstitutional system is annihilated, which has been the cause of the one, and which is deeply interested in the maintenance of the other. parliamentary reform, therefore, i conscientiously believe, is the only measure which can effect our present salvation, and give us security from future misrule. • gentlemen, you will doubtless expect to hear from me what plan of reform i should wish to see adopted! i answer, without hesitation, though i conceive the mode of operation must be left to that assembly, to which alone it can be referred, that the country ought not to be satisfied with any scheme of reform, which would not provide for the abolition of that undue and unconstitutional influence, which has so long prevailed in the house of commons, keeping both the sovereign, and the subjects in thraldrom. such a reform as would make the members of the house of commons, to use the language of sir edward coke," general inquisitors of the realm, receiving their commissions from the people to consult on public affairs-to advise the crown-to control the acts of its ministers-to enact laws-to audit the public disbursements, and to assess the contributions of their constituents. a such a reform as would make elections what the delivering prince of orange, in his famous declaration for restoring the laws and liberties of englaud, proclaimed they ought to be; "free-to be made with an entire liberty, without any sort of force, or the requiring the electors to choose such persons as shall be named to them. in order that the persons thus freely elected may be enabled to give their opinion freely upon all matters brought before them, having the good of the nation ever before their eyes, and following in all things. solely the dictates of their consciences." denouneing as unconstitutional those parliaments in which elections shall be carried by "force or fraud," as not legally chosen, since they must be composed of such persons as evil councillors shall hold themselves assured of, in "in the present very alarming and critical situation of which all things will be carried according to their the country, i think it needless to offer any apology direction and interest, without any regard, to the good for the step i am about to take. i have been long or happiness of the nation. known to you as the advocate of parliamentary reform; and not to make another struggle in its behalf, especially when the people seem to be somewhat aroused to a sense of their altered condition, i should gentlemen, " | + " such a reform as would render the bill of rights something more than a dead letter; which would, in the memorable words of the late mr. pitt, make the members of the house of commons" the faithful 60 the warning voice. 66 stewards of the interests of their country"-" the diligent checks of the administration of the finances""the steady and uninfluenced friends of the people""which would give us the benefit of upright and able ministers, while it would prevent evil and incapable ones from doing us any more mischief'-which would invigorate that branch of our constitution, which, from the incessant change in human affairs, 'is now become inefficient to the uses for which it was intended; which would finally remit to the people of england the right of the british commons to be represented in full, free, and frequent parliaments."-this is the language of the bill of rights:-however, to prevent all misconception with respect to my own views, i think it necessary to state, openly and fairly, (though it is for principle alone i publicly contend) that they do not. extend beyond the extinction of those boroughs in which the electors ought to be considered as too few in number, and the extension of the elective franchise to householders. with respect to the duration of parliaments, triennial ones i should consider as the best mean between the two extremes.-that duration with which mr. pym was contented in the 17th century, and the framers of the triennial bill in the last, i must own will abundantly satisfy me. + sach, gentlemen, is my humble view of this greatsubject and should there be any persons in the county of york who concur with me in opinion, i hope shortly to afford them an opportunity of making their sentiments known. propose, therefore, to be at mr. etridge's hotel, in in york, on the thursday in the ensuing race-week, when if a sufficient number of persons do me the honor. of meeting me, it may be considered what may be the most efficient future means to forward the great object we have in view. i whatever may be the result of my appeal, i can venture to assure you, gentlemen, that a more disinterested one was never made-i have no party views to serve, for i am a man of no party. i have no expectations in view, of any sort or description, either public or private. i have no political animosities to to avenge. "i have no other motive, so help me god, for the step i have taken, but a sincere and most anxious wish to restore the liberties, and so to promote the security and prosperity of my country. 1 should i succeed, gentlemen, in arousing my native county to a sense of her consequence, and to a recollection of the manly and proud attitude she assumed at the end of the american war, when, greatly through her efforts, a former ministerial reign of misrule, intolerance, folly, and profusion, was put an end to—i shall be richly repaid for the trifling exertions i am able to make. york county meeting, wednesday, jan. 22, 1823. the meeting of this great county which had been anticipated by the whole empire with great interest, took place this day in the castle-yard, at york. the attendance, was much larger than could have been expected at this most inclement season. the hustings which were capable of holding six hundred persons, were crowded with gentlemen of the first consequence and respectability in the county, and the persons. assembled in the spacious area below, at the most. moderate computation, may be estimated at five thousand persons. sand persons. amongst the distinguished persons present we noticed lord milton and mr. stuart wortley, the county members, g strickland, esq. j. w. clough, esq. christopher wilson, esq. sir wm.. pilkington, bart. james hammerton, jun: esq. t. w tottie, esq. john brewin, esq. ottiwell wood, esq. hon. e petre, hon sir r. l. dundas, hon. g. h. l. dundas, thos. benyon, esq. g. f. barlow, esq. wm. lee, esq. sir william, ingilby, bart john wharton, esq. m. p. hawkesworth fawkes, esq. wm. walker,; esq. m. wyvill, esq. m. p. george baker, esq. francis cholmeley, esq. joseph wood, esq. john egremont, esq. john hague, esq. sir f. l. wood, bart. w. b. wrightson, esq john hutton, esq... thomas meynell, esq. john lee, esq. thomas rawson, esq. walter fawkes, esq. r. m. beverley, esq. rev. w. wharton, arthur heywood, esq. g. w., wentworth, esq. j. c. ramsden, esq. m. p. w. r. crompton, esq. benjamin flounders, esq. henry witham, esq., w., a. busfield, esq. richard sykes, esq. sir john ramsden, bart. robert chaloner, esq. m. p. the right hon. the lord mayor, sir charles wolseley, bart, charles howard, esq. s, w. waud, esq. r. beilby, esq. alderman dunslay, fountayne wilson, esq, &c. &c. t the high sheriff, attended by the under sheriff, came upon the hustings at eleven o'clock, and the busi ness of the meeting was almost immediately commenced by the under sheriff reading the requisition, which had been signed by upwards of two thousand freeholders. the requisition having been read by the under. sheriff, richard bethell, esq. the high sheriff, addressed the meeting in the following terms "gentlemen. in consequence of the requisition which has just been read to you, i felt it to be my duty to afford you, with as little loss of time as possible, an opportunity of exercising your most undoubted right of discussing all measures in which your, welfare and that should i fail-i have only again to retire into the of the country is involved. the subject of the reform bosom of my family, but i shall carry with me a feeling of parliament, on which you are now called upon to deliof inestimable value to me the grateful consciousness-berate, is one of the very highest importance; and i trust a recollection which will cheer me under every future circumstance of my life that, in the day of her peril, i did what i conceived to be my duty to my country i have the honor to be, gentlemen, your most humble and devoted servant, walter fawkes. farnley-ila!l, july 5th, 1832, to end? i ཝཱ་། that, whatever animation may be called forth in the course of the discussion, your feelings will be tempered by moderation, and controled by a proper respect for > the laws and institutions of the country, and as you value the rights, of free discussion, i trust that you will give to every freeholder, an opportunity of being fairly heard, however much he may oppose your own views. the warning voice. 61 by adopting this line of conduct, you will stamp upon this meeting line of conduct, this meeting a character, worthy of the great and enlighted county of which you are freeholders.' 99 of mr. fawkes rose and said, "gentlemen, it has frequently fallen to my lot to have the honor of addressing myself to you within these walls-but, under no circumstances did i ever present myself to your notice so truly momentous, of such vital importance to the country, as the present. gentlemen, on this day, no effort will be required to rouse your manly and patriotic feelings to resist the insolent menace of foreign aggression [hear, hear.] you are not to be urged, on this occasion, by your tone and decision, to add confidence and strength to the arm of executive government, to save your country, your altars, aud your homes, from a foreign yoke. you are not assembled to sway, to give higher authority to the votes and voices of your representatives, by a formal and solemn expression your will, which the law of the land authorises you publicly to declare, whenever you conceive the situation of the country requires your direct interferenceon any common occasion, to induce them to oppose this or that unpopular impostor, to withdraw their support from some undeserving, but, perhaps, favourite minister. you have not to put yourself on your guard against malice domestic, or foreign levy. no, gentlemen, you are assembled for another and loftier purpose-one with which all pitiful party politics have nothing to do-one from which all the baser passions, passions, which too commonly sway our nature, are, i t trust, entirely excluded-one in which prejudice, favouritism, and factious oppression, have nothing to do. [hear, hear.] and did i not assert this, sure i am i should not be doing justice to the of t see before me, who have pressed forward from every 35 every a a tinge the cheek of every genuine englishman, when he considers that his country that great-britain, heretofore, on all occasions, the asylum of liberty-that the country of elizabeth and william has held any communion with the despots of the continent, who have conspired to crush the rising liberties of mankind, and who have, in their vile note, had the audacity to declare that they conceive the efforts of those gallant and oppressed descendants of the men who bled at marathon, and fell in defence of their country at thermopyle, to emancipate themselves from the fero cious, cruel, and bloody rule of the musselmen, as a criminal effort: (loud and reiterated, cheers) in a host of idle placemen, sinecurists, and pensioners, wallowing in luxury, while thousands of their countrymen are steeped in poverty to the very lips in the workings of spies, hired to stimulate the people to the commission of outrages, which they had manifested every disposition to avoid-[hear, hear. in the restraints put upon the liberty of the press, by the modern practice of westminster hall; and in the visi tation of all those who have dared to oppose themselves to its baneful effects, with every sort of aggravated fine and imprisonment, capital punishment, and unconstitutional oppression.. have been very long known to you, both by word of 7401 ling, 000, my on the subject under consideration mouth and through the medium of the press, iwill not be guilty of tautology, i will not trouble you with a repetition of them on the present occasion, but, indeed, what need to recur to them3d political know ledge has of late been diffused with rapidity and success; and who, gentlemen, in your situation of life, can be at this day ignorant, that the great charter of your liberties, and the bill of your rights, declares that one of your rights, and that by far the most material one, is the right to be represented in a free parliament.-[hear, hear, hear.] but to ruig, "touching a question, such as that under our discussion, facts, stubborn facts, carry more weight with them, than all the periods of the brilliant and fascinating oratory; and should i you of the absolute necessity of a very material change de able to convince in that branch of your government, to which is intrusted the protection of your liberties and property it will give me more satisfaction, because i shall then be assured that your conviction rested conviction rested on a more solid 10 9048 $95 edi flourishes, which a subject so fertile and popular might enable me to display to you. [hear, hear] gentlemen i have that that the evils which the country is enduring, and those with which it is menaced, are in a great measure owing to a debt, hangme like a mill-stone about the neck of of the county the arising from an expenditure, so profuse, so unheard of, that it would be considered as a fiction, if it were not clearly and a few words on this head, undeniably demonstrable. and then let us seriously consider whether such a complete abandonment as i conceive will be apparent, of for the interests of the on the part of their representatives, be not attributable to a defective system of representation; whether in short, the members of an assembly, sympathising with those 111 part of this exe county, to enge in the storaof all causes--to save a sinking country, by the restoration of her liberties, through the constitutional assertion of their own invaluable and inalienable rights. corrupe of the last reign, by means of foundation than all the declamatorytorical you are called here to-day seriously and strictly to consider, and to denounce (unless you hear arguments to silence our propositions,) not the actors simply, but the corrupt and unconstitutional system on which all public men have so long and so fatally acted. that system must be got rid of which has enabled one set of men--a cabal, to rule, without almost any control, for near balf a century, under a determination unknown, until the beginning of the last reign, by means of in that assembly, emphatically called yours," the commons' chamber. a system under which the country, has been loaded with burthens, from which, if some relief be not speedily afforded, one, portion of the community, and that the largest and perhaps out of an extravagant expenditure the public money, so enormous, that it would be incredible, if it were not proveable. a system under credible, if it were not rights have been deeply and permanently invadical wholly abandoned whenever the executive called for the surrender of them. a system, which is seen in an almost universally prevailing venality in large, and, as our ancestors thought, unheessary standing armies in time of peace.-a, system seen in the blush which must the most useful, must inevitably s arising. perhaps our 69) the warning voice. who deputed them, would ever have suffered the ministers of the crown to place the country in that state of imminent danger and financial embarrassment, which now appals the stoutest hearts among us; a state from which, great must be the skill, and comprehensive, and vigorous, and fertile must be the mind, that restore us, and regain for us our happy and blissful state." "i dare not trust wholly to my memory, in calculations so astounding as those i am about to submit to you. i have, therefore prepared some tables, which will point out, i trust intelligibly, the point i wish to establish-and, gentlemen, if they make the same impression on your minds as they did on mine when they first met my view, all that i can say is, that my errand here will be very nearly accomplished. will it not astonish you, when i tell you, that in one king's reign of 59 years, three times, the sum has been expended, which the nation had expended during the reign of all its previous sovereigns, thirty-one in number, from the conquest, and in a period of 700 years? [hear, hear.] fifty thousand guineas, placed side by side, will not extend above a mile; but the sum squandered would reach twice round the whole world in guineas-a disance of nearly 48,000 miles. [hear, hear.] spent in 622 years.......... m……… .....£244,000,000 on an average £400,000 a-year. the nation ineurring not one shilling of debt-all expences paid within the year and at the close of each year every man's" property unincumbered.ooo of lion tad boobi at the close of the reign of george ii. kad 9b5 spent... £795,060,347 …………………………… £129,000,000 with a charge of £8,000,000 a year for ads and expences of the government. hon 4 soy to sc such was the situation of things in 1760,000 in the single reign of the late king, spent debtor in the 110 toy £2,307,000,000, three times the value of the whole kingdom. debt... ..£1000,000,000 a greater sum than all the land in the country is worth, if every acre was sold at 25 year's purchase, on the annual rents-[hear, hear.] "during the period of the late king's reign, the price of the produce of the kingdom in the articles of food and clothing, according to the most moderate. computation, has increased from 100 to 200 millions per year which excess of 100 millions, added to the increase of our taxation, makes the enormous, sum of 150 mill ons a-year additional cost, to be, paid by the millions subjects this realm, more than was paid at the period of the tate king's accession to the throne-a sum equal to five times the amount of the rental of all the land in england hear, hear.] of let me now ask what description of the community it is, that is called to pay the interest of this enormous accumulation of debt. who pay millions a-year for their beer and porter? millions for their breakfasts? millions for all those articles which swell the amount of the customs and excise?-not the higher orders, but the bulk of the people. i have seen a calculation in which it is stated, that our population, consisting of about 17,000,000 souls, embraces about 3 million of heads of: families, containing, from 5 to 6 persons in each-of these seventeen millions, those who are maintained without labour amount to less than one-thirtieth. it therefore follows, on an equal division, that the indus trious classes of the community pay in the proportion of 145 millions to 5 millions paid by the higher classes, and yet a pitiful fraction of these latter classes have usurped and claim as their right, an almost exclusive, privilege of imposing taxes on the whole. i mention these calculations, with observations i have superadded, to show that the gentlemen around me, and who have called you together, have not done so in the hopes of obtaining any benefit to themselves-that they feel for. the burthens of the whole community-and that they only call for reform because they are satisfied that it will be of advantage to all the inhabitants of the empire. le thoy "i shall proceed to point out to you how the house: of commons is at present constituted, with refereuce to those whom they are supposed to represent." mr. fawkes now read extracts from lord grey's petition. according to this petition from the friends of the people, presented to the house of commons may 6th, 1789, it appears that a majority of the members is returned to the house of commons (for england and scotland) by less than 15,000 electors. [hear, hear.] england. members. returned by 35 places, where the election is a mere matter of form..... 70 by 46 places, in none of which the voters ex-re ceed fifty by 19 places, in none of which the voters exceed one hundred..... 90 de i 37 998 ex-q 52 by 26 places, in none of which the voters exceed two hundred.... total for england. scotland. by 20 counties, with less than 100 voters each by 10 ditto, with less than 250 voters each by 15 districts of burghs, with less than 125 voters each total for scotland. for england total 20 10 1401702 edi 151809 249 25 294 being 14 more than a simple majority of the house. mr. oldfield's statement. (hist. of burghs, 2nd ed. 416.) members returned by 87 peers in england and wales, by 21 ditto in scotland by 36 ditto in ireland ...... ..་ 218 sl 51. total returned by peers ......... 300 ned by members returned by commoners in england and wales .............137 .. by 14 commoners in scotland by 19 ditto in ireland........... nominated by government wil en donde dould sdi af m 16 1. 187 total... the warning voice. 63 total number returned by nomination ...487 independent of nomination ..171 658 total number of members lord john russell's statement. the votes of the english borough members upon the reduction of the public establishments, when analysed, stand thus: .. ..... .. *.*.... in 33 boroughs, under 1,000 inhabitants each 12 la 35 ditto, under 2,000....... 15 in 76 ditto, under 5,000 in 25, under 10,000 in 31, above 10,000... . "such facts as these require no comment! the act of settlement, which was made for the greater security of the king and his subject, enacted, that the better to secure the liberties and property of the latter, no placemen or persons holding situations, who might thereby be influenced by the ministers of the crown, should sit in the house of commons. the table i am going to submit to you, and about which there can be no cavil, will exhibit to you, how much of late the patriotic spirit, to say nothing of the letter, for a part of it has been repealed, for reasons i leave you to guess, has been adhered to. mr. fawkes then read an extract from the report of the committee of the house of commons, in these terms: .... ... ………….. .. • ... for agst. 44 45 93 27 38 21 ..... 48 22 the committee report to the house, that 57 members of parliament hold offices under the crown; the net emoluments of which are £108,565 11s. od. that there are 13 members of parliament holding offices in the appointment and at the pleasure of public othicers, tie emoluments of which are 28,107. 4s. 2d. that there are 7 members of parliament holding oices or pensions for life, under grants from the crown, the emolument of which are £9,658. 8s 10d. that there is one member of parliament holding office for term of years, under grant from the crown, or other public office, the emolument of which is £15 9s 1d that there are 4 members of parliament holding offices for life, under appointments of the chiefs in the courts of justice, or from other public offices, the emoluments of which are £10,036 11s. 3d. that there are 5 members of parliament holding pensions or sinecures, or offices chiefly executed by deputy, &c. the emoluments of which are £7,478. that there are 2 members of parliament holding the reversion of offices under the crown, after one or more lives, the emoluments of which are £6,489. the committee further report, that there are 79 members of parliament holding naval and military commissions, 59 of whom hold other offices, and are included in the preceding classes. thus we have 89 members of the honorable house of commons receiving from the pockets of the people, the sum of £170,343. 14s. 4d. to which should be a 'ded 30 from the 79 members, who hold naval and military commissions, not holding other places, making together 109 members, who are more or less dependent on government. and to the sum of £470,343 4s. 4d. should be added the pay of the 79 officers, which if taken at 500 a year for each of them, will amount to £39,500. making a total sum of 1209,843. of the public money, received by 109 members of the house of commons. "but, gentlemen, this is not all. i shall now show you what the families and patrons of those who are placemen and pensioners, and sinecurists, &c. in the house of commons, receive from the public purse. gentlemen, where i might be in an error on the slightest point, i will not mention the precise sum to a fraction; but on the most careful analysis, it is found to exceed considerably one million of money. "after making these communications to you, i feel satisfied i should only weaken the effect they are so well calculated to produce, by adding any observations of my own. if they do not satisfy you of the necessity of parliamentary reform, no additional arguments of mine could be of any avail; you would scarce be con vinced, though one were to come from the dead. a 蒙 ​"as mr. canning did me the honor to notice my feeble exertions in his celebrated attack upon the cause of parliamentary reform, at liverpool, i must take this occasion to attempt to make some reply to his remarks-(hear, hear.) gentlemen, though i always had the misfortune to be opposed to mr. canning, as a politician, still i must say, that there are few men to whom i have listened with more satisfaction and. delight. his speeches always appeared to me compounded of talent, learning, eloquence and wit, and i only regret that so much vigour and intellect have not been employed in a better cause. from a man so gifted, however, commendation must always be acceptable, and i wish him to believe that i was far from being insensible to the opinion he did ine the honor to: say he had formed of me. i trust, therefore, he will give me credit, when i say, that my present observations are made without any tincture of personal · hostility. i shall ever admire mr. canning as an admirable orator; but as a logician, i must still take the liberty of differing from him. in his late speech at liverpool, mr. canning stated, that he considered our government as a limited monarchy, and that an inde-pendent house of commons was incompatible with its existence. now, gentlemen, i consider mr. canning's major proposition as false, and therefore his premises to be decidedly disputable. to be decidedly disputable. our constitution, if all public writers and commentators on our form of government are not mistaken, is not one limited monarchy, but a compound of three limited estates:1 a limited monarchy-2 a limited aristocracy-3. a limited democracy by what logic, then, does it follow, that because each branch is limited, one branch should be impure to its construction? if this reasoning is just, why should not a hundred commoners be thrust into the house of peers, on the score, that a pure aristocracy is incompatible with the existence of a limited monarchy? why should not even the king have associates given him on the plea, that power lodged with one individual is incompatible with the existence of deliberative assemblies? "how simple, gentlemen, is truth-into what errors, perplexities, and difficulties are we not plunged, when we wander from her paths. why not consider our constitution as composed of three different estates, as all its ablest expositors have represented, each pure and r 64 the warning voice. perfect in its nature, but of opposite tendencies when in action, kept in their places by alternate attraction and repulsion; and, like the planets, preserving their motions and completing their orbits, on the unvarying plan of harmony and order? this opinion, gentlemen, seems to have been forced on mr. canning, by an idea he has formed, that the government could not be carried on, unless the executive had a control over the people in the house of commons. but whence this but whence this novel doctrine i would ask-that institutions intended for the benefit of the public, can only be maintained by the existence of abuses? in my view, this is downright and absolute tyranny in disguise; for whatever may be said of the benefit of a control over the people, through the medium of the house of commons, may be said, and has been said, of the benefit of absolute despotism, in the hands of a single individual! "this, however, gentlemen, is the boasted system of virtual representation, which is no more than a pitiful modification of no representation at all-a plan to impose upon the weak, for the benefit of the interested and the cunning. it is the same thing, whether the pretended representative body be influenced by one man or two hundred; in the first place, it is a disguised tyranny; in the other, an odious and dangerous oligarchy. "mr. canning, however, gentlemen, says, that this oligarchy-this government of the few, cannot be disturbed, because it would be an act of arbitrary injustice to disfranchise the close boroughs. but i would ask, how would an act of injustice be thus done to the proprietor? that law must first be shown to me, which gives one man a title to as much weight in the councils of his country, as all the inhabitants of westminster, or of this county, consisting of 4,100,000 souls if his borough were disfranchised, he would still have a vote for his county, and that, i contend, is all the right that belongs to him. but, gentlemon, if these vested rights, as they are called, are to be preferred to the safety of the country, what are we to think of the despotism of james i he was an hereditary king-had he nc vested rights in the proudest possessions upon earth? yet, when it was considered that the safety of the state required it, this was no plea, his subjects at once compelled him to abandon his throne-nor did they either think it necessary to make him [any compensation for the loss of it; for they sent him to beg (hear, hear.) oh! st. helena! with all tuy native and all thy added horrors, what a paradise, what a bed of roses thy rock must have been in comparison !-they sent the infatuated tyrant to beg his daily bread from the bitterest enemy of his country! "the imminent dangers incident to the change are next put forward dressed in all sorts of exaggerated horrors to alarm you. but surely you must recollect but surely you must recollect that more serious alterations have occurred in your history than those you now call for, and have been carried into effect without in the slightest degree endangering the safety of the community. what think you of the reformation and revolution? what of the two unions with scotland and ireland? when two distinct and ancient legislatures were not reformed, but positively subverted(hear, hear.) were not members given to chester and durham, when they complained they were not represented, without any body urging the absurdity of virtnal representation? have not shoreham, and ailesbury, and cricklade, and grampound, been disfranchised, without any body uttering a whisper of complaint, without the slightest appearance of danger? (hear, hear.) what should prevent then the extinction of other rotten and close boroughs similary circumstanced? but mr canning says, he would sacrifice grampound to save old sarum; that is, he would throw a tub to the whale now and then, provided the mass of these places, giving government a control over the people, were so preserved intact: (hear, hear,) because he says a popular parliament would do now what a popular parliament did before, subvert the monarchy, and decapitate their king. in proof of this, mr. canning quoted the resolutions of the long parliament. now gentlemen-i do not accuse mr. canning of garbling these résolutions, but there is one most material fact he forgot to state, which overturns the whole of his reasoning, and gives ten-fold weight to mine; which makes his balance as light as a feather, and fills mine with damning proofs of the mischiefs of the system i have been attempting to expose. he forgot to state of what description of members this parliament was composed. (loud cheers) the resolutions voting the house of lords and the kingly office useless, were passed jan. 4, 1649. on the 22d of january 1643, fifty members of the house of commons were expelled (vid. journals.) for deserting the service of the house. i on the 29th of june, 1644, by an ordinance, two hundred members, who had adhered to the king, were disabled from sitting in parliament, during the existing parliament. and on and after the 5th of december, 1648-by pride's purge, one hundred and forty-three members were secluded or imprisoned. the remaining members, eighty-nine in number— sixteen county members-six citizens-sixty-seven burgesses, arrogated to themselves the sovereignty of the nation, and voted the resolutions alluded to by mr. canning, dec. 4, 1649. * now comes the jet of my argument, out of these eighty-nine members, sixty-seven were returned for! what bishop burnett called the rotten part of the constitution-the close boroughs. such were the proceedings of the rump of a borough faction in the year 1649. (see mr. colman rashleigh's able and admirable letter to mr. canning.) is the same combination now a days impossible, improbable, or hypothetical? have we forgotten the intrigue in the case of the india bill, when this faction! coalescing made the house of commons vote contrary to the feelings of the king and the wishes of the people? what if the king and a majority of this powerful body should unite, what upon earth could save the country, but the measure we advocate? "i have now gentlemen, as far as in me lies, done my duty to the great cause i have so long and ardently espoused. let me again exhort you to lift up your powerful and constitutional voice, to rid the country of that system in which you can view nothing but " the warning voice. 65 misery and perhaps national convulsion, the inevitable ruin of the landlord and the tenant, the dilapidation of the cottage, and the extension of the workhouse. let the system be changed, and you will at once exchange the rule of those men who may have ruined you, and who have most assuredly deluded you-who have ascribed your distress to almost every cause but the real one-who have, for the last seven years, been dinning in your ears that your privations would only be temporary(hear, hear.) that the sum of your prosperity was, indeed, behind a cloud-but that it would only be obscured for a moment-when the fact is-that the gloom has been gathering deeper round us from the moment this prediction was made. (hear, hear.) call again, i say, for this change, not of men but of measures; and in the great storehouse of the talent and natural and acquired intelligence of your country, you will, depend upon it, find rulers, who, governing in justice and equity--to the spirit of conciliation and sympathy with those whose interests are entrusted to their care-will have no other object than to "scatter plenty o'er a smiling land ❞—and who would think themselves richly repaid-in reading their history in the expressive eyes of a happy and grateful country. mr. fawkes concluded, amidst the loudest applause, by moving the resolutions. the hon. edward petre, in presenting himself to the meeting said, "i should be wanting in that candour which i hope will always govern my public conduct, if i did not come forward and avow that i am a recent convert to those views which have been advocated this day; and however i may regret that such a declaration will compel me to differ in opinion from many gentlemen, whose opinions i respect, yet, when i see the arm 1 of power extended, not for the purpose of contributing to the happiness of the people but to oppress them; when i see and witness these things, i feel that it behoves me to renounce my error, and to advocate the doctrines to which i have formerly been opposed, i am now convinced that nothing short of a constitutional reform ean restore that sympathy, which, to use the words of a great statesman, ought to exist between the representatives and their constituents, and be an effectual safeguard against a renewal of those destructive measures which have been so long pursued. powerfully impressed with these sentiments, i beg leave cordially to second the resolutions. mr. wortley.-" gentlemen, i fear i shall be under the necessity of asking for a great deal of your indulgence. i come here impressed with feelings entirely different from those which have been expressed by my two honorable friends. [loud disapprobation, which continued till mr. fawkes came forward and entreated the meeting, as a favor to himself, as well as for the sake of impartiality, to give a fair hearing to his honorable friend. i know perfectly well that many of the things which i shall advance are entirely repugnant to your feelings, that many of those who hear me are undoubtedly very adverse to the opinions i hold in politics, and particularly to my opinions on this subject. i have, however, a duty to perform. you have done me the honor to place me in a high situation; and if i have any opinions on political subjects, i have never shrunk from expressing them before you. (hear, hear) although they may be unpopular, i throw myself on your candour, on your good nature; 1 ask of you to listen to me with patience, while i endeavour to point out to you what i conceive to be the fallacy of the arguments that have been used by my honorable friends. i also beg of you not to take it ill, if i should use such words as "fallacy," if i should tell you you have taken wrong views of this matter, and that you are now in a situation to be duped by specious arguments (murmurs.) i know very well that expressions like these may be so applied as to irritate the feelings; that however is the furthest thing from my intentions; but if i speak at all, i must speak boldly. i am quite sure that from all those around me i shall meet with the most perfect silence while i address you; i know their candid minds, and that of no man more than the honorable gentlemen who moved and seconded these propositions. i will not speak of the eloquence of the honorable mover, but i will say that he has put his arguments in as candid and fair a manner as i ever heard in my life. if he be right in his premises, i perfectly admit his conclusions; if it be true that he has described the constitution as it was in the best times of our history, you have a right, and are perfectly justified, in calling upon parliament to reform itself. but i deny his premises, and i shall endeavour to make out to you, that he has taken a wrong view of the constitution as it existed at that time, to which we look back as the period when it was completely formed. i say, that for four hundred years, the house of commons has been what it is now. if i shall be successful in proving this-if i shall convince you that the present state of the house of commons is not a state of usurpation, either on the part of the aristocracy or the crown, i think i may fairly put it to you what has been done during this time; and i may ask you whether, during these four hundred years, the nation has enjoyed great blessings?-(laughter.)— now, gentlemen, in the first place, i say, that whatever may have been the constitution of parliament previous to the time of henry viiith and queen elizabeth, that from that time forward direct influence was always used in the house of commons both by the aristocracy and the crown. previous to that time, undoubtedly, parliament assembled for special purposes, and could not be i called the same description of assembly it is now; but from the time of those monarchs i have mentioned, i will say that many of the boroughs now under the influence of the aristocracy have been so uniformly. it has been stated, in the famous petition from the friends of the people, that this was an usurpation, and that these places had fallen into a state of decay. i will state some some facts in refutation of this assertion; and to begin with old sarum. begin with old sarum. i should be glad that any honorable gentleman would point out to me the period when old sarum was any other than it is now, when it was a prosperous and populous place, and when there were popular elections in it. i do not believe that can be pointed out to me; and several other boroughs that are now called rotten, have for the same period been precisely in the same state. my honorable friend who moved the resolutions has pointed to a speech made by mr. canning at liverpool. now there is another 1 -66 the warning voice. speech of mr. canning's, to which i beg to refer you, made in the house of commons on the motion of lord john russell for reform. he there stated that as long ago as the end of the 16th century, the earl of essex, not only nominated both the members for the county of stafford, but wrote to the high sheriff to return the members in every other single borough in that county. the same fact is stated concerning both the county of norfolk and the borough of malden, by the duchess of norfolk; and i shall cite a few other instances to the same effect. it was shown to you that the state of things now existing, be it bad or good, has been part of the practice of the constitution for many hundred years. i find that gatton, which is now a rotten borough, was made a borough by henry vi. in the 29th year of his regn; and so soon as the time of henry viii. there was only one inhabitant in that borough: it was in precisely the same state as at present. (here considerable disapprobation was expressed by the meeting )—i am perfectly aware that the circumstances i am relating must appear tedions; but as i contend that in point of fact my honorable friend is wrong, i am bound to prove it by fact. i will go to another borough in the isle of wight, newton; in the first of elizabeth, the members for this borough were nominated by the steward of the lord of the barony of newton, (mr. wortley's voice was here drowned by loud and continued expressions of disapprobation. mr. willan, of dewsbury, now mounted the rail of the hustings, and moved his white hat to procure silence, but the tumult was rather increased than diminished by his presence, and he therefore withdrew. soon after silence was obtained, and mr. wortley. proceeded 66 "i will not attempt to tire you any longer by these tedious recitals of fact, but i challenge my honorable friend, at any time and in any place, to the proof that the constitution of this country has been different for the last four hundred years, as to the influence of the aristocracy and the crown in the house of commons. in what i have further to say, then, i shall take for granted, as far as my argument goes, and for the sake of argument, that i am right in this position.-(laughter.) that being the case, i will now put to you a few questions; i ask if this government, as it has been carried on-(i am not speaking of a party government)-if the government of england, such as i have stated it, has not secured to the people a great number of blessings? i would next beg leave to refer, gentlemen, to the speech of lord john russell, when he moved his resolutions in the last session of parliament, in reference to that period to which we all look up as the brightest in our annals-the revolution of 1688, and the abdication of james ii. undoubtedly there never was a period in the history of any country in the world in which the persons engaged in a great political transaction so decidedly covered themselves with the brightest of all glories that of having saved their country. at that time our liberties were fixed, and i find it stated in the edinburgh review, that this was the era in which the reign of influence and of practical liberty began. look, then, upon the avowal of lord john russell, that if we had then had a reformed house of commons, that event would probably never have been brought to pass; because the influence of certain individuals in the house of commons made that house act contrary to the sense of the people. i do not mean to say that generally a representative body is to speak a language different from that of the country. on the contrary i contend, that the house of commons does actually speak the sense of the people (hear, hear,and laughter) this is entirely a matter of opnion, but i must beg leave to bring to the recollection of this assembly some particular instances in which the house of commons did strictly speak the language, the opinions, and the feelings of the generality of the people. what, in point of fact, have been the two great occasions of the immense load of debt now laid upon the country? the one was the american war, the other was the war commencing in 1792. first, with respect to the american war; i must confess that i for one am utterly astonished that a country like this should have such difficulties brought upon it by so gross an act of impolicy; it is to me quite incomprehensible, that this country should not have had more wisdom than to act as it did on that occasion. but i put it to any body who has read the history of those days, whether that war was not eminently popular? there is a celebrated speech of mr. burke's, on the loss of his election at bristol, which shows him to have been unpopular in that city on account of his having been opposed to the american war. i have a right then to assert, that that war in the beginning of it was a popular war; and to a certain extent, if we are loaded with debt by that war, the blame is not to be laid altogether upon the house of commons. but it is asserted, that before that war was concluded, it did become unpopular, and that it was carried on longer than it would have been, if the opinions of the people had been consulted i am quite ready to admit that-(hear, hear,) but at the same time i say, that, once engaged in war, it is not for persons who are not directing the war, and who have not quite in view all the cir cumstances of the case, to say what is the best mode and time of con luding it. i wish that the people of england would on all future occasions consider for a moment before they enter upon war, the difficulty of putting an end to it; and, when they have entered upon it, whether we may not by hastening the conclusion of war, do more injury than good to the interests of the country. there is no occasion on which i have not held the same language, and i am ready to hold it again if my honor-able friends think it likely that we shall be drawn, either by the wishes of the government or the people, into the present differences among the powers of the continent. i look with as much horror as they can do, and i have expressed the same sentiment in my place in the house of commons, upon the opinions put forth by the sovereigns at verona. (cries of hear! hear!) i have as great an abhorrence of the language of their circular as any one can have-(hear, hear,) i am anxious to preserve the liberties of my own country, and perfectly abhor their doctrine of interference, (bravo!) having said thus much on the american war, i now refer to the french war. the greatest number of us can remember the commencement of that war, and i think no man on earth can doubt that a vast majority of the people of this country went along with the government at that the warning voice. 67 time in wishing for a war with france (no. no.) we have upon this subject an authority which a great number of you will admit, without hesitation-that of mr. fox. he more than once declared, that he had become unpopular by opposing that war. again, when the war was renewed in 1803, no man can doubt that it was popular. my honorable friend himself at that time excited and aroused our feelings against the enemy. (hear, hear, from mr. fawkes.) i am therefore entitled to assert that that war was undertaken with the —— their objects are of such a nature, that if they are to be brought about by a reform of parliament, such reform i will, to the last moment of my life, and to the last drop of my blood, resist. (hisses.) nay more, whenever those objects may be proposed, i will endeavour to draw upon them the opprobrium of public indignation. nothing less has been proposed, as the effects of this reform, than national bankruptcy, and a breach of faith with the public creditor. (here the hisses and vociferations of off, off were renewed, and continued in spite of many efforts on his part to be heard. mr. wortley retired to the place which he had occupied before he began his speech, and put on his blue cloak, apparently in despair of being further heard. lord milton then appeared in front of the hustings, when the tumult immediately abated. several persons then called upon mr. wortley to proceed, and in compliance with this call that gentleman threw off his cloak and resumed.] it. gentlemen,-ever since i began my connexion with this county, i appeal to you all, whether, if i have an opinion on political subjects, i have ever for one moment withheld it from you. if i am an enemy to any of your opinions, i have always candidly avowed i do not ask of you to listen to me as a friend, but i think myself placed in a situation which entitles me to ask of you a hearing. (hear, hear; a voice from the hustings said "be brief." i am told by some person to be brief; i will be as brief as i can, and i should have been much more brief if i had not met with interruption. but the misfortune is, that on an occasion of this sort i have a difficult part to play; i have a reluctant audience, and if that audience interrupt me, it must necessarily lead to great delay. there is nothing so very agreeable in the situation i occupy, (laughter) to induce me to detain you one single moment longer than is necessary. i was going to say, that i am not left ic conjecture what the objects are for which several persons demand a reform in parliament, because they themselves publicly declare them. their objects are totally unworthy, and would reflect the utmost disgrace upon the country; and, i repeat, that to the last hour of my life, and the last drop of my blood, i will oppose them. 66 consent of the people. i say then that on these great occasions, which in point of fact are the great cause of the burdens which are laid upon you, the house of commons did act with the people, although it is contended that they do not represent the people. but again i ask, has the house of commons done nothing for the country? (a voice from the crowd exclaimed, yes, passed six acts") have we no institutions in this country, which have been fostered and cherished by that house? are we not in possession of personal liberty? have we not an administration of laws, which is not only pure, but unsuspected? do we not stand almost a beacon among the nations of the world?— (yes, of debt, cried a voice from the crowd.) am i not addressing a people one of the greatest that ever existed on the face of the earth? let the house of commons be constituted as it may, i put it to you, whether the people are not in fact well governed. when my honorable friends talk of reform, i have a right to point them to the past history of the country. i do not believe that they will deny that the government has some merits; that we have at least an assembly, in which there is no proposition whatever, but would meet with persons ready to bring it forward and argue it. there never was in any country such an arena for political discussion, in which so much ability has been displayed, as in the house of commons. that at least [here mr. wortley was interrupted by manifestations of impatience and disapprobation, which did not subside till the high sheriff entreated the assembly, if they attached any value to free discussion, to listen to mr. wortley. there are many persons in this country, continued mr. wortley, and i declare myself to be one of the number, who are of opinion, that great advantages have accrued to the people from the present system, and we have a right to ask, what change is proposed in it? we cannot be asked to join in a declaration, that the house of commons is unfit to govern this country, when it has hitherto governed it advantageously? we have a right to ask, what kind of reformation it is to which we must give our consent. the real fact is, that my honorable friends cannot agree among themselves on any plan, although the present system appears to them so clearly to be bad. are they prepared to say that all rotten boroughs ought to be suppressed?-(loud hisses, and shouts of off, off!) almost all those who propose a reform of the house of commons would keep some portion of that influence against which they declaim. i must beg to say, that, however pure may be the intention of my honorable friends, i know that there are several persons in this country who have different motives. i do not attribute to them any opinions which they do not avow; but i say that s "gentlemen, i would say a word or two, before i sit down, on the subject of placemen in the house of commons. it is true that we have, in the house of commons, a body of eighty-nine placemen, but they have, in point of fact, been reduced of late years, as there were two hundred placemen in the house half a century ago. if a place bill had been introduced into the house of commons, that would have been something definite, and i should have known the extent to which the plan of reform would go. but i cannot join my honorable friends in saying, that the house of commons is such as ought not to exist. i am very far from contending that every thing in the election of members is correct. i think that great amendment may be made in the mode of electing members of parliament; and i am more likely to join with my honorable friends, to a certain extent, for the attainment of this object, than they would find some other persons now listening to me. i never will consent to pass any resolutions crying down the house of commons as unfit to take its sha e in carrying on the government, although i may consent to 68 the warning voice. some regulations-i will not call it reform, (laughter) because you would expect from me more than i mean to give. i do not say that there are no faults or blots in the mode of election; no human institution is free from imperfection; but i cannot hold up my hand for there is one point on which i will say a word or two. i must contend against my honorthese resolutions. be made plainly known on this most important of national questions. during many years-(it is now 16 years since i was first returned to serve you in parlia ment)-during a large portion of this time i was a determined opposer of every thing like parliamentary reform. if there is any value in consistency, it is now my duty to explain to you the grounds on which my opinions on this subject have been changed it is many years since i first began to doubt the correctness to my early opini ons on parliamentary reform. i then imparted my doubts to those nearest to me, and in whose friendship and kindness i reposed perfect confidence; but i thought you, gentlemen, the last of all others to be acquainted with them. if caesar's wife must not be suspected neither must the character of the representative for this county be suspected. i have not been biassed in my change of opinion by personal considerations. i must not be subservient to your opinions: if i am not subservient to the court, neither must i be subservient to you: if i should be subservient to you, you have no security against my subserviency elsewhere. (hear, hear) therefore although the last time you did me the honor to elect me your representative, the suspicions i had entertained were almost ripened into opinions, i did not suffer the slighest hint on this subject to escape me. the time is now come when i must give to you the in grounds on which i have changed my opinion. the first place then the transactions of the year 1817, the suspension of the habeas corpus act on pretences obtained by the meanest and most scandalous proceedings (hear, hear)-by sending spies amongst the people for the purpose of exciting them to tumult, then taking advantage of that tumult to raise and the success which those delusions had in the house of commons, first induced in me the suspicion, that the inferior classes of the people at least were not those who could look for protection to the house of commons. in 1819, when the country was trying the great experiment of returning to cash payments, the difficulties attending which measure the minister must have seen if he were fit to govern the country-the imposition at such a time, when the nation was crying aloud for reduction and retrenchment, of three millions of fresh taxes, increased the suspicions which had been previously raised in my lord milton presented himself, and was received with mind. the memorable 16th of august, and every thing great applause: he spoke as follows:-"gentlemen, i am which grew out of it-the six acts, (hear, hear) which happy to have heard the speeches which have been adconverted the last year of his majesty's reign, that ought dressed to you on this occasion and i am glad that you have to have been a year of jubilee, into one of indelible listened to them, for it will be to the interest of us all to disgrace, and which have destroyed in many material hear the speech of my honorable friend, and that of any parts the constitution of the country-the facility with other person, because our great object is truth, and the which the house of commons lent itself to those miattainment of truth is impossible unless we have the nisterial measures, by which personal liberty was resmeans of balancing arguments on the one side against trained, by which (and the act yet stands in the statute arguments on the other. for this reason i think you, book) magistrates have a right to search private dwelas an impartial body, have done right in hearing my lings for arms-the passing of these acts, i say, conhonorable colleague, and if i address you as favourers firmed my suspicions. last of all, let me call your of the propositions that have been read, i think you attention to those transactions, which more than any have also done right, because from my colleague, with other in my recollection, and perhaps in the history of all his historical knowledge and acuteness of understand-the country, excited the feelings of the people-the ing, you have heard every thing that can be advanced transactions relative to her late majesty: i desire you on that side of the question. i have been a party in will bear those in mind. (loud cries of hear, hear.) calling you together here because i think it most desirafor, although the propositions against the queen never ble that the opinions of the people of england shouldwere agitated specifically in the house of commons, a able friend, that the influence of the crown is less in the house of commons than it was half a century ago. (a voice from the crowd-" mr. wilberforce says that the influence of the crown is too great.")—i have the greatest respect for mr. wilberforce, but i cannot take my opinions from him or any other man. the greatest source of the influence of the crown has been cut off within my memory-i allude to that which arose from its direct revenue; that source has been entirely cut off, and it happens to me to know to a certainty that that certainty that that has materially diminished the power of the crown in the house of commons. the public press has also very considerably diminished the influence of the crown. look back at the means of information which existed in this country thirty years ago-our fathers and grandfathers saw a newspaper once a week, but now, every individual in the village informs himself on all political matters. is it possible to suppose that this has not great power in counteracting the influence of the crown? the regular publication of the debates in the house of commous has taken place within these thirty years; during the american war they were published by stealth. but i will not detain you one moment longer; i have endeavoured to state the reasons why i cannot agree with my resolutions; honorable friends in the and i have endeavoured to do it with temper and respect for my audience. whatever may be your resolutions, i have my own line of duty direct before me. i do think that the house of commons is able to do its share in the government of this country, to the advantage of the people; i do think it possible that the three estates should be completely and perfectly independent of each other; and, as the house of commons possesses the greatest share in legislation, i think that the crown should have some influence there.-(much disapprobation.) the warning voice. 69 motion was made in the beginning of the year 1821, by mr. john smith, praying that the crown would order her majesty's name to be restored to the liturgy. i ask, if that question had been entertained in this castle-yard, how many hands would have been held up against it? (none, none.) but what was the case in the house of commons? not the slighest impression was made, no persons voting for this motion except those who may be called the regular opponents of the present administration, not a single individual—at least i shall be perfectly safe in saying, that not five individuals voted for this motion, who are not in the list of the regular opposition. these things show that the opinions of the people at large have not that influence in the house of commons, which i say they ought to have. (hear, hear.) i will not go the length of saying that every opinion which may be accidentally and for the moment entertained by the people at large ought to act upon the house of commons, so as to be adopted by them implicitly. but when opinions are deliberately and universally entertained by the people-as in the case of the prosecution of her late majesty-(i ask you if your opinion has undergone any change on that subject? and if not, it was not a hasty opinion)-when opinions, i say are so formed, they ought to have an influence upon the house of commons. it seems to me, indeed, that a house of commons on which the opinions of the people have no effect, is no house of commons to any useful purpose. (hear, hear.) i will read to you the opinions of one of the wisest men this country ever saw; but who did not enjoy during the latter part of his life that popularity which i think throughout his whole life he deserved:"a vigilant and jealous eye over executory and judicial magistracy; an anxious care of public money; an openness, approaching towards facility, to public complaint: those seem to be the true characteristics of a house of commons but an addressing house of commons, and a petitioning nation; a house of commons full of confidence, when the nation is plunged in despair; in the utmost harmony with ministers, whom the people -regard with the utmost abhorrence; who vote thanks, when the public opinion calls upon them for impeachments: who are eager to grant, when the general voice demands account; who, in all disputes between the people and administration, presume against the people; who punish their disorders, but refuse even to inquire into the provocations to them; this is an unnatural, a monstrous state of things in this constitution. such an assembly may be a great, wise, awful senate; but it is not to any popular purpose a house of commons." now then i ask, resumed his lordship, whether there is any one allegation which i have read to you, that may not be predicated of the house of commons, you have now before you? i ask you, if they have had a vigilant and jealous eye over executory and judicial magistracy!" if they inquired into the conduct of the magistrates and yeomanry of manchester! (no, no.) i ask, if they had "an anxious care over public money," when they voted the duke of clarence the arrears of an annuity which he had rejected? have they had "an openness, approaching towards facility, to public complaint?' did not they heap upon the state those infamous acts, "" even after the pretences on which they were grounded had passed away? have unt they, "in all disputes between the people and adminisiration. presumed against the people?' have not they presumed that the people of manchester must have been wrong, and the magistrates and yeomanry right? i ask if the house of commons to which i sit does not answer to the description i have read to you? i have read to you? and again, i ask you, if that is not "an unnatural a monstrous state of things in this constitution?" (loud cries of hear, hear.) now, gentlemen, my hon. friend and colleague has asked-"why do you not purpose certain specific plans?" i answer, that a meeting of this description, unaccustomed to deliberate, and not capable of entering into the details necessary for carrying any plan of reform into practice, is not a fit place for the proposal of plans. we say that things are not as they ought to be, and we refer it to an assembly, where the subject must be examined with great labour and patience, by persons capable of historical research and calm deliberation, to provide the remedy. all we want is, to impress upon that body (if any thing coming from the people can be impressed upon it) that this is a matter into which they ought to inquire. my hon. friend has asked again, if the three estates in the constitution must not necessarily act upon each other? undoubtedly, they must. you might as well suppose of the different planets which travel round the sun, that each must not have some effect upon the other, as that the king, lords, and commons must not have a mutual influence. but there may be circumstances affecting one of these bodies, which it is necessary to enquire into, and to remedy.-gentlemen, most extraordinary doctrines are held on this subject. it was said the other day, in the house of commons, that the influence of the crown was necessary to counteract the increasing intelligence of the people. when i hear this said by a minister of the crown, and by a man as amiable and honest as any that exists (though i never agreed with him on a public question in my life) the brother of my lord grantham-it becomes me to look about, and see what will be the consequence of the country acting on principles like these. my hon. friend and colleague desires us to look at the influence of the press. but why? there are two sides of the press (bravo) i ask my hon. friend if he ever heard of a certain paper called "john bull." (laughter) a great many of the arguments which he has used are no arguments at all when you come to examine them, and especially this as to the press. undoubtedly a great deal more information exists among the people now than there did half a century ago; but i ask why the influence of the publications on one side may not be as great as on the other? when one sees some of the papers which come from the especial patrons of social order-(laughter)-when i see the john bull prying into the secrets of private families in order to maintain the purity of the press,-i cannot but have some suspicions, that if the gentlemen who use these arguments were to think soberly and impartially on the subject, they would be of the same opinion of which this meeting seems to be. (hear, hear.) having stated to you, gentlemen, the reasons which have made me a convert to the cause of what is called 70 the warning voice. parliamentary reform, and observed on some of the statements of my hon. colleague, i proceed to notice others in which there is a great deal of historical truth. what he has told you with respect to the long existence of boroughs is undoubtedly true: and i must agree with him, that under the present system the country has on the whole enjoyed a great share of prosperity-an argument certainly very powerful on his side of the question. but when my hon. friend stated, that the earl of essex sent a mandate to the high sheriff of stafford, to return the members for that county, he ought to have shown that the reign of elizabeth, in which the fact occurred, was one in which the country enjoyed a great portion of liberty in that reign there was a great portion of external glory, but it ought to have been shown, to make the argument availing, that there was also a great share of liberty. for those reasons, then, gentlemen, which i have stated, i have become a convert to parliamentary reform. for that other reason which i have urged, lam for pursuing our object with the greatest moderation, but not without equal zeal. (hear, hear.) i have now nothing further to say, gentlemen, than to thank you for the great indulgence with which you have listened to me. (great applause.) marmaduke wyvill, esq. m. p.-"i should not on almost any other occasion have come forward, after the powerful arguments which have been so eloquently urged in support of the resolutions which have been offered to your consideration; but i owe it to consistency to the opinions i have ever maintained on this most important subject, to offer a few observations upon it.the hon. gentleman who preceded the noble lord who has just spoken, contends before you, that because gentlemen, if i have any advice to give on this occaabuses has existed in the house of commons for 400 sion, i advise moderation. great causes have seldom years, that they have ceased to be usurpations, and in been carried by heat. in all our conduct as reformers, fact ought not to be removed. but i think it is much we should act upon the precept of scripture-" be wise more reasonable to draw a very different inference from as serpents, and harmless as doves. (hear, hear) these premises. the long continuance of the evil seems we must have no gall mixed up with our zeal; we must to me to furnish a powerful additional reason for remov. have no eye to person-let no personal feeling entering it. but though the hon. member admits and jusinto our minds. we must cast aside all prejudices, and tifies on the ground of long usage, the existence of a have in view only such measures as will be advantageforeign influence in the very construction of the house ous to the public, and such as are capable of being carof commons, he still contends that upon all great occaried into execution without difficulty, without danger,|| sions, that house, as at present constituted, speakes the and without confusion:-without difficulty, because we sense of the people. it were easy to disprove this asseronght always to proportion our efforts to our means; tion by an appeal to numerous facts, but it will be only without danger, because, if there is something bad in necessary to remind you of the facility with which the the constitution, i agree with my honorable friend that house of commons passed the habeas corpus suspenthere is much good, and we ought not to hazard the sion bills upon the most futile pretences, and to the latter in our attempts to amend the former; without proceedings relative to her late majesty, which were at confus on, because that is of all things the worst. condirect variance and in open opposition to the univerfusion is bad in itself, but it is worse because it invariably sally and loudly expressed opinions and feelings of the leads to tyranny: a state of anarchy always ends in tyranny people. this marked discrepancy in opinion between the we have seen this in our own times, and in all ages. in house of commons and those who ought to be their the middle of the 17th century, when the remains of the constituents, can be referred to no cause but that of a long parliament, usurping the functions of the whole, corrupt and overwhelming influence, of which the threw the country into confusion by their violent safety and prosperity of the country requires the extermeasures, this confusion was succeeded by the premination.-gentlemen,-the honorable member has dominance of the army and of oliver cromwell. we urged as a proof of his assertion, that the house of have seen the same thing within our own day in another commons speaks the sentiments of the people, that the country; and, depend upon it, if the same experiment american war was popular in its origin; let us see what were to be repeated here, it would be attended with the the object of that war was, and what were the causes same result. forthese reasons, gentlemen, i recommend which produced it. it was a wicked and barefaced that you should temper your zeal with moderation, that attempt to enforce taxation without representation. you should not aim at what it is beyond your means to such was the american war, and yet we are to be told that attain. whatever is in my power, i undoubtedly shall it was in accordance with the popular feeling and as to do; and, in the present state of the country, i do the war with france in 1803, to which the honorable belive that a reform in parliament is the only measure member has also referred, in support of his proposiwhich can prevent the establishment of a government tions, i have no hesitation in asserting, that it was something like arbitrary. indeed, it is not possible to undertaken to prevent a reform, similar to that you are establish a tyranny more odious, and at the same time now seeking. it was the strenuous exertions made by more safe to the tyrant, than when the forms of a free the friends of the people to effect this great object, constitution become the instruments of despotic power; which induced the ministry of that day to plunge the (hear, hear!)-because tyranny of such a discription nation into that most sanguinary and ruinous war. has nothing in it which excites a people to resistance. so much for the argument drawn by the hon, member, in a tyranny carried on under the form of liberty, there from the popular character of these wars. it has cannot be entertained even that sort of desponding hope been said that if you remove the rotten: boroughs you (if i may use the term), that the nation will rise and will have no men of talent to represent you, and that destroy it. you will drive all men of ability out of the house of the warning voice. 71 commons. but is this a base and groundless aspersion upon the people of england, who, i am sure, have both the virtue to prefer, and the ability to select men of talent and of integrity to protect their rights, and take care of their interests in parliament. but it is further contended, that reform at present is unnecessary, because forsooth, the influence of the crown is diminished. in reply to this assertion, i oppose the following plain facts:-in the year 1793 the whole sum raised by taxes was 17 millions; the poor rate was about 2 millions. in the year 1821 this country paid in taxes 60 millions; and the amount of the poor rate was then raised to 7 millions. now i think that no person who considers the effect which taxation has upon the patronage of the crown, can, for a moment doubt, whether that influence has not been greatly increased. gentlemen, i will not occupy more of your time; i will only in conclusion say, that if any person should demand of me to what extent i would go in reducing this influence, my answer isuntil the whole of its corrupting influence is completely eradicated. (loud and continued cheers.) | illegal, because it had been "absque generali senatus et populi angliæ consensu."-"without the general consent of the people and parliament of england"-(hear, hear,) a clear proof that the consent of the people and the parliament united were considered essential in those days; though in these days such an opinion is unfortunately not muchi in vogue; and it would take up too much time to wade through all the tyrannies of english history to prove how that right had been lost in the halcyon days of liberty and happiness under henry viii. this appeared a miserably inauspicious æra on which to found the origin of the present perfect system of corruption. henry viii. was by most people considered one of the most execrable and merciless tyrants that had ever sat on the throne of any country under heaven, that tyrant who had killed two queens and broken another queen's heart; for whatever the hon. member for yorkshire might think of this founder of the blessings of corruption, he (mr. beveriey) could never think that the freeholders of the county of york, were too fond of any king that had broken any queen's heart.--(loud cheers, and cries of "no, no.) r. m. beverley, (of beverley,) esq. in a maiden speech, which was listened to with profound attention, but this argument, drawn from the antiquity of abuses, and received with the warmest expressions of public might have been used, and indeed always has been used approbation, said that he had determined not to take a against every reform, and every alteration of abuses, part in this day's discussion, and nothing could have however gross, profligate, and abominable. this was made him alter that determination but the extraordinary the argument that was used against christianity, and arguments that had been brought forward by the hon. this would be the argument used against that first and member for yorkshire (mr. wortley), which, from their best of all reformers-the founder of the christian peculiar weakness had encouraged him, incompetent as religion; if he now were to appear amongst us, for the he was to enter the lists against him. if any thing could first time in the kingdom of england; and to preach have strengthened him in the determination of silence those unpalatable doctrines of radical reform, in which he had previously made, it was hearing the splendid and all present professed to believe; and if it could be supmagnificent eloquence of the hón, mover of the address, posed, that the house of commons were all pagans for it ill became him to be harnessed in the car of reform instead of christians, there is very little doubt but that with so stately and proud a steed as the ungovernable the gospel, if now produced for the first time within rhetoric of mr. fawkes:the walls of st. stephen's, would be voted false, scandalous, and seditious.-(laughter.) it should not be forgotten that there never was a greater reformer than christ-the poor man's friend, the advocate of universal liberty, the enemy and the opposer of aristocratical pride, profligacy, and corruption. (hear, hear.) "that mighty courser of etherial race "with neck in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace." but when he had observed that the noble lord had omitted answering some of the arguments of the hon. member for yorkshire, he could not resist the temptation he felt of himself answering that hon. speaker, seriatim, and following him step by step through the bog of corruption, at last come to the firm ground on which he rested his own principles.-(loud cheers.) and he felt confident that even his weak hand and feeble breath could throw down the tinsel fabric that hon. speaker had reared. the hon. gentleman had founded his arguments mainly on the antiquity of the abuses, and seemed to plume himself prodigiously, that they were as ancient as the time of henry viii.; but if the antiquity of the thing were an argument in its favour, he (mr. b.) had a much better weapon supplied to him by that very argument; for he could go so far back as the time of william the conqueror he could go back near a thousand years, and remind the hon. gentleman that when william of normandy demanded the kingdom of the lawful monarch, harold, and founded his demand on an old will that nobody knew any thing about-harold returned answer, that if such a will was genuine, it was utterly t the hon. gentleman had talked a great deal about the blessings we had enjoyed of late years under the present system; but it would seem that different people had wonderfully different opinions of the meaning of a blessing, hé (mr. b.) could not rank the six aets and the suspension of the habeas corpus act, and all the minor afflictions and mean oppressions of the ministry, amongst blessings; he never could reckon that celebrated lawgiver, the late marquis of londonderry, as a blessing, nor could he consent to enrol amongst the kind dispensation of providence, that other wonderful patriot and prodigious statesman, fately dropped down from heaven, into the shoes of the marquis of londonderry, he means mr. canning. so that what some people thought blessings, others, by a misnomer, perhaps, would call curses.-(loud cheers and laughter.) the hon. gentleman had stated on some writer's authority, that if the house of commons had been reformed and had expressed the wish of the people at the time of the revolution, that glorious event never would have taken place, as the mass of the people were dect72 the warning voice. dedly adverse to changing the lawful dynasty; that might || diminished." what would the hon. gentleman say to be true; but it should never be forgotten for an instant, that the cause of a revolution could never have occurred under a reformed house of commons: (hear, hear,) the tyrant james ii. would never have dared to attempt to overthrow our laws and our religion, if awed by the voice of the people expressed in a pure parliament; and though the revolution would not have happened, that would have previously happened preferable to a thousand revolutions, namely a reform of the house of commons, and for which we have been labouring and toiling ever since the revolution. (applause.) this? surely he would not set his opinion against that of the house of commons, whose proper corruption and excellent system of bribery he so much admired? (hear, hear.) if he did so, it was lamentable to see two such friends at variance-it was distressing to see a difference and a contention between the great fountain of truth and its chief apostle. (loud applause and laughter.) the same answer would apply to that more specious and more hackneyed argument, used by the hon. gent. "that we cannot in justice accuse the house of commons of burthening the country with the increase of the national debt, when that increase was caused by the american and french wars, that were so eminently and notoriously popular; for we should endeavour to speculate how the proposal for war would have been received in a really reformed house; there might have been great enthusiasm and a great clatter about glory and all that specious nonsense, but a little cool reflection would have shown the real representatives of the people that they could not pay for their glory, and after a sufficient parade of threatening speeches, it is certain they would have sat down, preferring economy and safety, to extravagance, bankruptcy, and renown.(hear, hear) the hon. gentleman had further observed, that if the influence of the crown had increased, there might be set against it the force of popular sentiments, and the means of conveying those sentiments in the public newspapers; but what, in the name of truth, was a newspaper, or ten thousand newspapers, if the spirit of liberty was wanting? (hear, hear.) the spirit of newspapers might possibly be the most glaring proof of slavery and despotism; in no country is a newspaper published with greater accuracy than in china; the pekin gazette comes out with great pomp and solemnity every day, and is read with avidity among the three hundred millions of that enormous empire, and yet in spite of this popular newspaper, there is not a more rascally, bare-faced, and intolerable despotism under the canopy of heaven, than the government of china; for where the rights and liberties of mankind are wanting, the public voice is of no use, and the press and its blessings are then like rain on the sands. (hear, hear.) in praise of the house of commons, the honorable gentleman argued that it was a great arena of eloquence; but what was the eloquence of the parliament compared with the magnificent and eternal rhetoric of cicero and demosthenes the eloquence of the english house of commons could no more be compared with the great standards of grecian and roman oratory, than a farthing candle can with the sun; and for this plain and well-known reason, that where the voice of the people is not all powerful,eloquence can never go beyond a certain point, there can reign a false and specious sort of rhetoric; but so far and no farther, and till the wishes of the people are unrestrained, perfectly free and absolutely predominant, we can never expect to hear oratory farther advanced than its infancy, or perfectly beyond its rudiments. the noble lord, in answering his honorable colleague, had alluded, perhaps, somewhat too learnedly, to the course of the planets around the sun, and there was one planet whose motions he had said ought to be strictly watched, lest it should disturb the harmony of the system; without entering into astronomical explanations, it might be conjectured that this heavenly body was not one of the regular planets, but rather a violent and outrageous comet, flaming in eccentric orbits through the frightened realms of space, adding nothing to the beauty, but much to the terror of the system, and shaking from its horrid head pestilence and war. this was the body that ought to be watched; this was the dangerous cancer of corrup tion that jeopardized all it approached, and which ought only to be removed and annihilated, that the whole system might be perfect in its harmony, undeviating in its rules, and fearing nothing from too much attraction, or too much violence. (loud cheers.) there was one part of the hon gentleman's speech which he would advert to with more satisfaction, or to speak more properly, with a'hope of satisfaction, since the language in which the hon. gentleman had couched that part of his speech, had been involved in so much obscurity and mystery, that he did not feel himself entitled to speak with decision in its explanation, he alluded to that part of the hon. gentleman's speech in which he had talked of co-operating with the views of the reformers, if they only went so far as preventing all placemen from sitting in the house, and abolishing all unnecessary places-in which he had said, that he perhaps would joia in urging a "place bill in the house," (here mr. wortley denied he had ever said or meant so, and after some desultory conversation, mr. beverley proceeded to say) "if the hon. member for yorkshire speaks undecidedly on this subject, let us know his real views on this disputed point, for it is very difficult to get at his real intentions and wishes; and if he will propose a place bill in the house, then i think we shall feel satisfied in his conduct, and approve of one part of his political career at least. but of his decided and unhesitating opinion of another subject we can have no doubt, since the hon. gentleman most plainly and distinctly stated, without any modification, that he did not think the power of the crown had increased of late years; it would not be necessary to bring more than one answer to this, when it was remembered that that very house of commons itself, that purely modified, that perfectly constituted collection of senators gifted with all wisdom and all virtues, the praise and glory and envy of the universe, had itself declared, at the end of the american war, that the "power of the crown had increased, was increasing, aud ought to be having thus discussed the principal positions of the honorable gentleman, there was one more argument that ought to be alluded to, because it appeared to have more the warning voice. 73 weight, than any that the honorable gentleman had brought forwards: it is not uncommon to hear it said, in answer to the cry for parliamentary reform, that our demand is plainly superfluous, for if we have any grievances, we have three means of redress; if your rights and liberties are invaded, say they, go to the courts of law, and you will be reinstated by the usual course of justice; but if that should fail, then appeal to the house of commons; should a parliamentary application fail, the voice and unanimous cry of the people in your favour will bring you redress, and heal your wounds. let it be answered to this, that except in the ordinary cases of meum et tuum the courts of law are as suspicious and objectionable places to expect to find equity in as any in the kingdom; for if it be some case of particular and extraordinary importance, such as the case of the manchester plots or the manchester murders, or whatever it is proper to call them, you must be out of your senses to hope to have justice done you by the lawyers; that sly race of mellifluous orators, who, having well emptied your purse, and exhausted your patience, lead you through a maze of error, disgust, and disappointment, and leave you to bewail your misfortune or to sink into despair; for with the lawyers and the judges, power has too much influence; and having talked so much of our sovereign lord the king, it is to be feared they are inclined to act for him also. (cheers) from the courts of law you hurry with a petition to the house of commons, confident that the representatives of the people will listen to your prayer and be feelingly alive to your grievances; but there your petition is received with respect indeed, and having gone through some little mock solemnities, it is -ordered to lie on the table, in the blessed hope of everlasting rest; or if more than usually importunate, it is voted a seditious performance, and sent out into the streets by a large majority. (hear, hear) as a last resource, you go with your melancholy story to the people, that high and enthusiastic, and generous people, the people of england, who give you their sympathy, their energies, and their good wishes: but what more can they do to help you?-for you are called seditious, and asked why you do not go to the proper place, the courts of law? thus we are bandied about without hope or help, every one strikes us off with his racket, and tells us to go to somebody else; that other person begs we will go to the proper person; that proper person cannot be found for love or money; and thus having wasted all our energy to arrive at the fountain of justice, we are compelled to give up the pursuit, and become the victims of apathy and despair-your final, though distant hope then, said mr. beverley, is in a system not yet come; a system in which truth and justice will be strictly attended to, when your grievances will be listened to, when your rights will be cherished, and your prayers and petitions, your hopes and your wishes, no longer despised; and no longer insulted;—all which alone can come to pass in a thorough and radical reform of the house of commons, of which i am proud to own myself a zealous though inadequate advocate." (loud and reiterated plaudits.) mr. wooller immediately stepped forward and said; "gentlemen, on presenting myself for the first time to the freeholders of yorkshire, and on the discussion of the most important question that can agitate the subjects. of a free state, it would perhaps be necessary that i should offer some apology for the liberty i have taken? but, it is by the consideration that the voice of every freeman is requisite to swell the aggregate effect of public opinion, that i have been induced to offer myself to your notice, not merely on my own behalf, but on the behalf of numbers in this county, who have requested me to attend this meeting, and to bear testmony to their ardent devotion to the cause of radical reform. in this cause i should be as unwilling as any man to perceive the effects of union destroyed by any captious dispute about terms, provided that the great object of a reform, commensurate with the evils to be redressed, is constantly kept in view. and though i am free to confess, that if i had drawn up the resolutions which have been read to you to-day, i should have employed other language, and bad recourse to a more detailed view of the subject; there is nothing in the resolutions to which i can object, provided the terms used are permitted to bear their natural signification, and their unsophisticated meaning. they contain a plain declaration that the house of commons as at present constituted, represents neither the wishes nor the interests of the people; and they demand a speedy and effectual reform, as the only remedy of which the evil admits an effectual reform must be one that shali go to the root of the evil; and effectually eradicate even the germs of latent corruption-and this effectual reform is all that the most ardent reformers require. with respect to the constitution, of which we have heard so much to-day, i have merely to observe, that i can find no traces of its existence at all, except in such public meetings as the present (hear, hear.) i was taught in my youth to venerate it as something almost exceeding the perfection of mortal wisdom; but i have found it in more mature years, to be little more than a creature of fancy, an imaginary bird of paradise, said to have been seen here, and heard of there; but assuredly not existing in the sanctuaries which have been supposed to be its peculiar residence.--(hear.) yes, in public assemblies some traces of its ancient lustre may be seen; and i trust it will be fostered there, until the latent flame revives in every bosom, and reanimates a drooping land. peor, indeed, would be my estimation of that constitution, if it were what the gentleman on my right hand (mr. wortley) has depicted it. his argument that you should continue slaves, because you have been slaves for 400 years; and that the length of an usurpation sanctifies the tyranny, is something rather more candid than i should have expected at his hands. i admire candour above all things; but there is one remark in his observations which i think he will regret himself he has made, when he sees the inference to which it leads. he said, against certain modes of parliamentary reform he would contend to the last hour of his existence, and to the last drop of his blood, the first part of this declaration is praise-worthy; for an honest man would constantly oppose what he deemed to be erroneous, with all the pertinacity of a steady adherence to the truth; but when he talks of opposing opinions to the last drop of his blood, he betrays that temper which disgraced the inquisition of spain, and 74 the warning voice. which has been the concomitant of despotism in all ages. every man has the right (and its exercise is the criterion of his freedom) to promulgate his opinions, fearlessly and freely; but no man can have the right to suppress, or to promulgate opinion, by any species of compulsion. the gentleman is, however, eutitled to our thanks, for his exposition of the constitution, since he has avowed he only values it for its defects; and that its abuses are sacred in his eyes because they have existed four hundred years-(loud applause.) to this it may be replied by a simile, which has been used before, but which is not the less valuable on that account. suppose it were proposed to put a stop to murder or robbery, which might have been frequent at any given place, would it be any answer to show that the place had been the resort of robbers and murderers for a great length of time? or, rather, would not the or, rather, would not the notoriety of the abuse, be the great reason why it should be suppressed, and its agents punished?-(hear, hear.) this gentleman has led you to imagine, that if any instance of usurpation could be pointed out, he wou'd concede that it ought to be remedied. i will give hin one-the first legislative encroachment upon the ighs of the people, with which i am acquainted, namely: the statue of henry viith, disfranchising all freeholders under a certain annual amount, because it was apprehended, as stated in the preamble to the bill, that their attendance at elections might be inconvenient this was a gross act of arbitrary power, for which the monarch ought to have forfeited his head, and the legislature to have been banished from the possibility of doing further mischief--(loud and long cheering.) that there have been since equally gross encroachments on the liberties of the people is equally notorious, but that they form any ground for the defence of corruption, is a ridiculous and a contemptible fallacy-(cheers.) the gentleman on my right hand (mr. wortley) seems to think this the age of blessings; and, amongst other topics of congratulation, he appealed to the liberty of the press, as a proof of the existence of something like li-, bertyin this country. but he should have added, that if the press is free, it is free, not by the permission of the faction which governs the country, but in despite of it. he should have added, that the courage and perseverance of the independent part of the press, had enabled it to triumph over laws that were intended to bind it in eternal fetters; and that it is not by legislative enactments, but from a determination to do its duty in contempt of them, that the press remains free-(long and continued applause.) the hon. gentleman stated that the age of practical liberty and parliamentry influence began together. they did so. but we shall find an inquiry into the reason, and the farts, to be but little favorable to the principle of parliamentary influence. what are the facts? it was discovered that an open tyranny could not prevail in england; that when the sword of barefaced depotism was drawn against the rights of freemen, a thousand and ten thousand swords were ready to leap from their scabbards to defend them. and when the era of practical liberty began, the principle of parliamentary influence was devised to undermine the growing liberties which it had been found unsafe openly to attack. the battlement of the fortress, which could not be taken by storm, were assailed by this influence; and what had resisted all the force of open despotim fell before the more wily snares of this parliamentary interest, which mr wortley contends ought to exist, because it has existed, and to be perpetuated, because it has been introduced-(cheers.) against this absurdity i protest; and say, that if it should be persisted in, until the people are reduced to the necessity of vindicating their own rights, the fault will not be with those who have been continually warning them not to venture too far, but with those who have provoked public patience beyond endurance.-(applause.) for the country, in such a crisis, there is nothing to fear. neither its inhabitants will be swept away, nor its soil be destroyed: but those who have been the instruments of producing the public mischief, will be the sufferers; and to them will justly be referred the responsibility of hazarding public rights, to secure private emoluments. the reformers have been accused of disloyalty; but those who are aware of certain notorious facts, will be compelled to admit that the faction which misgoverns the country has bound both the king and people in one common thraldom; and that the reformers have been only anxious to break the fetters which disgrace them both. those who want facts may have this striking one, that the ministry has, within the last few months, plucked the brightest jewel from the prerogative, in forcing the admission of mr. canning into the cabinet, as a minister of the king, in contempt of the royal antipathy to such a measure. and here let me incidentally remark, that the assertion of the honorable gentleman, that the honorable house of which he is an honorable member, has generally been in unison with the wishes and interests of the public, is just as true as that his sentiments are in unison with the almost unanimous feeling of this meeting against them. and let me add, that a claim from him for a spe ific plan of reform was at best but an idle quibble, since we want no one to inform us that no sort of reform would suit him, and that his objection to every species of reform would be the same, namely, that he did not like it. but we are much too far advanced in our determination that reform is essential to the salvation of the country, to care for such trifling as this. when the time arrives that the question of what reform shall be necessary, shall be fairly agitated, if i have any voice, i, for one, shall have no hesitation in declaring, that when it can be pointed out to me that god has stamped the exclusive mark of slave on the forehead of one man, i will admit that he is not entitled to the exercise of the elective franchise; but until that shall be the case, i will not allow the right of any boroughmonger to place his cloven foot upon the breast of any freeman, and mark him for exclusion from the common right of the species to which he belongs. i have before said, that i would not have couched the resolutions of this day in the terms in which they have been submitted to you; that although i should have deemed it necessary to have embodied a distinct recital of the evils we have suffered, and the specific measures which would have afforded us the requisite relief, though it might have required all the parchment in the the warning voice. 75% which he had to the wording of the petition to this great object. i am glad also that the word physical force, country to have engrossed the sum total of our complaints; yet, under ail the circumstances of the case, and being disposed to give full credit to the declara-which sometimes creeps into discussions of this kind, has tions of those who are converts to the justice of our cause, i cannot avoid recommending that union, which, if it can be obtained upon principle, is essential to the progress of the cause of reform, i cannot but recommend an adoption of the present resolutions; convinced that if the gentry of the county who surround me in such great numbers, will but give full effect to their spirit, by a corresponding energy of mind, the benefits of the meeting of this day will be remembered and felt, long after every individual here present lies mouldering in the tomb. (plaudits.) mr. wortley explained. i wish to reply to one thing that has been said by the last speaker. he says he aphe approves of my stating that i was ready to contend against the propositions to which i alluded to the last moment of my life," but objects to the expression "to the last drop of my blood." when i spoke of those resolutions, i meant propositions which would reduce the country to a state of bankruptcy, and would occasion a breach of faith with the national creditor. such resolutions, i believe, could not be carried into effect without a revolution. i entreat the people to remember, that every revolution, every thing of that kind most dreadful, has always been brought about by acts of national bankruptcy. i will therefore resist, so long as i have power, any attempt to throw the country into that state. the resolutions were then read and put separately to the meeting, by the sheriff, when all of them passed unanimously, except two or three, against which mr. wortley and mr. fountayne wilson held up their hands. we noticed that mr. wortley did not hold up his hand against the 4th resolution. never been used. it is a term which ought never to be used in reference to this subject. the only force we can use is the moral force of public opinion, and which i have no doubt will ultimately subdue every prejudice, and triumph over every opposition. (hear, hear.) mr. burke has said that the desires of the people of england ought to be a law to the house of commons. i would ask my honorable friend, whether we are to go back 300 or 400 years in civilization-whether we are not to profit by the discoveries of science, and the greatest degree of illumination which has broken in upon the present age, and not to be governed by what was done 2 or 3 centuries ago? the british constitution is not a picture to be hung up to be mellowed by time, but an edifice to be repaired from time to time, repaired, enlarged, and improved, and made comfortable to the existing generation who are to inhabit it. (hear, hear.) gentlemen, i will conclude with stating that the petition which i have read has in all essentials my entire concurrence, and i move that it be adopted by this meeting. mr. strickland rose to second the petition, and said, however anxious i may have been to express my opinions upon the great cause upon which we are assembled, i should think it quite unreasonable to detain the meeting for any considerable time, after the long, the patient, and the anxious attention which has already been given to the business of the day. (cries of go on, we will hear you all night.) in the very few observations which i shall make, i beg leave to direct your attention to that in which has consisted the principal difference of opinion; to that in which the only fear seems to have existed of any interruption to the most perfect harmony and agreement; i mean to the question whether the resolutions should contain only general expression of the necessity of a reform of the commons house of parliament, or should describe more minutely in what [here the honorable baronet read the petition] such reformation ought to consist. gentlemen, this sir f. linley wood then resuming his speech, said, i great cause is not a new one; it has agitated men's minds shall only make one observation on the argument used for nearly a century, and we are not now to be asked, by my honorable friend, the member for the county, what is meant by the term parliamentary reform?-its against reform-a friend with whom i have differed on meaning is written in the distresses of the country, in no subject but that on politics, but on that subject we characters so clear and so distinct, that they who run have differed so uniformly and long that i despair of can read. (hear, hear.) there is one observation i ever agreeing with him. however plausible the arguwould make, so peculiarly marking out the necessity of ment of my honorable friend drawn from ancient records an improvement being effected in the state of the repremay appear, it labours under one, and that a fatal objec-sentation-that so strongly is the public mind impressed tion; it proves too much and is of course good for nothing. (hear, hear.) his argument is that the house of commons has always been under undue influence. if this be the fact it would only prove the inveteracy of the evil, and the consequent greater necessity of refrom. (hear, hear.) gentlemen, i trust we shall not be degraded by any, of those dissensions and intemperate resolutions, which have been adopted at a public meeting elsewhere; that being all united in the great question of reform, we shall not suffer minor differences as to any. specific plan of reform, to interrupt or endanger our unanimity. i am rejoiced to find that a freeholder who has just addressed you, and who has travelled 200 miles to attend this meeting, has sacrificed some objections sir f. linley wood.-"i rise to move a petition founded upon the resolutions which you have passed with almost an unexampled unanimity: before i make any observation upon it, i will read it throughout. u with a belief of its decay and imperfection, that we are now 'presented with this strange anomaly, that before a division of the house of commons is considered by the people as expressing the opinion even of that assembly itself, much less through that assembly, of the public at large, it is becoming a custom to strike out from every ministerial majority 80 or 100 votes, as being dead votes, under an unconstitutional influence, and therefore deprived of their deliberative character. (hear, hear.) as i have already said, it is not now necessary for us to inquire minutely into the extent to which a reform of the representation ought to be demanded; we may safely leave such discussions to the houses of parliament themselves, and if they do not meet our expecta76the warning voice. down to future ages, as it long has been, the best example of liberty to the whole world." mr. strickland concluded by seconding the petition. tions, to those future county meetings which, in the exercise of our ancient, our undoubted, and constituti'onal rights, i trust we shall frequently hold in this 'place (cheers.) many persons, and those whose mr. baines said, "mr. high sheriff, i wish to address names bear with them high authority, viewing the rapid to you one or two observations, arising out of the progress which corruption and extravagance have made proceedings of the day. i have witnessed with great in the affairs of the state; arguing likewise from the admiration the independant conduct of both our reprewell known and tremendous consequences to which sentatives, but i wish particularly to remark on the such things have invariably led in other countries, have conduct of that honorable gentleman who has been imagined that they see only, in the future increased opposite to us, and to draw one inference from the separation between the government and the people, situation in which he stands. i do not say that the convulsions and revolution. for such an opinion county of york is now assembled in this place, but you, i need not quote the well known expression of the sir, have invited the county to assemble here; and great lord chatham, as to what may be apprehended what is our situation? from the place where i stood, from a refusal of a timely reformation. a living writer i saw only one hand held up against the resolutions, has said, that he considers such a revolution to be and that was the hand of an hon. gentleman who inevitable, "that ministers may exult over the suppresclaims to be our representative in parliament! this sion of petty tumults, these are but the receding waves faet ought to be a lesson to the honorable member-broken and repulsed against the shore, while the great (hear, hear.) in what esteem should he hold the opitide is still rolling on and gaining ground with every nions of those who absent themselvs when a vitally breaker." gentlemen, let me not be mistaken: i state important question like this is to be decided upon by this opinion not as coinciding in it, but under the hopes the country? are the sentiments of those persons worth of refuting it. could i, indeed, for one moment representing? the state of desertion in which the believe, that extravagance, profusion, and misrule could hon gentleman stands before his constituents, ought to continue their progress, with gigantic strides, unchecked set him a thinking, and if he gives a due scope to the and uncontrolled by the public voice: could i believe operations of his own candid mind, i am not without that that corrupt influence, which, in the words of mr. hopes that when we next assemble in this place, we shall wilberforce," meets every man every where," would have the happiness to have two representatives converts go on undiminished, then, indeed, i should join and to the cause of parliamentary reform-(laughter.) i concide in the most gloomy anticipations. but i rest had no fear that the tories would assemble this day and my opinion upon the well known character and energy out vote us; their patriotism is not of that glowing kind of the people of england; i rest it upon their increased which fortifies against the inclemency of the weather. intelligence, upon the history of my country. for the some persons wish to go" to heaven in silver slippers? greatest part of the last 30 years we have been engaged and the anti-reformers are in polities, what those persons in never ceasing, arduous foreign warfare; we have had are in religion. it is not hence to be inferred, that no breathing time, no opportunity of looking into our toryism is dead; it will never die while we have taxes internal situation; but the time has now indeed come to collect, and to dispense to the amount of 60 millions when every man learns, and knows, and feels the a year. the genius of toryism is, however, in a languid embarrassments which surround him; and in that very state in this country, and if the high sheriff should have british valour which has fought the battles of europe, occasion to report where it is this day, he may in the and been victorious, i see grounds for hope and confiwords of some of his own writs safely write-non est dence-i read better times for england. for the secret inventus." (loud laughter.) mr. baines then paid a of those victories is told in few words-in slavery is tribute to the manly conduct of mr. wortley, which cowardice; freemen only are brave. in these events, appeared so striking in contrast witir that of his friends, then, i see fresh proofs of that determined love of and proceeded to express the satisfaction which he felt freedom, which has long been the boast, the happiness, in seeing so many freeholders assemblied, who had come and the glory of this country; and a sure earnest that from various and distant parts of the country, in spite of we shall never submit, in indolence and in apathy, to have the severity of the season. to perform a great publie our properties wrested from us, and exhausted to duty. he concluded with the following remarks:-we "unlimited boundless' taxation; or our liberties trampled have before us to day a noble spectacle-a great assemto the ground by an overwhelming corrupt influence.bly, sacrificing their small casts of opinion and uniting (hear, hear, hear.) no, gentlemen, i believe the time is not far distant, when the people of england will be prepared to present universal petitions to the crown and to the houses of parliament, expressed in terms so temperate, but at the same time so firm and so determined, that the house of commons itself will not be inclined to turn a deaf ear to our prayers. and when the desired reformation shall have taken place, confidence will be restored between the people and the government; and, as all government is founded in opinion, the king will be seat: d more securely upon his throne, and the british constitution will be handed let in one general call, for the measure of parliamentary reform. they have not, like some foolish persons in other places, divided themselves into factions, and thereby injured the cause they professed to serve. the celebrated maxim be remembered-" union is strength, and then success is certain. one freeholder, who has travelled far to attend the meeting, and from whom some opposition was apprehended, has nobly sacrificed minor differences to the public good. his example is worthy of general imitation. unanimity and perseverance are alone necessary to secure success; of this truth, we seem all convinced, and i feel assured the warning voice. 77 that the day of final triumph is not far distant.-(hear, hear.) the petition was now read by the under sheriff, and carried with the same unanimity as the resolutions. f. cholmeley, esq. now, in a short address to the meeting, proposed the 8th, 9th, and 10th resolutions; which were immediately seconded and adopted. the business of the meeting being thus brought to a conclusion, lord milton, ( amidst loud cheers,) proposed a vote of thanks to the high sheriff, for his readiness in calling the meeting, and for this dignified and impartial conduct in the chair. the motion was seconded by mr. wortley, who, with very good humour, remarked that, although he had previously met with a little opposition from the meeting, yet he hoped that in support of the last motion of his honorable friend and colleague, they would all be of one mind! (laughter and cheers.) the vote was then carried with great applause. the high sheriff returned thanks. he remarked that whilst he felt that he had done no more than his duty, he could not refrain from observing, that no meeting could possibly have conducted itself in a more orderly, peaceable, or dignified manner, than that over which he had now presided. to walter fawkes, esq. farnley hall. netherton hall, near wakefield, yorkshire, 3d march, 1823. most excellent sir, the nations thanks and praise are due unto the reform meeting held at york, on wednesday the 22d of january, 1823, and every voice should offer its thanks and praise. the writer is a humble individual, who was a member of the reform association held at york, when the rev. christopher wyvill was chairman; and has, from that period, zealously, uniformly, but moderately endeayoured to promote that universal and heavenly cause of religion, charity, and humanity;, the cause of all mankind and all the world. 1 he can no longer resist the impulse of expressing his joy, that the present time hath produced so many bright luminaries of wisdom and prudence, overjoyed in the hope that their wisdom and-prudence will correct the attention, and gain the ear of the whole empire and the whole world; and he has the happiness of knowing many are already converted thereby. those of all the world, by her unanimity in declaring she will unite in resisting the tyrants, the enemies of liberty and the rights of mankind. i do thank you and rejoice with you; allow me to rejoice with you, my country, and all the world, at these very important and auspicious proceedings. i have the honor to be, most respectfully, you, sir, have the first claim to our thanks and praise, as the author and leader of the great work of the auspicious day. long may you live, and happy may you be, to enjoy the fruits of your honest, faithful and truly patriotie labour. it is the cause of every one, and every thinking man must be converted by the wisdom and prudence of this great and respectable county. the world and great britain may rejoice that she is not only become the protector of her own liberties, but sir, your most obedient and obliged humble servant, richard milnes. richard milnes read a speech of sir robert wilson's to his constituents in the borough, which pleased him so much, that he wrote him a letter of thanks for his very excellent speech, and sent him his second above-mentioned letter to the nobility, &c. and the following is sir robert's answer, which r. milnes has published, to prove to the world in addition to what they know of him, that he is one of the most amiable of men. r. m. did not know the least of sir robert till he wrate him the above-mentioned letter of thanks. dear sir, i feel very much flattered by the expressions of your approbation. the language of your address to those who should act as the guardians of the public liberty and welfare, proves the possession of a benevolent patriotism and philanthropy, which justifies the sentiments of pride that your commendation has excited. i trust that my actions through life will correspond with those opinions which are in unison with your own, and that i shall always make the happiness of mankind the steady object of my humble though zealous efforts. if the more fortunate classes of society will but adopt the wise council you have so feelingly and therefore so eloquently expressed, the enemies of our political and social system will indeed be driven away "as-chaff before the wind," and the impending hurricanes will be dissipated by the blessings of a grateful and always well disposed, however ill directed people. i am willing to contemplate the tragic calamities inevitable from a rejection of your advice. i sympathize, most truly in your domestic misfortune, but still the memory of departed virtue consoles the mind.in some measure, that it inflicts, and when you think on the magnitude of your loss, you cannot but feel joy in the recollection of those qualities which render it so great. i cannot conclude without adding, that it is peculiarly gratifying to me, that i should have the satisfaction of seeing my public proceedings approved by an inhabitant not only of yorkshire, but the neighbourhood of leeds; for my family came from that city. my grandfather having been a considerable cloth merchant, and occupier of mill-house, but owing to misfortunes, principally from sea losses, that property was sold from the family, still i cannot help retaining heriditary affection for a county and city which gave birth to a father, who could only leave what is now called a very small fortune amongst 78 the warning voice. a numerous family; but who bestowed on me an educa tion, and left me an example, which, if i do not abuse, will entitle me whenever leave this world to the esteem and affectionate remembrances of relatives and friends. with sincere hope that you may long enjoy your health, and the reward of your benevolent labours, by peace and prosperity being restored to the county. i remain, your obedient and obliged servant, r. wilson. charles-street, berkley-square, october 8th, 1819. the military life and honors of the sovereigns of europe bestowed upon sir robert wilson. as the name of sir robert wilson has been of late so much before the public, a brief sketch of his life may not be uninteresting to such of our readers as are amused by biography, without entering deeply into the political events which are often interwoven with individual actions. the irish rebellion, sir robert served in that country as aid-de-camp to general st. john. on the expedition to holland he again embarked on foreign service, and on the 2d of october, 1799, he distinguished himself at the head of the corps by a gallant charge upon a body of five hundred french cavalry, and the recovery of some british guns in their possession. when sir r. abercrombie was preparing, in the mediterranean, the expedition which afterwards went against egypt, sir robert was appointed to a majority in hompesch's regiment, in order to take the command of the detachment ordered for that service; but as he went by land, and was detained at the austrian army some time, he did not join sir ralph abercrombie until after the arrival of the british fleet at the bay of marmoricae. he brought with him an earnest request from general beliegarde for the english army to be employed in italy; but general abercrombie could not deviate from his instructions. in egypt sir robert was the officer who arranged the capitulation with the commander of the french convoy in the desert. living intimately with general abercrombie and the present lord hutchinson, as well as with the captain pacha, sir robert appeared in several conspicuous situations throughout the egyptian campaign. on the surrender of alexandria, he embarked with general cradock upon a new service, the accomplishment of which was said to have been prevented by the signature of the preliminaries of peace. he then went to toulon, where, in the lazaretto, he was understood to have collected those materials which he used in describing the personal conduct of bonaparte in his work upon the expedition to egypt. sir robert was not at that time content that the charges he adduced against bonaparte should feel their own way in his book, but he delivered to the late king, and also, we have heard, to the emperors of germany and russia, copies of his work, and chivalrously offered to prove his charges before any public tribunal. it was on his return from egypt that he purchased the lieutenant colonelcy of his regiment, which, however, soon after the peace was restored. sir robert from that time remained on half pay, until the beginning of 1804, when he was appointed inspecting field-officer of the volunteer and yeomanry corps in the western district; but when the act of parliament passed which precluded him from having any command of the volunteers or yeomanry, even in case of invasion, he resigned that appointment, and soon afterwards wrote his pamphlet, entitled "an inquiry, &c. into the present state of the military force." in december, 1804, he was gazetted on full pay, as lieutenant colonel of the 19th light dragoons. from that period sir robert wilson remained with his corps at the several stations allotted to it, until the commencement of the peninsular war gave new opporsir robert wilson was born in london, in the year 1778. he is the son of the late mr benjamin wilson, a gentleman well known in the scientific world as having been in his time a member of the principal learned societies in europe, and still more perhaps remarkable for his controversy with the celebrated dr. franklin respecting the superiority of pointed over blunted lightning conductors. sir robert was educated at the public schools of winchester and westminster. at the early age of 15, having a strong predilection for the profession of arms, he went to the continent, where the duke of york was then engaged on service, and his royal highness was pleased, out of respect to the memory of his brother-inlaw, colonel bosville, of the guards, who was a short time before killed at lincellis, to appoint young wilson to a cornetcy in the 15th light dragoons. in that corps he served during the whole of the campaign of 1793 on the continent, and had the good fortune of being one of those officers to whom the emperor of germany gave a gold medal, and subsequently the cross of maria theresa, with the dignity of baron of the german empire for their condnet at the affair of the villers en couchie, where, with about 300 men, they defeated the left wing of the fench army, with great slaughter, and saved the emperor from falling a prisoner into the hands of the enemy. sir robert had also the eommand of the advanced guard of that patrole which passed through the columns of a french army then in march and penetrated to the head quarters of general pichegru, from whose house the aid-de-camp and english interpreter to gene-tunities for displaying the prowess of the british arms ral vandamme and two gens d'armes were taken, and in spain and portugal. sir robert wilson appeared in whom they brought safely to the head quarters of the his military capacity in both countries; but in portugal duke of york, notwithstanding their pursuit for several he had an appointment in marshalling the newly-raised miles by three regiments of french hussars. portuguese militia, or levies, drawn together for the defence of their country; and he acquired considerable credit for the state of discipline to which he had brought them, and for the consummation of which, at a subsequent period, lord beresford acquired such just in the year 1797 sir robert returned to england with the british cavalry; and in the following year married jemima, the daughter of colonel bedford, and niece of the late sir adam williamson. in 1798 during the warning voice. 79 celebrity. after the battle of talayera, which, however well fought, was immediately followed by a retreat under unfavourable circumstances, the french general, victor, adyanced through estramadura, intending to cut off the retreat of lord wellington, his movements were said to have displayed consummate military skill, and extraordinary activity in their progress. it fell to the lot of sir robert wilson to encounter the advance of victor's corps, which was of considerable force, with his small body of portuguese, then denominated the lusitanian legion. sir robert stopped victor for several days at the pass of banos, and thereby performed an important service to the british retreating army, lord wellington, in his despatch, alluding to that exploit, paid a high tribute to the gallantry of sir robert, whom, however he styled "a partizan officer"-a name since that time often, applied to the gallant individual in question.. we do not hear of sir robert much in the portuguese. campaign subsequently to the brilliant affair at banos, and soon after he returned to england, not to remain inactive, but to attend the head quarters of the allied monarchs, about to change the scenes of hostility with bonaparte,from the shores of the mediterranean to these, of the baltic and the elbe. sir robert, in the capacity of military correspondent to the british government, was present at the several desperate conflicts between the russian and the french armies in the campaigns of 1811 and 1812, and in many instances volunteered his services in so distinguished a manner as to receive repeated marks of favour from the sovereigns in the field. on one occasion he was invested with an order of honor, by the emperor alexander, on the field of battle. sir robert wilson, soon after the disasterous retreat of the french army from moscow, was recalled, and his place supplied by general (now lord) stewart, brother of the marquis of londonderry. since that period sir r. wilson has been unemployed, and has mixed much in the political societies of paris and london, and devoted himself to the politics of the parties who are in opposition to the administration. he has occasionally he has occasionally employed his pen upon topies connected with the military politics of his country: his last work was upon the policy and the power of russia, and calculated to call the attention of england to the ambition and enterprize of that great northern power.. sir robert's chivalrous, but, according to the opinion of many, indiscreet aid in the escape of lavalette, is not the least interesting part of his history. with the subsequent events of sir r. wilson's life, our readers are well acquainted, from their local and recent occurence among them. it is remarkable that he purchased all his commissions but the first. his pecuniary fortune is said to be small. lady wilson has for many years lost her sight owing to an opthalmic affection., we have heard that another of her family, equally accomplished and interesting, labonrs under nearly a similar misfortune. sir robert has (or had) a son in the navy. the following is an extract from the speech of mr dupin, the advocate of sir robert wilson in the affair of lavalette, in which the military reputation of sir robert wilson is eloquently described :l "now, gentlemen, you will be astonished to find, that this man, who has been represented as the enemy of all europe, is one of those individuals of whom europe has most reason to be proud, and who has rendered the most important services to the good cause. it is time that i should explain to you the hieroglyphics of honor which he wears on his breast. wilson is not one of those dishonest possessors, who, when interrogated respecting the cause of their possession, can only reply, i possess because i possess: possideo quia possideo. he can render an account of all his rewards, because he can render an account of all his services. he wears the decorations of the red eagle, st. anne, st. george, and maria theresa, the tower and the sword, the crescent, &c, &c. because he has served with honor in the campaigns of flanders and holland, ireland, the helder, egypt, poland, portugal, spain, prussia, russia, germany, and italy; because he has been charged with important missions to constantinople, st. petersburgh, &c. &c. wilson fought in spain against bonaparte, whose progress he powerfully contributed to impede, by recruiting the portuguese legion, the forming of which had such an important influence on the fate of the peninsula. it was in the spanish war that he knew marshal ney: he does not fear to avow that he was defeated by that commander; but, in his defeat he had to congratulate himself on the generosity of the conqueror; and thus originated that interest, which has since been attributed to political considerations, though it had its source in the purest gratitude. when moreau was struck by a bullet, wilson was near that general, and he was the first to raise him and offer. him assistance. wilson has rendered services to all the sovereigns of europe; he has even had the good fortune to have been servicable to the king of france; and surely that monarch, whose heart is so mindful, has not forgotten him. to render you more fully acquainted with the character of general wilson, that enemy of the repose of europe! and to prove to you the high esteem in which he is held by the allied sovereigns, permit me to read some of the letters, in which those sovereigns themselves deign to render homage to the noble qualities which distinguish him. here is my evidence for the defence; kings are the witnesses! [after reading the letters, m dupin resumed.] this last letter bears evidence to wilson's goodness of heart, and the testimony is justified by facts. in 1808 some french prisoners were threatened at oporto by portuguese soldiers, and infuriated armed peasants, to the number of 40,000. wilson opposed the outrage of the latter with a small party of english troops, and a portion of his legion. he repressed their violence by holding out to them the fear of a rupture with england, in case they should presume so far to violate the law of nations; and after thirty-six hours of imminent danger, having been reinforced by a spanish: division; he succeeded in securing to the french prisoners a free, passage to the port at the battle of tarutina, near moscow, wilson saved the life of the nephew of the duke de feltre; he kept him at his quarters, showed him the greatest attention, provided him with money, and offered to procure his liberty. the nephew of prince talleyrand, who was then aid-decamp to general oudinot, having been made prisoner the letter of prince metternich, dated january 4,1821.. 80 the warning voice. at the passage of the beresina, and been in misery, wilson provided him with half of his own money and clothes, and saved him the journey to siberia. when m desgenettes, physician in chief to the french army, recovered his liberty at wilna, he was solely indebted for it to the ardent solicitations of general wilson. m. desgenettes was the only prisoner to whom that favour was granted. not satisfied with this, wilson presented him with two hundred ducats, to be distributed among the unfortunate french. independently of this general benevolence, his humanity was manifested, during this campaign, by numerous private acts of service, rendered particularly to generals normand and de la houssaye, to m. fontanges, to m. durfort of the house of duras, &c. &c. i only speak of the act of benevolence, of which frenchmen have been the object, because they are of a nature to interest you more: but wilson has not shown himself less generous towards the unfortunate of other nations. an unfortunate person, whoever he might be, had a right to rely upon his heart. wilson is much as i have described him-brave, humane, and liberal." sir robert wilson in spain. vigo, may 5, 1823.-on the 1st instant arrived his britannic majesty's packet stanmer, bringing sir robert wilson, colonel light, captain erskine, two french, and two german officers, all for the purpose of joining the spaniards against the french. they were received with enthusiasm, and a discharge of artillery from all the ships and batteries; at night they were serenaded, according to the spanish custom, and the town was illuminated. on the following day, they attended, by particular request, at the convent of francisco, to hear mass for the souls of the massacred at cadiz; after which the whole of the troops were ordered out for the inspection of sir robert. on the 4th, (sunday) the english officers (the french and german having gone to corunna) were regularly admitted as spanish soldiers, and, after a speech from sir robert, in spanish, at the head of the troops, they fell into the ranks with musket and bayonet. speech delivered by the english general sir robert wilson, may 4th, 1823, in front of the local national militia of vigo, at the time of being enlisted in it, and before taking the oath of fidelity; "citizens, i am not in the habit of speaking the spanish language, but it is necessary that i should make the attempt on this occasion, to express my sentiments in the best manner i am able. i am persuaded that you will regard the expressions of my heart rather than well-chosen words, which come merely from the lips. "the moment is come in which i am to take the oath to the constitutional king of spain, to his government, and to the spanish nation, during the war which it has to maintain against the french government--not against the french nation-in defence of its independence, and of the rights of all freedom. for this i have left my country, and what is more dear to me, and suspended my duties as a member of the british parliament. yes, my companions, we have come to combat at your side, and to shed our blood, if necessary, in defence of a common and so noble a cause. hope that our example will have some influence on the let us erring children, unworthy of belonging to spain, who country, to impose on her the most disgraceful chains are waging a sacrilegeous war against their mother by the slaves of slaves. all the english participate your hopes and sentiments. the side of the brave spaniards. in the last war of "this will not be the first time of my combating on independence i had on various occasions many thousands of them under my command, and in the field of qualities of this invincible nation. in the war pretended mars i learnt to appreciate the rare and illustrious to be in favor of the independence of europe, 1 gained the insignia which i wear, and which are not due to the actions; i and many others have been deceived by favor of the allied sovereigns, nor a reward for servile them, since, instead of being the liberators and protectors of european independence, they have become unjust and despotic sovereigns. i have placed my insignia over the uniform of a spanish soldier of liberty, to show that it is not i who have abandoned my principles, but that it is they who have violated the allies, and with the whole civilized world. obligations contracted with their subjects, with their 64 now, in the sacred name of my country, in the presence of god, and before these banners of liberty, i request his excellency to receive from me and my companions the oath to defend them." "vigo, may 8.-sir robert wilson and other english officers set off this morning for corunna. a guard of horse soldiers were appointed to attend them the' whole way, and they were also accompanied by the grenadier company of volunteers as far as rodendella, where all the civil authorities, with the militia, came out to meet them. at pontredesa they were received by the magistrates and soldiers in the same manner, besides who placed a crown of laurel on sir robert's head, and which they were met by young ladies in a triumphal car, the people, discharges of artillery, &c. conducted him into the town amidst the rejoicings of the following is an extract of a letter from our gallant countryman, sir robert wilson, to mr. weatherstone, one of his constituents. it describes, in glowing terms, the devotious of the inhabitants of the peninsula to the cause of freedom and national independence, and we are sure that it must excite a sympathy with them in the bosom of every briton not unworthy of the name. it is hardly necessary to add, that the letter has evidently been written in great haste, and without any view to publication:"i have been received here with an affectionate expression of feeling, which surpasses all my powers of description. i could give an account of the honors that mounting-but who can impart the look--the tone-the have been paid me, which were all indeed of royal heart-linking grasp of welcoming friends? my arrival so, because i was conscious that i really and truly did was a day of pride to me, as an englishman, and the more represent my brave and generous countrymen in the to the glorious and sacred cause of defence of which spain motives which determined my proffer of all i could devote the warning voice. 81 forms the van-guard-namely, zealous and faithful service to the hour of death or victory. tomorrow, i enter the ranks as a private grenadier of the vigo battalion of disposable militia. it will be for the government of spain afterwards to determine my service i and my companions, insist in the first instance, on conforming to the laws in existence. those companions are, lieutenant-colonel light, late of the british staff in the peninsula, a most distinguished officer, and excellent gentleman; and a graudson of lord erskine's, who came out as a volunteer, to share my fortunes, and who, i am certain, will do honor to his name. "i have told you of the enthusiasm of this noble people-1 must, in justice to them, add, that their exertions and sacrifices are correspondent with their language and exaltation of sentiment; a more honest love of country, and resolution to defend it, never existed. there is, however, a great want of arms and armament here, and in the whole province. will england permit this event to paralyze such good disposition, and compromise the safety of provinces, the defence of which assures victory? i will not believe it. i shall leave vigo before you receive this, for general morillo's head-quarters, at valladolid; but probably may have to return for a time into gallicia, under any and every circumstance, before i take my definitive station. rely on it, our triumph is certain; but it is an object to preserve the country, and repulse the invader as quickly as possible." seville, may 5:-the portuguese general rego has returned from leon to portugal, in consequence of an order which he received from his government, by a special courier. all his troops have returned with him.the portuguese factions, under the command of silveira, were on the 17th, at astorga. sir r. wilson, accompanied by a grandson of lord erskine, left london on wednesday week for falmouth, with the intention of joining the spanish army.-sir robert addressed a letter to his southwark constituents on quitting england for spain, in which he says, "the battle, for the right of nations to change or improve their governments, is commenced on the spanish soil. circumstances have authorised me to presume my presence in that field may be welcome to the defenders of those rights. i go, then not to gratify any personal (which, in the actual state of things, would be an inglorious) ambition -i go, not to mingle with civil dissensions, in which it would not become any foreigner to engage, except he could act the part of a pacificator-but i attach myself to the fortunes of spain in the hour of her pressure and peril, prepared to share her toils; and i trust i may prove as emulous as any of her defenders to participate in ker dangers." sir robert concludes with stating that mr. lambton has offered his services to take care, in his absence, of the local interests of southwark in the commons but that he submits himself entirely to the discretion of his constituents. dismissal of sir robert wilson. inform you, that his majesty has no further occasion for your services. "iam, sir, yours, "frederick, commander-in-chief "to sir r. wilson, m.p." answer: sir, the letter of your royal highness, dated the, 15th of september, was delivered into my hands this morning by his excellency sir charles stuart. after the interview i had with sir herbert taylor, your royal highness's secretary, on the morning of the 21st of august, in which i stated my personal desire to meet, and challenge inquiry into the calumnies and misre presentations notoriously circulated, together with the, motives of my forbearance, until officially called upon, from giving in my statement of the conduct i felt it my duty to pursue on the 14th ult. when attending, the funeral procession of her late majesty, i could not but be greatly astonished to find the newspaper statements. of my dismissal from the service, without any inquiry, or previous communication of alleged charges; thus officially confirmed. but i still appeal with confidence. to his majesty's sense of justice, that he will grant my application for the institution of some military court, before which i may have on opportunity to vindicate myself, and prove the falsehood of those accusations, whatever they may be, which have disposed his majesty to remove from me an army in which i have served twenty-nine years, and in which i have purchased every commission, with the exception of the junior one. awaît at paris your royal highness's answer; but shall be ready to appear before any court of inquiry, or court-martial, at the earliest notice. 1 "i have the honor to be, "your royal highness's obedient servant, robert wilson. } paris, sept. 20, 1821. the following is a copy of the reply made to sir robert wilson's application for a court of inquiry: "horse-guards, sept. 25, 1821. "sir-i have to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 20th instant, and having laid it before his majesty, i have it in command to acquaint you, that his majesty does not judge it proper to comply with the wish expressed in it. "i am, sir, yours, "frederick, commander-in-chief. "te sir r. wilson." "18, regent-street, pall-mall, oct. 9, 1821. "gentlemen,-i feel it to be my duty to lay before you the copy of a letter which i addressed to his royal highness the duke of york, immediately on my arrival in england, with a copy of his royal highness's answer. "i am, gentlemen, your very obedient servant, r. wilson." horse guards, sep. 15, 1821. "sir, i have it in command from his majesty to "to the electors of southwark. 1 82 the warning voice. 66 "regent-street, oct. 8, 1821. sir, i have had the honor of receiving your royal highness's answer to my letter of the 20th ult. in which, after complaining that i had been removed from the army without a hearing, and without even the statement of any charge against me, i respectfully demanded an investigation of my conduct either by a court of inquiry or court martial his majesty's ministers have advised their sovereign to refuse this request, and i thus find myself, after so many years of service, subjected to the severest punishment which can be inflicted upon a british officer, without being told of what i am accused. to defend myself against charges which, if they exist at all in a tangible shape, are studiously concealed from me, is evidently impossible. i can neither conjecture their motive, nor by whom they are preferred, nor on whose statements, misrepresentations, or fancies, they may rest; whilst this concealment gives a sanction to every latitude of surmise in which malice or folly may indulge... it is true i have seen in the papers, and heard by rumours in society, a variety of things imputed to me, and suggested as the grounds of my dismissal; but i declare upon my honor, that every one of these allegations is utterly, false, and that in every instance where the mention of names has enabled me to trace those statements to their supposed sources, their falsehood has either been at once exposed and acknowledged, or they have been disavowed by the parties said to have made them. 9 "those who have proceeded to punish me without either trial or hearing, or accusation, render it impossible to give a more precise contradiction, until they shall be pleased to inform me what i have done, or what has been whispered against me. "but i once more earnestly beseech your royal highness to institute, in whatever way shall be deemed the most searching, a rigorous investigation of every part of my conduct. "your royal highness is well aware, that before my dismissal, i was, beyond all doubt, subject to martial law; and if it be now said that i am no longer in this predicament, i desire to wave all objections to the jurisdiction of a military tribunal, in order that no obstacle may be interposed to the inquiry which i court. it is with unfeigned reluctance that i again presume to remind your royal highness of those services which you were formerly pleased to acknowledge; but the strange situation in which i am now so unaccountably placed, compels me to refer your royal highness to your letter of the 24th of january, 1815, and the documents to which it relates, in further sppport of my claims to justice on the present occasion. i have the honor to be, "your royal highness's most obedient servant. "r. wilson. horse-guards, oct. 9, 1821. "sir, i have to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of yesterday, urging again an investigation into your conduct, to which i can only reply, that having laid your former application before his majesty, ant, communicated to you his majesty's sentiments upon it, i do not consider myself warranted in taking any further step. "i am sir, yours, "frederick, commander-in-chief "sir robert wilson." southwark meeting. on friday the 5th inst. a. meeting of the electors of southwark, in the interest of sir r. wilson, was held at the town-hall, st. margaret's hill, pursuant to public notice, to take into consideration the propriety of raising a subscription, to indemnify that individual for the loss he has sustained by his dismissal from the army. mr. weatherstone was called to the chair. mr. alderman wood then addressed the meeting, andstated, that a letter, which they should hear read, had been received from sir robert, in which he declined the proposed subscription. the letter did honor to the feelings to his gallant friend, but he conceived the eleetors of southwark would be wanting in their duty, if they did not take care that their representative should not suffer for the rectitude of his political conduct. the following letter was then handed to, and read by the chairman :to the gentlemen assembled at the three tuns tavern, southwark, september 26, 1821. gentlemen, i have this instant read the resolutions. which were passed at the meeting held under your auspices-impressed with the most grateful feelings for such a proud memorial of your estéem, i must entreat you to cancel the resolution relative to a pecuniary subscription. economy, and arrangements i have no doubt of making, will afford me ample means to counteract inconveniences to which my family might otherwise be exposed, by a confiscation of military income and of the capital vested in the commissions. i have gentlemen, i assure you, no fear that your bounty would prove any shackle on that independence of action which it is more than ever necessary for your interests i should maintain; but i could not without an abuse of your generous friendship, permit the proposed sacrifices in my favour. i remain, gentlemen, with grateful sence of obligation, "your obedient servant, "r. t. wilson." "paris, sept. 30, 1821." mr. alderman wood then again enforced the propriety of proceeding with the subscription. it had been asserted that the sums already subscribed were fictitious. this was not true he himself, if it was proper in him to do it, could name one of the subscribers for 5001. he had received communications from various quarters, showing the state of the public feelings on the subject of sir robert's treatment, one of which, dated "cirencester, october 8, 1821," and signed richare hawkins, was handed to the chairman, and read to the meeting. the warning voice. 83 the assembly was then addressed by mr. ryland, who concluded by moving resolutions to the following effect. resolved, that without questioning his majesty's prerogative to dismiss officers from his service, we cannot but view, with great sorrow, the late exercise of it in the person of our respected, honorable, and gallant representative, sir robert wilson; nor can we but feel that the advice given by his majesty's confidential advisers to that effect, was intended more to punish an opposer of their measures, and a supporter of the late ever-to-bejamented queen, than for the benefit of the public service. nor can we consider that advice upon any ground to be just, without an opportunity having been given for his defence, tending, as it has, to deprive sir robert wilson of his commission, for which he paid upwards of £5000, and after having rendered the most eminent services to his country for nearly twenty-five years, during the most eventful period of our history. resolved, that in order to send forth the opinions of the electors of southwark, of the manliness, humanity, and independence of sir robert wilson, and their abhorrence of persecution in every shape, it is expedient that a public subscription be immediately entered into, in order to indemnify him for the pecuniary loss the late measure is calculated to occasion, and to prove to the world that his constituents and the people of england do (even in these times) protest against arbitrary power, and will support an injured and high-minded individual. resolved. that it is highly expedient to invite a pubi meeting of the independent citizens of london, and such noblemen and gentlemen of the country as may feel disposed to attend, as soon as possible, for the purpose of furthering the objects of this meeting then followed the usual resolutions of appointing a committee, and enumerating banking-houses to receive subscriptions, as well as thanking the lord mayor, for granting the use of the town-ball, and the editors of the times, the traveller, and other independent journals, for their patriotic exertions in behalf of sir robert wilson. mr black seconded the resolutions, and reprobated the dismissal of sir robert without inquiry. the first resolution was then unanimously agreed to. mr. alderman wood and the chairman stated that they had received letters from sir robert, intimating his intention of being in london next day. the second resolution was then unanimously carried, after which the chairman read the following letters;"oxford, september 29. "sir, -understanding from the newspapers that the distinguished general sir robert wilson is dismissed the service without trial, or even an accuser: nad finding that the public are proceeding to indemnify that patriotic and noble-minded gentleman for his pecuniary suffering on the occasion, may i request you to enter my name for fifty pounds for the above purpose.' 1 "" i am, sir, respectfully, "your very obedient servant, "j. t. barber beaumont." "to g. weatherstone, esq, chairman of the southwark meeting, &c." "traveller-office, 11, crane-court, oct, 5,1821. "gentlemen,-i have the pleasure of announcing to you the following subscriptions, which have been forwarded to the office of the traveller, in behalf of the object which you are about to meet to carry into effect. i beg that they may be announced as coming through the editor of the traveller. as the responsibility which lies on me as to the application of sums so large as those which i am authorized to subscribe is considerable, i have to beg that some banker of the city of london may be appointed treasurer, into whose hands the £1250 shall be paid forthwith. i have the honor to be gentlemen your obedient servant, "the editor." "to the committee for promoting a subscription to remunerate sir r. wilson, &c. d. (by the editor of the traveller) a. (by the editor of the traveller) b. (by the editor of the traveller) n. (by the editor of the traveller) .£500 500 50 200 £1250 the remaining resolutions were proposed and carried unanimously. the chairman then announced that the following sums had been subscribed in the room, viz. mr. williams, £5;" down with derry down," £1. (laughter.) to which subscriptions, gentiemen, he continued, i beg to add my own name for £20. (cheers.) a resolution of thanks to the chairman was then passed, and the meeting broke up.' sir robert wilson, no i. sir robert wilson to the electors of southwark. gentlemen, i feel it to be my duty to lay before you copies of the letters which have passed between lord viscount sidmouth and myself; with an accompanying memorandum of a conversation with sir richard birnie. and i have the bonor to be, your most obedient servant, r. wilson. 18, regent-street, oct, 23, 1821. 3 to the electors of southwark, no. ii. sir robert wilson to the lord viscount sidmouth. 18, regent-street, october 19, 1821. my lord,-having seen a statement in the newspapers authenticated by the signature of mr. thomas julion, clerk to the magistrates of the kensington division of the county of middlesex, in which it is asserted that sir r. birnie, one of the said magistrates, did, at a general meeting of justices, held on the 8th of september, 1821, at the hammersmith coffee-house, declare that information had been given to him, at bow-street, upon oath, that a meeting had been held at the house of mr. youde, at which the plan of interruption to her late majesty's funeral was concerted, and that i had attended the meeting, i have to request that your lordship will be 84 the warning voice. | pleased to direct a copy of such information upon oath to be delivered to me, that i may be enabled to institute a prosecution for perjury against the person so swearing. i have the honor to be, your lordship's obedient r. wilson. servant, to the lord viscount sidmouth. no. iii. the lord viscount sidmouth to sir robert wilson: whitehall, oct. 19, 1821. sir, i have to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of this day, referring to a statement in the newspapers, that sir richard birnie had declared at a general meeting of magistrates, that information had been given him, on oath, that you had attended a certain meeting, at which the plan for interrupting her late majesty's funeral was concerted; and requesting me to direct a copy of such information upon oath to be delivered to you, that you might be enabled to prosecute the informant for perjury. in reply to this request, i have only to observe, that if any such information does exist in the hands of a magistrate, it does not appear to me that i am the proper channel through which an application for its production should be made. i have the honor to be, your most obedient and humble servant, to sir r. wilson. sidmouth. no. iv. minute of a conversation between sir r. wilson and sir r. birnie. on the receipt of lord sidmouth's letter, sir r. wilson addressed a letter to sir r. birnie for a copy of the deposition on oath, assigning also the motive of the request. the letter was sent on the 20th on the 22d sir r. birnie sent a note to sir r. wilson, stating he had been absent attending the funeral of a friend in the country, and requesting sir r. wilson to call upon him, when he would give him the information he required. sir r. wilson having waited on sir r. birnie the same day, with mr. william lambton, and renewed his demand for a copy of the information on oath, sir richard informed sir r. wilson that no information in writing had been taken; that the information was a verbal one, founded upon a report at the freemasons tavern of a meeting having been held at hammersmith, at which an officer had been present; but that, on the examination of the tavern keeper at hammersmith, mr, youde, all the magistrates were satisfied sir r. wilson had never been in the house."* r. wilson. the above minute was shown to sir r. birnie, and received his sanction. *** 1. no. v.(second series no. 1) sir robert wilson to the lord viscount sidmouth. 18, regent-street, oet. 22, 1821. my lord, having received information that a deposition upon oath exists in the home department, of my having been seen, on tuesday the 14th of august, on horseback, with a porter pot in my hand, encouraging the populace to pull up the pavement, and oppose impediments to the funeral procession of her late majesty, i have the honor to request your lordship will be pleased to direct a copy of such deposition to be delivered to me, that i may institute a prosecution for perjury against the person so swearing. i have the honor to be, your lordship's most obedien humble servant, to lord viscount sidmouth. r. wilson. no. vi. (second series-no. h.) the lord viscount sidmouth to sir robert wilson. whitehall, oct. 23, 1821. sir, i have to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of yesterday's date, in which you state that you have received information that a deposition upon oath exists in the home office, of your having been seen on horseback, on tuesday, the 14th of august, with a porter pot in your hand, encouraging the populace to pull up the pavement, and oppose impediments to the funeral procession of her late majesty; and you therefore request that i will direct a copy of such deposition to be delivered to you, that you may institute a prosecution against the person so swearing, for perjury; and i have the honor to acquaint you in reply, that i should not think myself justified in giving the directions for which you have applied. i have the honor to be, 'sir, your most obedient humble servant, to sir robert wilson. sidmouth. sir robert wilson. on thursday the 8th inst. sir robert wilson, who has been some time on a visit at lambton-hall, passed through newcastle, in company with mr lambton, for howick, the seat of earl grey. on their arrival at the queen's head inn, morpeth, sir robert was cordially greeted by the welcome cheers of the inhabitants, who had assembled in great numbers to obtain a sight of the gallant general. the populace took the horses from the carriage, and drew him through the town, amidst the reiterated plaudits of the people.-before the horses were again put to, he ascended the carriage, and spoke to the following effect:"gentlemen,-it is a great satisfaction to me, that travelling in company with my honorable friend, mr. lambton, on a visit to one of the greatest and most patriotic noblemen of the kingdom, earl grey, (applause) i should be honored with this proof of your approbation. i feel proud-but, permit me to say proud, not as an individual, anxious to advance his own honor, but as a member of the great community; because i perceive in your present conduct, that you think as englishmen, that it is impossible to offer injury to one limb of the body politic without affecting the safety of the whole(applause). i have been ruined in my profession, deprived cated -and it remains for me to inquire, and for you to of the means of my bread, my property has been confisascertain the cause-(cries of "shame, shame," "no cause," none.")-if such things are permitted, there is an end of all justice in this land of freedom and of equity. all i demand is trial and only so far i beg of you to go with me, we will, we will. i court the penalties of the the warning voice. 85: law if i am found guilty-i say, i court the penalties, but, gentlemen, i feel assured, that if brought to trial, there is not a manly and independent englishman, there is not an officer of humanity in the service, not an officer anxious for his own personal honour, not an officer jealous of military discipline, that will not be forced to give me a verdict of acquittal-(applause), i repeat that i court inquiry! i demand trial! there is no man a greater friend to the laws, no man a greater friend to the government of justice than i. i declare myself unconscious of offence and yet, without the slightest investigation, without the least authorised allegation of crime, i am injured in my rights as a soldier and as a citizen. if such things continue, if ministers have power to make the servants of the public the victims of their caprice, where is the use of any code of any civil or of military law? the army will no longer be distinguished for officers of feeling, justice, and knowledge, but it must become the tyrannical instrument of despotic authority. gentlemen, i will not detain you longer; lam highly gratified with your flattering testimony, the more so, as the people of morpeth are distinguished, have long been distinguished for their exertions in the cause of constitutional reform; and, gentlemen, i entreat you to stand firm, let nothing daunt you, let no steps of arbitrary power check you in your course, and i do not despair of being able to congratulate you on the attainment of a great and decisive victory." (loud cheers.) since our last the following additional subscriptions have been announced to indemnify sir r. wilson:£. s. charles blundell, esq. of ince, lancashire, to testify his respect for sir robt. wilson's character as a soldier, and for the gallant humanity of his conduct in the affair of lavalette.... duke of hamilton ......... ..... ..... whichcote turner, esq. late 3d dragoons lord visc clifton, m p.... ...... ... j. grigby, esq. drinkston woolpit, suffolk, dr. fenwick, durham,.....………….. manchester 2d subs.... ……….. leighton, buzzard, 1st subs dr. chomeley, 35, new bridge-street..... s. & m, borough, .... a friend, per g. w ....... and many other smaller subscriptions. 100 0 100 0 26 5 500 10 0 10 o 97 4 8 2 5 5 55 consideration that the distinguished general, sir robert; wilson, a worthy member of the house of commons of the united kingdom of great britain and ireland, always humane, always generous, always firm in his principles of honor and justice, has defended, with his intrepid eloquence, the rights of humanity, and particularly. those of this people, alternately victorious and unfortu nate in the course of its heroic contest-resolves, that the executive power, in the name of the republic, present to general sir robert wilson, the most affectionate thanks for the distinguished efforts with which he has promoted and advocated, in the british parliament, the cause of our happy independence. "given in the general congress at the city of the rosary of cucuta, the 14th october, 1821. (signed) "the president of the congress, josef j. marquez.: "the deputy and secretary, miguel santa maria, "the deputy and secretary, "francisco soto." which decree i have the honor of communicating to your excellency, with the expression of my personal satisfaction; and the president of the republic, who is at present in campaign, will offer to you, conformably to the disposition of the congress, the homage of the feelings of gratitude of the columbian people. i avail myself of this occasion to manifest to your excellency the high consideration and respect with which i am, honorable sir, your obedient humble servant, paris, jan. 28, 1822. f. a. zea.. to the hon. sir r. wilson, &c. &c. &c. sir robert wilson. we have waited anxiously for several weeks to hear the real grounds of sir robert wilson's dismission from the army. although an act of this arbitrary nature has probably been resolved upon in some place still narrower than the council-chamber, and though it was not thought fit to assign any reason to the dismissed officer or to the public, it almost always happens in such cases that the secret creeps about the court, then circulates in the ministerial circles, and that the real ground of the defence of ministers is communicated to the journals under their patronage, which, as avantcouriers to the ministers in parliament, dress it up with the best of their abilities, and give the cue to all tories and ministerialists throughout the land. but no journal, however well informed, nor any court newsmonger, however lynx-eyed, has discovered any cause whatsoever for the dismission of sir robert wilson. immediately after the announcement of the fact, certain journalists informed us that sir robert had committed some heinous crime; they stated that he himself must be perfectly acquainted with it, and would feel no surprise at the consequence; and they intimated that they would be able to disclose to us the mystery in a few days. none of them-not one-so much as thought of attributing sir robert's dismission to his mere attendance at the funeral, or to his general political "the general congress of columbia, taking into conduct. they expected some important disclosure, sir robert wilson. the following is a copy of the communication of the envoy of the republic of columbia to sir robert wilson, with the thanks of that republic for his efforts in their cause:most honorable sir-the sovereign congress of the republic of columbia, which i have the honor of representing in europe, uniting its wishes to the opinion of the human kind in favour of your excellency, has commanded me to forward the following decree. 2 86 the warning voice. ་ and instructed us to wait for it, till they had "something more to say on the subject." we have waited for the space of nearly two months, and what now? why, now sir robert wilson has come home, has demanded a trial and been refused; has inquired for accusers and an accusation, and none appear; has denied every probable charge, and exposed every paltry lie and calumny has presented himself at the barracks, at whitehall, and in bow-street, and can hear of no charge except such as are already disbelieved and exploded;-while the court newsmongers shake their heads in hopeless ignorance, and the hireling journalists, long dumb-founded, begin to summon up their wits and impudence for some general imputation or vague charge against the gallant hero. such are the facts, and how much do they not speak for sir robert wilson! they in reality amount to an acknowledgment, on the part of the ministerialists, that his public conduct has afforded no ground for dismission. now, however, that there seems no pretence for believing sir robert to have committed any act unworthy of an officer or a gentleman, during his attendance at the queen's funeral, the tory journals urge two reasons, either of which they contend is sufficient, as a justification of the treatment he has received. one of these is sir robert wilson's conduct in aiding the escape of lavalette; the other is his attendance at the queen's funeral. the former must be admitted to have all the merit of antiquity, and to be worthy of discovery by some inhabitant of grab-street. it is singular that sir robert should be dismissed in 1821 for an act committed in 1815; more especially as all europe acknowledged that act to be generous and noble, if indiscreet, as the french king showed that he thought him unworthy of punishment by offering to release him, as the prince regent of england declared the same real sentiment by supporting his family, and as the man whom he assisted to escape now lives at paris by permission of the very government that condemned him. but it is worthy of the malignant traducers of the queen of england to censure sir robert for not throwing back the intended victim of party rage, during a national convulsion, upon the guillotine from which he had escaped, and for not breaking the heart of his noble wife, who had devoted herslf to procure his safety. the other ground on which the ministerial writers attempt to justify sir robert's dismission is-his attendance at the queen's funeral. there is something so outrageous in the idea of discarding an officer because he mourned for the consort of his sovereign, that these writers themselves dare not state the thing broadly; and in endeavouring to hide their wickedness, they become exceedingly ridiculous. the courier asserts that sir robert wilson passively sanctioned the riotous and treasonable opposition to government by attending at the queen's funeral! and that this conduct fully justifies his dismission from the army! if the courier wrote for idiots, it could say nothing more irrational. excuses like these we only notice, in order to show that no justification has been or can be offered for the dismission of sir robert wilson. we never knew a clearer case. ministers have no charge against him that they dare uage, or we should have heard it long ago. our readers will be at no loss to infer the actual reason of his dismission; but we have expressed ourselves too strongly upon its baseness to mention it in terms. the meantime we perceive with great pleasure the extraordinary progress of the subscription in sir robert wilson's favor. it already exceeds six thousand pounds, and it is supported by men whose countenance would honor any cause. we rejoice to see that the whig nobility regard this as a national affair, and tender their munificent subscriptions, less in aid of sir robert wilson, (however high character), than in support of the constitution and freedom of the country. this feeling, we are persuaded, is as extensive as was the sympathy for our lamented queen; and so it ought to be, for if every military officer were, like every civil functionary, dependent for his bread on the nod of the minister, it would be a farce to talk any longer of our free constitution; the influence of the crown would be all but omnipotent, and, with the forms of liberty, we should suffer the reality of a despotism. leeds mercury. meeting to promote subscriptions for sir robert wilson, at the london tavern. on thursday the 25th ult. pursuant to notice, a meeting was held at the city of london tavern, in bishopsgate-street, for the purpose of entering into subscriptions, appointing a committee to appropriate the funds already collected, and taking other steps connected with the dismissal of sir robert wilson from the army. the meeting was most respectably attended, and, long before the time appointed for taking the chair, the great room of the tavern was completely thronged with citizens; amongst whom were to be seen some of the most leading men in the city. at a quarter past one o'clock, john george lambton, esp. m. p. preceded by the gentlemen of the southwark committee, entered the room, and was received with the loudest acclamations. the hon. member was accompanied by the hon. h. g. bennett, m. p. mr. ellice, m. p. mr. hume, m. p. dr. lushington, m. p. and several other respectable gentlemen. mr. favell having then moved that mr. lambton do take the chair, mr. lambton rose to address the meeting. he said, he had felt it a sacred and imperative duty to comply with the invitation conveyed to him by the very respectable committee of southwark to attend the meeting this day; and he assured them that no consideration of personal inconvenience could avail to abate his zeal in the cause of justice, or from using his best endeavours to second the wishes of so respectable a body of the inhabitants of this great metropolis (applause) before however entering upon the subject for which they were met that day, he begged to say a word in explanation of the line of conduct which he had followed hitherto in promoting the subscription for sir robert wilson.-he wished them to believe that his not giving his name openly in the first instance as a subscriber did not arise from auy indisposition on his part that publicity should be given to the transaction, but merely because he thought that, the warning voice. 87 thanks j being personally the [friend of the gallant general, it would be more proper that the subscription should begin with his constituents; and that, whilst he showed that he was ready to come forward and display his feelings respecting the shameful act which had been committed against sir robert wilson, at the same time he did not like to take the lead in any line of conduct which the public might think proper to pursue. these were the these were the feelings under which he acted; and he was glad, on this occasion, to have an opportunity of avowing them to the world. but he should be permitted to say this was not the cause of an individual—it was not the cause of sir robert wilson alone-it was the national cause (loud cheers). for if the dangerous precedent was once established that an armed soldiery could with impunity overawe the people, there was then an end to all liberty. if we were to be told that the only qualification for gentlemen entering the army was, that they should be blindly obedient to the whims and caprices of the minister, and that they were in fine, utterly to repounce all patriotic feeling, and give loose to every savage propensity of our nature, then was this country no longer the boasted land of liberty or of law (cheers). but he was sure this doctrine would not gain ground; for amongst the loudest supporters of government-the veriest admirers of tyranny, or the worst of tories, there would be some found to spurn at it, and who would forbid their sons to wear the badge of despotism in the service of the ministers. he found great diffi. culty in accounting for the grounds on which the government had acted in the case of sir robert wilson. they had not shown a single reason for their conduct, (a voice in the crowd having said "they could not)." he (mr. l.) knew they could not, and he now pledged himself that they never would be able to do so. he had an opportunity of seeing all that sir robert wilson did and said on the day of the queen's funeral, and he pledged his character that all that ministers had heard, or pretended they heard, respecting that conduct, were false and unfounded calumnies. (loud cheers.) he pledged himself, that on that occasion sir robert wilson exerted himself, not only with the greatest humanity to prevent the effusion of human blood, but that his conduct was in every respect regulated with regard to the discipline of that army to which he belonged. he (mr. l.) knew that the magistrates allowed they were indebted to sir robert wilson's exertions for the order which prevailed, and that they avowed that had it not been for him, more innocent blood would have been shed on that eventful day, when two innocent men were murdered. but in the absence of any reason to justify the conduct of ministers in this affair, there was no great difficulty in guessing what were their motives -the mean and petty motives by which they were privately actuated. sir robert wilson had been too long known for his independent principles. the man who said that "war was not made to gratify the lust of rulers, but to promote the happiness of mankind”—he who bravely stepped forward to shelter an injured, helpless, and slandered woman, became thereby obnoxious to masters who drowned their guilt in their efforts to disgrace him. (cheers.) he (mr. l.) (cheers.) he (mr. l.) begged of them to remark the slow but sure progress which the military system was making amongst us. in the first place the soldiers were shut up in fortresses, having no communication with their fellow-citizens, and were taught to believe that they had interests distinct from the people, and that all their constitutional feelings must be blunted. and it was lamented to find that in the same ratio that this system succeeded in deadening the constitutional feelings of the soldiers, so were their moral ones also affected, if one was to judge from the charge of the chairman at the late westminster sessions, who declared that one-half of those accused of crime were soldiers, and that those who were supported in idleness to protect the people, were now becoming most forward in destroying the peace of society. it could not be otherwise, for were not the soldiers always praised when they acted with rigourwere they not publicly thanked when they cut down the defenceless people, as at manchester? and when a high officer tried to counteract these dispositions and to allay irritation, was he not removed from the army, by an attempt the more cruel, as the brave officer was more at their mercy? (hear.) where, he would ask, was there an instance of military despotism to compare with this? it was not to be found under the most iniquitous dispensations of the spanish inquisition-not in the worst of the petty states of germany, where the property of the subject was so little protected by law; and yet the ministers of a constitution king(cheers)-ventured upon it-the chief rulers of england, that land of law, dared to do it. but who were these ministers-were they not the same who employed edwards, oliver, and castles?-(cheers)-who dismissed lord fitzwilliam, and thanked the manchester magistrates with as little discrimination and justice as they since discharged sir r. wilson? (loud cheers.) he had said this was not the cause of an individual, but a national one. it was not, however, amiss to bring to mind the merits of the individual through whose sides the justice of the country was wounded. he (mr. l.) would, in a very few words, remind the meeting of the claims which sir robert had upon them. he devoted 29 years of his life to the service of his country in one of its most arduous departments-the army. he fought in every country in the world-in europe, asia, africa, and america, in the north, south, east, and west. he had served in the north, portugal, spain, flanders, turkey, italy, and in fact, in almost every country in europe. he raised the lusitanian legion, which, it was admitted, was the principal means of driving the french beyond the pyrenees, and his services in the peninsula had been so often recognized, that there were letters from all the chiefs of spain, acknowledging the share which he had in driving the french out of spain. from that station he was driven by the meanest jealousy; but he did not murmur. he went thence to a distant part where he expected the same jealousy would not pursue him. he was everywhere where energy, activity, and courage were required-he was ever foremost, except in the retreat. he deserved and obtained the gratitude of all the sovereigns of europe. the emperor of russia, at the head of his whole army, was pleased to invest x 88 the warning voice. him with one of his noblest orders-his breast glittered with military rewards, but not a star was bestowed by great-britain. (loud cheers.) should we not look for some cause to account for the neglect of this brave and gallant officer by his own country; more especially when, by the enlargement of the order of the bath, so good an opportunity presented itself? the cause was to be found in an expression, in a declaration of the emperor of russia at frankfort, who said to sir robert wilson, "you told me the truth;" and however that quality might enhance him with a man whom we call a barbarian, yet it worked no good for him with the ministers at home. they found that sir robert wilson too often "told the truth," and he was therefore long marked out for vengeance. but in speaking of his other qualities, was it necessary to mention his generous conduct to his fellows in arms his glorious exertions for lavalette?-(loud cheers)-exertions, the success of which the king of france ought now to be as much pleased with, as england had reason to boast of them, and which had been lauded over the whole world. it was, indeed, the act of a gallant and generous soldier. here then was a man that ought not to be deserted. the strong hand of power was stretched over him-it had tried to crush him-but if he (mr. l) knew england right, it would not let its bravest son be overpowered, who was also its most constitutional advocate.-(loud cheers) mr. lambton concluded by saying that he thought himself called upon to say these few words, before any gentlemen rose to propose the resolutions; but with regard to the fatal day of the queen's funeral, he declined touching at all upon that, (a voice in the room said. "it will speak for itself. ") mr. lambton said he agreed with this gentleman in thinking that the events of that day would speak for themselves. he did hope, however, that some notice would be taken of the proceedings of that day in parliament, where they would obtain the proper publicity, and where, if they did not obtain entire justice-of which he had no hope-they would at least remain as a record, to show how much the justice of the country had been outraged, and its laws disgraced, on the occasion alluded to. before he sat down, he had only to desire of them to hear the resolutions patiently, and then offer whatever occurred to them upon them, being always assured that the meeting which he was then addressing would be as remarkable for its order as it was for its respectability (the loudest cheers.) mr. favell then rose, and after an introductory speech, submitted the following resolutions to the consideration of the meeting:1. that the dismissal of sir robert wilson from the army, without inquiry, trial, or even the statement of any charge against him, is a wanton act of arbitrary power, under the plea of prerogative, a daring inroad on the principles of the constitution, and a cruel injustice to a brave, humane, and meritorious officer, whose distinguished services to his country and her allies have been repeatedly and solemnly recognized by every power in europe. avowing their abhorrence of any administration maintaining a large standing army in time of peace, and endeavouring to make its officers the mere creatures of the minister for the time being. 2. that this meeting, as friends of public liberty, and the constitution of their country, as established at the revolution, willingly embrace this opportunity of" 3. that this meeting views with great satisfaction the manly and liberal manner in which so many of the best and truest supporters of the liberties of the country have come forward to unite with their fellow-citizens in marking their indignation at such an attempt, as equally dangerous to the constitution and degrading to the army; threatening the one, with subversion by a military force, and depriving the other of the noblest birth-right of englishmen,-that of freely discussing the measures of the government under which they live. 4. that the subscription set on foot by sir r. wilson's constituents shall have the best support of this meeting, it having it for its object to protect sir r. wilson against the effects of ministerial vengeance, and to show to the world, that as often as the advisers of the crown shall contrive the means of oppressing those public men who support the cause of the people, the people will stand forward to frustrate all such unworthy attempts. 5. that the whole of the subscription already raised and to be raised, shall be vested in five trustees, to be by them disposed of in the way most beneficial to sir robert wilson and his family. 6. that the marquis of tavistock, m. p. sir francis burdett, bart. m.p. john george lambton, esq. m. p. edward ellice, esq. m. p. and george weatherstone, esq. be requested to act as such trustees. 7. that the thanks of this meeting are eminently due to john george lambton, esq. m.p. for having originated this subscription, and for his unwearied zeal in this cause, particularly for having attended the meeting of this day. 8. that the thanks of this meeting be given to the marquis of tavistock, m. p. to sir francis burdett, bart. m.p. to john george lambton, esq. m.p. to edward ellice, esq. m.p. and to george weatherstone, esq. for having accepted the office of trustees to the subscription fund for indemnifying sir robert wilson. 9. that the thanks of this meeting be given to james barnett, esq. for having kindly accepted the office of treasurer to the said fund. mr. favell then moved the first resolution. the hon. h. g. bennett came forward to second the resolution, and was loudly cheered. after entering into a short account of the military career of sir robert wilson, he proceeded to state, that from his first entering into parliament he (mr. b.) had a good opportunity of witnessing the conduct of sir r. wilson, having sat every night with him, and almost always voted with him, and he was in all respects a friend to the people. sir robert wilson took a decisive part in the great question respecting the queen, and by this conduct he awoke feelings of which the meeting had seen the effects; but his great offence in the eyes of ministers was the last honor which he wished to pay to this insulted woman; he had stood by her in her misfortunes, and he wished to follow her to the grave. he (mr. b.) had attended on that occasion as a private individual, and though: his humanity was not so active as that of sir r. wilson in preventing crime, he saw enough to convince him that sir robert wilson, had done no more than his duty as the warning voice. 89 a bold and honest man. the government had made out no case against the gallant general; they had none to show, although an engine of theirs had prepared the country to expect one. they struck the blow before they suffered the accused to speak. here was à soldier of fortune covered with honor-his character was not attacked; providence had not made him rich, he had nothing to look to but his profession, in which he had invested all his property; and after a life of service, how was he treated? turned out of the army, and robbed of his property; and in whose cause was it that he had put himself forward; it was not in his own, but in that of the people, in the cause of the hundreds and thousands who like honey and francis went to see the procession as innocent spectators, and who, but for his humane exertions, would have been still more exposed to the sabres and pistols of a soldiery who fired without command he interfered to check the effusion of blood, and to tell them what was due to military discipline. lu a case thus circumstanced, it was the duty of the community to stand forward as the shield and as the purse of the person so treated-there was no discredit in receiving contributions given for such a purpose, and they would be the last to make the insinuation who had their hands always in the public purse. mr. bennett concluded a very impressive speech, by recommending the case of the widows and orphans of the men who lost their lives on the occasion of the queens funeral, to the humane attention of the public. when mr. bennett sat down, two claimants upon the attention of the meeting suddenly presented themselves; one of these was the celebrated gale jones, who had contrived to make his way into the midst of this respectable assembly, and actually succeeded in getting upon the table before any one was aware of his presence. it is needless to say, that the moment he was recognized, he was compelled to retire, though he afterwards made some impotent attempts to obtain a hearing. the other was a meek-looking elderly quaker gentleman, who wished to lay before the meeting some chimerical plans, respecting the slaves at algiers. he was, however, easily dissuaded from persevering to disturb the proceedings. mr. lambton then put several of the resolutions from the chair, which was agreed to unanimously. mr. favell proposed the sixth resolution, which appointed the chairman as one of the committee. mr. lambton returned thanks, and said he accepted the office with great pleasure. he said, that in the appropriation of the funds, care would be taken that they should be applied most advantageously for sir robert wilson's wife and the children, as well as for his own honor; for the gift was not the less honorable because it did not come from the kings and emperors, but from his grateful countrymen.-(loud applause.) mr. favell then proposed the resolution of thanks to the chairman for his conduct in the chair. mr. hume rose, and was received with loud applause. he said that he was in great hopes the gratifying business of the day would have been brought to a conclusion without the necessity of intruding himself upon their attention; but the call which they had now made upon him necessarily compelled him to say a few words in returning thanks for the honor they had conferred upon 1 him. he could assure them that there was no man in the community more anxious than he was to support with his utmost power the rights and liberties of englishmen (applause). considering himself as a man (indeed almost the only one so elected in scotland) indebted to the people for the free votes of his constitueuts, he should feel disgraced if he refrained, upon such an occasion as this, from giving his humble support to the present object. he entirely approved of the step which they were about to take, and he hoped that the right feelings of the country would induce the people from one end of the kingdom to the other to testify the universal abhorrence with which they viewed the unjust and violent act of ministers. let the people consider the magnitude of the question which the treatment of sir robert wilson involved; it affected the situation of 30, 000 officers, for that was the number in the service, twelve thousand of whom were in the same situation as sir r. wilson, on half-pay. mr. hume dwelt with great force of reasoning of the dangerous effect it would have. on the liberties of the country, if all the military officers were to be dependent for their subsistences upon the caprice of the ministers of the crown. with respect to the conduct of sir r. wilson on the 14th of august, he could say, that he never left his side for ten minutes during the whole of that day, and he could positively declare, that the disgraceful attempts to inculpate him for conduct imputed to him at kensington were altoge: ther false, and he had no doubt that the other stories respecting him were equally unfounded. the inquiry. denied by ministers must ultimately be granted; it was for the people firmly to make the demand, and ministers must obey. reverting to the subscription which it was the object of the present meeting to promote he hoped they would, if a surplus eventually appeared, apply it to the extending of relief to the families of the unfortu nate persons who were wantonly killed on the 14th of august. he concluded by entreating the people, from one end of the kingdom to the other, to call upon parliament to enquire into the whole of the transactions of the 14th of august. ! dr. lushington and mr. ellice severally addressed the meeting in support of the important object for which they were assembled. the latter gentleman mentioned that sir robert wilson was travelling with him, between calais and paris, on the very day that he was sworn to have attended a meeting at kensington, to arrange the obstacles for the queen's funeral, the following gentlemen, on the motion of mr. favell, were added to the committee :he then moved the following resolution :1 marquis of tavistock, m.p. hon. h. g. bennet, m.p. hon. wm. powlett, m.p. j. g. lambton, esq. m.p. sir f. burdett, bart. m.p. dr. lushington, m.p. edward ellice, esq. m.p. joseph hume, esq. m.p. j. c. hobhouse, esq. m.p. a. w. robarts, esq. m.p. j. b. monck, esq. m.p. .fl " l john tennant, esq. john christie, esq, thos. wishart, esq.f james barnett, esq. i geo: fitch, esq."' thomas glover, esq. -martineau, esq. richard taylor, esqcharles hoppe, esq. john wilson, esq... joseph todd, esq. 90 the warning voice. } t. b, beaumont, esq. samuel favell, esq. j. morrison, esq. francis place, esq. 1 richard lilwall, esq. alfred thorpe, esq. j. blacket, esq. it was put from the chair, and carried unanimously. mr. lambton said, that the next resolution which he had to put to them, he put with the greatest pleasure, i have only to add, that upon future occasions, i shall be most happy to bring your name under the prince regent's consideration, not only for professional distinction, but as a candidate for the command of a cavalry regiment. i am, sir, yours, frederick, commander-in-chief. as it contained the name of an illustrious citizen, who major-general sir robert wilson, &c. had never in his exertions in behalf of liberty been daunted by any calumny that had been bestowed upon him; he meant mr. favell (cheers). 11. that the thanks of this meeting be given to samuel favell, esq and to the hon. h. g. bennet, for the very able manner in which they have moved and seconded the resolutions of this day. mr. favell shortly returned thanks. mr. lambton said, that he had just received a note from a gentleman whom he did not know, but wished to address the meeting. the gentleman must know that he had no power over the meeting it was for the meeting to deal with the request as should to them seem meet. the name of the writer was gale jones. loud cries of "no, no," succeeded this appeal; and it would be impossible to describe the decided vehemence of opposition which ensued. as soon as it had subsided, mr. weatherstone rose, and moved the following resolution: 12. that the thanks of this meeting be given to j. g. lambton, esq. for his kindness in taking the chair this day, and for his great impartiality evinced therein, and for his uniform and steady support of the rights and liberties of his country. documents respecting sir r. wilson. .a 1. } the duke of york to sir robert wilson. horse-guards, jan. 24, 1815. sir, i have to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 21st inst, with its inclosures; and in assuring you of the favorable manner in which i am impressed by the merit of your zealous and distinguished services, i have to convey the expression of my regret that the principle of limitation under which the order of the bath has been extended, did not admit of your name being included. the invidious difficulties which were apprehended as being likely to arise from a system of individual selection, upon the first establishment of a distinction which necessarily possessed a limitation, rendered it expedient that a line should be drawn to guide the decision, where so wide a field of merit was brought under the prince regent's consideration.. this limited line did not embrace a period when you were materially employed with the british army; and having by your distinguished conduct obtained the honors and distinctions of all the foreign armies with which you have so eminently served, i felt comparatively satisfied, under the impression that, in your case, the nature of the principle adopted would be apparent to yourself and your friends. from the emperor alexander. (translated copy.) general wilson,-at the moment when a new destiuation requires you to leave those armies where i have so often had the opportunity to witness in person, and to render justice to your zeal and distinguished valour, i am desirous of giving you a further proof of my satisfaction, by decorating you with the accompanying insignia of my order of st. anne of the first class. the brave men with whom you have so often fought will regret your absence. for my own part i shall never cease to remember your courage and indefatigable exertions, and shall witness with pleasure (should circumstances permit it) your return among your old fellow soldiers. alexander. (signed) presburg, 24th dec. 1813. (5th jan. 1814.) (copy.) langres, feb. 2, 1814. sir,-you will perceive by the inclosed letter that his royal highness the prince regent has been graciously pleased to permit you to accept and wear the commander's cross of the order of maria theresa, conferred on you by his imperial majesty. i experience great satisfaction in conveying to you the knowledge of this permission; the honor, rare and valuable as it is, you have nobly merited; and although it is not easy to possess a title to any higher distinction, yet i feel confident that it will not be long before i have to acknowledge, in common with all who are acquainted with the real nature of your services, the justice of your claims even to additional honor and reward. i am, with great truth, sir, your most obedient humble servant, (signed) aberdeen. to major-general sir robert wilson, k.m.t. &c. &c. letter from prince metternich. (translated copy.) generál,-i experience the greatest pleasure in being authorised to acquaint you that his majesty the emperor, desirous of giving you an especial proof of the esteem with which you have inspired him, as well by your military services, as by your upright conduct during your residence at his head-quarters (your departure from which his imperial majesty contemplates with regret), has been pleased to confer upon you the cross of a commander of his order of maria theresa. required by my situation as chancellor of this order, i transmit to you his insignia of it, i at the same time congratulate myself in having the opportunity to repeat the warning voice. 91 those expressions of friendship and attachment which i have so long entertained for you; which are fully participated in by the army that has so often witnessed your brilliant behaviour, and not less so by such of my countrymen as have had the means of appreciating duly the qualities of your heart. receive, my dear general, the assurances of my great and inviolable regard. prince metternich. fribourg, 4th jan, 1814. dismissal of sir robert wilson. sir r. wilson addressed the house of commons, and commenced by saying that were the object of the motion he was about to submit limited to matters of a private nature, or only personal to himself, deeply as he felt the outrage committed upon him, still he would not break silence; but knowing this question involved others of the utmost importance to the public, he should render himself subject to the reproach of dereliction of his duty, were he to remain silent. fully impressed with the arduous nature of that duty, still he felt that the happiest moment of his life, when he could, in the face of his adversaries and of all europe, redeem those pledges he had given to his constituents and the country at large. circumstanced circumstanced as he was, he felt it unnecessary to claim the attention or indulgence of a british house of commons. on giving notice of the motion, he had asked the noble marquis, was it the intention of his majesty's ministers to oppose the production of the papers connected with lis (sir r. w.'s) removal from the army. he had flattered himself the noble marquis would have abandoned that silence which he must call unjust, ungenerous, and unmanly; and that every facility would have been afforded him to trace to their source the causes of that measure under which he had suffered. he had flattered and consoled himself under the various reports by which his character had been assailed, that immediately on the opening of parliament the grounds of his dismissal would have been brought forward and openly stated. he had thought that the recent expressions of a noble baron in the other house (we believe lord eldon) would have been attended to. that noble person's words on the occasion he alluded to were--" god forbid that i should live to see the day when any arraigned individual should be kept in ignorance of the charge imputed to him, or that his majesty's government should be capable of suppressing evidence necessary for the exculpation or justification of that individual." (hear, hear.) was this england, when by ex-parte evidence a man was condemned and punished without the possibility of appeal or redress? he did not mean to (question the right of the crown to dismiss its servants, but he reserved to himself the right of showing on a future occasion, that this exercise of that right was a violation of the constitution, and a departure from military law. he would prove that it was incompatible with the rights of officers, and the safety of englishmen. were the prerogative to be thus exercised, its effect would be to disqualify military officers from sitting in that house. what officer could honestly discharge his duty to his constituents with the fear of dismissal from the army hanging over his head? it was a power that ought never to be used arbitrarily, to the destruction of the individual and to the prejudice of the public welfare. the question he was propounding could not be considered as trenching upon the royal prerogative. there was a time when that was a practice in england which was now sought to be established in many other countries of europe. when the maxim was received and acted upon that it was equally blasphemous and atheistical to say that the king could do wrong as that the divine revelations contained in the scriptures were untrue"e deo rex rege lex"-when lawyers and even judges on the bench could be found to declare that for questioning the royal prerogative a man ought to be hanged up, it was contended that because the king had the power to pardon he had also the power to punish. but the revolution of 1688 taught a different lesson. the constitution then established declared that the prerogative cannot be stretched in this country to the power of doing wrong. the king's prerogative was a power that must be executed for the public good.before entering into any observations on the conduct of his majesty's ministers, he begged the house first to consider the peculiar character and circumstances of the individual who had been treated in this manner. that individual was an officer of twenty-nine years standing; an officer who, even though it were not in his power to produce proof of meritorious service with respect to his own country, had still received from the government of another, such testimonials as entitled him to some consideration in that profession to which he had the honor of belonging-an officer whose exertions, for many years, were directed to the support of liberty in every country where he thought those exertions could be of any service-an officer who was also a member of parliament, and who, in that capacity, conscientiously opposed his majesty's ministers, from a firm conviction that the line of policy they pursued was destructive of public happiness, injurious to the best interests of the state, and calculated to introduce a violent system of government-from a conviction that they were equally enemies to the liberties of their own country and to the general liberties of mankind. had this officer no complaint to make on account of the manner of his removal? was there not fair grounds for inferringwas it rather not perfectly evident-that his majesty's ministers had been induced to give such advice to their sovereign from some morbid resentment, or for the indulgence of some violent party feeling? if such were not the case, for what reason was it that he had been thus, without trial or inquiry, deprived of his rank, and the property he had vested in his commissions thus confiscated. upon this subject a mistake had gone abroad which he was desirous to remove. it was supposed that he had not lost the property thus vested. to make this matter clear, it would be sufficient to read an extract from the regulations made by the commanderin-chief, in 1813, with respect to major-generals being lieut.-colonels of cavalry regiments. by those regulations it was provided, that to render the commanding officers of cavalry regiments, who were general officers, more efficient, they should be allowed to retire on the full y the warning voice. pay of lieutenant-colonels, or to sell (here sir r wilson read the extract) out on the full pay at a regulated price. why then, he would ask, was this officer cashiered? why was a punishment inflicted upon him, which, in the military code was considered next in gradation to that of death? his circumstances were not unknown. they who thus deprived him of a great part of the resources which alone he possessed, were no strangers to his situation. they were well aware that he could not be deprived of such a portion of the income he possessed without great inconvenience to himself and his family. was he not warranted to conclude that it was done with a hope of obliging him to resign his seat in parliament, and to take refuge in some foreign country? there was one circumstance he could not help noticing-a circumstance which he thought would appeal strongly to the sympathy as well as to the justice of the house.-it was notorious that more than one member of his family had been afflicted with one of the most serious of all human calamities, and were suffering under it at the time his majesty's ministers thought proper to advise the crown to deprive him of his commission. when such a thing was done under such circumstances, the natural inference to be drawn was,that such punishment would never have been inflicted without trial or inquiry, unless there had been a degree of guilt which it was mercy towards the individual to conceal. he knew a number of officers in france who every where said, that his removal without trial would never have taken place were it not from a conviction that trial, if gone into, would have been the means of entailing on his family greater pain, greater suffering, greater calamity. hardly a day passed in which, for a considerable time, he was not made the subject of attack in some of the public prints-libels were poured upon him from various quarters-and it was inferred, in no obscure language, but in plain and direct terms, that he had been deprived of his commission for no other reason than because he had previously so much degraded himself as to be rendered totally unworthy of it. was this a situation to which an officer ought to be reduced, without proof or inquiry, without any charge made, of course without any opportunity of defence? was it a situation in which any man ought to be placed, under a government possessing the smallest claim to liberty, or to common justice?-would ministers deprive him who served his country for so many years who fought for her in so many battleswould they refuse him that justice, not denied even to the most humble individual, that of knowing the crime with which he was charged, the grounds on which he was punished, and the evidence on which that punishment was founded? if ministers refused him this justice, he would appeal to the house for it; as legislators, as members of a free country, as men, as gentlemen, he called upon them to do by him as they would wish their children to be done by. if innocent, he had a right to be tried: if guilty, the house, the country, the army, had a right to know the nature of the offence with which he was charged-(hear)-that it might serve as an admonition in future. what was the object of punishment, but example? and where was the example here? how could it possibly serve in the way of example, when the nature of the offence was so studiously concealed? this was not justice. it was a little in the spirit of justice as the mysterious proceedings of the inquisition itself, where punishment was inflicted without trial or inquiry, without bringing the accused in the presence of his accusers. (hear, hear.)-even the turk himself, when he condemned the unfortunate object of suspicion to the bow-string, did not conceal the nature of the charge for which it was applied. the crime was published by a label affixed to the breast of the condemned, and was he to be deprived even of this semblance of justice? to be condemned and punished without even a mockery of trial? such proceedings had a direct tendency to introduce a military government, for if the power of punishing in this manner was to be added to the power of promotion, vested in the crown, it would reach such an influence as must render nugatory all the institutions of their ancestors. he did every thing in his power to avoid making this appeal to the house; he applied to the government for a copy of the charges and proceedings against him, to the secretary for the home department, to the office of commander in chief, but all to no purpose. he was going to enter upon the circumstances of the case, and he was fully and painfully aware of the difficulties he had to contend with; for he was going to grapple, not with the charges, for he did not know of any, but with mere shadows. the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, it was his duty to lay before the house; and this he would do with all its details. there were some member in the house who were acquainted with many of the circumstances he should have occasion to mention, and whom, therefore, if he should be wrong, he begged to correct him. on his honor, he would describe every circumstance that occurred with truth, and in all its details. it would be necessary for him to ge back a few days previous to the 14th of august, the day on which her majesty's funeral took place, for with the events of that day his dismissal from the army was connected. it was on the 9th of august, whilst at the house of count orloff, in paris, that he was informed by sir charles stewart, at midnight, that a telegraphic despatch had arrived announcing the death of the queen. this circumstance he mentioned, as a report had gone abroad that he received the news while sitting in company with thirty french officers, and used such language as excited their indignation. he might appeal to the british ambassador for the correctness of what he here stated, who would be able to contradict him if the fact was not as he represented it. upon receiving this inteligence, he determined immediately to return to england, and the member for coventry, who was in paris at that time, agreed to leave it in company with him on the 11th. that hon. gentleman (mr. ellice, we believe) could assure the house that they were both ignorant of any other circumstance connected with her majesty's decease, except it took place on the 9th. they travelled all night, and at the second post from boulogne met a french courier, from whom they learned that her majesty had given orders to have her remains conveyed to brunswick. on the 12th he was informed that the funeral was to take place on the 14th and wrote to the member for ilchester (dr. lushingthe warning voice. 93 ton) informing him of his journey, stating that he came for the purpose of paying the last tribute of respect to the queen, and that he was ready to place himself for that purpose at the disposal of her executors, who, he supposed were entrusted with the arrangement of the ceremony. he then sent a letter to his son who had been equery to her majesty, inquiring what arrangements had been made by the executors, and expressing a wish to have a seat in the mourning coaches, and to join in the procession. the answer was, that one of her majesty's carriages would be at cambridge house, and that he might proceed from thence to brandenburgh-house. he did not arrive in london before two o'clock on the 13th. he found the carriage was gone, and he therefore went to the house of mr. alderman wood, who told him he was going to set out for brandenburgh house himself, and would give him a seat in his carriage. the honorable member for coventry offered to accompany them, and to him he would appeal for a confirmation of this statement. he would appeal to him whether he did not express a desire to attend the funeral in one of the mourning coaches. alderman wood told him that it would not be permitted; and he therefore determined to avoid the pain of refusal. they then proceeded to they then proceeded to brandenburgh house, where he had not the slightest communication with any individual, except the members of her majesty's household, and the executors, who were occupied in the arrangements of the funeral. he mentioned this, as a report had gone abroad that plans were formed at hammersmith for the purpose of obstructing the procession, and that he was not ignorant of them. on leaving brandenburgh house, he saw the member for ilchester, who informed him, that if he went to the freemasons' tavern, he would meet the member for aberdeen, (mr. hume) who would inform him at what time the procession would begin to move. he went to the freemasons' tavern, where mr. hume had not arrived. the time he was absent was so very short, that his rapidity excited the surprise of his brother-inlaw, lieutenant general burrowes. he then proceeded to brookes's, to see the honorable member for winchelsea, and there dr. lushington and mr. wylde came also, some time after eleven o'clock up to that time no arrangement had taken place; they did not even know if the funeral was to take place next day. however, between five and six o'clock next morning, he proceeded to alderman wood's, and finding that he had gone, went on to brandenburgh-house, and on his way overtook the worthy alderman. it was necessary for him to state, that he was mounted on a little chesnut, handsome horse, of the worthy alderman's, and not on a tall, grey, thin one, as was stated in the information which he had reason to believe was laid before government. on the way he had no conversation with any one except alderman wood; there was not the least indication of any obstacle on the road. they remained at branden-ped burgh-house for some time, and during that period had no conversation with any one except the persons immediately employed about the funeral; indeed, they could not have any on account of the strictness with which the police officers kept every body from the door. at length, at the desire of dr. lushington, he and his hon. friend come down to be present at his (dr. l.'s) protest against the proceedings of the undertaker, and the demand made for the authority under which he acted.instead of an instrument signed by a secretary or under-secretary of state, he could show nothing but the programme of the funeral. however, the executors did not choose to resist the arrangements of the undertaker. he (sir robert) addressed himself to sir george naylor, who was there, he believed, in some heraldic character. he said to sir george, that he and some of his friends wishing, as much as in them lay, to testify their respect for the memory of her majesty, wished, if it were permitted, to ride by the side of the hearse. the answer was, that it was contrary to the rules, and that their proper station was behind the last mourning coach. this answer he conveyed to his friends; and accordingly they posted themselvs behind the last mourning coach. the procession advanced as far as half-way, near kensington church, where it remained above an hour. a man, who had apparently passed the line of procession, said that it was obstructed; he was immediately checked by the hon. member for shrewsbury. after about half an hour more, he and his honourable friends went on; some of the horsemen proposed to accompany them, but they would not permit them to be of the party. they went as far as the head of the procession, and there he posted himself near the blues, and got into conversation with an officer, whose countenance was familiar to him, but whose name (which he afterwards found to be captain bouverie) he did not then know. he asked this officer the question, if the procession was to pass through the city? the officer replied that he did not know-that he was commanding a guard of honor, and must be guided entirely by instructions: he observed, at the same time, that the people were doing very wrong in obstructing a baggage waggon, which had that morning come from windsor. he (sir robert) saw that the people were acting wrong, and accordingly, accompanied by his honorable friend, mr. hume, went up to the place, and, after a little remonstrance, they suffered the horses to be yoked, and the waggon to proceed. they then returned to their station in the procession, which now advanced towards knightsbridge, until they came to a part of the road which appeared to him to have a dead wall on one side. here a slight halt was made, and some one came up to him, and seeing he was wet, asked him to have some refreshment. the procession had not advanced far, when a gentleman came riding by, from the direction of hyde park corner, and stated that he was authorised by sir robert baker to state that the procession would go through the city. but, to their astonishment, they found on reaching hyde-park corner, that the procession turned up through the park. it proceeded rapidly through the park, until they reached stanhope-gate. he stophere, and in a little time saw an honorable member of the house, who commanded that day, riding down, and the instant suggestion was, that he was going back for more troops. the head of the procession having passed through cumberland-gate, it appeared to stop, and some confusion ensued. there was a rush of people, and he (sir r. wilson) saw at the 94 the warning voice. same time the guards cutting at the people, but was certain that it was no more than the flourishing of their swords. a second and a third rush took place. he then proceeded to the place, and by the time he arrived there the leading horses of the first coach had passed the gate, and the hearse surrounded with the blues. the guards were all in disorder and confusion, such as he was in the habit of seeing cavalry bodies in when suddenly repulsed in the field. he saw at once that the conduct of the guards, and their continued firing, only tended to break the peace. he addressed himself to one of the parties, and asked if they had orders to fire? they said they had not, but that they were exceedingly ill-treated by the populace. he then rode up to another party, who made him the same answer. he said to them "now that the attacks of the populace are over, now that they have ceased to throw stones, for god's sake have done!" one of the men said that the guards were firing only blank cartridges. but the fact was otherwise, as but too well proved. at the moment he was speaking to the man a shot was fired from behind him which grazed his cheek so nearly, that he put his hand to feel if any part of his face was injured. he immediatety turned round and saw three men in the act of re-loading their pistols. he addressed them, observing that this was most disgraceful, that they were soldiers of waterloo, and should not disgrace themselves; that they had had cannon-shots at their heads, and should not mind these paltry stones. this was all that passed. he was as cool at the time as he was at that moment-not an oath had escaped from his lips during the time, so help him god! at this time he saw a gentleman in coloured clothes, mounted on a dragoon horse, approach. whom he immediately took to be the magistrate. he said to him, "sir, you, as a magistrate ought to have been here; this is the place for the magistrate to be." the magistrate replied, "i have been occupied in removing the obstructions to the progress of the funeral, and that was my place." he (sir robert wilson) observed that he (the magistrate) must have been aware of the disorders which had just taken place at that spot, and how necessary was his presence in order to check them. the magistrate, in answer, made a remark, which he (sir robert wilson) would much rather hear repeated by that gentleman at the bar, in fact as he would not wish to become the accuser of any person, he would rather decline repeating that remark at present. (cries of" state it.")-at that moment he saw an officer come up, who he believed was the commanding officer, whose name he afterwards discovered was major oakes, to whom he (sir r. w.) communicated what took place. this gentleman said he gave no orders to fire, and distinctly declared that he was sorry the firing had taken place. he (sir robert) then presented the magistrate to major oakes, who received him with the usual courtesies and acknowledgments. he repeated to them the propriety of their remaining near each other, and how beneficial it would be if they kept constantly near the men. he ought to say, that the men generally felt the rebuke, and said let us give up and form. there was at this time' a considerable pause. he then represented to major oakes that the guards had * -made themselves so obnoxious to the people, that so long as they accompanied the procession there could be no expectation of tranquility. he (major oakes) observed, that he and his men had now done the duty appointed for them, and that it would be no longer necessary for them to stay, and he would go to the commanding officer for further orders. seeing that the guards were to be drawn off, he (sir robert) suggested to major oakes that it would be proper for him, in order to the safety of the soldiers and the preservation of the peace, to order the men to advance before the procession, and take the part turning to the right. he agreed in the propriety of this suggestion. on turning the corner one of the soldiers was violently struck with a stone, and he (sir robert) must say, that he never saw a man behave with more temper and forbearance than the soldier. in fact, up to this time, there was nothing like that alarming throwing of stones which would justify the guards in having recourse to their loaded pistols. the procession having advanced a little, an officer, with his men, came up with an order from lord liperpool. he (sir r.) said to him, as he had only six men, it might be improper for him to remain with the procession, and in consequence he did withdraw. after this some confusion ensued in consequence of one of the horses becoming entangled in the traces, and some of the people, taking advantage of the disorder, attempted to impede the procession. but this attempt he (sir r.) laboured, and successfully, to prevent. he then returned to his station in the procession, after having conversed with sir robert baker, who entirely agreed with him upon the propriety of what had been done, and never left that station until the procession arrived at ilford. he then returned to town, and could solemnly say that he took no refreshment except at his own house. this he was the more anxious to impress on the house, as he was given to understand that government were in possession of information, in which it was stated that he (sir robert) had dined with a certain gentleman, and after dinner had given a most vulgar, if not a treasonable toast. he went next day to colchester, and there he attended the remains in the capacity of a mourner. next morning he proceeded with the funeral to harwich in the same carriage with the member of ilchester. at first he paid no attention to the rumours which were in circulation against him; but on finding them repeated, he determined on going to lord harrington, the com mander of the regiment-(a nobleman whose friendship he had the honor of sharing for many years)-but he discovered on calling, that he (lord h.) was not in town; however he (sir robert wilson) then saw his son, and requested him to convey to his noble father, the circumstances which he then disclosed to him. threats and menaces were then held out against him of dismissal at one time--of a court martial at another insomuch that he took the advice of his friends as to the propriety of his making out a statement of the whole transactions as they occurred. their advice was, that no such statement could, with propriety, emanate from him, especially as two coroner's inquests were then sitting, and his own indisposition to become a volunteer evidence, or any party whatever to the then proceedings. on the 27th august, the commander in chief being at the warning voice. 95 brighton, he saw sir herbert taylor, and told him he | the answer, however, to that communication was, (sir r.) could not go to brighton without exciting some "that no further step could be taken." thus, without attention, and therefore informed sir h. that, as defaany circumstantial evidence against him, no opportumatory reports were in circulation which might make an nity was afforded for his justification; in fact, it was unfavorable impression on his royal highness, he was manifest that his original condemnation would at all quite ready to meet them, adding, at the same time, that hazards be maintained. still he hoped for justice from as he had left two of his children unsettled at paris, he his majesty, and applied to lord sidmouth. he stated should go there; and if he did not hear from his royal to his lordship, that he (sir r. w.) heard information highness shortly after, he should consider the matter as was given of his having attended a private meeting, at requiring no further notice. on the occasion of that which the obstructions were planned; at the same time visit, a minute was made of what general taylor said, requesting a copy of such information, in order to the purport of which was, that as no official communicabring the party to trial for perjury. to that demand tion had been made to him on the subject, he must decline the noble lord replied, that he was not the proper any further interference. from the 27th august to channel of such a communication. he then went to the 5th september, he received no communication, and sir r. birnie, and after repeated correspondence, that he immediately returned to paris. on the 19th sept. charge was declared to be false before the first meeting he received a note from the english ambassador, of magistrates, which took place at hammersmith. lord stewart, informing him that he (lord s.) had (cries of hear.) he had next ascertained that a depohad a communication from his majesty's ministers sition was given to government, alleging that he, with which he wished to impart to him. the next morning a pewter pot in his hand, gave orders for impeding the he waited on the ambassador, having learned in the queen's funeral: but lord sidmouth also declined interim that his dismissal had already appeared in the giving him a copy of that document. such a conduct courier english paper. on the 20th, in the morning, might be very cousistent with the rules of office, but it he called on the ambassador, who gave him a letter must prove extremely painful and severe to individuals from the commander-in-chief, which ran thus"sir, to have such depositions lodged at a public office to i am commanded by his majesty to acquaint you, that his their prejudice, and not to be able to procure a copy majesty has no further occasion for your services." thus, of them. he now came to the correspondence between in two lines, was his character stigmatised, his property himself and major oakes the gallant general here read plundered,―(cries of hear,)-his hopes of further a copy of his letter to the major, the purport of which was promotion blasted, and his reputation, as far as it a request, to contradict the statement which appeared could be, attempted to be stained. this, to be sure, he in some of the papers of the 20th august-detailing regarded only as an official letter, and not as one which what had passed between them, and stating the call he conveyed the generous feelings of his royal highness. made for an inquiry into his (sir r. w's) conduct. the and he took this opportunity of publicly stating his three substantial points of his letter were—first, the thanks to that royal personage, for the many, many admission of the major, that he gave the soldiers no acts of kindness which he experienced at his hands. orders to fire; secondly the introduction of a magis(hear, hear.) in answer to that letter, he stated that trate to him; and thirdly, his suggestion of that flank he had purchased his commissions, that he only wished movement which was aftewards made by the major. for a trial, and should remain in france until he could the reply of the major was, his disinclination to be the receive an answer through the regular military chanorgan of any such public communication-that if he nels. on the 24th of september he wrote to major noticed one erroneous rumour, he must notice all, or oakes, in consequence of an erroneous statement in that his silence would be construed into an admission of some of the papers, which appeared to have the sanction their truth-he (major oakes) generally declared his of that gentleman's name. rather, however, than now ignorance as to the points enumerated, but expressly read that communication, he should proceed with the admitted that "he gave no orders to fire," that he correspondence which took place between him, the retired by the flank movement suggested by him (sir commander-in chief, and the secretary of state for r. wilson), that he introduced the magistrate, saying, the home department. on the 25th of september he "here is the officer," and concluded by the denial of received a communication from the commander-in-expressing any regret on the occasion of the firing, but chief, in which he was informed, "that his majesty did that only as far as his recollection went. the letter of not think proper to comply with his (sir robert major oakes was perfectly satisfactory to him (sir r. wilson's) request." immediately after the receipt of wilson) and having ascertained that mr. white was the that letter he set out for england, where he arrived on magistrate whom he had so introduced, he wrote him a the 7th of october. still desirous of obtaining justice letter, in which he begged him to state, if "in one from his royal highness and the military authorities, intercourse i did not express my best wishes to he made another communication to his royal highness preserve tranquillity and respect for the laws, and if the commander-in-chief, stating how impossible it must there was any thing in my conduct which was not be to defend himself against secret charges; denying strictly in unison with that wish?" so far he (sir r. the reports in circulation. against him-his liability to w.) had done every thing to challenge a denial of his be tried by a court-martial before his dismissal and his statement. mr. white, in his reply, declined saying, voluntary submission to a military tribunal, as in the any thing, unless necessity obliged him to do so. case of lord george sackville and others, who, on (loud cries of hear.) not satisfied with such an consenting to be so tried, were allowed to abide its result. answer, he wrote the magistrate another letter, comz 96 the warning, voice. 1 4 า plaining of his silence and now, though mr. white was so reluctant of saying any thing, he (sir r. w.) challenged him to appear in any court, civil or military aye, at the bar of that house-(hear, hear,)-and contradict, if he could, what he had now asserted. he heard that mr. white was a man of sense: -a man of character a man of strong religious feelings, and he would ask him, fearlessly, if the restoration of peace on that day was not due to his (sir robert wilson's) exertions? (cries of hear, hear.) if mr. white had either the feelings of a man or of a gentleman, he now dared him to deny the facts. prepared as he was to prove these facts, he asked what was his offence? was it a crime to attend the funeral, of the queen, and pay the last tribute of respect to her remains? was it an offence to pay respect to the wishes of his constituents, to act consistently with his own feelings? if he had shrunk from doing so, he would be that which he trusted he was not one of the basest men alive. if that were not his offence, was it the prevention of the shedding blood? (hear, hear.) was it because he stopped the progress of those intemperate proceedings which would be equally fatal to the soldiers and the people? that his whole object was the maintenance of peace and the support of the law was proved by his correspondence with major oakes; while it was notorious that to his interference the procession was allowed to go the proposed route. was his offence the language he addressed to the soldiers? that language made no widows and no orphans,-(hear, hear, and he was sure the soldiers themselves would thank him for doing that from which, in other moments, their better feelings would have shrunk. he could appeal to the men who served under him-to those military and official characters with whom he had been for years engaged, whether in the whole course of his conduct he had not always consulted the comforts of the one, and attended strictly to the orders of the other. the law required all men to protect the public peace; they became accomplices in riot who did not check it; and would it be for him who fought so many battles, who was engaged in so many campaigns, to sit ignominiously on his horse, at the very scene of tumult, and make no effort when he could to protect the public peace? would the house, say there was such a distance, or rather such a collision, between the civil and military duty, as that a man who attempted to restore tranquillity should be punished as a criminal because he happened to be a register member of the army? (hear.) he called upon the house to shelter and protect him to prove their attachment to the crown, not by a blind, unconstitutional, or illegal subserviency, but by a disposition to maintain the just authority of the law. he called upon the house to interfere on the present occasion, and prove to the country, that there was not that indifference, that want of sympathy, between their representatives, and the people, which now caused that cry for reform throughout the land. he always felt a pride in wearing the british uniform, because it had been worn by so many brave men-but bravery was not a common virtue; and he felt a still greater pride in wearing it, because those who did so, were employed to protect the laws, and to be protected by them.-(shouts of hear, hear.)-he knew not how the vote of that night might possibly affect him-but this he knew, that he had an approving conscience-that he faithfully discharged his duty-and he was entitled to that redress which he now sought from a british house of commons.-(shouts of hear! followed at the conclusion of this speech.)the gallant general then moved, that there be laid before the house a copy of the correspondence which took place between the commander-in-chief, the secretary of state, and himself, in the months of september and october last, relative to his removal from the army. lord palmerston said, if there were one prerogative of the crown more indisputable than another, it was that of dismissing any officer without trial-without assigning any reasons for such dismissal-or without paying any regard to whether the commissions were or were not purchased. that prerogative was formed on the most uninterrupted usage,and had been the practice of all times-even of those times which the gentlemen opposite had often called the best.-there was one fact to which he could appeal in corroboration of this opinion; he meant the proceedings of both houses in parliament in the year 1734, when bills were tendered to both houses to restrict that prerogative, but which bills were almost unanimously rejected. no prerogative was more essential. without it would be impossible to preserve the discipline of the army, either as to its internal subordination, or the intercourse between the civil and the military powers. to maintain that officers should only be dismissed by officers, would be to create a fourth estate in the country; and once let the army be made independent of the crown, and they would soon be independent of the parliament.-(hear, hear!)-all their annals verified the fact in letters of blood, and such a doctrine brought a king to the scaffold, and turned the parliament out of doors. (hear, hear!). he admitted such a prerogative should only be exercised on the advice of responsible advisers; but, at the same time, he denied there was any abuse of it in the present instance. the hon. member (sir r.w.) had said, that he waa dismissed in consequence of his political conduct, and the fear entertained by government of so formidable an antagonist. and he (lord p.)could easily understand, that there were many liberal politicians who believed their adversaries capable of such meanness; but he could appeal to the general principles on which the government acted as the best refutation of such a charge. were there not now in the house persons who took as decided a line of politics as the hon. member? was there not in the house à gallant officer who represented some scotch burghs; and if the politics of gentlemen were thus stated to be the cause of their dismissal, would that gallant officer have received pay so long, or would the government have waited till august, 1821, to dismiss the honorable member himself? it was a direct insult to the sovereign, that an officer, decorated with orders, should have remained so long amongst a mob who were guilty of such illegal proceedings. (hear, hear, from the opposition.)-the statements of the hon. member committed him. he stated, that on his arrival at cumberland-gate, he saw the life guards in disorder, defending their lives against the attacks of a mob. and what did he do? that which, as an officer, he knew he ought not to door if the warning voice. 97 he knew it not, he were unfit to hold a commissionnamely, to give orders without being on duty, or acting under the directions of the civil power. (hear.)-the hon. gentleman must have been aware that his interference, taking the act merely as it appeared from his own account, was not such as was becoming the character of a british officer. the hon. gentleman had said, that he told the soldiers that their conduct was disgraceful. (hear, hear, and no, no, from the opposition.) (sir r. wilson said, that his expression was "you will disgrace yourselves if you continue firing.")-well, it was immaterial, for what right had the hon. member to take upon himself at that moment to judge of the conduct of the soldiers? the hon. member had admitted that he had not known whether any orders had been given or not, until he had addressed the officer.-(no, no, from the opposition.)-the very fact of his having put the question to the officer, proved that he could not know at the time whether orders had been given to the military or not. as a general officer he must have known that to interfere with an officer or soldier when in the discharge of orders, was a high breach of military discipline. he would say, therefore, that to grant the motion of the hon. member would be to interfere directly with the prerogative of the crown. there had not been shown, even in the hon. member's own statement, the least ground for presuming that that prerogative had, in the present instance, been improperly exercised; but there was a sufficient military reason for presuming that it had been properly exercised, and he hoped that the house would therefore feel disposed to negative the hon. member's proposition.. the trouble, might have found some anterior causes which would better have accounted for the catastrophe to which he had alluded. he might have found out, that one leading cause which brought that unfortunate monarch to the scaffold, was the severity with which he had exercised that prerogative, one branch of which the noble lord had just held out to the admiration of the house. but the noble lord had said, that his gallant friend had been in the same train with persons who had acted illegally. now the sole object of his gallant friend, at cumberland-gate, had been to pacify the irritated feelings of the soldiers. no man held personal danger in more contempt than his hon. friend, but he could properly appreciate his own safety; and when he felt a ball pass almost close to his face, it was natural for him to look round. he had done so, and had seen a soldier reloading his piece, and it was at that period that he had made the observation to the soldiers, that they would disgrace themselves if they continued to fire. in making that appeal he had not assumed the tone of a commander he had remonstrated merely in the capacity of a private individual. was there any man in that house who would not have acted so? nay, he would put it to the noble lord himself, whether he could have witnessed such a scene, and not have endeavoured to put a stop to it? it was the brightest praise of his hon. friend, that, amidst all the horrors of war, he had never suffered his humanity to lie dormant. it was melancholy that, the house of commons should now be called upon to discuss whether a gallant officer should be punished for having endeavoured to prevent the murder of his fellowsubjects. the noble lord had alluded to the cases of the duke of portland and lord cobham, in 1734, as a justification of the proceedings against his hon. friend, the protest which upon that occasion had been entered upon the journals of the house of lords proved that there were some lords at that day who questioned the propriety of allowing the crown the exercise of so important a prerogative. the grounds upon which the protest had been signed were, "because they considered that the power of removing military officers from their command, without assigning a canse for so doing, was a measure dangerous to the liberty of the subject; because the practice had become more frequent in proportion to the increase of military officers in both houses of parliament; because they conceived that by the adoption of this measure it would be in the power of the crown to prevent a military member of either house from entertaining a free opinion, and exercising an honest discretion."-this protest had been signed by 36 peers, and then, had followed the protest of the two lords themselves, which stated that they did not consider that the loss of their commissions had arisen from any breach of duty, much less from any want of affection towards his majesty's government. he felt certain that there was no gentleman present who, after hearing the statement of his gallant friend, could doubt that he was as guiltless of the charge of stimulating the populace to commit any outrage upon the soldiers as any man in that house. it was impossible that any man could doubt it, convinced as he must be, after hearing his gallant friend declare upon his honor, that he had had no connexion with the 里 ​"" 1 mr. lambton began in so low a tone that we could not distinctly hear his introductory observation. he had always felt indignant at the treatment which his gallant friend had received, and he certainly did not now feel that indignation altered by the tone and manner of the reply which had been made, and by the sneering remarks made by the noble lord, which he thought conferred little credit upon his own feelings, and augured ill of the defence which it was the intention of his majesty's ministers to make against the charges of his gallant friend. the noble lord had said a great deal respecting the antiquity of the prerogative, which he (mr. lambton) would, however, venture to deny. in the first place he would beg the noble lord to recollect, that in the ancient days of our history, a standing army had been perfectly unknown; and secondly, that it was only in the 13th and 14th of charles ii. that the parliament had authorised the power of the crown to dismiss officers at its pleasure; thereby proving that they had never imagined that such a prerogative was inherent. if an officer.committed any military offence, it was the rule of military discipline to try him by a court martial. if, therefore, his gallant friend had offended, let him be judged by the usual tribunal in such cases. the noble lord knew well that the cause of his gallant friend's dismissal had not been grounded upon any military offence, but simply because he had been present at the funeral of her late majesty. the noble lord had also said, that the power which the army had once assumed was written in letters of blood, and had formerly brought a monarch to the scaffold. but the noble lord, if he had given himself " " 98 the warning voice. multitude-that he had but just arrived from paris, and had had no share in the previous arrangements. he had, from the first expressed a conviction that his gallant friend would clear himself from any charge which might be brought against him. he was now prepared to say, that his gallant friend had not only cleared himself, but that the noble lord opposite had failed in producing any ground of accusation. the noble lord had contented himself with resting merely on the question of the royal prerogative. respecting the line of conduct pursued towards his gallant friend, he would say, that from first to last it had been a system of persecution. he now held in his hand the proof of a circumstance which showed how far that spirit of persecution would go. he must however, acknowledge, that he could not charge the instance to which he now alluded to the account of ministers, because he had reason to believe, that at least some of them had expressed ther disapprobation of it. having succeeded in ruining the prospects of his gallant friend, having deprived him of that commission which he had purchased, and to which he had as much right as any gentleman present to his freehold, his persecutors had attacked him in another quarter. soon after his dismission from the army, a letter had been received by a member of his family from the military college, at which one of his sons was placed, stating, that from the 3d of october, an additional sum would be expected for the maintenance of the boy, and that he would be entered on the books of the college as the son of a private gentleman, because his father was no longer an officer. this circumstance proved the endeavour which had been made to carry the sting of persecution even into the family of his gallant friend. upon the general question he should only say, that he considered the treatment of his hon. friend as a part of that system by which several gentlemen had recently been made to feel the power of government he might instance the dismissal of earl fitzwilliam, who had offended by his impartial conduct respecting a public meeting, as well as the dismissal of lord fife, whose only offence had been the vote which he had ventured to give for the repeal of the malt tax. these, and other instances of a similar nature, proved that it was the tendency of the system now followed to introduce a military government, and to make the vote of those who depended upon the crown subservient to the will of ministers. he should be glad to know if this system was to continue, what would become of that high minded feeling of independence which had hitherto been the proud and peculiar characteristic of the british army? were they to become the mere slaves of ministers-to stand ready to attend to their beck, and to have every sentiment dictated to them? wherever danger was to be braved, or difficulties overcome, his gallant friend had been found at his post; but whenever honors had been lavished at home, then his name had not been found. his services were well known, and they had been witnessed in all parts of the continent. he had always been, and was still, ready to exert all his energies in the service of his country--anxious alone for her service, and without any regard to personal ; consideration. sad mr. calvert agreed with the noble lord opposite that it was an undoubted prerogative of the crown to dismiss at pleasure any of its servants. but that prerogative might be exercised in an obnoxious manner, and it appeared to him that it had been so in the present instance. upon entering the house, he had felt a strong bias against the gallant general, but having listened to the statement which he had made, he should feel it his duty to give his vote in favor of the hon. gentleman what grounds might be assigned for the harsh treatment which had been administered he could not say but he supposed that the old adage would be verified" when you want to beat a dog, you may easily find a stick." sir isaac coffin lamented the situation in which the hon. member was placed. upon the whole, it appeared to him that, in the present instance, the prerogative of the crown had not been improperly or harshly exercised. sir r. fergusson.-whether he was to be the next victim or not he did not know; but he would tell the noble lord and his adherents, notwithstanding all the power which they possessed, that whilst he sat there he would give an independent vote. it was impossibles for the house not to say that he had been most grossly treated. upon the subject of prerogative it was not his intention to offer any remarks, but he did not know that that prerogative was not supposed to be exercised without the advice of ministers. lord palmerston explained. he had meant nosneer at the gallant general (sir ronald fergusson). he had merely mentioned his adherence to opposition as a proof that government was not in the habit of dismissing military men because they took that course. mr. g bennet had been a witness to most of the circumstances which had taken place respecting her majesty's funeral. he was one of the persons who had possessed sufficient soundness of discretion to remain in his coach, for he had from the beginning resolved that nothing should induce him to depart from the character of a mere witness. he could confirm the statement of his hon. friend in all the particulars which had fallen under his observation. granting, for argument sake, that the prerogative did exist, still it made the case no better, for the crown would not act without the advice of its ministers; and what his gallant friend wanted to know was, who were the advisers by whom the measure had been recommended. he thought that the house would come to a resolution not to refuse that information, when they considered the cruel injuries which his hon. friend had sustained. he was the more sanguine in this expectation, because it appeared that the noble lord, the only speaker that had yet condescended to rise on the other side, had not brought forward one single charge in vindication of the treatment which his gallant friend had received. he had the good fortune to be well acquainted with his hon. friend, and he would say, that if there was a person in england whose attachment to the profession of arms was perfectly romantic, and whose name was famous, both at home and abroad, for all those qualities which were calculated to make the profession distingushed and honorable, it was his gallant friend. he was sure that his friend could not go out of england without meeting, in every part, persons whom he had formerly led to victory, and the warning voice. 99 who were disposed to pay him that honor which he so well merited, and which he received every where at home. his hon. friend came before the house with all the rank and dignity which an honorable and successful service of twenty-nine years could confer. his belief was, that the offence committed by his gallant friend had consisted in his refusal to turn his back upon the cause of his queen. he believed also that he had committed another crime, in putting a stop to the shedding of blood. he was confirmed in that opinion by the treatment which sir r. baker had met with on account of his behaviour on that occasion. he was also confirmed in the opinion which he had given by the tone which had prevailed on this subject in what was called the upper class; for, from the expression of some sentiments which had met his ear, he was sure that an opportunity had been wanted to punish the people, and that because the chief police officer had removed that opportunity he had been dismissed. he would refer the house to a proceeding which had taken place when his royal highness the commander in chief of the army had unfortunately stood at their bar to answer charges which imputed to him misconduct in his public capacity. his royal highness had, on that occasion, addressed a letter to the speaker, desiring that he might not be condemned without a trial. mr. perceval had then said, that no person ought to suffer from a criminal charge, in life, or limb, or character, without having the charge against him delivered to him in writing, and without being heard in bis defence. he wished to obtain an application of that sentiment to the case of his hou. friend. not only had no charge in writing been delivered to him, but no ground of accusation had been laid before the house. the hon. member in conclusion said, that he thought he should be debasing the character of a gentleman if he did not lend every aid in his power to defend the prerogative of the crown, if indeed it had been encroached upon; and that he should equally abandon that character if he countenanced an unjust or an improper exercise of that prerogative. mr. hume was anxious to offer himself to the attention of the house on this question, as he accompanied his gallant friend on that day to which the motion referred. he witnessed the whole of his conduct on that occasion, not having been absent from him for ten minutes, and he could testify that the conduct of his hon. and gallant friend was, throughout the whole of the transaction, most correct. the noble lord (londonderry) had, instead of confining himself to the question before the house, gone into the subject of the queen's funeral, which, though it might have given rise to these transactions, had nothing to do with the decision of the motion upon which they were to decide. the noble lord had talked of prerogative. what was it? blackstone defined the prerogative of the crown thus-"prerogative is a discretionary power of acting for the public good where the positive laws were silent." the laws were not silent on this case. there were rules and regulations for the army which were supported by law. the army was, it was true, at the discretion of the king, but that discretion did not mean, the whim and caprice of his ministers.-(cries of hear.) the noble lord had stated, that his hon, and gallant friend but had no right to complain of the treatment which he had experienced, since there were at least two hundred cases in which the same exercise of prerogative had been made by the crown. to such a statement he (mr. hume) would take the liberty of replying, that supposing it to be true, the sooner such acts of tyranny were put an end to, the better would it be for the country and for the army. indeed, till some check was put upon this despotic practice, which the noble lord had declared to be so usual, the army would not be placed upon that footing of respectability on which it ought to be in a country boasting of a free constitution.-(hear.)-the noble marquis said that government had dismissed the honorable and gallant officer, not merely on account of his interference with the military, but also because they were anxious to give every protection to the lives and property of the people. why, it was that very anxiety which had led his hon. and gallant friend to act as he had acted upon the memorable day of her majesty's funeral; and strange to say, such was the monopolizing spirit of humanity which had seized upon his majesty's government that they publicly dismissed him for having been animated by the same feelings which they themselves professed to entertain. at the time the firing and the cries of murder first commenced, he was riding with sir r. wilson in the rear of the carriages. "as soon as i heard them," continued mr. hume," i turued round to sir robert wilson, and said, for god's sake, sir robert don't let us go there. "-(shouts of laughter from both sides of the house, with cries of hear.)-i see what conclusion i am to draw from those cheers, but i can assure the house that it will not prevent me from those cheers, but i can assure the house that it it will not prevent me from stating what occurred, or from doing what i conceive to be my duty. i foresaw the miscontruction which would be put on our conduct, if we approached the place were the firing was going on, and i was going to state it to my hon. and gallant friend, when his humanity, which other cowards dared not to practise (loud laughter again), hurried away to see whether he could not put a stop to the firing, and to the cries of murder.-(cheers.) the noble marquis has said, that those who had made themselves so busy on the day of the queen's funeral were a remnant of a pitiful faction, that was anxious to keep up the spirit which some time before that occurrence had unfortunately agitated the country. now he would ask the noble marquis, who and what it was that had given birth to that spirit which he was then so loud in condemning? was it not the ministers themselves (hear), by an act of oppression which was unparalleled in the history of the country, which had cast the foulest blot upon parliaments that was to be found in their annals, an act of oppression which was not even terminated by the death of her who. fell a victim to it? (cheers.) he would repeat the expression--the course of insult and oppression which ministers had pursued towards her late majesty, was continued even after her death. (cheers.) in her life they would never bestow upon her those marks of honor and attention which were, if not necessary, at least due, to the high rank and station which she occupied in the country; but on her death, as if in solemn mockery of her situation. they insulted her obsequies with the idle and a 2 100 the warning voice. unnecessary parade of a military escort.-(cheers.) the upon so powerful an adversary (hear.) he had heard. last persons to complain of the factious spirit which it it objected to the motion which he had to propose, that was said had agitated the country, were the wretched the subject would excite no interest in the house. he and heartless drivellers who had raised it. he trusted could not believe this assertion to be correct. he begged that the time would come, when they would meet the those who felt no interest in the subject to look at what condign punishment which they had merited by the their situation was. his majesty had told them, in his numerous acts of oppression which they had committed speech from the throne, that he had continued to retowards her late majesty; and he did not doubt but that ceive from all the powers his allies, assurances of their he should see them called to the bar of the house to earnest desire to maintain and cultivate the relations of answer for their conduct towards that illustrious indivifriendship. what was meant by the term allies? powers dual, as well as for their various other acts of enormity united by some common principle, and directing their towards the people, if ever there should be such a thing efforts to some common object. the principle on which as a reformed house of commons.-(cries of hear from the allies were united was subversive of the british the opposition, and loud laughter from the ministerial constitution; the principle on which spain was invaded benches.) gentlemen might smile, but many extraorwas subversive of british policy. indeed from the time dinary things had recently happened-some of which of louis xiv. to that of bonaparte, it was the favorite were not half so likely as the event to which he had policy of the british government to prevent the french alluded. (hear, hear.)-let that matter, however, be from taking root in spain. from the battle of blenas it might, of one point at least he was sure-that, here heim and villa-viciosa, to those of salamanca and or hereafter, heaven would punish them for their vittoria, the object of england was to prevent the oppressive conduct (cheers.)-the whole case of his establishment of french interest in the peninsula. no gallant friend and the ministry was now before the public,longer than ten years ago, some of the best blood of and, being so before it, he would leave the decision on england was shed in spain, and now the french were it to the country. his own opinion of it was well in possession of the fields in which those battles were known; instead of being shaken, it had been confirmed fought, and their flags waved on the battlements of by what he had that night heard: and he must say, that cadiz, badajoz, or st. sebastian, which we had spent unless the injustice which had been committed were our lives and treasure to win or to preserve. when redressed, there would be no single occurrence which every part of that great country was occupied by the could demonstrate so clearly as this absolute necessity french, who would say that this was a state of things of a reform in parliament.-(hear.) that did not deeply interest parliament and the nation? he should now proceed to state, first, how we had been brought to this state of things; secondly, the danger in which we were placed; and, thirdly, what remedies were to be found to avert those dangers. with respect to the manner in which we had fallen into these dangers, it was to be recollected, that after fighting for many years, with every change of success, but no variation of purpose, our adversary was subdued, the very elements seeming to favor the courage and perseverance of england. land. what was the result? a peace was concluded in 1814, renewed in 1815, and confirmed in 1818, resting on principles of policy new to the displomacy of this country, and on bases indeed new to the world. the ancient policy of england had been described by addison in lines of which the sense was better than the poetrythe p evacuation of spain march 19/h, 1824. lord john russel rose. before he said any thing in support of the motion with which he had to conclude, he thought it necessary to say, that his proposition was not intended to lay the foundation of any charge against his majesty's ministers on the policy they had pursued in respect to the contest in spain. his opinion certainly was, that if at the congress of verona they had assumed that language that had been employed in the message of the president of the united states, or even had spoken in relation to spain itself, as they had recently spoken as to the colonies of spain, that war would never have taken place; but certainly any time after the commencement of the last session, it would have been absurd to have embarked in the contest. this, however, was now rather matter for historical discussion than for any consideration of practical policy. what he wished to bring into discussion-what he wished to hear from his majesty's ministers was, what the policy of the country now is, that, by a clear pereeption of our condition, we should not fall again into difficulty in which we were lately involved, and in which, after a peace concluded amidst universal congratulations, and after a period of applause on one side and of silence on the other, it became a question whether or no we should plunge into a dangerous war, and were only deterred from it by the danger of hazarding an attack " tis britain's care to watch o'er europe's fate, to hold in balance each contending state, to threaten bold presumptuous kings with war, and answer each afflicted neighbour's prayer.” such was the commanding station which the poet assigned to this country; but how humble was the tone how humiliating the position which england had recently assumed in the politics of europe. instead of holding the balance between contending states, she had fallen from the lofty station which she once occupied that-instead of threatening bold presumptuous kings, she had meanly truckled to the holy alliance-instead of answering each afflicted neighbour's prayer, she had treated every prayer that had been preferred to her with scorn and contempt. the first consequence of this policy had been the alienation of all those hearts which she had won by her struggle against the despotism of napoleon, the warning voice. 101 and the dispersion of all those romantic ideas which might have been formed of the generosity of great britain. we had disappointed the hopes, and excited the indignation ofevery man who loved freedom and independence throughout europe. it could not escape the observation of those who were accustomed to attend to the affairs of europe, that an association of the great powers of europe, having separately distinct interests, but uniting for a common object, was peculiarly liable to abuse, and that when abuse grew out of such an association, it was peculiarly difficult to be corrected. such a system was peculiarly liable to abuse, because kings, like other corporations, were apt to consider their own interests in preference to the interests of mankind; and the abuse was peculiarly difficult to be corrected, because, while there was a natural remedy against any undue encroachment on the balance of power, which it was the interest of all the sovereigns to resist, there was none against an encroachment on the liberties of mankind, which they considered opposed to their own interests. in the year 1820, the allied monarchs issued a declaration, which had been admitted by the marquess of londonderry to to be opposed to the fundamental laws of these realms, and by the right honorable gentleman opposite (mr. canning) to strike at the root of the british constitution. in that document the revolution of spain was adverted to in the very first sentence, and the holy allies openly avowed that naples was only first attacked because she was most easily subdued. he mentioned this, because it would be recollected that a year and a half ago our ministers had no notion whatever that the question of the invasion of spain would be discussed at the congress of verona. he mentioned this to shew how liable ministers were to be deceived, and how steadily the holy allies pursued their favorite object of enslaving mankind, while those who were opposed to them were often asleep at their posts. he had already said that he did not mean to advert to the policy which this country had pursued in the late invasion of spain, but he wished to call the attention of the house to the professions and promises of france-professions which had been so deceitfully made, and promises which had been so scandalously violated. he begged to refer to a passage in the dispatch of sir charles stewart, in the month of february in the last year, where he states the sentiments of m. chateaubriand on a passage in the speech of the king of france. m. chateaubriand is there stated to have said, that whatever might be the interpretation attached to his majesty's expressions, by those who were determined to consider all measures recommended by his court as proofs of the desire of france to re-establish an absolue monarchy in spain, his excellency never could believe that the communications of the french government with the british cabinet could have been misunderstood to such a degree as to authorise such a supposition. now, he begged the house to compare this with the passage in the speech of the king of france, in which he declared, that it was the grossest calumny to suggest that the sanitary cordon was established for any other object than that of preserving the health of the nation (hear). let the house bear this in mind, in considering the value of the representations which have been lately made by the prince de polignac, with respect to south america. it was the policy of the french government never to hesitate a moment in making any promises or professions, and never to hesitate a moment in violating them, whenever it suited their purposes. in doing this, they did but follow the letter of the instructions which louis xiv. had teft to posterity. that monarch had declared, that treaties were to be interpreted, like compliments, as meaning a great deal less than they expressed, and that the more express and decisive the words of the engagement were, the more proper and excusable it was to violate it. the french, on entering spain, declared, that their sole object was to establish a constitution less democratical than that which was then established, but at the same time fully securing the constitutional liberties of the people of spain. it was important to take this point into consideration, if for no other purpose than because it furnished a key to the success of france in spain. passing from the conduct of france to that of the spaniards themselves, it might be observed, that in carrying a resolution into effect, there were two means of securing ultimate success. one was that adopted by the revolutionists of this country in 1688, and which consisted in conciliating all interests, in giving a just degree of power to all orders, and in consulting the feelings and opinions of all classes in the state; the other was that pursued by the french jacobins in 1793, which established an exclusively democratical constitution, and which persecuted, by massacres and proscriptions, all other orders of the state. it was the misfortune of spain to adopt neither of those plans. the spaniards adopted the opinion, that a democratical constitution, a constitution emanating from the people, was best calculated to secure the happiness of the community; but while strongly attached to democracy, they were naturally generous and humane; and while they established a form of government, which raised all the privileged classes against it, they were so far from imitating the massacres and proscriptions of the french jacobins, that they behaved with the utmost forbearance and kindness to their opponents, and even suffered those who were notoriously disaffected to the constitution, and endeavouring to destroy the independence of spain, to go unpunished and unmolested. the consequence of this was, that these two great bodies were ready to join in a combination against the liberties of spain-one consisting of the privileged classes, who were naturally opposed to a liberal order of things, and the other consisted of the lowest rabble and notorious violators of all law, who were encouraged by the monks to join the army of the faith. it was well ascertained, that mendicants and robbers of the worst description-men accustomed to plunder on the highways-that disorganised rabble which it was one of the bad effects of the ancient despotism of spain to have created, filled the ranks of the army of the faith. some men there were, indeed, who had behaved in a manner worthy of the cause of freedom; the virtues and eloquence of many of the constitutionalists-the patriotism of mina -the equity and moderation of alava, might almost redeem and purify the errors of less generous and consistent allies. what was the result of the professions 102 the warning voice. of the french government? did they establish a free did they establish a free | constitution in spain? did they give free institutions? had they established any thing like the french charter in that country? nothing like this took place. he begged the house to compare the conduct of the french with their professions. the duke of angouleme, on entering france, issued a proclamation, in which, after a great deal of the bombast, which is usually found in french productions, he declared, that the spanish flag alone should float in all their towns. we do not pretend, said the royal duke, either to impose laws on you, or to occupy your country.-we wish only to effect your deliverance, and as soon as you shall have obtained it, we will return to our country, happy to have preserved a generous people from the mischiefs produced by revolution, which we ourselves known too well how to appreciate. such were the professions of the duke of angouleme. he did not he did not mean to say anything against the moderation and liberality with which the duke of angouleme behaved in his progress through spain; but it could not be denied that that prince, either from want of firmness, or from want of power, had violated all the professions which had been made as to the gurantee of spanish independence, and had placed spain in a state of most degrading slavery. in all countries, some few men were to be found capable of advancing the march of intellect, and of deserving the admiration of posterity by the cultivation of science, of the arts, of all that can liberalise and enlighten the human mind. "quique sui nemores alios fecere merendo." true it was that such men were sufficiently discountenanced and depressed under the ancient despotism; but still they were not proscribed, because they might then cultivate the liberal arts in obscurity; they might seek knowledge in the pages of such heretics as locke, bacon, and montesquieu, without necessarily exposing themselvs to persecution. now, however, every one of these men became known; every one of these men became the object of persecution to the priests, and the rabble which they controled. he had been assured that in many places in spain, and especially in saragossa, many hundred persons had been made victims to the misguided fury of the rabble, and that the eyes of men had in some instances been torn out in the streets, because they wished for the independence and happiness of their country. such being the situation to which spain had been reduced, he now came to the question how far it affected the interests of great britain. he was aware it might be said that the acquisition of spain by france was of no importance to the interests of great britain, and that the holy alliance had not power, even if they had the wish, of continuing their career of aggression, so as to affect the independence of this country. in considering the weight due to such an opinion, he must say that it received no sanction from the policy which had been pursued by this country since the period of the revolution. the aggrandisement of france, pursued by the most unjustifiable means, might have been disregarded, or even made a matter of pecuniary compromise during the infamous reign of charles ii. but since the revolution the occupation of spain by a french force would never have been considered as a matter of indifference to this country. let the house look to the direction interest which france had in overturning the liberties of spain. if spain had been suffered to retain her free constitution, she would naturally, in the event of a war, have allied herself with this country; it was necessary for the purposes of french ambition to secure the french frontier on the side of spain, and to bring the cabinet of madrid under the dominion of the cabinet of paris. the holy alliance was opposed to all free institutions, and above all to the free constitution of this country, and to the free discussion by which that constitution was maintained if any illustration were wanted of the disposition of the holy allies with regard to this point, they had only to look to their treatment of switzerland. ever since the peace of paris that power had no doubt received the most friendly assurances on the part of the holy allies, duly conveyed by the proper ministers, yet switzerland had been treated in a manner perfectly unprecedented in the history of europe, and perfectly unjustifiable by any known international law. persons who had received regular passports to leave their country, and who had proceeded to switzerland, and had no sooner arrived there than that republic was peremptorily called upon by the holy allies to send them out of the country. if switzerland, which had been so noted for her independent spirit, and for her freedom of public discussion, and had consequently become an object of jealousy to the holy alliance, were thus treated, why, he would ask, was great britain differently treated? for what reason, but because the holy allies were conscious of our power. if the holy allies had the power to oppress us oppressed switzerland, they would not hesitate to as they had exert it. they were fully aware that free discussion in the free discussions of the british newspapers at geneva had not half the weight of parliament, and of the press of england. it was not surely the free diccussion on his (lord j. russell's) side of the house which they feared; it was not merely the fearless eloquence of the honorable member for westminster (sir f. burdett) which they dreaded; the speeches of the honorable member for yorkshire (mr. s. wortley) and of the right honorable secretary opposite (mr. canning), were considered by them to be quite as dangerous, and quite as favorable to the cause of revolution as any of the most vehement speeches in the cause of liberty which were uttered on his (lord j. russell's) side of the house. he would mention another instance which shewed how much the holy alliance were disposed to criticise free dicussion in this country. among the causes of war with spain, enumerated in one of the papers of montmorency or chateaubriand, it was alleged that france had been attacked by spain through the medium of english newspapers. this would, indeed, against england than against spain. with regard to the appear to be a much more justifiable ground of war danger to which this country was exposed from the hostility of the alliance, though he was far from being disposed to rate that danger too highly, he could not but think, that as long as ireland remained in her present distracted state, this kingdom could not be considered invulnerable. whatever the avowed disposition of the 1 the warning voice. 103 right honorable secretary opposite (mr. canning) might be to carry the catholic question, if he was unable or under existing circumstances. unwilling to give effect to his wishes, there was no permament security for this country. the irritated state of ireland was a constant source of danger and insecurity to this country. it was impossible that the people of ireland should feel a cordial interest in the security of the empire, when they saw one half of the cabinet persecuting, and the other half betraying them; when they beheld an administration going through the solemn mockery of urging their claims -agitating a question which they were unable to carry, and exciting hopes which they were unable to satisfy. let it not be supposed, that introducing this question, he was opening a weak point to the enemy; there was no one point which was more constantly inculcated by the organs of the present french government than that england was vulnerable through ireland. the prosperity of this country was an object of constant jealousy to the party which was aiming at establishing the ascendancy of the aristocracy in france-a party which was now uppermost in that country, and there was nothing at which that party aimed so much as the annihilation of the power-or of what was the source of our power, the constitution of this country. this being the case, the means by which those designs might be best opposed, were next to be considered. the first and most obvious means were to break the confederacy; this, however, appeared to him to be perfectly impracticable. in the first place let the policy of austria be considered. austria had for 60 years been governed by fear; she had feared frederic-she had feared napoleon, and she now feared russia. it was the constant policy of the cabinet of austria to impress upon russia the necessity of putting down revolution, since russia might herself be easily overwhelmed by a military revolution. austria, therefore, was pledged by what she considered her interest to all the objects of the holy alliance. france, from a similar dread of liberal institutions, had an equal interest in supporting the views of the holy alliance. the influence of the cabinet of russia in france was so notorious, that the french ministers were well known to have acted in many instances under the direction of the emperor of russia. a million and a half of troops were ready to take the field to carry into effect the views of the holy alliance. such a confederacy it would be impossible to break by embarking in a continental war. what was the line of defence, then, which sound policy pointed out to this country? every country had a line of defence adapted to its peculiar circumstances, and the natural defence of great britain was in her navy. it was obviously the intention of the holy alliance to extend the same system by which the liberties of old spain had been overturned, to the states of south america. they had professed, indeed, to have no such intention; but their professions, in this respect, were as little to be relied upon as the professions they had made in regard to spain. persons who had the best intelligence as to the intentions of the holy alliance with regard to south america were satisfied that they would send no forces to south america. the holy allies were aware that such a step would not be tamely witnessed by the united states, or by this country. they would not, indeed, send troops to south america; but they would send agents and incendiaries to that country. they would sow discontent among the people. they would promote civil war. they would engage brother against brother, and town against town; in the hope that, worn out by dissention, they would, at length, apply for the mediation of some european power, and be content to receive a legitimate prince for their sovereign; or, if this project should not succeed, that they would be involved in such a state of misery and distress as might effectually deter all other states from attempting to establish their independence. the plain way of resisting such an attempt would be for this country to declare, that as long as france holds a fortress in spain, no attempts should be made on the part of spain to reconquer her colonies, because spain, under such circumstances, cannot be considered sui juris. the right hon. gentleman opposite (mr. canning) had said, that spain herself had a just right to make any attempts in her power to regain. her colonies, but that this country would not suffer a third party to interfere. now, if spain were perfectly at liberty, there was nothing in the law of nations to prevent her from availing herself of the aid of a third party; on the other hand, if she were not sui juris-if she were under the control and dominion of france, the means which might be taken to reconquer her colonies, though ostensibly the efforts of spain, would in effect be the efforts of the holy alliance. he should have wishedthat his majesty's ministers should have gone a step further, and have, in the face of the world, declared that. great britain would not permit any succours to proceed from old spain across the ocean, for the subjugation of the south american states, while the armies of france remained in the peninsula [hear, hear?], let france withdraw her army and abandon spain, and then it will remain to be seen whether the latter possessed the remotest chance of recovering her dominion on the american continent. the powers constituting the holy alliance had so long deceived us, that none, in his opinion, could longer confide in their assurances but those who were willing to be deceived. the languageof this country ought to be, "we have been cheated by your professions, you have deceived us under false pretexts, and our conviction is, that your word is not to be depended upon." he knew there were honorable gentlemen so sensitive as to fear that any such avowal on the part of this country would lead to war. he must own that he was not disposed to believe in the probability of any such result. these powers were too busily engaged in recruiting their finances to allow any such apprehension to have effect; they were too anxious to restore, by the aid of british capital, their dilapidated resources. we might with the fullest effect, have made the most explicit declaration. but he did believe that in four or five years hence, when those financial embarrassments shall have disappeared, then great britain will, perhaps, have to contend against those very principles which have now been successful against spain. in the view he had taken of the question, he had not confined himself to any partial or narrow consideration of our own immediaite interests; he had argued as it effected the great and permament interests of the civilized world. the object of that despotic confederacy was to destroy every institution b 2 104 the warning voice. that lifted man up to a superior nature, and reduce him to the level of the brute. "conscientiam generis humani abolere arbitrabantur, impulsis insuper sapientiæ professoribus, atque omni bona arte in exilium actâ ne quid unquam honestum occurreret" [hear, hear, hear!]. every feeling due to our own interests, to our ancient glory, to the happiness of the world, called upon us to oppose such a system, and, by so doing, we should not fail to obtain, as we should deserve, the lasting gratitude of the posterity of all nations [hear, hear!]. the noble lord concluded with moving, "that there be laid before the house copies of all communications referring to the evacuation of spain by the french army." sir robert wilson expressed his solicitude to offer himself to the notice of the house on a question of the highest importance to the foreign policy of great britain, involving the dearest interests of ten millions of spaniards, and collaterally affecting the future happiness of several millions of the people of portugal. with that impression of its importance, he rose to support the noble lord (russel) differing, however, in some points, persuaded that the promulgation of such sentiments as those which fell from him, must prove of the greatest value, not alone to the people of spain, but to those of évery nation whose independence and liberties were compromised by the success of the unprincipled aggression of france. of that atrocious aggression, it was some consolation to think that no subject of a free country ventured to be a defender. even success which, in too many instances, was wont to extenuate crime, had, in this case only added horror and enormity to the original offence. it was impossible after the proofs the government of france had unequivocally given of its policy-after the avowed intentions of the holy alliance it was impos sible, he thought, that a british statesman could be found who did not view with jealousy and alarm the military bccupation of spain. for his part, he considered that occupation as a scandal to the character of great britian; and that at least the ministers of the crown were bound to afford to parliament the fullest explanation on a question so intimately connected with our dearest interests. the noble lord (russel) had justly observed that we should have declared broadly to the spanish government, that no interference would be allowed with south america, so long as the armies of france remained in the peninsula. it was an omission, which, if the correspondence laid on the table had supplied, would have made the conduct pursued by the british government on that part of the question, highly satisfactory. he regretted that omission the more, in consequence of information that he had heard within the last twenty-four hours. it had been communicated to him that the spanish government had proposed to send an ambassador to this country for the purpose of meeting the députies from the south american states, and entering with them into an arrangement, with the view of obtaining for old spain commercial preferences. if that information was well founded, he should consider such an arrangement prejudicial to british interests, unbecoming the character of our government to accede to, and most disreputable to the principles and policy of the south american governments. it was their duty to recollect that they were contending, not alone for their own interests, but that, in the issue of that great struggle, the liberties of the other states of the world were involved. for what commercial advantages did the spanish government propose to itself by such an arrangement? what, but the power to raise money, in order to be enabled to pay france for the continuance of its troops to subjugate its people? the inability to maintain that army from the want of resources on the part of the spanish government, though, perhaps, a slow, was likely to be an efficient remedy. but even that remedy would be prevented, if any such arrangement with the south american states was carried into effect upon the principle he had adverted to. if, on the contrary, it was made the basis of any arrangement that the armies of france should evacuate the peninsula, such an adjustment would be highly honorable. all that the people of spain demanded, was the power to regulate themselves. relieved from the overwhelming power of the french army, if the people of spain were deserving of liberal institutions, they would obtain them, or at all events it was most probable that the king would then feel himself under the necessity of fulfiiling his engagements to his subjects. for he could speak within the fullest authority-authority that needed only to be mentioned in that house, to be received with the credit that his distinguished reputation merited—he meant general alava--that king ferdinand, when under no restraint, gratuitously pledged himself to a general amnesty, avowing at the same time that he disclaimed all political proscription, any vindictive re-action, and above all, that it was his determination to uphold all the pecuniary engagements of the constitutional government. he went further, by declaring his readiness to accede to a representative system, if such should appear to be the wish of the people of spain. what then was the natural inference from such a statement? it was this, that the government of france alone prevented the spanish king from fulfilling his solemn and spontaneous pledges. he (sir r. wilson) felt it but justice to the right hon. gentleman, his majesty's secretary for foreign affairs, to declare that he believed no man more sincere in his hopes that spain would have been able successfully to resist the aggression of france. he gave him credit also for a desire to preserve that strict neutrality which he professed, whatever conduct other parties might have pursued. but in making those acknowledgments, he (sir robert) heard with regret the right honorable secretary assert, that the evacuation of spain by the armies of france, would be an event which, under existing circumstances, he should deplore, for the sake of humanity. no man would go further than he was inclined to restore peace and tranquillity to that distracted country; but he would never consent to purchase a temporary and partial benefit, at the sacrifice of the great, and permanent, and comprehensive interests, in which the happiness of the civilized world were involved (hear). as he stated before, it was the presence of the french army that prevented that general amnesty which the king of spain had promised, and which would to spain be the best guarantee of returning peace. in the alternations of human events, humanity was not always a pacific quality--it sometimes the warning voice. 105 ļ || assumed, and necessarily assumed, a belligerent character. to the people of spain we owed every measure of relief that their misfortunes needed, and that our power enabled us to afford we owed it to the acknowledged and ancient policy of this country, to recover that influence which had so long existed. spain free was the natural ally of great britain [hear, hear!]. spain enslaved could find no other connexion but in the arms of france [hear!]. he (sir r.) had given the right hon. secretary full credit for the sincerity of the intentions towards spain when the odious aggression of the french government was about to be carried into effect. he could not, however, extend his approval to the policy that was acted upon by his majesty's government at verona. he knew well that there existed, both in the aristocracy and in the commercial classes, a predominating opinion that no course ought to be taken which might possibly involve this country in war. some there were who felt indisposed to the spanish constitution, because they conceived it not calculated for permanence from the want of a second chamber. there was another, and he believed the prevailing party, who, though hostile to the aggression of the government of france, and not disinclined to inflict the punishment it deserved, yet were still apprehensive, that if great britan interposed, france would have been thrown into a revolutionary attitude and the safety of the bourbons endangered [hear, hear, hear!]. there was another course of policy which, happily for spain and for our own reputation, this country might have pursued at verona, and which he (sir robert) was prepared to prove would have been effectual. we might have protested without any menace against the principles on which the holy alliance had proposed to act, reserving to ourselves the right of subsequently taking that course which our own sense of duty indicated [hear, hear!] that course, he was prepared to contend, would have been effectual. and why? because if england had not avowed a determined neutrality-if she reserved to herself the power of taking any course of her interests warranted, after she had entered the protest against the principle, the holy alliance would have faultered [hear, hear, hear!]. they knew very well, that if great britain was disposed to prevent the realization of their views, there was scarcely an inhabitant of the many countries from the niemen to the adriatic, that would have rallied under its standard [hear, bear!]. the king of france was persuaded that he owed his throne to the prince regent; he was indebted also to his good pleasure for the continuance of it. but when once british neutrality was avowed, from that moment all their fears vanished -from that moment the despots of the continent felt themselves freed from every difficulty. then it was that france proceeded to combine in their attack upon the spanish people a maritime and a military co-operation then it was that blockading squadrons were sent against the ports of spain [hear, hear !],-that cadiz, barcelona, and alicant were shut up. he would put it to any lord of the admiralty in that house to say, whether if great britain had suspended her declaration of neutrality, a single frigate would have ventured out of any of the ports of france [hear, hear, hear!]; much less have commanded the gut of gibraltar, boarding every vessel, english or otherwise, that were pursuing their destination. the moment the word neutrality escaped the british ministry, then it was that the king of spain had determined to throw himself into the arms of france, and that the treasons of abisbal, morillo, and bollasteros, were generated. from that unfortunate moment also, dismay despondency, and despair, pervaded the government and armies of spain [hear, hear!]. he knew it had been said that the constitutional party of spain, consisted only of a small fractional part of the population.-for the sake of the argument he would grant it hypothetically yet it was to be recollected, that if it was that fractional part, it comprehended all that was enlightened, patriotic, intelligent, and amiable in spain. whatever were the faults of the constitutional government, and he did not appear there as its advocate in all its measures, yet their efforts proved that they possessed hearts which qualified them to preside over the institution of a free state. another objection was imputed to them on the score of religious intolerance. it was true that circumstances compelled them to declare an exclusive religion, yet there was not a man amongst them who was not persuaded that political freedom could not exist without religious toleration. it was this conviction that armed the church of france against the free institutions of spain-it was the aversion which that intolerant priesthood felt that gave birth and vigour to the religious crusade against.its independence. theocracy they determined was to be maintained in spain. for that purpose the unfortunate emperor of austria was induced to interfere for that purpose the emperor alexander, no matter what his own religious doctrine was, was impelled to dictate, because he knew that wherever the catholic religion was exclusively dominant, it was a most efficient instrument in shackling not alone the minds but the persons of its votaries [hear, hear!]. of its votaries [hear, hear!]. but he denied that the constitutional party was that fractional portion of the people of spain which some assumed. its history, from the beginning to the subversion of the constitution, proved that it was supported by a very considerable body of the spanish nation. it was maintained by an army of 10,000 men. it was assented to, because it was demanded by the people, by a reluctant king. when attacked by a foreign army, it occupied an army of 100,000 men for eight months to subvert it. but above all it required the intrigues of the confederated tyrants of europe, and ten millions of gold, to be expended before its institutions were destroyed. but if there remained a doubt of its strength, the very existing state of spain was the most unquestionable proof [hear,!]. if the constitutional party were that contemptible faction, how came it that france continued her armies, and that its despotic flag waved over every fortress of the peninsula [hear, hear!]. he was not one of those defenders of the spanish people who was prepared to state, that in their defence of their country they had entitled themselves to the admiration of mankind-or even that they had satisfied all the hopes that the character of the struggle had induced many to form. but he did feel that it was of importance that their reputation should not be undeservedly depreciated. it was to be borne in mind, that the spanish people, at the time of the french invasion, were not in a state of anarchy-that a 106 the warning voice. they were subjected to a government to which they had entrusted their protection. that the government on which they depended did not discharge its duty, he was prepared to admit. they had left the nation in a state of nakedness and impoverishment. they had unhappily provoked the nobility by making war on its privileges, and exasperated the church by a diminution of the tithes to one half. in making these charges he did not attribute to them any bad motive; but the effects were most unfortunate to spain. nay, they quarrelled with that very army which had established the success of the constitutional system. they did that to quiet the alarms of france-they did so, under the fallacious but honest hope of disarming the jealousy of the holy alliance. they acted, also, under that, in their case, mistaken impression, that a standing army was inimical to liberty (hear, hear). perhaps he could not give a better description of the feeling that actuated the spanish people, than by describing that spirit of which he was a witness, in the isle of cadiz, just previous to its surrender. that isle, comprehending a circumference of 25 miles, a position that would require a defence of 25,000 men, was defended against the besieged army of france and its blockading squadron, after the capture of the trocadero, by not more than 9,700. there was not a pallisade drove-not a chevaux de frise laid-not more than 15 dollars in the military chest, and scarcely five cannon fit for service; and yet on the day of the bombardment there was manifested not the slightest alarm amongst the population. men, women, and children evinced the greatest love of country, and exasperation against the unprincipled invaders. no aspersion was more unjust than to charge the spanish people with the want of firmness. they were capable of displaying the highest qualities, of feeling the most generous excitements, and of submitting to the most severe privations (hear, hear.) there was also another charge against them, which it certainly required an explanation to remove. he alluded to the deposition of king ferdinand at seville. taking that circumstance abstractedly, he was ready to admit that to depose a monarch for three days, and then restore him, looked very like an act of insanity. but he spoke with the high authority of general alava, when he assured the house that that very act which had called forth such sarcastic remarks, was the very salvation of the life of ferdinand. it was at the moment when the suspicion was generally felt of his intention to remove himself to the french army; and when under the increased irritation, it was the general conviction of every man of influence, that if any body of armed men presented themselves, it would be impossible to prevent a sanguinary act of vengeance. and yet that very measure, resorted to for the very purpose of saving his life, was made the uujustifiable pretext for proscription and exile. what confidence, then, he would ask, could be placed in the assurances of the government of france, which sanctioned and encouraged such acts of oppression and cruelty? what dependence should we repose in a government which basely denied its purposes, and refused every offer which this country had made of mediation? what claim for confidence could france have in this country when we recollected that he who commanded its army in spain, the duke of angouleme, by a violation of all those honorable feelings, the breach of which consigned the offender to the detestation of mankind-consigned, he would say, because he could have prevented it, the gallant, the patriotic, but unfortunate riego, to the scaffold (hear, hear hear.) it was to the personal courage of riego that the king himself owed his life; and, notwithstanding the pains taken to cast obloquy on the character of that great man, his name would live among those who had fallen in the cause of civilization and humanity; while the name of angouleme and the murderers of riego would be handed down to the latest posterity with execration (hear, hear). it had been said that riego was guilty of cruelty, but that was not the fact. if it was, the french would not have been slow to publish it; nor would the spanish government be remiss in selecting such instances as would place it beyond doubt; but the whole was a gross calumny, designed to misrepresent the character of a hero and a patriot. he hoped, that the right hon. gentleman (mr. canning), instead of crediting such stories, or permitting his mind to be influenced by such impressions, would remember the character which this country ought to hold, and adopt means for placing her in that station which she had a right to assume among the governments of europe. the object of that great confederacy could no longer be a secret; the house and the world must be aware, that it was to establish despotism in europe, and check the civilization and improvement of mankind—to establish a dominion over all states, ahd exercise that dominion to the injury and enslavement of the human species. he would now proceed to notice some points which, as they referred personally to himself, he could not approach without some feeling of anxiety. he had hitherto refrained from noticing the transactions of last year, in which he was himself concerned, not that he shrunk from the most open avowal of the conduct he had adopted; but because he was unwilling to force himself prematurely on the public attention. even the public wrongs and private calamities which he suffered, became tolerable, under the conscious rectitude of his motives. but now that this question was regularly before the house, he owed it to his own feelings, and to the feelings of those in any way conected with him, to state how the matter stood. when an attempt was made to misrepresent and to defame him, he considered that he was bound, standing as he did in that house, upon a perfectly equality with any other member, to repel the charge, to meet the calumny, and vindicate lis honor (hear, hear). for this purpose it would be necessary that he should make a short statement of his proceedings, calling, in the first instance, upon every hon. member to put his hand upon his heart, and say whether he would not feel pride, as well as regret, in resisting and exposing oppression, though he might regret the necessity of becoming the historian of his own achievements [hear, hear, hear!]. the insignia which he had reeived from the different governments of europe were conferred upon him, for services which they had repeatedly acknowledged. the first order with which the warning voice. 107 he was presented was the order of maria theresa. it was given him by the emperor of austria, as a reward for the part which he had taken in an enterprise, the brilliancy and success of which had perhaps never been excelled as a military achievement. on that occasion, the emperor of austria, having advanced with a small party, found himself with his little detachment in the presence of two divisions of the enemy, who cut him off from the main body. while in that situation advices came from general otto, that all was in danger of being. lost, if the emperor was not rescued immediately. the cavalry, with whom he (sir r. w.) was stationed, rushed forward to the charge, and the enemy's infantry, after a vain attempt at resistance, were overpowered. the great proof of the success of this operation was, that the emperor was rescued. the emperor ordered a medal to be struck shortly afterwards, which he gave, together with the order of maria theresa, to all the officers engaged, and he had the emperor's letter in his possession which accompanied the medal and the order. the letter requested that he would accept of both, as memorials of the approbation and lasting gratitude of his majesty. the next order was that of st. george of russia, which was conferred on him by the emperor in the field. upon the same occasion, the emperor took off a grand cross which he wore, and invested him with that order with his own hand, lord stewart being on the field at the time. subsequently, he had the good fortune to be the first person who mounted the parapet of a battery, in the presence of the emperor of austria. whilst breasting the battery, he happened to lose the order of maria theresa, and the emperor having understood the circumstance gave him the order again accompanied with repeated assurances of his favour and gratitude. the next order he received was the red eagle of prussia, and he was anxious to make an exception in favour of that monarch, to the observations which he might feel himself called upon to offer against others. again, at the battle of leipsic, when on the second day the prussian army was separated from the russian and austrian, he was concerned in dispossessing the french of an advantageous post, and the emperor was pleased to express his approbation again in the presence of lord aberdeen, the british ambassador; and to follow up his favours by giving him an advance of rank. at antwerp, too, the emperor and the grand duke constantine said something, which it was not necessary to repeat at present; but he would leave it to that house to say, whether he had done any thing to forfeit these distinctions in the estimation of any candid man. what was the amount of infamy of which he had been guilty, that could justify the proceedings adopted against him? was it for connecting himself with the cause of freedom-was it for wishing and endeavouring to defend the independence of nations-for advising and promoting, as far as he was able, union and concord between all partiesfor saving many families, and acting not as a friend to anarchy and encroachment, but at the express invitation of the king himself to undertake the command of the army? such were his crimes, and he would appeal with confidence to the house, the country, and the world, whether, though the allied sovereigns had taken the insignia from breast, they had succeeded in stamping shame upon his brow? [hear, hear, hear!]. with respect to the order conferred on him by the king of portugal, it was in consequence of the cruel and ungenerous treatment he had received that he determined to resign it himself. accordingly he did so, but he was astonished to see it stated in an english paper, some time after, that he had been deprived of the order, and the letter of the king of portugal reclaiming it as referred to, the letter being ante-dated two days, for the purpose of depriving the act of its voluntary appearance. he might appeal to a noble lord to confirm this statement, but he would not do so; his own declaration was enough. it was far from his wish to adopt any severity of language towards the sovereign of portugal, whom he considered as a man "more sinned against than sinning;" but unhappily his minister had persuaded him, in the case to which he alluded, to sign his name to a fallacy and a fraud. as to the seizure of his children by the mayor of calais, he would submit to the house whether it was not natural, that, as a father, he should feel the insult given to female children? france had done this, as a member of the confederacy, at the instant that the children were stepping on board. he understood that the defence made by the french government was, that they had received information of a design being set on foot to make the children the bearers of some secret correspondence. as the reason thus avowed implied that there was some secret correspondence going on, he thought it but right to assure them, that he was concerned in no correspondence which he was not willing to have published to the whole world. but the motive could not have been that which was stated. if it was merely to prevent the conveyance of papers, they might have done that by searching the children while they were in the hotel; but insult was the object; and as a proof that it was, he could inform the house that a female attendant upon his daughters was expressly excepted from the search to which they were exposed. it was one of the most unjust, abject, unmanly, and base transactions that ever was countenanced by a government. at the same time, if the french government had made the smallest apology for their conduct, he would be one of the last men in the country to allude to it in this public manner, and he thanked the right honorable gentleman (mr. canning) for the spirit and conduct with which he had acted on the occasion. on the question being put, and no person rising to speak, there was a short pause, and strangers were ordered to withdraw. before the gallery could be cleared, however, mr. secretary canning rose, and spoke to the following effect:--naturally, sir, i feel some surprise that the house should he called on to decide the question, before any reply has been offered to the motion of my honorable friend, particularly after the menaces and threats of bringing forward an effective proposition, to the support of which, one hapless motion has been sacrificed-and sacrificed so completely by all its promised supporters, as not to leave either ashes or bones, or any other memorial, of its unfortunate existence. there was no consideration and respect for the victim over the way (lord nugent) c 2 108 the warning voice. • who had been devoted on the altar of his country; nothing was to be done either in-doors or out of doors, because it was thought not prudent to break the effect of the impression now to be produced, by any diversion of the forces opposite, or any double motion (hear, particularly from lord j. russell). i was taught, sir, to expect a great debate, and is the motion of the noble lord to end where it now is, and the amendment of my honorable friend to pass without a struggle? i did not expect to see this disposition in the house, and did not suppose i should see this third motion of a series-not the last perhaps-to take away the recorded approbation of the house, settled and confirmed by the opinion of the country in favor of the government, treated in the same way as the two former. we all recollect, sir, that at this time last year, the honorable gentlemen opposite also were eager to bring the government to trial-the debate was brought on under the most sanguine hopes of victory, triumph after triumph was predicted-and after the day of battle never was there seen such a defeat. exitus ergo ille est. "hide, blushing glory, hide, pultowa's day." there does not exist, sir, in the whole records of parliament, so complete a defeat, even as to argument; search where you will, sir, you will never find a defeat one thousandth part so great as this, compared to the anticipation of success with which the contest was begun. sir, on that occasion the general course of policy pursued by the government received the approbation of this house. in this session it has been the object of the gentlemen opposite to do away the value of that approbation; motion after motion has been brought on-parts of the conduct had been fixed on to do away this approbation, without opposing the general vote of last session. the noble lord opposite brought forward his motion for certain papers, as an attack on part of the system, and he was left in the melancholy plight i have already described. to-night the noble lord opposite, selects another part, intending probably to suffer a similar disaster. if he meant in the beginning of his speech to state that it was not for the interest of this country that france should take possession of spain he stated only a self-evident proposition. it never has been, and bever will be, the true policy of this country to allow of any such possession. real proposition 'meant by the noble lord is this: when the house decided that it was not right to undertake the war, they must have contemplated the possible occurrence of spain being occupied by france. the question then, is, if under any circumstances, or any chance, the occupation of that country has taken place, is it not a correct supposition that the attack on spain was made for no other purpose? if the noble lord could make but this proposition, he might have some reason to call for the interference of the house. if this is not the case, he can only, as a general 'proposition, appeal to parliament to consider the conduct of france generally; and only on this general ground could he call on parliament to interfere. the motion of the noble lord ought to have been to address the king of france to withdraw his army from spain. this would have brought the question to a tangible shape. the noble lord's motion implies, and he sets out in his speech by stating that no confidence can be placed in the assurances of france, and then he asks the house to agree to a motion to get such assurances. if the assurances are worth nothing, why has then the noble lord sunk below his own opinion in moving for assurances which he seemed to think unworthy of belief? the question for the consideration of the house is, has the noble lord laid any parliamentary ground for the production of papers? as the case now stands, he presumes that there are such papers, and i will consent to argue the question with him either way, that there are such papers, and that there are not. 1 will suppose that there might be one, two or three assurances of france as to that occupation which has grown out of the war, and that these assurances actually look forward to the moment when that occupation shall cease. if they could be produced, would not the noble lord say he was afraid the house must look for something better than them as a security for the evacuation? suppose, then, no such assurances have been given, because none have been asked, how shall i defend myself? at the outset, sir, of this dispute between france and spain, it was stated, that we should preserve the character of neutrals under three conditions; the first was, that portugal should not be attacked; the third (to take them somewhat out of order) was, that there should be no attempt to interfere with the south american colonies; and the second of these conditions was, that spain should not be military occupied. then, sir, i say, it was clearly statedand man who is acquainted with the language of diplomacy will deny this-it was clearly stated what would be the consequence of any breach of these conditions. admitting, sir, that one of the conditions have been passed over; that it should turn out that the country and the government have been duped, and sat quiet and at ease, there will then be some reason to argue that the government has been duped and cheated in the others. but if of the three conditions two have been brought to issue, and we can judge of the results; if portugal has remained unattacked; if, in the documents laid on the table there is satisfactory evidence that the conduct of france has not violated the condition as to south america, i would ask, sir, seeing two of the conditions out of the three have been observed, what right the honorable gentleman can have to call on the government for a prompt decision as to the third? sir, might it not have happened three months ago, before the prospect of our affairs with south america was so far matured that the government could produce the papers whieh have been laid on the table, that we might then have taunted with two of the conditions of our neutrality not having been fulfilled and then our arguments would have been much weaker than they now are? but now, sir, i can appeal to the fulfilment of two out of three conditions, and i say that this gives me a right to call on the house to repose confidence in me, that the honor of the country will be carefully guarded as to the third condition; and i have a right, sir, to call on the house not to press forwards a premature discussion. i think this, sir, particularly, because facts prove and assurances prove that france has no disposition to occupy spain. i may the warning voice. 109 | be supposed, when i declare it, a very weak man, ready to be duped by every body, but i do declare, both as a minister and an individual, that i am satisfied france is most anxious to give up the occupation. i am more satisfied of this being the case than convinced of its propriety. if it were put into my hands to decide, i will not say that i should recommend to march the french army out of spain, the gallant general has asked, is france to remain in possession of spain till the liberal party and the constitution are restored? i say, in one sense, would to god she might; and, in another sense, god forbid, sir, she should. i say, sir, god forbid she should, because i look at the period to which the gallant general has alluded, as far distant; but i say, sir, i wish france may remain in the occupation of spain till that country is more restored to order. whatever there'is of peace in that torn and divided country,whatever there is of suspensiou of actual conflict, whatever there is of prevention of all the horrors of civil war, is all owing, sir, i am persuaded, to french influence, backed and supported by the french army. this does not do away the original sin of the invasion. i owe it, sir to france to say, though it will not repeat what i before said, that her original system was vicious; still, sir, i owe it her to say, that short of every other extreme but war, her eonduct has been good. i am bound, sir, as an honest man, to say that history does not tell of any army so extensive as that which france sent into spain-no, not even of an allied army passing through the country of friends, which inflicted so little evil on the country as the french army inflicted on spain. never, sir, in this world did an army inflict so little mischief and prevent so much. on this ground, sir, i think we may confide in the discretion of the french government to withdraw its army; and i believe i may say, that the period fixed for that evacuation is shorter than even the honorable gentleman opposite can reasonably, or even possibly hope. i do not think, sir, with some of the gentlemen opposite, that the disposition of the french foree in spain gives us any cause to fear. the honorable gentleman who spoke last on that side has given on this point a means of meeting the arguments of my opponents, which i was not before aware of. sir, it is to us of peculiar importance that the harbours and ports of spain should not be militarily occupied by france. but the honorable gentleman has stated that it requires 25,000 men to garrison cadiz, and not half this force-no, i believe, not a fourth of this force is at present there. if this place were to be occupied militarily, then a much larger force would be necessary. cadiz too was the root of that constitutional party which brought about the late revolution; it is a sort of rival eapital which it is necessary to occupy to prevent civil war, and to preserve peace. the oecupation of badajos has also been selected as a proof that the occupation of the country is to be permanent. but i can state, sir, on the authority of the most accomplished and consummate general of this age, that he should not consider it safe to occupy one of these places without occupying the other, and the occupation of badajos is necessary for the occupation of cadiz. 1 ask, now, if there is any thing in the conduct of the french which shews any disposition to over-rule and govern spain? • the charge which is now made against the french is, that the spanish government does this, and does that; the amnesty is granted, and the fanatical party is kept down. it is very singular, sir, and well worthy the attention of the house, that this party is now kept down by the french. they do not oppress and insult the liberals-the party against which they entered spain to make war, and destroy; but such changes have gone on, that those who were their enemies when they entered spain, now look on them as their protectors; they have changed situations, and the constitutionalists look to the french alists look to the french for protection, and the fanatical party wish them away. how long this may be so, it is impossible for any human foresight to predict. already, sir, a better system has begun to prevail in the government of spain, and when the time comes that it may be well safely left to itself, there will be no want of a disposition on the part of this government to enforce the observance of the third condition, and no want of will in france to withdraw her army, greatly, no doubt, to the satisfaction of the noble lord. in what i have said of france, which may appear too favorable to some gentlemen, i declare i have only done what i conceive to be justice. on the motion of the noble lord concerning our neutrality, i took no part in the debate. but i can now say, that the greatest impediment to our neutrality was thrown in the way by the greatest stricklers for neutrality. i will put the case, sir, of two heads of families disposed to agree with each other, and to preserve harmony between all the branches of their respective dependents; and i will suppose, sir, that some of these dependents are continually representing the conduet of one of the heads of these families; even while they are always praying for the preservation of harmony, as being outrageous, and violating all the known and approved laws of society; and i will ask, sir, if such conduct would not tend to disturb that harmony, and destroy that neutrality they pretend to wish preserved, and guarded with such anxious care: now, i would put it to the feelings of any man of honor, whether, if he found his professions of neutrality and good faith had been called in question, he would not be disposed to go a little further than he had originally intended, to prove his sincerity. i can assure the house, that amongst the various and conflicting interests which were involved in the late disturbances in spain, the difficulties which the british government has had to contend with have been most imperfectly estimated [hear, hear!]. no man in this house could have heard with more respect and sympathy than myself the speech of the honorable-i will call him my honorable and gallant friend; for although the forms of discussion exclude its exercise, i can have no wish to disavow the sentiments of kindness and regard i have always entertained for him [cheers]. but, without meaning to cast the slightest reflection upon my honorable and gallant friend, i must assure him, that amongst the many difficulties which the government has had to encounter, he individually was one of the greatest impediments to the observance of a striet neutrality. my honorable and gallant friend formed in himself no small breach of neutrality, but i can assure the house that the noble lord 110 the warning voice. opposite (lord nugent) was a most enormous breach, (roars of laughter). i well know how strangé it may appear in those times of modern liberty to direct the attention of the house to authorities which may be considered obsolete; but i should wish to read to the house an extract from the writings of an eminent writer on the law of nations; and in limine i wish to apprize them that it is not a bynkershock. it may be necessary that i should explain what i mean by a bynkershock. i remember that some few years back, a very important discussion took place in this house, upon which occasion my honorable and learned friend opposite (sir j. mackintosh) quoted, in support of the opinions he advocated, the authority of a name. (a more modern authority than that of vattel, which i inean to cite) and i recollect i was very anxious to discover whether the favorite author of my learned friend was speaking the sentiments of the states of holland, to which he was secretary, or was delivering his own abstract opinions. however, in some short time after, i laid my hands upon the work, and to my astonishment i found that they were merely the opinions of the writer, and that the practice of the states to which he was secretary, was quite the other way (hear, hear.) so that henceforward, whenever i find a man who lectures upon the policy of a state, and puts forward his own individual opinions instead of the laws of the country which he professes to expound, i think, i shall invariably call him a bynkershock (a laugh). now, sir, hear the opinions of that eminent jurist, vattel, to whom i have already alluded. he says, "as nature has given to men the right of using force, only when it becomes necessary for their defence, and the preservation of their rights, the inference is manifest, that since the establishment of political societies, a right so dangerous in its exercise no longer remains with private persons, except in those kind of rencontres where society cannot protect or defend them. in the bosom of society, public authority decides all the differences of the citizens, represses violence, and checks the insult of revenge. if a private person intends to prosecute his right against the subject of a foreign power, he may apply to the sovereign of his adversary, or to the magistrates invested with public authority; and if he is denied justice by them, he is to have recourse to his proper sovereign, who is obliged to protect him. it would be too dangerous to give every citizen the liberty of doing himself justice against foreigners, as every individual of a nation might involve it in a war. and how could peace be preserved between nations, if it was in the power of every man to disturb it? a right of so great inoment, the right of judging whether a nation has a real cause of complaint; whether its case allows of using force, and having recourse to arms; whether prudence admits, and whether the welfare of the state demands it: this right, i say, can only belong to the body of the nation, or to the sovereign, its representative" (hear, hear!). now, in other times, i should not have felt it necessary to support this opinion by reference to a thority; but it was satisfactory to be able to produce authority when the principle is disputed. here we have the sovereign on the one hand, and the body of the people on the other, pledged by parliament to the observance of a rigorous neutrality (hear, hear, hear.) i do not wish to introduce into the discussion any technical niceties of law, but i would just suppose ourselves placed in the situation of a foreign power which had received assurances of strict neutrality; and let us then consider what we should have felt under similar circumstances. there was france with an armed force in the spanish territories; a distinguished individual arrives upon the spanish shores, from a nation whose king had pledged himself to strict neutrality between the belligerent powers, which pledge was sanctioned by parliament. this individual arrives with sentiments of avowed hostility, and announces that he shortly expected to be joined by an army of 10,000 men. to be sure, sir, we all very well know that the 10,000 men were not likely to join their supposed leader; but let us only consider how such a proclamation must have been regarded by the foreign power (hear, hear.) i can assure the house, that his arrival at corunna materially altered the course of the war. just as the application of a plaster to the foot brings down the gout from its more elevated station, did the blister which my honorable and gallant friend applied to the french government on his arrival bring down the war to corunna (a laugh,) his high spirit of gallantry and prodigal expenditure of himself must always redound to his honor, in whatever cause it may be exercised; but it is the duty of governments to contemplate these events with a more serious eye; and if france did not remonstrate, it was the more incumbent upon us to shew that we were no party to any proceedings that bore even the resemblance of a violation of neutrality. it actually became necessary for the government to disclaim any such connexion, which, pro tanto was a humiliation to the government; but it was indispensably necessary, and yet, pro tanto, it rendered the situation of this country less commanding [hear, hear!]. and when the government was accused of not assuming a sufficiently high tone, i would say to our accusers, "do you take care that you leave us nothing to excuse [lond cheers]." nothing makes a man appear more small and contemptible, than to be extenuating in one breath and blustering in another [cheers]. now, i'll tell my honorable and galland friend the situation to which he reduced his government. i was certainly not called upon by france to make any disclaimer or disavowal of the proceedings in which he was engaged, but i felt it due to the honor and good faith of the nation at large, to avoid even a suspicion of violating the neutrality to which we were pledged [hear, hear!]. accordingly i wrote a dispatch to sir charles stuart, stating "you cannot disavow in too strong terms any participation on the part of the government in the proceedings of of[the right hon. gentleman omitted the name, and passed on to another sentence]. this disavowal you are authorized to make, not only on behalf of the government generally, but of every individual composing it." one of the circumstances which rendered this step necessary was, that my honorable and gallant friend did me the honor to send home his dispatches under my cover; and if he had supposed that in so doing, they would be quite . the warning voice. secure from violation, he only did me justice [hear, hear, hear!]. but this circumstance, which of course was well known, was productive of great inconveniences under existing circumstances. the dispatch went on, "at the same time, every man has a right, according to the law of the nations, to enter a volunteer in any foreign army; such service has been justified at all times in all countries; nor does it subject the person of him so serving to any penalty or prejudice. so that my honorable friend will see, that in this dispatch i was not inattentive to his personal security [loud cheers from both sides of the house]. but as it was of the last importance that the good faith of the nation should be above suspicion, i conceived that the french nation, as the belligerent power, was entitled to this explanation. it was not the least inconvenience to which my honorable friend had subjected the government, anxious to uphold the character of neutrality, that they were driven to the necessity of this disclaimer. a government so situated was not at liberty, its arms were fettered-its march was retarded--its language must be lowered (hear, hear.) but scarcely had the unfortunate result occurred to my gallant friend, in consequence of his prodigality of personal security, with which the house was acquainted, when the government was placed in a still more embarrassing situation from a question which arose in another quarter, in consequence of the arrival in spain of another distinguished englishman who, although he did not produce so much military effect, yet, as i am informed, did certainly exhibit full as much military intention (much laughing.) it is the duty of a wise and a vigilant government to be acquainted with what is passing in the country, and i can assure the house that i would not relate the circumstances which they shall presently hear, if i were not in a condition to adduce most respectable evidence of their authenticity. then, sir, about the middle of the month of last july, the heavy falmouth coach (roars of laughter)yes, sir, the heavy falmouth coach, in the month of last july (a laugh) was observed to proceed to its wonted destination with more than its usual celerity (much laughing). the coach contained two passengers, the one a fair lady of considerable dimensions, the other a gentleman, who was about to carry the succour of his person to the struggling patriots in spain [continued laughter). i am further informed, and this interesting fact, sir, can also be authenticated, that the heavy falmouth van, which gentlemen, doubtless, are aware is constructed for the conveyance of more cumbrous articles (not of the human species, certainly), [loud laughing from all sides of the house], was laden upon the same memorable occasion with a box of most portentous magnitude. now, sir, whether this box, like the flying chest of the conjuror, possessed any supernatural properties of loco-motion, is a point which i confess i am quite unable to determine; but of this i am most credibly informed, and i should hesitate long before i should state it to the house, if the statement did not rest upon the most unquestionable authority, that this extraordinary box did contain a full suit of spanish uniform, together with a helmet of the most curious workmanship; but sir, allow me at the same time to add, considerably inferior in size to the fabled helmet of the castle of otranto [loud and continued laughter]. the idea, perhaps, of going to the relief of a blockaded post in a full suit of light horsman's equipments, was, perhaps, not strictly consonant to modern military operations. however, almost at this time the arrival of the promised force of 10,000 men, which never existed except on paper, was hourly expected, and would have been most acceptable; and when the gentleman and his box had made their appearance, the cortes were overwhelmed with joy, and rubbed their hands with delight at the approach of the long-promised aid. in fact, he knew nothing in ancient or modern history that could at all compare with the joy which was expressed on the occasion, except in the play of the rehearsal, which was written by the noble lord's great ancestor, george, duke of buckingham, when the two kings of brentford are informed" that the army is at the door, but in disguise, and are quite ready to wait upon both your majesties" (loud laughter.) what the noble, lord might not have done, had not things come to so rapid issue, is more than i can say; or how far the throwing of his weight into one scale might cause the other to preponderate; however, as i had already expressed the opinion of the government on the general principle in the case of my honorable and g gallant friend, i had no wish to multiply, in the eyes of the french government, circumstances which bore the appearance of suspicion, and which could, when explained, add to our humiliation (hear, hear, hear.) the noble lord who has opened this discussion has suggested another difficulty with reference to another part of this question. he says that if, during the military occupation of spain by france, a spanish force should sail for south america, that would be, to all intents and purposes, a french squadron. now this, i admit, would be entirely a question of degree, and then would arise the consideration, whether the occupation had been prolonged for one object and not another; and i would add, that should tere appear any extensive levy of spanish troops, i shall consider it a circumstance which would require examination and explanation (hear, hear.) but we have now to deal with things as they stand; and i see nothing in the amount of the french force-i see nothing in their quality or distribution, or in the mode they have hitherto employed them-i see nothing in the spanish councils, whatever vapouring declarations may be made by some members of the government-i see nothing, in short, in present appearances, that could induce me to suppose that there was any such project on foot as the subjugation of south america. from the papers which had been laid upon the table, it would be seen that there was a great approximation between the french and english government in respect to their views relative. to the south american states with those who persevered in stating that they would place no reliance on the declarations of the french government, there was no arguing; but, founding my own opinion of their sincerity upon the declaration of the french ambassador, who, i am persuaded, from the knowledge i have of him personally, would not, under the dictation of any government upon earth, state any thing that he did not believe to be true (hear, hear) d 2 the warning voice. 112 i am satisfied that the french government, if they do not think precisely with us, yet do approach our opinions more nearly than any other power in the world. i confess that as to the apprehensions entertained that other members of the european confederacy look to south america with a view to interfere between great britain and france on the one side, and south america on the other, the idea appears to be preposterous. they have not the capacity to accomplish such an object, even if they entertained it; and i believe they see the folly of such an undertaking, and the advantages which arise from letting these states enjoy their tranquillity. "stabant orantes primi transmittere cursum "tendebantque manus ripa ulterioris amore." (cheers.) upon these grounds, sir, which i have stated to the house, i submit that the noble lord has made out no case, and i think my honorable friend behind me (mr. littleton) although it does not become me to say so, has pursued the prudent course in justice to the government. when a charge of suspicion is mooted unjustly, it should be met with a satisfactory viudication. but if the house should think that they have reposed their confidence in the government improperly, he should not endeavour to prevail on them to express their approbation; but if they were willing to repose still further confidence, all suspicion should be removed fully and honorably. if the house should be of opinion that the noble lord had made out no prima facie case of suspicion that there was an intention, on the part of france, to effect the permanent occupation of spain-that, with respect to south america, the british government would not consent to that or any other violation--if there was no ground for such an imputation, then must they vote against the noble lord; but, further, if the house should think that the motion had been brought forward lightly, and that the imputation which it contained should not only be fixed but repelled, then the house should go a step further and express their confidence in the government for the future. (the right hon. gentleman sat down amidst loud cheers.) sir r. wilson explained: he said he could assure the right honorable gentleman, he had no wish whatever to abuse his courtesey, or subject the goverument to any inconvenience, by sending home dispatches through his office, all of which came opened. mr. canning said he acquitted his honorable and gallant friend completely of any such intention; he knew he did so, not merely for security, but in a spirit of fair dealing (bear.) sir james mackintosh then rose to address tosh the house, but in consequence of the noise which prevailed, his opening sentences were not distinctly audible in the gallery. he said he did not rise to contend with any man for the palm of eloquence, he rose with great personal inconvenience, to discharge what he conceived to be his public duty. his right honorable friend had alluded to a quotation which he had made some years back from the writings of a great jurist, but he made a slight mistake in stating that the word was more modern than that of vattel, for it so happened that bynkershock had been dead for some years before vattel published his book (hear, hear.), upon all questions of international law, there was no higher authority; it was no mean praise to him that he had been for 25 years president of the supreme court country, which of all others in europe, was the most of leyden, the chief judge of the supreme court of a distinguished for its learning, and particularly on subjects relating to the law of nations. intention to follow his right honorable friend into his it was not his digression respecting vattel. he thought the quotasubject they were discussing, nor would he stop to tion from that author was quite impertinent to the point out the contrariety between the doctrines of vattel, and the opinions contained in the very excellent dispatch of the right honorable secretary, which he had read to the house. before he proceeded to the subject which was immediately before the house, he wished to perform a very agreeable duty; it was, to express the satisfaction he felt at the generous and eloquent sentiments and the hon. gentleman opposite (mr. littleton) which had been expressed by his right hon friend [cheers]. he had never enjoyed more pleasure in his towards his gallant friend (sir robert wilson)--life than at the manner in which they had expressed such just and generous sentiments, and the feeling with which their encomiums had been received by the house [cheers]. the right honorable gentleman had amused behind him, but he was persuaded there was no man in the house a good deal at the expence of a noble friend that house who felt less disturbed and irritated than his noble friend, for he possessed more real good humour, acquaintance -his high sense of honor, his generous and could bear raillery better than any man of his principle, had procured him the esteem of all who knew and exalted feelings, and his disinterested purity of him [cheers!]. even his short residence at cadiz had enabled him to render much service to that unfortunate country, and to rescue from the fangs of tyranny some of the most valuable lives in spain. [cheers]. if, then, he even had offended against some of the texts of vattel, or even of his more learned friend, bynkershock, he was sure the house would extend some indulgence, when they knew the natural virtues of his heart, which could not disgrace the english character, which could which he belonged, or the equally high individual not sully the high character of the illustrious family to character which the noble lord himself maintained [hear, hear. but to return to the question, his right honorable friend had talked a great deal of having the confidence of the house of commons. he could assure less fascinating and irresistible than that which he his right honorable friend, that an eloquence much possessed in so eminent a degree, would be sufficient to secure the plaudits of the majority of the house of commons [loud cheers]. he well knew of what [continued cheers], and he was not at all surprised that materials the majority of that house was composed they should now sing the song of their own votes. the self commanded, were assembled, it would seem, to army which the right honorable gentleman had himgentleman had appealed to the jury, who (he would celebrate their mutual triumph. the right honorable had passed judgment in his favor, and he had received not say had acquitted him), but to the tribunal which the warning voice. 113 it had the most rapturous applause from them for the eloquent manner in which he commemorated their favorable sentence upon himself [cheers]. it required a very moderate share of oratorical power to prevail upon the athenians to bestow the palm of eloquence on him who pronounced a panegyric on athens hear, hear!]. but all this was not sufficient for the right honorable gentleman, for he was not satisfied with celebrating his real triumphs, but he raised up imaginary contests, in order to enjoy the delight of imaginary victories. he had talked about he had talked about the boasts which were made last july, on that side of the house, and the anticipations which were felt of success. but he could assure his right hon. friend that he and his friends knew toowell of what stuff the majorities of that house were composed, to entertain any such expectations [cheers!]. but he would tell the house the reason why they had not divided the house on the occasion which had been alluded to: it was, because the amendment proposed by the honorable member for yorkshire (mr. s. wortley) differed so little from the proposition which had been submitted from his side of the house, that it would be inadvisable to create a division, least an impression might be created abroad unfavorable to spain they had the cause of spanish independence, which was then just dawning, too dearly at heart, to run the risk of injuring it in the slightest degree. they considered that sacred cause superior to any consideration of domestic contention about parties at home [cheers]. they might have divided as usual, there was nothing to prevent them. they had lost none of their old friends-their numbers were not diminished. been asked triumphantly by the right honorable gentleman, why nobody rose on the present occasion on this side of the house? the reason was this--that no answer had been given to the speech of his noble friend, and the right hon gent. seemed anxious to court hostility, as if not satisfied with the celebration of his three imaginary victories; and failing in his purpose. he ascribes hostility to those who altogether disclaim his right hon. friend told the house that france was solicitous to evacuate spain. now, would his right honorable friend be able to persuade the house of commons that such was the fact? certainly, his right honorable friend might do so; for his eloquence was great-his authority was great-his influence was great. but if his right honorable friend succeeded in persuading the house of commons that france was anxious to surrender the ascendancy she had obtained in spain, that she was anxious to make spain, at present dependent on her, independent, he would perform a miracle of conviction greater, perhaps, than any political minister had hitherto achieved [hear, hear, hear!]. it had been said that there was no case. but besides the positive cases which were mooted in the dispatches of sir c. stuart, there was another in the very spirit of the whole transaction. there was the case of spanish troops having been sent to south america, during the time that spain was in the occupation of the french army. it had been admitted by his right honorable friend, that if any considerable body of spanish troops had been sent to south america while spain was in the occupation of the french army, those troops must be considered as french troops. but the principle was it. || the same, whether the number of men was a hundred, or a thousand, or ten thousand. at the moment when the spanish government issued proclamations asserting authority over south america, and avowing the intention of sending over a large military force, the presence of the french army in spain must have given to those threats a weight materially affecting the security of the trans-atlantic governments, and exposing them to all the evils resulting from the apprehension of a formidable attack. it was said that we ought not to publish to the world that we entertained any jealousy of the intentions of france on this subject. but who did not know already that such a jealousy must be entertained in this country? the french government, aware of the ancient jealousy of the power of france cherished by us, he would not say as the natural enemies, but as the natural antagonists of that power, must know that we could not but entertain a jealousy of the permanent occupation of spain by french troops, or of the effect which the detachment of spanish troops, while spain was so occupied, must necessarily have. but it had been said, why distrust france on this subject? it was impossible, however, for the house to know what the conduct of france had really been, unless the papers moved for by his noble friend were produced. there was in no part of his noble friend's speech any imputation on france; and if no imputation deserved to be cast upon that power, why not produce the documents which would make that fact evident? the sole answer, however, by which all his noble friend's arguments had been met, was that his motion was hostile to his majesty's ministers. as long as his majesty's ministers resolved to consider every attempt to obtain an expression of the opinion of parliament on any important state question-an attempt hostile to themselves, it was certainly a very short answer to give, that such a motion was hostile to the executive government. that was not the way in which he (sir james mackintosh) had learnt the constitution, the house of commons were not merely empowered to impeach ministers, when they misconducted themselves, or to address the crown for their removal; but they were to be considered the great council of the state, whose duty it was to advise his majesty on all the most important concerns of the country, without its being necessarily implied, that in doing so, they acted hostilely towards the existing administration [hear, hear] lord john russell made a short reply. he reprobated the practice of, day after day, converting such motions as that which he had done himself the honor to submit to the ilouse, into regular panegyrics on his majesty's government, and thereby pledging the house to the support of every act of that government. with respect to the course which the right honorable secretary for foreign affairs had thought proper to adopt on this occasion, he must say, that the right honorable gentleman, by the tone and manner which he had assumed, had sought a species of applause which was wholly unworthy of him. the right honorable gentleman had much better have employed himself in endea vouring to shew why the ancient jealousy of this country with respect to the influence of france on the continent, and more especially in spain, was no longer to exist,-114 the warning voice. in conclusion, the noble lord said that he would not press his motion to a division. which they are the victims, and even to concert measures for its overthrow. by pursuing an opposite course, the amendment was then put and agreed to without england will co-operate with the holy alliance. if a division. the leeds mercury, 27th march, 1824. the speech of the king of france on opening the chambers has reached us. it gives no definite information with respect to the two most important pointswhich at present agitate the cabinets of europe-viz. the occupation of spain, and the affairs of south america. the mention made of the former subject, however, by no means bears out the expectation excited by mr. canning's speech, that some early period was fixed for the evacuation of the peninsula on the contrary, the king intimates that a french army will occupy spain, till that country is restored to tranquillity-an event apparently still distant, and which the french can defer at their pleasure. on the independence of south america no remarks whatever are made that bear meaning. it appears that the french chamber of deputies is in future to be elected septennially; instead of having one-fifth rechosen every year, and the whole renewed at the end of every five years, as is ordained by the charter: at least the king intimates that this proposition will be made to the chambers, and in the present construction of those chambers its enactment as a law is certain. the change will doubtless be found a convenience to the court and the ministers; and the time of making it is chosen quite félicitously, as the present chambers are likely to give no sort of disquietude to the cabinet. the secretary of state for the home department introduced a bill in the house of commons on tuesday, to continue to government, for twelve months longer, the power they possess of sending foreigners out of the country at their discretion. we are unable to see aný advantage whatever in an alien act, under the present circumstances of england and the continent; and the objection to it is, that it invests government with an arbitrary power, which may be abused to the vexation and oppression of many thousand persons. mr. peel contends that ministers ought to have the power of preventing foreigners from conspiring in this country against the tranquillity of other states. we are of an opposite opinion. the continental despots having leagued together to exclude freedom from europe, and having for this purpose established a military and police system from st. petersburgh to cadiz and from berlin to naples, having, moreover, in pursuit of their tyrannical object, violated the independence of nations, and stigmatized the principles and practice of the english constitution,-and having thus far succeeded in destroying liberal institutions, and preventing free discussion, we think it is the duty, and should be the pride of the british government to keep open one city of refuge in the old world for the persecuted friends of liberty, to allow them there to expose the tyranny of ministers are sincere in their detestation of the principles of this league, the alien act will be an encumbrance to them for while they possess the power of expelling from this country individuals who may be obnoxious to the leaguers, it will be ungracious not to exercise it at their request; whereas they would not be troubled with applications to remove obnoxious individuals, if they had not the means of complying with them. mr. peel has one merit in this bill, which the acts passed under lord castlereagh's administration wanted: he has adopted the suggestion repeatedly made by sir james mackintosh to exempt from the operation of the act all foreigners who shall have resided seven years in the country. by this clause, 10,000 persons, out of 26,000 who before were liable to immediate expulsion, are protected; and to these the protection is very important, as they are probably for the most part settled in trade, and would be ruined by banishment. we do not understand why the present bill is to continue for the short period of one year. if an alien act is necessary now, it must always be necessary: never did circumstances less require or justify it than at present; and if ministers demand it at a time like this, they had better propose it as a permanent measure. mr. canning has become quite a glutton of popular and parliamentary applause. the house of commons has on several distinct occasions, testified its approbation of the policy adopted by government in the invasion of spain; yet the foreign secretary, not satisfied with these repeated encomiums, when lord john russel moved last thursday for the production of papers relative to the occupation of the peninsula, insisted on receiving another panegyric. these complimentary and gratulatory resolutions, repeated without assignable cause, cannot fail to appear ridiculous to any one who shall hereafter examine the journals of the house: the inference drawn from them will be, either that the house was obsequiously subservient to a vain minister, or that it felt a cowardly and irrepressible exultation at having escaped the danger of war. but the house has on this occasion gone out of its way to state, that it sees nothing "in the present circumstances that calls upon the house "to express any apprehension of a permanent military "occupation of the spanish territory by france." why then does the house speak at all? if it sees nothing to remark upon, why does it not hold. its tongue? do legislative assemblies usually pass formal resolutions,' to declare that they have nothing to say? passing by these absurdities, however, it is agreeable to hear from mr. canning, that the period fixed for the evacuation of "spain is shorter than even the honorable gentleman "opposite could reasonably or even possibly hope." and it is further pleasing to find, that all the members who spoke on the ministerial side of the house had the justice and good feeling to applaud the noble devotion of sir robert wilson to the cause of liberty. though the hostility of the continental despots sufficiently attested the merits of this fine-spirited soldier, it must be gratifying to himself to see that his countrymen universally acthe warning voice. 115 knowledge his excellent motives and gallant conduct. it is also creditable to the country, that there are no persons in it (except a few parasitical journalists) mean enough to think that the honors of sir robert are in the least impaired by his loss of the decorations bestowed by a confederacy of tyrants. abstract from lord john. russell's speech in the house of commons on parliamentary reform, on thursday the 25th of april, 1822. "the natural balance of our constitution was, that the crown should appoint its ministers, that these ministers should possess the confidence of the house of commons, and that the house of commons should represent the sense of the people of england. such was the nature of the machinery; and if any single wheel went wrong, the whole of the machine must immediately become deranged. thus when the stewart's were on the throne of england, their ministers did not possess the confidence of the people; and the consequences were tumult, insurrection, and civil war. at the present time, ministers possessed the confidence of the house of commons, but the house of commons could not be said to possess the esteem and respect of the people. much was it to be apprehended that the consequences would be equally fatal.; for tumult and insurrection had already burst out in many parts of the -empire. this popular frenzy exhibited at one view, alarm in the upper classes, and disaffection in the lower. and what were the remedies applied to the evil? severe eversion-restrictive laws-large standing armies enormous barracks scattered all over the face of the country.; symtoms not of strength and confidence, but of weakness and alarm (hear, hear, hear!) it might be said that to the decisions by which these measures were enforced, many of the friends of the liberties of the people were parties. if he were obliged to admit that some of his personal friends, for whom he entertained the greatest respect, were of the number of those who imposed these undue restraints on the subject-who had assisted in pairing down the bill of rights, and in diminishing the liberty of the people, he should only look with more regret at the proceeding, and deplore the fatal mistake which they had committed. in his firm and unalterable persuasion, the liberty of englishmen was founded on the common consent of all being required to the establishment of the law. the freedom of england must rest on that basis, or it could no longer exist. it was not in england that the liberties of any particular class could be curtailed. it was not in england as in the senate of venice, that the interests of of one class of the community could be permitted to bear down the rights of another. it was not from between the bars of a prison, that the notes of english liberty, could be expected to manifest that grace and sweetness which must also have something of wildness to impart to them their full charms (hear, hear, hear!). unless the liberty of england ranged uncontrolled, vain had been the efforts of our brave ancestors. the liberty || of england adjured the countenance of extensive barracks scattered over the country. the liberty of england could never allow itself to be maintained by despotic demonstrations of that nature. melancholy, indeed, would be the result of any attempt to govern this country on any other principles than those which had been formerly and firmly adopted; and yet they had seen his majesty's ministers resorted to other principles, for the purpose of obtaining majorities in that house. such a proceeding was unwise as it was unconstitutional. was unwise, for it occasioned even to government themselves an inconvenience, of which he conceived that they would wish to get rid of. if parliament were once reformed, government would have noting more to do than to submit their measures to parliament; and if those measures were not approved, to alter or nullify them; but if approved by such parliament, they would be sure to receive the sanction of the people. instead of that course, his majesty's ministers adopted a narrow winding path. they employing nearly the whole sessions, in obtaining the concurrence in their measures of certain borough proprietors; but after the prorogation of parliament, they found their whole work undone; they found that whatever approbation their measures had received in parliament by the popular opinion and by a free press, they were condemned; and that, however sanctioned by a house of commons, it was impracticable to carry them into execution thus it was, that the very ministers, who in 1816, proposed 99,000 men as the military establishment of the country, had been compelled by the voice of the people to reduce that number to 69,000, being no less a reduction than a third. such a reduction would have been spontaneously preferred by wise ministers. it might have been proposed even by such ministers as the present (a laugh). for his own part he confessed, that he never attributed to the present ministers, any dark and dangerous preconcerted plans, against the liberties of the country. he believed that their only wish was to do as little good or evil as they could help (a laugh). he believed that their sole object was the retention of their places, and of the power and profit which belonged to them (hear, hear, hear!). he believed, that in many cases, his majesty's present ministers were perfectly indifferent as to the success of their propositions-that they were perfectly indifferent to the disgrace of popular odium; and had no objection, after a measure had been rejected with indignation, to bring it down again in an altered state, that might give them hope of its adoption (hear, hear, hear!). under such circumstances, in his opinion, it would be convenient to such ministers, to find in that house an echo of the popular voice, to be able to feel at once the pulse of the people of england (hear, hear!) what was the course which they were at present compelled to pursue? in what way had they endeavoured to gain support? the present year afforded a happy exemplification of their policy. it was well known, that before the commencement of the session, the diffculties of the nation were extremely pressing, that there was great distress, and above all, the country gentlemen, who had always been the staunch supporters of ministers, declared that in their opinion government had not acted wisely. what did ministers do in order to fortify themselves • e2 116 the warning voice. against the effect of these loud complaints? did they resort to any popular measure? did they seek for the support of public opinion? far from it. they went to a certain party known in this country by the name of "the grenville, party (hear, hear, hear.) that was a party which derived weight and importance from the character and talents of lord grenville, whose power of mind, whore energy, whose talents, and whose rare combination of extensive learning of every kind, with great official experience, constituted him a man entitled to the greatest influence and anthority among any set of men to whom he might think proper to unite himself. some years ago, however, lord grenville had declared his intention of retiring from public life, an intention to which he (lord john russell) believed the noble lord had steadily adhered. deprived of lord grenville, the grenville party became as nothing, (hear, hear, hear.) whatever might have been their merits; however great their merits; and he had no inclination to deny that they were immense (a laugh,) such had been their political conduct, that the whole of the people of england held them in particular abhorrence (a loud laugh.) whoever had abused the whigs, whoever had abused the ministers, whoever had abused the radical reformers; all combined, all were ready, to club their sum of vituperation against "the grenvile party" (loud laughter.) his majesty's ministers, in despair of obtaining the aid of the popular sentiment, asked and received the support of this party, which, as far as public opinion was concerned, was literally nothing (a laugh.) with utter astonishmeut, however, the country witnessed a levy en masse of the whole of the family and conneotions, with all their adherents and dependants, for the service of the crown (a laugh.) it seemed as if a general press warrant had been issued to force the whole clan into the support of government (a loud laugh.) one of them was sent to switzerland with a salary large enough to corrupt the whole senate of the country. a right honorable gentleman, like another bacchus, was sent to india, thence it was presumed to return laden with the rich spoils of the east (a loud laugh). thus had the whole party become all at once a set of persons on whom the hatred of the people, and favors of the crown, were unreservedly bestowed (hear, hear.) they became a chosen and privileged class-held, on the one hand, to deserved execration, and on the other to be worthy of power (hear, hear, hear.) with respect to the people, the with respect to the people, the accession of that party could afford no strength to government. in the house, however, their strength was unequivocally felt whenever a division took place (hear, hear, hear.) there was another view of the subject which it was desirable to take. it was a constitutional rule, established by our ancestors, in the same way in which our other liberties had been esta blished, namely, by the most severe and unremitting exertions, that such members of the house as took office, should be returned to their constituents, in order that the opinion of those constituents might be pronounced upon them. now, of course, the members of now, of course, the members of "the grenville party," were thus sent to their constituents. if so, they might be compelled to answer many questions. they might be asked if they had changed their opinion on the subject of the salt tax (hear, hear, hear.) they might be asked if they had done any thing for the catholics of ireland (hear, hear, hear.) they might be asked if among their numerous bargains and stipulations, they had made any bargain or stipulation in favor of five millions of their fellow creatures, whose claims they had formerly estimated so highly, that they had considered the denial of those claims a sufficient reason for keeping aloof from any connection with government (loud cries of hear. whether or not those honorable gentlemen had obtained any such stipulation he knew not; but if he (lord john russell) were one of their constituents, he would say that they had not behaved consistently with their former conduct, unless they had made some such stipulation, and unless they had a prospect of being speedily enabled to obtain for the sister island that concession for which it had so long struggled in vain (hear, hear, hear.) it so happened, however, that the world would never know how the question which he had enumerated had been answered-for they had never been asked (a laugh.) the greater portion of the grenville party," had no other constituent than the individual who accepted rank when they accepted office, and who was a principal partner in their recent coalition with the present government (hear, hear.) that individual, the gentleman in question, no doubt represented faithfully and entirely. between him and them there was what mr. pitt once said there ought always to be between the people and their representatives-the deepest sympathy and the closest connection (loud cries of hear, hear, hear.) but no opportunity was given to the people to express their sense of the conduct of these their assumed representatives in thus accepting of office. such was the aid which ministers thought proper to seek; and he maintained that their having done so was with him a strong additional instance of the necessity of parliamentary reform. but there was another argument in favor of his motion which he had not yet touched upon--he meant the opinion of the great lord clarendon, who in speaking of cromwell's plan of reform, observed, that it was a plan which was worthy of a better source. in addition to the authority of this great man, he had in his favor the opinions of mr locke, the most liberal of whig philosophers; judge blackstone, one of the most able, and at the same time most cautious of constitutional writers; the great and virtuous lord chatham; mr. pitt, the object of the praise and admiration of one great party in this country; and mr. fox, the object of the love and affection of another (hear.) he owned that such a powerful union of authority, coming as it did from different men, who lived at different times; men who formed their opinions upon different grounds, and scarcely concurring in any two sentiments upon other points, struck his mind with a weight which he could not describe, and gave him a confidence which could otherwise only be attained by the dictates of experience. the opinions of such men ought to be considered as a series of precedents. their names and authorities were blended with the laws and institutions which we venerate, and were calculated to smooth down and remove that ruggedness which the question of reform presented to some gentlemen on the the warning voice. 117 other side of the house. he knew no authorities to be cited against him, except indeed those of mr. burke and mr. windham, and without meaning to disparage the characters of those gentlemen, he must say, that the names he had already quoted were more than an overbalance of authority in his favor. having now stated the situation of the country; its improvement in wealth and knowledge. having pointed out the present defective mode of election and representation; and the great mischiefs arising therefrom; it remained for him to state to the house the nature of the plan which it was his intention to recommend. in considering what plan would be most for the advantage of the county, he naturally looked to the great authorities to whom he had before alluded. he found that the great lord chatham recommended the addition of one hundred members; and that mr. pitt also recommended the addition of one hundred knights to be elected from the different counties; that mr. flood also recommended the addition of one hundred knights to be elected by the resident householders of the different counties; and that mr. fox, in speaking of mr. flood's plan, said that it was the best outline of parliamentary reform which had come within his knowledge. seeing this, he felt inclined to propose the introduction of one hundred members to that house. he did not wish that they should be all returned from counties, nor yet all from towns. he should therefore propose, as far as the thing could be at present settled, that the counties should return sixty members, and the towns and commercial interests forty. but here he felt a difficulty which did not occur in the recommendations of lord chatham, mr. flood, and mr. fox. it was this, that since their plans of reform had been proposed, one hundred members (the irish members) had been added to the british parliament. but in order to meet this difficulty, he should propose that one hundred members should be taken from one hundred of the smaller boroughs, leaving each of those boroughs one member instead of two. if a former motion of his had been attended to, it would have gone a great way towards reform, inasmuch at it would have disfranchised many boroughs in which corruption was notorious. but he regretted to say, that that question had not been taken up with sincerity by the house. if it had met with the sincere co-operation of parliament, it would have gone far to put down bribery and corruption at elections. the house said "if you bring a case of corruption before us, and prove it, we are ready to convict; but we will not stir one step to discover any such case, though they are as notorious as the sun at noonday." in short, the house of commons acted as a police magistrate would, who would say, "if you bring a thief before me, i'm ready to commit him; but i shall not send out a single police officer, though i know that there are nightly complaints of thieves parading the streets." (hear, hear.) under all these circumstances of the case, he certainly was of opinion that the plan of reform, which is now proposed, was the safest and best which could be adopted by parliament (hear, hear.) there were, he was aware, a variety of other considerations connected with this plan; as for instance, whether the right of voting should be in leasehold or copyhold property, or in what other way it should be granted, together with various other details into which it was unnecessary now to enter. the question for the consideration of the house now was, whether the question of reform was worthy their consideration or not. if they decided that it was, why then would it be an easy matter to arrange and decide upon the details. leaving this part of the question, he should now proceed to answer what he conceived to be the most material objections, which could be urged against his motion. first, he supposed it would be urged that the smaller boroughs were the means of sending men of the greatest talent into parliament. this he admitted. he was far from undervaluing the talent so introduced, or the means of introducing it, but to the objection he answered, that the same course would still remain open. he had no objection to the existence of small boroughs, but he did object, and that strongly too, to the small borough members forming a majority of that house, and giving the sanction of parliament to measures which were in point of fact the acts of private individuals. this was giving a weight and consequence to mere forms and ceremonials of representation, at the expence of the real substance of the constitution. there is something so venerable about the constitution of this house, that he could not better illustrate his present argument, than by drawing a comparison between certain proceedings in ancient rome, and those now under consideration. in doing this he must beg the particular attention of the honorable member for corfe castle (mr. bankes,) who, it is well known, was the commentator on the history of rome; the tory commentator, as another great writer, was known to be the whig commentator. about 370 years after the establishment of the roman republic, a contest arose whether one of the consuls should be chosen from among the plebians, or whether they should both be chosen from among the patricians; (a question, by the bye, not very assimilar to that now under discussion,) it was argued by the aristocracy of that day, that the admission of a plebian to the consulate, would be productive of great evil; that the chickens would not eat, would not come out of their coops, or out of their shells-that the anguries could not be performed, and that all the system of divination would be deranged and destroyed; or in the words of the historian, livy, "quid enim est si pulli non pascentur,? si ex cavea tardius exierint? si occinuerit avis? parva sunt haec: sed parva is ta non contemnendo majores nostri maximam hane rem facerunt." such were the arguments used by a great senator of those days. this contest, it should be remembered, arose upon the return of camillus, at the conclusion of a great war. what was done by the senate of rome? it might be supposed that they introduced seditions meeting bills, gagging bills, and other such restrictive measures. but no such thing occurred; the dictators and the senate yielded, and a plebian consul was appointed. nor had it been told that any of the predicted evils followed this deviation from aristocratical influence. the romans went on in their usual course; they carried on their wars against pyrobus and against carthage, without it ever having been discovered that the chickens refused to eat, or to come out of 119 the warning voice. view to relieve and sooth, as much as possible, the distresses of the country. but there was another argument, which, when all else failed, was brought forward, not to affect the understandings, but the nervesof the people of this country. he meant allusions to the frenc hrevolution, and the civil wars in the time of charles the first. now he wished to know what the persons who used such arguments meant? did they mean to say that the tyranny of charles the first, who wished to govern the country independently of parliament, and by divine right, who wished to levy taxes without the intervention of parliament and contrary to law, was a government which it was wrong to resist? did they mean to say that it was wrong to resist such a government as louis the sixteenth, who wasted and squandered the treasures and resources of the country, in a most profuse and extravagant manner? but unless those gentlemen argued in this way, it would be difficult to understand what the nature of their arguments were, or why they introduced those bugbears the french revo lution and the civil wars of charles the first (hear, hear.) he must be more learned than seldon, more prudent than pym, more patriotic than hampden, more wise and learned than all those about him, who could put his finger upon that period in the reign of charles the first, when the people might have stopped short and preserved the monarchy without surrendering altogether the liberties of the country (hear, hear.) this being the case, it behoved them to stop and enquire how and why it was that the people rose and why, having risen, they were so difficult to be overcome? it appeared to him, that the real cause was the want of unity among the aristocracy of the country, a great portion were joined with the crown against the people. this it was which produced a great portion of the evil at that period. where the people were united, there were no calamitous consequences to be feared. james the second was dethroned without opposition, without ereating civil war. he called then upon the aristocracy of the country to unite in support of reform. he called upon the whigs to unite in support of this grand object. the principle of the whigs, as far as he understood it, was to obtain for the people as much liberty as they were capable of enjoying. did not capable of enjoying. indeed, the great fault of the whigs was, their demanding too much-witness the exclusion bill and the acts of mr fox. it was by continuing the borough system, and preventing too great a preponderance from being given to counties, and to land, that the house of hanover was established on the throne, and we were preserved from the continuation of the reign of the stewarts as they then furthered the cause of liberty by their conduct, so he called upon them to do it now, by giving to the increased intelligence of the people an increased representation in that house (hear, hear) the people were were now so much enlightened, that they were fully competent to guard any portion of liberty confided to their care. let the whigs now shew themselves ready to give up a portion of the boroughs; let them support the cause of reform, and they would take the most effectual means of preserving the constitution [hear.] he could not conceal from himself the fact that there existed a sort of jealousy between the opposition their coops, or that the auspices of the birds had been 1'ss favorable. the honorable member for corfe castle would bear in mind that camillus had acceded to the wishes of the people, and had stated as his ground for doing so, that he was tired of bearing the odium which such his opposition to their wishes had brought upon him. he should beg to put to the honorable member for corfe castle, the example of camillus, and to remind him whether it would not be wise to concede in time, that which could not long be denied; and also to consider whether he (mr. bankes) and his friends, had not borne long enough, the odium and unpopularity, of having refused what the people considered with justice to be their undoubted right and inheritance (hear, hear.) there was another point which he expected would be urged against him, namely, that though the house of commons was said not to represent the people, yet that its decisions were received and obeyed by the country as those of the most perfectly constituted assembly. to this he answered, that the people of england were remarkable beyond all other countries for their attachment to the laws and constitution of the country. the people of england were well aware, that nothing brought forward by ministers, could have the force and authority of the law, until it had received the sanction of the house of commons ;— and when any such measure did pass the commons, the people felt that they must either be silent, or at once rebel against government. but did silence shew that the people approved? did it follow that because the people ceased to speak of the omission of the late queen's name from the liturgy, that therefore they were satisfied with that omission? (hear, hear.) did it follow, that because the people ceased to speak of the office of joint post-master general, they were therefore satisfied that two persons ought to be paid for holding that office? no! the people were silent, because they found that all observations would be useless, unless they rose to actual resistance; and in so doing they judged wisely, for much as affairs might be bettered, nothing had hitherto occurred which would justify any resistance. but when government talked of the acquiescence of the people, he would ask whether the same had not taken place under the worst of tyrannies? did not james the second find the same acquiescence, surrounded as he was by lawyers, flattered as he was by the subserviency of addressers, and the base surrender of corporate rights, until at last a violent resistance was made, and he was obliged to abdicate the throne (hear, hear, hear.) paul of russia was obeyed by his subjects, until a sudden resistance terminated his life by the bowstring. fernidand of spain was enabled to sign the death warrant of the best of his subjects, and was implicitly obeyed by his subjects, until, at last, the army burst forth in rebellion and hurled him from his despotic throne. all those powers thought themselves secure in the affection of their subjects, until they were ju an instant overthrown and destroyed. let gentlemen look to the actual situation of this country. we have been engaged in a war which brought bankruptcy and confusion upon a great portion of the community, and in such a state of things, it became the duty of ministers to act with the greatest caution, and with a the warning voice. 119 within and the opposition without the walls of parliament. this arose, he believed, from an impression without, that the opposition in that house did not advocate the cause of the people so fully and so strenuously as they ought. in calling upon the whigs, he at the same time called upon the whole aristocracy of the country to advocate the same cause. it had it had been well observed by sir w. temple, that even in the greatest changes in this country, if weight and number went together, england would still be safe (hear, hear.) he (lord john russell) now called upon the weight and numbers of the country to go the same way;-he beseeched members not to allow themselves to be swayed, either by pedantic or interested motives;-he entreated them not to allow any temporary interests to exclude from their minds the great permanent stake which they held in the country. let them keep in mind that all the great talents, weight, and character of the country arose out of the freedom we enjoyed (hear.) as our ancestors had acquired for us the liberties we enjoyed, so we owed to posterity to transmit them those liberties untainted and unrestricted (hear.) by adhering to the principles of the constitution, which was now little more than a century old, they would make this country become one of the most free and stable governments that ever existed in any country or in any age. (the conclusion of the noble lord's speech was followed by loud cheers.) his lordship then moved "that the present state of the representation of the people in parliament requires the most serious consideration of this house." the house then divided on the motion: ........ .. 269 ayes noes... .....164 .. majority...105 abstract of a speech made at a public dinner at nottingham, given in honor of their representatives in parliament, on wednesday, sep. 4, 1823. "there never existed a government-no, not even the roman empire in its days of most lavish resources -which possessed such a mischievous extent of means -it had not a tenth of the corrupt power which the narrow oligarchy of england commands. it is not the king who enjoys this supremacy; for the king, with all his power and prerogatives, extensive as they necessarily are, for the representative of the people of england, as such the king of a free nation ought to be considered it is not the king, but the boroughmongering oligarchy of which we have to complain; it is that oligarchy which oppressed and loaded the king himself with obloquy (cries of hear.) the king and people upon a just and mutual understanding of their rights, had, and could have, but one common interest. the crown is bound to maintain the rights of the people, and the people owed allegiance to the king, but none to the oligarchy (applause.) that oligarchy deserves punishment rather than respect-rather than the privilege of being respectfully sued to permit the people to reform themselves. sooner than yield to so base a power as this oligarchy usurped, he hoped the people would never cease to petition the king till they have effected its complete annihilation; it is against this usurpation that the public are called upon to unite, against it they are bound to direct their loudest execration (applause.) if any thing could put this oligarchy into a more degrading light than its monstrous usurpation, it would be its most odious hypocrisy. did not the company recollect, that when an aged gentleman, sir manasseh lopes, was detected-detected, they called it! (a laugh) in doing that which five-sixths of the members of the house knew they had done themselves to obtain their seats, the unfortunate gentleman so detected, not having the luck of his colleague, who, wiser in his generation, bribed off the petitioners who complained of bribery (loud laugh) became at once the object of the indignation of the house. really the spectacle was ludicrous, were it not that the system itself was full of public danger. poor sir manasseh lopes was instantly overwhelmed as an example, forsooth! even the very judge who tried him, who must have got his own seat in parliament in the very same way, and who possibly made the seat he had so acquired the stepping-stone to his subsequent promotion-even that judge read the old gentleman a long lecture upon the heinousness of his crime (a laugh.) big wigs and long robes not only hide a man's face from his acquaintances, but also from himself; or else the public could never be treated with such exhibitions as the sentence of sir m. lopes. it was a sort of drama, which contrary to the rules of drama, began in farce and ended in tragedy; for the poor gentleman who was prosecuted, had to endure two years imprisonment, to pay £10,000 fine; a more odious act of injustice, heightened by hypocrisy, had never been exhibited (hear, hear.) as it was said, from the foot of hercules you could know the statue ; so he might say that from this one act they might estimate the general composition of the house of commons. the worthy gentleman concluded amid great applause, by reiterating his sentiments in favor of parliamentary reform, and of the value of such meetings as the present. norfolk fox dinner. february, 1822. the annual dinner to celebrate the anniversary of the birth-day of mr. fox, was held on thursday week, at the assembly room, norwich. so great was the anxiety of the gentlemen of the county and city to be present on this occasion, that applications for tickets were made several weeks back, but as the assembly rooms could dine no more than 250 persons the issue of tickets were restricted to that number; the consequence of which was, that upwards of one hundred gentlemen who wished to be present were excluded from the dinner. notwithstanding the precautions taken by the stewards and gentlemen of the committee to prevent an overflow, from fifteen to f 2 120 the warning voice. twenty gentlemen were obliged to dine in the orchestra. his royal highness the duke of sussex, who is on a visit at holkham, being expected to attend the dinner, several persons crowded forth to witness his arrival. at a quarter past three o'clock the ringing of the church bells announced that his royal highness had entered the city; he proceeded immediately to the bishop's palace, where he was to reside during his stay in town. at half-past four o'clock the duke of norfolk and the earl of albemarle entered the dining-room, and were received with loud and repeated cheering. mr. coke entered shortly after, and was greeted in a similar manner. soon after five o'clock the duke of sussex made his appearance, and was received with the highest possible demonstrations of respect; every gentleman stood up and cheered as his royal highness passed to the upper end of the room. among the noblemen and gentlemen present we noticed the following:his royal highness the duke of sussex, the duke of norfolk, earl marshal; earl of albemarle; viscount bury; hon. w. fitzroy, hon. e. keppel: sir w. w. dalling, sir r. p. joddrell, sir t. b. beever; sir w. middleton, sir w. j. h. b folkes; sir j. e. smith; t. w. coke, esq. m. p. wm. smith, esq. m. p.——— honywood, esq. m. p. n. w. ridley colborne, esq. m. p t. r lennard, esq. m. p. for ipswich, e. r. pratt, s. t. southwell, e. lombe, m. micklethwayt, j. postle, admiral lokin, greg, joseph grigby, j. w. tomlinson, collinson, w. f. keppel, j. keppel, j. p. bagge, l. self, w. allen, hogg, colonel stevenson, colonel dixon, major hussey, major turrel; captain worth, r. n. captain money; alderman leman, alderman bolingbroke, alderman finch; sheriff graves; a. hudson, esq. dr. wright, w. dalrymple, esq. t. hudson, esq. t. b. tooke, esq. w. foster, esq. w. lukin, esq. john parkes, jun. esq. of warwick, e. postle, esq. b. gurdon, esq. p. gurdon, esq. j. bloom, esq reverends archdeacon bathurst, c. collyer, r. odell, r. f. elwin, j. b. collyer, f. howes, w. collet, goddard, w. gordon, h. wilson, g. preston, l. b. foster, t. steward, esq. w. steward, esq. e. r. finch, esq. w. repton, esq. g. sandby, esq. rolfe, esq. havers, esq. j. m. smith, esq. g. brown, esq. .&c. &c. the earl of albemarle having taken the chair, supported on the right by the duke of sussex, and on the left by the duke of norfolk, the party sat down to an excellent dinner. the cloth having been removed, "non domine" was sung, nobis the earl of albemarle. this was the fourth time he had the honor of filling the chair. on a former occasion he had congratulated them on the presence of an illustrious member of the house of brunswick, and he had to perform the same duty now. (loud cheers.) near him also sat the hereditary earl marshal of england, who set the high example of his station at the head of the nobility, to uphold the true principles of the constitution, and who ever felt it as his highest honor to be foremost in supporting the rights and privileges of the people (applause.) what could he say of their distinguished representative, mr. coke, but that which he had been long saying of him wherever his name appeared? he had no new line of politics; the old ones were too good to be changed (applause.) he was proud to see so great an assembly of the rank and wealth of the country; it was a proof of their spirit, and contributed in swelling the triumph of their principles. he saw them all high in spirits as heretofore, but, unfortunately, lower in pocket (hear, hear.) he knew they felt the change, for what honest man in the country did not? (hear, hear.) that was a topic on which he could not dilate coolly; for he felt nothing but anger and indignation for the authors of their calamities. he was too sincere to observe false delicacy on such an occasion, or to suppress the sentiments of anger which arose in his bosom when he spoke of such men (applause.) was it for those calamities, which oppressed them all, that their thanks were due to the pilot who weathered the storm? "the pilot who gathered the storm" was a friend's reading of the passage, (hear, hear,) and that reading was right. it was to the accursed measures of that pilot, as he was called, that the country owed its present calamities. they were told, indeed, that they ought not to grumble at them, because the war had terminated with glory-it had achieved triumphs for the nation, and preserved the liberties of europe. was that the true picture of the result? no. where had the rights of the people, or the condition of the world, been bettered by the measures of the ministers? had they contributed to make the british name respected abroad, or had they secured the prosperity, or gained the affections of the people at home? had they secured the confidence of an enemy, or established the happiness of a friend, in any quarter of the globe? no: the historian would look in vain for the accomplishment of such achievements: he would vainly seek any of these advantages; but in their place he would find the establishment of a "holy alliance," (hear) the liberties of nations suppressed by the sword, and a ferdinand replaced upon his throne. this was the system which had cost the best blood and treasure of the country; it was for this that they owed their thanks not only to the pilot that "gathered" the storm, but to the crew who succeeded him at the helm of the vessel (hear, hear.) very different were the principles of that great man whose anniversary they were now celebrating (applause) this was not the time to point out, in detail, the contrast between the principles of mr. fox and mr. pitt; but as he had loved the former in his life time, and revered the principles which he had left as the best record of his fame, he might be permitted to dwell shortly upon his character. the public and private worth of that great man had endeared his memory to englishmen, and his fame must ever rest upon the contrast which his opinions presented to those of the men who had brought the country to its present situation; his predictions, now fulfilled, had unhappily been slighted when they might have averted the evil. the benevolence of his amiable and expansive mind, and that sagacity which he displayed in the knowledge of human affairs, never entered into the constitution of the ministers who wielded the destinies of the country. were such sentiments congenial with theirs, that blot and stain, the warning voice. 121 which now disgraced the annals of englishmenthe manchester massacre-would never have fallen upon them (hear, hear.) had mr. fox been heard, they would not have to lament the passing of the accursed six acts, nor would they have had to deplore the introduction of the abominable system of spies and informers, who created and aggravated the evils against which it if such a mind as was said they were embodied to act. mr. fox's had ruled the councils of great britain in the past year, that outrage upon decency, that gross violation of public morals, against an unhappy and illustrious female would never have happened, nor would the military murder which had occurred, when the last outrage was offered to her name, have disgraced the annals of their history (hear, hear.) had the authors of these manifold and bitter calamities possessed the statesman-like vigour of mr. fox, guided by his sagacity, they would have known that englishmen were more easily led than driven, that kindness and affection were always more powerful engines for a good government to command their feelings, than the iron rod of power, and the constraint of coercion (hear.) "far, better far, "by winning ways to conquer willing minds, "and let persuasion take the place of force." but it was time to profit by the great example of mr. fox in the poetical language of mr. taylor"we come to his tomb; but not to weep, ""tis freedom's holiday we keep; "this should the sacred altar be, "around which we vow to liberty." (applause.) the chairman concluded by proposing "the memory of charles james fox," which was drunk in respectful silence. the next toast was-" the king and constitution." the chairman would not delay the company a moment. they all knew the illustrious personage near him, whose public and private character had rendered him so deservedly dear. "the health of the duke of sussex." his royal highness the duke of sussex always conceived that acts spoke better than verbal appearances, and by his acts he would be judged. he had sometimes heard, and in courts of justice, that truth was a libel. he had not, however, heard that truth was yet high treason (hear, hear.) in glancing at the public life of mr. fox, it was impossible to avoid taking a retrospective view of the wars that had taken place in opposition to that great statesman's sentiments. they had been called necessary wars; and in looking at their character, it was natural, in the first place, to ask why or wherefore they had arisen? that when men's liberties were in danger, they might be driven into war to protect them, could easily be conceived. it was owing to the necessity of a war for the defence of their liberties, that his family owed the illustrious rank to which they had been called in this country. those were no friends either to the royal family or the constitution, who would pervert the principles to which they owed their connexion with the throne (applause.) the war appeared to have been carried on solely for the aggrandizement of the sovereign, and not for the liberties of the people, (cheers.) from the beginning to the end no traces of any efforts in favor of national rights were to be found (hear, hear, hear.) the alliances against france had been formed by those who had either participated in the spoliations of poland, or quietly looked on. the allies entered paris, and of their own act, replaced the bourbons without any condition in behalf of the people. the war had been carried on by the fiat of sovereigns for their own purposes; it was a warfare of bayonets to put down the liberties of the people. a single individual had made legitimacy march what out of france more rapidly than it marched in. a proof of its being the choice of the nation! the victory of waterloo left the people in as humiliating a condition as defeat could have done. in former times, when england interfered in continental politics, it was such had been to save the people from oppression. but now there the interference of queen elizabeth. was a community of effect to crush, not to save, the oppressed. it was painful that, in the negociations which led to this state of things, more harm had been done to the liberties of the world by the diplomatie course pursued by an illustrious individual, than good had been acquired by the brilliancy of his career in the field (cheers.) the system of spies and informers was not the growth of an english soil,-it was an emanation from the holy alliance, and constituted one of the glories which attested the salvation of the country (cheers.) of a piece with this was that beautiful bridge-street concern, whose secretary was treasurer to the society for the relief of foreigners in distress, and in consequence had access at pleasure to the persons invested with diplomatie cares in this country, for such purposes as he chose to be engaged in. next came the system of terrorism. john bull was incapable of tolerating the atrocities which were committed under the name of the john bull. the process of terrifying a man from were he a father, it was only to his duty was easy. send him an anonymous threat that if he did such an act, he would next sunday read such a story of his wife, his son, or his daughter. this was the system which they now saw reared in england, and associated with the principles of men in power. could such evils have arisen, had mr. fox's principles prevailed? (repeated cheers.) the present distress proceeded ministers had been dividing and from taxation. distracting by setting one interest in the community against another, and had at length made such a juggle of all interests, that none could extricate themselves from the mass of confusion. the first step in the way of remedy was to remove the cause of excessive taxation. why uphold a great standing army, and an immense unnecessary expenditure in every department of the state? the holy alliance might want it, but of what use was it to england? (loud cheers.) he was perfectly convinced, however, and he spoke it without pledging himself to specific details; or shutting out particular qualifications, that a rational reform in parliament could alone save the country. it was only repeating what he had said in the house of lords when the head of a party, which at that time was shackling his friends with their support, had declared that those he had then who called for reform were jacobins. challenged that noble lord to meet the friends of 122 the warning voice. reform, and see which were the real and best friends of royal highness had fallen into a mistake, which many a order and the constitution (enthusiastic cheers.) mr. watson said he was a firm whig of the constitution of 1688. he prayed that the royal family might ever act upon the principles to which they owed their elevation, and not be led away from them by sycophantic ministers, who would betray the king and sacrifice the country for the attainment of their own corrupt private ends. (applause.) the chairman gave the bishop of norwich's health, and after quoting an elaborate character of a perfect man, by dr. blair, challenged contradiction when he applied it, paragraph by paragraph, to the lord bishop of norwich. (applause.) the rev. archdeacon bathurst feelingly expressed thanks for the compliment to his revered father. the duke of norfolk expressed his deep sense of the honor done him in drinking his health, associated as that compliment was with the growing diffusion of the great principles of mr. fox. (applause.) by those principles alone could the country be yet saved. (cheers.) he begged to assure them, that he felt the same pride in now avowing these principles, that he had experienced in obeying the commands of his sovereign at the ceremony of the late coronation. (great applause.) the rev. mr. collyer was called up by the toast in favor of catholic emancipation. the present state of the country was solely owing to the unjust wars which had so long been waged in defiance of the prophetic voice of mr. fox. he knew of no course but one for averting the ruin which impended, and that was to change the men and the measures that had created the evil-in one word, to restore the constitution to its original purity. this could be effected only by a wise and temperate, but a real and effectual reform in the commons house of parliament.-(great applause.) the duke of sussex, in proposing the health of the earl of albemarle, expressed his regret that the noble earl did not exert those powerful talents, which were so well known to the country, in his proper place -in the house of peers. a certain a certain distinguished personage had characterised county meetings as farces; but if, after the exertions of the noble earl and his friends, such expressions were in future applied to county meetings, they might turn out to be very serious tragedies indeed. he concluded by proposing "the health of the "the health of the noble chairman," which was drunk with loud applause. the earl of albemarle said, that when a man knew his own faults, it was the first step towards correcting them. he was aware, that two faults were attributed to him. of one of these he was conscious, but he was not entirely disposed to submit to the imputation of the other. however that might be, he was sorely afraid he was not likely to amend, either in the admitted or imputed fault. the fault which he admitted was talking too much at that meeting; that imputed to him was his talking too little elsewhere. when his royal highness first proposed his health, he had determined to correct the first fault, at least, by not speaking much about himself. he begged, however to say one or two words upon the remark which his royal highness had made upon him. in the first place, his kind hearted man had fallen into before him. he allowed the kindness of his heart to get the better of his judgment, for those who best knew him, knew how unfit he was for the house of lords. he was not at all fitted for the solemnity, the gravity, the wisdom, and decorum of that assembly; he had no ambition to gratify, no private object to attain, and in honest truth he must say, that he thought an attendance on the house of lords a useless and a thankless exertion. he did not perceive the good which was to come from it. he had, it was true, been ready to come forward in the county, and he did so for this reason-that he thought his exertions there more affective than they could be as a daily debater in the house of lords. he hoped they would accept the thanks of a plain man, who had no ambition beyond a wish to hold the good opinion and good will of those who knew him best, (applause.) there was no man who wished more sincerely than himself the happiness and prosperity of his friends, or the general welfare of his country. (applause.) mr. coke.-mr. fox was an englishman of frank dealing and plain speaking with his countrymen ; he was a man of the most unbounded benevolence, the firm friend of civil and religious liberty all over the world, and the determined opponent of tyranny and corruption in every shape.-(hear, hear.)-mr. fox had used his greatest energies to avert from his country, the calamitous war with france against the efforts of the people to assert their liberties; but his counsels, unfortunately for mankind, had not prevailed. let, then, the haters of the liberties of mankind rejoice at the success of their schemes; let them take the glory of which they talked so much, and with it the taxation, which was the price of the glory. (hear, hear.) he had still hopes that the energies of the people would compel even the present ministers to be less prodigal. unless some speedy step were taken, it would be difficult to preserve the country from ruin and destruction. he hoped, however, that something might yet be done, and that the example of one revolution would not be productive of another. (hear, hear.)the author of all these accumulated and still accumulating miseries, was the pilot who, as it had been well said, gathered the storm which now required such a united effort to allay. where now were the pitt-dinners to record the career of that minister? a puny effort had been made to get up one in that county, which he regretted did not succeed; for he was persuaded that if the company had met, the opportunity would be taken by men like alderman thurtell, who would come forward for the purpose of correcting the errors into which they had been betrayed by the advocates of the pitt system. he had no doubt that there were many who would, if allowed the opportunity, take their leave, as alderman thurtell had done, of the politics of the pitt-school; for he firmly believed, that its general supporters in the country had now abandoned it. that there was a description of people who had amassed wealth under it, at the expense of their country, who still retained some gratitude for the source of so much wealth and emolument, he was perfectly prepared to believe; but they were only the fragments of the pile, and, with a few of the clergy perhaps, its last adherents; but the the warning voice. 123 great bulk of the nation had no common feeling with them, (hear, hear.) he greatly feared that there was a wicked and bloody set of men, bent upon establishing arbitrary power in this country by means of military despotism. mr. w. smith, his health been drank, addressed the company. that such a meeting should be held to commemorate mr. fox's principles so many years after his death, was in itself its greatest eulogy, (applause.) what were the different circumstances under which the commemorations of mr. pitt and mr. fox took place? the one had for 25 years dispensed the patronage and wealth of this great country, and created around him a host of dependants whom he had enriched for their attachment. yet with all these stimulating and powerful means for the preservation of his name, his adherents had fallen off, and confessed the delusion under which many of them had acted; but very different were the circumstances under which the attachment of mr. fox's friends had been formed. their tribute to the great ascendancy of his mind had grown up amid the poverty, and sometimes unpopularity, of their leader; for often was it his lot to be assailed by the ungrateful people, for whose protection he was struggling against the engines of power. it was this distinction in the fortunes of these two ministers, that at this distance of time, when opinions could be estimated by their consequences, placed mr. fox's fame upon so high a pinnacle (applause) the chairman, in proposing the next toast, said, that he should not trespass long upon the attention of his audience, as an anecdote, which he recollected of the late sir philip francis, warned him of the impropriety of so doing. his royal highness, who was his royal highness, who was well acquainted with sir philip francis, could bear testimony to the eagerness of mind and impetuosity of temper which so much amused and delighted the friends of that celebrated individual. sir philip francis was once in the presence of a person of the very highest consideration in this country, who was relating a story in a very round-a-bout sort of a manner, indeed, just as he (the noble chairman) might be then doing. sir philip francis bore for some time with the tediousness of the narrator, but at last he forgot all decorum, and cried out with his characteristic impatience, "the result, sir, in the name of mercy, the result," (laughter.) he would not give an opportunity of a similar interruption. the toast spoke for itself. its object in spite of all that could be said or done, would inevitably come at last;"a speedy and effectual reform in the representation of the people in parliament" (repeated cheers.) the duke of sussex, excusing the chairman on account of the relative situation in which he stood, gave "lord bury." be counteracted by withholding the supplies, and cutting down the expenditure by which they were supported (cheers.) "lord holland, the representative of the name and principles of mr. fox," (great cheering.) "mr. honywood, member for kent." mr. honywood said, that he had been educated in the principles of mr. fox, and his riper judgment fully adopted them. if mr. fox's warning voice had, been listened to, such calamities would not have fallen upon the nation; they would have seen a population of, moral and industrious habits, instead of a population degraded and demoralized; they would have seen a population among whom crime was comparatively. unknown, instead of a population which was daily filling our gaols with criminals of every description. the only way of removing or remedying the great and. crying evils of which every man had now reason to complain, was by destroying the cause of them. op-. pressive taxation was the cause, extensive retrenchment the cure; but that cure could never be obtained but by a reformed parliament (cheers.) the duke of norfolk gave-" mr. james macdonald, m. p." mr. macdonald said-mr. fox was a man who sincerely loved the people, and desired their happiness; who was the uniform denouncer of war, and friend of peace; whose mind was as much distinguished for its energy, as his heart for its tenderness; who never entertained one mean or selfish thought, but lived and acted solely for the well-being of his country, and the amelioration of mankind, (loud cheers.) were not the present, times when it was expedient to hold up to public imitation such merits and such virtues? let the meeting contrast with the manly counsels which he would have given, the shabby, shuffling counsels which have been exhibited during the last six years, (cheers.) let them contrast with his constant and undeviating. rectitude the bold encroachments and base compliances -the blustering menaces and abject entreaties of which the ministers of the crown, during that period, had repeatedly made use, (cheers.) if they neglected the great paramount duty of attending at such meetings as the present, the game was up with them-their chance was lost,and no alternative would remain to them except. a desperate tyranny, or a desperate revolution, (loud cries of hear.) the necessity of a reform in parliament, he must again repeat it, was becoming every day more and more apparent. even those, who had formerly disputed that point, were now obliged to concede it. for his own part, ever since he had had the honor of a seat in parliament, he had supported the necessity of reforming it, (cheers.) and whatever obligations he might feel to those who sent him, he would not consent to sit there one moment longer than he had the power of voting for the application of that elementary cure to the diseases of the constitution-reform in parliament -(warm cheers.) the eloquent gentleman afterwards animadverted in the most pointed language to the nipping of the flower of freedom in italy, while yet in the bud, by the instruments of the holy alliance. having alluded to the struggle of the greeks against the turks, he proceeded:-where was the man, with one spark of lord bury said that he was sorry to observe, that ministers had flourished and grown great at the very period that the country had been impoverished by the system they had pursued. that system was to divide those whom they had to govern-to set the agriculturist against the manufacturer, and the manufacturer against the agriculturist-to employ spies, to calumniate their opponents, and to degrade the roya! family in the estimation of the kingdom (cheers.) the ruinous measures which they were daily pursuing, could only g 2 124 the warning voice. but ment, had voted in its favor. the support of those gentlemen had confirmed him in his intention to proceed at some future period with the same motion, (cheers.) "earl grey and the friends who adhered to the principles of mr. fox." (loud cheeers.) the chairman, in giving "sir francis burdett,” said that during the greater part of his political life he had differed from the honorable baronet. they were now perfectly agreed.-they were agreed, because they knew that such an union alone could save the remnant of their liberties and property, (cheers.) they were agreed, because it was their anxious wish to see the constitution administered in justice, purity, and economy,-(cheers.)-they were agreed, because they knew at the present moment it was not so administered -because they felt that a change, not merely of the members, but of the system of administration, was imperatively called for by the exigencies of the statebecause they were aware that such a change could not be effected without a thorough reform in the commons house of parliament, (loud cheering) generous feeling, that did not wish the greeks successtative, and a few other independent members of parliaover the cruel tyrants who had for so many years lorded over them? he was sure that every man who he then saw around him, earnestly wished for the emancipation of that great but unfortunate nation, (cheers.) did they imagine that lord londonderry wished it? (cries of no?) no: the cry of downing street was "the sublime ottoman porte, and the cause of legitimacy;" for the sublime ottoman porte, though an unholy member, still was a member of the holy alliance, (laughter.) he trusted, however, that that legitimate power, the ottoman porte, would not succeed in crushing the rising energies of greece: but whether it did or not, it was impossible to deny, that since their last meeting, the cause of liberty had advanced in europe, not indeed with the aid, but in despite of the effects of england to prevent it. in france indeed, measures were under discussion which were destructive of the very appearance of liberty. it was worth while to see the protection which a legitimate monarch gave to his people, to whom he had previously given a piece of paper which he thought fit to denominate a charter, (laughter.) not only was it proposed to abolish the use of juries in all offences of the press, but with one fell blow to abolish it altogether. such were the blessed effects of the friendship of the allied sovereigns to france; and from the effects of such a friendship he prayed god that this country might be always delivered, (cheers.) if the people in england should allow these violent infractions of public to pass by in silence, and without expressing their indignation against those who committed them, their own constitution would soon undergo a very material change indeed. the chairman said he had seen a farrier's bill lately, of which the only item was "for curing your horse till it died, so many pounds." he supposed that the item of services performed by most of the pensioned gentry would be of a similar nature, it might, perhaps, run thus," for taking care of the interests of the country until they were annihilated, such an annuity for life,' (cheers.) may all corrupt advisers of the crown meet their just punishment in the general execration of the country." (great applause.) the toast was drank with loud cheers. mr. e. taylor read a letter from sir francis, in which he said the late norfolk meeting appeared to him perfect in every part. the noble chairman should not wish the meeting to separate without some allusion being made to the infamous bill of pains and penalties, which could never be sufficiently execrated-which ought never to be permitted to be forgotten, (loud cheers.) he was the more inclined to allude to that unjust and odious measure, because there was no topic so obnoxious to ministers and their creatures, (cheers.) they objected to it more than to any other, and used the strangest argument in the world to deprecate the discussion of it. if any thing was said against it, the answer immediately was, "you must not mention that subject, because it excited indignation from one end of the country to the other.' as well might a convict say to his judge-" true it is, my lord, that i have been guilty of a most atrocious crime-true it is that i have excited by it general indignation; but for god's sake let the subject drop, as the revival of it is to me a very unpleasant subject," (laughter.) last year ministers had subjected an illustrious individual to a trial where it was impossible that justice could be obtained, (cheers.) this year they had condemned another individual, without even the form or shadow of a trial. (great cheering.) " "sir robert wilson, and may the english soldier never forget his rights and duties as a citizen," (shouts and applause.) "lord suffield, "(great applause.) mr. lennard, m.p. said it was quite manifest that the principles of mr. fox, which had been so well illustrated in america, and which alone could form the basis of a free government, would speedily have a more signal triumph than any which they had yet obtained. the delusion of the pitt system, which rested on a vast paper currency, was rapidly approaching to its end. without a considerable reform in parliament, the people would not be able to obtain any real improvement in their situation. from the approaching meeting of that body, nothing was to be expected save partial measures. the motion to repeal the six acts which had been coupled with his name by the noble chairman, had received little support. though two of them were most hostile to the liberty of the press and the exercise of the right of petition, his motion to repeal them met with less discussion than any ordinary turnpike bill. mr. denman, whose support was valuable to every cause that he espoused, was the only member of opposition that had spoken in behalf of it, though mr. coke, their represen-inch by inch, (cheers.) the duke of sussex in giving" the brave yeomanry of the county of norfolk," said that if the cavalry in another county had really been yeomen, the county could never have witnessed the disgraceful outrage committed at manchester. in allusion to the six acts his royal highness said, that they had begun by passing an alien act in compliment to the holy alliance. what happened since? why six infamous acts had crept into their statute-book against their own liberties, (cheers.) a property tax he for one would resist, foot. by foot and the warning voice. 125 "mr. hume, to whom our gratitude is due for the complete detection and exposure, of the system of corruption." the company separated about one in the morning. the norfolk meeting was graced by the presence of a royal duke justly celebrated for his virtuous, independent, consistent, and liberal conduct in public and private life; by that of the first peer of the realm, of a man who is at once its best agriculturist, and one of its most upright legislators; and of many other gentlemen equally respectable for their rank, property, and principles. several of the ministerial papers have had the extreme indiscretion to censure the duke of sussex for attending the celebration of mr. fox's birth-day, and for taking a part opposed to the king's government. surely these men must intend to cast underhand censure on the king himself. they cannot have forgot that mr. fox was, to his dying day, the bosom friend of his present majesty, who from his 20th to his 50th year decidedly entertained, and spiritedly and constantly professed, the principles of that illustrious statesman. they will not have the hardihood to censure political consistency, or the steady maintenance of opinions confirmed by the reflection of experience of more than thirty years. it is true the duke of sussex blames a war, to which the king himself was opposed. it is true that he condemns an association, instituted under pretence of defending the constitution, but really to restrict the liberty of the press, and which public opinion only has rendered nearly harmless. it is true that he abhors the system of malignant slander established by the supporters of the john bull. it is true that he still advocates the reform in parliament, which the prince of wales and mr. pitt once advocated. it is true that he ridicules that "holy alliance," whose arowed and unholy object is to establish the absolute power of kings, and to crush the friends of freedom throughout the continent. if, in holding those sentiments and principles, he opposes his majesty's ministers, doubtless he glories in the opposition, and will no more be daunted by the abuse of hirelings and apostates, than he has been seduced by the smiles of men at court. at a meeting of the constitutional society, august 2, 1782, resolved, that the following letter written by a member of this society, be printed in the public papers: to the people of great-britain, friends, countrymen, and fellow-citizens, to a weak, wicked, and profligate administration, and to a corrupt and venal parliament, may be attributed all the disasters that have befallen this unhappy country. britain has been rent asunder by its own hands, and its empire divided, to fill the pockets of a few rapacious men. the house of commons, which ought to be the real representatives of the people, are now universally known and acknowledged to be the dependents of the kings ministers and the tools and engines of that power which they were intended to check and control. that beautiful fabric which our forefathers, at the expence of every thing that was dear to them, so admirably constructed and formed on the wisest principles, which the crown heretofore looked to with awe and reverence, has been sapped and undermined by that undue influence, which has pervaded every department of the state, and made us inglorious to all the world. it is this cursed, this detested influence, that every man who has the least spark of an englishman left in him, ought to oppose, and endeavour to reduce and annihilate. but it may be asked, how is this to be done?-to which i answer, by the people petitioning parliament for their just rights-for a more free and equal representation, and for shortening the duration of parliament. for nothing can be so effectual a bar to the encroachments of the king's ministers, or so radical a cure for the corruption and venality of the times, as a free and universal representation of the people, and a frequent call upon them for a choice of representatives. the hands of government would then, instead of being weakened by ambition or the lust of individuals, be strengthened and upheld by the integrity of men, who would only live by the breath of the people, and whose power would instantly cease the moment they departed from that line of conduct. you then, my friends and fellow-citizens, must restore your country to its former splendor and greatness, by an internal reform of that branch of the legislature, which should speak no other sentiments than your own, and be dependent on none but yourselves. let me then exhort you, by every thing that is dear to englishmen-by the sacred remembrance of those who spilled their blood in defence of the constitution, as well as those who wisely framed it, to animate and encourage each other to sign the petitions now circulating for a more equal representation, and shortening the durations of parliament-to strike the iron now it is hot, now the minister has pledged himself in behalf of the people, and not let, by our negligence and criminal indifference, our children and posterity lose the blessing we so many years have in vain been struggling for. we have hitherto shewn our zeal and patriotism for individuals, who have deserved well of their country; let us now unite in the common cause, and convince these, who had but one doubt, that it is the sense of the people, that there should be reform in parliament, and that the language of the petitions is the language of every englishman's heart. thomas yeates, sec. earl grosvenor, on reform. earl grosvenor speaking of reform said, "it is that which, when arrested, compressed, and confined, will in its expansion carry all before it; it will break opposing 126 the warning voice. bayonets, and bolts, and bars to atoms; and still more powerful gold will vainly endeavour to restrain it. if you heap pelion upon ossa, it will dash them in its struggles to fragments. if it hold that rational freedom is the right of a people, they will become rationally free; if it deem moderate reform necessary, moderate reform will prevail; if it consider that abuses shall be rectified, abuses will cease. all history proclaims the triumph of public opinion. what put down the tyranny of james 11.? a single shout, the echo of the public opinion, which resounded from westminster hall at the acquittal of the seven bishops. what accomplished the french revolution? not, surely, the small handful of men who stormed the bastile; but the sentence which public opinion had pronounced upon the tyranny of the government, the vices of the state, and the condition of the nobility." copy of a letter from a friend to r. milnes, 12th april, 1821. queries to mr. ricardo. to the editor of the morning chronicle. sir, permit me, through the medium of your paper, to propound the following queries to mr. ricardo ;-i. is not the cause of the present distress of the farmer the want of a remunerating price for his produce? 2. is not the cause of that want of a remunerating price the expence of production, as compared with the actual value of produce? 3. is not taxation the most formidable item in the expence of production? 4. is not taxation, therefore, the specific cause of the distress-inasmuch as it absolutely prevents the existing price of produce from being a remunerating price? 5. is it not impossible, without ruin to the manufacturing interest, aud destruction to our foreign trade (now just beginning to breathe) to force up the price of agricultural produce? 6. is not therefore the diminution of the expences of production the specific remedy for the existing agricultural distress? sir, 10. will not any other measures of a merely temporary nature ultimately injure all parties, delude the country and speedily bring again upon our heads all the evils which they might pretend to remove? i thank you very sincerely for the compliment you have paid me, in sending me your philanthropic and patriotic observations upon the causes of the cure of the evils under which our once happy country is now suffering. it has been my fate to see nations that 8. would not the repeal of taxes, conjoined with the enjoyed, and nations that were deprived of that free-lowering of rents, completely remove agricultural dom, which god has intended as the birth-right of all distress, by making the present prices remunerative? mankind; and i have invariably observed, that their 9. would not this course, combined with severe internal happiness and prosperity corresponded with economy, place the public credit of the country on the the degree of liberty and freedom which prevailed firmest posssible foundation? amongst them. such being the case, i have ever felt anxious that england, which has so nobly maintained her independence against foreign foes, should not allow her constitution to be undermined by domestic traitors, who, for their own private ends, are exerting themselves to calumniate whatever is good, generous or virtuous, amongst us, and by the undue influence of corruption, are endeavouring to establish the worst of all tyrannies, "a despotism in the name of the law." i certainly do not look upon the evils you enumerate as the first cause of the distress that pervades all ranks; i merely regard them as arising from the one great source which has produced all the injustice, extravagance, and oppression which has for some years back marked our foreign and domestic policy, "the want of a house of commons really elected by and representing the sense of the people." had the nation been actually represented by men who had their country's good alone at heart, the waste of the public money which we have witnessed, and the system of corruption and oppression that threatens the ruin of the empire, would certainly never have been tolerated. i am, sir, your obedient servant, feb. 12, 1822. as things are, reform will become every day more difficult of attainment, unless the people will give the important subject their most serious attention, and discover that they all think alike upon it, with very few exceptions. but unless it is prevented, slavery will inevitably be in time our lot, and then, as is now the case in spain, it is to be feared, all the miseries of anarchy and revolution will inevitably follow. 7. is not an extensive repeal of taxes the only measure by which ministers can assist in the accomplishment of that object? comes. earl fitzwilliam, sir george saville and mr. pitt. leeds mercury, 19th january, 1822. the present deeply depressed state of the agricultural interest has occasioned several county meetings to be held in the south, in order to deliberate on the means of relief; and it is highly probable that, before the assembling of parliament, many other meetings of the same kind will take place. the landlords and farmers have indeed the greatest reason to complain; the first have sustained a very large reduction of their income, and the second are for the most part living upon their capitals. it was stated six months ago in the report of the agricultural committee, and has since been fully confirmed, "that at the present price of corn, the "returns to the occupier of an arable farm, after allowing "for the interest of his investment, are by no means "adequate to the charges and outgoings, of which a the warning voice. 127 "considerable proportion can be paid only out of the "capitals, and not from the profits, of the tenantry." an evil like this, affecting so vitally the whole agricultural population of the kingdom, is national, and demands the immediate and serious attention of parliament. it is supposed, on good grounds, that the value of the agricultural produce of the kingdom has within the last ten years fallen off one-half; and during that time the weight of taxation, notwithstanding the subtraction of the property and husbandry horse taxes, has considerably increased. wheat, which sold at twelve shillings per bushel, now sells at six, and the value of other grain, as well as of live stock, has fallen off in an equal proportion. while the present rate of taxation continues, it is impossible for the tenant to live, without such a reduction of rent as would make the income of the landlord almost nothing; the landlord feels this and acknowledges it, he makes an abatement in his rents, but knowing that this is insufficient, and apprehending that he will soon be left without a tenant, he joins the farmer most cordially in his well-founded complaints rents must undoubtedly be greatly lowered throughout the kingdom, or the owner and the tenant will be ruined together. earl fitzwilliam, ever among the foremost in acts of patriotism, justice, and humanity, has set a noble example in the reduction of his rents to his northamptonshire tenants, not less than 35 or 45 per cent. he has found, from experience, that the tenant cannot pay a higher rent, if he maintains his family with decency. it is even doubtful whether, ultimately, he will be able to pay a rent near so high, seeing that agricultural produce is sinking fast to its former level, while the taxes are four times their former amount. the landlord, therefore, who, during the war, thought himself a much richer man than he had been, and therefore eagerly supported the system by which these wonderful effects were produced, will now find himself a much poorer mau than he ever was, since he will receive not merely a less amount of rents, but will out of that less amount have to pay a prodigiously increased weight of taxes. to such agriculturists as are hampered with mortgages, this state of things must bring speedy and inevitable ruin; many of those who have purchased their lands during the high prices of the war will be involved in deep distress and all, except the immoderately rich, must reduce their expenditure to their means, by the abandonment of much display and many luxuries. in this state of the agricultural interest, they very naturally meet together to confer, and to petition parliament for relief. it is very gratifying to observe how much narrow political prejudices of all kinds are on the wane: in all these meetings we hear scarcely a word of that old and favorite cry of the farmers-for high prices. when they were formerly in this state for a time, that cry was universal, and very few of them doubted its justice and propriety; but now there are few comparatively who utter it; the veil which ministers and the pittites put before their faces is torn off, and they see with great plainness that it is an enormous taxation by which they are overwhelmed. even the farmers, slow as they are of comprehension, seem at length to understand that for the last three years nearly they have monopolized the home market, and that beyond monopoly protection · cannot go. since, therefore, prices cannot be raised to a level with their outgoings, the outgoings must be reduced to the level of the prices; this step towards the truth they have also taken, and are consequently petitioning from many parts of the kingdom for reduced taxation. one step further we believe they will yet be driven to by distress; finding that a corrupt parliament can be induced by ministers to refuse them efficient relief, they will come to the conclusion that that parliament must be reformed. our account of the agricultural meeting in norfolk will show, that the farmers and landholders there have come to this opinion very generally, and have now expressed it very decidedly. what hope of relief, indeed, can there be from a house of commons, which, during a whole session, voted for keeping every establishment of state at nearly a war expenditure, in defiance of all expostulation and warning, in defiance of the sense and sufferings of the country, when there was such room for retrenchment, that ministers themselves began the work immediately after the session had ended? how gross must be the subserviency of such a body! how far must it have departed from its original intent, of being a check for the people upon the crown? the agriculturists of norfolk, with the earl of albemarle, mr. coke, and lord suffield at their head, say truly-" that the amount of the public 'expenditure, and consequently of public demands by "direct and indirect taxation, is the plain unquestionable "cause of their present sufferings; and that the only safe "and practicable remedy is to be found in such a "diminution of those demands as may enable the farmer "to grow his produce at a reasonable rate, and thus equally spread the benefit of its influence through "every class of society throughout the kingdom" we are afraid that no mere reduction in the expenditure of the country, though performed with the most rigid care, will replace the farmer in the situation from which he has fallen; but it is most obvious that the first operation ought to be rigorous retrenchment, and that other steps should then be taken according to the necessity which may yet remain for them. but we entertain very small hopes that any economy worth the name will be practised by the present house of commons; and, to speak candidly, our wishes for that event scarcely exceed our hopes. hopes. we are convinced that the only safety for the country is in reform, and equally convinced that reform will never be accomplished but through the severe pressure of misery. that clear-sighted and upright patriot, sir george savile, long ago expressed this sentiment. "dearly," he said "as he loved his country, "and much as he might expose himself to censure for "divulging such an idea, he could not avoid confessing 66 66 66 66 that, for some years past, he had not received what was called good news with any considerable degree of "pleasure to him, they were as victuals to a sick man, "which palled upon the appetite. he was sensible that no "circumstance, short of the deepest and most ignominious "calamity, could introduce a reformation, and bring "back to their senses and to virtue an infatuated and "" "degenerate people. the system of mr. pitt may yet prove beneficial to the nation, and he himself though he apostatised from his first principles, may yet be the means of introducing, by the miseries he has heaped h 2 128 the warning voice. upon the people, that reform, which his direct efforts failed to obtain. the nation, and particularly the suffering agriculturists, will no doubt observe with lynxeyed attention the conduct of ministers and of the parliament during the next session. they will discover, by the speech from the throne, whether the former intend retrenchment, and by the address whether the latter will enforce it. they will sagaciously discriminate between profession and performance: they will mark the conduct of mr. hume and his friends, in contrast with that of the direct opponents and the more secret enemies of reform: indeed thay have done this already, as the expressed gratitude of so many cities and towns to mr. hume demonstrates but certainly the vigilance of the people over their representatives will be more strict now than it has ever been, and the consequences of prolonged misconduct will be loud and general cries for reform. saville's must live revered with just applause, whose ruling passion was his country's cause, who nobly strove her freedom to maintain, and guard the blessing thro' her wide domain : yet here his honor'd corpse neglected lies, no sculptur'd marble guides our longing eyes, where we may sadly drop the grateful tear, or breathe the heartfelt sigh around his bier; but faithful history will his loss deplore, and paint those virtues we behold no more. quotations from blackstone nothing says blackstone "ought to be more guarded against in a free state than making the military power, when such a one is necessary to be kept on foot, a body too distinct from the people. the soldiers should live intermixed with the people: no separate camp, no the influence of the crown, as described by mr. barracks, no inland fortresses should be allowed; and pitt and by the leeds intelligencer. the intelligencer, speaking of mr. brougham's intended motion on the influence of the crown, says"mr. brougham cannot persuade the people of england or their representatives, to believe, that the influence of the crown is greater than absolute necessity demands, or that it in any way interferes with their liberty, their happiness, their enjoyments, or their prosperity." "to the people of england this influence ought to be sacred, as their safeguard from oppression, as their protection from anarchy.' "" mr. pitt, in his speech in the house of commons on the 7th of may, 1782, says — "the influence of the crown is an influence of the most pernicious kind; and at all times it has been pointed out as the most fertile source of all our miseries. it has been substituted in the room of wisdom, of activity, of exertion and of success." "nothing is more necessary and essential to the permanent interests of this country, than the total overthrow and extinction of this influence." the editor of the intelligencer is continually involving himself in difficulties; last week he unwittingly charged the king with having held principles fatal to the stability of the english throne; and this week he has brought himself to issue with mr. pitt, by ranking amongst the first of our political blessings that influence, which the statesman he affects to admire has denounced as the fertile source of all our miseries. lines written in thornhill church, near wakefield, yorkshire, where the late sir george saville is interred, august, 1788, by mrs, collings, of hull. if truest virtue and exalted fame can ere preserve a patriot's sacred name; perhaps it might be still better, if, by dismissing a stated number, and enlisting others at every renewal of the term, a circulation should be kept up between the army and the people, and the citizen and the soldier be more intimately connected together." b. i. chap. 13. we have, alas! departed from the wise principles here laid down, and are now beginning to taste the fruits of our deviation. is there not a grand principle in english jurispru dence laid down by our highest law authorities, that the accused in all cases shall have the privilege of challenging jurors, in order that no man, either interested or merely prejudiced against him, may sit in judgment upon his guilt or innocence. jurors (says blackstone) may be challenged for suspicion of bias or partiality. a principle challenge is such, where the cause assigned comes with it evident marks of suspicion, either of malice or favor: as that a juror of kin to either party within the 9th degree; that he has been arbitrator on either side; that he has an interest in the cause; that there is an action depending between him and the party; that he has taken money for his verdict; that he is the parties master, servant, counsellor, steward, or attorney, or of the same society or corporation with him. all these are principle causes of challenge; which, if true, cannot be overruled, for jurors must be (wholly unexceptionable.) barrack system. the house having resolved itself into a committee of supply, a great number of sums were voted for various purposes. on a grant of £241,000 being moved for the expense of the barrack department, an animated discussion arose-mr. hume, mr. bennet, and others, strongly condemning the system of covering the country with barracks, thereby tacitly confessing that the british constitution, which had hitherto been our boast as the choice of a free people, could now only be maintained by force of arms there was no other government in europe that was obliged to have recourse to an increase the warning voice. 129 of troops, and to the erection of internal fortresses. where would this end? if, in every town and village in which any appearence of disquiet were manifested a barrack was to be built. what necessity was there for an additional barrack at barnsley or carlisle? if, as ministers said, the feeling of the people were so much alienated from the government, that they were obliged to have recourse to building barracks within four miles of each other over the country, it was high time to institute an inquiry how this awful and melancholy change had taken place, and how it could be permanently remedied. whatever the state of the country was, it should be recollected that it arose from the system of internal policy pursued by his majesty's ministers. it was that policy which created the discontent, to whatever extent it existed, and to cover the country with barracks was an avowal that ministers were determined to keep down the discontents of the country by the sword. there were already no less than 97 barracks in the country-the chancellor of the exchequer alleged that government were unwillingly forced on the erection of these additional barracks; that applications were made for them by the magistrates of different places, and that government considered it as their duty to protect the peaceable and industrious against the danger to which their lives and their property were subject from the diaffected. it was desirable, under existing circumstances, that the soldiers should not be mingled with a disturbed and agitated population. the extent of so large a military expenditure was to be regretted, but it was inevitable.-mr. t. wilson considered the speeches of the opposition calculated to increase the feeling of discontent which now prevailed in the country. the house divided on the grant in question and it was carried by 72 against 30. the £5,000,000 annuity and watch and ward bills were read a third time and passed. his royal highness the duke of sussex's visit to york. august, 1822. we have this week been honored with the company of his royal highness the duke of sussex, who has been received with every mark of loyalty and esteem due to his illustrious family, and we have only to regret, that we had not a more enlarged opportunity of paying him every attention so eminently due to his own personal complacency and dignified deportment amongst us. his royal highness arrived on saturday evening, a little after five o'clock, in a landaulette and a pair of horses, followed by his own private carriage and four, with his attendants. in this unostentatious style, unattended by any escort, the prince drove to the house of robert chaloner, esq. where he was received and entertained in the most hospitable manner. on sunday morning his royal highness attended divine service at the cathedral, where the assemblage of persons of all classes, to witness his presence, was more numerous than we have almost ever experienced upon any former occasion. upon entering the cathedral, dr. camidge commenced playing the "hallelujah" chorus of handel, which continued until his royal highness had taken his seat. the solemnity of the service, and the great attention paid by his royal highness, added to the most respectful silence of so large a congregation, had a very powerful effect upon the auditory. when the service was concluded, his royal highness (who had occupied the judges' seat) withdrew through the grand entrance under the organ, and proceeded down the middle aisle to the great western door, bowing most courteously to the multitudes who had lined the side aisles to get a view of his person in the visit paid by his royal highness to the friend's retreat, on sunday afternoon, we learn that he spent upwards of two hours there, and took great interest in inspecting every part of that excellent establishment, which appeared to give him the highest satisfaction. an invitation had been forwarded to his royal highness to cantley, to honor the corporation with his company at a public dinner at the mansion-house, which was fixed for monday evening at seven o'clock. monday. this day, between twelve and one o'clock, (having previously signified his pleasure on the subject) his royal highness was waited upon by the right hon. the lord mayor, accompanied by the recorder, aldermen, sheriffs, gentlemen of the twenty four, the common council, &c. in full costume, who went in procession from the guildhall to the house of mr. chaloner; but there being no room in the house large enough to contain all the company assembled, his royal highness was pleased to express his wish to receive it in the front of the house, and his royal highness stood near a small summer-house. after a few words. of introduction by the lord mayor, the recorder read the following address:"to his royal highness augustus frederick, duke of sussex. "may it please your royal highness, "the lord mayor and commonalty of the ancient city of york, in their own names, and in the names of all the inhabitants thereof, humbly offer your royal highness their warmest thanks for condescending to honor them with your presence and countenance. "your royal highness's public and private virtues have long been objects of their observation and approbation; and their estimation of those virtues is not likely to be lessened by a more intimate acquaintance with your royal highness's well-known affability and good nature. "the principles that first placed the present illustrious family (of which your royal highness is an amiable and excellent member) upon the throne of these realms, at the same time established a constitution founded on the basis of liberty and law; which has nourished a manly spirit and proud national character amongst us, and has spread the british name and fame, by sea and land, to the uttermost ends of the earth. "reflections from these sources, cannot fail to excite in your royal highness's generous breast, as they do in 130 the warning voice. the hearts of all his majesty's loyal subjects, the warmest feelings of dignified pride and genuine patriotism. "your royal highness is humbly requested to accept the freedom of this ancient city, and to honor it by permitting your royal name to be enrolled amongst its freemen. given under our common seal, this 26th day of august, 1822." "" the recorder having read the address, he presented the same, and then spoke as follows:— "allow me to add, that it gives me real and unaffected pleasure, in thus being favored with an opportunity of testifying, as an individual, my profound respect and veneration for your royal highness's general deportment and character, and especially for your patriotic and dignified system of public conduct; and likewise of having the honor to present to your royal highness this address of the lord mayor and commonalty of the city of york." the duke seemed highly gratified, and immediately replied:66 my lord mayor and gentlemen of the commonalty of the ancient city of york, i return you my best thanks for the kind manner in which i have been received by you and the inhabitants of this city on my arrival here, as well as for your very flattering compliment on the occasion. "it is with pleasure, gentlemen, that i accept of the freedom of your ancient city; and i shall always be proud to know that my name is enrolled amongst its freemen; being assured by you, that i am indebted for this distinction to your approval of those principles which i have hitherto adopted, and ever shall observe for the regulation of my public conduct; having always been taught to believe, that the more attentively and zealously the liberty of the subject is watched and preserved, the greater is the security of the throne; and, surely, no one can have a greater interest in supporting the constitution, than a member of the royal family, however humble he may be, who derives from it all the blessings he enjoys, and which he is equally anxious, therefore, to secure to his fellow subjects.' 99 66 the right hon. the lord mayor then presented to his royal highness the freedom of the city, with the gold box, &c. his lordship, in presenting them, said, may it please your royal highness to accept the freedom of the city, with this box; and it is my anxious wish, that you may long live to continue amongst the independent freemen of this happy country." the duke received them, and bowed, evidently with high satisfaction and pleasure. the ceremony thus closed, and as the corporate body passed by his royal highness, he bowed to each individual with the greatest condescension and affability. after the presentation of the address, &c. the corporation, whilst at mr. chaloner's, partook of a sumptuous collation, prepared for the occasion, by that liberal representative of the city. dinner at the mansion-house. according to the determination of the corporate body, a most sumptuous dinner was provided on monday evening, for his royal highness the duke of sussex, for the corporation, and for such other gentlemen as the right honorable the lord mayor might think proper to invite. the members of the corporation assembled at the mansion-house in their official gowns, &c. soon after six, to be ready to receive his royal highness. at half-past six his royal highness proceeded in an open carriage from mr. chaloner's, through an immense concourse of spectators, who had collected in the streets, and at the windows of all the houses in the line to the mansion-house. his royal highness had bis hat off and bowed to the multitude in the most complaisant manner, who were highly gratified by his attention. it was remarked, with peculiar satisfaction, that upon this occasion loyalty and patriotism superseded every consideration of difference in political sentiments in able city. the respectable inhabitants of this ancient and honorthe company assembled in the large room on the ground floor, and the duke joined them, and conversed very affably with those around him till about a quarter past seven, when the dinner was announced, and the corporation, preceded by his royal highness, the lord mayor, &c. repaired into the state room. there were two large tables down the room, with one at the head, to join them. the lord mayor presided, and on his right sat the duke of sussex and mr. chaloner, and on his left sat the recorder, and the honorable thomas dundas. in the course of the dinner his royal highness very condescendingly took wine with the several members of the corporate body. the room was so much crowded, that several gentlemen found it requisite to dine below; for although the notice was so short that many of the leading gentlemen in the county was thereby prevented from attending, yet there were about 150 persons present. the dinner, which consisted of a profusion of every delicacy, including wines of all descriptions, was over about nine o'clock. a most excellent dessert succeeded; and, considering the shortness of the notice, it is arranged so superior a repast. really surprising that the lord mayor could have the health of our most gracious sovereign was drank from the gold cup, previous to the second course, with the usual dignified ceremony-three gentlemen standing, two on one side of the table and one on the other, and the toast was passed in this manner throughout king." the whole company; the band playing "god save the after a number of toasts had been proposed and drank, the duke of sussex rose and said, my lord mayor and gentlemen,-it affords me the highest satisfaction to have another opportunity of expressing to the corporation, and the other inhabitants of this ancient city, the grateful sensations which animate my bosom for the very handsome treatment which i have received since my arrival in york, (applause.) gentlemen, it is, in my opinion, the imperative duty of a prince occasionally to search after 1 the warning voice. 131 truth, in the assemblages of the people; and it is my pride, as well as a great satisfaction, to mix with my fellow subjects on all occasions-for, by seeing with mine own eyes, and not stuffing my ears, i am enabled to notice things in a very different light to that in which they are otherwise generally represented, (loud and repeated cheers.) gentlemen, in acting thus, i renounce every feeling but that of a sincere wish to be enabled so to conduct myself, at all times, and on all occasions, as to promote the welfare of my country, to my own satisfaction, and in strict unison with the principles of the constitution, (applause.) i have always highly respected the peculiar privileges of the various orders of society; and, i am sure, that by a jealous and correct admission of the privileges of each, the lowest will properly respect the highest, and the highest will look with the most generous feeling of friendship and benevolence to the lowest, (cheers.) gentlemen, having been absent from this country eighteen years, i have had an opportunity of noticing, with minute attention, the various revolutions which have taken place in that time, and i have always seen that the revolt of the people arose from a dereliction of the principles of rectitude in the government, (loud and long continued cheers.) gentlemen, i am most decidedly of the opinion that, in a land of liberty like this, every man should be allowed the full exercise of his rational powers, and never be restricted from the honest expression of upright and liberal sentiments, (loud cheers.) such, gentlemen, are the principles which i have been taught; and i have learnt them not in this country alone-i have compared one constitution with another, in distant lands, and i should feel sorry if i should ever have to leave the country where the british constitution was formed, and where it ought to be protected, (cheers.) it is to this constitution that my family are indebted for the honor of reigning amongst you it is on the principles of this constitution that their happiness and safety depend; and i hope that the moment i forget to cherish the best interests of that country which gave me birth, i hope that moment will close my public life, and also my earthly career, (thunders of applause.) gentlemen, as to my visit to york, i shall only add, that i have heard much of the loyalty and intelligence of its citizens; but, having now come amongst you, i am more than ever convinced, that those who have honesty enough to speak as they think, are the most deserving of, and the most likely to enjoy the high privileges of civil and religious liberty, (loud cheers.) it is only by thus entering into society, and lending a willing ear to argument, that we can possibly learn the truth, (cheers.) gentlemen, i again return you my thanks, and conclude by proposing the health of the right honorable the lord mayor. the duke now sat down amidst applause the most unbounded. his royal highness afterwards again shortly addressed the meeting, and proposed the following most excellent and constitutional toast:29 "the respectability of the crown-the durability of the constitution-and the prosperity of the people. this toast was received with loud acclamation, and was drank with repeated cheers. it was then about a quarter past eleven, and the duke retired amidst the loud cheering of the company. on tuesday, about two o'clock in the afternoon, his royal highness left york, having, by his affability and consistency, during his short stay, greatly increased the number of his personal friends, and of his warm political admirers. he intended to pursue the following route, as nearly as unforeseen circumstances would allow :-tuesday night he would arrive at catterickbridge-on wednesday, at lambton-hall-monday, sept. 2, at sir matthew white ridley's-wednesday, sept. 4, at earl grey's, howick-monday, sept. 9, at raby castle, the princely seat of the earl of darlington on the 15th at cantley, the seat of m. a. taylor, esq-on the 18th, at newstead abbey-and on the 24th at holkham, the residence of t. w. coke, esq. spy system. to the editor of the leeds mercury. aberdeen, may 15th, 1820. sir,-the shameful levity and insolent tone of defiance with which the ministerial members of the house of commons treated the motion of alderman w wood on the subject of edwards the spy, are such an outrage against moral feeling and decency of manners as never before was exhibited in that assembly. the conduct of alderman wood is above all praise. his open, manly, and intrepid endeavours to elicit truth, his high sense of moral obligation, his honest reprobation of the baseness of that man whom ministers attempt to screen, entitle him to the gratitude of his country. ministers are little acquanted with the high spirit of the people of england, if they imagine, that the paltry sneers of mr. canning, or the pleadings of a crown lawyer in the house of commons, can stifle that feeling of honest indignation which the crimes of such a miscreant as edwards excite. that thistlewood and his associates were profligate and unprincipled men, no one who has read their own declarations will deny. but that they ever would have combined and conspired to assassinate ministers, unless they had been instigated by edwards, and furnished with money and with arms, few will now believe. ministers were never even suspected to have known of this instigation, till now that they attempt to screen the person accused of such deliberate baseness. if edwards was simply an informer and not an instigator, why refuse to inquire into the part he truly acted. such an inquiry would establish a distinction between the evidence of an accomplice which the law allows, and the evidence of one who acts upon a plan of cool and deliberate instigation. it appears from the depositions brought forward by alderman wood. that edwards sought out the most needy and desperate and irreligious men he could find; he wrought upon their wretchedness and desperation, and furnished them with arms, money, and opportunity, for the commission of that assassination which he contrived. contrast the feelings of the populace of london on the detection of the conspirators and on the day of their execution; they rejoiced in the detection 1 2 132 the warning voice. and prevention of so wicked a project; they cheered the bow-street officers when they dragged the conspirator thistlewood from his place of concealment; they were satisfied with the verdict of the jury against men who had dared to justify the crime of assassination. this feeling of condemnation, however, was changed into one of compassion, when it appeared that these poorwretch es had been the victims of seduction. if ministers wish that the country at large should sympathize in the justice of that law by which the conspirators suffered they should not attempt to screen the man who is accused of having prompted them. if in employing edwards as a spy, government meant only that he should watch the motions of the conspirators with a view to give such information as should defeat the execution of the intended assassination then the moment he went beyond this, he was guilty of treachery even to ministers. however the members of his majesty's government may repose in the security of the power, they may rest assured, that this is the impression which the whole complexion of the case must necessarily make, and has made, upon the mind of the disinterested part of the public. i am, mr. editor, yours respectfully, benevolence. x. y. all our conduct towards men, should be influenced by this important precept, do unto others, as you would that others should do unto you. feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, comforting the afflicted, yield more real pleasure than we receive from those actions which respect only ourselves. benevolence may, in this view, be termed the most refined self-love. poetry. death. yes! ruthless monarch! soon or late, all, all must yield to thy stern powerthough lurking in the womb of fate, as yet unknown that solemn hour. i scorn'd thee when the smiling spring blush'd on these cheeks with rosy hue-and, then, i thought thou couldst not bring my sentence with the summer's dew. but in the autumn of my life, whilst trembling leaves around are falling, i know that we must live at strife, and daily now expect thy calling. the shelter'd leaf on yon tall tree may 'scape awhile the wintry blast; mercy may hold her shield o'er me, but thee and i must meet at last. history and death of mrs. garrick. this lady closed her life on wednesday night se'nnight, at twelve o'clock, at her house on the adelphi terrace, strand, in the 99th year of her age, having survived her || husband, the inimitable david garrick, 43 years and nine months, he having died on the 26th january, 1779. mrs. g. was married in july, 1749. her maiden name was violetti, and she was a native of vienna, but chose, as murphy says, "to grace herself with an italian name." from the same authority we learn, that "she was an elegant figure, and as a dancer greatly admired for the uncommon elegance which she displayed in all her movements" in early life she unquestionably possessed great personal attractions, as the portraits of her at hampton bear witness. "signora violetti," says murphy, "was patronized by lord and lady burlington, who, it was understood, gave her a fortune of six thousand pounds." this, at least, seems to attach some degree of credit, if it does not confirm the account of this lady, which is detailed at great length in lee lewis's memoirs, vol. ii. page 66, which might otherwise be regarded as a fiction. the following are a few of the particulars of this romantic narrative, and as they seem to have been unknown to, or escaped the notice of, the various biographers of the great actor, and are in themselves not uninteresting, we give them as follow:"it is rather singular that mr. garrick's numerous biographers should have entirely omitted not the least of the interesting particulars of his marriage with signora violetti, particularly as they have thought proper to trouble the world with the most circumstantial and minute account of his foibles, peculiarities and eccentricities. "the late earl of cork and burlington, that distinguished patron of the fine arts, had, during his tour through italy, an amour with a young lady of family in the city of florence. their intimacy produced, at a naturally expected period, a sweet pledge of their endearments. his lordship was unfortunately called home before he could have the pleasure of beholding the dear offspring of his tender attachment; and the mother although she was abandoned by her relatives for the disgrace she had bronght upon her family, sought in her infant the only comfort she could find for the absence of its father. family considerations obliged him, after his return from italy, to form a matrimonial connexion with a native of his own country. but this union of family prudence and accommodation could not obliterate the fond remembrance of his former love, nor the affection which he felt as a parent. in a word he deserted neither the italian lady nor his child; he sent ample remittances to her, and actually corresponded with her by letters and several trusty messengers, whom he employed for the purpose of hearing faithfully the state of the mother and her infant, who he had every reason to believe was his own. the lovely girl received from her well-bred mother a virtuous and an accomplished education. she was the delight of her parents; and the great advances she made in every branch of politeness and elegance, rendered her capable of adorning the most exalted spheres of life. unfortunately, before she arrived at womanhood, she lost her mother, whom she had the affliction to see gradually falling the victim of a cause too latent for her to discover; and as her mother never gave her the least personal knowledge of her real father, she thus found herself, at a very early the warning voice. 133 period of life, in the situation of an orphan, without a parent to guide, protect, or cherish that period of female life, when all around is danger and delusion. she had, however, the satisfaction of learning from her mother that her father was of a family both honorable and noble. his lordship having early intelligence of the death of the amiable woman, immediately formed a plan for completing the education of his daughter, which the mother had, with his liberal and powerful assistance, considerably advanced towards a state of singular perfection. to effect this desirable purpose, he wrote to a person at florence, in whom he had great eonfidence, to take charge of the young creature. this person proved so unfaithful, as to appropriate to himself the greater part of the allowance that should have supported and educated the absent daughter with every splendor and accommodation becoming her descent. she was even thankful to him for an engagement he obtained for her as a dancer in the opera house of the great duke; so much was she deceived by the pretences and representations of this perfidious monster, that she even received the most trifling allowance as the gratuity of his own beneficence! her appointment as a dancer soon reaching the ears of her noble father and protector, made him resolve that she should no longer continue at such a distance from his care and observance. being arrived at the most precarious time of life, and her situation being, in every respect, truly hazardous, still more determined him to dispatch a messenger for her, who engaged her to come to england at a much greater salary than she could ever possibly expect to have in italy. the offer was irresistible, and either a presentiment of what followed, or a desire to visit other climes, induced her to take the earliest opportunity of coming to england. "the period of the arrival of the signora violetti was soon after mr. garrick (with whom she was engaged) commenced manager of drury-lane theatre. the graces that attended her first appearance charmed and prepossessed every spectator in her favor. 'she won the hearts of all the swains, and rivalled all the fair.' modesty, like her native handmaid, waited on all her steps; and dame fortune, however cruel to others, lavished upon her the most desirable of her bounties. "my readers must almost anticipate my informing them, that the noble lord, her father, although under covert, was not the less zealous or inactive in establishing her reputation. he likewise embraced every opportunity of conversing with his fair offspring in her language, in which he found her possess all the perfection his most anxious wishes could have formed. but these frequent and pleasing conversations to both were not yet sufficiently satisfactory to the parent, who was naturally impatient to have the mutual enjoyment that arises from filial and parental intercourse, uncontrolled by disguise, and unfettered by mystery. nothing could possibly ease the solicitude of the anxious parent, but providing her an asylum under his own roof. to accomplish this desirable object required the greatest delicacy and discretion. his lordship being blessed with a daughter* some years younger than signora • she was afterwards married to the most noble marquis of hartington; who, on the demise of his father, came to the title and estate of the duke of devonshire. violetti, this circumstance suggested to him the idea of having his fair exotic the tutoress of her unknown sister. signora winning incessantly on his affections, increased his impatience to effect his purpose of having her in his family. as his daughter by his lady frequently accompanied him to the theatre, he availed himself of this circumstance to create an esteem in her for her unknown relation the admired dancer. particularly specifying her graces and excellences, he soon caused his honorable daughter to feel warmly in the interest of signora. finding that he had thus far succeeded in his wishes, he asked her one night, as they were sitting in the stage box, if she would approve of signora violetti as companion and tutoress in the italian tongue, in which he informed her that she was most eminently perfect, and that her other accomplishments were equally excellent. he was happy to find his ardent wishes almost anticipated, by the ready and pleased compliance of the young lady. signora was, therefore, conveyed the same night, in his lordship's carriage, to the town mansion in piccadilly. "this fair and amiable stranger at home found her accommodations in that abode of hospitality in every respect equal, and even surpassing, the most sanguine wishes of her heart; and she felt herself for the first time in a state of happiness, in which nature had more concern than reason at present could explain. but as the tenor of human comfort was not meant to consist in a continuity of satisfaction, her's was soon interrupted by him who wounds every breast, either to fill it often with the balm of enjoyment, or the bitterness of affliction. love sat heavy on her breast, and pallid on her cheek. her charms withered, and her health decayed; until nature, exhausted, obliged her to recline on the couch of sickness. here, to the great alarm and concern of her unknown relations, she languished a considerable time. her amiable pupil was uncommonly concerned; perhaps the ties of nature latently increased the affliction; the ablest physicians were obtained for her relief; but notwithstanding all the care, ability, and tenderness, that were employed for her recovery, the violence of her indisposition frustrated every endeavour. her own delicacy would not permit her to divulge the secret cause of her malady. although it threatened her with almost an instantaneous dissolution, yet the hopes of a cure could not induce her to acknowledge herself the victim of affection his lordship felt the bitterest pangs of a loving parent, distressed by the visible decline of an amiable daughter. he saw with extreme distress the tender plant that he was with so much care and anxiety fostering, wither beneath the cold hand of an invisible disease. his lady was likewise greatly affected, and sympathized with her noble partner, for the loss they were likely to sustain. her ladyship, however, not despairing for a remedy being found, took the most prudential and effectual method, by delicately searching the tender heart of the afflicted fair one. dr. mead, the esculapius of his day, pronouncing her disorder beyoud his power, or even that of medicine, to remove, prompted the good lady to divine the cause. she was convinced that love alone was the disturber of her mind, and the destroyer of her frame. assured of this, her ladyship made her fair guest a visit, resolving, if possible, to discover the latent cause of her indisposition. for this 134 the warning voice. purpose she, with great address, asked her where she felt the most pain? and in what manner particularly she was affected? not receiving to these questions, and some others of a similar nature, the most explicit answers, her first suspicions were still stronger confirmed. with all the tender delicacy, therefore, which distinguished her amiable character, she seized her hand with benign sympathy, and declared she was most extremely happy to have discovered that the cause of her malady was not incurable. the cause is love,' said she, and for which i think a certain cure may be found.' the change she perceived this observation made in her fair patient, confirmed its propriety. she then entreated the indisposed damsel to own to her, who was the object of her affection; and promised, upon her honor, not to betray her confidence. she further prevailed, by assuring her that she would, were it possible, obtain for her the object of her languishing desires. i have so great an opinion of your discretion, my dear signora,' continued the worthy lady, that you could not possibly fix your affections on an improper object, that i am the more impatient to know who he is, that i may the sooner find the means of restoring you to your woated charms, health, and happiness. my lord is deeply afflicted in consequence of your indisposition. he is, indeed, much more distressed than i could have thought he could, with all his tenderness of nature, have been for any stranger to his blood, even as amiable as you are, my dear signora.' " 66 "o, my dear madam!" said the much-to-be-pitied young lady, spare, spare me! i dare not confess my weakness, even to you-all gracious as you have been to your orphan charge. and i cannot express the remorse i feel at my being obliged to behave with ingratitude to your dear lord, by concealing from him as well as from you, two such generous benefactors, what preys upon my existence, and must finally bear me to my grave.' "my dear signora,' replied the lady, 'tis now in your power to acquit yourself of all conceived obligation to both him and me, by so far convincing us we deserve your confidence as to trust us with the important secret. we would wish to have this assurance of your reposing in our zealous efforts being exerted in your welfare. it is no idle curiosity that urges my entreaty, but an indescribable interest i feel in your favor. should there be found, upon inquiry, any insuperable bar to an honorable union, that can alone restore you to your former peace of mind, the secret shall ever remain undiscovered to the impertinence of inquiry, or the censure of malignity.' "the above candid, sincere, and interesting declaration of the good lady was too prevailing. it won at once the confidence and heartfelt gratitude of the afflicted fair one. she confessed that mr. garrick was the object of her esteem; but that he was as yet entirely ignorant of being the cause of what she had so severely felt from her tender attachment. "the amiable lady, with the greatest concern, heard this confession, and told her with symptoms of apprehension, that she feared the possibility of her desires ever being gratified by the attainment of their object; that mr. garrick was a young fellow universally caressed by families of the first distinction, and who had been already suspected of aspiring to rank and fortune in a matrimonial alliance. she represented likewise to her languishing patient many other difficulties; but finding they had visibly affected the tender state of the now all-desponding fair, she assured her that no means should be left untried. she begged that neither lang our nor hopeless grief should be suffered to prey any longer on her now almost exhausted frame. confide,' said she, in my lord's good offices, and be assured of our best efforts being exerted to obtain you consolation and relief." 6 "his lordship was rejoiced that his lady had obtained the secret cause of his beloved (although unavowed) daughter's indisposition; in proportion to its concealment having caused him the greatest uneasiness its discovery afforded him pleasure. being possessed of the truth, his hopes of his child's recovery began to revive. knowing garrick's love for money was the ray of his expectation, and the guide of his measures, mr. garrick was instantly sent for to his house. he had no sooner arrived, and inquired after the health of signora, than his lordship opened the negociation of hymen, by informing him with a smile, that the lady's indisposition was not to be removed by any other than one docotr garrick, an intimate acquaintance of his.' 6 "pray, my dear lord,' said the astonished manager, explain yourself.' "well, sir,' answered his lordship, 'should you find, upon the strictest inquiry, that signora violetti is a lady of family and fortune, and possessed of every virtue indispensable to the honor of the female character, do you think you could satisfactorily receive her from my hands, with a portion of ten* thousand pounds? and here let me inform you that she is my daughter.' "the enraptured garrick gave his lordship ten thousand thanks for the unmerited honor and fortune to which he so unexpectedly, but generously invited him. he at the same time declared, with all due decorum, that the lady was, from the first moment of his acquaintance with her, far from being indifferent to either his views or his wishes; and that he had ever felt more than a common interest in her favor.' 6 " "you add to my satisfaction, and relieve the parental apprehensions i felt for the recovery of my daughter,' replied his lordship; until the cause of her complaint was discovered, the fear of losing my child was my constant affliction. and now, doctor, if you please, i will conduct you to your patient. my lady, will, i know, accompany us.' "when mr. garrick entered the chamber he flew to the bed-side of his enamoured fair, and acted his part with as much grace, and perhaps more nature, than he had ever performed it on the stage. his lordship then pleasantly informed her, that her doctor had been in danger of the same disorder, aud from the same cause -an obstinate unnecessary silence. from this auspicious hour the god of health re-bloomed her cheek, and reilluminated her eye. and the english roscius continued unremitting in his attendance on the young lady, mr. murphy mentions the sum to have been six thousand pounds. the warning voice. 135 whose cure was speedily effected, to the great joy of the noble family. "the nuptials being celebrated, mr. edward moore, the ingenious poet, inscribed a very pretty copy of verses to mrs. garrick, wherein he describes fortune in search of a favourite daughter. after many a weary step, she stopped her giddy wheel at burlington-gate, where she found the object of her inquiry, and lavished on her the choicest of her favours." "she never told her love, but let concealment like a worm i'th' bud, feed on her damask cheek. she pined she pined in thought, and sat like patience on a monument smiling at grief.” by the death of mrs. garrick the library of the british museum will be further enriched by the addition of her husband's valuable collection of old english plays: besides which, the celebrated statute of shakespeare, by roubilliac (of which the one over the fire-place in the rotunda of drury-lane theatre is a cast) will grace the hall of that national establishment. the chair, too, made from shakespeare's mulberry tree, will also, it is supposed, be there deposited. it is richly carved, and would, if put up to auction, fetch an enormous price; as would, doubtless, many other articles of vertu, as having once belonged to the "best living commentator" on the works of the bard of avon. amongst these must not be forgotten four originals by hogarth of the "election." the fate of these species of saleable property, which were bequeathed to mrs. garrick during her life, will shortly be decided by the hammer. the children of mrs. garrick, of the hay-market theatre, will also, it is said, come in for considerable legacies, in consequence of the decease. 1 poetry. on being asked, sonnet, "how do you like this country and the ladies of halifax?" bright blooms the spring amid your vales, and richest verdure decks your hills; while sweetest scents perfume the gales, and music flows in purling rills. and still more bright, and still more fair, your female beauties pass along; objects of many an ardent prayer, and themes of many a tuneful song! yes, all the charms that nature pours on blossom'd vale, and fruitful field, fair spring herself, and all her flowers, to these more splendid beauties yield. those that admire, can have one fear alone, that like their native hills, they hide a heart of stone! a stranger. halifax, june 11th, 1801. she should, and she should not! for the halifax journal. mr. editor, as you seem friendly to the interests of the fair sex, i shall be glad if you will record the following short particulars:"a good wife should be like three things, which three she should not be like :—1st. she should be like a snail, always keep within her house; but she should not be like a snail, to carry all she has upon her back. 2d. she should be like an echo, and speak when she is spoken to; but she should not be like an echo, to have the last word. 3d. she should be like a town clock, always keep time and regularity; but she should not be like a town clock, to speak so loud that all the town may hear her."i beg leave to add, that she should be like the halifax journal, full of good things; but she should not be like the halifax journal, always in public, with her price in her face! solomon short. halifax, june 10, 1801. eulogium on woman. the following testimony to the universal benevolence of the female character, is borne by mr. ledyard, an accurate observer of human nature, and one of the african association:first geographical missionaries employed by the "i have always remarked," says he "that women of "all countries are civil and obliging, tender and "humane, that they ever incline to be gay and cheerful, "timorous and modest; and that they do not hesitate, "like men, to perform a generous action. not haughty, "not arrogant, not supercilious, they are fond of "courtesy, and fond of society, more liable in general to "err than man, but in general also more virtuous and "performing more good actions than he. to a woman, "whether civilized or savage, i never addressed "myself in the language of decency and friendship, "without receiving a decent and friendly answer. . with man it has often been otherwise! in wandering "over the barren plains of inhospitable denmark, "through honest sweden, and frozen lapland, rude "and churlish finland, unprincipled russia, and the "wide spread regions of the wandering tartar-if "hungry, dry, cold, wet, or sick, the women have "ever been friendly to me, and uniformly so; and to add to this virtue, (so worthy the appellation of "benevolence) these actions have been performed in so "free and kind a manner, that, if i was dry, i drank "the sweetest draught, and if hungry, i ate the "coarsest morsel with a double relish." "the importance of woman in society has been universally felt and acknowledged; her influence is potent; to her we are indebted for social comfort, and domestic joy. let her heart confine her wishes and k 2 136 the warning voice. 66 affections within the circle of intellectual improvement, | domestic duties, and domestic pleasures, and woman becomes what her creator designed, a help meet for man;" the gentle friend of his youth, the kind instructor as well as the mother of his children; his counsellor in difficulties; the soother of his sorrow in affliction; and, i might almost add, the arbitress of his fate." song on the goodness of women. i the goodness of women, some men will dispute, but i will their arguments fairly confute, undeniably prove that they do what they ought, and say what you will, they are seldom in fault, derry down, &c. 2 you sometimes object to their voluble tongues, that they harrass your ears, and destroy their own lungs, should they talk, pretty creatures, from morning 'till night, from fifteen to fifty, they're all in the right, derry down, &c. 3 the poets strange tales tell of orpheus you know, how he followed his wife to the regions below; but it must be a falsehood, because one so fair, so loving and kind, was too good to be there, derry down, &c. 4 no more at these charmers, ye unthinking, rail, but o'er your barbarity let them prevail, perfection to kings and the fair sex belong, for women, like monarchs, can never do wrong, derry down, &c. acrostic on miss hill, who became the wife of richard milnes, wrote by miss ann spencer, a very particular friend of her youth. honest and open, with each heart to please, in every action, elegance and ease; lively and smart, yet with discretion join'd, lavish was nature, when she form'd her mind. cecilia. peace to the spirits of my honored parents. respected be their remains, and immortalized their virtues! may time, while it moulders their frail relics to dust, commit to tradition the record of their goodness; and oh! may their orphan descendant be influenced through life, by the remembrance of their purity, and be solaced in death, that by her it was unsullied! but though thus largely indebted to fortune, to nature she had greater obligations; her form was elegant, her heart was liberal, her countenance announced the intelligence of her mind, her complexion varied with every emotion of her soul, and her eyes, the heralds of her speech, now beamed with understanding, and now glistened with sensibility. wrote in a book on a lady changing her name. o! happy day which blotted out the name that in this book is wrote, the virgin joys perhaps are great; but marriage makes the bliss complete: and that the change may happy be, is the ardent wish of a. b. c. to the half of a man who wastes his estate, add the third of a word which will end a debate, if rightly you place them, they really prove, the surname of her that wrote the above. origin of a lady being called a toast. it happened at bath, in the reign of king charles ii. that on a public day, a celebrated beauty of those times was in the crossbath, and one of the crowd of her admirers took a glass of the water in which the fair one stood, and drank her health to the company. there was in the place a gay fellow, half fuddled, who offered to jump in, and swore, though he liked not the liquor he would have the toast. he was opposed in this resolution; yet this whim gave foundation to the present honor which is done to the lady we mention when we drink, who has ever since been called a toast. breach of promise of marriage. lancaster assizes-monday, sept. 4. nisi prius court-mr. justice park. beattie versus pearson. -this was an action brought to recover compensation in damages for a breach of promise of marriage. the parties being persons of the highest respectability, an unusual degree of interest was excited by this case ;-the court was filled to overflowing; and there was arrayed in the seats opposite the jury, an assemblage of female beauty, congregated to witness the exemplary punishment which lancashire juries never fail to inflict on faithless swains. mr. littledale opened the pleadings, and mr. scarlett stated the case on the part of the plaintiff. the plaintiff in this cause, mrs. beattie, is the widow of a medical gentleman, who at the time of their marriage resided in liverpool, but who afterwards went upon the continent as a surgeon in the army. she had been married at the early age of eighteen, and her husband died in the month of may, 1818, at colbeck, in scotland, where he had been settled some months, and was interred on the very day in which mrs. beattie, was to have joined him, she having been residing some the warning voice. 137 months with her mother at mottram, in cheshire-one child only was the issue of this marriage. it was admitted on all hands, that the connections of this lady were of the highest respectability, and mr. scarlett described the plaintiff as a lady of great personal a lady of great personal attractions, possessing every female accomplishment, with a well cultivated mind, an excellent judgment, and an amiable disposition; and he very ingeniously produced as his witness a lady of uncommon beauty and pleasing manners, who was said very much to resemble the plaintiff, and which was probably not without its effect upon the damages awarded by the jury. the defendant, mr. samuel pearson, was stated to be a gentleman of great opulence, at the head of an extensive silk manufactory at macclesfield-he was a widower, and was 36 years of age; had been twice married, and had a family of three or four children. this was the situation of the parties. in the month of april, 1819, mr. geo. kent pearson, married a miss lees, the niece of the plaintiff, on which occasion, mrs. beattie was invited to spend the honey month with the new married couple, and her visit was extended to two months; it was during the latter part of this period that the defendant began to visit mrs. beattie: his attention soon became marked, his visits frequent, and it was not long before he made her an offer of his hand, which was not declined. after this he introduced her as his intended wife, and he introduced himself to her relations as her future husband; consulted her upon choice of furniture; and finally fixed the day of his marriage, which was to take place on the thursday after his return from london, to which place he was going to attend the east india sale of silks. he was accompanied by his cousin, mr. george pearson, and in the course of his journey he informed him that he was in a state of doubt, and did not know whether he should be married to mrs. beattie or not. his cousin remonstrated with him, and he admitted he was much to blame, and deserved to be handled ; and if an action was brought against him he expected he would have to pay £5000. but he said he had not treated mrs. beattie so ill, as he had done a young lady in london, upon which occasion the license and ring were bought, the day fixed, and the party assembled. that instead of going by the mail, he sent a letter stating that he had altered his mind; and the shock had made such an inroad upon her constitution, that he did not expect that she would survive it. the defendant returned from london, but he never visited or wrote to the plaintiff, or assigned any cause for his change of mind. the effect upon mrs. beattie was most calamitous, after suffering months of anguish, she became distracted, and was obliged to be placed in a lunatic asy'um at manchester; fortunately the efforts made to restore her reason were effectual, she was returned to her friends with her mental powers restored, but with an enfeebled and shattered constitution. serjeant cross made an ingenious speech in reply, in mitigation of damages, but he called no witnesses, and made no satisfactory apology for his client. after mr. justice park had remarked upon the evidence, and made some observations as to the grounds upon which they were to estimate the damages, the jury, after a short consultation, and without retiring, found a verdict for the plaintiff-damages four thousand pounds! margaret's ghost. 'twas at the fearful midnight hour, when all were fast asleep, in glided margaret's grimly ghost, and stood at william's feet; her face was pale like april morn, clad in a wintry cloud, and clay-cold was her lilly hand, that held her sable shroud; so shall the fairest face appear, when youth and years are flown, such is the robe that kings must wear, when death has 'reft their crown. her bloom was like the springing flow'r, that sips the silver dew, the rose was budded on her cheek, just op'ning to the view; but love had like the canker-worm, consum'd her early prime, the rose grew pale and left her cheek, she dy'd before her time; awake she cry'd thy true love calls, come from her midnight grave, now let thy pity hear the maid, thy love refused to save. bethink thee william of thy fault, thy pledge and broken oath, and give me back my maiden vow, and give me back my troth; how could you say that face was fair? and yet that face forsake, how could you win that virgin heart? yet leave that heart to break; why did you promise love to me? and not that promise keep, why said you that my eyes were bright? yet left those eyes to weep. how could you swear my lip was sweet? and made the scarlet pale, and why did i young witless maid? believe the flatt' ring tale; but hark! the cock hath warn'd me hence, a long and late adieu, come see false man how low she lies, that dy'd for love of you, the lark sung out, the morning smil'd, and rais'd her glist'ning head; pale william quak'd in ev'ry limb, and raving left his bed. he ey'd him to the fatal place, where margaret's body lay, and stretch'd him o'er the green grass turf, that wrapt her breathless clay; and thrice he call'd on margaret's name, and thrice he wept full sore, and laid his cheek on her cold grave, and word spoke never more. a sovereign remedy for a bad husband. i know one who was a disorderly, tippling, dissipated man, who made his kind and affectionate wife miserable. 138 the warning voice. she like an amiable and true philosopher, tried every means she could devise to reclaim him, but he continued his bad habits, till her patience was reduced to an atom. one night he came home and went to bed before her, and after laying alone some time, rang the bell, and desired her to come to bed; she replied she had made a vow, that if he did not reform, she would never sleep with him again, and to confirm her resolution, did not go to bed to him that night. next day he was in great sorrow and wept bitterly, and begged most humbly of her to forgive him. and from that time he made her a solemn promise that he would adandon all his bad habits, and become one of the best husbands if he could obtain her pardon. she forgave him without delay, and from that time he fulfilled his vow, and became as good and as orderly a husband as ever woman enjoyed, and from a habit of disorder and idleness, bordering upon poverty, has become a complete sober, orderly man of business, and appears to be making a fortune, and they are become a very happy pair. i have known two bad husbands completely reformed. the infallible way to happiness in the married state. that no gratification or happiness in this life can be compared with the happy married state, and the misery of the unhappy one is universally admitted by all who have experienced them. then surely no earthly object will be listened to with such zeal and anxiety, or pursued with such avidity and hope. and as i have always heard it admitted, that the greatest errors arise from the smallest causes; i trust it will also be admitted, that discord in the married state is a great error, and generally originates from the smallest causes, or such as may be easily avoided. discord and contention, for want of both parties dealing gently with each others errors, and leaving each without complaint against the other. compare the happiness which may be enjoyed by all, if they will observe these rules, and the excellent marriage ceremony; with the misery which falls to the unhappy lot of those who neglect them-the first is heaven-the second truly, hell upon earth. such of you men as cannot adhere to, and be governed by the above mentioned heavenly rules and marriage ceremony, resolve never to marry, (or you fair ones, deny such your fair hands,) i am sure you will not if you consider what sin you would commit against the lovely fair, against heaven, and yourselves by marrying. ye fair ones and your lovers, let the marriage ceremony and this humble easy warning voice, be your ieading topics every time you meet during your courtship, and elsewhere when you may think it proper. be resolute, and shew your inestimable value to the men described above, and that will increase their esteem for you, and tell them you will prefer a single life, if they will not make you a solemn sacred vow, to adhere to the above mentioned rules, and thus secure happiness, and you will conquer all the bad habits and errors in men, which lead to unhappy marriages, and this world will become a paradise as you all hope and expect it to be, before and after you marry, and many find it so. i do think it is universally admitted, that the love of women has a greater tendency to civilization, and improve the men, than the love of money; and the more value the ladies put upon, and more care they take of themselves, and the more they would promote this superior excellence and virtue in society. then mark how much good the females may do, by their own dear self-love and self-interest. refer to the sacred, agreeable, and beautiful marriage ceremony. can there be so great a crime as breaking the importance of the knowledge of housethe marriage vow, which is, or ought to be made, on the most solemn and cool deliberation. can there be so great a sin against heaven, as violating the same? ye parents teach your sons and daughters to become religious, in the study and practice of which, they will find the truest wisdom. teach them to contemplate and adhere to the marriage ceremony, and its heavenly object, it will secure them true happiness in the married state, and in the world to come. in religion alone they will find the true authority for cheerfulness, mirth, and joy. ye sons and daughters obey the above injunction, and take warning from such as neglect those heavenly duties, and remember how the bad habits of many lead them into snares and vice, productive of the severest misery, and the loss of the hope and happiness in the world to come. and consider how much the habits of the fair sex from their infancy, are the reverse of those of many men. these beautiful, lovely, and amiable creatures adhere to such rules of modesty, innocence, and good habits as almost forbid my believing there are any bad wives, but such as are made so by their husbands not guarding against the trifling errors which often increase to great magnitude, and are too often the cause of keeping and a kitchen education. every friend to the fair sex, as we all are, must be anxious to promote their comfort, welfare, and happiness, as every feeling mind will study, and promote the happiness of the whole community, have to lament, that the most vital and essential part of the education of the females is almost totally neglected, except where they have the good luck to have prudent, notable good mothers, who have judgment, independence, and resolution enough, and do teach them the knowledge and management of house-keeping, and practice and economy of a kitchen. the want of this part of their education, even in affluence, exposeth them to the following difficulties, danger, discomfort, and displeasure, and plants their path of life with briers and thorns, where it ought to be smooth, pleasant and comfortable. it is often the cause of discord between husband and wife, and leads to evil consequences which cannot be described, where the most refined cordiality, comfort, and happiness ought to exist. it makes the mrs. dependent upon the maid, by which she loseth her authority over her, which is perhaps the the warning voice. 139 cause of ridicule, where all deference, confidence, and respect would otherwise prevail. it is often the cause of extravagance and waste which leads to ruin and poverty. it makes the good wife feel uncomfortable and unhappy, when she feels the want of all this useful and necessary knowledge, and makes her say, oh! what i would have spared out of my fortune, to have given my good mother, or any other person who would have instructed me in this most useful, interesting, and entertaining part of my education. it must mortify an amiable wife, to see a breakfast, dinner, or supper imperfectly put upon a table, and not know how to teach her maid better, which must bring ridicule and censure upon the mistress of the house; and if the tradesman's wife should have the folly to keep a house-keeper, it would be incompatible with her rank, and most likely be accompanied with all the above mentioned inconveniences and evil consequences, and deprive herself of the enjoyment of the most vital, essential, pleasant, interesting, and entertaining part of her education; for the occupation of her time, which she will find when she is married, cannot be spent in reading, music, and tea table talk, to her own satisfaction and pleasure. as i have said before, none can describe a state of poverty and want of bread, but those who feel it; so none can describe the want of the education of house-keeping, but those who experience it, when their fortune is wasted. and if this advice should be taken by any good lady who has a good fortune left to her, and has the misfortune to lose it, as many do, i rejoice to think how she would praise this book, should it be the cause of this valuable part of her education, or a fortune being given to her thereby, which she can never spend, though some unavoidable casualty, extravagance, or misfortune may have wasted her money, and reduced her to want. if a person know, and can do, and teach others some good thing, they are always respectable and of consequence, whatever their rank may be. but should a good fortune forsake an amiable and happy pair, the value of a kitchen education would be magnified in a ten fold degree. one of the most amiable, sensible, agreeable good ladies that i know, who had the good luck to have a most prudent notable father and mother, who with all their affection, paid the greatest attention to the education of their children, but made house-keeping and the kitchen education, the primary and most important part ofit, and after that part was completed sent their daughters to the boarding school, to enable them to associate with good company, and get through the world with credit, pleasure, and satisfaction to themselves and others. this good lady is married, and appears to have completed both the kitchen and boarding school education to the utmost perfection, both in theory and practice, and is one of the most agreeable companions that i know, with a mind completely ornamented with charity, humanity, and philanthropy, and indeed she does merit that polite and elegant appellation, (which i think is too often misapplied for want of the kitchen education) of being completely accomplished.-this good, amiable, and completely accomplished lady, who in her great love to promote the happiness and welfare of her dear, amiable, lovely sex, often laments with me, that there are no schools opened for the education of kouse-keeping in this age of improvement. she lives in yorkshire, and laments the want of it there; but when she visits her friends in our wonderful metropolis, she is quite sickened to witness the total ignorance of house-keeping and kitchen knowledge, which prevails among the ladies of moderate rank in that great city; the want of which she fears many of them will have much cause to repent. mr. arbuthnot's letter. the following is a copy of the letter from mr. arbuthnot, the house of commons:to which lord j. russell alluded on friday night in 64 (private) downing-street, 9th march, 1822. 66 a my dear sir,-on wednesday next, the 13th instant, motion is to be made by lord normanby, to abolish 14th, the day following, mr. creevey makes a similar the office of one of the postmasters-general; and on the motion against the board of control. in this manner the just and necessary influence of the crown is from day to day attacked; and as other motions of a similar quite impossible for any set of men to conduct the nature are to be made by lord althorp, &c. it will be kind shall be successfully resisted. it seems as if the government of this country, unless practices of this opposition, in despair of coming into office, had determined to break down the means of administering the affairs of the country; and as this subject is become most serious, i have no scruple in apprising you of what is now passing, with the hope and expectation that you will think it necessary to attend, and thus lend your aid in stemming the torrent of such dangerous innovation. "yours, most sincerely, "c. arbuthnot." will not this strange doctrine of mr. arbuthnot's rouse the people to join to a man in petitioning the kingfor a reformation in parliament. what i call the people, are every rank, in every link of the chain, from the cobbler's cottage to the king's throne. what does mr. arbuthnot mean by the stale nonsense it of telling us, that opposition want to get into power. in the house of commons. the innovation is made is the people that want to resume their legitimate power upon the people's rights by the oligarchy, it is not the influence of the crown which the people complain of, but the influence of the k. m. which is become superior to the king and people. joint postmaster general, lord normonby rose to move for the abolition of one of the postmasters general. he clearly proved that the existence of two joint postmasters was not only altogether useless to the public, but even injurious, by the constant shifting of authority which it occasioned in l 2 140 the warning voice. that office. the salaries of the postmasters was £2,500 each, and in the present state of the country, with the present demands of the agriculturists, it was incumbent on the house to grant every possible relief, by cutting off all unnecessary expences. he called upon the house to discharge their duty to the country, and particularly he called upon the hon. member for yorkshire (mr. s. wortley) who had pledged himself the other night to vote in favor of every retrenchment which was consistent with the safety of the state, to support the motion. mr. f. robinson opposed the motion, on the sole ground of the improper reduction which it would make of the influence of the crown. sir j. sebright thought the motion quite necessary, and should vote in its favor. mr. h. sumner thought the influence of the crown, too much curtailed, and would oppose its further reduction. sir joseph yorke, though little disposed to yield to popular clamour, did not think that the influence of the crown among the representatives of a loyal and generous people, required to be bolstered up with half a dozen useless places. he was convinced that the office of the second postmaster was entirely useless, and he was surprised that ministers ventured to keep the office, after the sense of the house had been expressed on the reduction of two lords of the admiralty. mr. s. wortley thought, unless gentlemen were prepared to say that the government of this country ought to approach more nearly to a republican form, they must oppose the present motion. he would not join in pulling down the influence of the crown, and if his constituents thought that he ought to do so, they must return another member. if he was sure that it would stop here, he would vote for the present motion; but as motions were made day after day with the same object, he must at once make a stand. he should oppose the motion. mr. bankes complimented mr. wortley on his diligence and honesty, but differed from him totally. how was economy to be practised, if the patronage of the crown was not to be touched? the pledges of economy which the house had given had not been redeemed: his expectations were exceedingly disappointed. he regretted the conduct of ministers extremely; not a word had been said in defence of the office, and he sincerely and confidently hoped that by the vote of this night it would be abolished. mr. peel and lord londonderry opposed the motion. sir james mackintosh and sir john newport supported it, the house divided, when there appeared for the motion, against it, ........ .......... ..... majority in favor of ministers, ....... .159 ...184 -25. would not many a clever good man be glad to execute this office for five hundred pounds per year, better than two of them, and save the nation £4500 per year; do not mr. freeling and his clerks do all the business, and the two post masters general perhaps never write their names but to receipts for their salaries.. is not this a proof of the unnecessary waste of the public money, and the greater evil of its influence in bribing and corrupting the people, directly and indirectly, or in all directions, and a loud call for their being truly represented in the house of commons and elsewhere. it must puzzle every one how to discover what mr. wortley and other gentlemen can mean by the above mentioned expressions of fear, that the crown should lose its influence, while every individual in the land admires the constitution of england in its original purity, and consequently the crown as the most essential and vital part of that constitution. they are therefore ready at all times to lay down their lives for the preservation of the king: but the people have discovered to their sorrow, that the influence of the -have set up a power in this nation, unknown to the constitution, for their own indulgence, aggrandizement, and fancied security of themselves, their friends, and adherents, which is grown enormous and superior to the king and people, and alarming to the whole nation; for this overbearing power has rendered the constitution, which we all love, a nonentity, by having deprived it of its vital part, its original power in the house of commons, which used to be the watchman and guardian of the national purse and all the people's rights. but this power has assumed a control over the national purse, and all the people's rights, by bribery, corruption, influence, and nobody can tell what besides; and when this constitution is extolled, in enlighted companies at home or abroad, it is treated with ridicule, because they say it does not exist. it is this monster which moves every member of the house of lords and commons, who are not under its baneful influence, to point out to the king and people, the danger which that constitution is in, which we all love and wish to preserve, and has always been the envy and admiration of the world. and they all wish to enjoy this inestimable treasure, which we are thoughtlessly suffering to expire. that there is such an overbearing power, is as notorions as the sun at noon day, and too well known and felt by us all. my dear ladies and gentlemen of this dear inestimable that of a true patriot, and a sincere friend to my king, and the welfare of my country, which i have been all my long life, and i feel my zeal increase in proportion as the necessity of it increaseth, which i pray sincerely may be the case with all others. but i am alarmed with most of the nation, at the danger our dear constitution of england is exposed to by this overbearing monster. should you question the truth of these my humble but honest assertions, which i have been a true attentive anxious witness to the truth of this growing evil at all times and seasons, above half a century past. i presume one of the royal dukes, most of the first nobles of the land, many of the house of commons, and a great majority of the people are ready to confirm the same. and if every man would throw aside all influence, interest, prejudice, fear, and alarm, and become a true patriot and friend to his country and himself, and declare the honest opinion of his heart, they will, to a man, be of my opinion, that the constitution of england is in danger of expiring, if a speedy remedy be not applied. have not many men of all ranks discovered their error, and the warning voice. 141 seceded from this dangerous, unnatural, pernicious combination; and many others feel sickened at the vicious practice, who have not yet openly declared their disgust. can there then remain a shadow of fear, but the king and people will soon join hand and heart, to restore the darling patient, the constitution of england, to its native and pristine health. if i can only dispel that fear, that groundless fear which has been raised in the minds of many good men, for the purpose of blinding and bewildering them, and feeding the combination, i shall have gained the point, i have been trying to gain at all times above half a century past; then i shall be ready to die in,comfort whenever it may please the almighty to call me hence. i now beg leave to speak to every one privately, who are concerned in destroying the health of that favorite of all the world, the constitution of england, and say unto them upon their pillows, in their silent hours of retirement, are not you offending the whole nation, and are not you offending the almighty, yourselves, and all the world thereby, and putting to the hazard your everlasting happiness, for a momentary, imaginary, indulgence, in this precarious transitory life, by the expectation only of some profit, place, pension, or preferment for yourselves or others. will not all these good things be to give and enjoy with more comfort, when the king and people have united and destroyed the above mentioned monster. methinks i hear you to a man start from your pillows, and with one voice confess, that last night our consciences rose up in judgment against us, and forced us to see our error, repent, and become sorry for what we have done. many good men have joined in this wicked measure, without any other cause than alarm and fear that there was danger in doing otherwise, and done contrary to their own native and sincere opinion. but if they will consider well what has been said in many parts of this honest publication, they may soon discover they have been afraid where no fear was, and that they have been frighted into their misconduct by false alarms. all that i wish for is to gain the attention and candid consideration of every one, for the sake of themselves and the whole community, then i am sure we shall soon become the happiest, most powerful, secure, and respected people in the universal world. is it not of the utmost importance to the freedom, liberties, and happiness of the world, as well as this most valuable country, that the constitution of england should live and spread its fostering hand universally, before it loses its power to do so. it is said the bill of rights, which is a great and vital part of the constitution of england, expressly forbids the peers of the realm interfering in the election of members of the house of commons, directly or indirectly, under severe penalties. here mark the consummate wisdom of our forefathers, in guarding the incomparable constitution which they had made; and i do hope this humble warning voice of mine and many others, will induce the present age to do the same. this leads me to wish most heartily, that i was a nobleman of great fortune, and a great owner of rotten boroughs; i would with pleasure, and without delay, move for a reformation in parliament, and support that motion by an offer to give up all my rotten boroughs, with a view to promote and support such reform for the good of my country and the world, hoping that such a laudable example would be followed by all others, to annihilate all the bad, and promote all the good mentioned above. and to guard against the above mentioned penalties being inflicted upon all noblemen concerned in this illegal, pernicious, and dangerous practice, which is too common, and a dishonor and disgrace to their dignity, honor, and respectability, and destructive of the most vital parts of our constitution. i lament, i grieve, 1 mourn beyond my power to express, that the amiable, the patriotic, the good, the brave, the great, the excellent mr. stuart wortley, who is an honor and ornament to human nature and his country, should be against a reformation in parliament. with this exception, i never heard or witnessed the least defect in his character or conduct; he appears to possess all the excellent and superior qualities which a nation could wish to see, in one of its most amiable, exalted, and excellent senators; and with this defect, he does in that capacity discharge his duty with zeal, ability, honor, integrity, and sound judgment on all occasions. but i do entertain a most sanguine hope, that the present shaking of the nations, the conduct of the holy alliance, and our being implicated therewith; the president's message to the united states of america in december, 1823; the marquis of landsdown, lord liverpool, and lord holland's speeches, upon the address of the 2d of february, 1824, all which will be found in page 36, with many other reasons, will convince him of his error, and that the friends to a reformation in parliament and their country, will soon have his high respectability, example, power, and influence in that just and very necessary cause. then the whole nation will soon become united in one common effort, to promote the comfort, happiness, and safety of every individual in the land, and set a bright example to the world, as our forefathers did in the days of old, and let all nations discover, that the original principle and object of all governments, were the welfare and happiness of every individual; without which, thinking people cannot be happy and comfortable in their minds. abstract from the rev. irwin's sermon, who is minister of the caledonian chapel, hatton-garden, london, which is attended by ministers of state and fashionable ladies; and all other ranks of the people flock in crowds to hear him; the chapel will only contain one thousand, and three thousand often attend, so that two thousand are through necessity excluded; and they say' his popularity has not abated, because 2 or 300 gentlemens carriages attend his chapel on a sunday. in speaking of the union which ought to exist between the lovers of religion and friends of liberty, he says, "the enemy taketh much profit from our disunion to injure us both. you are not the noble men your forefathers were when the foundation of english freedom was laid. then you were men of might, because you feared the living god, and did your endeavour to 142 the warning voice. serve him; now you are men sound in spirit, and often stained in reputation; in your zeal for liberty trampling upon the virtues and decencies of life. and we, we christians have suffered no less from the dismembermen: we have lost the manly regard of our fathers for liberty and good government, and crouched into slavish sentiments of passive obedience, as if we were stooping the neck of our understanding, in order that they might, by and by, wreathe the chain of our bodies, or make us the instrument of wreathing it on others. how we are fallen from the days of the glorious reformation. there is no magnanimous assertion of principles; there is a base desertion of those who assert them all the glory of the church is gone; and i wonder not that the free minded laymen hate and spurn the slavishness of our sentiments. every religious man must wish well to the present shaking of the nations, as likely to open passages for the light of truth, which heretofore the craft of priests and the power of absolute tyrants, have diligently excluded. i pray to heaven constantly, night and morning, that he would raise up in this day, men of the ancient mould, who could join in their ancient wedlock these two helps meet to each other, which are in this age divorced, religion and liberty; as it goes at present, the man who cherishes these two affections within his breast, hardly knoweth whither to betake himself; not to the pious, for they have forsworn all interest or regard in civil affairs; not to the schools of politicians, who, with almost one consent, have cast off the manly virtues and christian graces of the old english reformers. but by the spirits of our fathers! i ask again, are their children never to see the re-union of religious and free born men ? have our hearts waxed narrow that they cannot contain both of these noble affections. i say no, they have not? there is as much true religion, love of liberty, true loyalty, virtue, and wisdom,, now as in any age. but they are over-clouded, contaminated, infatuated, and in danger of expiring, by the neglect of duty in the clergy and superiors, and the overbearing power of bribery, corruption, tyranny, and oppression. but i hope this heavenly divine is come as one sent from above, to open the light of truth and duty to the clergy and superiors, and that we shall soon see the two helps meet to each other, religion and liberty, as cordially, lovingly, and firmly united as in any age. and that we shall have a speedy return of the days of the glorious reformation, and a complete annihilation for ever of bribery, corruption, luxury, tyranny, oppression, and poverty, which are the disgust and hatred of all mankind, and terror of all the civilized world. woe unto us people of this great nation, what have we been doing a century past to subject ourselves to such severe but just censure as above, and particularly from a reverend divine in the pulpit, who has gained the ear and attention of ministers of state, fashionable ladies and gentlemen, and all other ranks of england; and also many foreigners, which i do hope is a most propitious and happy omen. why have you clergy of great-britain suffered your better judgment to be in throldom and bondage, to that baneful influence of bribery, corruption, and you might not know what, above one hundred long years, which are an infallible source of vice, immorality, irreligion, insubordination, disloyalty, and rebellion, all which vices you are in duty bound to prevent or annihilate. awake from your lethargy, or what other vile or odious name shall i give your willing slumbers, and discharge that duty which you have so long neglected, (though some of you to your honor have in a great degree fulfilled) and be thankful to the almighty and this good preacher, for the admonitions he has so powerfully and judiciously impressed upon this great and mighty empire. do not you rejoice to see the all-wise providence smiling in every direction, and bestowing all the necessaries of life and other comforts upon us at all times, with a most bountiful hand, without respect to persons, sects, rank, or parties, as an example of charity and philanthropy to us all; though we poor frail mortals of this once happy nation, continue in a more depraved state of wickedness, oppression, bribery, and corruption, from the lowest to the high ranks than ever was known; and that it is the bad example, and want of duty in the clergy and superiors, which is the baneful cause. i beseech you clergy, be no longer afraid of telling superiors, inferiors, and all ranks and degrees, boldly and without fear from the pulpits, like this good and blessed divine, that if they do not immediately reform, and annihilate bribery and corruption, and set better examples, and lead more virtuous lives, some heavy judgment from heaven will soon come upon us, (as has been the case with other nations) for doing which, you would soon have the grateful thanks and joy of the whole nation, and fill your churches, and empty the meeting houses, and procure yourselves the thanks and prayers of all your anxious ardent hearers. and consider him a warning voice sent from heaven, to guard this once happy land, from that ruin which has been gradually coming upon it the great length of time above mentioned. and consider him as an angel sent from the almighty, to encourage you to discharge the above too long neglected duty, and again unite them two helps meet to each other, religion and liberty, which have been too long divorced by your neglect of duty, and other dire causes. and i humbly warn you, that nothing but your zealous efforts, and those of superiors, with the aid of heaven, can save us from ruin here and misery hereafter; and teach every one to feel it his duty to slacken the cords of oppression, whatever his rank may be, and to set a good example to all. then we will sing, rejoice, be glad and thankful, that the almighty hath so long mercifully given us time to repent of our crying and heinous sins. and you, clergy, become good, faithful, pious, and gentle shepherds; learn to lead, comfort, and manage your flocks, which you all know are much gone astray; or else your new churches will remain empty, though they are to cost a million and a half of money at present, and will entail unknown expence upon posterity, and too many of the present age were impoverished before they were called upon for this million and a half, and none can tell what expence is to follow, even with all the care you can take, that is sure to come. i know you will pardon the liberty i am taking, because it is a religious heavenly subject, and concerns the everlasting the warning voice. 143 welfare of this dear once happy country, which i am labouring to help to restore to its pristine state. and i hope from what i have said from the sincerity of my heart, i shall have thousands and tens of thousands, and millions of advocates, if not the whole nation. this great expence would not have happened to a nation, over head and ears in debt, and the mass of it in poverty, had it been well considered, but it will have one certain effect, it will increase the influence of the—. but a reformed parliament would never have granted it, because i think such an enormous expence in building churches was not necessary at any time, much less at the present. the public and private gentlemen have proved they were not necessary, by building plenty of churches and chapels, and the poor by making the houses and barns places of worship. what will follow such conduct as this, the almighty only can tell but if you can only succeed in teaching superiors, and all the good, loyal, and faithful people of this mighty empire to study and practice the golden rule, which saith "wherefore all things whatsoever you would that men should do unto you, do you even so to them, this is the law and the prophets." and to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your god. you will restore those two helps meet to each other, religion and liberty, and snatch your country from the brink of ruin. many have given up the just and necessary cause of reform, and say that a revolution is inevitable, because the six dire enemies bribery, corruption, luxury, tyranny, oppression, and poverty, which have been the cause of all revolutions, are become so powerful, they will certainly force it. but i say no, i shall be joined by the king, and every individual in the land, except a few, who may perhaps remain, of those who have something to hope or to fear, to get or to save, from the pleasure or displeasure of thethen i am sure we shall prevent such a horror, and teach posterity how to do the same, then we shall make the six above mentioned dire enemies to all nations fly like chaff before the wind, and become the happiest people in the world. none but these enemies ever provoked a nation to rebel or find fault with its government. if the heavenly cause of religion, and the good of our country had been the object of this million and half of money, our first step would have been to improve the conduct of the church ministers, and to have supplied the churches with ministers of true piety, who would have comforted and led their flocks as the dissenters do. it is the want of this which is the cause of most or all the dissenters; had this laudable act been done, and filled your present churches and chapels, many of which would hold double, and many three, some four times the number which attend them, and emptied the meeting houses, then there might have appeared some cause to aid their zealous efforts, in the cause of religion, by a little money, when it had been petitioned for; but wantonly and thoughtlessly to lavish a million and half, before trying this effect, must be a grievous consideration to a nation, oppressed, impoverished, and in danger of sinking under an unbearable load of debt, rents and taxes. but like the increase of the army, it will add to the enormous, baneful, and overwhelming influence, which is the nations bane and danger, by having to give appointments to officers in the army, and clergy in the church; is not that baneful influence feeding and nursing bribery, corruption, luxury, tyranny, oppression, and poverty in all directions, and on all occasions. this appears to be its unceasing study and practice. had the cause of religion and welfare of society been the object, they would have bestowed some of the opulent livings upon the best of dissenting, distinguished, and most eminent preachers, and have emulated and prefered church ministers according to their merit; then they would soon have found that most of the dissenters, like me, are true church men in church and state, and they would have followed their good shepherds to hear them in the churches, with more pleasure than in their expensive meeting houses. it is not for want of respect for the established religion in church and state, that they dissent, but for want of zeal, emulation and piety in the church ministers, and their love of true religion and toleration, which are the greatest blessings this country enjoys, and i hope will lead to the completion of all others which are wanting. and they would prefer hearing them in the churches, because they neither would have the trouble, expence, nor care which they have with their meeting houses, and also have to pay their quota, in support of the church. i have conversed with many of them, and gone to their meetings to gain information, and they uniformly declare they love the mother church, and the establish-ment of it, both in church and state; and that they would much rather hear their pious, zealous, gospel preachers in the church, than in their meeting houses, for the reasons above mentioned. can there be stronger proofs given, than in lavishing this million and half of money without complaint from the people, or the majority of those who should be their true and faithful representatives in parliament on all occasions, that we are a blind, misguided, misgoverned, yet brave, great, loyal and virtuous people; but many of us contaminated by the luxury, depravity, folly and bad example of superiors, and the want of better ministers in our churches. is not this million and half, thus wantonly lavished, a mystery above our comprehension? i confess it is a mystery to me. surely petitions will be poured in from every individual in the land, praying that the half million voted this session of parliament, may be suspended till we see the churches supplied with pious good preachers, who will endeavour to unite those two helps meet to each other, true religion and liberty, who have been so long divorced. then we shall become the most happy, the most safe, and most powerful nation in the world. and here i cannot avoid asking what will a continuance of this blind infatuated line of conduct bring upon us, or our posterity? who can tell what is in the womb of time? does not history unfold to us wonders and miracles, greater than the fear that these new churches may become a pretext for annihilating all religious toleration; and establishing the roman catholic religion in this or some future age, and forcing our posterity to do mass in these new churches. a gentleman at the hampshire meeting in april, 1824, m 2 144 the warning voice. t to petition for a repeal of the assessed taxes, said he was anxious as any man, that the poor should have places of worship fully provided for them, but he would make the clergy supply them out of their five millions a year, let the church support itself, or it would fall. is it not wonderful that the zealous efforts of the methodists, the most numerous class of dissenters, who have now exercised their unceasing zeal in the heavenly and happy cause of religion, about ninety-five years, should not have been able to convince the clergy and the whole nation, of the necessity of what i have pointed out and advised above. but i do hope this million and half of money will do more towards promoting those desirable objects, than all they have done in the above mentioned ninety-five years. abstract of a dissenter's address. "allow me, however, to say, that it is not on slight grounds; it is not in a captious spirit; it is not for the sake of opposition, that we forego the protecting wing, the warm patronage, and the rich benefits of the religious establishments of the country. the inducements and emoluments lie much more on the side of conformity, than dissent. we have not the aid of parliamentary grants, for the erection of new chapels; nor can we have recourse to parochial assessments, to repair them when delapidated; but must contribute our quota towards the parliamentary and parochial funds, by which churches and chapels, in which we have no interest, and to which we do not resort, are reared or repaired. while upon ourselves must devolve the great burden of erecting our new places of worship, and of supporting our own ministers. i mention these things not at all in the way of complaint or recrimination, but in defence of our consistency, and to show that our nonconformity is much more costly and expensive to us than conformity would be, could we only bring ourselves to comply with its requisitions, nor is our dissent, either, the effect or symptom of disloyalty. to the principles of the british constitution, no class in the whole community are more conscientiously and ardently devoted than the protestant dissenters, as a body; and to the hero of the revolution in 1688, and to the princes of the house of brunswick, successively, they have cherished, and on some memorable occasions, have evinced a most decided and zealous attachment; an attachment which the sovereign has repeatedly and unequivocally acknowledged. in separating from the church, therefore we manifest no disaffection to the state. in asserting liberty as christians, we throw off no part of our allegiance as britons; and in withdrawing from the service and benefits of that altar which belong to a particular sect, we gather round and venerate the throne which belongs, and belongs equally to all. we believe every one has, and ought to exercise the right of private judgment, and to worship. god in the way which his conscience approves. for ourselves we claim that liberty, and we would not interfere with its exercise by others. to think and act for ourselves in the momentous concerns of religion, we never can egard as a privilege, and permission, allowed and granted to weak and tender consciences, through the liberálity of a clement prince, or the policy of sagations statesmen, but as a right which is born with us and natural to us, which belongs as properly and absolutely to that tender conscience, be it the conscience of a peasant or a pauper, as of a wily statesman, or the prince himself. it is indeed the gift of him who gave us our being, and with equal justice might any human power capriciously destroy our lives as deny us this liberty." since writing the above, i have read the following debates in the house of commons, on this most important subject. friday, april 6. 1824. new churches. the chancellor of the exchequer expressed great astonishment at the opposition made to the grant for building additional churches. to give religious instruction and comfort to a great body of the people, was surely a proper object; and as to the objection, that dissenters were compelled to contribute to the church establishment, that objection would lead too far, for dissenters of course paid tithes, church-rates, &c. with the rest of the community. there was a necessity for the grant, for the present churches would not hold those who belonged to the established church with the former grant 98 churches, accommodating 150,000 had been erected; still there was a great want persons, of accommodation, which this sum of £500,000 would assist to supply. the chancellor of the exchequer concluded by moving that exchequer bills to that amount be issued, &c. mr. hobhouse contended, that the church had funds of its own, which ought to be applied to the purpose. with regard to the present alleged want of accommodation, be was convinced, by inquiry, that such want was not generally felt. the official papers said, that three millions of people wanted accommodation, and yet this grant would only give it to 75,000 persons; so that twenty millions sterling would be required to give the accommodation in the way desired. but why not institute double or treble service in the present churches? chaples would be erected in abundance, if those who built them were allowed to choose the ministers; and this might be done, by giving the bishop a veto on the appointment. mr. hobhouse concluded by moving a resolution to the effect, that it was inexpedient to grant the sum proposed. mr. peel observed, that in many instances the church services had been augmented. though the sum called for would not do all that was wanted, it would act as for seed and be productive of a good harvest. he insisted that the accomodation was much wanted and called for, particularly for the poor. dr. lushington thought the grant was necessary, more particularly for the accommodation of the poorer classes. mr. hume took quite a different view of the question. by a return laid on the table in 1812, it appeared, that out of 1,881 parishes, there were 2,533 churches and chapels, belonging to the establishment, and 3,438, belonging to dissenters, making, for the dissenters, onethird more than the establishment.(hear, hear.) here the warning voice. 145 then, on the one hand, you had zeal and independence, opposed to indolence on the other; and if they wished to give the church of england fair play, they must match them with men of the same zeal, talent, and assiduity. but, instead of this, how was it proposed to proceed? why, by building stone walls, as if they could impart zeal or talent to inculcate the doctrines of the church. (hear.) he had seen churches enough--he had seen them tolerably well built, well furnished, and, no doubt, well endowed, but very ill filled (a laugh)—and why? because they were superintended by men who had been selected, not on account of their qualifications to teach, but with a view to maintain patronage, and to please the friends of the patron. (hear.) in scotland, the parishioners and land owners were bound to erect the church, and to maintain it and the clergy; and before the house consented to vote £500,000 for building churches in england, in addition to the million already voted, he would ask, were there no funds alloted for the express purpose. he could wish to hear for what objects were tithes originally destined. he should quote the highest authority, he meant mr. seldon, who said, that tithes were originally dedicated to four purposes:-to maintain the church, to maintain the clergy, to provide relief for the poor, and to maintain the bishop. he could not agree to the proposition that the people at present are rich; he knew that there were at this moment thousands of artisans who were working fourteen hours a day for 6 or 7s. a week. would the house call that rich? (hear, hear.) he would just ask the house to look at the enormous revenue of the bishopric of durham. (hear, hear.) did the gentlemen opposite mean to say, that these revenues were appropriated to the purposes of religion? there was already too much paid for the duties which were to be performed. and if they reduced the church establishment, ample funds would be found for the erecting of churches, without calling on parliament. at the conclusion of his speech, mr. hume was loudly cheered. after some further discussion, the original grant was carried by 148 to 59. the poor laws, except as to settlements, they will mar them and as the newspaper says, you would not allow the man to be relieved that has no work, which you know is the poor man's property, and if he cannot sell it, i beg leave to ask you, what he is to do; is he to go a begging, or is he to go out and steal, or break houses, or rob upon the highway, or die of hunger for want of bread. and as i believe there are thousands of colliers, thousands of lime-burners, thousands of watermen, thousands of husbandmen, and many others out of work at this present time, for want of ability in their usual employers to pay them wages.-and as i have the pleasure of thinking in the further progress of your bill, that you, and parliament will discover, or be informed, that it will be more laudable in you all, to study a remedy, by reducing rents, taxes, sinecure places and pensions, and the expenditure of public money, and defend the rights of the poor, which has been the life and soul of the prosperity of this once happy land, and their protection will continue to be the same.-i have lived many years, and have the comfort of enjoying perfect health, and faculties, and in the middle rank of society-yet i have only lately discovered what i sometimes tell my equals and superiors, that if they will learn true wisdom they may learn it from their inferiors.-about a month since, a colliery stopped where they employed fourteen colliers, what we call pick men, who were all thrown out of work, with many others.-i lately met one of the colliers, who told me he had no work, was a widower with seven children, the oldest incapable of doing any work, that he had been seeking work all round the country, but could find none, and that he had not a bit of bread in the house, he did not beg, but i gave him sixpence. he then said he was forced to go to the poor house to see what they would do for him; i said i am going to the rose and crown, in huddersfield, and if they do not please you, come to me, and i will help you; he came and shewed me a pound note, said they had given him that, but he was not to go again of a month.i dare say you will admit that five shillings per week is too little for a man and seven children. -but he said the master of the poor house had refused him, and said they might all go to the poor house. but when i told him you would help me, he gave me the note directly.-now if this family had gone there, they would have cost three or four times as much as they would cost at home, and by being relieved at home, the man's humble independence and strength of mind and body, are preserved, and he will be ready to enjoy his work when the colliery goes on again, and live like a man independent of the town. to-but if they had forced him to the poor house, he would have lost his humble home, and his strength of need i say, can there be stronger proofs of the necessity of a reformation of parliament, than in the above mentioned, and many other parts of this publication. copy of a letter from mr. richard milnes, of mirfield, near leeds, yorkshire, to j. scarlet, esq. m. p. on his introducing a bill into parliament to mend the poor laws, which mr. milnes has got printed to send to members to prevent the bill passing if possible, with some additions, the letter having been written and sent in a hurry. sir, " mirfield, may 16, 1821. i am sorry that a gentleman of your philanthropy and patriotism, should incline to invade the rights of the poor, who are not able to defend their own rights, which they have enjoyed unmolested ever since the days of good queen bess.-and feeling the same opinion i have .always entertained, that if ever the legislature meddle with body and mind would have been impaired. these reasons i beg leave to offer as my apology for laying the two letters which accompany this before you, and i shall be gratified if i have the honor of hearing they all meet your approbation.-the poor law was made for the benefit of the poor, not the rich i dislike the select vestry for the management of the poor.the magistrates, overseers, and lay-payers are more competent, if the last will only do their duty, and attend an open committee on the days the poor are paid, which i think they will do better than an arbitrary select vestry. 146 the warning voice. the poor laws as they are, are the brightest jewel in the constitution of england, and i think perfect, except as to settlements but much fault in the execution. and if a nation have the wisest legislature in the world, and they make the wisest laws, if the people will not execute them, it is not the fault of the legislature, or the jaws; then why blame the law for the fault of the execution? and it is one of the most common and greatest errors in human affairs, that the whole of the poor are blamed for the fault of the few idle, profligate, and abandoned, without considering the thousands of thousands, who are behaving well and bear the heat and burden of the day with patience and little do we know who are to become poor, and be forced to apply at the poor house. then mark the wisdom of our forefathers, in making a law which says, their children, or children's children shall not be starved to death. but would they contemplate that the time would ever come, when the legislature would think it necessary to apply to the poverty of the poor man's table, to recruit her finances; that being the case at present, and at a time when the land is flowing with milk and honey, thanks to the almightythen may we not well exclaim, oh! old england! old england! canst thou disgrace thyself so much? forshame, forshame, tell it not in gath, never let it appear in the history of thy country. i have the honor to be, most respectfully, sir, ---your most obedient servant, richard milnes. appendix to r. milnes' letter to j. scarlett, esq above. poor rates, it appears by the returns made to parliament, that the poor rates in england and wales, from the years 1816 to 1821 inclusive, were as follows: £. 8. d. £. 8. d. in 1816...5,724,840 0 0 | in 1819...7,516,705 0 0 1817...6,910,926 0 0 1820...7,330,256 0 0 1818...7,870,804 0 0 1821...6,959,249 0 0' admitting that they do cost this, it goes chiefly into the hands of the farmer, and circulates money, which is one of the great sources of wealth. but i do not believe they cost near these sums, because many things are charged to their account which do not belong to it, particularly law suits about settlements, which might be saved, if they would always put those disputes to reference, for they know one of them must take him after they have imprudently spent much money. the poor man's friends (who are much too scarce, occasioned by the unbearable load of rents and taxes, which the nation has to pay,) may know many aged and infirm people from 70 to 90 years of age, unable to work, who have only is. 6d.-28-28 6d. or 38. per week allowed; why do not they allow them more, and not let them starve, but make them comfortable, they cannot have them to keep long. and also many labouring men, who are employed upon the roads for want of better work, have only 58-68.-88.-or 98. per week; those who have families, would consume double the quantity of bread and meat, if they could get it. many have the folly to say, the poor man can afford to take low wages, because corn is low, but it is not low, it is near three times the price it was fifty years ago. but they forget that he is often without work, or perhaps sick at home; and that his rent is doubled, except where they happen to have a rich and liberal landlord, if not, he is forced to oppress his tenant, because all his outgoings are increased by oppressive rents and taxes. his shoes are doubled, and will not wear half so long as they used to do, because the demand is so great, the tanner does not make the leather, in general, half so good as usual; and many colliers and others, have to go two miles to and from their work every day. the coach and waggon horses carry the best part of the leather upon their backs, perhaps double weight needful to the waggon horse. and the machinery also use the prime part of it for straps, which compels the poor and middle ranks of people to have the worst, at more than double price, and their shoes are generally more suitable for a dancing school, than such slavery as they are forced to bear. how singular in this ingenious age, that no man of talent, invents a way of harnessing a waggon horse with half the weight, and at half the expence, and relieve him from much toil, heat, and sweat, in carrying this extra leather on a hot summer day, by small links where praeticable as a substitute in part for the leather, by which he might perhaps make half the leather do better, which would procure him the thanks of the poor horses if they could talk; the poor and middle ranks of the people, the farmers, and the public, and leave some of the best leather, to be useful on the poor and middling people and drivers feet, instead of being an useless burden and plague, on the poor horses backs on a hot summers day. why does the waggon horse require such a very large top to his barcam or collar. the waggon horses carry many tons of leather upon their backs every day, which is oppressive to them, and might be a comfort to the peoples feet. many of the poor peoples yeast cost them six times as much as usual, if we consider the time lost and shoes worn in seeking it at 6d. or 8d. per pound, which cost' them little or nothing; when the cottager could afford to brew, they gave it to each other. malt is near three times as much as was sold for fifty years ago, which amounts to a prohibition with many, and forceth them to the ale house to get a little ale, where they perhaps get too much, which causeth discord between the husband and wife, for want of brewing a little at home, which they would certainly do, if the price was in proportion to their wages as it used to be, and prevent their unhappy discord. coals double, tobacco four times as much as usual, and many require it for their health. treacle double, sugar double, shambles meat three times as much as it was fifty years ago, and many other things which they want are double. mark how these extravagant prices diminish limited incomes, and reduce the value of money, the owners of the warning voice. 147 which have no means of increasing their incomes, which make many thousands upon thousands feel in poverty, thousands feel in poverty, when more moderate prices would make them like the poor and labourer, feel rich in plenty, comfortable, and happy. i have considered this very important point with great attention, and i cannot discover, that high prices add to the comfort, real pleasure, or happiness, of any part of our extensive community, for these are only to be found in moderate competency and rational enjoyment. i repeat again, that the middling and lower orders are the sons and daughters of somebody, perhaps of those who have been in affluence, and flourished like the green bay tree. then is it not the duty of the high ranks to join in reducing the high prices, because we do not know who are to be the victims of misfortune, and become poor, and apply to the poor house, or have a very limited income. but wages are far from being advanced in proportion to the advance in the price of provisions; few, very few, command wages equal to the advance in the price of the necessaries of life; this, i think, is a proof of more poverty than i have described. "what numbers once in fortunes lap high fed, solicit the cold hand of charity. to shock us more, solicit it in vain. ye.silken sons of pleasure, since in pains you rue more modish visits, visit here, and breathe from your debauch. but so great is your impudence, ye blush at what is right." are there not many thousands in the metropolis, and other places, in the above mentioned miserable situation, need i ask how the reader would wish for pity and relief, was he so. and how few there are in the world who are not of the middle and lower orders, and perhaps many of the middle and very poor are in the hardest situation, because they have seen better days, and have the most claim to pity. i know it will be said by some, they should take better care. i answer it is not only the imprudent that become poor, for poverty.cometh by many other causes, and if we were all rich, who would work. the kind hand of charity doth not inquire how the object became poor, but gratifies itself by giving with pleasure and liberality. consider what poor people do for us, and how we should do without them. poverty is the infallible source of immorality, irreligion, discord, theft, vice, insubordination, disloyalty, and rebellion. surely all men will join me in my humble, honest, zealous efforts, to prevent or annihilate all these great evils. to gratify their charity, humanity, philanthropy, religion, and loyalty, which virtues i hope no one will find himself totally void of, but many, a great many, i am sure, have the pleasure and happiness to enjoy them all. there never was such a scramble, such a hurry, such a working, such slavery, such an attempt at getting, such a saving, such a cheating, such a competition, such oppressing, such a contest, such discord, such strife, such uneasiness, among a poor working and middling people in the world as in this country at present; and when they have done their best, they say they cannot get an honest living by all they can do, and all their toil and strife. all this originates with the extravagance of government, and takes every rank beneath them, till it || gets to the beggar, the pauper, the poor house, and lessens the consumption of bread, and are not our very extensive corn warehouses full of corn, much of which i fear is spoiling; this is all for want of government, and all superiors slackening the cords of oppression. yet if all superiors were inclined to abuse their power, in proportion as they are able, inferiors would be much more oppressed and miserable than they are. many of the farmers and middle ranks of society, are forced by heavy rents and taxes, to oppress those beneath them, contrary to their native good will and inclination. it is only superiors that can slacken the oppressive cords. are not there thousands of thousands in france and spain at present, who have been in affluence, in fortunes lap high fed, now fallen into poverty and misery, and soliciting the cold hand of charity. is not this a lesson for the people of this mighty empire; may i ask them if they have any security from the almighty against such misery, and little do they know who are to be the victims. may i ask them to inquire, and they will find those six enemies bribery, corruption, &c. which were the downfall of the above mentioned, and all other great empires which have fallen, raging in this country with unabated fury. and i will ask them further, would you help to destroy the above mentioned six dire enemies before it be too late. and i will ask if millions would not fall from affluence and competency, and comfort, to poverty and misery, by the fall of our funds, they are so enormous. have you any security from heaven, that such a dire calamity will never happen, if you say it never will (without a reformation in parliament) you will confirm your infatuation indeed. i beseech you let this humble honest warning voice, operate upon the mind of every one before it be too late, and avoid such misery, if you have any regard for yourselves, others, or posterity. now i will prove to you, that the poor law makes the people of england and wales work harder than any in the world, though we do not hear of any poor law, but in england and wales, which is very singular. this would almost lead us to believe, that all other nations are void of charity, humanity, sound policy, and information; and some stupid englishmen have the folly to say it promotes vagrancy and idleness. i you know it is very common for a bonny lad and bonny lass to fall in love with each other, and married they will be, and married they are. in about six or eight years they will have five or six fine babes round their table, and the husband has no means of supporting them but by the coal pit,the loom, the plough, or some other labour. he falls sick, and continues so until their money and credit is exhausted. he says to his wife, oh! my dear we shall all be pined to death; no my dear she says, there is the town, there is our estate which our forefathers left us, which we can never spend. she goes to the overseer of the poor, he relieves them, and preserves the sick man's strength of body and mind, and he returns to his labour with a vigour of both, which be could never have done if there had not been a poor law, without that, he would have sunk into weakness, debility, despair, and misery, which he could never have recovered. is not this law an honor, ornament, and comfort to n 2 the warning voice. 148 us, does it not do honor to the wisdom, charity, humanity, and sound policy of our forefathers. and have not the poor as much right to it, and ought it not to be as secure to them, as any man's estate is secure to him. i say this law is almost perfect, except as to settlements, and the remedy for that is simple and cheap. when a dispute about a settlement happens, enter into arbitration bonds, and put it to reference, and that will settle the matter with little trouble and little expence, and they know very well one of them must take him. i confess there is much fault in the execution of this very excellent law, and many blame the law for the fault in the execution. a sudden influx of wealth or power too often intoxicates, much worse than strong liquor. make a man drunk with that and he will sleep sound, and get up sober in the morning; but intoxicate him with wealth or power, and he will go to bed drunk, and get up so perhaps the whole remainder of his life. how few men cau bear the intoxication of a sudden influx of wealth and power, which, and ambition, were the ruin of bonaparte. and when a man is suddenly raised to wealth or power, he is too apt to forget what he has been, what he is, or what he may be again before he die. and i hope this will teach every man to guard against this species of intoxication, for sake of himself, his family, and society. self preservation is the first grand law of nature, which the almighty hat given to all creatures. and it is laudable in man to adhere to that law most strictly, when he is poor, till he attain competency or affiuence; and i admit it is laudable, and a virtue to regard self to one of those two points, but to pursue the same strict and rigid line of conduct, regarding himself beyond them is blameable and a vice, which is a virtue before he gain them in affluence and competency, i say it becomes every man's duty to attend to those beneath him, and promote their welfare and happiness, with thankfulness, that he is raised above them for that purpose, and become able to do so. a farmer at the hampshire meeting in april, 1824, to petition for a repeal of the assessed taxes, said that he is giving the same wages to his labourers, as his grandfather paid fifty years before. are not such labourers in poverty, and want of bread, in the midst of plenty. 'the greatest enemies to religion, are opulence, poverty, idleness, oppression, slavery, discord, superstition, and bigotry. and poverty is by far the greatest and most universal enemy, because it is the offspring of the others, and cries aloud in every town and village for relief. will not this million and half for new churches, increase and multiply poverty. this enormous sum is to be paid by government, and government is supported by the people; and it is a stubborn fact, that all middling and lesser men have already more to pay than they are able, without oppressing those beneath them; and are not the highest and middling orders supported by those under them, and when any new demand is made upon them by government, they are too many of them forced to oppress their inferiors to become able to pay it. this is the cause and increase of poverty every where, that greatest enemy to religion and all mankind, had this million and half been applied to the reduction of the national debt, instead of increasing it, that ten thousand times more in favor of the established reliwould have done much towards reducing poverty, and gion, than stone walls, without pious, good, faithful, and gentle shepherds, who would lead, comfort, and manage their flocks, the only plausible reason given by government in provide sittings for the poor; but the poorest of the religifavor of this unnecessary and unbearable expence is, to ous dissenters assemble in each others houses, and barns, to pay divine worship, where they have no chapels, and some even do so where they have, because many of them have no clothes fit to appear in a fine place of worship, or keep themselves warm in winter, or shoes to go in, was it only half a mile or less to church, and perhaps unable to walk so far; how well then that they have found such a convenient, comfortable substitute, for the every man's religion should be left to his own conscience, want of a chapel, to worship the almighty. and i think and the almighty. had government devised means to enable the poor to get more food and raiment, and lessened their poverty, and prevented its increase, they would have done ten thousand times more for the cause of religion, comfort of the poor, and satisfaction, safety, and pleasure of the they can build. and such a charitable act would soon whole community, than all the churches and barracks annihilate the other enemies to religion; then religion pleasure, harmony and happiness every where among would bud and blossom as the rose, and infuse comfort, all ranks and degrees; only here contemplate for a moment what unbounded felicity such an easy proceeding would produce. bread is, but the unhappy sufferers, and they, alas! are none can tell what a state of poverty and want of their pitiable tale; and those who should listen to them, unable or not allowed to describe their feelings, and tell sity and humble complaint. then how laudable, how are too apt to lend a deaf ear, and disregard their necespraise-worthy, what a god like and heavenly act it would instead of increasing it, and set such a bright example have been in government, to have lessened their poverty, of happiness to the whole world. i do entertain a most sanguine hope, that such happiness will soon come, in place of the oppression, poverty, and misery which prevails at present. notwithstanding this rage for building new churches, they appear to be building more new dissenting chapels than at any former time. this i think is a confirmation chapel at leeds, intended, it is said, to be the largest in of all i have said above. they are building a methodist the kingdom. less, hard hearted men, that so much poverty does not i dare say it will be argued by some ignorant, thoughtexist as i have described, but the following account of the poor rates, with the small pittance allowed the poor, will, i trust, silence such weak opinions. will prove they are in poverty, and what i say after, the poor rates in england and wales from the years 1816 to 1821 inclusive, were as follows. in 18165, £724,840 0 0 | in 1819 £7,516,705 0 0 4817...6,910,926 0 0 1820...7,330,256 0 0 1818...7,870,804 0 0 1821...6,959,249 0 0 and there is a class above them, in as much or more p al n ย the warning voice. 149 poverty than those who are relieved by the town, one proof is their running about the streets and lanes, over and above their working hours, to pick up every bit of manure which comes from the travellers' horses; and there are thousands of poor sailors and soldiers, who saved their country from ruin, who by law are not allowed to beg, yet wander about the country in poverty, and want of food and raiment, to indulge their love of liberty, and to breathe in and enjoy the fresh air, with the chance of re eiving a little here and there from the kind hand of charity, rather than being confined to the limits of the poor house. live, and the almighty continue my health and faculties, because it will be a play thing to me,) my directions. to my bottom stewards were, always, when they let a piece of work to a collier or any other, and it proved a hard bargain to the man, if he behaved well and did his best in working it, to make him amends, because the labouring man cannot afford to lose his labour; but if he made a good profit of his bargain by working, i said with pleasure it is his own, let him enjoy it. i beg leave to recommend this rule to all masters and stewards of collieries and others, as the best policy, and to gratify their charity and good will towards men. a collier had worked five years at a colliery, both of i am sorry to hear of so many men, and particularly which i know. this place is troubled with fire damp colliers, being committed to the house of correction; so and black damp to such an extreme, that a collier, his many as are committed, it does not appear to have the son, and daughter have lately been smothered and burnt desired effect, but i fear makes them worse. the colliers to death. this poor collier who is sitting by me says, must be very illiterate, because their fathers often take that he and another collier agreed with the owner to them into the pit at eight years old to wherry for them; work or get one side of a pit of coal, a short time before they go on, and learn that trade and no other, and neither the above mentioned misfortune happened, and no fire learn to read or write, except they be near a sunday damp had appeared before they made their bargain; school; and generally become old worn down men, when the fire damp appeared some days after they began, unable to do this dark, dangerous, laborious work about they were so much afraid of being burned, that they durst the age of fifty. i here beg leave to ask, are not such not go into the pit, but being threatened with the house entitled to have their errors dealt gently with, and to be of correction if they did not go on with their work, they treated with lenity, compassion, tenderness, and enventured two days after, and when they had been aboutcouragement, rather than the house of correction and a week at their work, they were taken with a warrant tread mill. and are not they more essential to our comfrom their work, and put into the house of correction forts, manufacturers, and commerce, than any other for one month to the tread mill; this man could not trade. is not coal our first local advantage, and of the eat the greatest part of the food they offered him; when most vital importance to our manufacturers. aud can he came out at the month end, he had lost much of his the coal be dug out of the bowels of the earth by any flesh, and his health was much impaired by the confineother men but colliers, who are trained to it from their ment, labour, and want of food, and has been under the infancy. doctor's care ever since. from the time of his being committed to this time, his wife, himself, and five children one at the breast, have been in want of bread; they had a letter written to the town which he belongs, to beg relief, they never answered the letter or sent any relief, though they did receive it, because the overseer of the poor called to see him in prison, and promised to come and see his family but never did, his credit was exhausted, and he could not get any bread on trust, which compelled them all seven to starve for want of bread, except they went a begging, which they are forbid doing by law; and his poor wife who had lost one eye by poverty, got now and then one shilling by going out to wash with the babe at her breast. i mention this as a proof that more poverty exists than i have described, and to show bywhat various ways it happens to men. because this is a sober, religious, laborious, good man, and if we -could search the kingdom through, we should, i believe, find many thousands in such poverty. is not this a loud call upon superiors, to look after the hard hearted overseers of the poor, to see that they do their more charitable duty to the poor, in obedience to the salutary, charitable, politic, excellent poor law. near two years ago, this poor man's contract for working at this colliery proved so much against him, that he was reduced to much privation, and his wife being almost without shoes, for want of which, she got a severe cold, which caused the loss of one of her eyes. when i was in full practice in collieries, (which i hope to be again when i have finished this work, if i i wish to see some other remedy. i once had two colliers committed to the house of correction at the same time, and before they went in they cryed most pitifully, and would have submitted to any conditions, rather as they thought than the disgrace of that house; but i thought it necessary for the sake of example, and i considered them great offenders. when they had been in about two weeks, they became the most hardened, abandoned wretches; these were the first i had committed, and i never had one sent there since, i have always tried what i have found an easier, better, and more complete remedy, by treating them with judgment, moderation, encouragement, and civility, and directed my agents and stewards to do the same, and found the colliers like others, very orderly good men, when they were well treated, but they are human nature, which is soon corupted, debased, and perhaps ruined by the evil usage of superiors. the situation of the farming labourer in 1822. the following has been furnished by a land-owner in sussex :-was it not for the aid afforded by his garden producing potatoes, the labourer would be worse off than the poor of ireland. he is cost adrift by the farmers in general, and driven to the parish for relief. he applies to the overseers, who order him to attend at the vestry, where they have a weekly sale by auction. it is now the custom for the farmers at that place to purchase 150 the warning voice. their labouring men, who are sold by auction at so much per head by the week. the best working men are now bought at a shilling a-day; the inferior are sold at fourpence to nine-pence per day. this is the regular practice in many parts of kent and sussex, where the labouring men are sold like slaves or cattle in a fair. he receives for his work from two shillings to six shillings a week. if he is a married man with a family, the whole sum he takes is nine shillings a week; the difference between his wages and allowance is made up by the poor rates. out of this nine shillings a week he pays rent, victuals, drink, fire, and clothing, with all his other expenses of a wife and family. the power given to the overseers is most unjust in its operation.--suppose a landlord or farmer, not approving the new system, does not attend the public auction sale, but keeps on his old labourers, paying a fair price of twenty-pence a day, whilst he is subject to pay the parish poor-rates, he is by this means doubly taxed, and has no fair chance to cope with his neighbours, who hire men on the slave system. their work being done on cheap terms, at the expence of the parish, and particularly to the injury of the shopkeepers; mechanics, and others who do not employ labourers." from the leeds patriot, 7th august, 1824. labourers' wages. "when arthur young published his elaborate tours through the east, north and south of england, in the years 1771 and 1772, the wages of labour were actually higher in most of the counties than they are at this moment, though provisions and the other necessaries of the labourer were not half their present prices. at that time the wages were determined by the distance from london, the following are the rates of the different distanees. to 50 miles from london, medium wages throughout the year ... ...... per week. £. s. d. 087 ........0 7 10 ....0 77 2 .0 7 0 .0 5 8 from 50 to 100 miles from 100 to 200..... from 200 to 300 ..... upwards of 300 ........... the board of a workman a day was then in the north 5. in the south 6d. a dinner in the north 3d. and in the south 4d. ...... 'in the north of england where wages were then lowest, they are now highest. according to the report of the committee on labourers wages, they are in northumberland 128.-in cumberland 12 to 15s.in yorkshire 128.-in the division of oldham, lancashire from 12 to 188.-in lincolnshire 12s. on the other hand, in suffolk, sussex, bedfordshire, kent, &c. wages are as low as 5s. and 3s." in those five or more counties, i suppose these low wages are increased by the poor rates. what a state of poverty is this, and how degrading. a lamentable consideration, that some of the poor of this island, are approaching to the miserable state of the poor in ireland, which has long called aloud for a remedy. if the necessities of the labourer were to determine the rate of wages, they ought to be higher in the south than in the north, because one material item in the expenditure of a labourer is much dearer in the former than in the latter, that is coal. house of commons, feb. 11, 1822. distress of the country. mr. brougham rose to bring forward his promised motion on the distress of the country. he was aware that some persons would be ready to charge him with precipitancy, for bringing forward his motion now, seeing that the ministerial project of finance was to be broached on friday next: he would gladly have waited the developement of their plan, had it not been for the declarations of the chancellor of the exchequer on the first day of the session, from which he was led to expect rather a budget of new taxes than a reduction of the old ones. the whole house had heard the chancellor declare, that to diminish the burdens of the people, instead of operating a relief, would but aggravate the evil. he had a shrewd suspicion that this doctrine, though in words it might be a little qualified, would be found hereafter to pervade the whole of the budget; and he could not help looking forward to the decided interference of the house, as the only chance, the only hope of the country, to prevent that doctrine from being carried into full effect, and shining forth in all its glory in the measures of administration. (much cheering.) it would be unnecessary to waste time in commenting on the vast amount of the distresses of the country: it would be absolutely superfluous to describe the pressure upon the various districts, to prove the wide extent of public suffering and calamity, or to show how heavily, though not by any means exclusively, it pressed upon agriculture. some persons were of opinion, that the distresses were of a local, not of a general nature, and others thought they were confined to a particular class-the farming interest. he had taken considerable pains to inform himself truly of the state of the country, and he thought he might affirm with confidence, that, except in the manufacturing districts of the north of england, distress was universally prevalent, was severe, nay, was terrible. if any one large branch of the community suffered from the of the times, it was a necessary consequence, pressure arising from the intermixture of all parts of society, that other classes must also be injured: but what must be the effect, when the body who most complained of distress-when that class of community who suffered so generally, and for so protracted a period, comprised the whole of these persons who were engaged in the cultivation of the soil? the home market for all kinds of manufac tures must necessarily be diminished; and if any branch maintained a seeming prosperity, it must be by the uncertain stimulus of foreign trade or speculation. under such a state of things it was essential to ask, what had government been doing to produce this result? he would not enter into a minute detail of their financial and commercial policy for the last 25 years, though he held it to be perfectly true that no man, with a just view of the finances of the empire, and a proper regard, for its prosperity and wealth, could think of persisting with impunity in the course that: government had pursued + the warning voice. 151 for many years. he would take only three years, 1813, 1814, and 1815, in which their system had been carried to its greatest extent, to elucidate his argument. in those three years, the average expenditure was 132,000, 00. per annum; the revenue wrung from the pockets of the people to meet this expenditure was 84,000,000l.; leaving an annual excess of 50,000,0007. in our out-goings over our income. of the mode of expending these enormous and inconceivable sums, he would rather speak in the language of high authority than in his own. he would therefore quote the report of the finance committee of 1817, a committee nominated by the noble marquis opposite, and consisting almost wholly of his friends. that report was an absolute confession; under the head" extraordinaries" it contained the following passages" your committee learn that works, buildings, extensions, and repairs, have been undertaken and executed, both at home and abroad, in a manner little checked or protected against profusion and waste; in many cases without any estimate or general plan, and sometimes extended, according to the statement of an officer of the ordnance who attended the committee, 'as views opened during the progress of the work."" parliament, it appears, was never consulted in the matter, and the expence was left to adjust itself to the "opening views" of those whose emoluments became greater in proportion to the magnitude of the sums expended. "if(continued the report) the whole sum required for these great works, or even for any one of them, had been at once submitted to the house, by regular estimate, there would have been an opportunity of considering the propriety of undertaking them, and of making previous inquiries with regard to three essential points:-1st. as to the security or means of defence intended to be obtained: 2d. as to the probability of the works in question effecting such security or means of defence; 3d. as to the value of the objects to be accomplished by those works, compared with the amount of the sums required for their completion, taking into consideration the probability of their being brought into use in consequence of any operation of an enemy." the report then set forth that £9,029,333 had been expended in this irregular and unsatisfactory manner, "while the utility of these vast works was never put to the proof in the various chances of the late war." the evident meaning of the passages he had read was this" that if you, the house of commons, had refused supplies, until the estimates were laid before you if you had considered the necessity of erecting those works before you voted your moneynot your money, but the money of your impoverished constituents, (hear, hear)-if you had taken those fair precautions which men of common honesty would have adopted-those works never would have been attempted -this monstrous evil would not have existed-those millions, wrung from the industry of the people, would not have been uselessly squandered." in the three years he had mentioned there was taken out of the pockets of the people, exclusive of county and parish-rates, the amazing sum of £252,000,000, which would have been more than sufficient to extinguish the national debt at the time mr. pitt instituted the sinking-fund. well, after these years of unparalleled expence peace had arrived, but not attended by the blessings which usually accompany peace; for, leaving out of the question any difference in the currency, the taxes were at the same nominal amount in 1820 as in 1806, though the former was the fifth year of peace, and the latter the fourth of active war. mr. brougham then proceeded to show the vast evils which had arisen from abandoning a metallic currency. he stated the different degrees of depreciation in the paper money from the suspension of cash payments in 1797, and the main conclusion which he drew from his calculations was, that the country paid last year as large an actual amount of taxation as it had paid in the most extravagant year of the late expensive war. the distresses of the farmer were not surprising, when it was considered how much the weight of taxation had increased since 1792: the revenue was then, including ireland, £18,000,000; now it was £61,000,000: the farmers returns had fallen nearly to what they were in 1792, but his establishments, his expenditure, his taxes, were increased four-fold. the reduction of rents had been strongly recommended, and was undoubtedly necessary. but as reduction had become quite necessary to the farmer, so the undiminished rents were necessary to the landlord, and the utmost reductions which could be made were inadequate. the farmer complained that wheat sold 20s. per quarter lower than it had cost him for growing it. suppose that 10s. was the truth, though he thought this underrated it, and suppose that three quarters to the acre was a fair average, the farmer would lose 30s. per acre-more than the average amount of rent. so that if the rent were reduced cent. per cent. or even 150 per cent, the farmer would still have a right to complain. nothing was more just than the reduction of rents, though it was more than the landlord could afford; but it was not effectual relief to the farmer. (cheers.) if they could contrive to reduce the expences 30s. per acre, then the produce would pay the expence. to raise prices he held to be impossible; and to reduce the expence of growing corn was only practicable by a reduction of taxation. one of the reasons why the agricultural class at present suffered more than others from taxation was, that other classes could more easily transfer their capital, proportion and modify their article of production, than the agriculturist. when the demand fell short, they could more inmediately curtail the supply. one of the important effects of an augmentation of the taxes was a proportionate increase of the poor rates, which, from half a million in 1750, and two millions at the beginning of the last war, had reached at one time to eight millions, and might now be reasonably estimated at six. the only hope of relief to the suffering classes lay in a determined reduction of the taxes which oppressed them. (hear.) not in a paltry reduction of a million, or a million and half, or two millions, but in lopping off at once some such considerable burden as should enable the starving farmer to live-in some serious relief to the community, which must enable men to exist under the pressure that would remain. (hear.) he had already shown that, under the name of paying less than it had paid in time of war, the country, in fact, was paying quite as much; that, with the semblance of paying millions less than had been paid in the heart of the war, the country, in reality, paid seven millions a year 02 152 the warning voice. of the state. more; that with a pretence of paying less than had been more when proprietors were reduced to traffic in securipaid in those years called years of expence, the country ties-when they were compelled from day to day to a paid a million more in the present year than she had ever life of traffic and of speculation, instead of living like paid in the most extravagant year of the contest; and country gentlemen, and like gentlemen of england. that in the year just passed, the situation had been the (hear, hear, hear.) to be distressed by every little same. why, then, even say that taxes to the amount of neighbour within sight of the gate; to be fearful at the 7 or 8 millions were now taken off, the country would approach of every new comer who should appear; to still be paying as much as she had paid in the year 1806, glean a scanty pittance of rent from a tenantry as sufor in the year 1807-years of war and of profuse expen-fering as themselves; and, at last, having gleaned from diture-years of distress, and almost of ruin-years in that tenantry all their earnings, to be forced to come which the country was told to look forward to peace upon their savings; and, their savings being exhausted, for relief-years when all classes were gulled out of their to be obliged to drive them out or sell them up, taking money, and when parliament was duped into becoming the rent (as it now was taken) out of the farmer's capi the accomplice of government in grinding a suffering tal, and not out of his revenue; and then being forced people to the uttermost, and when all the consolation, to emigrate, to mortgage, and eventually to sell; then all the argument, all the temptation held out was this the process of transfer, as it was called, became com"this cannot last; peace must come; with peace will plete; and, instead of the former owners, a new race of come retrenchment and a reduction of taxes, and with proprietors were distributed through the country. the retrenchment and reduction will return the prosperity of only means of avoiding such a national calamity was to england." peace had come at last, but it had brought cut off every charge which it was possible to get rid of; no healing influence on its wings. still, in the defiance not only to lop off the salaries of a few poor clerks of all retrenchment and all economy, much of public with an occasional little job of throwing three clerkships burden would necessarily remain; and he (mr. broughinto one in order to provide for some favorite or friend, am) had no hesitation in saying, that if, after all the rebut to begin the retrenchment at the very highest point, sources of economy were exhausted-if after every posand to carry it downwards through every department sible reduction had been effected-if after a large amount of load was taken off, the country should still find the state of the farming interest so bad, that landed gentlemen could not continue to exist in such a state of things, he was not prepared to say that the country ought not to go still farther in relief; his decided opinion upon the subject was, that where the pressure was so great and the interest so mighty-for the very existence of the state was bound up in the prosperity of the landthe country had only one limit to relief-the making that relief decidedly effectual:-that if one measure of reduction would not do, recourse must be had to another, and from thence to another; and that if all reductions were found insufficient, the country must prepare for other measures, for measures only to be justified by a paramount unreasoning necessity. (loud cheers.) he should say that the hour of necessity was come, if the landowners of england were to continue permanently in the state, or in any thing like the state in which they now stood for it was well to talk, in honied accents, of suiting the supply to the demand, and of throwing bad land out of cultivation-of changes in society, from one employment to another-of transfer, for that was an expression which did wonders, and of what one man lost being gained by another. these words, however smoothly they might sound upon the tongue, would be found, if interpreted, full of serious and of dangerous meaning. they supposed the laying waste of a large and fair portion of england; the breaking up of all endearing connexions; the destruction of all local attachments; the most frightful agonies to which the human mind could be subjected; they looked to the tearing up by the roots that fabric of society which might flourish perhaps in this country, most ornamentally towards its summit, but which was bottomed upon the foundation of a solid landed interest, and which must crumble into dust when that landed interest should be no more. (cheers.) and the (mr. broughan) said that the landed interest was no the years 1815 and 1816 had been years of low prices and of affected economy; and the year 1816 one would have thought, of all years in the cycle, was the farthest from warranting any increase of salary. and yet he found the commissioners of customs and of excise, and the chairmen of those boards, in the year 1816, endowed with an addition to their already considerable stipends. (hear, hear.) at a time when, instead of adding any thing, part ought to have been taken away, these increases were given as compensations for some loss of patronage. (hear, hear.) two or three yachts had been laid up, the nomination of officers to them ceased; and that was a calamity to be made up by an increase of salary! but the taste of ministers in these matters was quite delightful; the neatness, the uniformity which their arrangements displayed: for, to preserve the symmetry of the whole set of officers, the commissioners of stamps got the same increase of salary although they had lost no patronage at all. (hear.) [a member said that the commissioners of stamps had lost some patronage.] he could not but be delighted at the style in which these rights were asserted, and at the nicety with which the worth of patronage was estimated in money. but there was another instance of augmentation in the year 1817, which was really worth the attention of the house; it was to the salary of the secretary of the board of controul. the original salary attached to that situation was 1,500 a year which was thought too little for an office of such importance, and in the year 1813 or 1814, during the war at all events 300l. a year was added, making the salary 1,8007. within two years after, to wit, in the year 1815, it was discovered that the honorable member who dignified the office had been no less than five years in possession of his situation. conduct so praise worthy could not decently go unrewarded. (laughter.) if such an act did not deserve remuneration what did? (hear, hear.) if it was not merit, who could hope to the warning voice. 153 be meritorious. (hear and laughter.) five years in his post! it was a signal instance of that propensity to keep place, which was the support of ministers and the blessing of the country. (much laughter.) "let his salary," "let his salary," said ministers with one voice.-"let his salary be inereased 2001. a year." and for the honorable secretary's religious adherence to office, and as an encouragement to him to persevere still further in the same virtuous course, his salary, from 1,8001. was made 2,0007. per annum. (excessive laughter.) so bright a reward for meritorious conduct could scarcely fail to produce the best effects; and in fact the honorable secretary continued two years longer in office, to evince his gratitude for the bounty which had been showered upon him. (hear, hear.) what! two years more? he must be rewarded again, (shouts of laughter,) or the state would go to decay for want of steady servants. it would be in vain to have great places of 1,500l. and 2,000l. a year, if they did not reward fidelity like this no one would accept them. (hear and laughter.) accordingly the salary was advanced 2007, a year more, attaining then-it was hard to say the maximum-but attaining the line upon which it rested just at present (cheers.) from all he had heard, not from ministers, but from those adherents who were too much countenanced by them, he felt he should not be discharging his duty if he did not guard members against those visionary schemes by which it was proposed to aid the distressed classes-schemes, visionary in every thing from which real relief could be expected, and substantial in nothing but in their being a bar to a practical reduction of taxation. the hon. and learned member concluded, amidst loud cheers, by moving a resolution which was in substanee-"that it is the bounden duty of this house, well considering the pressure of the public burdens on all classes of the community, and particularly on the agricultural classes, to pledge itself to obtain for a suffering people such a reduction of taxation as would afford them effectual relief.” the leeds mercury, 12th june, 1824. ministers have done much, during the last few years, to liberalize the commercial system of this country. they have abolished several injurious monopolies and restrictions, have boldly repealed some of the most ancient laws erroneously imagined to protect the mercantile interest, and now seem to act upon the just conviction, that they cannot better promote the prosperity of the country, than by leaving capital to choose its own employment, and traders to take care of themselves. the east indies have been opened to private merchants; the west indies have been allowed to find nearer and better markets; a perfectly free intercourse with ireland has been established; the venerated navigation act, founded upon principles of jealousy, has been repealed; the silk and the wollen trades have been made comparatively free; the beer trade is about to be disencumbered of its restrictions; the penal laws against an open purchase and sale of labour to be abrogated, and the chains intended to bind down our artisans to this island to be broken. these are great benefits, for which we feel grateful not only to ministers, but to all those enlightened members of parliament, who, guided by the sound principles of political economy, have laboured to dissipate old prejudices, and to show the advantages of unlimited freedom of trade. several classes in the trading part of the community, whose interests seemed to be protected by the restrictions which have been removed, have viewed and still continue to view these innovations with sensitive apprehension. this is invariably the case, whenever an improvement is projected; but we are convinced that the general and permanent benefit resulting from the change in our commercial system will incalculably outweigh the partial and temporary inconvenience, even if any inconvenience should be felt, and that in a few years the change will be looked back upon, with universal and unqualified admiration. we rejoice, however, in the liberal principles on which ministers are acting, more from our hopes of what they will produce, than from our approbation of what they have effected. it would be a great mistake to imagine that every thing has now been accomplished. the most important subjects are yet to be approached, the most grievous and pernicious monopolies are yet to be subverted. the sugar trade and the tea trade, as at present engrossed by the east india and the west india interests, impose heavy taxes on the nation, for the sole benefit of a few individuals, or the still worse end of supporting mismanagement, corruption, and slavery. above all, that giant grievance, that grand commercial anomaly, that universal pest-the corn law, is to be revised and corrected. the agricultural monopoly is the most unmixed and enormous evil in the whole commercial system of this country: its injustice and oppressiveness to the nation at large are scarcely less to be deplored, than the ruin it often brings upon the farmers and landlords who cling to it as a protection in removing minor restrictions on trade, we hope ministers have only been clearing their way to attack this colossal restriction, -have only been removing some of those defences, in which the powerful but ignorant advocates of the corn laws have formly taken shelter. the chancellor of the exchequer in particular owes it no less to his own reputation than to the country, to pull down, now that his eyes are opened, the monopoly which in his blindness he was the instrument of erecting. the corn laws are avowedly intended to raise and to keep up the price of the chief necessary of life. a very simple calculation will show at what expense to the community this is effected: forty millions of quarters of corn are annually consumed in this country; therefore every shilling added to its price is a tax of two millions sterling on the public; it follows, that if the price of corn is raised eight or ten shillings above what it would be under a system of free importation, the restriction costs the nation sixteen or twenty millions sterling a year. this is plain arithmetic. but what say the manufacturing and mercantile classes of the community to this tax, so much worse than the income tax? income tax? what say the shipping, the silk, and the woollen interests, who are left to compete unprotected with other countries, at the continuance of this great monopoly? they say truly that they are treated with injustice; that the principles of free trade, to which their own little monopolies have been sacrificed, are the warning voice. 154 not followed up by the abolition of that grand monopoly which oppresses them in common with the whole country; that they meet the foreign manufacturer under a disadvantage, owing to the high price of labour; that they are compelled to put up with a low rate of profit; and that this must be injurious not only to themselves individually, but to the nation at large, in retarding the accumulation of capital, and encouraging the transference of it from this to other countries. the leeds mercury, 26 june, 1824. in our paper of the 12th inst. we showed the serious evils and oppressive burdens brought upon the country by the restrictions on the trade in corn. we demonstrated, by a simple calculation, that a tax of no less than sixteen or twenty millions sterling was imposed on the nation by the effect of the corn laws in raising the price of the chief necessary of life. we showed that this occasioned a universal rise in the price of labour, and a corresponding diminution in the rate of profit. and we also proved, by a reference to notorious facts, that the restrictions which bore so heavily on the people at large were not less pernicious and afflictive to the agriculturists themselves, by causing ruinous fluctuations in the value of their produce. we shall now briefly examine the principal arguments by which the monopoly of corn is defended. first the advocates of a restricted corn trade contend that the english agriculturist is entitled to protection against foreign competition, on account of the heavy taxes he has to pay. it is manifest, however, that he has no right to claim protection on the ground of the general weight of taxation, but only on the ground of these taxes which press exclusively upon agriculture. for if the agriculturist were entitled to claim protection on the account of the general oppressiveness of taxation, every other produce in the country would have the same right; and every foreign commodity, therefore, which could come into competition with a commodity of english production, would either be excluded or laden with heavy duties. but to tax all imported articles would be a general burden, not a general protection; and to tax foreign corn alone would be unfair to every class except the agriculturists. now the taxes which press exclusively upon agriculture are not numerous, and they are in some degree counterbalanced by the expense of bringing so bulkly a commodity as corn from other countries, which of course operates as a tax on the foreign producer: but if, in addition to this, a duty of 10 or 12 per cent. were laid on corn imported, the english agriculturist would enjoy all the protection which his exclusive taxes entitle him to demand. so much for the plea founded on taxation as far as the agriculturist is concerned. but let us look at this plea as it affects the nation. the people of england have to pay sixty millions of taxes a year, to support the government, and discharge the interest of their debt: therefore, it is fitting to lay on twenty millions more, in or ler to protect the agriculturist! taxation has raised the price of labour, has lowered profit, has made it more difficult for the manufacturer to cope with his foreign competitors; therefore we must remedy the evil by a still further augmentation of our burdens! this is silly enough, but it is what the defenders of the corn laws propose to the nation. the heavier our taxes are, the of every foreign resource, which, by lowering the cost more necessary it evidently becomes to avail ourselves of the necessaries of life, shall diminish the encumbrances that impede our course in the race of commerce. the advocates of the corn laws plead, secondly, that the monopolies enjoyed by several classes of our manufacturers justify them in demanding the monopoly of corn. this plea would have something of fairness, if the legislative protection given to our manufactures notorious that our manufacturers of nearly every were any thing more than a dead letter; but whilst it is description are the best and cheapest in the world, and have triumphantly maintained a competition with all others in foreign markets, it cannot be supposed that we have any reason to dread the competition of foreign should be able to purchase our clothing, &c. cheaper manufactures in our own market, or to hope that we abroad than at home. this plea, therefore, is void. but, supposing that it were not so, and that our manufactures enjoyed a real protection, this would not justify a restricof so much greater importance and more extensive contion on the trade in corn; because the latter article is sumption than any of our manufactures, that a monopoly which effects its price is incomparably more injurious to the nation, than one which affects any other article. have is gradually diminishing, in consequence of the whatever force this plea might once be imagined to liberal commercial system now adopted, and shortly, we trust, not a peg will remain in the statute book for the agriculturists to hang an argument upon in favour of monopoly. we of the corn laws assert, that, whatever arguments being defeated in the first two positions, the defenders economists may use, it is a well-known faet, that, the price of corn on the continent is so low as to defy all competition on the part of the english grower. deny the assertion. much error exists on this point, representing the price of corn on the continent as much and the agriculturists have carefully cherished it by lower than it really is. it was clearly established by the evidence given before the agricultural committee of the house of commons, in 1821, that the price of coru several years before the war, was such, that the comin dantzic, holland, and america, on the average of modity could not be imported from any of those markets into england for less than 57s. a quarter-a price very little lower than that of this country in the years 1803 and 1804. this is a fact not to be set aside by any vague representations of the fertility of poland and the crimea, and the cheapness of cultivation in those countries. the agriculturist need never fear) the importation of it is plain, therefore, that we can never hope for (and corn into this country at a price so low as to throw out quality. we say hope for, because we are ready to of cultivation any lands except those of very inferior contend, that if foreign corn could be had for 30s, a quarter, it would a great national blessing; that the that (although a partial and temporary inconvenience lower the price of this necessary of life the better; and t the warning voice. 155 might result from throwing inferior soils out of tillage) the same general and permanent advantage would be felt from a reduction in the price of corn, as has resulted from the reduction of the price of cottons. no one doubts that the diminished cost of this latter article, which has been effected by our improved machinery, is a national benefit; and it would be just as wise to destroy all that machinery, and recur to the old method of manufacturing, as it is to deprive ourselves of the cheap produce of other countries, for the sake of tilling the stubborn soils of our own. but it is alleged fourthly, that however desirable it may be to purchase cheap corn from other countries, we have no certainty of procuring a regular supply, and in time of war, our supplies being cut off, we should be exposed to the peril of famine. this assertion, like the preceding, is a delusion, and is refuted by the experience of this and other countries. holland at no time grew sufficient corn to supply the wants of its inhabitants yet this necessary of life was always as plentiful in the market of amsterdam as in any part of europe: with this advantage superadded, that the price was more steady in that country than in any other of the world. are we not dependent on foreign countries for many of the commodities which are absolutely essential to us, without having ever been deprived of them. hemp, the very sinew of our naval strength, comes to us wholly from the baltic; yet we never were deprived of it even during the height of the late war. we grow no cotton, no silk, no oranges; but did we ever want them? have they not reached us in spite of all restrictions and all wars? the fact is, that a country which exports any of its products to a great extent cannot bear to be deprived of the usual outlet; that the most ruinous consequences would result to the sellers, as well as to the buyers, from an interruption of the trade; that sovereigns, therefore, very seldom venture to interrupt such a commerce: and that when they do attempt it, they cannot succeed. if we took a regular supply of corn from poland or france, the cultivators of those countries would look to us regularly for a market, and would invariably supply our wants. the closer our intercourse with these countries became, the more it would be the interest of all parties to abstain from war; and thus a great moral blessing would be secured by the establishment of sound commercial regulations. as a last refuge, the supporters of the corn laws plead the great destruction of capital that would be occasioned by throwing the inferior soils out of cultivation. unfortunately, however, nearly the same amount of capital is liable to be destroyed every six or seven years under the present system, in consequence of the ruinous fluctuations in the price of corn, which at one time give the highest encouragement to cultivation, and at another induce the farmer to abandon the tillage of his least productive soils. but if this were not the case, it surely would be a blunder of the grossest kind to bind capital permanently to a disadvantageous employment, and to keep up the price of the chief necessary of life, in order to avoid the sacrifice of a small portion of that capital. when an improvement takes place in machinery every wise manufacturer abandons his old machines and purchase the new ones, finding the sacrifice of capital to | be far less than the sacrifice of profit that would attend the continued use of the inferior implements. the same principle applies to agriculture, and to every other employment. 'the corn laws, then, being productive of so much unqualified evil, we trust the manufacturing and commercial districts of the country will, on the next meeting of parliament, petition earnestly for their repeal. an excellent petition has recently been sent up by the spirited inhabitants of liverpool in favor of an unrestricted corn trade, and we should be glad to see the populous towns of this riding, with leeds at their head, raise their voice in favor of this great improvement in our commercial system. the rent laws. to the editor of the leeds mercury. sir. though a stranger to you, i am induced by the article in your paper of the 26th ult. on the corn laws, or as i shall call them, the rent laws, to write you my case, with a few observations;-i have a wife, eight children under 14 years of age, and two in-door servants -every mouth of which is fed at my expence. prior to 1822, i was getting in debt, in consequence of the high prices of provisions. in that year, or thereabouts, i was enabled, by great frugality, to apply about £20 yearly in the discharge of my debts; but now i am suffering again, by having, not that £20 only, but £44 5s. 8d. yearly taken from me by the rent laws, the particulars of which i will thus state :expences of agricultural produce in a family of 12 persons. bakers' bill butchers' ditto.. vegetables malt yearly in 1822 corn bill inoperative. weekly. yearly. £. s. d. 050 11 6 1 2 000 in 1824. corn bill in operation. weekly. yearly. £. s. d. 090 £. s. d. 23 8 0 57 17 0 £. s. d. 13 0 0 29 18 0 3 08 9 15 0 1 2 3 027 6 14 4 12 0 17 8 55 13 8 1 13 10 99 19 4 55 13 8 the artificial price in consequence of corn laws. natural price. ..... yearly tax on a family of 12 persons £44 5 8 this is independent of cheese and butter, which my wife provided. as my credit, on account of my circumstances, is not very good, and as the £20 cannot be longer applied in discharge of my old debts, i cannot incur new ones to the amount of the now deficiency in my income of £24 5s. 8d. my family must therefore starve to that amount, and the fat which ought to fabricate the entrails of my children, must go to grease the wheels of the carriages of the landlords. this is a faithfull picture of the sufferings of myself and my family, under the high rent laws. p 2 156 the warning voice. in the next place, i wish to call your attention to the enormity of the rent tax in the gross. in the first place, the landlords are the people, and the only people, benefitted by the rent laws; then come the farmers and their families: they may be considered as producers, not as consumers by purchase. in this middle state, they (the farmers) are neither benefitted or injured by high prices, otherwise than as farms will always be let or rated in proportion to prices. the farmer of any given quantity of land will require greater capital with high prices, to obtain the same profit as low prices would give him; therefore, in this respect he is injured. to find the number of families taxed by high rent laws, the number of non-producers must be ascertained, and taking the number of each family to be the same as mine, (12) there are in the united kingdom 1,500,000 families. allowing each landlord on the average to have 5,000 acres, and each farm to be 500 acres, the number of landlords' and tenants' families are 154,000, which taken from the whole population, leaves 1,346,000 families of 12 persons each, as purchasers each family taxed at £44 5s. 8d. yearly, is a gross sum of £59,224,000, without the fractions, which is upwards of £300,000 more!!! how many families, besides my own, must not only spend that income they should apply to other purposes, in the payment of this high rent starvation tax, but how many more must, like my family, starve, or half starve, in consequence of it? those also who have enough, should petition, and earnestly too, tor the repeal of such a tax. add the above difference of £59,224,000 to the taxes of 1824, and see what the amount of taxation will be. the government taxes are reduced about 5 millions, and the landlord's tax of 59 millions laid on, this then is an increase of taxation of 54 millions, instead of relief. but to do any thing effectually, the public journals should take up the matter as you have done; meetings should be held in every place as the agriculturists held theirs; the chairmen of the county meetings should meet in london, as webb hall and his compeers did; and if necessary a "free corn trade journal" should be established, to combat the sophistry of the farmers' journal; these things done, the high rents laws would melt like snow in a summer's sun. i anticipate much good from the article in your paper, of which the morning chronicle gave an extract, i wish this may appear in that paper through yours, i wish it may appear in cowdroys's manchester gazette, from which there was another extract in the chronicle. let parliament enact the import price at 60s. for the next year, and to be lower 4s yearly, until it be quiet free. the expence of importation is equal to sixpence per bushel, and by the corn law taxation table that clearly appears to amount to 21 milions, and it is curious to observe the coincidence between that table and my calculation, £44 5s. 8d. tax on twelve persons, is £3 13s. 9d. per head, and by the table 1s. 6d. rise in the bushel of wheat, by act. of parliament, is a poll tax of £3. 10s. wheat is about 1s. 6d. dearer than in 1822, whence arises my calculation. the gross amount in the table is 63 millions, deduct for the landlords and tenants as i have done, and it will agree in that respect also. a sufferer. relief wanted to cottagers and farmers. forty years ago no farmer missed a rent day. if his money did not come in time, his neighbours lent him some to make up his rent, so that they never missed; all confidence, comfort, credit, harmony and happiness prevailed among them. nor was there any want among the cottagers, if the meal was delayed at the mill, or the money, or any other provision wanting, some of their neighbours lent them what they wanted freely and hospitably, and the same obligation was returned by both with the same good will, so that all was concord and happiness among them. but now the reverse has taken place; poverty, inability, discord, and hatred of each other prevails; many, there are, of both, who have the above-mentioned wants, who have no friends to relieve them, and who are more ready to steal from, and cheat each other, than to relieve them in their need. unbearable rents and taxes, and other oppressive measures, are the baneful causes of this poverty, discord, and hatred of each other among farmers and cottagers; this is a truth confirmed to me by many. is it not then a loud call upon superiors to destroy these great evils. i beseech you, superiors, to help the poor and the bold peasantry, who have been england's glory, (and farmers) to flourish again, and once more be the glory of britain. reasons for lowering the price of bread, and all other provisions. the most weighty reason that can be urged in favor of lowering the price of bread, and all other necessaries of life, will be found in the comparison of the numbers who are in affluence and competency, and those who get wages which will support them comfortably, with the number of those who cannot command such wages, the sick and unfortunate, poor widows and orphans, paupers and beggars, wounded soldiers and sailors, and many others who have small limited incomes, which they cannot increase. i presume the nine latter classes will out-number the three former in the proportion of ten to one in some places, and twenty to one in others, if we take the kingdom through. kingdom through. and the latter nine classes would be restored from poverty and want to comfort, by a salutary successful effort on the part of superiors to reduce the price of provisions; and little do we know whose children of the present day are to have the misfortune to fall into poverty. how much the nine latter would thank and praise the two first for such a salutary act, and how much comfort and pleasure they would afford society thereby, is beyond the most extensive imagination to describe. and i beg leave to ask, would not such a salutary measure gratify charity, humanity and the soundest policy by invigorating and making strong all the essential and vital bands of society. i challenge those in affluence and competency, the most acute agriculturist and the most profound philosothe warning voice. 157 pher, or any other, to prove that the condition, comforts and happiness of affluence and competency can be improved by increasing the price of bread, and the other necessaries of life. then why so many artificial then why so many artificial means to keep up the price of corn and other provisions the extravagant price of corn is the root of all the great evils which come to all nations. having so sincerely advocated the cause of the poor labourer and others, i must not forget to point out to the labouring man his greatest comfort, happiness and safety, which i hope to prove is in fair competent constant wages. how often does the labouring man, who commands greater wages than common, go to the alehouse, get habits of idleness and drinking, and thereby become a worse husband, a worse parent, a worse member of society, and, in the end, complete his own ruin and that of his family. i once wanted some money of a man at manchester, who, it was said, could earn a guinea and a half a-week. i called on him to pay me, and found his wife in rags and a pair of clogs, and the children running about the house without stockings and shoes, and the husband drunk at the alehouse, and, consequently, unable to pay me. i hope these facts, which are too well known, will satisfy the labouring man that his master, who restrains him to fair competent constant wages, is his best friend; though, for want of considering the bad effects of the abovementioned great wages, he perhaps thinks him not so; but if the labourer will consider it well, he will find his master is his best friend, and has perhaps as hard work as he can do himself; and if he does not endeavour to produce his goods at a fair price at market, his trade would be lost, and be the ruin of both master and man. proofs that our heavy taxation, and high rents, keep the middling and lower orders of the people in poverty. after drawing the above-mentioned gloomy, but true, picture of this once happy nation, i feel it necessary to endeavour to convince all those of its truth, who have not given themselves time to know the state of the land of their nativity, in which they have lived all their lives, for want of inclination for such knowledge; and perhaps wander abroad to see the variety and beauties (as they fancy) of other countries, before they have taken time to view and discover the defects, and to eontemplate the superior beauties and excellencies of their own. this nation owes about 800 millions of money, the interest at 5 per cent. is 40 millions per annum. surely such an enormous debt, as no other nation in the world ever contracted. and we may add above 20 millions a year more for the necessary support of the nation. and the baneful and unnecessary support of bribery and corruption, and unmerited sinecure places and pensions, and nobody knows what beside, is above 60 millions a year. and this is paid in taxes by the consumers of the produce of the land, which keeps the middling and lower orders in poverty, who have no means of increasing their income: and though you may say it is in part paid by the high ranks, you will find they are supported by the middling and lower orders; and whether the landlord or tenant be called upon to pay it, the farmer must have it from the tenant, and the tenant must have it from the consumer. is not industry, mercantile enterprize, and the circulation of money, the source of the wealth and greatness of all prosperous and happy nations. and it is well known that many private fortunes have been wasted by the folly, imprudence, and extravagance of the owners. and it is equally plain that the folly and extravagance of the administration or governors of a country, will, in process of time, ruin a whole empire, as history proves they have done, and caused revolutions, which is the greatest misery that can befal a nation, and ought to be the study and endeavour of every one to prevent. this nation, i am sure, would never recover a revolution, it would be everlasting misery and ruin to it. but a reformation in parliament would prevent such a calamity, and be the most cordial balm, and would infuse comfort, pleasure, happiness, and safety, into all ranks and degrees, and the whole of this once happy and mighty empire. compare a nation to an individual, and you will find they are the same, only the nation is on the larger scale, and requires more time to complete its ruin. and you will find they are subject to the same casualties. but the governors of nations are, and have, universally been guilty of more imprudence and extravagance than individuals, or else the governors of this nation would never have contracted a debt of 800 millions of money, and continue as extravagant and thoughtless about her debilitated and dangerous state, as if she owed nothing. danger, before ruin come upon her suddenly, or like a is it not then the duty of every one to warn her of her thief in the night. is not this an additional proof, that she is a bewildered, infatuated and misgoverned nation. did not carthage, rome, france, spain, and many nations, viz. other nations fall by those six dire enemies to all nations, viz. bribery, corruption, luxury tyranny, oppression and poverty; for want of adhering to the warning voices of those days. how can a nation have this unbearable sum to pay annually, but the middling and lower orders of the people must always be in poverty by paying it. the poor people used to pay one penny per ounce for tobacco, they now pay four-pence, which occasions much complaining. i beg leave to advise its being reduced to two-pence per ounce, which would very much relieve the poor, and prevent the crime of smuggling, and perhaps not reduce the revenue. to the editor of the wakefield and halifax journal, and the whole population of the british empire, on the export and import of wool. 拳 ​being no merchant, manufacturer, woolstapler, or 158 the warning voice. farmer, i write to you, as a sincere friend to the welfare of our dear country. i am indeed, hurt and grieved, to hear some of my good countrymen (merchants and manufacturers) guilty of so great an error, upon one of the most vital questions to that most important of all earthly subjects, agriculture i am grieved to witness that they have suffered what they erroneously fancy is a private or local interest, to divide them from those of better judgment, and treat as such, two of the most important national questions that ever came before parliament-the export and import of wool. can they forget the wisdom of their forefathers, in making the most strict laws, to prevent the export of their wool, which is such as no part of the world produceth but these islands: and that they, and the whole empire, have reaped the benefits of the same? has it not improved your agriculture, increased your wealth, made your navigations, turnpike-roads, and many other improvements? has it not been the source of your wealth and population? did not your poor brave soldiers, taken from the population, fight the battle of waterloo, and did not they conquer and save us from ruin: and when the duke of wellington was complimented upon that victory, his lordship said "no: the merit doth not belong to me, but the superior physical force and invincible constancy of the british soldier? would you then annihilate that population and source of your wealth and greatness, by exporting your wool? and is not that population, and your poor people, entitled to your protection, in a political, religious, lawful, and moral view? have not european kings and others, been to see the source of your wealth and greatness, and discovered it in your popoulation, industry, and mercantile enterprise? and are not they gone home with the determination to encourage and promote in their own countries, that which has made you so great? you have too much competition at home, and you will find the same is growing to a great extent abroad. is it not then, your first bounden duty, to unite every voice and effort to prevent the exportation of your wool? is it not the seat which our nobles all sit on in the house of lords; what will you substitute as a seat for them, when you have sent it away? you are forcing and increasing, that foreign competition, by the tax of 6d. per lb. upon foreign wool, (much of which is not worth that price); you are therefore by this tax, compelling them to be manufacturers; to make money of their wool, which they have no other way of converting into money. mark the absurdity of the thought of exporting your wool! such as no other country in the world can produce, at the time that you are importing wool and woollen rags, to employ your population, from every quarter of the globe. i admit that agriculture is entitled to every protection and encouragement, but be very careful you do not miss the way to that protection, and if those interested in its prosperity, as we all are, do agree to export our wool, we shall be penny wise, and pound foolish. they may fancy they may gain a little, but they will lose above ten times more, by lowering the price of beef, mutton, eorn, &c. when they have driven the people (their customers) away to another country, or deprived them of the means of getting money to buy the above-mentioned articles at home. with your wool would go, or follow, your people, merchants, and manufacturers, who are the source of your greatness, and that loss would be followed by a decay of your trade, ruin and bankruptcies, of those who have embarked their capitals in manufactories, merchants, farmers, and many others. then i beg leave to ask, who are to keep our poor, and pay our taxes, when we are all become paupers, for want of work and a circulation of money? that competition which is growing so fast abroad, is the strongest reason that can be urged, why we should have no tax upon the import of wool: be cautious how you attempt to remedy the tooth-ache, and throw the whole body into a dangerous fever. put no tax upon your industry, it is that, your population, mercantile enterprise, and the circulation of money, which pay all your taxes. have you not such a debt and load of taxes to pay, as no other people upon the face of the earth, though you have only a few small islands and some colonies the foreign cloth buyers say, "let us have your english wool, and we shall not want your english cloth." can i give a stronger proof that the exportation of our wool will be ruinous? unite, and never agree to the export of wool. and never cease to petition, till you have removed that grievous, odious, hateful, impolitic, oppressive tax, upon the import of it. this tax is allowed to be no object as a revenue; then why continue that which is so extremely injurious to the industrious manufacturer? dont miscarry on confidence. how many men have failed upon many of the most important questions, for want of caution and watchful care? i warn you not to be guilty of the same on this great occasion. be active, be vigilant. many farmers are as much alarmed at the fear that our wool should be exported, and the tax not be taken from the import of it, as the manufacturers themselves, because they say, their interests are inseparable. let me impress you with the indisputable fact that the interest of agriculture and manufactures are inseparable: they have given life and spirit to each other, and must live or die together. never cease to nourish and protect them as such, till you have reduced your taxes and rents and made yourself able to compete with, or meet other nations at market with your cloth; if you do not, the competition abroad will be your ruin. i say again, be active, vigilant, and watchful, sleep upon your arms, for your enemy's competition abroad is awake, and proceeding with rapidity. don't think your security is in your superior industry and machinery, or in any thing else; your mechanics, industrious and ingenious men will go abroad, and if they go with their heads on, they will carry your machinery with themif they have not already done it. your unbearable taxes and high rents, are the bane of your agriculture, manufactures, and welfare. do not forget that your population is increasing every day, and with that, all your wants are increasing, and that it is your duty to provide for those wants, as your forefathers did for you. the warning voice. 159 thy the nation's thanks are due unto the earl of harewood, || and our two worthy members of parliament, for their judicious conduct and perseverance, to prevent such an evil coming upon our country, as the export of our wool, and also to remove the tax upon the import of the same. i am, respectfully, sir, your most obedient and humble servant, richard milnes. netherton hall, near wakefield, october 14th, 1823: a song on wool our great treasure, and sheep shearing. when the rose was in bud, and sweet violets did blow, and birds singing love songs on every bough, when daisies, and cowslips, and primroses spread, adorning, perfuming, the flowery mead. when daisies, &c. our cleanly milk pail is fill'd with brown ale, our table our table's the grass, we sit and we sing and we dance in a ring, ev'ry lad ev'ry lad has his lass, without the plough fat oxen low, the lads and the lasses a sheep shearing go. without the plough, &c. when our shepherd shears his jolly jolly fleece, how much richer than that which they say was in greece when our shepherd, &c. "tis our cloth and our food, and our politic good, "tis the seat 'tis the seat which our nobles all sit on; 'tis our cloth and our food, and our politic good, 'tis the seat 'tis the seat which our nobles all sit on; "tis a mine above ground where our treasure's all found, 'tis the gold and the silver of britain. "tis a mine above ground, &c. a panegyric justly due to the nobility, and all the good, loyal, and faithful people of the british empire. we all know that there is among the noble peers of this realm, as much of unsullied honor, loyalty, impartial justice, integrity, charity, humanity, and philanthropy, as can be found in any body of men in the world. the same may be justly said of the ladies, the gentry, the clergy, the freeholders, the merchants, the army, the navy, the judges, the counsellors, the juries, the solicitors, and the whole of the good and faithful people of the british empire. a panegyric justly due to his late majesty king george the iii and his present majesty king george the iv. of great britain. at the beginning of last reign, an act was passed on the suggestion of the late king george the iii. to make. the judges entirely independent of the crown, by securing to them their places for life. as it appeared to the king, that the dispensers of justice could not be in the slightest degree dependent on the crown, without danger to the freedom and liberties of the subject. this proves that his late majesty's noble mind was ornamented by the most unsullied honor, patriotism, liberty, and freedom to his subjects, impartial justice, and integrity. can we then suppose that his amiable, honorable, enlightened son george the iv. does not inherit all the amiable and inestimable qualities, which ornamented his revered and honored father. we all know, who remember him, in his youthful days, that he displayed them in an eminent degree, and they still remain in his noble breast. and whenever it becomes necessary to bring them into action, they will shine forth like the bright, sun at noon-day. whenever justice calls, and the constitution declares itself in danger, they will come. to the protection of both in their native and juvenile vigour, and like his good father, not only join in the restoration and preservation of both, but improve them if possible, as much or more than his beloved father did in the above-mentioned act. then let justice, the constitution, and the whole nation complain of their danger, in the loss of their authority, in the house of commons, and petition his majesty to enable the people to restore their just, right, vital, and inalienable power and interest in the house of commons, which appears to have become the representatives of the administration or ministers of the day, and not the representatives of the good, loyal, and faithful people, whichthe constitution originally made them. it is therefore impossible that the brave, loyal, and good people of great britain can give honor, praise, protection, and affection enough to their dearly and justly beloved king george the iv. and long may he live, and happy may he be, under the protection of the almighty, here and hereafter, is the most hearty, sincere wish, and prayer, of richard milnes, the author. copy of a letter from sir henry harpur, to the rev. joshua eyton, his chaplain. sir, i take the liberty of sending you a copy of the words spoken by his majesty, to lord grenville, when applied to on the catholic bill, march 1807. the channel through which i received this communication, enables me to assure you, that you may rely on the authenticity. i have read them again and again, with every sentiment of heart-felt pleasure, and with admiration. i have no doubt but the same memorable words that should be engraved, and as far as i know, will be, in the heart of every protestant subject. q 2 160 the warning voicet "my lord, an "i am one of those who respect an oath.-i "have firmness sufficient to quit my throne and retire "to a cottage, or place my neck on a block or scaffold "if my people require it; but i have not resolution to "break that oath which i took in the most solemn man"ner at my coronation." bun si f a chapter from the book of kings. ཊྛིན%! །ས་། སྐུ 51. now george the iii was twenty and two years old when he began to reign, and he reigned king over all england forty and seven years. sia of mal and 2. and he did that which was right in the sight of the lord, and served the lord his god with all his heart: so that before him was no king like unto him, 947 3. and it came to pass in those days, that the servants of the king, the wise men of the land, even all the talents thereof,'came in and stood before the king and said, king live for ever." da bat. jesolo 4. may it please thee, o king to extend to certain of thy subjects, throughout thy dominions, those gracious indulgencies, which others of their brethren posi sess; "and the king answered and said, let it be so."< 5. then the wise men of the land, even all the talents thereof, communed among themselves, saying, notwithstanding our lordaithe king has granted us this our petition, nevertheless it sufficeth us not. 6. and they returned unto the king and said, be it known unto thee o king that there exists certain statutes and ordinances, instituted in the dark ages, and ordained in times of ignorance and superstition, when thy forefathers were called unto the throne of these kingdoms. 7. which statutes and ordinances, may it please thee o king! to annul and destroy; to the end, that those may be satisfied who were never yet contended, and that those who were ever disaffected may be made loyal 58. and the king answered and said, not so.-we cannot dispense with the oath which we have taken: neither will we, that the bulwarks of our throne be removed, nor the fundamental laws of our kingdom changed. then is it not wonderful, that such a people as the above should be blinded, bewildered, and infatuated, by causes which a few of them cannot or will not discover. but the great majority of them are perfectly aware of, and know the cause very well; and as that number is increasing every day, by a conscious belief that we are in a great error, and much danger. i do hope the remedy for the above-mentioned dire diseases, is not far distant. operation, will manufacture more than 30,000 pieces the present year. beside there are others in connecticut and new york of considerable extent; and all of them. will be sufficient within eighteen months, to supply the wants of the country, at 9'55 7 317 increase of the american navy. a bill has been reported in the senate of the united states, for building ten sloops of war of the first class, to carry not less than twenty guns each, and appropriating 850,000 dollars for the purpose. other liverpool-saturday-the exportation of british manufactures from this port to south america, especially to buenos ayres and other southern provinces of that continent, has been greater within the last few weeks than at any former period. linens, cottons, and woollens, especially the first, have been the leading articles of export. wold bil jolo leeds mercury, 19th june, 1824. the following extract from the united states tariff bill, now in progress through the senate is deserving of the most serious attention of our woollen and worsted manufactures :1 on all manufactures of wool, or of which wool shall be a component part, except worsted stuff goods and blankets, which shall pay twenty-five per cent. ad, valorem, a duty of thirty per cent. ad valorem, shall be imposed until the thirtieth day of june, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five; and, after that time a duty of thirty-three and a third per cent, ad valorem: provided baize, the actual value of which, at the place whence that on all manufactures of wool, except flannel and imported, shall not exceed thirty-three and a third cents. per square yard, shall be charged, with a duty of twenty-five per cent, ad valorem. ult.; they confirm the news we gave yesterday, through we have received the new york papers to the 26th ing of the tariff bill. it is now sanctioned by the exour private channels of information, respecting the passecutive, and has thus become a law of the united states. we have the tariff, with all the duties before us, but the pressure of matter to-day prevents its insertion. the high import rates imposed upon british goods by this absurd law, will be severely felt in the manufacturing districts of the country. london, wednesday, june 16, 1824.. the last mercantile letters from mexico are very unfavorable. we have seen one from a gentleman who process of american manufacturers, from the freighted a vessel in august last, with goods which were leeds mercury, 6th march, 1824.. the boston daily advertiser states, that the quantity of flannels manufactured within forty miles of boston the last year, have exceeded 15,000 pieces, of forty-six yards each, comprising the various qualities and colours usually imported; and the new establishments now going into operation, with the extension of those already in considered most valuable in the mexican market; in which he says, that after waiting three months, he has considered it wise to sell at a loss of 40 per cent. upon the prime cost in this country. the warehouses of mexico are crowded with english merchandize, for which no purchasers can be found, from the double cause of want of money and the uncertain state of the country. the warning voice, i 161 can there be a stronger proof of our infatuation, than the fact that we have almost half a century past been helping to emancipate others, the most distant nations from slavery; and during the same period, neglected to protect and nourish our freedom at home. have we not suffered the most dire enemies of freedom, bribery, corruption, luxury, tyranny, and oppression, to rage with nnabated fury, and to invade our liberties, and imperceptibly deprive us of our freedom in many respects, and enslaving us, who have known the enjoyment of liberty. was it not our first bounden duty to fortify: and protect ourselves against slavery, and when we had done that, to make ourselves more able, to extend our fostering hand to help other nations, to enjoy freedom, as the good, the brave, the great americans have done. but unfortunately we appear to mind nothing but the wild momentary things of this transitory life, forgetting the welfare of posterity, and to provide for the comfort of our children, and our children's children, as our forefathers did for us, and the worse crime of neglecting to prepare ourselves for the happiness of the life to come. i do hope this admonition will more the good people of all religions, who have the happiness of bel tolerated in this once happy land, to join band and heart in this heavenly cause, of cur earthly and eternal happiness. can there be a greater proof that we are blind and bewildered, than our appareat biodress to the competition in manufactures, at hoc and abroad, which will be our downfal, if we do not protect south america and reduce our national debt, taxes, public expenditure, rents, and price of provisions, which it appears can only be done by a reformation of parliament, to enable us to meet other nations at market at present, and in future, or else we shall be ruined. do not the holy alliance command all europe, and have not they the power of excluding our trade and manufactures from that continent, to promote their own, and enslave us. and have we any assurance they will not do so. to foresee danger, is said to be the high road to safety. let us then be no longer blind, bewildered, and infatuated, for the sake of all that is sacred and good, and for the sake of the welfare of our children, and children's children, and our eternal happiness. will great britain continue to do every thing but the four things needful, viz:-to preserve our manufactures and commerce-to provide for posterity or our children, and children's children, as our forefathers wisely did for us-to restore and nourish our lost freedom-but above all, to prepare ourselves for the happiness of the life to come, · sums gained by toll bar-farmers, as with the many rea sons which i have given before, will induce all trustees! of turnpike roads, to keep the toll bars in their own hands, and not let them; these men run away with the money which the trustees should apply to the reduction of the tolls, and pulling down all side and pick pocket bars, and reduce their tolls generally soon as possible, and let every traveller enjoy a fair proportion of the road in travelling for his money, and remove all the oppression which prevails upon turnpike roads, if possible. there is one bar at the foot of horbury-bridge upon this road, which has been foll-free ever since it was set up for travellers from the ossett and, netherton roads, because they do not travel one hundred yards upon the road, exclusive of the bridge, which bridge is repaired by the county or the travellers, consequently not considered a part of the road, till these bar-farmers took the road, who it appears have gained the above-mentioned £2860. per year. they have demanded foll at this bar of the ossett and netherton road travellers, who have been so long free; and tried it with the ossett people, at the sessions, and before magistrates, till they have wearied them out, by trouble and expence, and they and all others submit to pay rather than have any more trouble or expence about it, with these bar-farmers. there is another bar on the same road at the foot of huddersfield-bridge, close to the town, where they make travellers pay every time they go through; and i think no bar should be so near a town or village. these are two such enormities and proofs of oppression, as i hope will induce the trustees to remedy to the present age," and also to future ages, by removing these two bars at a proper distance from the bridges, to prevent these great' and crying errors being committed in future, either from error, want of attention, or any other cause. and that this laudable and judicious example may operate and be followed by all other trustees throughout the nation'; and no longer think, that because the tolls go out of the poor man's pocket by little and little, like salt, it is no oppression. wakefield and halifax journal, 12th march, 1824. friday. tot.a daring robbery and outrage. ་ a most daring robbery was committed at the tollbar house, newton, near wakefield, on monday evening last. about half-past nine o'clock, a call of gate' was heard, upon which the wife of edward ellis, the bar-keeper, opened the door of the house to go out. a very important appendix to my new economical she was immediately knocked down by a blow on the plan of road making. 07 on the 27th day of may, 1824, the tolls upon the wakefield and austerland turnpike road, yorkshire, about twenty-six miles long, leading from wakefield towards manchester, were let for the enormous advance of £2860. per annum. the old rent was £5080. on a lease of three years, which does not expire till october the new rent is therefore £7940. per year. surely this is such an additional proof of the enormous next. face, and four men rushed into the house. one held her down upon the floor, while two of them dragged the husband out of bed, and beat him in a most barbarous manner, so as to endanger his life, though hopes are entertained that he may recover. they then rifled the house, taking away six silver tea-spoons and a pair. of silver plated sugar tongs, a gold wedding ring and breast pin, a silver watch, maker's name, trentham, liverpool, about fifteen pounds in silver, ten of which were in half-crowns, two provincial five pound notes, 162 the warning voice. one of barnsley bank, with several other provincial notes, making altogether nearly one hundred pounds, with which they immediately decamped, and we are sorry to say got clear off. every exertion has been made to detect the villains, but this has not yet been effectual. three irishmen have been apprehended on: suspicion, but no material evidence has been obtained against them, and they have been committed for further examination this day. a reward has been offered for the apprehension of the perpetrators of this dreadful. outrage. 1 a caution to toll-collectors. on friday last, the keeper of westgate-moor-bar, on the road from wakefield to halifax, appeared before the magistrates at the court-house, wakefield, pursuant to a summons against him for having charged a person leading coals from whitley-spring colliery to wakefield, ninepence instead of sixpence, for the toll of a one-horse cart. the magistrates were pressed for a conviction in the penalty of £5. but the lessees of the tolls on that road agreed to pay three guineas to the party complaining for the overcharges and his expences, which was reluctantly, accepted, and there the matter terminated. ibid. as soon as a new set of bar-farmers have taken a road, they begin to spy out where they can set side or pick-pocket bars, and the trustees perhaps comply, these men having made them believe they have given too much, when they are proved to be making fortunes out of the poor travellers. i want to see all discord and oppression annihilated, and the old english fashion of generosity and hospitality restored on all occasions, and in every corner of the land, in which i hope i shall be joined with a hearty good will by all my countrymen, who remember or have read of the happiness which all ranks and degrees enjoyed forty years ago, and once more make ourselves the happiest nation in the world, which we may do with a turn of our hand, if we only heartily unite and join in the easy and pleasant work, for the good of our children and children's children. trustees of roads generally let the executing of their work upon diversions or new roads to strangers, who come from nobody knows where, who employ poor labouring men, who live near, to do the work, and often at less wages than they merit, or ought to have; and they give this contractor credit till he measures off the work, and when he has got the money, runs away with it and leaves the poor labourers unpaid. as we all know the labourer is worthy of his hire, and cannot afford to lose his labour, i beg leave to advise all strustees of roads and navigations, who contract with such wanderers as i have mentioned above, to see that the labouring men have their wages every saturday night, or at least to see the contractor pay them. all in the presence of their clerk, who pays him the money; in short, to have the labourers ready to receive it before he parts with it, to secure them of their wages for their vwork. for want of this caution, some of the contractors upon the diversions from horbury-bridge to grange moor on this road, run away with the money which the poor labourers are starving for; and as this road is in a very prosperous state, i hope the trustees will think it their duty to make good this heavy loss to these poor labouring men. some road repairers appear troubled with short memories: in summer they appear to forget that winter will come, and neglect to lay the stone on and break them on one side of the road as they go on, in the summer season of long fine days, where they are to rest ready for the carriages when they want them, as they will not come upon them till they have occasion, but go on one side of the road where it is smooth without stones. but they never think of this till winter comes and reminds them, when the roads are become bad, then they begin in good earnest when the road is deep, wet, and dirty, in short days when they cannot do much above half as much as in summer, and labour through the winter in wet and dirt with bad roads, and finish this tedious work in march and april, the two months when the wind and sun would falways repair them; and the stones laid on in march and april are worn in summer, when not wanted, which should have been put on in summer or october before, and been useful through the whole winter. a common observer may witness this if he looks at some roads in the beginning of winter. and farmers also become troubled with a loss of their memories when the weather has been long fine in harvest. the year 1824 produced the most abundant crop these islands ever did produce, and the finest harvest to the evening of the 2d of september that ever was seen, and one farmer at netherton, about four miles west of wakefield, finished leading his wheat that night, which, he said, was the greatest crop he ever had; and he is about eighty years of age. i know three others, all of whom had very dry wheat ready for leading that day, and much wheat that had been ready to cut a week or two, and yet remained uncut; it began to rain on the 3d of september, and it fell so heavy at night as to wet every sheaf through, beat the stacks. down, and laid the corn to the ground. i think these are four of the best-farmers in the kingdom. the three might have had all this corn cut and into the stack or barn on the 2d in the evening, and i am not willing to attribute this neglect, both to cutting and leading, to any cause but the loss of their memories, occasioned by this long season of fine weather. i say again, when your corn is dry get it by day or by night if you can, but do not get it before it is dry, and have to repent as these three good farmers will have to do this season. after the heavy rain which is mentioned above, on friday the 3d, saturday and sunday the 4th and 5th were remarkably fine with a very brisk wind, and one of them led some wheat on the sunday. monday was showery, but i know much dry corn was led that morning: one farmer, i am told, led eleven loads dry. before it began to rain; the moon was at full and as light as day all monday and tuesday night, and tuesday was one of the finest harvest days, perhaps, ever seen, with a very brisk wind, and they might have led all monday and tuesday night, as they did all day the warning voice. 163 c j er th "ר on tuesday, very dry corn; it was fair till seven on wednesday morning, when it began to rain, and continued as heavy a day's rain as i ever saw, and it appeared raining on thursday morning at seven, and appeared to have been raining all night. on this rainy wednesday morning i set out at seven on a journey to tadcaster, and called to pay my respects to a very agreeable and particular friend at wakefield, two miles only from home, where i spent a most pleasant day during this heavy rain, and was glad to defer my journey, and returned home in the wind and rain at night, and on my way home i observed that each of the three above-mentioned farmers, who have been the especial cause of this appendix, had much corn out, and some to cut, which might have all been in the house or stack perfectly dry, if the fine weather had not a second time deprived them of their memories-many stacks blown down, sheaves laid upon ground, and that which was to cut laid in all directions. i said to myself, if my wheat had been in such a ripe state, and cut and dry so long, i would have hired stage waggons in wakefield, or i would have had it into the house or stack by day or by night. the these three very remarkable losses of memory which have come within my own true observation, almost makes me proud that i have taken upon myself to teach farmers how to get their corn and hay in bad harvests, presuming that the advice may be of inestimable value to the present and future ages. i am not willing to attribute these three errors to any thing but the loss of memory, because they all three are advanced in years, and in pecuniary circumstances good enough, and i do hope the recording of them may be of inestimable value to the farmers. i know another farmer, i think one of the best in the kingdom, who, when his corn is ready, delays no time, by day or by night, nor does he regard a little in wages, by which he always commands plenty of hands, gets his corn well, and by this vigilant rule, before his neighbours. nothing is more necessary in farming, than getting the stacks thatched soon as made. though this has perhaps been one of the finest harvests, yet the rain came so heavy two separate days, as to wet some unthatched stacks almost from top to bottom, and made it necessary to take them down again to dry; and remember i have known it the same in many harvests past. cruelty to dumb animals. i have mentioned before, several coach horses which dropped down dead upon the road, and it is notorious, that many people have been killed, and misfortunes constantly happen by violent driving, in many parts of the kingdom, and more than any of us hear of; to remedy which, mr. martin's excellent, laudable, charitable, humane bill, to punish those who are cruel to dumb animals, does not appear to have the desired effect. and as it is universally admitted, that it is more laudable and efficatious to prevent, rather than punish crimes, i hope the legislature will make a law next session of parliament, to forbid any coachman or any other person driving any carriage above eight miles per hour, or riding any horse upon the road above-miles per hour, under severe penalties or punishment, which would be an inestimable relief and comfort to all travellers, coach owners, coachmen, and many others. but above all to that noble, willing, generous, useful, docile, laborious, invaluable animal, the horse. and here i beg leave to ask all cruel men and others, if we do not deserve severe punishment, or some heary judgment from heaven, for our unceasing cruelty to this noble animal. and how we should do without him? and why the almighty gave us him, with such power over him? and why the same almighty power doth not take him from us, for our never ceasing cruelty to him. new locks at goole, 1822. the aire and calder navigation new canal, from ferrybridge, or rather knottingley, to goole. i now beg leave to ask these three good farmers, who i am confident will read this publication, if they were as careless about cultivating and tilling their land, and sowing their seed in due season, as they have been in getting the finest early crop that ever was seen (owing in a great measure to the bountiful july rains, it is known to our readers that a new line of navigawhich began before the middle of june, and continued tion has been undertaken between the rivers aire and to near the middle of july,) if they would merit the ouse, commencing at ferrybridge, and entering the title of three of the best farmers in the kingdom. i hope ouse at goole.-the first stone of the works at goole, this cap will fit them, and many others, this fine and comprising a ship dock, 600 feet long, 200 feet wide, most bountiful season, and that they will put it on, and and 20 feet deep, to take in large merchant vessels; a wear it so long as they live, as a memorandum that they barge dock, 900 feet long, 150 feet wide, and 8 feet may never be guilty of the same error again. two of deep, for small vessels, with ship and barge locks, to let these farmers determined they would not lose their methem in and out from the river ouse, was laid on saturmories again, and sunday the 12th of september proved day the 28th ult., in the presence of sir edward banks, a fine day and their corn very dry, they began to lead of the firm of jolliffe and banks, the great contractors, on that sunday afternoon, led all night, and on monday and who have contracted for the execution of this underthe 13th they finished this necessary work, which they taking; george leather, esq. the engineer: h. henshould have finished on thursday night the 2d of sep-frey, esq. colonel creyke, of rawcliffe-hall; thomas tember, and would certainly have done if their memories had not failed. egremont, esq. of redness-hall; and many of the neighbouring gentry. daniel maude, esq. one of the proprietors made a very impressive and appropriate address on the occasion, stating the advantages that would be derived by the public from the improved facility and r 2 164 the warning voice. 1 certainty with which goods from and to the interior part | of the kingdom might be received and sent by this new route. the worthy proprietor further added, that it had frequently occurred that vessels were longer in making their passage from goole to selby than from london or hamburgh to goole; and that by the new line of canal, nearly twenty miles would be saved in the passage to the interior of yorkshire. these works, he said, would reflect additional credit on the abilities of their engineer; and at the conclusion of his address he made a very handsome donation to the many hundreds of workmen employed upon the said works, which they received with three hearty cheers for the success of the nudertaking. december 29th, 1821. a practical scheme for the reduction of the public debt and taxation, without individual sacrifice, by jonathan wilks, of leeds. the above is the title of a pamphlet, published in this town during the present week, on that interesting subject, the alleviation of the national burthens. it was our intention to have offered some remarks upon it in our present paper, but, finding that the mere statement of mr. wilks' plan will occupy as much room as we can this week devote to the subject, we shall defer giving any opinion on its merits till our next publication. mr. wilks begins by showing the absolute necessity of some change in our financial system he states the prodigious amount of the national debt and of annual taxation, shows the weight laid thereby on every individual in the state, and particularly asserts that it is destroying our foreign commerce, which in nine cases out of ten is already becoming unprofitable. mr. w. displays the utter inefficiency of the chancellor of the exchequer's plan to afford any important relief; if the sinking fund were to be raised, as proposed, to five mil lions, it would, in ten years of peace, only diminish the annual charge upon the people by £1,800,000. the probability of another war within that time is also stated, and it is urged that that may be a maritime war, in which case we shall be deprived of those commercial advantages which we enjoyed during the late prolonged contest. "it is in vain," says mr. wilks, "to trifle any longer; we must, though reluctantly, assent to the appalling truth, either that the public debt must be wholly or in great part paid off, or this debt will plunge the nation into irretrievable confusion and misery." having established the necessity of some great exertion to free the nation from its encumbrance, mr. wilks lays down the following propositions as the objects of his plan:first. such a reduction of the national debt and annual charge thereon, as shall render it henceforth a burthen of no baneful consequence, to a highly productive country like this. second. an immediate and considerable remission of duties and taxes, with a prospective remission in ten years, to the amount of nearly one half of our present taxation. third. a security against the effects of any future wars upon our public debt, by the appropriation of certain taxes, as war taxes only, equal to any efforts the country may be called upon to make. fourth. a recurrence to the principles of a free trade, so far as this may be proved advantageous to commerce, and to the general welfare of the state. fifth. the power of resuming safely, though gradually, a metallic currency; the fatal departure from which may be justly considered as one great cause of our present difficulties. for the accomplishment of these objects, mr. wilks then proposes several parliamentary enactments to the following purport:first. that the sinking fund, as now constituted, do cease to form a part of the finance system of this country. second. that all the public annuities of a lower denomination, be consolidated into five per cent stock, at the following rates; three per cents at sixty five; three and a half per cents at seventy-three and a half; four per cents at eighty-one and a half; the five per cents remaining at par of £100. third, that an assessment of twenty per cent shall be laid on all property in the public funds, so consolidated. fourth. that an assessment of five per cent shall be laid on all private property, not in the british funds; valuing all fixed property, except buildings at twenty years purchase, and all buildings at fifteen years purchase. this assessment to be converted into a redeemable income tax at the option of the proprietor, his property being security for the payment with interest, at five per cent per annum, from the date of assessment. fifth. that an assessment of five per cent be levied for the term of ten years only, upon all incomes not arising from property already assessed; such as income from foreign estates, incomes of professional men, artists, stipendiary clerks, and on all salaries above fifty pounds per annum. sixth. that a like assessment of five per cent for the term of ten years only, be levied upon all net profits of trade and agriculture. the practical application and result of these enactments will be as follows:1. 539,814,815, three per cent annuities will be converted into five per cent stock at sixty-five, making .... 32,075,450, three & a half per cent annuities, converted into five per cents at seventy-three and a half, making 75,514,727, four per cent annuities converted £. 350,229,629 23,625,455 into five per cents, at eighty-one 61,544,502 and a half, making 148,575,487, five per cent annuities, at par £100 148,575,487 of making when con794,980,479, total nomi-solidated into new 583,975,073 nal debt.. (five per cent stock the proposed assessment of twenty per cent upon this property, will make a reduction to the 116,795,014 amount of 467,180,059 the warning voice. 165 the private property not in the funds' amounts, as will be shown hereafter, to two thousand four hundred millions, five per cent assessment on which will make a further reduction of 120,000,000 000 this would be 19 millions less than the expenditure of the year ending april, 1820. to this saving are to be added the five per cent assessment upon incomes arising from property not already assessed, which is calculated to yield two millions annually for ten years: a like assessment on the profits of trade and agriculture for the same period, calculated to yield also two millions; and an estimated improvement in the revenue. arising from the remission of taxes, &c. stated at £1,800, a total saving is thus produced of 25 millions; which would allow an immediate remission of taxes to the amount of 17 millions and a half, and leave seven millions and a half applicable to the further reduction. of debt for ten years. after detailing these operations, mr. w. proceeds-"the funded debt, at the conclusion of the ten years' assessment, will be virtually diminished to 25 millions of 5 per cent stock; because, though still nominally amounting to 375 millions, it will in reality be reduced to 100 millions, by an assessment to that amount remaining upon fixed property, and for which five millions will be annually paid to government as interest, until the capital assessment be redeemed." thus the interest upon the debt would be reduced to 17 millions, and it being calculated that the expenses of government would also be brought within 15 millions, mr. wilks comes to his grand conclusion-that, at the end of ten years, the whole expenditure of the state would be no more than 32 millions, about one-half its present amount. the british empire. the population of great britain, at the census in 1811, was 11,800,000, exclusive of the army and navy, then about 500,000. from the returns, so far as remain as a total of funded debt•••••• 347.180,059 the interest of the debt, thus reduced to 350 millions, would be 17 millions and a half; to which are to be added the annual charge of long annuities and the interest of the unfunded debt, which swell the total charge on the debt to 20 millions and a half. mr. w. estimates the whole expenditure of government to amount to 19 millions; and, with the addition of £3,200,000. for collecting the taxes, the total expenditure for the united king-published under the present census, it appears, the indom would thus amount to £42,700,000. crease is about 15 per cent. this will make the population of great britain at present to be 44,000,000 of souls. ireland contains 6,500,000, making the population of the british dominions in europe, 20,500,000. the population of our north american possessions cannot be less than 1,500,000; west india colonies 900,000; africa about 130,000; in the mediterranean 150,000; colonies and dependencies in asia 2,040,000; and in our extensive territories in the east indies perhaps 70,000,000 of souls. the whole population of the british empire will, at that rate, contain about 95,220,000 of souls. the russian, the next highest in the scale of civilized nations, contains 50,000,000; france about 30,000,000; and austria an equal number. the tonnage employed in the merchant service is about 2,640,000 tons for great britain; the exports £51,000, 000 including 11,000,000 foreign and colonial;) and imports, £36,000,000. the navy, during the last war, consisted of 1000 ships of war; the seamen at present in the merchant service are about 174,000; the gross revenue of the state £57,000,000. the capital of the empire contains 1,200,000 persons, the same number which rome contained in the days of her greatest strength. the value of fixed or landed property in great britain, as calculated by mr. pitt, in 1797, was £1,600, 000,000, and it may now be fairly taken at £2,000,000,000. the cotton manufactures of the country are immens", and reach, in the exports, to £20.000,000, nearly one half of the whole. in short, taking every thing into consideration, the british empire, in power and strength, may be stated as the greatest that ever existed on earth, as it far surpasses them all, in knowledge, moral character, and worth. on her dominions the sun never it is impossible for us now to state the reasonings urged by mr. wilks to prove, that all these apparent sacrifices on the part of the fundholder, landholder, &c. involve no real sacrifice. we must reserve this explana-sets; before his evening rays leave the spires of quebec, tion for another opportunity. his morning beams have shone three hours on port jackson, and while sinking from the waters of lake superior, his eye opens upon the mouth of the ganges. national debt. when we say the debt has increased to nine hundred millions within a century, we are aware that it is an enormous sum, though we have no adequate conception of it; but when we say that during the last one hundred years the debt has (one minute with another, and allowing a person to be employed in counting it six hours daily, sundays included) increased to such a degree, that it would require the whole century to count it, at the rate of above 60 guiness per minute! or, in other words, it has increased at the rate of nearly seventeen guineas per minute (night and day) during the last one hundred years!-we see something of its real extent, and are astonished beyond measure at its fearful magnitude whitehaven gazette. ― british peerage. the number of peers of great britain, independent of the bishops, is exactly 500; of these, 56 have been enobled as courtiers; 19 as younger branches of nobility; 39 as statesmen, 16 by diplomatic, 17 by naval, 57 by military, 39 by legal services; 39 by marriage, and there are 92 227 by the influence of wealth, &c. bachelors, 64 widowers, and 344 who are married. of the 408 married and widowers, 99 are without children; 166 the warning voice. and the remaining 309 have now living 755 sons and 703 daughters. the paternal descent of 156 peers can be traced to the conquest, or 11th century; that of 51 to the 12th century; 52 to the 13th. 35 to the 15th. 60 to the 16th. 59 to the 17th and 3 to the 18th century; the genealogies of the remaining 49 cannot be traced with sufficient accuracy to warrant insertion. the ancestors of 78 of the peers, whose descent can be traced to the conquest, were settled in england previous to that event; the other 78 came over with the conqueror. of the ancestors of the remainder, 31 have emigrated to this country since that period. produce him one per cent. profit this is perhaps very well; but only think of a subordinate judge being able to make such purchases! lord ellenborough is said to have left half a million of money. what lord eldon is worth, he only knows. no wonder that such men are mighty sticklers for things as they are. sir william jones and thomas day, esq, one day, upon removing some books at the chambers of the former, a large spider dropped upon the floor, upon which sir william, with some warmth, said, "kill that spider day; kill that spider!" "no," said mr. dreadful fire at canton.-thirteen thousand day, with that coolness for which he was so conspicuhouses burnt.-1823. a most destructive fire began at canton, on the night of the 2d november, at half-past nine o'clock, and continued till five on the morning of the 3d; it began on the city wall, and spread its fury along the westward of the beach. the whole of the east india company and european factories were destroyed; the re-building will cost 13 millions dollars. the official return of houses burnt is 13,070, and 500 chinese killed. the quantity of tea destroyed is 13,000 chests. the company's loss is estimated at one million sterling. the loss of the natives and foreign traders was very great, but european private property comparatively small. the company's treasure had been sent on board their own ships. it is supposed it would take thirty years to restore the place and trade to its former state, as the hong merchants and native traders had lost considerably. woollens, nankeens, and raw silks, were the principal articles burnt. paris, tuesday evening, march 11.-there is news from madrid of a change in the administration there. the new ministry are of the party called communeros (the most determined friends of the existing constitution.) torrijos and morel are two of the names sent us. in the absence of any decisive intelligence on the question of peace or war, we must be content with giving the opinions of those who have at least the means of information. a french ultra, of high rank, and in the service of the royal family, wrote to a british nobleman to the following effect:-"be assured we cannot go to war; it is impossible; public opinion is every where against us. that unhappy affair in the "chamber, out of which no one has come with credit except manuel, has paralyzed us all.,' 66 66 in corroboration of this remark, we can state, that a despatch has been received from sir charles stuart, from which mr. canning has drawn the inference, "that the counsels of the french government are of a suspensive nature.-times. 66 lord stowell, late sir john scott. it is said that lord stowell, late sir john scott, has made purchases in land, to the amount of between two and three hundred thousand pounds, which now do not ous, "i will not kill that spider, jones; i do not know that i have a right to kill that spider! suppose when you are going in your coach to westminster-hall, a superior being, who perhaps, may have as much power over you, as you have over this insect, should say to his companion, "kill that lawyer: kill that lawyer!" how should you like that, jones? and i am sure, to most people, a lawyer is a more noxious animal than a spider.” law. to him that goes to law nine things are requisite :— 1. a good deal of money.-2. a good deal of patience. -3. a good cause.-4. a good attorney.-5. good counsel.-6. good evidence.-7. a good jury.-8. a good judge-and lastly, good luck. the following curious extract is from the will of wm. blackett, esq. late governor of plymouth, proved in the year 1782 :-" i desire that my body may be kept as long as it may not be offensive, and that one or more of my toes or fingers may be cut off to secure a certainty of my being dead; i also make this further request to my dear wife, that as she has been troubled with an old fool, she will not think of marrying a second."-exeter gazette. humble origin of distinguished characters, being an answer to the cant about bergumi. lord chancellor--the son of an overseer of coal works at newcastle. the vice chancellor-a menial servant in the family of the late sir robert taylor, at the house now occupied by dr. malon, in spring gardens. chief-justice of the king's bench-son of a barber at canterbury. inventory of property, belonging to the inquisition, offered for the public sale on account of the treasury, in order to be applied to the liquidation of the public debt. lot 1. several very extensive barracks. 2. a bill of pains and penalties. the warning voice. 167 lot 3. the income tax. 4. a few gagging bills. 5. a great variety of ex-officio informations. 6. the dedimuses of a few stipendiary magistrates. 7. an assortment of spies of all ranks. 8. some foreign witnesses. he had taken into his most serious consideration their situation as farmers in the present state of the times: by an amicable communication which he had with some of his tenants who had kept a regular account of the out goings and expenses of their farms, and which accounts his lordship had investigated, it was clear that a reduc9. green bags, much damaged; the contents quite tion of rent was necessaryfor he was quite satisfied worthless.-old bags to be sold. 10. a holy alliance. 11. sundries. the pension lists-secret service money-indemnity bills-files of the treasury journals, with various tools of office. 12. circulars, by lord sidmouth, prince metternich, &c. &c. 13 a large lot of secretaries, commissioners, ambassadors, junior lords, and sinecurists. in his own mind, that the reduced price of the produce of the land was now permanently established, since our return to payments in sovereigns and shillings, and he did not wish to hold out any delusions that corn would fetch a better price: he was satisfied in his own mind that it could not: it might fluctuate a little according to seasons, but in no material degree; and his lordship was of opinion, that any alteration in the corn laws could not possibly have the effect of raising the price of the produce of the land-le did not mean to hold out any such hopes-he had therefore reduced his rents under an impression that the average of corn in the years 1792, 94, and 95, was about the standard at which we might expect it to keep. 14. some infallible rat traps, and a monstrous vice, &c. &c. n. b. to be knocked down without mercy, and for ready money only-there's no trust in things of this sort! slander. 66 fielding has given the following admirable character of dealers in calumny, and we insert it from the just estimate it contains of that wicked and detestable system, which has so fatally prevailed of late in works like blackwood, the john bull, the beacon, and the sentine! :—“ vice hath not," says he, "a more abject slave; :-" society produces not a more odious vermin; nor can "the devil receive a guest more worthy of him, nor "possibly more welcome to him, than a slanderer. the "world, i am afraid, regards not this monster with half the abhorrence which he deserves; and i am more "afraid to assign the cause of this criminal lenity shown "towards him; yet it is certain that the thief looks in"nocent in the comparison; nay the murderer himself "can seldom stand in competition with his guilt; for "slander is a more cruel weapon than the sword, as the wounds which the former gives are always incurable. "one method, indeed, there is of killing, and that the "basest and most execrable of all, which bears an exact analogy to the vice here declaimed against, and that "is poison:-a means of revenge so base, and yet so "horrible, that is was once wisely distinguished by our "laws from all other murderers, in the peculiar severity of the punishment." january, 1822. his lordship stated further, that each tenant should stop and dine, and that they would find a sealed note directed for each in his seat, stating the rent he had fixed upon their respective farms-and with which he hoped the tenant would be satisfied. his lordship considered that the connexion between landlord and tenant was their mutual and common interest; he was aware that the tenants had embarked considerable capitals, which they must necessarily do to enable them to occupy their farms properly, and it was but fair they should be remunerated both for their capital and their trouble. his lordship then strongly recommended that the labourer should have fair and sufficient wages to enable him to live-to live well, and support his family, without going to the parish for relief to make up a deficiency ship's opinion, nothing tended more to lessen the of the wages which he ought to have; for, in his lordlabourer in his own esteem as a man, than being obliged to apply for parochial relief: it spoiled him as a labourer, by destroying the proper pride which a man felt in supporting himself by his own honest exertions. we understand, from undoubted authority, that the reduction that has taken place is from 35 to 45 per cent. including 15 per cent. which his lordship took off in 1815. provided for the tenants on this interesting occasion, and at the hospitable mansion an excellent dinner was upwards of 80 sat down to dinner. lord milton presided, and addressed the tenants in a most eloquent speech, in which he enlarged upon the subject which his noble father had so agreeably opened. many excellent toasts and sentiments were drunk,several songs were sung, and the harmony was kept up at milton bonse till late on thursday morning.-stamford mercury. earl fitzwilliam. we have to record one of the noblest acts of liberal landlords that has yet come to our knowledge.-on wednesday the 9th instant, earl fitzwilliam assembled his tenantry occupying farms under his lordship at milton house, where they had been previously requested to give their attendance, by a circular from his lordship's steward, william simpson, esq. the noble earl received his numerous tenantry in the great hall: after each was seated, his lordship informed them that reduction of rents in ireland. -we hear that several noblemen and gentlemen of the county of tipperary, following the example of the earl' fitzwilliam, are determined to make considerable reduc tions in their rents:-the earl of donoughmore, lord $ 2 168 the warning voice.` t landaff, lord dunally, lord norbury, colonel bogwell, mr. holmes, and mr. vaughan, have taken the lead, and we trust the example will be followed by the other landed proprietors of the south of ireland. the lines of a good judge. this is an extract from lord bacon's speech in the common pleas to sir richard hutton, when he was called to be one of the judges of that court, mar. 3, 1617, 14 jac. 1.:ܐ، 1. a judge, in maintaining the laws of the realm, should be rather heart-strong than head-strong 66 2. he should draw his learning out of his booksnot out of his brain. .. 3. he should mix well the freedom of his own opinion, with the reverence of the opinion of his fellows. 4. he should fear no man's face, and yet not turn stoutness into bravery. 5 he should be truly impartial, and not so as men may see affection through fine carriage. 6. he should be a light to jurors, to open but not a guide to lead them by the nose. their eyes, 7. he should not affect the opinion of pregnancy and expedition, by an impatient and catching hearing of counsellors at the bar. 8. he should speak with gravity, as one of the sages of the law; and not be talkative, nor with impertinent plying out, to shew learning. 9. his hands, and the hands of those about him, should be clean, and uncorrupt with gifts, from meddling in titles, and from serving of turns, be they of great ones or small ones. ་་ 10. he should contain the jurisdiction of the court, within the ancient meet stones, without removing the mark" leeds mercury, oct. 26, 1822. the greatness of spain two centuries ago. of all the subjects that are likely to engage the attention of the congress at verona, by far the most interesting and important is-the affairs of spain. it is notoriously the wish of a large party in the french government, as well as of the friends to arbitrary power throughout europe. that the holy alliance should take advantage of the present state of spain, to invade that kingdom with a powerful force, overturn its free constitution, re-establish its dislodged monks in their seats of idleness, and replace its limited monarch on his throne of despotism. what many desire the congress to do, several foreign papers have asserted that they will do. we have already stated our opinion, that the sovereigns will not venture on the course thus marked out for them. but while it is yet possible that such may be their conduct, and while a civil contest still rages within the spanish territory, the inquiry is eminently interesting how are that people prepared to resist a foreign invagion, and to quell their internal foes? two reports, of the financial and military affairs of the kingdom, have recently been presented to the cortes by the ministers of finance and of war. and, while perusing these documents, which show the military and fiscal affairs of the government to be anything but satisfactory, what friend to liberty can restrain his feelings of indignation, on perceiving to how low a state of depression the baleful spirit of despotism has reduced a nation, which, little more than two centuries ago, was not only the most powerful and the wealthiest in europe, arts, manufac tures, and commerce, the braviest soldiers, but the mo t enlightened and most free,-which possessed the finest navy, the richest and most extensive colonies-in short, nearly every object of national ambition and desire? unhappily for spain, the spirit of freedom siumbered in the lap of luxury; the locks of her strength were shorn by insidious foes; she was bound in the fetters of superbly became, in her state of decay and destitution, a stition and tyranny; and she consequently and inevitalaughing-stock to those enemies of whom she onee was the terror. we have now to view spain in this lamentable condition; for, though she has happily burst her ignominious chains, she has not yet been able to renovate her vigour. all her vast colonies are lost, and she can never receive another ingot from the mines of mexico or peru: of manufactures too she is nearly destitute; and her commerce scarcely extends beyond the disposable produce of her soil. from these circumstances, and from the encouragement given to contraband trade by unwise commercial restrictions, the revenue of spain is at present far from answering the expenses of her government. this evil is said in the report to be aggravated by the negligence of the tax-collectors, who have been worked upon by the machinations of foreign and domestic enemies; the disturbances in the provinces bordering on france also necessarily diminish the receipts, and add to the expenditure, of government. in this emergency, the finance minister proposes to raise a loan, a measure, which, if sanctioned by the cortes, will put to the test the credit of the spanish government.-we hope it will be found that that credit is good, and that—notwithstanding the insurrections in the north-the real strength of the nation, its latent resources, and the good faith of its representatives, deserve to be relied upon. we have the stronger hopes of the extricatiou of spain out of her present embarrassments, from the candour and explicitness with which they are laid before the cortes and the nation: the whole extent of the evil is displayed, and it is believed that patriotism, stimulated by the confidence reposed in it, will provide the remedy. i have published this as a warning voice to the good people of this mighty empire. oct. 7, 1820. commemoration dinner of the revolution of spain, naples, and portugal. the dinner in commemoration of the triumph of civil liberty in spain, naples, and portugal, took place on monday at the crown and anchor tavern, london. the chair was taken by sir robert wilson precisely at half past six o'clock; the chair was supported by major cartwright, mr. alderman wood, mr. bennet, mr. the warning voice. 169 hobhouse, mr. hume, sir gerard noel, &c. &c. the number present must have amounted to 400 at least. letters were read from the duke of bedford and sir f. burdett, excusing their absence on account of illness. after the cloth was removed, sir r. wilson proposed, the king, and may he never forget the principles which seated his family on the throne of these realms." he next proposed--"the queen, (loud applause) and may she have innocence for her shield, truth for her spear, and the affections of the people for her guard." (loud and long continued applause.) the next toast was "the people-the source of all authority, and the welfare, the end, and object of all governments." sir r. wilson then stated that it was his duty to call their attention to the immediate object of the meeting. 'i he events which they were assembled to commemorate, though they had occurred in different countries, and at different intervals of time, were yet so blended and amalgamated in their nature, as to become with propriety the subject of one common festival. it would be unnatural if the people of england were not to feel a sympathy with the late exertions in the peninsula and naples, and not to feel an interest in the successful consummation with which they had been crowned. they would, indeed, show themselves destitute of their accustomed generosity and benevolence, if they were to contemplate unmoved the triumph of so many millions, previously destitute of that freedom, to which they themselves so justly attached so much value; it they were not to bail the establishment of a constitutional system in every other country-a system which was not only essential to the well-being of the natives, but an additional safeguard to our own liberties. (applause.) that day was gone by when government could persuade us that our happiness and safety depended upon the degradation of neighbouring states, (applause) and in perpetuating servitude wherever it existed, instead of endeavouring to diffuse the light of knowledge in the principles of civil liberty. he knew that there still existed. amongst us men who were the advocates of such doctrines-men who thought the world was not made to be used, but to be abused by them; who did not think of what was for the general interest of the community, but of what was for the interest of themselves, and those who, like themselves, existed on the spoils of the people. the flag of freedom was now flying on the ruins of despotism in the peninsula, and in naples, and it was not to be wondered at that those who resisted the redress of all wrongs at home, should tremble when they heard of rights recovered by other nations. (applause.) but he thanked god that the number of these men was diminished, and their power was daily declining. he trusted, that whatever might be the illiberal policy of the government, the people of europe would be convinced by that meeting that the people of england were ready to embrace the free of all countries, and of all climes. they all recollected the events which preceded the spanish revolution-they all recollected the transports of this country, when the people of spain resisted a foreign yoke, and when they had determined to restore that constitution, which a succession of usurpation had almost annihilated. the brave spaniards hoped, that having by their valour restored their sovereign to his • throne, that sovereign would ratify their acts; but those hopes were disappointed. the king, under the infinence of evil counsellors, resolved to march against ti e assembled representatives of the nation. would to ged it was in his power to say that the funds of corruption had not been aided by british treasures: a corrupted soldiery had marched on the representatives of their country, and enabled despotism again to re-establish itself. he did not wish to tear off that veil which the generous spanish nation was anxious to throw over the conduct of that person who filled their throne. applause. the gallant general briefly alluded to the su ferings under the despotism which had been overturned. the blood of martyred patriots, he said, had been the seals of liberty, and two men, whose names would be im-. mortalized in history, quiroga and riego, animated by patriotism, and assisted by fortune, achieved at last the deliverance of their countrymen. the gallant general then went on to reprobate the conduct of the emperorof russia, whom he, if any one, had a right to warn against a course of harshness and temerity. the note which he had issued called on the spanish government to immolate its generous soldiery on the altar of legitimacy (applause)-called on it to re-establish the ancient government-to re-establish the inquisition-to re-establish torture-to fill the dungeons of africa once more with illustrious victims-and then when it' had disarmed the country, and destroyed its liberties, then he would be graciously pleased to forgive, if he conld not forget the past, and to enter into relations. of amity with spain. but this right assumed by the emperor of russia to protect the european social order was a mere mockery in the head of a scythian governs ment. (applause.) was it a representative government which held this language? on the contrary, it was a government so familiar with violence, that it ordinarily decided the succession to the throne. applause. was it a right of retaliation which he here wished to enforce? did europe ever call on alexander to renounce the acts by which he was enabled to ascend the throne? no. whatever the opinion of europe might be with regard to these transactions, no nation ever demanded from alexander any such account. if, however, the holy alliance presumed to commit acts of aggression against spain, the cortes might make an appeal to the courage of their fellow citizens, to god, and to the justice of their cause, and they would have no reason to be afraid of the issue. for himself, he would rather carry a musket in the cause of freedom, than a marshal's staff in the ranks of their enemies. (applause.) the gallant general then alluded to the revolution in naples, which he designated as just and necessary, while he stigmatized the threats of the austrian government, which in point of civilization was 250 years behind its neighbours, as impious and pernicious. he warned austria against marching into naples, when she might kindle a devouring flame behind her in her own dominions. he afterwards briefly alluded to portugal, and concluded by reading a declaration, which he proposed to the meeting as the expression of their sentiments on the subject which they were met to celebrate, and which was unanimously adopted. major cartwright proposed as a toast the spanish འ་ 170 the warning voice. cortes," which he was ashamed to say surpassed the english parliament in its adaptation to the purposes of freedom the chairman proposed the health of sir. f. burdett: mr. bennett proposed as a toast-" generals quiroga and riego, and their gallant comrades, the deliverers of their country." sir gerard noel-success to naples and sicily in the amicable adjustment of their future relationship, and in consolidating their freedom." mr. hume-"success to portugal, and may efforts replace her with dignity on the roll of free nations." mr. hobhouse, after an eloquent speech-la fayette, and the brave and enlightened champions of freedom in france " mr. alderman wood-" old england." the rev. mr. hayes, an irish catholic priest, also spoke at some length, in praise of the spanish revolution, and in recommendation of the emancipation of the irish catholics. all the toasts were drunk with great enthusiasm and applause; and at about half-past eleven, after an lent meeting, and in the best humour, the assembly separated. the purpose of fighting, but in parallel lines, each striving to draw out his forces in the longest array. mr. hume made out a very strong case, by showing the preposterous arrangements and abusive practices in the irish church, and on the ground of this exposition demanded a reform. messrs. goulburn, peel, and plunkett do not deny the statements, or at least disprove the necessity of reformation; they content theinselves with alleging its danger, and asserting that parliament has no more right to interfere with church property than with the property of private individuals. with respect to the first odjection, we readily admit that no great political change can ever be made without some share of danger. but we contend there is much greater danger in allowing notorious a! uses, especially when they are of a nature to oppress and irritate the people, to continue without remedy; because their tendency is to grow more and more intolerable, till they at length provoke some violent popular excel-explosion, infinitely more hazardous to the state than an early attempt at reformation. it is a prominent article of our political creed, and one of which all history affords illustration, that timely reform is the surest preventative of revolution. we do not advocate rash, violent, or illdigested reforms, but reforms begun early, pursued public advantage. the violence of party spirit is a moderately and steadily, and with an honest view to the great enemy to such reformation, and seems likely to obstruct many well meant and well directed attempts to improve the condition of ireland. with respect to the second objection urged against mr. hume's motion-that the legislature has no right to interfere with the revenues of the church, we shall meet it by expressing a directly opposite opinion. we admit that the property of the church of england and ireland has long been in its possession, and is secured to it by law; and, further, joyment for their several lives. that the present possessors have a clear right to its enbut we contend that the church is to be viewed as a great public corporation; public purposes; and that both the corporation and the that all its property is publie property, vested in it for property are ever liable to be regulated by the legislature, according as the interests of the people may require. which private property and church property rest. the there is a most essential difference in the principles on former is secured to its possessor in full and complete right, is intended for his own enjoyment without any reference to the nation at large, and is committed to his sole management. the latter is secured to the church, of prelates and clergy, but with a direct and manifest not for the particular enjoyment of any existing number reference to the public benefit; it is given in return for a public service; it never assumes the form of private property, since its possessor can neither alineate nor bequeath it; but exists from age to age, for the support of successive public functionaries. who, then, is to judge of the service of a religious nature required by the public, and of the proper compensation for its perchurch or the legislature? formance? the employed or the employers? the ireland, from the leeds mercury. ireland has long been the reproach of this country: that part of the united kingdom, which possesses in itself every natural advantage that can render a people prosperous and happy, has been for centuries the scene of misrule and of civil and religious discord, and a theatre for the perpetration of crimes the most revolting to humanity. this unhappy state of things must arise from some deep-seated cause, and must be the result of some gross error, some radical defect in our treatment of that country. the discovery and removal of these errors and defects is one of the most interesting problems that can exercise the skill and ingenuity of our legislators and politicians. without presuming to point out any specific remedy for the complicated evils that effect ireland, we are justified, by long experience of the past, in asserting that this remedy will not be found in military coercion-the usual resource of impatient and shortsighted statesmen. we must rather look into the moral state of the country, dissipate its ignorance by education, and subdue its turbulence by finding beneficial employment for its idle and discontented population. the gibbet and the sword may destroy individual criminals, but they leave undiminished the great body of crime, and unimpaired the prolific source from which it springs. it is a subject which will require, and we trust will obtain, the early and anxious attention of parliament. march 8, 1823. ireland. the debate on mr. hume's motion for a committee on the church revenues in ireland is a fair specimen of a large class of debates, which have already taken place and will occur in future, on propositions for the important reforms. the arguments on the two sides do not meet each other: it is not a conflict, but a balance, of reasons: the debaters move, not towards each other, for it seems to us to be as clearly the duty of the government to superintend the religious, as the civil, military, is no difference. it is obvious, however, that when once or naval functionaries of the state. in principle there the warning voice. 171 an establishment is formed, it should have the appearance of stability, and no changes should be made in it without very sufficient cause. but in admitting the inexpediency of frequently interfering with the concerns of the church, we must still contend that it is both the right and the duty of the legislature to reform abuses so enormous as those existing in the church of ireland. we see there we see there a lavish expenditure of public money, without any adequate return of service; a large portion of public lands neglected; a numerous body of prelates and clergy, receiving immense, though most unequal, salaries, of whom many perform no duty, but reside in distant seats of luxury; and a people ground to the earth by various exactions, amongst which that is the most vexatious which goes to support a clergy whom they do not and will not hear. how different is the state of things in scotland! and why should not a system so oppressive, useless, extravagant, and absurd be in some degree assimilated to one universally allowed to be pure, effective, and economical: in scotland, the church consists of fifteen hundred thousand persons, and the ministers receive 206,3607. in ireland, the church consists of four or five hundred thousand persons, and the clergy receive 1,300,000. are the scotch or the irish clergy more respectable? are the scotch or the irish people better taught? if the representatives of the people can look at this contrast, and yet refuse to adopt the measures which a mere contemplation of it instantly suggests, we know not how they can with propriety consider themselves as the guardians of the national purse and national interests. pope, on death. vital spark of heav'nly flame, quit, oh! quit this mortal frame! trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, oh! the pain, the bliss of dying! cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, let me languish into life. hark! they whisper; angels say, sister spirit-come-awaywhat is this absorbs me quite, steals my senses, shuts my sight, drowns my spirit, draws my breath, tell me, my soul, can this be death? the world recedes, it disappears! heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears with sounds seraphic ring! lend, lend your wings! i mount! i fly! o grave, where is thy victory? o death, where is thy sting? and attended himself. when the combatants came, they asked the king what it was for, he answered, you. two are going to fight, and which ever of the two falls, the survivor shall be hanged upon the spot the moment the battle is over, by virtue of my authority to punish murderers. this judicious resolution of the king preserved both their valuable lives, restored peace, and they parted friends. while we censure the practice of duelling as barbarous, due regard ought to be had to the unfortunate situation of the gentlemen of the army in this respect. he that refuses a challenge is disgraced for ever; no brother officer in his regiment will keep company with him, nor if he quits his regiment and enters another, will he be otherwise received. it is true, that the nineteenth, article of war is expressly against this, but every man in the army is convinced that this article, as to its operation, is absolutely null and void. the article of war we allude to, runs in the following words:"nor shall any officer or soldier upbraid another for refusing a challenge; since, according to these our orders, they do but the duty of soldiers, who ought to subject themselves to discipline; and we do acquit and discharge all men who have quarrels offered, or challenges sent to them, of all disgrace or opinion of disadvantage in their obedience hereunto; and whoever shall upbraid them, or offend in this case, shall be punished as a challenger." you ask me to describe what i mean by solid comforts? i answer a quiet conscience, health, liberty, our time our own, or if not, usefully and innocently, and moderately employed by others; a freedom from inordinate passions of all kinds, a habit of living within ones income, and of saving something for extraordinary occa-. sions, an ability arising from rational economy, to defray all necessary and expedient expences; a habit of good humour, and aptitude to be pleased rather than offended; a preparation for adversity, love of ones family, sincerity to friends, benevolence to mankind, and piety to god. compare this state, and these dispositions with those of affected people of fashion, embarrassed in circumstances, distressed by vain cares, tossed about by vari-. ous passions and vain fancies, without any anchor to keep their frail bark from the violence of every guest. but it is not worth while to dilate on the comparison; let the hearts of the deluded votaries of vanity decide in the silence of the night season; when they recline on their pillows, when the lights of the assembly are extinguished, and when the rattling of carriages are no more heard. duelling. two of the greatest and most favorite generals of frederic the great of prussia, either of which he was afraid of losing, quarrelled and challenged each other to fight a duel; the king heard of the place of meeting, and ordered a gallows to be erected ready at the spot, if doom'd i am to bear afflictions smart, and griefs keen arrows in my bleeding heart; still may i bless the author of my pains, convinced in all his dealings mercy reigns. elizabeth milnes. an excellent observation i somewhere met with, worthy to be committed to memory-viz: t2 172 the warning voice. that the remembrance of disagreeable circumstances was only painful, without answering any good purpose. the only good that can arise from a recapitulation of wrongs or sufferings, is to be wise, and guard to the utmost of our power, against their future attacks. there are three of the ugliest, blackest, most frightful, outlandish wild beasts of all colours got amongst us from abroad, never know here till a great man brought a few of them over as curiosities. they are exotics, amphibious, seldom to be seen but felt in every corner of the land, and breed like rabbits every where; some of these animals get in at the key hole and into bed to men and their wives, and will not let them sleep, and visit the houses of high and low. i met a man one day that knows their native land, and asked if he could tell what they call them, he said they call them tyranny, oppression, and poverty. i have heard that tyranny got into wentworth house some time since, and i never heard whether they had got him out or not. tyranny, oppression, poverty, the spy system, the cause of all revolutions. never did any nation in the world presume to find fault with its government, or incline to rebel, till the governors had proceeded to oppress and invade the constitution, the laws, and rights of the people, or that it was a government of oppression and tyranny. this is an indisputable fact which proves, that the governors are the invadors of the people's rights, long before they complain, and endeavour to defend their rights or redress their grievances. was not this the case in france and spain, and other countries; and did not they wear chains, misery and poverty, long before the revolutions, and is it not the case there at present, and all over europe. then why dowriters calumniate a just and faithful people for humbly complaining, when the calumny and censure is in reality due to the governors, and if they would redress their grievances, all would be well and happy. but instead of doing that their duty, they always harden the cords of oppression as they weakly fancy, to silence, or keep the people quite, by which they increase their complaints; then they proceed to call those humble and grievous complaints seditious and rebellious, when the sedition and rebellion is on the part of the governors, against the laws and people's rights, which generates them six dire enemies to all nations-bribery, corruption, luxury, tyranny, oppression, and poverty, and in process of time a battle breaks out between these six tyrants, and the people, and in the broil, they annihilate the funds of their country, and reduce thousands upon thousands from competency or affluence, to poverty and misery. i think the french, spanish, and other revolutions are a true picture and confirmation of all this, which many of us remember, and those who do not may learn it from history. but there is one stubborn fact which i wish to impress upon the minds of my country women and men, that if bonaparte had invaded england, which he would soon have done if he could have got the english fleet out of the channel. the above mentioned six dire enemies had provoked the people of england to such an extreme of desperation, that they would have joined bonaparte, for they were so much oppressed, they were ready to proceed to any act of violence and desperation, for none could get bread enough, and many died for want of it. and how often have women and men said, we had better be killed than pined to death. but did not our people bear that state of poverty with wonderful patience, because government allowed speculation, to raise the price of corn above their reach, which was the cause of the high rents, which must be reduced, to keep provisions and labour moderate, or else we cannot long meet other nations at market with our manufactures on equal terms, and when we lose the power of doing that, our ruin will soon follow, and speculation should never be permitted to raise corn to such an extreme, unless it be desirable, to bring confusion and misery upon a nation, for it always appeared there was plenty of corn for money, but speculation concealed it, and made it appear otherwise. and i here repeat, that the high price of corn is the root and source of all the great evils which come to all nations, and which it should be their study and endeavour to prevent at all times. if such a broil had happened in england as happened in france, our funds would have fallen to nothing, as they did in france and other nations; and incalculable numbers would have fallen from competency or affluence, to poverty and misery, over and above the grief and mourning that would have happened for the loss of those parents, husbands, and others, who would have fallen in the battle or otherwise in the confusion. our revolutionary and american wars were caused by the above mentioned six dire enemies, and the folly, weakness, and imprudence of government, and the want of a reformed parliament, who would have watched, promoted, and protected the safety, happiness, and welfare of our county, and prevented them great calamities. we have to thank the almighty, bonaparte's ambition, and the elements for our preservation. but we still have the mill stone, the national debt about our necks, the unbearable rents and taxes, and the above mentioned six dire enemies, raging with more fury than ever was known. surely this warning voice is dictated to me by the supreme being, to advise the people to prepare and guard against the misery which may come by the folly, weakness, and extravagance of government, for want of a reformed parliament and due attention of the people; and a reformation in all ranks of society, to teach them on all occasions to slacken the cords of oppression, whatever their rank may be, which can only be done by the example of the clergy and superiors, and by uniting cordially and firmly, them two helps meet to each other, and all the world, true religion and liberty, which are the only security against the calamaties described above. what occasion have-for hiring newspapers to defend their conduct, if it be good, none i venture to say, for the whole nation would be their advocates, friends, adherents, and lovers, if their deeds were not evil. did not baron graham confess, in his famous speech to the new and old lord mayors of london, that the the warning voice. 173 end of all governments, is to secure to every one, even to the lowest, that property which is his own, and also the constitution of his country, and all his lawful rights; then is it not a great crime in governors, who invade the people's rights, whose rights they are in duty bound to protect and keep secure. a confirmation of the above, will be found in his royal highness the duke of sussex's speech to the lord mayor and corporation of york. surely the spy system was the most infamous outrageous conduct that ever disgraced a country; it was a disgrace, insult, and provocation to a brave, loyal, generous, and enlightened people, to attempt to make them and the world believe, that a conspiracy was formed to assassinate—when no such conspiracy ever existed, but what was contrived, instigated, and abetted by them-selves. how many innocent victims have fallen to the machinations of these men, and how many widows and orphans are involved in misery thereby, will appear at the awful day of judgment. however they may repose in their present security of power, and defy any earthly tribunal to bring them to judgment; i warn them to prepare for that heavenly judge, before whom they soon have to appear. in a word. the spy system.-the treatment of the brave sir robert wilson, and earl fitzwilliam.-the irish union. the congress at verona.-the neglect of our commercial and mercantile interests.-the holy alliance. the neglect of our protecting spain from falling into the hands of that alliance, which we might. have done by words, without taking up gun or sword. the approval and defence of the butchery at manchester. and finally, the six acts will form a tomb over the abettors of these measures, and their neglect of duty, of a far less perishable nature than brass or marble. does not the present miserable state of europe, exhibit a true picture of the miseries that are coming upon this country gradually, and as it were imperceptibly, though at times by hasty and great steps, all for want of a reformation in parliament. leeds mercury, oct. 12, 1822, ireland, on the tithe system. the renewal of that insubordination, and those outrages, which last winter excited our mingled pity and indignation, imposes upon us the necessity of again directing the attention of our readers to that most painful of all subjects-the actual state of the sister kingdom. within the last fortnight, accounts have been received of enormities perpetrated in ireland, nearly equal in point of atrocity to the worst of those which have disgraced her long and melancholy history. "but two poor months-nay not so much, not two"-have passed, since we were called on to lament the ravages of a desolating famine! that famine was preceded by outrages similar to those which we are this week obliged to lament and condemn; and, indeed, whoever looks through the history of ireland will perceive that her miseries have been wont to revolve in a kind of melancholy cycle, the laws of which are likely soon to be so well understood, that the political astronomer will be able to predict with confidence the period, in which any given species of calamity may be expected to recur. no man, we believe, pretends now to deny, that ireland is the victim of misgovernment, and few will doubt, that many of her most crying grievances might be redressed by the adoption of a generous and energetic policy on the part of the british ministry. much more difficulty has been expressed as to the time at which relief should be administered; many patriotic and able persons having questioned the propriety of any thing like concession, so long as the spirit of insubordination shall exist. we fear, however, that if the irish are not to be relieved from their manifold grievances, till they cease to express impatience under the burden, the day of redress will never arrive; and we are moreover at a loss to understand, upon what principle of good policy or sound sense the governors of ireland can derive an excuse for the continuance of oppression and misrule, from the existence of that spirit, which, by the laws of our nature, oppression and misrule are sure to excite and to perpetuate. of course we do not address this or any other argument to those partisans of a narrowminded and temporising administration, who declare in effect, that no time is proper for the relief of ireland; who maintain, when she is in a state of insurgency, that she deserves no relief, and when she subsides into tran quillity, that she requires none. the last number of the edinburgh review contains an able and temperate article upon this very subject; an article which is particularly valuable, not so much on account of the eloquent and pathetic description it affords of irish misery, as for its accurate and extensive summary of facts. we apprehend that a portion of this departure of our paper cannot be more appropriately occupied, that by a short abstract of this very able dissertation. among the leading causes of irish discontent, the reviewer places the want of a complete catholic emancipation. he shows, in the first place, the galling nature of the present restrictions; and, in the second, the absurdity of retaining them, after so many others of so much greater importance have been already relinquished. the catholics, however-that is to say, five-sixths of the population of ireland-do not repine so much at the illiberal policy of the legislature, as at the still more illiberal and partial conduct, which the executive government of the country has adopted in every period of her history. another grievance which presses upon the catholic with intolerable weight is, the present constitution of the church establishment. indeed, in whatever light this subject is viewed, and to whatever part of it we direct our attention, whether to the number of the church dignitaries, the magnitude of their revenues, the persons from whom those revenues are exported, or the manner in which they are collected-the system appears to be utterly corrupt, and to cry most loudly for a speedy and effectual reform. the reviewer demonstrates that the whole number of irish attached to the established form of worship cannot exceed 500,000, or one-fourteenth of the whole population. for this small fraction of the people, twenty-two archbishops and bishops, and 174 the warning voice. thirteen hundred beneficed clergymen, are appointed by law. now either this number is far too great for the spiritual wants of the irish, or the number in england is infinitely too small (which nobody pretends): since we have here but twenty-six archbishops and bishops, to watch over a flock of nine millions. it is next contended that one archbishop and four provincial bishops would be amply sufficient in ireland; and that the revenues of the other sees would from an adequate provision for the whole body of protestant clergy; by which means, since the revenues of the bishoprics are almost entirely independent of tithes, the oppressive and iniquitous tithe-system might be almost altogether disused that we are fully justified in the application of these epithets will appear, partly, from the resolutions in favor of commutation, which have been recently agreed on by a large body of the irish nobility and land-owners, but still more clearly from the following exposition, which we give in the words of the review:--"a considerable part of the incomes of the beneficed clergy are derived from tithes levied on the corn, cattle, pigs, poultry, and potatoes of the cottiers. the vote of the irish house of commons in 1735, declaring any man a traitor to his country who should assist in a prosecution for tithes of agistment, or of pasture lands, threw the clergy, from the opulent grazier, and the protestant proprietor, upon the catholic peasantry-for the peasants are almost universally catholics-for support. it drove them from those who were able, and who ought to have been willing to pay their own pastors, to those who were miserably poor, and who had a different clergy to provide for. the resolution of 1735 declared, in effect, that the established church should get nothing from the parks and demesnes of the protestant nobility and gentry, the proprietors of the whole country, but that they might enter the garden of the poor catholic cottier, and pluck from the lips of his starving family a tenth part of their scanty subsistence! and, as it is really surprising, that the peasantry should have revolted at such an atrocious system?-that they should have endeavoured to wreak their vengeance on their ruthless oppressors?-and that from the era of the whiteboys, down to the present hour, the tithe-system should have been the inexhaustible source of contention, bloodshed, and murder? the irish clergy generally employed an agent, or proctor; who, immediately before harvest, estimates the barrels of corn, tons of hay, or hundred weight of potatoes he supposes to be on the ground, and, charging them at the market price, fixes the sum to be paid as a compensation to his spiritual superior. the parson sometimes leases the tithes to a proctor; and he again, not unfrequently, lets them to another; so that the land really becomes, as mr. grattan emphatically stated, a prey to a subordination of vultures."" we are compelled, for the present, to stop here; and in the mean time we beseech our readers to reflect seriously upon the facts we have already enumerated, and to deduce their own candid and impartial conclusions. nary exertions in parliament. never, in our opinion, has any senator been able to present a more unequivocal claim to the gratitude of the country. we have witnessed and applauded in other men a systematic opposition to a bad government; we have admired the clearness and energy with which others have exposed arbitrary and unconstitutional measures; but, in a majority of such cases, we have been compelled to allow the possibility of that opposition having arisen rather from a desire to supplant and succeed the present possessors of power than from a sincere wish to reform the system of government itself. but in the case of mr. hume, no such suspicion is admissible for a single moment; his exertions have been uniformly directed to the destruction of all those means and opportunities of abuse, which no actual minister would ever voluntarily relinquish, since they strengthen his hold upon power; and which no expectant minister would agree to destroy, lest he should weaken the tenure of his future predominance. mr. hume has not sought to divert the streams of corruption into other channels, but to cut them off altogether. with the views which we entertain of the absolute necessity of parliamentary reform, we unquestionably consider that man as entitled to our highest praise, who advocates this great cause with ability, zeal, and perseverance. next to him we should be disposed to place the senator, who, without exerting himself in the cause of reform, sedulously and disinterestedly endeavours to render the necessity for that measure less crying; who shows himself a steady friend to liberty, to economy, and to peace; and who constantly manifests his readiness to render his country every service, within those limitations which are imposed by the defective constitution of parliament upon the zeal of its patriotic members. these two characters, either of which deserves universalrespect and gratitude, are united in mr. hume.-in entering upon the task of exposing the different abuses in the public expenditure, the member of montrose undertook a work of the most appalling difficulty. even had ministers given every facility to his inquiries; had they supplied him with every means of information, and encouraged him at every step of his progress; had he confined himself to the simple and barren task of inspecting and verifying the public accounts-mr. hume would even in that case have undertaken a herculean labour. but when it is remembered that he entered singly upon an investigation almost boundless in its extent, and retarded by every means which the whole enormous power of government could interpose; that he ventured singly into the desert of the public accounts, gloomy as it was, and overgrown with every species of thorn and weed which a long impunity had cherished and propagated; that he contended against a power almost irresistible, fighting for its oldest prejudices and its dearests interests; that he battled, single-handed, with the treasury, the admiralty, the ordnance-with secretaries, undersecretaries, clerks, and deputy clerks-with quarterly reviews, couriers, intelligencers, multaque præterea variarum monstra ferarum, we have observed, with much pleasure, that several who can refuse to admire his indefatigable spirit and his distinguished marks of respect have been lately paid to untiring perseverance ?-but we are told, with as much mr. hume, by large and respectable bodies of his fellowof an air of triumph as the beaten condition of his opcountrymen, in acknowledgment of his very extraordi-ponents will allow them to assume, that mr. hume has the warning voice. 175 been guilty of blunders. our readers may probably reour readers may probably remember that we exposed on a former occasion the emptiness of mr. croker's exploit against him; and that the charge of blundering has been often retorted with success upon his triumphant accusers. but, granting for one moment that mr. hume has made even ten times as many arithmetical errors as have been imputed to him, would he even than have been guilty of a tenth part of the blunders which any other man could scarcely avoid in the course of calculations so complex, so various, and so extensive? many a well-paid secretary, with all his official auxiliaries about him," with all appliances and means to boot," has been guilty, even within his own particular department, of more mistakes than have been detected in the universal labours of mr. hume though we should take them at the number which ministerial vigilance and ministerial falsehood would assign.-but, after all, who can fail to perceive that this reiterated and hackneyed charge makes far more against ministers than against the member for montrose? when we see that answer to all his assertions that the public expenditure is wasteful and improvident, the court-writers employ themselves in blazoning forth a trifling arithmetical blunder, (admitting they can find such), instead of negativing the main charge of extravagance and abuse, do we not infer, with reason, that that charge cannot be negatived? people over whom he reigns, to the approbation of the king of kings. signed in, by order, and on behalf of the yearly meeting of the friends held in london, the twentyninth day of fifth mouth, one thousand eight hundred. w. alexander, clerk to the meeting this year. [presented by joseph gurney bevan, accompanied by john kendal, sampson lloyd, john elliott, richard chester, george harrison, samuel alexander, philip debell tucket, george stacey, john burlingham, richard philips, and william alexander. to which address his majesty was pleased to return the following most gracious answer: i thank you for this dutiful and loyal address, and for your affectionate congratulations on the merciful favor and protection which the divine providence has vouchsafed to me. the repeated demonstrations of loyalty and attachment to my person and government which i have received upon the present occasion, are highly acceptable to me; and you may rely on the continuance of my unremitting exertions to promote the welfare and happiness of all descriptions of my subjects, and to preserve inviolate their civil and religious privileges. in the reign of king george the ii. the people called quakers had the honor to wait upon his majesty with an address. the king had premeditated the way as he supposed, to get the quakers to approach him without hats; on their coming near him, the king took his off, the quakers immediately said, george, it doth not become. thee to be uncovered, so that his majesty could not gain his objeet. in one word, we sincerely think that mr. hume has established a claim to the gratitude and respect of every impartial and upright man. though deserving of high praise for his courage in undertaking so many and such arduous labours, his merits are infinitely augmented by the perseverance with which he has continued to march along the path of duty, in spite of every attempt to seduce or deter him. he is already in possession of the esteem of his countrymen; and so long as he shall pope innocent, to john, king of england, in the continue the enemy of all abuses, the friend of every reform, it ought to be the pride, as it will be the duty, of englishmen, to encourage those exertions, which are intended and calculated for their common benefit. year of our lord, 1207. among the riches that mortals prize as the most valu-, able, and desire with the greatest earnestness, it is our opinion that pure gold and precious stones hold the first rank. although we are persuaded that your royal excellence has no want of such things; yet we have thought address of the religious society of friends called proper to send you as a mark of our good will, four quakers, to his majesty. rings, set with four stones. we beg the favor you would consider the mysteries contained in their form, their to george the third, king of great britain, and the matter, their number and colour, rather than their value. dominions thereunto belonging. their roundness denotes eternity, which having neither beginning nor end, ought to induce you to tend without ceasing from earthly things to heavenly, and from things. temporal to things eternal. the number four which is a square, signifies firmness of mind, which is not to be shaken by adversity, nor elated by prosperity, but always continues in the same state. this is a perfection to which yours will not fail to arrive, when it shall be adorned with the four cardinal virtues, justice, fortitude, prudence, and temperance. the first will be of service to you in passing sentence; the second in adversity; the third in dubious cases; the fourth in prosperity. by the gold is signified wisdom, for just as gold is most precious of all metals, wisdom is of all endow ments, the most excellent, as the profit witnesses in these words, the spirit of wisdom shall rest upon him, and inmay it please the king, amidst the general satisfaction which thy late escape from an attempt on thy life hath occasioned, permit thy faithful and affectionate subjects, the religious society of friends, usually called quakers, thus publicly to manifest their thankfulness for thy preservation. we have received too many benefits during thy reign, too many marks of thy princely favor, not to feel greatly interested in thy personal safety; and we earnestly desire that this providential deliverance may more and more incline thy heart to seek direction of divine wisdom in all thy steps; for what greater blessing and we implore for a prince whom we honor and love, than that he may continually commend himself and the u 2 176 the warning voice. deed there is nothing more requisite in a sovereign. in a sovereign. accordingly solomon, the pacific king, only asked of god wisdom, to enable him to well govern his people. the blue color of the emerald denotes faith; the clearness of the sapphire hope; the redness of the ruby charity, and the colour of the topaz good works, concerning which, our saviour said, let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works. in the emerald you have therefore what you are to believe. in the sapphire what you are to hope. in the ruby what you are to love. and in the topaz what you are to practice, to the end you may proceed from virtue to virtue, till you come to the vision of the god of gods in zion. the following is an abstract of the sermon preached by his grace the archbishop of york, at the coronation of his majesty, king george the iv. from the 23d chap. of the second book of samuel, the 3d and 4th verses. "he that ruleth over men must be just, ruling in the fear of god, and he shall be as the light of the morning, when the sun riseth, even a morning without clouds; as the tender grass springing out of the earth by clear shining after rain." after stating the maxims of good government contained in the text, the preacher proceeds as follows: "these maxims, then, demand your attention, as the words of him who cannot be mistaken, of him by whom the wisest must submit to be taught, and whom the most powerful must be content to obey. "these maxims which assert either the duties or benefits of civil government, would, at all times, require to be inculcated, may be inferred from the very constitution of our mind. the common pride of our nature has a tendency to excite in the bulk of mankind, an impatience of inferiority and control; whilst, on the other hand, there is danger, test he who is exalted above the rest of his fellow-creatures on earth, should forget his own dependence upon god, should forget that he has a master in heaven, with whom there is no respect of persons." thus will be produced disloyalty on the part of the subject, and oppression on the part of the sovereign, and both be rendered incapable of enjoying those reciprocal blessings which flow from the mutual attachment and confidence of the prince and the people." "the history of the world affords ample proof in support of this assertion; the records of every nation exhibit the alternate predominance of tyranny and faction. the spirit of innovation has burst the ties of allegiance under-governments, has proceeded to redressgrievances with bloodshed, and has not stopped in its frantic career, till it has subverted the foundations of society, and thrown down the fences by which innocence is protected, and property secured: and tyranny, if it has not spread such wide-wasting desolation, has made more free inroads on the happiness of man, and practiced on their patience every mode of exaction which rapacity could devise, and every species of persecution which cruelty could inflict. "nor are these domestic crime's the only calamities which the injustice of rulers has brought upon mankind. how much innocent blood cries aloud from every corner of the earth, against the destructive ambition of princes; how large a portion of those wars, which have ravaged the world, is to be imputed to the vain glorious wickedness of individuals, exalted in power, abusing their sacred trust. "the great general principle of good government, is universal justice; justice between nation and nation; justice between man and man; justice between the sove. reign and the people. "the laws of political justice which should regulate the intercourse of nations, have been so little regarded by those who have directed the councils of powerful kingdoms, that a reader of history might almost imagine that there was one mode of morality for nations, and another for individuals. in the transactions of states with each other, the most crooked acts of circumvention has been practiced under the name of policy, and the most enormous violence of usurpation when confirmed by conquest, has been dignified with the character of patriotism. "but a just ruler will remember, that the principles of equity are exactly the same in public as in private concerns. between those acts of injustice which effect individuals, and those which are often committed against communities, what difference is there, except in the extent of the injury, and consequently the magnitude of the guilt? "the duty of administering justice without partiality, between man and man, is delegated, for the most part, to subordinate judges, and requires therefore no more than a summary notice in the present inquiry. still, the delegation of that trust is the act of the sovereign himself; and the greatest importance must attack to the choice of those who are to represent his authority. "this, indeed, may in some sense he considered as the last division of justice which i have mentioned. the justice which a sovereign owes to the people; and which makes it his duty to place able and conscientious men in stations of trust and power; for "when the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice." "no nation can ever be happy at home, or respected abroad, unless its councils and laws be administered by the prudent and honest, by the moral and the religious; and though virtue and piety have higher rewards than it is in the power of man to bestow, yet it is the most essential service which a sovereign can render to a state, to encourage morality and religion by a marked and uniform preference in the distribution of dignity and power. if, indeed, those who surround the throne, and ought to reflect its lustre; if those, whose station makes them at once objects of envy and imitation, if such men are worthless and wicked, the influence of their example will extend itself in every direction; and profligacy, originating in this source, will be rapidly diffused through all the gradations of society. "the ruler who would be just to his people, whilst he approves himself the faithful and zealous guardian of their civil rights, will preserve their morals from the contagion of vice and irreligion, by "ruling in the fear of god;" by with-holding his favor from the base and licentious; by exalting the wise and good to distinction the warning voice. 177 let us beseech him in the ever prevailing name of christ, to multiply his blessings on the head of our sovereign, and so to direct and prosper his councils for the maintenance of true religion and the good of his people, that he may long continue to hold the sceptre of righteousness, in the abundance of peace and glory." and honor; and by exhibiting in his own department | engagements which are made on this day in his presence; an example of those virtues which it is his duty to cherish in others: remembering, that his responsibility bears a proportion to the height of his station; and that he who sits on a throne, is under peculiar obligations to holiness, as having to answer at the great tribunal of judgment, not only for his own personal conduct, but for the influence of his manners and actions on the present and future happiness of millions. "in the personal character of the late king, and its effect upon society, the archbishop gives a very appro a panegyric on the constitution of england in its priate and impressive illustration of the principles of the text. "the prince who acts habitually on this great principle of religion. will find his firmest support, and his highest reward here on earth, in the veneration and gratitude of his subjects. "under such a ruler, we have ourselves experienced the truth of this assertion. we have seen a religious reign, during more than half a century, improving the morals of society. we have seen the throne of england established in righteousness, amidst the wreck of surrounding thrones, and while other governments, shaker almost to dissolution, were crumbling to pieces on every side. original purity. here i cannot avoid remarking, how wonderful, that this nation which appears to excel in every thing, but this one thing most needful, viz:-the restoration and preservation of the constitution of england, the guardian of her liberty, happiness, and welfare in the happy times past. in its original state of purity, it was such a treasure as no other people in the world ever enjoyed. it had the capacity of affording comfort, safety, happiness, and prosperity to the whole nation, and to every one from the most humble peasant to the king upon the throne, who had the comfort of living under its benign influence in those happy days. we have seen the just monarch, who ruled us in the fear of god, rewarded with the steady and zealous to the curious, or those who want amusement, or to affections of his people; retaining in his afflictive retire-find out wonders and curiosities in this transitory life, if ment their unabated reverence, followed to his tomb by their sincere regrets, and beyond it by their grateful recollections. the sermon thus concludes. "on the son aud successor of this venerated king, now rests our hope of britains weal; and if we may build our expectations of the future on our experience of the past, we have just ground of hope, in looking back to the eventful period of the regency. "the sovereign, about to receive the imperial crown of his ancestors, is not new to the cares and duties of his high station. "when called to the exercise of his royal anthority, he found the country involved in a war, which threatened our very existence as an independent state. "through his steadfastness in the hour of peril (under the providence of god) that war has been brought to a conclusion, glorious to the national fame and character, perhaps beyond any parallel in the annals of our ristory, glorious, above all, in the moderation of the triumph, glorious in the magnanimity with which undazzled by the splendours of conquest, and unsubdued by the prospects of ambition, the victor confined himself to the only legitimate object of war, the achievement of a lasting peace. "under the government of a prince who has shewed such fortitude in public dangers, and such wisdom in public prosperity, we have reason to anticipate all the blessings of a firm and prudent policy;-we have reason to trust, that he will place his glory in the moral greatness of his country, that the true interests of the nation will be consulted by a patriot reign, and the throne established in the hearts of a loyal and happy people. "let us, then, in conclusion, implore the almighty, of his infinite mercy, to accept and confirm the solemn they will view and contemplate it, they will find a field of unbounded curiosity and amusement, such as they cannot find in all the journies they can take in the wide world. the religious, humane, and charitable, may find in it all those amiable and justly necessary fine feelings and inclinations gratified beyond their most anxious wish, and refined imagination. the man of business, and all others with integrity, might find in it protection, and aid to their industry and honest endeavours. in it may be found the guardian and aid of virtue, and discourager of vice. the man of talent might find in it such a nursery for his abilities, and encouragement to his merit and elevation, as cannot be found in any other constitution in the world. the enjoyment of wealth and high rank, none could afford such gratification and real pleasure, as the constitution of england, in its original state of purity. to the poor who are perhaps the most numerous class, it might be a perpetual comfort, and asylum, if their law was executed agreeable to the charitable and wise intentions of our forefathers, and by the golden rule which every thinking man would wish to be governed by. and i think i have explained before, how much the practice is the contrary, but i hope to see it soon altered for the better. then is it not wonderful, i say surpassing wonder, that the restoration and preservation of this inestimable fabric, and politics, should not be the constant study, care, conversation, and first amusement in all companies, and on all occasions, till they have accomplished this just and necessary work. but alas! what are we doing, we are neglecting this duty, and suffering this darling of 178 the warning voice, the world to expire, many of us, or perhaps few of us, can tell why or wherefore. surely this warning voice of mine, and many others, will incline us all with one consent, to do this one thing needful in this world, which will smooth our passage to the happiness of the world to come this admitted, which i trust none will deny, we may justly call it the one thing needful. why do the english go so much abroad but to see the defects, misery, and tyranny of other countries, for want of our constitution; one would almost think in search of this inestimable almost lost treasure and happiness, which they leave behind them, as they do many other good things in this country. if they would learn how to value, improve, and treasure them up, such as they can find in no other; then why do so many of them stop so long abroad, and neglect their duty here, when we hear all of them on their return, exult and praise the dying constitution and liberties of england, as much superior to any other even in their shattered and deliberated state. now i lament, i grieve, bewail, and mourn over the present inconceivable miseries of spain, and the blame due to the councils of this country, for suffering the holy alliance to bring spain to this misery; and by doing so, exposed the remains of our dear dying constitution, to the most imminent danger of being destroyed by the holy alliance, which we might with ease have prevented without going to war. i pray most heartily for the almighty's aid, not only to extricate them both from this misery and perilous situation, but that it may be the almighty's will to open the charity and humanity of the minds of men all over the world, to plant some of the remaining seeds of it in all nations, for the benefit and good of mankind, and to nourish them to grow to the perfection of the english constitution, in its original state of purity. can any one figure to himself, or imagine how much we should pray for relief, were we suffering the present miseries of spain, and how meritorious it would have been in us to have prevented those miseries, and at the same time have protected our own liberties and power, and promoted the liberties of spain and all the world. to restore this darling constitution of england to its original purity, has been and is the study and constant uniform, care, and practice of many of the first peers, commoners, military gentlemen, and divines of the land, with one of the royal dukes, and all their inferiors who are under no influence, have uniformly done the same, they have pursued this course upon the principles of religion, charity, virtue, honor, patriotism, and integrity. and william pitt joined this heavenly cause from his infancy, so long and to such a degree, as to command my approbation of his conduct, almost to adoration, and so as to consider him as an angel sent from the almighty, to save this country from ruin, by helping to complete the work, all the abovementioned had for many years laboured to do. i did love and admire him indeed, far beyond my power to express; but when he proved this was all a false pretence to get into power, and listed into that combination, that formidable combination, which is the nations bane and danger, and i fear with many others, will be its ruin, if the people do not unite with one voice, and annihilate it before it be too late. when he stepped into power, his fame, popularity, and supposed patriotism was so great with all ranks, that he might with a turn of his hand have destroyed that dangerous combination; for doing which, he would have had the approbation and praise of his country and the world. but he apostatized, became the greatest hypocrite, and listed himself under the banners of bribery and corruption, and from appearing the champion of patriotism, virtue, and liberty, became the champion of corruption, bribery, and vice. and from the power to benefit his country and the liberties of the world more than ever any other man had, he reversed his conduct, and did them more injury than any other man, or perhaps all other men in the world ever did in the same space of time. he blasted and withered the dawning liberties of france and the world-and thereby incurred my displeasure and hatred to a greater degree than i had loved and admired him. in his plentitude of power, after professing himself a patriot and friend to the liberties of his country and the world; when he got to the helm of this mighty empire, he attacked the dawning liberties of france, though they repeatedly sent and offered their prayers that he would not do so, and caused above twenty years of the most ruinous, barbarous, bewildered wars that ever was waged, and thereby forced his country many times to the brink of ruin, and we have to thank the almighty, the elements, and bonaparte's ambition for our existence as an independent nation, and in the end curtailed the liberties of his country, restored the ancient despotism of france and spain, and gave birth to, and his successor joined the holy alliance, which is now the terror of the liberty, and welfare of the world. how much is said about the pitt system, and how much his nefarious example is adhered to, by the enemies of reform, (many of whom do not know what they are saying or doing,) is as notorious as the bright sun at noon day. gentlemen of virtue and integrity in private life, who fell all the glowingjardour of virtue, religion, integrity, patriotism, charity, and humanity, when they become bewitched and bewildered, and enlist under the banners of this baneful combination, to promote their sordid private interest in this transitory life, foliow the example of such like men, and become corrupt and vicious in the extreme, by advocating such wicked measures; are not such to be pitied that they cannot pursue a more virtuous way of promoting their private interest. then how much are inferiors to be pitied, who look up to superiors for an example, if they become guilty of bribery, corruption, and vice, are not only held up to the world as rogues and vagabonds, and despised and rejected of men, but punished for such crimes but are not superiors, who do so deserve the same, magnified in proportion to their high and elevated rank. can it then be said there is no rottenness in denmark, can it then any longer be unblushingly said, a people who have such a nefarious example are not in danger. to the consciences of the whole of this what is called a mighty flourishing empire; i appeal, to know if she is not in great danger, from the bribery, corruption, luxury, tyranny, oppression, and poverty which prevails, and are as notorious as the bright sun at noon day. and i ask those who are guilty, to consider well how soon they the warning voicet 179 1 will have to appear before a heavenly tribunal. when the late mr. pitt had been made premier in 1784, and finding himself in a minority in the house of commons, had dissolved parliament to secure his situation, at the subsequent meeting for the nomination of members for yorkshire, general hale very significantly observed, who would have expected to see the son of the immortal chatham, stalking into power behind prerogative ? reformation of parliament. those who were alarmed by the real enemies to reform, were afraid where no fear was; they were afraid of something, but they could never tell what. it was a bugbear, raised by those enemies to reform, who said there was danger from the people. but what are the people, i never yet heard that word defined to my satisfaction. but i say, the people are every rank, in every link of the chain, from the cobbler's cottage, to the king's throne. how can you define it any other way, how can you make any distinction, it is impossible, where would you draw the line in this land of freedom, which enables men to rise by their talent, merit, and integrity, step by step, or link by link, from the most humble to the most elevated situations in life, which they could not do without the liberty, freedom, and protection of the constitution we have enjoyed, but are thoughtlessly suffering to expire. but i hope all gentlemen who have by their merit, integrity, and superior talent, risen from humble, to the highest ranks in society, will give this all due.consideration, and help to hand down the constitution of england in its original purity, to posterity unimpaired, as an everlasting mark of their gratitude. then who will any longer tell us there is danger from the people, will the people be afraid of themselves; they have nothing to fear but themselves. there are many reformers in every rank, but the greatest numbers are in the middling and lower orders, because they are most oppressed, in most poverty, and their liberties most curtailed, for want of a reformation in parliament. then how can we offer thanks and praise enough to the nobles of the land, and also to the gentlemen both in and out of the house of commons, for their noble, zealous, independent, increasing efforts, to promote a reformation in parliament, which i hope they and all others will rev with their usual zeal, and pursue with unabated we are now in a state of peace and tranquillity for sake of all that is sacred and good, let us no longer delay to restore the constitution to its original state of purity, liberty, freedom, and comfort to us all, and make ourselves once more the happy, the most safe, and powerful people in the known world. i hope none will any longer believe there is any danger from the people, except to the existence of them six friends to reform, bribery, corruption, luxury, tyrunny, oppression, and poverty, and those who generated, are feeding and protecting them. a speedy annihilation to all them friends to reform, will promote reform, and be a blessing to the nation, and relieve all the people's wants, and do away all their complaints and discord. bemor i " my second appendix to road making. i advise a plain, level, flat, road, from side to side, and not an inclined plain as i advised before, then the stone. may be laid upon the flat, hard, solid ground, and not upon the loose soft earth, which has just been moved and thrown up, to make the barrelled road in the old fashioned way, then the covering of stone six inches thick, broke three or four inches square, and two or three inches of furnace cinders, engine ashes, or gravel from the rivers upon them, broke small, will be enough to make the top smooth; and on this flat road the water will fall down the hills, spread from side to side regular, and not get into strong currents as is the case in the barrelled roads, and wash the road into deep holes, which you may see very common upon the hills, deep enough to throw a mail coach over. and where ditches are thought necessary, i would have them on the outside of the fences, and where the ground happens to be a little on the declivity or falling, it may be well to accommodate that ground by an inclined plain, rather than shift the earth to make it loose and soft for the stones, but this will require much serious consideration. by the committee or trustees, and surveyor. a specimen of this flat road may be seen made by chance over east moor, between wakefield and stanley-lane-end; also between haliax and todmorden. the superiority of this flat road is proved by the practice of mr. field, of low-moor iron works, and mr. butler, of kirkstall forge. i advise the traveller to observe on the barrelled roads, the top is flat and level, and the carriages run all upon that part about eight or ten feet broad, and meet and turn each other aside; and the water stands upon that flat part till the wind or sun dry it up or it sinks through the covering and stones, if they be porous by not being broke too small, they may observe this water cannot run off any other way except down the hill, though the side falls much, erroneously intended for the water to fall off side way, but it does not do so. they practice a very dangerous rule upon the wakefield and austerland turnpike road, which i condemn by laying large stones upon the middle of the road in the day time, to force the carts into new paths, which is very dangerous to the travellers. two gentlemen in their gig run over one of these stones in the day time, and threw them both on the road. i expect some of these stones will be left on the road all night and throw the mail coach over, then they will discontinue the dangerous practice; but i hope this hint will cause it to be done before such misfortune happen to the travellers. i advise a much easier way of making them take a new path, only fill up one rut at once and they will soon cross or take a new path. r. milnes's new economical plan of road making, twenty-one feet stone for a winter road, sixteen feet not one stone to be put upon it for a summer road, forty-five v 2 180 the warning voice. feet broad outside the walls, a level flat road from side to side and joined, so that carriages may go from one to the other without trouble, a plain from side to side, the very same as if it was all stoned, except where they join, to save the trouble, expence, and inconvenience of making the summer road level with the stoned part, because the stones are to be laid upon the flat, solid, bare ground, and it will be better to make the summer road upon the same, so that the winter road will be six or eight inches higher than the summer, having both the same flat soil, the stones will make the winter road six or eight inches higher, so that there will be a slope to join them.' ft. in! 210 for the causeway. 20 for the path between the causeway and the wall, for the foot people to turn off and walk upon. 2140 the stoned part six inches thick of stone from side to side, and covered three inches thick with furnace cinders, engine ashes, burnt stone, brick, or gravel from the rivers, broke small, then the stone may be broke three or four inches square, then they will be porous, and let the water through, stoned or covered, close or near the top of the causeway, so that foot or horse may turn off without trouble. " i 160 the unstoned part. 40 the walls three feet high, exclusive of the topings. 450 or 15 yards total breadth outside the walls. 1 calculate the summer road will be travelled six months in the year, including moderate frosts. old fashioned plan. 30 feet broad stoned and left uncovered. 18 inches thick stoned at the crown. 15 inches thick stoned at the ribs, or half way between the crown and skirt. 9 inches thick stoned at the skirt, and much expence in throwing up and forming the barrelled floor, ready for the stones, which will be all saved by the flat road, because the ground will be flat and ready made without expence. generally 40 to 45 feet broad outside the walls. compare them and see if half will not be saved. 60 feet broad ever commons by act of parliament, but that is too much and a waste of land. modern times, that sets aside all laws, justice and humanity-daily executions of innocent men-fathers hanged for the crimes of their children-wives punished like criminals of the worst class, for aiding their husbands to escape unmerited death-ladies condemned to ba wishment, and sent at a moment's notice from their homes and families, for the crime of sending food to friends and relatives, dying of hunger in prisons. a narrative of one week of these scenes of blood in madrid, would exceed the limits of a letter. the french revolution was as nothing, compared to what is now passing in spain." the above mentioned miseries have been caused by the holy alliance, and a want of the english constitution in its original purity all over the world; and by the conduct of our councils for want of the same, by neglecting to forbid the holy alliance invading spain, which would have prevented it without going to war; it would have encouraged the spaniards, and they would have done their own work, and been a happy and most powerful nation at this time, independent of the holy alliance, and staunch friends to the liberty, freedom and comfort of the world, and our staunch friends and allies, upon the genuine and strongest principles of gratitude, with the first maratime fortresses in the world. all the above furnish me with that little havenly word hope, and the belief that the present miseries of spain, and the principle object and conduct of the holy alliance to extinguish the liberty and freedom of the world, will unite the good people of this mighty empire, of all religions, with one voice to promote a reformation in parliament without delay. nothing but serious thought and consideration is wanting to create perfect union, to produce a return of the happy days of old, and to see the best constitution in the world in its original state of purity, as an example. and i pray that the almighty may, by inspiration, teach all nations to follow this laudable example of great-britain. i am afraid our councils are leagued, contaminated, infatuated, bewildered, or implicated in the holy alliance; if this be the case, is it not time for the people to unite and reform parliament to prevent such evils in future? which union and reform would cure all our complaints, make us religious and humane, happy, truly great and glorious. the miseries of spain, from the leeds mercury of the 11th of december, 1824. "madrid, nov. 1, 1824.the king of spain is calumniated, i assure you, by those who represent him as incapable of acting on any system of government. his majesty has fully established a system of his own, and acts up to it with vigour and industry--a system of terror the most comprehensive and efficient known in 16 1 on the frailty of man. oh, frail man!wilt thou inquire for the beginning and end of time, and thou canst find mone. from these considerations thou may discover, that thy time upon earth is a moment, and a point thy space. wilt thou consider well and seriously, that con thy good or evil deeds in this transitory life, will depend thy happiness or misery in the everlasting world to come, and how soon thou art to appear before a heavenly tribunal. * (༡* {«¢¥ wilt thou consider and contemplate the wanderful and incomprehensible powers of the sun and moon, and the warning voice. 181 their invariable regularity and uses to thee, and the whole ereation. wilt thou consider the unchangable laws of nature, and that they never vary, which enables thee to make thy calculation with as much certainty, as thou art capable of. hast thou ever considered the nature of the four elements, water, air, earth, and fire, and their indispensible uses to thee, and that thou couldst not live without them; and why the almighty has made thy food necessary to thy existence. hast thou ever considered why thou poor frail mortal was made lord of the creation, and by what power thou wast made so, and why thou art continued so, and why the almighty made such a being as thee, and why thou art not allowed to return to this world after thou art dead. hast thou ever considered that thou hast an important, indispensible, retigious, charitable duty to discharge towards thy creator, society, and thyself, and hast thou discovered that thou hast not discharged all, if any of these great duties, either to thy own satisfaction, or that of thy fellow creatures? hast thou ever considered what thy inferiors do for thee, and what thou wouldst be without them? when thou hast considered well all these, and many other mysteries, and the golden rule, thou wilt discover thy own frailty and insignificance, and much of thy folly and neglect of duty, and that will teach thee to become humane, religious, a friend to the poor, to respect thy inferiors, and to promote the welfare of society, and the safety, liberty, freedom, and happiness of thy country and the world, and to worship the almighty, author of them all, and "to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with thy god?"" then thou wilt become a happy man, and discover that without religion and charity, there is no true happiness in this world, or, in the world to come. and thou wilt also discover, that "to fear god and keep his commandments, is the whole duty of man." hast thou ever considered, when thou hast delayed or mispent thy time, thou canst not call it back, or ever see it again? the full meaning of the inestimable word charity, thou mayest find explained in the most excellent 13th chapter of the first epistle of paul the apostle to the corinthians-hast thou ever considered why the almighty has continued all these great mercies and indulgences to all mankind, from age to age, and how soon thou mayest be deprived of them all at the conclusion of this book, which i have been spared to write in my old age, and for which i am thankful to my creator, (and i have written it in ignorance, truth, sincerity, integrity, and great anxiety for the good of all mankind,) i do pray most sincerely, fervently, and anxiously that the almighty's spirit may accompany and promote what i have said, to the eternal happiness and comfort of the readers and all mankind, in this world and the world to come, through jesus christ our lord. amen. horbury, near wakefield, yorkshire, 1st dec. 1824. richard milnes. ,", + σ 14 • finis 1 7.1 13! dzizalw mit contents. history of the life of richard milnes, the author page. an account of the seams of coal in those islands, supposed to extend through them all and into the sea, to frankland and the isle of man, shewing that the coal is not likely to be exhausted in thousands of years to come morning and evening prayers of the author. advice to parents to teach them how to smooth the path of life to their children, and to keep them out of the path of briers and thorns some merry stories, particularly one about a miller, a horse and a woman, shewing a few of her good qualities, and the fifteen perfections which belong to a horse reasons why the roman catholic religion should be abandoned · • 5 10 13 14 15 page. remarks upon the above-mentioned most excellent document -by the leeds mercury · 39 the marquis of lansdown's speech on the address to the king abstract of lord liverpool's speech on the address lord holland's speech on the same true loyalty is true wisdom in true britains :40 42 · 41 50 · the true whig or true patriot.-whig, tory, and courtier. prologue to mt. cobbett's address to the men of kent extracts from mr. cobbett's address to the men of kent epilogue to mr, cobbett's address to the men of kent, or sir robert wilson and the army, impote . 51 52 · 55 reform, slavery, or revolution.-the british constitution 56 magna charta. a song on liberty hall that noble edifice of british freedom j 57 alfred the great.-form of association agreed to by the · · 18 general meeting of the county of york, held the 28th march, 1780 58 · 23 walter fawkes, esq. letter to the nobility, gentry, clergy, · · 24 and freeholders of the county of york york county meeting, 22d january, 1823, with all the excellent luminous speeches · 59 60 27 a letter from the author to walter fawkes, esq. on the york county meeting.-copy of a letter from sir robert wilson to the author · 77 turnpike and by-roads making, a new plan, by which half the expence may be saved at first making, and also half in repairs after made, and to please all sorts of travellers better than any road they ever saw reasons why weighing machines should be abolished reasons why the turnpike tolls should not be let, but kept in the hands of the trustees agriculture-a letter from the author to the lords of the soil and their tenants, shewing them the way to the prosperity or ruin of their estates and farms custom of this country between off going and on-coming tenants to farms-advice to farmers how to get their corn in bad harvests tenants not being allowed to sell hay or straw -stubbing hedges and adding field to field proved improper in this part of the country,-early sowing gives the best hope. of a good crop, and early reaping how to make hay in a wet hay time,-springs produced in several places by boring for coal.-local management of spring woods, much more important to the interest, profit and pleasure of gentlemen owners of wood lands, than that which is practiced in any other part of this kingdom · 28 29 30 a song, hearts of oak, or our maratime powers.-a letter from the author to the nobility, gentry, clergy, and freeholders of the united kingdom of great britain and ireland, the 26th february, 1818 a ditto from ditto to ditto, november, 1820 the king's speech, 3d february, 1824 the message of the president of the united states of america to congress, 2d december, 1823 the military life and honors of the sovereigns of europe, bestowed upon sir robert wilson sir robert wilson in spain · · 78 · 80 · 81 . 100 dismissal of sir robert wilson, and the letters, speeches, &c. which followed upon that lamentable subject lord john russell's and other speeches on the evacuation of spain abstract from lord john russell's speech in the house of commons on parliamentary reform, on thursday, 25th april, 1822 abstract of a speech made at a public dinner at nottingham, given in honor of their representatives in parliament, on wednesday, september 4th, 1823.-norfolk fox dinner, 1822 · · a meeting of the constitutional society, 2d august, 1822. earl grosvenor, on reform 115 · 119 · 31 33 · · 125 35 · 36 copy of a letter from a friend to r. milnes, 12th april, 182!.-queries to mr. ricardo.—earl fitzwilliam, sir george saville and mr, pitt · 126 contents. the influence of the crown, as described by mr. pitt and by the leeds intelligencer.-quotations from blackstone.-barrack system the duke of sussex's visit to york the spy system · page. 128 · 129 131 : 132 benevolence. history and death of mrs. garrick how do you like this country, and the ladies of halifax.she should and she should not.-eulogium on woman song on the goodness of women.-acrostic on miss hill. cecilia. wrote in a book on a lady changing her name. origin of a lady being called a toast.-breach of promise of marriage • · 135 138 136 margaret's ghost.-a sovereign remedy for a bad husband 137 the infallible way to happiness in the married state.-the importance of the knowledge of house-keeping and a kitchen education mr. arbuthnot's (private) letter-joint post-master general 139 abstract from the rev. irwin's sermon, who is minister of the caledonial chapel, in hatton-garden-and the neglect of duty in the clergy and the new churches. 141 abstract of a dissenter's address.-new churches copy of a letter from r. milnes to j. scarlett, esq. m p. on his introducing a bill into parliament to mend the poor laws appendix to the same the situation of a farming labourer in 1822 · labourer's wages, from the leeds patriot, 7th aug. 1824. distress of the country, by mr. brougham · 144 · 145 146 · 149 justly due to his late majesty king george the 3d, and his present majesty king george the 4th of greatbritain.-copy of a letter from sir henry harper, to the rev. joshua eyton, his chaplain · a chapter from the book of kings.progress of american manufactures.-increase of the american navy page. 159 260 a very important appendix to my economical plan of road making.-daring robbery and outrage at newton bar 161 caution to toll collectors · 162 • 163 · 164 . 165 cruelty to dumb animals.-new locks at goole, 1822 a practical scheme for reducing the national debt national debt.-the british empire. british peerage dreadful fire at canton-lord stowell, late sir john scott. sir william jones and thomas day, esq.-law.-humble origin of distinguished characters.-inventory of property belonging to the inquisition 166 slander.-earl fitzwilliam.-reduction of rents in ireland 167 the lines of a good judge.-the greatness of spain two centuries ago. commemoration dinner of the revolution of spain, naples and portugal ireland, from the leeds mercury.-ireland, 8th mar, 1823 170 pope, on death.duelling.-you ask me to describe what i mean by solid comforts 168 there are three of the ugliest, blackest, most frightful, outlandish wild beasts of all colours got amongst us, tyranny, oppression, poverty, the spy system, the cause of all revolutions · 17! 172 · 173 the leeds mercury 12th june, 1824 address of the religious society of friends, called quakers, · . 150 ireland, on the tithe system · 153 · 154 155 · 156 157 to his majesty.-pope innocent, to john king of england, in 1207 · 175 · 176 · 177 abstract of the sermon preached by his grace the archbishop of york at the coronation of king george 4th a panegyric on the constitution of england, in its original. state of purity reformation of parliament.-appendix to road making 179 old fashioned plan of road-making.-miseries of spain.on the frailty of man 180 the leeds mercury 26th june, 1821 rent laws · · relief wanted to cottagers and farmers.-reasons for lowering the price of bread, &cproofs that our heavy taxation and high rents keep the middling and lower orders of the people in poverty,on the export, and import of wool a song on wool our great treasure, and sheep shearing.a panegyric justly due to the nobility, and all the good and faithful people of the british empire.-a panegyric w 2 1 -1 ་་་ princeton university library 32101 072865866 this book is due p.u.l. form a (images generously made available by the iternet archive.) a hermit of carmel and other poems by george santayana new york charles scribner's sons 1901 contents a hermit of carmel the knight's return. a sequel to a hermit of carmel elegiac and lyric poems premonition solipsism sybaris avila king's college chapel on an unfinished statue midnight in grantchester meadows futility before a statue of achilles odi et amo cathedrals by the sea mont brevent the rustic at the play resurrection translations from michael angelo from alfred de musset: _souvenir_ from théophile gautier: l'_art_ convivial and occasional verses prosit neujahr fair harvard college drinking song six wise fools athletic ode the bottles and the wine the poetic medium young sammy's first wild oats spain in america youth's immortality a hermit of carmel scene.--_a ravine amid the slopes of mount carmel. on one side a hermitage, on the other a rustic cross. the sun is about to set in the sea, which fills the background_. hermit. thou who wast tempted in the wilderness, guard me this night, for there are snares in sleep that baffle watching. o poisoned, bitter life of doubt and longing! were death possible, who would not choose it? but that dim estate might plunge my witless ghost in grosser matter and in still closer meshes choke my life. yet thus to live is grievous agony, when sleep and thirst, hunger and weariness, and the sharp goads of thought-awakened lust torture the flesh, and inward doubt of all embitters with its lurking mockery virtue's sad victories. this wilderness whither i fly from the approach of men keeps not the devil out. the treacherous glens are full of imps, and ghosts in moonlit vesture startle the watches of the lidless night. the giant forest, in my youth so fair, is now a den of demons; the hoarse sea is foul with monsters hungry for my soul; the dark and pregnant soil, once innocent mother of flowers, reeks with venomous worms, and sore temptation is in all the world. but hist! a sound, as if of clanking hoofs. saint anthony protect me from the fiend, whether he come in guise of horned beast or of pernicious man! if i must die be it upon this hallowed ground, o lord! [_hides in the hut._ _enter a young_ knight. knight [_reining in his horse_]. rest, albus, rest.--doth the sun sink in glory because he sinks to rise?- breathe here a space; here bends the promontory, there acra's haven lies. those specks are galleys waiting for the gale to make for christian shores. to-morrow they will fly with bellying sail and plash of swinging oars, bearing us both to where the freeman tills the plot where he was born, and belfry answers belfry from the hills above the fields of corn. thence one less sea to traverse ere we come where all our hopes abide, one truant journey less to end in home, thy mistress, and my bride. [_he dismounts._ good albus, 't is enough for one day's riding. here shall our bivouac be. surely by that green sward some brook is hiding to welcome thee and me. yes, hark! its laugh betrays it. graze thou there, nor fear the camp's alarms. [_lets the horse go and turns_, _perceiving the cross on the hillside._ see where a cross, inviting me to prayer, outspreads its sacred arms. o first of many that mine eyes shall see on altar, tomb, and tower, art thou the last of crosses come to me before my guerdon's hour? or first or last, and by whatever hands here planted in the wild, hail to thee, cross, that blessest in far lands thy champion and thy child. [_goes up to the cross and kneels before it. the angel of the lord appeared to mary and she conceived of the holy ghost._ [_continues silently._ hermit [_from within]._ all's quiet. god hath made the danger pass. [_comes out._ nay, hold! a horse without a rider here? perchance a devil, come, if i should mount him, to gallop with me into yawning hell. yet he looks gentle, munching the young grass, the tempting bridle looped about his neck. i will go catch him. when the traders pass- and they pass after christmas--i will barter the beast for a good cloak. the winter's blasts are on us. knight. _behold the handmaid of the lord._ _be't done to me according to thy word_- [_confutes silently_. hermit. a voice! a christian voice! some winged angel floats through the ether, magnifying god. merciful heaven! there, ay, there he kneels before the cross i planted. 't is the cross that to earth brings down heaven. yes, saint michael, for he is clad in arms, and his casque fringed with the bright nimbus of his golden hair. yet he seems wingless; if he stirs a limb the heavy armour clangs. no angel, surely; rather saint george, with steed and magic lance returned to fight against the infidel. knight. _and the word was made flesh and dwelt among us. [continues silently._ hermit. listen! they speak my native tongue in heaven. those are the words my sainted mother spake- nightly she crooned them, teaching palmerin his orisons. [_the_ knight _rises._ come, shall i challenge him? no: i am foul. i will hide crouching here and spy him as he goes. knight. what stirreth there? [_pushes a branch aside._ hermit [_falling on his knees]._ have mercy, glorious saint! a sinful man lives in this hovel; no man's enemy except his own. sir, spare an anchorite. knight. fear nothing, holy man. i am a christian although no saint, but sinful more than thou who in the desert livest near to god. my sword is stained with blood, my heart is rash, and if my youth is free from foul dishonour 't is god's good mercies hedge my wayward days and marvellously guide me through the world. but thou art surely wise. in solitude the mind of the most high possesseth men, and they whom sorrow chaseth from the world learn in their grief the purposes of heaven. god's hand appears in this, that here i find thee to shrive me, father. many months i roam through heathen wilds in sorry need of shrift. who knows if in some luckless fray to-morrow i bite the dust, or in that golden sea perish unknelled and far from christendom? a soldier's soul should be like his bright blade ready to unsheathe. hermit. o music of high thoughts! o harmony of long-forgotten words! fair visitation! in her youth the soul, gathering, the heavy heritage of adam, looks with strange horror on her own abyss and on the stars, and her increasing knowledge ever increaseth sorrow; yet with years, touching the depths and wholly mortified, she sees her desert bloom with mystic flowers and sweeter smiles of god. o mortal bosom both in foreboding and in hope beguiled! not where i fancied in my night of trouble dawns comfort on mine eyes, but wondrously. whence earnest thou? tell me what princely house and fruitful country bred and nurtured thee. knight. 't is not a fruitful land. on heathered hills my father fed his flocks. we gazed not down on vineyard slopes and waters blue as these but there a sea of swaying tree-tops spread boundless beneath us, without path or tower, save where beside the river's bend the monks had built their cells and cleared the wood away. we called it milking time when we could hear the distant music of their matin chimes. hermit. be your monks rich? knight. their fields are ploughed and brown but the poor upland shepherd has no corn; his flock must feed him with its milk and flesh, unless he snare a partridge in the wood as i did oft, or standing in the brook where the green water eddies in the pool enmesh the foolish fishes. hermit. never shepherd could bear these arms or show this courtesy. where wast thou bred, if thou wast born a hind, that thou art gentle? who hath knighted thee? knight. the baron of the marches is my liege; to him i owe my nurture and my sword, and the sweet hope that leads me. hermit. ah, the faith? knight. nay, that my mother gave me with her prayers, saintliest of women. hermit. thy mother and my own were then alike. hast thou another hope sweeter than faith to thank thy master for? knight. he hath a daughter for whose hand i serve, having her love; and on the happy night when i kept vigil o'er the virgin arms in which i should be knighted at the dawn he promised me her hand, if i proved worthy in five years' service. at the morrow's mass when we had both partaken of the lord, i knelt before him, and while all his vassals stood in a ring about us, up he rose and with his flat sword struck my shoulder thus, speaking these words, now graven on my heart: "arise, sir knight, to battle with the world for god and honour. if in youth thou fall, may thy bright soul take instant wing to heaven, but if thou blazon on this argent shield valorous deeds, and come in safety back, thy worth shall stand in lieu of ancient blood, for valour was the first nobility, and with the blessing of a hapless man whom three brave sons, reversing nature's sentence, condemned to mourn them, i will then deliver my daughter to thy hands. she and her honour, my lands, my castle, and my name be thine." love is the hope, sweeter than faith in heaven, for which i toil in arms. enough of that. methinks thou art a priest, and ere i leave thee i fain would make confession of what sins lie on my soul. hermit. god knoweth what they are, and hath, methinks, forgiven them already, for by the candour of thy looks i know thou livest in his grace. but tell them o'er, for by the speaking of a word the heart is lightened of its burden: and the lord commissioned us to listen in his name to all men's woes, and counsel and forgive. therefore say on. knight. alas, where all is frail i know not with what sorrow to begin. if i could keep the thought of god alive i might live better; but my wit is loose and wanders into silly dreams awake, all to no purpose. everything that stirs sets me athinking of its life and ways and i forget my own. if a frog jump, or busy squirrel run across my path, or three sad crows fly cawing through the wood, or if i spy a fox's trail, or print of deer's foot in the mould--off go my thoughts and i am many leagues in fairy land before i shake away the lethargy and say to my weak soul, thou art a knight, what hast thou done to-day? hermit. be these thy sins? knight. nay, not the chief. for in all exercise, or when in any test or feat of arms i meet another, not the worthy cause, the thought of god, my liege, or beauteous mistress strengthens my arm, but the mere rage and pride of the encounter sweeps my soul along, and win i must, whatever goal it be, when i am once engaged. that's in the blood. so were our heathen fathers wont to fight merciless battles. but glory is the lord's who metes with measure. still i stumble there. and envy, too, i often sin in that, for from my childhood up i never brooked a swifter runner, or a quicker eye to hit the mark, and what another does better than i, that still i strive to do till he be worsted. else i cannot sleep. hermit. thou knowest, child, that victory is god's to give and to deny. he gives it thee: 't is proof of thy deserving. use it well, which if thou do, to crave the victory in thee, a soldier, is no grievous sin. but hast thou not more special sins than these, no wrong, no murder? knight. murder have i none, if murder be to kill a man by stealth or in a private quarrel, but in war i oft have slain my man. i wear a sword though nature gave me not a butcher's hand that loves to use it.--oh, 't is marvellous how men will slaughter for the sake of blood, and christians too. before i crossed the sea, the margrave fought a battle in the north against the heathen. i then followed him, and when the fight was over and the foe, routed, had fled into a deep morass black 'neath the splendours of a fiery sky, the bugle called us back: and back i rode, my shield slung on the angelus, such peace there was beneath the twilight heavens, when a groan that seemed the ending of a soul in pain made me look down; there lay a heathen knight, and on his wounded breast a christian crouched, stabbing him still; i snatched the villain's sword, but just in time, and seized him by the throat amazed, and loud with oaths; "thou slave," quoth i, "why wilt thou send a valiant soul to hell, that might be saved for heaven? the man is mine. take thou his armour, if some happy chance have made thee victor. but outrage not the cause which thou wouldst well defend." we stripped the man, whose gaping wounds were deep and hard to staunch with the few strips remaining of my tunic torn in the fight; and as he could not sit, we needs must lift and bear him in our arms back to the camp. he was a knight indeed, and when, his fever passing, i explained our holy faith--(our chaplains spoke not well his northern tongue)--he listened open-eyed as a child might, and when i stopped and asked, "dost thou believe?" he gazed and said: "i do. as thou believest, so in life and death will i believe."--so humble was his soul and open to the sudden grace of heaven. yet him my christian ruffian would have slain to see the red blood ooze. 't is pitiful! and yet i do him wrong. the fellow came the morning after, shy, with heavy looks, and said he begged to bring the armour back. it was not his, he had not felled the knight but found him on the ground; and when i bade him retain the proffered sword, to use it better, he sobbed aloud, and bathed my hands in tears, so hearty was his grief.--but i confess another's sins, good father, and forget my own, which i should tell of. hermit. trouble not to tell them over, for i know them now. they are the same which seen in other men the world calls virtues. but one vice there is which noblest natures in their youth are prone to. hast thou offended against chastity? knight. ah, father, i am guilty too in that, if whosoever looketh on a woman unholily, already hath committed adultery in his heart. 't is in my thoughts, perhaps, that i have sinned; but i am young, and have from childhood loved one noble maid. all other faces are but mirrors to me of what she is in truth. when others smile and seem to say that haply they could love me, my heart yearns to them, yet its yearning goes like incense past a picture, to her spirit. they are memorials of her i review to make me constant. nay, but that's not all. a heavy season comes,--i know not whether at waxing or at waning of the moon,- when but the babble of a girlish voice heard from a window, or a hand stretched forth, or a chance motion, stops the beating heart here in my breast, and melts my very soul, and i stand there bewitched, my brain benumbed, and nothing in me but the fell desire to do i know not what.--'t is dreams, dreams, dreams, and they are evil, treacherous, and base when they come so. one day on every side they girt me round. i cried to them "for shame!" they would not go nor quit tormenting me till i put spurs into my steed, and rode, rode with clenched teeth, hacking all branches off within my axe's compass. when i stopped my soul was free: "we have outridden them, albus," i cried, "the demons of that place of foul enchantment! here's the blue again smiling upon us, god, and all his saints." father, methinks the agony of death may happen so. a stifling darkness comes upon the feeble soul, and doubtfully she keeps her strength alive on far-off hopes in that great stress of anguish. but it passes and slowly we awake in paradise. hermit. in paradise, my son, when thou awakest if i still suffer in the lake of fire make me some prayerful alms, who in the name of god, the father, son, and holy ghost absolve thee now. knight. and for my penance, father, what lay you on? hermit. three _aves_ for three days say for the soul of one unlike thyself though of thy country. robbers bore him thence into their kingdoms. hast thou never heard tell of the hordes that ravaged christendom ere thou wast born, belike. knight. nay, i remember. 't was then my mother brought me from the hills to dwell beside the castle, for the huns had slain my father and my elder brother and driven the sheep away. hermit. the huns? the huns? knight. ay, when they ravaged all the land about upon their western march. hermit. they slew thy brother? thou sawest his body? knight. nay, we saw it not. we fled, and many fearful weeks were past ere we returned to search. hermit. the lord is great. thy brother's name was- knight. damian. hermit. god of mercies, what shall become of us! knight. thy gaze is fixed. what ails thee? rest thee there. hermit. i cannot speak. i faint. since dawn i have not tasted food. a draught! a morsel! ah, my end is near. knight. i have a panier by my saddle-bow with food.--albus has wandered down the glade.- i shall be here anon. [_exit._ hermit. what bodes this portent? my practised soul well knows the things of earth, and there is none like this. impossible. this is some essence metaphysical, and not the thing it seems. so much is sure; but whether fiend or minister of grace how shall i know? is he a subtle demon and wins my ear? i am the devil's pawn. is he an angel and i put him by? then i am damned for that. all other sins shall be forgiven, save such blasphemy against the holy ghost. and being dead might not my brother's spirit come from heaven? and though i be unworthy in my sins of saintly visitation, i believe this vision is from god. 't is beautiful and clothed in christian speech and charity. was not mount carmel, lord, thy haunt of old where men went up to meet thee? show thy face. the apostles at emmaus knew the lord when he broke bread. blind heart, an angel comes to sup with thee to-night. misknow him not. the ravens of elijah, who were black, came from the lord, and raphael himself who led the lost tobias by the hand was black beside this vision's loveliness. yea, by its glory pale the three bright strangers that from the desert came to abraham's tent in figure of the blessed trinity.- what am i raving? am i abraham, tobias, or elijah, that the gods should visit me? did not the artful devil come to saint anthony in beauteous form? when first this ghost approached i dreaded him,- a certain sign. yet by his subtle wiles, flattering my earthly hopes, he vanquished me and quieted my doubts--as if beelzebub could not feign piety to murder souls! what, my young brother, whom i counted dead, found in this shape, a knight, a paladin, a vision such as minstrels sing about? palpable lie, abominable snare the demon mocks me with! let me but cry, "i am thy brother, i am damian," let me but clasp his knees and with a flood of joyful penitential childish tears water his feet, and then look up again to drink the grace of his benignant eyes and by his kiss be healed in soul and body, and i shall see the grinning demon's self and feel that icy manacle, his claw, clasping my wrist for ever. "thou art damned, damned," shrieks the fiend, "damned in believing lies, damned in renouncing for a dreamful joy thy solitude and penance. thou art damned." yes, 't is a hellish plot confronts me here. a knight, my brother, come to comfort me! 't is madness and wild dreams.--again he comes. his gesture says, here's food. pitiful heaven, assist me now. let me not now be lost. suffer my vigils and perpetual fasts to strengthen my resolve. to be so happy were rash, and ah, how vain! to drown their sorrow fools barter heaven for a drunkard's joy. [_re-enter_ knight. knight. drink this. 't is water from the virgin springs of carmel, pure and cold. stains of the world that leave the heavens clean leave earth's own heart immaculate. 't is but her outer garment that man and roving beast avail to smear. the curse of adam stops at living things and nature sleeps untainted. there is healing in such a fountain draught. taste of this bread. acorns i also bring and well-dried figs. take freely: there is plenteous store for both. for often as i ride a village through or tighten as i start from hostelries my horse's girth, the hospitable dame or her young daughter brings me something forth from the rich larder, now a loaf or fowl and now a goat-skin full of seasoned wine. god prompts their kindly hearts and makes them bounteous lest my strength fail me ere my journey's end, who knows how distant yet.--come, break thy fast. remember, father, this is christmas eve when angels, joining in the songs of earth, make mortals joyful, knowing their painful flesh allied to deity. hermit. i crave no food. knight. nay, nay, thy faintness called for it but now. hermit. not hunger gave that cry but wonderment. knight. at my poor brother's name? hermit. thy brother lives. knight. where? dost thou know him? in this holy land? hermit. poor damian of the marches! verily his sins are scarlet. pray for him, fair knight, but seek not to discover his abode. if thou should st find him he would die of shame for bringing shame upon thee. knight. hast thou seen him or is it slander of a gossip's mouth that now usurps thy tongue? if he be fallen he hath the greater need of charity and some late succour. hermit. through long wanderings we never once were parted. in his youth i deemed him honest, loved him as myself, nor doubted he should richly thrive and prosper amongst the sons of men. but day by day the hand of opportunity unmasked the sleeping guilt within. envy and greed, pitiless malice, pride, and wantonness started like lion's cubs that scent their prey and roared increasingly. time drew aside veil after veil that cloaked his villainy, till looking on his stark and naked soul i stood aghast and trembled. knight. god, that made us, engraved his sacred image in our hearts deeper than cruel eyes may boast to pierce. has not my brother too a priceless soul for which christ died? did god not ransom it? yes, i will find him, lift him to my breast and say, "forget the past. thy home is here." hermit. beware! didst thou embrace him he would die, and he hath grievous penance yet to do ere he be ripe for heaven. in purgatory the pains are doubly sharp and manifold with which our guilt is cleansed. forbear to search. knight. this ministration is a task that heaven now lays upon me. hinder not his weal. what better battle could approve my courage than in a brother's soul to fight despair? if i could bring that brother back to life long dead to me, and dead, it seems, to god, were't not a deed of christian chivalry to win my lady by? father, i pray thee, where is my brother now? hermit. a mystery enshrouds his penance. vain to question more. a secret vow on which salvation hangs lies between him and all men. knight. marvellous! where hath he roamed, what nameless sin committed that i may not embrace him? hermit. listen, knight, for i may tell thee that; and when thou knowest the sins he shrives and what his penance is, assist him with thy charitable prayers to bear his cross, but lift it not away, for with it goes his hope of paradise. knight. there is indeed some mystery in this. the pain of it doth weigh upon thy soul even in the telling. hermit. did his own pale lips read from the branded tablets of his heart the record of his sorrows, they could never more truly speak than i, for all his woes i knew, and inly felt them as my own. would that some ruffian knife had gashed his throat on that foul day of slaughter, when thy mother bore thee afar to safety. ah, how near salvation hung that day above his head! but wondrously, as isaac once was spared, some voice he heard not stayed the murderous hand, then dealing death abroad; and from that mercy the dreadful brood of all his torments sprang. they bound his wrists with painful twisted thongs and drove him with the flocks and captive women into their camp, across the smouldering heaps of burning rubbish and through sulphurous fumes. that night he found him tied behind a cart- the crawling palace of that savage chief whose greed had saved him. shivering he stood, for they had stripped him, through the starlight hours, and found no piteous orb less bright above him for looking on his grief. alas, his soul entered that night into the maze of hell. for gazing on those stars and on the corpses of all he loved and knew, mangled and bare, upbraiding heaven with their lidless eyes, and heaven's eyes still smiling back at them, he said to his cold heart, "there is no god." and when the rosy dawn with jocund seeming gilded the valley as if naught had chanced, he, like the morning, banished grief and love, and in his vain and cruel heart repeating "there is no god," arose to greet the sun. they took him to a village by a stream, and in the market sold him to a jew, a long-robed man, who stroked thy brother's hair- 't was flaxen then and silken as thy own- and chuckled as he hurried him away into a galley, by the margin moored. they voyaged long, until they reached a vast and splendid city. egypt's sunken shore stretches behind it, and before its walls pharos, by day a pillar and by night a flaming beacon, greets the mariner. 't is satan's capital. if holy men have dwelt within it, teaching all the church, that was of old. now saracens and jews possess it wholly. there no christian thrives, but every monstrous and lascivious crime findeth a palace or a den to hide it. there did thy brother waste his youth, a slave, and no unwilling service did he render to every base command. his shepherd's skin, ruddy with mountain suns, they smoothed with unguents, and bleached in pillared courts; they shaved his hair, forbade him labour, save to hold a torch while his young masters read, or at the banquet to mix the lucent sherbets with the snows of sinai's deepest gorge, or in the censer to drop large incense-grains. he learned to sing what songs of wine their ribald poets penned, and all the witch of lesbos raved of love. the lute and timbrel in his skilful hands they loved to place; oft in their languid souls his wild chant roused some savage memory and their hearts leapt like leopards in the night that prowl through broad sahara. his delight was henceforth the choice morsel, the fat fee, the subtle theft. he brought the gossip home from the loud market, lest his lord should yawn the morning long beneath the barber's hands, nor praise his wit and to the tittering group repeat his story. in the brothel streets he ran sly errands, nor escaped in fear if as he passed some wife of potiphar plucked at his tunic. his best art it was to know the cunning mixture of good wines and poisons too, if some adulterous slave or long-lived uncle or importunate brother needed a poison.--close about his soul this bitter flood of luxury crept up until it choked him. he forgot the past and blushed to be a christian. their vain prayers he learned to mutter, aayers he learned to mutter, and was circumcised. thrice in the day, and dawn and noon and eve, he washed his feet and hands, a foolish rite that left the soul still foul. twice seven devils lodged in his body and tormented him, and lust pursued him when all ways of lust were stale and sickened. but there came an end. for by the flesh as he had chiefly sinned, so in the flesh he had his punishment. ulcers and boils, to make another job, thickened upon him, and his beauty gone, they drove him like a pest from all their gates among the lepers. then he called on god. then he remembered all he once had heard but understood not touching calvary; and rising up, all naked as he was, he plucked the stout stem of a bramble-bush to be his palmer's staff, and with a rag that once had been the blanket of a mule girded his loins, and stalked into the wild. knight. and whither, father, whither did he go? hermit. mount sinai first received him, on whose crests the lord in the beginning reared his throne, and from whose spurs and watered crevices the children of saint anthony for ever pour praise and supplication. there he dwelt, recalling to his troubled memory the precepts of the faith; but from those haunts he journeyed soon to deeper solitudes. knight. then he repented and is surely saved? hermit. god grant it, son, god grant it for thy sake. 't is not a day can change the heart of man, though grace doth much. the ancient demons lurk still in their dark recesses, and at night, or in the idle moments when the soul breathes 'mid her travail, suddenly assail. in the vast wilderness the starving eye spies many shapes that feed its lust. to me the buzz of bees, the lizard's sunny sleep, the snake's lithe coils are full of languishment. oh, how the base blood then assaults the heart crying, "fool, fool, what were the life of heaven unless in heaven too the sun were warm and the blood rose and all the passions flared, even as in worms compact of earth and fire that lecherously writhe? their goads and stings are in thy flesh, why not their ravishment?" they are strange shapes the devil sometimes takes. there was a vine that crept along this wall, ancient and knotted; far its branches spread and with their leafy greenness made a bower over my cell. the juicy clusters hung not far above me, and the little birds chirped in the sun-flecked tangle all day long, hopping from twig to twig and carolling. i sat and listened, and methought they said: "bad hairy man, thou only in this world repinest, hater of thyself and us, thou art all nature's single enemy." and with a doubt that cleft my heart in twain i sat and pondered what they sang to me. then i looked up into the sunlit maze of that old vine, i breathed its subtle scent, i watched its spotted shadows shift and change with gusty murmurous tremblings of its leaves and eager tendrils, curling through the air, until it seemed as if the thing had life and was a devil stooping over me with the obsession of his purring breath wooing me to perdition. but i laughed, for i had dealt with imps of hell before. i searched the stubble till i found two flints, sharp and with something like a cross upon them, and straight about the vine's outspreading roots began to dig. a week, methinks, i dug with secret joy, well knowing that in vain the demon thought to ripen all his grapes. his filthy roots, now dangling in the air, dried in the sun. in august fell the leaves, and the dead branches with the autumn's flaw rotted and broke; now, see, they feed my fire. and when the spring returns no silly birds will fret me with their singing. god be praise that i could balk that devil: long he mocked my lonely penance with his evil eye. but others come anon; and what i suffer 't is very like thy brother suffers too. knight. i cannot think so, father. thou art weak and long hast laid the hopes of youth aside. thou canst not love. my brother still is young- hermit. alas, if grief had multiplied his years! knight. he yet can love, and any natural voice of wood or mountain, or perchance my own, might wake in him another better life of peace and happy hopes. we love the forest, we who were nurtured in its magic depths. oft has it seemed as if god spoke to us in the low voices of the prayerful boughs that whisper nighest heaven. hermit. this false world is naught, my son, but what we make of it. knight. then i must think my brother loves the woods and hears god's message in their murmuring. had he dwelt here, a hermit like thyself, he would have suffered that old vine to grow and those blithe birds to sing. 't is positive, else other blood than mine must fill his veins. oh, i will find him yet.--i leave thee, father. thou hast with heavy tidings and great hope burdened my soul. now i must journey on. i pray, thy blessing. hermit. kneel, thou happy stranger, kneel, for a vision comes into my heart and i must prophesy. thus saith the lord: "thou shalt not know thy brother upon earth; my will forbids. but thou shalt pass him by, and as saint peter's shadow healed a man, the passing of thee, by my grace and mercy, shall save thy brother's soul." this comfort take and go thy ways. knight. the will of god be done. if not on earth, we yet may meet in heaven. hermit. god grant it. knight. may god keep thee. hermit. fare thee well. knight [_sings as he goes_]. _the star stood still o'er bethlehem_ _that showed the wise the way_, _and where the shepherds sleeping lay_ _the angels sang to them:_ _glory be to god on high_ _and peace on earth to men._ hermit. lord of mount carmel, hearken to my prayer. god of the hills, accept my sacrifice. the knight's return a sequel to a hermit of carmel scene.--_a wooded lawn before the gate of a castle. in an arbour_ lady flerida _and_ nurse _at their handiwork._ nurse. the dews will soon be falling, flerida. come in, sweet lady. flerida. hush! 't is early yet. nurse. 't is time, methinks, to say the rosary. flerida. see the sun hanging o'er the darkened hills bright as the host above the multitude of bending worshippers! tell thy beads here, the congregation of these rustling leaves will answer all thy _aves_ patiently. nurse. i 've dropped a stitch. i cannot see to work 'neath trellises. these gentlefolk are mad. the mistress of a castle sits without, like a poor homeless beggar! flerida. nay, go in and burn thy rush-light while the sun is shining, or, by the casement squinting, knit thy hose while in these gilded clouds the seraphim are singing glory. go, i follow thee. nurse [_getting up to go_]. alack, this rheum. young bones will brave the cold till the twitch comes.--trust me, 't is hazardous, sweet child, to tarry here beyond the moat alone, when evening falls. once at thy age my mother sent me on a night like this to good old prior bennet, at saint giles. he was her uncle and a saintly man- how well do i remember his grey beard!- she went to him for shrift, and on that day she had a fainting turn: she had them oft till in the last, poor sainted soul, she died. i needs must run and fetch him, for to die unreconciled was all my mother feared, and but for that, she had so hard a life she would have changed it any day for heaven, and on the way ('t was scarce a rood from home) an idle foul young lout that sauntered by griped at my frock--i tremble at it still- thank god, the virgin willed that at the trice friar peter (he was porter all that month) opened the gate to let two pilgrims out, bound, as they told us, for jerusalem. else heaven knows what had become of me, or whether i had ever had the face to cheat my husband, as most wenches do, without confessing aught: for i am honest if ever woman was. flerida. go in, go in. nurse. seest thou not i go? can i make haste with these poor aching joints? thou think'st thee safe? remember ulric in his dungeon plans vengeance upon you, and his friends abroad hatch plans for his deliverance. thou a maid, an orphan, friendless, with these ill-paid men guarding thy walls, what dost thou fading here? who knows but he is dead, thy pretty knight? his time is up. were he alive and true he had spurred home, hearing thy father's death, to claim thee and make good his heritage. fie on this fondness, girl! it had been wiser to yield to ulric. was it not his place to guard thee? led he not thy father's men? ah, better be his wife, rich, safe, and loved, than wait for ever among enemies for what will never come. flerida. poor soul, go in. the five years are not passed, and if they were and i had ocular proof that he was dead, ulric should not be master in these walls. but i should open arches in the tower for bells to swing in, and the grass should grow upon the buried hinges of the draw. veiled we should walk within the garden-close, and in the dimmed hall chant our psalmodies with the frail voice of nuns. so get thee gone, and summon better counsel to thy heart than quavers on thy lips. go light thy taper, and pray for the safe-coming of thy liege. nurse. i go. but thou, sweet lady, linger not. the victuals will grow cold, as many a night they have, since summer makes the twilight long and thou com'st late to supper.--ah, poor bones! [_exit._ flerida. day wanes: full summer's hanging in the air. oh, tarry not, my own. see! the first withered leaf is fallen there and i am here alone. hath not my sorrow magic o'er thy breast? hath not my weary plight the wings of love to fly into thy nest and reach thee in the night? come to me, palmerin. thy trial's o'er, thy knightly vow fulfilled. come before winter chokes the ways, before my inmost soul is chilled. where dost thou wander? from what lonely moor dost thou salute this sun? forget'st thou in gay courts what i endure? lov'st thou some happier one? weak woman! can my doubting heart not wait while his true heart can fight? why should i falter while he fronts his fate, or mourn while he doth right? keep him, great world, till the white shield he bore be blazoned rich in pride. fear not to echo, deserts, he's no more, if he have nobly died. _re-enter_ nurse; _later_ hugh, _a page._ nurse. run hither quickly, mistress. hasten in and bid them raise the bridge. some horsemen climb the western hill. make haste, or all is lost. young hugh espied them from the northern tower, and gave us warning. flerida. heaven hears my prayer. nurse. madness. come in. i prithee hasten, hugh. she 'll take thy word, though she mistrusts my oath who never lied to her in all these years that i have served her, and her mother, too, long before she was thought of. speak, boy, speak. assure thy mistress that a host arrives. hugh. a single knight, my lady, clad in arms. flerida. young, with fair locks? hugh. he had his helmet on. flerida. saw'st thou his shield? hugh. it bore a rich device. but what i know not. flerida. came he mounted well? hugh. right well, on a white steed. but at the turn dismounted, and now leadsod, 't is he! i know him by that sign. he always did so. [_a bugle is heard in the distance._ flerida. god be my strength! answer the bugle, hugh. thy master's call. it is sir palmerin. again, again.--summon the men-at-arms and fetch my father's sword, his helm and shield, that, with the great keys, i deliver them to him whose right they are. [_exit_ hugh. the day is come, merciful god, the day is come at last. nurse. runnest thou not to meet him? flyest thou not? oh, if i could, i'd rush to kiss his hands full half-way down the steep. alas! these bones. flerida. i, who have waited for him five long years, may well be patient now. here let him find me where last we parted, at the castle gate. _re-enter_ hugh, _men-at-arms, and attendant, bearing some pieces of armour._ nurse. oh, i must weep for joy! see, where he comes, not so much changed but i should know him still among a thousand. such a pretty child as the knight was, and such a roguish boy! can this be palmerin? who could have fancied that he should ever be this stalwart man? _enter_ sir palmerin, _who, seeing the lady_ flerida, _who remains motionless, goes to kneel before her._ palmerin. lady, hast thou forgotten palmerin? flerida. were memory dead, that voice would waken it. palmerin. what mean these weeds, these arms? flerida. that thou, my liege, art master in this castle. palmerin. ah, thy father- how long have we been orphaned, flerida? flerida. ten moons have shed their light upon his grave. palmerin. oh, more than father- flerida. and thou more than son wast ever to him. he remembered thee with his last breath, and bade me, when thou earnest, render his arms, his vassals, and his towers into thy hand. my lord, receive the keys. [_kneels_. palmerin [_raising her_]. how gladly, if these keys unlock thy heart, dear lady. for my prize is not these walls, nor these stout men and honourable arms. 't was not for them i served the emperor in many a battle waged in heathen lands. 't was in the hope of what no strength of arm nor kingly favour, without grace of thine, could win for any man. if thou canst love me, i take all else to do thee homage with; but if thy heart, in my long absence won by some more worthy suitor, would withdraw, keep the rest too, for to be wretched in i have this whole vast world for heritage. flerida. my hand and heart my father plighted thee upon the morning when he dubbed thee knight. both shall be true. if other ground were lacking, my father's choice were ground enough for love. palmerin. nay, let not duty and thy father's will force thee to wed me. bid thy heart pronounce. flerida. a holy love is not the fancy's choice. a mother cherishes the child she bore, nature's dear gift, bestowed with many a pang and weary vigil and sweet fluttering joy that flies over a sea of brooding care. a father is not chosen but revered, for god appointed him. 't is destiny, and no man's wayward will, binds brothers, kindred, and childhood's friends in everlasting bonds. our native land we chose not, nor our king, nor our first sovereign, god. all sacred ties are woven round us by the hand of heaven and therefore bear us up. let homeless traitors reject their lot, like fallen lucifer wretched 'neath every sky; let the false rabble change with the moon its despicable chiefs; let the vain fop and goaded libertine pick their poor pleasures, and adulterous spirits pursue a phantom down the drifts of hell. but we will breathe the air that quickened us and see by this same light that gave us eyes, here rooted where god sowed us, flowering here where we have grown, making our constancy a pivot for this wheeling universe. ah! 't is a fickle and unholy fondness springs from caprice of will. who doteth once may dote again, for who shall fetter fancy? as thou couldst bare thy breast to fortune's arrows undaunted, for thy hope was all in god and life or death must crown it, so my bosom, enshrining his good gifts, is satisfied and cannot speak again. him heaven gave me shall be my lord and my unchangeable love. palmerin. o constant lady! let me then thank heaven, that graced me with the treasure of thy troth. rejoice with me, my comrades. say no more that time has parted us, and devious chances governed our lives. how now, is this good carl? and little hugh, so grown? and thou, old gossip, goes thy rheum better now the season warms? but where is ulric? flerida. thou shalt know anon. first bid the people give us leave awhile. palmerin. make ready, then; we follow you. [_exeunt all save_ palmerin _and_ flerida. dear saint, is this a vision or a waking truth in which i see thee, smiling on my hopes, as only visions smile on jack-a-dreams? how often have i dreamt between two battles thou stoodest thus above me in the dusk half joy, half courage! flerida. haply't was my prayer, for prayer hath wings to travel in the night. palmerin. didst thou remember flerida. not as others pray. what need of blessings to protest i loved thee, when benediction rose with every breath from my dumb heart to thee? awake, adream, in woodland rambles or in household tasks, i moved in thy love's presence as in god's, one deity to me. palmerin. how undeserving, fair angel, are my merits of thy love! how could i win it! flerida. ah, if god can love thee, why should a mortal give a cause for love? palmerin. they say god loves us all. flerida. such pitying love is his alone who knows the unsullied spirit shrouded at birth beneath this fleshly coil, and can divine the stature of that virtue each yet might climb to. but in thee declared shine, palmerin, the hopes of all the world. what god beheld and destined when he called thee out of the void, he granted me to see first through the haze of maiden dreams and now with the deep glance of woman. palmerin. then in sooth 't was no vain fancy, as the learned say, that made thy silent presence cross my path where'er i turned, for if i slept my dream painted thy smile, and when the vision fled the sunlit fountain met me with thy gaze. if the birds chirruped, it was _flerida_, and _flerida_ if any minstrel sang. thy mien was in the lilies, the thin clouds contrived thy garments' fashion, and thy courage breathed from the mountains to renew my soul. nor was there need, for in these tables here thy name, thy looks, thy words, thy noble ways were graven deep, and, as the gaudy shadows stalked by me which men take for beauteous thing, i laughed to scorn each feeble counterfeit, and cried to the sweet image in my soul how much more bright thou wast and beautiful. little i thought the love that brought me blessing brought sorrow here to thee. flerida. if it brought sorrow that grief was consecrate and offered up to aid thy noble venture. 't was my hope that thy young sinews in a dreamless sleep might knit them for the battle, while my vigils kept trimmed thy spirit's lamp; so might thy valour, fed on my sorrow's riches, greet the morn with more unsullied and resplendent rays than her own shining, and the wondering world should praise thy happy courage, little knowing the hidden might of love that nerved thy arm and taught thy blithe soul singing. palmerin. flerida, though i should give thee all ray life and blood, my honour and immortal soul, 't were nothing by what thou gavest first, and rendering all that should owe thee this sweet privilege of having lived and loved thee. _re-enter_ nurse. nurse. loitering still? come, come, the supper's spoiling. flerida [_pointing to the castle]._ wilt thou take possession of thy poor inheritance? palmerin. 'tis poor indeed, a case without its jewel, till thou be mine. flerida. thou hast my plighted troth. palmerin. ah, pay the debt! my heart has waited long. flerida. no priest is in attendance, palmerin. till one be duly summoned and arrive i am my father's hostage in thy hands entrusted to thy love and chivalry. palmerin. i long have bivouacked, lady, 'neath the stars, and i shall better rest beneath their light while i am still an exile from thy bosom. let me not change the canopy of heaven except for heaven's self. before this shrine i watched my virgin arms on the proud eve of my first knighting. on this prouder vigil let me hold silent session with my heart again before this altar, keeping watch over this sweeter boon, my virgin bride to be to-morrow mine. flerida [_to the_ nurse]. bid them bring hither some wine and morsels for sir palmerin, and torches, and their lutes and dulcimers. [_exit_ nurse. palmerin. we sup to-night beneath a lovers' moon not quite at full. flerida. we sup beneath the stars that never wane, though nether storms obscure their revolutions to the wistful eyes of mortals. so our love shall never wane but when its fame on earth is heard no more, translated to the language of the skies, it yet shall be a parcel of that joy which saves the world from baseness. _attendants with torches and musical instruments enter, while others bring in supper._ song. _come make thy dwelling here_ _where all sweet pleasures are._ _for many a weary year_ _from mates and lady dear_ _thou wanderest afar._ _come make thy dwelling here_ _beneath love's golden star. the battles' stress is o'er_ _that should thy worth approve._ _oh, follow now no more_ _the ruby star of war_ _that onward still must move._ _fixed shines above thy door_ _the golden star of love._ palmerin. flerida, what solace had thy orphaned life for thee in this fair desert? was not ulric here to lend thee succour? flerida. he was here, alas! palmerin. alas? flerida. that he proved false. palmerin. i marvel. speak. flerida. ah me! a sorry tale.--he said the castle as to my father's second came to him; that i within it, as the world would think, must be his also. doubtless thou wast dead, else tidings would have come. to save my honour i must not wait, but bend to be his wife. palmerin. said ulric so, that brave and trusty man? only some madness could transform his soul so utterly. flerida. i question not the cause, i mark the deed and brand the infamy. when he had spoken and beheld me firm, the coward threatened force. we were alone and he unarmed; it was a woman's body, not a man's soul, he thought to cope withal. my father's sword was hanging by the wall: i drew the blade, and as he rushed to snatch it transfixed his body; at my feet he fell writhing; i cried for help. then gunther came and the young hugh. i published his offence, and when the torment and the fever passed, for my poor strength had left some breath in him, fettered and manacled they brought him forth into the hall, before my men-at-arms and the red witness of his own foul blood staining the hearthstone; and i spoke and said: "unhappy ulric, traitor to thy liege, whom on the cross thou tookest oath to serve, thou shalt await his sentence. when he comes he shall know all and will decree thy forfeit. but if he come not, thou shalt live in chains till god and death restore thy liberty." palmerin. is he still captive? flerida. in the northern tower, whence hugh but now, whom christian charity prompts oft to visit our sad prisoner, saw thee approach. ulric has heard the news. palmerin. let him be brought. flerida [_to the men-at-arms_]. you hear my lord's command.- ah, palmerin, when christ returns to earth only the good shall welcome him; thy coming will bring thy faithless servant also joy, for i foresee thy sentence, palmerin. to be merciful is to be truly just.--has he not mended or purged his sin in his captivity? flerida. indeed, it seems he has. hugh and the friar who daily visits him both bring report of many pious and profound discourses with which he charms away his solitude. god grant his wisdom may outlive its cause and not forsake him now. for, see, he comes. _re-enter the men-at-arms, leading in_ ulric, _bound._ palmerin. ulric, it wounds my soul to see thee thus. undo the fetters. [ulric _is freed._ what has chanced i know. 't were idle to rehearse that history. only one matter, past my understanding, i ask thee to confess: how came thy soul to harbour thoughts so opposite to thine and do thy nobleness this injury? ulric. alas! the saddest sorrow of the world is not foul sin, but that resplendent virtue that yet brings evil on. 't was nothing base, hideous, ignoble, or contemptible that led me to my ruin, but the might of perfect sweetness, joy unthinkable, and infinite deserts_;_ it was the hunger for what most truly merits to be loved. 't was love, my lord, the love of flerida which, in thy bosom waking heaven's choirs, brought hell into my breast. was not her face as fair for me as thee to look upon? was not her silver voice and high discourse potent with reason on my listening ears? why was it criminal in me to love and in thee lawful? for we both were men, and i the elder and the better born, who might have wooed and won her worthily. yet with no other crime than lucklessness, because her father and her constant soul lit first on thee, the tempest of my love wrecked honour, faith, fame, life, and hope of heaven, which, had the winds blown gently on my fortunes, the self-same love had blessed and glorified. palmerin. i pity thee; but summon not thy love to shield thy shame. hadst thou been fortunate, should i with cunning and outrageous hand have moved against thy peace? nay, by god's mercy, i should have gone my way, and patiently in other worlds have justified my soul; for sorrow more religiously than love counselleth mortals. ulric. ah, i loved too much. palmerin. thou sayest well, too much. not that thy love in sweetness or in silent potency of grief surpassed or mine or any man's. but finding in thy spirit no defence, love fattened on thy reason, drank thy will, and quite consumed thy being; growing great, it left thee little, as, when a fiery wind devours the stubble, both together perish and all goes out in shame. water these ashes, ulric, with warm and consecrated tears, that haply some new sweetness thence arise beneath another heaven. though thou leave us, our hearts will not forget thee. in thy prayers remember us, and use thy freedom well. ulric. i thank thee for thy counsel and thy mercy, generous knight. not comfortless i go, for not thy lips alone, well catechised, forgive me, palmerin: thy heart forgives. i would not use my freedom now to rove but to ascend. a cloister's little earth is covered by the whole wide firmament. being changed within, there let me live and die an anchorite, that i may outwardly become a breathing symbol and a hand pointing to heaven, become a lamp of love and keep my spirit's sacrificial flame burning before the altar, till my blood, its living oil, to light refine its fire and rise, by prayer transmuted, from this world. and at this parting let me bless thee, lady, angel god chose to save me from my sin even by tempting me. for in the storm and fury of my madness thy calm eyes that unaware had called me, as the moon summons the leaping sea to follow her, soon with quick bolt and soul-transfixing ire awaked me from my dream. for who was i, that i should lift me to so pure a being except in adoration, as the wave that mirrors in its slimy breast the glory of some clear star, soon, grateful for that light, sinks, moaning, to its restless element. so moaned i, in my dungeon's loneliness and in that larger solitude, the world, where now no joy remained to beckon me. i cried to nature, questioned sun and moon, at my cell's bars celestial visitants; yes, i importuned my own soul to tell me whether a man be born to look on good and straightway perish. long i questioned fate. no answer came from heaven to my doubts; but with the spring and the reviving note of thrush and swallow, and the ploughman's song heard from the fields, i somewhat calmed my griefs, and my heart took new counsel. though a wave mirror a star and sink into the sea, it cannot suffer; though the summer fade it shivers not at autumn; though the spheres crash back to chaos they lament it not. never the blasted deserts of the moon mourned their lost verdure or implored reprieve. but my loud heart-beats, self-contemplative, note their own weariness, and death foreknown makes life a grim and halting agony. yet something in me rides on circumstance and swims the tide of change. how should that die which knows its dying, or that pine and fade which marks the shrivelled leafage of the year? can ashes choke that voice to lying silence which once has said: i love? that truth must live though unremembered, and that splendour shine though all eyes close in sleep. when first i loved thee something immortal darted through my flesh and made me godlike. henceforth all of me that loved thee, all of thee my puissant love hedging with worship rescued from the void lives in eternity, a part of god, who feeds with earth's unquenchable desire the skies' ethereal altar, to whose flame passions are brands, thoughts smoke and frankincense, nations and worlds unceasing hecatombs. there, growing one with all that ravished me, i also bum and never cease from love. farewell, sweet lady. for thy pity thanks, more thanks for thy disdain, but for thy beauty infinite thanks, for it was infinite and, while it blinded most, unsealed mine eyes. flerida. go in god's peace, and may he grant thee grace to see him always. _exit_ ulric. palmerin, this night brings me a surfeit and a cloud of joys. i cannot seize them all. but many days will suck their drop of sweetness from this store, and many silent nights and absences feed on its garnered bliss. nurse. what, prattling still? you 'll catch the ague and the chill of the fens, and lolling in the moonlight, talking love, you 'll die before the wedding. come along. palmerin. sleep, flerida, falls sweetly on a heart freed from long doubt and anguish. take thy rest. palmerin watches at thy castle gates and all is well. sleep, sleep, my flerida. flerida. let me gaze long upon thee ere i go, lest, waking, i believe that i have dreamt and weep anew and be disconsolate. palmerin. ah, were i only lying by thy side at the first checking of thy peaceful breath, to chase away that doubt before it grieved thee and with two kisses close thy dreamful eyes! alas that we should meet to part, and love only to be divided! flerida. palmerin, though thou hast faced the world and conquered it, thy noble heart is young. my briefer years and lonely life have farther traced the thread by which fate guides us through this labyrinth. to learn to part, to learn to be divided, we meet and love on earth; to learn to die is the one triumph of the life of prayer. shall love be but to hug the mother's breast, or else run wailing? to prolong for ever the lovers' kiss, or pine for blandishments? is the lord's body but unleavened bread weighed with a baker's measure, or his blood wine to be drunk in bumpers? and shall love be reckoned in embraces, and its grace die with the taking of its sacrament? these be but symbols to the eye of time of secrets written in eternity. the love that fed must wean the nourished soul, and through the dark and narrow vale of death send forth the lover lone but panoplied. else life were vain and love a moment's trouble that, passing, left untenanted the void, as summer winds a-tremble in this bower might waft some fragrance from a rifled rose through yonder gulf of night and nothingness. hadst thou in battle fallen, were my soul bereft of palmerin? or had i languished, would flerida have mocked thy constancy? banish such thoughts, dear master of my being, from thy immortal soul. these fond enchantments make the sweet holiday and youth of love; they are a largess and bright boon of heaven to sweeten our resolves. but youth will fade, and death, not mowing with a two-edged scythe, will cut down one and leave the other bowing before the wintry wind. arm not with terror that swift, unheralded, insidious foe, but let him find our love invulnerable and our heart's treasure in eternal hands. my lord, good-night. to-day my joy is full, to god i leave to-morrow. fare thee well. palmerin [_kneeling to kiss the hand she gives him_]. good-night, my own. may angels guard thy slumber- flerida. and share thy vigil- palmerin. till my angel come. [_exit_ flerida, _followed by her household as they go, some voices repeat scratches of the previous song: "come make thy dwelling here," etc._ palmerin [_alone]._ no, palmerin, unbuckle not thy arms, guard well thy lady's sleep. haply the wizards of the wood have charms to make a virgin weep. all goblin sprites and fairies of the trees that lead their impish dance will spy thy mantle's cross; their blood will freeze to see a christian lance. hark! the old croaking frogs, and the far din of crickets in the field. they bid me welcome home. "hie, palmerin, once of the argent shield, "what's this device? is flerida this flower, and these five pearls her tears, shed for thy love in her disconsolate bower these five unhappy years? "those sable bars athwart a field of gules, are they thy nights and days spent mid bluff captains and rash drunken fools in marches, bouts, and frays?" ay, ye chirp well, if i divine your note, ye civil, croaking elves! a foolish master have your fields and moat and your so learned selves. nothing he knows of wit or bookish lore and nothing of the fair, only to break the brutal front of war and half repeat a prayer. yet this sad wight is he, as fairies know, whom flerida hath blest, soon locked within her arms. she long ago was locked within his breast, celestial flerida, whom all the hours adorning from her birth have crowned the queen of stars, the queen of flowers, the queen of maids on earth. her peerless heart hath chosen him her lord, the rare intrepid maid, whose tender hand incarnadined a sword lest he should be betrayed. out of his nothingness her bounteous love bred all his poor desert as god lent to the void he made us of his image for a heart. like to the dateless dark before our birth are those five winters past, this vigil like the twilight life of earth, then paradise at last and changeless love. how in the paling skies the star of morning burns! open, heaven's gates! eternal sun, arise! sir palmerin returns. elegiac and lyric poems premonition the muffled syllables that nature speaks fill us with deeper longing for her word; she hides a meaning that the spirit seeks, she makes a sweeter music than is heard. a hidden light illumines all our seeing, an unknown love enchants our solitude. we feel and know that from the depths of being exhales an infinite, a perfect good. though the heart wear the garment of its sorrow and be not happy like a naked star, yet from the thought of peace some peace we borrow, some rapture from the rapture felt afar. our heart strings are too coarse for nature's fingers to wake her purest melodies upon, and the harsh tremor that among them lingers will into sweeter silence die anon. we catch the broken prelude and suggestion of things unuttered, needing to be sung; we know the burden of them, and their question lies heavy on the heart, nor finds a tongue. till haply, lightning through the storm of ages, our sullen secret flash from sky to sky, glowing in some diviner poet's pages and swelling into rapture from this sigh. solipsism i could believe that i am here alone, and all the world my dream; the passion of the scene is all my own, and things that seem but seem. perchance an exhalation of my sorrow hath raised this vaporous show, for whence but from my soul should all things borrow so deep a tinge of woe? i keep the secret doubt within my breast to be the gods' defence, to ease the heart by too much ruth oppressed and drive the horror hence. o sorrow that the patient brute should cower and die, not having sinned! o pity that the wild and fragile flower should shiver in the wind! then were i dreaming dreams i know not of, for that is part of me that feels the piercing pang of grief and love and doubts eternally. but whether all to me the vision come or break in many beams, the pageant ever shifts, and being's sum is but the sum of dreams. sybaris lap, ripple, lap, icarian wave, the sand along the ruins of this piteous land; murmur the praises of a lost delight, and soothe the aching of my starved sight with sheen of mirrored beauties, caught aright. here stood enchanted palaces of old, all veined porphyry and burnished gold; here matrons and slight maidens sat aloof beneath cool porches, rich with tyrian woof hung from the carven rafters of the roof. here in the mart a swarthy turbaned brave showed the wrought blade or praised the naked slave. "touch with your finger-tips this edge of steel," quoth he, "and see this lad, from head to heel like a bronze cupid. feel, my masters, feel." here aphrodite filled with frenzied love the dark recesses of her murmurous grove. the doves that haunted it, the winds that sighed, were souls of youths that in her coverts died, and hopes of heroes strewed her garden wide. under her shades a narrow brazen gate led to the courts of ares and of fate. who entered breathed the unutterable prayer of cruel hearts, and death was worshipped there, and men went thence enfranchised by despair. here the proud athlete in the baths delayed, while a cool fountain on his shoulders played, then in fine linen swathed his breast and thighs, and silent, myrtle-crowned, with serious eyes, stepped forth to list the wranglings of the wise. a sage stalked by, his ragged mantle bound about his brows; his eyes perused the ground; he conned the number of the cube and square of the moon's orb; his horny feet and bare trampled the lilies carpeting the stair. a jasper terrace hung above the sea where the king supped with his beloved three: the libyan chanted of her native land in raucous melody, the indian fanned, and the huge mastiff licked his master's hand. below, alone, despairing of the gale, a crouching sailor furled the saffron sail; then rose, breathed deep, and plunged in the lagoon. a mermaid spied his glistening limbs: her croon enticed him down; her cold arms choked him soon. and the king laughed, filled full his jewelled bowl, and drinking cried: "what know we of the soul? what number addeth to her harmony these drops of vintage that attune her key, or those of brine that set the wretched free? "if death should change me, as old fables feign, into some slave or beast, to purge with pain my lordly pleasures, let my torment be still to behold thee, sybaris, and see the sacred horror of thy loves and thee. "be thou my hell, my dumb eternal grief, but spare thy king the madness of belief, the brutish faith of ignorant desire that strives and wanders. let the visible fire of beauty torture me. that doom is higher. "i wear the crown of life. the rose and gem twine with the pale gold of my diadem. nature, long secret, hath unveiled to me and proved her vile. her wanton bosoms be my pillow now. i know her, i am free." he spoke, and smiling stretched a languid hand, and music burst in mighty chords and bland of harp and flute and cymbal.--when between two cypresses the large moon rose, her sheen silvered the nymphs' feet, tripping o'er the green. avila again my feet are on the fragrant moor amid the purple uplands of castile, realm proudly desolate and nobly poor, scorched by the sky's inexorable zeal. wide desert where a diadem of towers above adajar hems a silent town, and locks, unmindful of the mocking hours, her twenty temples in a granite crown. the shafts of fervid light are in the sky, and in my heart the mysteries of yore. here the sad trophies of my spirit lie: these dead fulfilled my destiny before. like huge primeval stones that strew this plain, their nameless sorrows sink upon my breast, and like this ardent sky their cancelled pain smiles at my grief and quiets my unrest. for here hath mortal life from age to age endured the silent hand that makes and mars, and, sighing, taken up its heritage beneath the smiling and inhuman stars. still o'er this town the crested castle stands, a nest for storks, as once for haughty souls; still from the abbey, where the vale expands, the curfew for the long departed tolls, wafting some ghostly blessing to the heart from prayer of nun or silent capuchin, to heal with balm of golgotha the smart of weary labour and distracted sin. what fate has cast me on a tide of time careless of joy and covetous of gold, what force compelled to weave the pensive rhyme when loves are mean, and faith and honour old, when riches crown in vain men's sordid lives, and learning chokes a mind of base degree? what winged spirit rises from their hives? what heart, revolting, ventures to be free? their pride will sink and more ignobly fade without memorial of its hectic fire. what altars shall survive them, where they prayed? what lovely deities? what riven lyre? tarry not, pilgrim, but with inward gaze pass daily, musing, where their prisons are, and o'er the ocean of their babble raise thy voice in greeting to thy changeless star. abroad a tumult, and a ruin here; nor world nor desert hath a home for thee. out of the sorrows of the barren year build thou thy dwelling in eternity. let patience, faith's wise sister, be thy heaven, and with high thoughts necessity alloy. love is enough, and love is ever given, while fleeting days bring gift of fleeting joy. the little pleasures that to catch the sun bubble a moment up from being's deep, the glittering sands of passion as they run, the merry laughter and the happy sleep,- these are the gems that, like the stars on fire, encrust with glory all our heaven's zones; each shining atom, in itself entire, brightens the galaxy of sister stones, dust of a world that crumbled when god's dream to throbbing pulses broke the life of things, and mingled with the void the scattered gleam of many orbs that move in many rings, perchance at last into the parent sun to fall again and reunite their rays, when god awakes and gathers into one the light of all his loves and all his days. king's college chapel the buttress frowns, the gorgeous windows blaze, the vault hangs wonderful with woven fans, the four stone sentinels to heaven raise their heads, in a more constant faith than man': the college gathers, and the courtly prayer is answered still by hymn and organ-groan; the beauty and the mystery are there, the virgin and saint nicholas are gone. not one _ora pro nobis_ bids them pause in their far flight, to hear this anthem roll; no heart, of all that the king's relic awes, sings _requiescat_ to his mournful soul. no grain of incense thrown upon the embers of their cold hearth, no lamp in witness hung before their image. one alone remembers; only the stranger knows their mother tongue. long rows of tapers light the people's places; the little choristers may read, and mark the rhythmic fall; i see their wondering faces; only the altar--like the soul--is dark. ye floating voices through these arches ringing with measured music, subtle, sweet, and strong, feel ye the inmost reason of your singing? know ye the ancient burden of your song? the twilight deepens, and the blood-dyed glories of all these fiery blazonings are dim. oh, they are jumbled, sad, forgotten stories! why should ye read them, children? chant your hymn. but i must con them while the rays of even kindle aloft some fading jewel-gleam and the vast windows glow a peopled heaven, rich with the gathering pageant of my dream. eden i see, where from the leafy cover the green-eyed snake begins to uncoil his length and whispers to the woman and her lover, as they lie musing, large, in peaceful strength. i see their children, bent with toil and terror, lurking in caves, or heaping madly on the stones of babel, or the endless error of sodom, nineveh, and babylon. here the egyptian, wedding life with death, flies from the sun into his painted tomb, and winds the secret of his antique faith tight in his shroud, and seals in sterile gloom. there the bold prophets of the heart's desire hail the new zion god shall build for them, and rapt isaiah strikes the heavenly lyre, and jeremiah mourns jerusalem. here david's daughter, full of grace and truth, kneels in the temple, waiting for the lord; with the first _ave_ comes the wingã¨d youth, bringing the lily ere he bring the sword. there, to behold the mother and the child, the sturdy shepherds down the mountain plod, and angels sing, with voices sweet and wild and wide lips parted: "glory be to god." here, mounted on an ass, the twain depart to hallowed egypt, safe from herod's wrong; and mary ponders all things in her heart, and pensive joseph sadly walks along. there with the twelve, before his blood is shed, christ blesses bread and breaks it with his hands, "this is my body." thomas shakes his head, they marvel all, and no one understands, save john, whom jesus loved above the rest. he marvels too, but, seeking naught beside, leans, as his wont is, on his master's breast. ah! the lord's body also should abide. there golgotha is dark against the blue in the broad east, above the painted crowd, and many look upon the sign, but few read the hard lesson of the cross aloud. and from this altar, now an empty tomb, the lord is risen. lo! he is not here. no shining angel sitteth in the gloom, no magdalen in anguish draweth near. all pure in heart, or all in aspect pure, the seemly christians, kneeling, line the choir, and drop their eyelids, tender and demure, as the low lingering harmonies expire. in that _amen_ are the last echoes blended of all the ghostly world. the shades depart into the sacred night. in peace is ended the long delirious fever of the heart. then i go forth into the open wold and breathe the vigour of the freshening wind, and with the piling drift of cloud i hold a worship sweeter to the homeless mind, where the squat willows with their osiers crowned border the humble reaches of the cam, and the deep meadows stretching far around make me forget the exile that i am,- exile not only from the wind-swept moor where guadarrama lifts his purple crest, but from the spirit's realm, celestial, sure goal of all hope and vision of the best. they also will go forth, these gentle youths, strong in the virtues of their manful isle, till one the pathway of the forest smooths, and one the ganges rules, and one the nile and to whatever wilderness they choose their hearts will bear the sanctities of home, the perfect ardours of the grecian muse, the mighty labour of the arms of rome; but, ah! how little of these storied walls beneath whose shadow all their nurture was! no, not one passing memory recalls the blessed mary and saint nicholas. unhappy king, look not upon these towers, remember not thine only work that grew. the moving world that feeds thy gift devours, and the same hand that finished overthrew. on an unfinished statue by michael angelo in the bargello, called an apollo or a david what beauteous form beneath a marble veil awaited in this block the master's hand? could not the magic of his art avail to unseal that beauty's tomb and bid it stand? alas! the torpid and unwilling mass misknew the sweetness of the mind's control, and the quick shifting of the winds, alas! denied a body to that flickering soul. fair homeless spirit, harbinger of bliss, it wooed dead matter that they both might live, but dreamful earth still slumbered through the kiss and missed the blessing heaven stooped to give, as when endymion, locked in dullard sleep, endured the gaze of dian, till she turned stung with immortal wrath and doomed to weep her maiden passion ignorantly spurned. how should the vision stay to guide the hand, how should the holy thought and ardour stay, when the false deeps of all the soul are sand and the loose rivets of the spirit clay? what chisel shaking in the pulse of lust shall find the perfect line, immortal, pure? what fancy blown by every random gust shall mount the breathless heavens and endure? vain was the trance through which a thrill of joy passed for the nonce, when a vague hand, unled, half shaped the image of this lovely boy and caught the angel's garment as he fled. leave, leave, distracted hand, the baffling stone, and on that clay, thy fickle heart, begin. mould first some steadfast virtue of thine own out of the sodden substance of thy sin. they who wrought wonders by the nile of old, bequeathing their immortal part to us, cast their own spirit first into the mould and were themselves the rock they fashioned thus. ever their docile and unwearied eye traced the same ancient pageant to the grave, and awe made rich their spirit's husbandry with the perpetual refluence of its wave, till 'twixt the desert and the constant nile sphinx, pyramid, and awful temple grew, and the vast gods, self-knowing, learned to smile beneath the sky's unalterable blue. long, long ere first the rapt arcadian swain heard pan's wild music pulsing through the grove, his people's shepherds held paternal reign beneath the large benignity of jove. long mused the delphic sibyl in her cave ere mid his laurels she beheld the god, and beauty rose a virgin from the wave in lands the foot of heracles had trod. athena reared her consecrated wall, poseidon laid its rocky basement sure, when theseus had the monstrous race in thrall and made the worship of his people pure. long had the stripling stood in silence, veiled, hearing the heroes' legend o'er and o'er, long in the keen palã¦stra striven, nor quailed to tame the body to the task it bore, ere soul and body, shaped by patient art, walked linked with the gods, like friend with friend, and reason, mirrored in the sage's heart, beheld her purpose and confessed her end. mould, then, thyself and let the marble be. look not to frailty for immortal themes, nor mock the travail of mortality with barren husks and harvesting of dreams. midnight the dank earth reeks with three days' rain, the phantom trees are dark and still, above the darkness and the hill the tardy moon shines out again. o heavy lethargy of pain! o shadows of forgotten ill! my parrot lips, when i was young, to prove and to disprove were bold. the mighty world has tied my tongue, and in dull custom growing old i leave the burning truth untold and the heart's anguish all unsung. youth dies in man's benumbed soul, maid bows to woman's broken life, a thousand leagues of silence roll between the husband and the wife. the spirit faints with inward strife and lonely gazing at the pole. but how should reptiles pine for wings or a parched desert know its dearth? immortal is the soul that sings the sorrow of her mortal birth. o cruel beauty of the earth! o love's unutterable stings! in grantchester meadows on first hearing a skylark sing too late, thou tender songster of the sky trilling unseen, by things unseen inspired, i list thy far-heard cry that poets oft to kindred song hath fired, as floating through the purple veils of air thy soul is poured on high, a little joy in an immense despair. too late thou biddest me escape the earth, in ignorance of wrong to spin a little slender thread of song; on yet unwearied wing to rise and soar and sing, not knowing death or birth or any true unhappy human thing. to dwell 'twixt field and cloud, by river-willow and the murmurous sedge, be thy sweet privilege, to thee and to thy happy lords allowed. my native valley higher mountains hedge 'neath starlit skies and proud, and sadder music in my soul is loud. yet have i loved thy voice, frail echo of some ancient sacred joy. ah, who might not rejoice here to have wandered, a fair english boy, and breathed with life thy rapture and thy rest where woven meadow-grasses fold thy nest? but whose life is his choice? and he who chooseth not hath chosen best. futility fair nature, has thy wisdom naught to say to cheer thy child in a disconsolate hour? why do thy subtle hands betray their power and but half-fashioned leave thy finer clay? upon what journeys doth thy fancy stray that weeds in thy broad garden choke the flower, and many a pilgrim harboured in thy bower a stranger came, a stranger went away? ah, mother, little can the soul avail unchristened at some font of ancient love. what boots the vision if the meaning fail, when all the marvels of the skies above march to the passions they are mirrors of? if the heart pine, the very stars will pale. before a statue of achilles i behold pelides with his yellow hair, proud child of thetis, hero loved of jove; above the frowning of his brows it wove a crown of gold, well combed, with spartan care. who might have seen him, sullen, great, and fair, as with the wrongful world he proudly strove, and by high deeds his wilder passion shrove, mastering love, resentment, and despair. he knew his end, and phoebus' arrow sure he braved for fame immortal and a friend, despising life; and we, who know our end, know that in our decay he shall endure and all our children's hearts to grief inure, with whose first bitter battles his shall blend. ii who brought thee forth, immortal vision, who in phthia or in tempe brought thee forth? out of the sunlight and the sapful earth what god the simples of thy spirit drew? a goddess rose from the green waves, and threw her arms about a king, to give thee birth; a centaur, patron of thy boyish mirth, over the meadows in thy footsteps flew. now thessaly forgets thee, and the deep thy keeled bark furrowed answers not thy prayer but far away new generations keep thy laurels fresh, where branching isis hems the lawns of oxford round about, or where enchanted eton sits by pleasant thames. iii i gaze on thee as phidias of old or polyclitus gazed, when first he saw these hard and shining limbs, without a flaw, and cast his wonder in heroic mould. unhappy me who only may behold, nor make immutable and fix in awe a fair immortal form no worm shall gnaw, a tempered mind whose faith was never told! the godlike mien, the lion's lock and eye, the well-knit sinew, utter a brave heart better than many words that part by part spell in strange symbols what serene and whole in nature lives, nor can in marble die. the perfect body is itself the soul. odi et amo _i love and hate. alas, the why_ _i know not: but i love, and die._ catullus. i a wreathed altar was this pagan heart, in sad denial dressed and high intent, and amid ruins fed its flame apart, heedless of shadows as they came and went. till the poor soul, enticed by what she saw, forsook her grief's eternal element, filled with her tears a well from which to draw, and flooded heaven with a light she lent. a thousand times that mirrored glory fled, by ravished eyes a thousand times pursued; yet loving hope outlived all beauties dead, and hunger turned the very stones to food. insensate love, wilt thou then never tire, breeding the fuel of thy proper fire? ii what gleaming cross rebukes this infidel? what lion groans, awakened in his lair? angel or demon, what unearthly spell returns, divinely false like all things fair, to mock this desolation? fleeting vision, frail as a smoke-wreath in the sunlit air, indomitable hope or vain derision, madness or revelation, sin or prayer, what art thou? is man's sum of wisdom this, that he believe denying, and blaspheme worshipping still, and drink eternal bliss out of the maddening chalice of a dream? strange sweetness that embitterest content, art thou a poison or a sacrament? cathedrals by the sea reply to a sonnet beginning "cathedrals are not built along the sea" for ã¦ons had the self-responsive tide risen to ebb, and tempests blown to clear, and the belated moon refilled her sphere to wane anew--for, ã¦ons since, she died- when to the deeps that called her earth replied (lest year should cancel unavailing year) and took from her dead heart the stones to rear a cross-shaped temple to the crucified. then the wild winds through organ-pipes descended to utter what they meant eternally, and not in vain the moon devoutly mended her wasted taper, lighting calvary, while with a psalmody of angels blended the sullen diapason of the sea. mont brã�vent o dweller in the valley, lift thine eyes to where, above the drift of cloud, the stone endures in silence, and to god alone upturns its furrowed visage, and is wise. there yet is being, far from all that dies, and beauty where no mortal maketh moan, where larger planets swim the liquid zone, and wider spaces stretch to calmer skies. only a little way above the plain is snow eternal. round the mountain's knees hovers the fury of the wind and rain. look up, and teach thy noble heart to cease from endless labour. there is perfect peace only a little way above thy pain. the rustic at the play our youth is like a rustic at the play that cries aloud in simple-hearted fear, curses the villain, shudders at the fray, and weeps before the maiden's wreathed bier. yet once familiar with the changeful show, he starts no longer at a brandished knife, but, his heart chastened at the sight of woe, ponders the mirrored sorrows of his life. so tutored too, i watch the moving art of all this magic and impassioned pain that tells the story of the human heart in a false instance, such as poets feign; i smile, and keep within the parchment furled that prompts the passions of this strutting world. resurrection the soul of a buried body methought that i was dead, felt my large heart, a tomb within the tomb, cold, hope-untenanted, not thankless for this gloom. for all i loved on earth had fled before me. i was the last to die. i heard what my soul hated tramping o'er me, and knew that trouble stalked beneath the sky. but now is loosed the mailed hand of death clapped on my mouth. i seem to draw a breath and something like a sigh. i feel the blood again coursing within my body's quickened house, feel hands and throat and brain, and dim thoughts growing plain, or dreams of thoughts. so spring might thaw the boughs and from its winter's lethargy arouse an oak's numb spirit.--but hark! i seem to hear a sound, like distant thunder. above the quaking earth it breaks, or under, and cracks the riven sphere. this vault is widened, i may lift my head, behold a ray! the sun!--i was not dead. the angel of eternity yes, dead. be not affrighted. ages have passed. this world is not the same. thy lamp of life, relighted, burns with a purer flame. the soul what lovely form art thou? what spirit, voice, or face known and unknown? i cannot name thee now nor the long-vanished place where first i pledged thee some forgotten vow. dear mother or sweet son or young love dead or lost familiar friend, which of these all art thou, or all, or none, bright stranger, that dost bend thy glorious golden head, a kindlier sun, above the wakened dead? the angel we are not strangers. 't is the world was strange, that rude antique parade of earth and sky, that foolish pageant of mortality and weary round of change. till this glad moment thou hast lived in dreams, nursed in a fable, catechised to croon the empty science of a sun and moon that with their dubious beams light the huge dusky stage of all that seems. believe it not, my own. awake, depart out of the shades of hell, trusting the sacred spell that falls upon thy strong perplexed heart, the joy ineffable, the nameless premonition and dire pang of love. be free at last, free as the hopes that from thy sorrow sprang forget the horror of the tyrant past, forget the gods, forget the baleful shadow on the present cast by all that is not yet. arise and follow me. say not i seem a shadow among shades, a dryad's laugh amid the windy glades, a swimmer's body guessed beneath the stream this is the dawn of day, thy dream-oppressed vision breaking through its icy hood of clay and plunging deep into the balmy blue. bid thy vain cares adieu and say farewell to earth, thy foster-mother. she hath befooled thee long, and fondly thought to smother the sweet and cruel laughter of my song which the stars sing together, and the throng of seraphs ever shout to one another. come, heaven-chosen brother, dear kinsman, come along. the soul to what fields beside what rivers dost thou beckon me, fair love? with no sprinkled stars above is high heaven seen? or quivers, with no changes of the moon, her bright path athwart the pool? is thy strange world beautiful? tell me true, before i shake from my sense this heavy swoon. tell me true, lest i awake into deeper dreams, poor fool, and rejoice for nothing's sake. the angel for mortals life and truth are things apart, nor when the first is done know they the other; for their lusty youth is madness, and their age oblivion. but henceforth thou art one with the supernal mind, not born in labour nor in death resigned, the life of all that live, the light by whose eclipse the world is blind, the truth of all that know, the joy for which we grieve, and the untasted sweet that makes our woe. now thou hast drained the wine shatter the glass. the music was divine, let the voice pass. linger not in the host of the long lost bidding the dying bring meal-cakes and fruit, and sing to cheer thy ghost. but be the living joy that tunes all song, the loves of girl and boy, the hopes that throng the unconquerable heart, defying wrong. seek for thine immortality of bliss not other brighter skies or later worlds than this, but all that in this struggle is the prize, the love that wings the kiss, the truth the visions miss. the soul my heaven lives, bright angel, in thine eyes. as when, beside the lake of galilee, john, o'er his meshes bent, looked up, and saw another firmament when god said, follow me; so is my world transfigured, seeing thee, and, looking in thine eyes, i am content, and with thy sweet voice for all argument i leave my tangled nets beside the sea. done is my feigned task, fallen the mask that made me other, o my soul, than thee. i have fulfilled my pain and borne my cross, and my great gain is to have known my loss. keep, blessed vision, keep the sacred beauty that entranced my soul. i have read; seal the scroll. i have lived; let me sleep. the angel behold, i close thine eyes with the first touch of my benignant hands. with consecrated brands i light thy pyre and loose thy spirit's bands. the eternal gods receive thy sacrifice, the changeless bless thy embers. may there arise from thence no wailing ghost that shivers and remembers the haunts he loved, where he hath suffered most. the life that lived by change is dead, nor changeth more. no eager, dull, oblivious senses pore on portents dark and strange. thy first life was not life, nor was thy first death death. thy children took thy heritage of strife, and thy transmutable breath passed to another heart that travaileth. now thou hast truly died; escaped, renounced, defied the insensate fervour and the fret of being; and thy own master, freed from shame of murderous need, pure, just, all-seeing, now thou shalt live indeed. the soul i pay the price of birth. my earth returns to earth. hurry my ashes, thou avenging wind, into the vortex of the whirling spheres! i die, for i have sinned, yea, i have loved, and drained my heart of tears. and thou within whose womb, mother of nations, labouring universe, my life grew, be its tomb. thou brought'st me forth, take now my vital seed. receive thy wage, thou iron-hearted nurse, thy blessing i requite thee and thy curse. now shall my ashes breed within thy flesh for every thought a thought, for every deed a deed, for every pang i bore an everlasting need, for every wrong a wrong, and endless war. all earthly hopes resigned and all thy battle's spoils i lay upon thine altar and restore; but the inviolate mind is loosened from thy toils by thy own fatal fires. i mount, i soar, glad phoenix, from the flame into the placid heaven whence i came, floating upon the smoke's slow lurid wings into my native sky to bear report of all this vanity and sad offence of things, where with knowledge i may lie, veiled in the shadow of eternal wings. the angel if in the secret sessions of our love above the heavenly spheres, some stain upon the page of wisdom prove her earthly price of tears, cling closer, my beloved, that the beat of my unruffled heart may tune thy own, its tenderer counterpart, to noble courage, and from this high seat of our divine repose large consolation flow to mortal woes. for 'neath the sun's fierce heat, in midst of madness and inscrutable throes, his heart is strong who knows that o'er the mountains come the silent feet of patience, leading peace, and his complainings cease to see the starlight shining on the snows. translations from michael angelo i "_non so se s'㨠la desiata luce_" i know not if from uncreated spheres some longed-for ray it be that warms my breast, or lesser light, in memory expressed, of some once lovely face, that reappears, or passing rumour ringing in my ears, or dreamy vision, once my bosom's guest, that left behind i know not what unrest, haply the reason of these wayward tears. but what i feel and seek, what leads me on, comes not of me; nor can i tell aright where shines the hidden star that sheds this light. since i beheld thee, sweet and bitter fight within me. resolution have i none. can this be, master, what thine eyes have done? ii "_il mio refugio_" the haven and last refuge of my pain (a strong and safe defence) are tears and supplications, but in vain. love sets upon me banded with disdain, one armed with pity and one armed with death, and as death smites me, pity lends me breath. else had my soul long since departed thence. she pineth to remove whither her hopes of endless peace abide and beauty dwelleth without beauty's pride, there her last bliss to prove. but still the living fountain of my tears wells in the heart when all thy truth appears, lest death should vanquish love. iii "_gli occhi miei vaghi delle cose belle_" ravished by all that to the eyes is fair, yet hungry for the joys that truly bless, my soul can find no stair to mount to heaven, save earth's loveliness. for from the stars above descends a glorious light that lifts our longing to their highest height and bears the name of love. nor is there aught can move a gentle heart, or purge or make it wise, but beauty and the starlight of her eyes. from alfred de musset souvenir i weep, but with no bitterness i weep, to look again upon thee, hallowed spot, o dearest grave, and most of men forgot, where buried love doth sleep. what witchcraft think you that this desert hath, dear friends, who take my hand and bid me stay, now that the gentle wont of many a day would lead me down this path? here are the wooded slopes, the flowering heath, the silver footprints on the silent sand, the loitering lanes, alive with lovers' breath, where first i kissed her hand. i know these fir-trees, and this mossy stone, and this deep gorge, and all its winding ways; these friendly giants, whose primeval moan hath rocked my happy days. my footsteps' echo in this tangled tree gives back youth's music, like a singing bird; dear haunts, fair wilderness her presence stirred, did you not watch for me? i will not dry these tear-drops: let them flow, and soothe a bitterness that yet might last, and o'er my waking-weary eyelids throw the shadow of the past. my useless plainings shall not make to cease the happy echoes of the vows we vowed: proud is this forest in its noble peace, and my heart too is proud. give o'er to hopeless grief the bitter hours you kneel to pray upon a brother's tomb: here blows the breath of love, and graveyard flowers not in this garden bloom. see! the moon rides athwart a bank of cloud. thy veils, fair queen of night, still cling to thee, but soon thou loosenest thy virgin shroud and smilest to be free. as the rich earth, still dank with april rain, beneath thy rays exhales day's captive balm, so from my purged soul, as pure, as calm, the old love breathes again. where are they gone, those ghosts of sorrow pale, where fled the passion that my heart defiled? once in the bosom of this friendly vale i am again a child. o might of time, o changes of the year, ye undo sorrow and the tears we shed, but, touched with pity, on our blossoms sere your light feet never tread. heavenly solace, be for ever blest! i had not thought a sword could pierce so far into the heart, and leave upon the breast so sweet and dear a scar. far from me the sharp word, the thankless mind, of vulgar sorrow customary weed, shroud that about the corse of love they wind who never loved indeed. why, dante, dost thou say the saddest curse is joy remembered in unhappy days? what grief compelled thee to this bitter verse in sorrow's harsh dispraise? o'er all the worlds is light bereft of gladness when sad eclipses cast their blight on us? did thy great soul, in its immortal sadness, speak to thee, dante, thus? no, by this sacred light upon me cast! not in thy heart this blasphemy had birth. it is the truest happiness on earth to have a happy past. what! when the soul forlorn finds yet a spark mid the hot ashes of her stifled sighs, and doth that flame, her only treasure, mark with captivated eyes, bathing her wounds in the delicious past that mirrors brokenly her loves again, thy cruel word her feeble joy would blast and turn to bitter pain? and couldst thou wrong thine own francesca so, wrong thy bright angel with a word like this, her whose lips, parting to rehearse her woe, broke an eternal kiss? what, righteous heaven, is our human thought, and to the love of truth who yet will cling, if every pain or joy e'er shunned or sought turns to a doubtful thing? how can you live, strange souls that nothing awes? in midst of haste and passion, song and mirth, nor all the stars of heaven give you pause, nor all the sins of earth; but when upon your fated way you meet some dumb memorial of a passion dead, that little pebble stops you, and you dread to bruise your tender feet. you cry aloud that life is but a dream, and, to the truth awaking, wring your hands, and grieve your bubble but a moment stands upon time's foaming stream. poor fools! that moment when your soul could shake the numbing fetters off that it enthrall, that fleeting moment was your all in all- oh, mourn not for its sake! but rather mourn your weight of earthly dross, your joyless toil, your stains of blood and mire, your sunless days, your nights without desire; in these was utter loss. what profit have you of your late lament, and what from heaven do your murmurs crave, the plaints you sow upon the barren grave of every pleasure spent? life is a dream, and all things pass, i know: if some fair splendour we be charmed withal, we pluck the flower, and at the breath we blow its withered petals fall. ay, the first kiss and the first virgin vow that ever mortals upon earth did swear, that whirlwind caught which strips the frozen bough and stones to sand doth wear. a witness to the lovers' troth was night, with changeful skies, o'ercast with mystery, and stars unnumbered, that an inward light devours unceasingly. they saw death hush the song bird in the glade, blast the pale flower, and freeze the torpid worm, and choke the fountain where the image played of their forgotten form. yet they joined hands above the mouldering clod, blind with love's light that flashed across the sky, nor felt the cold eye of the changeless god who watches all things die. fools! says the sage: thrice blest! the poet says. what wretched joy is to the faint heart dear whom noise of torrents fills with weak amaze and the wind fills with fear? i have seen beneath the sun more beauties fail than white sea foam or leaves of forest sere; more than the swallows and the roses frail desert the widowed year. mine eyes have gazed on sights of deeper woe than juliet dead within the gorged tomb, and deadlier than the cup that romeo drank to his love and doom. i have seen my love, when all i loved had perished, who to a whited sepulchre is turned; seen the thin dust of all i ever cherished in her cold heart inurned,- dust of that faith which, in our bosoms furled, the gentle night had warded well from doubt. more than a single life, alas! a world was that day blotted out. still young i found her, and, men said, more fair; in heaven's light her eyes could still rejoice, and her lips opened, and a smile was there, and sound as of a voice. but not that gentle voice, that tender grace, those eyes i worshipped when they looked their prayer: my heart, still full of her, searched, searched her face and could not find her there. and still i could have gone to her, and cast my arms about that chill and lifeless stone, and cried, where hast thou left it, faithless one, where hast thou left the past? but no: it rather seemed as if by chance some unknown woman had that voice and eye_;_ i looked up into heaven; with cold glance i passed that statue by. not without pangs of shame and bitterness i watched her smiling shadow glide away; but what of that? immortal nature, say, have i loved therefore less? on me the gods may now their lightnings fling, they cannot undo truth, nor kill the past. like a wrecked sailor to a broken mast to my dead love i cling. i make no question of what flowers may bloom, what virtue from the seasons man may borrow, what heavenly lamp may flood with light to-morrow the vault of this great tomb. i only say: here at this hour, one day, i loved, and i was loved, and she was fair. this treasure which no death can filch away my soul to god shall bear. from theophile gautier art all things are doubly fair if patience fashion them and care- verse, enamel, marble, gem. no idle chains endure: yet, muse, to walk aright, lace tight thy buskin proud and sure. fie on a facile measure, a shoe where every lout at pleasure slips his foot in and out! sculptor, lay by the clay on which thy nerveless finger may linger, thy thoughts flown far away. keep to carrara rare, struggle with paros cold, that hold the subtle line and fair. lest haply nature lose that proud, that perfect line, make thine the bronze of syracuse. and with a tender dread upon an agate's face retrace apollo's golden head. despise a watery hue and tints that soon expire. with fire burn thine enamel true. twine, twine in artful wise the blue-green mermaid's arms, mid charms of thousand heraldries. show in their triple lobe virgin and child, that hold their globe, cross-crowned and aureoled. all things return to dust save beauties fashioned well. the bust outlasts the citadel. oft doth the ploughman's heel, breaking an ancient clod, reveal a cã¦sar or a god. the gods, too, die, alas! but deathless and more strong than brass remains the sovereign song. chisel and carve and file, till thy vague dream imprint its smile on the unyielding flint. convivial and occasional verses _prosit neujahr_ be the new year sweet and short as the days of girl and boy are, full of friendship, full of sport- _prosit neujahr!_ be it beautiful and great as the days of grief and joy are, full of wonder and of fate- _prosit neujahr!_ fair harvard fair harvard, the winter of puritan snows that enshrouded thy tremulous birth melts slowly to spring, now the south wind blows o'er the face of this generous earth. thy elms are outspreading their flexible arms over meadows more fruitful and broad, and soft ivy is veiling with negligent charms the gaunt walls of the castle of god. with freedom for heritage, reason for star, and friendship for sojourner here, shall music long tremblingly sound from afar or genius be smothered in fear? where the ages may meet and the spirit may climb to a truth that is builded on doubt, the eternal may dwell mid the currents of time and peace above barbarous rout, and the just voice unlearn to be strident and sharp, and, attuned to life's happier choir, join the stress of all david might shout to his harp with all lysis might lisp to his lyre, and olympia again call the strong and the fleet to glory and art and control, and a deathless academy build a retreat to ponder the things of the soul. if to glory, young mother, thy destiny tend, if thy labours have honour in store, our loves shall not die, though their chronicle end nor mortals remember us more. for once from their dreaming the man and the boy, fair harvard, awoke at thy name, and our happiest years were a part of thy joy, and our light was a spark of thy flame. college drinking song as we say good-bye at the parting ways, let us sing together a song of praise, let us drink a toast to our college days, to the walks through a world made for you and me, to the boisterous farce and the echoing glee, to the wonderful a and the dreadful e, drink, boys, drink! to the games we won and the games we lost, for we could n't tell which before we tossed, and who cares now who paid the cost? to the woman's love that came and went, to the good wine drunk and the money spent, to the night-long foolish argument, drink, boys, drink! to the times when men were men indeed, to our fathers' youth and our mothers' creed, and to every faith that may succeed, to the after age and the later tongue that will ring the changes we have rung and sing the songs we have left unsung, drink, boys, drink! when the eye is dull and the hand is cold, then should the pocket be full of gold, for no one will love us when we 're old. so to vulgar gold and what it gets and an honest end to all our debts, for an old wine softens old regrets, drink, boys, drink! when we are asleep beneath grey stone, our children's lives shall repeat our own, for the light remains though the days be flown. to the opening buds of this ended may, and to all sweet things that will not stay, and to every dog that has had his day, drink, boys, drink! six wise fools twelve had struck. our talk subsided. we were comrades in the schools by the world awhile divided- six sententious merry fools. and i said, "we 've talked of college, resurrecting callow youth. but you since have lived; what knowledge have you gathered of the truth? and you first, most learned scholar, whom i 'm proud to sit beside, speak: does wisdom sans a dollar leave you wholly satisfied? you have walked, and never wavered, in the paths the sages took and three publishers have favoured with a yet unpublished book. the soul's garden you have weeded which we mortals trample through, you love much we leave unheeded. speak, and let us learn of you." and the student thus proceeded, as a gentle sigh he drew: the scholar i'm thankful that as matters go i neither toil nor spin, but read the good old wits, heigh ho! and live with elder kin; that i need neither reap nor sow nor gather into barns, but dwell among my books, heigh ho! repeating ancient yarns. dead things are not my science, no, nor fossil parts of speech, but the great human heart, heigh ho! that pedants never reach. the record of man's joy and woe upon his sculptured face i read by my heart's light, heigh ho! and vanquish time and space. i find no vice so foul and low but nature lurks therein, nor any thought so high, heigh ho! but pays the price of sin. i feel the pity and the glow of truth's sublime communion, and learn to smile at fate, heigh ho! in friendship's happy union. let this but last till death's wind blow and till my bones are rotten, then let the world sail on, heigh ho! and be ray name forgotten. "now you, votary of pleasure," turning to the next, i said, "count the profit of your leisure and the cost of unearned bread. tell us what civilisation merits your impartial praise, in what climate, in what nation you have spent most joyous days." quoth he, as if in admiration that such questions i should raise: the sport all things are nice when they are new, when they are old, all things are horrid. after the storm i like the blue, after the arctic zone the torrid. my loves are many, brief, and true, by mutual jealousy unworried. i like to leave my house and home and cross the mountains and the sea; with one small bag on earth to roam, that is the height of bliss for me. to roam on earth without my bag, that is the depth of misery. that freedom cheats us with a word which sets up knaves and murders kings. what soul is free that never stirred? go cut your mother's apron-strings, and putting money in your purse, fly off on the express-train's wings. i'll stay at home when i am lame, and build a church when stuffed with gold, i will be grave when known to fame, i will be chaste when i am old. then all the angels will rejoice that i, lost lamb, regain the fold. "without some evil, nothing good," your subtle theologians say. i glorify their rectitude by straying in my artless way. my needful sins make possible the higher morals of the day. this is our only chance to taste the sweet and bitter fruits of earth. to pluck them all, we've need of haste; we cannot ask what each is worth. up, up, wise virgin; do not waste the little time 'twixt death and birth. come feel the joy of changing skies, of rushing streams and windy weather. though we be bound by fortune's ties, we' 11 to the utmost stretch the tether, and be they gay or be they sad, we'll go and see the sights together. the critic "shall men agree?" the next man said, "each mind is shut within some head (_pace_ the minds of all the dead) with two eyes, seldom of a size, and spectacles before the eyes. then, if men differ, what surprise? "see the wight who wrapped in sadness grieves how soon this life is done, and, disgusted with the madness of the way the world is run, scorns the hollowness of gladness and the idiocy of fun: why, the spots upon the sun can be seen, when the ray passes blue eye-glasses. "and what makes the moonlight shimmer with the dancing of the sea and the little stars cold glimmer twinkle with an inward glee while this working-world grows dimmer if my mary looks with me? not the moon or stars or sea, but the fickle cause, alas, is love's eye-glasses. "oh, how sad a world to cough in is a world once warm and fair, and how many fallings off in old men's world of falling hair, till they think within the coffin that there's no world anywhere. for i fancy dead men wear (take your look now, lads and lasses!) no eye-glasses." he stopped, and with a civil look said to his neighbour, "you come next," who had been looking at a book and seemed a trifle bored and vexed. he laid the book down, stretched his legs and yawned, and, emptying his glass, made a grimace as if the dregs were bitter, and replied, "i pass." when pressed, he shook his languid head until at last he hemmed and said: the pessimist i set my heart on being good, believed the bible to the letter, yes, joined a christian brotherhood when i was young and knew no better; and, if i sometimes sinned, i wept that god's commandments were not kept. as time went on, i understood that it was wrong to be so good. my heart i set on being wise and passing for a clever fellow: reading o' nights i spoilt my eyes, and lack of fresh air turned me yellow. each book i read said t' other lied, i saw the less the more i pried, and so i found, to my surprise, i was a fool to be so wise. i set my heart on making friends pleasant and clever, kind and witty; they now are at the earth's four ends, two only have n't left the city. the one is given up to trade, the other in the churchyard laid. and when youth's gone and leisure ends, it is too late for making friends. i set my heart upon a girl who chose at my approach to smile. did she but pat some frizzled curl, i knew the angel free from guile. but now a rich man owns my belle, i find the others smile as well, and my moustache no more i twirl, nor set my heart upon a girl. i set my heart on seeing things, and wished through every land to travel, see troja's ruins, nikis' springs, and culture's history unravel. when many a sea had made me sick, men still were bipeds, houses brick. since nearer truth no journey brings i make an end of seeing things. i set my heart on politics; i glowed for honesty and freedom. my earnest thoughts i tried to fix upon the poor, and how to feed 'em. but the reformer cheats himself, he serves his prejudice or pelf, and no man's will but inward fate governs the fortunes of the state. i set my heart on nothing now, but bless the gifts of every hour, holding my hand beneath life's bough to catch the fruit or falling flower. with the world breathing at my feet, i find the sunset stillness sweet, and with the night wind on my brow i set my heart on nothing now. he scarce had done, when the last man, who'd listened hard to every word, thus, rising in his place, began as if impatient to be heard: the lover oh, you men who are not married have n't known the joy of living, on the margin you have tarried, never putting out to sea; all your musing, all your grieving, is a childish thing to me. i have done with idle moping and have seen my manly duty. there is no more doubt and groping, since i took a woman's hand, and the loadstar of her beauty led me to the promised land. for her sake my work is pleasure and i thrive in my devotion, though i seek repute and treasure but to have the gifts to give, for my love, like river ocean, rounds the world in which i live. when i feel, in softest slumber, her fair head upon my pillow, i think how the misty humber and the ganges' holy stream send their treasures o'er the billow to embalm my lady's dream. rightly did my father rear me close beside the village steeple, rightly shall my sons revere me when they come to take my place, for i serve my land and people and maintain my sturdy race. fill your glasses up with liquor, drink it down while yet it bubbles. when the heart beats quick and quicker love is knocking. drink with me: here is death to all your troubles, and long life, fair love, to thee! "yes, fill your glasses up, i pray you," said i, "and make it bumpers now, for whatsoever passion sway you some noble love we all avow. "we bear a mark, an inward token, that parts us from the common herd. to each of us some muse has spoken a holy, unforgotten word. "our stars, conjoined in youth's first season, whether to musing moved or strife. obedient to one touch of reason together make the round of life. "drink to the loves we knitted here, a bond by distance not undone. high thoughts outlive the wasted year; i drink to that which makes us one." athletic ode i hear a rumour and a shout, a louder heart-throb pulses in the air. fling, muse, thy lattice open, and beware to keep the morning out. beckon into the chamber of thy care the bird of healing wing that trilleth there blithe happy passion of the strong and fair. their wild heart singeth. do thou also sing. how vain, how vain the feeble croaking of a reasoning tongue that heals no pain and prompts no bright deed worthy to be sung too soon cold earth refuses flowers. oh, greet their lovely birth! too soon dull death quiets the heaving of our doubtful breath. deem not its worth too high for honouring mirth; sing while the lyre is strung, and let the heart beat, while the heart is young. when the dank earth begins to thaw and yield the early clover, didst thou never pass some balmy noon from field to sunny field and press thy feet against the tufted grass? so hadst thou seen a spring palã¦stra on the tender green. here a tall stripling, with a woman's face, draws the spiked sandal on his upturned heel, sure-footed for the race; another hurls the quoit of heavy steel and glories to be strong; while yet another, lightest of the throng, crouching on tiptoe for the sudden bound, flies o'er the level race-course, like the hound, and soon is lost afar; another jumps the bar, for some god taught him easily to spring, the legs drawn under, as a bird takes wing, till, tempting fortune farther than is meet, at last he fails, and fails, and vainly tries, and blushing, and ashamed to lift his eyes, shakes the light earth from his feet. him friendly plaudits greet and pleasing to the unaccustomed ear. come then afield, come with the sporting year and watch the youth at play, for gentle is the strengthening sun, and sweet the soul of boyhood and the breath of may. and with the milder ray of the declining sun, when sky and shore, in purple drest and misty silver-grey. hang curtains round the day, come list the beating of the plashing oar, for grief in rhythmic labour glides away. the glancing blades make circles where they dip, now flash and drip cool wind-blown drops into the glassy river, now sink and cleave, while the lithe rowers heave and feel the boat beneath them leap and quiver. the supple oars in time, shattering the mirror of the rippled water, fly, fly as poets climb, borne by the pliant promise of their rhyme, or as bewitched by nereus' loveliest daughter the painted dolphins, following along, leap to the measure of her liquid song. but the blasts of late october, tempering summer's paling grief with a russet glow and sober, bring of these sports the latest and the chief. then bursts the flame from many a smouldering ember, and many an ardent boy woos harsher pleasures sweeter to remember, hugged with a sterner and a tenser joy. look where the rivals come: each little phalanx on its chosen ground strains for the sudden shock, and all around the multitude is dumb. come, watch the stubborn fight and doubtful, in the sight of wide-eyed beauty and unstinted love ay, the wise gods above, attentive to this hot and generous fray, smile on its fortunes and its end prepare, for play is also life, and far from care their own glad life is play. ye nymphs and fauns, to bacchus dear, that woke cithã¦ron with your midnight rout, arise, arise and shout! your day returns, your haunt is here. shake off dull sleep and long despair; there is intoxication in this air, and frenzy in this yelping cheer. how oft of old the enraptured muses sung olympian victors' praise. lo! even in these days the world is young. life like a torrent flung for ever down for ever wears a rainbow for a crown. o idle sigh for loveliness outworn, when the red flush of each unfailing morn floods every field and grove, and no moon wanes but some one is in love. o wasted tear, a new soul wakes with each awakened year. beneath these rags, these blood-clots on the face, the valiant soul is still the same, the same the strength, the art, the inevitable grace, the thirst unquenched for fame quenching base passion, the high will severe, the long obedience, and the knightly flame of loyalty to honour and a name. give o'er, ye chords, your music ere ye tire, be sweetly mute, o lyre. words soon are cold, and life is warm for ever. one half of honour is the strong endeavour, success the other, but when both conspire youth has her perfect crown, and age her old desire. the bottles and the wine lines read at the reunion of a college club would you have an illustration of the thing we fellows are? liken every generation to the bottles in the bar: vessels full of precious liquor standing in their brave array,--never bosom friends were thicker or of franker heart than they, there congenially hobnobbing, always ready for a bout, as half laughing and half sobbing the fine spirits bubble out. we buy, break, drink, waste, decant them- bottles come and bottles go- yet there always, when you want them, stand the bottles in a row: port and sherry, rum and brandy, irish, bourbon, scotch, and rye, always smiling, always handy when the heart's a trifle dry. though the bottles change their label and tag on another name, they're as welcome at the table, for the liquor's still the same. days gone by saw jugs in plenty, now less frequently on view. every year some ten or twenty pass to fields and pastures new. there, replenished, they grow fatter and their bellies bulge amain, but though full as yet of matter, you may mark a certain drain, for the busy world's contention brings the liquid down a bit, and a small god i won't mention sometimes takes a pull at it. yet apart from some mischances, though not standing where they stood, for big dinners and small dances our old bottles still are good. but when once the dregs are emptied, we throw bottles in a heap, not one favourite exempted, were its spirit fine or cheap. they 're doled out in the back alley by the scrawny hands of hags when gaunt death comes shilly-shally crying, "bottles and old rags!" what of that? while face and feature, manners, minds, and pleasures pass, mature breeds a younger creature. mate to what the other was, and the sports we had forsaken, and the fancies blown away in the brighter souls they waken live for ever and a day. the proud glories that entice us no more fail because we pass than the founts of dionysus for the quaffing of a glass. but what happens to the liquor? the old bottles' fate to share, only that its flight is quicker up the vortices of air? is it lost as soon as tasted, rising upon moth-like wings to be caught and scorched and wasted in this foolish flame of things? ah, the blood of nature's spilling trickles back into her veins, and her cup is ever filling with the vintage that she strains. for a moment she befriends us with unsealing of our eyes, but the light of life she lends us floods her everlasting skies. the sweet wine that makes our passion linking heart to mortal heart is her ancient fire to fashion all the marvels of her art. it has painted woman's beauty, it is parent to the flowers, it has wedded joy to duty, portioned loves among the hours, built us palaces and churches, plucked its music from the lyre, lighted all the spirit's searches through the mazes of desire, yes, and scorning earthly places and our human loves and wars it has peopled heaven's spaces and has gilded heaven's stars. drink, then, of this cup and drain it. let the wine renew the soul, and all vessels that contain it, may they long be sound and whole to receive the boon and give it that makes mortal joys divine. here's to life and all who live it, to the bottles and the wine. the poetic medium in chelsea dwells a sibyl known to fame called mrs. fakir--necromantic name! past, present, future, open to her view she (for ten dollars) will reveal to you. i for less sums--the discount to the trade- quaff at her fount and seek her undismayed. i found the priestess in her wonted lair up three steep flights of narrow dirty stair. chill was the darkened chamber. a thick fume of kerosene lent odour to the gloom. clothed in black weeds, pale, with delirious hair, rocked mrs. fakir in her rocking-chair. i told my errand; with some hushed complaint about the fee, she fell into a faint, thrice rolled her eyes, thrice snorted through her nose, thrice wrung her hands, and wriggled thrice her toes, then spoke. (i versify: she uttered vulgar prose.) "you want some verse: not every poet's soul whose aid you crave is still in my control. whom would you summon? you must ask the boon of some frail wight that floats below the moon. the spirits that have risen to the stars reck not the echoes of our earthly jars. their troubles past, they have forgotten ours, and move unmoved by even magic powers. only weak souls entangled in the mesh of passion, dying, still are bond to flesh, and hover o'er the battle-field of life to smell their kindred blood and pine for strife. such i may summon, for they have no choice who crave to live again and find a voice." "'t is well," i answered. "if the gods so please, we will not call on aristophanes, horace shall slumber, juvenal be dumb. they rest in peace. but haply swift will come." "not swift," she said, "not swift. i cannot tell whether he flew to heaven or to hell, but he is gone far from this mild, low-born, and canting age, incapable of scorn." "well, summon byron, then," i said and sighed. "byron is also safe," the witch replied. "the first sin punished and the first forgiven is love's, the slip of climbers into heaven. the petted passion and the shallow dream he purged at last; the heart survived supreme." "byron gone too," thought i, "what wit remains all younger sprites have water in their veins. but, ah! might not the living help me out? don't phantoms of the living flit about?" "they do, they do," quoth chelsea's pythoness. "here in my telepathic cave's recess all that they say or think or wish or feel i read aloud, but most what they conceal. whom would you plagiarise? you 're silent? why, have you forgot the ages galaxy--" i trembled as she named them one by one, from willy frilly down to spider spun. "spare me," i cried. "shall some prolific bard reel off bright lyrics at a cent a yard, all about april rain, december snow, the brook, the sunset, and the squawking crow? shall little swinburnes turn a verse with ease and sing the flaccid pleasures of disease? shall mimics, drunk with each castalian rill, be any poet but themselves at will, luscious when keats, when spenser quaint and dull, when browning turgid, and noodles null? shall weaklings, in thick verse and tortured prose, strike affectation's quintessential pose, sniffing the odours of a perfumed brain where melts a wordsworth _plus_ a paul verlaine? when, with no art, were precious fabrics wrought, when metaphysics with no mastering thought? no, mrs. fakir, none of this small fry. catch me some ghost of sense, or else good-bye. not at my bidding shall this choir prolong the cloying drivel of unmeaning song, enrich the echo, maul the note and tease, miauling nothing in a hundred keys. better pope's squirrel eye and polished sneer than idiot mouthings, false without veneer. better boileau's 'monotony in wire,' dressing good wit in periwigged attire; for in a garden's alleys or a wood hung all in green, monotony is good, and a frail stem may need a bit of wire to keep the rose from trailing in the mire. never will they dig deep or build for time who of unreason weave a maze of rhyme, worship a weakness, nurse a whim, and bind wreaths about temples tenantless of mind, forsake the path the seeing muses trod, and shatter nature to discover god. he only climbs the skies and proudly sings whose heart, attentive, feels the pulse of things, masters the fact, and hails the changeless goal that beckons, purges, and fulfils the soul." i ceased: no ghost was willing to befriend, and all the living useless to my end. meantime the hag awoke with vacant stare, and passed her bony fingers through her hair. i left her den and hastened back to town, writing the while my sad experience down. this you have heard. 't is little that i give, but it makes sense. long, masters, may you live. young sammy's first wild oats lines written before the presidential election of 1900 mid uncle sam's expanded acres there's an old, secluded glade where grey puritans and quakers still grow fervid in the shade; and the same great elms and beeches that once graced the ancestral farm, bending to the old men's speeches, lend their words an echo's charm. laurel, clematis, and vine weave green trellises about, and three maples and a pine shut the mucker-village out. yet the smoke of trade and battle cannot quite be banished hence, and the air-line to seattle whizzes just behind the fence. as one day old deacon plaster hobbled to the wonted nook, there was doctor wise, the pastor, meekly sitting with his book. "what has happened, brother deacon, that you look so hot and vexed? is it something i might speak on when i preach on sabbath next?" "doctor wise," replied the other, as he wiped the sweat away, "'t is a wicked sin, my brother, you should preach on every day. cousin sammy's gone a-tooting to the creole county fair, where the very sun's polluting and there's fever in the air he has picked up three young lasses, three mulattoes on the mart, who have offered him free passes to their fortune and their heart. one young woman he respected, vowed he only came to woo. but his word may be neglected since he ravished the other two. in the porto rican billing and carousing, i allow that the little minx was willing, though she may be sorry now. but what came of those embraces and that taint of nigger blood? now he looks on outraged faces and can laugh, defying god: he can stretch his hand, relieving, and strike down a cheated slave. oh, if uncle sam were living, this would bring him to his grave!" deacon plaster ceased and, sighing, mopped the reeking of his brain. doctor wise, before replying, put his goggles on again. "brother plaster, to be candid, were i managing the farm, i should do as the old man did--lying low and safe from harm, shoot at poachers from the hedges, if they ventured within range, just round out my acre's edges, grow and grow, but never change. i am old, and you are old, sir: old the thoughts we live among. if the truth were to be told, sir, none of us was ever young. in the towns of sombre britain--merry england turned about--we were marked at birth and smitten whom the lord had chosen out; picked to found a pilgrim nation, far from men, estranged, remote, with the desert for a station and the ocean for a moat; to rebuke by sober living, in the dread of wrath to come, of the joys of this world's giving the abominable sum. yet all passion's seeds came smuggled in our narrow pilgrim ark, and, unwatered, grew and struggled, pushed for ages through the dark, and, when summer granted pardon, burst into the upper air, till that desert was a garden and that sea a thoroughfare. thus the virtue we rely on melted 'neath the heathen sun, and what should have been a zion came to be this babylon. ignorant of ancient sorrow, with hot young blood in their veins, now the prophets of the morrow ply the spur and hold the reins. can we blame them? rather blame us,- us, who uttered idle things. our false prophecies shall shame us, and our weak imaginings. liberty! delicious sound! the world loved it, and is free. but what's freedom? to be bound by a chance majority. few are rich and many poor, though all minds show one dull hue. equality we don't secure, mediocrity we do. ah! what dreams beguiled our youth! brothers we had hoped to be; but competition is the truth of what we called fraternity. can we blame them we mistaught if now they seek another guide and, since our wisdom comes to naught, take counsel of their proper pride? nature beckons them, inviting to a deeper draught of fate, and, the heart's desire inciting, can we stop and bid them wait? "if old uncle sam were living, this, you say, should never be: ah! if uncle sam were living, he might weep, but he must see. yet he died in time, believing in the gods that ruled his days. we, alas! survive him, grieving under gods we will not praise. the keen pleasures of december mean the joys of april lost; and shall rising suns remember all the dream worlds they have crossed? all things mortal have their season: nothing lives, for ever young, but renews its life by treason to the thing from which it sprung, and when man has reached immortal mansions, after toiling long, life deserts him at the portal, and he only lives in song. "as for sam, the son, i wonder if you know the fellow's heart: there may yet be something under nobler than the outer part. when he told that seã±orita that he kissed and hugged her close like a brother, did he cheat her? did he cheat himself? who knows? that he liked her, that is certain; that he wronged her is n't true. on his thoughts i draw the curtain: i don't know them, nor do you. in her maid, the facile rica, we have quite another case. hardly did he go to seek her, when she rushed to his embrace. i confess it was improper, but all flesh, alas! is flesh. things had gone too far to drop her; each was in the other's mesh. but with that poor filipina, when she shrank from his caress, his contemptible demeanour is n't easy to express. first he bought her, then he kicked her; but the truth is, he was drunk, for that day had crowned him victor, and a spanish fleet was sunk. "you perceive i do not spare him, nor am blinded to his motes by the christian love i bear him; yes; he's sowing his wild oats. but you can't deny him talent; once his instinct is awake, he can play the part of gallant and of soldier and of rake. and it's something to have spirit though in rashness first expressed. give me good blood to inherit: time and trial do the rest. he's not uncle sam, the father, that prim, pompous, pious man, yankee, or virginian, rather: sammy's an american- lavish, clever, loud, and pushing, loving bargains, loving strife, kindly, fearless-eyed, unblushing, not yet settled down in life. send him forth; the world will mellow his bluff youth, or nothing can. nature made the hearty fellow, life will make the gentleman. and if cousin sam is callow, it was we who did the harm, letting his young soul lie fallow- the one waste spot in the farm- trained by sordid inventories to scorn all he could n't buy, puffed with miserable glories shouted at an empty sky, fooled with cant of a past era, droned 'twixt dreamy lid and lid, till his god was a chimera and the living god was hid. let him look up from his standard to the older stars of heaven, seaward by whose might, and landward, all the tribes of men are driven; by whom ancient hopes were blasted, ancient labours turned to dust; whence the little that has lasted borrows patience to be just: and beholding tribulation, seeing whither states are hurled, let him sign his declaration of dependence on the world." thus the doctor's sermon ended; the old deacon shook his head, for his conscience was offended and his wits had lost the thread. so have mine, but there's my fable: now, and when you cast your votes, be as lenient as you 're able on "young sammy's first wild oats." spain in america when scarce the echoes of manila bay, circling each slumbering billowy hemisphere, had met where spain's forlorn armada lay locked amid hostile hills, and whispered near the double omen of that groan and cheer--haste to do now what must be done anon or some mad hope of selling triumph dear drove the ships forth: soon was _teresa_ gone, _furã³r, pluton, vizcaya, oquendo_, and _colã³n_. and when the second morning dawned serene o'er vivid waves and foam-fringed mountains, dressed like nessus in their robe's envenomed sheen, scarce by some fiery fleck the place was guessed where each hulk smouldered; while from crest to crest leapt through the north the news of victory, victory tarnished by a boorish jest yet touched with pity, lest the unkindly sea should too much aid the strong and leave no enemy. as the anguished soul, that gasped for difficult breath, passes to silence from its house of pain, so from those wrecks, in fumes of lurid death, passed into peace the heavy pride of spain, passed from that aching tenement, half fain, back to her castled hills and windy moors, no longer tossed upon the treacherous main once boasted hers, which with its watery lures too long enticed her sons to unhallowed sepultures. why went columbus to that highland race, frugal and pensive, prone to love and ire, despising kingdoms for a woman's face, for honour riches and for faith desire? on spain's own breast was snow, within it fire; in her own eyes and subtle tongue was mirth; the eternal brooded in her skies, whence nigher the trebled starry host admonished earth to shame away her grief and mock her baubles' worth. ah! when the crafty tyrian came to spain to barter for her gold his motley wares, treading her beaches he forgot his gain. the semite became noble unawares. her passion breathed hamilcar's cruel prayers; her fiery winds taught hannibal his vows; out of her tribulations and despairs they wove a sterile garland for their brows. to her sad ports they fled before the roman prows. and the greek coming too forgot his art, and that large temperance which made him wise. the wonder of her mountains choked his heart, the languor of her gardens veiled his eyes; he dreamed, he doubted; in her deeper skies he read unfathomed oracles of woe, and stubborn to the onward destinies, like some dumb brute before a human foe, sank in saguntum's flames and deemed them brighter so. the mighty roman also when he came, bringing his gods, his justice, and his tongue, put off his greatness for a sadder fame, and what a cã¦sar wrought a lucan sung. nor was the pomp of his proud music, wrung from latin numbers, half so stern and dire, nor the sad majesties he moved among half so divine, as her unbreathed desire. shall longing break the heart and not untune the lyre? when after many conquerors came christ, the only conqueror of spain indeed, not bethlehem nor golgotha sufficed to show him forth, but every shrine must bleed and every shepherd in his watches heed the angels' matins sung at heaven's gate. nor seemed the virgin mother wholly freed from taint of ill if born in frail estate, but shone the seraphs' queen and soared immaculate. and when the arab from his burning sands swept o'er the waters like a heavenly flail, he took her lute into his conquering hands, and in her midnight turned to nightingale. with woven lattices and pillars frail he screened the pleasant secrets of his bower, yet little could his subtler arts avail against the brutal onset of the giaour. the rose passed from his courts, the muezzin from his tower. only one image of his wisdom stayed, one only relic of his magic lore,- allah the great, whom silent fate obeyed, more than jehovah calm and hidden more, allah remained in her heart's kindred core high witness of these terrene shifts of wrong. into his ancient silence she could pour her passions' frailty--he alone is strong- and chant with lingering wail the burden of her song. seizing at covadonga the rude cross pelayo raised amid his mountaineers, she bore it to granada, one day's loss ransomed with battles of a thousand years. a nation born in harness, fed on tears, christened in blood, and schooled in sacrifice, all for a sweeter music in the spheres, all for a painted heaven--at a price should she forsake her loves and sail to ind for spice? had genoa in her merchant palaces no welcome for a heaven-guided son? had venice, mistress of the inland seas, no ships for bolder venture? pisa none? was sated rome content? her mission done? saw lusitania in her seaward dreams no floating premonition, beckoning on to vast horizons, gilded yet with gleams of old atlantis, whelmed beneath the bubbling streams? or if some torpor lay upon the south, tranced by the might of memories divine, dwelt no shrewd princeling by the marshy mouth of scheldt, or by the many mouths of rhine? rode albion not at anchor in the brine whose throne but now the thrifty tudor stole changing a noble for a crafty line? swarmed not the norsemen yet about the pole, seeking through endless mists new havens for the soul? these should have been thy mates, columbus, these patrons and partners of thy enterprise, sad lovers of immeasurable seas, bound to no hallowed earth, no peopled skies. no ray should reach them of their ladies' eyes in western deserts: no pure minstrel's rhyme, echoing in forest solitudes, surprise their heart with longing for a sweeter clime. these, these should found a world who drag no chains of time. in sooth it had seemed folly, to reveal to stubborn aragon and evil-eyed these perilous hopes, folly to dull castile moated in jealous faith and walled in pride, save that those thoughts, to spain's fresh deeds allied, painted new christian conquests, and her hand itched for that sword, now dangling at her side, which drove the moslem forth and purged the land. and then she dreamed a dream her heart could understand. three caravels, a cross upon the prow, a broad cross on the banner and the sail, the liquid fields of hesperus should plough borne by the leaping waters and the gale. before that sign all hellish powers should quail troubling the deep: no dragon's obscene crest, no serpent's slimy coils should aught avail, till ivory cities looming in the west should gleam from high cathay or araby the blest, then, as with noble mien and debonair the captains from the galleys leapt to land, or down the temple's alabaster stair or by the river's marge of silvery sand, proud sultans should descend with outstretched hand greeting the strangers, and by them apprised of christ's redemption and the queen's command, being with joy and gratitude baptised, should lavish gifts of price by rarest art devised. or if (since churls there be) they should demur to some least point of fealty or faith, a champion, clad in arms from crest to spur, should challenge the proud caitiffs to their death and, singly felling them, from their last breath extort confession that the lord is lord, and india's catholic queen, elizabeth. whereat yon turbaned tribes, with one accord, should beat their heathen breasts and ope their treasures' horde. or, if the worst should chance and high debates should end in insult and outrageous deed, and, many christians rudely slain, their mates should summon heaven to their direful need, suddenly from the clouds a snow-white steed bearing a dazzling rider clad in flames should plunge into the fray: with instant speed rout all the foe at once, while mid acclaims the slaughtered braves should rise, crying, _saint james! saint james!_ then, the day won, and its bright arbiter vanished, save for peace he left behind, each in his private bosom should bestir plis dearest dream: as that perchance there pined some lovely maiden of angelic mind in those dark towers, awaiting out of spain two saviours that her horoscope divined should thence arrive. she (womanlike) were fain not to be wholly free, but wear a chosen chain. that should be youth's adventure. riper days would crave the guerdon of a prouder power and pluck their nuggets from an earthly maze for rule and dignity and children's dower. and age that thought to near the fatal hour should to a magic fount descend instead, whose waters with the fruit revive the flower and deck in all its bloom the ashen head, where a green heaven spreads, not peopled of the dead. by such false meteors did those helmsmen steer, such phantoms filled their vain and vaulting souls with divers ardours, while this brooding sphere swung yet ungirdled on her silent poles. all journeys took them farther from their goals, all battles won defeated their desire, barred from one india by the other's shoals, each sighted star extinguishing its fire, cape doubled after cape, and never haven nigher. how many galleons sailed to sail no more, how many battles and how many slain, since first columbus touched the cuban shore, till aurocania felt the yoke of spain! what mounting miseries! what dwindling gain! to till those solitudes, soon swept of gold, and bear that ardent sun, across the main slaves must come writhing in the festering hold of galleys.--poison works, though men be brave and bold. that slothful planter, once the buccaneer, lord of his bastards and his mongrel clan, ignorant, harsh, what could he list or hear of europe and the heritage of man? no petty schemer sees the larger plan, no privy tyrant brooks the mightier law, but lash in hand rides forth a partisan of freedom: base, without the touch of awe, he poisoned first the blood his poniard was to draw. by sloth and lust and mindlessness and pelf spain sank in sadness and dishonour down, each in her service serving but himself, each in his passion striking at her crown. not that these treasons blotted her renown emblazoned higher than such hands can reach: there where she reaped but sorrow she has sown the balm of sorrow; all she had to teach she taught the younger world--her faith and heart and speech. and now within her sea-girt walls withdrawn she waits in silence for the healing years, while where her sun has set a second dawn comes from the north, with other hopes and fears. spain's daughters stand, half ceasing from their tears, and watch the skies from cuba to the horn. "what is this dove or eagle that appears," they seem to cry, "what herald of what morn hovers o'er andes' peaks in love or guile or scorn?" "o brooding spirit, fledgling of the north, winged for the levels of its shifting light, child of a labouring ocean and an earth shrouded in vapours, fear the southward flight, dread waveless waters and their warm delight, beware of peaks that cleave the cloudless blue and hold communion with the naked night. the souls went never back that hither flew, but sighing fell to earth or broke the heavens through. "haunt still thy storm-swept islands, and endure the shimmering forest where thy visions live. then if we love thee--for thy heart is pure--thou shalt have something worthy love to give. thrust not thy prophets on us, nor believe thy sorry riches in our eyes are fair. thy unctuous sophists never will deceive a mortal pang, or charm away despair. not for the stranger's fee we plait our lustrous hair. "but of thy lingering twilight bring some gleam, memorial of the immaterial fire lighting thy heart, and to a wider dream waken the music of our plaintive lyre. check our rash word, hush, hush our base desire. hang paler clouds of reverence about our garish skies: laborious hope inspire that uncomplaining walks the paths of doubt, a wistful heart within, a mailed breast without. "gold found is dross, but long promethean art transmutes to gold the unprofitable ore. bring labour's joy, yet spare that better part our mother, spain, bequeathed to all she bore, for who shall covet if he once adore? leave in our skies, strange spirit passing there, no less of vision but of courage more, and of our worship take thy equal share, thou who wouldst teach us hope, with her who taught us prayer." youth's immortality what, when hearts have met, shall sever heart from heart, though heaven fall? they alone are dead for ever who have never lived at all. roses that have bloomed to sweetness never can untimely fade, blessed by death in their completeness and on beauty's bosom laid, garnered in the breast eternal where all noble joys are one, sweet elysium, fair and vernal, where they mount who face the sun. happy he whom men call lonely, whose companion is the truth, and whose heart is ravished only by the world's immortal youth. happy he whose single treasure is the infinite unfurled, and whose voice has caught the measure of the music of the world. when death gathers up our ashes and our sorry shades depart, lo, life's flame, rekindled, flashes from another mortal heart, and death turns about, derided by the life he would deride. vainly space and time divided what eternity allied. one great hope guides all our seeing, one pure heaven lends us light. love is still the crown of being, faith the better part of sight. the same wisdom's ancient pages stir again the generous soul to the mighty task of ages crawling still to reason's goal. the prophetic muse of story sings her ancient legend o'er, and the sea, still young and hoary, chants along the beaten shore. spring yet yields her flowery treasures to the guiltless hands of boys, chastening their noisy pleasures to the depth of human joys. one eternal passion drives us, zealots of the stars above, and our better part survives us, living in the things we love. state the historical * society * founded 1846 wisconsin of 05 3006 cleve, corporate the hermits in spain 1906 ཏr +1906+ +fr.walker borton and borton securities guardian trust building cleveland the hermits in spain a musical comedy in 3 acts libretto by norman c. mcloud and maximilian foster lyrics by norman c. mcloud score by albert rees davis, milton w. lusk richard s. spencer, j. f. stair. arthur c. rogers, frank b. meade, s. w. croxton, jr., and henry l. sanford. produced by the hermit club of cleveland press of the brooks company opera house may 28 το june 2 1906 fr.w. + herbert mathews edward g. gilbert mathews & gilbert suburban real estate owners of 911-912 williamson building spring garden original subdivision no. 1 lauderdale original subdivision no. 2 john c. hall farm subdivision no. 3 high bridge park subdivision no. 4 managers the maple leaf land company, gates mills oakwood-on-the-lake, rocky river the hanna farm, lakewood clifton boulevard and lake avenue property aaron mathews subdivision, rocky river gates mills of the model suburb of greater cleveland acres for the price of a city lot. picturesque sites overlooking hills, chagrin river and valley. one hour from the city. we invite inspection : : : : : : :: the maple leaf land company mathews & gilbert, managers ask for mr. gilbert 911 williamson building u.w..lib. his 2725 566 742 1906 caste note. the characters are named in the program in the order in which they first speak. samuel jenkins roger c. enwright a yankee promoter, seeking an electric railway franchise in the heart of the pyrenees herr von heissler · george b. pettengill professor of singing in the convent at colorado maduro. ready to be a hero father mendoza frederic s. porter abbot of the spanish monastery stella keyes s. wolle croxton, jr. american stenographer for jenkins. always ready to help secure a franchise mrs. wilkins herbert mathews chaperone for visiting american school girls the alcalde clarence a. dielhenn most important man in the village, and the head of civil government and the army one third of the army phillip r. lyman eager to be useful two thirds of the army wm. mckinley duncan ley duncan also eager to be useful gorgonzola • charles h. hopper a bloodthirsty bandit women go to higbee's for exclusive styles so do men camembert cast---continued roland t. meacham a fierce but musical bandit roquefort charles w. stage a willowy and somewhat sentimental bandit marguerite spinola h. n. herriman a spanish beauty with a mystery. in the power of the frederick scoville bandits fred w. braggins an american student touring spain alfred smithers albert r. davis seeking to suppress bull-fighting. a reformer with an international police record alfonso xxiii charles a. maher king of spain the anarchist an engineer sterling w. hubbard charles c. clark with bad news another engineer george h. ganson with more bad news the bull by himself ¶ how do the hermits keep their hermitage warm? atlam holle by the use of an ideal boiler w. m. pattison supply co., agents 197 to 221 st. clair avenue, n. e. monks and surveyors gardner abbott arthur d. brooks charles s. brooks charles c. clark louis j. ford george h. ganson paul e. kroehle clarence v. kerr howard mansfield frederic m. nicola clarence odell john w. pickard, jr. frederic s. porter rufus p. ranney henry l. sanford charles s. schneider arthur m. smith arthur b. smythe school girls j. arthur beidler, jr. walter s. bowler wilbur h. brooks george a. coulton arthur b. eisenbrey ben a. gage edward b. greene james m. hamilton ward b. jackson karl t. kirk charles e. stamp charles e. thompson announcement extraordinary the hermits in... luna park date to be published later ingersoll's luna park cleveland's "play ground beautiful" now open for second season of triumph "louie and lena at luna" american girls sam c. cutler guy h. gardner paul s. gill george h. kelly frank c. newcomer wm. j. rattle, jr. charles f. sherwood richard s. spencer dreamland ballet pierrots j. arthur beidler, jr. wilbur h. brooks walter s. bowler edward b. greene charles e. thompson pierrettes arthur b. eisenbrey ben a. gage james m. hamilton ward b. jackson karl t. kirk german commedians arthur d. brooks albert c. bailey paul e. kroehle charles e. stamp ben a. gage karl t. kirk frederic s. porter charles k. arter arthur h. smith george h. kelly george a. coulton john w. pickard, jr. bottled only apollinaris at the apollinaris spring, neuenahr, germany, and only with its own natural gas. sole importers: apollinaris agency co., 503 fifth ave., new york. chas. k. arter j. milton dyer a. ward fenton m. w. lawrence spooks james mathers arthur m. smith justin g. sholes william wieman spanish ballet t. ernest borton charles s. brooks james h. foster sam c. cutler guy h. gardner paul s. gill men joseph h. kline f. ickes merrick henry l. sanford girls william j. rattle richard s. spencer charles f. sherwood brigands charles s. brooks james h. foster f. ickes merrick george a. coulton arthur b. eisenbrey ben a. gage men frank c. newcomer john w. pickard, jr. henry l. sanford girls george h. kelly karl t. kirk charles e. stamp the auto shop company automobiles and supplies * agents for the oldsmobile franklin thomas flyer storage and repair work a specialty 41 vincent street pony ballet j. arthur beidler, jr. walter s. bowler wilbur h. brooks arthur b. eisenbrey edward b. greene james m. hamilton ward b. jackson charles e. thompson geisha girls j. arthur beidler, jr. walter s. bowler ward b. jackson wilbur h. brooks edward b. greene charles e. thompson american sailors sam c. cutler guy h. gardner paul s. gill william j. rattle richard s. spencer charles f. sherwood the ability of a bank to care for the interests of its depositors depends largely upon the character and experience of the men composing its board of directors. the superior savings and trust company rockefeller building capital and surplus, $1,000,000 officers jj sullivan president 1 jh mcbride vice president e w oglebay chairman of the board f a scott secretary and treasurer directors louis black president the bailey company l. m. bowers representing john d. rockefeller e. s. burke, jr. corrigan, mckinney & company howard p. eells president the bucyrus company l. c. hanna m. a. hanna & company james h. hoyt hoyt, dustin & kelley j. h. mcbride vice president the root & mcbride company samuel mather pickands, mather & company e. w. oglebay oglebay, norton & company f. f. prentiss president the cleveland twist drill company samuel scovil vice president the cleveland electric illuminating company j. j. sullivan president the central national bank lyman h. treadway manager the peck, stow & wilcox company james c. wallace president the american shipbuilding company f. a. scott secretary and treasurer scenes & act i. the roadside in front of the convent. near the spanish town of colorado maduro. the morning of july 4th. act ii. the bull fighting arena of the town. afternoon of the same day. act iii. camp of the bandits, in a ruined abbey in the pyrenees. near colorado maduro. evening of the same day. a hermit won't smoke and a hermit won't joke and he shies at a drink if you meet him, so of course it is plain, when a hermits in pain he won't allow doctors to treat him. the cleveland electric illuminating company. hence the anchoret man must work out his own plan (how simple it is and symetric) and the cunning recluse merely turns on the juice and his treatment is wholly electric. il l music musical numbers act i overture-hermits in spain opening chorus lusk and davis monks and schoolgirls teacher and scholars ( introducing the air "lightly row" by mendel) von heissler and chorus lusk the chaperone rogers mrs. wilkins with ballet of american girls we're the bandits brave and bold gorgonzola, camembert and roquefort duet-vowing by all the stars above lusk davis marguerite and scoville surveyors' glee stair (introducing the air "one o' these days when the world turns 'round "" by eben h. bailey) chorus of surveyors skidoo! 23! . croxton stella keyes i can't come out tonight davis gorgonzola, assisted by camembert, roquefort and smithers in dreamland. spencer marguerite, with ballet of pierrots and pierrettes the king of sunny spain lusk the king and chorus finale-a valiant soldier davis the alcalde and chorus selections from the music of the hermits in spain on sale in the lobby and at music stores who? the cleveland laundry co. launderers of everything washablemusical and vaudeville numbers act ii my love of the old alcazar roquefort dutch song and dance spencer davis chorus of dialect comedians spirit manifestations smithers and spooks spanish dance lusk ballet of spanish men and girls uncle ephr❜m by himself knowing that you are you meade marguerite and pony ballet the toreador stair von heissler and chorus finale-we must save her stair (a travesty on grand opera) entire company capital $1,600,000.00 the uni o n national bank of cleveland officers president l. mcbride e. h. bourne vice presidents h. c. christy cashier j. f. harper g. a. coulton e. r. fancher assistant cashiers e. h. cady w. e. ward board of directors leander mcbride henry c. christy j. f. harper l. c. hanna f. a. sterling leonard schlather geo. h. worthington e. h. bourne c. a. grasselli e. j. siller i. p. lamson r. h. jenks j. r. nutt u. g. walker m. j. mandelbaum government depository musical numbers brigands' dance columbus and the egg act iii smithers sanford ballet of brigands spencer after you, alphonse davis the king and gorgonzola the south wind and the rose the land of the bright chrysanthemum chorus of geishas and american sailors lusk scoville and pony ballet davis if it hadn't been for germanee von heissler johnston finale-castles in spain entire company lusk the orchestra will play mr. lusk's latest march "" ship ahoy" as the exit number edwards' straight rye it is a high grade whiskey fully matured, and has a very fine flavor and aroma. for medicinal purposes it has no equal. we recommend it highly to one and all. the wm. edwards co. cleveland, sole proprietors orchestra\ frank b. meade, director milton w. lusk and richard s. spencer, pianists first violin james d. johnston john l. miller, jr. j. frank stair arthur pomeroy second violin oboe william j. woodruff clarinets joseph c. royon bassoon albert m. hannaford frank h. spafford harry r. valentine cornet viola charles e. burt robert campbell everett l. brown cello horn arthur c. rogers harry a. bliss maurice p. klumph edwin l. gleason bass trombone frank b. hannaford george reick william s. gilkey flute arch. c. klumph charles w. davis claude c. fenton tympani lawrence bergeron w. h. coffee & co. importing tailors 305 euclid avenue (new number) confined novelties for gentlemen's wear synopsis in general "the hermits in spain" may be classed as a musical comedy. in particular it embraces many of the characteristics of farce, opera, comedy drama, melodrama and vaudeville; and because of this combination it is confidently believed that almost everybody will find something pleasing to his taste somewhere in the entertainment. the play treats of the experiences of a band of wide awake americans essaying to build a trolley line in the heart of the pyrenees, where no trolley line is wanted. the first act opens with development of this fact through a conversation between jenkins, the promoter, and father mendoza, who is at the head of a band of monks interrupted by jenkins while they are in the midst of a bit of relaxation by the roadside. herr von heissler, a german, teaching music in the adjacent spanish convent, gives voice to his dissatisfaction with the singing of the monks and illustrates his own ideas by introducing his pupils in songs employing the music of "lightly row," which has become a classic through its long usage in the cleveland public schools. after the show--the hollenden grill room : : thompson & fox managers synopsis continued the action of the play introduces many characters, american and spanish. the romantic interest is afforded by the love affair of marguerite, a beautiful spanish girl in the hands of a set of bandits, and frederick scoville, a handsome american tourist. the bandits play an important part in the story. they plot to kidnap scoville for his supposed wealth, and they also enter into a conspiracy with alfred smithers, an american burglar, posing as a reformer of bull fights, to kidnap the king, the dowager queen and her diamonds and almost all the other principal characters. the kidnapping of the king and queen is to be made possible by their visit to the trolley camp. the first act ends with the reception of the king and preparations for a grand fourth of july celebration. act ii. incidental to the celebration several vaudeville numbers are introduced by members of the hermit club for the entertainment of the royal guests. at the last moment the great bull fighter, who has been featured in the preparations, sends word that he can not come and von heissler is pressed into service as a substitute. at the same time it is also discovered that otis & hough bankers and brokers cuyahoga building garfield building cleveland members new york, cleveland, chicago stock exchanges new york cotton exchange chicago board of trade private wires to all principal cities bond department, 200 garfield building government municipal bonds telephones main 154 erie 146 branch offices: denver, colo. columbus, o. railroad corporation colorado springs, colo. synopsis concluded the queen dowager can not be present and the american chaperone, a widow of uncertain years, is pressed into service by jenkins as her substitute, for the reason that the promoter knows of the plot of the bandits and his own schemes render it necessary that the bandits should think that they are kidnapping the queen. the act ends with the kidnapping of all concerned as scheduled. act iii. in the third act the audience is introduced to the camp of the bandits in the mountains. in rapid succession the action discloses the disappointment of the conspirators at finding that they have not secured the real queen, reveals the identity of marguerite as the heiress of the estate to which belongs the franchise sought by jenkins, and uncovers the duplicity of smithers, the quasi reformer of bull fights. the climax comes with the rescue of the prisoners by the valiant army which is delighted that it is needed at last, and the people of the play once more enjoy that which is described in the finale as "domestic tranquility." new york central lines for clevelanders in the "fast mail" leaving cleveland at 5:00 p. m. daily, and arriving in new york 8:15 a. m., there is presented unsurpassed travel facilities for cleveland people. latest sleeping, buffet, library and dining car service. return train is the famous "lake shore limited" leaving new york 5:30 p. m., daily, arriving cleveland 7:05 a. m. lake shore & michigan southern ry. 305 y staff y business manager stage director musical director choristers under direction of herbert mathews fred s. borton john mitchell frank b. meade albert rees davis arthur b. smythe herbert w. strong masters of properties hez m. terrell justin g. sholes treasurer edward h. cady costumes designed by john h. donahey and executed by wm. krause & son and printz biederman & co. perruquier adam weil scenery designed by frank r. walker and frank b. meade painted by h. r. rehn artificial vines and flowers by. gustave schroeder go via.... big four route columbus cincinnati το indianapolis st. louis kansas city, etc. the short line d. jay collver, city passenger agent 532 euclid avenue all lines to europe make reservations now collver's ocean steamship agency 532 euclid avenue 1committees 1 press norman c. mcloud, chairman john h. donahey maximilian foster charles a. otis program mortimer w. lawrence, chairman william s. gilkey george h. kelly` arthur c. rogers tickets harris creech, chairman henry e. freeman finance fred s. borton, chairman george h. kelly joseph c. rogers trade mark nuf said program advertising william t. higbee, chairman wilbur h. brooks r. prescott beardslee william l. colt harry r. edwards frank h. greene joseph h. kline paul e. kroehle fred w. king alfred g. tame harland j. wright read this it will interest you this means you! to be too modest now-a-days, is not a thing that pays; it's best to shout what you've to sell, or, advertise, the hermit says! it is a well known fact that the hermits of cleveland constitute cleveland's most progressive business men and "shining lights," who have the reputation of recognizing a good thing when they see it, hence the reason they have agreed to buy 100,000 pounds of climax new process linseed oil soap, the most efficient cleaner on the market for woodwork, furniture, painted or varnished surfaces; no household can afford to be without it. especially recom nended for the cleaning of automobiles, carriages, etc. it is the greatest dirt annihilator of the age. body" of hermits shine now, homes look like after having used fifty tons of this wondertul cleaner? if this "august what will their try it yourself; it is never too late to get next to a good thing! speaking of good things, have you ever tried rich's oils and greases for your automobile? nothing equal to them on the market. satisfaction assured or money refunded. our motto is "not how cheap, but how good." the most expensive automobile in the world is unsatisfactory without a suitable lubricant. get the best! let us send you a sample for trial. if interested, talk with rich about it. -manufactured only bythe climax refining company general offices, the williamson building, cleveland, o. telephones : bell, main 1177; cuyahoga, central 1627 4 lyrics 4 opening chorus—monks we are the monks from the cloister we live in solemn state we always strive to help mankind. for us you'll find no task too great. we greatly love our labor and thank the kindly fate which gave to us such power for good that we find no task too great no task we find too great. for work alone we live in earnest daily round, and our best efforts always give wherever we are found. (dance) as monks we must appear, with solemn stately tread. we must not be unseemly here our gaiety has fled. counter melody-school girls. we're waiting for our teacher dear, this morning bright and gay we'll raise our merry voices clear to pass the time away. come let us join the song be merry and free as maidens should be, stirring echoes the whole day long. you do the billing it does the adding, and both you and it get through together with elliott fisher combined billing and adding machine elliott-fisher company 1025 prospect ave. s. e. r. b. buswell, mgr. new york philadelphia boston pittsburg chicago st. louis sales offices buffalo cincinnati detroit minneapolis baltimore atlanta new orleans richmond, ind. and agencies in other cities london, england school girls' chorus girls: good morning teacher, how do you do sir? von h: it pleases me that i am well. girls: we're glad to see you our dear professor. von h: how much you please me i can't tell. girls: we'll really give you our best endeavor. von h: yes that's the way for us all to do. all: and we'll all work together like birds of a feather so come let us hasten through. "lightly row" choruses. one, two, three! one, two, three let the air with music ring. happy we, happy we as we learn to sing. we are maidens prim, demure, kept in convent walls secure. sadly pent! sadly pent! what a cruel thing. ding, dong, bell! ding, dong, bell, hear the cry of mother goose. ring the gong. ring the gong. something's broken loose. maybe humpty dumpty fell maybe pussy's in the well. who can tell? who can tell? something's raised the deuce. now it's hark. now it's hark. something new is going on. dogs do bark. dogs do bark. bo-peep's sheep are gone. beggars coming to the town hush-bye baby, cradle's down old king cole wears a frown peaceful days are gone. hermits please send me a copy of your book, the burmr. retailer, would it be worth anything to you to have your reports hours earlier : to get your trial balances in a few hours instead of a few days: to have your sales audited in a few hours: to know that all this work was correct: to save perhaps of the present cost of your book-keeping? let us send you a copy of our new 78page-and-cover book, "the burroughs system for retailers," written by some of the foremost retail accountants and auditors, and describing new methods in retail accounting, illustrated with 27 forms in actual use. free for a request on the coupon burroughs adding machine company detroit, mich., u. s. a. roughs system for retailers." name address to burroughs adding machine co. detroit, mich., u. s. a. the chaperone oh, i am the sort of a chaperone you read about in books whose value is reckon'd at so much a second to scatter forbidding looks. i always have figured my greatest delight is ferreting out a plan that looks a bit shady between my young lady and some rather nice young man. because i've discovered the average girl can easily organize some plan reprehensible, quite indefensible, blinding a guardian's eyes. and therefore you see i am lacking in time for worriments of my own, i never have leisure for sorrow or pleasure-because i'm a chaperone. aft. 1 aft. 2 chorus. so kindly listen friend, life's troubles all depend on how you may choose to look upon them, and so i recommend, no matter what you do, don't let them trouble you but draw a good salary like myself but draw juicy fees like professional men aft. 3 but blame all your woes on the property man which changes the in many particulars chaperones resemble the men of law point of view. whose various troubles are treated like bubbles, or mythical men of straw. the lawyers find it is easy enough, as history's always shown to bear with tranquillity, ease and facility cares that are not their own. and likewise physicians are fortunate men in dealing with human ills by mixing philosophy, faith and theosophy in with their drugs and pills with never a personal sorrow at all but treating all troubles as jokes because nature pleases to make the diseases distressing to other folks. there's something that puzzles the average man concerning the hermits in spain. this question dramatic he finds enigmatic and causing a mental strain. he cannot determine just how all the fellows got into the dresses they wear, and likewise he's wondered how herriman blundered in fastening on his hair. while much deeper mystery seems to surround the question of lingerie for the stays and laces in various places impress him bewilderingly. there's only one feature in all of the show that everyone understands, for frank meade's musicians have won a position as one of the finest of bands. corning glass works corning n. y. my love of the old alcazar you may ramble through mountain and valley, through village, through city and town; you may search in them all for a fair one as queen of your fortunes to crown. you may choose as you will of the maidens in countries both near and afar, but in none will you find one who equals my love of the old alcazar. when i first saw this beautiful vision 'midst scenes so romantic and old, summer's sunset had tinted the heavens with paintings of silver and gold; but the beauties of nature, so lavish, with naught to disturb or to mar, could never compare with her splendormy love of the old alcazar. all the gold of the glorious sunset, with its color so rich and so rare, seemed to melt into naught as it shone on the gold of her beautiful hair; while the gleam of the sunbeams so brilliant revealing her startled surprise, seemed feeble and pale when they vied with the flame from her glorious eyes. 1 w e believe that our experience in accumulating the business of fifty-five thousand individual depositors, which stands on our books today, qualifies us to say that we can also handle your business satisfactorily. our fourteen branch offices in all parts of the city and suburbs make this the most conveniently located big bank in cleveland. 4% interest on savings deposits 2% on checking accounts the cleveland trust company assets twenty-eight million dollars duet-vowing by all the stars above whene'er you breathe your song of love into my fondly waiting ear, vowing by all the stars above that you will always love me dear, i pledge my faith to you alone making confession strangely sweet that i will ever be thine own, thy loyal, tender marguerite. gladly i've heard thee breathing the song strangely it thrills me all the day long all my devotion i pledge to thee worship eternal hast thou won from me. with rapture sweet i long have dreamed of this glad moment's perfect bliss, but never vet hath vision seemed one half so dear, sweetheart as this. such joy as this can never dwell except in realms of love divine by souls attuned through mystic spell so thoroughly as thine and mine. the central national bank rockefeller building j. j. sullivan, president e. w. oglebay, vice president c. a. paine, cashier l. j. cameron, assistant cashier capital $1,000,000 surplus and profits $550,000 glee of surveyors we're a jolly lot of yankee boys, with a longing for new scenes in which to toil. so we lately took a notion that we'd sail across the ocean and build a trolley road on spanish soil. castilian beauties lighten our duties, and though our tasks we never shirk, we blend flirtations with our work. work is our pleasure the whole day long, no matter how hard it may be. and we'll welcome a measure of mirth and of song, when evening has found us free. we'll labor and toil with right good will through all of the busy day, and the low setting sun, when our labor is done, will find us buoyant and gay. ask the hermits they can tell you about america's finest bottled beer kellersaft a special brew for particular people the cleveland & sandusky brewing co. both phones: bell west 113 cuy. central 3933 skidoo, little girl. skidoo my six dollar job as a typewriter girl, i threw. i threw. and away to new york, with its bustle and whirl, i flew. i flew. i thought that in tragedy i'd make a hitthought that broadway was waiting for me; but alas for my hopes-it was only a dreamand i found it was never to be. then skidoo, little girl, skidoo. 23 is the number for you. the managers gave me a trial one day, but the audience seemed not to care for my way, and a man in a box said, "skidoo, the stage is not waiting for you. fade away from the scene-get a job as a cook. skidoo, little girl, skidoo." this frost was a crusher, but i wouldn't back down— would you? would you? for i'd made up my mind i would capture the town all through. all through. so i tackled the vaudeville stage for my nextthought i'd surely make good in a skit; but before i had gone very far with my job my manager fell in a fit. then skidoo, little girl, skidoo. 23 is the number for you. if i judge from the way that the people did spurn my vaudeville act i was done with the turn, and a man in a box said, "skidoo, the stage is not waiting for you. fade away from the scene-get a job as a cook. skidoo, little girl, skidoo." brown brothers & co. new york travelers' letters of credit and international cheques may be obtained through your banker brown, shipley & co. london do you know that we sell the jones improved loose leaf ledger the edison rotary mimeograph the globe-wernicke filing cabinets and book cases that we are printers of this program and want your business don't forget it the brooks company 122-4-6 superior street 1 the telling bros. company assume full charge of catering for banquets, dinners, weddings and receptions. ¶ we take upon ourselves all worry and trouble of preparation. equipment all of the very latest style. ¶ estimates gladly submitted upon request. please address j. e. ashman, manager catering department the telling brothers company i can't come out tonight an angora cat sat on a wall sat snugly on the wall, dressed up for his evening calldressed to make a call. but his beloved one sadly meowed with her head in anguish bowed to leave the house i'm not allowed i can't come out tonight. a married man sat at the phone the family telephone. his wifey wouldn't stay alone oh no sir-not alone. now, boys, it really is a shame there's nothing doing, just the same for i can't join your little game i can't come out tonight. a burglar bold in prison sat he simply sat and sat, the cops had nailed him good and patthey had nailed him pat. and when his pals who stood outside had wigwagged him to make a slidebig haul is waiting-he replied i can't come out tonight. the big strong man was almost froze he was well nigh froze. from all his fingers to his toesears and hands and toes. his family's in a cruel plightfor coal's gone up clear out of sightand we can't have a fire tonightfire has gone out tonight. the spanish-american trolley syndicate william jenkins manager and promotor after most careful consideration, has awarded the contract for its complete power plant, including two 1000 h. p. monarch corliss engines one 250 h. p. (ide ideal) automatic engine to the c. a. dielhenn company power machinery dealers and contractors 1523-4-5 williamson building, cleveland, ohio long before king alphonse or his impersonator were born "medart" steel rim pulleys were recognized for their high quality. today they are used everywhere. likewise, "medart" cast iron and wood pulleys, shafting hangers, boxes, etc. it will pay you, mr. manufacturer, to keep in close touch with the cleveland branch medart patent pulley company the c. a. dielhenn co., sales agents general offices 1523-4-5 williamson building warerooms corner so. water and long streets cleveland winton model-k $2500 winton model k just compare the winton model k with any car on the market selling at $3500 or higher the winton motor carriage company licensed under selden patent city sales depot, huron road and euclid ave. e do not like hermits. we our admiration is reserved for the modern, civilized brand-with a wife and family-daughters preferred. the halle bros. co. cleveland, in dreamland i wandered once idly in dreamland that realm where one's wishes are king, all nature gave promise of treasures that kindly good fortune should bring; of riches of joy and of glory, of triumphs that filled me with pride, but best of them all was the vision of you ever there at my side. chorus. floating, floating, thus in dreamland with my loved one at my side ever finding sweet contentment ever filled with joy and pride. through it all was just one hope, dear, midst this fairy land so gay— 'twas that i might ever wanderever thus in dreamland stay. to arouse from my slumbers so peaceful to awake from these visions so fair and find that my treasures had vanished like fairy gifts fading in air; to find to my sore disenchantment i sought for my loved one in vain bestirred one great wish in my heart, dear,— to just go a-dreaming again. chorus. fading, fading from my vision. dimly drifting from my view all my golden dreams have vanished— fleeting as the summer's dew. but in spite of all the darkness though the vision fades away i've your image in my heart, dear, and 'twill there forever stay. see that your car has a garford chassis made by the garford company elyria, ohio squires steam specialties (traps, pump governors and reducing valves) machinery and supplies the strong, carlisle & hammond company 336 to 344 frankfort avenue, n w., cleveland incorporated 1849. society for savings in the city of cleveland. deposits surplus fund undivided profits $49,550,225.47 2,600,000.00 604,781.03 seventy-nine thousand six hundred sixty-three depositors the king of sunny spain i'm the king of sunny spain and it's needless to explain that whatever takes my fancy's bound to go. i'm the country's only boss and i'm never at a loss for a way to keep from being counted slow. i have notions of my own how to run a royal throne and i've got the other monarchs on the guess. yes to keep the royal batch in a busy guessing match is a project i have tackled with success. i would like to see the man who can alter any plan when i've once decided what i'd like to do, that's the reason that i tried an experimental ride on your trolley line without consulting you. and i'm willing to admit that your road has made a hit with the monarch of the sunny land of spain; yes it hit me pretty hard but my temper wasn't jarred and i'm ready now to tackle it again. if there's any trouble brewin' in connection with a ruin or in anything to make your line complete just inform me what it is that you're needin' in your biz and i'll quickly knock the knockers off their feet. there's no use in being king if you're not prepared to bring all the pressure that is needed for your cause. so whatever be its nature we will have the legislature pass a basket full of made-to-order laws. the bourne-fuller co. iron, steel, pig iron, coke. cleveland, ohio. he wears the ovalesque scientific dress shirt the "ovalesque" bosom is constructed on strictly scientific lines. being wide at the bottom it conforms to the body and cannot possibly bulge or break. the most satisfactory dress shirt ever made, and is absolutely guaranteed. has the highest class workmanship, material and finish. made by international shirt and collar co. factory, troy, n. y. anheuser-busch's original budweiser con see that every cornis prange budweiser anheuser bus gelminlassociationste budweiser america's favorite beverage trace magk 6376 budweiser lager bir sanzer kopfen 2 bester ges anlaser busch branges 137,772,150 bottles sold in 1905 this exceeds the sales of all other bottled beers. budweiser is bottled only at the home plant of the anheuser-busch brewing association st. louis the william edwards co. distributers cleveland, o. marching song -finale act third here amid scenes of domestic tranquillity we have begun with pleasure to take the rest that our work so fully has won. dreaming of times when we fought for our country, so splendid and free. let us be merry and gay to-day, with never a thought of strife or fray for we are the soldiers who served our king where'er our duty be. chorus. see! the soldiers go marching by. hark! to the sound of their battle cry! music of bugle and drum and fife! 'tis the sound of a nation awaking to life. we'll hark to the cries of the pressing throng cheering the boys as they march along. then here's to our flag-in splendid array we'll defend her forever and aye. defend her forever and aye. when the hermits were in holland, the news had a circulation of 30,000 their visit to spain is coincident with the passing of the 70,000 mark by cleveland's great square deal afternoon newspaper e. b. brown dispensing optician oculists' prescriptions filled. high grade service in the making, repairing and adjusting of spectacles and eyeglasses. 315 schofield building ¶ if you used the same judgment in selecting your dry cleaner that you do in selecting your physician we would get all your work. "we never disappoint" the parisian dry cleaning co. phones and wagons in the golden days of spain take me back to fair hispania, to the spain of olden days, to the land whose life was radiant with a wondrous golden haze. when her knighthood filled her story with a chivalry sublime, and the romance of the ages was the spirit of the time. where we find the proudest people that the world has ever known, and each subject seemed a monarch with a kingdom of his own; where we find a land triumphant, such as ne'er will rise again, take me back to see the glories of the golden days of spain. chorus. in the golden days, in the days of old, when the nation shown. with wealth untold. mistress of the boundless main, ruler of the land and sea. then her power reigned transcendent. queen of all the world was she. to those days of spanish glory i would gladly turn once more; to the splendor and the triumphs of the stirring days of yore. when the nation forced the homage of the kings of all the earth, when the noblest gift of fortune was the gift of spanish birth. show me in the roll of nations such a record as was hers, such a story of achievement which your wonderment bestirs. show me where you'll find a nation in such wealth and grandeur dressed. show me where you'll find a people with such wondrous birthright blessed. commenced business in 1845 assets $100,000,000 do you know the policy contracts of the mutual benefit life ....insurance company.... of newark, n. j. contain special and peculiar advantages which are not combined in the policy contract of any other company the leading annual dividend company of the world j. w. pickard jr. superintendent of agencies for ohio new england bldg., cleveland special representative c. c. clark hallo the jewell a perfect car for $400 8 full h. p. gasoline. simple in construction. . . easy to operate. economical to maintain. . . built for business and professional men. it will positively meet all their requirements the forest city motor car company massillon, ohio a. o. brown & co. bankers and brokers 30 broad street new york members new york stock exchange new york cotton exchange chicago board of trade cleveland stock exchange cincinnati stock exchange branch offices waldorf-astoria, new york buffalo, n. y. cincinnati, ohio cleveland, ohio erie, pa. scranton, pa. wilkesbarre, pa. williamsport, pa. private wires to all principal cities high grade investment bonds, stocks, grain, cotton, etc., in all principal markets cleveland office, hollenden hotel building frederick s. dickson, manager cuyahoga telephone central 1990 bell telephone main 1671 you are you every nation boasts its galaxy of beauty, and of maidens fair, with heart and fancy free, who are cherished for their wondrous charms and graces, in the praise of whom fond lovers all agree. and the poets of the ages bring before us queenly visions in bewildering review, yet in all the world there's none i'd have you follow, for i'm happy just to know that you are you. chorus. i would not have you change, dear; i want you as you are— always my own beloved one, true as the evening star. others may seek their fancies, roaming the whole world through; i'll even be enraptured. knowing that you are you. though the canvas brings before our ravished vision radiant maidens of the painter's golden dreams, softly glowing with the flush of youth and beauty and surpassing even poet's tend'rest themes; though the sculptor gives us brightest inspiration with an imag'ry that thrills us through and through, i'm contented with my living, lod ideali am happy just to know that you are you. the morris coal company the morris-poston coal company the jefferson coal company general office, cleveland, ohio miners and shippers of genuine cambridge, pittsburg no. 8 and the celebrated piney fork coals average daily tonnage 10,000 tons the.... cleveland plain dealer the plain dealer. rgest circulation morning nday first in news ... first in circulation first in advertising ernst and ernst public accountants cleveland eclipse co, clendo toreador's song you now see before you the toreador a man who's most highly regarded, in all of the nation there's no higher station than that which to me is awarded. from madrid to cadiz the pet of the ladies the toreador is the pride of them all. i am the toreador been none like me beforewondrous musician of stately positionbristling with harmony just like in carmena bravo! toreador bravo toreador-toreador. it fills me with rapture to see how i capture the people who gather before me. no millionaire's coffer such treasure may offer as equals the joy that comes o'er me— aroused by the cheering i'm constantly hearing the plaudits bestowed on the pride of them all. 0 milk that is pure the most important article of food is milk the most important question is its purity scondensed eagle borden's ace mark of bones cower: mila eagle now bear the gail borden brand borden's condensed milk co new york usa eagle brand condensed milk peerless borden brand evaporated cream (unsweetened) deerless brand evaporated cream dwsweetened condense supreme for purity borden's condensed milk co. "leaders of quality" est. 1857 new york the stearn advertising company street railway advertising united states canada mexico executive offices, 564 rose bldg., cleveland, o. the citizens savings and trust company euclid avenue, near erie street, cleveland, ohio. j. h. wade chairman h. r. newcomb d. z. norton president 1st vice president w. g. mather 2d vice president d. leuty 3d vice president h. b. corner 4th vice president j. r. nutt secretary e. v. hale o. c. nelson treasurer ass't sec'y h. s. newberry ass't sec'y f. f. sanford ass't sec'y george lomnitz ass't treas w. m. baldwin ass 't treas w. h. fowler ass't treas capital and surplus six million dollars assets over 42 million dollars this bank is built on rock-like stability-officers and directors well known for their own personal business success and probity, men who are eminently capable of conducting the affairs of a safe bank : : : : new accounts solicited 4% on savings accounts 2% on checking accounts song of the bandits we're the bandits brave and bold most appalling to behold we've a taking way that causes consternation. and no crime can be too great for our gang to perpetrate for we're at our best when plying our vocation. we don't even hesitate to kill a man or two and we're always contemplating something dangerous to do we're the toughest, fiercest, boldest men the country ever knew and we have no fear of fate. chorus. free from worry incidental to our chosen work. we don't give a blooming continental for a gun or dirk. sheathing our glistening stillettos hiding them away. gaily smoke our spanish cigarettosfrolic while we may from our task we never shirk, even though it's ugly work, bloody deeds are our especial delectation. if we tried to tell you all of the crimes that we recall you would shiver at the tragical narration. for we do our very best our fortunes to enhance and never yet have faltered when we had to take a chance. we do everything we tackle with a cheerful countenance no matter what befall. highest grade of all petroleum products standard oil company green river says strip green river disty co the whiskey without a headache wice only in competition straight whiskey wice victorious for triumphant at four great expositions bottled at the distillery the whiskey ey without a headache trade mark green river distilled by me cullo owensboro kentucky highest awards paris 1900 st. louis 1904 liege 1905 portland 1905 the official whiskey of the united states marine hospital service "what, ho, ye hermits” i make claim to be "your mascot' when you go to new york when you go to pittsburg at present i am stopping at the "inn" saegertown, pa. erie do you know the name of the railroad running 7 trains every day from cleveland, o. to pittsburg, pa.? (being the short line.) this little fellow is looking right at itthat's the way he sends his letters-because they reach there sooner. columbus and the egg ferdinand and isabella were the king and queen of spain and of all that did pertain to the nation's wide domain they held dominion proudly, and to me it's very plain that the highly royal twain really liked to hold the reign. at the first they seemed contented with the country as it stood, but at last their need for taxes made 'em figure that they should extend their royal regions to most any place they could, so they tried to make it grow, but the process it was slow, and they found they'd need assistance if they'd make the project good, so they tried to get assistance just as anybody would. now christopher columbus was a sailor bold and true with as good and brave a crew as the ocean ever knew; and he talked the matter over and declared just what he'd dohe would sail the ocean blue and discover regions new. but the king and queen were busted and they played along for time. they insisted that columbus was possessed of nerve sublime and declared they'd never stake him for a trip to foreign clime if he didn't do a stunt showing how he meant to hunt for the country he was talking of, in regions maritime; so columbus promptly did a stunt in bully pantomime. is there any gent or lady here, said he, that has an egg, just an ordinary egg? if you have i humbly beg that you'll kindly make it stand on end as if it had a leg or at least a wooden pegmake it stand upon this keg both the king and queen attempted to do what columbus said but with all their work they couldn't make the egg stand on its head 'till columbus showed 'em plainly that such knowledge was inbred and he said it was the same in the navigating game and if they'd let him have his way they wouldn't be misled. they agreed and then he fried the egg and all of them were fed. and after feeding on the egg the queen devised a plan and fishing up a can of diamonds off she ran, and quickly pawned the diamonds with a money lending man and thus removed the ban so columbus' trip began. 'tis thus we learn from history how much we owe the hen for if she hadn't laid the egg and had it ready when columbus tried to turn a trick not in the royal ken, there'd have been no egg to eat and without this morning treat ferdinand and isabella would have lost their tempers then, and columbus been beheaded at a quarter after ten. printers ink says the cleveland leader is advancing by leaps and bounds studebaker "the automobile with a reputation behind it" the height of sane engineering skill is represented in the new studebaker models. for high efficiency with low weight; progressiveness tempered with common sense; for elegance comstubgramer model g studebaker victoria bined with durability; for noiseless mechanism; for ease of control; for accessibility of vital parts-for "cars built for service," look to studebaker. gasoline models electric models model e, 24 h. p. $2600 4-cyl., storage battery, jump spark ignition. model f, 32 h. p. . $3000 model 22, runabout model 24, stanhope · $1100 • $1250 4-cyl, storage battery, jump spark ignition. model 12, special speed model g, 35 h. p. $3500 stanhope $1600 4-cyl, sims-bosch low tension, magneto ignition. model 16, victoria-phaeton $1600 also five models of automobile truck and delivery wagons, two of which we have on exhibition studebaker automobile company bell m. 1209 sales agency erie st., adjoining y. m. c. a. cuy. c. 1362-w knauth, nachod & kühne bankers 15 william street, new york circular letters of credit and travelers' checks available the world over. obtainable in cleveland at banks and bankers castles in spain i have frequently boasted how well i am posted how vast is my brain's comprehension, no ambitious builder my brain can bewilder with schemes of colossal dimension. but spite of my knowledge, collected in college and then in my chosen profession, i lack information about the location of ev'ry man's spanish possession. yes i'm woefully shy and confess it with pain. on rules for discovering castles in spain. chorus. for every one has 'em, you know, regardless of station or birth no matter where'er you may go through all of the lands of the earth. men, women and children as well in hong kong, calcutta and maine all yield to the popular spell and build themselves castles in spain. i have found that statistics are antagonistic to any complete explanation of this burning question, for every suggestion they give is a new aggravation. every mathematician will take the position that spain is a good big dominion, that her area now stands at two hundred thousand square miles in his humble opinion. but i never could see how this modest domain could hold one per cent. of the castles in spain. chorus. for every one has 'em you know regardless of station or birth no matter where'er you may go through all of the lands of the earth. spain's quite a big country, 'tis true but i've figured it over again and can't see as yet what she'd do with all of these castles in spain. lubricate your autos with helmet oil packed in 3, 5, 10 and 28 pound cans and tighten their burrs with the auto cle wrench for sale by the cleveland tool supply company 8 and 10 south water street the incomparable white the car for service the continuous victories of the white steam car in all reliability and endurance contests during the last five years have placed it in a class by itself. the longest tours, the pioneer tours, the most interesting tours by private owners have been in white cars. the white is noiseless, odorless and easy to operate. its system of steam generation and utilization is safe, simple and economical. it is a car which appeals strongly to the man who wants to be his own mechanician. we are now delivering the model f white car with limousine, touring car, landaulet, victoria and runabout bodies. white garage, 23 rockwell st. cleveland cleveland the car without a weak spot model "f" 30-35 h. p. the car that makes a specialty of not breaking down-because the workmanship, material and construction are right. the cleveland ignition follows the best foreign practice-simms-bosch low tension magneto with automatic make-and-break spark-doing away with jump spark tr ubles, short circuiting, batteries, coils, and commutators. tonneaus victorias limousines guaranteed for one year cleveland motor car company 388-390 erie street william l. colt, manager the south-wind and the rose in the depths of the woodland a rivulet sped, with ripple of music and song, where the sunbeams that shone through the boughs overhead, danced merrily all day long. here lulled by the zephyrs to sweetest repose midst the beauties of fairyland gay, grew the brightest of flowers-the wild woodland rose with suitors in endless array. but every wooer bold in the selfsame way was told: chorus. waiting! i'm fondly waiting! for my true love to come unto me. never mind me! he will find me! though he search o'er land and sea. he'll pursue me, and he'll woo me, and i'll pledge him the love of my soul. he's the knight of my fancy none other may my fate control. to the depths of the woodland a soft gentle breeze came wafting a melody sweet; softly stirring the boughs as it breathed through the trees. with harmony strangely complete. 'twas the wind of the south, with his gentle caress, and in tracing the paths that he chose he was seeking the time when a kiss he should press on the lips of the wild woodland rose. and the wind, of them all most bold, by the deep blushing flower was told: chorus. waiting! no longer waiting! for my true love has come unto me. love has crowned me! he has found me, after searching o'er land and sea. he pursued me and he wooed me and i've pledged him the love of my soul. he's the knight of my fancy none other may my fate control. karavan the more you drink, the more you crave. (pope) and while the bubbling and loud hissing urn throws up a steamy column, and the cups that cheer, but do not inebriate, wait on each-let us enjoy a cup of karavan. karavan the gasser coffee co. toledo ohio everybody eats brandt's meats, fish, game and poultry makers of paper extraordinary to the hermit club petrequin paper co 5 and 7 academy street, cleveland, ohio duet after you alphonse king i would like to have you let me get away sir, for i wish that i were back in old madrid. brigand see here. you ain't got no kicktroubles back at home are thick. you had better stay with us and that's no kid. king no really i would rather go to town won't you kindly knock these other villains, downsmash em till you crack their bonesbrigand no, it's after you, alphonse. king no, my friend, it really must be after you. oh. chorus brigand it's after you, alphonse. king no. no. i say, it's after you. both for these things can not be done so. things like that will never do. etiquette must be ob-ser-ved throughout everything we do. brigand so it's after you, alphonse. king i insist it's after you. king i would like to furnish three cent fare in cleveland giving horace andrews' road the hinky dink. brigand say! fergit that little bluff don't you think you got enough? hasn't andrews put your four-flush on the blink? king but remember, i am smarter than he is. i'd advise him he had better quit the biz. brigand he'll reply in gentle tones, i'll quit after you, alphonse. king i'll insist it surely must be after him. oh. no. chorus brigand it's after you, alphonse. king no. i say, it's after you. both for these things can not be done so three cent fare will never do. i am sorry, mr. johnson, but if some one's knocked askew. brigand must be after you. alphonse. king i insist it's after you. the hermits in spain read cleveland town topics for the best dramatic news society news financial news literary news automobile news why not you? $2.00 per year postpaid six months $1.00 cleveland town topics company 319 caxton building hermits in saegertown become convinced by experience of the attractiveness of the saegertown inn for hermits we invite you and your friends to visit us. saegertown ginger ale is famous. merit has made it so. saegertown, pa. saegertown inn horace fox, proprietor frank m. fox, ass't mgr. standard automobile co. 1206-1212 huron road north 462 agents for the autocar packard cadillac for northern ohio storage, charging and general repairs a specialty central 7537 diamond wrapped tread tires are for sale and recommended by responsible dealers everywhere j. j. buckley company :: : tailors : 1925 sixth st. n. e. a valiant soldier a soldier's life is the life for me a life of storm and victory. the glories of the battlefield i love for there i always bravely fought and strove, as a soldier true should ever do in the battles for his king. i love the dash of the sabre's flash and i love the muskets' ring, while the roll of the drums and the volley of guns joyous music always bring, because you see i am a valiant soldier. chorus. oh! the soldiers of the legion are advancing on the foe in fierce array and they'll win the day, wherever they may go. without a fear and with rousing cheer they will make the echoes ring, and victory their reward shall be as they battle for the king. i'd rather live in the soldiers' camp and hear the marching legions' tramp with stirring sound when martial glory calls than be a ruler in his castle walls. for there's more delight in a single fight than in being a king or czar, and there's praise untold for the hero bold. who can boast a soldier's scar. bid the trumpets sound till the hills resound as we hearken from afar, because you see we all are valiant soldiers. the williams & rodgers co. euclid avenue, through to prospect the reliable store for dry goods, millinery, ready-to-wear apparel for ladies, carpets, curtains, furniture and house furnishing goods, at lower prices than any other store. try them. nothing succeeds like good work. that's why we're successful. the davis laundry co. office 21 euclid wagons go everywhere good cigars well kept at the sign of the bull dog l our stores colonial hotel american house weber's cafe, superior ave no. 30, colonial arcade 125 superior ave. 272 erie st. 712 superior ave. odis klein our brands baron de kalb la integridad corina aquilas el mito el symphonie charles the great all imported brands cigar n company save your money we can assist you. 4% on deposits own your home ..... we'll show you how..... loans made to buy or build the cleveland savings and loan company 826 superior ave. n. e. golf to play the game as it should be played, you need a first-class set of clubs. when you use way's you use the best. special clubs made to order. all requisites for the game supplied : : : : w. h. way, euclid club, euclid heights the eldridge & higgins co. importers and roasters of high grade coffees try haarlem java, 20c the pound if it hadn't been for germance der spinach peeples may have been der ones dot gave der start unto der yankees in der states, but dot's a scrubby part compared with vat der dutch have done to give der yankees cheerfor vasn't it der germans dot invented lager beer? peeples, let me tell you vat der dutch have donegee! but it's fine. dey're der folks dot gave der vorld its chance to get a bun by drinking from der flowing stein. if it vasn't for der dutch you'd never had your mil-wau-kee. cincinnati and st. louis vould be to der bad if it hadn't been for germanee. it vasn't only lager beer you borrowed from der dutch, for germany has given you der schweitzer case and suchand der pretzel—yes, der kinky, crooked, twisted pretzel, too, vas invented by der germans to stir up a thirst in you. peeples, here is somet'ings dot should make you tinknow look at desedey're der folks dot first established lunch mit every drinkder pretzels and der schweitzer cheese. if it vasn't for der dutch you'd never had lunch vat is free. and der fellows at der counter vould be to der bad if it hadn't been for germanee. did you ever stop to figger vat der yankees vould have missed if der germans had't placed der viener vurst upon der list, and how many folks would suffer from dyspepsia and der gout if dey hadn't give der vaiting vorld der good old sauer kraut? peeples, don't you really think you owe der dutch a lot? i'll speak it out. for showing hungry yankees how to reach the proper spot mit der sausage and der sauer kraut. if it vasn't for der dutch you'd never had this grub you see. and america's digestion vould be to der bad. if it hadn't been for germanee. the scott dry goods company good merchandise exclusive style all the time the merchandise and the modes which have won such favorable notice from the public during our spring display have not been the results of spasmodic attempts to make a show for special occasion; on the contrary, they represent the settled day after day effort to provide good merchandise and exclusive styles at lowest prices all the time. the daylight store diamond headquarters through branch offices in the diamond cutting centers of europe, we are enabled to keep our patrons supplied with gems of best color and brilliancy. an extensive assortment of loose die mon always kept on hand, which can be set in day syle mounting while you won sigler's p9 enelid ave. lono. ey paco jewely a sered. e cer aata km 12 to'pstrar * wedding gifts gifts that adequately and appropriately express your best feelings gifts that bear the stamp of quality gifts that breathe the charm possessed by articles of genuine value and honest workmanship gifts that will afford the favored one lasting pleasure and faithfully inspire bright recollections the webb c. ball company jewelers superior, corner seneca st. cleveland, ohio wire rope john a. roebling's sons co. ::: 88 superior seet electric wes and cables the cleveland & south-western traction co. connects cleveland with elyria, oberlin, lorain, north amherst, grafton, wellington, la porte, birmingham, henrietta, florence, berlin heights, berlinville, norwalk, berea, strongsville, brunswick, medina, chippewa lake, seville, creston, madisonburg, wooster, rockport, south dover, north ridgeville, linndale and puritas springs. hourly service between all the above stations. baggage checked in accordance with regular baggage rules. limited trains stop only at scheduled stations. fast time. large comfortable cars. ticket office 47 public square cleveland, ohio general office 614 garfield bldg. cleveland, ohio energine the new auto fuel get aboard-all ୧୧ the hermits are next" the energine co-cuyahoga bldg.clevd. cartoons of “hermits in holland” by hermit donahey a. r. davis as johann von punk h. n. herriman as gwendolyn f. w. braggins as claude fraser herbert mathews as fredrika koldecken c. a. maher c. w. stage as cerise as roland hoyle g. b. pettengill c. h. hopper as sandscow as ezekiel kahn alfred b. both phones to frank j. emery & smith brokers 201 citizens building members cleveland stock exchange long distance connections with hermits in spain. automobiles ...brasier.... formerly richard-brasier winner---french eliminations 1904 french eliminations 1905 gordon bennett cup 1904 gordon bennett cup 1905 guaranteed free of repairs for one year e. b. gallaher, sole importer 228-230 west 58th st., new york automobile lunches we make a specialty of packing lunches for automobile rides and for all kinds of outings. daintily and appetizingly prepared, either in individual boxes or in baskets to serve a number. order what you like or we will make the selections. lunches sent to offices some noon when you are detained in your office, telephone us about a lunch. we will deliver it to you. the chandler & rudd co. 22-26 euclid avenue 1239 euclid avenue 2279 euclid avenue horlick's the original and genuine malted milk is a delicious food drink at the club or after the theatre we make a specialty of high grade municipal bonds and the bonds of corporations based on public franchises w. j. j. hayes & sons cleveland, ohio members of cleveland stock exchange bankers boston, mass the hermit paint man and his famous paint mansions in cleveland or castles in spainit's all the same to the hermit paint man; he covers them all with the paint that will stand the rain of hilo or the sun of iran. there's but one paint known and sold the world overthe sherwin-williams paint prepared (s. w. p.) it has attained the largest sale of any paint in the world solely because it withstands the effects of the rain and the sun and the smoke. this is all important to the man-who-pays-the-bill. we sell s.w.p. and never lose an opportunity to tell our customers why it wears and looks well. the best materials are put into it; forty years experience in good paint making behind it, our customers find it saves frequent repainting. take a lesson from the hermit paint man-put s. w. p. on your mansion. davis, hunt & collister, 147 ontario street p.s.-the hermit paint man buys gas stoves, refrigerators and hardware at our store because he gets best goods at prices that are right. here's another pointer for you. cartoons of “hermits in holland” by hermit donahey chas. a. otis as lord earlscourt m. w. lawrence as papa boomsterhausen c. a. dielhenn as hans wagner f. b. meade musical director s. w. croxton m. w. lusk in coon song as paderewski s. w. croxton and j. l. botsford. the dudes the "denney" ꭰ denney denney when it gets to the matter of fine clothes or "out of the ordinary hats"-do you know who? wageman's the quality store euclid and fourth alexander optical company $5.00 solid gold shell eye $1.00 glasses and spectacles at including a scientific examination by skilled specialists. cross eyes straightened. : : : : children's eyes a specialty. eyes a specialty. ::::: finest quality of lenses, highest grade materials alexander optical compary, incorporated larget retall optical house in the world 361 erie, oppost scott's stores everywhere michigan commercial ins. co. of lansing, michigan one of the few companies not interested in the san francisco conflagration ✰ represented by albert rees davis 401-402-403 perry-payne building both phones the bryan co. signs glass, wood, muslin, brass, =electric signs= full line of enamel and glass letters. sole agents for dey and night sign company's patent illuminated signs ofice and shop coiner high avenue and 2d st. both phenes the washington life insurance company of new york assets, $18,009,311.58 it is the strongest, most reliable and the strongest, most affords immediate, complete and permanent protection. guarantees life income, deferred debenture and annuity bonds, with an indestructible and imperishable estate :::::: consult us before insuring elsewhere t. t. lewis, manager, 1137 schofield building cuyahoga central 786 insure in the washington life and insure now the waldorf-astoria segar company has established a national reputation for bona fide segars at the most reasonable prices independent cuban brands---h. upmann & co., romeo and julieta, partagas, punch, belinda, el rey del mundo clear havana brands---la magnita, armas de ora, seigfried, and many others cleveland agent: jos. h. levy 906 garfield building phone main 3245-j cartoons of “hermits in holland” j. a. beidler a dutch girl by hermit donahey c. c. clark c. f. sherwood a dutch boy a show girl p. t. lawrence an indian 10333 aum dinah dancers pony ballet the profit side of the bridge koch & henke furniture and carpets choice roses, lily of the valley, orchids and american beauties for all occasions. wedding and reception decorations our specialty bell main 2809 cuy. central 1866 smith & fetters artistic floral decorators 169 euclid avenue cleveland, o after seeing the "hermits in spain" go to france! and he will show you how surely the welfare of loved ones can be secured by a policy paying a fixed yearly income for life at moderate cost e. m. france, general agent state mutual life assurance co. 503-4-5-6 new england building the fred g. clark co. oils office: 52 river street can you crowd more comfort into your home on 6½ cents per day than a bell telephone will bring? a good habitbell-telephoneit long distance telephone the cleveland telephone co. contract department main 533 stoddard-dayton experienced and exacting motorists find the stoddard-dayton meets their requirements fully. model d touring car, 4-cyl. 30 h. p. $2250 model e runabout, 4-cyl. 18 h. p. $1250 h. s. moore, 160-162 crawford rd. storage, repairing, electrics a specialty bell d. 1587-j garage open day and night cent. 2651-w history n the 17th day of february, 1904, mr. frank b. meade gave a dinner at his home, at which harry a. bliss, john h. blood, edwin h. brown, albert r. davis, roger c. enwright, mortimer w. lawrence, norman c. mcloud and george b. pettengill were present. at this dinner, mr. meade suggested the organization of a club which should be a combination of a lunch club and a gathering place for the younger men of the community, who were more or less talented in various lines, and who, occasionally, should give entertainments in the club, and, if practicable, a public performance once a year in one of the theatres. his suggestion met with unqualified approval, and as a result of the earnest efforts of those present, a meeting was held in the grill room of the hollenden hotel on march 12th, attended by a number of men who had signified their desire to become affiliated with an organization such as that proposed. the meeting adopted "the hermits" as the name of the club, and elected a committee composed of warren bicknell, arthur d. brooks, edward h. cady, william m. duncan, julius f. janes, george h. kelly, mortimer w. lawrence, frank b. meade, charles w. stage and scott stewart to incorporate the club and to prepare and present à plan for its financing. this organization committee formally incorporated the club under the laws of the state of ohio, and at a meeting held in the assembly room of the hollenden hotel on the 24th day of may presented their report embodying the architect's designs for a club house and a plan to provide funds for its erection and equipment. on this occasion, through the efforts of albert r. davis, acting as auctioneer, the bonds provided by the plan submitted were practically all subscribed. the capital necessary to warrant the committee in proceeding with their plans was thus secured, and they obtained a ninety-five year lease upon the lot on hickox street now occupied by the club building. ground was broken on june 10th, 1904, and through the unremitting efforts of the organization committee, the house was ready for occupation by the fifth day of november, 1904, when the formal opening took place. on this occasion, an informal program was presented by messrs. davis, hopper, nicolas, pettengill and others, and the interest of the members together with the success of the entertainment gave abundant evidence that the future of the hermits was assured. the.... blakeslee electric p ositively the only dependable electric on the market. long distance, hill climbing, simplicity, durability—a few of our strong claims. the swellest thing in swelldom. "it takes you there and brings you back.” this is no toy but a real automobile, combining all the beauties of design with practical efficiency the blakeslee electric auto co. factory and salesroom 876 willson ave., cleveland note.---a machine on april 26 negotiated the run from philadelphia to atlantic city (62 miles) in two hours and thirty-five minutes on one charge, having sufficient current left to return half way. w e desire to furnish a first class service to our consumers and would ask, that when your gas light or range is not giving entire satisfaction, to kindly advise us, and we will endeavor to remedy the difficulty promptly. you need the protection our gas gives. the cleveland gas light & coke co. jos. schauweker stocks bonds and loans member the cleveland stock exchange main 263 central 8211-l 300 schofield building f. b. squire pres. g. w. balkwill vice pres. r. r. squire sec. & treas. semisteel co. 501-2 new england bldg., cleveland, o. manufacturers of machinery castings, structural and ornamental let us bid on your work. we can make quick delivery and save you money the guardian savings and trust company offers every banking convenience capital $1,000,000; surplus $1,000,000 four per cent interest on savings accounts two per cent interest on checking accounts up town guardian building down town wade building the gowns and tailor suits worn by messrs. mathews, herriman and croxton were made by: the misses wilkenson 21 clarence bldg., 612 euclid avenue. bell phone m 1826 prinzess distinction in dress this label upon any cloak, suit or skirt assures to the wearer the consciousness of becoming attireat moderate cost. ask to see it. exterior of the hermit club house don't you want a country home? willoughby property has all the advantages of the city without its disadvantages. for years i have handled willoughby realties and can furnish village lots and dwellings, -farm lands and homesteadsw. c. collister, phones 40 and 75 willoughby, ohio good roads now lead to willoughby take a run by auto, trolley or carriage and -stop at the kingsleya comfortable country inn, serving its home meals with generous hospitality e. h. tryon proprietor pittsburgh plate glass company glass, mirrors, paints, brushes 149-153 seneca street make your contracts now for theatre program advertising dan s. wertheimer ::: publisher 277 saint clair street be good jake mintz is in the house style and comfortable neatness from first stitches to last touches n. o. s. shoes and oxfords have always borne this reputation, and this season s production outclasses anything we have ever attempted. they have an exclusive difference not usually found in this grade of goods. all styles $3.50. our "rite-shape" line for the little folks is complete, especially adapted to the growing feet. 00000 n. o. stone & co., 312 to 318 euclid avenue the wieber company cleveland's largest exclusive ¶ fine tailoring house ¶ 919-921 euclid ave. lennox building our large patronage enables us to replenish our stock with the new cloths constantly, always insuring the latest and up-to-date clothes for style, etc. the lake erie ore company iron ores ...rockefeller building, cleveland sales agent for croxton mining co. g. w. youngs mining co. hobart ore co. nassau ore co. rhodes mining co. 1 the hermits meditation—october seventh nineteen hundred and five echoes and reminiscences of the hermits in holland full reports were made of the receipts and expenditures, etc., of "the hermits in holland." the songs of the show were then sung by the soloists and chorus, accompanied by the hermit orchestra henry m. brooks & co. underwriters fire insurance henry m. brooks harry h. culp lucien a. wilbor wilbur h. brooks park building public square h. r. hatch & company devote special attention to their men's furnishing department › which at all times will be found stocked with a complete line of staples, the latest novelties, and extreme fashions in all kinds of seasonable goods negligee and dress shirts, collars and cuffs, hosiery and ties . . . shown in much larger assortment than that carried by most exclusive haberdashers e. a. kamerer g. d. benes kamerer & benes tailors garfield building cleveland, ohio ** * * * summer novelties, including homespuns serges and flannels in tropical weights the lake shore electric ry. lorain is the direct and convenient route for vermillion ceylon sandusky monroeville clyde woodville toledo and elyria south lorain huron norwalk bellevue fremont genoa detroit special and chartered cars furnished for theatre and trolley parties. limited service for toledo, sandusky and detroit. take lake shore electric for elyria. for information, address any agent, or f. j. stout, gen. mgr. l. k. berrge, gen. supt. norwalk, ohio h. c. young g. p. a. the geo. h. bowman company 16-18-20 euclid ave cutlery a wonderful display of pocket knives from 25c to $10 razors, manicure accessories, scissors and shears. * hones and strops * *prize cups and trophies cook's imperial extra dry champagne known everywhere served everywhere especially recommended the hermits meditation—november fourth nineteen hundred and five i overture' 2 mr. s. wolle croxton 3 impersonations of great men by jas mathers and company bonaparticle emp. wilhelm ad. schley jack rockefeller theodore rosenfeld booker washington grand transformation scene 4 schust oudside the garden gade hopperesky and davisky 5 the magic quartette } full of blowing magic with illustrations in repertorious doings 6 mr. felix hughes 7 monologue 8 overture 9 robber eddy's-son presents "strong-wart" (burlesque on "strong heart," by s. w. hubbard) 60 people 60, count 'em cast strong-wart (a chief's son)………….. billy hotweather (captain croquet team). .s. w. hubbard .a. e. merkle frank mudd (chief rover on croquet team).....s. w. croxton algernon launcelot (a mean spiteful thing) big thunder (one of strong-wart's tribe) annie mudd (frank's sister) croquet players.. synopsis ..r. c. enwright .f. s. porter .c. f. sherwood m. w. lawrence a. h. morgan a. m. smith wm. wieman act. i. billy's room. time-just before the big croquet game. act. ii. just outside the croquet. grounds. during the game. act. iii. frank mudd's rooms. after the game. coles & bonnett cleveland's high grade custom shirt makers 212-214 superior bldg ur line of shirtings comprises the finest weaves of our european fabrics. exclusive patterns and designs. unique styles, appealing to buyers of custom made shirts telephone central 6544r and have our representative call on you. .. we are recommended by the hermits ceresota registered costs a little more than ordinary flour but in flour, like anything else, the best costs more than the rest more ceresota sold every year would housekeepers continue to use it if a cheaper kind was just as good? consolidated western ceresota munneapolisie 98 lbs. ceresota the william edwards company distributors bell m. 1041 phones cuy. c. 477 the o. m. stafford & goss co. general insurance 601-607 century building 197 superior street, cleveland sectional bookcases made in oak and mahogany adjustable shelves with art glass, plate glass or plain glass doors * noiseless rolling doors artistic and harmonious effects are produced by grouping the various sections, desks, etc.send for illustrated catalogue the cleveland desk company sozodont teeth of persons subject to an. acid or bilious stomach are liable to discoloration, which requires extra friction to remove. the sozodont powder and liquid, used daily, will soon remove all such tartarous adhesions and leave the teeth clean and white, imparting a refreshing feeling to the mouth. look for the man! tooth powder a clear havana cigar of superior quality "the f. lozano manufactured in tampa, fla., by f. lozano, son & co. and distributed by ben rich, 147 euclid ave., cleveland, o. "a test will convince you" the hermits meditation december second nineteen hundred and five i overture -2 3 by meade's musical mugs farmer nicholas says he will surely appear this time y cochran's galaxy of famous paintings living pictures -4 chas. a. maherski in coster songs 5 fritz bragginie 6 another overture strong in songs all stay 7 the message from sirius in three scenes second scene... third scene.... cast leading man. messenger minnie first scene.....living-room of the leading man the waif. the tramp. club members... street scene ...club house .felix hughes . fred porter chas. sherwood eddie greene paul gill frank wolcott mort. lawrence frank newcomer chas. clark billy ward the reo touring car is one of the most comfortable, luxurious, durable and reliable cars standing on wheels today. ask the hermits who own them red touring car---16 h. p., double cylinder, 5 passenger car, speed 5 to 35 miles per hour in high speed gear. price $1250.00 f. o. b. lansing, mich. runabout---8 h. p., single cylinder, 2 passenger car with extra seat to carry two extra people. price $675.00 f. o. b. lansing, mich. telephone to make appointments for demonstrations. reo motor car company, 1032 euclid avenue, near erie 497787(10 have you noticed the green strip over the mouth of the bottle? good old guckenheimer rye bottled in bond guckenheimer pure rye whiskey by aguckenheimer & bros pittsburgh penna is everything that is perfect in whiskey bottled in bond get a bottle from your dealer the most complete printing plant in ohio the j. b. savage company established 1869 "a revival of the stone age" asbestos bestos roofings (fibrous stone) for any kind or any size building weather proof time proof acid proof fire proof the cost per year for asbestos is less than that of any other roofing material manufactured h. w. johns manville co. 14-16 south water st., cleveland, o. frank moore portraits by photography euclid avenue & ninth street (lennox building) cleveland lewis building pittsburgh new england building cleveland dravo, doyle & co. merchant engineers contractors for power plants and power plant equipment hermits' cloister philadelphia lawn mowers six different styles carried in stock in sizes from 14-in to 22-in for high grass xx with 12-in wheels for general purposes the "k" mower is one of the best; 10-in wheel and 5 blades, all sizes. style "e" mower, 4 blades. double rachets. 10-in wheel, train of three gears and 30 and 35-in philadelphia horse lawn mowers carried in stock. used in city parks. the w. bingham co. 97 and 99 superior street "things men wear" hatter ready-to-wear clothing moore furnisher shirts to order james g. moore hickox building 187 euclid ave. clothes for hermits i for "hermits" who get out, get around, get busy for men who know and appreciate good style and for those same men we have just as good hats and furnishings ・bennet & fish 39-41-43 euclid avenue under the sun there is no creation more delicate for eating and drinking than rich in purest cream caillers made in switzerland since 1819 genuine imported swiss milk chocolate j. h. freymann, agent, u. s. a. beautifully packed in a variety of forms. -you'll do so again" "try it once you depend very largely upon the trustworthiness of the store at which you buy jewelry, and as to that we depend upon your knowledge. the cowell & hubbard company euclid avenue, cor. e. sixth st. cleveland's largest insurance agency (fire and casualty) fred p. thomas & company park building telephone: main 438; central 2192 the hermits meditation-ladies' night-january sixth nineteen hundred and six i the hermit march orchestra 2 "freaks of foolishness" a romance of the circus done in opera, by the courtesy of the writers, mr. john l. golden and mr. edgar smith, and "the lambs" of new york cast spieler (a shadow and a voice)... blondina (the circassian beauty). cheeta (the snake charmer). biff..... bang. (the siamese twins) mr. roger enwright mr. sterling hubbard. mr. wollie croxton .mr. albert davis mr. charles hopper madame hirsutus (bearded lady with a life secret) 3 group of songs mr. felix hughes i. had a horse.. 2. a memory. 3. "do'an you". 4 three comrades.. 4 the magic quartette in illustrated songs mr. wm. colt mr. roland meacham korbay edna park .r. h. terry .hans hermann mr. wm. stage mr. gardner abbott mr. roland meacham 5 impersonations of noted men by mr. james mathers grant (a. m. smith) roosevelt (r. c. enwright) rockefeller (s. e. strong) lincoln (a. w. fenton) napoleon (wm. wieman) schley (p. w. lonergan) buster brown (m. w. lawrence) (continued) fest is the apest popular "minute tapioca or baty becond no soaking whitman grocery co orange, mass four groceryon once used always used minute tapioca requires no soaking always ready once used, always used minute tapioca is pure, wholesome and nutritious and always gives satisfaction everybody likes it and it has reinstated tapioca as a household favorite .. whitman grocery co., orange, mass. we make also minute gelatine (plain) and minute gelatine (flavored) the hermits in spain drink hommel's prize winning natural fermented champagne brands white star extra dry red star.. the m. hommel wine co., sandusky, 0. the northern ohio traction & light company limited cars operated on the a. b. c. division between akron and cleveland limited cars leave cleveland 7.50 a. m., 1.50 p. m. and 6.30 p. m. return limiteds from akron, 8.30 a. m., 12.30 p. m. and 4.30 p. m. round trip fare cleveland to akron, $1.00 single trip, 60c. duff's molasses in hermetically sealed cans p. duff & sons pittsburg the garfield savings bank wm. b. maxson robert h. perdue wm. b. maxson & co. general insurance american trust building main 492 central 1395w ladies' night---continued 6 the italian street minstrels messrs. steinweddel, bliss, meade and royon 7 violin solo by mr. james d. johnston 8 the famous bratz bros. 9 selection especially engaged for this occasion. recently of the hippodrome of london by meade's musical prodigies 10 "the firing line" a christmas eve carol, by the courtesy of the writers, mr. clay m. greene and mr. wm. t. francis, and "the lambs" of new york cast father grogan (the chaplain). capt. croxton (23d u. s. infantry) lieut. norwood.. lieut. brown... sergt. flynn... . mr. c. a. maher .mr. f. w. braggins mr. h. n. harriman mr. c. a. dielhenn mr. j. f. stair campaigning in the island of mindanao, philippine islands. time-christmas eve a hermit sat on the river's bank catching fish without cessation; the day was rare, the water fine, and luck exceeded his anticipation, for his tackle he'd bought of the wellknown firm fishing tackle the mcintosh hardware corporation largest dispensers of sporting goods in the middle west not the king of spain 116-118 superior st. golden wedding.... pure rye whiskey the standard of quality distilled by jos. s. finch & co., pittsburgh, pa. for sale by all first class dealers . ack blades 55,000 lanks in use fairbanks-morse gasoline engine belt connected to double acting pump admirably adapted for pumping plants, for electric lighting, and general power purposes in country homes sizes 2 to 200 horse power also, scales of all kinds trucks of all kinds steam pumps dynamos and motors wind mills fairbanks, morse & co. 1354-1360 w. 9th st cleveland, ohio the a. s. gilman printing co. railroad and general commercial printing saint clair street, corner seneca, cleveland friction reduced to the minimum in baker... electrics propelled with least expenditure of power. consequently costs least. to maintain. price bros. carriage co. huron road, near euclid intersection a note to st. anthony wohl's.... hungarian restaurant 1280 w. 3d st. n. w. (150 seneca) the recognized cosmopolitan restaurant of the city. table d' hote dinners noon and evening. special equipment for private dinners and banquets. excellent wines. faust's opera house orchestra, the special for the fall and winter season. better than ever. hermits' grill room established 1860 the rheinheimer co. men's tailors 328 euclid d. h. pierson secretary and manager incorporated 1905 conrad hessler treasurer spanish dancers we don't know about them, but we do know about real values in distinctive furniture. we challenge comparison in selection, quality and price, with any furniture dealer in the city. the krauss furniture company 1330-1340 euclid avenue de klyn's 126 euclid ave. opposite olive don't forget when making the evening call that a package of our fresh delicious candies and fine chocolates makes you doubly welcome. a most acceptable present. put up in fancy baskets, they make sent anywhere by mail or express schilt the beer that made milwaukee famous phones ( cuy. central 6938 l bell east 1516 wholesale dealer in j. w. marshall jos. schlitz brewing co.'s milwaukee lager beer 1954 e. 55th st. n. e. cleveland, ohio geo. m. edmondson company 1822 euclid avenue (510 old number) photographers in portraiture furniture of quality the lederer furniture company rose building, erie st. cleveland i show many new ideas in furnishings as soon as approved in new york. flannel shirts (guaranteed not to shrink) with soft collars. separate collars with scarfs to match. new safety scarf pins. if macadams says it's right, you can depend upon it. furnishings for men and some good clothes. mac adams, he makes shirts colonial arcade phone c. 5287-w no fake patent medicine ads inserted in this program except beardslee's energine. try it on your horse the electra pure water company 1515 prospect ave. try a cooler at home. furnished free parsons, snyder & co. investment brokers buy and sell on commission, local securities, also listed and unlisted securities in all principal markets. members cleveland stock exchange. scriptive booklet, cleveland securities. bell m. 2012 phones:cuyahoga c. 470 write for de312 garfield building cleveland, ohio established 1882 lamprecht bros. & co. rockefeller building members of new york stock exchange, cleveland stock exchange, chicago stock exchange, chicago board of trade. -dealers in government bonds, municipal bonds, corporation bonds, and all local securities. cleveland's prescription drug store the mayell & hopp co. lewis c. hopp, president and manager 1104 euclid east end, euclid and 105th the haddam the hermit's meditation—february third nineteen hundred and six ιο i meade's improved orchestral (without meade) 2 mr. horatio angora hairyman-swing the bridge direct from his prize-winning exhibition in the gray's armory in repertoire, doing mr. george cohan, mr. j. p. huntley and mr. dan daly 3 the græco-roman violinist herr johann mueller 4 notorious characters-in mud by prof. dyer 5 lush and quencher in a passionate piece entitled "lost among the dark keys," written especially for somebody else by rabbi t. squirm sconfeldt 6 the laws of gravity annihilated by a character artist 7 an old fashioned darkey preacher douglas (tender and true) mccormick first time in vaudeville 8 pickings from pickard. in mandolin and guttural melange. all stars; count 'em 9 phroso-the doll mechanic reproduced by doc newcomb a manager's troubles depicted by those great actors, carlos arter and jose royon and the ghosts of the hermits in holland in one act special scenery augmented orchestra. cast: citizens, robbers and thieves (selected by lot from the club) finale-get your own hat, anyway the sterling & welch co. carpets, rugs, floor cloths curtains, shades and upholstery goods 12 & 14 euclid ave. cleveland, o. high grade tailoring at moderate prices goldberg bros. importing tailors: 123 chambers st., new york city, n. y. among our patrons are some of the most prominent people of cleveland, on whom our representative calls every season communicate with us and we will be pleased to have him call on you the sachs-kirkpatrick company tiger brand ginger ale and siphons. excel all others. send in your orders both phones prof. s. w. hubbard classes held in the correspondence school ..of physical torture.. hollenden every evening a priceless habit cleansing the teeth with christie's dentals tooth powder or paste christie's dentine elixir and mouth wash general agents, strong, cobb & company retail store, 199 superior st. the cleveland, painesville & eastern railroad company the superb electric railway connecting cleveland with euclid, wickliffe, willoughby, nottingham, wickliffe-on-thelake, willoughbeach park, mentor, painesville and fairport. connections at painesville for points east. r. t. meacham & company bankers and brokers 407-408-409 williamson building members cleveland stock exchange carl s. russell broker... member cleveland stock exchange stocks mortgages new york correspondent spencer trask & co telephones: main 2590 central 1629 bonds commercial paper cleveland, o. tofficersk president frank b. meade vice-president-edward h. cady secretary-joseph c. royon treasurer-fred s. borton directors 1904-1907 mortimer w. lawrence albert r. davis george h. kelly 1904-1906 edward h. cady fred s. borton arthur d. brooks 1905-1908 roger c. enright sterling w. hubbard joseph h. kline jno. m. gundry, president j. horace jones, treasurer harley b. gibbs h. w. king, vice-presidents walter s. bowler, secy & cashr. louis c. kollie, asst. cashr. the.... lake shore banking & trust co. established 1890 capital and surplus deposits : : $250,000.00 $2,400,000.00 4 per cent on savings deposits from date of deposit to date of withdrawal the city ice delivery company pure crystal ice distillata---the pure table water principal office 713 the williamson building cleveland, ohio if you would examine carefully our new line of opal and glass lined refrigerators you could not fail to appreciate its beauty, and its many superior qualities over so called sanitary refrigerators. it is, beyond question, the best and most sanitary material that can be used for refrigerator lining. it is non-absorbant and will not crack or craze-the strongest vegetable acids have no effect upon it, and it can be cleaned as easily as a glass dish. we invite you to inspect our line of goods and get our prices. the george worthington co, 814-832 st. clair ave. n. w. san marto coffee "the american people's breakfast" packed in bond linen one pound packages 25 cents the pound sold by eleven hundred cleveland grocers equal to eight-tenths of thirty-cent coffees on the market it is time to unpack your spring and summer clothing. let us dry clean, press and dye them for you. we make a specialty of silks, laces and draperies. telephone us for details of our monthly contract plan of taking care of gentlemen's clothes at a moderate charge. goods called for and delivered. open day and night. superior dry cleaning company main office in plain dealer building. main 3111-j. central 2246 branch office in park building. central 7429-w branch office at 1885 pearl street. central 4899-w works at 29 to 31 davidson street. central 8309-w renowned---because delicious always crisp the original chocolate chips made by frowbaidge the original" hocolate hip wholesome---pure name on every chip meadville, pa. crowco puffs---likewise a delightful confection 1committees t house committee joseph h. kline, chairman. chas. c. clark fred s. porter entertainment committee a. r. davis, chairman c. k. arter w. l. colt s. w. croxton s. w. hubbard, secretary h. n. herriman c. a. maher w. e. steinwedell g. s. gardner, property master. hayden, miller & company members cleveland stock exchange 320 citizens building w. s. hayden bonds investment securities otto miller as brokers, we execute orders in securities listed on the cleveland stock exchange private exchange: bell, main 284; cuyahoga, central 463 troop a riding academy co. corner wilson and curtiss. east 325. saddle horses for hire instruction in ring and out door riding given to beginners on well broken horses. ¶for terms, inquire at the academy from the riding masters : :: : : : g. l. stephens wm. sharp "the society wine pol roger & co. dry special brut special 1898 on sale at the leading hotels, restaurants, clubs, and wine merchants anthony oechs 59 warren street, new york sole agent for u. s. denison & farnsworth bankers high grade investment bonds 24 milk street 205 garfield building boston cleveland havana cigars the... if you pick the pinzon you have the best 10c .. 1861.. for 5c ..weideman .. belle-vernon farms.. beautifully situated and finely kept, are devoted exclusively to the production of · · the famous belle-vernon milk the ideal milk---produced under ideal conditions---used daily in over eight thousand appreciative cleveland homes. both phones 1 members d abbott, gardner albright, charles a. arter, charles k. ashbrook, herbert g. bailey, albert c. bates, frederick g. beardslee, r. prescott botsford, jr., james l. bowler, walter s. braggins, fred w. bedell, abner h. brooks, arthur d. beidler, jacob h. brooks, charles s. beidler, jr., j. arthur brooks, wilbur h. bicknell, warren brown, edwin h.. bierce, george w. w. brown, m. stanley bliss, harry a. blood, john h. bulger, william borton, fred s. borton, thomas e. bulkley, robert johns burke, jr., edmund stevenson burt, charles e. cady, edward h. call, delmer w. cameron, louis j. cartwright, william y. chisholm, henry chisholm, wilson k. clark, charles c. coventry, charles c. crawford, harry j. creech, harris creer, william r. croxton, s. wolle cunningham, john f. curtiss, charles e. steinway & sons krakauer bros. dreher brothers and other good pianos pianolas pianola-pianos orchestrelles eolian pipe organs the b. dreher's sons co. 502-504 superior avenue, north-east the arcade registers faces: borders persistent superiority in every conceivable style, shape, design and material, made by the ferrosteel co., cleveland, ohio ferrosteel cast-mechanism and finish perfect, designs artistic and attrac tive. ferrosteel modified steel-face cast bottom wrought steel, air capacity large, designs all styles. ferrosteel wrought steel-the most rigid made. air capacity greater than all other lattice wrought steel goods. new catalogue just out--free. persistent superiority persistent superiority persistent superiority persistent superiority persistent superiority prices rock bottom. our record is our persistent superiority if you want.... perfection in liqueurs insist on getting…….. “bardinets” creme de menthe creme de cacao triplesec orange curacao royal anisette maraschino apricot brandy les fils de p bardinet, bordeaux, france for sale at all first class dealers the scribner & loehr co. wholesale and manufacturing jewelers makers of emblem goods 347 to 353 erie street opposite rose building accident and liability insurance strongest company:. assets 80 millions :. honest contracts. fair rates. complete claim department with immediate service, affording direct dealing. all of this with τηε ετνα w. g. wilson, manager " sixth floor, cuyahoga building the p. c. o'brien company grocers, importers and wine merchants prospect avenue, cleveland, ohio the merry don senors of the hermit club bring over melodies and costumes from spain, while we import from there: castile soap, queen olives, pimentos, sardines, mackeral, onions, nuts, raisins, grapes, lemons, oranges, capers, sherries, ports and liqueurs. ! colt, william l. comstock, charles w. coulton, george a. curtiss, edwin s. cutler, sam c. dautel, george davis, albert rees devereux, harry k. dielhenn, clarence a. dinsmore, robert a. donahey, james h. duncan, william m. dyer, j. milton eagleson, stuart edwards, harry r. eisenbrey, arthur b. ellenberger, albert w. enwright, roger c. ernst, alfred fenton, jr., alcinous w. fleming, w. j. foster, james h. foster, maximilian freeman, h. e. fuller, clifford w. fuller, ralph l. gage, benjamin a. ganson, george h. gardner, guy s. gilchrist, joseph a. gilchrist, john d. gilkey, william s. gill, paul stanley green, albert e. greene, edward b. greene, frank h. grover, maurice b. gundry, john m. hall, g. abeel higbee, william t. for the play days outdoors on the links-haskell golf balls on the court-goodrich lawn tennis balls on the road-goodrich quick detachable tires the b. f. goodrich co.. akron, ohio " gordon & co. london established 1769 dry gin e. la montagne & sons, sole agents 45 beaver street f. l. fuller & co., bankers and brokers dealers in municipal & high grade corporation bonds members cleveland stock exchange 602 garfield building cleveland, ohio it it is worse than waste, it is cruel, for any woman to boil or scald the clothes, or to wear herself out by washing in the old-time hotwater way. use fels-naptha, the genuine baldwin hotel table d' hote dinner served every evening from six to eight. * 75 cents per person telephone to reserve table * * ¶buy herriman's latest song, : : : -airy fairy carrie: sung with great success for three years before he wrote it, in the wizard of oz : : : ; : : : cauthor of "there's a june bug in the lamp, molly darling." : 42 sheriff st. both phones do you want style? newman does it for you morris b. newman importing tailor fernet-branca of fratelli branca, milan, italy best bitters for cocktails the king of appetizers for sale by the weideman company, cleveland, ohio what is an automobile liabiltiy policy? main 1281 it is a policy under which the insurance company assumes the liability imposed upon you by law for injuries to persons caused by the use of your automobile while driven by yourself or your employees after purchasing a machine, insure with w. m. butts812 park building, cleveland, ohio do it now central 1647 all kinds of hair work made to order a large stock of wigs always on hand wigs and beards hired out for balls, masquerades, theatrical purposes, &c. gentlemen's toupees manufacturer of eau de capiliaire, the finest hair tonic and dandruff cure adam weil wig maker and ladies' hair dresser 1862 e. 6th st., opp. the hollenden 367 bond shampooing and special care of the scalp and hair hamilton, james m. hanna, jr., howard m. harding, frank i. harris, herman a. hitchcock, h. morley hitchcock, reuben hough, addison h. hart, william f. hasbrouck, n. beebe herrick, parmely w. herriman, horatio n. ingersoll, leland howe, frederick c. hubbard, sterling w. hughes, felix humphreys, henry jackson, ward b. james, julius f. kelly, george h. kerr, clarence v. klfoyle, john f. king, frederick warren kendall, hayward h. kirk, carl t. kline, joseph h. klumph, a. c. kraus, joseph r. kroehle, paul e. last, horace w., laundon, mortimer h. lawrence, c. ray lawrence, mortimer w. lawrence, paul terry lonergan, pierce w. lusk, milton w. lyman, philip r. mcallister, william b. mccormick, douglas mcdonald, charles a. macgregor, jr., john mckeehan, homer h. maxson, william b. may, john u. meade, frank b. merkel, arthur e. merriam, walter h. "every cloud has a silver lining," if your feet are shod in sorosis shoes sorosis shop, 177 euclid ave. importer r. w. gammel, we store furs both phones maker 110 euclid ave. the hermits are secluded so are we'l they are being discovered so are we'' w. j. garson & co. tailors who progress 615 superior ave. n. w. it will pay you to look for us bass ale guinness stout mcmullen's white label forzice extra trem pints and splits gate d walk-over shoes are good enough for anybody styles are correct and we have them in such variety that you can get just the height of heel, the width of toe, the arch of instep, the shape of last and the very leather that suits you---and best of all, you can count on good wear. for men, women and children : : : : : : : : chisholm's boot shop, superior avenue, opposite city hall "all the music all the time" the kaiser music store robt. l. white, mgr. no. 45 the arcade, cleveland, ohio telephones, bell main 2490-j; cuyahoga central 6041 everything in music and musical instruments largest stock in the city. prices always lowest our sight readers will play anything for you william krause & son 30 sheriff street costumers for the hermits and others opposite opera house milton c. lusk selling agent for the ostermoor palace touring car the silent waterman runabout the 57 h. p. heinz limousine the knabe 4 cylinder light tonneau the rubifoam electric victoria, for ladies i. greenstein ::: merchant tailor : : : 428 superior street, cleveland colonial hotel restaurants situated on colonial arcade after theatre suppers and lunches a specialty. cuisine and service exceptionally good, with reasonable prices. imported beers on draught you wouldn't think buttons on a shirt were worth talking about : yet, it's just the excellence in just such details, that make our shirts so popular. london shop h. c. thayer, "always there" 392 old bond st. garfield bldg. we have painted and decorated for more than forty years. we know better to-day than ever how to do it the weber, lind & hall company erie street mcloud, norman c. maher, charles a. mansfield, howard marlatt, william h. mather, james mathews, herbert merrick, f. ickes miller, jr., john l. morgan, alphonso h. morgan, percy j. murch, jr., maynard h. murray, william p. nash, samuel t. nash, william f. new comb, robert b. newcomer, frank c. nichols, andrew b. norton, robert c. osborn, henry c. otis, jr., charles a. paine, charles a. parker, john j. parmley, jr., benjamen perkins, roger c. pettee, harold f. pettengill, george b. philpott, william b. pickard, jr., john w. pollock, william s. porter, frederic s. prescott, orville w. ranney, rufus p. kattle, william rees, william f. reeves, frank h. richards, franklin b. robbins, lawrence s. rogers, arthur c. royon, joseph c. rutherford, james a. sanders, clarence e. sanders, franklyn b. sanford, h. l. schneider, chas. s. scott, john r. scofield, sherman w. shackleton, william e. sherwin, george n. "carrying coals to new castle" when the hermits were in holland they saw dutch furniture from the shops of the otis company. a dutch gentleman who saw the furniture which we made for the hollenden grill room purchased from us the designs, for the purpose of having them reproduced for one of the large cafes of amsterdam, holland. we will tell you next year what the hermits saw in spain from the shops of the otis company. the william l. otis furniture & decorating company 550 euclid avenue designers and manufacturers of furniture a spanish bull fight bull fight in our china shop would mean a clean sweep of our choicest french, german and english china and glassware. we are in the arena this week with 100-56 piece china tea sets, gold line and rose decoration at $5.00. they ought to win the admiration of every senorita and toreadora in this community. geo. walther 178 ontario street martin & martin boots and shoes drink a little sarge the gibbons-pinkett co. fulton market meats, fish, game and poultry 21-25 prospect avenue east end branch 2270 euclid avenue taylor coal & coke company foundry and furnace coke works at uniontown, pa. the bourne-fuller co. 1 sales agents 804 hickox bldg., cleveland, o. an unsolicited testimonial from roughhouse p. ranney, the wizard of the cue mr. ranney says: since learning the sting pool game i have built a new house and am looking at automobiles. for everything aluminum aluminum aluminum the pittsburg reduction co. pittsburg, pa. cleveland office, 718 garfield building. r. c. enwright & co. investment brokers government, municipal and railroad bonds. bank stocks and loans a specialty. members.... cleveland stock exchange garfield building cleveland, obio prospect coal company the best grades of coal and coke both steam and domestic also agents for otto coke bell, west 36. 1554 w. 25th st. n. w. (old, cuy., central 878. w. j. krause try us when ordering next time 347 pearl st) yard: bell, west 80 l. d. waters = the republic belting & supply co. formerly the bodifield belting company manufacturers of leather belting, railway, www factory and mill supplies ~ ~ ~ rubber, canvas and cotton belt power transmission supplies pulleys and packings mechanical rubber goods sturtevant blowers mill supplies tailoring that satisfies we set a high standard of quality in ...exclusive patterns... prices within reach of everybody. an early call will be appreciated davies & schmidt, exponents of correct styles 138 the arcade, euclid avenue level sherwin, john sherwood, charles f. sholes, justin g. shupe, harry p. shurmer, edward d. siddall, george b. smith, arthur m. smythe, arthur b. somers, charles w. spencer, richard selden squire, reginald r. stadelman, william a. stair, j. frank stage, charles w. stamp, charles e. starkweather, william j. stebbins, howard s. steinwedell, william e. stockwell, jr., john n. strong, edward l. strong, herbert w. strong, s. e. tame, alfred g. teagle, frank h. teare, william h. terrell, hez. m. tewksbury, russell b. thompson, c. e. tillotson, edwin g. townsend, william j. wade, jeptha h., jr. waite, george s. wall, william e. white, windsor t. whiting, william b. wieman, william walker, frank r. wilbur, rollin a. wallace, robert b. ward, william e. wasser, george w. wilson, sidney s. wolcott, frank b. woodworth, fred j. wright, charles c. white, rollin h. white, walter c. wright, harland j. young, thomas e. american surety company of new york surety and fidelity bonds capital and surplus, $4,923,000.00 m. stanley brown, manager howard d. pritchard, attorney main 3170 garfield building j. milton dyer, architect and sign painter we build anything from a dog house to a we work while you sleep bird cage. す​。 established 1865 58 public square robert a. kummer tailor cleveland, ohio 1906---proper clothes for men---1906 latest new york and london fashions two garment suits. fancy waistcoats straw hats, imported & domestic shapes the davis & fouts company clothiers shirt makers. hatters 175 euclid avenue prof. j. warren samuels will be at the hollenden until july 1st instructor in... scientific exercise instructor to the president and... secretary loeb secretary morton general chaffee the dannemiller grocery co. wholesale grocers canton, o. o. m. mcaninch, president c. h. parsons, secy. & treas. the mcaninch, parsons co. general insurance both phones park building if you buy prices charged satisfy. are concerned. our open office supplies we want you to try to do business with us. our way of filling orders and the our strike with the printers is past as far as we shop is waiting for orders of catalogs, blank books and general office printing. the f. w. roberts co. prospect and 4th avenue the bismarck 327 huron st. most popular place in the city to spend an evening. refined music. grand opera selections as sung only by chevalier guille, french tenor. cuisine classique. service up-to-date albert men jou non-resident members app, frank r. barker, arthur e batchelor, jr., harry a bates, alexander c. bates, george d. new york city elyria, o. saginaw, mich. new york city akron, o. boynton, arthur j brunfr, c. t. burnham, robert w canfield, b. k. carter, c. e. croxton, herbert a curtiss, john s. deming, paul h. elyria, o akron, o. hornellsville, n. y. ravenna, o geneva, ( massillon, o. erie, pa. detroit, mich. pittsburg, pa fryf, john k. hale, edwin w. hine, c. p. hopper, charles il jackson, jonx jeffrey, j. walter jeweti, john e. ketcham. frederick h iela, kans. columbus, o unionville, lake county, o. chicago, ill columbus, o). buffalo, n. y king, clifford j. knowles, almon b. new york city ashtabula, o. new york city erie, pa. chicago, ill. nicholas, frederic m. unionville, lake county, o. lee, fredric h. mccormick, medill myfrs, harry e. pechin, john s. price, w. w. kicker, william w. rust. john f. shenk, charles e skinner, edgar c. smart, allen r. stark, a. l. steward, scott stevenson, william a. taggart, f. f. turner, wm. p. warner, charles b. worthington, george c. detroit, mich. new york city new york city princeton, n. j. erie, pa. cincinnati, o. chicago, ill elyria, o. new york city akron, o. massillon, o. detroit, mich. waukegan, ill. elyria, o. the: hermits 770,81 h425 dupl 孓 ​1 کرے کہ 2061 the hermits' club house from drawing by chas. s. schneider diamond quick detachable tires and the marsh rim particularly appeal to discriminating buyers we have several sets of marsh rims in we use, all giving good satisfaction. we have the fullest confidence in this rim and we have recently ordered several new cars to be equipped with them.---r. h. magoon motor car co., cleveland, o., april 25, 1907. the diamond rubber co. 1514 euclid avenue, cleveland, ohio factories and general offices, akron, ohio دوون the hermits in california a musical comedy in 3 acts book and lyrics by leland ingersoll and clarence vincent kerr score by john s. zamecnik, milton w. lusk, henry l. sanford, richard s. spencer, albert r. davis and j. frank stair produced by the hermit club of cleveland opera house may 27 to june 1 1907 a. d. brooks. stre lightness fulle steel perfest balance american pressed steel trade mark wrought registered pulleys the strong, carlisle & hammond company of cleveland sole agents for cleveland and vicinity pioneer pressed steel hangers : 12143 w. lib. cast note. --the characters are named in the program in the order in which they first enter. tony chas. k. arter man-of-all-work on the ranch marianne bard clarence p. odell just home from an eastern college franz onderdekk geo. b. pettengill lamb's head gardener and confidential secretary buchanan lamb chas. w. stage who has ideas of his own about matrimony henry clay knott albert rees davis a representative of the great american eagle montmorency poore . charles a. maher who comes west to study politics mr. romona mrs. romona mortimer w. lawrence sterling w. hubbard relics of a glorious past. always seeking a “hand-out" the guardian savings and trust company cleveland guardian bldg. 322 euclid ave. wade bldg. 803 superior ave. n. w. officers h. p. mcintosh president g. a. garretson first v. president john h. farley second v. president chas. l. mosher third v. president r. w. judd fourth v. president j. arthur house secretary geo. f. hart treasurer j. a. mathews asst. treasurer thos. e. monks asst. secretary h. c. robinson real estate officer w r. green auditor f. dwight conner mgr. safe deposit dept c. r. megerth office attorney directors gen. james barnett frank billings charles c. bolton e. h. bourne harvey h. brown h. w. corning h. g. dalton charles eisenman hon. john h. farley gen. g. a. garretson j. c. gilchrist caleb e. gowen c. a. grasselli lucien b. hall f. w. hart r. w. judd m. a. marks h. p. mcintosh chas l. mosher e. w. oglebay f. m. osborne stephen l. pierce henry c. ranney wm. b. sanders j. h. wade john f. whitelaw geo. h. worthington guardian building capital and surplus, $2,000,000 cast---continued betty bard horatio n. herriman lamb's niece. a rollicking girl of the prairies ben sheridan fred w. braggins formerly 1st lieut. 117th u. s. cavalry. in love with betty miss mehitable storke herbert matthews who is not averse to matrimony bruin william wieman father felipe tony's educated bear • clarence a. dielhenn in charge of the mission colonel carkey, of the u. s. cavalry sierra bill, the carnival photographer one lung-or possibly two roger c. enwright frank b. wolcott captain of the 117th u. s. cavalry captain alfred aloe ruinart vin brut champagne oldest champagne mark in the world-founded a. d. 1729 aaaaaaaa leads in consumption in the u. s. of all brut champagnes. the first choice of connoisseurs and the wine wise of all countries aaaaaaa roosevelt & schuyler -new yorkagents for united states and canada cow girls prairie dance j. arthur beidler, jr. wilbur h. brooks arthur j. caldwell edward g. ernst edward b. greene ward b. jackson charles e. stamp charles e. thompson cow boys frank s. baker william l. colt louis j. ford joseph h. kline william a. kurz james w. pickard, jr. oliver r. rieley henry l. sanford seminary girls charles e. carter samuel c. cutler guy s. gardner paul s. gill maurice b. grover william f. hart frank c. newcomer charles f. sherwood begin and end your shopping tours a t cleveland's economy center. bailey's the big store prospect where every day is a bargain day town boys albert c. bailey arthur d. brooks charles c. clark john f. cunningham paul t. lawrence frank h. reeves justin g. sholes frank b. wolcott moon song montmorency and seminary girls teddy bears j. arthur beidler, jr. wilbur h. brooks arthur j. caldwell frederick s. dickson, jr. william m. duncan edward b. greene ward b. jackson charles e. thompson daisy and dandelions betty and cowboys minuet at opening of 3d art by seminary girls orange dance j. arthur beidler, jr. edward b. greene wilbur h. brooks s. augustus fuller ward b. jackson charles e. stamp the cowell & hubbard company euclid avenue, corner east sixth street jewelry diamonds silverware china and art glass imported decorative articles novelties in gold, silver, brass and porcelain fine stationery and engraving we shall be pleased to have you inspect our collection of goods, your visit will not incur the least obligation to purchase, the same attention will be shown whether the visit be for business or pleasure. toy dance george a. coulton frederick s. dickson,jr. william m. duncan lloyd f. jones edward s. mason ponies j. arthur beidler, jr. ralph l. fuller wilbur h. brooks arthur j. caldwell edward g. ernst s. augustus fuller edward b. greene charles e. thompson grape pickers, mexicans and carnival characters carl b. castle harry donaldson ralph l. fuller george h. ganson perry d. jenkins lloyd f. jones clarence v. kerr paul t. lawrence rufus p. ranney c. fred schneerer a. burns smythe edw. l. worthington soldiers capt. alfred aloe, u. s. a. in command. gardner abbott fred s. borton thomas e. borton george a. coulton charles c. coventry john f. cunningham robert a. dinsmore william j. fleming felix hughes c. ray lawrence pierce w. lonergan william f. nash john macgregor, jr. william b. maxson alphonse h. morgan robert h. perdue justin g. sholes howard s. stebbins william wieman the knabe piano for more than half a century has held the universally conceded position as the world's foremost piano at home and abroad. knabe art grands and uprights grace the salons where affluence and art hold sway. in the studios of the masters of music these magnificent instruments greatly outnumber those of any other individual make, indicating the esteem in which they are held. our knabe room always contains examples of the latest designs of these peerless instruments. the knabeangelus in the union of the kutabr piano and the angelus piano player mechanism (contained within the case of the piano) its manufacturers have given to the world the only truly high-grade player piano and the only instrument by which the interpretation of the masterpieces of music is made possible in a thoroughly artistic manner through the medium of the perforated roll. the limitations of this space will not permit of even passing mention of those points of superiority characteristic only of this instrument, but we take great pleasure in extending an invitation to visit our warerooms to those wishing more familiarly to aquaint themselves with the knabeangelus piano. descriptive literature and catalogues mailed upon request. the hallet & davis piano co. (sole representatives) 408-410 superior ave. 26-28 the arcade scenes act i. the lawn in front of buchanan lamb's ranch house, overlooking the vineyards. the time is morning and the day is momentous. act ii. at santa felipe, an old mission in the sierras. evening of the same day. act iii. a street scene in the village, during a flower carnival. the day after. the hermits in luna park they play all season cleveland's luna park now open. bewildering variety of new and attractive features. 2 world's greatest concert bands featured. magnificent new musical garden 2 entrances 2 old main entrance and new gate on woodland avenue car line 1 music a musical numbers act i opening chorus-song of the vine zamecnik tony here and tony there zamecnik tony and chorus mary ann lusk marianne wind of the prairie zamecnik betty and chorus of cowboys and girls i haven't quite succeeded yet zamecnik · franz hope spencer miss storke and seminary girls duet-love is a trapper davis betty and sheridan finale-to the country let us go zamecnik the family theater (e. 9th st., near euclid) open may 4 gaumont chronophone the pictures that really sing and talk euclid garden open monday, may 13 william farnum and all star cast direction of max faetkenheuer musical numbers act ii the legend of the mission spencer father felipe mr. moon sanford montmorency and girls when i think of you zamecnik sheridan and choir trio-three little bugs zamecnik lamb, knott and miss storke pantomine-dance of the teddy bears zamecnik the daisy in the dandelion bed lusk betty and the boys finale the bridegroom comes zamecnik act iii opening chorus-carnival stair dance duet sanford maher and caldwell orange dance quartette-the photograph man franz, betty, marie and montmorency frolic of the little chinese dolls lusk zamecnik sanford sierra sue lusk ponies back to the flag zamecnik sheridan and chorus grand finale zamecnik warren s. hayden otto miller member cleveland stock exchange hayden, miller miller & company this firm buys and sells investment bonds which are suited to the requirements of trustees and prudent investors generally. these bonds are not of interest to speculators but meet the needs of those with whom safety of principal is the prime requisite and who are satisfied with the largest income compatible with such safety. these bonds include: municipal bonds, which yield 3% to 4%%. ohio municipal bonds are tax exempt in this state and yield 3½ to 4%. private corporation bonds-chiefly obligations of steam and electric railway companies-which yield 4½ to 6%. this firm also holds memberships in cleveland stock exchange and as a broker, will execute orders to buy and sell securities which have a cleveland market. citizens building telephones: bell, main 284; cuyahoga, central 463 cleveland orchestra\ frank b. meade, director milton w. lusk, richard s. spencer and henry l. sanford, pianists first violin oboe james d. johnston josef narovec john l. miller, jr. clarinet j. frank stair second violin albert m. hannaford joseph c. royon harry r. lincoln alfred m. fuller harry r. valentine bassoon frank h. spafford viola cornet william r. rounds charles e. burt cello harry m. ladd maurice p. klumph arthur c. rogers horn harry a. bliss edwin l. gleason bass frank b. hannaford frank nelson trombone flute william s. gilkey claude c. fenton tympani arch c. klumph charles w. davis harry du rocher costumes by wm. krause and son. principals' dresses by la mode dressmaking co. perruquiers-adam weil and madame peal. cold cream and powders from white cross toilet co. scenery designed by frank b. meade, and painted by h. r. rehn. artificial vines and flowers by gustave schroeder. knauth, nachod & kühne bankers 15 william street, new york circular letters of credit and travelers' checks available the world over. obtainable in cleveland at banks and bankers with the hermits in california, and i get my plain dealer every morning. pla ain biti don. the reasons why you should advertise in cleveland town topics ¶ it reaches the best class of readers its readers are those who spend money its advertisers are the best in the city only the highest class business solicited the reasons why you should subscribe for cleveland town topics it is the cleanest publication in cleveland it is the best illustrated weekly published in cleveland its editorials in the lounger column are timely and incisive its society department is edited by helen dekay townsend it has the best automobile department of any paper published in cleveland any news dealer will take your subscription advertising rates furnished upon application cleveland town topics co. 319 caxton building the hermits in california about fifteen years ago, a legislator of a western state introduced a bill, in the lower house of the assembly, for the purpose of taxing old bachelors for the support of maiden ladies. the measure was intended merely to create a little merriment for the august body, but to the great surprise of the humoristic solon, it was accepted with the utmost seriousness by some of the rural representatives and came near being enacted into a law. that incident suggested the principal theme for "the hermits in california." buchanan lamb, a crusty old bachelor, owns a large fruit and cattle ranch in the heart of california. his two nieces, betty and marianne, live with him and the latter, who has just returned from an eastern college, has arranged a picnic in honor of her old school friends from the sillyset seminary. marianne tries to persuade her uncle lamb to join the party, but he has just heard about the bill to tax bachelors and angrily refuses to go. his head gardener and confidential secretary, franz, has been trying his skill at grafting, and induces lamb to inspect a new prune with which he has been experimenting. senator knott and his nephew, montmorency poore, arrive and knott announces that he is the father of the spinster suffrage bill. it's an easy proposition. hermits use them baker electrics this is the baker hermitage, where baker electrics are built a beehive of business skillful mechanical and electrical engineers and artisans of the highest order, seven years of practical experience, some patents and a lot of know how, harmoniously contributing to -the one object---to produce the best. price brothers 404 huron road run a baker exposition the year 'round bakes for examination bakes for demonstration bakes for sale price brothers 404 huron road cleveland baker queen victoria c why did did marshall field & company do it? wouldn't you like to know why it was that marshall field & company replaced six listing-adding machines of another make, with burroughs bookkeeping machines? these six machines "looked just as good as a burroughs," and it took just about a year to find out that they were not. when our 1907 models were placed on the market we demonstrated to marshall field & company that we could give them a machine that would take care of their work better, handle their check figures and at the same time insert a sales sheet number which would serve as a guide when checking their recapitulations for a balance. then we showed them what the "split and normal" burroughs could do for them. ultimately we sold them seven burroughs adding machines by which much of their special work could be done mechanically that formerly had to be done by hand. why should you be satisfied with a machine that will do only a part of what the burroughs can do? q if an adding and listing machine is any good to you, why don't you get a machine that is the must good to you? we will demonstrate the 1907 model in your own office:-it will cost you one postage stamp-and will place you absolutely under no obligation. burroughs adding machine company detroit, michigan, u. s. a. cleveland the car of proven service daytona. 3/28/07. 7500 miles + running like a clock! j. r.za. the 30-35 h. p. type h cleveland is a car of exceptional endurance and economy of maintenance. it has proven itself---the car without a weak spot. it is the car for the prudent buyer touring cars roadsters limousines the cleveland motor car co. offices, salesroom and factory, whitney power block, e. 12th st., near st. clair ave. synopsis concluded. lamb tries to persuade the senator to kill the measure, but learns to his consternation that it has already passed the house. miss mehitable storke, in whose interest the bill has been introduced, comes with the seminary girls and immediately complicates affairs for lamb. the romantic touch of the play centers about betty and ben sheridan, a former army officer, who has left the service under a cloud, and tony, an italian boy, who has strayed out west with a performing bear, and who later becomes. man of all work about the ranch. the second act carries everybody up to the old mission at santa felipe. lamb has failed in his effort to kill the bill in the senate and, after a thorough counting of the cost of keeping a wife, decides matrimony will be cheaper than the bachelor tax. he proposes to miss storke and the wedding is quickly arranged, in spite of the opposition of knott. just as the knot is about to be tied, a messenger arrives with tidings that further complicates. affairs. col. carkey, u. s. a., visits santa felipe in hope of finding sheridan, who comes in answer to a note which he believes is from betty, and is betrayed by tony into going to casa grande, where the u. s. troops are quartered. the last act opens on the carnival. lamb has taken flight, and betty, franz and marie have about given up hope of finding him, when he is discovered in hiding. he overhears knott and miss storke plotting and binding themselves by some terrible agreement. thoroughly frightened, he decides to escape. he is caught, however, but the troubles of all are happily adjusted after a stormy scene. sheridan, who has been taken in charge by the soldiers at casa grande, is brought to col. carkey's headquarters and hears two things which surprise and make him. happy. tony then confesses to a good impulse gone wrong, and all ends happily. hotel rider cambridge springs, pa. the carlsbad of america curative mineral waters, baths and special treatments. golf links that are always in perfect condition and among the most attractive in the country. tennis, autoing, saddling, driving, boating, theatre, bowling, natatorium. all in-door and out-door sports. "a hermit rendezvous" re-opened under new management may first. e. c. eppley operators w. d. rider the cleveland tool & supply co. dealers in factory and mill supplies; also, machinists' tools ** h h⠀ 1515-1519 columbus road, n. w. the oldsmobile in california w inner of the great $6,000.00 race-los angeles to san francisco-under the most terrible conditions ever encountered. . . . ¶ these tests prove that oldsmobile roadability has never been equalled by the highest priced cars in the world. ¶ style, power, perfect action--these qualities go to make it what it is. ¶ the car that's best, whether good or bad roads cleveland agency, 1926 euclid avenue r. r. owen, manager member association licensed olds motor works, lansing, mich., u. s. a. automobile manufacturers canadian trade supplied from canadian factory. address frederick sager, st. catherines, ontario ¥ staff y business manager fred s. borton stage directors musical director herbert mathews john mitchell frank b. meade george h. ganson choristers arthur b. smythe properties costumes scenery treasurer herbert w. strong john h. donahey frank b. meade joseph r. kraus borton and borton securities guardian trust building cleveland 1committees £ show albert r. davis, chairman charles k. arter fred s. borton john h. donahey sterling w. hubbard leland ingersoll clarence v. kerr charles a. maher frank b. meade press norman c. mcloud, chairman clarence a. dielhenn john h. donahey charles a. otis arthur c. rogers program mortimer w. lawrence, chairman arthur d. brooks william s. gilkey arthur c. rogers tickets william e. ward, chairman drills and reamers made by the morse twist drill & machine co. new bedford, mass. and for sale by the strong, carlisle & hammond company cleveland 336-344 frankfort ave., n. w. ernst and ernst public accountants cleveland ca clevo see that your auto has a garford chassis you will find it in the cleveland, studebaker and rainier nothing better built in america the garford compan y elyria, ohio committees---continued finance fred s. borton, chairman george h. kelly george a. coulton auditing george n. sherwin, chairman william e. ward harris creech properties herbert w. strong, chairman justin g. sholes hez. m. terrell program advertising william t. higbee, chairman william l. colt harry r. edwards edward b. greene frank h. greene fred w. king joseph h. kline robert h. perdue william s. pollock sam e. strong h. p. shupe e. g. ernst incorporated 1849. society for savings in the city of cleveland. individual deposits surplus fund undivided profits $51,259,209.74 2,750,000.00 517,508.92 eighty thousand four hundred and ten depositors black & white black scotch whisky scotch whisky distil james buchement the house of commons scotc is all right also sole agents in the u. s. for coates & co. original plymouth gin perrier-jouet champagne cinzano vermouth guaranteed under the pure food law. serial no. 2110 james buchanan & co., ltd. 29 broadway, new york arthur j. billin, u. s. manager armours armours usinspected and pa under the act of cong of june 30-190 establishment armours star sliced bacon armour bacon at its bestarmour's "star"--breakfast for the epicure. choicest strips sliced uniformly to cook crisp without scorching. packed in airtight, key-opening tins and in glass jars. armour and company my 4 lyrics 4 opening chorus the song of the vine sing we a song of the vine, yes the vine, vine, vine. and her gay laughing daughter, the wine, yes the wine, wine, wine. she is the mistress we all must obey. for her do we work and 'tis with her we play. life's greatest pleasure we each owe today to the vine, to the vine, to the vine. when the harvest time is drawing near come the gladdest days of all the year, when the grapes blush 'neath the sun 'tis a sign our work is done. what the yield will be no one may know, vintage time alone its worth will show. sweet or bitter, good or bad flows the wine, all depends upon the fickle vine. on the vine, vine, vine, hangs the cluster that's turned into wine, as the mother is gay or sad will the daughter be good or bad. but there's none may know, 'tis the vintage alone that will show. from the heart within the vine blossoms the soul of the red, red wine. working 'mid the grapes our whole life long our first lullaby the vintage song, surely 'tis no wonder, then, that we like the ruby clustered grapes should be peeping out among the vines like this, dusky from the western sun's warm kiss. we are little sisters of the wine, for we too are children of the vine. otis & hough bankers and brokers cuyahoga building cleveland members new york, cleveland, chicago stock exchanges new york cotton exchange chicago board of trade private wires to all principal cities government municipal bonds railroad corporation telephones main 154 erie 146 branch offices: denver, colo. columbus, o. colorado springs, colo. globe-wernicke "elastic" bookcases 000000 globe-wernicke e a system of units with the use of globe-wernicke elastic book case units, your library can easily be made the most attractive room in the house. made to harmonize with the color scheme of any room. illustrated catalogue sent on request. the brooks company, manufacturing stationers and printers 715 superior avenue, n. w. after the show the hollenden grill room thompson & fox managers mary ann i i've decided to change my name, i don't like the one that i had. it did very well till i got a bit swell, but now it is all to the bad. oh, society stands for a lot, and overlooks all that it can. but you couldn't expect that it wouldn't object to a name like mary ann. chorus. mary ann. just mary ann. nothing so common will fit my plan. i want to wed a society man. i want to lead the van. mary ann. mary ann. i'll put some more style to it if i can. for i've never seen a society queen who'd admit she was mary ann. ii i have noticed that lots of girls are doing this thing ev'ry day. if you would be swell, you have only to spell your name in a twisted-up way. so i've done just the same as the rest, for i've followed the regular plan. you will find that my name, tho' it don't look the same, is in fact just mary ann. the cleveland, southwestern & columbus railway co. the green line connects cleveland with elyria, oberlin, lorain, amherst, grafton, wellington, la porte, birmingham, henrietta, florence, berlin heights, berlinville, norwalk, berea, strongsville, brunswick, medina, chippewa lake, seville, creston, madisonburg, wooster, rockport, south dover, north ridgeville, linndale and puritas springs ¶ large comfortable plush and leather upholstered three-compartment cars. ¶ frequent service between all the above points. ¶ limited trains stop only at scheduled stations. fast time. baggage checked in accordance with regular baggage rules of the company. general office 614 garfield building cleveland, ohio the citizens savings and trust company euclid avenue, near erie street, cleveland, ohio j. h. wade chairman h. r. newcomb president d. z. norton 1st vice president w. g. mather d. leuty 2d vice president 3d vice president h. b. corner 4th vice president j. r. nutt secretary e. v. hale treasurer o. c. nelson ass't sec'y h. s. newberry ass't sec'y george lomnitz ass't treas w. m. baldwin ass't treas w. h. fowler ass't treas capital and surplus, 62 million dollars assets over 42 million dollars this bank is built on rock-like stability-officers and directors well known for their own personal business success and probity, men who are eminently capable of conducting the affairs of a safe bank. new accounts solicited 4% on savings accounts 2% on checking accounts willoughe hreach park shore line c.p.zer.r cleveland's finest suburban park. the ideal place general offices for picnics, reunions, outings, willoughby, ohio conventions, etc. r. n. worley, agent 14 public square, cleveland, ohio the cleveland, painesville & eastern railway company every car a thru car between cleveland, willoughbeach, willoughby, mentor, painesville, fairport, perry, madison, geneva and ashtabula. extra limited service i w wind of the prairie i i have a comrade whom i never see but dearer than all other friends to me. whenever o'er the plains i ride so free close by my horse's side always is he. i go out to meet him almost ev'ry day if the gossips want to talk, they may. because i'm sure if i should give his name away no one in all the world could have a word to say. my comrade is one knows but no one could oppose it is the wind that 'cross the prairie blows. chorus. prairie, prairie, wind of the prairie, that sings by my side, as i ride, never solitary. galloping, galloping, faster each stride, with the wind of the prairie wide. ii his comradeship i could not do without, he helps me when i'm puzzled and in doubt. if i have anything i'm vexed about a ride with him will somehow drive it out. sometimes he says things that really are not fair, whispers words of love but i don't care. sometimes i know he's playing with my tangled hair, and if i turn my cheek i feel his kisses there, and if he could propose i'd take him i suppose i'd wed the wind that 'cross the prairie blows. havana cigars if you pick the pinzon you have the best 10c .. 1861.. for 5c . .weideman .. نه 31 the weideman co. vatted glens mbis special rese addrew usherg edinburga speak for themselves pileialärese andrew usher&cos special krog c reserve very old pale vatted glenlivet whis registered edinburgh. wasents, frank bay & co. 53. m whalytical laboratory surgeons edenburgh private tuyến private cuvees j&f martell cognac choicest scotch champagne p finest cognac cuvées krug krug & co reims france perfection in champagne g. s. nicholas & company united states agents 43 beaver street, new york j. f. kilfoyl, president c. w. somers, vice president e. s. barnard, secretary napoleon lajoie, manager the cleveland ball club company office, 512 cuyahoga building grounds, lexington, corner dunham two good things this week, "larry" at the base ball park and "harry" at the opera house hope "when it's set for one, the breakfast table looks disconsolate and awful bare while there sits, reproach fully suggestful, opposite to you an empty chair." "but the longest worm will have it's turning ev'ry dog must have it's dayvirgins wise should keep their lamps a burning hoping things will come their way. some day i shall hear a voice adoring ask me why the steak's not done. some day when the coffee i'm a pouring. there'll be two cups instead of one. chorus. somewhere, some place, some way, somehow some one may sometime woo. anywhere, any place, anyway, anyhow, any time, any one'll do. i'm too young to worry yet, but still i wish i knew that somewhere, some place, some way, somehow some one would sometime woo. "when before the fireplace in the evening just one pair of slippers meet your eyes they look up so pitiful and pleading that the bitter tears unbidden rise." "but the longest worm will have it's turning. ev'ry dog must have his day. virgins wise should keep their lamps a burning, hoping things will come their way. some day i shall hear a voice that's tender ask me to pull off a shoe, some day side by side upon the fender there'll be four feet instead of two. my f fruit is god and king the william i iv. v.o.p scotch whisky king slainte mhaith am bonneig mhaith john gillon & co, leith, wine merchants to his late majesty king william iv. established 1817. sole agents for the united states and canada francis o. de luze & co. new york every drop is delicious of this famous old wine, it has got all the vigor and vim of the vine; no wines of french vineyards such virtues contain: it's the joy of best judges-great western champagne. extra dry great western was the only american champagne to receive a gold medal at paris---and was acknowledged by parisians to equal the most select imported brands. in great western extra dry champagne you will recognize the taste of the old world's best vintages---at half the cost. it's the duty, not great western the quality, that makes the difference. the quality of grapes is what imparts to fine champagne its flavor. particular care in making and ageing is essential, but the fine rich, mellow, yet delicately flavored grape, is necessary. great western is made from grapes having the same fine qualities as those grown in the best vineyards of france. cultivation of the soil, extending over nearly one hundred years, in the great western vineyards at rheims, n. y., has developed the ideal vine that produces this fine wine grape. the process of making great western is identical with that of the finest french wines. it is absolutely pure and is aged for five years in the latest improved modern cellars. try great western. pleasant valley wine co., sole makers, rheims, n. y. sold by dealers in fine wines and served in hotels, restaurants and cafes. the henry m. brooks company fire henry m. brooks, pres. l. a. wilbor, vice-pres. w. h. brooks, secy-treas. insurance agency established 1855 offices, 601-606 park bldg. boston insurance company boston, mass. automobile insurance covering fire and theft losses in united states and canada. machines also covered while in europe. no restrictions in policy. prompt adjustments. the henry m. brooks company agents for northern ohio love is a trapper (sheridan:) love is a trapper, that sets his snare in the path of each lad and lass. cunningly hidden with craft so rare that it's sure to catch all who pass. softer than silk but as strong as steel are it's gossamer meshes wove. and not till to break them you try, do that you're caught in the trap of love. you feel refrain. (sheridan) (betty) (both) are you sure? yes, i'm sure. you're not caught i'm i in the lure of that treacherous trapper, love. (sheridan) (betty) (both) oh, beware. i'll take care. lest you fall in the snare i (betty) of the marvelous net he wovesoft as the sigh of the summer air or the silken strand of a fairy's hair. but strong with a strength that's beyond compare is the thread of the net of love. love is a spider, his web he spins for each lass that may come his way small the reward that his labor wins for his trap is as clear as day. every thread is so plainly shown of the net that the spider wove. it's nobody's fault in the world but your own if you're caught in the web of love. a card of thanks for past patronage aaaa the cleveland laundry company jafavatava vajava fa the quality of our service assures us of future favors the taken with graflex camera film store kodak store velox store camera store also, artists' material, engineers' supplies, scientific instruments "dat am de place" the dodd-rogers co. 1926 to 1936 east sixth st. d commenced business 1845 assets, $110,000,000 o you know you know the mutual benefit life insurance company of newark, n. j., will sell you more insurance 66 for less money than any other company? there's a reason" j. w. pickard, jr., superintendent of agencies new england building, cleveland cleveland representatives r. c. allen c. f. beachler t. c. goss lewis hall m. p. beers c. c. clark h. h. codding c. r. cross t. h. geer w. a. stevenson h. e. hall e. n. parker e. bruce pratt j. h. h. randall o. m. stafford finale-act i to the country let us go to the country let us go, to the country let us go, don't you hear the voice of nature to you calling, calling, calling, calling? let us go and take our ease in the balmy summer breeze, while the caterpillars from the trees. are falling, falling, falling, falling, falling. on the grassy banks we'll lie idly watching time go by. with the mystic spell of nature o'er us stealing, stealing, stealing, stealing. there is nothing can compare with the charm of open air and a neck that's raw and burnt for fair and peeling, peeling, peeling, peeling, peeling. let's take a day off let's take a lay off let's put work behind let's take a cook and go have a look and see what we can find. let's go a lunching let's go a munching sandwiches and ants. let's go a rambling let's go a gambling come let's take a chance. m the superior quality of our work is the standard by which others are judged. "a word to the wise is sufficient." the parisian dry cleaning company 2420 cedar ave. 5015 euclid ave. phones autos 24 taylor arcade 13541 euclid ave. see ste nõe sou sou seu sei sei think twict is werth 2 in the buzh. by the junior office boy after getting this advertizin spaice in the hermitts programm, "the press" ast me to rite sumthen to fill it up wel ime dinged if i no wot to rite, i was goen to say "rede the press," but wots the use, evryboddy is redin it now an we cant git no moar subskrybers till they begin fillin up the laik sost pepel can live north of the yunion depo an then agen wots the use of me sayin "advertise in the press an git ritch," everyboddy outside the semetaries is a advertisin in “the press" now an if we took any moar adds the paper would be so big it would be too hevvy fer the littel newsboys to carry so ime up agenst it, like 1 of these hermitts with a shaip like a churn tryin to squeaze hisself into a 22-inch corsitt ive dun the best i could anyway, an so does the hermitts, dont hiss nor throw nothing at them, they need the munny or they wouldn't be doin it johnny e. t. horsey, pres't and manager the a. k. spencer, sec'y and treas. continental agency co. manufacturers' agents automobile supplies continental & 66 h reg.u.s. pat. off the low cost per mile tire" traver patent blowout patch shoe traver patent patch blow out apl'd for pat locks inside of shoe made of fabric and rubber, like an auto shoe; with a brass flange that prevents it from "creeping" gianoli magneto champion-nuport plugs patent strap tire lever champion wire anything for your automobile tire repairing 1268 euclid ave. cleveland, ohio legend of the mission i when all this land was strange and new, and strong these walls so old and crumbling now, a monk dwelt here; to church untrue, who for a maid's sake broke his holy vow. at midnight when the mission silent slept in yonder tower a light there shone. then through the secret passageway he crept to meet the maid he called his own. side by side 'neath shadowed wall till dawn came faint and gray he swore, whatever might befall he would be true alwayrefrain. love, true love, can know no dying years defying, time denying till those walls in dust are lying so long i'll be true to you. ii alas, one night they were betrayed. the church's laws were stern and cruel then. they disappeared, this monk and maid, and nevermore were seen alive again. but when the long deserted mission sleeps, in yonder tower, there shines a light, and from the secret door a figure creeps to keep the tryst he made that night. side by side two shadows move till the dawn comes faintly gray he keeps the vow he made his love that he'd be true alway.— ideal & boilers american radiators are the best for house heating ask the hermits they use them sold by the w. m. pattison supply co. 197 to 211 st. clair avenue rayo lamp perfection wick blame oil stove safe operfection ind convenient economical if your dealer don't handle it, write to the standard oil company then and now in days gone by it was all right for hermits to wear clothes made from an old horse blanket and a piece of rope. today hermits recognize the direct relation of correct dress to business and social preferment. the apparel displays of this store represent the supreme efforts of talented designs to whom our approval is the highest incentive to do their best. we are expecting you. wageman's quality store euclid at fourth w mister moon did you ever sit and wonder if that blooming moon up yonder doesn't know a lot about us and about the things we do? if our propositions vexing and our questions so perplexing he could answer in a minute if he only wanted to? wouldn't it be entertaining if when needing some explaining we could ask that wise old chappie sitting up there in the sky? mister moon, we want your answer, won't you speak up like a man, sir? mister moon, please if you can, sir, won't you tell the reason why? chorus. mister moon tell us why, won't you please tell us why, tell us why ev'rything is so sitting up there so high on your perch in the sky. we are sure that you ought to know. tell us why, or why not, and we swear on the spot to believe ev'rything you say. tell us just what is what, or explain why it's not, mister moon, won't you tell us pray? we invite consideration of this record of growth the deposits of this company september 18th, 1905, were on april 30th, 1907, $2,630,269.05 $6,184,420.20 this evidence of the confidence felt in the institution by the people of this community is much appreciated. the superior savings and trust company rockefeller building capital and surplus $1,000,000 jj sullivan president jh mcbride vice president louis black l m bowers e s purke jr howard p eells lc hanna james h hoyt jh mcbride samuel mather e w oglebay ff prentiss samuel scovil jj sullivan lyman h treadway james c wallace fa scott officers e w oglebay chairman of the board f a scott secretary and treasurer directors president the bailey company representing john d rockefeller corrigan, mckinney & company president the bucyrus company ma hanna & company hoyt, dustin & kelley vice president the root & mcbride company pickands, mather & company oglebay, norton & company president the cleveland twist drill company vice pres the cleveland electric ill'g company president the central national bank manager the peck, stow & wilcox company president the american ship building company secretary and treasurer trade mark rail á gib oston grower and shipper of reversible prunes "the kind that stays sold" heltopay in california, may 7, 1907 messrs. corday & gross, anti-waste-basket printers, cleveland, ohio. gentlemen:in april last year you recall i wrote you how quite suddenly my brother's prune farm in the adjoining county was literally turned over to me here. i have been too busy meantime re-arranging things to suit changed conditions to write sooner. but now i have perhaps a peculiar request and maybe you can help me out in our somewhat upset state. the prune orchards have finally been coaxed to bear heavily upside down---i have trained the office force to work standing on their heads, and alvarez, the greaser office boy, cleverly sticks postage on bottom side up without batting an eye. but miss pelling and miss taque, the stenographers, complain of the way the office ceiling is daily littered with paper scraps around their desks. knowing by experience your intelligent service and noticing you advertise anti-waste-baskets naturally built upside down, i want your bottom price on dozen lots f.o.b. heltopay. by the way, the beautiful, well-printed prune catalog you got out in 1905 for my brother, made a big hit with the fancy trade and helped prune sales immensely, despite the crop was late and not prime. i shall probably want you to make me a larger, finer book the coming season. we certainly have confidence in the resultbringing ability of catalogs you make. while our trees are now just full of prunes, this new-found prosperity is not assured till the crop is picked. for if the luscious fruit drops off the trees under present conditions, it becomes food for larks. and as this town is built on and sustained by prunes, that would mean heltopay in california no more. i hope for the best. awaiting prompt quotation on baskets, i am does it pay it pay to adver p.s. raila g oston above, the quake having also reversed i find it would not do to change advertise? address me exa the letters in my back now. corday & grosz members n. y. stock exchange n. y. cotton exchange chicago board of trade chicago stock exchange cleveland stock exchange private wires to all principal cities 颡 ​a. o. brown & company bankers and brokers 30 broad street flatiron building new york waldorf-astoria no. 11 west 25th st. nos. 2 and 4 east 44th st. branch atlantic city, n. j. offices buffalo, n. y. chicago, ill. erie, pa. hartford, conn. montreal, can. cincinnati, o. detroit, mich. schenectady, n. y. scranton, pa. dayton, o. st. louis, mo. syracuse, n. y. troy, n. y, utica, n. y. washington, d. c. wilkes-barre, pa. williamsport, pa. cleveland hollenden building, 1847 east sixth st., n. e. frederick s. dickson, manager cuyahoga central 1990; bell main 1671 w knott: chorus: lamb: chorus: trio-three little bugs once a bug lived in a rug and he loved a lady bug but alas he was tall and thin he had no show her love to win. length don't count in a lady's eyes she'd much prefer to have weight and size what she likes is a good strong hug be she a woman or be she a bug. oh three little bugs lived in a rug two boy bugs and a lady bug both sued for her hand, and she chose one which do you think was the one? once a fat bug lost his heart but it was hopeless from the start when to tell her his love he'd try it made her laugh to hear him sigh. female nature loves sentiment vows that are uttered when knees are bent love and moonlight, and things like that there's no romance in a bug that's fat. oh three little bugs lived in a rug, etc. miss storke: chorus: now the lady played this game: she liked them both about the same tall bugs, when they stand straight, are fine, fat bugs ain't bad in winter time. but she, most like her sisters fair, wanted to have things to eat and wear, and the bug with the biggest pile 'twas he that won her affectionate smile. oh three little bugs lived in a rug, etc. m bookkeeping by machinery an accomplished fact! and we've got the machine that does itthe only one! elliott-fisher ledger-posting machine prints the statement posts the ledger adds the sales, and proves the postings automatically all in one operation "as soon as you know you'll be sorry you didn't know sooner elliott-fisher company 329 broadway, new york cleveland office, 1025 prospect ave, s. e. r. b. buswell, mgr. branch offices and agencies in all principal cities green river the whiskey without a headache is the proper drink for the hermit in his meditations she was bred for ten years and now the official whiskey of the u. s. it is the whiskey for the club, the cafe, the summer camp and the home straight whiskey the whiskey without a trade mark aheadache green river bottled by kentucky green river owensbord guaranteed under the food and drugs act june navy hospitals highest awards at all expositions call for it by name the bourne-fuller co. iron, steel, pig iron, coke. cleveland, ohio. when i think of you sheridan: in fancy i can bring thee near i would t'were really so, that you were here beside me, dear, and all my thoughts could know. choir in chapel: sheridan: choir: sheridan: choir: build not your love for earth alone, life's span is but a day, and earthly love is past and done when life shall pass away. i think of you, and straightway from my heart, all evil and unworthy thoughts depart. what life holds best of all; what life holds truethese things i think of when i think of you. then build your love so true, so pure, from earthly passion free,. that it shall last, enduring, sure, through all eternity. i dream of you and fancy shows to me how better, nobler far my life might be. for you there's nothing i'd not dare to do, these things i dream of when i dream of you. that it shall last, enduring, sure, through all eternity. no matter where the hermits may be, in holland, spain or california, their friends may follow their doings through the magnificent telegraph and cable news service of the cleveland leader with the full dispatches of the associated press, the complete leased wire service, domestic and foreign, of the new york press, the central states news of the chicago record-herald, and the correspondence of the leader staff writers in new york, washington, columbus, pittsburg, chicago and other news centers, the readers of the leader are assured of the greatest news service in america. a news service which is equaled only by the great papers of new york and chicago. in its departments, in dramatic criticisms, sporting news, society news, political news, financial news and other special branches, the leader is unequaled by any other newspaper in cleveland or ohio. its name tells its story. the leader the lonely hermit used to shun the curious gaze of everyone, but cleveland hermits romp and play at mr. hartz's every may. 口​口 ​f the cleveland electric illuminating company. it used to be an anchorite had little fire and less of light, but now his cell is lamped and fired, for cleveland hermits' cells are wired. he hermits accompanied t by their friends (the audience) have taken trips to holland, spain and california. ¶ better all make your next trip to the white garage, and let us explain the incomparable white the car for service the daisy in the dandelion bed i. once a daisy who one night was born, sleepily lifting her head, found that she was growing all forlorn in a dandelion bed. she thought no harm felt no alarm, such company she could enjoy but when 'twas light she screamed in fright ev'ry one was a boy. refrain. poor little lonesome maid, so afraid, shy young maid, when to be friendly those boys essayed, shrank dismayed, lonely stayed, not once could they persuade she'd evade, all their aid, she wouldn't join the games they played, poor little lonesome maid. ii. for a long time daisy sighed and pined; then she saw that wasn't best, very wisely she made up her mind. to be just like the rest. what e'er they'd do she did it too, though she got many a bump and fall; and at last she turned out to be best fellow of them all. refrain. gay little laughing maid, unafraid, bold young maid, went to those boys and their friendship prayed asked their aid, found it paid; each one her slave she made. she'd persuade, they obeyed; she led the way each game they played, gay little laughing maid. america's best built car 40 h. p. 60 h. p. limousine $5000.00 $7000.00 $6000.00 you cannot afford to buy a high class automobile without carefully investigating the construction and records of this wonderful car. you will be interested in the guarantee covering each car sold. the holmes-booth auto co., 10550 euclid ave. f. l. fuller & co. garfield building, cleveland north american building, philadelphia dealers in government, state, city, county, township, school district and village bonds railroad, gas, traction, water, electric light and power bonds a specialty all local securities bought and sold members cleveland stock exchange correspondence solicited telephones: main 300 central 474 we solicit your inspection of "studebaker” gasoline and electric automobiles t all of which are on display at our salesroom and garage. they must be seen and ridden in to be appreciated. the central automobile co. (studebaker automobile company sales agency) 2167-2169 east ninth street, next to y. m. c. a. main 1209 central 1362-w the hall mark b.s trade mark of quality w finale act ii the bridegroom comes the bridegroom comes, he does, does he and the bride comes too, she does, does she. we also come, we do, do we to aid the groom and cheer up his bride to be. he swore he'd ne'er be tied, be tied, while to wed she's always tried, she's tried and we cannot decide, decide which gets the worst of it, groom or blushing bride. ring, ring, ring out the wedding chime. bring, bring, bring 'em right up to time. sing, sing, any old kind of rhyme. so you keep time with the bells (bells, bells, bells) ding, dong, this a wedding song. ding, dong, keep it up right along ding dong, no one can get it wrong if he keeps time with the bells. ring out the bell for a luckless lover, ring out the knell for the good times over. out of this spell he will ne'er recover he might as well have the sod for cover easy to tell what the years will prove her always he'll dwell with a club held over. sing out a knell for all good times over ring out the bell for a luckless lover. don't skid it's dangerous and expensive, and hartford clincher tires fitted with midgley treads prevent it, and will save you many a dollar. the wire grip is built into the tire, is not unsightly and adds to the "life" and wear. oddddddided cuyahoga phone central 5163 patents applied for hartford clincher with midgley tread bell phone north 949 besides regular clincher we make it in all foreign sizes and dunlop type. it's not an experiment, but a success, and if tire economy with efficiency and safety interests you, let us talk it over. the hartford rubber works company factory hartford, conn. 1831 euclid avenue cleveland, ohio the standard automobile company peerless packard autocar 1206 to 1212 huron road s. e. cleveland, ohio phones: bell north 462 cuyahoga central 7537 é. b. brown prescription optician 315 schofield building oculists prescriptions filled. high grade service in the making, repairing and adjusting of eye glasses and spectacles. a line of golf and tennis glasses carried. a new principle in eye glass construction. so-easy mountings. opening chorus carnival we march along this gladsome day to join the festive throng, each one decked out in bright array, each heart doth sing its song. what cares have we for sorrow now, and thoughts of future pain. the carnival, the carnival, the carnival has come again. then greet we all this day of joy, which comes to cheer our hearts. the carnival, the carnival doth come to cheer our hearts. to keep the fun without alloy, we'll play our cheerful parts. to keep the fun without alloy, we'll play our cheerful parts. hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! the sun is brightly shining. all cheeks with pleasure glow. for no one is repining, and all are on the go. and when this gladsome pleasure day its merry course has run we'll hope that the future provides as gay a one, tra la la la la la la la, tra la la la la la la, we'll hope that the future provides as gay a one. we maidens come with flowers so rich and rare, pray kind sirs will you have a boutonniere? we can hardly see how flowers can vie with the bright and rosy tints that in your cheeks do lie, away then we go, confetti to throw, to stranger or foe, naught but kindness show. the blue-tinted skies and soft beaming eyes all make a carnival which we dearly prize. music entrancing, lures us to dancing, strike up musicians and play with your might. come then my treasure; let's trip a measure. on with the dance, on with the dance. on with the dance, on with the dance. music entrancing lures us to dancing, on with the dance, on with the dance, on, on with the dance. body shown in cut mounted on a cleveland chassis designed and built for mr. w. p. palmer s it requires four to five months to build a first as class limousine body complete, we advise placing orders now to insure october delivery. have your body built to order and get just what you want. we make a specialty of special high grade work to order, to fit any chassis. trimming---cloth, leather or goat skin. painting--any color desired. the broc company east 40th street and payne avenue we have 50,000 square feet of fine floor space devoted to repairing and building of automobile work. michigan commercial insurance company of lansing, michigan old colony insurance company boston, massachusetts no liability in.... "frisco" all kinds of.... insurance 3mm both phones albert rees davis agent 401-402-403 perry-payne building, cleveland capital and surplus $2,450,000 the union national bank of cleveland officers president e. h. bourne vice presidents l. mcbride h. c. christy j. f. harper cashier e. r. fancher assistant cashiers g. a. coulton w. e. ward board of directors henry c. christy e. f. dyer c. a. grasselli d. r. hanna j. f. harper r. h. jenks j. i. lamprecht leander mcbride i. p. lamson m. j. mandelbaum f. e. myers j. r. nutt c. w. scofield leonard schlather e. j. siller f. b. squire f. a. sterling a. s. upson u. g. walker geo. h. worthington e. h. bourne deposits $12,000,000 my sierra sue words by norman mcloud i've found the dearest little maiden, one who has stolen my heart, and keeps me constantly a guessing with coquettish art. sometimes i'm moved to desperation, feel like an also ran, when of a sudden her smile seems to say 66 brace up, and be a man." chorus. sierra sue! my sierra sue! fairer than smiling western skies! brighter than sunbeams sparkling with dew glisten her lustrous eyes. she is the queen of our western land; she is the one i love to woo. i'll live in rapture if i can capture this winsome maiden, fair sierra sue. the higbee company for exclusive things igbee the comp cleveland, ohio. priscilla. minuet. rookwood indian. initial series. congress playing cards (gold edges) are the only cards suitable for nicely-appointed card parties. miniature art gems in colors and gold. thin, snappy and full of life-they add zest and enjoyment to the game. nearly 100 designs to choose from. sold by dealers, or send us 50c. per pack, (prepaid) for designs wanted. backs here shown copyright, 1899, 1900-1-4-5-6, by the united states playing card company, cincinnati, u. s. a. moonlight. colonial girl. in old madrid. at sea. 'tis true that we have no available advertising space in the cleveland cars at present, but we can sell you space in the cars of a number of other cities, and will be pleased to talk it over with you the stearn advertising co. street car advertising almost everywhere back to the flag once again among my comrades i can take my stand, with no shadow of dishonor on this good sword in my hand. once again i'll march beneath the banner of our land neath old glory of the stripes and stars. once again i'll wear the uniform my father wore, once again i'll carry this old sabre that he bore 'neath the same old flag that wraps him now for evermore, 'neath old glory of the stripes and stars. refrain. back once more to the dear old friends i knew back once more to the flag i love so true, back once more to the old red, white and blue, to old glory of the stripes and stars. trade mark 'nuf said just from de troy troy laundry brown brothers & co. philadelphia new york travelers' letters of credit and international cheques may be obtained through your banker boston brown, shipley & co. transfer office, 123 pall mall, s. w. head office, founders court, e. c. london the hermits' grill room. heather quality mcintosh none better *the mcintosh cutlery and supreme tools few equal corp'n.* hardware made from the best material by expert american workmen for sport and recreation we offer an unusually good and complete line of fishing tackle in all its detail; guns, rifles and revolvers, fine assortment; base ball goods of all kinds; tennis goods, hammocks, excellent assortment we can certainly fit you out with supplies for the coming summer pleasures, to complete satisfaction. the mcintosh hardware corporation 725-729 superior avenue, n. w. the delicious coffee used by the hermits karavan the creamy kind the gasser coffee company toledo, ohio original budweiser caution see that vert cork is branded budweiser anheuser busch brewing association stius 1983 29 15:24 ore dash th past 18, 2014 trade mark america no6376 budweiser lager bir saazer hopfen? bester gus braut aus fenstem & anheuser-busch's budweiser the ideal family beverage more ore budweiser is used in american homes than all other bottled beers. ommanding the highest price, yet leading in sales, proves that its superiority is recognized everywhere. budweiser is bottled only at the contade anheuser-busch brewery anheuser busch brusing dem lai st. louis, mo. the william edwards company distributers cleveland, o. the hermits' meditation—november third nineteen hundred and six hi davis' mastodon minstrels! will positively appear at the hermit opera house saturday evening, november 3rd for one performance only watch for the mammoth and gorgeous street parade on the evening of the show! line of march-parade forms at hermit opera house, at 8 p. m. starting at 8:15, going south on third place s. e. to prospect avenue, then north on hickox alley to euclid avenue, from there marching south on third street to "z" club, after which it detours to theatre where the silver cornet band will give a grand open air concert in front of the house. soloists bill gilkey, trombone, (doubles in brass in front of the show) and dr. burt (good dresser on and off the stage' come one, come all personnel interlocutor mr. bones 46 mr. tambo 46 mr. hi davis georg george primrose porter billy rice caldwell billy van enwright lew dockstader hubbard the quinzy quartette richard jose herriman, late with laura lean jibbey in 'carmen." eduard de reske meacham, direct from the cleveland hippodrome. m. campinout braggins, (ans.-brother to campanari.) sig. caruso dielhenn, who has never sung in grand opera but has sung in grand rapids. (continued on page 111) after the show quench your thirst with sparkling "starlight" the perfection of bottled beer ¶ to be had at all first class bars and cafes. brewed by the cleveland & sandusky brewing company, also brewers and bottlers of the following high grade beers: kellersaft schlather's pilsener white rose fishel gold bond telephone orders promptly executed bell, west 113; cuyahoga, cent. 3933-w the club room on the second floor of our down town store we have opened a new room for luncheon, which we call the club room. here are tables and a seating capacity of about fifty. luncheon is served at 50c, 6oc or 75c. committees and others wishing to meet at the lunch hour will find the club room a great convenience. tables can be ordered in advance when desired. ladies can arrange for luncheon to be served before or after the matinees. individuals will find this room quiet and pleasant. it is at the disposal of our customers to use as they may wish. the chandler & rudd co. euclid avenue w. h. coffee & co. importing tailors 305 euclid avenue (new number) confined novelties for gentlemen's wear november meditation---continued orchestra. walter damrotten meade, physical director. heine blitz, creatore ryan, rabbi burt, vivandiere rogers, mildude lusk, arthur prior gilkey, charley horse davis, paderooski spencer, john moth miller, archie punk, charley sherwood, bull bass whistle tin horn kazoo rattle box slip horn hobo pianny fiddle fife (not allowed to play in public) program. note. when bell rings, gentlemen will please remove their hats. grand opening potpourri... ballade another ballade. .entire company by clarence, thrilling throated thrush from tiffin by rollo, the beautiful baptist base end song. "is everybody happy?". "queer qualms". duet, "bye-bye miss eva," baritone solo. grand finale. ....billy rice caldwell .from the quinzy quartette richard josé herriman and campinout braggins .billy van enwright entire company ii. oleo. i crazy creer, topics of the day 2 mahervelous buck and wing dancing, by apollo maher and charmion croxton 3 fun in a pawn shop, heine blitz and mose ryan iii. grand levee scene a phantastic negro comicality, being an old time picture of plantation life on the mississippi befo' de war, introducing characteristic coon dances, songs, melodies, etc., etc. "watch for the steamboat” curtain note. for translation of program please apply at the box office. the house of dreher cleveland's oldest and leading piano house a we sell pianos of all leading makes. by the we e way---we can arrange to apply your old piano as part payment toward the purchase of a steinway, weber, krakauer, wainwright or any other of the leading makes we sell. it is easy to buy here---our reputation is behind every piano we handle---and we make very easy monthly terms. the b. dreher's sons company 502-504 superior avenue "see our puzzle contest" the arcade the bank for all people this bank has fairly earned the foregoing title. it now has the accounts of seventy thousand individuals. it is amply qualified by experience and financial strength to safeguard the interests of its depositors. the cleveland trust company capital surplus $2,500,000 $2,500,000 four per cent. interest on savings deposits most tire trouble is caused by inadequate inflation lennox tire gas saves time and trouble. automatically fills a tire in twenty seconds. is free from moisture and preserves the rubber no. 1 tank for car, $15.00 will fill 20 to 30 tires no. 2 tank for car, $18.00 will fill 40 to 50 tires no. 3 tank for garage $40.00 will fill 100 to 150 tires tanks refilled for $1.50, $2.00 and $2.50, according to size. lennox chemical co clevelang no. 3 tank for public or private garage no. 2 tank for car write to us for circular giving the "reasons why" the lennox chemical company 1201 to 1215 east 55th street, cleveland, ohio for sale by collister & sayle, 232 superior avenue, n. e. the hermits' meditation—december eighth nineteen hundred and six 1. pettingill-caldwell program premiere dance artists of the world. first appearance in this country since 1887 2. the six musical nuttys will render several high class and refined numbers showing absolute control of various instruments of torture bliss, royon, meade, rogers, lusk, gleason 3. illustrated songs this will be sung by some one selected at random from the congregation and it will be backed up by a complete set of stereopticon views taken especially for the purpose at great expense to the management 4. charmion croxton world's most beautiful acrobat, showing death defying feet on trapeze 5. minnie thompson and her charming pickaninnies will give some clever songs and dances fuller greene pickaninnies beidler caldwell intermission 6. mr. snyde fitch hubbard presents courtin' the widder brown, a nature study in one act, with an all-star cast. first appearance in cleveland the cast: the widder brown (nee herriman) granny spencer si davis seth nicholas rube jackson, the village marshall squire royon hiram bliss fiddle bull bass the village orchestra jake steinweddell guitar time-september, 1906 scene-settin' room at granny spencer's the paper that interests father and son the cleveland news the paper that is read by mother & daughter ¶ when the hermits went to california, they subscribed for the cleveland news to be sent to their address daily. ¶ you should take a tip from them and do likewise when you go on your summer vacation. best sporting, cleveland's great financial, and society home daily best editorial, foreign, national, local news circulation over 84,000 news the jewel stanhope 8 horse power gasoline a model of simplicity see also our jewel runabout send for catalog $800.00 $600.00 the forest city motor car co. w. b. davis, agent massillon, o. 92 ontario street, cleveland, ohio l ooking west on fairmount boulevard, the main thoroughfare of shaker heights. showing the new car line now building, the double driveway, etc. this street is 125 feet wide, the lots are 250 to 300 feet deep and covered with a beautiful woods. the work of improving this and radiating side streets is progressing rapidly. shaker heights is restricted throughout its entire area for fine residence purposes. shaker heights improvement company, 909 williamson building. the hermits' library bassett genuine charcoal iron old style roofing tin "the roofing of quality" all architects prefer and recommend it. a strictly "old method" plate made from pure charcoal iron, hand dipped, heavily and evenly coated the bassett-presley co. cleveland the central national bank rockefeller building j. j. sullivan, president e. w. oglebay, vice president c. a. paine, cashier l. j. cameron, assistant cashier capital $1,000,000 surplus and profits $600,000 the standard beer of quality makes cleveland famous has annual sales of 60,000 barrels and a capacity of 100,000 barrels, which :::makes the other brewers jealous ::: the standard brewing company train ave. s. w. and big 4 ry. stephen s. creadon, president and manager the hermits' meditation-ladies' night-january twelfth, nineteen hundred and seven interlocutor minstrel first part. mr. davis endmen... . . . mr. pettengill, mr. porter, mr. enwright, mr. hubbard grand opening chorus... . . "if a girl like you loved a boy like me". "asleep in the deep". "is everybody happy?" by entire company mr. dielhenn .mr. braggins . mr. pettengill "ain't you coming back to old new hampshire, molly?".. mr. herriman "jessamine" duet-"bye-bye, miss eva". baritone solo.. finale mr. burnham mr. herriman and mr. braggins .mr. enwright entire company second part. "an old-fashioned southern preacher". "fun in a pawn shop". "impersonations" . mr. mccormick mr. bliss and mr. royon .mr. pettengill "lost among the dark-keys". mr. lusk and mr. spencer selection by the orchestra third part. cast the widder brown (nee herriman) si davis granny spencer seth nicholas rube jackson.... .the village marshall jake steinweddell, squire royon, hiram bliss.. .the village orchestra time-september, 1906. scene-settin' room at granny spencer's the washington life insurance company of new york assets, $18,524,511.64 entirely new line of policies, new york state standard. not estimated; fully guaranteed. lowest rates, liberal values, all forms. we write life insurance by mail. send your name and age for a sample policy. address, dr. e. c. skinner, general manager, 45 h. p. 604-10 union trust building, cincinnati, ohio don't delay. we can show you something worth having. 7 passenger oyal tourist ro $4000 touring car $5000 limousine built by the royal motor car company cleveland member a. l. a. m. sold by reese motor car company 2108 euclid ave. phones north 1098; central 5187 you are invited to inspect our garage irr w. l. eggers cleveland's box specialist -fine cigars= american trust building. phone central 1363-r hollenden block 1881 east 6th st. the mcnamara-edwards shoe company "classy" footwear for particular men and women the ohio rubber co auto apparel lawn hose bath room jewelry mats and matting everything in rubber 2048 east 9th street accident and liability insurance stro trongest company .. assets 84 millions .. honest contracts. fair rates .. complete claim department with immediate service, affording direct dealing. all of this with the aetna w. g. wilson, manager sixth floor, cuyahoga {building the hermits' cloister hunter hunter hunter hunter munter fatim hunter the purity, maturity and flavor of hunter whiskey has given it its wonderful popularity and a reputation for excellence absolutely unsurpassed sold at all first-class cafes and jobbers. wm. lanahan & son, baltimore, md. sam thompson la la la fa old monongahela ja va ja va pure rye old established none superior the bryan company bill posters distributors manugraph poster makers bulletin and wall painters commercial sign painters "" "the most complete sign shop in the state. everything in signs, from muslin to electric our new building, 2120 east 19th street both phones "the society wine "" pol roger & co. dry special brut special 1898 on sale at the leading hotels, restaurants, clubs and wine merchants anthony oechs & co., 51 warren st., new york, sole agents for the u. s. a well planned auto house with the many little conveniences is certainly a great comfort and adds much to the pleasure and satisfaction of the auto owner. the geo. a. rutherford co., building contractors 2060 e. fourth st. formerly 40 sheriff golf to play the game as it should be played, you need a first-class set of clubs. when you use way's you use the best. special clubs made to order. all requisites for the game supplied :::: w. h. way, euclid club, euclid heights the hermits' library h. r. натсн and company men's furnishings the spring and summer stock is certainly appreciated as never before. ¶ style, fit and comfort, embodied in every one of our negligee shirts. soisette shirts, collars attached and detachable, price $1.50 and $2. ¶underwear, all the different weights. athletic shirts and knee drawers carried in our stock. ¶half hoseendless variety of blacks, plain colors and fancies. silk and washable ties in all the latest combinations. ¶ collars and cuffs of the favorite brands. ¶handkerchiefs, white and colored linens. h. r. hatch and company the o. m. stafford & goss co. general insurance 601-607 century building 414 superior avenue, n. w. cleveland benedictine best after dinner cordial noilly prat & co.'s dry french vermouth the white horse best and purest scotch whiskey peter f. heering copenhagen cherry brandy if you are looking for good coffee, ask your grocer for price 35c. mervue the william edwards company coffee roasters the garfield savings bank savings deposits made on or before the 10th of the month draw interest from the 1st of the month the superior dry cleaning co. dry cleaners, clothes pressers and dyers 生 ​branch 10621 euclid ave. main office plain dealer building works 2132-40 w. 15th st. both phones and delivery service branch 3818 w. 25th st. reasonable prices and high class work i. the hermits' meditation—february second selections nineteen hundred and seven by the hermits orchestra. 2. tenor solos by c. p. odell. 3. instrumental trio r. s. spencer. j. l. miller, jr. m. p. klumph. 4. baritone solos by w. a. kurz. 5. flute solos by a. c. klumph. 6. selections 7. by the hermits glee club. selections by the hermits orchestra. piano . violin . cello w. h. teare, president w. r. creer, secretary a. w. ellenberger, vice president the cleveland savings and loan company 826 superior ave. n. &. a place for savings, and loans for building homes a priceless habit cleansing the teeth with christie's dentals tooth powder or paste christie's dentine elixir and mouth wash general agents, strong, cobb & company retail store, 199 superior st. davies & schmidt 138 arcade tailors to hermits come and see us frank moore portraits by photography euclid avenue and ninth street (lennox building) cleveland "this makes my mama's silver shine" have your maid or butler use a "stilboma" chamois skin to polish your silver, without powder, paste or liquid, at a cost of 30c a year. it brings out a wonderful brilliancy, will neither wear nor scratch the surface, and is warranted to last at least five years if directions are followed. sold by cowell & hubbard co. bowler & burdick co. williams & rodgers co. the may co. [cut this out] look carefully at this program and you will see why brooks printing has its reputation for clean and honest work. also sole agents for globe-wernicke elastic cabinets and bookcases, jones improved loose leaf ledgers and edison rotary mimeographs the brooks company 715 superior avenue, n. w. bidding brisk at hermit sale. boxes and choice of seats for first performance brings in $2,294.65. members and friends of the club make auction a lively affair. the boxes and choice of seats for the first production of "the hermits in spain," which will be given at the opera house monday, may 28, were auctioned off yesterday at noon. the auction was held in the lobby of the opera house, which was filled with the members and friends of the club. c. a. otis was the auctioneer. the bidding was brisk, and through the good natured rivalry the club realized $2,294.65 for the boxes and the orchestra seats for the opening night. e. s. burke had the distinction of paying the highest price. for a box. he bid box e up to $205. in addition he bought box d for $105. h. a. everett paid $200 for box c, the second highest price paid. box f went to kirk d. bishop for $180, and c. a. otis paid $175 for box b. the hanna box was not sold. there was much rivalry in the bidding for the choice of seats. p. j. morgan paid $12 a seat for first choice; a. r. davis paid $9 a seat for second choice, and r. h. white, w. c. white, w. g. pollock, c. w. stage and j. r. scott paid $8 apiece for the seats they purchased. although less than half of the lower floor seats were sold $1,164.65 was realized. the remainder of the seats will be placed on sale at the opera house box office and in the hands of the members of the club.cleveland plain dealer. the scribner & loehr co. 347 to 353 erie street opposite rose building wholesale & manufacturing jewelers makers of emblem goods aschiltz the beer that made milwaukee famous j. w. marshall 1954 east fifty-fifth street, cleveland, ohio wholesale dealer in jos. schlitz brewing co.'s milwaukee lager beer. ¶ bottled beer for family use delivered to any part of the city. wholesale dealer and distributor of ballantine's celebrated newark ales and porter in bottles or wood. phones cuy. central 6938-l; bell, east 1516-j wedding gifts gifts that adequately and appropriately express your best feelings. gifts that bear the stamp of quality. gifts that breathe the charm possessed by articles of genuine value and honest workmanship. gifts that will afford the favored one lasting pleasure and faithfully inspire bright recollections. the webb c. ball company jewelers superior, corner seneca st. cleveland, ohio putt & morgan poultry co. exclusive dealers inlive and dressed poultry 454 broadway cleveland, o. phone cuy. central 6960 ho! all ye hermits this then is where your lady found her beauty mills chemine for good complexion charmene eu-cream, the purest cream ever manufactured. dainty, delightful. for the best of pure rice powders, charmene poudre de riz. fragrant and good for any complexion. for superfluous hair on face or arms, charmene depilatory. harmless, painless and certain. for luxuriant hair, charmene hair-luxe. price 50c and $1. at the best drug shops and toilet counters. sample and handsome book on request. the charmene chemical co., 23 huron road, cleveland. wohl's hungarian restaurant 1280 w. 3d st. (150 seneca st.) both phones ¶recognized the most unique and bohemian restaurant in the city. the hermits all know us. ¶ dinners, wines and music of the highest class. private rooms for special dinners and banquets. ¶ dir. faust's opera house orchestra every evening. tuesday, thursday and saturday, special nights. the hermits' meditation—march thirtieth nineteen hundred and seven selections by the hermit's orchestra burning to sing-or singing to burn........libretto by r. h. burnside music by gustave kerker characters. signor edoardo tremolini.. billy, the bell boy...... thomassini, the landlord. jim higgins w. a. kurz .c. p. odell .l. j. ford the two little lads in blue { tom harris mms. marguerita tremolini..... scene-an apartment on the fifth floor of the hollenden hotel time-four a. m. f. m. nicholas .j. f. stair h. n. herriman reading of a synopsis of the new show, "the hermits in california," by the author, dr. c. v. kerr. reading of names of staff and committees for "the hermits in california," by business manager f. s. borton. selections from "the hermits in california," by the orchestra established 1888 the republic belting & supply co. manufacturers of leather belting cleveland, o. railway, mine and mill supplies mechanical rubber goods "canadian club" whiskey distilled and bottled by hiram walker & sons, limited walkerville, canada kamerer & benes tailors garfield building see ... both phones the davis, hinig, farley co. for all kinds of insurance and surety bonds chamber of commerce building the most complete printing plant in ohio the j. b. savage company established 1869 sectional bookcases made in oak and mahogany ~ adjustable shelves with art glass, plate glass or plain glass doors u noiseless rolling doors artistic and harmonious effects are produced by grouping the various sections, desks, etc. send for illustrated catalogue the cleveland desk company the hermits' cloister be good! jake mintz is in the house "don't be silly, proud-be patriotic" and drink hommel's prize winning natural fermented champagnes brands extra dry white star red star the m. hommell wine co., sandusky, 0. the value of a watch -is in its accuracyto be right sometimes is not enough. it should always be right---every minute of every day. ¶flour must stand the same test. it must be as good every time as it is any time. ceresota has stood this test and has proved its reliability. minneapolisi aclesioon 98 lbs. ceresota mibling.ce. the william edwards company mier-laposh liqvor rouge etats-45 distributors grand marnier liqueur a distinctive specialty of the leading cafes in every city in the world and held by connoisseurs to be the finest of all liqueurs. made in france since 1827 sold everywhere grand marnier liovor luyties brothers, new york general agents the james & manchester co. succeeding the james-parsons-ruggles co. and runnells & manchester 611-613 garfield building troop a riding academy co. corner willson and curtiss. east 325. saddle horses for hire ¶ instruction in ring and out door riding given to beginners on well broken horses. for terms, inquire at the academy from the riding masters, g. l. stephens wm. sharp history ever was a club more appropriately named than n the hermit club. the appellation comes from the location of the club house in a deep defile that intersects the tall blocks of the busy downtown district, where retiring from the populous noise, i seek this unfrequented place to find some ease. though the poet milton clearly had the club in mind when. he wrote those lines, it was not until february 17th, 1904, that the proposals for its embodiment were first broached to some half-dozen men. then the history of the club was made in a rapid sequence of events. an organization committee was appointed march 12th, 1904. the club was incorporated april 16th, 1904. building plans were approved may 25th, ground broken june 10th, and the club-house formally opened november 5th, 1904-less than nine months after the presentation of the idea. in selecting the membership of the club, the chief aim has been to associate those kindred spirits among the younger element of professional and business men whose tastes in lighter moments incline toward literary, artistic or musical diversions. in this the club has been singularly successful, and it is therefore not altogether astonishing that talent of this sort, when coupled with the executive ability that characterizes the members of the club in working hours, should have resulted in unqualified successes upon the occasion of the club's annual performances in public. the club's first production, "the hermits in holland," occupied the opera house for eight performances the week of june 1st, 1905. coming so soon after the organization of the club, the public were not prepared for the finished production that was given, and that at once established the reputation of the club as an amusement-provider. with the second public production, "the hermits in spain," no such surprise was possible; but upon this occasion the club had the satisfaction of playing to the largest week's business-at regular prices-in the history of the opera house; and the enthusiasm of the audience at the closing performance resulted in an ovation such as was probably never before seen in any cleveland playhouse. "watch us grow" the may co ohio's leading department store first in everything a complete auto supply store everything you want everything at cut prices automobile owners can now buy every thing in the supply line at the may co. and save all kinds of money. ¶ we handle only first quality goods, but like everything else we sell, they are priced on a fair profit basis. out-of-town autoists are invited to make this department their headquarters, their meeting place and their information bureau. it provides for all your wants and makes you feel at home. fifth floor wilson harris & son builders louis klein cigar co. distributors for our stores 712 east superior la integridad baron de kalb corina charles the great el mito aquilas smokecraft and a full line of 30 colonial arcade american house 712 west superior erie and vincent weber's cafe (superior ave.) rathskeller new gillsy hotel imported brands colonial hotel the lake erie ore company iron ores rockefeller building, cleveland 1907 the rambler models five $950.00, $1350.00, $1750.00, $2000.00, $2500.00 model 21, price $1350.00 two distinct types in one car---touring car and turtle deck runabout the t. c. whitcomb auto co., (new no.) 2158 east ninth street veuve dry clicquot brut (old no.) 400 erie street champagne water color designs for “hermits in spain" costumes, by j. h. donahry spanish man spanish girl where monk army (w. m. duncan and p. r. lyman) we always buy goods of our friends, -and they arethe williams & rodgers co. euclid avenue through το prospect who are friends of everybody, in saving you money on dry goods, millinery, ready-to-wear apparel for women, boys' clothing, carpets, furniture, house furnishings, etc. -try themavenue kitchen outfitters since 1847 sue jõe sue sue sue sue sue sue ste sue sue ste soeste ste ste time enough to have learned some things. worth while. the benefit of our experience is freely yours when you call on us for a gas range, coal range, refrigerator, tinware, enameled ware or anything else for the kitchen . the born steel range co. 2163 east ninth st. the new center j. j. buckley company : : :: tailors 1925 sixth st. n. e. : what is pure whiskey? the answer is in every bottle of three star john jameson★★ whiskey president jno. m. gundry vice presidents harley b. gibbs h. w. king treasurer j. horace jones secy and cashier walter s. bowler asst. cashier louis c. kollie directors jas. a. king a. t. perry a. f. house s. h. tolles jno. s. oram chas. p. ranney f. f. prentiss h. w. king frank r. scofield harley b. gibbs frank c. osborn jno. m. gundry j. horace jones edward s. page the.... lake shore banking and trust company established 1890 capital and surplus, $250,000.00 deposits, $2,700,000.00 remember: 4 per cent on savings deposits from date of deposit to date of withdrawal. dunlap hats aige brand clothes made in new york city clothes the elle men young's clothes may not make the man, but attention to dress never unmade one. you'll find here a sort of clothes, hats and furnishings that you'll be thoroughly satisfied with. 301-303-305 euclid avenue bennet & fish the hermits' base ball team a. b. smythe g. s. gardner j. h. kline m. h. laundon, captain. m. w. lawrence, manager. r. r. squire w. j. starkweather n. b. hasbrouck h. f. pettee j. c. royon j. n. stockwell c. r. lawrence r. b. newcomb c. e. sanders c. e. carter w. h. brooks c. e. burt s. w. croxton d. mccormick f. s. porter g. n. sherwin. hermits 64 games played in 1906. 14 country club i country club i colonial club country club 2 wickliffe club 0 ιο 16 3 transportation club cleveland wheel club presbyterian ministers colonial club country club hermits 55 opponents 7 0 mr. particular-man have you tried the best laundry in town? we make a specialty of fine hand work. wagons go everywhere down town office 307-11 euclid ave. the davis laundry co. east 66th and linwood ave. j. milton dyer j. milton dyer architect cuyahoga bldg f. g. bates, associate hermit club havana cigars made in tampa on sale at clubs and all first class dealers trade supplied by the j. b. moos co. 1114 euclid ave. cleveland we sew this upon apparel for women. the halle bros. co. cleveland. water color designs for "hermits in spain" costumes by j. h. donahey jenkins (r. c. enwright) heissler g. b. pettengill) alcalde c. a. dielhenn) are you an epicure? if so, try our wiltshire bacon and wiltshire hams the cleveland provision co. corning glass works corning n. y. the geo. h. bowman company 224-226-228 euclid ave. old sheffield plate most complete stock of this fine old ware east of new york water color designs for "hermits in spain" costumes by j. h. donahey the three brigands (c. h. hopper, c. w. stage and r. t. meacham have you tried our meats, fish, poultry, oysters, lobsters & soft shells? if not, why not we please others, let us please you. ¶ special attention given to town, hotel and club orders out of se de brandt's sheriff street (market phone main 2809 central 1866 smith & fetters ....exclusive and artistic flower shop.... choicest flowers for reception, wedding, ....luncheon and dinner decorations.... flowers delivered to all parts of the state. 735 euclid avenue energine -the new auto fuel get aboard-all the hermits are next the energine co-cuyahoga bldg.clevd. a clear havana cigar of superior quality "the f. lozano' manufactured in tampa, fla., and distributed by ben rich "a test 705 euclid ave. cleveland, ohio will convince you" r. c. enwright & co. investment brokers government, municipal and railroad bonds. bank stocks and loans a specialty. members.... cleveland stock exchange garfield building cleveland, ohio water color designs for “hermits in spain" costumes by j. h. donahry the pony ballet (school girls, dreamland, spanish and pierrots) phones bell main 1606; cuy. cent. 2263 music from 6 to 8 and from 10:30 to 12:30 tables reserved for theatre parties hannan & mcglade cafe grill room in connection 2028-2036 e. 4th st. formerly 22-24 sheriff st. cleveland, o. chianti wine shipped by i. l. ruffino florence, tuscany ancient, pure and reliable highest awards at principal expositions wholesaled in cleveland by the weideman company fernet-branca of fratelli branca, milan, italy standard bitters of the world best flavor το cocktails beware of imitations wholesaled in cleveland by the weideman company r. &. l. electric a car of absolute perfection in every mechanical detail. accurate hand work of skilled mechanics makes every part of the r. & l. thoroughly high-class. the design, construction and appearance of the r. & l. are bound to interest those who appreciate excellence. let us demonstrate to you the good qualities of the ever-reliable r. & l. the rauch & lang carriage co., showrooms, 631 superior ave. opp. hollenden factory, west twenty-fifth stree fels-naptha fels-naptha easy on the woman easy on the clothes! that, in a nutshell, is the fels-naptha way of washing. fels-naptha soap does away with all the hard and disagreeable part of washing clothes. little rubbing, no steaming suds to bend over, no keeping up fire to boil the clothes, no nauseous odor from cooking soiled garments. w e desire to furnish a first class service to our consumers and would ask, that when your gas light or range is not giving entire satisfaction, to kindly advise us, and we will endeavor to remedy the difficulty promptly. you need the protection our gas gives the cleveland gas light & coke company stone's shoes of merit :: for today, tomorrow and always :: he greatest shoe creative talent of the world the has contributed to our exclusive showing of smart footwear for spring and summer. our new shapes and leathers are strikingly attractive. the splendid finish, perfect fit and great wear of our shoes distinguish them as a better class. the short vamped oxfords and ties are the favorites among the swell dressers. these you will find here in a large assortment of all the new black and tan leathers. a style for every fancy, a price for every pocketbook. n. o. stone & co. specialists of smart footwear 312-318 euclid ave. water color designs for "hermits in spain" costumes by j. h. donahry the king c. a. maher) marguerite (h. n. herriman mrs. wilkins (herbert mathews smithers a. r. davis) the exline co trade mark cleveland ohio printing, advertising, binding wm. bleet & company hollenden hotel building makers of fine dress and business coats, vests and breeches hyatt bearings eliminate friction hyatt roller bearing co., newark, n. j. the strong, carlisle & hammond co., agents 404085 1902 meadville puny pure rye whiskey bottled in bond meadville, pa, distilling ca distillers meadville pinna meadville rye bottled in bond it's a fownes that's all you need to know about a glove famous in literature "david harum " people you know " "tristram of blent " "you never can tell " "three men on wheels " "little rivers " by edward noys westcott by george ade by anthony hope by bernard shaw by jerome k. jerome by rev. henry van dyke and innumerable other standard books speak of apollinaris thus recognizing it as the standard table water of the world the hermits at league park hermit day, june 13, 1906 admit the bearer (who is a hermit) and one lady into the grandstand, and allow him to buy scorecards, peanuts and pink pop until his money runs out. permission is also given to bearer to make all the noise he wishes to, and to do anything but burn the stands and kill the players (the umpire is not included). jack kilfoyl charlie somers { hermits extraordinary the hermit club is always breaking into the limelight in one form or another, and this time their appearance will be at league park, whither they will journey next wednesday as the guests of charlie somers and jack kilfoyl, who are themselves hermits. the hermits have enthusiastically accepted the generous invitation and expect to be present to the number of probably 300 or 400 and there will probably be a line of rooting there that day that has never been equaled by the same number of people before. a "noise committee" has been appointed.—cleveland plain dealer. barton & guestier established 1725 bordeaux shippers of fine clarets, sauternes and b. & g. olive oil louis roederer "brut" champagne "sec" gordon & co. established london dry english gin represented by e. la montagne's sons, new york city old private stock lincoln county tennessee whiskey j. cooney & co. nashville, tenn. chapin, trull & co. distillers of pure fire copper molasses rum no. 33 broad street, boston maxson & perdue general insurance eleventh floor guardian building the scott-griggs co. leveland's most up-to-date shopping cle center. styles to suit the most fastidious tastes. with our newly equipped store, enlarged stocks, and our experienced and courteous salespeople, we aim to make this the shopping center of cleveland. get acquainted with us. it means profit to you. the daylight store s send for catalogue giving cuts and description of peerless rubber tiling, the finest floor covering in the world. my strong, carlisle & hammond co., cleveland, ohio or peerless rubber mfg. co., 16 warren street, new york the hermits' dining room parsons, snyder & co. investment brokers, garfield building members cleveland stock exchange cobalt, new york and boston curb stocks a specialty quotations furnished for the purchase, sale or exchange of government, traction and brewery bonds, guaranteed stocks and other investment securities. ¶ both phones old oscar pepper bottled in bond old act of compress march ed in bond o oscar pepper o ס. op labret & graham frankfort ky. distillers. labrot & graham distillers highest grade kentucky sour mash bourbon whiskey the northern ohio traction & light co. schedule of limited cars from akron, canton and cleveland in effect sept. 5, 1906 north bound leave canton, public square akron cuyahoga falls silver lake junction cleveland, public square a. m. a. m. p. m. lv 8 30 p. m. lv 12 30 p. m. .... p. m. lv 4 30 lv 8 30 9.30 12 30 1 30 4 30 5 30 8 43 943 12 43 1 43 4 43 5 43 846 9 46 12 46 146 4 46 5 46 arr 10 10 11 10 2 10 3 10 610 7.10 south bound leave cleveland, public square silver lake junction a. m. a. m. p. m. p. m. p. m. p. m. lv 7 20 7 50 12 50 1 50 4 20 650 8.44 9 14 2 14 3 14 544 814 cuyahoga falls akron 8 47 9 17 2 17 3 17 547 8 17 9 00 arr 9 30 2 30 arr 3 30 6 00 arr 8 30 canton, public square between canton and akron arr. 10 00 3 30 .... 7.00 single fare $.40 round trip $ .75 64 akron and cleveland 66 46 44 .60 1.00 canton and cleveland 64 66 44 44 .95 1.65 the premier the quality car ja reliability begins with right construction, and ends in right performance george s. patterson, agent 1032 euclid avenue the wieber company cleveland's largest exclusive fine tailoring house 919-921 euclid ave. lennox building ¶ our large patronage enables us to replenish our stock with the new cloths constantly, always insuring the latest and up-to-date clothes for style, etc. hermits' wives and sweethearts are noted for their destinctive dress hy art rel us pay off petticoats petticoat styles add that finishing touch desired by the well dressed woman::::: :: the dielhenn mfg. co. ask your dealer officers president-frank b. meade vice-president-roger c. enwright secretary-joseph c. royon treasurer-fred s. borton directors 1904-1907 mortimer w. lawrence albert r. davis george h. kelly 1905-1908 roger c. enwright sterling w. hubbard joseph h. kline 1906-1909 fred s. borton fred s. porter herbert w. strong rockefeller of course you haven't millions you haven't endowed a university but you have been a rockyfellow head ached stomach upset dark brown taste remorse a red raven is the remedy par excellence for that rockyfellow feeling. clears the head, settles the stomach and puts you right everywhere 15c milk cream a n invitation is extended to the public to visit the dairies where beech glen farms milk and cream is produced. only by employing this method can we thoroughly convince you of the absolute cleanliness and purity of our milk and cream. telephone or call at our office. the lander-phillips dairy co. 5624-26 kinsman road s. e. tel. cent. 2958; bell east 1862 the lake shore electric ry. operate fast limited cars to lorain, vermillion, huron, sandusky, norwalk, bellevue, clyde, fremont and toledo every three hours, 7:30 a. m. until 7:30 p. m. cleveland to lorain every thirty minutes after 7:30 a. m. only double tracked railway between cleveland and lorain for any information, address h. c. young, g. p. a., norwalk, o. the city ice delivery company pure crystal ice distillata---the pure table water principal office 908 new england building cleveland, ohio chew.... beeman's the original pepsin** gum *** & cures indigestion and sea-sickness. all others are imitations. saegertown specialties ginger ale sarsaparilla birch lemon sour made from the water of the famous saegertown spring no summer complete without them lcommittees i house committee fred s. porter, chairman chas. c. clark paul s. gill entertainment committee s. w. hubbard, chairman a. d. brooks a. r. davis m. w. lusk f. b. meade g. b. pettengill h. n. herriman j. c. royon g. s. gardner, property master a. c. bailey, stage director wire rope john a. roebling's sons co. :::: 829 superior avenue, n. w. : : : : electric wires and cables golden wedding.... pure rye whiskey the standard of quality distilled by jos. s. finch & co., pittsburgh, pa. for sale by all first class dealers... we sell the stearns automobile the car of the hour ¶ we are not sold out and can make quick deliveries xx watch us in the hill climbing contest june eighth❀❀❀ also agents for pierce, great amon, cadillac, babcock electric metropolitan motor car co. euclid and 19th st. pennsylvania clincher tires are for sale by all first class dealers and also at the cleveland branch 2134 east ninth street wilson thats all! wilson the hermits' cloister mooney brothers tailors to h. r. m. alphonso "xxiii" "hermits in spain "; also, montmorency poore, "hermits in california" 1876 east 6th street mooney brothers tailors if you would examine carefully our new line of opal and glass lined refrigerators you could not fail to appreciate its beauty, and its many superior qualities over so-called sanitary refrigerators. it is, beyond question, the best and most sanitary material that can be used for refrigerator lining. it is non-absorbent and will not crack or craze-the strongest vegetable acids have no effect upon it, and it can be cleaned as easily as a glass dish. we invite you to inspect our line of goods and get our prices. the george worthington co. 814-832 st. clair ave., n. w. the eldridge & higgins co. importers and roasters of high grade coffees try haarlem java, 20c the pound desde sue sue sue sue suestestestestestestestes yl guaranteed old as bottled in bond as sacredl taylor old taylor the premier kentucky whishey bottled in bond lor the con of the realm old taylor bottled in bond for forty years the best beverage whiskey in or out of america and the most largely imitated and infringed. e. h. taylor & sons, (inc.) distillers frankfort, kentucky john h. blood real estate and insurance new address rooms 12-20 pythian temple huron road cleveland 99-year leases and business properties a specialty raths-keller the original 32-34-36 sheriff st. (old no.) 2046 to 2054 east 4th st. (new no.) 1 members 1 abbott, gardner albright, charles a. arter, charles k. ashbrook, herbert g. bailey, albert c. baker, frank s. bates, frederick g. borton, thomas e. bowler, walter s. braggins, fred w. beardslee, r. prescott brooks, arthur d. bedell, abner h. beidler, jacob h. beidler, jr., j. arthur bicknell, warren bierce, george w. w. bliss, harry a. blood, john h. borton, fred s. burt, brooks, charles s. brooks, wilbur h. brown, edwin h. brown, m. stanley brown, william h. bulger, william bulkley, robert johns burke, jr. edmund s. charles e. caldwell, arthur j. cameron, louis j. chisholm, wilson k. clark, charles c. coventry, charles c. crawford, harry j. creech, harris creer, william r. croxton, s. wolle cunningham, john f. curtiss, charles e. colt, william l. comstock, charles w. coulton, george a. curtiss, edwin s. cutler, sam c. we make clothes for members of the hermit club gustav stern g. f. stern julius a. stern gustav stern & sons fashionable tailors 5515 euclid avenue, near e. 55th st. both phones cleveland, ohio jackson model & the jackson defeated the pope-toledo in special race for $100 march 20th, 1907. won over fifty prizes in 1906 sold 54 jackson cars at cleveland show in one week. sold 78 jackson cars in cleveland first year. sold 126 jackson cars in state in three weeks. ordered 150 jackson cars in one order, being the largest order ever placed in cleveland. received 19 jackson cars in one shipment. received 7 car loads in one shipment, this being the largest shipment ever received in cleveland. can give you names of people who have driven jackson cars for one year with not one cent for repairs. pretty good evidence that the jackson is all right. hill climbing ford immediate deliveries model" n." 4 cylinder, 18 h. p., shaft drive; 3 to 40 miles on the high; will climb anything the wheels can hold-ask any owner or rival-28x3 inch tires now. price $600 f. o. b. detroit. lamps, horn and top extra-prices for the asking. ford motor co., 1914 euclid avenue 497787 bottled in bond guckenheimer pure rye whiskey by aguckenheimer & bros u.s. penna just a taste of good old guckenheimer rye bottled in bond and you will understand why it has been the leading whiskey "since 1857." f. b. squire, president geo. w. balkwill, vice pres. and manager r. r. squire, secretary and treasurer the semisteel company office 501 and 502 new england building cleveland, o. bell main 1240; cuy. central 6222-w manufacturers of manganese steel, nickel steel, steel castings, light and heavy machinery castings of every description works at chagrin falls, o. $3,500.00 stevens-duryea light 6 cylinder, 35 h. p. the chisholm-phillips automobilium co. 5906-8 euclid avenue dautel, george davis, albert rees devereux, harry k. dielhenn, clarence a. dinsmore, robert a. donahey, j. h. dickson, fred'k. s., jr. duncan, william m. dyer, j. milton edwards, harry r. eisenbrey, arthur b. ellenberger, albert w. enwright, roger c. ernst, e. g. fenton, jr., alcinous w. foster, james h. fleming, w. j. fuller, clifford w. ford, louis j. fuller, ralph l. fuller, s. a. gage, benjamin a. ganson, george h. gardner, guy s. gilchrist, joseph a. gilchrist, john d. gundry, gilkey, william s. gill, paul stanley green, albert e. greene, edward b. grover, maurice b. john m. hall, g. abeel hard, dudley, j. higbee, william t. hamilton, james m. hanna, jr., howard m. harding, frank i. harris, herman a. hart, william f. hasbrouck, n. beebe herrick, parmely w. herriman, horatio n. hitchcock, h. morley hitchcock, reuben hough, addison h. howe, frederick c. hubbard, sterling w. hughes, felix hunt, edw. m. humphreys, henry white city park on the lake will open under new management about june 15th all new attractions ¶old style typewriters were made for old style needs. the l. c. smith & bros. typewriter (writing entirely in sight) was designed and made to fit the uses of today. that's the difference. in the march of progress there's no provision for those who lag behind the procession. send for illustrated catalogue. l. c. smith & bros. typewriter co. 640 prospect avenue, s. e. cleveland, ohio phones: main 1631 cuy. 7848 w. goodrich a name to swear by and not at. users of goodrich tires find it that way anyhow the b. f. goodrich co. cleveland branch 2188 9th st. s. e. akron, ohio absolutely pure trade unadult mark lterated duffy's pure malt whiskey in use for half a century. is made entirely from malted grain and is the ideal whiskey for medicinal purposes and general use. it is justly celebrated because of its valuable medicinal properties and freedom from those impurities commonly found in the whiskey of commerce. duffy's pure malt whiskey is soft and pleasing to the taste and conforms to the requirements of the united states pharmacopoeia. indeed it is even of higher virtue than those requirements. druggists and dealers $1.00 per bottle. duffy malt whiskey co., rochester, n. y. vichy celestins pommery "sec "brut and the standard for champagne quality. the best champagne that nature, skill and expense can produce francis draz & co., sole agents u. s., 24 hudson st., new york. for gout 420 -ndigestion lindquer dans la let des demands nom de la source sur la capsule etablissement thermal vichy propriete de l'etat ces de l'etat questing grille nopital parc www sources de celestus grande-grille hopital parc natural alkaline water paris administration 2424 celestins in the early times we had hermits but like the early times sour mash, kentucky whisky of today--quite a difference from the old style. test the difference. ingersoll, leland jackson, ward b. johnston, james, julius f. james d. kelly, george h. kendall, hayward h. kerr, clarence v. kilfoyle, john f. kirk, carl t. kline, joseph h. klumph, a. c. kraus, joseph r. king, federick warren kroehle, paul e. kurz, w. a. laundon, mortimer h. lash, horace w. lawrence, c. ray lawrence, lawrence, paul terry lonergan, pierce w. lusk, milton w. mortimer w. mcallister, william b. mccormick, douglas mcdonald, charles a. macgregor, jr., john mckeehan, homer h. mcloud, norman c. mason, edwin l. maxson, william b. may, john u. meacham, roland t. meade, frank b. merkel, arthur e. merriam, walter h. maher, charles a. mansfield, howard marlatt, william h. mather, james mathews, herbert merrick, f. ickes miller, jr., john l. morgan, alphonso h. morgan, percy j. murch, jr., maynard h. murray, william p. nash, samuel t. nash, william f. newcomb, robert b. newcomer, frank c. nichols, andrew b. norton, robert c. baldwin hotel table d'hote dinner served every evening from six to eight. 75 cents per person. telephone to reserve table. *** * after the show-a broiled lobster or any other seasonable delicacy at the hofbrau wm. buse, prop. established 1882 lamprecht brothers & company bonds cleveland and new york dealers in carefully selected municipal and corporation bonds members new york stock exchange cleveland stock exchange "my cashier an embezzler! he has ruined my business!" don't delay! like many other supposedly secure business men, the defaulting of an assistant may bring ruin upon you. place your employees who handle money under bond tomorrow. the american surety co, of n. y., the oldest, strongest company, has paid more than seven and a half million dollars in claims. assets of six and a half million dollars. write or phone us. m. stanley-brown, manager, garfield building. both phones. c. c. dewstoe, president o. n. brainard, jr., sec. and treas. bell phone, north 385 cuy. phone, central 5767-w the dewstoe & brainard co. plumbing and heating 2076 e. 22nd street (old no. 80 perry st.) mm musical cleveland, ohio ohio's only complete music store the trade mark above tells the rest at your disposal at all times---our attractive music trial room and a vose piano. h. e. mcmillin, 2053 east ninth street, opposite rose building terabentine the practical equal of turpentine for all painting purposes at half the cost cleveland distributors grace & housum 580 arcade "keystone" hair insulator as a heat and cold insulator effectually excludes the cold winds of winter and the hot ones of summer, besides it soon saves its cost in winter coal bills. vermin-proof and inodorous. as a sound deadener it is specially desirable in hospitals, public halls, residences, school houses, churches. and public institutions. h. w. johns-manville co., 1521-27 columbus rd., cleveland e. t. laundon general insurance 209 western reserve bldg. phone main 3339-j fire life steam boiler marine accident employees liability elevator automobile motor boat accident dividend policy double benefits for automobile accidents. "the best ever" call me up on main 1281 or central 1647 i write all kinds of insurance and let me tell you about it. wm. m. butts, 812 park building, cleveland, o. ¶ if you see it in the jewish review and observer, it's news. ¶ advertise with us. ¶ dan s. werthermer, publisher of all the theatre programs. new clothes shop expert made garments reasonably priced successors to the davis & fouts co. the davis & sale co. 743 euclid avenue odell, clarence p. otis, jr., charles a. paine, charles a. parmley, jr., benjamin perdue, robert h. perkins, roger c. pettee, harold f. ranney, rufus p. rattle, william rees, william f. reeves, frank h. reiley, oliver r. prescott, pettengill, george b. philpott, william b. pickard, jr., john w. pollock, wilfred s. porter, frederic s. orville w. richards, franklin b. robbins, lawrence s. rogers, arthur c. rogers, j. e. royon, joseph c. rutherford, james a. sanders, clarence e. sanders, franklyn b. sanford, h. l. schneider, chas. s. scott, john r. scofield, sherman w. shackleton, william e. sherwin, george n. sherwin, john sherwood, charles f. sholes, justin g. shupe, harry p. shurmer, edward d. siddall, george b. smith, arthur m. smythe, arthur b. somers, charles w. spencer, richard selden squire, reginald r. stadelman, william a. stair, j. frank stage, charles w. stamp, charles e. starkweather, william j. stebbins, howard s. steinwedell, william e. stockwell, jr., john n. strong, edward l. strong, herbert w. strong, s. e. tame, alfred g. teagle, frank h. teare, william h. terrell, hez. m. tewksbury, russell b. thompson, c. e. tillotson, edwin g. townsend, william j. george m. edmondson photographer in portraiture 1822 euclid avenue cleveland, o. comstock-jones & co. engineers and contractors for complete power plant equipment 407-8-9 caxton building we furnish exclusively the excellent bread and rolls used by the hermits p. tournardre french baker 2006 scovill avenue wm. krause & son costumes for all occasions private theatricals a specialty 30 sheriff st., opp. opera house telephones bell, main 1996 cuy. central 1041-l o. m. mcaninch, pres. chas. h. parsons, sec.-treas. the mcaninch-parsons co. automobile insurance a specialty insurance 609 park building cleveland, o. weddell house annex rear of klein's cigar store 185 superior street the cleveland builders' supply company sewer pipe, lime, cement, wall plaster, etc. offices, garfield building, cleveland, o. rock rived robrander creamery butter arduncan the a cleveland o jrco the a. r. duncan, jr. co. wholesale dealers butter-eggs-cheese i. greenstein ::: merchant tailor : : : 428 superior street, cleveland de klyn's of course! if you want to send a box of candy to your best young lady -makes your visit doubly welcome, and "delectable sweets"---a keen subject of conversation. try it. the hermits are seldom seen. here's hoping we may see more of them. w. j. garson & co. 66 tailors who progress" 615 superior ave. opposite the new hippodrome building 731 euclid avenue our ur new location, where we show a complete line of kodaks and optical goods. particular attention given to developing and printing in our photographic department. solomonson optical co., a. newman, proprietor wade, jeptha h., jr. waite, george s. wall, william e. walker, frank r. wallace, robert b. ward, william e. wasser, george w. white, rollin h. white, walter c. white, windsor t. whiting, william b. wieman, william wilbur, rollin a. wilson, sidney s. wolcott, frank b. woodworth, fred j. wright, charles c. wright, harland j. young, thomas e. zamecnik, john "all the music all the time" the kaiser music store robt. l. white, mgr. no. 45 the arcade, cleveland, ohio telephones, bell main 2490-j; cuyahoga central 6041 everything in music and musical instruments largest stock in the city. prices always the lowest. our sight readers will play anything for you the sterling & welch co. carpets, rugs, floor cloths curtains, shades and upholstery goods 216 euclid avenue cleveland, o. the best and finest chocolates and candies hart's 1113-1115 euclid avenue we have special boxes for goods to be sent by post or express, insuring safe delivery. cakes and pastries of excellence. .. .. luncheon and afternoon teas, ice creams, parfaits and ices. old overholt bottled in bond house cleaning? yes! we mean the sanitary, dustless, convenient system of cleaning all house-furnishings at your home. for further information telephone east 110 or central 7960. the fuller co., 7606 carnegie avenue john h. dremann, president and manager main 765 central 442-r gainer electric company wiring and repairing of everything electrical. all kinds of work done on short notice. private telephone systems and electrie light plants installed 100 public square hugh huntington & son manufacturers of shield brand roofing and improved gravel roofing 257 the arcade, euclid ave. cleveland, ohio phillips & henley outfitters 1910 e. 6th st. agents chase hats the r. w. gammel co. makers importers furs exclusively 522 euclid avenue cleveland, ohio we store furs furniture of quality the lederer furniture company, rose building erie street cleveland the macadams company furnishers for men colonial arcade makers of shirts hollenden hotel the davis, hunt, collister co. always have the best hardware house furnishing goods cutlery bicycles sporting goods, etc. ontario and prospect avenue non-resident members anderson, j. scott app, frank r. barker, arthur e. batchelor, jr., harry a. bates, alexander c. bates, george d. boynton, arthur j. bruner, c. t. burnham, robert w. canfield, b. k. carter, c. e. • croxton, herbert a. new york city new york city elyria, o. saginaw, mich. new york city akron, o elyria, o. akron, o. hornellsville, n. y. ravenna, o. geneva, o. massillon, o. curtiss, john s. deming, paul h. erie, pa. detroit, mich. eppley, eugene frye, john k. hale, edwin w. hine, c. p. hopper, charles h. jackson, john jewett, john e. ketcham, frederick h. king, clifford j. knowles, almon b. mac donald, albert myers, harry e. nicholas, frederic m. pechin, john s. price, w. w. ricker, william w rust, john f. shenk, charles e. skinner, edgar c. smart, allen r. stark, a. l. stewart, scott cambridge springs, pa. pittsburg, pa. iola, kans. columbus, o. unionville, lake county, o. chicago, ill. buffalo, n. y. new york city ashtabula, o. new york city erie, pa. unionville, lake county, o. detroit, mich. new york city new york city princeton, n. j. erie, pa. cincinnati, o. chicago, ill. elyria, o. new york city the f. a. pease engineering co. civil and consulting engineers municipal improvements, subdivisions, electric railways 930-931-932 williamson bldg., cleveland every man can't be a hermit, but every man can wear brown's hats. brown "he sells hats" 1937 east sixth st. garfield bldg the proof of the salad is in the dressing. if it's macrisco salad dressing it's sure to be right. macrisco salad dressing is as good as can be. we will send you a book of salad recipes for the asking the h. c. christy company wholesale grocers cleveland p. c. o'brien company prospect avenue and eighth place grocers, importers and wine merchants wholesale and retail when you return from your visit with "the hermits in california" come to us for the golden state's lucious wines and fruits the colonial hotel restaurants and grill are unsurpassed for excellence in cooking and service. after theatre suppers a specialty. entrances from colonial arcade adam weil ladies' hair dresser and wig maker all kinds of hair work made to order. a large stock of wigs and beards always on hand for masquerade and theatrical purposes. powders, grease paints, etc. manufacturer of the eu de capillaire hair tonic 647 euclid avenue, republic building, 3rd floor cleveland, ohio drink little sarge howie's fine chocolates, bon-bons, ices, cakes, pastries. everything made on the premises. also operating the taylor restaurant, the finest department store restaurant in the state. open for breakfast, luncheon and supper, from 7:30 a. m. till 7:30 p.m. john mcf. howie, proprietor martin & martin boots and shoes "buy the best--and less often" nineteen forty-five east sixth street pittsburgh plate glass company glass, mirrors, paints, brushes 1430-1434 west 3rd st. general distributors for patton's sun proof paints contracts taken for glazing work, old or new 55& the "bismarck" new center extra bass ale guinness stout mcmullen's white label forcin extra pints and splits gate stevenson, william a. taggart, f. f. turner, wm. p. warner, charles b. worthington, george c. botsford, jas. l. jr. cady, edw. h. call, d. w. campbell, hugh e. cartwright, w. y. clarke, n. j. connell, frank crawford, w. j. jr. davis, chas. w. eagleson, stuart ernst, alfred everhard, m. mc. freeman, h. e. gallaher, edw. b. goodbody, thos. p. greene, frank h. hinkley, c. w. hungate, wilson huntley, f. p. klumph, m. p. mcmahon, h. r. manton, h. b. miller, w. s. moon, h. l. pomeroy, eugene c. rawlings, ralph richardson, e. m. robbins, sabin, jr., sanborn, h. w. seigle p. r. smart, james h. vaughn, guy w. wagenhorst, j. h. wilson, s. s. worthington, ralph capt. alfred aloe, akron, o. massillon, o. detroit, mich. waukegan, ill. elyria, o. youngstown, o. toledo, o. new york city st. louis, mo. pittsburg, pa. erie, pa. ithaca, n. y. colo. spgs., colo. chicago, ill. pittsburg, pa. massillon, o. springfield, o. new york city toledo, o. new york city chicago, ill new york city new york city mentor, o. pittsburg, pa. akron, o. elyria, o. erie, pa. new york city lansing, mich. new york city middletown, o. mobile, ala. willoughby, o. new york city. pittsburg, pa. willoughby, o. miami, o. first u. s. infantry exlibris the hermits press of the brooks co. cleveland oil hermits in dixie 11h bah12 henry m. brooks president w. h. brooks sec'y and treas. l. a. wilbor vice pres. the henry m. brooks company fire insurance park building, cleveland, ohio boston insurance company automobile insurance borton and borton securities guardian bldg. cleveland members cleveland stock exchange municipal bonds investment securities collateral loans publishers of financial review j. f. kilfoyl, president c. w. somers, vice president e. s. barnard, secretary napoleon lajoie, manager the cleveland ball club company office, 512 cuyahoga building grounds, lexington, corner 66th st. the naps will be home friday, may 29th games this week friday, may 29, cleveland vs. st. louis, 3:30 p. m. saturday, may 30, cleveland vs. st. louis, 10:00 a. m. saturday, may 30, cleveland vs. st. louis, 2:45 p. m. reserved seats at collister & sayle's 224 superior ave. ernst and ernst public accountants cleveland chicago eclipse co clevdo automobile tires use the "republic" and let your tire troubles be a thing of the past way, mitchell & co. selling agents w. h. way joe mitchell golf 1120 euclid avenue to play the game as it should be played you need a first-class set of clubs. when you use way's you use the best. special clubs made to order. all requisites for the game supplied :::: w. h. way euclid club, euclid heights. herbert mathews edward g. gilbert mathews & gilbert dealers in suburban real estate offer for sale lots in oakwood-on-the-lake rocky river, ohio a delectable site of trees, shrubbery and water privileges homey home sites cottages and bungalows can have the finest sites of any estate in the country. send for our booklet. three car lines, bathing beaches, lagoons and everything to make life worth living for. the frazier realty co., owners agents on the property every day offices, 911-912 williamson building the hermits in dixie a musical comedy in three acts book by clarence vincent kerr lyrics by norman c. mcloud music by john s. zamecnik, henry l. sanford] richard s. spencer and albert rees davis produced by the hermit club of cleveland under the direction of a. m. holbrook opera house may 25 to 30, 1908 copyright 1908 by the hermit club company + fine gold jewelry precious stones sterling silverware leather goods porcelain and imported decorative articles cut glass and crystal brass and other metal goods stationery and engraving optical department the cowell & hubbard co. 605 euclid avenue in woman's attire, it is our aim to offer distinctiveness of style-to render ready-to-wear garments as individual as made-to-order kinds to combine elegance with unobtrusiveness--to make the useful beautiful. the falle bros.co. 429-439 euclid ave. //// вре mh a bank for discriminating depositors the cleveland trust company capital and surplus five million dollars casta cumberland waddle roger c. enwright major u. s. a. who has troubles of his own tom waddle . his son, a west point cadet ludwig von liebig, m. d.. davy ketch a celebrated german specialist clarence p. odell albert rees davis louis j. ford stephen decatur fred w. braggins lieutenant u. s. n., in love with virginia jimmy hickey charles a. maher rear admiral u. s. n., in command of the arizona who runs the old point sight-seeing auto count boni de la petit dejeuner geo. b. pettengill a titled dancing master who aspires to grand opera and american heiresses george washington peyton • whose wife takes in general washing nicodemus . . frederic s. porter howard conger a family pet do you like to pump tires? no. 1 outfit lennox gas outfits no. 3 outfit save labor, time, tires seventy per cent of all tire trouble is the result of rim cuts due to inadequate inflation. lennox gas adds life and resiliency to the rubber. write or telephone for circulars the lennox chemical co. cleveland ohio no. 4 outfit cast-continued dennis wells the express agent harry donaldson higgins steward at the club obadiah hardscrabble frederic m. nicholas from "down yonder" in virginia hezekiah william j. fleming melissa his son his daughter arthur j. caldwell bill binnacle mortimer w. lawrence a bibulous boatswain hayfoot ་ f. r. walker strawfoot zealous guards jim jimson. (samuel t. nash a. c. steele mrs. culpepper dinwiddie . a charming widow who has high social aspirations herbert mathews virginia lee horatio n. herriman her niece, in love with steve polly nelson frank s. baker virginia's friend mr. business man! have henry siegel, founder and president of siegel, cooper & co., says "system and organization are the controlling elements of any large commercial or industrial enterprise the two reins by which the business bodies are guided." you these? are you getting the results from your business, which proves it a good investment? it is possible that you may now be losing money through an ill-fitting system of accounting and organization-one not suited to your own business. let us suggest: a practical accounting system, -save time, worry and clerk hire. a periodical audit and examination, --know your exact worth-preserve your credit. a secret investigation (detective service), -weed out shiftless, loafing employees-prevent stealing-know the habits of your clerks-harmonize your private affairs. a realization on bad accounts, -don't charge off accounts as uncollectable until you have tried our collection methods. we have experts in all the above. talk with us about it-it obligates you nothing the logan-williams adjustment co. bell, main 1197 cuy., cent. 365 201-2-3-4 clarence bldg. 612 euclid ave. cleveland edward b. greene j. arthur beidler arthur j. caldwell edwin l. mason cast-continued pony squad william h. lamprecht, jr. jay v. hall loydd j. jones douglas morris paul m. stoffer w. j. crawford, jr. walter c. runyon, jr. lamont h. stoffer debutantes squad charles e. thompson walter s. bowler ward b. jackson frank s. baker charles e. stamp r. prescott beardslee m. d. mcintyre e. g. ernst j. a. krider widow squad guy s. gardner paul t. lawrence john f. rust frank c. newcomer sam c. cutler carl dautel henry c. cool frank h. reeves nurse showing mother how to bathe the baby properly the babies' dispensary and hospital is hard at work not only at the dispensary, but in the homes, where the mothers are being instructed how to bring up their babies into well, strong, efficient men and women. it needs $15,000.00 for this year's operating expenses. this will enable us to take care of 50 babies a day. it also needs a hospital of 50 beds. cut this out and with it mail your check to john sherwin, treasurer, 631 schofield building. frank r. marvin henry j. welch h. e. parker john w. pickard, jr. albert c. bailey joseph h. kline ralph h. goss charles f. schneerer cast continued west point squad oliver r. rieley john f. cunningham. w. a. kurz a. c. steele town boys squad g. abeel hall charles c. clark edward l. worthington frank b. wolcott arthur m. smith carl f. ford arthur b. smythe j. h. wagenhorst jackies austin andrews carl b. castle maynard h. murch, jr. alphonse h. morgan howard mansfield the white & the black in dixie... white dixie 1908 mmm california 1907 holland 1905 spain 1906 with apolonies to dot walter s. bowler w. j. crawford, jr. cast-continued mint julep dance frank s. baker charles e. thompson ward b. jackson sherman w. scofield george h. ganson charles c. coventry william m. duncan robert b. wallace douglass mccormick sailors j. e. rogers harris creech ralph l. fuller thomas e. borton william j. fleming herbert w. strong the hermits wish to express their appreciation of the valuable assistance regarding the costumes given by madame ripley of the shubert forces; to the misses crockett and mrs. sauce for their work in the preparation of the same; and to mr. charles white of the opera house staff, for his assistance in regard to the properties. a hermit rendezvous hotel rider cambridge springs, pa. just a few hours run from cleveland, either by train or automobile-a modern delightful hotel with all accessories for health, rest and pleasure. golf links the most attractive in the country always kept in perfect condition. tennis, autoing, saddling, driving, boating, bowlingall in and out door sports. put your business cares aside and come up to the country for a few days rest. you will be sure to find some of your friends there. rates $2.50 to $5 per day, american plan $1.50 to $3 per day, european plan special weekly rates. e. c. eppley, operators. w. d. rider, write for booklet capital and surplus $2,500,000 the union national bank of cleveland officers president geo. h. worthington vice presidents l. mcbride h. c. christy cashier j. f. harper e. r. fancher assistant cashiers g. a. coulton w. e. ward board of directors henry c. christy e. f. dyer c. a. grasselli d. r. hanna j. f. harper r. h. jenks j. i. lamprecht leander mcbride i. p. lamson m. j. mandelbaum b. f. bourne f. e. myers j. r. nutt c. w. scofield leonard schlather e. j. siller f. b. squire f. a. sterling a. s. upson u. g. walker geo. h. worthington government depository the latest "pilgrimage" of "the hermits" has been to dixie. q uite naturally, in their desire to stage most effectively and recount most entertainingly their experiences there, they chose that locality best expressing the charm, picture and history of the south. this they found at old point comfort, virginia. the fascination of old point is a matter of generations-going back three hundred years. the natural beauty and advantages of the situation and the romance and tradition vested there, have never failed to inspire and have again and again been demanded for song and story. hotel chamberlin, old point comfort, view from hampton roads. entre act, while listening to "the hermits "" interpretation, it may please their audience to learn of the real point of comfort at old point comfort-the hotel chamberlin. fortress monroe and hotel chamberlin occupy the military reservation, including that traditionally alluring point of land known as old point comfort and they join their lives social. fortress monroe is counted one of the most desirable posts in all the country, chiefly because the chamberlin is just without the ramparts. hampton roads, which is the frequent rendezvous of the mighty battleships, provides the magnificent water-foreground. this great, splendid hotel affords the opportunity for gayety or seclusion, as desired; and while it has the marked favor of fashionable folk, and there is always the army and navy contingent, with an in-gathering of guests from every quarter, the plan is so remarkably spacious and admirable that a crowd never crowds. whether viewed from the sea or land, the huge structure is imposing, apparently rising right out of the water, with stately towers on either end and literally a thousand windows open to the sun and air. a broad plaza lies in front while a deep, long scenes act i at old point comfort, virginia-the pier in front of hotel chamberlin, overlooking hampton roads. the time is morning of a rare spring day. act ii the exterior of the army and navy club at fortress monroe-evening of the same day. act iii the forward deck of the u. s. battleship arizona -the following day. musicians marine corps, u. s. n. first, almost extravagant and the space devoted to public use more than generous-the size of the rooms and the width and length of the corridors are ever the occasion of a pleasing surprise-there grows upon the guest a real sense of gratitude; for every where around about is a spaciousness which truly speaks of comfort. comfort is, indeed, the first aim and then, quiet elegance, for there is nothing of the spectacular nor garish about hotel chamberlin. the spaciousness and beauty of its proportions, its artistic and exquisite coloring, its luxurious and comfortable furnishings, all give to the newly-arrived guest delight and satisfaction. it is the remark of travelers that the design and location of the chamberlin dining-room is unsurpassed in the restretch of piazza over-looks hampton roads with its ever-changing, always-interesting marine view-and what a view it is an almost limitless expanse of sea and sky with health giving breezes wafted shoreward! from the moment of entering the beautiful rotunda, which faces the east and looks out on fortress monroe with the sea in the distance, one is impressed with the difference between hotel chamberlin and other hotels of its class. while the proportions seem, at sun set gun music musical numbers act i opening chorus zamecnik "happy days" sanford tom, steve, jimmy "the giddy cadet". zamecnik virginia, debutantes and cadets "kiss and make up again" zamecnik steve and virginia "the winning widow" sanford mrs. dinwiddie, widows and attendants "the dancing lesson' zamecnik count boni and officers' children finale—introducing admiral's song ketch and full chorus zamecnik sorts of the world. reaching out over the beautiful waters of hampton roads, a colonnade of windows presents practically front and sides of crystal through which to view the moving pictures of sea and sail and through which pours in a flood of golden sunlight. the great battleships are anchored so close that the strains of martial music come distinctly over the waters and there is also wafted the note of passing hours in "four bells." "eight bells." the little steam launches, in their fresh white bonnets, scurry hither and yon, and every now and then is the booming of cannon, suggesting the pleasurable excitement of an "official call," or a man ofwar newly arrived in the roads. the great, big house offers many opportunities for pleasures, comfort and take-thine-ease; each different; all inviting; but the sun parlor is the favorite dallying place and has ever been, particularly at the sun set hour, when tea is served. the long facade of windows looks out upon the magnificent harbor way off to the crumpled curtain of grey which the fading distance lets down, while the sun drops a dazzling sphere of gold to shiver the water mirror into myriad glistening prisms. visiting a battle ship the climate at old point comfort leaves nothing to be desired, free as it is, from extremes of heat and cold. the winters are mild, and the gulf stream, which at old point comfort reaches closer to the shore than at any other on the coast, keeps the air mild and balmy almost uninterruptedly. the shore has distinct advantages, being warmer in winter and cooler in summer than inland or mountainous districts; and too, the extreme variations between the day and night temperature are rarely observed at the seashore. indeed, the chief charboat landing musical numbers act ii "swinging in the twilight" spencer tom, debutantes and cadets "nature fakes". zamecnik ketch, von liebig and mrs. dinwiddie "the shivery moon" zamecnik virginia and pony chorus "get aboard the wagon" sanford jimmy and chorus the mint julep" zamecnik steve and chorus "i didn't seem to get in right" waltz finale--introducing sextette tom, steve, virginia, polly, mrs. dinwiddie, ketch and full chorus zamecnik count boni zamecnik 1 acteristics of sea air are the equable climate and the high degree of humidity-both soothing properties. there is also an excess of the lifegiving "ozone" in the air and the marked purity of the atmosphere through the fact that the sea presents an ever-moving surface and no impurities in the shape of organic dust can rest upon it so as to be blown about again in mischievous activity, with every breeze. whether the stress be that of weather, or times, or illness, or people, or pressure of affairs, true is old point comfort to its early reputation, given by the adventurers, who found here a point of land "which put us in good comfort," and was by them accordingly named. the location of the chamberlin is so near by and accessible to places of interest, historical, industrial, educational and picturesque, that more can be accomplished within a few days with old point as the radiating center than from other places in double the time. while for the one who would lounge and be sweetly idle, there is abundant opportunity and always the diversions of the hotel and the fort are right at hand. it is delightful in this place expressing the hospitality of lang syne, to understand that each may follow his fad or fancy and should the whim possess him to sit in the corner and read, or meditate-to be quite by him self-an agreeable courtesy makes all others unmindful of his presence; when it is his mood to turn sociable, he is made to feel that a place awaits him and-every one is content. a beautifully illustrated booklet describing in detail hotel chamberlin and old point comfort, may be had by addressing geo. f. adams, mgr., fortress monroe, va. moat and ramparts fortress monroe showing hotel chamberlin musical numbers act iii "yo, ho! for the sailor bold" full chorus "von liebig's soothing syrup". von liebig, mrs. dinwiddie, polly, count boni zamecnik davis and ben bobstay duet dance sanford jimmy and melissa "jacky" zamecnik virginia, sailors and their girls "my old time dixie girl" zamecnik tom, debutantes and widows finale--introducing national airs zamecnik m. lyman lawrence, pres. john a. fogle, vice pres. john j. angel, sec'y john l. lynn, treas. phones: main 1547 central 5815 john l. angel audit co. 1322-23-24-25 williamson bldg. cleveland, o. proficiency guarantees accuracy auditing, systematizing and adjusting the books of individuals, partnerships and corporations devise and install operating costs and other practical business systems orchestra\ frank b. meade, director everett l. brown, librarian first violin james d. johnston john l. miller, jr. dudley s. blossom j. roberts wilson flute arch. c. klumph chas. w. davis clarionet justin j. griese joseph c. royon john p. witt dudley j. hard oboe second violin josef narovec. harry r. valentine bassoon alfred m. fuller raymond brady frank h. spafford cornet viola chas. e. burt albert m. hannaford william r. rounds everett l. brown horn cello maurice klumph arthur c. rogers john l. cannon harry l. bliss edwin l. gleason trombone william s. gilkey bass frank b. hannaford frank nelson claude c. fenton tympani harry du rocher pianists richard s. spencer, henry l. sanferd, milton w. lusk acres of melody and mirth at luna the greatest bands, the greatest acts and the greatest shows bring the greatest crowds to the greatest playground in ohio now in its fourth triumphal season with the magnificent musical garden and the elaborate hippodrome circus as especially conspicuous features 2 entrances old main entrance and new gate on woodland avenue car line 2 hotel st. regis, new york the acknowledged leader moderate rates ew york has many famous hotels, but the n st. regis, at fifth avenue and fifty-fifth street, easily outranks all others. it has become the acknowledged leader, not only in the "city of great hotels' but in the world. those who have experienced the joys of living in this home-like and refined hostelry do not need to be reminded of its superlative attractions. but many people who frequently visit new york have been denying themselves the pleasure of what might easily have been theirs under the mistaken notion that hotel st. regis is a place only for the very wealthy or the ultra fashionable, and that "common people" would feel out of place within its portals. the truth is the st. regis is a place where all good people feel at home. with all its beauty and comfort-giving appointments, there is entire absence of exclusiveness. you may live at the st. regis for a day or a year confident that everything possible will be done to make your stay agreeable and at as fair a reckoning as at any high class hotel. in the matter of both restaurant and room charges there is moderation. to dine at the st. regis costs no more than at other first-class hotels, while a large outside room may be had at $4 a day. the same with private bath at $5 ($6 for two people), or a parlor, bedroom and bath at $12. after the show the hollenden grill room j. h. thompson manager 街 ​ synopsis with a little bit of history m usical comedy is held by some writers on theatrical topics to be a strictly modern form of entertainment, an offspring of the variety stage embracing the features of opera, comedy, melodrama and vaudeville. it is interesting to note in this connection, however, that a modified form of this amusement was known to the greeks some five hundred years before the christian era and was introduced by thespis, who has been styled the father of tragedy. he was an enterprising manager and, like many of his latter day confreres, gave the people the sort of entertainment they seemed to want. when he found his patrons were not disposed to sit through his long tragic monologues he gathered a chorus about him on the thymele or dionysian altar and introduced a species of dialogue which was alternated with songs and dances. a little later phrynichus, a pupil of thespis, introduced female parts into his plays and here we have the first record of men disporting in petticoats, if such apparel was known to the early grecian women. thus do we hermits prove our right to venture into musical comedy and to don our sisters' finery and make merry before a concourse of people. the locale of our play this year is old point comfort, virginia, and the time is the height of the social season. here tourists and pleasure seekers flock from all parts of the country and commingle with the army and navy contingent giving the whole scene an air of ultra cosmopolitanism. uncle sam has been very busy lately turning out first-class battleships and as a result some of the second class ships and cruisers have been called upon to retire or give up their names, it being the plan to name the largest ships after the states and the little sisters after the cities. the abundance of forest trees furnish a most beautiful setting for the homes now being planned for fairmount boulevard stratford road and other of our improved streets. the shaker heights improvement company 909 williamson building 327 fifth ave. new york dear sir: as our mr. hanson, for several years, has had the pleasure of waiting upon a number of the members of the hermit club, we embrace this opportunity of further introducing ourselves, as one of the leading houses of new york city, with an established reputation as makers of men's fine clothes four times a year, during the spring and fall, our headquarters are at the hollenden, by previously announcing our coming; thus enabling us, to assure our patrons perfect satisfaction. lind & hanson 327 fifth ave., n. y. riding breeches and sporting goods a specialty our banking systems department 15-column burroughs capacity 999,999,999,999,999 over 90 per cent. of all the adding and listing machines in use are burroughs for over two years our department of banking systems has been collecting accounting ideas, systems, short cuts. if you are now using a burroughs, our systems specialists may be able to show you new ways in which it may be used to effect a further saving for you. if you are not already using one we are sure they can show you some systems for handling the details of your routine work, that will save you more time, work and worry than you now think possible. please address this department and ask them to tell you how you can make economical use of a burroughs bookkeeping machine. 64,744 users (feb. 13, 1908) burroughs adding machine company detroit, michigan, u. s. a. c. j. whipple, cleveland sales manager, 806-807 american trust building, cleveland, ohio synopsis continued and so in the beginning of our play we imagine one of these battleships is to be re-christened after an old town in virginia. of course this is a big social event and miss virginia lee, who is to break the magic bottle, finds herself in the center of much gaiety. act i the curtain rises on a bevy of hotel guests and tourists who have gathered on the pier to hail the incoming steamers. major cumberland waddle, u. s. a., is badly upset by an order from the war department detailing practice marches for his regiment and requiring the officers to be mounted. the major is a man of wide girth and unused to gruelling exercise astride a horse but he realizes he must make good or retire from the service. he finally decides to take anti-fat treatment and condition himself for the "hike," so he consults dr. von leibig, a celebrated german specialist. mrs. culpepper dinwiddie, a dashing widow of the dangerous age of thirtynine, has come to old point with her niece virginia to attend the christening. she has high social ambition and plans a marriage for her niece with count boni de la petit dejeuner an impecunious french nobleman who is temporarily serving as dancing master to the officers children. stephen decatur, a lieutenant in the navy, is in love with virginia but his suit is frowned upon by the aunty. when decatur learns that he is to be turned aside for a title, his southern blood waxes hot and he gives utterance to sentiments which estrange him from virginia. rear admiral davy ketch arrives at this juncture and the act is brought to an end. act ii the officers at fortress monroe have planned a hop in honor of virginia and the west pointers and the debutantes are very much in evidence. major waddle has found von leibig's treatment ineffectual and when he sees resignation before him decides to propose for mrs. dinwiddie's hand through the doctor. davy ketch, home from a long cruise, finds the widow's charms irresistible but he, like the major, lacks courage in such an issue so von liebig finds himself commissioned to act for him, too, after the fashion of john alden. now the doctor entertains similar sentiments toward this otis & hough cuyahoga building members new york stock exchange cleveland stock exchange chicago stock exchange columbus stock exchange chicago board of trade. government municipal bonds railroad corporation e. b. brown prescription and manufacturing optician 314-315 schofield building oculists' prescriptions filled. personal attention given in every case. an entirely new principle in eye glass construction, so-easy mountings. a modes node the mos the m knauth, nachod & kühne bankers 15 william street, new york circular letters of credit and travelers' checks available the world over. obtainable in cleveland at banks and bankers. synopsis concluded favored lady and the working out of this complication advances the comedy plot. virginia overhears her aunt talking with count boni and when she learns the proposal comes because of her money she rebels and decides to ask steve to come to her rescue. now steve has felt great remorse over his utterances of the morning and has decided to ask virginia's forgiveness. in their childhood days, whenever they quarreled the one who sought forgiveness would send an azalia blossom to the other as a peace offering and on this evening without the knowledge of the other, each sends this token by wash, a darkey, who with characteristic stupidity forgets to carry out his mission. thus do the lovers think that insult has been added to injury. the musicians arrive and the dancing begins when to the surprise and consternation of all the count is accused of being a spy and is placed under arrest. act iii this act takes place the following day and the scene is the forward deck of the good ship arizona. major waddle finds to his joy that while he erred in arresting count boni as a spy, the war department held that he might have been one and such an act of vigilance should not go un-rewarded, so he is promoted to an office which relieves him from practice marches and mounted duty. davy ketch retires from the field and when dr. von leibig presents the widow with a huge bill for professional services she decides to marry him. and keep the money. count boni's arrest has resulted in getting his name and picture in the daily papers and he awakes to find himself famous, fully equipped for a career in grand opera. steve has been made a commander and is to be in full charge of the arizona but the irony of having his ship christened by the girl who has flouted him, lies heavy on his heart. as in all good stories, however, a way is found whereby the discordance is set aright and the lovers are reunited. the president's yacht is sighted and as this is the signal for the ceremony the arizona takes on another name amidst the flying of flags, the huzzas of the assembly and the crashing music of the ship's band. in dixie be bon. what kin' er fruit is dis ahangin' on avine? ain' it got a curly core, an' lordy! how it shine! somepin' like a pear, but all de pears iever see wasn' hangin' disaway, but hangin' on a tree. mebbe dis yeah somepin' done sot out to be a millin; got to grow a heap befoah it suit us collud chillun. one er dese yeah funny hermits dat was visitin' down yeah said it was a 'lectric currant. lordy ain' dat gueah? axed him was it good fo' eatin', 'case i gwine to take a bite. he said 'twan't no heavy eatin', but it sho' is good an' light. the illuminating company, cuyahoga building the cleveland laundry company blankets we make a specialty of blankets. we handle them in a separate department in a special way. we restore slightly shrunken blankets to their original size and life. ¶ we clean and rebind double blankets at $1.00 per pair. single blankets 60c each. double blankets, cleaned only, 50c up. ¶you are invited to visit our works at any time and inspect the model conditions under which we handle our customers' linen. new york underwriters agency a. & j. h. stoddart general agents 100 william street new york fire and tornado insurance the new york underwriters agency has a notable record of nearly half a century of honorable dealing with the insuring public. cleveland agents the o. m. stafford & goss co. nos. 601-607 century building ¥ staff y business manager mortimer w. lawrence treasurer fred s. borton stage directors charles a. maher a. m. holbrook musical director frank b. meade choristers frank s. baker albert rees davis george h. ganson property master guy s. gardner costumes ladies' costumes designed by w. h. barnes men's costumes designed by j. h. donahey. costumes executed by the hermit club's own wardrobe staff. scenery designed by frank b. meade executed by henry c. rehn stage carpenter albert newman electrician chas. h. estinghausen photographer j. eugene rogers (oldsmobile model "m" $2,750.00) the logical car the oldsmobile 4-cylinder, model "m," is the logical car, at the logical price, $2,750.00---the lowest price at which a strictly high-class car, embodying style, comfort and roadability, can be made. the oldsmobile model "m" is distinctively a modest, simple family car. powerful, speedy, and above all, comfortable, it meets the requirements of the buyer who wants a car that will give service year in and year out without the burden of excessive repairs or upkeep. for catalog address olds motor works lansing, michigan member a. l. a. m. cleveland branch 1926 euclid ave. established in the united states in 1883 barrow, wade, guthrie & co. certified public accountants monadnock building chicago, ill. allen r. smart, c. p. a. manager edward e. gore, c. p. a. assistant manager w. h. roberts, c. p. a. assistant manager also offices at new york, san francisco, new orleans, and london, england the oldest accounting organization in america hartford fire insurance company of hartford, connecticut ་ "the san francisco fire has demonstrated the fact that too little attention is paid to insurance matters by the insured. it has demonstrated that the wise merchant will no longer allow his insurance to be placed wherever his agent sees fit, and without reference to the standing of the companies, their ability to pay, or the past record of their adjustments." "the following is one of the companies that, in the opinion of the committee, should be placed on the roll of honor hartford fire insurance company, of hartford, conn. settled in full, less two per cent for cash. considering that the gross loss was the immense sum of $10,275,000, the company is worthy of the highest commendation." taken from the report of special committee of the national association of credit men, on settlements made by fire insurance companies in connection with the san francisco disaster. represented by the henry m. brooks co. park building, cleveland, ohio executive committee mortimer w. lawrence chairman and business manager fred s. borton treasurer and chairman ticket committee arthur d. brooks chairman program committee wilbur h. brooks chairman advertising committee albert rees davis chorus master herman a. harris requisition committee joseph h. kline requisition committee norman c. mcloud chairman press committee charles a. maher chairman play committee frank b. meade chairman scenery and costume committee fred s. porter chairman requisition committee joseph c. royon chairman music committee guy s. gardner chairman properties committee brown brothers & co. philadelphia new york travelers' letters of credit and international cheques may be obtained through your banker boston brown, shipley & co. travelers' office, 123 pall mall, s. w. head office, founders court, e. c. london phone magoon for demonstration the jewel 40 rutenber motor, 434x5 double ignition bosh magneto connecticut coils and storage battery double oiling system 120 in. wheel base 36"x4" tires, any make seven passenger body platform springs non-skidding device guaranteed for one year $3000.00 the forest city motor car co. massillon, ohio. r. h. magoon motor car co., distributors. 2174-2176-2178-2180 east ninth street main 3378 cleveland, o. commenced business 1845 assets, $112,000,000 do you know the mutual benefit life insurance company of newark, n. j., will sell you more insurance for less money than any other company? "there's a reason" j. w. pickard, jr., superintendent of agencies new england building, cleveland cleveland representatives r. c. allen c. f. beachler m. p. beers c. c. clark h. h. codding c. r. cross j. j. devney t. h. geer t. c. goss lewis hall h. e. hall e. n. parker e. bruce pratt j. h. h. randall o. m. stafford w. a. stevenson committees i play. charles a. maher-chairman albert c. bailey albert rees davis sterling w. hubbard clarence v. kerr homer h. mckeehan norman c. mcloud herbert matthews geo. b. pettengill henry l. sanford william a. stadelman music joseph c. royon-chairman horatio n. herriman james d. johnston arch c. klumph andrew b. nichols scenery and costumes frank b. meade-chairman arthur j. caldwell james h. donahey guy s. gardner william f. hart charles s. schneider properties guy s. gardner-chairman orville w. prescott hez. m. terrell charles c. wright f. m. osborne prest. s. h. robbins, sec'y & treas. the youghiogheny & ohio coal co. producers and shippers of youghiogheny gas pittsburgh steam pittsburgh no. 8 and amsterdam hocking coal: general offices western reserve building cleveland, o. pittsburgh buffalo chicago milwaukee st. paul they're all on the favourite usher's special reserve whisky the world's best piano the steinway pianolas and piano players the b. dreher's sons co. sole agents 502-504 superior ave. n. e. the arcade committees continued program arthur d. brooks-chairman charles p. hine frank s. baker program advertising wilbur h. brooks-chairman abner h. bedell edward g. ernst william j. fleming fred w. king joseph h. kline william f. nash wilfred s. pollock harry p. shupe sam e. strong fred j. woodworth press norman c. mcloud-chairman william h. alburn charles k. arter charles a. otis arthur c. rogers tickets fred s. borton-chairman requisitions fred c. porter-chairman herman a. harris joseph h. kline drills and reamers made by the morse twist drill & machine co. new bedford, mass. and for sale by the strong, carlisle & hammond company cleveland 336-344 frankfort ave., n. w. a. l. garford, pres. j. p. brophy, general manager cleveland automatic machine co. cleveland, ohio. we are pre-eminent in our line because, we can drill, tap, ream, cross-drill, slot, slab, knurl, recess, letter, magazine, and make eccentric parts, and perform six to ten operations simultaneously. the man who drives peerless all that the name implies a peerless knows the advantages at his disposal when new features are adopted. a silent motor, selective type of transmission, double ignition system with patented wire ⚫ bar, arched rear axle construction, drop frame with threepoint rear spring construction, and many other features. the silence of the 1908 models, absence of vibration and easy riding qualities, as well as the excellence of its mechanical construction, appeal to all who investigate. demonstrator at factory. the peerless motor car company quincy avenue and east 93d street guests: girls: all: lyrics 4 opening chorus hail! hail! each welcome guest! pretty girls and all the rest. and we hope that every one quickly joins us in our fun. tennis, golf and dance and sail, hail and welcome, welcome, hail! your reception very kind warms our hearts and you will find that we'll do our best to be very best of companee. if you'd earn our thanks profound show us how the wheels go 'round. yes they'll show us how the wheels go 'round on this famous military ground. sailing, playing, flirting, dancing, in this region most entrancing, yes they'll show us how the wheels go 'round. bellboys: all: all: we bring in your bags and boxes hopping 'round like busy foxes. always ready for our stunt when we hear the cry of "front." let the luggage all be sent to the spacious rooms they rent two by four or three by six. let's begin at once to mix. mix it up and mix it down, let us mix, let us mix, let us mix with ne'er a frown. yes they'll show us how the wheels go 'round, on this famous military ground. sailing, playing, flirting, dancing, in this region most entrancing. yes they'll show us how the wheels go 'round. bs trade mark "the hall mark of quality" don. ་ ་ ས ye can get yer plain dealer in dixie jes' th' same as in holland, spain an' callyforny. the haskel-whiz something new in golf balls rubber cored of course all haskels are but made differently from any other ball we know about. clean cut, durable, not too hard or too soft and by actual test in competition with all other balls gives the greatest distance from the same pound blow. try it. the price is not in the way. fifty cents apiece. sold everywhere. the b. f. goodrich company akron, ohio out doors on goodrich tires is a pleasure too. happy days when we all were boys at keswick, in the little village school, how we loved our dear old teacher, never broke a single rule. hid a tack upon his chair once, wishing joy to fill his cup. when he came and sat upon it we all shouted "going up." chorus. those were happy days for fair, placing tacks on teacher's chair, hiding near, but out of view, just to see what he would do. teacher jumped with every joint when he found he'd made a point. that was how he got a raise. gee! but those were happy days. one fine day we played at hookey, from our morning studies stole, had a reg'lar summer picnic down at our old swimmin' hole. yes and tommy soaked our trousers, tied 'em up in good hard knots. you kids had to get some barrels then sneak home 'cross vacant lots. chorus. those were happy days for sure. our dads tried a water cure, licked us every one so good that at supper time we stood, and the folks all over town knew we'd rather not sit down. how we shrank from public gaze. gee! but those were happy days. the central national bank rockefeller building j. j. sullivan, president e. w.oglebay, vice president c. a. paine, cashier l. j. cameron, assistant cashier capital $1,000,000 surplus and profits $600,000 truinart ri vin brut nicholas ruinart was the first man to make and sell champagne 8888800 1729 he founded his house to make ruinart champagne the best wine in the world he chose the sunny slopes of rheims. in france. as the best place in the world at chicago in 1893 the world's fair jury gave to ruinart pere & ruinart maison fondée en 1729 poheims schuyler sale ages for the us the highest and only award for brut champagne the wine wise of the world sustain that award and say the one wine is ruinart to be had at the best clubs and hotels in the cmlized world. champagne haig & haig scotch whiskey highest quality imported into the united states roosevelt & schuyler new york sole agents for the united states winton the six appeals to women because it runs sweetly; to men because it does everything on the throttle; to mechanical experts because it marks a new perfection in motor making. the winton six-teen-six will appeal to you, because it is the best of the sixes. starts from the seat (on compressed air) without cranking. takes hills on the direct drive where you formerly dropped back to noisy gears. creeps through traffic on the high gear. joltless, jerkless. goes the route like coasting down hill. precisely the car for the man who wants the best there is. the winton motor carriage co. branch house huron road and euclid avenue. the giddy cadet oh! girls, you can hardly believe me, it seems most too good to be true, but i'm sure that my eyes don't deceive me, the west point cadets are here too. i've seen 'em myself, just this morning, they're coming this way pretty soon and i beg you'll take heed to my warning when a giddy cadet tries to spoon. chorus. for if each cutting glance were a saber and every curl were a spear, he would laugh and your cheeks he would rifle of kisses, with never a fear. he thrills at the scent of the powder that clings to your kerchief or glove. his heart beats the faster and louder when he charges on his lady love. the illustrations in this book are samples of the quality of work that we furnish. we refer to american chicle co., bishop & babcock co., the cleveland hardware co., mechanical rubber co., sherwinwilliams co., standard oil co., and hundreds of other satisfied customers, including all the large printing establishments of cleveland and vicinity. our plant is the largest of its kind between new york and chicago. call us up on either phone for prices on electrotypes, nickletypes, half-tones, zinc-etchings, wood-cuts, etc. : : : : the lawrence publishing co. 1013-1017 oregon ave. n. e., cleveland phones: north 595 and central 4119-w every drop is delicious of this famous old wine, it has got all the vigor and vim of the vine; no wines of french vineyards such virtues contain: it's the joy of best judges---great western champagne great western was the only american champagne to receive a gold medal at paris---and was acknowledged by parisians to equal the most select imported brands. in great western extra dry champagne you will recognize the taste of the old world's best vintages---at half the cost. it's the duty, not great western the quality, that makes the difference. the quality extra dry firsel of grapes is what imparts to fine champagne its flavor. particular care in making and ageing is essential, but the fine, rich, mellow, yet delicately flavored grape, is necessary. great western is made from grapes having the same fine qualities as those grown in the best vineyards of france. cultivation of the soil, extending over nearly one hundred years, in the great western vineyards at rheims, n. y., has developed the ideal vine that produces this fine wine grape. the process of making great western is identical with that of the finest french wines. absolutely pure and is aged for five years in the latest improved modern cellars. try great western pleasant valley wine co., sole makers, rheims, n. y. sold by dealers in fine wines and served in hotels, restaurants and cafes. hayden, miller & company this firm buys and sells investment bonds which are suited to the requirements of trustees and prudent investors generally. these bonds are not of interest to speculators but meet the needs of those with whom safety of principal is the prime requisite and who are satisfied with the largest income compatible with such safety. this firm also holds memberships in cleveland stock exchange and as a broker, will execute orders to buy and sell securities which have a cleveland market. citizens building telephones: bell, main 284; cuyahoga, central 463 cleveland troop a riding academy co. corner east 55th street and curtiss avenue. east 325 saddle horses for hire ¶instruction in ring and out door riding given to beginners on well broken horses. for terms in¶ quire at the academy from the riding masters g. l. stephens wm. sharp she: he: she: he: kiss and make up again just as the two of us used to do, when we were boy and girl. you had me ever in love with you, keeping my heart awhirl. think of the hours in quarrels spent, bringing their bitter pain. but this little blossom was always sent, then we kissed and made up again. both: chorus. just a wee bit of azalea, wafting a message sweet, begging that you would forgive me, breathing of love complete. ever the same the tale it told, ever the same refrain, ever the same reply it brought, kiss and make up again. hear ye! if a building, home or mansion, you should erect some day; let us install your heating, and you'll be glad to pay. who? the chafer company heating and ventilating contractors high pressure piping a specialty 431-33-37 champlain ave. n. w. both phones the standard tool co twist drills standard tool co. reamers, taps, chucks, milling cutters and special tools office and factory cleveland, o. eastern salesroom 94 reade st., new york. incorporated 1849. society for savings in the city of cleveland. individual deposits undivided profits surplus fund $51,134,093.31 259,235.82 3,000,000.00 eighty thousand six hundred and twenty-six depositors the winning widow some widows we're told are both stately and bold oppressed by their burden of care. to them life is tragic and offers no magic, to banish the ills that they bear. but there're some in the fold more inclined to be bold, who manage on pleasure to thrive. to their way of thinking a manner that's shrinking makes nobody glad you're alive. chorus. the widow who makes the real hit must all her arts employ. she'll flirt and coquette just a bit, and be a trifle coy. she'll sweetly and slyly beguile and cleverly contrive to make you by wile and by use of her smile feel glad that you're alive. the neighbors may say that her hair's turning gray, but none of their jests seem to reach, for blithely and gaily she doctors it daily, with purest of chemical bleach. or perhaps they may say as your good neighbors may her waist line is losing its place, but why should she worry or fall in a flurry as long as she knows how to lace? the cleveland & sandusky brewing company high grade beers, ale and porter, brewed from the choicest malt and hops. on draught and bottled to be had at all first class bars and cafes. put up for family trade in cases of two dozen bottles. bottling works phones bell, west 113 cuyahoga, cent. 3933 prompt delivery. || 3 the hermits in trade 1 cast of characters hon. william s. gilkey-now blowing his head off in the orchestra. listen for a sour note-there! that's bill. master arthur j. caldwell-premier dan-souse of the hermits in appearing tonight as second ingenue-whatever california. that is. herr charles s. brooks-once an actor but married now. mons. arthur d. brooks-responsible for this programan actor for three years-but now reformed. scenes act i. morning at the office. scene i-great excitement!!!! man buys a mimeograph without looking. scene 2artie caldwell sells two lead pencils without the aid of a net. act ii. afternoon-at the golf club. bill gilkey, the best golf player in the printing business (but not in any other). play in the rain without the use of a blotter. can act iii. evening at the hermit club. the brooks brothers open a bottle of red ink. synopsis every morning from ten to twelve these actors may be found at the office of the brooks company, 715 superior avenue, (who is paying for this ad.), where they will be pleased to take orders for printing and office supplies. a handsome souvenir to every lady. curtain the o. m. stafford & goss co. general insurance representing the accident and liability departments of the travelers insurance company of hartford, conn. 601-607 century building 414 superior ave., n. w. the dancing lesson ponies. see our handsome teacher, all the way from france. count. come and i will show you how you ought to dance. ponies. that's what we are here for, bright and fresh and gay. count. that's the way to be dears, on this perfect day. ponies. isn't he a darling, with his graceful mein? count. aren't they just the cutest squabs you've ever seen? ponies. teach us how they dance across the ocean blue. count. follow me and then you'll see just what to do. so watch me closely please, the lesson's now begun. i take some steps like these, to show you how it's done. with swing and with chasse you pirouette and whirl, and then you have the dance au fait, just like a spanish girl. pure whiskey our number 31 thirty one finest procurable the weideman company cleveland, ohio established 1861 guaranteed under the national pure food and drugs act, june 30th, 1906 registered no. 2300 the masons' supply co. cleveland general offices and display rooms schofield building 1908 sun. mon. may 1908 tues. wed. thurs. fri. sat. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 15 16 11 12 13 14 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 31 "the hermits in dixie” builders' materials wiltshire hams wiltshire bacon wiltshire lard you may be certain when you ask for the "wiltshire" brand that you get the best that scientific curing and careful selection can produce. the cleveland provision co. p. s.---there is one of our stores in your neighborhood. main store, sheriff and bolivar. cuyahoga, erie 290; bell, main 2007. all: finale-act 1 the ruler of the sea see the gallant sailor, medals on his breast. triumph of the tailor is that manly chest. master of the ocean, neptune's chum and pal man of our devotion, handsome admiral. brilliant, noble, dashing, ruler of the wave, sets the whole sea splashing by his manner brave. voice of thunder, he's a wonder, with his manner fierce and brave. admiral: all: it's many a trip in many a ship i've made in my long career, for i've lived by the log like a sad sea dog, for nigh onto fifty year. i had rounded the horn before you were born, in a vessel the size of my hat, and it's never a wind that has troubled my mind since i was as high as that. since i was as high as that, my boys, since i was as high as that. i have ruled o'er the sea in the great navee since i was high as that. 1 3 a good insurance rule -never be without a policy in the liverpool and london and globe ins. co. neale bros. & schryver, agents we write all kinds of insurance at 701 park bldg. both phones corday & gross printers and designers engravers illustrators commercial photography a specialty 113 st. clair avenue vulcan building cleveland, ohio standard bottled beer rin hren brew bottled at the brewery under government inspection the standard brewing company train ave. and big four railway cleveland, ohio admiral: all: all: finale-act 1 the ruler of the sea—continued we were sailing one day near the shores of bombay with a million of sharks in view when one hungry beast climbed aboard for a feast, and a panic arose in the crew. but a life on the wave had made me so brave that i rose to the point like a king, and reckless of fate i called to the mate, and told him to kill the thing. i told him to kill the thing, my lads, i told him to kill the thing. now i'm (he's) known as a hero from here to janeiro, for i (he) told them to kill the thing. we've been listening to his tip on the christening of the ship, and we'll go to see her take another name. merry measure, brightest pleasure, shall be rulers of the day. we'll enhance our daily leisure with our celebration gay, as we christen, christen, christen, this good ship here in the bay. the moncrief all cast furnace moncrife henry & screible jc kinan k.c.mo. unsurpassed in the great essentials, simplicity, durability, economy, capacity, comfort the henry & scheible co. cleveland the outbursts of everett true guess i'll go over to see the hermits tonight... пи aw, forget the hermits! come over to our house and play bridge ah, how vividly i can see the old homestead mother is tending the little flower garden, and.... ****..] oh, my head!! **** ondo with the best wishes of the cleveland press quality of goods, treatment of customers and fair prices are the lamps that light the way of commercial progress. the standard oil company swinging in the twilight amid the southern twilight, gently swinging to and fro, each maiden with a suitor at her side; her eager lover coaxing her to choose him as her beau, each girlish heart a brimming o'er with pride. just see him as he swings her to the music of the band, or to the softer music of her voice, and hear him beg that she'll at once bestow her heart and hand, and bid his lover's hungry heart rejoice. chorus. swinging, swinging, gently to and fro, in the softly fading twilight's golden glow, where the southern zephyrs sweetest fragrance bring, we will pledge devotion as we swing, swing, swing. now swinging thus at twilight seems to weave a mystic spell, that makes the maidens do as they are bid, and if you'll promise, 'cross your heart, the secret not to tell, i'll let you know just what these couples did. from somewhere in the neighborhood an order was received, that seemed to catch the ear of every miss, and both my eyes are color blind and both my ears deceived unless i saw and heard each couple kiss. spiders are added to pulleys according to width of face diameter shaft face 6" to 104" 1" to 8" 3" to 40" if efficiency, strength and economy in power transmission equipment interest you the "oneida steel pulley" will. years of practical and technical thought and experience have developed this, the most perfect pulley made. the cleveland tool & supply co. 1515 and 1519 columbus rd., cleveland, ohio "the hermits in dixie they all know and appreciate a good thing when they see it. of course they all patronize the garlock frazee laundry co. nearly everyone wearing eye glasses has felt the need of a pocket knife with eye glass screw driver the illustration shows our mintosh heather brand pearl handle pocket knife with one each large and small cutting blade and screw driver. it is very highest grade and every man should possess one. quality supreme mcintosh heather reg. u. s. pat. office very highest grade cutlery tools hardware in plaid covered boxes is sold everywhere the mcintosh hardware corp'n 725-729 superior avenue n. w. exterior of the hermit club drawn by hermit c. s. schneider entra rope few amateur actors are aware that there is a special rope made called "hangman's rope" used in the execution of criminals. we can supply same to anyone in the audience on short notice. leave orders with the ushers. the upson-walton co. "the news" and the hermits when the hermits went to holland the cleveland news was about as big as this when they went to spain the news was about as big as this when they went to california the news was about as big as this when they went to dixie the news was about as big as this the paper that interests everybody built for the home and going there chas. a. otis, publisher. da chasmar-winchell press he hermits and others of th discernment who wish to increase the dividends on their investments know where to buy the sort of literature which helps to sell goods. the chasmar-winchell press has blazed the trail to success both for itself and for others by unswerving allegiance to the highest traditions of the art preservative of the arts-printing. if you are one of the few unfamiliar with chasmarwinchell results, drop in and see mr. c. p. odell, 1035 williamson building. cleveland new york pittsburgh the nature fakirs admiral: i used to own a flyin' fish, a full sized hundred pounder and kept him in my cabin with an octopus and flounder. i taught those fishes how to act in such a careful manner that soon i had 'em trained so well they'd sing star spangled banner. chorus: it sounds like a li-it sounds like a liit sounds like a likely tale. it's really such an easy thing to make a school of fishes sing it sounds like a likely tale. importing ailors w. h. coffee & company tailors sixth floor of the hippodrome building leader moses "ma goodness, when dat moses cleveland get his nose in dat leader paper, he nebbah do eat his breakfas' an' an' an' anah-how i want dat papah mahself." "he allus say he aint had no breakfas' 'thout the leader." news for all from all over: dramatic news, sporting news, society news, political and financial news every department complete. get the leader tomorrow 010 the cleveland insurance agency chauncey o. ransom, manager fire insurance the total resources of companies represented in this office aggregate fifty-eight million dollars cleveland trust building euclid avenue and east 9th street hayward h. kendall, pres. george a. enos, v. pres. & treas. john m. neeson, secretary bascom little walter c. teagle paul j. rainey the hayward h. kendall co. miners of steam and domestic coal 628-629 citizens building cleveland sales agents for lilly coal co. nungesser coal co. spring coal co. the cleveland & midvale coal co. the shivery moon all 'round about the old plantation, pick'ninnies tremble with fright. dere's something makes 'em start and shiver and steal away from sight. it's when de moon is in de darkness, away behind de big black cloud dat ghosts will come and steal dem chillun hush! don't you talk out loud. chorus. hear how de moonbeams whisper and say watch out below! look where you go! ghosts am a coming to steal you all you'd better watch or they will get you sho. tea-kettle is settin' by de chimney, singin' a mournful song. dogs am a baying in de graveyard through all de whole night long. your rabbit foot should get a workin', jes' 'cause dem spooks has got us, most. and so you better all be careful, hush! don't you hear dat ghost? we serve the hermits with the famous kar-a-van coffees the rich, creamy kind the gasser coffee company green river the whiskey without a headache the whiskey without a headache green river whiske "she was bred in old kentucky" ms culloch-the distiller-owensboro.kentucky matchless in merit. perfect in purity. premier in popularity. quintessence of quality. highest awards at all expositions paris, 1900, to jamestown, 1907. for eleven years and now the official whiskey for exclusive use in all u. s. navy hospitals. if it's good it's green river famous in literature "david harum" "people you know" "tristram of blent" "you never can tell" "three men on wheels" "little rivers" by edward noyes westcott by george ade by anthony hope by bernard shaw by jerome k. jerome by rev. henry van dyke and innumerable other standard books speak of apollinaris thus recognizing it as the standard table water of the world kamerer & benes tailors garfield building fireplace in hermits' cloister drawn by herm't c. s. schneider 00 the morgan lithograph co. cleveland, ohio read cleveland town topics published every saturday society, automobile, music, drama, literature $2.00 per year $1.00 six months postpaid on sale at all news dealers cleveland town topics (established 1887) the best medium in cleveland for high class advertising. its wide circle of readers. comprise the most cultivated and most exclusively fashionable in northern ohio. the value of such a circulation to those whose business appeals to people of luxury and taste and who have the means to buy what they want, cannot be overestimated. the makeup of the paper is such that advertisements are all next to reading matter. advertising rates furnished on application. cleveland town topics co. 319 caxton building, cleveland, ohio president jno. m. gundry vice presidents harley b. gibbs h. w. king treasurer j. horace jones secy and cashier walter s. bowler asst. cashier louis c. kollie directors jas. a. king a. t. perry a. f. house s. h. tollies jno. s. oram chas. p. ranney f. f. prentiss h. w. king frank r. scofield harley b. gibbs frank c. osborn jno. m. gundry j. horace jones edward s. page established 1890 the lake shore banking & trust company cleveland, ohio pays 4% interest from date of deposit t date of withdrawal. you can deposit at any timeyou can withdraw at any time; it does not affect your interest. over nine thousand depositors. over three million dollars on deposit. we solicit your account in person or by mail. st. clair cor. 55th prospect cor. huron open saturday evenings. spalding trade spalding made reg u. mark in u. spat. off. bros a. g. spalding & bros. spalding trade bros spalding made mark reg u.s. pat.c in u.s.a off. ask billy stage and frank meade about spalding's athletic goods. uniforms worn by the cleveland base ball club manufactured by a. g. spalding & bros., 741 euclid avenue. send for catalogue a. g. spalding & bros. 741 euclid ave. get aboard the auto just to show that he was not a bloomin' jay and to take a look at all the doin's gay, fer to see the city capers he had read of in the papers uncle hiram came to town the other day. he was goin' to do the thing up good an' brown, turn the city inside out and upside down, so he guessed 'twould be befittin', at the start to take a sittin' on an auto-mo-beel bus to see the town. chorus. hey there! say there! don't get in the way there get aboard the wagon if you want to see the sights. we will see 'em good and proper, we don't care a single copper, and we'll show these city fellers that we've got 'em dead to rights. why not give the finest equipped garage in cleveland a trial we employ skilled workmen in every department and are exceptionally proud of our battery department. twenty-five years' knowledge and experience in battery construction is at the disposal of our patrons. all work done by us is guaranteed first class in every respect. open all night the cuyahoga motor car company bell, doan 1599 10547 euclid ave. cuy. cent. 2210 agents for the national car and studebaker electrics. we invite you to visit our store and shop where we make hand made shoes to order. our shoes conform to the nerve centers of the feet and the style of the day. the well dressed man or woman wears them. why don't you? boyd & dean, 2060 euclid ave., cleveland phones bell main 1606 grill room in connection hannan & mcglade cafe 2028-2036 east fourth street formerly 22-24 sheriff st. cuyahoga cent. 2263 cleveland, o. the guardian way to offer each hermit and all others the four essentials in banking service, capable management stability, ample resources our depositors number some of the largest firms and corporations in cleveland. they realize these features in our institution. save we pay four per cent interest the guardian savings & trust company guardian building wade building 322 euclid avenue 803 superior avenue the geo. h. bowman company sheffield plate see our new importation of this fine old ware. exclusive novelties shown for the first time in cleveland. :::::: 224, 226, 228 euclid ave import wholesale retail the mint julep some folks may find their pleasure in sparkling rosy wine, but quite another treasure i always choose for mine. of all drinks most seductive and most alluring too, of sweet content productive, it bids you when you're blue, just press unto your two lips, with fever's fire accurst, a glass or two of juleps-and pray for further thirst. chorus. sweetest of visions and fancies, dazzling your heart and brain, dreaming that thrills and entrances comes as each glass you drain. thoughts of the one who is fairest, dearest and best of them all, love all eternal thou swearest in the mint juleps tall. i sing not of its beauties in overcoming thirst, for drinks have other duties, to be recounted first, the chief of which doth hover o'er every brimming glass to start the tender lover dreaming of his winsome lass. and thus the magic potion of the julep serves to stir your truest, best devotion as you fondly think of her. the bourne-fuller co. iron, steel, pig iron, coke. cleveland, ohio. original budweiser caution see that very cork is branded budweiser anheuser busch brewing association seus 123034 anheuser-busch's budweiser the ideal family beverage more budweiser is used in american homes than all other bottled beers. сомм ommanding the highest price, yet leading in sales, proves that its superiority is recognized everywhere. trade mark n06376 budweiser lager bier saager hopfen bester gas c conrad & co. budweiser is bottled only at the list gasing or anheuser-busch brewery st. louis, mo. the william edwards company distributers cleveland, o. the citizens savings and trust company euclid avenue, near east ninth street the oldest and largest trust company in the state of ohio capital and surplus, $6,500,000.00 directors horace e. andrews c. w. bingham t. w. burnham alvah s. chisholm h. b. corner g. a. garretson thos. s. grasselli kaufman hays j. h. hoyt m. b. johnson ralph j. king bascom little d. leuty samuel mather wm. g. mather h. r. newcomb d. z. norton james parmelee james speyer andrew squire n. o. stone j. h. wade officers chairman president first vice pres. second vice pres. third vice pres. fourth vice pres. secretary treasurer asst. secy asst. secy asst. treas. asst. treas. asst. treas. j. h. wade h. r. newcomb d. z. norton wm. g. mather d. leuty h. b. corner j. r. nutt e. v. hale o. c. nelson h. s. newberry george lomnitz w. m. baldwin w. h. fowler 4 per cent on savings, 2 per cent on checking accounts o'er hill and dale the mellow tone of the echo horn lends a charm to the pleasure of motoring. the horn can be cleaned by passing a thin strip of metal thro the head without detaching from the car or taking apart. the self-cleaning valve never sticks. ¶ for sale by dealers and garages of the better sort manufactured by the echo horn co., cleveland, o. tenbusch building poster for the hermits in dixie drawn by hermit donahey "dixie " 1908 "california' 1907 "holland" "spain" 1905 1906 "oh! look who's here" the mysteries of the court of london . by g. w. m. reynolds new, complete, and absolutely unexpurgated. containing episodes in the lives of the most prominent men and fascinating women in english society from charles the i to william the iv. privately printed by the oxford society, london. for full particulars, address this is reading for leisure hours j. e. findley, care of f. a. niccolls & co., 212 summer st., boston, mass. wedding gifts gifts that adequately and appropriately express your best feelings. gifts that bear the stamp of quality. gifts that breathe the charm possessed by articles of genuine value and honest workmanship. gifts that will afford the favored one lasting pleasure and faithfully inspire bright recollections. the webb c. ball company jewelers superior, corner seneca st. cleveland, ohio the wieber company tailors 919-921 euclid ave. lennox building ice in the jungle the last african expedition, that of richard. harding davis, accomplished one feat heretofore impossible. it placed a lump of ice on the outstretched palm of a dusky native accustomed only to the year-around sweltering heat of the equatorial jungle. to one who had never known anything colder than about 100 degrees fahrenheit, this feat was another evidence of the superhuman power of the white man to deal in magic. "thermos" the bottle invented by reinhold burger, a german, enabled this to be done. the vacuum between the two bottles is such a perfect non-conductor of heat that "thermos" was able to do the trick. similarly in the arctic region. it apparently defies all natural laws, as liquids may be poured out steaming hot hours and hours after they are placed within it. this remarkable invention which keeps cold things cold and hot things hot for an indefinite length of time is coming to be regarded as an indispensable article for the nursery, the automobile, the explorer, the hunter, the mechanic, the mountain climber, the soldier. think of it, baby fed from "thermos" with milk kept at just the right temperature, father and mother asleep again before they knew they were awake. please call and ask questions about this. let us explain its merits to you. selling agents for cleveland the burrows brothers company new england building the hermits in europe arranged their bookings at collver's ocean steamship agency 714 euclid avenue, hippodrome building d. jay collver casper j. miller maxson & perdue general insurance eleventh floor guardian building finale-act 2 music, joy and gladness, rule the happy throng, we will tread a measure gay, on this brilliant holiday, banish thoughts of sadness, with our merry song, we are here to celebrate, christ'ning of the ship of state. virginia: steve: cruel beyond expression, my flow'r he does not wear woe unto me, no flow'r i see, she does not seem to care. virginia: steve: can it be that he is faithless, after his tender vows? i am forgot, she loves me not, my heart in sorrow bows. quartet: come let us tread a measure gay this holiday, let the music's sweetest refrain banish all pain, joy and gladness rule o'er the throng, with dance and song mirth is king, rules over love's domain. g. l. schryver & company formerly h. r. hatch & company the reason our men's furnishing department is a favorite in the city, is because the collection is most tempting at all times during the year. always showing the very latest in ties, plain and fancy gloves, all makes shirts, negligee, outing and dress cuffs and collars, correct styles anything and everything that is novel and best come in and examine the spring line g. l. schryver & company premier means sterling qualities and a thoroughly dependable article model 30 $2,600 30-35 h. p. jump spark and make and break ignition, bosch magneto of the large list of entrants in the last glidden tour, the official annual competitive test of motor cars in america, the premier was the only four-cylinder car listing at less than $3,500, competing for the glidden trophy, to finish with a perfect score. g. s. patterson, 1032 euclid ave. cleveland, o. packard "ask the man who owns one" buick ask frank meade each is a leader in its class the standard automobile co. 1206-1212 huron road wit vs. grit you hermits, your wits have a keen cutting edge tonight they need no grinding,but tomorrow, as you again put your shoulders to the wheel 'twill not be wit but grit that will ease up the "grind." we endeavor to have norton grinding wheels as sharp as the hermits' wits. norton company worcester, mass. represented in cleveland by cleveland tool & supply company act 3-opening chorus yo, ho! for the sailor bold yo ho for the sailor bold, yo ho for the ocean blue, yo ho for the waves that hold us slaves, and the good ship staunch and true. yo ho for the bounding main, as we cross it o'er and o'er, for we'd rather sail in the raging gale than lie in our bunks on shore. yo ho for the life so free as we brave the rolling deep, for we've no care as the storms we dare, and our nightly vigil keep. there is joy in the wind that howls, and it's music just to hear the timber's crash and the waves that dash as we sail without a fear. as a matter of fact, hardly anyone disputes that diamond tires are the best the best casings the best tubes the diamond rubber company 1514 euclid avenue, cleveland factories, akron, ohio made in key west "oh! look what's here" duquesne que ¶ finest havana tobacco if duquesne bouquet cigars are not good, why do we sell so many of them? -try one and you will find out why. the r. & w. jenkinson co. made in key west be it spain or holland, california or dixie. the safety and regularity of the mails places the facilities of this bank within the reach of everyone. 4% on savings; 2% on checking accounts one dollar is enough to start the superior savings and trust company rockefeller building jj sullivan president officers e w oglebay chairman of the board jh mcbride vice president f a scott secretary and treasurer el howe assistant secretary p j darling assistant treasurer the garfield savings bank ¶ savings deposits made on or before the 10th of the month draw interest from the 1st of the month the hermits california in opera house may-27-28-29-30-31-june-1 -matinees100 1905 in-holland 1906 in-spain -de-lighted im sure1907 in-california poster-drawn by hermit donahey. the sterling & welch co. carpets, rugs, floor cloths curtains, shades and upholstery goods 216 euclid ave. cleveland, o. a priceless habit cleansing the teeth with christie's dentals tooth powder or paste christie's dentine elixir and mouth wash general agents strong, cobb & company retail store, 199 superior st. god and king the william i? iv vo⋅p scotch whisky king slainte mhaith am bonneig mhaith john gillon & co, leith, wine merchants to his late majesty king william iv. established 1817. i sole agents for the united states and canada francis o. de luze & go. new york the new wade park residence district wade bros. wade bldg. von liebig's soothing syrup dr. von liebig's soothing syrup has been used for over fifty years. mothers have found it the best remedy to allay all their fears. you've no more use for the teething ring, for this will quiet the little thing. it soothes the child and softens the gums, it is equally good for their little tums. it makes them ready for fun and frolic, a marvelous cure for every colic. sold by all druggists who're alive, at the very small sum of twenty-five. the western reserve insurance company of cleveland 501-506 park building fire insurance only assets, $478,082.06 you're on a belle vernon route--but are you on our calling list? it costs no more to get pure---safe milk. belle vernon milk -a perfect milk. oughreach park shore line c.p.ee.r.r cleveland's finest suburban park. the ideal place for picnics, reunions, outings, conventions, etc. write or phone--we will send a representative to see you. general offices willoughby, ohio r. n. worley, agent 14 public square, cleveland, ohio bell, main 2358; cuy. central 6354 the cleveland, painesville & eastern railroad company willoughby, ohio 生 ​玉 ​fast limited service between cleveland, willoughby, mentor, painesville, perry, madison, geneva and ashtabula. . . . . see local time tables -the bonhard-companydesigners and makers of handmade furniture 2056-2066 euclid avenue our display rooms and work shops are open to you 5% 5% the cuyahoga building & loan co. 5% 108 the arcade pays 5 per cent interest on savings accounts, and loans its money on first mortgages on cleveland real estate only. an investigation will give us your savings account beyond question. we invite you to call davis hawley, president geo. h. ganson, vice pres. w. e. ambler, vice pres. wm. c. leverenz, sec'y a. l. f. albertson, treas. 5% exterior of the hermit club drawn by hermit chas, s. schneider sporting and mufti tailors wetzel established 1874 breeches 2 and 4 east forty-fourth street new york makers modern ideas new england mutual life insurance co. boston, mass. are you willing that the judgment of relatives and friends should influence your wife in investing the estate your judgment and skill have accumulated? having accumulated an estate your duty is only half done. the question now, is how to invest it, so that your wife and children may have a life income that cannot be lost thru the ill advised counsel of any one. the modern policy of the new england is an unbreakable will, tax exempt and safe as a government bond. h. f. mcnutt, gen. agt. 701 citizens bldg. picked this morning that is what oneida chief brand canned fruits and vegetables suggest ¶ grown, prepared and packed in the country; picked in the morning and sealed in tins before night babcock, hurd & co., wholesale grocers. sole agents cleveland, ohio mason & hamlin the artists' piano on account of its great depth, brilliancy, purity, vitality and singing quality of tone, the mason & hamlin piano is used and endorsed by the world's greatest artists as well as by many of our own local artists and musical clubs. we are pleased to refer you to wilson g. smith, j. r. hall, chas. heydler, carl riemenschneider, chas. deharrack, edward krejsa, master carlos rowen, the fortnightly club, singers club, hermit club, and rubenstein club. the mason & hamlin piano is the last word in modern, up-to-date, artistic piano production. exclusive agents: the j. t. wamelink & sons piano company 48 years in business 515 superior ave. n. e. entire building il we shall be content with less than you have ever paid for equal values the lindner co! specialists in feminine apparel, erie street near euclid avenue jacky songs have been sung about sailors, from new york to somaliland; and some have been mooney, and some have been spoony, and some have been all to the grand. but i've got a gay little laddie, who has knocked me clean off me pins, for his winkin' and smilin' has set me heart bilin', and made me forget all me sins. now any one can be a soldier, and wear a fine sword on his hip, but you got to have nerve uncle sammy to serve, down below in an old battleship. that's why i'm soft on this laddie, that's why i call him my own; the pride of the navy, he's fine fancy gravy, and sweeter than ham near the bone. chorus. jacky-jacky-home again from sea, jacky-jacky-you're the lad for me. put your arm around me jacky, throw away that old to-baccy. and i'll give you such a smacky, o-0-0-0-0-h-jacky. ((after for you made in new york alfred benjamin hello!! say, mr. hermit, do you know that we make shirts to measure in our own factory on the premises? bennet & fish outfitters for men and boys 301-303-305 euclid avenue accident and liability insurance trongest company .. strong assets 86 millions .. honest contracts .. fair rates .. complete claim department with immediate service, affording direct dealing. all of this with the aetna w. g. wilson, manager sixth floor, cuyahoga building barton & guestier bordeaux established 1725 fine clarets, sauternes and olive oil louis roederer rheims champagnes, brut, grand vin sec, carte blanche gordon & co. dry gin e. lamontagne's sons, agents 45 beaver st., new york where society goes after the theatré the gillsy grill room just around the corner east 9th street fine music cuisine unsurpassed fe elliott-fisher adding typewriter combining the ability to write, add and manifold all in one operation an ideal machiné for writing, adding, proving, transit collections, remittance letters, depositor's monthly statement and ledger send for sample forms nos. 37, 38 and 39 elliott-fisher company 812 huron road (caxton building) cleveland general offices and factory, harrisburg, pennsylvania w. h. teare, president w. r. creer, secretary a. w. ellenberger, vice president the cleveland savings and loan company 826 superior ave. n. &. a safe place for savings accounts loans made to buy or build homes my old time dixie girl of maidens fair with beauty rare and girls of high degree there's one alone i'd call my own, she's all the world to me. she's won me by her manner sly, and captivating ways, my love i'll give while i may live to the girl of olden days. chorus. there is something charming quite that fills you with delight about the stately gibson maid. while you'll find a taking way in the manner recherche by the christy girl displayed. you will be bewitched, i'm sure, by the maiden so demure, who wears the fluffy ruffle curl. but despite these works of art you will surely lose your heart unto the old-time dixie girl. there's beauty in her dimpled chin, there's music in her voice. and gentlest grace in form and face that makes my heart rejoice. with guileless art she wins my heart in countless different ways. all these and more make me adore this girl of olden days. chorus. you will find the greatest wealth of glowing radiant health about the mountain climbing maid. and there's daintiness complete in the summer girl so sweet in her bathing suit arrayed. while the strong athletic arm lends a certain sort of charm when at golf she takes a whirl. but these girls are not for me and my praise shall always be unto the old-time dixie girl. there are many high class securities listed on the cleveland stock exchange selling below value, which if bought now would yield an attractive income and should eventually advance materially in price. we shall be glad to talk with you on the subject parsons, snyder & company investment brokers 312 garfield building members cleveland stock exchange dixie songs and dances, popular for generations, but ever new, now "go to france" and get a life policy, reliable for generations and new in 1908, with lower premiums, higher guarantees and all the most liberal provisions. over $6,000,000.00 insurance carried in the cleveland agency. e. miller france general agent george w. saywell special agent state mutual life assurance company of massachusetts 504-505-506 new england building the best laundry work in town we is within your reach. phone east 345 or central 4952 brings the wagon. make a specialty of handling fine linen. the davis laundry co. east 66th and linwood. down town office the w. b. davis co. 307 euclid. pabst blue ribbon the beer of quality served with lunch after the entertainment will prove a fitting climax to the evening's enjoyment. just try it. pabst brewing company cor. st. clair ave. and 38th st. n. e. the hermits as well as others know a good thing when they see it hence the reason why they use climax perfection brands of oils, greases, and new process linseed oil soap if for their autos those who don't-"aut-o" you want the highest test, greatest efficiency, and least carbonizing, and lowest possible cost send us your orders. we will guarantee satisfaction. deliveries made to your residence. the climax refining company w. j. rich, president williamson building cleveland, ohio on these lines we have succeeded experienced officers security of funds the soundness of principle reserve safety of investment trust co. liberality of economy of treatment management we should like to have your business the hermits' grill room drawn by hermit chas. s. schneider john jameson irish whiskey ohn jameson & so jj&s blin whiskey dublin jameson for sale by all leading wine merchants d see... both phones the davis, hinig, farley co. for all kinds of insurance and surety bonds chamber of commerce building the hermits at boehmke's dat's de stunt when de show am ober. ". whether you're "a hermit or one of the enthusiastic auditors, the way to retain that happy feeling is to have boehmke's send home something that's good to eat or drink. boehmke's have a couple of stunts of their own ---one's to tickle your palate,---the other's to save you money. the boehmke company 1792 9th st., n. e. 817 vincent ave. n. e. do you know the hotel ponchartrain in detroit where life is worth living? some of the hermits do royal tourist $4,000 corbin $2,500 columbus electric $1,650 a splendid line of automobiles from which to select telephone for catalogues and demonstration reese motor car co. 1 both telephones 2108 euclid ave. ( corner private right of way 444 the saegertown inn home of the famous saegertown ginger ale saegertown the hermits' meditation—november ninth nineteen hundred and seven i. orchestra. ii. review of songs and music of the hermits in california. iii. the grim reaper an incident of the hills by clarence vincent kerr jim ryerson, the post master judge gray, a backwoods jurist cast. dr. pennyroyal, a practitioner of the old school jack dodge, a gambler, known as "the deacon" rev. geo. armstrong, whom the boys call "the parson" hank, the mail carrier billy miners jerry time-in the eighties. place-up state in idaho. hermit nicholas hermit arter hermit spencer hermit kerr hermit creer hermit porter hermit lawrence hermit wieman meadville rye 1903 1000 meadville punyo suttled in bond ure rye miskey adville pen distillers ivania distilling eadville, penna bottled in bond under government supervision and inspection a pure rye whiskey distilled from choice rye and malt---no corn especially adapted for medicinal purposes the cleveland & pittsburg coal co. coal, coke builders' supplies face brick, sewer pipe, hollow block cement, lime, sand and stone yards in all parts of the city energine will run these machines why not try it on your automobile the energine refining co. 809 cuyahoga building shiford the car that is growing more and more popular with cleveland motorists every day. phone or call for a demonstration. have you seen the new garford town car?” the garford motor car co. whitney power block, 1372 e. 12th st. bell north 519 cuyahoga central 1903 studebaker electrics vehicles of great utility for business men. for going to and from the office, making business calls, going to luncheon, running out to the country club, the studebaker electric is as convenient as the once so popular bicycle but with none of its discomforts. charged at home with a rectifier the cost of maintenance is less than that of keeping a horse and carriage. studebaker automobile co., euclid avenue the hermits' meditation—december seventh nineteen hundred and seven i. orchestra. ii. hermit odell, the world's greatest tenor, will sing some songs. iii. hermits royon, bliss, gleason and ford will torture some queer musical instruments. i. our friend, mr. bert howard, will favor us with some selections on the piano. v. orchestra. "hattie, the handsome hash slinger" a big play of city life, by soon wedded hubbard cast. hattie, the handsome hash slinger jack beerdslea, an honest young iron molder hermit pettingill hermit herriman vivian blaire, an adventuress known as "the tigress" hermit maher norman maclougle, alias "dandy jim," a well known man about town uncle biff, the detective hermit enwright hermit steinwedell time-the present. place-cleveland, ohio. synopsis of scenes. act i-scene 1-the hash foundry where handsome hattie works. "the plot." scene 2-hickox alley. "turned adrift." scene 3-the cuyahoga river at night. "death rather than dishonor." act ii-scene 1-the open switch. "foiled." scene 2.-hattie's room. "the fire." scene 3-the old saw mill. "the missing will." act iii-scene 1-silverthorn's place at rocky river. "the struggle on the cliff." scene 2-the gorge below silverthorn's. "the span of 'life." scene 3-home. "virtue triumphant.” two leading fire insurance companies aetna of hartford maxson & perdue james w. lee & co. agents phenix of brooklyn maxson & perdue george h. olmsted & co. agents combined assets twenty-five millions a fact behind every claim we do not merely tell you that these tires are stronger than any other tires -that they will give you longer, better service-we tell you how we make them strongest and most durable. we show how we have so perfected our factory practice that no tire can be defective--that the one you buy, like all the rest, cannot fail to make good every claim for pennsylvania clincher tires these things are clearly told in "factory facts," our new book. get it and read it. 6 factory facts pennsylvania rubber company works: jeannette, pa. cleveland branch: 2134-2136 ninth st. to the hermits greetings and congratulations. may their "footlights" never grow dim; and may they continue to gladden and cheer their many friends with their original and delightful entertainments. the chandler & rudd co. wwwwwww wwwлng e chru 33 bk the dood rogers co miss hattie williams, of the little cherub company, coaching some of the pony squad photo by hermit rogers the gabriel horn the perfect auto signal among the most enthusiastic european users are his majesty king edward vii, h. i. m. the german emperor, h. i. m. the czar of russia, and h. m. the king of spain.:::: gabriel shock absorbers are of the same high qualitytry a set for thirty days and see for yourself. : : : : : : phone or write for particulars gabriel horn manufacturing co. 1407 e. 40th st., cleveland, ohio niagara fire insurance company of ne w york "the following is one of the companies that, in the opinion of the committee, should be placed on the roll of honor niagara fire insurance company of new york. settled in full less two per cent for cash. gross loss was about $2,600,000." ¶taken from the report of special committee of the national association of credit men, on settlements made by fire insurance companies in connection with the san francisco disaster. the henry m. brooks co., cleveland representatives the scribner & loehr co. 347 to 353 erie street opppsite rose building wholesale & manufacturing jewelers makers of emblem goods fownes' gloves are the best sparkling white rock water its delicious healthful purit gives finish to the dinner merea the hermits' meditation—january eleventh nineteen hundred and eight overture hermit orchestra a few "atmospheric disturbances" hermit braggins "death in motley" introducing in their well-known roles: hermit c. a. maher as the burglar hermit c. k. arter as the clown something new and original the hermit mandolin and guitar club shadow-graphs hermit f. r. walker hermits tonsorial by w. a. stadelman jim lathers, a barber shinem upp, a bootblack ed. pinaud, first customer herr toneyck, second customer dan druff, third customer neubro herpicide, fourth customer birdie, a manicure hermit pettingill hermit bunny caldwell hermit ned worthington hermit nick carter hermit mike foster hermit w. a. kurtz hermit charlie thompson scene the hermit barber shop. . the electric of r. & l. electrics long distance fame stanhope body interchangeable with coupe "a fast machine with wonderderful control." the remark of a gentleman after trying out an r. & l. entirely controlled with one lever ¶r. and l.'s are equipped with the new r. & l. locking device and perfection control. a simple little yale lock and key insures you with absolute safety against theft of your car, against starting your machine only in the right way. the electric brake control simplifies the handling of the machine to such an extent that a child can learn to run it perfectly in a few minutes. no foot brake to contend with. this brake is guaranteed not to injure the motor in any way by the inventor "who knows" and is backed by r. & l. carriage co., who can boast of fifty-five years of honorable business methods. a demonstration will convince you. our garage is now at your service. fire, life, personal accident, automobile, burglary, health, credit, and various forms of liability insurance the thomas h. geer company general insurance offices 1523 rockefeller bldg. cleveland hotel euclid european plan euclid avenue fred. s. avery, president "george myers has the best barber shop in america; it is at the hollenden in cleveland.” ---elbert hubbard. from the philistine, oct. 1907. taken with a kodak film store velox store the kodak store also camera store artists' material engineers' supplies scientific instruments "dat am de place" the dodd-rogers co. 1926 to 1936 east sixth st. january meditation—continued the hermit glee club. intermission. the grand slam of the evening will be a "spasm" in one act, entitled, "1950" or, a peep into the future by hermit w. a. stadelman cast. frank meade, "a president, by right" al. davis, "a runner-up, by chance" jack, "a noisy boy, by instinct" toм, "a cigarette eater, by practice" jim, "a dope, by choice" reyburn, "a would-be playright, by lineage" dan, "a bell-boy, by adoption" wright, "a candidate, by request" brown, "a millionaire, by birth" claude, "a waiter, by necessity" hermit frank meade . hermit albert davis hermit frank baker hermit herriman hermit carter hermit mccormick hermit bunny caldwell other members, old men, etc., by the bunch time-a. d. 1950. place the old hermit club. there's only one club, in all this world for me. there's only one club has my sympathy. by themselves while not at all pretentious, you can bet it just suits me. for there is only one club, it's the hermit club for me. as it comes don't buy a new car you don't have to buy a new automobile every season for you can bring your old one to us and we will repair it, repaint it and refinish it, and it will go out of our shop practically as good as new. let us see your car and we will quote you a price. w. h. gabriel carriage & wagon co. 315 prospect ave. n. w. as it goes fashionable shoes for women years of careful study and practical experience places us in a position to serve you in every detail as to style, comfort, quality and the proper shoe to wear at the proper time and place. pumps, ribbon ties, lace oxfords and boots. tan russia calf patent leather and gun metal calf. all sizes and widths to fit and suit most anyone. courteous and experienced salespeople to wait upon you. the scott-griggs co. ninth st. and prospect ave. n. j. bush bush & lavin tailors m. j. lavin main 2483 central 4515 w public square and ontario street 2nd floor park building hanover fire insurance company of new york we know the hermits -andthe hermits know us if in need of our protection call the o. m. stafford & goss co. cleveland agents sweetheart sugar corn sweetheart sugar corn best that comes in the can everywhere 15 cents wohl's hungarian restaurant 1280 west 3d st. bell, main 3651 (150 seneca st.) cuy. cent. 7718-w recognized the most cosmopolitan and ....bohemian restaurant in the city.... daily noon luncheons and evening dinners served. on sundays and all holidays special dinners noon and evening. 'd hote service. table dir. john faust's orchestra the best in the city special equipment for select dinner parties and banquets. private dining rooms 10 the hermit fun feast, march 14, 1908. photo by hermit rogers the w. b. mcallister co. 2165 e. thirty-first street general contractors interior decorations in fine woods furniture to special designs ornamental plaster work composition ornament church furniture fine residences stone carving wood carving modelling churches banks the macadams furnishings for men makers of shirts colonial arcade cleveland • hollenden hotel 1887 e. 6th st. w. h. fournier, pres. moses goodman, vice pres. the strauss bros. co. 317-19-21-23 euclid ave. specialists in fine linens for more than half a century the strauss bros. co.'s linens have been recognized as the standard of linen excellence. in order to meet the demands of our greatly increased linen business, this department now occupies half of the floor space on the second floor, rendering our linen section the largest between new york and chicago. importing our own linens, we are enabled to offer the most exclusive designs and the finest qualities at the lowest prices. wedding outfits a specialty our story lower price better service treatment always courteous the cuyahoga light company musicale for ladies january twenty-fifth, nineteen hundred and eight program. i. the auto race.. .klein hermit orchestra. 2. (a) julia's garden (b) and love means-you... j. h. rogers .j. h. rogers hermit clarence odell. 3. (a) ledende (b) humoreske .bohn .dvorak hermit jas. d. johnston. 4. serenade, "when i think of you"..... ..zamecink hermit f. w. braggins and chorus. 5. in a pagoda .... .bratton hermit orchestra. 6. (a) love's springtime (b) a memory .hammond (c) the pipes of pan .edna park .elgar hermit felix hughes. 7. (a) heather bloom.. (b) mattinata ..arranged by g. l. coleman .tosti hermit mandolin club. 8. winter song ..bullard hermit double quartette. 9. march, arabia .buck hermit orchestra. io. love me and the world is mine. hermit h. n. herriman. ii. traume wagner hermit a. c. klumph. 12. nuages roses (lettre valse). ..berger hermit orchestra. "the society wine” pol roger & co. dry special brut special 1900 on sale at the leading hotels, restaurants, clubs and wine merchants anthony oechs & co., 51 warren st., new york, sole agents for the u. s. fisk tires the best fish bolted fisk demountable fisk standard clincher fisk quick detachable clincher cleveland depot: 1942 euclid avenue all points fares lowest lar daily str c&b line to buffalo daily 8 p. m. via c. & b. line daily steamers niagara falls, muskoka lakes, georgian bay, st. lawrence, adirondack mountains, lakes champlain and george, or any point in the united states or canada the cleveland and buffalo transit co. can ticket you through and check your baggage to destination. information freely given city ticket office, 245 superior ave. dock ticket office, 1290 w. 11th st., n. w. illustrated booklet sent free on receipt of 4 cents postage by addressing w. f. herman, g. p. a., cleveland, 0. the hermits call up east 110 or central 7960 the fuller cleaning co. when carpet or rug cleaning is to be done do likewise three shops for men hats furnishings shoes 1933 to 1945 east sixth street a good show -ing as regards your personal appearance -it's easy to make with one of my straw hats or panamas. know ask the hermits, they brown "he sells hats" london shop up-to-date furnishings for men on old bond street who kno-shirts to order or readyh. c. thayer made and made right old bond street boot shop formerly martin & martin exclusive models in johnston & murphy boots and shoes for men henry h dorn 1945 east sixth street the buying center for cleveland's best dressed men the hermits' meditation-february fifteenth nineteen hundred and eight overture, hermit orchestra. the hermit's lament. a sermonet, by hermit meade. the sunset-limited. courtesy of the lambs. henry york, telegraph operator, sheriff nell york, his sister operator at reno jim rance, train robber time-january, 1908. place-reno, nevada. scene-telegraph station. hermit f. porter hermit thompson hermit borton hermit enwright how to draw in fifteen minutes hermit donahey. the brass band of bliss introducing many new and unknown musical instruments, also sounds strange and fantastic. the world's greatest leaders have promised to conduct this all star aggregation. be kind to them. intermission during which the hermit mandolin and glee clubs may entertain you with sweet music. the crimson scarf a comic opera in one act. cornario, a venetian noble, member of the council of ten, procurator of secret council of three hermit braggins sassafrasso, a venetian citizen. admirer and translator of seneca ernesto. cornario's son marco, cornario's steward scribline, secretary to the council bianca, sassafrasso's daughter tessa, her maid hermit ford hermit odell hermit thompson . by himself hermit baker hermit herriman and then, low jinks. the performance will start at 8:15, regardless of those present at that time. the superior dry cleaning company dry cleaners, clothes pressers branch 10621 euclid ave. and dyers main office plain dealer building works 2132-40 w. 15th st. branch 3818 w. 25th st. both phones and delivery service reasonable prices and high class work clothes pressing by contract call weekly. ask for rates ye hermits will not always be in if you want to maintain dixie temperature economically throughout your home, install the wise natural gas hot water house heater ask our customers cleveland branch the wise furnace co. no. 8 st. clair ave., n. w. d. s. bray, local mgr. cent. 5820 l main 2185 dixie! no2 lc smith & bros. typewriter co. no 2 ball-bearings wear-defying, frictionless typewriter every typebar of the l. c. smith bros. typewriter has the gardner ball-bearing joint. adds years of practical efficiency to life of the machine. phone us for demonstration. l. c. smith & bros. typewriter co. 640 prospect ave., s. e., cleveland, o. chianti wine shipped by i. l. ruffino florence, tuscany ancient, pure and reliable highest awards at principal expositions wholesaled in cleveland by the weideman company fernet-branca of fratelli branca, milan, italy standard bitters of the world best flavor το cocktails beware of imitations wholesaled in cleveland by the weideman company the purity of borden's milk products has been a fact for over 50 years scondea brand bordens concense milk.co condensed milk eagle brand "the original" est. 1857 they fill every requirement for milk or cream bordens deerless brand unsweetene? evaporated milk peerless brand evaporated milk (unsweetened) be relieved of worry regarding the purity of your milk supply insist on borden's brands borden's condensed milk co. "leaders of quality" new york philipsborn's 326 to 328 euclid avenue women's outer garments the philipsborn chain of twenty-three stores is the greatest purchasing power in the world's garment markets, and at all times you can find here the very newest styles at less than prevailing prices for equal style, quality and workmanship. : prosit fun feast march fourteenth 1908 cover for march menu drawn by hermit a. d. brooks hermit club fun feast 1908 adb }} glos&bennitt | 210-212-214 superior building manufacturers of high-grade custom shirts, pajamas, and underwear to measure importers of foreign shirtings—ask the hermits d. e. foote rubber co. pioneer auto tire dealers. we are sole agents for the tire of the day —“the g. & j. tire"-the tire we know to be made right and will give you the worth of your money. our repair department is the oldest and best equipped plant in the state operated by experienced and skilled factory workmen, using factory methods, we can guarantee prompt and efficient servicegive us a trial. headquarters for auto tires, bicycle tires, carriage tires, automobile and bicycle supplies d. e. foote rubber co. 326 frankfort ave. always cresh and she 鄉 ​rushed oats address the great western ereal company dats "more mother's oats are consumed in the united states alone, than any other one brand' the public's verdict as to quality! the great western cereal company burrows burrows into all life jusurance problems you've talked to others, now consult himhe will tell you! mr. harris bradbury burrows, jr. general agent the home life insurance co. of new york the citizens building cleveland the forest city steel and iron co. structural steel for all purposes cleveland heavy wire work both phones bailey, lawrence, cunningham, clark, reeves, walcott, brooks, sholes as the town boys in the hermits in california photo by hermit rogers absolutely pure trade una mark erated duffy's pure malt whiskey is made entirely from malted grain, and is the ideal whiskey for medicinal purposes and general use. it conforms to the requirements of the united states pharmacopoeia, and is guaranteed under the national pure food and drug act. being sold only in sealed bottles, duffy's pure malt whiskey reaches the consumer in its original purity and strength. it has long been the reliance of the weak, the ill and the aged. druggists and dealers $1.00 per bottle. duffy malt whiskey co., rochester, n. y. up-to-date in equipment preeminent in service the j. b. savage company printers and blank book makers cleveland established 1869 our kid glove cleaning and retinting makes old gloves look like new. send us a sample pair and we will be sure to get all your work s the parisian dry cleaning company dry cleaning, dyeing, feather work phones and autos walter j. james h. r. manchester the james & manchester co. fire insurance 611-613 garfield building j. a. manchester p. s. ruggles we buy the best and sell the best good enough will not do the r. g. miller coal co. 400 schofield building telephones main 862 central 5334 prompt-careful-neat delivery all grades of coal and coke for steam and domestic purposes if you are not our customer, give us a trial summer prices now in effect cowboys--baker, colt, ford, rieley, kline, sanford, pickard, kurz cowgirls-beidler, brooks, stamp, thompson, greene, fuller, caldwell, ernst in the hermits in california photo by hermit rogers for the newest creations in footwear visit n. o. stone & co. at all times you can select from a wide range of original styles and designs for street or house wear. for spring and summer we are offering many clever ideas in pleasing effects in black and the fashionable colors. our lines of party footwear for both men and women are complete at all times. n. o. stone & co. euclid avenue. the frederick post co. manufacturers of st's drawing in waterproof black posts pos standard and premo brands blue print and sepia papers and cloth preferred cross section papers, etc. post's waterproof drawing inks. hamlin and avondale aves. chicago. pacific coast branch, 135-137 second st., san francisco. don't be silly proud be patriotic and drink hommel's natural fermented american champagnes white star brands extra dry (red star sparkling burgundy the m. hommel wine co., sandusky, 0. the continental fire insurance co. of new york capital, $1,000,000 liabilities, $8,895,860 assets, $16,399,452 policy holders' surplus $8,503,591 secured by a net surplus ($8,001,894) exclusively protecting american policy holders, larger than that of any other company. important advantage of inspection by experienced men. prompt attention to adjustments ensured by its large force of traveling men. sixty-three millions of dollars paid for losses since organization, and over fifty years of business are guarantees of fair treatment. every honest loss claimant paid one hundred cents on the dollar. cleveland agents the o. m. stafford & goss co. nos. 601-607 century building git cleveland new $1,250,000 d. & c. steamer to be operated between cleveland and detroit. allan line steamship co., ltd. the pioneer canadian line turbine steamers montreal to liverpool royal mail service new twin-screw steamers montreal to glasgow moderate rate service to london via havre these services provide a choice of routes with accommodation equal to that offered by any line. seven days to liverpool, eight days to glasgow. send for descriptive pamphlet of the new allan lines. akers & folkman, local agents, 189 superior st., cleveland. allan line steamers are fitted with most modern appliances for the safe carriage of all kinds of perishable cargo. apply h. & a. allan (head office), montreal, or "the allan line," 77 yonge st., toronto, canada. photo by hermit rogers sherwood, grover, gill, newcomer, gardner, cutler, hart, carter as the seminary girls in the hermits in california ground glass focusing and film convenience combined in the most compact of cameras. that's what you get when you get a filmplate premo ¶you get a camera much more compact than the ordinary film instrument, which uses films or plates with equal facility. ¶you get the best automatic shutter and the finest lens obtainable outside of the anastigmats. you get a camera with rack and pinion focusing device one which permits you to focus each subject on the ground glass, whether films or plates are used. ¶you get a camera which, in attractive appearance and absolute efficiency, is second to none. and you get a choice of this remarkable instrument in three popular sizes, at extremely moderate prices. 34x4, $24.00 34x52, $26.50 4x5, $26.50 catalogue of this and over twenty other styles, mailed free on request. write for it today. rochester optical division 60 south street eastman kodak co. rochester, n. y. guar guarant old yl as cor the bottled in bond coin o of sacredly sv old taylor the premerkentucky washly bottled in bond the realm old taylor bottled in bond ¶ for forty years the best beverage whiskey in or out of america and the most largely imitated and infringed. e. h. taylor jr. & sons (inc.) distillers frankfort, kentucky corning glass works corning new york afternoon tea-private dining rooms and assembly rooms for all occasions --weddings-receptions --banquets -card parties and private parties--at 1301 euclid just east of union club tellings plaster nill the cvela lders supr stable mixing mill, cleveland we are the largest manufacturers of hard wall plaster in the central states territory. will be pleased to furnish pamphlet upon application. the cleveland builders supply company general offices, garfield building, cleveland, ohio gypsum mills, port clinton, o. oakfield, n. y. the hermit base ball team on april 1st, 1905, a ray of intelligence appeared for a moment on the ponderous face of rufus p. ranney and then disappeared forever. "fellows," he said, "we must have a ball team." "oh, goodie!" said mr. james mathers, "that would be swell." just then mr. william j. starkweather emerged upon the scene. "we want you to join our ball team," said rufus and james in raucous tones together. "high, fish, or snow," said william, just like a flash. (will was considered a great joker in those days.) "that's a good one," cried young r. prescott beardslee, with a loud guffaw. "all right then," said rufus and james together, "you can play first base." "now," said rufus, "shall we make this a society team or have al bailey?" so they decided to ask mr. albert bailey to join the team. "have you ever done anything in athletics, mr. bailey?" they asked him. mr. bailey answered them immaculately, his natural modesty struggling with a pardonable pride. "i was chief rover on the kalamazoo business college croquet team when i was a mere callow youth." "then you must be in good practice now," drawled mr. starkweather with a sly leer. "that's a good one," cried young r. prescott beardslee with a loud guffaw. pleased to secure such a valuable member for their team rufus and james grasped him warmly by his hands and feet. just then they espied charles augustus maher trying to hide behind a wild westcoat. "he can't play ball," said rufus with a sneer. "yes, but he always looks so swell," said james. "you will be our pitcher," they said together. 'i thank you men," said charles showing his teeth. mr. roger enwright happening to wake just at this moment, they timidly approached this great man and requested north british & mercantile insurance co. organized 1809 assets in the united states over $6,800,000.00 $2,330,000.00 chicago, 1871 $ 750,000.00 boston, 1872 some conflagration losses $ 860,000.00 st. johns, 1877 paid by this company $ 148,924.00 jacksonville, 1901 $ 792,333.24 baltimore, 1904 $3,100,000.00 san francisco, 1906 the "old north british" has paid over $148,000,000.00 for losses during its ninety-nine years of organization. the o. m. stafford & goss company, agents cleveland, ohio sam thompson old monongahela pure rye whiskey ja ja ja va aaa the peer of the finest made b. h. fitzgerald opera house buffet entrance from lobby and east 4th street formerly sheriff street cuyahoga phone c. 4508-w "watch us grow" the may co ohio's leading department store first in everything a complete auto supply store everything you want everything at cut prices automobile owners can now buy everything in the supply line at the may co. and save all kinds of money. ¶ we handle only first quality goods, but like everything else we sell, they are priced on a fair profit basis. ¶ out-of-town autoists are invited to make this department their headquarters, their meeting place and their information bureau. it provides for all your wants and makes you feel at home. fifth floor maxwell perfectly simple and simply perfect we are introducing this car to cleveland users with the record of four years of absolute success elsewhere. you can see these wonderful cars at our down-town salesrooms, 1938-40 euclid avenue, or at our east end agency, the wentworth garage, 11406 euclid avenue. maxwell-briscoe-cleveland co. c. g. bleasdale, manager. wabash lines wheeling & lake erie railroad have inaugurated five-hour service between cleveland and wheeling. these trains are solid vestibule and carry electric lighted cafe parlor cars, in which meals are served on the a la carte plan. for full information inquire at depot ticket office, no. 2242 ontario st., cleveland. phones: main 582. central 275. c. s. crane, gen. pass. agent, st. louis, mo.. r. f. kelley, asst. gen. pass. agent, pittsburg, pa. the hermit base ball team—continued his participation. he received them kindly, but immediately asked, "do you intend to wear knee pants?" they replied wonderingly in the affirmative. "then i can not join you." he said sadly. "but why?" said rufus and james together. he turned away, vainly struggling with his emotion. "my legs." he cried-and broke down completely. regretting that it was impossible for mr. enwright to be on the team they looked around for other possible candidates. mr. mortimer w. lawrence happening to get in their way, they told him he could belong. "but i don't play baseball," he lisped. "oh, that's all right." said rufus and james together, "we just want you for a portable back-stop." they now had a very formidable looking team. but they needed more ginger. so you can imagine how delighted they were when they discovered mr. albert rees davis playing one of his own compositions on the piano. he readily agreed to play at any time he was not composing. "would you care to join our ball team?" they asked mr. chas. w. stage. "yes and no," he replied with a wise judicial frown. "you are just the man to be our umpire," said rufus, who admired mr. stage's decision of character. mr. "oh, goodness," said james, "we mustn't forget mr. meade." everybody immediately said, "oh, no, we mustn't forget mr. meade." so they appointed mr. mortimer w. lawrence a committee of three to wait upon him. lawrence waited some time and then as he did not appear they decided to seek him. they finally found him in his boudoir, playing on his auto-harp and singing in a low, sweet voice. he readily agreed to play on the team, his only provision being that he should be their captain. realizing the justice of his position he was promptly elected. mr. meade immediately took charge of the team in his inimitable way and after inspecting the list of members said: "we now have a fine nucleus, but we ought to have some substitutes to represent us on the field." realizing the seriousness of this charge they formed themselves into a conclave and elected the following: country rides "maple leaf route" traversing the most beautiful section of northern ohio the scenic line to gates mills, chesterland caves, punderson lake, bass lake, horseshoe glens, chagrin falls. passenger, mail and express service. party rates. special cars. the eastern ohio traction company robt. d. beatty, receiver 701 electric building cleveland, ohio small pocket rices trade mark oes rme registered 1 pound 2½ pound 3 pound one pound mother's cotton pockets conforming to pure food laws convenient clean economical no waste new orleans fancy head rice if your grocer does not keep them in stock, please mail us a card with his name and address. packed down in dixie by orme rice packing co. small pocket rices .new orleans 497787 good old guckenheimer since 1857 rye bottled in bond bottled in bond guckenheimer purerye whiskey bottled of 4 cuckenheimer & bros usa boys! i've known it for 50 years its in all that time it has been the same good old whiskey. purity and distinct flavor have never varied "since 1857" it has been pure whiskey-every drop whiskey. a. guckenheimer & bros.. distillers, pittsburgh, pa. britton printing for advertisers. -because it is always good; the qualities that go to make up good printing are always carefully looked after. correct typography, color harmony and stock selection these are the earmarks of all britton printingthe worth-while kind. the britton printing co cleveland george a. roper steubenville, ohio underwear of the highest grade made to order only. make garments in all silk, all linen, all wool and all cotton, and in combination of each, viz: silk and wool, silk and linen, silk and cotton, etc., in both union suits and two-piece garments. either style, sleeveless and knee length, measurement form and samples on request. office and salesrooms national exchange bank building cleveland to toledo via the lake shore electric railway company. limiteds every two hours. fare one way, $1.75. round trip, $3.15. making direct connections at toledo for detroit and all michigan points fare cleveland to detroit, one way, $2.55. round trip, $4.65. the hermit base ball team-concluded mr. alcinous ward fenton, jr. (because his name looks so well in print). mr. joseph c. royon (played on the ohio agricultural college roko team). mr. reginald squire (to lick the umpire). and mr. guy s. gardner (water carrier). there was considerable discussion as to the eligibility of mr. john w. pickard, jr.. until mr. mathers proved conclusively that he parted his hair in the middle, when he was elected without one dissenting vote. they now had the most wonderful team of baseball players ever gathered together under one tent, and as mr. meade gazed upon the unique, bottle-scarred faces of those who were to uphold the honor of the club upon the baseball diamond, a feeling of loyalty and pride filled his manly chest. "we will have out first meeting next saturday night," he said. "bring in the high-balls." and they brought them in. * * * i wish i had the power to tell of the wonderful fight that al davis made for lavender suits with old rose stockings. would that tongue could tell of james mather's impassioned plea for mauve uniforms with yellow organdie trimmings. oh, that i could remember the oratorical rhapsodies of al bailey as he stood-tears streaming down his human, though untamed face-begging for maroon blouses and pink pants. but to what avail when frank meade-our frank-arose and spoke, as only frank can speak, for yellow-plain, simple, spotless yellow. suffice it to say that yellow from that moment became the emblem of the team. * * * [ed. note. while it is true that out of 59 games played in three years the hermit baseball team did not win one, still it cannot be denied that they were always immaculate in appearance, refined in conversation and courteously polite to their opponents. a few more teams like this would make baseball-not the rough, coarse, rowdy game as played by the masses today-but a social education,-a ray of sunshine in an unenlightened world, a thing of beauty and a joy forever.] "your duds and our suds" eagle laundry aaaa va fa cleveland, ohio 55&copale b ale bass ale guinness stout mcmullen's white label forcic extra trrat pints and splits gate london & lancashire fire insurance co. of liverpool, england the o. m. stafford & goss co. century building, 414 superior ave. n. w. agents sectional bookcases made in oak and mahogany adjustable shelves 23 with art glass, plate glass or plain glass doors w noiseless rolling doors artistic and harmonious effects are produced by grouping the various sections, desks, etc send for illustrated catalogue the cleveland desk company the perfection spring company automobile spring specialists and makers of the famous perfection types. the most comfortable springs made guaranteed for one year against everything. any type of spring made and repaired 2414-18 superior ave. n. w. cleveland a week's pleasure in a day steamer eastland το cedar point daily after june 13th-8:30 a. m. connections made at cedar point for sandusky, lakeside, islands, toledo, $1.0 00 round detroit trip liberal inducements to organized parties dock and office, 1090 river ave. main st. bridge. herbert matthews as miss mehitable storke chas. w. stage as buchanan lamb roger c. enwright as sierra bill chas. k. arter as tony padded van general we move pack, ship and store household goods. expert packers of furniture. warehouses centrally located and well ventilated. goods stored in individual lockers. our teams handle everything. let us make you an estimate. the general cartage and storage co. 1111 superior viaduct fireman's fund insurance company of california summary of annual statement january 1st, 1908 liabilities assets bonds and stocks $3.551.362.50 losses in process adjustment real estate, inc. home office loans on bonds and mortgages 566,054.00 re-insurance reserve $ 404.382.38 2,870.737-iy 297.980.00 loans on collaterals 182,500.00 all other claims and demands capital paid in cash cash in bank and company offices 500,648.15 net surplus 256,036.83 1,600,000.00 806,922 01 premiums in course of collection 737.428.25 marine premium notes 31,965 40 all other assets 70,160.73 total admitted assets $5.938,099.03 $5.933,099. 1 surplus to policy holders, $2,406,922.01 has paid $40,000,000 losses, including $11,000,000 in the san francisco disaster central department, chicago, ill. marshall & mcelhone, managers 171 la salle street the henry m. brooks co., cleveland representatives the conspicuous merits of hunter baltimore rye are purity, quality and uniform excellence guaranteed under the national pure food law an absolutely pure rye whiskey sold at all first-class cafes and by jobbers, wm. lanahan & son, baltimore, md. hunter hunter baltimore rye baltimore rye wuest crushed fruit chocolate specialties maraschinos floridas waldorfs sherberts marguerites the wuest-bauman-hunt co. 1584-1594 east 19th street cleveland, ohio ¶on the concert stage, if it is unprejudiced choice; in the colleges of highest aim; in the homes of true musicians; it is always a steinway end ople decorator and painter wall paper and paints a large selection of imported and domestic wall hangings in stock 10305 euclid avenue and 105th cleveland res. 2124 east 96th st. bell, doan 2344 cuy. central 2547 the spirit of '76 mason, worthington and walker fred w. braggins as ben sheridan albert rees davis as henry clay knott scotch whiskey distillers by royal warrants of appointment and suppliers to h. m. the king and h. r. h. prince of wales black & white is all right james buchanan & co., ltd. 29 broadway, new york arthur j. billin, u. s. manager the fred g. clark company oils and heavy chemicals leateroid roofing trade mark registered "the best under the sun" can be painted in durable colors. see "leatheroid" roofing on the "elysium." ¶ insist upon getting genuine reliable "leatheroid" roofing for your barn or auto shed. sold in cleveland by the davis, hunt, collister co. 2056-2062 ontario the goff-kirby coal co. 5413 euclid ave. 11705 mayfield road e. collamer and n. y., c. & st. l. r. r. south euclid ferris & calhoun 10421 st. clair ave. r. s. taylor 9209 kinsman road the union paper & twine co. 131-137 st. clair avenue n. w. qu jerry mcnaughton leads with the scissors you will find in our clothes a certain distinction of style that only the most artistic designing and skillful tailoring can impart. clothes for business or formal functions. jerry o. mcnaughton co. tenth floor, citizens bank building cleveland mr. moon song, in the hermits in california photo by hermit rogers orient insurance company of hartford, connecticut we are insuring the "properties" of "hermits in dixie." we can insure their cleveland property---just as well. cleveland representatives the henry m. brooks co. coral jewelry is of the most refined taste for summer wear. we have the finest selection in the city. the schauweker brothers co. jewelers 18-20 colonial arcade vichy celestins who said kornlet fritters? my, but they're good! there's no limit to the making of tasty things with kornlet. it is the sweet, creamy pulp of young, tender, green corn-free from hulls and husks. kornlet (the heart of the kernel) comes in a can; but it isn't canned corn. unusually delicious and nutritious. in kornlet you have green corn the year 'round. look for recipes on every wrapper. valuable book of recipes sent free on request. if your grocer hasn't kornlet, write us. the haserot canneries co., cleveland, ohio, u. s. a. for gout 420 -20-gestion nom de la source tsur la capsule etablissement thermal. vichy lindquer ganda leting des demands propriete de letat ces de l'etat glesting -crolle ropital parc sources c celestins grandefuc natural alkaline watne 240 paris celestins a few of our specials club house sundae has always been popular ginger ale individual 5c bottles and they're cold too marischino cherry soda a soda with distinction chalk-o-late nut sundae nuf sed grape rickie will quench the thirst maple nut sundae. that's all mexican limeade fresh limes from lima jap ser sundae don't miss it honey boy sundae there you are girls claret phosphate we recommend it frozen grape punch for those who like water ice coney island sundae has a reputation the standard drug company opposite opera house euclid, corner erie "keep your eye on continentals” continental ready flated tires are being enjoyed by many cleveland motorists satisfaction guaranteed on demonstration by distributors the continental agency company 1268 euclid avenue, cleveland jr. office boy back of the scenes with from the cleveland press. the hermits. davis, mathuse an staige singin (by the junior office boy.) i went up to the hermitts' show and normen mackloud he took me in behind the seans whair i could see all them foney girls rite up clost an see how they was fixt up. wel it sertenly was grate, i wouldent of beleaved that sutch things could be did with the humen fraim as wot gits run to them poor hermitts befoar they turn them loose on the staige. an say dont you forgit it, sum of them imitashen peeches aint sutch a poor artickle at that, this charly sherwood he looked pretty good to me wen he got his fais fixt up an his shaip on, and so did frank newcummer. but the candy kid amung the hole bunch of freshly-shaived ladies was walter boler, say if eny pittsberg milyenaire was to braik into the opera house this weak and git a rubber at walter, theyd hafto put a boddygard around wally to keap him frum bein kiddnapped and marrid. all the fellers is good, them that pretends they are men as well as wimmen. mortimar lawrense an sterlin hubberd is grate as indens, they dont do nuthen but walk around and look they dident smell good, an if that aint playin indien rite then i dont know. fred braggens has got the hardist part in the hole show, makin love to horasho herramen, a swell job i dont think, fred has to kiss horasho in one act, i dont think thairs no danger of eather of em rubbin any paint off their faises when they mix it. i liked the hole dern show, both from in front and behind, charley staige and herbert mathuse and gorge pettengil and charley maher (no relation to peter) an al davis and claranse odel an all the rest of the ackters is mity good, they kin danse an sing a blame site better than sum travelin hamms ive pade my munny to see. golden wedding.... pure rye whiskey the standard of quality ba distilled by jos. s. finch & co., pittsburgh, pa. for sale by all first class dealers skinner "geared pattern new model drill chuck same. after selecting a well made drill, you will want a well made, strong gripping chuck for our "geared pattern" chuck is made entirely of steel, and operated by rack and pinions. a band operated chuck, save for the final grip on drill. no projections to catch waste, break off, or injure operator. particulars? the skinner chuck co. 94 reade street new york city 344 church street new britain, conn. sun insurance office of london. founded a. d. 1710 کر oldest insurance company in the world 198th year of active business existence cleveland agents: the o. m. stafford & goss co. nos. 601-607 century building western department : 171 la salle st., chicago h. n. kelsey, manager p. t. kelsey, asst. manager the stowe-fuller co. manufacturers of magnesia, chrome, silica and high grade fire clay brick cleveland, o. we import our own dead burned magnesite and chrome ore pittsburgh, pa. the chamberlin metal weather strip is used on all first-class buildings is specified by all leading architects chamberlin metal weather strip company builders exchange, chamber of commerce building, cleveland, ohio j. j. rauscher, mgr. main 568 central 1575 charles a. maher as montmorency poore in the hermits in california photo by hermit rogers you will be surprised at the easy, comfortable washday fels-naptha soap brings! half the usual rubbing is saved; no harm to clothes; no hot water needed. "canadian club" whiskey distilled and bottled by hiram walker & sons, limited walkerville, canada f. b. squire, president geo. w. balkwill, vice pres. and manager r. r. squire, secretary and treasurer the semisteel company manufacturers of manganese steel, nickel steel, steel castings, light and heavy machinery castings of every description office 501 and 502 new england building cleveland, o. bell main 1240; cuy. central 6222-w works at chagrin falls, o. 25 years hard service from one belt seems too good to be true, but a 24-inch double shultz sable rawhide belt did even better for the pioneer cooperage save money in belting co, st. louis, mo. this belt drove the main shaft [250 r. p. m.] on the second floor of their plant from the engine located in the basement. seven years ago, after 25 years of steady service, this belt was removed only because the larger engine and additional tools which were then installed required a 36 in. double sable belt. under date of feb. 5th, 1908, mr. w. palmer clarkson, secretary of the company, writes about the belt: "we still have it and it is in good condition." this company still evidences its faith in sable by using it exclusively. shultz sable belting is by far the least expensive, although its first cost is a trifle higher than that of oak-tanned belting. remember that sable being tanned on the outside only, has (1) a soft surface which runs slack without slip, and (2) a rawhide interior, which gives strength, life and pliability. sable transmits from 4 to more power because it runs with low initial tension and does not overheat the bearings nor seriously wear them. try a sable belt for 60 days free. write for booklet and free sample. shultz belting co., st. louis, mo. for sale by the cleveland tool & supply co. cleveland, ohio baker electrics the new baker runabout the supremacy of the baker among electrics has long been conceded in the automobile world. this leading position has been gained through years of making the electric vehicle most efficient in mechanical design, most beautiful in appearance and finish and most satisfactory in everyday use. ¶ more baker electrics sold in cleveland last year than all other makes combined. there must be just cause for this. baker owners are satisfied. local representatives and salesroom the price bros. carriage co. 1216 huron road baker queen victoria the baker motor vehicle co. west 80th street an appreciation of george bernard shaw. reprinted by courtesy of the editors of the yellow kid. to say that george bernard shaw is a transcen-dentist is to proclaim an otherwise illusive and expectory truth in too diverse fashion. he is pliescent, that is cognately certain; this despite the deeply psychic opinions of that anarach schlitsky. shall we hazard a statement that he is unerring in his close and at the same time open theory of the matrimonial chaoticism; that theory which for good or bad is now generally amulable? amulable?-what a trend of thought that word suggests! leading one as an aerolite to the tenuous visions of things unfulfilled. and yet we use it advisedly; for mr. shaw in his high wrought moments when he tears loose in his forensic debauchery and shakes the foundations of asthenic convention is no less than so or even possibly more, rather more than less and yet how sad; sad as an unremembered joy or woe that is to be and is not, and in being not, yet is and is to be, and yet is not: sad as the hush-of what? who shall say, lest in saying he shall eventuate a collocism. do you ass or super-ass! mr. shaw in his own heart does not know which, and in not knowing, he becomes collatively a bigarite. doubt it, gentle reader? is he not diapetic and doesn't that obtain for bigarism? and then-but no, that first collarary is proof. and who shall deny the truth thereof? amulable and a bigarite! what then? does he construct when he destroys? or is he himself an anarach? do you ask proof, you unbeliever? listen, then, to the triatode of the icelandic poet "to destroy is to have not and being so it sweeps on to a dim futurity." could anything be more succinct? it is not for nothing that swine breathed the pure aid of higher criticism. and yet these moods of g. b. shaw must be approached sanely as does approach the hunter the wild flamingo with turmid tail, lest by a very overplus of appreciation the fruit wither and fall. a mulagoose? no, and no again! shaw would be the first to disclaim the syllabus, for shaw with all his frantic and splenetic, yet. docile impressibility is still a mugalope. in his heart of hearts he knew it too, wily, wistful whimperer as he is. and yes and no and how and when, and whither, whence and why: these and other of the scholastic mysticisms. and then the dark. the j. c. wilmot co. painters and decorators 72-74-76 public square 106-108 champlain ave. west wall paper and interior decorations harrison's "town and country" paints colors, brushes, ladders paper hangers' and painters' supplies chew.... beeman's the original pepsin gum cures indigestion and sea-sickness all others are imitations. in the early times we had hermits but like the early times sour mash, kentucky whiskey of today quite a difference from the old style test the difference the lake erie ore company iron ores rockefeller building, cleveland rain coats garden hose water bottles auto apparel m. & w. tires bath room supplies revolving rubber heels 睡蓮 ​everything in rubber sop shop soe so the ohio rubber company 2048 east 9th. rose building "fit and quality" the wolfram shoe co. "foot-form" shoes for men, women and children 1967 e. 9th st. lennox bldg. george b. pettengill as franz onderdekk in the hermits in california photo by hermit rogers you will make no mistake if you ask for a philadelphia underwriters' policy underwritten and issued by the insurance company of north america and the fire association of philadelphia founded respectively in 1792 and 1817 statement of condition, january 1, 1908: total assets, (combined) $19,130.796.30 total liabilities except capitals, $12,486,817.15 surplus to policy holders, $ 6,643,979.15 income from premiums, less cancellations and re-insurance, in 1907, $12,410,205.27 philadelphia underwriters' policies are of unquestionable reliability; nothing better for insurance, apply to the henry m. brooks co., cleveland representatives printing not the ordinary kind_ but the stylish, tony variety ¶ we have a shop standard -every job must meet it the exline company 113 st. clair avenue cleveland, ohio x trade mark if your husband is tired and overworked feed him on the following recipe: "one perpetual inventory, one cost system, one price list, one follow-up system and one ledger, and suggest the elimination of books from his office by recording the data on cards' a card system is a sure cure for office troubles the j. c. hub mfg. co. 1376 west 3rd street cleveland cuy. cent. 4811 bell main 2796-l card index makers wire rope john a. roebling's sons co. :::: 829 superior avenue, n. w.:::: electric wires and cables a great show the finest showing of men's clothes in town at this store, all characteristic of wageman's quality. shirts, neckwear, gloves, hosiery, fancy waistcoats, suits and overcoats. wageman's hats with double guarantee for one year. wageman's quality store euclid at fourth imported beers on draught no better assortment of sea foods can be had west of new york we serve only the best, and right from the ocean daily clams, oysters, green turtle, lobster, hard and soft shell crabs, fish, etc. the stein cafe chas. pfefferkorn s. w. corner public square officersk frank b. meade, president fred s. porter, vice president fred s. borton, treasurer joseph c. royon, secretary frank b. meade a. r. davis directors mortimer w. lawrence joseph h. kline roger c. enwright fred s. porter fred s. borton herbert w. strong joseph c. royon wilbur h. brooks sterling w. hubbard house committee herbert w. strong, chairman charles k. arter justin g. sholes entertainment committee harry a. bliss charles c. clark arthur j. caldwell horatio n. herriman j. h. kline charles a. maher william a. stadelman george h. ganson sterling w. hubbard wilbur h. brooks, chairman louis klein cigar co. distributors for our stores 712 east superior la integridad baron de kalb corina charles the great el mito aquilas smokecraft and a full line of imported brands 30 colonial arcade american house 712 west superior erie and vincent weber's cafe (superior ave.) rathskeller new gillsy hotel colonial hotel end for catalogue giving scuts and description of peerless rubber tiling, the finest floor covering in the world strong, carlisle & hammond co. cleveland, ohio or, peerless rubber manufacturing co. 16 warren street, new york be good! jake mintz is in the house distillata a delightful table water distributed by the city ice delivery co. for the health of the community sabin robbins paper co. middletown ohio sabin robbins, jr., sec'y. compared point by point with others born steel ranges prove the most desirable and the least expensive. no use experimenting or taking chances with any other when you can get this old reliable and certainly satisfactory cleveland product so easily and so cheaply. many sizes and styles---for coal or gas. the born steel range co. 2163 e. ninth new center photo by hermit rogers horaito n. herriman as betty bard in the hermits in california a clear havana cigar of the highest standard in quality and workmanship the "lozano” manufactured in tampa, fla. distributed by 705 euclid ave. cleveland, ohio. ben rich better milk a test will convince you beech glen farms milk is pure milk a milk produced, handled and delivered in the manner which characterizes this product must be pure. no effort, expense or precaution is spared in delivering to our trade a dependable milk both phones the lander-phillips dairy co. 5624-26 kinsman road s. e. petrequin paper company 1236 to 1250 w. 3rd st. cleveland paper makers for the hermit club millions of people are using the great atlantic & pacific tea co.'s the original a. &. p. store was opened in 1859 and it was operating 10 branches in 1860 50 branches in 1870 100 branches in 1880 150 branches in 1890 200 branches in 1900 300 branches in 1907 teas, coffees and groceries all goods warranted or money refunded we buy direct from the producer and sell direct to the consumer. you save 25 to 40 per cent cleveland stores 2105-2107 ontario st. 14 prospect ave. s. e. 2600 lorain ave., corner 26th st. n. w. 451 broadway 438 woodland ave. 8435 broadway 5400 broadway, corner barkwill ave. phones, main 1940; central 5093 dress like a hermit we e mean like a cleveland hermit, fashionably and in good taste. you can do it too if you let us help you. we don't make cheap clothes, but we do make good clothes at moderate prices, $25,00 to $50.00. you'll be pleased with our splendid line of fabrics and the way we make them up. come and see us or phone for our salesman and samples. the getz co men's merchant tailors pythian temple 917 huron rd. mary g. shaw artists' model corset shop 1317 euclid avenue opposite hotel euclid corsets and lingerie advanced models in corsetry members b abbott, gardner albright, charles a. alburn, w. h. arter, charles k. ashbrook, herbert g. bailey, albert c. baker, frank s. bates. frederick g. beardslee, r. prescott bedell, abner h. beidler, jr.. j. arthur bicknell, warren bierce, george w. w. bliss, harry a. blood, john h. blossom, dudley s. bonnell, william f. borton, fred s. borton, thomas e. burt, bowler, walter s. bowman, william p. bradley, g. j. braggins, fred w. brooks, arthur d. brooks, charles s. brooks, wilbur h. brown, edwin h. brown, everett l. brown, m. stanley brown, william h. bulger. william bulkley, robert johns burke, jr., edmund s. charles e. caldwell, arthur j. cameron, louis j. castle, carl chisholm, wilson k. clark, charles c. coventry, charles c. crawford, harry j. crawford, w. j., jr. creech, harris creer, william r. cool, henry c. croxton, david t. cunningham, john f. curtiss, charles e. coulton, george a. comstock, charles w. curtiss, edwin s. cutler, sam c. j. milton dyer f. g. bates, associate j. milton dyer architect cuyahoga bldg. you will save money by trading at the new sheriff street market j. p. brogan wholesale and retail grocer we carry a full and complete line of first class goods. centrally located. deliveries made to all parts of the city. telephone orders solicited. bell phone, west 228; cuy. cent. 5458 1386-1388 west 25th street our aim quality and prompt delivery. our lines are complete. prices right. pay us a call. the list-fisher-morris company corner east 4th street and high avenue just from de troy prompt service makes perfect work the troy laundry (o popular with particular people just from de troy dautel, carl dautel, george davis, albert rees devereux, harry k. dielhenn, clarence a. dinsmore, robert a. donaldson, harry c. donahey, j. h. duncan, william m. dyer. j. milton edwards, harry r. ellenberger, albert w. eisenbrey, arthur b. enwright, roger c. ernst, e. g. fenton, jr., alcinous w. foster, james h. fleming, w. j. ford, louis j. fuller, clifford w. fuller, ralph l. fuller, s. a. gage, benjamin a. ganson, george h. gardner, gry s. gilchrist, joseph a. gilchrist, john d. gilkey, william s. gill. paul stanley goss, ralph h. green, albert e. greene, edward b. grover, maurice b. gundry, john m. hall, g. abeel hall, j. v. hard, dudley j. hamilton, james m. hanna, jr., howard m. hannaford, a. w. harding, frank i. harris, herman a. hart, william f. hasbrouck, n. beebe herrick, parmely w. herriman, horatio n. higbee, william t. hine, charles p. hitchcock, reuben hitchcock, h. morley hough, addison h. howe, frederick c. hubbard, sterling w. hughes, felix the mcnamara-edwards shoe company correct footwear for particular men and women ready to wear $6.00 to $10.00 1881 e. sixth st. made to measure $8.00 to $14.00 hollenden hotel 25% operators to pay your haberdasher more than a twenty-five per cent profit, is extravagance. snappy and right men's furnishings that are always of high quality, may be had at both stores of the griese brothers co. on the twenty-five per cent basis. the griese bros. co. the republic belting co. 1616 west third street manufacturers of pure white oak bark tanned leather belting vessel, railway, mine and mill supplies schwegler & company makers of artistic furniture 5715 euclid avenue factory, 1908 e. 59th street you you will find a complete line of the famous pencil stripes in blue, also van dyke browns, caribou tans, moose colors and leather shades at a. c. yesinger's, tailor 25 public square american trust building, near court house euclid and bond weber's restaurants 242-248 superior ave. el principe de gales fabrica de tabacos expo publica real 1852 j862 ydini cris usa empereun el principede gales factories havana key west. tampa. king of havana cigars the j. b. moos co. 1114 euclid avenue cleveland, ohio distributors s. w. hubbard and m. w. lawrence as mr. and mrs. ramona in the hermits in california photo by hermit rogers mooney brothers high grade tailoring 1876 east 6th street n. e. quality furniture we are belivers in the gospel of good furniture. we have preached that gospel for years, and stand ready to prove that no man can afford to buy the other sort lederer furniture co. rose building 809 euclid avenue 2042-8 east 9th street james g. moore haberdasher printers the caxton coengravers cleveland 33 "the house complete" under one roof one management printers photographers engravers artists the caxton company wilson harris & son builders higbee's a store of character and quality. leaders in retailing of high class merchandise the higbee company cleveland ingersoll, leland jackson, ward b. janes, julius f. johnston, james d. kelly. george h. kendall, hayward h. king, frederick warren kline, joseph h. klumph, a. c. kerr, clarence v. kilfoyle. john f. kraus, joseph r. kurz, w. a. lash, horace w. lawrence, c. ray lamprecht, jr.. william h. lawrence, paul terry laundon, mortimer h. lonergan, pierce w. lawrence, mortimer w. lusk, milton w. mcallister, william b. mccormick, douglas mcdonald, charles a. macgregor, jr., john mcintosh, henry p. mckeehan, homer h.. mcloud, norman c. maher, charles a. mansfield, howard marvin, f. r. marlatt, william h. mason, edwin l. mathers, james mathews, herbert maxson, william b. may, john u. meade, frank b. merkel, arthur e. merrick, f. ickes miller, jr., john l. morgan, alphonso h. morgan, percy j. murch, jr., maynard h. murray, william p. "sec and pommery •bfuc the standard for champagne quality. the best champagne that nature, skill and expense can produce francis draz & co., sole agents u. s., 24 hudson st., new york. "a music store" isn't saying much, but, "a music store unabridged," that's different it's mcmillan's on erie street if there's anything musical we haven't got, name it and you can have it turn in on erie and stop opposite the rose building the p. c. o'brien company o'brien building prospect avenue and eighth place grocers, importers and wine merchants wholesale and retail we cordially invite you to inspect our very large and carefully selected stock of "everything to eat and drink that's good" and learn the low prices prevailing. d. h. pierson, sec'y and mgr. conrad hessler. treas. the rheinheimer co. men's tailors 1264 euclid avenue cleveland, o. this program is all printed with carter's printing inks for the best catalog work, specify carter printing inks the carter printing ink co. w. 457-l c. 4634-w 2106 superior ave. n. w. casualty company of america liability, boiler, plate glass, accident, health, fly wheel insurance home office, kuhn loeb building 52-4 william street, new york bartley j. doyle, manager state of ohio 509-10-11 chamber of commerce bldg. the otis-moore gompany 6000 euclid avenue decorators designers and manufacturers of fine furniture, importers of wall papers, drapery and upholstery fabrics. bell phone east 872 new york entral lines when you think new york think lake shore railway numerous trains and everything for your comfort. fox nash, samuel t. nash, william f. nash, richard p. newcomb, robert b. newcomer, frank c. nichols, andrew b. norton, robert c. odell, clarence p. otis, jr., charles a. paine, charles a. parmley, jr., benjamin perkins, roger c. pettee, harold f. pettengill, george b. philpott, william b. pickard, jr., john w. pollock, wilfred s. porter, frederic s. prescott, orville w. ranney, rufus p. rattle, william rees, william f. reeves, frank h. reiley, oliver r. richards, franklin b. robbins, lawrence s. rogers, arthur c. rogers, j. e. royon, joseph c. runyon, jr., walter c. rust, john f. rutherford, james a. sanders, clarence e. sanford, h. l. schneider, chas. s. scott, john r. scofield, sherman w. shackleton, william e. sherwin, george n. sherwin, john smythe, arthur b. somers, charles w. spencer, richard selden squire, reginald r. stadelman, william a. stage, charles w. stamp, charles e. starkweather, william j. sherwood, charles f. stebbins, howard s. sholes, justin g. shupe, harry p. shurmer, edward d. siddall, george b. smith, arthur m. steinwedell, william e. stockwell, jr., john n. strong, edward l. strong, herbert w. strong, s. e. terabentine the practical equal of turpentine at lower cost sales agents grace & housum 580 arcade weddell house annex rear of klein's cigar store 185 superior street the union elevator company 1732 merwin road euclid hen food, euclid chick food---chickens north or south of dixie, all scratch for it. no equal. ¶we also sell the best for the horse. as an egg producer it has of oats, corn and hay cleaning of evening gowns and dress suits a specialty. dry cleaning and dyeing of all fabrics. lace curtains cleaned and retinted. feathers cleaned, curled and dyed ** the d. o. summers cleaning company 6220 carnegie avenue phones, east 311 erie 184 you need them in cleveland just as you would if you lived in dixie : bonds of every kind you, employer, owe it to yourself to guard, by fidelity bonds, against unexpected embezzlements. see me and secure the bonds of the strongest surety company, the company that pays its losses, american surety company, of new york. capital $2,500.000; surplus $2,264,859.56 m. stanley-brown, manager for northern ohio, garfield bldg.; both phones drink a little sarge the mcmyler manufacturing co. cleveland, o. locomotive cranes car dumpers bridge tramways clam shell buckets orange peel buckets after the show-a broiled lobster or any other seasonable delicacy at the hofbrau wm. buse, prop. the garford co. elyria, ohio manufacturers of the garford chassis sold as a complete car by their distributors the garford motor car company 1540 broadway, new york the garford motor car company 1372 east 12th st., cleveland advertising statistics the executive committee of the hermits in dixie wish to thank the individuals and firms who are advertising in this program and request that the hermits and their friends patronize the advertisers whose generous support helps to make it possible for us to give these shows. the following list shows the hermits who have secured the most advertising. 17 pages, w. s. pollock. 134 66 64 8 61 5 5 44 544 433 34/ 3/1/1/ 34 در 3 21 21 2 64 46 64 46 44 "" 66 46 66 66 m. w. lawrence. j. h. kline. c. c. coventry. a. h. bedell, g. j. bradley. e. g. ernst. w. h. brooks. f. j. woodworth. g. s. gardner. c. c. clark, s. t. nash, h. p. shupe, s. e. strong. w. j. crawford, jr., f. w. king, h. w. strong. e. d. shurmer, a. d. brooks. h. c. cool. j. r. kraus. h. j. welch. c. k. arter, w. h. brown, c. b. ford, j. e. rogers. t. e. borton, a. h. hough, g. h. kelly, m. p. klumph. after each performance of "the hermits in dixie," the members of the club and friends will find airships awaiting them on public square to carry them to the penobscot inn, detroit. reservations may be made by wireless (martian code). trips will be over the famous "washed air" route. ¶p. s.---if unable to make this journey, don't forget the penobscot inn on your next visit to detroit. it is the large restaurant of good cookery, beautiful surroundings and splendid music. brennan & fitzgerald, props. accident dividend policy double benefits for automobile accidents. "the best ever" call me up on main 1281 or central 1647 and let me tell you about it. i write all kinds of insurance wm. m. butts, 812 park building, cleveland, o. graflex cameras reasons why the graflex gives better results than any other camera: 1. it is equipped with a focal plane shutter working from time to too of a second. 2. it is so constructed that the picture can be seen full size of negative, up to the instant of exposure, right side up. 3. it may be used with film, plates or film packs. 4. it will make perfect pictures under conditions that would result in failure with other cameras. 5. it is a hand camera instantly adjustable for the most exacting kinds of photographic work. graflex catalog free at your dealer's, or folmer & schwing division, eastman kodak company, rochester, n. y. high class tailoring popular prices satisfaction guaranteed w. m. cunningham co., 214 electric bldg. opp. hippodrome, prospect ave., cleveland, o. the cleveland frog & crossing co. highe safety george stanton, sales agent quality durability cleveland colonial hotel handsomely appointed restaurants and grill. special attention. given to fraternity banquets, luncheons and after-theatre suppers. popular sunday evening table d'hote dinners. music in restaurants before and after theatre. restaurants delightfully cool in summer. the cuyahoga telephone company efficient local and long distance service call contract department central 31 "reed" garments are carefully studied and planned to meet individual requirements,---quality, style and character always in evidence. the fancy weaves and patterns we show strictly confined to us. the harvey l. reed co., tailors, established 1889 1907 e. 9th st., near euclid. the hermits know a good thing their hermitage is heated by ideal boiler and american radiators sold by the w. m. pattison supply co. 197 to 211 st. clair ave. cleveland tame, alfred g. teagle, frank h. teare, william h. terrell, hez. m. tewksbury, russell b. thompson, c. e. tillotson, edwin g. townsend, william j. valentine, harry r. wade, jr., jeptha h. waite, george s. walker, frank r. wall, william e. wallace, robert b. wasser, george w. waycott, albert welch, henry j. white, rollin h. white, walter c. white, windsor t. whiting, william b. wilbur, rollin a. wilson, j. roberts witt, john p. wolcott, frank b. woodworth, fred j. worthington, edward l. wright, charles c. wright, harland j. young, thomas e. zamecnik, john j price of electrical supplies is nothing; cost is everything. which do you want-low price or low cost? expense or economy? if low cost, economy, come intelephone-telegraph-write. 118-124 e st clair ave erner electric co frances w. hammond coal, coke, wood and kindling east 30 north 1013-l 5209 euclid ave cleveland please order now at summer prices owing to the late and backward season, we are making reduction on our spring and summer woolens. 615 superior ave. n. w. just a reminder! w. j. garson & co. tailors om hibbard tom 415 prospect-ave. all the good people know him and those that don't should get acquainted duff's molasses enterprise electrical co. contractors a. oppenheimer "wire for us---we shall wire for you. 5307 euclid ave. wires: bell east 29; cuy. cent. 6928 visit our new location i. greenstein merchant gailor opposite new postoffice 258 superior ave. n. e. cleveland 66 j ust because we grow the best flowers is no reason why you should buy from the other fellow" the j. m. gasser company two stores if buying articles of coolness we demonstrate remarkable proof of the power in price, which will appeal to you where'er you look about this store. the women's suit section and the waist section are making special price inducements on sheer, airy and summery garments. the williams & rodgers co. the korner & wood co. books stationery artistic picture framing 737 euclid avenue, cleveland art if there's something you don't know just where to find, try us stearn &⋅co· 240 to 248 euclid avenue the cuyahoga coal co. stands for all that is best in fuels for every purpose. always at the lowest prices, consistent with absolute square dealing. give us a trial, we can please you. yards in all parts of the city general offices, 601 citizens building cuyahoga, central 1057 bell, main 2214 phones : non-resident members anderson, j. scott barker, arthur e. batchelor, jr., harry a. bates, alexander c. bates, george d. beebe, r. w. bolles, robt. e. boynton, arthur j. bruner, c. t. burnham, robert w. cady, edw. h. call, d. w. cartwright, w. y. campbell, e. t. canfield, b. k. carter, c. e. clarke, n. j. connell, frank croxton, herbert a. curtiss, john s. davis, chas. w. day, wm. f. deming, paul h. eagleson, stuart eppley, eugene ernst, alfred ford, carl b. freeman, h. e. frye, john k. gardner, fred goodbody, thos. p. greene, frank h. griess, jr., justin hale, edwin w. hartley, s. w. hinkley, c. w. hopper, charles h. hunt, e. m. huntley, f. p. new york city elyria, o. saginaw, mich. new york city akron, o. sidney, o. new york city elyria, o. akron, o. hornellsville, n. y. toledo, o. new york city new york city ravenna, o. geneva, o. pittsburg, pa. erie, pa. massillon, o. erie, pa. colo. spgs., colo canton, o. detroit, mich. chicago, ill. cambridge springs, pa. pittsburg, pa. aurora, o. springfield, o. pittsburg, pa. chicago, ill. toledo, o new york city bedford, o. iola, kans. milwaukee, wis. chicago, ill. unionville, lake county, o. new york city new york city rathskeller "the original" 2046-2054 east fourth street. (old sheriff street) four of the most famous and best imported beers always on tap excellent service the henry koebel company importing tailors, 806 citizens building beg to announce that they have secured the services of a very high class cutter, who was formerly with the wellknown house of "manowitch," fifth avenue, new york. we invite all who desire up-to-date garments to give us an early call, as our line of spring goods is now complete. joseph carabelli the lake view monumental works 12313-12317 euclid avenue, opp. lake view cemetery monuments, mausoleums and cemetery memorials designed, executed and erected in marble, granite or bronze cleveland, ohio quarries: barre, vt. troy, n. h. quincy, mass. westerly, r. i. chapin, trull & co. distillers of pure fire copper molasses -rumno. 33 broad street boston the cleveland electrical supply co. 726 prospect avenue everything electrical the best spread for bread, muffins, biscuit, buckwheat cakes or wafflesfine and dandy for griddle cakes to candy. the delicious extract of whole corn of unequalled quality and flavor. in air-tight tins, 10c, 25c, 50c. karo corn syrup corn products manufacturing company walk-over shoes what's in a name. the beauty or worth of the shoe. behind the name want it to mean. the name in a shoe neither adds or detracts the name simply means what the men the makers of walk-overs planned to make a shoe superior to all others. how well they have done it is evidenced by the fact that walk-overs are considered the standard shoes of the world. chisholm's boot shop superior, opposite city hall de klyn's candies recognized as the standard everywhere. put up in one, two, three and five pound boxes or baskets. the best kind of a gift to make to a young lady. absolutely fresh, pure. ¶ packages chocolate for automobile trips. the hermits in dixieland have no need of furs neither have you in summer it's best to store them at gammel's phone and our wagon will call. the r. w. gammel co. 522 euclid avenue the state banking & trust company your security. the ample resources of this bank and the experience of its officers are guarantees of the safety of your deposits. here you can meet and do business with the officers, who are always glad to serve you. the state banking & trust company main office, 734 euclid ave. market branch, broadway and ontario men's shop the davis & sale co. 743 euclid avenue "togs" for particular men you get all the coffee every time sprague & monroe coffees are different from the average run of coffees found at your grocer's. every package air tight, retaining until it reaches the consumer the delicious flavor and aroma that our scientific blending and roasting gives it. ¶ different prices for different coffees, more strength, more delicious flavor in s. & m. kinds than others. ¶ ask your grocer for s. & m. coffee if he hasn't it he will get it. sprague & monroe coffee co. cleveland wholesale only hungate, wilson jackson. john jewett, john e. ketcham, frederick h. king, clifford j. klumph, m. p. knowles, almon b. mac donald, albert mcdonald, r. a. mcmahon, h. r. manton, h. b. marks, arthur h. merriam, dr. w. h. miller, w. s. more, h. l. new york city chicago, ill. buffalo, n. y. new york city ashtabula, o. mentor, o. new york city erie, pa. pittsburg, pa. pittsburg, pa. akron, o. akron, o. abroad elyria, o. erie, pa. myers, harry e. nicholas, frederic m. pechin, john s. pomeroy, eugene c. rawlings, ralph richardson, e. m. ricker, william w. robbins, sabin, jr. sanborn, h. w. seigle, p. r. skinner, edgar c. smart, allen r. smart, james h. unionville, lake county, o. detroit, mich. new york city lansing, mich. new york city new york city middletown, o. mobile, ala. cincinnati, o. chicago, ill. willoughby, o. smith, c. h. stark, a. l. stair, j. f. stewart, scott taggart, f. f. turner, wm. p. van orman, fred h. vaughn, guy w. wagen horst, j. h. wieman, wm. wilson, s. s. worthington, ralph worthington, george c. capt. alfred aloe chicago, ill. elyria, o. lotus club new york city massillon, o. detroit, mich. evansville, ind. new york city pittsburg, pa. pittsburg, pa. willoughby, o. miami, o. elyria, o. first u. s. infantry de jean beauty builders manufactured by de jean perfumery co. cream charlotte and other products the one line of toilette preparations constructed on scientific lines and which are absolutely pure laboratories 239 e. 39th st., chicago, ill. george m. edmondson photographer in portraiture photographs in color 1822 euclid avenue cleveland, ohio warren foden frank kirian foden & kirian tailors nifty styles, exclusive patterns at prices that are right formerly with chas w. pohlmann 414 hippodrome building, cleveland the comstock brass foundry co. brass, bronze & aluminum castings 2539 e. 79th st. bell east 2497; cuy. cent. 3258-w ramos' venida panetelas sold at the club..... a pure havana cigar s. ramos, 4728 woodland avenue wm. krause & son 2042 e. 4th street opposite opera house costumes for all occasions private theatricals a specialty c. w. schmidt successor to davies & schmidt 138 the arcade tailors to hermits come and see us suits $30 to $50 adam weil ladies' hair dresser and wig maker all kinds of hair work made to order. a large stock of wigs and beards always on hand for masquerade and theatrical purposes. powders, grease paints, etc. manufacturer of the eau de capillaire hair tonic. 647 euclid avenue, republic building, third floor cleveland, ohio see smith & fetters 735 euclid avenue for that june wedding, reception, luncheon or commencement no matter how large or small it will receive our best attention at lowest prices with choicest of flowers and the latest styles in workmanship. it's an open secret that bryan co. are ohio's greatest bill posters distributers-manugraph poster makersbulletin and wall painterscommercial sign paintrs the most complete sign shop in the state everything in signs from muslin to electric in our new building 2120 e. 19. st. both phones. photo by hermit rogers mir finale act i-the hermits in california "as you like it" pure horse radish the world's best relish made in saginaw the a. k. ackerman company, cleveland distributers we furnish exclusively the excellent bread and rolls used by the hermits p. tournardre french baker 2006 scovill avenue our guarantee the best salad dressing canned goods olives are packed under our labels macrisco and colonial the h. c. christy co. river and cheamen butter importers packers jobbers the a. r. duncan, jr. co. wholesale dealers butter-eggs-cheese brandt's sheriff street market the best of meats and groceries fish and poultry the auerbach bros. co. 5410-5412 euclid ave. 2152 prospect ave. charles r. livingstone merchant tailor 1906 e. sixth st. cleveland the big, daylight, character furniture store of cleveland. it's easy to select good furniture where no other kind is kept in stock. krauss furniture co. 6000 euclid. central 4832 direct from u. s. bond 2074 e. 4th st. p. f. lavin pure liquors drawn from the wood o. m. mcaninch, pres. chas. h. parsons, secy and treas. the mcaninch, parsons co. general insurance automobile insurance a specialty sons park building "the dial that never lies." gives your correct speed day or night. the warner auto-meter warner instrument co. 2062 euclid avenue cleveland, ohio the hermits' cloister drawn by hermit charles s. schneider ¶ press of the brooks 89073053639 b89073053639a 89073053639 b89073053639a 737 state * the of historica founded 1848 wisconsin society ז 1910 מחורזגרב ווווו זו זריוייי the hermits at happy hollow opera house may 30-june 4 i index to hermit year book cast scenes • musical numbers orchestra. pages 9-11-13-15-17 19 21-23 • 25 synopsis 27-29-31 staff 35 committees 39 officers of club 47 members. 51 66 non-resident 103 index to advertisers 267 2 frank b. meade architect james hamilton 1002 garfield building cleveland 2725 15960 f89205 266 h422 1910 fred s. borton r. c. enwright t. e. borton borton & borton guardian building certain issues of high grade tax free preferred stocks thoroughly safeguard the interests of the investor and yield good returns call at our office our time is at your disposal members the cleveland stock exchange 3 4 100 the peerless motor car company announces that he new models for 1911 will be ready on july 1st nineteen hundred ten in four and six cylinder touring cars limousine landaulet · close coupled pony tonneau and roadster & four cylinder town car in limousine & landaulet p catalogue "o" sent on request peerless motor car company 2445 east 93rd street cleveland ohio 5 יקוויו ווריון fr ריוור the hermits at happy hollow opera house may30-june 4 cover design by hermit c. s. schneider. 6 the union national bank ¶ this bank has the resources, organization and connections which enable it to be of the utmost service to banks, corporations, firms and individuals, whose business it desires, and to whom is extended the facilities acquired through twenty-five years of service to the business community. officers geo. h. worthington, president j. f. harper e. r. fancher vice-presidents g. a. coulton, cashier w. e. ward, assistant cashier the hermits at happy hollow a musical comedy in two acts produced by the hermit club of cleveland under the personal direction of r. h. burnside lyrics by r. h. burnside · book by clarence vincent kerr score by john s. zamecnik, henry l. sanford and richard s. spencer opera house may 30, 31, june 1, 2, 3, 4 copyright 1910, by r. h. burnside press of the brooks company + 8 cleverness when the clever men of cleveland want clever hats and furnishcloth ings they go to bond's the new home of hart, schaffner & marx 1 9 u.w.lib. tom dick h ermits at appy ollow cast note the characters are named in the program in the order in which they first enter rowland a. curry russell sadler guests at happy hollow felix hughes lord arthur percival basingstoke who is playing devoted to miss austin eleanor austin • walter s. bowler billy's cousin, a typical vassar girl. wallace r. beebe the practical farmer at happy hollow silas winrow appamattox boggs carl ford a gentleman of color and position billy phibbs who has been exiled by his uncle to a life on the farm gardner abbott hy. low carl castle who would be a farm hand jack haddam george b. pettengill billy's old college chum who has been having a night out ιο apollinaris "the queen of table waters" this sketch, drawn by the late phil may, of london, the famous cartoonist of punch, has become wellknown throughout the united states. a copy in colors can be had, free, by any resident of cleveland, upon addressing a postal card to apollinaris agency co., 503 fifth ave., new york, sole united states agents for the apollinaris company, ltd., london, eng. a whisky and a small "polly ii castcontinued skid dooley charles a. maher a n. y. taxicab driver, who was once a light-weight pugilist fleurette dementhe r. f. smith an old floradora girl miss koogen james wagen horst u. ketcham i. pullem jessylyn bard the housekeeper at happy hollow secretly married to winrow james mathers wilson b. chisholm energetic bill collectors horatio n. herriman mary who is simply adored by billy phibbs arthur j. caldwell a waiting maid, who admires mr. dooley jeremiah buglewood clemens w. lundoff billy's wealthy uncle, who pays an unexpected call katrina a german nurse girl john witt 12 i n women's and children's attire---in all that goes to make up a complete dry goods establishment---it is our aim to offer distinctiveness of style and design--to render ready-to-wear garments as exclusive and individual as madeto-order kinds---to combine elegance with modesty and make the useful beautiful. the halle bros. co. euclid ave. and huron road 13 cast continued show girls dr. franklin e. cutler henry r. cool chas. f. sherwood emery c. prior guy s. gardner j. p. witt carl b. warren phelps crum hello girls geo. smiley l. c. young h. e. gaines c. p. zurlinden lloyd t. jones o. t. lehr w. e. greene edw. logan 14 pompeian massage cream pompeian mfg co." pompeian massage cream thoroughly cleanses "don't envy a good complexion: use pompeian and have one: three sizes 50¢ 75 si. all dealers 15 cast continued ponies t. h. nash e. l. mason lee a. woolsey w. h. lamprecht, 2nd r. t. mcgowan w. j. dawley colin mcallister r. j. conley a. j. caldwell polo boys r. r. alexander w. j. sylvester j. h. kline e. l. sch mock e. l. mccullough russell sadler clyde e. kwiss e. s. zuck 16 the "exide" battery for electric vehicle propulsion gasoline engine ignition automobile and motor boat electric lighting e.s.b.co-228 phantom view of an "exide" sparking battery the "exide" battery represents 22 years of experience of the oldest and largest storage battery manufacturer. the "exide" vehicle battery is used in over 90% of all electric vehicles manufactured. the "exide" sparking battery is used in the leading makes of gasoline cars. it is adapted for ignition service with all types of gas or gasoline engines and for the lighting of headlights, side lights and tail light of automobiles or the search lights and running lights of motor boats. the "exide" battery is also used for interior illumination in automobiles, carriages and boats. any of these sales offices will mail you catalogs descriptive of the "exide" battery for any of these services. the electric storage battery co. 1888 philadelphia, pa. 1910 new york, boston, chicago, st. louis, cleveland, atlanta, san francisco, toronto 5 "exide" depots-715 distributers-inspection service corps 17 cast continued singing squad a. b. smythe r. p. millard t. l. wickenden t. a. christian e. l. colgrove college boys e. e. white o. r. rilley r. l. burton a. m. worden rowland a. curry p. c. viall f. j. dresser e. f. kinnison p. d. jenkins c. c. coventry 18 "onyx" trade onyx teed hosiery mark for reliable satisfactory hosiery of the highest quality for men, women and children. the "onyx" brand is always the choice of the critical public. sold everywhere lord & taylor wholesale distributors new york i scenery designed and executed by arthur voegtlin, scenic artist of the new york hippodrome 19 h ermits at appy ollow scenes art one the lawn in front of billy phibb's bungalow at happy hollow. morning. art two the interior of the bungalow. evening. time-the present. place-up in the catskills. cast coached by herbert cripps. dances coached by thomas bennett. costumes made by the shubert wardrobe under the direction of madame ziebarth, mrs. kemety and miss mcandrews. boots and shoes by millar. perruquier adam weil. 20 "lake shore number six" new york entral lines for cleveland people the business men's favorite train cleveland to new york. leaves 6:10 p. m., after the business day, arrives new york 9: 12 a. m., at a convenient business hour next morning. an all sleeping car train with buffet, library, smoking car and dining car. supper and breakfast on the train. ten other trains a day to new york telephone requests to the city ticket office, hippodrome building, (bell, main 456; cuyahoga, central 260) for delivery of railway and pullman tickets to residence, hotel or place of business will receive prompt attention. lake shore & michigan southern ry. 21 h ermits at happy hollow musical numbers act one opening chorus-at happy hollow farm.. .zamecnik farming .zamecnik billy and chorus phoebe snow ..sanford fleurette and polo boys duet-did he? yes, he did!. .zamecnik billy and jack ten little chorus girls.. zamecnik hello girls and college boys trio-gentle jane .spencer jessylyn, eleanor and basingstoke you're the girl.... .sanford jessylyn, billy and chorus zamecnik m-o-n-e-y bugleweed and chorus the chauffer's song ..sanford dooley and chauffers finale (a) hark to the sound of the hunter's horn. .zamecnik (b) billy phibbs is married. (c) hooray for the bridegroom. principals and full chorus 22 will she go away then? see that district nurse. what is she doing? she is going to that house because some one is sick. what will she do there? she will give skilled care to a patient with pneumonia or a painful chronic disease. no. she will find out what causes ill health in her patient's family. what will she do about what she finds? she will report a rotting floor and clogged drain to the health office; an underfed baby, a crippled child or a tuberculous man to the visiting nurse of a special dispensary. will she be satisfied then? no. she will go back again and again to care for her patient and see that her plans for the family are followed. are there many in the city like her? • no. only 9, though there are 26 district physicians. couldn't we have more nurses? yes, in the twinkling of an eye, if contributions to the visiting nurse association were increased. care mrs. chester c. bolton, financial secretary 501 st. clair avenue 23 yvhs musical numbers-continued art two opening chorus-glee, in the spring a young man's fancy... song, when you love a girl tom and chorus zamecnik mary .sanford dooley, mary and maids the society circus... .zamecnik phibbs, chorus and principals what's the use?.... .sanford basingstoke duet-life is like a dance….... .zamecnik jessylyn and billy i'm looking for a girl..... .zamecnik jack and hello girls trio it's merely a matter of time... .sanford billy, jack and dooley mister sun .zamecnik jessylyn and ponies finale 24 commenced business 1845 assets $130,000,000 over 2000 cleveland policyholders the mutual benefit life insurance company of newark, new jersey will issue endowment policies at ordinary life rates. no other company will sell you a similar proposition. write to j. w. pickard, jr. superintendent of agencies new england building, cleveland 25 hermits he at happy hollow frank b. meade, everett l. brown, orchestra director librarian first violin flute james d. johnston john l. miller, jr. dudley s. blossom clarinet harry r. valentine arch. c. klumph j. c. medicus joseph c. royon justin j. griese dudley j. hard oboe second violin charles w. davis john p. witt bassoon charles f. sherwood joseph narovec, jr. alfred m. fuller cornet raymond brady everett l. brown viola charles e. burt albert m. hannaford norman m. collart horn harry l. bliss edwin l. gleason cello trombone harvey l. berkes claude c. fenton maurice klumph william s. gilkey arthur c. rogers charles stupka john l. cannon traps bass harry du rocher frank l. boynton tympani frank b. hannaford richard s. spencer pianists henry l. sanford joseph fehrenbach 26 the lindner cox specialists in feminine apparel east ninth, near euclid il some people know the lindner store as "the store that sells wooltex." others know it as "the shirtwaist store." both classes are right. but it's more than either of these phrases would indicate. it is cleveland headquarters for wooltex garments onyx hosiery centemeri gloves it is cleveland agent for liberty & co., london it specializes also on king waists, fisk, clark & flagg waists and neckwear; on jewelry, leather-goods, umbrellas, veils, millinery, furs, women's and girls' suits, dresses, walking-skirts, sweaters. it has a paris style-bureau and buying-headquarters. it receives direct importations from paris or london, almost every week-apparel, dress-accessories, novelties. 27 h ermits at happy hollow synopsis in n the beginning let it be said that the hermits at happy hollow is built strictly along the lines of farce and that somewhere between the opening chorus and the finale of the second act there is supposed to be at least one good laugh for the most blasé playgoer. two years ago one of our hermit wags said that the funniest line in the show was charley maher's hat. so there is your cue. if you don't catch the subtle humor of our jests we will be just as happy and plume ourselves quite as freely if you laugh at george pettingill's red wig or frank meade's orchestra. interwoven through the piece are eighteen musical numbers, most of which are consecrated to the ever delightful topic, “girl." the chief criticism directed at most musical plays today is the seeming lack of plot in them, and yet any modern librettist will tell you that when he started out he had a fine plot but that it had to be sacrificed on the altar of art to make way for a comic song for the low comedian, a dancing specialty for the soubrette and a love song, with cinematographic effects, for the leading man. to obviate this we have put in as many different plots as we could originate, and borrow, with the ultimate idea that at least one might remain to crown our efforts. a part of the action of the play takes place a year before the rise of the curtain, at which time jeremiah bugleweed makes a proposition to his nephew and only heir, billy phibbs. the latter has been sowing too many wild oats along the great white way and his uncle decides to put him at sowing the tame variety on a farm in the catskills. he sets $25,000 aside for the enterprise but makes a stringent rule with regard to visits to little old new york. when phibbs finds that he must either forego the delights of the metropolis for a year or the benefits of his uncle's fortune forever, he reluctantly chooses the former. then a happy thought comes to him. if he can't go to new york, then new york must go to him, so he plans a series of week-end functions, and when the play begins the forty-second such event is being celebrated at happy hollow farm. 28 the cleveland ball club co.-new stands the most complete ball park in the world 29 synopsis continued art one the curtain rises on a group of billy phibbs' guests who are seriously trying to make themselves think they are engaged in real farming. the practical farmer at happy hollow, silas winrow, enters and gives feeling to his disappointment over the way things are going. owing to a rule which phibbs has made, with regard to married help on his farm, the housekeeper, who is really mrs. winrow, is known as miss koogen. her meetings with her husband are conducted in the greatest secrecy at which time they discuss the future of their baby daughter, who is kept in the city in the care of a german nurse girl. katrina decides to go back to germany and writes that she is going to bring the baby to its parents. the fear of their perfidy being discovered by phibbs with the likelihood of their discharge from his service haunts them and the entangling of their domestic mishaps with those of their employer adds one of the chief farcical incidents of the play. in company with a party of young ladies phibbs enters in a big motor car and announces that this is their forty-second weekend party and they are to have as special guests the hello girls from the musical comedy havana. jack haddam, an old college chum of phibbs', enters with dooley, with whom he has journeyed from new york. the preceding evening haddam entertained some of his friends of the chorus at rector's and while in a state of liquid enthusiasm engaged a taxicab for the trip to phibbs' place in the catskills. dooley boasts of his pugilistic prowess, having formerly been known as the "jersey skeeter," and threatens to maul haddam for not paying his taxicab bill. but a temporary truce is declared when haddam promises to borrow the money from phibbs. now be it known that the latter young gentleman has run through with his allowance and is at this time being hounded by various collectors. in order to stave them off he tells them that he has wired his uncle jerry that he is married and asks for an immediate order on his banker for the additional sum promised him should he enter the married state. one of the guests of the day is jessylyn bard, and phibbs hopes to persuade her to marry him and thereby make good with his uncle when the latter returns from abroad. but owing to a chain of circumstances uncle jerry does not take the ship he had planned to do and his nephew's dispatch decides him to postpone the trip abroad and visit his new niece instead. 30 the little hermit just to tell you i go from cleveland to pittsburg seven times every day con the erie railroad that means seven solid passenger trains every day cleveland to pittsburg over the erie railroad i can go to youngstown eight times every day over the erie railroad 31 synopsis continued from this complications arise which keep phibbs in hot water. it has been arranged for the midvale hunt club to ride to fox and hounds at happy hollow and the close of the act finds all gathered to start for the hunt. owing to the mistake in identity of haddam, who has dressed in miss koogen's gown to escape dooley, who pursues him for the taxicab fare, which has grown enormously, bugleweed is led to believe that jack is his new niece. the curtain falls on the sudden confusion of phibbs and haddam. art two the curtain rises on a group of boys sitting in the firelight discussing the old but ever new topic of love. haddam is still masquerading as phibbs' wife and evading the presence of dooley, for whom he now entertains a fear that is almost a mania. bugleweed is approached by his nephew with regard to the money which has been promised him but learns that it is to be given to his wife, with an additional sum for "little toodletums." it is arranged for the sum to be paid the supposed mrs. phibbs but a little unlooked for mix-up occurs whereby the money goes into the hands of the housekeeper. dooley, who has conducted a gum-shoe search for the man who has denied him his fare, is informed by mary, the waiting maid with whom he is in love, that haddam is masquerading in woman's clothes. she tips off the disguise to dooley and he starts on the warpath but he makes a slight mistake which results in the lowering of his colors. jessylyn, who has been wooed by phibbs most ardently, decides to teach him a lesson and leads him to believe that she is in love with lord basingstoke, a silly englishman who is in reality in love with eleanor. she also informs bugleweed of his nephew's artfulness and the old fellow angrily swears that he will cut off his heir without a penny. things break badly for phibbs but finally, after a complete confession, in which he is exceedingly dejected, everything turns out happily. 32 the entrance to the home of a hermit on shaker heights "there are others' the shaker heights improvement company e. warner white, president t. w. larwood, jr., sales manager 33 the w. b. mcallister co. builders office buildings, warehouses, power plants, fine residences and bank and office fixtures 34 the garlock-frazee laundry company w. h. garlock, pres't & mgr. down town office 7 colonial arcade both phones cleveland office and works 1820 e. 18th street (huntington) our dear hermits: we were more than glad to know you did not forget us this year and have kindly invited us to go with you again on your trip. we were awfully glad to know you are not going so far away as you did last year for you know we wish to be with you on all your trips. we know it will be a pleasant trip for the name itself indicates that it must be a pleasant place, "happy hollow". it savors of balmy atmosphere, delightful shade trees, rippling waters, singing of birds and everything to make one's heart glad. it will be so quieting to our nerves. we will be glad to spend a short time with you. may we be permitted to take a few of our children with us? also grandpa and grandma? then we may want may and kittie, sadie and katie, emma and martha, gertie and ruby, oona, dollie and elsa. oh, we have so many boys and girls, may we take them all? and wishing you all a pleasant trip and a safe return, with kindest regards, the garlock-frazee laundry co. 35 h ermits at appy ollow staff fred s. borton business managers general stage director r. h. burnside. musical director frank b. meade hez. m. terrell stage manager s. w. scofield wm. wieman, assistant albert rees davis property master guy s. gardner choristers photographer j. eugene rogers r. a. curry 36 to communicate with "a hermit in happy hollow" use a cuyahoga telephone the cuyahoga telephone co. local and long distance contract department central 31 37 extra flexible american wire rope hoisting rope of every description for elevators, mines, coal hoists, ore hoists, conveyors, derricks, stump pullers, steam shovels, dredges, logging, ballast unloaders, etc. towing hawsers, mooring lines, tiller rope and ships' rigging. mine and surface haulage rope, street railway cable and power transmission rope, suspension bridge cables, cableway ropes, guy strands and sash cord. flat rope for deep hoisting. special rope made to order. all the foregoing styles of rope are made of swedes iron, crucible cast steel, plow steel and monitor grades, galvanized when desired. made by american steel & wire co. cleveland, ohio w. bingham co., agents 38 w. h. (bert) way joe mitchell sam rigdon the great all season tire republici tires staggard (non-sed tread made in youngstown, ohio, by the republic rubber co. cleveland branch 5919 euclid avenue the way, mitchell, rigdon co. 39 h ermits at appy ollow committees j. c. royon music frank b. meade john s. zamecnik scenery and costumes frank b. meade wm. j. edmonson jas. h. donahey properties guy s. gardner, chairman wm. mck. duncan c. e. curtiss f. c. newcomer harwood wilson program arthur d. brooks program advertising wilbur m. baldwin, chairman chas. k. arter abner h. bedell chas. c. clark chas. c. coventry john c. chandler edward g. ernst g. ray ingersoll press jos. h. kline wilfred s. pollock samuel t. nash s. e. strong b. c. tucker john p. witt fred. j. woodworth j. w. pickard, chairman wm. h. alburn jos. h. kline c. robert housum norman c. mcloud chas. a. otis 40 perfection springs are guaranteed for one year their use on your car is an insurance policy against spring troubles our thin leaf springs are the easiest riding springs in the world. we challenge all competition. the perfection spring co. cleveland, ohio 4 4i e extravagance--who pays? economy --who benefits? very dollar of unnecessary expense involved in making and selling an automobile is an extravagance. such as the maker's racing, touring and "stunt" expenses, waste and red-tape in the factory, marble fronts on automobile row, and pretty pictures in the magazines. not one dollar of this extravagance goes to make the car better. but, just the same, it is all paid for by the buyers of these cars. * * * since these expenses do not make the car better, while they do add to the price the buyer pays, making his investment needlessly heavy, certainly to cut them off would be an economy that would not in any degree lower the quality of the car, while it would lower the price the buyer pays. *** the winton company cuts out extravagant practices and thereby avoids extravagant expenses. that fact alone explains why the quality of the winton six can be maintained at top notch, while its price is kept down to a figure that is $1000 to $2000 lower than similar power and size would cost the buyer in any other accredited make. 0 winton six the winton motor carriage company licensed under selden patent huron road and euclid ave. 42 incorporated 1849. society for savings in the city of cleveland. 43 drawn by hermit donahey دورة "here they come" poster for the hermits at happy hollow. 44 the morris coal co. cleveland, ohio cambridge coal x capacity 6000 tons daily 45 the excellence of a rauch & lang electric lies in the fact that in its construction enters only such material as will be in keeping with the rauch & lang standard. fifty-eight years of consistent working for an ideal has produced an electric vehicle of exceptional qualities one that is complete in every part. raucht lang electrics the surpassing beauty of the exterior and interior finish is an indiication of what the electrical and mechanical construction consists. it is in harmony with the ideal that has given the product of the rauch & lang company a worldwide reputation. the rauch & lang carriage co. 629 superior avenue n. e. 46 ernst and ernst impartial audits systems cleveland new york chicago 47 officers of the hermit club frank b. meade joseph h. kline joseph c. royon joseph r. kraus directors president .vice-president .secretary .treasurer albert c. bailey wilbur h. brooks albert r. davis roger c. enwright house committee guy s. gardner joseph h. kline fred s. porter c. k. arter guy s. gardner, chairman. wm. r. creer h. m. terrell a. a. augustus d. s. blossom c. b. castle c. r. housum entertainment committee. j. w. pickard, jr., chairman. douglass chisholm felix hughes o. w. prescott w. e. steinweddell e. l. strong j. p. witt a. j. caldwell s. w. scofield, property master. 48 the chandler & rudd company serve luncheon all day at the down town store 234-236 euclid ave. and at the fairmount store 10609-106-11 euclid ave. 斃 ​they also put up box lunches at all the stores, for all kinds of outdoor life the chandler & rudd company 49 absolutely pure & trade nadulteral mark duffy's pure malt whiskey for medicinal use duffy's pure malt whiskey is of the highest standard of efficiency and worth, and conforms to the tests laid down in the united states pharmacopoeia. it is free from deleterious substances and all artificial sweetening, coloring, etc., and is prescribed by physicians of all schools, in case of sickness. wonderful success has attended the use of duffy's pure malt whiskey in the treatment of tuberculosis, pneumonia, diptheria, grip, whiskey so the duffya ey-company nyu.s.a rochester pure malt male whiske whiskey company heart trouble, nervous prostration, low forms of fever and all run down conditions of the system, including the weakness and emaciation of old age. on the market for more than fifty years, duffy's pure malt whiskey is extremely popular. this is evidenced by its increasing sales from year to year. for sale by druggists and dealers. the duffy malt whiskey co. rochester new york 50 importing mailors w. h. coffee & company tailors hippodrome building 51 members of the hermit club abbott, gardner albright, charles a. alburn, w. h. andrews, a. w. arter, charles k. ashbrook, herbert g. augustus, a. a. schofield bldg. albright coal co. cleveland plain dealer bourne-fuller co. smith, taft & arter glidden varnish co. the cambridge collieries co. a bailey, albert c. baldwin, w. m. bates, frederick g. beardslee, r. prescott bedell, abner h. berkes, dr. harvey l. bierce, george w. w. bliss, harry a. blood, john h. blossom, dudley s. bole, david c. bonnell, william f. borton, fred s. borton, thomas e. bowler, walter s. boynton, frank l. bradley, alva bradley, c. l. brooks, arthur d. grasselli chemical co. citizens savings & trust co. architect. petroleum products sales co. o. m. stafford goss-bedell co. physician architect bliss supply co. real estate and insurance manager w. bingham co. cleveland trust co. w. c. langley & co. borton & borton, brokers borton & borton, brokers lake shore banking & savings co. musical instruments real estate real estate the brooks co. b brooks, wilbur h. brown, everett l. brown, m. stanley brown, william h. bulger, william bulkley, robert johns burt, charles e. henry m. brooks co.. concrete engineer, andrew dall & son american surety co. machinery sales agent wm. bulger & co. attorney dentist 52 visit yellowstone park visit "wonderland"the great region of scenic surprises—before you go to europe. or, if you've seen the old world, see this year that world of canyons, cataracts, geysers and hot springs, which lie so close at home, in our own country. see the unique phenomena which nature has so strangely assembled here, over a mile above the sea, in an incomparable climate, for you to enjoy. northern pacific ry. the scenic highway through the land of fortune operates through pullman sleeping cars direct to the park boundary at gardiner gateway the official entrance, daily during the open season, june 15 to december 15, 1910. acific yellowstone park line summer tourist fares to the north pacific coast, effective daily, june 1 to september 30, 1910. send your name and address for "land of geysers" booklet and yellowstone park folder, free for the asking, with full particulars of fares and train service. address a. m. cleland general passenger agent st. paul, minn. annual rose festival, portland, ore., june 6-11, 1910 53 the standard tool co. twist drills taper pins reamers chucks milling special cutters tools taps highest quality standard tool co. highest quality standard tool co. offices and factory, 6900-7000 central ave., cleveland 54 henry m. brooks, president l. a. wilbor, vice-pres. w. h. brooks, sec'y and treas. the henry m. brooks company agency established in 1850 fire insurance and automobile insurance park building public square cleveland, ohio 55 photo by hermit rogers act i. the hermits in africa 56 brown brothers & company 4th and chestnut sts. philadelphia, pa. 59 wall street 60 state street new york city boston, mass. travelers' letters of credit and international checks obtainable at your own bank. stocks, bonds and investment securities bought and sold bills of exchange and cable transfers deposit accounts received on favorable terms. brown, shipley & company travelers' office, 123 pall mall, s. w. head office, founders court, e. c. london 57 his most excellent majesty king william the fourth v. o. p. scotch whisky sole agents f. o. de luze & co. new york 58 4 to to 6% with absolute security is assured to every purchaser of the securities we list, because they consist solely of high grade municipal and corporation bonds which have passed a rigid examination, and in which we have shown our confidence by purchasing outright before offering for resale. the safety and stability of municipal & corporation bonds as a class, combined with our twelve years of experience in selecting and selling them, gives to the investor the following advantages: (1) our interests and yours are identical. we do not sell on commission. we ask no investor to invest money in any enterprise in which we have not already invested our own. (2) the element of speculation is entirely eliminated. these bonds are first mortgages on tangible property. (3) the rate of interest is the highest that is consistent with safety of principal. (4) we have bonds of various denominations, for both long and short periods, making possible the selection of an investment that will exactly meet your needs. (5) municipal and corporation bonds are easily convertible. (6) interest is figured in actual days; no loss involved in selling in the middle of an interest period, as is the case when withdrawing money from bank. (7) these bonds are good collateral for loans. (8) your interest is unaffected by panics or business depressions. write for booklets: "bonds and how to buy them" explains in detail the various classes of bonds and their comparative values; "how to buy bonds on the installment plan" shows you how you can become a bond-holder the same as you become a savings bank depositor-by paying a little at a time. both books are free. write today. otis & hough investment bankers cuyahoga building cleveland, ohio 59 caldwell, arthur j. cameron, louis j. cannon, john l. castle, carl b. chandler, john c. chisholm, douglass chisholm, wilson k. clark, charles c. cool, henry c. coulton, george a. coventry, charles c. crawford, harry j. crawford, randall crawford, w. j., jr. creech, harris creer, william r. croxton, david t. crum, phelps curtiss, charles e. curtiss, edwin s. curry, roland a. cutler, franklin e. cutler, sam c. daley, w. a. dautel, carl dautel, george davis, albert rees davis, edw. l. dawley, william j. dean, d. b. devereux, j. f. dielhenn, clarence a. dinsmore, robert a. donahey, j. h donaldson, harry c. dresser, j. f. duncan, william m. dyer, j. milton edmondson, wm. j. edwards, harry r. ellenberger, albert w. the brooks co. central national bank asst. legal counsel cuyahoga county w. bingham co. dist. sales agt. lackawanna steel co. chisholm & moore mfg. co. chisholm & moore mfg. co. mutual benefit life insurance co. w. a. cool & son. union national bank cleve. tool & supply co. attorney herrick, parmelee & crawford herrick, parmelee & crawford garfield savings bank co. cleveland sav. & loan co. cleveland furnace co. attorney macbeth iron co. cleveland trust co. contractor physician dist. mgr. b. f. sturtevant co. w. s. gilkey printing co. attorney l. dautel & son insurance agent, perry-payne bldg. davis-hunt-collister co. attorney kuhlman car co. cleveland trust co. the c. a. dielhenn co. dentist cleveland plain dealer pittsburg coal co. h. w. johns-manville co. attorney architect bowman & dodd co. wm. edwards co. hydraulic pressed steel co. c d e 60 the best investment is real estate if you desire to know where go west to west 101st street on lorain ave. or denison ave. line and see the choice lots in the west boulevard -andhill crest allotments the west side is the place to invest for increase in values. chas. j. e. shimmon, sales manager 209 schofield building a. w. ellenberger, pres. w. r. creer, sec'y and treas. 61 steel, cast iron or wood pulleys—which? cast iron pulleys are heavy and liable to fly to pieces; they cause severe belt wear and waste power. wood pulleys are useless in damp places and are liable to shrink anywhere. steel pulleys-oneida steel pulleys-weigh about one-third as much as cast iron ones, have 15% better belt adhesion, cannot fly to pieces and are indestructible anywhere-in dry or wet places. they have malleable iron hubs--and are made in the largest range of sizes of any steel pulley in the world. range of sizes-diameter, 6 in. to 126 in. inclusive; face width, 2 in. to 40 in. inclusive; bore, i in. to 8 in. inclusive. want to know more? ask us. oneida steel pulley co. oneida, n. y., u. s. a. represented by the cleveland tool & supply co. 62 the f. a. pease engineering company civil and consulting engineers municipal improvements electric railways subdivisions designers and constructing engineers for maple leaf subdivisions, gates mills, oakwood-onthe-lake, rocky river, mcclellan heights, davenport, ia., shaker heights subdivisions, and other high grade property municipal engineers for cleveland heights village, east cleveland village, rocky river village, village of euclid surveys-plans-estimates and reports upon railway projects 930-931-932 williamson building 63 ananias record clarence v. kerr as ananias charles a. maher as harry lauder h. n. herriman as nick carter f. h. van orman as george ade photos by hermit rogers the hermits in africa 64 the fred g. clark company refiners of and wholesale dealers in high grade lubricating oils and heavy chemicals, caustic soda soda ash, bleaching powder wholesale trade only, foreign and domestic trade solicited main office: cleveland, ohio branch offices: new york, chicago cable address: clarkoil 65 grill room in connection www wwwww hannan & mcglade cafe 2028-2036 east fourth street formerly 22-24 sheriff street cleveland bell phone main 1606 cuyahoga phone central 2263 66 alfred nelson co. 261 fifth avenue (near 29th street) new york city english tailors and practical breeches makers riding, shooting, hunting, sporting and driving buckskin breeches and pigskin leggings patterns and forms for self-measurement on application our breeches are acknowledged by expert riders superior to any other make in the country gold medal paris exposition 67 elliott, leigh h. enwright, roger c. ernst, e. g. ernst, w. m. fehrenback, joseph fenton, alcinous, jr. fleming, w. j. foster, james h. fuller, clifford w. fuller, ralph l. bourne-fuller co. borton & borton national carbon co. national carbon co. e ohio rubber co. custom house broker bourne-fuller co. hydraulic pressed steel co. f attorney harshaw, fuller & goodwin co. fuller, s. a. gage, benjamin a. ganson, george h. gardner, guy s. gay, h. b. gilchrist, a. j. gilchrist, joseph a. gilchrist, john d. gilkey, william s. gill, paul stanley gill, dr. j. e. green, albert e. greene, edward b. greene, wm. e. grover, maurice b. gundry, john m. hall, g. abeel hamilton, james m. hanna, howard m., jr. hannaford, a. m. hard, dudley j. harding, frank i. harris, herman a. hart, william f. hartley, sam'l w. hasbrouck, n. beebe herrick, parmely w. herriman, horatio n. higbee, william t. taylor coal & coke co. attorney, gage & wilbur dover fire brick co. salesman electric storage battery co. gilchrist transportation co. gilchrist transportation co. gilchrist transportation co. the brooks co. gill lumber co. u. s. navy attorney cleveland trust co. w. bingham co. 917 schofield bldg. lake shore banking & savings co. john roeblings sons co. f. b. meade, architect m. a. hanna & co. the hale & holmes co. cleveland light & power co. peerless motor car co. wilson harris & son wm. f. hart co. cleveland taxicab service co. hasbrouck & herrick agent, cuyahoga bldg. great lakes register co. the higbee co. g h 68 cuyahoga lights the way and furnishes heat for the hermits in their hermitage the cuyahoga light company 2035 east third street main 2870 central 2023 69 your baggage can be as costly or inexpensive as you can afford, but, if we make it, it will be good in style and quality, and give you full value in faithful service. master baggage makers for forty years. the likly & rockett trunk co. 405 superior avenue n. w. opposite post office rathskeller "the original" 2046-2054 east fourth street (old sheriff street) four of the most famous and best imported beers always excellent service on tap. 70 when the "hermits" get into an "unhappy hollow" they come to the cleveland electrical supply co. 724-726 prospect ave. for help if warm, we supply them with fans, to cool them. the most complete line of all sizes of desk, oscillating and ceiling fans in the city can be found here. when they have cold feet, we supply them with heating pads to warm them, and relieve them of all sorts of pains caused by neuralgia, toothache, pain in the chest and all other aches too numerous to mention here. then we have the warmer for the "little baby's milk." flat-irons of all sizes for the comfort of their wives, mothers, sisters and sweethearts, to say nothing of the santo cleaner with which you can make your "home" dustless giving you a germ free house to live in. this is great. toasters, heaters of all kinds, shavingmugs, coffee percolators and a hundred and one articles can be found there. telephone main 139 or erie 220. you can also go out and come in at 703-705 huron road. it is a pretty good sized place and they carry almost any and everything in the electrical line, wholesale quantity. or retail in any headquarters for the best mazda lamps 71 photo by the rogues gallery the mirth provoking comedian chas. k. arter in the hermits in africa 72 the hermits are going some so are davis & farley! why don't you give them your insurance and surety bonds? address chamber of commerce bldg., cleveland telephones: main 233, central 1574 fares lowest pa daily to all pow points c&b jine steamers fare $2,50 daily between cleveland and buffalo "city of erie" on the palatial twin "city of buffalo" lve. cleveland 8:00 p. m. arr. buffalo 6:30 a. m. flyers of the lakes central standard time lve, buffalo 8:00 p. m. arr. cleveland 6:30 a. m. connections made at buffalo with trains for all eastern and canadian points; at cleveland for toledo, detroit and all points west and southwest. tickets reading over l. s. & m. s. ry. or n. y., c. & st. l. r. r., will be accepted on this company's steamer without extra charge. ask ticket agent for tickets via c. & b. line. send 4c for handsome illustrated booklet the cleveland & buffalo transit co., w. f. herman, g. p. a., cleveland, o. 73 protect yourself! at soda fountains or elsewhere look for "horlick's" on the bottle. original and genuine horlick's malted milk "others are imitations" the food-drink for all ages. rich milk, malted grain, in powder form. more healthful than tea or coffee. for infants, invalids and growing children. agrees with the weakest digestion. pure nutrition,upbuilding the whole body. keep it on your sideboard at home. invigorates nursing mothers and the aged. a quick lunch prepared in a minute. sample sent free. address horlick's, racine, wis. take no substitute. ask for horlick's. not in any milk trust 74 you'll get more real good out of a big bowl of quaker oats than out of any other food you can eat. it's a great strength-maker. costs least, does most. the quaker oats company chicago 75 higgins, grover b. hitchcock, h. morley hitchcock, reuben hotchkiss, chas. h. hough, addison h. housum, chas. r. howe, frederick c. hubbard, sterling w. hughes, felix ingersoll, leland ingersoll, g. r. jackson, ward b. johnston, james d. kendall, hayward h. kerr, c. v. kilfoyl, john f. king, frederick warren kline, joseph h. klumph, a. c. kraus, joseph r. kroenke, a. j. lamprecht, william h., jr. landon, c. n. laundon, mortimer h. lundoff, clements w. mcallister, william b. mcallister, colin mccreary, roвt. g. mcdonald, charles a. mcgowan, roland t. mcgregor, john, jr. mcintosh, henry p. mcintyre, milton d. mcloud, norman c. maher, charles a. mansfield, howard marlatt, william h. attorney salesman attorney national malleable castings co. otis & hough the leader attorney rogers, brown & co. teacher of singing attorney l. s. & m. s. r. r. whitmer-jackson sash & door co. orchestra leader kendall coal mining co. physician cleveland base ball club f. w. king co. b. w. housum co. cuyahoga lumber co. first national bank the hohlfelder mfg. co. national refining co. artist secretary m. t. herrick constructing engineer w. b. mcallister co. w. b. mcallister co. attorney jas. mullins coal co. the parsons-parsons co. attorney guardian savings & trust co. pickands, mather & co. mcloud & pulliam national car wheel co. grasselli chemical co. treadway & marlatt h j k l m 76 orient insurance company of hartford, connecticut we are insuring the "properties" of "hermits in africa." we can insure their cleveland property ---just as well. cleveland representatives the henry m. brooks co. think thousands of good busit over iness concerns now "make coil easier" with the elliott-fisher standard writing-adding machine. why not join the multitude? elliott-fisher co., caxton bldg. 77 great western -champagnehalf the cost of imported absence of duty reduces its cost 50 per cent of the six american champagnes exhibited, great western was the only one awarded the gold medal at paris exposition, 1900 your grocer or dealer can supply you sold everywhere greatwestern great western rena 1873 extra dry first prae pleasant halley wind ca rheems pleasant valley wine co. rheims, n. y. oldest and largest champagne house in america 78 hayden, miller & company this firm buys and sells investment bonds which are suited to the requirements of trustees and prudent investors generally. these bonds are not of interest to speculators but meet the needs of those with whom safety of principal is the prime requisite and who are satisfied with the largest income compatible with such safety. this firm also holds memberships in the cleveland stock exchange, and as a broker will execute orders to buy and sell for cash securities which have a cleveland market. citizens building, cleveland bell, main 284 w. h. fournier president and sec'y telephones cuy., cen. 463 moses goodman vice-pres, and treas. small expenses, volume of business, enables us to sell high grade merchandise at moderate prices "we show the new things first" the strauss bros. co. 317-323 euclid avenue 79 photo by hermit rogers dr. f. e. cutler e. l. worthington in the hermits in africa 80 fisk a tires heavy car type made to fit all rims fisk removable rims fisk bolted-on-tires the ideal equipment the fisk rubber co. 1942 euclid ave. bell north 529 cuy. central 825 the eastern ohio traction co. robert d. beatty, receiver cleveland, o. the scenic line fast and frequent service to points of interest passenger, mail and express service party rates. special cars the cleveland, youngstown and eastern railway co. formerly the chagrin falls and garrettsville division of the eastern ohio traction co. passenger, mail and express service party rates. special cars 701 electric building cleveland, ohio 81 ∞ petrequin paper company cleveland wholesale dealers in all kinds of paper 82 cut off that load friction zerolene the one oil for all gasoline motors "when you find a better oil than zerolene-use that oil" for all types of cylinders and bearings. made in one grade only nothing to remember but the name-zerolene. zerolene and karbonizing di cor automobile rubrication zero cold test standard bile in sealed cans with patent spout. barrels for garage trade. sold by most dealers; if not at yours, write to the standard oil company (incorporated) 83 marvin, f. r. mason, edwin l. mathers, james mathews, herbert maxson, william b. meade, frank b. merkel, arthur e. miller, john l., jr. morgan, alphonso h. murch, maynard h., jr. murray, william p. marvin & ford cleveland trust co. attorney mathews & gilbert maxson & purdue architect patent attorney j. b. moos co. morgan lithograph co. broker pickands, mather & co. m nash, richard p. nash, samuel t. nash, william f. newcomb, a. g. newcomb, robert b. newcomer, frank c. nichols, andrew b. norton, robert c. otis, arthur h. otis, charles a., jr. paine, charles a. palmer, w. p. perkins, roger c. pettee, harold f. philpott, william b. pickard, john w. jr. pollock, wilfred s. porter, frederick s. powers, chas. a. prescott, orville w. cleveland provision co. cleveland provision co. cleveland provision co. r. b. & a. g. newcomb r. b. & a. g. newcomb real estate manufacturers agent baker motor vehicle co. otis elevator co. the news central national bank american steel & wire co. physician hydraulic pressed steel co. standard oil co. mutual benefit life ins. co. the weideman co. attorney martien elec. co. saginaw bay co. n 0 p ranney, rufus p. rattle, william rees, william f. reiley, oliver r. richards, franklin b. attorney chemist society for savings northern ohio saving & cons't co. m. a. hanna & co. r 84 morgan & wright tires automobile apparel garden hose bath sprays the ohio rubber company gen'l offices: 725 st. clair ave. n.w. retail store: rose building first consul cigars wilkes & reid, distributors bond and superior sts., cleveland, o. 85 drills and reamers made by the morse twist drill & machine company new bedford, mass. for sale by the strong, carlisle & hammond company 336-344 frankfort avenue n. w., cleveland 86 iced chocolate made from van houten's dutch cocoa is a most refreshing summer beverage formula prepare any desired quantity of cocoa, using four teaspoonsful of van houten's cocoa to a quart of milk, or water, or half of each (the last named gives excellent results); sweeten to taste, boil three minutes and chill thoroughly. serve in tall glasses, topped with whipped cream. van houten's (best and goes cocoa farthest) a soda fountain in your home we we are prepared to deliver to any home in cleveland any of the following beverages that have proven so popular at our stores: ginger ale orange phosphate lemon phosphate root beer they are identical with the goods served at our fountains and make a delicious table drink-the kind that have made the standard famous-put up in a case of two dozen bottles at $2.00, half of which will be refunded when empty bottles and case are returned, making the net cost just $1.00 for 24 bottles delivered. order a case by phone at our wholesale department or at any of our eight stores. standard drug company cor. east 9th and bolivar rd. bell phone main 1825 cuy. phone central 9086 87 photo by hermit rogers walter s. bowler in the hermits in africa 88 knauth, nachod & kühne bankers 15 william street, new york circular letters of credit and travelers' checks available the world over. obtainable in cleveland at banks and bankers compliments of the stowe fuller company 89 catalog individuality s for ourselves, we prefer to stand out a little apart from our fellows. as above and aves, puffellows. ap we don't want to be simply a part of the crowd. we prefer to have some distinctive individuality. it's the thing we believe in for ourselves and our customers. when we take a catalog in hand our first thought is to make it good to give it quality. our second thought is to give it individuality. it doesn't mean a lot of furbelows and fussiness, or unnecessary expense. but it does mean that your catalog, if it has corday & gross individuality, won't simply be passed by as one of the crowd. it will be different-different in plan, design, quality and selling power. since every catalog we make is handled from plan to packing in our own establishment, there's no chance for any part to go wrong. we design, photograph, engrave and print. this fourfold service, backed by corday & gross ability and quality standards, means more than you will ever understand until you try it. the corday & gross company cleveland 90 the uller cleaning company dry cleansers carpet, rug and house cleaning by the vacuum system east 110 rugs made to order 7606 carnegie ave. cent. 7960 the sterling & welch co. give special attention to the fitting up of private residences, country homes, hotels and cottages with summer furniture summer floor coverings summer draperies and wall coverings for this purpose the markets are searched both here and abroad, to bring out with each succeeding season, the newest and best ideas in everything that adds comfort, utility and beauty to the home. the sterling & welch co. 1225 euclid avenue 91 robbins, lawrence s. rogers, arthur c. rogers, j. e. roper, w. g. royon, joseph c. runyon, walter c., jr rust, john f. rutherford, james a. sanford, h. l. sawyer, l. p. schneider, chas. s. scofield, sherman w. scott, john r. shackleton, william e. sherwin, george n. sherwin, john sherwood, charles f. sholes, justin g. shupe, harry p. siddall, george b. smart, jas. h. smith, arthur m. smith, ralston fox smythe, arthur b. snider, h. m. spencer, richard sheldon stage, charles w. stamp, charles e. stebbins, howard s. steinwedell, william e. stevens, frank b. stockwell, john n., jr. strong, edward l. strong, herbert w. strong, s. e. tame, alfred g. teare, william h. terrell, hez. m. thompson, c. e. tillotson, edwin g. tucker, b. c. rose-robbins co. fuller & smith dodd-rogers co. navy recruiting station attorney struthers furnace co. 904 citizens building aluminum co. of america physician buckeye electric co. watterson & schneider architect carnegie steel co. physician first national bank first national bank mau-sherwood co. lennox chemical co. a. m. benson co. henderson quail & siddall attorney gas machinery co. davies printing co. cleveland trust co. metal blanks co. hydraulic pressed steel co. attorney c. e. stamp & co. oglebay norton & co. gas machinery co. patterson-sargent co. attorney strong, cobb & co. strong, carlisle & hammond co. strong, cobb & co. cleveland trust co. potter, teare & co. malone stone co. cleveland cap screw co. tillotson & walcott vessel agent r s t 92 reese-owen agency nine twelve society for savings suretyship and insurance general agents fidelity & deposit company of maryland city agents ocean accident & guarantee corporation, ltd. main 1350 of london telephones central 1484 "for old times' sake": the olds motor works of lansing, michigan, maker of the oldsmobile reserves this space and solicits a continuance of the valued patronage of the members of the hermit club olds motor works, lansing, mich. 93 crawford realty company for the best of everything telephone "tellings" ice cream chocolates and bon bons fancy cakes wedding and birthday cakes tellings' ice cream sold everywhere 94 the cleveland savings and loan company the hollenden corner our deposits-savings accounts exclusively our loans first mortgages on improved real estate w. h. teare, president a. w. ellenberger, vice-pres. wm. r. creer, sec'y hartford tires "the tire that lasts” trade mark hartford dunlop, clincher and quick detachable tires. plain and hartford wire grip non-skid treads. the hartford rubber works company 1831 euclid avenue cleveland, ohio 95 valentine, harry r. wade, jeptha h., jr. waite, george s. walker, frank r. wall, william e. wallace, robert b. wallace, j. c. wallace, lindsay h. wasser, george n. waycott, albert j. welch, henry j. white, philip t. white, walter c. white, windsor t. whiting, william b. wilbur, rollin a. wilson, harwood witt, john p. wolcott, frank b. woodworth, fred j. worthington, edward l. wright, charles c. b. dreher son's co. real estate and insurance standard automobile co. architect the fred g. clark co. american shipbuilding co. american shipbuilding co. american shipbuilding co. dentist damascus brake beam co. sterling & welch co. cleveland trust co. white co. white co. attorney gage & wilbur rogers, brown & co. lake shore electric railway co. tillotson & walcott first national bank cleveland trust co. carnegie steel co. zamecnik, john deceased wyman, h. w. prior, l. w. wellman, chas. h. reeves, f. h. rogers, a. l. lawrence, m. w. morgan, t. r. bradley, geo. j. v w musician z 96 hermits prefer fownes gloves for all occasions there's a reason lang & sarstedt painters and interior finishers paint supplies, &c. 1529 prospect ave. cleveland, ohio 97 just a line from hunt not over thirty dollars $30$ extodo scompany 200 it's the limiting line of the protectograph you'll find it stamped on the checks of banks, business houses and individuals who can't afford to have their this is the protectograph "the machine that todd built'' checks "raised." can you? if not, let hunt show you the latest model h protectograph suited to your particular requirements. it isn't a protectograph unless it has todd's 's name on it. see hunt and get the genuine article. edw. c. hunt, gen. dist. mgr. 404 cuyahoga building cleveland phones 98 bell telephone service made "happy hollow" happy conundrum: when is a hermit not a hermit? answer: when he can be reached by bell telephone service. life in the secluded mountain valley which figures in the hermits' play would scarcely have been happy, if the young master of happy hollow had been cut off from the city's activities and distractions. it stands to reason, then, that the farm was reached by the bell long distance lines, which extend to all localities, affording universal telephone service to more than five million bell subscribers. bell telephone service-local and long distance-is prompt and reliable. can you afford to be without it? for information about rates, etc., telephonemain 533-contract dept. the cleveland telephone company telephone building cor. champlain ave. and w. 3rd st. the cleveland telephone c american t and local long distance telephone bell ne company telephone & telegraph co system good work don't buy good linen unless you send it to a good laundry. this advice is for those who have not yet tried "the davis." the davis laundry & cleaning co. 1516 east 66th street east 345 princeton 957 99 mcallister coventry photo by hermit rogers castle lawrence wagenhorst ernst in the hermits in africa 100 of interest to owners of automobiles this means you why do the hermits use rich's non-carbon auto oil and climax new process linseed oil soap? because they are the best that money and skill can produce try them! satisfaction guaranteed or money refunded for sale only by the climax refining co. both phones 1231 williamson bldg., city ardiri gabriel gabruez the hermits have taken us everywhere but heaven. there, we will hear the horn of gabriel better get one of these musical signals for our auto. or, if we fall by the wayside, we'll need foster shock absorbers to prevent the jar. gabriel horn mfg. co. phone, north 547 1407 e. 40th st. ιοι white out of sight dandy flight putts true and stays white "the white diamond" worthington ball co. elyria 102 =the= o. m. stafford-goss-bedell company m general insurance 601-7 century bldg., 414 superior ave. n.w. 103 non-resident members ade, george aloe, capt. alfred anderson, j. scott baker, f. s. barker, arthur e. batchelor, harry a., jr bates, alexander c. bates, george d. beebe, r. w. bowman, william p. boynton, arthur j. braggins, fred w. brown, edwin h. bruner, c. t. burnham, robert w. cady, edw. h. call, d. w. carle, richard campbell, e. t. canfield, b. k. carter, c. e. clarke, n. j. cole, howard e. condit, e. a. connell, frank croxton, herbert a. curtiss, john s. davis, chas. w. day, wm. f. dur, jacques eagleson, stuart ely, r. w. eppley, eugene evans, w. kendall brook, ind. first u. s. infantry new york city boston, mass. elyria, o. saginaw, mich. new york city akron, o. sidney, o. new york city elyria, o. columbus, o. detroit, mich. akron, o. hornellsville, n. y. toledo, o. new york city new york city new york city ravenna, o. geneva, o. pittsburg, pa. yokohama, japan pittsburg, pa. erie, pa. massillon, o. erie, pa. colorado springs, col. canton, o. japan chicago, ill. elyria, o. cambridge springs, pa. 104 lo extra fine lbs. franklin granulated sugar standard of purity. refined for franklin sugar refining co. philadelphia franklin sugars when you buy sugar, you want it all sugar; pure, clean, and with full sweetening strength. granulated sugar is not all alike. there is a difference in quality and wholesomeness and this difference is vitally important to you. don't ask your grocer merely for him you want 66 sugar, tell franklin sugar (extra fine) in 2 lb. and 5 lb. sealed cartons (granulated) franklin sugar is the purest, cleanest, wholesomest sugar ever produced. we use every modern device to insure perfect refining and absolute purity and cleanliness. it is packed and sealed by automatic machinery in dust proof cartons to keep it clean, fresh and wholesome and to keep it from absorbing objectionable odors. franklin sugar is absolutely free from any foreign substance. its perfect quality never varies, and in these strong, sealed cartons it is always protected until you open it. no dirt, dust or flying particles can touch it. no flies nor insects can get into it. no other merchandise gets in contact with it. it does not absorb excess moisture. it is not spilled and wasted in carrying. it reaches you full weight. franklin sugar costs you no more than ordinary sugar, but think how much the assurance of purity and wholesomeness is worth to you. be on the safe side. ask your grocer for franklin sugar in sealed cartons and see that the head of franklin is on the package. the franklin sugar refining co., phila. 105 trademark norton registered the grinding wheel that cuts fast consumes less horse power in grinding than the wheel that generates heat and does its work poorly norton company worcester, mass. 106 north british and mercantile insurance company centennial 1909 this company has paid over $160,000,000 for losses during its 100 years of organization, and over $8,000,000 in the seven great conflagrations in the united states. the o. m. stafford-goss-bedell co., agents cleveland, ohio are you a hermit in hanover? if not come on in. it's the best indemnity. ja hanover means protection in case of loss by fire secure our policy from the o. m. stafford-goss-bedell co., agents cleveland, ohio 107 van orman photo by hermit rogers herriman maher pettengill in the hermits in africa 108 f. a. ingalls, president and treasurer chas. c. shepard, vice-president w. s. weston, c. e., secretary ingalls-shepard forging co. heavy and light forgings drop hammer work works: harvey, illinois chicago office: mccormick building corner michigan boulevard and van buren street 109 "better buy buckeye" buckeye "mazda" lamps 2½ times more light "daylight at midnight" the modern lamp ideal same cost of current 40% mazda they burn in any positionif in need of lamps-and want the best main 1609 write phone call the buckeye electric co. retail sales and display room 320 cuyahoga bldg. superior ave. n. e. and public square cent. 703 110 formal dress "honestly, if i were called upon to advise a young man how best to succeed in life i should tell him to wear out two suits of dress clothes every year."-alfred henry lewis. percy e. anderson. we make evening clothes as good as they need be, for very little money. give you fine cloth and go to considerable pains to give you an unimpeachable fit. unless dress clothes do fit, they're no better than readymade bad thing to buy, readymade: no individuality, indifferent fit; waste of money nine times out of ten. at the usual prices for. "fine tailoring" few men can afford to wear out one suit in two years; at our prices one can afford to wear out, if he could, two suits in one year. evening dress suits, in vicuna, crepe, unfinisht worsted, venetian, poole-cloth, etc., to order, $27.50, $32.50, $37.50. tuxedo or dinner jacket suits, for informal wear, $25, $30, $35. silk lining $5 extra. trousers, $7.50, $8.50, $9.50. waistcoat of white silk and wash fabrics, $5 and $6. inverness overcoat, for evening wear, $22.50, $25, $30, $33.50. opera capes for evening wear, $22.50, $25, $30, $35. raincoat, genuine priestley "cravenette," $17.50, $20, $22.50, $25, $28.50, $30. and we make as quickly as you require no emergency too serious for us. the english woolen mills co. tailors and woolen merchants ohio headquarters and general executiv divisions 416 to 422 superior ave. n.w., cleveland inc. iii ford, carl b. ford, louis j. gardner, fred garberson, h. w. gaudie, j. goodbody, thos. p. greene, frank h. griess, jr., justin hale, edwin w. hall, j. v. hinkley, c. w. hopper, charles h. hunt, e. m. hungate, wilson huntley, f. p. iglestroem, john aurora, o. isle of pines, cuba chicago, ill. chicago, ill. akron, o. toledo, o. new york city bedford, o. iola, kans. chicago, ill. chicago, ill. unionville, lake county, o. new york city new york city new york city massillon, o. ingalls, f. a. jackson, john jewett, john e. ketcham, frederick h. king, clifford j. kingsbury, f. c. lonergan, pierce w. klumph, m. p. ladd, george t. loomis, harry w. lusk, m. w. mac donald, albert mccormick, douglass chicago, ill. chicago, ill. buffalo, n. y. new york city ashtabula, o. columbus, o. mentor, o. pittsburg, pa. akron, o. ravenna, o. pittsburg, pa. erie, pa. columbus, o. mcdonald, r. a. mcmahon, h. r. malone, lloyd s. marks, arthur h. merriam, dr. w. h. miller, w. s. myers, harry e. nicholas, frederic m. pittsburg, pa. pittsburg, pa. amherst, o. akron, o. abroad elyria, o. paris, france unionville, lake county, o. ii 2 chamberlin expansion joint metal weather strip specified by all leading architects t fits all styles, sizes and it conditions of windows and doors-old or new. we make a specialty of equipping single and double casement windows and french doors. chamberlin metal weather strip company j. j. rauscher, mgr. builders' exchange chamber of commerce building cleveland, ohio both phones 113 brinkerhoff five minutes five minutes no smoking the ssing rooms cleveland leader m the hermits in happy hollow 114 the steinway piano has been continuously without a peer in the musical world we invite your inspection of the steinway miniature grand (at $800) and the steinway vertegrand (at $550). these prices are low for such masterpieces, and cost but little more than the so-called "just as good" pianos the b. dreher's sons co. 502-4 e. superior ave. 29 the arcade the geo. h. bowman company china :: glassware silverware :: cutlery and house furnishings 224-226-228 euclid avenue 115 wagenhorst enwright ford pettengill the king in the hermits in africa photos by hermit rogers 116 to the hermits in london men seek the shop windows in bond street for the latest and best things in clothing. in cleveland they seek just one shop window on euclid avenue bennet & fish 301-303-305 euclid avenue outfitters to his royal highness the citizen of cleveland prince of good fellows the reeves wood split pulley combines light weight with strength, rigidity and symmetry. it is built true and stays that way. every standard size carried in stock by your hermit friends. the strong, carlisle & hammond co. manufactured by reeves pulley co., columbus, ind. 117 old crow rye reg. u. s. pat. off. the standard of pure rye whiskey old crow did crow ye rye nottled in bond w.a.gaines & ca hb kirk & co. bottled in bond sold only in bottles never sold in bulk a straight hand made sour mash old fashioned pot still pure rye whiskey old crow hold crow stay wan rye nottled in bone w.a.gaines & co hb kirk & co. sold everywhere 118 baker electrics the aristocrats of motordom cleveland salesrooms garage and repair shops 7100 euclid ave. the saegertown inn has an individuality of its own. it is not a hotel it is something different. it is your home with all the care and responsibility resting on other shoulders. the quaintest, most homelike and cheerful little hotel in the united states frank m. fox, proprietor 119 odell, clarence pettengill, geo. b. pomeroy, eugene c. rawlings, ralph richardson, e. m. ricker, william w. robbins, sabin, jr. schмock, e. l. seigel, p. r. skinner, edgar c. smart, allen r. smith, c. h. stark, a. l. stair, j. f. steese, chas. w. stewart, scott van orman, fred h. vaughn, guy w. wagenhorst, j. h. wasey, louis r. weybrecht, chas. c. wieman, wm. wilson, s. s. wilson, j. roberts worthington, ralph worthingtoon, george c. worthington, b. a. • new york city willoughby, o. new york city lansing, mich. new york city new york city middletown, o. willoughby, o. new york city st. louis, mo. chicago, ill. chicago, ill. elyria, o. lotus club · massillon, o. new york city evansville, ind. new york city pittsburg, pa. chicago, ill. alliance, 'o. pittsburg, pa. willoughby, o. ampere, n. j. miami, o.. elyria, o. pittsburg, p.a 120 chianti wine shipped by i. l. ruffino florence, tuscany ancient, pure and reliable highest awards at principal expositions wholesaled in cleveland by the weideman company fernet-branca of fratelli branca, milan, italy standard bitters of the world best flavor to cocktails beware of imitations wholesaled in cleveland by the weideman company for the convenience of our customers in cleveland and all ohio we maintain a cleveland office 913 citizens building the matthews-northrop works finley h. greene western representative s. c. crofford cleveland representative 121 our several stores buying as one is the means by which we bring to our patrons the best of everything at the lowest price possible for good merchandise. we go direct to the factory-to the fountain head-where the goods are produced. go with clearly defined ideas of what we want. everything has been thought out in advance. as soon as the trend of styles has assumed positiveness, we place extensive orders for our several stores, thus securing the most liberal price concessions and largest discounts. we patronize only the most reliable makers-those whose guarantee is a positive assurance of quality excellence. finally, by relying on a tremendous aggregate of sales, rather than large profits on individual items, we are able to sell high grade merchandise at prices no higher than are generally asked for goods of ordinary quality, and often much less. that's why the may co. grows. "watch us grow" the may co 122 the bankers surety company 213 williamson building cleveland are you going -toeurope cruises and tours around the world all lines at collvers' d. jay collver 31 taylor arcade ocean steamship agency casper j. miller 123 act i. the hermits at happy hollow 1910 124 scotch whisky distillers by royal warrants of appointment and suppliers to h.m. the king and h.r.h. the prince of wales black & white is all right james buchanan & co. arthur j. billin, managing director 29 broadway, new york barton & guestier established 1725 bordeaux haut sauternes 1893 barton & guestier bordeaux france shippers of fine vintage clarets, sauternes and the famous b. & g. olive oil imported in bottles only guaranteed under the pure food law e. lamontagne's sons 45 beaver st., new york pontet canet 1903barton & guesther bordeaux france 125 every man who drinks straight whiskey the wadart without areamache green river owensboro centucky creen river distilling co. distan serang district kentucky green river the whiskey without a headache will live in happy hollow every day of the year "the finest and smoothest that ever percolated down a human throat." kept popular by quality green river distilling company incorporated owensboro, kentucky 126 insure with the fireman's fund insurance co. total assets $7,431,401.75 surplus to policy holders $3,514,856.91 ¶ the henry m. brooks co. cleveland representatives cures indigestion and seasickness chew all others are imitations beeman's (the original) pepsin gum 127 hermit club annual dinner march 1910 drawn by hermit arthur d. brooks menu cover for march dinner 128 if you want to be sure of lasting satisfaction in the next suit you order, visit schleman bros. high-grade fabrics not only shape better to your figure, and look better at the start, but they hold their shape; wear longer; and show their quality as long as they last. you cannot be sure of satisfactory clothes unless you are sure of the fabrics they are made of. schleman bros. custom tailors 401-403-405 schofield bldg. cuy. cent. 2581-w euclid, cor. east 9th street p.s.-we carry the celebrated shackamoxon cloth white label &copale ale extra bass ale guinness stout mcmullen's white label pints and splits kesss white label foreig extra ss gate du 129 main 786 twelfth floor schofield the cent. queisser-bliss company specialists bricks facing and in "northwestern" enamel "winslow" architectural terra cotta ornamental iron horn's waterproofing compounds dehydratines-hydratite-symentrex "covert" fireplace throats and dampers "antiseptine" shingle stains "bar-lock" sidewalk, vault and skylights if you are going to build, call on us for a book on "tapestry brick work" or a "brick house" copyright cs 1907 phoen anne edge on laminated ictory a belt hand king novi for every service our motto no factory in cleveland should overlook the most complete line of belting found in the world manufactured by new york leather belting company 51 beekman st., new york carried in stock by strong, carlisle & hammond co. cleveland, ohio 130 herman a. harris builder 131 act ii. the hermits at happy hollow 1910 132 mother earth's best offering "top notch" brand grape juice absolutely pure and unfermented a delightfully cool and refreshing drink try a "split” with your lunch today as an appetizer armour & company chicago "be e sure and secure progress and ideal brands of cooking oil, the brands that make the housewife smile, on account of the purity of same and the advantages derived from their use. they are manufactured by the louisville cotton oil co., floyd & k. streets, louisville, kentucky, and are sold by all reliable dealers. call for the squatty can." 133 burroughs adding machine co. crane & gaylord, sales agents second floor, rockefeller bldg. fred s. crane paul p. gaylord. ¶ the hollenden barber shop geo. a. myers, prop. the largest and best barber shop in the city. fifteen barbers, two manicurists, and all of the electrical and compressed air appliances, local and long distance telephone connection at every chair. polite and prompt attention guaranteed. we solicit your patronage 134 van dyck quality havana cigars the r. & w. jenkinson co. distributors 135 hermit meditation saturday, november 20, 1909 program i the orchestra will play something-but cheer up-the worst is yet to come. ii mr. john witt-direct from the perry street theatre-will make a noise like a few songs. iii when father went to college a farce in one act, by c. r. housum cast of characters mr. marshall, of denver, colo. billy marshall, his son, yale 1910 ad jennings, billy's room-mate "dub" hartman charlie macklin alonzo shanks, a freshman "news" heeler fred nicholas douglas chisholm bunny caldwell jack pickard billy lamprecht ned worthington scene-billy marshall's room in vanderbilt hall, new haven. time-the spring term, 9:30 p.m. iv mlle. lloyd jones -the dainty comedienne-in a cycle of songs and dances. v a farcical mock trial entitled why the z club moved by gardner abbott and charley arter cast of undesirable characters judge reuben hitchcock bailiff geo. washington peyton, president of z club will grabbitt, counsel for plaintiff rich in learning but not in cash f. b. meade, president by occupation not himself by request reginald doolittle, his counsel by himself carl ford fred porter charley arter john witt frank marvin hermits and near musicians, royon, bliss, rogers, et al. time-the present. scene-court of common pleas. 136 the only fire insurance company supported by cleveland capital incorporated 1903 the western reserve insurance company 501-510 park building assets, $479,382.00 mars e. wagar, president. robert e. gooch, secretary-treasurer eckstein case john donaldson k. f. gill robert e. gooch h. h. hackman directors: parmely herrick l. e. holden john a. kelly theodor kundtz r. f. mackenzie homer mcdaniel charles rauch abraham stearn thomas l. johnson n. o. stone andrew s. upson mars e. wagar j. w. walton henry w. s. wood krug america's ready appreciation of the high quality of krug & co. private cuvée champagne is shown by the following remarkable record of yearly importations 1904 (about) 500 cases 1907 1905 5,885 66 1908 16,549 cases 22,652 66 1906 8,546 66 1909 33,303 66 137 the tire that won't rim-cut goodyear straight side detachable tires are guaranteed against rim-cutting. no other tire has this guarantee behind it. the outer sides of the tire are straight, permitting the use of a rim with a wide-rounding flange where it holds the tire in place. there are no sharp edges as in the clincher or hook form of tire-nothing to cause rim-cuts. good year are always larger than their rating, although they will fit the rims for which they are rated. larger tires mean more mileage. they won't come off the rim or creep, though no tire bolts are needed. note endless tape in base. they are easily removed and replaced, and for resiliency are supreme. forty-four high-class automobile manufacturers have contracted for 216,000 goodyear tires for their 1910 cars. the many reasons for their great popularity among motorists and automobile manufacturers is interestingly told in our val uable book "how to select an automobile tire." this volume shows how to keep down tire expense amazingly. send for it today. it's free! tires the goodyear tire & rubber co. akron, branches and agencies ohio in all principal cities hermits look happy in clothes made by d. e. mathias designer and maker of men's clothes 407 new england building cleveland 138 kamerer & benes garfield building tailors cleveland aluable knowledge is to know one thing thoroughly rather valu than many things slightly. our years of specialized effort in shirtmaking have given us intimate and accurate knowledge of all its details. a. sulka & co. shirtmakers 34 west 34th street, new york we have the shoes men and boys want kelley's bootery schofield building m any people who imagine our prices are high would be agreeably surprised if they would call at our show room. the bonhard art furniture co. twenty sixty euclid ave. 139 hermits' meditation saturday february fifth nineteen ten 1. the orchestra will burst into melodybut be of good cheer-it will soon be over and the entertainment will begin with twice. s. w. hubbard's latest success christmas eve at goldfield cast-offs gentleman jim, a square dealer bud kelley, an honest bar-keep prof. jones, a real piano player buck williams kid sawyer lazy pete skinny krauss shorty clarke miners billy connell rube crawford happy scraggs h. j. welch c. w. lundorff r. s. spencer (l. h. wallace l. t. jones c. b. castle r. f. smith r. a. curry f. j. dresser r. m. brinkerhoff e. s. zuck jack barlow monty shupe a. w. andrews g. b. higgins staged under personal supervision of c. a. maher place saloon and dance hall, goldfield time-christmas eve, 1904 this sad thing being over with we are pleased to announce three the dainty dansouse mlle. caldwell in his times. daring imitations of gertrude hoffman's barefoot dances. having stood for this we will pass on to fourthly. h. l. berkes, who will render sweet strains on his cello. the audience is especially requested to preserve quietness during this number even if it is necessary to go down to the grill room to do so. next v. doc kerr will tell us all about the new show the hermits in ¶ ‡ !? (except the reason for having it). and this dam thing being finished we will come to the great feature (being the last) of the evening 23. the masquerade club by a. a. a. a. augustus sir geo. brinton, barrister weston kent, associate barrister helen kent, his wife penfield, waiter at buckhorn inn, london r. c. enwright j. w. pickard, jr. h. n. herriman c. a. maher *!? the name of the new show will be decided on saturday night and suggestions will be welcomed. the scene is laid in the catskill mountains and the time is the present. carriages at ten thirty. taps 140 the continental fire insurance co. capital, $1,000,000. liabilities, $8,287,908. of new york assets, $22,332.787.. policy holders' surplus, $14,044,878. secured by a net surplus ($13,044,878) exclusively protecting american policy holders, larger than that of any other company. important advantage of inspection by experienced men. prompt attention to adjustments ensured by its large force of traveling men. seventy-two millions of dollars paid for losses since organization, and over fifty years of business are guarantees of fair treatment. every honest loss claimant paid one hundred cents on the dollar in cash without discount. cleveland agents the o. m. stafford-goss-bedell company nos. 601-607 century building "the society wine" pol roger & co. dry special brut special 1900 on sale at the leading hotels, restaurants, clubs and wine merchants anthony oechs & co. 51 warren street, new york city sole agents for the united states 141 ww salt comp salties wadsworth the salt granocrystal tabifkitchen wadsworth ohio., wwww "the saltiest salt" has been sold to the grocery trade for 19 years, and has earned a reputation as "the best table salt on the market." not an opinion, but hard, solid fact. investigate and settle it to your own satisfaction. the weideman co. the wm. edwards co. the h. c. christy co. the c. c. higgins co. distributors quality webster made by y. pendas & alvarez tampa, florida sold by the euclid smoke shop a. labowitch, mgr. a. goodman, dis. 707 euclid avenue 142 w. s. gilkey, president w. a. daley, gen. manager the w. s. gilkey printing co. 1212 west sixth street cleveland railroad and commercial printers blank book manufacturers the gillsy hotel east ninth street medium price restaurant in connection 235 rooms try the gillsy turkish baths 143 exterior of the hermit club drawn by hermit c. s. schneider 144 pioneers of the piano center cleveland's big and busy piano house the muehlhauser piano company two stores y. m. c. a. bldg. 2127 e. 9th st. 922 prospect ave. “canadian club” whisky distilled and bottled by hiram walker & sons, limited walkerville, ont., canada 145 the manest clothes dryer one fire { boils the clothes dries the clothes heats the irons no modern home complete without one the manest hot air gas furnace can be combined with hot water radiators or with coal furnaces. manufactured the mannen & esterly co. by 2241 st. clair avenue both phones the scribner & loehr company wholesale and manufacturing jewelers 2047 east ninth st. cleveland, o. 146 the webb c. ball watch co. superior ave. and west third st. jewlery a complete line-up of boots and shoes, barn-doors, roller skates and canned goods wedding presents (for tin weddings) a specialty on the fourth of july we will move to our new store, euclid avenue opposite union club. copy by "ad-art." s. y. z. ball, sec'y. humor by a. d. b. c. brooks accident and liability insurance strongest company. assets one hundred millions. honest contracts. fair rates. complete claim department with immediate service, affording direct dealing. all of this with the etna w. g. wilson, manager sixth floor, cuyahoga building 147 entrance to the hermit club drawny hermit c. s. schneider 148 munter hunter trade ward "ntimore trade mark the hospitality and good cheer of host and hostess should include hunter baltimore rye the richest product of the best of maryland's famous distilleries sold at all first-class cafes and by jobbers wm. lanahan & son, baltimore, md. niles car & mfg. company general office and works, niles, ohio general sales office, 312 electric building, cleveland, ohio the hermits are all wearing stone's shoes how about you? get wise! n. o. stone & co. 149 sigfret! charmene depilatory the ideal hair remover has been used and endorsed by thousands of women, for several years, as the only really sensible and positively harmless hair remover ever devised. removes undesirable hair from any part of the face, neck, arms or body, instantly, and positively will leave no evil after effects. ask your druggist or write us for a trial package free. the charmene chemical co. 1552 payne avenue cleveland, ohio 150 "kant krack" a new collar, especially adapted to automobiling, camping and all outdoor sports. it is linen but waterproofed. made by the parsons & parsons co. cleveland, ohio we manufacture the finest candies, cakes, ice cream and ices mcnally-doyle the garfield savings bank founded 1892 close to the hearts of fifteen thousand people shotter, faerber & co. insurance 151 the fire place in the hermit club drawn by hermit c. s. schneider 152 annuities & insurance olmsted's s corporation & partnership "it is as important to insure brains and capital as merchandise and buildings.” we have special and approved forms for this kind of protection, no proof of interest required in settlement. we are also prepared to sign your bond or insure you against fire, accident, sickness, burglary or cyclones geo. h. olmsted i. p. chandler all forms of automobile insurance e. b. hamlin o. n. olmsted c. j. seabrook james h. smart a. l. oppenheimer, president-manager the enterprise electric construction co. engineers contractors supplies 5307 euclid avenue cleveland jerry o. mcnaughton company tailors to gentlemen 1001 citizens building both phones 153 admiralty pocahontas "the fuel without a fault" 2 ask your neighbor. he guaranteed and sold zettelmeyer ale uses it. exclusively by jones and laughlin steel company american iron and steel works pittsburgh manufacturers of open hearth and bessemer steel bars structural shapes, etc. cleveland sales office rockefeller building 154 "macdiarmids" of detroit and cleveland mark of highest quality in candies delicious sodas ice creams fruit ices open after theatre is intended for martha washington tea room ladies and gentlemen noon luncheon-eleven until two 2050 east ninth street, in the rose building por twenty years past, lake vessel investments have been highly profitable. in time of depression like the present, these securities are bought to best advantage. let me serve you (broker's commission only) in the purchase or sale of good vessel stocks or bonds, or any other high class investment securities. john m. mulrooney member cleveland stock exchange 425-427 rockefeller building 155 m. w. lawrence kline smiley baker wedenmeyer chisholm gill white the hermits in africa photos by hermit rogers 156 the hermits in j-m asbestosland all good hermits visit j-m asbestosland, for it is a splendid spot in which to meditate, acquire merit, grow in knowledge. "here's every thing advantageous to life." h. w. johns-manville co. 813-815 superior ave. n.w. cleveland, ohio walk-over shoes we find some men and women too-who are very exacting about their footwearbut we have never failed to please them with walk-overs. parents will appreciate our model children's department in the east ninth street store. chisholm's boot shops superior avenue opposite city hall (three of them) 2069 east 9th street opposite rose building 2041 east 4th street (sheriff) near euclid municipal bonds street railway bonds steamship company bonds c. e. denison & co. guardian building 157 frog & crossing co lucas' patent frogs highest crossings quality frogs crossings f&c co switches for stands durability safety switches switch stands steam and electric railways hotel astor times square new york -stearn-&-co240 to 248 euclid avenue 158 the martin-barriss company importers of mahogany and all fine cabinet woods manufacturers and dealers in native hardwood lumber. make a specialty of fine oak floors for the home, the office, the cloister and the hermitage 2048 west third street mount vern fire rye mount vernon pure spe whiskey cook & bernheimer co whiskey the original and only distillery bottling mount vernon pure rye whiskey is in square bottles cook & bernheimer co., new york fur storage furs placed in gammel storage vaults are subjected to the most widely indorsed of all processes for thorough and harmless renovation. experts accredited with exceptional knowledge are in charge, and the highest attainable efficiency is guaranteed. the service insures against fire, moths and theft. the r. w. gammel co. 522 euclid avenue cleveland, ohio 159 teare dawley baker mcallister bailey caldwell lamprecht 160 london & lancashire fire insurance co. of liverpool, england. the o. m. stafford-goss-bedell co. registered, u.s. pat. off, agents century building, 414 superior avenue n.w. the genuine baker's breakfast cocoa with the delicious natural flavor and the rich red-brown color characteristic of the high grade cocoa is made only by drink little walter baker & co., ltd. established 1780 dorchester, mass. sarge 161 plain dealer hermits in happy hollow, s ol' man toner: "say biff, 1 know why ye advertised to shoe them hermits hosses free this week!" biff: "why?" toner: w'y they're all comin' in ottymobiles 162 japalac "wears like iron." the original stain and varnish combined jap-a-lac idden years like all colors the gurd the jap chap all the people in happy hollow know it's made by glidden 163 curses we professionals must take a back seat drawing by hermit c. n. landon they say he's a hermit wonderful!! wonderful!! that explains it. birthday bulletin frank b. meade, a rising young architect and nearmusician who celebrates his 57th anniversary today. 164 gles& bonnett 210-212-214 superior building manufacturers of high-grade custom shirts pajamas and underwear to measure importers of foreign shirtings-ask the hermits reception gowns and delicate wraps are made the subject of very special care in our dry cleaning department. if we have done such work for you in the past we are sure of your future orders. if not we ask you to try us and let us prove our claim of the finest work done in cleveland. the d. o. summers cleaning company 6202-6220 carnegie avenue east 311 erie 184 165 for one of the attractive family groups from good housekeeping magazine or ten years good housekeeping magazine has been drawing hermits out of their caves by heightening the attractions of the married state. it has won the hearts of 300,000 women whose business in life it is to make the home the real "happy hollow." it is a wise, comforting friend in its editorial work, and a safe, progressive guide in its advertising pages. applause has been given for its specialties, and there's more coming. there are big things ahead. richard h. waldo, advertising manager. good housekeeping magazine new york the phelps publishing company springfield, mass. chicago 166 with the automobile owner rests the whole tire proposition-absolutely-and the thing he is most interested in, is-how much tire mileage he can get for his money! exactly these reasons and no other have made diamond tires the everywhere accepted standard-both casings and tubes"users know" the diamond rubber co. 1514 euclid ave. important diamond inner tubes are packed in individual sealed boxes. they reach the user in the same perfect condition in which they leave the factory. 167 talk about running the new york hippodrome it's easy compared to putting on a hermit show rehearsals all hours day and night look's easy drawing by hermit c. n. landon r. b. burnside, manager of the new york hippodrome, who is producing the hermits at happy hollow. 168 bridge bridge our new high arch, hi heel and high toe shoe. most stylish and comfortable. the toes are somewhat wider and higher than last season, and that's good. good shoes for men, $3.50, $4 and $4.50. boots and oxfords, tan, black and patent. dorn shoe "on the square" williamson building announcement on or about june 15 we will move from our present location to the annisfield building, corner of east ninth st. and prospect ave. this new store will be the largest and most complete in the country: a full line of henry f. miller, kurtzmann, ebersole and bush & lane pianos and the famous angelus player pianos will always be carried in stock the caldwell piano co. 408-410 superior street 26-28 the arcade the one price-right price-piano store 169 ꮼ ᏼ b eer acts as a tonic, and, for this reason, has received the hearty endorsement of leading medical and scientific authorities the world over. eminent ecclesiastical authorities have long recognized beer as an important factor in the world's campaign fortemperance, and have not hesitated to recommend its use in moderation. beer has always been regarded not only as a popular beverage pleasing to the taste and refreshing, but as a health giving food, and hence has been very appropriately called "liquid bread." the vast majority of the world's best workers are beer drinkers, and beer drinking nations have long occupied the foremost position in the progress of the world. -the american pure food journal. the best beer is made in cleveland ask any hermit and try a case 170 roper under wear made-to-order underwear made in any style to suit individual tastes and ideas and in any fabric all-linen, all-silk, all-wool, all-cotton or in various combinations of each. make underwear in both gentlemen's and ladies' goods hosiery oper hosiery is of the highest grade only. not only in the quality of the yarns used, but in the construction of them as well. all our hose are made in what we call a slipper foot hose, wherein the sole, heel this is especially desirable so much worn. the hose and toe are knit in two thicknesses. in the extremely light weights, that are can be as light as you wish them to be; only, so long as they are knit with heavier foot, wear need not be sacrificed, and this can be accomplished without adding bulkiness to the foot. ¶ why should you wear hose of the ordinary kind, when for the same cost you can have hose made to meet with your idea? you can have hose that match your suits or your ties. you can have them handembroidered with monograms or with your initials, while in the process of being made. our hose are made in full fashioned goods only, in thread silk, spun silk, silk and linen, silk lisle, and saxony wool. george a. roper, steubenville, ohio 171 hermit show copy drawing by hermit c. n. landon clarence vincent kerr, the eminent playwright, who has written many successful musical comedies, none of which have been produced as yet. 172 north 855 the ohio desk&chair co. wm. b. maxson president s. s. mcmillin treasurer 1027 prospect avenue business furniture clark r. w. matteson, mgr. 1028 huron road cleveland, ohio wire rope electric wires and cables john a. roebling's sons co. 701-7 st. clair ave. n. e. 173 the ho hollenden the hollenden -after the theatre 174 something to pin your faith to— wiltshire hams bacon lard put up by the cleveland provision co. sold by all good markets 175 46 miles to sque dunkt drawing by hermit c. n. landon at liberty. george b. pettengill, late heavy tragedian with the hermits in africa, will sign with any good musical comedy. a good dresser on and off the stage. 176 wetzel (incorporated) breeches makers and tailors golfing, hunting, shooting sporting dress of every kind our representative is at the hollenden one week of each month during the season 2 and 4 east forty-fourth street, new york buxton insuring agency 63 william street new york n. y. furnishing good insurance at equitable rates 177 telephone harrison 1232 barrow, wade, guthrie & company certified public accountants chicago allen r. smart, c. p. a. edward e. gore, c. p. a. william h. roberts, c. p. a. monadnock building 98 jackson boulevard chicago new york new orleans san francisco london, eng. 178 the wheeling & lake erie rail road co. b. a. worthington, receiver parlor car route το canton, coshocton zanesville and wheeling, w. va. depots ontario foot of huron road and ninety-third street r. f. kelley, general passenger agent 179 コロロム ​100 tic e, 口​に ​drawing by hermit c. n. landon who's who in america. gardner abbott, the fog-horn alto, whose rendition of "the handicap" was a great success in 1887. 180 bell phone north 476 the graham company tailors successor to the wieber company 2073 east ninth street opp. rose building cleveland in the early times we had hermits but like the early times sour mash, kentucky whiskey of today---quite a difference from the old style. test the difference. 181 neale bros. & schryver are equipped to handle any kind of an insurance proposition your business may require. we solicit new accounts, and refer you to old customers with pleasure. main 2825 central 1540 701 park building cleveland 182 studebaker garford automobiles will appeal to you because of their luxury easy riding over country roads-quiet motor and reliability. you can tour for a day or a year over country roads without the usual road trouble. studebaker garford engines are mechanically perfect. price studebaker garford "40" $4000 studebaker flander's "20" 750 studebaker e. m. f. "30" 1250 studebaker electrics pleasure and commercial studebaker automobile co. · ohio branch, a. r. davis, manager 19th street, near euclid cleveland, ohio 183 stage door 1 drawing by hermit c. n. landon as advertised. the fashion plate, horatio n. herriman, demonstrating the styles for the coming season. a copy of his book, "how to dress on $28.00 a year," free to every lady. 184 warren bicknell, pres. w. e. davis, vice pres. c. s. thrasher, sec'y and treas. the cleveland construction co. 606 citizens bldg. complete construction of electric railroads electric light and central power stations consulting electrical and mechanical engineers warren bicknell, pres. w. e. davis, vice pres. c. s. thrasher, sec'y and treas. the warren bicknell co. 606 citizens bldg. operating managers of electric railroad and lighting properties old established sam thompson pure rye bottled in bond the best of fine whiskies 185 castaneda imported cigars 10 sizes none equal. ask your friends sold at all stands, cafes, druggists the weideman company importers pure whiskey our number 31 thirty one finest procurable the weideman company cleveland, ohio established 1861 186 devenkatst no matter what day of the month you deposit interest begins then hermits in happy hollow, the new england leads and others follow new england mutual life insurance co. boston, massachusetts chartered 1835 ¶ the first company to abolish any penalty in the form of surrender charge, giving the entire three per cent reserve in cash, participating paid up insurance or participating extended term insurance, after the third premium. edward c. beach, city agent h. f. mcnutt, general agent citizens building 187 drawing by hermit c. n. landon medical notes. dr. henry l. sanford, performing one of his painful operations. 188 looking for snaps!! "you've often had what you thought was a snapit's the same old story in buying a hat. it's often the shape, that catches the eye; some times the price will induce you to buy, but the shape and the price would never tempt me, unless with these features, i get qual-i-tee." you'll get quality and style in our panama hats the davis & sale company 743 euclid avenue the cleveland & sandusky brewing company general offices 1113 american trust building both phones 189 read cleveland town topics for the news in society automobiling music · art books and drama on sale all news stands 5c per copy $2.00 per year $1.00 six months postpaid 190 a priceless habit cleansing the teeth with christie's dentals tooth powder or paste christie's dentine elixir and mouth wash general agents strong, cobb & company retail store, 199 superior ave. the cleveland builders supply co. cleveland, ohio largest exclusive builders supply dealers in the united states 191 here's where i beat it not fo mine johnson jeff m drawing by hermit c. n. landon has challenged jeffries. charley maher, alias the jersey skeeter. clever young lightweight. biograph rights reserved. 192 even a hermit loves comfort american radiators and ideal boilers will keep his cell warm thro' the cold blasts of winter. a pneumatic water system will keep him cool in summer by furnishing his summer home with an ample supply of water for all purposes. both supplied by the w. m. pattison supply co. 197 to 221 st. clair ave. n. e. which also handles railway, mill and shop sup. plies, iron and steel pipe, valves, fittings, heavy hardware, engines, boilers, machinery, etc. 193 by the junior office boy of the cleveland press hermit press new york, may 30, 1910 by golly, i wisht i could werk in new york and live in deer old cleaveland hear anuther yere has cum around and the hermitts are havin anuther show and i am far away in littel old new york, whair i cant see nuthing except the pickchers of the show in the press, aint it feerce acourse there is sum shows down how hear, i get to see one onct in a while, i seen "the gerl with the hooping coff" and "the passing of the 3d flore back" and sum uther nice plays this winter, but you dont see nuthing like the hermitts, there aint no shaips like wally bowler's or jim waggenhorse's in any corus in n. y. stanfred porter sent me a letter about the plot, by jiminy that is a fine plot, gene walter and bill shakespear aint got nuthin hardly on ole dock kerr, i think the dock must be verry modest or he would have a cuppel of drammers running on brodway, i know he could rite rings around sum of the stuff thats pulled hear wel, i see the old stand-bys are on deck, charly maher and gorge pettengil and roj enrite and horrie hairyman and bunny caldwell, gee, that bunch will kid itself into thinkin they are real ackters in 15 or 20 yeres moar i see john peter witt is goin to be a soubret, by golly ide almost pay my fair to cleaveland to see john peter as a nurse gerl, john mite win a blind policeman in a dark park if there wasent many gerls in town wel, i wisht the hermitts good luck, if they keap on pullin the leg of the cleaveland public thay will soon have more munny than there is in myrun herrick's bank johny 194 telephone main 434 the mulcahy-nelson company makers of high-class garments for men. $40 to $55 300-302-304 schofield building 195 drawing by hermit c. n. landon stop, look and listen richard s. spencer, the boy prodigy piano player, creating one of his song successes. graduate of the spencerian business college. 196 the superior dry cleaning company dry cleaners, clothes pressers and dyers we contract to sponge and press clothes weekly, call and deliver. experts on lace curtains and draperies relining, altering and repairing 1457 east sixth street 10621 euclid avenue roland t. meacham member cleveland stock exchange citizens building 197 volk's physical culture school 737 prospect avenue central 3969-w electric cabinet baths electric massage scientific massage boxing and wrestling health and strength weight reducing strictly private and at your own time 198 kodak כ teur photography. ssociate our a name with everything in connection with professional and amaeverything in the kodak and camera line. $1.00 to $100.00. also some exclusive styles. professional and amateur photographic supplies, drawing materials, artists' materials, scientific and nautical instruments. the dodd-rogers co. 4th door from euclid on bond 199 rah-rah-rah-rah №199 drawing by hermit c. n. landon music taught while you wait professor albert rees davis, of the kalamazoo correspondence school of music, drilling his class in college yells. 200 the parisian dry cleaning co. expert cleaners, dyers and feather artists yearly contract pressing 24 taylor arcade 2420 cedar avenue s. e. cleveland, ohio the ohio architect and builder cleveland, ohio 201 the new wade park residence district wade bros. wade bldg. 202 for rent offices stores manufacturing space bradley bros. realty company 822 columbia building prospect and east 2nd sts. 203 e 。 hermit show music 堂 ​drawing by hermit c. n. landon john zamecnik turning out some of his musical hits. 204 the jackdaw of reims uncorking a bottle of pommery "sec" pommery "brut" the standard for champagne quality. always uniform and made exclusively of the choicest grapes obtainable francis draz & co., new york sole agents united states the tillotson & wolcott company bonds guardian trust building cleveland fresh flowers shipped to "happy hollow” on short notice the j. m. gasser co. euclid avenue greenstein & co. tailors 258 superior avenue n. e. 205 1134 uncle biff:-"that old lady certainly can go some!" aunt calista says:"rah! rah! rah! i feel ez young ez a colt when i think what a hit we've made with the week in cleveland rah! rah! rah ! grandma leader:"i never showed so much real lace as that!" everett true:i wish she'd stub her toe" sat's bear:"gr-r-r-r-r-r-r the week cleveland err 206 founded a. d. 1710 201st year of active business existence beginning its third century sun insurance office of london the oldest insurance company in the world. furnishes the longest tried indemnity. represented by the o. m. stafford-goss-bedell co. cleveland, ohio 207 one of i want to be a chorus the leading roles please lady any small part for me drawing by hermit c. n. landon manager show of wanted one hundred young ladies to appear in musical comedy. fred s. borton, manager. 208 fred epple decorator and painter wall paper and paints 10305 euclid avenue and 105th cleveland bell, doan 2344 cuy. central 2547 cleveland's acknowledged leading feather cleaning and dyeing experts :: :: the p. w. sobey dry cleaning co. 10505 euclid avenue 8801 hough avenue 2381 e. 82nd street 1900 e. 9th street 39 the arcade 209 travelers outfitters o exclusive agents for mark "cross" line of leather goods. hand bags, purses, card cases and toilet articles. "likly" of rochester, trunks and bags, automobile necessities. rogers-thomas-dodd co. optical and leather goods 2024 east ninth street schofield building cleveland's greatest leather store 210 electric light doubles home comfort it is clean, healthful, safe, brilliant and yet an economical illuminant, while its use permits the installation of numberless modern devices for lightening labor and heightening the enjoyableness of a home. if your home is not wired for electricity learn about our attractive offer. call bell main 2401 or cuyahoga central 5860. the illuminating company sales department, 232 superior ave. n. e. 211 photo by hermit rogers arthur j. caldwell in the hermits in africa 212 the =jom trade mark. shoe johnston & murphy shoes for the man who appreciates high grade footwear and wants the best. in all leathers, $6 to $12.00. the pocock shoe co., 520 euclid avenue compliments of w. j. garson & company tailors new location 612 euclid avenue clarence building deklyn's candies and fine chocolates are the best everybody likes good candy, and when you ask for deklyn's you get it. sent everywhere by mail or express. custom made shirts ¶ our own shirt factory is turning out the best fitting shirts to be had anywhere ¶ we'd like to make a sample order for you browning, king & company 213 1st old taylor bottled in bond amongst the better beverage brands old taylor occupies the 1st position in the public markets of america, and except one other brand of whiskey is, when of bottling age, close to double the price of all others. this merited position stamps its esteem in the favor and confidence of the higher class public. e.h.taylor jr. & sons incorporated distillers frankfort, ky. 214 certified public accountants factory economies systems va nau, tanner & rusk audits examinations investigations american trust building cleveland main 494 215 photo by hermit rogers felix hughes in the hermits in africa 216 very exclusive la flor de radyca... trade mark gran fabrica de tabacos. de la vuelta abajo habana mild havana cigar sold by best dealers, all clubs and the pyle & allen co. stores 726 euclid avenue 312 superior avenue euclid and e. 6th st. hippodrome bldg. the hermits at happy hollow ¶ our seamless steel tube is hermetically sealed by our process of electric welding our customers are happy because they are getting a perfected tubing that is the result of years of experiment and experience our tube is hollow but our claims for its superiority are not the standard welding co. electric welding pioneers cleveland 217 1893 the audit company 1910 of cleveland unless corporations and firms have periodical audits of their accounts, they are likely to find themselves in a hole almost any day because their bookkeepers' statements did not show their true financial condition-and it will be no "happy hollow." for 17 years the audit company of cleveland has made periodical audits, remodelled and installed factory and office systems and conducted independent examinations for banks and trust companies. its methods are modern. its fees are reasonable. its work is accurate. the audit company of cleveland citizens building, cleveland, ohio 218 of individual wedding-gifts r here is little fear of duplication when you select weddinggifts at the rorheimer brooks studios of the hundreds of suitable articles every one is selected for its individual merit bric-a-brac library lamps hand-wrought jewelry & hand-made furniture the rorheimer-brooks studios decorators and furnishers 1931 east ninth street, cleveland 219 photo by hermit rogers frank s. baker in the hermits in africa 220 the george m. edmondson co. photographers in portraiture new studio, 2362 euclid avenue, cleveland, ohio james g. moore high class haberdasher 809 euclid avenue phone main 868 let otto & kub make it your next suit or overcoat euclid avenue corner e. 6th st. t notice his space is taken by s. n. watson, who is too busy making shirts to write copy, but we request our hermit friends to give him their patronage. s. n. watson, haberdasher 1933 east sixth st. (old bond) 221 bps n paints and varnishes for every purpose. we mention two items with exceptional values. a varnish, nisoron, that won't mar white under severe usage. a wall coating, b. p. s. flat wall finish, that can be washed, dries dull, artistic. the patterson-sargent co. paints, varnishes painters' supplies 804 prospect avenue 222 the purchase of diamonds in the near future will prove a profitable investment, as the predicted advance in prices makes it worth your while to purchase diamonds, jewelry and silver at the reliable firm of sigler's where prices are low and consistent with the fine quality of goods we sell the sigler bros. co. second floor garfield building you can safely rely upon our word in matters pertaining to the correctness of dress for any occasion the griese brothers co. haberdashers two stores 223 the hermit club ready to escort the lambs club at the time of their appearance in cleveland in june 1909 224 the employers' liability assurance corporation, limited liability of london, eng. wm. o. brunskill, general agent 337 superior ave. n.w. cleveland, o. issues all forms of accident fidelity bonds burglary the pioneer of liability insurance assets, $5,063,420.35 reserve, $3,151,438.36 surplus to policy holders, $1,911,981.99 our policies are liberal and free from technicalities otis elevators standard of the world local offices and factory 701 to 707 st. clair avenue n. e. 225 wuest's crushed fruit chocolates are different abe jacobs a particular restaurant for particular people 811 vincent street compliments of the p. c. o'brien company 807-809 prospect avenue grocers importers and wine merchants cleveland wiedemann's the beer of delicious taste and royal amber distinctive flavor bohemian (light) muenchener (dark) the p. c. o'brien co., distributors 807-809 prospect avenue cleveland 226 will you have a club cocktail before your dinner? o the quest who dine with you at can offer this polite attention you your home if you have a bottle of the "club cocktails." they are home cocktails. they are on the sideboards of thousands of homes. are they on yours? it's the proper thing to have. the age of the "club cocktails," the pure liquors used, the perfect blending, make them better than you can mix; better than any cocktail served over any bar in the world. send home a bottle of manhattan, martini, whiskey, holland or tom gin, vermouth or york, today. by all fancy grocers and dealers. g. f. heublein & bro. for sale 29 broadway, n. y. real estate hartford, conn. rentals bonds the evarts-tremaine-flicker company williamson bldg. insurance cleveland, ohio bell main 2183 :: cuyahoga central 1934 representing the following companies: royal of livererpool, agricultural of watertown, westchester of new york, northern of england, capital fire insurance co. of concord, n. h., royal exchange assurance of london, new hampshire of manchester, n. h., phoenix insurance co. of hartford, conn., home insurance co. of new york, automobile floater. general agents: the ocean accident and guarantee corporation (limited), "personal accident," "health," "plate glass," "burglary," "fidelity bond,' "fidelity bond," "liability," "steam boiler." agents indiana and ohio live stock insurance company of crawfordsville, indiana. 227 crawford bowler baldwin steele in the hermits in africa photos by hermit rogers 228 if you have lunched at the hermit club you know oneida chief canned goods order them for your home babcock, hurd & co. the exline co. x cleveland makers of high grade catalogs, booklets and stationery 229 a new hanan oxford one of the tastiest low cut shoes for street wear that is produced this season. exactly like cut -designed on hanan's exclusive lines with short vamp-butterfly tip— large silk ribbon tie-cuban heel and perforated edges. in parent colt, at in fine calf, at $5.50 $5.00 we also show similar styles in the above shoe, in other makes, at $3.50 and $4.50 hanan & sons, 608 euclid avenue the lander-phillips dairy co. 5624 kinsman road s. e. and 513 high ave. milk and cream at wholesale only our business is supplying hotels, restaurants, ice cream makers and grocers cuy. phone cent. 2958 bell phone east 1862 230 hermit gilkey in his interstate roadster 621 frankfort avenue agency-weddell house garage r. h. eckenroth shm medico-indemnity prescriptions for credit men for nervousness over book accounts for mercantile insomnia for financial headaches take credit-insurance in the ocean company. take credit-insurance in the ocean company. take credit-insurance in the ocean company. for strengthening your system-of credits for "lame duck" bites take credit-insurance in the ocean company. take credit-insurance in the ocean company. for swelling on the left side of the p. & l. a/c. take credit-insurance in the ocean company. ocean accident & guarantee co. h. e. hedges, general agent 1128 williamson building 231 1905 the hermits in holland scenario by frank b. meade and albert r. davis. book and lyrics by leland ingersoll, edward h. cady, charles p. hine and norman c. mcloud. produced under the direction of herbert mathews, assisted by j. w. mitchell. note-the characters are named in the program in the order in which they first speak. hans wagner (the landlord's son) c. a. dielhenn von punk's zealous assistant. johann von punk a. r. davis newly elected burgomaster of nichtrecht. fredrika koldecken herbert mathews not averse to matrimony. roland hoyle c. w. stage specialist in elimination and deduction. cerise c. a. maher quite fresh from the boulevards. ezekiel kahn c. h. hopper sole proprietor of the greatest show on earth. claud fraser (a mellow baritone) f. w. braggins very much in love with gwendolyn. sandscow g. b. pettingill professional strong man of mixed nationality. gwendolyn (heiress of earlscourt) prima donna of kahn's troupe. lord earlscourt (of earlscourt) . gwendolyn's uncle and guardian. papa boomsterhausen one of them the village cobbler. h. n. herriman c. a. otis m. w. lawrence s. wolle croxton the other j. l. botsford, jr. 232 scores of new patrons each year who are not at the moment in need of shoes, leave their measurements with us when passing through new york or chicago, or record them by mail upon special blanks furnished by us, so that they may obtain perfect fitting shoes in a hurry when wanted. by either method you may be sure of perfect shoes and perfect service upon mail or telegraphic orders from anywhere, at any time. our ready-to-wear shoes, built upon our life-long experience as custom boot-makers, and the only shoes of similar character and quality ever offered ready-to-wear, are sold from seven dollars upward. martin & martin bootmakers for men and women 1 east 35th street, new york 183 michigan ave., chicago we make a complete line of safes for protection from fire and the burglar, including safes adapted to the needs}of the home. no modern residence is complete without a safe for the silver, important papers, etc. interiors are designed to suit individual needs. let us know your wants and we will be glad to submit estimates. the national safe & lock co. cleveland, ohio "the happy family" cast-mrs. hermit, mr. hermit, b. baby hermit. time-present. place hermit home. scene-breakfast table. mrs. hermit-you're very happy this morning. mr. hermit-yes, darling, life is rosy. mrs. hermit (amazed) but didn't you attend a stag at the club last night? mr. hermit (laughs) oh, yes, dear, but every hermit is a boraxite now, you know. mrs. hermit-what is that? mr. hermit-a user of "20 mule team” borax. (b. baby hermit is heard laughing off stage). mrs. hermit-hear baby laughing. we are both boraxites and have always been. curtain. the united states coal company miners and shippers crow hollow bituminous coal 1206 citizens building cleveland, ohio 233 d ο news. happy hollow edition three important facts about the cleveland news. 1-only evening paper in cleveland with the associated press service. 2-the news issues the only sport extra containing all the general news in addition to two extra pages of live sports. 3-only cleveland paper with full magazine page daily.. 234 the otis lithograph co. cleveland new york take the electric pullman limited cars for akron and canton over the a. b. c. cars leave public square, as follows: 7.20 a.m. arrive akron, 9.00 a.m. arrive canton, 9.55 a.m. 66 9.30 a.m. 7.50 a.m. 66 11.30 a.m. 9.50 a.m. 66 12.50 p.m. 2.30 p.m. 3.25 p.m. 66 1.50 p.m. 3.30 p.m. 66 66 4.20 p.m. 6.50 p.m. 6.00 p.m. 7.00 p.m. 66 66 8.30 p.m. regular local cars every hour. 235 1906 the hermits in spain libretto by norman c. mcloud and maximilian foster. lyrics by norman c. mcloud. score by albert rees davis, milton w. lusk, richard s. spencer, j. f. stair, arthur c. rogers, frank b. meade, s. w. croxton, jr., and henry l. sanford. under the direction of herbert mathews, assisted by j. w. mitchell. samuel jenkins-a yankee promotor herr von heissler father mendoza stella keyes mrs. wilkins the alcalde roger c. enwright george b. pettengill professor of singing in the convent. fredrick s. porter abbot of the spanish monastery. s. wolle croxton, jr. american stenographer for jenkins. herbert mathews chaperone for visiting american school girls. clarence a. dielhenn most important man in the village. one third of the army philip r. lyman eager to be useful. two thirds of the army wm. mckinley duncan also eager to be useful. gorgonzola-a bloodthirsty bandit. camembert-a fierce but musical bandit roquefort charles h. hopper roland t. meacham charles w. stage a willowy and somewhat sentimental bandit. marguerite spinola frederick scoville a spanish beauty with a mystery. h. n. herriman fred w. braggins an american student touring spain. seeking to suppress bull-fighting. alfred smithers alfonso xxiii-king of spain the anarchist an engineer albert r. davis charles a. maher sterling w. hubbard charles c. clark with bad news. another engineer george h. ganson with more bad news. the bull by himself 236 phone east 1143 the geo. b. mcmillan co. general contractors 1794 east 55th st. cleveland, ohio 20th century equipment 20 years experience the weber-kelly company railroad, commercial and catalog printers and blank book makers 1279 west third st., cleveland, ohio phone main 1957 we extend a cordial invitation to everyone to an inspection of our plant 237 པ་འ། don't take chances in so important a matter as fire insurance. insist that your broker furnish you with a hartford policy then if you suffer a loss you are certain to receive a prompt and fair adjustment. for over 100 years the hartford's reputation for satisfactory settlements has been unparalleled. total assets, $23,035,700.61 losses paid, over $133,000,000.00 you can get a hartford policy from any cleveland broker. 238 surety and fidelity bonds signed by american surety company of new york protect record unstained by litigation $9,715,602.60 claims paid capital $2,500,000 surplus 3,421,918.97 m. stanley brown, manager for northern ohio garfield building, cleveland, ohio the clarence h. collings co. mantels tiles electroliers 1527 and 1531 prospect avenue cleveland we handle the highest grade quality cigars manufactured. our brands are the best known and most popular. the louis klein cigar company buy your supplies at the new sheriff street market and it will not cost you so much to live. 239 1907 the hermits in california book and lyrics by leland ingersoll and clarence vincent kerr. score by john zamecnik, milton w. lusk, henry l. sanford, richard s. spencer, albert r. davis and j. frank stair. stage directors, herbert mathews and john mitchell. tony marianne bard franz onderdekk man man of all-work on the ranch. just home from an eastern college. chas. k. arter clarence p. odell george b. pettengill chas. w. stage lamb's head gardener and confidential secretary. buchanan lamb who has his own ideas about matrimony. henry clay knott · albert rees davis a representative of the great american eagle. montmorency poore charles a. maher who comes west to study politics. mr. romona mortimer w. lawrence mrs. romona betty bard lamb's niece. a rollicking girl of the prairies. sterling w. hubbard relics of a glorious past. horatio n. herriman ben sheridan fred w. braggins · formerly 1st lieut., 117th u. s. cavalry. in love with betty. miss mehitable storke herbert mathews who is not averse to matrimony. bruin william wieman tony's educated bear. father felipe • clarence a. dielhenn in charge of the mission. colonel carkey-of the u. s. cavalry sierra bill-the carnival photographer one lung-or possibly two captain of the 117th u. s. cavalry } roger c. enwright frank b. wolcott captain alfred aloe 240 do you enjoy a delicious cup of coffee? do you like to get the best for value received? have you ever tried higgins' coffees golden stripe line mascot imperial fancy grade honest value if not you have missed something roasters the charles c. higgins co. importers a complete and modern plant the j. b. savage company printers and blank book makers established 1869 cleveland 241 497787 fam 11900 made good old guckenheimer since 1857 rye bottled in bond bottled in bond guckenheimer boys! i've known it for 50 years in all that time it has been the same good old whiskey. its purerye whiskey purity and distinct flavor have distilled & bottled ov a.guckenheimer & bros pittsburgh usa penna never varied "since 1857" it has been pure whiskey-every drop whiskey." a. guckenheimer & bros.. distillers, pittsburgh, pa. main 765 central 442-r the gainer electric co. electrical contractors construction, wiring, repairing of all electrical apparatus 80 public square 242 the osborn manufacturing co. cleveland hardware specialties brushes & brooms foundry supplies pittsburg plate glass company glass, mirrors, paints, brushes, varnishes james j. tanyan, local manager office and store 1430-34 w. 3rd street established 1880 warehouse 3849-69 hamilton ave. bell phone main 990 adam weil ladies' hair dresser and wig maker all kinds of hair work made to order. a large stock of wigs and beards always on hand for masquerade and theatrical purposes. powders, grease paints, etc. manufacturer of the eau de capillaire hair tonic 647 euclid avenue, republic building, 3rd floor cleveland, ohio guenther's art galleries 1103 euclid avenue leading art dealers fine prints fine paintings prices moderate artist framing 243 1908 the hermits in dixie book by clarence vincent kerr. lyrics by norman c. mcloud. music by john s. zamecnik, henry l. sanford, richard s. spencer, and albert rees davis. produced under the direction of a. m. holbrook. cumberland waddle-major u. s. a. tom waddle-his son; a west point cadet ludwig von liebig, m. d. roger c. enwright clarence p. odell albert rees davis celebrated german specialist. davy ketch-rear admiral u. s. n. stephen decatur louis j. ford fred w. braggins lieutenant u. s. n. in love with virginia. jimmy hickey charles a. maher who runs old point sight-seeing auto. count boni de la petit dejeuner george b. pettengill titled dancing master. george washington peyton whose wife takes in washing. nicodemus-a family pet dennis wells--the express agent higgins-steward at the club obadiah hardscrabble frederic s. porter howard conger harry donaldson fredric m. nicholas from "down yonder" in virginia. hezekiah-his son william j. fleming melissa-his daughter arthur j. caldwell bill binnacle-4 bibulous boatswain mortimer w. lawrence hayfoot strawfoot zealous guards. f. r. walker samuel t. nash a. c. steele jim jimson mrs. culpepper dinwiddie herbert mathews a charming widow. virginia lee-her niece horatio n. herriman polly nelson-virginia's friend frank s. baker 244 why are the hermits such cut-ups? because they drink the classiest whiskies hermitage bourbon and hermitage rye bottled in bond as old as possible and bottled out of bond at the distillery. a curiosity in old whiskey. hermits of happy hollow if you want joy in every swallow, then drink the good old wine of fame, don't forget "hommel's champagne”. our brands white star extra dry red star (sparkling burgundy) natural fermented, american champagnes the m. hommel wine co. sandusky, ohio 245 1 2 12 10 11 vulcan auto tool 8 9 9 patent pending williams' "vulcan" auto tool convenience, service and wear are assured in this combination. the tools are drop-forged from carefully selected steel, milled and ground to correct sizes of openings, tempered, polished and blued. correct principles apply to each of 12 features in combination and make it a veritable "half-pound" tool-chest, replacing a dozen ordinary tools. its usefulness and efficiency extend to all mechanical purposes-a thorough motor boat, electricians', household, etc., etc. tool. they are packed in canvas bags with button flap and become an unusually adaptable hip-pocket companion, 8" length, and ½ lb. weight. retailed everywhere at $1.00 each. sold to dealers in not less than one dozen lots. j. h. williams & co. superior drop-forgings 1. hammer. 2. tire lug wrench wrench. 5. wire insulation scraper. plug wrench. 8. alligator wrench. screw drivers. 12. bottle opener. brooklyn, new york 3. cotter pin puller. 4. gas tank 6. air tank wrench. 7. spark 9-10. cotter pin spreader ii. 3 cuyahoga central 5044 bell main 1088 established 1878 incorporated 1905 the chafer company heating and ventilating contractors power piping a specialty dealers in steam fitting supplies 431 to 437 champlain ave. n.w. cleveland, ohio 246 robert h. jenks, president arch. c. klumph, sec'y and manager horace w. power, vice-president a. b. lambert, treasurer the cuyahoga lumber company cleveland, ohio lumber boxes you can buy ceresota flour anywhere and get your money back if you are not satisfied. we think you will want another sack rather than your money back, but we leave that to you. buy enough to try the northwestern consolidated milling company minneapolis, minnesota the fanner manufacturing co. foundrymen and manufacturers chaplets, stove trimmings novelties, general stamping, copper ferrules and brass bedsteads brookside park bell north 825-l cleveland, ohio cuyahoga central 5862-w geo. h. herron & co. 1238 chester avenue vanderwerf bldg. painting and hardwood finishing contractors estimates furnished cleveland, o. 247 1909 the hermits in africa • scenario, book and lyrics by w. h. alburn, wilbur h. brooks, sterling w. hubbard, hayward h. kendall and clarence v. kerr. music by john zamecnik and dr. henry l. sanford. tion of f. b. meade, assisted by a. m. holbrook. the poor missionary-having a hot time rasuli-a roystering son of the desert bomboli-butler to queen pansy carrie nation-who has not buried the hatchet nick carter-a real detective old sleuth-on a gum shoe campaign hawkshaw with twenty trunks full of disguises sherlock holmes · produced under direcw. m. duncan felix hughes frank r. walker j. h. wagonhorst horatio n. herriman charles a. maher geo. b. pettengill f. h. van orman who feels lost without dear old watson. the thirsty man madam zizzy-the court dressmaker queen pansy-a jungle society leader bill-who adores teddy and golf thursday-bill's body guard chief excuse-in love with the princess princess pearline-pansy's only daughter teddy-shooting up the jungle ananias custodian of the society records friday-teddy's factotum a. c. steele j. h. wagonhorst herbert mathews mortimer w. lawrence charles k. arter the king of beasts-who has an animal appetite myrtle ryan-bill's private secretary . general everett true of the grays imperial treasurer-of the city of gold gold dust twins { o. t. wedenmeyer frank s. baker roger c. enwright fred m. nicholas ed h. williams by himself .r. f. smith carl b. ford frank r. walker arthur e. merkel ed. h. williams 248 chapin, trull & co. distillers of pure fire copper molasses rum no. 33 broad street boston compliments of the boehmke company 1792 e. ninth street the h. c. christy company wholesale grocers 616-626 huron road cleveland, ohio john ramsays port ellen slay malt whisk john ramsay distiller .. port ellen, islay, scotland shipper of straight scotch whiskies old islay malt, unblended, 7 to 8 years old, imported in glass 249 sh-shay! i'd feel a hul lot better if i had stuk to the strate and narroe path. take my advice and demand schuster's euclid brand wherever you be. the schuster company producers and importers of everything in the line of wines, whiskies, cordials and liquors office, plant and cellars, cleveland vineyards, euclid, o. rainbow packing strong, carlisle & hammond co., cleveland or peerless rubber manufacturing co., 16 warren street, new york 250 dewar's "white label" scotch whisky རྒྱ:༣༽ the cleveland gas & electric fixture company operated by the tungstolier company manufacturers of high-grade lighting fixtures sales rooms 940 prospect avenue 251 advertising statistics he hermits wish to thank the individuals and firms who patronize the advertisers whose generous support helps to make our shows a success. the following list shows the hermits who have secured two or more pages of advertising: pages 19 w. s. pollock 18 wilbur m. baldwin 11 s. e. strong 104 g. ray ingersoll 8½ g. s. gardner 84 j. h. kline 54 j. p. witt 5 c. c. coventry, j. r. kraus, a. h. bedell 4 f. s. borton 334 chas. k. arter 3½ r. l. sawyer, h. p. shupe 34 james m. hamilton 3 a. j. kroenke, w. h. brooks, f. j. woodworth, c. c. clark, h. w. strong, r. l. fuller 234 s. t. nash, f. w. king 2½ colin mcallister 2 a. d. brooks, e. g. ernst, h. l. valentine, j. e. rogers, a. g. newcomb, w. s. gilkey, jno. l. cannon, f. b. meade 252 medart patent pulley company manufacturers power transmitting appliances factory, st. louis c. a. dielhenn co., general agents 1250 ontario street, cleveland, ohio wm. krause & son costumes for all occasions private theatricals a specialty 2042 east fourth street opposite opera house the acme foundry company makers of fine grey iron castings japanning, galvanizing and nickel plating office, corner sweeney ave. and e. 51st st. our thanks and cordial appreciation of the very liberal patronage from the hermits, their friends and the public. harvey l. reed tailor for men who want individuality in their dress 1898 east sixth street opposite the hollenden 253 the season is approaching when you will be looking over your fishing tackle kit and replenishing it in preparation for that long anticipated outing. we are headquarters for the following: bristol & champion steel rods meek, talbot, shakespeare reels martin & shakespeare lines reach base ball goods victor tennis rackets guns, rifles, revolvers, target pistols, etc. the davis-hunt-collister co. ontario and prospect avenue :: the aluminum :: castings company aluminum, brass and bronze castings general office, cleveland, ohio foundries: cleveland, detroit, buffalo, syracuse, new kensington, pa., bridgeport, conn. 254 vichy celestins poe gout and indigestion le nom de la source dans la l tsur la capsule etaressement thermal vichy sources de propriete de l'etat ces de l'etat celestins natural alkaline water white rock white roc always before. opening white rock lithia water white rock mineral spring co national water co successor pube smaling healthful waukesha wis,usa the requisite of a well served dinner celestins 255 ilell photo by hermit rogers rehearsal scene the hermits in africa 256 remember that mcmillin's is ohio's only complete music store and located at 2053 east 9th st., opposite rose building the old way was picturesque but awkward; the new way practical and handy. they now use born's ranges for gas or for coal and cook better as well as quicker and easier. the born steel range co. wholesale and retail kitchen appliances 2163-65 east ninth st. the new center phone central 4832 p. f. lavin pure liquors direct from u. s. bond. drawn from the wood 2074 east fourth st. if you want to know about bessemer shale face brick ask frank b. meade robert l. beck, agent 231 the arcade 257 the bar-a-van is filling a long felt want. karavan kar-a-van coffee that rich creamy kind. six grades, 20c to 40c the pound. acknowledged by connoisseurs to be the highest quality obtainable. imported, blended, roasted and packed by the gasser coffee company cleveland branch, 719 woodland avenue, s. e. 258 we are different because with us the day has passed when we were compelled to do all work one way. improved systems (exclusively our own) permit us to do your work your way. tell us your likes and dislikes and we will give you a result that will please you. the cleveland laundry company 2840 carnegie avenue both phones our delivery system includes all of "greater cleveland” and its suburbs 259 drawing by hermit donahey 66 here's to that prince of good fellows-enwright" 260 g. l. schryver & co. 619 to 625 euclid ave. fine dry goods, men's furnishings, women's and children's suits and cloaks, infants' wear and millinery, women's and children's fine footwear. oriental and domestic rugs. all hermits stop at ressler's cafe east of 55th street the caxtonco engravers printers cleveland 5517 euclid "the house complete" under one roof one management printers photographers engravers artists the caxton company 261 wabash college entrance the wabash pittsburg terminal ry. h. w. mcmaster, f. h. skelding, receivers pittsburg passenger station 262 willoughbeach park "shore line" c. p. & e. r. r. dancing tuesday, thursday, saturday and holiday evenings, also saturday and holiday afternoons special chicken dinner on sundays base ball every sunday and holiday afternoon at 3 p. m. dance hall will be reserved for private parties on monday, wednesday and friday evenings the ideal place for picnics reunions outings conventions encampments willoughbeagh park cleveland office general office 14 public square willoughby, ohio 263 poster design for the hermits at happy hollow by hermit c. n. landon 264 all hermits sleep in forest city brass beds "the lock that locks" forest city bedstead company cleveland, ohio "i believe in the doctrine of fels-naptha soap and good cheer. i believe in always following carefully the directions in using fels-naptha. and i am therefore never in hot water, and come out of all my troubles with clean hands. anty drudge my only worry is that all women may not know the merit and worth of fels-naptha." -anty drudge. poe brothers men's furnishers and hatters dry cleaning, dyeing, pressing, repairing and remodeling garments of every description 8523 hough avenue both phones 265 makers of the famous orthopedic shoe for fallen arches, weak ankles, etc. this shoe has been endorsed by the most prominent doctors and surgeons of cleveland. if you do not have foot comfort-better call in and see us. tel. north 766-j the boyd-bean company boot makers by hand 2060 euclid avenue the judson printing company bonds office stationery catalogs main 357 central 504-w 321 frankfort ave. n.w. a royal treat is gilka-kuemm'el king of after-dinner cordials beware of imitations 266 m the brooks company manufacturers the brooks c cleveland @ have printed the hermit programs for six years stationers printers and office outfitters 715 superior avenue n. w. w 267 index to advertisers page acme foundry co. aluminum castings co. american chicle co., new york american steel & wire co. american surety co. apollinaris agency co., new york armour & co., chicago .252 a .253 .126 37 .238 10 .132 astor hotel, new york 157 audit company auer, geo. w. .217 .276 auto sales co. ..276 auto shop co. .276 babies dispensary and hospital babcock, hurd & co. baker motor vehicle co. .228 .118 294 b baker, walter, & co., ltd., boston .160 ball, webb c., watch co. 146 bankers surety co., the 122 barger automobile co. ..278 barrow, wade, guthrie & co., chicago. .177 batjer & co., new york .248 beck, robert l. ..256 bennett & fish .116 bicknell, warren, co. 184 blood, jno. h. ...301 boehmke company .248 bond's, c. a. 8 bonhard art furniture co. .138 268 always travel via the lake shore electric railway between cleveland, sandusky, norwalk and toledo and intermediate points. direct to beach park, crystal beach, linwood park, ruggles grove, rye beach and cedar point. see or write agents. brand creamery butter the ar duncan j cleveland o jaco the a. r. duncan, jr. co. wholesale dealers butter---eggs---cheese cuyahoga central 3207-r l. a. schippacasse cafe & grill 5216 euclid avenue cleveland, ohio 269 bryan co. bill posters distributers bulletin wall painters manugraph poster makers contracts placed throughout usand canada commercial sign department makes electric, brass, glass, gold, muslin & card signs general offices bryan bldg. 2120 e. 19th.st. g be good! jake mintz is in the house mother's oats and mother's cereals are guaranteed to be the purest and best. the grocer refunds the cost if not satisfactory-the supreme quality test. every package of mother's brand contains the well-known free fireless cooker coupon. the great western cereal co. chicago 270 "proved best" shawmut tires guaranteed made in standard, clincher and quick detachable types shawmut x-tra tread tire go, boston mass. nonskid quick det bhawn shawmut tubes are made particularly thick and are admittedly the best on the market sup sup sup sup it gives us pleasure to state that we are agents for the above well known tires. we have a complete stock open to your inspection at any time. the mau-sherwood supply co. 1616 west third st. cleveland 271 born steel range co. borton & borton bowman, geo. h., co. boyd & dean co. page .256 3 b .114 • .265 bradley bros. .202 brandt, r. f. .288 brooks co. .266 brooks, henry m., co. 54 ... brown bros. & co., new york 56 browning, king & co. .212 bryan co. 269 buchanan, james, & co., new york .124 buckeye electric co. .109 buick motor co. .310 burroughs adding machine co. 133 buxton insuring agency .176 caldwell piano co. .168 • caxton co. .260 c central national bank 298 chafer co. 245 chamberlin metal weather strip co... 112 chandler & rudd co. 48 ..... chapin trull & co., boston .248 charmene chemical co. chisholm shoe co. christy, h. c., company city ice delivery co.. clark, fred g., co. .149 .156 .248 .272 64 cleveland ball club co. 28 cleveland builders supply co. .190 cleveland construction co. .184 cleveland desk co. .297 cleveland electric illuminating co. .210 cleveland electric supply co. 70 cleveland flush meter co. ..286 cleveland frog & crossing co. 157 272 drink distillata pure water---aerated sdcc distilled and distributed by the city ice delivery company for the health of the community 5-gal. carboys 40c cuy. phone central 6006-r picture framing 12-gal. bottles 60c the korner & wood co. bell phone main 2979 geo. m. thomas co. engineers and draughtsmens supplies blue printing a specialty 237 & 241 the arcade cleveland, ohio agents for eugene dietzgen co. 273 we spare no effort or expense in meeting the most exacting demands. the universal dry cleaning co. 532 euclid avenue main office and works: 1218 to 1230 east 71st street to the ladies of cleveland. if you are interested in a fine tailor made suit coat or skirt of any kind, at from ten to twenty-five per cent less than down town prices, our store offers you just such inducements. solicit comparison. harry decker, 2704-14 west 25th st. the big progressive dry goods house of the south side. we the electra pure water co. katharos vichy katharos sparkling lithia splits, pints, and quarts katharos lithia 274 jewelrythe season's exhibit of fine jewelry creations has never before been so extensive.study and careful selection is revealed in each piece, however small. we aim to uphold the high stand ard of quality we have always maintained. we are thus prepared to offer to our patrons a most varied stock from which a gift selection may be made with positive satisfaction. the prices permit of comparison the cowell &hubbard company 605 euclid avenue 275 cleveland gas & electric fixture co.. cleveland laundry co. page .250 cleveland leader co. .258 ..113 c • cleveland news .233 cleveland, painsville & eastern r. r. co.. ..262 cleveland provision co. .174 cleveland press ... .193 cleveland savings & loan co. 94 cleveland, southwestern & columbus ry. co. .292 cleveland taxicab service co. .292 cleveland telephone co. . 98 cleveland town topics co. .189 ... cleveland & buffalo transit co. 72 cleveland & sandusky brewing co. .188 climax refining co. .100 coffee, w. h., & co. 50 coles & bonnett ..164 cook & bernheimer co., new york. .158 collings, clarence h., co. ..238 ... collver's ocean steamship agency .122 continental insurance co., new york... .140 colonial salt co. .296 ... corday & gross co. 89 cowell & hubbard co. 274 crawford realty co. cutler turkish bath co. cuyahoga light co. 93 ..304 68 cuyahoga lumber co. 246 cuyahoga telephone co. 36 davis hunt collister co. .253 davis laundry & cleaning co., the. 98 d davis & farley 72 davis & sale co. .188 decker, harry .273 deklyn co. .212 276 hupmobile $750 4 cylinders, sliding gears and bosh magneto, 20 horse power. everything a big car has except size. have delivered over 125 1910 models right here in cleveland. velie "40" $1800 4 cylinders, sliding gear transmission, triple ignition, brewer. it is common gossip that the 1910 40 horse velie automobile is the best buy in america. central 4582 call for demonstrations the auto sales company 1121 chestnut ave. north 767 storage repairing the auto shop company 731 vincent avenue, cleveland, ohio selling agents the thomas flyer garage telephones main 2393. central 4504-k we refer to members of the hermit club who patronize us bell main 1647-j george w. auer tailor 304 to 308 rockefeller building cleveland, ohio f. chauvenet's the red sparkling red cap burgundy of france invigorates permanently 277 rambler when mother goes to town does she spend half the day on the road behind a good-natured plodding horse? with the new rambler one of the boys or girls can take her in, leave her to do her shopping and return later in the day. she will come home refreshed instead of wearied. many women drive the new rambler. it is so easy to operate and safe to start. there is an air of good taste and refinement about it. it's so noiseless in its motion so dignified in every appointment. with big wheels and tires, long wheel-base and rambler upholstering, it's more comfortable than a carriage. you feel as safe as in a low phaeton. with offset crank-shaft and straightline drive the rambler never hesitates on the hills or in sand or mud. the spare wheel obviates tire trouble. with clean and durable aluminum front floor, with every part protected against dirt, there can be no fear of soiling the most delicate gown. these features are essential in a car for use on country roads. experience will show that they are not mere talking points. the rambler auto. co. 6504 euclid ave., cor. 65th st. cleveland, ohio 278 none better adillas motor cars few as good all styles of open and enclosed bodies the barger automobile co. 1628-30-32 euclid ave. cleveland, ohio 279 denison, c. e., & co. dewar, john, & sons, ltd., new york. page ..156 .250 d diamond rubber co. dodd-rogers co. dorn shoe co. draz, francis, & co., new york dreher, b., sons co. ..166 .198 .168 204 114 duffy malt whiskey co., rochester, n. y.. 49 duncan, a. r., jr., co.... 268 dyer, j. milton .292 ... early times distillery co., paducah, ky. 180 eastern ohio traction co. 80 e edmondson, george m., co. .220 • electra pure water co. .273 electric storage battery co. 16 elliott-fisher co. 76 employers liability association english woolen mills co. .224 110 enterprise electric construction co. .152 epple, fred .208 erie ry. co. 30 ernst & ernst 46 euclid smoke shop evarts-tremaine-flicker co. exline co. fanner mfg. co. fels & co., philadelphia, pa. finlay, h. p., & co., limited, new york. fireman's fund insurance co., chicago, ill. 141 226 · ..228 246 ..264 f 276 ..126 fisk rubber co. foote, d. e., rubber co. forest city foundry & mfg. co.... 80 .284 282 fownes brothers & co., new york. franklin sugar refining co., philadelphia, pa. fuller cleaning co. 96 .104 .. 90 280 genuine massillon coal best on the market for domestic use mined and shipped only by m. a. hanna & co. cleveland, ohio 281 the jewett refrigerator company buffalo, new york builders of special refrigerators for clubs, hotels and private residences x represented in cleveland by the w. bingham company 282 because of the pyramid grate the pyramid furnace cleveland of 1910 is the greatest fuel saver on earth. this wonderful grate is the greatest invention ever embodied in a hotair furnace. it permits of a ton of slack coal furnishing as much heat as a ton of hard coal. it can be dumped, cleaned of clinkers and replaced without even stooping over. it absolutely prevents waste of fuel. it causes the pyramid furnace to make less soot and smoke than any other, which makes it more satisfactory to operate and very easy to clean. ask us about it. it certainly is wonderful. the forest city foundry & mfg. co., cleveland, ohio 283 gabriel horn mfg. co. gainer electric co. page ..100 241 g gammel, r. w., co. gandolfi, l., & co., new york. .158 garfield savings bank .120 .150 garlock frazee laundry co. 34 garson, w. j., & co. ..212 gasser coffee co. .257 gasser, j. m., co. ..204 general incandescent lamp co. .305 gilkey, w. s., printing co. .142 gilman, a. s., printing co. .200 gillsy hotel co. .142 glidden varnish co. ..162 good housekeeping magazine, new york.. ..165 goodyear tire & rubber co... 137 graham co. ..180 great western cereal co., chicago ...269 grebe & davis 69 green river distilling co. owensboro, ky. 125 greenstein & co. ..204 griese brothers co. 222 guckenheimer, a., & co., pittsburgh, pa. .241 guenther's art galleries .242 halle bros. co. hanna, j. a. 12 .148 h hanna, m. a., co. ..280 hannan & mcglade 65 hanan & son .229 hanover fire insurance co., chicago.. .106 harris, herman a. ..130 hartford fire insurance co. .237 hartford rubber works co. 94 hayden miller & co. herron, geo. h., & co. "" 78 ..246 284 insure your automobiles with maxson & perdue 11th floor guardian building against fire, theft, collision and liability for personal injury and property damage cover everywhere agency g&jires we have a full and complete line of autoists necessities windshields tire covers raincoats sparking and lighting tire tools robes batteries cements gloves jacks dusters goggles headlights and tail lamps auto clocks send us your old tires and tubes to be repaired. we guarantee all our repair work. d. e. foote rubber co., 1837 euclid 285 white gasoline cars for 1911 size and power-moderate, therefore most economical to maintain. price-moderate, therefore easy to buy. design-includes many advanced features not found in any other american car. quality-the only moderate sized car wherein every part is just as well built as in the highest-priced, high-powered cars. delivery-very -very few open dates. first come, first served. the white company st. clair avenue and 79th street 286 the cleveland flush meter a valve used for flushing closets without the use of the annoying, noisy and always leaking tanks. the cleveland valves will fit any standard equipment and are readily applied to old or new work. on account of their simplicity, durability and economy they are most desirable. having installed hundreds in the city during past year we can furnish best of references and invite the trade to inspect our goods. if interested write us for catalog. the cleveland flush meter co. 118 noble court. valves displayed at standard mfg. co., local agents, 648 & 652 huron rd. nowhere are the styles better presented than in our offerings of spring novelties which have the edict of the fashionable world. we await your commands. c. w. schmidt, tailor 138 old arcade euclid level 287 heublein, g. f., & bro., hartford, conn. higbee co. higgins, charles c., co. hohlfelder co. ... hollenden hotel hommel, m., wine co., sandusky, o. horlick's malted milk co., racine, wis. ingalls shepard forging co., chicago.. jacobs, abe • jenkinson, r. & w., co. jewett refrigerator co. johns-manville, h. w., co. jones & laughlin steel co. judson printing co. page .226 ...302 h .240 .264 .173 .244 73 108 .225 .134 j .281 .156 .153 .265 kamerer & benes kelley's bootery kirk, h. b., & co., new york. klein, louis, cigar co. .138 138 k .117 .238 knauth, nachod & kuhne, new york 88 · korner & wood co. .272 krause, wm., & son .252 lake shore banking & trust co.... .186 lake shore electric ry. co.... .268 l la montagne's, e., sons, new york.. .124 lanahan, wm., & son, baltimore, md. .148 lander phillips dairy co. .229 lang & sarstedt 96 large distilling co., pittsburgh, pa. .160 .. lavin, p. f. .256 lederer furniture co. leisy brewing co. likly & rockett trunk co. lindner co. ..301 ... 169 69 26 288 r. f. brandt meats of quality poultry frog legs lobsters green goods fish sheriff street market branch 10010 and 12500 st. clair avenue 289 the firm that made the poster famous" morgan.. litho.co. cleveland, u.s.a. posters, show cards stationery, labels etc. 290 new records made day after day wouldn't you like to smoke a cigar that experienced smokers ask for, come back for and recommend strongly to their friends el yutan mild cigars sold by all first-class dealers the j. b. moos company distributors 291 page .160 london & lancashire fire ins. co... lord & taylor, new york 18 l ... louisville cotton oil co., louisville, ky.. .132 l. s. & m. s. ry. co.... 20 luze, f. o. de, & co., new york. 57 macadams, a. j. ..301 mac diarmid co. 154 mannen & esterly co. 145 martin barriss co. .158 martin & martin, chicago .232 mathews & gilbert ... .304 mathias, d. e. ... .137 may co. matthews-northrup works mau-sherwood supply co. maxson & purdue mcallister, w. b., co. mccreary & furst .120 .270 .284 .121 33 • ..300 mcmillan, geo. b. • .236 mcmillin, h. e. .256 mcmullin, thomas, & co., new york. ..128 mcnally-doyle 150 mcnaughton, jerry o., co. .152 mcnutt, h. f. .186 meacham, roland t. .196 meade, f. b. 2 medart patent pulley co. .252 ... melville, percy f., new york .244 mintz, jake ..269 moehring, wm. g., & co. ..265 mooney bros. ..311 moore, james g. .220 moos, j. b., co. ..290 morgan lithograph co. .289 morris coal co. 44 292 we have placed in service a line of brand new stearns taxicabs these cars are the finest, most luxuriously appointed and most expensive taxicabs in america telephone numbers are the same as those of the old citizens taxicab company. bell north 907. cuyahoga central 2081 the cleveland taxicab service co. open day and night 1206 huron road look for the gray taxicab j. milton dyer architect 825 cuyahoga building cleveland 293 "the best way to go" southwestern lines between cleveland, elyria, lorain, amherst, grafton, wellington, birmingham, berlin heights, norwalk, berea, strongsville, brunswick, medina, chippewa lake, seville, creston, wooster, north ridgeville, puritas springs, le roy, lodi, west salem, polk, nankin, ashland, mansfield, crestline, galion, bucyrus. fast time large comfortable cars frequent local and limited service chartered cars for special parties furnished on short notice at reasonable rates the cleveland, southwestern & columbus ry. co 615 garfield building, cleveland, ohio packards motor cars "ask the man who owns one" the standard automobile co. 7100 euclid ave. 294 the babies dispensary and hospital cares for babies sick and well last summer 516 babies died in cleveland from preventable diseases. this death raté can and should be cut in half will you not help in this summer's campaign? 2500 e. 35th street 295 page morse twist drill & machinery co., new bedford, mass.. 85 muehlhauser piano co. mulcahy & nelson co. mulrooney, john m. mutual benefit life insurance co. myers, george a. 144 m 194 .154 24 .133 national safe & lock co. 232 n national surety co. nau, tanner & rusk .304 .214 neale bros. & shryver .181 nelson, alfred, co., new york 66 new york leather belting co. .129 nicholas, g. s., & co., new york. .136 north british & mercantile ins. co., chicago, ill.. .106 northern pacific ry. co. 52 northern ohio traction & light co.... .234 northwestern consolidated milling co., the. .246 norton company, worcester, mass. .105 o'brien, p. c., co. .225 ocean accident & guarantee co. .230 0 oechs, anthony, & co., new york. 140 ohio desk & chair co. .172 ohio rubber co. 84 olds motor works 92 olmsted bros. & co. .152 oneida steel pulley co., new york.. 61 orient insurance co. 76 osborn manufacturing co. .242 otis elevator co. .224 otis & hough 58 otis lithograph co. .234 otto & kub .220 296 "it's better to use log cabin prepared salt than to wish you had. "" log cabin prepared salt in the handy box for filling shaker "runs freely in damp weather" the colonial salt company akron, ohio equal to the best imported la mega havana cigar in 25 sizes made in tampa ben rich, distributer 307 new england building 297 sectional bookcases made in oak and mahogany adjustable shelves g with art glass, plate glass or plain glass doors ¶ noiseless rolling doors 9 artistic and harmonious effects are produced by grouping the various sections, desks, etc. send for illustrated catalog. the cleveland desk company the safest investment real estate mortgages have always been looked upon as one of the best forms of investment where safety of the principal is the first consideration. we offer high grade first mortgages on cleveland real estate. price on request the security mortgage and investment company f. w. stecher, president chas. f. laughlin, sec'y and treas. 219 williamson building 298 the central national bank lentral bank j. j. sullivan, president rockefeller building e. w. oglebay, vice president l. j. cameron, cashier j. c. mchannan, assistant cashier capital $1,000,000 surplus and profits $708,000 299 page pacific coast borax co., chicago 232 parisian dry cleaning co. ..200 p parsons & parsons 150 patterson-sargent co. 221 pattison, w. m., supply co. .192 pease, f. a., engineering co. 62 peerless motor car co. 4 peerless rubber mfg. co., new york 249 perfection spring co. 40 petrequin paper co. 81 pittsburgh plate glass co. 242 plain dealer publishing co. 161 pleasant valley wine co., rheims, n. y. 77 pocock shoe co. .212 poe brothers .264 pompeian mfg. co. 14 pyle & allen co. .216 quaker oats co., chicago queisser-bliss co. 74 .129 q raimbouville, e., de, new york rainbow cottage .254 ..308 r rambler automobile co. .277 rauch & lang carriage co. 45 reed, h. l. .252 reese-owen agency co. 92 reeves pulley co., columbus, o. .116 ressler, fred c. .260 rich, ben .296 roeblings, john a., sons co. 172 rogers-thomas-dodd co. .209 roper, george a., steubenville, o. ..170 rorheimer-brooks studios co. .218 300 the smith & fetters company 735 euclid avenue flowers main 2809 artistic decorators central 1866 colonial hotel restaurants restaurants and grill are always delightfully cool. an especially desirable place to lunch or dine. noted for excellence of cuisine and service. will rounds' instrumental quartette before and after theatre. popular sunday evening table d'hote dinners, price $1.00. music. 301 mac adams haberdasher shirt maker two convenient stores 1889 e. 6th 31 colonial arcade hollenden hotel lederer's furniture of today are the heirlooms of the next generation lederer furniture company "furniture of quality" rose building 99 year leases jno. h. blood real estate offices 12 to 20 pythian temple 915 huron road manufacturing space business rentals investment properties 302 higbee's men's furnishings are prominently featured in this establishment ¶ our men's section is advantageously located on the main floor and is easy of access from the 13th street entrance. you do not have to pass through many aisles to reach it—it is a man's store within a big institution, where necessarily there are certain advantages in value. ¶ we carry all the standard lines of men's furnishings, such as collars, shirts, neckwear, hosiery, underwear and all the other accessories necessary to a man's careful dressing. ¶ below are mentioned some of the well known lines we carry: arrow collars, cluett shirts, higbee shirts, lewis and superior underwear, lotus cloth, negligee shirts, onyx hosiery and a large and extensive showing of neckwear and bathrobes. the higbee company euclid avenue 303 saegertown inn, saegertown, pa. savage, j. b., co. • schiappacasse, l. a. schmidt, c. w. schuster company schryver, g. l., & co. page ..118 .240 s .268 .286 .249 .260 scribner & loehr co. 145 .. schleman bros. .128 security, mortgage & investment co. 297 shaker heights improvement co. sheriff street market & storage co. 32 .238 shotter faerber co. ... sigler bros. co. smith & fetters .150 ..222 ..300 studebaker automobile co. sobey, p. w., co. society for savings standard automobile co. standard drug co. standard oil co. standard tool co. standard welding co. stafford-goss-bedell, o. m., co. starrett, l. s., co., athol, mass. stearn co. stearns, f. b., co. sterling & welch co. stowe fuller co. stone, n. o., co. ..208 42 .293 86 82 53 .216 .102 • .149 157 .312 90 .182 88 .148 strauss bros. co. 78 strong cobb & co. ..190 sulka, a., & co., new york.. ..138 summers, d. o., cleaning co. ..164 sun insurance office, chicago ..206 superior dry cleaning co. 196 304 straw hats now! wageman's quality clothes $3, $4, $5 and $6 euclid above ninth herbert mathews edward g. gilbert mathews & gilbert owners and operators of suburban real estate we will allot your property and handle it. over one million dollars worth of property now being operated by us. main offices williamson building "we bond more people than any surety company in the world." national surety company a. f. monroe, resident manager fidelity and surety bonds, burglary insurance both phones 415 chamber of commerce you can cure that cold headache and general languor with cutler's turkish baths also all kidney, liver and bowel troubles, rheumatism and lumbago and that tired, weak and without energy feeling. no nauseous doses to ruin your stomach, but nature's own remedy eliminating all poisons from the entire system. the finest turkish baths west of new york. come in today and try one: american trust bldg. public square-always open ladies' baths 2040 e. fourth-st. near euclid-av. open 9 a.m. to 8 p.m. 305 gi becausethey burn in any position, last longer and give nearly three times the light with the same current are the reasons why you ought to use g. i. mazda lamps g:1: giv mazda write or phone the general incandescent lamp co. manufacturers of incandescent lamps for all circuits 214-225 electric building cleveland 306 f. m. osborne, president s. h. robbins, secretary and treasurer the youghiogheny & ohio coal co. producers and shippers of youghiogheny gas pittsburgh steam pittsburgh no. 8 and amsterdam hocking coal general offices western reserve building, cleveland, ohio pittsburgh • buffalo chicago • milwaukee st. paul 307 taylor, e. h., jr., & sons, frankfort, ky... telling bros. co. thompson distilling co., pittsburgh. thomas, geo. m., co. tillotson and wolcott company todd, g. w., & co., rochester, n. y. union national bank united states coal co. universal dry cleaning co. visiting nurse assn. volk, thomas von houten, c. j., & zoon, chicago wabash pittsburgh terminal r. r.... wade bros. wadsworth salt co., wadsworth, o. wagemans, j., sons walker, hiram, & sons, ltd., walkersville, canada. weil, adam watson, s. n. way mitchell rigdon co. weddell house garage weber kelley co. weideman co. ... ... western reserve insurance co. west madison realty co. wetzel, new york wheeling & lake erie r. r. co. white co., the whitworth bros. co. wiedemann, geo., brewing co., newport, ky. wilkes & reid williams, j. h., & co., brooklyn, n. y: wilson distilling co., new york.. wilson, w. j. j.. winton motor carriage co. worthington dall co. elyria, o. wuest-bauman-hunt co. y. & o. coal co. ... zettelmeyer coal co. page .213 93 t .184 272 .204 97 6 232 .273 . 197 2283 86 .261 u v .201 w ..141 .304 .144 ..220 . 38 ..236 .230 .185 242 136 60 ..176 ..178 285 ..205 .225 84 .245 .254 .146 41 ..101 ..225 306 y 153 z 308 rainbow cottage gave 12,323 days of treatment to sick children during the year of 1909 at a cost of $17,025.87. this amount exceeded the income for the year by $2,733.18. will you not help nurse some sick child back to health? contributions may be sent to the financial secretary, mrs. andre t. chisholm, mentor, ohio. 309 if your advertisement appeared in this space it might not be read by 100,000 people but it would be appreciated by the hermits and all their friends 310 buick motor company 1615 euclid avenue cleveland ray. m. colwell, manager n&nn 311 advertising statistics. the following table shows the amount of advertising which has appeared in the hermit year books for the past six years: full page ads. half page ads. quarter page ads. 1905 44 67 37 1906 64 111 56 1907 92 113 48 1908 111 161 170 1909 140 180 116 1910 122 161 88 total pages of advertising matter: 1905 1906. 1907__ 1908__ 1909 1910_. | i 88 pages 130 161 "" 218 66 259 66 _225 66 j. b. mooney edgar j. mooney mooney bros. charles t. masterson high class tailors we make strictly high class apparel for men at prices that are most reasonable, considering the quality and style of our garments, and we respectfully solicit your patronage. suitings $35.00 to $50.00 mooney bros. no. 1876 e. sixth street leading tailors 312 $ stearns the ultimate car sturdiness and power are distinct stearns characteristics the stearns is a wonderfully sturdy, durable car, built to give perfect service for years. this sturdiness, combined with the great reserve power of the stearns motor, has won for the car its reputation as a practical, durable machine, placing it far in advance of the average high grade car. 30-60 b. p. touring car, $4,600.00 it is sturdiness and reserve power, combined with the luxurious appointments of the car, that place the stearns owner in an unique position. he is always master of the road---his car is always admired, always respected and always given the undisputed right-of-way. 15-30 h. p. touring car, $3,200.00 the f. b. stearns company 30-60 h. p. model shaft or chain drive (licensed under selden patent) cleveland, ohio 15-30 h. p. model shaft drive the white line radiator belongs to the stearns s 14 wis. 8 feb 56 7 89073124497 b89073124497a 89073124497 b89073124497a 89073124497 b89073124497a 333 a modern hermit; a poem. h. j. s. bell a mo wi lume 40 m e (of we librar cape town, jul 2 3 1963 a modern hermit. a poem (of which three cantos are here given). by h. j. s. bell. j. c. juta & co., cape town. | port elizabeth. | johannesburg. stellenbosch. 1899. a modern hermit, ; an a poem (of which three cantos are here given). by h. j. s. bell. je j. c. juta & co., cape town. | port elizabeth. | johannesburg. stellenbosch. 1899. london: printed by william clowes and sons, limited, stamford street and charing cross. 13477/38 pr .4099 b11 m6 a modern hermit. canto 1. introductory. 1. there was a time when darkness quenched the embers of intellect within me, and my being was wrapped in trance of which my soul remembers since nothing; for i would observe not, seeing, and hearing, knew not what i heard; the things of life were like cloud-shadows o'er me fleeing and leaving no remembrance as their wings swept o'er the desert of my sterile brain. my heart had suffered, and its tenderest strings were sundered. i knew nothing but my pain. 2. i know not how from this dull lethargy i rose to see the vivid light again and feel all nature's pulses beat with me united as they had been, and with men to walk an equal, glorying in the power b 2 a modern hermit. ' of knowledge; but i well remember when i woke, the day, and e'en the very hour. . 'twas a bright morning, and the sun's rays were kissing the lips of many an opening flower, drawing sweet scents to scatter in the air. 3. i was reclining on an old grey rock that sloped upon the margin of a river, whose waters with mine image seemed to mock me, lifelike, there, except the transient shiver of an inconstant breeze which o'er it played, set all that mirror's surface in a quiver, distorting me most curiously. i stayed to watch it, then, arising with a bound, feeling the life intense within me, strayed careless and joyous thro' the woodland round. 4. the life-blood leaped and tingled through my frame with an exulting pulse that chased away despair and grief. the morning freshness came delicious to my senses, and my clay became responsive to the electric flow of vibrant ether. nature was at play. birds sang their sweet songs, teaching me to know beauty and gladness thrilled the living mass of all, from tree-tops rustling to and fro in the light breeze, to dewdrops on the grass. 5. at length upon the forest's edge i stood where it was broken by a level glade of half-a-dozen acres. from the wood emerging, i perceived there had been made å modern hermit. 3 a garden of the greater part, which showed a skilful cultivation, well repaid by that rich soil; and thro' the garden flowed a rivulet which watered it, and when the clouds withheld and bore away their load of rain, preserved the plants from famine then. 6. a rustic fence of twisted branches ran around the garden, making it secure. it had within it everything that man could want for food to please a palate pure nor spoilt by rich decoctions to desire a constant tickling, unappeased, to lure an appetite. the gardener would require no gentle creatures slaughtered to provide his bloody feast, to breed the tiger's fire in him, whose generous heart should be his pride. 7. for here abounded pleasant herbs and fruits, and juicy gourds, the melon and its kin, succulent greens and tender toothsome roots that nourish but inflame not; but within the garden so well ordered there appeared no human tenant, though the plants had been but lately tended, and no cottage reared itself conspicuous; the tall silent trees girded the garden round, and there i heard no sounds but nature's borne upon the breeze. 8. i wondered much to see so fair a spot unguarded in the wilderness. i guessed the gardener was some citizen whose lot b2 4 a modern hermit. of constant toil amidst the hot streets pressed so hardly on his spirits that he came at times to seek a solitude and rest in these wild woods, where business cares might claim no part of his attention, and resigned. at intervals pursuit of wealth or fame to till his garden and relax his mind. 1 9. if such he were, i marvelled yet that he amid the city's tumult should remain, nor rather choose entirely to be free by living here, and from the garden gain his food, though not luxurious, all his needs, whilst ample meditation for his brain such peaceful life affords; to him who heeds the everlasting growth of things; yet vain the attempt of man from man to live apart, for pride and self-reliance break, like creeds, before the restless longings of the heart. 10. our nature is gregarious. since we were but barbarous beasts that through the forests ran upon all fours, our bodies clothed with hair, from our enormous enemies we began for self-protection to combine, and while we rose the habit grew. a shipwrecked man sea-cast upon some lovely desert isle rejoicing, dreams of slums where he was bred, rejects the luscious products of the soil, and hungers for a humble crust of bread. a modern hermit. 5 11. i beg your. pardon, reader, for the sin of this digression. walking then around the rustic fence that hemmed the garden in, between two zigzags of its length i found a gate that swung on withes, and with a latch was fastened, whence a trodden pathway wound among the plants. i entered, and a patch of strawberries discovered, 'midst whose green thick mass of leaves clustered the fruit, whose match for size and beauty i had never seen. 12. i stooping ate, but started as i rose to hear a voice exclaim “you rascal there, eating my fruit! well, what think you of those fine strawberries?” these words made me aware the speaker was but jesting, but i tried to make apology, but with an air of much good humour, smiling, he replied “take what you will. i do not claim the use for self alone, in the immoral pride of ownership, of what i may produce.” . 13. the stranger was a man of middle age, built in that frame whose sinewy strength defies the weight of years, and of an aspect sage, with a broad brow, and thoughtful dark grey eyes in which i looked and guessed i found a friend, for they were filled with looks so strong and wise yet tender, that i felt my heart extend its secret hopes towards him, and inspire a sympathy which seemed to comprehend and blend itself with my most keen desire. 6 a modern hermit, 14. his face was rugged, and a long grey beard fell on his chest, from which his full deep voice sonorous came, the voice of one who feared no conscience roused indignant at the choice of evil against good. our greetings passed in heartiness and frankness. “i rejoice to meet you,” said the hermit, "for the last few months i've had no visitor to measure my thoughts with, but i wish to break my fast if you will join me, and we'll talk at leisure.” 15. i was not loth to meet this invitation with thanks, because, whatever they may say poets have stomachs at whose instigation they raven like the beasts. he led the way between two rows of peach trees on whose boughs pink blossoms had burst thickly, and some day would turn to yellow fruit; but for a house i looked in vain, and soon with questions broke the silence such as busy thought allows, which was between us. curiously i spoke, 16. “do you live here, for i confess i see no sign of any habitation near ? “my hut is hidden in the trees," said he, “for nature was my architect, whose gear, though rough and ready, suited me as well as marble might those potentates who rear a palace out of human pain, to tell the world that they are great. nor yet like one of those old hermits shut up in a cell; i love the fresh air and the brilliant sun." >) a modern hermit. 7 17. while he was speaking, passing through a wicket we left the garden, and my guide exclaimed "now here we are," as we walked through the thicket one or two steps. “this snake, which i have tamed, is my companion,” for a python crawled to meet us there, the edifice was framed of four tall trees and matted boughs which walled a space in, square and ample, and thick grass woven with rushes roofed it, and forestalled the heaviest rain, which might not thro' it pass. 18. window or door it had not, but one end was open, and admitted air and light. for he, aware no racking ills attend, feared not the gentle breezes of the night which hovered round his slumbers to enchain his brain with health and freshness; and the might of blustering winds came never; o'er the plain a hurricane might ravage, but within that forest a perpetual calm would reign to murmurs dwindling its tempestuous din. 19. i stood in some astonishment to see how plain a lodgment suited him whose nature i thought of such refinement seemed, but he then said, “i know my house will scarcely mate your fine mansions in the city, and as plain my faring too, but it, i hope, will sate your best appetite." i hastened to explain, 8 a modern hermit. “the simplest food my wishes most would suit if it were wholesome," and in proof we twain did justice to a meal of porridge and of fruit. 20. within the hut a floor of beaten earth as hard as flags was covered everywhere with mats of native manufacture, worth but little in appearance, but for wear none better spun in europe's looms. around a bedstead stood a table and a chair, and on one side an evidence i found that he who kept from struggling men aloof scorned not man's wisdom. rising from the ground his bookshelves almost reached unto the roof. 21. it has been said a man's companions show what a man is. this truth is of a kind like many proverbs, partly true. to know a man's real nature you must know his mind. whose subtle workings can be fathomed best through his familiar books. here i could find such books as huxley's, spencer's, whose sole quest was truth, and others; books whose wit unravels the secrets of the rocks and stars were pressed between great poems, histories, and travels. 22. and starting from the volumes on the shelves our talk was widened, and our mutual faith quick born, grew rapidly; we found ourselves producing our most inward thoughts, as saith the lover his spontaneous thought to her who holds his heart. of life and toil and death a modern hermit. 9 we mused and spoke, and speculated where the whole would end, if ever; from its birth, with daring minds conceiving times which were, we traversed the life history of the earth. 23. the hermit by his marvellous speech appeared master of every science. through the past he showed the sequence of events, and peered so wisely in the future when he cast imagination forward and unfurled the progress of the present, that at last i seemed to see a vision of the world long ages hence. yet listening, i began to wonder that this man, whose words were hurled in eloquence before him, taught not man. 24. i asked him why he was content to dwell in this wild forest, with his ample store of wisdom torpid, when he might so well impart his knowledge to a thousand more, preparing them to see the light which streams to our horizon o'er the dim-lined shore where we shall stand in freedom, but which seems so far off to the mass of men. he said "ah! you are young. i, too, have dreamed my dreams and found them with the garish daylight fled.” 25. “you over-rate my little stock of sense and power to teach my fellow-men, and yet as much as was within my competence i have essayed to help them, and beget 10 à modern hermi̇t. some hopes within their task-worn minds, that they may, looking forward from the toil and sweat, see somewhere its conclusion, so they may be strengthened to continue." then he told his life to me, a story where the gay and sorrowful were mixed in one deep mould. 26. he was his father's only child, 'whose birth had cost his mother's life, and as he grew became his father's idol, whose sole mirth was wakened by the boy, who, when he knew that love, returned it trustfully. a man severe and stern, that father, but the two were comrades, and together they would scan the books of learned men, whose wisdom poured rays of keen light upon them, such as can transform the mind, making vile creeds abhorred. 27. his boyhood passed amid the many charms of luxury, nor knew the wretchedness of poverty, which dulls the soul, yet arms some natures with a greater strength to press undaunted through this contest we call life. all fighting all, and each with each, the less falling to make a vantage in the strife for those who will stand on them. to the death the battle rages. selfishness is rife, and virtue struggles vainly underneath. 28. ere manhood's lines were printed on his brow his father died, and left a large estate. a modern hermit. 11 vast wealth was his, but how to use it now perplexed the youth, whose heart refused to sate his pampered wishes while the multitude of men and women labour to create bare sustenance, and children sob for food. large gifts he made, but while he gave relief, such bounty, he too plainly understood, diminished not the source of human grief. 29. he travelled over the wide earth, and found where'er he went that poverty and crime and desolating tyranny had bound our race in misery. through written time he searched the records studiously to glean why most were sunk in an abysmal slime and some enthroned, that wealth had ever been purchased with blood and pain. he heard the groan of generations, and when he had seen the truth, he hated gold, and loathed his own. 30. was there no remedy ? his aching brain found him no answer, and a burden lay upon his spirit, crushing it with pain whose waking torment turned his young hair grey. at length, determined, he resigned his home, and when his wealth he had devised away to hospitals, he left the world to come and make himself a habitation here some three years since, nor yet had wished to roam with men again, and share their restlessness and fear. 12 a modern hermit. 31. as voyagers, who sail along a coast unlightened, save by the dim rays of stars, detect a headland here and there while most is shadowy and unknown; long sandy bars stretch through the waves, and rocks are piled on shore by them unseen. or as we look at mars thro' some fine telescope and see no more than outlines of its continents and seas, so have i passed the hermit's history o’er, and left unmarked its many miseries. 32. the retrospection of his life had brought a reverie upon him ; he had been so long unstirred. now, glancing out, i caught , a glimmer of the setting sun between the encircling trees that warned me to depart. yet loth to go, with sense of sorrow keen i rose and spoke. the hermit, with a start, shook off the mood that wrapt him. go? “ is it so late?” then saw the slant rays dart crimson upon the leaves and knew the sun was low. must you 33. we went together, traversing the wood, and reached the meadow as the sun's bright sphere touched the horizon with its rim, and stood a moment there, dilating as it were, then swiftly sank, and soon the darkening plain rang with the crickets. “'tis delightful here,” said my companion; "and when we attain a modern hermit. 13 that hilltop you will see that there will be a splendid landscape looking back, and gain from the same ridge a fine view of the sea." 34. yes; when we trod the summit of the hill the sea rose to us finely, to the shore rolling great waves. what swift emotions thrill the breasts of those long absent who once more look on the sea! enraptured must those stand for the first time beholding, who before had never seen the sea. it is so grand! its very calmness seems a power. the sleep, which howsoever seeming fast and bland, but veils the passions of the awakened deep. 35. upon that hill we parted, while the sea grew dark beneath the fading sunset dyes, whose last pale colour vanished rapidly when night's grey shadow overran the skies. and through the twilight vacancy there shone the light of stars, whose greatness multiplies this globe of earth a thousandfold, the sun ev'n equals not their glory. it was then under the stars we parted. ere 'twas done i promised him to visit oft again. 36. now, reader, my long introduction's over. 'tis dull, but i have managed to achieve my purpose, and if you can now discover that i have hacked the language, give you leave to pelt me thick with mud. my poem will be more lively now, for i shall interweave 14 a modern hermit. man's life and scenes from nature. you'll agree, especially when i picture storms of thunder and tempests and the raging of the sea, that i can make your quick hearts leap with wonder. 37. and as a wagoner, riding on his wain now mounts a hill, now thro' a valley deep, guideth his team, then o'er the level plain jogs onward though the team may fall asleep, so shall my verse, as often varied, go where'er its subject leads. perchance to creep along prose levels, and anon to grow triumphant, rising; and as landscapes round that traveller will their daedal aspects show, so here, perchance, some beauties may be found. end of canto i. a modern hermit. 15 canto ii. 1. the hermit had awakened in my mind a lively interest, and amid the clash of life in a great city where mankind worked, idled, loved, and suffered, struggling, rash, impetuous and blind; what they pursued involving their undoing or the crash of others' hopes, in that unyielding feud of rivals called society, where i was one whose tasks were hopelessly renewed, to that lone man my thoughts would often fly. 2. and so the days completed each their span of irksomeness until the day of rest, religion's only benefit to manthis respite to the weary-sole bequest for which our own immediate sons shall be still thankful, when its mysteries are confessed, e'en by the priests of its hypocrisy, delusions born of ignorance and fear grown in dark ages-earth's great upas tree now lightning struck and withering, bleak and drear. 16 a modern hermit. 3. at early morn, while yet the slumbering city lay buried in its silent deep repose, its week-made pall upon it, murk and gritty, still floating, i departed, ere the glows of sun-rise came, to seek my friend's retreat. upon the way revolving thoughts that rose like vapours in the atmosphere, which meet, part, and dissolve, or cumulate to form thick heavy clouds, which ride the tempest fleet, and riven with firebolts break in thunderstorm. 4. some gentle thoughts i had, then swift and fierce, came others, rousing storm-like agitation within me, bursting angrily in tears, even while sweet nature stirred my admiration with soft ideas, in ever-widening sweep my thoughts flew forth to see the devastation man wrought on man, until i longed to leap with passionate words amidst humanity, and speak and do, i knew not what, but weep, so hopeless seemed the mighty task to me. 5. but now the sụn uprising threw a lustre so glorious around me that my thoughts were stilled in rapture, for on every cluster of lovely flowers that in a thousand sorts hung o'er the pathway, and with fragrance drew the golden bees to practise their sweet sports o’er nectarous feasts, loud humming as they flew from flower to flower, and on each leaf and where grew carpets of soft grass, bright globes of dew sparkled and spread the rainbow colours there. a modern hermit. 17 6. and o'er the scene more distant, where the glory of sunrise swept along the smiling sea, a loveliness wherein the long sad storythe cries and strugglings of humanity might be forgotten for a while; and such was that outburst of beauty upon me, and as dark dreams are banished at the touch of an awakening hand, so for a time i lost the saddening knowledge of how much we suffer still, and mused o'er the sublime. 7. some time i paused in blissful idleness, my senses steeped in that entrancing view; with more such moments life were surely less unhappy, but how transient and how few these pleasures are for many who could feel no less a rapture than their betters do. their betters? o sarcastic phrase! to steal honour from those who labour, and bestow the meed on drones. posterity will deal its justice late, but men the truth will know. 8. resuming then the onward path, my feet with steady paces made the journey's end. the hermit saw, and hasted out to meet with gladsome looks my coming. never friend encountered one long absent with more joy. “welcome,” he cried, "you come, i hope, to spend the day with me, so that we can employ such converse as will cheer and strengthen you." i answered, smiling, “then we must destroy in words at least all ills and build utopias new." 6 с 18 a modern hermit. 9. and now with slow and sinuous motion came the hermit's python, swaying to and fro his lifted head, as if he wished to claim renewal of acquaintanceship, and lo! he knew my voice, and answered to its call with quickened course until he lay below my well-pleased eyes. then slowly winding all his gentle folds around my limbs he reared his head above me. i, yet calm withal, trusted the snake, nor violence from him feared. 10. “come," said the hermit, "you must want à rest after your walk. don't let that tiresome snake burden you so." and sure i soon confessed he was no joke, for i began to ache ere i had borne him long. “here, down, sir, down,” the hermit cried, "how dare you, rascal, make so free, when visitors come from the town to see us," and the obedient snake unwound his shining coils, and resting now his crown low in the dust lay prone upon the ground. 11. but passing on, he followed, whilst we walked through all the garden. plants on every side grew up rejoicingly, for none were baulked of their expansion due by weeds. with pride the hermit viewed his labour's fruits, and showed their various kinds. “are there who would deride the gardener's joy, who from his blest abode in verdant vales looks o'er the smiling fields whereon his toil was cheerfully bestowed, and which shall soou a plenteous produce yield ?” a modern hermit. 19 12. the mealie with its feathery tops on high, the trailing pumpkin with its golden fruit, massive and round on slender stalks, which lie along the ground, the fragile peas which shoot their tendrils forth to seek support, the bean whose sturdy stem, a little tree, with root firm in the soil, sustains the pods which lean full-bellied down. in many a different guise the plots display their bounty. such the scene where joyful roved the happy hermit's eyes. 13. "now come," the solitary said, "and see my cows and calves. when you were here before we were so busy talking earnestly that i forgot to mention them. there's more companionship in animals than some would dream of, and although i might deplore my absence from the spirit-stirring hum which spurs men on in congregated masses, yet love is here, for cows evince, though dumb, a friendship that some human love surpasses." 14. two gentle beasts that pastured in the glade came at his call, and while he drew a store of milky sweetness forth, stood sagely staid with half-shut eyes, and slowly turning o'er the exhaustless cud. their little calves frisked by and gazed on me with curious eyes, which bore so much resemblance to our own that i imagined thence their speaking beam declares in that strong likeness to the human eye our origin is from a germ like theirs, c 2 20 a modern hermit. 15. these common tasks and homely talk were not of long endurance, you may well believe. for soon returning to the hermit's cot, on themes as varied as the mind may weave our fancies fed. then with a serious mien my friend looked up and said, “you seem to grieve over some secret sorrow, which has been too constant for forgetfulness, and rears its ugly shadow, rising up between all hopeful thoughts with sad and gloomy fears." 16. “yes," i replied, "for i am sick at heart each day to read, for the newspapers teem with tales of woe unvarnished by the smart and flippant style of journalists who deem their little minds omniscient; when i read this ceaseless tale of rapine, life would seem a vain perpetual warfare, where may feed those vultures who disdain no corpse, priests, kings, and those worse tyrants, men whose god and creed are ‘gold! gold ! gold! worship the lord of things.' 17. “when i consider all the earth's vast life, its continents where nations leap to war and thousands die, and all the lust and strife of seething cities, boil spots where we pour the poisons of earth's life-blood which obtains no curative, and bursts out evermore cankered and foul in plagues. one monarch reigns above the petty kings. men live in fear, for capital strides o'er the peopled plain, trampling them down even while they revere, a modern hermit. 21 18. “the workers by whose industry he lives and grows and fattens with an iron hand are held in thraldom, slaves to whom he gives what pittance their necessities demand, and calls it wages. those who make the most enjoy the least; all pleasures from them banned. mercy is dead, and justice but a ghost dreamed of by night when men forget their sorrow in fancies of the unfettered brain, which lost in hope's far realms knows not the dread tomorrow. 19. "with buoyant hearts they wake, and, lo! their souls sink back dismayed into their leaden shells, more widely parted than celestial poles are they and happiness, and fear foretells too truly what the day will be for them. what wonder, then, if indignation swells their suffering breasts, whom rigorous tasks condemn to a long life of labour, when they see that banquets feast the rich, whose garments hem of costly cloth by them would sullied be. 20. “i live in vain, and o'er the stormy world look helplessly, yet fain would right the wrong knowing the past, whose mighty waves have curled in revolution o'er mankind so strong. it seemed old customs must be shaken till they topple to a fall with all the throng of little fools that cling as limpets will 22 a modern hermit. to hoary rocks. yet they were spent in vain leaving no trace but foam, and we are still but brutes that rule the lesser brutes with brain. 21. “i live in vain, for still my voice must be a voice unanswered in the wilderness, nor silence only do i meet, but see the very men whose wrongs i would redress laugh me to scorn and call me fool. i own that it is very bitter to confess one's life a failure, feeling it has gone in thankless efforts. would that i had been some wild barbarian who had never known one thought beyond the chase and battle scene.” 22. “my friend," the hermit said, "my sympathy is with you, for i felt and feel the same. be not downcast, however, for i see a time not distant when the world will aim at nobler things than these which bring it low, a proper subject for the scorn and shame of wisdom; though its progress may be slow it is perpetual.” so the hermit sought to ease my sadness, and with steady flow fell in one current all the stream of thought. 23. but mostly he, whose knowledge wide of men and greater insight, gave his words a power, spake, and i listened, asking now and then some questions at necessity to dower his wisdom with a deeper force for me. and in such sort we passed from hour to hour a modern hermit. 23 with rapid speech, but sometimes paused to see a passage in some volume old or new. to give but half would tax my memory beyond its range, but thus his utterance flew. 24. “the world,” he said, "might well excite the rage of thoughtful men, while statutes unrepealed stamped with the iron of a cruel age still bar the path of justice, yet to yield to powerless wrath were neither well nor wise. as in that tale of the suspended shield we must not judge too rashly for all eyes; one sees the golden, one the silver flame, another but the narrow edge espies, each from his standpoint; few can see the same. 25. “'tis a strange sense of justice often stirs among the mass, for i have sometimes seen a drama played in crowded theatres, and i have marked the audience wrapped in keen expectance of the villain's overthrow, when horrors climax in the last grim scene, and then the throng exulting all aglow with righteous virtue, when he meets his doom shout like some arab o'er a prostrate foe buried beneath the desert's fierce simoom. 26. "such is their justice. like that fiery wind, it seeks a victim with relentless hate; and they rejoice-for they have never sinnedto see poor guilt receive its awful fate. 24 a modern hermit. when retribution lifts its thunder peal, sweet pity's voice is only heard too late ; nor 'mid the clamour can its whisper steal one heart to plead for mercy. it is strange to see mankind, with natures formed to feel, still worship gods whose justice is revenge. 27. “not man alone, in whom the lust of life has fostered all his selfishness. among all living things this instinct is as rife, and sometimes far more brutal. all the strong prey on the weak. perhaps we may have been once like the sponge, all stomach. now the song raised by some birds within a thicket's screen can lift us from the depths of sorrowing, forgetting while their music floods the scene a thousand insects die that they may sing. 28. “you are a poet, but you have confessed you cannot look on nature with an eye, rejoicing in its beauty, like the rest of those who find an utterance for the cry rising from their deep feelings, joy or pain, in words of rhythmic motion. you would fly perhaps to an extreme, and weep in vain o'er nature's cruelty and strife, and say each life enjoyed must mean another slainto-morrow dies the reveller of to-day. 29. “the spider weaves with finest threads his net, the masterpiece of insect workmanship, a modern hermit. 25 whose viscous web a silken snare is set, wherein poor flies in luckless flight may slip to feed their greedy captor, who is rapt e'en from his feast by the swift swooping grip of a bright bird, whose wings have scarcely flapped in upward course, when with the lightning's whizz the falcon smites him. who will then adapt theories of love to those voracities? 30. and yet from instincts fiercer far than these have grown all feelings, and the thoughts of men: from sexual violence, love, rose by degrees : and industry from slaughter: from a clan whose only link was lust of blood and spoil, an empire grows and fosters art: to scan this evolution, 'tis an endless coil of interwoven circumstance, where each small act made its impression, were a toil, like counting sands upon the waste sea beach. 31. “but they are still evolving, inch by inch, the coil unwinds, and yet how slowly turn the silent cogs of that eternal winch, whose drum we call the future ! could we learn its measurements, to guess what is concealed in far-off epochs, then we might discern our barbarous nature, as it were, revealed in contrast with perfection. was the stone more savage than this iron age ? we wield an arm that slaughters thousands for their one. 26 a modern hermit. 32. “let us suspend our judgment. every stage of our progression from the grubs to gods marks some advancement on the former age tho' vexed and torn we doubt it, for it plods a tedious course that wearies hope. the goal as distant seems as though we piled up sods to reach the stars, or as the little mole whose eye can scarce distinguish light, might hope to burrow thro' this planet. yet man's soul sees less than he, more blindly must we grope. 33. “the thoughtless boast of common sophistry is civilization. 'tis a sounding word which means but little, and can never be while war exists, and while the vaster herd of humankind are tasked into machines, refinement truly that can gaze unstirred by aught save pride on ghastly battle-scenes and read without a choking at the heart the records of earth's daily round, of queens and starving women, squalor, gaols, and art. 34. “refined indifference. how the coming race of an immediate future as i trust will marvel at our selfishness. we face these evils with a callous eye, or thrust the knowledge from us, fearing it should mar our own enjoyment, as it ought and must. till social life no longer bears the bar of blazoned vice upon its tinsel shield worn by false heralds who proclaim afar its specious glories, all its flaws concealed. a modern hermit. 27 35. “this, then, will seem incredible, but what phrase will paint the height of their astonishment when they look back from those serener days of even justice o'er the wide extent of our iniquity, where one obtains the makings of a thousand, by consent of the poor slaves scarce conscious of the chains that they were born with, and which they are taught in childhood's all-receptive years, when brains are moulded, are their god-apportioned lot. 36. " • what is our civilization ? if there came an angel from some planet in the void. whose savage state was once indeed the same (but long past by) and saw mankind destroyed by war and pestilence. war, the birth of hate and jealousy, and pestilence, the bride of human vice and filthiness, its mate more hideous now than in the olden times of rarer man. say, would he deem our state was civilized, or sigh to see our crimes ? 37. “a mighty maze! but not without a plan, says an old poet. true, a mighty maze ! but if 'tis planned it passes any man to understand it. when we watch each phase of life, the maze grows greater, and its scheme more secret still. a light that has no rays to guide us to it. phantoms of a dream forgotten when the slumber ceased would be less doubtful, for we go from each extreme of sense to folly, mirth to misery. 28 a modern hermit. 38. “with wondrous skill we catch the feeble rays shed by some star our eyes shall never see, resolve its gases, say how much it weighs, and guess its age and its intensity of fierce combustion, and when comets burn across our skies at lightning speed, then flee so far through space that they shall not return for centuries, yet we can follow still their viewless paths with prophecy, and learn how strong and marvellous is the human will. 39. “but while this seems so glorious, turn thine eyes from their dominion of those distant things, and view on earth what nearest to thee lies. one of those slaves whom sordid lucre wrings till generations so degraded grow that o'er their minds ambition rarely flings fallacious hopes to brighten their fixed woe: mark then that brute who bears a human face and sink with shame, for surely thou shalt know how weak and wretched is the human race. 40. “ let fancy, with an immaterial wing, that scorns the force of gravitation, bear thy soul, awhile uplifted from this ring— our prison of the crust of earth, and there imagine thou cans't motionless survey the world revolving under thee, a fair, but saddening prospect. thine impartial sway looks over empires of a thousand miles in one brief hour; great cities pass away beneath thy gaze; lakes gleam like transient smiles. a modern hermit. 29 41. “a million fields reflect the vivid light, a thousand cities belch their vapours foul. nature and science: in thy very sight providing man's subsistence; yet the howl of famine swells to thine attentive ear. earth's face is darkened by the grimy cowl of factory smoke; those restless oceans bear a host of ships that carry to and fro the products of antipodes; 'tis there that thou may'st learn earth's marvellous overflow. 42. “there thou hast seen earth's riches, now descend, let fact with heavy leaden foot draw down thy soul from its romantic flight, and bend thy steps among the by-ways of a town where industry is cooped in narrow lanes, the philanthropic lady lifts her gown when she, good dame, adventures there, lest stains should soil its costly broidery, the while her heart is filled with deep disgust, yet feigns the loving word and sympathetic smile. 43. “approach this den! it is a labourer's home, and on its threshold sits a little child, pinch-faced and wan, whose eyes can never roam beyond those streets by sordid man defiled. earth's face is bright with beauty, but for him no flowers bloom, the scenes of nature's wild exultant freedom are but names of dim and strangest meaning. think now what must be his notion of the woodland and the stream, the waterfall, the mountain, and the sea. 30 à modern hermit. 44. “ within the mother nurses without rest a puny babe that frets incessantly and draws fresh woe from her fermented breast, ill-nourished child of poverty, to be more wretched than its wretched nurse, the blight falls heaviest when the plant is young, the tree must bear the sapling's weakness. let this sight rise to thine eyes whene'er thou would’st rejoice o’er art and science, which do not requite the lot of hardships borne without a choice. 45. “there wrapped in rags, all slatternly and vile they pass their lives in utter sordidness, without a hope its meanness to beguile, sunk in the daily torpor of distress their minds are stagnant, what else can they be? with evening, sullen with the long excess of labour, comes the man. no sound of glee gives welcome to his squalid home, whose bare and ugly walls reflect the misery that grinds these wretches with unceasing care. 46. “the cheerless food, unwholesome, scant, and coarse, which taste disdains, but hunger must devour, whereto contentment lends that wondrous sauce which namby-pamby poets praise, whose hour of sovereign want has never made them know the needs they slight in wantonness of power. the mills that grind the hapless poor are slow, but very sure. they perish in the slum who build the palace which their toils bestow on idlers, but they suffer and are dumb. a modern hermit. 31 « 47. “in ancient days the nations made men slaves, and called them slaves, but in these days of fraud we gull them into bondage to their graves, mocked with the names of freedom and a god whose goodness weighs their present pangs for gain meanwhile they toil till deadened to a clod their very thoughts are not their own, but vain and senseless repetitions, which they cry but from the cries of others. they obtain no pleasures but the pleasures of the sty. 48. “and children too, those children of the free, for so they call them; what a life is theirs, what tender limbs are burdened heavily, too weak for burdens, are they not the heirs of centuries of serfdom which have worn their fathers to life's limits ? no fresh airs from seaside, and the mountain peak have borne their essences to freshen the pale fires of life, which smoulder through a race forlorn, whose every sons are weaker than their sires. 49. “humanity! how much we speak in vain, our best of language springs from shallowness we think of kindness when we say humane, but why? is not man's kindness often less than brutes to brutes ? while yet one child remains with mind unformed and body stunted. yes! while there is one whose unremitted pains damn its young life which years cannot reclaim 32 a modern hermit. from weary toil which no kind thought restrains that child's wrecked life must put that boast to shame. 50. “come once again through these unwholesome streets where nasty minglings sicken every sense, how different from the flowery fields, where bleats the little lamb in all the joy intense of young existence. here a factory stands. grim prison ! where the iron elements of great machines, seem with relentless bands of noiseless power, to harden in the veins of infants, where not only their small hands are sullied, but alas, their little brains. 51. “knowest thou the joys of childhood and the joy which they confer on those who love them, all the natural sweetness which no arts destroy with affectation. when my thoughts forestall the happiness which i must ever know with brightsome children; faces which recall the angels whom my boyish fancy's flow loved to imagine; how those thoughts are chilled to guess at what these others undergo, whose lives with such a dreary round are filled. 52. “hark! that loud whistle, 'tis a joyful sound to thousands of expectant little ears, once in the day their little hearts rebound, for they are free, such freedom as is theirs, free in their weariness to play, and free to learn such vices that their future years a modern hermit. 33 shall be, though shortened, long in misery. look, while they pass those portals, on each face, pale and cheek-sunken, thou may'st swiftly see the stamp of sins which are not their disgrace; 53. “but are our shame, for we have wrecked those lives that we may live in comfort and be well in selfishness, we care not who survives, so that we are not bruised. 'tis with an ell we mete ourselves, and grudge them the bare inch; our lives are poor, yet poorer those who dwell in wretchedness, from which our souls would flinch even to fancy it were ours. could fancy life which has no rays to tinge its clouds with rainbows, wherein hope may be. if we 54. some madness surely overrides our sense, we would not in the knowledge of it mar the promise of our children's innocence to grow to virtue, and their minds debar from a ripe vigour, yet 'tis what we do. what can we hope for as we look afar o'er the long future, if we may but view such generations. we would laugh to scorn the gardener who lopped seedlings while they grew, and cherished tares amid the springing corn. 55. “such is the law of nature, so they cry through all life-history is one fact impressed, nature's great law! would ye improve it ? try! survival of the fittest is the best. d 3+ a modern hermit. let us fight on! so shall the race grow pure, and out of evil good, and from the zest of strife enjoyed grow mercy, as a sewer out of its stinks yields perfume, so they deem from human misery something will endure which shall be lovely; how, they do not dream. 56. “shall we, whose reason's infancy is past bow like the ostrich to the stroke of chance hiding our heads in holes, or to the last inertly tossed by waves of circumstance, mere flotsam on the boundless sea of time drift with its streams for ever, or perchance with its dead matter sink into its slime ? this is the teaching. let us drift, who cares for those who must come after, though we climb more toilsonie hills that will not level theirs. 57. “yet, in their hearts perhaps some self-contempt (in mine 'tis boundless) for this passiveness is felt at times, for there are none exempt from that desire, which they can scarce express, to make the world a paradise, where light and love and beauty through the storm and stress of those dark ages, shall break from the night which wraps us now, its darkness only torn by passion's fierce red lightning, whence with fright we are convulsed. who hopes not for the dawn? 5.8. “too strong a picture ? well it may be so; and he whose eyes have gladdened when the sun new risen makes the morning glories glow, a modern hermit. 35 watched silver streamlets sparkle as they run, or from a mountain loftiness looked down on earth's majestic beauty; such a one would think my words extravagant and frown zealous to prove their falseness ; yet they seem like truth to me; though i would not disown earth's loveliness; man's failings are my theme. 59. “and when one feels most strongly, one must speak most strongly, and the passionate sense of wrong which fills my being, finds all words are weak for there are things, a thousand things, whose strong remembrance rightly wakes the wrath which now swells from my heart but cannot find a tongue. perhaps 'tis well, for truth may wear the brow of falsehood now to man's imperfect view and what we fancy all must needs allow seems, to their thinking, violent and untrue. 60. “the race of man is thoughtless in the main, and those whose minds disdain this hebetude like bees that buzz against a window pane must spend themselves in efforts which are viewed with sneers and pity. madmen, so it seems, and mad they must be who have so pursued in scorn of self their altruistic dreams. but to such minds whose generous ardour flames from pure compassion for a world which teems with woe like this. what are contemptuous names ? 61. “if such are mad, let me deserve the name. if i may feel that my best thoughts were given d 2 36 a modern hermit. to solve the problems of this world of shame, and urge its evolution; to have striven all that i am to be a living force, though it may be all vainly i have driven my fleeting thoughts upon their restless course which oft seemed aimless, endless; i shall feel my life has not been wasted, though remorse rankle in sores of memories too real. 62. “a world of shame! while suffering, death and pain must be the portion of its million sons, and the fat few, whose pampered wishes gain a thousand wants for every whim which runs its surfeit course, while these divide and waste the earth's abundance, and those hungry ones scramble to snatch the crumbs, which in their haste they soil and trample, for their madness grows to such a height by selfish lust disgraced, that each esteems his fellows but as foes. 63. “is this an end for which a world should be ? shall its existence have no nobler aim ? i should be wretched if i could not see some promise of a better, to reclaim our future from these sordid paths we tread. yet in this world, oh! surely where the name, ; of justice lives, and pity is not dead, there must in man be something which at last shall work out his perfection, though, far sped, ages upon these ages shall have passed ! å modern hermit. 37 64. “foresee the glories of that future time, let all the best of thine imagination rise strong and pure, yet though thy fancy climb serenest heights, to reach that consummation, still must thou fail, for we in truth must be like sightless children, born in tribulation, whose fancies nor the sun's bright splendour see nor magic beauties of the night, i ween, though those who love describe them. how shall we imagine splendours which have not been seen? 05. "there shall be love the love we know is lusta friendship which shall know no sexual bar, companionship without that vile distrust which poisons all those impulses which are the holiest and happiest; and with this there shall be justice, man with man at par, nor woman valued only for the kiss of sexual fervour. love and justice, these mankind's sole laws of universal bliss reigning for ever in a reign of peace.” 66. such was his talk, and such the prophecy wherewith he ended, as the sun the rain; words, which his accents kindled into me, a prophecy, which did not seem in vain. he spoke, my soul, exalted, rose and spurned the meaner things which fill this life with pain and hopelessness, for now my spirit burned with a new life, rejoicing in the change; my hopes grew boundless, as of one who learned his soul was god-like, limitless its range. 38 a modern hermit. i 67. 'twas with a mind exultant that i trod the city's street, because, in that brief term of absence from it, like a bursting flood new hopes had sprung—my thoughts were proud and firm, and i, though many seemed so weak and blind, saw in each face some stamp of that great germ the soul of man, whose form, yet undefined, in embryo lies unquickened. mother earth shall, through her travail, from the seed mankind, bear her last, perfect, pure and glorious birth, end of canto ii, à modern hermit. 39 canto iii. 1. i love the night. from twilight's gentle hour to ruddy morn there is a power abroad whose steps are traced in beauty, such a power as daylight knows not though with brilliance stored and majesty, nor wants the glorious night of moon and stars its majesty, though poured less dazzling on a sleeping world its light has not the sun's bright fame; but there have been deep votaries who have known the magic might of solemn midnight, beautiful and keen. 2. i marvel not that those old eastern sages, the gentle budh, zarushta, should conceive religious systems to survive the ages, nor that themselves should fervently believe their thoughts were revelations, for they kept long vigils and outwatched the stars to give their minds an empire over thought. they swept, breathless through realms of vivid light and guessed in their rapt exultation truths which crept from brain to brain through sluggards in the west. 40 a modern hermit. 3. and if my soul had solved the world charade of secret meanings, knew there was a god, at midnight i would worship. i have prayed to what i know not, as i slowly trod some lonely summit whence the glorious scene visible round has wakened e'en the clod of animal nature awed by that serene and solemn silence, underneath whose sway my soul grew greater, braver. i have been poet by night-a soulless drudge by day. 4. for i have watched the livelong night thro' slow unmeasured hours, while twinkling stars that shed the brilliance of a thousand years ago arose and set, and sudden meteors sped across the sky in light that flamed and fell a moment past. imagination led the rapid train of fancies such as swell the mind of man confronted with the vast, the grandeur of the universe—the spell of time and space—the present and the past. 5. of such the mind's expansion, but the night has softer faces which, if they command less admiration, move to more delight. and sullen must the heart be to withstand the balmy influence, when each outward sense caressed and grateful bids it to expand. delicious night! who knows not thine intense and restful sweetness has not lived, his life is imperfection, bearing in suspense the joy and splendour leaving but the strife. a modern hermit, 41 6. now is the time to ramble o'er the hill with loitering step that pauses everywhere, obedient to some instinct, for the will, now dormant, doth relinquish all the care and charge of motion, while the mind is chained to meditation. often, when despair crept over me, have i gone forth and gained that exaltation which the night bestows, not wholly transient—something has remained which gives my life what happiness it knows. 7. no bed of roses has it been for me, a private in the army of the poora slave for lucre, while i cursed the fee, and tutored from my childhood to endure the galling yoke, which was the worse to bear because my spirit scorned the golden lure and thirsted for its freedom, though its store of the world's goods were mean; and, crushed and worn with wearying toil, my mind rose from despair a thousand times, yet still was overborne. 8. i love the night, and therefore in the night it came to pass ere long that i was bent upon that pathway which my mind's delight tracked often to the hermit's lonely tent. the air was cool and lambent with the rays refulgent of the silver moon, which lent from its full disc that brightness which betrays fair nature's face unveiled, but does not tear the mantle from her chasteness, like the gaze of the bold sun, till she lies naked to his stare, 42 a modern hermit. 9. the valleys slept in silence as i passed ; the stately trees that stood beside the way, all motionless, a steady shadow cast over the dewy plots which sparkling lay in tracts of brightness by those shades increased ; and the sweet flowers which all the busy day drew lively swarms luxuriant to the feast, beloved of insects, now were folded deep in those sweet dreams we know not-life had ceased in all that wide soft solitude of sleep. 10. upon that hill whose summit views the sea i paused, o'ermastered, for the sight was grand; and what there is of reverence in me was wakened, and my soul could understand the thrill and joy of living. it was then deep midnight, and a meteor's fiery brand suddenly swept the sky. sight once to men a warning and a prophecy, but here 'twas just a glory, though its flaming pen wrote characters of wonder o'er the sphere. 11. and to my sight from that commanding hill, its long horizon mounting to the sky, lay the broad sea, its surface wide and still, so motionless that they might almost vie the waveless sea and cloudless firmament in deep tranquillity; and i have known no moment of such rich content as then possessed me. something of the peace of nature passed within me, and i went firm-footed thence, feeling my sorrows cease. a modern hermit. 43 12. oh, there are moments when the soul expands beyond the body's fetters, when afar it bounds o'er time and distance and commands the realms of space, observing things which are not common to our knowledge, so transfused with mighty nature that no trifles mar the glory of conception; i have mused in such an hour divinely, but returned to the cold earth whence holiness abused shrinks back too conscious that its gifts are spurned. 13. and in this grim material world such themes seem out of place, and i have feared to be misunderstood, if i should tell my dreams, which at the best were fragments and would flee from the dim memory, as the inconstant spark of firefly swift doth cheat the child's fond glee, whose hand is opened empty-all is dark. and so the mind like that infantile sport is cheated, and there but remains the stark thin skeleton of that once living thought. 14. now through the wood my footsteps were directed in twilight, for the woody temple's ceiling of twisted boughs so thickly intersected shut out the moon, though sometimes swiftly stealing through the dense roof, it fell upon the ground in specks of light the images revealing of twigs and leaves. there was not any sound in all that forest, but the trunks of trees in the dim shadows seemed to move around in ghostly wise with whispered colloquies. 44 a modern hermit. 15. one massive trunk lay prostrate in the path upon the forest verge; some tempest late had levelled the old giant in its wrath. on its broad flank i rested, there to wait the morn's arrival, while the queen of air passed westward with her glorious train of state stars one by one i watched them sinking there while slowly that long blissful night was borne into the past, and i turned eastward, where the morning star was paling in the dawn. 16. and presently a solitary bird began its music with a matin lay. not long alone, a thousand notes are heard in joyous chorus welcoming the day. now that soft flush, the loveliest nature shows of all her hues, that deck the flowery spray, or paint the rainbow, o'er the sky arose. the stars grow fainter, fainter, till the eye hath lost them all, but still that planet glows, a single jewel set in that fair sky. 17. i rose, and soon my friend's abode drew near, and i espied him walking where the dew hung gems upon a rose-bush. “you are here already, and the sun not up! but few would walk all night to visit one,” cried he. “you would be less astonished if you knew me wholly," i responded, "for i see , but small delight in all that skimble-skamble the world calls pleasure ; you can offer me no greater pleasure than a midnight ramble. a modern hermit. 45 6 18. “you are an early riser and have seen full many a 'sunrise with its glories old, yet ever new, and revelled in the keen refreshment of the morning as it rolled over the world, but have you ever known that sense of seeing what but few behold, that pulse of feeling which is not our own, which makes us more than merely man when night in magic hours, profoundest yet, has shown the fulness of her ecstacy and might?” 19. “well,” he responded, “though the night has won the frequent homage of my heart, elated with its mild splendour, yet i love the sun. see! where he rises with his orb dilated earth's glorious god, of greater worlds the lord almighty light! whose strength is unabated, while the milleniums vanish, but is poured through endless space, while time grows old and hoary, the primal sun! in majesty adored by subject worlds; sole source of life and glory.” 20. he spoke in earnest, and my lips restrained the jest that rose upon them thus to hear such sudden eloquence, and he regained his thoughts and smiled. "you see if you revere that goddess who is sinking over there like a pale cloud, her shape so pearly clear, i am no less a pagan and declare my worship for the brilliant god alone, 46 a modern hermit. in morning's temple with stained windows rare and such a choir as fanes have never known. 21. “hark at them now in lively minstrelsy, would it not make the saddest heart rejoice, that marvellous music, discords though it be to music's sad precisions, whose set voice mocks the earth’s joy with classic strains of art more sweet to them, may pan forgive the choice, than all the songs of nature, though the heart beats none the faster for the maze of sound concertos, movements, what not! for my part i would have something that would make it bound. 22. “but now the sun is brightening and his glow with early warmth delightfully is shed on the sweet air around us, let us go down to the river where a pool is spread in a rare place, which fairies must have made for their enjoyment, just before they fled from the wise world when arcady decayed. you are, i hope a swimmer and will share my morning joy, now, ere the freshness fade from the bright water which is sparkling there.” 23. it was a winding pathway which we took among the trees that venerably grew in a thick forest of old growth, whose look was of a thousand years, as though it knew old time's long secrets, and was made the home of hoary silence and his handmaids two, a modern hermit. 47 sweet peace and contemplation, who can roam fearful of violence never more abroad, and keep their loved seclusion in the gloam of such old forests far from earth's wild horde. 24. our thoughts remained unspoken as we passed through the old forest for it would have seemed a sacrilege to break that silence vast. but when it ended and before us gleamed a glade all smiles with sunshine and with flowers, our pleasure found its language. life so teemed in that bright spot that one might think its powers to multiply were quickened, and the strong necessity whereby one kind devours a weaker one did not to these belong. 25. those envied insects whose felicity is to enjoy on lovely fluttering wing “delight with liberty," which seem to be all living in one atmosphere of spring, and die, too happy, when it fades, had here their brightest playground, where they wished to bring nothing but gaiety, and everywhere the eye beheld such numbers at a glance that it might fancy all those insects fair held carnival and whirled in merry dance. 26. and for their due refreshment there was spread a banquet where fresh cups of honey grew in many coloured loveliness, and shed delicious odours with their sweets which blew 48 a modern hermit. with every zephyr through the air, distilled to finer fragrance. birds of beauty flew sportive among the trees, and songsters trilled the richest melodies they knew, so sweet and blended so harmoniously, they filled the sense of hearing with a joy complete. 27. before the river broadened till it lay in the deep pool whose surface met the sun with glints and sparkles, it had brawled its way mid many boulders, foaming over one and gurgling 'neath another, till it leapt down a steep rock with flood that seemed to run with one last bound of wildness ere it slept in tranquil waters lapping on a beach of narrow sand upon whose margin crept the softest greensward, all along the reach. 28. but all along the further side there rose a pile of rocks with ferns and moss o'ergrown, wax plants and lilies, each rare plant that grows in the rich nurture of the mouldy stone where every cranny blooms, and in one place, whence at our coming there had swiftly flown a kingfisher whose brilliance seemed to trace a path of light behind his rainbow gleam. a ledge of rock projected from the face of the rough cliff, ten feet above the stream. 29. my friend threw off his garments on the grass and stood in native symmetry of limb. a modern hermit. 49 a strong man, naked; one who would surpass the phidian statue's beauty, and on him i looked in admiration as he went into the water and began to swim like things that sport in their own element. then climbed the steep, and from that vantage rock dived headlong, and before the waves were spent, rose vigorous, nor breathless from the shock, 30. i followed suit, and quickly swimming over plunged from the height of that projecting stone deep down, as if my wish were to discover the very bottom, but my breath was gone ere i could reach it. to the top once more ! where like two schoolboys, truants who have flown from hated tasks, for learning tasks them sore whom nature calls to holiday, i ween; we sported there, enjoying to the core the swimmer's joy of bodily delights most keen. 31, returned we to the hermit's hut to share substantial breakfast with an appetite which found enjoyment in a simple fare, simple and wholesome, wanting not delight; with fruits fresh-plucked and moistened still with dew, and porridge made with blandest flavour right, from the sweet meal the hermit's garden grew. and that great python curled up on the floor shared the repast, a vegetarian too, his early tastes remembered now no more. e 50 a modern hermit. 32. there was a mountain a few miles away whose long flat summit levelled half the west: one thousand feet its solitary sway o’erlooked the undulations of the rest of that champaign; a lofty sovereignty which made itself conspicuous, and its crest and sloping sides were bare. it seemed to be bald with a hoary age, and down its face ran deep ravines where time had heavily scored the old mountain with its iron mace. 33. “what say you," said the hermit, “shall we go to yonder mountain ? 'tis not very far, and well worth climbing for the view below when you have topped it, and that rugged scar which dominates the mountain like a tower of other days—those good old days which are lamented so with all their crimes, when power worked its fierce will unbound-contains a vault which, built of marble, has survived the hour which washed the mountain down that hummock to exalt.” 34. with gladness i consented, for to make such long wild walks has always fed my heart with a romantic joy, when i retake a child's fresh spirits once again in part, or sometimes wholly, when the breath of flowers, the swift elixir of a magic art, thrills the tired brain anew, until its powers take on the hopes and buoyancy of youth, a modern hermit. 51 and in the joyance of a few bright hours repair the ravages of years of ruth. 35. “come, let us take some provender,” he said, “and spend the day there," and with that he packed fruits from the garden, and a loaf of bread into a wallet, till it fairly cracked under his generous hands, and so we went lighthearted forth, the while the python tracked our footsteps o'er the springy grass, which bent but instantly beneath us, and i smiled to see that snake so eager and content to follow there like an obedient child. 36. now i remembered that i had with me a portion of a newspaper, and gave the thing to my companion. “ ah!” cried he, “this is the echo of what people rave in the mad world of misery and joy. yet how these fellows pipe their little stave amidst the din, like children with a toy, tin trumpets theirs, with which they think they lead the world's vast chorus, and in truth destroy what harmony it might have had indeed. 37. “i do not love these journals, to my mind one loses nothing when one loses these; and while i live sequestered from mankind i do live happy, for they cannot tease e 2 52 a modern hermit. with repetitions of their little news, from day to day still sucking at the lees of human things, they know, but to refuse the generous wine. can such be teachers then, or do they labour only to abuse self-blinded guides of blind but better men ? 38. “sensation is their very life—the breath of their existence. wars and rumoured war, crimes, wretchedness, swift accidents when death in awful shapes takes victims by the score, and acts of madmen, in a word the worst of human tragedies which they explore to most unwholesome surfeit, all immersed in a rank slough they will not lift their eyes beyond the ditch they roll in, and their thirst drinks in with glee the filth that round them lies. > 39. “what can we learn from newspapers ? what pulse will beat the stronger for a nobler thought, or feel the passionate throbbings which convulse a mind in touch with nature, of what sort it may be in the wilderness or man for all these vasty pages which have caught and mock the name of freedom, till a wan and flimsy ghost usurps its memory? and yet they might be foremost in our van if but their freedom practised to be free. 40. “crude politics, short-sighted, selfish, small, crude judgments set in violence of phrase a modern hermit. 53 and cruder science, these, my friend, are all you'll find in them ; what matter, so it pays? all things must pay! 'tis what men live for now, and the earth rolls through its eternal ways companioned by a universe, to show its wondrous masterpiece in man whose brain (so far above the animals, you know), evolves a mint and scrambles for the gain. 41. “well, well, all things will have their day and die, and be forgotten, leaving their effect most vital if of evil, yet am i still sanguine for my spirit grows erect at the bright picture which my fancy makes of the world's future, and my hopes expect its early coming. even now earth shakes with the strong fire that burns beneath the crust of human polities; ah! if it breaks too violent forth, and leaves but ashes, dust, (6 > 42. “but that is in the future; let us see how wags the world at present and discern, if so we may, some signs of what will be.” with that the hermit then began to turn the paper round, and scanned its columns through attentive, but like one who thought to learn but little. “this is news!” he cried; "the new story of evils older than the hills. news! news indeed! i'faith, a motley view of petty things from politics to pills. 54 a modern hermit. 43. “and here is news from london which has passed beneath the seas. those magic wires have drawn the boundaries of our once wide world so fast that thoughts which startled london in the morn are ours ere night, at these antipodes. from that world's heart the pulse of life is borne onwards so swiftly that in wilds like these we feel its strokes full measured, and must bear our portion of the tempest and the breeze which blows the straws of human doings there. 44. “just now it seems a tempest is in store. here's labour fighting for its life, and states massing their armies for impending war. so must we struggle onwards. it abates man's pride in man to ponder o'er the deeds of human passions, jealousies and hates. the rational being, with a thousand creeds of love and mercy, claiming for his own all intellect; yet any beast that feeds mouth to the ground more gentleness has shown.” 45. the hermit sighed; his words were full of pain and weariness. though he was silent now i knew the thoughts that ached his busy brain and showed themselves in wrinkles on his brow. then for awhile in silence we pursued our way o'er fields that never felt the plough and had no pathway; where bright flowers strewed the emerald floor in luxury of bloom, conspicuous too among the richer hued, daisies and jonquils with their sweet perfume. 1 1 á modern hermit. 55 46. << how that last rain has made the flowers spring!” the hermit cried, thus uttering the delight that stirred us both. “it is a glorious thing to see such loveliness as this ; no trite and artful beauty here. this could not grow too common; would it were a common sight for those who dwell in cities, where they go year in, year out, ungladdened, till their souls are narrowed to their narrow streets and know no more of the world's beauty than the moles. 47. “our lives are all too crowded, for men flock into the city and disdain the field with all its fruit; would rather blast the rock and pierce the mountain for its gold concealed, will travel far o'er loveliest fertile plains to reach a barren wilderness, and wield his mightiest powers with most unyielding pains to get a metal; while one half his toil will furnish food for thousands, which remains neglected in more generous-offering soil.” 48. and now we neared the mountain, which rose high before our eyes, and promised a stiff climb. its rugged face appeared all bare and dry, rocky and steep a spectacle sublime in its up-towering grandeur; one might think it stands erect, defiant still of time and heaven's eternal waters, but each chink in its strong rampart widens in decay, and that vast mountain to the vale shall sink ere man's triumphant race shall end its upward way 56 a modern hermit. 49. “do you not think," i asked the hermit then, as we paced upward the ascent begun, there is an immortality in men not of the soul they prate of in each one, that selfish soul for which as women teach taught by the priests, salvation must be won. though the world live unbettered, but from each unit of our humanity there flows the sequence of an endless life to reach unthought of futures ripening as it grows ?” 50. “ah!” said my friend, “that is a thought above the common mind, and yet it is a thing which, as it were, all men are conscious of. they feel that this existence, while they cling to it with passion something like despair, is not lived for themselves, but following the myriad lives that seemed all buried there, in the long past is carrying on the chain through the far longer future, which will bear the fruits they know not. no one lives in vain. 51. “the feeling's vague, and yet it has engendered some nobleness in our imperfect race, so that its genius is not all surrendered to false enjoyment now, but there's a place amid the thoughts that make ourselves, for some for those hereafter, when from man still base a saner and more splendid man shall come, in that hereafter down the unguessed time which will not know us; 'tis the very sum of all unselfishness-a soul sublime. a modern hermit. 57 52. 66 'twould seem that we make cycles as we go from race to race, all rising till they reach high water marks of civilization's flow in the eternal sea upon whose beach of desolate sand--a border waste and bare are stranded fragments of the wrecks of each. not even wrecks have some left to declare their glories, which have vanished like a blast of desert wind, nor even that they werelost in the awful silence of the past. 53. was, then, the highest ever reached as high as the high thoughts which shake the races now? i cannot think it, else they could not die as they have died so utterly. to allow that such sweet thoughts were mortal, were to deem that we exist for nothing, and avow our destiny the sport of chance-a dream of moments in eternity of night. i cannot think it, such a thought would seem negation of our brightest minds of light. 54. “ there shapes a purpose in humanity yet dimly, for 'tis shapeless even yet, but there is something which the fools may see, (see, though their seeing sees but to forget) now, and the wisest know it not of old a new sun has arisen not to set except in glory, and men's hearts grow bold with conscious power. they feel the future's theirs 58 á modern hermit. an undivided heritage, untold, and unimagined, for their god-like heirs. 65. “perhaps my wish is father to my thought, but i believe the passions of mankind are nearly spent, altho' the world distraught must breathe awhile ere yet its hunger find wisdom and calm and peace. the time is nigh, our souls are strong though many look behind on the dead nations crying, "we shall die, and vanish too, why should we toil and fret? but there are some whose hopes and aims are high and will not lack attainment—though not yet.'” 6 56. the hermit paused half breathless, for we were up the long slope of the steep mountain faring, each steady footstep marking for us there its own length upward, and the day was wearing, as sultry look as ever promised storm. up in the steely sky the sun was glaring white, with a disc of strangely nebulous form, and all the fields lay shimmering with a haze round the horizon, and we felt the warm and languid air grow heavy to the gaze. 57. at length we wearied, and beside a rock which cast a little shadow from the sun rested awhile. “it's nearly twelve o'clock," the hermit said, "the summit must be won soon, for we'll have a thunderstorm to-day." " a thunderstorm," i answered, “well, there's none a modern hermit. 59 who loves the lightning more than i-to say i love it is no figure, from a child i have delighted in the wondrous play of living light when all the sky seems wild. 58. “and now to stand upon this mountain's height while a storm bursts around us and displays its awful glories, would be a delight to fill my soul with splendour, and thus raise the plane of my existence, for i hold our souls grow from our senses in all ways. who looks on strength and beauty will grow bold and beautiful, who looks on mean things, mean, for me the lightning, though my fate be told in some bright flash-death would be swift and keen.” 59. the hermit smiled. perhaps you may live long and die at home. meantime from life to take what joys we may (no happiness is wrong which is not robbed from anyone) we'll slake our thirst with some sweet oranges,” he said. we lay and mused. already many a flake of watery cloud began to form and spread and thicken in the sullen frowning sky. “now up,” he cried, and pointed overhead where still the mountain towered bold and high. 60. a toilsome climb, and yet a pleasant tire, who does not love such pains and toil to rise up from the earth's dull level and inspire the untainted breeze through which the eagle flies, 60 a modern åermit. and the clouds float; to leave the bounded scene and watch the world expand beneath his eyes, while with a sense unwonted, fresh and keen, of liberty expands his fancy too. emancipate from what his life had been the world becomes more lovely than he knew. 61. the falling sun had left an hour ago his throne of glory in the middle sky, when on the summit, breathless and aglow with heated blood high pulsing, throats all dry we stood at last victorious, and in pride looked down the mountain travelling with the eye the glades and woodlands of the landscapes wide till it became the sea-a sea of lead which lay without the semblance of a tide beneath a sky as colourless and dead. 62. but westward when we turned and looked behind, we saw the storm clouds gathering. soon they came, with growling thunder, swifter than the wind, darkening the sky that quivered as the flame shot from the blackness of the rolling cloud when the fierce lightning took his dreadful aim anon the thunder shouted out aloud, wild with the joy of unresisted power. on came the storm, advancing swift and proud to show its strength in one tremendous hour. 6 63. “there is the cavern that i spoke about," said my companion, “come and see it now a modern hermit. 61 before that storm has reached us with its rout and rush and rain, and i will show you how my mountain residence is made, for here i spend some weeks in summer.” from the brow where we had stood, he led me quickly where from the mid-level of the mountain height the marble mound rose rounded as it were a dwarf upon a giant-bare and white. 64. but as we neared it i could catch a sound, the pleasant sound of water dropping; clear yet just a murmur, and i looked around. the hermit smiled. “that is the spring you hear, come, let your parched lips taste it, you will think that it is nectar.” a great rock lay near one corner deep imbedded; from a chink beneath it sprang the water, as in haste to greet the long lost sunshine; crying, “ drink” (or so we fancied) as it sang and raced. 65. and then it took a little leap and splashed on a great stone, from whence it found with glee a little channel, and full gaily dashed upon its way the mighty world to see, still singing, as a young delighted child ventures on life, its gladness soon to be checked into grief and weariness beguiled with hopes and fears; and so the streamlet grows a river, mirthless, and perchance defiled, whose sluggish stream in solemn silence flows. 62 a modern hermit. 66. but now we drank, and in one fresh deep draught forgot fatigue and thirstiness, but still returned to taste, and yet as deeply quaffed for more delight, and scarce could find the will to leave it until startled by a peal of rattling thunder, near enough to fill the air with such vibration we could feel a swift concussion as it trembled round, while through the ground a shudder seemed to stealthe silenced streamlet gave a frightened bound. 67. it was the storm king urging with that shout of mighty sound his chariots into speed, and the wild steeds flung all their dark manes out in maddest answer, striving which should lead the impetuous race. now to the mountain come, their ranks divided and their course decreed, in thunders new, their volumes rolling, some to right rush onward, some to left, and form a mass tumultuous raging round the dumb and steadfast hill that braved the triumph of a storm. 68. while thus the storm was round the mountain whirling, the summit left in sunshine while below, a hundred feet the clouds and mists were curling, over and over like the angry flow of a tempestuous ocean far from shore. we sought the cavern. through the entrance low a modern hermit. 63 i passed and started. stretched upon the floor lay a great snake; but soon i knew, and cried, "it is the python! he passed on before while we were resting on the mountain side.” 69. there was a wondrous clearness in the light within the cave, although the sole supply came through the entrance; but the walls were white, the floor seemed made of crystals, and the high dim-vaulted roof was hanging overhead in seeming like a fleecy clouded sky; and from a thousand fitful points were shed a half-elusive radiance, now and then, above and all around. the eye was fed with gleams of light, but saw not how nor when. 70. and there the coolness of the cavern brought an all-delicious languor to each sense that gives the spirit joy; and ours were taught that luxury of sweetest indolenceto rest, and know no wishes but to rest. all vexing thoughts soon vanished—“why?” and “ whence?” wearied no more with their incessant quest, what we had lived seemed nothing, and what more there was to live, undreaded and divest of all the doubts which troubled life before. 71. an hour or two passed imperceptibly while thus we lay in that sweet conscious trance, whence, waking like a child in infancy, we wanted food, for which expected chance 64 a modern hermit. my friend produced his dainties. then we passed forth from the cave and watched the storm advance upon the sea; and while it went it cast a sudden deluge, till the wide fields lay all sparkling there behind it in a vast sun-painted picture, green and gold and grey. 72. it was a vivid landscape. if the earth has ever as those madmen, poets say, at its own beauty laughed in joy and mirth, this was the loveliest dimple that could play upon its lovely features. from the moist and freshened vale a spirit rose to sway our hearts with infinite gladness; we rejoiced because it was rejoicing, and we gained new thoughts and raptures, such as are not voiced by men or books, or rarely and restrained. 73. the golden sunshine streamed upon the plain, the silver river shone amid the trees, and the great storm-cloud with grey sheets of rain passed on to mingle with the salted seas. so we stood watching, while the setting sun painted two rainbows on it, and with these made an effulgence that suffused in one deep and soft glow the landscape and the sky. then the sun set. the sky grew cold and dun and dead, as all things that are lovely die. 74. so we went down the mountain and drew near the hermit's hut when stars began to shine with not a trace of vapour in the clear and wondrous azure, from whose depths divine a modern hermit. 65 more tiny stars came peeping; so at last we crossed the river on the uncertain line of stepping stones embedded deep and fast in the swift stream, and soon our tiring feet felt the familiar pathway, as we passed the drowsy garden breathing welcome sweet. 75. there is a joy, of all most tranquil, when we feel at home; whatever it may be; perhaps the tiger in its noisome den feels the same pleasure in its own degree. though nature in most varied forms had been all day our entertainer, yet were we glad that the day was done, and we could lean with limbs relaxing to their wonted thews on the knowu couch, while objects often seen rested the eye with their familiar views. end of canto iii. lcydon: printed by wm, clowes and sons, limited, stamford street and charing cross. 89001941673 e27 15t0058 77 note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 43509-h.htm or 43509-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43509/43509-h/43509-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43509/43509-h.zip) transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). [illustration: the bear was trying to climb up on the engine hood.] the motor boys across the plains or the hermit of lost lake by clarence young author of "the motor boys," "the motor boys overland," "the motor boys in mexico," "jack ranger's schooldays," etc. illustrated new york cupples & leon co. * * * * * * books by clarence young =the motor boys series= (_trade mark, reg. u. s. pat. of._) 12mo. illustrated price per volume, 60 cents, postpaid the motor boys or chums through thick and thin the motor boys overland or a long trip for fun and fortune the motor boys in mexico or the secret of the buried city the motor boys across the plains or the hermit of lost lake the motor boys afloat or the stirring cruise of the dartaway the motor boys on the atlantic or the mystery of the lighthouse the motor boys in strange waters or lost in a floating forest the motor boys on the pacific or the young derelict hunters the motor boys in the clouds or a trip for fame and fortune =the jack ranger series= 12mo. finely illustrated price per volume, $1.00, postpaid jack ranger's schooldays or the rivals of washington hall jack ranger's western trip or from boarding school to ranch and range jack ranger's school victories or track, gridiron and diamond jack ranger's ocean cruise or the wreck of the polly ann jack ranger's gun club or from schoolroom to camp and trail * * * * * * copyright, 1907, by cupples & leon company the motor boys across the plains contents chapter page i. ramming an ox cart 1 ii. a nest of serpents 11 iii. the deserted cabin 20 iv. news from the mine 30 v. trouble ahead 39 vi. on a strange road 46 vii. the rescue of tommy bell 55 viii. pursued by enemies 65 ix. into the cave 72 x. attacked by a cougar 81 xi. a runaway auto 90 xii. tommy finds a friend 98 xiii. the colored man's ghost 107 xiv. trouble with a bad man 117 xv. the story of lost lake 127 xvi. a lonely cabin 135 xvii. the indian and the auto 144 xviii. lost lake found 152 xix. the ghost of the lake 161 xx. the mysterious woman 169 xxi. the den of the hermit 175 xxii. a revelation 185 xxiii. searching for the hermit 195 xxiv. the hermit's identity 203 xxv. attacked by the enemy 212 xxvi. on the road again 221 xxvii. trouble at the mine 227 xxviii. all's well that ends well 237 preface _dear boys_: here it is at last--the fourth volume of "the motor boys series," for which so many boys all over our land have been asking during the past year. to those who have read the other volumes in this line, this new tale needs no special introduction. to others, i would say that in the first volume, entitled, "the motor boys," i introduced three wide-awake american lads, ned, bob and jerry, and told how they first won a bicycle race and then a great motor cycle contest,--the prize in the latter being a big touring car. having obtained the automobile, the lads went west, and in the second volume, called, "the motor boys overland," were related the particulars of a struggle for a valuable mine, a struggle which tested the boys' bravery to the utmost. while in the west the boys heard of a strange buried city in mexico, and, in company with a learned college professor, journeyed to that locality. the marvellous adventures met with are told in "the motor boys in mexico." leaving the buried city, the boys started again for the locality of the mine, and in the present tale are told the particulars of some strange things that happened on the way. a portion of this story is based on facts, related to me while on an automobiling tour in the west, by an old ranchman who had participated in some of the occurrences. with best wishes, and hoping we shall meet again, i leave you to peruse the pages which follow. clarence young. _march 1, 1907._ the motor boys across the plains chapter i ramming an ox cart mingled with the frantic tooting of an automobile horn, there was the shrill shrieking of the brake-band as it gripped the wheel hub in a friction clutch. "hi, bob! look out for that ox cart ahead!" exclaimed one of three sturdy youths in the touring car. "i should say so! jam on the brakes, bob!" put in the tallest of the trio, while an elderly man, who was in the rear seat with one of the boys, glanced carelessly up to see what was the trouble. "i have got the brake on, jerry!" was the answer the lad at the steering wheel made. "can't you and ned hear it screeching!" the auto was speeding down a steep hill, seemingly headed straight toward a solitary mexican who was moving slowly along in an antiquated ox-drawn vehicle. "then why don't she slow up? you've got the power off, haven't you?" "of course! do you take me for an idiot!" yelled bob, or, as his friends sometimes called him, because of his fatness, "chunky." "of course i've shut down, but something seems to be the matter with the brake pedal." "have you tried the emergency?" asked ned. "sure!" _toot! toot! toot!_ again the horn honked out a warning to the mexican, but he did not seem to hear. the big red touring car was gathering speed, in spite of the fact that it was not under power, and it bore down ever closer to the ox cart. "cut out the muffler and let him hear the explosions," suggested jerry. bob did so, and the sounds that resulted were not unlike a gatling gun battery going into action. this time the native heard. glancing back, he gave a frightened whoop and jabbed the sharp goad into the ox. the animal turned squarely across the road, thus shutting off what small chance there might have been of the auto gliding past on either side. "we're going to hit him sure!" yelled ned. "i say professor, you'd better hold on to your specimens. there's going to be all sorts of things doing in about two shakes of a rattlesnake's tail!" "what's that about a rattlesnake?" asked the old man, who, looking up from a box of bugs and stones on his lap, seemed aware, for the first time, of the danger that threatened. "hi there! get out of the way! move the cart! shake a leg! pull to one side and let us have half the road!" yelled jerry as a last desperate resort, standing up and shouting at the bewildered and frightened mexican. "oh pshaw! he don't understand united states!" cried ned. "that's so," admitted jerry ruefully. "vamoose, is the proper word for telling a mexican to get out of the road," suggested the professor calmly. "perhaps if you shouted that at him he might--" what effect trying the right word might have had the boys had no chance of learning, for, the next instant, in spite of bob's frantic working at the brake, the auto shot right at the ox cart. by the merest good luck, more than anything else, for bob could steer neither to the right nor left, because the narrow road was hemmed in by high banks, the machine struck the smaller vehicle a glancing blow. the force of the impact skidded the auto on two wheels up the side of the embankment, where, poking the front axle into a stump served to bring the car to a stop. the car was slewed around to one side, the ox was yanked from its feet, and, as the cart overturned, the mexican, yelling voluble spanish, pitched out into the road. nor did the boys and the professor come off scathless, for the sudden stopping of their machine piled the occupants on the rear seat up in a heap on the floor of the tonneau, while bob and jerry, who were in front, went sprawling into the dust near the native. for a few seconds there was no sound save the yelling of the mexican and the bellowing of the ox. then the cloud of dust slowly drifted away, and bob picked himself up, gazing ruefully about. "this is a pretty kettle of fish," he remarked. "i should say it was several of 'em," agreed jerry, trying to get some of the dust from his mouth, ears and nose. "you certainly hit him, chunky!" "it wasn't my fault! how did i know the brake wasn't going to work just the time it was most needed?" "is anybody killed?" asked the professor, looking up over the edge of the tonneau, and not releasing his hold of several boxes which contained his specimens. "don't seem to be, nor any one badly hurt, unless it's the ox or the auto," said ned, taking a look. "the mexican seems to be mad about something, though." by this time the native had arisen from his prostrate position and was shaking his fist at the motor boys and the professor, meanwhile, it would appear from his language, calling them all the names to which he could lay his tongue. "i guess he wants bob's scalp," said jerry with a smile. "it was as much his fault as mine," growled chunky. "if he had pulled to one side, i could easily have passed." the mexican, brushing the dust from his clothes, approached the auto party, and continued his rapid talk in spanish. the boys, who had been long enough in mexico to pick up considerable of the language, gathered that the native demanded two hundred dollars for the damage to himself, the cart and the ox, as well as for the injury to his dignity and feelings. "you'd better talk to him, professor," suggested jerry. "offer him what you think is right." thereupon professor snodgrass, in mild terms explained how the accident had happened, saying it was no fault of the auto party. the mexican, in language more forcible than polite, reiterated his demand, and announced that unless the money was instantly forthcoming, he would go to the nearest alcade and lodge a complaint. the travelers knew what this meant, with the endless delays of mexican justice, the summoning of witnesses and petty officers. "i wish there was some way out," said jerry. as the mexican had not been hurt, nor his cart or ox been damaged, there was really no excuse for the boys giving in to his demands. "let's give him a few dollars and skip out," suggested ned. "he can't catch us." this was easier said than done, for the auto was jammed up against a tree stump on a bank, and the ox cart, which, the native by this time had righted, blocked the road. but, all unexpectedly, there came a diversion that ended matters. professor snodgrass, with his usual care for his beloved specimens before himself, was examining the various boxes containing them. he opened one containing his latest acquisition of horned toads, big lizards, rattlesnakes and bats. the reptiles crawled, jumped and flew out, for they were all alive. "diabalo! santa maria! carramba!" exclaimed the mexican as he caught sight of the repulsive creatures. "they are crazy americanos!" he yelled. with a flying leap he jumped into his ox cart, and with goad and voice he urged the animal on to such advantage that, a few minutes later, all that was to be seen of him was a cloud of dust in the distance. "good riddance," said bob. "now to see how much our machine is damaged." fortunately the auto had struck a rotten stump, and though with considerable force, the impact was not enough to cause any serious damage. under the direction of jerry the boys managed to get the machine back into the road, where they let it stand while they went to a near-by spring for a drink of water. while they are quenching their thirst an opportunity will be taken to present them to the reader in proper form. the three boys were bob baker, son of andrew baker, a banker, ned slade, the only heir of aaron slade, a department store proprietor, and jerry hopkins, the son of a widow. all three were about seventeen years of age, and lived in the city of cresville, not far from boston, mass. their companion was professor uriah snodgrass, a learned man with many letters after his name, signifying the societies and institutions to which he belonged. those who have read the first book of this series, entitled, "the motors. sufficient to say that some time before this story opens they had taken part in some exciting bicycle races, the winning of which resulted in the acquiring of motor cycles for each of them. on these machines they had had much fun and had also many adventures befall them. taking part in a big race meet, one of them won an event which gave him a chance to get a big touring automobile, the same car in which they were now speeding through mexico. their adventures in the auto are set forth at length in the second volume of the series entitled, "the motor boys overland," which tells of a tour across the country, in which they had to contend with their old enemy, noddy nixon, and his gang. eventually the boys and jim nestor, a miner whom they befriended, gained some information of a long lost gold mine in arizona. they made a dash for this and won it against heavy odds, after a fight with their enemies. the mine turned out well, and the boys and their friends made considerable money. the spirit of adventure would not drown in them. just before reaching the diggings they made the acquaintance of professor snodgrass, who told a wonderful story of a buried city. how the boys found this ancient town of old mexico, and the many adventures that befell them there, are told in the third book, called "the motor boys in mexico." therein is related the strange happenings under ground, of the sunken road, the old temples, the rich treasures and the fights with the bandits. also there is told of the rescue of the mexican girl maximina, and how she was taken from a band of criminals and restored to her friends. these happenings brought the boys and the professor to the city of mexico, where the auto was given a good overhauling, to prepare it for the trip back to the united states. the boys and the professor, the latter bearing with him his beloved specimens, started back for civilization, keeping to the best and most frequented roads, to avoid the brigands, with whom they had had more than one adventure on their first trip. it was while on this homeward journey that the incident of the mexican and the ox cart befell them. having slaked their thirst the boys and the professor went back to the auto where, gathering up the belongings that had become scattered from the upset, they prepared to resume their journey. "get in; i'll run her for a while," said jerry. "one minute! stand still! don't move if you value my happiness!" exclaimed the professor suddenly, dropping down on his hands and knees, and creeping forward through the long grass. chapter ii a nest of serpents "what is it; a rattlesnake?" asked bob, in a hoarse whisper. "or a gila monster?" inquired ned. "quiet! no noise!" cautioned the professor. "i see a specimen worth ten dollars at the lowest calculation. i'll have him in a minute." "is it a bug?" asked chunky. "there! i have him!" yelled the scientist, making a sudden dive forward, sliding on his face, and clutching his hand deep into the grass. as it happened there was a little puddle of water at that point, and the professor, in the excess of his zeal, pitched right into it. "oh! oh my! oh dear! phew! wow! help! save me!" he exclaimed a moment later, as he tried to get out of the slough. the boys hurried to his aid, but the mud was soft and the professor had gone head first into the ooze, which held fast to him as though it was quicksand. "get him by the heels and yank him out or he'll smother!" cried jerry. the other boys followed his advice, and, in a little while the bug-collector was pulled from his uncomfortable and dangerous position. as he rolled about in the grass to get rid of some of the mud, he kept his right hand tightly closed. "what's the matter, are your fingers hurt?" asked bob. "no sir, my fingers are not hurt!" snapped the professor, with the faintest tinge of impatience, which might be excused on the part of a man who has just dived into a mud hole. "my fingers are not hurt in the least. what i have here is one of the rarest specimens of the mexican mosquito i have ever seen. i would go ten miles to get one." "i guess you're welcome to 'em," commented jerry. "we don't want any." "that's because you don't understand the value of this specimen," replied the professor. "this mosquito will add to my fame, and i shall devote one whole chapter of my four books to it. this indeed has been a lucky day for me." "and unlucky for the rest of us," said bob, as he thought of the spill. it was found that a few minor repairs had to be made to the auto, and when these were completed it was nearly noon. "i vote we have dinner before we start again," spoke bob. "there goes chunky!" exclaimed ned. "never saw him when he wasn't thinking of something to eat!" "well, i guess if the truth was known you are just as hungry as i am," expostulated chunky. "this mexican air gives me a good appetite." bob's plan was voted a good one, so, with supplies and materials carried in the auto for camping purposes, a fire was soon built, and hot chocolate was being made. "i'm sick of canned stuff and those endless eggs, frijoles and tortillas," complained bob. "i'd like a good beefsteak and some fish and bread and butter." "i don't know about the other things, but i think we could get some fish over in that little brook," said the professor, pointing to a stream that wound about the base of a near-by hill. a minute later the boys had their hooks and lines out. poles were cut from trees, and, with some pieces of canned meat for bait they went fishing. they caught several large white fish, which the professor named in long latin terms, and which, he said, were good to eat. in a little while a savory smell filled the air, for ned, who volunteered to act as cook, had put the fish on to broil with some strips of bacon, and soon there was a dinner fit for any king that ever wielded a scepter. sipping their chocolate, the boys and the professor watched the sun slowly cross the zenith as they reclined in the shade of the big trees on either side of the road. then each one half fell asleep in the lazy atmosphere. jerry was the first to rouse up. he looked and saw it would soon be dusk, and then he awakened the others. "we'll have to travel, unless we want to sleep out in the open," he said. thereupon they made preparations to leave, the professor gathering up his specimens, including the mexican mosquito that had caused him such labor. "i think we'll head straight for the rio grande," said jerry. "once we get into texas i expect we'll have some news from nestor, as i wrote him to let us know how the mine was getting on, and, also, to inform us if he needed any help." "i'll be glad to see old jim again," said bob. "so will i," chimed in ned. the auto was soon chug-chugging over the road, headed toward the states, and the occupants were engaged with their thoughts. it was rapidly growing dusk, and the chief anxiety was to reach some town or village where they could spend the night. for, though they were used to staying in the open, they did not care to, now that the rainy season was coming on, when fevers were prevalent. the sun sank slowly to rest behind the big wooded hills as the auto glided along, and, almost before the boys realized it, darkness was upon them. "better light the lamps," suggested ned. "no telling what we'll run into on this road. no use colliding with more ox carts, if we can help it." "i'll light up," volunteered bob. "it will give me a chance to stretch my legs. i'm all cramped up from sitting still so long." jerry brought the big machine to a stop while bob alighted and proceeded to illuminate the big search lamp and the smaller ones that burned oil. he had just started the acetylene gas aglow when, glancing forward he gave a cry of alarm. "what is it?" cried jerry, seeing that something was wrong. "is it a mountain lion?" "it's worse!" cried bob in a frightened voice. "what?" "a regular den of snakes! the horrible things are stretched right across the road, and we can't get past. ugh! there are some whoppers!" bob, who hated, above all creatures a snake, made a jump into the auto. "there's about a thousand of 'em!" he cried with a shudder. "great!" exclaimed the professor. "i will have a chance to select some fine specimens. this is a rare fortune!" "don't go out there!" gasped bob. "you'll be bitten to death!" just then there sounded on the stillness of the night a strange, whirring buzz. at the sound of it the professor started. "rattlers!" he whispered. "i guess none of us will get out. probably moccasins, cotton-mouths and vipers! there must be thousands of them!" as he spoke he looked over the side of the car, and the exclamation he gave caused the boys to glance toward the ground. there they beheld a sight that filled them with terror. as the professor had said, the ground was literally covered with the snakes. the reptiles seemed to be moving in a vast body to some new location. there were big snakes and little ones, round fat ones, and long thin ones, and of many hues. "let's get out of this!" exclaimed ned. "start the machine, jerry!" "no! don't!" called the professor. "you may kill a few, but the revolving wheels of the auto will fling some live ones up among us, and i have no desire to be bitten by any of these reptiles. they are too deadly. so keep the car still until they have passed. they are probably getting ready to go into winter quarters, or whatever corresponds to that in mexico." "it will be lucky if they don't take a notion to climb up and investigate the machine and us," put in jerry. "i have--" he gave a sudden start, for, at that instant one of the ugly reptiles, which had twined itself around the wheel spokes, reared its ugly head up, over the side of the front seat, and hissed, right in jerry's face. "here's one now!" the boy exclaimed as he made a motion to brush the snake aside. "don't touch it as you value your life!" yelled the professor. "it's a diamond-backed rattler, and one of the most deadly!" "here is another coming up on my side," called bob. "yes, and there are some coming up here!" shouted ned. "they'll overwhelm us if we don't look out!" for a time it seemed a serious matter. the snakes began twining up the sides of the car, and, though most of them dropped back to the ground again, a few maintained their position, and seemed to exhibit anger at the sight of the boys and the professor. "what shall we do?" asked bob. "we can't run ahead, or go backward, and, if we stay here we're likely to be killed by the snakes." jerry, who was feeling around in the bottom of the car for his rifle, gave a cry as his hand came in contact with something. "get bitten?" asked the professor in alarm. "no, but i found this lariat," said jerry in excited tones. "are you going to lasso the snakes?" asked ned, wondering if jerry had gone crazy. "no, but you see this lariat is made of horse hair, and i think i can keep the snakes away with it." "how; by shaking it at 'em?" "no. i read in some book that snakes hated horse hair, and would never cross even a small ring of it." "well?" "well, if i run this lariat all around the auto the snakes will not cross it to come to us. then we can stay here until they all disappear." "good!" exclaimed ned. "that's the ticket!" the reptiles that had climbed up the wheels had gone from sight. with the help of ned and bob, jerry began to spread the horse-hair lariat in a circle about the car. chapter iii the deserted cabin in a few minutes the hair rope was all about the auto, spread out on the ground in an irregular circle. as the boys dropped it over the sides of the car the lariat struck several of the big snakes, and the reptiles shrunk away as though scorched by fire. "they're afraid of it all right!" exclaimed ned. "i guess it will do the business." sure enough, there seemed to be a desire on the part of the snakes to clear out of the vicinity of the hair rope. they glided off by scores, and soon there was a clear space all about the car, where, before, there had been hundreds of the crawling things. "shake the lasso," suggested bob, "and maybe it will scare them farther off." "yes and we might try shooting a few now they are at a safe distance," put in ned. "it's too bad i can't get some specimens," lamented the professor, "but i suppose you had better try to get rid of them." so jerry, who had retained one end of the long lasso vibrated it rapidly, and, as it wiggled in sinuous folds toward the reptiles they made haste to get out of the way. then bob and ned opened fire, killing several. in a little while there were no snakes to be seen. "i guess we can go ahead now," said jerry. "who'll crank up the car? don't all speak at once." "my arm is a bit sore," spoke ned, rubbing his elbow. "then you do it, chunky," asked the steersman. "i think i have a stone in my foot," said bob, making a wry face. "ha! ha!" laughed jerry. "why don't you two own up and say you're afraid there's a stray rattler or two under the machine, and you think it may bite you?" the two boys grinned sheepishly, and both made a motion to get out. "stay where you are," called the professor preparing to leave from the side door of the tonneau. "i'm used to snakes. i don't believe there are any left, but if there are i want them for specimens. i'll crank the car." so he got out and peered anxiously under the body, while the boys waited in anxiety. "no," called the scientist, in discouraged tones, "there are none left." he crawled out, covered with dust, which fact he did not seem to mind, and then turned the crank that sent the fly wheel over. jerry turned on the gasolene and threw in the spark, and, the next instant the familiar chug-chug of the engine told that the auto was ready to bear the boys and professor snodgrass on their way. they were headed on as straight a road as they could find to the rio grande, but, because of the conditions of the thoroughfares it would be several days before they could cross the big river and get into texas. their main concern now was to reach some place where there was shelter for the night. "keep your eyes peeled for villages," called ned. "we don't want to pass any. i think a good bed would go fine now." "a supper would go better," put in bob. "oh, of course! it wouldn't be chunky if he didn't say something about eating," remarked jerry with a laugh. "but there seems to be something ahead. it's a house at all events, and probably is the mark of the outskirts of the village." on the left side of the road, about a hundred yards ahead they saw an adobe, or mud hut. they could see no signs of life about in the half-darkness, illuminated as it was by the powerful search light, but this gave them no concern, as they knew the native mexicans retired early. when they came opposite the hut jerry brought the machine to a stop, and he and the other boys jumped out. the professor, who, as usual was arranging some specimens in one of the many small boxes he carried, remained in the car. "hello!" shouted bob. "is any one home? show a light. can we get a supper here?" "why don't you ask for a bed too?" inquired ned. "supper first," replied chunky, rubbing his stomach with a reflective air. no replies came to the hail of the boys, and, in some wonder they approached nearer to the hut. then they saw that the door was ajar, and that the cabin bore every appearance of being deserted. "nobody home, i guess," said jerry. "no, and there hasn't been for some time," added ned. "maybe there's a place to build a fire where we can cook a good meal," put in bob, whereat his companions laughed. they went into the hut, and found, that, while it was in good condition, and furnished as well as the average native mexican's abode, there was no sign of life. "might as well make ourselves to home," said ned. "come on in, professor," he called. "we'll stay here all night. no use traveling further when there is such a good shelter right at hand."n there is such a good shelter right at hand." it was now quite dark, and the boys brought in the two oil lamps from the auto, as well as a lantern, to illuminate the place. as they did so they disturbed a colony of bats which flew out with a great flutter of wings. "there's a charcoal stove, and plenty of fuel," said bob, as he looked at the hearth. "now we can cook something." "well, seeing you are so fond of eating, we'll let you get the meal," said jerry, and it was voted that chunky should perform this office. meanwhile the others brought in blankets to make beds on the frame work of cane that formed the sleeping quarters of whoever had last lived in the hut. "rather queer sort of a shack," remarked jerry, as he sat down in a corner on a pile of rugs. "seems to have been left suddenly. they didn't even stop to take the dishes, and here is the remains of a meal," and he pointed to some dried frijoles in one corner of the main room or kitchen. "perhaps the people who lived here were frightened away," came from ned. "well i'm tired enough not to let anything short of a regiment of soldiers in action scare me awake to-night," said jerry. under bob's direction supper was soon ready, and the travelers sat down to a good, if rather limited meal as far as variety went. there were no dishes to be washed, for they ate off wooden plates, of which they had a quantity and which they threw away after each meal. then, after a good fire had been built on the hearth--for the night was likely to be chilly--the boys and the professor wrapped themselves up in their blankets and soon fell asleep. jerry must have been slumbering for several hours when he suddenly awakened as he heard a loud noise. "who's there?" he called involuntarily, sitting up. it was so dark that at first he could distinguish nothing, but, as his eyes became used to the blackness he managed to make out, by the glow of the fire, a shadowy figure gliding toward the door. "who's there?" called the boy sharply, feeling under the rolled up blanket that served for a pillow, for his revolver. "stop or i'll fire!" the shadowy figure halted. then jerry saw it drop down on all fours and begin to creep toward him. though he was not a coward the boy felt his heart beating strangely, and he had a queer, creepy sensation down his spine. "what's the matter?" asked ned, who was awakened by jerry's voice. "get your revolver, quick!" called jerry. "there is some one in the hut besides ourselves! look over by the fire!" "i see it! shall i shoot?" asked ned. there came a sudden crash, followed by a wild yell. "help! help! i'm killed! they are murdering me!" shouted bob's voice. "they are choking me to death!" _bang!_ went ned's gun. fortunately it was aimed at the ceiling, or some one might have been hurt. "what's the trouble?" inquired the professor, who only just then awoke. "robbers!" yelled bob. "brigands!" exclaimed ned. "some one is in the cabin!" cried jerry. by this time he had managed to creep over toward the fire, on which he threw some light wood. the glowing embers caught it, and as the blaze flared up it revealed a big monkey tangled up amid the folds of bob's blanket, while chunky was buried somewhere beneath the pile. the beast was struggling wildly to escape, but bob, in his terror, had grabbed it by a leg. "stop your noise!" commanded jerry. "you're not hurt, chunky!" "are you sure they haven't killed me?" asked bob, releasing his hold on the beast, which, with a wild chatter of fear, fled from the hut. "you ought to be able to give the best evidence on that score," said jerry, as he lighted one of the lamps. "the fellow tried to choke me," sputtered bob. "i guess the poor beast was as badly scared as you were," remarked the professor. "it was probably attracted in here by the light and warmth. well, we seem bound to run up against excitement, night as well as day." "the monkey must have knocked something over," said jerry. "i was awakened by the sound of something falling." they looked and saw that the beast had tried to eat the remains of the supper, and had upset a big pot. "i was sure it was a man, at first," explained jerry, "and when i saw it go down and start over toward me i was afraid it was some of those mexican brigands that traveled with vasco bilette and noddy nixon, when those rascals were on our trail." it was some time before the excitement caused by the monkey's visit died down sufficiently to allow the travelers to go to sleep again. it was morning when they awoke, and prepared to get breakfast. "we need some water to make coffee," said jerry, who had agreed to get the morning meal. "as chief cook and bottle washer i delegate bob to find some. take the pail in the auto." bob started for the receptacle, and, as he reached the door of the hut he gave a cry. "what's the matter?" called jerry and ned. "there's a man out here," replied bob. "well, he won't bite you," said jerry. "who is he?" "pardon, senors," called a voice, and then, into the hut staggered a mexican, who bore evidences of having passed through a hard fight. his face was cut and bruised, one arm hung limply at his side, and his clothing was torn. "what's the matter?" cried jerry. before the stranger could reply he had fallen forward in a faint. "bring some water! quick!" called ned. "let me see to him! i have a little liquor here!" exclaimed the professor, kneeling down beside the prostrate form. chapter iv news from the mine by the use of the strong stimulant the mexican was revived. his eyes opened, and he sat up, muttering something in spanish which the boys could not catch. the professor, however, made reply, and, at the words the stranger seemed to brighten up. he drank some water, and then, at the suggestion of mr. snodgrass the boys brought him some food, which the native ate as if he had fasted for a week. his hunger satisfied, he began to talk rapidly to the professor, who listened attentively. "what's the trouble?" asked jerry at length. "it seems that the poor man lives in this hut," explained the scientist. "night before last some robbers came in, took nearly everything he had and beat him. then, driving him into the forest they left him. only just now did he dare to venture back, fearing to find his enemies in possession of his home. he is weak from lack of food and from the treatment he received." the boys felt sorry for the mexican, and, at jerry's suggestion they gave him a sum of money, which, while it was small enough to the travelers, meant a great deal to the native. he poured forth voluble thanks. as the boys and the professor were anxious to get under way, a start was made as soon as it was found that the native was not badly hurt, and that he was able to summon help from friends in a near-by village if necessary. with final leave-takings the travelers started off. for several days and nights they journeyed north, toward the rio grande, which river separated them from the united states. once they crossed that they would be in texas. "and we can't get there any too soon," remarked bob, one morning after a sleepless night, passed in the open, during which innumerable fleas attacked the travelers. it was toward dusk, one evening, about a week after having left the city of mexico that the boys and the professor found themselves on a road, which, upon inquiry led to a small mexican town, on the bank of the rio grande, nearly opposite eagle pass, texas. "shall we cross over to-night or wait until morning?" asked the professor of the boys. "probably it would be better to wait until daylight. i could probably gather a few more specimens then." this was something of which the scientist, who rejoiced in such letters as a.m.; ph.d.; m.d.; f. r. g. s.; a. g. s., etc., after his name, all indicating some college honor conferred upon him, never seemed to tire. he was making a collection for his own college, as well as gathering data for four large books, which, some day, he intended to issue. "i'd rather get over on our land if we can," said ned, and he seemed to voice the sentiments of the others. so it was decided, somewhat against the professor's wish, to run the automobile on the big flat-bottomed scow, which served as a ferry, and proceed across the stream. quite a crowd of villagers came out to see the auto as it chug-chugged up to the ferry landing, and not a few of the children and dogs were in danger of being run over until ned, who was steering, cut out the muffler, and the explosions of the gasolene, unconfined by any pipes, made so much noise that all except the grown men were frightened away. there was no one at the ferry house, and after diligent inquiries it was learned that the captain and crew of the boat had gone off to a dance about five miles away. "i guess we'll have to stay on this side after all," remarked the professor. "i think--" what he thought he did not say, for just then he happened to catch sight of something on the shoulder of one of the mexicans, who had gathered in a fringe about the machine. "stand still, my dear man!" called the professor, as with cat-like tread he crept toward the native. "diabalo! santa maria! carramba!" muttered the man, thinking, evidently, that the old scientist was out of his wits. "don't move! please don't move!" pleaded mr. snodgrass, forgetting in his excitement that his hearer could not understand his language. "there is a beautiful specimen of a mexican katy-did on your coat. if i get it i will have a specimen worth at least thirty dollars!" he made a sudden motion. the mexican mistook the import of it, and, seemingly thinking he was about to be assaulted, raised his hand in self defense, and aimed a blow at the professor. it was only a glancing one, but it knocked the scientist down, and he fell into the road. "there, the katy-did got away after all," mr. snodgrass exclaimed, not seeming to mind his personal mishap in the least. this time the professor spoke in spanish. the mexican understood, and was profuse in his apologies. he conversed rapidly with his companions, and, all at once there was a wild scramble after katy-dids. so successful was the hunt that the professor was fairly burdened with the insects. he took as many as he needed, and thanked his newly found friends for their efforts. matters quieted down after a bit. darkness fell rapidly and, the mexican on whom the professor had seen the katy-did invited the travelers to dine with him. he proved to be one of the principal men of the village, and his house, though not large, was well fitted up. the boys and the professor enjoyed the best meal they had eaten since leaving the city of mexico. "do me the honor to spend the night here," said the mexican, after the meal. "thank you, if it will not disturb your household arrangements, we will," replied the professor. "we must make an early start, however, and cross the river the first thing in the morning." "it will be impossible," replied senor gerardo, their host. "why so?" "because to-morrow starts the feast of san juarez, which lasts for three days, and not a soul in town, including the ferry-master, will work in that time." "what are we to do?" asked mr. snodgrass. "if you do not cross to-night you will not be able to make the passage until the end of the week," was the answer. "then let's start to-night," spoke jerry. "we went over the rio grande after dark once before." "yes, and a pretty mess we made of it," said ned, referring to the collision they had with the house-boat, as told of in "the motor boys in mexico." "but i thought they said the ferry-master was away to a dance," put in bob. "he is, senor," replied their host, who managed to understand the americanos wanted him, and would go for him in their big marvelous--fire-spitting wagon, and--er--that is if they offered him a small sum, he might be prevailed upon to leave the dance." "let's try it, at all events," suggested jerry. "i'm anxious to get over the line and into the united states. a stay of several days may mean one of a week. when these mexicans get feasting they don't know when to stop." he spoke in english, so as not to offend their kind friend. it was arranged that jerry and senor gerardo should go in the auto for the ferry-master, and summon him to the river with his men, who could come on their fast ponies. this was done, and, though the master of the boat demurred at leaving the pleasures of the dance, he consented when jerry casually showed a gold-piece. he and his men were soon mounted and galloped along, jerry running the auto slowly to keep pace with them. the five miles were quickly covered and, while half the population of the village came out to see the strange machine ferried over, the boys and the professor bade farewell to the country where they had gone through so many strange adventures. it was nearly ten o'clock when the big flat-bottomed boat grounded on the opposite shore of the rio grande. "hurrah for the united states!" exclaimed bob. "now i can get a decent meal without having to swallow red peppers, onions and chocolate!" "there goes chunky again," laughingly complained ned. "no sooner does he land than he wants to feed his stomach. i believe if he had been with christopher columbus the first thing he would have inquired about on landing at san salvador would be what the indians had good to eat." "oh you're as bad as i am, every bit!" said bob. eagle's pass, where the travelers landed, was a typical texas town, with what passed for a hotel, a store and a few houses where the small population lived. it was on the edge of the border prairies and the outlying districts were occupied by cattle ranches. nearly all, if not quite all, of the male population came down to the dock to see the unusual sight of a big touring automobile on the ferry boat. many were the comments made by the ranchmen and herders. after much pulling and hauling the car was rolled from the big scow, and the travelers, glad to feel that they were once more in their own country, began to think of a place to spend the night. "where is the nearest hotel?" asked jerry of a man in the crowd. "ain't but one, stranger, an' it's right in front of you," was the reply, as the cowboy pointed to a small, one story building across the street from the river front. "is professor driedgrass in that bunch?" asked a voice as the travelers were contemplating the hostelry. "if he is i have a letter for him." "i am professor snodgrass," replied the scientist, looking toward the man who had last spoken. "beg your pardon, professor snodgrass. i kinder got my brands mixed," the stranger went on. "anyhow i'm th' postmaster here, an' i've been holdin' a letter for ye most a week. it says it's to be delivered to a man with three boys an' a choo-choo wagon, an' that description fits you." "where's it from?" asked mr. snodgrass. "come in a letter to me, from a feller named nestor, up at a place in the mining section," was the reply. "th' letter to me said you might likely pass this way on your journey back." chapter v trouble ahead "i remember now, i did write to nestor, telling him we were about to start back, and would probably cross the river at this place," spoke the professor. "i had forgotten all about it." "well, here's your letter," said the postmaster. "now allow me to welcome you to our city, which i do in the name of the mayor--which individual you see in me--and the common council, which consists of pete blaston, only he ain't here, in consequent of bein' locked up for disturbin' th' peace an' quiet of the community by shootin' a greaser." "glad to meet you, i am sure," replied the scientist politely, as he received the letter from the dual official. "what is the news from nestor?" asked jerry anxiously. "is the mine all right?" "i'll tell you right away," replied mr. snodgrass, as, by the light of the gas lantern on the auto he read the letter. as he glanced rapidly over the pages his face took on an anxious look. "is there anything wrong?" asked ned. "there is indeed," replied the professor gravely. "the letter was written over a week ago, and, among other things nestor says there is likely to be trouble over the mine." "what kind? is noddy nixon trying to get it away from us again?" asked jerry. "no," replied mr. snodgrass. "it appears our title is not as good as it might be. there is one of the former owners of the land where the mine is located who did not sign the deed. he was missing when the transfer was made, but nestor did not know this, so there is a cloud on our title." "but i thought we claimed the land from the government, and were the original owners," put in ned. "it seems that a company of men owned the mine before we did, but they sold out to nestor and some of his friends. they all signed the deed but this one man, and now some one has learned of this, and seeks to take the mine, on the theory that they have as good a claim to the holding as we have." "i should say that was trouble," sighed bob. "to think of losing what we worked so hard to get!" "well, there's no use crossing a bridge until you come to it," professor snodgrass went on. "nestor and his friends are in possession yet, and that, you know, is nine of the ten points of the law." "then if we can't do anything right away i move we have something to eat," suggested bob. "it's a good suggestion," agreed the scientist. they had drawn a little to one side from the crowd of townspeople while talking about the letter from nestor, but, having decided there was nothing to be done at present, they moved toward the hotel. "i reckon i've got some more mail for your outfit, professor hayseed--er i beg yer pardon--snodgrass," said the postmaster-mayor. "there's letters fer chaps named baker, slade and hopkins. nestor sent 'em along with that other," and the dual official handed over three envelopes. "they're from home!" cried the boys in a chorus. and in the glare of oil lamps on the porch of the hotel they read the communications. the missives contained nothing but good news, to the effect that all the loved ones were well. each one inquired anxiously how much longer the travelers expected to stay away, and urged them to come home as soon as they could. "now for that supper!" exclaimed bob, as he put his letter away. if the meal was a rough one, prepared as it was by the chinese cook, it was good, and the travelers enjoyed it thoroughly. as they rose from the table a cowboy entered the dining room and drawled out: "i say strangers, be you th' owners of that there rip-snortin' specimen of th' lower regions that runs on four wheels tied 'round with big sassages?" "do you mean the automobile?" asked jerry. "i reckon i do, if that's what ye call it." "yes, it's our machine," replied jerry. "then if ye have any great love for th' workin' of it in the future, an' any regard or consideration for it's feelin' ye ought t' see to it." "why so?" "nothin'," drawled the cowboy as he carefully pared his nails with a big bowie knife; "nothin' only bronco pete is amusin' his self by tryin' t' see how near he can come to stickin' his scalpin' steel inter th' tires!" "great scott! we must stop that!" exclaimed jerry, running from the hotel toward where the auto had been left in the street. the other boys and the professor followed. they found the machine surrounded by quite a crowd that seemed to be much amused at something which was taking place in its midst. making their way to the inner circle of spectators the boys beheld an odd sight. a big cowboy, who, from appearances had indulged too freely in something stronger than water, was unsteadily trying to stick his big knife into the rubber tires. "here! you mustn't do that," cried jerry, sharply, laying his hand on the man's shoulder. "look out for him! he's dangerous!" warned some of the bystanders. "i can't help it if he is," replied jerry. "we can't let him ruin the tires." "this is the time i do it!" cried bronco pete, as he made a lunge for the front wheel. jerry sprang forward and the crowd held its breath, for it seemed as if the boy was right in the path of the knife. but jerry knew what he was about. with a quick motion he kicked the cowboy lightly on the wrist, the blow knocking the knife from his hand, and sending it some distance away. "look out now, sonny!" called a man to jerry. "no one ever hit pete an' lived after it." it seemed that jerry was in a dangerous position. pete, enraged at being foiled of his purpose, uttered a beast-like roar, and reached back to where his revolver rested at his hip in a belt. jerry never moved an inch, but looked the man straight in the eye. "here! none of that pete!" called a voice suddenly, and a big man pushed his way through the crowd, and grabbed the cowboy's arm before he had time to draw his gun. "if you don't want to get into trouble move on!" "all right, marshall; all right," replied pete, the desire of shooting seeming to die out as he looked at the newcomer. "i were only havin' a little fun with th' tenderfoot." "you didn't appear to scare him much," remarked the town marshall, who had seen the whole thing. "you had your nerve with you all right, son," he added, to jerry. "that's what he had," commented pete. "there ain't many men would have done what he did, an' i admire him for it. put it there, stranger," and pete, all the anger gone from him, extended a big hand, which jerry grasped heartily. "three cheers for the 'tenderfoot,'" called some one, and they were given with a will for jerry, as pete, under the guidance of the marshall, moved unsteadily away. "i wouldn't have been in your boots one spell there, for a good bit," observed the postmaster as he came up. "pete's about as bad as they come." "i didn't stop to think of the danger, or maybe i wouldn't have done as i did," said jerry. "all i thought of was that he would spoil the tire, and it would take a long while to fix it." "yes, and we don't want to delay any longer than we can help," spoke ned in a low voice. "i'm anxious to get back to the mine and see what we can do to perfect our title." chapter vi on a strange road for several days they made good progress, for the roads were in fair condition. the machine was kept headed as nearly as possible toward arizona, though they often had to go some distance out of their way to get rid of bad places, or find a ford or bridge to cross a stream. "we'll soon be out of texas," remarked bob one afternoon, when they had passed through a small ranch town where they had dinner. "and i think we're going to get a wetting before we leave the big state," put in ned. "i think you're right," agreed the professor, as he turned and looked at a bank of ugly dark clouds in the southwest. "a thunder shower is coming up, if i'm any judge. there doesn't seem to be any shelter, either." as far as they could see there was nothing but a vast stretch of wild country, though, far to the north, there was a dark patch which looked as if it was a forest. "it's coming just at the wrong time," remarked jerry, who was steering. "i was in hopes the storm would hold off a bit. well, we shan't melt if it does rain." and that it was soon going to pour in the proverbial buckets full was evident. the wind began to blow a half gale, and the clouds, from which angry streaks of jagged lightning leaped, scurried forward. at the same time low mutterings of thunder were heard. "we're in for it," cried bob. the next instant the storm broke, and the whole landscape was blotted out in a veil of mist and rain which came down in sheets of water. now and then the darkness would be illuminated by a vivid flash of fire from the sky artillery, and the thunder seemed to shake the earth. jerry could barely see where to steer, so fiercely did the rain beat down. fortunately they had time to put on their raincoats before the deluge hit them. the provisions and other things in the auto had, likewise, been covered up with canvas, so little damage would result from the downpour. "look out!" yelled ned suddenly to jerry. "there's something ahead of us!" jerry partially shut off the power, and, as the machine slowed down, he and the others peered forward to see what the object was. "it's some sort of an animal!" cried bob, who had sharp eyes. "it's running along on four legs, right in front of the car!" "it's a bear, that's what it is!" shouted ned. "a big black bear!" "let me get it for a specimen!" exclaimed the professor, in his enthusiasm, not considering the size of the animal, nor the difficulties in the way of capturing it. "let me get out! it's worth forty dollars if it's worth a cent!" at the sound of the excited voices, which the animal must have heard above the roar of the storm, the bear turned suddenly and faced the occupants of the car. so quickly was it done that jerry had barely time to jam on the brakes in order to avoid a collision. "why didn't you run him down, and we could have some bear steaks for supper?" asked bob. "because i don't think it's just healthy to run into a three hundred and fifty pound bear with a big auto," replied jerry. "we might kill the bear, but we'd be sure to damage the car." the beast did not appear to be frightened at the sight of his natural enemies. raising on its haunches the animal slowly ambled toward the stalled machine, growling in a menacing manner. "i believe he's going to attack us!" exclaimed the professor. "let me get out my rifle!" but this was easier said than done. the weapons and ammunition were all under the canvas, and it would require several minutes to get at them. in the meanwhile the bear, showing every indication of rage was trying to climb up on the engine hood, despite the throbbing of the engine, which was going, though the gears were not thrown in. "start the car and run over him!" exclaimed bob. "back up and get out of his way!" was ned's advice to jerry. "i've got to do something," muttered the steersman. matters were getting critical. the storm was increasing in violence, with the wind lashing the rain into the faces of the travelers. the growls of the angry beast mingled with the rumble and rattle of thunder, and the machine was shaking under the efforts bruin made to climb over the hood and into the front seat. "hold on tight! i'm going to start!" yelled jerry suddenly. he threw in the intermediate gear and opened wide the gasolene throttle. the car sprang forward like a thing alive. but the bear had too good a hold with his long sharp claws sticking in the ventilator holes of the hood, to be shaken off. "i should think he'd burn on the water radiator," said ned. "his fur's too thick i guess," was bob's reply. on went the auto, the boys and the professor clinging to it for dear life, while bruin hung on, half crazed with fear and anger. "how you going to get rid of him?" shouted ned above the roar of the storm. "i'll show you," replied jerry grimly. some distance ahead the steersman had seen a sharp curve in the road. it was dimly discernible through the mist of water. "hold tight everybody!" shouted jerry a second or two before the turn was reached. then, suddenly swinging around it, at as sharp an angle as he dared to make and not overturn the car, jerry sent the auto skidding. the next instant, unable to stand the impetus of the turn, the bear lost its hold on the hood, and was flung, like a stone from a catapult, far off to the left, rolling over and over on the muddy ground. "there, i guess it will be quite a while before he tries to eat up another live automobile," remarked jerry as he slowed up a bit. off in the distance they heard a sort of reproachful whine, as if bruin objected to such treatment. then the rain came down harder than ever, and all sight of the bear was lost. "let's get out of this!" exclaimed ned, as he felt a small stream of water trickling down his back. "can't we strike for those woods we saw a while ago?" "i'm headed for them," spoke jerry. "i just want to get my bearings. guess we'd better light up, as it will soon be dusk." after some difficulty in getting matches to burn in the wind and rain, the big search lights and the oil lanterns were lighted, and then, with four shafts of light cutting the misty darkness ahead of them the travelers proceeded. the roads seemed to be getting worse, but there was nothing to do except to keep on. every now and then the machine would lurch into some hollow with force enough to almost break the springs. "hello!" cried jerry suddenly. "here are two roads. which shall we take?" "the right seems to go a little more directly north," said the professor, peering forward. "suppose we take that?" "especially as it seems to be the better road," added jerry. he turned the machine into it, and, to the surprise of all they felt the thoroughfare become hard and firm as the auto tires rolled over it. it was almost as smooth as asphalt, and the travelers were congratulating themselves on having made a wise choice. all at once the rain, which had been coming down in torrents, seemed to let up. "i believe it's clearing up," said bob. "no, it's because we've run into a dense forest, and the trees above keep the rain off," spoke the professor. the others looked about them and saw that this was so. on every side the glare of the lamps showed big trunks and leafy branches, while ahead more trees could be observed. "why it's just like a tunnel in the woods," said bob. "see, the trees seem to meet in an arch overhead." "and what a fine road it is," put in ned. "an altogether strange sort of road," agreed jerry. "suppose we stop and look about before we go any further? i don't like the looks of it." accordingly the machine was brought to a halt, and the travelers alighted. they found it just as bob had said, almost exactly like an immense tunnel in the forest. beneath their feet the road was of the finest macadam construction. "and to think of finding this in the midst of texas," observed jerry. "some one built this road, and cut the trees to make this tunnel," remarked the professor. "i wonder what sort of a place we have stumbled into." "at all events it doesn't rain anything to speak of in here," said bob, "and it's a good place to stay until the storm is over." jerry, in the meanwhile had walked on ahead some distance. in a few minutes he came hurrying back. his manner showed that he had seen something. "what is it?" asked the professor. "don't make any noise, but follow me," replied the lad. in silence, and wondering what was about to happen, bob, ned and the scientist trailed after jerry. he led them several hundred feet ahead of the automobile, and away from the glare of the lamps, the tunnel curving somewhat. "see!" whispered jerry, hoarsely. "well, i never!" "that's queer!" there, about three hundred feet to the left of the main road and on a sort of side path, the travelers saw a small hut, brilliantly lighted up. through an open window, a room could be seen, and several figures moving about in it. chapter vii the rescue of tommy bell "i wonder who they can be, to hide off in the woods this way," whispered bob. the next instant there floated out from the hut a cry of anguish. it was the voice of a boy, seemingly in great pain or fear, and the travelers heard the words: "oh don't! please don't! you are killing me! i don't know! i can't tell you, for i would if i could! oh! oh! please don't burn me again!" "it's a gang torturing some one!" almost shouted ned. "let's go to the rescue!" he would have sprung forward had not jerry laid a detaining hand on his arm. "wait, ned," counseled jerry. "some one there evidently needs our help, but we must go with caution. first we must get our guns. we may need them!" once more the appealing cry burst out. "quick!" whispered jerry. "professor, you and bob go back for the rifles, and bring the bulls-eye lantern that has the dark slide to it. ned and i will stay here and watch!" mr. snodgrass and bob lost no time. in less than five minutes they had rejoined ned and jerry. "has anything happened?" asked bob. "nothing since," whispered jerry. "now we will go forward. every one have his gun ready. i will carry the lantern." almost as silently as shadows the four figures stole forward, jerry showing a cautious gleam now and then to guide them on their way. they found there was a fairly good path leading up to the hut. they had covered half the distance when once more the cries of anguish burst out. this time they were followed by angry shouts, seemingly from several men, and voices in dispute could be heard. "one of us had better creep forward and see what is going on inside the cabin," whispered jerry. "we must know what sort of enemies we have to meet." "i'll go," volunteered bob. "better let me," suggested the professor. "i have had some experience in stalking animals, and i can probably advance more quietly than you can." they all saw the reasonableness of this and the scientist started off. like a cat he made an advance until he was so close to the hut that he could peer into the uncurtained window. what he saw made him start back in terror. in the room were half a dozen roughly dressed men, all armed, and with brutal faces. the room was filled with smoke from cigars and pipes, and cards were scattered over a rough table in the middle of the apartment. but what attracted the attention of the professor and made his heart beat fast in anger, was the sight of a small, pale boy, bound with ropes up against a big stone fireplace, on the hearth of which logs were burning. in front of the lad stood one of the largest and strongest of the tough gang, and in his hand he held a redhot poker, which, as the scientist watched, he brought close to the bare legs of the terror-stricken lad. then came again those heart-rending cries: "oh don't! please don't! i would tell you where he is if i knew! please don't burn me again!" the professor's blood boiled. "we'll soon put a stop to this horrible work!" he exclaimed to himself as he glided back to where the boys were and quickly made them acquainted with what he had seen. "come on!" cried jerry. "we must rescue that boy!" as softly as they could, the travelers advanced toward the hut. they found the door and, while the others with rifles in readiness stood in a semi-circle about it, jerry made ready to knock and demand admittance. "if they don't open the door we must burst it in," said the boy. "the professor and i will look to that, while you and ned, bob, must stand ready to rush in right after us with your guns ready. but don't shoot unless your life is in danger, and then fire not to kill, but to wound." there was a minute of hesitation, for they all realized that it was taking a desperate chance to tackle such a rough gang in the midst of woods, far from civilization. but the sound of the poor boy's cries nerved them on as, once more, the pitiful appeal for mercy rang out. jerry sprang forward and gave several vigorous blows on the door with the butt of his gun. all at once silence took the place of the confusion inside the hut. "who's there? what do you want?" asked a gruff voice. "open the door! we want that boy!" cried jerry. confused murmurs from within told that the gang had been taken by surprise. "i don't know who you are, but whoever you are you had better move on, if you don't want a bullet through you," called the man who had first answered the knock. "this is none of your affair." "open the door or we'll burst it in!" cried jerry, knowing the best way to be successful in the fight was to act quickly and take the men by surprise. there was a laugh from within the hut. it was answered by a rending, crashing splintering sound as jerry and the professor, using the stocks of their guns, began a vigorous attack on the portal. the door was strong enough, but the hinges were not, and, in less than half a minute the barrier had given way and, with a bound the travelers found themselves tumbling into the hut. instantly confusion reigned. the men shouted hoarsely, and several tried to reach their guns, which were stacked in one corner. "hands up!" commanded jerry sharply, leveling his gun at the man who seemed to be the leader. "why, they're nothing but boys! knock 'em out of the way!" cried one of the gang. at the same time another began creeping up behind jerry, his intention being to grab the lad from the back and disarm him. but bob saw the movement, and, leveling his rifle at the fellow, told him to halt. "i guess you've got the drop on us," growled the man whom jerry was covering with the gun. "what's the game anyhow? are you stage robbers?" "we want you to stop torturing that boy," cried jerry. "why, that's my kid, and i was only givin' him a taste of the rod because he wouldn't mind me; 'spare the rod and spoil the child,' is a good saying, you know." "not from you!" snapped the professor. "is this man your father?" the scientist asked the bound boy. "speak up now! ain't i your daddy?" put in the leader, scowling at the boy. "tell the truth! don't let him scare you!" said the professor reassuredly. "we are in charge here now. is he your father?" "no--no--sir," stammered the poor little lad, and then he burst into tears. "i thought so!" commented the scientist. "now you scoundrels clear out of here before we cause your arrest!" "you're talkin' mighty high," sneered the leader, "but look out! this matter is none of your affair, and that boy belongs to us!" "take me away! oh, please take me away! they'll kill me!" sobbed the lad. there was such a fiery look in the professor's eye as he leveled his gun at the gang of men that they started back, evidently fearing to be fired upon. "come on!" called one. "we'll get some of the mexicans and then we'll see who's runnin' things around here!" with that the gang sneaked out of the door, leaving the boys and the professor master of the situation. their first act was to unbind the lad, who was almost fainting from pain and fear. "are there any more of them?" asked jerry. "yes," said the boy faintly. "there are a lot of half-breed mexicans in the gang. they are in a hut about a mile farther up the road, where they keep a lot of horses on a ranch." "then perhaps we'd better get out of here while we have a chance," said the professor. "we can't fight a score or more. let's take the boy and hurry away." "come on then," said jerry. "we'll get back to the auto. i only hope these men don't discover it and damage the car." but when an attempt to start was made it was found that the boy, who said, in response to an inquiry from ned, that his name was tommy bell, was unable to walk. the ropes bound about his legs had caused the blood to stagnate in the veins. "here!" exclaimed jerry. "bob, you and ned go ahead with the lantern, and the professor and i will carry tommy. step lively now!" moving in that order the procession started, and in a few minutes the travelers were back at the machine, which did not seem to have been disturbed. there was no sight or sound of the gang. tommy was made as comfortable as possible, and then there was a brief consultation. "which way had we better go?" asked jerry. "i think it would be best to turn around," said bob. "we'll run up against the gang if we go ahead." "the best road is straight ahead through this woods," spoke tommy. "if you take the other your machine will get stuck." "then we'll take this one, and trust to luck not to have any trouble with the gang," decided jerry, as he cranked up the car. just as they started the moon came out from the clouds, for the rain had ceased, and, though not many of the silver beams shone through the thick foliage, it was much lighter than it had been. jerry threw in the gear and the next instant the car glided forward and shot along the tunnel of trees, leaving the hut where tommy bell had been a prisoner. "is the mexican camp near this main road?" asked the professor of tommy. "about three hundred feet in," answered the boy, who was feeling much better. "how many men are at it?" "about one hundred, i guess, from what i heard them say." "then i guess we'd better go past it on the fly," muttered jerry, as he speeded up the machine until it was skimming along at a fast rate. in a little while there was a gleam of light through the trees ahead. "there's the camp!" exclaimed tommy. a minute later the travelers were made well aware of it, for, as they whizzed past in the auto, they heard shouts of anger, mingling with the sounds of rushing feet, while an occasional pistol shot rang out, the flash of fire cutting the darkness. "they saw us," spoke bob. "lucky it was pretty dark, or they might have damaged the auto." "to say nothing of ourselves," added ned. chapter viii pursued by enemies as the auto sped along, professor snodgrass asked tommy bell how he had come to the hut in the forest. "those men took me there," replied the boy. "and what did they try to make you do?" asked jerry. "they wanted me to tell them where my father was," went on tommy. "i could not because i did not know, and they burned me, because they did not believe i was telling the truth." "what did they want of your father?" inquired mr. snodgrass. "they want him to sign some papers connected with some property," went on tommy. "i don't know much about it, except that father used to work with those men developing a mine. it didn't pay, and they left it, after selling it to some other men. i lived with my father, and my mother was alive then." the boy stopped, and, at the mention of his mother's name began to cry softly. "poor little lad," muttered the professor, putting his arm, with a sort of caressing motion about tommy. "don't cry, lad," the scientist went on, in what seemed a sort of husky voice, for he was very fond of children; "don't worry, we'll look out for you; won't we, boys?" "you bet!" exclaimed jerry, ned and bob in one voice. the auto was slowed down now, as there seemed to be no danger of pursuit. "after mother died," tommy resumed, "and the mine did not pay, father started prospecting with nat richards and the others in that crowd. but they were bad men, and soon got the better of my dad, taking away what little money he had left. "this ruined my father, and he grew discouraged, for he was old, and in poor health. he wandered away and i haven't seen him for nearly a year. i traveled about, doing what little work i could get to do, until i struck texas. one day, about a week ago, i passed a ranch, the same one we just came by. i asked for work, and got it. then i found the same men owned it that had ruined my father. "as soon as nat richards saw me he demanded to know where dad was. i couldn't tell, and then he promised me one hundred dollars if i would tell. he said they needed my father's signature to a paper. "i don't know as i would have told them where dad was if i did know. when i kept on refusing to give them the information, nat richards grew ugly. he had me taken off to the hut where you found me, and said he'd starve me to death if i didn't tell. "i almost did die from hunger," tommy went on with a catch in his voice. "then they tried torture. they burned me on the legs with a hot poker. that's what they were doing when you came in," and, overcome again by the thought of all he had suffered tommy cried bitterly. the boys and the professor did all they could to comfort the friendless lad, and, soon tommy's grief wore off. "we'll take you along with us," said jerry heartily, "and we'll try to help you find your father. where did you see him last?" "he was in arizona," answered tommy. "that's just where we're headed for," exclaimed bob. "we'll take you there all right." jerry leaned forward to throw in the higher speed gear when there was a sudden ripping, breaking sound, and the auto began to slow up. "what's the matter?" asked ned. "stripped the gear, i'm afraid," replied the steersman. "this is a nice pickle to be in." "won't it run on the low or intermediate gear?" asked bob. jerry tried them, and found they were all right. "i guess we'd better stop here for the night," he said. "we may need the high gear any minute, and perhaps i can fix it in the morning. i have a spare wheel." "then let's camp and have supper," said bob eagerly. "i haven't eaten in a week by the way i feel." "same here! i agree with you for once, chunky," spoke jerry. "it has been a long time since dinner, but with the excitement of the storm, the bear, and rescuing tommy i didn't notice it before." in a little while the camping outfit was taken from the automobile, and a fire started in the sheet-iron stove, with the charcoal that was carried to be used in emergencies, such as being unable to find dry wood after a rain. ned ground the coffee, while bob went in search of water, using the lantern to aid him in the somewhat dim forest, though the moon helped some. he found a spring close at hand, and soon a fragrant beverage was steaming under the trees. then some bacon was placed in the frying pan, and the hard tack was taken from the tin and other things prepared. "fall to!" commanded ned, who was acting as cook, and fall to they all did, with a will. "do you often camp out and eat in the woods like this?" asked tommy. "i think it's jolly fun," and the lad, who was about twelve years old, laughed for the first time since his rescue. he, too, was eating with an appetite that showed he needed the food. jerry briefly related some of their travel adventures, at which tommy opened his eyes to their widest extent. "cracky! but you have had stunning times!" he exclaimed. the meal having been finished, they began to think of getting some sleep. blankets were brought out, and rolling themselves up in them the boys and the professor were soon in the land of nod. it was nearly dawn when jerry was suddenly awakened by the far off baying of a dog. at first he could not imagine what the sound was, and sat up to listen more intently. then a long, mournful howl was borne to him on the wind. "that's strange," he muttered. "there are very few dogs about here. i wonder what it is." at the same time tommy bell roused up, and he, too, heard the sound. "it's the gang after us!" he exclaimed. "they have a lot of hounds on the ranch! hurry up! let's get out of this!" "hark!" exclaimed jerry, raising his hand. then the boys heard, faint and far off, the sound of galloping horses. "they're coming!" cried jerry. his cry awakened the others, who sat up bewildered and heavy from sound sleep. "lively's the word!" called jerry. "they're after us!" no further explanation was needed, for all knew what jerry meant. there was a hasty piling of blankets into the auto; the stove was packed up, and, while the travelers jumped into the car, jerry went in front to crank it up. the cheerful chug-chug told that the machinery was in good working order, and then, the boy, leaping into the steersman's seat, threw in the low gear for the start. as he did so ned glanced back and saw, coming around the bend of the forest road a score of horsemen and a pack of dogs. "speed her up, jerry!" called bob. "i will!" was the exclamation, as jerry leaned forward to throw in the high gear. a mournful screeching of the engine was the only response. "i forgot! the high gear is broken!" the steersman cried. "we can only use the intermediate, and that is not very fast!" "it's the best we can do, though!" said bob. "we may get away from them!" on the intermediate cogs the auto made good speed, and, for a while, distanced the gang, the members of which, with shouts of rage, put their horses to their best effort. chapter ix into the cave the sun began to peep up from beneath the eastern hills, throwing a rosy light over the earth. the woods began to thin out, and the sides of the "tunnel," which had been dense, became more open, so that glimpses of the country could be seen now and then. the chase was now on in earnest. for some time, however, the auto kept well in advance of the horsemen, for jerry used all the power possible on the differential gear. if the high speed one had been in working order there would have been no question of the outcome, but, for once, luck was against the boys. nearer and nearer came the gang on horseback. they got so close that their shouts to halt could be plainly heard. but jerry was not going to give up. he gritted his teeth and gripped the wheel with a firmer grasp. "we seem to be slacking up," observed ned. "that's what we are," spoke jerry. "the auto is going back on us." the car did seem to be dragging, and there was no excuse for it in the condition of the road, which was a fine level one. "the car needs repairing," said jerry, "and the way i have to run it isn't the best thing in the world for it." "do you think they'll catch up to us?" asked bob. "i'm afraid so," muttered jerry. "we are going the limit now." the thunder of the horses sounded nearer and the shouts of the pursuing gang came more plainly on the morning breeze. the auto coughed and wheezed, seeming like a man who has run far and is about to collapse. the explosions became less frequent, and finally one of the cylinders ceased to work altogether, leaving only three in commission. "now we're in for it!" muttered jerry, as, by a hasty glance back he saw the men spurring their horses on. "you'd better give up!" one of the gang shouted. "not yet, you scoundrels!" cried jerry, as he advanced the sparkling lever to the final notch. this seemed to be the last straw to the auto engine, for with a dismal snort it stopped short. "this settles it," muttered ned grimly. "we are done for." fortunately, however, they were on a slight slope now, and the car, with the impetus it had gathered, began to glide down the hill under its own momentum. but the horsemen were not one thousand feet in the rear and were drawing nearer. there seemed to be no help at hand and there was every indication that the boys would fall into the hands of their desperate enemies. "how much farther can we go?" asked tommy suddenly. "to the foot of the hill," replied jerry. "why do you ask?" "that's far enough!" exclaimed tommy. "i guess we can escape them." "how?" "steer straight for that dead pine tree," replied the young lad, "and when you get almost to it, make a wide turn to the right." "what good will that do?" "there's a big cave right at the foot of the hill," replied tommy. "i know for i passed it as i was tramping toward the ranch. it is large enough to take in the auto, and maybe we can hold it against the gang." "hurrah!" shouted jerry, as he shifted the wheel to conform with tommy's directions. "we'll beat 'em yet!" straight toward the dead pine jerry aimed, and, as he came to the bottom of the slope, he saw an opening in the bush-lined side of the hill, that told him the cave was at hand. into it, by a skillful turn, he steered the auto, and the machine, running in about one hundred feet from the opening came to a stop, just as the horsemen came dashing up, much surprised by the sudden disappearance of those they were pursuing. "we're safe!" whispered ned. "not yet," said jerry. "we must arm ourselves," and he began to get out the rifles from the bottom of the car, and hand them around to his companions. outside the cavern, which was a natural one in the rocky side of the hill, there came confused shouts. "where did they go?" they heard a voice ask. "must have gone over some ledge and been killed," was the reply. "then that settles it," said the first one. "that's just our bad luck!" then came a curious cry, and, by it, the boys knew their hiding place was discovered. "here are the tracks of the wheels!" the travelers heard some one shout. "they turned off somewhere about here." "then they're in that cave," was the rejoinder. "dismount!" came a sharp order. the boys could hear the men getting off their horses, and the animals being led away. "get your carbines ready!" was the next command. "it's time for us to act!" whispered jerry. "we must each one take a gun, and stand at the mouth of the cave. we'll warn them not to enter. if they persist we will have to fire, but we must try not to hurt any one mortally. aim at their legs!" in the half darkness of the cavern the boys and the professor each took a rifle and crept to the mouth of the opening. no sooner had they reached it than they heard the tramp of feet, and shadows told them the bad men were advancing. "halt!" cried jerry, who had naturally assumed command. "who are you?" asked the leader of the gang. "never mind who we are," replied jerry. "we are in possession of this cave, and we warn you not to come in!" "big words for a kid!" sneered the leader. "you'll find we can back them up," spoke jerry. then, in lower tones, he bade his comrades stand in readiness. there was a consultation in whispers among the members of the gang, and then, seeming to feel that they had nothing to fear, they made a rush. "fire!" cried jerry. remembering his instructions, the boys and the professor aimed low. to the reports of the rifles there succeeded howls of pain. several of the gang shot back, but, as it was dark in the cave they could not see to aim, and they did no damage. "give them another volley!" yelled jerry. again the rifles spoke, and this time, to the chorus of howls there was added a command from the leader to retreat, and the men rushed from the cave, which was filled with smoke. "are--are any of them killed?" asked tommy. "i don't believe so," replied jerry. "we fired too low to do much damage. i only wanted to let them know we were ready for them." waiting several minutes to see if there would be any further attack, jerry cautiously advanced to the mouth of the cavern. in the semi-light he saw several blood stains, but the absence of any bodies told him the battle had not resulted fatally, for which he was thankful. though the men were desperate characters, who, perhaps, would not stop at murder, the boy did not want the responsibility of killing any of them. "they seem to have retreated," jerry reported when he joined the others. "but i don't suppose they have gone for good. this probably will only make them more anxious to get tommy away from us, for it is him they are after." "do you think they want me?" asked the younger lad. "i am pretty sure, after what you have told us about the mine, that they would give a good deal to get you," replied jerry. "perhaps your signature may be as good as that of your father's in case--in case--" and jerry stopped suddenly. "you mean in case dad is dead?" asked tommy quietly. "yes," answered jerry. "i don't believe my father is dead," spoke the boy bravely. "somehow i feel that he is alive, and that i will find him. but if the gang is after me, it is not right for you all to be in danger on my account. give me up to them, i'm not afraid--that is, i'll try not to be. let me go out and surrender, and perhaps they'll go away." "i'd like to see myself!" exclaimed jerry. "you don't stir out of this cave, tommy bell, until we go! i'm not afraid of that gang. we've been in tighter places than this and gotten out; haven't we, fellows?" "you bet!" echoed bob and ned. "then give me a gun and let me help fight," begged tommy. "can you shoot?" asked jerry. "my father taught me," was all tommy said, and jerry gave him a rifle, at which tommy's eyes sparkled. a cautious glance from the mouth of the cave showed that the gang had withdrawn some distance away. but that they had no notion of giving up the fight was evidenced by the fact that they were constructing a camp so as to command the entrance to the cavern. "i guess they're going to try and starve us out," remarked the professor. "lucky we have plenty of provisions and ammunition on hand for a siege." "well, i guess we're just as well off here as anywhere," observed jerry. "we'd have to lay up a few days at any rate, to fix the machine, and it might as well be in a good roomy cave, where the rain can't wet us." the boys waited an hour before laying aside their arms. then, as the gang showed no signs of renewing the attack, they proceeded to make themselves more comfortable. "might as well get ready to camp out," said ned. "i'll set up the stove, and we'll have breakfast, though it is a little late." so while he set up the sheet iron apparatus, jerry instructed bob to stand guard at the mouth of the cavern, and to give instant notice of any activity on the part of the enemy. "but what will we do about eating breakfast?" asked bob in a sorrowful voice. "don't worry about that, 'chunky,'" said jerry. "i'll relieve you, or some one will, in time to get a meal. in the meantime keep a good watch." then jerry went back to help ned, and, at the same time, make ready to repair the machine. chapter x attacked by a cougar "i say, jerry," called ned, "we're in a sort of a pickle." "how's that?" "why, i started to make coffee and i got along all right until i came to the water." "well?" "no, it's not at all well. in fact we ought to have a well here." "what do you mean?" "i mean there's no water in the cave!" "great scott! is that so?" exclaimed jerry. "i never thought of such a thing. are you sure there's not a spring away in the rear?" "the professor and i made a good search," replied the temporary cook. "the cave comes to an end about three hundred feet back, and there's not a sign of water." for a few seconds jerry was silent. then he gave an exclamation. "i have it!" he cried. "we can use the emergency water supply on the auto. it is not very fresh, but it will do for coffee." "the very thing!" ejaculated ned. it was fortunate that the auto carried an extra tank of water, as well as one of gasolene. they had often found it useful in getting a supply of the fluid for the radiator in places far from a supply, and the reserve tank had been built with that purpose in view. it held about ten gallons. drawing on this ned had a supply for his coffee which was soon boiling merrily on the stove, while some canned chicken and bacon were put on to fry. "i say, is anybody going to relieve me?" called bob from his post on guard. he smelled the breakfast in preparation, and it added to his hunger. "i'll go," volunteered the professor. "i'm in no hurry to eat, and perhaps i may pick up a specimen or two. this cave ought to be a good place for them." accordingly he took bob's place, and soon the four boys were eating ravenously, and with as good appetites as if a band of bad men was not outside, ready to attack them at the first opportunity. "now to fix the machine," said jerry as he rose from the ground that served as a table. "light all the lamps, ned, and then you and bob come and help me. tommy and the professor can take turns standing guard." it was no easy matter to take the automobile engine apart, and substitute a new gear for the broken one. it was also found necessary to insert new spark plugs, which had become covered with a coating of carbon; and the cylinders also needed cleaning, while the pistons had to be adjusted. the afternoon was spent in working at the auto, and by night such good progress had been made that jerry said by the next evening it would be in shape to start. "that is if the gang let's us," spoke ned. "we'll make a dash for it," replied jerry. "we needn't fear them with the car in good order, for we can leave them behind in less than half an hour. we'll try to escape to-morrow about midnight." "in the meanwhile let's eat," suggested bob, and his cry brought forth the usual chaffing about "chunky's" appetite. ned started to get supper. he went to the tank of the auto to draw some water for the tea, when he gave a cry of surprise. "what's the trouble?" called jerry. "the water's gone!" exclaimed ned. "that's a leak in the tank!" they all rushed to the car. there, on the ground under the reserve tank was a muddy spot, showing where the precious fluid had dripped away. a quick examination showed there was a small hole in the reservoir. "now we are up against it," murmured bob. "not quite yet," said jerry. "how can we get water without being shot?" asked ned. "there is quite a bit left in the pipe coils of the radiator," answered jerry. "it will be pretty poor stuff to drink i guess, but it's better than nothing." there was considerable of the fluid in the big brass radiator on the front of the car, and, though it was stale, and had been heated many times, as it circulated about the cylinders, still, it was better than none. made into tea, which was served as a change from coffee, it did not taste so very bad. but the situation was grave. with only water enough on hand to last about half a day, the plight of the travelers was a critical one. "we'll have to have water for the car, as well as ourselves," spoke ned. "we can't run the machine without water." "that's so," admitted jerry dubiously. "something will have to be done." after the evening meal jerry resumed his labors on the car, working at double speed, in which he was assisted by ned and bob. the professor and tommy took turns watching at the cavern's mouth. but there seemed to be no need of this, as the men showed no inclination to make a second attack. they appeared to know that the boys were caught in a trap; a trap that contained no water. so they evidently felt sure of success sooner or later, and that without the danger of being wounded. jerry and his comrades worked to such advantage that shortly after midnight the auto was in shape to be used, and with the new high gear wheel in place. the car was given a good oiling, and was repacked in readiness for a quick start. "now if we only had water," sighed jerry, "we could slip out, and, i believe get away." but he knew it was useless to proceed without at least a full radiator. the extra tank, which had been repaired, could be filled later. the radiator coils were empty however. what had not been used for cooking had been made up into weak tea, as it was not considered healthful to drink the water as it came from the pipes. "we've got to do something," said jerry decidedly. "if we stay here much longer we'll die of thirst. if we could only make a dash and get some water we could manage. two pails full would do." "let me go after them," exclaimed tommy. "i'm not afraid. i can run fast. maybe i can get out there by the brook, get the water and come back before any of them see me." "no you couldn't," spoke jerry, pointing to where one of the men, as sentry, could be seen, from the mouth of the cave, walking up and down near the camp fire. "if any one goes i will, and i think i'd better start." bob and ned both offered to make the dangerous attempt, and the professor insisted that he be allowed to try, as he knew how to move over ground very silently. but jerry was firm in his determination. "i'm going to make the try about two o'clock," he said. "they'll be sounder asleep then." as he was very tired he stretched out in some blankets until it would be time to make the try. he fell asleep soon, and the others moved away, talking in whispers lest they disturb him. almost exactly at the appointed hour jerry awakened. he sat up, and, slipping a pair of indian moccasins over his shoes, to enable him to move as silently as possible, he cautiously approached the mouth of the cavern, carrying two water pails with him. the moon had gone down and it was quite dark, which was favorable to jerry's plans. as he got to the entrance of the cavern the boy looked toward the gang's camp. there seemed to be no sign of life, and jerry thought perhaps the sentry had fallen asleep. as silent as a cat the lad made his way toward the stream, which he could hear gurgling and splashing over the stones. his throat was dry, for the last of the cold tea had been drunk, and his exertions had made him very thirsty. as he heard the sound of the brook he felt a fierce desire for water, so strong was it that he felt he would brave anything to get it. foot by foot he advanced, crouching down as low as he could. he was beginning to feel that he would be successful, and not be detected. he could see the sparkle of the water about three hundred feet away, and his parched mouth and throat seemed to be as dry as leather. he could hardly swallow. on and on he went. now he was about two hundred feet away and he was getting ready to make a dash for the brook. suddenly he heard a clicking sound, and knew it was a rifle being cocked. next there rang out on the night air the command: "halt or i'll fire!" poor jerry was detected! he came to a stop, sick at heart at the failure of his plan. for a moment there was no other sound. the boy could not see who had discovered him, though he instinctively felt the eyes of the man on him. suddenly there was a shaking in the tree somewhat to jerry's left, and about one hundred feet away. then came a rustle of the leaves on the ground and the boy made out the figure of a man, dimly, standing with rifle aimed straight at him. "throw up your hands!" was the next order, and, letting the pails fall to the ground, jerry obeyed. then, all at once, there burst out on the air a most terrifying sound. it was a blood-curdling yell, a screech as if from some one in mortal agony. jerry felt the cold chills go down his back. the next instant there was a crashing sound, and, from the tree under which the man stood who had aimed at the boy a dark body shot downward. the screech of the cougar, for such it was, mingled with the terrific yells of the sentry. jerry dimly saw a confused tangle of man and beast. he heard the man shout for help. he heard his rifle go off, and then came sounds that told that the camp had been aroused. the attack of the cougar had come just in time. jerry, taking advantage of the diversion, grabbed up his pails, and running to the brook filled them with water. then, as fast as he could go, he ran toward the cave. chapter xi a runaway auto behind the boys sounded the yells and shouts of the men in camp, mingled with rifle shots and the screeching of several of the cougars, for, it developed, a band of three, grown desperate by hunger, had made an attack. "are you hurt, jerry?" cried bob and ned, as, with his pails of water, the boy staggered into the cave. "not a bit, but i had a close shave," was the answer. "but we must be quick! here! help fill the radiator with the water." "can't we drink any?" asked bob who, like the others, was very thirsty. "not a drop," said jerry firmly. "we need every bit for the automobile. without it we can't get away from here, and now is the only chance we may have to escape. we can drink later." while jerry and ned filled the radiator the other boys and the professor made ready for the escape. everything was packed up and placed in the car, which, as soon as the coil was filled, would be ready to start and dash from the cave. "i'm afraid this is not going to be water enough," spoke jerry as the second of the pails was emptied into the radiator. "can't i make a dash for some more? there seems to be excitement enough in the camp to keep them from watching me," said ned. "i'm going to try." there was considerable activity among the ranch men. the cougars, though wounded, seemed to have temporarily lost all fear and made attack after attack on the men, who had to fire several volleys from their rifles. "go ahead," said jerry. "i'll start the engine slowly." grabbing up the pails ned walked from the cave. "i'm going to help, also," said tommy. "no, you stay here," commanded jerry. "bob can go if he wants to." bob joined ned. they ran to the stream and had filled the pails when, just as they started on the way back, the wounded cougars, driven from the camp, came dashing after the boys. "now we're in for it!" exclaimed ned. "run, bob!" and run they did, as they had never run before, and left the beasts behind. "have you the water?" asked jerry eagerly as the boys came in. "we have!" exclaimed bob. "and hard enough work we had getting it." "good!" jerry hurriedly poured most of it into the radiator, though every one in the cave looked at the fluid with longing eyes. "i must get a drink soon, or i shall go half crazy!" said the professor suddenly. "i never was so thirsty in my life." "i'm saving just a little bit for each of us," spoke jerry. "but it is a very small quantity, and will only serve to wet our mouths. if all goes well we shall soon have plenty." he distributed about a pint of the water among his companions, and though each one got only a little it brought welcome relief. "now we're ready to skip out!" announced jerry as he screwed the cap on the radiator tank, and increased the speed of the engine. "but first we had better take a look outside to see if any of that gang are in sight." the professor, who had good eyes, went to the mouth of the cave, and, coming back, reported that he could see a dark mass moving on the further bank of the stream. "they have evidently gotten over their scare about the cougars," mr. snodgrass said, "and are waiting to bag us. what are we going to do?" "there's only one thing to do," replied jerry. "and that is what?" "we must make a dash for it. the road is fairly good, and i guess we can speed up enough to get out of the range of their bullets in a short time. they can't be very good shots or they would have killed the three cougars, with all the bullets they fired." so it was decided. they all took their places in the car, and jerry, who, as if by mutual consent, assumed the place of steersman, leaned forward to throw in the gear clutches. "here we go!" he cried. "look out everybody!" slowly at first, but gathering speed, the auto moved out of the cave. the lamps lighted up the path, and, though the boys realized that the lanterns disclosed their position to their enemies, they had to use them for their own safety. it was too dark to do without them. a few seconds later and the car emerged from the cavern. as it shot out there came a chorus of angry cries from the camp of the ranchmen, and several shots were fired, though none of them came close enough to be uncomfortable. "here we go!" cried jerry again, as he increased the speed, and the auto fairly leaped forward. it swayed from side to side, and struck several ruts, so that the occupants were tossed about. but the main thing was that they went ahead, and away from their enemies. jerry, peering as best he could into the darkness ahead, made a course for the stream, intending to go close to it, and then run along the bank, or near it, as he had noted in the afternoon that there was a fairly good road there. gradually the shouts of the men, and the firing of their guns died away, and the travelers began to breathe more freely. they had made their escape, and, for the present, were safe. "oh do let's stop and get a drink!" pleaded bob. "not yet!" exclaimed jerry. "five minutes more will not kill you, and it may save all our lives," for he did not want to slack up while there was any danger of the ranchmen coming after them. the five minutes seemed like an hour to bob, and the others, too, were impatient. but at last jerry shut off the power and the machine came to a halt not far from the creek. out scrambled the boys and the professor, and then, in spite of the danger of drinking snakes and lizards in the darkness, they all made for the stream, where they quenched their thirst from small collapsable cups which each one had been holding in readiness for just that chance. "that's better than an ice cream soda!" exclaimed ned. "you bet!" agreed bob heartily. "i never tasted such fine water." "very good!" said the professor. "i guess we can stop long enough to lay in a supply now," remarked jerry. "we can start off again in five minutes, and in that time they can not catch up to us." so the radiator was filled to the top, and the auxiliary tank likewise, while the boys indulged freely in the liquid, thinking, perhaps, they might have some of the characteristics of the camel, and could drink enough at one time to last a week or more. then they started forward again, and the auto soon carried them beyond the possibility of capture that night. they camped out in the open, and, in spite of their rather exciting adventures they slept soundly, awaking as the sun rose. ned was given a chance to run the machine, and he took the front seat with tommy, who was delighted to be there for the first time. they had not been going long before they found the land was rising. "we're coming into the mountains now," said jerry. up a long hill, with a gradual assent, puffed the auto. on either side were broad fields where tall pampas grass was growing, amid which thousands of grasshoppers, or some similar insect, were singing. "better be sure your brake is in good working order," suggested jerry, as they came to the steep descent on the other side. "we don't want any more accidents." ned tried the ordinary brake. there was a clicking sound, followed by a snapping one. "brake's busted!" exclaimed jerry. "try the emergency!" ned did so. that, too, gave out only a faint screech, and did not grip the axle as it should. "look out now!" yelled jerry. "we're in for it!" an instant later the auto began to move forward at a rapid pace. all ned's efforts to check it were in vain. "we're running away!" cried frightened tommy. "i wish i'd stayed in back!" "keep to the middle of the road!" jerry cried above the noise of the auto rushing down the steep hill. at the bottom the road took a sharp turn, and the hearts of all beat rapidly with fear as they beheld it. chapter xii tommy finds a friend so rapidly did the machine shoot down the descent that it almost seemed the curved road was rushing to meet the travelers. again and again ned tried the brakes, but without avail. he had shut off the power at the first indication that something was wrong. "we can never make that turn!" exclaimed bob. "i'm afraid not," agreed jerry. they were all clinging to the sides of the car, while ned gripped the steering wheel with a desperate hold. "look out for the turn!" cried the professor as they came to the sharp curve. but, to the surprise of all, ned, instead of shifting the wheel in at least an attempt to swing around the half circle kept straight on the course. the boy had resolved on another plan. directly in front of him, and to the left of the road was a big field of tall waving pampas grass, the plumes nodding eight feet above the ground. it was shut off from the thoroughfare by a frail wooden fence. "i'm going to steer into the grass!" cried ned. "it's our only chance!" the next instant there was a splintering sound as the auto crashed through the fence, which offered no more resistance, because of the great speed, than a paper hoop does to a circus performer. then it seemed to the travelers as though they had been plunged into a tossing, waving sea of grass. the tall pampas plumes and the stems wrapped themselves about the boys and the professor, almost choking them by the pollen that was shaken off. the feathery-like tops tickled them in the eyes, nose and mouth as, carried by the runaway auto, they were dashed through them. but the grass had just the effect ned had intended and hoped for. it clogged the wheels of the machine, and though soft, offered so much resistance that the machine soon began to slow down, as does a locomotive when it runs into a snow drift. after plowing through the field for about two hundred feet the car came to a final stop, with a little jolt. "santa maria! caramba!" yelled a voice and then followed such a string of spanish that the boys thought they had run down a whole camp of mexican herders. "did we hit any one?" asked jerry, peering forward as well as he could through the tall grass. "caramba! hit any one! the americano pirates have killed don elvardo!" exclaimed the unseen one. "you have broken--!" and then followed such a confusion of words that the boys could not understand. "have we broken your leg?" asked jerry, speaking in spanish this time. "santa maria! no! you have broken the cigarette i just rolled!" and with that the grass parted in front of the auto, and a little mexican, wearing a suit profusely trimmed with silver braid, showed himself. the boys felt like laughing as they beheld the woe-begone face of don elvardo. in his hand he held the remains of a cigarette. "behold!" he went on tragically. "i am peacefully walking in my field, looking over my crop of pampas, when i feel a desire to smoke. i sit me down and roll a cigarette. i am about to light it, when--santa maria! there is a rushing sound of ten thousand imps of darkness. my grass is mowed down as if by a sickle in the hands of a giant. i turn in fear! i see something coming! i can not tell what it is, for the tall grass hides it! i turn to flee! the infernal thing keeps after me! presto! caramba! it hits me so--" don elvardo illustrated by slapping himself vigorously on the thigh. "then i fall! i am crushed! i am killed! i die in pain and fear! i arise! behold, senor americanos, my cigarette is broken!" "we're very sorry, of course," said jerry politely. "but you see our auto ran away on the hill, and as the brakes would not work, the only thing to save our lives was to steer into this field. we did not know you were here, or we would have sent around to your house to ask permission to enter," added the lad sarcastically. "but i am here!" snapped the mexican. "so we see," admitted jerry. "we are willing to pay for any damage we have done." the mexican's eyes sparkled, and he rubbed his hands as if in anticipation. "that alters the case," said don elvardo. "the americano senors are welcome ten thousand times to my field. i bid you welcome. i salute you. pay. oh, yes! it is but right that you should pay!" again he rubbed his hands together. "about what would you say it was worth?" asked ned. "i am no miser," replied the mexican. "i do not wish to insult my friends the americanos. i will only charge them for the damage to the grass. the broken fence is of no moment. pay me one hundred dollars and i will say no more about the affair." "he's a robber!" said jerry in a low voice. "we haven't done five dollars' damage to his crop and the fence combined." "i guess he will whistle for his one hundred dollars," said ned. don elvardo heard him. "so!" he exclaimed. "you will not pay me one little hundred dollars for the damage. caramba! then it is i who shall at once lodge a complaint with the authorities. we will see if there is a law in the land, or if crazy americanos can spoil a poor man's crop and pay nothing. we shall see!" "offer him ten dollars," suggested bob. the boys consulted together a minute or two. they wanted to be fair, but they did not care to be robbed. the professor had taken no part in the discussion. he seemed to be intently examining the tall grass on either side of the machine. suddenly the scientist stepped from the side of the car, and rapidly made his way to the front, where don elvardo stood. mr. snodgrass gazed intently at the mexican. then he gave a leap toward the don, exclaiming as he did so: "there it is! right on your hat! don't move an inch or it will jump away! i have it now! this is indeed a lucky day! just a second and i'll have it!" with that the professor made a leap toward the mexican with outstretched hands. "santa maria! diavolo?" screamed don elvardo as he saw the scientist coming for him. "caramba! it is to murder me that you come!" then, calling for help at the top of his voice, the mexican turned and fled in terror, his course being marked through the tall grass by the wave-like motion he imparted to the plumes in his haste. "why--why what in the world ails him?" asked mr. snodgrass. "he probably thought you were going to choke him to death," said jerry with a laugh. "in fact your actions were not so very far from giving that idea." "why bless my soul!" ejaculated the professor. "all i wanted was to get a fine specimen of a blue grasshopper from his big hat, where the insect had alighted. it was worth about forty dollars." "i saw some just as good in a city once for twenty dollars," put in tommy, "and they had more silver braid on." "what! a grasshopper with silver braid on?" cried the scientist. "i thought you said his hat was worth forty dollars," went on tommy, somewhat embarrassed. "i was speaking of the blue grasshopper," explained mr. snodgrass. "my, i am sorry to have missed that one." "but you did a good service in scaring this mexican away, as you did the chap with the ox cart," spoke ned. "he might have made trouble for us." "and we had better get out of here while we have the chance," said jerry. "he may come back any minute." accordingly the auto was turned around, and run over the same course by which it had entered the field. otherwise it would have been almost impossible to have advanced, so thick was the grass. the road regained, the machine was sent along it at good speed, for fear don elvardo or some of his friends might appear. "we had better stop and fix the brakes," suggested ned, after an hour's run. "and get dinner at the same time," put in bob. "we'll kill two stones with the same automobile, as the poem says." "i guess you're a little twisted," remarked ned, "but your intentions are good." a halt was made under a big tree, near a little stream, and soon a good fire was built and dinner was being cooked. it was found that some nuts had become loose on the brakes, and this trouble jerry soon remedied. after the meal they sat about and talked a while. "we'll soon be in new mexico," remarked jerry, consulting a small map. "will we?" asked tommy. "i'm so glad." "why?" "because there's a man who was once a friend of my father at a place called las cruces. it's near the rio grande river. if we could go there i know mr. douglass would take care of me." "then we'll go there," said jerry. "it will be right on our route." they all agreed this would be a good plan. that night the travelers stopped in a small village where they had good beds and meals. they resumed the journey next day, and for several days thereafter met with no mishaps as they speeded toward las cruces. they had left the lowlands and were well up among the hills by this time. one day, just at dusk, they rolled into las cruces and, after a little inquiry found mr. douglass, who was very glad to see tommy. "i will be glad to take care of him for the present," he said. chapter xiii the colored man's ghost the travelers found the town where tommy's friend lived such a pleasant place that they spent several days there. it was a thriving place, and the auto was a source of endless wonder to most of the inhabitants, who had never seen one. had the boys wished they could have made considerable money taking parties out in the car for short trips, but they knew they had a long journey before them and they wished to save the machine all they could. it needed some repairs which were made by the local blacksmith, and then the travelers were ready to move forward again. "i don't know how to thank you for all you did for me," said tommy, as the boys were leaving. "you saved my life. maybe i will have a chance to do you a good turn some day. if i have, you can bet i'll do it." "we know you will, tommy," said jerry. "well, good-by. i hope we see you again." "same here!" exclaimed bob and ned. they did not know how soon they were to meet their friend again, nor in what a peculiar manner he was able to aid them in return for what they had done for him. for several days the auto skimmed along through a somewhat lonely country. the roads were not very good and a number of times progress was so slow that only a few miles were made between sunrise and sunset. now and then the travelers would come to a lonely cabin, where they could replenish their food supply or get a night's lodging. but, in the main, they had to depend on their own resources. occasionally they would reach a little settlement, where their arrival never failed to produce as much excitement as a fire and circus combined. every day brought them nearer their gold mine, concerning which they were very anxious, as they had heard nothing further from jim nestor. "the mine may have been taken away from him for all we know," chafed jerry as he fretted at the delay caused by bad roads. "we'll hope for the best," said ned. "no use crossing a bridge until you come to it." the travelers were well up among the lower mountains now, though compared with the heights they had still to scale the range was one of mere hills. one evening just at dusk, after a particularly hard day of travel, during which the auto had broken down several times, necessitating minor repairs, the motor boys came to a place where two roads divided. "i wonder which we had better take?" asked bob, who was at the wheel. "the right," said jerry. "the left," advised ned. "toss up a cent," suggested the professor. "make it heads right and tails left." they did so. the coin came down heads up, and bob turned the machine to the right. it had not proceeded far on this road when, about a mile ahead, the travelers saw a couple of log cabins. "well, there's shelter for to-night, at all events," jerry remarked, "and, i hope, supper as well. i'm getting a little tired of bacon and coffee." they found one of the cabins occupied by a negro, his wife, and seven children, the oldest a boy of sixteen and the youngest a little girl, just able to toddle. "good evening," greeted the professor, "can we get supper and lodging anywhere about here?" "i reckon i kin fix yo' up on th' eatin' question, boss," remarked the darkey as he stood in the cabin door as the auto drew up, "but i 'clare t' goodness i can't find no room t' stable that there rip-snortin' beast ye got." "we don't expect you to take the auto in," spoke jerry. "if you give us beds for ourselves, or even a room to sleep in we'll pay for it and glad to do it." "land sakes, i'd like t' 'blige yo', deed 'n i would boss," went on the negro, "but my cabin am jest crowded t' th' doah wif me an' my fambily. yo' am welcome t' suthin' t' eat, but land a' massy whar i'se goin' t' have yo' sleep hab got me cogitatin'." "what's the matter with that other cabin?" asked ned. "what other cabin?" asked the negro, not turning to look in the direction of the second shack, about a quarter of a mile down the road. "that one," went on ned, pointing to it. "there may be room in it." "oh i reckon there's room enough," replied the colored man, "only--well to tell you th' truff, boss, it ain't exackly healthy t' sleep in that cabin, er even t' talk about it. 'scuse me but i don't want even t' look at it." "why not?" the colored man seemed to hesitate. he fidgeted and seemed ready to go back into his house. "why not?" asked ned again. "kase it's--it's got ghosts an' it's hanted!" exclaimed the negro, "an' it ain't safe fer any one to go near it, let alone sleep in it." "nonsense," remarked the professor. "there are no such things as ghosts." "yo' wouldn't say so if yo' went to that there cabin after dark," persisted the colored man. "'tain't safe t' talk about it, so yo'll please 'scuse me." "but what sort of a ghost is it?" asked jerry. "it's big an' it's white, an' it rattles chains an' groans sumthin' turrible," said the negro. "did you ever see it?" asked ned. "did i ever see it, boss? couse i done see it. only t'other night it near skeered me to deff." "how long has it been there?" asked bob. "'bout a week i reckon," replied the negro. "ever since rastus johnson moved away from th' cabin." "i guess we'll take a chance with the ghost for the sake of spending a night under shelter," said jerry. "meanwhile we can get supper here." and a fine supper they had. mrs. jones, wife of the colored man, proved an excellent cook. she fried some chicken, made some corn bread, and that, with preserves and some good coffee, made up a meal which the travelers voted one of the finest they had eaten in many months. "can we get breakfast here, also?" asked jerry when supper was finished. "if yo' am alive," replied jones solemnly. "if we're alive? what do you mean?" "well i reckon ef yo' sleeps in that hanted cabin, there won't be any of yo' left t' want a meal in th' mo'nin'," explained jones. "it's takin' yo'uns' lives in yo' hands t' go nigh it suah yo' is boahn!" all they could say did not induce the man to change his mind. he was plainly afraid of the cabin and the "ghost." but the travelers were determined not to let a little thing like that interfere with a chance to sleep under shelter. accordingly they covered the auto with the tarpaulin provided for that purpose, and moved their blankets into the deserted cabin, which was fairly clean and in good condition. one of the big oil lamps gave sufficient light. the cabin contained only two rooms, one on the ground floor, and the other above it, reached by a movable ladder. "i think we had better sleep upstairs," said jerry. "the door doesn't fasten very securely, and besides i think it will be drier there." so they mounted the ladder, spread their blankets out on the floor, and were all soon fast asleep. none of them expected to be disturbed, for they laid the story of the ghost to an overwrought imagination of the colored man. so it was with a sudden feeling of terror that jerry was awakened in the middle of the night by hearing a deep groan, seeming to come from the room below. he sat up, rubbing his eyes to further awaken himself, and then he became aware that bob was also sitting up. he could see because of the moonlight streaming in through a window. "did you hear anything?" asked jerry. "i thought so," answered bob. "i thought i did," put in ned, who, it seems had been awakened at the same time the others were. once more there sounded an unmistakable groan. it came from the ground floor, and was so loud, penetrating and, in spite of the would-be bravery of the boys, so awful coming out of the darkness, that they shuddered. "what's that?" asked the professor, who also, this time, was roused from his slumbers. before either of the boys could answer the groan was repeated and this time it was followed by the unmistakable clanking of chains. "the colored man's ghost!" whispered bob. "nonsense!" exclaimed the professor, but, no sooner had he spoken than there came another weird noise, and the chains rattled louder than ever. "light the lantern," whispered jerry. "we must see what it is. perhaps it's only some one playing a joke." "let me take a look before you make a light," suggested the professor. "i can look down the ladder hole." softly he crawled over to the opening and peered down. as he did so the noises were repeated. the professor uttered an exclamation. "it bears the other descriptive marks of the creature the negro told about," he said, crawling back to where the boys were huddled together. "it is big and white and it seems to be trying to climb up the ladder." "wait until i get my revolver," whispered jerry. "we'll soon see if it's a ghost or not." "don't fire," cautioned the professor. "it may be some one trying to scare us, but we have no right to fire at any one." "i'll give 'em a warning, at any rate," said the lad. he went to the opening and called down: "tell us who you are or i'll shoot, do you hear?" a groan and the clanking of chains was the only answer. this was followed by a violent agitation and shaking of the ladder. "bang!" went jerry's revolver. he had fired into the air. succeeding the report there was a silence. this was broken by a further clanking of chains. then came a crash, and when the echo of this died away the sound of feet running away could be heard. "pretty solid footsteps for a ghost," commented ned. "look! look!" cried bob, pointing out of the window. there, running down the moon-lit road the boys saw a big white mule, to the neck of which was fastened a chain that rattled with every step. "there's the ghost," said the professor. "i thought i recognized the voice as that of a quadruped with which i was familiar. the animal has probably broken loose from the field and came here in search of food." "well it certainly scared me all right," admitted bob. the others did not commit themselves, but there was no doubt but that they had several heart-flutters. "i wonder what that crash was?" asked ned. the professor glanced down the hole leading to the first floor. "the ghost made it by kicking our ladder away," the scientist replied. "i wonder how we can get down." but the boys did not worry about this, being too sleepy. soon they were all snoring again, and did not awaken until the sun was streaming in the window. chapter xiv trouble with a bad man "this is a nice pickle!" exclaimed bob, who was the first to rise. "what's the matter, lost your collar button?" sleepily inquired jerry. "no, but the mule knocked the ladder down, and we'll have to jump or stay here." "it isn't far to the ground in this shanty," remarked jerry. "go ahead and drop down." "it may not be very far," said bob, "but i don't want to take the chance." "afraid you'll sprain your ankle?" "no, but i don't want to fall into the cistern." "cistern? what are you talking about?" "well," went on bob, "there's a cistern right under this ladder opening. the mule pulled the cover off last night, and whoever drops down is going to land goodness knows where." the others soon confirmed what bob had said. when the cabin was built a cistern had been sunk in the middle of the ground floor. this had been covered, and the ladder rested on it when the travelers went to bed, but the mule, probably in search for a drink, uncovered it. "can't get down without a ladder," observed ned. "what's the matter with jumping from one of the outside windows?" asked jerry. they thought the idea a good one until they saw that the only one there was opened onto a pile of sharp rocks, into which even a jump of fifteen feet might be dangerous. "what's to be done?" asked bob. "guess we'll have to wait until jones comes to see if we are dead," replied jerry. "then he can cover the cistern and raise the ladder." "i guess we'll have a long wait for jones," commented ned. "he's so afraid of this place that he'll never come within hearing distance of it." "let's yell out of the window," suggested bob. they did so, uniting their voices in a volume of sound. it seemed to have no effect though, for there was no movement about the colored man's cabin. "once more," urged the professor. this time they produced a result, for, down the road they could see jones come to the door of his shack and peer out. thereupon they waved their hands to him, and in a few minutes the colored man was standing as close as he seemed to dare to come to their shelter. "is yo' all daid?" he asked in awed accents. "not quite all of us," answered the professor, "but we will be unless you come in and hoist the ladder for us." "did th'--th' ghost knock it down?" asked jones. "it did," replied bob, solemnly. "i knowed it! i knowed it! maybe you'll believe me next time. golly! i ain't goin' t' stay here," and jones was about to run off down the road. "here! come back!" commanded the captives, and the colored man reluctantly did so. "i doan laik t' stay round yeah!" pleaded the negro. "'tain't no ways healthy. what yo' done want, anyhow?" "we want you to hoist the ladder for us," said the professor. "come now, don't be silly. the only ghost there was, and we saw it, was an old white mule with a chain on its neck." "co'se it were! dat's de form it took when i seed it!" cried jones. "but it can take on any shape, dat ghost can. next time it'll be a lion er a tiger er a elephant. monstrous terrible things, ha'nts is. so de ghost done knocked de ladder down! i knowed it would do suthin'." amid a show of genuine fear the colored man entered the cabin, and after replacing the cistern cover cautiously raised the ladder. then he ran out as if the ghost were after him. "i guess we'll never be able to convince jones that there isn't a ghost here," said jerry as they came down and started down the road toward the colored man's cabin, where they were to have breakfast. "here's something that may prove to him that the mule was the ghost," spoke ned, picking up a horse shoe, which was on the cabin floor. they showed it to the negro, but he only shook his head. "it looks like a hoss shoe, dat i admit," said jones, "but it's enchanted. it'll turn inter a snake er a tiger er suthin' terruble 'fore long. i don't want nothin' t' do with it," and he cast it into the bushes by the side of the road. the excitement of the night had taken none of the travelers' appetites away, and they made a good meal. then, once more they took the road, disappearing in a cloud of dust, while jones, his wife, and the seven children stood and stared in wonder. they traveled all that day with only an occasional glimpse of civilization in the shape of some house or cabin. no villages were reached, it being a centre of vast grazing lands, where only a lonely herder, or, perhaps two, remained to guard the cattle. that night they camped in the open, and found it rather uncomfortable, for it began to rain about midnight. "i wish we were back in the cabin, with the ghost-mule and everything else," muttered jerry, as he tried to find a dry spot to lie down on. but troubles can not last forever, and morning came finally, bringing a clear day and a bright sun which was very welcome. breakfast over they took the road once more. about noon they came to a small town that boasted of what was called the "imperial hotel." "i suppose we'd better try the imperial," suggested ned. "it don't look very scrumptious, but you can't always tell by the appearance of a toad how far he can jump." the auto drew up in front of the inn with a noise that brought a score of men from the barroom. "jumpin' gila monsters and rattlesnakes!" cried one of the men, evidently a miner from his dress. "i've read about them satan go-carts, but i never believed in 'em. sakes alive, but they do look funny without a hoss in front." he and the others gathered about the car, asking so many questions that it took all the boys and the professor as well to answer them. when curiosity had been partially satisfied the boys went into the hotel. while there was nothing to make a weary traveler glad he had found it, the place was not as bad as many where the motor boys had stopped. they had a good meal, and decided to rest a few hours before proceeding. it was along about three o'clock. the crowd of men in the barroom had become larger as new comers arrived. it was also noisier and loud voices, and occasional threats to shoot, made the travelers think it was about time to move on. they were about to go to their machine when they were approached on the porch where they were sitting, by the miner who had first remarked about the auto. he had evidently been drinking more than was good for him, and was in a quarrelsome mood. "if you don't want to play with me you needn't," he called, evidently to some one inside. "i can find some one to shuffle the cards with me. here, you kid"--to jerry, "you come an' we'll have a little game." "thank you, i don't play," said jerry quietly. "what's that?" came the sharp return. "i said i didn't play." "why hang my buttons! you got to play when i tell you to," cried the miner. "pete simmons ain't used to bein' told no. here, sit down to this table an' deal the cards," and he grabbed jerry by the arm, and attempted to force him into a chair. "let go my arm!" exclaimed jerry. "you do as i tell you or i'll make you!" exclaimed the brute. "i'm used to havin' my way!" "take your hand off!" commanded jerry, drawing back his fist, for he was strong and hot tempered. "now be nice, be nice!" sneered the man. "let go of him!" exclaimed ned coming forward and standing beside his chum, while bob also ranged up alongside. "we'll all take a hand in this if you force us to." "i can tackle the three of you with both hands tied behind my back," cried the miner, flushing with anger at being defied by the boys. "count me in too," spoke professor snodgrass, joining the lads. "i don't want to fight, but i will if i have to." now the professor, though a mild man, was, by reason of his out-of-door life, in fine physical condition, and no mean antagonist, which fact the miner saw. "oh well, i was only foolin'," the ugly chap remarked with a poor attempt at a smile. but his face showed his rage. he moved away in a few seconds, and shuffled to the end of the porch, where he soon fell asleep on a bench. bob looked over and saw him, as the boys were discussing the program for the remainder of the day. "let's play a trick on that brute," said bob. "what kind?" asked jerry. "you watch," replied chunky. "you'll see some fun." now it happened that the professor had among his collection of specimens several large stuffed snakes, for he was an expert taxidermist. there were also several horned toads and big lizards. bob got several of the ugliest ones and, with the aid of the scientist, who entered into the plan to pay a well deserved lesson to the miner, arranged the things about the sleeper, on the bench and on the floor of the porch. by this time most of the crowd at the hotel was aware what was going on, and, as few of them had any too much love for simmons they waited the outcome with interest. when the reptiles were placed in a circle about the sleeping miner, one of the men fired his revolver in the air. at the sound simmons awoke. at first he did not notice the reptiles, as he was on his back, staring up at the sky. then he suddenly sat up, and caught a glimpse of the ugly looking things. for a moment he seemed to be in doubt as to what he beheld. then he let out a yell that could have been heard almost a half mile. "wow!" he cried. "take 'em away. i'll never drink another drop! honest i won't! oh! oh! the horrible snakes! i'll shut my eyes so i can't see 'em!" but when he opened them again the reptiles were still there. "oh! oh! i see 'em still!" he yelled. "take 'em away, somebody, please do. oh i forgot! they ain't real! i only imagine i see 'em!" he got up on the bench and was dancing about in terror. then he drew his revolver, and was about to fire into the midst of the snakes. "he'll ruin my specimens!" cried the professor. one of the men ran forward, and began collecting the reptiles. simmons saw them being gathered up, and noticed that they were not wiggling. then the truth of it dawned on him, and he knew he had been fooled. his companions laughed loud and long. but simmons, unable to stand the jokes and jibes he knew would be poked at him, leaped over the porch railing and ran down the road as fast as he could go. "serves him right!" was the general verdict. chapter xv the story of lost lake the trick bob had played seemed to be much appreciated among the crowd of miners and herdsmen who were gathered at the hotel. they laughed loud and long over the sight simmons had presented. "i guess he'll know better than to fool with the next lad that comes along in one of them choo-choo wagons," was the hotel proprietor's comment. bob gathered up the specimens that belonged to the professor and they were put in the car, together with a fresh supply of provisions that were purchased at the village store. "i guess we'll be traveling," suggested the professor. the boys agreed with him, for though they knew the pleasures of sleeping beneath a roof, yet the character of the men who stayed at the hotel was so rough that they feared further rows. so, in spite of the entreaties of the hotel keeper they started off, having inquired the best roads to take. through the afternoon they bowled over a well elevated table land. the air was fine and bracing. off in the distance to the west could be seen the first ranges of the big mountains. "that's where our mine is," said jerry, his eyes shining. "maybe it isn't ours after all," put in bob. "now there you go, chunky. what do you want to call up unpleasant subjects for?" asked ned reproachfully. "anyhow it's our mine until some one takes it away from us, and i guess they'll have quite a fight, with nestor on guard." the others thought so too. jerry, who was steering, was sending the auto forward at a fast clip, when the professor, who always had his eyes open called out: "what's that just ahead of us? looks like a bear." "where?" asked ned. "right in line with that big rock," went on the scientist, who had very good eyes and could see a long distance. "it's only a tree stump," spoke bob. "i didn't know tree stumps could move," went on mr. snodgrass, "for this one is certainly coming toward us. it's not a bear after all," he continued, now that the object was nearer. "it's a bull! that's what it is! it looks as if it meant to go for us!" the boys could now see that the beast was one of the big, long-horned western cattle. it had evidently strayed from the herd, or had been made an outcast because of a bad temper and a perpetual desire to fight. the latter seemed more likely, for, as the auto proceeded, and the bull came on, lessening the distance between the two, a defiant bellow of rage sounded. "i hope he don't try to ram us," spoke jerry. "we don't want any more collisions." "see if you can't run away from him," suggested ned. by this time the bull was about one hundred yards away. it was coming straight for the auto. jerry opened the muffler and at the sound of the explosions the bull stopped short. at this point the road ran in a sort of depression, with hills rising on either side. it was rather narrow, so there was no chance to turn to one side. jerry had to bring the machine to a stop or else run the risk of hitting the bull. he thought the animal might run away if it saw the machine coming toward him, but there was nothing sure about this. "well, this is a regular hold-up," said the professor. "i wonder whether the bull wants to collect toll?" the animal seemed to be growing angrier and angrier every minute. it bellowed loudly, pawed the earth with its hoofs, and shook the lowered head, armed with sharp horns. occasionally the keen points would tear up the ground. "i wouldn't want him to strike one of our tires," remarked ned. "it would be all up with it." "hurrah! i have it!" cried bob at length. he dove beneath the rear seat and pulled up a shining object. "the ammonia squirt gun!" he exclaimed. "the same we used on the hold-up tramps. give the bull a dose of it!" "good idea," commented jerry. the bulb of the automatic pistol was still filled with the fiery liquid, for the boys kept it loaded in readiness for use. bob handed it over to jerry. the latter took careful aim, and pressed the rubber. a fine stream of the powerful stuff struck the bull full in the face. with a bellow that fairly shook the ground near-by the bull reared up in the air, and coming down on all fours snorted with rage, shook its head to rid its eyes of the terrible burning, and then dashed madly away. "now i guess we can get past," remarked bob, "and get some supper. i'm as hungry as a bear." a good fire was soon started and ned began to prepare the meal. while the others were setting out the dishes, or getting ready for the night camp, since it seemed there was no place for shelter in the neighborhood, the travelers were startled by a voice: "evenin' strangers," called a tall, thin man who strolled down the slight hill at the foot of which the party were encamped. "have you got a bite to spare?" "plenty," replied the professor cheerfully. "come right along. supper will be ready in a little while. are you hungry?" "hungry? i should say so. i haven't had a bit to eat for two days, except what berries and old nuts i could gather." "what's the matter? get lost?" asked jerry. "exactly," replied the stranger. "my name's johnson," he went on. "i was prospecting up in the hills, and got lost there." "anybody with you?" asked ned. "nary a soul; i'm all alone. i used up the last of my grub in trying to find the trail, and i guess i'd been looking for it yet if i hadn't heard the noise of your steam engine here, and smelled the cooking. i s'pose you're huntin' for it, same as me." "hunting for what?" asked the professor, struck by johnson's manner. "why lost lake, to be sure. nobody comes out this far unless they're huntin' for the lake, but you're the first to come in a steam car without rails." "well, it's a free country," remarked the scientist, wishing to evade giving a direct answer, in the hope of learning something. "i guess we have a right to hunt for the lake." "of course, of course you have, strangers," went on johnson. "no offense. have you struck a trace of it yet?" "not yet," replied mr. snodgrass. "to tell you the truth," the professor went on, "we don't know much about this lost lake." "nor no one else," said johnson. "i'll tell you all i know, which isn't much. i've been looking for it 'most a year now." "suppose we have supper first," suggested the professor as he noted the eyes johnson was casting at the food. "we can talk afterward." "that's the best word i've heard in a good while," said the newcomer. he ate with a rapidity that left no doubt about his hunger. nor were the others far behind him, as the crisp air of the mountain region had given them all famous appetites. "now for lost lake," spoke jerry when all had their fill. "it's supposed to be in those mountains over there," began johnson, pointing to the range off in the west, now dimly discernible in the dusk. "it's said to be a beautiful sheet of water, with high peaks all around it. it was discovered forty years ago by a prospector, and he came to the nearest village with the news. but when he went to lead a party back they couldn't find the trail. ever since then people have tried to find lost lake, but no one has ever succeeded. many have been killed trying." "but why does any one want to find a lake hidden in the mountains?" asked mr. snodgrass. "yes, tell us?" asked ned. "why, for the gold on its banks, of course," said johnson. "didn't i say that? i meant to. the man who discovered it said there were pebbles of gold on the shores. he brought back a pocket full to prove it. i got the fever quite a few months ago, but nothing has come of all my efforts, and this time i nearly died. it was terrible up in the mountains. there's not a soul there i believe." "and you didn't even get a glimpse of the lake?" asked ned. "nary a look, young man. but i'm sure it's there. i'm going back to town, get a new outfit and some provisions, and have another try." he was another example of how the gold fever grips one. "maybe we'll come across the lake, though we're not looking for it," said jerry. "maybe you will," assented the prospector. "that's generally the way. the first man was not hunting for it, but he came upon it one night when the moon was shining. if you do find it, look out for the old hermit, that's all." chapter xvi a lonely cabin "what hermit?" asked jerry. "why you haven't heard half the story of lost lake," went on johnson. "there's supposed to be a sort of wild man who lives on the shores of the lake, and he murders travelers. at least that's the yarn they tell." "was the hermit always there?" asked ned. "no, only the last few years," replied johnson. "he is said to be an old man with white hair. but i don't believe that part. let me find the lake and the gold, and i won't worry about hermits." the prospector camped with the travelers that night. they were all up early the next morning, and, at the professor's suggestion the boys gave johnson plenty of provisions to last him until he could get back to civilization. "maybe you would like to go along with us and look for the lake?" suggested bob. "no, thank you," replied johnson. "i'm afraid your chances of finding it are slimmer than mine are. i'll have another try all by myself. i'm much obliged for the help you've given me." then, shouldering his pack, he started off down the trail, while the travelers, packing their things in the auto, set forward again. the boys talked about little save the story of lost lake, but the professor was too busy arranging his latest specimens to join in the conversation. "i'd like to find it and see the wild hermit," said bob. "i don't s'pose you'd care anything about the gold," put in ned. "of course i would," replied bob. "but we've got one gold mine now, what do we want of another?" "it might be well to have a second in case we lose the first," jerry ventured. "nothing like having plenty while you're at it." "i wouldn't like to be a hermit," went on bob. "think of always being hungry." "chunky is thinking of misers, i guess," laughed ned. "there's nothing to prevent a hermit from living off the fat of the land. if it wasn't for being lonesome i'd be a hermit for a while." "stop the auto!" called the professor suddenly. "i just saw a fine specimen of a snapping turtle scoot across the road. i must have it. it's worth about twenty dollars to me. stop the car! i must get out!" ned, who was running the auto, shut off the power and the machine came to a stop. before it had ceased to move mr. snodgrass had leaped out and was running back. he began a hurried but careful search over the ground. then he was seen to spring forward. "he's got it, i guess," remarked jerry. an instant later there came a howl from the scientist, who was hidden from sight by the tall grass. "help, boys! help!" "what's the matter? won't he let you catch him?" cried ned. "he's caught me!" yelled the professor. "come quick and bring a knife to cut his head off with!" the boys piled out of the auto in a hurry, jerry stopping to grab up a big carving knife from the camp utensils. when they came up to the professor they hardly knew whether to laugh or not. the turtle, which was a big one, had grabbed the scientist by the thumb, and was clinging so tightly that it was suspended in the air, swaying to and fro. meanwhile mr. snodgrass was dancing about in pain. "why don't you take hold of the turtle's shell in the other hand, and you won't feel the weight so much!" called jerry. "i can't," replied the professor. "i have a rare specimen of a toad in my other hand, and i don't want to lose it. oh boys! hurry up, and pry the turtle's jaws open, but don't hurt him, for he's valuable." "can't you put the toad in your pocket?" asked ned, knowing the scientist had no scruples about loading his garments up with all sorts of things. "then you would have one hand free." "i never thought of that," said mr. snodgrass. "i can do that, can't i?" he did so, and, once the toad was secure he took hold of the turtle, which relieved his lacerated thumb from the dragging weight. "he won't let go!" exclaimed the professor, after a vain attempt to pull the turtle loose. "it is a genuine snapper, and they have a grip like a bull dog. i am glad i found it, in spite of the pain," he added, though just then, the turtle took a fresh hold and the professor squirmed in agony. "here; i'll cut its head off," said jerry, coming forward with the knife. "no, no!" exclaimed the professor. "it is too valuable to spoil. just take the point of the blade, and pry the jaws open while i hold it steady." jerry tried to do this, but the turtle only seemed to grip the tighter, and the professor's thumb was bitten through nearly to the bone. "what shall i do?" wailed mr. snodgrass. "i don't want to kill it." "i have it!" exclaimed ned. "there's a little puddle of water over there beside the road. dip the turtle in it, and he'll think he can swim. then he'll let go." "good!" cried the professor as he proceeded to put the plan in operation. "then i can save him alive." the scheme worked well. as soon as the turtle felt the water it let go, and started to swim off. but the puddle was too shallow, and the professor, watching his chance, grabbed the reptile again. this time he took care to catch it at the middle of the shell, where the turtle could not reach around and bite. "i have it, after all," remarked the scientist as he deposited his prize in a box, and proceeded to put some salve and a rag on his thumb. "it's a rare specimen. i'm glad i got it." "and we're all glad we didn't get it," spoke jerry with a laugh in which the others joined. but the professor took it good naturedly. he was used to such accidents he said. resuming their journey, the travelers made only one more stop, that at noon, to get dinner. they had seen no signs of human habitation, and, as the afternoon wore on, and no house or cabin was seen, they began to feel that they might as well prepare to camp out again. as they were descending a gentle, sloping hill that led down into a small valley, just as the sun was setting, they saw, about a mile ahead a lonely cabin. the sight of smoke coming from the chimney told them there was some one at home. "i hope whoever lives there can accommodate us," remarked chunky. "my appetite's getting the upper hand of me again." "it don't look large enough to hold us all," observed jerry. "there's a barn, or some sort of building, in the rear," remarked ned. "some of us can use that if the man or woman lets us." a few minutes later the auto came to a stop in front of the cabin, which was indeed a lonely one, not another dwelling, large or small, showing in the whole valley. "good evening," greeted an old man, with snow-white hair falling over his shoulders. he came to the door of the shack, and seemed to regard the coming travelers as a matter of course. "i am glad to see you," he went on. "you are just in time." "time for what?" asked mr. snodgrass. "for the great final and successful experiment," proceeded the aged man. "the test is about to begin. come in and see me make gold from common earth. at last i have found the long-lost secret!" the eyes of the lonely man glowed with a strange light, and he seemed so excited that the boys did not know what to do. "humor him," advised the professor in a whisper. "he is probably a harmless lunatic. let him have his way, and pretend to agree with all he says." "will you come in?" went on the old man. "i must proceed with my work." "we'll be glad to," went on the scientist. "that is, if we will not disturb you at your labors." "my labors are now ended," the man said. "i have worked for twenty years on the secret of making gold from the baser metals. at last i have the correct method. i will be a millionaire in another month. but come in! come in!" the boys, obeying mr. snodgrass's advice, went in, the scientist following them. they saw that the cabin, though small, was neat and clean. nearly all of the first of two rooms was occupied by a large, rudely made furnace, while on a table near it stood all sorts of chemical apparatus. on the furnace a pot was boiling furiously. "now for the last act in the drama of life," said the aged man. "see, i place in the pot these pieces of brass," and he showed the travelers some chunks of the yellow stuff. he put them in the pot, from which arose a cloud of steam. "next i throw in this powder, which i have labored on for years. it is the secret that men would give their lives for." he threw the powder into the pot, which boiled more furiously than before, and a white cloud of steam arose. then it died away, and the pot seemed to cool off. "now for the gold!" exclaimed the chemist. he lifted the pot from the furnace, and, holding it with some thick cloths poured the water off into a hole in the ground floor of the cabin. out toppled the pieces of brass which had been thrown in, but while they had been dull before, they now glittered with the yellow gleam of gold. "the test! the test!" exclaimed the old man in a voice that trembled with eagerness. he placed one of the yellow pieces on the table, and put a few drops of gold-testing acid on it. there was a little hissing sound, and then, on the shiny surface of the piece of metal there came a dull black spot. the old man uttered a despairing cry. "another failure!" he exclaimed. "it is brass still. i thought it would turn to gold! i must have made a mistake in mixing the powder." chapter xvii the indian and the auto for a few moments the scientist who hoped he had discovered the fabled power to transmute metals stared at the result of his latest trial. he appeared lost in thought. then he seemed to recollect that there were strangers present. "i am sorry my experiment did not succeed," he said in a more quiet voice than he had yet used. "i hoped to show you what i can do. well, i must try again. i think i know where i made the error. i had too much soda in the powder. i will use less next time." "we are sorry to interrupt your experiments," put in the professor, "but we are travelers, and our object in stopping here was to find out if you could take us in for the night." "gladly," replied the old man. "there is a barn in the rear, but it has not been occupied in years; not since i came here. you are welcome to use that. some of you can spend the night in the rear room. as for me i shall not go to bed. i must start at once and make up some fresh powders." "i think perhaps we had all better sleep in the barn," said the professor. "then we will not disturb you at your labors." the truth of it was mr. snodgrass saw that the aged man was not altogether right in his head, and he preferred not to be too near in case the fellow should suddenly become violent. "just as you like, just as you like," was the reply to the professor's decision, and the chemist seemed to be dreaming over some problem he was trying to solve. "may we cook some of our food on your stove?" asked jerry. "why certainly. i beg your pardon for not mentioning supper," spoke the man, "but you see i am so used to getting a bite whenever i need it, so as not to interrupt my work, that i forgot there is such a thing as hospitality. make yourselves at home, and, if you find anything in the cupboards help yourselves. meanwhile please excuse me if i do not join you. i must go out and gather some roots and herbs i need in my experiments." he left the cabin, and, after bringing in some provisions from the auto, having first ascertained that there were few in the cabin, the travelers proceeded to make a meal. "do you suppose he can be the hermit of lost lake?" asked bob. "well, he's certainly a hermit," spoke the professor, "but i don't believe there's a lake of any kind about here. certainly if he was the hermit of the lake he would not be away off here. no, i am inclined to think we shall never see the lost lake or the hermit either." "do you think it will be safe to stay here all night?" inquired chunky. "i think so," was the professor's reply. "you see we will be out in another building, and we can fasten the door. if he tries to get in, which i am sure he will not, he will make noise enough to awaken us." "we could mount guard," suggested ned. "it will not be necessary," mr. snodgrass said. nor did the travelers find it so. after their meal, having left a good supply of victuals for the old man in case he came back, they retired to the rear building where they slept soundly. after breakfast, which the old man did not spend more than five minutes over, the travelers prepared to resume their trip. "you had better stay one more night," urged the owner of the cabin. "i feel sure that i shall be successful to-night. i have discovered a new root. see, i call it gold threads," and he held up some bulbs that had been dug from the ground. clinging to them were small yellow fibres or roots. "i found them last night, down in the hollow by the mineral spring," the man went on. "i am sure they are just what i need. please stay; won't you?" but the professor told him, as gently as possible, that they must keep on. so, after bidding the gold-seeker good bye, and wishing him success, the boys and mr. snodgrass proceeded, the auto puffing along at a good rate. the weather continued fine and the air was bracing and cool, for they were well up among the foothills now. during the morning the road led up a gentle slope, but at noon they camped on a sort of ridge that marked the divide. on the other side was a vast plain, bounded at the further side by tall mountains. it was well along in the afternoon, when having descended to the plain, the travelers found themselves bowling along a fine road, on either side of which were rolling fields. mile after mile was covered, everyone enjoying the trip very much. the professor, however, was beginning to show signs of uneasiness. he fidgeted about in his seat, and seemed unable to remain quiet. "what's the matter?" asked bob at length. "to tell you the truth," said the scientist, "i want to get out and get some specimens, but i did not like to ask you, for i do not want to delay the party." they all voted that the professor should be given a chance to get as many specimens as he wanted. accordingly jerry brought the car to a stop, and the boys and the scientist got out. as the engine had not been running as smoothly as was desirable jerry did not shut off the power, merely throwing out the gear clutches. he said he wanted to have the cylinders warm up, and so the engine was left going, though the car itself stood still. the professor was soon busy gathering insects of various kinds from the tall grass, and even crawling on his hands and knees over the ground. the boys walked some distance off, to stretch their legs, for they were a little tired of sitting still so long. suddenly bob, who happened to glance back toward the auto, uttered a cry. "look!" he shouted. "some one is stealing our car and going off in it!" the others looked. the sight that met their eyes was enough to astonish any one. climbing into the automobile was a big indian, attired in gay colored blankets, a rifle slung across his back, while near him stood a pinto pony, clean-cut and wiry. while they watched they saw the red man seat himself comfortably at the steering wheel, reach forward to throw the gear clutch in place, and then the car moved off, taking the indian with it. "here! come back!" "stop that auto!" "get out of that!" these were some of the things the boys yelled at the bold thief. but all of no avail. the indian threw in the second gear, and the auto went faster than before. "come on! we must catch him!" cried jerry, and he began to run in the direction the auto was fast disappearing in, down the road. "we can never catch him," called bob. "yes we can! he can't know anything about running an auto!" panted jerry. "he'll put on the brake or pull the wrong lever next, and the machine will stop!" "that is unless he blows it up first or smashes it," said bob. "what's the matter?" asked mr. snodgrass, appearing at this juncture. bob was the only one left to tell him, as jerry and ned were running down the road at top speed. but it seemed that their race would be useless, for the auto was now running on third gear. and, strangest of all, the indian seemed to know how to operate it. he kept a straight course, and the puffing of the exhaust told jerry that the engine was running to perfection, with a good supply of gasolene, and the spark coming regularly. [illustration: the indian seemed to know how to operate it.] "who--ever--heard--of--an--indian running--an--auto," panted ned. "running--away--with--one--you--mean," said jerry, his breathing labored. further and further away from the pursuing boys the auto went. it seemed hopeless to keep after it, but neither jerry nor ned would give up. they realized what it meant to lose their machine, though they could not understand how an indian, in all his wild regalia, would think of getting into an auto. suddenly there sounded down the road the patter of hoof beats. "maybe that's more indians," said jerry turning around and slowing up in his running. "no," he added, "it's bob on the indian's pony. i wonder you or i didn't think of that." "he couldn't catch up with the auto if he had two ponies," growled ned. "the only chance is that the gasolene may give out, or the sparker refuse to work, or that he may run into a sand bank," lamented jerry. "and there don't seem to be much chance of either taking place right off," put in ned. "hark! what's that?" from down the road sounded the _toot! toot!_ of the auto horn. "it sounds as if he was coming back," said jerry. just then bob caught up to them on the pony. chapter xviii lost lake found "let me past! i'll catch him!" cried bob. "wait a minute! maybe that's him coming back?" replied jerry. sure enough the next instant the auto, which had been lost to sight by reason of a turn in the road, came into view. straight up the highway it came, the figure of the indian, wrapped in his blanket, with his headdress of feathers, an altogether brilliant figure, seated at the wheel; a strange enough combination as any one will admit. the red man acted as though he had been used to running autos all his life. he sat straight as an arrow, his hands grasping the wheel, which was sending the car straight for the boys. "he's just doing this to taunt us!" exclaimed jerry. "i have a good notion to take a shot at one of the tires with my revolver and scare him into stopping." "don't do it! you might kill him," said ned, "and you wouldn't want to do that. but what does he mean by stealing the car, and then bringing it back?" a few seconds later the auto drew up in front of the boys, who had come to a halt. with an ease that bespoke long experience the indian brought the machine to a stop, and then, while the lads looked on, so full of wonder at the whole occurrence that they did not know what to say, the red man grunted: "heap fine wagon. ugh! indian like um, he buy um! how much?" "look here!" burst out jerry, so angry that he hardly took note of what the red man had said. "do you know you are a--" then a strange thing happened. wrapping his blankets closely about him, and drawing himself up to his full height of over six feet, the indian said calmly: "i really beg your pardon for the unwarranted liberty i took with your car, but when i saw it standing out here, so far from civilization, i could not resist the temptation to take a ride. i trust you will overlook it." for a moment the boys were speechless, for the indian they had supposed one from the half-wild plain tribes, and whose every appearance indicated that, had spoken in english as cultured as that of a college professor. "what--why--when--where?" stammered jerry, and the indian burst into a laugh. "i see i must explain," he said. "i am not what i seem." "aren't you an indian?" asked ned. "a full blooded one, and the chief of a tribe," spoke the red man. "but i am not the half dime library sort. "you see," he went on, "i have just come back from the school at carlisle, where i am taking a post graduate course. i felt a sudden longing to don the dress of my ancestors, and roam the broad fields. i did so, starting from my home on the reservation this morning. i came along and saw the auto. as i said, the temptation was too strong to resist. i got in and took a little spin, as you saw. i am sorry if i caused you annoyance, or made you fear your machine had been stolen." the eyes of the indian twinkled and, beneath the paint on his face, the boys could see a smile coming. "but how in the world did you learn to run a car?" asked jerry. "easy enough," was the answer. "i acted as chauffeur for several months this vacation to earn money enough to continue my studies. i got to be quite an expert. that is a fine car you have." "well i'm stumped!" exclaimed bob. "how do you like my pony?" asked the red man. "i think we made a sort of unfair exchange, though, in spite of the fact that the animal is valuable. now let me apologize once more, and then i will take my animal and go home." "you are welcome to the ride," said jerry. "we were so surprised at first that we took you for a thief." "i don't blame you," spoke the indian. "the sight of a red man in an automobile is enough to make any one wonder. well, heap big chief, whistling wind in the pine, must go." "is that your name?" asked ned. "it's my indian one," was the answer, "but at the school i am known as paul rader. now let me bid you good day, and a pleasant journey." then, before they could ask him to take a ride with them, the boys saw the indian leap on his pony, from which bob had dismounted, and ride away at a smart gallop, his blanket flying out behind him in the wind. "well, that's the limit!" exclaimed ned. "to think of a wild-civilized indian playing a trick like that." "i certainly thought he was as wild as they come," put in bob. "i was afraid it was all up with us." then the professor appeared and they told him the story. "i wish i had met him," said the professor. "what for; did you know him?" asked jerry. "no, but he would probably be able to tell me where to get some fine specimens," remarked the scientist. in a short time they were all in the auto again, and were bowling along over the table land, the machine humming in a way that told that the cylinders were working well. they camped for supper, and then, as it was a fine moon light night they determined to continue on slowly, as they wanted to make up for lost time. the moon rose early, a big silver disk shining among the trees, when the autoists started on their night journey. "this is great!" exclaimed bob, who seemed to have forgotten his desire for a bed under shelter. "wouldn't it be fun to have a lot of indians chase us now?" "it might if they were tame ones," put in jerry, who was steering, "but excuse me from any wild ones." the road soon began a gentle ascent, and the auto ran more slowly up the hill. the road, too, became narrower, winding in and out. the trees, which had been scattering, were thicker, and the travelers could see they were getting well up among the mountains. "how late are you going to travel?" asked bob of jerry. "until nearly midnight," was the answer. "the moon begins to go down then and it will not be very safe. but i think we ought to cover as big a distance as possible while we can. we have had delays enough." the only noise, besides the puffing of the machine, were the cries of owls, the chirping of crickets and katy-dids, with, now and then, the howl of a wolf or fox. in spite of the number in the party, there was a feeling of loneliness about being so far from civilization among the wilds of the mountain region. up and up went the car, until the ascent became so steep that jerry was obliged to run on the low gear. this made progress slow, and, because of the uneven road, so risky, that it seemed unwise to proceed further that night. "i'll slow up when we get to the top of this hill," said jerry, "and we'll go into camp." but he reckoned without knowing what sort of a hill it was, nor did he calculate on the auto failing to stop as soon as he expected. for that was what happened. reaching the summit of the slope jerry shut off the power. but something went wrong with the mechanism. the auto continued on, slowly to be sure, but with enough momentum to send it over the brow of the hill. then it plunged down on the other side, gathering speed every minute. "is she running away?" asked ned. "seems so to me." "she's not behaving as well as she should," replied jerry, "but i have her under control. the brake is working all right," which fact he soon ascertained. faster and faster, however, in spite of the brake, did the auto plunge down the slope. jerry kept his head, however, and was working to bring the machine to a halt. all at once bob, looking up, saw where the road made a sudden turn to the left. "look out for that!" he cried, pointing. jerry tried to make the turn, but the steering wheel suddenly became a little stiff, so that, instead of the car being turned to the left, and around the bend, it kept straight on. there was a crackling of brush and tree branches, and the big machine left the road and began plowing up the side of a slope, around the lower edge of which the road wound. "duck!" cried ned, as a tree branch hit him in the face. they all did so, and the next instant the big machine crashed through some briars, bending down several saplings in its journey. then, having exhausted the momentum, the auto came to a stop, at the summit of the little slope, and jerry jammed on the brakes to hold it there, the band this time gripping the axle firmly. "look! oh look!" cried ned, pointing ahead and down below them. there, in a sort of basin formed by high hills, lay a body of water, sparkling and beautiful in the moonlight, the shadows of tall black mountains reflected in its calm surface. "it's lost lake!" exclaimed jerry, softly. "boys! we have found lost lake! i am sure of it!" for a few seconds no one spoke after that, for they were all lost in wonder at the beauty and strangeness of the sight. it was so quiet that it seemed almost as if it was but a picture painted by a master's hand. suddenly bob, who was staring intently at the upper end of the lake, grasped ned by the arm. "see," he whispered. "what's that? that thing in white?" chapter xix the ghost of the lake they all looked to where bob pointed. at first they could make out nothing, but bob insisted that he had seen some tall, white object moving. "it was just like the description of ghosts," he said, with a queer little laugh. "i see it," said jerry, softly. "right by the big white birch." "sure enough," remarked the professor. then they all beheld a tall white form in the pale moonlight, gliding from tree to tree, on the shore of the lake. "look, it is picking up something from the shore," said ned. "maybe it's the hermit the miner told us about, gathering gold." "nonsense," said jerry. "it's probably a bit of fog, or it may be a white fox, or a wolf." "no fox or wolf is as big as that," insisted ned. "i'll bet it's the hermit." "whatever it is, it's gone now," put in bob. and, sure enough, the object suddenly disappeared among the trees, and there was nothing in sight but the lake, the mountains and the moonlight. "well, we seem to have stumbled onto the lake," remarked jerry. "if the auto had not misbehaved we would have taken the regular road, and lost lake would still be lost. as it is we have found it." "i hope we find some of the gold, as well," put in ned. "we may need the yellow pebbles if our mine is gone." "whatever we do, we shall stay here until morning," said jerry. "it will be a good place to camp, anyhow, gold or no gold." so they all busied themselves in preparing to stay there for the rest of the night. a fire was built and a midnight supper was soon in preparation. they had good appetites, and, tired with the day's journey and events, they got out their blankets and slept soundly. by daylight the lake was seen to be a large sheet of water, rather irregular in outline, with many small bays and coves. shimmering in the sunlight the water made a beautiful picture. "here goes to see if there are any golden pebbles on the shore," remarked bob, with a whoop as soon as he had crawled from the improvised bed. he did not have to stop and dress for the travelers slept in their clothes. chunky climbed down the slope, along a rather rough path to the water. some time later jerry and ned were about to follow, when they heard bob yelling at the top of his voice. "what's the matter?" called jerry. "have you found the gold?" cried ned. "maybe the hermit has attacked him," suggested the professor. they all ran to the water's edge. when they reached the shore bob was nowhere in sight. "hi, bob! where are you?" cried jerry looking around. "here!" exclaimed chunky, suddenly, bobbing up from beneath the little waves about one hundred feet from shore. "did you fall in?" asked the professor, anxiously. "no, i jumped in," replied the boy. "i'm in swimming. come on in, the water's fine!" "good for you!" called ned and the next instant he was undressed and splashing out toward bob. jerry soon joined them, and even the professor took a dip. the water was somewhat cool, but after they were once in it was invigorating, and they swam about for half an hour, greatly enjoying the luxury of a bath. "hark! what was that?" asked ned, suddenly. there came a whirring of wings and a rustling of the leaves of the bushes off to the left. then a bevy of birds sailed through the air. "partridge, or some similar bird, i would say," was the professor's opinion. "and there goes a big rabbit!" cried bob. "yes, and there's another!" exclaimed jerry. "say, we have struck a game country if we haven't a gold one. i say, what's the matter with having a hunt?" "good!" cried bob and ned. "i think it would do no harm to replenish the larder with something fresh," remarked the professor. accordingly, after breakfast, guns were gotten ready and the boys and the professor tramped off through the woods, taking care not to go too far from the lake, as the trees were thick, and, as there were no trails blazed, it would be easy to get lost. ned bagged the first partridge, and bob came second, getting two in succession. jerry had hard luck, for twice he missed easy shots. a little later, however, he bowled over a plump rabbit, and followed it up with a second. then ned got one, and jerry succeeded in bagging a couple of fine birds. some of the game was served for dinner, which was eaten by a campfire, and very fine it was voted. then some was packed away in salt, against a possible time when provisions might be hard to get. "what do you say, shall we stay here another night or push on?" asked jerry, about the middle of the afternoon. "if you ask me," said the professor, "i should say to remain here. i saw a number of fine and rare specimens i would like to gather." "the only thing is, perhaps we had better join nestor as soon as possible," remarked ned. "i think a few days' delay can do no harm," mr. snodgrass said. "from the tone of nestor's letter i would say there was no immediate danger of the mine being claimed by others." "then we'll stay," said jerry. "i would like to investigate the lake a little more. we did not go very far along the shore. perhaps there might be an outcropping of gold somewhere around this locality." "and maybe we will see the hermit, or the ghost, or whatever it is," added ned. "let's stay." "then we ought to rig up some kind of shelter," went on jerry. "it may rain in the night, and it's not the most pleasant thing in the world to sleep in a mud puddle." "we can build a shack of boughs," said bob. and this they did. they had often done the same thing before. branches from a pine tree, stacked up against a sapling cut to fit between the crotches of two trees, with the same sort of boughs for a roof and floor, made a very good shelter. rubber blankets on top insured the rain being kept out, and with woolen coverings for inside, beds were made that were very comfortable. when these preparations had been made it was growing dusk. while bob and ned were getting supper, and the professor was busy arranging his specimens gathered that day, jerry removed one of the big search-lights from the auto. "what are doing that for?" asked bob. "i'm going to try and find out what that white thing is," said jerry. "i'm going to rig up a lantern in front of the shack, facing the lake, and if the hermit or whatever it is, shows up, i'm going to flash the light on it." "maybe it won't come to-night," suggested bob. but it did. it was along about midnight when ned felt a light touch on his arm. "what's the matter?" he asked, sitting up. "come on," whispered jerry. "i see something down by the lake, and i want to investigate. be careful, don't make any noise." bob and the professor were both sleeping so soundly that they did not hear jerry and ned leave the shack. "where is it?" asked ned. "there," replied jerry, pointing to a spot about three hundred feet away, and on the shore of the lake. "it was there a minute ago, but it's gone now. watch, it will come back." he busied himself over the search-light, making ready to light it quickly and flash the beams on the ghost or hermit, or whatever it should prove to be. "there it is!" called ned, in a hoarse whisper. "right by that big rock that runs out into the water." "i see!" said jerry, softly. there was a hissing sound as jerry turned on the acetylene gas, a snapping sound as he lit the match, and then a slight puff as the vapor ignited. the next instant a glaring shaft of light shot down toward the lake, glint on a strange object. there in the glare of the white beams stood the figure of an old man. his hair was snow white, and hung down long over his shoulders. he seemed bent with age, and this was made more pronounced because he bore a heavy bag on his back. he was right at the edge of the water. the sudden glare had startled him, and he turned in surprise and fear to see whence it came. his face stood out in strong relief, and jerry started, for he dimly remembered seeing some one who looked like that some time before. then, all at once the stillness of the night was broken by a shrill scream. ned and jerry were startled, and bob and the professor, in the shack, were awakened. chapter xx the mysterious woman "look!" exclaimed ned. then, as he and jerry watched what took place in the circle of light, they beheld a woman, her long hair streaming down her back, run from the woods up to the old man. in her hand she held a big club, and with it she endeavored to strike the aged man. the latter dropped his sack, and seemed to engage in a struggle with the woman. "he's killing her!" exclaimed ned. "this is the hermit we were warned against." "come on!" cried jerry. "we must see what it means." but, just as he started down the slope, the search-light went out, leaving the place in utter blackness, for the moon was under a cloud. when jerry had succeeded in getting the light going again, the man and woman were nowhere to be seen. "well, that certainly was a queer sight," remarked ned. "i wonder what it all means?" "i guess we'll have to stay here until we find out," said jerry. "it looked as if there was going to be trouble, at one time." "what's all the excitement about?" asked the professor, coming out of the shack, followed by bob. jerry related what they had seen, and the professor agreed that it would be better to remain and make an investigation. "i say, you fellows are mean to go off alone and have a cracking adventure like that," objected bob, in a grieved tone. "we didn't want to disturb your slumbers," said ned. "don't eat so much supper next time, and you will not sleep so sound," advised jerry. but bob was not to be appeased until promised that the next time ned and jerry went ghost hunting they would take him with them. having been so thoroughly aroused from their sleep the travelers decided to sit up a while and see if they could catch another glimpse of the strange man and woman. but, though they sat and talked for more than an hour, there was no further sign of the two queer creatures. "i'm going to bed," announced bob at length, and the others decided to follow his example. they slept soundly until morning, though jerry said afterward that he dreamed he was being chased across the frozen lake by a white haired man on a black horse. he got stuck in the ice, and was freezing to death, when he awakened to find that his blanket had slipped from him, and that a cold rain was blowing in through the cracks of the shack. morning had dawned cold and dreary. "wow! this isn't exactly pleasant!" exclaimed jerry, as he poked his head out of the front of the screen of branches. "i wish there was a hotel handy." the others crawled from beneath the blankets, not in any too good humor at the dismal prospect. "and i'll bet there isn't any dry wood to be had," said bob. "that means a cold breakfast." a search proved that he was right. nor was there any charcoal, since the last had been used some days before, and they had been to no place where they could get more. "just when a fellow needs a hot cup of coffee," went on bob. "i never saw such beastly luck." jerry said nothing. he seemed to be studying over some matter. "i have it," he exclaimed. "what? some dry wood?" asked ned with much eagerness. "no, but i know how to make some hot coffee," was the answer. jerry lost no time in explaining. he first went to the auto where he got out rubber coats for himself and his companions. then, ready to defy the rain, which was coming down at a good clip, jerry hunted about until he found two large stones. these he set up a short distance apart, placing another each at the front and rear of the first two. "there's the stove," he remarked. "a heap of good it will do, with no fire in it," growled bob. "wait," advised jerry. taking the big search-light, which he had used the night previous, he removed the top, so that the flame could be used for cooking purposes. they prepared a good meal and enjoyed it. it continued to rain, and to fill in time the boys went fishing in the lake. luck was with them and within half an hour they had ten fine fish, and then, though they could have taken many more, they did not, as jerry said they would have no use for them. "fish for dinner for me to-day," said bob, while the others laughed at his usual exhibition of how fond of eating he was. the fish did prove an excellent dish, fried in corn meal on jerry's improvised stove. some bacon gave them a relish, and with hot coffee they felt they had as good a meal as many a hotel could serve. "i wonder where the professor is?" said ned, when the meal was almost over. "i forgot that he wasn't with us." "he's off gathering birds, bugs or reptiles," said jerry. "he'll come when he feels good and hungry." "he's more likely to forget all about being hungry if he gets chasing a fine specimen," remarked ned. "i think i'll just take a stroll and see if i can come across him." "we'll go along," said jerry and bob. so the three started off together. they could easily follow the professor's trail, as he had broken through the underbrush, snapping off many twigs and breaking small branches. the boys wandered on for nearly a mile, but saw no sign of the scientist. they were about to turn back, and wait for him at camp, when jerry held up his hand to indicate silence. "hark!" he whispered. the others stood still, and, listening intently, heard above the patter of the raindrops, voices in conversation. "that's the professor," said ned. "some one is with him then," put in jerry. "they are coming this way." the sounds of persons advancing through the bushes could be heard. the voices also sounded plainer. a minute later the brush was parted and the professor, followed by a woman, came out into the little clearing where the boys were. at the sight of the woman, jerry started, for he recognized her as the strange person who had been with the old man the night previous. the professor seemed excited about something. "boys, this lady has just told me some strange news," he said. "what is it?" asked ned. "beware of the hermit of lost lake!" the woman exclaimed suddenly. "have a care of him. many poor travelers has he murdered. he would have murdered you last night if i had not prevented him." "so that's what it was all about," said jerry, half aloud. the woman heard him, and turned: "did you see him?" she asked. "did you see me?" "i--we--" began jerry. "you have been spying on me!" exclaimed the woman, growing much excited. chapter xxi the den of the hermit "no, no!" said the professor calmly. "the boys were not spying. they happened to see a man and a woman on the shore of the lake last night, and they thought it might have been you." "it was me," said the woman. "i was trying to prevent him from coming and killing you all in your sleep." the boys began to feel a queer creepy sensation run up their spines, as if some one had poured cold water down their backs. "it's true," the strange creature went on. "i will tell you all about it. listen to me," and she sat down on a stump. "perhaps we had better go where there is shelter," suggested jerry, for it was raining hard again, though the boys and the professor in their rubber coats did not mind it. the woman was drenched. "no," she said. "i can go to no place save these woods. i am safe from him here." she seemed nervous and excited, and her eyes seemed unnaturally bright. "the old man is a hermit," she went on. "he has lived near this lake for many years. he kills travelers and takes their money. he tried to kill me but i escaped from him because i can run fast. since then he has been after me. last night he started for your camp, but i got a big club and stopped him. then he ran away." "what was in the bag?" asked ned. "what bag?" asked the woman. "the one the old man had on his back?" "hush! don't speak about it," was the reply. "he had a murdered man's body in there, and he threw it into the lake." "are you sure?" asked the professor, thinking the woman might, perhaps, be trying to scare them away. "positive," she replied. "i saw him kill the poor fellow, but the hermit did not know i was watching." "where does he live?" asked the professor. "he has a den in the darkest part of the woods," was the answer. "he takes travelers there and kills them. he does not know that i know where it is, but i do. would you like to see it?" "not if he is the kind of a person you say he is," spoke jerry. "i think we had better steer clear of him." "i can take you there when he is not at home," said the woman. "listen, once each week he takes a long trip over the mountain, to bury the gold he has taken from travelers. i can hide and watch him go. then i could come and bring you to his den. shall i?" "it might be a good plan," mused the professor. "if this man is a murderer he should be taken in charge by the authorities. yes, come and let us know when he goes away. perhaps we could capture him ourselves." "i'll come," said the woman. "now i must go, for i hear some one coming," and, rising suddenly, she ran off at top speed through the woods. the boys listened intently but could hear no one approaching, and began to think the woman must have been mistaken. "where did you meet her?" asked jerry of the professor, when it was seen that the woman was not coming back. "she saw me while i was gathering some specimens," was the reply, "and she came up to warn me about the hermit. it seems that she lives not far away, and roams through the woods. besides telling me about the old man, and to be on our guard against him, she showed me where to get some beautiful tree toads," and the scientist opened his pocket and showed it full of the little creatures. "do you think she is telling the truth about the hermit?" asked jerry. "there may be some exaggeration to it," rejoined the professor, "but i have heard of old half crazed men who lived in the woods as this one does, and who occasionally murdered lone travelers. we can't be too careful." "besides, it did look as though she was trying to prevent him doing something last night," put in jerry. "well, we'll keep a good lookout," suggested the professor. "that's all we can do now, unless we decide to move on away from this place." "i would rather like to solve the mystery," said jerry. "i do not think we have much to fear. he is an old man, and i guess we four are a match for him." "then we had better do as the woman says, wait until she comes to lead us to his hut, or cabin, or whatever it is," the professor advised after a moment's thought. that plan settled on, they made their way back to camp and the professor was given his rather late dinner. but he did not seem to mind this in the least. "are you going to keep watch again to-night?" asked bob of jerry. "of course. i want to get at the bottom of this. there is a mystery somewhere, and i think the hermit, the lost lake and the strange woman, together, can explain it." the rain stopped after supper, though it remained cloudy, and jerry again prepared the gas lamp. it was arranged that he and ned would stay up on guard until twelve o'clock and that bob and the professor would take the rest of the night. whichever party saw the hermit was at once to notify the other. jerry and ned began their vigil. several hours passed and it seemed they were to have their trouble for their pains. at length, however, just as they were preparing to turn in and let the others take their turn, jerry saw a movement in the bushes about five hundred feet away, and down near the edge of the lake. the moon, shining faintly through the clouds, illuminated the scene. "be ready to turn on the light when i say so," said jerry to ned. ned was all alert. jerry, with his eyes straining to catch the slightest movement of the underbrush, peered through the darkness. something white attracted him. "now!" he whispered to ned, and the light, that had been burning low, was suddenly turned on at full power. in its glare the two boys saw again the white haired hermit stealing along the edge of the water, the big bag on his back. "call the others!" whispered jerry to ned. "i'll keep watch!" "all right." ned softly went back to the shack where he awakened the professor and bob. they were out in an instant, and made ready to go quietly down as close as they could to where the hermit was, while jerry showed the way by the searchlight. but again they were doomed to disappointment, for, no sooner had jerry turned the light so that it shown full on the old man, than he jumped as though struck by lightning and made a dive for the woods, into the black depths of which he disappeared. "i guess that's the last we'll see of him," said ned. "he dropped his bag," cried bob. "let's get that and see what's in it." at this the professor and ned ran down to the edge of the water, and soon returned with the sack the old man had carried on his back. "open it and let's see if there are any murdered persons in it," said jerry, with an uneasy laugh. ned untied the string, and, not without some misgivings, peered inside. "well i never," he exclaimed. "what is it?" asked bob. "fish! nothing but fish!" replied ned. "fine ones at that. i guess all we have done is to have scared the poor old man away from his fishing grounds." "certainly there is nothing suspicious in having a bag of fish," put in the professor. "i wonder if that strange woman could have been telling the truth." "we'll know better if she keeps her word and comes to take us to the hermit's den," said jerry. there seemed nothing more to do that night, so they all went to bed, not being disturbed until morning. they were awakened by the sun peeping in through the chinks in the shack, and they got up to find a fine day had succeeded the rainy one. the beams of old sol were bright and warm, and the first thing the travelers did was to go down and have a dip in the lake. then breakfast was served, and when it was over jerry and ned started to overhaul the machine. "for," said jerry, "we may want to leave at any time, and the car is in none too good condition since we plowed up the side of the mountain." several minor repairs were made and the auto was run down to the main road, where it stood in readiness for a quick start. it was some time after dinner before all this was done, and along about three o'clock the four travelers stretched out under the trees and took a well earned rest. "now if that strange woman would--" began ned. "hush!" cautioned the professor, "some one is coming." hardly had he ceased speaking before the bushes opened and there appeared the figure of the queer woman, with her long hair hanging loose down her back. "hush!" she whispered, placing her finger on her lips. "i have come to keep my promise. the hermit has gone over the mountain. come, and i will take you to his hut, and you can see where he has murdered travelers." the boys hardly knew whether to obey or not, but a nod from professor snodgrass, to whom they looked, indicated they were to do as the woman wanted. so they arose and prepared to follow her. the professor brought up the rear. through the woods their strange guide went, for several miles. at length she reached a thick part of the woods. "it is very close now," she said. "wait until i take a look." the travelers halted, while the woman crept softly forward. she peered through the brush into a sort of clearing, and apparently seeing that everything was safe, she motioned for the others to advance. they did so, and, a moment later emerged from the woods into a place where many trees had been cut down. in the centre of this space was a small log cabin, and toward it the woman pointed. "there is his hut," she said. "come on, i will lead the way." she advanced with great caution, as though she feared to disturb some one. closer and closer to the door she went, the others close behind her. "he never locks it, so we can go right in," she said. by this time she was near enough to grasp the latch. she raised it, and was about to enter, when the door suddenly swung back, and the old hermit himself, stepping out, stood before the astonished travelers. "there he is! there he is! there is the murderer!" cried the woman, pointing her finger at the hermit. the old man did not appear greatly surprised. he looked from the woman to the boys and the professor, and remarked: "to what am i indebted for the honor of this visit?" "i we,--er--that is--we--er--i--" began the professor, finding it was hard to tell the truth. "oh, it's poor old kate," went on the hermit. "she has probably been telling you some strange stories. will you not come into my cabin?" "don't go into the murderer's hut!" cried the woman, as she turned and fled back through the underbrush, leaving the travelers in a somewhat queer situation. chapter xxii a revelation the professor did not know what to do. he and the boys expected to find the hut deserted, but, through some cause, the woman had evidently made a mistake as to the absence of the hermit. nor did mr. snodgrass care to accept the invitation of the old man and enter the hut, not knowing what he might find there. "you must not mind what kate says," the hermit went on, seeing that his unexpected visitors hesitated. "she means well, but she exaggerates a little sometimes." the professor thought that a rather cool manner in which to reply to accusation of murder, but, he reflected, if the hermit was as bad as the woman made him out to be, he would naturally, be rather a bold sort of person. the boys, too, were somewhat embarrassed by their position. to come suddenly upon a man you expect to bind and hand over to the authorities as a criminal of the worst kind and then to find him calmly inviting you into his house, is something out of the ordinary. how much longer the travelers might have stood outside the hut, after the invitation to enter had been given, will always be a cause for speculation, because, the next instant something happened. the professor, who had been glancing from the aged hermit to the hut, and then back to the old man, suddenly uttered an exclamation, and made a dive for the door. "there he goes!" cried the scientist. "there is the one i've been looking for for nearly a month!" and, a second later, he had disappeared inside the cabin. "what's the matter? is some one after you?" asked the old man hastening in the footsteps of the scientist, while the boys trailed in behind. "what do you want?" "i have it! i have it!" called the professor's voice. "it's a beauty, and a rare one." "what does he mean?" asked the hermit, turning to the boys. "it's a pink-winged dragon fly," cried the professor, coming back at that point and hearing the question. he had penetrated to the farther side of the cabin. "i saw the insect on the cabin door," he went on, explaining to the old man. "then i saw it go in. i knew it would not stay long, so the only thing to do was to make a jump for it, without waiting to explain. i am very glad i got it, for it's worth at least seven dollars, and perhaps more. i must apologize for running into your cabin in that hasty manner," the scientist went on, turning to the old man. "i guess that was the best way of getting you into it," said the hermit with a smile, which, the boys admitted, was a very pleasant one for a murderer. "but now you are here, do not be in a hurry to get out again." "if you have no objections i will stay until i have put away this dragon-fly specimen in a case," said the professor, pulling out a small flat box in which he placed his precious specimens temporarily. "let me ask you to supper," went on the old man, seeming to the boys to be very eager to have them remain. "it is so seldom that i have company that i appreciate it very much. stay and have a meal with me." the boys and the professor hardly knew what answer to make. they did not want to stay, yet did not care to offend by saying no. "i'm afraid we might inconvenience you," began mr. snodgrass. "you know what it is when company comes unexpectedly, and the larder is empty." "have no fears on that score," replied the old man with a short laugh. "i have plenty for all of us," and throwing open a cupboard he showed it well stocked with many victuals. as no other excuse offered, the travelers could do nothing else but agree to stay, though bob said afterwards that he kept his hand on his revolver, in his outside coat pocket, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. so, in a little while, supper was being prepared by the hermit, who seemed to be quite an expert cook. as he busied himself about the stove the boys had time to glance over the cabin. the first thing that impressed them was that the place was well planned for defense. it was built somewhat like the old block houses the early settlers constructed, with the upper story projecting over the first, so that the indians who besieged the place, could be attacked from above. then the lads noted that the sides were pierced with small loop holes, while on the walls were several rifles, and belts full of cartridges. "one might think that you were in an enemy's country," observed mr. snodgrass to the hermit, as he took note of the means of defense. "i have to be on guard," responded the hermit, quickly. "my life is not safe a moment. i do not know what minute i may be attacked. i am surrounded by spies on every hand." "it is a wonder that you let us in then," said jerry. "how do you know that we will not betray you?" "i am too good a reader of human character as shown in the face to fear anything like that," the old man went on. "i can trust you; i know i can." "who are you in danger from?" asked the professor, wondering what sort of story the hermit could tell. "all kinds of bad men," was the answer. "they had me in their power once, but i got away. i came here because it was a place well hidden from general observation. i have lived here several years, and you are the first persons beside poor kate, that i have been friendly with in that time." "then why do you keep ready to repel an enemy if none has molested you in that period?" asked mr. snodgrass. "because there is no telling when the men will attack me," replied the old man. "there are several who would like to get control of me, but i think i can prevent it. i will never let them get me into their power again, as long as i have a shot in the gun." supper was ready by this time, and the travelers, not very much reassured by the talk of the strange old hermit sat down to the rude table. the food, contrary to their expectation, proved very good. when the meal was over the hermit began to question the travelers about their journey and asked why they came to the lake, which, he said, was seldom if ever visited. they told him how they had unexpectedly found the sheet of water. "that generally is the way in this world," said the old man. "if you look for a thing you never find it, but if you do not, sometimes it comes to you in the most unexpected manner. i have sought something for many years, but i have not found it, and my heart will break if i do not succeed soon." "what is it you are looking for?" asked ned, softly, as he saw the hermit was affected. "i can not tell you now," was the answer. "later i may, and perhaps you can help me in the quest." "we would be glad to," said the professor. "but i think we must be going now. it is getting late and we must get back to the automobile. besides, i am afraid we will have trouble finding our way through the woods." "have no fear," said the hermit. "i will call kate and she will take you back, just as she brought you here." "but i thought she was--" began uriah snodgrass. "that is only a notion of hers, that i am a murderer," spoke the hermit, with a smile. "kate pretends to be very much afraid of me, but she will come to me when i call her. probably you are wondering who i am, and why i live out in these lonely woods. if you care to i will tell you my story briefly." they all said they would be glad to listen, so the hermit began by saying, for reasons of his own, that he would not tell his name. "i do not want it to be known who i am," he said. "but, as i said, i was once in the power of a number of bad men. i used to be a prospector, and made considerable at it, until trouble came. then i came to this lonesome place. i had heard the legend of lost lake, and the gold supposed to be on its shores, but i never expected to find this body of water. however, i did come across it, though i never have found any gold. i have been here ever since, and that is about three years. i manage to hunt and fish, and so get enough to live on. occasionally i go to the nearest village, and sell a few articles i make out of wood, and so get a little money." "i should think you would be very lonesome at times," said bob. "i am glad to be alone when i think of all i suffered from those men," was the reply. "would you mind telling us about the woman?" asked mr. snodgrass. "she seems a queer creature." "she is," answered the hermit. "she is harmless enough, except when aroused, and her great trouble is in thinking that i am a murderer." "what makes her think such a thing?" asked jerry. "because she is slightly crazy," said the hermit. "she was in these woods when i came here, and, in time we grew to be good friends. it seems that years ago her whole family was killed by the indians, she alone escaping. it turned her brain, and ever since then, she imagines that nearly all men are murderers. i wonder she has not accused you of the crime," and the hermit smiled a little. "she certainly acted queer," admitted the professor, "but i thought it was because she took you to be--er--" "oh, i don't mind having you refer to it," put in the old man. "she often accuses me of the crime to my face. i humor her, and admit sometimes that i am a desperate criminal, and that i am going to give myself up to the authorities. it sort of calms her down." "what did you mean by saying that she would come whenever you called her?" asked jerry. "is she near by?" "she stays in a little cabin i built for her, not far off," replied the hermit. "when i want her to go on an errand for me, for she is very swift and reliable, i merely blow this horn," and he showed a big conch hanging on the wall. "i will call her to show you the way back to your camp when you are ready." the professor and the boys thought it was about time to leave. they promised the hermit they would come and see him again, and then the old man, taking down the horn, unbarred the door, and, stepping out blew three shrill blasts that reverberated through the woods. it was just getting dusk, and the echoes, ringing back from the distant hills, sounded weird in the gathering darkness. for a few seconds no answer came, then, from far off in the woods sounded a faint cry. "here she comes," said the hermit. "she will take you the shortest way." in a little while the crackling of the brush could be heard, and, a few seconds later kate appeared. she did not seem surprised not to find the travelers all murdered. "will you show them the way back to camp?" asked the old man. "yes," said kate, simply. "follow me," she added, turning to the boys and the professor. they started off after the strange woman, and, at that instant the old hermit uttered an exclamation. "some one is coming!" he cried. "it may be some of my enemies!" a moment later he turned and fled into the dark woods! chapter xxiii searching for the hermit "let's go to his help!" exclaimed bob. "come on!" cried ned. "you had better not," said the woman, in a calm voice. "it is probably only the police after him for the many murders he has committed, and we had better not interfere. besides if you want me to take you to your camp you had better come, as i have my house work to do before sunrise." she started to lead the way, and, though the boys felt inclined to follow and see what became of the hermit, they concluded it would be better to go back to camp. kate seemed to have lost much of her excited manner as she led them through the woods, over a scarcely discernible path. neither the fast gathering darkness nor the maze of trees seemed to confuse her. she made better progress than did the boys or the professor, as they were not familiar with the ground. "well of all the queer adventures we've had," remarked ned to jerry, who had lagged somewhat in the rear with him, "this is the worst. think of going to capture a murderer and then being led home by an insane woman! i wonder what will come next?" the journey to camp took some time, as the path was hard for the boys and professor to follow, and several times kate had to wait for them to catch up to her. at last, however, she brought them out near the little open place where the auto stood, and the boys breathed a sigh of relief. "our car is safe, anyhow," said jerry. "now for some sleep." "ain't we going to have something to eat first?" demanded bob in an aggrieved tone. the others laughed at chunky's sorrowful voice. "we'll see," said jerry. "perhaps you would like a cup of chocolate," he went on, turning to kate. "no, thank you," she said. "i must not stay here. i want to see if they have captured the murderer, so i will go back," and, turning suddenly, she returned over the path they had come, her footsteps growing fainter and fainter. "come on, let's make the chocolate," said bob, when kate had gone. jerry soon had the beverage in preparation, and they all enjoyed it. then they fixed up the beds in the shack, and soon were slumbering, too tired even to post a guard, though, as events proved, there was no need for one. "well," remarked jerry, after breakfast had been eaten, "i suppose we may as well push on for arizona. no use staying here since the mystery is solved." "i don't believe it is solved," spoke professor snodgrass, suddenly. "i'm not altogether satisfied about that hermit." "you don't think he's a murderer, do you?" asked ned. "no, but there is something odd about him. i can not get over the feeling that i have met him before, or some relative of his. yet i can not recall it clearly. he has certain queer little actions that remind me of some one. i would like to see him again." "if you want to, i think i could find our way back to the cabin in the day time," spoke ned. "i took pretty good notice of the trail when we went over." "i wish you could," said the professor, eagerly. "i want to have a talk with that old man. besides, i think i can get some more specimens at his hut. i saw a fine lizard around the door step in the afternoon." so it was decided they would pay another visit to the hermit's cabin. accordingly they started off after dinner, and, led by ned, followed the trail. they went astray several times, and had to search about for the path, but finally they came to the place where kate had halted them the day before to go forward and peer at the hut. "shall we go right on now?" asked ned, pausing to see what the rest wanted to do. "the cabin is just ahead." "go on," said mr. snodgrass. they came out into the little glade, in which the cabin stood. as they emerged from the woods they saw kate standing in front of the hut, crying. "what is the matter?" asked the professor. "they have taken the poor old man away and killed him!" sobbed the woman. "it's another of her imaginations," said ned, softly. "probably the hermit is inside." but when they looked he was not to be seen, and his bed showed that it had not been slept in that night. "will you help me hunt for him?" asked kate. "certainly we will," answered the professor. "then follow me!" exclaimed the woman, striding off into the woods. she led the way, explaining in disjointed sentences, yet so that she could be understood, that the old man frequently imagined some one was after him. at such times he would go to one or another of his hiding places, of which he had a number in the different parts of the woods. but this time he was not to be found easily. place after place, including caves and deep ravines, were visited by the searchers, but there was no sign of the hermit. "i am sure he has been killed," said kate in a sorrowful tone. "and he was the kindest man that ever lived." "i thought you said he was a murderer," spoke the professor, wondering in what strange channels the woman's mind ran. "so he is!" exclaimed kate, "but he is a good murderer, and not one of the bad kind." "poor woman," sighed mr. snodgrass. "her mind is hopelessly gone." kate started off in a different direction, and the boys and the professor followed her. she went at a rapid pace, and soon the travelers were aware that they were going up hill. the trail became more steep as they advanced, until they were panting from their exertions. yet the crazy woman did not seem to become exhausted by the hard pace in the least. "there is the hill!" she exclaimed at last, pointing upward, and the boys saw ahead of them a big half round mound, at the very summit of which was an immense tree. "he sometimes stays in that tree," spoke kate, as they neared the big forest giant. "in the tree? i presume you mean he has a sort of platform built among the branches," said the professor. "a number of indian tribes live that way." "he lives right inside the tree what little time he does live up here," replied kate. "the trunk is hollow, and he crawls into it, and hides until all danger is past. we will soon see if he is there." an examination of the hollow trunk, however, showed that the hermit was not within, nor did the place disclose any signs of his having been there recently. kate showed the despair she felt and the professor and the boys could not help feeling disappointed. for a while they stood beneath the spreading branches, wondering what would be best to do. all at once the professor, who had been intently gazing up into the leafy branches, gave utterance to an exclamation. "there it is!" he cried. "a regular beauty! i must secure that if i never get another. keep quiet, every one." "it's another specimen," said jerry. "can't you forget them for once, professor?" "this seems to be a sloth or an ant-bear," replied the scientist, as he made preparations to climb the tree. "it has long white whiskers, a black body and no tail. wait until i crawl up and get it." "never mind coming up, i'm coming down," spoke a voice, seeming to come from the animal, the capture of which the professor was intent upon. "bless my soul, it's a combined sloth and parrot!" exclaimed the professor. "that is a rare animal-bird. i must secure it at all hazards. help me, boys." but there was no need for help, as, the next instant, two dangling legs descended from the lower branches of the tree, to be followed, a little later by a body, and then came a mass of white hair and whiskers. "it's the old hermit!" cried bob. "yes! it's him! it's him!" cried kate. "he is safe! we have found him." "be quiet!" cautioned the old man, when he had reached the ground. "there may be spies all around, though i think i have escaped them for the time being." "how did you get here?" asked kate. "i ran as soon as i heard the noise of men coming after me," replied the aged man. "but i did not dare get into the hollow trunk, for fear of being seen. so i just crawled up into the branches, and there i'd be yet if the professor had not mistaken me for a specimen." "you can come down in safety," said mr. snodgrass, "as there seems to be no one in the neighborhood but ourselves." "that's good," was the rejoinder, "but there is no telling when some one may come. i think i will go back to my own cabin." the hermit started off with kate, the others following. he had not proceeded far when he uttered an exclamation: "there is one of them!" at the same instant a roughly dressed man appeared in the narrow path, as if by magic. at sight of him the hermit turned and fled back into the woods. chapter xxiv the hermit's identity "catch him! i want him! bring him back!" exclaimed the stranger as he saw the hermit disappearing into the depths of the forest. "what do you want of him?" asked the professor, not liking the man's looks. "what's that your business?" inquired the stranger. "trot along now, and don't bother me." "i'll do nothing of the kind," retorted mr. snodgrass. "that old man is a friend of ours, and we'll see that no harm comes to him." "well, i'm going to catch him," replied the rough looking man, "so stand aside." he made as if to go in pursuit of the hermit, but kate, with flashing eyes and defiant gestures, stood in front of the stranger. "you let him alone!" she exclaimed. "if you go after him i'll scratch your eyes out!" and she looked fierce and strong enough to put her threat into execution as she stood her ground. "mind," she went on, "don't you dare to stir a step after him!" "so that's the way the land lays, eh?" sneered the fellow. "well, we'll see about that." putting his finger to his lips he blew a shrill whistle. hardly had the echo died away than two more men, more roughly dressed, if possible, than the first man, made their appearance from behind bushes where they had evidently been hiding. "i've found him," said the first man to his companions. "now these people want to interfere." "knock 'em out of the way," growled one of the late comers. "look here!" began jerry who was beginning to get angry. "if there's any knocking to be done i guess we can do our share." "when did you leave home?" asked the first man, with a sneer. "look out, young tenderfoot, how you mix up in this matter." "what right have you to follow this old man?" asked the professor, for he began to believe the strangers to be some of the enemies of which the hermit had been fearful. "that's none of your affair," was the answer. "we want that man and we're going to have him. he got away from us once, and we're going to take care it does not happen again. come on, boys. let's trail after the old chap. he can't have gone very far." the three turned and were about to take after the hermit when kate, who had stepped aside, made a sudden spring, and confronted the leader of the three men. "don't you dare go after that poor old man!" she cried. "there! take that!" and before the man could raise his hand in defense kate gave him a forceful push. it was followed by a curious happening. the three men were standing on the very edge of the knoll, upon the summit of which was the tree where the hermit had been hiding. so steep was the descent that when kate shoved the man he toppled over backward. right behind him were the other two men, and falling against them, their leader bowled them down like the remaining pins in a game of skittles. all three of them went slipping, sprawling, tumbling head over heels down the steep slope, vainly trying to dig their hands into the earth and so save themselves. "there!" exclaimed the woman, as she saw the men roll down. "i guess they will not defy me again in a hurry!" "i don't believe they will," observed the professor drily. in fact the men seemed to have had enough of kate for, having rolled to the bottom of the hill, where they arrived somewhat the worse for wear, they got up, but made no attempt to return. instead they shuffled off through the woods, contenting themselves with shaking their fists at the party on top of the hill. "what had we better do now?" asked ned. "go back to our camp," spoke jerry. "i think perhaps we had," counseled the professor. "i thought the poor old hermit was merely wandering in his mind when he talked about men being after him, but, it seems he was right. now that we have had an encounter with these men, and incurred their hate, it would be best if we did not leave our automobile unguarded. there is no telling what will happen in the next few hours." "what can we do to save the hermit?" asked bob. "nothing right away, i fear," replied mr. snodgrass. "we could not find him in the night, for it will soon be dark, and i think he can look after himself better than we can, for the present." "i think so too," put in kate, who seemed to have calmed down after her attack on the men. "we will go back to your camp, and take up the search to-morrow." it was getting dusk now, and the travelers made the best speed they could, following kate's guidance, back to their shack near the lake. they found the camp undisturbed and soon were preparing a supper, which the woman shared. then she bade them good night, and promised to come in the morning. "i guess we had better post a guard to-night," said jerry, as he and the others were thinking of turning in. "there may be a lot of those men after the hermit, and they will not feel any too friendly toward us for what we have done. what do you say, professor?" uriah snodgrass thought the scheme a good one, and, lots having been drawn, the first watch fell to ned. he got out his rifle, and, having provided a quantity of wood for the fire, and making the search-light ready so it could be set going quickly, he prepared to spend part of the night on guard. it was rather lonesome, especially as the others soon fell asleep, as was evidenced by their heavy breathing and an occasional snore. but ned knew that perhaps the lives of his comrades might depend on his vigilance, so he fought against the feeling of dread, as well as the inclination to sleep, for he was very tired. as the night wore on a stronger feeling of dread took possession of the lad. he started at every sound, and the bark of a fox, the howl of a distant wolf, and even the hooting of an owl was enough to make him jump. he was very glad, therefore, when his trick was up and jerry took his place. "did you see or hear anything?" asked jerry. "nary a thing except the wild animals," replied ned. "there's a regular menagerie around here, by the sound in the woods." for several hours jerry remained on guard. he was wide awake, for the sleep earlier in the evening had rested him considerably. part of the time he sat on a log near the fire, and again, he would get up and pace back and forth looking around anxiously. jerry replenished the fire and then, feeling somewhat chilly, began to walk rapidly up and down, pacing about ten feet in either direction from the blaze. once, when he had gone a little further, and stood near a big elm tree he fancied he heard a noise among the branches. glancing up he was startled by hearing some one utter: "hist! hist!" "who's--who's there?" faltered jerry, for he was taken by surprise. "sh! not so loud! have they gone?" asked a voice. "who?" asked the lad, wondering who was speaking. "the men who were after me?" was the reply, and then jerry recognized the hermit's voice. "yes, they have gone. come down, you are safe now," said jerry. there was a scrambling among the branches and soon the white-haired old man stood on the ground beside the boy. his clothing was torn, and his beard was matted with briers and brambles. his face and hands were cut, and he bore the appearance of having raced through the thick underbrush. "i had a hard time escaping them," said the hermit. "have you any water? i have not had a drink in several hours, and my throat is parched." jerry ran to the water pail to get the hermit a drink. the noise he made aroused the others. "what is it? are they attacking us?" asked mr. snodgrass. "no, the hermit has come back," replied jerry. "he was hiding up in a tree." the professor hurried out of the shack, and joined the old man, who seemed very glad to get back among his new friends. he said he had been wandering around ever since he ran away when the stranger appeared, and, at last, had determined to try and find the boys' camp. "now you are here we will take good care of you, mr.--er--mr.--" stammered the professor, forgetting that the hermit had refused to disclose his identity. the old man noticed the hesitating tones. "there is no reason why i should keep my name a secret from you any longer," he said. "you probably never heard of me, and never will again. i only desire to remain hidden from my enemies, and i think you are my friends." "what is your name?" asked the professor. "jackson bell," was the reply. "i am an old gold miner." "jackson bell," repeated jerry, wondering if he had heard aright. "jackson bell," repeated the professor. "where have i heard that name before?" "why you must be tommy bell's father," exclaimed ned. "what's that!" fairly shouted the hermit. "do you know tommy bell? have you seen my dear son? tell me quickly! do not keep a poor old man in suspense," and he seemed greatly agitated. "i thought i had seen some relative of his somewhere," said the professor. chapter xxv attacked by the enemy "are you sure the boy we have in mind is your son?" asked mr. snodgrass. "we do not want to raise false hopes. perhaps you may be mistaken." "something tells me i can not be mistaken," exclaimed the hermit. "tommy bell is not a common name. besides, i can describe my son, and then you will know whether he is the one you know," and he rapidly gave a short description of tommy. "that's him all right," said jerry, and the others agreed that the lad they had rescued from the hands of the rough men was, indeed, the son of the hermit. "and i thought him dead," said the old man. "after i had been abused by the wicked gang that got me in their control i lost sight of poor tommy. as soon as i could i made a search for him, but it was of no use." "tommy thought you had wandered away from him," said ned. "he told us his story after we had rescued him." "then you saved his life, just as you have mine," broke in mr. bell. "i have much to thank you for. but first i must find my son. where did you leave him?" "at a place called las cruces," replied the professor. thereupon he told briefly how they had taken tommy from the hands of the lawless gang and left him with a friend. "i must go to him at once," exclaimed the old man. "i can hardly wait to start. to think that the boy i thought was dead is alive! and i suppose he thinks i am dead also," mr. bell went on. "he was going to search for you," replied bob, "but he did not know where to start. we can send him word now." "i'll take him word myself!" cried mr. bell. "i'll start as soon as it is daylight." "then you had better get some rest and sleep now," observed mr. snodgrass. "come into the shack, and we will make you some hot coffee." the hermit begged them to go to no trouble on his account, but they insisted, and soon the coffee was boiling on the coals of the camp fire. "i'm too excited to sleep," remarked mr. bell, as he went inside the rough shelter to lie down. and so it would seem, for, every few minutes he would rouse up from his position, and ask some particular about his son. he appeared scarcely able to believe the good news. at length, however, he grew weary, and along toward morning fell into a doze. the others were so tired and sleepy from being awake the night before that they slumbered late, and the sun was quite high when jerry roused himself, and sat up, wondering what day it was. he got up, took a plunge in the lake, and came back to start breakfast, finding that, in the meanwhile, the others in the camp, including mr. bell, had arisen. "now to start and find my son," cried the hermit. "you had better have something to eat first," suggested mr. snodgrass. "then perhaps we can think of some plan to aid you." though impatient to be gone the old man consented to remain to breakfast. he did not eat much, however, and seemed ready any minute to start on the long search for tommy. "how would it be if we took you to the nearest town in our automobile," suggested the professor, when the meal was over. "from there you can get conveyances and reach las cruces in a short time. if you need any money--" "thank you, i think i have enough for the present," interrupted mr. bell. "i do not need much. when i find tommy i will bring him back with me, and we will be together once more. it seems too good to be true!" "what will become of kate in the meanwhile?" asked mr. snodgrass. "though she has queer ideas concerning you i think she is your friend. will she be able to live in these woods all alone?" "kate is able to take care of herself," was the reply. "she was in these woods before i came and she may be here after i am gone. but i will tell her where i am going, and that i expect to return." a trip was made to the hermit's hut, and, after several blasts had been blown on the conch horn, kate appeared. she was overjoyed to see the aged man again, and was told of the latest developments. "you had better hurry up then, and get away from these woods," said the woman. "why so?" asked jerry. "because there are a number of strange men lurking about," was the answer. "i think they are after this good old man. so be on your guard." "it is the same crowd," said mr. bell. "they hate to give me up." "what do they want of you?" asked jerry. "you said you might tell us the secret some day, adding that perhaps we could help you. maybe we can help you now." "you can help me, and you have helped me," said mr. bell. "i can tell you the rest of my story now. as i said i have long been in quest of some one. that some one is my son tommy. i did not want to tell you of him before, as i was afraid the news would get out. nor did i tell you why the gang wanted me in their power. it is because i hold the final title to a piece of valuable property, and they can not get possession of it until i sign off, which i refused to do!" "why so?" asked mr. snodgrass. "because i understand the property is now claimed by persons who, if not in the eyes of the law, are, still the rightful owners. if i should sign my rights away to the gang they would take the property away from the innocent holders now. so i refused to sign, and they have ruined me for it." "never mind," said the professor, cheerfully. "we will get you out of their power, never fear." "i wonder if the gang that had tommy is not the same one that had mr. bell in their power," suggested bob. "he told us about men wanting him to sign papers that would give them control of some land." "they must be the same," commented mr. bell. "i will be on my guard now. neither tommy nor i will sign a single document. but now i must start." "very well," said ned. there was no further cause for delay, so jerry got the automobile ready, and, the various belongings having been stowed away, the engine was started, after a somewhat longer rest than usual, and, puffing away in a manner that awoke all the echoes of the forest, the car started toward the village at the foot of the slope. from there, it was arranged mr. bell would go forward to las cruces by stage coach, or whatever other means of travel presented themselves. once fairly on the road the spirits of all in the party rose. it was a fine day, and the fresh mountain air, crisp and cool, put new life into their veins. they were bowling along the road at a good clip with jerry at the wheel, when, suddenly in the air above their heads, there sounded a shrill buzz. "that's a new kind of a bumble bee," cried uriah snodgrass. "i must have it for my collection." "i guess you wouldn't want many of that kind," said mr. bell, quietly. "why not? i like all kinds." "that was a lead one," went on the old man. "you mean a bullet?" asked bob. "is some one firing at us?" "i'm afraid so," answered the hermit. then came a distant report, followed by the peculiar buzzing sound. "speed her up!" cried bob to jerry. "let's get out of this danger zone. it's too much like being on the firing line to suit me." the auto, all this while was speeding along, and, soon, the shooters, whoever they were, had been left far in the rear. the sound of the bullets was no longer heard. "the reason they are doing it," answered mr. bell, "is that they want to get me alive. if i was to be killed their last chance of getting me to sign the papers would be gone." "but there is your son, tommy," said jerry. "he told us they wanted him to sign. if you were dead, he would be your heir, and his signature would be legal when he became of age. perhaps the men could make use of it even before then." "i see! i see!" exclaimed mr. bell. "it is important then that i live so i can beat them at their own game." "unless you don't care about living on your own account or that of your son's," said the professor, grimly. they kept on steady after this and at last reached the bottom of the mountain slope. "now for the village," exclaimed mr. bell. "i shall soon see my boy!" faster and faster went the auto. the traveling was good, and jerry speeded the car to the last notch. about six o'clock they rolled into town, to the surprise of many of the inhabitants, who had never seen one of the puffing, snorting things, though they had read of them. a knot of curious persons gathered around the machine as jerry brought it to a stop in front of the post-office. several boys began to inspect every part. the travelers were about to alight when a shrill voice cried out. "hey, jerry! and bob! and ned! hey there! oh, how glad i am to see you!" for a moment the motor boys did not recognize the voice. then ned saw a lad trying to break through the crowd. "it's tommy! it's tommy bell!" exclaimed ned. "hey, tommy! you can't guess who we have with us!" "tommy bell! did you say tommy bell!" exclaimed the hermit. "where is he? let me see him!" but tommy had heard his parent's voice, and the next instant the boy had made a flying leap into the car, and was clasped in his father's arms. [illustration: the next instant the boy had made a flying leap into the car.] chapter xxvi on the road again "where in the world did you come from?" asked jerry of tommy. "how did you get here?" inquired ned. "how did you know where to find us?" bob wanted to know. but to all these questions tommy turned a deaf ear. he was so overjoyed at seeing his father, and the hermit was so excited at seeing his son once more, that neither had eyes nor ears for anything or any one except the other. the crowd looked on curiously, the interest divided between the automobile and the meeting between father and son. finally, when mr. bell and tommy had, temporarily, exhausted the theme of telling each other how glad they were at being united, the boys had a chance to get a word in edgeways, and tommy answered a few of their questions. he told them that he had remained for several days with his friend in las cruces, and how a traveling miner had, in a general conversation, mentioned the lake and told of the queer hermit that lived on the shores. something in the description of this odd character impressed tommy with the belief that the hermit might be his father, who had taken that method to escape the gang which wanted him to sign away his rights. accordingly, the boy had started from las cruces and made his way to deighton, the town where mr. bell expected to start in search of his son. "i got here this morning," said tommy, "and i found a little work to do to earn some money. i was going to start up the mountain to-morrow and try and find the lake." "now you don't have to," said mr. bell. "well, it certainly is a queer world." the travelers spent the night at the deighton hotel, and, in the morning, after a good breakfast, assembled to talk over their plans for the future. "do you intend to go back to lost lake, mr. bell?" asked the professor. "if you do, you and your son can ride that far in the automobile, since we are going back in that direction." "where are you going after you leave lost lake?" asked mr. bell. "to arizona," answered jerry. "we have a mine there, and we must go to see how things are getting on." "that's rather odd," commented the hermit. "i have an interest in some mining property in arizona, though i don't suppose it is anywhere near yours. but i have made up my mind not to go back to lost lake, except to bring away a few things that i left in the cabin. i would also like to provide for poor kate. after that i think tommy and i will go to arizona and try our fortunes over again." "then why not go with us?" spoke jerry. "we have plenty of room in the machine, and we'd be glad of your company." "i would like to very much," said mr. bell, "if i thought i would not bother you." he was assured that he would be very welcome, and then he consented to go. a new stock of provisions was purchased, together with some ammunition and some other supplies for the auto. then, amid the cheers of more than half the populace of deighton, the travelers began their journey toward lost lake again. mr. bell had made arrangements with a family in the town to take charge of kate whom he promised to send to them, for he knew he could depend on the woman to obey him and make the journey alone. lost lake was reached on the second day, for the travelers were delayed by a landslide, and had to camp out one night. they found the camp and the hermit's hut undisturbed. "i guess none of the gang has been around lately," remarked jerry. "i hope we have seen the last of them," put in mr. bell. "they certainly caused enough trouble." a few blasts on the horn brought kate, and the poor demented woman was overjoyed to see her friends again. she made much of tommy, who, she said, looked enough like his father to be recognized on the darkest night. at first the crazy woman objected to being sent to deighton, but mr. bell knew how to reason with her, and after some argument, she consented to go. she started away on the second morning, and, as the travelers learned later, eventually reached the family that had consented to care for her. under skillful medical treatment kate partly recovered her reason, and continued to live in deighton for many years. "now," remarked the professor, when they had seen kate started off on her journey, "i suppose it is time for us to move. so let's get started toward our mine, for i'm sure nestor must be quite anxious to see us." "onward it is, then!" exclaimed ned. "all aboard, and may we have a safe trip!" with ned at the steering wheel the auto was started off. the way was rather rougher than any they had yet traveled over, and for some distance the ascent was steep. but with a new set of batteries and spark plugs, and with everything on the car well adjusted, matters went along smoothly, though no very great speed could be attained. mile after mile was covered, the auto mounting higher and higher amid the mountains. there were no signs of human habitation, not even a deserted miner's hut being passed the first two days of the trip. of course there was no shelter to be had, and nights were spent in the open. but as the weather was mild, and as it did not rain, this was considered more a pleasure than a hardship. the third day they began to see signs that told them they were approaching a town. now and then cabins and huts would be passed, mostly the lonely homes of solitary miners, who were prospecting for gold. sometimes they would pass quite good sized camps, and about noon of the fourth day they were invited to come in and have a meal, which they were glad to do. the miners told them the nearest town was sleighton, seventy-five miles away, and that it was the centre of activity for a large area of country round about. "and i wouldn't advise you folks to speed that there machine of yours when you strike the village," said one of the miners. "why not?" asked jerry. "because the marshal is very strict, and he ain't got no very great hankerin' fer choo-choo wagons." "we'll look out," promised jerry. "we are in too much of a hurry to want any delays." "i wonder if we'll hear anything more of that gang," said ned as they rode away from the mining camp. "it seems queer that they would drop the thing when they seemed so anxious to capture mr. bell." "we'll hear of them again, and in a way we won't like, i'm afraid," said the former hermit. "we'll have to be on the lookout." chapter xxvii trouble at the mine several days' travel brought the party over the line into arizona. they passed through a small village one noon, and, on inquiring their where-abouts were told that they were well within the borders of the state where their gold mine was located. it began to rain shortly after this, and their trip was rather unpleasant, but, well wrapped up in rubber coats, they managed to keep fairly dry. as for the auto it did not seem to mind what kind of weather it was. they camped that night under a clump of pine trees which served as a partial shelter, and it was so wet that no fire could be built. jerry resorted to the stove made from one of the search-lights, and made some hot chocolate that warmed them all up. the next day dawned clear, however, and with a better feeling the travelers took up their journey again. the way was becoming familiar to them, and they recognized many landmarks they had observed in their great race across the continent to secure the gold mine before noddy nixon and his crowd could win the claim, as told in detail in "the motor boys overland." that night they stayed in the town where the government assay office was located and to reach which there had been such an exciting brush between the two automobiles, the one run by noddy, and that run by the motor boys. they saw several men whom they knew slightly, and who appeared much surprised to see them again. "well, well, well, where in the world did you come from?" asked the proprietor of the hotel, as the auto drew up in front of his place. he had been quite friendly with the boys while they stayed at the mine, and had sold them many supplies. "we've been down to mexico for a change of air," said jerry. "i suppose it didn't agree with you, or you wouldn't be coming back so soon," went on the proprietor. "well, we thought our mine needed looking after," jerry remarked. "looking after? i should say it did," the proprietor continued. "jim nestor was here the other day and he said if you didn't come back pretty soon and do something, there wouldn't be any mine." "is that right?" asked ned, thinking the man might be trying to scare them for a joke. "straight as a string," was the answer. "it seems that the title to the place is in doubt." "i know, nestor wrote us about that," put in jerry. "but he is still in possession, isn't he?" "can't say," replied the hotel man. "he was very anxious the last time i saw him, and that was a week ago. if i was you i'd look after it the first thing in the morning." "we will," said jerry. "i wonder if the government office is closed." "long ago," said the proprietor of the inn. "why?" "i was thinking i could go there and find out what sort of claim there was against our property," answered the boy. "you'll have to wait until ten o'clock to-morrow morning," went on the man. "they've got a new official in charge and he takes more time off than he puts in. some one ought to write to the president about it. there's lots of kicks about the way he acts." neither the boys nor the professor did much sleeping that night, because of worry over the mine tangle. they made an early breakfast and then started for their claim, which they expected to reach in about two hours unless something unexpected occurs. the way was familiar to them, and recalled many old memories of the exciting times they had in locating and proving their claim. they pointed out to mr. bell the various landmarks as they passed them, but the former hermit seemed to have fallen into a sort of stupor. his eyes had a vacant stare and he took no interest in what was being said. "i'm afraid he's going to be sick," said jerry to the professor. "he has hardly spoken since we came into arizona, and he used to be quite a talker." "i guess it is only the excitement wearing off," said mr. snodgrass. "he will be all right in a day or two. he has had a pretty hard life the last few weeks." tommy was worried about his father, and sat beside him, holding his hand, now and then looking up into his face, as if he feared to lose his parent again. as they neared the mine mr. bell seemed to become more dazed. yet he appeared to be struggling to recall something that he had once known and forgotten. suddenly he stood up in the automobile, as the car passed a deserted and tumbled down hut and exclaimed: "see! there it is! there is the place!" "what place, father? what do you mean?" asked tommy. but mr. bell sat down again, and seemed to have forgotten that he had spoken. the professor could note, however, that there was a struggle going on in the old man's mind. "i hope he does not become raving mad, yet it looks bad for him," the professor thought to himself. "ten minutes more and we'll be there!" exclaimed jerry, crowding on a little more speed. "i do hope nestor is having no trouble." they were in the midst of a wild mountainous country now. on either side of the road were great bowlders, while a little further back was scrub timber which extended for a mile or more before the deeper woods were reached. they were just rounding the last turn of the road to swing into the straight stretch that would take them to the mine when there sounded on the air the crack of a rifle. an instant later mr. bell gave a convulsive start and fell over in his seat. "they've killed him! they've shot him!" cried tommy, while jerry suddenly brought the machine to a stop. glancing across to the left a small curling cloud of smoke could be seen floating above a big stone. "there's where the shot came from," said ned. "is he badly hurt?" asked jerry of professor snodgrass, who was bending over mr. bell. "it is hard to say," was the answer. "the bullet struck him on the head, but there is so much blood i can't tell how bad the wound is. push on to the mine. perhaps nestor can help us." jerry started the machine again. it had attained a good speed when, from the side of the road came a hail. "motor boys, ahoy!" "there's nestor!" cried ned, pointing to a man who stood in front of a small shanty. "hello, nestor!" he called. "hello!" responded the miner, running down to the road. "well, i am certainly glad to see you." "quick, nestor!" exclaimed mr. snodgrass. "we have a wounded man here, and must get him to the shanty at the mine as soon as possible." "we can't do it," replied nestor. "why not?" "didn't you get my letter?" "only the one saying there might be a possibility of trouble." "well trouble came all right. i've been driven from the mine, and it's in possession of a bad gang. so we can't take the wounded man there." "what are we to do?" asked jerry, seeing that mr. bell was bleeding badly. "bring him into my cabin," said nestor. "i came here after the gang drove me out. i can put you up, i guess." jerry ran the car up close to the shanty and mr. bell, who was unconscious, was carried in and laid as tenderly as possible on the single bunk of which the place boasted. "now some warm water and clean clothes," said mr. snodgrass. "i must wash the wound and see how bad it is." "i haven't a bit of hot water," said nestor. "there's plenty in the radiator of the auto," spoke jerry. "give me a pail and i'll soon get some." he soon had a plentiful supply that was almost boiling, and, cooling it somewhat, the naturalist carefully washed the blood from the wounded man's head. then he examined the hurt. "will he die?" asked tommy, as he stood around, tearfully. "not this time," replied mr. snodgrass, cheerfully. "the bullet appears to have only grazed the scalp a bit, but it probably gave him a pretty hard knock. he'll soon come around right i guess." mr. bell was made as comfortable as possible, and, as there was nothing to do but wait until he became conscious, he was left in charge of his son. tommy was told to call as soon as his father showed signs of awakening, and then the others surrounded nestor, eager to hear about the mine. "i guess it's gone," said the old prospector. "as i wrote you, the title seems to have some flaw in it, and this gang, which came from somewheres to the southeast, found it out, and served papers on me. it appears that there is a man missing who holds the key to the situation, and who owns the majority of the mine, but he can't be found, and so our title is no good." the news depressed the spirits of all. they had been hoping that the trouble was small and temporary and that nestor would find a way out. now they stood to lose the mine they had struggled so hard to get. "did you resist their claim?" asked mr. snodgrass. "you bet i did," replied nestor. "i went to court over it, but the judge said though it was morally wrong to put me out, yet the others had the law on their side, and he had to decide against me. "i didn't give up even then, for i barricaded the place and defied 'em to get me out. but the sheriff came and said that was no way to do. he had the law with him, and he said it would be his duty to shoot me if i resisted. he advised going to a higher court, and so, rather than have any bloodshed i gave up, and decided to camp out here until you came. i've been here about two weeks now." "then the mine's gone," remarked jerry, sorrowfully. "we can try the courts," said nestor, hopefully. "it would take years to settle the case," put in mr. snodgrass. "no, i guess you are beaten, boys." "i will not give up yet," said jerry. "what are you going to do?" asked ned. "i'm going to town, hire the best lawyer i can get, and see what he says. there may be a way out of this yet." "that's the way to talk!" exclaimed bob. "i'm with you." jerry lost no time. he hurried to the auto, and with bob for company made the run to town in record time. he was directed to a lawyer's office, and, finding the attorney, who was a young chap, in, paid him a retainer and stated the case briefly. "i just want to know how we stand, what sort of a claim there is against our title, and what we can do to perfect it," said jerry. "it's quite a lot of information to get at in a hurry," said the lawyer, "but i'll do my best. i'll be ready for you at four o'clock this afternoon." "i'll call for you then," went on jerry, "and take you back to nestor's shanty, where you can explain the whole thing to us." then the boys, with a feeling of dread that their mine was gone forever, in spite of all they could do, went back to where the others were. chapter xxviii all's well that ends well they found mr. bell in much the same condition as before, though mr. snodgrass said the wounded man's breathing was a little easier, which was a good sign. "and what about the mine?" asked the naturalist. jerry told him the lawyer was coming. "i'm afraid it will be of little use," said the professor. "nestor says they had a big lawyer to represent the gang, and they also have a large force in charge of the mine, taking out gold." "and it's our gold," exclaimed jerry. "oh, why didn't we get back sooner?" "it wouldn't have done much good," spoke nestor. "i did all i could, but the law was on their side." "of course, i didn't mean that you failed," jerry hastened to add, for fear of hurting the old miner's feelings. "it's too bad, that's all." after a somewhat gloomy dinner, which the professor tried to liven up by telling jokes and funny stories, jerry oiled the machine, and, about two o'clock started back to town for the lawyer. he found the attorney waiting for him, with several big law books in a valise. "any luck?" asked jerry. "not a great deal," was the answer. "well, don't tell us until we are all together," went on jerry. "i don't want to stand it all alone." when, on arrival at nestor's cabin, the lawyer proceeded to tell what he had learned, there were six very attentive listeners. the attorney went over the ground carefully, and told the boys, nestor and professor snodgrass, much that they had already heard. how, because of a missing owner who held more than a half interest in the mine, the title was not good when the boys preã�â«mpted it. in fact it was still the property of others, though about to lapse. "i don't understand all them legal terms," put in nestor, "but didn't we make a good claim to the government for that mine?" "you did, as far as it went," replied the lawyer. "uncle sam gave you a title, but did not guarantee that some one did not have a better one, which it seems is the case." "but that gang hasn't a good title either, not if the owner of over half the shares is missing," went on nestor. "no, but it seems, according to the records, that they have some sort of an agreement from this missing man that they are empowered to work the claim until he comes to demand his share." "if that's the case i'm for going up there and driving them out with a gun!" exclaimed nestor. "they haven't any more right than we have, and we can at least make them go shares with us until this missing man shows up. what's the matter with attacking them to-night." "if you're going to resort to lawless means i'll have to throw up the case," said the attorney. "that is no way to talk." "nestor doesn't mean it at all," put in jerry. "of course we will have no battle with that gang." "there are two ways we might proceed," the lawyer went on. "there may be more, but they are the only ones that suggest themselves to me from what time i was able to give to the case." "what would you advise?" asked mr. snodgrass. "you can apply to the courts for an injunction to prevent the working of the mine until the missing half-owner shows up." "but that would bar us as well as them," put in jerry. "yes, it would have that effect, if you secured the injunction, which is doubtful. it would be a long and costly litigation, i fear." "and what is the other plan?" "you might try to find the missing man, and buy him out, or make some arrangement with him. from what i can learn he and the others have quarreled and are opposed to each other." "where is the missing man?" asked bob. "that is something on which i can not be of the least help to you," was the reply. "there is nothing to show where he is." "then it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack to search for him, and as long and costly as the injunction means," commented mr. snodgrass. "i'm afraid it would," was the lawyer's answer. "what is the man's name?" asked jerry. "i have it here," proceeded the attorney. "it is mr. well, no, that's not it. oh yes! here it is. bell, that's it. mr. jackson bell." "what?" fairly shouted the three boys at once. "what name?" inquired the professor, wondering if he had heard aright. "jackson bell," repeated the lawyer. "why, do you know him?" "know him?" went on jerry, jumping up in his excitement. "why he is in the next room this very minute! well of all the strange pieces of luck!" then they all tried to tell the lawyer at once the story of the hermit and his son, making such a jumble that the attorney had to beg them to stop, while he listened to one at a time. finally the tale was related, and the boys and the professor as well, greatly excited, paused to see what the lawyer would say. "then i don't see any further trouble to your getting possession of the mine," said the attorney. "if mr. bell is on your side, and you make a joint application to the court or even to the government agent, i am sure you will be given instant charge of the claim." "there is only one difficulty," said mr. snodgrass. "mr. bell is wounded. his mind was not strong before the shooting, and it may be altogether gone when he recovers consciousness. in that case--?" "in that case i'm afraid you are as badly off as before," finished the lawyer. the door to the inner room, where mr. bell was in the bunk, opened, and tommy came out, looking worried. "is he worse, tommy?" asked the professor. "he's acting very queer," replied the boy. "he is sitting up in bed, and is trying to get something out from under his shirt. he's talking something about a mine." "he is probably delirious," said mr. snodgrass. "we must have a doctor. i'm afraid it looks bad for us, boys." at that instant the form of mr. bell, weak and tottering, showed in the doorway. he seemed greatly excited. "there you are!" he cried tearing open his shirt and throwing a bundle, done up in oiled silk on the table. "there are the papers. there are the proofs to the mine. the gang did not get them after all!" "calm yourself," spoke mr. snodgrass, in a soothing tone that one uses to sick children or fever patients. "i'm all right!" exclaimed mr. bell. "don't think i'm crazy. i was a little off my head, but the wound the bullet gave me, and the blood i lost, accomplished just what was needed. there, i tell you, are the papers proving my claim to the mine." "what mine?" asked the professor, while the others waited in anxiety for the answer. "the mine we were going to," responded the old man. "from the description you boys gave of it i recognize it as the same one i have more than a half share in. all the way up here i was trying to recall when i had been here before. i recognized the places, but my mind would not serve me. i had suffered so much that i was almost crazy. then came the shot, and i did not know anything more, until i just woke up in that room, and remembered all about it. now we will beat that gang." "hurrah!" cried jerry, seizing ned by the arms and starting to dance a hornpipe. "are you sure you can not be mistaken about the mine?" asked mr. snodgrass, for it seemed hardly possible that the old hermit, whom they had rescued, should turn out to be the much-wanted missing owner. "there are the papers, you can see for yourself," replied mr. bell. the lawyer, at a sign from the professor, made a careful examination of the documents. "they seem to be all right," he said. "i have no doubt but that you can fully establish your claim, mr. bell." "it isn't my claim, sir." "why i thought you said--" "everything i have or own is the property of these noble boys and professor snodgrass," went on the former hermit. "they saved my life, and that of my son's. if i gave them a hundred mines i could not repay them." "but we do not want your share," said mr. snodgrass. "it don't make any difference what you want, you've got to take it," said mr. bell, firmly. "we can settle that part later," put in the lawyer. "the thing to do now is to get possession of the mine. if you wish i will act for you." "of course we want you to," said jerry. "very well. i will take these papers, and go to court with them. if i am successful, as i have no doubt i shall be, i will apply to the sheriff to oust the crowd that is in charge of the mine. then you and mr. bell can take possession." "that's the way to talk!" fairly yelled nestor, who was anxious to get back to the "diggings." the lawyer was hurried back to town in the auto. nothing could be done that afternoon, as the court was closed. he promised to be on hand early in the morning. the boys could hardly sleep that night. mr. bell seemed to have fully recovered, and, beyond a slight pain where the bullet had hit him, he did not suffer. it was late when they went to bed, and somewhat late when they arose. "i'm going into town and see what's doing," said jerry after breakfast. "so am i," cried ned and bob. "better not," went on jerry. "if i have to bring back the lawyer, and the sheriff and some of his deputies to read the riot act to the gang, i'll need all the room there is." so jerry went off alone in the car. he did not find the lawyer in, but the attorney's clerk said he was at court. "i'll wait until he comes back," said jerry, and he sat down in the office. two hours later, the lawyer came in. "what luck?" asked jerry. "the very best. i have a peremptory order commanding that crowd to turn the mine over to your party and mr. bell. come on, we'll get the sheriff and finish the thing right up." the sheriff was only too glad of a chance for some activity. he and three deputies, well armed, got into the car, and jerry started off. to the boy the machine never seemed to move so slowly, but several times one of the deputies threatened to jump out if the auto did not slacken up a bit. arriving at the cabin, nestor, the two boys, and professor snodgrass were found anxiously waiting. "now for the mine!" cried jerry, as he rapidly explained the success of the mission. "wait till i get my gun," said nestor. "no shooting unless we have to," warned the sheriff. then they advanced on the mine. an eighth of a mile away they were halted by a guard. but an order from the sheriff, and a sight of the command from the court, made the guard give in, and he was sent back to the cabin, in custody of one of the deputies. then, without any warning, the party descended on the others of the gang, who were all gathered in the main cabin at dinner. at first it looked as if there was going to be trouble. several made an attempt to get their guns, but nestor, the sheriff, and his man, had covered them, and they saw that the game was up. "i'll read you this court order," said the sheriff. "you needn't bother," spoke the leader, whom the boys recognized as one of the men who had held tommy a captive. others in the gang were recognizable as men who had tried to capture mr. bell at lost lake. "we played a bold game, but we lost," said the leader, as he and his companions, gathering up their baggage, left the cabin, and made their way toward town. they did not go there, however,--since they feared further proceedings,--and were never heard of again. "hurrah, now we have our mine back again!" cried jerry. "i wonder if it is paying?" "better than ever, by the looks of this stuff," answered jim nestor, picking up some newly-mined ore that lay on ground. "no wonder that crowd wanted to keep possession of the mine." there followed a general jollification. the boys got up a fine dinner, at which the sheriff, his men, and the lawyer were guests. an arrangement was made whereby mr. bell should retain a large interest in the mine, while the other share was divided between our friends as before. the lawyer received a generous fee, and the sheriff and his men were not forgotten. "well," said jerry, a week later, "we came out all right, didn't we? i presume our adventures are all over now." "don't be too sure," put in bob. "something else may turn up soon." and bob was right, as we shall learn in another volume, to be called, "the motor boys afloat; or, the stirring cruise of the _dartaway_," a tale of land and sea. the days to follow were busy ones for jim nestor and the boys. the mine was started up in better shape than ever before, new machinery put in, and extra workmen engaged. letters were sent to the boys' folks, telling of all that had happened. "i want to say one thing," said jerry, one day. "and that is, that it feels mighty good to be back in the united states again." "exactly what i say," returned ned. "right you are," came from chunky. he rubbed his hands together. "and as we are back, and all is well, why--er--let us have some dinner." and then, with a merry laugh at the lad who never wanted to miss a meal, the others followed chunky to the table; and here as they sit down to a well-earned repast, we will take our departure. the end. _the motor boys series_ (_trade mark, reg. u. s. pat. of._) _by clarence young_ =cloth. 12mo. illustrated. price per volume, 60 cents, postpaid= [illustration] the motor boys _or, chums through thick and thin_ in this volume is related how the three boys got together and planned to obtain a touring car and make a trip lasting through the summer. the motor boys overland _or, a long trip for fun and fortune_ with the money won at the great motorcycle race the three boys purchase their touring car and commence their travels. the motor boys in mexico _or, the secret of the buried city_ from our own country the scene is shifted to mexico, where the motor boys journey in quest of a city said to have been buried centuries ago by an earthquake. the motor boys across the plains _or, the hermit of lost lake_ unraveling the mystery surrounding an old hermit and a poor boy. the motor boys afloat _or, the stirring cruise of the dartaway_ in this volume the boys take to a motorboat, and have many adventures. the motor boys on the atlantic _or, the mystery of the lighthouse_ how the lads foiled the bad men who wanted to wreck a steamer by means of false lights is dramatically related. the motor boys in strange waters _or, lost in a floating forest_ telling of many adventures in the mysterious everglades of florida. the motor boys on the pacific _or, the young derelict hunters_ the derelict was of great value, and the hunt for it proved full of perils. the motor boys in the clouds _or, a trip for fame and fortune_ the boys fall in with an inventor and invest in a flying machine. after a number of stirring adventures in the clouds they enter a big race. cupples & leon co., publishers, new york * * * * * * transcriber's note: --punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. --archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. --variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. nd compound words have been preserved. the young california gional ility hermit al women oliver optic 866830 fuller frorn dorothy 415. 322 ba22 the book of fuller, d. baird. 1.204 baynes st. ferguson kennedy. phil hauled himself to the hebe by the rope..-page 146. the young hermit of lake minnetonka by oliver optic author of "boat club series," "woodville stories," "lake shore series," "army and navy stories," etc. illustrated by j. w. ferguson kennedy 1850 1904 kno wl edge no more shall be foun tain clos 1861 boston: lothrop, lee & shepard co. copyright, 1888 by frank a. munsey the young hermit chapter stack annex 5125320 contents i. the nephew of his uncle ii. a difference in the count iii. one thousand dollars missing . iv. the search v. the ex-detective vi. vii. viii. revealed at midnight ix. a terrible blow x. the investigation xi. the burglar alarm xii. lake minnetonka xiii. the approaching storm xiv. a disaster on the lake a family quarrel a divided house · • xv. the hermit of minnetonka xvi. captain lubbock xvii. the meeting at the hotel xviii. the history of conny xix. the letters on the arm xx. shouts for assistance xxi. a girl in peril xxii. an exciting chase. · • • · page 5 29 4≈ 8 ± 85 ♡ ✪ ☀ ≈ 8* 12 19 25 32 38 44 50 57 63 69 76 82 89 95 101 107 113 120 127 134 140 ii contents chapter xxiii. mr. arnold blonday xxiv. the excited passenger xxv. a pressing invitation xxvi. unwelcome visitors. xxvii. the visitors in the shanty xxviii. gay and his friend xxix. almost a quarrel xxx. the traveling bag xxxi. for his benefactor xxxii. a flank movement xxxiii. the "hebe" makes a trip xxxiv. a midnight summons xxxv. the ex-detective talks . xxxvi. captain greenway's idea xxxvii. mr. cavan's plan xxxviii. the gentleman from chicago xxxix. cavan's plan • xl. the happy pair xli. the stranger at the bank xlii. the new pilot of the "hebe" xliii. the letter. xliv. what mr. cavan did xlv. utterly confounded xlvi. a dark transaction xlvii. the last of the hermit · · · page 146 153 159 165 172 178 184 190 197 203 210 217 223 230 237 244 251 257 264 271 277 284 291 298 304 illustrations phil hauled himself to the hebe by the rope (page 146). "paul gayland!" gasped the capitalist captain greenway put the helm hard over "on shore!" replied bashy. boat!".. • · 66 frontispiece facing page 56 · bring off that 90 262 the young hermit. chapter i. the nephew of his uncle. "if you had any grit at all, you would not stay here another day," said sparks gayland, a young man, of eighteen, as he walked up and down the elegant parlor in which the other was seated. "where do you think i ought to go?" asked paul gayland, a very good-looking boy of fourteen, putting down the pioneer press he had been trying to read. "wherever you wish to go. you are not wanted here," retorted sparks, with a heavy tinge of bitterness in his tones. "you mean that i am in your way, and you don't want me here," suggested paul, with more of sadness than of anger in his whole manner. "i am not the only one that don't want you here," replied sparks, halting in his walk before the boy. "your aunt, mrs. gayland, does not want me here any more than you do, i am well aware," continued paul, looking very gloomy. his words seemed to come from a young heart in which sorrow had already taken up its abode. 6. the young hermit "then why don't you take yourself out of the way?" demanded sparks, in taunting tones. "mrs. gayland and yourself are not the only persons in the family," answered the boy, in a very mild tone, though he seemed to have some confidence in the argument he offered. "that's where the meanness on your part comes in!" exclaimed sparks, quite savagely, as he stalked away from his companion. "i don't exactly understand where the meanness comes in. mr. gayland does not wish me to leave the house, though i have spoken to him several times about the matter," quietly responded paul, as he looked at his tormentor, for such the other speaker had certainly become. "mr. gayland is an old fool!" exclaimed sparks. paul gayland sprang to his feet, dropping the newspaper on the floor. there was a decided snap in his eyes as he fixed his earnest gaze on his angry companion. he was evidently about to return a sharp answer to the young man; but he restrained his rising. choler, and, picking up his paper, seated himself again. the cloud had passed away from his brow. "i do not think your uncle is an old fool," he said, in his usual mild manner. "of course i did not mean to say that offensively," added sparks, suddenly changing his tone and manner, as he walked up to his companion, and looked him full in the face with an expression of anxiety. "i don't see how you can call mr. gayland an old the nephew of his uncle 7 fool without saying it offensively," replied paul, with a sad smile on his handsome countenance. "you know that i have the highest respect and regard for my uncle," pleaded sparks, who was no doubt very sorry for the hasty remark he had incautiously dropped in his anger. paul opened his eyes till his eyebrows were elevated and his forehead wrinkled, while his lips curled just enough to betray his incredulity. "perhaps you have," he added, in an indifferent tone. "you know i both respect and love him, paul!" "i don't dispute it; that is a matter to be settled with your own conscience, and it does not concern. me." "but you did dispute it," replied sparks, warming up again. "i think not." i "what do you mean by putting a 'perhaps' in when say i both love and respect my uncle?" demanded sparks. "just now you called your uncle an old fool, which may be loving and respectful, but i don't see it in that light," replied paul, shrugging his shoulders as though he had just come from paris. sparks bit his lip till it ought to have bled, for he was painfully conscious that his impetuosity had led him into a serious blunder. "i did not mean that," he said, subdued for the moment. 8 the young hermit "i can't tell what you mean except from what you say, sparks." "but those hasty words might ruin me," suggested the nephew of mr. gayland. "i don't think they would, for your uncle is a just man, and does not condemn a young fellow for a hasty remark." "if he knew i said that-______"9 "he shall not know it from me," interposed paul, only loud enough to break the sentence of his companion. "do you mean that you will not tell him what i said, paul?" asked the other, his expression brightening up as though the offensive remark had been fully atoned for. "that is what i mean; and i will not tell him what you said," replied paul, so quietly that the impetuous young man hardly believed what he said. "honor bright, you will not report what i said to him?" "i will not." "your hand on that, paul," continued sparks, extending his own. "i make it a point to keep my promises," said the boy, as he took the proffered hand. "i know you do, and i will trust you." "thank you." "of course i don't believe that my uncle is an old fool. i only mean to say that he has taken an unacthe nephew of his uncle 9 countable liking to you, while he is rather cold and stiff with me," sparks explained. "in a word, sparks, your uncle, who is said to be worth six hundred thousand dollars, has taken a fancy to me, and may mention me in his will for a few thousands, just enough to keep me from coming to poverty and want," continued paul lightly, as though the whole subject were a matter of indifference with him. "a few thousands!" exclaimed sparks. "that is what i said; and you seem to object to it." "i do not object to a few thousands." "does your aunt object to it?" asked paul. "neither of us would object to anything of that sort; but my uncle is more likely to rob his wife and me for the sake of making you a rich man when you are of age, if he should die within the next seven years, as i sincerely hope he will not." "rob your aunt and you!" exclaimed paul, with a slight spark of indignation in his tones. "i wish i could be as cool as you are, paul," added sparks, feeling that he had again overstepped the bounds of discretion. "of course i did not mean that he would rob us." "but that is what you said without stopping to think. you believe that your uncle's property belongs to your aunt and yourself." "she is his wife, and i am his nephew, the only near relation he has in the world." 10 the young hermit "that hardly answers my question. mr. gayland has your permission and that of his wife to give me a few thousands, say three or five, but all the rest belongs to you and her. that is the idea, is it not?" said paul, apparently not much interested in what he said. "of course i don't put it in that way," replied sparks impatiently. "i had an idea that your uncle had a perfect right to do as he thought best with his own property." "to be sure he has; but do you think it right that a young fellow, not in any way related to him, should step in and take the bulk of his property?" demanded sparks indignantly. "i should say that a young fellow had no right to do anything of the kind, or to meddle with the matter in any way, whether he be a young fellow of eighteen, which is your age, or fourteen, which is my age." "but i am his nephew, his next of kin, and his only near relative," protested sparks. "the law would give half or two-thirds of his property to me if"if your uncle did not give it to somebody else, which he has an undoubted right to do." "perhaps he has; but it isn't justice," growled sparks. "you have stepped in to cut me off, or at least to cut me down. and who are you, paul?" "i haven't the least idea," replied the boy, shrugging his shoulders as though it were a matter of little consequence. "for aught i know, i am the son of mr. ward gayland, your uncle." the nephew of his uncle ii "his son!" exclaimed sparks, aghast at the very idea. "i did not say i was his son; i don't know anything about it," returned paul. he rose from his chair and shoved up the coat sleeve of one arm. 12 the young hermit chapter ii. a difference in the count. "what are you about, paul? do you want to get up a fight with me?" demanded sparks, stepping back and looking with wonder at his young companion. "not at all," replied paul, as he rolled up the shirt sleeve on his right arm. "do you see that?" "what? i don't see anything," answered the other, retaining his position at some distance from paul, as though he feared a sudden blow. "you couldn't see it any better if you should go out of doors; and you would need a spyglass to see it where you are," continued paul, as he walked toward his associate. "see what? what are you talking about, paul?” asked sparks, keeping his gaze fastened on the other to be ready for a sudden surprise. "can you see this mark on my arm?" asked paul, as he pointed to what looked like a spot halfway between the wrist and the elbow. sparks was reassured, and he ventured to look at the mark. "it consists of two letters," he added, looking at his companion for an explanation. "you are right; there are two letters on my arm." "p. g.," added sparks, as he bent over the bare arm, a difference in the count 13 and read the letters. "what does p. g. stand for?" demanded the nephew of his uncle, apparently as much distressed as he was surprised. "the letters don't stand for george washington, do they?" inquired paul, with a significant smile. "certainly not; but what do they stand for?” asked the other as though his curiosity was very much excited. "i don't know any better than you do; but i am generally known as paul gayland, and it is barely possible that the letters stand for that name, though it does not seem to occur to you that they mean that.” "but how came those letters on your arm?" demanded sparks, beginning to be a little excited. "give it up!" "don't you know how they came there?" "i haven't the least idea. when i first made the acquaintance of paul gayland those letters were on his arm. that is all i know about it," replied paul, as he shrugged his shoulders from the force of habit, and proceeded to pull down his sleeve. "you don't know? that is very strange," added the puzzled and discomfited nephew. "but as true as it is strange." "does my uncle know that those letters are there?" "i don't know whether he does or not; he never spoke to me about them so far as i can remember." "that is very strange," mused the expectant heir. "for aught i know, he may have put them there himself; and for aught i know, i may be his son." 14 the young hermit "impossible." "perhaps it is impossible; i don't know,” replied paul, again assuming his indifference of tone and manner. "you know the circumstances under which my uncle took you into his keeping at first, and has cared for you ever since," added sparks. "of course i know the story which is told to explain how i happen to be a member of this family, where it appears now that i am not wanted." "the story! then you don't believe it is true, but only a story?" "i don't know whether it is true or not-how should i? i only know that i did not bring myself to him, and that i had nothing at all to do with his adopting me." "you were not more than six or seven years old, and, of course, you had nothing to do with it; but i have no doubt at all of the truth of the story." "i don't deny or dispute it," said paul, with something very like a yawn, as though the whole matter was a bore to him. "my uncle had just married his young wife, and then went to nice in france to spend the winter, for she could not stand the cold of st. paul. while they were there, boarding at the hotel, they saw you in the care of a man who did not treat you very well. my uncle's sympathy was excited, and he spoke to the man, who told him the child was an orphan, and he was going to put you in an asylum of some sort." a difference in the count 15 "that's the story; i have heard it a dozen times before, for your aunt likes to tell it to her callers," interposed paul. "you were said to be a very pretty child, and my uncle and aunt felt a strong interest in you, the result of which was they took you from the man, and you have been a member of the family ever since, except for the year when you ran away.' 99 "it is a great pity that i ever came back, as i should not have done if i had had my own way," suggested paul. "now, in the face of this story, which is vouched for by my aunt, who was in nice at the time, what do you mean by hinting that you are the son of my uncle?" asked sparks, who was even more disturbed than he appeared to be. "i don't say that i am mr. gayland's son, for i don't know anything at all about it, though the initials on my arm are rather suggestive.” "why don't you ask my uncle about those initials?" "i don't care anything about them." "don't you wish to know whether or not you are my uncle's son?” "no." "you don't?" demanded sparks, amazed at the stoicism of his companion. "why should i wish to know? if it were proved that i was his son, it would cut you off from any share in your uncle's wealth." 16 the young hermit "you would not cry about that," sneered the nephew. "i should weep my eyes out." "you are the strangest fellow on the face of the footstool!" exclaimed sparks, beginning to pace the apartment again. at this moment the door opened as though it had been burst in by a strong arm, and an old gentleman dashed into the room with a great bundle of bank bills in his hand. all this conversation had taken place in the sitting room of an elegant mansion on the hill, in st. paul. the elderly gentleman, overloaded with bank notes, was mr. ward gayland, a capitalist, though not a very venturesome operator for the driving locality in which he resided. mr. gayland rushed to the table in the middle of the room, and tossed the pile of bills upon it as though he had no great respect for the wealth it represented. "here, sparks, count this money. i have been over it nineteen times, and i can't make it twice running alike," said the capitalist, very much flurried about something he did not explain. as he spoke, he darted into his library, in the rear of the parlor, as though he had something on his mind, and paul, not caring to meet the uncle and nephew together at this time, hastened out of the apartment and went to his chamber on the next floor. sparks seated himself at the table, and proceeded to straighten out the pile of bank notes, which the old a difference in the count 17 gentleman had crumpled up in his hands. he smoothed them out carefully, and laid them evenly before him on the table; and it was evident that he was more methodical than his uncle. thus arranged, the pile was not a large one, and the young man went through the count in a very short time. "eleven thousand," said he to himself, and then he counted again. "eleven thousand," he repeated, when he had gone through the pile a second time. though he appeared to have no doubt in regard to the amount, he laid off each bill by itself, and counted it again; and as all the bills were of the denomination of one thousand or five hundred, it took him but a couple of minutes, though he stripped each one to assure himself that it was not double. "eleven thousand," he repeated. "i cannot make any more or any less of it. but that is an odd amount, and i will bet money uncle ward intended to make up the sum of ten thousand, for that is the biggest amount he will ever venture in one investment." then sparks bent over the table and the bank notes, and appeared to be doing some heavy thinking. "how much do you make of it, sparks?" demanded mr. gayland, rushing back into the parlor from the library with a paper in his hand. "that note for ten thousand, given by valderwin, which is almost the only one i ever backed with my name in all my life, will not be paid, and the payor has just notified me that he cannot take care of it," he continued, without waiting for an answer to his question. 18 the young hermit "but valderwin is good, uncle," suggested the nephew, as he laid the pile of bills in front of the capitalist, who had rushed up to the table where he was seated. "i have no doubt of that; but he is always confounded short of funds," added mr. gayland. "i have no doubt if i told him i would not pay the note till it was protested he would raise the money. how much did you say there was in that pile?” "ten thousand, uncle ward," replied sparks, looking down at the table as though he was reading a memorandum of the amount. "that is just what i made of it half the time, and eleven the other half," said the rich man. "have you been over it carefully, sparks?" "very carefully, sir; but i will go over it again if you wish," answered the nephew. "no; i will try it again myself. i drew checks from three banks, and put a couple of thousand i had in the safe with it; but i was a good deal disturbed by valderwin's letter, and my hand was not steady. you must be right." the capitalist proceeded to count the money. one thousand dollars missing 19 chapter iii. one thousand dollars missing. sparks gayland watched his uncle with the deepest interest as he counted the money in a rather clumsy manner, though he was evidently much cooler than when he had performed the task before. he went through the pile three times, and he was satisfied there was now no mistake, for he had not been able to get the amount twice alike before while he was disturbed by the payor's failure to take care of his note. "ten thousand!" he exclaimed, in a loud tone. "there is no mistake about it now. take it over to valderwin's office, but don't give up the money till he signs this note." he handed the money and the unsigned note to his nephew, who left the house with it. mr. gayland wrinkled up his brow as soon as his nephew had departed, and seemed to be cudgeling his brain about something, for he soon rushed into the library again, and began to figure on a piece of paper at his desk. then he took out three check books, and looked carefully at the last stub in each of them, noting the amount on it on the paper. then he put down another sum and added the amounts. 20 the young hermit "eleven thousand beyond the possibility of a doubt!" exclaimed he, rising from his chair, with the paper in his hand. "what was i thinking about when i took two thousand dollars out of the safe? i needed but one thousand.” the conundrum he asked himself seemed to bother him, though he did not appear to be willing to "give it up." he seated himself at the desk, going over his figures again; but the result was the same as before. "did i take two thousand from the safe?" he asked himself, as he rose nervously from his chair. "i ought not to be so forgetful, or to make such blunders in simple addition, for i am only sixty years old, and was never in better health in my life." then he rushed to a door which appeared to lead into a small closet, which he opened, and the iron door of the safe was to be seen, where he kept his important papers, bonds, and other valuables. "three times three are nine, and two are eleven," said he, as he proceeded to open the safe with a key he took from his pocket. "no mistake about that. i drew three checks of three thousand each, as the stubs show. now the question is whether i took one or two thousand from the safe. i had just thirty-two hundred on hand, with three thousand of which i was to buy a mortgage this afternoon. there ought to be twenty-two hundred left in the safe, and i must give a check for a thousand. that is all straight enough." he took a small drawer from the safe, and went to the table in the middle of the library, where he counted one thousand dollars missing 21 the money in it as many as five times before he was satisfied. "only twelve hundred left in the safe; and that makes it plain that i took out two thousand, as i supposed i did; still i could make only ten thousand out of the pile," muttered the capitalist, with a heavy knot of wrinkles on his brow. "i don't understand it." then he rubbed his head to stimulate his ideas, and paced the library, recalling all the events that had occurred in the last hour. "i made the money eleven thousand several times. two of the bills must have stuck together when i made it only ten," he mused, talking out loud in his interest in the subject before him. "but then sparks made it only ten thousand every time." then he piled up the wrinkles deeper and heavier than before, dropping into an armchair, where he gave himself up to thoughts to which he did not give expression, though he was somewhat in the habit of talking to himself when he was mentally exercised. he sat in this attitude of deep thought as much as twenty minutes, when he was disturbed by the entrance of sparks, who had executed his commission and who placed the note, now signed, before his uncle, who bestowed no more than a glance on it. "sparks, are you sure there was only ten thousand in that pile of bills i asked you to count?" asked mr. gayland, fixing a searching look on his nephew. "that is what i made of it," replied the nephew. "did you see valderwin in his office?" 22 the young hermit "of course i did, for he has signed the note," replied sparks, pointing to the paper on the table, though his speech was just a little shaky. "did he count the money you carried to him?" "he did, twice over." "did he say it was right?" "he didn't say anything about it." "he would have said something if it had not been right," added mr. gayland, fixing a stern gaze on the young man, who stood on the other side of the table from him. "but it must have been right, for i made it ten thousand myself before i sent you off with it." "i am sure i did not make any mistake, sir; and i am equally sure you did not, for your count agreed with mine," continued sparks. "why do you ask these questions, uncle ward?" "because i am a thousand dollars out, and i am as sure as i can be there was eleven thousand dollars in that pile when i handed it to you, sparks." the young man turned slightly pale. "do you think i took a thousand dollars of the money, uncle?" he asked, his voice becoming more shaky than before. "who else could have taken it?" demanded the capitalist sharply. "you were alone in the parlor when i brought the money in?" "no, sir; i was not alone. paul was in the room, and did not leave it till after you went into the library," replied sparks, rather warmly, as though it was necessary to defend himself. one thousand dollars missing 23 "paul did not touch the money." "i don't say that he did; i don't know anything about it. i did not know you had missed a thousand dollars till you told me of it." "where was paul when i threw the money on the table in the sitting room?" asked mr. gayland, more moderately than he had spoken before. "he was sitting at the table, while i was walking up and down the room," replied sparks, truthfully reporting the situation of both. "i am sure that i had eleven thousand dollars in that pile, and i made it so by count several times, though sometimes i could make but ten of it. while you were out i have looked the matter over, and i am sure there was eleven thousand dollars," and the capitalist explained the process by which he had arrived at this conclusion. "of course you are correct, for you have proved that there must have been eleven thousand, unless you dropped one of the bills on the floor." mr. gayland caught at this suggestion, and the floor of the sitting room and library was carefully examined by both of them; but without finding the missing bill. then the nephew suggested that his uncle had come in from the hall carrying the money, and he admitted that he had been into the dining room for a glass of water with the bills in his hand. the dining room and the hall were as carefully searched as the other rooms had been; but not a bank bill was to be found there or in any other place. the 24 the young hermit servants were questioned, but not one of them had been into the dining room within the last hour, and the capitalist returned to the sitting room. "i did not drop one of the bills on the floor; if i had we should have found it," said he, looking sparks full in the eye, though the young man had now recovered his self-possession, and stood the gaze without flinching. in fact, sparks had become quite cheerful, as though he realized that the thousand dollars, if lost, did not come out of his pocket. "i am afraid you have been gambling again, sparks," said mr. gayland, knitting his brow as savagely as it was possible for a mild man like himself to do it. "no, sir, i have not; i never gambled but once in all my life, and then i lost only two dollars," replied the nephew promptly. mr. gayland looked as though he had some doubts on this point, though he did not express any. "the money must have been taken from the pile after i put it on the table," continued the capitalist. "there were only two of you in the room, and one of you must have taken it. this is not the first time i have missed money, and i am going to the bottom of the matter this time. call paul." sparks left the room to obey the order. the search 25 chapter iv. the search. sparks had heard paul go up the front staircase, and he went to his chamber, where he found him. "mr. gayland wishes to see you, paul," said he, as he entered the room and walked over to the window. "where shall i find him?" asked the occupant of the room. "in the sitting room," replied the nephew, as he thrust his fingers into his vest pocket. though he appeared to be looking out the window, sparks had one eye on paul, and as soon as the latter had passed out of the room, he pulled out one of the drawers of the bureau, and hastily dropped something he took from his vest pocket into it. doubtless it was fortunate for him, or, at least, for the cause of honesty in general, that his uncle did not see him when he did this act. it might have been the missing thousand dollars that he dropped into the bureau drawer, or it might not have been; but whatever he deposited in the drawer, he did it with a good deal of haste and nervousness, for he certainly was not a skilled rogue yet, though he may have had the capacity to become one in time. when he had closed the drawer, he rushed out of the room and hastened to the stairs, overtaking paul 26 the young hermit before he had reached the hall below. both of the young men entered the sitting room together, though the nephew, probably for reasons of his own, got in ahead of his companion. mr. gayland had settled down in one of the easychairs, and looked as though he felt qualified to sit in judgment on the one who had appropriated a thousand dollars of his money. he stated the case before him at considerable length, giving the evidence which satisfied him that the money must have been taken by one of the young men before him. "you see that i cannot be mistaken, for the money was taken within an hour, and no one but ourselves has been in the house," he continued, looking very sternly from one to the other of the culprits. paul looked very good-natured, and did not seem to be at all disturbed by the charge which included himself in the probabilities; and sparks had had plenty of time to school himself to the situation, if he needed any schooling. "well, mr. gayland, what is to be done about it?" asked paul, so cheerfully that the capitalist was impressed with his manner. "i am ready to submit to anything you think proper; and i suppose you wish to search us both. i do not object." "that would be the proper way to proceed, no doubt; but i have no skill in such matters, and i think i need some assistance," added mr. gayland, as he went to the wall of the room and pressed the knob of an electric bell. the search 27 "but i don't exactly like the idea of having this affair known all over the city," suggested sparks. “of course, i have no fears of the result." "if either of you has taken this money, i shall not take any pains to conceal the fact from the public,” replied the rich man, putting on a sternness he seldom exhibited. "the pioneer press and the globe shall be welcome to all the facts." "send for the constables and the reporters, sir," said paul, with one of his most decided shrugs of the shoulder. he appeared to be as indifferent about the proceedings as though he was not under suspicion. "go over to mr. cavan, the real-estate agent, and ask him if he will be kind enough to give me a few minutes of his time," continued mr. gayland, when prince, the colored manservant, presented himself at the door of the sitting room. the man bowed and retired without a word, while both of the young men wondered what the real-estate agent could have to do with the matter, or why he, rather than any other person, had been sent for; and the man of wealth did not consider it incumbent on him to enlighten them. cavan had formerly been a detective in the highest repute in new york; in fact, his talent was sufficient to justify him in seeking a wider field of operations than his profession, and he had made a success as a realestate and loan agent. the capitalist had found him honest and square, and had joined him in a number of undertakings re28 the young hermit quiring more capital than cavan could command, so that very intimate and friendly relations subsisted between them. neither of the young men asked any questions about the person sent for, and while paul was supremely indifferent to the proceedings, possibly sparks comforted himself with the assurance that the matter was not to be committed to the officers of the law. "mr. cavan will be over in a few minutes, sir," said the servant, again appearing at the door. in spite of himself sparks was rather uneasy, and walked about the room while they were waiting, as though he was even more nervous than usual, while paul hardly moved a hair in his seat. mr. cavan was announced before any of the party had time to become very impatient. he was a man between forty-five and fifty, with an eye which might well have been a terror to evildoers, for he seemed to have the power to look a rogue out of countenance at a glance. "what can i do for you to-day?" asked the realestate agent, after the usual salutations. "perhaps you can do a good deal for me, though what i have to ask is not in the usual way of business," replied the rich man, with a seriousness which could not fail to impress his visitor. "any service that i can render to mr. gayland will be most cheerfully given, whether it relates to business or pleasure, and whether there are any commisthe search 29 sions or not," replied mr. cavan, glancing at the two young men in the room. "it is rather an unpleasant affair, in fact, decidedly unpleasant, and for the reason that i do not feel competent to deal with it, i have taken the liberty to ask for your assistance, knowing that you are skilled in such matters as that i have in hand." "i shall be very glad to assist you in any possible manner," said the visitor, with a polite bow, as he took a chair in front of his host. "thank you; you are very kind; and i will tell you the whole story," continued the capitalist, as he proceeded to relate the particulars of his loss, as they have been fully presented. "and you suspect one of these young gentlemen?" inquired the real-estate agent, after he had listened without a word to the entire narrative. "i more than suspect them, for i am absolutely sure that one of them must have taken the money," replied mr. gayland, looking as severe as though he was not one of the most kind-hearted men in the world. "if one of them did not take the money, perhaps you can suggest what has become of it." the ex-detective asked a number of questions which were answered by mr. gayland or the boys, and he observed the latter very critically as he examined them in his very gentle way, for he put on no bluster, and was not at all demonstrative in his manner. "the proper thing to do first is to search the young gentlemen, if they do not object, for, of course, they 30 the young hermit are as anxious to have the truth come out as you can be, sir," the agent proceeded, when he had taken in all the facts. "that is rather humiliating," said sparks, throwing back his head as though it would be compromising his dignity to submit to such a step. "i don't object, and you may begin with me," interposed paul, walking up to the examiner, and throwing up his arms to afford perfect facility for the search. mr. cavan went through all the pockets of the boy; and, not satisfied with this, he looked into his stockings, and overhauled every part of his dress. "all the bills were new and crisp, you said, mr. gayland," continued the ex-detective when he had completed the search. "they were; but whether the money taken was in one or two bills, i do not know," answered the rich man. "it makes no difference; but i am satisfied that the money is not on the person of this young man,” added mr. cavan, pointing to paul. "but he was up in his room for some time after the money was brought in," suggested sparks, who thought the examiner was blundering. "thank you, mr. gayland," added cavan, bowing to the nephew, though there was a bit of sarcasm in his tone and manner. "we will search his chamber before we proceed in any other direction." the examiner walked to the door, asking paul to go the search 31 with him; and as soon as he was in the hall, he beckoned to the capitalist, who joined him at once. "keep your two eyes on the other one every moment of the time," he whispered to mr. gayland; and then went upstairs followed by the boy. paul's chamber was searched in the most thorough manner without finding anything that looked like a bank note, though a piece of paper folded like one was discovered in one of the bureau drawers; but the occupant of the chamber declared that he had never seen it before. as it was not a bank note, it was thrown back into the drawer. cavan said he was satisfied, and they went down to the sitting room again, where the ill success of the search was announced. "you did not find anything?" asked sparks, greatly astonished at the declaration of the examiner, though he immediately checked himself. "not a thing. now, if you will permit me, mr. gayland, i will see what is in your pockets. of course, this is a mere formality, and we resort to it merely to establish your innocence," continued cavan. "certainly i do not object under the circumstances; but after you have examined me, i shall have something more to say," replied sparks. a new and crisp thousand-dollar bill was found in his vest pocket. 32 the young hermit chapter v. the ex-detective. "that looks a little like business," said mr. cavan, as he took the thousand-dollar bill from the vest pocket of sparks gayland. with it was a piece of paper like that which had been found in the drawer in paul's room. "i did not put that bill there!" exclaimed sparks, overwhelmed with confusion. "of course you did not put it there, mr. gayland; it jumped out of the pile of bills on the table, and wickedly and maliciously took up its resting place in your vest pocket," replied the ex-detective, in the blandest of tones. "undoubtedly it was very wrong for that bill to put itself into your pocket in that manner at this particular time." "i tell you i did not put it there!" persisted sparks violently. "i know nothing at all about it, any more than you do." "but i know all about it," suggested the agent pleasantly. "i know nothing about it. i haven't the least idea how the bill came to be in my pocket," protested the culprit. "i do know. but just now you suggested that you had something to say after you had been searched, the ex-detective 33 and this seems to be the time to say it," continued the agent. "i don't know that it will be of any use for me to say anything now," answered sparks, as though he were the innocent victim of circumstance, as he turned his gaze to paul. "perhaps it will, and then again perhaps it will not," said cavan. "you must be your own judge in regard to that." "if you have anything to say, sparks, say it; and i hope it will relieve you of the guilt which has now been fastened upon you," added his uncle. "when you threw the bills on the table, uncle ward, they scattered about, and some of them fell within reach of paul, who was sitting at the table. if i am not greatly mistaken, i saw him take one of them and put it in his pocket just as he was going out of the room," said the nephew, with a mighty effort to shake off the guilt which had been fastened upon him. "and that is the particular reason why the missing bill was found in your pocket," added cavan, with a twinkle of the eye that sparks gayland did not like. "of course i put the bill in his pocket! that is plain enough, and i ought to be hung, drawn, and quartered on the spot," said paul, with his habitual shrug of the shoulders. "one who had got far enough to take the bill from the pile on the table would not have to strain himself very hard to put it in the pocket of an innocent per34 the young hermit son when the time of trouble came," suggested sparks doggedly. "and he would not have to strain himself much harder to put the stolen bill in the bureau drawer of an innocent person," said the ex-detective, with more energy than he had before displayed, as a new idea evidently dawned upon him. "paul, will you oblige me by bringing from your room the paper we found in one of the drawers of the bureau?" he added. paul plainly did not wish to do anything to assist in overwhelming the nephew of his uncle; but after a moment's hesitation he left the room, and presently returned with the folded paper, which he handed to the examiner. cavan still held the paper he had taken from the vest pocket of sparks in his hand, and he proceeded to compare the two papers, which were of the same kind, and both of them had typewriter work upon them. "i have been practicing on a machine in the office of a friend of mine, and that is a part of my work," said sparks, as the examiner unfolded the paper taken from the pocket of the culprit. "ah! then this paper belonged to you, did it?” asked cavan. "of course it did; it was taken from my pocket." "and the one taken from the bureau drawer is exactly like it, both being on bank-note paper," continued the agent, unfolding the other paper in his hand. "both have typewriter work on them; and, of course, paul has also been practicing on the typewriter, and the ex-detective 35 has also used precisely the same kind of paper; and that a very expensive sort for mere play." "i know nothing about the other piece of paper," said sparks. "certainly you do not, for it was found in paul's room. but it was done on the same machine, for all the outs in one paper appear in the other," the agent explained, as he examined the two papers side by side. "i don't quite see what you are driving at," interposed mr. gayland; and it was plain enough that his nephew did not see the point any better, clear as it was to mr. cavan and paul. "excuse me one moment, sir, and then i will explain. when you made the discovery that you had lost the money, were both of the young men in this room?" asked cavan. "they were not," answered mr. gayland, after a little reflection. "sparks was here, and when i learned that the other boy had been here when i put the money on the table, i sent for paul, who was in his room." "that makes it all plain sailing," replied the ex-detective, with his blandest smile. "now, paul, which of you came out of your chamber first when sparks went up to call you?" “i did, and i left sparks at the window, where he was looking out; but he passed me on the stairs, and came into the sitting room first," replied paul, with something like a yawn in his manner, as though he was weary of the subject. "it is a good deal clearer than mississippi water 36 the young hermit now," said the agent, as he rose from his chair, as if to indicate that his mission was accomplished. "when sparks went up to the chamber to call paul, he lingered a moment in the room after paul left, pretending to look out of the window. as soon as his companion had passed the door, he put the thousand-dollar bill into the bureau drawer, as he supposed, and really believed he had, until the bank note was taken from his pocket. "he was more surprised then than any of the rest of us, for none of us expected that it would be found upon him. in his haste to return as soon as paul to your presence, he made the slight mistake of putting his paper with the typewriter work on it in the drawer, for it felt like the bank note. that is the whole story, mr. gayland, and i am very sorry for your nephew, for he had evidently intended to keep the thousand dollars if his caution would permit him to do so." "i understand the matter perfectly now, mr. cavan," added mr. gayland, nodding his head to emphasize what he said. "this seems to be a family affair, and i suppose there is nothing more for me to do or say," continued mr. cavan, as he moved toward the door. mr. gayland expressed his thanks in the strongest terms, and the real-estate agent departed. a profound silence followed his exit, during which the gaze of sparks was fixed on his uncle. before any one had a chance to say anything, the ex-detective 37 mrs. gayland entered the room, with her street dress on, for she had just returned from a walk. "what in the world is going on here?" she asked, as she observed the solemn face of her husband, and the hangdog look on that of sparks. in reply to this question her husband told the whole story of the missing and recovered bank bill. "sparks gayland stole the money!" she exclaimed. "i don't believe a word of it!" "it has been proved to my satisfaction,” replied mr. gayland. "you are too easily satisfied," added the lady, with a toss of her head. "sparks gayland, did you steal the money?" "of course i did not; this is a conspiracy to ruin me in the estimation of my uncle, though i cannot tell exactly how the affair has been managed by paul99 "paul? i might have known that he was at the bottom of it!" exclaimed the lady, with a sneer on her pretty face. her husband had married her for her beauty. paul gayland was seated near the table, but he did not even look at mrs. gayland; on the contrary, without saying a word, he rose from his seat and walked deliberately out of the room. he was followed by the capitalist, who picked up the bank bill as he passed the table. 38 the young hermit chapter vi. a family quarrel. "paul," called mr. gayland, as soon as he reached the door, which he did not take the trouble to close behind him. "i am sorry you have been annoyed by this business." "oh, i'm not at all annoyed," replied paul, as he returned to the place where the capitalist stood. "i am afraid sparks is more annoyed than i am.” "he has sufficient reason to be," added mr. gayland. "here is the thousand-dollar bill which has made all this trouble; take it, paul; it is yours." "mine, sir? i really don't understand you!" exclaimed paul, almost thrown off his balance by the words of his foster father. "i give you this money; is that beyond your comprehension?" asked the capitalist. "yes, sir, it is; for i really don't see why you should give me such a sum. i never expected to have so much money to the end of my life, sir," replied paul, looking at the big bill, and perhaps thinking what he might do with it if it was really his. "i have always looked upon you as a prudent and careful boy; and if you like you may salt this money down, and then you will have so much pocket money, for the savings bank will give you six per cent. a year a family quarrel 39 for the use of it. perhaps i have some other motive; if i have, no matter what it is," continued the rich man, lowering his voice as he uttered the last sentence, for he had evidently intended his wife and nephew should hear what he said, possibly as a moral lesson to the latter, and to assert his independence to the former. "what am i to do with all this money,. sir?" inquired paul, who seemed to be bewildered by the magnitude of the gift, though ordinarily nothing disturbed him. "you can do anything you like with it, though i have suggested that you should invest it so that it will pay you an annual income," replied mr. gayland. "do you mean that as an insult to your nephew?" asked his wife, coming to the door that opened into the hall. "you never did as much as that for sparks." "he never deserved it. he is a thief! i will not have him in my house any longer!" exclaimed the rich man. a philosopher would have said that he had better have married a woman more nearly of his own age, for their relations were evidently not as pleasant as they had been when paul was adopted in nice, seven or eight years before. "you are mistaken, ward, about this matter," answered mrs. gayland, changing her tone very materially, when she saw that the capitalist was in a sterner mood than she had ever seen him before. "sparks did not steal the money; he says he did not, and i believe him." 40 the young hermit "the thousand-dollar bill was found in his vest pocket, and the fact that he stole it has been proved beyond the possibility of a doubt. more and worse than stealing it, he tried to make it appear that paul was the guilty one." "you are very partial to paul," suggested the lady. "and you are very partial to sparks," retorted the husband. "the matter has been settled. sparks shall not remain in my house, and nothing but the memory of his dead father prevents me from handing him over to the police." "but i am sure you are mistaken, ward," pleaded the lady. "that is easy to say, after i have taken the trouble to go over the whole matter with the most skillful detective in the country," replied the capitalist, frowning terribly, and betraying no little anger in his tones for him. "cavan doesn't know any more about it than i do," said mrs. gayland, with a sneer. "i said the matter was settled; and nothing more need be said about it," replied mr. gayland, as he moved toward the hall entrance of the library. "it is not settled, and i have something to say about it!" continued the lady, in spiteful tones. "sparks is a member of this family, and he is entitled to fair treatment." "he shall have fair treatment then! i will send for a policeman, and have him arrested for the crime. he shall have a jury if he likes, or if you like, which a family quarrel 4i is the same thing, madam," said mr. gayland, halting near the door. "if anything more is to be said or done about it, the court shall decide whether he is guilty or innocent; and i will pay for a lawyer to defend him." "you would not have sparks arrested for such a crime, ward," said the lady, overwhelmed by the threat. "why not? it is worse to commit the crime than it is to be arrested." "i cannot believe that sparks-——” "don't say another word, aunt maud," interposed the culprit, in mortal terror lest his uncle should execute his threat. mrs. gayland did not say another word, and the uncle passed into the library, and closed the door after him, for he wanted to be alone after the painful scene through which he had passed. "you are the cause of all this, paul!" exclaimed mrs. gayland, as her gaze rested on the boy, who was standing in the hall with the thousand-dollar bill in his hand, perhaps considering what he should do with so much money. "if i am, then i am," replied paul, recovering his indifferent manner. "why don't you confess that you stole the money?" demanded the lady. "that is what i should advise sparks to do," answered paul, hardly bestowing a glance at her. 42 the young hermit "you know very well that you stole the money, and put the bill in sparks' pocket," continued the lady. "there is room for a difference of opinion between you and me on this subject; but i will ask mr. gayland if he thinks i had better confess the crime," replied paul, starting for the library door. "stop, paul!" called the wife of the rich man, rushing forward and taking him by the arm. without saying anything more she led him into the most distant part of the hall, and paul tamely submitted, though he could easily have released himself. "paul gayland, you have made trouble between me and my husband, and between sparks and his uncle," said the lady severely. "i think not, mrs. gayland," replied the boy quietly. "yes, you have; don't deny it! you have been a stumblingblock in the family. you have wheedled yourself into the good graces of mr. gayland, and now he even refuses to hear what i say." "i think he has a mind of his own; but i didn't have the making of him, and i think it is not my fault that he will not hear you." "you mean to say that it is my fault, do you?" "i don't mean to say anything about it." "you are an obstinate puppy." "i haven't bitten you, if i am." "and as saucy as you are impudent." paul looked at the floor. 99 "if you had a spark of manliness in you, you would take yourself out of the way, and not make mischief a family quarrel 43 any longer between husband and wife, uncle and nephew." "i will go and ask mr. gayland if he thinks i had better fire myself out of the house," said paul, moving off again toward the library. "stop, sir!" she cried, seizing him by the arm again. paul was not as submissive as usual this time, and he struggled to escape. "why don't you help me, sparks?" demanded the lady, appealing to the nephew. sparks always did just what she told him to do; but he had better not in this instance, for, as soon as he attempted to lay hold of the refractory boy, paul knocked him down as easily as though there had not been four years' difference in their ages, in favor of the ally of the lady. the nephew fell on the oak floor, and his fall made considerable noise; enough, at least, to attract the attention of the capitalist in his library, and he came out to ascertain the cause of the commotion. "what does all this mean?" demanded the rich man, amazed and horrified at the idea of any violence in his house. "it means that paul just struck sparks, and knocked him down!" exclaimed mrs. gayland, filled with excitement. "is this true, paul?" "it is; he laid hands on me, and i defended myself." "served him right," said the capitalist. 44 the young hermit chapter vii. a divided house. mr. gayland seemed to understand the situation without much inquiry into the facts, for, though the relations of paul had never been so critical with the lady and the nephew as at the present time, they had been considerably strained for the last year. the difficulty in the family has already been indicated. the capitalist had married a beautiful woman hardly half of his own age, and her beauty had proved to be her principal wealth, though she was not without her good qualities. it was in the first year of their marriage that their attention had been attracted at the hotel in nice to the little boy of seven, in charge of a brutal man. finding that the little one was an orphan, they had adopted him, even without being able to ascertain anything at all about his deceased parents. both of them had been strongly attached to the child till about a year before the story opens; for paul, as they agreed to call him, though rather odd in some of his ways, was an affectionate boy. on the right arm of the boy were the two letters which he had shown to sparks, the last of which was the initial of his foster parent's surname, and the name a divided house 45 of paul was added to it to correspond with the first initial. rather more than two years before the events narrated occurred, mr. gayland had been very sick, and his physician had grave doubts in regard to his recovery, though his excellent constitution and steady habits had enabled him to weather the storm, and he recovered. in the course of this sickness it came out that he had made no will, and if he had died then, his estate would have been equally divided by law between his wife and nephew, as next of kin. sparks was the only child of mr. gayland's brother, who had died poor, and the rich man had taken care of the widow and son for some years, till the boy was left an orphan. ward gayland continued to care for the boy, and after he married he took sparks into his own family. at first the young man did very well; but his contact with wealth seemed to develop new and pernicious ideas in him; and though his uncle, who was a practical man, found a place for him when he had completed his high-school education, he did not take kindly to the labor imposed upon him, and his employer refused to keep him. another place was found, with no better result, and then his uncle set him at work as a sort of private secretary for himself; but he found that the young man was of very little use for him, for he was both indolent and careless. 46 the young hermit sparks had contracted some bad habits, and his uncle discovered that he made occasional visits to minneapolis, where he frequented a gambling house, and lost more money than he could pay, which caused his vicious habit to be discovered. sparks promised to abandon gambling, and even mrs. gayland, with whom he had become a great favorite, threatened to have him sent away from the house if he persisted. so far as his foster parents could know, he had ceased to gamble, and in other respects appeared to be doing better. the severe illness of the capitalist had opened a new vein of thought to both the wife and the nephew, for he was growing older every day, and the end was not likely to be put off a great many years. the wife was sure enough of her share; but her favorite nephew was in peril, for paul increased in favor with mr. gayland as sparks lost ground by his indolence and waywardness. the lady realized, after the dangerous sickness of her husband, that her favorite was in peril of being deprived of a considerable portion of his expectancy in his uncle's estate, and she had talked freely with him about the prospect. the result was that paul was at first treated very coldly, and could not fail to see that he had lost the good will of the woman who had treated him so kindly. and she soon made it more evident by decided acts of hostility, so that her husband could not help noticing the change in her bearing toward him. a divided house 47 he talked with her about the matter, but she failed to give any reason for her conduct, though she grew more and more hostile to the adopted son, until he suffered severely on account of her ill treatment. though he had always been mild in his manner and affectionate in his disposition, paul was a boy of decided spirit, and when he could stand it no longer, he ran away, making his way to the coast with the intention of going to sea. he did make one trip in a fishing vessel, and was absent six months on the grand banks; but this sort of life did not suit him, and he went to work as a waiter in a steamer. in this position his foster father found him, and induced him to return to st. paul, for he was so much attached to the boy that he sent out a detective to track the fugitive as soon as he missed him, very much to the disgust of mrs. gayland and his nephew. for a time after the return of paul the current of domestic life went along more gently in the elegant mansion, and the boy finished his course in the high school; but the jealousy of sparks and the wife soon broke out again, and paul, who had a sensitive nature, suffered even more than ever before. there was not a selfish vein in the composition of the boy, and he fully comprehended the situation. while he despised the character of sparks, he could not help feeling that the young man had reason to be dissatisfied with paul's presence in the family, and 48 the young hermit especially with his intimate and affectionate relations with the head of the house. he felt himself that he was in the way, not of the wife, but of the nephew; and he had on one occasion talked with the rich man, and even begged him not to give him anything in his will, or, at least, not to give him enough to deprive sparks of any material portion of his property. this unselfish conduct on the part of the adopted son only endeared him all the more to the capitalist, and he did not hesitate to say that, whatever he gave paul, he should give sparks only enough to produce an income that would support him comfortably, and that would be in the hands of trustees, so that the young man could not spend the principal. paul found that he could accomplish nothing by his appeal, and he never renewed it, for he saw that mr. gayland had a settled purpose in his mind, and he submitted with the best grace he could to the unkindness of his household enemies. but he was now charged with the crime of stealing the thousand dollars, though it was clearly proved that sparks was the guilty one; and he felt that he could not endure even a life of luxury while subjected to such persecution. even the rough and perilous life of a fisherman on the banks was to be preferred. mrs. gayland was an impulsive woman, and she was sorry for what she had done when her husband appeared in the hall, to which the noise of the scuffle had a divided house 49 called him, for she felt that she had endangered her own cause by her foolish conduct. "madam, you are my wife," said mr. gayland, trembling with emotion, "and i have nothing to say to you here. you will oblige me by retiring to your room." the lady had never received such a request before from her husband, and she made no reply, though she did not offer to leave the hall. “sparks, i shall find a respectable boarding place for you, and i shall insist on your leaving my house at once," continued mr. gayland, struggling to master his feelings. sparks made no reply; but he would have given all he had to give if the wheels of time would set him back a couple of hours, so that he could undo all that he had done in that brief period. paul did not wait to hear any more, but went up the stairs to his chamber, for it was plain enough to him that a family quarrel had actually broken out in that elegant mansion on the hill; and even if sparks were sent out of the house there could be no peace for him as long as mrs. gayland remained. after paul had gone upstairs mr. gayland went to his library, and the lady and the nephew talked for two hours in the drawing room. the next morning paul did not appear at breakfast, and could not be found in the house. 50 the young hermit chapter viii. revealed at midnight. the family had met at tea the evening before, but not a word had been said, for prince, the manservant, was on duty at the table; and probably nothing would have been said if he had not been present, for no one felt like saying anything. paul had decided not to go down to tea, for he did not care to meet mrs. gayland and sparks again at present; but mr. gayland, suspecting the reason of his absence, had sent the man for him, and he never disregarded the request of his foster father. like the others, he said nothing, though he could not help studying the faces of his companions at the table; and he felt that, in the battle which had been fought in the house that afternoon, the victory was with the capitalist, though it was clear enough that the storm had not yet blown over. mrs. gayland and sparks spent the evening together in the sitting room, but neither the head of the house nor the adopted son appeared again that night. the next morning, when paul did not appear at breakfast, mr. gayland sent prince to his room to call him, not doubting that he kept away from the table for the same reason as on the preceding evening; and the old gentleman was not willing that the slightest conrevealed at midnight 51 cession should be made to the malcontents in the house. "mr. paul is not in his room, sir," reported prince, on his return. "not in his room!" exclaimed mr. gayland, with a start which indicated the current of his thought. "has he gone out so early in the morning?" "i have not seen him this morning, sir," answered the man. prince seemed to be embarrassed for some reason, and the head of the family noticed it, and did not seem to be quite satisfied with the report, though paul was not infrequently last at the morning meal. "you haven't seen him this morning?" repeated the rich man. "no, sir; and i don't think he came downstairs this morning, for i have been here since six o'clock," the man explained. "if he did not come down, of course he is in his room," added mrs. gayland, who had doubtless repented of her conduct on the day before, and seemed inclined to conciliate her husband. "are you sure he is not in his room, prince?" asked mr. gayland. "did you look in the bed?" "yes, sir; i looked at the bed, but he was not in it," replied the servant, stammering a little, in his increased embarrassment. "go up again and look in the bed. tell him breakfast is on the table, and i want to see him," continued the capitalist briskly. 52 the young hermit "he is not there, sir, and no one slept in his bed last night," replied prince, coming to the point at last. mr. gayland sprang out of his chair as though he had not been sixty years old, for the fact announced by prince indicated that he was losing the fruits of the victory of the day before. "he must be somewhere in the house," suggested the lady, who felt that she must say something, and she could think of nothing else to say. "he did not sleep in his bed last night, and i don't expect to find him in the house," added mr. gayland, as he left the dining room. he went directly to the chamber of his foster son, and all that prince had said was fully confirmed. paul was not in the room, and the bed indicated that it had not been occupied. he was very much disturbed as he looked at the bed which had not been tumbled by its usual occupant, and he recalled the time when paul had disappeared before. then he opened the closet door, and found that a considerable portion of the boy's clothes had been taken from the hooks; and a large leather valise he used when he went to lake superior in the summer was also missing. he examined the drawers of the bureau, and found that nearly everything had been removed from them. even a part of the books had been taken from the shelves, as the empty spaces indicated. paul had evidently filled his valise to its utmost capacity, and it revealed at midnight 53 was plain to his foster father that he intended to be absent for a long time; in fact, that he never meant to return. mr. gayland was sorely aggrieved at the discovery he made, and, perhaps, he thought of paul's ingratitude to him when he was ready and willing to fight his battle against all his household enemies. he was really very strongly attached to the boy; not simply because he had adopted him, though not in legal form, but for what the runaway had proved himself to be—a noble, unselfish, and devoted fellow, who loved his foster father, not for what he had to give him, but for his own sake alone. perhaps the contrast between the character of paul and sparks had some influence, and the persecution to which he had been subjected had done something to draw him toward the young man. he had gone, abandoned the home of his only friend on earth, solely because his sensitive nature would not permit him any longer to be a stumblingblock in the path of mrs. gayland and her favorite. if the conduct of the youth was ungrateful to him, it was noble and self-sacrificing in itself, for he refused to make trouble in the family. having satisfied himself that paul had actually gone, for he needed no further evidence, he returned to the dining room to finish his breakfast. "he has gone again, and he does not intend to return," said mr. gayland, as he seated himself. "but 54 the young hermit let me say now that i made my will six months ago, and i shall not alter it." mrs. gayland looked at sparks, and sparks looked at her; but neither of them ventured to make any comment or ask any question in relation to the important announcement just made, and which, it was plain enough, had been made for a purpose. mr. gayland stayed in the house all day long, and until the middle of the afternoon no one but mr. cavan called upon him; and if he took any steps to ascertain what had become of the wanderer, as the rich man chose to call him, rather than a runaway, his wife and nephew were not aware of the fact; indeed it appeared to them that he was doing nothing at all in that direction, for the real-estate agent had not been sent for, and he had volunteered the information that he called to see about a mortgage. at four o'clock in the afternoon, a farmer stopped his span of horses in front of the elegant mansion on the hill, and went into the house as soon as prince opened the door. he was there by appointment, and certain papers, including a release of mortgage, were all ready for him. he was shown to the library, where he paid the capitalist fifty-two hundred dollars on the secured note and interest. nothing had been said so far about the events of the day before, and sparks had been sent to the lawyer's for the release, which indicated that his uncle had not yet wholly cast him out, and he had even told the young man that the mortgage was to be paid that afternoon. revealed at midnight 55 mr. gayland came to the tea table that evening with a telegram written out on the proper blank in his hand, which he intimated that he wished sparks to take to the office and send it to minneapolis. the nephew replied that he was going over to minneapolis to spend the night with his friend pitburn, after tea. the message was for pitburn's father, and he might take it as a memorandum, and tell the person to whom it was addressed that he could have the six thousand next morning, which he wanted on a mortgage. in the evening mr. gayland and his wife were alone in the house, and they talked together all the time. the lady carried her conciliatory policy to the utmost, for paul had gone, and, though her husband had made his will, he might alter it, in spite of his declaration to the contrary. so far as the husband and wife were concerned, peace reigned in the elegant mansion before ten o'clock, the usual hour for retiring; but the man of money and mortgages could not sleep, for he was thinking of paul all the time. the fact that he had six thousand dollars or more in his house did not keep him awake, for he believed it was as secure in his iron safe as though it had been in the vaults of one of his banks. besides, he had all the doors and windows fitted with a burglar alarm, which would set all the electric bells in the house to rattling if one of the entrances was disturbed; and on 56 the young hermit the least alarm he could light the electric burners in the house without getting out of his bed. about the time the church clocks of the city were striking the midnight hour, mr. gayland was sure that he heard sounds in the lower part of the house. he got out of bed, opened the door of his chamber, and listened; and then he felt sure that he heard footsteps on the oak floor of the hall. touching the button, the electric light blazed up, and from the door he could see that the same effect was produced in other parts of the house. he put on a portion of his clothes hastily, and rushed downstairs, where he found the front door wide open, and he saw two men run out. 1 mrs. gayland followed him a moment later in a wrapper she put on, and reached the hall soon enough to see the last of the two men as they passed out. just then they heard steps in the dining room, and while they were standing at the foot of the stairs, a young man, or a boy, rushed out into the hall, and made all haste to the front door. as he passed mr. gayland and his wife he glanced at them, and both of them were sure that they knew him. "paul gayland!" gasped the capitalist, in tones of real horror. "paul gayland!" cried the lady. e "paul gayland!" gasped the capitalist.-page 56. a terrible blow 57 chapter ix. a terrible blow. "are you sure that was paul gayland?" asked the capitalist, actually trembling with emotion. "was it he, maud?" "it was paul; there can be no doubt of it, though he has changed his clothes," replied mrs. gayland. "i was sure it was he; but it does not seem to be possible," added mr. gayland, as he dropped, apparently overcome by his feelings, into a chair. "this hall is as light as day, and i saw his face as plainly as i saw it at tea time last night, and i could not have been mistaken," persisted mrs. gayland. "i am afraid you are right, maud," answered her husband. "i saw him myself, though i could hardly believe the evidence of my own senses." "i haven't any difficulty at all in believing that it was paul whom i saw," continued the lady, in a very positive manner. "i am not at all surprised, as you are, to find him breaking into your house." the capitalist groaned in spirit, and covered his face with his hands, as he thought of paul engaged in a criminal enterprise, for he had as much confidence in his honesty and integrity as he had in the minister under whose preaching he sat on sundays. the fact that he had seen paul in the house at mid58 the young hermit night, in company with others whose business could not well be mistaken, if he thought of their mission at all, overwhelmed him, and he could turn his attention to nothing else. if the boy had been his own son he could not have been more devoted to him; and paul had always returned his affection, and been unselfish in all his relations to him and to the other members of the family, in spite of the ill treatment of the latter. he had looked upon him as noble, generous, and self-sacrificing, since the youth had begun to develop his character, and for years he had believed that he had no equal among the young people with whom he was acquainted. he was so engrossed by the unexpected revelation of the hour that he did not even think of the mission of the persons he had seen going out at the front door before paul came out of the dining room, and he was hardly disposed to inquire into the object of the visit of the midnight marauders. so intense was his astonishment and confusion at the conduct of his trusted young friend that he did not even recall the fact that he had left six thousand two hundred dollars in his safe in the library, most of which had come in after bank hours. mrs. gayland walked about the hall, looking here and there to ascertain what the visitors had been doing, though nothing seemed to be changed in that part of the house; and then she went into the sitting room to continue her examination. a terrible blow 59 the capitalist sighed as he sat in the armchair in the hall, for it seemed to him that the brightest hopes of his advanced years had just been wrecked. in a few years, be it more or less, he would naturally become weak and feeble, even if no malady attacked him, and he had looked upon paul as the stay and support of his declining life, for he had felt sure that he would be strong in his honesty and devotion, and that an own son would be and do no more for him than his adopted child. suddenly this hope, which had cheered him for years, was dashed down, and it seemed to him that he was left desolate and alone in the world; for sparks had disappointed him, and he admitted to himself, though not to another person, that his marriage to a young wife had failed to yield the fruit of perfect happiness which he had anticipated. his six hundred thousand dollars did not seem at this moment to be of the least consequence to him, for he could not enjoy it with no one to share existence with him in the sense that he desired it to be shared, and with no one for whom his heart yearned, upon whose strong arm and honest soul he could lean for support. paul had filled the vacant place in his heart; but now his treasure had suddenly been wrested from its abiding place, and there was again a painful vacancy there. "the window in the sitting room is open, ward," said mrs. gayland, returning to the hall after she had made this discovery. 60 the young hermit "which window?" asked her husband, with a vacant glance at her. "the one that opens on the side of the house," she answered, not a little disturbed as she saw that her husband was actually suffering in consequence of the discovery he had made in regard to the real character of his favorite. "then they came in that way," he added, again fixing his gaze on the floor, as though he felt no interest in the subject. "then why did not the burglar alarm sound?" she asked, trying to interest him in the present situation. "i don't know; the wires were detached, i suppose," he answered, without looking up at his wife. "but the house has been robbed, ward!" exclaimed the lady, suddenly throwing a great deal of energy into her manner, as if she wished to bring her husband to a realization of the situation, for he did not seem to comprehend it. "very likely," he replied, with utter indifference. "are you not going to look over the house to see what the rascals have done?" asked the lady, in vigorous accents. "i don't care much what they have done; they have stolen the soul of paul from me, and that is the greatest loss that could be fall me," he replied, looking up into the face of his wife. "nonsense, ward! he had no soul to steal! i am sure now that i knew him better than you did," snapped the lady. a terrible blow 61 "i am afraid, after what has happened to-night, that you did understand him better than i did," replied mr. gayland bitterly. "i could not see how paul managed to keep so cool and unconcerned last night when i charged him with stealing the thousand dollars and putting the bill in sparks' pocket; but it is plain enough now to me, for he had this enterprise in his mind, and intended to run away and join his companions in iniquity," continued mrs. gayland, talking very rapidly, as she did when she was excited. "i suppose you are right, maud; and paul was like all the rest of the world. all he wanted of me was my money," added the capitalist, in a most mournful tone. "you know what he is now as well as i do; and i hope you will not waste any more time in bewailing his loss. he is a young rascal, as i have believed he was for several years," said the lady, in tones of triumphant assurance. "i would rather have lost half my property than be disappointed in that boy, for all my hopes were centred in him, and i feel as though i were alone in the world," groaned the unhappy man. "that is not very complimentary to your wife," said she, with something like scorn in her tones, and much of it in her looks. "i only meant that i had more confidence in him than i had in my nephew," mr. gayland explained, and in tones which were an apology. 62 the young hermit "well, however you may feel, you ought not to waste any more time in groaning over him. why don't you look over the house, and see what the rascals have done?" demanded the lady, beginning to be impatient over the want of action on the part of her husband. "you ought to put the police on the track of the robbers at once, and not let them escape if you can help it.” "have paul arrested!" exclaimed the rich man, rising from his chair, as though the idea stung him to the quick. "why not have him arrested? are you going to let him rob your house at midnight, and permit him to go scot-free because you once thought he was an honest boy?" demanded the wife, with indignation. "you were not willing to have your favorite arrested after he had stolen a thousand dollars from me," replied mr. gayland, with more earnestness than he had before displayed since he left his bed. "sparks did not steal the bill; paul did it, and put it into sparks' pocket. isn't that plain enough now?" asked the lady, with a sneer on her pretty lips. "it is no plainer to me now than it was in the time of it. i do not think any more of my nephew because i think less of paul, by no means. if it had been he whom i saw in the house, escaping with the others, i should not have been at all surprised. he has been preparing for a bad end for years.' mrs. gayland was utterly disgusted. the investigation 63 chapter x. the investigation. mrs. gayland had been reckoning without her host after she saw paul leave the house under conviction, as it were, for she believed that the ruin of her husband's favorite fully established the standing of her own. she found that she had been mistaken, and sparks had gained nothing by the event of the night; for it did not even prove to the satisfaction of her husband that he was innocent of the charge of stealing the thousand dollars. it was a decided setback to her, though her husband could not deny the fact that paul had been seen under very suspicious circumstances; and she immediately became anxious to know what crime had been committed in the house. mr. gayland, in his disappointment over the fall of his favorite, did not seem to care what mischief had been done by the midnight visitors, though both of them could not help believing that they had not come for nothing, or left the mansion empty-handed. to the lady it seemed to be necessary for the restoration of her favorite that paul should be convicted of the crime of housebreaking, though it had been proved that he had at least two confederates in the enterprise, and probably was not the leading spirit in the burglary. 64 the young hermit "you are doing nothing, ward, and the rascals are escaping as fast as they can," said the lady, in reproachful tones, as though he were neglecting a sacred duty. "i will do something," he added, relapsing into his former moodiness. "you do not even know that the house has been robbed of anything, though i suppose paul was looking for the silver in the dining room," she added, with energy. "paul knows all about the house, and where everything valuable was kept," replied the husband. "i have no doubt they got something for their pains, though we may have disturbed them before they finished their work." "i saw two men going out of the hall into the vestibule, and they may have had their hands full of plunder, though i did not see anything in their possession. come, let us look over the house, and see what they have taken," continued the wife, taking her husband by the arm. "no," he replied decidedly. "i want some one with more skill than i have about such matters to make the examination." "haven't you skill enough to see what has been stolen from the house?" asked the lady contemptuously. "i want something more than that; if there is anything in the appearance of the house to assist in the conviction of the robbers when captured, i desire to have it noted by a man of experience. will you call prince, maud ?" the investigation 65 "i will if you want him; and if you are going to send for the police, i will dress myself a little more," answered mrs. gayland, as she went upstairs, where she was followed by her husband a little later, for he feared he might take cold in the night air. both of them soon returned to the hall clothed as usual, and prince appeared fully dressed a minute later, greatly impressed by the unusual proceedings in the quiet house at this unseemly hour, for he had no idea that the mansion had been entered for unlawful purposes. "the house has been broken into by robbers, prince,' said mr. gayland, in his usual tones, with no appearance of excitement in his manner or speech. "broken into, sir!" exclaimed the colored man, starting back, as though the mansion were still in peril. "i said so. do you know where mr. cavan lives, prince?" added the owner of the house despoiled. 99 "yes, sir; i know very well, for you sent me there last sunday," replied the man. "go and call him up, and ask him to come up here as soon as possible. you can tell him that the house has been entered by burglars." "yes, sir; but is it safe to go into the street alone at this hour?" inquired the prudent servant, as he glanced at the open front door. "if you are afraid, i will go with you," said the female cook, coming out of the dining room at this moment, for she had been aroused when prince was called. 66 the young hermit “i am not afraid, sir," protested prince, fearful that his question had armed the cook with a weapon which she could use against him in kitchen councils. the man made all haste to leave the house on his errand, for the tongue of the presiding genius of the kitchen was a positive terror to him-far transcending that of the burglars. mr. gayland dropped into the armchair again, and gave way once more to the painful reflections that disturbed him, for he would rather have followed his favorite to the grave than have him commit a crime. but it was evident to him that paul had been actively engaged in the burglary of the mansion of his benefactor, and with a just man's devotion to the integrity of the law of god and man, with a roman firmness in the discharge of his duty, he had decided not to screen the culprit from the penalty of his crime, though he seemed not to act on such a lofty motive in the case of his nephew. it was easier for him to punish himself than to displease his wife. prince had used his legs to the best advantage, for, as he went through the lonely street, he was in constant fear that a terrible burglar would lay violent hands on him; and mr. cavan was so much interested in the news brought him that he made all possible haste to reach the mansion of his frequent employer. "i hope the villains have not made a good haul of it,” said cavan, as he came into the hall, puffing with the haste he had made. "as you have read in the papers, this is not the first house that has been broken into in the investigation 67 these parts; and there appears to be a gang at work over in minneapolis. did they carry off much stuff?” "i don't know; i have not looked over the house since they left," replied mr. gayland. "you haven't? you don't seem to have much curiosity about the break," added the agent, with a smile, for he was surprised at the coolness, not to say the indifference, of the proprietor of the elegant mansion on the hill. "i thought it was best not to disturb anything until some one that understood such things was here," the capitalist explained, without indicating to cavan the nature of his poignant grief. "you seem to be all up and dressed in the house,” the agent proceeded, glancing at all who had assembled in the hall. "i don't see your nephew, mr. sparks, among them, however; and i should not be at all surprised if it was found in the end that he had a hand in this break." "i should be very much surprised!" interposed mrs. gayland, her face flushed with indignation. "i beg your pardon, madam; but the events of yesterday afternoon came to my mind, and i acknowledge that i was hasty in the inference i made that he might have been concerned in this affair," added cavan, with a low bow to the beautiful woman, who was somewhat appeased by this apology. "sparks was not in the house, for he spent the night over at minneapolis with his friend pitburn," said the capitalist, coming so far to the assistance of his wife. 68 the young hermit "it is clear enough that sparks had nothing at all to do with this affair." "why don't you send for the police, ward?" demanded mrs. gayland, who could not forgive the agent for the fling he had made at her favorite. "it seems to me to be very strange that you should call in one of your business acquaintances to assist you in a matter of this kind, when it would be a good deal more regular to bring in the police, for the city has skilled detectives on duty all the time.' 99 "mr. cavan was formerly the most skillful detective in the city of new york, maud, and i prefer his assistance at first to that of the police," added her husband. "he made a pretty mess of what he did here yesterday afternoon, and i could have done better myself," snapped the lady. "you did do better in your own opinion; but this is my affair, and i shall handle it in my own way," added mr. gayland decidedly; so decidedly that his wife said no more. "now, give me the particulars of the break, if you please, mr. gayland," said cavan, after he had bowed his best to the lady. the incidents of the night were recited in full so far as the owner of the mansion was informed, though he did not give paul's name to the agent. then they went into the sitting room, where the open window had been reported. they made a strange discovery. i 1 i the burglar alarm 69 chapter xi. the burglar alarm. "you have told me that you had a burglar alarm in your house, mr. gayland," said the ex-detective, as they entered the sitting room. "yes, i had it put in nearly a year ago,” replied mr. gayland, mentioning the particular apparatus with which his house had been furnished. "it proves to be protection which doesn't protect." "it has certainly been a failure in this instance," remarked the real-estate agent. "we will first take a look at the windows which have not been opened, if you please." "the more time you waste, the more the rascals will have to effect their escape," interposed mrs. gayland, who could not see the utility of examining the windows which had not been disturbed. "you can return to your bed, maud, for it is not necessary that you should take part in this investigation," said her husband, rather sternly. "i prefer to see what is done," she answered haughtily. "i do not object; but you will oblige me by making no more remarks or criticisms," added the capitalist. "you are letting the burglars escape while you are fooling with this man," continued the lady. 70 the young hermit "if you cannot be silent we will suspend all further investigation, and allow mr. cavan to go home," said mr. gayland severely. the lady made no reply, for by this time she had become conscious that she was injuring her own cause; but she had not failed to notice the fact that her husband had neglected to inform the agent that paul had been one of the burglars. she believed that he intended to screen the adopted son from the consequences of his crime, and she was prepared to defeat this purpose. cavan went to the first window in the sitting room, and gave his attention to the burglar alarm which was attached to it; and he appeared to be perfectly informed in regard to its working, for after he had unfastened it he raised the lower sash. the moment he did so all the electric bells in the house began to rattle with the utmost fury, and they kept up the din for a considerable length of time. "there is nothing the matter with the apparatus at this window," said the agent, after the rattle of the bells had ceased. "i should say not," replied mr. gayland. "the apparatus can be easily detached from the sash; and in warm weather, when it is necessary to open the windows, i generally move the strikers from their position myself, or ask sparks to do it for me." "yesterday was a rather warm june day; were the windows opened?" asked cavan. "in his room they were, though not all over the house. i asked my nephew to change the strikers in 1 the burglar alarm 71 this room, and in the library and dining room; and as he was not in the house at the time, i put thein all in place myself just before supper, for the room was rather cool." "you adjusted the strikers yourself, mr. gayland?" "i did." "at what time?” "it was just before supper, say at quarter-past six. i had been in my library till i began to feel cool, and then i closed all the windows and adjusted the strikers." "excuse me, sir, but are you very sure about this?" asked the agent, more serious for the moment than he had appeared to be before. "so sure of it that i should be willing to swear that i did it between quarter and half-past six, which is our hour for tea," replied the capitalist decidedly. "that is sure enough; and you will be kind enough to keep this fact in mind—that you adjusted the strikers at this particular time yourself." "i shall not be likely to forget it after what has happened," added the owner of the mansion, with a smile. "now we will look at the other windows," continued cavan, as he led the way to the next one. "you did your work well, sir, for this striker is as it ought to be to give the alarm." then the party, headed by the agent, came to the open window which the burglars had not taken the trouble to close, though they had unfastened the two doors between the vestibule and the hall, to effect their 72 the young hermit escape. they must have done this before they robbed the house, if it should prove that they had robbed it, for they had gone out without pausing an instant. "ah! this explains it all!" exclaimed cavan, after he had glanced at the sash of the open window. "are you sure, mr. gayland, that you adjusted the striker on this window?" "i am even more sure that i attended to that one. than to any other, for i had to get a screw driver and loosen it, it was so tight; and i tried it several times before i arranged it for the night." "might you not have forgotten to adjust it in the end, after the trouble it had given you?" asked the agent. "on my way back to the library i looked at all the strikers in the room to satisfy myself that they were in proper position. i am absolutely certain that the striker of this window was adjusted as it should be to give the alarm at quarter-past six." "that is enough; and i am particularly happy that you are so confident on this point," added cavan, with a rather searching glance at mrs. gayland, who was giving the closest scrutiny to all the proceedings. "i cannot possibly be mistaken," mr. gayland insisted. "now let me call your attention to the position of this striker," continued cavan, pointing out the lever against which the apparatus acted when the window was raised. "you can see that it is not in its place as it should be when adjusted to give the alarm. it is no the burglar alarm 73 fault of the machinery that all the bells in the house did not ring when the sash was raised." "that is all as plain as anything can be," added mr. gayland, when he had looked at the striker. "what does all that amount to?" demanded mrs. gayland, who was not machinist enough to take in the point the agent made. "do you observe the position of this metal lever, called the striker, madam?" asked the examiner, as he pointed to the part mentioned. "yes, i see it," replied the lady snappishly, for she had not yet become reconciled to the mission of the agent in the house. "you observe that it is turned down to a vertical position?" continued cavan, as blandly as though the lady had not attempted to snub him. "now, do me the favor to look at this window;" and she followed him to the next one. "you see that this striker is in a horizontal position, so that the bar on the sash would hit it if the window were raised." cavan illustrated the whole matter fully at the next window, by moving the striker and opening the lower sash. she could not help understanding so simple an affair when it was so clearly explained. "i comprehend the workings of the alarm; but i don't see what all this has to do with the burglary," added the lady impatiently. "that is still to be shown, madam," replied cavan, as he returned to the side window. "this striker is in a perpendicular position, and the window was raised 74 the young hermit without making the alarm. i have not touched this striker, and it has not been disturbed by any one since the burglars came in. that striker must have been dropped to a vertical position by some one in the house after mr. gayland had adjusted it at quarter-past six last evening." "that is clear enough," said the owner of the mansion. "some one in the house must have lowered the striker after i put it up." "of course paul raised it," promptly added mrs. gayland. "but paul was not in the house last evening after i adjusted the striker," retorted the capitalist warmly. "but paul was one of the burglars!" exclaimed the lady. “that is true,” added mr. gayland, giving utterance to the fact he had repressed before, which drew forth some decided exclamations of astonishment on the part of the agent. "we have settled this matter, and now we will see what the burglars have done in the house," said mr. gayland, not caring to have any inferences drawn just then from the fact that the striker had been tampered with, as he led the way into his library. the door of the closet which contained the safe was wide open, and so was the door of the safe itself. mr. gayland drew out the drawer in which he had deposited the six thousand dollars, or more, and found that it was empty. the money had all been taken, but the burglar alarm 75 nothing else was missing in the house. paul had evidently taken a lunch in the dining room before he came out. "in spite of the fact that he was here, i will bet my life that paul is innocent," said cavan to the owner, in a whisper. but how could the mystery be cleared up? 76 the young hermit chapter xii. lake minnetonka. the sky over lake minnetonka was very black, for what appeared to be a very heavy shower was coming up from the westward. the flashes of lightning were almost continuous, and they were as blinding as they were frequent, while the dense black clouds produced an oppressive darkness, contrasted with the bright sunshine which had prevailed half an hour before. the wind had entirely subsided, and the surface of the dark lake was as smooth as though three feet of ice had covered it, as is the case in the winter, when the mercury drops down to forty degrees below zero. several sailboats which had been trying to get to the pier at lake park were becalmed a mile or more from their destination. it was in the month of july, about a month after the elegant mansion on the hill in st. paul had been entered by burglars, and the pleasure season had been fully inaugurated, though the number of visitors was not yet as great as it was likely to be at a later period. the lake is the popular resort in summer of the people of minneapolis, while white bear lake is more especially the favorite of st. paul; and all that could be lake minnetonka 77 reasonably expected has been done to make both places attractive to visitors. although each city vies with the other both in business and pleasure, lake minnetonka is not exclusively the resort of the pleasure seekers of minneapolis, for the other of the twin cities is respectably represented at all the principal hotels and cottages on its shores; and there is no law which prevents the citizens of minneapolis from making their abode for a week or a month on the banks of white bear lake. but as a summer resort minnetonka has most of the advantages, for it is on a much grander scale, and nature has been very liberal in bestowing her attractions upon the beautiful sheet of water and its surroundings. selected as a pleasure resort at an earlier period, the enterprise of the people frequenting the place has more thoroughly developed its resources, though there is still room for vast improvements, which the progressive spirit of the people will make from time to time. lake minnetonka is not one open sheet of water, but consists rather of a dozen smaller lakes, united by natural or artificial channels into a single one, though there is hardly room enough in any place for a smart sea in an ordinary fresh breeze. at the eastern end of the lake there is a view extending for nine miles from the head of one bay, through several openings between headlands, to the extremity of another bay; but the ordinary reach of the 78 the young hermit eye in any other part of the lake is not more than a mile or two. many extensive and very irregular peninsulas reach out from the mainland on all sides; and there are not a few picturesque islands breaking the monotony of the scene. between the eastern and the western portions of the lake it has been necessary to dig a couple of channels, or canals, for the passage of steamers from one end to the other of the lake, so that every part of the extensive sheet of water can be navigated by large or small craft. everything in the shape of a boat, from the steamer capable of carrying a thousand passengers by crowding them a little to the graceful wherry and racing craft, may be found on its waters, including sailboats as swift and jaunty as any that the atlantic ports can boast. many of the wealthiest people of the near city and the state, to say nothing of dwellers from hundreds of miles away, have cottage homes on its shores, nestling in the oak and linden groves that border most of them; and several large hotels, equaling or exceeding in proportions and luxury those of newport and cape may, besides a score or more of smaller ones, afford accommodations for thousands of summer visitors. the lake is a dozen miles from minneapolis, and reached by two railroads, one on the north, and the other on the south shore, by which scores of trains convey passengers back and forth between both of the twin cities and the locality. lake minnetonka 79 there are two large steamers, half a dozen of medium size, and a multitude of smaller ones, from the small steam launch big enough for two or three persons to the elegant yacht that would comfortably accommodate a dozen or more; some of which are owned and used by private individuals, and others are let by the hour or day at the hotel or other piers. as the deep darkness gathered over the lake, many of these steam yachts were seen making for a harbor, for more than one fatal disaster to such craft had been recorded in the history of the lake as a summer resort. in spite of the contracted areas in nearly all parts of the beautiful sheet of water, it had been demonstrated that squalls and sudden tempests produced a frightful commotion even in the nearly landlocked bays and channels. those in charge of these fairy craft, as they seem to be as they glide over the smooth waters, appeared to be aware of the possible danger from the threatening clouds, for all of them were headed for the nearest practicable landing place, which was at lake park, in the locality indicated. already the wharf near the hotel was flanked with steam yachts and sailboats, though there were several more out on the broad lake, and more were coming in through the channel between the peninsula and big island, all apparently anxious to get their passengers to the shelter and security of one of the large hotels where the hours of waiting in the rain could be improved in various frolics. 80 the young hermit at the time when the situation looked most threatening, a very elegant steam yacht, with the name of hebe on her pilot house, for she was just large enough to be provided with such an appendage, came through the new narrows, as the canal connecting the two parts of the lake is called. instead of heading for the hotel pier, as all the other craft were doing, she stood boldly out into the lake, heading for the eastern shore, as though the pilot had nothing but contempt for the perils which the lake threatened soon to present to the navigator, evidently intending to go outside of brightwood island. "take in that awning, bashy," said the pilot, speaking to the engineer through the after window of his little coop in the bow of the yacht. "all right, captain greenway,” replied the engineer, as he proceeded to execute the order with all possible celerity. "i think it is high time something was did." "we are doing something all the time, for the hebe is making twelve knots an hour," added the pilot, or the captain, for he filled both of these important positions, as the entire ship's company consisted of only the captain and the engineer. "the quicker you go the worse it will be for you,” said the engineer, as he glanced ahead at the two or three miles of open water. "i reckon you don't know half as much about this navigation as i do, for i have been up here for years, and i have seen as fine a craft as this one go to the bottom quicker than you could pull your finger out of the fire." lake minnetonka 81 "i intend to keep the hebe on the top of the water," added captain greenway, casting his eye across the peninsula to the westward. "that was just what they meant to do in the flocus last summer; but she went to the bottom all the same, and that is just what we shall do if you keep on," persisted bashy, as the captain called the engineer, though this was evidently an abbreviation for some more dignified name. "if the hebe goes to the bottom, let me know it, if you please," answered the pilot, looking at his companion with a quiet smile on his handsome face. "i will do so, if i feel like it when we get down fifty feet into the drink; but this water is wet, i can tell you, and i don't believe i shall feel like making any long speeches down there," said bashy, with something like a grin, grim and significant, on his peculiar face. "don't you be alarmed, bashy," added the captain cheerfully. "i'm not a bit scared, any more than you are, captain greenway; and i'll bet a last year's almanac against a wooden nutmeg that i can go as straight to the bottom as you can, if you have had more schooling than i have." "i never bet against such odds; but stand by the engine, whatever comes, and we are all right," added the skipper. bashy promised faithfully to do so. 82 the young hermit chapter xiii. the approaching storm. when the hebe was off brightwood island, most of the steam yachts and sailboats, the latter by the vigorous use of oars, had reached the vicinity of the hotel pier, and were under the lee of the land, so that they were no longer in peril. "hebe, ahoy!" shouted some one on board of the nearest sailboat. "on board the sloop!" responded captain greenway. "what are you about?" demanded the skipper of the sloop, one of the regular boatmen of the lake park hotel. "about my own business, and i recommend you to be about something of the same kind,” replied the pilot of the hebe, who thought the boatman was not particularly civil, though his intentions were evidently good. "get under a lee as quick as you can!" shouted the skipper of the sailboat. "don't you see there is going to be a big squall?” "thank you! when it comes, let me know," answered captain greenway, as he put the helm to port, in order to head the steamer through the long reach of nine miles. the approaching storm 83 "you will be in an awful sea within five minutes!" yelled the skipper, as the hebe increased her distance from the sloop. "all right! i have been there before," replied the bold pilot, who was apparently not more than fourteen years old, though he was a stout and well-built fellow for his age. the hotel skipper shook his head, doubtless feeling that he had done all he could in warning the daring captain of the hebe of the peril into which he was throwing his craft and those on board of her. bashy had taken in the awning of the after part of the yacht, and stowed it away in its proper place, and he had time to take a more leisurely survey of the situation, which was not at all satisfactory to him; for it looked as though the captain was going into deadly peril apparently for the fun of the thing, for he knew that he had no business at wayzata bay, for which he was now headed. "you can see that every other craft on the lake has stuck its nose into the sand," said he, after he had looked about him a while. "this is a free country, away up here in the northwest, and they all had a perfect right to do just as they pleased," replied captain greenway, “and i claim the right to do as i please about it. i believe there is no law in the state of minnesota which compels me to make a harbor." "i reckon there ain't no state law, but some folks 84 the young hermit think common sense is a sort of law which sensible folks ought to mind," continued the engineer. "common sense is good law, and i believe in obeying its commands; but what is common sense to one person is nonsense to another," said the captain, looking out ahead of the yacht. "that depends on how you look at things; but i reckon it is common sense to go into the house when it rains, and so it is to go into a harbor when it blows heavy," argued bashy. "where would your common sense be if there was no harbor to go into?" demanded the pilot, with a smile. "what would you have for dinner if you didn't have anything to eat?" returned the other. "go without dinner, as we shall without a harbor. what would you do if you were a thousand miles from the land, with things looking just as they do at this moment?". "i don't believe i should go on shore. but we ain't a thousand miles from land, nor one mile just now. i know how big a price you paid for this handsome steamer, and i shouldn't wonder if you were so much out in the course of the next five or ten minutes," growled the discontented engineer. "and you will have the consolation of knowing that it won't come out of your pocket. put on all the steam you can, bashy," added the captain, as though it had been bright sunshine on the lake at that moment. "do you want me to blow her up, captain greenthe approaching storm 85 way, to save her from going to the bottom in the hurricane?" asked the subordinate officer of the steamer. "don't do it, if you please. i agree with you that it is going to blow great guns in the course of the next few minutes, and we shall need all the power there is in the engine." "you shall have it all; but i don't like the looks of things at this particular time; and there won't be any time for a fellow to say his prayers after the hurricane comes down on us," added bashy, as he threw a scoop of coal into the furnace. "i have never been in the habit of going on shore when it came on to blow; but perhaps i have no right to expose you to danger," suggested the captain, looking back at the engineer. "if you are afraid, i will go to the pier, bashy." "i reckon i ain't no more scared than you are, though i can't see the use of running any risk. every boat has gone in but the hebe, and folks won't think you are a coward if you don't stay out any longer," muttered bashy, whose pride was the troublesome factor in deciding upon his reply; and he could not show the white feather before the captain did so, for he thought it would injure his reputation. "i don't care what people think in a matter of this kind; but we are not out in the lake all alone, for there is a steam yacht, coming out of carson's bay, probably from the hotel st. louis," added captain greenway, as he carefully examined the craft. 86 the young hermit "that's so, and she has ladies on board," replied the engineer, as he closed the furnace door, and proceeded to inspect the steamer. the steam yacht which was approaching was smaller than the hebe, and she was steaming at her highest speed, doubtless hoping to reach her destination before the storm broke. she was headed across the channel in the direction of big island after she came out from behind the point; but captain greenway was going directly east, which would soon place his craft on the weather shore of the lake, where she would receive the full force of the blast when it came. "that is the excelsior," said bashy, after he had taken the measure of the steamer. "she is a stiff boat, or captain lubbock would not come out here just now. but his head is level, and he knows what he is aboutsometimes, though he was a fool to come out here in the teeth of all those black clouds." "he is all right," added the pilot, watching the excelsior all the time. "i think if i had any ladies on board i should make a harbor." "he is going to do so just as quick as steam will let him. i reckon you are putting the hebe into the worst place you can find for her when the storm comes, captain greenway," continued bashy, as he observed that the yacht was rapidly approaching what would be the weather shore when the tempest came. before the captain could make any reply to this the approaching storm 87 criticism, six flashes of lightning that seemed to set fire to the entire landscape blazed before him, nearly blinding him; and they were attended instantaneously by as many peals of thunder in such rapid succession that there seemed to be no interval between them. they were heavy enough for earthquakes, and they shook the craft under him, so that it seemed to him for the moment that the end of all things had come, though he did not relax his hold upon the wheel. a vigorous scream from one or both of the ladies on board of the excelsior came over the waters while the thunder was still rattling like a million of brass pans, succeeding the awful peals which had shaken the very earth. captain greenway could not see that anything had happened to the excelsior to call forth such a shriek, and he concluded that it had been occasioned by the terror of the ladies, rather than by any immediate danger. the pilot thought at first that the captain of the other steamer intended to get his boat under the lee of big island when the blow came, but he continued on his course, outside of brightwood island, evidently expecting to reach the lake park before the danger overtook him; and his craft was now exactly west of the hebe, with a mile of open water between her and the shore for which she was headed. "stand by your engine, bashy!" shouted captain greenway. "it is coming now; keep your eyes and ears wide open!" 88 the young hermit "all right, captain greenway; i shall be here when the hurricane comes," replied the engineer. a tremendous roaring sound came out of the west, coming nearer and nearer each instant, as though it were the rumble of the chariot wheels of the storm. the fierce blast had come, and the waters began to pile up ahead. a disaster on the lake 89 chapter xiv. a disaster on the lake. trees on the lake park peninsula were beginning to bend under the force of the tempest, and some of them were breaking, as others were torn up by the roots and carried into the lake; while upon the water rose a mist on the surface, stirred up by the fury of the wind. the roaring sound continued to increase as the storm swept down upon the lake, and soon the excelsior was hidden from the view of the pilot of the hebe by the rising mist from the water. captain greenway put the helm of the steamer hard over, and the boat came about, heeling well over on the starboard side as she did so; but she pointed her head directly into the wind before the full strength of the blast reached her. the first heavy puffs swept over the surface of the lake, making a swift moving line as the tempest invaded the smooth water; but a violent agitation of the lake followed almost instantly, as the fury of the squall was brought to bear upon it. the roar of the tempest continued to increase, and the waves began to pile themselves up in white caps, till the sea looked very dangerous to the engineer, who was watching the advent of the storm with all his eyes. captain greenway stood firmly holding the wheel 90 the young hermit with his gaze fixed on the lake ahead of the boat, ready for anything, and, as he had rung his speed bell after he came about, the steamer was making but little headway; but the moment the craft began to feel the force of the tempest, he rang again for full speed. the waves increased in force till they came sweeping down upon the hebe with tremendous force; but captain greenway kept her headed directly into the wind, so that she leaped up and down like a fiery steed on the plain. the pilot could no longer see the shore of the peninsula, fully a mile distant, and the excelsior had also disappeared in the thick mist that hung like a veil over the face of the waters; but the other steamer had been headed into the wind when last seen, and the captain had no doubt she was doing as well as his own craft in the tempest. the motion of the hebe was something tremendous for a boat of her size, and the captain had to hold on tight at the wheel, and the engineer to a stanchion, to avoid being pitched over by the leaping and plunging of the vessel. "i call this pretty rough," shouted bashy, raising his voice to the highest pitch in order to be heard above the uproar of the storm. "rather; but it is all right. see that your fire is doing well, and engine well oiled," replied captain greenway, in the same loud tone. "i will look out for my end of the steamer, never you fear," returned bashy, who did not like to be bossed in his own department any better than most 3 ready after headforce weepbut the teed hore sior like mer and his ous on to ng 2889 ng ve s5 captain greenway put the helm hard over.-page 89. a disaster on the lake 91 other people. "my end will not go to the bottom till yours does." "keep your eyes open, and don't talk any more till there is something to say," added the captain, rather impatiently, for he had his hands full to keep the steamer from broaching to in the heavy sea, as he was willing to admit that it was, in spite of his general contempt for fresh-water navigation. the hebe made very little progress through the water, though she carried a full head of steam, for the force of the hurricane offered a tremendous resistance to her progress; but she was not losing anything, as the captain realized when he frequently looked back at the excelsior shore, for this was the name of the town opposite to the peninsula. the extreme fierceness of the tempest did not continue more than a few minutes, and captain greenway soon noticed a decided reduction in the force of the wind, which was also indicated by the greater progress of the steam yacht through the water, as she increased her distance from the shore. the rain began to fall in sheets rather than in torrents, and it was so thick ahead that the pilot had no little difficulty in seeing where he was going, though he had resorted to his compass to assist him in keeping a straight course. suddenly, out of the thick atmosphere made by the rain and the mist, came several quick blasts from a steam whistle, which he concluded were from the excelsior, for she must be directly ahead of the hebe; and they were immediately followed by a succession 92 the young hermit 2 of screams from females, which seemed to settle the origin of the call for assistance as given by the whistle. it was evident enough to captain greenway that the excelsior had met with some mishap, and if he had been in a talking mood he would have been willing to volunteer an opinion in regard to the nature of the disaster. "more steam, bashy! all you can get at a reasonable risk!" shouted the pilot at the top of his lungs. "what is the matter now?" demanded the engineer. "do as i told you, and ask no questions till you have done it!" replied the captain, with more energy than his companion had ever seen him display before. bashy looked at his steam gauge, and then shoveled more coal into the furnace, arranging the drafts so that the fire would do its best. when he had done this, he looked ahead to see what had caused this order to be given, for he had not heard the screams of the ladies as they came over the stormy sea. he could see nothing, any more than the captain, and no whistle followed the series that had been given a few minutes before; but a moment later, the ladies again rent the air with their screams, as though some new peril had overtaken them. "i'll bet a wooden jackknife the excelsior has gone to the bottom!" yelled bashy, fearfully excited by the fact he pictured in his mind. "mind the engine, and don't let the fire down! don't speak a word again!" returned captain greenway, in an earnest tone. a disaster on the lake 93 "can't we do something for them?" shouted the engineer. "not unless you hold your tongue and mind what you are about! stick close to the engine!" replied the pilot, without even turning his head. as the hurricane continued to moderate, the hebe made better progress through the water, and the screams, still continued, were more distinct, and rendered it clear to the captain that the ladies at least were not drowned or drowning. the furnace roared in the fresh draft which the gale gave it, and shook with the fury of the intense heat, while the smokestack belched forth dense volumes from the soft coal which supplied the fire, making a dense black streak, beaten down by the rain, that reached to the shore astern of the boat. bashy was attending closely to his duty, and, after the admonition given him, he did not again attempt to see what was ahead of the steamer, for he could not do so without leaving the hissing, shaking boiler, and he thought that being scalded to death by the explosion of the strained apparatus was even worse than being drowned in the cool waters of the lake. besides, the decision and energy displayed by the young captain had produced a strong impression on his mind, and he was more than willing to believe that the stout fellow in the pilot house was master of the situation. in a few minutes more captain greenway discovered the hapless excelsior, or what there was of her above 94 the young hermit water, with the crew and passengers clinging to her. from her position it was evident to the pilot of the hebe that she had got into the trough of the sea, rolled over, filled, and gone to the bottom; but fortunately the water was not deep enough where she was to leave those on board of her without any support, for though her bow was entirely submerged, the stern rested on a shoal. the heavy waves dashed remorselessly over the part of the hull above the water, and it vas with the utmost difficulty that the ladies could avoid being wrenched from their hold. "stand by to catch a line!" shouted captain greenway, as the steamer approached the wreck on the lee side; and at the right time he rang to stop her, and rushing from the pilot house he seized a heave line, and succeeded in throwing it so that the captain of the excelsior caught it, and made it fast. on the lee side the water was comparatively smooth; the hebe was brought alongside the wreck, and all hands were safely transferred to her deck. captain greenway cast off the line, and in a few minutes more he had conveyed the terrified party to the wharf at lake park. "why, conny forbush!" suddenly exclaimed one of the ladies, throwing her arms around the neck of the young captain. "a mistake, madam; i never saw you before in my life," he replied. the hermit of minnetonka 95 chapter xv. the hermit of minnetonka. captain greenway, of the hebe, was, or appeared to be, very much astonished at the conduct of the lady who had thrown her arms around his neck, and clung to him as though he had been one of the long-lost sons of the novels. the woman was all of forty years of age, though she had not yet lost all her good looks, and her dress. and manner indicated that she was a lady in every sense of the word; but she was wet to the skin, and was not in condition to make the best impression upon a stranger. from the elegance of her drabbled garments, and the jewelry she wore, one might easily have believed that she was wealthy, to say nothing of the fact that she and her companion were voyaging alone in a steam yacht on the lake. the other lady was not as richly dressed as the one who had suddenly become so demonstrative toward the captain of the hebe; and from her manner, even under the trying circumstances of this occasion, one might have concluded that she was simply the humble companion of a wealthy lady, to whom she had taken a fancy. "i am sure you are mistaken, madam," repeated 96 the young hermit captain greenway, with an effort to disengage himself from the arms of the lady. "my name is not forbush, if that is what you called me, and i don't think i ever heard of it before." without wholly releasing him from her grasp with both hands, the richly dressed lady held him off at arm's length from her, and gazed earnestly into his handsome face. "you are not conny forbush?" said she, shaking her head slightly to indicate her incredulity. "i am not, madam; and i am quite sure i never saw you before in all my life," replied captain greenway, smiling at the earnestness of the lady, though he was not a little embarrassed at the scene in the presence of the crowd of spectators who had gathered around the party from the wreck of the excelsior. "you never saw me before, conny! how can you say that?" demanded the lady, evidently very much distressed by the denial of the youthful captain of the hebe. "i can say it because it is strictly true, madam. i do not know you, and cannot even call you by name," persisted the captain. "i am utterly astonished and deeply grieved to have you treat me in this manner," added the dripping lady, who seemed to forget her condition, though she occasionally shivered with the cold from the effect of the bath she had taken on board of the steamer. "i am sorry to give you pain, madam, but i can. only assure you that i speak the truth," added he. the hermit of minnetonka 97 "can you say that you did not live with me in philadelphia for several years?" demanded the lady, looking at him with even more earnestness than before, as if she thought her question would carry conviction to the mind of the obstinate commander of the hebe. "i can only reply that i never was in philadelphia in my life," protested the young pilot. "is it possible that you can be so bold as to deny it, conny?" asked the lady, with a slight wrinkling of her brow into a frown, as she concentrated her gaze anew on the face of the young man. "my name is not conny!" exclaimed the captain, rather impatiently, as he renewed his effort to break away from her, for the presence of the crowd under the roof, where they had fled to escape the rain, became more annoying to him. but he had hardly uttered the words before he fixed his gaze on the plank floor of the building; his forehead contracted, and he seemed to be in deep thought, as though something had suddenly flashed on his mind; something that was too indefinite to be resolved into a clear idea. "how can you deny your own name, my boy?" she interposed, after looking at him a moment, as if expecting his thoughts would lead him to acknowledge his name. "i could not if my name were conny, as you say it is," replied the captain, giving up the attempt to embody the indefinite idea. "and, as i said, i do not even know your name, madam." 98 the young hermit "have you looked at him, joanna?" continued the lady, turning to her companion, who was shivering at her side with the cold. "i have looked at him, mrs. forbush; and i have no more doubt than you have. but i am afraid you will catch your death of cold, and you had better go to the hotel at once," replied the plainer woman of the two, whose status as a "companion" seemed to be fixed by the lady's manner of addressing her. "but i would not lose sight of this young man for anything in the world," replied mrs. forbush, with a convulsive shiver as she spoke. "perhaps he will consent to see you after you have put off your wet clothes?" suggested joanna, putting it as a question to the captain as much as a reply to her employer. "i shall be very happy to see the lady again, though she is utterly mistaken in regard to my identity, and i am as much puzzled as she is,” replied captain greenway, anxious to escape the scrutiny of the assembled crowd, for there was a little history connected with his residence at lake minnetonka which stimulated the curiosity of the regular inhabitants of the locality. "i shall be very grateful to you if you will call upon me in half an hour at the lake park hotel," said mrs. forbush, looking very anxiously at the young man, as though she feared to lose sight of him even for the brief period indicated by herself. "i will do so, mrs. forbush, without fail," replied the hermit of minnetonka 99 the captain, noticing the extreme solicitude she betrayed in her expression. "i have not forgotten the debt of obligation i am under to you for saving us from the wreck of the steamer, for i am sure we should all have been drowned if you had not come to our assistance," continued the lady. "i desire to express my gratitude to you in some more substantial manner than in mere words." "never mind that, madam; of course, i could not help doing what i did." "we will speak of that when i see you again; but you will not fail to come to me at the hotel, will you?" pleaded the lady, evidently fearing that the young fellow was annoyed by her demonstrations, and might desire to escape from any further expression of her feelings toward him. "i will not fail to be at the hotel in just half an hour," replied the pilot, consulting his watch. "you may depend upon me." mrs. forbush and her companion walked toward the hotel, attended by the proprietor, who had come down to the wharf to ascertain what mischief had been done by the hurricane, for such it had been for a few minutes, though it would ordinarily be designated as only a severe squall. the crowd on the wharf, composed of boatmen and employees of the hotel, as well as guests of the lake park and the cottages, looked at the captain of the hebe with no little interest, for, though he had been 100 the young hermit a dweller at the lake for over a month, he had never been seen in the vicinity of any hotel before. all that had been ascertained in regard to him was that he lived in a kind of shanty at the extreme western point of the lake, on a little neck of land that projected out into halsted's bay, a portion of the lake which was but seldom visited at this time by any save an occasional fisherman. the owner of the hebe, on account of financial troubles, had been unable to retain her, and she had been bought by bashy for his employer at a very low price early in the season; and he also purchased the finest rowboat that could be had in minneapolis, where very elegant ones are built. captain greenway kept himself away from everybody, and if any one attempted to visit him at his shanty, which the engineer had christened the hermitage, after reading the life of andrew jackson, the owner and occupant "took to the woods," for he did not wish to see any one. the shanty was comfortably furnished, and in a more substantial manner than mere campers out would consider necessary, and contained three very small rooms, one of which served for a kitchen and living room, while each of the occupants had a chamber to himself. every day except sunday the captain made a trip to some distant part of the lake, seldom landing; and his exclusive habits had caused his nearest neighbor to call him the hermit of minnetonka. captain lubbock ioi chapter xvi. captain lubbock. even bashy knew nothing at all of the history of his employer, and it had been part of the trade made when he was engaged that he should not talk about the affairs of the occupant of the hermitage, for the captain accepted this name, and gratified his assistant by frequently using it. the real name of the engineer was wabash wingstone, which had been given to him by the facetious clerk of a steamer on the ohio river, after he had been picked up from a burning boat, near the mouth of the river which supplied his christian name, the surname being that of the steamer destroyed. no one claimed him, and he was not old enough to give his own name, so that it was clear that he was the son of poor people who had perished in the destruction of the wingstone. the colored stewardess took a fancy to him, and the passengers on the boat made up a purse of sixty dollars for him. then he was adopted by one of the engineers, who sent him to school in cincinnati for a few years; but the youth liked the deck of a steamer better than he did his books, and he had spent most of his life near an engine, so that he learned in a practical manner all about steam and the machinery. 102 the young hermit three years before the advent of the hermit at minnetonka, the owner of the hebe had seen him on board of the steamer where he was serving as a sort of assistant, and had engaged him to go to the lake; and captain greenway had found him on board of the boat when he went to excelsior to look at her. bashy, as everybody called him-for "wabash" is not pronounced in the west as some of the dictionaries have it, "wau-bosh," but "wau-bash," as though the last three letters were the name of a certain treebashy rather liked the mystery which enveloped the captain, as he called him from the moment he bought the hebe for him, and his lips were as tightly sealed as though he had been under a solemn oath of secrecy. he had been engaged not only as the engineer of the steamer, but as a general assistant about the hermitage, and he never objected to any kind of work that was required of him, for the hermit treated him with the utmost kindness, did not put on airs, and made him his equal in all things, except the secret of his earlier history, and paid him promptly all the wages he had asked for his services. bashy had an easy time of it, and he liked the life he lived much better than being at the beck and call of a score of passengers and an employer who looked down upon him as though he had been a servant. after living with him a month, bashy did not believe there was another person in the world that could at all compare with captain greenway, and the excaptain lubbock 103 perience of the day of the hurricane had deepened his devotion and appreciation even to intensity. when the pilot and his passengers went on shore at the pier, bashy, like a faithful engineer, remained at his post; and he had heard nothing of the remarkable claim to his acquaintance of mrs. forbush, and he was wiping the machine all the time during the absence of the hermit. the captain was not inclined to make any talk with the people on the wharf, a considerable portion of which was roofed over, with stands for cake, candy, and mild drinks, as well as offices and storerooms for the boatmen. he was making his way to the hebe as diligently as he could, without answering the numerous questions which were put to him, or rather at him, when the captain of the excelsior took him by the arm, and insisted upon speaking with him. "you handled your boat as though you were used to heavy blows," said captain lubbock, with a smile of appreciation on his bronzed face. "i am used to heavy gales, and even hurricanes," answered captain greenway, still moving toward the pier where the hebe lay, as he cast an uneasy glance at the crowd on the wharf. "will you come on board of my boat, captain?" the captain of the wrecked steamer accepted the invitation, and the gallant young fellow conducted him on board of the hebe. "i have seen your steamer, but i have not met you 104 the young hermit before," said the visitor, as he seated himself in the cushioned chair set for him in the little cabin. "i am not much acquainted here," added the captain of the hebe. "i don't exactly understand how your boat happened to come to grief," he added, wishing to change the subject to one less personal. "i thought i should get to the wharf before the blow came on; but when i found i could not, i decided to get into the bay on the south of big island, under the lee of the shore," replied the captain of the excelsior, who really wanted to tell his more fortunate companion how the disaster happened to him. "i threw over the wheel to head her to the northward, and as soon as she came about she began to roll till she took all the bay on board of her." "of course she did," added captain greenway quietly. "your coming about in such a sea was a fatal mistake. i beg you will excuse me if i speak too bluntly." "bluntly or not, i like to have a fellow tell me just what he thinks," added he of the excelsior. "but i should like to have you tell me what else i could have done, for it was blowing a hurricane, and i thought the steamer was going to dive down to the bottom, never to come up again. i never was out in anything like this before." 1 "it certainly blew about as hard as it can blow; but i believe the top of the water is the proper place for a steamer, and that she ought to stay there as long as nothing breaks," said he of the hebe, though there captain lubbock 105 was nothing offensive in his manner as he delivered himself of his criticism. "that is all very well; but if you are caught out in it, what can you do?" demanded the captain of the wrecked boat, who fully believed that it was the will of that power who rules the storm that his boat should go to the bottom, and that nothing he could do would have saved her from her fate. "when you changed your course you lost the battle with the tempest; that is, when you put her into the trough of the sea; for no boat of the size of the hebe or the excelsior, with an engine and boiler on her bottom, could stand such treatment as that. when i saw your boat on the top of the water for the last time, you were headed directly for this pier, and there was no good reason in the world why you should not have gone to it." "but she was leaping like a galloping horse, burying her nose in the water, and then lifting her head 'way up into the air so that i could not see anything over the bow; and the sea went over her from one end to the other," replied captain lubbock, his eyes almost sticking out of his head as he recalled the terrific scene. "i never saw anything like it in my born days." "the water that went from stem to stern was nothing but spray, and that doesn't hurt anything. as long as you kept her head up to the sea you cheated the waves out of all their power by exposing only your sharp bow to them. it will not do to let a small craft like these steam yachts get into the trough of the sea.” 106 the young hermit "i don't know but you are right," replied the captain of the excelsior, musing. "i did not have any trouble as long as i kept her head to the sea, as you say. the fact is that i don't know much about this business, for i was brought up on a farm. i bought that boat because i thought i could make some money with her in the summer; and i hired a man to run her till i thought i knew as much about steamboating as he did; and i got along very well till to-day. i suppose i am out just what that boat cost me." "not at all; she can be raised, and be as good as ever she was after she has been cleaned up," said captain greenway. "do you know this lady that claims to be acquainted with me, though i never saw her before in my life?” "i only know that she is a rich lady from philadelphia, a widow, and that she hires my boat almost every day in the week, and never finds any fault with the price i charge her. but, captain, this day's work will ruin me, if you tell others what you have said to me," continued captain lubbock anxiously. "not a word from me to any one. it is time for me to go to her." captain greenway went ashore, and walked up to the hotel. the meeting at the hotel 107 chapter xvii. the meeting at the hotel. by this time the rain had ceased, though the lightning flashed and the thunder muttered in the distance; but captain greenway would rather have faced the storm than the crowd of curious people that confronted him when he went ashore. they looked at him with interest, not to say with admiration, for he had certainly done a bold and courageous deed in saving the crew and passengers of the excelsior, in the very teeth of the storm, though it had subsided to a considerable degree when he reached the wreck. possibly the privacy with which he had surrounded himself in his new home and in his movements about the lake magnified the interest of the dwellers at the resort, and made him more of a hero than he really was, or, at least, modestly thought himself to be. wabash wingstone had done not a little by his evasive answers, and by the general air of secrecy he affected, to make the mystery of the young man's existence more profound than the occasion required; but the young captain of the hebe appeared to have a stock of dignity hardly belonging to his age which made him equal to the occasion. no one said anything to him as he landed on the pier, for all seemed to feel that it was useless to ask 108 the young hermit him any questions, as he was the embodiment of a mystery, and had so far kept aloof from all who had no special business with him; and he had a look which was rather freezing to mere idle curiosity. the captain walked up to the hotel without a challenge from any one, and without any annoyance from the idlers, who observed his movements with so much interest, mingled with respect on account of his bold and skillful management of the steamer he sailed. "i am glad to see you, captain greenway," said mr. harrington, the proprietor of the lake park hotel, who appeared to be on the piazza on the lookout for him. "can i see mrs. forbush yet?" asked the hero of the hour, and it was plain that the guests gathered near the door had been informed who he was as he approached, for all eyes were turned to him, and not a few left their chairs to obtain a nearer view of him. "she asked me to send you up to her parlor as soon as you came," replied the landlord, leading the way to the rotunda, where the orchestra was playing an afternoon concert. the captain of the hebe was clothed in a yacht uniform of blue, and wore a white cap; but he was as thoroughly wet as the ladies had been, and he did not feel that he was in condition to attend a ball in the dining room. several ladies and gentlemen spoke to the landlord in a low tone, as he conducted the captain into the house; and as the hero, for some reason or other, posthe meeting at the hotel 109 sibly modesty, kept his gaze fixed on the floor, he did not heed the movements of the guests. "these ladies and gentlemen request me to introduce them to you, captain greenway," said mr. harrington, taking the lad by the arm as he showed a disposition to get out of the crowd as soon as possible. "i hope they will excuse me; i am wet and dirty, and not in condition to be presented to ladies and gentlemen," replied the captain, evidently very much startled at the proposition. "i am in a hurry to get away, and the lady is waiting to see me." "everybody in the house has been talking about you, and they are very anxious to make your acquaintance," persisted the landlord. "there are some people of note here, and it will do you no harm to know them." "i must be excused, sir; i shall have to run away if i can escape in no other manner," said the captain, very decidedly. "you must not do that, and i will say no more about introducing the guests. mrs. forbush would never forgive me if i let you go without seeing her," added mr. harrington, as he led the way to the stairs, informing the importunate guests that he must defer his presentation to another time, though his charge intended that he should do nothing of the kind in the present or the future. "i suppose there are some st. paul people here," said the captain, as they ascended the stairs. "none to-day, for i was looking over the register just before the shower came up. not a great many iio the young hermit ever come here, for most of them go to white bear lake. are you acquainted in st. paul?" "i have been there," replied the captain evasively. "this is mrs. forbush's parlor," said the landlord, as he stopped in the hall. "she was very much afraid that you would go off without seeing her, and she asked me to see that the hebe did not leave the wharf. i was to send a steamer after her if you tried to get away," and he smiled as he gave this evidence of the solicitude of the lady. "i told her i would come up and see her, and i should as soon think of breaking my neck as my word," answered the young man. the landlord knocked at the door, and captain greenway was promptly admitted, mr. harrington retiring when he had ended his mission. "i was afraid you would not come," said mrs. forbush, now elegantly dressed, as she came to him with both hands extended. "but i told you i would come," added the young captain, as he permitted the young lady to take both of his hands. “i know you did, conny; but you don't always keep your promises, as you are aware," replied mrs. forbush, with a smile to break and soften her rather harsh remark. "i beg your pardon, madam; but as i said to the landlord just now, i should as soon think of breaking my neck as my promise, and i have felt so ever since i was old enough to feel anything," replied he, putting the meeting at the hotel iii on some of his stock of dignity. "i am sure you do not know me, or you would not make such a charge." "if you keep your promise, you can hardly be our conny," said the lady. "i am not your conny, i assure you," protested the captain, smiling at the absurdity of the situation as it seemed to him. "you are entirely mistaken, madam." "don't call me madam again, conny; call me mother, as you did before.". "why should i call you mother when you are not my mother?" demanded the young man. "because you are my son by adoption, and you always used to call me mother," she replied, as though she believed she gave a sufficient reason. "i beg your pardon, mrs. forbush, but i never called you mother in the whole course of my life, and never even saw you before to-day," protested the captain warmly, though he was very anxious to obtain a solution of the strange conduct of the lady. "how can you treat me in this cruel manner, conny, when i have not seen you for a long time?" asked mrs. forbush, who had occasion to apply her handkerchief to her eyes. "i desire to treat you in the most respectful manner, mrs. forbush; but i do not at all understand what you have been saying to me. i never saw you before in my life till to-day, and my name is not conny, and you are not my mother, real or foster," said captain greenway, in the most decided tones. 112 the young hermit "what is your name, then?" she asked. "i call myself philip greenway," he answered, though with a little hesitation. "you call yourself philip greenway; but will you say that is not an assumed name?" inquired mrs. forbush. philip greenway seemed to be very much confused, and possibly he objected as strongly to a lie as he did to breaking his promises; at any rate, he did not answer the question. "i am confused; for reasons which involve no crime or meanness, i do not care to say whether the name is assumed or not," replied the captain. "conny would not hesitate like that," suggested joanna barlow, the companion, who was in the room. "i know that conny would lie as readily as he would tell the truth; but, young man, whoever you are, please take off your coat, and show me your left arm," continued the lady. philip greenway, as he called himself, complied with this request, and exhibited his arm. the history of conny 113 chapter xviii. the history of conny. "there they are, joanna!" exclaimed mrs. forbush, pointing to the two letters on the forearm, which were found there. "have you any doubt that this young man is conny forbush?" she spoke in tones of triumph, as though she had established the identity of her visitor precisely as she had stated it from the beginning, and the companion seemed to have as little doubt about it as her employer, though she did not even rise from her chair at some distance from her, to examine the marks; and even the lady herself had bestowed only a glance at them. "you seem to be entirely satisfied," said philip greenway, astonished at the result of the test the lady had called for. "i have no doubt whatever now that you are conny forbush, and that you came to live with me seven years ago," replied mrs. forbush, like one who had overwhelmed another in an argument. "then i went to live with you seven years ago?" asked the captain, opening his eyes and wondering whether or not he was dreaming the events, stirring as they were, of that day. "seven years ago; and i have told you all the par114 the young hermit ticulars of my taking you as a child more than once," replied the lady. "if you did, it is very strange that i have not the slightest recollection of those particulars," added phil, shrugging his shoulders like a frenchman, while he smiled at the earnestness of the new mother he had found. "how can you say so, conny, when i am just as sure as i can be that you are my adopted son? it was cruel of you to run away from me when i love you as though you had been my own son," continued mrs. forbush reproachfully. "i suppose you will not believe me, whatever i say, and i may as well say nothing," returned phil. "it appears that the young man for whom you mistake me was not in the habit of telling the truth, and you insist that i shall keep up his reputation as a liar." "you cannot deny that you ran away from me two years ago." "on the contrary, i do deny it with all my might; and i repeat that i never saw you before to-day in my life." "i am sure i cannot understand your motives for this strange conduct," said the lady, with no little bitterness and grief in her manner. "did i not treat you well? did i not give you everything you wanted that was reasonable, and many things that were not reasonable?" the history of conny 115 "i am not aware that you ever gave me anything, reasonable or unreasonable." "i cannot understand it at all," she added, wiping tears from her eyes, for the captain realized that she was actually suffering from the ingratitude of her protégé. "i can understand it no better than you can, mrs. forbush; and i assure you that i would not willingly cause you pain or uneasiness. i do not mean to say that i never told a lie, or acted one; but i can truthfully say that i mean to tell the truth, and that i almost invariably succeed in doing so." "that is not much like conny, or he must have changed a great deal in the last two years," interposed joanna, who seemed to be quite as much puzzled as the lady herself. "i hope he has improved since he left me, though i am sure i did the best i could to make a good young man of him," replied mrs. forbush. "we do not seem to get ahead any at all, and perhaps it is useless for me to remain any longer," suggested the captain, "though i am willing to afford you all the satisfaction in my power." "perhaps you will be willing to tell me where you went when you left philadelphia," said the lady, unable to hit upon any better way to unravel the enigma. "i would if i could; but as i never was in philadelphia it is quite impossible for me to tell where i went when i left it, inasmuch as i never could have left it." 116 the young hermit "you are very obstinate, conny," added mrs. forbush, shaking her head. "i should be willing to take my oath in any court in the land that i uttered only the simple truth to you," protested phil, wondering if the interview was ever coming to an end. "yet you as good as admit that philip greenway, the name under which you are known at the lake, is not your real name," continued the lady, brightening up for an instant. "it would have served my purpose better to say outright that my real name was philip greenway; and if i had been willing to lie to you, i should have said that it was not an assumed name," returned the captain. mrs. forbush looked at joanna, and seemed to be impressed by the truth of the young man's argument. the evident sincerity of the captain only increased her perplexity, and she had about come to her wits' end in the attempt to prove that the young man before her was her adopted son, who had run away from her two years before. "perhaps you will be willing to tell me something about the young man of whom you speak, and to whom you seem to be very much attached," suggested phil, whose curiosity had not been at all modified. "that would only be telling you what you know as well as i do," replied the lady. "i have tried to show you that a lie would have the history of conny 117 served my purpose, for the moment, better than the truth to which i have confined myself, and it is useless for me to say that i am more in the dark than you are." "of course i am willing to tell you all about yourself, and i hope it will bring us to some point where we shall understand each other," continued mrs. forbush, as she bent her head down, and seemed to be considering what she should say. she looked up again at the end of a minute or more, glanced at joanna, and then fixed her gaze upon the young captain of the hebe. "of course you know that i am the widow of londyke forbush, of philadelphia," she began, with another look at joanna, who opened her eyes as though something out of the common course was in progress. "my husband was a very wealthy man, and as we have no children of our own, and as he had no near relations, he left me all his property in his will. "i used to spend my winters in the south of france or in malaga, in spain," continued the lady, glancing at joanna again. "i spent my winter in spain seven years ago99 "in spain?" said joanna, opening her eyes again. "don't interrupt me, joanna, even if i make a mistake. conny has heard the story so often that he can correct me if i get it wrong, as i may, for my memory seems to be failing me," replied mrs. forbush, though she was hardly more than forty, and it was not time for any of her faculties to be impaired by years. 118 the young hermit "excuse me, mrs. forbush; i made a mistake," joanna admitted, with the humility of a dependent. "we were staying at the hotel de la alameda, in malaga, when i saw a man who appeared to be a frenchman, though he spoke spanish, as i did not, with a child of six or seven with him. i saw him kick and cuff the child in a very brutal manner, and i was so indignant about it that i spoke to the landlord. "it seemed to me as though the wretch took the occasion to abuse the little one, who was a very pretty and interesting child, whenever he happened to be in my presence, and his conduct made me very unhappy. the landlord told me that the child was english, and that its parents had died in oran, in africa, and he had been asked to take the little one to a gentleman in malaga; but this gentleman had died a month before his arrival. the child was left on his hands, and he did not know what to do with it. "the landlord brought the man and the child to me. i was very much pleased with the little one, who spoke english fluently, and told me his name was conny, though he did not know his surname. it ended in my taking the child under my protection; and i hoped when i went to england, on my return home, that i should be able to find his relations. before i left malaga i was so fond of the child that i was very willing to adopt conny as my own son; and though i advertised for his friends in london no answer came to me, and i brought the boy to my home. since that the history of conny 119 i have kept you, and done the best i could to educate and make a good boy of you." "not of me, for the story is entirely new to me," added philip greenway, who had listened attentively to the narration. mrs. forbush was more than ever perplexed. 120 the young hermit chapter xix. the letters on the arm. both mrs. forbush and joanna, plainly more puzzled than ever, looked intently at philip greenway, and seemed to be studying his expression with the utmost care, as though the narrative would afford the means of bringing about an understanding between the rich widow and the captain of the hebe. captain greenway, though he had been interested in the relation of conny's earlier history, did not seem to be impressed in the manner his two auditors evidently expected he would be, for he remained as dignified as before, and his expression was as blank as ever, so far as any comprehension of the subject before them was concerned. "i have told you this story within three years, conny, and you must be able to recall it," added the lady, when she had studied his face for a considerable time. "i am sorry to say that i do not recall it," replied phil, with a smile. "i never heard it before." "did you notice any variation in the narrative, as compared with the last time you heard it?" she asked, apparently disappointed at the result of the story. "as i never heard the story before, of course i did not notice the slightest variation," replied the captain, the letters on the arm 121 who could hardly keep from laughing as he realized the absurdity of the situation. "we may as well give it up, joanna; conny is too much for me, and he is a good deal more shrewd and intelligent than i supposed he ever would be," said the lady, with a sigh over her failure to convince the captain that he was her adopted son. "i don't see that there is any other way for you to do," replied the companion. "it seems as though he must have noticed the difference in the story, for even conny knew his geography very well." "then as you seem to be satisfied that i am not conny, perhaps you are willing that i should take my leave," suggested the captain. "i am far from satisfied that you are not conny," said the lady. "do you think i could be mistaken in a boy who had lived with me for five years, upon whom i had bestowed a mother's care? i am not, i cannot be mistaken! and joanna is as certain as i am that you are conny." "in some things he is very different from conny," added joanna; "but there has been time enough for him to change a great deal in two years.' 99 "i do not wish to deceive you, philip, and the story was false in regard to the names of the places, though it is all true in regard to the main points. instead of malaga, in spain, it was in dresden, in germany, and the boy's parents died in st. petersburg, instead of oran," the lady explained. "i hoped you would betray 122 the young hermit yourself by words or looks when i changed the names of the places." "if i had ever heard the story before probably i should have betrayed myself," replied the captain. "what possible motive do you think i could have for denying all knowledge of you, mrs. forbush? you are a wealthy lady, and i might make my fortune by acknowledging the truth of all you have said, if it were the truth." "he has grown larger and heavier since he ran away, and is browner than when he left home; but i think i should swear in a court that he is conny," remarked joanna. “and you have the very letters on your arm which conny had, though i did not notice them till he had been with me for a couple of years," continued mrs. forbush, rising from her chair; and the captain did the same. "it is not likely that two boys born in different parts of the world would have the same letters in the same place on their arms. do you think such a thing is possible, captain greenway, as you call yourself?" "i should say that it is hardly possible," answered the captain candidly. "then the letters prove that you are conny, and that you cannot be any one else," said she triumphantly. "the letters on my arm seem to be the only real evidence to sustain the position you have taken; and i confess that they almost convince me that you are right, even while i know that you are wrong. i do the letters on the arm 123 not know how the letters came upon my arm, though i have a very indistinct recollection of having suffered great pain when i was a small child," replied phil. "but there they are, and though they do not stand for philip greenway, i know perfectly well what they do represent." "how could they stand for philip greenway, or any other name with the same initials?" demanded mrs. forbush, discovering a discrepancy in the captain's statement, as she understood the matter. "p. g. could easily stand for philip greenway, or any other name beginning with the same letters," added philip. "p. g.!" exclaimed the lady, approaching him as she spoke. "those are the letters on my arm." "p. g.?" repeated she. "p. g.," repeated the captain, giving particular attention to his enunciation. "but the letters are not p. g., but c. g.," said the lady, beginning to believe they were coming nearer to a solution of the problem. "i beg your pardon, mrs. forbush, but the letters on my arm are p. g., and it is not at all possible for me to be mistaken in this matter, for a p does not look at all like a c. i am afraid you did not stop to read the letters when i showed them to you," continued philip warmly, as he began to see a streak of daylight ahead of him. "i hardly looked at them, i know; the sight of any 124 the young hermit letters where yours are satisfied me what they must be. will you let me look at them again?" "certainly," answered the captain, as he took off his coat and turned up his shirt sleeve. the lady and her companion looked with all their eyes at the marks on the young man's arm; and, though they were rather faint, they could still be distinctly seen, and it was not possible to mistake the two letters for others. "the letters are certainly p. g.," said the rich widow. "there can be no mistake about it," added joanna. "i am as sure as i am of my own existence that the first letter on conny's arm was a c." "so am i, for i hoped that at some future day the mystery of these letters would be known," continued mrs. forbush. "but i am even more astonished than i was before. i believe after all that you are not conny, though every feature and look about you are the same as conny's. i am hardly willing to admit, though, that you are not my adopted son." "i should think the evidenec ought to satisfy you, even if you refuse to believe what i say," replied the captain. "one letter is different; but that may have been changed," suggested joanna, who was still as incredulous as her employer. "two human beings could not be so near alike and not be the same." "i do not believe that letters pricked into the skin with india ink could be changed; but you will excuse 僮 ​ the letters on the arm 125 me, mrs. forbush, if i decline to discuss the subject any more," replied philip greenway, becoming impatient at further objections. "with your permission, i will return to the hebe." he moved toward the door as though he fully intended to end the debate at once; but he halted before he reached it, and seemed to be troubled by a reflection which came to him, for he looked upon the floor as he considered it. "don't go yet, captain greenway, for i had almost forgotten the debt of gratitude i owe you," interposed the lady. "never mind the debt of gratitude," he replied. "may i see you alone for a few minutes, mrs. forbush?" "certainly, if you desire it; but joanna has been my friend and companion since the death of my husband, and i have no secrets from her," replied the wealthy widow. "as joanna has heard all that has been said, i had better speak in her presence," continued the captain, after a little reflection. "i have a favor to ask of you which shall cancel the debt of gratitude of which you speak. i desire to keep all that has passed between us to-day in this room and on the wharf as a profound secret." "i give you my promise that not a word of it shall be spoken to any one," answered the lady. "and i will be as secret as the grave itself," added joanna. 126 the young hermit "thank you both; and i have a little more to add, which is subject to the same secrecy. i was adopted by an elderly gentleman and his young wife, who live in st. paul, and p. g. stands for paul gayland, which is my real name. mr. gayland, who is one of the best men that ever lived, and his wife do not agree very well, and he has a nephew of eighteen in the family; and the two latter made it very uncomfortable for me. i was in the way of the wife and the nephew, and i left one night a month ago." "poor fellow! i am really sorry for you," said the lady, taking his hand. "i wish you would live with me in place of conny, if you are not he." "i am not conny. i am guilty of no crime, and the worst i have done was to leave my foster father when i made trouble all the time in the family, with no fault on my part. you can see now why i wish to keep my affairs to myself." "then your remarkable resemblance to conny is only an accident, and i am confident i was mistaken,” replied mrs. forbush. "so was i," added joanna. mrs. forbush promised to explain that she was mistaken to those who had witnessed the scene on the wharf, and then made him promise to call upon her again, as she sent joanna to show him the way out of the hotel by the back stairs, so that he should be seen by none of the guests. shouts for assistance 127 chapter xx. shouts for assistance. captain greenway was very anxious to escape from the hotel, though he believed that the gratitude of the rich lady would protect him from any exposure of his secret, if he could succeed in keeping out of the way of other people. he believed that he had disarmed mrs. forbush by making her his confidante, even to telling her his real name, if the reader had not before recognized in “the hermit of minnetonka" the former resident of the elegant mansion on the hill, paul gayland. he had left the home of his benefactor soon after the family had all retired the night before the robbery of the safe, taking with him all his clothing, books, and such other things as he desired, packing them in his large valise. besides the thousand-dollar bill which mr. gayland had presented to him as the basis of his future income, he had some other money, with which he could pay his expenses for a time, and he took the last train for minneapolis without any well-defined idea of what he was going to do with himself. it was with genuine sorrow that he left the house of his benefactor; but he felt that he was the cause. of so much discord in the family that he ought to leave, 128 the young hermit though it was not his fault that mrs. gayland made trouble on his account. whether he was mistaken in his idea or not, he certainly left the house because he felt it to be his duty to do so, for he was not the son of the rich man, and he realized that he was stepping in between sparks, if not the wife, and his reasonable expectations. as he made his way to the railroad station with his hat pulled down over his eyes so that he should not be recognized, he shed hot tears at the necessity which had confronted him, and driven him away from what had once been a delightful home to him. he was now alone in the world, willing as his benefactor was to care for him, and even love him as a son; but paul felt that he could not live in the midst of such strife, and that he was really doing a kindness to mr. gayland in relieving him of his presence in the house. he went to a hotel of the smaller class in minneapolis, and the next day took the train for the lake, where he had found wabash wingstone at excelsior. the engineer was then in charge of the hebe, pending the sale of her to the highest bidder. philip greenway, as he chose to call himself from the time he reached minneapolis, liked the looks of the little steamer, and entered into conversation with her engineer, who told him she was for sale for the most she would bring. bashy volunteered to show up the steam yacht, if the visitor had any intention of buying her, and phil hinted that he had the means to do so if she did not shouts for assistance 129 cost too much; and the engineer procured a pilot at once. the passenger intimated that he should like to visit the most unfrequented part of the lake, and he was taken to halsted's bay, where he discovered the very locality he most desired to find; and then he sounded bashy in regard to the probable value of the hebe. he found the sum less than he had supposed it would be, though more than his means would permit him to give; but he made an offer of six hundred dollars, with which the engineer promised to wait on the assignee of the bankrupt owner. somewhat to the astonishment of the hermit, as he intended to make himself, the offer was accepted, the large bill was changed at the bank, and phil, or captain greenway, as the engineer called him from that hour, became the owner of the hebe, one of the finest steam yachts on the lake. bashy had spoken an early word for himself, and he was engaged to serve as engineer and general assistant at the shanty when it should be erected. a rowboat was purchased, and in less than a week the hermitage was completed. the assistance of the pilot was secured for a few days, and the hebe was going about all the time to enable the new owner to learn the navigation of the lake. as has been said before, philip greenway, as he had named himself to fit the initials on his arm, kept himself out of the way of everybody, and he did not even begin to read the minneapolis tribune on sunday 130 the young hermit till he had lived two weeks at the hermitage. he had never heard of the robbery of the elegant mansion on the hill at st. paul, and he had not the remotest suspicion that he was charged with participating in the burglary. but even if he had read the papers, and learned that the house had been entered, with a loss of over six thousand dollars, he would not have known that he was believed to have been concerned in the break, for cavan, for reasons of his own, had caused this fact to be suppressed in the interests of justice; and even mrs. gayland and sparks dared not disregard the injunction of secrecy. philip, as we will call him in deference to his desire, had no doubt that mr. gayland would seek to recover him again, as he had done on the former occasion; but he thought he would be more likely to look for him in chicago, or at the seaboard, than in the immediate vicinity; and for this reason he decided to spend the summer at lake minnetonka, where he had been only once before. when he had escaped from the hotel, after his interview with mrs. forbush, without passing through a crowd of the assembled guests, he took a path by the lake shore to the wharf, and went on board of the steamer, where he immediately gave the order to cast off the fasts, though he did it himself in the absence of any deck hand. the hebe backed out from the pier without affording any of the people there an opportunity to talk with shouts for assistance 131 the captain about himself or the thrilling incident of the day; and in the pilot house he began to review what had passed since he went to the assistance of the excelsior. the clouds still hung over the lake, and though the tempest had passed away, the wind still blew more than half a gale from the northwest, and the water was rough; but the captain of the hebe rather enjoyed handling his craft when there was sea enough to shake her up. he headed her for the north, through the passage between the peninsula and big island, beyond which was the narrows, through which he had to pass in order to reach the hermitage; but he had no more than got through the channel before his attention was attracted by the vigorous shouts of a man who must be at a considerable distance from him, judging by the sound. he saw a steam launch at the south of the northwood park as he came through the passage, but he did not bestow a second glance upon her till he heard the yells, which he soon decided came from her. a second look at her assured him that she was disabled, and was drifting before the wind on the rather heavy sea in that exposed part of the lake, and he immediately threw over the wheel so as to overhaul her. but he had made but a short distance before he heard the scream of a woman, and he concluded that the excelsior was not the only craft that had suffered from the hurricane of that day. 132 the young hermit the steam launch, being quite small, was rolling in the trough of the sea in a manner that must have been very trying to the nerves of a woman, or even a man of little experience in a heavy sea. the scream was repeated several times, and the captain of the hebe concluded that the situation on board of the steam launch was more trying than he had supposed it could be, though the hebe made tolerably good weather of it, and did not even mind the trough of the sea. "bashy, give me more steam!" called the captain through the speaking tube. "there is a boat disabled off here!" the engineer proceeded to obey the order without asking any questions, for he had learned more of the humor of the captain that day than he had ever known before. the screams of the woman and the yells of the man became more frequent and vigorous, and phil hoped the boat would not go to the bottom before he could reach her. as he continued to watch the launch, he saw a man at the bow, for she was drifting stern foremost, making the most energetic gestures for his benefit, though for some time he could not make out the meaning of his demonstration. "there is a small boat off to windward of us!" shouted bashy, from the port side of the steamer, near ⚫ the engine. shouts for assistance 133 captain greenway looked in the direction indicated by his assistant, and for the first time he discovered a very small boat, which seemed to be making very bad weather of it. a second look assured him that there was a young girl in the boat. 134 the young hermit chapter xxi. a girl in peril. a's soon as he discovered the small boat containing the young girl, captain greenway began to have a better idea of the situation. leaving the disabled steam launch to take care of itself, he changed the course of the hebe, directing her toward the smaller craft, which was in the greater peril. it was evident from the screams that came from the launch that there was a woman on board of it, and it was clear that the danger to the young girl was the occasion of the vigorous yell of the man and of the shrieking of the female; and the belief was soon confirmed by the cessation of both cries. the pilot took a marine glass from the brackets, and gave a closer scrutiny to the little boat and its single passenger; and he had no difficulty in realizing that the girl was in imminent peril, for the boat was in the trough of a sea which was altogether too much for a craft of its size, and the waves seemed to be breaking into it at every roll it made. after changing her course the hebe was headed into the eye of the wind, and she made good weather of it, hardly minding the waves that were a sore trial to the steam launch, floundering about in the trough of the sea. i a girl in peril 135 bashy was hurrying her all he dared, for he could see that the young girl was in great danger of being swamped, or washed out of the boat. he went to take a look at her as often as about once a minute, saying something to the captain each time he did so. "do you know what boat that is?" asked phil greenway from the pilot house, after bashy had made one of his remarks about the situation of the smaller craft. "i haven't the least idea; but i think the steam launch belongs to the hotel lafayette, for there is one like that kept over there," replied the engineer. "there are a dozen boats like that little one about the lake, but i reckon it belongs at minnetonka beach." this was near the hotel lafayette, the largest at the lake, situated on a peninsula at the northern shore of holmes bay, where the manitoba railroad has its terminus, though the information afforded the captain no solution of the situation of the two crafts then in sight. it is natural for almost any one to ask how anything happened, and that was what phil tried to reason out as he watched the launch and the little rowboat, though he had no facts on which to base any theory. the hurricane had spent its fury more than an hour before, though it was possible that the launch had been disabled by its violence; but he could form no opinion as to how the girl happened to be adrift at least half a mile from the little steamer or the nearest land. the hebe had perceptibly increased her speed against the smart gale which was blowing at the time, and she 136 the young hermit cut the water with her sharp bow as though she scorned the resistance the waves presented to her progress. not a little of the moisture from the lake was dashed upon the deck of the steamer, and even into the face. of the bold pilot who directed her movements. as the hebe approached the light craft, and the girl could be seen clinging convulsively to the rails on each side of her, her screams became audible; and any one would have been willing to excuse her for being frightened under such circumstances. "hold on, and you are all right!" shouted captain greenway, at the top of his lungs, when he thought he was near enough to be heard by the little miss, who appeared to be quaking with terror. the hail, intended to encourage the girl, was answered by a shrill scream from the sufferer, as she gazed with the most intense earnestness at the approaching steamer. "she ain't used up yet," shouted bashy, when he had heard the scream, which assured him that there was some vitality left in the maiden, in spite of all she had endured. in a few minutes more the hebe was near enough to make it necessary to prepare to save the girl from her perilous position, for the captain realized that a mistake in the measures adopted to take the maiden on board might result in the loss of the one they sought to rescue, as even a slight collision with the frail rowboat might smash in its side, and throw the girl into the water, where she would evidently be helpless, and a girl in peril 137 might sink at once in her partially exhausted condition. it was a nice manœuvre to approach such a featherweight as the light rowboat in such a sea as surrounded it without sinking it, and the captain saw the necessity of careful calculation, for the hebe was leaping and plunging in the opposing waves. "stand by the engine, and look sharp, bashy!" shouted the pilot, as he rang the bell to stop her. a noise of hissing steam was all the reply he could hear, for the engineer eased off the boiler as he shut off steam from the machinery; but the captain saw that his order was promptly obeyed, though the steamer continued to approach the boat under the impetus before acquired. when the bow of the hebe was almost up with the rowboat, the captain threw over the wheel, and the steamer circled part way round the boat, till her hull was exactly to windward of the little boat, and not more than ten feet from it, when he rang to back her. bashy obeyed the order on the instant, and the effect of the backing was to deprive the boat of its headway by simply checking her momentum; but the instant her progress ceased she began to roll in a manner that would have been dangerous to a smaller craft. as soon as he had the boat as nearly at rest as the angry waves would permit, captain greenway darted from the pilot house as though he had been shot by some invisible weapon, and made his way to the waist of the vessel, abreast of which was the rowboat con138 the young hermit taining the terrified girl, whom phil judged to be about ten years old. taking a heave line in his hand as he stepped down from the pilot house, upon which he had fixed his eye while making his calculations for the rescue, he made one end of it fast to the rail, and waited for the steamer to drift up to the light boat; and he was so near that he had to remain idle only the fraction of a second. "stand by here, bashy, with a boat hook," said he to the engineer, to whom no call from the pilot house could now come. "here i am," replied the assistant, picking up the implement which lay by the side of the engine. phil decided that it was not prudent to ask the girl to do anything for her own safety, for he realized that she must be almost paralyzed by the cold water and the terror of her situation. in another moment the hebe had drifted upon the boat, and the captain, with the rope in his hand, dropped adroitly into the frail little craft, which was now comparatively at rest under the lee of the steamer. "fend off the boat with the boat hook," said phil, with no appearance of excitement in his manner. perhaps the thrilling events on the other side of the island had made the present one a tame affair. when he had made fast the heave line to the boat, the captain did not lose a single instant in proceeding to the momentous business of his mission. without a word, he gathered up the little maiden in his strong a girl in peril 139 arms, and lifted her from her seat on the bottom of the boat. "stand by, there, bashy!" he called to the engineer. "never mind the boat hook now, but take the girl, and handle her carefully." the hebe was low enough in the water to enable bashy to obey the order, and he took the maiden in his arms as carefully as though she had been a basket of eggs, in spite of the rolling of the steamer, and deposited her on the leather cushion in what was called, by courtesy, the engine room, though it was not inclosed from the rest of the craft. as soon as the captain saw that she was safe, he cast off the heave line, and went on board of the hebe with the painter of the rowboat in his hand; and, carrying it aft, he made it fast at the stern of the steamer. the moments of peril to the girl were past, and the hebe was in no danger at present; the captain therefore went to ascertain the condition of his little passenger before he returned to the pilot house. he found that bashy had changed her sitting posture to a recumbent one, and had put his overcoat under her. the engineer dropped the canvas curtains that inclosed the boiler and machinery, and the place was soon as hot as an oven. 140 the young hermit chapter xxii. an exciting chase. "what is your name, little miss?" asked bashy, when he had sheltered the girl from the savage blast that came from the northwest. "sibyl goldson," she replied, shivering with the cold so that it was with the greatest difficulty she could answer the question. "don't talk to her, bashy; she is not in condition to answer questions," interposed captain greenway. "let her entirely alone till she gets warm and comfortable; and it will soon be hot enough to toast her here." "all right, captain; not another word," answered the engineer, as he left the little passenger to look after the engine. "we will go ahead now, for i think that party in the steam launch will be glad to see us as soon as we can overhaul her," continued the captain, as he left the engine room and went to the pilot house. in a moment more the bell rang to go ahead, and bashy started the engine again, though he kept one eye on the guest of the engine room, for he feared that she might roll off the cushioned seat which served for her couch, in the lively motion of the craft while she was at rest. the hebe came about, making some tremendous an exciting chase 141 lee lurches as she did so, and went off before the wind, though her motion became sensibly less as she darted over the dashing waves. the steam launch had drifted at least half a mile since the captain of the hebe had given any particular attention to her, and the change in the direction of the wind from west to northwest had carried her toward the eastern part of big island, where she was in danger of going ashore before the needed assistance could be rendered to her, and a heavy sea was breaking against the beach. "keep her moving as lively as you can, bashy," called the pilot through the speaking tube. "what is the matter now, captain?" inquired the engineer, through the same channel. "the steam launch is drifting toward the shore of big island," replied phil. "she may knock a hole in her bottom before we can reach her." "all right; she shall do her best," added bashy. "miss sibyl is getting warm, and says, without any asking, that she feels better." "glad to hear it; but keep the engine jumping, or the rest of these people may need us more than the little girl did." the effect of this request was soon apparent in the motion of the hebe, for, though she leaped and buried her bow in the waves, she was making rapid progress through the water, and captain greenway had a lively hope that he should be able to prevent the launch from pounding on the shore. 142 the young hermit the disabled craft was ahead of him, and he applied his marine glass to her to ascertain how many persons were on board of her. after a while he was able to count four, though there might be more whom he could not see. the party appeared to consist of a lady, two men, and a boy; and the captain concluded, from the screams she had given while miss sibyl was in such imminent peril, that the female was the child's mother. as the hebe came nearer to the chase, two of the men made signals with their handkerchiefs, though, as the steamer was doing her best, the captain of the steamer gave no heed to them, for there was nothing to be done that he was not already doing. the launch was every moment getting nearer to the shore, and, however well she was built, the sea was heavy enough to give her a severe shock if she struck the hard gravel or packed sand. as the distance to the island became less, the signals became more forcible and imperative; and the captain was now near enough to see that one of the men was pointing nervously at the land on his starboard hand. as before stated, the steam launch was much smaller than the hebe, and a new difficulty was presented to the pilot of the latter, for his own craft drew twice as much water as the other, and he was liable to get aground before he could reach the disabled boat. he realized that it would be bad policy for him to run the risk of knocking a hole in the hull of the an exciting chase 143 hebe, for then he could do nothing for his own people or for those in the launch. "we are scraping on the bottom!" suddenly yelled bashy, through the speaking tube. the captain put the helm to starboard, for he suspected that the hebe had thumped once or twice on the bottom, and the steamer stood away from the perilous locality; and this movement brought a yell of indignation from the launch, whose people evidently did not understand the reason for this change of course. but captain greenway gave no heed to this demonstration, and only took the trouble to satisfy himself that the launch was still afloat; then he came about, and took a position abreast of the disabled craft and fastened the wheel amidships as he rang to stop her. then he took off his coat, which the coolness of the weather rendered necessary on the lake, and rolled up his shirt sleeves, as though he had some difficult work before him. leaving the pilot house, he went to the waist, and raised the curtain of the engine room, where the sweat was pouring off the forehead of bashy in the heat he had got up for the benefit of the little passenger. "bashy, keep her moving just enough to prevent her from drifting toward the shore, for i have secured the wheel amidships, though you must attend to her steering if her head falls off too much," said phil, in a clear and calm voice, though the men on the launch were yelling with all their might at him. "all right, captain greenway; i have done that 144 the young hermit thing all along before, and i know just how to do it, and the hebe will mind me as though she had brains of her own," replied the faithful engineer. "whether the hebe has brains or not, you have, bashy, and i leave the steamer in your charge. do the best you can with her, and that is all i ask," added the captain, as he walked to the stern of the boat. on his way he took a coil of rope, which was the longest single line on board, and secured one end of it very carefully to a cleat used to moor her alongside a wharf; and, taking the other end in his hand, he stepped into the little rowboat, and made it fast at the stern. taking the oars from the bottom of the little boat, he cast off the painter, and began to pull toward the launch, which was nearly abreast of the hebe, both craft looking directly into the wind. it was not an easy task to pull a boat of that size in such waves, and the tender of the steamer, which the captain did not need, as he did not intend to make a landing in his cruise, had been left at the hermitage; but the rower was evidently accustomed to pulling in a heavy sea, and he soon displayed his skill in a manner which astonished bashy, who did not let a minute pass without looking at him. the men on board of the launch, whether they had come to an understanding of the real situation or not, had ceased to yell, and all on board of her were watching the little boat with the most intense interest, no doubt with a mingling of anxiety for the success of an exciting chase 145 his efforts, whatever he intended to do, for they did not seem to comprehend his movements. when phil reached the bow of the launch, his boat was half full of water, for his course had kept him in the trough of the sea, and it was only with great difficulty, and the exercise of a skill which experience alone could give, that he had been able to keep it right side up. bringing the light boat under the lee of the bow of the launch, he made fast the long line he had brought through the water from the hebe to a ring in the stem of the disabled craft, even before the captain of it could determine what he was about. without waiting an instant after he had accomplished his mission at the launch, phil pulled back to his own steamer, though he was again greeted by the yells of the two men. "what are you about? are you going to desert us now? we shall be broken up in three minutes on this shore," yelled one of the men. "it is all right, and i am doing the best i can," replied phil, who had no wind to spare, after his desperate exertion, in explaining his plan. "we shall all be drowned!" screamed the lady. the captain of the hebe had enough to do to handle his featherweight boat, and he made no further reply; but as soon as he saw bashy in the waist of the hebe he yelled to him to go ahead, full steam. 146 the young hermit chapter xxiii. mr. arnold blonday. bashy heard the order, and obeyed it with his usual promptness, starting the engine in the proper manner, and hastening to the pilot house to look out for the steering. "was the little girl drowned?" called one of the men on the launch. "no!" shouted captain greenway, who thought this was a question that ought to be answered. the hebe went ahead, and the line straightened as she did so, though it was plain that the people on the launch had no idea whatever of what the young man in the boat had been doing. as the line came up out of the water, phil noticed it, and pulled toward it till he had it in his grasp, when he unshipped his oars, and hauled himself to the hebe by the rope. as soon as he came on board, he secured the little boat, and hastened to the pilot house to relieve the engineer of a part of his double duty, though he had certainly performed both in a satisfactory manner. the hebe had no difficulty in bringing the launch out of her proximity to the shore, and she seemed to go off into the wind with hardly diminished speed; mr. arnold blonday 147 for the captain intended to run under the lee of northwood, and there ascertain what was the pleasure of the passengers on board of the tow, as he was not informed where they belonged, or who and what they were. 1 after the experience of the forenoon with the passengers of the excelsior, he was not at all inclined to pay another visit to any hotel; if he did he was likely to lose his character as the hermit of minnetonka. "how is the little girl, bashy?" asked the captain, after everything had begun to go along as usual on board, for he had not thought of her as long as his mind was occupied with the safety of the people on board of the launch. "she is all right, and says she feels warm and comfortable now," replied the engineer, as she could not well help being in the intense heat of the engine room. "her clothes are almost dry, and she says she should like to see you.' 99 "time enough to see me before she goes ashore," returned phil. “i am going to stop her under the lee of the land ahead, and then we will see the people in the launch." this was said as a hint that bashy need not drive the engine, and he did not shovel any more coal into the furnace, as he would otherwise have done; and in a little while the bell came to stop her. phil went aft, and hauled in the towline as the launch forged ahead after the engineer had backed the hebe so as to stop her headway; and without much 148 the young hermit effort, when bashy came to his aid, the tow was hauled alongside the steamer, for the water was quite smooth under the lee of the shore. the captain had gone to the little wheel of the launch, but the rest of the party remained in the bow, where they had been since the hebe hauled her off the lee shore, the lady springing to her feet as soon as she saw that the boat was coming alongside the hebe. though she appeared to be wet, and her clothes to have been a good deal deranged by her experience in the launch, phil could see that she was dressed in costly garments. he had no doubt she was a member of a wealthy family, as were most of those who spent much time at the hotels on the lake. though the captain guessed that she was from thirty-five to forty years old, she was still a handsome woman; but there was something in her expression that he did not like, for it was too much like that of mrs. gayland, whom he had come to know thoroughly. by her side was a gentleman, who looked as though he was somewhat older than the lady, and was dressed as finely as she was, with an evident air of the man of the world about him. phil concluded that he was the lady's husband and the father of the little girl in the engine room, though this of course could be nothing more than a guess. "where is my daughter?" called the lady, as soon as the launch came abreast of the hebe, with all the anxiety any mother might feel under such circumstances. mr. arnold blonday 149 "she is in the engine room, drying her clothes; but she is all right now, and you need not be at all disturbed about her," replied the captain in the most assuring tones he could command. "oh, i am so rejoiced!" exclaimed the lady, who also appeared to be shivering with the cold, though perhaps it was partly her nervous anxiety. "can i see her?" "certainly you can, madam," said phil, getting out the gangplank for her use. “i was sure she would be drowned! and you have saved her?" exclaimed the lady, as she walked to the place where the captain had placed the plank. "how shall i ever reward you for what you have done?" "the engineer says the little girl is doing very well, and she has been in his room ever since she came on board," replied phil, without heeding the grateful expressions of the fond mother, as she really appeared to be. "i don't know you, young man, though we have been at the lake for the last two weeks," interposed the gentleman, who kept close to the lady. "that is captain philip greenway," said bashy, who had come to the after part of the steamer to assist with the gangplank. "he is the captain of the hebe, which is the name of the boat." "i am glad to know you, captain greenway," said the gentleman, extending his hand to the hero of the occasion. "this lady is mrs. austin goldson." 150 the young hermit "i am particularly glad to make your acquaintance, captain greenway; for you have saved my only child, and i am under a debt of gratitude to you that i can never repay," said mrs. goldson, extending her jeweled hand to him. "and you are mr. austin goldson, i suppose?" inquired phil, turning away from the lady when she began to talk of her gratitude, though he did not doubt her sincerity. "no, i am not," replied the gentleman very promptly. "the lady is my sister, and i am the uncle of the little girl whose life you have saved. my name is arnold blonday." arnold! the young captain had studied american history, and he wondered how any native could call his son by such a name; but mr. blonday behaved himself with strict propriety, and personally he was not at all disagreeable. phil showed the lady and her brother to the engine room, where the mother infolded her daughter in a long and hysteric embrace, while her uncle only took her hand and kissed her just once. the captain did not think it would be polite to witness the interview, and he left the family to rejoice alone in their reunion with the one who was so nearly lost to them, for even phil could not explain how the boat had kept right side up so long. on his return to the deck, he thought he should make a more presentable appearance with his coat on when it mr. arnold blonday 151 should be his duty to look out for the comfort of his passengers; but the skipper of the launch confronted him before he could get to the pilot house, and he was not cold. " "you have done a handsome thing for my party," said captain floyd, addressing the captain of the hebe. "we did as well as we could for you, in spite of all the yelling you set up," replied phil. "how did that little girl happen to get adrift in that boat?" "you see we got caught in the storm, but i made the lee of the point by huntington's house; and we stood it very well, for the water was smooth enough there in the worst of it," returned captain floyd. "that rowboat belongs to miss sibyl, and we took it with us so that she could have a row when we landed at the hotel st. louis. while we were waiting here the little girl got into it, unknown to any of us, and we didn't find it out till we heard her scream, for she had got out into the big waves. she couldn't row there, and she began to drift off. her mother was scared almost to death, and i started the violet after her. i hadn't any more than got into the big sea before my tiller ropes broke. i could not do a thing, and we began to drift as you found us." at this moment mr. arnold blonday came out of the engine room, just as the captain was pulling down his sleeves and going for his coat. "what is that mark on your arm, captain green152 the young hermit way?" demanded mr. blonday, putting his finger upon the initials on his arm. "the letters are the initials of my name-philip greenway." arnold blonday was terribly shaken by some emotion which phil could not understand. ( the excited passenger 153 chapter xxiv. the excited passenger. c the day of the tempest was certainly a very eventful one with captain philip greenway, for it had made him acquainted with the rich widow from philadelphia, and now the remarkable conduct of mr. arnold blonday indicated that he had some strange interest in him, judging by the depth of his emotion when he accidentally saw the letters on his arm. as the p. g. had been on his arm ever since he could remember, he had become accustomed to the sight of them himself, and they had long since ceased to excite his wonder as to how they came there. he had half suspected that they stood for his real name, and, reasoning from the strong affection which mr. gayland manifested toward him, he could almost believe that he was the son of that capitalist, by some unexplained marriage, concealed for reasons which he could not fathom. he had asked the occupant of the elegant mansion on the hill, in his last interview with him, about the letters; but the only reply he had ever received was that they were on his arm when he was brought to the hotel at nice; and, though the last letter was the initial of his surname, he did not know for what the first one stood, and he and mrs. gayland had agreed to call him 154 the young hermit paul, after a brother of the lady, in order to make his name correspond to the letters. on leaving the elegant mansion, when he found it advisable, if not absolutely necessary to assume a new name, so as to prevent any report of him from being carried back to st. paul, he had selected philip greenway so that it should agree with the initials on his arm in case they should be seen by any person. bashy had spoken to him about them when they were swimming in the lake; but as they stood for the captain's name, as the engineer knew it, it was not at all strange that those particular letters should be there, if any; and the bearer of them explained that sailors and fishermen on the sea were very apt to have such marks upon them. the engineer had introduced his captain to mr. blonday and his sister, using his full name, which clearly accounted for both initials, and phil could not imagine what there was to call out so much emotion on the part of the passenger. a gentleman and a man of the world, as mr. blonday appeared to be, would not be startled out of his stoicism and even his self-possession by discovering a couple of letters on the arm of a stranger, especially if they were in accord with his announced name. probably if the initials on his arm had not been the subject of so much remark with mrs. forbush only a couple of hours before, he would have been less astonished at the impression they produced upon his present passenger; and, as he had never seen or heard of the excited passenger 155 mr. blonday or mrs. goldson before, he was utterly unable to suggest any explanation of the behavior of the former. mr. blonday even turned pale, and his lips quivered when he saw the initials, and he gazed at them as though he was spellbound by the sight. "do you think it is anything very strange that i should have the initials of my name on my arm, mr. blonday?" asked the captain, after he had looked in silence at the apparently petrified form in front of him. "those are the initials of your name, are they?" said the passenger, without removing his gaze from the characters which seemed to be so impressive to him. "my name has been mentioned to you, and you can judge for yourself," added captain greenway. "i have really forgotten your christian name, captain," continued mr. blonday, looking up at him for the first time since he discovered the letters. "philip greenway was the name which the engineer gave me when he introduced me." "philip greenway," repeated the gentleman, with a more sinister expression than the captain had observed before in his face. "you are right, and the initials do stand for that name." "of course they do," said phil, his wonder and dislike of the man increasing with every word that came from him. "is there anything very strange in the fact that p. g. stands for philip greenway?" "i can't say that there is; but it seems to me that i have seen those initials on the arm of some other 156 the young hermit person," replied mr. blonday, suddenly recovering the self-possession he had lost as he dropped the captain's arm, and conjured up an enticing smile on his thin lips, as if he felt that he had been "giving himself away." "where i have seen them, i cannot for the life of me remember." "it cannot have been on my arm, at any rate, for i never saw you before in my life," remarked phil. "you have rendered my sister a very great service, my young friend, and i shall not attempt to express her gratitude or my own to you at this time; but you may be very sure that we shall not forget what you have done to-day; and every time we look upon the little girl, even after she has reached the years of maturity, we shall be apt to think of you, who have given us back the life that had been lost without your assistance," said mr. blonday, evidently thinking it was time to change the subject. "it looks as though it was going to blow pretty fresh the rest of the day," remarked phil, dodging the new subject introduced by the passenger. "i am not weather wise," answered mr. blonday, trying to smile, though the effort was hardly a success. "how long do we remain here, captain?" "i ran up under the lee of the shore to enable you and the lady to see the little girl; and i am ready to leave at your pleasure, if you will tell me where you wish to go." 99 "we have been boarding at the hotel lafayette for the last two weeks, and we still have apartments there," the excited passenger 157 replied the passenger. "we go out on the lake every pleasant day, and have employed the steam launch on our excursions; but the violet does not seem to have been put together in a very substantial manner, or she would not have broken down to-day; and we shall doubtless take some other boat in future." "an accident is likely to happen to any steamer, sir," suggested the captain. "but we should prefer such a steamer as this one; and my sister will be very glad to engage the hebe, for that i believe is the name of your boat," added mr. blonday, in a patronizing tone, though this was doubtless habitual rather than put on with reference to the gallant young captain, whose services ought to have exempted him from anything of that kind. "the hebe does not carry any passengers," replied captain greenway, rather stiffly. "you don't carry passengers?" queried the man of the world, apparently astonished at the reply. "never, sir, unless we pick them up in distress, as we did you, and as we did another party to-day," added phil. mr. blonday wanted to know about the other party, and the captain gave him the naked particulars without enlarging upon the side incidents of the affair at the lake park hotel. "now, mr. blonday, if you are ready, i will take your party to the hotel lafayette," suggested the captain. "i hope you will stay to dinner with us, and i am 1 158 the young hermit sure the guests of the hotel will be glad to see one who has made so good a record for himself as you have, captain greenway," replied the passenger. "you must excuse me, sir; and i have no desire to meet the guests of the hotel," replied phil, with all the dignity he could command, for he had the impression that the gentleman was patronizing him, and that was something which he could not endure. "but i hope we shall see you again; and i am sure my sister will be very much disappointed if she fails to meet you again in the near future." the captain made no reply, but went to the pilot house. a pressing invitation 159 chapter xxv. a pressing invitation. when captain greenway reached the pilot house of the hebe, he put on his coat; and he had almost vowed never to take it off again, or, at least, not to roll up his shirt sleeves so that any one could see the initials on his arm, for he felt as though they had nearly betrayed the hermit of minnetonka. 2 he rang the bell to start the engine back, and as soon as the hebe was well off the shore, he rang again to go ahead, and he pointed her out into the rough water again. phil found that he had enough to engage his thoughts for hours to come, though he was utterly unable to make anything of the situation in which he found himself on this eventful day. mrs. forbush had mistaken him for her adopted son, though, as she resided in philadelphia, it was not probable that the genuine young man with c. g. on his arm could be anywhere in the vicinity of lake minnetonka. the only important fact which interested him in regard to "conny" was that he had initials on his arm, in the same place as his own; and now it looked just as though mr. arnold blonday knew something about letters on the arm. 160 the young hermit the captain cudgeled his active brain with the utmost vigor, but he could make nothing of the meager particulars which had come to his knowledge; and the more he racked his thinking powers, the more fathomless became the whole subject. at last, in sheer disgust at what he could not comprehend, he was compelled to conclude that all which was strange and unexplainable was merely an accident, for the pricking of names and other devices on the arm was a very common practice, not entirely confined to those who follow the sea. p. g., or even c. g., might stand for a hundred names; and he amused himself in recalling all the letters he could think of that would fit the initials; and with this disposal of the whole subject he was fully satisfied, and discharged it from his mind. he had hardly set his mind at rest before the three passengers on board appeared on the forward deck, holding on with all their might to prevent themselves from being thrown overboard by the motion of the steamer, which was now approaching the pier at minnetonka beach. there was not a single craft of any kind moored there, for the hurricane raked squarely across the bay, and even since the change of wind the bay was not protected. if the dangerous situation of the yacht had been seen at all from the shore, as it could hardly have been, there was not a steamer available in which to go to her assistance, for all of them had sought shelter in a less exposed locality before the storm; and it had been quite a pressing invitation 161 impossible to see the little boat as it drifted with its single passenger on the angry waves. "i hope you feel better than you did, miss sibyl," said the captain, as the lady and her daughter took a position beneath the front windows of the pilot house, both of them supported by mr. blonday. "oh, i feel very nicely now, i thank you," replied the little lady. "i am just as warm as toast, and i know that you saved my life, and i shall always be the best friend you have in all the world." "i am very glad i was able to help you, miss sibyl; and i shall be glad to have as good a friend as i know you will be," said the gallant captain, with a pleasant smile, for there was nothing sinister or unreal about the child, however it might be with her mother and her uncle. "but you must come up to the hotel to dinner with us, for i want to see more of you on the dry land," continued the little maiden; and it was plain enough that she had been instructed to say this. "i thank you very much, but i have to go home, for i have been out on the lake ever since early this morning; and i am not dressed up to dine with such fine people as you and your mother," replied the captain. "you must excuse me this time, and some time i may be able to see you again." by this time phil noticed that the mother of the child was looking at him, and studying his features, with an absorbing interest which was very strange to him; and it looked just as though her brother had com162 the young hermit municated to her some of his own emotional impressions, for she certainly had not seen the initials on his arm. "couldn't you possibly dine with us to-day?" asked the lady, with a fascinating smile, or one that must have been put on as such, for the sharp eyes and close observation of the captain had enabled him to discover that she was even more embarrassed than her brother had been in his presence. "it would be quite impossible for me to do so, madam," he replied, with an earnestness begotten by a fear of something he could not define. looking at mrs. goldson and her brother in any manner he could, and struggling to be both just and charitable in judging them, there was something sinister in their expression. "will you come to-morrow, then?" persisted mrs. goldson, though she dropped her gaze to the deck when she realized that the young pilot was looking into her very soul, as it were. "if i decline your kind invitation for the present or the future, i hope you will excuse me, for i never go to any such occasions, and i do not feel at home in any of these hotels, or even in a private house. i assure you, madam, that the greatest favor you can do me is to let me off from anything in the shape of a dinner, a party, or a gathering of any kind," pleaded the captain. "buck says you are the hermit fellow that lives up to halsted's bay," interposed captain floyd, of the a pressing invitation 163 violet, who was standing on the deck near enough to hear the conversation. "i am called so sometimes, though it is not a character of my own choice," replied phil. "i suppose the name was given me because i mind my own business, and shun all company except that of my engineer." "you are rather young to be a hermit," suggested the lady. "i am not a hermit in any proper sense of the word. i am not a religious devotee, and i do not live alone. i choose seclusion for reasons of my own which concern no other person, for i am guilty of no wrong or crime which should drive me from the society of others," returned phil. "with this explanation of my mode of life, i am sure you will excuse my absence from your table." "of course i shall not insist on your dining with us against your will, though sibyl and i will be very glad to see you again," said the lady. "won't you let me see you again, captain greenway?" pleaded the girl, so sincerely that phil could hardly resist her. "i shall be very glad to see you again," he replied. "i am not company, you know, for they send me to bed when they have a dinner party," interposed the little lady. "i suppose you often row in your little boat; and you may see the hebe coming out of the narrows," answered phil. "if you hail her by waving your handkerchief, i will take you on board, and give you a seat 164 the young hermit in the pilot house on a trip over the lower lake. i suppose your mother will not be afraid to trust you with me." "certainly not," said mrs. goldson. "i give my consent, though i hope you will let us know that you have taken her on board so that i need not worry about her." "i will agree to do that," replied the captain, as he rang the bell to stop the engine near the pier of the hotel lafayette. "i am very glad that captain floyd knows where to find you, for i may possibly have occasion to send a messenger to you, though i will promise not to interfere with your seclusion." "i cannot imagine what occasion you may have to send a messenger to me after the explanation of my habits i have given, but the hebe can be hailed almost any day on the lake," suggested phil, who did not like the idea of having any visitors at the hermitage. by skillful management, captain greenway landed his passengers safely at the pier, and they all took his hand at parting. unwelcome visitors 165 chapter xxvi. unwelcome visitors. the wharf at the hotel lafayette was crowded with people when the hebe came in, for the rescue of the violet had been observed from northwood, and the news of the event had been forwarded to the hotel. captain greenway made all possible haste to get away as soon as he had landed his passengers, and several, including the enterprising reporters of the tribune and journal, attempted to "interview" him. phil leaped on board, and pulled his bell as soon as he could get into the pilot house, bringing off the bow fast with him, while bashy hauled in the stern line. the hebe had hardly gone a cable's length from the pier before the crowd upon it sent up a lusty cheer, and the pilot saw the party he had just landed and others waving their handkerchiefs at the steamer; and he concluded that his late passengers had been telling of what had happened. captain floyd had taken the painter of his launch on the wharf, and the hebe had no tow to retard her progress. still, she rolled heavily in the trough of the sea as she headed for the narrows, and phil was very glad to be alone with himself once more, for it seemed just as though the current of his life had been all 166 the young hermit broken up, he had been with so many people during the day. in spite of himself he could not help thinking about the extraordinary interview with mrs. forbush, and the singular conduct of mrs. goldson and her brother. he had learned nothing at all in regard to the latter, for he cared too little about them to ask any questions. like all the residents in the summer at the lake, except the inhabitants of the two towns on its shore, they did not belong there, and he had no idea where they came from; but it did not occur to him that the g on his arm might stand for goldson as well as for greenway or gayland; but it was also the initial of gale, graham, gardiner, and a hundred, if not a thousand, other names, and the fact had no particular significance to him. the hebe went through the narrows, and stood upon her course to the southwest for howard's point; but off cook's point, which was somewhat sheltered from the roughest of the northwest blast, he saw a boat pulling out from the shore, and he concluded that a gentleman in the stern sheets was crossing to spring park, for there is no end of parks on the lake. "hebe, ahoy!" shouted the gentleman he had noticed. "in the boat!" replied captain greenway, though he was very much disposed not to reply to the hail. "hold up a minute, will you?" shouted the passenger unwelcome visitors 167 in the boat, for the two men had all they wanted to do to pull the craft against the head sea. "i can't stop now!" yelled the captain in reply. "i have an important letter for you!" shouted the gentleman; and he was near enough by this time for the pilot to believe that he was the landlord of the lake park hotel. "all right!" responded phil, wondering who could think of such a thing as sending him a letter on any subject, for he had no business with any one but bashy on the face of the earth. a second thought assured him that the letter must come from mrs. forbush, and the easiest thing for him to do was to receive it, and answer it by his silence. he had rung the bell to stop her, for he was confident that the landlord had no designs upon him, however it might be with his wealthy guest from philadelphia. as the boat came up to the hebe, phil left the pilot house, and caught the bow of it with the boat hook to prevent it from striking too hard against the steamer's side, and perhaps to keep it at a safe distance besides. "this is for captain philip greenway," said the landlord, as he held up a letter in his hand. "it is very important and valuable, and you must be careful, or you may lose it overboard." "i won't lose it," replied the captain, as he brought the boat into position so that the bearer of it could deliver the letter. phil took the letter and dropped it into the side 168 the young hermit pocket of his yacht uniform, for he was not dressed as a hermit, though people called him so; and he had little respect for the importance or the value of the missive. "i heard that you would surely come this way before night, and i have been waiting some time for the steamer to come along," continued the landlord, "for the lady would not trust any one but me with it." the captain thought he had begun a long story, and he let go his hold on the boat, wishing to escape as quickly as he could. "hold on a moment! i want a receipt for the letter!" shouted the landlord, when he saw that his boat was adrift. "mrs. forbush must be made certain that i have delivered the letter to you in person." "i will give you a receipt for the letter in a moment,' replied the captain, who thought the request was a reasonable one. 99 returning to the pilot house, he took a sheet of note paper from a locker, wrote the receipt in pencil, signed it, and then carried it to the landlord, whose men had made fast to the steamer; and their passenger directed them to cast off as soon as he had the receipt. phil rang his bell again, and the hebe resumed her course for the upper end of the lake; but he could not forget the letter in his pocket, though he was almost stoical enough to do so, and he took it out. it was directed to him in the neat writing of a lady, though he was sure on the face of it that it was not unwelcome visitors 169 a love letter. it was bulky enough to contain something besides note paper, though he could not imagine what the lady should wish to send to him. but the only way to settle this question was to open the missive, and he did so; and, to his great astonishment, he found that it contained a package of bank notes, placed in an envelope. he certainly had not expected a reward in money, though he had cut the giver off from any other means of testifying her gratitude; and, as he had not desired any compensation for what he had done, he was not a little disturbed when he ascertained the contents of the letter. his first impulse was to return the bank notes to mrs. forbush; but she was very rich, and such a course would hurt her feelings, and perhaps it would be better for him to permit her to believe she had discharged her obligation to him. he opened the envelope again and took out the bills, all of which were of the denomination of one hundred dollars, and there were ten of them-a thousand dollars, which almost made him rich in his own estimation, with what he had on hand of mr. gayland's gift. it was a princely reward, and, as bashy had taken part in the work of saving the passengers of the excelsior, he was entitled to a share of it, though the good steamer had done the most of the work; and phil decided that three hundred dollars was a fair portion for the engineer. 170 the young hermit without any further incidents the hebe reached the cape at the head of the lake, behind which was a small bay, on which the hermitage was located. the hebe was soon moored here, for there was no landing place on the cape, and phil went ashore in the tender, which had been attached to the moorings, for bashy wished to remain on board and put his engine in order. the captain decided to hand the money to his assistant in the evening, when they had more time to talk over the matter of the adventures of the day, and he felt that he wanted to be alone for a while before he saw the engineer. he had a lounge in his room, and he threw himself upon it to consider the events of the day, especially in their connection with the passengers he had rescued from the steam launch, for this matter pressed itself upon his attention, in spite of his efforts to avoid it. when he had lain there not more than half an hour, he heard voices in front of the shanty, and they were soon followed by a vigorous rapping at the door on the lake side of the building; but he never opened the door to any one, and he waited for the visitors to leave, more than half suspecting that they were reporters from the newspapers, coming to interview him. presently the door was opened, and the hermit decided in a moment not to see the visitors, whoever they were. the only thing he could do was to "take to the woods," as usual. he retreated to the trees farther up unwelcome visitors 171 the cape. after waiting there half an hour, he thought that he had put the letter containing the money in a pine bureau bashy had bought for him, and he returned to make sure that it was not stolen. looking in at the only window in the rear, he saw two young men in full possession at the hermitage. 172 the young hermit chapter xxvii. the visitors in the shanty. philip greenway was not prepared to believe, when he looked in at the rear window of the hermitage, that there was anything very terrible about the two young fellows, as they seemed to him to be, who had taken possession of the shanty. they had not approached the building from the point of the cape, for then bashy, on board of the hebe, would certainly have seen them, and would not have failed to hail them. the engineer spent a great deal of his time on board of the steamer when not employed on shore, for the engine of the boat was as much a pet of his as though it had been a dog or a horse, and he could not have slept at night if there was a piece of bright work about it that was not shining like silver. from his position in the rear of the hermitage phil could see the steamer, and, as his assistant had rolled up the curtains on each side of the machinery, he discovered him hard at work, unconscious that the hermit's home had been invaded by outsiders. phil was conscious that he was nothing but a "squatter" on the territory where his shanty was built, though bashy had obtained permission to put it there of a man who claimed to have the care of the land. for aught the visitors in the shanty 173 he knew the invaders of his domicile might be the sons, or other relatives, of the owner, and he was not disposed to make a quarrel with them, though he objected to coming in contact with them. the visitors were certainly making themselves entirely at home in the shanty, and, as there was no one to entertain them, they had assumed that function in their own behalf. the window, which was only a single sash set in an aperture in the side, opened into the kitchen and living room of the shanty, where a small cook stove had been set up, while in the centre of the apartment was a table. on this was placed a boiled ham and a loaf of bread which had been taken from the cupboard, and the two visitors were regaling themselves with the provision, while a pot of coffee stood on the stove. the proprietor of the hermitage was disposed to be very indignant when he saw the freedom which his unwelcome guests were using on his premises. his first thought was to take the boat, go for bashy, and drive them out of the shanty; but he concluded to obtain further information in regard to them if he could. the fellows had evidently been fully employed since they went into the shanty, for they had made a fire, set the table, and discovered the material for their repast, which must have taken them some time in a living room where all was new and strange to them, and it looked as though they had just seated themselves to their supper. phil left his place at the window, and walked down 174 the young hermit • to the shore of the bay, on the outside of cape cod, as the captain had christened it, for it looked, on the map of the lake with which he had provided himself, like the neck of land with that name on the sea coast, to ascertain, if he could, from which direction the intruders had come. below the higher ground on which the trees grew was a sandy beach, where he looked for footprints; and he soon discovered them some distance above the shanty. following them a few rods, he came to a boat hauled up on the shore. at the sight of it he concluded that his visitors were fishermen, who had been driven from the waters of the lake by the severity of the storm and the rough water which had prevailed since the hurricane subsided. as the boat, which was like most of those kept for hirers at the hotels, was drawn partly out of the water, he had no difficulty in examining it; and there was not a fishline, a box of bait, or anything else that indicated catching fish. they were not fishermen, and, as both of them were well dressed, it was more probable that they were guests of one of the hotels, who had been caught out in the storm, and the lake had been too rough for them to return; and this was all that phil could surmise in regard to them. he returned to the hermitage, hoping the visitors would depart as soon as they had finished the meal they had prepared for themselves without leave or license. the visitors in the shanty 175 when he reached the rear of the shanty he saw that bashy was still at work on the hebe, and the noise of a hammer indicated that he was now repairing some defect he had found about her; and, as it was only five o'clock in the afternoon, he decided not to disturb him. the shanty was not air-tight, though the roof was waterproof, and there were plenty of openings between the boards with which the building was covered, so that he could have no trouble in investigating the character of his visitors. they were very busy eating, and they had already sensibly diminished the size of the ham before them, and the owner of the hermitage wondered if there would be bread enough left for the legitimate occupants of the shanty. what they said related solely to the food before them, which they praised warmly, declaring that the ham was the best they had eaten for many a day, and that the coffee was better than they had found at a certain hotel. phil secured a position where he could seat himself on a box which had been thrown out of the shanty, and hear, through a knot hole of liberal proportions, all that was said by his guests, as well as see everything they did. human endurance, in the pleasing enjoyment of eating when the feeder is hungry, does not last forever; and the scene soon became more interesting to the observer outside of the building, for they had evidently 176 the young hermit reached the measure of their capacity before the ham or even the loaf of bread was exhausted. "this is not a bad place, and the fellow that runs it knows a good ham from a bad one," said one of them, as he leaned back in his chair, as if to allow the provision he had consumed to have full course and dominion in his stomach. this person was older than phil had taken either of the couple to be, and he judged that he was as much as twenty-five years old, for he had a full-grown mustache, with a reckless expression on his face, with which his present position was in keeping. "not a bad place at all," replied the other, as he hitched back his chair from the table. but phil could not observe what more was said, for the voice of the last was a familiar one, and he was not a little startled when he recognized it. he changed his position, applying his eye closely to the knot hole in order to obtain a full view of the last speaker's face. "i wish we had just such a place as this for the next week or two, gay sparkland," continued the first speaker, whose name had not yet been mentioned. "we have full possession of the den, and the lawyers say that is nine points in the law," added gay sparkland, as the other had called him; "and i don't see why we should not remain here as long as we please." beyond a doubt, in the mind of the listener, the last speaker was no other than sparks gayland, the changing of which into "gay sparkland," if the nephew of the visitors in the shanty 177 his uncle wished to conceal his identity, was a clumsy expedient, since the assumed name suggested the real one. phil greenway was not especially pleased with the idea broached by his quarrelsome companion of the past, to take and retain possession of his rude domicile; but he was too much interested in the cheerful pair at his fireside to bestow much consideration on the proposition. "of course this shanty is inhabited by some one, and the occupant has been here within a short time, for that ham had not been here long enough to be dried up," added the older of the two persons. "do you know who owns this land, roddy?" asked gay sparkland, as he chose to call himself. "of course i don't; and i don't believe you are any wiser than i am on that point," replied roddy. "suppose we take a look about the premises, and then i will give you an idea of mine," said gay, rising from his chair. then both of them went out at the end door. 178 the young hermit chapter xxviii. gay and his friend. it was certainly prudent in the intruders at cape cod to survey the locality before they took possession of it even for a week or two. but phil did not care to meet them face to face just yet, and he dodged around the house to the end opposite that in which the rear door was located. he was not inclined to let the visitors loose on the premises without keeping an eye on them. making his way with all the caution necessary, he reached the front of the house. here he heard the voices of the two intruders, who appeared to be standing near the door by which they had left the kitchen, where they were taking in the situation and commenting upon it, in reference to the plan gay had suggested. phil could see the hebe from the position he had chosen for the moment; but he did not see bashy where he had been the last time he looked that way, and he concluded the engineer was at work below in the well of the fireroom. "there is no one on board of that steamer," said gay, evidently after a full examination of her. "i should say the fellow that lived here had gone on a visit to his relations; at any rate he is not here, and there is no one on board of the steamer," replied gay and his friend 179 roddy, for this seemed to be the name of the man with the mustache. "but there is a boat on the shore, and some one must have come on shore in it from the steamer," he added. "i will bet some of my hard earnings that the fellow who came ashore is about here somewhere." "if he were here we should have seen him before this time," returned gay. "but the proper thing to do is to take possession of that boat and put it in a safe place." “that will certainly derange the calculations of the fellow that squats here," remarked roddy. "squats is a good word, and that is just what the fellow who built this shanty has done. i will attend to the boat," and gay ran down to the shore. shoving it off, he pulled around the point of cape cod, phil retreating to the front door of the hermitage as he came abreast of it; and roddy cut across the point to the shore of the larger bay. the proprietor by courtesy of the house was not at all satisfied with his own position, and he entered the shanty by the front door as his only means of keeping out of sight of gay, as the boat rounded the point. he was once more an actual occupant of his domicile, and he had time to pause and consider his future operations. he was not at all willing to confront sparks gayland at the present time, for that would certainly betray him to mr. gayland, and spoil all the elaborate plans he had made for the summer. he hastened to the kitchen, and to the window in the rear that looked into the woods which covered the 180 the young hermit upper part of the cape, where he saw one of the intruders in the boat, and the other crossing the point to join him. they had landed in their own boat at the border of the grove, as the occupants of the shanty called the woods, and phil could distinctly observe all their movements, though he could no longer hear what they said. when gay came up to the shore in the boat, there was some talk between the two; and then they took the boat out of the water and dragged it into the grove, in which there was a considerable undergrowth, disappearing from the view of the observer at the window, though he had no difficulty in deciding that they had hidden the tender of the hebe in the bushes. this did not seem to satisfy them, and after another conference their own boat was taken from the water and carried to a place of concealment; and when this work was accomplished the intruders returned to the shanty. the two rooms in which the captain and his assistant slept were on the front of the house, with a door from each leading into the kitchen; and between the two was the closet for provisions and dishes, the front door leading into this closet. phil went through this closet into the kitchen in order to reach the rear window from this direction; and now that the cheerful couple were returning, it became necessary for him to vacate the room and secure a more retired location, upon which he had already decided. gay and his friend 181 he went into his own chamber, leaving the door open after him, for he concluded that he could do better inside of the house than on the outside. in each of the sleeping rooms a sort of bedstead, about two feet high, had been built of boards in the rough, on which cheap mattresses had been placed; and under each was a space for stowing away clothes and other articles, for it was necessary to economize the space in the house to the best advantage. this space had been boarded up, and had a door opening into each chamber, and another which rendered the store hole available from the kitchen; and the pots and kettles were put in one of them, under bashy's bed. into the other closet, in his own chamber, the captain, dispensing with the dignity of his position for a time, crawled as though he had been only an ordinary groveling mortal, and not the commander of so fine a steamer as the hebe. his valise, overcoat, and some spare clothes for his bed were deposited there, and he arranged these articles so as to promote his comfort to the best advantage while he remained a voluntary prisoner in his own abode. he expected to sleep there at night, and he spread out the comforters so that he could do so very well, though he greatly preferred the bed above him; yet he had often contented himself under vastly less favorable circumstances. he could not help thinking of bashy, who must be very busy with something in the bottom of the fire182 the young hermit room, or he would have seen gay sparkland when he took the boat from the shore within an eighth of a mile from him; but there were berths in the forward cabin of the steamer where the engineer could sleep, and the remains of the dinner they had eaten just before the hurricane was sufficient to feed him. phil was not likely to get any supper himself according to prospective appearances; but he was too much interested in other matters to give a thought to his stomach, though his appetite had not once failed him since he had been at the lake. for the want of a pair of hinges, when the shanty was finished, the two doors to the closet under the bed had not been hung, though they had been set up in their places ready to be adjusted whenever they thought to obtain the needed hardware, and phil placed the door of his hiding place in a manner to suit his purpose. "we are all right now, and this place is a capital fit for us," said gay, as they came into the kitchen again. "how long do you think we shall have to stay here, roddy, in order to do the job?" "we may do it at once, or in a week, and it may be two weeks before everything favors us," replied roddy, as he seated himself in a chair he drew back from the table, and tipped back, barroom fashion, against the partition directly over the door at which the captain was an interested listener. "then this is just the place for us, for no one comes up here very often, i am told; and there is not a cottage within half a mile of us," said gay. gay and his friend 183 "but this ranch is occupied by some other fellow,' suggested roddy, returning to the subject he had in mind when they left the shanty. "you said you had a plan by which that difficulty could be overcome, and you asked me if i knew to whom this land belonged.' "" "i confess that i am no wiser than you are in regard to the ownership of this point, but i know that my uncle does own a considerable tract of land in this part of the lake," answered gay. "if we have any trouble with the occupant of this shanty, i shall claim the land in the name of my uncle, ward gayland, of st. paul.” "but the fellow will want to move off the shanty," suggested roddy. "then i shall claim the shanty, for i am lawyer enough to know that the land covers all the buildings on it." 99 the listener did not like the prospect before him, but he waited eagerly for the speakers to proceed. he expected some interesting revelations, and he was not destined to be disappointed. 184 the young hermit chapter xxix. almost a quarrel. it was not the fear of the pretended legal claim that disturbed captain philip greenway; but he saw that if the reckless intruders carried out their intention to make the claim it would compel him to confront sparks gayland, his old enemy in the elegant mansion on the hill. as he felt at the present time, he was more disposed to abandon the hermitage, and seek a home in some other part of the lake, than to permit mr. gayland to know that he was in the state of minnesota; and he concluded that he would know it if the fact came to the knowledge of his nephew. it was a very bold and reckless proposition that gay made to his companion, but he had spoken of some job that was to be done at the lake during the next week or two, and phil was more exercised to understand what this meant than about anything else. why had mr. gayland's nephew come to that unfrequented part of the lake with the intention of staying there in seclusion for one or two weeks, and why had he found it necessary to change his name, and who was the man with the mustache whom he called roddy? phil could not answer any of these questions, and he was obliged to refer them to the future for informaalmost a quarrel 185 tion, and he hoped the conspirators, as he regarded them, would talk plainly enough to enable him to comprehend their meaning, and explain the nature of the job on their hands. "of course i don't mean to force things if the fellow wants to resist, but i will propose a fair compromise to him," continued gay, when his associate suggested resistance to his plan. "you have cheek enough to fit out a smarter fellow than you are," said roddy, with a little chuckle which the listener could distinctly hear. "you, for instance," added gay. "i am not sure that i am a smarter fellow than you are," answered the other. "i know you are." "what makes you think so? why do you disparage yourself?" "because you have been smart enough to keep two thousand dollars that belongs to me, and i have not been smart enough to get what belongs to me yet," replied gay, with a little bitterness in his tones. "two thousand dollars!" exclaimed roddy, with what appeared to phil to be genuine surprise. "wasn't i one of three?" demanded gay. "i think we had better settle up on the last job before we undertake a new one." "i am perfectly willing to settle it, and have been since the job was done," replied roddy, who was not in the least excited, as his associate was. 186 the young hermit "settle it how? was i not one of three, i ask again?" "there is not the least doubt that you were one of the three that did the job; but do you think that the general and the corporal share alike in the spoils of war?" asked roddy impressively, and as gently as a lamb. "oh, i am the corporal and you are the general, are you?" demanded gay; and phil thought he argued exactly in the same manner as he used to when he was sparks gayland. "that is about the length and breadth of it, though i don't wish to state the matter offensively," replied roddy, whose coolness seemed to make him the master of the situation. "the general would have had a nice time in fighting the battle without the corporal, in this instance." "of course the corporal always thinks he is a bigger man than the general," said the man with the mustache, in the quietest possible manner. "why didn't you tell me, up and down, what you meant in the first of it?" demanded gay, so angry that he got out of his chair and began to pace up and down the room, as he did in the elegant mansion when he was disturbed in his temper. "that would have been bad policy," answered roddy, with another chuckle at his own smartness. “i thought there was honesty among thieves!" exclaimed the angry young man; and phil could distinctly almost a quarrel 187 hear the sounds of his heels as they came down on the floor. captain greenway began to think this interesting pair would not need the hermitage for the next week or two, as they had before intimated, for they were likely to part company in a quarrel before the sun went down that day. but he hoped they would not separate till they had given him a better idea of what they had done, and what they intended to do, for the fact that the "corporal" claimed two thousand dollars for something he had done had stimilated phil's curiosity to the highest degree. he had even begun to believe that sparks was a more vicious young fellow than he had ever supposed, though he had never given him credit for possessing a high moral tone. "people don't usually look for honesty among thieves; and if they did, they would not always find it, any more than among those who pretend to be honest; when one puts in a claim for more than belongs to him, why he really becomes a dishonest thief," roddy returned, evidently enjoying his side of the discussion, for he was plainly too much for his companion. "you said i was to have my share of the proceeds; and if that don't mean an equal share, i don't understand plain talk," protested gay, very bitterly. "the general and the corporal again," remarked roddy. 188 the young hermit "do you remember when we talked over that job?" asked gay, struggling to curb his angry passions. "perfectly." "it was in a tiger shop in washington avenue, in minneapolis," continued gay, seating himself again. "i had never taken a hand in a job before." "i am aware of it; you were nothing but a lamb from the fold, fit only to be a corporal," roddy assented. "i had played with you and lost all the money i had," gay went on. "as innocent lambs generally do." "then when i had not money enough left to pay my fare back to st. paul, and owed you a pile besides, you suggested that you could put me in the way of making money a great deal faster than i could by fighting the tiger." "quite true, and i did it." "i should think you did!" exclaimed gay, springing to his feet again with force enough to shake the shanty. "all that was done, i did myself; and when we come to settle, for my share of over six thousand dollars, you offer me five hundred dollars, taking out one hundred and fifty that i owed you on the tiger fight!" "five hundred was a handsome thing for a first effort, and it is five times as much as i got out of my maiden break," said roddy, in mock soothing tones. though the villains did not say so in so many words, captain greenway understood by this time that they had committed a robbery of some kind, and that the six thousand dollars was the proceeds of the crime; and it almost a quarrel 189 almost froze his blood when he considered that one of the robbers was the nephew of his benefactor. "i will not stand it!" almost shouted gay. "what could you have done in this affair without me? who told you when there was money enough in the crib to make it worth your while to crack it? who fixed the window so that you could get into the house without rousing the whole neighborhood?" "why didn't you do this little job yourself, and put the entire six thousand dollars into your own pocket?" asked roddy, not at all disturbed by the fury of his companion. "it was not in my line at that time. it was just a month ago yesterday; and in that time you have been leading me on till now i am ready for anything, if i can get fair play." "how much will satisfy you, gay, on that last job?" asked the superior genius of the happy pair. "as you say, it was my first effort, and i will be satisfied with a thousand, cash down," replied gay, gracefully relenting. "i will do it. but by thunder i have left my bag in the boat, with six thousand two hundred dollars in it!" suddenly exclaimed roddy. both of the enterprising gentlemen bolted out of the door in hot haste. 190 the young hermit chapter xxx. the traveling bag. philip greenway was utterly astonished and confounded by what he had just heard, from which it appeared that a robbery had been committed, and that gay sparkland had taken part in it, the proceeds being six thousand two hundred dollars. it also appeared that roddy was the custodian of the money, and carried it about with him in his small traveling bag, which phil had noticed in the boat when he looked into it before its removal to the woods. the captain had no suspicion that the nephew of his uncle was so bad a fellow as the conversation to which he had just listened indicated that he was. gay claimed that he had given the information which had enabled the burglars to obtain this large sum, and that he had "fixed a window," which enabled the villains to get into the house, office, or bank from which the money had been stolen. if phil was not a philosopher, he was gifted with average reasoning powers, and he proceeded to consider the bearing of the facts he had obtained, when he heard the intruders bolt out of the shanty. but even reason and philosophy have to give way to the demands of the stomach, and the captain was painthe traveling bag 191 fully reminded that he had not had his supper, and that he was not likely to get any if he did not attend to the matter while the visitors were absent from the shanty. removing the unhung door from the place where he had put it, he crawled out into the kitchen, cut off a couple of slices from the ham which was still on the table, and took a good share of what remained of the bread, and then returned to his hiding place, where he restored everything to the condition in which he had left it before. he did not feel any great interest in satisfying the needs of his stomach, and he ate from a sense of duty rather than any strong desire to do so, for his mind was too much engrossed with the astounding information he had gathered from the intruders to think of anything else except in a perfunctory manner. he ate his supper, but he could not help discussing in his mind the problems which the absent scoundrels had suggested to him, the first of which was the connection of the nephew of his uncle with the productive robbery they had perpetrated. gay was not in any business, and had not been for the last seven months, and in what bank or office could he have had the means of knowing "when the crib was in condition to be cracked," or when there was money enough in it to make it worth the risk of "breaking and entering" to obtain it, as phil understood the professional phrase? his uncle had discovered that gay sometimes gambled, and if he knew something about the habits of his 192 the young hermit nephew, it was probable that others knew a great deal more, and it looked as though that was the reason why no one appeared to be willing to employ him, though his want of interest in any kind of business was a sufficient explanation of his frequent failures to retain a position. he had "fixed a window" so that the robbers could effect an entrance to the building in which the money was deposited; and phil concluded at first that he had contrived to unfasten some sash fastening in a room he was in the habit of visiting. suddenly it flashed upon him that his uncle's elegant mansion on the hill was protected by a burglar alarm, and phil had himself been sometimes asked to adjust the levers on the sashes, which enabled him to give a new interpretation to "fixing a window," especially as the idea of "rousing the whole neighborhood" had been mentioned by the injured claimant. the burglar alarm, which set all the electric bells in the house to rattling at the same time, was certainly capable of alarming an entire neighborhood, which could hardly be done without some similar apparatus, even in the stillness of the night. phil's indignation was roused to the boiling point when he began to realize that it must have been the elegant mansion on the hill which had been robbed, for mr. gayland had a steel safe set in the closet of his library, and often kept considerable sums of money in it. gay would have been in position to know "when the the traveling bag 193 crib was in condition to be cracked," for he assisted his uncle to some extent in the management of his affairs; and he was not likely to be informed when any other "crib" was in condition to invite a visit from rogues. being an intelligent young man, who had obtained no small portion of his education from the newspapers, phil had placed a box for the reception of the daily paper at hardscrabble point, where the news boat minnehaha could deposit it on its trip to the chapman house, for he did not care to have the boat visit the hermitage every day. he had not made this arrangement till he had been at cape cod more than a week, and there were at least ten days during which he had failed to obtain and read a paper; and for this reason he had never heard of the robbery of the elegant mansion in st. paul. though it has taken some time to tell what the captain was thinking about in his den under the bed, he had arrived at his conclusions long before the return of his undesirable guests, though, under the circumstances, he was not sorry that they had done him the honor to select the hermitage as their temporary abode, even if it was continued as long as two weeks. in fact, he was only afraid now that bashy would make a row in some manner, and disturb the intruders, and he wished there had been some way by which he could communicate with the engineer, and tell him not to meddle with the present occupants of the shanty, though this was impossible on the face of it. 194 the young hermit the faithful engineer would wonder why phil did not come off to him, and bring him on shore, as he always did by six o'clock; and though he might not have seen the tender on its way around the point, he could see that it was not in the place where he usually left it. he was sure that bashy would not attempt to swim ashore, and there were no spars or lumber on board with which he could construct a raft; but bashy was a patient body, and phil could only hope that he would keep quiet, and not bother his head about the nonappearance of his captain. his meditations were disturbed by the entrance of the happy pair; and both of them seemed to be a good deal happier than when they had left the shanty; for phil could see as they came in at the door that roddy had the traveling bag in his hand. "i should say that you were a careless fellow, roddy," said gay, as he closed the door behind him. "that bag, containing over six thousand dollars, you carry about with you as though it were not worth two cents." "you are a professional now, my gentle little lamb, and i hope that in the course of two weeks you will be worth ten thousand dollars, and then you will be obliged to keep it about you or near you, for banks were not organized for your benefit and mine," replied the chief of the happy pair. "unless it is to gather a pile together where we may conveniently put our fingers upon it," suggested gay; the traveling bag 195 and phil thought he was making rapid progress in his newly chosen calling. "precisely so; and that was well put for a beginner," added roddy in a patronizing tone. "it will be well for you to realize that you are in constant danger of having an officer put his polluted fingers upon you, and you should be ready at all times to make a good showing for yourself. if i had this money in my pocket, i could not dispose of it to advantage in an emergency." "i hope you will be able to dispose of a portion of it very soon, and transfer the responsibility of it to me," added gay. "very well, and i shall do so before i leave this hospitable mansion. there is a stone in this bag, and if i got into a tight place on the lake, i should drop it overboard, and mark the place. on shore i should bury it. that is why i have carried six thousand dollars in a bag." "i think i can take care of my share, and save you the trouble of doing so," suggested gay. "you have had this money for a month, and i don't see why you have not divided it before this time. you say there is another fellow belonging to our party, though i have not seen his face yet." "he was with us when we did the only job we have done in this part of the country," replied roddy, still standing in the room with the bag in his hand. "i know he was; but he wore his cap over his face 196 the young hermit so that i could not see it; and he has not been near us since." "he has not been near you, for you have not been with me." just then roddy stooped down and thrust the bag into the closet in which phil was concealed. for his benefactor 197 thy chapter xxxi. for his benefactor. phil greenway was startled at the unexpected invasion of his little dominion under the bed, though it was evident to him that roddy had been considering what he should do with the bag and its valuable contents, for he had been able to see the intruder in the position he had taken, though the darkness of his retreat prevented him from being seen. the chief of the trio, for it appeared that there were three of the party, though one had not yet put in an appearance, had apparently noticed the door at the opening, and through the open door of the chamber must have seen that it led into a closet, boxed up under the bed, which had led him to select this place for the safe-keeping of his treasure; and the captain thought he could not have selected a better place. when he tossed the bag into the space behind the door, it had nearly fallen on phil's head, and he rolled over two or three times very carefully on the comforters he had placed on the floor so as to get out of the way of a possible investigation of his den. roddy seemed to be entirely satisfied with what he had done without any special inquiry into the safety of the closet from intrusion; but he closed the door, and turned the two buttons on it which secured it in 198 the young hermit place on the outside, much to the chagrin of phil, who was made a prisoner by this act. the partition was not tight enough to prevent him from hearing all that was said in the room, even if it were said in whispers, and he had no doubt he should find a way to get out of his den when he desired to do so. "i have seen you occasionally since we did that job, though i never found the other fellow with you,” said gay, who seemed to be anxious to obtain more information in regard to the unknown member of the trio. "for reasons of his own, he does not allow himself to be seen; but chick gillpool is a good fellow, and he will take a hand in the job we have chosen for the next venture," replied roddy, as he seated himself, and tipped back his chair as before. "i should like to see him," added gay. "when i see him and inform him that we have a nice place here, where we can get everything ready without being seen, he will join us; but he will not show himself anywhere about the lake." "why not? it seems to me that he has no need to be any more careful than you are." "it is not on account of the job we did that he is so particular, but for other reasons," roddy explained, with an air of mystery. "then he is driving a business separate from ours,' suggested gay. "not at all; he is simply keeping out of the way for fear that some one will recognize him." 99 for his benefactor 199 "where does he keep himself?" "he keeps himself out of sight, though he has his headquarters in a small hotel in minneapolis. that is really all i can tell you about him, for i don't know anything more." "he looked as though he was a younger fellow than i am when i saw him that night," said gay, whose curiosity was evidently greatly excited. "he is not over sixteen years old." 99 "then he cannot be very useful to you.' roddy changed the subject abruptly. "i am not a machinist by trade, but i have a natural taste for machinery; and i suppose that is what has been the ruin of me, from the moral point of view, for it led me into this business, which i know as thoroughly as any man in this or any other country." "i should say that you did, from the way you opened that safe," added gay, with something like admiration in his tones. "that was an easy job, and it required no great skill; our next operation will be a more difficult one, and it will take a master of the art to open the vault of that bank, though i think i have done a bigger job than this," replied roddy, with professional pride, which was simply disgusting to the listener, who did not think he was half so smart as he claimed to be, or he would not be engaged in talking over his private affairs in the presence of a possible witness. "you don't seem to be doing anything to help along the job you have in mind," said gay. 200 the young hermit "i have had no time to do anything yet, for i came here only day before yesterday. but i hope to have chick gillpool here by to-morrow or next day, though he does not want to show himself here." "why not?" "i told you before. when we were in minneapolis, we loafed into the rotunda of the west hotel; we saw two ladies going into the elevator, and they nearly frightened the life out of chick." "he must be a brave fellow to be afraid of a couple of women," sneered gay. "chick belongs to one of the first families in another city a great many miles from here, and that is the reason why he and i are good friends." "then blood tells." "it is a good thing to have connection with the first families, for if we get into trouble, we shall have strong friends to help us out of the mire." "these ladies might recognize him, and i suppose that was the reason he was afraid of them." "that is so; and when i went to the hotel later to inquire for this lady, for the other was of no account, i was told that she had gone to the lake, where she intended to spend the summer; and that is the particular reason why chick don't dare to show himself here." "and you say you are not inclined to show yourself, as your coming to this out-of-the-way place shows if you hadn't said it," replied gay. "that is about the dimensions of it," said roddy; and phil could see, if the nephew of his uncle could for his benefactor 201 not, that he was not telling all he knew to his companion. "then i don't see how you are to obtain the information you need in regard to the bank," returned gay bluntly. "hush, man!" interposed roddy, with some severity in his tone. "don't you see that you are using a word you are not to mention even in your sleep? how do we know that some one is not listening to us at this minute, for we know nothing about the crowd that belongs in this shanty?" "i think we had better take a look about the premises, for it is very strange that some one that belongs here has not put in an appearance before this time," replied gay, rising from his chair with noise enough to inform phil what he was doing. "that's a good scheme," said roddy. "you ought to see some one by this time, and make your claim for the premises. i am very sure there is no one in the house, for i have not heard a sound since we came into it." "we will look about the premises outside," said gay; and phil heard him open the door. the captain of the hebe did not lose a moment in improving his own prospects by turning the two buttons on the outside of the door so that he could open it when he wished; and this he did with his pocketknife without any difficulty, for the door did not fit so tightly as not to leave a broad crack. then he took the traveling bag, in which he had by 202 the young hermit no means lost his interest while he listened to the conversation in the kitchen, and as it was not locked he had it open in half a minute. among other things in the bag, including the rock that was to sink it in an emergency, he found a package wrapped in oiled silk, and tied with a red string, which he untied in haste, and removed its contents. as he surmised, it contained the money which had been mentioned by both of the conspirators, and as the bills did not make a large pile, he transferred them to his pocket without the ceremony of counting them, though mr. gayland had once told him that he should never receive money without doing so. he placed the money in a pocketbook he carried in the inside of his vest, and then restored the package to its original dimensions by putting a piece of newspaper in the place of the bills, and placed it in the bag just as he had found it. just then he felt that he was acting in the interests of his benefactor, and that it would be money in his pocket because he had left the elegant mansion even secretly and in the night. then he turned his attention to the intruders again, for he could hear their voices at the door of the shanty. a flank movement 203 chapter xxxii. a flank movement. the intruders had left the door of the kitchen open, and were standing quite near it, so that captain greenway had no difficulty in hearing what they said, especially as they were somewhat excited, and spoke louder than when in the shanty, though the attentive listener could no longer see them. "i tell you there is a fellow on board of that steamer," insisted gay sparkland. "i saw his head just now as he raised it above the rail." "no matter if there is a fellow on board of her; he has not seen us. most likely it is a steamer that has anchored in this bay to get out of the way of the storm," replied roddy. "she will leave as soon as the lake gets a little smoother." "i should like to know whether he belongs here or not," continued gay. "no matter whether he does or not; he has no boat, and he cannot get ashore. but there must be another fellow with him, for that steamer cannot be handled by one man alone. i wonder what has become of him." phil thought that was an important question; so did the two intruders, and they began to make an examination of the premises, though both of them evidently 204 the young hermit felt quite sure that the missing hand on board of the steamer could not be in the house. the intruders walked away, and phil heard nothing more of them for half an hour; and by this time it had begun to be rather dark under the bed; but he was satisfied that they had found no one; and on their return they came in at the front door. the most singular circumstance about the present situation was that bashy had raised no disturbance or even made his presence on board of the steamer definitely known; and the captain wondered if he had not gone to sleep. "there is no one within half a mile of this shanty; that is plain enough," said gay, as the happy couple returned to the kitchen. "i don't believe you saw any one on board of the steamer," replied roddy. "i agree with you that there is no one near us; and i should say that the occupants of this shanty will not return to-night, for the wind is still blowing strong from the northwest, and there is a big sea in the bay outside of us." "i think we can have it all our own way till to-morrow morning," returned gay. "do you mean to bring your things here, roddy?" "of course i mean to bring them here, though not till we have gained possession of this place either by fair means or foul," replied roddy. "i shall have to go for my valise in the boat, for we would never find our way here by land." "you told the people where you left your baggage a flank movement 205 that you were going to camp out; and you bought a boat because you could not hire one." "but i did not leave my baggage where any one can examine it, and wonder what makes it so heavy," added roddy. "are there any rocks in it so that it will sink?" "not a rock." "but the point i make is, why did you not bring it with you in the boat instead of hiding it on an uninhabited island?" "i don't care about any one handling or examining it, for it is a good deal heavier than a valise filled with wearing apparel is; and i do not wish, if anything happens to us, to have a clown come into court and tell how heavy it was.' 99 "you must have a big kit of tools, roddy." "i have all i am likely to need," replied the chief, with a decided gape. "i suppose we can't do anything till we find out something more about this shanty and its owner. i should like to see him, and i think i could fix things with him, either by frightening or coaxing him." "you won't see him to-night," replied roddy, with another yawn. "i am sleepy, and i don't forget that we were up all night. i feel as though i should like to turn in." "that is just my idea; and we can sleep just as well as not while we wait for the owner of this hovel," added gay. 206 the young hermit "light one of those lamps, gay, for i want to look into my bag before i go to sleep," added roddy. while gay was lighting one of the kerosene lamps that stood on the shelf, the chief got down on the floor, and just as the other struck a match, phil saw the hand that reached in for the bag; and the captain, who had rolled himself out of the way when he heard roddy speak of it, was obliging enough to place it within his reach, for he no longer felt any particular interest in it. the lamp was lighted, and roddy went into the captain's room, gay standing at the door, and opened his bag, as phil learned from what was said, and there was no little trepidation on the part of the hidden sentinel. "i only wanted to look at it to see that it was all right," said roddy. "here is the package, and it is just as i left it. i shall sleep with it under my head as i always do." a moment later phil heard the creak of the thin boards as the chief lay down, and told his companion to take the light, which he did, and left the chamber, intending to sleep in that belonging to bashy. roddy had more than one bad habit, for he not only robbed safes of the valuables they contained, but he snored most sonorously; though this was a good idea on his part, for it informed phil that he was asleep. by this time the captain had begun to be somewhat impatient. he could hardly hope to hear gay sparkland snore, if he also had the vicious habit; but he waited a flank movement 207 what he regarded as a reasonable time for gay to drop his form into the arms of morpheus, and then he removed the door which led from his den out into the kitchen, using the utmost care to make not a particle of noise. he crawled on his hands and knees across the floor to the door of the kitchen, without troubling himself any further about the slumbers of gay, for as the happy pair had been up all night, both of them ought to be asleep. whether they were or not, they made no sign to indicate that they knew, or either of them, what was transpiring in the residence of which they had taken possession, and in a few minutes phil found himself outside of the shanty; and as he had moved like a cat, he was confident that he was master of the situation. then he ventured to stand erect like a man, and look about him; and he found that his limbs were stiff from his long confinement without moving in his den under the bed. he looked in the direction of the place where the hebe was moored, and he saw her dark form very distinctly on the water, though there was nothing in sight to indicate that bashy was still on board of her. with as much care as he had used in the kitchen, phil walked away from the shanty, and not till he was several rods from it did he venture to step with his natural pace; but he had made up his mind what to 208 the young hermit do long before the intruders turned in, and then he hastened to the woods where he had last seen his tender. he was obliged to feel about under the trees and in the underbrush before he could find one of the boats; and then he could not tell in the darkness which one it was; but it was not heavy, and he dragged it to the water, where by the light of the stars he saw that it was not the tender. after a while he found the other boat, and dragged it to the shore; and as the captain of the hebe was not a narrow-minded young man, he decided to take possession of both boats, which would give the intruders a long walk if they concluded to leave the premises before he was willing to have them do so. taking the boat of the happy couple in tow, he rowed far out from the shore, so that the noise of his oars should not attract the attention of the sleepers in the shanty if they should happen to wake, and then described a circle around cape cod till he came to the hebe at her moorings. making fast the painters of the two boats, he went on board without any challenge from the engineer. he concluded that bashy was following the example of the intruders in the shanty; but he went into the forward cabin, and struck a match with the intention of lighting a lantern. "who's there?" demanded bashy from one of the berths. a flank movement 209 "the great continental jackass," replied phil, recalling an expression of the chief of the burglars. "who's he?" asked bashy. "he is not captain philip greenway, as i happen to be," replied he. "turn out, bashy! we must get under way at once." the engineer obeyed with his usual celerity. 210 the young hermit chapter xxxiii. the "hebe" makes a trip. 'as soon as bashy got it through his head that it was the captain of the hebe that called him, he was wide awake; and as he had only lain down without undressing himself, it did not take him long to make his toilet. "what in all creation is up now, captain greenway?" asked the engineer, as he sprang out of his berth, and looked at phil with the most intense interest. "i will tell you all about it when i have more time, though i don't know that i am in any particular hurry," replied the captain. "what have you been about all the afternoon, bashy? why didn't you come ashore and get your supper?" "go ashore? how could i go ashore when you did not bring back the tender?" demanded the assistant, opening his eyes at what he considered the strange question of the captain. in fact, he thought his superior officer had acted very strangely that day, and he could not help asking himself if the hermit of minnetonka was not a little out of his head. such a supposition would explain his singular conduct that day, as well as his odd whim in establishing himself in this secluded part of the lake for no reason which bashy could comprehend. the "hebe" makes a trip 211 but captain greenway considered his question quite as strange as the engineer had, and he had asked it only in the way of banter, for he was not always as serious as a hermit should be. "you could see the shore, near the shanty, couldn't you?" inquired phil, who was wondering all the time what view his assistant had taken of the situation, and of the captain's failure to come off after him at the usual hour. "of course i could see the shore; i haven't got blind since the hurricane," replied bashy. "i saw you with another fellow on the shore, and then you got into the boat and pulled it around the point." "you saw me on the shore?" "i thought it was you, though you had been into the house and put on your everyday clothes. i can't see quite as well a quarter of a mile off as i can close to," replied the engineer, looking with increasing astonishment at the captain. "never mind now, bashy; we will go to the engine and start the fire, and while it is getting under way, we will talk about things," said phil, as he led the way out of the cabin. the faithful engineer had everything in readiness to get up steam without any delay, and he applied the match to the combustibles in the furnace, and shoveled on the coal; after which he had nothing more to do, and seated himself by the side of his superior on the divan abaft the engine. 212 the young hermit "i don't think you have seen me at all since i went ashore, bashy," the captain began, when there was nothing more in the preparation for getting under way that could be done. "i didn't look very sharp, but i reckoned it was you that pulled the boat round the point," replied bashy, who was still in condition to be enlightened. "you were mistaken; and there has been a big circus at the hermitage," continued phil. "in fact, a couple of fellows, one of whom i know very well, have taken possession of the hermitage, and intend to turn us out." "turn us out!" exclaimed the engineer, rising in his excitement from his seat. "and what do you mean to do about it, captain greenway?" "i mean to let them stay there,” replied phil, who was feeling so good since he reached the steamer without any accident that he was rather inclined to tease his companion. "let them stay there! i thought you was captain greenway, and not the great continental jackass," said bashy. the mild expletive of the chief burglar seemed to be catching. "for the present i am; and when they move out, i intend that they shall transfer their residence to a prison of some sort," said phil, as he proceeded to give his companion the principal details of the doings of the intruders, though he deemed it prudent to conceal a portion of the facts he had obtained and of the conclusions he had reached. the "hebe” makes a trip 213 bashy listened attentively to the narrative; but as the captain had concealed some of the material points in the history of the affair, he was hardly prepared to take a just view of what ought to be done; but he was not a little dissatisfied with the idea of departing and leaving the intruders in full possession of the hermitage. "why don't you go in and bounce them, captain greenway? what is the use of fooling with such fellows?" demanded bashy, with no little indignation in his tones and manner. "such a course does not suit my purpose. i have not told you all i know, for i don't feel at liberty to do so till those fellows are behind the bars,” replied phil. "are they barkeepers?" "they are even worse than that," added the captain, as he looked at his watch, and then took a railroad time-table from his pocket, which he examined with care. "there is a late train to minneapolis to-night, and i have business there," he continued. by this time the steam in the boiler had begun to demonstrate that it had an existence. "i am all ready to set the engine going when you say the word, captain greenway; but i should like to take a hand in cleaning out those fellows before we go, for i helped build that shanty, and i feel some interest in it." 214 the young hermit "you are all right, bashy; but when you know more about this business than you do now, you will admit that i am doing just the right thing," said phil, pleased with the devotion of his companion. "you always do just the right thing, captain greenway, and i haven't a single word to say against anything you do," protested the engineer. "i am sure that i can trust you to do anything i desire, and that you will stand by me to the end, bashy." "as long as the earth hangs together, and then i shall be ready to go up with you," returned the assistant warmly. "then i will add that i have a large sum of moneythat these villains in the shanty stole, and which i got away from them; and i am going now to restore it to the rightful owner," said phil, desiring to increase the interest of his companion in his present movement. "whew!" whistled the engineer, turning from the engine, and looking the captain full in the face. "and that is not the worst of it, for they are planning another robbery on a larger scale, and i want to get in ahead of them." "whatever you say is gospel to me, and all i have to do is to obey orders without asking any questions," replied the assistant, as he permitted the steam to assert itself for an instant. phil was satisfied that the engineer would not trouble him in the carrying out of his plan, and that he the "hebe" makes a trip 215 would continue to hold his tongue as he had done in the past. he made both boats fast to the stern of the hebe, and then cast off the moorings, with the assistance of bashy. "don't make any more noise with the engine than is necessary, bashy, and don't whistle or do anything of that sort to wake those fellows in the shanty," said phil, as he stepped into the pilot house. "start her as soon as you are ready without any bell." "all right, captain greenway; i won't make any more noise than a mouse does when it steals a piece of cheese," replied the engineer, as he returned to his machine. the engine started, and the pilot headed the steamer toward the northern shore of the little bay, so as to keep her as far as possible from the shanty; and in a few minutes phil was at a safe distance from the intruders, though he could not help keeping one eye on the hermitage all the time. but he was conscious that he had the occupants of the shanty where he could probably find them when he wanted them, for they had no boat by which they could get away by water, and it was a very long walk to any place where they could find one. the wind was still blowing very fresh out of the northwest, and phil found it necessary to put on his overcoat, for a decided falling in the temperature had come since the hurricane. 216 the young hermit the sky was clear, and phil had learned the navigation of the lake thoroughly, so that he had no difficulty in reaching excelsior in season for the last train, and a little while later he was hurrying off on his way to minneapolis. a midnight summons 217 chapter xxxiv. a midnight summons. phil greenway's first visit to minnetonka had brought him to excelsior, the town and village on the southern shore of the lake, and he had taken possession of the hebe at this place, so that he knew its geography very well, and made the landing at the low pier without asking any questions. he bought his provisions and other supplies there, which had required him to make occasional visits to the town, and the large bill he brought with him on his coming had been changed at the bank there by bashy, for he did not care to subject himself to suspicion by a visit in person. "i shall not return before some time to-morrow, bashy; and i want you to make yourself as comfortable as possible till i come back," said the captain, when the boat was made fast to the wharf. "i guess i can do that, for there is grub enough left in the forward cabin for my breakfast," replied bashy. "you may go to one of the hotels and get a hot breakfast, and i will pay for it," added phil, as he took the plethoric pocketbook from the inside of his vest. "what there is on hand is good enough for me; put up your money, captain greenway," answered the engineer. 218 the young hermit "i did not take out my money to pay for your breakfast, though i prefer that you should get a good meal at one of the hotels." "all right, then; if you prefer it, i will go to the white house." "i do prefer it," replied the captain, as he opened the pocketbook by the light of a lantern the engineer had brought into the pilot house. bashy could hardly repress sundry exclamations that came to his lips when he saw what a pile of bills the captain had in his possession; but he "held in,” as he called it, while the superior counted out three of the notes, and then tendered them to the engineer. "hundred-dollar bills!" exclaimed bashy, actually retreating in his amazement at the sight of so much money, for the pile in possession of his companion seemed to be composed of this denomination. "these are for you, bashy," added the captain quietly, spreading out the bills so that the engineer could see that there were three of them. "to pay for my breakfast?" gasped the assistant. "not at all; whatever you pay for your breakfast i will hand you when i return," replied phil, looking at his watch to make sure that he did not lose the train. "three hundred dollars!" exclaimed the astonished engineer. "did i understand you to say that this money was for me, captain greenway?" "that is precisely what i intended that you should a midnight summons 219 understand, but you don't seem to catch on," laughed phil, when he found that he had plenty of time. "you don't expect a fellow like me to catch on to three hundred dollars, do you?" demanded bashy, who could not realize that his companion was in earnest. "i hope you will make an effort to do so. take the bills, for i have not much time to spare; and then i will explain the matter," answered phil. "is this some of the money you took from them chaps that stole the hermitage?" asked the doubtful engineer, as he accepted the bills. "not a dollar of it. do you remember that, as we were passing cook's point yesterday, a boat came off and brought a letter to me?" "of course i remember it, for the landlord of the lake park hotel brought the letter, and wanted a receipt for it. but what has that to do with this three hundred dollars you are giving me?" "it has a great deal to do with it. in that letter were ten one-hundred-dollar bills, which the lady in the excelsior sent me for our services in saving her and her companion," the captain explained. "a thousand dollars!" exclaimed bashy. "that was liberal pay for the job. but, creation! you don't think of giving me three hundred dollars of it, for i am only a poor chicken working for wages." "that is what i shall give you as your share; and this is the way i figure it out; and if you are not satisfied with the division, i want you to say so, and not make any bones about it." 220 the young hermit "satisfied with the division? it is ten times as much as i had any right to look for; and i did not expect a single cent for anything i did. it was you that handled the boat, and every cent of the money ought to stay in your pocket, where it belongs," protested bashy, who sincerely felt all that he said. "you did your part as well as i did mine; but i think the hebe did more than either of us, and i put her down for four hundred dollars of the reward," continued phil. "if the money goes into my pocket, it is only to pay me back a part of what the boat cost me." "that's perfectly fair; and if the hebe could eat grub, i would take her up to the hotel to breakfast with me to-morrow morning," remarked bashy. "i think it is a fair thing; i went on a fishing trip once, and in dividing the proceeds of the catch the vessel took the lion's share, as it was just that she should; and i have gone on that principle in this case. the remaining six hundred dollars i have halved with you." "you are too liberal, captain greenway: one hundred is enough for me," said bashy. "an equal division is what i shall insist on having; and i have no more time to talk about it. put the money in your pocket, and perhaps you will soon be able to buy a steamer for yourself, especially if we should have another hurricane, and some other craft is not well handled." bashy was sincere, and he made some further objeca midnight summons 221 tion, to which the captain would not listen, and at last he put the bills in his pocket, though not till phil had left him; and then very likely he dreamed of being some time the owner of such a steamer as the hebe, which he believed was the finest craft of her size on the lake. phil greenway walked through the streets to the station, and on his way he passed the bank, which he believed was the next objective point of the gentlemen in possession of the hermitage, though they had not said so in so many words. "minneapolis or st. paul?" asked the station agent, when he called for his ticket. "does this train go to st. paul?" he asked. "single or return?" asked the agent, when he had mentioned st. paul as the destination. "return," replied phil, as he handed out his money. he was not posted in regard to the trains, and had not noticed on the table that the trains on this road went through to the farther of the twin cities, and he was decidedly pleased to find that he should reach his old home, or the city that contained it, without any delay, and before midnight. he had plenty to think about on the way, and he considered whether or not to pay a midnight visit to his benefactor, and make a confidant of him; but he was unable to decide this qestion before his arrival, and he was willing to leave his action to be controlled by circumstances. on the arrival of the train at its destination he has222 the young hermit tened with all the speed he could command to the residence of mr. cavan, the real-estate agent and friend of mr. gayland. he was confident that, as the capitalist had called in the ex-detective when the thousand-dollar bill disappeared, he had done the same thing when the safe was robbed of six times as large a sum. he had often been to the house on errands, and he was able to find it in the darkness of the night without any difficulty; and he did not hesitate to ring the bell vigorously, for he felt that the business upon which he had come from the lake justified his call at this unseemly hour. he repeated the ring several times before he obtained any response to his summons. "who's there? the doctor lives next door on the left!" said a man in a nightshirt, putting his head out of the window over the front door, expressing himself with no little impatience, and it was possible that others had made the mistake his reply suggested. "i don't want the doctor; i wish to see mr. cavan on the most important business," replied the midnight visitor. "call at the office in the morning! i don't do business at this hour of the night," answered the agent. "i have six thousand dollars with me, and i must carry it off with me if you don't let me in." "who are you?" demanded the prudent business man. "paul gayland." in five minutes more mr. cavan was at the door. the ex-detective talks 223 chapter xxxv. the ex-detective talks. "what did you say your name was?" asked mr. cavan, as he opened the door wide enough to obtain a look at the visitor at this late hour. "paul gayland," replied the captain, in the most decided tone he could command. the real-estate agent opened his door a little wider, for evidently he did not recognize the young man in his blue yacht uniform and white cap; but he had lighted the gas in the hall of his house, and its aid enabled him to see the face of the visitor. "come in, if you please, and let me have a better look at you," said mr. cavan, resuming his natural politeness. "it is a month since i saw you last, and you don't look as you did then." "i cannot have changed very much in that time, though i wear different clothes," added phil. "all right, young man; i know you now, and hope you are very well," continued mr. cavan, extending his hand to the midnight caller. "quite well, i thank you; never better," replied the captain, taking the proffered hand. "i hope mr. gayland is in good health, for i have not heard a word from him or of him since i went away." "he is very well, though i think he misses you 224 the young hermit very much, and he seems to be rather melancholy, like a man who has been disappointed in this life, and was looking forward to one more hopeful. you left his house rather suddenly, paul," said the agent, looking very keenly into the face of his visitor. 99 "suddenly to others, but not to myself, for i had been thinking of leaving for months before i went," replied phil. "i suppose you are aware that certain persons are looking for you," continued the agent. "if they are they have not been where i was, for i was not even aware of the fact that a search for me had been made." "it is very unfortunate that you left at just the particular time you did," said cavan, looking sharply at him again. "why so?" asked the wanderer, as his benefactor called him, with what seemed to be innocent surprise to the business agent of his benefactor. "if you had left the night after the robbery instead of the night before, it would have been better," suggested the agent, as quietly as though he saw nothing out of the way in the departure of the young man. "what robbery?" asked phil, though he was not much surprised to hear of such an event. "didn't you know that mr. gayland's house had been entered, his safe opened, and over six thousand dollars taken from it?" asked the ex-detective, toying with a pen on the table at his side. "i had no actual knowledge of it, but i suspected the ex-detective talks 225 as much from information which i obtained within six hours," replied phil, as he took his pocketbook from the inside of his vest, and proceeded to open it on the table, at which he had seated himself, opposite the agent. he had placed the money he had taken from the burglar's bag in a compartment by itself, and he took out the pile without exhibiting the rest of his money, and held it in his hand, while he turned his eyes again to the business agent of his benefactor. "can you tell me the exact amount taken from mr. gayland's house?" he asked. "six thousand two hundred dollars; nothing but the money was taken," replied cavan promptly. "will you be kind enough to count this money, mr. cavan?" said phil, and he passed the package of bills to him. "certainly, if you desire it;" and he suited the action to the word; and, as the amount was all in large bills, it took him but a couple of minutes, though he went over it twice. "six thousand two hundred dollars,' he added, as he passed the money back to the young 99 man. "i will thank you to retain it, and give it to mr. gayland, for it appears that the amount is correct," continued the captain of the hebe. "i will do as you request, and give you a receipt for the money," replied cavan, as he wrote the document and handed it to the visitor. "i think i have done my duty now," added phil, 226 the young hermit as he put the receipt into his pocketbook and returned it to its place inside of his vest. "i suppose you have, so far as this money is concerned," said the agent, with a heavy frown on his brow, as though he did not entirely appreciate the honesty of the captain. in fact a great change had come over his face, or the expression of it, and he looked like a disappointed man. he had said to his wealthy client, after he finished his investigation of the robbery, that he was willing to bet his life that paul was innocent, in spite of the condemning appearances against him. but now the real-estate agent considered himself obliged to change his mind. he could not help believing that paul gayland had really been guilty of stealing the money, which he now, through some feeling of remorse, wished to return to its rightful owner. "what more can i do?" asked phil, surprised at the qualification in the reply of the other. "this appears to be a case of conscience," replied the agent, still frowning heavily in his disappointment, derived from the honest deed of his visitor. "you stole the money; but your conscience, and perhaps the remembrance of what mr. gayland has been to you and done for you, has compelled you to restore your swag to its rightful owner." "i stole the money!" gasped the wanderer, springing out of his chair, his brown cheeks mantled with crimson. "that is precisely what mrs. gayland believes and the ex-detective talks 227 insists upon, and mr. gayland is unable to gainsay the charge; and that is precisely what it looks like to me now, though i have given your foster father all the hope he has had that you were possibly innocent," added mr. cavan, rising from his chair also. "did you tell mr. gayland that i was innocent of this crime?" asked the wanderer, the tears flooding his eyes. "i told him i believed you were innocent, and i have thought so till now," replied the agent, resuming his seat when his guest did so, to drop his head upon the table, covering his face with both hands and weeping like one with a broken heart. the ex-detective looked at the sufferer, and possibly his feelings were moved by the violence of his grief, though it might be the agony of repentance rather than of wounded sensibility at the injustice done him. "you were right, mr. cavan!" exclaimed the wanderer, springing to his feet again, throwing back his head. "i believe you!" returned the agent, after he had looked in the young man's face for a moment; and he was evidently glad to have his former earnest conviction restored to him by the conduct of the wanderer, for he believed that he could tell a rogue when he saw him. he extended his hand to phil, and bestowed a warm pressure on that of his visitor; for, after all, it is a very great comfort for any one to believe he was right in 228 the young hermit the face of conflicting evidence, though he may be mistaken in the end. "i never even heard of the robbery till a few hours ago; and even then it did not occur to me that i was suspected," said phil. "perhaps you had better tell me all about the matter, as you understand it," suggested mr. cavan. "i may add that the testimony against you is very strong, and while i believe you are innocent, i do not see how the fact can be established." "i don't know anything at all about the robbery, and never heard of it till five o'clock this afternoon, and then only by guessing at half of it," phil protested. he began his narrative at once, starting it at the time when he left the elegant mansion on the hill, and relating all that had occurred to the moment when he rang the bell at mr. cavan's door. "are you absolutely sure that one of the pair that took possession of the hermitage was sparks gayland?" asked the agent, when he had finished. "i am absolutely sure it was he, though the other fellow called him gay sparkland," answered the captain. "that is a transposition of the syllables of his real name; and, for purposes of concealment, the change is as stupid as some other things sparks has done. but you say that he was one of the burglars, though i am not at all surprised at it, for i have long believed him capable of such a venture, though his uncle knows less about him than almost any other person in the city. if the ex-detective talks 229 he was one of them it proves, almost, that you were not another of them. "then i am suspected of being one who entered the house?" said phil, deeply grieved at the thought of the sorrow the suspicion must have given his benefactor. "suspected!" exclaimed mr. cavan. "you were both seen and recognized by mr. gayland and by his wife." the wanderer was utterly confounded by this statement. 230 the young hermit chapter xxxvi. captain greenway's idea. "do you mean to say, mr. cavan, that i was seen in mr. gayland's house on the night of this robbery?" demanded phil greenway, his chest heaving with emotion. "i do not mean to say that i saw you there; but i do mean to say that both mr. gayland and his wife saw you; and they know you well enough to be subject to no ordinary mistake," replied the ex-detective. "the servant came for me shortly after midnight, and i went to the house at once. then and there they told me they had seen you come out of the dining room, pass through the hall where they were, and leave by the front door." "did i speak to them?" asked phil, almost breathless with astonishment. "you did not, for you were in a hurry to get out of the house; but all the gas burners in the house were lighted, and they were positive that it was you.” "i am equally positive that it was not i," protested phil, dropping into his chair, overwhelmed by the statement of the agent. "i don't understand it," added mr. cavan. “you have been in the house with them for years, the front captain greenway's idea 231 hall was as light as day, and they could hardly have made a mistake in regard to your identity." the captain looked up into the face of the agent to determine if he could whether or not he believed what he said; but his expression conveyed no information to satisfy him, for he seemed to be as thoroughly mystified as the young man himself. "i am willing to swear in any court in christendom that i was on the border of lake minnetonka during the night on which this robbery was committed," said phil, beginning to gather up his forces to meet the mysterious assertion of the agent. "are you sure on this point?" asked mr. cavan. "absolutely sure, for it was the night after i left st. paul, and i fix the time by that fact. you can see that it would be impossible for me to be mistaken," continued phil. "i should say that it was; and perhaps you can prove what you say by witnesses if it becomes necessary to do so?" "i think i could." "where did you spend the night on which the break was made?” "on the day after i left i went out to lake minnetonka, and spent the day there, making a trip in the hebe to halsted's bay, and that afternoon i made an offer for the steamer. i slept that night on board of the hebe, by invitation of the person in charge of her, to whom i made the offer." 232 the young hermit "that sounds like a clear statement, and that person is your witness, if he did not leave you on board of the boat." "he did not leave me, for he slept in the forward cabin with me, and we both turned out at five o'clock in the morning. bashy will be willing to testify that i must have remained in the cabin all night, for we did not turn in till eleven o'clock. we were busy talking about the steamer i wanted to buy." "who is bashy?" "he is the engineer of the hebe.” "i can make nothing of these two stories, for each one contradicts the other," said the agent, and he looked as though he were thoroughly perplexed; and his visitor was in no better condition. "i am as much in the dark as you are, and i can make nothing of it," phil went on. "if mrs. gayland were the only one who saw me, i could understand it better." "mr. gayland was as positive as his wife was," continued cavan, looking earnestly into the face of his visitor. "did it ever occur to you, paul, that mr. gayland might be your father?" he asked, after a little hesitation. "it has occurred to me, for he has always treated me as well as the most affectionate father could treat a son; and there is something else which encouraged this idea," replied phil. "what is that? it needs something stronger than captain greenway's idea 233 the facts on the surface to account for his devotion to you," added the agent. in answer to the question phil took off his coat, stripped up his sleeve, and exhibited the letters on his arm. "p. g.," said the agent, reading the letters. "they certainly stand for paul gayland.” "but my foster father explains them by saying that he found them on my arm when he assumed the care of me in nice, and he gave me the first name after one of his brothers." "nice ?" "you have not heard the story of my adoption; and if you are not too sleepy, i will give it to you,” said phil. "i am wide awake, and i should be glad to hear it; for this is the biggest romance that i have met with in late years," answered the agent, settling himself into his armchair. the captain of the hebe told the story as it had been related to him by both the capitalist and his wife; and the listener gave the closest attention to it. "but in spite of that story mr. gayland may be your father," said cavan, when the young man had finished his narrative. "he may have been secretly married for reasons of his own, and did not care to reveal the facts to his young wife, or let her know that he had a son. such things have happened, and i had something to do with a case in new york not unlike it." 234 the young hermit "the only difficulty i have in believing that such a thing might be is in the fact that mr. gayland is an honest and true man; and he said that i was not his son," was phil's comment. "of course he could not acknowledge you. but i have not mentioned the fact which suggested this idea to me, paul," continued cavan. "if you were only his adopted son, and he found that you were a villain, wicked enough to rob his house after he had given you a thousand dollars only the day before, he would have been willing to drop you, cast you out like an unclean thing, and let you go to the prison where you deserved to be." "i think so myself." "instead of doing this he is deeply grieved at your conduct, and is ready to save you from the consequences of the alleged crime. only himself, his wife, and i know that you visited his house as one of the burglars, for he almost swore me to secrecy, and insisted that his wife should not mention the fact to any one." "he seems to be even more devoted to me than i had supposed," added phil, wiping the moisture from his eyes. "i have not seen him for a month when he did not repeat his injunction to be silent in regard to you; and he told me he had even threatened his wife if she ever betrayed the secret." "i do not understand the relations between sparks captain greenway's idea 235 gayland and his aunt; but she seems to be quite as much devoted to him as her husband is to me," said phil, looking to the agent for a possible explanation. "he is a good-looking young fellow, and he has done everything he could to work himself into her good graces, evidently for the purpose of obtaining her influence with her husband in the disposal of his property. but sparks has ruined himself." "i should say that he had, if the whole truth comes out." "it must come out!" exclaimed cavan, manifesting more excitement than he was in the habit of displaying. “if i hand this money over to mr. gayland, saying that you brought it to me, it will look to him, as it did to me, that you had simply concluded to return your ill-gotten gain. that will not do just yet. you said that the two burglars had another job on their hands.” "i did;" and phil repeated some portion of his former narrative. "possibly it will be better to let them carry out their plan; and then there will be no doubt about their intentions, for the return of this money by you has a bad look." just then, with the remembrance of what he had heard at the shanty repeated a moment before, something more of the talk of the burglars came back to him, and he leaped out of his chair as a new train of ideas came into his mind with startling force. "what is the matter, paul? you were the most indifferent fellow i ever saw when we unearthed that 236 the young hermit thousand-dollar bill; but now you seem to be excited,” said the agent. "those villains spoke of another fellow that belonged with them," replied phil, after reflecting a moment, as though he had been stunned with a new idea. then he was sure he had a clue to the mystery. mr. cavan's plan 237 chapter xxxvii. mr. cavan's plan. as mr. cavan suggested, phil greenway was not a demonstrative young man, but he was certainly excited when the clock struck one in an adjoining room; but it was clear that he had not yet clearly defined the idea which had stunned him in its advent. he resumed his seat at the table, and the wrinkles on his brow indicated that he was bringing his thought to bear upon the subject his sudden recollection had sprung upon him, and he said nothing for a few minutes. the agent realized that he was struggling at the birth of a new idea, and was laboring to develop its meaning; and he sensibly held his peace to enable his companion to settle his thoughts. "i begin to see through the whole of it," said he at last. "roddy and-" "who is roddy?" interposed the agent, who was not willing to let any point escape his understanding. "roddy is the companion of sparks gayland in his new enterprise, and the chief of the burglars, a coolheaded rascal who has drawn sparks into his clutches, and uses him as an assistant. but they spoke of a third person who was connected with them, and said he was not more than sixteen years old.” 238 the young hermit "what has he to do with all this?” "that is what i am trying to explain to myself. some one went to mr. gayland's house on the night of the robbery with roddy and sparks; and this third person was mistaken for me." "mr. gayland and his wife were positive it was you; and they knew you well enough to believe they could not be mistaken," added cavan. "let me give you another incident of my experience at minnetonka," continued the captain, relating the event of the hurricane, and the saving of the passengers and crew of the excelsior. "that seems to be another story," interposed the agent, rather impatiently. "wait a moment, if you please, and you will see that it is a part of the same story," answered phil, with a very expressive smile on his brown face. "after we went ashore, the lady invited me to her parlor at the lake park hotel, though not till she had called me by a name i never heard before, and insisted that i was somebody else." "mistook you for another?" said cavan, with an effort to repress a gape. "that is just what she did; and she would have it that i was her adopted son, and called me conny." "didn't she know her adopted son?" "she would have it that i was he, though he had run away from her a year or two before. i could not convince her to the contrary for a long time; and mr. cavan's plan 239 she told me very nearly the same story that mr. gayland and his wife related to me to show how i happened to be with them, stating first that it was in malaga, and then changing the place to dresden." "didn't she know where the event occurred?" "she told me wrong first as a trick to see if i did not detect the difference in the story; and when she found i did not notice the error, she changed the name of the place.' 99 phil repeated the narrative of mrs. forbush more in detail than he had given it at first; and as the exdetective began to see the bearing of the incident, he ceased to gape. "once more," continued the captain, "roddy told sparks that the third person of the trio had seen a lady at the west hotel who might identify him. that brings the several incidents into close connection, i should say." "i believe you, my lad." "roddy called the third member of the trio chick gillpool, which is not likely to be his real name,” added phil. "and you say that the lady, after she had looked at the initials on your arm, expected to find c. g. there. there seems to be a hole in the curtain, and we can soon see what is behind it," said the agent, who had become as much interested in the matter as though he expected to make ten thousand dollars out of it. "there was another incident at the lake yesterday, 240 the young hermit though i cannot connect it with the robbery in any manner," continued the captain, recalling the affair of the steam launch, and the singular conduct of mr. arnold blonday. "then we will let it rest till another time," added mr. cavan, rising from his chair as though he had business on his hands. "you have done your errand here, and done it well, paul." "i have done a good deal more than i intended when i came here, for i did not think of telling you anything more than was necessary to explain how the six thousand dollars came into my possession. i have related the rest of my experience in self-defense." "what do you intend to do next?" asked the agent. "it was my purpose to take the first train for the lake, which leaves at seven in the morning." "will you go with me now to mr. gayland's house, and tell him what you have told me?" "no, sir! i will not! i will never go into his presence, and especially not into the presence of mrs. gayland, till i can prove my innocence of the charge against me," replied the captain, with a blush on his cheeks. "i will not insist upon it," replied mr. cavan, as he put the money phil had brought into his pocketbook. "what are you going to do when you get back to the lake?" "i had not decided what to do when i left. you have had more experience in such matters than i have, mr. cavan's plan 241 and the right kind of experience, too; and i should like to have you advise me what to do," suggested phil. "if i had had the direction of the case a little earlier, i should have advised you to let the two intruders remain in full possession of your shanty, and carry out their original plan of robbing the bank, as you suspect that they intend to do." "i thought of that myself; but i could not take the responsibility of keeping the money any longer.” "perhaps we can rectify the error," continued cavan, pursing his lips and contracting his brow as he paused to reflect. "i will do just what you say," said phil. "paul, i am going to minnetonka with you!" exclaimed the agent suddenly. "i am as much concerned to prove your innocence as you can be yourself, for i have fully committed myself in that direction." "you are very kind, sir; and i have no right to expect so much of you," replied phil, who really felt as though his innocence was already established, with such a powerful and skillful person to assist him. "there is only one difficulty in the way. an old friend of mine who lived in new york when i was there, wrote me that he should arrive at the ryan last evening, and wished to see me on business of the utmost importance early in the morning. i must see him." cavan was troubled by the clashing of this engagement with his intention to accompany the captain to 242 the young hermit the lake; but after he had considered the subject for a few minutes, he appeared to have arrived at a solution of the difficulty. "i think we had better not wait for the train in the morning, paul," said he. "i should like to be on the ground before these fellows are stirring, and i think i can manage it." the captain asked no questions, and the agent went to his room to finish his toilet; but he came down in a few minutes, and they left the house together, making their way to the ryan house as soon as possible. "i thought i should find you coming into the house at about this time," said cavan, accosting a gentleman he found smoking his cigar at the door. "i am off a little earlier than usual to-night; but i have to return to the station again soon," replied the smoker. "i want to get to lake minnetonka in the shortest possible time," continued the agent, as the gentleman threw away the stump of his cigar, and looked at the clock. "i have to send a freight train over to the mills, near there, in about half an hour, and you may go in the caboose, cavan. to what part of the lake do you want to go?" "to excelsior," replied the captain, when the agent looked at him. "i will send you the rest of the way on the engine, if you like." mr. cavan's plan 243 "thank you, brooks; the engine will do. we will be at the freight station in half an hour," replied cavan, going to the office of the hotel, where he examined the register, after giving the night clerk his pocketbook to deposit in the safe. then he pointed to a name on the book. 244 the young hermit 66 chapter xxxviii. the gentleman from chicago. 'david westlawn,' " continued mr. cavan, reading the name on the register at which he pointed. "i want to see this gentleman at once, for he is an old friend of mine," he added, turning to the night clerk. "do you wish to have him called, mr. cavan?" asked the clerk. "no; i will see him in his room, for i was to meet him in the morning, and i have to leave the city at once." a servant was called and directed to show the gentleman to mr. westlawn's room, and the agent told the captain he had better go up with him, which phil was quite willing to do. "david westlawn has had hard luck in business, for he lost all he had in chicago, though he was well off when he went there," said cavan, as he walked up the stairs. "he employed me to look up a couple of children about seven or eight years old, and i told him in the end they had been sent to paris to attend a school there." "a couple of children!" exclaimed phil. "where did they live?" "in new york." "were they lost?" the gentleman from chicago 245 "no; i don't remember much about the case now; but to the best of my recollection, the children were his nieces or nephews, and he had been told they were sent to paris to attend a school, for their mother was a french lady. for some reason which he did not explain, or which i have forgotten, he did not believe the statement. but i found the steamer in which they were taken to paris with another uncle, or something of that sort; and my report satisfied him. after that david and i became strong friends, and have had business relations in the west." "is his business now about the two children?" asked phil. "of course not, for that matter is eight years old; and i don't think he ever mentioned the subject to me again." "some real-estate operation then," suggested the captain. "i don't know; i have done no detective work for years, and he cannot wish to see me on account of the old affair. i have forgotten all about my old cases, and very likely i have not stated the matter of the children exactly as it was. but i have all my old notes of cases in the house, though i have not looked at them since i came to st. paul," replied cavan, as the servant stopped at the door. the agent knocked vigorously on the panel, and the summons was answered by a sleepy demand on the part of the occupant of the room. "who's there?" he asked a minute later. 246 the young hermit "cavan," replied the ex-detective. "i want to see you at once." "all right; i will open the door in a minute," responded the guest. presently mr. westlawn opened the door, and showed himself, dressed only in his pajamas. "come in, cavan; i am glad to see you, though i did not expect to have a call from you before morning," said the guest, as he grasped the hand of his old friend. "i have to go away in half an hour, and i have only come to say that i cannot be here in the morning," replied cavan. "you are a bird of the night; but where are you going at this strange hour, though it is none of my business?" asked mr. westlawn. "i am only going over to excelsior," replied the agent, prudently keeping his business to himself. "i believe that was the cry of the young fellow who was climbing a hill, but i never heard of a place of that name, commented mr. westlawn, as he led the way into his room, where he had lighted the gas. "it is over on lake minnetonka." 99 "lake minnetonka!" exclaimed mr. westlawn. "is there anything strange about that, westlawn?" "my business is with a party of people who are at that lake, if i do not mistake the name," answered the guest, as he took a memorandum book from his coat, hanging on a hook. "lake minnetonka is the great summer resort of the the gentleman from chicago 247 minneapolitans; and even some from st. paul have been known to go there," cavan explained, as he looked at his watch. "that is the place; i have the name here," replied the gentleman from chicago. "but i want to see you as soon as possible. i have never given up that affair of eight years ago, about which you helped me; and i have obtained some new light on the subject," continued mr. westlawn, with no little anxiety in his expression. "of course i know you are not in your former occupation, and i am only going to ask your advice as a friend.” "of course i shall be glad to give you any advice in my power when i have time to hear the case," answered cavan. "i have learned that the sister of one of my birds has moved from new york to minneapolis, and my party are here on a visit; and they have gone out to this lake to spend the summer. what is the reason i cannot go with you, for i shall have a chance to tell you all about it on the way without taking up any more of your time?" suggested the guest. the agent did not like to have two irons in the fire at the same time, and he looked at phil, as though he expected him to say something about the matter. "it will take nearly an hour to reach the hermitage after we get to excelsior," the captain remarked. "you can have the cabin all to yourselves for your conference." 248 the young hermit "i have no objection to your going, westlawn; but you must get ready in five minutes," said cavan. "i will be with you in three minutes," replied the gentleman, as he proceeded to dress himself. "i don't remember much about the case on which i worked for you, and i have not time to go back to my house to look up my notebook in which i should find the whole of the details." "no matter for that; i can tell you all about it," replied mr. westlawn, glancing at phil, as though he understood that he must be careful what he said in the presence of a stranger. he glanced at the captain of the hebe, and then did more than that, for he fixed his gaze upon him, and suspended his operations as though something about the young man had attracted his attention. "you did not introduce your friend, cavan," he added, turning to the agent. "my name is philip greenway; or, at least, that is the name by which i am known at the lake; and i am the captain of the steamer hebe, though it is no great thing of a steamer," interposed phil, afraid that the agent would mention his real name. "that is it, captain greenway," added cavan. "but hurry up, or we shall lose the freight train on which we are to travel. if you don't like the accommodations, westlawn, you must wait till seven in the morning for a passenger train." "what is good enough for you is good enough for me, cavan," said the guest, as he put on his coat. the gentleman from chicago 249 "it seems to me just as though i had seen this young man somewhere, though i can't tell where." "he has lived in st. paul for seven years at least, and very likely you have seen him there." "that is not possible, since i never was here before in my life." but it was time to go, and there was no time to say anything more; and in a few minutes they were in the caboose of the freight train on the way to their destination. there were several other persons in the car, and they had no opportunity to talk about the business of the gentleman from chicago. at three o'clock in the morning they arrived at excelsior, and went on board of the hebe. they were not expected by the engineer, and it took some minutes to wake him, and induce him to unlock the door of the forward cabin. "get up steam just as quick as you possibly can, bashy," said the captain, as soon as he got a sight of his faithful assistant, who was as much surprised at the appearance on board of the trio from st. paul as though they had dropped down from the sky through the hurricane deck. "what is up now, captain greenway?" stammered bashy. "no time for a word now! get up steam, and then we can talk," said the captain, more sharply than he was accustomed to address the engineer. phil took the door of the after cabin, opened it, and 250 the young hermit lighted the lamps; and the gentleman from chicago admitted that no room in the ryan could be better for their purpose. in less than an hour, and while it was hardly daylight, the hebe was off the hermitage, neither of the burglars being in sight. cavan's plan 251 chapter xxxix. cavan's plan. mr. cavan and his friend from chicago remained in the after cabin on the passage from excelsior to halsted's bay, and it had not been decided what should be done when the steamer arrived at her destination, for that was to depend upon the situation at the hermitage. when the hebe was within a quarter of a mile of cape cod, captain greenway called through the speaking tube for the engineer to stop her, for he did not wish to disturb the intruders before the ex-detective decided what should be done. leaving the pilot house, he went to the after cabin, and knocked at the door, for the conference between the two gentlemen was held with closed doors, though there was no one on board to disturb them. mr. cavan answered the knock, and seemed to be greatly surprised when informed that the steamer had reached her destination, for he had evidently been as much interested in the affairs of his friend as he had been in those of the captain. "all right, paul-" "don't call me by that name, if you please," interposed phil, in a whisper. "i am afraid i shall be dis252 the young hermit covered, for no one at the lake has the least idea who i am." "very well, captain greenway; i will not forget it again, and you shall not have occasion to complain of me for letting the cat out of the bag,” replied the agent, with a laugh. "but i am not sure that it would not be better to tell westlawn all about your history, though i have not said a single word to him yet.' "" "tell him about my history!" exclaimed the captain, wondering what the shrewd ex-detective could be thinking about. "i hope you will not do anything of the kind." "i will not without your knowledge and consent," added cavan, with an expression that puzzled phil. "for the present we will confine our attention to these fellows in the shanty, though i have not seen anything of the surroundings, and have not the least idea where we are." "i told you that we are off cape cod, and the shanty is not more than a quarter of a mile from us," said the captain. "have you seen anything of the happy pair, as i heard you call them?" asked the agent. for some reason which phil could not comprehend, he seemed to be in excellent humor, and was even inclined to be mirthful, though he ought to have been sleepy and stupid after being up nearly the whole of the night. "everything is exactly as i left it last night." "as the happy pair did not sleep any night before last, they will make a long snooze of it this morning, cavan's plan 253 and they may not put in an appearance for hours yet," continued cavan, as he came out of the cabin to the open space at the stern of the boat. "the hermitage is dead ahead of the steamer," said the captain, pointing forward. mr. westlawn followed his friend out of the cabin; but cavan stopped him, and said he was working at his old profession, so that his operations must be conducted privately, though he seemed to be inclined to laugh all the time. "captain greenway, my friend has not had much sleep to-night, any more than the rest of us, and perhaps he had better turn in, if there is a berth for him,” suggested the agent. "there is a good berth in the forward cabin, and he can sleep there all day if he wishes," replied phil, wondering what it was that amused his companion. mr. westlawn liked the idea, and was shown to the forward cabin, where he inserted himself in the little berth, and was instructed by his friend not to show himself on deck without an invitation to do so. "now, captain greenway, we will see where we are," said cavan, when the gentleman from chicago had been disposed of. "it is not so light as it will be in half an hour, but you can see the hermitage," returned phil. "but i think we had better keep out of sight as much as possible." "then we will go into the pilot house. it is rather small quarters for two, but we can keep pretty com254 the young hermit fortable there, and see all about us from the windows," continued the captain, as he led the way into the little box, where he placed the agent on one side of the wheel, while he stationed himself in his usual place on the other. "that shanty on the point is the hermitage, i suppose?" said cavan, as he looked through the window in front of him at the surroundings. “that is the hermitage; and the hebe was moored last night in the bay beyond the cape," answered the captain, as he proceeded to point out the localities of the narrative he had given the agent. "i don't believe those fellows have moved since they turned in last night," said cavan, after he had considered the situation for a moment. "now where is the place, did you say, that the two boats were hidden in the grove?" "you can see the trees farther up the point from the shanty." "as i find things here, i think our policy is to put things exactly as the fellows left them, and then wait for them to make the next move," said cavan. "i should keep the steamer as far as possible from the shanty, and land the boats, even if we have to carry them some distance." the captain called to the engineer through the tube, and told him to go ahead slowly, and not to blow off steam, or make any sound that could be heard at the shanty. the hebe went ahead again, and the pilot took her cavan's plan 255 to a point as close to the shore as the depth of water would permit, and ran her forefoot on the sand, where the boats were restored to their former position under the bushes in the grove. the party were obliged to wade out to the steamer, and it was awkward to be without a tender; but no one complained, and the steamer was shoved off from the sand. "now we are all right, and your engineer had better let his fires down, so that the smoke will not betray us in half an hour or an hour from now. we will circle round at a good distance from the point, and go to the moorings of the boat, where you had her last evening," continued cavan, who seemed to have a plan in his head, though he had not yet explained it. the captain and the agent returned to the pilot house, and the boat started again, phil keeping her well off the shore, as he had been directed. "there is only one thing that i am afraid of which can betray what has been done since those fellows went to bed in the shanty," said cavan, who wore a look of anxiety as he spoke. "what is that, sir?" asked phil, very desirous of avoiding any mishap. "i am afraid roddy, as you call him, will miss the money you took from his satchel; and that might change the entire current of affairs, though it might, at the same time, make him all the more anxious to undertake his next job, which you think is to be at the bank in the village where we took the steamer." • 256 the young hermit "i concluded from what i heard that the bank was their next objective point, though i am not sure of it," replied the captain. "i don't think there is anything else here to employ their talents, unless they go through some of these big hotels," said cavan. "if roddy should discover that his six thousand dollars was gone, he might possibly conclude that his movements were observed, or he is just as likely to believe that he had been robbed in his turn by one of his two companions." "i don't think he is likely to discover his loss at present," said phil. "last night he looked into the bag, and when he found the package, which i had restored to its original appearance, he was satisfied, and did not open it." "but he had agreed to divide with gay sparkland, if that is what you call the nephew of our friend; and he may take out the money for this purpose," suggested cavan. "i don't believe he means to divide with gay, for he has kept the money without giving any of it to either of his companions, and i believe he intends to skip at the right time without troubling himself about his associates, for he is the monkey that uses their catspaws to pull his chestnuts out of the fire." "then he is the real villain of the party." "when he is done with gay and chick gillpool he will drop them both like a hot potato." the hebe reached her moorings, and was made fast to them. the happy pair 257 chapter xl. the happy pair. after the steamer was moored in her usual berth, the captain and the agent took another careful survey of the hermitage and its surroundings; but there was no sign of life in or near the shanty. there was nothing more to be done, and the situation was beginning to be monotonous, so that both the captain and the agent began to gape fearfully, especially the former, for he had not slept a wink during the night. "we are as quiet here as though we were on a desert island in the middle of the ocean," said cavan, with a long yawn. "i suppose you know what your next step is to be, mr. cavan," said phil, giving this as a hint that he should like to know something more of his plans. "i have no more idea what we shall do next than you have, captain greenway; if i had i should tell you at once," answered the agent, with another long gape. "the next step will depend upon the movements of that happy pair, and our present purpose is simply to let them have their own way and lull them into security by all the expedients within our reach." "that is just what i should have done last night 258 the young hermit if i had not been burdened with that money," replied phil. "i had that put into the safe at the ryan while you were reading your time-table, and i have a receipt for it," added cavan. "we may have nothing to do for the next three or four hours, and we may as well turn in, and have a nap while we are waiting; but some one will have to be on watch where he can see what is done, if anything, on the point." "bashy has had about four hours' sleep, and he can keep the watch," suggested the captain, gaping till he had nearly dislocated his jaw. cavan went to the forward cabin, and took possession of one of the four berths, while the captain called at the engine room to see bashy, who was entirely willing to take the morning watch, and declared that he was not at all sleepy. the captain took possession of another of the berths, and soon all in the cabin were sound asleep, for they did not "need a brass band to lull them to slumber" after the occupation of the night. bashy had dropped the canvas curtains that inclosed the engine room; the fuel in the furnace had been exhausted so that no smoke issued from the smokestack, and the hebe looked exactly as she had the night before when the happy pair went to their beds in the shanty. the engineer stretched himself on the divan abaft the engine, after he had raised the curtain on the port the happy pair 259 side so that he could see the shore; but he was not as wide awake as he had protested that he was, for he could stand a great deal of sleep, and he was soon in the same condition as those in the cabin; but he was sure that any unusual thing would wake him in an instant; and the captain had suggested that he might sleep on his sofa if he was so disposed. the bay was as smooth as glass in the early morning, for the northwest wind had subsided, and there was not a ripple of water nor the movement of a human being to disturb him, and he slept as soundly as his companions in the cabin. it was all of nine o'clock when bashy came to a realizing sense that he was still a living being, and when he woke, he looked at the shore through the opening under the curtain. the smoke was pouring out of the funnel which had been carried above the roof of the shanty, and it was evident that the occupants of the hermitage had finished their long night of slumber. in accordance with his instructions the engineer called the captain and informed him that the happy pair in the shanty were up, and appeared to be getting breakfast, for there were two uncooked hams, plenty of potatoes, a keg of hardtack, and a supply of groceries in the closet, which they would have no difficulty in finding. "don't show yourself, captain greenway," said cavan, when he was called. "not more than one of 260 the young hermit our party must be seen by the cheerful couple. i have a plan, though it depends upon the movements of those fellows." "you can go into the engine room, where you can see without being seen," suggested bashy, who hoped that he would be called upon to take an active part in the drama which was to be played. the captain and the agent adopted this suggestion, and, passing out of the cabin, went by the starboard side, where they could not be seen from the shore, to the engine room, leaving mr. westlawn still asleep in his berth. "that smoke suggests breakfast," said cavan, after he had taken a full survey, in the better light of the sunshine, of the point and the shanty. "i suppose we are out on that score, and we shall have to let our stomachs grumble till those fellows will let us go to one of the hotels." "not at all; we have crackers and cheese enough on board to keep you from starving, though they don't make a very nice breakfast for a gentleman," interposed the engineer. "trot them out, bashy; they will do as well as anything while we are on watch," said the agent. the bucket containing the food was brought into the engine room, and all then proved that they had appetites, and were not epicures, for they used up a full half hour in eating the dry breakfast. from the sounds that came from the forward cabin, the happy pair 261 it was evident that mr. westlawn was stirring, and bashy carried the crackers and cheese to him, with the request that he should remain where he was. "we may have to stay here all day," suggested captain greenway, when his watch informed him that it was ten o'clock. "i don't think so," replied mr. cavan. "those fellows will be as discontented as we are for the want of something to do. i have no doubt they will hail the steamer if they see any one on board of her, as we must take care that they do." "bashy can show himself where they will see him,” said phil. "not yet," interposed cavan when the engineer rose to take the hint. "he must be the only one that is seen. there are the two villains on the shore!" the agent unfolded his plan for the next move, and gave bashy, who was to be the only actor in it, full instructions in regard to his duty; and then he was sent out where he could be seen by the intended victims of the strategy. "steamer ahoy!" shouted gay sparkland from the nearest shore, though he could hardly be heard in the distance. "on shore!" replied bashy, whose lungs were good for half a mile. "bring off that boat!" roddy and gay seemed to be in consultation over this request; then they soon left the beach and walked across the point; but in less than half an hour a boat 262 the young hermit was discovered coming around the point, and it was seen that the happy pair were complying with the request made by the engineer. "we must all go into the forward cabin with westlawn," said cavan, beginning to be fully alive again. they retired to the cabin indicated, with the exception of bashy, to whom the agent gave more particular instructions, and the door of the cabin was locked, while the ex-detective drew the curtains inside so that not a sight of the interior could be obtained by the expected visitors. the arrangements were hardly completed before the boat, which was the one belonging to the steamer, came alongside, and without waiting for an invitation the happy pair went on board. "good morning, sir," said roddy, in his blandest manner. "i hope you are very well." "i couldn't be any better if i had been in the hospital for six months," replied bashy, with abundant assurance. "i am glad you brought off that boat, for i am a prisoner on board, as i can't swim a stroke." "are you alone here?" asked the chief of the visitors, while gay was looking about the boat. "well, i couldn't be any more alone if i had been mr. adam in the garden of eden before he lost his rib. my engineer went ashore yesterday afternoon, and was to go over to the chapman house to see his girl; and did not come back at six o'clock, as he promised. i pity the girl if she married him, for he is a jrvengusankennedy "on shore!" replied bashy. copy "bring off that boat!" page 261. the happy pair 263 drunken fellow when he gets off, and i suppose he found whisky." "who lives in this shanty?" asked roddy, pointing to the shore. "i do," replied bashy. 99 "then you are the man i want to see.' bashy invited them to the engine room. 264 the young hermit chapter xli. the stranger at the bank. bashy seated himself and his guests in the engine room, and treated them with distinguished consideration, though he knew but little about them. "we got caught here yesterday in the storm, and could not get away, for the waves were too big for our boat," said roddy. "we knocked at the door of the shanty; and as no one answered, we went in and made ourselves at home there. we will pay for everything we had, however." "don't mention it; you did just right, and i am much obliged to you for using my humble abode," replied bashy. "we like the place so much that we should like to stay there for a week or two, and will pay a handsome rent for the shanty," continued roddy. "don't mention it, for i shall be glad to have the cottage occupied, as i shall have to be away from it for a week or two," responded bashy, in the most gracious manner. "that settles it, and we are already in possession." "some of the scalawags come up here in my absence and make mischief in the cottage; and as you are gentlemen, i shall be glad to have you occupy the house to keep them out of it." the stranger at the bank 265 bashy was so very obliging that it was quite unnecessary to resort to the claim which gay had suggested, and the happy pair were evidently greatly pleased with the result of their visit. "i am very much obliged to you for bringing my boat back, for now i can go up the lake and get another engineer," continued the representative of the hebe. "but how are we to get ashore if you keep the boat?" asked roddy. “i will pull you ashore, and bring it back with me." "all right; we have a boat of our own. does this steamer carry passengers?" asked roddy. "as a rule she does not; that is, she does not carry them for money," replied bashy, with abundant selfcomplaisance. “i have got money enough to live on, and i only take my friends out in her; and some of them are staying at the hotels, so that i shall have enough to do for a week or two." "we expect a friend to come up to-day, and we wish to bring him up here; but as you don't" "yes, i do; i do anything of that sort; but if you should offer me any money for it, i don't know but it would lead to a duel," replied the engineer, very cheerfully. "but i can't do anything for you till i find an engineer. i can run the boat alone down to the place where i expect to get one; for i won't have banks after the trick he played on me yesterday." "we are in no hurry, and any time to-day will suit us; and we are all ready to go ashore, though i am 266 the young hermit sorry to trouble you so much," said the chief. it looked as though he did not trust gay to say a word. "no trouble at all!" protested bashy. "i am so glad you have consented to look out for my cottage for me that i shall be happy to do anything for you." the engineer pulled the happy pair to the shore; and they manifested no curiosity to know anything more about the hebe or the apparent owner of her and the shanty; but before he started he lighted the fire in the furnace. on his return he was warmly praised by cavan, who had heard some of his remarks in the engine room by opening a window a little; and bashy was as happy as though he had won a victory, though he did not understand the object of the plan in which he had been the chief actor. bashy attended to the engine, and as soon as there was steam enough the moorings were cast off, for the agent had accomplished all he desired, and even more, for it looked as though the unseen and cautious chick gillpool was to join the party at once. phil took charge of the engine while bashy went into the pilot house to steer until the hebe was out of sight of cape cod, as she would be as soon as she reached the narrow passage out of the bay, when each of them resumed his usual duty. "i think you have got me into a mess, mr. cavan,” said the captain, when he took his place at the wheel, though he laughed to soften it. the stranger at the bank 267 "what makes you think so, captain greenway? we shall soon have that happy trio in a very tight place," replied the agent, rubbing his hands at the success of his plan. "of course gay sparkland will know me when he comes on board of the boat, and it seems to me that will end the whole matter," said phil, not a little disconcerted. "but it is not my intention to have him recognize you.' 99 "how can you possibly prevent it, sir?” "you must either get another pilot to take your place, or"but i should say that it was necessary for us to watch these fellows all the time," interposed phil, who did not like the idea of having another person run his steamer. 99 "i should say so myself; and if you don't object to the plan, i can fix things so that gay will not know you. i have done such a thing when i wanted witnesses." "i will do anything rather than hand the hebe over to another pilot." "very well; we shall have plenty of time to attend. to the matter before you return to the hermitage,” added cayan. "now, where did you say the man was stopping that was so much startled when he saw your arm?" "i landed him at the lafayette." 268 the young hermit "who did you say was with him?" "a lady who was his sister, and her name was mrs. goldson; she had a daughter, sibyl," replied the captain, who wondered why he put these particular questions at this time. "mrs. goldson," repeated cavan, as he wrote the name in his memorandum book. "mr. westlawn wants you to land him at the lafayette." "do i land you there, or do you remain on board to make the trip with the happy pair?" "no; i shall go on to excelsior; but be sure and leave my friend at the lafayette." "of course i shall do so, though it is somewhat out of the course to excelsior," replied the captain, wondering if the agent thought he could forget to do so. "on the whole, i think you had better leave him at the lafayette after you have landed me at excelsior," said cavin, who seemed to be in deep thought all the time. "we had not finished our talk when you got to the cape this morning." the agent joined the gentleman from chicago in the after cabin where he had sent him, and nothing more was seen of either of them till the hebe touched the wharf at her destination. it had been decided that all hands should take breakfast at excelsior, and they started for a hotel for this purpose; but when they were opposite the bank the exdetective wished to examine the premises in view of future events, and the captain and the engineer walked the stranger at the bank 269 to the hotel to order the meal, leaving the two gentlemen in the street. cavan and his friend went into the bank and looked over the room; and after they had completed the examination they went to the door to leave, when the agent suddenly halted, as a young man came in. "look at him, westlawn!" exclaimed cavan, drawing his companion back so that he could see the person indicated. the young man who had excited the attention of the ex-detective was not more than fourteen or fifteen, was well dressed, and looked about him as though he had nothing in particular to engage his attention, for he did not go to the counter. "how are you, mr. cavan?" said the cashier of the bank, recognizing the real-estate agent. "do you know that young man who appears to be wandering about the bank without any business on his hands?" asked the agent, after he had talked a few minutes with the cashier. "i never saw him before in my life," replied the bank officer. "i suppose you know most of the people that live in this town?" "about all of them who live here, but not all the summer boarders." "that young man does not live here, then?” "no; and i should say that he has not been here long, or i should have seen him before," added the cashier. 270 the young hermit "he came up in the last train; i saw him," said a man at the counter. "did you ever see anything like it!" exclaimed cavan. "he is the image of captain greenway of the hebe." mr. westlawn was even more astonished than the agent. the new pilot of the "hebe" 271 chapter xlii. the new pilot of the "hebe." the resemblance between the young man in the bank and the young captain of the hebe was certainly very remarkable, and, if they had been dressed alike, it would have puzzled a keen observer to tell one from the other. still there was something in the expression of the stranger which was not that of captain greenway; something that was at least a shade less open, honest, and manly, though one would hardly have noticed this difference unless he were skilled, as the ex-detective was, in reading faces. "but isn't that the young fellow in command of the steamer?" asked mr. westlawn, turning his back to the stranger so as not to excite his attention. "captain greenway could not have changed his clothes since he left us in the street just now, even if he had had another suit with him," replied cavan. "besides, i am beginning to note a shade of difference between the two." "i can't see a point of variation between the faces or forms," said the gentleman from chicago. "i see it all now!" exclaimed the agent, clapping his hands together, and walking away from the 272 the young hermit stranger, who seemed to be aware that he was under notice, and was moving toward the outside door. "what do you see?" asked westlawn, impressed by the manner of his companion. "i have two cases on my hands; and it seems to me now that they are beginning to run together, and i am afraid i shall get them mixed," said cavan, leading the way out of the bank, after he had again spoken to the cashier. "what do you mean by that?" inquired the other, to whom the agent had said nothing of his mission to the lake with the captain of the hebe. "we shall be likely to see this young fellow that looks like the captain again, for the steamer is coming down to this place again to-day," replied cavan, as they walked up the street to the hotel. "i never saw such a close resemblance between two human beings as between the captain and that fellow in the bank. i wonder where he has gone," remarked westlawn. "you will see him again soon, and i believe your affair is coming out all right," answered the agent, as they went into the hotel, and the subject was dropped. at breakfast, though it was pretty near a country dinner hour, nothing was said about the matter, for there were representatives of each of the ex-detective's cases present, and for reasons of his own he was not ready to mingle them. "i suppose you will be back in the course of two or the new pilot of the "hebe" 273 three hours, captain greenway," said cavan, when they had returned to the wharf. "i shall, if i am not detained on the way," replied phil. "but if i am to leave you here, i do not yet understand how i am to act as pilot of the steamer on the next trip without being recognized by gay sparkland." "i don't know that you will agree to my plan," added cavan, as he took from his pocket a couple of old corks he had picked up near the hotel. "but here is the key to the difficulty." "those corks?" "these corks. if i am not mistaken, you took part in an amateur minstrel show last winter with my boy. i was in the audience, though i did not know one person from another." "i see what you mean; and i am to go into burnt cork," said phil, laughing at the idea. "all but the opera, for you will not have to sing, unless you prefer to do so," replied cavan. "i don't object to the singing, though gay might recognize my songs or my voice." "do as you like about that. have you any other clothes on board?" "i have a suit that i put on when i have any dirty work to do." "all right; and you had better put on your other rig before we leave, for i have business in excelsior which will keep me here, apart from my desire not to embarrass the movements of the happy pair at the 274 the young hermit other end of the lake; and you can put on your war paint as well here as anywhere else." the captain did not object, and, procuring his old clothes, he dressed himself for his part in the forward cabin, though not till he had prepared his cork under the boiler; and in less than half an hour, with the assistance of cavan, who had had experience in this department of professional work, he appeared on deck as a young colored man, who got his complexion from the burnt cork. the laying on of the color was done better than it is sometimes. he was not "so black that charcoal would make a white mark on him," but just dark enough to show that he was not a white man; and his dress was carefully arranged to keep up his character. mr. westlawn was smoking his cigar on the forecastle, and bashy was at work in the engine room, getting ready for the trip, and expecting to get the bell to back her every moment. "where is captain greenway?" asked bashy, when cavan showed himself at the engine room, the curtains of which had been rolled up. "he does not go with us," replied the agent, with a twinkle of the eye, as he glanced at the dark-skinned pilot at his side. "the captain doesn't go with us!" exclaimed the engineer, pausing in his occupation with surprise. "of course not; one of the passengers you will bring down from the hermitage would recognize him if he were on board, to which all of us object," replied the new pilot of the "hebe" 275 cavan; but he thought the engineer ought to know more than he did about the situation, and he explained as much of their movements as he deemed expedient. "i knew there was something out of the way, and that you would not take all this trouble for nothing," added bashy, opening his eyes very wide. "but we can't get along without a pilot." "the pilot has just come on board," said the agent, pointing at the young colored man. bashy looked at him, and did not seem to be particularly delighted with the change, and possibly he had some prejudices against the race to which he appeared to belong; but he said nothing in the presence of the new pilot, who was directed by the agent to take his place at the wheel, which he did, though not till he had looked the engineer full in the face without being recognized. "i don't know about this business," said bashy, shaking his head when the pilot had gone to his station. "i thought i knew every man on the lake that knows how to steer a steamer, but i never saw that darky before, and i don't believe he knows the navigation through priest's bay." "i am sure that he knows the way as well as captain greenway himself," cavan insisted; and then, after speaking with mr. westlawn, he went on shore. the new pilot cast off the fasts, and rang to back her, though bashy was very confident that the hebe would come to grief before she reached cape cod, and 276 the young hermit he kept a very close watch upon the course of the steamer after she got away from the wharf. the boat took her usual course, and after she had gone a couple of miles, keeping in deep water all the time, the engineer began to have more confidence in the new pilot, though he was quite sure that the passage through priest's bay would bother the colored fellow. "you seem to be a new hand," said mr. westlawn, when he had finished his cigar, as he stopped in front of the pilot house. "yes, sir,” replied phil, when he found that the passenger did not know him. "but i think i know my way about this lake." "no doubt of it; but did the captain tell you that i was to be left at the hotel lafayette?" "yes, sir; he told me all about it; and i know the name of the man you want to see over here," answered phil, somewhat exhilarated by the success of his disguise. "what is that large hotel on the left? isn't that the lafayette?" "no, sir; that is the lake park." the gentleman from chicago was satisfied that he was not going astray in the new hands to which he had been committed, and he seated himself to look at the scenery. in a short time the hebe was approaching minnetonka beach at full speed, for the engineer had been cautious at first. the letter 277 chapter xliii. the letter. 'as the hebe approached the wharf in front of the hotel, the pilot saw a rowboat, with a gentleman and lady in the stern sheets, pulled by a little girl, in whom he recognized the one he had saved from the angry waves the day before. miss sibyl promptly identified the hebe, and stopped rowing, while she spoke to those in the stern of the boat, when all of them began to wave their handkerchiefs at the steamer, and the pilot rang the bell to stop her. "what is the matter?" called the engineer through the tube, for he felt that, in the absence of the captain, he ought to exercise some supervision over the management of the steamer. "nothing at all; we are all right," replied a voice through the tube. "what are you stopping here for, then?" demanded bashy. "i know what i am about," responded phil, rather sharply, and forgetting that he was a person of another color, whom the engineer did not know. "mind your bells, and don't meddle with my department." bashy did not like this sharp answer; but he knew that the engineer was subject to the orders of the pilot, 278 the young hermit at least so far as the bells were concerned, and he went to the side of the boat to ascertain the occasion of the stoppage. "mr. westlawn, that is the gentleman in the boat that you wish to see," said the pilot, calling to the passenger. the gentleman from chicago rose from his seat and looked at the party in the boat with the most intense interest, as phil judged from the expression on his face. "where is captain greenway?" asked the little girl at the oars; and by this time the hebe had forged ahead so far that the little boat was abreast of it when she lost her headway. "he is not on board, miss sibyl," replied bashy, who was now nearer to the little maiden than the pilot was. "not on board!" she exclaimed, evidently much disappointed. "i wanted to see him ever so much." "we left him at excelsior," added the engineer, speaking what he believed to be the truth. "he will be on board again this afternoon, or by to-morrow." "where is the captain?" repeated mr. arnold blonday. "i have a very important letter for him.” "he stopped off at excelsior; but he will soon be on board again," replied bashy. "i will give him your letter as soon as i see him." "but it is a very important letter, and i would not have it lost for a thousand dollars," added mr. blonday. the letter 279 "you had better give it to the engineer," added the colored pilot, who had left the wheel and come out on deck. mr. blonday consulted with his sister, and after he had done so the boat came alongside the steamer, and the letter was handed to bashy, who assured the gentleman that it would be perfectly safe. "good morning, mrs. goldson. how do you do?" interposed the gentleman from chicago at this moment, as he took off his hat, and bowed low to the lady. "why, mr. westlawn! can that be you?" exclaimed the lady; and phil thought she was not half so glad to see the passenger as she wished to make it appear. if a ten-pound weight had been suddenly attached to the chin of mr. blonday, his jaw could not have dropped lower than it did; and it was true, and not a fancy of the captain of the hebe, that both the gentleman and the lady turned pale as soon as they recognized the gentleman from chicago. , "i am very glad to see you, and i hope you are going to stay a day or two with us," continued mrs. goldson. phil was sure that she was lying, for her tones and her looks indicated it; and he concluded that the relations between his passenger and the lady and her brother were not the most cordial in the world. "thank you, mrs. goldson! i am most happy to accept your kind invitation, for i have some very important business with you and your brother; and i 280 the young hermit have come to this lake on purpose to see you. in a word, i have some news from paris." if mrs. goldson and her brother were pale before, they both turned red now, and looked each at the other, as though the situation were exceedingly embarrassing to them. "i shall be very glad to see you," replied the lady, who was the first to recover her self-possession. "i am sorry this boat is so small that we can't take you in." the steamer will put me on the wharf, and i will meet you at the hotel," added mr. westlawn, as he nodded to the colored pilot, and the boat pushed off. phil rang the bell to back her in order to get out of the way of the boat, and not trouble the maiden at the oars; and he was wondering all the time what it was that made mrs. goldson and her brother turn pale and red by turns. then he could not help thinking of the emotion of the gentleman when he accidentally discovered the letters on his arm; and, though he could make nothing of the situation, he felt just as if there was going to be a great convulsion when the gentleman met the two guests at the lafayette. but it was none of his business what happened at the hotel, for all the actors in the coming scene were almost strangers to him, and he rang the bell to go ahead as soon as the hebe was clear of the boat. in a few minutes more he had landed his passenger on the wharf, and his mission in minnetonka bay was the letter 281 ended, though the gentleman lingered on the wharf by the side of the pilot house, and seemed to be in deep thought. "you are going back to excelsior, are you not?" he asked, turning to the colored pilot. "yes, sir; if we are not detained at the head of the lake, we shall be back there in a couple of hours," replied phil. "but i believe we have to take a party back to the other end." "shall we see mr. cavan when you get to excelsior?" asked mr. westlawn. "who is mr. cavan?" asked the pilot, more for fun than for anything else. "the pilot don't know him; but i shall see him," interposed bashy, who was standing near the pilot house. "will you be kind enough to tell him that mr. westlawn wishes to see him before night, if possible?" "i will tell him so," answered the engineer; and the gentleman walked to another part of the wharf, where he could see the boat rowed by the little maiden. the fasts were cast off, and the steamer was soon under way again, and headed for the narrows, through which she had to pass on her way to cape cod; but when she reached the canal, the belle of minnetonka, the largest steamer on the lake, with apparently a thousand passengers on board, was just entering the passage, and the pilot stopped the engine to wait for her to get through. he had run the hebe out of the way of the big steamer, and when she had lost her headway he came 282 the young hermit out of the pilot house, and met the engineer in the waist. "you have a letter for the captain, bashy," said the pilot, when he realized that he and the engineer were the only persons left on board. "that's so; i have a letter for the captain," replied bashy; and his tone indicated that he intended to keep it. "i think you had better give it to me," suggested phil. "give it to you?" exclaimed bashy, thoroughly indignant. “not if i know wabash wingstone; and i think i know him better than any other fellow." "i am the pilot, you know," added phil. "and i am the engineer, you know," replied bashy. "i think the letter is for me: will you show it to me?" "no; i will not even show it to you! when anything is left with me for captain greenway, he will get it if the round earth holds together long enough for me to deliver it," protested the engineer. "i think you don't know me, bashy," said the captain, laughing. "i don't wish to know a fellow, white or black, that wants to meddle with letters that don't belong to him." "but you don't know me, bashy." "that is just what i say. i never set eyes on you before." "i am the captain of the hebe, and you don't know me, bashy." the letter 283 "so is my great-grandmother the captain of the hebe!" exclaimed bashy, with the utmost contempt in his looks and tones. "i tell you the truth, though i have colored my face,” replied phil, unbuttoning his vest, and showing his name on the front of his shirt bosom. but the engineer was incredulous, and the pilot removed his clothes enough to show a portion of his white skin; and then he produced his pocketbook, in which his name was written, and began to tell him about events in the past which no other person could have known. "i give it up; and here is the letter," said bashy at last. "i have been looking out for you ever since we left excelsior, for i was afraid you would sink the steamer; and you were captain greenway all the time!" the captain opened the letter. 284 the young hermit chapter xliv. what mr. cavan did.. the letter which captain greenway opened was a rather thick one, and he was not a little surprised to find that it contained quite a number of bank bills, the one on top being a hundred. as in the letter of the day before, there were ten of this denomination; and the captain was aware that the liberality of mrs. forbush had been made known in the two hotels near the middle of the lake, if it had not been published in the newspapers. "more money," said phil, as the belle of minnetonka came out of the narrows. "we may as well divide it as we did yesterday;" and he handed the engineer three of the bills. "now i know you are captain greenway, for no other fellow in the world would do such a handsome thing," said bashy, in tones of admiration and gratitude, as he put the bills in his pocket. "i can buy a steamer now; and i will give you six hundred dollars for the hebe as soon as you will say the word." "i shall not say it at present," replied phil, as he went into the pilot house. the steamer went ahead again, and in half an hour she was off cape cod, whistling for her passengers who were to go to excelsior; and when they appeared, what mr. cavan did 285 they were brought off by bashy in the boat, who told them that he had found a darky who was a pilot, but not an engineer, so that he was obliged to attend to the machinery himself. this explanation satisfied the passengers, and they only glanced at the pilot, as they saw him through the window at the wheel; though phil, fearing that gay might recognize him, pulled down the old soft hat he wore over a part of his face. roddy and gay appeared to have changed their appearance somewhat, for they had evidently daubed their faces with the mud they found at a spring near the house, and had combed their hair in an odd fashion. they went immediately to the after cabin, which bashy opened for them, and they were not seen again till the steamer arrived at her destination, and had made fast to the wharf. mr. cavan had gone ashore as soon as the colored pilot took his place at the wheel after he had changed his appearance. as he had himself suggested, he had business in excelsior other than merely keeping out of sight of the happy pair who were to be passengers in the hebe from cape cod. he had not told captain greenway what this business was, and he seemed to have become very reticent, so far as the young man was concerned, however it may have been with his friend from chicago. as soon as the hebe had sailed, he walked up the street toward the bank, where he looked all about the building, possibly to inform himself still better in re286 the young hermit gard to the premises, in anticipation of the robbery which he believed was to take place there. he went into the bank, after he had looked all about it; and he was not a little surprised to see the young man who so closely resembled the captain of the hebe at the counter, where he had asked to have a fifty-dollar bill changed. he held it in his hand, but he seemed to be surveying the premises inside of the counter all the time while the cashier was taking the smaller bills from his drawer. cavan went to the room in the rear, and from there called the cashier, who came out of the banking room with the money in his hand, and looked with some astonishment at the real-estate agent. 99 "find out who that young fellow is, if you can," said cavan, in a whisper and without letting the subject of his request know that he was in the room. "it may be important to you." the cashier bowed and returned to his counter, where he proceeded to ask general questions, and finally if he was staying at one of the hotels, to which he only replied that he was going to camp out for a fortnight with some friends who would come for him some time that day. cavan heard all that the young man said, and was at the front of the counter by the time he had put his money into his pocket. "how are you, conny?" said he, walking up to the stranger and extending his hand to him, which the what mr. cavan did 287 young man took, apparently surprised into this concession. "you have the advantage of me, for i don't think i know you," replied he, with no little hesitation and embarrassment. "you don't know me, conny forbush!" exclaimed cavan, who was certainly a good actor. "when did you leave philadelphia ?” "i did not leave philadelphia, and i am not the person you take me for," protested conny, so called. "nonsense, conny! what sort of a lark are you on now that you don't know your old friends?" continued the agent, in a tone of raillery. "i see that your mother is at the lake park hotel, and, of course, you are there, too." "but i am not there!" said conny, beginning to be indignant at the persistency of his new friend. "if you are not, you will be soon, for the train leaves for lake park in twenty minutes, and you are going over there with me," continued the agent, in a matter-of-fact way, and as though he intended to carry out the program he had indicated. "i am not going over there with you or any other person!" stormed conny. "you are a stranger to me, and your conduct does not please me at all." "i am sorry for that, though i can't help it," added cavan, as good-natured as though he had just sold a corner lot at a big price. "i think you had better take me into your confidence, or i shall take you into mine, conny." 288 the young hermit "don't call me conny again, for that is not my name." "well, chick gillpool, if that suits you any better, and i judge that it does, as you sometimes call yourself by that name. i shall not call you conny forbush, if you don't like it, for i don't believe that is your name any more than you do," returned cavan. conny, or chick, whichever he was if he was either, had evidently been hit where he was raw, for he shrank back and turned pale, looking at his tormentor with something like horror rather than astonishment. "the c. g. on your arm stands for either of your names, but neither of them is the right name," said cavan, who seemed to be better posted than any other person who had tried to interpret the mysterious letters. "i see that you know me," gasped the owner of the names. "better than you know yourself," added cavan. "now, will you go over to the lake park hotel and see your foster mother?” "i cannot go to-day; i expect a couple of my friends to come after me soon to camp out with them." "it is to keep you from meeting them that i wish you to go to lake park. roddy will only get you into trouble; and you never will get your share of the six thousand two hundred dollars your party of three took from the mansion in st. paul." "you know all!" gasped chick. "you mean to arrest me!" what mr. cavan did 289 "on the contrary, i wish to save you." "then i will go anywhere with you." in less than an hour they were in the parlor of mrs. forbush at the lake park, waiting for her to come out of her chamber, from which she presently appeared; and the moment she saw conny, she threw her arms around his neck, and embraced him as though he had been her own son. she did not seem to fear that he might be the one she had met before, and possibly she saw something about him that enabled her to identify him certainly this time. "where have you been all this time, conny?" she asked, still holding him as though he might fly away if she released her grasp. "i think he will not tell you, mrs. forbush, and you had better not insist on an answer," interposed the agent. "are you satisfied this is your adopted son, for you were mistaken once before?" "i am satisfied, and i was satisfied before; i think i had better look at his arm," replied the lady. conny offered no objection to the examination, and the initials of his two names were found there, to the great satisfaction of the rich lady; and she and joanna examined them with the utmost care. "c. g. is just what it always was, and the letters stand for conny forbush," said she, very much excited. "hardly, mrs. forbush, though they enable you to identify the young man," laughed the agent. 290 the young hermit "the first one stands for conny, is what i meant to say." "not even the c for conny; but both letters stand for the true name of the young man, which is conrad goldson." the lady looked inquiringly at cavan. s utterly confounded 291 chapter xlv. utterly confounded. conny forbush was as much astonished to find that he had more names than he had supposed as the lady was to hear the real name of her protégé; but both of them were silent, waiting for mr. cavan to make further developments of his knowledge. "you were informed that this boy was an orphan when he was in dresden, where you assumed the care of him, and the statement is true now, as it was then," continued the agent thoughtfully, and with the evident intention of not saying too much. "you have brought him up so far, and have been very kind to him. though he is an orphan, he is not a child of poverty, and all that you have expended upon him will be paid back to you.' 99 "paid back to me!" exclaimed mrs. forbush. "i would not take a penny for anything; and the only question that troubles me now is whether or not i am to lose him. the boy got wild, and left me; but i have always believed he would come back to me, for he has often written to me for money, and i have sent him what he wanted. he said he should soon come home." "he has come back to you," replied cavan, looking sharply at the runaway, "and i trust he will remain with you for the present; if he does not he will make a 292 the young hermit bad mistake. though i am not authorized to say anything about the matter, i think you may reasonably expect him to remain with you, for he will have no other home, unless one is made for him;" and the agent began to move toward the door. "i have always done well by conny, and i have become very much attached to him," added mrs. forbush. "i should like to live with mother," said the young man, whom the sharp practice of the ex-detective had plainly brought to his senses. "very well, madam; i shall leave conny here. if he runs away again, or fails to behave himself like a gentleman, i desire you to inform me at once," continued the agent, as he handed her his business card. "but can you tell me where the other young man is that looks like conny, mr. cavan?" asked the lady. "that will have to remain an open question for the present, and i must take my leave of you now," replied the agent, as he left the room, followed by conny. "am i to be arrested?" asked the returned runaway, as he closed the door behind him. "for the present there is not the slightest danger of it; but if you leave mrs. forbush, or communicate with roddy, you may be sure that you will share his fate,” replied cavan impressively. "i will not leave her, and i will have nothing more to do with roddy." "if you do either, you may be sure that you will utterly confounded 293 spend the next few years of your life in a prison," said the agent, as he hastened away, and conny returned to his foster mother. cavan was in season for the next train, and returned to excelsior after an absence of less than two hours, entirely satisfied with what he had done, and some time before the hebe arrived with the passengers from the hermitage. he took a seat on the wharf, and began to examine some papers he took from his pocket on which he had doubtless made memoranda relating to the business in which he was at present engaged; but in due time he discovered the hebe approaching the town. "you will be ready to take us back as soon as we find the young man who is to spend a week or so with us, will you?" asked roddy, as he and gay came out of the cabin. "we won't keep you waiting a minute; and the sooner you are ready the better we shall like it," replied bashy, to whom the question had been addressed. "we shall not remain long, for if we don't find our friend, we shall not wait for him," said roddy, as he and his companion walked up the wharf. cavan kept out of sight still the happy pair had left the wharf, and then he went on board to hear the report of captain greenway in regard to his trip up the lake, and to the hotel lafayette; and phil did not fail to describe the changes in the complexion of mrs. goldson and her brother when they recognized mr. westlawn. 294 the young hermit but cavan was still reticent, though he had spoken in the parlor of mrs. forbush to some purpose; yet he said not a word about what he had done during the absence of the hebe to the captain, who looked so much like conrad goldson; and the latter had no suspicion of what was coming in the near future. roddy and gay were not absent more than a half hour, for they could not find chick gillpool at any of the hotels, or anywhere about the town, for the very good reason that he was not there as he had promised to be, though they took a look at the bank as they passed. "you will find me at the hotel lafayette when you come down from the hermitage," said cavan, as he beat a hasty retreat on the approach of roddy and gay. "i am going on the st. louis, which is now at the wharf." "she goes to the hotel st. louis on her way up the lake, and i shall be at the lafayette almost as soon as you are," added captain greenway, as he returned to the pilot house. roddy demonstrated the fact that he was in the habit of using profane language when he came on board of the hebe; and he did not hesitate to apply some of it to the friend who had not kept his promise, in the presence of bashy. the happy pair went into the after cabin again as soon as they came on board, and the engineer cast off the fasts when the pilot whistled for him to do so, and the steamer went off on her trip. utterly confounded 295 bashy knew now that he had a competent pilot at the wheel, and he did not spare the coal, so that the hebe made one of her shortest passages to the head of the lake, and the passengers were landed in the boat without any incident worthy of note. the hebe started on her return trip without any delay; but off enchanted island the colored pilot rang to stop her, and left the wheel, hastening to the forward cabin, where he procured a basin and some soap, and proceeded to wash the burnt cork from his face, with the assistance of the engineer. "the fun is all over, is it?" asked bashy. "i don't know that there is anything more for us to do in this business; but i have no need to wear this dark face any longer, for no one will recognize me now," replied the captain. "is it all off my face?" "every bit of it, and you look like a white man now," answered bashy. "then i will put on my uniform again;” and in a few minutes more he came out of the cabin in his usual dress. in a short time the hebe was made fast to the wharf in front of the hotel lafayette, just after the st. louis had made her landing, and captain greenway saw cavan waiting for him. they walked up to the hotel, where cavan inquired for mrs. goldson, and they were shown up to her apartments, which appeared to be among the best in the house. 296 the young hermit the agent knocked at the door, which was opened by mr. blonday, after considerable delay; and it was evident from the sounds that came from the room that a somewhat excited conversation had been going on. "i wish to see mr. westlawn, who is here," said cavan; and he could not help noticing that mrs. goldson's brother was not in good humor. "mr. westlawn is engaged at present," replied blonday, in curt tones, as he proceeded to close the door. "not so much engaged that i cannot see that gentleman," interposed the gentleman from chicago, hastening to the door. "as mr. cavan, at the door, manages this matter for me, i shall ask to have him admitted, with captain greenway of the hebe, who is also interested in the business before us." "i object!" exclaimed blonday, with the sinister expression on his face which phil had noticed very much intensified. "then i will retire myself, and proceed in the manner already indicated," said mr. westlawn, in a tone which indicated firmness enough for a martyr in any cause. "don't be rash, arnold," interposed mrs. goldson, who appeared to be in a state of extreme agitation. "let the gentleman and the captain of the hebe come in, for we must settle this business in some way." captain greenway wondered what possible interest he could have in the business, whatever it was, as mr. westlawn intimated; but blonday stepped one side at utterly confounded 297 the words of his sister, and he followed mr. cavan into the parlor, where a storm was certainly in progress. "mrs. goldson, let me introduce you to your stepson," said westlawn, leading the captain of the hebe up to her. "this is philip goldson, one of the two own sons, twins, of your late husband." captain greenway was utterly confounded. 298 the young hermit 1 chapter xlvi. a dark transaction. 'a' sardonic laugh burst from the lips of arnold blonday when he heard the introduction of the captain of the hebe to his sister; but his face was red with excitement, and his lips quivered as he endeavored to present this appearance of mirth, and to turn the proceedings of mr. westlawn to ridicule. captain greenway was astonished to find that he had another name, and "philip goldson" certainly corresponded to the initials on his arm, which had suggested both the one given him by mr. gayland and the one that he had chosen for himself. the announcement of the gentleman from chicago settled it that mr. gayland was not his father by some secret marriage; and mr. cavan had been earlier informed of the fallacy of his suggestion to the captain. "it is easy to say that this is the son of my husband by his first wife," said mrs. goldson, after a long pause to digest the extraordinary statement of mr. westlawn, and apparently to allow others to do so. "but it is quite another thing to prove it." "do not for a moment suppose that i make this claim without abundant means of proving all that i have said, and a great deal more," replied mr. westa dark transaction 299 lawn, with the air of one who felt that he was master of the situation. "that my husband left two children by his first wife, of course i shall not deny," added mrs. goldson, struggling to repress her violent emotion. "all the world knows that there were two children, and that they were twin boys." "i certainly knew it, for they were the children of my only sister, and i felt as much interest in them as if they were my own," said mr. westlawn, manifesting almost as much feeling of a different kind. “on her death she commended the little ones to my care, for she knew that her husband could not live many years, for even then the fatal malady had fastened itself upon him." "then you are my uncle, sir," interposed philip goldson, as we must now call the captain of the hebe, since this appears to be his real name. "i am your uncle; and you were old enough to call me 'uncle david' before your mother died," replied the active man of the party, as he took his long-lost nephew by the hand, and bestowed a look of affection upon him. "i had no idea things were going to turn out in this way when you were called from your room at the ryan this morning at one or two o'clock," said philip, hardly able to realize the strange situation in which he found himself placed. "you are a brave young fellow, captain greenway, but you are allowing yourself to be imposed upon," in300 the young hermit terposed arnold blonday, with a sneer on his thin lips. "this story is all a fraud." "if you desire it, mrs. goldson, i will give you the whole history of the case, indicating the evidence i shall bring to prove all that i assert." "don't hear it, janet!" exclaimed her brother. "it is all a fiction and a fraud." "but it will do no harm to hear it, for it will amuse us for a time, if nothing more," replied the lady, struggling to wreathe her handsome face in smiles. "it is a downright swindle, janet!" added arnold blonday. "it is entirely transparent, too, as an effort to extort money from you. westlawn, what is your share of the plunder to be?" "i am not here to settle this matter; the courts will do that. now, mr. blonday, if you utter another word like those you have just spoken, i will get out a warrant, and have both you and your sister arrested for conspiracy against these twin heirs of my brotherin-law before the sun goes down to-night," said mr. westlawn calmly, but with a firmness that awed the conspirators. "i wish to hear the history of his operations, arnold, and i must ask you not to interfere again," said the lady, with a look at her brother which he appeared to understand, for he retired to the farther corner of the room and seated himself there. "i have no desire to force my story upon you, though i am absolutely sure that justice will be done to my twin nephews in the end," said westlawn. a dark transaction 301 "proceed, if you please, sir," said the lady, with a show of dignity. “let me say in the beginning that conboie is in new york, ready to swear to the facts i shall give in relation to the residence of the boys in paris," continued the uncle of the twins. at the mention of this name arnold blonday sprang out of his chair, and looked like a maniac as he glanced at the speaker; but he recovered himself and resumed his seat. "i have no doubt that mrs. londyke forbush and her companion, joanna barlow, as well as mr. ward gayland and his wife, of st. paul, can identify conboie as the man who brought the children to them, one in dresden and the other in nice," the uncle proceeded, consulting a mass of papers in his hands, some of which had been handed to him by cavan since he came into the parlor. mrs. goldson dropped into a chair, and seemed to be oppressed for the want of breath, so violent was the emotion she was trying to suppress. "take off your coat, if you please, philip goldson," continued the speaker; and he rolled up the shirt sleeve of his nephew when he had done so. "i knew that you, madam, and your brother were plotting against these children; how i knew it matters not now. when your child sibyl was born, the twins were taken to my house for two months to get them out of the way; and while they were there i had the initials of their names 302 the young hermit pricked into their right arms in india ink. it was a cruel operation, but it was necessary. "they had entirely recovered from the wounds when you took them home. when the children were six years old, on the plea that your health did not permit you to take care of them, you sent them to paris, though i protested against such a step. you argued that they would be well cared for in a private school, would be educated better than they could be in this country, and would be able to learn the french language better than in after years; and as you were the legal guardian of the little ones you had your own way. about a year later, both of these children were stolen from the person in charge of them, and they have never been heard from since till to-day. the story was in the papers here and in europe, and every effort was used to recover them, without success." "both my brother and myself were in new york at the time the children were abducted; but arnold went to paris, and did all he could to recover them. he advertised for them in england, france, and vienna," said mrs. goldson. "the advertisements were shown to me; but i believed there was treachery to the children. i had to leave new york, and lost sight of the case for the time, though i employed mr. cavan to look it up; and his report satisfied me for the time. "i went to chicago with my business; but i failed three years ago, and could do nothing more till twelve months ago, when i got on my feet again. then the a dark transaction 303 whole matter came to me with more force than ever, and i put the case into the hands of my younger brother, who has talent for such work. "frank began by shadowing, as mr. cavan calls it, your house; and through your manservant got a sight at all the letters you and your brother mailed. three were for jules conboie, of paris, and his address was carefully noted. "i sent frank to paris, where he had the skill to upset conboie entirely by pretending to be your agent, and in the end he made a full confession that he had abducted the twins, to save himself from prison. frank brought him to the united states, and he has him in new york where he can put his finger on him.". to this narrative cavan added the history of the twins as he had learned it from philip and from mrs. forbush. mrs. goldson and her brother had to give it up; and the lady protested that she would not have done what she did if she had known that her husband's wealth was sufficient for the twins and her daughter sibyl, for whose benefit the fraud had been committed. arnold blonday wanted to "settle" the difficulty; but uncle david would listen to nothing short of the entire restitution of the shares of the twins in the estate of their father, as shown by the inventory at the surrogate's office in new york. the matter was arranged in this manner in the end. 304 the young hermit chapter xlvii. the last of the hermit. "our business seems to be finished, mrs. goldson," said david westlawn, rising from his chair. "of course i knew how it was coming out if we could find the twins; and as soon as i had a clue to them, thanks to my friend cavan, i telegraphed to frank to employ a lawyer to look after the property of their father. your other stepson is at the lake park hotel, and you can see him if you are so disposed." "i will call upon him soon," added the lady. the visitors all left the room, and went on board of the hebe, where captain philip goldson's tongue ran at a very lively rate for some time. there was no longer anything to conceal, for everything was thoroughly ventilated, including the operations and intentions of the happy pair at the hermitage. the uncle was greatly grieved when he learned that conrad had been the associate of a professional burglar, and he was prepared to send him back to paris rather than have him arrested, for it was plain enough that he had been led away by roddy, though he had no right to allow himself to be enticed into evil ways. the hebe conveyed the two gentlemen who had accomplished such a revolution in the affairs of the captain and others to excelsior, where they took the the last of the hermit 305 next train for st. paul. it was understood that nothing was to be said to mr. gayland, and especially not to his wife, till final action in the affairs of the happy pair had been taken. when they had gone the captain proceeded to relate to the engineer the astonishing story of the events of the day, which took him till bedtime, including a visit to a hotel for supper. "you are a big bug and a rich fellow now, and you will not want the hebe long," said bashy, laughing. "just remember that i have made you an offer for her." "being a big bug and rich will not alter me in the least, bashy," replied the captain, as they turned in. "i may not want the hebe, and when i do not, she shall be yours." the next morning the steamer went up to take a look at the hermitage, after philip had blacked his face again; and the interesting couple there hinted that they should like to visit excelsior again, to look for their expected friend; and, of course, under the circumstances, the hebe was at their disposal. they did not find their friend, though they spent a good deal of time in the vicinity of the bank, according to bashy, who kept watch of them; but they returned disappointed, though it was difficult for philip to understand why they were so anxious to have “chick gillpool" with them, unless he had been delegated to examine the bank building, as he had done. the unhappy pair, as they now were, were landed; 306 the young hermit and soon after dinner on board of the steamer, which had gone to her moorings, the two villains went off together, and as the hebe went out of cape cod bay, philip discovered them in their boat, pulling across halsted's bay. when the steamer came to the narrow neck of land which separates halsted's bay from the main body of the lake, the captain saw them through his after window, drawing their boat across the neck, and he concluded that they were going for the tools which had been hidden on some island. philip was afraid to excite their suspicions, and he kept the hebe on her course till she had passed the narrows, where he waited a couple of hours, and then returned to his moorings. "i should like to know what those scamps are about," said bashy. "so should i," replied the captain. "but i want to hear what they are talking about; and if you say the word, i will put myself under the bed in one of the chambers, where you did, for they are going to do something soon, or they would not want their tools." "they haven't got back yet, and you may try it, if you like, but at your own risk," said philip. "they have not come back yet, and if you will put me ashore, i will take my chances." bashy was put ashore, and the captain returned to the steamer; but it was quite dark when the boat of the last of the hermit 307 the happy pair came to the inner landing on the little bay. nothing had been seen or heard of bashy at nine o'clock the next morning, when the occupants of the shanty brought two valises and a bag to their boat, which the captain examined with his glass; and he was relieved of his anxiety for the safety of the engineer by their appearance. the baggage was put into the boat, and the pair pulled out to the steamer, saying that they were going down to get some washing done, and for some things they needed, and would like to be carried down in the hebe. the colored pilot explained that the captain had gone over to the chapman house, and he had a party to take from there at noon, so that the steamer could not be had. they decided to go in their own boat, and as soon as they were out of sight, philip went for bashy, who had shown himself on the shore. he had astounding news, for the burglars were to do their job that night; and all day long the steamer followed the boat that had left the hermitage, but kept a mile or less away from her. at the lake park he had telegraphed to mr. cavan, and he found him and mr. westlawn at the wharf when the boat arrived; and at midnight, when roddy had his tools at the door of the bank vault, and his work begun, he and gay were suddenly nipped in the bud by the officers concealed under the counter. 308 the young hermit an extensive and valuable kit of tools was secured, and the happy pair were taken to the county jail before morning; and the papers had a full account of the attempted robbery when people read them at breakfast time. mr. cavan had arranged to have the affairs of the twins finally settled as soon as the nephew of mr. gayland had fully committed himself, and in the middle of the forenoon the capitalist and his wife arrived at excelsior, where they were taken on board of the hebe. "paul!" exclaimed mr. gayland, as soon as he saw him. "paul!" repeated his wife, when she looked at his full uniform. "this young man, who is the captain of the hebe, is philip goldson, and he has been in command of this steamer for the last month," said cavan. "whoever he is, i am afraid he will soon have to leave his steamer," said the lady, who was not at all pleased to see him again. "why so?" asked cavan, in his blandest tones. "he will have to answer for the robbery of our house," replied mrs. gayland, with not a little malice in her tone and manner. "we shall be able to prove that he was not there, though it will be shown that sparks gayland was there, and gave the information which led to the robbery," added the agent. the last of the hermit 309 "sparks engaged in a robbery! don't tell me that!" exclaimed the lady, almost savagely. "not only in your house, but at the bank in this town," said cavan, who really enjoyed the defeat of the lady. "just now he is in jail on the latter charge, and is likely to spend some time in prison for it. the local officers here can tell you all about it.” "can it be possible?" groaned the uncle of the guilty young man. the steamer started up the lake, and on the passage to the lafayette, where she was bound, cavan told the whole story of the robbery, and the discovery of the parentage of the twins. at the hotel they were met on the wharf by conrad goldson, and both the capitalist and his wife were willing to admit that it might have been he whom they had seen in the hall of the elegant mansion on the night of the robbery; they could not tell which of the twins it was, and they could testify to neither. the party met in the parlor of mrs. goldson; but there was nothing new to be unfolded, though the strange history of the remarkable fortunes of the twins was the subject of the conversation till the middle of the afternoon. for the first time captain goldson saw his twin brother, and in half an hour they were as good friends as though they had never been separated, and philip took his brother down to see the steamer. on this occasion it was decided that philip should return to mr. gayland's house, while conrad should 310 the young hermit " remain in philadelphia with mrs. forbush, who was made happy by this decision. arnold blonday had already departed for new york, with instructions to attend to the transfer of the property of the twins to david westlawn and ward gayland, as their guardians and trustees, and mrs. goldson proved that she was a woman of the world by acting as though nothing derogatory to her character for honesty had transpired. at the invitation of the captain the entire party embarked in the hebe for the upper end of the lake, to see the hermitage, which was duly inspected, and the party went on board for the return. "bashy, i don't think i shall have any further use for the hebe, and i accept your offer," said captain goldson, when they arrived at excelsior, where the st. paul party were to take the train. "i will give you a bill of sale when i come over in a day or two." "all right, captain goldson. but she shall be at your service whenever you come over here, though i suppose you will want a steamer on white bear lake now," replied bashy, as he grasped the hand of philip. that night philip goldson slept in his former chamber in the elegant mansion. sparks gayland was not in his, and the six thousand two hundred dollars, which the agent had handed to the rich man, was again in the safe in the library. mrs. gayland mended her ways after her terrible defeat in sustaining her favorite, and as philip did his best to conciliate her, they became passable friends, the last of the hermit 311 for sparks, sentenced to the state prison for a short term while roddy had a long one, was no longer in the house to make trouble between them; and the lady ceased to trouble herself about her husband's will. philip goldson is happy in the improved relations of the elegant mansion on the hill, and uncle david was a guest there for a week after the events narrated. but the hero of the lake has still a lingering delight in cruising in the hebe, now under the management of captain wingstone. though he is not sorry that he is no longer called "the hermit of minnetonka." the end. five chums series by norman brainerd 12mo cloth illustrated $1.25 each winning his shoulder straps winning his shoulder straps norman brainerd of life in a school by one who thoroughly knows all its features. bob anderson, the hero, is a good friend to tie to, and each of his four particular friends is a worthy companion, with well-sustained individuality. athletics are plentifully featured, and every boy, good, bad, and indifferent, is a natural fellow, who talks and acts like a bright, up-to-date lad in real life. "the story throughout is clean and wholesome, and will not fail to be appreciated by any boy reader who has red blood in his veins."-kennebec journal. "there are school and athletic competitions, pranks and frolics and all in all a book of which most boy readers will have no criticism to make."-spring. field republican, eagle prize winning the the he hero not only works his way at chatham military school after his father's financial misfortune, but has the pluck to try for a prize which means a scholarship in college. it is very hard for a lad of his make-up to do the requisite studying, besides working and taking a prominent part in athletics, and he is often in trouble, for, unlike some others, who are naturally antagonistic to the frank, impulsive billy, he scorns to evade responsibility. his four friends are loyal to the fullest extent, and all comes right in the end. winning the eagle prize norman brainerd "athletics play a prominent part in the story and the whole is delightfully stimulating in the fine ideals of life which it sets before its young readers."-chicago news. "the workmanship of the author is up to his high mark and this book is one to be appreciated by any active reader who has not forgotten his boyhood, or, if he is a boy yet, has the real boy spirit, clean, and wholesome and natural."-buffalo news. for sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston u. s. service series by francis rolt-wheeler illustrations from photographs taken in work for u. s. government large 12mo cloth $1.50 per volume the boy with the u. s. survey the boy with the u.s.survey. francis rolt-wheeler ppealing to the boy's love of excitement, different branches of united states government work little known to the general public. this story describes the thrilling adventures of members of the u. s. geological survey, graphically woven into a stirring narrative that both pleases and instructs. the author enjoys an intimate acquaintance with the chiefs of the various bureaus in washington, and is able to obtain at first hand the material for the books. "there is abundant charm and vigor in the narrative which is sure to please the boy readers and will do much toward stimulating their patriotism by making them alive to the needs of conservation of the vast resources of their country."-chicago news. "this is a book one can heartily recommend for boys, and it has life enough to suit the most eager of them."-christian register, boston. the boy with the u. s. foresters the he life of a typical boy is followed in all its adventurous detail-the mighty representative of our country's government, though young in years a youthful monarch in a vast domain of forest. replete with information, alive with adventure, and inciting patriotism at every step, this handsome book is one to be instantly appreciated. "it is at once a most entertaining and instructive study of forestry and a most delightful story of boy life in the service."-cincinnati times-star. "it is a fascinating romance of real life in our country, and will prove a great pleasure and inspiration to the boys who read it."-the continent, chicago. "no one beginning to read this book will willingly lay it down till he has reached the last chapter." christian advocate, cincinnati. the boy with the u.s.foresters francis rolt-wheeler for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston the boys of brookfield academy by warren l. eldred illustrated by arthur o. scott large 12mo cloth this his story tells of a boys' school, with a glorious past, but an uncertain future, largely due to the wrong kind of a secret society, a vital problem in hundreds of schools to-day. the boys, after testing his patience in every way that youthful ingenuity can suggest, come to rally about an athletic and brainy young graduate in the splendid transformation of the society, and soon of the entire academy, in one of the best school and athletic stories yet written. "things are doing all the way through the story, which is clean, manly and inspiring." christian endeavor world. the lookout island campers $1.50 warren l eldred of the boys brookfield academy the lookout island campers by warren l. eldred illustrated by arthur o. scott large 12mo cloth $1.50 this his is a story of active boys of fifteen or so. they are very fortunate in the friendship of the principal of their school and his friend, an athletic young doctor. under the care of these two they go into camp on an island well suited to the purpose, and within easy distance of a thronged summer resort. a series of exciting ball games and athletic contests with the boys at the hotel naturally follows, and the boys display as many varieties of human nature as could their elders. warren l.eldred "mr. eldred's book is almost certain to meet with a ready response from young readers, for not only are the boys filled with life and vigor of a true youthful and appreciable variety but their experiences are entertaining in themselves and may perhaps give the young readers ideas for summer plans of their own."-chicago tribune. for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston raymond benson series by clarence b. burleigh illustrated by l. j. bridgman large 12mo, cloth $1.50 per volume the camp on letter k the he story deals with two active boys in aroostook county close to the northeastern boundary of our country, and where smuggling across the canadian line has been prevalent. equally ready in athletics, hunting, or helping their families on the rich farms of that section, these good chums have many exciting adventures, the most important of which directly concerns the leading smugglers of the district, and an important public service is rendered by the boys. "there is an atmosphere about the whole book that is attractive to boys, and it will be read by them with enthusiastic delight."-democrat and chronicle rochester, n. y raymond benson at krampton ray aymond benson and his friend, ned grover, go to krampton academy, which is no other than the noted school at new hampton, n. h., where mr. burleigh was fitted for college. we have had good books telling of the larger and more aristocratic preparatory schools, but never before one that so well told of life at a typical country academy of the sort that have furnished the inspiration for so many successful men. "it is interesting from start to finish, and while rousing and full of enthusiasm, is wholesome in spirit, and teaches lessons of purity and justice and manliness in real life."-herald & presbyter. the kenton pines "ke enton college" is bowdoin college, beautiful in its location and famous in its history. raymond's athletic abilities insure him immediate and enduring prominence as a student, and the accounts of athletic contests will stir the blood of any one. but the book is far more than a tale of these things; it is a wonderful picture of life at a smaller college, with all its fine hard work, "grinds," and triumphs. it is a book that rings true on every manly question. the kenton pines clarence b.burleigh "this book, like the other of the series, is of a very high character, and should be an inspiration to all boys contemplating a college career." "-interior, for sale at all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston norman carver series by c. b. burleigh cloth large 12mo illustrated $1.50 each all among the loggers norman carver is a bright, vigorous youth, whose father feels that a winter of practical affairs will be better for his son than getting into scrapes at school, where, though clean and honest, his social position and active nature make other things easier than hard, old-fashioned study. so he is sent to the deep woods of maine, where his father owns lumbering interests, and set to work as company's "clerk." an eventful winter follows which does much for him. with pickpole and peavey norman carver, having had a winter as a clerk in a lumber camp, is given a somewhat similar position with a crew of river-drivers, and with him is his faithful friend, fred warner. the athletic, well-educated city boy and the earnest rural youth, "a born woodsman" as he is called, share in some very exciting adventures, and they bear themselves in a way that is a pleasure to read about. the young guide clarence b.burleigh the young guide norman accompanies his father on a vacation trip to the deep woods in the "open" season. in addition to the natural excitement of hunting, further adventures are supplied by a band of undesirable citizens who steal deer left hanging in the woods and sell them to "yarding crews." norman carver, and friend, fred warner, who wins laurels as a guide, are instrumental in having some of these villains brought to justice. for sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston the boy craftsman iactical and profitable ideas for a boy's iieure hours ε very real boy wishes to design and make things, but the questions of materials and tools are often hard to get around. nearly all books one subject call for a greater outlay of money than is within the means of many boys, or their parents wish to expend in such ways. in this book a number of chapters give sugges tions for carrying on a small business that will bring a boy in money with which to buy tools and materials necessary for making apparatus and articles described in other chapters, while the ideas are so practical that many an industrious boy can learn what he is best fitted for in his life work. no work of its class is so completely up-to-date or so worthy in point of thoroughness and avoidance of danger. the drawings are profuse and excellent. and every feature of the book is first-class. it tells how to make a boy's workshop, how to handle tools, and what can be made with them; how to start a printing shop and conduct an amateur newspaper, how to make photographs, build a log cabin, a canvas canoe, a gymnasium, a miniature theatre, and many other things dear to the soul of youth. we cannot imagine a more delightful present for a boy than this book. churchman, n.y every boy should have this book. it's a practical book-it gets right next to the boy's heart and stays there. he wil! have it near him all the time, and on every page there is a lesson or something that will stand the boy in good need. beyond a doubt in its line this is one of the cleverest books on the market. providence news. the boy crafts man by a. neely hall illustrated with over 400 diagrams and working drawings 8vo price, $2.00 aneely hall if a boy has any sort of a mechanical turn of mind, his parents should see that he has this book.boston journal. this is a book that will do boys good buffalo express. the boy who will not find this book a nine of joy and profit must be queerly constituted.-pittsburgh gazette. will be a delight to the boy mechanic. watchman, boston an admirable book to give a boy.-newark news. this book is the best yet offered for its large number of practical and profitable ideas.milwaukee free press. parents ought to know of this book. new york globe. for sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers, lothrop, lee & shepard co.. boston uc southern regional library facility a 000 057 873 2 univer so state337 dolarnys primrose. or the first part of the passionate hermit: wherein is expressed the lively passions of zeal and love with an alluding discourse to valour's ghost. both pleasant and profitable if judiciously read and rightly understood. non est beatus esse qui se nescit. written by a practitioner in poesy and a stranger amongst poets which causeth him dread this sentence: nihil ad parmenonis suem. at london printed by g. elder and are to be sold by robert boulton at his shop in smithfield near long lane end. 1606. to the right honourable esme stewart lord of aubignuy and one of the gentlemen of his majesties bedchamber; ennobled with the rarest gifts that honour may afford or virtue challenge: john raynolds wisheth happy increase of all noble and renowned resolutions. svmmoning my senses together (right honourable) and weighing your lordship's worth and my imperfections: despair had almost checked my too too presumptuous forwardness only for intending to present this simple work into the hands of so noble a person: but hope (chief mistress of desire and enemy to fear) began to animate my trembling thoughts with these persuasions. virgil whose curious inventions have made his name immortal (though not for imitation yet for pleasure) read ennius' rough poesies: the delphian oracle gave socrates as good a sentence for his well meaning mite as to the proudest athenians for their heaps of treasure. all that was pleaded before the roman senators was not uttered by tully yet was it heard and allowed with plausible censures. xerxes' accepted as well of the poor man's handful of water as of the rich man's goblet of gold. thus beholding right honourable (as in a mirror) the estates or proceedings of passed times and having in homely manner penned these few unpolished lines i presumed to present them into your lo●…dships hands: which although they are not stretched to the delicate treble key of such refined poems as maro 〈◊〉 the ●…ares of 〈◊〉 yet they may be 〈◊〉 called the fr●…its of as well intended thoughts. for 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 with his (self conceited sharp) 〈◊〉▪ 〈◊〉 〈◊〉▪ ●…ith his ●…pproued skill. every painter can●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 with parrh●…sius nor proportion the 〈◊〉 with 〈◊〉. maia's son refused not to 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 fair i●…e was content with philemon's 〈◊〉. although for'rs for●…una gave ulysses the sentenc●… for his curious smothenesse yet ajax had an applawdi●… for his rough plainness: & as no counsel could revoke. fabius ●…ut terenti●… 〈◊〉 nor no surgeon cure hipolite but e●…ulapius so no sun can beautify these deformed lines but the glimpses of your lordship's favour nor no salve be able to set these mangled strains a foot unless it be ministered by your noble protecting hand. i seek not ascanius rich cloak for bravery but covet with damidas parrot to be sheltered from the vulture's tyranny. then right honourable if it will please your lordship to harbour this handful of harsh sounding syllables under the safe conduct of your honours fair protection i shall not only think them sufficiently guarded from envious tongues: but also esteem myself happy to have them shadowed under the wings of so worthy a maecenas. thus hoping (though not for the worth of the present yet for the true heart of the giver of) your honours gentle patronage & resting in that hope i wish your honour the happy enjoying of your honourable wishes. your lordships in all duty to be commanded. i. r. to the right honourable lord aubignuy health eternal. what near seen gem shall i devise to set upon your helm your temples to ingert▪ what trophy rare what wreath or coronet can guerdonize your meriting deseit? o let me polish some near written line to fit your worth for worldlings to peruse: and place it in that lofty crest of thine whose silver showers nourisheth my muse. making them spring as flowers from frosty earth with april dews the world's broad eye to view: which else had died and near obtained birth had they not gained encouragement of you. base are the thoughts that longs to write and dare not▪ then if you smile let others frown (i care not.) your lordships ever humbly devoted: john raynolds. to the gentle readers whatsoever. what should i scrape or beg at pardons gate with prostrate terms to help my stranger rhymes: when as i know that in this wavering state none well can please these fickle envious times. therefore i crave no other boon but this upon my lines let every fancy deem. what please them best: well mean or flat amiss no whit the worse i will of them esteem. for envious curs will bawl at strangers true when neighbour thieves unseen may filch & steal: but trusty mastiffs or by scent or view the privy drifts of both will soon reveal. then if the learned seek not to despite me let envy bark i know he cannot bite me. yours i. r. in laudem authoris. t●…ough carping spite should sit in momus chair▪ and zoilus fume gnashing his venom laws: though crittick satyrs rave and rend their hair and ●…nuy threat me with his 〈◊〉 paws. yet this my pen for raynolds sake shall write whose novel lines unfolds a fer●…ill spring: re●…eales at large sound love in zealous plight enchased with woe and warl●…ke sonneting. delighfull poems joined with pleasant good and harmless pleasure mixed w●…th lofty strains: then ●…oule thersites cease thy railing mood and give at least good words for so much pains. but i●… abroad thy envy needs ●…ust fly despite not him who seeks to pleasure thee. abraham savere gentleman. dolarnys primrose. when flowering may had with her morning dews watered the meadows and the valleys green the tender lambs with nimble-footed ewes came forth to meet the wanton summers queen: the lively kids came with the little fawns tripping with speed over the pleasant lawns. to hear how that dame nature's newcome broods began to set their sweet melodious notes with sugared tunes amidst the levy woods enchanting music through their pretty throats: by whose sweet strains right well it might appear the pride of summer to be drawing near. then bright apollo threw his radiant smiles into the laps of each delicious spring. where l'hilomele the weary time beguiles in grovie shades fountains environing: the late bare trees there sportively did grow with levy sprigs on every branch and bow. in garments g●…een the m●…dows fair did rank it the valleys low of garments green were glad in garments green the pastures proud did prank it the dally grounds in garments green were clad▪ each hill and dale each bush and brie●… were seen then for to flourish in their garments green. thus as the meadows forests and the fields in sumptuous tires had decked their dainty slades the flourishing trees wanton pleasure yields keeping the sun from out their shady shades: on whose green leaves upon each calmy day the gentle wind with dallying breath did play. the oak the elm the alder and the ash were richly clad in garments gay and green the aspen trees that oft the waters wash in like arraiment then were neatly seen: the lou'ly laurel precious rich and fair with odours sweet did fill the wholesome air. their spreading arms their branches and their boughs were made a bower for the pretty birds where philomele did come to pay her vows with sugared tunes in steed of woeful words: their lofty tops of towering branches fair dampt with the music of delicious air. whose haughty pride regarded mirth nor moans but with ambition viewed the summer flowers their labels hanged with quivering dew-pearld stones did represent spangles on amorous bowers: there grovy shade such pleasing air did lend as doth on groves and grovy shades attend. unwieldy trees gorgeous to behold stood hand in hand with branches all combining their gentle arms each other did enfold with ivy sprigs upon their bodies climbing: the more to break the hot reflexing rays of bright apollo in the summer days. drawn by the pleasure of delightful air those chequered borders oft i did frequent and underneath those shadows fresh and fair the weary time oft wearily i spent: where at the length it was my chance to meet an aged man whom i did kindly greet. he mirror like for nurture discipline repaid my words with courteous kind regreeting then drew we near a fayre-spread-shady pi●…e under whose boughs we solemnized our meeting: whereas long time the time did not pursue but that familiar in discourse we grew. his aged wit so pregnant made me muse with courtly terms and eloquence all flowing and such they were that caused me t'accuse mine own so dull that spent my time nought knowing: his tongue-sweet notes tied mine ears in chains so that my senses were ravished with his strains. the sweetest music tuched with curious hand whose tones harmonious bath's a listening ear forcing fierce tigers all amazed stand unto his voice compared did harshly jar: which caused me with earnest suit to crave some story from his pleasing self to have. who neither granted nor denied the motion with pleasant sadness stood as in a muse; whilst i ensnared with his so sweet devotion fixed mine eyes his muteness to peruse: but then his tongue broke off his contemplation and thus began discourse with invocation. o thou great guider of the guideless nine with sacred dew my witless wit inspire water my senses with thy nectar fine ravish my breast with thy all hallowed fire: so that my tongue stray not in fond delight but in his course wonder thy mighty might. when lively blood did run within my veins i took delight to travel here and there so much as then my parents gave my reins unto myself to see how i could bear: the fickle slights of fortune's tu●…ning wheel which like silenus drunkenly doth reel. the spring drew on and youth did fill my pores earnest desire bred a straying motion within my breast to see the cambrian shores that bounds upon the all untamed ocean: where huge steep rocks shadeth each covert plain beaten with waves from the hiberian main. and in a morn when phoebus' fair did rise out off his bed the mountains to discover climbing the lofty gresses of the skies with longing steps to overtake his lover: my greedy eyes desired to feed their sight upon the sweetest of camb●…iaes delight. then did i walk toward those rising hills where careful pastors of their kids were keeping whilst lazy swains their fore-duld senses kills by entertaining too much time with sleeping: there did pastora's with their roundelays pass with delight the summer of their days. there might i see the lofty cedar trees f●…om branch to bough where pretty birds were skipping their honey leaves did feed the busy bees under whose shade the milk white does were tripping: their spreading arms wore ivy all combining where might be seen the nimble squirrel climbing. there did i see the valleys where the flocks of fearful ewes and tender lambs were feeding the little springs that do run by the rocks the levy shrubs where pretty birds were breeding: there philomele with sweet recording fills the plains with music echoing from the hills i walked along that fair adorned field till that i came to a delicious spring whose smiling current did such pleasure yield as sweet content unto content could bring: there did i rest and stay myself a while some tedious hours thinking to beguile. for why that fount as pleasantly was placed as if delight should lodge between two paps freed with content from boreas' northern blast or as a carpet twixt two ladies laps: environed round with their displaying tresses whose amber shade that golden carpet blesses. fair quivering myrtle did engird the spring with jesamins' sweet and ffowring eglantine under whose shade the pretty birds did sing melodious strains celestial and divine: with delphian tunes such as the muse's plays filling the thickets with their sweet delays. the rolling pebbles and the flinty stones were foftly by a shallow curent turned the murmuring water played with silver ton's loath to depart and staying running mourned: whose trickling-christall musicke-sounding voice into mine ears did yield a pleasing noise. such were the mirth and pleasant harmony the organ air did gently seem to make with dulcean strains of heavenly melody as once mercury whispered by the lake: whose trembling breath new descants did devise till juno's argus closed his hundred eyes. the pretty birds did bear a sweet record the bubbling streams the under-song did keep the dallying wind such music did afford that almost rocked my senses fast a sleep: and well near caused me for to take a nap as i lay musing in young tellus' lap. but then i heard a sad lamenting voice the which did cut a passage through the air and filled the woods with such a doleful noise that all the groves seemed cloyed up with care: which forced me from that place for to arise and closed again my well near slumbering eyes. then drew i near a little rising rock where as the waves did dash their high curled brows the birds and beasts together they did flock cooling themselves under those shady boughs: which dangling hung like to a golden fleece over the head of fair amphrisus' niece. and underneath a pleasant hawthorne tree the which did grow near to that rocky hill there did i stand to listen and to see the doleful noise the which the air did fill: i stayed not long but well i might descry whence did proceed that woeful harmony. for near that place a stately pine did grow angrily shaking of his levy crown at whose stern feet the humble shrubs did bow fearing the terror of his rugged frown: under whose arms a woeful man did dwell the which did hold that bower for his cell. where he did often with lamenting cries bewray the cause of all his woeful cares the which did seem to pierce the vaulty skies and to dissolve hard flints to brinish tears: to fill the woods with noise as loud as thunder to splitt hard rocks and rend great trees a sunder. whom when i did with full aspect behold i musing stood his grievous groans to hear his prayers were plaints his sobs his solace told his mirth was moan his cries were full of care: with broken sighs a thousand times and more thus he began his sorrows to deplore. why did i breathe? why did i take the air? why did i suck? why was i fed with milk? why was i young? why was i counted fair? why was i nursed? why was i clad in silk: why did i live? why died i not being young? why was i lulled? why was i sweetly sung. what cruel planet governed at my birth? what dismal star that day or night did shine? what loathsome vapour overspread the earth upon that sad natiu●…ty of mine? or did the hags with all their hellish power enchant bewitch or curse that fatal hour? o had the midwife when she first received me with nimble hand my vital powers stopped or had my nurse of living breath bereaved me these fields of sorrow i had never cropped: but both i summon with impartial eye as actors in my woeful tragedy. yet did i live full twenty summers long in springs of joy one running over other how then poor souls could they enact my wrong? no 'twas not they it was my foster mother: fortune 'twas thee that blyssefful men dost spite thou only stolst from me my heart's delight. thou tottering elf with ever turning wheel that first did set me soft upon thy knee and gav'st me all thy blessings for to feel what caused thee thus unkind to louvre on me? no 'twas not fortune she was always kind filling my sail still with a prosperous wind. could any wretch be then s'infortunate as i poor soul whom fortune seemed to guide no fortune no it was thy cruel hate the which for me these sorrows didst provide: thou art the wretch thou art the beldame vile thou didst my heaven my heart and hope exile. for when my years had furnished forth my youth and twenty times the sun had changed his light thou most perfidious wavering still in truth my silly soul didst cross with cruel spite: and only thou by falsehood didst deceive me of joy and bliss thou didst at once bereave me. thy circled wheel thou didst to me forth bring more richly decked then ere it was before thou setst me gently on that fickle ring and gav'st me pleasure in abundant store? with many favours still thou didst belay me but with thy falsehood still thou didst betray me. thou drewest me on with loves enticing bait to walk the paths where thou a net hadst laid with thousand snares thou didst upon me wait until i was of all my joys betrayed: to desperate dangers thou didst easily wile me whilst from my life and love thou didst exile me then did this heavy hermit seeming man srand mutely still but still he seemed to moan his aged visage looked both pale and wan his sadness he redoubled with a groan: he seemed a while unto himself to mutter but yet no word at all i heard him utter. until at length him did i plainly see a stately picture in his hand to take the which i guessed a holy saint to be for that so much of it he seemed to make: he kissed it oft and hugged it as he lay and thus at length to it began to say. fair but unkind no kind: fie too too cruel thirty long years with me i have thee borne thrice ten years told loves fire hath been my fuel so long my heart thy fair imprint hath worn: if nestor's years thrice three times told i live my love alone to thee i freely give. tell me my love tell me why didst thou leave me? why to thy love didst thou prove so unkind? pardon my dear was death that did deceive me yet art thou toombed for ever in my mind: then did he weep bewailing of his harms and with these words he ●…uld it in his arms. o had these arms thy living corpse embraced but half so oft as now they have done thee these paths of sorrow i had never traced nor died in thrall but lived and died free: but sith thou living wer●… not in my power i'll hug thy shadow till my latest hour. with which sad words his grovelling corpse did fall with ghastly colour sighs abound-lamenting which forced me rue his sad and woeful thrall wi●…h rueful pity and with tears relenting: i moved to aid him yet as loath to fear him i pau●…d a while before that i came near him. for that he then began to move his eyes his earth-like hands his heavy trunk did raise his sighs did vault into the dimmed skies his tongue forgot not how his love to praise: but fearing least his secrets should be spied from out his bower fullsecretly he pried. then with deep sighs he did again repeat the rare perfections of his long dead love her comely graces and her gesture neat the which did seem the senseless stones to move: which lovesick plaints my tongus too weak to tell his pensive passions did so much excel . no●… could a volume copy his loves descriptions that were dislodged from his wo-swolne hea●…t for he recited with true loves affections a thousand times each limb and lineal part: all which by him so oft pronounced were that almost dulled my shallow sense to hear. yet did his sweet sophistick sorrows tie my leaden powers in chains of list'n●…ng steel with greedy ears to suck atentively his sugared jobs the which i seemed to feel: for each sad strain that from his lips did pass bewrayed the birthright of his gentle race. then did he take a fair delicious lute whose well tuned string she touched with curious skill forcing his fingers with a swift pursuit to strike the frets of musics ground at will: his nimble hand guided by supple veins with heavenly pawsons closed hisdol e●…ull streynes. not great apollo's viol-sounding lays that forced huge tmolus dance with buskey hair when silly midas robbed him of his praise might with the descants of his lute compare: and with a tune would move a stone to pity he sadly sighed and song this mournful ditty. the hermits song. ye hills and dales ye rocks and vales bear witness of my moan: ye water nymphs and pretty imphes come sigh with me and groan. come ye satires and ye fawns come ye from the pleasant lawns: from the groves and shady trees on whose green leaves the humming bees their thighs do fill at their own will and whereon still with flittering wings poor progne flees. ye fairy clues come ye yourselves from out each hollow cave: and coridon come thou alone thy presence i do crave: for thy pipe comfortingly equalleth my harmony. mournful amyntas now and thee are best to bear me company: for with consort we may report our loves extort with woeful strains of melody. ye siluans all both great and small come listen to my grief: ye kids and lambs come with your dams and bring me some relief: thou maid of comes come to me with aid in this my misery and lead me once aeneas-like unto that ugly stygian dike. that i may mix and yet perfixe mine eye on styx where cerberus liveth that fowl tike if that weary charon's ferry will no ways take me in: vndoubting harms with these mine arms i'll venture for to swim: for sometimes his coalblack boat rides not in that road a float if so i will in no wise stay although unto mine own decay in unfearing poars with arming oars from off the shores i'll quickly post from thence away. for if that i should chance to die and in that lake to wander: yet should i gain on lofty strain above-love drowned ●…eander. but if that well i should pass ugly charon's muddy place and happily to land me there within that fair celestiallsphere then with small pain i should attain elizianplaine: where my love sits crowned in a chair finis. when he had finished up his mournful song he laid his lute down by his weary side himself he stretched upon the grass along and with sad wailings thus again he cried: how much avayles it that my travels far hath not worn out the print of cupid's skarr? what christian land is it that hath not borne me? what island was not subject to my sight? how many woods and deserts still do scorn me? but nothing yields to me my heart's delight: from place to place desire my corpse doth carry which same desire there will not let me tarry. then did he sigh then wept then sighed amain then wrung his hands than cried then crossed his arms then tore his hair than groaned then wept again then with sad tears he thus bewailed his harms: padua farewell my love in thee doth lie within thy walls i lost my liberty. and albion now to thee my native home where first i did rec●…e my vital breath after all pains pain to thee i come within thy bounds to give myself to death: for sith my love my 〈◊〉 hath me ●…o saken my last farewell of padua i have taken. but when alas when shall my sorrows end? when shall i cease of pad●…a for to cry? when shall i see stern 〈◊〉 unbend my woeful thread of sad calamity? when shall i leave in zealous cloak to stand with lovesick cries to curse both sea and land? o let me never cease with hidecus cries with doleful tunes and horied exclamations to send my ' sighs into the lofty skies and pierce the chaos with my invocations until these eyes that fed their rauiued sight: upon aegesta be deprived of light. thou sullen earth with anger sounding woe ye bleating 〈◊〉 shaded with sheltering twigs ye murmuring waters that with ●…ates o●… c●…owe ye chirping birds that chant the dancing sprigs: come all at once your sadd●…●…nts bring my fair aegesta's 〈◊〉 to sing. dead is my love dead are my hopes and joys accursed fates that of my love bereft me cursed be all hopes let hopes be hapless toys for love and joy hope hap and all hath left me: and i remain uncessantly to cry still living still ten thousand deaths to die. o let me curse that day the time and hour when first i left fair padua and my love o let me curse all gold and golden power by whose fowl force these ugly storms i prove: o let me curse that time that i did gain the name of knight to live in hermits pain. but o my love my love and only joy my fair aegessa aegessa i'll come to thee more fair than helen sack of stately troy once more i'll come to sew to court to woe thee: now i will come to thine immortal shrine where thou dost live triumphant and divine. then why do i thus linger here and there and seek not out the wait ' avernus cave? wretch that i am how can i thus forbear pining for want of that which i would have? i glaucus-like do travel day and night while she by circe is transformed quite. wherefore i'll go like to that thracian bold with this my lute my journey will i take whose frets and strings i'll frame of glitring gold then orphe-like i'll cross that muddy lake: and thou fair pallas and ye muses nine my hand and tongue guide with your powers divine. venus i crave a helping hand of thee safe to conduct me through the lethean fens and thy ripe wit lend me sweet mercury that i with ease may pass that mierie themmes: so that black charon with his swartieoares may set me safe on demogorgon's shoar's where orphe-like to tenarus i'll go which ugly gate doth open towards the north there cerberus fowl doth make his triple show there takes he in but none he will put forth: ye fates unreele my love's sad destiny or i will seek her with persephone with that he closed his hollow wo-swolne eyes and stretched his limbs along the senseless ground his ghastly visage pierced the vaulties skies sometimes his eyballs seemed for to turn round: with tortured groan's than would he sadly gasp with empty palms than did he weakly grasp. then did he lie with quivering legs and arms then groveling crawls then feebly fall again then as one struck with magic spells and charms there would he seem quite breathless to remain: thus did helie thus did he sometimes welter but than stone still the shadows did him shelter. at which prospect i could no longer stand but soon did ●…ne to help him in that case and water cold i brought within my hand wherewith i rubbed his pale and ghastly face: i raised him up then set him down again then pulled him here then thrust him thence amay fie. at length a sigh mixed with a grievous groan he sent to tell some life in him was left the which did move my very heart to moan for that so much of sense he was bereft: yet labouring still i moved him here and there until at length he asked who it were. that so did wake him from his quiet sleep which was so much unto his hearts content with that he wept but seeming not to weep for fear that i should relish what it meant: he wiped his eyes that were o'erflowed with tears and seemed to banish all his former cares. then unto me these speeches he addressed how could you find my silly hermit's bower? you did not well to wake me from my rest for in two days i scarce do sleep one hour: but that i am a hermit as you see with good cause i might with you angry be. alas (quoth i) good gentle father hear me and let not anger harbour in your breast although you chide not well your looks may fear me for ages frowns may breed a youths unrest: then if you please to hear what i shall say i will reveal how i did chance this way. and seeing you la●…'d; as i you lying found seeming quite breathless in my judgements eye with arms and legs stretched forth upon the ground pity did force my harmless hand to try: as half amazed the un-approved doubt if nature's taper were quite wasted out. for surely sir if accident should call me unto a chance such as this chance hath been i tell you plain what hap so ere befall me the like effect in me should sure be seen: for why i durst have pawned my neighbour's head your body had from out this world been dead. these words i uttered something smilingly with humorous gesture and a pleasing vain because i would not have him willingly think that i knew aught of his woe and pain: and truth to tell i could no better make them because that he could no ways better take them. for than he calmly did desire of me to show what pastimes i did most embrace what country man and what my name might be and eke what chance had brought me to that place: this did he ask with words so fair and cool as he his time had spent in nurture's school. i not denying of his kind request with sad discourse my name and country told and some light toy that harboured in my breast i did not let to him for to unfold: but for the chance that brought me to that place thus did i gloze it with a brazen face. aurora's spring that ripes the golden morns no sooner pried o'er the mountains tops but that the huntsmen wound out their horns calling the dogs into a grovie cops: i followed on at length there did appear roused from the wood a lusty fallow dear. the hounds pursued the huntsmen's echoing noise did seem throughout the shady groves to ring unskilled of horn scarce with a huntsman's voice i followed still to see that novel thing: 'twere foll'in me thersites like to vaunt it but the huntsmen and the bounds did chant it. the grieved heart with tears bewails his case the eg●…t dog●… did lightly pass the grounds a pa●…an b●…ach was foremost in the chase for sh●… did lead the other cry of hounds: which caused the heart to s●…ud with n●…mble heels o'er hills and dales o'er craggy bracks and fields. then did he fall into a heard of dear then to the soil then to the heard again then in the woods he faintly did appear then o●…e the mountains thence into a plain: and all this while the hounds had no●… a check but still did seem to take him by the neck. and foremost still that fair italian hound the which was thought to be of spartan kind of all the rest she seemed to gather ground for she did run as swift as any wind: which caused the dear i●…'s neck to lay his horns and so to post through brambles briars and thorns. the huntsmen glad to see their sport so good did wind their h●…nes to courage up their hounds the silly dear did hasten to the wood the dogs full cry did keep a ●…arrowe bounds: so hat sometimes they seemed his haunch to nipp which caused him feebly from there gripes to slip. o'er bush and brier the dogs did seem to make him bounce lean and skipp●… when he could scarcely go. i follow still but could not overtake him yet d●…d i cross and meet him to and fro: then in the groves the ●…oundes did ring apace with yelping voices in that solemn chase then here then there the echoing wood resounded of those shrill notes displayed with horns and hounds the noise whereof into the skies rebounded throughout the hills and all the dally grounds: which pastime rare my tongue denies to tell the hunting music did so much excel. then for to meet the game a nearer way i walked along a dale hard by a fountain whereas a while to drink i there did s●…ay then did i climb the top of yonder mountain: where i might view at large the valley grounds but could not hear the huntsmen nor the hounds. then looking towered this little shady plain like a young huntsman i began to call whereas me thought one answered me again that seemed my voice in his for to install: i something angry came along the ground but then i knew it was an echoes sound thus having lost the sport i came to see and knowing not where to seek the same again my mind did with my weary legs agree homeward to go through this covert plain: thus lea●…ing off the lusty red deeres chase it was my chance to find you in this place. then howsoe'er i pray you pardon me were you asleep or were you in a sound or in a trance as so you well might be but surely dead you seemed when i you found: chance is but chance then for this chance excuse me sith in my thoughts i did no whit abuse ye. thus have i told you all you did demand and more will tell you if you do request it there's nothing lieth within my powerless hand but age shall have it else i will detest it: then ask and have there's nought consists in me but you free owner of the same shallbe. then did he seem to cloak both wrath and love the heat of one did quench the others fire where two extremes in one doth seem to move it qualifieth the hotness of desire: for neither moved with love nor fretful spleen clad in these words his speech was neatly seen. your courtesies excel far my desert my merits no way can them countervail but if my love or aught within my heart can equal them i will in no ways fail: but what you have in kindness show'd to me by me shall no ways unrequited bee. for look what nurture doth by nature owe unto a stranger you have showed to me then if that i a stranger should not show such courteous deeds as might with yours agree: well might i gain myself a scandal crime and show misspent the travels of my time. but sith that now the sun hath well near passed his half days course climbing the lofty sphere and that long travel in your limbs hath placed hunger and thirst with hunting of the dear: let me entreat you with these ca●…es of mine in this my bower this once with me to dine. i gave him thanks and seemed right well content at which my words the hermit turned him round unto his scrip he then directly went taking a cloth and spread it on the ground: and as his cloth and cates he neatly laid with smile terms these words to ●…ee he said. sir think not now yourself in town or court for to be pampe●…d with delicious fare for here remains no pomp nor stately port but think you here inuiorned round with care: here use we not our bellies for to fill but feed at need stern hunger for to kill. with that he went to fetch some water in while i stood musing for to see his fare for he had set a skull for to begin which would have moved; a prodigal to care: and right against it stood an ho●…re glass where one might see how swistly time did pass. then did he set an earthen pot of flowers whose colour clear was withered quite away then did he set two other whose fai●…e powers seemed to contain the pleasures of the day: and then a book and then a little bell but what that meant my senses could not t●…ll. no bit of meat upon the table stood but some few roots the which alone did lie alas thought i this is but simple food yet for this once i will not him deny. but i will sit and think i have good meat that i may see how he these-cates will eat. th●… with his ●…itcher he came in again filled with fair water from a fountain clear and purer far than silver drops of rain that falleth in the april of the year: then with these words he took me by the hand you see your fare then do not musing stand. but sit you down upon these flowers by me although course fare to dinner you shall have yet si●… i pray and bear me company for near good fare was in a heremites cave: yet if that want thereof your sense doth dull our table talk shall surely fill you full. then sat i down upon the carpet grass where after thanks to god for that our meat he did begin the dinner time to pass with sad discourse but not a bit did eat: for in his hand he took the dead man's skull the which did seem to fill his stomach full. he held it still in 〈◊〉 sinister hand and turned it soft and stroked it with the other he smiled on it and oft demurely saund as it had been the head of his own brother: oft would h'haue spoke but something bred delay at length half weeping these words did he say. this barren skull that here you do behold why might it not have been an emperors head? whose storehouse rich was heaped with massy gold if it were so all that to him is dead: his empire crown his dignities and all when death took him all them from him did fall. why might not this an empress head have been although now bare with earth and crooked age? perhaps it was the head of some great queen virtuous in youth though now spoiled with earth's rage: well if it were so rich a treasure once now 'tis no more but rattling ghastly bones. say that it were the head of some great man that wisely searched and pried out every cause and that invented every day to skanne the deep d●…stinctions of all sorts of laws: and sometimes so cut off his neighbour's head why if it were himself is now but dead. and might it not a lady sometimes joy thave decked and trimmed this now rain beaten face with many a trick and new found pleasing toy? which if that now she did behold her case: although on earth she were for to remain she would not paint nor trim it up again. why might not this have been some lawyers pate the which sometimes bribed brawled and took a fee and law exacted to the highest rate? why might not this be such a one as he? your quirks and quillets now sir where be they now he is mute and not a word can say. why might not this have garnished forth some dame whose sole delight was in her dog and fan her gloves and mask to keep her from the aim of phoebus' heat her hands or face to tan: perhaps this might in every sort agree to be the head of such a one as she. or why not thus some filthy pander slave that broker like his soul doth set and sell might not have died and in an honest grave after his death gone thither for to dwell: and i come there long after he were dead and purchase so his filthy panders head. or say't were thus some three chinned foggy dame the which was so but then a bawd was turned and kept a house of wanton venus' game until such time her chimneys all were burned: and there some one with gallian spice well sped may die of that and this might be her head but o i run i run too far astray and prate and talk my wits quite out of door say't were a king queen lord or lady gay a lawyer minion pander or a whore: if it were noble 'twere not for me to creak on. if it were base it were too vile to speak on. but what so ere it was now 'tis but this a dead man's skull usurped from his grave yet do i make it still my foremost dish for why? 'tis all the comfort that i have: in that i may when any dine with me show what they were and eke what they shall be. then on the cloth he set it down again and with a sigh hart-deepe with half a groan which drew salt tears from out his eyes amain although he cloaked them with a pretty moan: well sir quoth he although your chear's not great this is the sauce you shall have to your meat. which i no niggard wish you not to spare although it be an ill digesting meat yet such it is that we must know and hear though we not that yet that our lives will eat: and who soe'er with in my bower shall dine shall taste this sauce ere any cates of mine. then did he give me of his rootie food and bade me eat and he took of the same he eat thereof affirming it were good but i to taste it knew not how to frame. and yet because that i was hunger-beaten i chawed a bit and seemed as though i had eaten. then did he take his pitcher in his hand and courteously did proffer drink to me i wiled him drink and i at his command next taster of that same his drink would be: he drunk thereof and after so did i and set the pot upon the ground us by. then in his hand he took the hour glass and these like words to me he did bewray behold saith he how here the time doth pass tread you upright or go you quite a stray: here may you see how swi●… your time doth run and ceaseth not until your ●…fe be done. this glass even now was full of slippery sand this glass even now was like the prime of youth this glass even now was filled with plenty's hand only in this you may behold time's truth: here you may see that time is always sliding this is a mirror of fickle tims abiding. see how it g●…ides see see how fast it run s●…y a good life upon this time did dwell 〈◊〉 not to●… soon his hour should be come 〈◊〉 in virtue others did excel: n●… we●…e he moses david or solomon his ti●…e thus come his life must needs be gone. no●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●…t the lamp hath burned the oil th●…s 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●…ithin this glass is set were this 〈◊〉▪ 〈◊〉 now were freed from toil a●…l ear●…ly 〈◊〉▪ now he would forget: and as this 〈◊〉 within this glass lie still so should the e●…th his breathless body hill. without more words the gla●…e he did set down and took two pot●…s of flowers in his hands he knit his brows and seemed for to frown yet of the virtues thus at length he ●…kans. these withered flowers were as fair as these and these fair flowers willbe as foul as these. this pot of flowers that dead and withered be in prime of show but yesterday were growing their blasted looks thus faded as you see were yesterday both pleasant fresh and flowing: what we are all by these we may divine when death shall cut our thread and fatal line. and these fair flowers that now so fair do seem whose powers were fostered with this morning's dew their gaudy time as i do justly deem is nigh half spent as trial shall prove true: for ere their looks the morrow light shall see their pleasant hew full withered off shallbe. these faded flowers are like unto the man the which cold dead upon the ground doth lie with ghastly colour visage pale and wan and many mourners him attending by: his life thus gone his body nothing crave but to be hid within an earthly grave. the withered flowers than he did set down and took the flowers equal to the other which when they were each one by other shown scarce could i deem the on's hue from the other: but that the last in's right hand he did hold the first of them his left hand did enfold. then with sad looks he sigh't and thus bespoke behold these flowers a paradox in years with such remorse these speeches from him broke that he did partly smother them with tears▪ behold (quoth he) the man that lives in pain and eke the man that doth in joy remain. these flowers (quoth he) his right hand flowers meaning doth represent the life of happy men the which with virtue in their bound●… containing do lead their liue●… that none may look age●…▪ whose human course no ma●… hath ever seen to be corrupt with fretfullire or spleen. these flowers are like the man who from his youth hath led his life in paths of upright ways theyare like to him that strayth not from the truth but lives in goodness all his youthful days▪ theyare like to him whose years do not decay but liveth young until his la●…est day. these flowers (quoth he ) were cropped two days ago but yet do keep their perfect colour still the water is the cause why they do so for why? brimful this small pot i did fill: so look where virtue's filled with sweet content there life or colour will not soon be spent. yet even as beauty from these pretty flowers though moistly kept at length will quite consume so shall that man who hath with all his powers decked himself in virtues sweet perfume: for though he feeds long on moist virtues breath yet at the length he yields himself to death. then did he look upon his left hand flowers alas (quoth he ) me thinks i see you fade the drought of woe consumeth all your powers ye are burnt with heat though always kept in shade: for even as care like fire consumes a man so drought in shade your beauteous colours tan. these flowers are like the wilful prodigal that unthrift-like spendeth his youthful days mounting up still even suddenly to fall by in directing of his wilful ways: his riotous life his toys and lavish tongue makes him look old when that he is but young. theyare like to him that wantoness it abroad with midnight revills kept in venus' court spar●…ng no cost but la●…'th on golden load and in a brothel keeps lordly port: but when his purse and veins are all drawn dry though he's but young he looks as he would die. theyare not unlike a virtuous nurtured child the which did flourish in his tender years but got the reins grows head strong proud and wild till all his grain is turned to frutlesse tars: then full of care he leaves his foolish joy and looks like age when he is but a boy. good sir (quoth he ) thus have i to you shown the vertu●…s of these several sorts of dishes my glass and flowers you the ●…ast have known although not filled with flesh nor dainty fishes: and with those words he did set down the flowers feeding again for to revive his powers. not past two bits the silly man did eat when in his hand he took the book and bell and thus of them began for to entreat whilst drooping tears from his sad eyes befell: this book (quoth he) a man's shape seems to have and this the bell that calls him to his grave. this little book presents the life of man wherein is wrapped the substance of his soul which be it fresh or be it pale or wan it must separate when as this bell doth toll: how virtuous bad or pure soe'er it be when death doth call soul must from body flee. within this book doth spring the well of life which fountain clear gives drink to all that craves it hear lieth the sword that ends all kinds of strife denied to none but all that seeks it have it: and they that use this sword or water clear this bells alarm need not for to fear. within this book good men renew their sight when as they bathe their liquid veins therein: to hear this bell it doth their soul's delight they fear not death they force him not a pin. for when stern death thinks most their soul's t'anoy this is their shield they think him but a toy. this book (quoth he) should usurers behold and foul usurpers of their neighbour's land that robs the poor and heaps up hoards of gold to note it well they would amazed stand: and from those lands and bags of money fall for fear this bell to limbo should them call. if drunkards gluttons or lascivious men would deeply dive into this small books lines their own black leaves they would turneo●…e a gen and soon bewail their monster like spent times: arming themselves with this the scourge of hell lest they should fear the tolling of the bell. or if that they who swell with haughty pride within this book should make their looking-glass or if false thieves should here their shares divide and view it well before they hence did pass: pride and celeno they would both go pray for fear this bell to hell should them convey. but if a good and virtuous living man should chance to pry within this little book he need not fear for he already can their calmy lines with fair digest●…re brook: if death him call he doth him strait defy only he knows from this world he must die. this bell presents the crier of a court the which in time doth call both good and bad each man thereto must duly make resort for when he calls an answer must be had: and when pale death shall shut up all our powers the doleful bell doth strike our latest hours. with which sad words he set them on the cloth now sir (quoth he) y'have tasted all my fare the which to show to some i would be loath but speak i pray how do ye like this cheer: well: but me thinks 'tis ill digesting food no sir quoth he 'tis pleasant sweet and good. for if a prince should chance to come this way and in mine arbour sit as now you do these cates and cheer to him i would forth lay and pray him look and taste upon it too: and would not let his pardon for to crave to tell him this doth represent his grave. or if a queen with all her courtly train of states and peers of lords and ladies gay should come within this little shady plain and in the cell of poor maluchus stay. what should detain my tongue it might not tell they must not aye in earthly pleasures dwell? let all the lawyers lodged within new troy and all the dames that mincing minions are the pandar slaves and strumpets seeming coy come here to me and none of them i'll spare: but tell them all and that with small offence their time will come and that they must pack hence. if mistress maudlin with her golden locks whose leman knows his well-grift-forked brows or mistress maukin who sat twice i'th' stocks should undermine these hermit-shading bows: i would not let their person thus to greet amend your end is but a winding sheet. let them that spend the flower of their time the venus wanton and the prodigal who do not take the sun while it doth shine but let it pass and think not of their fall: let them come here but once and dine with me and here i'll tell them what their end shall be. let those that hoard up gold and silver store and never thinks to part from it again but starve poor orphans at their wretched door and silly souls for want thereof are slain: let them look here here shall they plainly see at their last hour what their best end shall b●…e. let pride and theft and glutton-drunkennesse and all the tribe of miscreant demeanour with all lascivious folly and excess repair to this my little shady bower: and taste this fare as you have done with me then shall they know what their best end shall be. yet sir quoth he far be it from your heart that you should take a bad conceit herein but of my words and cheer receive a part and think you welcome to this homely inn: nor do i speak it but that you should gain some pleasure by your long spent time and pain. but now i see an hour is fully spent since we sat down within this homely place wherefore if you be therewithal content we'll end our dinner with a thankful grace: which being done if that you please to stay we will discourse to spend this summer's day. i was content the duty was effected the board was drawn and all was laid aside each on his seat in shadow sweet elected and then the hermit thus his speech did ' guide: good sir (quoth he) now do i call to mind the paduan brach that was of spartan kind. i pray you tell me do you know her master i ask not that a huntsman i would be but that i heard you say she did run faster then all the hounds in that wood sounding cry: fame would i know him that in padua ought her and eke the man that into albion brought her. i blushed to hear him name the dog again that i had named but neither seen nor found for why? the hunting was a moral plain himself the hart his love the paduan hound: yet that i might protect myself from shame thus unto him an answer i did frame. sir that fair brach a courteous knight doth keep who in his arms will hug the tattling else and in his bosom suffers her to creep so that the ape grows cursed and bites himself: and were't not that i should be thought to glory of them i could discourse a pretty story. no sir quoth he if that you please to tell that fair discourse de●…iu'd from italy i cannot think that glory vain doth dwell within that breast where virtue seems to lie: nor will i suffer you to take the pain unless by lot you do the place attain. for that from padua i did late return and with these eyes i sadly did behold a sight the which doth cause me yet to mourn the which my tongue did never yet unfold. wherefore by lot we may discern right well which of us two the first discourse shall tell. the lots were cast the hermits was the charge he must prepare to tell the first discourse when i did think that i should hear at large his lovesick passions sighed with remorse: but he as one that r●…ueld in despair began this roman story to declare. the hermits discourse. where grisly cares floweth untamed tides within the ocean of a pensive breast there sorrows ship still at an anchor rides beaten with waves of boiling thoughts unrest: whole storms of sighs against that ship is sent until her heart-worne tackle all are rend. for when my heart began to harbour grief and that my thoughts had entertained woe in deserts wild i sought to find relief and pathless paths my uncouth steps did know: until at length i did behold and see each senseless creature boisterous storms did flee. the storms did force the lion leave his prey the wily fox to hasten to his hole the storms did force the wolf to howl and bray the hind to steal to covert with her foal. the storms did force th' antelope for to hide her in shelters safe conducted by the tiger. the ugly bear unto her whelps did run the bristled boar retired from his food the bouncing doa unto the brakes did come the fearful hare did hasten to the wood: and all the beasts that nature's art did mould some harbour sought to keep them from the cold. then did i likewise to my chamber go whose walls were painted with over flowing tears mixed with the colour of distress and woe drawn out with knots of hopeless grief and fears: my bed of sorrow i had lately bought my sheets with sighs most sumptously were wrought. my bolster filled with sad lamenting groans my pillow all embroidered ore with care my blanckets framed full of w●…yling moans my covering embossed with despair: thus was my chamber decked on every side with woe and grief wherein i did abide. where i had time and place enough to mourn with fainting tears there might i feast my fill there might my sighs redoubled well return from hollow vaults and every little hill: there to myself myself was left alone none left to hear the tenure of my moan. for if there had perhaps they would but smile and laugh and scoff at my sad souls lament where with the sighs that i did time beguile would shake great hills or stony rocks have rend: but such they were as to myself were easing content my mind and to myself were pleasing. ten thousand sighs i sent to fill the air when from the air i sucked them up again a thousand times i did repeat my care when still my care did with myself remain: i sighed i sobbed and weeping hands did wring and sometimes song my woes with sonnetting. but after that i had myself tormented with horrid groans whereon i daily fed so that the rugged breathless stone; lamented i wrapped myself in that care covered bed: where thus my thoughts did meditate on grief not knowing how nor where to find relief. the malcontent is waited on with woe the lovers life is care ore-guilt with joys the penitent his breast with sobs doth flow shedding out tears his pensive soul avoids: sighs at a beck to each of them do fall sorrow doth sit attending on them all. the male content he neither eats nor sleeps but meditates upon he knows not what his daring eyes upon the earth still peeps but what he seeks his senses quite forgot: his sullen thoughts doth seed on bitter gall most is his mirth when greatest is his thrall. far more he labours in his troubled mind then all the ploughmen in a thousand fields his harvest reaped when seasons are most kind less is his gain than least of all theirs yields: he thinks his state is happier than many yet loves nor hates nor fears nor cares for any. his life he loves as men loves summers snow for life and death are both to him all one a life to death he's sure that he doth owe he death embraceth ere that his life is gone: with this his vain he thinks the gods have blest (him) and in this vain he goeth a while to rest him. the lover sad i moan with kind remorse for why? i know no surgeon can him cure his unseen wounds are of so strange a force that living long no wight can them endure: he's srizing hot and living always dead despairing hopes and losing thinks him sped he's well yet sick and knows not where's his grief he's burning cold he hath and yet he skants he's seeking still though never finds relief his heart seems pleased yet that he wish he wants twixt two extremes his ship is always sailing [he thinks him sped when all his baits are failing. he mourning sings he smiles in sorrow sad he dying lives and lives by always dying he nought enjoys yet with his nothing glad he still pursewes where he sees nothing flying: his restless pangs would make a world to wonder yet drowsy sleep doth force him to a slumber. the penitent that doth in anguish pain he sinking swims in gulfs of deep despair in shade he si●…ts his sun doth seldom shine his drink is woe his meat is clogged care: he hopes he fears and thus in hoping joys hope makes him glad but fearing him annoys. to uncouth places he doth always haunt his pensine conscience wills him there to wander his tortured body seems to feel more want then for his hero did love-drown'd leander: no desert dark nor pleasant lawn long holds him but weary still his ivy arms enfolds him. he sighing peeps from earth unto the skies then woeful looks from sky to earth again from earth he came in heaven his comfort lies thus on he walks twixt mutual joy and pain: in dark●… night nor yet in pleasing day his life 〈◊〉 stands at one contented stay. well do i know the tears and bitter moan the penitent doth utter with his wailing for in that grief i feel myself as one that have a ship within that ocean sailing: and hope at length with others that have store to bring my ship unto a happy shore. thus did i lie with sundry meditations thus were my thoughts with divers changes led which muse were my chiefest consolations till drowsy sleep was hanging in my head: which then began my senses to surprise binding the dewy closures of mine eyes. but slumber soft no sooner had enclosed the watery windows of my woeful eyes when as me thought a champion bold opposed my sleeping senses with sad miseries: whose warlike limbs in iron rough were girt the which descried the courage of his heart. his burgonet his vaunbrace and his shield were framed all of fire tempered steel with golden stars amid a sable field whose massy substance i did seem to feel▪ fixed was his beaver void of plumy fan or quaint devise upon his helm to stand. at which dread sight my senses were amazed though drowsy winks did rock them still asleep mine eyes did seem to wake and waking gazed yet heavy slumbers closely did them keep: but then his voice that seemed my heart to shake unbound his tongue which then these words bespoke. awake awake ye winged wits of rome your flying fancies wrapped in fiery air sing julius worth agricola entomb your spirits high closed in mansions fair too long have slept in loves delicious awe forgetting still your kind agricola. but where am i? or where do i declare my woeful name with prostrate invocations? what shall my sorrows pierce an albion's ear? and fright poor padua with my exclamations? no: let me first from fair elizea fall and choke the deep'st infernal with my thrall. o no: let rome let rome suck up mine anguish let rome the mother of my infant's years swell with my sighs in which my soul still languish let rome dissolve herself with doleful tears: let roman poets sing great julius name with blazing trophies of eternal fame. but they are gone from rome's terrestial verges whose muse admired were crowned with quivering bay o they are dead that should have sung my dirges with doleful langours and distressful lays: he liu's in bliss that sung the wars of troy dead is the swayn's that told of phillis joy. yet doth he live eternised with glory that sweetly sung renowned scipio's wars he lives that told aemilla's lasting story mixed with antonius and octavius jars: a thousand more do live whose fames do ring yet none of dead agriola will sing. wherefore sith i of force am summoned here the story of my woeful days to tell and rome denies to lend her listening ear attend maluchus and with sorrows swell. that albion fair may wail my tragedy which sleeping waking thou shalt hear of me. when great vespasian wore the diadem of rome's large empire and with conquering hand had won the walls of fair jerusalem whose stately towers were at his command▪ then rome's sweet air my youngling days did nuroish her nectar paps my infancy did cherish. where whilst my years were tender soft and young in learning's cradle i was laid to sleep my careful tutor o'er me sweetly sung and i some strains of his did note and keep: esteeming them so highly in my power that i did hug them till my latest hour. then did i frame my tongue to courtly charms and how to tread the distance of a dance and then i practsed how to manage arms to toss a pike and how to wield a lance: then with sound rackets close within a wall i nimbly learned to toss a tennisse ball. to hunt a dear i sometime took delight and sometime see the lightfote hare to play and sometime with an eager fawlcons flight i would consume the weary long some day: a foamng steed then would i learn to pace and swallow-swift run him a double race. then in a ring i would him gently troth a full career than did i learn to make then to curvet then for to gallop hot then stopped him quick that he new breath might take: then on his crest my flattering palm would slide the more to cheer his hot courageous pride. at tilt and tourney than did i learn to ride with clattering shocks to break a sturdy lance after the combat then with portly pride my foaming courser would himself advance: whose sumptuous carriage did so much excel that in each tourney i did bear the bell. for so i managed that courageous beast that he would vault leap curvet plunge and prance with startling fury fold his doubled crest with lofty capers stoop stop and lightly dance: with fiery rage strike stare and trample proudly beating the stones stamping and neighing loudly. each ten days once olympus feast we held meeting in tilt with complete armour bright so that i knew right well my spear to wield and how t'encounter with the hardiest knight: and sometime hit with counterbuff so sound that he lay weltering on the sullen ground. whilst the spectators voices high did laud me with hou'ring hats and loud tumultuous cries the trumpet shrill did seem for to applaud me piercing the highest zenith of the skies where might be heard vnpa●…tiall voices say young julius won the honour of the day. then was i brought to live in stately court whereas i fed of daintiest painted looks for gallant dames there daily did resort to have their faces read in steed of books and soon i learned with an amorous tongue to read the lines that were their books among. fortune did so advance my blooming days that in the court i gained a courtly place and happy he that most my name could raise i sat so high in great vespasians grace: each one unlearned thought their learned skill if not employed my fantasy to fill. agricola was bruited through the land no tong●… did move but spoke of julius name each ma●…list that did control a band mutely admired to hear of julius fame: for sweet discourse revels and chivalry who was renow'nd? agricola even i. walked i in court there lamprils eyes descried me if in the town the cit●…izens would know me if mountains bore me shepherd swains espied me in country towns each unto each would show me: and all would bend with courtesies to me whilst i to them would give like courtesy. what should i say? but that i should not say? all honour still in court attended on me i still in great vespasians bosom lay so graciously did fortune smile upon me: and as i grew each day to riper years each day renown did place me with great peers. but then bellona with her hot alarms did summon me unto the dint of war where i with troops of worthy men at arms refuse no toil to meet that bloody jar: although great neptunes boiling empire lay between our land and that rich golden bay. but strait we rigged our huge sea rending ships whose spreading sails with gentle eurus aid in thetis fields through glassy billows slips no cross of fortune once our navy staid: until we came at that gold-shining town that was the spring of julius renown. where unawares we thrust with speed to land and orderly our valiant forces placed with squadrons fair upon that foreign stran●… with glittering armour all the plains defaced but then our foes like champions stout and bold came with their power for to defend their hold. with hot bravadoes and undaunted spirits they marched along from out their city gates ambitious all advancement sought by merits committing life and land to froward fates: nor we nor they no parley seemed to crave combat and battle each one desired to have. for raging fury brooketh no delay army beards army in the bloody field their trampling gennets fiery breathe neigh our lances bravely their strong coursers wield: ensigns displayed loud drums and trumpets sound whose threatening terror f●…om the clouds rebound. now warlike mars some of thy valour send me tipto my weak tongue with gads of tempered steel or thou brave pallas some of thy power lend me that i may seem to make the hea●…ers feel: what buffets blows limb parting-stroakes and scars are by stern champions given in thy bloody jars. my tongue's too feeble to decipher out the raging fury acted in martial trains yet will i show the prowess of this rout which thus encountered on the southern plains: the valiant horsemen first with swift carriers in sundry splinters shiverd their piercing spears. then to their carbins then unto handy blows then violent shot like to the ocean's rage with pell-mell-shocks out off each army goes each man to win his courage did engage: and storms of bullets like to winter's hail out off each squadron did their foes assail. then armours clattered swords gave blow for blow a hand a hand a foot a foot did crave life life desired blood upon blood did flow each curtleax digged himself a gory grave: there did bellona like a lion tear rough ireful gallants on her tossing spear. the radiant sky was darkened with the smoke that issued from the pattering musket shot which slumbering fume our soldiers seemed to choke the day and battle were so moultring hot: the thundering canons played on either side whose dreadful fury legions did divide. and as the waves driven with outrageous storms beateth the rampires of unmooving rocks so did our captains labour with hot alarms them to repulse with shiu'ring lances shocks: here lies some dead there other freshly bleeds trampling upon them with unruly steeds. abounding terror tumbled in the field death stood appalled at his own invention envy bedecked herself in rigours shield ruin and horror revelled with dissension: raging revenge sported in sanguine blood the rauined earth orecloyed belching stood. harsh-dying tunes sighing and grievous groan's wide gaping wounds forced lamenting cries heart-goaring stabs bursting of legs and bones life gushing tears forced from bloody eyes: men killed unkilled as dreadful war desired living and dying while parca's breath retired. yet was the battle in a balance found till i undaunted cheered each feeble wing which done our valiant forces gathered ground then courage follow all the field did ring: then did our foes fear faint and flatly fly whilst we as victors victory did cry. then did our soldiers tryplevalour take the small calivers than did discharge apace the pikes and halberds living limbs did shake with fears pursuit the targueters did chase: the horsemen swiftly did their lances bend the cannons swiftly did their bullets send. then in our plumes fortune did seem to play for that our foes lay weltering in their blood yielding to us the honour of the day the fair green field all sanguined over stood: here lie stout champions pierced with deadly lances there lay brave captains leading fatal dances. here fell a body there tumbles off a head here lay one maimed there lay one slain out right here lay a soldier groveling scarcely dead there lay a leader here lay a warlike knight: there a colonel here a gallant slain thus were they scattered o'er the purple plain. and thus at length we forced them to retire closing themselves within their city walls which we inuiorned round with sword and fire pelting their frontiers with hot poud'red balls: whence we might hear clamorous shrieks & cries nipped with wailings in the troubled skies. then we began their towering walls to scale taking the time by his rough hairy top while fickle fortune slily brewed their bale that we the flower of their delight might crop: short tale to make valour and high renown our conquering powers placed in that warlike town. whence many fled to save their wretched lives many did humbly kneel to kiss our feet virgins and maids infants and trembling wives with prostrate tears did all our forces greet: where i proclaimed with a trumpet meek that all should live that then their lives did seek. who much did muse to see so mild a foe thinking themselves conquered not at all their sad applauses gave us leave to know the joy they took in that their rising fall: and where before w'had only won the town then of their hearts we seemed to wear the crown. for they did bring almost with free consent their wealthy store into our hands to give their gold and jewels than they did present their loss of goods they seemed not to grieve: for why? they knew that we to them before had given a gem worth all the wide world's st●…re. two days we staid within that city fair triumphing still in victory and gain with precious stones and pearls beyond compare we did enrich our warlike troops and train: our dancing ships doubled their swelling prides such wealthy fraught stuffed their bended sides. whose lusty moulds we rig'd and trimmed anew with masts of silver than they did adorn them the old attire ambitiously they threw amidst the slouds as they had never worn them: our yards were all of iu'ry white as milk our tackle framed of purest twisted silk. our maine-sailes all of glassy satin saire our topsails were most sumptuous to behold our spred-top gallants trembling in the air were framed all of glittering cloth of gold: our dallying ensigns wavering in the sky were all imb●…st with rich imbrodery. while that our ships thus in the port were trimming i called our troops into their senate hall whereas i made no dross nor pure skimming but with content i did content them all: none parted with a discontented heart for why i gave each man his full desert. all which complete a pleasant gale of wind did gently whisper o'er our navies poop as though 't'had known w'had finished up our mind so sweet a breath made our top gallant stoop: which caused us lest that the wind should fails our anchors weigh and hoist our silken sails. then of the town our last farewell we took with thundering noise that seemed t'affright the air whilst ladies from the shores on us did look with wo-swolne eyes that we had left them there: they shook their hands and shed tears for our sake in hope for them our ships we would turn back. their sighs they sent over the billows rough brought to our ships with zephyrus gentle hisses and when they saw we knew it well enough with balmy breath they blew to us their kisses: their gloves they took and in the water fling them hoping the tide unto our ships would bring them. but aeolus which our friend did still remain hasted our ships from off that foreign coast fearing lest that we should turn back again and so our pains were altogether lost: for why? he knew their syren-tempting-songs might well pretend unto our further wrongs. wherefore no leave he gave us to dispense but lively gales he whisled in our shrouds so that he soon conveyed our navy thence rolling amidst the all untamed floods: and by the power of his great swaying hand weare driven from ken of that delightful land. then were we tossed in neptune's tenniss court whereas the waves did rackets seem to take to beat and bandy was their only sport until a set game they agreed to make: yet like young boys they did dallying play which toss new bales for that they are so gay. for our fair ships swollen the seas with pride when they began to dance in tethis lap but having reins within her verge to ride the surges seemed their boisterous hands to clap: triton did sound in most harmonious wise whilst neptune gazed on our wealthy prize. who seemed to call apollo from his chair nephew (saith he) know you this portly fleet which seems to come from out the phrygian air where we with store and treasure once did meet the firm foundation of fair troy to lay: the which had flourished till this present day had these grecians which as i suppose falsely betrayed that unremoving town since which time they themselves right well might lose in watery deserts under my spacious crown: but if i knew that these were surely they i would o'erwhelm them in the brinish sea. at whose stern words apollo seemed to speak: no gentle nephew mitigate your ire these are our friends the which no peace will break these men have been to fetch promethean fire: these men are they that travels for our good who are descended from the trojan blood. then use them gently as our chiefest friends and through your kingdoms safety them conduct see all the gulfs that you to them do cleanse so that their fleet to scylla be not sucked: for if their land they safely do attain they shall have fame but we shall have the gain. then neptune seemed to calm his rugged brow commanding triton all his powers to call (while that our themes the frothy brine did plow) he held a parley in his spacious hall: all stormy winds he chaste from out his land only fair zephyr at his beck did stand. who sent fresh gales as we on billows sailed neptune himself did wait upon our fleet and when the wind feared displeasure quailed then would he help us with a tide most sweet: and when proud zephyr roughly seemed to blow he would command him he should be more slow. thus did the great commander of the sea conduct our navy through his empire wide until at length upon a calmy day our native land we joyfully espied: whose lovely banks seemed with sugared charms to call our fleet into her folding arms. then did we hasten to those happy shores mounted upon the wings of swift desire our sails did serve for labouring arms and oars to gain the port to which we did aspire: and aeolus no breath did us deny but caused our ships like pegasus to fly. until we came near to the long wished strand on whose fair banks a thousand did attend to welcome us unto that happy land for of their joys there seemed to be no end: with music loud with drums & trumpets sound they drew our ships unto that pleasant ground. each soldier weak the which the waves did check and half dead filled the body of each ship did then revive and walk upon their deck. clapping their hands and seemed for joy to skip: in that great neptune lead us all that while and set us safe upon our native isle. who then did seem with all his frothy train on dolphin's backs to mount their watery limbs and smile the●…is left us on the plain and with that monarch thence together swims: commanding triton for to sound a call to hold a counsel in charibdies' hall. while we did leave our huge sea-cutting fleet landing our troops olimpikly on shore whereas whole legions kindly did us meet we being armed with gold and silver store: for joy whereof the hills and dales did sound the rocks and rivers did with noise rebound. our well fraught navy than began to fet their thundering music to report their treasure and with high strains their instruments to set with heart's delight whilst we did dance with pleasure: which roaring consort such recording plies that their thick breath dimmed the crystal skies. there were we brought to that seabeaten town inuiorned with warlike harmony and all their voices seemed at once to crown agricola with fame and chivalry: the rattling music quaverd amids the throng th'hot calivers warbled the undersong. whilst i in stead of pattering bullets threw silver and gold to pierce my country men to which hot skirmish there so many drew that i would pause and then begin again: till night drew on thus did i gild their streets with gain of war silver and foreign sweets. but phlegon pyrous aeous and aethon proud amids the air hastened with fiery wings to bea e apollo toward the ocean flood and as a present him to iber brings: where he with banquets reveled out the night v●… aurora brought the morning light. when night was come we took our quiet rest sleeping secure void of suspect or wrong such harmless thoughts harboured in each breast that we were fast until the leverucke song: who in the air with chirpings seemed to say awake behold see the delightsome day. for menmons' mother then to world had brought so fair a show of crimson speckled light all spangled ore as if with rubies wrought the which did banish black cimmerian night: and glittering phoebus then began to rise gracing the earth from out the azure skies. thus having safely taken sweet repose and that apollo to the lists was come from out our shee●…s with speed we then arose leaving the port with sound of trump and drum: and then we took our journey toward the court whereas our welcome was in princely sort. for all the peers flocking about me came with seeming gladness of my safe return applaudng still my then too happy name as though with joy their inward hearts did burn: then great vespatiun to account did call me to know what chance in mars school did befall me. where i discoursed how i had spent my time how i took ship and how i passed the floods how i did land under that foreign clime and how with force our enemy's withstood's: how with great pain their troops we did beat down and how at length we won that maiden town. how many fled to save their loathed lives how many at our weapons points did fall how i did pity infants maids and wives and how i gave mercy unto them all: how they themselves their jewels to us brought and how with store our lusty ships we fraught. short tale to make i nothing did delay but told him all how that we went and came even from the first until that present day till he himself did give me triple fame: and honours high upon my head he set but some repined at those my titles great. but then he took me by this iron hand julius (quoth he) mount mount in wars desire for now i'll send thee with a puissant band where like a prince thou shalt by fame aspire: to be enrolled within a warlike story with trophies of eternal praise and glory. i'll make thee gen'ral of as great a train as ere was copt under the boundless sky who as they march shall hide each hill and plain and drink at once the foaming ocean dry: no ships shall need to waft them o'er the sea for they shall land it in one summers day. not xerxes' army shall with them compare so many legions under thee shall go the sight whereof shall make thy adverse fear when thou dost come t'encounter with thy fo: i'll rain down gold still for thy soldiers pay then gentle julius stay not hast away. this promise urged me once again to go to try my fortune in bellona's school soon was prepared a gallant glittering show whereas did want no kind of warlike tool: there were they placed each man in his degree and i proclaimed their general to be. then trumpets shrill sounded aloud for joy and thundering drums filled the ai●…e with noise the soldi●…rs all each man and st●…rdy boy hovered their hearts with an appla●…sing voice: ta●…ing our leave than did we ma●…ch a●…ong arriving safe in (g●…eat) brittany st●…ong. in which fair soil the britain's bold did rain th'undaunted scotch men and the scythians wild the cornish crew and caledonian train the naked silures and the pictians wild: who all at once provided skilless powers to drive our forces from their mean built towers. for men like satir's clad in rustic tire half weapon less with braying cries and calls to meet our daring army did aspire praying upon us like fierce cannibals: there might be heard the hideous lumbring swasher unequally consorting with the clasher. there might be heard the hollow wind baged droan's. with direful roaring. and the puffing piper there might be heard harsh tunes with clattering bones the loud shrill drummer and the jarring fifer. which musics discord seemed a consort right to courage up our foes unmanaged might. whose habits mean did harbour haulty hardness their stomachs stout though skilless made them fearless their prowess doubtless bred their own vntow'rdnesse their desperate venturs show'd their hearts were peerless: their valours swordlesse made them still regardless their blows were harmless & their bodies wardlesse. their weapons were of i beam witch and thorn some had a skein and some a dart and durke some few had bows and arrows piled with horn and privy poniard in some sleeves did lurk: some handle targes some pikes with points new burned some still threw stones & some poor chariots turned. some weelded spears and shields of elm full tough some hare brained roisters rid on garish steeds some two hand swords did use of iron rough whose awkward powers acted most worthy deeds: for why they thought a man was never dead. till by some means they had cut off his head. yet dav by day on bogs and brays we met one while they us then strait we them would chase they upon us we upon them would set such was the rest we took within that place: thus did we feed upon the bread of war painting our lines with many bloody scar. full thrice three years in britain i remained from whence my fame to stately room did fly but than vespasian was by death detained and mighty titus in that time did die: then grew my woes than did my sorrows spring then then did bloom my fatal ruining. for then domitian tyrantlike did sway the royal mace and diadem of rome who undescried plots did slily lay to bring poor julius to his final doom. and wrest my life from me by fowl deceit for that my name did daily grow so great. all means he sought t'augment my worth and fame. when rusty envy gnawed his can kered heart his cunning lips did seem to raise my name but still he sought my death with slight and art: even so vl●…sses flattered in the court while luckless ajax toiled with warlike port. yet i was worse than telamon's poor son for he was present with his wily foe he knew his slights long ere the spite was done but julius i did neither see nor know: his causeless envy i did never taste how he chased me as i the britain's chased. he me pursued and i my foreign foes hi●… strokes were slight but i rough payment gave he fought with wiles i fought with rugged blows he sought my wrack i sought his life to save: he wrought my bane i wrought to raise his fame he won the prize i lost the set and game. but all so fitted to my seeming good that no misdeeming in my heart did rest although he daily thirsted for my blood no such opinion lodged in my breast: for then from britain he did send for me and i of syria should lieutenant be. his juggling letters had such lofty strains that i was all enchanted with his charms i must to rome and leave my wont trains to cope with greater dignities at arms: wherefore i took my leave and last adieu of all my troops great syria to view. but when i came unto the roman court whose glorious name did ring throughout the world w●…nder did seem about me to resort f●… black indite ●…ents on my head were hurled: a●… i poor i as many tongues could tell ●…relong was sent unto the citadel. and thrice accursed by destiny and fate was then proclaimed a traitor for to be against the prince the counsel and the state the which did not with my deserts agree: yet did ulysses palamede so hate that with smooth words he did cut off his pate. alas alas the time doth swiftly run for now i hear night's trumpeters shrill noises who hastens me my story to have done o stay a while and i'll obey your voices: for being closed within that towering wall i heard no talk but of my death and fall. and on a day before aurora sprung to tell the world that phoebus' fair was coming i was invited with a mour●…ing tongue unto a feast provided with great cunning: where i should feed on such delicious cates as was prepared for me and such like states. i could not choose but needs i must consent to go and see that sweet and dainty fare although i knew that feast with full intent was so ordained to end my worldly care: yet i as willing as their hearts could wish did view and that is banquets chiefest dish. and when i came unto that spacious hall there did i see my diet and my cheer my carver then unto me i did call saying these words carve friend and do not fear: then did he cut and i did eat such store that after then i never did eat more. then this memorial of my endless soul which had been locked within my body long was registered in a celestial roll and placed in joy whilst angels sweetly sung: where troops divine eternally shall reign keeping their court upon elysian plain. but worldling know to thee i do not come to tell thee how i lived in my life nor for to tell this story all and some which was my end my death and fatal strife: a thousand heads more of my state hath known then in this story i to thee have shown. it were a pride for me to tell thee this o●… tell thee how i dwell in paradise no no i come to lead thee unto bliss then hear my words note them and be precise: first honour god then with a loving heart honour thy prince for so it is thy part. defraud no man hurt not the innocent hate pride live chaste backbite not with thy tongue swear not in vain to vengeance be not bend murder no man nor do no poor man wrong: bear no false witness hoard no gold in store while orphans weak starve at thy cursed door. the saboth keep honour thy parents dear steal no man's wealth thy enemies forgive shun sloth as sin and drunkenness forbear glut no thyself st●…ll poverty relieve: favour thy friend love thy true servant well this done thy fame for ever shall excel. and if that long thou dost desire to live beware of such as brought me to my end for they are men that cunning words will give although thy foe they will profess thy friends: and will not let to swear and forswear too thy wealth to gain though it doth thee undo. but stay: me thinks i see the eurian lights budding like roses in the morning's brows the drowsy vapours takes their sable flyghts and bright aurora doth herself unhouse: the glow-worm di●…feares the'approaching sun wherefore farewell for i to speak have done. thus did he leave and thus the hermit left with tears distilling and with sighs abounding his silent muteness show'd his joys bereft yet night did force me leave him plaints resounding: and thus i rest his story to descry for that black night hath now enclosed the sky. yet when apollo shall rechase again the vesper vaile●… the earth hath clouded over if that your steps do guide you to this plain the accident to you i will discover: until which time yourself i do commend to be prescrived by alls all guiding friend. the radiant torch long since had burning left and cynthia pale keeping a wanton vain trimmed herself like to a lover deft casting her glimpses towared fair latmos plain: which lovely object caused her dazzling eyes with triple brightness to enrich the skies. wherefore i left the lovely aged man taking my leave my bed i made my bliss but in the morn i did return again whereas i heard the hermit's life and his which now my pen grown dull denies t●…dite taking fresh breath in fresher lines to write. finis. men of the kingdom peter the hermit a story of enthusiasm _by_ daniel a. goodsell a bishop of the methodist episcopal church cincinnati: jennings and graham new york: eaton and mains copyright, 1906, by jennings and graham preface original material for a biography of peter the hermit either does not exist in this country, or, if here, does not yield itself readily to knowledge and use. the "life of peter the hermit," by d'outremant, and another by andre thevet, on which michaud draws heavily, seem beyond reach, as are also the histories of the crusades, by von raumer and maunbourg. on examining a number of english and american "histories of the crusades," i found them to be largely abridgments or paraphrases of michaud's monumental work. it is, then, from michaud and milman chiefly that the writer has drawn the facts herein recorded, having often found it necessary to chasten the too pronounced roman sympathies of michaud by the equally pronounced protestantism of milman. to these authors i am so much indebted as to call for the fullest acknowledgment. the rev. dr. j. a. faulkner, professor in drew theological seminary, has put me under great obligations by permitting me to use hagenmeyer's "life of peter," especially valuable to the early and late parts of peter's life. brookline, _june, 1906_. contents chapter page i. peter the hermit, 7 ii. the man and his message, 25 iii. the march and the battle, 44 iv. the capture of jerusalem, 82 peter the hermit chapter i. peter the hermit. the foreground. the great movements called the crusades followed the leading of universal religious instincts. [sidenote: _the cause of pilgrimages_] [sidenote: _belong to all religions_] [sidenote: _the impulse of to-day._] [sidenote: _pilgrimages and historic memory_] wherever a great leader has been born, has taught, has suffered, died, or been buried, the feet of his followers have been glad to stand. at such spots religious emotions are revived, holy influences are believed to be absorbed, and a sense of nearness to the prophets of god acquired. whatever the teacher wore, used, or even looked upon, became a treasure through its relation to him. in india pilgrimages to holy shrines, rivers, and cities have been works of merit, even from prehistoric times. the same is true of china as to temples, tombs, springs, and mountain summits. devotees of later religions, like that of mahomet, have their meccas, as the roman church has her loretto and her lourdes. the murder of thomas a becket was followed by the canterbury pilgrimages, immortalized by chaucer. "from the lowest fetichism up to christianity itself this general and unconquerable propensity has either been sanctioned by religion or sprung up out of it."[1] humanity leans more readily on the incarnate savior than on him who was "before the world was." to-day the devout christian feels the impulse to walk where the master walked, to behold the sea which he stilled, to sit by the well where he preached, to pray in the garden of his agony, and to stand on the summit above which he shone. and if his faith can be assured as to the site of calvary, the great tragedy loses all historical dimness and is made real, visible, and present, though its story be read through penitent tears. the place suggests the man; the man suggests the divine man; he seems nearer when we worship where an apostle said, "my lord and my god." [sidenote: _the east the fountain of religions_] [sidenote: _influence of magna graecia_] the east has always been the fountain of religions to the european mind. to the westward flowed the stream of doctrines which sprang up in the orient. we are beginning to see that greece came to many of her gods through instruction from the asiatic continent, and that her originality in religion lay chiefly in her refinement of nature worship and in the beautiful marble forms in which greek genius enshrined her divinities. from greece the stream reached italy in magna graecia, and later by the adoption through roman assimilation of the gods of the greek pantheon. the worship of isis and osiris came from egypt to rome, and became an influential cult there, as witness the abounding symbols of that worship still preserved in the capitoline museum. [sidenote: _the charm of judea to christians_] to the christian no land could be so full of religious suggestions, remembrances, and associations as judea. france, spain, italy, britain were no sooner christianized in any degree than pilgrims began to set out for the jordan, for bethlehem, for jerusalem with its gethsemane, its calvary, and its holy sepulcher. those who were taught that blessing came "by the work wrought," especially when the years prophesied a brief space of life left, eagerly sought to wash sin away in jordan or to die near the hill of the atonement. [sidenote: _greater number of pilgrims_] [sidenote: _buildings by constantine and helena_] when christianity became imperial by alliance with the state, and corrupt by the ascendency of constantine in its councils, the number of pilgrims greatly increased. ambitions as well as devotions drew men to palestine. constantine had evoked jerusalem again as a name and as a city from the ruins of the preceding three centuries. the liberality of constantine and helena had identified the holy places sufficiently for the credulous faith of the time, and has decorated them with churches and colonnades. michaud says: "an obscure cavern had become a marble temple paved with precious stones. to the east of the holy sepulcher appeared the church of the resurrection, where the riches of asia mingled with the arts of greece and rome."[2] [sidenote: _security in pilgrimages_] the attraction of such buildings, however, was not so great a stimulus to pilgrimages as the security which the pilgrim might have, both on his journey and after his arrival, through the extended and effective authority of the roman emperor. the pilgrim could now journey without fighting his way, could be housed without secrecy after his arrival, and could worship without stripes at any one of the many shrines which attracted his piety. [sidenote: _dangers of the earlier journeys_] it is doubtful if any pilgrims traveled so far at first in such numbers through unsympathetic and unfriendly people as those who went as palmers before the settlement of the roads by constantine or just before the crusades. during the stay of st. jerome at bethlehem, in the fourth century, the pilgrims were so numerous that he speaks of them as coming in crowds, and says that the praises of god could be heard there in many languages. [sidenote: _early fathers and their cautions_] [sidenote: _warnings of st. jerome_] some of the great leaders of the church, jerome himself with varying note, were wise enough to point out the evils of these pilgrimages, and to remind the faithful that the christ might be honored by good deeds at home. gregory of nyssa wrote: "the lord has not said, 'go to the orient and seek justice.' travel even to the west and you shall receive pardon." st. augustine said in the first sermon on the words of the apostle peter: "i am unwilling to consider a long journey. where you believe, there you arrive."[3] jerome from bethlehem itself writes, "heaven is equally open to britain and jerusalem." he could not have advised against pilgrimages more strenuously if he had wished to keep bethlehem for himself and for the roman ladies drawn thither by his example. [sidenote: _good roads and travelers' homes_] for several centuries the passion for the pilgrimage increased steadily. roads were indicated, resting places pointed out, and wealth sought to buy salvation by building hospitals and providing for doles of bread and wine to those who made the sacred journey. charlemagne made their case a tax on his subjects through whose bounds they passed. "even in our entire kingdom neither rich nor poor shall dare to deny hospitality to the pilgrims.... on account of the love of god and the salvation of our souls, no one shall deny them shelter, fire, or water." [sidenote: _shelters in jerusalem_] in jerusalem vast caravanseries were built for them, gregory the great building there one of the largest of all shelters. [sidenote: _washing sins away_] the signs of the pilgrim--the staff, the wallet, and the scallop-shell--were blessed by priest or bishop before departure, and took on added sanctity, and even miracle-working power, if they had reached actual use in the holy land. it was not long before an indulgent church guaranteed that bathing in jordan should wash away all sin. and, as the holy land must be rich in the bones of martyrs and in the relics of christ and his apostles, it was within the ambition of the pilgrims to possess a hair of the virgin, a thread from the seamless coat, a nail which had pierced his hand, a splinter from the cross, or a thorn which had torn his brow. all these were believed to possess powers of healing, and their possession permanently increased the dignity of families and the wealth of churches. [sidenote: _relics and miracles_] the demand for such relics from the christian world was great and the supply was greater. traffic in these was enriched by the purchase of the silks, spices, and other treasures of the east, and commercial greed came to move men under the cover of the cross. [sidenote: _chosroes conquers syria_] the stream of pilgrimage was full until the reign of heraclius. then the persian king, chosroes, carried his arms through syria and palestine to egypt. the fire-worshipers defiled the holy city by their authority and their worship. they tainted and robbed the churches, and carried off what was believed to be the cross of the crucifixion, which had been guarded by the church of the resurrection. [sidenote: _return of the cross_] the wailing of the christian world over this loss strengthened the courage of heraclius through ten years of reverses, and aided in the late but full victory which not only brought back to jerusalem the enslaved christians but the cross of calvary, as the most glorious of trophies. the emperor himself bore this barefooted to the summit of calvary, and at constantinople received the congratulations of the christian world. jerusalem was soon, however, to feel the weight of a new and heavy hand. [sidenote: _rise of mahomet_] [sidenote: _greek empire corrupt_] in arabia a religion arose with a singular power of advance, which it retains to this day. the union of the spiritual with the material, of the sensual with a fatalistic theology, made the followers of mahomet eager for heaven by way of the battle-field. the jews had now no unity; christianity had become divided into sects cursing each other; the persian empire had exhausted itself; the greek empire was wasted with its own corruptions. the way was open for the stern, sober, and, in all respects but one, self-denying followers of mahomet. until they learned to navigate they swept the eastern and southern coasts of the mediterranean. they early overwhelmed palestine. becoming masters of maritime peoples, they conquered even to spain; were held at bay for a while by constantinople; came even under the walls of vienna, and were at length beaten back by charles martel. [sidenote: _jerusalem sacred to mohammedans_] [sidenote: _jerusalem taken by omar_] jerusalem was almost as sacred a city to the mohammedans as to the christians. their prophet had visited it, and had journeyed to heaven from it. attacked by the soldiers of omar shortly after the death of the prophet, the christians endured the horrors of a siege for four months, resisting armies which claimed the city as theirs by the promises of god. omar came to receive the keys of the exhausted city, and christians cried out in agony as the chief infidel defiled by his presence the holy sepulcher. they were permitted to worship, but not openly to exhibit their crosses and sacred books. their conqueror erected a mosque on the site of the temple. this was more than the breaking heart of the christian patriarch could bear. he died bewailing the sorrows and desolation of the city of the great king. [sidenote: _omar checks persecution_] while omar lived the hand of persecution was in good measure stayed, but worked in full vigor as soon as he was dead. christians were certain neither of their homes nor of their churches. their taxes were increased to the point of exhaustion. they could not mount a horse nor bear a weapon. a leather girdle must always show their subjection. no arabic word must fall from their lips, nor could they speak the name of their ission. [sidenote: _hardships stimulate pilgrimages_] these hardships awakened the sympathy of the christian world, and stimulated many to go to the holy land that they then might be "accounted worthy to suffer with christ." arculphus and antoninus, of plaisance, reached sainthood by making this journey and certifying to the western churches the persecutions of the christians in the holy land. [sidenote: _haroun al raschid just_] yet truth compels the statement that the mohammedans were not always unjust or unkind. intervals of peace came to cheer those who wept, and the reign of haroun al raschid offered them the largest hope. the great charles was now great enough, even in eastern eyes, to secure liberty and peace to christians in far-off palestine, and was treated as an equal through embassies and presents by the great caliph. never could a monarch have received a more welcome present than did charlemagne when the caliph sent him the keys of the holy sepulcher. [sidenote: _christ expected 1000 a. d._] it is also to be remembered that prophecy had been interpreted to mean that in the year 1000 a. d. christ would appear and set up his millennial kingdom. this greatly stimulated the pilgrimages to the holy land, as it did all other phases of devotion. thousands felt that it would be well to be at the scene of the cross and of the resurrection when christ came with his angels. it were well they should be near where he ascended, whether they were living or dead when he came. [sidenote: _haroun dead persecution follows_] persecutions followed the death of the great caliph, particularly in the sultanate of egypt. the church of the holy sepulcher was destroyed. other christian buildings shared the same fate. then as now, the jews had to suffer from suspicions created by their voluntary segregation as well as by their forced isolation. the christians in france heard that the french jews had sent word to the sultan hakim that a great christian invasion of the holy land was intended. this led to a revenge, the justice of which in any degree remains unsettled to this day. [sidenote: _toll for entering jerusalem_] unexpected calm came to palestine through the development of the maritime powers of italy, which could fall on hakim's dominions at will. the largest annoyance of the pilgrims for awhile was the enforced payment of a toll for entering jerusalem, established near this time by the mohammedan powers. in the cooler blood of historical inquiry to-day, we can not wonder at a tax which failed at its greatest height to meet the increased cost of government when thousands of pilgrims were added to the population of jerusalem and its environs. but it was often gladly paid by those who could, and the gates of jerusalem were opened by the richer pilgrims for those to whom it was an impossible or severe burden. [sidenote: _christianity now wealthy_] christianity had now attained a history of a thousand years. it had climbed to stately thrones and to cathedrals. princes of great names, like robert of normandy, and bishops who were also secular princes made the pilgrimage and returned to speak with authority on the attractions of the holy places and on the shame of the infidel's domination. [sidenote: _pilgrimage guaranteed pardon_] in the shrewd management of the church at this time, pilgrimages were substituted for penances, and troublesome sinners were sent out of their country on a pious mission which promised forgiveness if it could not pledge reform. it at least secured a period of quiet to their families and of security to the neighborhoods from which they came. the bollandist manuscripts afford many details of the pilgrim life at jerusalem which had, however, to be enjoyed by permission of the infidel, always a bitter portion in the pilgrim's cup. [sidenote: _round of pilgrim duties_] on arrival they prepared themselves by fasting and prayer. then, covered by a mourning robe, they visited the church of the sepulcher. the robe thus attained such sanctity that it was preserved until death and enshrouded the owner at burial. they then visited, in turn, the sacred spots in and adjacent to the city. this accomplished, they sought the holy mountains of the sermon, the transfiguration, and ascension. then they washed their sins away in jordan, and tore off palm-leaves near jericho to attest on their homeward journey that the holy pilgrimage was complete. the tenth and eleventh centuries thus kept by the thousands of pilgrims yearly, all christian europe became informed of the conditions which obtained in the land where christ suffered for the sins of men. [sidenote: _services to pilgrims_] slowly there grew up a devotion which was nearly equal to a secondary religion. service rendered to a pilgrim was almost the same as being a pilgrim. nor did the pilgrims fail to profit by the reverence they inspired. some of them paid their way by their prayers. there is record of one who paid his fare for a voyage from alexandria to palestine with a copy of the evangelists. on the st. bernard, on mt. cenis, on the frontiers of hungary, in asia minor, as well as in palestine, hospitals and hostelries were built by the faithful as works of salvation. [sidenote: _impure accretions_] no pious movement has ever long existed without drawing to itself some of impure and selfish motive. the rich had no surer way of advertising their generosity than by making the journey and aiding in the comfort of their poorer brethren. some made the pilgrimage as many times as planet pilgrims now visit europe. yet to the credit of the pilgrim it must be said that no act of violence is recorded against any one who really made the whole journey. it is recorded of a mussulman governor that he said of such, "they are not away from home with bad intent, but to keep their law." [sidenote: _confusion of moral sense_] confusing to the moral sense as we possess it, and destructive of true morality as we must hold it to be, we must further admit with astonishment that pilgrimage was held to be a cure for the most dreadful sin. a brittany lord who murdered his brother and his uncle was ordered to make the journey twice with humiliating conditions, and returned, after three years on mount sinai, to be received as a saint and to dignify a monastery by his narrations and his residence. [sidenote: _a journey condones murder_] one journey was enough to free from further penalty a roman prefect who had dragged a pope from his altar. foulque-nerra, count of anjou, pursued by the ghosts of those he had murdered, sought to quiet them through three unavailing journeys. for such reasons and for many others, some of which can hardly be brought within religious motives, thousands made the journey. three thousand, beginning with the bishop of cambrai, were nearly all starved or murdered in bulgaria, and the few who went on as far as laodicea turned back or died there, while their leader went back to his diocese. [sidenote: _bloody welcome in bulgaria_] [sidenote: _three thousand killed_] one more band, or army rather, of ten thousand started ten years later with the archbishop of mayence and the bishops of spires, cologne, bamberg, and utrecht. they were almost in sight of jerusalem when the bedouins besieged and captured them. saved from death by a neighboring emir, they followed the news of their tribulations to jerusalem, where they were received with joy. they lost during the whole journey three thousand of their number, and went back to fire europe with accounts of their impressions, their perils, and their undeserved dangers. [sidenote: _rejoicing in martyrdom_] [sidenote: _fanaticism of turks_] [sidenote: _degenerate greeks_] as the tolerance of the earlier caliphs was succeeded by the fanaticism of the turks, the christians of jerusalem ceased to be treated with any other consideration than that accorded to despised slaves. pilgrims were no longer guests, but intruders. no persecution, however, stopped the flow of pilgrims. the harder the way, the greater the cost, the greater the merit. the pilgrim might, under these later conditions, easily become a martyr. the martyr's crown was sure, by the faith of the times, to become a heavenly crown. few now survived the journey. these often came back starved, cut, and mutilated. their appearance and the great gaps in the ranks of those who returned, kindled a smoldering fire under all europe. such had been the pre-eminence of constantinople and the greek empire that if the greeks had retained their former quality, the turks might have been driven back by those who sat on that famous throne. but when the corruption of decay was attacked by the vigor of an almost savage state, there could be but one result. [sidenote: _greeks truculent_] among the greeks the lowest qualities and the basest acts found justification under the name of policy. courage in battle was supplanted by the shield and mechanism of bodily safety. they killed the men who tried to rouse them. they had wasted all their inheritance but great memories, and had acquired a truculent and factious spirit. while they were nearing the utter decay of their influence the infant west was found to have grown until all that was noble in character and all that was true in christianity, all which could respond in courage and self-sacrifice to the call of jerusalem for deliverance, was to be found among those whom the greeks had held to be barbarians. [sidenote: _papal ambition_] [sidenote: greatness of gregory] the roman curia, from its first date of political influence, had never ceased to enhance its authority by the use of the secular arm when it had none of its own, or by its own secular arm when it could command one. the disturbed conditions in the east, together with the decay of greek influence and the cowardice and helplessness of the byzantine emperors, had led michael ducas to appeal to pope gregory for help. the prize offered gregory was the submission of the greek to the roman church and the removal of all barriers. from the standpoint of ability, gregory well deserves the title "great." he seems as great in statecraft as in executive ability. the hope of being a universal pope led him to promise aid. he urged the faithful to take up arms against the mussulmans, and promised to lead them himself. his letters were full of the loftiest ideas. fifty thousand agreed to follow his lead. but he found the management of europe more to his taste and perhaps to his need. the decay of byzantine power was wisely used for the development of pontifical authority and the spread of the latin church. and, again, the eternal city through its popes, and particularly through gregory, became the ruler of the world. gregory summoned all monarchs to derive their authority and their enthronement from him, and endeavored to make laws for every country in which his church had place. resisted by some monarchs, his influence widened nevertheless, and while he forgot his pledge to deliver jerusalem, he prepared the way for a final unity of action which he could not secure in his own lifetime. in the pontificate of his successor, mingled religious and commercial motives led to a movement against the saracens, which, while never numbered among the crusades, almost deserved that name. the acquisition of maritime power by the saracens had led to interference with italian commerce. [sidenote: _"christian" butchery_] promising remission of sins to all who fought, victor besought christians to take up arms. christians crossed to africa and professed to have slain a hundred thousand saracens; certainly did decorate italian churches with the spoils of victory, and made a moorish king pay tribute to the pope. what kings, emperors, and popes could not do, a pilgrim accomplished. we pass from the foreground to the figure. chapter ii. the man and his message. [sidenote: _preparation for peter_] the study of the foreground of the crusades exhibits the preparation for the man who was to be the great leader and, one might say, originator of these astonishing movements. whatever part others played, or whatever the measure of the aid given, to peter the hermit is to be given the credit of the effective inspiration and active leadership. the leadership here claimed for peter is challenged, it is only fair to say, by von sybil whose views are, in the main, accepted by hagenmeyer. von sybil gives credit to the pope alone for inspiration and direction. it seems more probable, however, that the pope utilized and magnified the enthusiasm and influence of peter; and directed it into channels more likely to permit the movement of the roman church eastward and the growth of pontifical supremacy. this is the view contained in these pages. [sidenote: _peter's birth_] we know where peter came from. born in picardy, the historians are not agreed whether of obscure or noble family. it makes little difference, since if this were known all their dignity and life in history would proceed from peter. he was called peter the hermit because he was a hermit, and not, as some have maintained, because it was his surname. the weight of opinion favors his descent from humble parents. all are agreed that he was of very ordinary appearance; one says "ignoble and vulgar." the sum of the statements of contemporaries as to his personality, is that he was of sharp understanding, energetic, decided; coarse and sometimes brutal; enthusiastic; of great imaginative power. if a picard, then a frank, and if a frank, then a fighter, and very ready to fight for religion. his nationality, therefore, gave him access by speech to a most restless, gallant, and adventurous people. born with courage, moral intensity, restlessness, and activity, he experimented for satisfaction in every direction. [sidenote: _chooses hermit's life_] [sidenote: _effect of self-confidence_] it seems that neither celibacy nor marriage, study nor warfare, long attracted him. the conditions about him seemed beyond his remedy, and, like many others, he retired from a sinful world to the harshnesses and austerity of a hermit's life. fasting did for him what it seems to do for all when excess is reached either by self-will or necessity. he became truly a "visionary." "he saw visions and dreamed dreams." his temperament and his religious exercises made him feel that, better than others he knew the will of god and that he was chosen to execute it. in this stage a man becomes capable of great things in a poor cause. the world is always impressed by the confident and the courageous. no great movement, however wrong in doctrine, defective in morals, or disastrous in results, has been without such leadership. like all orators of the latin race, his fervor showed itself, not only in his tones, but in his gesticulation and his postures. he was a master of pantomime. if any were beyond his voice, they were not beyond his meaning. if he had lived in our time he would have been counted among the most "magnetic" of preachers. the reputation of his sanctity showered him with gifts. he kept nothing for himself. all went to the poor, and evil women were dowried by him that they might cease from evil in honorable marriage. [sidenote: _generosity self-sacrifice_] peter was not stirred alone by the relations of returning pilgrims as to the ignominies heaped alike on the sacred places and on the religious by the turks. he followed in the wake of the devotees who traversed the long road to the holy city. that peter actually made this journey is sufficiently attested by his contemporary, anna conmena. she probably met him while tarrying in constantinople, and could easily know of his presence at the palace of her father, alexius. from her we learn that he had to flee before the turks and saracens, and her narration makes it doubtful if he reached jerusalem on his first attempt. by so much as he was more enthusiastic than others by nature, by so much was he fired with indignation, which to him was but the just expression of his zeal and his piety. [sidenote: _emotions in jerusalem_] he stood with agony on calvary. he adored with tears the tomb of christ. then he sought speech with the patriarch of jerusalem. his name was simeon, and like another, waited for "the salvation of god." who is responsible for the report of this interview we do not know, but one more probable and pathetic is not on record outside the bible. [sidenote: _patriarch simeon_] [sidenote: _simeon's and peter's hope_] simeon had suffered much for his faith as well as for his leadership. the impatient enthusiasm of peter was moved to tears by the patient enthusiasm of simeon. "is there no remedy?" cried peter, weeping. and simeon answered: "is it not evident that our sins have shut us away from the mercy of the lord? all asia is in the power of the mussulmans; all the east is enslaved; no power on earth can help us." peter asked, "may not the warriors of the west come to your help?" "yes," said simeon, "when our cup is full, god will soften the princes of the west, and will send them to the help of the holy city." this was peter's thought, and, weeping with joy over a great hope, the patriarch and the pilgrim embraced. the patriarch pledged himself to appeal to europe by letter and peter by word of mouth. the plan of peter was strengthened by his further devotions at the holy sepulcher. there are two ways in which men of strong will become sure that their will is the will of god. [sidenote: _peter's mental constitution_] one is to make a plan, and then submit it to god in prayer. the other, and the truer, is to ask god's help in the making of the plan as in its execution. the first, as was probable from peter's intellectual and moral constitution, seems to have been the way in which he came to certainty as to his life mission. there is no reason to doubt that in his exiled state, moved at once by piety and peril, he saw the vision, though inwardly, which inspired his return. at the sepulcher he thought he heard the voice of christ commanding him to proclaim the sorrows of christ's land and of christ's people. the best account of this vision and commission is that of the historia belli sacri: "one evening as peter went to rest the lord jesus christ appeared to him in a vision, saying, 'peter, stand up. go back quickly into the west. betake thyself to pope urban with this commission from me that he get all my brothers as quickly as possible to hasten to jerusalem, in order to purge the city of unbelievers. all who do this from love to me, to them stand open the doors of the kingdom of heaven.'" this became to him a daily commission from on high. bearing letters from simeon, he went to italy by sea, and sought the presence and aid of urban ii, then pope. [sidenote: _pope urban_] urban felt that this call, recognized by his predecessors, was more fully and loudly given to him. the refusal of hagenmeyer to credit this vision and its influence on pope urban seems to be the result of an ultra critical spirit. when a pope speaks, after argument and urging, he is not likely to think it consonant with his dignity to give credit in allocution or bull to those who urged him. holding that all men are properly servants of the holy see, he speaks as if he was the original source of knowledge and impulse. urban does not, in his famous speech at the council of clermont, give peter's vision or peter's urgency as a ground for his utterance or action. but he followed peter on that occasion, and it may well be that if peter mentioned his vision as the inspiration of his mission, the pope would not speak of its influence on himself. [sidenote: _urban's emotions_] the roman pontiffs, whatever their own ability or lack of it, have always been distinguished for the wise use of enthusiasm. if not able to make the wise direction of it themselves, some one of the curia has always been at their service to value the force and direct it into channels of wider influence for the church. there can be little doubt that urban was moved by a true and generous feeling. it would have been almost impossible for any one to have simulated the grief he manifested at the council of clermont. [sidenote: _mixed motives_] but there can be as little doubt that, as the proposed movement must inevitably aggrandize roman catholicity and make her the leader of the christian world, urban was happier and stronger by the coincidence and collaboration of both forces. there was a rival pope, and there were sovereigns who were his enemies. what a god-given opportunity to humble the antipope and bring the unfriendly kings to his feet! [sidenote: _peter's garb_] the pope gave peter his commission and sent him forth with his blessing. mounting a mule, which soon attained in the thought of the people something of its master's sanctity, he passed through italy, crossed the alps, was in every part of france, and stirred the larger part of europe. with a crucifix in his hand, his body girdled with a rope, clothed in a long cassock of the coarsest stuff, and a hermit's hood, he could not have had, from the standpoint of public attention, a better appearance. he kept himself free from monkish evils in habits and conduct, and as he preached the loftiest morality by word as by life, the people honored holiness in him. [sidenote: _ready to preach anywhere_] like all who have been great reformers, he was indifferent as to where he preached so that he could get a hearing. when the pulpits were open and could reach the multitude, he was glad to preach in the sacred inclosures; when his mission could reach more minds on the high roads and public squares, he as gladly preached there. he knew how to use apostrophes and personifications, and made the holy places themselves clamor for help. he sometimes showed a letter which he said had fallen from heaven wherein god called upon all christendom to drive the heathens out of jerusalem and possess it forever. his favorite prophecy was "jerusalem shall be destroyed till the time of the heathen shall be fulfilled." the agonies endured by the christians of palestine he described with such accuracy of language and appropriateness of gesture, that his hearers seemed to see them writhe under the lash and to hear them groan in their wounds. [sidenote: _waving his crucifix_] when he had exhausted his vocabulary and was exhausted by his emotions, he would wave the image of christ suffering on the cross before his sobbing and wailing hearers. the news of such preaching and of such scenes travels fast and far. wherever the hermit went he was received as a saint, and if the people could not obtain a thread of his garment they contented themselves with a hair from the tail of his mule! [sidenote: _effect of his preaching_] whatever the modern mind may see of credulity among the people or of fanaticism in peter, contemporary annals show that his preaching was followed by the results promised to the gospel. michaud says: "differences in families were reconciled, the poor were comforted, the debauched blushed at their errors. his discourses were repeated by those who heard to those who did not. his austerities and his miracles were widely known and credited. when peter found those who had been in palestine, or confessed to have been there, he used them as living examples, and made their rags speak of the barbarities they had suffered, or claimed to have suffered, at turkish hands." [sidenote: _constantinople in peril_] additional strength was given to the cry for relief from palestine by the perils of constantinople. this city, under nominally christian emperors, had become a museum of sacred relics. alexius comnena threatened by the same warriors who had subjected the holy city, offered his sacred treasures and his secular riches to the leaders who would rescue his capital. the poor esteem in which the haughty but, when in danger, servile greek held the franks, as to everything but warlike power, is indicated by his promising the frank warriors the beauty of the greek women. as if these warriors were of the same tastes as the turks! to pass under the mussulman yoke was infinitely more degrading than to hand his scepter to the latins. [sidenote: _urban concentrates opinion_] urban now found it a suitable time to attempt to concentrate opinion and prepare for action by summoning a council at plaisance. there was a great response to the papal summons. two hundred bishops and archbishops, four thousand ecclesiastics, thirty thousand of the laity came to the council which had to meet, on account of its size, outside the city wall. [sidenote: _ambassadors of alexius humble_] the tone of the eastern emperors had long been so haughty that the presence of their ambassadors at a latin council was a sufficient proof of their humiliation. the pope seconded their requests and prayers with all the force of speech and authority; yet the council concluded nothing. it seems probable that the astute pope passed the word that no conclusion should be formulated, as he was not yet ready to indicate all that was in his mind. it may well be that the danger to constantinople was not yet so evident to alexius and to all as to indicate the hour for absolute submission to the roman authority. [sidenote: _italy not yet roused_] [sidenote: _opening of the council_] it is more probable, however, that urban could not yet command italian aid and unity. commerce had so developed that religion, where it interfered with it, could not command undivided allegiance. the italians, too, were near enough to know the limitations of urban's power, his failures and disgraces, and could not be summoned to action as successfully as those who were farther away from knowledge of the weakness of the papal grip. so the second council met at clermont in auvergne, and was equally weighty in the numbers attending and the authority represented. "the cities and villages of the neighborhood were so filled that tents and pavilions were erected in the meadows, although the weather was very cold."[4] various matters of church and social discipline were first considered and determined. the purposed delay in reaching the real object of the council seemed to whet the appetites for the consideration of the wrongs of the east. enthusiasm grew to fanaticism, and a grand and universal impatience of other topics finally brought the greater matter before the body. [sidenote: _artful delay_] the opening of the subject was had in the great square before the cathedral. a throne had been prepared there for the pope, who approached it followed by his cardinals and accompanied by peter the hermit in the garb now known to the christian world everywhere. [sidenote: _describes sufferings of christians_] peter was put forward to speak first. his countenance was cast down with humiliation, and his voice expressed his inward agony as he told what he had seen of the sufferings of christians at the scene of the world's redemption. he told how they had been chained, beaten, harnessed like brutes; how their bread had been taken away; how they had been compelled to pay from the poverty of the pilgrim's wallet for approach to the sacred shrines; how christian ministers had, like their lord, known the rod, and met their death. it is not needful to suppose that the growth of peter's emotion, as he told this tale of horrors, was simulated. in the cooler blood of to-day the narrative stirs a sluggish heart. he ceased to speak because choked with sobs. [sidenote: _urban's great speech_] the speech of urban, who followed peter, was one of the greatest ever spoken in its effect on the history of the world. delivered undoubtedly in french, it survives only in ecclesiastical latin. he was in france. he wished to stir the french. he could not have moved them through an interpreter as he moved them in his own tongue and theirs. he began in the language of compliment. [sidenote: _urban compliments franks_] [sidenote: _describes desecration of palestine_] "nation beloved of god, it is in your courage that the christian world has placed its hope. because i am well acquainted with your piety and your bravery, i have crossed the alps to preach to you.... you have not forgotten that but for the exploits of charles martel and charlemagne france would have been under the rule of mahomet.... your fathers saved the west from slavery. more noble triumphs await you. under the guidance of the god of armies you will deliver europe and asia, you will rescue the city of jesus christ from whence the lord has come to us. whose soul does not melt? whose bowels are not stirred with shame and sorrow? the holy place has become not only a den of thieves, but the dwelling place of devils. even the church of the holy sepulcher has become a stable for cattle. men have been massacred and women ravished within those blessed walls. european christians are warring on each other when they ought to be rescuing their brethren from the yoke, and from the unbeliever's sword." [sidenote: _offers rewards for crusading_] [sidenote: _pathetic closing_] [sidenote: _further appeals_] he appealed to every passion by captivating prophecies. "the wealth of the unbelievers shall be yours. you shall plunder their treasuries. your commander, christ, will not permit you to want bread or deny you a just reward. there is no crime which may not be absolved by this act of obedience to god. i offer absolutions for all sins; absolution without penance to all who for this cause will take up arms.... i promise eternal life to all who die on the battle-field or on the way to it. the crusader shall pass at once to paradise. i myself must stand aloof, but, like moses, i will be fervently and successfully praying while you are slaughtering the amalekites. i will not seek to dry the tears which images so painful for a christian and for the father of the faithful draw from you. let us weep over the sins which have withdrawn the favor of god from us, but let us also weep over the calamities of the holy city. but if tears be all, we shall leave the heritage of the lord in the hands of the wicked. how can we sleep in comfort when the children of jesus christ live in torments? christian warriors, eager for pretexts to unsheath your swords, rejoice that to-day you have found a just cause for war. you mercenaries who have hitherto sold your valor for money, go now and merit an eternal reward.... if you must have blood, bathe your sword in the blood of infidels. soldiers of hell become soldiers of the living god. remember that 'he who loves father and mother more than me, is not worthy of me.' thus speaks christ to you to-day." [sidenote: _spread of enthusiasm_] [sidenote: _pardon by fighting_] long before this final sentence, urban's hearers had been lifted to indescribable enthusiasm. a mighty shout as from a single throat answered him: "god wills it. god wills it. we will join the army of god!" urban commands the bishops to rouse their dioceses by preaching the instant duty of war for the holy sepulcher. the enthusiasm spread everywhere like an infection under ripe conditions. france took the lead; germany with slower step; the italians slowest of all, except the normans who dwelt among them. england contributed least of all, the normans being still busy in holding what they had won, and anglo-saxons too discouraged over their own defeats. spain had her own anti-mohammedan battle to fight. some noblemen, unable to prevent their vassals from going, joined them and took command that they might not wholly lose their authority over them. many had fought notwithstanding papal prohibition. so many had sins to expiate that they were happy that they could find forgiveness while indulging their chief passion, and could wash away their sins by shedding blood. here again contemporary chronicles prove that humanity is seldom governed by other than mixed motives. bishops who were also barons bore the skill in warfare which they had gained in defending their bishoprics in the crusades. some of the priests, whose eyes were upon the rich bishoprics of the east, found hope enlarged by arming for the war. "knights of god and beauty" found a new field in the march to jerusalem. the distresses due to scanty harvests in 1094-95 contributed in some measure to the easy gathering of the hosts of the first crusade. famine seemed so close at hand that those who left their homes had little to lose and much to gain. nor were the masses unwilling to fly from the oppressions and exactions of rulers who claimed the privilege to do wrong by divine right. [sidenote: _normans and saracens_] [sidenote: _marvels begin_] apulia and sicily had been wrested from the saracens by a few hundred normans. this bred confidence in the final result of the war. one of the most curious of the fanaticisms, which developed from the larger fanaticism, was that of the sign of the cross in the flesh. women and children imprinted crosses on their limbs. a monk who made a large cross on his forehead kept it from healing and colored the gash with prepared juices. he declared it was a miraculous stigma done by an angel, and his lie served him well in abundant help. it is further related that a company of crusaders being shipwrecked near brundusium all the bodies had a cross imprinted on their flesh just under where the cross had been sewed on their clothes. perhaps they had done what the monk did; perhaps poor dyes soaked through. a miracle was in those days the easiest explanation of all marvels. [sidenote: _true religion in the movement_] yet all this was no more than the earth which clings for awhile to all plants which spring from the soil. the essence of the movement as to the masses was truly religious and the duties of religion released the doer of "the will of god" from all other obligations. the monk from his cloister and the hermit from his cave declared they had heard god's call. [sidenote: _sacrifices for the cause_] men do not part with property for what they do not deem a valuable consideration. many at this time surrendered their castles, their lands, their cottages, to "leave all and follow him." small sums sufficient to eke out the alms of the pilgrimage, were accepted as pay, and, if not forthcoming, the property was abandoned to him who might remain to use it. it seemed as if all europe was to emigrate to palestine. the crusaders have been ordered to march on the feast of the assumption in the year following the november of the council. the whole winter was given to preparation. [sidenote: _spring revives enthusiasm_] the warmth of spring rekindled the fires of crusading zeal, if indeed they anywhere burned more slowly during the winter cold. those who had been at first indifferent to the movement now became in large numbers as enthusiastic as those first influenced. both classes set out to the appointed camping places. on horseback, in carts, and on foot, the multitudes marched. sin marched with purity, and indulgence with penitence. prostitutes in arms appeared with the warrior and dragged down many whom devotion sought to uplift. secular and warlike music was sometimes overcome by psalms and other religious songs. [sidenote: _crazy enthusiasm_] [sidenote: _ignorance of the crusaders_] more pitiful sights could be occasioned only by a famine or pestilence. men who had dependent families were followed by the wives and children who could not afford to be separated from their natural protectors. old men, helpless as to livelihood, dragged after their strong-armed sons. there was no joy over staying at home. happiness seemed to abide only with those who were going to war. a stream starting from a village drew other streams from the villages and towns through which it passed until a river of humanity rushed on. they did not know the length of their journey, and could not conceive of the dangers they must approach and pass. some had been so steadfast in residence as to have no idea of the size of the world even as it was known to other men. great lords with hounds in front, and falcon on wrist, went out as if the chief aim was to hunt and fish. all were crazed, and at first no sane mind was left to point out the dangers, or prepare a commissariat, or plan a campaign. chapter iii. the march and the battle. [sidenote: _trace of common sense_] there seems, at first, just one trace of common sense, one semblance of a plan for the movement of the hordes and mobs toward the holy land. some who had had a taste of war agreed that, as the numbers were great enough for several armies, they should not start at the same time nor traverse the same route, and that the rallying-place should be constantinople. [sidenote: _peter chosen general_] [sidenote: _a monomaniac_] those who had followed peter from place to place, eager to be the first to start, chose the hermit for their general. it would seem as if peter had seen enough of war to know that his undisciplined mob could meet but one fate. it is very probable that he had become a monomaniac before he began to preach the crusade, and that, for the greater part of his career, he had lost whatever balance of judgment he had had. it is sometimes very hard to distinguish between the unbalanced and the enthusiast, between the enthusiast and the fanatic, and between the fanatic and the monomaniac. men can certainly be sane on every point but one. peter in accepting the military command, passed the bounds of reason. a monk might well think himself called to preach on a great theme, to arouse the nations to a great duty. he might easily and properly feel himself competent to be the prophet of god in denouncing the sluggish and the time-serving. but to accept military command without experience of war except as an observer, and to lead an untrained and unprepared mob from western europe to palestine through difficulties of which, as a pilgrim, he had had experience, connotes insanity, or, at the best, "zeal without knowledge." [sidenote: _wore old cassock_] [sidenote: _walter the penniless_] he did not assume a new uniform. he wore his old one. it was still his coarse woolen cassock, his hood, his sandals, and his rope, and he rode the same old mule with which his wanderings began. his army was not less than eighty thousand strong. but the camp followers were almost as many, made up of old men, women, and children. peter's crazy faith promised food to all. they had joined him from northern france, and as he approached germany great numbers from southern and central france swelled his ranks. a gleam of sense appears in the division of his rabble into two bands, one to be led by himself; the other by walter the penniless, who appears, from some points of view, like a twin of peter. historians have little to say of walter's origin. some say he was of gentle birth and had exchanged his all for his title of "penniless;" others that walter was not put in command until his uncle died. the only certain thing seems to be that his poverty and enthusiasm were equal to those of his followers. [sidenote: _france helps crusaders_] all goes well while the crusaders march through loyal and liberal france. help was literally poured into their laps; nor did the germans, from the earliest historic days easily touched by noble sentiments, fail to respond both to the plea for the holy land and for practical sympathy. the rhine people smoothed the pilgrims' way. they were, however, to meet trouble on the banks of the danube. [sidenote: _western christendom disordered_] [sidenote: _rumors of cannibalism_] the expectation that the end of the world was to come about the year 1000 was, for a century before that date, well-nigh universal and dominant. as that year approached the condition apparently confirmed the prophetic warnings of the new testament. western christendom seemed to be hopelessly disordered. it was at this time that a worse invasion than that of the turks threatened europe. the magyars, or huns, were barbarous, irresponsible, undrilled, and rapacious; less responsible to authority and less moved by pity than the turks had ever been. in their love for indiscriminate massacre they seem to have been the wild indians of europe. they came, nobody anticipating them, nobody knowing from whence. their ranks were filled up and increased, nobody knew how. rumors of cannibalism preceded them, and they were believed to be less than human in form and mind. a finn might have partly understood their talk, but, to the people they attacked, their speech was gibberish. [sidenote: _huns in europe_] the weakness and divisions of christendom invited their approach and palsied resistance. at almost the same date bremen on the baltic and constance on the lake, felt their power. they swarmed over the alps. they menaced southern france, and peered from the pyrenees at spain. italy felt their heaviest hand, and rome saw their devastating flames almost under its walls. for fifty years christendom quaked and fell before them, and halted them for the first time in a. d. 936 by the hands of henry the fowler. gradually they were restrained to the limits of modern hungary, and in the eleventh century they were christianized and the worst enemies of christianity became guides and caterers to the crusaders, while not sharing largely in their enthusiasms. [sidenote: _the bulgarians_] it was very different with the bulgarians south of the danube over whose great plain of sophia a smoother path would be found if the crusaders could reach it. sometimes protecting, sometimes robbing constantinople, their chiefs drank from the gold-banded skull of a byzantine emperor. basil conquered them only to show himself more barbarous by putting out the eyes of fifteen thousand bulgarian captives. [sidenote: _bulgarian allegiance_] [sidenote: _queer christianity_] at the beginning of the crusades bulgaria was nominally subject to the greek empire, but held that authority in contempt. heavy forests then grew to the southern edge of the danube where now there are bare hills. this mingling of forest and hill gave to the bulgarians a security in self-rule which was only, in general, ineffectively interrupted by the army of the empire. the bulgarian type of christianity did not extend the idea of brotherhood beyond its own borders. they could cheerfully make themselves, without the least trouble of conscience, the terror of their christian brethren who were making their way to jerusalem. [sidenote: _bulgars attack crusaders_] the march, which began in piety and was conducted for a time with due consideration for the rights of others, soon, almost of necessity, became a raid on the property of the people through whose lands they passed. bulgarian authority not being able to supply provisions to walter's army, they foraged along their lines of march, and, when resisted, burned houses and slew their inmates. the bulgars answered in kind; attacked the crusaders when loaded down with booty; penned some scores of them in a church to which fire was promptly put, and one hundred and forty were cremated. walter did not stop to attempt to revenge, but dragged after him a starving and diminishing army. [sidenote: _crusaders learn something_] the governor of nissa, moved by their condition, refreshed them with food, warmed them with clothing, and strengthened them with arms. taught by the bulgarian lesson, they passed through thrace without thieving, and came at last, worn and miserable, to the walls of constantinople, where alexius permitted them to await the arrival of peter and his army. [sidenote: _peter's brave follies_] [sidenote: _a devastated country_] peter and his army passed safely through germany, but behaved worse and fared worse than walter and his following. the frontiers of hungary were decorated with the bodies of crusaders hanging at the gates of semlin. immediately peter ordered war. the people of the city fled to a hill, with the danube on one side and a forest on the other. they were driven into the river, four thousand being put to the sword. belgrade first knew of the battle by the corpses floating past her walls. naturally, on penetrating further into bulgaria, the crusaders found only abandoned cities, food carried away, and as much as was possible, the road bereft of support of any kind. at nissa they found a well-fortified city, where bulgarians looked down from the walls on the crusaders, and these last did not dare to try their strength on such an obstacle. [sidenote: _a great loss_] at nissa they seemed to have obtained supplies and marched on. some germans paid off real or fancied scores by burning some mills on the nissava river. the nissans fell on peter's rear guard, killed all who fought, captured two thousand carriages and many prisoners. peter turned back immediately, and flamed with wrath as he saw the dead who lay near nissa. [sidenote: _a tart answer_] peter cooled down enough to send messengers to the city and ask, on the ground of a common christianity, for the restoration of the prisoners and spoil taken from the crusaders. the governor of the city tartly reminded the messengers that christian conduct alone proved men to be christians, and that the crusaders having made the first attack, he could only count them as enemies. this answer fired the crusaders to fight. peter, apparently growing in wisdom by experience, tried to hold the warriors back and begged them to negotiate. to wrath opposition is always treason, and peter found himself regarded as a coward and placarded as a traitor. [sidenote: _fighting and negotiations_] while peter was parleying with the governor of nissa, two thousand crusaders tried to scale the city walls and carry the city by assault. the bulgarians drove them back. a general fight began even while the two chiefs were negotiating. peter proved his courage by waving his crucifix between the combatants and demanding that the fighting should cease. the uproar of battle gave no heed to his voice. his army was utterly routed and cut to pieces. they had fought without command, and were beaten into death and disorder. the bulgarians captured horses, equipages, the chest which held the offerings of the faithful, and the women and children. the greater skill and strength of the bulgars won the fight which the unreasoning fury of peter's followers had provoked. [sidenote: _peter's five hundred_] on the top of a hill near by peter bemoaned his losses and, it is said, his foolhardiness. at that moment but five hundred men answered his call. the next day seven thousand who had been put to flight rejoined him at the call of his trumpet. they came in day by day until thirty thousand were mustered. the rest had perished. [sidenote: _penitent rebels_] the survivors had small stomach or ability for fighting. they made their way toward thrace in a humble and peaceable frame, and seemed to feel the mistake of rebellion against authority. pity came to their relief. their thin bodies, their staggering gait, their rags, and their tears brought them the aid denied to their arms. none seemed to have turned back. the combatants who were not killed still kept their faces toward the holy city. [sidenote: _a greek welcome_] there seems good evidence that the greeks would have met them differently had they been less helpless. the aversion of the greeks to the latins had grown now for centuries. the latins were tolerable to the greeks only when the greeks needed their aid. the latins had arrived. for the present they could do no harm. the emperor, alexius, intending to complain, sent messengers to peter. these returned with tales of weakness and suffering. they were permitted to journey on, and, with palms waving, came at last to constantinople. [sidenote: _peter captivates alexius_] peter, an object of universal curiosity, if not of admiration, had audience with the emperor, captivated the monarch as he captivated all, and went forth loaded with help for his army and some good advice. this last was to the effect that peter had better await the arrival of the military princes and generals who had pledged themselves to the crusade. but these, perhaps with calculated delay, lingered at home while other bodies of crusaders as ill prepared, as troublesome, and as ill-fated as those which had followed the lead of peter, marched away. [sidenote: _roving crusaders_] two notable instances may be given. gottschalk, a german priest, had gathered fifteen thousand crusaders, who made him their leader. his army arrived in hungary near the end of summer. here they gave themselves up to every kind of wrong-doing. they left behind them daily a trail of outraged women, robbery, and arson. the germans were good fighters and checked the punitive expeditions of the hungarian ruler. what was not possible to valor was accomplished by trickery. the crusaders admitted the hungarian chiefs to their camps and fraternized with them. they yielded to promises and allowed themselves to be disarmed. promptly they were attacked and slaughtered. [sidenote: _crusaders practice on jews_] [sidenote: _commerce in jewish hands_] incidentally the jews suffered from the crusading craze. one band of rascally and ungovernable germans, who had many sins to be washed away and who availed themselves of the hope for absolution in the promise of the pope to those who fought for the holy tomb, thought it ridiculous to attack the unitarian mussulman so far away, when the unitarian jew who had slain the lord was close at hand. then, as now, the commerce of the world was in jewish hands, and it was felt that so much wealth ought not to be in such hands. that element which still exists in the jewish character of being purse-proud and offensively familiar in prosperity, is reported to have twitted the christians with the worship of a jewish prophet as a god. [sidenote: _slaughter of jews_] whatever was the proportion of motive, it is certain that this mob fell on the jews and robbed and killed all they found in the cities of the rhine and the moselle. it is said that many perished by kindling flames they felt to be more mes they felt to be more merciful than their christian persecutors. others, with stones tied to their necks, drowned themselves and their treasures in the adjacent rivers. let us be thankful that there was pity somewhere and that the bishops of worms, treves, mayence, and spires gave asylum to the persecuted race and denounced the marauding bands as beyond the pale of the church. [sidenote: _a goose for a leader_] [sidenote: _fear of such maniacs_] this band set out for jerusalem in pious rapture that the soldiers of god had been given victory and had been supplied by the god of battles with money for the journey! blinded with superstition, they measure themselves to us by what they did. albert of aix tells us that they found a goose "filled with the holy ghost," which they made leader in equal authority with a goat not less filled with the same spirit (_et capellam non minus eodem repletam_)! fear of such maniacs closed the gates of hungarian cities. the city now known among germans as ungarish-altenburg, situated in the marshy embouchure of the leytha, was attacked by them by means of a causeway made of the trunks of trees. ladders were built, and walls, defended by darts, arrows, and boiling oil, were almost scaled and won, when the breaking of ladders caused a panic and the plain was soon covered by fugitives who had, like all panicky soldiers, thrown away their arms. multitudes of these were butchered without resistance while others died hopelessly mired in the marshes. [sidenote: _horrors of the march_] surely these are enough to show the horrors of such marches in the name of christ. a sentence may express the fate of those who survived. the bulgarians almost finished what the huns began. the greeks received the news with joy. [sidenote: _forget their lessons_] at length peter and walter, between them, could muster an army of one hundred thousand men, when the re-enforcements from italian cities were counted. still under the walls of constantinople it was not long before they forgot the lessons of their defeats and began again to rob and murder. alexius soon found it expedient to ferry them across the bosporus. the subjects of alexius suffered worse than the turks at first. anna comnena, perhaps prejudiced, yet quoted by michaud, declares that the normans in peter's army when near nicea, chopped children to pieces, stuck others on spits, and harried old people. the germans, stung by norman gibes, took a fort in the mountain near nicea, killed the garrison and there met the attack of the turks only to be slain by the sword. their commander purchased his life by apostasy and a treasonable oath. [sidenote: _cruelties of crusaders_] once again the army sets forward, against the protest of the penniless walter, but by his forced consent. once again they meet the reward of ignorance and undisciplined courage. [sidenote: _walter killed at nicea_] the ruler of nicea, concealing a part of his army in the woods, waited for the crusaders at the foot of a hill. the turks pretended flight, but suddenly turned, surrounded the crusaders on all sides, routed them, and slew them with dreadful carnage. walter died of seven arrow wounds. the whole army found refuge in a castle close to the sea. the chronicler says, "their monument was a heap of bones piled upon the plain of nicea." [sidenote: _turkish contempt for crusaders_] the two results in the east were intense prejudice among the greeks against the whole movement and contempt of the turks for christian warriors. [sidenote: _peter belabors his followers_] [sidenote: _peter's failure as leader_] but where was peter? losing all authority among the crusaders he went back, before the battle of nicea, to constantinople and turned the batteries of his abusive eloquence on those he had lately commanded. he called them robbers and brigands, and said that their sins shut them out of the holy land. in this he follows the sad habit of all, or almost all, of those who lead their followers into trouble. it is probable that he had at this moment led three hundred thousand to death. it may be that his conscience troubled him a little, though in general the fanatic is superior to such pangs. at any rate peter calmed himself by the consideration that his army was chiefly a rascally crowd. this was the final proof that he was not of the stuff of which leaders are made. the verdict of the historian is just: "he had neither the prudence, the coolness, nor the firmness of the commander." he could rouse but not control. he could preach, but could not conserve the results of his preaching. hereafter we shall see him as a preacher chiefly or in kindred work. others supply true leadership. [sidenote: _later leadership wiser_] those who lingered at home, when the armies of peter the hermit and walter the penniless started for jerusalem, may have been of the wiser sort, and certainly seemed to have profited by the calamities of their brethren, both in the matter of preparation and in the treatment of the nations through which they passed. the first army was led by enthusiasm almost wholly. the second had true military leadership. [sidenote: _christianity coalesces with military spirit_] [sidenote: _defects of crusading christianity_] [sidenote: _europe callous as to losses_] it is interesting to observe how the two great dominant forces, christianity and the military spirit, co-operated, and even coalesced, yet allowed neither to govern in its proper sphere. the early crusaders had piety enough to hold them to the march, notwithstanding the awful trail of death. they did not have enough to prevent their behaving on the way more like devils than christians. they had sufficient military spirit to make them willing to fight, but not enough to make adequate preparation. the christianity of that time had devotional but not humanizing power. it carried along faith, obedience to ceremonial, abundant prayers, personal humility; but it had little restraint for passion whether corporal or revengeful. its hand was powerless to restrain fury or prevent or relieve misery "the knight before the battle was as devout as the bishop; the bishop in the battle as ferocious as the knight."[5] little better fate availed the women when christians prevailed than when turks won the day. whatever mourning there was for individuals, the failure to win the holy city appears to have given more sorrow to europe than the death of three hundred thousand men. [sidenote: _peter ceases to be general_] one might gather up at this point the remaining appearances of peter, and call his work done. but while he ceased to be a military leader, his work continued, his spiritual influence remained. we shall see him at one time arguing with turks, and at another praying for victory over them. his strength and his weakness can only be brought out by briefly sketching some of the men who took up leadership after his failure, and with whose victories he was identified as priest, prophet, and participant. [sidenote: _godfrey of bouillon_] [sidenote: _a great character_] the noblest, greatest of the leaders was godfrey of bouillon, duke of lower lorraine. born in brabant, the blood of charlemagne was in his veins through his mother. he had fought for the antipope, and was the first to enter rome when captured by the army of henry. his sentiments changed until he was ready to expiate his sacrilege by a pilgrimage to jerusalem and as a warrior for her deliverance. a giant in strength, a hero in bravery, his simplicity was that of a hermit. he was wise enough not to be reckless, and courageous enough never to shrink from the supreme moment of danger. the common soldier was his friend. his word to all was his bond. men felt braver and safer under his lead. others might seem by name to be weightier than he in leadership, but in fact he composed quarrels and compelled unity by his wisdom, and, in moments of peril, what he thought prevailed. [sidenote: _accessions to his leadership_] when his leadership was known, france and the rhine country gave him of their best in treasure, of men, arms, and money. women denied their amiable vanities that their jewels might furnish outfit for husbands and sons. the abbe guibert[6] declares that what avarice and war had hidden, now came leaping in marvelous abundance into the hands of the chiefs of the army. heaps of gold were visible in their tents, as if fruits had been carried there instead of untold wealth. yet some robbed their vassals that they might be ready. godfrey sold his dominions chiefly to the bishops so that it was well said that the secular princes stripped themselves for the crusaders while the bishops enriched themselves by the enthusiasm of the laity. [sidenote: _mixed motives again_] [sidenote: _godfrey welcome_] yet here again we must see mixed motives. to regain jerusalem was also to be enriched by saracenic spoils. to give up a petty government or heritage in europe might lead to dominion in asia. these things were promised by the authority of pope and general. many great names acceded to godfrey's roster, and aided in leading a fairly disciplined and restrained army toward palestine. the huns and bulgars who had slain the hosts of peter welcomed the army of godfrey, and sped them on their way with food and prayers. he sent to the east more than eighty thousand men. their advance made it easier for the pope to put the dominion of unfriendly kings in peril by excommunications and other ecclesiastical penalties. he trimmed the talons of princes while their defenders were absent. papal authority rose as secular authority went down. it gave the people peace at home at the expense of national independence. [sidenote: _fear of eclipse_] how much science has done for humanity in relieving it of evil signs and omens we may know by this, that the reddened moon under eclipse and the waving streamers of the aurora combined to persuade the people that the war was of god. the indifferent were stirred by these prodigies, and joined the crusade, and italy was moved as never before. more princes, knights, and bishops than can be recorded joined in the march. alexius, the craven emperor, who had invited latin help, trembled with good reason at the hundreds of thousands now headed toward his capital. he was a true greek in sending ambassadors to greet them and in hiding his troops where they could harass them. [sidenote: _confused tracks_] [sidenote: _a mean emperor_] no one can untangle the tracks of the many bands as described by the annalists of each expedition. some went the ruggedest way; some the smoothest. alexius made a prisoner of a shipwrecked count, only to have godfrey shake him into frenzies of fear by attacking one of his provinces. he purchased allegiance from his prisoner only to make himself and his prisoner objects of contempt. he tried to starve godfrey's army by refusing provisions, only to have that army bring the fear of famine to his capital through the energy with which it helped itself. the approach of christmas was used as a basis of peace. the foraging ceased, and alexius provided food. [sidenote: _christians quarreling_] the spectacle of disagreement and of growing contempt for each other is painful to any who this day bear the christian name. the greeks had the same contempt for the latins which the chinese have for the foreign devil. unable to resist their arms, they took refuge in the futilities of philosophy as their proof of superiority, and in the trickery which, at some periods, had helped them well. but nothing could meet or restrain the skill, courage, and discipline of the forces pledged to the cross, and no complacency was proof against the contempt of the latins for the greeks, who, calling themselves christians, were indifferent to the cry of the oppressed city of the savior's passion. [sidenote: _alexius deceives godfrey_] alexius did succeed in blinding godfrey, and possibly bohemond, who was coming toward constantinople through macedonia. he obtained pledges from both for the integrity of his empire, and apparent submission. alexius used money because he could not use force, to create dissensions and to win over the venial. his temporary success would be astonishing were it not almost always the case that the craft of an old civilization at first befools the inexperience of more youthful, more rugged, and more trusting nations. alexius finally got all to the other side of the bosporus, but failed to wheedle all who came near his throne. [sidenote: _on the track of peter_] [sidenote: _the crusaders' discipline_] at this point, as the army marched through bulgaria, traces of peter and his army begin to appear. refugees who had hidden in the woods came to the camps in rags and emaciation. the castle where rinaldo sought refuge was pointed out to the new comers as the tomb of all his companions. the mountain at the foot of which walter's army had died was indicated with tears. the site of the camp where walter had left the women and the sick, and which was captured by the turks at the supreme moment of the mass, only that the venerable might be slain and the women and children carried into slavery, roused the indignation of the crusaders beyond any other spot. it had one good effect. in bringing on a much needed unity, it brought also a discipline enforced by the calamities whose evident cause was the lack of it. [sidenote: _arrive at nicea_] the spring brought the opportunity of battle to the crusaders, and a strong foe met them in the person of the turk david and his army. he had fortified nicea, a city famous for two councils and now the capital of david's kingdom. nature defended it by high mountains and a lake, and art by walls, towers, and flooded ditches. garrisoned by the best of david's troops, one hundred thousand more waited near by to their help. five hundred thousand foot-soldiers and one hundred thousand horsemen came at length in sight of the city for the first real battle of their crusade against the infidel. these, in camping before the city, divided their allotments by walls piled from the bones of the crusaders who had fallen on that field. nineteen languages were heard in the camp, and each nation fought as it would. clash and clang soon came, and the turks, routed, fled to the hills, only to return the next day and to be beaten a second time. three thousand turkish heads were hurled by catapults into the city by way of information. [sidenote: _awful scenes_] [sidenote: _bodies hurled into city_] the records paint an awful picture of the siege. whatever of mechanism or method was known to greeks or romans was employed by besiegers and besieged. stones, fireballs, bunches of arrows, heavy beams were fired into the city by ballista and catapult, and were fired back with equal skill and abundance. the battering-rams breached the wall and found new walls rising just within. the besieged fished with iron hooks from the top of the walls, and hauled the captured crusaders alive to their death at the summit. stripped, they were used as stones for catapults, and stark naked were fired back into the christian camp. a goliath among the saracens being killed, the crusaders were greatly heartened, and, having gained some advantages, redoubled their attack. the enemy's supplies by way of the lake were cut off, and their resistance grew feebler. a tower was undermined, and the thunder of its fall in the night alarmed both christians and turks. [sidenote: _the trick of alexius_] after a siege of seven weeks, and when the city was ready to fall, alexius succeeded in putting his emissary into the city, who persuaded the turks to surrender to him, and the besiegers found the standard of alexius floating from the walls. the indignation of some was stayed by presents, and craft brought tancred to a slow oath of allegiance. but the mass understood the treachery, and henceforth good feeling between latin and greek was impossible. [sidenote: _resumes march_] resting awhile near nicea, the crusaders in two bodies at length resumed their march through asia minor. one was led by godfrey, the other by bohemond and tancred. both were equally ignorant of the perils of the mountains and of the arid plains which were in their way. bohemond's army was surprised near a river by which they were encamped. wave after wave of turks rolled over them and were driven back. their women were captured by the turks when they did not first prefer death at their own hands. [sidenote: _bravery of the leaders_] [sidenote: _rout of the turks_] the different leaders--bohemond, robert the duke of normandy, tancred, richard of salermo, stephen, count of blois--threw themselves into the fight, drove the turks back, but yielded ground, through exhaustion, to fresh turkish re-enforcements. all seemed lost when raymond and godfrey appeared with the other division of the christian army. these chased the turks into the mountains, flanked them on both sides, got into their rear, and met them as they fled down the mountain. the wearied ranks which had despaired had joined in the charge. the turks were routed; twenty thousand fell on the field, and the enemy's camp fell into crusading hands. returning to bury their four thousand dead, they stripped off the saracen robes and swords and seem little less than barbarians in their orgies of joy. [sidenote: _pestilence and famine_] the turks now gave up direct battle, and devastated the country through which the christians must pass. determined to separate no more, the crusaders became by their numbers more exposed to the dangers of pestilence and famine. almost all the horses perished in the desolated country. the knights laden with armor found it impossible to march, and some rode asses and oxen when they could be found. the lowliest animals, even hogs were made burden-bearers until these, too, perished and left their loads to be wasted on the road. after unmentionable horrors of birth and death, the army was rescued by the finding of water by the dogs, who, however, exposed by their finding it many incautious drinkers to death from too quickly filling themselves with water. the fair and fertile pisidia reached, the crusaders were in comfort, plenty, and peace. [sidenote: _victory opens road_] the news of their victories preceding them opened the timid cities to their entrance, and brought them abundant supplies. brought into despair by the apparent death of raymond of toulouse and the serious wounding of godfrey by a bear, they rejoiced in the recovery of both as a miracle in the camp. how childish these and other giants in warfare were, appeared by the breaking out of rivalries and quarrels even in the face of the enemy. [sidenote: _baldwin forgets the cross_] these details multiplied as they passed on until baldwin forgot the cross entirely, and became king in edessa, which served as a city of help and refuge to later crusaders. [sidenote: _famine and pestilence again_] [sidenote: _bad news and desertions_] a dreadful mountain passage where men must march in single file, and where pack-horses were crowded off precipices, introduces them at length to syria, within whose bounds the palestine of their desire was included. antioch lay in their way, and was besieged with many difficulties and dangers; some from the presumption of a foolish faith; others from the thoroughness with which supplies had been destroyed by the turks. famine came on through the lack of foresight, and pestilence quickly followed. the winter rains inundated the camps, and the dead in the general distress were left unburied. the foraging parties could repulse the turks and even capture their camps, but could not find within practicable range food enough for the army. their communications were cut off by sea through the withdrawal of the italian and flemish fleets, and the army settled down to abject misery, despair, and death, as they heard that swerro, king of denmark, with his promised bride and fifteen hundred warriors, had been slain by the turks while marching to join the main army. almost for the first time soldiers began to desert, hopeless of capturing antioch or of reaching the holy land. [sidenote: _peter reappears_] peter the hermit, who appears to have marched silently with the army, now, of all men, shrinking under the criticisms of the army, flees secretly from the camp. they had lost the duke of normandy, tatius, william of melun, by temporary or permanent desertion, but the flight of peter made the most noise and caused the greatest scandal. he was punished by tancred and brought back in disgrace, and was compelled to swear on the bible that he would never run away again. [sidenote: _a wicked camp_] [sidenote: _remedy for wickedness_] perhaps he ran from the awful wickedness of the camp as well as from the famine and pestilence. the soldiers, expecting soon to die, gave themselves up to gambling, every phase of lust, and to drunkenness, when the means thereof could be obtained. a good element of the clergy, notably the bishop of puy, by word and example sought to stay the full flood of wickedness. it happened then, as in every age, that a sign, something seen of the eye, had more power than words addressed to the conscience. an aurora, a rare phenomenon to most, was claimed by the preachers to be a warning from god. processions of penitents began to march about the camp. penalties for drunkenness were devised, the hair being cut off in drunken sleep. blasphemers were branded. turks and syrians were spitted and roasted by bohemond, who thus rid the camp of unfriendly mouths and dangerous spies. the good bishop who preached against sin wrought practical godliness by compelling the soldiers to plant the fields about antioch. this provided food and persuaded the turks of the indomitable spirit of the crusaders. provisions began to come in greater abundance, and pestilence was stayed by the opening of spring. [sidenote: _egyptians seek reliance with crusaders_] it is a curious fact that at this time an alliance, wisely rejected for the most part, was sought by the egyptians with the christians as against the turks. this condition would have put the christians wholly in the hands of the caliph of egypt the moment the allied armies had possessed jerusalem. the spirits of the crusaders were greatly raised by a victory over twenty thousand turks who came to the relief of antioch. two thousand men and one thousand horses were killed. the "gentleness" of the crusaders' conception of christianity was shown by loading two hundred turkish heads on four camels and sending them as a present to the departing egyptian envoys, and two hundred more turkish heads were thrown into the city of antioch, while many more were stuck on pikes around the walls. [sidenote: _carlessness brings attack_] but they met disaster as well, because nothing seemed to make them see the importance of discipline and of precaution against surprise. going unarmed in great numbers to st. simeon to bring provisions from the italian fleets, they were dispersed by the turks. godfrey, whose great figure is always seen when disaster is to be retrieved, follows the turks, heavy with their plunder, routs them, and, having made wise disposition of troops, prevents the retreating army from re-enforcing antioch. [sidenote: _slaughter of the turks_] [sidenote: _details of valor_] the besieged in antioch witnessed the awful battle from their walls, and the river orontes drowned two thousand who escaped from the crusaders' swords. a great picture of personal valor is seen when, in hand-to-hand battle with a saracen leader, robert of normandy salutes him with the words, "i devote thy impure soul to the powers of hell," and splits his skull to the shoulders with a single blow. even a greater tale of ferocious strength is told of godfrey, who, when his shield had been broken by a great saracen, raised himself on his stirrups and cut with such appalling strength that one part of the saracen remained on the horse and the other fell to the ground. the mohammedans having buried most of their number who died near their walls in their arms and robes, camp followers of christian name dug them up, stripped off all valuables, and paraded through the christian camps two thousand turkish heads, which were thrown, when the procession was over, into the orontes. [sidenote: _an armenian scoundrel_] [sidenote: _antioch taken by treachery_] these details are surely enough to show the diabolical cruelty with which the siege of antioch was carried on by both sides. the wily governor of antioch decrees a truce, and breaks it as soon as he has provisioned the city. what would possibly have been refused to arms was given, after seven months' siege to policy and stratagem. bohemond found an armenian, a renegade christian, among the commanders of the army of antioch, managed to meet him, and baited him with great promises. the project to buy the way into the city was rejected by the noble minds, but bohemond took advantage of the approach of a great turkish army, then only seven days distant, to fill the camp with dread of surrender and of safety only in talk. phirous, the armenian, had been well trained by bohemond, and offered to surrender his corner of the city only to bohemond. fear of destruction brought all the leaders to bohemond's idea except raymond. the defenders of antioch suspected treason through phirous, and almost defeated the plans of that scoundrel. but the renegade, keeping an inscrutable face under question, and being dismissed with praises, stabbed his own brother to the heart when he refused to aid the traitorous plan, and in the blackness of a night storm admitted one and another by means of a leather ladder until there were enough to take the city and put the surprised and awakened mussulmans to the sword. te flag of bohemond waving over antioch, but at the expense of six thousand defenders dead. phirous received great wealth for his treachery; followed the crusaders to jerusalem; remained christian for two years; then turned mohammedan again, and died detested and abhorred by mohammedan and christian alike. [sidenote: _attacked by egyptian army_] [sidenote: _famine once more_] the fall of antioch was quickly followed by new dangers for the christians. the army whose approach brought them to acquiesce in the treachery of phirous was soon at hand, and the christians were soon besieged in front of and within the city they had just won. famine once more was on them. horses were eaten first, and then hogs and dogs; finally the leather of their boots and the corpses of saracens. the usual desertions followed, and starvation brought all the horrors of frenzy and blasphemy from those who believed god ought to correct human follies by miraculous power. alexius, who had begun a march to the relief of antioch, stopped when deserters told him the situation of the latins. perhaps he was not ill-pleased over the news. [sidenote: _encouraged by prodigies_] the historians of the time say that the courage of the crusaders was revived through their superstitions. at the moment of the greatest despair and when the infidel general had refused their terms of surrender, prodigies and visions came for their encouragement. st. ambrose, the virgin, jesus himself, were seen by some in the churches. the leaders bound themselves anew by oath not to desert the cause, and the army finally followed the example of their captains. new wonders were reported to confirm their resolve. a priest in his sleep saw st. andrew three times, who told him to dig near the principal altar of st. peter's church, and he would find the head of the spear which pierced the redeemer's side. this should lead them to victory. after three days of prayer twelve of the clergy and knights dug in silence, and had gone down twelve feet without avail. at night, when the twelve witnesses were at prayers, barthelmi jumped into the hole and climbed out with the iron in his hands! [sidenote: _peter delivers challenge_] [sidenote: _peter's boldness_] whether the christian leaders felt that they could better spare peter than a general we do not know, but we do know that, with the great revival of courage, challenge was sent to the saracens for general engagement or single combat, and peter the hermit was the messenger. he was in his element when he could talk. though treated contemptuously by his audience, he spoke as if he was the greatest ruler of the earth. it is a wonder that they did not promptly kill him for his insolence. he told them that asia minor properly belonged to christians, that god had permitted it to fall into turkish hands on account of christian sins, but god was now arisen to fight on the christian side. "now," he says, "leave and go to your own country. we will not humble you. we will pray for your conversion to the true faith. if you will not go, and will not become christians, let us decide all matters by battle by a few knights, or by one, or by a general fight." [sidenote: _embassy driven away_] the perilous situation of the christians was known to kerbogha, the mohammedan general, and he was enraged at the impudence of peter. "you are as good as conquered and come to me to dictate terms. go back and tell them they must receive conditions, and not make them. if you will acknowledge mohammed, i will feed and clothe you, and may leave antioch in your hands. if not, we shall see what the sword will do!" peter and his escort were driven off, and were several times in danger of death on the way back. battle was ordered for the next day by the christian captains. during the night a hidden supply of provisions was found. the crusaders strengthened themselves by a meal and the offices of religion, and day coming, the christian army, representing the twelve apostles, marched out in twelve divisions. [sidenote: _carrying the lance-head_] [sidenote: _disposition for battle_] raymond d'agiles carried the lance-head and fixed their attention on it. some of the priests chanted a warlike psalm in the front rank, while others blessed the outgoing army from the walls. the walls and the hills echoed the cry, "god wills it! god wills it!" the appearance of the army was such as to fill the mussulmans with contempt. ragged, thin, and weak, mounted on asses and camels, on anything which could carry them, they deployed to meet the fifteen masses of saracens. the crusaders soon cut to pieces the two thousand who guarded the bridge of antioch, and ranged themselves where the mountain protected them from surprise. the great names commanded the wings and the center, with bohemond in reserve. the early hours were friendly to the christians. later they were sorely hurt by a surprise from a body of saracens who had passed around the mountain and had attacked their rear. the grass was fired in front of the christians by the sultan of nicea, a fact which was near ruining the prospects of the christians. [sidenote: _prodigy of horsemen_] [sidenote: _hundred thousand turks killed_] once again a prodigy is reported. a squadron descends from the mountains, led by three white horsemen. a bishop, perhaps himself the inventor of this pious fraud, cries out to the wavering crusaders: "behold, heavenly succor has come!" instantly the christians revive and renew the attack, and the saracens were put to rout. failing even to rally on the other side of the river, they left behind them their arms and their baggage. their general had only a small body-guard as he fled toward the euphrates. with horses captured on the field, the christians kept up the pursuit. a hundred thousand of the infidels died, and four thousand christians won the martyr's crown. the battle enriched the crusaders beyond any hope or experience, and antioch was filled with the captured booty. the historian declares, "horrors had made the christians invincible. this was the only miracle." [sidenote: _disputes follow victory_] with this astounding victory the march of the crusaders almost ceased to meet armed resistance. the mass of the army clamored to march on to jerusalem. the leaders were divided. some said, "let us march before the enemy recovers from the terror of our arms." the majority of the leaders forgot the holy city in the pleasures, securities, and conquests of syria. this gave strength to their arguments to wait for the re-enforcements of men and horses for which they asked the home authorities. [sidenote: _fifty thousand christians die of pestilence_] pestilence was the penalty of delay, and fifty thousand old and new warriors died in and near antioch. yet in such times christians could quarrel, and bohemond was denied by the count of toulouse the full possession of antioch. they were ready to fight. others followed their example, and all important time was wasted by quarrels and recriminations. at the very foot of the altar some of the leaders lied and quarreled to gain power. bands roamed over syria wherever there was a chance to loot; fighting over it when taken, and dying of starvation and thirst whenever they met unexpected resistance. [sidenote: _piety and villainy_] the world has never seen a greater mixture of piety and villainy than among these crusaders. they could rape, rob, and murder with a good conscience, yet must be numbered among the most heroic of men. they endured uncomplainingly long marches in heat and cold, in hunger, thirst, and pestilence. they fought superior numbers with amazing courage. the one supreme virtue was valor against man and beast. [sidenote: _excursions while waiting_] [sidenote: _careless again_] the long wait for orders to march to jerusalem sent some leaders out to take cities over which they might rule, and others to visit the christian leaders who had already won thrones. but most remained in a demoralizing inactivity until a prodigy of electrical balls of light, or possibly a meteoric shower, started, by various interpretations, the mass into securing their rear by the capture and subjugation of several syrian cities. in one of these sieges the saracens threw something like greek fire down on the besiegers, and followed this with hives of bees. always the crusaders seemed to be without a proper preparation for food, and before more than one city the christian soldiers cooked and ate the bodies of their enemies; and it is even reported that human flesh was sold in the shambles of their camp, as the flesh of dogs certainly was. [sidenote: _saracens defile the cross_] in all this horror the spirits of the crusaders were fortified by the outrages of the saracens on the symbol of christianity. they erected crosses on their walls, covered them with filth, and reviled the worshipers. it was poor policy for the besieged. it infuriated the natural passions and inflamed the religious zeal of the besiegers. constructing engines which shattered the walls, the crusaders made themselves masters of the fortifications. in the dusk they did not dare to enter the city. in the morning it appeared to be deserted, but the inhabitants were discovered in subterranean refuges. they were soon smoked out, and were slaughtered without regard to age or sex. thus fell the city of maarah, of which no stone was left. awful as this was for men wearing the cross of christ, it spread such terror that life may have been saved thereby, since other cities willingly opened their gates. [sidenote: _soldiers desire attack_] the common soldiers refused longer to interest themselves in the quarrels of their leaders, and, hearing that the egyptians had taken jerusalem, demanded to be led on, and threatened to choose new leaders unless their old ones showed the way to jerusalem. raymond finding that he must lead or be left behind, forsook his ambition, led in a procession of penitence, and gave the signal for departure. chapter iv. the capture of jerusalem. during the six months after the capture of antioch most of the leaders seemed to have contemplated no forward step. [sidenote: _raymond orders march_] [sidenote: _re-enforcements from england_] [sidenote: _quarrels and miracles_] [sidenote: _alexius and his craft_] [sidenote: _egyptian bribes_] but the orders of raymond to march filled many with enthusiasm, and, under the lead of raymond, tancred, and the duke of normandy, the army traversed the territories of syrian cã�â¦sarea, hamath, and edessa. they were welcomed by moslem and christian alike. fear pleaded for this with the first, and sympathy with the last. protection was sought at the hands of the invaders, and presents and food were abundantly provided. they were surprised and delighted by the return of christian prisoners believed to have perished on the battle-field. a portion of the army reached laodicea, and welcomed there re-enforcements from england. but the main object was still postponed, and the army under separate leaders attacked neighboring cities. raymond sat down before archas, and was firmly resisted. godfrey went to lay siege to gibel, and raymond of turenne to tortosa. this period of delay and of excursions for the sake of loot, was chiefly occupied by those who remained in camp, with disgraceful quarrels when not engaged in inventing miracles, and noising them abroad. the first seem to have been largely checked by the appearance of an ambassador from the emperor alexius of constantinople, who proved himself, while professing friendship, about the worst enemy the crusaders had. just now he reproached them with gentleness, being afraid of them, for not putting the cities they had captured under his dominion. he promised to follow them with an army into jerusalem if the crusaders would give him time to prepare. sick of his treacheries, and feeling only contempt for him personally, his new complaints and promises served only to cement and unify them and make them the more ready to march on. as to the miracles, they ceased when, in the ordeal by fire, barthelemi, the author of the holy lance, came through the flames mortally injured. the caliph of cairo, with whom it was believed alexius was in league, had already possessed himself of jerusalem, and, fearing for his authority there, sent ambassadors to treat with the christian army. rich presents were brought to the leaders sufficient to tempt the avarice which had grown by conquest. the announcement by the ambassadors that the gates of jerusalem would be opened only to unarmed christians--a proposition which the leaders had rejected when in the miseries of the siege of antioch--enraged those in authority. [sidenote: _the crusaders' answer_] the answer of the christian leaders was an order to prepare to march and a threat to carry the war into egypt itself. the emir of tripoli attacked them with fearful loss, and was mulcted heavily in tribute and provisions. all headed toward jerusalem with the way cleared by fear of christian arms, except raymond, who was finally compelled to march also by the threatened rebellion of his soldiers. late may found the crusading army in the field. they passed through a rich country, whose harvests were finished and whose orchards bore abundantly oranges, pomegranates, and olives. [sidenote: _a rich country_] yet as they marched they were mindful that battle and pestilence had reduced their numbers by two hundred thousand. some had returned home, unable to endure the hardships, and many had remained in the conquered cities through which they had passed. the army numbered scarcely fifty thousand real soldiers. yet much that was gone was a relief to their camp-chests and their commissary. one historian thinks this fifty thousand to have been really stronger than the horde which besieged nicea. [sidenote: _along the sea coasts_] the line of march was along the seacoasts that the sea might furnish them provisions through the flemish and italian fleets. they reach accon, the modern acre, to find the emir promising everything but immediate surrender, and that also when jerusalem was occupied. a wounded pigeon, picked up by the bishop of apt, had under its wing a letter from the emir of accon to the emir of cã�â¦sarea which said, "the accursed christians have just passed through my territories, and will soon be in yours. let the mussulman rulers be warned, and let our enemies be crushed!" the crusaders naturally believed this a providence of great assurance and value, and presently moved inland and took possession of lydda and ramla. [sidenote: _near jerusalem_] they were now but sixteen miles from jerusalem. a stronger desire to march on egypt led some to counsel delay. but agreement to march to jerusalem was had, and, with temporary desertions and cautious advances and the marking houses and towns as private possessions, they came at last near emmaus. terrified by a lunar eclipse, some are panic-stricken, but the phenomenon is well explained and held to be a sign of victory. [sidenote: _jerusalem from the hill_] now, those who slept that night could hope, could know that, with the climbing of a hill, daylight would reveal jerusalem. on the 10th of june, 1099, the first who reached the summit at break of day, cried out, "jerusalem, jerusalem," and the crowd rushing after cried, "god wills it!" as they looked upon the mount of olives and the holy city. riders climbed down from their horses and marched on foot; many knelt, and multitudes kissed the ground. the sense of the sin for whose forgiveness christ had died, brought many to tears of honest penitence and some to conscious pardon. as they looked on the height where his profaned tomb must be, they wept bitter tears and vowed again to deliver the city. [sidenote: _country laid waste_] before the christians could invest the city its ruler took care to ravage the adjacent territory, poison the wells, and thus belted the walls with a desert. he provisioned the city against a siege, and fashioned all known engines of war. the garrison of forty thousand was increased by twenty thousand arm-bearing citizens. [sidenote: _plan for attack_] on the day after arrival, the various leaders distributed the territory and laid siege to the city. egress from the city was possible only through the valley of gihon and the valley of jehoshaphat. christians from the city, driven out for fear of treason and to burden the resources of the besiegers, quickened the ardor of the christian army by an account of the wrongs they had suffered at mussulman hands. churches had been robbed for the benefit of infidel soldiers, and the most sacred buildings were threatened with destruction by the unbelievers. all these conditions led to a determination of an early assault. they had made no adequate provision for scaling walls or battering gates, but expected divine intervention in their favor. the assault was repulsed, and their losses brought the victory of reason. [sidenote: _constructing engines of war_] finding some large beams, they demolished churches and houses to obtain other material. the drought of summer came on; the cisterns had been filled up or poisoned; kedron ran dry, and thirst added its horrors. the intermitting fountain of siloam was insufficient. the soldiers were reduced to licking the dew from the stones. animals died in great numbers. the loot of great cities was exchanged for a few draughts of foul water. fear alone prevented the sortie from the city which would have nearly extinguished the christian army. some fled. the wonder is that so many remained and saw that the only remedy for their evils lay in the capture of the city. [sidenote: _aided by german fleet_] [sidenote: _scarcity of water_] as if a sudden gift from god, a german fleet reached jaffa. it was well unloaded before capture by a saracen fleet, and the detachment sent from the besiegers to open communication, searched jaffa, and the provisions and instruments and material for war were carried to the crusaders' camp. desiring yet more, a native led the duke of normandy to a forest thirty miles from the city, and this timber was dragged to the city. regular expeditions to find water were successfully organized, and lines of women and children quickly passed it to the camp. bunches of faggots were rapidly accumulated and machines of war grew each day, and were planted for the next attack. they made three towers higher than the walls of the city, with a draw-bridge, over which the besiegers might reach the top of the walls. [sidenote: _religious processions_] [sidenote: _peter's address_] all being ready, they fortified their courage by religious exercises, and with the clergy leading, marched around the city. from the valley which faces calvary, the crusaders set out, passing by the reputed tomb of mary, the garden of gethsemane, and the mount of olives. they halted on the mount of the ascension to reconcile all differences and seal pardon with mutual prayer. the saracens raised crosses on the walls, and denied them in every way which could be devised by a foul imagination. after a long silence, peter the hermit once more finds voice: "you hear them! you hear their threats and blasphemies! christ dies again on calvary for your sins. swear, swear to defend them. the army of infidels will soon disappear. the mosques shall be temples of the true god." and much more did peter say after his old eloquent fashion, and with results which were wholly like those which followed his early preaching. the soldiers fell on each other's necks, praised god, and pledged themselves to finish the holy work they had begun. they passed the night after their return to camp in prayer and in the reception of the holy sacrament. the mohammedans spent their time also in exercises of their religion, and thus both sides were animated by the extreme of devout zeal. [sidenote: _saracen machines_] the christian leaders resolved to make the attack before the courage of their army could diminish by longer contemplation of the difficulties and dangers of the assault. the saracens had built up their machines opposite those of the christians, and to the last determined, as their mechanism seemed more movable, to change their locality and attack at a less prepared spot. during the night godfrey moved his quarters to the gate of kedar. with the greatest difficulty the tower on wheels and other machines were moved. tancred got his machines ready between the gate of damascus and the angular tower known later as the tower of tancred. [sidenote: _filling a ravine_] a ravine which needed to be filled delayed raymond, who succeeded, by paying a small sum to every one who would throw three stones, in building, in three days, a good path across the ravine. this done, the signal was given for a general attack. [sidenote: _the fight begins_] the camp of the christians was summoned to arms by the trumpets on the 14th of july, 1099. men and machines began their awful task. the air was full of flints hurled to the walls by ballistas and mangonels. under large shields and covered galleries, the battering-rams approached the walls. a cloud of arrows swept the ramparts, and the ladders were erected at the most promising points. northeast and south the rolling towers were pushed to the walls, and godfrey set the example of being first to open the battle from their tops. the resistance was as vigorous as the attack. arrows, spears, boiling oil, greek fire, and the missiles from the besieged machines repulsed the attack. through a hole made by the besiegers the besieged attacked the machines of the christians, hoping to burn them. night came on after a twelve hours' fight without victory to either side. [sidenote: _battle of second day_] [sidenote: _saracens attempt to burn towers_] the next day, after a night spent in repairing the attacking machines on the one hand and the guardian walls on the other, the order to attack was early given after heartening speeches by the christian leaders and tent-to-tent visitations by the clergy. an egyptian army was reported as approaching and the report greatly encouraged the besieged. the besiegers were infuriated by a damaging resistance, whose strength and energy they had underrated. the battle opened with a fierceness unparalleled. javelins, stones, and beams were hurled in such numbers that some met in the air and both fell on the besiegers. flaming torches and firepots were hurled from the walls. the christian towers did their work in the midst of flames, particularly the tower of godfrey, on whose roof a golden cross shone. the leaders fought amidst piles of their dead and seemed to be invulnerable themselves. breaches were made in the walls behind which stood a living barricade of saracens. an egyptian emissary was caught, his message to the besieged squeezed from him, and his body was then hurled from a catapult into the city. the wooden machines of the christians began to burn, as well as the battering-rams and their roofs, while their guards and operators were crushed and buried under their ruins. the attacking force was fought to a standstill, and was reviled for their worship of a helpless god. [sidenote: _body hurled from catapult_] [sidenote: _inspiring vision_] [sidenote: _crusaders enter city_] a vision of a knight waving his buckler above the mount of olives, and signaling that the christians should advance, renewed the attack. it is said women and children defied all dangers, brought food and helped push the towers against the walls. godfrey's tower got near enough to lower its gangway on the walls. fire now came to the aid of the crusaders, being carried by a favoring wind to the bags of hay, straw, and wool which made the last inner defense. godfrey, preceded by two and followed by many, pursued the smoke-driven enemy and entered the city. they killed as they went. tancred, encouraged by another apparition, entered the city from another point; some through a breach; others by ladders; others from the top of the towers. the enemy at length fled, and the cry heard first under peter's preaching, "god wills it!" was echoed in the streets of the holy city. while these were in the city, raymond still met with resistance which led them to abandon their tower and machines, and to attack with the sword. they scaled the walls by ladders, and were soon the victors. the saracens made a brave rally and charged the christians, who had already begun to pillage. these were, however, soon led to victory by everard de puysaie, and the infidels were finally routed. [sidenote: _christians possess the city on friday_] where prodigies are so constantly related and truth sacrificed to marvels, we can not be certain that the statement is true that the christians entered jerusalem on a friday at three, at the same hour at which christ died for all men. the crusaders forgot the teaching of the hour; remembered only their wounds, losses, and sufferings, and put to death without mercy all who came in their way and all they could ferret out. [sidenote: _christians murder saracens_] death by jumping from the walls seemed more desirable to many than appeal to christian mercy. their last resort was to the mosques, and particularly the mosque of omar. into this the christians rode on horseback and trampled the heaps of dead and dying laid low by "christian" swords. an eyewitness, raymond d'agiles, says that in the porch of this mosque blood rose to the knees and bridles of the horses! ten thousand were slain there. the authority cited above declares that bodies floated in the blood, and arms and hands were tossed by sanguine waves. an arabian author says, "seventy thousand were killed in the mosque of omar." god alone knows the truth. only once before in human history can be found a record of such slaughter, and that was when titus conquered the city centuries before. [sidenote: _peter object of great interest_] the fame of peter the hermit was such that the christians of the city coming from their hiding-places to greet their deliverers had no eyes for anybody but the eloquent monk, nor praises for any other. he was the sole cause of their deliverance as he was the prophet of their cause. [sidenote: _godfrey goes to holy sepulcher_] the nobility of godfrey appears in this, that, refraining from revenge, as soon as the battle was over he laid aside his weapons, bared his feet, and went to pray at the holy sepulcher. this was the signal for the cessation of bloodshed as soon as known. the bloody garments were thrown aside, and, barefooted and bareheaded, the crusaders marched to the church of the resurrection. in this sudden change from fiends to the penitence and devoutness of christians, we note a constantly recurring fact. these changes of mood are characteristic of fanaticism, which is always possessed by its ideas, and never rules over them. elijah stepped down from the exaltation of the god-accepted prophet on carmel to be the murderer of the prophets of baal, and was left to cowardice, to melancholy, and to wandering in the desert until taught by the fire, the wind, and the earthquake that he was not to bring human passion into god's work. [sidenote: _crusaders again butcher saracens_] the crusaders seem to have learned no permanent lesson of pity. they soon returned to the sword. fearing the care of too many prisoners; dreading that, if released, they would have to fight them again, and feeling that they must make ready to meet an egyptian army whose arrival was daily expected, they decreed the death of all the unbelievers who remained in the city. passion energized policy. they compelled the saracens to leap from the walls or into flames, and heaped up their corpses as altars on which others were sacrificed. the city was everywhere strewn with corpses, even, as one remarks, "the very place where christ forgave his enemies." the habit of killing was now so inveterate that such sights distressed none except as the odors and dangers of pestilence. a few mussulmans, saved chiefly from the fortress of david, were compelled to remove for burial the bodies of their kindred and people beyond the walls. the soldiers of raymond aided them, not from motives of humanity, but because being the last to enter the city, they hoped to secure what they had missed in pillage by robbing the bodies of the dead. [sidenote: _heaps of corpses_] the city was soon cleaned, and, as all respected the marks of private ownership upon which the crusaders had agreed, they were enriched and soon contributed to the life of a most orderly city. [sidenote: _exhibition of true cross_] it will be recalled that when heraclius conquered chosroes he claimed to have brought back the true cross to jerusalem. during the saracenic occupation the christians had concealed it and now brought it forth for the adoration of the faithful. with triumph they bore it to the church of the resurrection. [sidenote: _godfrey refuses crown_] the question of government was settled, after debate, fasting, some ceremony and prayer, by a special council of ten. godfrey of bouillon was chosen king with acclamation, all but universal, yet he refused to receive a diadem because his savior had in that city worn a crown of thorns, and would receive no other title beyond "defender of the holy sepulcher." the effort to organize the church admittedly was less successful in putting wise and holy men in high places than the attempt to elect a suitable king. the bishops of the latin church, then as now, took high ground, claimed to be above the civil power, and demanded that the bulk of the captured wealth be put into their hands. the greek priests had the right of possession, but were sacrificed. simeon, who had invited the crusaders, and who from cypress had repeatedly sent the latins succor, died while a latin bishop was claiming his patriarchate. arnold, believed by most to be tainted, was made pastor of jerusalem. [sidenote: _arrogance of the latin bishops_] [sidenote: _a new peril_] the saracens, much as they had suffered, were not ready to abandon the field. such as were left joined the caliph of cairo who was advancing to attack jerusalem. godfrey, deserted by some of his colleagues, went out to meet him; the deserters following after when the peril became more visible and imminent. peter led the clergy and prayed for a final success. they numbered not more than twenty thousand, yet they won a great victory, some of their enemies being driven to the mountains, others perishing in the sea. they dropped their arms in terror, and were literally mowed down. thus ended the battle of askalon, and it was the last victory of the first crusade. [sidenote: _peter and his end_] peter returned to europe, resumed a quiet life in a monastery, which was built at huy on the right bank of the meuse, in pursuance of a vow made when in danger at sea by peter's fellow voyager, the count de montaigne. it was dedicated in 1130. peter died there at a great age, and was buried at his request outside the church on the ground of humility. one hundred and thirty years later the abbot removed (in 1242) his bones to a shrine before the altar of the apostles in the abbey church. his life was ended, "but his works followed him." the church where he was buried was wasted and wrecked during the french revolution and peter's coffin destroyed. his gravestone still exists. other crusades followed, of which mere mention must suffice. their results, however, in part remain to this day, and deserve to be here recorded. [sidenote: _greek and latin church_] as we have seen, the first crusade had in the minds of its originators, as at least a secondary object, the reconciliation of the greek and latin church. but the result was directly opposite. their relations were submitted, and the gap is as wide open to-day as then. the saracens were less dangerous to the eastern church and empire than the latins proved to be. the latins conquered for themselves. it must be admitted that the treachery of alexius gave large justification if not full warrant. [sidenote: _power of papacy augmented_] the strength and wealth of the papacy were greatly increased. it attached all who went to its authority by its dispensation, not only from purgatorial pains but from the penalty of sin here and hereafter. it made freemen of all who wore the sign of the cross, and absolved from all allegiance except to itself. by persuading departing lords to make over their sovereignty to him, the pope became the arbiter and consecrator of all sovereignty, and at length obtained the right to release from allegiance the subjects of two independent sovereigns. no pope led an army. the shock of defeat to a "vicar of christ" would have been very great. so legates were sent and upheld in his name the supremacy of the church. [sidenote: _reasons for irrevocable vow_] the vow to crusade was irrevocable, and sovereigns took it to obtain pardon, to secure glory, and propitiate favor. the pope alone could release the votary, and he took good care to make the price heavy in the acknowledgment of his authority. by sending legates to every country to preach the crusades, the authority of the pope was also greatly advertised and augmented. through these the pope acquired a right to tax for his purposes within the domain of independent states. [sidenote: _how clergy grew rich_] [sidenote: _papal ambitions_] the clergy and the church grew rich because unable to alienate their own estates, they bought in the property and domains of princes, dukes, and counts, who sold all to enter upon the holy war. for two centuries this went on among the most fruitful of the many methods by which the church added to her temporal substance. the church, by the crusade, established the principle that religious wars were just, and for five centuries the principle was indorsed with blood. incidentally the hurling back of the mohammedan advance occurred, but the hunger for papal dominion spurred on the popes to bless those who fought. called defensive at first, they quickly became aggressive, and many a crusading band hacked at the jews before carving a path through to mohammedans. chivalry took on a more religious tone through the crusades, if indeed it was not in some countries directly born of the wars of the cross. [sidenote: _principles of chivalry_] most of the principles of chivalry were christian in the quality of conduct, if not always of motive. to be just, generous, brave, the defender of weakness, and to be pure in life were certainly christian duties. the crusades gave a great field for such virtues. but, alas! it was only to christians that these virtues were obligatory. the knight often became a devil ranging over lands wrested from saracen control. but respect for women, undoubtedly enhanced by chivalry, took high ground in the reverence for the virgin, and, while it did not secure chastity, gave some check to the master passion of the human race. [sidenote: _debt to arabic learning_] and, finally, the crusade, introduced the notation, the science, the manufactures, and the medical skill of the arabs into europe,--all of which aided the coming of the light to the dark ages. of all these results, peter the hermit was the unconscious forerunner and prophet. footnotes: [footnote 1: milman, hist. latin christianity, book vii, p. 16.] [footnote 2: hist. crusades, vol. i, p. 1.] [footnote 3: cf. milman, book vii, p. 17.] [footnote 4: aubert's history of the conquest of jerusalem, quoted by michaud.] [footnote 5: milman.] [footnote 6: see michaud.] : see michaud.] proofreading canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net [illustration: the supper [page 37]] the associate hermits by frank r. stockton author of "the great stone of sardis" with illustrations by a. b. frost [illustration] new york and london harper & brothers publishers 1900 by the same author. the great stone of sardis. a novel. illustrated by peter newell. post 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1 50. "the great stone of sardis" is as queer and preposterous as can be imagined, yet as plausible and real-seeming as a legal document.... there is a treat in the book.--_independent_, n. y. a new and worthy example of stockton's kindly, wholesome, original, and inexhaustible humor.--_syracuse post._ narrated with a seriousness that gives the adventures a semblance of matters of fact. through the narrative runs a love interest which mr. stockton manages with great skill.--_washington post._ new york and london: harper & brothers, publishers. copyright, 1898, by harper & brothers. all rights reserved. contents chapter page i. the dawn of a wedding-journey 1 ii. enter margery 7 iii. sadler's 15 iv. a cataract of information 23 v. camp rob 35 vi. camp roy 42 vii. a stranger 52 viii. the bishop's tale 63 ix. matlack's three troubles 74 x. a ladies' day in camp 82 xi. margery takes the oars 90 xii. the bishop engages the attention of the guides 100 xiii. the world goes wrong with mr. raybold 105 xiv. the assertion of individuality 113 xv. a net of cobwebs to cage a lion 123 xvi. a man who feels himself a man 135 xvii. mrs. perkenpine asserts her individuality 143 xviii. the hermits associate 153 xix. margery's breakfast 161 xx. martin asserts his individuality 173 xxi. the individuality of peter sadler 185 xxii. a tranquillizing breeze and a hot wind 194 xxiii. mrs. perkenpine finds out things about herself 205 xxiv. a dissolving audience 212 xxv. a moonlight interview 220 xxvi. an elopement 229 xxvii. mrs. perkenpine delights the bishop 239 xxviii. the hermits continue to favor association 248 illustrations page the supper frontispiece "'can this be sadler's?'" 16 "'they throw the other things back'" 54 "a lesson in fly-fishing" 80 "but the bishop knew better" 98 "with a great heave sent him out into the water" 102 "'where are all our friends?'" 150 "'haven't tried it'" 202 "'if they ain't the camp robbers!'" 232 the associate hermits chapter i the dawn of a wedding-journey mr. and mrs. hector archibald were prosperous and happy dwellers in a suburb of one of our large towns. fortune had favored them in many ways--in health and in a good average happiness. they had reached early middle age, and their daughter kate, their only child, had grown up to be a beautiful and good young woman, and was on the point of marrying a young lawyer--rodney bringhurst by name--in every way worthy of her. hector archibald was a little man, with small bright eyes, and hair slightly touched with gray and very much inclined to curl. his disposition was lively. he had a strong liking for cheerful occurrences, and was always willing to do his part in the bringing about of such events. novelty had a charm for him. he was not bound by precedence and tradition, and if he had found himself at a dinner which began with coffee and ended with oysters on the half-shell, he would have given the unusual meal a most animated consideration, although he might have utterly withheld any subsequent approbation. as a general thing, he revolved in an orbit where one might always be able to find him, were the proper calculations made. but if any one drew a tangent for him, and its direction seemed suitable and interesting, he was perfectly willing to fly off on it. the disposition of mrs. hector archibald was different. she was born to be guided by customs, fashions, and forms. she believed it was the duty of a married woman to make her home happy, and she did it. but she also believed that in the best domestic circles there were rules and usages for domestic happiness which would apply to every domestic condition and contingency. it frequently troubled her, however, to find that certain customs, forms, or usages of domestic society had changed, and being of a conservative turn of mind, it was difficult for her to adapt herself to these changes. but, thoroughly loyal to the idea that what was done by people she loved and people she respected ought also to be done by her, she earnestly strove to fit herself to new conditions, especially when she saw that by not doing so she would be out of touch with her family and her friends. now of course the wedding of their daughter was the only thing in the world that seemed of real importance to mr. and mrs. archibald, and for this all preparations and plans had been agreed upon and made with great good-will and harmony, excepting one thing, and that was the wedding-trip. strange to say, the young people did not wish to take a wedding-trip. they believed that this old-fashioned custom was unnecessary, troublesome, commonplace, and stupid. in the gardens and grounds of the archibald mansion, and in the beautiful surrounding country, they had loved each other as lovers, and among these scenes they wished to begin to love each other as a married couple. why should such distasteful and unpleasant ingredients as railroad-cars, steamboats, and hotels be dashed into the pleasing mixture of their new lives? it had been arranged that for a year or two, at least, they should live in kate's dear old home, and why should they not immediately begin that life there? mr. archibald did not favor this plan, and his wife was strongly opposed to it. a wedding without a wedding-trip ought not to be thought of. "during the honey-moon a young couple should live for each other, with each other, apart from the rest of the world. it is a beautiful custom, which should not be rudely trampled upon," said mrs. archibald. but although mrs. archibald cherished a belief that she ought to conform her ideas to the domestic customs of the day, her daughter kate cherished the belief that the domestic customs of the day ought to conform themselves to her ideas. "of course we should like to be alone in the honey-moon," she exclaimed. "we don't object to that; and if there must be a wedding-journey, you and father can take it and we will stay here. here are servants, books, things to eat, and everything our hearts can desire, and here we would really feel as if we were beginning life as man and wife. as for you two, you both need a vacation, and nothing could be more perfectly appropriate and more delightful to everybody than that you should take our wedding-trip. we don't want it; we will make it a present to you. take it and be happy, and leave us here to be happy. people have done this sort of thing before, so that it is not absolutely wild and unheard of." mr. archibald welcomed this plan with open arms, and hugged it and his daughter to his breast. it suited him admirably, and he declared that all business and engagements of every kind should be set aside, and that he would be ready to start on the wedding-journey with mrs. archibald the moment the ceremony should be completed. "you will wait until the reception is over, father?" said kate, laughing. "yes," said he, "i will wait for that." this novel proposition sent a chill through every fibre of mrs. archibald's physical organism. at first she did not exactly comprehend it, but when she did, the chills increased. when she had recovered herself a little she began to make objections. this was easy enough, for they crowded into her mind like sheep into a pen; but every objection, as she brought it forth, was ruthlessly set aside or crushed to earth by her daughter or her husband, assisted by her expectant son-in-law, of whom she declared she never would have believed such a thing had she been told it. the discussion ended, of course, by mrs. archibald agreeing to go on this absurd wedding-journey. but the good lady's mental troubles were not over when she had given her consent. as this scheme had been devised by those dearest to her on earth, and as it was certain, these dearest persons assured her, to meet with the approbation of all people of advanced thought--at least of those whose thought had advanced far enough to make it worthy of their consideration--she felt that in doing her part she ought to do it honestly and with her whole heart; and at her time of life, to act as a proxy for a young bride by taking a wedding-journey in that young bride's place was a very difficult thing for mrs. archibald to do honestly and with her whole heart. but she would try to do it. whatever else happened, her family must be kept happy, and it should never be said of her that she hung like a millstone around the combined neck of that family when it was unitedly climbing towards altitudes of felicity, which, although she was not able to discern them, must exist, since that fact had been so earnestly insisted upon by mr. archibald, kate, and rodney bringhurst. thus was this exceptional hymeneal performance decided upon, and at eleven o'clock on wednesday, the 6th of june, the marriage service was performed. at noon the guests sat down to breakfast, and at two o'clock that afternoon mr. and mrs. hector archibald departed on the wedding-trip, leaving behind mr. and mrs. bringhurst at home with each other, and "not at home" to the world. chapter ii enter margery at four o'clock on the afternoon of june 6th mr. and mrs. hector archibald arrived at a family hotel in the capital of their state. where they should go from there had not been decided upon. nothing in regard to their wedding-journey had been decided upon except that they were to return to their home on the 6th of july of that year, and not before. it would have been impossible, with their minds filled with bridal arrangements, for them to make plans for their journey. but at this first stopping-place, where they were free from all responsibility and interruptions, they could, at their leisure, decide where they should go, how they should go, and what they should do when they got there. after the unrest and turmoil of their own home during the past few weeks, the quiet and repose of this city hotel were delightful. that evening they went to the theatre, and after the performance they had a little supper at a restaurant. "people may not think we are a newly married pair," said mr. archibald, as he poured out a glass of wine for his wife, "but it is not impossible that they may see we know how to enjoy ourselves quite as much as if we were." the next morning mr. archibald procured a number of railroad maps, time-tables, circulars of steamboat excursions, advertisements of mountain retreats and sea-side resorts, and he and his wife sat down to study these, and to decide upon a destination and a route. after an hour or two of indeterminate examination mr. archibald declared himself a little tired, and proposed that they should take a recess from their labors and go and call upon their old friends, the stanley dearborns. "people on wedding-tours do not make calls," said mrs. archibald. "that may be true," said her husband, "in ordinary cases, and although i do not care to announce to everybody the peculiarities of the expedition which we have undertaken, i do not mind in the least telling the stanley dearborns all about it. stanley himself would not appreciate it; he would consider it absurd; but then he is not at home at this time of day, and mrs. dearborn is just the woman to enjoy a reform movement of this sort. besides, she is full of ideas about everything, and she may propose some good place for us to go to." mrs. dearborn was at home, and very glad to see the archibalds. she was a woman whose soul was in touch with the higher education of women--with female suffrage, the emancipation of the enslaved mind wherever it might be found, and with progress generally. she was a member of many societies, belonged to committees without end, wrote reports and minutes by day and by night, and was one of that ever-increasing class of good people who continually walk forward in order that their weight may help the world to turn over. in spite of her principles and the advanced position of her thought, mrs. dearborn actually leaned back in her chair and laughed heartily when she learned what sort of a journey the archibalds were taking. in this merriment mr. archibald joined with great glee. "ever since i left home," he said, "i have wanted to have a chance for a good laugh at this trip we are taking. it is the most delightful joke i have ever known." mrs. archibald could not help smiling, but her brow was clouded. "if this expedition is merely a joke," she said, "i do not think we should have undertaken it; but if it is an earnest assertion of our belief that there should be a change in the customs of society, then i think we should take it seriously, and i see nothing to laugh at." "my dear harriet," said mrs. dearborn, "we can be good and glad at the same time; and that is what i am, i am sure. what you are doing is the initiation of one of the most worthy reforms of the day, and if it should have an effect in breaking up that wretched custom of the bridal tramp, which is considered so necessary in this country, society should rise up and call you blessed. but it is funny, for all that. i am sure that the first woman who dared to go without crinoline was very funny, and when i heard of a hospital for cats i could not help laughing; but i believed in it, and worked for it. and now where are you going?" "that is what we want to talk to you about," said mr. archibald; and for half an hour they talked about it. at the end of that time it was decided that the mountains were better than the sea or than a quiet lowland nook; and mrs. dearborn strongly recommended sadler's, where she and her husband had spent a part of a summer a few years before. "we camped out," said she, "and had a fine time. you can camp out at sadler's more easily and satisfactorily than anywhere else in the world." camping suited mr. archibald admirably, and, to his surprise, his wife said she might like it very well. "if people are going to laugh at us," she said, "when they find out we are on a wedding-journey--and they will be sure to find it out in some way or other--i think the fewer people we mingle with the better. i do not think i shall like camping altogether, but i know it is healthful, and i suppose i ought to get used to it. it would be dreadfully lonely for just mr. archibald and me, but i suppose we can take some one with us to guide and cook." "my dear harriet," said mrs. dearborn, "if you are at sadler's, you can go into any sort of camp you please. i will tell you all about sadler's. sadler is a man of progress. his hotel or inn is on the very edge of the forest country, and away from all the centres of resort. he calls his place the terminal link of public travel in that direction. when you leave him you travel privately in any way you like. he has established what he has named a bureau of camping, and he furnishes his patrons with any sort of a camp they may desire. if the party is few in number and of a timid disposition, they can have a camp within shouting distance of his house. if they are brave and adventurous, he will send them out into the depths of the forest. if they like water, he locates them by the shores of a lake. if climbing is their passion, he puts them at the foot of a mountain. those who want to hunt can do so, and those who dislike fire-arms are placed in a camp where the popping of guns is never heard. he provides tents, guides, provisions, and even dangers and sensations." "safety is what i want," interrupted mrs. archibald. "and that he furnishes," said the other, "for those who desire it." "sadler is the man for me!" cried mr. archibald. "we will go to him, look over his list of camps, and select one to suit us." "by-the-way," said mrs. dearborn, "a thought has struck me. how would you like to take margery with you?" "margery!" exclaimed mr. archibald. "that delightful little girl whom i taught to ride a tricycle when you were visiting us? i would like it ever so much." it struck mrs. archibald that people on bridal trips did not generally take children or young girls with them, but it also struck her that if they were going into camp it might be pleasant and in many ways advantageous to have some one of her own sex with her; but she had no time to formulate these advantages in her mind before mrs. dearborn explained in full. "since mr. dearborn and i came home from sadler's," she said, "margery has been perfectly wild to go there, and as soon as the leaves began to bud in the parks she began to talk about it. we saw no possible chance of her going there, for her father is too busy to leave home for any length of time this season, and i cannot go to the mountains this year, for i must visit my sister, who is not well, and there are three summer conventions that i am obliged to attend. but if you could take her with you, i do not believe she would trouble you in the least, and you would give her great pleasure. moreover, to speak practically, which i think we always ought to do, it would not be a bad thing on the score of economy, for things are always proportionately cheaper for three people in a camp than for two." a great many advantages of female companionship now began to creep into mrs. archibald's mind: if her husband should take it into his head to go out and hunt at night by the light of a torch; if there should be thunder-storms, and he away with the guide; if he should want to go off and talk to indians or trappers, and he always did want to go off and talk to people of every class--it would be very pleasant to have even margery dearborn with her. so she consented with great good-will to her friend's proposition, and mrs. dearborn was much pleased and thankful. "margery is a true creature of impulse," she said; "that is really her predominating characteristic, and she will want to bound to the ceiling when she hears she is to go to sadler's. she is not at home now, but she will be in very soon. you must take luncheon with us." about a quarter of an hour after that margery dearborn came home. she was very glad indeed to see the archibalds, whom she remembered as the kindest of people; and when she heard they were going to take her to sadler's, she gave a scream of delight and threw herself upon mrs. archibald's neck. "you are an angel," she cried, "an angel of blessedness, my dear aunt harriet! don't you remember, i used to call you that? won't you let me call you so still?" and without waiting for an answer, she rushed to mr. archibald, with outstretched hands. "dear uncle archibald, you are just as good as ever, i see. you know, i wouldn't call you uncle hector, because hectoring meant scolding, which never had anything to do with you. sadler's! oh, when do we start?" "to-morrow is saturday," replied mr. archibald; "we must get together some things we will need for camp-life, and we can start on monday." when the visitors were left to themselves for a few moments, mr. archibald said to his wife, "harriet, i am astounded. this girl, who used to ride bareback and jump over fences, is a young lady now, and a handsome one, too. she is quite a different person from the girl i agreed to take with us." "mr. archibald," said his wife, "you never can remember that in this world people of all ages grow older. she was fourteen when she was visiting us, and that was four years ago, so of course she is a young lady." "no," he answered, "i don't feel that i am growing any older, and i don't see that you are, and so i totally forget that proclivity in other people. but what do you think now? can we take this young woman with us to camp? will she not be a dreadful drag?" "my dear," said mrs. archibald, "i much prefer the young lady to the girl. i don't want to be the only woman in camp, and the nearer the other woman is to my age the better." "all right," said mr. archibald; "if you are satisfied, i am; and, if she will agree to it, we will add our ages for the time being, and divide by three, and then we will all stand on a level." chapter iii sadler's it was in the afternoon of monday, the 11th of june, when mr. and mrs. archibald, accompanied by miss margery dearborn, arrived at sadler's, and with feelings of relief alighted from the cramped stage-coach which had brought them eight miles from the railroad station. "can this be sadler's?" said mr. archibald, in a tone of surprise. "of course it must be," said his wife, "since they brought us here." "it certainly is the place," said margery, "for there is the name over that door." "how do you feel about it?" said mr. archibald to his wife. "i feel very well about it," said she. "why shouldn't i?" "how do you feel about it?" he asked of the younger lady. "well," she answered, "i don't exactly understand it. i had visions of forests and wilds and tumbling mountain streams and a general air of primevalism, and i am surprised to see this fine hotel with piazzas, and croquet-grounds, and tennis-courts, and gravelled walks, and babies in their carriages, and elderly ladies carrying sun-shades." "but it seems to me that there is a forest behind it," said mr. archibald. "yes," replied margery, a little dolefully, "it has that to back it up." "don't let us stand here at the bottom of the steps talking," said mrs. archibald. "i must say i am very agreeably surprised." in the wide hall which ran through the middle of the hotel, and not far from the clerk's desk, there sat a large, handsome man, a little past middle age, who, in a hearty voice, greeted the visitors as they entered, but without rising from his chair. this was peter sadler, the owner of the hotel, the legal owner of a great deal of the neighboring country, and the actual ruler of more of said country than could be easily marked out upon a map or stated in surveyors' terms. in fact, peter sadler, was king of that portion of the vast district of mountain and forest which could be reached in a day's journey in any direction. if he had wished to extend his domain to points at a greater distance than this he would have done so, but so far he was satisfied with the rights he had asserted. he ruled supreme in that region because he had lived longer in the vicinity than any other white man, because he had a powerful will which did not brook opposition, and because there was no one to oppose him. [illustration: "'can this be sadler's?'"] on the arable land which lay outside of the forest, and which really belonged to him, there were the houses of the men who farmed his fields, and on the outskirts of the woods were scattered here and there the cabins of the hunters and guides he employed, and these men knew no law but his will. of course the laws of the state covered the district, but such promulgation and enforcement of these as he might consider necessary were generally left to peter sadler, and as to his own laws, he was always there to see that these were observed. his guests submitted themselves to his will, or they left his hotel very soon. to people of discernment and judgment it was not difficult to submit to the will of this full-bearded, broad-chested man, who knew so much better than they did what they ought to do if they wanted to get all the good out of sadler's which they were capable of assimilating. this man, who sat all day in a big rolling-chair, and who knew everything that was going on in the hotel, the farm, and the forest about him, had been a hunter and a guide in his youth, an indian-fighter in later years, and when he had been wounded in both legs, so that it was impossible for him ever to walk again, he came back to the scenes of his youth and established an inn for sportsmen--a poor little house at first, which grew and grew and grew, until it was the large, well-kept hotel so widely known by his name. after dinner, at which meal they were waited upon by women, and not by men in evening-dress as margery had begun to fear, mr. archibald sought peter sadler and made known to him the surprise of his party at finding themselves in this fine hotel. "what did you expect?" asked peter, eying him from head to foot. "from what we had heard," replied the other, "we supposed we should find some sort of a preparatory camping-ground in the woods, from which we could go out and have a camp of our own." "that's just what you have found," said sadler. "in this house you prepare to camp, if you need preparation. if any man, woman, or child comes here and wants to go out to camp, and i see that they are sickly or weak or in any way not fit to live in the woods, i don't let them go one step until they are fit for it. the air and the food and the water they get here will make them fit, if anything will do it, and if these three things don't set them up they simply have to go back where they came from. they can't go into camp from this house. but if they fancy this hotel--and there isn't any reason why anybody shouldn't fancy it--they can stay here as long as they like, and i'll take care of them. now, sir, if you want to go into camp, the first thing for you to do is to bring your family here and let me take a look at them. i've seen them, of course, but i haven't made up my mind yet whether they are the right sort for camp life. as for you, i think you will do. there isn't much of you, but you look tough." mr. archibald laughed. "that's good rough talk," he said, "and smacks more of camp life than anything i have noticed here. i will go and bring my wife and miss dearborn." "there is another reason why i want to see them," said the bluff peter. "as you are bent on camping, you'll like to choose a camp, and when anything of that kind is on hand i want to talk to the whole party. i don't care to settle the business with one of them, and then have him come back and say that what has been agreed upon don't suit the others. i want a full meeting or no session." when mr. archibald returned with his wife and margery, he found peter sadler had rolled his chair up to a large circular table at the back of the hall, on which was spread a map of the forest. he greeted the ladies in a loud voice and with a cheery smile. "and so you want to go camping, do you?" said he. "sit down and let us talk it over. i think the young lady is all right. she looks spry enough, and i expect she could eat pine-cones like a squirrel if she was hungry and had nothing else. as for you, madam, you don't appear as if anything in particular was the matter with you, and i should think you could stand a number three camp well enough, and be all the better for a week or two of it." "what is a number three camp?" asked margery, before the astonished mrs. archibald could speak. "well," said sadler, "it is a camp with a good deal of comfort in it. our number one camps are pretty rough. they are for hunters and scientific people. we give them game enough in season, and some bare places where they can make fires and stretch a bit of canvas. that is all they want, to have a truly good time. that is the best camp of all, i think. number two camps are generally for fishermen. they always want a chance for pretty good living when they are out in the woods. they stay in camp in the evenings, and like to sit around and have a good time. number threes are the best camps we put families into, so you see, madam, i'm rating you pretty high. there's always a log-cabin in these camps, with cots and straw mattresses and plenty of traps for cooking. and, more than that, there is a chance for people who don't tramp or fish to do things, such as walking or boating, according to circumstances. there's one of our camps has a croquet-ground." "oh, we don't want that!" cried margery, "it would simply ruin every illusion that is left to me." "glad to hear that," said petelad to hear that," said peter. "if you want to play croquet, stay at the hotel; that's what i say. now, then, here are the camps, and there's plenty of them to choose from. you've come in a good time, for the season isn't fairly begun yet. next month every camp will be full, with the hotel crowded with people waiting for their turns." "what we want," said margery, rising and looking over the map, "is the wildest number three you have." "oh, ho!" said peter. "not so fast, miss; perhaps we'll wait and see what this lady has to say first. if i'm not mistaken, madam, i think you're inclined the other way, and i don't put people into camps that they will be wanting to leave after the first rainy day. now let me show you what i've got. here is one, four hours' walk, horses for women, with a rocky stream through the middle of it." "that is grand!" cried margery. "is it really in the woods?" "now let me do the talking," said peter. "they are all in the woods; we don't make camps in pasture-fields. even the number sevens, where the meals are sent to the campers from the hotel, and they have bath-tubs, are in the woods. now here is another one, about three miles west from the one i just showed you, but the same distance from here. this, you see, is on the shore of a lake, with fishing, boating, and bathing, if you can stand cold water." "glorious!" cried margery. "that is exactly what we want. a lake will be simply heavenly!" "everything seems to suit you, miss," said peter, "just as soon as you hear of it. but suppose we consider more of them before you choose. some two miles north of here, in the thickest of the forest, in a clearing that i made, there is a small camp that strikes the fancy of some people. there is a little stream there and it has fish in it too, and it runs through one corner of the log-cabin, so there are seven or eight feet of the stream inside the house, and on rainy days you can sit there and fish; and some people like to go to slurgling close to them where they can hear it when they are in bed. then there's an owl to this camp. the men heard him there when they were making the clearing, and he's never left the spot. some people who were out there said they never felt as much away from the world as they did listening to that little stream gurgling and that owl hooting." "i believe," exclaimed margery, "that in a place like that i could write poetry!" "it would give me the rheumatism and the blues," said mrs. archibald, upon which peter sadler exclaimed, "that settles that. now then, here is another." several other camps were considered, but it was the general conclusion that the one by the lake was the most desirable. it had a good cabin with three rooms, with plenty of open space, near by, for the tents of the guides; there was a boat which belonged to the camp, and in every way it seemed so suitable that mr. archibald secured it. he thought the price was rather high, but as it included guides, provisions, fishing-tackle, and in fact everything needed, he considered that although it might cost as much as lodgings in a city hotel, they would get more good out of it. "has this camp any name?" asked the enthusiastic margery, in the course of the conference. "that's about your twenty-seventh question, miss," said peter, "but it's one i can answer. yes, it's got a name. it's called camp rob." "oh!" ejaculated margery, in a disappointed tone. "what a name!" "yes," said peter, "it isn't much of a name. the first people who went out there named it that, and it stuck to it, and it's all it's got. camps are like horses--we've got to tell them apart, and so we give them names, and that's camp rob." chapter iv a cataract of information peter sadler would have been glad to have the archibald party stay at his hotel for a few days, and mrs. archibald would have been perfectly satisfied to remain there until they were ready to return to their own house, but her husband and margery were impatient to be in the woods, and it was therefore decided to start for the camp the next day. peter sadler was a man of system, and his arrangements were made promptly and rapidly. "you've got to have a guide," said he, "and another man to help him, and i think i'll give you phil matlack. phil is an old hand at the business, and if you don't know what you want, he'll tell you. if you are in phil's hands, you needn't be afraid anything will happen to you. whatever you want, ask him for it, and ten to one he'll have it, whether it's information or fishhooks. i tell you again, you're lucky to be here early and get the best of everything. camp rob with phil matlack will stand at a premium in three or four weeks from now." that evening after supper mr. archibald lighted a cigar and went out into the grounds in front of the hotel, where he was presently joined by his wife. "where is margery?" asked he. "she is in her room," replied mrs. archibald, "but she called to me that she would be down directly." in about ten minutes down came margery and floated out upon the lawn. she was dressed in white, with flowers in her hair, and she was more charming, mr. archibald said, as she approached, than even the sunset sky. "you should not speak in that way of works of nature," said his wife. "isn't she a work of nature?" he asked. "not altogether," was the wise reply. "why did you dress yourself in that fashion?" she asked margery. "i did not suppose you would bring such a fine gown, as we started out to go into camp. and even in this hotel a travelling-suit is good enough for any one." "oh, i tucked this into one of my bags," replied margery. "i always like to have something nice to fall back upon. don't you want to take a little stroll, aunt harriet?" mr. archibald leaned back in his garden-chair and slowly puffed his cigar, and as he puffed he took his eyes from the sunset sky and watched his wife and margery. a little beyond them, as they walked, sat two elderly ladies on a bench, wearing shawls, and near by stood a girl in a short dress, with no hat on, and a long plait down her back. a little farther on was a tennis-court, and four people, apparently young, were playing tennis. there were two men, and neither of them wore a tennis-suit. one was attired as a bicyclist, and the other wore ordinary summer clothes. the young women were dressed in dark-blue flannel and little round hats, which suggested to mr. archibald the deck of a yacht. near the hotel was an elderly gentleman walking up and down by himself, and on the piazza were the rest of the guests he had seen at the table; not very many of them, for it was early in the season. mr. archibald now turned his eyes again to the sky. it was still beautiful, although its colors were fading, and after a time he looked back towards his wife. she was now talking to the two elderly ladies on the bench, and margery was engaged in conversation with the girl with the plait down her back. "when i finish my cigar," thought mr. archibald, "i will go myself and take a stroll." and it struck him that he might talk to the old gentleman, who was still walking up and down in front of the hotel. after contemplating the tops of some forest trees against the greenish-yellow of the middle sky, he turned his eyes again towards his wife, and found that the two elderly ladies had made room for her on the bench, that the tennis-game had ceased, and that one of the girls in blue flannel had joined this group and was talking to margery. in a few moments all the ladies on the bench rose, and mrs. archibald and one of them walked slowly towards an opening in the woods. the other lady followed with the little girl, and margery and the young woman in blue walked in the same direction, but not in company with the rest of the party. the two young men, with the other tennis-player between them, walked over from the tennis-court and joined the first group, and they all stopped just as they reached the woods. there they stood and began talking to each other, after which one of the young men and the young woman approached a large tree, and he poked with a stick into what was probably a hole near its roots, and mr. archibald supposed that the discussion concerned a snake-hole or a hornets' nest. then margery and the other young woman came up, and they looked at the hole. now the whole company walked into the woods and disappeared. in about ten minutes mr. archibald finished his cigar and was thinking of following his wife and margery, when the two elderly ladies and mrs. archibald came out into the open and walked towards the hotel. then came the little girl, running very fast as she passed the tree with the hole near its roots. in a few minutes mrs. archibald stopped and looked back towards the woods; then she walked a little way in that direction, leaving her companions to go to the hotel. now the young man in the bicycle suit emerged from the woods, with a girl in dark-blue flannel on each side of him. "upon my word!" exclaimed mr. archibald, and rising to his feet, advanced towards his wife; but before he reached her, margery emerged from the wood road, escorted by the young man in the summer suit. "upon my word," mr. archibald remarked, this time to his wife, "that ward of ours is not given to wasting time." "it seems so, truly," said she, "and i think her mother was right when she called her a creature of impulse. let us wait here until they come up. we must all go in; it is getting chilly." in a few minutes margery and the young man had reached them. "thank you very much," said this creature of impulse to her escort. "my uncle and aunt will take care of me now. aunt harriet and uncle archibald, this is mr. clyde. he saw a great snake go into a hole over there just before supper-time, and i think we ought all to be very careful how we pass that way." "i don't think there is very much danger after nightfall," said mr. clyde, who was a pleasant youth with brown hair, "and to-morrow i'll see if i can kill him. it's a bad place for a snake to have a hole, just where ladies would be apt to take their walks." "i don't think the snake will trouble us much," said mrs. archibald, "for we leave to-morrow. still, it would be a good thing to kill it." after this there were a few remarks made about snakes, and then mr. clyde bade them good-evening. "how in the world, margery," said mrs. archibald, "did you get acquainted so quickly with that young man--and who is he?" "oh, it all happened quite naturally," said she. "as we turned to go out of the woods he was the gentleman nearest to me, and so of course he came with me. those two girls are sisters, and their name is dodworth. they introduced mr. clyde and the other gentleman, mr. raybold, to me. but that was after you had been talking to mrs. dodworth, their mother, who is mr. raybold's aunt. the other lady, with the shawl on, is mrs. henderson, and--would you believe it?--she's grandmother to that girl in the short dress! she doesn't begin to look old enough. the dodworths don't go into camp at all, but expect to stay here for two weeks longer, and then they go to the sea-shore. mrs. henderson leaves day after to-morrow. "mr. clyde and his friend live in boston. they are both just beginning to practise law, though mr. clyde says that mr. raybold would rather be an actor, but his family objects. the old gentleman who is walking up and down in front of the hotel has heart-disease, some people say--but that is not certain. he stayed here all last summer, and perhaps he will this year. in two weeks hardly any of the people now in this hotel will be here. one family is going into camp when the father and two sons come on to join them, and the rest are going to the sea-shore, except one lady. you may have noticed her--the one with a dark-purple dress and a little purple cap. she's a school-teacher, and she will spend the rest of the summer with her sister in pennsylvania. "that man phil matlack, who is going with us to-morrow, is quite a character, and i expect i shall like him awfully. they say that about five years ago he killed a man who made an attack on him in the woods, but he was never tried for it, nor was anything whatever done to him, because mr. sadler said he was right, and he would not have any nonsense about it. there are people about here who believe that phil matlack would fight a bear single-handed if it happened to be necessary. mr. sadler would do it himself if he could walk. nobody knows how many men he killed when he was fighting indians; and, would you believe it? his wife is a plain, little, quiet woman, who lives in some part of the hotel where nobody ever sees her, because she is rather bashful and dislikes company. "the other person who is going with us is not very much more than a boy, though they say he is very strong and a good hunter. his name is martin sanders, and i forgot to say that the old gentleman with the heart-disease is named parker. "it's generally thought that phil matlack would rather have some one else than martin sanders to go with him, because he says martin knows too much. the fact is that martin is well educated, and could have gone into some good business, but he was so fond of the woods that he gave up everything to come out here and learn guiding. you know we were told that our camp in the woods has three rooms in it? well, it really has four, for there was an artist there last year who built a little room for a studio for rainy days. i expect mr. sadler forgot that, or didn't think it worth counting. there are no snakes at all where we are going to camp, but two miles farther on there are lots of them." "over the brink of niagara," interjected mr. archibald, "they say eighteen million cubic feet of water pour every minute. where on earth, margery, did you fill your mind with all that information?" "i got it from those two dodworth girls and mr. clyde," said she. "mr. raybold told me some things, too, but mostly about his bicycle. he feels badly about it, because he brought it here, and now he finds there is no place to use it. i should think he ought to have known that the primeval forest isn't any place for a bicycle." "mr. archibald," said mrs. archibald, when they had retired to their room, "i did not agree with you when you wished we could have started for camp to-day, but now i am quite of your mind." tuesday was fine, and preparations were made for the archibald party to start for their camp after an early luncheon. the bluff and hearty peter took such an interest in everything that was being done for their comfort, giving special heed to all the possible requirements of mrs. archibald, that the heart of mr. archibald was touched. "i wish," said he to his good-natured host, "that you were going with us. i do not know any one i would rather camp with than you." "if i could do it," replied peter, "i'd like it ever so well. so far as i have been able to make you out, you are the sort of a man i'd be willing to run a camp for. what i like about you is that you haven't any mind of your own. there is nothing i hate worse than to run against a man with a mind of his own. of course there have to be such fellows, but let them keep away from me. there is no room here for more than one mind, and i have pre-empted the whole section." mr. archibald laughed. "your opinion of me does not sound very complimentary," he said. "it is complimentary!" roared peter sadler, striking the table with his fist. "why, i tell you, sir, i couldn't say anything more commendable of you if i tried! it shows that you are a man of common-sense, and that's pretty high praise. everything i've told you to do you've done. everything i've proposed you've agreed to. you see for yourself that i know what is better for you and your party than you do, and you stand up like a man and say so. yes, sir; if a rolling-chair wasn't as bad for the woods as the bicycle that boston chap brought down here, i'd go along with you." mr. archibald had a very sharp sense of the humorous, and in his enjoyment of a comical situation he liked company. his heart was stirred to put his expedition in its true light before this man who was so honest and plain-spoken. "mr. sadler," said he, "if you will take it as a piece of confidential information, and not intended for the general ear, i will tell you what sort of a holiday my wife and i are taking. we are on a wedding-journey." and then he told the story of the proxy bridal tour. peter sadler threw himself back in his chair and laughed with such great roars that two hunting-dogs, who were asleep in the hall, sprang to their feet and dashed out of the back door, their tails between their legs. "by the lord harry!" cried peter sadler, "you and your wife are a pair of giants. i don't say anything about that young woman, for i don't believe it would have made any difference to her whether you were on a wedding-trip or travelling into the woods to bury a child. i tell you, sir, you mayn't have a mind that can give out much, but you've got a mind that can take in the biggest kind of thing, and that is what i call grand. it is the difference between a canyon and a mountain. there are lots of good mountains in this world, and mighty few good canyons. tom, you tom, come here!" in answer to the loud call a boy came running up. "go into my room," said peter sadler, "and bring out a barrel bottle, large size, and one of the stone jars with a red seal on it. now, sir," said he to mr. archibald, "i am going to give you a bottle of the very best whiskey that ever a human being took into the woods, and a jar of smoking-tobacco a great deal too good for any king on any throne. they belong to my private stock, and i am proud to make them a present to a man who will take a wedding-trip to save his grown-up daughter the trouble. as for your wife, there'll be a basket that will go to her with my compliments, that will show her what i think of her. by-the-way, sir, have you met phil matlack?" "no, i have not!" exclaimed mr. archibald, with animation. "i have heard something about him, and before we start i should like to see the man who is going to take charge of us in camp." "well, there he is, just passing the back door. hello, phil! come in here." when the eminent guide, phil matlack, entered the hall, mr. archibald looked at him with some surprise, for he was not the conventional tall, gaunt, wiry, keen-eyed backwoodsman who had naturally appeared to his mental vision. this man was of medium height, a little round-shouldered, dressed in a gray shirt, faded brown trousers very baggy at the knees, a pair of conspicuous blue woollen socks, and slippers made of carpet. his short beard and his hair were touched with gray, and he wore a small jockey cap. with the exception of his eyes, mr. matlack's facial features were large, and the expression upon them was that of a mild and generally good-natured tolerance of the world and all that is in it. it may be stated that this expression, combined with his manner, indicated also a desire on his part that the world and all that is in it should tolerate him. mr. archibald's first impressions of the man did not formulate themselves in these terms; he simply thought that the guide was a slipshod sort of a fellow. "phil," said mr. sadler, "here is the gentleman you are going to take into camp." "glad to see him," said matlack; "hope he'll like it." "and i want to say to you, phil," continued sadler, "right before him, that he is a first-class man for you to have in charge. i don't believe you ever had a better one. he's a city man, and it's my opinion he don't know one thing about hunting, fishing, making a camp-fire, or even digging bait. i don't suppose he ever spent a night outside of a house, and doesn't know any more about the weather than he does about planting cabbages. he's just clean, bright, and empty, like a new peach-basket. what you tell him he'll know, and what you ask him to do he'll do, and if you want a better man than that to take into camp, you want too much. that's all i've got to say." matlack looked at peter sadler and then at mr. archibald, who was leaning back in his chair, his bright eyes twinkling. "how did you find out all that about him?" he asked. "humph!" exclaimed peter sadler. "don't you suppose i can read a man's character when i've had a good chance at him? now how about the stores--have they all gone on?" "they were sent out early this mornin'," said matlack, "and we can start as soon as the folks are ready." chapter v camp rob it was early in the afternoon when the archibald party took up the line of march for camp rob. the two ladies, supplied by mrs. sadler with coarse riding-skirts, sat each upon a farm-horse, and mr. archibald held the bridle of the one that carried his wife. matlack and martin sanders, the young man who was to assist him, led the way, while a led horse, loaded with the personal baggage of the travellers, brought up the rear. their way wound through a forest over a wood road, very rough and barely wide enough for the passage of a cart. the road was solemn and still, except where, here and there, an open space allowed the sunlight to play upon a few scattered wild flowers and brighten the sombre tints of the undergrowth. after a ride which seemed a long one to the ladies, who wished they had attired themselves in walking-costume, the road and the forest suddenly came to an end, and before them stretched out the waters of a small lake. camp rob was not far from the head of the lake, and for some distance above and below the forest stood back from the water's edge. in the shade of a great oak tree there stood a small log-house, rude enough to look at, but moderately comfortable within, and from this house to the shore a wide space was cleared of bushes and undergrowth. the lake was narrow in proportion to its length, which was about two miles, and on the other side the forest looked like a solid wall of green reflected in the water beneath. even mrs. archibald, whose aching back began to have an effect upon her disposition, was delighted with the beauty of the scene, which delight endured until she had descended from her horse and entered the log-cabin in which she was to dwell for a time. it is not necessary to describe the house, nor is it necessary to dive into the depths of mrs. archibald's mind as she gazed about her, passing silently from room to room of the little house. she was a good woman, and she had made up her mind that she would not be a millstone around the necks of her companions. many people have been happy in camps, and, indeed, camp-life has become one of the features of our higher civilization, and this, from what she had heard, must be a camp above the common. so, think what she might, she determined to make no open complaint. if it were possible for her to be happy here, she would be happy. as for margery, no determination was needed in her case. everything was better than she had expected to find it. the cabin, with the bark on almost everything, even the furniture, was just what a house in the woods ought to be; and when she entered the little studio, which was nearer allied to the original forest than any other part of the house, she declared that that must be her room, and that living there she would feel almost like a dryad in an oak. "you've camped out before?" said phil matlack to mr. archibald, as he was taking a survey of the scene. "oh yes," said the other, "i've been out a few days at a time with fishing-parties, but we never had such a fine camp as this--so well located and such good accommodations." "you are a fisherman, then?" said the guide. "yes. i am very fond of it. i've fished ever since i was a boy, and know a good deal about bait, in spite of what mr. sadler said." "i had an idea of that sort," remarked phil, "but it ain't no use to contradict peter. it helps keep up his spirits for him to think he can read the characters of people just as quick as he can aim a rifle. and it's a mighty important thing to keep peter's spirits up. if peter's spirits was to go down, things round here would flatten out worse than a rotten punkin when it's dropped." it did not take long to establish the new-comers in their woodland quarters. the tent for the two men, which had arrived in the morning, was pitched not far from the cabin, and then matlack and martin went to work to prepare supper. the dining-room in pleasant weather was the small space in front of the house, where there was a table made of a wide board supported by stakes, with a low and narrow board on each side, also resting on stakes, and forming seats. the supper was a better one and better served than any of the party had expected. the camp outfit included table-cloths, and even napkins. "to-morrow," said matlack, as he brought a dish of hot and savory broiled ham, "after mr. archibald gets to work, we'll have some fish." mrs. archibald had been a little fearful that under these primitive conditions the two men might expect to sit at the table with them, but she need have had no such fears. matlack and martin cooked and waited with a skill and deftness which would have surprised any one who did not reflect that this was as much their business as hunting or woodcraft. after supper a camp-fire was built at a safe distance from the house, for although the evening air was but slightly cool, a camp without a camp-fire would not be a camp. the party ranged themselves around it, mrs. archibald on a rug brought from the cabin, and her husband and margery on the ground. mr. archibald lighted his pipe, the fire lighted the trees and the lake, and joy inexpressible lighted the heart of margery. "if i could smoke a pipe," said she, "and get mr. matlack to come here and tell me how he killed a man, i should be perfectly happy." that night mrs. archibald lay awake on her straw mattress. absolute darkness was about her, but through the open window she could see, over the tops of the trees on the other side of the lake, one little star. "if i could get any comfort out of that little star," thought the good lady, "i would do it; but i can't do it, and there is nothing else to comfort me." on the other side of the room, on another straw mattress, she could hear her husband breathing steadily. then, upon the bare boards of the floor, which were but a few inches below her little cot-bed, she thought she heard the patter of small feet. a squirrel, perhaps, or, horrible to think of, it might be a rat. she was sure rats would eat straw beds, and her first impulse was to wake mr. archibald; but she hesitated, he was sleeping so soundly. still she listened, and now she became almost certain that what she heard was not the patter of small feet; it sounded more like something soft which was dragging itself over the floor--possibly a snake. this idea was simply awful, and she sat up in bed. still she did not call mr. archibald, for should he suddenly spring on the floor, he would be in more danger from the snake than she was. she listened and she listened, but she heard nothing more, and then her reason began to assure her that a snake's movements on a bare floor would be absolutely noiseless; but in a moment all thoughts of serpents were driven from her head. outside of the cabin she heard a sound that could be nothing less than the footsteps of some living creature--a wild beast, perhaps a panther. the door was shut and fastened, but the window was open. to call mr. archibald and tell him a wild beast was walking outside the house would be positively wicked. half-awakened, he would probably rush out of the door to see what it was. what could she do? for an instant she thought of lighting a candle and standing it in the window. she knew that wild beasts were afraid of fire, and she did not believe that even a panther would dare jump over a lighted candle. but if she struck a match and got up, she would waken her husband; and, besides, if the wind, of which she could feel a puff every now and then, did not blow out the candle, it might blow it over and set fire to the cabin. she heard the footsteps no more, and lay down again, but not to sleep. the wind seemed to be rising, and made a wild, unearthly sound as it surged through the trees which surrounded and imprisoned her, and shut her out from the world in which she was born and in which she ought to live. there was a far-away sound which came to her ears once, twice, thrice, and which might have been the call of some ghostly bird or the war-whoop of an indian. at last she drew the covering over her head, determined that, so long as she could not see, she would not hear. "a wedding-journey!" she said to herself, and the idea, coupled with the sense of her present grewsome and doleful condition, was so truly absurd and ridiculous that she could not restrain a melancholy laugh. "what is the matter, my dear?" exclaimed mr. archibald, suddenly turning over in his bed. "are you choking? is the room too close? shall i open the door?" "no, indeed," she said, "for that was a laugh you heard. i couldn't help laughing at the thought that there should be two such idiots in the world as you and myself." "it is idiotic, isn't it?" said mr. archibald. "it is gloriously idiotic, and it will do us both a world of good. it is such a complete and perfect change that i don't wonder you laugh." then he laughed himself, clearly and loudly, and turned over on his side and went to sleep. mrs. archibald felt certain that she would not sleep another wink that night, but she did sleep seven hours and a half, and was awakened by margery singing outside her window. chapter vi camp roy no thoughts of idiocy crossed the minds of any of the camping party during their first breakfast under the great oak-tree. the air, the sunlight, the rippling waters of the lake, the white clouds in the blue sky, the great trunks of the trees, the rustling of the leaves, the songs of the birds, the hum of insects, the brightness of everything, their wonderful appetites--the sense of all these things more than filled their minds. for the greater part of that day mr. archibald fished, sometimes in a stream which ran into the head of the lake about a quarter of a mile above the camp, and sometimes on the shores of the lake itself. margery sketched; her night in the studio had filled her with dreams of art, and she had discovered in a corner a portable easel made of hickory sticks with the bark on, and she had tucked some drawing materials into one of her bags. mrs. archibald was a little tired with her journey of the day before, and contented herself with sitting in the shade in pleasant places, occupied with some needle-work she had brought with her, and trying to discipline her mind to habits of happiness in camp. this was not very difficult during the first part of this beautiful day, but towards the end of the afternoon she began to think less of the joys of a free life in the heart of nature and more of the pleasure of putting on her bonnet and going out to make some calls upon her friends. in this state of mind it pleased her to see phil matlack coming towards her. "would you like a cup of tea, ma'am?" said he. "no, thank you," she answered. "it would seem rather odd to have afternoon tea in the woods, and i really don't care for it." "we can have 'most anything in the woods, ma'am," said matlack, "that we can have anywhere else, providin' you don't mind what sort of fashion you have it in. i thought it might be sort of comfortin' to you to have a cup of tea. i've noticed that in most campin' parties of the family order there's generally one or two of them that's lonesome the first day; and the fact is i don't count on anything particular bein' done on the first day in camp, except when the party is regular hunters or fishermen. it's just as well for some of them to sit round on the first day and let things soak into them, provided it isn't rain, and the next day they will have a more natural feelin' about what they really want to do. now i expect you will be off on some sort of a tramp to-morrow, ma'am, or else be out in the boat; and as for that young lady, she's not goin' to sketch no more after to-day. she's got young martin out in the boat, restin' on his oars, while she's puttin' him into her picture. she's rubbed him out so often that i expect he'll fall asleep and tumble overboard, or else drop one of his oars." "mr. matlack," said mrs. archibald, "will you please sit down a moment? i want to ask you something." "certainly, ma'am," said he, and forthwith seated himself on a log near by, picking up a stick as he did so, and beginning to shave the bark from it with his pocket-knife. "do you know," said she, "if there are panthers in these woods?" matlack looked up at her quickly. "i expect you heard them walkin' about your cabin last night," said he; "and not only panthers, but most likely a bear or two, and snakes rustlin' in the leaves; and, for all i know, coons or 'possums climbin' in and out of the window." "oh, nothing so bad as that," she replied. "i only thought--" "excuse me, ma'am," he interrupted. "i didn't mean that you heard all those things, but most likely a part of them. hardly any family parties goes into camp that some of them don't hear wild beasts the first night. but they never come no more. them kind of wild beasts i call first-nighters, and they're about the worst kind we've got, because they really do hurt people by scratchin' and clawin' at their nerves, whereas the real wild beasts in these parts--and they're mighty scarce, and never come near camp--don't hurt nobody." "i am glad to hear it," said she. "but what on earth can be keeping mr. archibald? when he started out after dinner he said he would be back very soon." "oh, he's got the fever, ma'am," said matlack. "fever!" exclaimed mrs. archibald, dropping her work in her lap. "oh, don't be frightened," said he; "it is only the fishin' fever. it don't hurt anybody; it only keeps the meals waitin'. you see, we are pretty nigh the first people out this year, and the fish bite lively. are you fond of fishin', ma'am?" "no, indeed," said she; "i dislike it. i think it is cruel and slimy and generally unpleasant." "i expect you'll spend most of your time in the boat," suggested matlack. "your husband rows, don't he?" "he doesn't row me," said mrs. archibald, with earnestness. "i never go out in a boat except with a regular boatman. i suppose you have a larger boat than the one that young man is in? i can see it from here, and it looks very small." "no, ma'am," said matlack; "that's the only one we've got. and now i guess i'll go see about supper. this has been a lazy day for us, but we always do calc'late on a lazy day to begin with." "it strikes me," said matlack to himself, as he walked away, "that this here camp will come to an end pretty soon. the man and the young woman could stand it for a couple of weeks, but there's nothing here for the old lady, and it can't be long before she'll have us all out of the woods again." "you can come in," called margery, about ten minutes after this conversation; and young martin, who had not the least idea of going to sleep in the boat, dipped his oars in the water and rowed ashore, pulled the boat up on the beach, and then advanced to the spot where margery was preparing to put away her drawing materials. "would you mind letting me see your sketch?" said he. "oh no," said she; "but you'll see it isn't very much like the scene itself. when i make a drawing from nature i never copy everything i see just as if i were making a photograph. i suppose you think i ought to draw the boat just as it is, but i always put something of my own in my pictures. and that, you see, is a different kind of a boat from the one you were in. it is something like venetian boats." "it isn't like anything in this part of the world, that is true," said the young man, as he held the drawing in his hand; "and if it had been more like a gondola it would not have suited the scene. i think you have caught the spirit of the landscape very well; but if you don't object to a little criticism, i should say that the shore over there is too near the foreground. it seems to me that the picture wants atmosphere; that would help the distance very much." "do you draw?" asked margery, in surprise. "i used to be very fond of sketching," said he. "i stayed at sadler's a good part of the last winter, and when i wasn't out hunting i made a good many drawings of winter scenes. i would be glad to show them to you when we go back." "well," said she, "if i had known you were an artist i would not have asked you to go out there and sit as a model." "oh, i am not an artist," replied martin; "i only draw, that's all. but if you make any more water sketches and would like me to put some ducks or any other kind of wild-fowl in the foreground i will be glad to do it for you. i have made a specialty of natural-history drawings. don't bother yourself about that easel; i'll carry up your things for you." about half-way to the cabin margery suddenly stopped and turned round towards the young man, who was following her. "how did you come to be a guide?" she asked. he smiled. "that's because i was born a naturalist and a sportsman. i went into business when i finished my education, but i couldn't stand that, and as i couldn't afford to become a gentleman sportsman, i came here as a guide. i'm getting a lot of experience in this sort of life, and when i've saved money enough i'm going on an exploring expedition, most likely to central america. that's the kind of life that will suit me." "and write a book about it?" asked margery. "most likely," said he. that night, after supper, margery remarked: "our two guides are american citizens, and i don't see why they can't eat at the table with us instead of waiting until we have finished. we are all free and equal in the woods." "margery dearborn!" exclaimed mrs. archibald. "what are you talking about?" she was going to say that if there were one straw more needed to break her back, that straw would be the sight of the two guides sitting at the table with them, but she restrained herself. she did not want mr. archibald to know anything about the condition of her back. "so long as they don't want to do it, and don't do it," said she, "pray don't let us say anything about it. let's try to make things as pleasant as we can." mr. archibald was lighting his pipe, and when he was sure the tobacco was sufficiently ignited he took the pipe from his mouth and turned towards his wife. "harriet," said he, "you have been too much alone to-day. i don't know what i shall do to-morrow; but whatever it is, i am going to take you with me." "of course that depends on what it is you do," she answered. "but i will try to do everything i can." mr. archibald heaved a little sigh, which was not noticed by any one, because it sounded like a puff. "i am afraid," he thought, "that this camping business is not going to last very much longer, and we shall be obliged to make the rest of our wedding-journey in a different style." the next morning, when mr. archibald went out of his cabin door, he looked over the lake and saw a bird suddenly swoop down upon the water, breaking the smooth surface into sparkles of silver, and then rise again, a little silvery fish glittering in its claws. "beautifully done!" said he. "a splendid stroke!" and then turning, he looked up the lake, and not far from the water's edge he saw margery walking with mr. clyde, while mr. raybold followed a little in the rear. "harriet," he cried, quickly stepping into the cabin again, "look out here! what is the meaning of this?" mrs. archibald was dressed, and came out. when she saw the trio approaching them, she was not so much surprised as was her husband. "i don't know the meaning of anything that happens in these woods," she said; "but if a lot of people have come from the hotel with those young men i cannot say i am sorry." "come," said her husband, "we must look into this." in two minutes the archibalds had met the new-comers, who advanced with outstretched hands, as if they had been old friends. mr. archibald, not without some mental disquietude at this intrusion upon the woodland privacy of his party, was about to begin a series of questions, when he was forestalled by margery. "oh, uncle archibald and aunt harriet!" she exclaimed, "mr. clyde and mr. raybold have come out here to camp. their camp is right next to ours, and it is called camp roy. you see, some years ago there was a large camping party came here, and they called the place camp rob roy, but it was afterwards divided, and one part called camp rob and the other camp roy." "indeed!" interrupted mr. archibald. "mr. sadler did not tell us that ours was only half a camp with only half a name." "i don't suppose he thought of it," said margery. "and the line between the two camps is just three hundred feet above our cabin. i don't suppose anybody ever measures it off, but there it is; and mr. clyde and mr. raybold have taken camp roy, which hasn't any house on it. they started before daybreak this morning, and brought a tent along with them, which they have pitched just back of that little peninsula; and they haven't any guide, because they want to attend to their own cooking and everything, and the man who brought the tent and other things has gone back. they are going to live there just like real backwoodsmen, and they have a boat of their own, which is to be brought up from the bottom of the lake somewhere--i mean from the lower end of the lake. and, aunt harriet, may i speak to you a moment?" with this the young woman drew mrs. archibald aside, and in a low voice asked if she thought it would be out of the way to invite the two young men to take breakfast with them, as it was not likely they had all their cooking things in order so early. five people sat down to breakfast under the great oak-tree, and it was a lively meal. mr. archibald's mental disquiet, in which were now apparent some elements of resentment, had not subsided, but the state of his mind did not show itself in his demeanor, and he could not help feeling pleased to see that his wife was in better spirits. he had always known that she liked company. after breakfast he took matlack aside. "i don't understand this business," said he. "when i hired this camp i supposed we were to have it to ourselves; but if there are other camps jammed close against it we may be in the midst of a great public picnic before a week is out." "oh, that camp over there isn't much of a camp," replied the guide. "the fact is, it is only the tail end of a camp, and i don't suppose peter sadler thought anybody would be likely to take it just now, and so didn't think it worth while to speak of it. of course it's jammed up against this one, as you say; but then the people in one camp haven't the right to cross the line into another camp if the people in the other camp don't want them to." "line!" said mr. archibald. "it is absurd to think of lines in a place like this. and i have no intention of making myself disagreeable by ordering people off my premises. but i would like to know if there is another camp three hundred feet on this side of our cabin, or three hundred feet back of it." "no, sir," said matlack, speaking promptly; "there isn't another camp between this and the lower end of the lake. there's a big one there, and it's taken; but the people aren't coming until next month." "if a larger party had taken camp roy," said mr. archibald to his wife a little later, "i should not mind it so much. but two young men! i do not like it." chapter vii a stranger it was at the close of a pleasant afternoon four days after the arrival of the young men at camp roy, and mrs. archibald was seated on a camp-stool near the edge of the lake intently fishing. by her side stood phil matlack, who had volunteered to interpose himself between her and all the disagreeable adjuncts of angling. he put the bait upon her hook, he told her when her cork was bobbing sufficiently to justify a jerk, and when she caught a little fish he took it off the hook. fishing in this pleasant wise had become very agreeable to the good lady, and she found pleasures in camp life which she had not anticipated. her husband was in a boat some distance out on the lake, and he was also fishing, but she did not care for that style of sport; the fish were too big and the boat too small. a little farther down the lake martin sanders sat busily engaged in putting some water-fowl into the foreground of margery's sketch. a critical observer might have noticed that he had also made a number of changes in said sketch, all of which added greatly to its merits as a picture of woodland scenery. at a little distance margery was sitting at her easel making a sketch of martin as an artist at work in the woods. the two young men had gone off with their guns, not perhaps because they expected to find any legitimate game at that season, but hoping to secure some ornithological specimens, or to get a shot at some minor quadrupeds unprotected by law. another reason for their expedition could probably have been found in some strong hints given by mr. archibald that it was unwise for them to be hanging around the camps and taking no advantage of the opportunities for sport offered by the beautiful weather and the forest. it was not long before margery became convinced that the sketch on which she was working did not resemble her model, nor did it very much resemble an artist at work in the woods. "it looks a good deal more like a cobbler mending shoes," she said to herself, "and i'll keep it for that. some day i will put a bench under him and a shoe in his hand instead of a sketch." with that she rose, and went to see how martin was getting on. "i think," she said, "those dark ducks improve the picture very much. they throw the other things back." then she stopped, went to one side, and gazed out over the lake. "i wonder," she said, "if there is really any fun in fishing. uncle archibald has been out in that boat for more than two hours, and he has fished almost every day since he's been here. i should think he would get tired of it." "oh no," said martin, looking up with animation. "if you know how to fish, and there is good sport, you never get tired of it." "i know how to fish," said margery, "and i do not care about it at all." "you know how to fish?" said martin. "can you make a cast with a fly?" "i never tried that," said she. "but i have fished as aunt harriet does, and it is easy as can be." "oh," said he, "you don't know anything about fishing unless you have fished with a fly. that is the only real sport. it is as exciting as a battle. if you would let me teach you how to throw a fly, i am sure you would never find fishing tiresome, and these woods would be like a new world to you." "why don't you do it yourself, then?" she asked. "because i am paid to do other things," he replied. "we are not sent here simply to enjoy ourselves, though i must say that i--" and then he suddenly stopped. "i wish you would let me teach you fly-fishing. i know you would like it." margery looked at the eager face turned towards her, and then she gazed out over the water. "perhaps i might like it," she said. "but it wouldn't be necessary for you to take that trouble. uncle archibald has two or three times asked me to go out with him, and of course he would teach me how to fish as he does. isn't that somebody calling you?" "yes," said martin, rising; "it's phil. i suppose it's nearly supper-time." as they walked towards the camp, margery in front, and martin behind her carrying the drawing-materials and the easel, margery suddenly turned. [illustration: "'they throw the other things back'"] "it was very good of you to offer to teach me to fish with flies," she said, "and perhaps, if uncle archibald doesn't want to be bothered, i may get you to show me how to do it." the young man's face brightened, and he was about to express his pleasure with considerable warmth; but he checked himself, and merely remarked that whenever she was ready he would provide a rod and flies and show her how to use them. mrs. archibald had gone into the cabin, and margery went up to matlack, who was on his way to the little tent in which the camp cooking was done. "did mrs. archibald tell you," said she, "that we have invited mr. clyde and mr. raybold to supper to-night?" the guide stopped and smiled. "she told me," said he, "but i don't know that it was altogether necessary." "i suppose you mean," said margery, "that they are here so much; but i don't wonder; they must do awfully poor cooking for themselves. i don't suppose they will bring anything back that is good to eat." "not at this time of year," said he, "but i shall be satisfied if they bring themselves home." "what do you mean by that?" asked margery, quickly. "well," said matlack, "i don't doubt the bicycle fellow will always come back all right, but i'm afeard about the other one. that bicycle chap don't know no more about a gun than he does about makin' bread, and i wouldn't go out huntin' with him for a hundred dollars. he's just as likely to take a crack at his pardner's head as at anything else that's movin' in the woods." "that is dreadful!" exclaimed margery. "yes, it is," returned the guide; "and if i had charge of their camp he wouldn't go out with a gun again. but it will be all right in a day or two. peter will settle that." "mr. sadler, do you mean?" asked margery. "what's he got to do with it?" "he's got everything to do with it," said matlack. "he's got everything to do with everything in this part of the country. he's got his laws, and he sees to it that people stand by them. one of his rules is that people who don't know how to use guns sha'n't shoot in his camps." "but how can he know about the people out here in the woods?" asked margery. "i tell you, miss," said matlack, speaking slowly and decisively, "peter sadler's ways of knowing things is like gas--the kind you burn, i mean. i was a-visitin' once in a city house, and slept in a room on the top floor, and there was a leak in the pipe in the cellar, and that gas just went over the whole house, into every room and closet, and even under the beds, and i've often thought that that was just like peter's way of doin' things and knowin' things. you take my word for it, that bicycle-man won't go out huntin' many more days, even if he don't shoot his pardner fust." "he won't go to-morrow," thought margery; and then she said to matlack: "i think we ought to know mr. sadler's rules. has he any more of them?" "oh, they ain't very many," said matlack. "but there's one i think of now, and that is that no woman shall go out in a boat by herself on this lake." "that is simply horrid!" exclaimed margery. "women can row as well as men." "i don't say they can't," said matlack. "i'm only tellin' you what peter's rules are, and that's one of them." margery made no reply, but walked away, her head thrown back a little more than was usual with her. "i've got to keep my eye on her," said matlack to himself, as he went to the cabin; "she's never been broke to no harness." * * * * * mr. raybold did not shoot mr. clyde, nor did he shoot anything else. mr. clyde did shoot a bird, but it fell into the water at a place where the shore was very marshy, and it was impossible for him to get it. he thought it was a heron, or a bittern, or perhaps a fish-hawk, but whatever it was, both ladies said that it was a great pity to kill it, as it was not good to eat, and must have been very happy in its life in the beautiful forest. "it is very cruel to shoot them when they are not strictly game," said mr. clyde, "and i don't believe i will do it. if i had the things to stuff them with, that would be different, but i haven't. i believe fishing is just as much fun, and more sensible." "i do not!" exclaimed mr. raybold. "i hold that hunting is a manly art, and that a forester's life is as bold and free to him as it is to the birds in the air. i believe i have the blood of a hunter in me. my voice is for the woods." "i expect you will change your voice," thought margery, "when mr. sadler takes your gun away from you." but she did not say so. mr. archibald stood with his hands in his pockets reflecting. he had hoped that these two young men were inveterate hunters, and that they would spend their days in long tramps. he did not at all approve of their fishing. fishing could be done anywhere--here, for instance, right at this very door. supper was over, and the five inhabitants of camps rob and roy had seated themselves around the fire which martin had carefully built, keeping in view a cheery blaze without too much heat. pipes had been filled and preparations made for the usual evening smoke and talk, when a man was seen emerging from the woods at the point where the road opened into the clearing about the camp. it was still light, for these hungry campers supped early, and the man could be distinctly seen as he approached, and it was plain that he was not a messenger from sadler's. he was rather a large man, dressed in black, and wearing a felt hat with a wide, straight brim. hanging by a strap from his shoulder was a small leather bag, and in his hand he carried a closed umbrella. advancing towards the fire, he took off his hat, bowed, and smiled. he wore no beard, his face was round and plump, and his smile was pleasant. "good-evening, ladies and gentlemen," said he, and his voice was as pleasant as his smile. "good-evening," said mr. archibald, and then for a moment there was a pause. "i presume," said the new-comer, looking about him, "that this is a camp." "it is a camp," said mr. archibald. "the fact is so obvious," said the man in black, "that it was really unnecessary for me to allude to it. may i ask to be allowed to sit down for a few moments? i am fatigued." at this juncture phil matlack arrived on the scene. "well, sir," said he, "have you any business with anybody here? who do you wish to see?" "i have no business," said the other, "and--" "and you are a stranger to everybody here?" interrupted matlack. "yes, but i hope--" "now then," said the guide, quickly, "i've got to ask you to move on. this is one of peter sadler's camps, and he has strict rules against strangers stoppin' in any of them. if you've lost your way, i'll tell you that this road, if you don't turn to the right or the left, will take you straight to sadler's, and there's time enough for you to get there before dark." "mr. matlack," exclaimed mrs. archibald, who had risen to her feet, "i want to speak to you! it's a shame," she said, when the guide had approached her, "to send that man away without even giving him a chance to rest himself. he may be a very respectable person on a walking tour." "i guess he is on a walkin' tour," said matlack, "and i guess he's a regular tramp, and there's no orders we've got that's stricter than them against tramps." "well, i don't care who he is," said mrs. archibald, "or what your rules are, but when a perfectly good-mannered man comes to us and asks simply to be allowed to rest, i don't want him to be driven away as if he were a stray pig on a lawn. mr. archibald, shouldn't he be allowed to rest a while?" her husband rose and approached the stranger. "where are you going, sir?" said he. the man looked at matlack, at martin, who stood behind him, and then at the rest of the company, and after this comprehensive glance he smiled. "from present appearances," he said, "i think i am going to go." mr. archibald laughed. "when do you expect to get there?" he asked. "it seems to me," said the other, reflectively, "that i am always going there, and i suppose i shall have to keep on doing it." "look here," said mr. archibald, turning to matlack, "give him some supper, and let him rest. there will be time enough for him to get to sadler's after that. if sadler has anything to say against it, refer him to me." "all right, sir," said matlack, "if you say so. i'm no harder on my fellow-bein's than other people, but rules is rules, and it isn't for me to break them." "my dear sir," said the stranger to mr. archibald, "your words are more grateful to me than the promise of food. i see that you consider me a tramp, but it is a mistake. i am not a tramp. if you will allow me, after i have eaten a little supper--a meal which i must admit i greatly need--i will explain to you how i happen to be here." and with a bow he walked towards the table where matlack and martin had been eating their supper. "do you know what i think he is?" said mr. clyde, when mr. archibald had resumed his seat and his pipe. "i believe he is a wandering actor. actors always have smoothly shaven faces, and he looks like one." "actor!" exclaimed arthur raybold. "that's nonsense. he's not in the least like an actor. anybody could see by his tread and his air that he's never been on the stage. he's more like a travelling salesman. the next thing he'll do will be to pull out of that bag some samples of spool thread or patent thimbles." "you are both wrong," said margery--"entirely wrong. i have been looking at him, and i believe he is a methodist minister with a dead horse. they ride circuits, and of course when their horses die they walk. just wait a little, and see if i am not right." they waited a little, and then they waited a little longer, and they had begun to be tired of waiting before the stranger finished his meal and approached the fire. his face was brighter, his smile was more pleasant, and his step had a certain jauntiness in it. "i thank you all," he said, "for the very good meal i have just enjoyed. i am now going to go, but before i start i would like very much--indeed, i crave it as a favor--to place myself before you in my proper light. may i have permission to do so, madam and sir?" he said, addressing mrs. and mr. archibald, but with a respectful glance at the others, as if he would not ignore any one of them. "certainly," said mrs. archibald. "sit down and tell us about yourself." the stranger seated himself with alacrity a little back from the circle, and nearer to the young men than to the archibald party. chapter viii the bishop's tale the stranger placed his broad-brimmed hat on the ground beside him, exposing a large round head somewhat bald in front, but not from age, and the rest of it covered with close-cut brown hair. his black clothes fitted him very closely, their extreme tightness suggesting that they had shrunken in the course of wearing, or that he had grown much plumper since he had come into possession of them; and their general worn and dull appearance gave considerable distance to the period of their first possession. but there was nothing worn or dull about the countenance of the man, upon which was an expression of mellow geniality which would have been suitably consequent upon a good dinner with plenty of wine. but his only beverage had been coffee, and in his clear bright eye there was no trace of any exhilaration, except that caused by the action of a hearty meal upon a good digestion and an optimistic disposition. "i am very glad," he said, looking about him at the company, and then glancing with a friendly air towards the two guides, who stood a little back of mr. archibald, "to have this opportunity to explain my appearance here. in the first place, i must tell you that i am a bishop whose diocese has been inundated, and who consequently has been obliged to leave it." "oh!" exclaimed mr. archibald; and margery looked at mr. clyde, with the remark: "there! you see i was very near to it." "i presume this statement will require some explanation," continued the man in black, "and i will make it presently. i am going to be exceedingly frank and open in all that i say to you, and as frankness and openness are so extremely rare in this world, it may be that i shall obtain favor in your eyes from the fact of my possessing those unusual qualities. originally i was a teacher, and for a year or two i had a very good country school; but my employment at last became so repugnant to me that i could no longer endure it, and this repugnance was due entirely to my intense dislike for children." "that is not at all to your credit," observed mrs. archibald; "and i do not see how you became a bishop, or why you should have been made one." "was your diocese entirely meadow-land?" inquired mr. archibald. "i am coming to all that," said the stranger, with a smile of polite consideration towards mrs. archibald. "i know very well that it is not at all to my credit to dislike children, but i said i would be honest, and i am. i do dislike them--not their bodies, but their minds. children, considered physically, are often pleasant to the view, and even interesting as companions, providing their innate juvenility is undisturbed; but when their personalities are rudely thrown open by a teacher, and the innate juvenility prematurely exposed to the air, it is something so clammy, so chilly to the mental marrow, that i shrink from it as i would shrink from the touch of any cold, clammy thing." "horrible!" exclaimed mrs. archibald. "i am not sure," observed margery, "that there is not some truth in that. i had a sunday-school class for a little while, and although i can't say there was a clamminess, there was--well, i don't know what there was, but i gave it up." "i am glad," said the man in black, "that my candor is not sinking me in the estimation of every one present; but even if it did, i am obliged to tell the truth. i do not know what would have become of me if i had not had the good-fortune to catch the measles from a family with whom i was spending sunday in another town. as soon as the disease plainly showed itself upon me my school was broken up, and it was never gathered together again, at least under me. "i must make my story brief, and can only say that not long after this i found myself in another town, where it became necessary for me to do something to support myself. this was difficult, for i am an indefinite man, and definiteness seems necessary to success in any line. happening one day to pass a house with open lower windows, i heard the sound of children's voices speaking in unison, and knowing that this must be a school, i looked in, compelled entirely by that curiosity which often urges us to gaze upon human suffering. i found, however, that this was a kindergarten conducted by a young woman. unobserved by scholars or teacher, i watched the proceedings with great interest, and soon became convinced that kindergartening was a much less repellent system of tuition than any i had known; but i also perceived that the methods of the young woman could be greatly improved. i thought a good deal upon this subject after leaving the open window. soon afterwards, becoming acquainted with the young person in charge of the children, i offered to teach her a much better system of kindergartening than she was using. my terms were very low, and she became my scholar. i soon learned that there were other kindergartens in the town, and some of the teachers of these joined my class. moreover, there were young women in the place who were not kindergartners, but who would like to become such, and these i also taught, sometimes visiting them at their houses, and sometimes giving my lessons in a room loaned by one of my patrons. my system became very popular, because it was founded upon common-sense." "what was your system?" asked mrs. archibald. "i am interested in kindergartens myself." "my object," he answered, "was to make the operation of teaching interesting to the teacher. it struck me very forcibly that a continuance of a few years in the present inane performances called kindergartening would infallibly send to our lunatic asylums a number of women, more or less young, with more or less depleted intellects. the various games and exercises i devised were very interesting, and i am sure i had scholars who never intended to become kindergartners, and who studied with me solely for their own advantage. it was at this time that i adopted the clerical dress as being more suitable to my vocation than any other costume, and some one having called me the bishop, the name soon became popular, and i was generally known by it." "but what is your real name?" asked mrs. archibald. "madam," said the man, "you must excuse me if i ask you to recall your question. i have a good name, and i belong to a very good family, but there are reasons why i do not at present wish to avow that name. some of these reasons are connected with the report that i purposely visited the family with the measles in order to get rid of my school; others are connected with the inundation of my diocese, of which i shall speak; others refer to my present indefinite method of life. there is reason to suppose that the time is not far distant when my resumption of my family name will throw no discredit upon it, but that period has not yet arrived. do you press your question, madam?" "oh no," said mrs. archibald; "it really makes no difference; and out here in the woods a man may call himself a bishop or a cardinal or anything he likes." "thank you very much," said he, "and i will continue to speak in figures, and call myself a bishop." "where i was brought up," interpolated phil matlack, still standing behind mr. archibald, "i was taught that figures don't lie." "my good sir," said the speaker, with a smile, "in mathematics they don't, in poetry and literature they often do. well, as i was saying, my diocese extended itself, my revenues were satisfactory, and i had begun to believe that i had found my true work in life, when suddenly there was a misfortune. there arrived in our town three apostles of kindergartening--two of them were women, and one was a man. they had heard of my system, and had come to investigate it. they did so, with the result that in an astonishingly short time my diocese was inundated with a flood of froebelism which absolutely swept me away. with this bag, this umbrella, and this costume, which has now become my wardrobe, i was cast out in all my indefiniteness upon a definite world." "and how did you get here?" asked mrs. archibald. "i had heard of sadler and his camps," said he; "and in this beautiful month and in this beautiful weather i thought it would be well to investigate them. i accordingly went to mr. sadler's, where i arrived yesterday afternoon. i found mr. sadler a very definite man, and, i am sorry to say, that as he immediately defined me as a tramp, he would listen to no other definition. 'you have no money to pay for food and lodgings,' said he, 'and you come under my tramp laws. i don't harbor tramps, but i don't kick them out into the woods to starve. for labor on this place i pay one dollar and a half a day of ten hours. for meals to day-laborers i charge fifteen cents each. if you want your supper, you can go out to that wood-shed and split wood for one hour.' i was very hungry; i went out into the wood-shed; i split wood for one hour, and at the end of that time i had a sufficient meal. when i had finished, mr. sadler sent for me. 'do you want to stay here all night?' he said. 'i do,' i answered. 'go, then, and split wood for another hour.' i did so, and it was almost dark when i had finished. in the morning i split wood for my breakfast, and when i had finished i went to mr. sadler and asked him how much he would charge for a luncheon wrapped in a piece of paper. 'seven and a half cents,' he said. i split wood for half an hour, and left sadler's ostensibly to return to the station by the way i had come; but while i had been at work, i found from the conversation of some of the people that one of the camps was occupied, and i also discovered in what direction it lay. consequently, after i had passed out of the sight of the definite peter sadler, i changed my course, and took a path through the woods which i was told would lead to this road, and i came here because i might just as well pass this way as any other, and because, having set out to investigate camp life, i wished to do so, and i hope i may be allowed to say that although i have seen but little of it, i like it very much." "now, then," said phil matlack, walking around the circle and approaching the stranger, "you said, when you first came here, that you were going to go, and the time has come when you've got to go." "very well," said the other, looking up with a smile; "if i've got there i'd better stop." mr. archibald and the young men laughed, but matlack and martin, who had now joined him, did not laugh. "you've barely time enough," said the former, "to get to sadler's before it is pitch-dark, and--" "excuse me," said the other, "but i am not going back to sadler's to-night. i would rather have no bed than split wood for an hour after dark in order to procure one. i would prefer a couch of dried leaves." "you come along into the road with this young man and me; i want to talk to you," said matlack. "now, matlack," said mr. archibald, "don't be cruel." "i am not," said the guide. "i am the tenderest-hearted person in the world; but even if you say so, sir, i can't let a stranger stay all night in a camp that i've got charge of." "look here, matlack," exclaimed mr. clyde, "you haven't got charge of our camp!" "no, i haven't," said the other. "well, then, this person can come over and stay with us. we have a little tent that we brought to put over the cooking-stove, and he can sleep in that." "very well," said matlack; "if you take him out of this camp i haven't anything to say--that is, to-night." "my dear sir," said the stranger, rising, and approaching mr. clyde, "i accept your offer with pleasure, and thank you most heartily for it. if you had proffered me the hospitality of a palace, i could not be more grateful." "all right," said clyde; "and i suppose it is time for us to be off, so i will bid you all good-night. come along, arthur. come along, bishop." the face of the last-named individual beamed with delight as he heard this appellation, and bidding everybody good-night, and thanking them for the kindness with which he had been treated, he followed the two young men. the three walked some little distance towards camp roy, and then clyde came running back to speak to margery, who was now standing by herself watching the young moon descend among the trees. then mr. raybold also stopped and came back to margery, upon which the bishop stopped and waited for them. in about ten minutes he was joined by the two young men, and the three proceeded to camp roy. "there is one thing, harriet," said mr. archibald, "which i wish you would speak to margery about. i don't want her to get up so early and go out for a morning walk. i find that those young men are also early risers." "i will speak to her," said mrs. archibald; "where is she?" "over there, talking to young martin," said her husband. "it isn't quite dark yet, but i think it is time we were all in bed." "quite time," said she. "margery tells me that that young guide, who is a handsome fellow, is going to teach her how to fish with flies. i wish you would sometimes take her out in the boat with you, mr. archibald; i am sure that you could teach her how to fish." he smiled. "i suppose i could," he said; "and i also suppose i could pull her out of the water the first time she hooked a big fish. it would be like resting a boat on a pivot to put her into it." "then you don't take her," said mrs. archibald, decisively. "and you can't take her with you up the stream, because, of course, she can't wade. i don't want her to get tired of camp-life, but--" "don't be afraid of the young men," interrupted her husband, with a laugh; "so long as there are three of them there is no danger." "of course i will not, if you don't wish it, aunt harriet," said margery, when mrs. archibald had spoken to her about the early morning walks; "and i will stay in my room until you call me." the next morning, when mrs. archibald was ready to leave the cabin, she did call margery, but received no answer. then she went to the little studio-room, and when she opened the door she found its occupant leaning out of the window talking to mr. clyde and mr. raybold, who stood outside. "good-morning, aunt harriet!" exclaimed margery, gayly. "mr. clyde has brought me nearly an armful of birch-bark, all thin and smooth. i am going to make a birch-bark bedspread out of it. i'll cover a sheet with these pieces, you see, and sew them on. then i can have autographs on them, and mottoes, and when i cover myself up with it i shall really feel like a dryad." "and here is what i have brought," said mr. raybold, holding up an armful of bark. "oh, thank you very much," said margery, taking the mass, but not without dropping a good many of the pieces. "of course it was kind of him to bring it," she said to mrs. archibald, as they left the room together, "but he needn't have bothered himself: i don't want to sleep under a wood-pile." chapter ix matlack's three troubles "have you asked those two young men to breakfast again?" inquired mr. archibald, after examining, with a moderate interest, the specimen of birch-bark which margery had shown him. "oh no, indeed," said she, "they have had their breakfast. they have been telling me about it. the bishop got up very early in the morning and cooked it for them. he's a splendid cook, and he found things in their hampers that they didn't know they had. they said his coffee was delicious, and they have left him there in their camp now, washing the dishes and putting everything in order. and do you think, uncle archibald, that it is going to rain?" "i do," said he, "for it is sprinkling already." this proved to be the first bad day since the archibald party had gone into camp, and the rain soon began to come down in a steady, practised way, as if the clouds above were used to that sort of thing and could easily keep it up all day. as there was no place under roof to which company could be conveniently invited, margery retired to her room and set herself diligently to work on her birch-bark quilt. mrs. archibald established herself in the division of the cabin which was intended to be used as a sitting and dining room in bad weather, and applied herself to some sewing and darning, which had been reserved for just such a day as this. mr. archibald, in a water-proof suit, tried fishing for half an hour or so, but finding it both unpleasant and unprofitable, he joined his wife, made himself as comfortable as possible on two chairs, and began to read aloud one of the novels they had brought with them. mr. clyde and mr. raybold had considerately gone to their own camp when it began to rain, hoping, however, that the shower would be over in a short time. but the rain was not a shower, and they spent the morning on their backs in their tent, talking and smoking. of course they could not expect the bishop to depart in the rain, so they had told him to make himself as comfortable as he could in the little kitchen tent, and offered him a pipe and a book. the first he declined, as he never smoked, but the latter he accepted with delight. after the mid-day dinner phil matlack, in a pair of high hunting-boots and an oil-skin coat, came to mr. archibald and said that as there was nothing he could do that afternoon, he would walk over to sadler's and attend to some business he had there. "about the bishop?" asked mr. archibald. "partly," said matlack. "i understand the fellow is still over there with those two young men. i don't suppose they'll send him off in the rain, and as he isn't in my camp, i can't interfere. but it may rain for two or three days." "all right," said mr. archibald, "and if we want anything we'll ask martin." "just so," said matlack. "if there's anything to do that you don't want to do yourself, you can get him to do it; but if you want to know anything you don't know yourself, you'd better wait until i come back." when matlack presented himself before peter sadler he found that ponderous individual seated in his rolling-chair near the open door, enjoying the smell of the rain. "hello, phil!" he cried. "what's wrong at the camp?" the guide left his wet coat and cap on the little piazza outside, and after carefully wiping his feet, seated himself on a chair near the door. "there's three things wrong," said he. "in the first place, there's a tramp out there, and it looks to me as if he was a-goin' to stick, if he can get allowed to do it." "is he too big for you to bounce?" roared peter. "that's a pretty story to come tell me!" "no, he ain't," said the other; "but i haven't got the bouncin' of him. he's not in my camp. the young men have took him in; but i expect he'll come over with them as soon as it's done rainin', for when that happens they're bound to come themselves." "look here, phil," said peter, "is he dressed in black?" "yes, he is," said the guide. mr. sadler slapped his hand on the arm of his chair. "phil matlack," he shouted, "that's my favorite tramp. i never had a man here who paid his bill in work as he did. it was cash down, and good money. not a minute of wood-splitting more or less than the market-price for meals and bed. i'd like to have a tramp like that come along about twice a week. but i tell you, phil, he ain't no tramp. couldn't you see that? none of them loafers ever worked as he did." "he may not be a tramp," said matlack, "but he's trampin'. what are you goin' to do about him? let him stay there?" "what's he doin' now?" asked sadler. "he's cookin' for those two young men." "well, they need some one to do it for them, and they didn't want to go to the expense of a guide. let the parson alone for a day or two, and if he does anything out of the way just you take him by one ear and martin take him by the other and bring him to me. i'll attend to him. what's the next trouble?" "that's out of my camp, too," said matlack, "but i'm bound to report it. the bicycle fellow that you hired a gun to don't know the fust thing about usin' it, and the next thing you'll hear will be that he's shot his pardner, who's worth six of him." mr. sadler sat up very straight in his chair and stared at the guide. "phil matlack," he shouted, "what do you take me for? i hired that gun to that young man. don't you suppose i know what i'm about?" "that's all right," said matlack, "but the trouble is he don't know what he's about." "get away man," said peter, with a contemptuous sniff, "he'll never hurt anybody. what do you take me for? when he came to me and wanted a gun, i handed him two or three, so that he might choose one that suited him, and by the way he handled them i could see that most likely he'd never handled one before, and so i set him up all right. he's got a good gun, and all the cartridges he'll be likely to want; and the cartridges are all like this. they're a new kind i heard of last winter, and i got a case from boston last week. i don't see how i ever managed to run my camps without them. do you see that shot?" said he, opening one end of a cartridge. "well, take one in your hand and pinch it." phil did so, and it crumbled to dust in his hand. "when that load's fired," said peter, "all the shot will crumble into dust. it wouldn't do to give raw hands blank-cartridges, because they'd find that out; but with this kind they might sit all day and fire at a baby asleep in its cradle and never disturb it, provided the baby was deaf. and he can't use his pardner's cartridges, for i gave that fellow a twelve-bore gun and his is a ten-bore." phil grinned. "well, then," said he, "i suppose i might as well make my mind easy, but if that bicycle man hunts much he'll get the conviction borne in on him that he's a dreadful bad shot." "then he'll give up shooting, which is what is wanted," said sadler. "what's your third bother?" "that young woman has made up her mind to go out in the boat by herself the very fust time she feels like it," said matlack; "she didn't say so with her mouth, but she said it with the back of her head and her shoulders, and i want to know if that rule of yours is going to hold good this summer. women is gettin' to do so many things they didn't use to that i didn't know but what you'd consider they'd got far enough to take themselves out on the lake, and if you do think so, i don't want to get myself in hot water with those people and then find you don't back me up." "if you don't want to get yourself into hot water with me, phil matlack, you'd better get it into your head just as soon as you can that when i make a rule it's a rule, and i don't want people comin' to me and talkin' about changes. women in my camp don't go out in boats by themselves, and it's easy enough to have that rule kept if you've got backbone enough to do it. keep the boat locked to the shore when it ain't in use, and put the key in your pocket, and if anybody gets it that 'ain't any right to it, that's your lookout. now that's the end of your troubles, i hope. how's things goin' on generally in the camp?" "oh, well enough," said matlack. "i thought at fust the old lady'd give out in a day or two, but i've taught her parlor-fishin', which she's took to quite lively, and she's got used to the woods. the boss, he sticks to fishin', as if it was office-work, and as for the rest of them, i guess they're all gettin' more and more willin' to stay." "why?" asked peter. "well, one of them is a gal and the others isn't," replied matlack, "that's about the p'int of it." during matlack's walk back the skies cleared, and when he reached the camp he found mrs. archibald seated in her chair near the edge of the lake, a dry board under her feet, and the bishop standing by her, putting bait on her hook, and taking the fish off of it when any happened to be there. out in the boat sat mr. archibald, trusting that some fish might approach the surface in search of insects disabled by the rain. farther on, at a place by the water's edge that was clear of bushes and undergrowth, martin was giving miss dearborn a lesson in fly-fishing. "he's a mighty good fisherman," thought matlack, looking at the young fellow as he brought his rod back from the water with a long graceful sweep, and then, with another sweep and an easy inclination of his body forward, sending the fly far out on the smooth surface of the lake, "although there ain't no need to tell him so; and i don't wonder she'd rather stand and watch him than try to do it herself." walking up and down near the edge of the wood were messrs. clyde and raybold. phil smiled. "they don't seem to be happy," he said to himself. "i guess they're hankerin' to take a share in her edication; but if you don't know nothin' yourself, you can't edicate other people." matlack directed his steps towards mrs. archibald; but before he reached her he was met by the bishop, who hurried towards him. "i shall be obliged to surrender my post to you," he said, "which will be greatly to the lady's satisfaction, i imagine, for i must appear a poor attendant after you." [illustration: "a lesson in fly-fishing"] "goin' to leave us?" said matlack. "you look quite spruced up." the bishop smiled. "you allude, i suppose," said he, "to the fact that my hat and clothes are brushed, and that i am freshly shaved and have on a clean collar. i like to be as neat as i can. this is a gutta-percha collar, and i can wash it whenever i please with a bit of damp rag, and it is my custom to shave every day, if i possibly can. but as to leaving you, i shall not do so this evening. i have promised those young gentlemen who so kindly invited me to their camp that i would prepare their supper for them, and i must now go to make the fire and get things in readiness." "have they engaged you as cook and general help?" asked matlack. "oh no," said the bishop, with a smile, "they are kind and i am grateful, that is all." chapter x a ladies' day in camp two days after the rainy day in camp mr. archibald determined to take the direction of affairs into his own hands, so far as he should be able. having no authority over the two young men at camp roy, he had hitherto contented himself with a disapproval of their methods of employing their time, which he communicated only to his wife. but now he considered that, as they were spending so much of their time in his camp and so little in their own, he would take charge of them exactly as if they belonged to his party. he would put an end, if possible, to the aimless strolls up and down the beach with margery, and the long conversations of which that young woman had grown to be so fond, held sometimes with both young men, though more frequently with one. if clyde and raybold came into the woods to lounge in the shade and talk to a girl, they must go to some other camp to do it. but if they really cared to range the forest, either as sportsmen or lovers of nature, he would do his best to help them; so this day he organized an expedition to a low mountain about two miles away, taking matlack with him as guide, and inviting the two young men to join him. they had assented because no good reason for declining had presented itself, and because phil matlack earnestly urged them to come along and let him show them what a real forest tramp was like. before his recent talk with peter sadler, phil would not have dared to go out into the woods in company with the bicycle man. the two ladies were perfectly willing to remain in camp under the charge of martin, who was capable of defending them against any possible danger; and as the bishop had agreed to take charge of camp roy during the absence of its occupants, mr. archibald planned for a whole day's tramp, the first he had taken since they went into camp. when martin's morning work was done he approached the shady spot where the two ladies had established themselves, and offered to continue his lessons in fish-flying if miss dearborn so desired. but miss dearborn did not wish to take any lessons to-day. she would rest and stay with mrs. archibald. even the elder lady did not care to fish that morning. the day was hot and the shade was grateful. martin walked away dissatisfied. in his opinion, there had never been a day more suitable for angling; this was a day which would be free from interruptions, either from two young fellows who knew nothing about real game-fishing, or from matlack, who always called him away to do something when he was most interested in his piscatorial pedagogics. this was a day when he could stand by that lovely girl, give her the rod, show her how to raise it, wave it, and throw it, and sometimes even touch her hand as he took it from her or gave it back, watching her all the time with an admiration and delight which no speckled trout or gamy black bass had ever yet aroused in him, and all this without fear that a gentleman out on the lake might possibly be observing them with the idea that he was more interested in his work than the ordinary guide might be supposed to be. but luck was against him, and martin, who did not in the least consider himself an ordinary guide, walked up and down in moody reflection, or grimly threw himself upon the ground, gazing upward at the sky--not half so blue as he was--but never walking or resting so far away that he could not hear the first cry from her should snake, bear, dragon-fly, or danger of any kind approach her. to the ladies, about half an hour later, came the bishop, who, newly shaved and brushed, wished them good-morning, and offered his services in any manner which might be desired. if mrs. archibald wished to fish by the side of the lake, he was at her service; but mrs. archibald did not care to fish. "this is a most charming day," said the bishop, removing his hat, "but i suppose it is more charming to me because it is my last day here." "and so you are really going to go?" said mrs. archibald, smiling. "i suppose you think i am not likely to get there," said he, "but really i have stayed here long enough, and for several reasons." "sit down," said margery, "and tell us what they are. there is a nice little rock with some moss on it." the bishop promptly accepted the invitation and seated himself. as he did so, martin, at a little distance, scowled, folded his arms, and slightly increased the length of his sentinel-like walk. "yes," said the bishop, brushing some pine leaves from his threadbare trousers, "during the time that i have accepted the hospitality of those young gentlemen i feel that i have in a great measure repaid them for their kindness, but now i see that i shall become a burden and an expense to them. in the first place, i eat a great deal more than both of them put together, so that the provisions they brought with them will be exhausted much sooner than they expected. i am also of the opinion that they are getting tired of eating in their own camp, but as i make a point of preparing the meals at stated hours, of course they feel obliged to partake of them." "by which you mean, i suppose," said mrs. archibald, "that if they had not you to cook for them they would be apt to take a good many meals with us, as they did when they first came, and which would be cheaper and pleasanter." "i beg, madam," said the bishop, quickly, "that you will not think that they have said anything of the sort. i simply inferred, from remarks i have heard, that one of them, at least, is very much of the opinion you have just stated; therefore i feel that i cannot be welcome much longer in camp roy. there is also another reason why i should go now. i have a business prospect before me." "i am glad to hear that," said mrs. archibald. "is it a good one?" "i think it is," said the bishop. "i have been considering it earnestly, and the more i fix my mind upon it the greater appear its advantages. i don't mind in the least telling you what it is. a gentleman who is acquainted with my family and whom i have met two or three times, but not recently, possesses a very fine estate some thirty miles south of this place. he has been in europe for some time, but is expected to return to his country mansion about the end of this week. it is my purpose to offer myself to him in the capacity of private librarian. i do not think it will be difficult to convince him that i have many qualifications for the situation." "has he so many books that he needs a librarian?" asked margery. "no," said the bishop, "i have no reason to suppose that he has any more books than the ordinary country gentleman possesses, but he ought to have. he has a very large income, and is now engaged in establishing for his family what is intended to become, in time, an ancestral mansion. it is obvious to any one of intelligence that such a grand mansion would not be complete without a well-selected library, and that such a library could not be selected or arranged by an ordinary man of affairs. consequently, unless he has a competent person to perform this duty for him, his library, for a long time, will be insignificant. when i shall put the question before him, i have no doubt that he will see and appreciate the force and value of my statements. such a position will suit me admirably. i shall ask but little salary, but it will give me something far better than money--an opportunity to select from the book marts of the whole world the literature in which i delight. consequently, you will see that it is highly desirable that i should be on hand when this gentleman arrives upon his estate." with a look of gentle pity mrs. archibald gazed at the smooth round face of the bishop, flushed with the delights of anticipation and brightened by the cheery smile which nearly always accompanied his remarks. "and is that your only prospect?" she said. "i don't want to discourage you, but it seems to me that if you had some regular business--and you are not too old to learn something of the sort--it would be far better for you than trying to obtain the mythical position you speak of. i see that you are a man of intelligence and education, and i believe that you would succeed in almost any calling to which you would apply yourself with earnestness and industry. you must excuse me for speaking so plainly, but i am much older than you are and i do it for your good." "madam," exclaimed the bishop, radiant with grateful emotion, "i thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you have said. i thank you for your appreciation of me and for the generous motive of your words, but, to be frank with you, i am not suited to a calling such as you have mentioned. i have many qualities which i well know would promote my fortunes were they properly applied, but that application is difficult, for the reason that my principal mental characteristic is indefiniteness. when but a little child i was indefinite. nobody knew what i was going to do, or how i would turn out; no one has since known, and no one knows now. in whatever way i have turned my attention in my endeavors to support myself, i have been obstructed and even appalled by the definiteness of the ordinary pursuits of life. now the making of a private library is in itself an indefinite occupation. it has not its lines, its rules, its limitations. but do not think, kind lady, that i shall always depend upon such employment. should i obtain it, i should hold it only so long as it would be necessary, and it may be necessary for but a little while. do you care to hear of my permanent prospects?" said he, looking from one lady to the other. "certainly," said margery, "we would like to hear all you have to tell." "well then," said the bishop, folding his arms and smiling effusively, but with a gentle curbing of his ordinary cheerfulness, "i will inform you that i have an uncle who is a man of wealth and well on in years. unfortunately, or fortunately it may be, this uncle greatly dislikes me. he objects so strongly to my methods of thought and action, and even to my physical presence, that he cannot bear to hear me speak or even to look at me, and the last time i was in his company, about four years ago, he told me that he would leave me a legacy on condition that he should never hear from me or see me again. he promised to make the proper provision in his will immediately, but declared, and i know he will keep his word, that if he ever received a letter from me or even saw me or heard my voice he would instantly strike out that clause. i appreciated and respected his feelings, and accepted the condition. from that moment i have not written to him, nor shall i ever write to him, and i shall never go near him so long as he is alive. as i said, he is of advanced age, and it is impossible that he can long survive. when his demise takes place my circumstances will, i believe, be satisfactory." "did your uncle say how much he would leave you?" asked mrs. archibald. "no, madam," returned the other, "he did not, but i feel sure that the sum will be measured by his satisfaction in knowing that his existence is entirely freed from me." "really," said mrs. archibald, "there is nothing about you so indefinite as your prospects." "and it seems horrible to me," said margery, "to be hoping that some one may die in order that you may be better off, for, as you want money so much, you must hope that your uncle will die." the bishop smiled and rose. "and now," said he, "i suppose i must go to prepare the dinner at camp roy. there is nobody but myself to eat it, but i have assumed the duty, and it must be performed. good-morning. by your leave, i shall look in upon you again." mrs. archibald had a mind to ask him to stay and dine with them, but having noticed an unfriendly expression on the face of martin when his gloomy walk brought him in her direction, she thought it would not be wise to do so. chapter xi margery takes the oars after dinner mrs. archibald prepared herself for a nap, the most delightful thing she could think of during the warm hours of such a day. margery, after seeing the elder lady comfortably disposed in the shady sitting-room of the cabin, went out-of-doors with no doubt in her mind as to what would be for her the most delightful thing to do. she would take a row on the lake all by herself. she went down to the boat, which was partly drawn up on the beach and fastened to a heavy stake. but when she reached it she was disgusted to find that the chain was secured to the stake by a padlock. the oars were in the boat, and she could easily have pushed it into the water, but she could not set it free without the key to the padlock. "i do believe," she exclaimed, "that the will of that horrid mr. sadler is like gas. it goes everywhere, even to the tops of the houses and under the beds." but she did not give up her intention. she tried to detach the chain from the boat, but finding this impossible, she thought of going for martin. perhaps he might have a key. this idea, however, she quickly put aside. if he had a key, and gave it to her, she might get him into trouble, and, besides, she did not believe that he would let her go alone, and in any other way she did not wish to go. standing with her pretty brows knit, and one heel deep in the soft ground into which she had stamped it, she heard approaching footsteps, and turning, saw the bishop. he came forward with a buoyant step. "is there anything i can do for you, miss dearborn?" he said. "do you wish to go out on the lake? do you want some one to row you?" "yes and no," said margery. "i want to go out in the boat, and i don't want anybody to row me. but that chain is fastened with an abominable padlock, and i cannot launch the boat." "one of your guides is here," said he. "perhaps i can get a key from him." "no, no," said margery, quickly; "he must not know about it. there is a sadler law against it, and he is employed by sadler." "it is very securely fastened," said the bishop, examining the lock and chain. "it is the work of the guide matlack, i have no doubt. but, miss dearborn," said he, with a bright smile, "there is a boat at camp roy. that is not locked, and i can bring it here in twenty minutes." "no," said margery; "i don't want that boat. i've seen it. it is a clumsy old thing, and, besides, it leaks. i want this one. this is just the kind of boat i want to row. it is too bad! if i could get off now there would be nobody to hinder me, for martin is washing the dinner dishes, or doing something of that kind, and whenever he does house-work he always keeps himself out of sight." the bishop examined the stake. it was a stout little tree trunk driven deep into the ground and projecting about five feet above the surface, with the chain so wrapped around it that it was impossible to force it up or down. seizing the stake near the top, the bishop began to push it backward and forward, and being a man of great strength, he soon loosened it so much that, stooping, he was able to pull it from the ground. "hurrah!" exclaimed margery. "it came up just like pulling a tooth." "yes," said the radiant bishop, "the good matlack may be very careful about fastening a boat, but i think i have got the better of him this time; and now i will put the stake, chain and all, in the bow. that is the best way of disposing of them. are you sure that you prefer going alone? i shall be delighted to row you if you wish me to." "oh no," said margery; "i am just wild to row myself, and i want to hurry and get off for fear martin will be coming down here." "are you sure you understand rowing and the management of a boat?" he asked. "oh yes," she replied, "i can row; of course i can. i will get in, and then you can push off the boat." "allow me," said the bishop. but before he could reach her to help her, margery stepped quickly into the boat and was about to seat herself. "if you will take the seat next to the stern," said the bishop, holding the boat so that it would be steady, "i think that will be better. then the weight of the stake in the bow will put the boat on an even keel." "all right," said margery, accepting his suggestion and seating herself. "now just wait until i get the oars into the rowlocks, and then you can push me off." "which way do you intend to row?" asked the bishop. "oh, i shall go down towards the lower end of the lake, because that way there are more bushes along the banks and martin will be less apt to see me. if i go the other way i will be in plain sight of the camp, and he may think he ought to do something--fire a gun across my bows to bring me to, maybe, as they do at sea." "hardly," said the bishop, "but let me advise you not to go very far from the shore, so that if you feel tired you can come in easily, and if you will allow me i will walk down the shore in the direction in which you intend to row." "oh, i am not going to get tired," said she. "i could row all day. it is splendid to be in a boat all by myself and have the whole management of it. now please push me off." with some reluctance, but with a sincere desire to make the young girl happy, which could not be overcome by prudence--at least by such prudence as he possessed--the bishop, with a strong, steady push, sent the boat well out on the surface of the water. "that was beautifully done," margery called back to him. "now i have room enough to turn around without any trouble at all." she turned the boat about with its bow towards the lower end of the lake, but it was not done without trouble. "i have not rowed for a good while," she said, "but i am getting used to the oars already. now then, i'm off," and she began to pull with a strength which, had it been suitably paired with skill, would have made her an excellent amateur oarswoman. but the place of skill was supplied by enthusiasm and determination. once or twice an oar slipped from the rowlock and she nearly went over backward, and several times one of the blades got under the water with the flat side up, so that she had difficulty in getting it out. she raised her oars much too high in the air, but she counterbalanced this by sinking them very deep into the water. but she got on, and although her course was somewhat irregular, its general trend was in the direction desired. the bishop walked along the bank, keeping as near to the water as he could. sometimes masses of shrubbery shut off all view of the lake, and then there would be an open space where he would stop and watch the boat. "please keep near the shore, miss dearborn," he called, "that will be better, i think, and it is certainly more shady and pleasant than farther out." "i know what you mean," cried margery, pulling away in high good-humor, "you think it is safer near the shore; but i am not going to row very far this time, and after a little while i may pull the boat in and rest for a time before starting back," and then she rowed on with renewed energy. the next time the bishop was able to hail the boat, it was at a point where he was obliged to push his way through the bushes in order to see out upon the lake. "miss dearborn," he called, "i think you are a great deal too far from shore, and you must be getting very tired and hot. your face is greatly flushed. i will hurry along and see if i can find a good place for you to stop and cool yourself." "i am all right," cried margery, resting on her oars. "i get along very well, only the boat doesn't steer properly. i think it is because of the weight of that stick in the bow. i suppose i cannot get rid of it?" "oh no!" cried the bishop, in alarm; "please don't think of it! but if you touch shore at the first open space, i think i can arrange it better for you." "very good," said she; "you go ahead and find such a place, and i will come in." "if you touch shore," said the bishop to himself, "you don't go out again in that boat alone! you don't know how to row at all." the bishop ran a hundred yards or more before he found a place at which a boat could be beached. it was not a very good place, but if he could reach out and seize the bow, that would be enough for him. he was strong enough to pull that boat over a paved street. as he looked out over the water he saw that margery had progressed considerably since he had seen her last, but she was still farther from shore than before. "row straight towards me!" he shouted. "here is a fine landing-place, cool and shady." she looked around and managed to turn the boat's head in his direction. then she rowed hard, pulling and splashing, and evidently a little tired. she was strong, but this unusual exercise was a trial to her muscles. perhaps, too, she felt that the bishop was watching her, and that made her a little nervous, for she could not help being aware that she was not handling the oars as well as when she started out. with a strong pull at her right oar to turn the boat inland, she got her left oar tangled between the water and the boat, so it seemed to her, and lost her hold of it. in a moment it was overboard and floating on the lake. leaning over the side of the boat, she made a grasp at the oar, but it was too far for her to reach it; and then, by a spasmodic movement of the other oar, the distance was increased. the bishop's face grew pale. as he looked at her he saw that she was moving away from the floating oar, and now he understood why she had progressed so well. there was a considerable current in the lake which had carried her along, and was now moving the heavy boat much faster than it moved the oar. what should he tell her to do? if she could put her single oar out at the stern, she might scull the boat; but he was sure she did not understand sculling, and to try it she would have to stand up, and this would be madness. she now took the other oar from the rowlock, and was about to rise, when the bishop shouted to her. "what are you going to do?" he cried. "i am going to the stern," she said, "to see if i cannot reach that oar with this one. perhaps i can pull it in." "for heaven's sake, don't do that!" he cried. "don't stand up, or the boat will tip, and you will fall overboard." "but what can i do?" she called back. "i can't row with one oar." "try rowing a little on one side, and then on the other," said he. "perhaps you can bring in the boat in that way." she followed his suggestion, but very awkwardly, and he saw plainly that she was tired. instead of approaching the shore, the boat continued to float down the lake. margery turned again. "bishop," she cried, "what shall i do? i must do something, or i can't get ashore at all." she did not look frightened; there was more of annoyance in her expression, as if she thought it impertinent in fate to treat her in this way, and she would not stand it. "if i had thought of the current," said the bishop to himself, "i would never have let her go out alone, and she can't be trusted in that boat another minute longer. she will do something desperate." so saying, the bishop took off his hat and threw it on the ground. then he unbuttoned his coat and began to take it off, but he suddenly changed his mind. even in that wilderness and under these circumstances he must appear respectable, so he buttoned his coat again, hastily took off his shoes, and, without hesitating, walked into the water until it was above his waist, and then calling to margery that he was coming to her, he began to swim out into the lake. he did not strike out immediately for the boat, but directed his course towards the floating oar. turning his head frequently towards margery, he could see that she was sitting perfectly still, watching him, and so he kept on with a good heart. the bishop was a powerful swimmer, but he found great difficulty in making his way through the water, on account of the extreme tightness of his clothes. it seemed to him that his arms and legs were bandaged in splints, as if he had been under a surgeon's care; but still he struck out as well as he could, and in time reached the oar. pushing this before him to the boat, margery took hold of it. "you swim splendidly," said she. "you can climb in right here." but the bishop knew better than that, and worked his way round to the stern, and after holding on a little while to get his breath, he managed to clamber into the boat. "was the water very cold?" said she. on his replying that it was, she said she thought so because he seemed stiff. "now, miss dearborn," said he, "i have made the stern seat very wet, but i don't believe you will mind that, and if you will sit here i will take the oars and row you in." [illustration: "but the bishop knew better"] "oh, i think i can do that myself," said margery. "i am rested now, and i am ever so much obliged to you for getting my oar for me." under almost any circumstances the bishop could smile, and now he smiled at the ridiculousness of the idea of margery's rowing that boat back against the current, and with him in it. "indeed," said he, "i must insist. i shall freeze to death if i don't warm myself by exercise." so, reaching out his hand, he assisted margery to the stern, and seating himself in her place, he took the oars, which she had drawn in. "i don't see why i could not make the boat go along that way," said she, as they began to move steadily towards the camp. "i believe i could do it if people would only let me practise by myself; but they always want to show me how, and i hate to have anybody show me how. it is funny," she continued, "that you seem so very wet all but your collar. that looks as smooth and nice as if it had just come from the laundry." the bishop laughed. "that is because it is gutta-percha," he said, "intended for rough use in camp; but the rest of my habiliments were not intended for wet weather." "and you have no hat," said she. "doesn't the sun hurt your head?" "my head does feel a little warm," said he, "but i didn't want to row back to the place where i left my hat. it was not a good landing-place, after all. besides," he said to himself, "i never thought of my hat or my shoes." chapter xii the bishop engages the attention of the guides when the boat touched the shore margery ran to the cabin to assure mrs. archibald of her safety, if she had been missed. the bishop was sticking the stake in the hole from which he had pulled it, when martin came running to him. "that's a pretty piece of business!" cried the young man. "if you wanted to go out in the boat, why didn't you come to me for the key? you've got no right to pull up the stakes we've driven down. that's the same thing as stealing the boat. what's the matter? did you tumble overboard? you must be a pretty sort of an oarsman! if the ladies want to go out in the boat, i am here to take them. i'd like you to understand that." as has been said before, the bishop could smile under almost any circumstances, and he smiled now, but at the same time his brow wrinkled, which was not common when he smiled. "i am going down to the shore to get my hat and shoes," he said, "and i would like you to come along with me. i can't stand here and talk to you." "what do you want?" said martin. "come along and see," said the bishop; "that is, if you are not afraid." that was enough, and the young man walked behind him until they reached the spot where the bishop had taken to the water. then he stopped, and explained to martin all that had happened. "now," said he, "what have you got to say?" martin, now that he knew that the bishop had plunged into the water for the sake of the beautiful margery, was more jealously angry than when he had supposed he had merely taken her out to row. "i haven't anything to say," he answered, shortly, "except that parsons had better attend to their own business, if they have any, and let young ladies and boats alone." "oh, that's all, is it?" said the bishop, and with a quick step forward he clutched the young man's arm with his right hand, while he seized his belt with the other, and then with a great heave sent him out into the water fully ten feet from the shore. with a splash like a dropped anchor martin disappeared from view, but soon arose, his head and shoulders above the surface, where he stood for a moment, spluttering and winking and almost dazed. the bishop stood on the bank and smiled. "did you fall overboard?" said he. "you must be a pretty sort of a boatman!" without replying, martin began to wade ashore. "come on," said the bishop; "if you can't get up the bank, i'll help you." but martin needed no help; he scrambled to the bank, shook himself, and then advanced upon the bishop, fire in his eye and his fist clinched. "stop, young man," said the other. "it would not be fair to you if i did not tell you that i am a boxer and a heavy-weight, and that i threw you into the water because i didn't want to damage your face and eyes. you were impertinent, but i am satisfied, and the best thing you can do is to go and change your clothes before any one sees you in that plight. you are better off than i am, because i have no clothes with which to make a change." so saying, he sat down and began to put on his shoes. martin stood for a moment and looked at the bishop, he thought of margery and a possible black eye, and then he walked as fast as he could to his tent to get some dry clothes. he was very wet, he was very hot, he was very angry, and what made him more angry than anything else was a respect for the bishop which was rising in him in spite of all his efforts to keep it down. when mr. archibald and his party came back to camp late in the afternoon, margery, who had already told her story to mrs. archibald, told it to each of the others. mr. archibald was greatly moved by the account of the bishop's bravery. he thoroughly appreciated the danger to which margery had been exposed. there were doubtless persons who could be trusted so sit quietly in a little boat with only one oar, and to float upon a lake out of sight and sound of human beings until another boat could be secured and brought to the rescue, but margery was not one of these persons. her greatest danger had been that she was a child of impulse. he went immediately to camp roy to see the bishop and express his gratitude, for no matter how great the foolish good-nature of the man had been, his brave rescue of the girl was all that could be thought of now. [illustration: "with a great heave sent him out into the water"] he found the bishop in bed, mr. clyde preparing the supper, and mr. raybold in a very bad humor. "it's the best place for me," said the bishop, gayly, from under a heavy army blanket. "my bed is something like the carpets in queen elizabeth's time, and this shelter-tent is not one which can be called commodious, but i shall stay here until morning, and then i am sure i shall be none the worse for my dip into the cold lake." as mr. archibald had seen the black garments of the bishop hanging on a bush as he approached the tent, he was not surprised to find their owner in bed. "no," said the bishop, when mr. archibald had finished what he had to say, "there is nothing to thank me for. it was a stupid thing to launch a young girl out upon what, by some very natural bit of carelessness, might have become to her the waters of eternity, and it was my very commonplace duty to get her out of the danger into which i had placed her; so this, my dear sir, is really all there is to say about the matter." mr. archibald differed with him for about ten minutes, and then returned to his camp. phil matlack was also affected by the account of the rescue, and he expressed his feelings to martin. "he pulled up the stake, did he?" said phil. "well, i'll make him pull up his stakes, and before he goes i've a mind to teach him not to meddle with other people's affairs." "if i were you," said martin, "i wouldn't try to teach him anything." "you think he is too stupid to learn?" said matlack, getting more and more angry at the bishop's impertinent and inexcusable conduct. "well, i've taught stupid people before this." "he's a bigger man than you are," said martin. matlack withdrew the knife from the loaf of bread he was cutting, and looked at the young man. "bigger?" said he, scornfully. "what's that got to do with it? a load of hay is bigger than a crow-bar, but i guess the crow-bar would get through the hay without much trouble." "you'd better talk about a load of rocks," said martin. "i don't think you'd find it easy to get a crow-bar through them." matlack looked up inquiringly. "has he been thrashing you?" he asked. "no, he hasn't," said martin, sharply. "you didn't fight him, then?" "no, i didn't," was the answer. "why didn't you? you were here to take charge of this camp and keep things in order. why didn't you fight him?" "i don't fight that sort of a man," said martin, with an air which, if it were not disdainful, was intended to be. matlack gazed at him a moment in silence, and then went on cutting the bread. "i don't understand this thing," he said to himself. "i must look into it." chapter xiii the world goes wrong with mr. raybold the next morning mr. archibald started out, very early, on a fishing expedition by himself. he was an enthusiastic angler, and had not greatly enjoyed the experience of the day before. he did not object to shooting if there were any legitimate game to shoot, and he liked to tramp through the mountain wilds under the guidance of such a man as matlack; but to keep company all day with raybold, who, in the very heart of nature, talked only of the gossip of the town, and who punctuated his small talk by intermittent firing at everything which looked like a bird or suggested the movements of an animal, was not agreeable to him. clyde was a better fellow, and mr. archibald liked him, but he was young and abstracted, and the interest which clings around an abstracted person who is young is often inconsiderable, so he determined for one day at least to leave sir cupid to his own devices, for he could not spend all his time defending margery from amatory dawdle. for this one day he would leave the task to his wife. that day mr. raybold was in a moody mood. early in the morning he had walked to sadler's, his object being to secure from the trunk which he had left there a suit of ordinary summer clothes. he had come to think that perhaps his bicycle attire, although very suitable for this sort of life, failed to make him as attractive in the eyes of youth and beauty as he might be if clothed in more becoming garments. it was the middle of the afternoon before he returned, and as he carried a large package, he went directly to his own camp, and in about half an hour afterwards he came over to camp rob dressed in a light suit, which improved his general appearance very much. in his countenance, however, there was no improvement whatever, for he looked more out of humor than when he had set out, and when he saw that mrs. archibald was sitting alone in the shade, reading, and that at a considerable distance harrison clyde was seated by margery, giving her a lesson in drawing upon birch bark, or else taking a lesson from her, his ill-humor increased. "it is too bad," said he, taking a seat by mrs. archibald without being asked; "everything seems to go wrong out here in these woods. it is an unnatural way to live, anyhow, and i suppose it serves us right. when i went to sadler's i found a letter from my sister corona, who says she would like me to make arrangements for her to come here and camp with us for a time. now that suits me very well indeed. my sister corona is a very fine young woman, and i think it would be an excellent thing to have two young ladies here instead of one." "yes," said mrs. archibald, "that might be very pleasant. i should be glad for margery to have a companion of her own sex." "i understand precisely," said raybold, nodding his head sagaciously; "of her own sex. yes, i see your drift, and i agree with you absolutely. there is a little too much of that thing over there, and i don't wonder you are annoyed." "i did not say i was annoyed," said mrs. archibald, rather surprised. "no," he answered, "you did not say so, but i can read between the lines, even spoken lines. now when i heard that my sister wanted to come out here," he continued, "at first i did not like it, for i thought she might be some sort of a restraint upon me; but when i considered the matter further, i became very much in favor of it, and i sent a telegram by the stage telling her to come immediately, and that everything would be ready for her. my sister has a sufficient income of her own, and she likes to have everything suited to her needs. i am different. i am a man of the world, and although i do not always care to conform to circumstances, i can generally make circumstances conform to me. as shakespeare says, 'the world is my pottle, and i stir my spoon.' you must excuse my quoting, but i cannot help it. my life work is to be upon the stage, and where one's mind is, there will his words be also." mr. raybold was now in a much more pleasant mood than when he came to sit in the shade with mrs. archibald. he was talking; he had found some one who listened and who had very little to say for herself. "consequently," he remarked, "i ordered from mr. sadler the very best tent that he had. it has two compartments in it, and it is really as comfortable as a house, and as my sister wrote that she wished a female attendant, not caring to have her meals cooked by boys--a very flippant expression, by-the-way--i have engaged for her a she-guide." "a what?" asked mrs. archibald. "a person," said he, "who is a guide of the female gender. she was the wife of a hunter who was accidentally shot, sadler told me, by a young man who was with him on a gunning expedition. i told sadler that it was reprehensible to allow such fellows to have guns, but he said that they are not as dangerous now as they used to be. this is because the guides have learned to beware of them, i suppose. this woman has lived in the woods and knows all about camp life, and sadler says there could not be a better person found to attend a young lady in camp. so i engaged her, and i must say she charged just as much as if she were a man." "why shouldn't she," said mrs. archibald, "if she is just as good?" to this remark raybold paid no attention. "i will tell you," he said, "confidentially, of course, and i think you have as much reason to be interested in it as i have, why i came to view with so much favor my sister's coming here. she is a very attractive young woman, and i think she cannot fail to interest clyde, and that, of course, will be of advantage to your niece." "she is not my niece, you know," said mrs. archibald. "well," said he, "it is all the same. 'let it be a bird wing or a flower, so it pleases'--a quotation which is also avonian--and if clyde likes corona he will let miss dearborn alone. that's the sort of man he is." "and in that case," said mrs. archibald, "i suppose you would not be unwilling to provide margery with company." "madam," said the young man, leaning forward and fixing his eyes upon the ground, and then turning them upon her without moving his face towards her, "with me all that is a different matter. i may have occasion later to speak to you and your husband upon the subject of miss dearborn." "in which case," said mrs. archibald, quickly, "i am sure that my husband will be very glad to speak to you. but why, may i ask, were you so disturbed when you came here, just now? you said the world was going wrong." "i declare," said he, knitting his brows and clapping one hand on his knee, "i actually forgot! the world wrong? i should say it was wrong! my sister can't come, and i don't know what to do about it." "can't come?" asked mrs. archibald. "of course not," said he, all his ill-humor having returned. "that fellow, the bishop, is in our camp and in clyde's bed. clyde foolishly gave him his bed because he said the cook-tent was too cramped for a man to stay in it all day." "why need he stay?" asked mrs. archibald. "has he taken cold? is he sick?" "no indeed," said raybold. "if he were sick we might send for a cart and have him taken to sadler's, but the trouble is worse than that. his clothes, in which he foolishly jumped into the water, have shrunken so much that he cannot get them on, and as he has no others, he is obliged to stay in bed." "but surely something can be done," said mrs. archibald. "no," he interrupted, "nothing can be done. the clothes have dried, and if you could see them as they hang up on the bushes, you would understand why that man can never get into them again. the material is entirely unsuitable for out-door life. clyde proposes that we shall lend him something, but there are no clothes in this party into which such a sausage of a man could get himself. so there he is, and there, i suppose, he will remain indefinitely; and i don't want to bring my sister to a camp with a permanently occupied hospital bed in it. as soon as i agreed to corona's coming i determined to bounce that man, but now--" so saying, mr. raybold rose, folded his arms, and knit his brows, and as he did so he glanced towards the spot where margery and clyde had been sitting, and perceived that the latter had departed, probably to get some more birch bark; and so, with a nod to mrs. archibald, he sauntered away, bending his steps, as it were accidentally, in the direction of the young lady left alone. when mr. archibald heard, that evening, of the bishop's plight and raybold's discomfiture, he was amused, but also glad to know there was an opportunity for doing something practical for the bishop. he was beginning to like the man, in spite of his indefiniteness, so he went to see the bedridden prelate who was neither sick nor clerical, and with very little trouble induced him to take a few general measurements of his figure. "it is so good of you," said the delighted recumbent, "that i shall not say a word, but step aside in deference to your conscience, whose encomiums will far transcend anything i can say. you will pardon me, i am sure, if i make my measurements liberal. the cost will not be increased, and to live, move, and breathe in a suit of clothes which is large enough for me is a joy which i have not known for a long time. shoes, did you say, sir? truly this is generosity supereminent." "yes," said mr. archibald, laughing, "and you also shall have a new hat. i will fit you out completely, and if this helps you to make a new and a good start in life, i shall be greatly gratified." "sir," said the bishop, the moisture of genuine gratitude in his eyes, "you are doing, i think, far more good than you can imagine, and pardon me if i suggest, since you are going to get me a hat, that it be not of clerical fashion. if everything is to be new, i should like everything different, and i am certain the cost will be less." "all right," said mr. archibald. "i will now make a list of what you need, and i will write to one of my clerks, who will procure everything." when mr. archibald went back to his camp he met raybold, stalking moodily. having been told what had been done for the bishop's relief, the young man was astonished. "a complete outfit, and for him? i would not have dreamed of it; and besides, it is of no use; it must be days before the clothes arrive, and my sister wishes to come immediately." "do you suppose," exclaimed mr. archibald, "that i am doing this for the sake of your sister? i am doing it for the man himself." when mr. archibald told his wife of this little interview they both laughed heartily. "if mr. raybold's sister," said she, "is like him, i do not think we shall care to have her here; but sisters are often very different from their brothers. however, the bishop need not prevent her coming. if his clothes do not arrive before she does, i am sure there could be no objection to her tent being set up for a time in some of the open space in our camp, and then we shall become sooner acquainted with her; if she is a suitable person, i shall be very glad indeed for margery to have a companion." "all right," said mr. archibald; "let her pitch her tent where she pleases. i am satisfied." chapter xiv the assertion of individuality it was a week after her brother had sent her his telegram before miss corona raybold arrived at camp rob, with her tent, her outfit, and her female guide. mrs. archibald had been surprised that she did not appear sooner, for, considering mr. raybold's state of mind, she had supposed that his sister had wished to come at the earliest possible moment. "but," said raybold, in explaining the delay, "corona is very different from me. in my actions 'the thunder's roar doth crowd upon the lightning's heels,' as william has told us." "where in shakespeare is that?" asked mrs. archibald. mr. raybold bent his brow. "for the nonce," said he, "i do not recall the exact position of the lines." and after that he made no more avonian quotations to mrs. archibald. the arrival of the young lady was, of course, a very important event, and even mr. archibald rowed in from the lake when he saw her caravan approaching, herself walking in the lead. she proved to be a young person of medium height, slight, and dressed in a becoming suit of dark blue. her hair and eyes were dark, her features regular and of a classic cut, and she wore eye-glasses. her manner was quiet, and at first she appeared reserved, but she soon showed that if she wished to speak she could talk very freely. she wore an air of dignified composure, but was affable, and very attentive to what was said to her. altogether she made in a short time an extremely favorable impression upon mr. and mrs. archibald, and in a very much less time an extremely unfavorable impression upon margery. miss raybold greeted everybody pleasantly, even informing matlack that she had heard of him as a famous guide, and after thanking mr. and mrs. archibald for their permission to set up her tent on the outskirts of their camp, she proceeded to said tent, which was speedily made ready for her. mrs. perkenpine, her guide, was an energetic woman, and under her orders the men who brought the baggage bestirred themselves wonderfully. just before supper, to which meal the raybolds and mr. clyde had been invited, the latter came to mr. archibald, evidently much troubled and annoyed. "i am positively ashamed to mention it to you, sir," he said, "but i must tell you that raybold has ordered the men who brought his sister's tent to bring our tent over here and put it up near her's. i was away when this was done, and i wish to assure you most earnestly that i had nothing to do with it. the men have gone, and i don't suppose we can get it back to-night." mr. archibald opened his eyes very wide. "your friend is certainly a remarkable young man," said he, "but we must not have any bad feeling in camp, so let everything remain as it is for to-night. i suppose he wished to be near his sister, but at least he might have asked permission." "i think," said clyde, "that he did not so much care to be near his sister as he did to be away from the bishop, who is now left alone in our little shelter-tent." mr. archibald laughed. "well," said he, "he will come to no harm, and we must see that he has some supper." "oh, i shall attend to that," said clyde, "and to his breakfast also. and, now i come to think of it, i believe that one reason raybold moved our tent over here was to get the benefit of his sister's cook. the bishop did our cooking, you know, before he took to his bed." that evening miss raybold joined the party around the camp-fire. she declared that in the open air she did not in the least object to the use of tobacco, and then she asked mr. archibald if his two guides came to the camp-fire after their work was done. "they do just as they please," was the answer. "sometimes they come over here and smoke their pipes a little in the background, and sometimes they go off by themselves. we are very democratic here in camp, you know." "i like that," said miss raybold, "and i will have mrs. perkenpine come over when she has arranged the tent for the night. arthur, will you go and tell her?" her brother did not immediately rise to execute this commission. he hoped that mr. clyde would offer to do the service, but the latter did not improve the opportunity to make himself agreeable to the new-comer, and raybold did the errand. harrison clyde was sitting by margery, and margery was giving a little attention to what he said to her and a great deal of attention to corona raybold. "more self-conceit and a better-fitting dress i never saw," thought margery; "it's loose and easy, and yet it seems to fit perfectly, and i do believe she thinks she is some sort of an upper angel who has condescended to come down here just to see what common people are like." corona talked to mr. archibald. it was her custom always to talk to the principal personage of a party. "it gives me pleasure, sir," said she, "to meet with you and your wife. it is so seldom that we find any one--" she was interrupted by mrs. perkenpine, who stood behind her. the she-guide was a large woman, apparently taller than matlack. her sunburnt face was partly shaded by a man's straw hat, secured on her head by strings tied under her chin. she wore a very plain gown, coarse in texture, and of a light-blue color, which showed that it had been washed very often. her voice and her shoes, the latter well displayed by her short skirt, creaked, but her gray eyes were bright, and moved about after the manner of searchlights. "well," said she to miss raybold, "what do you want?" corona turned her head and placidly gazed up at her. "i simply wished to let you know that you might join this company here if you liked. the two men guides are coming, you see." mrs. perkenpine glanced around the group. "is there any hunting stories to be told?" she asked. mr. archibald laughed. "i don't know," he said, "but perhaps we may have some. i am sure that matlack here has hunting stories to tell." mrs. perkenpine shook her head. "no, sir," said she; "i don't want none of his stories. i've heard them all mostly two or three times over." "i dare say you have," said phil, seating himself on a fallen trunk, a little back from the fire; "but you see, mrs. perkenpine, you are so obstinate about keepin' on livin'. if you'd died when you was younger, you wouldn't have heard so many of those stories." "there's been times," said she, "when you was tellin' the story of the bear cubs and the condensed milk, when i wished i had died when i was younger, or else you had." "perhaps," said miss raybold, in a clear, decisive voice, "mr. matlack may know hunting stories that will be new to all of us, but before he begins them i have something which i would like to say." "all right," said mrs. perkenpine, seating herself promptly upon the ground; "if you're goin' to talk, i'll stay. i'd like to know what kind of things you do talk about when you talk." "i was just now remarking," said miss corona, "that i am very glad indeed to meet with those who, like mr. and mrs. archibald, are willing to set their feet upon the modern usages of society (which would crowd us together in a common herd) and assert their individuality." mr. archibald looked at the speaker inquiringly. "of course," said she, "i refer to the fact that you and mrs. archibald are on a wedding-journey." at this remark phil matlack rose suddenly from the tree-trunk and martin dropped his pipe. mr. clyde turned his gaze upon margery, who thereupon burst out laughing, and then he looked in amazement from mr. archibald to mrs. archibald and back again. mrs. perkenpine sat up very straight and leaned forward, her hands upon her knees. "is it them two sittin' over there?" she said, pointing to margery and clyde. "are they on a honey-moon?" "no!" exclaimed arthur raybold, in a loud, sharp voice. "what an absurdity! corona, what are you talking about?" to this his sister paid no attention whatever. "i think," she said, "it was a noble thing to do. an assertion of one's inner self is always noble, and when i heard of this assertion i wished very much to know the man and the woman who had so asserted themselves, and this was my principal reason for determining to come to this camp." "but where on earth," asked mr. archibald, "did you hear that we were on a wedding-journey?" "i read it in a newspaper," said corona. "i do declare," exclaimed mrs. archibald, "everything is in the newspapers! i did think that we might settle down here and enjoy ourselves without people talking about our reason for coming!" "you don't mean to say," cried mrs. perkenpine, now on her feet, "that you two elderly ones is the honey-mooners?" "yes," said mr. archibald, looking with amusement on the astonished faces about him, "we truly are." "well," said the she-guide, seating herself, "if i'd stayed an old maid as long as that, i think i'd stuck it out. but perhaps you was a widow, mum?" "no, indeed," cried mr. archibald; "she was a charming girl when i married her. but just let me tell you how the matter stands," and he proceeded to relate the facts of the case. "i thought," he said, in conclusion, turning to matlack, "that perhaps you knew about it, for i told mr. sadler, and i supposed he might have mentioned it to you." "no, sir," said matlack, relighting his pipe, "he knows me better than that. if he'd called me and said, 'phil, i want you to take charge of a couple that's goin' honey-moonin' about twenty-five years after they married, and a-doin' it for somebody else and not for themselves,' i'd said to him, 'they're lunatics, and i won't take charge of them.' and peter he knows i would have thought that and would have said it, and so he did not mention the particulars to me. he knows that the only things that i'm afraid of in this world is lunatics. 'tisn't only what they might do to me, but what they might do to themselves, and i won't touch 'em." "i hope," said mrs. archibald, "that you don't consider us lunatics now that you have heard why we are here." "oh no," said the guide; "i've found that you're regular common-sense people, and i don't change my opinions even when i've heard particulars; but if i'd heard particulars first, it would have been all up with my takin' charge of you." "and you knew it all the time?" said clyde to margery, speaking so that she only could hear. "i knew it," she said, "but i didn't think it worth talking about. do you know mr. raybold's sister? do you like her?" "i have met her," said clyde; "but she is too lofty for me." "what is there lofty about her?" said margery. "well," said he, "she is lofty because she has elevated ideas. she goes in for reform; and for pretty much all kinds, from what i have heard." "i think she is lofty," remarked margery, "because she is stuck-up. i don't like her." "it is so seldom," corona now continued, "that we find people who are willing to assert their individuality, and when they are found i always want to talk to them. i suppose, mr. matlack, that your life is one long assertion of individuality?" "what, ma'am?" asked the guide. "i mean," said she, "that when you are out alone in the wild forest, holding in your hand the weapon which decides the question of life or death for any living creature over whom you may choose to exercise your jurisdiction, absolutely independent of every social trammel, every bond of conventionalism, you must feel that you are a predominant whole and not a mere integral part." "well," said matlack, speaking slowly, "i may have had them feelin's, but if i did they must have struck in, and not come out on the skin, like measles, where i could see 'em." "corona," said her brother, in a peevish undertone, "what is the good of all that? you're wasting your words on such a man." his sister turned a mild steady gaze upon him. "i don't know any man but you," she said, "on whom i waste my words." "is assertin' like persistin'?" inquired mrs. perkenpine at this point. "the two actions are somewhat alike," said corona. "well, then," said the she-guide, "i'm in for assertin'. when my husband was alive there was a good many things i wanted to do, and when i wanted to do a thing or get a thing i kept on sayin' so; and one day, after i'd been keepin' on sayin' so a good while, he says to me, 'jane,' says he, 'it seems to me that you're persistin'.' 'yes,' says i, 'i am, and i intend to be.' 'then you are goin' to keep on insistin' on persistin'?' says he. 'yes,' says i; and then says he, 'if you keep on insistin' on persistin' i'll be thinkin' of 'listin'.' by which he meant goin' into the army as a regular, and gettin' rid of me; and as i didn't want to be rid of him, i stopped persistin'; but now i wish i had persisted, for then he'd 'listed, and most likely would be alive now, through not bein' shot in the back by a city fool with a gun." "i do not believe," said mrs. archibald to her husband, when they had retired to their cabin, "that that young woman is going to be much of a companion for margery. i think she will prefer your society to that of any of the rest of us. it is very plain that she thinks it is your individuality which has been asserted." "well," said he, rubbing his spectacles with his handkerchief before putting them away for the night, "don't let her project her individuality into my sport. that's all i have to say." chapter xv a net of cobwebs to cage a lion "i think there's something besides a lunatic that you are afraid of," said martin to matlack the next morning, as they were preparing breakfast. "what's that?" inquired the guide, sharply. "it's that fellow they call the bishop," said martin. "he put a pretty heavy slur on you. you drove down a stake, and you locked your boat to it, and you walked away as big as if you were the sheriff of the county, and here he comes along, and snaps his fingers at you and your locks, and, as cool as a cucumber, he pulls up the stake and shoves out on the lake, all alone by herself, a young lady that you are paid to take care of and protect from danger." "i want you to know, martin sanders," said matlack, "that i don't pitch into a man when he's in his bed, no matter what it is that made him take to his bed or stay there. but i'll just say to you now, that when he gets up and shows himself, there'll be the biggest case of bounce in these parts that you ever saw." "bounce!" said martin to himself, as he turned away. "i have heard so much of it lately that i'd like to see a little." matlack also communed with himself. "he's awful anxious to get up a quarrel between me and the parson," he thought. "i wonder if he was too free with his tongue and did get thrashed. he don't show no signs of it, except he's so concerned in his mind to see somebody do for the parson what he ain't able to do himself. but i'll find out about it! i'll thrash that fellow in black, and before i let him up i'll make him tell me what he did to martin. i'd do a good deal to get hold of something that would take the conceit out of that fellow." mr. arthur raybold was a deep-minded person, and sometimes it was difficult for him, with the fathoming apparatus he had on hand, to discover the very bottom of his mind. now, far below the surface, his thoughts revolved. he had come to the conclusion that he would marry margery. in the first place, he was greatly attracted by her, and again he considered it would be a most advantageous union. she was charming to look upon, and her mind was so uncramped by conventionalities that it could adapt itself to almost any sphere to which she might direct it. he expected his life-work to be upon the stage, and what an actress miss dearborn would make if properly educated--as he could educate her! with this most important purpose in view, why should he waste his time? the archibalds could not much longer remain in camp. they had limited their holiday to a month, and that was more than half gone. he must strike now. the first thing to do was to get clyde out of the way; then he would speak to mr. archibald and ask for authority to press his suit, and he would press that suit as few men on earth, he said to himself, would be able to press it. what girl could deny herself to him when he came to her clad not only with his own personal attributes, but with the fervor of a romeo, the intellectuality of a hamlet, and the force of an othello? the clyde part of the affair seemed very simple; as his party would of course have their own table clyde would see his sister at every meal, and as corona did not care to talk to him, and must talk to somebody, she would be compelled to talk to clyde, and if she talked to clyde and looked at him as she always did when she talked to people, he did not see how he could help being attracted by her, and when once that sort of thing began the margery-field would be open to him. he excused himself that morning for hurriedly leaving the breakfast-table by saying that he wished to see mr. archibald before he started out fishing. he found that gentleman talking to matlack. "can i see you alone, sir?" said raybold. "i have something of importance i wish to say to you." "very good," said the other, "for i have something i wish to say to you," and they retired towards the lake. "what is it?" inquired mr. archibald. "it is this," said raybold, folding his arms as he spoke. "i am a man of but few words. when i have formed a purpose i call upon my actions to express it rather than my speech. i will not delay, therefore, to say to you that i love your ward, and my sole object in seeking this interview is to ask your permission to pay my addresses to her. that permission given, i will attend to the rest." "after you have dropped your penny in the slot," remarked mr. archibald. "i must say," he continued, "that i am rather surprised at the nature of your communication. i supposed you were going to explain your somewhat remarkable conduct in bringing your tent into my camp without asking my permission or even speaking to me about it; but as what you have said is of so much more importance than that breach of good manners i will let the latter drop. but why did you ask my permission to address miss dearborn? why didn't you go and do it just as you brought your tent here? did you think that if you had a permit from me for that sort of sport you could warn off trespassers?" "it was something of that kind," said raybold, "although i should not have put it in that trifling way." "then i will remark," said mr. archibald, "that i know nothing of your matrimonial availability, and i do not want to know anything about it. my wife and i brought miss dearborn here to enjoy herself in the woods, not to be sought in marriage by strangers. for the present i am her guardian, and as such i say to you that i forbid you to make her a proposal of marriage, or, indeed, to pay her any attentions which she may consider serious. if i see that you do not respect my wishes in this regard, i shall ask you to consider our acquaintance at an end, and shall dispense with your visits to this camp. have i spoken plainly?" the knitted brows of raybold were directed towards the ground. "you have spoken plainly," he said, "and i have heard," and with a bow he walked away. as he approached his tent a smile, intended to be bitter, played about his features. "a net of cobwebs," he muttered, "to cage a lion!" the weather had now grown sultry, the afternoon was very hot, and there was a general desire to lie in the shade and doze. margery's plans for a siesta were a little more complicated than those of the others. she longed to lie in a hammock under great trees, surrounded by the leafy screens of the woodlands; to gaze at the blue sky through the loop-holes in the towering branches above her, and to dream of the mysteries of the forest. "martin," said she, to the young guide, "is there a hammock among the things we brought with us?" his face brightened. "of course there are hammocks," he said. "i wonder none of you asked about them before." "i never thought of it," said margery. "i haven't had time for lounging, and as for aunt harriet, she would not get into one for five dollars." "where shall i hang it?" he asked. "not anywhere about here. couldn't you find some nice place in the woods, not far away, but where i would not be seen, and might have a little time to myself? if you can, come and tell me quietly where it is." "i know what she means," said martin to himself. "it's a shame that she should be annoyed. i can find you just such a place," he said to margery. "i will hang the hammock there, and i will take care that nobody else shall know where it is." and away he went, bounding heart and foot. in less than a quarter of an hour he returned. "it's all ready, miss dearborn," he said. "i think i have found a place you will like. it's generally very close in the woods on a day like this, but there is a little bluff back of us, and at the end of it the woods are open, so that there is a good deal of air there." "that is charming," said margery, and with a book in her hand she accompanied martin. they were each so interested in the hammock business that they walked side by side, instead of one following the other, as had been their custom heretofore. "oh, this is a delightful place!" cried margery. "i can lie here and look down into the very heart of the woods; it is a solitude like robinson crusoe's island." "i am glad you like it," said martin. "i thought you would. i have put up the hammock strongly, so that you need not be afraid of it; but if there is any other way you want it i can change it. there is not a thing here that can hurt you, and if a little snake should happen along it would be glad to get away from you if you give it a chance. but if you should be frightened or should want anything you have only to call for me. i shall hear you, for i shall be out in the open just at the edge of the woods." "thank you very much," said margery; "nothing could be nicer than this, and you did it so quickly." he smiled with pleasure as he answered that he could have done it more quickly if it had been necessary; and then he retired slowly, that she might call him back if she thought of anything she wanted. margery lay in the hammock, gazing out over the edge of the bluff into the heart of the woods; her closed book was in her hand, and the gentle breeze that shook the leaves around her and disturbed the loose curls about her face was laden with a moist spiciness which made her believe it had been wandering through some fragrant foliage of a kind unknown to her, far away in the depths of the forest, where she could not walk on account of the rocks, the great bushes, and the tall ferns. it was lovely to lie and watch the leafy boughs, which seemed as if they were waving their handkerchiefs to the breeze as it passed. "i don't believe," she said to herself, as she cast her eyes upward towards an open space above her, "that if i were that little white cloud and could float over the whole world and drop down on any spot i chose that i could drop into a lovelier place than this." then she brought her gaze again to earth, and her mind went out between the shadowy trunks which stretched away and away and away towards the mysteries of the forest, which must always be mysteries to her because it was impossible for her to get to them and solve them--that is, if she remained awake. but if master morpheus should happen by, she might yet know everything--for there are no mysteries which cannot be solved in dreams. master morpheus came, but with him came also arthur raybold; not by the little pathway that approached from the direction of the lake, but parting the bushes as if he had been exploring. when she heard footsteps behind her, margery looked up quickly. "mr. raybold!" she exclaimed. "how on earth did you happen here?" "i did not happen," said he, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. "i have been looking for you, and i have had tough work of it. i saw you go into the woods, and i went in also, although some distance below here, and i have had a hard and tiresome job working my way up to you; but i have found you. i knew i should, for i had bent my mind to the undertaking." "well, i wish you hadn't," said margery, in a vexed tone. "i came here to be alone and take a nap, and i wish you would find some other nice place and go and take a nap yourself." he smiled deeply. "that would not answer my purpose at all," said he. "napping is far from my desires." "but i don't care anything about your desires," said margery, in a tone which showed she was truly vexed, "i have pre-empted this place, and i want it to myself. i was just falling into a most delightful doze when you came, and i don't think you have any right to come here and disturb me." "the sense of right, miss dearborn," said he, "comes from the heart, and we do not have to ask other people what it is. my heart has given me the right to come here, and here i am." "and what in the name of common-sense are you here for?" said margery. "speaking about your heart makes me think you came here to make love to me. is that it?" "it is," said he, "and i wish you to hear me." "mr. raybold," said she, her eyes as bright, he thought, as if they had belonged to his sister when she was urging some of her favorite views upon a company, "i won't listen to one word of such stuff. this is no place for love-making, and i won't have it. if you want to make love to me you can wait until i go home, and then you can come and speak to my mother about it, and when you have spoken to her you can speak to me, but i won't listen to it here. not one word!" thus did the indignant craftiness of margery express itself. "it's a good deal better," she thought, "than telling him no, and having him keep on begging and begging." "miss dearborn," said raybold, "what i have to say cannot be postponed. the words within me must be spoken, and i came here to speak them." with a sudden supple twist margery turned herself, hammock and all, and stood on her feet on the ground. "martin!" she cried, at the top of her voice. raybold stepped back astonished. "what is this?" he exclaimed. "am i to understand--" before he had time to complete his sentence martin sanders sprang into the scene. "what is it?" he exclaimed, with a glare at raybold, as if he suspected why he had been called. "martin," said margery, with a good deal of sharpness in her voice, "i want you to take down this hammock and carry it away. i can't stay here any longer. i thought that at least one quiet place out-of-doors could be found where i would not be disturbed, but it seems there is no such place. perhaps you can hang the hammock somewhere near our cabin." martin's face grew very red. "i think," said he, "that you ought not to be obliged to go away because you have been disturbed. whoever disturbed you should go away, and not you." now mr. raybold's face also grew red. "there has been enough of this!" he exclaimed. "guide, you can go where you came from. you are not wanted here. if miss dearborn wishes her hammock taken down, i will do it." then turning to margery, he continued: "you do not know what it is i have to say to you. if you do not hear me now, you will regret it all your life. send this man away." "i would very much like to send a man away if i knew how to do it," said margery. "do it?" cried martin. "oh, miss dearborn, if you want it done, ask me to do it for you!" "you!" shouted raybold, making two steps towards the young guide; then he stopped, for margery stood in front of him. "i have never seen two men fight," said she, "and i don't say i wouldn't like it, just once; but you would have to have on boxing-gloves; i couldn't stand a fight with plain hands, so you needn't think of it. martin, take down the hammock just as quickly as you can. and if you want to stay here, mr. raybold, you can stay, but if you want to talk, you can talk to the trees." martin heaved a sigh of disappointment, and proceeded to unfasten the hammock from the trees to which it had been tied. for a moment raybold looked as if he were about to interfere, but there was something in the feverish agility of the young guide which made his close proximity as undesirable as that of a package of dynamite. margery turned to leave the place, but suddenly stopped. she would wait until martin was ready to go with her. she would not leave those two young men alone. raybold was very angry. he knew well that such a chance for a private interview was not likely to occur again, and he would not give up. he approached the young girl. "margery," he said, "if you--" "martin," she cried to the guide, who was now ready to go, "put down that hammock and come here. now, sir," she said, turning to raybold, "let me hear you call me margery again!" she waited for about a half a minute, but she was not called by name. then she and martin went away. she had nearly reached the cabin before she spoke, and then she turned to the young man and said: "martin, you needn't trouble yourself about putting up that hammock now; i don't want to lie in it. i'm going into the house. i am very much obliged to you for the way you stood by me." "stood by you!" he exclaimed, in a low voice, which seemed struggling in the grasp of something which might or might not be stronger than itself. "you don't know how glad i am to stand by you, and how i would always--" "thank you," said margery; "thank you very much," and she walked away towards the cabin. "oh, dear!" she sighed, as she opened the door and went in. chapter xvi a man who feels himself a man towards the end of the afternoon, when the air had grown cooler, mr. archibald proposed a boating expedition to the lower end of the lake. his boat was large enough for matlack, the three ladies, and himself, and if the two young men wished to follow, they had a boat of their own. when first asked to join the boating party miss corona raybold hesitated; she did not care very much about boating; but when she found that if she stayed in camp she would have no one to talk to, she accepted the invitation. mr. archibald took the oars nearest the stern, while matlack seated himself forward, and this arrangement suited miss corona exactly. the boat kept down the middle of the lake, greatly aided by the current, and corona talked steadily to mr. archibald. mrs. archibald, who always wanted to do what was right, and who did not like to be left out of any conversation on important subjects, made now and then a remark, and whenever she spoke corona turned to her and listened with the kindest attention, but the moment the elder lady had finished, the other resumed her own thread of observation without the slightest allusion to what she had just heard. as for mr. archibald, he seldom said a word. he listened, sometimes his eyes twinkled, and he pulled easily and steadily. doubtless he had a good many ideas, but none of them was expressed. as for margery, she leaned back in the stern, and thought that, after all, she liked miss raybold better than she did her brother, for the young lady did not speak one word to her, nor did she appear to regard her in any way. "but how on earth," thought margery, "she can float over this beautiful water and under this lovely sky, with the grandeur of the forest all about her, and yet pay not the slightest attention to anything she sees, but keep steadily talking about her own affairs and the society she belongs to, i cannot imagine. she might as well live in a cellar and have pamphlets and reformers shoved down to her through the coal-hole." messrs. clyde and raybold accompanied the larger boat in their own skiff. it was an unwieldy craft, with but one pair of oars, and as the two young men were not accustomed to rowing together, and as mr. raybold was not accustomed to rowing at all and did not like it, mr. clyde pulled the boat. but, do what he could, it was impossible for him to get near the other boat. matlack, who was not obliged to listen to miss corona, kept his eye upon the following skiff, and seemed to fear a collision if the two boats came close together, for if clyde pulled hard he pulled harder. arthur raybold was not satisfied. "i thought you were a better oarsman," he said to the other; "but now i suppose we shall not come near them until we land." but the archibald party did not land. under the guidance of matlack they swept slowly around the lower end of the lake; they looked over the big untenanted camp-ground there; they stopped for a moment to gaze into the rift in the forest through which ran the stream which connected this lake with another beyond it, and then they rowed homeward, keeping close to the farther shore, so as to avoid the strength of the current. clyde, who had not reached the end of the lake, now turned and determined to follow the tactics of the other boat and keep close to the shore, but on the side nearest to the camp. this exasperated raybold. "what are you trying to do?" he said. "if you keep in the middle we may get near them, and why should we be on one side of the lake and they on the other?" "i want to get back as soon as they do," said clyde, "and i don't want to pull against the current." "stop!" said raybold. "if you are tired, let me have the oars." harrison clyde looked for a minute at his companion, and then deliberately changed the course of the boat and rowed straight towards the shore, paying no attention whatever to the excited remonstrances of raybold. he beached the boat at a rather poor landing-place among some bushes, and then, jumping out, he made her fast. "what do you mean?" cried raybold, as he scrambled on shore. "is she leaking more than she did? what is the matter?" "she is not leaking more than usual," said the other, "but i am not going to pull against that current with you growling in the stern. i am going to walk back to camp." in consequence of this resolution the two young men reached camp rob about the same time that the archibald boat touched shore, and at least an hour before they would have arrived had they remained in their boat. the party was met by mrs. perkenpine, bearing letters and newspapers. a man had arrived from sadler's in their absence, and he had brought the mail. nearly every one had letters; there was even something for martin. standing where they had landed, seated on bits of rock, on the grass, or on camp-chairs, all read their letters. while thus engaged a gentleman approached the party from the direction of camp roy. he was tall, well built, handsomely dressed in a suit of light-brown tweed, and carried himself with a buoyant uprightness. a neat straw hat with a broad ribbon shaded his smooth-shaven face, which sparkled with cordial good-humor. a blue cravat was tied tastefully under a broad white collar, and in his hand he carried a hickory walking-stick, cut in the woods, but good enough for a city sidewalk. margery was the first to raise her eyes at the sound of the quickly approaching footsteps. "goodness gracious!" she exclaimed, and then everybody looked up. for a moment the new-comer was gazed upon in silence. from what gigantic bandbox could this well-dressed stranger have dropped? then, with a loud laugh, mr. archibald cried, "the bishop!" no wonder there had not been instant recognition. the loose, easy-fitting clothes gave no hint of redundant plumpness; no soiled shovel-hat cast a shadow over the smiling face, and a glittering shirt front banished all thought of gutta-percha. "madam," exclaimed the bishop, raising his hat and stepping quickly towards mrs. archibald, "i cannot express the pleasure i feel in meeting you again. and as for you, sir," holding out his hand to mr. archibald, "i have no words in which to convey my feelings. look upon a man, sir, who feels himself a man, and then remember from what you raised him. i can say no more now, but i can never forget what you have done," and as he spoke he pressed mr. archibald's hand with an honest fervor, which distorted for a moment the features of that gentleman. from one to the other of the party the bishop glanced, as he said, "how glad, how unutterably glad, i am to be again among you!" turning his eyes towards miss raybold, he stopped. that young lady had put down the letter she was reading, and was gazing at him through her spectacles with calm intensity. "this lady," said the bishop, turning towards raybold, "is your sister, i presume? may i have the honor?" raybold looked at him without speaking. here was an example of the silly absurdity of throwing pearls before swine. he had never wanted to have anything to do with the fellow when he was in the gutter, and he wanted nothing to do with him now. with a little flush on her face mrs. archibald rose. "miss raybold," she said, "let me present to you"--and she hesitated for a moment--"the gentleman we call the bishop. i think you have heard us speak of him." "yes," said miss raybold, rising, with a charming smile on her handsome face, and extending her hand, "i have heard of him, and i am very glad to meet him." "i have also heard of you," said the bishop, as he stood smiling beside corona's camp-chair, "and i have regretted that i have been the innocent means of preventing you for a time from occupying your brother's camp." "oh, do not mention that," said corona, sweetly. "i walked over there yesterday, and i think it is a great deal pleasanter here, so you have really done me a favor. i am particularly glad to see you, because, from the little i have heard said about you, i think you must agree with some of my cherished opinions. for one thing, i am quite certain you favor the assertion of individuality; your actions prove that." "really," said the bishop, seating himself near her, "i have not given much thought to the subject; but i suppose i have asserted my individuality. if i have, however, i have done it indefinitely. everybody about me having some definite purpose in life, and i having none, i am, in a negative way, a distinctive individual. it is a pity i am so different from other people, but--" "no, it is not a pity," interrupted corona, the color coming into her cheeks and a brighter light into her eyes. "our individuality is a sacred responsibility. it is given to us for us to protect and encourage--i may say, to revere. it is a trust for which we should be called to account by ourselves, and we shall be false and disloyal to ourselves if we cannot show that we have done everything in our power for the establishment and recognition of our individuality." "it delights me to hear you speak in that way," exclaimed the bishop. "it encourages and cheers me. we are what we are; and if we can be more fully what we are than we have been, then we are more truly ourselves than before." "and what can be nobler," cried corona, "than to be, in the most distinctive sense of the term, ourselves?" mr. and mrs. archibald walked together towards their cabin. "i want to be neighborly and hospitable," said he, "but it seems to me that, now that the way is clear for miss raybold to move her tent to her own camp and set up house-keeping there, we should not be called upon to entertain her, and, if we want to enjoy ourselves in our own way, we can do it without thinking of her." "we shall certainly not do it," said his wife, "if we do think of her. i am very much disappointed in her. she is not a companion at all for margery; she never speaks to her; and, on the other hand, i should think you would wish she would never speak to you." "well," said her husband, "that feeling did grow upon me somewhat this afternoon. up to a certain point she is amusing." here he was interrupted by mrs. perkenpine, who planted herself before him. "i s'pose you think i didn't do right," she said, "'cause, when that big bundle came it had your name on it; but i knew it was clothes, and that they was for that man in our camp, and so i took them to him myself. i heard phil say that the sooner that man was up and dressed, the better it would be for all parties; and as martin had gone off, and there wasn't nobody to take his clothes to him, i took them to him, and that's the long and short of it." "i wondered how he got them," said mr. archibald, "but i am glad you carried them to him." then, speaking to his wife, he added, "it may be a good thing that i gave him a chance to assert his individuality." chapter xvii mrs. perkenpine asserts her individuality about half an hour after the beginning of the conversation between the bishop and miss corona, mrs. perkenpine came to the latter and informed her that supper was ready, and three times after that first announcement did she repeat the information. at last the bishop rose and said he would not keep miss raybold from her meal. "will you not join us?" she asked. "i shall be glad to have you do so." the bishop hesitated for a moment, and then he accompanied corona. as mrs. perkenpine turned from the camp cooking-stove, a long-handled pan, well filled with slices of hot meat, in her hand, she stood for a moment amazed. slowly approaching the little table outside of the tent were the bishop and miss raybold, and glancing beyond them towards the lake, she saw clyde and raybold, to whom she had yelled that supper was ready, the one with his arms folded, gazing out over the water, and the other strolling backward and forward, as if he had thought of going to his supper, but had not quite made up his mind to it. mrs. perkenpine's face grew red. "they are waitin' for a chance to speak to that archibald gal," she thought. "well, let them wait. and she's bringing him! she needn't s'pose i don't know him. i've seen him splittin' wood at sadler's, and i don't cook for sech." so saying, she strode to some bushes a little back of the stove, and dashed the panful of meat behind them. then she returned, and seizing the steaming coffee-pot, she poured its contents on the ground. then she took up a smaller pan, containing some fried potatoes, hot and savory, and these she threw after the meat. the bishop and corona now reached the table and seated themselves. mrs. perkenpine, her face as hard and immovable as the trunk of an oak, approached, and placed before them some slices of cold bread, some butter, and two glasses of water. still earnestly talking, her eyes sometimes dimmed with tears of excitement as she descanted upon her favorite theories, corona began to eat what was before her. she buttered a slice of bread, and if the bishop chanced to say anything she ate some of it. she drank some water, and she talked and talked and talked. she did not know what she was eating. it might have been a lord mayor's dinner or a beggar's crust; her mind took no cognizance of such an unimportant matter. as for her companion, he knew very well what he was eating, and as he gazed about him, and saw that there were no signs of anything more, his heart sank lower and lower; but he ate slice after slice of bread, for he was hungry, and he hoped that when the two young men came to the table they would call for more substantial food. but long before they arrived corona finished her meal and rose. "now that we have had our supper," she said, "let us go where we shall not be annoyed by the smell of food, and continue our conversation." "is it possible," thought the bishop, "that she can be annoyed by the smell of hot meat, potatoes, and coffee? i suppose thes, and coffee? i suppose the delicious odor comes from the other supper-table. heavens! why wasn't i asked there?" there was a dreadful storm when raybold and clyde came to the table; but mrs. perkenpine remained hard and immovable through it all. "your sister and that tramp has been here," said she, "and this is all there is left. if you keep your hogs in your house, you can't expect to count on your victuals." some more coffee was made, and that, with bread, composed the young men's supper. when arthur raybold had finished his meal, he walked to the spot where corona and the bishop were conversing, and stood there silently. he was afraid to interrupt his sister by speaking to her, but he thought that his presence might have an effect upon her companion. it did have an effect, for the bishop seized the opportunity created by the arrival of a f, and departed at the first break in corona's flow of words. "i wish, arthur," she said, "that when you see i am engaged in a conversation, you would wait at least a reasonable time before interrupting it." "a reasonable time!" said raybold, with a laugh. "i like that! but i came here to interrupt your conversation. do you know who that fellow is you were talking to? he's a common, good-for-nothing tramp. he goes round splitting wood for his meals. clyde and i kept him here to cook our meals because we had no servant, and he's been in bed for days because he had no clothes to wear. now you are treating him as if he were a gentleman, and you actually brought him to our table, where, like the half-starved cur that he is, he has eaten up everything fit to eat that we were to have for our supper." "he did not eat all of it," said corona, "for i ate some myself; and if he is the good-for-nothing tramp and the other things you call him, i wish i could meet with more such tramps. i tell you, arthur, that if you were to spend the next five years in reading and studying, you could not get into your mind one-tenth of the serious information, the power to reason intelligently upon your perceptions, the ability to collate, compare, and refer to their individual causes the impressions--" "oh, bosh!" said her brother. "what i want to know is, are you going to make friends with that man and invite him to our table?" "i shall invite him if i see fit," said she. "he is an extremely intelligent person." "well," answered he, "if you do i shall have a separate table," and he walked away. as soon as he had left corona, the bishop repaired to the archibalds' cooking-tent, where he saw matlack at work. "i have come," he said, with a pleasant smile, "to ask a very great favor. would it be convenient for you to give me something to eat? anything in the way of meat, hot or cold, and some tea or coffee, as i see there is a pot still steaming on your stove. i have had an unlucky experience. you know i have been preparing my own meals at the other camp, but to-day, when mrs. perkenpine brought me my clothes, she carried away with her all the provisions that had been left there. i supped, it is true, with miss raybold, but her appetite is so delicate and her fare so extremely simple that i confidentially acknowledge that i am half starved." during these remarks matlack had stood quietly gazing at the bishop. "do you see that pile of logs and branches there?" said he; "that's the firewood that's got to be cut for to-morrow, which is sunday, when we don't want to be cuttin' wood; and if you'll go to work and cut it into pieces to fit this stove, i'll give you your supper. you can go to the other camp and sleep where you have been sleepin', if you want to, and in the mornin' i'll give you your breakfast. i 'ain't got no right to give you mr. archibald's victuals, but what you eat i'll pay for out of my own pocket, considerin' that you'll do my work. then to-morrow i'll give you just one hour after you've finished your breakfast to get out of this camp altogether, entirely out of my sight. i tried to have you sent away before, but other people took you up, and so i said no more; but now things are different. when a man pulls up what i've drove down, and sets loose what i've locked up, and the same as snaps his fingers in my face when i'm attendin' to my business, then i don't let that man stay in my camp." "excuse me," said the bishop, "but in case i should not go away within the time specified, what would be your course?" in a few brief remarks, inelegant but expressive, the guide outlined his intentions of taking measures which would utterly eliminate the physical energy of the other. "i haven't taken no advantage of you," he said, "i haven't come down on you when you hadn't no clothes to go away in; and now that you've got good clothes, i don't want to spile them if i can help it; but they're not goin' to save you--mind my words. what i've said i'll stick to." "mr. matlack," said the bishop, "i consider that you are entirely correct in all your positions. as to that unfortunate affair of the boat, i had intended coming to you and apologizing most sincerely for my share in it. it was an act of great foolishness, but that does not in the least excuse me. i apologize now, and beg that you will believe that i truly regret having interfered with your arrangements." "that won't do!" exclaimed the guide. "when a man as much as snaps his fingers in my face, it's no use for him to come and apologize. that's not what i want." "nevertheless," said the bishop, "you will pardon me if i insist upon expressing my regrets. i do that for my own sake as well as yours; but we will drop that subject. when you ask me to cut wood to pay for my meals, you are entirely right, and i honor your sound opinion upon this subject. i will cut the wood and earn my meals, but there is one amendment to your plan which i would like to propose. to-morrow is sunday; for that reason we should endeavor to make the day as quiet and peaceable as possible, and we should avoid everything which may be difficult of explanation or calculated to bring about an unpleasant difference of opinion among other members of the party. therefore, will you postpone the time at which you will definitely urge my departure until monday morning?" "well," said matlack, "now i come to think of it, it might be well not to kick up a row on sunday, and i will put it off until monday morning; but mind, there's no nonsense about me. what i say i mean, and on monday morning you march of your own accord, or i'll attend to the matter myself." "very good," said the bishop; "thank you very much. to-morrow i will consider your invitation to leave this place, and if you will come to camp roy about half-past six on monday morning i will then give you my decision. will that hour suit you?" "all right," said matlack, "you might as well make it a business matter. it's going to be business on my side, i'd have you know." "good--very good," said the bishop, "and now let me get at that wood." so saying, he put down his cane, took off his hat, his coat, his waistcoat, his collar, and his cravat and his cuffs; he rolled up his sleeves, he turned up the bottoms of his trousers, and then taking an axe, he set to work. in a few minutes martin arrived on the scene. "what's up now?" said he. "he's cuttin' wood for his meals," replied matlack. "i thought you were going to bounce him as soon as he got up?" "that's put off until monday morning," said matlack. "then he marches. i've settled that." "did he agree?" asked martin. "'tain't necessary for him to agree; he'll find that out monday morning." martin stood and looked at the bishop as he worked. "i wish you would get him to cut wood every day," said he. "by george, how he makes that axe fly!" when the bishop finished his work he drove his axe-head deep into a stump, washed his hands and his face, resumed the clothing he had laid aside, and then sat down to supper. there was nothing stingy about matlack, and the wood-chopper made a meal which amply compensated him for the deficiencies of the perkenpine repast. when he had finished he hurried to the spot where the party was in the habit of assembling around the camp-fire. he found there some feebly burning logs, and mr. clyde, who sat alone, smoking his pipe. "what is the matter?" asked the bishop. "where are all our friends?" [illustration: "'where are all our friends?'"] "i suppose they are all in bed," said clyde, "with the bedclothes pulled over their heads--that is, except one, and i suspect she is talking in her sleep. they were all here as usual, and mr. archibald thought he would break the spell by telling a fishing story. he told me he was going to try to speak against time; but it wasn't of any use. she just slid into the middle of his remarks as a duck slides into the water, and then she began an oration. i really believe she did not know that any one else was talking." "that may have been the case," said the bishop; "she has a wonderful power of self-concentration." "very true," said clyde, "and this time she concentrated herself so much upon herself that the rest of us got away, one by one, and when all the others had gone she went. then, when i found she really had gone, i came back. by-the-way, bishop," he continued, "there is something i would like to do, and i want you to help me." "name it," said the other. "i am getting tired of the way the raybolds are trespassing on the good-nature of the archibalds, and, whatever they do, i don't intend to let them make me trespass any longer. i haven't anything to do with miss raybold, but the other tent belongs as much to me as it does to her brother, and i am going to take it back to our own camp. and what is more, i am going to have my meals there. i don't want that wooden-headed mrs. perkenpine to cook for me." "how would you like me to do it?" asked the bishop, quickly. "that would be fine," said clyde. "i will help, and we will set up house-keeping there again, and if raybold doesn't choose to come and live in his own camp he can go wherever he pleases. i am not going to have him manage things for me. don't you think that you and i can carry that tent over?" "with ease!" exclaimed the bishop. "when do you want to move--monday morning?" "yes," said clyde, "after breakfast." chapter xviii the hermits associate during the next day no one in camp had reason to complain of corona raybold. she did not seem inclined to talk to anybody, but spent the most of her time alone. she wrote a little and reflected a great deal, sometimes walking, sometimes seated in the shade, gazing far beyond the sky. when the evening fire was lighted, her mood changed so that one might have supposed that another fire had been lighted somewhere in the interior of her mental organism. her fine eyes glistened, her cheeks gently reddened, and her whole body became animated with an energy created by warm emotions. "i have something i wish to say to you all," she exclaimed, as she reached the fire. "where is arthur? will somebody please call him? and i would like to see both the guides. it is something very important that i have to say. mrs. perkenpine will be here in a moment; i asked her to come. if mr. matlack is not quite ready, can he not postpone what he is doing? i am sure you will all be interested in what i have to say, and i do not want to begin until every one is here." mr. archibald saw that she was very much in earnest, and so he sent for the guides, and clyde went to call raybold. in a few minutes clyde returned and told corona that her brother had said he did not care to attend services that evening. "where is he?" asked miss raybold. "he is sitting over there looking out upon the lake," replied clyde. "i will be back almost immediately," said she to mr. archibald, "and in the mean time please let everybody assemble." arthur raybold was in no mood to attend services of any sort. he had spent nearly the whole day trying to get a chance to speak to margery, but never could he find her alone. "if i can once put the matter plainly to her," he said to himself, "she will quickly perceive what it is that i offer her; and when she clearly sees that, i will undertake to make her accept it. she is only a woman, and can no more withstand me than a mound of sand built by a baby's hand could withstand the rolling wave." at this moment corona arrived and told him that she wanted him at the camp-fire. he was only a man, and could no more withstand her than a mound of sand built by a baby's hand could withstand the rolling wave. when everybody in the camp had gathered around the fire, corona, her eye-glasses illumined by the light of her soul, gazed around the circle and began to speak. "my dear friends," she said, "i have been thinking a great deal to-day upon a very important subject, and i have come to the conclusion that we who form this little company have before us one of the grandest opportunities ever afforded a group of human beings. we are here, apart from our ordinary circumstances and avocations, free from all the trammels and demands of society, alone with nature and ourselves. in our ordinary lives, surrounded by our ordinary circumstances, we cannot be truly ourselves; each of us is but part of a whole, and very often an entirely unharmonious part. it is very seldom that we are able to do the things we wish to do in the manner and at times and places when it would best suit our natures. try as we may to be true to ourselves, it is seldom possible; we are swept away in a current of conventionality. it may be one kind of conventionality for some of us and another kind for others, but we are borne on by it all the same. sometimes a person like myself or mr. archibald clings to some rock or point upon the bank, and for a little while is free from the coercion of circumstances, but this cannot be for long, and we are soon swept with the rest into the ocean of conglomerate commonplace." "that's when we die!" remarked mrs. perkenpine, who sat reverently listening. "no," said the speaker, "it happens while we are alive. but now," she continued, "we have a chance, as i said before, to shake ourselves free from our enthralment. for a little while each one of us may assert his or her individuality. we are a varied and representative party; we come from different walks of life; we are men, women, and--" looking at margery, she was about to say children, but she changed her expression to "young people." "i think you will all understand what i mean. when we are at our homes we do things because other people want us to do them, and not because we want to do them. a family sits down to a meal, and some of them like what is on the table, some do not; some of them would have preferred to eat an hour before, some of them would prefer to eat an hour later; but they all take their meals at the same time and eat the same things because it is the custom to do so. "i mention a meal simply as an instance, but the slavery of custom extends into every branch of our lives. we get up, we go to bed, we read, we work, we play, just as other people do these things, and not as we ourselves would do them if we planned our own lives. now we have a chance, all of us, to be ourselves! each of us may say, 'i am myself, one!' think of that, my friends, each one! each of us a unit, responsible only to his or her unity, if i may so express it." "do you mean that i am that?" inquired mrs. perkenpine. "oh yes," replied corona. "is phil matlack one?" "yes." "all right," said the female guide; "if he is one, i don't mind." "now what i propose is this," said corona: "i understand that the stay in this camp will continue for about a week longer, and i earnestly urge upon you that for this time we shall each one of us assert our individuality. let us be what we are, show ourselves what we are, and let each other see what we are." "it would not be safe nor pleasant to allow everybody to do that," said mr. archibald. he was more interested in miss raybold's present discourse than he had been in any other he had heard her deliver. "of course," said she, "it would not do to propose such a thing to the criminal classes or to people of evil inclinations, but i have carefully considered the whole subject as it relates to us, and i think we are a party singularly well calculated to become the exponent of the distinctiveness of our several existences." "that gits me," said matlack. "i am afraid," said the speaker, gazing kindly at him, "that i do not always express myself plainly to the general comprehension, but what i mean is this: that during the time we stay here, let each one of us do exactly what he or she wants to do, without considering other people at all, except, of course, that we must not do anything which would interfere with any of the others doing what they please. for instance--and i assure you i have thought over this matter in all its details--if any of us were inclined to swear or behave disorderly, which i am sure could not be the case, he or she would not do so because he or she would feel that, being responsible to himself or herself, that responsibility would prevent him or her from doing that which would interfere with the pleasure or comfort of his or her associates." "i think," said mrs. archibald, somewhat severely, "that our duty to our fellow-beings is far more important than our selfish consideration of ourselves." "but reflect," cried corona, "how much consideration we give to our fellow-beings, and how little to ourselves as ourselves, each one. can we not, for the sake of knowing ourselves and honoring ourselves, give ourselves to ourselves for a little while? the rest of our lives may then be given to others and the world." "i hardly believe," said mr. archibald, "that all of us clearly understand your meaning, but it seems to me that you would like each one of us to become, for a time, a hermit. i do not know of any other class of persons who so thoroughly assert their individuality." "you are right!" exclaimed corona. "a hermit does it. a hermit is more truly himself than any other man. he may dwell in a cave and eat water-cresses, he may live on top of a tall pillar, or he may make his habitation in a barrel! if a hermit should so choose, he might furnish a cave with eastern rugs and bric-ã�â -brac. if he liked that sort of thing, he would be himself. yes, i would have all of us, in the truest sense of the word, hermits, each a hermit; but we need not dwell apart. some of us would certainly wish to assert our individuality by not dwelling apart from others." "we might, then," said mr. archibald, "become a company of associate hermits." "exactly!" cried corona, stretching out her hands. "that is the very word--associate hermits. my dear friends, from to-morrow morning, until we leave here, let us be associate hermits. let us live for ourselves, be true to ourselves. after all, if we think of it seriously, ourselves are all that we have in this world. everything else may be taken from us, but no one can take from me, myself, or from any one of you, yourself." the bishop now rose. he as well as the others had listened attentively to everything that had been said; even arthur raybold had shown a great deal of interest in his sister's remarks. "you mean," said the bishop, "that while we stay here each one of us shall act exactly as we think we ought to act if we were not influenced by the opinions and examples of others around us, and thus we shall have an opportunity to find out for ourselves and show others exactly what we are." "that is it," said corona, "you have stated it very well." "well, then," said the bishop, "i move that for the time stated we individually assert our individuality." "second the motion," said mr. archibald. "all in favor of this motion please say 'aye,'" said corona. "now let everybody vote, and i hope you will all say 'aye,' and if any one does not understand, i will be happy to explain." "i want to know," said phil matlack, rising, "if one man asserts what you call his individ'ality in such a way that it runs up agin another man's, and that second man ain't inclined to stand it, if that--" "oh, i assure you," interrupted the bishop, "that that will be all right. i understand you perfectly, and the individualities will all run along together without interfering with each other, and if one happens to get in the way of another it will be gently moved aside." "gently!" said matlack, somewhat satirically. "well, all right, it will be moved aside. i am satisfied, if the rest are." "now all in favor say 'aye,'" said corona. they all said "aye," except mrs. perkenpine, who said "me." chapter xix margery's breakfast very early the next morning margery pushed wide open the window of her studio chamber. the sash was a large one, and opened outward on hinges. she looked out upon the dewy foliage, she inhaled the fragrance of the moist morning air, she listened to the song of some early birds, and then, being dressed for the day, she got on a chair, stepped on the window-sill, and jumped out. she walked quietly round the cabin and went out towards the lake. she had never seen the woods so early in the day. all the space between the earth and the sky seemed filled with an intoxicating coolness. she took off her hat and carried it in her hand; the sun was not yet high enough to make it necessary to put anything between him and her. "this is what i am," said margery to herself as she stepped blithely on. "i never knew before what i am. i am really a dryad under difficulties." presently, to her amazement and his amazement, she saw martin. she went towards him. "oh, martin," she said, "are you up so early?" he smiled. "this is not early for me," he answered. "and mr. matlack, is he up?" "oh yes, he is up, and gone off to attend to some business." "well, really!" exclaimed margery. "i thought i was the first one out in the world to-day. and now, martin, don't you want to do something for me? i did not think it would happen, but i am really dreadfully hungry, and couldn't you give me my breakfast now, by myself, before anybody else? i am not particular what i have--anything that is easy to get ready will do--and i would like it down at the very edge of the lake." "you shall have it!" exclaimed martin, eagerly. "i will get it ready for you very soon, and will bring it to you. i know you like bread and butter and jam, and there is some cold meat, and i will boil you an egg and make some coffee." "that will be lovely," said margery, "and i will go down by the lake and wait. i do believe," she said to herself as she hurried away, "that this hermit business is the only sensible thing that ever came into the head of that classic statue with the glass fronts." very soon martin appeared with a rug, which he said she would want if she were going to sit on the ground; and then he ran away, but soon came back with the breakfast. margery was surprised to see how tastefully it was served. "you could not have done it better," she said, "if you had been a"--she was about to say waiter, but as she gazed at the bright, handsome face of the young man she felt that it would hurt his feelings to use such a word, so she suddenly changed it to woman. "if it is done well," he said, "it is not because i am like a woman, but because you are one." "what does that mean?" thought margery; but she did not stop to consider. "thank you very much," she said. "here is where i am going to eat, and nobody will disturb me." "do you wish anything else?" he asked. "no," said she. "i have everything i want; you know i take only one cup of coffee." he did know it; he knew everything she took, and as he felt that there was no excuse for him to stay there any longer, he slowly walked away. the place margery had chosen was a nice little nook for a nice little hermit. it was a bit of low beach, very narrow, and flanked on the shore side by a row of bushes, which soon turned and grew down to the water's edge, thus completely cutting off one end of the beach. at the other end the distance between the shrubbery and the water was but a few feet, so that margery could eat her breakfast without being disturbed by the rest of the world. reclining on the rug with the little tray on the ground before her, and some green leaves and a few pale wild flowers peeping over the edge of it to see what she had for breakfast, margery gave herself up to the enjoyment of life. "each, one," she said aloud; "i am one, and beautiful nature is another. just two of us, and each, one. go away, sir," she said to a big buzzing creature with transparent wings, "you are another, but you don't count." arthur raybold was perhaps the member of the party who was the best satisfied to be himself. he had vowed, as he left the camp-fire the night before, that his sister had at last evolved an idea which had some value. be himself? he should think so! he firmly believed that he was the only person in the camp capable of truly acting his own part in life. clyde had told him that on this morning he was going to move the tent over to their own camp, and though he had objected very forcibly, he found that clyde was not to be moved, and that the tent would be. in an angry mood he had been the first one of the associated hermits to assert his individuality. he made up his mind that he would not leave the immediate atmosphere of margery. he would revolve about her in his waking hours and in his dreams, and in the latter case he would revolve in a hammock hung between two trees not far from his sister's tent; and as he was not one who delayed the execution of his plans, he had put up the hammock that night, although his tent was still in camp rob. he had not slept very well, because he was not used to repose in a hammock; and he had risen early, for, though wrapped in a blanket, he had found himself a little chilly. starting out for a brisk walk to warm himself, he had not gone far before he thought he heard something which sounded like the clicking of knife and fork and dish. he stopped, listened, and then approached the source of the sounds, and soon stood at the open end of margery's little beach. for a few moments she did not know he was there, so engrossed was her mind with the far-away shadows on the lake, and with the piece of bread and jam she held in her hand. "oh, happy fates!" he exclaimed. "how have ye befriended me! could i have believed such rare fortune was in store for me?" at the sound of his voice margery turned her head and started, and in the same instant she was on her feet. "margery," he said, without approaching her, but extending his arms so that one hand touched the bushes and the other reached over the water, "i have you a gentle prisoner. i consider this the most fortunate hour of my whole existence. all i ask of you is to listen to me for ten minutes, and then i will cease to stand guard at the entrance to your little haven, and although you will be free to go where you please, i know you will not go away from me." margery's face was on fire. she was so angry she could scarcely speak, but she managed to bring some words to her lips to express her condition of mind. "mr. raybold," she cried, "if i ever hear any more of that horrid trash from you i will speak to mr. archibald, and have him drive you out of this camp. i haven't spoken to him before because i thought it would make trouble and interfere with people who have not done anything but what is perfectly right, but this is the last time i am going to let you off, and i would like you to remember that. now go away this instant, or else step aside and let me pass." raybold did not change his position, but with a smile of indulgent condescension he remarked: "now, then, you are angry; but i don't mind that, and i am quite sure you do not mean it. you see, you have never heard all that i have to say to you. when i have fully spoken to you, then i have no fear--" he had not finished his sentence, when margery dashed into the water, utterly regardless of her clothes, and before the astonished intruder could advance towards her she had rushed past him, and had run up on dry land a yard or two behind him. the water on the shelving beach was not more than a foot deep, but her mad bounds made a splashing and a spattering of spray as if a live shark bad been dropped into the shallow water. in a moment she had left the beach and was face to face with martin, pale with fright. "i thought you had tumbled in!" he cried. "what on earth is the matter?" she had no breath to answer, but she turned her head towards the lake, and as martin looked that way he saw raybold advancing from behind the bushes. it required no appreciable time for the young guide to understand the situation. his whole form quivered, his hands involuntarily clinched, his brows knitted, and he made one quick step forward; but only one, for margery seized him by the wrist. without knowing what he was doing, he struggled to free himself from her, but she was strong and held him fast. "i must go to my tent," she gasped. "i am all wet. now promise me that you will not say a thing or do a thing until i see you again. promise!" for a moment he seemed undecided, and then he ceased his efforts to get away, and said, "i promise." margery dropped his arm and hurried towards the cabin, hoping earnestly that the archibalds were not yet up. "this is a gay and lively beginning for a hermit," she thought, as she made her way around the house, "and i don't see how on earth i am ever going to get through that window again. there is nothing to stand on. i did not expect to go back until they were all up." but when she reached the window there was a stout wooden stool placed below it. "martin did that," she thought, "while i was at my breakfast. he knew i must have come through the window, and might want to go back that way. oh dear!" she sighed. "but i am sure i can't help it." and so, mounting from the stool to the window-sill, she entered her room. having given his promise, martin turned his back upon the sombre young man, who, with folded arms and clouded brow, was stalking towards the tents at the other end of the camp. "if i look at him," said martin, "it may be that i could not keep my promise." it was about half an hour afterwards, when martin, still excited and still pale, was getting ready for the general breakfast, forgetting entirely that he was a hermit, and that some of the other hermits might have peculiar ideas about their morning meal, that phil matlack arrived on the scene. martin was very much engrossed in his own thoughts, but he could not repress an inquiring interest in his companion. "well," said he, "did you bounce him?" matlack made no answer, but began to cut out the top of a tin can. "i say," repeated martin, "did you bounce him, or did he go without it?" without turning towards the younger man, matlack remarked: "i was mistaken. that ain't fat; it's muscle." "you don't mean to say," exclaimed martin, in astonishment, "that he bounced you out of that camp!" "i don't mean to say nothin'," was the reply, "except what i do say; and what i say is that that ain't fat; it's muscle. when i make a mistake i don't mind standin' up and sayin' so." martin could not understand the situation. he knew matlack to be a man of great courage and strength, and one who, if he should engage in a personal conflict, would not give up until he had done his very best. but the guide's appearance gave no signs of any struggle. his clothes were in their usual order, and his countenance was quiet and composed. "look here," cried martin, "how did you find out all that about the bishop?" matlack turned on him with a grim smile. "didn't you tell me that day you was talkin' to me about the boat that he was a tough sort of a fellow?" "yes, i did," said the other. "well," said matlack, "how did you find that out?" martin laughed. "i shouldn't wonder," he said, "if we were about square. well, if you will tell me how you found it out, i will tell you how i did." "go ahead," said the other. "the long and short of my business with him," said martin, "was this: i went with him down to the lake, and there i gave him a piece of my mind; and when i had finished, he turned on me and grabbed me with his two hands and chucked me out into the water, just as if i had been a bag of bad meal that he wanted to get rid of. when i got out i was going to fight him, but he advised me not to, and when i took a look at him and remembered the feel of the swing he gave me, i took his advice. now what did he do to you?" "he didn't do nothin'," said matlack. "when i got to the little tent he sleeps in, there he was sittin' in front of it, as smilin' as a basket of chips, and he bade me good-mornin' as if i had been a tenant comin' to pay him his rent; and then he said that before we went on with the business between us, there was some things he would like to show me, and he had 'em all ready. so he steps off to a place a little behind the tent, and there was three great bowlders, whopping big stones, which he said he had brought out of the woods. i could hardly believe him, but there they was. 'you don't mean,' says i, 'that you are goin' to fight with stones; because, if you are, you ought to give me a chance to get some,' and i thought to myself that i would pick up rocks that could be heaved. 'oh no,' says he, with one of them smiles of his--'oh no; i just want to open our conference with a little gymnastic exhibition.' and so sayin', he rolled up his shirt-sleeves--he hadn't no coat on--and he picked up one of them rocks with both hands, and then he gave it a swing with one hand, like you swing a ten-pin ball, and he sent that rock about thirty feet. "it nearly took my breath away, for if i had to move such a stone i'd want a wheelbarrow. then he took another of the rocks and hurled it right on top of the first one, and it came down so hard that it split itself in half. and then he took up the third one, which was the biggest, and threw it nearly as far, but it didn't hit the others. 'now, mr. matlack,' says he, 'this is the first part of my little programme. i have only one or two more things, and i don't want to keep you long.' then he went and got a hickory sapling that he'd cut down. it was just the trunk part of it, and must have been at least three inches thick. he put the middle of it at the back of his neck, and then he took hold of the two ends with his hands and pulled forward, and, by george! he broke that stick right in half! "then says he, 'would you mind steppin' down to the lake?' i didn't mind, and went with him, and when we got down to the water there was their boat drawed up on the shore and pretty nigh full of water. 'mr. clyde brought this boat back the other day,' says he, 'from a place where he left it some distance down the lake, and i wonder he didn't sink before he got here. we must try and calk up some of the open seams; but first we've got to get the water out of her.' so sayin', he squatted down on the ground in front of the boat and took hold of it, one hand on one side of the bow and one on the other, and then he gave a big twist, and just turned the boat clean over, water and all, so that it lay with its bottom up, and the water running down into the lake like a little deluge. "'that ought to have been done long ago,' says he, 'and i'll come down after a while and calk it before the sun gets on it.' then he walked back to camp as spry as a robin, and then says he, 'mr. matlack, my little exhibition is over, and so we'll go ahead with the business you proposed.' i looked around, and says i: 'do you find that little tent you sleep in comfortable? it seems to me as if your feet must stick out of it.' 'they do,' says he, 'and i sometimes throw a blanket over them to keep them dry. but we are goin' to make different arrangements here. mr. clyde and i will bring down his tent after breakfast, and if mr. raybold doesn't choose to occupy it, mr. clyde says i may share it with him. at any rate, i've engaged to attend to the cookin' and to things in general in this camp durin' the rest of the time we stay here.' "'and so mr. clyde is tired of trespassin', is he?' says i. 'yes, he is,' says he; 'he's a high-minded young fellow, and doesn't fancy that sort of thing. mr. raybold slept last night in a hammock, and if that suits him, he may keep it up.' 'if i was you,' says i, 'if he does come back to the camp, i'd make him sleep in that little tent. it would fit him better than it does you.' 'oh no,' says he, 'i don't want to make no trouble. i'm willin' to sleep anywhere. i'm used to roughin' it, and i could make myself comfortable in any tent i ever saw.' 'well,' says i, 'that was a very pretty exhibition you gave me, and i am much obliged to you, but i must be goin' over to my camp to help get breakfast.' 'if you see mr. clyde,' says he, 'will you kindly tell him that i will come over and help him with his tent in about an hour?' to which i said i would, and i left. now then, hurry up. them hermits will want their breakfasts." chapter xx martin asserts his individuality "good-morning," said mr. clyde, as he approached mr. and mrs. archibald, seated opposite each other at their breakfast-table. "so you still eat together? don't ask me to join you; i have had my breakfast." "yes," said mr. archibald, "we did think that, as we were hermits, we ought to eat in some separate, out-of-the-way fashion; but we could not think of any, and as we were both hungry and liked the same things, we concluded to postpone the assertion of our individualities." "and miss dearborn?" asked clyde. "oh, she had her breakfast long ago, so she told us," said mrs. archibald. "i suppose she took some bread and jam, for i do not know what else she could have had." "as for me," said clyde, "i thought i would do something of the sort. i like an early breakfast, and so i turned out, more than an hour ago and went to look up mrs. perkenpine; and i might as well say, sir, that i am now looking for the bishop to come and help me carry our tent back to our own camp, where he is going to cook for us. i never wanted to be a trespasser on your premises, and i don't intend to be such any longer." "that's the right feeling," said mr. archibald; "although, in fact, it doesn't make any difference to us whether your party camps here or not. at first i thought it would, but i find it does not." "by which he means," said mrs. archibald, "that if you want to go away he is perfectly willing to have you stay, but if you don't want to go away he doesn't like it, and would have you move." clyde laughed. "i haven't anything to say for the others," he answered, "but as long as i have a camp of my own i think i ought to live there." "but how about mrs. perkenpine?" asked mrs. archibald. "did you find her willing to wait on you, one at a time?" "not exactly," said clyde. "i discovered her, by her kitchen tent, hard at work eating her own breakfast. i must have looked surprised, for she lost no time in telling me that she was a hermit, and was living for one person at a time--herself first--and that she was mighty glad to get a chance to have her breakfast before anybody else, for she was always hungry and hated waiting. i looked at the table, and saw that she had the breakfast ready for the whole party; so i said, 'i am a hermit too, and i am living for myself, and so i am going to sit down and eat.' 'squat,' said she, and down i sat; and i had the best meal of her cooking that i have yet tasted. i told her so, and she said she shouldn't wonder. 'because,' said she, 'i cooked this breakfast for myself--me, one--and as i wasn't thinkin' what other people 'd like, i got things a little more tasty than common, i guess.'" "and what does she expect miss raybold and her brother to do?" asked mrs. archibald. "when she had finished she got up," clyde answered, "and went away, merely remarking that the victuals were there, and when the others were ready for them they might come and get them." "i hope," said mr. archibald, "that matlack will not fancy that sort of a hermit life. but as for me, i am greatly taken with the scheme. i think i shall like it. is miss raybold about yet?" "i see nothing of her," said clyde, looking over towards her tent. "good," said mr. archibald, rising. "harriet, if you want me, i shall be in my cave." "and where is that?" she asked. "oh, i can't say exactly where it will be," he answered, "but if you will go down to the shore of the lake and blow four times on the dinner-horn i'll come to you, cave and all. i can easily pull it over the water." "you forget," said mrs. archibald, with a smile, "that we are associate hermits." "no, i do not," said her husband, "i remember it, and that is the reason i am off before miss raybold emerges upon the scene." "i do not know," said mrs. archibald to clyde, "exactly how i am going to assert myself to-day, but i shall do it one way or the other; i am not going to be left out in the cold." clyde smiled, but he had no suggestion to offer; his mind was filled with the conjecture as to what sort of a hermit life margery was going to lead, and if she had already begun it. but just then the bishop came up, and together they went to carry the tent back to camp roy. it was at least an hour afterwards, and mrs. archibald was comfortably seated in the shade darning stockings, with an open book in her lap. sometimes she would read a little in the book and then she would make some long and careful stitches in the stocking, and then she would look about her as if she greatly enjoyed combining her work and her recreation in such a lovely place on such a lovely summer morning. during one of these periods of observation she perceived corona raybold approaching. "good-morning," said the elder lady. "is this your first appearance?" "yes," said corona, with a gentle smile. "when i woke this morning i found myself to be an individual who liked to lie in bed and gaze out through an open fold in my tent upon the world beyond, and so i lay and dozed and gazed, until i felt like getting up, and then i got up, and you cannot imagine how bright and happy i felt as i thought of what i had been doing. for one morning at least i had been true to myself, without regard to other people or what they might think about it. to-morrow, if i feel like it, i shall rise at dawn, and go out and look at the stars struggling with aurora. whatever my personal instincts happen to be, i shall be loyal to them. now how do you propose to assert your individuality?" "unfortunately," said mrs. archibald, "i cannot do that exactly as i would like to. if we had not promised my daughter and her husband that we would stay away for a month, i should go directly home and superintend my jelly-making and fruit-preserving; but as i cannot do that, i have determined to act out my own self here. i shall darn stockings and sew or read, and try to make myself comfortable and happy, just as i would if i were sitting on my broad piazza, at home." "good!" said corona. "i think it likely that you will be more true to yourself than any of us. doubtless you were born to be the head of a domestic household, and if you followed your own inclination you would be that if you were adrift with your family on a raft in the middle of the ocean. now i am going away to see what further suggestions my nature has to offer me. what is mr. archibald doing?" mrs. archibald smiled. she knew what corona's nature would suggest if she met a man who could talk, or rather, listen. "oh, his nature has prompted him to hie away to the haunts of game, and to stay there until he is half starved." miss raybold heaved a little sigh. "i see very few persons about here," she said--"only the two guides, in fact." "yes," said mrs. archibald, "the bishop has gone to help mr. clyde with his tent." corona moved slowly away, and as she walked her nature suggested that she would better eat something, so she repaired to the scene of mrs. perkenpine's ordinary operations. there she found that good woman stretched flat on her back on the ground, fast asleep. her face and body were shaded by some overhanging branches, but her great feet were illumined and gilded by the blazing sun. on a camp table near by were the remains of the breakfast. it had been there for two or three hours. arthur raybold had taken what he wanted and had gone, and before composing herself for her nap mrs. perkenpine had thrown over it a piece of mosquito-netting. corona smiled. "their natures are coming out beautifully," she said. "it really does me good to see how admirably the scheme is unfolding itself." she sat down and ate what she could find to her taste, but it was not much. "i shall send for some fruit and some biscuit and some other little things," she thought, "that i can keep in my tent and eat when i please. that will suit me much better than the ordinary meals." then, without awakening mrs. perkenpine, she strolled away, directing her steps towards camp roy. when margery had gone to her room, and had changed her wet clothes, she was thoroughly miserable. for some time she sat on the side of her little cot, unwilling to go out, on account of a nervous fear that she might meet mr. raybold. of course, if he should again speak to her as he had done, she would immediately appeal to mr. archibald, but she did not want to do this, for she had a very strong desire not to make any trouble or divisions in the camp; so she lay down to think over the matter, and in less than two minutes she was asleep. mrs. archibald had come to call her to breakfast, but upon being told that she had been up ever so long, and had had her breakfast, she left the girl to her nap. "i shall sleep here," thought margery, "until they have all gone to do whatever it is they want to do, and then perhaps i may have a little peace." when she awoke it was nearly eleven o'clock, and she went immediately to her little side window, from which she could see the lake and a good deal of the camp-ground. the first thing which met her reconnoitering gaze was a small boat some distance out on the lake. its oars were revolving slowly, something like a pair of wheels with one paddle each, and it was occupied by one person. this person was arthur raybold, who had found the bishop calking the boat, and as soon as this work was finished, had moodily declared that he would take a row in her. he had not yet had a chance to row a boat which was in a decent condition. he wanted to be alone with his aspirations. he thought it would be scarcely wise to attempt to speak to margery again that morning; he would give her time for her anger to cool. she was only a woman, and he knew women! "it's that raybold," said margery. "he knows no more about rowing than a cat, and he's floating sideways down the lake. good! now i can go out and hope to be let alone. i don't know when he will ever get that boat back again. perhaps never." she was not a wicked girl, and she did not desire that the awkward rower might never get back; but still she did not have that dread of an accident which might have come over her had the occupant of the boat been a brother or any one she cared very much about. she took a novel, of which, during her whole stay in camp, she had read perhaps ten pages, and left the cabin, this time by the door. "how does your individuality treat you?" asked mrs. archibald, as margery approached her. "oh, horribly, so far," was the answer; "but i think it is going to do better. i shall find some nice place where i can read and be undisturbed. i can think of nothing pleasanter such a morning as this." "i am very much mistaken in your nature," thought mrs. archibald, "if that is the sort of thing that suits you." "martin," said margery, not in the least surprised that she should meet the young guide within the next three minutes, "do you know of some really nice secluded spot where i can sit and read, and not be bothered? i don't mean that place where you hung the hammock. i don't want to go there again." martin was pale, and his voice trembled as he spoke. "miss dearborn," said he, "i think it is a wicked and a burning shame that you should be forced to look for a hiding-place where you may hope to rest undisturbed if that scoundrel in the boat out there should happen to fancy to come ashore. but you needn't do it. there is no necessity for it. go where you please, sit where you please, and do what you please, and i will see to it that you are not disturbed." "oh, no, no!" exclaimed margery. "that would never do. i know very well that you could keep him away from me, and i am quite sure that you would be glad to do it, but there mustn't be anything of that kind. he is miss raybold's brother and--and in a way one of our camping party, and i don't want any disturbances or quarrels." martin's breast heaved, and he breathed heavily. "i have no doubt you are right," he said--"of course you are. but i can tell you this: if i see that fellow troubling you again i'll kill him, or--" "martin! martin!" exclaimed margery. "what do you mean? what makes you talk in this way?" "what makes me?" he exclaimed, as if it were impossible to restrain his words. "my heart makes me, my soul makes me. i--" "your heart? your soul?" interrupted margery. "i don't understand." for a moment he looked at the astonished girl in silence, and then he said: "miss dearborn, it's of no use for me to try to hide what i feel. if i hadn't got so angry i might have been able to keep quiet, but i can't do it now. if that man thinks he loves you, his love is like a grain of sand compared to mine." "yours?" cried margery. "yes," said martin, his face pallid and his eyes sparkling, "mine. you may think it is an insult for me to talk this way, but love is love, and it will spring up where it pleases; and besides, i am not the common sort of a fellow you may think i am. after saying what i have said, i am bound to say more. i belong to a good family, and am college bred. i am poor, and i love nature. i am working to make money to travel and become a naturalist. i prefer this sort of work because it takes me into the heart of nature. i am not ashamed of what i am, i am not ashamed of my work, and my object in life is a nobler one, i think, than the practice of the law, or a great many other things like it." margery stood and looked at him with wide-open eyes. "do you mean to say," she said, "that you want to marry me? it would take years and years for you to become naturalist enough to support a wife." "i have made no plans," he said, quickly, "i have no purpose. i did not intend to tell you now that i love you, but since i have said that, i will say also that with you to fight for there could be no doubt about my success. i should be bound to succeed. it would be impossible for me to fail. as for the years, i would wait, no matter how many they should be." he spoke with such hot earnestness that margery involuntarily drew herself a little away from him. at this the flush went out of his face. "oh, miss dearborn," he exclaimed, "don't think that i am like that man out there! don't think that i will persecute you if you don't wish to hear me; that i will follow you about and make your life miserable. if you say to me that you do not wish to see me again, you will never see me again. say what you please, and you will find that i am a gentleman." she could see that now. she felt sure that if she told him she did not wish ever to see him again he would never appear before her. but what would he do? she was not in the least afraid of him, but his fierce earnestness frightened her, not for herself, but for him. suddenly a thought struck her. "martin," said she, "i don't doubt in the least that what you have said to me about yourself is true. you are as good as other people, although you do happen now to be a guide, and perhaps after a while you may be very well off; but for all that you are a guide, and you are in mr. sadler's employment, and mr. sadler's rights and powers are just like gas escaping from a pipe: they are everywhere from cellar to garret, so to speak, and you couldn't escape them. it would be a bad, bad thing for you, martin, if he were to hear that you make propositions of the kind you have made to the ladies that he pays you to take out into the woods to guide and to protect." martin was on the point of a violent expostulation, but she stopped him. "now i know what you are going to say," she exclaimed, "but it isn't of any use. you are in his employment, and you are bound to honor and to respect him; that is the way a guide can show himself to be a gentleman." "but suppose," said martin, quickly, "that he, knowing my family as he does, should think i had done wisely in speaking to you." a cloud came over her brow. it annoyed her that he should thus parry her thrust. "well, you can ask him," she said, abruptly; "and if he doesn't object, you can go to see my mother, when she gets home, and ask her. and here comes mr. matlack. i think he has been calling you. now don't say another word, unless it is about fish." but matlack did not come; he stopped and called, and martin went to him. margery walked languidly towards the woods and sat down on the projecting root of a large tree. then leaning back against the trunk, she sighed. "it is a perfectly dreadful thing to be a girl," she said; "but i am glad i did not speak to him as i did to mr. raybold. i believe he would have jumped into the lake." chapter xxi the individuality of peter sadler "martin," said matlack, sharply, before the young man had reached him, "it seems to me that you think that you have been engaged here as lady's-maid, but there's other things to do besides teaching young women about trees and fishes. if you think," continued matlack, when the two had reached the woodland kitchen, "that your bein' a hermit is goin' to let you throw all the work on me, you're mistaken. there's a lot of potatoes that's got to be peeled for dinner." without a word martin sat down on the ground with a pan of potatoes in front of him and began to work. had he been a proud crusader setting forth to fight the saracens his blood could not have coursed with greater warmth and force, his soul could not have more truly spurned the earth and all the common things upon it. what he had said to margery had made him feel ennobled. if raybold had that instant appeared before him with some jeering insult, martin would have pardoned him with lofty scorn; and yet he peeled potatoes, and did it well. but his thoughts were not upon his work; they were upon the future which, if he proved himself to be the man he thought himself to be, might open before him. when he had finished the potatoes he put the pan upon a table and stood near by, deep in thought. "yes," said he to himself, "i should go now. after what i have said to her i cannot stay here and live this life before her. i would wait on her with bended knee at every step, but with love for her in my soul i cannot wash dishes for other people. i have spoken, and now i must act; and the quicker the better. if all goes well i may be here again, but i shall not come back as a guide." then a thought of raybold crossed his mind, but he put it aside. even if he stayed here he could not protect her, for she had shown that she did not wish him to do it in the only way he could do it, and he felt sure, too, that any further annoyance would result in an appeal to mr. archibald. "well," said matlack, sharply, "what's the matter with you? don't you intend to move?" "yes," said martin, turning quickly, "i do intend to move. i am going to leave this camp just as soon as i can pack my things." "and where in the name of thunder are you goin' to?" "i'm going to sadler's," said martin. "what for?" "on my own business," was the reply. matlack looked at him for a moment suspiciously. "have you got any complaints to make of me?" he said. "no," said martin, promptly, "not one; but i have affairs on hand which will take me off immediately." "before dinner?" asked matlack. "yes," said the other, "before dinner; now." "go ahead then," said matlack, putting some sticks of wood into the stove; "and tell sadler that if he don't send me somebody before supper-time to help about this camp, he'll see me. i'll be hanged," he said to himself, as he closed the door of the stove, "if this isn't hermitism with a vengeance. i wonder who'll be the next one to cut and run; most likely it will be mrs. perkenpine." early in the afternoon, warm and dusty, martin presented himself before peter sadler, who was smoking his pipe on the little shaded piazza at the back of the house. "oh, ho!" said peter. "how in the name of common-sense did you happen to turn up at this minute? this is about as queer a thing as i've known of lately. what did you come for? sit down." "mr. sadler," said martin, "i have come here on most important business." "lake dry?" asked peter. "it is a matter," said martin, "which concerns myself; and if all the lakes in the world were dry, i would not be able to think about them, so full is my soul of one thing." "by the lord harry," said peter, "let's have it, quick!" in a straightforward manner, but with an ardent vehemence which he could not repress, martin stated his business with peter sadler. he told him how he loved margery, what he had said to her, and what she had said to him. "and now," said the young man, "i have come to ask your permission to address her; but whether you give it or not i shall go to her mother and speak to her. i know her address, and i intend to do everything in an honorable way." peter sadler put down his pipe and looked steadfastly at the young man. "i wish to heaven," said he, "that there was a war goin' on! i'd write a letter to the commander-in-chief and let you take it to him, and i'd tell him you was the bravest man between hudson bay and patagonia. by george! i can't understand it! i can't understand how you could have the cheek, the unutterable brass, to come here and ask me--me, peter sadler--to let you court one of the ladies in a campin'-party of mine. and, what's more, i can't understand how i can sit here and hear you tell me that tale without picking up a chair and knocking you down with it." "mr. sadler," said martin, rising, "i have spoken to you fairly and squarely, and if that's all you've got to say, i will go." "sit down!" roared peter, bringing his hand upon the table as if he would drive it's legs through the floor. "sit down, and listen to what i have to say to you. it's the strangest thing that ever happened to me that i am not more angry with you than i am; but i can't understand it, and i pass it by. now that you are seated again, i will make some remarks on my side. do you see that?" said he, picking up a letter on the table. "do you see who it is addressed to?" "to me!" exclaimed martin, in surprise. "yes, it's to you," said peter, "and i wrote it, and i intended to send it by bill hammond this afternoon. that's the reason i was surprised when i saw you here. but i'm not goin' to give it to you; i'd rather tell you what's in it, now you are here. before i knew you were the abject ninnyhammer that you have just told me you are i had a good opinion of you, and thought that you were cut out to make a first-class traveller and explorer--the sort of a fellow who could lead a surveying expedition through the wilderness, or work up new countries and find out what they are made of and what's in them. only yesterday i heard of a chance that ought to make you jump, and this morning i wrote to you about it. a friend of mine, who's roughed it with me for many a day, is goin' to take an expedition down into new mexico in the interests of a railroad and minin' company. they want to know everything about the country--the game, fish, trees, and plants, as well as the minerals--and it struck me that if you are not just the kind of man they want you could make yourself so in a very short time. they'd pay you well enough, and you'd have a chance to dip into natural history, and all that sort of thing, that you had no reason to expect for a dozen years to come, if it ever came. if such a chance had been offered to me at your age i wouldn't have changed lots with a king. all you've got to do is to pack up and be off. the party starts from new york in just three days; i'll give you a letter to joe hendricks, and that'll be all you want. he knows me well enough to take you without a word. if you haven't got money enough saved to fit yourself out for the trip i'll lend you some, and you can pay me back when they pay you. you can take the train this afternoon and maybe you can see hendricks to-night. so pack up what you want and leave what you don't want, and i'll take care of it. i'll write to hendricks now." many times did the face of martin flush and pale as he listened. a vision of paradise had been opened before him, but he felt that he must shut his eyes. "mr. sadler," he said, "you are very kind. you offer me a great thing--a thing which two weeks ago i should have accepted in the twinkling of an eye, and would have thanked you for all the rest of my life; but i cannot take it now. with all my heart i love a woman; i have told her so, and i am now going on the path she told me to take. i cannot turn aside from that for any prospects in the world." peter sadler's face grew red, and then it grew black, and then it turned red again, and finally resumed its ordinary brown. "martin sanders," said he, speaking quietly, but with one hand fastened upon the arm of his chair with a grasp which a horse could not have loosened, "if you are cowardly enough and small enough and paltry enough to go to a girl who is living in peace and comfort and ask her to marry you, when you know perfectly well that for years to come you could not give her a decent roof over her head, and that if her family wanted her to live like a christian they would have to give her the money to do it with; and if you are fool enough not to know that when she sent you first to me and then to her mother she was tryin' to get rid of you without hurtin' your feelin's, why, then, i want you to get out of my sight, and the quicker the better. but if you are not so low down as that, go to your room and pack up your bag. the coach will start for the train at three o'clock, and it is now nearly half-past two; that will just give me time to write to hendricks. go!" martin rose. whatever happened afterwards, he must go now. it seemed to him as if the whole world had suddenly grown colder; as if he had been floating in a fog and had neared an iceberg. could it be possible that she had spoken, as she had spoken, simply to get rid of him? he could not believe it. no one with such honest eyes could speak in that way; and yet he did not know what to believe. in any case, he would go away in the coach. he had spoken to sadler, and now, whether he spoke to any one else or not, the sooner he left the better. when he came to take the coach, peter sadler, who had rolled himself to the front of the house, handed him the letter he had written. "i believe you are made of the right kind of stuff," he said, "although you've got a little mouldy by bein' lazy out there in the woods, but you're all right now; and what you've got to do is to go ahead with a will, and, take my word for it, you'll come out on top. do you want any money? no? very well, then, goodbye. you needn't trouble yourself to write to me, i'll hear about you from hendricks; and i'd rather know what he thinks about you than what you think about yourself." "how little you know," thought martin, as he entered the coach, "what i am or what i think about myself. as if my purpose could be changed by words of yours!" and he smiled a smile which would have done justice to arthur raybold. the chill had gone out of him; he was warm again. on the train he read the letter to hendricks which peter sadler had given to him unsealed. it was a long letter, and he read it twice. then he sat and gazed out of the window at the flying scenery for nearly half an hour, after which he read the letter again. then he folded it up and put it into his pocket. "if she had given me the slightest reason to hope," he said to himself, "how easy it would be to tear this letter into scraps." now an idea came into his mind. if he could see her mother quickly, and if she should ignore his honorable intentions and refuse to give him the opportunity to prove that he was worthy of a thought from her and her daughter, then it might not be too late to fall back on peter sadler's letter. but he shook his head; that would be dishonorable and unworthy of him. he shut his eyes; he could not bear to look at the brightness of the world outside the window of the car. under his closed lids there came to him visions, sometimes of margery and sometimes of the forests of new mexico. sometimes the visions were wavering, uncertain, and transitory, and again they were strong and vivid--so plain to him that he could almost hear the leaves rustle as some wild creature turned a startled look upon him. that night he delivered his letter to mr. hendricks. chapter xxii a tranquillizing breeze and a hot wind after martin had left her, margery sat on the root of the tree until mr. clyde came up and said he had been wondering what had become of her. "i have been wondering that, myself," she said. "at least, i have been wondering what is going to become of me." "don't you intend to be a hermit?" said he. she shook her head. "i don't think it is possible," she answered. "there is no one who is better satisfied to be alone, and who can make herself happier all by herself, and who, in all sorts of ways, can get along better without other people than i can, and yet other people are continually interfering with me, and i cannot get away from them." clyde smiled. "that is a pretty plain hint," he said. "i suppose i might as well take it, and go off to some hermitage of my own." "oh, nonsense!" said margery. "don't be so awfully quick in coming to conclusions. i do feel worried and troubled and bothered, and i want some one to talk to; not about things which worry me, of course, but about common, ordinary things, that will make me forget." a slight shade came over the face of mr. clyde, and he seated himself on the ground near margery. "it is a shame," said he, "that you should be worried. what is it in this peaceable, beautiful forest troubles you?" "did you ever hear of a paradise without snakes?" she asked. "the very beauty of it makes them come here." "i have never yet known any paradise at all," he replied. "but can't you tell me what it is that troubles you?" margery looked at him with her clear, large eyes. "i'll tell you," she said, "if you will promise not to do a single thing without my permission." "i promise that," said clyde, eagerly. "i am troubled by people making love to me." "people!" exclaimed clyde, with a puzzled air. "yes," said she. "your cousin is one of them." "i might have supposed that; but who on earth can be the other one?" "that is martin," said margery. for a moment mr. clyde did not seem to understand, and then he exclaimed: "you don't mean the young man who cuts wood and helps matlack?" "yes, i do," she answered. "and you need not shut your jaw hard and grit your teeth that way. that is exactly what he did when he found out about mr. raybold. it is of no use to get angry, for you can't do anything without my permission; and, besides, i tell you that if i were condemned by a court to be made love to, i would much rather have martin make it than mr. raybold. martin is a good deal more than a guide; he has a good education, and would not be here if it were not for his love of nature. he is going to make nature his object in life, and there is something noble in that; a great deal better than trying to strut about on the stage." "and those two have really been making love to you?" asked clyde. "yes, really," she answered. "you never saw people more in earnest in all your life. as for mr. raybold, he was as earnest as a cat after a bird. he made me furiously angry. martin was different. he is just as earnest, but he is more of a gentleman; and when i told him what i wanted him to do, he said he would do it. but there is no use in telling your cousin what i want him to do. he is determined to persecute me and make me miserable, and there is no way of stopping it, except by making a quarrel between him and uncle archibald. it is a shame!" she went on, "who could have thought that two people would have turned up to disturb me in this way." "margery," said mr. clyde, and although he called her by her christian name she took no notice of it, "you think you have too many lovers: but you are mistaken. you have not enough; you ought to have three." she looked at him inquiringly. "yes," he said, quickly, "and i want to be the third." "and so make matters three times as bad as they were at first?" she asked. "not at all," said he. "when you have chosen one of them, he could easily keep away the two others." "do you mean," said margery, "that if i were to agree to have three, and then, if i were to ask you to do it, you would go away quietly with one of the others and leave me in peace with the third one?" mr. clyde half smiled, but instantly grew serious again, and a flush came on his face. "margery," said he, "i cannot bear trifling any more about this. no matter what anybody has said to you, whether it is any one in this camp or any one out of it, there is not a man in this world who--" "oh, mr. clyde," interrupted margery, "you must not sit there and speak to me in such an excited way. if any one should see us they would think we were quarrelling. let us go down to the lake; the air from the water is cool and soothing." together they walked from under the shade of the tree, and so wended their way that it brought them to a mass of shrubbery which edged the water a little distance down the lake. on the other side of this shrubbery was a pretty bank, which they had seen before. "it always tranquillizes me," said margery, as they stood side by side on the bank, "to look out over the water. doesn't it have that effect on you?" "no!" exclaimed clyde. "it does not tranquillize me a bit. nothing could tranquillize me at a moment like this. margery, i want you to know that i love you. i did not intend to tell you so soon, but what you have said makes it necessary. i have loved you ever since i met you at peter sadler's, and, no matter what you say about it, i shall love you to the end of my life." "even if i should send you away with one of the others?" "yes; no matter what you did." "that would be wrong," she said. "it doesn't matter. right or wrong, i'd do it." margery gave him a glance from which it would have been impossible to eliminate all signs of admiration. "and if i were to arrange it otherwise," she said, "would you undertake to keep the others away?" there was no answer to this question, but in a minute afterwards clyde exclaimed: "do you think any one would dare to come near you if they saw you now?" "hardly," said margery, raising her head from his shoulder and looking up into his sparkling eyes. "really, harrison, you ought not to speak in such a loud voice. if aunt harriet were to hear you she might dare to come." margery was late to dinner, although the horn was blown three times. much to the surprise of his wife, mr. archibald returned to camp about an hour before dinner. "how is this?" she exclaimed. "wasn't the fishing good?" "i have had a disagreeable experience," he said, "and i will tell you about it. i was fishing in a little cove some distance down the lake and having good sport, when i heard a thumping, and looking around i saw raybold in a boat rowing towards me. i suppose he thought he was rowing, but he was really floating with the current; but as he neared me he suddenly pulled his boat towards me with such recklessness that i was afraid he would run into me. i considered his rowing into the cove to be a piece of bad manners, for of course it would spoil my fishing, but i had no idea he actually intended to lay alongside of me. this he did, however, and so awkwardly that his boat struck mine with such force that it half tipped it over. then he lay hold of my gunwale, and said he had something to say to me. "i was as angry as if a man in the street had knocked my hat down over my eyes and said that he did so in order to call my attention to a subscription paper. but this indignation was nothing to what i felt when the fellow began to speak. i cannot repeat his words, but he stated his object at once, and said that as this was a good opportunity to speak to me alone, he wished to ask me to remove what he called the utterly useless embargo which i had placed upon him in regard to margery. he said it was useless because he could not be expected to give up his hopes and his plans simply because i objected to them; and he went on to say that if i understood him fully, and if margery understood him, he did not believe that either of us would object. and then he actually asked me to use my influence with her to make her listen to him. from what he said, i am sure he has been speaking to her. i did not let him finish, but turned and blazed at him in words as strong as would come to me. i ordered him never to speak to me again or show himself in my camp, and told him that if he did either of these things he would do them at his peril; and then, for fear he might say something which would make me lose control of myself, i jerked up my anchor and rowed away from him. i didn't feel like fishing any more, and so i came back." "his behavior is shameful," said mrs. archibald. "and what is more, it is ridiculous, for margery would not look at him. what sort of a man does he think you are, to suppose that you would give your permission to any one, no matter who he might be, to offer marriage to a young lady in your charge? but what are you going to do about it? i think it very likely he will come to this camp, and he may speak to you." "in that case i shall have him driven out," said mr. archibald, "as if he were a drunken vagabond. personally i shall have nothing to do with him, but i shall order my guides to eject him." "i hope that may not be necessary," said his wife. "it would make bad feeling, and deeply wound his sister, for it would be the same thing as putting her out. she talks too much, to be sure, but she is a lady, and has treated us all very courteously. i wish we could get through the rest of our stay here without any disturbance or bad feeling." "i wish so too, with all my heart," said her husband. "and the only thing necessary to that end is that that ass raybold shall keep out of my sight." it was about two o'clock that afternoon, and mrs. archibald, under her tree, her basket of stockings all darned and her novel at its culminating point of interest, was the only visible occupant of camp rob, when corona raybold came walking towards her, an obvious purpose in her handsome face, which was somewhat flushed by exercise. "i do not think," she said, as soon as she was near enough for mrs. archibald to hear her, "that the true purpose and intention of our plan is properly understood by all of the party. i think, after some explanation, everything will go well, but i have been endeavoring for the last half-hour to find mrs. perkenpine, and have utterly failed. i am very hungry, but i can discover nothing to eat. all our stores appear to be absolutely raw, or in some intermediate state of crudity. i intend to order some provisions in cans or boxes which will be at all times available, but i have not done so yet, and so i have come over to speak to you about the matter. did your guides prepare your dinner as usual?" "oh yes," said mrs. archibald. "a hermit life seems to make no difference with mr. matlack. we become associates at meal-times, but, as you see, we have separated again." "i must instil into mrs. perkenpine's mind," said corona, "that, in order thoroughly to act out her own nature, she must cook and do other things of a domestic character. of course she will do those things in her own way; that is to be expected; but she must do them. it is impossible to imagine a woman of her class whose soul is not set more or less upon domestic affairs. i will instance mr. matlack. his nature belongs to the woods and the out-of-door world, and that nature prompts him to cook what he shoots." mrs. archibald laughed. "i think his nature is a very good one," she said, "and i will go with you to find him and see if he cannot give you a luncheon, if not a dinner." "thank you very much," said corona; "but indeed i do not wish to trouble you. i will go to him myself. you are very kind, but it is not in the least degree necessary for you to accompany me. a cup of tea and some little trifle is all i shall ask him for." for a moment mrs. archibald hesitated, and then she said, "as we are hermits, i suppose we must not keep together any more than we can help, and so i will let you go alone." corona found phil matlack by his kitchen tent, busily engaged in rubbing the inside of a large kettle. he was not in a good humor. the departure of martin had thrown all the work of his camp upon him, and now the appearance of a person from another camp requesting to be fed aroused him to absolute anger. he did not scold, for it would have been impossible to look at that beautiful and imperturbable face and say hard words to it. he did not refuse the cup of tea or the bread-and-butter for which he was asked, and he even added some cold meat; but he indignantly made up his mind that he would stand no more of this nonsense, and that if necessary he would go to sadler and throw up the job. he had not engaged to cook for three camps. [illustration: "'haven't tried it'"] miss raybold did not appear to notice his state of mind, and ate heartily. she thought it was fortunate that he happened to have the kettle on the stove, and she asked him how he liked the hermit life--the living for himself alone. "haven't tried it," he answered, curtly. "i understand," said corona, "you have had to live too much for other people; but it is too soon to expect our plan to run smoothly. in a short time, however, we shall be better able to know our own natures and show them to others." "oh, i can do that," said he; "and i am goin' to, precious soon." "i have no doubt of it," she answered. "and now can you tell me where mr. archibald has gone? i did not see him this morning, and there are some matters i wish to speak to him about." "no, miss," said matlack, promptly, "i don't know where he is. he's a real hermit. he's off by himself, most likely miles away." corona reflected. "mr.--the bishop? have you seen him? he may be able to--" the guide grinned grimly. he had seen the man of muscle--not fat--conversing that morning with corona, and an hour afterwards he had seen him, not in the same place, but in the same companionship, and it gave him a certain pleasure to know that the man who could heave rocks and break young trees could not relieve himself from the thralls of the lady of the flowing speech. "the bishop?" said he. "don't you know where he went to?" "he left me," she answered, "because he was obliged to go to prepare dinner for my brother and mr. clyde; but he is not in camp roy now, for i went there to look for mrs. perkenpine." "well," said the wicked matlack, pointing to the spot where, not long before, margery had found a tranquillizing breeze, "i saw him going along with a book a little while ago, and i think he went down to the shore, just beyond that clump of bushes over there. he seems to be a man who likes readin', which isn't a bad thing for a hermit." "thank you," said miss raybold, rising. "i do not care for anything more. you are very kind, and i am quite sure i shall not have to trouble you again. to-morrow everything will be running smoothly." matlack looked at her as she quietly walked away. "she's a pretty sort of a hermit," he said to himself. "if she really had to live by herself she'd cut out a wooden man and talk to it all day. it won't be long before she accidentally stumbles over that big fellow with his book." chapter xxiii mrs. perkenpine finds out things about herself the mind of the guide was comforted and relieved that he had got the better of the bishop in one way, although he could not do it in another. but he did not relinquish his purpose of putting an end to the nonsense which made him do the work of other people, and as soon as he had set his kitchen in order he started out to find mrs. perkenpine. a certain amount of nonsense from the people in camp might have to be endured, but nonsense from mrs. perkenpine was something about which peter sadler would have a word to say. matlack was a good hunter. he could follow all sorts of tracks--rabbit tracks, bird tracks, deer tracks, and the tracks of big ungainly shoes--and in less than half an hour he had reached a cluster of moss-covered rocks lying some distance back in the woods, and approached by the bed of a now dry stream. sitting on one of these rocks, her back against a tree, her straw hat lying beside her, and her dishevelled hair hanging about her shoulders, was mrs. perkenpine, reading a newspaper. at the sound of his footsteps she looked up. "well, i'll be bound!" she said. "if i'd crawl into a fox-hole i expect you'd come and sniff in after me." matlack stood and looked at her for a moment. he could not help smiling at the uncomfortable manner in which she was trying to make herself comfortable on those rough rocks. "i'll tell you what it is, mrs. perkenpine," he said, "you'll get yourself into the worst kind of a hole if you go off this way, leavin' everything at sixes and sevens behind you." "it's my nater," said she. "i'm findin' it out and gittin' it ready to show to other people. you're the fust one that's seed it. how do you like it?" "i don't like it at all," said the guide, "and i have just come to tell you that if you don't go back to your tent and cook supper to-night and attend to your business, i'll walk over to sadler's, and tell peter to send some one in your place. i'm goin' over there anyway, if he don't send a man to take martin's place." "peter sadler!" ejaculated mrs. perkenpine, letting her tumbled newspaper fall into her lap. "he's a man that knows his own nater, and lets other people see it. he lives his own life, if anybody does. he's individdle down to the heels, and just look at him! he's the same as a king. i tell you, phil matlack, that the more i knows myself, just me, the more i'm tickled. it seems like scootin' round in the woods, findin' all sorts of funny hoppin' things and flowers that you never seed before. why, it 'ain't been a whole day since i begun knowin' myself, and i've found out lots. i used to think that i liked to cook and clean up, but i don't; i hate it." matlack smiled, and taking out his pipe, he lighted it and sat down on a rock. "i do believe," he said, "that you are the most out and out hermit of the whole lot; but it won't do, and if you don't get over your objections to cookin' you'll have to walk out of these woods to-morrow." mrs. perkenpine sat and looked at her companion a few moments without giving any apparent heed to his remarks. "of course," said she, "it isn't only findin' out what you be yourself, but it's lettin' other people see what you be. if you didn't do that it would be like a pot a-b'ilin' out in the middle of a prairie, with nobody nearer nor a hundred miles." "it would be the same as if it hadn't b'iled," remarked matlack. "that's jest it," said she, "and so i ain't sorry you come along, phil, so's i can tell you some things i've found out about myself. one of them is that i like to lie flat on my back and look up at the leaves of the trees and think about them." "what do you think?" asked matlack. "i don't think nothin'," said she. "just as soon as i begin to look at them wrigglin' in the wind, and i am beginnin' to wonder what it is i think about them, i go slam bang to sleep, and when i wake up and try to think again what it is i think, off i go again. but i like it. if i don't know what it is i think, i ought to know that i don't know it. that's what i call bein' really and truly a hermick." "what else did you find out?" inquired matlack. "i found out," she answered, with animation, "that i admire to read anecdotes. i didn't know i cared a pin for anecdotes until i took to hermickin'. now here's this paper; it came 'round the cheese, and it's got a good many anecdotes scattered about in it. let me read one of them to you. it's about a man who made his will and afterwards was a-drivin' a horse along a road, and the horse got skeered and ran over his executor, who was takin' a walk. then he sung out, 'oh, bless my soul!' says he. but i'll read you the rest if i can find it." "never mind about the anecdote," said matlack, who knew very well that it would take mrs. perkenpine half an hour to spell out twenty lines in a newspaper. "what i want to know is if you found out anything about yourself that's likely to give you a boost in the direction of that cookin'-stove of yourn." mrs. perkenpine was a woman whose remarks did not depend upon the remarks of others. "phil matlack," said she, gazing fixedly at his pipe, "if i had a man i'd let him smoke just as much as he pleased and just where he pleased. he could smoke afore he got up, and he could smoke at his meals, and he could smoke after he went to bed, and, if he fancied that sort of thing, he could smoke at family prayers; it wouldn't make no difference to me, and i wouldn't say a word to him agin' it. if that was his individdlety, i'd say viddle." "and how about everything else?" asked matlack. "would you tell him to cook his own victuals and mend his clothes accordin' to his own nater?" "no, sir," said she, striking with her expansive hand the newspaper in her lap--"no, sir. i'd get up early in the mornin', and cook and wash and bake and scour. i'd skin the things he shot, and clean his fish, and dig bait if he wanted it. i'd tramp into the woods after him, and carry the gun and the victuals and fishin'-poles, and i'd set traps and row a boat and build fires, and let him go along and work out his own nater smokin' or in any other way he was born to. that's the biggest thing i've found out about myself. i never knowed, until i began, this mornin', explorin' of my own nater, what a powerful hard thing it is, when i'm thinkin' of my own individdlety, to keep somebody else's individdlety from poppin' up in front of it, and so says i to myself, 'if i can think of both them individdleties at the same time it will suit me fust-rate.' and when you come along i thought i'd let you know what sort of a nater i've got, for it ain't likely you'd ever find it out for yourself. and now that we're in that business--" "hello!" cried matlack, springing to his feet. "there is somebody callin' me. who's there?" he shouted, stepping out into the bed of the stream. a call was now heard, and in a few moments the bishop appeared some distance below. "mr. matlack," he said, "there's a man at your camp inquiring for you. he came from sadler's, and i've been looking high and low for you." "a man from sadler's," said matlack, turning to mrs. perkenpine, "and i must be off to see him. remember what i told you about the supper." and so saying, he walked rapidly away. out in the open matlack found the bishop. "obliged to you for lookin' me up," he said, "it's a pity to give you so much trouble." "oh, don't mention it!" exclaimed the bishop. "you cannot understand, perhaps, not knowing the circumstances, but i assure you i never was more obliged to any one than to that man who wants to see you and couldn't find you. there was no one else to look for you, and i simply had to go." "you are not goin' to walk back to camp?" inquired matlack. "no," replied the bishop, "now that i am here, i think i will go up the lake and try to find a very secluded spot in the shade and take a nap." the guide smiled as he walked away. "don't understand!" said he. "you've got the boot on the wrong leg." arrived at his tent, matlack found bill hammond, a young man in sadler's service, who informed him that that burly individual had sent martin away in the stage-coach, and had ordered him to come and take his place. "all right," said matlack. "i guess you're as good as he was, and so you can settle down to work. by-the-way, do you know that we are all hermits here?" "hermits?" said the other. "what's that?" "why, hermits," said matlack, "is individ'als who get up early in the mornin' and attend to their own business just as hard as they can, without lookin' to the right or left, until it's time to go to bed." the young man looked at him in some surprise. "there's nothing so very uncommon in that," said he. "no," replied the guide, "perhaps there ain't. but as you might hear them talkin' about hermits here, i thought i'd tell you just what sort of things they are." chapter xxiv a dissolving audience when a strange young man assisted matlack at the supper-table that evening, mr. archibald asked what had become of martin. "peter sadler has sent him away," answered the guide. "i don't know where he sent him or what he sent him for. but he's a young man who's above this sort of business, and so i suppose he's gone off to take up something that's more elevated." "i am sorry," said mrs. archibald, "for i liked him." mr. archibald smiled. "this business of insisting upon our own individualities," he said, "seems to have worked very promptly in his case. i suppose he found out he was fitted for something better than a guide, and immediately went off to get that better thing." "that's about the size of it," said matlack. margery said nothing. her heart sank. she could not help feeling that what she had said to the young man had been the cause of his sudden departure. could he have done such a thing, she thought, as really to go and ask mr. sadler, and, having found he did not mind, could he have gone to see her mother? her appetite for her supper departed, and she soon rose and strolled away, and as she strolled the thought came again to her that it was a truly dreadful thing to be a girl. having received no orders to the contrary, matlack, with his new assistant, built and lighted the camp-fire. some of the hermits took this as a matter of course, and some were a little surprised, but one by one they approached; the evening air was beginning to be cool, and the vicinity of the fire was undoubtedly the pleasantest place in camp. soon they were all assembled but one, and mrs. archibald breathed freer when she found that arthur raybold was not there. "i am delighted," said corona, as soon as she took her usual seat, which was a camp-chair, "to see you all gather about the fire. i was afraid that some of you might think that because we are hermits we must keep away from each other all the time. but we must remember that we are associate hermits, and so should come together occasionally. i was going to say something to the effect that some of us may have misunderstood the true manner and intent of the assertions of our individualities, but i do not now believe that this is necessary." "do you mean by all that," said mrs. perkenpine, "that i cooked the supper?" "yes," said miss raybold, turning upon her guide with a pleasant smile, "that is what i referred to." "well," said mrs. perkenpine, "i was told that if i didn't cook i'd be bounced. it isn't my individdlety to cook for outsiders, but it isn't my individdlety to be bounced, nuther, so i cooked. is that bein' a hermick?" "you have it," cried mr. archibald, "you've not only found out what you are, but what you have to be. your knowledge of yourself is perfect. and now," he continued, "isn't there somebody who can tell us a story? when we are sitting around a camp-fire, there is nothing better than stories. bishop, i dare say you have heard a good many in the course of your life. don't you feel like giving us one?" "i think," said corona, "that by the aid of stories it is possible to get a very good idea of ourselves. for instance, if some one were to tell a good historical story, and any one of us should find himself or herself greatly interested in it, then that person might discover, on subsequent reflection, some phase of his or her intellect which he or she might not have before noticed. on the other hand, if it should be a love story, and some of us could not bear to hear it, then we might also find out something about ourselves of which we had been ignorant. but i really think that, before making any tests of this sort, we should continue the discussion of what is at present the main object of our lives--self-knowledge and self-assertion. in other words, the emancipation of the individual. as i have said before, and as we all know, there never was a better opportunity offered a group of people of mature minds to subject themselves, free of outside influences, to a thorough mental inquisition, and then to exhibit the results of their self-examinations to appreciative companions. this last is very important. if we do not announce to others what we are, it is of scarcely any use to be anything. i mean this, of course, in a limited sense." "harriet," said mr. archibald, abruptly, "do you remember where i left my pipe? i do not like this cigar." "on the shelf by the door of the cabin," she replied. "i saw it as i came out." her husband immediately rose and left the fire. corona paused in her discourse to wait until mr. archibald came back; but then, as if she did not wish to lose the floor, she turned towards the bishop, who sat at a little distance from her, and addressed herself to him, with the idea of making some collateral remarks on what she had already said, in order to fill up the time until mr. archibald should return. mrs. archibald thought that her husband had been a little uncivil; but almost immediately after he had gone, she, too, jumped up, and, without making any excuse whatever, hurried after him. the reason for this sudden movement was that mrs. archibald had seen some one approaching from the direction of camp roy. she instantly recognized this person as arthur raybold, and felt sure that, unwilling to stay longer by himself, he was coming to the camp-fire, and if her husband should see him, she knew there would be trouble. what sort of trouble or how far it might extend she did not try to imagine. "hector," she said, as soon as she was near enough for him to hear her, "don't go after the pipe; let us take a moonlight walk along the shore. i believe it is full moon to-night, and we have not had a walk of that sort for ever so long." "very good," said her husband, turning to her. "i shall be delighted. i don't care for the pipe, and the cigar would have been good enough if it had not been for the sermon. that would spoil any pleasure. i can't stand that young woman, harriet; i positively cannot." "well, then, let us walk away and forget her," said his wife. "i don't wonder she annoys you." "if it were only the young woman," thought mrs. archibald, as the two strolled away beneath the light of the moon, "we might manage it. but her brother!" at the next indication of a pause in corona's discourse the bishop suddenly stood on his feet. "i wonder," he said, "if there is anything the matter with mrs. archibald? i will step over to her cabin to see." "indeed!" said corona, rising with great promptness, "i hope it is nothing serious. i will go with you." margery was not a rude girl, but she could not help a little laugh, which she subdued as much as possible; mr. clyde, who was sitting near her, laughed also. "there is nothing on earth the matter with aunt harriet," said margery. "they didn't go into the cabin; i saw them walking away down the shore." "how would you like to walk that way?" he asked. "i think their example is a very good one." "it is capital," said margery, jumping up, "and let's get away quickly before she comes back." they hurried away, but they did not extend their walk down the lake shore even as far as mr. and mrs. archibald had already gone. when they came to the bit of beach behind the clump of trees where the bishop had retired that afternoon to read, they stopped and sat down to watch the moonlight on the water. matlack and mrs. perkenpine were now the only persons at the camp-fire, for bill hammond, as was his custom, had promptly gone to bed as soon as his work was done. if arthur raybold had intended to come to the camp-fire, he had changed his mind, for he now stood near his sister's tent, apparently awaiting the approach of corona and the bishop, who had not found the archibalds, and who were now walking together in what might have been supposed, by people who did not know the lady, to be an earnest dialogue. mr. matlack was seated on his log, and he smoked, while mrs. perkenpine sat on the ground, her head thrown back and her arms hugging her knees. "phil," said she, "that there moon looks to me like an oyster with a candle behind it, and as smooth and slippery as if i could jest swallow it down. you may think it is queer for me to think such things as that, phil, but since i've come to know myself jest as i am, me, i've found out feelin's--" "mrs. perkenpine," said matlack, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, "there's a good many things besides moons that i can't swallow, and if it's all the same to you, i'll go to bed." "well," she exclaimed, looking after him, "his individdlety is the snapshortest i ever did see! i don't believe he wants to know hisself. if he did, i'm dead sure i could help him. he never goes out to run a camp without somebody to help him, and yet he's so everlastin' blind he can't see the very best person there is to help him, and she a-plumpin' herself square in front of him every time she gits a chance." with that reflection she rose and walked away. "i tell you, harriet," said mr. archibald, when he and his wife had returned from their walk and were about to enter the cabin, "something must be done to enable us to spend the rest of our time here in peace. this is our camp, and we want it for ourselves. if a good companionable fellow like the bishop or that young clyde happens along, it is all very well, but we do not want all sorts of people forcing themselves upon us, and i will not submit to it." "of course we ought not to do that," said she, "but i hope that whatever you do, it will be something as pleasant as possible." "i will try to avoid any unpleasantness," said he, "and i hope i may do so, but---by-the-way, where is margery?" "i think she must be in bed," said mrs. archibald; then stepping inside, she called, "margery, are you there?" "yes, aunt harriet," replied margery, "i am here." "she must have found it dreadfully stupid, poor girl!" said mr. archibald. the lights were all out in the archibalds' cabin, and still miss raybold and the bishop walked up and down the open space at the farther end of the camp. "corona!" exclaimed her brother, suddenly appearing before them, "i have told you over and over again that i wish to speak to you. are you never going to stop that everlasting preaching and give me a chance to talk to you?" "arthur!" she exclaimed, sharply, "i wish you would not interrupt me in this way. i had just begun to say--" "oh, my dear miss raybold," cried the bishop, "do not let me prevent you from speaking to your brother. indeed, it is growing late, and i will not trespass longer on your time. good-night," and with a bow he was gone. "now just see what you have done!" said corona, her eye-glasses brighter than the moon. "well, it is time he was going," said her brother. "i have something very important to say to you. i want your good offices in an affair more worthy of your thoughts than anything else at this moment." "whatever it is," she said, turning away from him, "i do not want to hear it now--not a word of it. you have displeased me, arthur, and i am going to my tent." chapter xxv a moonlight interview mrs. archibald retired to her cabin, but she did not feel in the least like going to bed. her husband had long been asleep in his cot, and she still sat by the side of the little window looking out upon the moon-lighted scene; but the beauty of the night, if she noticed it at all, gave her no pleasure. her mind was harassed and troubled by many things, chief among which was her husband's unfinished sentence in which he had said that he would try to avoid any unpleasantness, but at the same time had intimated that if the unpleasant thing were forced upon him he was ready to meet it. now, reason as she would, mrs. archibald could not banish from her mind the belief that arthur raybold would come to their camp some time during the next day. in fact, not having heard otherwise, she supposed he had come to the camp-fire that night. she was filled with anger and contempt for the young man who was determined to force himself on their party in this outrageous manner, and considered it shameful that their peaceful life in these woods had been so wickedly disturbed. no wonder she did not want to sleep; no wonder she sat at the window thinking and thinking. presently she saw some one walking over the open space towards the cabin, and she could not fail to recognize the figure with the long stride, the folded arms, and the bowed head. he passed the window and then he turned and repassed it, then he turned and walked by again, this time a little nearer than before. "this is too much!" said mrs. archibald. "the next thing he will be tapping at her window. i will go out and speak my mind to him." opening the door very softly, and without even stopping to throw a shawl over her head and shoulders, mrs. archibald stepped outside into the night. raybold was now at a little distance from the cabin, in the direction of camp roy, and was just about to turn when she hurried up to him. "mr. raybold," she said, speaking low and rapidly, "if you possessed a spark of gentlemanly feeling you would be ashamed to come into this camp when you have been ordered out of it. my husband has told you he does not want you here, and now i tell you that i do not want you here. it pains me to be obliged to speak to any one in this manner, but it is plain that no other sort of speech will affect you. now, sir, i know your object, and i will not have you wandering up and down here in front of our cabin. i wish you to go to your own camp, and that immediately." raybold stood and listened to her without a word until she had finished, and then he said: "madam, there has been a good deal of talk about knowing ourselves and showing ourselves to others. now i know myself very well indeed, and i will show myself to you by saying that when my heart is interested i obey no orders, i pay no attention to mandates of any sort. until i can say what i have to say i will watch and i will wait, but i shall not draw back." for the first time in fifteen years mrs. archibald lost her temper. she turned pale with anger. "you contemptible scoundrel! go! leave this camp instantly!" he stood with arms folded and smiled at her, saying nothing. she trembled, she was so angry. but what could she do? if she called mr. archibald, or if he should be awakened by any outcry, she feared there would be bloodshed, and if she went to call matlack, mr. archibald would be sure to be awakened. but at this moment some one stepped up quickly behind raybold, and with a hand upon his shoulder, partly turned him around. "i think," said the bishop, "that i heard this lady tell you to go. if so, go." "i did say it," said mrs. archibald, hurriedly. "please be as quiet as you can, but make him go." "do you hear what mrs. archibald says?" asked the bishop, sternly. "depart, or--" "do you mean to threaten me?" asked raybold. the bishop stepped close to him. "will you go of your own accord," he asked, "or do you wish me to take you away?" he spoke quietly, but with an earnestness that impressed itself upon raybold, who made a quick step backward. he felt a natural repugnance, especially in the presence of a lady, to be taken away by this big man, who, in the moonlight, seemed to be bigger than ever. "i will speak to you," said he, "when there are no ladies present." and with this he retired. "i am so much obliged to you," said mrs. archibald. "it was a wonderful piece of good fortune that you should have come at this minute." the bishop smiled. "i am delighted that i happened here," he said. "i heard so much talking this evening that i thought i would tranquillize my mind by a quiet walk by myself before i went to bed, and so i happened to see you and raybold. of course i had no idea of intruding upon you, but when i saw you stretch out your arm and say 'go!' i thought it was time for me to come." "i feel bound to say to you," said mrs. archibald, "that that impertinent fellow is persisting in his attentions to miss dearborn, and that mr. archibald and i will not have it." "i imagined that the discussion was on that subject," said the bishop, "for mr. clyde has intimated to me that raybold has been making himself disagreeable to the young lady." "i do not know what we are going to do," said mrs. archibald, reflectively; "there seems to be no way of making an impression upon him. he is like his sister--he will have his own way." "yes," said the bishop, with a sigh, "he is like his sister. but then, one might thrash him, but what can be done with her? i tell you, mrs. archibald," he said, turning to her, earnestly, "it is getting to be unbearable. the whole evening, ever since you left the camp-fire, she has been talking to me on the subject of mental assimilation--that is, the treatment of our ideas and thoughts as if they were articles of food--intellectual soda biscuit, or plum pudding, for instance--in order to find out whether our minds can digest these things and produce from them the mental chyme and chyle necessary to our intellectual development. the discourse was fortunately broken off for to-night, but there is more of it for to-morrow. i really cannot stand it." "i wouldn't stand it," said mrs. archibald. "can't you simply go away and leave her when she begins in that way?" the bishop shook his head. "no," he said, "that is impossible. when those beautiful eyes are fixed upon me i cannot go away. they charm me and they hold me. unless there is an interruption, i must stay and listen. the only safety for me is to fly from this camp. at last," he said, smiling a little sadly, "i am going to go. i did not want to do this until your camp broke up, but i must." "and you are really going to-morrow?" she asked. "yes," he said. "i have positively decided upon that." "i am sorry to hear it," she said. "good-night." when mrs. archibald entered her cabin she found her husband sleeping soundly, and she again sat down by the window. there was no such thing as sleep for her; her mind was more tossed and troubled than it had been before she went out. the fact that the bishop was going away made the matter worse, for just as she had found out that he was willing to help her, and that he might be able to keep raybold away from them without actual violence--for she saw that the young boaster was afraid of him--he had told her he must leave, and in her heart she did not blame him. with great fear and anxiety she looked forward to the morrow. it was about two o'clock when mrs. archibald suddenly arose from her seat by the window and lighted a candle. then she pulled down the shades of the windows, front and back, after which she went to her husband's cot and put her hand upon his shoulder. "hector," said she, "wake up." in a moment mr. archibald was staring at her. "what is the matter?" he exclaimed. "are you sick?" "no," said she, "but i have something very important to say to you. i want you to get up and go away with me, and take margery." mr. archibald sat up in bed. he was now in full possession of his senses. "what!" said he, "elope? and where to?" "yes," said she, "that is exactly what i mean, and we will go to sadler's first, and then home." "do you mean now?" said he. "yes--that is, as soon as it is light," she replied. "are you positively sure you are awake, harriet?" asked mr. archibald. "awake!" she said. "i have not been asleep to-night. don't you see i am dressed?" and she drew a chair to the bedside and sat down. "i know more about what is going on than you do, hector," she said, "and i tell you if we stay any longer in this camp, there is going to be great trouble. that young raybold pays no attention to what you said about keeping away from us. he comes here, when he pleases, and he says he intends to come. i asked you to take a walk with me this evening because i saw him coming to the camp-fire and i knew that you would resent it. to-night i saw him walking up and down in front of our cabin, and i believe he intended to try to speak to margery. i went out to him myself, and he was positively insulting. if the bishop had not happened to come up, i believe he would have stayed here and defied me. but he made him go. "now that you know this, hector, it is very certain that there will be trouble between you and that young man, and i do not want that. and, besides that, there is his sister; she is as determined to preach as he is to speak to margery. the bishop says he can't stand her any longer, and he is going away to-morrow, and that will make it all the worse for us--especially for you, hector. i cannot endure this state of things; it has made me so nervous i cannot get to sleep, and, besides, it is not right for us to keep margery where she must be continually guarded from such a man. now it may seem foolish to run away, but i have thought over the matter for hours and hours, and it is the only thing to do; and what is more, it is very easy to do. if we announce that we are going, we will all go, and the chief cause of quarrels and danger will go with us. i know you, hector; you will not stand his impertinence. "it will be daylight between three and four o'clock, and we three can start out quietly and have a pleasant walk to sadler's. it is only four miles, and we can take our time. we need not carry anything with us but what we choose to put in our pockets. we can pack our bags and leave them here, and mr. sadler will send for them. when we get there we can go to bed if we like, and have time enough for a good sleep before breakfast, and then we can take the morning stage and leave this place and everybody in it. now please don't be hasty and tell me all this is foolish. remember, if you stay here you have a quarrel on your hands, and i shall have hours of misery until that quarrel is settled; and no matter how it is settled, things will be disagreeable afterwards." "harriet," said mr. archibald, suddenly twisting himself so that he sat on the side of the bed, "your idea is a most admirable one. it suits me exactly. let us run away. it is impossible for us to do anything better than that. have you told margery?" "no," she answered, "but i will go to her at once." "be quick and quiet, then," said her husband, who had now entered fully into the spirit of the adventure; "nobody must hear us. i will dress, and then we will pack." "margery," said mrs. archibald, after three times shaking the sleeping girl, "you must get up. your uncle and i are going away, and you must go with us." margery turned her great eyes on mrs. archibald, but asked no questions. "yes," said mrs. archibald, "we cannot stay in this camp any longer, on account of mr. raybold and various other things. matters have come to a crisis, and we must go, and more than that, we must slip away so that the others may not go with us." "when?" asked margery, now speaking for the first time. "as soon as it is daylight." "so soon as that?" said the girl, a shadow on her brow which was very plain in the light of the candle which mrs. archibald had brought with her. "surely not before breakfast?" "margery," said mrs. archibald, a little sharply, "you do not seem to understand--you are not awake; we must start as soon as it is light. but we cannot discuss it now. we are going, and you must go with us. you must get up and pack your things in your bag, which we shall send for." suddenly a light came into margery's eyes and she sat up. "all right," said she, "i will be ready as soon as you are. it will be jolly to run away, especially so early in the morning," and with that she jumped out of bed. chapter xxvi an elopement a little more than an hour after mrs. archibald had made known her project to her husband the three inhabitants of the cabin stole softly out into the delicate light of the early dawn. mr. archibald had thought of leaving a note for matlack, but his wife had dissuaded him. she was afraid that the wrong person might get hold of it. "when we are safely at sadler's," she said, "we can send for our bags, with a note to matlack. it will not matter then who knows." she had a firm belief in the power of the burly keeper of the inn to prevent trouble on his premises. with careful but rapid steps the little party passed along the open portion of the camp, keeping as far as possible from the tent wherein reposed corona and mrs. perkenpine, and soon reached the entrance of the wood road. here it was not quite so light as in the open, but still they could make their way without much trouble, and after a few minutes' walking they felt perfectly safe from observation, and slackening their pace, they sauntered along at their ease. the experience was a novel one to all of them; even mr. archibald had never been in the woods so early in the morning. in fact, under these great trees it could scarcely be said to be morning. the young light which made its uncertain way through the foliage was barely strong enough to cast a shadow, and although these woodland wanderers knew that it was a roadway in which they were walking, that great trees stood on each side of them, with branches reaching out over their heads, and that there were bushes and vines and here and there a moss-covered rock or a fallen tree, they saw these things not clearly and distinctly, but as through a veil. but there was nothing uncertain about the air they breathed; full of the moist aroma of the woods, it was altogether different from the noonday odors of the forest. stronger and stronger grew the morning light, and more and more clearly perceptible became the greens, the browns, and the grays about them. now the birds began to chatter and chirp, and squirrels ran along the branches of the trees, while a young rabbit bounced out from some bushes and went bounding along the road. this early morning life was something they had not seen in their camp, for it was all over before they began their day. there was a spring by the roadside, which they had noticed when they had come that way before, and when they reached it they sat down and ate some biscuit which mrs. archibald had brought with her, and drank cool water from mr. archibald's folding pocket-cup. the loveliness of the scene, the novelty of the experience, the feeling that they were getting away from unpleasant circumstances, and in a perfectly original and independent fashion, gave them all high spirits. even mrs. archibald, whose sleepless night might have been supposed to interfere with this morning walk, declared herself as fresh as a lark, and stated that she knew now why a lark or any other thing that got up early in the morning should be fresh. they had not left the spring far behind them when they heard a rustling in the woods to the right of the road, and the next moment there sprang out into the open, not fifty feet in front of them, a full-grown red deer. they were so startled by this apparition that they all stopped as if the beautiful creature had been a lion in their path. for an instant it turned its great brown eyes upon them, and then with two bounds it plunged into the underbrush on the other side of the road. mrs. archibald and margery had never before seen a deer in the woods. the young girl clapped her hands. "it all reminds me of my first night at the opera!" she cried. two or three times they rested, and they never walked rapidly, so it was after five o'clock when the little party emerged into the open country and approached the inn. not a soul was visible about the premises, but as they knew that some one soon would be stirring, they seated themselves in three arm-chairs on the wide piazza to rest and wait. peter sadler was an early riser, and when the front hall door was open he appeared thereat, rolling his wheeled chair out upon the piazza with a bump--though not with very much of a bump, for the house was built to suit him and his chair. but he did not take his usual morning roll upon the piazza, for, turning his head, he beheld a gentleman and two ladies fast asleep in three great wicker chairs. "upon my soul!" he exclaimed. "if they ain't the camp robbers!" at this exclamation they all awoke. ten minutes after that the tale had been told, and if the right arm of mr. sadler's chair had not been strong and heavy it would have been shivered into splinters. "as usual," cried the stalwart peter, "the wrong people ran away. if i had seen that bicycle man and his party come running out of the woods, i should have been much better satisfied, and i should have thought you had more spirit in you, sir, than i gave you credit for." "oh, you mistake my husband altogether!" cried mrs. archibald. "the trouble with him is that he has too much spirit, and that is the reason i brought him away." "and there is another thing," exclaimed margery. "you should not say mr. raybold and his party. he was the only one of them who behaved badly." "that is true," said mrs. archibald. "his sister is somewhat obtrusive, but she is a lady, gentle and polite, and it would have been very painful to her and as painful to us had it been necessary forcibly to eject her brother from our camp. it was to avoid all this that we--" "eloped," interjected mr. archibald. [illustration: "'if they ain't the camp robbers!'"] the good peter laughed. "perhaps you are right," said he. "but i shall have a word with that bicycle fellow when he comes this way. you are an original party, if there ever was one. first you go on somebody else's wedding-journey, and then you elope in the middle of the night, and now the best thing you can do is to go to bed. you can have a good sleep and a nine-o'clock breakfast, and i do not see why you should leave here for two or three days." "oh, we must go this morning," said mrs. archibald, quickly. "we must go. we really cannot wait until any of those people come here. it makes me nervous to think about it." "very good, then," said peter. "the coach starts for the train at eleven." mrs. archibald was a systematic woman, and was in the habit of rising at half-past seven, and when that hour arrived she awoke as if she had been asleep all night. going to the window to see what sort of a day it was, which was also her custom, she looked out upon the lawn in front of the house, and her jaw dropped and her eyes opened. there she beheld margery and mr. clyde strolling along in close converse. for a moment she was utterly stupefied. "what can this mean?" she thought. "how could they have missed us so soon? we are seldom out of our cabin before eight o'clock. i cannot comprehend it!" and then a thought came to her which made her face grow pale. "is it possible," she said to herself, "that any of the others have come? i must go immediately and find out." in ten minutes she had dressed and quietly left the room. when margery saw mrs. archibald descending the piazza, steps, she left mr. clyde and came running to meet her. "i expect you are surprised to see me here," she said, "but i intended to tell you and uncle archibald as soon as you came down. you see, i did not at all want to go away and not let mr. clyde know what had become of me, and so, after i had packed my bag, i wrote a little note to him and put it in a biscuit-box under a stone not far from my window, which we had arranged for a post-office, just the day before." "a post-office!" cried mrs. archibald. "yes," said margery. "of course there wasn't any need for one--at least we did not suppose there would be--but we thought it would be nice; for, you must know, we are engaged." "what!" cried mrs. archibald. "engaged? impossible! what are you talking about?" "yes," said margery, "we are really engaged, and it was absolutely necessary. under ordinary circumstances this would not have happened so soon, but as things were it could not be delayed. mr. clyde thought the matter over very carefully, and he decided that the only way to keep me from being annoyed and frightened by mr. raybold was for him to have the right to defend me. if he told mr. raybold i was engaged to him, that of course would put an end to the young man's attentions. we were engaged only yesterday, so we haven't had any time to tell anybody, but we intended to do it to-day, beginning with you and uncle archibald. harrison came over early to the post-office, hoping to find some sort of a note, and he was wonderfully astonished when he read what was in the one i put there. i told him not to say anything to anybody, and he didn't, but he started off for sadler's immediately, and came almost on a run, he says, he was so afraid i might go away before he saw me." "margery," exclaimed the elder lady, tears coming into her eyes as she spoke, "i am grieved and shocked beyond expression. what can i say to my husband? what can i say to your mother? from the bottom of my heart i wish we had not brought you with us; but how could i dream that all this trouble would come of it?" "it is indeed a very great pity," said margery, "that mr. clyde and i could not have been engaged before we went into camp; then mr. raybold would have had no reason to bother me, and i should have had no trouble with martin." "martin!" cried mrs. archibald. "what of him?" "oh, he was in love with me too," replied the young girl, "and we had talks about it, and i sent him away. he was really a young man far above his station, and was doing the things he did simply because he wanted to study nature; but of course i could not consider him at all." "and that was the reason he left us!" exclaimed mrs. archibald. "upon my word, it is amazing!" "yes," said margery; "and don't you see, aunt harriet, how many reasons there were why mr. clyde and i should settle things definitely and become engaged? now there need be no further trouble with anybody." distressed as she was, mrs. archibald could not refrain from smiling. "no further trouble!" she said. "i think you would better wait until mr. archibald and your mother have heard this story before you say that." mr. archibald was dressing for breakfast when his wife told him of margery's engagement, and the announcement caused him to twirl around so suddenly that he came very near breaking a looking-glass with his hair-brush. he made a dash for his coat. "i will see him," he said, and his eyes sparkled in a way which indicated that they could discover a malefactor without the aid of spectacles. "stop!" said his wife, standing in his way. "don't go to them when you are angry. we have just got out of trouble, and don't let us jump into it again. if they are really and truly engaged--and i am sure they are--we have no authority to break it off, and the less you say the better. what we must do is to take her immediately to her mother, and let her settle the matter as best she can. if she knows her daughter as well as i do, i am sure she will acquit us of all blame." mr. archibald was very indignant and said a great deal, but his wife was firm in her counsel to avoid any hard words or bad feeling in a matter over which they had now no control. "well," said he, at last, "i will pass over the whole affair to mrs. dearborn, but i hope i may eat my breakfast without seeing them. whatever happens, i need a good meal." when mr. archibald came out of the breakfast-room, his mind considerably composed by hot rolls and coffee, he met margery in the hall. "dear uncle archibald," she exclaimed, "i have been waiting and waiting for you. i hope you are not angry. please be as kind to us as you can, and remember, it was just the same with us as it was with you and aunt harriet. you would not have run away from the camp in the middle of the night if you could have helped it, and we should not have been engaged so suddenly if we could have helped it. but we all had to do what we did on account of the conduct of others, and as it is settled now, i think we ought all to try to be as happy as we can, and forget our troubles. here is harrison, and he and i both pray from the bottom of our hearts that you will shake hands with him. i know you always liked him, for you have said so. and now we are both going to mother to tell her all about it." "both?" said mr. archibald. "yes," said margery; "we must go together, otherwise mother would know nothing about him, and i should be talking to no purpose. but we are going to do everything frankly and openly and go straight to her, and put our happiness in her hands." mr. archibald looked at her steadfastly. "such ingenuousness," he said, presently, "is overpowering. mr. clyde, how do you do? do you think it is going to be a fine day?" the young man smiled. "i think it is going to be a fine lifetime," said he. the party was gathered together on the piazza, ready to take the coach. the baggage had arrived from the camp in a cart; but phil matlack had not come with it, as he remained to take down his tent and settle affairs generally. they were all sorry not to see him again, for he had proved himself a good man and a good guide; but when grown-up married people elope before daybreak something must be expected to go wrong. hearty and substantial remembrances were left for him, and kind words of farewell for the bishop, and even for miss corona when she should appear. peter sadler was loath to part with his guests. "you are more interesting now than ever you were," he said, "and i want to hear all about that hermit business; you've just barely mentioned it." "my dear sir," said mr. archibald, with a solemn visage, "sooner or later miss corona raybold will present herself at this inn on her way home. if you want to know anything about her plan to assist human beings to assert their individualities, it will only be necessary to mention the fact to her." "good-bye, then," said peter, shaking hands with mr. and mrs. archibald. "i don't know what out-of-the-way thing you two will do next, but, whatever it is, i hope it will bring you here." chapter xxvii mrs. perkenpine delights the bishop it was the bishop who first appreciated the fact that a certain air of loneliness had descended upon the shore of the lake. he had prepared breakfast at his camp, but as mr. clyde did not make his appearance he went to camp rob to look for him. there he saw matlack and his assistant busy in their kitchen tent, and mrs. perkenpine was also engaged in culinary matters. he had left arthur raybold asleep at camp roy, but of the ladies and gentleman who were usually visible at the breakfast-hour at camp rob he saw no signs, and he approached mrs. perkenpine to inquire for clyde. at his question the sturdy woman turned and smiled. it was a queer smile, reminding the bishop of the opening and shutting of a farm gate. "he's a one-er," said she. "do you suppose he could ketch a rabbit, no matter how fast he ran?" "come, now," said the bishop, "he wasn't trying to do that?" "he was either doin' that, or else he was runnin' away. i seed him early this mornin'--i wasn't up, but i was lookin' round--and i thought from the way he was actin' that he'd set a rabbit-trap and was goin' to see if he'd caught anything, and pretty soon i seed him runnin' like sam hill, as if his rabbit had got away from him. but perhaps it wasn't that, and maybe somebody skeered him. anyway, he's clean gone." the bishop stood and reflected; the affair looked serious. clyde was a practical, sensible fellow--and he was gone. why did he go? "have you seen any of the archibalds yet?" he asked. "no," said she; "i guess they're not up yet, though it's late for them. my young woman ain't up nuther, but it ain't late for her." the bishop walked slowly towards the cabin and regarded it earnestly. after a few minutes inspection he stepped up to the door and knocked. then he knocked again and again, and hearing nothing from within he became alarmed, and ran to matlack. "hello!" he cried. "something has happened to your people, or they have gone away. come to the cabin, quick!" in less than a minute matlack, the bishop, and bill hammond were at the cabin, and the unfastened door was opened wide. no one was in the house, that was plain enough, but on the floor were four bags packed for transportation. matlack looked about him, and then he laughed. "all right," said he; "there ain't no need of worryin' ourselves. they haven't left a thing of theirs about, everything's packed up and ready to be sent for. when people do that, you may be sure nothing's happened to them. they've gone off, and i bet it's to get rid of that young woman's preachin'. but i don't blame them; i don't wonder they couldn't stand it." the bishop made no reply. remembering his recent conversation with mrs. archibald, he believed that, if they had quietly gone away, there was a better reason for it than miss raybold's fluency of expression. it was possible that something might have happened after he had retired from the scene the night before, for when he went to sleep raybold was still walking up and down in the moonlight. his mind was greatly disturbed. they were gone, and he was left. "what are you going to do?" he asked matlack. "nothin' just now," said the guide. "if they don't send for their things pretty soon, i'll go over to sadler's and find out what's the matter. but they're all right. look how careful them bags is strapped up!" the bishop left the cabin and walked thoughtfully away in the direction of camp roy. in two minutes he had made up his mind: he would eat his breakfast--he could not travel upon an empty stomach--and then he would depart. that was imperative. when he reached the camp he found that raybold had risen and was pouring out for himself a bowl of coffee. seeing the bishop approach, the young man's face grew dark, as might have been expected from the events of the night before, and he hurriedly placed some articles of food upon a plate, and was about leaving the stove when the bishop reached him. raybold turned with a frown, and what was meant to be a glare. "i shall bide my time," said he, and with his coffee and his plate he retired to a distance. the bishop smiled but made no answer, and sat down and ate his meal in peace; then he prepared to depart. he had nothing but a little bag, and it did not take long to put in order the simple culinary department of the camp. when all was done he stood for some minutes thinking. there was a path through the woods which led to the road, so that he might go on to sadler's without the knowledge of any one at camp rob, but he felt that he ought to see matlack and tell him that he was going. if anything went wrong at camp roy he did not wish to be held responsible for it. mr. archibald could afford to go away without saying anything about it, but he could not, and, besides, if he should happen to see miss raybold it would be far more gentlemanly to tell her that he was going and to bid her goodbye, than to slip off through the woods like a tramp. he would go, that he was determined upon; but he would go like a man. when he reached camp rob the first person he saw was miss raybold, standing near her tent with a roll of paper in her hand. the moment she perceived him she walked rapidly towards him. "good-morning," she said. "did you know that the archibalds had gone? i never was so amazed in all my life. i was eating my breakfast when a man and a cart drove up to their cabin, and mrs. perkenpine, running to see what this meant, soon came back and told me that the family of three had departed in the night, and had sent this cart for their baggage. i think this was a very uncivil proceeding, and i do not in the least understand it. can you imagine any reason for this extremely uncourteous action?" the bishop could imagine reasons, but he did not care to state them. "it may be," he said, with a smile, "that they discovered that their natures demanded hotel beds instead of camp cots, and that they immediately departed in obedience to the mandates of their individualities." "but in so doing," said miss raybold, "they violated the principles of association. our scheme included mutual confidence as well as self-investigation and assertion. i must admit that mr. archibald disappointed me. i think he misunderstood my project. by holding one's self entirely aloof from humanity one encourages self-ignorance. but perhaps our party was somewhat too large--the elements too many and inharmonious--and i see no reason why we who remain should relinquish our purpose. i believe it will be easier for us to become truly ourselves than when our number was greater, and so i propose that we make no change whatever in our plans; that we live on, for the time agreed upon, exactly as if the archibalds were here. and now, if you have a few minutes to spare, i would like to read you something i wrote this morning before i left my tent. i was awake during the night, and thought for a long time upon the subject of mental assimilation, the discussion of which we did not finish last evening, and this morning, while my thoughts were fresh, i put them upon paper, and now i would like to read them to you. isn't there some shady place where we might sit down? there are two camp-chairs; will you kindly place them under this tree?" the bishop sighed, but he went for the chairs. it would be too hard for him to tell her he was going to leave the camp, and he would not try to do it. he would slip off as soon as he had a chance, and leave a note for her. she would not perhaps like that, but it was the best he could do. the reading of the paper occupied at least half an hour, and when it was finished, and corona had begun to make some remarks on a portion of it which she had not fully elaborated, mrs. perkenpine approached, and stood before her. "well, miss," said she, "i'm off." miss raybold fixed her eye-glasses upon her. "what do you mean?" she asked. "i'm goin' back to sadler's," she replied. "phil's goin', and i'm goin'. he's jest told me that the cart's comin' back for the kitchen fixin's and his things, and him and bill hammond is goin' to sadler's with it; and if he goes, i goes." this speech had a very different effect upon its two hearers. corona was as nearly angry as her self-contained nature would permit; but, although he did not allow his feelings to betray him, the bishop was delighted. now they must all go, and that suited him exactly. "it is a positive and absolute breach of contract!" exclaimed miss raybold. "you agreed to remain in my service during my stay in camp, and you have no right to go away now, no matter who else may depart." mrs. perkenpine grinned. "that sort of thing was all very well a week ago," said she, "but it won't work now. i've been goin' to school to myself pretty steady, and i've kept myself in a good deal, too, for not knowin' my lessons, and i've drummed into me a pretty good idea of what i be, and i can tell you i'm not a woman as stays here when phil matlack's gone. i'm not a bit scary, but i never stayed in camp yet with all greenhorns but me. when i find myself in that sort of a mess, it's my nater to get out of it. phil says he's goin' to start the fust thing this afternoon, and that's the time i'm goin', and so, if you would like to go, you can send word by that man in the cart to have you and your things sent for, and we can all clear out together." "positively," exclaimed corona, turning to the bishop, "this is the most high-handed proceeding i ever heard of!" "that's 'xactly what i think," said mrs. perkenpine; "it most takes my breath away to think how high-handed i am. before i knowed myself i couldn't have been that way to save my skin. there didn't use to be any individdlety about me. you might take a quart of huckleberries and ask yourself what it was particular 'bout any one of them huckleberries--'xceptin' it might be green, and it's a long time since i was that way--and you'd know jest as much about that huckleberry as i knowed about myself. now it's different. it's just the same as if there was only one huckleberry in a quart box, and it ain't no trouble to see all around that." "i think, miss raybold," said the bishop, "that this good woman has prosecuted her psychical researches with more effect than any of us." "bosh!" exclaimed miss raybold. "do you really think i must leave this camp at the dictation of that person?" "'scuse me," said mrs. perkenpine, "but i'm goin' to scratch things together for movin'. we'll have dinner here, and then we'll pack up and be off as soon as the carts come. that's what phil says he's goin' to do." with a satisfied mind and internal gratitude to mrs. perkenpine, who had made everything easy for him, the bishop endeavored to make corona feel that, as her departure from the camp was inevitable, it would be well not to disturb her mind too much about it. but it was of no use trying to console the lady. "it is too bad," she said; "it is humiliating. here i believed that i was truly myself; that i was an independent entity; that i was free to assert my individual nature and to obey its impulses, and now i find that i am nothing but the slave of a female guide. actually i must obey her, and i must conform to her!" "it is true," said the bishop, musingly, "that although we may discover ourselves, and be greatly pleased with the prospect of what we see, we may not be permitted to enter into its enjoyment, and must content ourselves with looking over the fence and longing for what we see." corona faintly smiled. "when we have climbed high enough to see over that fence," she said, "it becomes our duty to break it down." "when i was in england," said the bishop, "i saw a fence--an oak fence--which they told me had stood for four hundred years. it looked awfully tough, and it now reminds me of some of the manners and customs of civilization." "when you were in england," said corona, "did you visit newnham college?" he never had. but she told him that she had been there for two years. "and now," she continued, "there may be time enough before i must pack up my effects to finish what i was going to say to you about approximate assimilations." chapter xxviii the hermits continue to favor association when the archibald party reached the capital city of their state, the four of them took a carriage and drove immediately to the dearborn residence. margery had insisted that mr. clyde should go with them, so that he and she should present themselves together before her parents. in no other way did she believe that the subject could be properly presented. the archibalds did not object to this plan; in fact, under the circumstances, they were in favor of it. during the journey young clyde had produced a very favorable impression upon them. they had always liked him well enough, and now that they examined his character more critically, they could not fail to see that he was a kind-hearted, gentlemanly young man, intelligent and well educated, and, according to private information from margery, his family was of the best. arrived at the dearborn door, they found the house in the possession of one female servant, who informed them that mr. dearborn was in canada, on a fishing expedition; that mrs. dearborn had gone to attend some sort of a congress at saratoga, and that she did not expect to be at home until the following friday, three days after, which was the day on which she had expected her daughter to be brought back to her. this was disheartening, and the four stood upon the steps irresolute. margery ought to go to her mother, but neither of the archibalds wished to go to saratoga, nor could they despatch thither the prematurely betrothed couple. "i know what we must do," said mrs. archibald, "we must go home." "but, my dear," said her husband, "we agreed to stay away for a month, and the month is not yet up." "it doesn't matter," said she. "kate and her husband will take us in for the few days left. when we explain all that we have gone through, she will not be hard-hearted enough to make us go to a hotel until friday; margery can come with us." margery turned upon mrs. archibald a pair of eyes filled with earnest inquiry. "i know what you want," said mrs. archibald. "no, he can go to a hotel in the town; and i shall write to your mother to come to us as soon as she returns; then you two can present yourselves together according to your plans. there is no use talking about it, hector; it is the only thing we can do." "we shall break our word to the newly married," said her husband. "isn't there a state law against that?" "when we made that arrangement," said his wife, going down the steps, "we did not know our individual selves; now we do, and the case is different. kate will understand all that when i explain it to her." they drove back to the station, and took a train for home. mr. and mrs. bringhurst were sitting in the cool library about nine o'clock that evening; he was reading while she was listening, and they were greatly astonished when they heard a carriage drive up to the front door. during their domestic honey-moon they had received no visitors, and they looked at each other and wondered. "it is a mistake," said he; "but don't trouble yourself. mary has not gone to bed, and she will hear the bell." but there was no bell; the door was opened, and in came father and mother, followed by a strange young couple. "it is wonderful!" exclaimed kate, when at last everybody had been embraced or introduced. "a dozen times during the last week have we talked about the delight it would give us if our father and mother could be here to be entertained a little while as our guests in our own house--for you gave it to us for a month, you know. but we refrained from sending you an invitation because we did not want to cut off your holiday. and now you are here! the good fairies could not have arranged the matter better." when all the tales had been told; when the assertion of individuality and the plans of hermit association had been described and discussed, and the young bringhursts had told how they, too, without knowing it, had been associate hermits, devoting their time not to the discovery of their own natures, but of the nature of each other, and how perfectly satisfied they had been with the results, it was very late, and young clyde was not allowed to go out into the darkness to find a hotel. it was on thursday afternoon that mrs. dearborn arrived at the archibalds' house. the letter she had received had made her feel that she could not wait until the end of the congress. "now, mother," said margery, when the two were alone together, "you have seen him and you have talked to him, and uncle hector has told you how he went to the office of glassborough & clyde and found he was really their nephew, and all about him and his family; and you have been told precisely why it was necessary that we should engage ourselves so abruptly on account of the violent nature of mr. raybold and the trouble he might cause, not only to us, but to dear aunt harriet and uncle archibald. and now we come just like two of your own children and put the whole matter entirely into your hands and leave you to decide, out of your own heart, exactly when and where we shall be married, and all about it. then, when father comes home, you can tell him just what you have decided to do. you are our parents, and we leave it to you." "what in the world," said mrs. dearborn, an hour later, when she was talking to the two married ladies of the household, "can one do with a girl like that? i do not believe dynamite would blow them apart; and if i thought it would i should not know how to manage it." "no," said mrs. archibald, "i am afraid the explosion would be as bad for you as it would be for them." "don't try it," said mrs. kate. "i take a great interest in that budding bit of felicity; i consider it an outgrowth of our own marriage and honey-moon. when we sent out that wild couple, my father and mother, on a wedding-tour, we did not dream that they would bring back to us a pair of lovers, who never would have been lovers if it had not been for us, and who are now ready for a wedding-tour on their own account, as soon as circumstances may permit. and so, feeling a little right and privilege in the matter, i am going to ask you, mrs. dearborn, to let them be married here whenever the wedding-day shall come, and let them start out from this house on their marriage career. now don't you think that would be a fine plan? i am sure your daughter will like it, when she remembers what she owes us; and if mr. clyde objects i will undertake to make him change his mind." when the plan was proposed in full counsel, it was found that there would be no need for the exercise of mrs. kate's powers of persuasion. * * * * * about ten days after mrs. dearborn and margery had returned to their home, and clyde had followed, to move like a satellite in an orbit determined by mrs. dearborn, mr. archibald was surprised, but also very much pleased, to receive a visit from the bishop. "i could not refrain," said that expansive individual, "from coming to you as soon as circumstances would allow, and, while expressing to you the great obligations under which you have placed me, to confide to you my plans and my prospects. you have been so good to me that i believe you will be pleased to know of the life work to which i have determined to devote myself." "i am glad to hear," said the other, "that you have made plans, but you owe nothing to me." "excuse me," said the bishop, "but i do. this suit of clothes, sir, is the foundation of my fortunes." "and well earned," said mr. archibald. "but we will say no more about that. have you secured a position? tell me about yourself." "i have a position," said the bishop. "but would you prefer that i tell you of that first, or begin at the beginning and briefly relate to you what has happened since i saw you last?" "oh, begin at the beginning, by all means," said mr. archibald. "i was sorry to be obliged to leave you all so unceremoniously, and i greatly desire to know what happened after we left." "very good, then," said the bishop, "i will give you our history in as few words as i can. on the afternoon after your departure we all went to sadler's--that is, miss raybold and myself and the three guides; for raybold, when he heard that miss dearborn and mr. clyde had gone, immediately left for sadler's, hoping, i think, to find you all there. from what i heard, i think he and peter sadler must have had words. at any rate, he discovered that his case was hopeless, and he had himself driven to the station in a carriage, not choosing to wait until our arrival. i have since heard that he has determined to relinquish the law and devote himself to the dramatic arts. "for some reason or other, peter sadler was very glad to see me, and congratulated me heartily on the favorable change in my appearance. he called me his favorite tramp, and invited me to stop at his hotel for a time, but i consented to stay a few days only, for i felt i must go to see the gentleman to whom i wished to engage myself as librarian before my new clothes had lost their freshness. miss raybold arranged to stay at sadler's for a week. she liked the place, and as she had planned to remain away from home for a fortnight, she did not wish to return before the time fixed upon. there were a good many people at sadler's, but none of them seemed to interest her. she decidedly preferred to talk to sadler or to me; but although peter is a jolly fellow, and had some lively conversations with her, he does not seem to care for protracted mental intercourse, and it became so plain to me that she depended upon me, in so large a degree, for companionship and intellectual stimulus, that i did not leave as soon as i intended. it was on wednesday, in fact, that i steeled my heart and told her that i must positively depart early the following morning, or i could not expect to reach my destination before the end of the week. it was that evening, however, that we became engaged to be married." "what?" cried mr. archibald. "did you dare to propose yourself to that classic being?" "no," replied the other, "i cannot, with exactness, say that i did. it would be difficult, indeed, for me to describe the manner in which we arrived at this most satisfactory conclusion. miss raybold is a mistress of expression, and, without moving a hair's-breadth beyond the lines of maidenly reserve which always environ her, she made me aware, not only that i desired to propose marriage to her, but that it would be well for me to do so. there were objections to this course, which, as an honest man, i could not refrain from laying before her, and with my proposition i stated these objections, but they were overruled to my entire satisfaction, and she consented to become mrs. bishop." "mrs. bishop?" said the other, inquiringly. "oh yes; bishop is my name--henry c. bishop. it was this name which suggested the title which was playfully given to me. before our compact was made i had told miss raybold all about my family. she did not ask me to do so, but i knew she desired the information, for i had learned to read those beautiful eyes." "but," said mr. archibald, "how about your position? did you get the place as librarian?" "no," said the other, "i did not ask for it. the question of my vocation has been settled most admirably. there never was a human being more frank, more straightforward and pertinent than miss raybold. she knows what she wants, and she makes her plans to get it. with regard to means she is sufficiently endowed, but the life work to which she has devoted herself is far more than she can ever accomplish alone. she needs the constant assistance of a sympathetic and appreciative nature, and that, i am happy to say, i am able to give to her; and were i to devote myself to any other calling which would interfere with that assistance, i should be doing her a positive wrong. therefore, should i state it in definite words, i should say that i am to become my wife's private secretary. that is my position, and it suits me admirably; and i may add that corona assures me that she is thoroughly well pleased. we are to be married in the fall, and i hope it will not be long before we shall have the pleasure of meeting again our former companions of the hermit camp." "by-the-way," said mr. archibald, as his visitor was about to leave, "tell me something of matlack. i had a great liking for our guide." "all that i can tell you is this," said mr. bishop, smiling: "not long after we arrived at sadler's, he went to peter and asked him if he intended to send out a camping party to any considerable distance. it so happened that a couple of gentlemen were going to a point on the very limits of sadler's jurisdiction, and with them matlack petitioned to go, although another guide had been appointed. i made inquiries, and found that, for some reason, probably connected with the persistencies of the female sex, matlack had become a sort of daniel boone and wanted to go away as far as possible from his kind." "i hope," said mr. archibald, "that our example has not made a real hermit of him. good-bye. i am very sorry that mrs. archibald is not at home; but in both our names i wish you and your future wife the best of good fortunes." "father," exclaimed mrs. kate, when she heard of this interview, "now you must grant me one more favor! here is another pair of lovers who owe everything to our honey-moon and your wedding-tour. we ought to know them, for we made them what they are. so let us invite them here, and let them be married from this house. i do not believe miss raybold has a proper home of her own; and, in any case, the only way they can pay us what they owe us is to give us the pleasure of seeing them wedded here." mr. archibald rose to his feet. "no, madam!" said he. "i am willing, to a certain extent, to make this house a source of hymeneal felicity, but i draw the line at the bishop. i do not intend that my home shall become a matrimonial factory!" the end by maria louise pool the red-bridge neighborhood. illustrated by clifford carleton. $1 50. in the first person. $1 25. mrs. gerald. illustrated. $1 50. against human nature. $1 25. out of step. $1 25. the two salomes. $1 25. katharine north. $1 25. mrs. keats bradford. $1 25. roweny in boston. $1 25. dally. $1 25. novels. post 8vo, cloth, ornamental. the author's narrative gift is as nearly perfect as one could wish.--_chicago interior._ miss pool's novels have the characteristic qualities of american life. they have an indigenous flavor. the author is on her own ground, instinct with american feeling and purpose.--_new york tribune._ miss pool is one of the most distinctive and powerful of novelists of the period, and she well maintains her reputation in this instance.--_philadelphia telegraph._ harper & brothers, publishers new york and london any of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the united states, canada, or mexico, on receipt of the price. by charles dudley warner that fortune. post 8vo, half leather, $1 50. 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publishers new york and london any of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the united states, canada, or mexico, on receipt of the price. receipt of the price. roger crab, that feeds on herbs and root 〈…〉 but i believe diogenes had better cheer. deep things more i have to tell▪ but i shall now forbear: lest some in wrath against me swell, and do my body tear, the english hermit, or, wonder of this age. being a relation of the life of roger crab, living near vxbridg, taken from his own mouth, showing his strange reserved and unparalleled kind of life, who counteth it a sin against his body and soul to eat any sort of flesh, fish, or living creature, or to drink any wine, ale, or beer. he can live with three farthings a week. his constant food is roots and herbs, as cabbage, turnips, carrots, dock-leaves, and grass; also bread and bran, without butter or cheese: his clothing is sackcloth. he left the army, and kept a shop at chesham, and hath now left off that, and sold a considerable estate to give to the poor, showing his reasons from the scripture, mark. 10. 21. jer. 35. wherefore if meat make my brother to offend, i will never eat flesh while the world stands, 1 cor. 8. 13. london, printed, and are to be sold in popes-head alley, and at the exchange, 1655. the publisher to the reader. honest reader, before you come to the authors own epistle, and narration, i shall mention some remarkable passages, which i had from his own mouth, and find them not mentioned in his writing; and i can assure thee this relation is no feigned story, or fable, but thou hast it presented to thy view, as i received it from the author himself, with all the verses of his own composing. this roger crab is well known to many in this city and the country; and while this book was printing, he stayed purposely here in the city till it was published, and i think is in town still; he lodged at the golden anchor in white cross street, at one mr. carters house a glover, where divers people resorted to see him, where such as doubt of it may be satisfied. i am informed by himself and others, how that three years since: he was a haberdasher of hats, and kept a shop at chesham, in buckingamshire; and hath since given over his trade, and sold his estate, and given it to the poor, reserving a small matter to himself, being a single man, and now liveth at icknam, near uxbridge, one a small rood of ground, for which he payeth fifty shillings a year and hath a mean cottage of hiis own building to it; but that which is most strange and most to be admired, is his strange reserved, and hermetical kind of life, in refusing to eat any sort of flesh, and saith it is a sin against his body and soul to eat flesh, or to drink any beer, ale, or wine; his diet is only such poor homely food as his own rood of ground beareth, as corn, bread, and bran, herbs, roots, dock-leaves, mallows, and grass, his drink is water, his apparel is as mean also, he wears a sackcloth frock, and no band on his neck: and this he saith is out of conscience, and in obedience to that command of christ, to the young man in the gospel, and in imitation of the prophets, and the recabites in jer. 35. who neither planted vineyards, nor builded houses, nor drank wine, and were highly commended by the lord for it: i reasoned the case with him, & told him that i conceived christ's meaning when he bade the young man sell all he had and give to the poor, was, that he should part with all his dearest sins, that were as dear to him as his possessions, or else to try him for his covetousness; he answered, how can a man give that money to the poor which he selleth his sins for: i perceive he is well read in the scriptures, he hath argued strongly with several ministers in the country, about this and other straying opinions which he holds; but i will not be so tedious to the reader as to mention them all; he approves of civil magistracy, and is neither for the levelers, nor quakers, nor shakers, nor ranters, but above ordinances. he was seven years in the wars for the parliament; he is the more to be admired that he is alone in this opinion of eating, which though it be an error, it is an harmless error. i have heard since this was in the press that cap. norwood was acquainted with roger crab, and being inclining to his opinion, began to follow the same poor diet till it cost him his life; felix quam facit alienem pericula cautem. in the primitive times we read of such persons that were weak, who did eat herbs, and made a great scruple of eating flesh; but the apostle saith, that every creature of god is good, if it be received with thankfulness, 1 tim. 4. 4. and in 1 cor. 8. 13. saith he, if meat make my brother to offend, i will eat none while the world stands. and in rom. 4. 2, 3, 4. one believeth that he may eat all things, another who is weak eateth herbs, let not him that eateth despise him that eateth not, &c. the reason why this man betook himself to this hermits reserved life, he saith was, that he might be more free from sin, as lust, pride; and because of the many lies, swearing, and deceiving that is too too frequently used by most shopkeepers & tradesmen, as the prophet complains in hos. 4. 1, 2, 3. for the lord hath a controversy with the inhabitants of the land, because there is no truth, nor mercy, nor knowledge of god, but by swearing, and lying, and killing, and stealing, and whoring, they break out, and blood toucheth blood; therefore shall the land mourn, &c. but however, we may see how apt men are to err, both on the right hand and on the left, and to run into extremes, yet of the two extremes this is the better, and more tolerable which this english hermit hath chosen, rather than that of our english antics, and prodigals, who give themselves over to run into all excess of riot and uncleanness, committing all sorts of wickedness with greediness; some given up to drunkenness, others to whoredom, and a third sort to gluttony, as of late days it was reported of one wood, called the great eater of kent, who could eat a whole sheep at a meal, besides other victuals; also mr. marriot, the great eater of gray's inn, was such another glutton. eusebius reports of one domitius, who receiving more meat at supper than his stomach could digest, or his belly contain, died suddenly sitting at the table: and doctor tailor, that famous preacher of aldermanburic, in his book of the theatre of god's judgements, makes mention of maximinus the emperor, who was given to such excess and gluttony, that every day for his allowance he had forty pound of flesh and bread answerable, and five gallons of wine for his drink, which he constantly devoured, besides fallets and made dishes. also the emperor bonesus would drink healths, and eat excessively; both these came to miserable ends, this emperor was hanged, and the former cut in pieces by his soldiers, see more at large in the second part of that book, page 102. i will add but one more relation he mentions, which had i not so good an author for, i should not give credit to it: a rich citizen's son having left him by his father thirty thousand pounds in ready money besides jewels, plate, and houses richly furnished, was so prodigal as to consume all his whole estate in three years, and he had a great longing to please all his five senses at once, and did accomplish it, allowing to each sense a several hundred pound, it would be too tedious to mention all the story; he grew at last to all debauchedness that could be named, and was forced shamefully to beg of his acquaintance, and was after pressed for a common soldier, see path last of that book above mentioned. i shall no longer detain the reader from the hermit's relation; these things i thought would be most pertinent to impart to thee, hoping thou wilt make this good use of it, by avoiding these two extremes, and walking in the golden mean of rtue godliness, which hath the promise of this life, and of that which is to come. vale. one more remarkable thing he told me: that when he was in clarken-well prison, the 17. of this january, 1654. his keeper having a prejudice against him, and ordered the prisoners not to let him have bread with his water, and shut him down in the hole all night. the next morning, being something hungry, walking in the prisonyard, there came a spaniel and walked after him three or four turns, with a piece of bread in his mouth: he looked upon him, and wondered why the dog walked (as he thought) with a chip in his mouth: he looked at the dog, and he laid it down: and perceiving it was bread, he walked away again, and the dog walked after him with it again: then he stooped, and the dog laid it down to his hand, than he took and wiped it, and eat it. epist. l. 18. leave out 50. s. a year to mr. godbold, preacher at uxbridge in middlesex, i dedicate this my discourse, because he was my friend to help conquer my old man, by informing my friends of chesham, that i was a witch, and was run away, and would never come again. you being a public preacher, may do me greater service in helping me to dishonour him; for i have been almost 3. years conquering my old man by dishonour. therefore if you can stir up any more to forward this work, pray do, if it be not hurtful to yourself, and they that do so. i rest, your reserved friend, roger crab.. to the impartial reader. in whom malicious envy delights, to be for birds of a feather, draw together: but such a constitution is not to be condemned, lest we should condemn the work of god in the flesh, but rather to be instructed with the light of the scriptures, that thereby he may know himself, and judge himself to be undone and empty, that love and zeal may take possession, and then he will be more valiant, and bold for god and the scripture, than he that is moderately constituted: then let us labour for a single eye which maketh the whole body light; i mean a single heart in single designs, which cannot stand with lindsey-woolsey garments, nor with double tongues, nor varieties of fancies after meats and drinks; for christ himself was to eat butter and honey till he came to knowledge to choose the good, and refuse the evil, isa. 7. 15. and if natural adam had kept to his single natural fruits of god's appointment, namely fruits and herbs, we had not been corrupted. thus we see that by eating and drinking we are swallowed up in corruption; for ever since noah came out of the ark, the world being drowned, and no fruits nor hearbss-on the earth, man was ordered to eat the flesh of the creature which came out of the ark, so that by that means our desires were made strong after flesh; that when the herbs & innocent food was come forth, we slighted it, calling it trash in comparison of a beast, or beastly flesh; so that by that means the flesh-destroying spirits and angels draweth near us, and frequently attendeth man kind. this you may see by the angels that came to abraham to destroy the flesh of the sodomites: abraham knowing their design, killed them a calf, and made them a fleshly feast, so that we may see god hath all sorts of creatures for all sorts of designs, and for all sorts of food both in heaven and in earth; innocent creatures for innocent food, and beastly creatures for beastly and fleshly food. i rest your friend as you please, roger crab.. from my poor cottage near uxbridg, jan. 1654. the english hermit at icknam near uxbridge. seeing i am become a gazing stock to the nation, & a wonderment to many friends in this my reserved life, i shall therefore indite a few lines as the most high shall direct me, wherein i shall give an account of this my undoing, owning christ and the prophets to be exemplary both in prophesying and practising, as far as god shall give power to any man; i having truly examined it, and often disputed it with all sexes and ministers in most counties in england, and most of them grants me that the practice of christ and the prophets is written for our learning: and if this be granted, that we ought to be imitators of their righteousness, hereby the judgement of god may be seen to a sodomite generation, living now upon english ground; but first i shall begin with myself, who have transgressed the commands of god, and so found guilty of the whole law, living in pride, drunkenness, and gluttony, which i upheld by dissembling and lying, cheating and cozening my neighbours: but now that light which enlighteneth every man that cometh into the world, according to john's writing, hath discovered the love of god to my understanding, which causeth me to withdraw from what i have done; and instead of strong drinks and wines, i give the old man a cup of water; and instead of roast mutton, and rabbits, and other dainty dishes, i gave him broth thickened with bran, and pudding made with bran, & turnip leaves chop't together, and grass; at which the old man (meaning my body) being moved, would know what he had done, that i used him so hardly; then i showed him his transgression as aforesaid: so the wars began, the law of the old man in my fleshly members rebelled against the law of my mind, and had a shrewd skirmish; but the mind being well enlightened, held it, so that the old man grew sick and weak with the flux, like to fall to the dust; but the wonderful love of god well pleased with the battle, raised him up again, and filled him full of love, peace, and content in mind, and is now become more humble; for now he will eat dock-leaves, mallows, or grass, and yields that he ought to give god more thanks for it, then formerly for roast flesh and wines; and certainly concludes that this must be of god, if it be done out of love, and not out of self-ends; for before the old man fought with his steel sword, with his fleshly power against old men, and that envy in him begat envy in them, and both of the devil, in pretence of liberty and peace, it is easily judged of by the event; for our fighting to regulate government in the old men, we see it still as bad, if not worse than it was before: therefore let us put off the old man with his fleshly laws, which reached no farther than the government of earthly bodies, so that every one for their obedience to god in this fleshly law, receiveth a reward to uphold his fleshly body here upon earth, and would go no further than reason could reach in the organs of flesh: therefore this law could never give life in the spiritual christ, but the practificers thereof were the greatest enemies to christ, as you shall see fully in their calling of christ devil, and putting of him to death, mat. 10. luke 23. far worse than bloody butchers, for they destroy their fellow creatures for gain, and to feed their bodies; but these destroyed that innocent lamb of god, merely out of devilish zeal and envy against innocency; this moves the butcher to the question to know why i would forbear eating of flesh: to which i answer, first, i do it exemplary from the prophet daniel, chap. 1. which saith, the king's meat defileth his body, and beseecheth that he might eat pulse, and drink water. this first we ought to believe, because the scripture saith so. 2. i believe it from experience. 3. from reason. 1. i have experience that god hath enlightened my understanding in a great measure more than before i took this course: so that all the tithe-mongers and self-ended people professing religion, are afraid to meet me in any public dispute; but lest i should judge myself wiser in my own conceit then my understanding will bear me out, i am here ready to be tried by any person or persons whatsoever, and so much for experience: now i shall show some reasons. my first reason is, that god never accepted of any creature for a sacrifice of flesh, that would destroy a body of flesh to feed on; and also forbid his people the jews to feed on them; for it is a practice of dogs and wolves, bears and lions, hogs and ravens, kites and hawks, and many such like devourers of flesh; and all or any of these have no need to fear their lives, but from, or of some of that same kind; no innocent creature need never fear his life from an innocent creature: if all birds would take the dove for an example, and all beasts take the lamb for their example, and all men take christ for their example, than mars and saturn, the two chief devils would be trampled under feet. such a time is promised, but not yet; but god waiteth with long patience upon the vessels of wrath, whilst they prepare themselves by thirsting after flesh and blood, which are thereby made fit to destroy each other: therefore harken to the doctrine of christ, in matth. chap. 5. 6. deny yourselves, humble yourselves, undo yourselves of all righteousness of the flesh. become as little children, like lambs, like doves, than christ is ours, and we are his: few words to the wise is sufficient. i shall return to the reasonable part of the law in this nation, which excludes butchers from being jurymen of life and death: surely if they are judged uncapable of being of a jury, because they kill the creatures, they that buy it with their money to devour it, cannot be clear, for we always count the receiver more subtle and worse than the thief; so that the buyer is worse than the butcher; but mars being the god of war, is the governor of these destroyers: and while he can get flesh to feed on, he will increase his desires to destroy flesh: so that mars being servant to the most high god, breeds them up with flesh, until they are full of corruption. then he raiseth up trangressor against transgressor to destroy each other, as you have it in isa. 21. 2. where it saith, agrievous vision was showed unto me, the transgressor against the transgressor, and the destroyer against the destroyer. go up flame, besiege media, &c. had my parents been so innocent as to have taught me this doctrine in the time of my youth, i had saved my skull from being cloven to the brain in the late war for the parliament against the king, and also saved myself from the parliaments two years' imprisonment which they gave me for my pains, and from my sentence to death in the field by my lord protector; but all those things wrought together for the best to me, and in my estimation are of more value than an office of five hundred pounds a year, for i in some measure know myself, and before i neither knew god nor devil, nor myself: but now having found out that my body was governed by the inclination of my constitution from the starry heavens, having tried it with many sorts of food, and with much fasting and praying according to the scripture, which gave me light to the constitutions of others, and enabled me to administer physic to others; so that i have had a hundred or sixscore patients at once, this gave me a great light of the evil that came by eating of flesh: if my patients were any of them wounded or feverish, i said, eating flesh, or drinking strong beer would inflame their blood, venom their wounds, and increase their disease, so there is no proof like experience: so that eating of flesh is an absolute enemy to pure nature; pure nature being the workmanship of a pure god, and corrupt nature under the custody of the devil: now for the objection in 1 tim. 4. v. 3. where it saith thus; forbidding to marry, and commanding to abstain from meats which god hath created, to be received with giving thanks of them which believe and know the truth: and vers. 4. it saith; for every creature of god is good, and nothing ought to be refused if it be received with thanksgiving. this scripture being very useful for the purpose, and will give much light to the adhearers to this opinion, and conform them of sound principles within themselves; for whosoever shall forbear marrying, or abstain from meat, from the commandment of men which pretends his commands to be of god, all that are obedient hereunto will serve the devil, and must needs be without the spirit of sanctification; neither are they believers, neither obey the truth; so that if they should eat of every creature, there would a hundred be poisoned at a meal for want of the spirit of power and sanctification which paul and others had by the promise, which promised them, if they drank any deadly poison, it should not hurt them, and could take away serpents: and if they laid their hands on the sick, they should recover, as you may see in mar. 16. vers. 18. another objection is alleged from that scripture in matth. 15. 11. where he saith these words: that which goeth into the mouth defileth not the man, but that which cometh out of the mouth, that defileth the man, which is murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false testimonies, slanders, &c. if this be meant that any thing put into the mouth cannot defile the body, than no man can can be poisoned: but there hath been many a man poisoned by taking things into the mouth: if so, than nothing ought to be taken but that which is nourishable to pure nature, except they have faith and power of sanctification to exclude the venom: so in short, my judgement is of every place of scripture which speaks any thing of this nature, that to him that believeth all things are lawful, as in relation to christ in the spirit, but some things not expedient. now to those that will not unlick themselves from the world, as to deny father and mother, wife, children, lands and livings, and all for christ's sake in the spiritual essence, but will rather serve him according to the flesh in the ten commandments. now this is the wonderful and admirable love of god, that he will give them a reward also according to that dispensation they are under; for he hath promised them a blessing in basket, and in store, their children long life in the land for their obedience to their parents in the flesh: but no more than fleshly rewards can be given for fleshly obedience; for he that dyeth with fleshly desires, fleshly inclinations, and fleshly satisfactions; this being a composure of the spirits of darkness in this body, must rise again in the same nature, and must be taken into the centre of mars, the god of flesh, blood, and fire, so that every man shall receive the things which are done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or evil, 2 cor. 5. 10. then how happy are they that takes christ and the prophets for their example: christ being an innocent pattern to the whole world, exposed himself to all danger and difficulty, not for his own ends in the flesh, but for others sakes, even them that persecuted him and violated him with terms of ignomy, calling him a glutton, and a wine-bibber, blasphemer, and a devil, and at length killed him outright, and hanged him shamefully upon the cross; the persons that did it were the priests, councillors, lawyers, and the rude multitude instructed by them, filled all with envy against innocency, but all this worketh together for the best to them that fear god, in humbleness and meekness, together with love and charity, where envy cannot be; but some glimpse of the spiritual light which discerneth all things, even the deep things of god, according to the scriptures, 1 cor. 2. 10. but reason it will discover a glimpse of god's proceedings in these our days; he hath tried almost every sort of men, and every sort of sects according to their pedigree in our land. 1. the king and bishops were exalted next to christ. 2. the parliament who found fault with them, not pulling the beam of covetousness out of their own eyes, and their sects depending, were all exalted in stead of the other. 3. the army with their trades and sects depending upon the same account, became exalted; so the gentlemen and farmers have had their turn in offices and dearth of corn, and now they will try inferior trades, as journeymen and day-labourers, and their associates depending, even to the orphan and almsman, and now giveth them the fullness of bread, and clothing, and silver, and all according to their respective place and capability they are in: so that now we look over all their proceedings, and judge by their fruit, and it will be a hard matter for a low capacity to judge which of all these parties hath been most just: but i being of the lowest sort, and unlearned, being amongst day-labourers and journeymen, have judged myself with them the worst of all these parties, in pride, gluttony, drunkenness, lying, dissembling, swearing, cursing, covetousness, disobedient to parents, breeding up children to disobedience, and all other abominations: were not the most high wonderful and merciful to us, one of these sins are enough to bring judgement and terrors upon the whole land, namely the sin of drunkenness, being explained, will prove it; when the all-seeing eye looks into every alehouse of this nation, and seeth of which sort are most there, and they will appear to be labouring poor men, which in times of scarcity pine and murmur for want of bread, cursing the rich behind his back; and before his face, cap and knee, and a whining countenance; and some are choleric, and discontented, and will not speak at all, neither of them considering what they did in the time of plenty, when they drank in one day as much as a bushel of barley will make, which will keep two ordinary families a whole week in bread; this two men will do twice or three times a week; and when sunday cometh, they will hear two sermons, and have their child christened by the virtue of his faith, and receive the sacrament at easter, and then all is well; his conscience being feared up, he returns to his companions, and falls on as before, to drunkenness, and gluttony, spoiling, backbiting his neighbours, swearing and cursing, and reviling against the higher powers for oppressing him; making a good construction of his fellowdrunkard which is drunk three or four days in the weak; they will say he is an honest fellow, and no foe but his own, although both he and they what so do are the greatest oppressors under the sun, and the greatest enemies to the poor fatherless orphans, widows, and strangers, which are below them; for by their drunkenness and gluttony corn is made dear; and corn being dear, land is made dear, so that the farmer must give a great rent for his farm, and is constrained to hire many more acres. by this means cattle and corn hath been at a high rate, the farmer being covetous minded to uphold his wife and children in pomp and pride, feasting and glu●tony at christenings and banquetings, by which means surfeits and diseases drives them to the physicians, who wait for their prey, to get their money to purchase lands and houses, that they may let it out to them again; thus you see that the body of england is become a monster: god hath created eyes in us that are the feet, to discover her nakedness as far as the middle; we have a little light of her arms, and her head, which keeps her pomp by sword and violence; but our sight being weak, and most work to do at home, and most convenient for every man to pull the beam out of his own eye, according to the scriptures, mat. 7. 3. that we may see clearer, and justly judge the tree by his fruits, we shall try the inferior and lower sort of feasting among women, called by the name of christenings, which are these. first, to exchange upon some body that is silly, or foolish, sluttish, or covetous, or an ill husband, or a drunkard: others be condemned for often feasting, and wearing fine clothes, swearing and lying, so that all sorts are laughed at, and judged; but ourselves, whilst we ourselves are doing the very same things, and this is the fruit that grows upon the tree called christening, or baptising the child into the father's faith; which is an admirable tree, if it be true, that the child can be in christ by the father's faith, and no falling from grace; then let us consider whether adam did believe in christ: and if it be found he did, than this baptism would have saved all the people from adam to this day, and will do from this day forward; for the child being baptised into the father's faith, groweth up, and begetteth children, and cannot fall away, baptising children into their faith, and so forward: so that if god had been as wise as we in our own conceit, he might have saved the lives of all his prophets, and apostles, and people too, but the most high is now once more beginning to break through the clouds of darkness in poor innocent forms of earth, raising them up from carpenting fishing, and tentmaking, to confound the high and mighty, for the wisdom of man is foolishness, 1 cor▪ chap. 1. now let us compare this inferior feast called christening with the feast of christ among the multitude, and see which was best exemplary to the people, and which produced most good to soul and body; and consider the example of christ's birth in a manger, with the pomp and pride of children's births in our days: again, consider what feast there was when christ was baptised of john, & i think we shall find none at all. then let us see what christ had at his feast with the people, he being able to command stones to be bread, or water to be wine, was also able to command roast beef or pig: but he was to be exemplary to all people on earth, in all his actions and doctrine, made an innocent feast for the people with barley loaves and fishes, mat. 14. but some will object and say, he was able to work miracles, and we are not; to which i answer; if we as he, were able to command all things, and yet would have nothing at our feast but barley loaves and fishes, what advantage would our power be to this feast? the feast being innocent, without hurting any creature that breathed on earth; but on the contrary, he endeavoured to preserve, and to reconcile the people to god with sound words of instructions uttered with love, peace, and meekness, with motions of healing all people that were brought to him: so that you may see a great difference betwixt his feast and the other. again, he often went to the feast of the jews, and to a wedding to show forth the power of his father, in turning water into wine; but we never find that ever he was drunk, or eat bit of flesh at any of their feasts, or wedding: the passeover was his own feast, and did belong to the fulfilling of the law of the father in his flesh, even for a disobedient people, which the lord by moses brought out of egypt from their fleshpots, into the wilderness, to purify their bodies with angel's food called manna, which they ground in mills, or beat in mortars, to make in cakes: but they losing their grossness, grew lean and hungry, and murmured, and rebelled against the lord, lusting after the fleshpots of egypt: their desires being much and strong, the lord granted them flesh, even as he granted them a king, and his wrath and plague came with it, as you may see in numb. 11. 33. & psal. 78. 31. while the flesh was yet between their teeth, before it was chewed, even than the wrath of the lord was kindled against the people, and the lord smote the people with an exceeding great plague. thus you see what miserable creatures we are, being bred up with flesh and blood, onions and garlic, all under mars, who god hath made governor over that humour that lusteth after flesh and blood, which is made strong in us by feeding of it, as i myself may speak by experience; for if god had commanded me to forbear flesh before i had knowledge of this my discourse, although he had sent an angel or a man working miracles, i doubt i should have judged all to be of the devil, for the lust i had after the sweetness of flesh; even as the rich men in these our days will deny the scripture, wherein christ commanded the rich man in the gospel, to sell his goods and give to the poor: but they will say, it reached no farther, than that one rich man should; for say they, if we should believe this scripture to extend to us, we should make the poor richer than ourselves: so it seems by this, that they had rather deny this scripture, and many more that speak to this purpose, even christ and all, rather than to part from their riches; this would have been my condition in ignorance: therefore let not the rich men mistake me, and think that i would have them sell their goods, before god hath enlightened their understandings, & let them see the danger of keeping it, for than they would play the hypocrites, and do as bad to themselves, as if they had kept it, although good to others; this would be the condition of every one that shall forbear flesh, or beer, as in relation to god, because it is a sin against the body, or bodies and souls of men: except any man thinks he sins against god in eating, to him it is sin, because he is weak, and doubteth: so he ought to forbear, because of his scruple; as you shall see in rom. 14. 8. 1 cor. 8. 10. for if any man see thee which hath knowledge fit at table in the idols temple, shall not the conscience of him which is weak be boldened to eat those things which are sacrificed to idols? you may observe from this, that he that walketh by another man's light before he is fully convinced in himself, if he buildeth on sand, he will fall in the tempest, because he hath lost his tender light of his scruple, which paul endeavoured to strengthen in every one of his brethren, let them be of what opinion they would in matter of conscience: it's very plain in rom. 14. and very few in these days believeth it; for we all cry out against many opinions, yet every one would have his own opinion justified; we may as well cry out and condemn every one his neighbour, because they differ in physiognomy, and so condemn the work of god without us, as well as within us, but this is rebellion against our maker; for the scripture commandeth us not to judge one another in matter of conscience towards god, but for the sin against our brethren and neighbours; we ought to know the tree by his fruits. so that any man or men in countries, towns, or cities, that shall defraud his brethren, and shall advance themselves in pride by oppression and tyranny, imitating sodom and gomorrah in all manner of abominations; if any see this imitated in england, it's high time for we, or they that so see, to become imitators of christ and the prophets; first in order of the prophets that came before christ, who were ordered by their practice to show israel their transgressions, in drinking water by measure, and in making bread; for ezekiel took of wheat, barley, and beans, and lentiles, and millet, and fitches, and put them in a vessel, and made bread thereof; and instead of butter and spice, he was to take cow's dung, instead of men's dung, to prepare his bread with, and he was to have his portion by weight, ezek. 4. 9 thus the prophet was to show them their error in matter of food; and for clothing, you may see in isa. 20. who was a prophet of god, ordered not only to wear sackcloth, but to go naked, and without shoes three years: if these scriptures are written for our learning, imitation, and practice, than we are to judge which are the prophets of god, by this practice in scripture; and if so, where shall we find prophets of god: but some will say, we are to follow christ and the apostles in the new testament; and if you will have it so, than we must exactly see what orders they had in their commission, that we may know them from hirelings: we find in the commission, that they were to go and preach without money, or scrips, or shoes on their feet, but to be shod with sandals, mark 6. 8. so we may doubt whether we shall find any apostles too, if we shall judge by christ's commission; but if you will not own these scriptures, neither let us try them that mark out the false apostles and teachers, namely john 10. where he saith, the hireling is not his shepherd: and mat. 7. where he saith, ye shall know them by their fruits, inwardly they are ravening wolves. many more scriptures to this purpose there are; but if you have a mind to your hirelings still, you will believe no scripture that is against him, neither is there any for him; so that all the true practical part of scriptures must be laid aside, only talk of it and dispute of it a little, and pick out of it a few places to preach out off, and to write, to get some money to uphold their pride and honour in this world, to please the old man in the flesh: surely if john the baptist should come forth again, and call himself leveller, and take such food as the wilderness yielded, and such clothing, and preach up his former doctrine, he that had two coats should give away one of them, and he that hath food should do likewise; how scornfully would our proud gentlemen and gallants look of him, that hath gotten three or four coats with great gold and silver buttons, and half a score dainty dishes at his table, besides his gallant house, and his furniture therein; therefore this scripture must be interpreted some other way, or else denied: and this is our condition, if the scripture will not serve for our own ends to fulfil selfish desires, to uphold the old man in his fleshly honour, which belongeth to the magistrate only, who god hath made a minister for thy wealth's sake, and doth not at all belong to innocency nor christ in the spirit; for there is small sign of the old man's dying or putting off, whilst he smites his fellows for the liberty of his fleshly desires; and this is our condition that loveth the world, in whom the love of god cannot be, 1 john 2. 15, 16. love not the world, neither the things of the world: if any man love the world, the love of the father is not in him; for all that is in the world, as the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the father, but is of the world: these scriptures have i endeavoured formerly to interpret some other way, by absurdities and consequences; how that if we should not wear superfluous things, thousands of people would starve for want of trading, and so by consequence bring greater evil upon us: so i being not willing to lose my pride and worldly pomp, i questioned the truth of the scriptures, and even god himself, and all for want of some glimpse of spiritual light, which my natural eyes in reason could not discern. therefore the most high was pleased to convince me with natural forms, namely birds of the air, which every day brought me intelligence according to my worldly occasions; for almost three years' space i have observed them, for they would foretell me of any danger or cross, or any joy from friends; i mean any danger or dishonour to my person, or loss of cattle, or corn, or any other disadvantage to my advancement in the world; and this clearly convinced me, that there was a power above man. then i considered the wise man's saying, eccles. 10. 10. curse not the king, not not in thy thought, neither curse the rich in thy bed chamber, for the fouls of heaven shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings, shall declare the matter: also i considered that god made use of a bird to feed elias the prophet: by this i saw that he made use of natural causes to fulfil natural desires, so i came to know god in nature. moreover i considered the scrptures where the lord speaks against the soothsayers, and against astrologers, sorcerers, and wizards; all these i found to be the spirits of darkness, and will reach no further than the old man in the flesh, yet very necessary to be known, that we may avoid the evil thereof: christ and the prophets knew all these things, or else they would never have spoken against them, but we in the old man have often spoken against things that we knew not, out of blind zeal, but not according to knowledge: therefore let the scripture rule us, that we judge no man's heart which belongeth to god only in the spirit, but our judgement must be external of every tree according to their fruits; for by their fruits we ought to know them: so to reprove every man his neighbour to his face, leave off backbiting and slandering one another, and making up our laughter in deriding the actions of others, which we cannot do, unless we think ourselves wiser than they; this sad thing have i observed in many families, when they have happened in any discourse, it seldom or never ended without backbiting, or deriding one another behind their backs with their tongues, which causeth envy, and sets on fire every man that useth it against his neighbour, according to the scripture, jam. 3. and this cometh for want of mortifying the old man in the flesh, rom. 8. 13. these and many other helps there are in the scriptures, if we will believe it, to overcome the flesh; for christ saith, mat. 7. 8. whosoever asketh receiveth, and he that seeketh findeth, and to him that knocketh it shall be opened: this sccripure seems to reach further than the disciples in some cases; for some that did not believe, made use of his name to cast out devils, and it seems the power of god assisted them therein; for they could not do it by the power of the devil, for than they would not have made use of christ's name. again, christ himself saith, if satan cast out satan, his kingdom cannot stand, mat. 12. 26. and it's contrary to any reason, that god should cast out god, or the devil cast out the devil: so we find according to the whole tenor of scripture, that god answereth all sorts of people according to that dispensation they are under, if their desires are fervent, whether it be for their good, or their hurt, as have proved sufficiently in my discourse concerning the flesh given to the children of israel, 1 sam. 8. 7. where god saith to samuel, hear the voice of the people in all that they shall say unto thee. so god condescended to the desires of the people for the hurt of their bodies in granting them a king; but if any out of zeal towards god in the spirit will pray unto him, and yet would uphold the righteousness of god in the flesh; god answering them with such spirits as may dishonour them in this world, by lying or false prophesying, to destroy the honour of the old man in them, that they may be brought forth as tried in the fire, more pure in the spirit of light: but if any shall inquire after god at the mouth of his prophets, only to uphold the honour and ambition of the old man in this world, god will send them false spirits to preach lies, of purpose to destroy them; and this will come upon those that are for their own ambitious ends, as you may see in 1 king. 22. where the false spirits wait● on god for their message, and god sends them forth, and bids them prosper, to please ahab in his request; thus we see for the love of this world people are destroyed. then let us conclude, that it is high time to cast off the old man with his rudiments, with his malice and envy, and entertain light, love, and peace, and joy in the holy ghost; that this may be our treasure, leading us up to that throne of grace, full of unspeakable joys, where christ sitteth in the council of his father, with all his angels, entertaining all with fullness of joy, that entereth in at this narrow gate, wiping away all tears, and all desires shall cease, and sorrow shall never more come near them; and instead thereof such joy, that neither tongue of men or angels can express. if men and angels do prove silent, than why should not i, an inferior man: now am i silent, and indite no more, pray use no violence then against the poor. o mortal form what dost thou mean! to make such long delay; keeping thy soul so poor and lean, against the dreadful day. to whom we all must once appear, to receive our sentence deep; the sorrowing hearts, and terrible fears, making our souls to weep. two things there are to us proposed, whilst we on earth do dwell, in choosing one, the other's lost, let it be heaven or hell. then must our choice be circumspect, without a worldly mind: lest god one day do us reject, and we no mercy find. if heaven we choose, than hell is lost, we cannot it embrace; but to the glory of joy we must, swallowed be in endless grace. if hell we choose, the world is gained, which is that flesh desires: then need we nothing to refrain, that pride and lust requires. such is our lusts and covetousness, the belly and back to please; with selling and buying, dissembling and lying, yet we cannot live at ease. but still in discontent abide, desiring after more: our envy would that all had died, that loved not the whore. her merchants they do howl and weep, their traffic none will buy: they wishing now to sow or reap, one year before they die. in revelation, chap. nineteen, in truth there you may read; who 'tis shall bear the sceptre, when the old whore is dead. thus to the wise in their conceit, as i myself have been: they now shall know that once they might, have left the greatest sin. o england then repent for the misery thou art in! which have all by consent, lived on each others sin. if pride should banished be away, then tradesmen out would cry, come let us kill, eat, and slay, or else for want we die▪ then would the gentry mourn, without pride they cannot live: and staves to get them corn, whilst they themselves deceive. thus pride becomes our god, and dear to us as life; whose absence makes us sad, and cannot please our wife. if the poor labouring men, live of their own increase; where are your gentry then, but gone among the beasts. if any would know who is the author, or ask whose lines are these: i answer, one that drinketh water, and now a liver at ease. in drinking cannot be drunk, nor am i moved to swear: and from wenching am i sunk, my bones are kept so bare. for it is the grossness of the flesh that makes the soul to smart: and is the cause of his own lust, that commits adultery in his heart. finis. the penitent hermit: or, the fruits of jealousy. being a true and witty relation of a pleasant adventure written by a lady to a duchess. in two parts complete. licenced. feb. 7. 1678/ 9. roger l'estrange london, printed for william cademan, at the sign of the popes head in the new exchange in the strand, 1679. the penitent hermit. or the fruits of jealousy. the first part. i shall always be joyful to obey your commands, madam, but have a double obligation at present, to perform your last, wherein you desire, that i should give you an exact information of all that concerns the hermit of t. because i am confident that the relation of it will afford you some short divertisement. i should only wish, madam, that the manner of writing might not lessen the beauty of the subject; but instead of politeness and flourish, which are talents not to be found in this country; i dare assure you, that this relation shall want nothing of exactness and sincerity; and hope that the commands you have laid upon me, not to omit any particularity, will incline you to pardon the length of this letter. and i doubt not, but your satisfaction will be so great to see a man of quality, in so corrupt an age as ours, by retirement and pennance, imitate the fervour of the primitive anchorites; that that alone will move you to excuse a great many escapes in the writing. you must know then, madam, that the hermit of t. who, for the space of a year, went by no other name, came to this desert in the could of winter, in the year one thousand six hundred and seventy four, you are not ignorant that this country is exceeding could, and especially the hilly-places, one of these he choose for his retirement, on the top of which there is a spacious grot formed by nature in a rock, which our hermit so ordered, that though a man could not commodiously dwell in it, yet he might live there secure from the danger of wild beasts. so soon as the people of the neighbouring villages understood that there lived a man in that desert, they were much surprised: but their surprise turned to admiration, when they observed all the actions of the hermit, seeing him led a life more like an angel than a mortal man; his apparel was very mean, and used no other food but bread and water, buying all his bread, though it was offered him gratis: he made answer still to those that would have bestowed it on him, that it was not his intention to rob the alms that belonged to those who were really poor. he never came out of his grot, but to go to the next church, and behaved himself in that holy place with wonderful reverence and devotion, the rest of the days he spent in reading, prayer, or at work, in a little garden, which he had made over his grot. the rumour of this so extraordinary a thing, was quickly spread abroad over all the province; so that many persons of quality came to see the hermit. he on the other hand with much civility told them that he preferred his sollitude, to all the honours that they were willing to render him, and that if he had had a purpose to have continued still in the hurry of the world, he would not have betaken himself to such a retirement: yet it was easy to be perceived, notwithstanding of his natural sweetness of disposition, that his mind lay under some violent discontent. amongst so many, whom curosity invited to the hermits grot, some there were who thought fit to censure that way of living; which how pure and blameless so ever, yet seemed to them unreasonable upon no other account, but because it was not in fashion: they discoursed to him on that matter; and he received the advice with a self denied humility, thinking it enough to answer those, who took the pains to counsel him, that he besought them to examine all his actions, and to reprove him when he did amiss, that he was ready to take in good part what ever correction might be given him; but that for his manner of life, there was nothing faulty in it; and that he had not followed that course without consulting those who had greater knowledge than himself: that modest answer; for some time stopped the mouths of those that spoken to him on that subject: but seeing the humour of such as make it their business to examine the actions of other men, give not over easily, they thought fit to urge the hermit to declare his true name. he received that attack with the same tranquillity as the former; thinking it sufficient to answer, that it had been always his opinion, that it was lawful for all men, to endeavour to procure their own happiness; and seeing the greatest good, that is to be attained, was salvation, he thought he might be suffered to work it out, without the trouble of unnecessary avocations. he told them again, that they should make it their business to reprove him, when he was guilty of any thing blame worthy; but that his name and quality ought to be a thing indifferent to all men. matters were in this state, when monsieur de m. whose merit and quality you know, came to terrasson: you are not ignorant, madam, that he hath generously forsaken the world, that he may with more freedom mind his own salvation; but was obliged for the better ordering of his domestic affairs to to come into this place. he was no sooner come hither, but that he was informed of the wonderful life, which the hermit led; and though the report made him very desirous to be known to him, yet he would not go to visit him, until he had first sent to ask his leave; our hermit, whom the deserts had not rendered haggard, made him such an answer as might be expected from a most accomplished person; which obliged monsieur de m. to wait upon him that very day; who, after an hours conversation, confessed that he had never met with a man of greater devotion and wit: on this occasion the hermit did that which he had never done before since his retirement, he repaid the visit which he had received; and all the discourse which he had then with monsieur de m. as well as the first time ran upon the contempt of the world, on the difficulty of working out our salvation therein, and how the things which appear to us most innocent, may become criminal, by the way that men apply themselves to them: the hermit spake of that with so much fervency, that it was easy to be perceived that he was convinced of the truth of what he said: and having exhorted his friend to confirm himself in the contempt which he testified of the world; they mutually before parting promised a constant and sincere friendship: it was no hard matter to unite two hearts, which were wholly devoted to the service of god, and had no other aim but the thoughts of salvation; and seeing charity is one of those works which are most acceptable to god, monsieur de m. caused a bed and some other things to be carried to the hermits grot to render his abode there somewhat more commodious during the rigour of the winter, which was so sharp in that rock, that a man, who continued constantly there, was in danger of contracting some mortal distemper: the hermit made great difficulty to accept the present; and seemed more addicted to his own thoughts than to all the reasons that were alleged: to bring him to a consent, but after a profound musing, well then! good god, said he, it is just that i should preserve my miserable life, seeing how wretched so ever it be; i am to be accountable for it to— at these words he stopped, excusing himself to those before whom he spake them: and stood so close to his guard for the future, that when he was obliged to admit of visits, it was easily perceived, that he strictly observed himself in his discourse. when monsieur de m. had put an end to the affairs that brought him into this country, he went and took leave of his friend, offering him in his absence all the services which he might desire of him, in a place where he had absolute power: though he accepted none of his offers, yet he testified as much gratitude for them, as if he had intended to have used them: at that time i was at terrasson, and prayed monsieur de m. to bring me to a sight of that hermit: he made some difficulty to do it, because the onely favour that he had begged from him at parting, was, that he would hinder him as much as he could from being burdened by needless visits: yet he was willing to condescend to my entreaty, and caused me to be conducted to the hermits grot, who received me with his 〈…〉 al civility; and seeing i put no indiscreet question to him, and stayed but half an hour, i gave him less trouble than most part of those that went to see him, and i was told that he appeared less disturbed at my visit than he used to be; for my own part, madam, i was so affencted with what i discovered in that man, that i could not forbear to give you some account of it, and since the letter, which i had the honour at that time to writ to you, there hath happened the strangest adventure that ever was. on easter day in the year one thousand six hundred and seventy six, came to terrasson an equipage consisting of two litters, three men on horse back, and some footmen in livery; in one of the litters was a lady, who seemed to be about five and thirty years of age, and notwithstanding the paleness and melancholy of her looks, gave sufficient evidence, that she had been a most lovely person; she had with her a young maid about twelve or thirteen years old of surprising beauty, in the other litter were some serving maids, and all alighted at an inn; so soon as they arrived, she, who seemed to be the mistress of the company, sent to entreat the curate of terrasson to come to her. she discoursed with him an hour in private, and shed many tears during the conversation; and when the curate took leave of her, she prayed him to come to her again next morning by six of the clock: the night she spent in disquieting thoughts, and so soon as it was day, took her litter, and accompanied only with that fair young lady, and a man on horseback, she sent to give the curate notice; and all together went streight to the grot, the hermit was still about his morning prayers, when they knocked at the door of his cell; he opened it, and came out to meet those who were come to see him; but his surprise was great when at the first step he made out of his rock he saw these two ladies fall upon his neck, and melting in tears embrace him that action so unexpected, made him retire two steps backward, and look about him more attentively: but nothing can approach his amazement, when he discovered that these two were the persons in the world whom he most tenderly loved; that sight put him in so great disorder that he wanted strength to stand; so that freeing himself from the embraces of those two afflicted beauties, he went and fell on his knees hard by the door of his cell; where lifting his eyes and hands to heaven: o god! cried he, strengthen me, and let me not succumb in a conflict wherein i engage onely for thy glory, or to say better, give me power to complete a pennance which bears but little or no proportion to the greatness of my crimes: having said so he held his peace; and found himself in so great an agitation of mind that he had almost fainted away; that accident, which on any other occasion would have afflicted those two ladies, wrought in them a secret joy, seeing it was a sign that he, of whom they had come in search with so much care, was not a little moved in seeing of them. they were solicitous in assisting that dear patient, who, being a little come to himself again, beholded the lady that was by him with a countenance showing some marks of shane and confusion. is it possible, madam, said he to her; that you have still so much kindness for me, after the crimes i have committed, as to incline you to expose yourself to the fatigues of a tedious journey, in the search of a wretch; or ought not i to fear, that having so just a cause of anger, you come to heap upon me reproaches, which how bitter so ever, cannot but be just. the lady, to whom he addressed these words, by her actions gave evidence, that neither anger nor resentment had given any occasion to her journey. she cast her self at the feet of the hermit, telling him that she was criminal, and that her imprudence had been the cause of all their misfortunes, that she sought after him to implore his pardon, and that she would never leave him, till she had obtained it. the man, who waited on the lady, and appeared a person of discretion, knowing that their conversation ought not to be public, prayed the company present, to withdraw a little, and to give liberty to those, who had more to discourse of together, than was convenient to be said before witnesses. the conversation of the hermit and lady lasted above five hours, and she had never been willing to have broken it up so soon, if she had not feared, that the young lady, who came with her, and who was her daughter, might be incommoded by fasting so long. when they took their leave of the hermit, he promised to do all that lay in his power to give them the satisfaction which they desired; but that he would be glad to have the rest of the day, and the whole night to resolve in: and they knowing his humour, durst not urge him further. he earnestly entreated them to go and take their repose, thinking that they needed it. and therefore they returned, praying heaven to favour their journey with a happy success. but the time of their crosses was not as yet at a period, and their patience was still to be exposed to more severe trials, as you shall see in the sequel of my discourse. the two ladies spent that night as the former in trouble and anxiety; and so soon as it was day returned again to the hermitage; they found the door shut, and durst not knock at first; but having waited there a pretty while, they made a little noise, that they might engage him, whom they thought to be within, to answer; that likewise having no effect; the young lady grew impatient; and going to the door, as she stooped to look in, she saw a paper lying at her foot, wherein were these words written with charcoal; if the constraint, that i put upon myself in forsaking you, were known to yourself, i am persuaded you would pity me; i have never had the power to tell you, that the pennance i have enjoined myself, is not to end before christmas; but seeing i cannot dispose of myself without your consent, i am going to entreat a person of great merit, to take the pains to learn your sentiments. i know you are so good, that i dare hope you will not deny me the time, that i praefix; when that is over, i swear by all that is sacred, that i shall come to you, and spend the rest of my dayes in your company. i need not, i think, recommend to you the care of our children, seeing one, who has never failed in the smallest duty of friendship, will not be wanting in the greatest: the onely thing, which i most earnestly recommend to you, is that you would have a care of your health, which is a thousand times dearer to me, than my life. i shall not tell you, madam, how great affliction these two lovely persons felt, at the reading of that letter; you may guess at their sorrow by the pains they took to find the hermit; which wrought so upon them, that they were carried back to their lodgings rather dead than alive. whilst they were abandoning themselves to grief, he that was the cause of it, took the way to a house of mine, about three leagues from terrasson. i was not a little surprised, when one of my servants came and told me, that the hermit desired to speak with me in private. having ordered him to be let into a garden where i was, i came and received him, testifying to him my gratitude for the honour he was pleased to do me; but he suffered me not to conclude what i intended to say. when you have well known me, madam, said he, you will not retain for me the esteem wherewith you seem to honour me; i come hither to implore your assistance, on a very important occasion, seeing the interest of what is dearest to me in this world is therein concerned: know then, madam, that that hermit, whom you have taken to be a man of exemplary piety, is a malefactor, come hither to seek a refuge, and bewail his sins in a country remote from the place where he hath committed them; i was born in provence, of a considerable family; yea, and i might say, that i might have enjoyed all happiness, had not jealousy set me upon actions, which can admit of no excuse. i have a wife, who by an extraordinary goodness, so far from entertaining any grudge or resentment against me, has exposed herself to the fatigues of a long and tedious journey to come in search of me; she is at present at terrasson, and, i believe, in extreme sorrow; for having yesterday put her in hopes, that i might return home with her, and having begged of her to give me some time to bring myself to a final determination, as to what i should do; i have, after more mature consideration, thought myself obliged to fulfil a vow which i have made, and which does not expire till christmas. this morning, before i came hither, i left a letter, to acquaint her with my resolution, and have even taken the boldness, madam, to tell her, that i was going to pray a person of exceeding great merit, to allow her protection in this country, and to inform her more at length of my thoughts, which are, that if my entreaties cannot prevail upon her, you would be so good to let me know it, at the place where i shall tarry until you be pleased to sand me news. tho the discourse which i have told you was pretty long, yet i had not the least thought of interrupting him. i was so surprised at what i heard, that i had no other thoughts but to learn a clear information of an adventure, which seemed to me very extraordinary; but when it behoved me to answer, i told the hermit, that he was not mistaken, when he thought that i would be joyful to render him all kind of services; and i did what i could to incline him to give me a particular account of what he had onely told me in general: but i perceived that he desired not to engage on that subject. all that i could learn of him was, that he was descended of that illustrious family of belges, so famous in provence, and that he was the count of freslon. after our discourse i desired him to walk in into the house, but he excused himself; so that i perceived it would have been indiscretion in me to press him any more. in all his discourse he expressed to me a great tenderness for his lady; and therefore so soon as he was gone, i made ready to go to terrasson: when i came there, i was conducted to the lodgings of the countess of freslon, and sent to know if i might wait upon her: she thought at first, that curiosity had moved me to make that little journey, but she was not a little surprised, when i sent her word by one of her men, that i had matters of importance to impart to her. she presently thought, by reason of the letter, which her husband had left, that it must be somewhat concerning him. she sent mademoiselle, her daughter, to meet me, who prayed me to come up into her chamber. i found her in bed under such grief and affliction, as might have moved the hardest heart to pity. i shall not trouble you, madam, with a relation of all that might be said in such a case. i exhorted her, with all the rhetoric i had, to take patience. i shall not excuse, madam, said she, melting in tears, the weakness which you observe in me. there are some occasions, wherein steadfastness comes near to barbarity; and to let you know, that no person ever had so great cause of affliction, i shall not stick to tell you all that hath befallen me, both before and since my marriage. the confidence, that monsieur de freslon hath reposed on you, warrants mine, when you shall be pleased to signify to me, that you are at leisure to hear the relation. i assured the countess, that i was so much concerned therein, that i should be always extremely satisfied to be informed of her affairs; but that i thought it, before all other things necessary, that she should leave a place, where she could not but be weary much incommoded. i offered her the use of my house. she thanked me for the favour, but, i believe, would not have accepted it, if i had not told her, to make her consent, that perhaps her husband might let me hear from him again. this last reason prevailed more with her than all the rest. i resolved not to leave her, but to have her with me. she left all her equipage in the place where she was; and having come into my coach, with the young lady her daughter, and two maids to attend them, they came with me to my house. by the discourse which we had together, i found, that that provencial countess was very wity: and i was not willing that evening, to engage her in the relation of her adventures; for seeing i am not so curious as the heroins of romances, i had rather sup and go to rest, than spend the night in hearing a story. next morning just as i was going to the ladies chamber, i had a letter brought me from the count of freslon, wherein he sent me word, that having well consulted, and reflected on all the reasons, that his lady had urged to him, to oblige him to return home, with those that i had alleged on the same subject, he thought himself unable to deliberate alone on a matter of that importance, and that he was going to advice with some of eminent knowledge and piety, that he might from them take his measures, as to what he ought to do, and that he would let me hear from him as speedily as he could. this letter i carried to the countess; who was over joyed to find that her husband was not so very steadfast in his resolutions as she had apprehended. so soon as we had dined, i prayed her to keep her promise; and having conducted her into my closet, she, without further ceremony, thus began her discourse. the history of the hermit since the relation that i am to give you, madam, is really true, i suppose, you do not expect to find it so divertising, and stuffed with such extraordinary adventures, as if it were a devised tale. i shall not trouble you with a great many unnecessary things, neither do i promise to be so succinct, as i ought to be, for i am very sensible, that i am often transported with pleasure, when i fall into the discourse of a husband, who is so dear to me. i need not tell you his birth, since he hath discovered to you his name; you know that his extraction is illustrious, seeing he springs from a house, which hath given many counts to provence. he is not the eldest of the family, he had two brothers and several sisters; he was designed to be a knight of maltha, and having been admitted at the same time with one of his brothers seven or eight years older than he; the elder of these two knights carried the name of freslon, and the younger that of the family, being of a very sweet and mildred disposition, and fit for study, his father changed the resolution, that he had taken of sending him to be a page. to the great master, and designed him for his studies until he grew strong enough to be able to perform his caravans. he was sent to arles, and boarded in a citizens house, there he applied himself to all that he was set about with such success as surpassed the expectation of his masters the man with whom he boarded, had a daughter much about the age of the chevalier de belges. she was pretty enough, though her features were no way regular, but a fine skin, white teeth, and lovely hair, rendered her very agreeable: it may be said, that her wit was greater than has ever been known of any of her age. it had been good for her, that she had had less of that, and more of reservedness and discretion. never was maid more adventurous, nor of quicker apprehension. she learned italian and latin by observing the lessons that were given to the chevalier, with whom she was frequently in company. but whilst she was busied in learning strange languages, master cupid gave himself the pains to teach her how to love. felicia( for so she was called) found the boarder so fully to her mind, that she could not forbear to love him. for his part, tho he had no great inclination for her at first, yet he took delight in her company, and( if i may say so) fell at length insensibly in love with her. you know, madam, that the passions of people of that age are not usually violent; and therefore i shall not trouble you with a particular relation of all that passed between them, for the space of three or four years; i must only tell you, that as felicia grew in age, her flamme increased; and there happened at that time an adventure, which served much to augment it. you are not ignorant, that all provence over, people are much addicted to horoscopes; which makes a great many give out, that they are skilful in a science, wherein few have ever understood any thing. there arrived at arles a man of much reputation for the mathematics; and was especially reckoned a great astrologer. seeing he was not to stay long there, all people were eager to see him. many young students of quality went to wait on him; and some dayes before he was to leave the place, he repaid the visits which he had received. the chevalier de belges was in a garden with five or six of his comrades, the day that the astrologer came to visit him: and the master of the house, who was in discourse with another man of age and learning, drew near to the young gentlemen, that he might assist them in receiving he visit of that able mathematician. his conversation was at first about very indifferent matters; but seeing men of learning turn always their discourse to high, and sublime things, after several others they fell at length to talk of astrology. the old-man, who was with felicia's father, and who tampered a little with the stars, obstinately maintained the infallibility of that science. but the stranger, who was far more skilful than he, said, that there needed so many circumstances to ground a solid judgement on matters, which could not be known but by conjecture, that he was persuaded no body should apply himself to it. he spake afterwards in so modest and reserved terms, that it was easy to be perceived, that he had no great desire to make known his skill, though the company begged it of him, and put to him several questions. sometime after the company departed, came a woman to inquire for the chevalier. felicia, who always carefully observed all that concerned her lover, endeavoured to discover what the woman had to say to him: but her curiosity was changed into perplexity, when she found, that they discoursed in private: she had a mind to ask an account of the matter, and her quick and mistrustful imagination made her spend some very bad hours, tho in reality she had no ground for it: for that woman, who lived with her in whose house the stranger lodged, came to tell the chevalier in his name, that if he was very curious to know any thing of his fortunes, he offered him that satisfaction, on condition it might be done with secrecy, so that he might not be importuned with a great many, whom he had neither time, nor a mind to satisfy. the chevalier joyfully accepted the offer, and agreed, that next morning he should come down into a summer-house of a garden of the same house; which had a door, that opened into a little lane. the chevalier took the key, felicia perceived it, and that so increased her jealousies, that she spent the whole night at the window, that she might see when the chevalier went out. no sooner began the day to break, but she perceived him in the court undressed. down she came; and having followed him at a distance, and without noise, she hide her self near the window of the summer-house, amongst some bushes of jesamin, and so placed her self that she might see without being seen. her joy and surprise was very great, when she perceived, that instead of what she suspected, all these intrigues were only managed for obtaining an opportunity to speak with the old astrologer: she resolved to pursue her curiosity to a point, and having drawn a little nearer, because she could not hear where she was, she over heard these words. if the goods of fortune can render you happy, you may have ground to be satisfied, seeing you are certainly to enjoy a large share of them: but if that blind goddess be favourable to you, cupid in revenge will work you much mischief, or to say better, you will occasion to yourself a great deal, by giving way to violent extremities. there is indeed such a confusion in that matter, that i cannot unriddle it; all that i can know of certainty, is that you shall mary one whose fortune shall wholly depend on you. you shall meet with great crosses both before and after you marriage, and your greatest misfortune shall come from a woman with whom you shall be in love; and she likewise most passionately with you, besides i find that you are to have for some time a misunderstanding with her who shall be dearest to you: but she at length will give you proofs of so tender affection, and shall undertake so much on your account, that you shall be again reconciled in a time when it shall be least expected by both, the greatest puzzle i meet with, is to perceive that you shall fall into a fearful jealousy, and to find that at the same time, she who shall resign her self to you, shall never admit of my rival in your love. i see no across in all your life that shall be caused to you by men; yet i cannot forbear to tell you, that i have never met with any thing more obscure and confused than what i observe in your fortune: for you have a signature that might make one judge assuredly, that you are to be of a religious order, and nevertheless it is certain you shall be married, i can tell you no more; and i doubt not, but you will think all that i have told you extravagant. i am not surprised at it, for, i confess, i understand it not myself, and i find so great contradictions in the accidents of your life, that i lose myself when i dive into them. having said so he held his peace, and left the two persons before whom he had spoken very little satisfied with his art, having not so much as found one word of sense in all his discourse. he for whom it was made thanked him very civilly for the pains he had taken, and excused the obscurity of his words by the uncertainty of future events, it being the will of god that we should not be able to penerate into his secrets, nor to know his methods with us in this world. i doubt not, madam, but you will think, that i have spent much time in relating to you a very trivial matter; but it will not seem so to you, when you have understood the sequel of this discourse. i must tell you then that felicia being in an alley, which butted on the arbour of orange trees, heard all that was told her lover. she presently applied all to her self, believing that she was the person whose fortune he was to make by marriage. nor did she doubt but that the execution of that design would meet with a great many crosses; but that seemed no difficulty to her: for it was her humour not to love a good fortune, if it did not cost her cares, trouble, and intrigues. at night, when she saw the chevalier again, she hinted to him that she knew somewhat of that which had been told him in the garden. i know not, said she to him, if i ought to congratulate with you for the blessings which fortune promises you, or bewail the crosses which you are to meet with in those very affairs wherein, in my opinion, the heart is extremely sensible: but however it be do me but in the least justice, and you shall have no cause to doubt of my sentiments in every thing that concerns you. i give so little faith to all that is called horoscope, answered the chevalier, and besides there is so little reason in that which has been told me to day, that i have not in the least minded it. but, continued he with an air that spake more gallantry than passion, if any thing can make me give faith to what has been told me, it is that i find already in my heart that violent flamme which is to set me on the performance of so many things; and i suppose you already guess at all the pains that i shall thereby suffer hereafter. some that came into the chamber where felicia was, interrupted this conversation; and that did not a little vex her: for she impatiently longed to make the chevalier explain himself, as to the share which she hoped to have in his fortune. shortly after this, madam, there befell the chevalier a very considerable misfortune; i mean the death of my lady his mother. she was a lady of great worth, and cherished her children with all imaginable care and affection. the young gentleman was sensibly affencted with his loss, and it was not long before he felt the greatness of it by a sad experience. for his father, by too common a piece of injustice cast his eyes and care upon his eldest son onely; and even believed, that he wronged him, if he divided his kindness amongst his other children. as he was a man, who was altogether taken up with his pleasures, so he never meddled with his domestic affairs, his lady had always discharged that care. his children therefore found experimentally the loss they had sustained; for by degrees their father omitted to sand them what was necessary, at first he neglected only the expenses that were allowed for their curiosities and pleasures: but by piece and piece began to forget to sand supplies to their necessities. the chevalier belges, who who was of a liberal and generous disposition, suffered that tour with very great impatience; and fell thereby into a fit of melancholy, that wholly altered his humour. felicia was one of the first, that took notice of it, whether it was by the frequent conversation they had together, or by the concern, that she took to her self in the matter. on this occasion she fell into the thoughts, which are but too common to the most part of those who would vie in love. i mean, to desire that our friends might meet with some across, provided it may furnish us with opportunities to render them considerable services. felicia having gone to the chevalier, tenderly upbraided him for concealing the cause of his vexation. the chevalier excused himself with some silly reasons, and at length told felicia, that it would be a bad acknowledgement of the obliging interest, which she had in him, to burden her with a troublesone confidence. i should have hoped, said felicia, that i might not have stood in need of so much sagacity, and that you would not have made a mystery of a thing, which i desire not to conjecture, but that i may remedy it to your own satisfaction: i should have been more obliged to you, if you had been free with me, than if you had bestowed upon me a crown; but seeing the matter is otherwise, i shall not trouble you with greater reproaches, only i desire, that you would accept of what i offer, if you would calm this bad humour into which the little confidence you have shewed me on this occasion, hath put me. with these words felicia presented the chevalier with a purse lined with a considerable sum of money, he was very loathe to accept of it, and it cost her many entreaties before she could persuade him to accept of a little, whereof she knew his need was indispensible. i know not, said she, what reason you have to be so ceremonious with me: but if it be true, as your words, and above all my heart persuades me, that i am one day to be so sensibly obliged to you, deprive me not of the pleasure of showing you some small acknowledgement in advance, and believe, that all that i have hitherto done, and all that for the future i can do, is to procure myself a happiness, which i desire more than my life: you doubt not, i suppose, added she, of the tender affection, that i bear you; but possibly you have been hitherto ignorant, that i am the most ambitious maid in the world; for to be short, your quality alone without your merit, was enough to dispose me to favour you, and your merit alone without your quality could inspire into me a tender affection; judge then what inclinations i ought to have for one in whom i find all that my heart can desire. the chevalier made answer in terms expressing more of wit and civility than passion. but they, who are truly in love, have not always such discerning eyes as to perceive, whether they be beloved or not; and tho that be the most important concern of life, yet we are pleased to be beguiled by those whom we love; and our reason is always the fop of our heart, tho we would persuade ourselves, that it is the mistress. when the chevalier was alone by himself, he reflected seriously on all the proceedings of felicia. the hope that she had testified to him of being one day his wife, lessened in his mind much of the value of what she did for him. he thought not himself obliged to have so great an esteem for that which flowed from a principle of interest, as for that which springs from a source of generosity and affection. from that time he endeavoured dexterously to insinuate to the maid, that the inclination, that he had for her, would never led him so far as she believed. he had not so much time as he expected, to succeed in that design; for some few dayes after that conversation, whereof i have been speaking, he had news that his elder brother was killed in the army, and that his father was so sensibly touched with the loss, that his life was in danger. this advice obliged him to make ready to go see him. felicia used all her endeavours to divert him from a journey, which put her in extreme affliction: but notwithstanding of all her discontents, she felt some secret joy, when she considered that the predictions made to the chevalier began to be fulfilled. you are not ignorant, madam, that in such conjunctures as the chevalier was in at that time, there is need of money for a great many things. felicia offered him some with the same earnestness as at first. he accepted so little of it, that she well perceived so final a sum could not do his business: she went therefore to a banker, who had a correspondance at maltha; and having delivered him four hundred pistols, prayed him to go to the chevalier de belges, and tell him that he had received orders from the chevalier de freslon his brother, who was at maltha, to pay him in that money: the banker punctually performed what he was desired to do; but the chevalier being much surprised to receive such assistance from his brother, not only because he had received no letters from him, but also because he believed him short of money as well as himself; presently told the banker that he was mistaken; but the man having assured him of the contrary, told him to remove all his scruples, that he had intelligence from maltha, that four knights of provence, had taken a great prise at sea, and that in all appearance his brother was one of them. at length he suffered himself to be persuaded to do a thing wherein a great many would have made no difficulty. felicia, before his departure, omitted nothing to increase a passion on which she grounded the happiness of her life. she used all her skill to draw from the chevalier some positive promise which might oblige him; but he dexterously avoided all occasions of long conversation with her. his honesty and civility made him loathe to deceive a maid that loved him. i shall not trouble you with a relation of the farewells that passed between felicia and her pretended lover. they were civil and discreet on the chevalier's part, but full of transports and passion on the lady's: a thousand times she assured him that her love should last as long as her life, and that nothing would be too hard for her to preserve the right which she thought she had to his heart. the chevalier promised never to forget the obligations which he had to her, that he would give her testimonies of a constant and perpetual gratitude, and that he would ever love her. he spake to her even more passionately than he had ever done before; for he was of a tender and sweet disposition; and left a young lady with whom he had conversed for the space of four years, for whom he had entertained a kindness, and in whom he had inspired a passionate love. the chevalier de belges upon his coming home, found his father in a great affliction as he had imagined; and though the death of his elder brother might have given him hopes that his father would have greater respect for him, and that his kindness, not being limited to one single object, would spread itself on all the family; yet all these reflections wrought no effect on the chevaliers heart, he lamented the loss of his brother, and expressed as much grief as his father, like one that had really a good nature, and tender disposition. after he came home, he was at first taken up in receiving all the consolatory visits that were rendered to his father; but so soon as he had disengaged himself from matters of that nature, which are in use, the very troublesone to those who are in sorrow: the first spare time he had, he employed in visiting his eldest sister, who was married about twelve or fifteen leagues off in the principality of orange towards avignon. i cannot tell if i gave you an account in the beginning of the state of the family of the count of freslon. i think, i told you but barely, that he had three sons, and several daughters, the eldest of which was married to the marquis of rochevile, considerable both for quality and fortune. he died some years ago, and left his lady a widow with six or seven children. i was one of that number, madam; and that you may understand the rest of the discourse, i must tell you, that the marquis of rochevile, my father, who, as i have already hinted to you, had his lands near to avignon, went frequently to that pleasant city, where he saw a young lady of quality, who was put into a monastery by her parents, that she might be a nun. he fell in love with her, and after many adventures, which i shall not trouble you with, he married her in spite of all his kindred, who, considering only the advantages of fortune, disliked a marriage wherein there was no inequality but that to be found. the ladies parents thinking themselves affronted by the impediments that was objected to the marriage, believed their honour concerned not to consent to it, so that the business was done in spite of all. an affair attended with so many crosses, could not be completely happy; and if i may so say, my fathers happiness lasted but a moment; for within a year after the marriage, the marchioness died in childbed of me. she recommended me to her husband by all that was dear to him, and above all things prayed him never to force me to be a nun. she had had sad experience of the rigour of parents upon that account, and told her husband that she would die in despair, it she thought that she left me exposed to the troubles which she had suffered on that occasion; my father promised all that she desired of him, and it may be said his promise was sincere, since time never bloted out of his mind the assurances that he gave her, and that he punctually executed all that she desired at her death. when time, which is the infallible cure of greatest sorrows, had mitigated my fathers grief, his parents obliged him to mary again, and cast their eyes on mademoiselle of freslon. they saw in her all that was to be desired, whether it was for birth, beauty, or even for fortune. for though she was of a family wherein were many children, yet her grand-father by the mother, settled a considerable portion on her before the marriage was concluded. my father acquainted mademoiselle of freslon that the most sensible mark of love that he could require of her, was to have a great kindness for me, and that amongst all the qualities that rendered her desirable, that which made him most earnestly court her for a wife, was the sweetness of her disposition; because he thought, that since he must give me a mother-in-law, he could not choose any who would use me so kindly as she. he was not out in his conjecture; for so soon as the marriage was cellebrated, i received from her all the marks of kindness, that i could have desired of a mother. my father, after he had lived with her nine or ten years, died of a fever. he left to his lady, whose prudence and virtue he sufficiently knew, the disposal of all his estate, and recommended nothing to her so much on his death-bed, as that she would continue her goodness to me. it was about two years after that great loss, that the chevalier de belges came into that country. his sister had always entertained greater kindness for him than for the rest of her brothers; and amongst other reasons that obliged her to that, the strongest seemed to be drawn from the wonderful resemblance that was between them. it was so great, that except the difference of clothes and age, it was hard to distinguish them; my mother-in-law being near forty years of age, and the chevalier not above twenty, after the death of the countess of freslon their mother, one of the sisters the youngest of the family, was sent to live with her sister. she was a lady of an ordinary beauty, and of a crafty and artificious temper, her father could never oblige her to stay in a monastery: for when she was placed into any, she played so many tricks to all the nuns, that they were forced to beseech her parents to remove her with diligence. when her sister received her into her house, she told her plainly, that she would have her to live quietly, and let others alone; and she promised to do what she was enjoined. i am afraid, madam, i have been tedious, by a long digression, which i was obliged to make to inform you of the particulars of a family, which by the sequel of the discourse you will find were absolutely necessary to be known. i shall return then to my subject, and tell you, that i never saw my mother-in-law enjoy a moment's content since her widow-hood, but at that time when she saw her brother. he seemed to me very handsome, and, i think, you will easily believe it, since that in the sad condition wherein you have seen him, he retains still a good enough mien to show that he must have been a most complete person. at his first visit i received of him a thousand testimonies of civility, which i attributed only to the complaisance that he had for my mother-in-law; and in that thought i was far more solicitous to pay him the honours of the house, than to all others that were wont to come thither. my lady rocheville perceived it, and told me one day in raillery, that she desired for my sake, that she might be frequently visited by those for whom i might believe she had a singular respect, because she hoped it might make me lose somewhat of that wild humour, which she so often reproached me with. seeing it as been always my thought, madam, that none can discourse handsomely when they speak of themselves, i have hitherto shunned to tell you any thing of my person. but for two reasons i find myself now obliged not to be so peremptory in the resolution that i had taken as to that, the first is, that having no more the qualities for which i have been heretofore praised, i cannot now be proud of them; and secondly, that the beauty, which some pretend i then had, may excuse the violent passion that my husband had for me. i must tell you then, madam, that my beauty was naturally regular, i had a good voice, and played indifferently well on the guitar; my temper inclined more to meloncholy than mirth: and all that were not thoroughly acquainted with me, imputed to vanity and pride, what was only the effect of a timorous and reserved disposition. i confess, notwithstanding that i am a little vain; i cordially love all that, i think, i ought to love, and never undervalue myself when the interest of my friends is concerned. i was naturally so mildred and timorous, that they, who had the charge of me, never found occasion to give me long rebukes; for i appeared to them so much affencted at the least thing they told me, that there was no need of great discourses to make me amend. you have, madam, in a few words my character, when i first saw the chevalier. he stayed with us fifteen dayes at his first visit, and during all that time he let no occasion slip to let me know, that the complaisance, which he had for his sister, was not the only ground that obliged him to have the same for me. the sad condition i am in, madam, hinders me from relating to you a thousand particulars, which with pleasure i should recount to you at another time; i shall only tell you, that i thought the chevalier had some inclination for me; and i likewise perceived that i was not indifferent at his departure, and that if he rendered me all the services that i desired, he would not find me insensible. he omitted nothing that might please me when he took leave of his sister. he told her he had received a letter which obliged him to go to avignon, and that he would use his endeavours that he might have time to see her inpassing upon his return. he kepthis word and come back four days after, he seemed more addicted to me then than at the first time, and though he had resolved to spend but one night at rocheville, yet he stayed two dayes complete: his sisters attributed that stay to his good nature, and it was not his fault if i did not impute it to another cause. he assured me at parting, that if his sister judged of his love by the care he should take to sand and come himself to learn news of us, she should have all reason to be satisfied with him. i made him no answer to these words, for i was not willing to enter into a discourse which i understood but too well. alas! madam, love is a great master, i was young, had no experience; yet i well perceived that the chevalier's words were sincere; and at the same time felt in myself some sentiments in his favour, which i had never had for man. i saw so little appearance that the engagement we might have together could come to any happy success, that i thought it would be imprudence to let such sentiments increase in my heart as could not but create me trouble. i urged to myself on that head all that a most experienced person might have alleged to me, and thought by the resolutions which i took, that i had said enough to myself to stifle a passion which was not as yet fully grown. i began to think myself past all danger, when the chevalier came back to rocheville. i was a little vexed when i perceived in myself the alteration that the fight of him wrought in me. yet i put so much force on myself as to hinder it from being discovered, but i can not declare to you the surprise. i was in, when i found that the chevalier spake much less to me than he was wont, and carried himself towards me in a way quiter different from what he had formerly done. the sense that i had of that procedure, convinced me that my heart was not so free as i had believed. one evening as i was fetching a walk alone, mademoiselle of freslon came to me, sister, said she, for so we called one another, i have just now had the greatest pleasure imaginable in discoursing of you two hours complete, with one who hath asked me a thousand questions concerning you, for no other end but that he might have the pleasure to make me speak many things to your advantage: i prayed her to explain her meaning. she told me that her brother had discoursed to her all the morning of me, and had not omitted to question her about all that concerned me, and particularly about my humour. i was a little surprised at that discouse, but was not ill pleased to find thereby that he concerned himself more in me than i believed. seeing i put no great confidence in the person that spake to me, i told her that i thought there was not much seriousness in what she acquainted me with, and imputed only to curiosity the questions that had been put to her on my account. we were still upon that subject, when our conversation was interrupted by the visit of some ladies of the neighbour-hood, to whom we were obliged to pay the civilities of the house: we conducted them in, and having left them in a room, i pretended some business in my chamber, that i might there muse with ease on all that had been told me: but i had not much time for reflection; for i was hardly got into my chamber when the chevalier came in. he seemed to me more melancholic than he used to be; and as he entered he begged me pardon for interruping some business, which might undoubtedly be more agreeable to me than the trouble of entertaining him, but protesting he could no longer resist a desire that he had to speak to me in private. seeing you can have no business with me, said i to him smiling, which requires a long audience, i believe you may tell me all you have to say in the time that we are going to the rest of the company, saying so, i gave him my hand that we might go out of my chamber, and made appear by my countenance that i would not take it well, if he should be obstinate to remain there. he went instantly forth, and we went together strait to the place where we left all the company; but found them not there; for these ladies were gone to walk in a grove of orange trees. you see, madam iselle, said the chevalier, that heaven favour my desires, since it affords me an occasion of speaking to you in private; you will suffer me, i hope, to make use of it, and to beg of you two favours; the one is, that you would fully believe all that i shall say to you, and the other, that you would answer me frankly. i shall find no difficulty, said i to grant the half of what you desire, since i never failed in sincerity to any body. but i cannot conceive continued i, looking seriously on him, what can be the intent of your discourse; but this i know, that you will much oblige me to reflect on the person to whom you speak. he assured me that he had rather die, than in the least deviate from the respect that he owed me, and that the sentiment which he had for me, though made up of affection yet contained nothing that might give distaste; and for a proof of that, assured me, that he durst never have discovered the love he had for me, if he had not had good ground to hope, that he might bring matters so about as that he needed not doubt of his happiness, if i would but consent to it. i know, madam, added he, that i might employ a thousand more tender and passionate expressions to open my heart to you, but i am better conconvinced, that the wittiest discourses are not always the truest, and that the surest mark of love, that can be given to a lady, is to desire to be joined with her in such bonds as nothing can break. tell me your mind, i adjure you, and let me know if you have any repugnance to receive the offer which i make you. i will owe your heart to none but yourself; and am sensible that i have done nothing as yet that may deserve it, but when i have learned from your fair mouth, that you have no aversion to me, there is nothing which i will not do to obtain▪ somewhat more advantageous. the chevalier said no more, and having kept silence for some time, that he might give me leisure to answer, and perceiving by my countenance, that i was very much puzzled. speak, madam, said he, speak, but for loves sake, do it with that sincerity you promised. i ask but two words of you; tell me if you find in yourself a disposition one day to love me, or command me never to appear more in your presence; but once more speak: for i know no condition more cruel than to be in a state of uncertainty. i believe you are not surprised, said i to the chevalier at the confusion into which your discourse has put me: the small experience i have in the world, and especially in such matters, makes me that i know not what to answer; but since i must keep my word to you, in speaking sincerely; i must tell you that my thoughts of you have nothing that looks like hatred, and that no vows of mine shall ever make you complain of your fortune: but having declared this truth to you, you will take it in good part, that i represent to you my fortune not to be such as may promise any thing to my inclination. you know that i depend on my lady your sister, and that all the good and tranquillity of my life is at her disposal; in a word you are not ignorant of the condition of our family: and you ought to be less ignorant that i will do nothing without the consent of my friends; and that there is no likelihood they will approve a settlement, that will be so prejudicial to you. all these reasons have obliged me to strive against the inclinations that i felt for you, and to pray you to overcome the passion which you profess to have for me, seeing it can never succeed to the advantage either of yourself or me. you may possibly, added i, accuse me of too much credulity in answering so seriously to what you have proposed: but i have always thought that most part of women, who turn such kind of discourses into raillery, are not displeased to be plied with them still; and for my part, i should be much afraid to hear the like often. i am so overjoyed at the first words you have said to me, answered the chevalier, and and my heart is so filled therewith, that melancholy can find no place there, and that i may let you see my fortune is not so bad as you take it to be; i'll tell you one thing, that none of this country, but myself knows as yet, that is, that my brother the knight of maltha, who is advanced in the order either by time or the services that he hath performed, hath made his vows two or three months before he heard of the death of my elder brother. he hath sent me word, that he is no more in a condition to forsake that profession, and that though it were free to him to do so, yet he would never change it for another. he hath entreated me to choose the fittest time to acquaint my father with that news: and i have resolved to tell him nothing of it until i knew what fortune i might expect from you. i had no time to answer his last words, because we were told that they stayed for us to come to supper, during which; i observed that mademoiselle of freslon endeavoured to red in the countenance of her brother and me what kind of discourse we had had together in our evenings walk: when all the company had withdrawn. i went to my mother-in-law's chamber, and being told by her maids▪ that she was in her closet, i approached to the door, and having made a little noise that she might know that i was there, she bad me come in. having shut the door after me, i know not, madam, said i to her, what you will think of the discourse that i am to tell you, but i know very well i should be altogether unworthy of the kindness wherewith you have honoured me, and of the care you have taken of my education, if i concealed from you any thing that may concern me. i must tell you then madam, that your brother hath spoken to me in such a strain as gives me ground to believe he has some kindness for me: but seeing my judgement is not ripe enough to descant on such matters: i hope you will take it well; madam, that i refer myself to yours. having said so, i told her word for word the whole conversation that her brother and i had had together; and besought her so to order my conduct, that i might do nothing whereat one day she might be dissatisfied, she interrupted me not during the whole time of my discourse; but when i had made an end, embracing me with motherly affection; i praise god, daughter, said she, that all the care i have taken for you, has met with a disposition that hath surpassed all that i could have desired. you have reason to believe that the interest of my brother shall never banish from my heart your concerns; and seeing of all the advantages that are desired in marriage you want nothing but a fortune, and that by a thousand other qualities you supply the defect of that which is not essential to the happiness of life, i think my brother too happy in having you for his wife. you may trust to me as to a mother, who most dearly loves you; you have exceedingly delighted me in speaking to me as you have done; i have already perceived my brothers inclinations towards you, and some there have been who have endeavoured to do you bad offices with me. we had much discourse on this subject, and at length she advised me to try as exactly as i could if her brother spake to me with so much sincerity, as he endeavo●red to persuade me. for to be short, continued she, we are of a sex that ought to guard against the dissimulation of men, and we cannot be too cautions to secure ourselves from that. when i had returned into my chamber, and reflected on all that had been said to me, i made no doubt but that it was mademoiselle of freslon who had sought the occasion to possess her sister with prejudice against me. i had for a long time observed, that she bore me a spite, and that she had sought all ways to do me an injury; but i seemed always ignorant of it, as well because i delighted not in quarrels, as for the respect i had for my lady her sister; and i endeavoured by all kind of solicitude and little offices, to overcome her unjust machinations. now seeing the chevalier was to depart next day; i was sensible that we could not renew our conversation, and the rather because i had resolved to give no occasion to the young lady his sister of entertaining any new suspicions of our intelligence. i made it my business all the day to pay the civilities of the house to these ladies who came to visit us; and seeing i delighted always in music, i prayed the chevalier to give me the lines that were made at avignon, to an air which he had taught me. as he was looking for that, he dropped a paper out of his pocket; his sister took it up, without being perceived by him, and made me a sign that we should go red it together: i told the chevalier that i could not refrain from the curiosity i had of seeing somewhat that his sister intended to show me, but promised to impart it to him, if it was worth his pains. i had not done so, if i had not thought that that lady, who was naturally destrustful had suspected that i was concerned in that letter; so i w●thdrew with her into a window that we might red it; and in it we found these words. where it as easy▪ for me to break th● bonds that detain you where you are, as it was to tear the bill of exchange which i sand you back, you should have no pretext that might hinder you from seeing me again. i am not satisfied with your heart, i find nothing of it in all your letters; they are civil, but they are short, and of a could and perplexed style: and that which gives me a total alarm, is your great exactness in paying of a debt which no body craves you for. think rather of acquitting you self of one for which i am afraid you will become bankrupt, for i am so punctual to my duty in all that i have promised you, that you cannot perform yours, if you be not desperately in love with me. you know me, and on that account i will not take bad money for good coin: i require heart for heart. you are engaged to it; and nothing can excuse you from keeping your word. i sand you some letters from maltha which are addressed to this place for you. the engagement wherein your brother is, hath made me reflect much on your horoscope. alas! what would i not give to see all these predictions fulfilled. farewell, i perceive i am like to say more than i would, and perhaps also more than you desire. when i began to writ this letter, i resolved to quarrel with you for the money you have sent me, but i want strength to do it, i am still the same, or to say better i am a thousand times worse; seeing time and absence, which serve to cure other evils, do only increase mine: adieu, sand me long letters, but never any more bills of exchange. i shall not tell you my thoughts, madam, whilst this letter was a reading; never was heart in so violent an agitation, and i had so little command of myself, that his sister might easily have discovered all that she desired to know, had she but observed me. i did all i could to reassure myself; and told the lady, that if i had thought that that letter had been so dear to her brother, i should have had a special care not to have vexed him by reading it. i only spake these few words, and took some simplo pretext to retire a little in private, that i might recover myself from the trouble that so unexpected an adventure had put me in, so soon as i found myself so composed as to appear, i returned to the company. i found them all busied in playing upon the chevalier for the letter that his sister had red. he justified himself like a man who seemed not much displeased at the discourse; but i engaged as little as i could in all that foolery. so soon as the chevalier could come to speak to me in private; good now, madam, said he condemn me not without a hearing, unless you intend to force me to despair. it will be hard for you to excuse you self in my mind, said i, and i never pardon a gentleman who is cruel, or even indifferent towards a lady, and i so compassionate her that writes to you, that though i know her not, yet i take her part against you, and i could almost do any thing for her satisfaction. i spake these words in such a manner as might give him to understand that i was not well satisfied with what i had seen. once more, madam, said he, i adjure you to give me a minutes hearing; and what prejudice soever you may have conceived against me, i hope, you will be so just as to aclowledge me innocent. deny me not then the favour that i beg, unless you intend to force me to make use of the authority that my sister has over you, that i may obtain a short attention. i was so curious to hear the particulars of an adventure, which put me already into so great perplexity, that it was no hard matter for the chevalier to obtain his desires; especially seeing i had all the convenience that i could wish for, to speak to him, because the rest of the company were fallen to play. he began his discourse with fresh assurances of the affection he had for me. he gave me an exact relation of all that happened to him at arles; and there appeared so much frankness in the assurances he gave me, that he had never entertained more for felicia but a kindness of gratitude, that i could not but be satisfied. he made me also take notice that she complained of him in the letter that was in question. in a word, madam, the reasons of one whom we love, easily persuade and gain credit, and that conversation which with so much peevishness i had begun, ended with reciprocal assurances of an inviolable love: but i considered not, madam, said the countess to me; that the remembrance of a happy time, so possesses my mind, that i am not ware that this relation is too long, and may prove tedious to you. i told her that i should be ravished to spend the whole day in hearing adventures wherein i sensibly concerned myself. having given her that assurance she continued in this manner the rest of the evening. it was impossible for me to entertain a long discourse with the chevalier, he told me only that he would be gone next day without taking leave. he assured me that for ever he would prove constant in his love, and make all the hast he could to return. the end of the first part. the penitent hermit. or the fruits of jealousy. the second part. it is needless for me, madam, to tell you the trouble that the absence of the chevalier caused in me; because by telling you that i loved him sincerely, and that my heart is naturally very soft and tender; i think, i have given you to understand in a few words, that i am not insensible when any thing comes to me from the beloved object. the time in which the chevalier promised to return was not as yet expired, when he came to rocheville: and that exactness of doing more than he had promised filled me with joy; but i was exceedingly surprised to observe a great deal of melancholy and anxiety in his countenance; which increased the impatience that i had of speaking to him in private. he being no less impatient than i, made us quickly find an occasion of entertainment. he informed me, that his father upon his return told him that he designed to mary him to a maid of an extraordinay fortune; that he had done what he could to divert him from that resolution: but that seeing he was a man steadfast in his purposes, he feared to exasperate him, and that he only told him with all imaginable submission and mildness, that besides the natural aversion that he had to marriage, he had no liking to the maid that was proposed to him, who was fearfully ugly: he told me that he was come to find some consolation in my company, and to consult with me on the means to prevent so unexpected a disaster. though i did not expect that a matter of that importance could be concluded so very suddenly, yet i found myself much afflicted at the news, and that which increased my trouble, was a firm resolution that i had taken, never to enter into a family, without the consent and desire of those that were chiefly concerned in it. the example of my mother obliged me to take that resolution, which i declared to the chevalier; and though he would have willingly desired other marks of my kindness, yet i still persisted in that mind, and he continued unchangeable on his part in the resolution he had taken not to listen to any proposition concerning that marriage. he told me, that he had some hopes that when his father should understand that his eldest son had made his vows and was professed, he would allow him some more liberty: but that he was unwilling to discover any such thing to him, least that by so doing he might have created himself some new trouble. he likewise told me that at his departure he had not told his father whither he was going, and that it was thought he was gone to pay some visits elsewhere, and that he could not tarry with us above a day. we spent that whole day in bewailing our across fortune, and in contriving ways to render it more happy. the chevalier discovered himself to the marchioness of rocheville his sister. she answered him like a good and discreet lady, and thought it enough to tell him that she could give no advice in a matter that might displease the count their father; but that she could neither oppose his design, which appeared to her the more reasonable, that she was confident he could never f●n● a wife with whom he could spend his life with so much content and pleasure as with me. we resolved all three together to wait till heaven might be pleased to dispose more favourably the mind of the count of freslon, and that in the mean time we should use all circumspection to hinder him from discovering our love. the chevalier departed next morningly by times, and from that day i began to feel by sad experience the pains of those who are sincerely but unfortunately in love. on a day when my thoughts were taken up in making sad reflections on the success that the business which lay nearest my heart, might have, i was told that my mother-in-law called for me; i went to her closet, and was exceedingly surprised to see her eyes bathed in tears. it is not, said she, showing me a letter, to purchase your thanks for a displeasure that i have just now received, that i have sent for you; but only that i may divide with you all the troubles that we are like to meet with. when she had said so, she red a loud a lette● that the count her father had written to her, wherein he reproached her, for countenancing the foolish passion that his son had for me; he exaggerated the discontent that that wrought in him, and the rage which it put him in against my lady his daughter, in so rough terms, that i was not at all surprised at her affliction. i cannot express how much i was moved for having been the cause of her trouble. i was so sensible thereof, that the very thought of it suspended in my heart all the reflections that i might have made upon my own calamities; i shall not trouble you with a relation of all that we said on this occasion. we concluded, that it must needs have been mademoiselle of freslon who had acquainted her father with the love that her brother had for me, and that which the more confirmed us in that belief, was, that she had testified to my lady her sister, that she was very desirous her brother might mary the lady that was proposed to him, because she hoped thereby that she might have some share of her great portion, which might procure her a speedy marriage. i earnestly entreated my lady, her sister, that she would speak nothing to her of our suspicion, and at the same time besought her to suffer me to go to avignon there to abide for some time with one of my aunts: i was the rather induced to beg that of her, because i hoped that it might justify her to her father, as to the accusations he charged her with on my account, and besides i had a secret design in that journey, which was to put myself into a monastery, and there to continue all my life time, rather than to expose the only persons whom i loved in the world to crosses and misfortunes for my sake. i had special care not to discover my designs; because i was very sure that she to whom i spake, would never have consented to it. i had even much ado to persuade her to let me take that journey, and i may truly say that never was greater love between a mother and daughter-in-law, than was between us. at length i departed on the journey i have been telling you of, and i wanted not pretexts for making it, because all my mothers kindred lived in that city, or in the neighbourhood; yet never was journey made with greater affliction: so soon as i was at liberty, i gave myself wholly up to sorrow; which was the greater because i had laid violent constraints on myself to conceal it before my departure. i have been so loathe, madam, to tell you things unnecessary, that i have forbore to mention many particulars which might have been necessary to the sequel of my discourse, i must tell you then that the love i had for my mother-in-law, having hindered me to go to my mothers relations, what entreaties so ever they had made to me after my fathers death, exceedingly vexed them; and especially one of my uncles, who had always professed a great kindness for me. i made the pretext of my journey to be a visit to his lady, whom i had never seen since her marriage; and i had no great difficulty to make my peace with my uncle. when i came to his house, he was just upon going to avignon with his lady, there to spend the carnaval. if my inclination had been followed, they would not have made that journey; for a country retirement was far more proper for my melancholic humour than the noise of the city, where all was mirth and jollity, and especially at that time. whilst we were at avignon i meet with an unexpected accident, which put me in great confusion; for my kinswoman, who was young, and minded only to spend her time with pleasure, took me with her, one evening that she was invited to supper, to a great house where a consort of music was provided; where after we had danced some time, the marquis her husband was let in. i was very glad that the tumult had delivered me from constraint: and therefore pretending to be weary, and unwilling to be in a place where i might be taken out to dance, i retired into a corner of the hall. i had not been long there, when i espied one in the habit of an egyptian, who, having looked every where about, came and fell on his knees before me. i was not at all surprised at that carriage; for, you know, madam, that provence, is the place of the world where mummers are the gallantest: but i wondered to perceive that the person, who had been so solicitous to draw near to me, looked on me a long time without speaking a word; which made me laugh a little. i asked my mummer if there was no body in all the company to whom he could talk pleasingly; he answered me in italian with a counterfeit voice, that men were often silent because they had too many things to say, and that he durst not trouble my meditations. i told him, that i took his answer as a good excuse for his silence, and assured him that he had pitched upon the right person when he came to me, if he had no desire to speak; since i took always pleasure in silence. i am surprised, answered the mummer; that such a lady as you can be melancholic; i thought sadness ought to be the portion of wretches, such as i. you will confess that no man can be more, when i have told you the perplexity that i am in. you know that we are of a profession that allows us nothing but what we steal: i cast my eyes on one of the fairest young sheep that ever was; i believed myself sure to catch it, nevertheless it has escaped at the time when i least expected; and that which is most grievous to me, is that i serve a master, who will never let me rest, until i have found again what my ill luck hath made me lose. i took this discourse for an invention to play the part of an egyptian, and to excuse himself, that he had been so slow in speaking to me; i resolved to continue the act, and told the mummer, that i pitied his accident, but that i hoped he might find somewhat on his way, that might comfort him for his loss. your hopes may pass for prophesies, madam, answered he, for since i have been with you, i find my misfortune much lessened; and if you will grant me the least assistance, i hope i may see my troubles at an end. the egyptian spake these last words in a way that much perplexed me. if you would have me render you any good office, said i to him, you must deserve it by a piece of complaisance, which i desire of you; it is easy enough, since all i desire is that you would tell me your name; i confess to you i am very desirous to know it, and the name of that master, who obliges you to so painful a search. i shall willingly tell you my masters name, said the egyptian, drawing a little nearer me; the small acquaintance you have with him makes me afraid you will not concern yourself any more in his affairs, when once you have heard it. you must know then that love is my master, and were i somewhat less unhappy than i am, your heart would have already explained to you the whole riddle, and you would have known the person that speaks to you. i needed no farther clearing, and at these words i knew it was the chevalier de belges, who spake to me under the disguise of an egyptian. i know not whether my joy or surprise was greatest. i prayed him, that was the cause of it, to tell me what good genius had brought him so quickly to the place where i was. he told me, that having gone to see my lady his sister, and having missed me there, he had enquired where i was; and that having stayed a day at rochevile, he had departed from thence without communicating to any where he designed to go, and that having none with him, but a valet de chamber in whom he could trust, he had taken post to come to me. that being the same evening come to avignon, he had learnt at the inn where he alighted, that there was a great ball that evening, where all the ladies in the town were to be; and that he resolved to come thither in disguise that he might endeavour to speak with me; and to take from me his measures how he should behave himself towards me in public. having testified to him my acknowledgement for the trouble he had put himself to for my sake, i told him, that i thought it not fit he should stay long at avignon; that i was afraid, if he did, it might cut out more work for him with the count his father. he seemed unwilling to follow my counsels on that occasion; and seeing the pleasure of seeing one whom we love, carries commonally greater sway than the fear of discontents, which are but seen at a distance, i gave consent that the chevalier might spend the rest of the carnaval at avignon. i thought that the divertisements, which at that time are to be found in that city, might prove a rare pretext to warrant his abode there; our conversation lasted very long, and i was as loathe to leave that assembly as i was to come into it. the chevalier thanked me for all my pains in so passionate a manner, that i thought all that i had done for him nothing in respect of what he deserved. so soon as i returned to my chamber i went in all hast to bed, that i might muse with myself at greater ease. the night was almost spent when i began to fall a sleep, and that was the cause that it was late before i awoke. i was not as yet out of bed, when my uncle entered my chamber, and rattled me for my laziness. you have reason, said he, to be tender of your beauty, for it produces very extraordinary effects: you will believe it when i have acquainted you with the visit i received this morning. with these words, having desired the maids, that were in my chamber, to withdraw, he told me that the marquis of doursan, who was a man of great age, and no less fortune and merit, had been with him that morning to tell him that he had so great an inclination for me, that he was resolved to essay by all means to oblige me to admit his svit, but seeing he perceived that the language of love did not agree with gray hairs, he found himself obliged to implore his assistance to obtain my consent in the design he had for me; and that he so referred all his concerns to him, that he declared he would grant me all the advantages that our family could desire. this is the thing, niece, said he, that i have to impart to you; you know your fortune is not suited to your birth, it is therefore my opinion you should not reject the propositions i have made to you. that discourse put me into a terrible vexation, because i well foresaw that that matter would hatch new impediments to the engagement i had with the chevalier: i answered my uncle with all possible civility; but so choose my words, that i gave him no positive reply. seeing it was already very late, he left me that i m●ght have time to make myself ready; but my mind was so taken up with what i had heard, that i did not much heed my dress, and i longed much to see the chevalier, that i might speak with him. whilst my thoughts were so employed, one of his servants entered my chamber, and asked me in his masters name, if i thought fit that he should pay me a visit after dinner, and if i would have the goodness to present him to those with whom i was. you may believe i made no great difficulty on that occasion to grant his desire. immediately after dinner the chevalier entered the room where we were; and so soon as i had told the company who he was, they received him with much civility. we had spent already some time in general discourses, when a valet de chamber having whispered my uncle in the ear, he went out of the room, and returned again immediately. ladies, said he, looking at me with a smile, i am employed to pray you to take the pains to go hear a consort of music in one of the pleasantest houses about avignon: i am charged to perform the civilities of this entertainment, and that it may be the more agreeable; i have liberty to choose such as i please to make the company. i knew very well by the air my uncle spake with; that the regal came from him whom he had spoken to me of in the morning. had i been, absolutely my own mistress, i would have stayed at home: but it was in vain for me to think of that. the chevalier de belges, being all the while present, he was entreated to make one of the company, and it was no hard matter to persuade him, because of the pleasure he took to be with me; and seeing he, to whose house we were going, was his near kinsman, my uncle charged him to acquaint five or six jolly women, and some gentlemen of our gang. whilst my uncle was busied in giving his orders, the chevailier drew near to me; i cannot, tell, said he, if i be mistaken: but i think you are a great deal more melancholy than ordinary, tell me what ground you have for it. i cannot satisfy your curiosity said i to him, unless we were in another place; and i assure you that the greatest regal that i propose to myself in the place, whither we are going, is, that i may there find some opportunit● of speaking to you with freedom. i had hardly spoken these words, when they that were to go with us to this ceremony, entered the room, and immediately after we all took coach to go to the place where we were expected. it is certainly one of the loveliest places in the world, whether for situation, or the pains that have been bestowed upon it. but expect not, madam, that i will give you an exact account of all the rarities that are to be seen there, nor of the pleasures and divertisements that were afforded us. it is tedious to me to red long descriptions, and i find so few that pleasantly make them, that i shall have special care not to engage in such an undertaking. i shall only tell you, that what ever abundance, neatness, gallantry, and magnificence could device, was to be found in that entertainment; and that my old lover took an opportunity to tell me his mind whilst the company was taken up with hearing an admirable consort of music. i observed that notwithstending all his gravity he could not forbear two or three time to change colour as he drew near me. i know not lady, said he to me, leaning on the back of my chair, if your uncle hath spoken to you of the discourse we had together this morning, but i know very well that your merit must far exceed all that i have hitherto seen, seeing you have inspired sentiments into me which i never knew before; it is misbecoming a man of my age to confess his folle, but when one wants strength to overcome, he ought to betake himself to the goodness of his conqueror. i am not so blind as to hope that you entertain a reciprocal passion for me; but if you have not an insuperable aversion to my person, i shall endeavour by fortune to repair the defects of nature. pardon me, i pray you, sir, said i, if i answer not seriously to a discourse which i look upon as an exercise of your wit to divert yourself by trifling from the great affairs wherein you are employed. this i said, with so much co●●●sion, that the good man believed it was only bashfulness that made me so unwilling to hear him; so that having spoken two or three words more on the same subject, and the consort being ended, he changed his place. we were desired to go into a large and fair hall, and the chevalier catched an opportunity to give me his hand. what i see here, said he, when he was near me, begins to displease me, and i am much mistaken, if all the philosophy of the master of this house can defend him against your charms. before he had said this we were got so near the rest of the company that i could make him no answer but by a nod. after supper, we were pleasantly surprised to see the preparatives of a comedy, which was presently acted. in a word, madam, we found so many occasions of divertisement in that place, that it was day before we returned to avignon. seeing i had not slept for two nights together i found myself so weary as to have need of rest and to lie pretty long a bed. i was next morning much surprised, to see the marquis of doursan enter my chamber; who, after some discourse about the divertisements of the precedeing night: i should esteem my self happy, madam, said he, if such things might oblige you to approve the design which i have for you. i am sensible that i speak not to you with all the gallantry that might be expected from a young man: but i am so old, that if i would undertake to attack your heart in the usual forms, i should be dead before i made half the journey. i confess, madam, i found that way of courtship so pleasant, that i had a great mind to laugh; yet i was a little uncertain how to answer that discourse, and the rather that my new lover would needs press me to assure him that i disliked not his person. i make no doubt, said he, but that your relations will consent to my happiness, i have a considerable estate, and in this age, that is all that is minded: but, madam, i will not purchase you as a slave, nor will i buy your heart, i will endeavour to merit it. if he that spake to me had been of another age, i should have been less puzzled to answer him, according to my real sentiments, but his age and merit imprinted some respect on my mind. whilst i was considering how to answer him, the chevalier de belges eased me of the trouble, by coming into my chamber. i blushed at sight of him, as if i had committed a crime in hearing love from any but him. the marquis attentively observed me, and shortly after went out. so soon as i was at liberty i told the chevalier all that i had met with concerning that proposition of marriage; who appeared terribly afflicted thereat. you may easily believe, madam, said he, that it is not jealousy that causes my grief: but i only fear that your old gallant's estate may object strong impediments to my hopes; and to confess my weakness, i fear, i shall never be able to recompense what you sacrifice for me on this occasion. you have sacrificed so many other things for me, said i, that it is very just i should testify my gratitude to you, and that i have never loved you for interest. we spent the rest of that conversation in contriving ways to divert the misfortune thath both of us apprehended. so soon as the marquess's design was blazed abroad in the city, his relations omitted nothing that might prevent that mischief: but all their pains were fruitless, and the marquis persisted steadfast in his resolution, the oftener i saw him, the greater i found his merit and civility to be, and i confess, had i not been unalterably engaged to the chevalier i would have preferred that illustrious old man to all others. i think it is pertinent madam, in this place to give you an accout who this marquis of doursan was, you shall know then that his birth and fortune were very considerable, he had lived long a widower; and having had a son of great worth, had placed all his affection on him; but he having been killed five or six years before, he appeared so sensibly affencted for that loss that he seemed to have renounced the world. his course of life since that time persuaded two nieces of his, whereof the one was married to an italian, and the other to a man of little merit, to reckon their uncles estate their own. it may be easily then imagined what discontent these persons had to see themselves in danger of losing so considerable a fortune. one day, when we were together in my aunt's chamber, where all the rest of the company was engaged at play, wherein i went shares with the chevalier de belges; i could not forbear now and then to ask him about the fortune of our play, though i seemed attentive enough to the discourse of the marquis of doursan. the marquis observing it, tell me the truth, madam, said he, having earnestly beholded me; the chevalier to whom you speak is not altogether indifferent to you. i confess it, said i, a little surprised at his discourse, and i shall never be indifferent to any thing that concerns the marchioness of rocheville; you know he is her brother. i am not ignorant of that, but added he, i know not as yet what resolution i should take: i love you as much as i esteem you, and that puts me to a plunge. the marquis having said so left me; and i was so troubled at what he said, that if he had stayed longer with me, i would freely have confessed to him the state of my heart. seeing it was late when they left play, i could not satisfy the desires i had of speaking to the chevalier; i only prayed him, as he went out, to return as soon as he had supped. we were gone from table a long time before i heard any news of the chevalier; and i knew not what to think of his negligance; but seeing it was not his custom to be so, for such things as i desired of him, i was afraid that some accident might have befallen him. whilst my mind was distracted with these thoughts, there came in one of the marquis of doursan's lackeys in great disorder, who told us that his master had almost been murdered, and that he had certainly been killed had he not been rescued by the chevalier de belges. you may believe that this relation put us in great astonishment. my uncle went immediately to inform himself of the particulars of that accident, and to satisfy the entreaty of his friend, who desired to see him at his house. i asked the lackey if his master was wounded, and if the chevalier was with him, and in what condition he was; he told me that his master had received a very considerable wound, and the chevalier another in the arm, which he did not think was dangerous; but that seeing he was not present, when the matter happened, he knew not all the particulars. if it had been decent for me to have waited one my uncle to the place, it would have eased me of much anxiety. about an hour after he returned, and told us that the marquis, after he left us, having gone to visit one of his friends, who lodged hard by his house, had sent back all his attendants and kept only one lackey with him; that the chevalier passing by that door, because it was his way to the place where he was to sup, had heard three men talking together. i fear, said one of them, that by using too much circumspection we shall lose our promised reward. i know not, answered his comrade, if i be mistaken, but i think this the best occas●on that we have as yet found, to cure the good man for ever of his itch of marrying. take right measures, said the third, for i do what i can, i come to give you notice where he is, and i am going to him, for fear that if he miss me, he may take some others to wait upon him home; which would spoil our whole design. the last having said so went back into the house. the chevalier pondered a little with himself, if he should set upon the rogues; but being uncertain against whom their design was, he choose rather to stand near the door where he saw the boy enter; and ordered the lackey, who carried his light to retire into a street at a little distance, and to be ready to come to him at the first noise he should hear. hardly had he given these orders, when he saw the marquis come out attended only by one lackey; he had made but two or three steps into the street; when these two men that hide themselves under a gate, advanced with drawn swords and were followed by two others; they were just about to have killed the marquis when the chevalier cried out, and calling his lackey, threw himself betwixt that illustrious old man and him that set upon him. yet he could not so defend himself, but that he received a cut in the arm. another of the murtherers came presently in and engaged the marquis, having given him a wound on the shoulder; but the chevalier made him repent his boldness; for having separated him a little from the rest, he put him out of condition of ever committing such crimes again. his comrades, being terrified by what they saw, made it their business to escape the like fate. the chevalier wounded another of them as he was making up to the marquis; which put them into so great terror, that they betook themselves to their heels; so that the chevalier had no more to do, but to go home with him whom he had so valiantly defended. my uncle told us afterward, that he never saw a man so grateful as his friend was, for the favour which he had received. i carefully enquired of the condition of their health; and understood that their wounds were but slight, that the marquess's was somewhat greater than the chevaliers hurt; and that he would by no means suffer his defender to remove out of his house. when the first trouble, that that news had wrought in me, was a little over, i was overjoyed that the chevalier had rendered service to one, who of all men living best deserved it. i sent next morning to know how the wounded did; and learnt that the surgeons assured them that their wounds were not dangerous, and that in eight or ten dayes they might come abroad again. my uncle desired me to accompany his lady in a visit which she payed these two generous friends: and there being a great many in their chamber, they could only speak to me by their eyes. my heart being in intelligence with the chevalier's, i undestood very well the language of his looks. he told me, as i was going out of his chamber, that he hoped his hurt would not long deprive him of the honour of waiting on me. next day after, i understood that the count of freslon was come to avignon upon the occasion of the accident that had befallen his kinsman and son, which, as all things are magnified by report, was made appear to him to be far greater than really it was. i was very apprehensive that the coming of the count into a place where he might see me, or at least could not but hear much talking of me, might not revive in his heart the discontents that on my account he had conceived▪ against his son, the thought of that obliged me to writ to the chevalier de belges, and pray him to keep his chamber longer than he intended, not doubting but the services, which he could not forbear to render me, would exasperate the mind of his father. i lay at that time under such agitations as may be better imagined than expressed, when i was informed that the marquis of doursan had sent to entreat my aunt to come and spend the afternoon at his house. his age, indisposition, and quality, and above all the custom of the country, made the matter very feisable; and i cannot tell whether the fear of finding the count of freslon, or the pleasure of seeing his son, wrought the greatest effects on my heart, but seeing pleasure is a passion more agreeable than fear, i gave way to that which most flattered my heart, and endeavoured to take courage against the rest. when we entered the marquess's chamber, we found five or six of the most considerable persons of the city of both sexes. the first compliments, and some indifferent discourses, being over, one of these ladies, who rendered the civilities of the house, proposed to go to play. this divertisement pleasing all the company, they were easily engaged. they had the discretion to remove a little from the marquess's bed, least the noise might incommode him. there remained none near him but a lady of quality and myself; and she being called upon about business was obliged to go forth. so soon as the marquis found me with him alone. i thank heaven, madam, said he, for the occasion it presents me of speaking to you in private; i have long desired it; yet this pleasure, how great so ever, cannot be perfect unless you promise to answer sincerely to the questions i am to propose to you; if that be all, said i smiling, that is wanting to render this conversation agreeable, i assure you you shall have all cause of content; and though my humour were less free than it is, yet it would be impossible for me to dissemble with one whom i so much esteem as i do you. having that assurance, replied the marquis, i shall not stick to ask you if i was mistaken, when i thought that you were not insensible to the passion that the chevalier de belges has for you; for, i fancy, that in your eyes i have red the secret of your heart; but, madam, continued he, dare i be so bold as to confess my weakness, what i have told you has troubled me, but not changed my resolution of endeavouring to enjoy you. i love you even to adoration, and yet that passion is not so great as the esteem that i have for you. i cannot think of yielding to another, unless i know that my pretensions displease you. in a word i need your help against yourself, that i may obtain a victory for which of myself i am too weak: assist me then for pity's sake to us both; if it be so that you cannot love me, tell me the reasons that may oblige me to love you less. at these words he stopped expecting my answer; and though i found myself at a loss, yet, i saw, there was a necessity of declaring myself; yea and i had some hopes of moving him to compassion; so that striving against my natural bashfulness i answered him in these terms. when you thought that i was not insensible to the passion that your kinsman hath for me, i confess, you have hit on the true sentiments of my soul; but i must tell you with the same candour, that if all my relations did agree to order me to mary you i would obey, though i be fully sensible, that that obedience would cost me the repose of my whole life. think not, added i, that any aversion to you would have rendered my submission so grievous, but it is my heart that can love none but the chevalier de belges; it hath resigned itself to him without my consent; and when my reason examined the conduct of my heart it hath found so great worth in the chevalier, that it hath approved the choice; so that nothing can dissolve an engagement which inclination and reason hath warranted. good now, madam, said he, tell me if you well foresee all the consequences of an affair which seem so dangerous to you. the long experience that my years have furnished me with, assures me that merit alone completes not the felicity of this life; and that the contempt of riches, which many brag of, is a kind of philosophy easy in the theory, but very difficult when it is put in practise by pinching necessity. consider then what you are about to do: i am rich and old; the one promises you a considerable settlement, and the other a short captivity. cannot i move you to pity yourself and me. it surprises me, said i to the marquis, that you can have any esteem for me; and believe me capable to bend my thoughts to such low and base things; and since you will not understand what i have already told you concerning the real sentiments of my heart; i must again tell you, that there is nothing but what i would do to hinder me from being yours; but if i be constrained to it by reasons of honour and duty, which i cannot resist, i shall not be guilty of the least word or desire that may displease you, or contradict the virtue whereof i make profession; and though that violence should cost me my life, i should more contentedly lose it, than be guilty of any thing wherewith i might be reproached. what you have represented to me as to my interest and advantage, might have wrought upon me, were i not to involve the chevalier into a share of my pains; and the friendship i have for him is so disinterested, that i would do any thing to please him, though at the expense of that which might be dearest to me. with these words i stopped expecting his answer. i thank you, madam, said the marquis, for your sincerity; and though i was prepared to hear a part of what you have told me, yet i must confess it hath deeply affencted me. having said so he held his peace and fell again a musing; shortly after renewing his discourse; but what cause have i to complain, said he; have you not assured me that you will obey your friends, and can i desire more of you? i was surprised at these last words, and employed all the eloquence that heaven had bestowed on me, to persuade the marquis of doursan, that a gentleman could never be happy, when he enjoyed his mistress by forcing her inclination. i was still engaged in this discourse, when the company left off playing, and drew near the bed where we were; but because it was late, it was thought fit to withdraw, and as the company went away they made a short stop in the chamber of the chevalier de belges: where i had not the occasion to speak so much as one word to him without witnesses. next day we were told that the marquis had relapsed into his fever. that accident was by all attributed to the noise that had been made in his chamber; but i knew other more probable and apparent reasons for it. one evening having shut myself up in my chamber, that i might mournfully reflect on the unhappy state of my fortune, my uncle came in and told me that pressing reasons obliged him to entreat me to go with him to my lady of rocheville's house, and that it highly concerned me to hasten thither with all imaginable secrecy. i was surprised at such an extraordinary proposal, and earnestly desired him to tell me the reason of so sudden a journey. he promised to satisfy me by the way; and seeing i always pleased myself with the hopes of seeing my lady of rocheville again, and that the hurry and perplexities that i met with at avignon made my abode there uneasy, i seemed inclinable to undertake that journey: so that having spent two or three hours in ordering some little affairs that i had to do, and in taking leave of my relations, i was ready and took coach. the night was calm and fair, and we made as great progress in our journey, as if it had been day. i was very desirous to have acquainted the chevalier de belges with my departure; but seeing it was difficult to find at such an hour those whom i used to trust in delivering him my letters, i was satisfied to forbear until i came to the place whither i was going, which might furnish me with a great many occasions to let him speedily hear from me. i endeavoured on the road to satisfy the curiosity which so strange an adventure excited in me; but my uncle turned all my questions into raillery; and i came to rocheville without discovering any thing of what i desired to know upon that subject. the marchioness of rocheville received me with the sincerest testimonies of affection; and so soon as i was at liberty i gave her an exact account of all that had befallen me, since i left her; who with her accustomend goodness told me that my interest in every thing was her own. i had not been there above five or six dayes, when on an evening, as i was fetching a walk i saw a coach come to the gate, which i knew belonged to the count of freslon. that sight put me into a commotion which i could not resist when ever the chevalier of belges was concerned; but my trouble increased when i saw the count of freslon, after that he had saluted my lady his daughter, advance towards me, as a man that had somewhat to say to me; yet instead of a could and indifferent address which i expected from him, he applied himself to me with a kind and cheerful countenance. i know not, said he, presenting me a letter, if the good news, i am told you will find in that paper, may oblige you to have some goodness for him that has undertaken to deliver it; but i am confident if you be such, as i have been told you are, i have ground to hope for some share in your friendship. i never found myself so tossed as i was at that time; and i may say, that joy, hope, and fear made such a confused medley in my mind, that having so many things to think on, i could think on nothing; and to complete my perturbation, whilst the count of freslon was in discourse with me, the chevalier de belges entered the chamber where we were; who having been otherways diverted, when he came out of the coach, had not instantly followed his father. i cannot tell what answer i made to the discourse of the count; but in all appearance my words spoken most the disorder of my mind. the count of freslon without minding that much, prayed me to red the letter which he had delivered to me, wherein i found these, or words much to this purpose. in fine, madam; i have overcome, and if the greatness of the victory be to be reckoned by the sharpness of the conflict, this that i have gained upon myself, is of inestimable value; but that i may not prove a false bravo, i confess to you, that i could never have triumphed without the assista●ce you gave me. it is just then that i divide with you the price of the victory. i reserve to myself no more than the pleasure of procuring your happiness, and the hopes that you will cherish my memory. this is all that i desire; and you shall judge, madam, if my ambition be great, when you shall learn what i have done to procure you the only blessing whereof you have assured me you were sensible. i am still too much captivated to your charms, to hazard an interview so soon. when time and reason have confirmed my heart in the resolutions that i have taken, i shall come and rejoice with you, that i have purchased the happiness of your life by the full repose of my own. after the reading of that letter, i continued wholly suspended betwixt compassion and the desire of being fully cleared of what i could hardly guess at, and durst not declare my curiosity; but my lady of rocheville, who was almost as curious as myself, besought her father to tell us what we earnestly desired to know: which he did in this manner. three or four dayes after i came to avignon, the marquis of doursan sent to entreat me to come to his chamber; he discovered to me all the particulars of his love for mademoiselle of rocheville; and having described to me her merit and person, in such a manner as was necessary to excuse the violence of his passion, he told me he was resolved to give her the most extraordinary mark of his love that could be given; but that he could not have that satisfaction without my concurrence. though i could not imagine what service i was able to render him in that affair, yet i freely promised him, to do all that i could in his behalf. having given him this promise, he told me that he resolved to settle the half of his estate on the chevalier de belges in testimony of the obligation he had to him for having so generously exposed his life for the preservation of his, and that he would give him the other half, upon condition that he married mademoiselle of rocheville. having said so he told me the obligations which my son stood engaged in to that lovely lady; but that which hath affencted me most sensibly is the candid and disinterested way of procedure that she hath always used towards these two lovers. you may believe that the offers of the marquis of doursan were every way too advantageous, not to be accepted with pleasure; and the rather seeing his nearest relations having basely forfeited all title to his goodness, nothing could hinder me from embracing the kindness which he desired to show to my family. we had nevertheless about the end of our conference a pretty odd debate together, by my unwillingness to accept the whole estate wherewith that generous kinsman had a mind to gratify our family. having at length prevailed upon my unwillingness, and all things being ordered as we judged most convenient, he prayed me not to delay the satisfaction of two persons who were dearest to him; and even desired that the matter should be kept so secret, that the chevalier de belges himself should be ignorant of the obligations he hath to him, until that neck of time wherein he might understand their value. this is the true account of what the count of freslon told us. had i not observed the transports of joy which the chevalier de belges expressed during that discourse, i should have believed that nothing could have equalled mine. but, madam, it is no purpose to persist longer on this point. the count of freslon kept the word that he gave to his generous kinsman of cellebrating our marriage with all the expedition he could. my uncle, who brought me to rocheville, was there still, and had learnt from the marquis of doursan himself all that the count had told us; but being obliged to secrecy, he would not till then discover it. in fine, madam, that marriage so little expected, and so earnestly desired, was at last concluded. the count of freslon on that occasion omitted nothing, that might clear my mind of the discontents that i might have conceived against him. my lady rocheville seemed fully as sensible, as her brother or i, of the happiness that we were to enjoy; there was none but mademoiselle of freslon, who, according to her natural inclination, grieved at the felicity of others. for my part, i did not affect such a garb of unseasonable modesty, as to appear less sensible than indeed i was; and i thought it impertinent to conceal an affection which was in a few dayes to be warranted by an engagement, wherein though love be wanting yet it must be pretended. in a word, madam, our marriage was solemnized; and though i needed no more but his person, who was designed for my husband, to render that ceremony agreeable, and that his thoughts were the same with mine, yet nothing was wanting in pomp and magnificence to increase the pleasure of our nuptials. at that time as in all other occasions of my life, the marchioness of rocheville persisted entreating me as if i had been her own daughter. what shall i say, madam, for the space of two years after my marriage, i thought that they, who say there is no perfect happiness in this life, were strangely mistaken; for by experience i felt, that there was nothing i could desire but the continuation of the blessings which then i enjoyed. i had a husband who loved me almost to idolatry; i had no less passion for him: my father-in-law by all imaginable tenderness repaired the troubles he had caused me. my brother-in-law, who would not leave maltha, testified by letter that he was abundantly satisfied with our marriage; and to complete my happiness, i so ordered matters, that my lady rocheville and i were inseparable. but at length, madam, fortune pursued me with her usual inconstancy; i mean, that having favoured me with great blessings; she frowned upon me by the greatest evils that i could apprehended; or to speak more christianly, god almighty was pleased to let me see, that none should set their heart on the blessings of this life; and that seeing our heart is created for him, he severely punishes the rape, when addicting it too much to the creature, we forget him who is the creator. i have not told you, madam, that the first year of my marriage, i was brought to bed of my eldest daughter, whom you see hear, the year following i had a boy, and was very ill all the time i was with child, but received of my lady rocheville during my sickness such services and cares as cannot be imagined. when i began to recover, there happened a business that obliged her to return home; and seeing she did not expect to stay but a few dayes, she left with me mademoiselle of freslon, and my sister, who was a lovely young lady, about thirteen or fourteen years old, and whom i had always tenderly loved. the day we expected her back, we were informed that she was fallen dangerously sick. i was smitten to the heart at the news, and immediately resolved, though i was near my time, and not well recovered from my sickness, to go see that dear lady, that i might in some measure repay the services which i had received from her; but my husband would by no means consent to the journey, and gave me so many reasons, which were indeed so just, that i durst not oppose them. he departed the same evening to go see his sister, but his journey was almost useless; for she died four hours after his arrival, she had only time to pray him to have a care of her children, and to tell me from her, that she desired of me the same kindness for them, that she had had for me. you easily believe, madam, what grief it is to lose a sister, who is so tenderly beloved; yet though my husbands affliction was inexpressible; after the first transports of it were over, he resolved to conceal the sad news from me, for fear that the grief, which he knew it would work in me, might not bring me to a relapse. he stayed as short time as he could in a place where he saw nothing but mournful objects; and seeing he had many things to order, he thought fit to charge his sister with all that care. she had wit and experience enough in household affairs to discharge that office well. my two brothers were at the college, and three of my young sisters in a monastery; in so much that my eldest sister, staying with me, none of the children were in the house when my husband returned. he told me that the sickness of my lady his sister was not dangerous; but that the physitians believed it would prove long, and that she prayed me to sand her sister back to her, and to keep her daughter with me until she her self came for her. though i perceived very well that my husband was more melancholic than he used to be, yet he told me these things in so candid a way, that i doubted not in the least of the truth: i did even believe that my lady his sister was willing to remove mademoiselle of freslon from me, seeing she had observed but little friendship between us before her departure. my husband acquainted her with the loss we had sustained, and the reasons why he would have her go that journey. two months after the death of the poor lady rocheville, i had so well recovered my health, as made it believed that that news could do me no considerable prejudice; it was discovered to me; and i was so sensibly affencted therewith, that i had ground to think that grief alone is not able to deprive us of life. though at that time my husband had business which obliged him to make a pretty long journey, yet he would not leave me in the sad condition wherein i was. mademoiselle of freslon returned four or five months after her departure, and brought my brothers with her, who had been taken out of the college for some formalities of justice to which their presence was necessary. their coming renewed my affliction; but in a word, madam, love is always more prevalent than friendship; i must needs yield to the entreaties that the count made to me, that i would resume my accustomend humour. amongst those that came from rocheville, my brothers brought with them a valet de chamber, who played rarely well on the lute; and seeing i was always a great lover of music, and that that instrument of all others suits best with melancholic people, i delighted to hear him play. the affairs which i told you obliged my husband to make that journey, grew so urgent that he could not delay them. when he took his leave of me, he many times adjured me to spare nothing that might divert me from melancholy. besides he earnestly recommended the care of me to his sister, who of late had begun to show me a great deal of kindness. during the absence of my husband,( seeing the little diversion that is to be found in the country, makes people willingly apply themselves to the smallest recreations) i took an humour to learn to speak italian. i had already a smattering knowledge of that tongue, but it was no more than to understand it; and you have, possibly, found by experience, that when people love sincerely, they do nothing but what has some reference to the person belvoed, so i fancied to myself a pleasure in writing italian letters to my husband; because that tongue without doubt expresses better than any other language the tender sentiments of a heart. my eldest brother was sometime my master in that study, but his own skill being but small, he told me that his valet de chamber could teach me far better than himself, seeing he was an italian; and i had observed by his accent, when i heard him speak that he was a stranger. the young man gave me a lesson every day after dinner, and i found by his discourse, that he was more witty than such persons use commonly to be. on a day when i asked him where he had learnt to play so well on the lute, he, weeping, answered me, that he was not born for the employment which he discharged, that he was a gentleman, and of a family considerable for estate: that he was bread with great care, but that his father having fallen into an unlucky accident, they were banished from their country, so that he was forced to betake himself to service, and that finding his humour a little too stiff to serve an imperious master, he choose rather to wait on my brothers, whose age and mildness gave him ground to expect less trouble than he could have any where else. i asked him his name, and the place where he was born. he prayed me to excuse him from giving me that satisfaction, because the hopes he had of recovering his former condition, made him unwilling that any body should know what he had been obliged to do. that discourse of valantin, for so he was name, moved me to compassion. he begged of me not to discover to any body, what he had told me, assuring me it was of great consequence to him, that it should be kept secret. i promised him what he desired; but after that day, gave orders to the other servants of the house, to treat him with some respect; and i had somewhat more also for him myself, because besides what he had discovered to me, i daily perceived that the lad had wit, and dexterously performed every thing wherein he was employed; and i was the rather persuaded of the truth of what he told me, because he was free from all vices, to which such young men are commonly subject. for that reason i was very glad to have him stay with my brothers. some dayes before they were to be sent back again to the academy, valantin fell sick, so that he could not go with them. about that time my husband returned from his journey; and seeing then i had no need of other diversion, when i was with him, i minded no more playing on the lute nor learning italian; but i continued to have a care of valantin, who was still sick. at that time there happened an accident which hath occasioned me much trouble. a gentleman of quality of our neighbourhood at my desire, proposed to a kinsman of his in languedoc, a marriage with mademoiselle freslon; and on that occasion matters were carried on in the usual way that is observed in most part of marriages; that is to say, all things were ordered before the parties had seen one another: but by ill luck, when the pretended gallant came to make his first visit, he found mademoiselle of freslon so disagreeable, and my sister on the other hand so lovely, that he took a strong resolution to forsake the one and make love to the other. he that concerned himself in the affair, in vain represented to him that his carriage was altogether unworthy and injurious, and that assuredly we would never give consent to the design he had for my sister, having misbehaved himself towards a person so nearly related to us: but that was not the only occasion wherein we have experience that love submits not to the government of reason. i shall not give you the trouble to hear all the particulars of that adventure: i must only tell you that the cavalier had but the half of what he desired, that is, that the marriage with her whom he loved not was broken, and was refused the other for whom his affection was great. seeing nothing offends our sex so much as a slight, you may believe mademoiselle de fresson was not a little concerned at that affront. her hatred to me increased; and though i had shewed such civility to her, as was no less than injustice in respect of my sister, since i hindered her from a considerable match; yet she could not away with any of these reasons, and thought her self obliged to be revenged on me because my sister was beautiful. the love i bear my husband makes me loathe to come to this part of my discourse, wherein i must of necessity give you ground to blame his conduct; but, in fine, it is his will that i should acquaint you with that part of his life, as i have done with all the rest. i must tell you then, madam, that sometime after the marriage, i have spoken of, was broken off, i observed the count to be very melancholic. since i had always found his temper even and regular, i apprehended the alteration might proceed from some indisposition; i carefully enquired into the cause of that molancholick for which i found no ground. he told me it was an effect of his constitution, whereat i should not be troubled. as i could perceive no more apparent cause for it, so i took that excuse for currant coin. i imagined, that perhaps the great confluence of people that were at our house displeased him; so that when company came, i found always some pretext to retire into my chamber, and employed myself about some trifle. the count several times asked me why i did so; and seeing i durst not tell him the truth of my suspicions, i alleged many times silly reasons to colour what i did. one day, when i was alone in my chamher, my sister told me, that she had a thing to acquaint me with, and that she was afraid i would not like it. i told her she would always please me, if she discovered to me any thing that troubled her. the matter that i am to tell you, added shed, concerns one who is nearly related to you, and i should not have spoken, had i not been apprehensive that it may do you some mischief. i bid my sister quickly declare what she had to say. she told me that valantin had great familiarity with my sisterin-law; that she had several times found her two hours after midnight sitting on his bed, and that there was hardly any day, but that they had some conference together; but that they were as secret as possible they could, and that she durst not seem to take notice of their commerce. i told my sister that she ought not to judge so rashly of her aunt, and that she should have a special care never to speak to any body of that suspicion. when i had reflected upon what my sister told me, i found the matter but too probable; and that made me resolve to sand valantin immediately back to my brothers; but being afraid to exasperate mademoiselle of freslon against me, i was willing to ask her opinion concerning the departure of the young man. she seemed to be much against it; which put me, into a greater plunge. she told me, that she was to go to rocheville, and that he must not be sent away before her return, because there were reasons of consequence that it should be so. my husband was not present, when we had this conference; he had quiter changed his humour; and whereas in the first years of our marriage we were inseparable: at that time he shunned my company as much as he could. never did any lye under such anxiety, as i suffered; the more i examined myself, the less could i perceive from whence my misfortune proceeded; and to complete my misery, i began to think that some new amour might banish me from the heart, where i believed myself so well settled. that thought made me so sorrowful and peevish at the same time that i received all things snappishly. seeing my jealousy had no precise object, i was the more disquieted; and resolved to gain some of my husbands servants. one night when we were in bed together, and that i upbraided him a little with his carriage towards me, to which he made little or no answer, he asked me of a sudden if i did not think of sending valantin to his masters. i thought the asked me that question only to break off the discourse that we were upon; and that having put me quiter out of humour, i told him that i was much troubled at the perplexity my relations put him into; that i did not believe that the expense of single man should have so disturbed him; but that i should take order for that. the count made no answer to these words; but turned himself to the other side in a huff. we spent the rest of the night both of us without sleep; and it was scarcely day when he took his gown to rise. for all the discontents that i had against him, yet i repented that i had spoken to him so briskly, so that i made some attempt to persuade him to lie still; but he told me that he had a meeting about a business of consequence, and that he thought he could hardly be back before two or three dayes; having said so he called a valet de chamber to dress him. i peeped through the curtains that i might observe him whilst he stayed in my chamber; i saw him walk up and down, like a man in extreme disorder, and afterward drawing near my bed. farewell, madam, said he, may heaven restore to us that repose whereof we both stand in need. with these words he left my chamber, and went into his dressing room. i lay still in so great perplexity, that i knew not what course to take; i had several times a mind to have gone and thrown myself at my husbands feet: but taking myself to be injured, and that my conscience upbraided me with nothing relating to him, unless it were of too great love; i knew not what to do; i called my maids that i might rise, and at the same time heard a noise of horses in the court; starting up, to see what the matter was, i saw the count taking horse attended only by own valet de chamber. i had at first a mind to have called to him, but seeing that he took but one servant with him, i thought he would return by night: i spent the whole day in extraordinary perturbation. pretty late in the evening my sister came and told me, that valantin b●gg'd of me that he might speak with me in private unperceived of any. i thought he might have some matter of importance to acquaint me with in relation to mademoiselle of freslon, and therefore i sent him word, that he might come into my chamber when she had retired: and i was very willing to have informed the count of what valantin told me concerning his sister; but seeing he was not like to return that night, i imagined that the lad might have discovered something of my husbands pretended gallantry, and that he intended to impart it to me. when all the house had retired, valantin came into my chamber: i was sitting in a chair by the fire, and had sent out my maids, telling them that i expected the count that night, and that how late soever it might be, i would not go to bed till i heard some news of him. so soon as the lad came into my presence, he cast himself down at my knees, and begged me pardon for the effects of an extravagant passion: you will be surprised, madam, said he, when you know that at your feet lies prostrate a maid, whose name and adventures are not unknown to you. i am felicia●, madam, and that name alone may make you guess at some part of my adventures; i believed the count your husband to have been in love with me, and i sincerely loved him; the grief that i conceived when he slighted me, had almost laid me in my grave. i was sick a whole year, and was glad that i thereby lost that little beauty which nature had bestowed on me, because having no return of love from him that i loved, i cared no more for being lovely. in fine, madam, i had still a little beam of hope grounded on a horoscope, and that it might succeed, i changed my name and habit, and having gone to rocheville, where i understood the count was, i found not him, but mademoiselle of freslon his sister: next day after i came thither, i heard a conference which she had with a woman, wherein she seemed to give marks of a mortal hatred against you, and that she sought occasions of doing you prejudice. the knowledge of that made me discover myself to her; and she assured me that she would do all that lay in her power to revive in her brother his former flamme; though that seemed no easy matter so long as he entertained the same sentiments for you that he had at that time: that she knew his humour; that nothing but jealousy could work any great effect upon his mind: but it puzzled her exceedingly that your conduct gave him no cause of conceiving any. what shall i say more, madam, i have been made use of to inspire that passion into the count; and it has in some manner succeeded: but when his sister perceived that he broken not forth in violence enough against you, she proposed to me to poison you. i looked upon that crime with horror, and the indifference that the count has for me hath cured valantin of the evils that felicia suffered; i have endeavoured to behold the count with the same eyes that heretofore i thought so powerful on his heart; i got his sister to speak twice to him of felicia at my first coming hither: he answered her that he had given you his promise never to listen to any discourse concerning that maid, and that he had no mind to break his word: his indifference for me hath cured me of a passion that for above these eight years hath tyrannized over me. i promised mademoiselle of freslon to do to you all that she desired, for fear she might apply her self to some other more wicked than myself. take now your measures a tos the information i give you, and pardon me for all the troubles that i have caused you; having said so, she delivered me a packet of the counts letters; with a bracelet of his hair, and told me she would be gone next morning, and put her self into a monastery. she begged of me money to buy a womans apparel, telling me, that after the crosses she had met with, she would never again return to her own country. as she ended her discourse she bowed down and kissed my hand. i protest, madam, i was so troubled and moved at what i had heard, that i could not forbear to shed tears. felicia told me so many other things, that i made no doubt of the truth of her words. i took out of my pocket all the money. i had, and gave it to that poor maid, telling her, that if she needed more i would go fetch it out of my closet; but she kissing my hand accepted what i gave her, and as she arose to be gone, i embraced her, telling her all that i thought proper to comfort her in the sad condition wherein she was. she presently went out of my chamber. but, good god, madam, how can i express my surprise, when i saw the poor maid having made a great cry fall to the ground run through with a sword; and having gone to the door, i perceived my husband hastily running down stairs. the violence of my grief had almost put me in the same condition, that felicia was in, and i fainted away. the noise that that accident made awakened my maids, who were asleep in another chamber, the chaplain was called for and came in time to give the absolution to that poor maid, who lived almost two dayes after. i saw nothing of what i tell you; for i lay above four hours in a swoon. when i was come to myself again, the first thing i did was to ask tidings of my husband. i was informed that the count passing through a hall that joined to my chamber met felicia, as they were carrying her away; and that having beholded that spectacle with horror, he returned that he might go out. for pity sake, said that poor maid to him with a stronger voice than could be expected from her, deny me not the last svit that i am to make to you, it is no more but that you would with patience hear me speak one word; and i assure you, that i shall be so far from bewailing my own condition, that as valantin i pardon you, but, as felicia, give you thanks that by a favourable thrust you have put an end to the troubles which i suffered for your sake; my present state admits not of a longer discourse, and i ought to spend my last minutes in taking care for my soul; but i am forced to tell you, that i am afraid heaven will punish you for the unjust suspicions you have conceived against the most virtuous lady that ever was: farewell, added she with a dying tone; i die with content if the loss of my life may re-establish the repose of yours. having said so, she made asign that they should carry her away. the count, who began to hear that discourse by a bare inclination of natural compassion, fell into bitter regrets in the progress thereof; he discovered the truth of her words either by the features of her face, which he more narrowly considered, or by seeing her breast, which being opened that they might stop the blood, suffered none to doubt of the sex of felicia. he was struck by that discovery as by a clap of thunder, he wanted words to express his grief and trouble, and his tears performed the office which his tongue could not. he fell on his knees before that poor dying maid, and by doleful actions evidenced the sorrow that pierced his heart. felicia by her carriage made appear that her thoughts were taken up about a future state, for closeing her eyes that she might not behold an object, that had always been too dear to her, deprive me not, said she, by an untimely p●●y, of the sole happiness i can pretend to; i thought myself bound in christian duty to pardon you for my death, and to justify injured innocence. having satisfied that obligation, leave my mind in so much liberty, that i may perform what i owe to myself; with these words she begged to be conveyed to some place of retirement; and the vehemency of her discourse having made her wound bleed again afresh in so great abundance, that she was quiter spent; she turned again to the count and prayed him to be gone. he obeied these her last orders, and came into my chamber to see what condition i was in. he perceived that i continued still in fainting fits; and having beholded me for some time with a countenance full of grief, shane, and compassion, he went into his closet, took out some money, and presently got on horseback, attended only by one servant; none of the rest daring to ask him his design. so soon as i was come to myself again, i asked for my husband; and was informed of all that i have told you. poor felicia died next day with all the marks of contrition that might give ground to hope well of her salvation. since that dismal day, madam, i have worn out my life in unconceivable affliction, for to sum up my sorrows, the man, whom the count had taken with him, came back again, and told me that he stayed fifteen dayes for his master at thoulon, whither he had ordered him to go; but that having heard no news of him there, he believed he had taken some other way. i spared no pains nor cost to learn intelligence of him; but seeing the hour was not yet come which should deliver me from my troubles, all my searching was in vain. you are perhaps a little curious, madam, to know what became of mademoiselle of freslon, who was the cause of all these strange catastrophies you have reason to think that she was certainly touched with compassion for all the calamities that she had brought upon her family! but alas, she had not a heart that was sensible of pity; and if she had any grief, it was only because i had not met with the fate of felicia. i understood by her own relation, that she had made use of the favours, that i shewed that unhappy maid, whilst under the name of valantin, i took her for a person of quality, to incite her brother to jeallousie; i was likewise informed that the care i had to avoid company, served for a pretext to the malice of that wicked lady. what more shall i tell you, madam, all things seemed to conspire for my ruin, since it is certain that the last discourse i had with the count quiter extinguished the little reason that remained to him. in fine, without speaking any more of all the pains that i have suffered since that sad day, i shall only tell you that the bishop of g. having come to see me, told me that there was an hermit at terrasson, who lead the life of an angel, a relation whereof he had seen in the hands of my lady duchess of c. i found myself strangely moved at that discourse without being able to conjecture the reason of it: in a word, madam having done so many things in vain, i have at length undertaken one that, hath succeeded, i dare not say luckily until i know, whether or not the person, for whom i take all this pains, will be pleased to pity himself and me. this is, madam, a true narrative of the history which my lady freslon told me; i thought you would take in good part that i imparted it to you, and though her relation be nothing so pleasant; as if it had been a romantick adventure, such as are all that now adays comes abroad under the title of novels, yet i judged it so rare as that it might deserve your attention, when it is considered as a real story. i told that lady that i sensibly concerned myself in all the adventures she had related to me; and the truth is i looked upon it as a miracle, to find in this our age a lady whom conjugal love had made undertake so many things. but at length god was pleased to reward so exemplary virtue, for the fifth day that the countess was at my house, as we were taking a walk in the evening, we saw at a pretty distance a gentleman making up towards us. i did not know him at first, but the countess giving a great cry, told me that she was much mistaken if it was not her husband: when he drew a little nearer i found she was in the right. had heaven bestowed on me so much cloquence as our romance makers really have, or believe they have, i might have a fair occasion to make an ample description of the effects of an unexpected joy; for, i think, never any felt more than that lovely countess; she seemed so transported that i, who look not on marriage as the happiest of all other states of life, should advice all people to enter into that sacred bond, if they could often enjoy such ravishing pleasures. i do not think, madam, that i can make use of a more significant expression to declare the happiness which these two persons enjoyed at that time; but having reflected on it a little better, i think it not ill done to dispense with pleasures that must cost so great pains, and that all things rightly considered there is no condition preferable to an absolute liberty. but i forget myself, madam, in engaging on reasonings that may be tedious to you, after so long a relation; seeing time and duty do rather require, that without longer discoursing, i should with most profound respect assure you, that i am. madam, your most humble and obedient servant. r. finis. key: cord-0045807-oeh0mjq5 authors: yamada, diego bettiol; bernardi, filipe andrade; miyoshi, newton shydeo brandão; de lima, inácia bezerra; vinci, andré luiz teixeira; yoshiura, vinicius tohoru; alves, domingos title: ontology-based inference for supporting clinical decisions in mental health date: 2020-05-23 journal: computational science iccs 2020 doi: 10.1007/978-3-030-50423-6_27 sha: 34214c9030b07423274dd05e8bbeed06b1c6fdf2 doc_id: 45807 cord_uid: oeh0mjq5 according to the world health organization (who), mental and behavioral disorders are increasingly common and currently affect on average 1/4 of the world’s population at some point in their lives, economically impacting communities and generating a high social cost that involves human and technological resources. among these problems, in brazil, the lack of a transparent, formal and standardized mental health information model stands out, thus hindering the generation of knowledge, which directly influences the quality of the mental healthcare services provided to the population. therefore, in this paper, we propose a computational ontology to serve as a common knowledge base among those involved in this domain, to make inferences about treatments, symptoms, diagnosis and prevention methods, helping health professionals in clinical decisions. to do this, we initially carried out a literature review involving scientific papers and the most current who guidelines on mental health, later we transferred this knowledge to a formal computational model, building the proposed ontology. also, the hermit reasoner inference engine was used to deduce facts and legitimize the consistency of the logic rules assigned to the model. hence, it was possible to develop a semantic computational artifact for storage and generate knowledge to assist mental health professionals in clinical decisions. mental and behavioral disorders represent a large part of public health problems worldwide, it is estimated that by 2030 depression will be the largest cause of disability on the planet [1] . in countries such as the united states and canada, it is estimated that this type of disorder is already the leading cause of disability for people aged 15-44 [2] . in brazil, the situation is even more complicated, as the country lacks a formal and standardized model of mental health information, which makes it difficult for health professionals involved in this area to generate and use knowledge [3] . in brazil, the unified health system ('sus'; portuguese: 'sistema único de saúde') offers integral treatment at all levels of care, and these treatments often involve multi-professional care and procedures performed in different health services. thus, it is essential to have a standardized model that facilitates communication between the various nodes of the health network, to help the units to communicate efficiently [4] . in this scenario, interoperability between health information systems (his) presents itself as a viable solution to promote information sharing, exchange, and reuse [5] . interoperability can be classified into four levels: fundamental, structural, semantic and organizational. fundamental interoperability occurs through the exchange of data between his without the receiver having the ability to interpret the data. its main applications range from direct database connections and service-oriented architectures using, for example, web services. structural interoperability is an intermediate level that defines the syntax of data exchange to ensure that data exchanged between his can be interpreted and its meaning preserved and unchanged. its main feature is based on the concept of corporate service buses using standards for message formats, for example, digital imaging and communications in medicine (dicom) and health level seven (hl7) [6] . the highest level of interoperability is achieved by the semantic level when two or more systems or elements can exchange information [7] . to achieve this, initially it is necessary to establish a standard structure of vocabularies and terminologies, expressive relations and description of processes for knowledge representation. one way to provide this type of entity standardization and taxonomy for his integration is by building and implementing computational ontologies [8] . by definition, an ontology is a set of explicit formal specifications of terminologies (classes or entities) and relationships (properties) between these elements in a given domain of knowledge [9] . ontologies have contributed to facilitate the processing of information with added semantic value, mediating the exchange of information between machines and humans through computer systems and serving as a schema for knowledge bases, smart applications, health observatories, and inference knowledge models [7, 8] . finally, we can also consider organizational interoperability, which is concerned with how different organizations collaborate to achieve their objectives by maintaining different internal structures and varying business processes. even with the standardization of concepts and terminologies, organizations have different operating models or work processes. thus, standardization of work processes, where two organizations need to have the same vision, is called organizational interoperability [3, 7] . in addition to the interoperability problems involving the mental health domain, it has been found that clinical decisions are often made without consulting a consolidated knowledge base [4, 10] . therefore, semantic applications, such as ontologies, are relevant in health because besides having originally integrated knowledge, this tool can be constantly developed with the dynamic participation of the community that involves this domain of knowledge. decision support tools are essential to guide the practice of health care and support the decisions that will directly influence the quality of care provided to the population. making a reference data set available as a decision support system (dss), provided with consistent ontologies, for integrating, analyzing, comparing and viewing health data through the integration of heterogeneous and dispersed databases is the main aspect to be considered [11] . in this way, we merge the best practices of ontology development with the knowledge collected on mental health to build an expressive semantic repository through upper-ontology [8, 12] . the world wide web consortium (w3c) best practices for building semantic applications involve 3 basic blocks: a standard data model; a query protocol; and a set of reference vocabulary and terminologies. resource description framework (rdf), simple protocol and rdf query language (sparql), and ontologies developed in ontology web language (owl) refer to these basic blocks respectively [13] . therefore, we consider that mental health processes will be more efficient if based on a formal structure that will be proposed through the use of the mentioned set of standards and technologies. the main purpose of this paper is to develop a computational ontology capable of representing the reality of the mental health domain and making evidence-based inferences, assisting health professionals in clinical decisions and promoting semantic interoperability between mental health information systems. the rest of the paper is organized as follows. in sect. 2, related studies on the use of ontologies to support clinical decisions will be discussed. in sect. 3, the proposed methodology will be presented in detail. experimental results will be presented in sect. 4. finally, the conclusion will be described in sect. 5. the w3c has been committed to projects to improve integration, standardization, and data sharing in the world wide web. such initiatives involve the use of the semantic web, defined as a set of technologies that, not only links documents, but is also recognize the meaning of the data from these documents and, through ontologies, promote inferences that help management and decision making. thus, ontologies have been used on a large scale in the medical field, as this domain presents a complex and dispersed data in his with low standardization and integration [5] . many studies have identified that human errors are frequent in clinical settings. the three most common types of errors in these environments relate to non-compliance with guidelines, hasty decision-making, and lack of awareness of the responsibilities and roles of each type of practitioner [14] . these are problems that can easily be avoided by an ontology-based decision support system [15] . cases of development of this type of application can be observed in various areas of health. in midwifery, for example, the detection of characteristics that frame women in a risky pregnancy is essential for proper and personalized medical follow-up. however, in many countries, the lack of human resources in the medical field means that these diagnoses are performed without proper scrutiny, leading many women to death due to complications in pregnancy. thus, in pakistan, an ontology-based clinical decision support system has been developed to assist in the diagnosis of high-risk pregnant women and refer them to qualified physicians for timely treatment [15] . in the field of alzheimer's disease, the early detection of pathology is a complex task for medical staff, usually, the approach involves medical image processing, psychological testing, and neurological testing, and such exams produce data that can generate knowledge. in the united states, one of the ways found to mitigate this complexity was by developing a tool to support clinical decision making, where ontologies and semantic reasoning play a key role in making inferences about diagnoses through the collected patient data [16] . in recent years the population has grown older and the number of patients with chronic respiratory-related diseases has increased [17] . in taiwan, an intelligent ontology-based tool has been built to assist medical staff in recognizing changes in clinical examinations for the detection of chronic respiratory diseases. this system recognizes patterns that usually lead patients to develop respiratory problems and points out these characteristics to the medical team, who in possession of this information can more accurately indicate the degree of complexity of pathologies related to a patient's respiratory system [18] . breast cancer is the most common cancer among women in many countries. in canada, a semantic web-based application has been implemented to support physicians in tracking patients with this disease. the approach involves computerization and implementation of guidelines for monitoring women undergoing breast cancer treatment. for this, a domain ontology was built that models the knowledge inherent in these guidelines and practices and serves as a source of knowledge to determine specific recommendations for each patient [19] . also, many other semantic applications already exist in healthcare and many more are under construction at this time. the justification for the development of these applications is the accessible implementation of these technologies in new and legacy systems, the low cost, and the encouragement of the use by various international entities to disseminate, integrate and reuse the knowledge generated [8, 15] . for the efficient use of a semantic tool, the information inserted in it must come from concrete and reliable sources. in this paper, we use studies and knowledge from the who's mental health action plan 2013-2020 [20] and the diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders (dsm-5) [21] . in this paper, we propose a framework for inferring mental health knowledge through the use of a domain ontology. this framework consists of three main modules: 1) structural ontology model, 2) fact inference engine and 3) rdf database. an ontology is an explicit and formal specification of a set of concepts in a specific field of interest [9] . in this proposal, an ontology for the mental health domain was developed to assist in the management of the mental health care network in brazil, to standardize concepts and to assist the integration and interoperability between different health units. besides, this tool can infer knowledge from the inputted data in ontology to assist mental health professionals in clinical decisions. the building of an ontology usually comprises a series of stages, therefore, for proper coordination of all these steps, the methontology methodology was adopted. developed at the artificial intelligence department of the polytechnic of madrid (http://www.dia.fi.upm.es/), this ontology construction methodology stands out for presenting a rigid detail to explore and structure the processes of knowledge acquisition [22] . the knowledge acquisition phase for this project involved interviews with mental health professionals and a literature review that considered scientific articles, official documents, who guidelines and the dsm-5 standards and classifications. subsequently, we used the protégé software (https://protege.stanford.edu/) to transfer the collected knowledge to the computational environment, thus building the desired ontology, with all its entities and properties developed in owl, following the data model rdf. protégé software has been selected for being open source, reliable and robust, and has wide acceptance and compatibility with other international projects [23] . among the created entities, we store information about the types of mental disorders, symptoms, prevention methods, types of medications, side effects of these drugs, types of health units, management processes of psychiatric hospitals, documents that involve these processes, among other information from the knowledge acquisition phase. information on mental disorder classes as well as their subtypes was imported from the 10th revision of the international classification of diseases (icd-10) [24] . we then use the jena ontology application programming interface (api) (https:// jena.apache.org/documentation/ontology/) to perform fact deduction and legitimation of the consistency of the logical rules assigned to the semantic repository. this programming toolkit uses the java language to provide the developer with standardized structures that connect the modules of a semantic platform [25] , as detailed in sect. 3.2. after the ontology was built, we uploaded the proposed schema on the web via the bioportal platform (https://bioportal.bioontology.org/) and we imported this model into the jena fuseki server (https://jena.apache.org/). using the api provided by this software and the hermit reasoner inference engine (http://www.hermit-reasoner.com/) it was possible to validate the entities that make up the ontology, as well as all its connective elements, aiming to generate consistent facts from the information inserted in the ontology [26] . figure 1 shows the scheme used in this step, arrows mean the connected modules consume information from each other. the elements of ontology had their structure verified by the aforementioned inference engine, this step avoids future data inconsistency problems. posteriorly, the information was entered into the rdf triples that make up the structure of the ontology. the next section details the operation of this type of data repository. through protégé software, we insert mental health information into the semantic repository schema created, then use the jena fuseki server to create an endpoint to perform custom queries to the database using the sparql language. this query language has a syntax that encompasses commands capable of providing broad effectiveness in extracting content from a semantic base. also, the results can be presented in various ways, according to the user's needs. figure 2 shows how the search for information stored in triple rdf occurs. the select command is responsible for specifying the conditions for selecting the data relation under which the query will be executed, and the where clause is responsible for selecting which data of this relation to display. this basic structure added to a range of other expressive commands allows the elucidation of facts and the asking of questions about knowledge stored in the triple form [27] . thus, queries were held to test the use of the structure to prove its functionality to clarify relevant facts about the context of mental health. according to who, the use of contextual information about types of disorders, symptoms, treatments, preventions and drug side effects are essential topics for the continuous improvement of health services [1, 20] . the results of this process are in the later section. a series of tests were conducted to demonstrate the effective functioning of the proposal. in this section, we will present the main results of the work. the experiments focused on elucidating facts about mental disorders and their symptoms, treatments, prevention recommendations and medications. according to who, this information is of great importance for clinical decisions within the mental health field [20] . to exemplify these features, in this paper, we chose depression as the target disorder. this disorder was chosen due to its high tendency of social and economic impact [1] . besides, according to the mental health information system ('sisam'; portuguese: 'sistema de informação de saúde mental'), which coordinates mental health in 26 brazilian municipalities, mood disorders are the second leading cause of psychiatric hospitalizations in the region, accounting for 31% of all cases of psychiatric hospitalizations [3] . in the united states, depression is also one of the most common psychiatric disorders, with an estimated lifetime prevalence rate of 16.2% [28] . figure 3 shows the location of the concept of "mental depression" in the structure of the ontology. therefore, we relate this disorder with the knowledge about it collected. through the property assertions function of protégé software, we use the relationships created to bind the classes with their respective instances, so finally we could perform sparql queries to extract knowledge. figure 4 shows how semantic inference is made through a sparql query that looks for the main symptoms of depression, using a standardized terminology according to the guidelines of who and dsm-5. we can see that the set of results provides relevant and helpful information for clinical decision making, as the structured knowledge of the most frequent symptoms presented by depressive patients provides the psychologist or psychiatrist with a consistent basis for better identification of the disorder [29] . to diagnose depression, 5 of these symptoms should be present almost every day for 2 weeks, and one of them must be persistent sadness or loss of interest [21] . therefore, the knowledge structured in the ontology is characterized as a solid repository of evidence-based information and supports the fast and accurate diagnosis identification, so the patient can then be referred to the most appropriate treatment. knowledge about the most recommended types of treatments for a disorder is also of great importance to aid a medical decision [20] . the entities referring to the different types of treatments for mental disorders are also structured in our ontology. shows some classes of treatments associated with depression [21] . the standardization of this type of information avoids inconsistencies in data sharing between different health services [11, 15] . each type of treatment has its characteristics, but knowledge about the consequences of recommending psychoactive drugs should also be highlighted in the model. since on average 38% of patients who have already taken antidepressants have experienced at least one of the side effects of this drug [30] and these effects are more detrimental to long-term health [29] , the healthcare professional must have at its disposal a standardized digital base with the possible side effects of each class of medicine. figure 6 shows an inference about the main side effects related to the use of antidepressant drugs. other side effects, treatments, symptoms, drugs, disorders, or any entities may be inserted or removed from the platform as discoveries are made through scientific research, it is important to remember that this type of tool is available on the web for future updates and maintenance as needed. an ontology must represent the reality of a domain, whereas reality is changeable the ontology must also provide scope for alteration to correctly represent the desired domain [7, 9] . considering the many side effects caused by the continued use of psychoactive drugs [29] , and the currently increasing demand for mental health treatments and services [4] , the public health policies are essential and must be focused on preventing these disorders, minimizing social problems and resource expenditures from more complex health services [30] . therefore, our model also can infer prevention recommendations for mental disorders. figure 7 shows the results of this type of query for depression. it is important to emphasize that an ontology must minimize any kind of ambiguity or subjectivity in the representation of knowledge [6, 12] . this way, many additional resources can be used to complement information stored in this type of tool. we can use, for example, semantic annotations of the rdf-schema (rdf-s) data model, an extension of the rdf, to relate concepts of our vocabulary with other relevant information on the web. for example, the "goodsleeping" concept, presented as a preventive aspect in the result set of fig. 7 , can bring subjectivity about how much sleep would be ideal for each individual. therefore, we can create semantic annotations for this concept, such annotations may refer to concepts from other web pages or other ontologies available on the web [9] . in this case, we use the national sleep foundation website (https:// www.sleepfoundation.org/) [31] to couple with this concept, thus highlighting the recommendations of sleep hours for each age group. in this paper, specifically, we show results of depression-related inferences, but many other mental disorders can be explored. there are no limits to the knowledge stored in this platform, the semantic repository is dynamic and is available on the web to be constantly fed with new knowledge from professionals and researchers involved in this area. the developed ontology comprises 361 classes, 37 relationships among these classes, 72 individuals, and the maximum depth is 9. this proposal not only addresses the biomedical aspects of mental health but also relates them to the day-to-day operations of health services, allowing information systems to be aligned with the strategies of the mental health network, which is its most innovative point. even in a clinical setting supported by the use of traditional information systems and electronic medical records, the rate of medical errors can still reach 24.4% [32] . in this way, computational ontologies are presented as an extension of these traditional systems, offering additional ways to structure information, infer and make available evidence-based knowledge. however, ontology still needs the insertion of a wider range of knowledge and the establishment of relationships with other health areas, thus increasing its completeness. for example, drug entities may be related to other pharmaceutical ontologies, providing the exact description of each type of medication and their characteristics. nutritionrelated entities can be connected with other nutritionism ontologies, thus providing highly expressive and informative structures to users. aiming at this kind of integration, we make available the developed ontology (mental health management ontology -mhmo) in the international repository of bioportal biomedical ontologies so that it can be used in other health projects around the world. the bioportal is an open database that provides access to biomedical ontologies via web services, facilitating community participation in ontology assessment and evolution and providing additional resources for terminology mapping and criteria review [33] . in conclusion, this computational artifact contains stored knowledge that can be extracted through personalized consultations to assist mental health professionals in clinical decisions and can be used as a common basis for knowledge sharing between humans and machines, promoting improvements in interoperability issues of his. it can also be used as a layer for building other decision-support information systems, health observatories, and varied smart applications, being useful in areas such as machine learning and artificial intelligence. this study is part of a larger project. as future work, we aim to use the ontology to develop a mental health observatory for a brazilian public health network, to improve the monitoring, analysis, and visualization of mental health issues, providing information to support evidence-based decisions, health policies elaboration, public planning, and data sharing. the ontology can be constantly fed with new knowledge to continuously assist the mental health services provided to the population and can be used to optimizing processes, reducing resource consumption and bringing benefits to health professionals, managers, and patients. national advisory mental health council workgroup -from discovery to cure: accelerating the development of new and personalized interventions for mental illness an ehealth platform for the support of a brazilian regional network of mental health care (ehealth-interop): development of an interoperability platform for mental care integration adesão ao tratamento psiquiátrico, após alta hospitalar: acompanhamento na rede de serviços de saúde (doctoral dissertation towards a health observatory conceptual model based on the semantic web semantic interoperability in heterogeneous iot infrastructure for healthcare an ontology based decision support for tuberculosis management and control in india proposal of an ontology for mental health management in brazil ontology-based security tool for critical cyberphysical systems proposal of an evaluation model for mental health care networks using information technologies for its management minimum data consensus: essential information to continuing healthcare the open-multinet upper ontology towards the semantic-based management of federated infrastructures a knowledge-based clinical decision support system for the diagnosis of alzheimer disease ontology-based clinical decision support system for predicting high-risk pregnant woman ontology based semantic recommendations for discharge summary medication information for patients a systematic review of chronic disease management an ontology-based intelligent agent for respiratory waveform classification ontology-based modeling of clinical practice guidelines: a clinical decision support system for breast cancer follow-up interventions at primary care settings world health organization: mental health action plan american psychiatric association. diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders (dsm-5) building ontologies with methontology as a technical resource for specialized translation: ontouav project, a multilingual web ontology (en/fr/es) on unmanned aircraft vehicles (uav) for specialized translation the protégé project: a look back and a look forward who icd 10 online version a study on traditional medicine ontology hermit: a highly-efficient owl reasoner semantic web for the working ontologist: effective modeling in rdfs and owl the epidemiology of major depressive disorder: results from the national comorbidity survey replication (ncs-r) combining pharmacotherapy and psychotherapy or monotherapy for major depression? a meta-analysis on the long-term effects real-world data on ssri antidepressant side effects national sleep foundation recommends new sleep times changes in rates of autopsydetected diagnostic errors over time: a systematic review bioportal as a dataset of linked biomedical ontologies and terminologies in rdf internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 52130-h.htm or 52130-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52130/52130-h/52130-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52130/52130-h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/fairviewboysatca00gord fairview boys at camp mystery or the old hermit and his secret by frederick gordon author of "fairview boys afloat and ashore," "fairview boys on eagle mountain," "fairview boys and their rivals," etc. illustrated charles e. graham & co. newark, n. j. new york [illustration: "what's the matter?" cried the hunter.] * * * * * * books for boys by frederick gordon fairview boys series illustrated. price, per volume, 75 cents, postpaid. fairview boys afloat and ashore or, the young crusoes of pine island fairview boys on eagle mountain or, sammy brown's treasure hunt fairview boys and their rivals or, bob bouncer's schooldays fairview boys at camp mystery or, the old hermit and his secret fairview boys at lighthouse cove or, carried out to sea * * * * * * copyright, 1914, by graham & matlack _fairview boys at camp mystery_ contents chapter page i. the earthquake 7 ii. the first snow 14 iii. sammy has an idea 22 iv. a queer sight 31 v. winter fun 40 vi. a fine chance 48 vii. at camp mystery 56 viii. the old mansion 62 ix. sammy's queer find 70 x. the mysterious room 77 xi. the strange hermit 84 xii. into the drift 93 xiii. helping the hermit 101 xiv. the boiling spring 109 xv. end of camp mystery 119 [illustration: logo] fairview boys at camp mystery chapter i the earthquake "there's jed burr!" "coming back to school; eh? then he can't be suspended any more." "no, he isn't. but i wish he was. there's sure to be a lot of trouble now, and i was thinking how much more fun we could have with him away." three boys stood talking together in the school yard, where many children were waiting for the final bell to ring to call them to their studies. the three boys were looking at a larger lad, who was walking slowly along the gravel path. "he looks to be the same bully as ever," said bob bouncer, one of the three boys. "i guess he is, too," added frank haven. "being suspended can't have changed him much." "well, if he tries any of his mean tricks on me," spoke sammy brown, "i know what i'll do!" "what?" asked frank, as he turned about to face the larger lad, so as to be ready, in case of any sudden attack, of the kind for which jed burr had a reputation. "what'll you do, sammy?" "i'll have him arrested! i'm not going to stand for any more of his games!" "i'm with you!" agreed bob. "but maybe we could play a trick on him first. he's played so many mean ones on us." "now don't start anything," advised frank, who was more quiet than either of his two chums. "if we begin, the blame will be on us. we'll let jed alone if he lets us." "he doesn't seem to be going to do anything," added sammy. "maybe he's going to behave better this term." "i hope so," returned frank. "well, let's go in. doesn't our room look dandy, since they fixed it up after the fire?" "i should say so!" cried sammy. "and miss williams brought a fine lot of pictures for the walls. it's more like the parlor at home than a classroom." "yes, and miss williams isn't like some teachers, either," went on frank. "she's as kind as can be." the three boys strolled toward the schoolhouse, which had opened for the fall term after some delay, caused by a fire. now the building, in some parts, was altogether new, and all the rooms had been redecorated and painted. the structure had also been made larger. "well, i'm glad, in some ways, that school's begun again," said sammy. "though vacation was lots of fun." "yes, we can have some good times in school," agreed frank. "and there's that clubroom your father fixed up in the barn for us," put in sammy. "that sure was good of him, frank. we can have fun there, if we can't at school. and i'm going to do a lot of training in our club gymnasium, too, this winter." "huh! you train!" laughed frank. "first we know you'll be off to the mountains, looking for more buried treasure." "aw, you're always casting that up!" grumbled sammy. "still, you must give bob credit for finding your father's jewelry that the tramp hid down in the schoolhouse well." "that's right," agreed frank. "and you found miser dolby's pocketbook. oh, say, look! there goes jed into the principal's office! i guess something must be going to happen." "i know all about it!" exclaimed a voice back of the three boys. they turned quickly, to see nellie somers. "tell us about it!" begged sammy. he and his chums so much wanted to know the story of the suspended boy coming back, that they did not mind asking a girl about it. "jed has promised to be a better boy," said nellie, glad that she had a chance to give some information. "the school board considered his case, after he took the spelling list out of miss williams' desk, and said he couldn't come back until he promised to be good. at first jed wouldn't, but he finally did, and he has to apologize to the whole school this morning. then he can be in his class again." "oh ho!" cried sammy. "so that's what makes jed so quiet!" "no wonder he didn't try any tricks," added frank. "he sure will feel mean to have to get up before the whole school," added bob bouncer. "come on in. it's almost time for the last bell." "good-bye!" cried nellie, as she ran on to join her girl friends. it was the first day of the new term, and there was more or less confusion. and since it was the first day, no one wanted to be late. also the talk of jed's apology had spread, and everyone wanted to see what would happen. into the school trooped the boys and girls, laughing and talking. many looked about to see the changes made since the fire. as sammy, frank and bob started up a short flight of steps to their room, they were startled to hear a banging noise above them. they looked up, and saw johnnie jones, one of the fattest little chaps in the school, start to roll down. he had stumbled at the top step, and had fallen head over heels. "look out!" cried bob. "hold fast!" advised sammy. "catch him!" called frank, and this was the best advice of all. "get together," went on frank to his chums, "and we'll hold him when he gets here." they were now about half-way up the flight of steps, and, forming themselves into a solid body, as though about to stop a rush in a football game, they braced themselves to catch fat johnnie. with a bump and a bounce he landed against them, and in another moment frank had set the little fellow on his feet again. "there you are, johnnie!" said frank, while sammy and bob brushed the dust from his clothes. "you aren't hurt; are you?" johnnie gasped once or twice, opened his mouth as though to howl, and then, thinking better of it, closed his lips again. "no, i'm not hurt!" he said bravely. "he's too fat to get hurt!" laughed bob. "you're like a rubber ball; aren't you, johnnie?" "i--i guess so," answered the little fellow, "but i don't want to bounce down stairs again!" the three chums laughed at him as he started up the stairs once more, and they kept close behind him, but he did not fall again. into their classroom went bob, sammy and frank. other boys and girls were already there, and more came in. miss williams was there to meet them with a smile. she was a very pretty school-teacher, and her pupils loved her. soon the final bell rang, and then the children from the different rooms marched into the one, big main hall, or auditorium, where the morning exercises were held. there were many new pupils present this first day of the term. there was singing, the reading of the bible, and prayers, and then mr. tetlow, the principal of the school, greeted those present. he spoke of the fire, and what had happened at it, and mentioned the delay in opening the school. he welcomed all who had now come, and said he hoped they would all study hard to make up for lost time. "and now," went on the principal, "i have something not so pleasant to say. but it has to be done, and it may be for the good of all of us. one of our pupils was suspended last term for doing something wrong. we all do wrong sometimes, but if we are sorry for it, and try not to do it again, we should be forgiven. "and so i hope when you hear jed burr say that he is sorry, you will all forgive him, and be friends with him again. now jed, let's get it over with," and he smiled at the former bully, who sat in a front seat. the principal wanted to make it as easy as he could for the lad. jed was very red in the face as he shuffled up to the platform. he hung down his head, and no one could doubt but that his punishment was hard. he stood for a moment before all the school, getting very red in the face. "well," said mr. tetlow, kindly, "go on, jed. just a few words, to tell us you are sorry." "i--i--er--i done wrong," stammered poor jed, "and i'm sorry for it!" the principal stepped up beside him. "that is enough," he said. "you did very well, jed. now we will let bygones be bygones. you may all go to your classes." sammy, bob and frank, with the others, marched out. the little scene in which jed, their former enemy, had taken part, had made them do some hard thinking. they were glad they had not been called on to stand up and apologize to the whole school. soon lessons were under way once more. miss williams gave a little talk to the pupils in her room, explaining the new work that was to be taken up that fall and winter. "it will be harder than that which you had before the fire," she said, "but you know we have to go ahead in this world. it will not do to stand still. i will help you all i can. "you will notice that i have hung some pictures on the walls. they are to help you in your lessons, for it is sometimes easy to understand a thing when we see a picture of it. i have other pictures to bring when we need them." sammy brown suddenly thought of something. he raised his hand to show that he wished to speak. "what is it?" asked miss williams. "we've got some pictures in our clubroom," said sammy. "i could bring them. there's a football game picture, and a lot of baseball players, and a man hunting, and----" sammy saw a smile on miss williams' face, and paused. "that's very nice of you, sammy," she said, kindly, "and if we need that sort of pictures you may bring them. but i'm afraid our lessons won't be about baseball or football. you'll get enough of those games out of school. "now we will begin on the geography lesson. i want you to look at this picture over here. it shows----" but miss williams did not say what the picture showed, for at that moment there was a low, deep rumbling that seemed to go all through the school. the building shook and trembled. then the rumble grew to a roaring sound, and the building vibrated still more. the windows rattled as if the glass would break. several girls screamed. the boys leaped from their desks. "it's another fire!" yelled sammy. "it's an explosion!" shouted bob. "no! it's an earthquake!" exclaimed frank. "come on, everybody! get out before the school falls on us!" and he made a rush for the door. "stop!" commanded miss williams sharply. "boys, you are forgetting yourselves. let the girls go first!" and, while the rumbling continued, and the building still shook, the boys held back, while the girls rushed from the room. chapter ii the first snow the whole school was in excitement. from all the rooms the boys and girls were rushing out, not stopping for their hats or coats. frightened teachers, and the excited principal, were trying to quiet them. for everyone felt sure the school building was going to fall, and all wanted to get out as quickly as possible. "now, boys, you may go!" said miss williams, when the girls were out of her room. some of the boys started, but frank haven, taking his place at the door, cried: "no, miss williams, you go first!" she gave him a glance that showed how much she appreciated his thoughtfulness for her, but she said quietly, though her lips trembled: "no, frank. i am like the captain of a ship. i will stay until the last. but, oh, do hurry out!" hearing this two other boys made a rush. "that won't do!" cried bob sharply. "you'll all get in a jam on the stairs." "that's right!" exclaimed sammy. "form in line, as we always do at fire drill!" "good!" cried miss williams. "ready! in line! march!" her sharp command had a good effect, and the boys marched out in order. sammy and his two chums came last, and miss williams followed them. the rumbling and shaking of the building still continued, and now dense white clouds could be seen coming from the basement. "she's on fire again!" cried sammy, as he and his chums reached the yard safely. "and she'll burn up!" added bob. the school yard was filled with excited children, the teachers urging them to get as far away from the building as they could. "is everyone out?" asked the principal. "teachers, look at your different classes and see!" this was done quickly. "oh dear!" exclaimed miss watson, teacher of the kindergarten. "oh dear!" "what is it?" someone asked. "johnnie jones--he isn't here!" at that instant, through a cloud of smoke in front of the window of the kindergarten room a face could be seen. it was that of johnnie jones. "he's in there!" gasped his teacher. "i'll get him!" shouted the principal. "get the children farther off!" "now, let me get him--please?" cried another voice, and jed burr, the bully, who had apologized that morning, sprang forward and went back again into the building which it was feared would fall at any moment. "i can't let him do that!" murmured the principal. "i must go after both of them." but before he could do this jed came out again, carrying fat little johnnie jones in his arms. "i got him all right!" shouted the former bully. "you're a brave boy!" cried mr. tetlow. just then the janitor of the school came up out of the basement. "it's all right!" he cried, through a white cloud of steam. "i have fixed it! i'll tell you all how it happened." "is the earthquake over?" asked sammy. "it wasn't an earthquake," said mr. hobb, the janitor. "come here, and i'll tell you about it." and while the frightened teachers and pupils are gathering back in their rooms, the danger being over, i will take a few moments to tell my new readers something about the boys and others who are to have parts in this story, and also something about the previous books in this series. to begin with, i think you already know my three heroes--sammy brown, bob bouncer and frank haven. though i have named him last in this case, frank was generally the leader in anything he and his two chums did. bob and sammy thought there was no one in the world like frank. sammy was rather more quiet, and his mother said more thoughtful, but if this was so, it was only because sammy was always thinking up something to do. he was quite a reader, and liked stories of mystery, and buried treasure. he was always sure that some day he would find a hidden store of gold, or make some big discovery. bob bouncer was a different sort of lad. he was full of fun, not to say mischief, and when he was around one had better look out that he did not find a funny note pinned to his coat-tail or else watch out that he did not discover a stone dropped into his pocket. but, though bob played many jokes, they were not mean or cruel ones. the three boys lived in the town of fairview, on the shore of rainbow lake, a large body of water, in the centre of which was an extensive island. the first book of this series was called "the fairview boys afloat and ashore; or, the young crusoes of pine island." in that i had the pleasure of telling how the three chums went out on the lake in the _puff_, a sailboat owned by george haven, frank's brother. they did not know much about boats, and the result was that the _puff_ was wrecked near pine island. the boys managed to get on this body of land, and there they lived, until rescued, in real robinson crusoe style. in the second book, called "the fairview boys on eagle mountain; or, sammy brown's treasure hunt," i related how the lads set off on a tour of discovery. sammy brown had come across some curious papers in his home attic, and was sure they told of hidden treasure. so the party set off for eagle mountain, and what they did there, and how the treasure hunt ended, you may read of in the book. "the fairview boys and their rivals; or, bob bouncer's schooldays," is the name of the third volume. in that you can find out all about the many things bob and his chums did; how they got the better of a mad bull, how they had fun in the woods, and how it was that jed burr came to be expelled. then came the robbery of mr. haven's jewelry store, the fire in the school, and the finding of the jewelry down in the well, where the thief had thrown it. and the fire, as i have related, was the cause of the school not being opened on the regular day in the term. which brings us down to the present time. "was there a fire?" asked mr. tetlow, the principal. "no, not exactly a fire," answered the janitor, "though the trouble was caused by a fire." "and there wasn't any earthquake?" asked sammy. he was rather disappointed, to tell the truth, that there had been nothing as big and sensational as an earthquake. "nary an earthquake," went on mr. hobb, who was rather pale. "indeed everyone had been greatly alarmed." "but the building shook!" declared nellie somers. "it certainly did," agreed miss williams. "i thought surely it was going to fall down." "and i thought jed was going to fall down with me," spoke up johnnie jones. "he shook me up and down." "i couldn't help it," said jed, with blushing face. "you're so--so fat." "i guess i am," sighed little johnnie. "well, jed, it was one of the bravest acts i have ever seen," declared the principal, and jed blushed with pleasure. it seemed that he wanted to make up for his mean tricks in the past by showing that he could be a hero when he desired. "now i'll tell you how it was," went on the janitor. "yes, do," urged mr. tetlow. "we don't want it to happen again." by this time the excitement had quieted down. there was no more smoke, and there was no smell of fire. "i had started up the new heating boiler to try it," explained the janitor. "we didn't exactly need steam on to-day, though it is a bit cold, and it looks like snow. but i thought i'd try the new steam plant, so i built a fire in the boiler. "i left it going and went off to do some work in another part of the school, and i guess i forgot about the steam. anyhow, all at once i heard the roar and the rumble, and i felt the building shake. i knew right away what had happened, and i ran down cellar. i didn't even stop to explain to anyone." "well, what did happen?" asked the principal. "why, the safety valve got stuck, and when the pressure got too heavy it wouldn't let the steam escape. so the pipes, all through the school, were filled and the pressure was so strong that they commenced to shake and tremble. that made the building vibrate, and the boiler began to rumble and roar, too. "i was afraid it might blow up, so down i rushed and opened the safety valve that was stuck shut. that let out the steam, and the pressure in the pipes went down. and that's all." "it was enough," said miss williams. "so that white cloud was steam, and not smoke from a fire?" "yes, ma'am," answered the janitor, "it was only steam." "is the safety valve all right now?" asked mr. tetlow. "oh, yes, indeed!" exclaimed the janitor. "i fixed it. i should have looked at it first, but it slipped my mind. i'm sorry." "well, it's all right, as long as no one is hurt," said the principal. "and now, as we have had so much excitement, i hardly believe that you children could do well with your lessons this morning. it is eleven o'clock now, so i will dismiss you all until this afternoon. come back when you have had your dinners." there were cries of delight at this, and the boys and girls hurried back into their classrooms, after their hats and coats, for the weather seemed to be getting colder. sammy and his two chums passed close to jed burr as they went in. then sammy did a kind act. "will you shake hands, jed?" he asked of the former bully. "that was a fine thing you did." jed blushed. "aw, that was nothin'," he said. "there wasn't any danger." "but you didn't know that," returned frank. "i'd like to shake hands with you, too." "so would i," added bob bouncer. "i guess we'll all be friends now, after this." "i've turned over a new leaf," said jed, when they had shaken hands with him. "i'm not going to bother you fellows any more." "that's good," spoke sammy, for jed had been a sore trial to them, and to many other small lads of fairview. "and we'd be glad to have you around to our clubhouse whenever you want to come," added frank, kindly. "thanks," said jed, gratefully. after bob bouncer had discovered mr. haven's jewelry hidden in the well, following the schoolhouse fire, the merchant had offered bob a reward of a hundred dollars. but bob's father would not let him take it, so mr. haven used the money in fitting up, in his barn, a fine clubroom and gymnasium for bob and his chums. talking over the accident to the steam boiler, and making merry that they had had such a short morning session, the boys and girls hurried along on their way home. sammy and his chums walked together, and, every now and then, sammy would look up at the sky. "what are you planning now?" asked bob, giving sammy a sly punch in the ribs. "studying how to make an airship?" and he winked at frank. "aw, let me alone," begged sammy. "can't i look at the weather if i want to?" "sure," agreed bob. "but what makes you so serious about it?" "i'm thinking it's going to snow," answered sammy, "and i'm going to get out my sled, when i go home, to be ready for it. i've got to get the rust off the runners." "snow!" cried frank. "it won't snow to-day." but it did. before school was out that afternoon the white flakes began coming lazily down, and the children, looking from the windows, felt merry at the prospect of a storm. snow is so different from rain. almost everyone is happy and jolly when it snows, but miserable when it rains. "say, it's going to be a good storm all right!" cried sammy, as he and his chums came out of school when lessons were over for the day. "it's three inches deep now, and falling fast." "yes, we'll have to get out our snow-shoes if it keeps on," laughed bob, as he slyly dropped some snow down frank's neck. "ouch!" cried frank, squirming about as he felt the coldness down his spine. "i'll wash your face for that, bob bouncer!" he raced down the street after his fun-loving chum, but before he reached him he saw something that made him stop. this was the sight of an elderly lady walking carefully along, just ahead of him, through the snow. as frank came up behind her he saw her fall heavily, and lay quite still in a heap on the sidewalk. "here you go, fellows!" cried frank, to bob and sammy. "we've got to help her--come here!" chapter iii sammy has an idea "maybe she's dead!" gasped sammy brown, as he reached the side of frank, and looked down on the motionless old lady. "there you go!" cried frank, half angrily, "always thinking something like that. why should she be dead?" "she fell heavily enough," said bob. "the snow's awful slippery. maybe her leg's broken." "that's more like it," said frank. "now we've got to take her into one of these houses. can we carry her?" "i guess we'll have to," said bob. "there doesn't seem to be anyone else around just now. can we lift her?" at that moment the elderly lady who had fallen tried to get up. her eyes, that had been closed, were opened, and she looked very pale. "are you hurt?" asked frank, anxiously. "we'll help you get up, and carry you into one of these houses." [illustration: "are you hurt?" asked frank.] he gazed up and down the street as he spoke. there were no other persons in sight, and the accident had happened at a place where there were only a few houses. had there been stores nearby someone might have come out at once to help the old lady. "i don't believe i am badly hurt," she said, with a smile. "i thought at first my leg was broken, but i'm sure, now, it is not, though it may be sprained. i slipped and struck my head when i went down. i must have been unconscious for a few seconds." "you were," said bob, who had once seen his mother faint. "now, if you'll let us, we can carry you to the nearest house, and get a doctor." "i'm sure i'm very much obliged to you nice boys," spoke the elderly lady, "but i do not believe you can carry me. i am pretty heavy." "we're strong," declared sammy. "we play football!" he added, proudly. "well, i think i can walk," the lady went on, "though i may have to lean on your shoulders. i should not have come out without my rubbers to-day, but i did not think it was going to snow. i guess winter has set in now, and i rather dread it." the boys thought this strange. to them winter was one of their jolly seasons, when they had much fun. they did not stop to think that the poor and the old do not like the hard cold of winter. "if you will let me take hold of your hands," went on the elderly lady, "i think i can get to my feet. then you may be able to help me to one of those houses." she held up her hands as she spoke. sammy took one and frank the other, while bob lifted her at the shoulders. "now!" she exclaimed, in a stronger voice than she had used before, "all together, and i'll be up!" the boys pulled and pushed, and slowly the old lady was gotten to her feet. she swayed unsteadily for a moment, and leaned heavily on frank. just then, a window in the nearest house was opened, and a woman, leaning out, called: "bring her right over here, boys. i'll look after her. i'll come and help you. are you much hurt, mrs. blake? i just happened to see you." "no, thank you, i'm not much hurt. i think i'm all right, except perhaps for a strain, or some bruises," was the answer. "i have good helpers, you see. don't come out in the storm. they can get me to your house." "are you mrs. blake?" asked sammy, quickly. "that is my name," was her answer, with a smile. "i guess my mother knows you," went on sammy. "her name is brown." "oh, are you mrs. brown's boy?" exclaimed mrs. blake. "i thought i knew your face. well, i'm real glad to see you. and are these your brothers?" "no'm, they're my chums," answered sammy. "do you feel all right now?" "yes, only a trifle dizzy. i'll be better when i rest a bit in mrs. handee's house. now let me see if i can walk." she found that she could, by going slowly. the shock of her fall was passing off, and by leaning on the shoulders of bob and frank, while sammy carried her bag and umbrella for her, she made her way to the house where the woman waited with the door open. mrs. handee came down the front steps to help mrs. blake up, and soon the elderly lady was sitting comfortably in an easy chair before the fire. "my!" exclaimed mrs. blake, leaning back comfortably. "this has been quite an experience for me," and she looked at the three boys, who did not know exactly what to do, now that they had come in. "i never fell before--not since i was a girl, and i guess i've forgotten how to do it." "you were lucky not to have broken some bones," spoke mrs. handee. "are you sure you don't want the doctor?" "we'll go for one!" offered sammy, eagerly. "oh, no, indeed, i don't want one," declared mrs. blake, with a laugh. "i'll be all right soon, and able to go home. my daughter will be worried about me. my, how it snows!" and she looked out of the window where could be seen a perfect cloud of white flakes coming down. "yes, i think we're going have a regular old-fashioned winter," said mrs. handee. "i dread it, too. now i'm going to make you a nice hot cup of tea. will you boys have something to eat?" she asked. sammy and his chums looked at one another and their faces got rather red. "if--if you please," said sammy, "i'm not allowed to have strong tea." "me either!" added frank and bob. "bless your hearts! i didn't mean tea!" laughed mrs. handee. "it is not good for growing boys, unless it's very, very weak, and then it isn't tea. i meant to give you some bread and jam. do you think you could eat it?" "could we?" murmured sammy. "just try us, mrs. handee!" exclaimed frank, and, with another laugh, the lady of the house went out to the kitchen. "well, i'm sure i can't thank you boys enough for what you did for me," said mrs. blake, after a pause. "it wasn't anything," replied bob. "oh, yes, it was, too!" she insisted. "i thank you very much, and i want to tell your mothers what nice boys you are. lots of young folks now-a-days don't think, or care, anything about the old folks. seems to me, now, that i've often seen you three boys around fairview together; haven't i?" and she looked at them closely. "yes'm, we're generally together," replied sammy. "do you go camping together?" asked mrs. blake. "oh, yes, often," spoke frank. "and once we were all wrecked together on pine island," added bob. "you don't tell me!" exclaimed mrs. blake. "on pine island? why i have a brother there. peter jessup is his name. he's quite a hunter, too. he lives at the far end, near woodport. have you ever been there?" "no, we were down at the other end," said frank. "then perhaps you did not meet my brother?" "no, not that we know of," answered sammy. "i'm sure he'd be glad to see you," proceeded mrs. blake. "he is fond of boys. when he was young he was just like you, always going off on hunting or fishing trips. if ever you go to pine island again i wish you'd call on him. i'll write him a letter, explaining how kind you have been to me, and i'm sure he'd be glad to see you at his hunting cabin." "has he a hunting cabin?" asked bob, his eyes shining in delight. "indeed he has, with lots of skins, and deer horns and the like of that in it," said mrs. blake. "of course he did not get them all around here, for game is rather scarce. but he lives the life of a hunter still, sleeps in a 'bunk' as he calls it, and all that. he even cooks over a campfire in the summer." "oh, i wish we could go there!" sighed bob. "i'm sure you'll be welcome," spoke mrs. blake. and then mrs. handee came in with the tea for her elderly guest, and the bread and jam for the boys, and that they enjoyed it i am sure i need not say. "well, i think i will be able to go along now," said mrs. blake, after a pause. "that tea made me feel much better." "are you sure you can go?" asked mrs. handee. "it's quite a step to your daughter's house." "oh, i can do it," was the answer. "my leg is much better, and i only have a slight headache. i thank you very much. as for you boys, don't forget to come and see me, and i'll tell you more about my brother peter. i'll be sure to write to him and tell him you're going to visit him." "we'll go if we can," said frank. sammy brown seemed to be thinking deeply on some subject. the boys said good-bye and went out into the storm. the snow was still coming down, and they wanted to play in it--to make balls to toss at one another, to roll in it, to jump over and into the drifts, to roll big balls as the foundation for a snow house. there was nothing more they could do for mrs. blake, she said, and she would soon start for home herself. so sammy, bob and frank hurried away, promising to call on the lady to whose aid they had come. "are you really going?" asked frank of his chums, as they walked on through the snow. "i mean to her house?" "of course we are!" cried sammy. "i want to meet her brother the hunter; don't you?" "i guess it would be nice," agreed frank. "nice!" cried sammy. "say, i guess you don't know what might happen if we went to see him; do you?" "you mean we might shoot a bear or a deer?" laughed frank. "no, i don't mean anything like that, for now there aren't any such things on pine island. but you know we never have been up at the far end of the island, and we might find----" "oh, i know what he's going to say!" cried frank, as he threw a snowball at a boy going down the street. "you're thinking we can find some treasure there; eh, sammy?" "well, we might!" insisted sammy, not minding the laughs of his chums. "that part of the island is lonely enough for treasure. but i had another idea." "say, you're full of 'em to-day!" remarked bob. "let's hear it," suggested frank. "well, you know there's supposed to be a queer old hermit up at the far end of the island," went on sammy. "a hermit?" cried frank. "yes, a strange old hermit, with a long white beard, and i've heard it said that he has some secret he's trying to hide. if we go there we might find out the secret. now what do you think of that for an idea?" demanded sammy, eagerly. chapter iv a queer sight sammy's two chums looked strangely at him. he returned their gaze steadily. "well," he said, defiantly, "it's true! what makes you look at me that way?" "ha! ha!" laughed frank. "he's the same old sammy, isn't he, bob?" "that's what he is! always thinking he's going to find a treasure, and if he can't do that he trots out an old hermit. go on, sammy, can't you scare up a ghost while you're at it? the ghost of pine island! go ahead, make up something about that." sammy brown turned squarely about, and walked away from his chums without saying a word. for a moment frank and bob looked after him, and then they looked at one another. "there he goes," exclaimed frank. "and i guess he's mad, too," added bob. "but i didn't mean anything." "neither did i!" "let's call him back." "let's go after him!" thus bob and frank spoke, one after the other. then bob cried: "i say, sammy! come on back! wait a minute. we didn't mean anything." but sammy kept on his way, never turning his head to look back. on he plodded through the snow that was still falling. "he's real mad this time," said bob. "yes, i guess we'll have to apologize, same as jed burr did," agreed frank. "come on!" together they raced after sammy, and, catching up to him, they grasped him by either arm. they spoke quickly and eagerly by turns. "we didn't mean anything." "we were only fooling." "maybe there is a hermit on pine island after all." "we--we apologize!" burst out frank. he said it in such a comical manner that sammy, hurt as his feelings had been, could not stand out against his chums any longer. a smile came over his face, and then bob and frank laughed too. "all right, sammy," declared frank. "we believe you. tell us about the hermit. maybe we can go up there and see him." "and about the ghost, too," added bob. "there isn't any ghost that i know of," cried sammy, quickly, "and i didn't mention any." "bob means the hermit," said frank quickly, winking at his chum to show that he must not speak of that subject again. "tell us about the hermit, sammy." "well, i'll tell you all i heard," went on the lad who so loved to dig after mysteries. "it was benny lane, the cripple boy, who told me. i was walking along with him one day, about a week ago, and we saw old silas dolby, the miser, just ahead of us. i just happened to say that mr. dolby lived like a hermit, and benny said that it was so, for his uncle had once seen a hermit." "and of course that set you going right off," spoke bob. "yes, it did," answered sammy. "i asked benny where his uncle had seen the hermit, and ben said it was on pine island. that was the first i ever heard of one of those men being there, so i asked all i could about it. "benny didn't know much, but he said his uncle had been out fishing one day, and stopped off at pine island to eat his lunch. he was almost through, when an old man, all stooped over, and with a long white beard, came out of the bushes, shook a stick at benny's uncle and told him to get off that part of the island, as he owned it." "did he go?" asked frank. "yes," went on sammy, "for the hermit acted dangerous. ben's uncle thought maybe he might be an escaped lunatic. so he got into his boat, the hermit watching him all the while, and rowed away." "and what became of the hermit?" asked frank, always eager for details. "he disappeared into the bushes again," said sammy. "i didn't tell you fellows anything about this, for i knew you'd laugh. then, when mrs. blake just now told us about her brother living on pine island, and when she said we might go to see him, i thought i'd tell you about the hermit. but you didn't believe me." "oh, but we do now!" said frank, quickly. "and is he hunting after a buried treasure?" asked bob. he began to think there might be more, after all, to sammy's story than he had at first thought. "i don't know, for sure, anything about a treasure there," said sammy, remembering how he had once started on a treasure hunt, which had ended in the finding of only a pocketbook with memorandum papers in it. and this belonged to miser dolby. but there was something else of value in the wallet, so, after all, sammy's hunt amounted to something. "well, we might go up to the island, and see the wild hermit, anyhow," suggested frank. "that would give us something to do when we get a day or so of vacation." "the only trouble is that the lake will soon be frozen over," put in bob. "we could skate over," suggested sammy. "that's right, we could!" cried frank. "we'll do it!" "what do you s'pose the hermit lives on the island for?" asked bob. "and why didn't we see him when we were wrecked there?" "i don't know," replied sammy. "maybe he likes to be lonesome, or else maybe no one wants him to live near them. he may be sort of wild." "i should think he was, if he drove benny's uncle away," came from frank. "we'll have to be careful if we meet him." "that's right," agreed sammy brown. the boys kept on toward their homes, meeting with many of their friends on the way. there were several snowballs thrown, all in good fun, and some of the boys proposed to make a snow fort, and have a regular snowball fight. the next day, after school, the fort was built in a vacant lot. then the boys divided into sides, one party getting inside the fort, and the other, outside, trying to capture it. the three chums decided it would be more fun to storm the fort, so they joined the outside forces. the battle lasted for some time, and many snowballs were thrown back and forth. [illustration: the battle lasted for some time.] "come on, now! charge on the enemy!" cried frank, when he thought he saw a good chance to take the fort. he led the charge, and with such good effect that the fort was captured, and he and his chums left in possession. then the battle turned about, and the snowball fight began all over again. several days of winter fun passed. the boys and girls went coasting before and after school, made snow-men and rolled large snowballs. the weather was pleasant, and just warm enough so that the snow would pack well. one day mrs. blake called on mrs. brown, to thank her for the way in which sammy and his chums had helped her. "your son and his chums are very bright and good boys," said mrs. blake, who had gotten over her fall in the snow. "i have written to my brother, peter jessup, about them, and he says anytime they want to visit his end of pine island he'll be glad to look after them." "that is very kind of him," said mrs. brown, "but sammy and his two friends go off now on more strange trips than i think is good for them." "oh, pshaw!" exclaimed mrs. blake. "boys will be boys! let 'em roam, i say, as long as you know where they are, and that they are safe." "well, i guess if they get the chance they'll go," laughed mrs. brown. "they generally get what they're after. i'll tell them of your kindness." when sammy and his chums heard of what mrs. blake had said, and of the invitation of mr. jessup, the hunter, they grew excited at once, and wanted to start for pine island the next day. but there was school to be thought of, and they, as well as the other pupils, had missed considerable on account of the delay caused by the fire. "besides, it's winter now--not summer," said mrs. brown. "it would not do to go to the island in winter." "oh, yes, it would," cried sammy. "we could dress warm." "besides," said frank, "mr. jessup had a warm cabin." "well, you'd better wait," suggested sammy's mother, and they had to do so. but, about a week after this, there came a cold spell of weather and the lake was frozen over. when frank awoke one morning he looked out of his window, and saw a sheet of ice on rainbow. "oh, fine!" he cried. "now for some skating!" he took his skates to school with him that morning, as did sammy and bob, and during the noon recess the chums, and several of their friends, tried the ice. it was smooth, and thick enough to be safe. "let's skate over to pine island after school is out!" proposed sammy. "i'm with you!" cried bob. "and i'll go too," added frank. "maybe we'll see the hermit." they said nothing to their companions about their plans, but when school was dismissed that afternoon they put on their skates and started across the frozen lake. they felt sure they could reach the island and get back home before dark, and each had received permission to go skating after school, though the island was not mentioned. it was glorious fun on the ice. for some time the three chums found themselves in the midst of their skating companions, but they soon left them behind, and, a little later, were nearing pine island. "make for the upper end," advised sammy. "that's where the hermit will be, if he's anywhere." but though they had had good luck up to this time, bad luck now set in. first the skate of one of the boys would become loose, and he would have to stop and tighten it. then the same thing would happen to another. so they were delayed, and it was almost dusk when they came opposite the far end of the island. this was a place they had seldom, if ever, visited. "well, here we are at last," said sammy. "i'm going to take off my skates and go ashore a while. my feet ache." "we really ought to go back," said frank, slowly. "it's getting dark, and if we're as long going home as we were coming it will be after six when we get in. the folks will worry." "oh, well, we won't stay but a minute--just to rest," said bob. "i'm all out of wind." "well, all right," agreed frank. so they took off their skates and walked on the island. it was covered with snow, and curiously still and silent. "i wonder where mr. jessup has his cabin?" spoke sammy. "probably well inland," said frank. "hark!" cautioned bob. there sounded a rustling in the bushes just ahead of the boys, near a clump of trees. something moved. "maybe it's a bear!" exclaimed sammy. "huh! like the one you thought you saw before, only it was a dog!" laughed bob. "forget it!" grunted sammy. he did not like to be reminded of that. "look!" suddenly exclaimed frank. with trembling finger he pointed straight ahead. it seemed as if a snowbank was moving. and then the boys saw a queer sight. a shaggy head of white hair, and a long white beard rose up almost in front of them. the hair and beard framed a scowling face, that glared directly at the three boys. "quick! run!" cried sammy. "it's the wild hermit of pine island!" chapter v winter fun for a moment, in spite of sammy's warning, neither of his chums was able to move. nor, for that matter, was sammy either. as snakes are said to charm birds by looking at them steadily, so the sight of the old hermit, if such he was, seemed to charm the three boys into standing still there in the snow on the shore of pine island. it was rather a scary scene, with dusk falling, amid a silence that was more startling than noise would have been. the old man rose up from the snow-covered bushes, seeming to tower more than six feet in height. he looked steadily at the boys. then sammy found his voice again, and yelled: "come on, fellows, run!" "that's right! i'm with you!" added frank. and by this time bob bouncer had gotten over his first fright, so he, too, added his voice to those of his chums. "hit him!" he cried. "throw a snowball at him!" "don't you dare do it!" came from sammy. "that'll make him awful mad! run for all you're worth!" this seemed the best advice, for really the old man, in spite of his long white hair and beard, that made him look something like the pictures of santa claus, had not a kindly-appearing face. he scowled, as though very angry at the boys. as yet he had not said a word, only, as he rose to his full height, he made a move as if to come from behind the bushes, back of which he seemed to have been hiding. "here he comes!" yelled sammy. "come on, fellows!" they needed no other warning. the three boys took to their heels, and crashed over the snow and bramble-covered ground to the edge of the frozen lake. "you'd better get away from here!" yelled the strange old man after them. "if i catch you around here again, i'll----" but the boys did not stop to hear what he would do to them. they did not even stop to fasten on their skates, but ran over the ice, slipping and sliding. "is--is he coming?" gasped bob. "i don't know. look back and see for yourself," said sammy. bob did so, but as one cannot very well run over slippery ice and look backward at the same time, what happened to bob can be easily imagined. down he went in a heap, rolling over and over, and sliding along as well. "hey, fellows!" he cried. "don't leave me. help! he'll get me sure! stay with me!" his appeal touched the hearts of his chums. "we can't leave him like that!" said frank. "no," panted sammy. "we'll have to stay with him." they slid along, unable at first to stop on the slippery ice, and then they slowly came to a halt. turning, they went back to pick up bob, but he had already scrambled to his feet, and was running after them. "he isn't coming," said frank, catching sight of the strange man, standing on the shore of the island, near where the boys had landed. "i guess he isn't going to chase us." "it's a good thing, too," panted bob. "why?" asked frank, with a smile. "because if he'd come after me i'd have hit him with my skates; that's what i would!" boasted bob. "what did you run for then?" asked sammy. "'cause you fellows did. think i was going to stay there all alone and tackle him? i was not! so he isn't coming after us; eh?" "no, there he stands," answered sammy, peering through the darkness. they could just make out the old hermit, and as they looked they saw him shake his fist at them. then he disappeared behind a tree. "well, come on, let's get on our skates and make for home," proposed frank. "it's getting late, and the folks will be worried." "that's right," agreed sammy. "but i guess, after this, you fellows will believe what i tell you about hermits and--and things; won't you?" "well, you were right about the hermit," admitted frank. "he sure is there. but that doesn't say there's treasure on the island." "treasure! of course there is!" insisted sammy. "did you ever know of a hermit where there wasn't treasure? that's what hermits are for--to guard a treasure." "well, maybe," said bob, slowly. "anyhow if there _was_ treasure on the island, i wouldn't want to hunt for it if that terrible old man was guarding it." "i would," spoke sammy, bravely. "maybe he doesn't look so scary by daytime. i'm coming up again." "i'm not!" exclaimed bob. but none of the boys knew how soon they would again visit pine island, nor what strange adventures they would have there. they soon had their skates on, and struck off across the frozen lake toward fairview and their homes. it grew darker and darker, but presently the stars came out, and as the ice was glaring white they did not have much trouble seeing their way. reaching home, they found their parents just beginning to get alarmed about them, fearing there had been some accident on the ice. the boys told of their adventure, but in their own homes, with the lamps lighted, and warm fires glowing, the encounter with the hermit did not seem so terrible as it had at the time it happened. "if i see him again i'm going to speak to him," declared sammy. "i'm going to ask him why he doesn't want anybody on that part of the island." "better not," advised sammy's father. "he may be harmless if let alone, but his mind may be diseased, and if you annoy him he might do you some harm." "well, i'll ask mr. jessup, the hunter, about him then," decided sammy, and his father thought this might be all right. there were happy days in fairview now. winter had set in to stay, it seemed, and there was skating and coasting enough to satisfy everyone. sammy and his chums told their friends of their trip to pine island, and of having seen the hermit, and several of the smaller boys of their acquaintance shivered with fear. a number of the larger boys, including jed burr, at once said they were going up and see if they could not find the hermit themselves. jed burr, i might say, was quite a different boy now. he no longer was a bully, tormenting those younger or weaker than himself. his suspension, and the apology he had had to make, seemed to have taken good effect on him. then, too, he was looked upon somewhat as a hero, from having gone back to rescue the little boy at the time when it was thought the school was going to be toppled over by an earthquake. "i like jed now," said sammy, one day. "so do i," added bob. "he's real kind," said frank. "yesterday i had to bring home from the store a heavy basket of potatoes. jed met me and carried it for me." and jed himself was glad that he had "turned over a new leaf." he was finding out that it is more fun, in the end, to be good than to be bad. and jed's teacher was glad, too, for he gave her less trouble. so, as i say, jed and some of the bigger boys in the school, having heard of the experience of sammy and his chums, had decided to go to pine island, to see if they could not find the hermit. "will you come along, sammy, and show us where you saw him?" asked jed. "i will, if bob and frank will," was the answer. but bob and frank would not go, and sammy would not go without them. so jed and his chums set off by themselves on their skates for pine island. they were gone nearly the whole of one saturday, but when they came back they were disappointed, for they had seen nothing of the hermit. "i guess you fellows dreamed it," said jed, with a laugh. "or else you saw shadows on the snow." "we did not dream it!" declared sammy. "and can shadows holler at you?" bob wanted to know. "no, but maybe you heard an echo," suggested jed. "there couldn't be any echo unless somebody said something," spoke frank, "and we heard that hermit speak as plain as anything, and we weren't saying a word." "well, it's queer we didn't see him," returned jed. several days passed--days filled with many winter joys. sammy and his two chums made themselves skate-sails. they took some sticks, and stretched cloth over them, something between the sail of a boat and a kite in shape. then, holding these sails in their hands, they would let the wind blow them over the ice. thus they could skate without getting tired out. then there were sleighing parties, and coasting races on the big hill back of the schoolhouse. sammy and his chums made themselves a bob, by fastening two low clipper sleds together with a long plank. it had a steering wheel, and a bell that sounded, as the bob went down hill, to warn everyone to get out of the way. more snowball battles, and the building of snow houses and snow-men made up other fun for the boys and girls. "i'm going to make the biggest snow house that ever was put up in fairview!" exclaimed sammy, one day. like everything else he did, or had a part in, sammy wanted his undertakings to be out of the ordinary. "all right, we'll help you," said bob and frank. they started the snow house in sammy's yard, as he had proposed it. a dozen large snowballs were rolled, and put in line on four sides of a square. these were to be the walls of the house. the walls were made quite high. then inside of them was piled all the snow the boys could gather. they cleared the ground for some distance about the house, and sammy's father said if only they would work as hard cleaning off the sidewalks in winter, they would be doing a good thing. "but cleaning sidewalks isn't any fun," declared sammy, and his chums agreed with him. they were going to make a big snow pile inside the walls of balls, and then hollow it out, leaving a roof of snow on top. this would be the house. besides the door, by which the snow would be shoveled out, there were also to be windows. all went well for a time. then, when the house was nearly finished, sammy's father came out to look at it. "you're making your roof too thin, boys," he said. "it will fall in on you." "oh, i guess not!" boasted sammy. "we want to have the walls and roof thin, as that gives us more room inside." "well, you mind what i'm telling you," said mr. brown. hardly had he spoken when sammy, who was using his shovel to scrape some snow from the ceiling of the house, sent his shovel right through the roof. "oh!" he cried. he did not have a chance to say anything more, for, just then, the whole roof fell in, burying himself as well as frank and bob out of sight. "i told you so!" cried mr. brown. however, little harm was done, as the roof was too thin to hurt any of the boys. they began to dig themselves out, with mr. brown's help, and soon were outside the ruins of their snow house. "that's too bad," said bob. "it sure is," agreed frank. "and it was all my fault," admitted sammy, with a sigh. "never mind," went on bob. "we can put boards across the walls, now, for a roof, and cover them with snow." "i think that would be the safest plan," spoke mr. brown. the boys had much fun after that, in their snow house. "say, when are we going to take another trip to pine island, and look for--" began sammy brown one day, about a week after the falling in of the snow house roof. "were you going to say look for the hermit?" asked bob, with a laugh. "no, i meant mr. jessup, the hunter. i think it would be jolly to go up and camp there." "it would," agreed frank. "but we have to go to school. it wouldn't be much fun just to go for one day. i'd like to stay a week." "well maybe we could go when the christmas vacation comes," suggested sammy. "i'm going to ask my folks, anyhow." "so will i!" cried frank. "and i," added bob. they were on their way home from school that afternoon, talking over the proposed trip to pine island, when, as they came within sight of rainbow lake, sammy uttered a cry. "look!" he exclaimed, pointing. "the ice must have all melted. there's a sailboat on the lake!" "sailboat! that isn't a sailboat!" said bob. "no, it's an ice yacht!" cried frank. "come on down and let's see who has it. maybe they'll give us a ride." the boys broke into a run, and soon saw that what frank had said was true. it was an ice-boat--one built with runners, like big skates, and a sail, fixed on a mast, standing up in a platform--shaped like a triangle. the boat was skimming swiftly over the ice. "say, that's all right!" cried sammy. "i'm going to make one of those!" "there he goes again!" laughed frank. "well, i am--you'll see!" went on sammy. "come closer, and we'll look how they're made. that seems to be a new kind." the three chums went out on the ice toward the skimming boat. suddenly there was a cracking sound, a deep boom, like a shot from a distant cannon, and a wide crack appeared in the ice, just in front of the ice-boat. before those aboard could turn aside, the front part of the craft had slid into the cold waters of the lake, and several figures were seen floundering about. "come on!" cried sammy, breaking into a run. "we've got to help save them!" chapter vi a fine chance the boys, following sammy, broke into a run. with anxious eyes they looked toward where the ice-boat had broken through a great crack in the frozen surface of rainbow lake. "there's somebody climbing out!" cried frank, as he saw a figure pull itself up on the side of the overturned boat. "but there are some others there!" exclaimed sammy. "we've got to save them all! there's nobody else around!" it was true. that part of the lake was deserted at this moment. "how are we going to save them?" asked bob, as he plodded on. "i don't know how, but we've got to do it!" panted sammy. "don't go too close, or the ice will give way with us," cautioned frank. "i was thinking of that," answered sammy. they were now nearing the boat. part of it rested on firm ice, but the front part sagged into the water, and the sail was half covered. sitting astride of the side of the craft was a boy whom sammy and his chums recognized as jed burr. "anybody else there?" cried sammy, as he came to a stop, and looked at the ice to see if it would be safe to go further. "yes!" cried jed, as well as he could from shivering, for he was wet through, and very cold. "hank blair is there, and jim eaton!" "can you get 'em out?" asked sammy. "shall we run for help?" "time help gets here they'll be gone!" groaned jed. "oh, why didn't i see that crack?" "help! help us out!" came faintly from the black water that could be seen through the opening of the ice. sammy and his chums, looking under the mast of the overturned ice-boat, saw two forms struggling in the water. their hands clung to the edges of the ice, only to have it break off in their grasp. then they would bob under again. "we've got to save them!" cried sammy. "we can't!" moaned bob. "let's go for help!" "can you reach them?" asked sammy of jed, paying no attention to what bob said. "i could if i had a rope to throw to them. but i can't get a rope! oh, what shall i do?" sammy was doing some hard and quick thinking. something like a rope was needed so that jed could hold one end and throw the other to the floundering lads. a rope? where could they get one now? true there were ropes on the ice-boat, but they could not be reached. "i have it!" cried sammy. "our book straps! quick, fellows, take the straps off your books!" it was a bright idea. the straps were the very thing needed. now it happened that sammy and his chums had very long book straps, much longer than were really needed. they were at least a yard in length, and often only a few books were carried in them. but the boys had a habit of also including their skates, and other playthings, in with their books, so they declared that long straps were needed. frank and bob at once grasped sammy's plan. in a trice they had loosed the buckles, and handed him their straps. he fastened the three together and thus had a leather rope almost ten feet long. "that's the idea!" cried jed, still shivering on the side of the ice-boat. "i can reach 'em with that!" "you'd better--better reach us--s-s-s-soon!" called jim eaton, his teeth chattering with cold. "that's--ri-ri-right!" shivered hank blair. "have you out in a jiffy now!" called jed. "throw me the strap, sammy!" "i'll bring it to you," said sammy. "no, don't. it mightn't be safe. the whole boat might slip into the water." so sammy tossed the three straps, fastened together as they were, to jed, who caught them. the next moment, holding firmly to one end, jed swung the other to hank. hank grasped it and carefully began to pull himself forward so he could reach the edge of the ice-boat. a very little help, from a person on a solid place, will allow a person in the water to lift himself up. the water buoys him, so to speak. you boys who have been in swimming know that if you keep low in the water you can support yourself by merely placing one finger on the edge of a pier or a boat. [illustration: sammy tossed the three straps, fastened together.] it was so with hank. slowly, by means of the straps, he was pulled up until he could grasp the ice-boat. "i--i'm all right now," he panted. "get after jim!" he released his hold of the strap, and it was tossed to jim. and not any too soon, either, for jim could not hold on much longer. he was weak from the cold. but he, too, was soon safely towed to a place where he could grasp the half-submerged ice-boat. all three was now comparatively safe. "now look out!" called jed, as he threw back to tommy the buckled straps. "i'm going to work my way to the solid ice, and you two fellows follow. can you do it?" "we've got to!" cried jim, desperately. "go ahead--i'm with you!" exclaimed hank. slowly jed edged his way to where the stern of the ice-boat rested on the solid, frozen surface. in a few seconds he was in safety, though he was wet and shivering, and his clothes were beginning to freeze to him. "come on!" he called to hank and jim, and they followed, but more slowly, for they were quite exhausted. but soon they, too, were safe. "oh, i'm so glad!" cried sammy brown. "so am i!" echoed his two chums. "and maybe we aren't also, youngsters!" chattered jed, "we won't forget this on your part!" "i should s-s-s-say n-n-n-not!" stammered hank. "those straps saved our lives!" "well, you'd better run home as soon as you can," advised frank, "or you'll catch your death of cold." "that's good advice," said jed. "come on. we can leave the ice-boat where it is for a while. i'm going to run and see if i can get warmed up. see you later, sammy!" he set off on a trot toward shore, his two soaked friends following. sammy and his chums remained to look at the ice-boat. some men and boys came up then, too late, however, to help in the rescue. then the men got ropes and pulled the ice-boat up on the hard surface, whence it was hauled to where it was kept tied up. some of the ropes had broken, so that it could not be sailed. "sort of a queer accident," remarked jerry grow, who, with his dog prince, had come up with the crowd. "those fellows could have sailed almost anywhere else on rainbow lake and not gone through. but they had to pick out a spot over a spring, where it never freezes very thick, and of course they went through. there ought to be a mark put up here to warn ice-boats and skaters to keep off." "we'll put one up," said sammy, and a few days later they did mark the danger spot in the ice. it had frozen over again, and could not have been noticed except for the red box which sammy and his chums placed there. thus further accidents were avoided. as for jed and his companions, prompt action saved them from anything worse than slight colds. they got home, took hot baths, drank plenty of hot lemonade and, in a day or so, were out again. it appeared that the three larger boys had bought the ice-boat at second-hand from a man in another town. it was the first time they had tried it that they sailed over the thin ice, and went in. "but it won't happen again," said jed to sammy, when he and jim and hank again met the three chums. "thanks to you chaps we'll know where the danger spot is now." "and thanks to them that we're not down there under the ice now," added hank, with a slight shiver. "that's right," chimed in jim. "say, any time you boys want a ride in our ice-boat, let us know." "sure enough!" exclaimed jed. "maybe you fellows would like to take a sail. it's perfectly safe on the lake now, and we've fixed the boat where she was broken that day." "is the ice safe?" asked sammy. "sure," answered jim. "it's frozen ever so much thicker than it was the day we went out, and besides, we won't go near the danger spot. don't you want to come for a trip?" "fellows, i've an idea!" cried sammy, looking at his chums. "what, another?" asked bob. "yes," went on sammy, with a grin. "this is a fine chance for us. christmas vacation starts next week. why can't we go to pine island on the ice-boat, camp there a few days with mr. jessup, and have jed come back for us--that is if he will?" and he looked at the former bully. "of course we'll come for you!" he exclaimed. "we'd do anything for you boys. we'll take you to pine island any time you say!" "then it's all settled!" spoke sammy, though it was far from that. "we'll go camping with mr. jessup, and--we'll find out the secret of the old hermit," he added in a whisper to his chums. chapter vii at camp mystery "sammy, do you really think we can do it?" "how did you happen to think of it?" thus frank and bob questioned sammy as they walked away from jed and the larger boys, after getting the promise of the use of the ice-boat any time they wanted it. "of course i think we can do it," answered sammy. "and i don't just know how i happened to think of it, except that i knew if we did go camping on pine island we'd have to take some extra clothes with us, and maybe something to eat, and we couldn't very well do that and skate. so i thought of the ice-boat. it'll hold a lot." "it's a fine idea!" exclaimed frank. "now the next thing is to see if our folks will let us go." the boys were a little worried about that part of the program. true, they had been in a number of adventures of late, and their parents had not objected to their going off on several trips during the summer; trips, too, that kept them away over night. but now it was winter, and sleeping away from their warm beds might mean severe colds, if nothing worse. so all three of the boys were a bit doubtful about being allowed to go. "i'll tell you what let's do," proposed sammy. "what?" asked frank. "let's go see mrs. blake," he went on. "we'll tell her we want to go up and call on her brother. she said he'd be glad to have us, and we'll get her to ask our folks if we can't go. they'll be sure to let us then." "good idea, sammy!" cried frank. "i believe that will work!" declared bob, slyly sticking out his foot to trip up sammy. but the latter was too quick for him, and it was bob himself who went down in a snowbank. "i--i'll wash your face for that!" he cried, as he scrambled to his feet and made a rush for sammy. but at that instant old mr. dolby, popularly called a miser, came unexpectedly along, and bob ran full tilt into him, knocking him down. "whew!" whistled frank. "now you have gone and done it!" the miserly old man struggled to his feet. all the boys were afraid to go near to help him, for fear he would use his cane on them. "ah, ha!" he spluttered as he got up, brushing the snow from his clothes. "ah, ha! up to your old tricks again; are you? knocking folks down! i'll fix you for this! i'll have you all arrested, that's what i will!" he shook his cane at the frightened boys. "i--i didn't mean to!" faltered bob, as he picked up the angry man's hat and gave it to him. "didn't mean to! humph! that's what ye allers say! but i'll have the law on ye jest the same! i'll have ye all arrested! look at my hat--all snow!" "it'll brush off," said sammy. "hold your tongue! don't speak to me!" snapped the angry man, as he stalked off down the street. "i'll attend to your cases." for a moment the three chums remained looking after him. then, as he noted the direction taken by the miser, frank said anxiously: "he's going toward the police station. maybe he will have us arrested." "he can't have you two taken in," said bob. "i'm the only one that knocked him down." "huh! s'pose we'd let you stand it all?" demanded sammy. "we'll all stick together. but come on. there's no use waiting for trouble. if he does make a complaint let the officer find us. i'm going home and ask my mother if i can go to pine island." he turned aside, but stopped a moment later to pick up a paper from the snow. he unfolded it and exclaimed: "why! it's a check--a check for ten dollars, and it's for mr. dolby! he must have dropped it." "say! this is just the thing!" cried frank, with ready wit. "let's run and give it to him. maybe he won't be mad then." there was no need to race after the old miser, for a moment later he turned the corner, coming toward the boys. he seemed very much in a hurry, and quite excited. "have you found it? did i drop it here? if you boys have found it and don't give it up--" he spluttered. "is this it?" asked sammy quickly, holding out the check. the miser fairly snatched it from the boy's grasp. "that's it! where'd you get it? you must have took it from my pocket when you knocked me down!" the peevish man exclaimed. "we did not!" cried sammy, in righteous anger. "we found it in the snow where it fell. and knocking you down was an accident." perhaps the miser realized this, or perhaps the joy at finding the ten dollar check he thought he had lost made him more humane. at any rate he growled out: "well, maybe you couldn't help it. but you boys shouldn't be so rough. i won't have you arrested this time, but i will next. i'm an old man, and i can't stand bein' knocked around rough-like. here--here's a penny for you for findin' my check," and he fumbled in an old wallet. "no, thank you!" exclaimed sammy, turning aside. "we don't want any reward." "oh, all right," said the miser, and with a sigh of relief he put the cent back in his purse. "boys have too much money now-a-days as it is." he shuffled off, followed by the indignant glances of the lads. "isn't he the limit!" murmured frank. "he sure is," agreed bob. "you want to stop your fooling, bob," advised sammy. "you nearly got us into trouble." "all right--i'll be good," promised the fun-loving bob. but his chums knew that it would be only for a short time at best. however, they were used to it now. the three soon forgot the little happening with the miser, in their hurry to get home and find out if they could go camping on pine island. school would close for christmas in a day or so, and there was much to do to get ready. it was no easy matter for the boys to get their parents' consent to the trip. they had to "tease" very hard. but their plan of getting mrs. blake to put in a good word for them was not in vain. "of course you ought to let the boys go," she said, when she called in turn on mrs. bouncer, mrs. brown and mrs. haven. "my brother will be delighted to see them, and he'll take the best of care of them. it will do them good. they're only boys once, and they have studied well this term." so it came about that permission was given. the boys were to take along plenty of warm clothing. as for food, mrs. blake said her brother had plenty in his cabin. she had written that the boys were coming, and he had laid in a good stock of provisions. "hurray!" cried sammy, when the matter was settled, "we can go!" arrangements were made, and jed and his larger chums promised to take the three boys to the island on the ice-boat. the lake was frozen over thickly now, and there was no danger. school closed, christmas came, with all its joys, and two days after the holiday the little party of three, in charge of the older boys, set off on the ice-boat. it was a fine sunny day, though cold, and there was a good wind, so they were only a comparatively short time in getting to the upper end of pine island. as they neared the dock in front of the cabin where mr. jessup had his camp, sammy and his chums kept a bright lookout. none of them admitted as much, but they were all thinking they might see the mysterious hermit. "there's your friend, i guess," said jed, as the ice-boat came up into the wind, and headed for the dock. "that's mr. jessup waving to you. i know him." a tall man, with a gun under his arm, was standing on the edge of the little pier that extended out into the frozen lake. "yes, that's him," said sammy, who knew the hunter from the way in which mrs. blake had described her brother. "i wish we were you chaps," spoke jim eaton. "you'll have no end of good times here." "that's what they will," added hank. but neither they, nor sammy and his chums, dreamed of the queer, as well as good, times in store. the ice-boat came to a stop, the three small boys got off, and the craft veered away again. "well, boys, glad to see you!" called mr. jessup, cordially as he met them. "welcome to camp mystery!" chapter viii the old mansion sammy brown and his chums looked queerly at one another. then they glanced at mr. jessup. he smiled as he peered at them from under his shaggy eyebrows. "camp mystery, did you say?" asked sammy, wonderingly. "that's what i said," was the answer. "but don't get frightened, i don't believe the mystery will hurt you." "is there really a mystery?" asked sammy, eagerly. "is there a--a ghost--or something like that?" mr. jessup laughed heartily. "no need to ask your name," he chuckled. "you're sammy brown? my sister told me all about you." sammy blushed. "well--er--well," he stammered, "i only thought----" "no harm done at all!" went on the hunter, still laughing. "my sister said one of you boys was always on the lookout for something strange, like buried treasure, or a lost diamond mine. well, we haven't got either of those things on this end of pine island, whatever they may have down below. but that's how i guessed your name, sammy. "and now let me see, you ought to be bob bouncer, by rights," and he looked at bob with his head on one side. "how about it?" "that's my name," admitted the owner of it. "i thought so. then of course, as you're the only one left," he said to frank, "you're mr. haven's son." "how did you guess my name?" asked bob. "oh, my sister said bob was the one with a twinkle in his eye that meant mischief. you've got it, so you're him. i hope you don't cut-up too much. i don't mind sitting down on a pin once in a while, but i don't like to find mud turtles in my bed----" "i don't do any of those things!" cried bob, in confusion. "no, i s'pose you don't, but it's just as well to warn you," and by the merry twinkle in mr. jessup's eyes the boys knew he was only joking. "now then," he went on, "forward for camp mystery! got all your luggage?" "all we need, i guess," answered sammy. each of the boys had a good-sized valise. "but what makes you call your place camp mystery?" asked the lad. "your sister didn't say anything about that." "no, for it's only lately that i've had occasion to call it that. you see----" but mr. jessup was interrupted by a crashing sound in the underbrush at one side of the path, and from the bushes there was shaken down a shower of the light snow that had fallen the night before. "look out!" cried frank, starting back. "maybe it's him!" added bob. "don't run!" advised sammy. mr. jessup stared in surprise at the three lads, but before he could ask them the reason for their strange remarks there burst out from the bushes a fine hunting dog, who ran straight for the man, wagging his tail in delight. "oh, so there you are, maybe!" exclaimed mr. jessup. "i was just wondering what had become of you." "is that your dog?" asked sammy. "did he make that noise?" inquired frank. "yes. what did you think it was--a ghost?" mr. jessup wanted to know. once more he looked strangely at the boys. "we--we thought," began bob, and then he glanced at sammy, as if asking him to explain the thoughts of his chums. "oh, you thought maybe it was the mystery; is that it?" mr. jessup wanted to know. "no, it isn't that. the mystery, if that's what i am to call it, doesn't make that much noise. it's a very quiet sort of a mystery; the one in my camp." the boys were puzzled. clearly there was more than one queer thing, to be gotten to the bottom of, on pine island. the dog was frisking about, soon making friends with the boys. "quiet now, maybe," cautioned the hunter. "we can't scare up anything to-day. down, sir!" "is--is his name maybe?" asked bob, thinking there might be a joke attached to the animal's title. "it is," said mr. jessup. "you see i call him maybe because when we go out hunting--he and i--maybe we'll have luck, and--maybe we won't. it's been mostly not, of late, though maybe my luck will change, now that you boys have come. "but come. tell me what you thought it was when you heard the dog make a noise in the bushes." "and then will you tell us what the mystery is?" asked sammy. "of course. i'll tell you first, if you like. to be brief i've been missing things from my camp--food mostly, though the other night one of my best blankets was taken. and the funny part of it is that i can't get a trace of the thief. things disappear when i'm away from camp, and sometimes when i'm asleep. it's all quite strange, so that's why i call this camp mystery. i wish i could find out who is at the bottom of it." sammy was eager to relate his story now. "perhaps we can tell you!" he eagerly exclaimed, when mr. jessup nodded to show that he had finished. "it must be the hermit who's taking your things." if he and his chums expected mr. jessup to show surprise at the mention of the hermit they were disappointed. mr. jessup only shook his head. "so you've seen him, too," he murmured. "he's showing himself more often of late. i hope he doesn't get into trouble." "who?" asked frank. "the hermit." "oh, then you know him?" asked sammy. his expected surprise had amounted to nothing. he was rather disappointed. "oh, yes, i know him," admitted the hunter, "but that isn't saying i know what he's up to. that part is queer, i admit." "who is he?" asked sammy, and he briefly told how they had encountered the strange old man, with his white hair and beard. "well, his name is franklin addison," answered mr. jessup, "and he has been here for some time. just when he came i don't remember, but i know i ran across him one day, and he ordered me off the island. of course i didn't go, owning considerable land here. so i stood my ground, and explained matters. "then mr. addison grew more reasonable. he told me he had come to live here to be away from the world, and he showed me a little hut he had made for himself, on a small piece of land he said was his. a poor enough place it is, but he seems to like it. since then, though we haven't met often, we have been better friends. i let him alone, and he lets me alone. he lives about a mile from here, in a lonesome place. "what he is doing here i can't make out. maybe he's here for his health. there are some folks, you know, who believe in getting off alone like that, and living as much out of doors as they can." "i thought maybe he was the mystery," explained sammy, "and that he had been taking your things." "no," answered the hunter, "mr. addison wouldn't do a thing like that. he has often asked me for food, and i have given it to him. then again he has given me money to buy things for him when i go to the mainland. he isn't the thief, i'm sure." "maybe it's a bear--or some wild animal," suggested bob. "i wish it was!" exclaimed the hunter. "if it was maybe we could get it--maybe and i. but there are no animal tracks, and anyhow the biggest beasts here on pine island now are foxes. no you'll have to guess again, boys." "well, it will give us something to look up," said sammy. "we can solve that mystery, and the one about the hermit, too." he was quite delighted over the prospect, as his chums could easily tell by the light in his eyes. give sammy a mystery, or put him on the trail of buried treasure, be it ever so small, and he was happy. "well, come on to camp mystery," suggested mr. jessup. "you must be hungry--i know i am." with maybe, the dog, running on ahead, and the hunter and the boys bringing up in the rear, the little procession started off along the snowy trail. they went on for perhaps a mile, when, through the trees, the boys caught sight of a large house--a mansion in size. "is that your cabin?" asked sammy. "it's big!" [illustration: "is that your cabin?" asked sammy.] "no, my shack can't compare with that in build," answered the hunter. "that's an old deserted mansion. it used to be a sort of hotel, or boarding house, but it hasn't been used as such in a good many years. it didn't pay. "i'm a sort of care-taker of it, and i have one or two rooms fitted up that i use when my shack gets filled. but the rest of the place is deserted, except for the bats and rats." the boys came to a stop in front of the old house. it was bare and gaunt, and looked lonesome. on most of the windows the sagging shutters flapped dismally. somehow there seemed an air of mystery about the place. sammy brown's spirits rose. "fellows!" he cried, "maybe the mystery is in here!" chapter ix sammy's queer find "ha! ha!" laughed mr. jessup. "my sister was right about you, sammy! you're always on the lookout for something odd." sammy was a little put out by the attention he had drawn to himself. but for all of that, he was not going to back down. "well," he said, "i only thought that if queer things had been going on around your camp, mr. jessup, maybe the person who had been taking your things would be hiding in here." "so you're sure it's a person, and not a ghost; eh?" asked the hunter, with a smile. "i don't believe in ghosts," declared sammy. "good boy! neither do i. but i'm sorry i can't agree with you that the mystery is in this old mansion." "why?" asked sammy, who liked to stick to a point. "because the hermit and i, so far as i know, are the only ones on this part of the island. if there was anyone else here maybe would have routed him out long ago; wouldn't you, maybe?" the dog barked, and wagged his tail. but sammy brown was not satisfied. the old mansion, that had been used for a hotel, when the upper part of pine island had been a summer resort, looked strange enough to hide any sort of a mystery, and the boy made up his mind he would get at the bottom of this one. "we've got two things to do while we're here," sammy told himself. "one is to find out who has been taking mr. jessup's stuff, and the other is to find out what the hermit is doing here." instead of being worried over the seemingly hard work, sammy brown was delighted. it gave him a chance to do something, and this always pleased the lad. "well," said mr. jessup, after a pause, "there's no need of staying here unless you want to. better come on to my cabin, and we'll have a meal. then you can unpack, and get your bearings. are you warm enough?" "oh, yes, indeed!" exclaimed frank. "mother made me put on my heavy clothes." "well, it's a good idea, for it often gets quite chilly on the island. now then, forward march!" sammy hung back a little. "what's the matter?" asked mr. jessup, looking at him. "do you see anything?" "no," was the answer, "but i'd like a chance to go through that deserted mansion." "oh, you'll get it all right enough," the hunter promised him. "i've got to straighten up the few rooms i use in a day or so, and you boys can help. "you see," he explained, "i'm expecting a company of gentlemen up in about two weeks to stay a few days, and there'll be more of them than i can keep in my cabin. so i've got to use a few rooms in the old mansion. i'll have to clean them up a bit though, first." "maybe we'll be in the way then," suggested bob. "bless your heart, no! they're in no hurry to come, and i'm going to give you boys a good time first, just as i promised my sister i would. you did her a good turn, and this is the only way i can pay you back. "so don't worry. stay as long as you like, and you'll have all the chance you want, sammy, to go through the old house. you won't find anything, though, i'll wager." sammy said nothing, but he made up his mind that if there was anything in the deserted mansion that would solve the mystery he would find it. a short time later mr. jessup's cabin was reached. it stood in the midst of a grove of trees, and through them a glimpse could be had of the frozen lake. this part of the island was separated from the portion where the boys had played robinson crusoe by a wide stretch of marshland. "which way is the hermit's cabin from here?" asked sammy, when he and his chums had put away the clothes they had brought in their satchels. "right back of here," answered mr. jessup. "but i wouldn't advise you to try to find it alone. there's a bad, swampy bog near it, and you might get mired." "wouldn't it be frozen over now?" asked frank. "no; and that's the funny part of it. that bog never freezes, even in the coldest weather. it's down in a sort of valley, and it's protected. so keep away from there unless i'm with you. there's another reason, too, for not looking up mr. addison." "what is it?" asked sammy, while the other boys waited eagerly for the answer. "well, he's a queer sort of man," went on mr. jessup. "he doesn't like company, and he even objects to me, sometimes, though i seldom bother him. just how he would take to you boys i don't know." "he didn't take to us at all the first time he saw us," spoke bob. "i should say not!" cried frank. "he ordered us away." "and we went--in a hurry," added sammy. "yes," remarked the hunter, with a smile. "then i'd give him a wide berth. i don't just know what his rights are on this island. i know he doesn't bother me, and he keeps off my land, except when he wants to borrow something, or have me buy food for him. so i don't bother him, and i'd advise you boys to do the same." "all right," answered sammy. he did not exactly promise, and the truth of the matter was that he made up his mind to find out more about the queer hermit, as well as about the mystery and the deserted mansion, as soon as he could. and his chums felt the same way. "well, anyhow, we're here!" exclaimed sammy, a little later, while they sat about a campfire in front of the cabin, and ate the meal which mr. jessup got ready. "we're here, and we're going to have some fun!" "that's what we are!" cried frank. "what can we do first?" "well, i'm going to do a little hunting for rabbits this afternoon," said mr. jessup. "you boys can come along, if you like." "fine!" cried sammy. "i wish we had guns and could hunt," said sammy. "you're a bit too young for firearms," said the hunter. "later on, when you grow up, you can have 'em, and i'll show you how to shoot." with this the boys had to be content, though it must be confessed they looked on with eager and envious eyes while mr. jessup got his gun ready for the little expedition. maybe, the dog, as soon as he saw the preparations, frisked about in delight. he barked, and ran to and fro from the cabin, as if asking everyone to hurry. "all right, old fellow," said mr. jessup, soothingly. "we'll soon be with you." pine island, as i have said, was a large one in the midst of rainbow lake. years before, many years, when only the indians roved about that part of the country, it had been part of the main land, so scientists said. they had located a reef in the lake, and their explanation was, that, through the raising of the waters of the lake, the point of land became surrounded by water, and was made into an island. it had happened suddenly, and many large, wild animals, as well as some smaller ones, had been trapped there. in time the wild animals, such as deer and bears, had been killed off, and were never replenished. but the small game, such as rabbits, squirrels, opossums and raccoons, were still rather plentiful. the island was protected by game laws, now, so that the supply was not killed off. then, too, there was some valuable timber on the island, and mr. jessup cut that in the summer when there was no hunting. he floated it down to fairview where he sold it. off through the snow-covered woods started mr. jessup and the boys, with maybe frisking about here and there, trying to scare up a rabbit or a partridge for his master to shoot. for a time luck was poor, and then some pheasants were flushed, and mr. jessup brought down two fat ones. "hurray!" cried bob. "now we'll have a fine dinner!" later on the hunter got two fine rabbits, and oh! how the boys wished they were big enough to have guns! "i'm coming up here every hunting season, as soon as i'm old enough to shoot!" cried frank. "so am i!" exclaimed sammy and bob. as he did not shoot game to sell, and as he had enough for present needs, mr. jessup, as all good hunters do in such cases, ceased the use of his gun. with his rabbits and pheasants on his back he led the boys on the return trip. as they came to the old mansion, sammy asked: "could we go in now, mr. jessup, and look around?" "i guess so," he answered. "but don't stay too late. it gets dark early now, you know. i'll keep on to my cabin." eagerly the boys entered the old deserted house, mr. jessup letting them take his key. as he had said, they found several rooms fitted up with beds, and a few pieces of furniture. these were the apartments used by those of the hunting parties who could not find bunks in the cabin. "now let's begin at the top of the house, and work down," proposed sammy, when they had looked about the lower floor. "maybe we can find something of the mystery." "maybe--the dog--yes," laughed bob. "oh, you just wait!" exclaimed sammy. "i'll find something yet." but it did not seem that he was going to, at first. room after room was deserted, the once gay wallpaper hanging in mouldy strips. broken shutters flapped in the wind, and there was ruin on all sides. in some rooms were bits of broken furniture, and in others only heaps of rubbish. "i shouldn't like to stay here," said bob, with a little shiver. "me, either," added frank. they were up in the top story now, and had found nothing. "well, i suppose we may as well go down," spoke sammy, in disappointed tones. "there's nothing here." "unless it's in one of those secret rooms you read about," said bob. "this mansion looks old enough to have one of those." sammy did not reply. he was looking at a spot on the wall, and suddenly he put forth his hand and pressed on a carved bit of moulding. to his surprise, as well as to the surprise of his chums, the wall seemed to slide away. there was a rumbling sound, and a hole came into view. then, as the boys' eyes became used to the gloom, they saw that they were looking into a room of the existence of which they had never guessed. "look!" cried bob excitedly. "sammy's found it--the secret room!" "yes, and see what's in it!" cried sammy, as he pointed to a heap of odd-looking objects in one corner. "fellows, maybe this is the mystery!" chapter x the mysterious room the boys hung back for a moment on the threshold of the room sammy had so strangely discovered. truth to tell they were a little afraid to enter, and no one could have blamed them. for surely there were some queer looking objects in the secret apartment. that it was a secret room, intended to be hidden from the ordinary person going through the old house, was plain. as one looked at the wall, before sammy had pushed on what must have been a secret spring, it did not seem different from the rest of the building. there had been a little piece of carved wood sticking out, and this must have worked on some springs and levers to slide back the hidden door. "say, this is great!" cried sammy, delighted at his discovery. "it sure is," agreed bob. "how'd you come to do it?" "i just happened to," answered sammy. "i saw that carved wood bulging out, and it looked as though it was meant to press on. so i did." "you're a great one!" cried frank. "you're all the time talking about finding something mysterious, but it never before amounted to anything. this time you did hit it, sammy brown!" "and i guess you fellows won't laugh at me any more; will you?" "i won't," said bob, with a sigh, wishing he had discovered the secret room. "and look what's in there, fellows!" went on sammy. "maybe now we can find out how and who has been taking mr. jessup's stuff!" there was indeed an odd collection of things in the secret room. besides a bed, table and some chairs, there was on the floor, and on the wall-shelves, some tubes, with shining pieces of glass in the ends. there were tin boxes, springs, long pieces of wire, black wooden boxes, and many other strange things. one of the tubes, with a glass in the end, seemed to be pointed directly at the boys, like some strange gun. "come on, let's go in!" urged sammy. "let's see what those things are." for a moment his two chums looked at him, and then frank said: "do you think it's safe to go in?" "why not?" asked sammy. "well, that door might suddenly slide shut while we were in there, or there might be a false bottom to the floor, and we'd drop through, or something like that," suggested bob. "huh! you're as bad as you say i am, in thinking up things!" cried sammy. "i say let's go in. we can put a stick, or something, across the sliding door, so that can't go shut on us." "well, maybe that's all right," agreed bob. "but it sure would be hard luck if we got caught in here. no one would ever know where to find us." "that's right," admitted sammy, and, for a second or two, he was almost ready to give up the adventure. but his desire to see what the strange things were was so strong that he decided, by taking care, it would be all right. "oh, come on, fellows," he exclaimed. "let's take a chance! i'll fix the door." they found a piece of a broken shutter which they wedged across the sliding doorway so that, even if they, or someone else, accidentally touched the hidden spring which sent the door to and fro, they would not be trapped. "there, i guess that's all right," cried sammy. "now come on in!" but bob still hung back, though sammy stepped across the door sill. "well, what's the matter now?" asked the discoverer of the hidden room. "i'm thinking that the floor might give way," faltered bob. "nonsense!" exclaimed frank, taking sides with sammy. "it must be solid, or how would it hold up the tables, chairs and the other things? i'm going in." bob would not be left behind, in the mysterious old house, so he followed his chums into the room. they advanced cautiously, and listened closely. there was no clicking sound, that might tell of hidden machinery. "pshaw! it's all right!" exclaimed sammy, presently. "now to see what those things are." "who do you s'pose put 'em there?" asked frank, as they advanced toward the odd collection of things on the table. "counterfeiters!" exclaimed sammy, promptly. "counterfeiters!" cried frank. "what do you mean?" "just what i said," answered sammy, with a calm smile, as though he knew it all. "this is a hidden place where some men have been making false coins, and maybe bad paper money too." "you mean money that's no good?" asked bob. "sure," replied sammy. "money that looks good, but which isn't--counterfeit money. i've read a lot about it. fellows, we have discovered a counterfeiters' den!" sammy's chums looked rather frightened. it did seem as though they had stumbled upon some strange "den." "well, if counterfeiters work here, where are they, and where is some of the false money?" asked bob. "i'd like to see some." "pooh! you don't s'pose they'd leave it around loose; do you?" asked sammy. "they go out to spend it. that's probably where they are now. we'd better hurry and look around, and then we can go back to town and tell the police!" frank looked as though he did not quite agree with sammy. it was often this way with the excitable small chap. he saw some things and imagined the rest. but in this case it was different. he had really discovered a secret room, and this was more than his chums had done. perhaps, after all, he was right about the counterfeiters. the boys advanced farther into the room. a nearer view of the strange tubes, with the glass in the ends, showed the latter to be large and bulging, like the lens of a bull's-eye lantern, or an automobile lamp. attached to the tubes were black boxes, with a number of springs and levers fastened to them. "ha! i know what these are!" cried frank. "they're telescopes, that's what they are. this isn't a counterfeiters' place at all. it's where one of those men live who look at the stars--astro--astor--oh, you know what i mean," he added quickly. "astronomers," said bob. "that's what it is, sammy." "it is not!" declared sammy, quickly, bound not to give up his sensational idea. "those may be telescopes all right, but if they are, the counterfeiters use them to look and see if the police are coming." "say, maybe that's right," agreed frank, with a look of admiration at sammy. "i never thought of that." "pooh! i did!" exclaimed the lad who had found the secret room. he was not going to lose any chance of showing off, now that he had the opportunity. "that's what they are--telescopes for spying out when the counterfeiters are at work." there were several small windows in the secret room, and they were rather high up from the floor. in fact sammy and his chums had to drag out boxes to stand on, in order to see above the sills. they paused a moment in looking over the strange apparatus to glance at the furniture in the room. as i have said, there was a bed, a table and several chairs. the bed did not look very nice, being covered with old blankets and some cut-up bags for covers. but it appeared to have been slept in, and was not actually dirty. in fact it was no worse than the place where the boys had slept when they were wrecked on the other end of pine island in the summer. "i wonder if they live here all the while?" spoke bob. "i guess they stay here when they're not away getting rid of the bad money," said sammy. "they may come back any minute. we'd better be getting out of here!" "let's look around a little more," proposed bob, who was getting braver now. "what can you see from the windows?" the boys looked out. the windows of the secret room gave a view of only a dense mass of trees, and it was plain that this was the reason no one had ever found the apartment before. that side of the old mansion was opposite a deep and seldom-visited part of the woods. "well, we'll look at the counterfeiting machinery a little more, and then we'll go," suggested sammy. "we'd better tell mr. jessup about this, and he can get the police after these fellows." this seemed good advice to his chums, and they went back again to the table and shelves where the apparatus was spread out. they now examined it all more closely. "better not touch anything," advised sammy, as bob put out his hand to examine one of the tubes with glass in the end. "why not?" was asked. "because you might get a shock." "a shock? how do you make that out?" "why there's some electric batteries attached to the things," said sammy, pointing out the dry cells in their red pasteboard boxes. "that's right," agreed frank. "they're the same kind of batteries jerry grow has in his motor-boat. and they can give you a fierce shock, too." "what, those little things?" asked bob, in surprise. "sure," spoke sammy. "you see the batteries aren't so strong in themselves, but when you run the current through a production coil----" "induction coil--not production," corrected frank. "well, induction coil then," went on sammy. "when the current from the electric battery goes through that, it gets stronger, and it sure does hurt." "i know it does," agreed bob, "for i got stung once on jerry's boat, when he was putting in some new batteries. oh, i won't touch these!" look as they did at the strange apparatus, the boys could not understand what it was for, unless, as sammy said, it was used for making false money. of course the chums had never seen any machinery for that purpose, and had no idea what was necessary. but sammy's idea appealed to them. "i guess we'd better be getting out now," said frank, after a bit. "i shouldn't like to be caught here." "me either!" agreed bob. "let's go." the boys started out of the mysterious room, excited over their strange find, sammy in particular. this trip to pine island was going to be more sensational than their previous one. they were sure of that. "what'll we do about the door; leave it open?" asked frank. "no, we'll close it," decided sammy, "that is if we can. then the counterfeiters won't know we've been here, and they'll come back to their den, and we can help the police capture them." "that's the way to talk!" cried bob. "you're all right, sammy!" and then something happened. how it came about none of the boys knew, but sammy admitted afterward that he must have touched one of the wires, or springs. at any rate there was a blinding flash, a great cloud of white smoke shot out, and a loud boom. [illustration: there was a blinding flash.] "an explosion!" yelled sammy. "they're shooting at us!" cried bob. "come on--get out of here!" gasped frank, as they made their way through the blinding and choking vapor to where they imagined the secret door to be. chapter xi the strange hermit "come on, fellows, this way!" "no, over this way!" "i tell you the door's here!" thus cried bob, sammy and frank as they stumbled about in the mysterious smoke-filled room. they banged into the bed, tripped over chairs, and slammed into the table. "look out, don't go near those things again!" warned sammy. "we won't--if we know it!" panted frank. "where is that door?" "maybe--maybe the explosion slid it shut!" cried bob. this thought caused terror in the hearts of the boys until sammy with a joyful cry, shouted: "it's all right! here's the door still open! come on!" out they rushed, following sammy's lead, for the smoke had now cleared away enough for them to see in the dim room. they never paused to take away the piece of broken shutter that held open the secret sliding door, or panel in the wall. they had no desire, now, to leave things as they had found them, in hopes that the mysterious person, or persons, who used the strange room, would come back, unsuspecting, and be caught. all the boys cared about now was to get away. down the attic stairs they rushed, and they never paused until they were safely out of the old house. then, some distance off, the fright left them, and they halted to look back. "what happened?" panted sammy. "it was an explosion," decided frank. "no, those counterfeiters must have come back and shot at us," gasped bob. "go on! you're worse than sammy," said frank, who was more calm than his chums. "it was some sort of explosion. maybe it was powder the men left there, or it might have been some of the chemicals they use, in whatever they do, whether it's making bad money, or something else. anyhow it was just an explosion. there was no one in that room but ourselves." "well, i guess that's right," agreed bob, when he had thought it over a bit. "but who exploded it?" "maybe i did," admitted sammy, slowly. "i know just before that flash and puff came, i touched one of the wires on those telescope things. there was a click, and it went off--all at once!" "i should say it did," spoke frank. "it went off fast enough." "and there was an awful lot of smoke!" added bob. "well, i'm glad we're out of the place," said sammy. "come on, now, it's getting late, and mr. jessup may be worried about us. we'd better go tell him about what we found." "and then get the police after those counterfeiters," said bob. "they had no right to explode stuff at us that way." "well, they may claim we had no right to go in their room," went on frank, "but i guess they won't--that is if we get them. well, come on." "i'll tell you what let's do," proposed sammy. "let's see if we can locate the windows of that room from the outside. we might want to point out to mr. jessup where they are." "that's a good idea," agreed frank. but it could not be done, for the boys found it impossible to get through the thick underbrush on that side of the old mansion. they might have managed it in broad daylight, but it was now getting dark, and they did not want to take any chances. "the best thing we can do," said sammy, "is to go to mr. jessup right away, and tell him about what happened. he'll know what's best to do." to this frank and bob had no objection, and with a last look at the queer old house, the boys found the trail leading to camp mystery, and hurried along it. on the way they talked over what they had seen and what had happened to them. try as they might, they could not explain it. sammy was sure they had discovered a counterfeiters' den, but neither frank nor bob would admit that this was positively so, though they agreed that it all looked very strange. frank did not say so, but he kept thinking that so many queer things which sammy had discovered had turned out to be only commonplace after all, that now he feared this one would, also. still he had to admit that the finding of the secret room was rather strange. "there's the cabin!" exclaimed sammy, as they came in sight of it. "yes, and there's maybe, the dog, but i don't see any signs of mr. jessup," spoke bob. "i guess he's inside, getting supper," suggested frank. "i hope he is--i'm as hungry as one of the bears that used to live on pine island." "so am i," admitted bob. "i'd like some nice hot pancakes, the kind mr. jessup makes, and some of his baked potatoes." "don't talk about it--i'm so hungry!" laughed frank. they kept on toward the cabin. maybe rushed out to meet them, barking and wagging his tail, to show how glad he was to see them. but mr. jessup did not appear. somehow a sense of fear came over the boys. they did not know why, but the strange experience they had just gone through had made them nervous, and not seeing mr. jessup at once, added to their fears. "i wonder where he can be?" asked sammy, looking around the cabin. there was no sign of their friend. "maybe he's off hunting," suggested frank. "why, he just came back from a trip," spoke bob. "i guess you forgot that." "i sure did," admitted frank. "but so many things have happened in the last hour that it's no wonder. there's the game he shot," and he pointed to the rabbits and the birds. "yes, and there's a note on them!" cried sammy. "fellows, it's for us. look it's addressed to the 'fairview boys.' i'll read it." which he did quickly enough. the note said: "dear boys: i have been called over to the mainland to see my sister. she was taken suddenly ill. i will be back before long. don't worry, and get the best supper you can. i know you can cook it. peter jessup." for a moment the boys felt much disappointed, and not a little alarmed. then their spirits rose. "well, it's too bad mrs. blake is sick," said sammy, slowly, "but i guess we can manage without mr. jessup. we sure can get up a good meal. there's plenty of stuff." "and we'll have roast pheasant and stewed rabbit!" cried bob, who was fond of eating. "no, we'd better leave them until mr. jessup gets back," suggested frank. "i don't believe he'd like us to touch his game. he'll probably be back before it gets very late." "and maybe he'll be hungry too," said bob. "we'll cook enough to save him some." "then let's get right at it!" suggested sammy. "those counterfeiters will have to wait," and he laughed. all the boys were feeling better now, especially since they were in their own camp. and if mr. jessup was not there, they had good old dog maybe, who frisked about, glad of the company of the boys. it must have been hard for him to stay behind when his master left. sammy and his chums were soon busy over the meal. they had been camping before, several times, and were getting to be quite expert. one made the fire, another got the meat and potatoes ready, while frank opened a can of baked beans to warm in a frying pan over the stove, the fire being made there instead of outside, though later the boys intended to kindle a camp blaze in front of the cabin. "well, this is something like!" exclaimed sammy, as they sat about the table, after supper, the lamp glowing on their shining faces. "that's right!" said frank. "it's nice and cozy in here," agreed bob. they had kindled a fire outside, and sat about that for a while, waiting for the sound of mr. jessup's return. then as it grew later, and colder, they went inside. "he may not come until nearly midnight," said sammy. "oh, well, we won't sit up for him," suggested frank. "i'm tired and sleepy. i'm going to turn in soon. maybe will stand guard for us, won't you old fellow?" the dog barked his answer. a fire was kindled on the hearth, and the boys sat about this for a while, talking over what had occurred since their arrival at camp mystery. then, as they were very sleepy, they locked up, leaving maybe stretched out before the glowing fire, and turned into the bunks. contrary to their expectations, nothing happened all night. in fact they did not wake up until morning, when the sun was streaming into the cabin. then sammy jumped up, looked at the clock, and cried: "after eight; and mr. jessup isn't home yet!" "maybe his sister is worse," suggested frank. "let's get breakfast, and then we can decide on what to do." they made a good meal, and then, after talking matters over, they made up their minds that the best thing to do would be to take a walk about the island. if they saw no signs of mr. jessup by noon, they planned to go over to the mainland, and perhaps give up their camp at mystery, to go home. "for, though we'd like to stay here alone, first rate," said sammy, "our folks might not like it, or think it safe. they let us come because they thought mr. jessup was going to be with us, and if he isn't, we ought to go home." "i s'pose so," sighed bob, "but it's mighty jolly here." "even with the old hermit, and the counterfeiters," spoke frank. "oh, the old hermit never will bother us," declared sammy. "and maybe the counterfeiters have been gone a long time." "and maybe mr. jessup will send someone to stay with us, if he can't come back himself," went on bob. "then we could stay all right." "say, that would be fine!" cried frank. "it may happen, too. we'll wait a bit about going back." they decided this would be a fair thing to do, and, after putting the cabin to rights, after their morning meal, and planning what they would have for dinner, they set out for a tramp about the island, maybe the dog going with them. they went on for half a mile, when bob, who was in the lead, suddenly stopped, and called out: "there's somebody moving over there!" "over where?" asked sammy. "there," answered bob, pointing to a clump of trees, at the foot of which was a bank of snow. "i just saw a man." "maybe it's mr. jessup," spoke frank. "i hope so," murmured sammy. "i'd like to get after those men who live in the secret room." and then, as the boys watched, the figure of an old man came out from a clump of bushes. the man had a long white beard, and white hair, and as he came into a little opening he looked in the direction of the boys. "the old hermit!" whispered frank. "there he is!" and, as the boys looked, the aged man, about whom there seemed to be such a mystery, shook his fist at them, and then disappeared behind a clump of bushes. chapter xii into the drift "that sure was him!" "yes, he's the old hermit!" "i wonder what he's up to now?" in turn sammy, bob and frank spoke, as they looked toward the place where the aged man had disappeared. they could still see the bushes shaking as he forced his way through them. "i wish it had been mr. jessup," said sammy, and he could not help sighing a bit. "yes, we need him," added bob. "but we'll do the best we can. if he doesn't come by night, i s'pose we'll have to go back home." "and i sure will hate to do that," put in sammy brown. "maybe there'll be a way out." for a moment the boys looked at one another, and then at the spot where the hermit had vanished. maybe barked once or twice, and then began running about, as he had been doing ever since he came out with the boys, hoping perhaps to scare up a rabbit. sammy was doing some hard thinking. his eyes blinked fast, as they always did when he had several ideas going through his mind at the same time. suddenly he exclaimed: "fellows, are you with me?" "with you? in doing what?" asked frank. "in following that old hermit? i want to see where he goes." neither bob nor frank answered for a moment. "well, he's probably going to his cabin, or cave, or whatever he lives in," bob finally said: "we know about where it is, and i don't see any good in following him. he might get mad at us." "he probably would," said sammy. "but getting mad wouldn't hurt us. i'd like to see where he goes." "why?" asked bob. "i have a certain reason," went on sammy. "do you know, fellows, the hermit may be the--counterfeiter!" "what!" cried bob. "do you mean that?" inquired frank. "well, i'm not sure, of course," went on sammy. "but he might be, you know." "yes, of course," laughed frank, "and the time we thought we had struck a bear here, it might have been one, only--it wasn't!" "oh, well, of course anyone can make a mistake," said sammy. "and i'm not saying i'm right. only it's worth trying; isn't it?" "well, maybe so," replied frank, slowly. "all i want to do," went on sammy, "is to follow the old hermit, and see what he does. if he goes toward the place where we found the secret room, and the queer things, we'll know he has something to do with them." "maybe," put in frank, with a laugh. he did not always agree with sammy. "oh, of course, i'm not saying for sure," went on the other. "but will you come?" "i don't mind," spoke frank, after a few moments' thought. "but we'd better not go too close." "that's what i say," added bob. "he might try to harm us." "we've got maybe with us," said sammy, boldly. "i'm not afraid." and so the boys decided on sammy's plan, little thinking what would come of it. they could no longer see the hermit, but they thought they could trace which way he went by following the tracks in the snow. "besides, we have the dog with us," added sammy, "and he can follow. he can track the hermit just like he does a rabbit." the boys went on cautiously. they did not want to get too close to mr. addison, who, though he was an old man, might be one who was very easily made angry, and who might work some harm to them. in fact they already knew that he lost his temper easily. for perhaps half a mile they followed the tracks of the aged man through the snow. this was easy to do since he tramped over a place where the white crust was unbroken by other footsteps. the dog, too, led them by sniffing at the trail on the ground. but they had had no sight of mr. addison since he had disappeared into the bushes after shaking his fist at them. "he isn't going toward the old house," said sammy, after a bit. "no, he's heading in the wrong direction for that," added frank. "maybe he's going to his own cabin." "if he does," spoke sammy, "we won't follow him there." the boys were now some distance away from camp mystery. they had occasional glimpses of the frozen lake, but they had not seen any figure bearing a likeness to mr. jessup, skating over it. the hunter was probably still with his sick sister, they thought, and they did not quite know what to do. "look out for yourselves here, fellows," said sammy, as they came out into an opening in the woods. "what's the matter--did you see the hermit?" asked frank. "no, but there's a big cliff here, and we might slip over." "let's have a look," suggested bob, pressing forward with frank to where sammy stood on the edge of a cliff which was about ten feet high, going down steeply into a little valley. suddenly, as the boys were looking over into a big drift of snow below them, they heard a noise behind them. there was a rush of feet, and maybe, the dog, barked furiously. then the harsh voice of the hermit cried: "follow me, will you? i'll teach you to do that! you'll be sorry you ever tried to find out my secret!" before the boys could defend themselves, or make a stand, the furious old man rushed at them. with extended hands he pushed bob over the cliff into the deep bank of snow below. "look out!" yelled frank, as he saw his chum disappear. "hey! what are you doing that for?" demanded sammy. "i'll show you! i'll teach you to follow me!" snarled the old hermit. "down you go! all of you!" he pushed frank over the cliff also, the boy struggling to keep his balance. but over he went, head first. [illustration: he pushed frank over the cliff also.] "don't you dare touch me!" cried sammy, getting ready to defend himself. yet he knew he could do nothing against the angry hermit. "i'll fix you!" cried the old man. "you let me alone!" pleaded sammy. "sic him, maybe!" he cried, to the dog. indeed the hunter's dog needed no urging. at the first sign of the old man maybe had rushed at him. now he was tugging at his coat-tails as though to stop him from pushing the boys over the cliff. but the man was strong, and paid no attention to the dog, dragging him along over the slippery snow. "there you go!" cried mr. addison, and with that he shoved sammy down into the big snowdrift. "there!" muttered the hermit, with a hard smile on his wrinkled face. "now i guess them boys won't find out my secret!" and he walked away into the woods, the dog barking after him. as for the fairview boys, they were more frightened than hurt. true, they had been pushed down some distance, but they fell into a soft bank of snow, and, except that it got down their necks, and up their sleeves, as well as into their boots, they were in no danger. it was like falling into a feather bed. "whew! what happened?" gasped bob, floundering about. "i guess we happened--or it happened to us!" said frank. "where's sammy?" "here i am," cried that small hero. "he pushed me, too." "say, he ought to be arrested!" exclaimed bob, angrily, as he flopped about in the snow. "what did he do it for?" "said we were following him," answered frank, as he wiped the snow out of his face. "well, i guess we were, all right," admitted sammy. "but he had no right to be so mean." "where did he go?" frank wanted to know. "i--i didn't stop to look," admitted sammy. "it all happened too quick for me." "same here," laughed bob. "now i wonder if we can get out of here?" it was not as easy as it seemed at first, for the little valley into which the boys had been pushed by the angry hermit was filled with snow, and they sank in it above their waists. but they floundered on, and were slowly making their way out. they were getting quite tired, however, and might have sunk down in the snow, and have taken severe colds, had their struggle lasted too long. suddenly bob cried out. "hark!" he called. "it's a dog barking," said sammy. "yes, and it sounds like maybe," added frank. "see, there he is!" cried sammy, "and he's got someone with him!" "it's mr. jessup! hurray, now we're all right!" yelled bob, with delight. "now we'll show that hermit what's what!" chapter xiii helping the hermit mr. jessup, with his dog floundering in the snow ahead of him, came toward the boys, who were still stuck in the snowbank, though slowly getting out of it. "what's the matter?" cried the hunter. "what happened to you? you ought not to go in a place like that!" "we couldn't help it!" exclaimed sammy, with a laugh. "we were pushed in!" "pushed in?" exclaimed mr. jessup. "what in the world do you mean, sammy?" "help us out, and we'll tell you," suggested frank. "we're tired out trying to wade through the deep snow." "i guess that's right," admitted mr. jessup. "i had better be helping you instead of talking. come on, maybe!" with big strides the hunter came on. to him the drift gave little trouble, though for the small boys it was all they could do to wade through. but now they had help. mr. jessup had a pair of snow-shoes strapped to his back, though the crust was not thick enough to allow him to use them. they would come in useful as snow shovels, though, and he at once took them for that purpose. "here you go!" he cried to bob, who was nearest him. "catch one of these shoes and help dig a path. i'll dig one to meet with yours, and when you get out here, where the snow isn't so deep, you'll be all right." "hurray!" cried sammy, glad that everything was more pleasant now. "is your sister better?" asked frank, while bob used the snow-shoe as a shovel, the hunter doing the same with the one he had. "yes, much better," was the answer. "i was sorry i had to stay away all night, and i kept thinking, up to the last minute, that i could get off and come back to you. that's why i didn't send anyone to keep you company. "and finally, when my sister was well enough for me to leave her in the care of some neighbors, it was too late to start for pine island. but i made up my mind that you boys would be all right, and i didn't worry. you were all right, weren't you, except for what happened to you just now?" "yes," said sammy, eager to tell the story of the mysterious hidden room, and the strange things in it, "yes, we're all right. nothing happened during the night, and we got along fine. maybe was good company." "i thought he'd be, and that's why i made him stay when i was called away," said the hunter. "but he did want to come with me." while the boys and mr. jessup were talking he and bob used the snow-shoes as shovels, so that, in a few minutes, the boys were out of the drift, and on level ground where the snow was only up to their knees. "now then," said mr. jessup, with a grin, as he looked at them, "i'm ready to hear your story. how did it all happen, and who pushed you into the drift?" "the hermit!" cried the three boys at once. "what! you don't mean mr. addison?" asked the hunter, in surprise. "that's who it was," said frank. "well, why did he do such a thing as that?" asked mr. jessup, in surprise. "i've known him for sometime, and, except that he was a bit odd now and then, he never acted that way. i always thought him quite gentle, except that he would order people away from his cabin. did you do anything to him?" for a moment the boys did not answer, and then sammy, knowing that it was best to tell everything, said: "well, we followed him, that was all. we wanted to see if he was going to the big house." "you followed him; that was all?" "yes, sir." "and what did he do?" "well, he got out of sight, and we were trailing him," explained bob. "then we came to that cliff and we were looking over, down into the pile of snow, when, all of a sudden----" "he rushed out on us from the bushes," continued frank, "and he----" "pushed us down, one after the other," said sammy, taking up the story. "and he said he'd teach us to follow him and try to find out his secret." "hum, he said that; did he?" mused mr. jessup. "well, i'm afraid he must be out of his mind. i've been thinking that for some time, and now i'm sure of it. he must be crazy, or he wouldn't do such a thing as that. he must have been quite angry at you, and it's lucky he did nothing worse than shove you into a snowbank. "now i advise you boys not to go near him again. if you see him as you walk about the island, don't notice or speak to him. that will be the safest way. so you followed him, and he thought you were after his secret; eh? he hasn't any secret, as far as i know. poor old man, he certainly must be crazy. i'm sorry for him. but, boys, did you have any special object in following him?" again the three chums looked one at the other. "you'd better tell, sammy," said frank, at last, "you made the find, you know." "what's this?" asked mr. jessup, in some surprise. "have you boys a secret, too?" and he looked curiously at them, while maybe frisked about, barking and unable to understand why his master would not take after a rabbit he had driven from its burrow. "yes, we did find something strange in the old house," said sammy. "we discovered a secret room, and in it is an outfit of counterfeiters, mr. jessup!" "and they shot at us!" cried bob. "and you ought to have seen the smoke!" added frank. the hunter looked from one to another of the boys, as if unable to understand what they were saying. he might have thought they were playing a joke on him, but their faces were too serious for that. "secret room!" he murmured. "counterfeiters! they shot at you!" "yes, and we thought the hermit might be the counterfeiter, so we were following him to see if he went to the old house," said bob. "whew! this is getting worse and worse!" exclaimed the hunter. "i guess you'd better begin at the beginning, boys, and tell me all there is to tell. old mr. addison a counterfeiter! i can't believe it." "this is the way it was," began sammy, and then he told of the exploration of the old house, after the hunt of the day before, and how, most unexpectedly, he had pressed on the spring that opened the panel or door of the secret room. "and you should see the things in it!" put in bob, as by turns the boys described the queer instruments. "and then that flash and boom!" cried frank. "it was terrible!" "it must have been," admitted the hunter. "but i own up that i am puzzled. i never knew there was a secret room in the old house, and i thought i'd been all over it. as for those things you tell about--well, i guess i'll have to look at 'em myself." mr. jessup did not say so, but the truth of the matter was that the boys had talked so fast and so excitedly, and had interrupted each other so often, that they had not given a very clear account of the things they had seen. then, too, as is the case not only with boys, but with grown-ups, no one ever sees the same thing the way another person would. the boys gave as good descriptions as they could of the queer objects in the secret room, but each one put in something a little different, until it was no wonder that mr. jessup was puzzled. "now i'll tell you what," he said. "we'll go back to camp mystery and figure this thing out. i guess i didn't name it out of the way when i called it 'mystery,' for it's more mysterious than ever now. "but we'll get to the bottom of it sooner or later. i'll have a look at the things in that room. maybe i can find out who has been taking my grub. you weren't troubled while i was away last night! were you?" "no," answered sammy, "nothing happened. we slept fine." "i thought you would be all right," went on the hunter. "i came skating over to the island a little while ago, and went right to my cabin. you weren't there, but pretty soon in came maybe, and he acted so strange that i was afraid something had happened to you. he pulled at my coat, and would run on a little way, and then stop and bark, just as if he was telling me to follow him, and he really was, as it happened." "he must have gone for help for us!" cried frank. "that's what he did," replied the hunter. "he led me right here, and i can tell you i was a bit scared when i saw you floundering in the snow. i'm glad you're all right." "sure we're all right!" cried sammy, "and i'd like to go to the old house right away, and find out what all those things mean. if that is a counterfeiting den we can have the men arrested; can't we?" he asked. mr. jessup laughed. "well, sammy," he said, "of course if there are counterfeiters here they ought to be taken in, i s'pose. but i never heard of any, and there's been no bad money circulating around pine island or fairview, as far as i know." "i told him they weren't counterfeiting things," said frank. "you just wait!" exclaimed sammy, mysteriously. he was sure his find was going to turn out big this time. "well, we'd better get back to the cabin and prepare to look into this thing," suggested the hunter. "i want to think it over a bit. by the way, was there any sign of anybody having been in that room lately?" "you couldn't tell--the bed looked as if it had been slept in," said bob. "but there must have been someone hiding there, or else how could he have shot at us?" mr. jessup shook his head. "i'll admit it's a puzzle, so far," he said. "but after i see it i may be able to explain it all. come along." they headed back for the cabin, the boys talking on the way of the many things that had happened since coming to pine island. mr. jessup said he had heard no special news in fairview. he had not sent any word to the parents of the three chums, fearing they would worry about the boys staying alone all night. "and it turned out better that i did not," he said. they were nearing the cabin of camp mystery, and mr. jessup was pointing out to the boys a trail that led from his place to the cabin of the hermit. "but i wouldn't advise you to follow that trail after dark, unless you know it pretty well," he said. "why not?" asked bob, always looking for reasons. "because that bog, that i told you about, is on both sides of the trail at certain places, and it's dangerous. i often wonder why old mr. addison built his cabin so near the bog. it's true there are some good springs of water near it, but i'd rather be on higher ground, and carry my water a way. so don't travel that trail except in daylight, boys." they promised to be careful, and walked on, looking curiously back toward the dangerous bog. suddenly frank, who was in the lead, raised a hand to order a halt and silence. "what's up?" asked sammy. "listen!" said frank. all heard a deep groan. "someone's there!" exclaimed bob, pointing to a clump of bushes just ahead, and to one side of the trail. "maybe it's a--bear!" faltered sammy. "nonsense!" exclaimed mr. jessup. "that's a human voice. hello, there!" he cried. "who are you? what do you want? has anything happened? answer!" "maybe it's the counterfeiters," whispered sammy. the dog was barking excitedly. "come here!" commanded mr. jessup, and then, as the groan sounded again, he went forward. parting the bushes he looked ahead and cried out: "boys, it's mr. addison--the hermit, and he seems to have fallen and hurt himself! come here and we'll help him!" the three rushed forward. there on the ground, under the bushes, where there was no snow, lay the old man. he seemed to be unconscious and it was his queer breathing that made the groaning sound. "boys, see if you can't get him out of there, into a more comfortable place," said mr. jessup. "i'll run to the cabin for a folding stretcher i have, and i'll also get some medicine. see if you can get him out. i'll be back in a few minutes." chapter xiv the boiling spring mr. addison was a full-grown man, but he was quite old, and not very heavy. in fact he was so light that the three sturdy boy chums easily carried him out from under the bushes to a cleared place along the path. the hermit only moaned as he was moved, and remained unconscious. "let us take off our coats, fellows," suggested sammy. "we'll spread them out on the snow, and make a bed for him." the day was quite warm, so the boys would not be likely to take cold from removing their coats, and soon they had made a more comfortable place for the aged man than the bare ground on which he had fallen. "i wonder what could have happened to him?" said bob. "he must have fallen, and hurt himself," spoke frank. "but neither his arms or legs are broken, as far as i can tell." "i guess it's his head," remarked sammy. "probably that's what makes him senseless. i wish mr. jessup would hurry back." "and to think that a little while ago he pushed us into a snowbank!" murmured bob. "he couldn't do it now." "no," said sammy, softly. "poor old man! i guess he's had lots of trouble." indeed, as the aged hermit lay there on the boys' coats, which they had partly folded over him, his face showed many wrinkles of care and suffering, as well as of age. truly, he did not seem to have had a very happy life, and in their hearts the boys easily forgave him for what he had done to them. "here i am!" exclaimed mr. jessup, as, followed by his dog, he came up the path. over his shoulder he carried a folding stretcher, consisting of two poles with a broad canvass piece in between. on this the hermit could be placed, and, by means of the handles, he could be easily carried. "i'll give him a little spirits of ammonia first," said the hunter. "that is good when a person has fainted. then we can decide what next to do. it may be that we'll need a doctor." he mixed some of the ammonia in a glass, with a little water, and managed to get some between the lips of the old hermit. but it did little good. the aged man only moaned feebly and did not open his eyes. "i guess we'd better carry him to his cabin," said mr. jessup, after a few minutes. "it's farther than it is to camp mystery, but if he wakes up, and sees himself in a strange place, it may have a bad effect on him. we can easily carry him to his own cabin." this they did, the hunter taking one end of the stretcher, and two boys taking turns at the other end. in this way they were soon at the place where the hermit lived. the cabin was rough enough on the outside, but the interior was clean, and nicely arranged. the poor old man lived very simply. he was placed on his bunk, and then mr. jessup, who knew a little about medicine, tried to bring him to his senses. it seemed to be of no use, however, and finally the hunter said: "boys, i think i'd better skate over to the mainland, and bring back a doctor. i wouldn't like poor mr. addison to die. you're not afraid to stay here with him; are you? i'll leave maybe with you." "afraid? of course not!" cried sammy. it was broad daylight. why should they be afraid? true, the mysterious old mansion was not far away, and the strange things in the secret room had not been explained. but the boys made up their minds they would not be alarmed. "i'll come back as soon as i can," said mr. jessup. "if he wakes up you might give him a drink of water. or you could make coffee. you know how, and i see he has the things here. yes, a good strong cup of coffee might help him. now don't worry. maybe, you're to stay with the boys." the dog whined, and evidently wanted to go with his master, but he obeyed well, and, with a bark of protest, he lay down on the cabin floor. mr. jessup, who had his skates with him, started for the lake, intending to skate to the mainland after a physician. he could come back with the doctor in a cutter, for the ice was thick enough to bear the weight of a horse. left to themselves, the boys sat in the cabin with the old, unconscious man. he breathed heavily but did not open his eyes. once in a while he groaned. "i wonder if we hadn't better make the coffee," suggested bob, after a bit. "if he could take some of that he might feel much better." "good idea," said sammy. "let's start a fire. it's cold in here, anyhow." there was a stove and an open fireplace, the latter in the other room of the cabin. some logs were set aglow on the hearth, and a roaring blaze kindled in the stove. the kettle was put on, and soon a fragrant pot of coffee was ready. [illustration: the kettle was put on.] the boys were talking over whether they had better not try to get some of the hot beverage between the set lips of the aged man, when there came a sudden knock on the cabin door. "who's that?" whispered frank, startled. "it can't be mr. jessup, back already," remarked bob. "no, he'd walk right in," said sammy. the knock was repeated. "see who it is," spoke bob. "i'll go," said sammy, and he went to the door. he saw a young man standing there--a young man he had never seen before, as far as he knew. the stranger's face was a pleasant one, and he smiled at the boy. "well," said the visitor, "i don't know you, and it's rather odd to see mr. addison having company. is he in?" "yes," said sammy, "but he's hurt." he noticed that the caller had a pair of skates in his hand, showing how he had reached the island. "hurt!" exclaimed the young man. "and just when i come to bring him good news! let me see him, please." he quickly entered the cabin, and bent over the form of the hermit on the bunk. the boys looked on in wonder. who could this stranger be? the young man seemed to know something about the duties of a doctor, for he rapidly felt about the aged man, for signs of broken bones, and then, finding none, passed his hand over the sufferer's head. "ah, there's the trouble," he said. "he's had a bad knock there, but it doesn't seem to be serious. i think he'll soon come around. you have coffee?" and he sniffed the air. "good and hot!" answered sammy. "let me have some," suggested the young man, and some was given him in a cup. holding the aged man up in one arm, the young man managed to get some of the hot coffee down his throat. it did good at once, for mr. addison opened his eyes, looked strangely about him, gazed in seeming wonder at the boys, and then looked at the young man who was supporting him. "it's all right, uncle frank," said the stranger. "you're all right. you had a little fall, and these boys must have brought you here. but you're not hurt to speak of, and i bring you good news." "good--good news," faltered the old man. "you bring me good news, ed?" "yes, the very best. the land is now yours. i have here all the papers. you don't need to live here any longer to claim it. you can come home with me. i have the deeds to the land." "and the spring--the boiling spring--is the medical spring mine?" gasped mr. addison. he seemed to be getting better very quickly. "the boiling spring is yours," the young man assured him. "now take it easy--everything is all right." "oh, i am so glad--so glad!" murmured the old man, sinking back on the bunk. "now i won't have to worry about anyone taking my secret away from me. oh, everything is all right now," and he sighed in contentment. "take a little more coffee," urged the young man whom the hermit had called ed. "it will do you good." it really seemed to, for soon the aged man was able to sit up again. he looked at the boys strangely, and they did not know what to do or say. they wondered if the hermit would try to drive them away. "are--are you the boys i pushed over the cliff?" he asked. "yes," replied sammy, and he wondered how the old man could explain his queer action. "well, i--i'm sorry i did it," went on the hermit. "you see i was a bit excited. i thought you were following me, trying to steal my secret. but you can't get it now. i own the land. you have the papers--the deed, ed?" he asked eagerly. "yes, uncle frank, here they are," and the stranger gave a bundle of documents to the old man, who eagerly looked them over. "yes--yes," he said. "it's all right. i have a clear title to the boiling spring. and now i'll explain. but in the first place, how did i get here? i seem to remember falling down----" he paused for an answer. "you did fall," said sammy. "mr. jessup and we boys found you under the bushes, and we carried you here. he has gone for the doctor." "hum, yes. that's very good of him--and you, especially after the way i treated you. but i hardly knew what i was doing. but i don't believe i need a doctor. i'm all right." he really seemed so, and was able now to walk slowly about the cabin. "i remember what happened," he went on. "i was going down to the shore to see if you were coming, ed, for you had promised to be here to-day, when i slipped and fell. i must have struck my head on a stone, for it all got dark, and i didn't remember anything else until i saw you giving me coffee. all the rest is a blank." "well, you're all right now, uncle frank," was the answer. "i suppose i'd better tell you who i am," the newcomer went on to the boys. "my name is edward houghton, and mr. addison is my uncle. i have been doing some legal business for him for some time, and now it is all finished." "and the medical boiling spring is my property!" cried the hermit. "yes, it is your property," said his nephew. "and you and i will get rich!" the old man cried, enthusiastically. "i hope so," spoke mr. houghton. "you certainly have suffered very much to get your rights. but it is all over now." the boys were quite puzzled by this talk, but it was soon to be explained. there was the jingle of sleigh bells from the direction of the lake, and soon was heard the approach of footsteps. "it's mr. jessup!" cried sammy. and so it proved. he had brought the doctor back with him in a cutter. "i'm much obliged to you, mr. jessup," said the old hermit, "but i don't believe i need the doctor's services." "however, as long as he's here, better let him look you over," suggested mr. houghton. the medical man said, beyond a hard blow on the head, which had made him unconscious for a time, mr. addison was not hurt. "i'd stand another blow on the head for the sake of my fine spring," said the hermit, and he laughed. he really seemed quite a different man now. his face was kinder, and the boys were no longer afraid of him. "i guess you'll have to explain," suggested mr. jessup. "what is it all about, and what do you mean by your boiling spring, mr. addison?" "come with me, and i'll show you," said the hermit. with slow steps he led the way to a little glade, not far from his cabin. there the boys saw a strange sight. in spite of the fact that it was winter, and that snow was on the ground, there was a spot of green grass and ferns to be seen, surrounding a boiling and bubbling spring of clear water. and from the water a little cloud of steam arose. "there she is!" cried mr. addison. "there's my boiling spring, and the waters of it are the best thing in the world for rheumatism. i know, for i've cured myself, and cured others. i discovered the spring by accident, and i worked hard to get title to the land it's on. now i have it, and i'm going to bottle those waters and sell 'em. i'm going to be rich! i'm not going to be a hermit any longer," and he seemed ten years younger. chapter xv the end of camp mystery "well," said mr. jessup slowly, "this may be all clear to you and your nephew, mr. addison, but it's like greek to me. if you wouldn't mind explaining----" "of course i'll explain," said mr. addison eagerly. sammy hoped something would be said to clear up the mystery of the strange room in the old mansion. "first of all," said the hermit, "i want to tell you boys how sorry i am that i pushed you into the snow. i was all excited when i saw you following me, and i really didn't know what i was doing. you see i had been expecting my nephew for some time, and when he didn't come i was afraid something had happened so that i couldn't get the spring i had tried so hard for. so first i want to beg your pardon." "oh, that's all right," said sammy, easily. "it was as much our fault as it was yours. we had no right to follow you, and really we weren't hurt a bit." "i'm glad of it," said the old man. "well, to begin at the beginning. some months ago, when i was walking over this island, i found this boiling spring. it was in a place few people would visit, and i guess that's why it was never talked of before. for a good many years i have had the rheumatism, and i've tried all sorts of cures. just by accident i thought of trying this spring water, as i could easily tell that it had some sort of medicine in it. "i took some home, and in a few days after taking it i felt better. then i made more tests, and i was sure i had found a cure for some of the worst kinds of rheumatism. then i decided to try to get possession of the land on which the spring was. "this was not easy, as the title was in dispute. but i got my nephew to help me. in order that no one else would claim the spring, i decided to put up a cabin near it, and live on the land until i could buy it. this i did, and i became a sort of hermit. i was so afraid someone would discover the secret of the spring that i drove away anyone who came near. in that way i suppose folks began to think i was crazy, and a sort of crank. "but i did not care. i wanted to get title to that spring, for i knew i could sell the waters and get rich. and now i can. my nephew has brought me the final papers, and the spring is mine. i am going to form a company, and bottle the boiling water. of course it won't stay hot, but it will be just as good, for it can be heated before being swallowed. "so i'm no longer the hermit of pine island. i'm going back where i belong, and i'll let others do the work. and i'll say this, mr. jessup, if ever you get the rheumatism you can have free all the water from my mineral spring that you want." "thank you!" said mr. jessup, with a laugh, "but i hope i'll never have the rheumatism. but if i do i'll use your spring water." "i had a hard time getting the final papers," said mr. houghton, "and that's what took me so long. but now, uncle, the boiling spring is yours, and you needn't worry any more." "how can it be hot water in the winter time?" asked bob. "well, that's one of the mysteries of nature," said the former hermit. "i suppose the waters must come from deep down in the earth, and the wise men tell us that inside the earth are raging fires. i don't know about that, but i do know my medical spring will cure rheumatism. and i guess now, everything is explained." "no, not everything," said sammy quickly. "eh?" asked the old man. "we found a secret room in the old mansion," went on sammy, "and it's a counterfeiters' den, i'm sure. we thought you were going there, mr. addison, that's why we followed you. "and while we were in there," sammy went on, "there was an explosion. we thought someone was shooting at us, and we ran out. that has to be explained yet." "that's so!" exclaimed mr. jessup. "i've got to look into that." mr. houghton laughed. "it won't take much of an explanation to do away with that mystery," he said. "if you'll come with me i'll show you all about it. i fancy you stumbled across one of my fads. will you come, uncle frank?" "no, i'll go back to my cabin," was the hermit's answer. "i'm going to pack up and go back to the mainland to live, now that my medical spring is safe." "then the rest of us will go," suggested the young man. they left the little glade where the hot spring made grass grow in the middle of winter, and soon reached the hermit's cabin again. he went in there, while sammy and his chums, with mr. jessup and mr. houghton, kept on to the deserted mansion, telling the hermit they would soon be back to look after him. the doctor, whom mr. jessup had brought, had gone back to the mainland in his cutter. "shall we go right in?" asked sammy, when mr. houghton and the others reached the old house, and prepared to enter. "of course--why not?" inquired the young man, with a smile. "well, i was thinking that the counterfeiters----" mr. houghton laughed. "i'll explain all that," he said. the place of the secret room was soon reached. it was just as when sammy and his chums had rushed away from it after the explosion that had so frightened them. the sliding door was still wedged back with the piece of shutter. mr. houghton went over to the table on which was piled the strange apparatus. he moved some of the wires and springs. "look out!" cried sammy. "you may get shot!" "no danger!" laughed the young man. "i fancy you boys set off the flashlight, and there isn't another." "flashlight!" cried sammy. "yes, that was what made the smoke and explosion," said mr. houghton. "you touched the spring that worked the electric battery, and the current set off some flashlight powder in a box. it did make quite an explosion, i fancy." "but what was flashlight powder doing up here?" asked mr. jessup. "i was trying to get some night photographs of bats," explained mr. houghton. "you see all this apparatus is just some photographic cameras, set to work automatically. i fancy i have the pictures of you boys on the plate, instead of the bats," and he smiled at the three chums. "photographs!" cried sammy. "cameras!" exclaimed bob. "aren't these things telescopes?" asked frank. "and isn't there any counterfeiting plant?" sammy wanted to know. "nothing half as sensational as that," answered mr. houghton, with a hearty laugh. "this is only my new apparatus for having animals take their own pictures." for a moment there was silence, and then sammy, in a queer sort of voice, murmured: "stung again!" all his mystery had vanished into thin air. "make animals take their own photographs; eh?" said mr. jessup. "that's rather odd." "oh, it is often done," said mr. houghton. "all you have to do is to set your camera in the woods after dark, near where you have noticed marks of a raccoon, muskrat or other wild animal. you put a string across the path the animal usually takes, and in the dark it runs into the string and breaks it. this sets off a flashlight which makes the place as light as day. the breaking of the string also opens and closes the shutters of the camera, and so the animal takes its own picture. i've been doing it for some time, and had good results. i left my cameras, flashlights, batteries and so on here, in the hope of getting pictures of bats, but i guess i'll have to try again." "so that's what it was that exploded," said sammy--"flashlight powder?" "that was it," said mr. houghton. "you see i happened to discover this secret room by accident. i was going through the old mansion one day, thinking it would be a good place to get bat pictures, and i found the secret chamber. so i fitted it up as a room where i could sleep when i had to. often i would take my cameras out in the woods and leave them there until nearly morning. then i would get up and go bring them in. i did not want to disturb my uncle so i stayed here. i fancy the secret room must have been built by the man who put up the old mansion, for his own use." "i think so," agreed mr. jessup. "he was a queer character anyhow. and to think i've been in and out of the old place so much, and never found the secret room!" "it was pretty well hidden," said mr. houghton. "well, i don't imagine i'll use it any more. i'll try for bat pictures somewhere else. besides, if my uncle's mineral spring turns out as well as he thinks it will, this place may become a summer resort, and the old mansion could be made into a hotel for people who want to take the rheumatism cure." "but there's one thing i don't understand," said mr. jessup, "and that is who took my grub." "i think i can explain that, too," spoke mr. houghton. "i had hired a young man to assist me, in my photographic work, but when i found out he was not honest i discharged him. i saw him come along one day with a strip of bacon, and a long pole with a hook on the end. he said he had hooked the bacon." "and so he had!" cried mr. jessup. "that was one of the pieces i missed." "the fellow must have stood some distance away from your cabin, and caught the string of the bacon in the hook on the pole," said the photographer. "that's why you never saw any footmarks." "then this is the end of camp mystery," said sammy, faintly. "that's right!" cried frank. "i told you there weren't any counterfeiters." "well, there might have been," returned sammy. and he wondered why the others laughed. but it was really the end of camp mystery. the hermit's secret had been the warm, medical spring, and now that he had full title to it he need not worry any more, nor drive away those whom he thought might try to cheat him out of the property. mr. houghton had explained the queer machines in the secret room, and had told how he used to photograph wild animals at night. a few days afterward he showed the boys how he set the cameras in the wood, with a string which the animals themselves would break, thus setting off the flashlight and taking their own picture. mr. jessup made some inquiries, and found out that the secret room in the old mansion had been built by the former owner of it. he had no particular use for it, but it was just a notion on his part to have it made. mr. houghton had accidentally discovered it, just as sammy had done. as for the young man who had taken things from mr. jessup's camp, he was not heard of again. after all, he had not taken a great deal, and his plan of using a long pole with a hook on it explained why he had never left any marks. he could reach in the window or door of the cabin when mr. jessup was away, and get what he wanted. he had been in the habit of staying in the secret room when mr. houghton did not sleep there. "well, as long as everything is explained, we may as well go back to camp," said sammy, when they left the old mansion. "yes, i guess so," agreed mr. jessup. "you boys are entitled to some fun after your hard work." "yes, and they're entitled to more than that," said mr. addison, a little later. "i owe them something for helping take care of me," and some time afterward, when the mineral spring company was formed, he sent each of the boys a nice present. "well, now we'll take it easy," suggested sammy, when they got back to the hunter's cabin, late that afternoon. "we'll go skating and coasting, and----" "fishing through the ice," added mr. jessup. "i've had that in mind for you for some time." "say, this trip to camp mystery is all right!" cried frank, with a laugh. "i wonder if we'll have as much fun as this next winter?" "more i hope," said sammy. "but summer will come before winter." and what the chums did the following summer may be learned by reading the next volume of this series, to be called "fairview boys at lighthouse cove; or, carried out to sea." in that we will meet all our young friends again. in the days that followed sammy and his chums had many good times. they roved about the island with mr. jessup and watched him at his hunting. they had many good meals, too. mr. addison left pine island, now that he had possession of the spring, and one of the members of the company he had formed took up a residence in the cabin. but there was no further trouble. the mystery had been solved. "come on for a skate!" cried bob, one afternoon. "we only have a few more days here." "that's right--and then school once more!" exclaimed sammy. and as the fairview boys are starting off on the glittering ice, we will take leave of them. the outdoor girls at wild rose lodge or the hermit of moonlight falls by laura lee hope author of "the outdoor girls of deepdale," "the outdoor girls at bluff point," "the moving picture girls," "the bobbsey twins," "bunny brown and his sister sue," "six little bunkers at grandma bell's," etc. contents i just fun. ii the falling tree. iii the queer little man. iv good news. v betty takes a dare. vi nearly wrecked. vii bad tidings confirmed. viii premonitions. ix a visitor. x hurrah for allen. xi the hold-up. xii sheep! xiii the enemy routed. xiv nothing human. xv wild roses. xvi the whirlpool. xvii the "thing". xviii surprised. xix like old times. xx very much alive. xxi out of the dark. xxii tragedy. xxiii a moonlight apparition. xxiv recovered. xxv the old crowd again. the outdoor girls at wild rose lodge chapter i just fun "did you ever see a more wonderful day?" the four outdoor girls, in mollie billette's touring car and with mollie herself at the wheel, were at the present moment rushing wildly over a dusty country road at the rate of thirty miles an hour. grace ford was sitting in front with mollie, while betty nelson and amy blackford "sprawled," to use mollie's sarcastic and slightly exaggerated description, "all over the tonneau." "you look as if you had never done a real day's work in your life," said mollie, with a disapproving glance over her shoulder at the girls in the tonneau. "we never have," returned quiet amy, with a grin. "and we are proud of it," added betty, as she defiantly settled her feet still more comfortably on the foot rail. "why should we be energetic when it is so much easier to be lazy?" "there the proper spirit speaks," applauded grace ford from the front. "i think i shall have to change places with you, betty. it's far too exciting up here with mollie. she insists upon staging near collisions every few feet--thus keeping me awake!" "great heavens!" cried mollie, pressing an impatient foot upon the accelerator to which the great car responded with an eager purring, "did any one ever give us the mistaken title of outdoor girls, i wonder? they should have called us the rip van winkle club, instead." "now she's getting sour-castic," commented grace lazily. "have some candy, honey, and sweeten up." she passed the ever-present box of delicacies over to mollie, to which overture the young driver responded with so indignant a stare that grace quickly withdrew the box, tucked it behind her, and strove to look unconscious. "please, ma'am, i didn't mean to do it," she said meekly. "well, don't do it again, that's all," returned mollie, uncompromisingly, her eyes once more on the road ahead, "i've eaten so many chocolates this week that i've had indigestion and mother threatened to cut down my allowance." "goodness, it's my allowance that suffers," retorted grace, ruefully, "since it is my candy that you eat." "stop quarreling, girls, and answer my question." said betty, sitting up straight and regarding delightedly a vista of flying hills and woodland greenery. "i asked you a few minutes ago if you had ever seen so wonderful a day?" "yes, plenty of 'em," returned mollie, as she took a sharp curve on two wheels. "if you weren't too lazy to notice anything, betty nelson, you would see that there is a storm coming up. look at those clouds over there in the east." "oh, you're a kill-joy!" cried betty, cocking an optimistic eye up at the sky. "it's only one teeny little cloud anyway, and who cares for clouds when the boys are coming home?" both amy and grace felt a breathless little tug at their hearts at the joyful challenge in betty's words, but mollie, with a perverseness that was sometimes characteristic of her, refused to be too happy. "who says they're coming home?" she asked. "now you're only guessing." "guessing!" cried betty indignantly. "what do you mean--guessing? the war is over, isn't it?" "yes; and has been for quite a while," mollie responded dryly. "but that doesn't say that the boys are coming home right away." "we don't care about the right away," interrupted amy, with a quiet happiness in her face that made betty hug her impulsively. "we can wait patiently, now that we know they are safe." "it's all right for you to talk about patience, amy," retorted mollie, throttling her engine and sliding at breakneck speed down a long hill without the thought of using a brake. a brake to mollie meant something to be used at the last minute when she couldn't think of anything else to do. "you're an angel, but i'm not----" "no, indeed!" said grace, so emphatically that the girls in the tonneau chuckled and mollie looked at her threateningly. "for goodness' sake, don't waste time looking at me," grace pleaded, as they bounced into a hole in the road and out again, fairly jouncing the breath from the girls' bodies. "keep your eyes on the road, mollie dear. we're not ready to die yet." "well, look out, or you may--ready or not," threatened mollie darkly, as the car skidded around another precipitous turn and the girls saw with relief a long stretch of flat road before them. "just the same the boys must be coming home before very long," said amy, quietly returning to the subject. "and when they do come we'll have to give them some sort of big party or something, girls." "of course we will," said grace, munching contentedly on a chocolate. "something that will make the people in deepdale sit up and take notice." "we-el--i don't know," objected betty thoughtfully. "they say that the few soldier boys who have come home object to any sort of fuss being made over them. they seem to want to forget everything that has happened 'over there,' and any sort of celebration brings the whole thing vividly before them again." "yes, that's true, too," mollie agreed. "i remember our doctor telling mother that if people only wouldn't try to force confidences from the boys and would try to keep all thought of the awful things they had been through out of their minds, there would be fewer cases of nervous breakdowns." "pop!" said grace, snapping her finger resignedly. "there go all our hopes of a good time, amy. when the boys come home all we shall be allowed to do will be to smooth their fevered brows and hold their hands." "well, we might do worse things even than that," said betty, with a light laugh, and mollie shot her a malicious glance. "just watch betty objecting to that" she said wickedly. "before we know it she will be sighing that allen has only one fevered brow to smooth!" amy and grace looked at betty mischievously--at betty who could not for the life of her look as unconcerned as she would have liked. "don't be so foolish" she said hastily, at which the girls only laughed the more. "never mind, honey," said amy, putting an arm fondly about her chum. "i guess we will all be crazy with joy to get the boys home again." "well, you needn't think you can hold hands with will and smooth his fevered brow all the time," said grace unexpectedly. "because i really have some share in him myself, you know. remember, mine was one of the three pictures he kept under his pillow." readers of previous volumes in this series may recall that joyful letter written to betty not so long ago in which sergeant allen washburn--now lieutenant allen washburn--had spoken of the three pictures which will ford had kept under his pillow during his long convalescence in one of the army hospitals over there. these readers may also remember that one of the pictures was of the boy's mother, another of his sister, grace, and the third of shy little amy blackford, who now was blushing so furiously at the mere mention of it. "how about poor frank and roy?" asked mollie, mentioning the other two boys who made up the quartette of the girls' boy chums. "who will attend to their fevered brows?" "oh, you and grace can take turns at that," said betty, lightly adding, with a little sigh: "try as we can, amy and i never know quite how to pair you four off. we can't for the life of us find out which of you likes frank best and which inclines to roy." "that's right, kid--keep 'em guessing," said mollie slangily, as she turned on power and challenged a steep grade. "grace and i believe in scattering our favors--as 'twere. see that hill just ahead of us? what do you bet i make it without changing gears?" "if you make it without changing our looks, i'll be happy," said grace ruefully, as they bumped and rumbled to the top of the steep grade. "look out, mollie!" she added suddenly, indicating a big pile of brushwood that jutted out almost into the center of the road. "for goodness' sake, slow down!" but mollie did more than slow down. she stopped--and with such suddenness that the girls were all but thrown out of the car and betty bumped her nose on the seat in front. they had scarcely regained their poise when they were startled by a shrill cry from amy. "girls!" she almost screamed, clutching betty's arm in a grip that hurt, "look at that tree. it's going to fall! oh, we'll be killed!" the girls followed the direction of her pointing finger and looks of horror sprang to their eyes. slowly, its descent retarded somewhat by the branches of other trees, a towering giant of the forest tottered and crashed its destructive way downward. and they were directly in its path! chapter ii the falling tree for a moment the outdoor girls sat fascinated, paralyzed, without the power to move a muscle. then suddenly grace seemed galvanized to action. she leaned toward mollie, grasping the steering wheel of the motionless car frantically. "for heaven's sake, mollie, get out of the way! start the car!" she screamed. "i can't!" mollie answered, tight-lipped. "something's wrong. the motor's dead." but with grace's scream, betty had come to her senses and had scrambled out of the car, dragging the still paralyzed amy after her. "grace, get out! mollie, are you crazy?" she shouted wildly. "you'll be killed--" automatically grace started to clamber to the road, but mollie still fussed with brakes and levers, her lips in a tight line, her eyes blazing. "something's wrong--but i'll get her started," she muttered over and over to herself while betty raged at her from the road. "get out! get out!" fumed the little captain. "jump, or i'll come after you and we'll both be killed. mollie!" luckily for mollie's suicidal stubbornness, the great tree had been halted for a moment in its downward plunge by some particularly heavy foliage and branches, but the girls could see that it was only a matter of seconds until the giant should tear itself loose and come plunging down upon them. and still mollie fumbled with levers in a vain and foolish attempt to save her beloved car at the risk of her own life. betty had just jumped upon the running board in a wild attempt to drag her chum from the car when suddenly help came to them from an unexpected quarter. an elderly man came running from the woods, evidently attracted by their excited cries. he gave one look at the toppling tree, even now tearing itself loose from the impeding branches, another at the machine with the two girls still in it, and then, with a speed and decision which seemed to belie his age, went to the rescue. "come--help me push!" he cried to amy and grace, who were still standing dumbly in the middle of the road. a moment later he had thrown himself with all his might against the machine, striving to push it out of the path of the falling tree. in an instant of time the girls had added their strength to his and the automobile was moving slowly down the road. luckily the car was on a down grade or they never could have managed it. as it was, there was just time to get out of the way when the great tree came crashing down, its outermost branches just brushing amy's skirt. the giant had fallen on the very spot where the car had been only a moment before! "girls," breathed betty, with a shaky little attempt at a laugh, "i guess we've never in our lives been nearer death than we were just then." and while the girls are marveling at their almost miraculous escape from a terrible death, time will be taken to introduce the outdoor girls to those readers who have not yet met them and also to review briefly a few of the exciting and interesting adventures they have had up to the time of this present narrative. there were four of them. betty nelson, or the "little captain" as the girls often called her because she had such a decided talent for knowing just the right thing to do at just the right moment, was eighteen, dark-haired and dark-eyed. she had a fund of vitality and more than her share of sense and good judgment--all of which went toward making her what she was, the most popular girl in deepdale. grace ford, tall, slender and willowy, was almost the same age as betty, but that fact and her love of the outdoors were the only things she had in common with the "little captain." her father, james ford, was a lawyer, and her mother, mrs. margaret ford, a rather dressy lady who spent a good deal of her time at clubs, was quite a figure in the society of deepdale. however, all through the war mrs. ford had worked with an untiring enthusiasm for the "cause," a fact which had made her many more friends than her social popularity could ever have done. next in the little quartette came mollie billette. mollie was seventeen, french-american, and impulsive, with a quick temper that made more trouble for herself than for any one else. she and betty were alike in their splendid vigor and vitality. mollie, or "billy" as she was sometimes called by her chums, had a very lovely widowed mother and an extremely mischievous young brother and sister, paul and dora (nicknamed "dodo"), who were twins and six. although the twins were pretty nearly always in trouble, they were really adorable children, whom everybody loved. amy blackford, shy, sweet, pretty, completed the quartette. there had been a mystery about her past which had recently been cleared up, and it may have been this mystery that caused the girls to treat her with a little more consideration and gentleness than they did each other. her guardian was a broker in the city who knew very little of the past except through letters. the four boys who were close chums of the girls and had added to the interest and excitement of more than one of their adventures were allen washburn, who was very much interested in betty, and in whom betty was very much interested; will ford, grace's brother, who had carried amy blackford's picture all through the war; frank haley, will ford's closest chum, and roy anderson who had not much distinction of any kind except that he was "lots of fun" and a chum of the other three boys. in the first volume of this series the girls went on a camping and tramping tour, tramping for miles over the country and meeting with many adventures on the way. later they had more fun at rainbow lake, in a motor car, in a winter camp, in florida, at ocean view, then at pine island where the girls and boys together had cleared up a mystery surrounding a gypsy cave. later the girls and boys found themselves caught in the meshes of the great war, as many hundreds of thousands of others had been. the boys responded eagerly to the bugle call, and the girls, too, were eager for army service and finally went to a hostess house at camp liberty. though the girls had never worked harder in their lives, they found that the task had a stirringly romantic side as well. then in the volume directly preceding this, entitled "the outdoor girls at bluff point" the girls had had perhaps the most exciting adventure of all. the hostess house at camp liberty having burnt down, the chums found themselves forced to take a much-needed, although not entirely welcome, vacation and had decided to spend it at a romantic spot near the ocean called bluff point. the cottage on the bluff had been loaned to the girls by grace's patriotic aunt mary, who declared that she owed something to the chums for having worked so hard for the good old stars and stripes. mrs. ford, worn out with war work, had gone with the girls to chaperon them. bad tidings at first threatened to overwhelm the chums. the fords received word that will was seriously wounded "somewhere in france" and later mollie received a telegram from her mother saying that the twins, dodo and paul, had disappeared. still later, while everything was at its blackest, betty read allen washburn's name among the missing. however, everything cleared up later when the twins, who had been kidnapped, were recovered and their kidnapper sent to justice. still later allen proved that the report that he had been missing was an error by writing to betty himself and in the letter he also spoke of will ford and the fact that he was getting over his wound splendidly. of course there had been great rejoicing and the vacation had proved a happy one after all. and now, at the time of this story, the war was over and the first regiments of soldiers had arrived from the other side and the girls were expecting a joyful reunion with the boys at any time. they had not yet made definite plans for the summer and were just in the position of waiting for something to happen when something had happened with a vengeance--but not at all the kind of something which the four girls had expected. "i think you are right, my dear," said the man who had saved the lives of at least two of the girls, rubbing his hands fussily together and peering out of small, near-sighted eyes, first at the tree and then at the girls. "it was a close call--a very close call. i declare, it was very nearly the closest call i ever saw!" for the first time the girls really looked at him. he was a rather small man, slenderly built, with long sensitive hands and a very bald head, in the center of which a tuft of hair stood comically upright. these characteristics, coupled to the squinting eyes, gave the man a very odd appearance. he was so queer a figure standing there in the center of the road that the girls found themselves staring unduly. realizing something of this, betty jumped down from the running board where she was still standing and held out her hand to the little man, thanking him in a voice that still trembled a little for the great service he had done them. the other girls followed suit and so overwhelmed their rescuer that he seemed quite embarrassed and looked around nervously as if for some means of escape. betty, seeing his embarrassment, was about to take pity upon him when something happened that they had not bargained for. it began to rain, not gently, but in a deluge, taking the girls completely by surprise. instinctively they turned toward the car, but mollie suddenly began to laugh in a half-hysterical manner. "this is what i call fun" she said. "engine dead, caught in the rain, and i've even left the side curtains at home! i guess we're in for it, girls." chapter iii the queer little man while the girls stood looking wildly at each other their unknown rescuer seemed suddenly galvanized to action. "this won't do at all!" he cried, raising both hands to his bald head which was by this time very wet and more shiny than ever. "you will get your death of cold, young ladies, you surely will. you must come with me. here, right along this path i have a cottage--" all the time he was talking he was hustling them fussily ahead of him, for all the world like some old hen with a brood of chickens. the girls, not knowing what else to do and being in rather a bewildered frame of mind, allowed themselves to be hustled. the rain was sheeting down in a terrific cloud burst, so that their clothes clung to them damply and they began to shiver. they circled the fallen tree which had so nearly been their undoing, and a moment later found themselves upon a narrow footpath which seemed to lead into the very heart of the woods. "i wonder where he is taking us," whispered grace in betty's ear. "maybe he's a murderer or something." in spite of her discomfort, betty giggled. "did you ever see a murderer with a bald head like that?" she asked. it seemed to the girls as if the path must be at least a mile long, but just as they were despairing of ever reaching the end of it, they came out into a partially cleared space and through the trees caught a glimpse of something that looked like a house. their new acquaintance, who up to this time had been bringing up the rear, now took the lead and led them over tangled underbrush, stones and foot-bruising rocks, to his strange little dwelling. "it's a house, it's a house!" cried grace thankfully, as they hurried after the little man. "i guess somebody will have to wring me out when we get inside. i'm soaked through!" "goodness, why don't you tell us something we don't know?" grumbled mollie, but nobody was listening to her. they had reached the house and the man had swung the door open hospitably. "step inside, step inside, do," he urged with a nervous gesture that reminded the girls once more of the proverbial hen. "you will find it dry at least, and i will have a fire for you in a hurry. just a moment till i get some wood--just a moment--" and while he rambled on, suiting his words with quick nervous action, the girls crowded inside the cottage and looked about them curiously. the room they had entered was large and scrupulously neat. at first glance it seemed a queer combination of hunting lodge and museum of natural history. the rough clapboards and beams of the ceiling and walls had never been plastered, and this very crudity seemed somehow to give the room an air of warmth and home-likeness that was very inviting. hung on the walls were several fairly large skins of animals, a gun or two, and over the huge open fireplace, which very nearly covered one end of the room, hung the magnificent head of a buck. on the wall opposite the fireplace was a set of rudely-erected shelves, one beneath the other, and these shelves were covered with specimens of butterflies, beetles and other bugs of every size and description. that the specimens had been mounted by an expert even an inexperienced eye could see. the girls, who had been regarding the oddities of the room with growing interest, were brought back to a realization of the discomfort of wet clothes by the owner of the place himself. the latter had brought firewood from somewhere, and, with the aid of half a dozen matches, had succeeded in getting a fairly good blaze. then with a smile of satisfaction he turned to the girls, rubbing his hands together genially. "come nearer to the fire--come closer--do," he urged in his quick nervous way. "i am sure you are chilled through--quite chilled through. i will bring chairs." he stopped abruptly and looked about him with an embarrassed air, his gaze coming to rest on the only chair which adorned the room. betty, seeing his confusion, was trying to think of something helpful to say, when the little man suddenly found a way out of his quandary. "ah, i have it!" he cried, seizing enthusiastically upon a long bench that stood on one side of the room. "four can sit upon this quite easily, i am sure. a happy thought--a very happy thought--" and he pulled and tugged at the bench until he succeeded in moving it close to the fire. afterward it occurred to the girls that they might have helped him, for it was a very heavy bench and he was rather a frail old man. but at the time they were too interested in this unusual place and their rather extraordinary host to think of anything very rational. however, they seated themselves dutifully in a row upon the bench, "for all the world like an orphan asylum out for an airing," as mollie said later, and gratefully stretched out their sodden shoes to the blaze. they were cold and they were wet and they were fast becoming very hungry, all of which might have been expected to form a very good reason why they should have been miserable. but they weren't miserable--not at all. to the outdoor girls the thrill of an adventure always more than counterbalanced the possible discomforts attending it. their host started to draw up the one chair in the room, hesitated a moment then, as though he had just thought of something, turned and darted through the door, closing it with a little click behind him. for the space of half a second the girls looked after him. then they looked at each other. then they drew a long breath and let loose the flood of curious questions which had been struggling for expression for the past twenty minutes. "well, isn't this a lark?" cried mollie, her eyes dancing, "half an hour ago we were awfully bored, and now look at us." "yes, look at us," said grace with a little sniff. "i'm sure we're not very much to look at right now with our hair wet, and our clothes--" "oh, for goodness' sake, who cares about such things?" cried betty gaily. "i think this is a darling place and i'm having the time of my life. i wonder who he is?" "he seemed kind of scared just now, didn't he?" chuckled mollie, feeling her shoe to see if it was drying out any. "it was funny the way he bolted out of the room." "poor old dear--no wonder he was scared," commented grace, as she took off her hat and tried to do something with her hopelessly bedraggled locks. "the way we look we're enough to scare anybody. oh, dear, hasn't any one a comb?" "why, of course, we carry a complete beauty parlor outfit just for your benefit, dear," giggled mollie. "the rest of us don't need it though, we are too beautiful naturally." "you know i like him a lot, the queer little man, i mean," said amy, evidently following out her own train of thought. "he seems kind of fussy and peculiar but he has an awfully nice smile." "trust amy to find the smile," said betty, putting an arm fondly about the younger girl. "and of course we all like him," she added seriously. "if it hadn't been for him we probably wouldn't be feeling so happy right now." "yes, we would probably be in some hospital with our unhappy relatives weeping over our mangled remains," said the irrepressible mollie, and laughed at the shriek that went up at her gruesome remark. "there probably wouldn't have been enough of us left to recognize," she added by way of good measure, and they shrieked again. "for goodness' sake, let's talk of something pleasant," said grace, rising suddenly and going over to the window. "if you want to sit on that old bench all day, you can." it appeared that the girls had no intention of sitting on the bench all day. they got up and sauntered about the room, examining the skins on the walls and looking, but without much curiosity, at the rifles. they lingered longest before the shelves of butterflies and beetles, for some of the specimens were really beautiful and very rare. after they had examined everything in sight they began to grow restive. they must have been in the place nearly an hour and it suddenly occurred to them to wonder where their host had been keeping himself all this time. "i wish we could get started," worried mollie, looking out upon the sodden landscape. the rain was apparently coming down just as hard as ever. "i hate to leave the car all by itself out there. somebody might steal it." "i wish i knew where that man was," said grace nervously. "i never trust strange men. he may set the house on fire for all we know." the words were hardly out of her mouth when the door opened and the topic of conversation himself entered, carrying a tray so big and heaped so high with sandwiches that one could scarcely discover the man behind it. betty and amy ran to his assistance, and between them they got the tray safely to the bench. in one delighted glance the girls saw that not only sandwiches, but a steaming pot of coffee and the remains of what had been a great, three-layer chocolate cake were on the tray. at thought of the fussy little man taking all this time and trouble, for it must have taken a good deal of work to make all that formidable array of sandwiches--the girls were sincerely touched and regarded their host with a new interest. "there, there," he was saying, regarding the heaped-up tray with evident pleasure, "you must sit down and eat at once. you must be nearly starved--famished. i hope this will be enough." he looked at them so anxiously that betty felt like hugging him--and nearly did it. "enough! well, i guess it is enough," she said heartily, as the other girls seated themselves on the bench either side of the tempting tray and began enthusiastically to help themselves. "it would be plenty for an army. we can't thank you enough." "indeed we can't," added mollie. "it's awfully good of you," said grace, as she took a bite of her ham sandwich. "awfully good," added amy, like an echo. the little man waved aside their thanks and drew up the one chair in the room, talking all the time in his quick, jerky fashion. "it was no trouble, i am sure,--no trouble whatever," he said, adding as though he wished to change the subject: "you didn't tell me your name--" he hesitated, looking at betty, who of course did tell him her name on the spot. this proved a signal for mutual introductions, and the girls learned that their new friend was a college professor, arnold dempsey by name. they also learned that he had taken up woodcraft in the hope of recovering his health. and while they contentedly munched sandwiches and sipped steaming coffee the girls learned a good deal more about arnold dempsey, and the more they learned of him the more they felt drawn to him. and when he started to tell them of his two sons who had fought so nobly in the army of democracy, their eyes began to shine and they leaned toward him with an interest that was intensely real. "oh, it must be wonderful to have two big soldier sons," cried amy, forgetting her shyness in her enthusiasm. "aren't you dreadfully proud?" a gleam came into professor dempsey's eyes and his thin shoulders straightened. "yes, yes," he said. "of course i'm proud of my boys--very proud. and i hope," a look of absolute happiness came into his eyes and he smiled contentedly, "that before very long i shall see them." "oh, i'm sure you will!" cried betty eagerly. "that's what we are all hoping for, anyway," said grace, adding with a sigh: "the boys have been gone so _dreadfully_ long." "look," cried mollie presently, rising suddenly to her feet and pointing toward the window. "we have been so busy talking that we never noticed the sun had come out." "and doesn't it look good!" exulted betty. in spite of their reluctance to leave their new-found friend, the girls were anxious to be off, for they knew their parents would be worrying about them. professor dempsey insisted on seeing them safely back to the road although they protested that there was absolutely no need of it. "there are two or three paths that lead to the road," he explained, as he flung wide the door, letting in a flood of sunshine, "and i wouldn't have you lose your way for the world--not for the world!" the woodland was beautiful after the rain, and the girls sniffed the fragrant air eagerly as they followed professor dempsey along the path. it was not till they had almost reached the road that mollie had a disquieting thought. "how do we know but what we're stuck here for good?" she asked the girls. "the car stopped dead, you remember, just under that horrible tree, and i'm sure i don't know what in the world made it. if i can't find out the trouble--" "oh, but you've got to find it," protested grace, while betty and amy looked worried. "we can't stay here all night, and it may be a dozen miles to the nearest garage." "i know that just as well as you do," grumbled mollie. "but if i can't, i can't, that's all." by this time they had reached the road and mollie went straight to the car. while she and betty were trying to find out what was wrong the other two girls and professor dempsey looked on anxiously. "well, as far as i can see there is absolutely nothing wrong with it," snapped mollie at last, lifting a face flushed with exertion. "get in, girls, and i'll start the engine--or try to. then if she won't go we'll have to make up our minds to stay here all night or walk to the next garage." accordingly the girls got in and mollie pressed the self-starter. to her great surprise, the engine purred a response, and as she shifted her gears the car moved slowly forward. "oh, goodie, we're going," cried amy, and the faces of the other girls showed relief. "must have been a drop of water in the gasoline," hazarded mollie, and then she throttled the engine once more while she and her chums turned to say good-bye to professor dempsey. the latter was still standing in the road, looking up at them rather wistfully. "i'm glad that i had an opportunity of helping you, young ladies--very glad," he answered, in response to their repeated thanks. "you conferred a great favor on me also, for i have little company. good-bye--and good luck to you." the girls responded gayly, and as they started forward betty leaned far out of the machine to call back an encouraging: "keep hoping hard for your boys to come home. i am sure they will be back soon." "thank you, young lady, thank you," said professor dempsey, but the words were too low for betty to catch and she was too far away to see the mist that sprang suddenly to his eyes. chapter iv good news deepdale, the home of the four outdoor girls, is a thriving little city with a population of about fifteen thousand people. it is situated on the argono river, a pleasant stream where a great many of the young folk of deepdale, and some of the older ones too, keep motor boats and canoes and various other types of pleasure craft. farther on, the argono empties into rainbow lake, which is picturesque in the extreme. it has several pretty and romantic looking islands, chief of which is triangle island--so called because of its shape. there is a boat running from deepdale to clammerport at the foot of rainbow lake, and this boat is almost always crowded with pleasure seekers. in addition to this deepdale is situated in the heart of new york state and is only a hundred-and-fifty-mile run from the city of that name. thus one can easily see that deepdale is a very desirable place in which to live. at least that is what the four outdoor girls thought. and since they had spent most of their lives there, they certainly ought to know! on the morning of this day, some ten days or so after their strange encounter with professor dempsey, the girls were gathered on betty's porch, talking over their plans for the summer. "i am only waiting to hear from uncle john," mollie was saying, as she swung lazily back and forth in the couch swing. "the last time i saw him he said that he was almost sure to go north this summer and he told me that as soon as he made definite plans he would let me know." "you told us that two weeks ago," grace reminded her. "and we haven't heard from him yet." "it does seem to take him a long time to make up his mind," sighed amy. betty, wty, who had been trying to read a novel, closed the book and turned to them with a laugh. "goodness, you all sound doleful," she told them. "it seems to me that we ought to be able to live through it, even if we don't get wild rose lodge for the summer. there are plenty of other things we can do." mollie turned upon her indignantly. "how you talk, betty nelson," she scolded her. "as if we could possibly have as good a time anywhere else as we could at wild rose lodge. think of being in a real hunting lodge out in the woods away from everybody! why, it will be a real adventure--" "all right. i surrender--don't shoot," laughed betty, coming over and perching on the railing beside mollie. "i admit we should probably have more fun at the lodge than we could anywhere else. i was only trying to look on the bright side of things in case our plans should fall through. hello--who's this?" "this" proved to be mollie's little sister dora, or "dodo," as she was called by almost everybody. with a sigh of relief, the girls saw that dodo's twin brother, paul, was not with her, for together the children were a simply unconquerable pair. the twins had been spoiled by their widowed mother, mrs. billette, even before the time when they had been kidnapped and spirited off by a hideous spaniard. but since their recovery, their joyful mother had indulged them in every way until they had become well nigh unmanageable. yet in spite of everything, the twins were very lovable, and every one loved them, even those whom they annoyed most. and now as dodo tore up the street toward them, waving something white in her hand, the girls instinctively glanced about to see what they ought to put out of sight before the cyclone struck them. "thank goodness, paul isn't with her," murmured grace. "then we would be in for it." "dodo," cried mollie as the child started up the walk, "scrape some of that mud off your feet before you come up. you will get betty's porch all dirty." "name's dora--not dodo," the little girl answered, paying not the slightest heed to mollie's caution about the mud. "dodo's a baby's name--don't like it. got something for you." she stumbled heedlessly up the steps, leaving a trail of mud behind her, and almost breaking her neck in the bargain. "now just look at betty's porch," mollie was beginning in exasperation when betty laughingly interfered. "oh, let her alone, mollie," she coaxed. "the porch was dirty anyway and--what's that you have in your hand, dodo?" "sumfin' for mollie," answered dodo, leaning sulkily against the rail while the girls regarded her anxiously. "an' if mallie aren't nice to me she can't have it." "oh, for goodness' sake be nice to her and get it over with, mollie," urged grace, uneasily conscious of the candy box she haded hastily behind her. she was afraid one corner of it might show. so mollie got down from her perch on the railing and went over coaxingly to the little girl. "give it to mollie, honey," she begged. "i'll even call you dora, if you will." "_always_ dora--_never_ dodo?" asked dodo eagerly, for she was growing out of babyhood just enough to resent being called by her baby name. "always dora," mollie promised. for answer dodo held out the white thing she had waved at them from the street, and with a little cry of excitement mollie saw that it was a letter addressed to her in her uncle john's firm hand. at her exclamation the girls crowded round her eagerly. she hastily tore open the envelope and devoured the contents. then she turned to the girls with a glowing face. "it's all right, it's all right!" she cried, waving the letter round her head like a flag and nearly upsetting her chums. "uncle john says it is settled. he is going to canada for a couple of months and we can have the lodge for the whole time he is away or a part of it, just as we wish. hooray! how's that for luck?" the girls were so excited over their good fortune that they forgot all about dodo. she, finding herself unobserved, had slipped around the girls to the swing, snatched the box of candy which grace had exposed when she got up, had taken the steps two at a time and was flying off down the street before the girls saw what she was up to. then it was grace who, with a dreadful premonition, thought of her candy. she turned quickly, saw that the box was gone, and uttered a wail of woe. "that little turk of a sister of yours has done it again," she cried, turning to mollie, while betty and amy began to laugh. "you just wait till i catch her. i'll get my candy back if i have to--spank her," this last with a fierce scowl. betty put an arm about her excited chum, led her over to the swing and put her down in it. "by the time you caught dodo there wouldn't be any of your candy left," she said, adding soothingly: "never mind, honey. we will get you some more if we have to take up a collection." "makes me feel like an orphan's home," grumbled grace, but she laughed nevertheless with the rest and immediately forgot both her candy and dodo in renewed excitement over wild rose lodge. "just where is this place, mollie?" asked amy. "what is it called?" "oh, that's the very best part of it," said mollie, with a mysterious smile. "it has the most wonderful, most romantic name. come closer while i whisper it--moonlight falls. there, isn't that a real name for a place?" "wild rose lodge at moonlight falls," sighed grace ecstatically. "if we don't have a wildly romantic time in a place with a name like that, it will be our own fault." "but we will have to have a chaperon--" amy was beginning when betty interrupted her eagerly. "i have fixed that," she said, and while they all looked in astonishment she went on quickly to explain. "i met mrs. irving in the street the other day--you know she has been away ever since that last time she was with us on pine island--and i asked her then if she would chaperon us this summer." "but you didn't even know then that we were going to wild rose lodge, betty," mollie interrupted. "i knew we were sure to go somewhere. we always--" betty was arguing when grace cut in impatiently. "never mind about that," she said. "did mrs. irving say she would go?" "she said she was very sure she could manage it," betty answered. "she seemed awfully surprised and said it would be great fun to be with us girls again." "it will be great fun for all of us," said amy happily. "i'll never forget the wonderful time we had on pine island with mrs. irving and the boys." "yes--and the boys," betty repeated a little wistfully. she was thinking of allen washburn and the wonderful time they had had that never-to-be-forgotten summer--before the war had come to separate them and make their hearts ache. oh, it would be unbelievably happy to have the boys back again--will, roy, frank and--her allen. the old crowd together once more. she looked around at the girls, who had also fallen into a thoughtful mood, and suddenly she smiled, the old bright, happy smile that was peculiarly betty's own. "oh, cheer up, everybody," she cried gayly. "how do we know but what the boys will be home in time to join us at wild rose lodge? then think of the fun!" "oh, betty, if we could only believe that!" they cried. "well," said the little captain stoutly, "you never can tell. stranger things have happened, you know." "but nothing so joyful," added mollie. chapter v betty takes a dare it would be a week or two before wild rose lodge would be ready for the girls' occupancy, and as a relief for their impatience they filled in the time in hiking, motoring and put-putting up and down the argono in their natty little motor boat. but whatever it was they were doing, their conversation almost invariably returned to one of two subjects--the return of the boys and the good time they would have at moonlight falls. they spoke often of professor arnold dempsey. they took a real interest in the queer little old man, both because of the service he had done them and the fact that he was watching and waiting for his two big sons, even as they were anxiously awaiting the return of their boys. "it must be dreadfully lonely for him in that little cabin or house or whatever you call it in the woods," amy said one day as she and the girls sauntered down to the dock where their motor boat was anchored. "and he said he hardly ever had company." "goodness, i should think he would go crazy," mollie commented. "why, i go almost mad when i don't have any one to talk to for an _hour_." "i wonder if he lived in that little house all during the war," said betty thoughtfully. they had reached the dock and were walking slowly out upon it. "if he did, it must have been dreadfully hard for him. it makes me shiver to think of him sitting there all alone, reading the casualty list, terrified for fear the next name would be that of his son----" "oh, betty," cried gentle amy, all her sympathy quickly roused by the picture betty had drawn, "what a dreadful thing to think of!" "but he never did find their names among the missing or killed," mollie reminded them soberly. "we know that because he said he expected to see them soon." "of course. and all we can do is hope with all our hearts that he gets his wish," said betty brightly, adding with a sudden change of subject: "but away with dull care. the sun is shining and here's our fairy ship waiting to carry us off to fresh adventure. what more could any one want, i'd like to know." "humph," grunted mollie, eyeing critically the trim little boat in which they had had so much fun and adventure, as the other girls tumbled aboard. "i'd say she didn't look very much like a fairy boat just now. she needs considerable polishing and scrubbing. why don't you girls get busy, anyhow?" "just hear who's talking," yawned grace, disposing herself lazily in a comfortable chair on deck. "i haven't noticed you waving a broom and mop frantically around these parts lately, mollie dear." "in fact," betty added with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, "i think i remember suggesting that the _gem_ needed grooming the other day. whereupon some one who shall be nameless suggested a motor ride instead." "she's got you there, old dear," drawled grace, taking the inevitable box of chocolates from her pocket and opening it lovingly. "i remember the incident pre-zactly as it has been described." mollie, who was still standing on the dock, regarding them frowningly, started to reply but betty interrupted her with a shout. she had started the engine and the boat began to move slowly away from the dock. "better hurry up," suggested the little captain wickedly. "we'd rather not leave you behind, but if you insist--" however, mollie had not the slightest intention in the world of being left behind. with a gasp of mingled surprise and dismay she made a jump for it, cleared the foot of space between the dock and the boat and landed square in the middle of grace's astonished and outraged lap. she would have sat on the candy box, too, and would, in all probability, have ruined it and her dress as well, had not grace, with rare presence of mind, whipped the box out of danger just in the nick of time. "well," said mollie, too surprised and indignant to move for a moment, while, at the comical picture she made, both betty and amy laughed merrily, "i surely like this!" "you do, do you? well, i don't!" cried grace, recovering both her breath and her dignity at the same moment. "if you don't stop sitting on my lungs this minute, mollie billette, i'll--i'll--stick this pin into you." with a yell mollie stumbled to her feet and shook out her dress belligerently. "you had better not. i'm stronger than you, grace ford, and i've a good mind to let you see what the bottom of the river looks like." she advanced toward her prospective victim, and betty stopped laughing long enough to call to her. "you'd better change your mind, mollie," she cautioned merrily. "you can't give gracie a ducking without ruining her dress and she might charge you damages. reconsider--i beg of you, reconsider!" mollie condescended to reconsider and plumped herself down cross-legged on the deck, disdaining a chair. "oh, very well," she said, adding as she glared darkly at grace: "you will probably never know, woman, how near to death you were." to which grace replied with unexpected ferocity. "and you may never know, woman, just how near to death you are this minute. look at what you have done to my best sport skirt. i don't believe i will ever be able to get those wrinkles out." "if you two will stop quarreling just long enough to tell me where you want to go," betty requested, "i should be very much obliged. up or down the river?" "anywhere," answered grace, still regarding her crumpled sport skirt gloomily. "we are just trying to kill time this afternoon anyway, so i don't see that it makes much difference where we go." "suppose we take her up to the point," suggested mollie, getting up from the deck and going over to betty who still had the wheel. "maybe we can get some ice-cream and a drink of ice water. i am getting dreadfully thirsty already." betty looked tempted but a little doubtful. "you know it is pretty dangerous to run in there, mollie," she protested. "there are so many other boats driven by percy falconer's crazy lot who don't care whether they capsize you or not--" "goodness, betty, it isn't like you to be afraid," mollie started, but stopped at the look in the "little captain's" eye. "i'd rather you didn't ever say that again, mollie," she said. "i'll take you in there since you want it, but if anything should happen remember that i warned you." "goodness, mollie, i don't see why you ever wanted to go and suggest that for," said grace nervously. "we all know there is danger of a collision over at the point, and i'm sure i don't want to spoil my clothes, even if you do." "your father said that he would rather we kept to this side of the river, betty," urged amy. "please don't go over to the point now." "there's no use talking to her," snapped grace. "you ought to know betty well enough by this time to know that she would take us over to the point now, after what mollie said, if she knew we would all die of it. might as well save your breath." mollie said nothing, but down in her heart she was more than a little bit anxious and was beginning to regret that she had deliberately egged betty on. percy falconer, of whom betty had spoken, had once been a rather dudish, affected boy and had later developed into an exceedingly fast young man. he had an immensely rich father and a mother who denied him nothing so that he had been able to gather together a few kindred spirits among whom he was the leader. all the regular boys and girls in town thoroughly disliked "the set," but there were a few girls who were willing to put up with percy falconer and his crowd for sake of the long motor rides, dances, dinners and motorboat picnics that the boys were able to give them. there were always some of this wild crowd over at the "point," and it was for this reason as well as the very real danger of a collision with a recklessly driven boat that betty's father had rather discouraged the chums going over to that side of the river. however the day was fine, the water of the river was as calm as a lake and the _gem_ flew across the sparkling water like a gull, bringing a flush of pure excitement and pleasure to the faces of the girls. danger--what danger could there be in this staunch little craft, with betty at the wheel? they were half way across the river, now--three quarters. the gay pleasure craft flaunting up and down the river were becoming more numerous and betty slackened speed. her breath came more quickly and her hands tightened on the wheel. she could drive a boat as well as any boy, but here, she knew, was a situation to test her greatest skill. craft of all sizes and descriptions seemed to the excited girls to be piling up about them. most of the boats were being navigated carefully, but now and then a small, fast speed-craft would shoot out from behind another so suddenly that betty would be forced to swerve sharply to one side, fairly grazing the stern of the racing boat. on one of these occasions, when it had seemed impossible to avoid a collision, amy called out sharply: "oh, betty, don't you think we had better go back?" and betty replied with a queer little laugh: "might just as well go ahead as back now. we'll be there in a minute. don't worry." the words were scarcely out of her mouth when two craft running neck and neck and driven recklessly slipped out from behind a sailboat and drove directly down upon the _gem_. it seemed impossible that the outdoor girls could escape disaster. chapter vi nearly wrecked the girls did not scream. perhaps they were too frightened or perhaps it was just natural pluck. they did jump to their feet though as if with some wild thought of leaping overboard. but there they remained, staring with fascinated eyes at the fate that was bearing down upon them. as for betty, after one breath-taking minute when all the blood in her body seemed to rush to her head, she simply sat there and tried in the second that was given her to think what to do. almost automatically, she wrenched the wheel around, nearly capsizing the boat with the sudden turn. at almost the same second, as though the thing had been prearranged, the boys in the racing craft swung around in the opposite direction. a slight scraping as the side of the _gem_ slid along the side of the nearer of the racing craft, and they were safe, with no harm done with the exception of a little paint scraped from the side of the boat. it was a moment before the girls could realize what had happened to them. then a voice hailed them from the boat alongside. in a glance the girls perceived that the voice belonged to no other than percy falconer himself. "hello," called percy, adding boisterously as he recognized the girls: "well, by all that's holy, if it isn't the outdoor girls! thought you never came over to this side of the river." "we don't," betty answered, the hand that still gripped the wheel shaking nervously now that the danger was over. "and i don't believe we ever will again, either!" "i say, your teeth are chattering," cried percy, looking at betty in open admiration. in the old days, percy had tried hard to win favor in betty's eyes, but the latter had always treated him with a good-natured indifference not unmixed with contempt that had been very hard for the young dude to bear. during the years he had still admired betty from afar and hated allen washburn for being the "lucky one." so now he hastened to make the most of what he thought was an opportunity. "come on over to the point with me and derby here," indicating the young fellow in the other racing craft who had drawn his boat up close to them and was looking on with interest. "we will get you something to steady your nerves a bit. we had a pretty narrow squeak that time, and it's no wonder it upset you a little." he was supposedly addressing all the girls, but his eyes were only for betty. as for her, she suddenly had a startlingly clear mental picture of what her father would think were some one to tell him that his daughter and her chums had been seen at the "point" with percy falconer and a friend of his. in days gone by percy had been very insipid, his mind entirely on his clothes; now he had become a sport, and the report was that he caroused around not a little. betty turned to the youth with a decided little shake of her head, though her eyes were smiling. "i think we shall have to go right back," she said. "it looks as though it were going to rain. thank you just as much," and she began to ease her motor boat gently away from the other craft. "oh, i say," percy cried, disappointedly and a little angrily, for out of the corner of his eye he could see that his friend was laughing at him, "we would only keep you for a moment or two. you needn't be afraid of us. we won't bite, you know." "we don't know you well enough to be sure even of that," said mollie, coming suddenly and flippantly into the conversation. but percy took not the slightest notice of her and, as betty was slowly but surely widening the distance between the _gem_ and his boat, he leaned forward eagerly. "betty, let me see you some time. how about to-morrow night?" and because betty was always kind to every one and was sorry for mollie's flippant speech, she said, quite unexpectedly, even to herself, "all right." then she turned the _gem_ around and started for home, conscious that her chums were gazing at her in speechless amazement. "betty!" cried grace, horrified. "you are never going to let percy falconer come to see you, are you?" but betty turned on her irritably. she was tired and nervous and angry at herself for having anything to do with that conceited dude, percy falconer. "you heard me say he could come, didn't you?" she said in response to grace's incredulous question, amy's wide-eyed stare, and mollie's grin. "and if you are going to ask me why i said so," she added desperately, "i'm not going to tell you. and if anybody speaks to me before i get back to the dock, i'll--wreck 'em, that's all." the girls exchanged glances and wisely decided to change the subject, for the present at least. for the time they had plenty to do anyway, just watching out that somebody else did not run into them! by the time they reached comparatively clear water they were all tired and they were glad for once when the _gem_ scraped against the home dock and the "cruise" was over. "well," said mollie as they climbed on to the dock, "we surely did have some excitement, but we didn't get what we started out for after all." "what's that?" asked grace, as she tied the ribbon round her candy box and adjusted her hat at a more becoming angle. "ice-cream and a drink of ice water," said mollie ruefully. "i've just remembered that i am dying of thirst." "come on around to my house," betty invited. her wrist was lame from gripping the wheel so hard and she felt it gingerly. "mother said she would make a big pitcher of lemonade for us and leave it in the refrigerator." "whew," whistled mollie, taking betty's arm and hurrying her forward. "by any chance did you girls hear what i heard? _me_ for _it_, betty nelson." the girls talked little on their way to betty's house, but they thought a good deal. they were tired and disgruntled, and it seemed to them in their pessimistic mood that everything they had tried to do that day had gone wrong. and the climax of it all was their meeting--if it could be called a meeting--with percy falconer. worst of all, betty was going to allow him to call! with something of this in her mind, mollie glanced sideways at her chum and, curiosity getting the better of her discretion, ventured to remark upon it. "i wonder what allen will say," she said, "when he learns about percy." it was an unfortunate remark, as betty very soon showed by turning upon her chum angrily. "i don't know that allen has a right to say anything at all about what i do," she said. "and as i don't intend ever to see percy falconer after to-morrow, i think we had better forget about him. but there," she added, bringing herself up short and giving mollie's hand a little conciliatory squeeze, "i didn't mean to be cross. i'm just kind of mad about the whole thing--and tired, and hot--" "i know," said mollie generously. "i guess we all are--tired and hot, i mean. we will feel better after we have had something cold to drink." betty's mother had left not only the lemonade but some sandwiches of chopped nuts and cream cheese. jubilantly the girls carried these delicacies out on the front porch and proceeded to devour them without further delay. as they ate and drank, their ill-humor vanished and they began to feel once more like their cheerful, optimistic selves. they even began to laugh a little about the close shave they had had with percy and his friend. "it was mighty clever work of yours, betty, swerving around like that," mollie said reminiscently, as she patted the little captain's hand approvingly. "i'm sure i would have been so scared i'd have gone right ahead and then there would have been a nasty smash." "i do hope the folks don't hear about it," worried grace. "it would only make them nervous and they might even refuse to let us go out in the _gem_ any more." "i don't see how the folks are going to know anything about it," said amy calmly. "unless our dear friend percy blabs it all over town," added grace. "i think we ought to tell the folks," betty spoke up suddenly. "i know they would rather hear about it from us than from any one else. hello," she broke off, as her eye lighted on a newspaper lying on the table, "this looks like the evening edition. maybe it has some news of allen's division." "my, just listen to her," yawned grace. "allen's division, indeed. as though he were the only one we were interested in--" but her words were cut short by a startled exclamation from betty. "oh, girls, look here!" she cried. "look at these names. oh, i hope it isn't true! i hope it isn't!" chapter vii bad tidings confirmed "i wish i knew what you were talking about," said mollie, pausing with a sandwich half-way to her mouth, while amy and grace regarded the little captain with astonishment. "what names? where?" but betty was paying no attention to them. she was reading hastily the column that had caught her startled attention. "listen to this," she said, reading out loud. "among those who were killed in the last great allied offensive are the names of these brave soldiers. james browning of columbus, ohio--no, that isn't what i mean--look, here they are--james dempsey and arnold dempsey, junior. girls, do you suppose --" and she looked at them with widening eyes. "arnold dempsey, arnold dempsey," repeated mollie, searching in her memory, but amy interrupted excitedly. "that was professor dempsey's name, wasn't it?" she asked. "oh, betty, do you suppose it could be his son?" "why, of course it is his son--how could it be any one else?" cried grace, the excitement beginning to communicate itself to her. "arnold dempsey, junior--and the professor said his sons were over there." "didn't it say something about james dempey, too, betty?" asked mollie, fairly snatching the paper from her chum. "yes, here it is. do you suppose that can be his other son?" betty shook her head soberly. "i don't know," she said. "of course he didn't tell us the name of his other son, but it might easily be james. oh, i hope it isn't so!" she added, her heart aching for the lonely old man whose one big interest in life was his boys. "i do hope there has been some mistake." "i guess we all do," said amy gently, adding with a sigh: "but i'm afraid there isn't very much hope of it. the government is usually right when it comes to things like that." "not always," mollie retorted quickly. "look at the time they reported that alien was among the missing and he wasn't at all. that is the only mistake we happen to know about, but i fancy there are plenty of others." at mention of that dreadful time when she had read alien's name in the long list of the missing, betty experienced again something of the emotion she had felt at that time. she saw again in imagination the dark room where she had gone to be by herself, she heard the thunder of the surf on the rocks outside and the rumble of the thunder overhead. she saw once more the vision of alien as she had seen it then. allen stretched out cold and dead perhaps on some shell-ridden battlefield or perhaps, more terrible still, a prisoner in the hands of the hun, suffering unspeakable torture-"but this is not as bad as though the boys were missing," she said suddenly, speaking her thought aloud. "at least the professor will know that his sons are dead." the girls started and looked at betty queerly. "i was thinking of allen," she explained in response to their rather startled glances, "and the time when we thought he was missing. if this thing is true about professor dempsey's sons i think i shall be able to sympathize with him, almost better than any of you." "i guess you will, honey," said mollie soberly, putting an arm about her chum. "it was a terrible time for us all--there at bluff point. but it was almost worth the suffering when we found out that allen was alive and well and never had been missing at all do you remember how happy we all were then?" "happy," betty repeated, shaking off her depression and smiling at the memory. "i'll say we were the happiest girls on earth--especially after we recovered the twins. but what," she said, coming back to the present subject, "are we going to do about professor dempsey? we ought to do something, you know." "i suppose we ought," said grace, a little vaguely, "but i'm sure i don't know just what." "i think," suggested amy practically, "that the best thing would be to try to find out first of all whether these poor boys who were killed are really professor dempsey's sons or not." "humph, that sounds all right," observed mollie. "but has any one here any suggestion as to just how we will go about it? i'm sure i don't know any one who is acquainted with professor dempsey--or his family either." "i've got it," said betty, leaning forward eagerly. "it may not be much of an idea, but then again it may." "speak up, speak up, what's on your mind?" urged mollie slangily. "well," said betty, "there is mr. haig, principal of deepdale high. he knows pretty nearly every one at the university where professor dempsey used to teach and he is more than likely to know whether the professor has any sons and what their names are." "yes, that is all right as far as it goes," broke in mollie impatiently. "we all know mr. haig--" amy began, but this time it was grace who interrupted. "yes, we all know him," she said. "but i'd like to know if there is any one of us--except betty perhaps--who would have the nerve to go to him and ask him a question like that--" "say, who's telling this story i'd like to know," broke in betty impatiently. "i'm not asking any one to go to mr. haig with that question or any other--although i would be perfectly willing to brave the lion in his den if there were no other way. my plan is this. dad knows mr. haig, you know--went to school with him--old college chums and all that. i'm sure that if we asked him real pretty he would go to mr. haig and find out about professor dempsey for us." "then suppose we find out that professor dempsey hasn't any sons by the name of james and arnold?" suggested grace. "then we shall be mighty glad we took the trouble to find out and set our minds at rest," answered betty soberly. "and if we find out that they are really his sons, what then?" queried grace, and this time betty looked puzzled and mollie and amy completely beyond their depth. "why then," said betty hesitatingly, "i'm sure i don't just know what we ought to do. but don't you think," she added, brightening, "that it might be a good idea to wait until we have found out definite facts before we try to solve any more problems?" rather reluctantly the girls agreed and, after making betty promise that she would let them know the very first minute she found out the names of arnold dempsey's sons, they said good-bye and started for home. of course betty had already told her father and mother about professor dempsey and the part he had played in actually saving their lives; so when she told them that night of what she had read in the paper and begged her father to help her find out whether the dead soldiers were really arnold dempsey's sons or not, he readily consented to do what he could. "i'll drop in and see haig to-morrow," he promised. "i have often heard him speak of professor dempsey as being one of the best professors of zooelogy up at the university and i am sure i will be able to find out what you want to know. i hope you have been mistaken in your conclusions, for it would be a horrible blow to a man to lose both his grown sons at once and like that. now run off to bed and tomorrow i may have some news for you." with this betty was forced to be content. she went to bed of course, there was nothing else to do, but she tossed restlessly all night and what sleep she got was checkered with horrid dreams and she woke up in the morning feeling as though she had not been to sleep at all. the next day was a long one to live through, even though the girls did keep calling her up at frequent intervals to see if she had any news for them yet. she became so tired of hearing the telephone bell ring at last that she stuffed a handkerchief between the bell and the clapper and sat down to read a novel and while away the time as best she could till her father came home. luckily for her--and him too, perhaps--mr. nelson did get home early, and he was no sooner inside the door than betty grabbed him by the arm, led him over to a divan in the corner of the living room, and let loose upon him a flood of questions. "did you see him? what did he say? why didn't you let me know sooner?" these and various other queries were hurled at mr. nelson so fast that it is no wonder the poor gentleman appeared slightly bewildered. but knowing his impetuous young daughter of old, he merely pinched her cheek fondly and waited for her to give him a chance to speak. "if you will wait just a moment i will try to tell you about it," he said at last, mildly. "there's only one thing i really want to know, dad," said betty soberly. "and that is the name of professor dempsey's sons." her father shook his head slowly, regretfully. "i am afraid it is as you have feared, dear," he said. "professor dempsey has two sons--or rather, had--and their names were james and arnold." "oh, daddy!" betty was quiet for a minute, letting the full consciousness of what her father had said sink into her heart. then her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears. "i--i was pretty sure it was true. but, oh, i was hoping so hard that it wouldn't be!" chapter viii premonitions betty kept her promise and called up the girls to tell them the news. like the little captain, they had felt almost sure of the identity of the two dempsey boys who had been killed in france, yet the confirmation of their fears came as a distinct shock. they waited for a couple of days, undecided what to do, if indeed it was their place to do anything at all. vaguely they felt the need of comforting the queer little professor in his hour of greatest trouble, and yet they were at a loss to know just how to go about it. meanwhile, the occupations that had ordinarily filled their days to overflowing with fun, seemed dull and uninteresting and they found their thoughts reverting again and again to the bereaved father in his lonely little cabin in the woods. percy falconer had called at betty's house the day after the incident on the river as had been arranged, and betty had conceived the plan of having all her chums there to meet him. her hope was that the gay percy, seeing four, where he had expected only one, would be overwhelmed with numbers and would flee the premises early--to return no more. her faith in her plan was more than justified. percy had always been a little afraid of the outdoor girls--betty in particular--but it is probable that if he had been able to meet them one at a time, he might have come off victorious. as it was, he was routed, completely and ignominiously, leaving the girls to laugh at his discomfiture. "there, i guess that is the end of _that_ pest," mollie had said when she had recovered a little from her mirth. "i imagine we won't see him around these parts again." "i hope not," betty had answered with a satisfied little yawn. "wasn't he too funny in that checked suit and awful green necktie? poor old percy! i suppose he can't help it. he probably just grew that way." she had been comparing him all evening with her splendid, upstanding allen, and poor percy had certainly not gained by the comparison. the amusing incident served to divert their minds somewhat from the thought of professor dempsey, but the picture of him haunted their minds so continually day and night that the outdoor girls finally decided that something must be done about it. "i can't stand it any longer," betty confided to them one morning when they stood on mollie's porch discussing what course of action it would be best to take. "i have a queer feeling that the poor professor is in desperate need of friends, and i don't believe i'll be able to sleep another night until i find out something definite about him." "won't he think we are sort of 'butting in'?" asked grace, hesitating a little. "he might think we came just out of curiosity." "i don't think he would," said mollie. "you know he invited us to come back some time when we could stay long enough for him to tell us something about those bugs and butterflies and things he sticks pins into--" "that's the idea!" exclaimed betty quickly. "we won't have to tell him we know anything about his trouble. if he tells us--why, all right, but if he doesn't, of course we won't try to force a confidence. anyway," she finished soberly, "we'll have the satisfaction of knowing we have done our best for him whether it really helps him any or not." "and we owe him a very great deal," spoke tip amy softly. "he really saved our lives, you know." so it was settled, and while the other three girls ran home to put on coats and hats and get ready for the drive, mollie ran around to the garage and brought her big car to the front of the house. she waved good-bye to her mother, who was trying rather wildly to keep dodo and paul from running under the wheels of the car and getting killed, and purred off down the street in the direction of betty's house. when she arrived there she was a little surprised to see that betty was backing her fast little roadster down the drive. to betty the little car was almost alive, and she talked to it as she would have to some loved horse or dog. she scrubbed it and scoured it and shined it so that it always looked like a brand new car. "hey, look out!" cried mollie, for betty, not noticing her and being a little worried about the sound of the engine, had backed the small car down the drive and almost into mollie's big one. "what kind of driving do you call that? do you want to buy me a new mudguard?" "oh, pardon me," said betty, laughing back at her. "you were so small and insignificant, i came near not seeing you." "well, you would have _felt_ me in another minute," grumbled mollie, as she shut off the engine and got out of the car. "what's the idea of your little peanut, anyway? thought you were going to ride in a regular car." "that's why i chose mine," betty laughed back impishly, still intent on the sound of the engine. it was part of their fun to be always throwing insults at each other's car but the thrusts were invariably good-natured. only once had there threatened to be any trouble between the chums on account of rivalry over the cars. that had been when mollie had taken betty's "dare" to a race and betty's little roadster had won the day, racing like a streak of light along the country road and leaving mollie's high-powered but more clumsy car far behind. but mollie had taken her defeat like the little sport she was--even though it must be admitted she had been considerably disappointed and taken aback by her failure--and in her ever since there had been a great respect for betty's car. but now she eyed with impatience the bent figure of the little captain as she still leaned over the wheel, her ear tuned to the purr of the engine. "for goodness' sake, what's the matter with you?" she cried. "i thought you were the one who was in a hurry to be off and now look at you--sitting there like--" "engine is missing," betty informed her briskly. "guess i had better have a look--" "if you start fussing with bolts and screws now, you can count me out," said mollie, resolutely climbing back into her car. "it is ten o'clock already, and we won't be home before night if we don't hurry." "oh, all right," laughed betty. "but if the car gives out before we get back don't blame me, that's all." "it would give me the greatest of pleasure," said mollie with a diabolical chuckle as her machine moved off down the street, "to have everyone in deepdale see me towing your poor little flivver through the town." "huh," sang back betty scornfully as the roadster responded eagerly to her touch, "they will have a great deal better chance of seeing me in the lead with your great big jumbo tottering feebly at the end of a rope." they picked up amy and grace on the way and were soon flying swiftly down the road in the direction of professor dempsey's tree-surrounded home. they were in rather good spirits at first, for now that they were really on the way to doing something, though they were not quite sure what, they felt relieved and almost gay. but as the distance shortened between them and their destination, a strange depression that they could neither explain nor brush away settled down over them. once, grace, who sat beside the little captain in the roadster, sighed rather dolefully and betty looked at her out of the corner of her eye. "do you feel that way too, grade?" the latter asked. "what way?" asked grace uncertainly. "that sigh, do you mean?" "yes," nodded betty. "you sounded rather mournful and that is exactly the way i feel. what's the matter with us, anyway? where are our spirits?" "i suppose we couldn't expect to feel joyful," said grace after a little pause. "we aren't going, so far as i can see, on a very happy errand, you know." "but i don't think it is that alone," said betty, with a shake of her head. "i feel as if we were going to see something perfectly dreadful--" "betty," grace looked at her in sudden alarm, her eyes wide, "you don't suppose that the professor could have done anything--anything rash, do you?" "you mean--" said betty, hesitating before the ugly word. "oh, grace, you don't mean--suicide, do you?" grace nodded and tried hard not to look as frightened as she felt. "no, i--i don't think so," said betty, grasping the wheel with hands that somehow seemed suddenly weak. "if i thought anything like that had happened i wouldn't have the courage to go on." "well, i don't believe i have--the courage, i mean," said grace, irresolutely. "don't you think we had better go back, betty? it's so lonesome here and--and--everything--" her voice was rising to something like a wail, and betty, striving to throttle her own misgivings, spoke in a voice that was intended to be reassuring. "we wouldn't think very much of ourselves if we turned back now," she said. "and probably we are worrying a great deal about nothing. he didn't seem like the kind of man who would do a thing like that." grace said no more about turning back, and they were silent for the rest of the way. but instead of lightening, the cloud of depression became deeper and more foreboding until even the stout little captain began, almost to wish that they had not come. chapter ix a visitor when they came to the scene of what was so nearly a terrible accident a week or so before they found that the big tree which had extended clear across the road was gone and that the underbrush also had been cleared away. they stopped the cars a little the other side of the path that led into the woods and slowly stepped down into the road. when they caught sight of each other's faces they began to laugh shakily. "we certainly look as if we were going on a ghost hunt," mollie said. at this grace uttered a little cry of protest. the thought had struck too near her own disquieting thoughts to be comfortable. "for goodness' sake, somebody say something cheerful," she begged. "i've got to get up my courage some way." "well, i haven't any to lend you," grumbled mollie, as she linked her arm in betty's and the two went along toward the path. "i don't like this job a little bit." "don't you think," suggested amy, holding back a little, "that somebody ought to stay here and take care of the cars?" "no, you don't!" said mollie, catching her by the hand and pulling her along after them. "if one of us goes we are all going." "oh, come along," urged betty, eager to get the thing over with. "i think we are all acting like a lot of geese. it might help some if we tried to remember that we are outdoor girls." this challenge did a great deal toward bolstering up the girls' courage and they hurried along the path more confidently. their pace slowed a bit, however, when they reached the cleared space where the little cottage stood and they paused for a moment in the shelter of the trees to discuss what to do next. "do you think we had all better go?" asked grace nervously. "perhaps the four of us would frighten him--" "no, we will all go together," said betty decidedly. "there is nothing to be gained by standing here talking about it. come on, girls." she started across the cleared space and the girls followed slowly. the little cottage looked deserted and forlorn and the dreary aspect of it served to increase the girls' uneasy sense of disaster. betty knocked gently on the door which had, upon that other occasion not so very long ago, been hospitably opened to them. but, though they waited breathlessly for a response, none came--the house was as silent as a tomb. "do it again, betty. he might be asleep or something." suggested mollie, with a glance over her shoulder at the quiet woodland. "knock harder this time." betty obeyed, but with no better success than the first time. everything was as silent as before. "isn't there a bell, i wonder?" suggested amy, wishing ardently that they were back on the road once more. "perhaps your knock isn't loud enough for him to hear." "we might tap on the window," suggested grace. "if i use my ring on the window pane he surely ought to hear that." she started to suit her action to the words when an exclamation from betty made her pause. the latter had tried the door and found to her surprise that it gave to her touch. "the door is unlocked," she said. "i don't believe the professor is in here at all and if he has gone into the woods to hunt his butterflies and beetles i am sure he wouldn't mind our going inside. what do you think?" she was about to push the door open, but grace detained her with a nervous hand on her arm. "oh, i don't think we had better go in, betty!" she cried. "you know what we were speaking of in the car. suppose we should find that he has--that he has--" "that he has what?" asked amy, her eyes wide. "for goodness' sake, what do you mean, grace?" betty tried to stop her, but grace hurried on heedlessly. "he may have committed suicide," she cried, adding, in response to mollie's and amy's cry of horror: "you know he must have been desperate enough to do anything, poor old man, out here all alone." at the conviction in grace's tone, betty felt her own nerve slipping. she did not want to go into that silent house any more than the other girls did. every instinct in her commanded that she run from the place to the commonplace safety of the road. she was afraid of what she might find on the other side of that unlocked door. and yet-"i'm going in," she cried, and, suiting the action to the word, pushed the door quickly open and stepped over the threshold. emboldened by her example, the other girls followed and stopped short with a cry of dismay. they had not found what they feared--but something almost as bad. the room, which had been so neat and orderly when they had last seen it, was now the scene of such utter confusion as one might only hope to see depicted in a cubist's nightmare. the animal skins which had adorned the walls had been torn down and lay in a tattered heap upon the floor. the shelves upon which had rested the professor's botanical specimens had been swept clean and their contents also were scattered about the floor. the bench upon which the girls had sat and partaken of the queer little man's hospitality was overturned and the one chair in the room was upside down on top of it. the whole room looked as though a cyclone--or a maniac --had been at work. the girls stared for a minute and then drew closer together as if seeking protection from some unseen menace. they had some vague conception of what had taken place here in this lonely little cottage. the elderly and already nervous professor, reading the tragedy of his sons' death, all alone perhaps, with no one to comfort or restrain him, had lost his mind, temporarily at least, and had found an outlet in ruthlessly destroying everything which came within reach of his hand. and if this were so, might he not even now be hiding about somewhere, watching them, perhaps? this thought seemed to strike the girls at the same time, for after peering for a second about the room, they turned and made a concerted dash for the door. once outside the room, in the reassuring sunshine, they turned and looked at each other sheepishly. then betty wheeled about and started for the door again. "betty, you are never going back into that place again?" cried amy wildly, holding to her skirt. "i won't let you! do you hear me? come back here!" but betty had no intention of coming back. she turned and faced the girls calmly, though inwardly she was trembling. "of course i am going back," she said. "professor dempsey may be in one of the other rooms and he may be sick. if nobody will go with me, i'm going in alone." of course the three girls could not let her go in alone, so they trailed back at her heels into the house, being very careful, however, to leave the door wide open behind them, in case a hasty retreat became necessary. cautiously betty opened the door at the other end of the room and stepped into what had evidently been a sort of rough kitchen. now it was nothing but a nightmare like the other room, and she shuddered as she looked about at the desolate confusion. there was a door at the farther end of this room, and after some hesitation and an inward struggle betty crossed hastily to it and flung it wide open. what she half expected and feared to find there nobody but betty herself ever knew, but whatever it was, she gave a great sigh of relief at not finding it there. the room was upset, though not quite as badly as the other two, but there was no sign of human occupancy anywhere. she turned to the girls who had come up behind her and were eagerly and half shudderingly peering over her shoulder. "there's nothing here," she announced, the relief she felt showing in her voice, "and as there doesn't seem to be any other room in the place, i suppose we might as well go back." echoing her suggestion heartily, me girls started to retrace their steps when a slight sound in the other room made them stop short in a panic. "what was that?" amy questioned, but mollie held up her hand impatiently. there came the sound of some one stumbling over something. this was followed by a muttered exclamation. while the girls looked about them wildly for a means of escape mollie began to laugh hysterically. "we have a visitor," she announced in a strangled voice. "and he is between us and the only door in the place. come on, girls, let's see who it is." they stepped out into the cluttered living room and came face to face with a young man who seemed more startled at seeing them than they had been at sight of him. "well, i'll be jiggered!" he exclaimed, and at sound of the commonplace phrase the girls could have hugged the speaker in relief. also they felt a rather hysterical desire to laugh long and foolishly. as it was, the stranger stood staring at the girls and the girls at him so long that the funny side of the situation struck betty and she really did begin to laugh. "we haven't the slightest idea who you are," she told the astonished young man. "but i am sure of one thing, and that is that we were never so glad to see any one in all our lives as we are to see you." chapter x hurrah for allen the young man stared for a moment longer. then the humor of the situation seemed to strike him too, and he smiled pleasantly. "it surely is a pleasure to be as welcome as all that," he said pleasantly, and the girls noticed that he was a well set up young fellow and that he wore his uniform easily, as if he had been used to wearing it for a long, long time. "i am wesley travers," he went on. "i live in a cottage down the road and i came over this way to see if the old professor had come back yet. i saw the door open--came in--and found you." he smiled again pleasantly and looked as though he considered that he had fallen into rather good luck. but at his mention of the professor betty had sobered instantly. "oh, then you know something about professor dempsey?" she questioned eagerly. "please tell us what happened to him," added amy breathlessly. "did he do this?" asked mollie, with a comprehensive sweep of her hand about the cluttered room. "i'm afraid he did," answered the young fellow, sobering instantly. "you see, i just returned from overseas about a week ago and a couple of days later my dad read in the paper about the death of this queer old man's two sons. the pater had always been interested in the lonely old boy, so he sent me over to see if i could do anything for him. i found the place like this and--the bird had flown. went dopy i suppose about the bad news and tore things up a bit." though the boy's words were slangy, there was real sympathy in his tone and the girls liked him the better for it. "and you haven't heard anything from him since?" asked betty softly. "not a word or a sign," answered the boy, with a shake of his head. "just clean cleared out, that's all. pretty hard luck, i call it. just at the end of things too--when he had a right to expect the fellows home. pretty tough luck. i wish i could find the poor old duffer and do something for him." the girls heartily echoed the wish. before leaving the place for good, they looked about the rooms once more for some sign or message that might give them a clue to the whereabouts of the professor. they found nothing, however, and finally were forced to give up the search. as the young people stepped outside once more and closed the door after them upon the desolate house a great wave of pity swept over betty. somehow it did not seem right to go off like this as though they were abandoning the old man to his fate. yet what could they do more than they had done? "girls," she said, a little quiver in her voice, "i would give almost everything i own to find the poor old professor and help him back to happiness. if i only could," she added after a pause. "well," said wesley travers, as he looked admiringly at betty's flushed, sympathetic little face, "i imagine if any one could find him and bring him happiness, you would be that one." the young soldier accompanied them back to the road. after thanking him for the information he had given them, the girls climbed into their cars and headed toward home, leaving wesley travers still standing in the road and looking after them thoughtfully. "a mighty nice bunch of girls," thought the latter. "especially the little brown-haired one. they seemed rather interested in that dotty old professor too. lucky fellow to have four girls like that interested in him!" after this remark he started off toward home. luckily for the girls, the next few days were so crowded with preparations for the trip to wild rose lodge that they had not much time to dwell on the poor old professor and his misfortunes. only at night would they sometimes dream queer dreams in which wild-eyed men went around smashing everything in sight and a little cottage stood lonely and desolate and ghostlike amid a silent forest of trees. after a night like this the girls were always glad to awake and find the sunshine streaming cheerfully in their windows. and they would throw themselves with more than usual energy into the activities of the day. yet try as they would, they could never quite blot the tragedy from their minds. on the afternoon of the day before they were to start for moonlight falls, the girls were gathered in betty's garage at the back of the house, where the little captain was giving her car one last overhauling to make sure that it was in perfect condition for the trip. mollie suddenly espied the postman coming down the street. now the postman was a very popular man with the girls, for the reason that he brought almost daily some message from the boys on the other side. he sympathized with the chums so fully in their desire for letters with the red triangle in one corner that he actually confessed to a guilty feeling when he had no missive of the sort for them. so now, as mollie ran toward him with outstretched hand, he held up to her delighted gaze not only one letter, but four. "one for each of you," he said beamingly, as mollie reached him. "i thought that probably i would find all four of you at one place, so i kept the letters together." "oh, thanks, it is awfully good of you," said mollie absent-mindedly, as she took the welcome letters and hurried with them back to the garage. "one for each of us, just think of that!" she cried to the questioning girls. "it looks as if the boys had all written at the same time. put down your duster, betty, for goodness' sake, and read what alien has to say. maybe," she added hopefully, as she ripped her envelope open, "they will tell us something definite about coming home." so down the girls sat in the midst of dust cloths and more or less dirt to find what the boys had written. for a moment only the crackling of paper broke the silence. then grace gave a little joyful cry. "will says he is almost sure to be home soon--" "and he has been made a sergeant," amy interrupted, or rather added, her eyes shining with pride. "just think of that--will, a sergeant!" "i was just going to tell them that if you had waited a minute," said grace, rather crossly. there was quite a little jealousy between grace and amy over will. grace had declared more than once that whereas she had known her brother all her life, amy had only known him for a couple of years--or--or more. grace loved her brother devotedly and once in a while she resented amy's place in his affections. so now to change the subject and avert a possible quarrel, mollie jumped into the breach. "listen to this," she said. "roy and frank have been made corporals and allen--oh, look at betty blush!" she looked gleefully across at the little captain and amy and grace followed her glance. betty was not blushing, but she felt as uncomfortable as though she had been. "tell us what allen says," mollie dared her wickedly. "come on, honey--dare you to." "you can go on daring all you like," said betty defiantly. this time she was blushing--from the fact that she knew she could not, or would not, tell the girls what allen had said in his letter. not for anything in this world! "i don't mean what you mean," said mollie, enjoying her confusion immensely, while grace and amy looked on laughingly. "i just thought that maybe you would like to be the one to tell us about his promotion." "his promotion!" cried amy and grace together, and betty looked quite as bewildered as any of them. "mollie, for goodness' sake tell us what you mean," she demanded. "but didn't he tell you about it, betty?" mollie insisted. "wait a minute," said the little captain as she hastily scanned the pages of her long letter. then, down near the end of the last page she found it, just a little paragraph, put in as though it had been an afterthought. "why," cried betty, her eyes beginning to shine with excitement, "girls, listen to this. allen has been promoted. he's an officer now--a lieutenant! think of it--leather leggings and all!" it was too much for the girls. they laughed and cried and hugged each other and tried to imagine allen in his new uniform to their hearts' content, for the young new-made officer was a favorite with them all. "goodness," said amy happily, "i suppose when he gets home he will be altogether too high-toned to notice common folk like us." "oh, i don't know," said grace happily, adding with a sly little glance at betty, "i imagine he will make an exception of one of us at least." "i wonder," drawled mollie as she picked up her unfinished letter, "which one of us you can mean." chapter xi the hold-up the girls were glad that the letters had come from the boys just as they had, for it helped them to bridge over the tediously long wait till the next morning. they read the missives with the little red triangles in the left hand corner over and over again and--whisper it!--at least two of them slept with the precious letters under their pillows. and then--the morning was upon them. it was a beautiful morning too, and as the girls dressed hurriedly they were glad that they had arranged to start early. in that way they could take their time and enjoy to the full the glorious ride to moonlight falls. it was only fifty-five miles, but by driving slowly they could make it seem like twice that. it was barely half past nine when betty, having finished breakfast and put the last finishing touches to her new white hat, ran around to the garage to get the car out. ten minutes later she had drawn up in front of mollie's house, her ears still ringing with the hundred and one instructions of her anxious mother, and was tooting the horn of her little car furiously. the summons had the desired effect. mollie came running from the house, straightening her hat with one hand and lugging a valise in the other while the twins trailed at her skirts. "for goodness' sake, let go of me, paul. dodo, if you touch that bag again, i'll spank you. mother," she wailed, looking back pleadingly over her shoulder, "won't you please make these little pests go into the house?" whereupon mrs. billette suddenly appeared at the door, smiled at betty, grabbed paul with one hand, dodo with the other, while the twins roared a protest. released, mollie dropped her bag, sped round to the garage, and in a moment more was backing the big car round to the road. the girls had decided to about live in their khaki tramping suits on this trip, merely packing in a good dress or two to wear on dress-up occasions. in this way they had to take less luggage and could have more space to "spread out" as mollie said. "put your grip in here, betty," mollie suggested, as she slung her own grip into the tonneau of the big machine. "there is more room, and mrs. irving said she wouldn't mind in the least being entirely surrounded by suitcases." betty laughed, did as she was bid, and a moment later they were off, speeding down the road to grace's house where they were to pick up the other two girls and mrs. irving. they found the three waiting for them, and it took scarcely any time at all to add the extra grips to the growing pile in the tonneau of mollie's car. amid great fun, mrs. irving, who was rosy-cheeked and matronly and as jolly as the girls, was wedged into the remaining space, amy climbed to the front seat beside mollie and grace took her seat with betty. they were off! the sting of the wind was in their faces, and the sun beat warmly down upon them as they rolled along, passing familiar houses, and sometimes familiar people, to whom they waved, and so on and on till they left the town behind them and started out on the open road. "my, this is something like," commented grace, stretching her feet out before her for all the world like a lazy, comfortable cat. "i feel awfully sorry for all the poor people who haven't cars to ride in to-day and wild rose lodges to visit. by the way, why is it called wild rose lodge, betty?" "because they say there are lots of wild roses around it, of course," betty responded, her hands resting easily on the wheel, her eyes bright with the joy of the moment. grace, stealing a sideways glance at her, could not help thinking that betty looked not unlike a wild rose herself. "you look awfully pretty, honey," she said then, for grace was always generous with praise where her friends were concerned. "i would give the world to have a color like yours." "goodness," remarked betty, turning to look at her chum, her face a little brighter pink because of the honest compliment, "you have a lovely color--as you very well know. mine is too red sometimes." "nobody thinks that but you," said grace, squeezing betty's hand affectionately while she dived down in her pocket for some candy. "the only time i have noticed you get very red," she added, "is when some one happens to mention a certain young gentleman by the name of lieutenant allen washburn." betty could feel that her face was burning, but she did not care. she was awfully proud of allen and desperately fond of him and for the moment she did not care if the whole world knew about it. "isn't it wonderful, grade?" she cried, her heart pounding joyously. "about allen being an officer, i mean. i have to pinch myself several times a minute to make myself realize that it is really true." "it surely is great," grace answered slowly, adding after a moment, while a faraway expression crept into her eyes, "i don't blame you for being crazy about him, honey. i could almost be foolish myself. oh, don't worry," she went on quickly as betty turned amazed and rather startled eyes upon her. "i'm no fonder of allen than i am of any of the other boys. i just said that i didn't blame you, that's all." betty turned her eyes to the road once more, but in her heart she was troubled. there had been a note in grace's voice that she had never heard before. could it be possible that she really cared for allen? but she pushed the thought from her mind resolutely. if such a thing could have been possible, she certainly would have discovered it before this. the mere thought was nonsense of course. and yet she was troubled. "have some candy," grace invited, breaking in upon her thoughts. "you needn't stick up your nose at it to-day for i bought this fresh from the store this morning." "who said i was going to stick up my nose?" said betty, helping herself to a chocolate that looked as if it might contain a nut and thankful for the break in her not-too-pleasant reflections. "if you will think back just a little, i think you will admit that i have been guilty very seldom of sticking up my nose at anything--" "except percy falconer," finished grace drolly, and they both laughed merrily. "poor percy!" said betty, chewing her candy contentedly. "i suppose he will hate us more heartily than ever now." they were running some eight or ten miles from the town along a quiet stretch of road, never dreaming of danger, when betty's little racer nosed around a bend in the road and came smack into it! not twenty feet ahead of them a man sprang into the middle of the road and leveled a revolver at them! in one electrified instant they saw that the fellow wore a mask and a slouch hat and looked for all the world like a brigand straight out of some sensational moving picture. betty, more surprised at first than alarmed, put on her brakes and came to a standstill, at the same time putting out a hand to warn the car behind them. "oh, betty, we are being held up!" moaned grace, who evidently was frightened enough for both of them. "for goodness' sake, hold up your hands. he may shoot." still feeling rather dazed with the suddenness of the thing, betty raised both hands above her head, at the same time feeling a rather hysterical desire to laugh. it was so absurd, being held up by a masked stranger in broad daylight. nevertheless, she gave a little gasp of fright as the man waved his big revolver menacingly and came close to the car. she wished frantically that he would not point that firearm at her. suppose it should go off! "come on, hand over what you got," the robber demanded in a gruff threatening voice. "the quicker you move, the better it will be for you." "wh--what do you want?" asked betty, in a weak little voice that did not sound like her own at all. she had thought of her pocketbook beside her in the pocket of the car. the purse contained a whole month's allowance. she was sparring desperately for time--help in some form or other might come at any moment. but the ruffian in the road was evidently in no frame of mind to be fooled with. he waved his revolver once more, eliciting a terrified gurgle from grace and commanded roughly that they get out of the car. "no funny business," he snarled. "get out!" betty was about to obey when she had a brilliant thought. her pepper gun! she had bought it the day before from the son of her father's chauffeur, thinking it was an undesirable plaything for a nine-year-old boy and had put it, as the most convenient place, in her car. and the pepper gun was filled--as it should have been--with good red cayenne pepper! chapter xii sheep! for a moment betty hesitated, almost afraid of what she was going to do. the pepper gun might work, but if she were not quick enough or clever enough, her little trick might also result in a tragedy. her hesitation was only momentary, however, for betty was a born fighter. suddenly she cried out as if in joyful greeting to an unexpected arrival. "here they come! here they come!" she called, and in the moment that their captor turned his startled eyes from her to the road ahead, betty acted. she snatched the pepper gun from its hiding place in the car and as the man once more turned furiously upon her let him have the full contents directly in the face. it was a dreadful thing to do. choking and sputtering, the ruffian dropped his revolver and raised both fists to his tortured eyes. "i'll get you for this!" he cried between great sneezes that threatened to tear him apart. "you just wait--" but betty refused to wait. as soon as the fellow had dropped his weapon she had started the engine, and now she guided the car past the stuttering robber and raced off down the road. mollie, who had only half understood what was going on but who had caught enough of it to be considerably alarmed did not stop to ask questions, but sped off down the road after betty. it was half a dozen miles farther on that betty finally slowed the car and waited for mollie and the others to catch up with her. grace, who had been gradually recovering from her fright, had not yet recovered enough to ask any questions. she had been too much concerned in putting miles between them and the scene of their adventure. as mollie came up alongside, betty drew her first free breath. of course mollie and amy and mrs. irving wanted to hear all about it, and betty told them what had happened, her account interrupted by hysterical laughter. but when she came to the pepper gun, the girls' expression of utter bewilderment changed to admiration of betty's quick thought and quicker action. "why, betty," cried amy, incredulously, "i don't see how you ever had the courage to do it. why, that man might have shot you!" "he probably would have if i hadn't got him first," said betty, half-way between laughter and tears. "it was taking an awfully big chance, but," with a flash of spirit, "i wasn't going to sit there calmly and have him take away all our money. not if i could help it." "betty, i think you were simply wonderful," said mollie in heart-felt admiration. "why, if he had taken our money it would have completely spoiled our trip." "how they talk," said grace hysterically. "any one would think it was only the trip that mattered when we might very easily have been _killed._" this remark served to bring mrs. irving to a realization of the present, and she suggested that they start on again. "not that i am particularly nervous," she hastily added, as the girls looked at her suspiciously. "only i will feel just as well when we have put a dozen miles between us and that highway robber, instead of only half that. i wish there was a town handy where we could notify the authorities." they started on again, and as the miles slid past them they became less nervous and even began to laugh a little at thought of the robber's consternation when he received the contents of betty's pepper gun full in his face. "he was probably the most surprised crook ever," commenced grace with a chuckle. "he never will get over cursing you, betty. how did you ever happen to have it? the pepper gun, i mean," she added curiously. betty explained how the gun had come into her possession. "i didn't know," she added ruefully, her foot on the accelerator as they sped up a steep hill, "when i bought it, that it would come in so handy. how much further do you suppose we have to go?" she asked, changing the subject abruptly. "why," said grace, looking at her wrist watch and realizing suddenly that she was getting rather hungry, "we have been riding since ten o'clock and it is now after noon. we must be very nearly there by this time. goodness, i hope there will be something to eat around wild rose lodge. i'm getting famished." "mollie's uncle john said he would attend to that--stocking the cabin with good things, i mean," said betty, herself suddenly conscious of a disturbingly hungry feeling. "he said we would find enough canned things to last us at least a week." "canned things, yes," pouted grace. "but who in the world wants to live on canned things? i don't see why we didn't bring a chicken along, at least." "well, maybe we can manage to run over one," chuckled betty, as they passed a farmhouse and several chickens scuttled squawking across the road. "then we can have one good and fresh. for goodness' sake, what is mollie tooting that horn for?" she added, as the raucous signal came from the car behind them, "has she stopped the car, grace? look and see." "it's stopped deader than a door nail," said grace, obligingly screwing about in her seat and fixing on the road behind them a disapproving eye. "now what do you suppose can be the trouble this time? if she has had a blowout or something, i'm not going to help fix the old thing--" "you couldn't fix the blowout, dear, but you might help with the tire," betty said, with a laugh, as she stopped the roadster and jumped to the road. "come on, she seems to be excited about something--" "goodness, i hope it isn't another highway robber," said grace anxiously, stopping in the middle of the road at the dreadful thought. "i don't see any, but--" "you don't see any because there _isn't_ any," betty assured her, taking her by the arm and leading her decidedly forward. "you don't suppose there is a whole robin hood's band in this woods, do you?" mollie and amy and mrs. irving came running to meet them excitedly--or at least, mollie and amy did the running, while their chaperon followed more slowly. "there are blackberries in there, whole bushels and bushels of them!" mollie called. "you could see them from the road, and there you girls passed right by them without even looking." "blackberries!" repeated grace resignedly, as she felt in her pocket to see if she had any candy left. "just listen to her speaking of blackberries when what i'm dying for is a good big steak with onions on top of it--" "stop it," cried mollie indignantly, while the others felt their mouths begin to water. "the idea of mentioning steak--but here," she broke off, seizing grace's hand and dragging her toward the woods, "come with me and pick berries if you value your life. lucky we brought those tin pails along." "but why," protested grace patiently, as she was dragged along, "should we want to pick berries?" "to eat," replied mollie, attacking a bush that was fairly black with the luscious ripe fruit. "and besides," she added, lowering her voice to a confidential pitch, "mrs. irving said that if she could find some flour and baking powder in the lodge she would make us a steamed blackberry pudding for supper." grace stared for a moment then, without another word, set to work on the loaded bush. "you might have told me that before," she grumbled, her mouth full of berries. "you always did have a mean disposition, mollie." to which mollie's only reply was a chuckle and a sly wink at betty, who was working close at her side. they worked on happily for a few minutes, then suddenly amy straightened up and stood quiet as though she were listening to something. the girls, whose nerves were still a little on edge from their recent adventure, demanded to know in no uncertain tones what was the matter with her. "n-nothing," amy answered a little sheepishly. "i thought i heard a little rustling among the leaves, that's all." "probably a breeze coming up," said betty matter-of-factly, and they went on with their berry picking. but it was not long before a second disturbance came, and this time they all heard it. it was, as amy had said, a rustling sound. however, it was louder this time, as though several heavy bodies were pushing through the underbrush on the other side of the road. "perhaps we had better go and see what is making all the noise," said mrs. irving, her light tone successfully hiding an undercurrent of nervousness. "i guess we have picked enough berries for our pudding, anyway." the girls picked up their pails and started for the road, betty in the lead. but when the latter reached the outer fringe of bushes she started back, almost treading on mollie's toes and causing her to drop her pail in alarm. "it's sheep!" cried the little captain. "dozens and dozens of them! come and look!" chapter xiii the enemy routed mrs. irving pushed forward beside betty, and the girls stared unbelievingly over her shoulder. then they saw that she was right. while they had been picking berries in the woods a flock of sheep had wandered down to the road from the other direction and had completely surrounded their two cars. the big-eyed, innocent looking animals were circling around and around the machines as if examining them with a sort of ovine interest and curiosity. but to the girls the sheep had a rather terrifying aspect. there were so many of them and they had so completely taken possession of their automobiles! how in the world were they ever to get back their property? "goodness!" grace whispered plaintively in betty's ear, "i expect they will try to climb into the cars next. what ever are we going to do?" "sh," cautioned amy fearfully, as some of the flock, attracted by the noise in the bushes, turned their heads in the direction of it. "suppose they should come in here?" "well, they are not lions, you goose," said mollie, coming out of the trance into which surprise had thrown her. "they are only sheep, and they couldn't hurt you if they tried." "not unless they stampeded," said betty quietly. "in that case i wouldn't care to be in the way." "but we can't stay here all night," mollie protested impatiently. "held up by a lot of silly old sheep," added grace, still more uncomfortably conscious of a growing appetite. "it must be almost two o'clock," added amy with a sigh. "yes, if things keep on this way it will be night before we reach the lodge," said mollie, adding with decision, "i vote that we get some sticks and stones and scat 'em out of the way." "i think i have a better suggestion than that," put in mrs. irving, speaking for the first time. "i think we had better wait for a short time before we do anything. the sheep will probably get tired in a little while and wander off of their own accord." "oh, all right," said mollie, with rather bad grace as she seated herself on a convenient rock. "but all the time we are waiting for them to be tired, we will be getting tired ourselves and, goodness, mrs. irving, i'm being starved to death." at the desperation in her tones the girls had to laugh, though they were as reluctant to sit with folded hands and wait as she was. still, mrs. irving was their chaperon and probably knew best. so with admirable resignation they disposed themselves beside mollie on the big rock and settled down to watch for developments. but after waiting for an everlasting five minutes they decided that there were to be no developments. the foolish sheep continued to circle lazily about the cars, nibbling now and then upon the grass by the roadside but showing not the slightest intention in the world of moving from there for some time to come. "oh, what shall we do?" moaned grace, moving restlessly on her uncomfortable seat. "my foot is going to sleep and i'm trying to sit on a pointed stone or something." "and it looks as though those crazy sheep were going to stay there all night," added betty, herself growing restive at the apparent futility of waiting for something to happen. "can't we do something, mrs. irving?" "wait just a few minutes more," begged the lady, who was afraid of the sheep, but was reluctant to confess her fear to her young charges. "look, there seems to be a movement among them now," she added hopefully, as one sheep pressed against another and sent it scampering a few feet along the road. "we won't have to wait much longer, i am sure." and so, both to break their chaperon's authority, the girls fidgeted and fumed, getting more impatient and hungrier with every leaden minute that dragged itself by until almost three-quarters of an hour had passed. then, when they began to think that they must scream if they were forced to wait another minute, their chaperon rose of her own accord and with a decided movement flicked the dust from her skirt. "i think we have waited long enough," she hazarded, to which each girl said a fervent though silent "amen." "i suppose we shall have to follow mollie's suggestion and gather sticks and stones. perhaps we can scare them away." "hooray!" shouted mollie, jumping to her feet with relief. at the unexpected sound the sheep in the road started and looked about them uneasily. "come on, girls, i'm mad enough to attack jem single-handed. all who are with me, say aye." "aye!" they yelled, scurrying about to find sticks and stones. betty, flourishing a branch at the frightened flock, yelled: "we are wild, wild women, old sheep. you had better get out while the going's good. we eat little fellers like you alive!" and with a whoop of wild spirits she danced down to the edge of the wood waving her stick wildly about her head. her fun was contagious and, smothering their laughter, the girls waltzed after her, throwing sticks and stones and all sorts of improvised weapons into the midst of the now thoroughly frightened flock. mrs. irving strove to caution them, but her voice was lost in the babble, and for once in her life at least she found herself utterly ignored. with a little sigh she picked up a stick of her own and followed after the girls. for a moment it looked as though the panic stricken sheep would rush straight for the shouting girls, and in that moment what was little more than an exciting game to the girls might have turned into a rather dreadful tragedy. but, luckily, half a dozen sheep broke through and, led by an old ram, started down the road and the rest of the flock, as is the habit of sheep, followed after. in a moment the entire flock was galloping off down the road with the excited girls in pursuit. there is no telling how far they might have followed the sheep had not betty become suddenly possessed of a grain of common-sense. panting and laughing, she came to a standstill while the girls rushed past her. "come back here!" she cried, her voice choked with laughter. "there's no use of our being as silly as the sheep. mrs. irving will think we have deserted her." so reluctantly the girls abandoned the chase and started back to rejoin their much relieved but slightly dazed chaperon. "now if we had only done that an hour ago," said mollie, as they climbed back into the machines determined to make up for lost time, "we would have been that much nearer the lodge and--something to eat." "goodness, it will be almost dark when we get there now," wailed grace, as she slipped into the seat beside betty. "and we haven't had anything to eat since breakfast." "what with highway robbers and sheep," laughed betty, as she started the engine, "we shall be lucky if we get there at all." "oh, betty, if you love me don't mention that awful highwayman again," begged grace, looking uneasily into the shadows of the wood. "i don't want to have any more thrills like that as long as i live." "let's hope we won't," said betty fervently. "it's a pity there is no telephone along this road--we could notify the folks at deepdale," remarked mollie. "humph, if we did that they might get so scared that they'd send for us to come home," came from amy. "that's so!" came from the other outdoor girls quickly. "well, as i said before, no more thrills like that for yours truly," repeated grace. but little did the girls know that in the weeks to follow they would have more and more startling thrills than they had ever experienced before. chapter xiv nothing human they might have reached wild rose lodge before dusk, in spite of grace's gloomy prediction, if everything had gone well then. but it seemed that the evil genius of bad luck was not yet through with them. they were scarcely five miles from their destination when, bang! went a report that made the girls clutch at each other wildly. at first they jumped to the conclusion that they were being held up again, but close on the heels of the first thought came the conviction of the truth. mollie had had a blowout! betty, looking behind, saw the big car stop and brought her own little roadster to a standstill once more. "there is nothing wrong with our tires, is there?" she asked of grace. "look over your side, gracie, and see." finding nothing amiss, they jumped out and ran back to mollie to offer assistance. mollie was eyeing the flat tire gloomily and saying things under her breath that none of the girls could catch. then as betty spoke to her she seemed to come to life and ran around to the back of the machine. "of course you can help," she answered, working to release the extra tire. "i would like to see you get out of it. lucky i bought an extra tire before we started, though i did hope," here she glared at the girls as if it were all their fault, "that i wouldn't have to use it so soon. we've had more trouble on this ride than any i can remember. a hold-up, sheep and--this!" "well, there is no use talking about it," betty reminded her cheerfully. "the less we talk, the harder we can work and the sooner we shall get started again." "yes, that's all very well," grumbled mollie, as she fumbled for her tools; "but you don't know this place as well as i do." "you talk," said amy, her eyes widening, "as though there were wild animals or something in the woods. i didn't know they came as far east as this." "they don't, goose," said mollie grumpily, as she pulled at the tire. "i didn't say anything about wild animals, did i? only we have to ride about two miles through the woods before we get to the lodge and i must say i didn't want to do that in the dark." "but there is some sort of road, isn't there?" asked grace. mollie, bending over the lifting jack, shot her a withering glance. "of course there's a road," she said shortly. "how else could we expect to use the cars?" "it must be a sort of wagon road," suggested betty as she deftly helped her chum. "and i don't blame you for not wanting to try it at night, mollie. i don't much like the idea myself." "i believe if we hurry that we can get there before dusk," said mrs. irving confidently, though it might have been noticed that she kept her eyes rather anxiously on the fast sinking sun. at last, after what seemed an eternity to the impatient girls, the new tire had replaced the old one, the old one was safely strapped on the back of the car, the tools were put away, and they were ready to start once more. "give her plenty of gas this time, betty," mollie sung after her as the little captain climbed into her car. "if we can manage to get to the woods before dark we will be doing good work. let her go." with which advice she settled herself behind the wheel of her own car and they were off once more. betty did "give her plenty of gas," the result being that they succeeded in reaching the wagon road that led into the woods to the lodge just on the edge of dusk. however, when they started along the road they were dismayed to find that what was only dusk outside on the road became almost dark in here, and betty had all she could do to keep to the road at all. "hadn't you better put on your lights?" grace suggested uneasily. "we might run into a ditch or something. betty, i'm half scared." for answer betty switched on the lights and the woods and the road ahead of them were suddenly flooded with a weird radiance. it brought out branches and leaves and stones in such sharp contrast to the dark background that the effect was startling. "oh," gasped grace, "turn them off again, do, betty. it is positively ghastly." "don't be foolish," said betty, striving to make her voice sound matter-of-fact, her eyes glued to the road ahead of them as it twisted and turned through the woods. "i don't see why lights should make a perfectly harmless wood look ghastly. and, anyway, i couldn't turn them out now. i don't believe i could find my way. you don't want me to run into something, do you?" "no, of course not," grace said more firmly, rather ashamed of her fears. "i didn't mean to act in a silly fashion. but," she turned to betty quickly, "that hold-up and all--don't you feel a little queer yourself, betty? tell the truth." "yes," said the little captain truthfully. "i feel," she added slowly, as though searching for words, "i feel as though the woods belonged to somebody and that we were sort of--sort of--intruding." "why, betty!" said grace, staring at her, "what a funny thing to say." "i suppose it is," said betty, shaking off the illusion with a shrug of her shoulders. "i am getting foolish in my old age i guess. we shall all feel better when we get something to eat." "if we ever do," said grace gloomily, adding as a sudden turn in the woods shot them deeper into the gloom of it: "do be careful, betty. i feel as though we were going over a precipice." but betty was too busy keeping the road to listen to her. "look behind," she directed grace, "and see if mollie is following close to us." "she is right behind," reported grace, as two eyes of light shot their glare in her eyes. "she is following us closer than a poor relation." betty giggled at this, and then for a long time--or at least it seemed a long time to their strained nerves--they went on in silence, following the winding road wherever it led and getting deeper into the forest with every moment. then suddenly something loomed up dark against the shadows only a few hundred feet ahead of them, and with a great feeling of thankfulness they realized that they had reached their destination. directly ahead of them stood wild rose lodge. they had arrived! but just as they were about to break into wild jubilation something happened that tightened betty's hand on the wheel and made grace cry out with dismay. out from the shadow of the lodge a second shadow detached itself, a hunched up, bulky, fearful shadow that seemed neither beast nor man, but a combination of both of them. for a moment, while the girls watched, paralyzed with fright, the thing seemed about to spring into the path of the moving car. but in another instant it turned, wheeled, and disappeared into the thick bushes about the house. then and only then did betty recover presence of mind enough to stop the car. "betty! betty!" cried grace in a horrified whisper, grasping betty's hand as it clung to the wheel. "what was it? oh, what was it?" "i don't know," betty answered mechanically. "i only know it was horrible." then quite suddenly and without warning grace broke down and cried. chapter xv wild roses "we will go into the house," mrs. irving answered to their concerted cry of "what shall we do?" "whatever it was that has frightened us has disappeared now, and we shall certainly be safer inside the house than out here. come on, girls, i have the key." and so, leaving the cars where they were, the girls approached the house with shaking knees and hearts that hammered their fear aloud. the outdoor girls were ordinarily afraid of nothing real and human, but to be held up at the point of a pistol would unnerve almost any one, and the struggle the girls had made not to give way to their fears at the time had made them more nervous still. and this thing that had startled them now, added to what had gone before, seemed a little more than could be borne. it seemed, in fact, like nothing human. mrs. irving turned the key in the lock, opened the door and stepped inside the dark place, motioning to the girls to follow her. fearfully the chums obeyed and betty and mollie pulled out their electric pocket torches, filling the place with a weird light. mollie, being acquainted with the place, naturally took charge of the situation. "there are matches over there," she said, "and candles over the fireplace. for goodness' sake, let's get a regular light, folks. perhaps that will make us feel more natural." "so say all of us," echoed amy. "the dark makes everything worse, when you are not well acquainted with a place." mollie touched a match to the candles, and in the answering flare turned to face her chums. "girls," she said, determinedly, "i don't know how you feel about it, but i vote that before we do anything else we get something to eat. we all look like ghosts just now and i'm sure we feel much worse than that. but a little food makes a monstrous lot of difference." "you know it does," cried grace, relaxing into one of the big chairs that were scattered about the room and covering her face with her hands. "i think if i don't get something to eat soon, i'll die, that's all." "well, we are none of us going to die," said mrs. irving vigorously, as she threw aside her coat and hat. "show us the way to the kitchen, mollie, and if there is anything there to eat, we will get it." accordingly mollie took one of the candles and led the way into a little room beyond while all the girls but betty crowded in after her. for the little captain slipped back for a moment and very quietly closed the door, shutting out definitely the shadow beyond it. "i suppose it is foolish," she said to herself, "because if there is anything out there that really wants to get in there are plenty of ways that it can do it, without coming in through the door. but," and she turned the key in the lock, "it certainly makes one feel more comfortable to have the door closed." then she followed the girls into the other room, and the sight that met her eyes was certainly more cheering than anything she could have imagined. mollie's uncle john had surprised them. in the exact center of a table set for five lay a young pig, roasted whole and browned to a turn! nor was this all. the table was littered with covered dishes of all sizes and descriptions, and as the contents of each one of these dishes was disclosed, the girls became more and more excited and hilarious. there was apple sauce in one, salad in another, mashed potatoes that had become quite cold in another, and a boat of gravy which had also become quite cold. "but we don't mind," cried mollie joyfully, as she took the gravy-boat in one hand, the dish of potatoes in the other, and ran with them over to a great stove in one corner of the room. "we need only some matches to have this blazing hot in a minute. no, not that way, grace," as the latter tried to help by lighting the burner. "this isn't a gas stove, you know; it's an oil stove and you had better look out or you will blow us all up." it is small wonder if betty was so dazzled by this joyful scene that she could neither move nor speak for the space of two seconds or so. then, recovering her powers of locomotion, she went over to the table and picked up a note that, in their excitement, the girls had overlooked. "see what this says," she called to them, and they looked at her rather impatiently. just at that moment the only thing they cared to consider was food--and more food--and then some more! but as betty read they became more interested, and even stopped long enough to hear her through. it was a brief note. this is what it said. "my dear young ladies: "i am a neighbor of mr. prendergast," (this was the dressed-up name of mollie's uncle john) "and he axed me to get your dinner ready fer you. i tried to keep it hot but you wus so long comin' i had to go home to get dinner fer my old man. hope things is all right. "lizzie davis." "so she is the one who has done all this," said betty, looking around at the good things with dancing eyes. "i bet she is nice and plump and has rosy cheeks." "lizzie davis? lizzie davis?" repeated mollie, bringing the steaming gravy back and plumping the dish triumphantly down on the table. "rather a funny name for a fairy godmother, but she sure does know how to cook. don't forget the potatoes, grace. come on, girls--let's sit down." so down the girls sat and acted like ravenous pigs--or so grace described their conduct afterward. mrs. irving set to work carving the delicious pork, but they could not wait for her. they seized slices of bread, spread apple sauce and butter on them, and ate like what they were, four famished girls and one equally famished chaperon who had been out in the open all day and had had nothing to eat since morning. it was some time before they showed any considerable signs of slowing up. then grace put down her fork, leaned back lazily, and called for dessert. the latter was a huge cherry pie, and before the girls were through with it there was not enough left to color a robin's egg. after the pangs of hunger had been satisfied they found to their great surprise that they were dead tired and sleepy. "we will get the dishes out of the way and then mollie can show us where we sleep," said betty. "oh, girls, did you ever in your life taste such a dinner?" it was not till the dishes had all been cleared away and mollie took up her candle to show them their quarters that the unwelcome thought of the thing that had so frightened them again crept terrifyingly into their minds. try as they would to forget it, they could not. there were three small sleeping rooms in the lodge, but, small as they were, they were comfortable and contained beds that seemed the height of luxury to the tired girls. because of the indistinct and flickering candle light the girls could make out very little of what the rooms really looked like, and they postponed any close examination until the morning. back of the lodge was a shed for the cars. the bedrooms were all joined by doors, which gave the girls a safe and sociable feeling. mrs. irving, of course, had one room to herself, betty and mollie slept together and grace and amy paired off. they wasted little time in getting ready--betty and mollie had appointed themselves a committee of two to bring in the grips from mollie's car--and before long they tasted the exquisite restfulness of comfortable beds after a long nerve-trying day in the out-of-doors. "i don't believe i shall close my eyes all night," said amy with conviction. "i'm too horribly nervous." but three minutes later she was sound asleep! the sun had been up a good two hours before any one stirred in wild rose lodge. betty was the first to awake, and in fifteen minutes she had the rest of the sleepy-eyed and protesting girls up and nearly dressed. "what's the idea, anyway?" yawned grace lazily. "i could have slept at least a good two hours more." "on a day like this?" sang betty, breathing in deep breaths of the wood-scented air. "and isn't this just the dearest room you ever saw?" she added, wheeling about and regarding the apartment delightedly. they were in grace and amy's room, for, as usual, mollie and betty had been the first dressed and had gone into their churns' room to hurry them up --if such a thing were possible. betty's summing up of the room they were in was indeed well deserved, for the place was charming. there was a dresser, a bed, and three chairs, and all of these articles of furniture had been rough-hewed out of logs, giving the place a delightfully rustic appearance. there was a grass rug on the floor and in one corner a little table covered with books. "isn't it darling?" cried mollie, following betty's glance about the place. "uncle john built the lodge and made all of the furniture himself, you know. and he bought the grass rugs from the indians." they were still exclaiming about the place when mrs. irving called to them that breakfast was ready. with a whoop of delight they answered the summons, and a moment later sat themselves down to a most satisfying meal of omelet and toast and coffee with real cream in it. also mrs. irving set on the table a yellow-topped pitcher of milk fresh from the cow. "our friend, lizzie davis, brought it," their chaperon answered with a smile, in response to the girls' curious questions. "also some fresh butter and eggs. i have an idea," she added, as she got up to refill the butter plate, "that we shall live on the fat of the land while we are here." "lizzie davis," repeated betty, pausing in the act of filling her glass with fresh milk and regarding mrs. irving with dancing eyes. "tell me, chaperon dear. didn't she have nice red cheeks, and wasn't she delightfully plump?" "yes," said mrs. irving, smiling at betty's flushed prettiness. "she was all of that, my dear. i don't believe i ever saw a more cozy looking person in my life." "i knew it!" cried betty triumphantly, adding with a suspicious eye on grace: "hand over that plate of toast, gracie. you needn't think you can eat it all up!" after breakfast they sallied forth to "view the country o'er." they would have stayed and helped mrs. irving clear up, but that good woman declared that she could do better by herself on this first morning. after she had become better acquainted with the place they could help her all they liked. finally, after some protest, they had to let her have her way. as they stepped out on the porch, betty paused and held up her hand for silence. "listen," she said. "that murmuring sound and the splash of water--" "it's the river and the falls," explained mollie. "let's go down and have a look at them." but amy, giving a little gasp of delight, fairly tumbled down the steps and into a riot of gorgeous pink wild roses. the lodge was fairly surrounded by them. "oh, you darlings!" cried amy, putting both arms around a bush of the fragrant flowers as though she would gather in all their beauty at once. "i never saw anything so wonderful in all my life! oh, girls, i'm glad i came!" chapter xvi the whirlpool all the spirit and joy of the woods seemed to have entered into the outdoor girls. for the next half hour they romped in the woods and the beautiful flowers for all the world like little children whose first glimpse it was of the country. they took down their hair and made wreaths of wild roses for crowns, and when, faces flushed with exercise and fun, they had finished, one might easily have mistaken them for real fairies come to life. "but i want to see the river," betty called to them, stopping once more to listen to the rhythmic sound of splashing water. "come on, girls. it can't be more than a few hundred feet away, even though we can't see it for the bushes. lead on, mollie billette, i wouldst hie me hence." but when mollie laughingly obeyed and started into the woods, amy held back. "what's the matter?" grace asked, turning to her curiously. "i--i was just thinking," stammered amy, ashamed of her own weakness, "about last night." "about last night," betty prompted, still at a loss. "you haven't forgotten, have you?" she asked, incredulously. "that--thing --on the porch." "oh!" they said, and a shadow fell over their bright faces. "why, yes," said betty, slowly, adding as though she could not quite explain the phenomenon herself: "i suppose we did forget all about it." "or if we didn't, we should have," said mollie, ungrammatically but decidedly. "come on, girls, we aren't going to let any silly old thing like that frighten us out of a good time." "it seems," said grace thoughtfully, while amy still held back, "almost as if we had dreamed the whole thing. the memory of it is so vague--and indistinct." "well, it isn't vague to me--or indistinct either," said amy, feeling rather abused because the girls did not seem to share her feelings. "i hardly slept all night long just thinking about it." "oh, amy blackford!" said grace accusingly, while mollie and betty turned twinkling eyes upon her. "if that isn't the biggest one i ever heard. why, i woke up once or twice in the night and each time i found you almost snoring." "oh, i did not," protested amy, flushing indignantly, but here mollie and betty stepped laughingly into the fray and peremptorily put an end to it. "let's not fight about it," said betty, when she could make herself heard. "we don't care whether amy snored or not. what we want to know is this: who is coming with us for a look at the falls?" "now you're talking, little captain," said mollie approvingly. "all in favor please say aye." amy still showed some inclination to hold back, but mollie and betty each took an arm and hurried her willy-nilly with them into the woods. "you had better take the lead, mollie," betty suggested after they had gone some little distance along the path. "i can manage amy alone now, i guess. she seems pretty well tamed." "tamed, but scared to death," amy came back, with a wry smile. "really, betty," she turned to look at the little captain closely, "aren't you the least little bit nervous about what happened last night?" "no, i don't think i am now," said betty, adding candidly, "i must say i was last night though--just frightened to death. it seemed so awfully uncanny--coming upon that thing in the dark after what we had gone through with that bandit. but then," she added more lightly, "everything seems so much worse in the dark, you know." "yes," said amy slowly and looking very serious. "that all may be very true. but i think that as long as we are sure we didn't dream it last night and that the skulking thing really dodged out from the corner of our porch that we ought to be on our guard against it. and how," she finished most reasonably, "can we be on our guard in the woods?" betty was at a loss to know just how to answer such a question. by this time mollie and grace were some little distance ahead of them and amy's nervousness was beginning to communicate itself to her against her will. she felt again the creeping sensation that had traveled up and down her spine at sight of that crouching, sinister figure that had sprung out from the shadow of the porch. it had disappeared into the bushes last night, and, for all she knew--and the thought made her tingle weirdly--it might still be hiding in them, crouching, ready to spring-with an effort she shook off the mood and turned to amy brightly. "there is no use in our making a mountain out of a mole hill," she said, plucking a wild rose as they swung by and smelling of its delicious fragrance. "last night, i admit, it seemed very terrifying to us, but that was probably because we couldn't see what it was that frightened us. it may just have been a large dog or something." "humph," sniffed amy, sceptically, "it must have been a monster dog. sort of a ghost hound." "goodness, that's going from bad to worse," laughed betty, as they rejoined the other girls. "let's hope it isn't anything like that, amy dear. hello, what are you waiting for?" she hailed the girls cheerfully. "we almost fell over you." "watch your step," cautioned mollie, adding as she cleared aside some bushes and motioned betty to a place beside her: "we've reached the river, betty, and a little farther up is the falls. isn't it beautiful?" "oh, it is beautiful," rejoined betty, a sentiment which amy heartily echoed, and for a few minutes they stood there, drinking in the beauty of the scene, entirely unmindful of the lovely picture they themselves made with their loosened hair and wreaths of wild flowers. the river was not very wide, but the water was deep and clear and swift and the continual swish-swish of its passage over rocks and between foliage-laden banks made a pleasant, even sound that was deliciously restful and refreshing. "oh, if we could only get down right into the very middle of it and let those little ripples wash over us forever and forever!" sighed grace ecstatically. "she would a little mermaid be!" sang betty, as she slipped down to the very edge of the water and leaned over to catch her reflection in the bright depths of it. "but honestly, mollie, isn't there any place in the river where we can swim?" "it looks too swift for good swimming to me--" began grace, but mollie stopped her with a mysterious finger to her lips. "hush, my pretty one, not a word," said the latter, beginning to pick her way daintily along the river bank. "follow me and you will wear diamonds, or seaweed, or whatever it is that mermaids wear. and don't fall over, whatever you do," she turned around to caution them. "the river is so swift here that i don't believe even the strongest swimmer would have a chance." accordingly the girls "watched their step," and for some distance followed mollie uncomplainingly. then, as there seemed no sign of their getting anywhere, grace started to protest. "say, do you suppose she has any idea where she is going?" the latter asked of betty in a tone that was designed to reach mollie's ear. but before she could say anything more, mollie herself swung jubilantly round upon them. "here we are, girls!" she cried. "now see if you ever saw anything so pretty in all your lives." once more the girls stood spellbound by the natural beauty of the scene. as they walked they had become more and more conscious of the roaring noise made by rushing water, and now, ascending a small rise of ground, they came full upon the majestic beauty of moonlight falls. the falls fell full thirty feet, and at the foot of it the river was churned into swirling, liquid foam that whirled around and around again in a sort of mad race and then went rushing off down the river in a shower of lacy spray. it was wildly inspiring, exhilarating, and the girls thrilled with a strange new emotion as they watched. it was so free, so gloriously unchained! "there is our swimming pool over there," mollie said, raising her voice to make it heard above the roar of the water. "you see there is a sort of little back eddy below the falls and to one side of it, and right there we'll find the best swimming of our lives. but," she added, and her voice was impressively solemn, "heaven help any one of us who gets in the path of the falls." "look!" cried amy suddenly, her voice ringing out full and clear and startled above the uproar. "that--thing--over there. it is going into the falls--no, under them!" "where?" cried mollie eagerly, leaning far forward. "oh, yes, i see what you mean. oh, girls, i'm slipping!" her voice rose to a terrified wail. "betty! catch me!" but betty was too late. she sprang forward just in time to see mollie slide down the slippery bank and plunge into the maddened water of the river! chapter xvii the "thing" it took the girls a moment to realize the extent of the awful thing that had happened. then betty, obeying her first impulse, raised her hands above her head as though to dive, but amy screamed to her to stop. "you will only be lost too!" she cried frantically. "look--that flat stick--the long one--" instantly betty saw what she meant and stooped to pick up a long broken branch that was lying at her feet. at the same instant mollie came to the surface several feet away from the spot where she had fallen and threw her strength desperately against the rushing might of the river. betty ran along the river bank, amy and grace at her heels, shouting encouragement to mollie as she ran. "hold tight!" she cried, adding with fresh dismay as she saw that the girl was being swept further from the shore: "over this way, honey. swim to your right--to your right--" blinded, chilled to the bone with the cold water, her hair in her eyes and her skirts clinging tight about her legs, mollie struggled wildly, unable to hear the shouts of her chums above the ringing in her ears. it was taking all her strength to hold her own against the rush of the river--and now she was not even doing that! slowly, very slowly, she was being pushed backward; in a little while more she would be sucked downward, and then-she closed her eyes, and then, as though the obliteration of one sense made more clear the other, she heard betty calling to her above the roar of the falls. "mollie! mollie!" it came, faint but distinct, "take hold of the stick and we'll pull you in. mollie, do you hear me?" the girl in the water was still struggling hard against the current that was dragging at her cruelly, and at the sound of betty's words she shook the water from her eyes and looked about her dazedly. she had forgotten the girls. then she saw something that sent a tingle of renewed hope through her tired body. what she saw was a long branch bobbing on the water not two feet from her outstretched hand, and at the other end of the stick was--betty. with a sigh that was half a sob she struck out for it, reached it, and clung to it as only the drowning know how to cling. then she felt herself being drawn through the water, and once more she closed her eyes. when she opened them again she was on a warm grassy bank with amy chafing one hand, grace the other, while betty was busy unfastening the clothes about her waist. as mollie was never under any circumstances expected to act as people thought she should act, so this occasion was no exception to the rule. she pushed amy and grace aside, glared at betty, and sat up with a little jerk. "for goodness' sake, stop undressing me, betty nelson!" she said. "i'm not dead yet." "so we see," said betty, while her eyes lost their anxious expression and began to twinkle instead. "but you might have been, you know, if we had left you to yourself." mollie looked down at her dripping clothes ruefully and then out at the rushing water. "i guess you are right," she said with a little grimace. "it wasn't very pleasant while it lasted, either. whew, but that water was cold!" she shivered involuntarily and betty sprang to her feet. "we had better be getting back to the lodge," she said. "you can put on some dry things, mollie, and we girls will get you some hot soup. you are chilled to the bone." "nonsense," denied mollie grumpily. "i'm beginning to feel fine and warm. besides," she added, trying to cover a chill that fairly made her teeth ache, "i want to stay and find out about that thing that got us into all this fuss." "nonsense," grace put in. up to this time grace had been made speechless by mollie's sudden recovery. "you are shivering so you can't sit still." "it makes me cold just to look at you," added amy. "don't be foolish, honey," said betty impatiently. "you can't sit there all day in dripping clothes, and besides you will really get cold." "humph," grunted mollie, getting to her feet rather unsteadily and shaking out her sodden skirts. "i guess this isn't the first time i have taken a dip in cold water. and besides," she added impatiently: "i don't know about you girls, but i would like to know just what that thing was that we saw dart beneath the falls." "that was what made you fall into the water, wasn't it?" asked betty, her forehead wrinkling thoughtfully. "you leaned so far out to see--" "yes, yes," mollie interrupted impatiently, all her curiosity revived. "that was what made me fall into the water all right. but what i want to know is--what was it?" "i don't know," said betty, shaking her head. "i didn't see it." "neither did i," grace added. mollie looked from one to the other of them open-mouthed. then she turned to amy. "you saw it, didn't you?" she asked. "you screamed, you know." "yes," said amy, nodding her head very solemnly. "and it looked to me a lot like what we saw last night." "thank goodness, you saw it too or the girls would surely think i had been dreaming or was crazy," said mollie, with relief. then she suddenly turned and started off into the woods. "i'm going all alone to find out what that was," she told her stupefied chums. "i've got to clear up the mystery before i'm an hour older." but this time mollie found that there was some one stronger than she, and that was betty. the little captain ran after her and brought her back, protesting but captive. "we are going back to the house now and get you something hot to eat," said betty, as they rejoined amy and grace and started off toward home. "afterwards if everybody's willing we will hunt this strange beast that jumps out from porches and leaps into rivers just for the fun of the thing. but just now, billy billette, you are going home." but mollie had been more severely shocked than she was willing to admit by her experience, and it was some time before the girls visited the falls or the river again. meanwhile they contented themselves with exploring the country about the lodge, taking short trips in the cars and wondering whether the boys would really be home before the summer was over. their days were not altogether happy, however, for the thought of that weird thing prowling around in the woods and ready, for all they knew, to spring out at them at every turn, refused to be banished from their minds. then, too, they thought a great deal about poor professor dempsey and the little ruined cottage in the woods. somehow, they had an uneasy feeling that if they had gone to him at the very first minute they had heard of his trouble they might have helped him. whereas, they had waited and--he had fled. for a while the idea of a dip in the swimming pool was naturally not very attractive to mollie, but at last there came a day when she herself suggested it and the girls enthusiastically seconded the motion. more than the prospect of a good time, was the hope, unexpressed, that they might see again that strange thing which amy and mollie had only glimpsed the time before. perhaps, they thought, if the mysterious thing were faced in the open and in broad daylight, it might prove to be no mystery at all but something ordinary and commonplace enough to do away with all their vague and weird imaginings. but in this expectation they were most completely disappointed. nothing at all unusual occurred and although they enjoyed their swim in the warm back eddy of the pool, they came away disgruntled and with a curious feeling that they had been cheated out of something. "i only wish the boys would come," sighed amy, as they turned in once more at the lodge. after that the "thing" became almost like an obsession with them. they must find out definitely what it was that was spoiling all their fun. they began to haunt the river, especially at the foot of the falls, in the hope of seeing something, anything that would put an end to their curiosity and uneasiness. for a long time they had not got up courage enough to visit the place at night, but at last they became curious enough to brave even that. "we have simply got to find out something," mollie whispered to betty as on this particular night they stood on the porch and waited for mrs. irving to join them. "we can't go on this way any longer, betty. why, i am getting so nervous i jump if you look at me." "i know," said betty soberly. "it really is getting on our nerves too much. amy and grace are feeling it even worse than we are." "yes," agreed mollie grumpily. "last night was the third night in succession that amy got us all out of bed to listen to some fool noise outside. i'm just about sick of it." the other three came then and they had no further chance for conversation. as a matter of fact, they talked surprisingly little on the walk to the river. high above them a wonderful full moon sent its silvery light filtering down through leaves and branches, making of the woods a fairyland. somehow, the very beauty of it filled the girls with a strange dread. to them the patches of moonlight were weird, unreal, the shadowy woods held a sinister menace. by the time they had reached the river's edge they were almost ready to turn and run. but they conquered the impulse and pressed on. then suddenly they saw what they had hoped, yet dreaded, to see. on the opposite bank, staring down into the rapids with a terrible intentness, stood a man, or something that resembled a man. in one awful, breath-taking minute they realized that here at last was the "thing." as they watched, the hunched-up crouching figure on the opposite bank made a lumbering movement forward as though about to throw itself into the water at the foot of the falls. "oh!" screamed betty, the words wrenched from her dry throat. "don't do that! you mustn't do that! go back! for goodness' sake, go back!" with a hoarse cry that answered her own, the "thing" flung back from the water's edge and disappeared into the darkness! chapter xviii surprised the outdoor girls could hardly have told how they got back to the lodge after that. blindly they stumbled through the underbrush, expecting they knew not what horrible thing, thankful for the moonlight that made it possible for them to hurry. they did reach home somehow and there they sat until late into the night, trying to find some explanation for the thing they had seen, striving to think up some plan for hunting it down until finally mrs. irving sent them to bed. that did not do very much good, for they lay awake and talked until the first rays of sunlight crept into the windows. then they said goodnight and sank into a sleep of exhaustion. for three days after the episode the girls never went far from the house on foot. they would take the cars and spin down the open road, but a sort of horror of the supernatural kept them from venturing into the woods again. but when the fourth day dawned the fright of their moonlight experience had begun to wear off and they were beginning to feel ashamed of their fear. having a little of this in her mind, mollie gave voice to it at the breakfast table. "i must say," she began, buttering a piece of bread energetically, "that it isn't like us outdoor girls to let anything scare us into staying near the house. why, i declare, i don't believe there is one of us who would dare poke her nose past that rose bush in front of the porch after sundown. that's a pretty state of affairs, isn't it?" "well, you needn't glare at me as if it were all my fault," retorted amy with spirit. "i'm sure i didn't wish the horrible old thing on us." "i only wish i knew who did," sighed grace, adding, with a sudden burst of ferocity: "i would wring his neck." "suppose somebody suggests something we can do about it," said betty reasonably. "i'm sure that after the other night nobody could blame us for being frightened." "no. but there is one thing i can blame you for," said mollie, glaring morosely at her chum. "and that is for not letting the horrible old thing drown itself when it so very evidently wanted to. if that had happened all our worries would have been over." "goodness, mollie, what a horrible idea!" betty protested. "i don't think it was a horrible idea," grace put in. "i think it was just about the finest idea i ever heard of." "yes," added amy with a deceptive mildness, "if you hadn't called out just then, betty, the whole thing would have been over and the thing would have been drowned. and then," she added plaintively, "we would have been able to enjoy our summer." "it really wasn't any of our business, you know," grace finished, moodily. for a moment betty sat and stared at them, undecided whether to be amused or indignant. however, the latter emotion won and she turned upon the girls with flashing eyes. "i think you are all perfectly horrid," she said. "and i would think you were worse if i weren't perfectly sure that you don't really mean what you say. why, just suppose," she went on earnestly, "that we had willingly permitted that man to commit suicide? why, we would have been just as guilty as if we had murdered him!" "but he may have done it since anyway," muttered mollie stubbornly. "he didn't have to wait to ask our permission, and there are plenty of times that he can commit suicide when we are not around--if he really wants to do it." "what he or anybody else does when we are not around, is not our business," answered betty. "we can't help what happens in our absence." "you seem to take it for granted that it is a man," mollie continued, still stubbornly argumentative. "but i am not so sure about that. the several times that we have seen the--the--thing--it has looked as much animal as human to me." "well, we won't argue that point," said betty, rising and beginning to clear away the dishes, "because we don't know anything about it." "that is just exactly what i am getting at," said mollie earnestly, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table while the girls watched her interestedly. "we don't know anything about it, but that is no reason why we should sit back and twiddle our thumbs and start at shadows." "well, for goodness' sake, tell us what's on your mind," prompted grace impatiently. "we haven't sat back and twiddled our thumbs and started at shadows because we enjoyed it, you know." "now my plan is this," said mollie, ignoring grace, who shrugged her shoulders and reached for her candy box. "suppose we take a tramp through the woods to the head of the falls? it is a beautiful hike and the scenery at the falls is magnificent. but aside from that we will have a chance to find out something about this thing that will do away with the mystery." "if it doesn't do away with us at the same time," said amy so ruefully that they had to laugh at her. "well, what do you say?" asked mollie, looking around the circle of thoughtful faces--her glance a dare. for a moment it looked as if they all might refuse to go, but then their sporting blood came to the fore and they decided for the adventure. but when they told mrs. irving about their project and begged her to say yes to it, she looked very doubtful and only consented at last on the proviso that she was to go with them. this they were only too glad to have, and a few minutes later the lodge hummed with excitement and preparation once more. to the outdoor girls, active and fun-loving by nature, to be quiet for a few days was nothing short of torture. so now, even though there was still more than a little fear of the "thing" in their hearts, they found relief in the promise of adventure. they put up some sandwiches and fruit in a basket in case they were not able to get home by noon. then they locked the door of the little lodge and started down the steps. they hesitated before starting into the woods, and mollie had a happy thought. "we can go part of the way along the road," she said. "and then there is a path that leads directly through to the head of the falls." the celerity with which they accepted this suggestion seemed funny to them afterward, but at the time they had other things to think about. mostly they were wondering if they would really be able to hold on to their nerve long enough to see the adventure through. "i wish," said betty wistfully, as she had wished so many times of late, "that the boys were here. they could help us out so beautifully." and she sighed, for when she spoke of "the boys," she always thought of one boy most--and that one was allen. "well, there's no use wishing for what can't possibly happen," grace was saying, when there came a whistle so clear and penetrating that it made them jump--then another, and another. was it just that they were nervous or was there really something peculiarly familiar in the sound? at any rate they stopped and turned around to see who the whistlers could be. there were three soldiers coming down the road, broad-shouldered, vital looking fellows who swung along toward the astonished girls as though they owned the world. "betty, oh, betty!" whispered grace in a tense voice, grasping betty's arm so hard it hurt "it can't be, oh, it can't be the boys!" but mollie had broken away from the group and was rushing toward the soldier lads like the wild little tomboy she was. "girls, it's the boys! it's the boys! it's the boys!" she yelled. "they're all tanned and they're at least ten inches taller, but it's the boys just the same." and before any of the other girls knew what she was about she had kissed each one of them twice and was hanging on the tallest one's arm, who happened to be frank, laughing and crying at the same time. then the girls seemed to decide that she had had the lads to herself long enough, and they immediately entered the contest, all laughing at once, all crying at once, and all talking at once, until it was a wonder the boys did not lose their heads entirely. the only one who was not absolutely and completely and deliriously happy was betty. for the other three boys were there, but allen had not come! as though reading her thought, will, who was much handsomer and more manly than when he went away, put an arm about the little captain's shoulder big brother fashion and drew her aside from the rest. "you are wondering about allen," he said, and betty nodded eagerly. "you see," continued will, his face lighting up in a smile that would always be boyish, "since allen became one of the big bugs--which is another name for officer, you understand--he had to pay the penalty and stay over there with them for a little while longer. he will probably be over on the next transport, although of course you can never be sure about that. oh, and i forgot," he put his hand in his pocket and drew forth a pocketknife, a wad of string and--a little three-cornered note. "he asked me to give this to you as soon as i saw you. so now you can tell him that 'i seen my duty and i done it noble.'" with a twinkle in his eye will turned back to the others and betty was left to open her note. this is what she read: "gosh, some fellows do have all the luck, don't they? but never mind, little girl. i'm coming to you by the very first boat, and when i get there do you know what i'm going to do? do you?" betty wanted to run away by herself and read the note over and over again. but she could not do that. with a sigh she hid the little message in a pocket of her skirt and turned back to the others. chapter xix like old times it was a long time before the boys and girls woke up to the fact that they were still standing in the center of the road and that they might be ever so much more comfortable on the porch of the lodge, if any one had had sense enough to think that far. mrs. irving, who had been keeping herself rather in the background during the first rapturous greetings, now came in for her share of salutations and boyish greetings. the young soldiers crowded about her, patting her hands and her shoulders and telling her how awfully fine she looked and how glad they were to find her here until the lady actually blushed with pleasure and begged them to stop their nonsense. in fact, it was she who finally suggested that they go up to the lodge again. "i don't see why we didn't think of that before," said mollie, joyfully slipping an arm into frank's and turning him right-about-face. "we are due to talk all day anyway, so we might as well do it in comfort. don't forget the lunch basket, betty," she called back to her chum. betty would have forgotten the basket and left it where it stood just as she had dropped it at the side of the road--and small wonder if she had--but as she stooped to pick it up, will's strong brown hand whipped out in front of her nose and seized the handle firmly. "that's the idea," said grace approvingly, adding with a sisterly pat on his shoulder: "you run along with amy and mrs. irving. i want to talk to betty." so will, being a well-trained brother, did as he was told, and grace drew betty behind the others. "what about allen, honey?" she asked, her blue eyes honestly worried. "we all missed him so, but we didn't like to say too much for fear--for fear--" "he's all right," said betty, her heart glowing again at thought of the little note hidden away in her pocket. "he has only been delayed a little, that's all. will says he will probably be over on the next transport." "oh, i am relieved," said grace with such fervor that betty looked at her quickly. could it be, she wondered, that what she had half sensed before could be really true? was grace fond of allen? but because the idea made her unhappy, she decided that she was just trying to think up trouble and dismissed it from her mind. all the girls loved allen of course--who could help it?--but they couldn't any of them, she told herself fiercely, care for him the way she did. "well, what are you thinking about? you needn't look so fierce," she heard grace saying, and she forced a smile to her face. "i'm not looking fierce," betty answered gayly. "don't you know that that is just my natural expression, gracie dear? that's the way i make little girls like you afraid of me." "well, i'm not afraid of you, not one little bit," asserted grace, squeezing betty's arm fondly. "oh, betty dear, isn't it wonderful having the boys back and don't they look fine--especially will?" "don't they? especially will," agreed betty with a sly little glance. "if you don't look out you will give the impression that you're rather fond of that worthless old brother of yours, honey." "i love him awfully," replied grace, adding with a little puckering of her forehead: "but i am going to tell you something, betty, that i wouldn't tell to any one else for the world. i'm jealous, actually jealous! of amy." betty gave a merry little laugh and slipped an arm about her chum. "gracie dear, we never would have known that if you hadn't told us," she said dryly. "don't you know," as grace looked at her reproachfully, "that we have all been perfectly well aware of that ever since will first began to make eyes at amy?" "i can't help it," grace retorted, while sudden tears sprang to her eyes. "i've known him longer than she has, and we've loved each other ever since he was two and i was two weeks! did you see the way he looked at her?" she finished dolefully. "yes. but of course you couldn't see the way he looked at you," said betty quickly. "and i did." "oh, did he look glad to see me? did he?" demanded grace with pathetic eagerness. "of course he did, you little goose," said betty, adding with a chuckle: "you've been spoiled, that's all. you've been so used to being the _only_ pebble on the beach, dear, that you can't be content with being just one of two." by this time they had reached the lodge and were greeted noisily by the others, who had already seated themselves on the porch as though they intended to stay all day. "hello," called frank. his handsome face, though somewhat thinner than the girls remembered, was better looking than ever and he had developed a trick of flinging the hair back from his forehead that the girls thought immensely attractive. roy, who had seated himself on the railing of the porch and was swinging his feet, looked more unchanged than either of the boys, though the girls were soon to find out that he had changed the most. will, who had settled amy in a chair and was sitting cross-legged on the floor at her feet, was gazing up at the girl with his heart in his eyes. as for amy--well, the girls had never known she could look so radiant. "have a seat," invited roy, rising lazily to the dignity of his six feet as betty and grace came up on the porch. "it would seem like old times to see you girls perched on the railing." "i'll have you know, sir," said betty very demurely, as she pulled grace down beside her on the top step of the porch, "that we have quite grown up since you have been away. we will sit here where we can get a good view of you all." "and we want to hear about everything you have done over there," broke in amy eagerly. "please, everything--right from the beginning." the boys fidgeted, looked dismayed, and roy burst forth in protest. "oh, i say!" he cried. "we'll do anything else for you, but please don't ask us to do that." "we don't want to talk about ourselves or the war," muttered frank, almost as if to himself. "we want to forget about it--if we can." "you see," will explained, and there was a stern note in his young voice, "we worked and we sweated and we fought. we lived under conditions week after week and month after month that it makes us shudder even to think of now. for months we lived in a perfect inferno--and do you know what our idea of heaven was then?" they said nothing and he went on in a lighter tone. "it was just to get back alive and, well, to god's country and you girls--to sit for hours, days if we could, where we could look at you and listen to you and not do a thing but just be happy. i wonder if you can understand that?" "of course, we can, will!" cried betty, impulsively reaching over and laying a hand on the boy's arm. "you have earned the right to sit and be amused, and we'll do it till you cry aloud for mercy. and you needn't tell us a single word about yourselves until you get good and ready." "you're a brick, betty," said will warmly, laying his hand over her little one. "i might have known we could count on you." "by the way," roy broke in suddenly, his eye on the basket of eatables that the girls had prepared for their adventure, "what's in that hamper, anyway? if it's anything to eat, let's have it." betty pulled the basket over to her, lifted the cover and passed it over to the ravenous one. "eat while there is anything left," she commanded, adding with a chuckle: "our adventure seems to be over for to-day, at least." "adventure?" repeated frank inquiringly, as he reached for a sandwich. "yes," said mollie, adding with a sigh: "and you boys had to come along just in time to spoil it all." chapter xx very much alive "that is complimentary, i must say," grinned will, getting up from his seat on the porch and going over to join roy on the railing. "after being away for months we are told the minute we get back that we've 'spoiled everything.'" "'tis rather hard lines," said mollie with an answering grin. "but one must tell the truth, you know." "by the way," put in grace curiously, "i know betty promised that we wouldn't ask questions, but there is just one thing i want to know." "speak, fair damsel," roy replied, thinking meanwhile how much prettier grace had grown. "we will promise to answer faithfully anything that is not connected with war." "when did you get in?" asked grace, "and how did you get here?" "we came in yesterday," answered roy, helping himself to another sandwich. "and of course we beat it for headquarters right away." "yes'm, and i'll tell you we were a disappointed lot when we found that you girls had flown," added frank ruefully. "we were all set for a jolly reunion--" "but we wrote you about spending the summer here," betty interrupted. "and we were mourning because you couldn't be at the lodge with us." "we missed your letters, i guess," said will. "we sailed very suddenly, and there is probably a stack of them piled up there at the old service station." "we found out where you were all rightie, though," roy continued. "so we took the first train out this morning, debarked at the nearest station south of here, and proceeded to walk the rest of the way. it was thus that you came upon us." "you came upon us, you mean," amy corrected. "we ought to know well enough, because you nearly gave us heart failure." will looked at her as if he wanted to say something but did not quite dare in public. however, she intercepted the look and with a little panicky feeling turned her eyes away. "i imagine," said grace softly, looking up at will, "that mother wasn't glad to see you or anything." "not at all," returned will, a soft light in his eyes as he remembered the greeting between him and his parents. "i was a little afraid," he added soberly, "that mother and dad wouldn't like my skipping off like this the day after i'd got home. but they seemed to understand all right." "gee, but this is great," said frank, stretching contentedly and looking about the group with happy eyes. "i wonder how many times we've seen this all in our dreams, fellows. only we couldn't have imagined it half as perfect as this." "it sure is like old times," agreed roy, adding with a smile as he turned to their chaperon, who had been quietly enjoying herself: "we even have mrs. irving with us. gee, it's just like that summer at pine island! all the old crowd together--" "except allen," put in will, frowning a little. "gosh, it didn't seem right at all to leave the old fellow behind. you wouldn't know him," he added, his face flushing enthusiastically, "i've never seen a fellow change the way allen has--for the better." "was there so much room for improvement?" asked betty demurely, and they looked at her laughingly. "nobody would expect you to think so," will replied, his eyes twinkling, then added seriously: "of course we all know that allen was the finest kind even before the war, but, gosh! i wish you could just see how all the fellows love him and how even his superior officers consult him and seem to value his judgment. i tell you, i'm glad to have him call me his friend." "you bet!" exclaimed frank, nodding soberly. "allen sure has come out strong," roy agreed; and at this glowing praise of the only absent one betty felt her heart swell with pride and she wanted to hug the boys for being so loyal to her allen. also, deep down in her heart, she began to feel a little trepidation about the homecoming of this hero. who was she, betty nelson, to call this glorious lieutenant allen washburn, _her_ allen? so engrossed was she in these and other absorbing thoughts that it was some time before she noticed that the conversation had taken another turn. also that the boys and girls were becoming rather excited. "i didn't say it was a ghost," mollie was declaring hotly. "in fact i have always thought of a ghost as wearing a sheet and pillow case sort of garb. and this thing certainly wore nothing of the sort." "tell us all about it," said frank, leaning forward. "yes, it sounds as if it might prove interesting," added roy. so the girls told them all about it from that first night when they had been so badly frightened by the "thing" that had hidden in the shadows of the porch. the boys listened with scarcely an interruption till they were through. "gosh, i don't like the sound of that at all," said will, when they had finished. "it isn't a pleasant thing to have a lunatic roaming the woods while you girls are all alone here in this place. could you possibly put us up for the night?" he asked, turning abruptly to mrs. irving. "why, there isn't any room," said the latter slowly, frowning a little as she tried to think up ways and means. "there aren't any extra beds, but there is a large settee in the living room and a couple of you can sleep on that. i found plenty of blankets stowed away." "fine!" cried will enthusiastically. "just the very thing! one of us can take turns sleeping on the floor. it won't be the first time we've slept on harder things." "goodness, any one would think they were going to stay a month," said mollie in dismay. "no, we won't stay a month," will went on. "but we are going to stay until we find out what it is that has been bothering you girls. do you suppose we would leave you unprotected here? i should say not!" grace noticed that when he said this his glance was first for amy, and, afterward, for her. so it was settled. mrs. irving went inside to see about getting lunch. "though how the boys can find any room for lunch after eating all those sandwiches, i don't know," amy had commented wonderingly. mrs. irving had refused absolutely to let any of the girls even so much as help with this lunch, saying they must stay outside and visit with the boys on this momentous occasion. "since you are convinced that this thing is not a ghost," will went on, while appetizing odors began to waft toward them from the open kitchen windows, "we will take it for granted that it is a man, and a man who has, presumably, lost his mind." "a crazy man," murmured betty. "worse and worse--and more of it." "girls," cried amy, jumping suddenly to her feet, "i have an idea." "impossible!" drawled grace. "why," went on amy, unheeding grace's remark and growing visibly more excited as she talked, "you know, professor dempsey went crazy--or at least we supposed he did--and ran away into the woods. now since will thinks this man is crazy too, why, they may be one and the same--" "amy!" cried mollie, her eyes beginning to shine as she realized the possibility of what the girl had said. "you are a wonder, child! why didn't any of us think of that before?" "because it is rather far-fetched and absurd, i suppose," said grace, the suggestion of a sneer in her voice bringing a quick flush to amy's face. "i don't see that it is so far-fetched--or absurd either," betty broke in quietly. "remember, we are only a little over fifty miles from the place where professor dempsey had his cottage, and it would be easy for him to wander this far." here frank broke in on behalf of the very much mystified boys. "before you stage the hair-pulling contest," he said, "would you mind telling us poor benighted males what it is all about?" so the girls told them all about professor dempsey, and while they talked the boys became more and more excited. finally will could keep quiet no longer. "say," he asked, leaning forward, "did the two sons of the cracked old professor happen to bear the names of james and arnold?" the girls gaped at him. "yes," they breathed. "how did you know?" "because," said will, "those very same fellows were in our regiment. in fact, i was beside arnold when he was wounded in that last engagement. strange thing that james was wounded at the same time." "wounded?" repeated betty, who like all the girls was feeling rather dazed at this new development. "then they weren't killed?" "not a bit of it," will replied vehemently. "why, even their wounds weren't serious enough to lay them up for long. the last i heard of them they were coming over on a hospital ship and expected to be here almost as soon as we were. for all i know, they may have landed by this time." "oh," said amy, still too dazed to take it all in. "then all this time we have thought of them as dead, they were alive--" "very much so," said will, with a grin, "and probably kicking too--just like us!" chapter xxi out of the dark it took the outdoor girls a moment or two to digest this rather startling information. and when it did finally seep into their consciousness, their first feeling was one of joy for the poor professor whose sons would be restored to him after all. but quick on the heels of this thought came another. how could the sons be restored to their father, if the father were nowhere to be found? "you say the old chap skipped out, decamped?" will broke in on their meditations. "that sort of complicates matters, doesn't it?" "rather," agreed roy, frowning. "it is going to be rather tough on those fellows, james and arnold, to come home, expecting to be welcomed by a rejoicing parent, only to find said parent missing." "humph, that's the first time i've thought of the boys' side of it," said betty. "we have been too much occupied right along in being sorry for the poor old professor." "well, if you had known the boys, you would have thought of their side of it all right," said frank seriously. "they are mighty good scouts, both of them, and they think a lot of their old dad, too, i can tell you. why, many a night"--his voice took on a reminiscent note and the girls felt once again that they were privileged in having a brief glimpse of the life "over there"--"when a surprise attack was scheduled for the next morning or we were waiting for some such manoeuvre from the enemy, arnold would talk to me about his dad--that was the time when fellows got chummy, you know, and got to know each other's souls--and once he gave me a note for the old chap and asked me to deliver it if i came through and he didn't. i think i have it about me somewhere." he fumbled about in his pockets while the girls waited silently. presently he drew forth a little slip of paper, muddy and worn and dust-stained from being carried about for a long, long time in a khaki pocket. "he told me," frank went on, still holding the slip of paper in his hand but making no attempt to open it, "that his mother had died when he and jimmy were young and that since then his dad had been father and mother both to them and that he had worked himself nearly to death to give them a chance for the college education that he had had. he said that the one thing that had always threatened to floor the old boy was when either he or jim got mad and threatened to give up school and go to work so as to take some of the load from the old pater's shoulders. so they were glad, actually glad, when the war came along and gave them a chance not only to serve their country and earn some money--even if it was only a miserable pittance--so that they could send some home to their dad and feel that they had stopped being a drag upon him. he used to tell me," frank went on, for the spell of those old thrilling times was strong upon him again, "with tears in his eyes--and i'll tell you there was no braver man in all the american army than arnold dempsey; he was good for two boches any day --that it would be the happiest moment of his life when he got back to the old country and announced to his proud and admiring pater that he had come home to turn the tables; that jimmy and he were going to make the old fellow take a rest and do the work themselves for a change. and he asked me, in case anything did happen to him and jimmy, to be kind to his dad and try to make up to him as much as i could. i gave him my promise that night." frank looked about the intent group of faces soberly. "in case the boys had been killed, i would have regarded it as a sacred trust." something swelled in the girls' hearts and for; a moment they could not speak. then, "i guess we all love you for that, frank," said betty simply. with a little nod of her head toward the slip of paper he still held, she added: "what about that--now?" frank looked down at the slip of paper for a moment uncomprehendingly, for his thoughts had been far away. "oh, the note," he said. "why, that was only to be given to his father in case anything happened, you know. but now that the boys are coming back to him themselves, i suppose the thing is worthless." he made a motion as though to tear the note up, but grace stopped him with a quick exclamation. "don't!" she cried, adding as they all looked at her in surprise: "don't you suppose there might be something in it that would give us a clue to the professor's whereabouts now, perhaps? don't you think it would be wise to look, at least?" but frank slowly shook his head. "arnold dempsey's message, written to his dad when he thought he might never see him again, doesn't belong to us," he said decidedly. "the note was given in trust to me, and since i can't deliver it--or at least, since there is now no reason for delivering it--the only thing i can honorably do is this." and very slowly and very decidedly he tore the note into little bits and threw the pieces among the wild roses at the side of the porch. it was the first real glimpse the girls had had of the man who had come back in the old frank's place, and with all their hearts they admired him. even grace, who had seemed inclined to pout a little, could not but admit that the action was splendid in him. "and now," said will, "after all that, the boys will come back to find their dad gone, heaven knows where, dead perhaps--" "oh, i wonder if there isn't some way we can follow him and find out at least what has happened to him?" broke in amy earnestly. "it seems dreadful just to sit back and not even try to help." "i don't see what we can do," said will judicially, just as mrs. irving appeared in the doorway. "we will postpone the discussion for the present anyway," he added, in a different tone, rising with alacrity and dusting off his uniform. "something tells me that lunch is waiting. come, let us eat!" so ended all serious discussion for that day, and the girls and boys gave themselves up to the delight of being together again. only betty's thoughts seemed to wander at times and she had to be brought back by sundry mischievous and significant remarks from the young folks. worn out with fun, the young soldiers slept like tops that night in their improvised beds and rose the next morning professing to feel like "two year olds" and ready for whatever new fun and adventure the day might bring them. and for the first night since their arrival at wild rose lodge the girls slept soundly without being bothered by the haunting fear of the "thing"--at least, so they said. that day they wandered through the woods together, searching for some sign of their strange visitor, but found not a trace of anything unusual and alarming. "i'm really beginning to believe that you girls have let your imaginations run away from you," will remarked, when they sat about the living-room after a satisfying supper, just luxuriating in idleness. "or perhaps the gentleman has been frightened away by our coming," roy suggested in a superior tone that made the girls want to throw something at him. "perhaps he is afraid of the uniform of the u.s.a." "he may be afraid of the uniform," sniffed mollie scathingly. "but he certainly couldn't be afraid of _you_." "now you don't mean that, you know you don't," laughed roy, drawing her down beside him on the couch and holding her there with an iron grip of his brown fingers. "say you didn't, like a pretty little girl, and i'll let you go." "i won't say any such--" mollie began, then suddenly her gaze stiffened into such a stare of wonder, and even alarm, that it made the girls fairly hold their breath. "mollie, what is it?" demanded roy commandingly. "over there!" she shrieked. "at the window, roy! do you see it?" chapter xxii tragedy there, pressed so close to the pane of the window that the nose was flattened grotesquely, eyes wildly staring, hair disheveled, was a face that even in that tense moment the girls recognized--the face of professor dempsey! it took the boys perhaps a second to fling out of the room, jump down the steps of the porch and circle the house to the window. and yet, in that second, the man was gone, leaving no more trace than if the earth had opened and swallowed him up. for almost an hour the boys searched the woods about the lodge, refusing to allow the girls to accompany them, saying truly that they would hamper them more than they could help. "you see, i was right after all," amy stated for at least the tenth time. "from the moment the idea came to me, i felt almost sure that poor crazy professor dempsey was this thing that was frightening us." "but did you ever see such an awful face in all your life?" said mollie, shuddering at the recollection. "and the look in his eyes as he stared at roy," grace added in a hushed voice. "i shouldn't wonder if--if we hadn't been there, he might have murdered him." "oh, gracie, don't!" amy clapped her hands to her ears. "we are frightened enough without having you say things like that." "suppose," said mollie, in a sepulchral voice, "he should come back before the boys do?" "that's just what i was thinking," said a quiet voice behind them, and they jumped and cried out in alarm. the next moment they saw it was mrs. irving and felt ashamed of themselves. "i think you had all better come into the house till the boys come back," their chaperon continued. "i shall feel safer when we are behind locked doors." the girls shivered, but mollie protested. "suppose anything should happen to the boys?" she asked, but here mrs. irving chose to exercise her authority. "we will talk about that when we are inside the house," she said very firmly, and mollie had nothing else to do but obey. the girls did breathe a little more freely when the door was locked, but they found themselves wishing even more ardently that the boys would come back. the window against which the horribly distorted face had been pressed seemed to hold a peculiar fascination for the outdoor girls and they found themselves unable to turn their eyes away from it. "oh, i wish the boys would come back," moaned amy, after a few moments more had passed in strained silence. "if anything should happen to them i'm sure i would die." "nonsense, amy," snapped mollie. "what could one little mad old man do to three big husky soldier boys?" the words had hardly been spoken when the sound of voices could be heard coming toward the house, and a moment later the boys themselves stamped up on the porch. "not a sign of him," said will in response to the girls' eager questions. "i don't see how he could have disappeared so completely in such a short time." "we all took different directions, too," said roy, taking a seat on the couch again and staring fascinatedly at the window. "if all the rest of you hadn't seen it too, i should certainly think i had been mistaken." "you weren't mistaken," mollie assured him grimly. "i can vouch for that." "didn't one of you girls call out something about professor dempsey?" asked frank, abruptly. "yes," said betty, going over to him and putting an excited hand on his shoulder. "that's the thing that startled us so, frank. we are sure it was professor dempsey's face. but, still, it was so wild and distorted that we really wouldn't feel like contradicting any one who told us it wasn't he," she added slowly. "do you understand what i mean?" frank nodded, and will broke in excitedly: "but the poor old codger's looks would naturally be changed," he argued, "after he had spent all this time wandering around the woods--out of his mind at that. i am inclined to think that the girls are right and that it is really professor dempsey." "if only i could have gotten my hands on him!" mourned roy. "we wouldn't have been in any further doubt." "there is really no doubt, boys. we just want--oh, i don't know what we want!" exclaimed mollie, who was excited and unstrung and nervous. soon after that they all went to bed, having first decided to make a more thorough search of the woods in the morning and take the postponed trip to the head of the falls. they slept fitfully and were glad when at last they woke to find the sun shining in their windows. for once amy and grace did not have to be coaxed or wheedled or for forced to get out of bed, but dressed quickly and were ready almost as soon as mollie and betty. "you know i rather hated to leave the boys in that room last night," betty confided to grace, stopping before the mirror for one final little pat of her hair. "i was afraid that--he--might come back--" "oh, betty, what a horrid idea," said grace. "come on, let's see if everything is all right." but they found that their fears had been wasted. the boys were in the kitchen hilariously helping mrs. irving get the breakfast to the accompaniment of continual good-natured scolding from that flushed and perspiring lady. it was amy's day to get the breakfast, but, as usual, she was late in getting down. "you make a good deal more trouble than you mend," mrs. irving was saying as the girls came to the door, then added relievedly as she caught sight of them: "for goodness' sake, get these young ruffians out of the kitchen, my dears, or we'll not have any breakfast until noon." so amid much fun and nonsense the boys were shooed forth into the bright sunshine of the out-of-doors, and all the girls fell to to help their chaperon, not wanting to put the extra work the boys made entirely on amy's shoulders. breakfast was good, but they ate hurriedly, anxious to get at the business of the day. they wanted more than they had wanted anything in a very long time to find professor dempsey and tell him the joyful news that his sons were alive. "i'm horribly afraid of him at night," mollie confided, as they started out at last, "but in the daytime i am only sorry for him." "do you think we shall find him, will?" asked amy, with a helpless little look into will's self-reliant young face. "i do want to so much." will looked down at her with an expression that said to any one who would read it: "i would give you anything in the world you asked for, if i only could." but all he really said was: "that remains to be seen. he proved himself a rather slippery customer last night, and the chase we put up may only serve to put him on his guard. crazy people are tricky, you know." "goodness," said grace, looking fearfully over her shoulder. "there is nothing in the world i am so afraid of as a crazy person." "that's why she has always been so afraid of me, i suppose," grinned mollie. "afraid of you," said grace, her eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "little shrimp--who are you?" there followed a characteristic scene that somewhat lifted the oppression they had all been feeling, and it was not till they had nearly reached the river at the head of the falls that they became serious again. "it was right about here," said betty soberly, "that we saw him the night that he started to jump into the river--or i suppose it was the same one," she added. "let us hope so," saollie fervently. "i wouldn't like to think that there were two lunatics wandering round these woods. one is quite enough." as they came closer to the river they became more and more conscious that they were not alone, that some one, hidden in the bushes, was craftily watching them. so strong did this feeling finally become that once the boys separated, thrashing the bushes in all directions. they did not find anything, and finally continued along the path, a little ashamed of what they thought was an attack of nerves. "phew, this is getting a little hot for me," said frank, running his hand through his shock of fair hair. "i don't mind fighting anything in the open--" he left the sentence unfinished, for at that moment they broke through the bushes at the river's edge upon a sight that struck them speechless. not twenty yards down the bank stood a ragged scarecrow of a man, so unkempt, so wild, so abandoned in its crouching attitude as to appear hardly human. before they had time to utter a word or move a muscle, the man threw up his arms in a gesture indescribably terrible, and with a hoarse shout disappeared in the swirling waters. it all happened so quickly that for the space of a dazed second they wondered if they had really seen it at all. then they recovered their powers of motion and rushed to the spot where the man had disappeared. though they leaned far out over the water they could see no sign of anything human, and with a creeping feeling of horror they began to speak of what had probably already happened. "it's certain death down there," roy muttered, as though to himself, gazing into the rushing river. "the poor old fellow! he has got his, i guess." "look here, fellows, here are some clothes," will called out suddenly, and the boys rushed over to where he stood, a tattered old hat and an equally ragged coat in his hands. "maybe there will be something in the jacket to tell us where the poor fellow has been staying and what he has been up to." they searched through the coat and finally pulled out a wallet. "now if it only has some writing in it," said mollie breathlessly. there was a card, and the card bore the words which they expected, yet dreaded, arnold dempsey, ph. d. but there was nothing else, and suddenly tears dimmed their eyes and they had to turn away. "it will be mighty hard on jimmy and arnold," muttered roy, gazing somberly at the fast-flowing river. "to have their dad go that way! they'll take it mighty hard--those boys." chapter xxiii a moonlight apparition "let's look around a little anyway," betty suggested. "he may possibly have been swept up on the shore farther down the river." "if such a thing were possible he would probably be dead anyway," frank protested, but the girls paid no attention to him. the mere suggestion that the professor might still be alive and in need of assistance was enough for them, and they set about feverishly to scour the woods on both sides of the river and for a considerable distance down its shores. after an hour of vain search, however, they were forced to conclude that the old man was indeed dead, and so reluctantly and with heavy hearts they turned their steps back toward wild rose lodge. they talked very little on the way back, for they were too occupied with their own gloomy thoughts. only once betty spoke what was in the minds of all of them. "it seems such a terrible waste--such a pity," she said. "just a mistake on the part of the government to have resulted in this tragedy. arnold and james dempsey coming home, safe and well and hopeful to find their father --dead!" the boys stayed on for several days at the lodge, and for all the outdoor girls but betty their stay was unmitigated joy. but in the heart of the little captain, hard as she tried to fight against it, was a little sense of injury to think that her chums had got their boys back and she had been denied hers. to be sure, all the boys made much of her and petted her--for there was not one of them who had not competed for her favor in the old days before allen had shouldered them all out--but no amount of attention from any one else could make up for one little word from allen. at each sunrise she awoke thrilling with the thought that perhaps allen would be with her before the sun went down. and as each evening came without him she sighed and thought, "perhaps to-morrow." since the tragic death of professor dempsey they felt that they need no longer fear the woods, although they never ventured near the river or the falls without a heartache and the fervent wish that they might have reached the poor demented man with the glad news of his sons' safety in time to avert the tragedy. however, they did enjoy their liberty, and took long tramps with the boys through the woods and picnicked with them beside little unexpected brooks and streams, quite in the nature of old days. then at last came the day when the boys announced that they would have to return to town and to the military camp to obtain their formal discharge from the army. "we may surprise you by coming back in 'civies' a week or two from now," will laughed, as the girls prepared to spin them to the railroad station in the cars. "so you had better be prepared for the shock." "maybe they won't care for us any more when they see us out of uniform," grinned roy, as he shook hands with mrs. irving. "you know the old saying that a uniform has made many a hero of a bootblack." "goodness, i hope you aren't a bootblack," said mollie from her car, where she was "doing things" with the engine. "i'm not," answered roy, adding with a grin, "nothing half so honest." although the girls knew that they were only saying good-bye to the boys for a few days, the parting was hard just the same, and half an hour later they watched the train wind serpent-like down the shining track with a sinking feeling at their hearts. "aren't we a lot of geese?" said grace impatiently, as they climbed back into the cars. "we have done without the boys for a couple of years, and now when they have just gone as far as deepdale for a couple of weeks, we are almost crying about it." "i suppose it is just because we have had so much separation that we can't bear any more of it--even a little," suggested gentle amy, feeling as if she had just awakened from a blissful dream. "never mind," said mollie, putting an arm about betty's waist and giving it a little squeeze. "just think how lovely it will be to see the boys in regular clothes again, and maybe," with a sly glance at betty, "by the time they come back they will have added one to their number." "goodness, i hope so!" said betty, unashamed. in spite of some regret at not having the boys, the girls managed to enjoy themselves in the days that followed. they motored and swam and fished and hiked, and got as becomingly sun-burned and tanned as young indians. it was not until two or three days before the boys returned that anything untoward happened to disturb their peace of mind. then one night the moon came out with such dazzling brilliance that betty was seized with a strong desire to be out in it. "let's go for a moonlight swim," she suggested excitedly, as they all stood on the porch of the lodge staring up through the trees to where the moon shone glitteringly down. "we haven't done it since we came, and surely our vacation wouldn't be complete without one." "or more," said mollie, seconding the plan with enthusiasm. "come on. let's tell mrs. irving where we are going. maybe she will wish to go along, but i doubt it." mollie was right: mrs. irving did not wish to go, and the girls rushed upstairs to don bathing suits in preparation for the lark. a few minutes later they were racing like slim young ghosts through the woods, laughing and calling to each other and entirely abandoned to the joy of the moment. "race you to the old swimming hole," mollie called out, as they neared the river; and away they all raced in response to the challenge. betty won, in spite of the fact that mollie had had a short head start, and the girls, wild in their exuberance, would have lifted her to their shoulders had not betty herself laughingly fought them off. "i have another challenge," she cried. "my fresh box of candy to whoever swims to the other side of the swimming hole first. are you on?" "we're on!" yelled grace enthusiastically, adding: "i'd swim from here to jericho for that box of candy, betty." as a matter of fact, whether it was really the thought of the candy or whether it was because the other girls were tired from the last spurt, grace really did get to the other side of the swimming pool first, and, pulling herself up on the other bank, dripping and triumphant, demanded the prize. "you surely did win it, and you shall have that box of candy--much as i hoped to keep it in the family," laughed betty, shaking the water from her eyes and drawing herself up beside her chum. "goodness, isn't that water delicious to-night?" she added, wriggling her toes luxuriously in the rippling wavelets. "just cool enough to be refreshing and not cold enough to chill you----" she broke off suddenly and sat staring, her eyes widening and her body tense. "girls," she said in a queer voice, for mollie and amy had also drawn themselves up on the bank, "have i gone crazy, or what is the matter with me? do you see--what--i see--up there?" alarmed, the girls followed the direction of her strained gaze, and suddenly they seemed to feel themselves congeal with momentary horror. far above them on the bank near the falls and on the other side of the river, stood the crouched-up, animal-like figure of--the "thing!" chapter xxiv recovered the sight was almost too much for the girls. what they felt was sheer animal panic and they wanted to run away--anywhere--just so they put distance enough between them and that figure on the bank. "sit still," betty commanded them, recovering her presence of mind. "that is professor dempsey up there, and if we make any sudden sound we are sure of frightening him away." "but he was killed--we saw it," moaned amy. "that must be his g-ghost." "don't be ridiculous," snapped mollie, her thoughts working along with betty's. "you know you don't believe in ghosts." "but how----" amy was beginning when betty interrupted sharply. "listen," she said. "i came across an old derelict of a rowboat the other day when we were exploring the upper river, but i didn't say anything to you girls about it because i thought it was too much of a wreck to bother with. for all i know it isn't even water tight--" "betty," mollie broke in excitedly, "i see what you mean! we can row across the upper river to where professor dempsey is--were there oars in the boat?" she broke off to ask. "a couple of old sticks that would serve for oars," betty answered. "of course it's taking a big chance--" "say no more," cried mollie, jumping to her feet and wringing out her bathing suit. "big chance is our middle name anyway. lead on, betty. where do we find this craft?" "i'm not quite sure that i can find it," said betty, leading the way into the woods, "but it was down this way somewhere. don't make any noise, girls, and let's hurry, or we won't get there before he disappears again." grace and amy were now entering into the spirit of the thing, and they followed at betty's heels eagerly, careful not to step on stick or stone that might betray their presence. luckily betty managed to stumble directly on the old derelict rowboat where it lay in ancient helplessness in the concealment of a thick grove of bushes along the upper reach of the stream. "goody! this is almost too much luck," cried betty exultantly. "you get in the stern, amy, and grace in the bow. mollie and i will do the rowing." "i only hope the old thing doesn't take in too much water," said amy, as she and grace got gingerly into the rickety old craft and betty and mollie pushed it off from the shore. "that remains to be seen," answered the little captain as she handed one of the ancient oars to mollie. "there is one thing we shall have to remember, mollie," she said, as they pushed clear of the bank and glided out into the swift water of the river, "and that is to keep far enough this side of the falls to guard against being swept over it. bear hard on your right hand, mollie honey. it wouldn't be much fun if we upset here, you know." "oh!" gasped grace, holding fast to the side of the boat and noting with dismay how plainly the roar of the falls came to them. "i wish we had another oar, i'd help----" "you can help most, grade," cut in the little captain briskly, "by keeping your nerve and helping us to keep ours. mollie," she called in a whisper that carried the length of the boat, "can you see--it--yet?" "yes," mollie telegraphed back in the same tense whisper. "it's got its back to us, i think." "good," said betty softly, adding as she threw all her weight against her oar, "now let's keep still and work." it was queer how they referred to that presence at the head of the falls as "it." some way, in the weird moonlight, under the more than unusual circumstances, it seemed almost impossible to give the thing a name. "was it professor dempsey?" they kept asking themselves over and over again. but he had committed suicide. or at least they had seen him fall into the river, and they could have vowed that he did not come out again. they had searched both sides of the river. how could they have missed him? and yet, if that motionless figure at the head of the falls was really professor dempsey, he must have been washed ashore that day and evaded them as he had succeeded in evading them so many times before. and all the time the roar of the falls was growing louder and louder in their ears and they knew that theirs was a race with life and death. could they succeed in reaching the opposite bank before the deadly current of the river should suck them over the falls, to almost certain annihilation? the answer to the question came a moment: later when, without warning, the prow of the little boat struck on an unexpected projection of the shore and they came to a standstill. "thank heaven!" said betty under her breath as mollie jumped out and pulled the craft further in to shore. "that was nearly the riskiest thing you ever did, betty nelson." once on shore again, the girls' confidence returned and they hurried silently through the woods toward the spot where they had seen the figure. then betty, who had taken the lead, suddenly motioned to them to stop. she had caught a glimpse through the trees of the man, who resembled more than ever a scarecrow in his crazy makeshift garments--and at the sight of him her heart unaccountably skipped a beat. her thoughts had not gone beyond this moment. strangely enough all her energy had been concentrated upon reaching the man before he disappeared. but now that they had succeeded so far she was at a loss what to do next. but at that moment she inadvertently stepped on a dry twig that snapped sharply under her foot, and at the sound the man had turned fiercely, like an animal at bay. then he wheeled about and made as though to flee for the shelter of the woods. in this emergency betty followed impulse. she ran out into the open, calling to him wildly that his sons were alive. not to run away, because his sons were safe and well. they were coming to him---the pitiful wreck of a man paused in his flight as the import of the words seemed to sink into his befuddled brain, but he turned upon the little captain a look of ferocious hatred that would have terrified a less courageous girl than betty. but her whole heart was in her mission, and she had utterly forgotten herself. "won't you please believe me?" she said, advancing toward him, hands outstretched pleadingly. "i know what i'm talking about. your sons, arnold and jimmy----" as though the names of his boys had released some cord in his brain, the man cried out hoarsely: "jimmy and arnold--my sons, my little boys!" then, turning fiercely to betty, he cried: "you're not lying to me, are you? because i'll throw you into the river! i'll cut you into little pieces!" as the man advanced menacingly, grace screamed and mollie ran forward with some wild idea of protecting her chum, but betty waved them back. "i'm not lying to you," she told the crazy man, looking straight into his glaring eyes. "your boys were wounded, but not seriously, and they sailed a few days ago for this country on a hospital ship. they want to see you more than anything else in the world," she added, playing on the sudden softness that had crept into his wild eyes. "and they sent their love to their dad." at sound of the old loving name all the fight went out of the old man and he sank to his knees on the grass, sobbing horribly. they let him alone for a moment, then betty motioned to mollie, and together they lifted him to his feet. the sight of his tear-stained, unkempt old face, creased and lined with suffering, but with the wildness gone out of the eyes, stirred a profound pity in the girls and they wished more than anything in the world to make him happy again. "we are going to take you home, professor dempsey," betty told him soothingly, as with mollie's help shm through the woods toward the spot where they had left the boat, amy and grace following awed and silent behind them. "and as soon as your boys reach home we will bring them to you. be careful of this big rock. ah, here's the boat." and talking all the time, softly and soothingly as one would to a child, betty at last succeeded in seating the derelict old man in the equally derelict old boat. the girls tumbled in after him, and with a prayer in her heart betty pushed off from shore. that ride back across the river was as weird and unreal as any nightmare the girls had ever lived through. their queer passenger, seeming the most unreal of all, was quiet for the most part but occasionally he would sit up and look about him wildly and could only be soothed back to reason by betty's sweet voice telling him of his boys--jimmy and arnold. somehow they reached the opposite shore, and, after pulling the boat up among the bushes once more, they started back, the old man with them, to wild rose lodge. chapter xxv the old crowd again mrs. irving, who had been worried by their prolonged absence, met the girls at the door as they stumbled with the almost exhausted old man up the steps of the porch. at sight of the latter she grew deathly pale, and leaned against the door for support. she felt that all the world was growing black---"oh, please, please don't faint!" she heard betty's young voice calling to her desperately as it seemed from a long distance. "we've depended upon you to help us." with a great effort she fought off the dizziness and drew herself away from betty's supporting arm. "it's all right," she said dazedly. "the shock, i guess. betty what--who--is that----" "oh, please don't ask any questions now," betty begged feverishly. "just help us, and we will tell you all about it later. this is professor dempsey," she added, turning to the broken old man who stood staring at them uncomprehendingly. "he can have mollie's and my room, can't he, mrs. irving? and we will bunk somewhere else." mrs. irving nodded automatically, still too dazed by the suddenness of the thing even to think, and they helped the old man into betty's room and laid him on the bed. the tired, ragged, unkempt old head had hardly touched the pillow before its owner had sunk into a heavy sleep. for a moment the girls were startled, for it almost seemed as though he were dead, but betty put her hand on the ragged old shirt above the heart and found that the action was strong and regular. "perhaps it is the very best thing that could happen to him," she said softly, and, laying a light cover over him, tip-toed from the room, followed quietly by mrs. irving and the other girls. once in the other room, with the need for action over, the girls felt weak and spent, and it was only then that they realized that they had been through a terrible ordeal. in broken sentences they told mrs. irving all that had happened and as she listened she more and more appalled at the risk they had run and the danger they had gone through. "girls, girls," she cried when they had finished, "i was half wild about you as it was. but if i had known the truth i think i should have gone crazy. just the same," she added and her eyes shone with pride in them, "it was a glorious thing for you to do--an unselfish, wonderfully courageous thing. i'm proud of you!" in spite of the fact that they were tired out, the girls insisted upon standing watch and watch that night. they felt that some one should be with professor dempsey all the time in case he should wake in the night with his old madness upon him. it was the longest night any of them had ever spent, and the morning dawned upon a hollow-eyed, worn-out set of outdoor girls. "i never," said betty, looking around at her white-faced chums wearily, "spent such a terrible night in my life. how is the patient?" she added, taking up the subject that had not left their minds for a minute. "who was in there last?" "i," said grace, brushing out her hair, listlessly. "he is still asleep." that report continued good all morning, and it was almost noon before the ragged, unbelievably unkempt old man on the bed opened his eyes. the girls had been looking forward to, yet dreading, this minute. it had been decided that only one of them should be in the room with him when he awoke, but the rest were hovering close to the door ready to give assistance if it should become necessary. but they need not have worried. the magic of his long sleep, together with the glad news he had heard the night before, seemed to have transformed the man overnight to his old gentle self. to be sure, he was amazed at his strange surroundings, and looked uncomprehendingly into betty's face as she bent compassionately over him. but all he said was: "i declare, this is all very strange, young lady--very strange. would you mind--er--telling me where i am?" at the tone, even more than the words, the girls felt a wild desire to shout aloud their relief. for the tone was the same, gentle, polite one that they remembered hearing that day when the little man had entertained them in his cabin in the woods. then betty, as gently as she knew how, told him a little of what had happened to him, and the girls could see by the surprise on his face that he had no recollection whatever of the matters of which she was speaking. "i declare it is most strange--most strange," he declared when she had finished, adding as he looked down and plucked distastefully at his tattered shirt: "and this is the result of my--er--temporary aberration, is it? ah, but i remember," he sat up suddenly, a gleam of fear in his eyes. "it was when i read of the death of my boys. something snapped in my brain, i think. you say"--he turned to betty, grasping her hand imploringly--"you say that my sons are well--that they are coming to me?" "yes," said betty soothingly, pressing him back upon the pillow. "they are well and safe and will be with you soon--in a few days, perhaps." "ah," said the little man, submitting to betty's touch, a happy smile on his lips, "that is good. that is very--very--good--" and with a sigh like a tired child's, he fell asleep again! "did you hear what he said?" whispered betty, her eyes shining as she tip-toed from the room, closed the door softly behind her and faced her awed and incredulous chums. "he's well, girls. he's completely sane again." "it's a miracle," said mollie breathlessly. and so it came to pass that some little time later four good-looking young fellows, recently in the service of the greatest country on the earth, and one of them still wearing his regimentals, saw a rather unexpected sight as they swung down the path toward wild rose lodge. on the porch sat an elderly, contented looking man, clad in garments that would easily have accommodated two men of his size--garments belonging to mollie's uncle john, and seated about him in attitudes of lazy comfort were four young girls. these young girls--who were, at least from the standpoint of the four young men, exceedingly good to look upon, were engaged in doing some sort of fancy work. all but one of them, that is; for the fourth, a girl with wavy brown hair and bright brown eyes, pink cheeks, and a dream of a mouth, was reading to the elderly man who sat in the chair of state. "gee, allen," whispered one of the tall youths to the one who still wore the uniform of his country's service, "i feel as though we were crabbing your act. can't we fellows do the disappearing act----" but just at the moment the girl with the brown eyes and the pink cheeks looked up, gave one little startled cry, and dropped the book to the porch. the other girls looked up and then followed a scene that very nearly made the temporarily forgotten and neglected old man on the porch drop out of his chair in surprise. "allen!" screamed the girls, all except the brown-haired, pink-cheeked one, who, for some unaccountable reason hung back behind the others. "you perfect angel!" "why didn't you let us know you were coming so that we could have been prepared?" "oh, isn't your uniform lovely!" "and look at the dressed-up leggings!" these and various other exclamations like them, coupled to the fact that all the girls, except the one that he wanted to most, had kissed him, rather overwhelmed young lieutenant washburn and took his breath away. his three companions, however, finding themselves neglected and out in the cold, interfered at this point and saved his life. "betty, what are you hiding away back there for?" cried mollie to the little captain, whose cheeks were pinker than ever and whose eyes were shining very brightly with a sort of mixture of joy and fright. "don't you know allen in his uniform?" "aren't you going to kiss him?" chimed in grace wickedly. "we all did," added amy. but betty had no intention of kissing allen, although he begged her to with his laughing eyes and she continued backing into the doorway, until mrs. irving, coming up behind her, caught her up and pushed her out upon the porch again. however, the chaperon monopolized allen for a few minutes and gave betty time to catch her breath. she found mollie introducing professor dempsey to the astonished boys. these young soldiers wanted to ask a hundred questions, but, catching a warning look from betty, decided to wait till later, when the little man himself was not present. frank, who was perhaps more glad than any of them to see the father of his chums alive and well, settled himself near the man and began to pour into his starved and eager ears news of his sons and tales of adventures in which they had figured. and while betty was still smiling in sympathy with the look of absolute happiness on professor dempsey's face, allen dragged himself away from the group of his admirers and came over to her. boldly he pulled her hand through his arm and led her past the laughing boys and girls, down the steps, and along the path that led into the woods. "be back in time for supper," will called after them. "something tells me we are going to have some feed." "oh, don't bother them," they heard mollie's voice in laughing reproof. "remember, you were young yourself, once!" "and now," said allen, when they had gone just far enough for the trees and bushes to screen them from the view of the people on the porch, "i want you to look at me, betty. you haven't yet, you know." "i c-can't," said betty in a muffled voice. "i guess--" she added whimsically, "i guess i'm a little afraid of you, lieutenant allen washburn." with a glad laugh allen put his strong young arms about her. "do you think you can keep on all your life being afraid of me--like that?" he asked. "little betty?" and betty, with the radiant joy of all youth in her heart, slowly nodded. * * * * * and what glorious days followed! the young folks never tired of their tramps through the woods and walks in the vicinity of moonlight falls. they gave themselves up to a good time and had it in full measure. "gee, what an improvement over the trenches in france!" remarked will one day. "no more wars for me!" "so say we all of us!" sang out frank. when they had to return to deepdale the boys took professor dempsey with them and frank saw to it that the old man was made comfortable until his wounded sons returned to him. both of the hurt soldiers were recovering, and the reunion of father and sons was most affecting. "now for a final swim below the falls!" cried mollie one day, when the outing was coming to an end. "we ought to have a good time--now there is no ghost to disturb us," put in amy. "a chocolate for the first one to enter the water!" exclaimed grace, waving her ever-present candy box in the air. "that settles it--i'm off!" burst out betty; and then all made a wild dash for the swimming pool. and here let us say good-bye to the outdoor girls. the end girls. the end [illustration: "there are but three hundred and fifty dollars left," said the hermit, as he counted the pieces of gold.] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- mark manning's mission -------------------------------------------------------- the story of a shoe factory boy -------------------------------------------------------- by horatio alger, jr. author of "mark mason's victory," "ben bruce," "bernard brook's adventures," "a debt of honor," etc., etc. [illustration: publisher's logo] with five page illustrations by j. watson davis -------------------------------------------------------- a. l. burt company, publishers, new york ----------------------------------------------------------------------- copyright 1905 by a. l. burt company --------- mark manning's mission by horatio alger, jr. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- contents ------ chapter i. three young hunters ii. the hermit's cabin iii. a timely rescue iv. the hermit explains v. lyman taylor makes a new acquaintance vi. a tragedy in the pasture vii. mark at home viii. deacon miller gets a clue ix. the deacon's mission x. mark protects a friend xi. mark is discharged xii. good luck after misfortune xiii. the little man in black xiv. an important proposal xv. the hermit's bank xvi. lyman taylor gains some information xvii. on the trail of gold xviii. lyman's disappointment xix. the hermit receives a call xx. how lyman succeeded xxi. all aboard for new york xxii. in an office on broadway xxiii. mark's mission xxiv. what mark discovered xxv. the little match boy xxvi. luck favors lyman xxvii. old peggy xxviii. lyman's plan xxix. mark receives a telegram xxx. mark makes arrangements with jack xxxi. jack talks in his sleep xxxii. jack is pursued xxxiii. mark eludes his pursuers xxxiv. mrs. manning's house is sold xxxv. notice to quit xxxvi. the hermit secures a house xxxvii. conclusion ----------------------------------------------------------------------- mark manning's mission. --------- chapter i. three young hunters. two boys, with guns on their shoulders, were crossing a meadow towards the pecasset woods. these were situated about a mile from the village, and were quite extensive. the two boys were james collins and tom wyman, the first, the son of a large shoe manufacturer, the other the son of the village postmaster. they were about of a size, and had the appearance of being sixteen years of age. they were very intimate, the second being a satellite of the first, who in right of his father's wealth considered himself the first boy in pecasset. tom flattered his vanity by acknowledging his pretensions, and this gave him his position of favorite with the young aristocrat. "i should like to be a hunter," said tom, as they walked along. "a fine hunter you'd be," said james, in a tone by no means complimentary, for he didn't feel it necessary to flatter his humble companion. "you never hit anything, you know." "come, james, that's a little too strong," said tom, in a tone of annoyance. "i don't pretend to be as good a shot as you are, but still i have hit a bird before now." "when it was perched on a fence, eh?" "no, on the wing." "who saw you do it?" "i was alone." "so i thought," said james, laughing. "i did it, really. of course i can't shoot as well as you." "i don't think there is a boy in the village can come up to me in that line," said james. "of course not; though mark manning isn't a bad shot." "mark manning! he's one of the peggers in my father's shop, isn't he?" "yes." "son of the poor widow that lives near the schoolhouse?" "yes." "what can he know of gunning? he had better stick to the shop." "i didn't say he was equal to you," said tom apologetically, "but i have seen him shoot well." "has he a gun of his own?" "no, but he often gets the loan of farmer jones's." "i suppose he could hit a barn door if he were within fifty feet of it," said james, contemptuously. tom was silent. it was not the first time he had noticed how distasteful to james was praise of any other boy. at this moment, from another direction came a third boy, of about the same size and age as the two already introduced. he also had a gun on his shoulder. he had on a well-worn suit of mixed cloth, which had been darned in one or two places. his face was open and attractive, his form was well-knit and muscular, and he was evidently in vigorous health. tom wyman was the first to notice the newcomer. "talk of theâ��old harry," he said, "and he is sure to appear." "what do you mean?" asked james, who had not yet espied the new arrival. "there's mark manning coming towards us." james condescended to turn his glance in marks' direction. "what brings him here, i wonder?" he said, with a curl of the lip. "the same errand that brings us, i should judge, from the gun on his shoulder," answered tom. by this time mark was within calling distance. "hallo, boys!" he said. "have you shot anything yet?" "no," answered tom. "have you?" "no, i have only just come." "why are you not in the shop?" demanded james, with the air of a young lord. "because we work only half-time to-day." "i suppose you were glad of the holiday?" "no, i would rather have worked. half-work, half-pay, you know." "i suppose that's quite an important consideration for aâ��a working boy like you," drawled james, with an air of patronage. mark surveyed james, with a quizzical smile, for he had a genuine boy's disdain for affectation, and james was a very good specimen of a self-conceited dude, though the latter term had not yet come into use. "yes," he said, after a slight pause, "it is a considerationâ��to a working boy like me." "how much now does my father pay you?" inquired james, with gracious condescension. "seventy-five cents a dayâ��that's the average." "very fair pay! i suppose you take it home to your mother?" "yes, i do," answered mark. "she'sâ��ahâ��very poor, i hear." mark began to find his patronage on the whole rather oppressive. he had a sturdy independence of feeling that grew restive under the young patrician's condescension. "we are poor," he answered, "but we have enough to eat, and to wear, and a roof to cover usâ��" "exactly. you are indebted to my father for that." "i don't see how." "doesn't he employ you and pay you wages?" "yes, but don't i earn my wages by good work?" "really, my good fellow, i can't say. i presume you do passably well, or he wouldn't keep you in his employ." "then it seems to me we are even on that score. however, i didn't come here to talk about myself." here there was a sudden diversion. "look, james! see that bird!" exclaimed tom, in excitement. the other two boys looked in the direction indicated, and saw a hawk flying swiftly, perhaps two hundred feet above them. the three simultaneously raised their guns, and tom and james fired. but mark, upon second thought reserved his fire, in order to give his two companions a chance. their guns were discharged, but in vain. the bird flew on, apparently unconcerned, considerably to their disappointment. "now it is my turn!" reflected mark. he raised his gun, and quickly pulled the trigger; the effect was soon seen. the bird fluttered its wings, then dropped quickly through the air. "by jove, mark's hit him!" exclaimed tom in excitement. james frowned in evident displeasure. "yes, he was lucky!" he said significantly. mark had run forward to pick up the bird. "i told you mark was a good shot!" said tom, who had not so much vanity to wound as james. "i suppose you think him a better shot than i, because he hit the bird and i didn't?" said james, reddening. "no, i don't say that!" "i tell you it was pure luck. i've heard of a man who shut his eyes when he fired, but he succeeded when all his companions failed. you can't judge of one by a single shot." here mark came up with his trophy. "i congratulate you on your success," said james, unpleasantly. "i suppose this is the first bird you ever shot?" "oh, no!" answered mark smilingly. "i have shot a few before now." "a fly lit on my nose just when i was pulling the trigger, or i should have brought him down." "that was lucky for me," said mark. "come, tom," said james, drawing his companion away to the left. "we'd better separate, or we shall all be shooting at the same object." "good luck to you then!" said mark, as the two left him. "thanks!" said tom, but james deigned no notice of mark's civility. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter ii. the hermit's cabin. mark smiled to himself as the boys left him. "james doesn't care to associate with us working boys," he thought. "well, i fancy he cares as much for my company as i do for his." mark was thoroughly independent and self-reliant, and had no disposition to trouble himself because a particular boy didn't care to associate with him. he was not self-conceited, but he respected himself, and never would have been willing, like tom wyman, to play the part of an humble satellite to the son of a wealthy shoe manufacturer. he reached the edge of the woods, and plunged into their shaded recesses. here and there were paths more or less worn. one of these he took. it was a considerable time before he found anything to shoot at. finally he fired at a squirrel, but the active little animal eluded him, and made his way to some covert, whence possibly he peeped out with twinkling eyes at his enemy. farther on he reached a small clearing, in the center of which rose an humble log dwelling, of the most primitive description. mark regarded it with curiosity, for, though it was no new object to him, he knew that it was occupied by a man who for five years had baffled the curiosity of the neighborhood. now and then he was seen in the village, whither he went to procure supplies of food and other necessaries. a striking figure he was, with his long flowing sandy beard, thickly flecked with gray hairs, high forehead, and long, circular cloak wrapped around his tall, spare form. on his head he wore a spanish sombrero, and his appearance in the streets never failed to attract the curious eyes of the children. once some rude boys followed him with jeers, but were never tempted to repeat the rudeness. with his long staff upraised, he gave chase to them, looking so terrible that they were panic-stricken, and with pale faces, scattered in all directions. while mark was standing near the hermit's cabin, he thought he heard a smothered groan proceeding from within. "what can be the matter," he thought, "can old anthony be sick?" this was the name, correct or not, by which the hermit was known in the village. he paused a moment in indecision, but on hearing the groan repeated, he overcame his scruples, and pushing open the door, which stood ajar, he entered. on a pallet, at one corner of the main room, lay the old man, with his limbs drawn up, as if in pain. his back was towards the door. "who is there?" he asked, as he heard the door open. "a friend," answered mark. "are you sick?" "i have a severe attack of rheumatism," answered the old man. "and you have no one to take care of you?" said mark, pityingly. "no; i have no friends," answered the old man, in a tone half sad, half bitter. "come round to the foot of the bed; let me look at you," he added, after a pause. mark complied with his request. old anthony regarded him attentively, and said, half to himself, "a good face! a face to be trusted!" "i hope so," said mark, with a feeling of pleasure. "can i do anything for you?" "you are willing to help old anthony? you see i know what they call me in the village." "yes. i shall be willing and glad to do anything for you." "you are a good boy. what is your name?" "mark manning." "i know who you are. your mother is a widow." "yes." "and poor." "we have little money, but we have never wanted for food." "you work for your mother?" "yes; i am employed in the shoe factory." "a good son will make a good man. you will never repent what you are doing for your mother." "no; i am sure i shall not," returned mark, warmly. "i ought not, for she has done everything for me." "what brings you here?" asked the old man. "i had a spare afternoon, and came out gunning. i was wandering about these woods and happened to come this way. how long have you been sick?" "for several days; but i was able to be about till yesterday." "have you taken no medicine?" "no. i thought i might do without it; but i find i am mistaken." "shall i call the doctor?" "no; my disease is of old standing, and i know what to do for it. if you are willing to go to the drug store for me you may take the bottle on yonder shelf and get it filled. the druggist will understand what is wanted. you may also get me a box of rheumatic pills." "yes, sir; i will go at once." "you will want money. look in the box on yonder shelf, and select a gold piece. pay for the articles and bring back the change." "yes, sir." mark went to the shelf, and in a square wooden box found a collection of gold and silver coins from which he selected a five-dollar gold piece. "i have taken five dollars," he said. "very well." "are you not afraid to leave this money so exposed while you are sick and helpless?" mark ventured to inquire. "i have no visitors," answered old anthony. "but you might have. some trampâ��â��" "that is true. perhaps it would be well to provide for that contingency. will you take it all, and take care of it for me?" mark regarded the old man with surprise. "whatâ��take it away with me?" he asked. "yes. i shall have to employ you as my man of business till i get better. i will speak with you about it further when you return with the medicines." "do you know how much there is here?" asked mark. "no; you may count it, if you like." mark did so and announced as the result of his count, "twenty-nine dollars and thirty cents." "very well! you may keep an account of what you expend for me," said the old man, indifferently. "he seems to put a good deal of confidence in me," mark reflected, with some satisfaction. "is there nothing else you want in the village?" mark asked, as he prepared to go. "you may bring me a loaf of fresh bread and a quart of milk, if it will not be too much trouble. you will find a tin measure for the milk on the shelf." "here it is, sir." "very well." "if you would like something nourishingâ��some meat, for instanceâ��i can get my mother to cook you some," continued mark. "not to-day. another day i may avail myself of your kind offer. you are very kindâ��to a poor recluse." "i am afraid you don't pass a very pleasant life," said mark. "i should be miserable if i lived alone in the woods, like you." "no doubt, no doubt. you are young and life opens before you bright and cheerful. as for me, i have lived my life. for me no prospect opens but the grave. why, indeed, should i seek to prolong this miserable life?" mark hardly knew how to answer him. he could not enter into the old man's morbid feelings. "i will be back soon," he said as he left the cabin. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter iii. a timely rescue. mark manning left the cabin and made his way as quickly as possible to the edge of the wood. he hadn't got over his wonder at the hermit's commission and singular confidence in him. "it seems strange," he said to himself, "to have so much money in my pocket. nearly thirty dollars! i wonder whether i shall ever have as much of my own?" in truth, thirty dollars seemed a much larger sum to our hero, brought up in a hand to hand struggle with poverty, than it would have appeared if he had been ten years older. "he must have more money," thought mark, "or he would not care so little for this sum as to trust it all to me. how does he know that i will prove honest?" nevertheless it was a satisfaction to mark to reflect that old anthony was justified in his confidence. had the sum been ten times as large, he would not have been tempted to retain any of it for his own use. he kept on his way to the drug store, and asked for the medicines already referred to. "is your mother sick?" asked the druggist, who was very well acquainted with mark and his family. "no, sir," answered mark. "oh, then it is you who are rheumatic," said the druggist jokingly. "wrong again," answered mark. "i am buying the medicines for old anthony." "then he is sick? that accounts for his not having appeared in the village for several days." thereupon mark described his chance visit to the cabin, and the condition in which he had found the hermit. "these remedies will do him good," said the druggist, "if he is otherwise kept comfortable. a strange man is old anthony!" he continued musingly. mark produced a gold piece, from which he requested the druggist to take pay for the articles purchased. "did the hermit give you this?" asked the druggist. mark answered in the affirmative. "then it is evident he is not without means. however, i might have known that. during the years that he has lived in the wood, he has always been prompt in his payments for all articles purchased in the village. his expenditures are small, to be sure, but in five years they have amounted to considerable." "what could have induced him to settle in such a lonely spot?" "that is more than any one hereabouts can tell. he is very secretive, and never says anything about himself." by this time mark was ready to return. he went to the grocery store, where he obtained the milk and loaf of bread, which he had also been commissioned to procure. then he set out for old anthony's lonely cabin. before doing so, he heard something from the grocer that aroused his curiosity. "there was a man in here only twenty minutes since," said the storekeeper, "who was asking after anthony." "was it a stranger?" "yes. it was a man i never saw before. he was a stout, broad-shouldered man with a bronzed face, who looked as if he might be a sailor." "did he say who he was?" "only that anthony was a relation of his, and that he had not seen him for years." "did he say he meant to call upon him?" asked mark. "he did not say so, but as he inquired particularly for the location of the cabin, i took it for granted that this was his intention." "then probably i shall see him, as i am going directly back to the wood." "he will probably be there unless he loses his way." leaving mark to return by the same way he came, we will precede him, and make acquaintance with the man who had excited the grocer's curiosity by inquiring for the old hermit. old anthony lay on his pallet waiting for the return of mark. "i like the boy," he said to himself. "he has an honest face. he looks manly and straightforward. he has never joined the other village boys in jeering. if my nephew had been like him he might have been a comfort to me." the old man sighed. what thoughts passed through his mind were known only to him; but that they were sad ones seemed clear from the expression of his face. time passed as he lay quiet. then he heard a noise at the door and the step of one entering the cabin. "is that you, mark?" he inquired. there was a pause. then a harsh voice answered: "no; it isn't mark, whoever he may be. it is some one who ought to be nearer to you than he." old anthony started in evident excitement, and by an effort managed to turn round his head so as to see the intruder. his eyes rested on a man rather above the middle height, shabbily clad, with a dark face and threatening expression. "lyman taylor!" he exclaimed. "yes, lyman taylor," returned the other, mockingly. "are you glad to see your nephew?" "heaven knows i am not!" said old anthony bitterly. "so i judged from your expression. yet they say blood is thicker than water." "that there is any tie of blood between us i regret deeply. a man more utterly unworthy i have never known." "come, uncle anthony, isn't that a little strong. i am no angelâ��â��" "you are a worthless scoundrel," said the hermit bitterly. "look here, old man," said his nephew fiercely, "i didn't come here to be insulted and called bad names. considering that you are alone and in my power, it is a little impertinent in you to talk in that way. i might kill you." "you are quite capable of it," said anthony. "do so, if you choose. life is not a possession that i greatly prize." "i have a great mind to take you at your word," said taylor coolly, "but it wouldn't suit my purpose. your death would do me no good unless you have made me your heir. i am desperately in need of money." "work for it, then!" "thank you! you are very kind; but employers are rather shy of me. i have no recommendations to offer. i don't mind telling you that i have spent the last four years in prison." "a very suitable place for you," said the old man in a caustic tone. "thank you again! you are complimentary." "this is the reason why you have not found me out before?" "precisely. you don't suppose i would otherwise have kept away from you so long, my most affectionate uncle!" "do you recall the circumstances of our last parting? i awoke in california to find myself robbed of the large sum of money i had with me. of course, you took it." "i don't mind owning that i did. but i haven't a cent of it left." "that i can easily believe. why have you sought me out?" "i want more money." "so i supposed. you can judge from my way of living whether i am likely to have any for you." "you don't appear to be living in luxury. however, it costs something to keep body and soul together even in this den. of course, you have some money. however little it is, i want it." "then you will be disappointed." "where do you keep your money?" demanded lyman taylor, roughly. "even if i had any. i wouldn't tell you!" said the brave old man. "look here, old man, no trifling! either you will find some money for me, or i will choke you!" he got down on one knee and stooped menacingly over the hermit. at that moment mark manning, who had returned from his errand, reached the doorway, and stood a surprised and indignant witness of this exciting scene. old anthony struggled, but ineffectually in the grasp of the ruffian who had attacked him. even if he had not been disabled by disease he would not have been a match for lyman taylor, who was at least twenty-five years younger. "don't touch me, you scoundrel!" said anthony, whose spirit exceeded his bodily strength. "then tell me where you keep your money!" "that i will not do!" "then i'll see if i can't find a way to make you." as he spoke the young man grabbed the hermit by the throat. he concluded too hastily that old anthony was in his power. he was destined to a surprise. "let the old man alone!" cried mark, indignantly. lyman taylor looked up in surprise and some alarm. but when he saw that the words proceeded from a boy, he laughed derisively. [illustration: mark dropped his bundles, and taking the musket pointed it at the ruffian, saying: "let go, or i will shoot."] "mind your own business, you young bantam, or i'll wring your neck!" he said contemptuously. "now, let me know where you keep your money," he said, turning once more to the old man, and preparing to choke him into an avowal of his secret. "let go, instantly, or i will shoot!" exclaimed mark, now thoroughly aroused. once more the ruffian turned, and this time his countenance changed, for mark, boyish but resolute, had dropped his bundles, and had the musket pointed directly at him. taylor rose to his feet suddenly. "take care, there!" he said, nervously. "put down that gun!" "then leave old anthony alone!" returned mark, resolutely. "are you my uncle's guardian?" demanded lyman, with a sneer. "if he is your uncle, the more shame to you to treat him brutally!" "i didn't come here to be lectured by a boy," said taylor, angrily. "put down that gun!" ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter iv. the hermit explains. mark did not obey directly, but turning to the hermit said, "do you want this man to leave the cabin?" "yes," answered the old man, "but beware of him! he is all that is bad!" "a pretty recommendation to come from your uncle," said taylor, sullenly. "uncle anthony, i ask you once more to give me money. i am penniless, and am a desperate man." "there is no money in this cabin, and you would search for it in vain, but if you will promise to leave this place and trouble me no more, i will provide you with five dollars." "what are five dollars?" "all that you will get. do you make the promise?" "well, yesâ��" "mark, you may give this man five dollars on my account." "is he your treasurer!" inquired taylor, in surprise. "he has charge of some funds out of which he buys me what i need." "how much money have you got of my uncle's, boy?" "i don't care to answer the question. ask your uncle." "a small sum only. it won't be worth your while, lyman, to plot for its possession." "have you no other money?" "none that you are likely to get hold of. i will save you the trouble of searching the cabin, or prowling round it, by repeating that i have no money concealed here. you know me well enough to know that i am not deceiving you." lyman taylor listened in sullen disappointment. he did know that his uncle's word could be relied upon implicitly, and that the hopes which he had built up of securing a large fund from the uncle he had once robbed, were not destined to be realized. "it seems you are a pauper, then," he said. "i have not been compelled to ask for charity yet," answered anthony. "i live here for next to nothing, and have not suffered yet for the necessities of life." lyman taylor looked around him contemptuously. "you must have a sweet time living here," he said, "in this lonely old cabin." "i would not exchange it for the place in which you confess that you have passed the last four years." taylor frowned, but did not otherwise notice the old man's retort. "give me the five dollars, boy," he said, "and i will go. it seems i am wasting time here." mark drew a gold piece from his pocket and passed it to him. "have you many more of these?" he demanded, his eyes gleaming with cupidity. "no." "give me another." "they are not mine to give." "not another one, mark," said anthony. "he does not deserve even that." "make way, then, and i will go," said the nephew, convinced that he had no more to expect. mark moved aside, and he strode out of the cabin. "good-bye, uncle anthony," he said. "you haven't treated me very generously, considering how long it is since you did anything for me." "are you utterly shameless, lyman?" said the hermit. "i hope never to set eyes on you again." "thank you, you are very kind. boy, what is your name?" "mark manning." "well, mark, as you appear to be in charge of my uncle, i shall be glad to have you write me if anything happens to him. as his nearest relative and heir, i ought to be notified." mark looked to the hermit for directions. "give him your address, lyman," said anthony. "if there is any news to interest you, he shall write. but don't calculate on my speedy death. it is hardly likely to benefit you." "i may want to visit your grave, uncle," said lyman, jeeringly. "give him an address where a letter will reach you then." "no. â��â�� third avenue, new york," said taylor. "write soon." he left the cabin, and old anthony and mark were alone. "he is my nearest relative," said the old man, "and a relative to be proud of, eh, mark?" "no, sir." "years since we were in california together, i had two thousand dollars in gold dust under my pillow. my nephew was my companion, but none of the gold belonged to him. i woke one morning to find my nephew gone, and my gold also. from that time i have not set eyes on him till to-day." "it was a shabby trick," said mark, warmly. "were you left destitute?" "so far as money went, yes. but i was the owner of a claim which my nephew thought exhausted. i resumed work on it, and three days later made a valuable find. within a month i took out ten thousand dollars, and sold it for five thousand more." "your nephew does not know this, does he?" "no; if he had, i should not have got rid of him so easily. but i have not told you all. i remained in california a year longer, and left it worth forty thousand dollars." "then whyâ��excuse me for askingâ��have you come to this poor cabin to live?" asked mark. "i had one other relative than lyman, a daughterâ��i left her at a boarding-school in connecticut. i returned to find that she had married an adventurer a month previous. two years later i heard of her death. life had lost its charm for me. i would not deprive myself of it, but in a fit of misanthropy i buried myself here." old anthony seemed weary, and mark questioned him no more, but set before him the milk and loaf which he had brought with him. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter v. lyman taylor makes a new acquaintance. on leaving the cabin mark promised to call again the next afternoon, bringing from the village such articles as anthony might require. this he could readily do as the shoe manufactory was not running full time. "i will see that you are paid for your trouble," said the hermit. "that will be all right," said mark, cheerfully. "i am able to pay you, and will employ you only on that condition," persisted anthony. "i shall not object to that part of the bargain," said mark, smiling. "money never comes amiss to me." "i have plenty of money, though i would not admit it to my nephew," continued the sick man. "he would persecute me till i bought him off. fortunately he thinks i am poor." "but," said mark, "suppose he should come back. would not your money be in danger?" "he would find none here. i do not keep any in this cabin. i did have some, but it is in your hands." "shall i not return it to you, sir?" "no; i prefer that you should keep it. you will be using money for me daily, and for the present you shall be my treasurer." "i am very much obliged to you for reposing so much confidence in me," said mark. "i trust you entirely. you have an honest face." "thank you, sir. i will endeavor to deserve your confidence." it was past four o'clock when mark left the cabin and started on his way homeward. he walked along thoughtfully, carrying his gun over his shoulder. "it seems i have a near friend," he reflected; "and one who may be of service to me. now that the shop is no longer running full time, it will be convenient to earn a little extra money, old anthony must be rich, judging from what he said about his success in california." mark could not help wondering where the hermit kept his money. but for anthony's positive assurance, he would have conjectured that he kept it somewhere concealed about the cabin, but that being left out of the question he was at a loss to fix upon any probable place of deposit. leaving mark for a brief time; we go back to the other two young hunters, from whom he had separated two hours before. "i don't like that boy," said james collins. "he puts on too many airs for a poor boy. i suppose he will be crowing over his successful shot." "very likely," chimed in his companion, who made it a point to flatter james by agreeing with everything he said. "it was only a lucky accident," continued james. "he couldn't do it again." "of course not. i don't think he is really as good a shot as you or i." "you can hardly class yourself with me," said james egotistically. "however. i agree with you that he is inferior to you." "quick, james!" said tom wyman. "there is a squirrelâ��shoot! i'll give you the first chance." james pulled the trigger, but the squirrel was not destined to fall by his hands. he scampered away, looking back saucily at the baffled young hunter. "was ever anything more provoking?" asked james in evident chagrin. later in the afternoon when the two boys were slowly strolling homewards, they saw a strange man issuing from the woods. it was lyman taylor, returned from his only partially successful visit to his uncle. he waited till the boys came up. "good afternoon, young gentlemen," he said by way of greeting. "good afternoon," returned james stiffly. he doubted whether the newcomer was a man whom it was worth while to notice. "what luck have you had? i see you have been out hunting." "we didn't shoot anything we thought worth bringing home," said tom. "i met another boy out with a gun. perhaps he is a friend of yours." james and tom exchanged glances. they understood very well that mark manning was meant. "i think i know the boy you met," said james. "it is a poor boy who works in my father's manufactory." "what is his name?" asked lyman taylor. "mark manning." "does he live in the village?" "yes; his mother is a poor widow." "where did you meet him?" asked tom. "at a cabin in the woods." "old anthony's?" "yes; the hermit is an uncle of mine." the two boys regarded the speaker with interest. all the villagers had some curiosity about the man who had settled so near them. "what is his name?" inquired tom. "you called him old anthony," said lyman, smiling. "that is his name." "but his other name?" "his last name is taylor, i have not seen him before for five years. does he often come into the village?" "about twice a week." "i suppose he comes to buy food?" "yes; i suppose so." "does he appear to be provided with money?" asked taylor with some eagerness. "yes, i believe so," replied tom. "he has sometimes come into our placeâ��father is the postmasterâ��to get a gold piece changed. but i don't suppose he has much money. it doesn't cost him much to live." "does he ever get any lettersâ��as your father is postmaster, you can probably tell." "i don't think so; my father has never mentioned it, and i think he would if any had been received." "what sort of a boy is this mark manning?" asked taylor abruptly. "i don't think much of him," answered james. "he is poor and proud. he is only a pegger in our shop, but he puts on airs with the best." "do you think he is honest?" the two boys looked surprised; that question had never occurred to them. "what makes you ask?" inquired james. "only that he has in his possession a sum of money belonging to my uncle." "did he tell you so? did you see it?" were the questions quickly asked. "i met him at my uncle's cabin. my uncle owed me a small sum, and instead of paying me himself, he asked this boy to pay me. the boy took the money from his pocket, and handed it to me." both boys were surprised. "i didn't know he had anything to do with the hermit," said tom. "did you, james?" "no; but then i don't trouble myself about mark manning's affairs." lyman taylor regarded james shrewdly, he had no difficulty in detecting the boy's dislike towards mark. "excuse my troubling you with questions, young gentlemen," he said. "my uncle is a simple-minded old man, and it would be easy to rob him, though i fancy he hasn't much money. this boy mark appeared to me an artful young rogue, who might very probably cheat him out of the small sum he has." "i never saw the two together," said tom, musingly. "old anthony has generally paid his bills himself." "he is sick just now, and perhaps that accounts for it. the boy mark has been making purchases for him in the village. however, i must leave the place, as important business calls me elsewhere. since you," addressing tom, "are the postmaster's son, may i ask a favor of you?" "certainly." "if my uncle should die, can i trouble you to send me a note informing me, as i should feel called upon, as his only relative, to see that he was properly buried." "yes, sir; i will write you, if you will leave me your address." lyman taylor gave tom the same address he had already given mark. he then bade the boys good-bye, and walked on. "uncle anthony _may_ have some money," he soliloquized, "and if he dies, i shall see if i can find it. i am pretty sure to hear through one of the boys." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter vi. a tragedy in the pasture. on their way home the two boys had occasion to cross a pasture belonging to deacon miller, an old farmer whose house and barn were about a furlong distant on a rising ground. they sauntered along in single file. james had a careless way of carrying his gun, which made some of the boys unwilling to accompany him, unless it was unloaded. tom had two or three times cautioned him on this very afternoon, but james did not receive his remonstrance in good part. "don't trouble yourself so much about my gun, tom wyman," he said. "i guess i know how to carry my gun as well as you do." "i don't doubt that in the least, james, but you must admit that you handle it rather carelessly. some of the boys don't like to go hunting with you." "then they are cowards. i never shot any boy yet," answered james, with some heat. "no, but you might." "you are making a great deal of fuss about nothing. i didn't think you were so timid." "i don't know that i am particularly timid, but i shouldn't like to be riddled with shot," returned tom, good-humoredly. "then you'd better get your life insured when you go out with me next," sneered james. "i don't know but i shall," said tom, declining to take offense. for a very brief period james carried his gun more carefully. then he forgot his caution, and in transferring his gun from one shoulder to the other somehow he touched the hammer, and the gun was discharged. it was most unfortunate, but when the gun went off it was pointed directly at a white-faced cow belonging to deacon miller. the small shot penetrated both the poor animal's eyes, and with a moan of anguish the cow sank to the ground. both boys stared in dismay at the victim of carelessness. "there, you've gone and done it now, james," said tom. "you've shot deacon miller's cow." "i don't see how i happened to do it," stammered james, really frightened. "i told you not to carry your gun so carelessly." "you told me! of course you want to get me into trouble about this!" exclaimed james, irritably. "no, i don't." "then," said james, quickly, "don't say a word about it. we'll get home as soon as we can, and won't know anything about it. mum's the word!" "of course i'll be mum, but it will be known that we have been out with guns this afternoon." "so has mark manning." james looked significantly at tom, and tom understood. poor mark was to bear the blame for a deed he didn't do, and all to screen james. "it's mean!" tom said to himself, "but i can't go back on james. i want to keep in with him, and i suppose i must consent." "well?" demanded james, impatiently. "it won't come out through me," answered tom, but not with alacrity. "and if mark is accused you won't say anything?" "n-o!" said tom, slowly. "then let us put for home!" james suited the action to the word, and the two boys hurried across the pasture, never venturing to look back at the suffering animal. fifteen minutes later, when james and tom were already at home, mark manning entered the narrow foot-path that led across the pasture. he was immersed in thought, the hermit and his strange experience at the cabin being the subject of his reflections, when he heard a pitiful moaning, not far from him. looking up he observed that it proceeded from old whitey, as the deacon was accustomed to call his favorite cow. "what's the matter with you, old whitey?" said mark, who was always moved by distress, whether in man or beast. coming nearer, he was not long left in doubt. the nature of the injury which the poor cow had received was evident to him. "poor old whitey!" he said, pitifully. "who has shot you in this cruel manner?" the sole answer was a moan of anguish from the stricken animal. "i am afraid she will have to be killed!" thought mark, sadly. "it is only torture for her to live with this injury, and of course there is no cure." he was still standing beside the cow, gun in hand, when a harsh voice became audible. "what have you done to my cow, mark manning?" looking up, he saw the deacon but four rods distant. deacon miller was an old man, of giant form, and harsh, irregular features. he was a very unpopular man in the neighborhood, and deservedly so. he had made home so disagreeable that his only son had gone away fifteen years before, and the deacon had never heard from him since. "what have you been doin' to my cow?" he demanded, in a still harsher tone. "nothing, deacon miller," answered mark, calmly. "you don't mean to tell me the critter's makin' all this fuss for nothin', do you?" "no; the poor animal has been shot." "has been what?" snarled the deacon. "shot! shot in the face, and i am afraid its eyes are put out," replied mark. "old whitey shot in the eye," repeated the deacon, in a fury. "then it's you that did it." [illustration: "what have you done to my cow, mark manning?" said the deacon, coming up to him.] "you are mistaken, sir," said mark, with dignity. "i have just come up, and this is the condition in which i found whitey." "what's that you are carryin' in your hand?" demanded the deacon, sternly. "my gun." "i am glad you are willin' to tell the truth. i didn't know but you'd say it was a hoe," exploded the deacon in angry irony. "your cow has received no injury from my gun, if that's what you're hinting at, deacon miller." "let me take the gun!" in some surprise mark put it into his hands. the deacon raised it, and pulled the trigger. no report was heard. the gun was not loaded. "just what i thought," said the deacon, triumphantly. "if it had been loaded, i might have thought you told me the truth. now i know as well as i want to that you shot my cow in the face with it." "i assure you, deacon miller," said mark, earnestly, beginning to comprehend the extent to which he was implicated, although innocent. "i assure you, deacon miller, that i have had nothing to do with harming poor whitey." "anyway, i shall hold you responsible, and i reckon you'll have hard work to prove yourself innocent," said the deacon, grimly. "i ain't going to lose a forty-five dollar cow, and say nothin' about it. you jest tell your mother when you go home to see about raisin' forty-five dollars to make up old whitey's loss. as she's a poor widder i'll give her thirty days to do it in. do you hear?" "yes, deacon miller, i hear, but i repeat that i didn't harm your cow, and i shan't pay you a cent." "we'll see!" was the only answer the deacon gave, nodding his head with emphasis. poor mark! he had never felt so miserable, as he plodded slowly home. he was innocent, but circumstances were against him, and the deacon was implacable. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter vii. mark at home. mark's home was a small cottage of a story and a half, surmounted by a sloping roof. it was plainly furnished, but looked comfortable. his mother was a pleasant looking woman of middle age, who managed well their scanty income, consisting chiefly of mark's earnings. "are you not later than usual, mark?" she inquired. "yes, mother; i went out gunning, and did an errand for old anthony, who is laid up with the rheumatism in his cabin." "poor man! i hope he won't suffer." "thanks to me, he probably will not." "what can you do for him, mark? you have no money to spare." "haven't i, mother?" asked mark, with a smile, as he drew from his pocket a large handful of silver and gold. "what do you say to that?" "oh, mark! i hope you came honestly by that money," said the widow, nervously. "i haven't been robbing a bank, if that's what you mean, mother. i couldn't very well, as there is none within ten miles." "then, mark, where did the money come from?" "it belongs to old anthony. he asked me to take charge of it, as i shall need to be buying things for him in the village for a few days to come." "for mercy's sake, be careful of it, mark, as, if you lost it, we couldn't make up the loss." "i'll look after that. in fact, i think it will be safer with me than with the owner. if any dishonest person should enter his cabin, he could not help being robbed in his present condition." "that would be very unfortunate, as the old man is probably very poor." mark was about to undeceive his mother, but, reflecting that lyman taylor might still be in the village, he thought it not prudent to betray the hermit's secret. "i heard a report to-day, mark," said his mother, as she was setting the supper table, "that the shoe-shop was to be closed for a month." "i hope not," said mark, startled. "that would be serious for us." "and for others too, mark." "yes. it isn't as if there were other employments open, but there is absolutely nothing, unless i could get a chance to do some farm work." "perhaps deacon miller may need a boy." "he's about the last man i would work for. he wouldn't pay me a cent." "why not, mark? he wouldn't expect you to work for nothing." "he claims that i owe him forty-five dollars, and would expect me to work it out." "what do you mean, mark? how can you owe the deacon forty-five dollars?" "i don't, but he claims i do." mark then told his mother the story of the cow. "deacon miller expects me to pay for it," he concluded, "but i think he'll have to take it out in expecting." "oh, mark, i am afraid this will lead to serious trouble," said mrs. manning, looking distressed. "he may go to law about it." "he can't make me pay for the damage somebody else did, mother." "but if he makes out that you shot the cow?" "i won't trouble about it. it might spoil my appetite for supper. i've got a healthy appetite to-night, mother." "your story has taken away mine, mark." "don't worry, mother; it will all come right." "i am afraid worrying comes natural to me, mark. i've seen more trouble than you have, my son." "forget it all till supper is over, mother." supper was scarcely over when a knock was heard at the door, and john downie entered. he was a boy of scotch descent, and lived near by. "how are you, johnny," said mark, "won't you have some supper?" "thank you, mark, i've had some. have you heard about deacon miller's cow?" "what about her?" asked mark, eagerly. "you know old whitey?" "yes, yes." "her eyes are put out by an accidental discharge of a gun, and i guess she will have to be killed." "do you know who shot her?" asked mark, with intense interest. "yes, i do, but the deacon doesn't," answered john. "who was it?" "james collins. he and tom wyman were coming through the pasture, when james, in handling his gun awkwardly, managed to discharge it full in poor whitey's face." "how do you know it was james?" "because i saw it. i was in the next field and saw it all." "did the boys see you?" "no; they hurried away as fast as they could go." "johnny, you're a trump!" exclaimed mark, rising and shaking the boy's hand vigorously. "why am i a trump?" asked johnny, astonished. "because your testimony will clear me. the deacon charges me with shooting the cow, and wants me to pay forty-five dollars." "gosh!" exclaimed johnny. "but what makes him think you shot old whitey?" mark briefly explained. "but," said mrs. manning, "surely james collins would not permit you to suffer for his fault?" "you don't know james, mother. that's just what he would do, i feel sure. what do you say, johnny?" "jim collins is just mean enough to do it," answered john. "he can't do it now, however. mr. collins is abundantly able to pay for the cow, and i guess he'll have to." "i don't know how we could ever have paid so large a sum," said the widow. "we shan't have to, mother, that's one comfort." "there's the deacon coming!" exclaimed johnny, suddenly. "so he is! johnny, just run into the kitchen, and i'll call you when you're wanted. we'll have some fun. mother, don't say a word till we hear what the deacon has to say." by this time the deacon had knocked. mrs. manning admitted him, and he entered with a preliminary cough. "are your family well, deacon?" asked the mother. "they're middlin', widder, which is a comfort. families are often a source of trouble," and here the deacon glanced sharply at mark, who, rather to his surprise, looked cool and composed. "that may be, deacon miller, but i am thankful that mark never gives me any trouble." "don't be too sure of that, ma'am," said the deacon, grimly. "it's about that very thing i've come here now. your son has shot my most valuable cow, old whitey, and i regret to say, widder, that he'll have to make it good for me. forty-five dollars is what the critter is worth, and i wouldn't have taken that for her." "are you sure mark shot your cow?" asked mrs. manning. "as sure as i need to be. i caught him standin' by the cow with his gun in his hand. the barrel was empty, for i tried it to see." "what have you to say to this charge, mark?" "that deacon miller is mistaken. i did not shoot his cow." "i reckon you'll have to pay for it all the same. mark manning. i don't want to be hard on a poor widder, but it stands to reason that i should be paid for my cow." "i agree to that," said mark, "but i'm not the one." "mebbe the cow shot herself!" said the deacon, sarcastically. "it may be nat'ral for cows to commit suicide, but i never saw one do it as far as i can remember. young man, your story is too thin." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter viii. deacon miller gets a clue. mark was forced to smile at the idea of old whitey committing suicide. the deacon observed his smile, and it provoked him. "do you mean to say, mark manning, that you think the critter shot herself in the face?" he demanded, sharply. "no, deacon miller, i have no such idea." "that's the same as admittin' that you shot her," said the deacon, triumphantly. "no, it isn't, deacon. i didn't shoot her, but i have no doubt some one else did." "it may have been the cat," remarked the deacon, with a return to sarcasm. "it was probably a two-legged cat," said mark. "jest my idee!" remarked the deacon, quickly, "an' that brings it home to you. you was out with a gun, an' i caught you standin' beside the cow." "as to catching me," returned mark, "there was no catching about it. i was crossing the pasture, and was attracted by the poor animal's moans. that is the way i happened to be near when you came up." "that all sounds very smooth," said the deacon, impatiently, "but if you didn't shoot the cow, who did?" "i think that question can be answered, deacon miller; john downie!" to the deacon's surprise, john came into the room at this summons. "johnny," said mark, "will you tell the deacon who shot his cow!" "i don't like to tell," objected john; "it wasn't done on purpose." "did you do it?" queried the deacon, sharply. "no, _sir_. i never fired a gun in my life." "who did it, then?" "must i tell, mark?" "yes, johnny; deacon miller has a right to know; even if it was not done on purpose, the one who did it ought to make good the loss." "that's where you speak sense, mark," said the deacon, approvingly. "then it was jim collins." "james collinsâ��the squire's son!" repeated the deacon, astonished. "yes." john proceeded to tell the story once more. the deacon, it is needless to say, listened very attentively. "so the boys run away, did they?" he inquired, grimly. "yes, sir." "and i s'pose you'd have run away, too, if you had done it, hey?" "perhaps i might," answered john, ingenuously. "i s'pose they were scared." "i'll scare 'em," growled the deacon. "squire collins is able to make up the loss to me, and i mean he shall." then, with a momentary suspicion, "this ain't a story you an' mark have got up between you, to get him off, is it?" "i will answer that, deacon miller," said mark firmly. "if i had shot your cow, i wouldn't have run away, but i'd have gone right to you and told you about it, and i'd have paid you just as soon as i could." "that's right, that's right," said the deacon, approvingly, beginning to regard mark with more favor. "well, i must go and see the squire. here, you john downie, come along with me." "i've got to go home," said john. "but i can't prove it without you." "you can tell the squire that i saw it done, and am ready to swear to it, if he wants me to." "mebbe that'll do if i send for you, you'll come, hey?" "yes, sir." the deacon did not feel disposed to postpone what he regarded as important business, and he left the cottage, taking the shortest direction to the squire's more imposing dwelling. we will precede him. james collins and his friend, as already described, ran away as fast as their legs could carry them, when they ascertained what damage had been done. no one, so far as they knew, had seen them, and they hoped to escape, scot free. tom accompanied james home, and stayed to supper. after supper the boys went out, and had a conference together. james felt a little nervous, though he believed that he was safe from incurring suspicion. "i wonder if the deacon has found old whitey yet?" said james. "i guess so," answered tom. "he usually goes after the cows before this." "i wonder how he'll think it happened?" "maybe he'll lay it to mark." james was not very much disturbed at this supposition. "that would be a good joke!" he said. "not for mark." "mark can take care of himself. he was out with a gun as well as we." "his mother couldn't afford to pay for the cow," said tom, who was rather more considerate than his companion. "that's none of my business. and, tom, there's something i want to say to you." "go ahead!" "if mark is accused, don't you go to saying it's a mistake. remember it's none of your business." tom looked uncomfortable, having some conscience. "it would be rough on a poor woman like mrs. manning having to pay for the deacon's cow." "you're mighty considerate, tom. you might consider me a little. if it were known that i shot the cow, father would make me pay at least half the bill out of my money in the savings' bank. i thought you were my friend!" "so i am." "then you won't betray me. as for mark, the deacon can't prove it against him, so he won't have to pay." "then the deacon will lose his cow, and get no pay." "he can afford it. he's a stingy old lunks, anyway." "that's true enough." "and it won't ruin him if he does lose the cow. he's able to buy another." it struck tom, though he was not over conscientious, that this was not exactly the way to regard the matter, but he did not like to offend james, and he had ventured to oppose him more than usual already. so he remained silent. james was not quite satisfied with his friend. he was not altogether sure of his fidelity. "i've got only one thing to say, tom," he added. "if you go back on me, and breathe a word of what happened in the pasture, i'll never speak to you again as long as i live." "who's going back on you? did i say i was?" demanded tom rather irritably. "all right, then; i only wanted to have the thing understood between us, i didn't really think you would be mean enough to tell." so a satisfactory understanding was established between the two boys, and it looked as if mark was likely to be the victim of their alliance. but just when james was beginning to feel secure, he was startled by an apparition just looming in sight on the highway. it was not a formidable figureâ��that of deacon millerâ��but under the circumstances james turned pale and his heart began to beat. "tom," he gasped; "isn't that deacon miller coming up the road?" "it's the deacon sure enough!" answered tom, looking disconcerted. "do you think he's coming here?" queried james nervously. "looks like it?" muttered tom. "do you think he can haveâ��â��heard anything?" "perhaps he heard that we were out with guns?" suggested tom. "he may have come to make inquiries." "just so, now, tom, be careful not to look as if there was anything the matter. we'll be extra polite to the old fellow." "all right!" "he may not be coming here after all." but he was! arrived at the gate deacon miller paused, and opening it entered the front yard. he looked sharply at the two boys who were standing on the lawn. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter ix. the deacon's mission. ordinarily james would not have considered deacon miller worth any polite attention, but the knowledge of what had happened in the pasture had its effect upon him. he thought it necessary by a little attention to disarm the deacon's suspicions if he had any. "good evening, deacon miller," he said politely. "did you wish to see father?" "wal," said the deacon deliberately. "i have a little business with him. is he at home?" "i am pretty sure he is," answered james. "come in with me, and i'll see." the deacon smiledâ��an inscrutable smileâ��and followed james, who opened the front door and led him into the parlor. "you're very obligin'," he said. "i had no idea you was so polite." "it is the duty of a gentleman to be polite!" said james loftily. "so 'tis, so 'tis!" returned the old man chuckling in an unaccountable manner. "i'm glad you think so. it's a great thing to be a boy, i had lots of fun when i was a boy. so do you, hey?" "oh yes," answered james indifferently. "but not as much as i could have in the city." "but you couldn't go huntin' and fishin' in the city," said the deacon slyly. james' heart gave a bound. what did the disagreeable old man mean? was it possible that he suspected? "i don't care much for either," he said. "but i'll go and call father." presently the squire appeared and invited deacon miller into the back room, which was used as the family dining and sitting-room. "glad to see, you, deacon," said mr. collins, who, having political aspirations, thought it worth while to be polite to his neighbors. "i ain't so sure of that, squire, when you know what i come about," returned the deacon with a crafty smile. "no bad news, i hope, deacon." "wal, it ain't good news. you know my cow, old whitey?" "well?" interrogated the squire, looking puzzled. he had heard nothing as yet of the accident in the pasture. "she was shot in the face this afternoonâ��her eyes totally destroyed. i shall have to kill her." "that's a pity! i sympathize with you, deacon. it must be a great disappointment to you. she was a good milker, wasn't she?" "fust-rate! i never had a cow that could beat her. she was worth fifty dollars easy." "very likely," said the squire, innocently, quite unaware of the trap which the wily deacon was preparing for him. it will be observed that the deacon, finding he had a case against a rich man, had concluded to raise the value of the cow by five dollars. "fifty dollars is a considerable loss." "so 'tis, but i haven't got to lose it. the one that shot old whitey is responsible." "who did shoot her?" asked squire collins. "your boy, james," answered the deacon, slowly. squire collins was very disagreeably surprised. he was not a man who liked to part with money, and he saw how he had been trapped. "did you see james shoot the cow?" he demanded sharply. "nâ��o; i can't say i did," replied the deacon, cautiously. "i don't believe he did it then. did he admit it to you?" "nâ��o. i didn't ask him about it." "then, deacon miller, permit me to say that you have no case against him, and i am not responsible for your unfortunate loss. "somebody else saw it!" remarked the deacon triumphantly. "who was it?" "john downie." "john downie! pooh, he is a mere boy," said the squire, contemptuously. "he's got as many eyes as you or i, squire," said the deacon, shrewdly. this was unquestionably true, and the squire felt that he had made a foolish objection. "john downie may not tell the truth," he said, angrily. "i'm willin' it should come before the court," said the deacon. "wouldn't it be jest as well to ask your boy about it; he's out in the yard." james was still in the yard. he had half a mind to go away, but was anxious about the deacon's errand. when he heard his father's voice calling him he turned pale. "wait for me, tom," he said. "if you're asked, don't say i did it." tom looked disturbed and uneasy, and did not reply. james entered his father's presence with a perturbed spirit. he stole a glance at the deacon, who sat with his wizened face calm and imperturbable. "did you want me, father?" asked james. "james," said his father, abruptly, "deacon miller tells me that some one has shot his cow, old whitey, this afternoon, and injured her so seriously that she will have to be killed." "i am sorry to hear it," said james, nervously. "do you know who did it?" "how should i?" asked james, after a pause. "wer'n't you out in the pastur' this afternoon?" asked the deacon, pointedly. "yes," answered james, "tom wyman and i crossed the pasture." "with guns on your shoulders?" "yeâ��es," admitted james. "did you see anything of old whitey?" continued the deacon, persevering in his pointed interrogations. "there were some cows there i remember; i suppose old whitey was among them." "did your gun go off while you were in the pasture?" "yeâ��es, i believe it did. it went off accidentally." "and hit old whitey?" "i don't know about that. it may not have hit anything." "then you don't know that you hit my cow?" "i wasn't the only boy in the pasture this afternoon," said james, evasively. "i know all about that. tom wyman was with you." "yes, and so was mark manning. he was out gunning most all the afternoon. have you asked him whether he hit the cow?" "yes," answered the deacon; "he says he didn't." "of course he would say so," sneered james, more confidently. "he's just as likely to have done it as i." "that's what i thought myself," returned the deacon; "though mark's a middlin' keerful boy. but i changed my mind." "because he denied it?" asked james, with a return of the sneer. "not exactly. there was a boy saw it done, and he told me who did it." "what boy saw it done?" asked james, all his apprehensions reviving. "john downie." this was startling news to james. "and who does he say did it," he forced himself to ask. "you!" answered deacon miller, laconically. "i don't believe i did it," said james, wavering. "he says after you shot the cow, you and tom wyman ran away as fast as your legs could carry you," added the deacon, chuckling. james turned as red as scarlet, but said nothing. it was clear enough that he was guilty, and knew it. "deacon miller," said squire collins, "i will look into this matter, and if i find james shot your cow, we will make some arrangement about payment. understand clearly, however, that i won't pay any fancy price, such as fifty dollars." "i won't argy the matter now, squire," said the deacon. "good-evenin'." "james," said his father, "i won't scold you for a piece of carelessness, but whatever compensation is paid to the deacon must come from your account in the savings' bank." this was a sad blow to james, he had a hundred and fifty dollars in the bank, and this would make a heavy draft upon it. he went out into the yard without a word. "it's all up, tom," he said. "john downie has been telling tales about me. the first time i see him i'll give him a licking." "and serve him right, too, little tell-tale!" said tom. johnny did not expect what was in store for him, but he was soon to be enlightened. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter x. mark protects a friend. squire collins succeeded in reducing the deacon's claim to thirty-eight dollars, and this sum james was obliged to withdraw from his savings in the bank. he thought it was very hard, as the shooting was merely an accident. he was fond of money, scarcely less so than deacon miller himself, and it went to his heart to find himself so much poorer than before. "it isn't as if i got any fun out of it," he complained to tom. "it's just money thrown away." "it is a heavy sum to pay for a trifling carelessness," admitted tom. "and i shouldn't have had a cent to pay but for john downie. why need the boy turn tell-tale?" "it was mean." "mean? i should say so. i mean to come up with the fellow. i mean to give him the worst licking he ever had." even if tom disapproved of the intention, he at any rate did not express any disapproval, but left it to be understood that he considered it perfectly proper. three days later the opportunity came. tom and james were crossing the pasture, which had been the scene of the tragedy, when john, whistling gayly, met them. "now's my chance," said james, triumphantly. "there's the sneak that told of me. see how i'll serve him." john downie, seeing the boys approaching, nodded his head, saying in a friendly manner, "hello!" "oh, it's you, is it?" said james, in a hostile tone, stopping short. "yes, it's me. who did you think it was?" returned john, laughing. "i've been wanting to meet you, john downie." "what for?" asked john. he could not help seeing now that the speaker spoke like an enemy. "to tell you that you are a sneak and a tell-tale." "what do you mean by that?" demanded john, beginning himself to be angry. "you ought to know without asking. wasn't it you that told about my shooting old whitey?" "well, you did shoot her, didn't you?" "suppose i did. you needn't have blurted it out." "the deacon charged mark manning with it. i wasn't going to see him suffer for it when i saw you do it." "you're a great friend of mark manning, it seems," said james, with a sneer. "yes, i am; but, even if i hadn't been, i would have told. his mother is poor, and couldn't afford to pay for the cow." "she'll be poorer yet before long, i'm thinking," said james. "do you know what i'm going to do to you?" "perhaps you'll tell me," said john downie, calmly. "i'm going to give you a licking." "if i'll let you." james laughed derisively; johnny was two inches shorter than he, and so far as appearances went was not as strong. in a contest between the two, there was little doubt that james would come out the victor. "i don't think you'll have much to say in the matter," said james. "just move out of the way, tom, and give me a chance at him." tom did as requested, and james rushed at john with an impetuosity born of anger. john prepared to defend himself. the boys were soon grappling, trying to trip each other up. neither knew much of the science of fighting, and victory naturally came to the stronger. in about two minutes john was on his back, with james kneeling over him, aiming blows at his face. "i told you i'd give you a licking," said james, closing his teeth, firmly. "oh, let him off, james," said tom. "this ought to satisfy you." "but it doesn't. i'm going to give him a lesson he'll remember all his life." james undertook to belabor his fallen opponent, but he had been so preoccupied that he did not notice a boy running towards the scene of conflict, neither did tom, who had his back turned. luckily for john, mark manning was on his way to call upon the hermit, when he became an indignant witness of james's brutality. he said nothing, but fairly flew across the pasture till he reached the battle-field. the first intimation james had of his presence was a vigorous grasp of his coat collar, and in an instant he was lying on his back close to his late victim, with mark standing over him. "i'm ashamed of you, james collins," he said, sternly. "you're a contemptible coward to attack a smaller boy like johnny." "knock him over, tom," shrieked james, furiously. "i'll give him a licking, too." "it doesn't look much like it," said mark, with his knee on james's breast. "help, tom!" called james, struggling once more. tom felt obliged to take an active part in the fight, though it was by no means to his taste. he seized mark by the shoulders, and tried to drag him away from his prostrate friend, but by this time john downie was on his feet, and ran forward, giving tom a push which sent him headlong on the other side of james. "let me up, you low ruffian!" screamed james. "will you promise to behave yourself, then?" "i will promise nothing." "then you can stay here a little longer. what made you attack johnny?" "it's none of your business. i'll lick him as often as i please." "not while i am around. johnny, what made him attack you?" "he said i was a tell-tale, because i told of his shooting the cow." "and so you are! let me up, mark manning." "will you promise?" "no, i won't." "let him up, mark," said johnny. "he won't dare to attack me while you are here." "no, i think not. get up then, james, and take care how you pitch into johnny again. just as sure as you do, you'll have to settle accounts with me." released from the pressure that held him down, james rose, angry and humiliated. he would sooner have been worsted by any one than mark, whom, for some reason not easy to divine, he especially hated. "you took me at advantage," he said, sullenly, "or you couldn't have thrown me." "do you want to try it again?" asked mark, quietly. "now we stand face to face, and you have as fair a chance as i." "i don't care to demean myself by fighting with such a low working boy as you." "i commend your prudence, james," said mark, undisturbed by this taunt. "as for being a working boy, i am not ashamed of that." "you're only a common pegger." "very true, i hope to rise higher some time." "you won't work much longer in my father's shop. i'll have you discharged." "just as you please. i think i can earn a living in some other way. come, johnny, if james has no further business with you, we may as well go along." james, appearing to have no wish to resume hostilities, mark and johnny walked away. "you won't hear the last of this very soon," said james, as a farewell shot. "do you think he'll get his father to discharge you, mark?" asked johnny. "i think very likely." "i am very sorry you have got into trouble on my account." "don't worry, johnny. i did right, and am ready to take the consequences." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xi. mark is discharged. the next day mark, with some misgivings, repaired to the shoe manufactory as usual. he knew he had done a bold thing in defending johnny against his employer's son, but he never thought of regretting it. "i would do it again," he said to himself. "catch me standing by and seeing johnny whipped by any boy, no matter who he is." mark laid aside his hat and coat, and went to his customary bench. he had been at work fifteen minutes only, when mr. waite, the head of the room, entered, and went up to where he was standing. "mr. collins wants to see you, mark," he said. "do you know what for, mr. waite?" mark asked. "no, mark, but i hope it is to raise your wages," said mr. waite, pleasantly, for he had always liked our hero. "i am afraid it is something quite different," said mark, shaking his head. "no trouble, i hope, mark?" "i can tell you better when i return." mark put on his coat, and went downstairs to the office. squire collins was seated at a desk, with his spectacles astride his nose. he looked up as mark entered. "mr. waite tells me you wish to see me, mr. collins," said mark. "yes," said the squire, frowning. "i presume you can guess what i want to see you about." "perhaps so," answered mark. "i understand that you made a violent attack upon my son james in the pasture, yesterday afternoon." "we did have a little difficulty," mark admitted. "ha! i am glad you confess it. james says you made an unprovoked attack upon him." "that is not quite true, squire collins; i was very much provoked." "did my son attack you first?" demanded the squire, sharply. "no, sir." "so i thought. then you have no excuse by your own confession." "i think i have an excuse." "i fail to understand what it can be. to me it appears like a high-handed outrage of which you were guilty." "i suppose james did not tell you what he was doing when i attacked him?" "no, i cannot remember that he did. what does that signify?" "he had john downie upon the ground, and was beating him brutally." squire collins was somewhat nonplussed at this revelation, as james had said nothing about johnny. "well?" he said. "i ran up, and pulled him off, and prevented him from hurting johnny." squire collins was rather embarrassed. he saw clearly that his son had been in the wrong, yet he was inclined to stand by him. moreover, it chafed him that a poor boy should have presumed to interfere with his son, much more use violence towards him. he drew out his handkerchief and blew his nose, partly to gain time for consideration. at length he spoke. "my son feels very indignant at your presumption in assaulting him," he said, "and i wonder myself that you didn't see the impropriety of attacking the son of your employer." "would you have had me stand by and see johnny beaten?" asked mark, indignantly. "i do not feel disposed to argue with you," said the squire, in a dignified tone. "i feel compelled to take some action in the matter though i regret it. i cannot, of course, retain you in my employ. you are discharged. i have made up your account to date, and here is the sum due you." "very well, sir," answered mark, quietly, though his heart sank within him. squire collins handed him a dollar and thirty-seven cents, and mark, putting them into his pocket, bowed and withdrew. he went back to the room where his hat hung, and taking it down, said to his fellow-workmen: "good-bye, boys, i shan't be with you any longer." "why, mark, what's the matter!" asked his next neighbor. "i'm discharged; that's all." "what for?" "i'll tell you some other timeâ��not now." "mark, i'm really sorry for this," said mr. waite, pressing his hand warmly. "i wish you good luck!" "thank you, mr. waite," answered mark, his lip quivering a little. "i will hope for the best." mark walked home with a slow step. he dreaded to tell his mother of his discharge, for he knew that she would be still more depressed than himself. youth is hopeful, but middle age is less sanguine. "i won't go home at once," thought mark. "i will go to the wood and see the hermit. he may have some errand for me, and besides, he may be able to give me some advice." one object which mark had, however, was to delay breaking the unwelcome news to his mother. he bent his steps towards the pasture, which he must cross in order to penetrate to the wood by the usual path. in a few minutes he entered the cabin, the door of which he found open. the hermit was no longer reclining, but was seated in a rocking-chairâ��the only article of luxury which the poor dwelling contained. "good morning, sir!" said mark. "i hope you are better." "i am much better. but how does it happen that you come here in the morning? i supposed you were at work in the shoe factory." "i have lost my place there; i was discharged this morning." "ha! how is that?" upon this mark told the story of his encounter with the boys in the pasture. "i suppose," he concluded, "that james got me discharged in revenge for my interfering with him." "then you regret what you did?" inquired the hermit. "no, i don't," answered mark, warmly. "i couldn't stand by and see johnny beaten." "you are right, and i respect you for what you did." "it is a grievous thing for me, though," said mark. "it takes away my income, and i don't see how mother and i are going to live." "how much were you paid?" "about three dollars and a half a week. sometimes i made a little more by over-work." "you have no occasion to be disturbed. i was about to propose that you should leave your place." mark looked surprised. "i will take you into my own employ," added anthony. "how long have you been coming to me?" "a week, sir." "you may retain five dollars in compensation from the money you hold of mine, and hereafter, as you will give me your whole time, you shall be paid at the rate of a dollar a dayâ��that is, seven dollars a week." "but, sir, you are overpaying me," protested mark, who thought this compensation magnificent. "be it so. i can afford it. let me know when you need more money." "i have still about fifteen dollars." "after paying yourself for the last week?" "yes, sir. can i do anything for you now?" "yes. i feel like taking a walk. that shows i am better. you may come with me, and if i tire myself, i will lean upon your arm in returning." "with pleasure, sir. i am very glad that you feel better." "after all," mused the old man, "it is pleasant to have human sympathy. i thought i was able to do without it, but i am more dependent than i supposed." they walked for half an hour. when they returned to the cabin, the hermit said: "to-morrow morning i expect a visitor from the city. i wish you to meet him at the train, and conduct him here. he is a small man, with a sharp look, and will probably be dressed in black. in fact, he is my man of business. you need say nothing of this, however, but let people conjecture as they will." "and shall i speak of my arrangement with you, sir?" "you may merely say that i have engaged you to do my errands. i shall not require you again to-day." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xii. good luck after misfortune. mark's spirits were wonderfully improved when he left the hermit's cabin, and took his way homeward. so far from being injuriously affected by his discharge from the shoe-shop, his income was considerably increased. not only this, but he had received five dollars for his past week's services over and above what he had been paid for his work in the shop. "now," thought he. "i can tell mother without minding it." but his mother had already heard of it. a neighbor, mrs. parker, who rather enjoyed telling bad news, had heard of it through her son, who also worked in the work-shop. she at once left her work, and hurried over to mrs. manning's. "good morning, mrs. parker," said the widow, cheerfully. "take a chair, do." "thank you, mrs. manning, i can't stop a minute. i left my kitchen at sixes and sevens, on purpose to condole with you. i declare, it's really too bad." "what is too bad? i don't understand you?" said mrs. manning, perplexed. "about your son mark, i mean." "what has happened to him? is he hurt?" asked the widow, with a pale face. "no, no; hasn't he been home?" "he is at the shoe-shop, of course." "no, he is not. he was discharged by squire collins this morning." "discharged? what for?" "don't you know? some quarrel between mark and james collins, i believe." "i am glad he is not hurt." "but hasn't he been home? i wonder at that." "i have seen nothing of him since he started for the shop." "that's strange." "poor boy! i suppose he doesn't like to tell me he is discharged," sighed the widow. "it will be a serious thing for us, for i don't know where else he will find work." "o, something will turn up," said mrs. parker, who could bear the misfortunes of her neighbors very cheerfully. "but i must run home, or my dinner will be late." the more mrs. manning thought of mark's loss of employment, the more troubled she felt. three dollars and a half a week was not a large sum, but it was more than half their income, and how they were to make it up she could not conjecture. perhaps she could induce mark to apologize to james, in which case the squire might be induced to take him back. while her mind was busy with such thoughts, mark entered the house whistling. his mother was considerably surprised at this evidence of light-heartedness under the circumstances. he entered the room where his mother was at work. "well, mother, is dinner almost ready?" he asked. "it will be ready soon. but oh, mark, what is this i hear about your being discharged from the shoe-shop?" "it is all true, mother, but you needn't worry over it. we shall get along just as well." "i don't see how. there is no other shop in the village." "i have another job already, and a better one." mrs. manning opened her eyes in astonishment. "what can it be?" she asked. "old anthony has hired me to do his errands." "i am afraid, mark, that will amount to very little." "i am to receive five dollars a week." "do you really mean this? i thought he was very poor." "quite the contrary, mother, but we mustn't say that to others. let people think he is poor. here are five dollars which he has paid me for the last week, though i have worked in the shop, and done very little for it. take it, mother, and use as you need it." "will this last, mark?" asked his mother, almost incredulously. "i think it will. the hermit seems to have taken a special fancy to me, and he says he can well afford to pay me this sum. i say, mother, suppose i invite him to take dinner with us next sunday?" "with all my heart, mark. he seems to me like a good providence who has come to our help at this juncture." "do you need anything at the store this afternoon?" "the butter and sugar are out, mark." "give me the five-dollar bill, then, mother, and i will buy some." shortly after dinner mark started for the store. on the way he met several persons who condoled with him on his loss of place. they were surprised to find that mark looked cheerful, and even gay. "yes," he said, "i've retired from the shoe business on a fortune." "you don't seem to mind it!" "no, i can stand it well enough, but i pity squire collins for losing my valuable services." "i thought you'd be down in the mouth. you don't seem to care." "why should i? care killed a cat." arrived at the store, mark stepped up to the counter and called for two pounds of sugar and two pounds of butter. mr. palmer, the grocer, had heard of mark's dismissal, and being a cautious man, inquired: "are you going to pay cash?" "certainly." "i heard you had lost your place at the shop." "yes," answered mark, smiling, "i discharged squire collins." "it'll be rather hard on you, won't it?" "i guess i can pay my bills, mr. palmer. at any rate i can pay for what i am buying now." the grocer put up the packages, and was surprised when mark handed him a five-dollar bill in payment. "seems to me you're flush," he said. "so it seems," answered mark, but he volunteered no information. "i can't make out that boy," said the grocer to his assistant, after mark had gone out. "he looks as if he had got a good place instead of losing it. i wonder if the widder's got any money?" "not much, except what mark brings in." "they'll be asking credit soon, enoch. don't trust them till you've referred to me." "no, sir, i won't." on his way home mark met the cause of his discharge, james collins, accompanied as usual by his friend, tom wyman. "hallo!" said james, eying mark, triumphantly. "hallo!" "why ain't you at the shop?" "probably you know." "yes, i do know. you've been discharged." "i suppose i am indebted to your kindness for that." "yes, you are. perhaps now you will be sorry for your impertinence to me in the pasture." "when i am i'll tell you so. at present i am glad, and would do the same thing again." "how do you expect to live?" "on victuals and drink, thank you." "if you have money to buy them," supplemented james, with a malicious smile. "i've got a little money left," and mark drew out not only his own but the hermit's money. "you see i don't depend on work in the shoe-shop." james was both amazed and annoyed. "where did you get that money?" he asked abruptly. "i am afraid i must leave your curiosity ungratified. i'll tell you, as it may interest you, that i should have resigned my place in the shop at the end of the week, even if you hadn't kindly got me discharged." so saying, mark walked away. "where do you think he got that money, tom?" said james. "blamed if i know!" the next morning mark walked to the depot to meet the morning train. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xiii. the little man in black. when the morning train arrived, mark was on hand. he watched carefully for the man he was sent to meet. as it happened, the business agent was the last man to leave the train. he stepped upon the platform, and began to look about him. mark advanced towards him, and raised his hat, politely. "is this mr. hardy?" he asked. the small man regarded him sharply. "yes," he answered. "have you a message for me?" "yes, sir. i am to conduct you to mr. taylor." "just so. how is his health?" "he has had an attack of rheumatism, but is better." "no wonder he is sick, living in that out-of-the-way place. do you know him well?" "pretty well, sir. i am in his employ." "ha! then he is living a little more as he should do. what is your name?" "mark manning." "m. m. just so. sounds like a fancy name. is it?" "no, sir; it's all the name i have," said mark smiling. "how long have you been in the employ of mr. taylor?" "only a little over a week." "do you know anything about his history?" demanded mr. hardy, with a sharp look of inquiry. "yes, sir. he has told me something of it." "humph! then he must have confidence in you. well, let us be starting. is it far?" "nearly two miles, sir. perhaps you will be tired." "in which case you will perhaps kindly carry me on your shoulders," suggested mr. hardy, quizzically. "i am afraid i shouldn't be able to do that," returned mark, with a smile. "and yet, i don't believe i weigh much more than you. what is your weight?" "one hundred and twenty-three pounds." "and i weigh one hundred and twenty-four. i have ." mark, who was a stout boy, was rather pleased to learn that he weighed within a pound as much as his companion. i suppose most boys are proud of their size. they had commenced their walk and mark found that his new acquaintance was a fast walker. "does mr. taylor ever have any visitors?" asked the lawyer, for such was his profession. "not from the village, sir." "from any other quarter?" asked hardy. "he had a call from his nephew, lately." "lyman taylor?" "yes, sir." "then he has found his uncle's place of concealment. what do you know of the interview?" mark gave an account of lyman's visit, his demand for money, and his threatened violence. "did he suppose his uncle had money?" inquired the lawyer, in an anxious tone. "he did not suppose he had much, but he wanted a part of it, however small." "did he succeed in obtaining anything?" "mr. taylor told me to give him five dollars." "why you?" "i had a sum of money belonging to the hermit, in my possession. i used to buy things for him in the village." "then you think lyman went away with the impression that my friendâ��the hermit, as you call himâ��had very little money?" "yes, sir; i am sure of it." "are you under the same impression?" "no, sir; mr taylor has told me that he is moderately rich." "that shows he has great confidence in you. don't breathe a word of it, my boy, or this rascally nephew will persecute his uncle, and make his life a burden." "he will learn nothing from me," said mark firmly. "you seem a good trustworthy boyâ��i think my friend made a good choice of a confidant." "thank you, sir." at length they reached the cabin in the wood. old anthony was already outside, waiting for their coming. "good morning, my friend," said the lawyer; "the boy tells me you have been sickâ��â��" "yes, i have had a visit from my old enemy, but i am much better." "to be sick in such a place!" said the lawyer with a shudder. "i have not suffered, thanks to markâ��will you come in?" "let us rather bring chairs outside, if you are provided with such luxuries. we shall have several matters to discuss." mr. hardy glanced significantly at mark, who was leaning against a tree, and could of course hear the conversation. "mark," said the hermit, "you may go farther away, but return in an hour. this gentleman and myself may have some things to speak of which are private." "certainly, sir." "well, old friend," hardy began, "haven't you had enough of this strange existence? you are rich, and can afford all the comforts of life, yet you voluntarily surrender them, and bury yourself in this wilderness. do you mean to stay here all your life?" "i did at one time think it probable, now i am beginning to feel a greater interest in life." "the boy tells me your nephew has found you out?" "yes; he came here in quest of money, but he went away convinced that i was nearly as poor as himself. if he knew the truth i should be in constant danger of robbery, or worseâ��â��" "if you die without a will, is he not your heir?" "he would be, but i shall make a will. it is partly to give you instructions on this point that i have sent for you." "you have no one else to leave your money to?" "a part will go to charitable institutions, a partâ��â��" "well?" "to one whom i hold in greater regard than my nephewâ��to the boy, who guided you hither." "indeed! does he know anything of your purpose?" "nothing, and need not." "you have taken a fancy to him?" "yes; he is honest, manly, upright, just such a boy as i should have been glad to have for my son. don't dissuade me, for the thought of doing something for him gives me a new interest in life." "i shall not dissuade you, anthony, for i believe the boy to be all that you say. of course if you had a blood relation who was deserving, i might make an objection. has this boy relations?" "only a mother, who is mainly dependent upon him. by the way, have you invested the sum paid in lately?" "no; but i have an application for it, or i should say, for four-fifths of it. curiously, the applicant lives in this town." "who is it?" "collins, the shoe manufacturer." "i am surprised at this. i thought he was rich." "he has lost money by investments in stocks, and finds himself hard up." "what does he offer?" "seven per cent, secured by a mortgage on his shop." "let him have it." "are you willing that your name should appear in the matter?" "no; i shall transfer the sum to mark, and make you his trustee or guardian." "i understand. is he to know of his good fortune?" "not at present. the boy was discharged only yesterday from the shop of this collins," added anthony, smiling. "a good joke!" said the lawyer. "and now the boy lends him money. that is returning good for evil." "without knowing it." "precisely." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xiv. an important proposal. "there is a further sum of a thousand dollars," suggested the lawyer. "what is your pleasure in regard to that?" "the boy is to have that too. deposit it in some savings' bank in your own name as his trustee." "that makes the boy worth five thousand dollarsâ��a large gift." "exactly, but i know of no better use for it." "he is to remain ignorant of this also?" "for the present, yes." "now for your instructions concerning the will. i will note them down, and prepare the document for your signature." these directions were given, one-half of the hermit's property being left to certain specified charities, the remaining half to mark manning. the lawyer wrote in silence. then, pausing, he said: "will you allow me, in right of our long friendship, to make one suggestion?" "surely, john." "then let me ask if you are sure that there is no one having a rightful claim upon you, and who ought to be considered in this matter?" "do you mean lyman?" "by no means. he has forfeited any claim he may once have possessed." "then what is your meaning?" "are you sure that your daughter left no issue?" anthony's brow contracted, not with anger but with pain. the old wound had not healed. "i never heard of any," he answered, after a pause. "yet there may have been a child." "and if there were?" "it "and if there were?" "it would be your grandchild," said the lawyer, firmly. "and his child," said the hermit, bitterly. "you should not impute that to the child for blame." "what would you have me do, old friend?" "make provision for the child, if there should be one." "what would you suggest?" asked anthony, slowly. "i don't wish to injure the boy; i would only suggest that charity begins at home. divide your estate into thirds; give one-third to mark, one to the child, if there be one, and one to charity." "i have no objection to that. but suppose there be no child living?" "then divide that third between mark and the charitable societies you have enumerated." "wisely counseled, john, but why not give it to you?" "because i am moderately rich already, and need nothing more. then, also, it would work against my interest to find the child. i might turn out to be as wicked and unprincipled as most lawyers are said to be," he concluded, with a smile. "i have no fear of that. so that is your only objectionâ��" "it isn't. give it all to the boy in preference." "no, let it be as you proposed." "one thing more. don't you think it is your duty to ascertain whether you have a grandchild? it may be living in poverty; perhaps in actual want." "you are right; i should have thought of that before. but what steps would you advise me to take?" "send some trusted messenger to the last place where you have information that your daughter lived. have you tidings of her husband?" "he died first. both died of typhoid fever, as i learned." "where did they die?" "at a small place in indianaâ��claremont, i think." "then you should send there, and make inquiries. it would be well to go yourself, if you could bring yourself to do it." "but i couldn't." "then send a trusted messenger." "i have none whom i could trustâ��except that boy." john hardy looked thoughtful. he appeared to be pondering something. finally he said: "then send him. he is a boy, but he is faithful and discreet. moreover, i could advise him." "let it be so!" "can you spare him?" "yes, i am quite recovered, and he may not be gone many weeks. if i need help i can easily receive it." "i would suggest a delay of a week or two, or till the will is drawn up and signed, and some other business attended to." "i shall be guided entirely by your advice." "now shall i leave you some money?" "no, i have enough to last for some time to come." "you don't keep it in this cabin, do you? it would be imprudent. you would be exposed to robbery." "no, i have a place of concealment in the woods. i shall go this afternoon, taking mark with me, to draw from it. it is my bank." "the bank of the woods," suggested hardy, laughing. "yes." presently mark returned, and conducted the lawyer back to the station. without the boy's remarking it, his elderly companion drew him out, weighed him mentally in the balance, and decided that his client was not, after all, rash in confiding in a mere boy. "he's smart and honest!" was his mental verdict. at the station, he handed mark a card containing the address of his office. "unless i am much mistaken," he said, "mr. taylor will have occasion to send you to my office in the city before long." "i shall be very glad to come," answered mark, gladly. "i don't often get a chance to come to new york." the lawyer shook hands with mark, and boarded the train. turning to leave the station, mark encountered the gaze of his two hunting companions, james collins and tom wyman, fixed curiously upon him. "who is that old file?" asked james, with his usual want of ceremony. "a gentleman from new york," answered mark, briefly. "what's his name?" "john hardy." "how did you run across him?" "i didn't; he ran across me." "how did you get acquainted with him?" "he asked me to be his guide. i walked about with him." "o, a tourist! did he give you anything?" "no." "then all your time and trouble was thrown away," sneered james. "i don't know about that. he invited me to call at his office when i came to the city." "that is hardly likely to do you any good. business doesn't call you to the city very often." "that is true," said mark, his temper undisturbed. "a quarter would have helped you more, especially now that you are out of work." "i am glad you sympathize with me, james. perhaps you will ask your father to take me back into the shop?" "not after the mean way in which you treated me. i swore i'd come up with you, and i have." "i hope you'll enjoy your revenge." "i do, you may be sure of that. if you had minded your own business, it would have been better for you." "i am not sure about that. it may surprise you, james, to hear that i wouldn't go back to the shop, if your father were to call and ask me to do so." "that's a likely story!" "likely or not, it's true." "i suppose you have come into a fortune," said james, with a sneer. this was what had actually happened, but mark had no more knowledge of his good fortune than james. later in the day mark presented himself at the cabin in the woods. "i thought you might have an errand for me," he said. "so i have," returned the hermit. "take yonder spade and come with me." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xv. the hermit's bank. mark was considerably surprised by the order he had received. what was he do with a spade? they were in the woods, and there was no arable land near. however, mark was sensible enough to understand that it was his duty to obey, not to question. "all right, sir!" he said, but there was a wonder in his look which old anthony noticed with a smile. however, he did not immediately throw any light on the mystery. they walked possibly a quarter of a mile till they reached a comparatively open space near the center of which stood a tall tree. "we will stop here," said anthony. mark lowered the spade, which he had been carrying on his shoulder, and waited further instructions. old anthony produced a compass to make sure of his bearings, and a tape measure. one end of this he gave to mark, saying: "stand by the tree." mark, wondering as much as ever, took his position beside the tree. "a little more on that side!" was the next direction. when mark was placed to suit him, anthony took the other end of the tape measure, and measured due east sixteen feet. "yes," he said musingly, "this must be the spot." marking the spot with a stone, he said: "bring the spade to me, mark." mark did so. "i suppose you wonder what i am going to do?" said the hermit with a smile. "yes, sir," mark admitted. "this is my bank," explained anthony. mark wondered whether the hermit was in his right mind. he stood by curious and attentive, while anthony began to disturb the soil, throwing up one spadeful of dirt after another. he continued at his task for ten minutes, and then desisted. "i get fatigued easily," he said; "here, mark, take your turn." mark took the spade, and continued the excavation. he was young and strong, and bore the fatigue better than his employer. at length he felt the spade striking something hard. "i have struck something," he said. "very well, now proceed more carefully, so as not to break the vessel. uncover it, and then i will tell you what to doâ��â��" the hole was now about eighteen inches deep. mark cleared away some of the dirt, and disclosed an earthen pot which appeared to be provided with a cover. "what shall i do now?" he asked. "stoop down, and remove the cover, and take out what you find inside." mark got down on his knees, and bending over, accomplished what was asked of him. to his surprise he saw that the bottom of the pot was covered with gold pieces. "take them out, and hand them to me," said old anthony. "all of them, sir?" "yes, i may as well remove them to another place. besides the balance must be small." the hermit counted the gold pieces, as they were placed in his hands. "there are but three hundred and fifty dollars left!" he said. to mark this seemed considerable, though it was evident the pot would have contained, if full, many times as much. "what shall i do with the pot?" asked mark. "you can leave it where it is. anyone is welcome to it, now that it is empty. put the cover on, and some one will one day stumble upon treasure." mark filled up the hole, and disposed leaves over it so as to conceal the work that had been done. "very well done, mark! the last time i did all the work myself, but that was before i had the rheumatism. it has stiffened my joints, and weakened me as i find. now let us go back." mark once more shouldered the spade, and the two walked back side by side. "i may as well explain how i came to deposit my money there," said old anthony. "i was sensible that it would be dangerous to leave a large sum in my cabin, and it was not convenient or agreeable for me to make visits to the city from time to time to draw money from my agent. i was in the habit of going but once in a year or two, and then bringing with me enough to last me for a considerable period. i could, of course, have hidden my money under the flooring of my cabin, but that is the very place where burglars would have searched, had they done me the honor to look upon me as a miser, hiding concealed treasures. it was for this reason that i selected a hiding-place so far away from my dwelling. fearing that i might forget the exact place, i chose a particular tree as a guide, and then measured a distance of sixteen feet due east. of course there would be no danger of my mistaking the place then." "somebody might have seen you digging there, sir." "true; i used to go early in the morning when no one was likely to be in the wood. besides, i carefully looked about me before beginning to dig, to make all secure." "we didn't look about us this afternoon." "no, it was not necessary. there is no money left, and as for the earthen pot, any one is welcome to it, who will take the trouble to dig for it. i fancy it would hardly repay the labor." "there is still considerable gold; are you not afraid of being robbed?" "there is a chance of it. i shall therefore give you half of it to keep for me." "i am glad you have so much confidence in my honesty, mr. taylor. but i hope that no one will suspect that i have so much money, or i might be attacked." "better give the greater part to your mother to lock up in a trunk or bureau drawer." "i think i will, sir. it seems odd to have you choose me as a banker, mr. taylor." "i don't think i shall have any cause to repent it, mark." "nor i, so far as honesty goes, but i might be robbed." "we will take our chance of that." ------mark and his employer supposed themselves alone when they were engaged in disinterring the golden treasure, but they were mistaken. two pairs of very curious eyes watched them from behind a clump of bushes. these eyes belonged to james collins and tom wyman. they were in the wood with their guns, looking for squirrels, when they saw the approach of mark and the hermit. "i wonder what they are going to do," said james. "mark has got a spade." "i don't know. suppose we hide, and then we'll find out." this proposal struck james favorably, and they concealed themselves behind a clump of low trees, as already described. with eager eyes they watched the preliminary measurement, and the subsequent excavation. "the old man's a miser," whispered james. "he's got gold hidden there." "just what i think," responded tom, also in a whisper. "i wonder if there's much." "hush! we'll soon see." they were not near enough to hear what passed between mark and anthony, but they saw the gold coins which the boy passed to his employer. then they saw the dirt replaced, and the spot made to look as before. when mark and anthony had gone, they emerged from their hiding-place, eager and excited. "well," said james, drawing a long breath, "we've found the hermit's secret. he must be a miser. i wonder how much more gold there is in the hole." "thousands of dollars, very likely," said tom, who had a vivid imagination. "you know it doesn't take a very big pile of gold to make a thousand dollars." "mark manning is pretty thick with old anthony. he trusts him more than i would." "mark'll rob him someday. see if he don't." "i shouldn't wonder. i say, tom, don't you tell a living soul of what we've seen this afternoon. if mark steals the money, we can expose him. he little thinks we know his secret." tom agreed to this, and the two boys went home. when they next saw mark, they regarded him with a knowing look that puzzled him. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xvi. lyman taylor gains some information. when lyman taylor left his uncle and returned to the city, he felt that his visit had been a failure. his traveling expenses had amounted to about two dollars, and he only carried back five dollars with him. added to this, his prospects of remunerative employment were by no means brilliant. to work, indeed, he was an enemy, and always had been. "blessed if i know how i'm coming out," he said to himself, ruefully; "if uncle anthony had showed any enterprise, he ought to be well off, and able to lend me a helping hand. instead of which he is settled down in a tumble-down shanty in the woods, and isn't doing any good to anybody." lyman resented it as a wrong done to himself that his uncle was not in a condition to help him. if he were only living in the city now, he might quarter himself upon him. as matters stood, it was out of the question. it made him shudder to think of becoming a joint tenant of the lonely cabin, with nothing to look to but the homely fare, which no doubt contented his uncle. "i shall have to shift for myself," he reflected with a sigh; "i always was unlucky. other fellows are born with a silver spoon in their mouths, and have rich fathers or uncles to provide for them, while i may go to the poorhouse for all the help i am likely to get from uncle anthony." arrived in new york, however, his prospects rose a little. he met an old acquaintance on the bowery, and turned into a billiard saloon, where he succeeded in a series of games in raising his small capital to ten dollars. this gave him a hint of a new way to make a livingâ��a way, as he considered, infinitely preferable to a life of toil. henceforth he frequented billiard saloons, and occasionally varied his pleasant labors by a game of cards. in spite, however, of his praiseworthy efforts to make an honest livelihood, there came a time when he was reduced to his last quarter of a dollar. he was sitting moodily in a cheap downtown hotel, when he was addressed by a bearded man dressed in rough miner's costume, a type of man more frequently met in california or colorado, than in an atlantic city. "have a cigar, stranger?" asked the bearded man socially. "thank you; i don't care if i do," said lyman with alacrity. "i'm a stranger in york," said the other, "only arrived yesterday. you've got a right smart city here; beats 'frisco higher'n a kite!" "do you come from san francisco?" asked lyman with interest. "i'm from californyâ��was up in the mines mostly." "did you have much luck?" "wal, i made two or three piles, an' lost 'em agin. however, i've got a little left. i've always wanted to see york, and thought i might as well come on and see it before i lost the last." "i'm glad to meet you," said lyman, who was speculating as to whether he couldn't make a little something out of his new friend, before his "pile" was wholly reduced in size. "i'm an old californian myself." "you don't say so? when was you there?" lyman mentioned the time, and the country where he had courted fortune. "you don't say, stranger?" returned the miner. "why, i was at that identical place myself. i bought a mineâ��leastways me and my partner didâ��of an old man, named taylor." "anthony taylor?" asked lyman, eagerly. "that was the old fellow's name. did you know him, stranger?" "i should say i did. he is my uncle. did youâ��pay much for the claim?" "we paid five thousand dollars cash down." lyman taylor whistled in amazement. "was it worth it?" he added. "we took out ten thousand dollars, and i heerd that the old man took out as much before selling it to us." "what month did you buy it?" asked lyman, breathless. "let me see, it was in september. you seem to be interested, stranger?" "i should say i was. that claim was half mine, and my uncle never gave me a cent of the purchase money." "where were you all the time?" "i left in disgust, for we'd worked a long time without making it pay." "you left too soon. the old man struck it rich some time early in august, and carried away ten thousand dollars, besides what we gave him. we didn't make so much of a spec, for too much had been taken out already. where is your uncle now?" "living in the country. i went up to see him two or three weeks since." "how's he fixed? did he hang on to his pile?" "he's hanging on to it now," answered lyman, with an oath. "he made out he was poor, and sent me off with a beggarly five-dollar note." "perhaps he's lost his money." "more likely he's keeping it out of the way. he ought to give me half he made out of the claim." "i don't know about that, stranger. you gave up and left, and all he made afterwards, went of right to him." lyman taylor, however, did not regard the matter in that light. discreetly losing sight of the circumstances under which he left his uncle, carrying off all the gold dust he had then accumulated, he persuaded himself that he had suffered a great wrong in not having shared in the subsequent rich development. "just my luck!" he said to himself, moodily. "if i'd only waited a couple of months i'd have left california a rich man. how was i to guess how the claim was going to pan out. i didn't think uncle anthony would have treated me so meanly. i wonder how much he's got left?" this was an interesting subject of consideration, but unfortunately, lyman had no data to go upon; or, rather, what data he had, were not calculated to favor the presumption that his uncle was a rich man. it did not look very likely that a rich man, or even one moderately well-to-do, would voluntarily make his home in a poor cabin, like that which old anthony occupied. lyman began to fear that his uncle had managed to lose by bad investments the money he had obtained from the claims, and was really as poor as appearances would seem to indicate. "are you livin' in this hotel?" asked the miner. "i'm not living anywhere in particular," answered lyman. "fact is, i'm rather down on my luck. there are no 'piles' to be made in new york." "i've been there myself, stranger. here, take this, and pay it back when it's convenient." lyman eagerly accepted the twenty-dollar gold piece offered him by his liberal new acquaintance, and leading the way to the bar, they cemented their new-born friendship by a drink in true california style. he then proposed a game of cards, but the miner declined. "i never cared much for keerds," he said. "excuse me! i don't mind playing a game of pool if you're agreeable." when the two parted, they were sworn friends. lyman, however, found that his miner friend had all his wits about him, and that the twenty dollar loan was all he was likely to extract from him. "i must make another visit to that uncle of mine," said lyman to himself, as he sauntered down the bowery. "he ought to pay me half the money he got for that claim." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xvii. on the trail of gold. keen on the scent of anything likely to turn to his own advantage, lyman taylor arranged the very next day to make a second visit to pocasset, and find out definitely, if possible, whether his uncle had saved any of the large sum which his claim had yielded him. he hardly knew what to think. anthony was not the man to waste money on extravagant living, but then he might have made poor investments, and reduced himself to a pittance. cases of that kind were common enough in california, as lyman knew well enough. he preferred, however, to think that his uncle had turned miser, and was still the possessor of a handsome fortune. in that case, as the only near relative, it ought to come to him some day. "let me see," he mused, "how old is uncle anthony! fifty-nine!" he resumed, after a mental calculation. "that isn't very old, but he looks a good deal older. he is about played outâ��a physical wreck," he reflected, complacently, "and may not live a year. "in that damp cabin it could not be expected. of course it's his own lookout. if he chooses to live there, i don't see that it's any of my business. i ought to come to a friendly understanding with him, and get him to recognize me as his heir. i dare say he's got his money hidden away in some out-of-the-way place. it would be a sorry joke if he should die, and it shouldn't be found." lyman shuddered uneasily, as he thought of this contingency. "he ought to place his money in charge of some competent manager," he resumed. "i'd take care of it myself, and save him all business cares, if he'd let me." lyman did not appreciate the absurdity of this plan. few persons think themselves unfit to be trusted with money. what he thought of his own honesty can only be conjectured. probably he did not regard himself with the eyes of those who knew him. such thoughts were passing through the mind of the hermit's nephew, as he was traveling from new york to pocasset. arrived at the depot, he set out for the village at a brisk pace. presently he espied in advance of him a couple of boys, whose figures looked familiar. it did not take him long to recall the two boys he had met in the pasture on his former visit. of course they were james and tom. "just the ones i want to see," he said to himself. "i may get some news from them." he quickened his pace, and soon overtook them. "good morning, young gentlemen!" he said, urbanely. "i believe we have met before." the boys turned around. they, too, recognized him. "yes, sir," answered james. "you are old anthony's nephew." "the same! i am glad you remember me. have you seen or heard of my uncle lately?" "yes; we saw him yesterday in the wood." "has he recovered from his rheumatic attack?" "i guess so," said tom. "he is looking pretty well now." "i came down to inquire his condition. i am his only relative, and though he is prejudiced against me, i can't help feeling anxious about his health. can you tell me anything about him?" "he has that boy, mark manning, about him all the time." "what can be the boy's object in keeping company with a poor old man, who has no way of rewarding him?" "i am not so sure about that," said james. "about what?" asked lyman, quickly. "about his being poor." "have you any reason to think my uncle has money?" asked lyman, eagerly, fixing a sharp glance of inquiry on the speaker. james looked at tom, as if to consult him about the propriety of telling what he knew. "as i am his nephew and only relation, andâ��heir," continued lyman, "you can freely tell me anything you have found out." "would you?" asked james, turning to his companion. "i don't see why not," returned tom. "then," said james, who rather enjoyed the prospect of telling the story, "i'll tell you what i saw the other dayâ��that is, tom and i." "yes, yes, what did you see?" interrupted lyman, eagerly. "we were out in the woods about a quarter of a mile from the hermit's cabin, when we all at once heard voices. slipping behind a tree we saw old anthony and mark coming along. mark had a spade over his shoulder. we wondered what it all meant, and so kept hidden. well, the two came up to a big tree, and then measured with a tape measure to a place about a rod distant. then old anthony took the spade and began to dig. but i guess he got tired, for pretty soon he gave the spade to mark, and got him to dig." "well?" ejaculated lyman, who was listening with intense interest. "pretty soon he struck something hard. it turned out to be an earthen pot with a cover." "did they take it up?" "no; but mark took off the cover, and then took out, oh, such a lot of gold pieces." "just what i thought!" exclaimed lyman, in excitement. "i was sure my uncle kept his money hidden in the ground somewhere. do you know how much money he took out of the jar?" "there must have been hundreds of dollarsâ��maybe a thousand." "and what then?" "the cover was put on again, and then mark filled up the hole, and covered it with leaves, so that nobody would think the ground had been disturbed, then they went away." "that shows there must be more money there, don't you think so?" "of course, or they wouldn't have taken so much trouble to cover it up again," answered james, readily. "you are right. i see you are sharp. what a fine detective you would make!" james looked pleased at this compliment, and it inclined him in favor of the appreciative stranger. "do you think," asked lyman, after a pause, "you could find the spot again?" "yes, i guess so. why?" "i should like to go there." "but," objected james, cautiously, "what would you do if you found it?" "i would dig down and find the jar." "but you would have no right to do that; the money belongs to old anthony." "who is my uncle. but you are mistaken. i don't want to take it. i want to see if the gold is still there." "why shouldn't it be?" "because," answered lyman, with a lucky thought, "the boy knows where it is. what is to prevent his going there by himself and carrying off all there is. my uncle would have no proof that it was he." "i never thought of that," said james, quickly. "it would be just like mark." "do you think he is honest?" "i wouldn't answer for him. he is a poor boy." "exactly, and the gold would be a great temptation. as the legal heir of uncle anthony, i think i ought to look into the matter. suppose my uncle should die, wouldn't this mark get the money, even if he hasn't done it already, and no one would be the wiser?" "of course!" james readily assented. "what do you want us to do?" "lead me to the place, and let me see for myself if the money is still there." "shall we, tom?" "i think it would be only fair." "then come along. i'll get a spade from the house as we pass." the spade was obtained, and the three set out for the wood. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xviii. lyman's disappointment. james was not without his share of curiosity, and he was strongly desirous of seeing with his own eyes the pot of gold, and so learning how rich the hermit was. prejudiced as he was against mark, he did not really believe the boy would appropriate money that did not belong to him, though it would have been a satisfaction to him to find that his enemy was in a scrape. "that boy, mark, seems to be an artful young rascal," lyman taylor remarked, as they were walking along together. "he is all of that," said james, emphatically. "my uncle is old, and his mind is weak. he is very likely to be influenced by a sharp, unprincipled boy." "it's lucky you came down here to watch him." "that depends on whether i am able to put a spoke in his wheel." "do you know whether your uncle has much money?" "i don't know, positively, but i have heard he was very successful in california." "if he is rich, i shouldn't think he would live in such a tumble-down cabin," said tom. "perhaps he has become a miser. his burying money looks like it." they entered the wood, and as the boys knew their way all over it, they were able to go straight to the tree. "it was from this tree that old anthony measured," said james. "can you tell in what direction?" inquired lyman, anxiously. "this way, i am sure." "do you know how far?" "not exactly, but we can tell by seeing where the ground has been disturbed." lyman taylor took the spade and began to dig vigorously. such hard work was not generally to his taste, but now he was spurred by a powerful motive. he would not have been sorry, now that he had obtained the information he required, if the boys had left him to work alone. but this they had no intention of doing. they were very curious to see the treasure unearthed, and ascertain how much there was. at length, the spade struck the earthen pot. "i've touched it!" exclaimed lyman, triumphantly. he worked with redoubled energy, and soon laid bare the buried vessel. the boys drew near, eagerly, and looked into the hole. lyman threw himself down upon his knees, and removed the cover of the jar. no sooner had he done so, when he uttered a fierce cry of disappointment. "boys," he said, looking up with haggard face, "there's nothing there!" "no gold in the jar?" asked james, with a blank look. "not a particle. are you sure there was any left?" "we couldn't see, but it stands to reason that it would not have been so carefully covered up unless there had been some left." "you are right there. now, what has become of it?" "can mark have taken it?" said james, turning to tom. "i don't know," answered tom, doubtfully. "that's just what happened. i'd like to wring the young rascal's neck," said lyman, fiercely. "what are you going to do about it?" asked james, curiously. "i say, boys, it's pretty hard luck," complained lyman, "to see yourself robbed by an artful young scoundrel. he's just taken in uncle anthony by his artful ways, and is laying a trap for his money." "i see now," said james, quickly. "that's what he meant by not caring about losing his place in my father's shop." "i'll go and warn my uncle against him," said lyman. "boys, will you show me the shortest way to the cabin?" "certainly, with pleasure." pleased with the idea of getting mark into a scrape, james guided the disappointed nephew to the hermit's dwelling. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xix. the hermit receives a call. old anthony was sitting in his doorway, thoughtfully smoking a pipe, when, chancing to lift his eyes, his gaze fell upon the figure of his nephew advancing towards the cabin. it was a surprise, and not a pleasant one. he could not divine lyman's object in making this second visit. "how are you getting along, uncle anthony?" inquired lyman, in a conciliatory tone. "have you come all the way from new york to ask me that question?" said the hermit, dryly. "well, not altogether. still, i wanted to know whether you were better." "i have got over my rheumatic attack," said anthony, shortly. "i'm very glad. at your age it must be uncomfortable to be sickâ��especially in such a place. can't i persuade you to come to new york, and take comfortable lodgings?" "why should you desire it? perhaps you would propose to live with me?" "and if i did, being your only relative, it would be natural enough. with your meansâ��â��" "what do you know of my means?" demanded the hermit, sharply. "i have reason to think you are better off than your position would indicate," announced lyman, watching the effect of the assertion on his uncle. "what reason?" inquired anthony. "well, i know you were very successful in californiaâ��after i left you. you struck it rich, made a great deal of money, and then sold the claim for a good round sum." anthony's countenance did not change, though the communication was by no means a welcome one. "how much of this money do you think i have now?" he asked, at length. "i don't know." "and i don't propose to tell you." "i know you have some of it!" "very possibly. i cannot live for nothing." "and i know where you keep it," added lyman, provoked by his uncle's manner. "indeed!" "but i can't commend your prudence in putting your money where it is so likely to be foundâ��and taken." "be a little more explicit. let me know just what you mean." "burying money in the ground is not very wise." old anthony was taken by surprise, and showed it. "so you know this? where did you obtain the information?" he asked. "from some one who saw you and the boy, mark, digging for it." "well," said the old man, quietly, "i know of no better place. people are honest round here, and it will not be taken." "i agree with you there, uncle anthony. it won't be taken for a very good reason. there is none there. the jar is empty." "how do you know this, lyman?" demanded the hermit, with a searching look. lyman hesitated, but it seemed necessary to tell the truth. "because, when i learned that you had been so imprudent as to let the boy into your secret, i concluded at once that he would take advantage of his knowledge, and rob you. i therefore uncovered the place, and found it as i suspected. the jar is empty." old anthony betrayed no excitement on hearing this. "it is quite true," he said, quietly. "all the gold has been taken." "you knew this?" "certainly. i took the last gold piece myself. having no occasion for the jar, i left it there. you are certainly very kind to take so much interest in the safety of my property, but it is needless. i am still able to take care of what money i have left." lyman's face fell. he began to suspect that this was only too true. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xx. how lyman succeeded. "i am afraid you misjudge me, uncle anthony," said lyman, after a pause, during which he reflected that his best course was, if possible, to make a favorable impression upon the relative who might be in possession of considerable property. "i am afraid that you are prejudiced against me." "you must admit that i have reason," said his uncle, dryly. "it is true," replied lyman, with an engaging frankness; "i did not treat you well in california." "i should say not. you disappeared, carrying away two thousand dollars, leaving me penniless." "of course i was wrong. still you had the claim, out of which you made a good deal more within a short time." "when you left me," said the hermit, quietly, "it looked as if it were worthless. that it proved otherwise, was my good fortune." "i won't argue the matter, uncle anthony. i was young and heedless." "wicked would be a better word." "and i have had bad luck; i am almost penniless now. if you would be willing to help meâ��â��" "to what extent do you want help?" asked anthony, abruptly. "if you could lend me fifty dollars, it would set me on my feet." "and in a week or two you would be coming back for more." "upon my honorâ��â��" "how much honor have you?" asked his uncle, contemptuously. "would you like to go west?" "yes." "then i will give you the means of getting there." lyman was under the impression that his uncle proposed to hand him a sum of money, out of which he decided to buy a western ticket if it suited his convenience; uncle anthony would be none the wiser. "yes, uncle, if you will give me a hundred dollars, i will go to chicago, and seek there a chance to make an honest livelihood." "very well." old anthony took out a memorandum book, tore a leaf from it, and wrote a few lines, which he handed to his nephew. "what is this?" asked lyman, suspiciously. "it is an order on a friend of mine in new york for a chicago railroad ticket." "and the money?" "he will give you an order on a firm in chicago for the balance of the money, which will be paid you there." lyman's countenance fell. it was clear that the trick which he intended to play on his uncle would be impossible. "it seems to me," he said, "it would be better to give me the money at once." "i don't think so." "i hope you have no suspicions of my good faith." "i won't express my opinion on that subject. i will only say that the arrangement i have suggested suits me best." "well," said lyman, slowly, "i will try to win your good opinion. i am afraid i have not money enough to get back to the city." he had over ten dollars in his pocket at that moment, but it struck him that he had a good excuse for securing a little more. the hermit smiled contemptuously. "then suppose i had had no money to give youâ��how would you have got back to the city? perhaps you meant to stay with me?" "i will, uncle anthony, if you desire it." "thank you. i won't trouble you." "i should have had to walk back. but, uncle, i can't leave you without a word of warning." "well?" "that boy, mark, i am sure is scheming to rob you." "what do you know of mark?" "i know the reputation he bears in the town. i know he has been discharged from the shoe-shop." "who told you?" "two boys whom i met. one is the son of mark's employer." "i know the boys you mean. they dislike mark, but i prefer him to them." a noise was heard at the door, and mark entered. he looked in surprise at the visitor, whom he instantly recognized. "you see, mark," said the hermit, "my nephew has kindly called to see me again. he felt anxious about my health." "i feel relieved to find you so much better, uncle," said lyman, by no means abashed at the hermit's ironical words. "it is the more creditable to him, this solicitude, because he had only money enough to pay his fare one way. mark, you may give him five dollars." "very well, sir," mark drew a five-dollar gold piece from his pocket, and handed it to lyman. "does mark carry all your money, uncle?" asked lyman. "not quite all." "i hope he won't take a fancy to travel at your expense." mark's face flushed indignantly, but he left old anthony to answer for him. "i have perfect confidence in mark," he said. "thank you, sir," mark responded, gratefully. "have you anything for me to do this morning?" the boy asked. "no; i will give you a list of articles which you may bring me from the village to-morrow." "then i will return, as i have some work to do at home." "very well." "i will go along with you, mark," said lyman, suddenly. "if you wish," answered mark, but he would rather have gone alone. "good-by, uncle anthony. it may be a good while before i see you again. if you need me at any time, write or telegraph." "i will bear it in mind," said the old man, dryly. mark and the dutiful nephew left the cabin together. "you've got a soft place, youngster," lyman began. "i have an easy place, and a kind employer," said mark. "so you carry the old man's money, hey?" "some of it," answered mark, eying his companion, suspiciously. "don't looked scared, boy. i'm not going to rob you. i only want to ask you a few questions. how much money did you and he take from that buried jar the other day?" "who told you about it?" asked mark, in surprise. "o, i know more about the old man's affairs than you suppose," chuckled lyman. "i can't tell you." "won't, you mean," returned lyman, scowling. "i have no right to do so." "look here, boy, do you know that i am my uncle's heir?" "he never told me so." "then i tell you so." "i hear you, sir." "i'll tell you something else. i believe you are trying to worm yourself into my uncle's confidence, so as to rob himâ��and me." "your thinking so doesn't make it so," said mark, angrily. "i warn you that you had better think twice before you play such a dangerous game. you have a bad reputation in the village." "who told you so?" demanded mark, indignantly. "two of your companions." "james collins and tom wyman probably!" said mark, contemptuously. "i know you were discharged from your place in the shoe-shop." "but for no good reason." "that's what you say. how much money of my uncle's have you in your pocket?" "that i don't choose to tell," said mark, firmly. lyman felt a strong inclination to take the money by force, but prudence restrained him. in that case, the order which he carried would not be honored, and he would probably lose more than he would gain. mark was apprehensive of an attack, and it was with joy that he caught sight a little way in advance of james and tom, whom under other circumstances he would not have cared to meet. "you will now have company," he said, "and i will hurry along." lyman did not oppose his purpose, and joined the two boys. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xix. all aboard for new york. the next day mark found a letter in the post-office directed to anthony taylor. according to custom it appeared in a written list containing the letters of those who had no boxes. mark called for it. "who is anthony taylor?" asked tom wyman, who happened to be attending the office for his father. "old anthony," as the boys call him. "i wonder if there's money in it!" said tom, holding up the letter, and trying to peep inside. "that's none of our business," answered mark. "oh, you're mighty virtuous!" sneered tom. "if there is any money, i'll bet you'll get a share of it." "i get no money except my wages." "how much does he pay you?" "i would rather not tell," returned mark, with a smile. "you might try to get my place away." "as if i would work for an old tramp like the hermit!" exclaimed tom, disdainfully. "i suppose he pays you about a dollar a week." "that's better than doing nothing, isn't it?" "yes, it's better for you. i don't want your place. i shall go to the city when my school days are over." "i wish you good luck, tom, whenever you do," said mark, good-naturedly. "i must hurry along with my letter." "a letter for you, mr. taylor," announced mark, as he entered the cabin. "from john hardy," said the hermit, as he scanned the address. he opened the letter and read as follows: "my dear old friend: your will is drafted and ready for signature. you had better come up to the city, and sign it. i know your reluctance to leave your forest home, but it will occur to you at once that your signature must be witnessed, and though witnesses might be found in pocasset, it would involve a degree of publicity which i presume you would wish to avoid. here i can easily get it witnessed by my clerks. "i suggest that you bring the boy, mark, with you, as he may be of service to you. moreover, i think it is high time that we spoke to him of the mission on which you propose to send him. "your worthy nephew, lyman, called upon me to-day with your letter. he wished me to furnish him with the money needed for his ticket, but i thought it better to send a clerk to purchase the ticket, and see him fairly off. he has just returned, and reports that lyman is on the way to chicago. i think you showed considerable shrewdness in securing his removal from this neighborhood. he may return, to be sure, but the chances are that he will spend all the money, and find himself stranded in chicago. if this compels him to work for a living, no harm will result. "your friend as ever. "john hardy." old anthony laid down the letter thoughtfully. he was reluctant to go to new york, but saw that it was necessary. his reluctance was diminished by the prospect of having mark's company. "mark," he said, "can you go to new york with me to-morrow?" mark stared at his employer in amazement. the proposal was very unexpected. "i am obliged to go up on business," explained the hermit. "i wish i could delegate it to you, but i must attend to it myself. it is so long since i have been in a crowd, that i believe i shall need some one to take care of me." "i shall be very happy to accompany you, sir," said mark, with alacrity. "at what time does the morning train leave the station?" "nine o'clock, sir." "then meet me there at fifteen minutes before the hour." "all right, sir." "when shall we return?" asked mark, after a pause. "when does the afternoon train leave the city?" "at three o'clock." "we will return then." "i only wanted to tell my mother when to expect me." it must be admitted that old anthony looked like an antediluvian figure in his old-fashioned coat, with a short waist and long tails, as he stood on the platform the next morning waiting for the train. two or three of the village boys laughed rudely, but the hermit was buried in thought, and took no notice of them. mark, himself, thought his employer looked queer, but he saw nothing to laugh at. "are you going to town with old anthony?" asked one of the boys. "yes," answered mark. "people will take him for your grandfather." "i don't mind." "he looks like a rusty old tramp. his coat looks as if it was made in the year one." "he has a right to consult his own taste. he has been kind to me, and i don't care to listen to any rude remarks." "you may buy two tickets, mark," said the hermit. mark did so. just as he was leaving the ticket-window, his former employer, mr. collins, the shoe manufacturer, took his place. "are you going to the city?" he asked. "yes, sir." "who goes with you?" "mr. taylor." "mr. taylor?" "theâ��the hermit." "oh!" returned the manufacturer, arching his brows, "are you working for him?" "yes, sir." "you might have been working for me, if you had behaved yourself." "i am satisfied with the change," answered mark. "that boy is impertinent," soliloquized the village magnate. "he can't get much pay from a pauper. however, it serves him right. of course, it is only pride that makes him profess to be satisfied." mark would have been surprised, had he known that mr. collins was going up to the city to call upon the person with whom the hermit had business. such was the fact, however. mr. collins had applied to mr. hardy for a sum of four thousand dollars, mortgaging therefor, his large shoe manufactory, which had originally cost double this sum. as mr. hardy told old anthony, he had ventured into wall street, and the losses he had incurred there, had forced him to raise money in this way. to-day had been fixed by mr. hardy for the execution of the papers, and the transfer of the sum required. twelve o'clock was the hour appointed by mr. hardy, for his business with the manufacturer. "what on earth can carry that old scarecrow up to new york?" thought mr. collins, as he eyed curiously old anthony, who, with mark, was seated a few steps in front of him, in the same car. "i suppose he has a pension from some source, and is going to collect it." it may be remarked that james collins had never communicated to his father the discovery made in the forest, connected with the pot of gold. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxii. in an office on broadway. mr. hardy's office was in a large, high building, on broadway. it was the fifth floor, but there was an elevator constantly running, which made it nearly as easy of access as if it had been on the first. mark had never before ridden in an elevator, and he enjoyed the novelty of it. from a directory, near the entrance, they ascertained that mr. hardy occupied office no. 55, and this was easily found. "welcome to new york," said the agent, advancing cordially, to greet his visitors. "good morning, mark. so you have piloted my old friend safely." "i think he has piloted me, sir. i know very little of the city." "i have not been here for five years," said anthony, reflectively. "i am unused to the noise, and it confuses me." "i like it," said mark. "you are young, and enjoy new and busy scenes," said mr. hardy. "would you like to travel?" "very much, sir." "perhaps you may some time." "i am afraid it will be a long time before i am able." "possibly not." mark, however, did not detect any special significance in these words. "you may sit down here, and read a morning paper, mark," said the agent, "while i transact a little business with mr. taylor." the two entered an inner office, where mr. hardy produced an official-looking document, to which he called the attention of the hermit. "read it over," he said, "and see if it meets your views." "precisely," answered anthony, after he had taken the time necessary to read it. "then it may as well be signed at once." mr. hardy summoned three clerks from the outer office, and in their presence as witnesses the will was signed. "i suppose i may as well leave the document with you, john," said anthony. "it will be as well. now, about the other matter. it seems to me you may as well send mark at once in search of some clue to the possible existence of a grandchild. before doing so, however, may i suggest something?" "certainly." "i don't like the idea of your living in that lonely cabin. why can't you seek a home in the house of your young secretary? has he a good mother?" "she is a very worthy woman." "has she a room for you?" "i think so." "what do you think of my proposal?" "i have been thinking of such a change myself. for the first time in five years i am beginning to find my cabin home monotonous." "i am glad to hear it. you will be much better off in a home where you can be taken care of." "i will attend to the matter without delay on my return." "so far, so good. now, let me call in mark, and speak to him of our plan." mark, at the summons, entered the back office. "mark," said mr. hardy, "we want you to take a journey." "i shall be very glad to do so, sir." "it will be a long one." "the longer the better," answered mark, his eyes sparkling. "your first stopping place will be chicago." the boy's eyes sparkled with excitement. "i should like nothing better," he said. "the commission will be to trace out mr. taylor's daughter, and find out whether she left a child. necessary instructions will be given in writing." "do you think i am old enough?" asked mark, excited but doubtful whether he was competent for the duty assigned him. "discretion is more needful than age," answered mr. hardy. "perhaps an older messenger would be better, but as my friend wishes to avoid publicity, he is disposed to try you. would your mother be willing to have you go?" "i think so, sir, but i hate to leave her alone." "mr. taylor proposes to board with her while you are absent, if you think she would be willing to receive him." "i know she would be glad to secure such a boarder," answered mark, quickly; "with that help she would be able to get along very well." "then that matter is probably settled. now a few words to guide you in your quest." these words need not be repeated here, as in following mark's journey it will be understood what they were. their business concluded, mark and the hermit left the office and descended to the ground floor. they were just leaving the building when squire collins entered. he arched his brows in surprise. "you here?" he said, addressing mark. "yes, sir." "on what errand?" mark was privately of opinion that he had as much right to ask the manufacturer's business as the latter his, but he answered: "mr. taylor had business here." squire collins smiled contemptuously. it did not strike him that the hermit's business was likely to be of any great moment. so people often deceive themselves and assume a superiority to which they have little claim. "probably old anthony has just been paid his pension," he thought, as he left them, and made his way to the elevator. he, too, ascended to the fifth floor, and leaving it there went to john hardy's office. "good morning, mr. collins," said hardy. he knew nothing of the manufacturer's home title. "i shall be at leisure in five minutes." the five minutes passed. "now i am at your service," he said. "have you decided to let me have the money, mr. hardy?" asked the manufacturer, trying to conceal his anxiety. "taking as security a mortgage on your manufactory?" "yes, sir." "i think i can let you have it." squire collins looked much relieved. "you will find the security ample," he said. "the building is worth double the sum i am borrowing." "is it well insured?" "yes, sir." "the policies of insurance must be placed in my hands." "of course." "i have to take all precautions, as the money is not mine, but belongs to a boy for whom i am trustee." "i see." squire collins had no curiosity as to the name of the boy referred to. he would have been very much amazed had he been told that it was the very boy whom he had discharged from his employment only a short time previous. for that matter, mark would have been quite as much surprised. in the course of half an hour the proper papers had been made out, a check for four thousand dollars handed to squire collins, and the shoe manufacturer left the office in as good spirits as mark had done half an hour before. "by-the-way," remarked the squire at his supper table that evening, "i met two persons from pocasset in the city to-day." "who were they?" asked james. "old anthony and mark manning." "what could have taken them to the city?" "i presume anthony receives a small pension from some source, and went up to collect it." "i think it very likely," said james, thinking of what he had seen in the forest. "i presume it isn't much." "probably not." "i shouldn't think he'd have gone to the expense of taking mark." "the old man looked dazed. i presume he doesn't feel safe in going alone." "very likely mark asked to go. he's fastened himself on the old man, and means to get all he can out of him." it is wonderful how prejudice colors our opinion of others. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxiii. mark's mission. three days later, two things puzzled the good people of pocasset. one was the removal of old anthony from his lonely cabin to the small but comfortable cottage of mrs. manning. it was voted by the village people a very sensible move, but they were at a loss to understand how the recluse had been persuaded to change his mode of life. it was generally supposed that he was quite poor, but the two or three dollars a week he would be able to pay the widow would be a help. a room on the second floor was appropriated to old anthony, where he spent much of his time. every day, however, he wandered off to the woods, which had been his residence for several years. though he said little, he was soon convinced that he had bettered himself by his removal. mrs. manning provided plain, well-cooked meals, which were far more attractive than the extemporized lunches with which he had thus far been content. there was another circumstance, however, that equally puzzled the good people of the village. this was the disappearance of mark. he was no longer seen walking about the streets, and many were the inquiries made of his mother as to where he had gone. at the request of old anthony she answered very indefinitely. she could not tell just where mark was, but he was employed. he would probably be home in a few weeks. among those whose curiosity was most keen were james collins and tom wyman. "where do you think mark has gone?" said james one day, throwing away a half-smoked cigarette. "i don't know any more than the man in the moon," answered tom. "i asked his mother the other day when i met her in the street, but i couldn't get any satisfaction out of her." "perhaps he has gone to the city in search of a place." "i shouldn't wonder." "he can't get anything to do here. father won't take him back into the shop." "he was at work for old anthony." "that couldn't amount to much. the hermit is as poor as job's turkey." "do you know this? how about the gold we saw?" "it was all he had," said james, who was in the habit of jumping at conclusions. "my father says he gets a small pension from some person in the city. some rich relative, i suppose, is taking care of him. do you know, tom, i should be glad to come across mark blacking boots, or selling papers in the city?" "why?" "he is so mighty independentâ��poor and proudâ��that i believe he actually thinks himself as good as you or i." "he is pretty pert, that's a fact." "if he were only humble, and showed that he knew his place, i'd get father to take him back into the shop. it's his own fault that he got discharged." "it's a good thing for his mother having a boarder, as mark isn't able to help her." "pooh! what does that amount to? he probably pays two or three dollars a week. however, i suppose that's a good deal to her." mark would have been amused, but not surprised, if he could have heard this conversation between his two old companions. at present, however, he had other things to occupy his attention. he had already reached chicago and was staying there a day or two before going farther. his ultimate destination was claremont, in indiana, the place where the daughter of the hermit was understood to have died. it was about seventy-five miles from chicago, and could be reached in three hours. mark felt that he could do no better in his brief stay in chicago than walk about, and make himself familiar with the principal streets and avenues, and gain some knowledge of the western metropolis. he kept his eyes wide open, and noticed all that came in his way. everywhere throngs of busy wayfarers, and not one of whom he had ever seen before. it seemed strange to him, for in pocasset he knew everybody. "the world is larger than i thought," he reflected, "and there are more people in it. i wish i could see one familiar face." he had hardly formulated the wish when his glance rested on a form that seemed strangely familiar. it was a man, tall, slender, with a slouching gait. "that must be lyman taylor," he decided, with a natural start of astonishment. it was indeed the man whom he had last seen in the woods at pocasset. he had not thought to meet him, though he remembered now to have heard that lyman had been sent to the west by his uncle. on the whole, mark was not as much pleased as he expected to see this familiar face. he did not care to be recognized, as lyman might have his curiosity excited, and make him trouble. suddenly lyman turned, and his glance fell upon mark. the boy lowered his head, and walked on without notice. lyman did not recognize him, though he was vaguely conscious of something familiar in mark's appearance. but before he left new york, mark had been provided with a new check traveling suit, and a hat of a different style from the one he was accustomed to wear. moreover, lyman had no thought of meeting the country boy in a western city. so he turned his glance in a different direction, and descended the steps that led to a basement pool and billiard room. "i would follow him down there, if i dared risk discovery," thought mark. "however, it is none of my business what he does, as long as he doesn't annoy his uncle." lyman taylor would have been glad to see mark, or any one else representing his uncle. the sum he had brought away with him had nearly all melted away, and his prospects were by no means brilliant. the thought of engaging in any employment by which he might earn an honest and independent livelihood was by no means attractive to him. in the afternoon of the second day mark started by train for claremont, and arrived at the claremont hotel in time for supper. he found claremont to be a fair sized town, containing perhaps four thousand inhabitants. it seemed to be growing rapidly, like most western towns favorably situated. after a comfortable supper he bethought himself of whom he could make inquiries as to the object of his journey. as he sat in the office, a tall man, with long hair, and a look of speculation in his eyes accosted him. "have you just arrived in town, young man?" "yes, sir," answered mark. "are you calculatin' to settle here?" "no, sir; i am only here on a little business." "drummer, i reckon!" "no, sir; i do not represent any business house." "you do look rather young for a drummer, but you said you were travelin' on business." "my business is of a different nature, sir." "just so! if i can help you, i will. i am colonel enoch tarbox, well-known hereabouts." "thank you for your offer. if you will allow me, i will ask you one or two questions." "go ahead, young man; i'm ready to give you any information in my power." "i am in search of a family named ransom, who lived here some years ago." "john ransom?" "yes, sir." "you won't find him; he's dead." "so i have heard. did you know him or his wife?" "i've drank with john ransom many a time at this very bar. he was rather fond of a social glass." "did you know his wife?" "i've seen her often. she's dead too. they both died of a fever." "i suppose they had no children," said mark, putting the question anxiously. "let me see," said the colonel slowly, evidently searching his memory; "yes, i believe there was a child, a little boy." "is he alive?" asked mark eagerly. "there you've got me, stranger. children ain't much in my line. i never heerd of ransom's child dying. i reckon it left town though." "where could i get any information about it, do you think?" colonel tarbox reflected. "i reckon you'd better go to mrs. finn; she was intimate with mrs. ransom. she lives in the little white cottage alongside of the presbyterian church." "thank you, colonel tarbox; i am much indebted to you for what you have told me." "don't mention it. won't you take a drink?" this kind offer mark declined rather to the colonel's dissatisfaction. he decided to call upon mrs. finn the next day. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxiv. what mark discovered. as the clock on the presbyterian church struck nine, mark stood knocking at the door of the little cottage hard by. the door was opened by a comely woman of middle age, who, not recognizing mark, looked at him inquiringly. "what can i do for you?" she asked. "my name is mark manning," said mark, introducing himself. "i have been directed to you as likely to give me some information about mrs. ransom, whoâ��" "yes, yes," interrupted mrs. finn, not waiting for mark to finish his sentence. "poor dear! i know all about her. come in, do!" she led the way into the neat sitting-room, where she invited mark to be seated. then she changed parts with mark and began to ask questions. "are you related to mrs. ransom?" she asked. "no," answered mark, "but i come from one who is." "alas, it is too late! the poor woman is dead." "i know that, but did she leave a child?" "yes, a little boy. she sat great store by little jack." "and what has become of him?" asked mark, eagerly. "that is more than i can tell. a tall gentlemanâ��i don't rightly know his nameâ��appeared at the funeral, said he was a relation, and took off little jack to st. louis, i think." "a tall gentlemanâ��a relation!" repeated mark, surprised. "what was his appearance?" mark was destined to be surprised, for mrs. finn's description tallied exactly with the appearance of lyman taylor. this was a surprising discovery. mark was sharp enough to guess that lyman's object was to remove from his path any rival claimant to his uncle's property, supposing him to possess any. "i think i know who you mean," he said, after a pause. "was it really a relation of mrs. ransom?" "if it was the one i suppose, it was her cousin." "i am glad to hear it. then poor jack was taken care of." "i am not sure about that," said mark, gravely. "though a relative, he is a selfish, bad man, and i am afraid he meant the poor boy no good." "good gracious!" exclaimed mrs. finn, startled, "you don't think he would murder the innocent child?" "no, i don't think that, but i think he wanted to put him where his grandfather would never find him." "is it his grandfather you come from, then?" "yes; he does not even know of his grandchild's existence, but if i find him, the boy will never need any other protector. can you tell me anything of mrs. ransomâ��of her husband?" "poor mrs. ransom was a sweet woman, who deserved a better fate. as for her husband, he was a drunkard, and a loafer. those are hard words, but he deserved them both. they hadn't much money, but what there was he spent for liquor at the hotel yonder. more than once his poor wife and little child wouldn't have had any breakfast if i hadn't taken some over." and warm-hearted mrs. finn wiped away a tear. "did her husband treat her very badly? did he beat her?" "i am afraid he did when he was very far gone, but, poor thing! she never complained. she always looked sad, though, and she didn't enjoy her life very much." "did she ever speak of her father?" "once only. she told me she had ill-treated, him, and been a disobedient daughter. i think it was in marrying ransom." "did she ever write to him?" "she told me she did once, but never received an answer. 'he won't forgive me,' she said, with a sigh, and never wrote again." "i am sure he did not receive the letter, mrs. finn. if he had, he would have noticed it." "i hope so; at any rate she was sadder than ever when no letter came to her in return. finally, her husband took sick with a fever. bad as he had been to her, she nursed him like a devoted wife as she was. but she couldn't save him. hardly was he dead, when she, too, caught sick, and in the end she died. while she was sick i took little jack home, for fear he would catch the fever too. i was thinking of adopting him after his mother's death, when the man i spoke of called and took away the boy, saying he would provide for him." "and that wasâ��how many years ago?" "nearly six, i think." "and i suppose you have neither seen nor heard of him since?" mrs. finn shook her head. "where does little jack's grandfather live?" she asked. "near new york." "is he a rich man?" "moderately rich. he is well able to take care of his grandson, if he could find him." "i wish i could tell you more, i am sure," said mrs. finn heartily. "if the poor boy yet lives, heaven knows what his condition may be. if you could find the man that took him awayâ��â��" "i can," answered mark. "then why don't you go to him, and ask him where to find the child?" "because it is against his interests to have him found. he and the little boy are the only heirs to the grandfather's property. his uncle has good reason to dislike him, and if the boy is found, lyman taylor will get nothing, i feel sure." "well, well! what wickedness there is in the world!" ejaculated mrs. finn. "what will you do?" "i don't know. i shall have to consider." "did the grandfather send you out here?" "yes." "excuse my remarking that you are very young to undertake such a responsible task." "i think so myself, mrs. finn," mark answered, modestly. "but it so happened that he hadn't much choice. i shall do my best, and if i can't find him, i shall go home and report, and advise mr. taylor to send an older and more competent person." "you won't be offended by what i said?" "certainly not. any one would think as you do. is there any other information you can give me, mrs. finn?" mrs. finn shook her head. "i am afraid not," she said. "you are sure the boy was carried to st. louis?" "quite certain." "i might go to st. louis, but without any clue i am afraid i should stand little chance of succeeding." "you might advertise." "that is true," said mark. "indeed, it appears to be the only thing i can do. how old would the boy be now?" "about eight years old, i think." "thank you." mark took out a small memorandum book, and noted down the small amount of information he had obtained. it did not appear to be much, and yet it was of great importance. he had ascertained that mrs. ransom had left a child, and moreover that lyman taylor had been aware of the fact, and had conspired to keep its existence from old anthony. "does he know where it is now?" mark asked himself. mark was inclined to think not. shortly after the boy was carried away, lyman had gone east, got into trouble, and served a term of some years in a prison. during those years, probably the boy had drifted out of his knowledge. doubtless he could furnish a clue, but for obvious reasons, it would not do to apply to him. "i am very much obliged to you for your information," said mark, as he rose to go. "you are heartily welcome, sir. would you mind writing me, if you find out anything about poor jack?" "i will certainly do so, mrs. finn. i shall lose no time in going to st. louis." "heaven speed you, and bring you success," said mrs. finn, fervently. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxv. the little match boy. "matches! matches! here's your nice matches!" was heard in a shrill treble, proceeding from a little boy on clark street, in chicago. he looked thin and pale, and it was easy to see the poor little fellow was poorly fed, as well as ill-clad. "only five cents a package!" the little fellow continued to cry; and he looked wistfully in the faces of those who passed him, hoping for a possible purchaser. "clear out of my way there, you brat!" said a rough voice. "do you want to take up the whole sidewalk?" the boy shrank timidly, as the man who had addressed him swaggered by. he would not have dared to resent the rudeness, but another did. it was a stout, and healthy-looking woman, with a large basket on her arm, whose heart warmed towards the poor little match boy, sent out so early to earn his livelihood. "you ought to be ashamed to speak to the poor boy that way!" she said, warmly. "mind your business, woman!" retorted lyman taylor, for it was he whose rough speech had been quoted. "i always do," said the woman. "it's my business to speak my mind to such brutes as you!" lyman vented his wrath in a volley of oaths, for his language was by no means choice, when his anger was excited. he might have been more prudent, if he had known that a policeman was just behind. "stop that, my man, unless you want me to take you in!" said the burly officer. lyman taylor turned sharply round, but quailed when he saw the officer. "this woman has insulted me," he said, sullenly. "i just spoke to him for abusin' that poor match boy," said the good woman. "i heard it all," said the officer. "move on, my man, and behave yourself, if you don't want to get into trouble." such a scene was sure to attract a small crowd. one kind-hearted man drew out a dime from his pocket and handed it to the match boy. "here, my lad," he said; "take this, and i hope it'll do you good." "here are two boxes of matches for you, sir." "no, keep them. i give you the money." "here's another dime," said a young man, of literary aspect. he was a reporter on one of the chicago daily papers, who, in spite of the cases of poverty and privation that came under his notice every day, still preserved a warm and sympathetic heart. then a lady followed his example, and in the end, the match boy had received a sum much larger than the value of his small stock-in-trade. lyman taylor's rudeness had proved to him a piece of good luck, in opening the hearts of those who would otherwise have passed him by without notice. smiling with pleasure at the child's good fortune, the good woman who had resented lyman's rudeness so warmly, went on her way. if all had hearts as warm, there would be little misery or suffering in the world. it is often those who have little, that are most ready to help others poorer than themselves. i must not omit to add, that among the contributors to the little match boy's fund was the policeman, who placed a nickel in his hands, with the admonition to "brace up and be a good boy!" this was true charity, for out of his salary the officer had to support a large family of his own, and therefore had very few nickels to spare. he was bluff of aspect, but kind of heart. "it's a shame to send out such a child on the streets," he said to himself. "think of my rob having to lead such a life!" the policeman looked sober, for, should anything happen to him, as in his exposed life might very well happen, he knew not what would be the fate of his little ones. they might be as badly off as the poor match boy. the little match boy's thin face showed signs of satisfaction as he looked at the collection of small coins which had been given him by the pitying crowd. he turned into an alleyway and counted it. it amounted to seventy-six cents. this was a phenomenal sum for the small merchant. and the best of it was, he had his stock of merchandise left. a thought entered the little boy's mind, prompted by his craving for food. "would it be wrong for me to take a little of this money and buy me some dinner?" he said to himself. "i am _so_ hungry. aunt peggy only gave me a slice of bread for breakfast, and it's most two o'clock now." only a slice of bread, and he had been walking about for hours, trying to sell matches. the fruit of all his labor was the sale of two boxes at five cents each. but he had seventy-six cents besides, and they were his. they had not been given to aunt peggy, but to him. so, at least, he reasoned. not that he meant to keep it all himself. he intended to give the greater part to the woman who was the only guardian he knew, but he thought he had a right to use fifteen cents for himself. it wasn't much, but he knew a placeâ��a cheap placeâ��where for this sum he could get a cup of coffee and a plate of beefsteak. at the thought of this delicious repast the match boy's mouth watered. when had he eaten meat? three days ago peggy had given him a bone to pick. there was not much on it, but when he had got through with it there was none at all. johnny could not resist the temptation. he suspended sales, and made his way to a cheap restaurant on a side street. with eager steps he entered, and sat down at a wooden table from which nearly all the paint had been worn off, and scanned the bill of fare. it seemed to him that there was nothing better than the dish he had already mentally selected. a greasy looking waiter approached, and said sharply, "what'll you have, kid?" "cup o' coffee an' plate of beefsteak!" answered johnny. "sure yer got money enough to pay for it?" "i wouldn't have asked for it if i hadn't," said johnny, emboldened by his unusual wealth. "all right, then! sometimes chaps come in and order their dinner, and skip off before it comes time to pay." the greasy looking waiter went to the back of the room, and soon returned with the banquet johnny ordered. he set it down with a jerk. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxvi. luck favors lyman. no patron of delmonico's probably ever contemplated his sumptuous meal with more satisfaction than shone in the little match boy's eyes, as he gazed with watering mouth at the overdone, tough-looking steak, the mashed potato, the three slices of stale bread and dab of butter, which furnished the solid material of his meal. a cup of muddy coffee completed the bill of fare. after all, appetite is the best sauce, and johnny had appetite enough to make his meal seem palatable. johnny did not stand upon ceremony, but "pitched in." it is not an elegant expression, but it describes accurately the energy with which the boy disposed of his dinner. ten minutes sufficed for its entire disappearance. there was not even a crumb left. "that was bully!" said johnny to himself, with a sigh of supreme satisfaction "i wish i could have such a lay out every day." but he evidently thought this was unattainable happiness. he did not even think of reserving from his little fund, enough to provide a similar feast on the following dayâ��partly because he was an honest little fellow, and partly because he stood in fear of the burly woman whom he called aunt peggy. "i wouldn't have aunt peggy know i've been here for something," he thought. there seemed little chance of it, but, as ill luck would have it, as he was emerging from the restaurant, a boy he knew passed with a blacking-box on his shoulder. "what have you been doin' in there?" asked tim roach. "been havin' yer dinner?" "i just got a little to eat," answered johnny, ill at ease. "got any more money?" "a little." "then just treat a feller, won't yer? i'll do as much for you to-morrer." "i can't, tim, the money isn't mine." "you won't, you mean." "i would if the money belonged to me." "does peggy know yer went in there?" asked tim, slyly. "don't tell her, tim! i was _so_ hungry." "then treat!" "i can't, tim!" "all right!" replied tim, nodding. "i'll let peggy know how you spend her money." poor johnny! these last words alarmed him terribly. lyman taylor's stock of money was getting low. he was not a good financial manager. but even if he had been, he would not have been able long to live without work. when his stock of ready money was reduced to five dollars, he began to consider anxiously where he could obtain a further supply. it is not strange that his thoughts should have reverted to his uncle. "i wonder if uncle anthony is well fixed or not. he got considerable money in california, but may have lost it. the old man is close-mouthed, and i can't worm the secret out of him. if i had any hold on himâ��â��" continued lyman, thoughtfully. he sauntered along till he came to a pool-room, connected with a cheap hotel, of the kind he was in the habit of frequenting. no one chanced to be playing, and by way of filling up the time he took up a st. louis paper, and ran his eye listlessly over it. but at one place in the advertising columns, his listlessness suddenly vanished, and his face assumed a look of eager interest. this was the advertisement that attracted his attention: "information wanted.â��any one who can give information concerning a child named jack ransom, who was brought to st. louis a little more than five years since, is desired to communicate with mark manning, at the planters' hotel. the boy, if living, is now seven or eight years of age." "well, i'll beâ��â��hanged!" ejaculated lyman taylor. "how, in the name of all that's mysterious, has my uncle got hold of a clue to little jack's existence? "so he's sent that country cubâ��mark manningâ��out to investigate. he must be crazy to trust a green boy, who has always lived in the country. "but what beats me, is how he learned so much. i did take the boy to st. louis, and placed him with an old woman, who very likely has starved or beaten him to death by this time. but suppose she hasn't," continued lyman, after a pause. "suppose the child is still living. if i could only find out, then i would have the hold on my uncle that i require. i would kidnap the boy, and not part with him under a good round sum." lyman's face brightened, but only for an instant. it was a capital scheme, but how was he to get hold of the boy? how did he know if he were living? he would have been amazed if he had known that he had seen the boy that very day, selling matches in the streets. there was one thing, however, that seemed clear to lyman. his uncle must still have a comfortable property, or he would not be able to send a messenger to st. louis in search of his lost grandson. "the old man may have twenty thousand dollars, for aught i know," reflected lyman; "and doesn't spend the income of half that as he lives now. no doubt that country boy has an inkling of it, and is planning to get hold of it. that boy is foxy, and knows what he is about, i'll be bound." this estimate did not exactly agree with the one lyman had recently expressed of mark, but he did not think it necessary to be consistent. "twenty thousand dollars!" he repeated, and his nephew almost starving here in chicago. oh, it was a cunning scheme to buy me off for a paltry sum, and give a free field to that boy. that's a pretty way for a man to treat his only living relation. "but who could have put it into his head that his grandson was alive? i presume the little beggar has kicked the bucket before this. if i only could get hold of him, i would make the old man pay handsomely for his return." the chances, however, did not seem very flattering, and lyman had no money to expend in searching for the boy, apart from the doubt whether he was still living. gradually a new idea came to him. he might pick up some boy who would answer the purpose, whom he could palm off on his uncle as his grandson. true, it would be raising up a rival heir; but he was thoroughly persuaded that in no case did he himself stand any chance of succeeding to his uncle's property. "it will be worth something," he muttered, "to cut out that country boy. all i have to do, is to find a boy who is without relatives, and i can concoct some story that will impose upon uncle anthony. that little match boy, for instance! why wouldn't he do?" lyman became so excited by his castle building, that he determined to lose no time in carrying out his design. he left the tavern, and retraced his steps to the place where he had encountered the match boy. johnny, after eating his dinner, had resumed his business, and was within a block of the same place offering his wares to the passers by. he was a little worried by tim's threat to expose his extravagant dinner to the old woman with whom he lived, but persistently refused to buy off his persecutor. "i say, little boy, what's your name?" johnny turned round at these words, and recognized in the man addressing him, the one with whom he had already had trouble. his face showed the fear which he not unnaturally felt. "don't be frightened, my boy!" said lyman, with an ingratiating smile. "i am afraid i was rough to you this morning. don't mind it! i was worried about my business affairs, and didn't mean what i said. shake hands, and let us be friends." with rather a bewildered look, johnny allowed lyman to take his small, thin hand, and looked perplexed. "come, you don't harbor no malice, my lad, do you?" said lyman with a smile. "noâ��o," answered johnny, doubtfully. "the fact is, i feel an interest in you, my boy. you look like a little cousin of mine that i haven't seen since he was a baby." johnny was more and more puzzled. the neglected little match boy was not used to such attention. "did you ever live in st. louis?" asked lyman, at a venture. "yes," answered the match boy. lyman opened his eyes in surprise. he had not expected such an answer. even then he did not suspect that chance had led him to the very boy whom he desired to meet. "have you any father or mother?" he asked. "no sir." "good!" johnny could not understand why his questioner should be pleased to hear that he was an orphan. lyman taylor seemed to him a very incomprehensible man. he felt rather uncomfortable in his presence, and hoped the man would go away, and leave him to attend to his business. "who do you live with, then, sonny?" was lyman's next question. "with my aunt." "what is your aunt's name?" "i always call her aunt peggy." "what?" exclaimed lyman, in a tone that made the little match boy jump. "you live with an old woman named peggy?" "yes, sir." "is she your aunt?" "i suppose so. i always call her aunt peggy." "it's the very boy!" was lyman's exulting thought. "i'm in luck at last. lyman, old man, your plans are going to be realized." "were you ever called jack?" he asked, anxiously. "yes; that's what aunt peggy calls me. other people call me johnny." "my boy," said lyman, fervently, "i can't tell you how glad i am to see you. i am sure now you are my little cousin. where does peggy live?" the match boy named the placeâ��a poor street in a poor neighborhood. "take me there at once. i want to see your aunt peggy." "but peggy will be mad if i don't stay and sell matches, sir." "come along; i will make it right with her." lyman took the little boy's hand, and the two turned off clark street, and went in pursuit of peggy. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxvii. old peggy. tim roach was not only selfish, but liked to make mischief. he resolved to be revenged upon johnny for declining to "treat" him to a dinner, and having plenty of time on his hands, took pains to seek out the humble home tenanted by old peggy. it was on the third floor of a tall, shabby brick house, not far from the chicago and alton depot. tim had been there before, and didn't require directions. he ascended the rickety staircase, nearly treading on two dirty faced children belonging to a neighbor of peggy's, who were playing on the landing. as a third child, older, made her appearance, tim stopped long enough to inquire, "is peggy at home?" "yes," answered the girl. "she's home, but, oh my, ain't she tight!" "that's nothin' new," said tim, composedly. he knocked at peggy's door, and receiving no answer, opened it. the old woman had thrown herself on a truckle bed at one corner of the room, and was breathing noisily with her eyes half closed. "is it you, johnny!" she asked, without turning her head. "no, it's me!" "who's me?" "tim roach." "what do you want?" "i've just seed johnny, peggy." "has he sold many matches? where is he?" "i seed him in an eatin' house. he was eatin' a bully dinner." "what!" exclaimed peggy, now thoroughly roused, raising herself on her elbow. "what's that you say, tim roach?" tim, quite enjoying the commotion he had raised, repeated his information. "so he's spendin' my money in fillin' his stomach, the little wretch!" exclaimed peggy. "that's why he brings home so little money. the ungrateful little imp that i've slaved and slaved for these last six years, takin' advantage of a poor old woman when her back's turned! where was it, tim, dear?" tim mentioned the restaurant. "and what was he eatin', tim?" "he ordered a cup o' coffee and beefsteakâ��i don't know what else he had." "i'll learn him to chate and decave me!" said the old woman, angrily. "he only brought home twenty-five cents yesterday, and i takin' care of him, and buyin' him close and vittles." "i guess he buys some dinner every day," said tim. "and i never to suspect it! tim, dear, you're a good boy to come and tell me. you wouldn't treat your best friend that way?" "no, i wouldn't!" said tim, virtuously. "what are you goin' to do to him, peggy?" "where's my stick, tim? do you see it anywhere?" "no, i don't," answered tim, after a search. "some of them children downstairs must have carried it off." "i can buy you a cane for ten cents." "and where would the ten cents come from i would like to know. i'll bate him wid my fists, the ongrateful young kid." "what are you goin' to give me for tellin' you, peggy?" asked tim. "i'll give you a penny the next time i see you," said peggy, vaguely. "that isn't enough. give me a nickel to buy a glass of beer?" "i haven't got it, tim. i wish i had, for i'm awful dhry myself." "i wouldn't have come all the way to tell you if i'd know'd that," said tim, discontentedly. just then a noise was heard on the stairs, and tim, opening the door wider, looked out. "here's johnny now, peggy!" he said in excitement. "come home the middle of the afternoon, too, the young rascal!" ejaculated the old woman. "i'll fix him!" "so here you are, you youngâ��â��," commenced peggy, as johnny made his appearance, but the threat with which she was about to conclude, died in the utterance, when she saw that johnny was closely followed by a tall man of middle age. "who are you, sir?" she asked irritably, "and what brings you here? if you're the agent, i haven't got any money for you." "don't you remember me, peggy?" asked lyman, sinking with rare courage into a chair which cracked under his weight. "no, sir, i don't. if i had my glasses, perhapsâ��â��" "i see you've got company, peggy," continued lyman, with a significant look at tim. "i would like to speak to you alone. it'll be to your advantage, mind," he added, detecting a suspicious look on the old woman's face. "just send the two boys out to play, and we'll speak together." "first, hand over what money you've got, jack," said peggy. "i ain't goin' to have you wastin' it outside. let me see your matches! how many boxes did you sell?" "five," answered johnny. "only five!" exclaimed the old woman, holding up her hands. "you were playin' in the strates, i'll be bound!" "no, i wasn't, aunt peggy. i tried to sell more, butâ��â��" "oh, yes, i understand! and you'd done so well you thought you'd buy yourself a dinner off my money. come here and let me shake you!" "tim told you!" said the little boy, with a reproachful look at his betrayer. "yes, he told me, and he was a good bye for doin' it." "he said he'd tell if i didn't buy him some, too." "is that threu?" asked peggy. "hark to him!" said tim, with virtuous indignation. "it's a lie, and he knows it." "did you spend all the money, jack?" demanded peggy. "if you didâ��â��" "but i didn't, aunt peggy. some good people gave me some money, andâ��â��" "it was for me, then. how dared you spind it?" "i've brought most of it home, peggy. see here!" and johnny took out a handful of small silver coins and pennies, and poured them into the old woman's lap. peggy was agreeably surprised. she saw that there was nearly a dollar, much more than johnny generally brought home, and it put her in a good humor. "you've done well, jack!" she said. "i won't grudge the money you spent for a bit of dinner. now go out and play wid tim." "i don't want to play with him. he told on me." "my lad," said lyman, "can't you bring a bottle of beer for your good aunt and myself. here's money; you can bring back the change." "you go, jack, for the gentleman," said peggy, quite restored to good humor. "i don't mind sayin' that my throat is just parched with bein' so dhry." johnny went out, and soon returned, for he had not far to go. in spite of his company being so unwelcome, tim went and returned with him. "won't you give me a little, peggy," he asked. "no, i won't. you wanted jack to trate you on my money. now clear out, and never let me see your ugly face here ag'in." "that's the thanks i get for tellin' you!" complained tim. "and after runnin' myself out of breath, too!" "clear out wid you! and you, jack, go back and see if you can't sell some more matches. it's only the middle of the afternoon, and there's plenty of time before sunset to sell half-a-dozen boxes." johnny obeyed, not unwillingly, for he was not partial to home, nor did he enjoy peggy's company. tim accompanied him, but johnny, gentle as he was, refused to have anything to say to him. tim felt that he was badly treated. johnny turned his back on him, and peggy had utterly failed to acknowledge the service he had rendered her. tim was of opinion that it was a cold world, and that there was little encouragement to be virtuous. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxviii. lyman's plan. "here's your health, peggy!" said lyman, emptying his glass. "thank you, sir!" said peggy, following his example. "you're very kind, i'm sure, and i ought to remember you, but my memory ain't what it was." "so you don't remember me?" "i can't remimber that i iver set eyes on your face before, sir." "then you don't remember the man that brought you a small child to take care of near six years ago?" "shure it's himself!" ejaculated the old woman, peering curiously into lyman's face. "i only saw you twice, and that's why i forgot. shure it was a cruel thrick you played upon a poor old woman, when you gave her a baby to take care of, and then, five long years never sent her even a penny. it's hundreds and hundreds of dollars i've spent on little jack, and he no kin to me!" "no doubt he has been brought up in the lap of luxury! he looks like it," said lyman with an amused smile. "and now you've come to pay me all i spent on the child?" insinuated peggy. "well, not just yet. the fact is, peggy, unavoidable circumstances prevented my communicating with you, and the same won't admit of my paying over the hundreds of dollars that jack has cost you." "then what do you want of me?" inquired the old woman disappointed. "i think i can see a way by which both of us can make something out of the boy. by-the-way, it strikes me just at present that he is supporting you instead of you taking care of him." "he only brings in a few pennies a day," said peggy. "shure it's hardly enough to pay his salt." "then jack must be immoderately fond of salt. however, i'll let you into a secret. his grandfather is looking for him." "his grandfather?" "yes; no doubt you are surprised that jack possesses a grandfather, but that is a fact. his grandfather is my uncle, and what is more to the purpose he has a fair property." "and little jack is goin' to be rich?" gasped peggy in amazement. "well, i don't know! that depends on whether we allow his grandfather to find him." "and why shouldn't he? wouldn't he be givin' a big reward?" "that is where you come to the point, my good peggy. if he will make it worth our while, we may restore him to the old gentleman." "and how much would he be givin', d'ye think?" asked peggy, her bead-like eyes sparkling with greed. "i shouldn't wonder, peggy, if you might get a hundred dollars out of it." "a hundred dollarsâ��after my takin' care of the boy ever since he was a babby. now you're jokin'." "well, you see, his grandfather isn't a rich manâ��" explained lyman, fearing he had unduly raised the expectations of the old woman. "you said he was!" retorted peggy sharply. "i said he had a comfortable propertyâ��for a country town. that means a few thousand dollars." "he sha'n't have him for such a thrifle," snapped peggy. "the police might take him from you, without your getting a cent." "how would they know, unless you told 'em?" asked peggy suspiciously. "look here, peggy!" said lyman in a conciliatory tone. "we've got to stand by each other in this thing. just leave the matter in my hands, and i'll manage it as well as i can. i'll get as much money from the old gentleman as i can." "and you'll give me half?" "of courseâ��that is, after necessary expenses are paid." "and what am i to do then?" "nothing, except to stay here, and see that nobody gets hold of jack. does he know who he is?" "he thinks i'm his aunt." "and is proud of the connection, no doubt," said lyman, who could not restrain his tendency to sarcasm. "well, perhaps that is as well. don't let any one know that it is not true. we can keep quiet till the time comes to make it known. now, i'll leave you, and take the first step by writing to my uncle. good afternoon, peggy! i'll call again in a day or two." "couldn't you leave me a dollar or two before you go?" whined peggy. "me health is very poor, and i can't work, and it's only a few pennies the boy brings in." "you're better off than i am," said lyman curtly, "for i am out of employment and i have no boy to bring me in pennies. i don't know but i'd better take jack at once, and then you won't have to take care of him." "i'll kape him," said the old woman hurriedlyâ��for she had no wish to lose the income the match boy brought in, small as it was. "i'll kape him, for he's used to me life, and he's happier here." "just as you like, peggy!" returned lyman with a smile at the success of his stratagem. "i'd help you if i could, but i'm almost at the bottom of my purse as it is. i'll see you again in a day or two, and report progress." "i've done a good day's work," reflected lyman, as he picked his way downstairs, nearly slipping on a piece of orange peel on one of the steps. "it was a piece of good luck, my finding jack so soon after seeing that st. louis paperâ��but i must write an effective letter to my uncle." lyman went to the sherman house, and entering the writing-room procured a sheet of note paper, and penned the following note: "chicago, _september 7, 18â��_. "my dear uncle: "i am afraid you are feeling anxious about me, and i will therefore relieve your affectionate solicitude, by saying that i am well in health, but lowâ��very low in pocket. it costs more to live in chicago than in pocasset, and the sum of money with which you provided me is nearly gone. as i am a little afraid this hint won't be sufficient to open your heart, let me add that i can make it worth your while to be generous. "it has come to my knowledge that you have sent out mark manning in search of your grandson. how you came to suspect that my cousin left a boy i can't imagine, but i don't mind telling you that you are correct. she did leave a boy, whose name is jack ransom. he is now about eight years of age. i know where he is and can lay my hands upon him at any moment. whether i will or not depends on how you propose to deal with me. of course it isn't to my interest that the boy should be found, as outside of him i am your natural and legal heir. i know that mark manning is scheming to get possession of your property when you are gone, but i am sure you wouldn't throw it away on a stranger, when your brother's son is living. "now, uncle anthony, i am going to make you a proposition. bear in mind, if you please, that i am the only one who can restore little jack to you. only one other person knows about him and she never heard of you, and doesn't know jack's last name. if you will guarantee me five thousand dollars within three months, two thousand being cash down, i will myself bring on little jack, and place him in your arms. now, i am sorry to say that the boy has a miserable home, and is scantily supplied with the necessaries of life. a miserable career of poverty and perhaps crime, awaits him unless you come to my terms. let me know as soon as possible what you propose to do. "a letter directed to me at the chicago post-office will reach me safely. "your affectionate nephew, "lyman taylor." anthony received this letter in due time, and deemed it of sufficient importance to warrant a visit to new york. he wished to lay it before mr. hardy, and ask his advice. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxix. mark receives a telegram. "my good friend," said mr. hardy, "have you any reason to think your nephew's statement is to be relied upon?" "i hope so," answered anthony. "i am getting to be an old man, and i should like to feel that some one of my own blood would survive me, and profit by a part of the competence which god has bestowed upon me." "it may be simply a money-making scheme on the part of lyman," said the agent, thoughtfully. "finding that he has little chance of becoming your heir, he wants to secure a handsome reward for restoring to you your grandson. why has he not proposed it before?" "because he did not know i had any property to leave, or else because he supposed his own chances of inheriting good. after the last interview with me, he probably lost the hope of profiting by my death." "there is something in what you say, mr. taylor. what is your own idea?" "i would give five thousand dollars, if necessary, to secure the return of my grandson. it would give me an object to live for." "i should be exceedingly sorry to see that sum pass into the hands of such a rascal as your graceless nephew." "would you offer two thousand?" "i would hold no serious negotiations with him." "but i would run the risk of leaving the poor boy to a life of poverty, and myself to a lonely old age." "my idea is this. i will telegraph to mark manning, who is now in st. louis, the particulars of your nephew's offer, with instructions to go at once to chicago, find out lyman, and put a detective on his track. if his story is true, he probably visits the boy from time to time. in this way it can be discovered where the boy lives, and steps can be taken to secure him." "i approve of your plan," said anthony. "let it be carried out at once." "there will be this advantage," added hardy. "your enterprising nephew will not realize any benefit from his nice little scheme for trading upon your affections." "do as you think best, my good friend. your judgment is always better than mine." john hardy rapidly penned the following despatch. "mark manning, planter's hotel, st. louis: go at once to chicago and find lyman taylor. he knows where child is. employ a detective, and track him to boy's residence. don't let him suspect your object. keep me apprised of your progress. john hardy." this despatch reached mark within two hours. he had been in st. louis several days, and had learned nothing. two or three persons had called upon him with bogus information in the hope of a reward, but he was sharp enough to detect the imposition. he was beginning to despair of success when mr. hardy's telegram was received. mark brightened up. he saw his way clearer now. he went out to purchase a ticket for chicago, and on his return found a second telegram in these words: "lyman admits knowledge of boy, and offers to restore him for five thousand dollars." "i will endeavor to thwart mr. lyman taylor," said mark to himself. "he is a greater rascal than i thought." mark paid his bill and took the next train for chicago. he arrived late, and registered at the fremont house, where he prepared himself for the difficult work that lay before him by taking a good night's rest. in the morning he awoke hopeful and determined, and after breakfast went out to walk. he had no clue to the where-abouts of lyman, but thought it possible he might meet him as he had done before in the streets. he walked about for two hours, keeping his eyes wide open, but though he scanned many hundreds of faces, that of lyman taylor was not among them. yet his walk was to be more successful than he anticipated. little jack still continued his street trade of selling matches. peggy was not willing to give up the small revenue she obtained from the boy's sales. sometimes, also, a compassionate passer-by would bestow a dime or nickel on the boy, pitying him for his thin face and sad expression. sometimes, if tim were not by, he would buy a cheap lunch, for the scanty rations which he received from peggy, left him in a chronic state of hunger. it was fortunate that the poor boy indulged himself thus, or his feeble strength would hardly have held out against hunger and hard work combined. unwittingly jack had made an active enemy in tim roach. his refusal to treat, tim persuaded himself, was very mean, and his indignation was increased by the ill-success of his attempt to secure pay for the information given to peggy. he was anxious to be revenged upon jack, and was only waiting for an opportunity. malice generally finds its opportunity after awhile. one day jack set down his basket of matches a moment while he ran into a shop to change a twenty-five cent piece. tim was close at hand, and slyly secured the basket, and fled swiftly through a narrow passage-way with his booty. he had not only secured a stock of merchandise, but he had got jack into trouble. when jack came out and found his basket gone he was in dismay. "who took my basket?" he inquired of an applewoman, who kept a stand close by. "there was a bye here just nowâ��bigger than you. he must have run off wid it when my back was turned away." "where did he go?" asked jack, anxiously. "i didn't mind." "what was he like?" "shure i've seed him here afore wid you. you called him tim." "it was tim roach!" exclaimed jack. "he's a mean boy. he took it to get me into trouble." "shure he looks like a thafe." the tears started to jack's eyes. "i don't know what to do," he said, piteously. "i am afraid peggy will beat me when i get home." "who is peggy?" asked a new voice. jack looked towards the speaker. he saw a pleasant-faced boy, apparently about sixteen. "she's the woman i live with," answered jack. "what will shr it was he. he had just come up, and hadn't heard of jack's misfortune, but his heart was stirred to sympathy, by the sadness visible upon the little boy's face. "for losing my matches," and thereupon jack told his story to his new acquaintance. "how much were the matches worth?" asked mark. "there were fourteen boxes. they cost me three cents a piece. then there was the basket. that cost a quarter." "do you know where to buy more?" "yes, sir." "then take this dollar bill, and get a new supply." jack's little face glowed with gratitude. "oh, how kind you are!" he said. "do you generally stand here?" asked mark. "yes, sir." "does this peggy send you out every day?" "yes, sir." "is she related to you?" "i thought she was my aunt," answered the match boy, "but last evening a gentleman called on peggy, i heard them talking when they thought i was asleep," jack continued in a lower tone. "i heard the gentleman say i had a grandfather living at the east, and that he would pay a good sum to get hold of me. i wish he would, for peggy doesn't give me enough to eat, and sometimes she beats me." "tell me about this gentleman," said mark in excitement. "is he tall?" "yes, sir." "with black hair and whiskers?" "yes, sir." "do you know his name?" "no, sir; but there he is now!" mark followed the direction of the boy's finger, and he recognized, though his head was turned, the familiar form of lyman taylor on the opposite side of the street. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxx. mark makes arrangements with jack. mark's excitement was at fever heat. in the most wonderful manner he had succeeded almost without an effort. he could not doubt that this boy was the very one of whom he was in search. he was apprehensive that lyman would turn, and on recognizing him penetrate his design and arrange to defeat it. but fortunately the object of his dread appeared to have other business in hand and kept on his way, never turning back. "how old are you?" he asked, thinking it best to make assurance doubly sure. "peggy says i'm goin' on eight," answered the match boy. "that is the right age," thought mark. "have you always lived in chicago?" he continued. "no, sir; peggy brought me from st. louis when i was a very little child." "i suppose you don't remember much about st. louis?" "i don't remember it at all." "what does peggy do for a living?" jack shrugged his shoulders. "nothing much," he answered; "she says she isn't well enough to work." "surely she does not depend wholly upon what you earn?" "i don't know. sometimes she gets money in a letter. i think it comes from her son." "then she has a son?" "yes." "where does he live?" "i saw one of his letters once. it said fall river on the wrapper. i think he works in a factory." "fall river is a city in massachusetts. i have never been there, but i hear that they have factories there." "so you can read writing?" asked mark after a pause. "yes, a little." "and i suppose you can read books and papers?" "a little. i went to a primary school for a little while, and afterwards a lady used to hear my lessons. she lived in the same place with us." "did you like studying?" "ever so much. i should be happy if i could go to school again, but peggy says i know enough, and she needs me to earn my living." "do you know the name of that gentleman you pointed out to me?" "no, i don't think i heard peggy mention his name." "how long has he been in the habit of coming to see you and peggy?" "he has only been there two or three times. peggy didn't remember him at first. i think they used to know each other a good while ago." "suppose this gentleman's story were true, and you had a grandfather at the east who could take good care of you, would you be willing to go to him?" "would he be kind to me? do you know him?" asked the little fellow eagerly. "yes, i know him, and i am sure he would be very kind to you. would you be willing to leave peggy?" "yes," answered little jack promptly. "how does she treat you?" "if i bring home a good bit of money, she pats me on the head and says i am a good boy, but if i am not lucky she is very cross, and sometimes she beats me." mark's sympathies were aroused. jack was so small, and weak in appearance, that it seemed to him revolting to think of his being at the mercy of a cruel old woman. half unconsciously his fist doubled up, his teeth closed firmly together, and he just wished he had the merciless peggy in his power. "is peggy temperate?" he asked. jack looked at him inquiringly. "does she drink?" mark asked, changing the form of his question. "she drinks beer, and sometimes whiskey," answered jack. "does she getâ��drunk?" "sometimes." "how does it affect her?" "it makes her sleepy or cross. i always run away when she has been drinkingâ��when i can, but sometimes she locks the door and fastens me in. then, if i can, i hide under the bed." "poor boy! you have a hard time of it. now, jack, can you keep a secret?" jack nodded, and his face assumed a cunning look, for the poor boy had more than once felt obliged to practice dissimulation, in the rough school in which he had been trained. "yes," he answered. "then i am going to tell you a secret. your grandfather sent me out here to find you." "he sent you!" ejaculated jack. "yes." "but i thought he sent that gentlemanâ��the one i pointed out to you." "no; that gentleman, as you call him, is your mother's cousin. he is a near relation of yours." "but he spoke to peggy about carrying me back to my grandfather." "he has an object in view. he won't give you up to your grandfather unless he gets a large sum of money. i suppose he has promised to give peggy some of the money." "yes, i heard him promise peggy a hundred dollars." mark smiled. "then i think he is going to cheat peggy," he said. "he wants five thousand dollars for himself." "why, that is a good deal more than a hundred dollars." "yes, it is fifty times as much. did peggy seem to be satisfied with a hundred?" "no; she said it was very little, but he said perhaps my grandfather would give her as much as that every year." "it is evident he proposes to take the old woman in." "i don't care, if he will only take me back to my grandfather. will he give me enough to eat?" "my poor child, are you hungry?" asked mark, compassionately. "yes; i think i am always hungry," sighed jack. "peggy says i eat too much." "you don't look much like it. now jack, one thing more. would you be willing to leave peggy, and go to new york with me?" "would you take me to my grandfather?" "yes; that is just what i want to do." "i am ready to go now," said jack, putting his hand confidingly in mark's. "that is well, but it will be better to wait till to-morrow. what time do you get up in the morning?" "about eight o'clock. it isn't any use to go out too early." "and at what time do you come here, jack?" "about half-past eight or nine." "then i will meet you to-morrow, somewhere about that time, and i will have tickets ready to take us to new york. we can catch the ten o'clock train. there isn't any danger of peggy keeping you, is there?" "not unless she thinks i am goin' to run away." "she mustn't suspect that. we must be sure to keep that from her. i suppose you have no other clothes than those you have on?" "no, sir." "i will hunt up a clothing-store, and get you fitted out before we start. i shouldn't like your grandfather to see you in that ragged suit." jack looked down at his jacket, frayed, tattered and greasy, and said: "i've often wished i had nice clothes like that boy," and he pointed out a boy of about his own age, dressed in knickerbockers. "you shall have your wish to-morrow, jack. now i suppose you had better go and buy some more matches, so that peggy won't suspect anything." "yes, sir." "you'll be sure to meet me to-morrow, jack?" "yes, sir." "and don't let peggy suspect from your looks that anything is going on." "yes, sir." "everything looks favorable," thought mark as he walked slowly to his hotel. "to-morrow at this time peggy and the worthy lyman will be mourning for a lost boy." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxxi. jack talks in his sleep. jack was naturally very much excited by the new prospects that opened out before him. he had seen little happiness in his short life. it is a sad thing to say that he had hardly ever known what it was to eat a full meal. cold and pinching privation, and long, toilsome days in the streets, had been his portion hitherto. was it possible, he asked himself, that all this was to be changed. was he to have a home like other boys, and a relation who was able to supply him with the comforts of which he knew so little? it seemed like a dream, and little jack might have been tempted to distrust the information which had been given to him. but somehow he could not help feeling confidence in what mark told him. he felt that mark would not deceive him, and the dream must come true after all. jack finished out the day as usual, and went home. peggy's attention was at once called to the new basket. "where did that come from?" she asked. "my basket was stolen, and a kind gentleman gave me money to buy this." jack answered. "was the matches stole too?" "yes; he gave me money enough to buy as many as i lost." "who stole 'em? do you know?" "i think it was tim roach. he was hangin' round, at the time i lost it." "did he snatch it from you?" "no; i laid it down a minute while i went into a cigar store to get a quarter changed for a gentleman who had just bought a box of matches, when tim picked it up and ran away." "i'd like to get hold of tim!" said peggy wrathfully. "i'd wring his neck for him, the little wretch!" then a new and cunning idea came to peggy. "i tell you what to do, jack," she said; "just you go out to-morrow mornin' without any basket, and begin to cry, and tell people that you've had your matches stolen. then somebody'll give you money, and you can bring it home." "but that would be tellin' a lie, peggy," objected jack. "and what if it is!" retorted peggy. "you needn't be so dreadfully good. it ain't a lie that'll hurt anybody, and the gentlemen that gives you the money won't miss it." it occurred to jack that it would suit his plans to go out the next morning without the basket. considering how he had been brought up, his conscience was unusually tender, and he would not have liked to leave the city without returning the basket and his stock-in-trade to peggy. besides, she could have him arrested for theft, if she chose. he decided, therefore, that he would make no further objection to peggy's proposal. "just as you say, peggy," he said, submissively. "that's a good boy!" said peggy, good-humoredly. "that's a pretty good snap!" she said to herself, complacently. "i don't know why we shouldn't foller it up. it'll be more than the profit of the matches, and jack can do it two or three times a day." it did, indeed, seem a very ingenious method of raising money, and answered the purpose of begging, without being open to the usual objection. [illustration: the old woman drawing near the pallet, strove to catch the words that fell from the boy's lips.] jack usually got tired with being about the streets all day, and after he had eaten the frugal supper with which peggy had provided him, he lay down on a pallet provided for him in the corner of the room, and was soon asleep. but with such a momentous secret on his mind, it will not be a matter of surprise that be a matter of surprise that jack's thoughts, even in sleep, were occupied with his new plan. whenever he was restless he was apt to talk in his sleep, and did so on the present occasion. peggy had not gone to bed, but sat in an old wooden rocking-chair, smoking a pipe. "what's the boy sayin'?" she asked herself, as jack began to talk. "i'll listen, and then if he's been up to any mischief, he'll out with it." she removed the pipe, and drawing near the pallet, bent over, and strove to catch the disconnected words that fell from the boy's lips. "i'm goin'â��toâ��my grandfather!" she heard jack say, and the words startled her. "who's been talkin' to him about his grandfather?" peggy exclaimed, startled. "i didn't know he'd heard a word about him." "he saysâ��he willâ��take me!" continued jack, in a drowsy tone. "he says he'll take him!" repeated peggy, in surprise and alarm. "who's he, i'd like to know." her suspicions fell at once upon lyman. no one, so far as she knew, had any knowledge of jack's relations except lyman. evidently lyman had been talking to the boy on the sly. "the villain!" said peggy, indignantly; "i know what he's up to. he wants to get the boy away from me, and get all the reward himself. he's going to leave peggy out in the cowld, and abduct the boy on the sly. i've found him out, the artful schamer. so he thinks he can over-rache ould peggy, does he? he'll find it's a cowld day when ould peggy gets left." jack began to talk again. "he says he'll take me off in the cars," he continued. "i like to ride in the cars. my grandfather will give me enough to eat, and i won't have to sell matches for a livin'." "the ongrateful young kid," commented peggy, looking angrily at the sleeping boy. "so he wants to lave me who've took care of him ever since he was a babby, and he don't mind it no more'n if i was a puppy dog. _i_ that have been a mother to him!" peggy rocked back and forward, and actually persuaded herself that little jack was very ungrateful. it is curious how we misrepresent matters from our own point of view. it was jack who had supported peggy, and she was far more indebted to him than he was to her, but somehow she could not see it. she did, however, understand fully how unpleasant it would be to lose jack's services, unless she could receive, as lyman had led her to expect, an adequate compensation from his grandfather. peggy deliberated as to what was best to be done. in the first place, she wanted to find out for a certainty whether lyman had really entered into a conspiracy against her and meant to abduct jack without her knowledge or consent. it seemed on the whole, the best thing to get up herself and follow jack the next morning, and make sure that lyman did not have a secret conference with him. when jack was ready to start out the next morning, peggy asked with apparent carelessness, "jack, dear, do you ever see the tall gentleman that calls here sometimes?" "yes, peggy; i saw him yesterday," answered jack, readily. "and what did he say to you?" she asked eagerly. "he didn't speak to me at all." "that's a lie!" peggy said to herself. "he told the bye not to tell." but she didn't think it best to charge jack with it, and so through him put lyman on his guard. "remember, lad, you've got no better friend than ould peggy. if you should lave her, she'd die of grafe." "thank you, peggy," said jack, but he was not much impressed by this declaration of affection from one who often beat and systematically starved him. five minutes after jack had left the house, peggy threw on her old cloak, and, at a safe distance, followed her youthful charge, meaning to keep him under her eye, and watch lest he should be carried off by lyman taylor. but luckily for jack, whose meeting with mark would otherwise have been detected, she changed her plan, when she recognized a little in advance lyman himself on state street. "it'll be better to watch him," she decided, and gave up following jack. meanwhile jack had not been at his usual stand more than ten minutes, when mark came up. "i am glad you are ahead of time, jack," he said. "come along with me." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxxii. jack is pursued. "are you goin' to take me away to-day?" asked jack, who wished to be assured that the dream was coming true. "yes, jack, but i can't take you away as you are. i know a place near by where you can take a good bath. i will leave you then, and go round by myself and buy you some clothes. i can guess your size." he led the way to a barber's shop which advertised baths, procured a ticket, and leaving jack with strict injunctions to wash himself thoroughly, sallied out in search of an outfit for his young companion. that did not take long. he returned with two good sized bundles, and requested jack to dress himself in them. when jack emerged from the bath-room he was quite transformed. he was still thin, and his features looked pinched, but his dress was, in all respects, that of a boy belonging to a well-to-do family. "now i think i must have your hair cut, and you will do." in truth, jack's long, elf-like locks made his face appear even thinner than it really was. "don't you want to be shaved, too, young man?" asked the barber, jocosely. "perhaps he wants to be shaved," said jack, pointing to mark, with a smile. mark colored a little, realizing that he scarcely needed that operation any more than jack. "now look at yourself in the glass, jack!" said mark. jack obeyed, and looked first bewildered, then pleased. he thought at first that he was looking at another boy. "is that me?" he inquired, almost incredulously. "i think it is. peggy wouldn't know you," answered mark, with a smile. "i don't want her to," answered the little boy. mark had forgotten one thingâ��a pair of shoes. as he scanned jack critically, he noted the omission, and said, "jack, we must go to a shoe store. it will never do for a young gentleman like you to wear a pair of shoes out at the toes and sides." "they don't look very well," said jack, with a downward look. "as you may be taken for my son," said mark gravely, "i want you to look well." "you're only a boy!" said jack, who was inclined to a literal understanding of what was told him. "you wouldn't take me for twenty-five, then, jack?" "no, you're not that, are you?" "well, not quite." they had not far to go to a shoe store, but it took some time to get fitted to a pair of shoes, on account of jack's having a high instep. this delay came near wrecking their plans. tim roach, who usually passed his time in roaming about the streets, without any special occupation, caught sight of jack as he entered the shoe store with mark. he let his eye rest upon him carelessly at first, but his indifferent glance was soon succeeded by a look of the most intense amazement. "my eye!" he exclaimed, "if that isn't little jack dressed out like a prince! what's happened, i wonder, and who's that with him? i jest wish he'd rig me out that way." tim did not make himself known, but peered curiously in at the door of the store. "i wonder whether peggy knows about it?" he soliloquized. "i don't believe she does. wouldn't she open her eyes to see the kid rigged out that way. i'd like to tell her." circumstances seemed to favor the gratification of this wish, for not many rods away he caught sight of peggy and lyman taylor talking together. "i'll go and tell her," he said. we will precede him and relate what had taken place between the two schemers. peggy had started out with the confident belief that lyman had played her false, and meant to carry away jack without her knowledge or consent. it did, indeed, look as if she were correct, for it must be remembered that she knew nothing of mark's mission to chicago, lyman not having thought it necessary to tell her. she wanted to meet lyman and "have it out with him," if she found any confirmation in her suspicions. lyman chanced to turn, and seeing peggy with her eyes fixed on him, retraced his steps till he reached her. "do you want to see me, peggy?" he asked. "yes, i wanted to see you, mr. lyman taylor, and ask what you mane by tryin' to stale away the bye from me?" lyman stared at her in surprise. "i don't know what you mean," he answered, with a shrug of his shoulders. "i thought it was understood that we would restore the boy to his grandfather if he would make it worth our while." "and you didn't mane to take away the bye without my knowin' it?" "certainly not. who told you so?" "and you haven't told the bye about goin' back to his grandfather?" "i haven't spoken a word to the boy on the subject." "then how did he know about it?" "does he know about it?" peggy then told her companion about what she had overheard jack say in his sleep the night before. lyman taylor was surprised and alarmed, and these feelings were so evident on his face that peggy acquitted him of any breach of faith. "i don't understand it," he said, meditatively. "i have never spoken a word about the matter except in your room. did you ask him about it?" "i asked him when did he see you, and he said yesterday." "he might have seen me, but i had no conversation with him." "so he said." "he told the truth. i don't think any harm is done, peggy. he must have overheard what we were talking about when we supposed him asleep." "that's true. maybe he did." "that won't interfere with our plans that i can see. i have written to my uncle and expect to hear from him in a few days. i will let you know what he says as soon as i get the letter." then it was that tim roach came up, looking preternaturally knowing. "how are you, peg?" he said. "are you walkin' wid your beau?" "go away wid you! you're always botherin'." "you'd orter see what i did jest now," said tim, wagging his head. "what did you see, then?" "i seed your jack rigged out like a prince in new clothes and a new hat. didn't he look fine?" "you saw jack dressed that way?" gasped peggy. "yes, i did." "you're lyin' now." "wish i may die if i didn't." "where was he?" "in simpson's shoe store, pickin' out a nice new pair of shoes." "how could the boy get all these things without money?" asked lyman incredulous. "there was a big boy wid him was buyin' the things." "a big boy!" repeated lyman quickly; "how old was he?" "maybe sixteen or seventeen." an expression, full of dismay, overspread lyman taylor's face. "it is mark manning!" he exclaimed. "quick, boy, tell me where he is." "in simpson's shoe store." "and who is mark manning?" asked peggy bewildered. "the boy his grandfather sent out here to find him. it's he that has been telling jack about his grandfather. quick, peggy! we must go and stop him, or he'll take jack away and leave us out in the cold." the ill-matched pair hurried to the place indicated by tim. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxxiii. mark eludes his pursuers. little jack had been fitted with a pair of shoes, and mark had settled for them, when the little boy chancing to look towards the entrance of the store, was almost paralyzed by the sight of peggy and lyman looking in at the window. his eyes were good, and he could read on peggy's face a malicious exultation, which boded ill for him when he should again find himself in her clutches. mark, who had not seen them, noticed the fear upon the face of his little charge. "what's the matter, jack?" he asked. "it's them!" answered jack, hoarsely. "who's them?" "peggyâ��and the gentleman." "where are they?" "looking in at the winder." mark had his wits about him, and did not turn round. he wished peggy and her confederate to think themselves undiscovered, while he rapidly considered what was best to be done. should he leave the store by the front door, jack would at once be pounced upon by peggy, and there would be a scene. he might eventually recover jack, but in the meantime the boy would be ill-treated, stripped of his good clothes, and perhaps carried out of the city. just as success seemed assured, he was confronted by defeat. what was to be done? mark was not a boy to give in, unless compelled to do so. an idea came to him. "jack," he said in a low voice, "don't look towards the window again. don't let them know you have seen them." "you won't let peggy get hold of me!" said the boy in a trembling voice. "not if i can help it." turning to the salesman who had waited upon him, mark said: "there are some people at the door that i want to avoid meeting. is there any back entrance to the store?" "yes," answered the clerk. "will you be kind enough to guide us to it?" "certainly." "don't look behind you, jack, but come with me. don't be alarmed!" the salesman guided them to a door opening on a narrow street. boxes of goods were so piled up, that this door could not be seen from the window into which peggy and lyman were looking. "where are they going?" peggy asked. "to look at some goods in the back part of the store," answered lyman. this reassured peggy, who kept her position, feeling sure that jack could not escape her when he came out. "i'll sell his new clothes," she thought complacently. "i'll be in luck after all." once out of the store, mark looked about him. he felt that it behooved him to get beyond the reach of jack's pursuers as soon as possible. circumstances favored him. just at the head of the street, he saw a lady descend from a hack. "hurry up, jack," he said. "we'll get into this cab." the driver was about to drive away, after settling with his fare, when mark hailed him. "are you unengaged?" he asked. "yes, sir." "can you drive me at once to the union depot in van buren street?" "yes, sir." he dismounted from the box, opened the door for his next passengers, and they got in. then resuming his place on the box, he drove rapidly away. it so chanced that he passed by the front of the very store from which they had just emerged. little jack stole a glance out of the window of the cab. "there's peg!" he said. following his example, mark also caught sight of the two with their faces glued to the window, still looking in, unconscious that their prey had escaped them. mark smiled. he felt like a victor, and rather enjoyed the thought of having outgeneraled the fox. "i hope they'll have a good time watching for us, jack," he said. the little boy still felt nervous. "do you think they'll catch me?" he asked. "no, jack, i think they'll get left this time." the cab made its way rapidly through the crowded streets, and in a very short time drew up at the union depot. mark paid the driver, and accompanied by jack, made his way to the ticket office. "how soon will there be a train east?" he asked. "in ten minutes." "that will suit us, jack." he bought tickets, and, the cars being ready, they took their seats in a comfortable car of the lake shore and michigan railroad. "if they should come here!" suggested jack, nervously. "they would have to run fast, if our train leaves on time. there is no danger, jack. even if they suspect that we have left the store, they wouldn't know where we are gone." still, even mark felt relieved and reassured when the signal was given and the long train began to steam out of the depot. "wouldn't you like to go back and bid peggy good-by?" he asked, jocosely. "i hope i shall never see peggy again," answered the little boy, shuddering. "if you ever do, there won't be any danger of her doing you any harm. your grandfather will take care of that." in his hurry to leave the city, mark had been compelled to leave his bill at the hotel unpaid, but his valise was left behind as security. at the first opportunity he telegraphed to the land-lord, promising to remit the necessary money, and asking him to hold the valise till instructed where to send it by express. we will now go back to peggy and lyman, who were impatiently maintaining their watch at the window of the shoe store. when fifteen minutes had passed, and jack and mark did not appear, they became alarmed. "where are they?" muttered peggy. "it's long enough they are stayin'." "you are right, peggy." just then a policeman tapped him on the shoulder. he had been watching them for some time and their conduct seemed to him suspicious. "what are you doing here, my man?" he asked, suspiciously. "you had better move on." "we are waiting for some one to come out," answered lyman. "how long do you mean to wait? is this woman with you?" "yes," answered lyman, reluctantly, for he was not proud of his companion, whose appearance was hardly calculated to do him credit. "shure, my little bye has been shtole," she put in, "and he's in the store now wid the man that shtole him." "then you'd better go in and claim him instead of standing here and blocking up the sidewalk." "i think i will follow your advice," said lyman. "will you be kind enough to stay here a minute, in case i need your help?" "very well; only be quick." lyman entered the store, and failing to see jack and mark, addressed one of the salesmen. "two boys were in here a short time since," he said; "one large one and one small one. can you tell me where they are?" it happened that the salesman addressed was the same one who had guided the boys to the back entrance. at least fifteen minutes had elapsed, and there would be no danger in telling the truth. "they went away some time since," he answered. "they did not go out the front door, for i've been there all the time." "there's another door," quietly retorted the clerk. "where?" asked lyman, in dismay. "in the rear of the store." "sold, by thunder!" exclaimed lyman, under his breath. "how long have they been gone?" "fifteen minutes. were they friends of yours?" "the small boy was my son," answered lyman, unblushingly. "and was the woman i saw with you at the window his mother?" asked the salesman, with a smile. "certainly not," answered lyman, coloring with indignation. "the older boy has abducted him." "why didn't you come in sooner, then?" "i wish i had." great was peggy's dismay when lyman told her what he had learned. she had fully decided to beat jack soundly, and now she was baffled of her revenge. the two confederates spent the rest of the day in wandering about the streets of chicago in search of jack and his friend, but their search was in vain. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxxiv. mrs. manning's house is sold. it is now time to return to pocasset and inquire how our old acquaintances are prospering. it was still a matter of wonder what had become of mark. mrs. manning gave no information, and no letters were received at the post-office which would throw light on the mystery. mark, by arrangement, directed all his letters to mr. hardy, who inclosed and forwarded them to the pocasset office. tom wyman, the postmaster's son, was puzzled to account for the letters received from new york by mrs. manning. "they must be from mark," said james collins. "they don't seem to be in mark's hand-writing." "he probably gets some one to direct them for him, so as to throw dust in our eyes." this was the conclusion upon which the two boys finally settled. another cause of wonder was the hermit's visits to the city. since he had heard that his grandson was living, he went up often to consult with mr. hardy. family affection in him had not died out. it had only been dormant, and now it was thoroughly reawakened. "i long to see my daughter's boy," he said. "it will give me something to live for. i tremble lest the cup of happiness should be dashed from my lips, just as my hopes are awakened." "don't be anxious, old friend. your affairs are in good hands. mark is only a boy, but he has far more discretion and fidelity than most men. do you know what i have in view?" "well?" "if he succeeds in this enterprise i propose, with his mother's permission, to take him into my office, and train him up in my business. i have hitherto employed boys simply as boys, but mark is one whom i can train up for a responsible position. i am getting older every year, and when i am really old, i shall be glad to have a young man at my side upon whom i can shift the burden of my business. do you think his mother would object?" "mrs. manning is a sensible woman. i think she will be glad to have her son so well provided for. if it is necessary i will myself advise her to commit him to your charge." at length a telegram came from mark, and by good luck when mr. taylor was in the office of his agent. it ran thus: "john hardy, new york. "i am on my way to new york with little jack. particulars when we meet. "mark manning." "there, old friend, what do you say to that?" asked john hardy, triumphantly. "didn't i tell you the boy would succeed? was my confidence misplaced?" "he had my confidence from the first," said anthony, his face luminous with happiness, "but i knew he had an adroit enemy in my nephew lyman. i didn't dare to expect that a country boy would be equal to the emergency." "now, you can go home with a light heart. in a day or two, your grandson will be with you. what are your plans respecting him? shall you take him to pocasset?" "i don't think i can do better. he will need a woman's care, and i know of no one who will prove kinder than mrs. manning." "she has this in her favor at any rate. she has brought up her own boy well. but will the house be large or comfortable enough?" "i am not very particular for myself. you will judge that when you remember the cabin in the woods, where i spent several years. the house is small, however, but there is another vacant, much larger and handsomer, which i can buy or rent, already furnished. the owner and occupant died recently, and his heirs, living in a distant state, want to sell it. it has a handsome lawn and a garden attached. it stands near the house of mr. collins." "well, you are able to gratify your own taste in the matter. i will send mark down as soon as he arrives." when anthony reached home, he found mrs. manning anxious and perturbed. the cause will require some explanation. the small cottage in which mark and his mother lived did not belong to them. they rented it from deacon brooks, an old farmer living just out of the village, at five-dollars monthly rental. for a special reason squire collins desired to possess it. he owned the lot adjoining, and it occurred to him that the two combined would make a desirable property. the house, which was a cottage, could be raised one story, and made much more commodious. in that case, it would easily command more than twice the rent. the foreman of the shoe-shop stood prepared to rent it of him, as soon as the alteration was made. he therefore approached deacon brooks, with a proposition to purchase it. "i don't know," said the deacon. "i never thought of sellin', but i can't say i'm opposed to it. i'm getting good rent from the widder manning." "there's no knowing, deacon, how long she'll be able to pay her rent," said the squire, nodding with a meaning look. "sho! you don't say! she ain't lost any money, has she?" "she had none to lose. her boy mark has about supported her with his small earnings in the shop. but he isn't employed there any longer." "i heard something of that. did you discharge him?" "yes; he got too uppishâ��wasn't willing to obey orders. i was sorry to discharge him on his mother's account, but it was his own fault." "seems to me i haven't seen him round the village lately?" "no; he has gone to the city on some wild-goose expedition. my boy james thinks he is blacking boots or selling papers. as to that i can't say, but it isn't likely he is able to help his mother much." "i hear mrs. manning has a boarder?" "yes; it's the old hermit that lived in the woods. i believe he has a small pension from some relations, but it doesn't amount to much. probably he doesn't pay more than two or three dollars a week board. that won't go far, eh, deacon?" "you're right there, squire. it costs a sight to live. how much do you think my grocery bill came to last month?" "i don't know," answered the squire, with a curious smile. the deacon had the reputation of being very close-fisted, and it was rather amusing to hear him speak of the cost of living. "fifteen dollars and sixty-seven cents," said the deacon, with the air of one who hardly expected to be believed. "i believe you have six in family," said squire collins, with a smile. "yes, six, including the hired man." "i pity your family," thought the squire, who, at all events, kept a liberal table. "yes, it costs a great deal to live," he added, "and, of course, the widow manning, though her family is small, can't live on nothing. when she finds she can't pay all her bills, she will probably begin by being remiss in her rent." "that's so, squire! she's allus paid so far right up to the handle, though." "when she had mark's help; but as i told you he is not now in a condition to help his mother. well, what do you say? shall i have the house?" then commenced the bargaining. both parties were sharp, but at length a conclusion was reached. squire collins agreed to pay eight hundred and fifty dollars for the cottage, five hundred to remain on bond and mortgage, at six per cent. in a day or two the necessary papers were made out, and then squire collins took a walk over to the cottage, to inform mrs. manning that the house had passed into his possession, and it would be necessary for her to find another home. it might have been supposed he would feel some compunction, but he did not have much feeling or sympathy for the widow. the ill-feeling between mark and his son had its effect upon him also. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxxv. notice to quit. there are some men who enjoy the prospect of dealing a blow, and watching the effectâ��men whose best feelings have been deadened, and who have lost all sympathy for those less fortunate than themselves. that squire collins was a man of this kind will not seem strange to those who have followed the course of this story. he set out for mrs. manning's cottage with a comfortable complacency, though he knew that the communication he had to make would bring her great trouble and sorrow. quite unconscious of the impending blow, mrs. manning was sitting at the front window engaged in sewing, while her thoughts were with her absent boy, whom she seemed to miss more and more as his absence lengthened. casually looking up from her work, she saw with considerable surprise the dignified figure of squire collins turning in at her gate. "what can bring the squire here," she thought. she was not in the habit of receiving or expecting calls from her aristocratic townsman, and concluded that he must have some special object in calling. perhaps he had come to offer to take mark back into the shop. if so, it might be the best thing for her son. she knew very little of old anthony's circumstances, and she did not anticipate any permanent position for mark from that quarter. "good morning, squire collins," she said, politely. "good morning, mrs. manning," he responded, somewhat stiffly. "won't you come in?" "thank you; i will step in for a few minutes, i have a little business to speak of." "it must be that he means to take mark back into the shop," thought the widow, cheerfully. she led the way into the plain sitting-room, and invited the village magnate to take a seat. "ahem! your son mark is away?" remarked the squire, inquiringly. this confirmed mrs. manning in her conjecture as to the squire's errand. "yes," she answered; "but i think he will be at home before long. i miss him a great deal." "i suppose he can't make a living in new york," thought the squire. rather fortunately he didn't inquire where mark was, since this would have embarrassed mrs. manning, who knew that it was a secret not to be mentioned, and yet would have been reluctant to offend the squire by withholding the information. "probably he will be as well off at home," said the squire. "i don't believe much in boys leaving home on wild-goose expeditions. they think it perfectly easy to earn a living elsewhere, but they are pretty apt to reap only disappointment." "i dare say you are right, squire," said mrs. manning, leading up to the subject of a return to the shop; "but there didn't seem to be anything for mark to do at home." squire collins understood her object, but had no intention of offering employment to mark. he looked at the widow with a peculiar smile, and enjoyed the disappointment which his next words were calculated to bring. "i dare say mark can hire out to some good farmer," he replied, indifferently. "farming is a good healthy business." mrs. manning sighed, for she rightly interpreted that no place in the shop was to be offered to mark. "ahem!" said the squire, changing the subject; "you have a boarder, i understand?" "yes; mr. taylor makes his home with us." "a sensible move on his part. it was a strange thing to live in the woods by himself so many years. i hope he will be able to pay his board." "he pays regularly every week," answered the widow. "i presume he's quite poor?" "mark thinks he has considerable money, but i have no means of judging, except that he pays his bills promptly." squire collins shrugged his shoulders. "mark is an inexperienced boy," he said. "the truth is, as i understand, old anthony receives a small pension from some relatives in new york. it can't be much, but i hope, for your sake, that he has enough to pay his board." mrs. manning began to wonder whether this was what squire collins came to talk about. she was soon more fully informed. "how long have you lived in this cottage, mrs. manning?" asked the squire. "ten years, sir." "you hire of deacon brooks?" "yes, sir." "ahem! i came here this morning to acquaint you with the fact that i have just bought the property." "has deacon brooks sold to you?" asked the widow, in surprise. "yes; the papers have passed, and the transfer has been made. i am now the legal owner." "i shall be glad to keep the house, squire collins, if you have no other views," said mrs. manning. "i have been paying five dollars a month rent, and if that is satisfactoryâ��â��" "the fact is, mrs. manning," interrupted the squire, "i _have_ other views. i intend to raise the house a story, and have promised to rent it, when completed, to my foreman, mr. lake, who contemplates marriage. he is boarding at present, as you know." mrs. manning was very much disturbed. it is no light thing to be forced to leave a house which has been one's home for a period of ten years, especially in a country town where surplus houses are generally scarce and hard to find. "i don't know where i can go," said the widow, anxiously. "no doubt you'll find some place," said the squire, carelessly. "how soon do you want me to vacate the house, squire collins?" asked mrs. manning, anxiously. "at the end of the month." "but that is only a week from to-day." "quite true." "that is a very short time." "it ought to be time enough, mrs. manning," said the squire, stiffly. "i would be willing to pay a little higher rent if you would allow me to remain, squire collins." "quite out of the question, mrs. manning. indeed, i will say that i think you already pay all you can afford to. i doubt whether you will be ableâ��with mark out of employmentâ��to keep up your present rent. as i understand, about all your income comes from a boarder, whose means must be extremely limited, and who, in all probability, will end his days in the alms-house." "i don't know of any other house in the village." "well, you can think it over; of course that is your own affair, not mine." "if mark were only at home," said the perplexed woman; "i would know better what to do." "you had better send for him then. good morning." squire collins rose and left the presence of the widow whom he had made thoroughly anxious and unhappy. in the course of the afternoon old anthony came home. he was looking unusually jubilant and happy, in direct contrast with the widow's anxious face. "mrs. manning," he said, "i bring you good news." "i am glad of it, sir, for i have only bad news." "and what is your bad news?" "i must leave this house." "how is that?" asked the hermit, looking surprised. "because it has been sold. squire collins has bought it, and says that he is intending to enlarge it, and then let it to mr. lake, his foreman." "and that is all your bad news?" "yes, sir; but i consider it bad enough. i don't know where i can go." "i will let you have my cabin in the woods rent free," said the hermit, with a smile. "i don't know but i shall have to go there," said the widow, sighing. "you don't ask me what my good news is," said anthony. "i would like to hear it, sir." "by day after to-morrow mark will be home." mrs. manning's face did brighten up at this intelligence. "this is really good news," she said gladly. "mark will advise me what to do." "mark will not come alone. do you think, mrs. manning, you can accommodate another boarder?" "who is it, sir?" "a little boy. i don't care to keep it secret. it is my grandson." "your grandson?" "yes; i sent mark out west to find him. he has succeeded in his mission, and the two are now on the way home." "i shall be glad to take him, sir, if i have anywhere to receive him. squire collins's visit has rather upset me, and i don't know what to do, or where to turn." "if your only trouble is about a house, i will undertake to find one for you. don't borrow any trouble on that score." "but i don't know of any house that will come within my means." "i am afraid, mrs. manning, that you haven't confidence in me. i tell you again, not to borrow any trouble. i may as well tell you that this house will not be large enough for your increased family, and that i intended to propose to you to take another." the widow's anxiety was somewhat relieved. still she could not help wondering what house old anthony would succeed in finding. there was one comfort. in two days mark would be at home, and would be able to help him. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxxvi. the hermit secures a house. a short distance from the house occupied by squire collins was one which had been for six months vacant. it had been erected as a summer residence by a new york gentleman, and occupied by him for several seasons. it was the finest house in the village, and it seemed a pity it should remain untenanted. mr. beech, the builder, now spent his summers at various watering-places, and had apparently tired of pocasset. it was understood that the house was left in the hands of mr. thompson, who was authorized to let it to a responsible tenant. old anthony the next morning made it in his way to call at the office of mr. thompson. the latter received him with his usual courtesy. "i hear that you are boarding with mrs. manning, mr. taylor," he said. "yes." "i think you must find it much more agreeable than your life in the woods." "i do; i am getting over my misanthropy, and am taking more cheerful views of life." "that is good. my son frank is an intimate friend of mark, and thinks a great deal of him and his mother." "so do i," responded the hermit. "mark is a straightforward boy, and will succeed life." "i hope so. i wish i had anything for him to doâ��frank would be glad. perhaps in time i may find him a place." "i think i shall be able to provide employment for mark myself," said the hermit, quietly. mr. thompson regarded him with surprise. like the rest of the villagers, he had been in the habit of regarding old anthony as a man of limited means. "by-the-way, mr. thompson, i called this morning on a little matter of business," continued the hermit. "i believe you have the rental of the beach house." "yes," answered mr. thompson, somewhat surprised. "i am acquainted with a family who are on the lookout for a house in groveton. this, i think, would suit them, if the rent is not too high." "it is, you know, a fine house. would your friends like to have it furnished?" "i think so." "in that case, the rent will be four hundred dollars a year, or a hundred dollars a quarter. in the city, or at long branch, as you probably are aware, four times as much would be required." "i think that will be satisfactory. can immediate possession be given?" "yes; i will at once set the cleaners to work, and have it got ready by the end of the week. one question i am obliged to ask. is the party for whom you are acting, responsible, in a pecuniary way?" "the first quarter's rent will be paid in advance." "pretty satisfactory. may i ask the name of the tenant?" "there are reasons for keeping it secret for a few days." "oh, well, that is not material." old anthony never said a word about what he had done, for, as my readers will conjecture, he meant to have mark and his mother occupy the house. it did, however, get noised about, that mr. beach's house was taken. squire collins among others, was curious to ascertain something about the new tenants, and made a call on mr. thompson, with the special object of finding out. "i am no wiser than you, squire collins," said mr. thompson. "of course we shall all know in a few days." "by whom was the matter negotiated?" "there again i am bound to secrecy, but all will be known." "of course the party must have ample means, and i look forward to having a pleasant neighborâ��there are very few in the village with whom we can associate, on an equality, and so any good family is an acquisition." "you are more fastidious than i, squire collins," said mr. thompson smiling. "i don't value men according to the size of their pocket-books." "you must admit, however, that refinement and wealth are likely to go together. you are not too democratic for that?" "i am not sure. i have known many rich people who were very far from being refined. by-the-way, i hear that you have bought the house occupied by mrs. manning." "yes." "shall you allow her to remain there?" "no; i mean to enlarge it, and let my foreman occupy it." "that will be a disappointment to mrs. manning." "oh, i suppose so," said the squire, carelessly; "but that is her lookout, not mine." "i really don't know of any house in the village she can obtain." squire collins shrugged his shoulders. "i really haven't troubled my mind about the matter," he said. "if i had time, i don't know but i would build them a small cottage on the vacant lot i have on glen street." "take my advice, and don't; the widow is in very precarious circumstances. her son, mark, is out of employment." "can't you find him something to do, in your shop?" "i could, but do not feel disposed to. he is a very independent boy, and more than once, he treated my son, james, in a disrespectful way. no; he must shift for himself some other way." "of the two boys, i certainly very much prefer mark," thought mr. thompson; but politeness prevented his saying so. squire collins soon took his leave, having failed to acquire the information he sought. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- chapter xxxvii. conclusion. meanwhile, mrs. manning could not help feeling anxious, about her prospects of a house. "have you heard of any house, mr. taylor?" she asked. the hermit smiled. "don't be troubled, mrs. manning," he said; "when you leave this house you will find another one to move into." mrs. manning was silenced, but still disquieted. she was even tempted to wonder whether old anthony was really quite right in his mind. but there was nothing to be done. she could only wait, patiently. the next day mark arrived with little jack. he was looking unusually well, his journey having given him a healthy color, and added to his flesh. jack was still thin and pale, but was beginning to look better than when under peggy's care. [illustration: the hermit was much moved, as he took the boy in his arms and kissed him.] the hermit was much moved, as he took the boy in his arms and kissed him. "i can see my daughter's looks in you, jack," he said. "i fear your life has been a sad one, poor child. it shall be my task to repay you for the hardships you have had to meet in your short life." little jack seemed to take instinctively to the rough-looking but, kind-hearted old man. the poor match boy seemed to have drifted into a haven of rest. "shall i ever have to go back to peggy?" he asked. "never, my child. this good lady," indicating mrs. manning, "will supply the place of your own mother." "i will sell matches for you, if you want me to, grandfather. i didn't like working for peggy, but i will work for you." "my dear jack, instead of working you must go to school, and learn all you can. when you are grown up, it will be time for you to work." it soon became noised about that the little boy, who was seen about the village with mark, was the hermit's grandson. but the grandson of old anthony was not considered a very important person, and only excited passing interest. mark was let into the secret of the new home to which mr. taylor proposed to move, and he was naturally pleased to think that his mother's condition was to be so much improved. nothing had leaked out in the village, however, about the contemplated removal. the week was nearly ended when mark happened to meet james collins in the street. james had been informed by his father that mrs. manning had received notice to leave the cottage, and it gratified his dislike of mark. what puzzled him was, mark's apparent indifference and evident good spirits. "perhaps he thinks my father will relent, and let him stay, but he'll find himself mistaken as i shall let him know when i get a chance." the chance came that very day. "hallo!" said james, as mark was about to pass him. "hallo!" responded mark smiling. "i hear you've got to move." "so i hear." "it's high time you were finding a new house." "i think so myself, but that's my mother's business." "you needn't think my father will let you stay where you are." "don't you think he would let us stay a month longer?" "no, i don't." "he wouldn't put us out in the street, would he?" "look here, mark manning, i see what you are at. you want to impose on my father's good nature. i shall warn him of your plan." "just as you please, james." the result was that squire collins, sharing to some extent his son's apprehensions, made a call that same evening at the cottage. all the family were at home. after the usual greetings were over, the squire said: "i suppose, mrs. manning, you will be ready to move on saturday?" "suppose my mother can't get a house," suggested mark. "she _must_ find a house," said the squire, severely. "she has had time enough to find one. you mustn't blame me if i say that move you must on saturday." "you need have no anxiety, squire collins," said mrs. manning, with dignity. "i intend to move on that day." "and where, may i ask?" inquired the squire, with curiosity. "we move into the beach house," answered mark, his eyes fixed with smiling interest on the village magnate. "what!" exclaimed the squire in amazement and incredulity. "do you mean the house near mine?" "yes." "you must be crazy," he gasped. "that is a very elegant house, and the rent is high." "i think we can pay it." "and your furniture is unfit for so handsome a residence, even if there were enough of it." "we hire the house with its present furniture," said mark complacently. "i don't understand it at all!" exclaimed the perplexed squire. "how can you, being almost a beggar, dream of living there?" "i think, squire collins," said old anthony, quietly, "that you are somewhat in error as to my young friend mark's circumstances." "what do you mean?" "i mean that he has a very good property for a boy of his age." mark was as much amazed as the squire at this statement. the latter said with a sneer: "and where is this famous property?" "i will inform you with pleasure. there are a thousand dollars to his credit in a savings' bank in new york, and he holds a mortgage of four thousand dollars on your manufactory." even mark thought anthony was out of his mind. "why," stammered the squire, "i negotiated that mortgage through mr. hardy, of new york." "exactly! the money he advanced he held in trust for mark." "i can't believe this!" exclaimed the squire in mortification and bewilderment. "is this really true, mr. taylor?" asked mark. "yes. let me inform you, squire collins, that though i have lived as a hermit, i am really a moderately rich man, and some time since transferred without his knowledge five thousand dollars to mark here, who, as you see, is really chief owner of the shop from which you discharged him." "i didn't dream of this!" ejaculated the squire. "i presume not," said the hermit dryly. "if mark chooses to come back into the shop, i will raise his wages." "my friend hardy intends to offer mark a position in his office in the city, which i think will suit him better. it only remains to say that this cottage will be vacated on saturday." "i don't want to inconvenience mrs. manning," said the squire, filled with respect by the unexpected prosperity of those whom he had come to bully. "stay another week if you wish." "we don't wish, thank you," said mark. it was a wonderful story that squire collins had to tell at home, and the deep chagrin of james can be imagined. but he was worldly wise, and he soon decided to court the boy he had hitherto despised. what annoyed him most was the thought mark held a mortgage on his father's shop, and was to live in a house handsomer than his own. ---------five years have elapsed since the incidents recorded above. mark fills a responsible position in the office of mr. hardy, with a handsome salary. little jack is now a rosy, healthy child of thirteen, and those who remembered him as a match boy would not know him now. his grandfather's happiness is bound up in his little grandson, but he is still very much attached to mark, and he has made a new will, in which he divides his fortune equally between these two. lyman taylor is again within the walls of a penitentiary, having forged a check upon a well-known merchant of chicago; and old peggy, taking jack's place, is to be seen any day on clark or state streets, with a basket of matches, which she makes an excuse for appealing to the charity of passers by. her face is growing redder and redder, as her potations increase, and she will probably end her career in a hospital or alms-house. james collins is now a clerk in newport, on a small salary, with which he is very much discontented, and from time to time asks a loan of his old schoolfellow, mark, to whom he is now compelled to look up. he has developed extravagant tastes, and is always in debt. i greatly fear that neither his habits nor his fortunes will improve as he grows older. for our hero, mark, and those who belong to him, we may anticipate brighter days and greater prosperity, as a fitting recompense of industry and good habits. the end. -----------------------------------------------------------------------a. l. burt's catalogue of books for young people by popular writers, 52-58 duane street, new york -------------books for boys. =joe's luck=: a boy's adventures in california. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. the story is chock full of stirring incidents, while the amusing situations are furnished by joshua bickford, from pumpkin hollow, and the fellow who modestly styles himself the "rip-tail roarer, from pike co., missouri." mr. alger never writes a poor book, and "joe's luck" is certainly one of his best. =tom the bootblack=; or, the road to success. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. a bright, enterprising lad was tom the bootblack. he was not at all ashamed of his humble calling, though always on the lookout to better himself. the lad started for cincinnati to look up his heritage. mr. grey, the uncle, did not hesitate to employ a ruffian to kill the lad. the plan failed, and gilbert grey, once tom the bootblack, came into a comfortable fortune. this is one of mr. alger's best stories. =dan the newsboy.= by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. dan mordaunt and his mother live in a poor tenement, and the lad is pluckily trying to make ends meet by selling papers in the streets of new york. a little heiress of six years is confided to the care of the mordaunts. the child is kidnapped and dan tracks the child to the house where she is hidden, and rescues her. the wealthy aunt of the little heiress is so delighted with dan's courage and many good qualities that she adopts him as her heir. =tony the hero=: a brave boy's adventure with a tramp. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. tony, a sturdy bright-eyed boy of fourteen, is under the control of rudolph rugg, a thorough rascal. after much abuse tony runs away and gets a job as stable boy in a country hotel. tony is heir to a large estate. rudolph for a consideration hunts up tony and throws him down a deep well. of course tony escapes from the fate provided for him, and by a brave act, a rich friend secures his rights and tony is prosperous. a very entertaining book. =the errand boy=; or, how phil brent won success. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth illustrated, price $1.00. the career of "the errand boy" embraces the city adventures of a smart country lad. philip was brought up by a kind-hearted innkeeper named brent. the death of mrs. brent paved the way for the hero's subsequent troubles. a retired merchant in new york secures him the situation of errand boy, and thereafter stands as his friend. =tom temple's career.= by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. tom temple is a bright, self-reliant lad. he leaves plympton village to seek work in new york, whence he undertakes an important mission to california. some of his adventures in the far west are so startling that the reader will scarcely close the book until the last page shall have been reached. the tale is written in mr. alger's most fascinating style. =frank fowler, the cash boy.= by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. frank fowler, a poor boy, bravely determines to make a living for himself and his foster-sister grace. going to new york he obtains a situation as a cash boy in a dry goods store. he renders a service to a wealthy old gentleman who takes a fancy to the lad, and thereafter helps the lad to gain success and fortune. =tom thatcher's fortune.= by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. tom thatcher is a brave, ambitious, unselfish boy. he supports his mother and sister on meagre wages earned as a shoe-pegger in john simpson's factory. tom is discharged from the factory and starts overland for california. he meets with many adventures. the story is told in a way which has made mr. alger's name a household word in so many homes. =the train boy.= by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. paul palmer was a wide-awake boy of sixteen who supported his mother and sister by selling books and papers on the chicago and milwaukee railroad. he detects a young man in the act of picking the pocket of a young lady. in a railway accident many passengers are killed, but paul is fortunate enough to assist a chicago merchant, who out of gratitude takes him into his employ. paul succeeds with tact and judgment and is well started on the road to business prominence. =mark mason's victory.= the trials and triumphs of a telegraph boy. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. mark mason, the telegraph boy, was a sturdy, honest lad, who pluckily won his way to success by his honest manly efforts under many difficulties. this story will please the very large class of boys who regard mr. alger as a favorite author. =a debt of honor.= the story of gerald lane's success in the far west. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. the story of gerald lane and the account of the many trials and disappointments which he passed through before he attained success, will interest all boys who have read the previous stories of this delightful author. =ben bruce.= scenes in the life of a bowery newsboy. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. ben bruce was a brave, manly, generous boy. the story of his efforts, and many seeming failures and disappointments, and his final success, are most interesting to all readers. the tale is written in mr. alger's most fascinating style. =the castaways=; or, on the florida reefs. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this tale smacks of the salt sea. from the moment that the sea queen leaves lower new york bay till the breeze leaves her becalmed off the coast of florida, one can almost hear the whistle of the wind through her rigging, the creak of her straining cordage as she heels to the leeward. the adventures of ben clark, the hero of the story and jake the cook, cannot fail to charm the reader. as a writer for young people mr. otis is a prime favorite. =wrecked on spider island=; or, how ned rogers found the treasure. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. ned rogers, a "down-east" plucky lad ships as cabin boy to earn a livelihood. ned is marooned on spider island, and while there discovers a wreck submerged in the sand, and finds a considerable amount of treasure. the capture of the treasure and the incidents of the voyage serve to make as entertaining a story of sea-life as the most captious boy could desire. =the search for the silver city=: a tale of adventure in yucatan. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. two lads, teddy wright and neal emery, embark on the steam yacht day dream for a cruise to the tropics. the yacht is destroyed by fire, and then the boat is cast upon the coast of yucatan. they hear of the wonderful sliver city, of the chan santa cruz indians, and with the help of a faithful indian ally carry off a number of the golden images from the temples. pursued with relentless vigor at last their escape is effected in an astonishing manner. the story is so full of exciting incidents that the reader is quite carried away with the novelty and realism of the narrative. =a runaway brig=; or, an accidental cruise. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this is a sea tale, and the reader can look out upon the wide shimmering sea as it flashes back the sunlight, and imagine himself afloat with harry vandyne, walter morse, jim libby and that old shell-back, bob brace, on the brig bonita. the boys discover a mysterious document which enables them to find a buried treasure. they are stranded on an island and at last are rescued with the treasure. the boys are sure to be fascinated with this entertaining story. =the treasure finders=: a boy's adventures in nicaragua. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. roy and dean coloney, with their guide tongla, leave their father's indigo plantation to visit the wonderful ruins of an ancient city. the boys eagerly explore the temples of an extinct race and discover three golden images cunningly hidden away. they escape with the greatest difficulty. eventually they reach safety with their golden prizes. we doubt if there ever was written a more entertaining story than "the treasure finders." =jack, the hunchback.= a story of the coast of maine. by james otis. price $1.00. this is the story of a little hunchback who lived on cape elisabeth, on the coast of maine. his trials and successes are most interesting. from first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative. it bears us along as on a stream whose current varies in direction, but never loses its force. =with washington at monmouth=: a story of three philadelphia boys. by james otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50. three philadelphia lads assist the american spies and make regular and frequent visits to valley forge in the winter while the british occupied the city. the story abounds with pictures of colonial life skillfully drawn, and the glimpses of washington's soldiers which are given shown that the work has not been hastily done, or without considerable study. the story is wholesome and patriotic in tone, as are all of mr. otis' works. =with lafayette at yorktown=: a story of how two boys joined the continental army. by james otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50. two lads from portmouth, n. h. attempt to enlist in the colonial army, and are given employment as spies. there is no lack of exciting incidents which the youthful reader craves, but it is healthful excitement brimming with facts which every boy should be familiar with, and while the reader is following the adventures of ben jaffrays and ned allen he is acquiring a fund of historical lore which will remain in his memory long after that which he has memorized from text books has been forgotten. =at the siege of havana.= being the experiences of three boys serving under israel putnam in 1762. by james otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50. "at the siege of havana" deals with that portion of the island's history when the english king captured the capital, thanks to the assistance given by the troops from new england, led in part by col. israel putnam. the principal characters are darius lunt, the lad who, represented as telling the story, and his comrades, robert clement and nicholas vallet. colonel putnam also figures to considerable extent, necessarily, in the tale, and the whole forms one of the most readable stories founded on historical facts. =the defense of fort henry.= a story of wheeling creek in 1777. by james otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50. nowhere in the history of our country can be found more heroic or thrilling incidents than in the story of those brave men and women who founded the settlement of wheeling in the colony of virginia. the recital of what elisabeth zane did is in itself as heroic a story as can be imagined. the wondrous bravery displayed by major mcculloch and his gallant comrades, the sufferings of the colonists and their sacrifice of blood and life, stir the blood of old as well as young readers. =the capture of the laughing mary.= a story of three new york boys in 1776. by james otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, price $1.50. "during the british occupancy of new york, at the outbreak of the revolution, a yankee lad hears of the plot to take general washington's person, and calls in two companions to assist the patriot cause. they do some astonishing things, and, incidentally, lay the way for an american navy later, by the exploit which gives its name to the work. mr. otis' books are too well-known to require any particular commendation to the young."â��evening post. =with warren at bunker hill.= a story of the siege of boston. by james otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50. "this is a tale of the siege of boston, which opens on the day after the doings at lexington and concord, with a description of home life in boston, introduces the reader to the british camp at charlestown, shows gen. warren at home, describes what a boy thought of the battle of bunker hill and closes with the raising of the siege. the three heroes, george wentworth, ben scarlett and an old ropemaker, incur the enmity of a young tory, who causes them many adventures the boys will like to read."â��detroit free press. =with the swamp fox.= the story of general marion's spies. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this story deals with general francis marion's heroic struggle in the carolinas. general marlon's arrival to take command of these brave men and rough riders is pictured as a boy might have seen it, and although the story is devoted to what the lads did, the swamp fox is ever present in the mind of the reader. =on the kentucky frontier.= a story of the fighting pioneers of the west. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1. in the history of our country there is no more thrilling story than that of the work done on the mississippi river by a handful of frontiers-men. mr. otis takes the reader on that famous expedition from the arrival of major clarke's force at corn island, until kaskaskia was captured. he relates that part of simon kenton's life history which is not usually touched upon either by the historian or the story teller. this is one of the most entertaining books for young people which has been published. =sarah dillard's ride.= a story of south carolina in 1780. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. "this book deals with the carolinas in 1780, giving a wealth of detail of the mountain men who struggled so valiantly against the king's troops. major ferguson is the prominent british officer of the story, which is told as though coming from a youth who experienced these adventures. in this way the famous ride of sarah dillard is brought out as an incident of the plot."â��boston journal. =a tory plot.= a story of the attempt to kill general washington. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. "'a tory plot' is the story of two lads who overhear something of the plot originated during the revolution by gov. tryon to capture or murder washington. they communicate their knowledge to gen. putnam and are commissioned by him to play the role of detectives in the matter. they do so, and meet with many adventures and hair-breadth escapes. the boys are, of course, mythical, but they serve to enable the author to put into very attractive shape much valuable knowledge concerning one phase of the revolution."â��pittsburgh times. =a traitor's escape.= a story of the attempt to seize benedict arnold. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. "this is a tale with stirring scenes depicted in each chapter, bringing clearly before the mind the glorious deeds of the early settlers in this country. in an historical work dealing with this country's past, no plot can hold the attention closer than this one, which describes the attempt and partial success of benedict arnold's escape to new york, where he remained as the guest of sir henry clinton. all those who actually figured in the arrest of the traitor, as well as gen. washington, are included as characters."â��albany union. =a cruise with paul jones.= a story of naval warfare in 1776. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. "this story takes up that portion of paul jones' adventurous life when he was hovering off the british coast, watching for an opportunity to strike the enemy a blow. it deals more particularly with his descent upon whitehaven, the seizure of lady selkirk's plate, and the famous battle with the drake. the boy who figures in the tale is one who was taken from a derelict by paul jones shortly after this particular cruise was begun."â��chicago inter-ocean. =corporal lige's recruit.= a story of crown point and ticonderoga. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. "in 'corporal lige's recruit,' mr. otis tells the amusing story of an old soldier, proud of his record, who had served the king in '58, and who takes the lad, isaac rice, as his 'personal recruit.' the lad acquits himself superbly. col. ethan allen 'in the name of god and the continental congress,' infuses much martial spirit into the narrative, which will arouse the keenest interest as it proceeds. crown point, ticonderoga, benedict arnold and numerous other famous historical names appear in this dramatic tale."â��boston globe. =morgan, the jersey spy.= a story of the siege of yorktown in 1781. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. "the two lads who are utilised by the author to emphasise the details of the work done during that memorable time were real boys who lived on the banks of the york river, and who aided the jersey spy in his dangerous occupation. in the guise of fishermen the lads visit yorktown, are suspected of being spies, and put under arrest. morgan risks his life to save them. the final escape, the thrilling encounter with a squad of red coats, when they are exposed equally to the bullets of friends and foes, told in a masterly fashion, makes of this volume one of the most entertaining books of the year."â��inter-ocean. =the young scout=: the story of a west point lieutenant. by edward s. ellis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. the crafty apache chief geronimo but a few years ago was the most terrible scourge of the southwest border. the author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the incidents of geronimo's last raid. the hero is lieutenant james decker, a recent graduate of west point. ambitious to distinguish himself the young man takes many a desperate chance against the enemy and on more than one occasion narrowly escapes with his life. in our opinion mr. ellis is the best writer of indian stories now before the public. =adrift in the wilds=: the adventures of two ship-wrecked boys. by edward s. ellis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. elwood brandon and howard lawrence are en route for san francisco. off the coast of california the steamer takes fire. the two boys reach the shore with several of the passengers. young brandon becomes separated from his party and is captured by hostile indians, but is afterwards rescued. this is a very entertaining narrative of southern california. =a young hero=; or, fighting to win. by edward s. ellis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this story tells how a valuable solid silver service was stolen from the misses perkinpine, two very old and simple-minded ladies. fred sheldon, the hero of this story, undertakes to discover the thieves and have them arrested. after much time spent in detective work, he succeeds in discovering the silver plate and winning the reward. the story is told in mr. ellis' most fascinating style. every boy will be glad to read this delightful book. =lost in the rockies.= a story of adventure in the rocky mountains. by edward s. ellis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1. incident succeeds incident, and adventure is plied upon adventure, and at the end the reader, be he boy or man, will have experienced breathless enjoyment in this romantic story describing many adventures in the rockies and among the indians. =a jaunt through java=: the story of a journey to the sacred mountain. by edward s. ellis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. the interest of this story is found in the thrilling adventures of two cousins, hermon and eustace hadley, on their trip across the island of java, from samarang to the sacred mountain. in a land where the royal bengal tiger, the rhinoceros, and other fierce beasts are to be met with. it is but natural that the heroes of this book should have a lively experience. there is not a dull page in the book. =the boy patriot.= a story of jack, the young friend of washington. by edward s. ellis. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50. "there are adventures of all kinds for the hero and his friends, whose pluck and ingenuity in extricating themselves from awkward fixes are always equal to the occasion. it is an excellent story full of honest, manly, patriotic efforts on the part of the hero. a very vivid description of the battle of trenton is also found in this story."â��journal of education. =a yankee lad's pluck.= how bert larkin saved his father's ranch in porto rico. by wm. p. chipman. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. "bert larkin, the hero of the story, early excites our admiration, and is altogether a fine character such as boys will delight in, whilst the story of his numerous adventures is very graphically told. this will, we think, prove one of the most popular boys' books this season."â��gazette. =a brave defense.= a story of the massacre at fort griswold in 1781. by william p. chipman. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. perhaps no more gallant fight against fearful odds took place during the revolutionary war than that at fort griswold, groton heights, conn., in 1781. the boys are real boys who were actually on the muster rolls, either at fort trumbull on the new london side, or of fort griswold on the groton side of the thames. the youthful reader who follows halsey sanford and levi dart and tom malleson, and their equally brave comrades, through their thrilling adventures will be learning something more than historical facts; they will be imbibing lessons of fidelity, of bravery, of heroism, and of manliness, which must prove serviceable in the arena of life. =the young minuteman.= a story of the capture of general prescott in 1777. by william p. chipman. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this story is based upon actual events which occurred during the british occupation of the waters of narragansett bay. darius wale and william northrop belong to "the coast patrol." the story is a strong one, dealing only with actual events. there is, however, no lack of thrilling adventure, and every lad who is fortunate enough to obtain the book will find not only that his historical knowledge is increased, but that his own patriotism and love of country are deepened. =for the temple=: a tale of the fall of jerusalem. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by s. j. solomon. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. "mr. henty's graphic prose picture of the hopeless jewish resistance to roman sway adds another leaf to his record of the famous wars of the world. the book is one of mr. henty's cleverest efforts."â��graphic. =roy gilbert's search=: a tale of the great lakes. by wm. p. chipman. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. a deep mystery hangs over the parentage of roy gilbert. he arranges with two schoolmates to make a tour of the great lakes on a steam launch. the three boys visit many points of interest on the lakes. afterwards the lads rescue an elderly gentleman and a lady from a sinking yacht. later on the boys narrowly escape with their lives. the hero is a manly, self-reliant boy, whose adventures will be followed with interest. =the slate picker=: the story of a boy's life in the coal mines. by harry prentice. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this is a story of a boy's life in the coal mines of pennsylvania. ben burton, the hero, had a hard road to travel, but by grit and energy he advanced step by step until he found himself called upon to fill the position of chief engineer of the kohinoor coal company. this is a book of extreme interest to every boy reader. =the boy cruisers=; or, paddling in florida. by st. george rathborne. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. andrew george and rowland carter start on a canoe trip along the gulf coast, from key west to tampa, florida. their first adventure is with a pair of rascals who steal their boats. next they run into a gale in the gulf. after that they have a lively time with alligators and andrew gets into trouble with a band of seminole indians. mr. rathborne knows just how to interest the boys, and lads who are in search of a rare treat will do well to read this entertaining story. =captured by zulus=: a story of trapping in africa. by harry prentice. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this story details the adventures of two lads, dick elsworth and bob harvey, in the wilds of south africa. by stratagem the zulus capture dick and bob and take them to their principal kraal or village. the lads escape death by digging their way out of the prison hut by night. they are pursued, but the zulus finally give up pursuit. mr. prentice tells exactly how wild-beast collectors secure specimens on their native stamping grounds, and these descriptions make very entertaining reading. =tom the ready=; or, up from the lowest. by randolph hill. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this is a dramatic narrative of the unaided rise of a fearless, ambitious boy from the lowest round of fortune's ladder to wealth and the governorship of his native state. tom seacomb begins life with a purpose, and eventually overcomes those who oppose him. how he manages to win the battle is told by mr. hill in a masterful way that thrills the reader and holds his attention and sympathy to the end. =captain kidd's gold=: the true story of an adventurous sailor boy. by james franklin fitts. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. there is something fascinating to the average youth in the very idea of buried treasure. a vision arises before his eyes of swarthy portuguese and spanish rascals, with black beards and gleaming eyes. there were many famous sea rovers, but none more celebrated than capt. kidd. paul jones garry inherits a document which locates a considerable treasure buried by two of kidd's crew. the hero of this hook is an ambitious, persevering lad, of salt-water new england ancestry, and his efforts to reach the island and secure the money form one of the most absorbing tales for our youth that has come from the press. -------------for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, =a. l. burt, 52-58 duane street, new york=. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- â�� transcriber's notes: â�� missing or obscured punctuation was corrected. â�� unbalanced quotation marks were silently corrected. â�� typographical errors were silently corrected. â�� spelling and hyphenation was made consistent when a predominant form was found in this book; otherwise it was not changed. transcriber note text emphasis is denoted as _italics_. [illustration: the "hermit" and his house.] [illustration] ============================ a hermit's wild friends or eighteen years in the woods by mason a. walton (the hermit of gloucester) [illustration] boston dana estes & company publishers ============================ [illustration] _copyright, 1903_ by dana estes & company _all rights reserved_ a hermit's wild friends published october, 1903 colonial press electrotyped and printed by c. h. simonds & co. boston, mass., u. s. a. to the lovers of nature, everywhere, this volume is fraternally dedicated. note during my eighteen years of hermit life, i claim to have discovered several new features in natural history, namely: that the cow-bunting watches over its young, assists the foster parents in providing food, and gradually assumes full care of the young bird, and takes it to the pasture to associate with its kind; that the white-footed mouse is dumb, and communicates with its species by drumming with its toes; that the wood-thrush conducts a singing-school for the purpose of teaching its young how to sing; that the chickadee can count; that the shadbush on cape ann assumes a dwarf form, and grows in patches like the low-bush blueberry, fruiting when less than a foot in height; that the red squirrel owns a farm or fruit garden, and locates his male children on territory which he preempts for the purpose. i am aware that my claims will be vigorously assailed, but i have verified these discoveries by years of patient observation, and would say to my critics: "you would better investigate carefully before denying the probability of any one of these claims." thanks are due the publishers of _forest and stream_ and _youth's companion_ for permission to republish articles which have appeared in these respective journals. m. a. walton. _gloucester, april 5, 1903._ contents chapter page i. nature _versus_ medicine 11 ii. satan the raccoon 30 iii. wabbles 52 iv. bismarck, the red squirrel 67 v. changes in hermit-life 99 vi. the white-footed mouse 118 vii. three years later 136 viii. the crow 140 ix. life in the woods 156 x. mr. and mrs. chewink 172 xi. some of the wild things 190 xii. the instinct of the cowbird 208 xiii. bee hunting 223 xiv. tiny 236 xv. the chestnut-sided warbler 253 xvi. instinct 265 xvii. the chickadees 282 xviii. triplefoot 295 list of illustrations page the "hermit" and his home _frontispiece_ tree sparrow 25 fox sparrow 27 bay-winged bunting 28 blackbird 29 raccoon's head 30 "i begun by tying on a nut" 37 "with a savage snarl he sprang on to the dude" 47 song sparrow 52 "wabbles made it his business to awake me at daylight" 54 wabbles 65 pigeon hawk 69 "many a sprinting match of this kind takes place in my dooryard" 74 "the winter storehouse was completed" 85 indigo-bird 96 oven-bird 97 black-throated green warbler 98 cedar-bird 102 the new cabin 103 maryland yellowthroat 104 red-winged blackbirds 104 brown thrush 105 swamp song-sparrow 106 baltimore oriole 107 belted kingfisher, watching 109 kingfisher, striking 110 kingfisher, lifting his catch 111 "the distance between them grew less quite rapidly" 114 "hermit, you are out" 117 "it carries its victim by the middle" 125 mole 131 kingbird 141 ruffed grouse 145 "the next sentinel takes up the call" 151 "i shot two ducks" 158 coot's head 159 chickadee 173 "i threw a bit of cookie to her" 174 english sparrow 186 sparrow 189 "found his owlship on a low limb" 191 owl chased 193 yellow-bellied woodpecker 196 "he coiled around my arm" 202 blue-winged yellow warbler 211 bee hunting 226 "again the plucky little bunting set its wing and lowered its head" 241 "made his way to the box, hand over hand" 245 chestnut-sided warbler 254 blue jays 265 wood thrush 275 the hermit thrush 278 triplefoot's den 298 "she stopped to look around, and saw me" 303 a hermit's wild friends or eighteen years in the woods -----<>---- i. nature _versus_ medicine eighteen years ago i was in sore straits. ill health had reduced my flesh until i resembled the living skeleton of a dime show. i realized that a few months more of city life would take me beyond the living stage, and that the world would have no further use for me except to adorn some scientific laboratory. a diagnosis of my case would read as follows: dyspepsia, aggravated, medicine could give but slight relief. catarrh, malignant, persistent. a douche was necessary every morning to relieve the severe facial pain. a cough that had worried me by day and by night, and thrived on all kinds of cough medicine. also, my lungs were sore and the palms of my hands were hot and dry. i thought that i was fading away with consumption, but the doctors said my lungs were sound. i was advised to go into the woods and try life in a pine grove. as there was no money for the doctors in this advice, i looked upon it as kind and disinterested, but my mind ran in another direction. when i was young and full of notions, the idea entered my head that i should like a change from fresh to salt water. it resulted in a two months' trip on a fishing schooner. during the trip i had been free from seasickness, and had gained flesh rapidly. the memory of that sea voyage haunted me, now that i had become sick and discouraged. it seemed to me that a few weeks on salt water would save my life. with high hopes, i boarded the little steamer that plied between boston and gloucester. i thought it would be an easy matter to secure board on one of the many vessels that made short trips after mackerel. for three days i haunted the wharves in vain. the "skippers," one and all, gave the same reason for refusing my offers. "we are going after fish," said they, "and cannot be bothered with a sick man." at last one "skipper" discouraged me completely. he said to me: "i once took a sick man on board, and because we did not strike fish, the fishermen called the passenger a jonah, and made his life miserable. three days after we returned he died, and i swore then that i never would take another sick man to sea." this "skipper's" story, and my fruitless efforts caused me to abandon the salt water cure. i turned now to the hills around gloucester. in the end i selected bond's hill, because it was surrounded by pine groves. i found the hill covered with blueberry and huckleberry bushes, the latter loaded with fruit. on the brow of the hill the soil had been washed away, leaving great masses of bed rock (granite) towering above the cottages that clung to the base of the cliff. on the extreme brow of the hill i found a spot where the soil had gathered and maintained a grass-plot. here i pitched my little tent. here i lived from august to december. i called the spot the eyrie, because it reminded me of the regions inhabited by eagles. a visit to the spot will disclose the fitness of the name. on this spot my eighteen years of hermit life begun. at first i made it a practice to go to the city every day for one meal, bringing back food enough to last until another day. i found the huckleberries good wholesome food that did not aggravate my chronic dyspepsia. two weeks of outdoor life had brought a little color to my cheeks and had made me feel like a new man. about this time i awoke in the morning to remember that i had not coughed during the night. the cough that had harassed me night and day for two years, left me then and there, never to return. nature was performing wonders where medicine had failed. before the month of september had ended, my catarrh disappeared, and i no longer had use for the douche. from that time to this, i have been free from catarrh. i do not have even the symptoms, known as hay-fever. the dull, heavy pain that i had experienced constantly from dyspepsia, gradually sub sided and eventually ceased. since that time i have been able to eat any kind of food, at any time, day or night, without the depressing pains of indigestion. during my first experience, climbing bond's hill, on my return from the city, had been almost beyond my strength. i had to rest three times before reaching my tent. by the middle of november my strength had returned nearly to the old standard, and i mounted the hill without a thought of weariness. standing one day on a massive spur of bed rock, near my tent, my thoughts went back to the statement of the doctors in relation to my lungs. i had just ascended the hill, without a long breath, and a hale, hearty feeling pervaded every fibre of my system. i knew, then, that my lungs were all right, and thanks to nature, i had recovered my health and stood there comparatively a well man. while i was yet weak, i passed many hours at the eyrie, entranced by the magnificent panorama spread before me. i could see the larger part of the city of gloucester, which extended, in a semicircle, from riverdale to eastern point. later in the season i watched the ebb and flow of the tide on the marshes that border annisquam river. the outer harbor, with ten pound island near the entrance of the inner harbor, lay in plain view, and the shifting scenes on its restless waters possessed a fascination which i could seldom resist. day after day i watched the vessels of the fishing fleet as they rounded eastern point, bound outward or inward. these vessels were models of beauty, and looked as if they were built for racing instead of fishing. i often compared them with the clumsy coasters that rode at anchor in the outer harbor. now and then a vessel, homeward bound, rounded eastern point with her flag half-mast. mute reminder of the hardships and perils of a fisherman's life. every morning soon after it had become light enough to see, several boats could be seen rowing shoreward. usually there was only one man to a boat. it did not take me long to find out that these lone rowers coming in out of the night were fishermen that pulled their lobster-pots after one o'clock in the morning. i saw another lone fisherman sail out of the harbor every morning when there was wind enough to fill a dory sail. day after day he sailed or rowed out to sea to fish for shore codfish. he supported a large family from the proceeds of his labor, but the life was lonely and perilous. i watched his return once when the wind was blowing a fierce gale. the little boat would careen until the sail trailed in the water and it seemed to me that she must capsize. at the last moment she would come up into the wind and right. in this slow, dangerous manner she was worked to the mouth of annisquam river and tied up above the cut bridge. the next day i asked the fisherman how he had managed to keep his boat right side up. "oh, that was easy. when she heeled too much, i _shook her up_, and kept her from taking in water." "_shook her up_," was a new phrase to me. below my eyrie lay the little hamlet called the cut. some of its cottages had straggled up to the base of the cliff just below the tent. i could look down on a long stretch of western avenue beginning at the cut and ending in ward five, beyond the cut bridge. the latter was a drawbridge, and when open the city of gloucester was on an island, with the exception of ward eight, which lies on the west side of annisquam river. i had located in ward eight, but at the time did not know anything in relation to its size, as compared with the other wards of the city. a glance at the map in the city directory showed me that ward eight was larger in area than all the other wards combined. i also found that it comprised within its limits the cut, fresh water cove, west gloucester, and magnolia. it pleased me much to find that it contained about twelve thousand acres of shrub land and forest. two-thirds of the way from the cut to the drawbridge, essex avenue connects with western avenue. essex avenue crosses the marsh to west gloucester, and is the highway into the city for essex and other distant towns. there is a constant stream of travel over this highway, divided among farmers, icemen, and pleasure-seekers. the travel on western avenue is now, and was then, made up largely from the summer colonies at magnolia and manchester. showy turnouts passed and repassed, so that i had enough to attract my attention from sunrise to sunset. when facing the harbor, i could turn to the left and look across the marsh to dogtown common. i had to look above and beyond a straggling portion of the city. dogtown common, in revolutionary days, contained forty dwellings; now it was houseless. i saw only a boulder-covered region of pasture-land, choked by huckleberry and blueberry bushes, with here and there large tangles of catbrier. some of the sunsets seen from the eyrie were beautiful beyond description. whenever a massive bank of clouds hung above the western horizon, the setting sun illuminated the city from riverdale to eastern point, and every window in sight glowed like burnished gold. until the middle of november the weather continued mild and balmy, with but a few stormy days. i recall, with pleasure and satisfaction, the evenings passed at the eyrie. perched on the brow of the cliff, i studied the city by moonlight, lamplight, and gas-light. on dark nights the lights of the city took on the shape of a huge monster, half-coiled, and extended from riverdale to eastern point light. the latter is a revolving red light, and it gave the semblance of life to the one-eyed monster which constantly blinked its great red eye. it pleased me to call this imaginary monster the sea-serpent. gloucester owes her growth to the sea, and she might well take on the shape of the sea-serpent. when the danger-signals were up, the outer harbor was crowded with craft of all kinds. at night time the tossing lights on the vessels contrasted strangely with the fixed lights on shore. the twin lights on thatcher's island could be seen from the eyrie, and i often wondered if these lights were necessary. to the middle of november i had seen the sea only in comparatively fair weather, when it was on its good behavior. afterward a storm that wrecked my tent, and brought in its wake huge waves that thundered against the headlands of cape ann, caused me to wonder in another direction. it seems incredible, but it is a fact, that i could feel the solid rock tremble beneath my tent from the shock of wave against headland, one fourth of a mile distant. the storm died out, but it left an impression on my mind that caused me to look for a locality less exposed to the wind. i found an ideal spot on the "old salem road." the spot was surrounded by wooded hills, where a little brook crept out of a swamp and crossed to the south side of the old highway. after crossing the highway, the waters of the brook went tumbling and singing down to another swamp, where they were lost in a tangle of moss, ferns, and marsh-marigolds. the old salem road had been deserted more than one hundred years, save as a wood road in winter. at one time it was the connecting link between salem and gloucester. seven ruined cellars indicate the spots where dwelling-houses once stood. i moved my tent from the eyrie, and put it up within the limits of the old highway, and begun to build a little log cabin in which to spend the winter. while in the tent i experienced zero weather, and it may be of interest to know how i managed to keep warm. i had picked up two discarded milk-cans, and these i filled with hard wood coals from a fire which i maintained near the tent. by closing the flaps of the tent the heat from the cans would keep up an even temperature through the night. if it happened to get cold toward morning i would burn a newspaper now and then, which would warm the tent until light enough to start an outdoor fire. i baked beans in a hole in the ground, in true maine camp style. there would be coals enough under the bean-pot, in the morning, to cook coffee, and hot coffee and baked beans seemed to go to the right spot when the thermometer was hanging around zero, and one was living in a cotton tent. i did my cooking on a bed of red hot coals, thus avoiding smoked food and the loss of coffee-pot handle or spout. hemlock bark from a dead tree will give the best coals in the shortest time. by the middle of december i had moved into my log cabin. i put in a second-hand range, which proved to be an excellent baker and warmed the cabin in the coldest weather. the remainder of the winter "i was as snug as a bug in a rug," to use an old familiar adage. before the winter months had passed, chickadees, black snow-birds, and tree-sparrows found their way into the cabin dooryard. i fed lard to the chickadees on a chip, and the birds would eat this clear fat, at short intervals, all day, and come around the next morning none the worse for the strange diet. certainly such food would kill any other bird. the snow-birds and sparrows were fed on different kinds of bird-seed. when i mention sparrows i do not refer to the english sparrow. i am pleased to state that this undesirable alien does not come to my dooryard. the tree-sparrow is a native bird, and here on the cape, is seen only in winter. it comes to us in october, and leaves by the first of april. the tree-sparrow is an interesting bird to know. it comes to us in the winter when the most of our birds are in the south. it is a handsome bird from a sparrow standpoint. [illustration: tree sparrow.] the crown is a bright chestnut, and there are chestnut markings on the side of the head and on the bend of the wing. the back is boldly streaked with black, bay, and light gray. there is much white edging to the feathers of the tail and wings in winter. a few of these birds stopped about the cabin all winter; but a flock numbering hundreds wintered on bond's hill. on warm days they roamed over the hill, far and near, always flying low and keeping well down in the shrubby growth. but when the weather was cold i would find them in a sheltered spot, where meadowsweet, bayberry, hardhack, blueberry, huckleberry, and sweet-fern shrubs crowded each other until their interwoven branches held a mantle of snow. beneath this shelter the birds seemed to find food, for they were busy at all hours of the day. i passed many hours watching them while they were thus secluded. invariably i found them chirping to each other, and by listening closely i could catch snatches of song low and sweet. the last of march their low song could be heard in the shrub-lands. later, when the song-sparrows and bluebirds swelled the chorus, the tree-sparrows silently disappeared. [illustration: fox sparrow.] april 3d, in the morning, i found a large flock of fox-sparrows in the dooryard. it is somewhat singular that for three years they appeared on the same day of the month. one year, april 3, 1887, i awoke in the morning to find three feet of snow in the dooryard, and i was obliged to shovel the snow away in order to feed the sparrows on bare ground. the fox-sparrow is two-thirds as large as a robin, and may be classed with the beautiful birds both in form and coloration. the sexes are alike. the color above is a rich rusty red, deepest and brightest on the wings, tail, and rump. the head, neck, and shoulders are a dark ash-color, more or less streaked with rusty red. below the groundwork is snow-white, also thickly spotted with rust red. it could be called a wood-thrush by a careless observer. these birds are migrants with us, and pass through the state to their breeding-grounds in april, to return in october. it is usually six weeks from the time the first flock appears before the loiterers are all gone. the flock that called on me was a very large one, numbering over one hundred birds. mornings they made the woods ring with their delightful music. [illustration: bay-winged bunting.] when the birds returned in april and may, i found that i was a trespasser on the nesting-ground of many a woodland bird. catbirds, towhee-buntings, robins, thrushes, and numerous warblers nested around my cabin. by this time i had settled down to hermit-life in earnest. i had tried the experiment of "nature _versus_ medicine," and nature had triumphed. with good health, with strange birds and flowers to study and identify, i was content to spend a portion of my rescued life in dame nature's company. [illustration: blackbird.] ii. satan the raccoon during the early years of my hermit-life, i had caged many small animals, such as deer-mice, raccoons, woodchucks, chipmunks, flying-squirrels, stoats, mink, and red and gray squirrels. [illustration: raccoon's head.] my first captive was an artful old coon. i caught him in a small steel trap, the jaws of which had been wound with cloth as a protection to the foot. the den was under a boulder near the cabin. i set the trap at the mouth of the den and covered it with leaves. the next morning the trap, with clog attached, was missing. there was a trail in the dead leaves easily followed. while following the zigzag trail i was in plain sight of the coon, but he remained quiet until he found that he was discovered, then made frantic efforts to escape. the clog had anchored him securely to some witch-hazel shrubs. he was full of fight, and i had to look out for his teeth and claws. i had brought along a stout piece of duck, which i wrapped around the raccoon, trap and all; thus secure from his wicked teeth and claws, i toted him to the cabin. it took me two hours to put a strap on his neck. the struggle was a desperate one. without the duck it would have been a victory for the raccoon. when i had the strap securely fastened and a dog-chain attached, i removed the trap from his foot, then staked him out near the cabin. for two weeks he tried night and day to free himself from collar and chain, then suddenly appeared to be contented. instinct plays no part in coon lore. a coon can reason as well as the average human being. my captive proved to be as artful and wicked as beelzebub himself. whenever my back was turned he would be up to all sorts of mischief. when caught red-handed he could put on a look of innocence too comical for anything. by the end of the first month he had got all of my ways of life down fine. if i went into the woods with my gun, on my return he would tear around in his cage anxious for the squirrel he had not seen, but was sure to get. when i went away without the gun, he paid no attention on my return. i do not think he was guided by scent, for sometimes the wind would not be right. without doubt he connected the gun and squirrel in his mind, and perhaps knew more about a gun than i thought. he did not take kindly to cage-life, although his cage was under a small pine-tree, so when i was about the cabin i chained him to the tree and let him run outside. i put him into the cage every day before going to the city for my mail. he resented this, and would run up the pine-tree when he saw me lock the cabin-door. one day i pulled him down and whipped him while he lay prone on the ground, with his eyes covered. i took away his food and water. he must have been downright hungry before i fed him. he never forgot the lesson. after that, when he saw me lock up he would sneak into his cage, fearful, i suppose, that if found outside he would be whipped and starved. he preferred food in the order herein named: insects, eggs, birds or poultry, frogs, nuts, red squirrel, rabbit, gray squirrel, and fish. this, without doubt, was the bill of fare of his wild state. he would not touch green corn or milk until i had crushed the former into his mouth, and had dipped his nose into the latter. afterward he would leave everything for milk. the first rabbit i fed to him was about two-thirds grown. it was one which a mink had chased into my dooryard and killed. it was evident from the first that the coon was no stranger to this kind of food. he opened the rabbit's mouth with his fore paws and ate out the tongue, after which he skinned the head, turning the skin back over the neck. he crushed the bones of the head and lapped out the brains. on the third day he had finished the rabbit, and the skin was turned inside out, even to the ends of the toes. squirrels were skinned in the same manner. this coon decided for me a disputed question. i refer to the whimper or cry of the coon. night after night, in the nutting season, he would call to his comrades, and they would answer from the surrounding woods. when the sweet acorns were ripe, satan was unusually active early in the evening. at this early hour the coons were abroad in search for food, and satan scented them, and did his best to attract their attention. one coon passed near the cabin every night and answered satan's cries, so i imagined that it was his mate. many writers claim that the tremulous cry attributed to the coon is made by the little screech-owl (_scops asio_). it is true, doubtless, that people that do not know both cries may make such a mistake. the little owls appear to resent my intrusion on their vested rights, so from early spring to late fall they haunt my sleeping-quarters, and divide their time between snapping their beaks and uttering their monotonous notes. as i sleep in the open air nine months out of the twelve, i have a good chance to study both cries, and could not mistake one for the other. the coon is a ventriloquist. his cry seems to come down from the sky. a friend came in from the city one night to hear the coon cry. it was a moonlight night, and the coon was staked out in the dooryard. my friend was not looking when the first cry was uttered, but claimed that the sound came from the trees overhead. afterward he saw the coon in the act, and could not make a mistake. when satan uttered the cry, he was always sitting on his haunches. he would throw his head up until his nose pointed skyward, then blow the sound out between his half-closed lips. my friend had brought in a blanket and hammock, and was prepared to spend the night in the open air. he slung his hammock near mine, and we turned in about ten o'clock. he was nervous and restless, and said he could not sleep with the little owls about him. every fifteen or twenty minutes he would call to me to ask about some noise of the night, common enough, but which appeared strange and startling to him in the strained condition of his nerves. soon after midnight a small animal, doubtless a stoat looking for an owl supper, dropped on to my friend's blanket. there was a smothered cry, full of fear, and a flying figure that did not stop until my hammock was reached. nothing that i could say would induce the frightened man to go back to that hammock. he suggested at last that he would sleep in the cabin. i assented, and we soon had a bed arranged in a bunk. the cabin was overrun with white-footed mice, and i looked for more trouble. [illustration: "i begun by tying on a nut."] twenty minutes later i heard several war-whoops, and i saw my friend tumble out of the cabin into the dooryard. "are you awake?" cried he. "certainly," i answered, "you don't think there is any one asleep in this county after the racket you have made, do you?" "oh, let up with your fooling," said he, "this is a serious thing. i sleep with my mouth open; suppose one of those mice had run down my throat and choked me to death? i am going home." and home he did go. i accompanied him through the woods to western avenue, and returned in time to get three hours' sleep. my friend was like hundreds of other nervous people that i had known in a lifetime, who were too sensitive to enjoy a night in the open air. to be in full accord with nature one should get accustomed to the presence of a snake now and then, in the open-air bed. satan was an apt scholar. i taught him to pull in his chain, hand over hand, sailor-fashion. the chain was twelve feet in length. i begun by tying on a nut about two feet from the coon. he pulled in the chain with his fore feet, which he used as hands. i would say to him, "pull in the chain. pull in the chain," and inside of a week he would obey the order without the use of food. i think he enjoyed the sport. the boys that visited my cabin thought it great fun to play with satan. they would pull the chain out and watch the coon pull it in. when satan got tired he would coil the chain and lay on it, and the play was ended for the time being. after he had rested awhile he would go on with the play. when he was resting, if a boy offered to reach the chain he would lay back his ears, growl, and show his teeth. when he was ready to play he would sit up on his hind feet, prick his ears forward and look clever; then the boys could reach under him and pull out the chain without danger. one day, while the coon was chained to a stake in the dooryard, he killed a pet bird in a manner so cruel and crafty, that it caused me to name him satan then and there. i had placed a piece of matting by the stake to which the coon was chained. he understood that the matting was for his use, and he would cry to be fed while chained out. he used the matting as a dining-table and bed combined. the pet bird that was killed was a male catbird. satan had left a piece of cookie on the matting, and the catbird thought to appropriate it. i was writing, not thirty feet away, and looked up just in time to see the flash of satan's paw. i shouted, and rushed to the rescue. when i reached the coon the bird had disappeared. satan looked so innocent and surprised that i was led to believe that the bird had escaped. i returned to my writing, and the coon settled down for a nap. an hour later a visitor from the city called to get the loan of a book on birds. i went to the cabin for the book, and when i returned satan was patting down the edge of the mat. he saw me, and put on his innocent look. he coiled up as if he were about to try to sleep in a new spot. my suspicion was aroused. i pulled away the coon and under the mat found the dead bird. he had killed the bird and placed it under him so swiftly that i did not detect the trick when i went to the rescue. for a full hour he simulated sleep while he had the dead bird under him all the time. when i went to the cabin he hid the dead body under the mat. i gave him a severe whipping and placed the dead bird on his mat. the next day i buried the body, so satan did not profit by his crafty deed. he remembered the whipping, and ever after did not molest the birds. i once saw a young towhee-bunting sit on his hind foot and eat from a cookie that the coon had tried to hide. how it would have fared with the bird, if i had been absent, is a question. i don't think satan had any respect for the sabbath, but he knew the day, nevertheless. on week-days, i returned from city about nine o'clock a. m. soon after, i would stake satan in the dooryard, and he would seem much pleased with the change. i got up every morning at daybreak. my first duty was to feed the birds and satan, then get my breakfast. at first i did not let satan out of his cage on sundays, on account of the dogs that my visitors brought along. every sunday morning i would feed satan as soon as i was out of my hammock, as i did on week-day mornings, but he would not eat or drink, and constantly tried to open the door of the cage. he certainly knew, thus early in the morning, that it was sunday, and he would have to remain hived up in his cage all day. it seemed to me, that if satan was intelligent enough to keep run of the days of the week, he ought to know about the dogs, and was willing to fight them rather than be cooped up all day. i knew all about the fighting ability of the raccoon. it had been my good fortune to observe the evolution of a young coon, from a helpless, sprawling bunch of fat and fur, to an old coon, with a bristling battery of claws and teeth operated by chain-lightning. after due consideration i concluded to let satan take chances with the dogs. the next sunday i staked him in the dooryard and awaited developments. a big newfoundland dog was the first to appear. the moment he saw the coon he made a fierce rush, but satan sprang lightly into the air and landed on the dog's back. swiftly and savagely he delivered two blows on the dog's eyes. the big brute tore himself away from the coon and frantically rubbed his eyes with his fore paws. when he could see a little, he "dusted" for home, a sadder but wiser dog. the next dog was a small one, and satan gave him a slap under the ear that landed him outside of the ring, or beyond the length of the coon's chain. this dog did not go home, but went to his master for sympathy. he could not be induced afterward to look at the coon. dog number three proved to be a yelping cur. he did not attack the coon, but danced around him, yelping all the time. he distracted the visitors with his incessant yelping. his master could not call him off. satan set a trap for the cur, and caught him, too. he went to the stake, pulled in the chain, and then pretended to sleep. the dog was deceived, and got bolder and bolder until he was near enough for satan to reach him. the coon made a swift rush and caught the yelping cur, and handled him so roughly that i was obliged to rescue him. it is needless to say that the cur was cured of yelping. satan whipped two other dogs before night, then for several weeks had no trouble worth mentioning. now and then, through the summer, a strange dog would attack satan and get whipped. there is a class of writers that claim that the lower animals cannot reason. that such animals are controlled by instinct. i have ever found the lower animals as intelligent in relation to the needs of their lives as we are to ours. satan proved to me and to others that he could reason, also that he could take advantage of new circumstances. visitors often gave satan a dirty nut, which he would clean by rubbing it between his paws. this trick was played on the coon constantly. satan invented a new way to clean a nut. he would take it to the mat and roll it under his fore paw. how did he find out that he could clean a nut on the mat? there was no instinct, as i afterward proved. when visitors were feeding nuts to him i dusted his mat with ashes. satan would take a nut and start for the mat, but his keen sight would detect the ashes, and he would stop, sit up, and clean the nut in the old way. in november i trapped another coon, a young male. doubtless he was the son of satan, for he was from the same den. i knew, too, that he was born after satan was captured, so they could have no knowledge of each other. i thought i would put the young coon in satan's cage and see if the old fellow would recognize his own flesh and blood. if he did, i would have to admit that it was a case of instinct. when i put them together a desperate fight took place. the young coon was soon whipped and tried to hide. satan followed him up, but suddenly began to sniff. he dropped his nose on to the young coon's ears, sniffing all the time. instantly his savage look changed for one of pleasure. his ears, that just now were flat on his head, pricked up, and the lips, which were drawn back, showing the cruel teeth, fell into place. he put his arms around the young coon's neck and dragged him into the nest. then he licked his ears and head, purring all the time like a big cat. satan had recognized his son. i had noticed that the sense employed was of smell, and not of sight. i readily understood the meaning. the young coon carried the scent of his mother, and satan had recognized it, and with subtle reasoning had concluded that he had found his own offspring. afterward i trapped five coons. one was an adult. i put the four young coons, one at a time, into satan's cage. two of these were from the old den, and satan recognized them at once after sniffing them. the other two were from a distant den, and as soon as satan put his nose on their ears he fell to mauling them, and i was obliged to take them out to save their lives. i could handle satan whenever or however i pleased, and he would not lose his temper. it would be dangerous for a stranger to put a hand on him. one could almost step on him and he would not take offence, but he drew the line at touch. during the nine months that he was in my possession he attacked but one person. i met the gentleman in question at barnum's show, on stage fort. after the people had entered the main tent i stopped some time in the animal tent. i noticed a dudish-looking fellow acting in a peculiar manner before a cage containing two lions. i was interested, and strolled over to the cage. the fellow was a dude beyond a doubt. he wore a cowboy hat, a checkered coat, a crimson vest, and lavender colored trousers. he was trying to look the lions out of countenance. the big african lion, the male, seemed to feel uneasy under the fixed gaze of the dude, and at last crowded behind his mate. "see him cower and hide," cried the fellow, addressing me. "the human eye, intelligently used, can subdue the most ferocious brute living. i could enter that cage and handle those lions as i would kittens." i did not dispute his assertion, and he asked if the woods about gloucester harbored wild animals. i told him about my raccoon. he suggested that it would please him to tame the coon for me, and offered to accompany me home. [illustration: "with a savage snarl he sprang on to the dude."] when the show was over i missed the lion-tamer, but the next day he came down the hill to the cabin, resplendent in his checkered coat, crimson vest, and lavender trousers. as soon as he had said good morning he threw off his hat and coat and started the circus. he fixed his gaze on the coon and slowly approached him, stamping his feet while he cried, in a commanding tone, "down, sir, down, sir!" satan looked at the dude, then looked toward me. this was something new, and he wanted my opinion. when he found that i remained quiet, he concluded to act for himself. with a savage snarl he sprang on to the dude and fastened his claws in the lavender trousers. the dude, half-frightened to death, jumped backward beyond the length of satan's chain. satan held on, and the trousers were stripped from the hips to the knees. fortunately, the coon's claws did not reach the flesh. the dude put on a pair of my trousers, and with needle and silk i essayed to mend the lavender wreck. my work was rather clumsy. i should starve to death if i depended on the needle. i toiled and wrestled for two hours with that piece of work. it was a warm day, and i was nearly drowned in my own perspiration. the dude put on the mended trousers and left me without saying so much as "thank you." thus was hood's "song of the shirt" verified. on the approach of cold weather i made arrangements to winter satan in the cabin. i placed a box inside, and the cage outside, and connected the two by a passage made of boards. the passage was eight inches square, and near the end that entered the cage i had hung a swinging door to keep the cold air from the nest inside. i expected satan would have to be taught the use of the swinging door. after everything was arranged i put satan into the cage, and at once he saw the change that had been made. he investigated the passage with his handy paws, and when he found he could move the swinging door he passed through into the box inside. after he had satisfied himself that the nest was all right, he came out. to tell the truth, i was somewhat surprised by the ingenuity displayed. satan's comprehension was equal to that of a human being. i removed the chain and collar, and the coon and i settled down for the winter. i had arranged a cover to satan's nest-box, and evenings i would give him the freedom of the cabin. inside of a week he knew the contents of the cabin better than i did. the light puzzled him. once, and once only, he touched the lamp-chimney. he would look on gravely while i would blow out the lamp and relight it again. one night i forgot to fasten the cover in his nest-box. that night something touched me on the face and awoke me. i remained quiet, and soon i felt a cold, soft touch on my cheek. a swift clutch and i had satan by one paw. i held him until i had lighted the lamp. he looked innocent and grieved, and tried to show me that he did not mean any wrong. he wanted to know if i were asleep or dead. when i released him he went to his box and raised the cover so quickly and neatly that it seemed a slight-of-hand performance. one morning i neglected to secure the door to satan's cage. when i returned that night the door was open and the coon was missing. the next day i took some food to the den under the boulder, but satan did not care for food. he was fat enough to go into hibernation, and had probably entered upon the sleep that would last till spring. the next spring satan would come to the mouth of the den and take food from my hand, but he was so crafty that i could not get hold of his neck. i thought to arrange a box-trap in which to catch him, when i could get time. one day i missed him, and when i heard that a farmer had caught a coon in his poultry-house, and had killed him, i knew that satan had sacrificed his life to his appetite for poultry. the reckless act did not indicate a lack of reason. human beings sacrifice their lives to appetite, so which of us will throw the first stone at satan? iii. wabbles wabbles is the name of a wild bird. not a book name, for the bird is known to naturalists as the song-sparrow (_melospiza fasciata_). [illustration: song-sparrow.] i made wabbles's acquaintance some years ago. on returning to my log cabin one afternoon, i had found him in the dooryard, wounded, bleeding, and exhausted. an examination disclosed a number four shot bedded in the muscle of the wing-joint. while i was removing the lead wabbles struggled violently, and when released, hopped into the bushes and hid himself. i think he held a poor opinion of my surgical skill. the next day he was about the dooryard with other sparrows, but for many days his flight was a peculiar wabble, hence his name. wabbles was left behind when, on the approach of cold weather, the song-sparrows migrated southward. he seemed contented, and i thought he would stop with me through the winter, but one cold day he was missing. early in the following march, i looked out upon the snow-banks one blustering morning, and saw wabbles in the dooryard. he had returned in the night, two weeks ahead of his mates. i do not know how far south he had wintered, but doubtless he had remembered the little log cabin in the woods, and all the time had understood that food and a welcome awaited his return. that spring the sparrows lingered about my dooryard three weeks or more, and then dispersed to the neighboring fields and pastures, for the song-sparrow does not nest in the woods. wabbles did not leave with the rest, and when spring merged into summer and he yet remained, i understood the reason. the male song-sparrow is obliged to do battle for the possession of a mate, and wabbles, with his tender wing, wisely forbore to enter the lists. he preferred the cool woods and free food to the sun-scorched fields and a mate-less life. wabbles and i became fast friends. he was constantly hopping about the dooryard, and was always on hand to greet me whenever i returned from town. [illustration: "wabbles made it his business to awake me at daylight."] i slept in the open air in a hammock, with only a canvas roof to keep off the rain, and wabbles made it his business to awake me at daylight. the little rogue pursued the same method each morning. he would hop about in the bushes near the hammock, and chirp to me in the loud, sharp call-note peculiar to the sparrow family. if i remained quiet he would break into song. he confined his singing usually to the morning and evening hours. but on my return after a long absence, he would sing for a short time, regardless of the time of day. it was a bird's method of expressing joy. i thought that he prized my companionship and disliked to be left alone. that fall wabbles migrated with his mates, but the next spring he returned as before, two weeks ahead of the main flock. he lingered about the cabin until the mating season approached, when he disappeared for five days. on his return he brought with him a mate--a shy, demure little wife. wabbles wanted to set up housekeeping in the woods, so he showed mrs. wabbles all the nooks, sly corners, and sheltered spots, but it was useless; she positively refused to build a nest beneath the trees. she flew away to the fields, and wabbles followed her. three weeks later, when returning from town, i heard his familiar call by the roadside. he came hurriedly through the bushes and fluttered to my feet. he appeared overjoyed to see me, and greedily ate the cracker-crumbs i gave him. when he flew away, i followed him. he led me a long distance to a field, where i found mrs. wabbles sitting on four dainty, speckled eggs. the nest was in the open field, beneath a tuft of grass. three baby sparrows were reared from this nest. when they were big enough to fly, i expected that wabbles would move his whole family to the woods, provided mrs. wabbles would consent, which i much doubted. sure enough, early in autumn wabbles returned, but he was alone. i fancied that he had deserted his family for my companionship and a life in the woods. but not so. his visit was a matter of business. he wanted to know how the supplies of food held out. after he had satisfied himself he flew away, but the next day returned with one of the baby birds. wabbles fussed over this bird all day long. he called the little one into the dooryard and stuffed it with crumbs, then into the garden and stuffed it with insects. he kept up a constant chirping meanwhile, and i thought he made much of the fuss and bustle to keep the baby from being homesick. that night he flew away with his charge, and the next day did not appear. undoubtedly mrs. wabbles had given him a piece of her mind for taking her baby to the woods. three days later, however, wabbles returned, and brought with him two of the babies. this day, for fuss and bustle, was like the first, but that night, instead of taking the birds out to the fields, he put them to bed in a hemlock-tree near my hammock, after which he flew away. the next day he brought in the other baby, leaving mrs. wabbles childless and alone. that night wabbles put the three little ones to bed in the same hemlock-tree, and then flew back to his deserted mate. before dark i looked for the young birds, and found them on a twig about a man's height from the ground, sitting side by side and cunningly concealed by hemlock spray. when i approached, three little heads turned and six bright eyes looked on me, but not with fear. i suppose wabbles had told them all about the hermit, and they knew i would not harm them. the next morning wabbles returned, and mrs. wabbles was with him. she at once took charge of her babies, and tried to entice them away. but wabbles, the sly rogue, hopped into the dooryard, and i heard him calling, "_tsp, tsp_," and the little fellows heard him, too, and, remembering the food, flew to him. mrs. wabbles was obliged to give in. wabbles is not wholly unknown to notoriety. many of the summer residents that visited my cabin had made his acquaintance, and the story of the little bird that would desert the fields for a hermit-life in the woods has doubtless often been told in many a distant home. before the birds had departed in migration, wabbles's little wife had become contented and happy in the cabin dooryard. she was of a confiding nature, and in a remarkably short time would take food from my hand. wabbles and his family lingered about the cabin until the thermometer registered ten above. the fifteenth of march wabbles returned to my dooryard. his wife and family appeared a week later. for some reason, known only to bird-life, the male birds of most species return from the south about a week before the females and young birds. when the nesting-season approached wabbles and his wife located their family in a less wooded growth, on the road to the city. the old birds returned to the dooryard, and mrs. wabbles made a nest where a little patch of grass had sprung up between the ledges. wabbles and i, during the summer, renewed the friendly relations that had existed when he led the life of a bachelor. he would come to me for food at all hours of the day. when i gave him his favorite food, cookie, he would reward me with a song. he would fly to a limb about four feet above my head and sing one song, and then fly away to his mate. sometimes i could coax him to repeat the song by talking to him earnestly and rapidly. my visitors thought that the song was strange, and often it was suggested that it was on account of the nearness of the singer. but the song was not the one with which they were familiar. it was a new song, low, sweet, and tender, with nothing in it to remind one of the loud, joyous carol heard in the springtime. wabbles called me at daybreak every morning. he was jealous of the other birds, and drove them away, when he thought they were too friendly with me. a catbird and a veery hopped about my hammock mornings, and wabbles attacked them so furiously that it made me wonder why they did not keep away for good. wabbles did not allow other birds to eat in the dooryard until he had satisfied his appetite. visitors asserted that he was a tyrant, but i did not look at his warlike actions in that light. he thought that he owned the dooryard, and other birds were trespassers. near my cabin there is a notice posted forbidding trespass, and it alludes sarcastically to "wood-cutting thieves." this sign was put up because sometimes dead, worthless wood was carried away from the lot. wabbles is willing that the birds may enjoy the things in the dooryard after he is satisfied, but the human fellow preferred to let the wood rot on the ground. the feathered biped's humanity contrasts sharply with the human biped's brutality. mrs. wabbles soon had four little mouths to feed, and she worked early and late. the heat was so intense that every little while she would seek the shade, and rest with her wings drooping and her bill open. notwithstanding the strain on her limited strength, she never showed impatience, but was always the same confiding little bird. the wabbles family enjoyed life in the woods. through the summer and fall months, wabbles set up a singing-school and trained his boys to sing the mating-song of his species. late in the fall death entered the family circle. a boy from the city mistook poor mrs. wabbles for an english sparrow and shot her to death. wabbles mourned for his little wife, and he was not the only mourner. i had become attached to the gentle bird, and i was grievously pained by her tragic death. wabbles lost his joyous manner. he watched over his motherless babies with gentle care, but not a song did i hear after the tragedy. later, he conducted the young birds to a warmer climate, and was lost to me until the next march. when wabbles returned in the spring he was alone, and his children did not appear later. i suppose some motherly bird had adopted the bereaved family, to take them into the fields or pastures. in april, wabbles deserted me for three days, then returned with another wife. this was an old bird, probably a widow. it was evident from the first that she thought wabbles's first wife had spoiled him. she bossed him around in grand style. i tried to get acquainted with her, but, with a lordly air, she gave me to understand that she did not associate with hermits. after two days she ordered wabbles out to the fields, and i did not see him again till october. he came in twice before migration. that was all. wabbles, the warrior, was henpecked. the next spring wabbles returned from the south early in march. i think he was glad to escape from his wife, but three weeks later she swooped down on him, and packed him off to the pastures. for eleven years wabbles has lived with his second wife. every spring he comes to the cabin for a long visit, but i seldom see much of him in the fall. once i did not see him at all, and reported that probably he was dead, but the next spring he turned up as usual. it is now fourteen years since i removed the shot from wabbles's wing. he does not grow old in looks and is yet good for many years, if his wife does not worry him to death. dear old wabbles. he has blessed me with a friendship as sincere and lasting as any that can spring from the human heart. as the years go by, i am more and more impressed with the little bird's individuality. long ago he proved to me that he possessed a moral sense. when wabbles finds birds in the dooryard he threatens them for a short time, then darts at the nearest, and the feathers fly. after he has satisfied his appetite he will let the other birds return to glean the dooryard. he does not want to deprive them of food, but insists that they shall await his pleasure. sometimes he will sing while the birds are eating. he firmly believes that he holds a mortgage on the dooryard, or, perhaps, that he is a joint owner with me; but he insists that his property rights must be respected. [illustration: wabbles.] one afternoon i found a wounded chickadee in the dooryard. some wretch had shot away one leg and had injured a wing besides. i thought wabbles would make short work of the helpless bird, but instead he hopped around him and talked to him in a low tone. there was no threat in his notes such as he uttered when angry. up to the time that wabbles left in migration the chickadee was allowed the freedom of the cabin dooryard. when wabbles's first wife was alive, he returned one spring the tenth day of march, and brought with him a male linnet. i was surprised, for it was peculiar that a linnet should return in migration three weeks before the usual time. a week later mrs. wabbles returned, and with her was the mate to the linnet. this incident opened up a wide field for reflection. it proved that two species of the bird family could communicate ideas to each other. these birds must have met in the south. in the course of bird gossip either the linnets or sparrows had announced that the summer home was on cape ann. "that is where we live," is the glad reply, so the birds, having come from the same locality, associate together. wabbles tells them about the hermit and the dooryard crowded with food. in some way he induced the male linnet to accompany him, three weeks out of season, with the understanding that mrs. wabbles, a week later, would pilot the female linnet to her husband. it must be remembered that linnets do not inhabit the woods. wabbles gave the freedom of the dooryard to the linnets. they were invited guests, and were treated as such. it all goes to show that wabbles knows what belongs to good breeding and possesses a moral sense. [illustration] iv. bismarck, the red squirrel the red squirrel, or chickaree, leads all the wild things in the woodlands of cape ann for intelligence and the ability to maintain an existence under adverse circumstances. his life during the spring and summer months is a grand hurrah, but in the fall he sobers down and plods and toils in his harvest-fields like a thrifty farmer. right or wrong, it is a fact that the red squirrel bears a disreputable character. he is called a thief because he takes the farmers' corn, and a bloodthirsty wretch for robbing birds' nests. from my experience with the chickaree i am led to believe that he is not so black as painted. i used to think that he spared neither eggs nor young, but savagely robbed every bird's nest which he chanced to find. i certainly got this idea from books, for i cannot recall an instance where a bird's nest was robbed by a red squirrel. for years i thought a squirrel was seeking food when he chased the birds in my dooryard. now my eyes are open, and i am heartily ashamed of myself. i awoke from my trance to find that the red squirrel was simply chasing the birds out of the dooryard and away from the food, which he claimed as his own. twice last summer i saw a red squirrel pounce on a young towhee-bunting, but both times he let the bird go without the loss of a feather. it was evident that he did not intend to injure the bird, but merely desired to frighten it away. the intention was so evident that i could not ignore it, and it led me to do a lot of thinking. [illustration: pigeon hawk.] i carefully examined my notes for proof of the squirrel's guilt, and found no record against him. the guilty ones were the hawk, the owl, the snake, the stoat, the crow, the cat, the irrepressible boy, and the white-footed mouse. for fifteen years birds have nested around my cabin unmolested by the red squirrel. it was always a mystery to me why the birds were not afraid of the red squirrel. let a hawk, an owl, a weasel, a cat, a snake, or any of the animals known to prey on birds, enter my dooryard while birds were rearing their young, and the wildest alarm would prevail so long as the intruder was in sight. the red squirrel can come and go without a protest, which proves that the birds do not regard him as an enemy. whenever i have detected a squirrel investigating a bird's nest it has turned out that curiosity was the motive. a pair of chickadees nested in a box that i had placed in an oak-tree, and a squirrel that spent the most of his time in the dooryard made it a duty to investigate the nest several times a day. he did not harm the young birds, and the old birds did not fear him. while i was watching a red-eyed vireo's nest last season, i saw a red squirrel run out to the nest, stretch his full length on the limb (it was a very warm day), and look down on to the young birds that were squirming about in their confined quarters. i counted ninety-six before he left, and i did not begin at first. i think he was on the limb fully two minutes. these young vireos were not molested, for i saw them leave the nest when full fledged. i have a record of an oven-bird that nested at the foot of a pine-tree which contained a red squirrel's nest. four young squirrels were reared in a leafy nest in the top of the pine, and three young oven-birds in a domed nest on the ground. my experience with the red squirrel has caused me to change my mind, and hereafter i shall hold him innocent until he is proved guilty. the red squirrel in this locality is about seven and a half inches in length, measuring from the nose to the base of the tail. the tail is about six and a half inches in length, and is carried in a number of ways to suit the convenience of its owner. as to color, it seems as if there are two species, but it is only the difference between the young and the very old. young squirrels are bright red on the back and sides, with the under parts usually a pure white. old squirrels are red along the back bone, gray on the sides, and a dirty white below. some specimens are shot that are nearly all gray. gunners claim that such squirrels are a cross between the red and the gray, but they are simply old red squirrels. dame nature has been unusually kind to the red squirrel. she has provided him with powerful weapons of offence and defence. she has set in his muscular jaws long, cruel teeth, which are whet to a keen edge on the hard-shelled nuts. she has conferred upon him claws sharp as needles, and a muscular system which seemingly is controlled by an electric current. there is a wicked wild fire in his bright eye that stamps him the bravest wild thing of the forest. he will fight to the death. he whips his great cousin, the gray squirrel, without effort, and is a match for the large stoat. when pursued by a dog he makes a dash for the nearest tree, which he mounts, calling out "chickaree" as soon as he is out of danger. he does not, like the gray squirrel, seek a hiding-place in the top of the tree. no, he is far too bold to hide from a dog. he stops on a low limb, just out of reach, and fairly boils over with rage and fury. he barks, spits, and sputters; he makes furious rushes, as if he intended to come right down the tree, and "whip that dog." he violently jerks his tail, and pounds the limb with his hind feet, a picture of impudent, fiery energy. every movement of this little squirrel is accomplished without apparent muscular energy. he seems to float up a tree. if you are near enough you may hear the pricking of his claws on the bark, but you cannot detect a muscular effort. he flashes along the limbs in some mysterious way, never stopping, like the gray squirrel, to measure distances before a leap. if he misses and falls, he usually catches by a claw to some twig, thus saving himself. if he falls to the ground, it does not harm or disconcert him. he is up the tree in a jiffy, spitefully saying things that sound to the listener very much like swearing. from the middle of april to the first of september the male squirrel leads a jolly, rollicking life. he is as restless and noisy as a schoolboy, and as full of fun. he will hang head down, holding on by his hind claws, just for the fun of the thing. in the tree-tops he is king. he rules the blue jays and crows, and races them out of the pine-trees whenever he feels disposed. he hazes the gray squirrel, but does not unsex him as alleged. this silly tale is on a par with snakes' stingers and hoop snakes. any one that has had the opportunity to observe squirrels the year round, knows that chipmunks, red squirrels, and gray squirrels show the same appearance of being unsexed, except in the mating season. the gray is no match for the red in a tree-top in a trial of speed. he usually keeps to the ground, where his long leaps give him the advantage over his fiery little foe. many a sprinting match of this kind takes place in my dooryard. if a red surprises a gray squirrel stealing food, he sounds his war-cry, and in a mad rush is on to the gray before he can make off with the bit of food which he has appropriated. the gray, finding that he is hard pressed, runs around the cabin with the red hot at his heels. round and round they go, the gray silent, the red yelling like a little demon. when the gray has had several narrow escapes, he drops the food and retreats unmolested. the red picks up the food and takes it to a favorite limb, where he devours it, talking to himself, meanwhile, about "that gray thief." [illustration: "many a sprinting match of this kind takes place in my dooryard."] in all my years of observation, once only have i known a gray squirrel to fight a red. i think it was hunger and desperation that induced the gray to fight. the gray was an old male, certainly three times as large as the red. the latter was an old male, and had held the dooryard for several years against all comers. he was a sagacious, grizzled old warrior, and i named him bismarck. the fight took place in my dooryard. it was a bloody battle for bread on a cold, drizzly day in midwinter. the gray was whipped inside of three minutes. the snow was crimsoned with his blood, and when he fled he left a bloody trail behind. at no time was there a ghost of a chance for him to win. the muscular energy of the red was astounding. his movements were too quick for the eye. while the fight lasted, all i could see was a bounding mass of red and gray. the red squirrel did not appear to be severely wounded, anyway he remained out in the cold and rain to lick his wounds. perhaps it was squirrel surgery to prefer the cold to a warm nest. from my observations i find that the reds seldom chase the grays, unless the latter enter territory which the reds claim the right to hold and protect. four-footed wild animals, with a few exceptions, own farms, gardens, or house-lots. that is, they hold exclusive control over a limited area around their nesting sites. you seldom see two woodchuck holes near each other, or two rabbit burrows. the red squirrel runs a fruit farm. he owns and controls trees that bear nuts or cones, and other reds respect his rights, and do not invade his territory unless there is a famine. a red squirrel will fight savagely for his home and property, and usually drives all intruders from his domain. young squirrels remain with their parents through the first winter, but in april the female turns the family over to the male, and makes another nest of moss, leaves, and dry grass in the top of a tall pine or hemlock-tree. while she is engaged by new duties, the male looks after the young squirrels that are now full grown. he finishes their education, and locates the young males on territory which they ever after hold. the young females, later on, are mated, and remove to the locality inhabited by their mates. whether the parents have anything to do in selecting sons-in-law is beyond my knowledge. i have known an old male to fly into a passion when a smart young red tried to flirt with his daughter. the flirtation was cut short by the angry father, who run the young dandy off his territory. kicked him out-of-doors, so to speak. another young red that courted the daughter was tolerated, if not welcomed, by the father. he was the choice of the old fellow beyond doubt, but i do not know how the young lady decided the matter. perhaps she eloped with the smart young red. bismarck, the grizzled old warrior, held my dooryard for several years. one winter, when there was a famine in the land because the nut crop had failed, a muscular young red thought he could drive bismarck away. a fierce battle was the consequence, and bismarck killed his antagonist, but was disfigured for life by the loss of the end of his tail. while bismarck reigned, the only squirrel that gained a foothold in the dooryard without his consent was his wife. he chased her away time after time, but like some human wives, she persisted, and won the day. bismarck gave in when, instead of running away, his wife adopted the plan of running spirally up and down the tree-trunks. mrs. bismarck's favorite tree was a large hemlock, which was about eighteen inches in diameter. the trunk of the tree was very short, not over eight feet in length from the ground to the lower limbs. the squirrels made two turns in either going up or down the tree, and their speed was too swift for the human eye. a brown band seemed for a moment wound about the tree, shifting as the squirrels ascended or descended. it was two weeks before bismarck would allow his mate to remain in the dooryard. when peace was declared the two would eat side by side, but with bismarck always scolding and growling, while his wife discreetly remained silent. bismarck was my schoolmaster. he taught me that squirrels think, plan, and reason just as human beings do. every time i threw to him a nut or bit of bread, i would see him do the thinking act. he would take the food to a boulder, where he would stop, hold up one foot ready to start again, and think out a good hiding-place. when he had thought out a spot, he would run directly to it and conceal the food under leaves or pine-needles, and return to the dooryard for more. no two nuts or bits of bread were concealed in the same place. several times i experimented to find out how many trips bismarck would make. the greatest number was fifty-one. while the experiment was going on, i noted each hiding-place, as well as i could, and afterward saw the squirrel go to many. he certainly remembered each spot, and his keen scent did the rest. bismarck was a thrifty squirrel. he did not disturb his hidden store while the food held out in the dooryard. he would call around early in the morning, and if he found me eating breakfast under the trees, he would run to a limb just over my head and look down in a cute way that meant "breakfast for two." if i did not respond he would probably say to himself, "the hermit don't mean to feed me to-day. i must fall back on the food that i hid away yesterday. let me see, that first nut is under the edge of a boulder just back of the cabin." off he goes straight to the spot. he noses out the nut, which he eats on the limb over my head, scattering the bits of shell on to the breakfast-table. he is very sociable while eating, for he stops now and then to say something to me. i do not understand his exact language, but i know by the tone that he means to be friendly. bismarck did not always hide bread beneath pine-needles or leaves. at a certain season of the year the trees about my cabin were made into storehouses. this season was governed by the blue jays. when they were nesting they did not come to the cabin and bismarck could store food in the trees without fear of being robbed. my attention was called early to the fact that a gale of wind did not dislodge the pieces of bread which the squirrel had stored on the limbs of a hemlock-tree. i found that each piece was held in place by a small twig. scores of times afterward i saw bismarck lift up a twig with his hands and then push the piece of bread with his nose to the junction of twig and limb. of course the natural spring of the twig held the bread in place. bismarck always stored mushrooms in the trees, for he knew that the blue jays did not eat such food. he would drop the stem of the mushroom between the prongs of a forked limb, if there was cap enough left to hold the same in place, otherwise he treated it just as he would a piece of bread. how bismarck acquired a knowledge of the edible mushrooms is a mystery beyond my powers. doubtless, when he attended the chickaree college, he studied natural history instead of the dead languages. he knew how to harvest mushrooms. he gathered them soon after they appeared above the ground. gathered thus, they would keep several days, while a few hours' growth would spoil them if left in the ground. bismarck knew how to eat mushrooms. he did not begin on the freshly gathered ones; he knew they would keep, and he selected those that would decay shortly. human beings eat the specked apples from motives of economy, and the same impulse controls the squirrel. [illustration] in the woods about my cabin grow many varieties of the poisonous mushrooms. one deadly variety--the "destroying angel"--possesses a form most pleasing to the eye. its symmetrical shape and pearly white color give it a look of innocence that has lured many a human being to an early grave. i have never seen a tooth-mark by a squirrel, mouse, or mole in one of these deadly mushrooms, which goes to prove that the wild things know more than some human beings. a few years ago, while out on a walk with the appalachian mountain club, i told a professor, who was an expert on mushrooms, that i used the mushrooms which were approved by the squirrels, and no others. he said that i was risking my life, for he claimed that squirrels could eat poisonous varieties that might kill human beings. i thought that the professor knew more about mushrooms than he did about squirrels, so his warning was wasted on me. up to date i have found the squirrels all right, and i feel no fear when eating what they eat. for years i attended a squirrels' school, and bismarck was the schoolmaster. he taught me many things relating to squirrel life. much of the knowledge acquired was wholly unknown to me before. when bismarck first introduced himself to me i think he was an old bachelor or a widower. three years later he excavated a storehouse in a bank, beneath a boulder, and made a sleeping-nest in a pine-tree, both in the dooryard. the storehouse was used but little after the first winter. the next spring he took to himself a mate, but did not introduce her to the dooryard. some distance from the cabin, in a swamp, bismarck's mate made a neat little nest in a hemlock-tree. here she reared two baby squirrels. bismarck did not take much interest in his family through the summer. he spent most of the time in the dooryard, sleeping in his own nest by night. by day his time was occupied in fighting the crows, and in driving squirrels and birds from the dooryard. there was always a good lot of food for bismarck to choose from, and i thought he would give up hard work and lead a life of ease. but i did not know the thrifty ways of the red squirrel. when the harvest season for hazelnuts drew near, bismarck buckled down to hard work. he began his new life by calling often on his family in the hemlock-tree. one day i found bismarck and his wife digging beneath a pine-tree that grew on the high land just out of the swamp. they brought out a great quantity of pine rootlets during the next two days. there was not much soil, which indicated that the squirrels had discovered a natural cavity, partly filled with pine rootlets. the third day, about four o'clock in the afternoon, the work stopped. [illustration: "the winter storehouse was completed."] mrs. bismarck ran to a pine-root, sat up straight, folded her hands, and said something. mr. bismarck ran to her side, folded his hands, and made a reply. both squirrels looked toward the hole beneath the tree by turning half-way round. then they looked at each other, and mrs. bismarck ran into the hole, and immediately appeared and said something that sounded very much like "it is well." then both squirrels scampered away. the winter storehouse was completed. when the hazelnuts were ripe bismarck and his mate began to fill the storehouse. bismarck gathered the hazelnuts about the cabin, while his mate gathered those around the home nest. bismarck did a lot of running, for he carried but one nut at a time. he always worked under high pressure, running to and fro at the top of his speed. [illustration] i noticed that he left many nuts on the bushes, but when i investigated i found a worm in each nut--a good reason for rejecting them; but as the husks seemed perfect, how did bismarck know the worms were there? i think his keen scent was the secret. by the sense of smell he could tell a wormy from a sound nut. so could i after the nut was smashed, but not before. after the hazelnuts, beechnuts were gathered. but right here competition was too great for the squirrels. the blue jays haunted the beech groves, and could load up with from twelve to eighteen nuts, then could use their wings against the squirrels' legs, so the latter were usually short on beechnuts. the acorn followed the beechnut crop, and as the woods of cape ann are made up mostly of oak-trees, there were usually nuts enough for bismarck's family and to spare. besides being a hard worker, bismarck proved to me, in many ways, that he was quick-witted and resourceful. a sweet acorn-tree near my cabin was loaded with nuts. beneath the limbs on the south side was a carpet of pine-needles, while under the limbs on the north side grew a dense mass of brambles and catbriers. bismarck did not drop a nut into the mass of briers, but carried each nut--one at a time--to the clear side before dropping it. could human intelligence do more? [illustration] when bismarck and his mate had stowed away food enough for winter, they made a winter nest in the pine-tree that grew above the storehouse. in the new nest the whole family passed the winter after the manner of red squirrels. the two baby squirrels for the most of the harvest-time remained in the nest or on the hemlock-tree in which the nest was located. now and then they followed the mother to a nut-tree, but were so noisy that i imagine the fear of enemies caused the discreet mother to drive them home. when the family storehouse was well filled, bismarck stored a few nuts in the hole at the cabin. i think he would have stored more if it had not been for the alert wood-mice. he hid a great many nuts around boulders and trees. these nuts were used in the winter, and often lasted until late in the spring. in the spring, when the nuts started to grow, bismarck dug them up, bit off the sprouts, and buried them again. when the nut crop is a failure, the squirrels are face to face with a famine. long before the nut season approaches the squirrels know that they must depend on other food for the winter's supply. during one year of failure i carefully noted how bismarck conducted himself, knowing that he would teach me how the red squirrel provides food when his main supply is cut off. when september warned the squirrels that the season for providing food for winter was on, bismarck turned his attention to the corn in the dooryard. years before he had stored corn, when he was obliged to compete with the blue jays and chipmunks. the latter could carry away from fourteen to nineteen grains, while bismarck's load was but two grains. he soon evened things up by hiding corn in the dooryard, or near it. when the supply was exhausted, and the blue jays and chipmunks had disappeared, bismarck would dig up his corn and carry it home. it was sharp practice, but the squirrel was justified, when we consider the circumstances. for several years prior to the famine, bismarck had dropped the habit of storing corn, and only gnawed out the germ, leaving the mutilated grain for the blue jays and chipmunks. now bismarck undertook to store corn, hiding it as of old, but i vetoed the act, by withholding the corn. the squirrel then turned his attention to a black cherry-tree, and with the aid of a chipmunk, soon stripped it of fruit. i think the chipmunk gathered the fruit for the stone. he gathered an enormous quantity, and surely could not make use of the soft part. the red squirrel may have gathered for immediate use and also for a winter supply. bismarck's next move was a great surprise. i caught him carrying bones to his storehouse. [illustration] one summer i saw bismarck sitting on a stone wall, apparently eating a bone. after he got through he hid the bone in the wall. i found that the bone was old and partly decayed. i smashed up similar bones, and bismarck seemed to relish a meal three or four times a week, but i never knew him to store bones for winter use before. his next move was to attack the pine-cones. these were gathered while quite green. they were left on the ground three or four days and then carried, whole, to the family storehouse--a great quantity was stored under stumps, trees, and boulders. the hemlock-cones were gathered later, but were husked at the foot of the tree on which they grew. during the following winter bismarck looked to me for food. a loaf of bread was wired to a post near the cabin door, from which he could eat, while he could not carry it away. one cold, rainy day, he sat by the bread without eating, and whimpered like a little child. he was telling me in squirrel language that it was cold, rainy, and almost night, and that i ought to give him some bread to take home to his family. i understood his appeal, and passed him a biscuit. he scampered away chuckling over his good luck. after that, fair or foul, all through the winter days, he would beg for bread to take home, and always chuckled when he got it. perhaps he was laughing at me for being an easy mark, or it may have been squirrel for "i thank you a thousand times." however that may be, he was welcome, for i thought of the baby squirrels starving along on a cone-seed diet. bismarck would eat all kinds of meat--even fat pork--but he preferred cooked meat to raw. while the famine was on he turned his attention to many kinds of food found in the woods. i made a record of each variety, and religiously tasted of everything he used. frozen barberries and chokeberries were preferred to all others. i found the barberries had lost much of their usual sourness; the chokeberries were sweet and palatable. while the former remained on the bushes through the winter, the latter were soon exhausted, for they were food for quail, grouse, blue jays, and mice. the berries of the greenbrier, staghorn sumach, and rosehips were used sparingly. the greenbrier berries had a sweetish taste; the staghorn sumachs were sour and puckery, while the rosehips had a pleasant flavor at first, ending in a most disagreeable bitter. many mushrooms were caught by an early frost, and remained frozen through the winter. these were food for bismarck. he would gnaw out the under part, or gills, rejecting the rest. i tasted the food, but cannot say that i care for frozen mushroom. in the spring pussy-willow buds formed a part of bismarck's food. i found the buds nearly tasteless, but they crunched between the teeth like a crisp cucumber. as spring advanced, creeping wintergreen and partridge-berries appeared here and there where the sun had melted the snow, and bismarck greedily devoured the bright red berries. later berries formed the greater part of his food until the hazelnuts were ripe. wild apple-trees abound on cape ann, and bismarck attacked the fruit early in the fall. he destroyed great quantities for the seed, which was the only part stored for winter use. however, he seemed to relish an apple, if it was not too sour, and all through the winter he would eat a baldwin apple, even to the seeds, at one sitting. [illustration] the history of bismarck through a year of famine is the history of other red squirrels on cape ann. it is evident that the red squirrel is famine proof. if the nut crop is a failure, chickaree turns his attention to other food sources, and by perseverance and hard work is able to keep the wolf from the door. for years bismarck and the blue jays have matched wits. after nesting, the blue jays would flock to the cabin and impudently appropriate all the food found in the trees. bismarck seemed to know that it was useless to store food longer in this way, so he would bury it beneath the pine-needles. the jays were soon on to this trick. when i threw a piece of bread to the squirrel he would start at once to hide it, while the jays would follow him, keeping in the trees, just out of reach. the moment he left, the jays would fly down, dig out the bread and carry it away. it often happened that bismarck would fool the robbers by pretending to bury the bread. he would dig a hole, cover it over, pat down the pine-needles, but would run away with the bread in his mouth. while the jays were scratching the pine-needles right and left, in a useless search, bismarck would hide the bit of bread, and return to the dooryard for more. he was not so particular if the food was wheat bread, but if it was his favorite food--doughnut--the jays were fooled every time. [illustration] every spring bismarck taps the trees around the cabin. he begins on the maples and ends later on the birches. if the tree is small, he taps the trunk; if large, he works on the limbs. he gnaws through the bark and into the wood, then clings to the limb or trunk, below the wound, while he laps the sweet sap. if there is a hollow in the bark into which the sap flows, bismarck is sure to find it. did the red squirrel learn how to tap trees from the american indian, or did the indian learn from the squirrel? the habits of the red squirrel are rapidly changing in this locality on account of a foolish state law. the story is quickly told. ward 8 (city of gloucester), where my cabin is located, contains over eleven thousand square acres. its area is greater than that of the other seven wards combined. the bulk of the territory of ward 8 is made up of woodland and shrubland, the city proper being in the other seven wards. ward 8 contains the delightful summer resort known as magnolia. this resort derives its name from magnolia swamp, the only spot in new england where magnolia glauca is found in a wild state. the famous coffin's beach is also in this ward. the general court four years ago placed a close time of five years on small game in the territory east of ward 8. this protects the seven wards of the city and the town of rockport. two years ago the town of essex, which joins ward 8 on the west, was protected, so that the gunners from a population of about forty thousand are turned loose in ward 8. the extermination of nearly all the game, and of great numbers of song-birds, has been the result of this peculiar legislation. [illustration: indigo-bird.] all the wild things are desperately wild. the red squirrel if he hears the report of a gun instantly rushes to a hiding-place. well he knows the deadly meaning of the report. he has turned day into night, and now harvests his nut crop in the night-time. i sleep in the open air, and during the harvest season i listen for hours to the sound of dropping nuts which the industrious but wary squirrels are cutting from the oak-trees around my cabin. bismarck is still in the land of the living, although ten years have passed since he first introduced himself, and requested me to book him for table board. he has cost me many dollars, while he has not paid a cent in the coin of the realm. however, i owe him for teaching and am ready to balance the books and exchange receipts. [illustration: oven-bird.] i know that my position in relation to the red squirrel's destruction of song-birds will be sharply criticized by those who believe in the squirrel's total depravity. but the truth is that i describe wild life just as i find it, not as some books say i ought to find it. if the red squirrel was as destructive as reported, there would not be a young bird reared around my cabin. my notes show that last year the following named birds nested near my cabin, and probably every nest was known and visited by the red squirrel: number of nests. chestnut-sided warbler 3 black-throated green warbler 1 oven-bird 2 vireo 4 canada fly-catching warbler 1 robin 2 towhee-bunting 2 catbird 1 wilson's thrush 2 indigo-bird 1 - total 19 a ruffed grouse nest was looted by the crows when it contained but four eggs, after which the bird resorted to a swamp, and reared a brood. several of the nests named were destroyed, but none by the squirrel. in the light of my observations i cannot consistently denounce the red squirrel. [illustration: black-throated green warbler.] v. changes in hermit-life for several years i had slept in a hammock without a roof to keep off the night air. i had found this method inconvenient on account of stormy nights, when i was obliged to seek the shelter of the cabin. i overcame the difficulty by putting a tent roof over my hammock. the sides and ends were open so that i was practically exposed to the night air. the tent roof protected me on stormy nights, and with this slight shelter i slept out-doors from april 1st until christmas, unless there was a heavy, fall of snow, meantime. i found it inconvenient to cook my breakfast, and then, after eating it, go to the city. why i did so was on account of my coffee habit. i had tried to find a good cup of coffee in the city and had failed, so had depended on my own brewing. one morning i dropped into the little store at the head of pavilion beach, and the proprietor asked me to have a cup of coffee. he piloted me into a back shop, where he told me that he served a light lunch with coffee, to the farmers. the coffee was just to my taste, and for twelve years i patronized the coffee trade in that little back shop. my note-book shows that during the twelve years i had missed only eighty mornings. i had paid six hundred and forty-five dollars, during that time, for my lunch and coffee, and had walked, on account of my breakfast, seventeen thousand two hundred miles. whew! it makes me feel poor and tired to recall it. i do not remember that i remained at home to breakfast on account of a storm. the eighty mornings which i missed in the twelve years were accounted for by absence from the city. i would leave my cabin, summer or winter, at half-past five o'clock, so i could sit down to breakfast in the back shop about six. in the winter months it was dark at half-past five in the morning, but that did not disturb me. i did not use a lantern because i would not be bothered with it, and for another reason. it made one a bright and shining object for early ghouls or tramps. for some years past i have discontinued my early morning tramps, but i love to recall the persistence with which i clung to habit. those early walks afforded me much pleasure and some hardships. during the spring months the frogs and birds enlivened my morning walk with music. the bird-music along the route to the city was divided according to locality. before leaving the cabin, from early daylight, there would be a variety of bird-songs. in numbers the veery led all the rest. then followed the red-eyed vireo. after these, i could hear only one song each of the following species: [illustration] catbird, towhee-bunting, chestnut-sided warbler, robin, black-throated green warbler, oven-bird, wood-thrush, and warbling-vireo. indigo-birds and cedar-birds some years could be added to the list, but they are erratic birds, and cannot be depended upon. [illustration: cedar-bird.] [illustration: the new cabin.] my route to the city was along the deserted old highway. when i had climbed the first hill (where my new cabin now stands), i could overlook a rugged territory where the fire and axe had exterminated the large trees, leaving a low, shrubby growth, just suited to the needs of the birds. the songs of the catbird, towhee-bunting, and robin were heard here, and, strange to tell, in a distant corner of the territory, could be heard the loud carol of the song-sparrow. a few pairs of these birds had changed their nesting site from pasture to shrub-land. i knew that these sparrows were descendants of my pet birds, wabbles and his first wife. they were born in the woods, and so reared their children in the same surroundings. the frog-pond was just beyond the hill, and when the toads and frogs did not drown their music, birds could be heard singing from morning till night during the nesting season. there was a colony of maryland yellowthroats near this spot, and the sprightly song could be heard from may 1st to the middle of july. i have heard the song in september. [illustration: maryland yellowthroat.] a short distance from the frog-pond, on the left, there is another pond, or shoal bog, where frogs and red-winged blackbirds appear to own the earth or water. still farther along the old highway, on the right, there is a walled-in territory, called the "sheep pasture." i think i could carry the grass in this so-called pasture in my hands. a mass of boulders and bed-rock, set off by barberry-bushes, comprises the view, but this rugged pasture (?) is the home of the field-sparrow (_spizella agrestis_). this sparrow is not so common as the song-sparrow and bay-winged bunting. [illustration: red-winged blackbirds.] i consider it a rare treat to listen to this sweet singer. i made it a practice, during the season of song, to stop by this old pasture, not only to hear the sparrow, but a brown thrush as well. the thrush occupied the other side of the old highway, and when he saw me coming, he would mount to the top of a small tree and sing so long as i remained to listen. farther along on the old road, a pair of redstarts could be found every spring. the male did his singing in a wild apple-tree. from this spot, down "slaughter-house hill," to western avenue, i found song-sparrows to be the prevailing bird. there were a few chestnut-sided warblers, robins, and catbirds. the birds i have mentioned, that nest along the old road, look upon me with friendly eyes as i pass. when they return in the spring, they give a greeting which i understand, because the notes are in a higher key, and are never repeated through the summer. while passing daily over the road i have made it a practice to talk to the birds, so many of them, not all, greet me as before mentioned. [illustration: swamp song-sparrow.] [illustration: brown thrush] the brown thrush is usually more demonstrative than other birds. his greeting is almost like the shrill cry of a small boy. two years ago, when rounding a turn in the old road, i saw four thrushes before me. i stopped to observe them, when i heard behind me the laugh of a boy. i glanced back, but saw no one. again i heard the laugh, and this time i located the sound over the wall, and started to call, when a male thrush flew to the top of a small cherry-tree, and, after laughing as before, gave me a song. this thrush was my old friend just returned from the south, and when he saw me looking at his mates, he called out to let me know where to find him. [illustration: baltimore oriole.] along western avenue the tall elms harbored many singers. the baltimore orioles' loud notes could be heard above other bird-songs. linnets, chipping-sparrows, bluebirds, and bay-winged-buntings were scattered along the route to the city. when i had reached the sea-wall, the gulls were the birds to attract my attention. some were seen skimming the surface of the water, while others were anchored in large rafts. the gulls appeared to be fearless, and swung to and fro near the beach, but, just the same, the crafty birds did not approach near enough for a shot. they knew how far the modern gun could shoot, and gauged their flight accordingly. whenever one desired to cross the highway to the marshes beyond, it would rise above gunshot before making the attempt. besides the keen sense which the gulls possess, they carry themselves with true dignity. from the first of april to the middle of november i looked every morning for my "lone fisherman." there was a stake near the drawbridge which a belted kingfisher had preã�â«mã�â«pted. for six years this feathered fisherman held that stake, while he had to face almost all the travel in and out of the city. the nest was in a clay-bank that overhung the beach near stage fort. it is needless for me to tell that i derived great pleasure from my daily association with the birds that nested along my route to the city. [illustration: belted kingfisher, watching.] [illustration: kingfisher, striking.] the hardships which i have mentioned were encountered in the winter months, when storms prevailed. cold starlight mornings were my delight. if there was snow on the ground it added a new pleasure. i always enjoyed the keen, cutting air. sometimes there were storms in the morning with rain or snow. at times, the wind would blow such a furious gale on the cut, that it would make it nearly impossible to reach my haven. when safely housed at last, i always felt satisfied with myself, because of my victory over the elements. one storm forced me to remain in the city overnight. the storm had died out, but had created a sea such as is seldom seen even on the cape. i went over to bass rocks, to see the waves break, and did not get back to western avenue until near night. i found the street full of snow and sea-water. i waded nearly to the drawbridge and then mounted the sea-wall. i soon found that the large waves broke over the wall, and with force enough to wash me overboard, so i turned back. the street was closed to travel afterward, by the city officials. [illustration: kingfisher lifting his catch.] during the summer weather i saw many strange sights when taking my morning walk. one morning, a pasture-rabbit tore along the old road as if he were racing for life. he passed me without turning his head, and was out of sight around a turn in the path before i had recovered from my surprise. while i was looking, he came back, jumping high and long; after he had got by the turn, and nearly to my feet, he gave a great jump sideways, and landed in a clump of weeds. just then a stoat came in sight on the rabbit's trail. his leaps were not expended in the air, but were swift, long, and near the ground. it was evident that the poor rabbit had no chance to escape from such a supple, bloodthirsty foe without help. when the stoat was out of sight, the rabbit again took to the road. he passed me, then turned into the woods. whether he knew it or not, it was the best thing to do. it left the hermit to face his relentless foe. perhaps the birds had told the rabbit that the hermit was a friend. the stoat came back, hunting both sides of the road. he understood just how he had been tricked. when he found the trail in the weeds, he circled around until satisfied that the rabbit had returned to the road. when we met, he seemed surprised, but he tried to pass, spitting spitefully to frighten me. i drove him back, and managed to keep him from the rabbit's trail until it was too cold to follow. i expect that this rescue established my reputation with the rabbits, for from time to time they came into my dooryard when chased by a mink or stoat. whenever it occurs on sunday there are visitors present, who are invariably excited for the welfare of the rabbit. the stoat is the large weasel. it turns white in the winter, and is then the ermine. [illustration: the hermit's wild friends] of all the incidents that happened during my morning walks, there is one that i cannot explain without resorting to a belief in hypnotism. i was on the way to the city when a turn in the path brought into sight a large mink, apparently coal-black. his peculiar actions caught my attention first, but soon i saw a ruffed grouse about twelve feet beyond the mink. every feather on the grouse stood up, causing the bird to look as large as a small turkey. the mink was making figure eights, moving from side to side of the grassy path, which was over five feet in width. his movements were so rapid the eye could see only a black streak. while i could not see the mink move toward the grouse, i saw that the distance between them grew less quite rapidly. feeling sure that the grouse was doomed, for it seemed unable to do anything but follow the rapid motion of the mink, i stepped forward and gave a shout. the grouse flew away, and the mink turned on me and let out a yell that was fierce and loud enough for a tiger. he acted as if he meant to attack me, but thought better of it, and ran into a stone wall. from this safe retreat he yelled while i was in sight. this case puzzled me. it appeared almost impossible that such a wary, muscular bird as the grouse could be hypnotized. the mink was surely but slowly nearing the grouse when i interfered. i am sorry i did not remain quiet, and so find out if the grouse was able to fly away before the danger-point was reached. as it is, i remain in doubt. [illustration: "the distance between them grew less quite rapidly."] returning from the city one morning in october, i turned off the old highway into the woods. i thought that some of the wood-folk would notice my visit and reward me with gossip for my note-book. i stopped to rest near a red squirrel's nest. the nest was in the top of a tall hemlock-tree and i was on the ground, but the proprietor knew i could climb, and so was eager to drive me away. he did not dare to attack me, for i suppose that sometime in his life he had worked the idea through his little head that man was too big and powerful to be whipped by a red squirrel, but he did the next thing. he flew into a passion and abused me in the expressive and vehement language common to this squirrel. he would run out on the limbs over my head and dance himself into a frenzy, and chatter and bark and shriek as if that would drive me away. he was wound up for a half-hour. after he had run down, he stretched out on a limb and silently watched me. soon after, i heard a slight rustling of leaves, and a gray squirrel appeared from the underbrush with an acorn in his mouth. the red saw the gray, but remained silent. the gray squirrel selected a spot and proceeded to bury the nut. when he had finished and was patting the dirt down, the red set up a great laugh. the gray cast one look aloft, and instantly his little paws were making the dirt fly. in less time than it takes me to write it, he had dug up the nut and had disappeared. i don't think the red squirrel thought to appropriate the nut. i think he enjoyed the joke which was on the gray. i know that i did. a thaw in the winter made trouble for me outside of the sloppy walking. it brought out the skunk family, and each individual skunk thought he owned the old highway, and he did, when i met him. many and many times i have had to climb through snow, or over ledges, to give the right of way to some sleepy old fraud, that did not know enough about man to be afraid of him. [illustration: "'hermit, you are out.'"] one evening i went to the well for water, and left the cabin door open. when i returned, i saw a big skunk climbing over the door-sill. i shouted, in hopes to make him turn back, but he looked at me as much as to say, "hermit, you are out," and so i was. it was a cold, drizzly evening, and i was in my shirt-sleeves. it was a good half-hour before the scamp had satisfied himself that my stores were locked up. i was glad that he did not try his teeth on my cupboard. in that case i should have had to stop out all night. [illustration: the white-footed mouse] vi. the white-footed mouse the white-footed mouse, unlike the house mouse, is a handsome fellow. he sports a chestnut coat, a white vest, reddish brown trousers, and white stockings. his eyes and ears are uncommonly large, causing his head to resemble a deer's in miniature. this resemblance has bestowed upon him the name of "deer-mouse." he is also called "wood-mouse," but is known to science as _hesperomys leucopus_. my object in writing about these mice is to call attention to their peculiar method of communication. i have summered and wintered them over fifteen years, and never have i heard one of them utter a vocal sound. they communicate with each other by drumming with their fore feet, or, rather, they drum with their toes, for the foot in the act is held rigid while the toes move. if any writer has called attention to this peculiar method of communication, it has escaped my reading. i am well satisfied that the habit has never been published before, so it must prove interesting to those who pry into the secrets of dame nature. [illustration] the white-footed mouse has taken possession of my cabin. until a year ago the mice were kept in check by stoats, but for some reason the stoats have failed to appear, and the mice are increasing rapidly. i find their nests in every nook and corner. i go bareheaded the most of the time, so it happens that when i do need a hat i find it occupied by an enterprising mouse and her family. now a few mice for company in the winter evenings would not be objectionable, but i draw the line when they become so numerous that i am forced to eat and sleep with them. they are too cunning and intelligent to be kept in check by traps. i have tried all kinds of traps, only to find them useless. last winter i bought a wire rat-trap--the kind with a trencher that tips and slides the rat into the space below. the trap was a failure. the mice were highly delighted with the contrivance, and from the first used the trencher as a door leading into and out of the trap. how does it happen that these shy inhabitants of the woods are more intelligent than the cunning citrat? some writers tell us that the lower animals cannot reason. in such case it ought to be an easy matter for man to outwit a lot of foolish little mice. i tried the experiment by fixing a wire to the trencher in such a way as to give me full control. when the mice were engaged on the food in the trap i pulled my wire and made it fast. the next morning my prisoners numbered twenty-eight. i was about to drown the lot, when several pets clung to the upper wires of the trap, and the mute appeal in their great wild eyes softened my foolish heart, and i thought it would be more humane to lose them in the woods. i carried them nearly a mile from the cabin, and turned them out near some big boulders. i left a supply of food, and promised myself to feed them from time to time. two nights later they were all back in the cabin. upon investigation i found that they had followed my footsteps. i could see their tracks in the snow where they had trooped along in short journeys. at the end of each journey the tracks would disappear under a boulder or a tree, only to appear again, but always heading for the cabin. i baited and fixed the trap, while the mice scampered about, evidently celebrating their return. i told them plainly that this was their last night on earth; that i had outwitted them once and would now outwit them again. but all my boasting came to naught. not a mouse would enter that trap while the wire was on the trencher. the third night i removed the wire, and the mice entered the trap without fear. [illustration] vainglorious man had pitted his wit against the wit of these little rodents, and the rodents had triumphed. every sportsman knows how it is. he finds the wild things just as intelligent and crafty as man with all his boasted superiority. i desire to emphasize what i have already stated as to the peculiar method employed by these mice when communicating with each other. if any one has been fortunate enough to have heard a vocal sound uttered by a white-footed mouse, i shall greatly like to hear of the fact. a daily and nightly knowledge of these little mice for more than fifteen years has led me to believe that they are completely dumb. they talk with their toes just as deaf and dumb people talk with their fingers, only they are guided by the ear instead of the eye. proof that they are talking together is found in the fact that they go on with the drumming when in full view of each other. when calling to attract attention, they drum a long roll which corresponds to the halloo of the telephone. the answer is the same; afterward the rolls are variously interrupted. through the winter months the mice about my cabin look to me for food. by catering to their wants i have mastered their calls for food and water. i keep a loaf of bread on the floor, and it is no unusual thing to see a dozen mice eating and fighting around the food. whenever i forget to supply the bread, the mice come out of their nests and drum the long roll, the call over their telephone, to attract my attention. if i am reading or writing and do not heed the call, they continue the long roll, drumming on books, tinware, papers, and on the wooden shelves. the moment i look up or speak, all hands drum the food-call, a long followed by a short roll. the call for water is two short rolls. the danger-call is two long rolls drummed rapidly and vigorously. the young mice learn to drum when nearly full-grown, but understand and answer the drumming of the mother-mouse when quite young. i have had proof of this more times than i can remember. [illustration] an old mouse, a pet of long standing, on cool nights takes her family to the roof of the cabin. the roof is warm and makes an ideal playground for the little ones. here they race and romp until daylight, when the mother-mouse puts them to bed for the day. soon after i hear the mice on the roof, early in the evening, the old mouse comes down to see if food and water are on hand. if she finds things all right, she takes a drink and then calls her family down. as near as i can make it out, she drums three rolls, a long roll between two short rolls. anyhow, the young mice understand, and scamper down and drink and eat, after a harum-scarum fashion. the old mouse drums to me if there is no water in the dish. the young mice must hear this drumming, but pay no attention to it, which proves that they understand the different calls. the old mouse drums on the tin wash-dish, and her claws make a sound that rings out loud and clear. she drums first the long roll to attract my attention, and then drums the water-call. if food is wanted, she drums the food-call after attracting attention. [illustration: "it carries its victim by the middle."] the white-footed mouse has a deadly enemy in the weasel family, the stoat, or ermine, which pursues its defenceless victims every month in the year. i seldom see a small weasel, but the stoat is common in this vicinity. while a stoat is rearing its young, the life of the white-footed mouse is made miserable. by day and by night its bloodthirsty foe is on the trail. it is no unusual thing to see a stoat running along the wall back of the cabin with a mouse in its mouth. it carries its victim by the middle, and always reminds me of the picture of a tiger carrying off a hottentot. some of the old mice are quick-witted and full of resource, and escape danger, otherwise the species would soon be exterminated. there is an auger-hole in one of the logs inside the cabin that affords a mouse a safe retreat. several times i have seen a stoat thrust its paw into the hole, only to jerk it out in hot haste. a drop of blood on the log would show that the mouse had defended itself with its sharp teeth. there are three mice about my cabin that for years have managed to escape the stoats. time after time i have saved the lives of these mice. the three are pets, and intelligent enough to know that i will protect them from their fierce and relentless foe. in the night-time, if hard pressed, they dive into my bed, while by day they sound the danger-call, knowing full well that i will come to the rescue and drive away their enemy. to a stranger these mice look as much alike as peas in a pod, but for me they possess individualities as marked and distinct as could be found in three human beings. one of the three, the mouse that uses the roof for a playground, always nests under a stone wall just back of the cabin. number two nests in the cabin summer and winter. when the weather is warm she makes a nest on a high shelf, but in cold weather her nest is on the floor under a pile of newspapers. number three nests where i nest. when i sleep in the cabin, the nest of this mouse is always there. when i sleep in the open air, under a roof to keep off the rain, the mouse follows me, nesting under newspapers or in a box which i supply. if she has a family when i move, it does not prevent her from following me. she makes ready a nest, and then takes her family to the new quarters. [illustration] for keen intelligence mouse number two takes the lead. all through the summer months she makes a nest on a high shelf in the cabin. when there is a fire in the stove the heat becomes oppressive in the top of the cabin, and the young mice would perish if it were not for the intelligence of the old mouse. when i fill the stove with wood the old mouse understands just what will take place. she knows that i am about to kindle a fire, and she rushes to a shelf near the stove and frantically drums the danger-signal. she also does a lot of drumming which i do not understand. she tries to tell me in her dumb language that a fire will destroy her little family. when the mouse finds that i do not heed her appeal, she knows that her family will be destroyed, and can be saved only by her own hasty efforts. the one thing to do is to remove her babies to a place far away from the death-dealing heat. if the young mice are small, in some mysterious way the mother-mouse induces each youngster to cling to a teat, when the whole family is removed in this novel manner to a safe retreat beneath the cabin. it is a comical sight to see the old mouse crawling along a log with eight or ten raw, shapeless things clinging to her like grim death. the hole in the wall that leads outside is small, and the old mouse has a long struggle to get her load safely through. now and then a young mouse drops off and remains squirming where it chances to fall. the mother invariably returns and gathers in the missing. when the young mice are half-grown, they are removed in a different manner. they are now too large to be dragged as before. they are also too large to be carried by the neck. the mother overcomes this difficulty by doubling up the young mouse and then grasping it by the crossed legs. the young mouse turns its head inward and holds it in place by biting on to one of its own legs. in this way a young mouse is made up into a round, compact bundle. when the hole in the wall is reached it often happens that the mother cannot push her load through. after several unsuccessful efforts she turns about and backs through the hole, dragging the load after her. [illustration] all in all, the white-footed mouse has afforded me much pleasure, but at times it becomes a nuisance. at one time my cabin was haunted by a strange sound. the sound was simple enough, only a sharp click repeated over and over. sometimes, however, the performance would change to a succession of clicks. for six weeks i vainly tried to solve the mystery. at last the clicking became downright annoying. it would break up my line of thought when writing. it would confuse my mind when reading, and i often jokingly asserted that this mysterious ghostly click, click would send me to the insane asylum. at last i traced the sound to a shelf where i had placed an empty cigar-box. i investigated, and the mystery was solved. a dozen mice occupied the box as a safe retreat from their enemy, the stoat. whenever a mouse entered or left the box the cover was raised, and, falling into its place again, made the click that had so annoyed me. the box-cover was heavy enough to severely pinch a mouse's tail, but the cunning mice had provided for this danger. a hole about the size of a lead-pencil had been gnawed in the side of the box, just below the cover, and afforded a channel for the tail, while it was too small to attract the attention of a stoat. a more cunningly contrived retreat from an enemy could not be invented. it shows that this wild mouse of the woods possesses intelligence which passes far beyond the powers of instinct. it would take a volume to record the incidents that have transpired in connection with these mice during the fifteen years of my hermit life. [illustration: mole.] some of these incidents are comical, others pathetic, and, alas! others are tragic. one in the comical line happened to a young man from the city who thirsted for more knowledge of the wild things. he stayed one moonlight evening to see the mice eat. it often happened, when the mice were gathered about a loaf of bread, that a star-nosed mole would appear and scatter them in all directions. if i chanced to be sitting near, it was no unusual thing for a mouse to run up my trousers-leg. i kindly allowed the young man the post of honor near the bread. just what i expected took place. the mole appeared, and a frightened mouse rushed up the young man's trousers-leg. with a war-whoop that would have frightened an indian, he bounded into the dooryard. the mouse escaped from beneath his coat-collar before he got out of the cabin. the young fellow danced around like a crazy man. whenever his clothes touched him he thought the mouse was getting in its deadly work, and administered slaps that must have raised blisters. when i could control my laughter i told him that the mouse had escaped. i could not induce him to enter the cabin again. the nests of these mice are globular, but are varied to fit the surroundings. near the cabin they are made of bits of paper matted with cotton-batting and a soft wool manufactured by the mice from my old clothes. the nests remote from the cabin are made of bits of dried leaves, grasses, and plant-down. these last are usually placed in a tangle of catbrier. many of these nests are occupied through the winter. i examined one last week. it was about five inches in diameter, and was composed of bits of leaves and milk-weed silk. it was rain and frost proof. i sometimes find nests in tin cans. once i found a nest in a paper bag. the paper bag was in a tangle of catbrier. it was nearly three feet from the ground, and doubtless was lodged where found by the wind. the mother-mouse is devoted to the welfare of her little family, which may number anywhere from four to ten. when the young mice are small they are raw-looking things, but are tough, wiry, and tenacious of life. at this stage, full-grown moles would destroy a family in a few seconds, if it were not for the watchful care of the mother. [illustration] as the young mice grow they change their coats to a dark lead color, which they retain until the first moult. the white-footed mouse will eat about everything edible found in the woods. it is fond of mushrooms, and never, like human beings, eats of the poisonous varieties. i am sorry to state that it will eat young birds if small and helpless. it eats insects, berries, seeds, nuts, bread, cheese, and all kinds of meat. it stores up food for winter in holes in the ground and in hollow trees and logs. the mice about my cabin store food in anything that comes handy. i sometimes find a shoe half-full of nuts and corn. the white-footed mouse makes an interesting pet when caged. one that reared a family in captivity afforded me many proofs of intelligence. when the cabin was too cold for the little ones she made them warm and cozy in a globular nest. if the temperature went up she removed the top of the nest, and if the heat from the stove fell directly into the cage she piled up the surplus nesting material on the side to protect her young. the mole that i mentioned before, the one that scatters the mice, is a singing mole. he zigzags about the cabin floor, picking up crumbs, while he sings birdlike notes that are as sweet and distinct as the canary's low twitter. i see other moles, but i have never heard but this one sing. [illustration: the white-footed mouse] vii. three years later the next spring, after my attempt to thin out the white-footed mice, the stoats returned. i did not molest them, and they reduced the number of mice in short order. mouse number two had a little family in a nest on a shelf. they were mice-babies, helpless and sprawling. they were dragged out of the nest by one of the stoats, and were killed one at a time. the stoat was obliged to make three trips to remove the pile of dead mice. the mother had escaped by way of the stone wall at the rear of the cabin. after the slaughter was over, she returned and did a lot of drumming. i think she was reproaching me because i did not drive the stoat away. it made me feel guilty, but i had hardened my heart, on account of a valuable manuscript which this mouse had purloined and reduced to scraps, with which to decorate her last nest. the following morning i saw the mother come into the cabin with a baby mouse in her mouth. i thought it might be one of her own dropped by the stoat. but i was soon undeceived. the mouse left, and soon returned with another little one. this time i examined the young mice. they did not belong to my mouse family. they were strangers to me. the old mouse cared for these babies as if they were her own. i expect that the stoats had killed the mother, and my mouse had adopted the orphans. the young mice increased in size rapidly, and soon took on the adult form and color. then i recognized them. they were the gray _hesperomys_, while my mice were the fulvous _hesperomys_. the first is found in deep woods, the latter near farm-buildings and in the neighboring woodlands. i don't know where their foster-parent found the little imps, but it was a sorry find for her. as they increased in strength, it was evident that they conspired to take possession of the cabin. they worked in concert and fought in concert. while they were yet small the two would attack a full-grown mouse. if it chanced to be an old male, the little imps were sure to get mauled, until they would flee to their mother for protection. when full grown, they proved to be a match, single-handed, for any mouse in the cabin. together, they were invincible. [illustration] the cabin became a battle-field every night. after a few weeks the white-foots were completely vanquished, and left. the two warriors drove their foster-mother out-doors, then for three months held undisputed possession of the food supply. the white-foots are destructive gnawers, but the new mice could do more damage in one night than all the others could in a week. i had made a poor exchange. the two scamps were on friendly terms with me, and did not allow me to eat a meal without their company. they would come at my call, and would have proved desirable pets, if it had not been for the gnawing habit. i had made up my mind to kill them, for i knew it would be only a matter of time when they would destroy every book and paper in the cabin. i got rid of them, however, without resorting to violence. a young married couple from the city saw and admired the mice, and when i offered to give them away, gladly accepted the offer. i do not know what became of them, and do not care to meet any of their race. in a short time the white-foots returned to the cabin, and are with me now. the foster-mother that was turned out-doors did not return. she was one of the missing, and so sacrificed her life, after all her care of two ungrateful imps. [illustration: the crow] viii. the crow the intelligence of the crow is admitted by those who deny reason to the lower animals. this bird is so large and is so meddlesome in human affairs that he has forced mankind to acknowledge his intelligence. while i admire his ability to look out for number one, i do not believe that he is in any way beneficial to the farmer. in my opinion, he is a great deal blacker than he is painted by our wise men at washington. after a lifetime knowledge of the crow, with ten years' close observation of his habits, i have nothing to say in his favor. [illustration: kingbird.] while farming in maine i was a sworn enemy of the crow. not because he pulled up my corn, thinned out my barley, and carried off my chickens; these things i could provide against; i was his enemy because he robbed birds' nests by the wholesale. it did not take me long to find out that this black imp prevented the increase of song-birds in cultivated fields and the adjoining woodlands. i brought with me my hatred of the crow when i dropped into the woods of cape ann, and for several years i made life miserable for his kind with trap and shotgun. ten years ago, influenced by the articles in forest and stream on game protection, i laid aside my gun and devoted more time to the study of the wild things. the crows got the benefit of this change. i should have continued my warfare if the crows had plundered the birds' nests in my vicinity. king-birds nested near my cabin, and during the nesting-season crows and hawks were very careful to give the locality a wide berth. at other times the king-birds did not go far from home to attack the crows, and the latter made themselves at home in my dooryard, after i had ceased to persecute them. [illustration: the crow] crows possess a language which enables them to communicate to each other anything that relates to crow-life. they can hold long confabs, and then act intelligently from evident conclusions. in the years when i lived happily with my shotgun, before a divorce was decreed, i planted a bushel of potatoes in the woods on the west side of magnolia swamp. fire had cleared the side-hill, and the prospect of a crop was good. the crows gathered in some dead trees, out of gunshot, to criticize my work, and seemed to be highly elated. raw potatoes are not down on the crow bill of fare, so i thought there would be a great disappointment when they investigated my work. the second day after i had finished planting i visited the spot, and found that the crows had dug up every hill on the south half of the field. there were three pieces of potato beside each hill, so the crows did not dig them up for food. why they did so much hard work for nothing was beyond my knowledge of crow-life. i nearly surrounded the other half of the field with white cotton string, and retired to the swamp to await the crows. twenty minutes later a sentinel crow winged his way to a dead tree on the hill, and, after looking for enemies, called out, "caw, caw, caw." immediately eight crows appeared. they held a consultation, and it seems they decided that it was a good time to dig up the rest of my potatoes, for they started for the spot where they had left off. as this part of the field was under a high ledge, the crows could not see the string until they had passed the brow of the hill. the first crow over saw the string, and nearly turned a somersault in trying to stop his speed. he called out, "cur-cur-cur. cur-cur-cur," and instantly every crow returned to the tree. for ten minutes a great confab took place. the crow that had discovered the string was eagerly questioned by the others, and replied in a hasty and excited manner. after talking it over, a crow flew to the south end of the field, where he could look to the north and see the string. he turned and reported. another crow flew to the north end of the field and stationed himself in a tall pine-tree. this crow soon discovered that the string did not surround the whole field; there was a wide gap in front of the pine-tree. he called "caw-caw-caw-caw-caw," and the crows flew down to the tree. they were told about the gap, and one crow boldly flew through and acted as sentinel from a tree in the potato-field. the other crows soon followed, and began digging up the seed-potatoes. i think they tasted of every piece, with the idea that somewhere i had planted something good to eat. i shot two of the crows and hung them in the potato-field, but a week later i found the seeds dug up, with the exception of a few hills beneath the string. the few hills left made quite a show two years later. they had produced a crop each year without being discovered by hunters. but when the weeds and shrubs made a rabbit-cover, "wild potatoes" were discovered on that side-hill, and i was soon informed of the fact that the potato was growing in a wild state "away back in the woods." [illustration: ruffed grouse.] i believe that crows destroy fully one-half the quail and grouse on cape ann. a woods fire south of my cabin burned the nest of a ruffed grouse late in the season. the grouse made a new nest north of my cabin, and one day i found four eggs in it. the next morning i heard a strange cry in the direction of the nest, and started to investigate. i took to the path at the rear of my cabin, and when i had reached the top of the hill i saw the grouse running toward me. she held one wing close to her side, but with the other she was striking savagely at two crows that hazed her as they flew above and around her. just as i came in sight of the trio, the grouse dropped an egg from under the closed wing, and one of the crows seized it and flew so near me that i could see the egg in his bill. the thing that impressed me most was the silence of the crows. not a sound did they utter. the scamps knew that i was near by, and would be warned of crow mischief if i heard their cries. the cry made by the grouse was new to me. it was a wild cry in every sense of the word. the grouse, when she fled with her eggs, took the path to the cabin, and i think she did it for protection. [illustration: the crow] last spring i saw something that added to my knowledge of crow intelligence. fuller brook runs past my cabin, and after losing itself in a swamp, takes up its course again between high granite hills, until it falls into the sea at fresh water cove. in the valley along the brook tall pine and hemlock trees make an ideal nesting-site for crows and hawks. last spring i was much interested in a red-shouldered hawk's-nest which was in this valley. there were two crow's nests some twenty rods farther down the valley. one of my visits found the male hawk at home, and when he discovered me he flew in circles above the trees, uttering the loud scream that can be heard for a mile or more. soon two crows came sneaking through the tree-tops to find out what was disturbing the hawk. the hawk flew to a tall pine, but continued his cries after he had alighted. the crows flew to the same pine, and, taking a position near the hawk, began to talk to him in a low tone. it was evident that they were telling him that his loud screams would bring all the hunters of cape ann to the spot. the hawk continued to scream, and one crow, in a loud tone, called out, "caw-caw-caw-caw-caw." immediately five other crows appeared, and all attacked the hawk, striking at him with their wings until he ceased to scream. the crafty crows did not care about the hawk's nest, but they did not intend to have the hawk publish the fact. well they knew that a search would expose the two nests down the valley. the red-shouldered hawk seems to be too slow and clumsy to wage war on crows, and the birds nest near each other, without trouble, only as i have related. the crows in my locality have named me in the crow language. two caws is the way the sentinel announces my approach to his mates. several years ago i had occasion to pass every night a spot in the woods where dead horses are buried. the crows would gather there nightly, but always had a sentinel out. the sentinel took up a position in a tall oak on a hill where he could overlook all the approaches. when everything was quiet the sentinel called out, "caw-caw-caw," which means "all is well." if a man approaches, the danger-signal is, "cur-cur-cur," sometimes repeated, and it means "look out there." it is uttered rapidly. [illustration: the crow] i noticed one night that the crow in the tree, as soon as he saw me, called out, "caw-caw," and in a short time repeated the call. he had told his mates that the hermit was coming. my path passed within fifty feet of the crows, but they did not fly away. they had long ago found that i was not to be feared. sometimes i had company, and the sentinel would then give the danger-call, "cur-cur-cur," and the crows would fly away before we got in sight. i had this experience throughout the summer, so there could be no mistake. this fall a young crow became quite familiar. he would call to me in the woods, "caw-caw," and often fly near me. the old crows seemed to think he was in danger, or they thought he was departing from the ways of the fathers, and they always drove him away. they would beat him with their wings until he was forced into flight to save himself. this young crow had found food in my dooryard, and had heard the older crows say that "caw-caw" was harmless, so he wanted to be friendly, no doubt with an eye to the food supply. i experimented with this fellow, in hopes that i could tame him, and learn from him and his mates something of the crow language. as added to my knowledge of the young crow he proved to be a failure. i am now convinced that this youngster is not of sound mind. he utters the cry of a young crow, when calling for food, which shows that he has not acquired the crow language. the only exception to this rule is when he calls to me. somehow he has been taught by other crows that my name is "caw-caw," and whenever he sees me he calls out in an eager manner. sometimes he steals away from his mates and comes to my dooryard. the crows hear him when he calls to me, and rush in, and with loud cries drive him into the woods. there is another crow that "gobbles," and i have made up my mind that he is unable to utter the common cries of other crows. a few years ago i followed this crow for two days. not a sound escaped him other than the loud gobble. after this, i saw many things that convinced me that the crow was deaf and dumb. there is another deaf and dumb crow about four miles away. he is located on the line between gloucester and essex. five years ago a mr. clark, a resident of gloucester, told me about the last-named crow. mr. clark was ninety years of age. he was as straight and vigorous as a young man, and possessed a fund of amusing stories. he told how, when he went to his farm and found the crows pulling up his grain, the sentinel would call out, "clark, clark, clark," and then another crow would cry, "bother-the-luck, bother-the-luck." [illustration: "the next sentinel takes up the call."] in the winter months the crows visit the clam-flats for food. a sentinel is sent down to the woods, overlooking the flats, and when the tide goes out, this sentinel returns, and, flying in a circle above the pines, calls out "caw-caw-caw," continuing the cry until he has completed the circuit. this cry can be translated into "come-come-come," or, "clams-clams-clams." anyhow, the crows understand, and a sentinel flies to a pine-tree just south of my cabin. another drops into a large oak-tree on the hill looking to the east. two more sentinels seek trees for observation, one near the clam-flats. the crow near the flats calls out "caw-caw-caw," which means "all is well." the next sentinel takes up the call, and thus it is carried to crows in the woods. the latter fly to the sentinel-trees, if there is nothing to create fear. if a man should approach either sentinel with or without a gun, the danger-cry would be rapidly uttered. this cry "cur-cur-cur," is usually quickly repeated, and the crows rush to the shelter of the pines. [illustration] like human beings, crows have courts of justice. the jury, however, tries, convicts, and punishes the criminal. sometimes i have witnessed these trials. once, while sitting under a sentinel-tree, i saw six crows flying across the swamp, headed for the tree. five of the crows were striking at one crow that was evidently trying to escape. when the crows reached the tree, the criminal was surrounded by the others. this was not to his liking, and he flew to an upper limb. one of the crows said something to him, and he answered in a loud, defiant tone. for ten minutes the trial went on. each crow had something to say, while the criminal replied in the most aggressive style. at last the criminal seemed to be convicted, when he flew away with a string of caws that doubtless, in crow language, meant, "go to hades, the whole blooming lot of you." one old crow shouted "car-r-r-r-r," as much as to say, "i told you so," the crows followed the criminal, and as they disappeared in the deep woods beyond the swamp, they were making it extremely warm for him. i do not know how the matter ended, but i am satisfied that the bad crow received severe punishment. i have read in books relating to natural history, that crows are in the habit of playing games. i can only say from my observation that crows take life very seriously. i have seen nothing like play in a lifetime of careful watching. courting is a serious business. the male rushes at his intended, mauling her, while he utters loud cries, in which he rolls his r's in the most approved stage style. when he has forced the young lady to say "yes," they are mated for life. then he becomes tender in his attentions. he will sit for a half-hour or more, singing the crow love-song. it is not much of a song, but it is the best he can do. he draws his beak down to his breast while he utters liquid notes that remind one of the suction of a wooden pump. [illustration] this spring the king-birds returned to bond's hill, and i hope they will nest near by. if they do, the crows and hawks will have to walk spanish. last season the crows destroyed many birds'-nests in the woods in the immediate vicinity of my cabin. one pair of robins had four nests looted. only two towhee-buntings were reared, and two nests of the chestnut-sided warbler escaped. the destruction in so small an area shows how fearful the havoc must be on a large territory. if the king-birds do not nest near by, i shall continue the study of the crow at the muzzle of the shotgun, in defence of the song-birds that inhabit the woods around me. those that praise the crow can have but little knowledge of his destructive habits. i sleep in the open air eight months of the twelve, and the crows awake me each morning before it is fairly light. for a half-hour or more they keep up a conversation in the crow language. they seem to be debating and laying out a programme for the day. they must have a crow almanac, for they know all about the tides. if the tide is out in the morning they seek the clam-flats without a report from a scout. at this early hour they make the flight without posting sentinels. if it is high water they go down to the seashore to see what the tide has brought in. [illustration: the crow] it is generally supposed that crows utter but one note, or cry, a loud caw. the fact is the crow language is not confined to one note, for "ker" is heard as frequently as "caw." the cries of the crow can be modulated to express many of the feelings common to the human voice. in the old times, when i killed crows right and left, i often threw dead birds into my cabin dooryard. if a crow passed over, his sharp eyes always discovered his dead comrades, and he would immediately circle above the bodies, repeating several times a cry, "ker-r-r-r," which most vividly expressed horror and indignation. [illustration: bismark] ix. life in the woods the first years of my hermit life were passed rambling the woods of ward eight, rockport, essex, and manchester. i bought a double-barrel shotgun, not on account of the game to be found in the woods, but because i was told of the wonderful duck shooting in ipswich bay. for three years there was a great supply of acorns, and gray squirrels swarmed in the woods of the cape. the next four years were years of famine to all animal life that depended on acorns. the gray squirrels died off by hundreds, and the second year the most of the survivors migrated. two years ago there was a great crop of sweet acorns, and some of the gray squirrels returned. as last year was a nut year for bitter acorns, the squirrels would have become plentiful if it had not been for the gunners. ward eight has been cursed by a state law. rockport and the seven wards of gloucester, on the east side of annisquam river, and the town of essex on the west, were given a close time on all kinds of land game for five years. ward eight was the only outlet for the gunners in a population of forty-five thousand. every living thing wearing fur or feathers was shot at, song and insectivorous birds as well as lawful game. almost total extermination has been the result of this unwise legislation. [illustration] one of my first ventures was a flower garden. i had trailed a few vines over the cabin, and had planted a small bed of favorite garden flowers. the summer visitors offered to buy the flowers, and i saw an opening for another year. i cleared away a small spot for a garden, and made me a hotbed, so the next year, and for the seven following years, i drove a thriving trade in cut flowers. this flower business did not leave me much time for gadding the woods. the care and sale of flowers, and my last trip to ipswich bay, decided me to discard my gun. the study of the wild things at the muzzle of a shotgun did not give me the satisfaction i thought i could obtain in some other way. i found the bay shooting was expensive, and the birds, which were mostly coots, were not edible so far as i was concerned. my last trip to ipswich bay convinced me that i did not care for such unsatisfactory dangerous sport. i had engaged a young man, and he had hired a gunning boat and decoys for one day. we embarked at the cut bridge about midnight. we rowed down the stream, and at daylight crossed the bar at the mouth of the river. while we were crossing the bar i saw several boats returning. i hailed the nearest to find out why they were coming back. "too much wind," was the answer. [illustration: "i shot two ducks."] [illustration: coot's head] i should have turned back with the crowd, but like most any other tenderfoot, i did not understand the danger. we anchored in the bay, and put out our decoys. i was pleased to see that we had the shooting to ourselves. not a boat was in sight. i shot two ducks, and we slipped our anchor and picked them up inside of five minutes. when we essayed to return to our decoys, i found that the wind was kicking up a rough sea. i think we were over an hour getting back to the decoys. after this the wind increased, and the choppy sea begun to look ugly. the boat took in water, and we realized that we were in danger of being swamped at any moment. the young man wanted to leave the anchor and decoys, and make for the bar. i was ready to go, but refused to leave the decoys. i knew that i would have them to pay for, and there was a good reason for taking them on board: they would help to keep the boat afloat. the young fellow bailed the boat, while i pulled in the decoys. we got under way, and for two hours we had all we could do to keep our boat from going ashore on the rocks. we did not get to the bar. at the end of two hours there came a lull in the wind, and we gradually worked the boat toward the bar. when we saw a big wave coming, we swung the boat bow on, and thus kept from being swamped. after a terrible struggle, we crossed the bar and made fast to a boat-landing in the river just in time to escape from a fierce tornado. if we had encountered such wind while in the bay, some other fellow would have told this story. [illustration] i did not get home until after dark. supper over, i turned to my note-book, and the record made was a sorry one. expense three dollars, without a pound of meat that i could eat, or the memory of sport enjoyed, to offset, and besides, i had barely escaped with my life. this i thought was due to my love of the gun. there was another waste of time which i laid to the door of the gun. i would feel uneasy mornings, until at last i would compromise with myself, by thinking that i would go out for two hours, and then certainly return and put away the gun. i am sorry to have to admit that it was usually the gloom of night that sent me back to the cabin. i hardly think that the gun should be held wholly guilty. my love for nature, and the keen enjoyment of finding wild flowers, little wayward brooks, or huge masses of bed rock hid away in the deep recesses of the woods, accounted for much of the time spent. however, i sold my gun, and did my hunting with note-book and pencil. the pupils from the high school botanical class flocked to the woods about my cabin in search for flowers to identify and mount. i was employed by the parents of some of these pupils to gather specimens and tag them with their latin names. this method saved the pupil a lot of trouble, but it did not tend to advance the knowledge of botany. it occupied some of my time in the spring months, and gave me the pleasure of searching the woods without thinking that i was wasting my time. it must be remembered that during my eighteen years of hermit life, i have been obliged to earn my living expenses, and to feed the wild things that come to my cabin dooryard as well. referring to my note-book, i find that the last item foots up nearly four hundred dollars, but there are some rebates. i mounted one raccoon, many birds and squirrels, the receipts for which lessened the debtor side of the ledger. i find that my note-book is filled with notes on flowers and other things besides birds. early in the spring, or at other times, when the frost was coming out of the ground, i noticed that the stones, or small rocks, in the grassy highway did not fit their beds. there would be a space around each stone; the width of the space would be gauged by the shape of the stone. if the stone was conical, the space would be quite noticeable. if round, the space was much smaller. i suppose the cause was expansion, owing to the freezing of the ground. it was the water in the ground that expanded, carrying the dirt and rocks with it. under the influence of a thaw, the rocks dropped back to their beds, leaving a space because the part of the rock above the ground is almost always smaller than the part underground. that is, a rock stands on its base and not on its apex. [illustration: the hermit's wild friends] another thing that has puzzled me is the behavior of dead pine-limbs. one would suppose a dead limb ought to remain decently quiet and not move about like some living thing. i had occasion to make a path through a thick growth of small pines. the dead limbs extended on each tree from the ground to a height of ten feet. i broke off the limbs so i could pass under them without trouble. after the path was completed, it turned cold for two days. when i undertook to pass that way during the cold spell, the dead limbs were so much depressed that i was obliged to break the path anew. i experimented on dead limbs at different times, and found it was a fact that lifeless pine-limbs will fall in cold and rise in warm weather. i am unable to give a reason for this movement. on my way to the city, the first wild flower to greet me in the spring is the snowy white bloom of the shadbush, or june-berry, as it is called here. it grows in great masses all along the old highway. bond's hill is pretty well covered with a variety unknown to any botany. i have referred this variety of the amelanchier to some of our professors in botany. i suppose in time it will find its place in the botanical works. it grows like the dwarf blueberry, fruiting when less than a foot in height. some patches of this low variety cover two square rods or more. after the shadbush is in full bloom, the other early wild flowers, that grow beside the old road, come into bloom in rapid succession. as i pass along to or from the city, i see in the distance patches of white which, if i did not know better, would lead me to think that i had discovered some beautiful low white flower. when i reach the spot i find it is spring everlasting (_antennaria plantaginifolia_). i give the scientific name of this insignificant flower, because every spring scores of woodland ramblers bring it to me and ask its name. early in the spring the flower is a very good white, but as the season advances, it becomes a dirty greenish white. the stem is cottony and the leaves, when young, are covered with a silky wool. with age, the leaves become green above and grayish below. one should make its acquaintance early in the spring, before other and better flowers become plentiful. there is a clump of bushes near the brook that attracts my attention early. it is the fly honeysuckle. the pale green leaves appear while other shrubs can boast only swelling buds. later, its slender branches are covered with honey-colored bell-shaped flowers. the flowers hang in pairs, and are airy and graceful. on a hillside, near the road, the slender but wiry wild columbine swings its chinese lanterns above its humble neighbors, the star-flower and the windflower. near western avenue, where the bed rock overlooks the harbor, the cliffs are white with saxifrage. scattered along the old highway may be found the common cinquefoil. its yellow flower looks like a strawberry blossom, and strawberry blossom it is to most persons. if one is in doubt let him or her place the two side by side. the strawberry leaves are in three divisions, while the cinquefoil is in five. the stems of the strawberry are hairy, while the stems of cinquefoil are clean, brown, and wiry. the silvery cinquefoil grows all along the roadsides of western avenue, from the cut to the drawbridge. in late spring and early summer the viburnums afford a mass of bloom that makes the old road look like a cultivated shrub garden. here the wild roses are a blaze of color. i do not believe that there is another spot on earth where the wild roses can compete with those on cape ann. the city end of the old highway in mid-summer is white with the fragrant bloom of the sweet pepperbush. then, too, the wild orange-red lily takes possession of the roadsides and waste places. it is marvellous, that for one hundred and fifty years, this deserted old highway has maintained an existence. [illustration: the hermit's wild friends] brave old road! you are gullied by frost and flood; you are worried by catbrier and choked by brambles. you are cursed by poison-ivy, and blessed by climbing woodbine. by night, yours is the highway of the skunk, the weasel, the raccoon, the fox, the mink, the woodchuck, and the rabbit. by day, the grouse and quail seek your grassy spots for food, and your tiny brooks for water. birds of all kinds nest and sing in the shrubby growth that borders your roadsides. may you never lose the wildness, which, for one hundred and fifty years, you have rescued from civilization. i have mentioned poison-ivy and woodbine. it is easy to tell one from the other. poison-ivy has three leaflets, and the woodbine has five. when leafless, examine the method of climbing. the stem of the poison-ivy is covered thickly with fine rootlets, while the stem of the woodbine is sparingly supplied with tendrils by which it clings and climbs. thoreau writes: "it takes a savage or wild taste to appreciate a wild apple." again, "what is sour in the house, a bracing walk makes sweet. some of these apples might be labelled 'to be eaten in the wind.'" i suppose my taste must be "savage or wild," for i do appreciate wild apples. i don't know the wild apple that thoreau describes, but those that grow lavishly in the woods of cape ann are not to be despised. i think i am safe in claiming that one-half of the wild trees bear sweet fruit. many of the other half bear cooking-apples as good, or better, than can be found in most cultivated orchards. i know of several trees that bear fruit resembling the baldwin in color and taste, and not much inferior in size. in a secluded spot, where a ledge on one side and a dense mass of catbrier on all other sides hides it from prying eyes, stands a wild apple-tree. its fruit has no peer in woods or orchard. it is large, with a thin skin greenish-yellow in color. to the taste it is slightly acid, with a rich spicy flavor. only three wood-folk know the secret of this wild apple-tree. a grouse, a rabbit, and a hermit. the grouse nests just over the ledge, the rabbit has a burrow underneath the mass of catbrier, and the hermit nests in the open air, and lives close to nature, too. [illustration: the hermit's wild friends] sometimes farmers with orchards offer to load me with windfalls, and are incredulous when i tell them that i have an abundant supply of apples, as good as those on their best trees. i am the proud owner of an orchard as well as the farmer, and my orchard gives greater enjoyment. the farmer visits his orchard to see how the fruit is setting. it is a humdrum affair. he walks down this row and up that, so the inspection is soon over. it takes me several days to inspect my orchard, while each night i return loaded with wild flowers and experience. there are no stiff rows to follow. my orchard is laid out without regard to quadrangles or triangles. it is nature's plan, engineered on a grand scale, to supply the wants of the greatest number of her wild children, the mice, rabbits, grouse, robins, quail, squirrels, and woodchucks. where cattle are pastured in the woods, the evolution of an apple-tree, as described by thoreau, is going on now as it did in his day. during the eighteen years of my hermit life some of the trees have emancipated themselves, and now toss their branches above their old enemies. the cattle, however, coolly appropriate the fruit of the trees they had so persistently tried to browse to death. x. mr. and mrs. chewink it was a may morning, clear and warm, the time was half-past five. it was my breakfast-hour and a pert chickadee had just whistled "tea's ready," to the other birds, when i heard in the bushes near by a bird voice call out "chewink," in answer to the chickadee. my breakfast-table was a dry-goods box and this morning it was under a pine-tree. a newspaper served for a table-cloth. breakfast under the pines was a grand affair, and i was sorry when a year later i had dropped the custom for a breakfast in the city. when i sat down to breakfast my woodland orchestra was in full swing. the musicians numbered one song sparrow, one robin, one chewink, or towhee-bunting, one catbird, three veeries, two wood-thrushes, and a chestnut-sided warbler. while i was sipping my coffee, and reading in thoreau's "maine woods" how to make tea from wild stuff, i again heard the bird voice call out "chewink." i looked up and saw a female chewink on the end of the plank seat, not ten feet away. she had hopped into sight and had introduced herself by announcing her name. [illustration: chickadee.] in some way, this little wild bird had discovered that i supplied free food to the wild things, and she had called on me to establish friendly relations. i threw a bit of cookie to her and it rolled to the ground. she hopped down, found the food, and ate it on the spot, then looked up for more. i gave her another piece which she carried to the bushes. my dinner hour was three o'clock p. m., two meals instead of the usual three. miss chewink was on hand and she was not alone. she had brought along two young gentlemen, who cared more about showing their fine clothes than they did about eating. they strutted around with their tails spread out like fans, and i was soon convinced that they were rivals. the little lady ignored them completely, while she dined with me as freely as if she was not a self-invited guest. i suppose it would be the proper thing to describe my guests. the chewink, or towhee-bunting is nearly two-thirds the size of a robin. the male has a coal-black head, black wings and tail. below he is white with orange sides. his eyes are red like the dove's. the tail when spread is bordered with white. the female is a warm brown where the male is black, otherwise the sexes are alike. [illustration: "i threw a bit of cookie to her."] [illustration: mr and mrs chewink] after dinner my guests departed. later i looked them up. the female was perched on a horizontal limb, while about ten feet away the two dudes strutted and spread their wings and tails, in an effort to affect the choice of the demure maiden. for three days the rivals showed off before the little lady in brown and orange. the morning of the fourth day only two of the birds came to breakfast. the little lady had made her choice, and was now a bride. the other suitor had disappeared, perhaps to look up a second choice. housekeeping was a failure with the newly wedded pair for two years. nest after nest was looted by snakes until the third year. that year the birds reared a family of four. mrs. chewink was very industrious, and worked early and late gathering straws, rootlets, and bits of weed-stalk for a nest. mr. chewink turned out to be a lazy, good-for-nothing, shiftless fellow. not even a feather did he carry to the new home. however, he had one redeeming quality, he could sing. somehow, his song seemed to fit into the glorious spring mornings, and the listener felt that it was in perfect harmony with wild flowers, with the drowsy hum of insect life and the tinkling notes of the woodland brook. when the little ones were out of the shell, mrs. chewink had all she could do to supply their wants. she carried bread from the dooryard, and gleaned bugs and beetles in the flower garden. i was deeply interested in the food selected by mrs. chewink. as for herself, she would never eat bread when she could get cup-cake. i expected that she would feed this favorite food to her babies, and that the sweet food would kill them, or make them sick, if no more. i watched carefully, intending to remove the cake before the little ones were injured. the morning, on which i had pitched to try the experiment, proved to be rainy. the wet grass and foliage made it difficult for the little mother to collect food, and i thought that that would cause her to fall back on the cup-cake. as soon as she found the cake, she stuffed herself and carried a load to her babies. i followed, and when i had reached the nest she was feeding the last of the cake. from what i saw, it was evident that she had divided the food fairly. i returned to the dooryard, and mrs. chewink followed me. she passed by the cake to load up with bread. the next trip was made up of bread. the fourth and fifth trips were gleaned from the flower garden. the sixth trip was again made up of cup-cake. the next trip she carried bread, and then i removed the bread. when mrs. chewink returned, she looked for bread, but did not offer to take cup-cake in its place. she flew to the garden and hunted up insects. i tried a great many experiments with this bird, and i found that she would not feed enough cup-cake to injure her babies. when they were older and stronger, she fed more cake to them. here was a little wild mother that knew better than to feed to her babies food that she dearly loved herself. how did she know that such food would hurt them? well we know that the wild things manage their domestic affairs in a way best suited to their needs and natures. but it is only here and there that a human being can gain the confidence of the wild things so far as to share the secrets o their lives. mrs. chewink, like many human mothers, was overworked during the warm weather. often she would seek the shade for a few seconds' rest. her open bill and drooping wings gave evidence of how much she was suffering from the heat. all this time mr. chewink haunted the cool, shady spots, and left his clamorous family to the care of his overworked wife. the little ones increased in size very fast, and soon were as large as the old ones. one morning mrs. chewink brought the brood into the dooryard. i think she wanted to be near the food supply. certainly it lessened her labors. she had another object in view, which appeared later. two weeks passed, and one morning mr. chewink brought the young birds to the dooryard. i was much worried, for i thought that my little pet had been killed. i searched the shrub-land on the hill, and was delighted to hear her call. she was gathering material for a new nest. then i understood why she had brought her family to the dooryard. she had contemplated putting them under the care of her lazy husband, and she thought that he would not be overworked where food was so plentiful. the young birds did not take kindly to mr. chewink's care. when they found that he was their sole dependence, they made his life miserable. they followed him with open bills and fluttering wings, clamoring for food. mr. chewink acted like a crazy bird. he would fly round and gather food and jab it into an open bill, often, in his reckless haste, knocking a little one off its feet. i pitied the poor birds, but there was a ludicrous side to the whole affair. it proved that bird nature and human nature are much alike. [illustration: mr and mrs chewink] a little miss, who had come from the city with her parents, was much interested when i told her that the birds were mr. chewink's babies. she looked on while the babies clamored for food, and when mr. chewink knocked one of the little ones over in his rough, impatient way, the sympathetic miss cried out: "oh, mamma, how cross he is! he is just like papa when the baby cries." after awhile mr. chewink changed his tactics. i think he had grumbled to his wife, and had threatened to let the hawks get the little beggars, so she told him how to induce them to pick up their food. mr. chewink took the hint, and dropped food before each bird, and probably said, "help yourself or starve." the poor things did get right down hungry before they found out that they could feed themselves. another feature of bird life was brought to my attention two days before the second brood was hatched out. mr. chewink enticed the young birds away to a bird resort. this resort is a place where there is food and water, and many birds that rear two broods take the first brood to the spot, so the mother-bird can feed the second family unmolested. mr. chewink visited the banished birds several times each day. the bird resort was near a little pond on my road to the city. one of the young birds was bright enough to remember me, and intelligent enough to follow me to the cabin. his father found him in the dooryard, and pecked and beat him and drove him into the bushes. but the plucky little fellow insisted, and remained in spite of the whippings he got from his father. i returned from the city one afternoon, and found a black snake had swallowed the second brood, and was sleeping it off on a sunny patch of bed-rock. i killed the snake. the next day the banished birds were brought back. mrs. chewink remained about the dooryard most of the time. she would go after berries with the rest of the family, but her stay was short. at meal-time she would hop on the table and look the food over. if she discovered cup-cake, she helped herself without ceremony. after dinner, she would preen her feathers standing on a rock near where my writing-table stood. i liked to have her round, for she seemed to be more like a human being than a bird. after the breeding season was over, the old birds shed their feathers, and sorry-looking objects they were. mr. chewink appeared to hate the sight of his wife, and he abused her most unmercifully. he pecked her, and would not let her eat until he had satisfied his own appetite. at one time, i threw a bit of cookie to mrs. chewink, and it chanced to fall behind a box. while she was eating it, i heard the male calling from the bushes, "towhee, chewink," and soon he came flying into the yard, to see, perhaps, if any dainty morsels were about. mrs. chewink left her cookie and sauntered from behind the box, as if there was nothing to eat in that spot. she made a great pretence of eating dry corn and flour bread, but i don't believe the artful thing swallowed a morsel. mr. chewink was just a bit suspicious, and hopped toward the box, but seeing his wife eating, he turned back to investigate. when he found she had only common food, he flew at her, pecked her severely, and then flew away. mrs. chewink returned at once to her cookie. i saw then that this wild bird could reason. she had exercised thought to control action, with a definite object in view. the first of november turned clear and cold. there was a hint of winter in the air by day, and the nights were frosty. the chewinks lingered awhile, but the cold was too severe for them, and at last it drove them south. the next spring mrs. chewink did not return. mr. chewink soon found a second wife. i do not know what became of my pet. the chewinks are shot in the southern rice-fields, and it is always uncertain about a particular bird coming back in the spring. association with my little bird for three seasons had led me to become so attached to her that her loss really gave me a heartache. [illustration: mr and mrs chewink] mr. chewink did not return the next year, and i was not a mourner. he was tame enough to take food from my hand, although he would not hop on to the table, but his disposition made him distasteful to me. he abused his wives and children, and was as selfish as a hog. last year the chewinks did not rear a family, owing to the crows. the year before they were successful in rearing three babies from the first brood. the crows got the second brood. the intelligence of the young birds have caused me much surprise. i have made it a practice, while writing out-doors, to be well supplied with bird-food. usually there is a loaf of bread wired down in the dooryard, but the birds will not eat from it if i will throw to them bits of cookie, cup-cake, or doughnut. the old birds hop out of the bushes, twenty feet away, and make a peculiar chuckling note, down in the throat, to attract my attention. if i throw food, they scramble for it. they will come to my feet for the food. when the three babies, mentioned before, were full-grown, they were brought by the old birds to the bushes near the dooryard. the parents, both male and female, carried bread, and the food that i supplied, to the young birds. when all were satisfied, the whole family flew away to the patches of huckleberry-bushes. while writing one morning, i was surprised to see one of the young birds hop out of the bushes to eat from the loaf of bread. he soon tired of the bread, and hopped toward me. when he had approached within ten feet, he stopped, and made the same notes in his throat common to the old birds when attracting my attention. i threw to him a piece of doughnut, which he took to the bushes. three times he returned for food. that day the other two went through the same performance. did these birds learn the trick by watching from the bushes the manner in which their parents got the sweet food from me? or, did their parents tell them what to do? we must remember that these little wild things were only a few weeks old, and however we decide, it appeals to us as an exhibition of intelligence that would be wholly impossible to a human being of the same age. [illustration: english sparrow.] the english sparrow has not found its way to my cabin. i suppose it is too far in the woods for these city dwellers. some boys, of a sunday, brought to me a young english sparrow which they had rescued from a cat. they found the bird near the old barn on the hill just above western avenue. the bird was injured in both wings, with body wounds beside. i thought the bird was dead, and placed it on a seat near a tree. shortly, a lady visitor said, "your bird is coming to life." sure enough, he had got on to his feet, but was sadly crippled. i gave him some crumbs, and he ate a hearty meal. it was evident that he did not intend to starve to death if he could get food. that night he hopped over to the cabin and climbed the banking to where he could get into a barberry-bush. he could not move his wings, but his feet were all right. the next day he hopped to me for food and water. i fed him, then put him on a rock where he could find water for himself. he did not forget the spot. for three days he followed the same methods, sleeping in the barberry-bush every night. the fourth day, while i was feeding him, an old chewink hopped to the loaf of bread and called the sparrow. the sparrow did not respond at first, but after awhile hopped over to find out what the chewink wanted. he seemed surprised to find the bread, and began at once to help himself. the chewink called him into the bushes. i suppose he intended to give him an introduction to his family. the next day the sparrow came into the dooryard alone. he made for the bread and did not look at me. i tried to catch him, but he hopped into the bushes, apparently filled with terror. i think that old chewink had told the sparrow that i was a very bad man. the old fellow might have been jealous, and had frightened the young sparrow, so that he would fly from me in wild alarm. the next time the sparrow visited the yard the chewink was with him. they departed together, and three days later i saw the sparrow near the old barn. he was with other sparrows, but he knew me, and, more than that, he had lost his wildness. he would eat from my hand. it was evident that the chewink had piloted him three-fourths of a mile to his friends. the sparrow had to hop all the way. the old chewink must have exercised much patience to have accompanied the sparrow in such a slow way. how did the chewink know where to take the sparrow? did he do a deed of charity by restoring the lost one to his friends, or did he entice him away for selfish purposes? it is barely possible that he might think that the sparrow would recover his wing power, and would go out and bring in his uncles and his aunts, so took him out by devious ways that could not be held in the memory. [illustration: sparrow.] xi. some of the wild things on sunday, may 30, 1897, while the church bells were calling saint and sinner to worship in the city of gloucester, and a catbird's blithe music, supplemented by the silvery bells of a veery, was calling me to worship in my cabin dooryard, i turned to the path that leads to magnolia swamp. two years before, on the west side of the swamp, i had discovered a woodpecker's sap orchard. for two seasons i had carefully noted the work of the woodpeckers in their curious method of tapping trees, and i desired now to add to my knowledge by a few hours of observation. [illustration: "found his owlship on a low limb."] it was a glorious morning, bright with sunshine, tempered by a crisp air. it was one of the few sunshiny days rescued from a cold, rainy spring month. the trees were forward, and for the most part covered with full-grown leaves. the white oaks were late, as usual, their leaves were tiny, and at a distance looked to be a silvery gray in the sunshine. the hillsides west of magnolia swamp were lighted up by this immature gray foliage, while here and there the dark green of the pines afforded a pleasing contrast. i found the sap orchard deserted. the trees, red maples and canoe-birches, were dead or dying. the sapsuckers and their self-invited guests, the humming-birds, had drained the life-blood of their helpless victims. all of the maples were still standing, but many of the gray birches had been broken off by the wind just below the belt of punctures. [illustration] while i was searching for another sap orchard, i saw a barred owl, with something in his bill, fly to a grove of small hemlocks. i followed on my hands and knees, and found his owlship on a low limb. evidently this was his breakfast-hour. the thing in his bill proved to be a leopard frog. he was preparing to swallow the frog by crushing the bones of the legs and joints. he did not see me, or, if he did, he ignored my presence, and continued leisurely to prepare and swallow his breakfast. afterward he spent several minutes preening his feathers before settling down for a sunday nap. a pair of saucy chickadees, scouring the woods for a sunday breakfast, discovered the owl and gave the alarm. inside of two minutes i counted thirty-six birds, all called together by the cries of the chickadees. these birds included cuckoos, warblers, blue jays, thrushes, vireos, flycatchers, and buntings. how they did jeer and abuse the owl, but all were careful to keep at a safe distance. the blue jays seemed to be filled with fury, and if birds can swear, doubtless that owl listened to some very emphatic language. for twenty minutes that patch of young hemlocks contained noise and life enough to stock a first-class aviary. the owl seemed bored, but was apparently fearless. [illustration: owl chased.] thirty-two minutes after the first alarm, all the birds had disappeared, excepting two red-eyed vireos. the vireos continued to scold vigorously. the owl had intruded on their nesting-ground. not twenty feet away a vireo's nest swung lightly from the horizontal limb of a red beech. it seemed to me that the owl suspected the presence of the nest, for he thrust out his head and swung it from side to side as if searching for something. after awhile he discovered the nest, and flew to the beech limb. when he had commenced to approach the nest by short hitches along the limb, the vireos changed their scolding to cries of alarm. immediately all the birds returned. again the owl was told that he was a robber and a great rascal by every bird in the grove. as he continued to approach the nest, i thought it time to interfere. "hold, there!" i shouted, and the effect on the owl was instantaneous. he stopped short, crouched on the limb, then twisted his impish face directly into the back of his neck, and glared at me with a frightened look in his wide-open eyes. after a brief inspection he tumbled forward off the limb, caught himself on his wings, and floated as noiseless as a feather into the dark shadows of magnolia swamp. i examined the vireo-nest and found it empty--in fact, it was not yet completed. it was evident, from what took place, that birds of different species can communicate with each other. first, the chickadees call other birds to the spot by cries that certainly are understood to mean danger. [illustration] afterward, the vireos did the same thing. while the latter were scolding the owl, other birds paid no attention, but responded at once to their cries for help. after the owl had disappeared, the birds scattered as before. the blue jays and two thrushes stopped back to interview me, and find out if my intentions were friendly. when all the birds had disappeared except the vireos, i went in search of a new sap orchard. i soon found a clump of red maples containing two trees that had been tapped by woodpeckers. the belt of punctures on both trees was nearly a foot in width, but the woodpeckers did not show up during my three hours' tarry. this woodpecker, the yellow-bellied (_sphyropicus varius_), does not nest on the cape, so had doubtless departed in migration, but three humming-birds were fighting for the sap-buckets, and a red squirrel settled matters by driving the hummers from one tree to the other. [illustration: yellow-bellied woodpecker.] the red squirrel was a new feature in a woodpecker's sap orchard. he did not cling to one spot, as squirrels do when tapping for themselves, but instead moved rapidly around the tree, thrusting his tongue into the drills for the sweet sap. i suppose the squirrel owned the territory where the maple-trees grew, and was more than willing that the woodpeckers should tap the trees for his benefit. the drills made by the woodpecker extended through the outside bark and into the cambium layer. from my observation with a good glass, during several seasons, i found that the woodpeckers were after the elaborated sap that descends from the leaves, through the inner bark, and did not extend the drills into the wood where they would reach the crude sap flowing up from the roots. the wisdom of this procedure was evident. the elaborated sap is far richer in nutriment than the crude sap, and the woodpeckers knew more about the growth of trees than many human beings, so worked understandingly. each drill is made deep enough to hold about two drops of sap. the upper drills are the only ones to afford sap, which proves that it is certainly the elaborated sap flowing down from the leaves that the birds get. i had read in works on ornithology that the woodpeckers tapped trees so that the sap would attract insects upon which they could feed. also that the birds were after the soft bark, or cambium layer, for food. while the woodpeckers do catch a fly now and then, it is evident, even to a careless observer, that it is the sap that is sought. i have seen them eat small pieces of the cambium layer, but i think they did so because the soft bark was soaked with sweet sap. the three humming-birds made that little sunny glade in the forest as lively as a mexican fandango. the two males were jealous of each other, and both birds seemed desperately in love with the demure maid. she attended strictly to business by drinking from the sap-buckets left unguarded by the red squirrel. the male hummers spent most of the time dancing in the air. they took turns in madly pursuing each other; the pursued never turned tail, but flew backward with a swiftness that was marvellous. the buzzing of their wings and their shrill cries furnished the music for the wild dance. the humming-birds drink from the drills while poised in the air, but often alight and cling to the bark while drinking, the wings closed and silent. [illustration] flies and hornets were in evidence, crawling on the bark of the maples, or flying around the drills. a hornet stung the squirrel on the ear. when i left, the latter was shaking his head and telling the hornets what he thought of them. when i returned to the cabin, i found a pair of catbirds in trouble. they nested in a dense mass of shrubbery about eighty feet from the dooryard. the male catbird met me some distance from the nest, and by his excited cries i knew that some bird enemy was near at hand. when i came in sight of the nest i discovered the trouble. a black snake was making his way through the bushes toward the nest, and the mother-bird was waging a fierce but fruitless battle. i killed the snake, which was over five feet in length. the nest contained four eggs. for the time being they were safe. in due time the nest contained four baby catbirds. one moonlight night, about ten o'clock, there was a great outcry from the old catbirds. i had gone to bed, in my hammock, in the open air, with but a roof over me to keep off the rain, so i could hear the birds and knew that they were fighting to save their little ones. before i could go to the rescue, one of the catbirds flew to the bushes within three feet of my head, and frantically called to me for help. when i came in sight of the nest i saw a snake drop to the ground. one of the young catbirds was missing. a hurried search beneath the bushes in the dim light was unsuccessful. the snake had silently and swiftly disappeared with his victim. the old catbirds were pets of mine of several years' standing, and the tragic fate of the baby-bird caused me to try to save the other three. i removed the nest and placed it in a covered box in the cabin. the catbirds followed me to the cabin door, but made no protest. the next morning before sunrise the birds awoke me by their cries. when i was dressing they spent the time flying to and fro, from cabin to hammock, calling to me to hurry up and bring out their babies. both birds had insects in their bills. i did not take the nest to the old spot, but instead placed it in a clump of bushes near the cabin. when i had secured the nest, the old birds gave the three babies their breakfast. this programme was followed day after day, until the young birds were old enough to fly. about two hundred visitors one sunday inspected the nest, and the old birds did not make a protest or show fear. they knew that i would protect their little ones. a clear case of bird intelligence. [illustration] returning from the city, while the catbirds were rearing their young, i heard a great outcry from a number of birds in the cabin dooryard. at first i thought some bird enemy had destroyed the young catbirds, but i found them all right. just over the wall in the bushes was a nest of the veery. this nest was in ruins. that morning it had contained four newly hatched birds. while i was examining the nest, one of the catbirds flew to a bush near me, and raised an outcry to attract my attention. i spoke to the bird, and immediately it flew to the old wall on the opposite side of the road. i went over, and saw the tail of a black snake hanging from the hunting wall. i firmly grasped the tail, but could not pull the snake from between the rocks. i thought of a plan to get the reptile out. i pushed the tail into the wall, and when the snake had loosened his hold, by a strong pull i could gain a few inches. twenty minutes' hard work brought the snake out so i could grasp him by the neck. he coiled around my arm with such power as to stop the circulation. it reminded me of a wire rope tightened by machinery. i unwound the coils and took my captive to a large dry-goods box. i made a cage out of another box by putting wire netting over the top. i placed the box on its side on some stakes, and introduced the snake. he tried every inch of that box and netting for means of escape. two hours later he settled down for a good long sleep, and when he awoke he appeared contented. i offered him food, but he would not eat. for a month he did not eat or drink. i noticed that his skin was loose in patches. [illustration: "he coiled around my arm."] it was a month before the regular time for the black snake to shed its skin, but it was evident that this interesting event was about to take place. i put some rough rocks in the cage, and the snake pulled himself between them in such a way as to pull off the old skin. before this, the snake was totally blind. he shed the skin over his eyes, and his sight was restored. shortly after he had shed his skin he glided to the front of the cage and opened his mouth. i took this to mean food, and gave him a frog, which he swallowed. after this, whenever he was hungry, he would look at me with his mouth open. this snake was six feet and two inches in length, and large accordingly. his muscular power i had tested, and had found it to correspond to his size. it is singular how many persons there are that think a snake's tongue is a stinger. my snake would run his tongue through the wire mesh, and sometimes i would touch it with a finger. at such times, the most of the visitors present would cry: "look out, he'll sting you!" my snake proved to be fond of music. evenings i would play on the flute, while he would come to the front of his cage and listen. some tunes would excite him so he would glide about the cage. the swiss waltz would always set him a-going. shrill, discordant notes would send him to the darkest spot in his cage, where he would coil and remain so quiet as to appear lifeless. on the approach of cold weather the snake became torpid, and he was killed. some years, snakes, of all kinds indigenous to this climate, are numerous enough to destroy the nests of the small birds. therefore i kill the snakes that are bird-hunters, because i prefer birds to snakes. i have found that some snakes, that come to my dooryard for my pets, are so crafty as to make it nearly impossible to kill them. a big black snake often came down the hill to the cabin, and when he had reached a boulder he would look around to see if i was there writing. this snake had a saucy, independent way of looking at me, as much as to say, "are you the hermit?" a movement on my part toward a club sent the snake into the bushes. throughout one season i tried my best to kill that black snake without success. the next year he did not appear. very few snakes came out of winter quarters that spring. [illustration] another black snake had determined to swallow a pet toad. the toad was a monster, and had escaped several times, but his hind legs were badly scarred. the toad would come to me for protection. usually he would hop on to my feet when pursued. the snake was too crafty, to come near enough for me to use my snake-club. i was telling some visitors from the city about the toad and snake, when one young lady expressed a strong desire to see a live snake. while we were talking, i heard the toad cry out, and i knew that the snake was after him. i told my visitors to keep quiet and they would see the toad come to me for protection. the young lady that wanted to see a live snake gathered up her skirts and fled down the old highway. the toad came in sight, dragging the snake, which was clinging to a hind leg. when the snake saw us, he dropped his hold but did not retreat. the toad hopped on to my feet, nearly exhausted. the snake must have been made bold by hunger, for he made a rush for the toad. my snake-club was near at hand, and he was soon killed. the young lady that fled would not return until fully convinced that the snake was dead. she did not see the snake when he was alive, for she fled when i said one was coming. a garter-snake made a home beneath my cabin. he was too small to injure birds, so i did not disturb him. he became very tame during the summer. his hole was under the door of my cabin. i could sit in the doorway, and when he was passing in or out, he would stop for me to rub his head. the second year he had increased in size. there was a chestnut-sided warbler's nest near the cabin, containing young birds. i heard cries of distress from the old birds, and when i investigated, found the garter-snake trying to get at the nest. i struck him with a small stick, and he hid in the weeds. that blow severed his friendship for me. if he returned to the cabin and saw me in the doorway, he would retreat until the coast was clear. twice more i caught him at the birds' nest. he escaped each time. he must have come to the conclusion that i was protecting the birds for my own eating, for he left them after that. the next year he ate a pet frog and robbed several bird's nests. he had moved to an old stone wall, and did most of his hunting by night. he tried to loot a catbird's nest, but the birds gave the alarm, and the moon helped me to find the marauder. one blow and it was all over. it would have been pleasant to study this snake, but i could not allow my pet birds to be so cruelly persecuted. xii. the instinct of the cowbird the books on ornithology tell us that the cowbird (_molothrus ater_) is a common summer resident of new england, without regard to locality. however true this may be as to other parts, it is a fact that the bird was unknown to me in penobscot county, maine. cowbirds are summer residents of cape ann, and i have studied their habits for years. i commenced by requiring answers to the following questions: why do birds, when victimized, rear the young cowbird? why does the young cowbird desert its foster parents to associate with its own kind? why do young cowbirds lay eggs in other birds' nests, instead of building nests for themselves? how did the cowbird acquire this unnatural habit? writers on the subject usually answer the first question by the term "stupidity," and the other three by the word "instinct." in all my life i have never found the birds stupid. they are as intelligent as to the requirements of bird life as man is as to the requirements of human life. the theory of instinct is only a dream of the uninitiated. nature's children are never troubled by such nightmares. [illustration] the most of our bird books have the earmarks of the library. an author may be familiar with a few birds studied afield, but the greater number are studied in the library. take the cowbird as an example. one author after another rings in the same old chestnut about the disreputable bird that lays its eggs in other birds' nests and deserts its offspring. these authors wind up by calling attention to the wonderful instinct that causes the young cowbird to desert its foster-parents to associate with its kind. i will say now, that long before i had the opportunity to study the bird, i did not believe it possible for a young bird, by its own knowledge, to hunt up and associate with birds of its kind. that would be a miracle, and the days of miracles are passed. in my study of birds i have found that old birds educate the young, and i knew that the young cowbird was piloted by its mother, or the foster-parents turned it over to its kind to be rid of incumbrances. few writers have studied the cowbird through the nesting season. mr. john burroughs writes that he found small eggs in the path that had two pricks in the shell. afterward he detected the cowbird removing an egg from a bird's nest. mr. burroughs intimates that the cowbird did this to deceive the owners of the nest. they, finding the proper number of eggs, would not detect the fraud. i was sincerely grieved that a delightful writer on natural history should make such a break. his interpretation would endow the cowbird with a keen reasoning power, and would make chumps of the others; too senseless to know their own eggs. in my observations, when the victimized birds return and find the alien egg, they exhibit great distress. [illustration: blue-winged yellow warbler.] my first study of the cowbird happened in an unexpected manner. i was watching the nest of a pair of yellow warblers (_dendroica ã�â¦stiva_) that contained two eggs. while the owners were absent i saw a cowbird flutter on to the nest and add her parasite egg to its contents. when the yellowbirds returned they at once discovered what had taken place, and acted as if wild with alarm and distress. for a half-hour the birds flew wildly about, uttering plaintive cries, after which they settled down on a twig, where they could overlook the nest. they now seemed less excited, and were evidently holding a consultation. after awhile they seemed to agree on a course of action, for the female went on to the nest and the male bird tried to sing away the trouble, but i thought his song less earnest than usual. no more eggs were laid, which was somewhat remarkable, as the yellowbird's number is usually four. [illustration] i found the young cowbird hatched out just twelve days after the egg was laid. the next morning i found the two yellowbirds out of the shell. when the cowbird was two days old he crowded both the little birds out of the nest. when i found them, one was dead and the other gasping as if fatally hurt. while i was watching the latter, the mother-bird appeared with an insect. she offered the food to the dying bird, and appeared greatly troubled when it was not received. after awhile she seemed to comprehend that the little one could not eat, and she fed the insect to the cowbird. before flying away, she returned to the gasping bird, and looked at it by turning her head from side to side, while she uttered a succession of low, plaintive notes. after this, both yellowbirds had all they could do to supply the black giant with food. when he was old enough to fly, or, at least, was completely feathered, his foster-parents coaxed him out of the nest after the manner of all bird-kind. birds know when their young are old enough to leave the nest, and withhold food until the little ones are downright hungry, and then tempt them out with a dainty morsel. while tempting the young cowbird from the nest, the yellowbirds made as much effort and appeared as joyous when successful as if the labor had been performed for their own bright-eyed, pretty birdlings. [illustration] the young cowbird, when once out, did not return to the nest for shelter. his growing appetite taxed the strength of both birds to the utmost. every moment of daylight was occupied in catering to his wants. one day i missed the female yellowbird, and, after a long search, found her engaged in building a new nest. she had forsaken her former charge. heretofore i have neglected to state that i often saw the mother cowbird. i think she visited the nest several times a day after the egg was laid. her frequent visits had accustomed the young bird to her presence, thus making possible what followed. after discovering the new nest, i looked up the young cowbird, and found the male yellowbird feeding him as usual, but not alone. the old cowbird was acting as assistant, as if just aroused to the responsibility of maternal duties. for several days both birds fed the young cowbird, after which the yellowbird spent much of his time with his mate, gradually deserting his charge, to return no more when the second brood was out. thus my observations had answered two questions; my first and second. my first question, "why the victimized birds rear the parasite?" was answered to my belief in this way: i believe that the yellowbirds had had experience with cowbirds before, and intelligently understood that they must sacrifice their first brood in order to raise a second brood unmolested. the actions of the birds when they discovered the parasite egg, their great distress, their consultation and prompt action, their neglect to lay the usual number of eggs can be construed in no other light. it is far beyond the province of instinct. my second question, "why the young cowbird deserts its foster-parents?" is already intelligently answered. it is no desertion. the foster parents turn over the parasite to its own mother, in a matter-of-fact way, and then go about their own affairs in peace. my third question, "why do young cowbirds lay eggs in other birds' nests instead of building nests for themselves?" [illustration] when the cowbird was out of the shell, it was big and black. it was my first young cowbird, and i thought it was a male. i made it a male in my note-book. while the bird was in the nest i fastened a bit of copper wire to its leg, and the next spring, when it returned, i found that the bird was a female. i saw her with another female, i think it was the mother, visiting birds' nests. so the young cowbird was educated to lay its eggs in other birds' nests. nest-building is educational and not instinctive. [illustration] my fourth question could not be answered by observation. how did the cowbird acquire this unnatural habit? the answer to this question is not within the province of proof. it is fair to assume that the cowbird, in the distant past, reared its young in a nest of its own. it may have happened that some tragedy had deprived a family of young cowbirds of their parents. other birds may have reared the young ones until they were capable of providing for themselves. in migration all would remain together, but when nesting begun the young cowbirds would not be tolerated near a nest. not educated in nest building, the female would fly to other nests to drop her eggs. other cowbirds may have adopted the same method, finding it pleasant to have the care of their babies shouldered on to servants, like some human mothers. however, the whole thing is mere speculation, and it is not worth while to follow it further. [illustration] a few years ago a cowbird laid an egg in a chewink's nest. the chewink visited my dooryard. i did not remove the egg, but watched for the cowbird. before the egg was hatched i shot the mother. i wanted to see if a young cowbird, reared without his own mother, would go out to the cow-pasture where there was a flock of old cowbirds. the chewinks reared the cowbird and three of their own babies. this was the first brood. when the mother chewink made a new nest, the father took care of the four little ones. before his mate hatched the second brood, he took his charge to a bird resort near a pond. this was near the cow-pasture, and the flock of cowbirds resorted to the pond for water. it gave the young cowbird a good chance to go with its kind. several times i saw cowbirds approach the youngster, but he always fled as if he thought that his life was in danger. he acted just as young tame crows do when they see other crows near them. that fall all the chewinks, that is, the old ones and the first brood, with the cowbird, remained about the dooryard until migration. the second brood of chewinks was destroyed by a snake, after which the first family was brought back. the next spring the cowbird did not return with the chewinks. as a matter of fact, only two of the five chewinks returned. i suppose the others were killed in the rice-fields. i had wired the cowbird with copper wire, so looked for him in the different flocks in my locality. he was not to be found, and was probably shot because he was with the chewinks in the rice-fields. [illustration] two years ago i found a cowbird's egg in the nest of a maryland yellowthroat. this nest was under a tussock of cut grass, just over a stone wall that enclosed the cow-pasture. as usual, it was the first nest of the maryland yellowthroats. the young birds, three besides the cowbird, were crowded out of the nest, but as luck would have it they fell into a cavity on one side of the nest, and 'were fed by the parents. i saw the mother cowbird feed her baby before he was out of the nest, and when he could hop about, his mother led him to the cow-pasture. afterward i saw her carry flies from the cows to her baby, which was in the bushes near the wall. i think the maryland yellowthroats covered their own little ones from the night air. perhaps one of them protected the cowbird. i did not see the foster-parents feed the young cowbird after he was able to leave the nest. i watched one morning for two hours, and saw the birds make many trips with insects, which they fed to their own birds. the cowbird was near at hand, over the wall, but the birds did not go near him. from my observations i am convinced that the cowbird does not desert its offspring, but; instead, keeps an eye to its welfare, and ends by assuming the whole care of its food, and leads it to associate with its kind after it is large, or old enough to fly. [illustration] i have a little bird friend, a chestnut-sided warbler, that nests near my cabin. three springs running i found a cowbird's egg in my little friend's nest. the first two eggs i threw out, but the third year i thought to try an experiment, the same that was afterward tried on the chewinks, and shot the mother cowbird. the cowbird was out of the shell before the other eggs had hatched. there were three eggs in the nest, and the young cowbird managed to break them. the chestnut-sided warblers had begun to feed the alien, but when they found the broken eggs, they deserted the nest and left the young cowbird to starve. they made a new nest not over three rods from the old one. i was sorry that i had shot the mother cowbird. it would have proved whether a cowbird would leave her offspring to starve, if deserted by the foster-parents. i have mentioned putting copper wire on the young cowbird's leg. this artifice was used on other birds as well. i could easily identify my birds when they returned in migration. i put two turns of wire around a young robin's leg one spring. this robin was brought up by catbirds, with my assistance. i had removed a catbird's egg to a robin's nest, and a robin's egg to a catbird's nest. the crows destroyed the robin's nest, but the catbirds reared their family. the young robin proved to be a male. he associated with the catbirds, and went south with them. he returned in the spring with the male catbirds. the females and young returned together about a week later. the young robin remained about the cabin and the little brook where the catbirds nested until the last of june. he had a favorite tree, an oak, where he would perch in the morning and attempt to sing. his song was made up from that of the robin and catbird. a curious medley. the last of june i missed the bird, and looked for him in his favorite oak. i found his body lodged in a small hemlock beneath the oak. he had been shot while singing in his favorite tree. [illustration] [illustration: bee hunting] xiii. bee hunting i have made my title bee hunting, while i remember well that down in maine we used the term "lining bees." i was enthusiastic over the sport when farming in maine, and when i had located on cape ann, i searched the wild flowers for bees. i found bees enough, so made the attempt to find a wild swarm. all my efforts were unsuccessful the first year. my bees all lined to tame swarms in hives. the second and third years i found swarms, but they did not have much honey. these wild bees were in ledges, and the ants had found the honey and had appropriated the lion's share. in maine the bees resorted to hollow trees, mostly pine; and in the old days many farmers lost swarms, which helped to stock the woods. in any locality where there are large trees bees can be found, because some of the trees are sure to be hollow. the amount of honey made by a wild swarm will run from a few pounds to two hundred pounds. the size of the hollow in the tree regulates the amount of honey. if the hollow is large enough to hold the young bees, no swarm will be sent out, so a large quantity of honey will be stored. [illustration] bee hunting is a sport that can be followed by any number of persons, without regard to sex. for pure enjoyment it is far ahead of golf. it can be followed without fatigue, and it allows plenty of time for social chats. a party could go out at ten o'clock, provided with a lunch, and could return in time for the six-o'clock dinner. the discovery of new birds or flowers might add much to the pleasure, and the uncertainty of the honey hunt would give zest to the sport. i will briefly give the method adopted by the best bee hunters. first, as to tools to work with. a compass and a hatchet will be necessary. the hatchet is used in blazing trees. the most important thing is the bee-box. this can be made from a wooden candy or lozenge box, with a slide. split the box half-way between top and bottom. place the top half on the bottom half with the slide down. connect the two with hinges. now you have a double box, hinged in the middle, with the upper part open. for a cover, set in a piece of glass just the right size, or you can nail on a wooden cover with a piece of glass inserted over a hole left for that purpose. it will be a good plan to make a new slide. it should be long enough to project four or five inches when closed. you will need two or three pieces of breeding comb, empty of course. you should take along a bottle containing honey and water. one-third water. about two ounces of the mixture is enough to mix at one time, as it will sour in two days. if you use clear honey the bees will take up much time cleaning their legs and wings; it is too thick and sticky for good work. a light staff five feet in length, sharp at one end and with a piece of thin board, say eight inches square, nailed to the other end, comprises your working outfit, except a good glass. [illustration] you are now ready for the field. a hilly pasture is an ideal place for bee hunting, when it is surrounded by woodland. waste lands, where fire has killed the trees, and goldenrod grows abundantly, will be found to be the best location of all. when you get to the spot selected, set your staff into the ground ready for the bee-box. old bee hunters seldom use a staff, but depend on finding a stump or boulder for a box-holder. the staff is handy, for you may not find a stump or boulder near shade, or a spot where one can be seated in comfort. your box should be empty. pull the slide out, and open the box. when you find a bee on a goldenrod or other flower, quickly place the box over him, and close it. the bee will seek the glass. shove in the slide, and you have your first prisoner. now you must leave the slide closed while catching your second bee. [illustration: bee hunting.] when you have him in the lower part of your box, pull out the slide, and he will seek the glass with your first prisoner. push in the slide, and you are ready for the third bee. when you have caught five you would better stop, for if you carry bees too long in the box they will refuse to work. take the box to the staff. put a piece of comb in the lower half. turn on some of the mixture, then close the box. pull out the slide, and cover the glass with coat, hat, or hand. look every minute to see if the bees have gone down to the honey. when they are down, open the box gently, and stand back. as soon as a bee is full he will drop off the box and swing to and fro, until he thinks that he has fastened the spot in his memory. then he will begin to circle, to find landmarks, to guide him to the hive. his circles will increase in size and height, and he will soon be lost to the eye. it is not worth while to try to follow the bee's flight at this stage. after he has made two or three trips he will drop off the box, and go directly to the hive. he has got his landmarks now. other bees from the hive will soon be hunting along the line, for the first bees tell their mates of the find. if there is only a small amount of honey a few bees will seek it. enough bees will come to remove the honey in two days. if there is a large amount bee hunting of honey about all the working bees in a swarm will turn out. i have taken a basket of comb from strained honey on to a bee-line, and have had two quarts or more of bees on the comb at a time. i could walk slowly along the line, and the bees would come and go as readily as if i was stationary. it is a good plan to hang up a newspaper, or a flag of some kind, near the box. some hunters claim that the bees will find the box by scent, so use the anise bag. [illustration] we will now return to the bee-box. there is a lot said about a bee-line, which is supposed to be a straight line, but the fact is, the bee flies in a wavy line. he drops off the box and starts for the hive, swinging from side to side of an imaginary straight line. the swings will cover about thirty feet, but it is an easy matter to strike a centre. a bee can be seen for a long distance after he leaves the box. suppose you are on a hill, overlooking, to the westward, a valley covered with trees, and your bees go into, or over, the woodland. take out the honeycomb and leave it on the staff. if the box is sticky with honey, clean it with moss or leaves. now catch five bees as before. take them north sixty rods or more on a right angle line if possible. place your box on a boulder or stump, and let the bees go as before. before leaving the staff, take a good look along the line the bees are following. if you can locate a tall tree on the west side of the swamp so you may know it again, you will find it useful. when the bees get to work on the new line look for your tall tree. if the bees go to the right of the tree, the hive is not in the valley. the only thing to do now is to move to the other side of the valley if there is open land, and proceed just as you did at first. if the hills beyond the valley are wooded, you will have to follow your first line. if you can find the tall tree, it would be a good plan to go to it and set the compass, and begin to bush a path along the line. as you progress on the line, hunt all the trees on each side. if you can find an open spot anywhere, set up your staff and box. you might find that the bees were returning on the line, then you would know that you had passed the hive. if bees enter a piece of woods, and there is an open spot beyond, they can be started from the open spot to decide if they turn back or go on. it is unnecessary for me to go further into the details of lining. it is a poor hunter that cannot overcome obstacles that spring up in his way. when the tree is located, trouble begins. there are two ways of taking up the honey. one way is to plug the hole where the bees enter the tree, and then cut or bore a hole near the ground and insert the nose of an old tea-kettle filled with burning brimstone. the next day the bees will be dead, and the honey will be cool to handle. this is the method pursued by market hunters. i never took kindly to the method. another method followed is to put on gloves, and for the head a straw hat with wide brim. cover the hat with mosquito-netting long enough to be buttoned under the coat. this will prove a good protection against stinging. tie the trousers legs at the ankles, and you are ready to begin. while cutting down the tree you will have no trouble if the tree is large and the hole high up. after the tree is down, you will have to cut into the honey and split off the outside wood. the moment a blow is struck over the honey the bees will pile on to you. you will have to brush them off, or you cannot see to chop. when the store is fully exposed, the bees will give up, and will begin to load with honey. then they are harmless, and will not sting unless jammed. as soon as the bees give up, you may remove your protection, roll your sleeves up, sit on the tree and help yourself to the choice bits. you need not feel nervous if bees are flying all about you. the fight is all out of them as soon as the honey is exposed. [illustration] i forgot to say that when the first blow of the ax falls, after the tree is down, the fierce roar which the bees make would frighten a nervous person out of his senses. i have seen strong men cringe, and i can remember cases where fright led to flight. some persons are so nervous that they will not face the bees without protection. a friend that lived near my farm in maine, came to me one morning with the story of a wild swarm of bees, which he had not been able to find, although he had at one time a line to the hive. we started out to find this swarm the twelfth day of september. the eighth was noted for wind, and thousands of forest trees had been turned up by the roots. we found some bees near a highway. they went due west into or over a bad swamp. the swamp was nearly two miles wide, with a bog on the west. the bog bordered pickerel pond on the south. we took some bees around the swamp to the open bog. we found that the bees kept on to the westward to a pine ridge. after hunting two hours, i found the hive. the tree was a pine, two feet through near the ground. the gale had broken it where the bees entered and so the part with the honey in it was on the ground. about a peck of bees had clung to the top of the stub. the ground around the tree was black with bees. the tree had split open and honey was slowly running out and dropping on to the pine needles. there were over two hundred pounds of honey in that tree when standing. the bees that were carrying away honey were mostly from tame swarms, but the woods were full of bees hunting for the store. i called my friend, and while he was coming i chopped out the honey. i did not disturb the comb, only to break off some to eat. the next day we returned in a team which we left in a clearing to the north and about one and a half miles from the honey. my friend was mortally afraid of bees. he swore that they would follow him into the house and sting him. i worked on the honey, filling buckets without protection. as it was a warm day, i worked bare-armed. the bees were completely harmless. my friend had on a close veil and two pairs of gloves, and all i could say had no effect. he swore the bees would sting him to death if he should remove his veil. he could not eat honey, and he was a great honey fiend. i would eat the best i could find before him, and chaff him all the time. at last he could stand it no longer. he took a sheet of well-filled comb and started up the hill. it was his idea to get away from the bees, where he could remove his gloves and veil and enjoy a feast. [illustration] inside of five minutes i was startled by a succession of yells that appeared to extend in a line from the top of the hill to the swamp. shortly a doleful voice called to me from the swamp. i went down and found my friend up to his hips in water. he wanted me to go up the hill and find his gloves and veil. i tried to have him come out, but he claimed that the bees had stung him until he was nearly blind. he told such a pitiable story that i believed him and hunted up his lost property. when he came to the edge of the swamp, i could not see anything that looked like stings on his face, and told him so. he had got his gloves and veil, so he simply grinned. when he undertook to eat his honey on the hill, bees that were hunting for honey had found him, and buzzed about his ears until he was completely demoralized with fear. they would not sting any one. my friend could have worked unprotected, just as i did, but his nerves would not permit it. there is another method of bee hunting which i must describe, or my article would be incomplete. this method is pursued late in the season, when bees cannot be found on flowers. pressed comb is burned to attract the bees. take some of this comb to the woods, where there is likely to be a swarm, and make a fire. heat two or three flat rocks, and use one at a time, sizzling the comb. have honey handy so the bees will find it when they follow the scent of the burning comb to the spot. this method is successful early in the season some years. [illustration] xiv. tiny in the series of nature studies, published in _forest and stream's_ natural history columns, tiny was briefly introduced to the public. tiny is a red squirrel, the son of bismarck. the latter was a grizzled old warrior, the hero of many a fierce battle. why he gave the cabin dooryard to tiny is one of the mysteries of squirrel life. he had held it against all squirrels, red or gray, for ten years, and now gave it over to tiny to have and to hold, without reserve. a return to bismarck's life history may throw some light on this peculiar transaction. bismarck's family, april, 1900, consisted of a wife and four children. mrs. bismarck, at that time, left her children to the care of her husband, while she made a new nest in which to rear another family. it was bismarck's duty to finish the education of the young squirrels and to marry off the daughters to young males of another family, and to locate his sons on territory which they would ever after own, and for which they would fight to the death. [illustration: bismark and tiny] tiny was not half so big as his only brother. perhaps that was the reason why bismarck favored him, and brought him to the dooryard. it was an unusual act, for bismarck insisted that his sons should remain on the territory upon which he had located them. when tiny had acquired full possession, he proved to be a "chip of the old block." his motto, "no trespass," was impartially enforced. he raced his brother, sisters, father, mother, as well as strangers, out of the dooryard, and fiercely attacked any squirrel that did not depart after the first warning. it was laughable to see bismarck, the grizzled old warrior, run as if for life when caught trespassing by tiny. when tiny approaches through the tree-tops and finds a squirrel in the dooryard, he stops and sounds his war-cry. this cry is long drawn out, and is something like the buzzing of an old wooden clock when running down and striking the hours. after this warning, he makes a rush for the interloper, and if he catches him the fur flies. [illustration] tiny had a lively experience with a wharf-rat. the rat was a monster. what caused him to take to the woods is a mystery. probably he was a rat christopher columbus, and had started out to discover a new world. when he found my dooryard he seemed satisfied. from a rat's standpoint it proved to be "a land flowing with milk and honey." wheat, corn, meat, bird-seeds, with no bloodthirsty human being to make life miserable. after two days of feasting the big fellow disappeared, to appear again three days later with a mate. doubtless the sly old rogue thought that he was able to support a family on the fortune he had discovered in the woods. i trapped the small rat, but found the big one too crafty to enter a trap. [illustration] at first the rat did his foraging in the night-time, so tiny had no chance to make his acquaintance. later he became bold enough to feed in the daytime, which, in the end, brought him in contact with tiny. i was talking to some visitors from one of the big summer hotels, telling them the history of the rat, while he was eating from a loaf of bread in the dooryard, when i heard tiny's war-cry. i told my visitors to look out for a hot time. tiny ran out on a limb about six feet above the rat, and told him in vigorous squirrel language that he was a thief and a robber. the rat looked up, wondering what the angry little animal could be, that was talking in an unknown tongue, and pounding the pine-limb with his hind feet. it never entered his head to be afraid of such an insignificant foe. tiny ran down the tree-trunk, landing on the ground not four feet from the rat. the latter stood on his hind feet and squealed a warning. [illustration] a lady visitor urged me to drive the rat away. "rats are great fighters," said she. "the poor little squirrel will be killed." i offered to bet on the squirrel, but before she could answer, the fight was on. tiny caught the rat by the neck. for a few seconds all that could be seen was something brown whirling in a cloud of pine-needles. the rat soon found that his little foe was a cyclonic fighter, and he made desperate efforts to escape. he dragged tiny to a stone wall, leaving a trail of blood behind. when he entered the wall, tiny let go and returned to the bread and coolly proceeded to eat his dinner, none the worse for his fierce battle. [illustration] the rat did not return. he either died from the effects of tiny's savage bites, or, if he survived, left in disgust. [illustration: "again the plucky little bunting set its wings and lowered its head."] tiny was not always full of fight. he formed a friendship for a young towhee-bunting after a singular encounter. the bunting was eating from a loaf of bread, which was staked down in the dooryard, when tiny appeared. the squirrel thought that the bird would run away, but instead, the latter set its wings and lowered its head in preparation for battle. tiny was astonished. he sat up, folded his forepaws on his breast, and looked on the gamy little bunting with wide-eyed wonder. the bunting soon turned to the bread. tiny brought his forepaws down hard on the ground, evidently to frighten the bird. again the plucky little bunting set its wings and lowered its head. again tiny sat up and looked the little fellow over. this time there was a comical expression on the face of the squirrel that said as plain as words could tell that he appreciated the situation. that he admired the pluck of the bunting was evident by his action. he crept quietly to the opposite side of the loaf of bread, and allowed the bunting to eat unmolested. after this the two would eat together whenever they chanced to be in the dooryard at the same time. [illustration] tiny did not allow other buntings near his food, and i thought he would forget his bird friend when the buntings returned in the spring migration, but not so. he knew his friend at once, and chuckled some kind of a greeting, while the bunting said something in bird language that seemed to my ears to express joy. the red squirrel is quick-witted and full of resources. if new and unusual conditions confront him he is equal to the occasion. i have had proof of this hundreds of times. i will relate one instance: i feed hemp-seed to the birds. the red squirrels and chipmunks are fond of the seed, and unless i stand guard, will manage to get the lion's share. the chipmunks stuff their pouched cheeks, and would carry away a bushel every day if it was fed to them. when tiny is present, no squirrel or chipmunk dares to meddle with the food. he does not molest the birds, and i really think that he knows that the seeds belong to them. last fall i placed a wire netting over a shallow box, so the birds could pick out seeds, while the squirrels could not get their noses through the mesh. the chipmunks were puzzled, and one after another gave up in disgust, to fall back on bread and corn. when tiny found the box he got mad all through. he crowded his nose against the wire netting, biting savagely meanwhile. i laughed, and tiny instantly stopped his efforts and looked in my direction. all at once he got the idea into his head that i had blocked his game, and had caused the trouble. in three bounds he landed on the trunk of a pine-tree, and running to a limb just over my head, he told me in wicked squirrel language just what he thought of me. in his anger he pounded the limb with his hind feet, stopping now and then to charge down the tree-trunk, as if he were about to attack me. [illustration] after ten minutes of this hot work he became quiet, except a sob, which he uttered from time to time. finding that i would not help him, he returned to the box. he tried the wire a short time, then sat up and folded his paws across his breast and fell into a brown study. like a flash he came out of his trance, grasped the box, and turned it completely over, then he began to eat, saying something to me, while he jerked his tail in a defiant manner. after this, whenever he found seed in the box, he quickly turned them out. for a week or more i allowed him to have his way. i wanted my visitors to see how cute the little scamp could be on a pinch. later i drove stakes across the box to hold it down. i returned one day to find that tiny had managed to dig a hole beneath the box, and had gnawed through the bottom. i tried another scheme for the purpose of testing the intelligence of the squirrel. i stretched a cord between two trees, and half-way suspended a box open at the top. tiny saw the birds eating from the box, and he quickly understood that it was another device of mine to outwit him. he ran up one of the trees, and tried the limbs that hung over the box. he soon found a slender limb that would bend under his weight and let him into the box. after he had used this highway several days i cut the limb away. [illustration: "made his way to the box, hand over hand."] when tiny found a fresh stub instead of a limb, he understood what it meant. he knew that i was the guilty one, and he swore at me, if a squirrel can swear, for twenty minutes. his next move was to investigate the line where it was attached to the trees. he thought he could reach the box over the line, and started out. when about a foot from the tree, the line turned, and tiny jumped to the ground. he tried this three times, and met with failure. the fourth time, when the line turned, he clung to it and made his way to the box, hand over hand. i thought he deserved a reward for his continued effort and intelligence, so since then i allow him to eat from the box whenever he feels like it. [illustration] tiny made a cozy nest in november, of moss, leaves, and grass. it was in the top of a pine-tree that hangs over the cabin dooryard. some wretch shot this nest to pieces when i was absent. i returned to find empty shells in the dooryard, and fragments of the nest hanging to the tree. tiny made another nest in a near-by pine, and lives in it at this time. the past two winters tiny made his nest in my summer house. why he did not occupy the house this winter is a mystery. perhaps he heard me say that i should take down this house and put it into a new log-cabin that i had in contemplation. [illustration: bismark and tiny] tiny is a widower, and childless. his wife and children were shot to death by the gunners that swarm through the magnolia woods. i think bismarck is dead. in cold weather he made it a practice to sly up to the cabin, just at dusk, for a doughnut or a bit of bread. for some time i have missed him. i went to his nest, to find it shot to pieces. still farther away i found mrs. bismarck's nest in ruins, and silence reigned in that part of the woods. tiny is now an orphan, a widower, and is also childless. he occupies in squirrel life the same relative position that the hermit occupies in human life. tiny's misfortune has brought the man and squirrel a little nearer together. with few exceptions, writers on outdoor life make it a point to denounce the red squirrel. they claim that he is a nest-robber of the worst kind. the most of this abuse bears the earmarks of the library. one author copies after another, without knowledge of the real life of one of the most interesting wild things of the woods. reliable observers have related isolated cases of nest-robbing, by the squirrel, which we have no reason to doubt. i believe the thing is most unusual, and happens only when the food supply is cut off. if a squirrel in the spring is face to face with a famine, he might be tempted to kill and eat young birds. i have no record against the red squirrel, after eighteen years' observation here on the cape. in maine for fifteen years i saw squirrels plentiful enough on my farm. a small fruit orchard, near the farm buildings, usually harbored several squirrels. birds nested in the trees and reared their young unless a coon cat got them before they could fly. i never knew a squirrel to molest a birds' nest, and the farmers of that town never complained of them, so far as i know. when we farmers compared notes on bird destroyers we invariably agreed upon crows, snakes, and weasels. [illustration] i have before me a book on nature, which contains an account of the red squirrel. the author tells in a delightful way about the wild things, but some of his statements are based on imagination instead of observation. he bitterly assails the red squirrel as a nest-robber, but some things in his story lead me to think he has culled the library for his statements. this story may fit a chipmunk: "that the squirrel brought six chest-nuts to his store, which he emptied from his '_cheek pockets_.'" i venture to say, that no man living ever saw a red squirrel carry six nuts at one mouthful. this squirrel has no cheek pouches like the chipmunk, and usually carries one nut, seldom two at a time. the author has his very bad squirrel come to a bad end. he was killed by five or six robins while he was carrying off one of their fledgelings. it is an excellent representation of swift retribution, but to any one who knows the fighting ability of the little red whirlwind it can be taken with a grain of salt. it would be impossible for robins enough to gather around a red squirrel to kill him. in my cabin dooryard, while i have been writing this article, a desperate fight has taken place. ten crows, made bold by hunger, attacked tiny and tried to take possession of a loaf of bread. the squirrel never flinched, but stood over the bread, and whenever a crow got over the dead-line, filled the dooryard with feathers. i did not interfere, but saw the fight from the cabin window. the black rogues were obliged to retreat when tiny got downright mad. when the fight began tiny did not try to hurt the crows. he would run at one and allow him to hop into the air and take wing. it appeared to me that tiny was just scaring the crows away. when he found that they were in earnest, he got mad and made the feathers fly, and the crows had to leave to save their lives. [illustration] i am writing natural history just as i find it, from observation of the wild things. to some of these wild things i am caterer, protector, and friend. they do not object to my presence when engaged in domestic affairs, so my ability to pry into their secrets is increased in ratio to the confidence accorded me. the red squirrel is one of the wild things which i have thoroughly studied because i have had the opportunity to do so. when a writer asserts that the red squirrel is a poor provider, and without family ties, i know that his observations have been haphazard, and that he does not understand the life history of the little animal of which he writes. the male squirrel assists his mate to fill a storehouse for family use and then hides stores for himself on territory which he owns. most observers see the squirrel hiding nuts here and there, and jump to the conclusion that he is improvident. when there are nuts the red squirrel lays up a store for his family and for himself, so that he and his family are well fed through the winter. there are no emaciated red squirrels in the spring, which tells the story of careful provision. the young squirrels do not provide for themselves, as soon as big enough, as stated by some writers. the young born in april remain with the female through the winter. the male has a nest of his own, but if the weather is very cold he stays in the home nest with his family. the nest is intelligently constructed and the materials used are selected from supplies near at hand. tiny's nest is made largely from moss that i use for packing. the nest is thatched with oak leaves so no rain can enter. sometimes it happens that wood-choppers cut a tree that contains a squirrel's nest. j have examined such nests. the inside is lined with milk-weed silk and fine shreds of yellow birch bark. there is always a surplus of this soft material, which is used to stuff into the entrance to the nest. the squirrels shut the outside door to keep out the cold. i once investigated a nest in the top of a pine-tree, when the thermometer registered zero, and found the entrance packed with soft material. the squirrels knew all about cold weather, and had made arrangements to keep the nest warm, by laying one side material to close the entrance when necessary. [illustration] when i see an unfinished dwelling-house and know that the family therein must suffer in cold weather, i think of the cozy dwelling that the red squirrel provides for his little ones, and i ask myself if the human being is the only intelligent animal in nature's catalogue? xv. the chestnut-sided warbler thursday morning, may 27, 1886, a small bird hopped out of the bushes into my dooryard. the bird was a female chestnut-sided warbler. she was collecting dry grass blades for a nest. may 27, 1897, the same little bird was in my dooryard engaged as before, collecting nesting material. eleven years had been credited to the past for man and bird. the man had not escaped the weight of the added years. deeper wrinkles and gray hair told the story, but the little bird, strange to tell, was apparently as blithe and young as on that thursday morning eleven years before. [illustration] i provide an abundance of nesting material for all birds that frequent my cabin dooryard. the chestnut-sided warbler seemed to appreciate my motive and gave me her confidence in return. after the first year i could sit by her nest from the hour the first straw was laid to the day when the young were large enough to take wing, and she would go on with her domestic affairs without fear. [illustration: chestnut-sided warbler.] during eleven years the bird has constructed thirteen nests. two nests were robbed by snakes and were replaced. no two of these nests were alike. all were loosely built, and with the exception of the last were saddled on the forks of small bushes. the nest of 1897 was suspended between two shoots of a currant bush, about twenty inches from the ground. this was a new departure, and led me to have a picture made of the nest. there was a bunch of currants in the way and the bird fastened it to the side of the nest with spiders-web. the currants show in the picture. the book informs us that the nest of this warbler is never pensile, but if the nest in my currant bush was not pensile, what may we call it? it was fastened at the brim to two upright currant stems without support at the bottom. the brim was fashioned first. it was composed of straws, shreds of cedar bark, and dry grass blades. the same material was fastened to the brim and arranged to cross, thus forming the bottom and sides. the tying material used was spiders-web and silken threads from some cocoon unknown to me. the nest was lined with fine straw and horsehair. all the nests previously made by this bird contained a liberal amount of plant down on the outside. this last nest was nearly wanting in plant down, although a good supply was in the dooryard. [illustration] several years ago the bird saddled into the fork of a bayberry bush a bunch of cotton nearly as large as a baseball, and on this foundation erected a nest. i have records of four nests, including the last--the one in the currant bush. this 1897 nest was three and one half inches in diameter by two inches in depth inside, and three and one half inches outside. the foundation was laid may 27th, and the nest was completed june 3d. it was then deserted for three days. the first egg was deposited june 6th, and thereafter one each day until the 9th, when four eggs made up the set. the fourth egg was pure white; the other three were white with a ring of reddish-brown blotches around the larger end. after the fourth egg was laid the bird remained on the nest nights, but during the daytime for three days spent the most of the time gadding about. june 20th, i found one bird out of the shell and the next day all were out. the young birds are not fed until they are one day old. they are not great feeders like young robins, and the mother bird has an easy task to provide food. the birds grow rapidly. at first the mother can cover her brood while half hid below the brim of the nest, but before the young birds leave the nest she must stand with a foot on each side of the brim. july 2d the young birds were induced to leave the nest. on that day the mother bird did not feed the young birds, and i think they must have been downright hungry. later she tempted them with a plump insect, while the male fluttered about with cries of encouragement. soon one hopped out of the nest on to a twig and was quickly fed. the others took the hint, and all were soon out of the nest. most birds pursue the same method, and it reminds one of teaching baby how to walk. [illustration] my little friend has had two mates since we became acquainted. she was made a widow by a prowling cat during the summer of 1896. the next spring she returned with a second husband. this newcomer resented any familiarity on my part. he seemed to think that i was too inquisitive, and made a great fuss every time he found me near the nest. frequently my little friend would fly at him and drive him away. she tried to make him understand that i was a welcome guest, but he never took kindly to my presence. in return i thought him most ungrateful, for i had killed one cat and two snakes to protect his family. [illustration] my little friend holds my dooryard and immediate vicinity against all other chestnut-sided warblers. if some other bird of the same species starts a nest, the little squatter tyrant drives the interloper away. she claims sway over a circle about 200 feet in diameter, with my cabin for a centre. catbirds, towhee-buntings and oven-birds and two ruffed grouse have nested on this claim, but for eleven years no chestnut-sided warbler has succeeded in preempting the claim. [illustration] the chestnut-sided warbler is so conspicuously marked that a mere tyro in bird study cannot mistake it for any other member of the warbler family. the bright yellow crown, pure white under parts, and chestnut sides of the old birds are marks not to be mistaken. the young birds are yellowish green above and silky white below. an amusing thing happened here some years ago over a bird of this species. a lady caller, a summer resident, asked me for the name of a bird which often visited a tree over her sitting-room window. she claimed that the bird was pure white with red wings. i could not make her understand that there was no such bird in new england. "seeing is believing," she exclaimed, and i was invited to investigate for myself. while looking from the sitting-room window i saw the bird above my head on a twig. sure enough, he was a white bird with red wings. it was a chestnut-sided warbler. from a distance the effect was enough like a white bird with red wings to deceive any one not well acquainted with bird life. looking up to the bird the chestnut sides resembled red wings. i sent the lady into an upper room, where she could look down on her white bird, and she soon returned, and laughingly said, "i always knew that there were two sides to a story, and now i have just learned that there are two sides to a bird." [illustration] may 27, 1902, five years after the foregoing history was published, the same little bird hopped to my feet for nesting material. i gave her some cotton twine, cut to eight-inch lengths, and she carried away two pieces. she flew to a small hollow about twenty feet south of my spring. i followed, and seated on a small boulder, watched the nest building for the next two hours. i could reach out and touch the bush that contained the nesting material, but the little mother paid no attention to my presence, only to turn a bright eye on me, after she had coiled a piece of string or blade of grass in the bottom of the nest. i think she wanted me to criticise her work. i usually told her that it was well done, and so it was. the bush was a sweet pepper bush, and the nest was saddled between the main stem and two twigs. when i first saw the nest it was but just begun. the bottom was a small wad of some gray material, which i found afterward was shreds of wool from an old gray coat that i had discarded. i placed grass and string on my knee and the bird's keen sight discovered it at once. she fearlessly hopped from a twig to my knee and examined the material. she was satisfied with the inspection and took three blades of grass to the nest. when she had coiled them, one stiff blade insisted on standing out straight. she put this in place three times, but it would straighten out each time. she flew away and returned immediately with some spider-web with which she fastened the blade of grass to one of the twigs. the male warbler swung from a twig over the nest and inspected the work. once he pulled out a piece of string and his wife caught him in the act, and flew at him in a great rage. i put my hand on the nest and she pecked my finger and scolded me roundly. after two hours' hard work, she was coaxed away by her mate and i returned to my writing. day by day i watched the nest building until it was finished, seven days after it was begun. it was lined with horsehair. the little bird spent most of the seventh day in shaping the nest. she would turn about, pressing the sides of the nest with her breast, until the whole nest was made firm and as round as an apple. the nest was deserted for three days before the first egg was laid. four eggs, the usual number, were laid, and then i found the mother bird on the nest toward sunset. for the next three days she did what all chestnut-sided warblers do, sit on the nest nights and roam about through the day. after this i always found her on the nest until the little ones were out. [illustration] i made up my mind to tame these young birds so they would come at my call. i bred some meal worms and began to feed them to the baby birds. the mother objected at first, but after awhile she appeared to know that i would not harm them, and she would look on while i was passing the worms to the birds. after the young birds were out of the nest, and flying around in the shrubbery, i would hunt them up. one bird would come to my finger to eat, but the others were shy and as they grew older they would not remain for the proffered worm. they all drifted away to the huckleberry fields and i lost them until nearly time for migration. then they came to the water in the dooryard to bathe. my tame bird would take flies and green worms from my hand as of old, but the three others preferred to feed themselves. when the birds returned in migration the next spring, i hunted high and low for my tame warbler but did not find him. the warblers that nest along the old road are quite tame for wild birds. they will come within four feet of an observer. they have attracted the attention of visitors by this trait. i think many of these tame birds are the descendants of my little bird friend that for sixteen years has consecrated my cabin dooryard. [illustration: blue jays.] xvi. instinct instinct is the overworked and much abused word of many writers. as applied to the wild things, we often stumble on to the terms, instinct of direction, instinct of migration, instinct of song, instinct of nest building, and so on. webster gives several definitions as to the meaning of instinct. the following covers the ground: "an instinct is an agent which performs blindly and ignorantly a work of intelligence and knowledge." [illustration] to gather acorns in the balmy days of october and store them for the cold of winter, is a work of intelligence and knowledge. can we believe that the blue jays and squirrels perform this work blindly and ignorantly? if they do, then the storing of a single nut would be a miracle. watch a red squirrel while gathering acorns and note carefully his intelligent acts. if there is a clear spot beneath the oak he drops the acorns on to it, even if he has to carry each nut from one side to the other of the tree. note how carefully he selects the fruit: no wormy nuts are wanted. in fact, he exercises the same thoughtful care that a human being would exercise under like conditions. does he do the work blindly? [illustration] instinct, as applied to the lives of wild animals, is such an elusive and meaningless term, that it is a pity it should be used so often by writers on natural history. the word "instinct" savors of the supernatural, and was invented in ancient times to separate man from the brute, when the lower animals were supposed to lack reason. the word "heredity" is a far better word, for it renders intelligible all of fact that the word "instinct" implies, without resort to imagination and the supernatural. it is claimed by some writers that the sense of direction is an instinct which guides birds in migration. as one writer states it: "they may be frightened and become confused, as by being frequently shot at, but once beyond the danger-line, their instinct regains control, and they will resume their journey in a direct line for their ultimate destination, and that, too, without stopping to think which way is the right way." if this were true, if birds could launch themselves into the air and go south without thought, and, if turned aside, miraculously regain their course without a thought as to the right way, then indeed would i be forced to admit the supernatural, to acknowledge that the days of miracles were not past, but it would upset all my preconceived ideas of dame nature and her laws. really, before we resort to miracles to explain migration, would it not be well to turn to natural laws--laws that are explained by intelligent thought after careful observation? [illustration] i have ever found the birds as intelligent in relation to the needs of their lives as we are to our lives. migration is not an exception to the rule. if man migrates he does so intelligently. why not grant to birds the same faculty? for the sake of illustration we will take the swallows, birds known to all, and describe their method of migration. remember, that the old birds have been south, that they know the way and do not doubt their ability to pilot the young birds to the new home. they also know, from experience, the perils and hardships of a long flight while battling with wind and weather. full well they know that young birds, just out of the nest, would not last a day's flight if raw and untrained. so they intelligently proceed to train the young birds into a suitable condition. early in the morning, after the young are fed, they are marshalled along the wires and fences and drilled in the art of flying. at first they fly in small squads, just a family group, but later they gather into companies and practise until the companies are massed in one grand army corps. when the young birds are thoroughly drilled, that is, are hard of muscle and capable of keeping their place in the ranks, to touch elbows, as it were, the old birds are ready to lead the way south. to avoid straggling the departure is made in the night. up to this point we see no indications of instinct. the acts of the swallows are as intelligent as would be the acts of human beings under like circumstances. if a general had raw recruits to deal with he would drill them just as the swallows drill their raw recruits. perhaps the manã�â�uvres of swallows gave mankind the idea of military tactics. when we consider the journey of these birds south, why should we claim that their acts are guided by a supernatural power? why not allow intelligence in flight as well as in preparing for flight? [illustration] we can readily understand how the old birds, that have made several journeys and must be familiar with all the landmarks, may make the journey without the aid of a supernatural power. we must remember that the sense of sight in birds is developed to a degree unknown to mankind. it often happens that i startle a ruffed grouse from its perch in the night. in such case it hurls itself through the shrubbery with amazing speed. when i think of the keenness of sight that enables this bird to avoid twigs and limbs, i know that my sight is nothing but blindness in comparison. some birds fly high, and the earth is like a map beneath them, with a well-defined line between land and water. birds that are familiar with the route ought to experience no difficulty in finding the way. even the limited sight of man would serve unless handicapped by a dark, stormy night. young birds left to themselves will not go south. young robins often get left in this vicinity. they are birds of the last brood usually; the parent birds are killed before the young learn to associate with the flocks in the neighborhood. they stay through the winter because they have no knowledge of the south and no guide to lead the way. ducks hatched under hens from wild eggs will not go south. i once lived near a farmer that hatched out six black ducks. the farmer did not feed them, and they lived through the summer on a trout brook. in winter they huddled into a fence corner under some shrubbery. they had no instinct to send them south, although their flight feathers were perfect; but they possessed intelligence enough to seek the cattle tie-up for warmth whenever they found the door open. [illustration] it is assumed that the bee, the pigeon, and some variety of ducks, rise and circle in the air to leave landmarks "out of sight," so that this remarkable instinct may work more freely. would it not be well to apply natural laws to these cases? suppose we infer that these animals rise and circle to find familiar landmarks, just as a human being would act if he had the power of flight and had lost his way. human beings climb trees, when lost, to look for landmarks. why should we deny to bees and birds the very methods we make use of whenever the occasion requires? [illustration] as to bees, i do know that they circle to find landmarks. after years spent in hunting, or "lining bees," as we call the sport in maine, i can speak with no uncertain knowledge. the power to circle in search of landmarks is limited. if a bee is carried too far from its hive, beyond its power to circle and find landmarks, it is lost and never returns to the hive. i have proved this time after time. the carrier-pigeon's power to circle is a most remarkable feature, but nevertheless it has its limit. pigeons that are used for long-distance flight are trained over the whole distance in short flights, so the bird may become familiar with landmarks. our dogs and cats that return to us when carried sightless to a distance, may return through the sense of smell. cape ann fishermen tell me that dogs scent the land fifty miles at sea. if we grant to animals the power of observation which we possess, and then take into consideration their keen sense of smell, we can account for many things that seem mysterious. however, dogs and cats are lost every day in the week. nest building is said to be instinctive, but i shall have to take exceptions to the statement. i do not deny that the art is hereditary, and that a young bird confined might essay to build something for a nest, but i do deny that the selection of straws is under the influence of instinct. i believe young birds examine the nest in which they are reared intelligently, and are educated by their parents in part in the selection of material. i once saw an old catbird give her young daughter a lesson in nest building. the young catbird had carried a large quantity of rootlets from my garden to a patch of catbrier. she had placed it so loosely that a good breeze would have upset the whole affair. while i was looking on wondering what the bird would do if the wind should rise, the old catbird, the young bird's mother, happened along to inspect the work. [illustration] the moment she saw the shaky structure she tumbled it on to the ground. then she laid a foundation that no breeze could dislodge. her selection of rootlets long enough to bridge the spaces was something wonderful. i did not see her make a mistake. if she picked up a rootlet a hair's breadth short, she dropped it for another of the right length. after she had laid a secure foundation, she left the young bird to her own skill and judgment. when the bird had completed the nest, it was as large as a four-quart measure. it was made up of varied materials. newspaper and cloth afforded the larger amount. a departure was the skin of a garter snake woven into the brim. a few years ago i found a catbird's nest ornamented with a snake-skin, and the two instances are the only ones of all my observations. [illustration: wood thrush.] [illustration] to read some of our books on ornithology, would lead one to suppose that birds of the same species constructed nests exactly alike, but the fact is, that no two nests are alike. a bird will improve in nest building, usually, with age. i have a little friend, a chestnut-sided warbler, that has constructed twenty-three nests since i made her acquaintance. as i remember them the last nest is the neatest and most substantial. some have been made almost wholly of rags. chickadees have adopted cotton-batting, and call for it if i neglect to keep it in the dooryard. it often happens that birds select new material, if handy, instead of hunting the usual nest building material. if birds were guided by instinct and did not exercise reason, they would select the same nesting material year after year. the habit would be so securely fixed that the bird would not be tempted to use new material, no matter how plentiful or handy it might be. the fact that birds readily accommodate themselves to new surroundings, is proof positive that they possess the power to reason. i found a nest, last season, of the wood-thrush, which was a complete departure from the usual nest. the bulk of the nest was composed of moss, sphagnum. it was placed on some bushes of the black-alder which the snow had bent down. instead of mud the bird had used a black soil, and the nest was lined with horsehair. the horsehair, moss, and black mold were all near the nest. if i had found the nest after the young had left it, it would have proved a puzzle for me. as it was, the old bird was on the nest when i found it and so gave me the clue. [illustration] young birds are taught to sing by the old males. this is true of the birds that have come under my observation. even the grouse teaches the young to drum. this is done soon after dark in the fall of the year. from my hammock i often hear these lessons. the old grouse makes the woods ring with his drumming. then he rests while the young grouse try a hand. their efforts are not a success, and the old bird again shows them how to do it. some nights this will go on for two hours. there is a test that any one can try, to prove that song is educational and not instinctive. go into the woods inhabited by the wood-thrush, and sit down and listen. it will soon be evident that you have invited yourself to a bird's singing school. [illustration] in a party of summer residents from magnolia, there was one lady who told me she had no patience with my views on song. that a bird would sing, anyway, because it had a throat adapted to song. she said that when i heard birds sing out of season, i would claim that they were teaching their young, when in fact they were only exercising their voices without a thought of teaching. when they were ready to return to magnolia, i offered to show them a path through the woods, a new way to them. when i had reached a spot where i knew there was a family of wood-thrushes, i ordered a rest. when we had become quiet the old thrush tuned up and gave us the song. it is a short song, but loud, clear, and flute-like. there was no wind, and the song appeared to be sweeter and louder than usual. when the old thrush had ceased, one young bird after another took up the strain. some would give one note, others two or three notes. some notes would be hoarse, others would be shrill. after awhile the birds would forget the lesson and drop out one after the other. when all were silent, the old thrush would again give them the right pitch and tone, and again the young thrushes tried to imitate the singer. for two hours we sat there and listened. the lady had to admit that the old bird was giving the young birds a lesson. yet she claimed that the thrush was an exception. i was glad that she was ready to admit that one bird of a species was intelligent. i told her that when she had devoted two hours to all the other birds she would be converted to my faith. [illustration: the hermit thrush.] [illustration] of all the thrushes the hermit is my favorite. not because he is a namesake, but for the reason that his is one of the beautiful bird-songs woven into the memory of my boyhood days. i see him here only in migration. the last of march or first of april, i see the bird, and hear the sweet "tu-le, tu-li-le." a beautiful strain, but only the prelude to the true song, which is seldom heard away from their summer home. years ago i wrote the following description of the song of the hermit-thrush : "to me the song of the hermit-thrush is the sweetest sound in nature. it is not a plaintive, pensive, or tender strain, but satisfies the senses and clings to the memory like the recollection of some great joy. "i shall never forget a song i once heard in the woods of northern maine. i was in a bark-peeling camp at the time. a rainy day had sent the crew to their homes in the settlement until the next morning; and i was left alone. "the rain poured down in torrents. the wind howled and roared through the tree-tops, flinging great sheets of water on to the bark roof of the camp. my spirits were depressed and gloomy. financial troubles, the loss of a cherished home, had disheartened me, and life seemed hardly worth living. [illustration] "just before night the rain suddenly ceased. the sun burst through the clouds, and the wind completely died out. save for the sound of dropping water, the forest was silent and solemn. a glowing sunset, painting all the clouds of the western sky, aroused me from my miserable thoughts. just then the song of the hermit-thrush floated up from a neighboring swamp. clear and pure the flute-like notes slowly echoed through the silent woods. the moist and hollow atmosphere magnified the slightest sound, and i could distinguish the fine trills which form a part of this famous song. '_o, phee-re-al, phee-re-al!_' represents the strain as near as i can give it in words. "i would that i were able to express in fitting language the feelings with which i am inspired when i listen to the song of the hermit-thrush. it satisfies my sense of the beautiful as no other song can. and yet i am never quite satisfied. there is something i do not understand. something beyond me, a shadowy mystery. after i have listened to the strain, and while its memory still lingers, i find myself longing to know the whole secret of its charm. however, years ago i settled the matter in my mind and note-book, as the following entry will show: 'the song of the hermit-thrush is the spirit of nature chanting the mystery of life. when the mystery is solved we shall understand the song.' [illustration] "day faded into twilight, and twilight into night, and still that exalted anthem solemnly pealed through the forest. it was after ten o'clock when the strain died out in a few broken notes. "thanks to the hermit-thrush, my thoughts were turned into a new and healthy channel. i fell asleep that night on my fragrant bed of fir-boughs, at peace with the whole world." xvii. the chickadees the chickadees are with me the year through. in winter they collect into a flock and remain near the cabin, but when the snow departs, they drift away in pairs, in search of a good nesting site. from this time, until the young birds are large enough to fly, the chickadees come to my cabin in pairs. the domestic life of the chickadee overflows with love, joy, and devotion. these little birds when once mated are mated for life. there is no divorce in the bird family, from eagles down to humming-birds. it is a rare treat to watch a pair of chickadees in the nesting season. i was walking along the old highway last season, when i heard one of my chickadees calling to me. this bird had a way of calling "dee, dee, dee" whenever she met me in the woods. i usually carry food along, and she would come to my hand and help herself. after she had satisfied her appetite, she flew down the side-hill to magnolia swamp. i followed her, and found her mate excavating a nest in a small dead paper-birch. i expect that his wife told him that i was coming, but he did not quit work for five minutes. when i had approached, he bobbed his head out of the entrance, but instantly returned to his work. when he did come out, he appeared hungry, and attacked a doughnut with vigor, winding up with hemp-seed. from the way the birds attacked food, it was evident that they would have had to seek the cabin soon, if i had not happened along. [illustration] i talk to the chickadees as i would to human beings, so when i had seated myself on a boulder, within four feet of the nest, i told my friends that i was making them a friendly call, and begged them to keep right on with their work. the chickadees said something to me in reply, and may have understood what i said to them, for they returned at once to enlarging the hole in the birch. the hole in the paper-birch, which formed the entrance, was one inch and one eighth in diameter, and round as it could well be. the depth was six inches, and the birds were at work in the bottom making the hole deeper. while the husband was eating his breakfast, the little wife was down in the hole, and i could hear the blows of her sharp bill. after breakfast, the husband flew to the entrance and called to his wife. she bobbed out and he bobbed in. instead of resting, she occupied the time with eating hemp-seed. at the end of three minutes, the mate appeared with a piece of dead wood in his bill. he flung the wood one side, and disappeared calling his mate. she flew to the entrance, and, clinging to the edge of the hole, she reached down inside and brought up a bill-full of chippings, which she dropped outside. this was followed up until the chippings were exhausted. then the male hammered away, while the female ate some more hemp-seed. three minutes later he came out for a rest, and the female took his place. the birds appeared to work under a regular system, for the little wife came to the mouth of the hole and called her husband; he clung to the edge and reached inside for chippings, just as his wife did. the bird inside must have passed the chippings up to the bird outside. quite a scheme to save labor. [illustration] from time to time i visited this nest to inspect the work. when the hole was about nine inches in depth, the birds put in the nesting material. if these birds had not become partly domesticated, the foundation of the nest would have been moss (_sphagnum_), with a lining of fur or grouse feathers. my chickadees have changed the nesting habit, using nothing but cotton-batting for foundation and lining. eight eggs were laid in this nest, and every one hatched. the flock of chickadees that have gathered at my cabin this winter for food will number about fifty. they are so tame that they enter the cabin and eat from the table. one bird has demonstrated to me that she possesses a keen memory and an intelligence that is phenomenal. for four winters she has made it a practice to rap on the window when she is hungry, or desires to come in the cabin. her method, followed each day, is peculiar. she raps if i am inside, and not otherwise. if i am sitting outside, she never approaches the window. it is evident that she raps to attract my attention. after rapping, she goes to the door and waits for me. if i do not respond, she returns to the window and raps again, louder than before. she waits at the door a short time, and if i do not come, she returns to the window and stays right there, and raps vigorously all the time. not only is it peculiar that she is intelligent enough to know that she can attract my attention, but it is also peculiar that she can remember from one winter to another how to go through the intelligent act. one of my bird-loving friends, the late "frank bolles," for many years the secretary of harvard college, was telling me of the intelligence of the chickadees around chocorua. i told him that my chickadees could count four. mr. bolles laughed, and said: "i am quite a bird crank, but i think i will have to draw the line at counting. what have you for proof?" i called his attention to the method employed by the chickadees when eating hemp-seed. not having the stout cone bill of the finch family, a chickadee was obliged to hold a seed between its toes and beat off the hull, to get at the meat. a chickadee would fly into the dooryard after a hemp-seed, then fly to a small twig, and, holding the seed between its toes, hammer away until the meat was threshed out. some of the old birds would carry away as many as four seeds. these birds let their brains save their wings. when a bird carried away four seeds, three were usually placed in the rough bark of a limb until wanted. i fed the chickadees, and a dozen or more were soon busy taking seed from the dooryard. a pet bird, of long standing, was pointed out to mr. bolles as one that could count four. the bird picked up four seeds, and flew to a limb over my head. near the bole of the tree she deposited three seeds, and took the fourth one to a small twig, about eight feet away. before she got through with the first seed, i pushed one of the three off the limb. mr. bolles scouted the idea that the bird would miss the seed on the ground. after the bird had disposed of three seeds, it hunted in the bark of the limb at first, and then dropped to the ground and found the missing seed. if two seeds were pushed off, the chickadee would hunt for both. mr. bolles admitted that the bird could count four, and possibly more than that number if it was necessary. [illustration] mr. bolles was the author of several books on outdoor life. he possessed a delightful style, reminding one of john burroughs. i will quote from his book, "from blomidon to smoky," a record of a visit to my cabin: "i have a friend who lives alone, summer and winter, in a tiny hut amid the woods. the doctors told him he must die, so he escaped from them to nature, made his peace with her, and regained his health. to the wild creatures of the pasture, the oak woods, and the swamps he is no longer a man, but a faun; he is one of their own kind,--shy, alert, silent. they, having learned to trust him, have come a little nearer to men. i once went to his hut when he was absent, and stretched myself in the sunlight by his tiny doorstep. presently, two chickadees came to a box of bird-seed, swinging from the pine-limb overhead, and fed there, cracking the seeds one by one with their bills. then from the swamp, a pair of catbirds appeared, and fed upon crumbs scattered over the ground just at my feet. a chipmunk ran back and forth past them, coming almost within reach of my hand; soon after a song-sparrow (wabbles) drove away the catbirds, and then sung a little _sotto voce_ song to me before helping itself to the crumbs. when my friend returned, he told me the story of this song-sparrow; how he saved its life, and had been rewarded by three years of gratitude, confidence, and affection on the part of the brave little bird. he seemed fearful lest i should think him overimaginative in recital, so he gave me details about the sparrow and its ways which would have convinced a jury of the bird's identity and strong individuality. the secret of my friend's friendship with these birds was that, by living together, each had, by degrees, learned to know the other." [illustration] the chickadees are great bird-wags. in various ways they play tricks on other birds. when there is hemp-seed in the box, the chickadees are like a lot of children turned out of school. if a tree-sparrow happens along, he takes possession by driving the other birds away. a saucy chickadee will give the danger-call, which sounds to me like "_butcher bird, butcher bird_." the tree-sparrow darts into the bushes and the chickadees pile onto the seed-box. the sparrow finding that there is no enemy about soon returns to the seed-box. inside of three minutes the same, or another chickadee, gives the alarm and away goes the sparrow into the bushes. this time he knows that he has been fooled, so when he comes back he chases the chickadee through the trees around the dooryard. the chickadee is too quick for the sparrow; he darts this way and that, laughing and shouting at the top of his voice. the other chickadees do a lot of laughing and shouting too, at the same time they attend to the seed-box. the sparrow always flies away when he hears the danger-call. i suppose he thinks it better to be safe than to be sorry. [illustration] several years ago i placed a box in the top of an oak-tree, thinking that bluebirds might be induced to nest therein. while i was nailing the box to a limb, a pair of chickadees had overlooked the work. these chickadees were old friends, and naturally thought that i was making a nest for their benefit. the next day when i had returned from the city, i found the birds engaged in carrying cotton batting into the box. these chickadees were old and had made four nests, so the selection of a box and cotton batting was a marked departure from the regular nesting habit. while the little lady was sitting i made it a practice every day to climb the tree and offer her food. when i had turned the cover back the bird would flutter her wings as young birds do when begging food. but the little wife would take no food from me if her husband was present. she would call to him "_chip, chip_," and he would hop to me for food. when he got it, he would feed his wife, while she fluttered her wings and acted like a young bird. when eight little chicks thrust up their open bills for food, the parents appeared brimful of joy and happiness. they rushed around in search of food, calling to each other all the time. i climbed the tree one day at noontime. the young birds were full grown. i took one in my hand and the mother said something to me in her language. i thought that she asked me if the bird was old enough to leave the nest. i told her it was, and the sooner they got out the better, for the nest was too small and was hot besides. that noon i went over to cedar swamp, and did not return until after sunset. when i had reached the cabin the chickadees hopped to my shoulder and in heartrending bird language tried to tell me that something had happened to their babies. i climbed the tree and found the nest empty. on a boulder i had placed a pair of rubber boots to dry one of the boots was missing. two boys had robbed the chickadees and had carried away the young birds in the rubber boot. the bereaved birds remained near the cabin all night, and i did not sleep, because they talked to me in the most pitiful language i had ever heard from a bird. the next day i traced the wretched thieves, but the little birds were dead. [illustration] before leaving the chickadees, i wish to mention something that has impressed itself upon my mind, during the last eighteen years. that is, that the chackadees would make desirable park-birds. compare these busy little birds with the english sparrow, and one can but feel sorry that we imported the alien, when we already possessed the native. a flock of my chickadees, if removed to boston common, would thrive and increase rapidly, and from a small beginning all the parks of the country could be stocked. the chickadees rear two broods in a season, usually eight in a brood. these birds hunt the trees for insect life, while the undesirable alien hunts the streets for indigested food. contrast the quarrelsome "_chirps_" of the one, with the cheery "_chickadee, chickadee_" of the other. then the mating-song. how it would fit into the glorious spring mornings. this song is called the "phã�â�be note of the chickadee" by many writers. the only reason that explains why this name clings to the chickadee's song, is that some early writer adopted it, and later writers followed suit without taking pains to investigate. there is as great difference between the two as there is between black and white. the song of the phã�â�be-bird is in two notes, delivered in a querulous, plaintive tone, while that of the chickadee is in three notes, as loud and cheery as the whistle of whittier's "barefoot boy." "_tea's ready_," it seems to say, with the accent on the first syllable. xviii. triplefoot i opened up my cabin one winter morning, at daylight, to find the dooryard covered with two inches of light snow. a mass of fox tracks centred about a piece of meat, which was nailed to the trunk of a pine-tree. when the fox left, about daylight, it went down the old highway, and this is the trail it made: ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo [illustration: triplefoot] two tracks started from a cluster near the meat, followed by a space, then three tracks followed by another space, and so on, in regular order, three tracks and a space. i had no difficulty in solving the mystery. the fox had been trapped sometime in the past, and had regained its liberty by the loss of a foot. the space in the trail represented the missing foot. this fox was no stranger to my dooryard, and months before i had named her triplefoot, because she travelled on three feet. she had a charmed life, for the fox-hunters had failed in their efforts to shoot her, so far, although for over a year she was the only fox in this locality, and the hounds hazed her night and day. after breakfast i started on triplefoot's trail. there was a good tracking snow, and i was determined to trail the fox to her den. the trail led down the old highway, but turned off to visit solomon's orchard. this was a spot containing two ruined cellars, a large clump of barberry-bushes, and some wild apple-trees, descendants of a cultivated orchard. the fox did some foraging under the barberry bushes, and a drop or two of blood on the snow indicated that she was successful in capturing a wood-mouse. while i was looking for the trail out of the orchard, i heard two hounds give tongue, and the tone told me that they were hot on the trail. these hounds had come up the old highway, and had struck the fox's trail just south of solomon's orchard. triplefoot had scented the hounds, and turned to the west, into magnolia swamp. i pushed my way through the dense shrubbery, the tracks of two dogs and a fox making a well-defined trail. the trail led through the swamp and over the ridge to wallace's pond. the trail crossed on the ice, and led me over magnolia avenue, just below the lily-pond. i had come to the conclusion that triplefoot was hunting water, so as to throw the hounds of the scent. the cold weather was against her. all the brooks and ponds were covered with ice. the trail, after it crossed the road, led along the ridges to mount ann. from this point the fox had shaped her course to coffin's beach. it was a long, weary tramp, but i had enlisted and was bound to see it through. [illustration triplefoot and chickens] when i had reached the sand-dunes of coffin's beach, i found the snow had melted under the combined influence of sun and sand. here triplefoot had thrown the hounds off, and had left me out of the hunt, too. not a track could be seen in the shifting white sand. it was an old trick of the foxes, to resort to the sand-dunes, when there was a dearth of water. there was one of two things for me to do; give up the hunt and go home, or skirt the woods for triplefoot's trail, where she had left the beach. i decided on the latter course, and, as luck was with me, found the trail in less than ten minutes. the fox returned by way of mount ann and dyke's meadow, crossing magnolia swamp south of solomon's orchard, and took to the ridges near the old quarry. the den was under a big boulder, and, strange to tell, was only eight minutes' walk from my cabin. it was dark when i found the den, so i had thrown away a whole day looking for a thing that was in my own dooryard, so to speak. triplefoot reared a family during the season. in april she stored two hens and a grouse in her den, so she would not have to hunt when her cubs were born. i saw the feathers of the fowls, and knew that the wise creature was putting food in cold storage for a day of need. [illustration] [illustration: triplefoot's den.] when the fox cubs were old enough to come outside and play, i put in many hours watching them with a good glass. there was no time that i saw more than three, and i think that was the size of the family. there was a flat boulder over the den, which sloped from the ground upward. i was standing on this boulder one eve, when one of the cubs came out of the den, and was in the act of climbing the ledge when he saw me. he stopped, with his forepaws on the edge of the ledge, and coolly looked me over. after he had satisfied his curiosity he went into the den, and immediately returned with one of his mates. the little imp had probably asked his brother to come out and name the comical two-legged beast. the two cubs placed their feet on the ledge and looked at me for two minutes. they were not over six feet from me, and looked as fat and stocky as two young pigs. [illustration] triplefoot's life was one of worry and care, to say nothing about the danger from mankind and the hounds. she had to find food for her hungry cubs, and whichever way she turned, danger lurked on her trail. if she hunted for wood-mice, the hounds were there to pick up her trail. then she had to seek water to throw them off. it would not do to go to the den, where the hounds would soon dig out her little cubs, and shake the life from their tender bodies. if she turned to some poultry-yard, the chances were that she would find herself looking into the muzzle of the farmer's shotgun. she was desperately wild, and so were the little cubs when she was with them. a warning note from the mother worked like magic. the little ones would crouch and creep to the mouth of the den, and disappear as silently as three ghosts. i saw triplefoot return to the den one sunday morning, empty-handed. the cubs came out and whined pitifully when they missed the sunday breakfast. the old fox ordered them into the den, and then took the path for fresh water cove. i knew that a large flock of hens ran in the bushes, near the highway, and triplefoot knew it, too. in twenty minutes she was back to the den with a large hen over her neck. she called her cubs, and tore the hen to pieces, giving each cub a piece, but reserving something for herself. the dining-room was about thirty feet west of the den. it was under some small hemlocks, and the ground was level and smooth. when all the foxes had had enough, there was a small piece left. triplefoot buried this piece under the oak leaves. [illustration triplefoot and chickens] there was one thing that puzzled me in triplefoot's way of hunting. i could not understand why she did not go after poultry every day. east, west, north, and south, there were flocks of fowls running at large, and it would be a trifling exertion to snatch one from the bushes at any hour of the day. triplefoot may have reasoned that a fowl now and then would not be missed, while a wholesale slaughter would attract attention, and send the farmer to hunting for the den. triplefoot's cubs were killed that fall and winter, and she was left childless. her mate did not den in this locality, and without doubt was shot, for triplefoot did not rear a family the next spring. it happened during my tramps in the woods that i often met triplefoot. she soon understood that i did not covet her glossy pelt, and she separated me from mankind in general. i have known her to remain at the den when she knew i was looking at her through a glass. she often led the hounds through my dooryard, and, if i was about, the hounds got turned off the trail. [illustration: "she stopped to look around, and saw me."] [illustration triplefoot and chickens] i saw triplefoot fool the hounds one fall. i was resting in the woods when i heard the hounds in magnolia swamp. i understood what was going on. triplefoot was trying to throw them off, but the dogs had a good scent, and all her efforts were useless. near where i was sitting there was a pine-tree turned up by the roots. the trunk of the tree was about two feet from the ground, near the roots, but the ground fell off rapidly, so the top, with the foliage, was over ten feet in the air. while i was listening to the hounds, triplefoot came in sight. she passed close to the leaning pine, and kept on over the hill. there was a small pond in the valley, below, and i thought triplefoot was going to the water to throw off the dogs. but i had erred. in a few minutes she returned, doubling on her trail. when she had reached the pine, she jumped to the tree, where it was four feet from the ground. she stopped to look around, and saw me. the wind was against her, so she had to be guided by sight. she seemed satisfied that the man was the hermit, for she went into the thick foliage of the pine top and awaited the hounds. the hounds passed by the tree without stopping, but returned after following the trail to water. both hounds passed by the tree, to return in a few minutes. one hound had a suspicion that the tree might harbor the fox. he put his paws on the tree-trunk, and smelt along as far as he could reach, then gave it up. triplefoot had been wise when she jumped to the tree beyond the dog's reach. after the hounds left, triplefoot came out of the tree and circled around me. she wanted to make sure that i was the hermit. i examined the pine-tree and found the bark much scratched, where triplefoot had jumped on to it. the evidence showed that she had frequently resorted to the trick, to throw off the hounds. i wish i might end the story of this little three-footed fox in some happy way, but truth has ordered it otherwise. she was shot when running before the hounds, but was not immediately killed. i found her dead body while skirting magnolia swamp. she had crawled under a boulder, and had slowly died from her wounds and exhaustion. i buried her, and was glad that her beautiful robe and her mutilated body would not be separated in death. the end. [illustration triplefoot] * * * * * transcriber note minor typos corrected. many of the blocks marked [illustration] are little cartoons added to delight the reader in the printed version. paragraphs split by illustrations were rejoined. state the * of historical founded 1846 wisconsin society 1912 cleve. corporate the mermits cleveland in paris 드 ​ · i max 2-1925 vienoron hass take this program home and preserve it. it contains much interesting reading matter... index to hermit year book pages cast 9-11-13-15 scenes musical numbers orchestra 19 21-23 25 synopsis staff committees 27-29-31 35 37 officers of club 67 members 71 66 non-resident . 97 index to advertisers 291 please patronize our advertisers, and mention this year book at every opportunity. 2 fred s. borton r. c. enwright t. e. borton c. n. osborne the hermits we know do not hide their money in the ginger jar nor do they always buy good stuff but when they want investment securities many of them come to us borton & borton guardian building members cleveland stock exchange 3 shotter, faerber & co. insurance of every kind columbia bldg., prospect ave. and east 2d st. 4 reading club are you a member? all the new books (in late fiction) and all in as large lots as you choose to ask for. remember, please, you, not we, decide how many. ours is a circulating library, conducted on modern methods. it gives access to the latest and best in fiction as soon as published. the supply of the more popular new books is always liberal so one does not have to wait long to get the story wanted. every book sent out has a new, glossy, sanitary paper cover a new fresh one each time it is issued. as soon as books become soiled they are put out of commission. thus, members get new, fresh, absolutely clean books. we invite you to join. residents of elyria kindly remember we have established a branch of our circulating library with the misses williams and thomas at the central book store, no. 417 broad st., opposite the public square, elyria. there isn't a library too big nor one too small for us to buy. the burrows bros. company 633-635-637 euclid ave. new england bldg. : 5 arc de triomphe de l'etoile, paris photo by hermit brooks 6 what is she doing? see that district nurse. she is going to that house because some one is sick. what will she do there? she will give skilled care to a patient with pneumonia or a painful chronic disease. will she go away then? no. she will find out what causes ill health in her patient's family. what will she do about what she finds? she will report a rotting floor and clogged drain to the health office; an underfed baby, a crippled, child or a tuberculous man to the visiting nurse of a special dispensary. will she be satisfied then? no. she will go back again and again to care for her patient and see that the plans for the family are followed. are there many in the city like her? no. only 11, though there are 26 district physicians. couldn't we have more nurses? yes, in the twinkling of an eye, if contributions to the visiting nurse association were increased care miss elizabeth f. brown, financial secretary 612 st. clair avenue 7 the hermits in paris a musical comedy in two acts and three scenes produced by the hermit club of cleveland under the personal direction of r. h. burnside book by clarence vincent kerr lyrics by r. h. burnside score by john s. zamecnik and milton lusk opera house may 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, and june 1st, 1912 copyright 1912 by r. h. burnside press of the brooks company 8 3 ray electrics 170 ལལ་་་་ burr 1343 sep 2 w.w.-lib. #55 as 2725 66 4423 1912 the hermits in paris cast note-the characters are named in the order in which they first appear consomme louis j. ford manager of the hotel l'amerique jabot gardner abbott fifi bonbon who sets the fashions in paris carl f. morse . principal model at the maison jabot major samovar henry j. welch aide to prince vladimir colonel pfeffenhoffen george b. pettengill aide to prince vladimir prince vladimir who expects to marry an american heiress william wieman olga ivanoff r. c. rudolf dancer at the folies bergere cadwallader skidmore roger c. enwright rubber magnate of akron, qhio anastasia skidmore herbert mathews his better-half with social aspirations louise willoughby horatio n. herriman their niece 9 ιο cleveland taxicabs and touring cars all of our cars, both taxicabs and touring cars, are equipped with taximeters. any car we operate can be hired on either the meter or the hourly rate. the finest equipment in america we have just completed the substitution of new cunningham bodies for the old bodies we have been using.. by june 1st, we shall have added. five seven passenger touring cars to the three we are now operating. they will be equipped with taximeters. with these changes and additions, we can safely and honestly say that our equipment, the largest in cleveland, is unequalled in point of quality and completeness, in any city in america. it is our aim to place our service on the same plane of excellence. the cleveland taxicab co. north 907 central 1800 hollenden hotel. colonial hotel. gillsy hotel. cleveland athletic club. halle bros. stands 1618-1624 walnut ave. n. e. 1918-1928 east 107th street. 8500 lake avenue, n. w. penna. r. r. euclid station. cleveland base ball park. ii : cast-continued 1st gendarme 2nd gendarme) m. tortoise police commissionaire of paris carl b. castle in search of dick and larry carl b. ford (albert c. bailey dick radcliffe forrest j. dresser a young american aviator larry doyle charles a. maher his mechanician always in trouble doctor sprudelwasser james mathers a fashionable specialist arabella blotz james g. pettit from butte, montana mrs. blotz john p. witt her ma-with a past carl c. kyhiné jacqueline m. chatter a mannequin at the maison jabot william m. duncan mr. skidmore's legal adviser jean besoin elise arthur j. caldwell an apache dancer walter s. bowler mrs. skidmore's maid 12 any one can use it nax cleane aeg us pat off climax wallpaper climax fresco calcimine and leaner cleaner m'nfg, coinc cleveland, o.us.a climax wall paper cleaner cleans the finest to the cheapest wall paper that's made. sold everywhere. remember the name "climax" 13 cast-continued show girls dr. franklin e. cutler phelps crum w. c. sayle lorenz w. diehl joseph b. roof geo. m. carleton f. c. merrick chas. r. couch salesgirls edw. a. logan carl l. f. wieber, jr. wm. m. leach harold b. cobb c. p. zurlinden william h. west harold e. gaines roland t. mcgowan t. h. nashi ponies halsey j. teare gordon c. pickerell lee a. woolsey w. h. lamprecht, 2nd w. j. dawley colin mcallister a. j. caldwell 14 new york (entral lines "lake shore number six" the favorite with cleveland's business men to new york an all-steel, electric-lighted train for cleveland people. all pullman equipment; buffet-library car, drawing-room and compartment observation sleeping cars. dining car, serving dinner and breakfast. lv. cleveland union station 6:10 p. m. lv. cleveland, east 105th st. 6:25 p.m. ar. new york grand central ter. 9:11 a.m. railway and pullman tickets delivered on phone requests to your hotel, club, office or home, without extra charge. city ticket office, hippodrome building telephones: bell main 5143 cuy. cent. 260 new york central lines lake shore ry. --the water level route 15 cast-continued russian ballet carl c. kyhné r. c. rudolf clifford u. sadler lee a. woolsey stone age dancers r. f. berwald l. c. spieth h. w. newcomer m. s. ketchum garde republique lieut. r. f. ludlow w. h. brown perry j. darling f. h. hobson harry s. koehler warwick j. hayes parisian johnnies e. l. worthington r. p. millard lewis morgan f. h. grace d. k. page russell k. sadler kenneth whitehead clyde e. kwiss french officers e. l. schmock ernest g. hart oliver r. rieley earle e. white e. l. edwards f. w. hinz a. m. worden kenneth ingersoll 16 the the food six fifty the "perfect days" of which riley sang can never be so fully enjoyed as in a motor car. automobile touring links the luxury of the city with the health-giving beauty of outdoor life as nothing else can do. in the garford touring models have been incorporated all those qualities that make cross-country riding an unalloyed pleasure. the garford owner has a confidence in his car that allows him to drink in all the pleasure a day in the open affords, while every line of its design is suggestive of quiet elegance and perfect comfort. western reserve motor car co. 6604-18 euclid avenue cleveland 17 the hermits in paris costumes designed by will r. barnes new york city costumes made by max & mahieu 302 west 36th st. new york city scenery designed and painted by h. robert law studios 502 west 38th st. scenery built by new york city t. b. macdonald construction co. 540 west 38th st. new york city properties made by edward seidle, inc., new york city wigs by hepner, inc. boots and shoes by i. miller, inc. 18 oakwood-on-the-lake rocky river offer a combined city and suburban home site with all improvements-less than seven miles from the public square bathing and boating privileges the investment feature of a purchase here could not be excelled. mathews & gilbert 911-912 williamson bldg. owners and operators suburban real estate manor park lakewood's finest residence street all improvements in and paid for at no cost to purchaser. street 100 feet wide-lots nearly 300 feet deep. $25.00 and $30.00 per foot. 19 : the hermits in paris scenes act i rotunda of the hotel l'amerique in paris. time, morning. act ii scene 1. interior of the maison jabot in paris. time, afternoon. scene 2. exterior of mrs. skidmore's villa near paris. time, evening. scenery designed and executed by h. robert law, new york city, and built by t. b. macdonald construction co., of n. y. city. costumes designed by will r. barnes and made by max and mahieu, of new york properties by edward seidle. boots and shoes by i. miller. wigs by hepner. show men costumes in first act by english woolen mills co. dancers coached by cissie hayden. assistant stage manager, r. m. dolliver. 20 oldsmobile ¶ in every city, town and village there are a few people who want the best. they are not necessarily the richest people, but they prefer investing to speculating. ¶ it is not mere pride that makes such people want the best motor car; they believe the best is the cheapest; the most durable and satisfactory investment. ¶ these people buy the output of the olds motor works every year and this is the fourteenth year of the oldsmobile. it is also a most prosperous year. evidently the oldsmobile has a way of "keeping faith" with its purchasers. may we explain some of the reasons why so many people believe this is the best car built, even though it is not the most expensive? the olds oakland co. 2108 euclid ave. oldsmobile and oakland distributers a. s. watson fred c. wood milton w. lusk 21 the hermits in paris • musical numbers act i 1. opening chorus-at the hotel amerique. . . . . . .zamecnik 2. song "toujour la politesse" .zamecnik consomme and chorus 3. duet always something doing in paree...... jabot, fifi and chorus .zamecnik 4. song "the girls from the folies bergeres". olga and the ponies .zamecnik 5. trio-"tips!-tips!-tips!" .zamecnik mr. and mrs. skidmore-louise and chorus 6. duet-"what do you think" zamecnik dick and larry 7. song "when you're in love" zamecnik louise and chorus 8. song "it's hard to understand the men" .zamecnik mrs. skidmore and chorus 9. quartette "a matter we can easily arrange".....zamecnik larry, dick, col. and major 10. finale (a) what is all this excitement about (b) we've been sent by the president (c) there's always something doing in paree...... zamecnik 22 the arbor tea shop cleveland's new tea room for afternoon tea and cooling summer drinks 23 musical numbers-continued act ii-scene i 1. opening "when you visit paris". .zamecnik (ensemble) 2. song "dress! dress! dress!". zamecnik 3. song "the things i've heard"... jabot and chorus mrs. skidmore and chorus 4. song "if i met a nice little girl"... larry and the ponies zamecnik ..zamecnik 5. duet-true love never dies". dick and louise zamecnik zamecnik 6. quartette "woman, delightful woman". jabot, samovar, pfeffen hoffen and larry 7. song "if you could learn to love me"...... milton lusk fifi and male chorus 8. ensemble-"he's not the prince". scene ii dark change to scene ii zamecnik 9. song "at the brookside inn".........jerome & schwartz col. pfeffen hoffen 10. duet—“my aeroplane maid".. dick, louise and chorus 11 ensemble-“the carnival of dance”. .milton lusk zamecnik introducing the stone age dance-egyptian dancegrecian dance-russian ballet dance--apache dance -and ragtime dance. entrance of cupid and the dawn of love!! 12. finale "when you're in love". zamecnik ensemble 24 brooks-maninch wilbor-parsons insurance bad agency established sixty years 25 the hermits in paris orchestra frank b. meade, director everett l. brown, librarian flute arch. c. klumph ralph dye first violin james d. johnston john l. miller, jr. harry r. valentine clarinet dudley s. blossom joseph c. royon edward l. davis justin griess, jr. b. j. ballard w. h. belding second violin robert l. bowen dudley j. hard oboc charles w. davis bassoon joe naravec, jr. b. t. wright wm. rounds chas. a. colvin cornet l. h. morgan everett l. brown alfred m. fuller chas. e. burt viola horn albert m. hannaford harry a. bliss john d. alexander arthur c. rogers wm. frendeman trombone claude c. fenton cello maurice p. klumph traps harry du rocher bass frank l. boynton frank b. hannaford tympani richard s. spencer pianists milton w. lusk joseph fehrenbach 26 hermits, in paris and everywhere else, apollinaris "the queen of table waters." greets you. the ausford six the convincing test of the real value of an automobile-its service day in and day out under all sorts of road and weather conditions is the test that brings out the merits of the garford six and has already established its reputation of being in every detail pre-eminent. the garford is the choice of discriminating buyers, those who appreciate and enjoy the possession of the best that can be produced. the western reserve motor car company east 3744 j. p. mullen, manager 6604-6618 euclid ave. "you can judge a car by those who own it" princeton 55 27 : the hermits in paris synopsis it is paris! it is july! the american season is at its height and the spirit of carnival is in the air. so come on along and make merry with us. you will not need your baedecker, for the hotels and shops and villas of the hermits in paris are more recent than the most recent editions of the guide books. no matter if you don't speak french. neither do the principals in the play. they struggle with the gallic tongue, but heaven knows they don't speak it. the authors are very good french scholars, having studied and perfected themselves in the phonographic method, but of course it is impossible for them to write their own beautiful accent into the manuscript. therefore the auditor will have to applaud his own particular school of pronunciation as reflected in the gutteral gallicisms of roger enwright or the delightful way down east twang of gardner abbott's french or the dulcet, limpid, caressing flow of charles maher's brogue, which smacks so strongly of the irish renaissance. laugh if you will, but remember that this is a musical comedy and we must get laughs at any cost. indeed it is an axiom of the box office that "laughs are worth twenty-five dollars apiece." so let your mirth have full rein, for who knows-there may be a manager gum shoeing about looking for a play and your hearty laughter will lure him on. but as we said before it is paris! it is july! and when the curtain rises we get our first glimpse of the hotel l'amerique. act i it is early morning and m. consomme, the proprietaire, admonishes his servants to always be polite to the guests for it pays in many ways. the guests arrive from the bal bullier and continued 28 baker electrics shaft இ driven famous folk favor the baker the he baker electric is universally recognized as the highest development of the electric vehicle. that's why people of rank and title, abroad and at home, unhesitatingly, choose the baker. call, write or phone for a demonstration the baker motor vehicle company city sales dept. 7100 euclid avenue : : cleveland 29 synopsis-continued m. jabot, the dressmaker, and his pretty mannequin, fifi, bring news of the night's gaiety. the russian prince, vladimir, is a distinguished guest at the hotel, and when his military aids, major samovar and col. pfeffenhoffen, arrive, they are surprised to find that the prince has not returned from the ball. he arrives shortly but has celebrated beyond his ability to carry it, and is straightway hustled to his room. the condition of the prince alarms his aids, for the day is a momentous one in that it carries two very important events for the russian nobleman: he is to call on the president of france and he is to meet a rich american girl to whom he expects to be married. this charming young lady, louise, arrives with her relatives mr. and mrs. cadwallader skidmore of akron, o., and straightway falls in love with dick radcliffe, a young american aviator. this young man, with his mechanician larry dooley, have fallen upon evil days and are pursued by a fierce police commissionaire and two gendarmes. they take refuge in the hotel, and when it is discovered that radcliffe is the double of prince vladimir, dick consents to take the nobleman's place upon the assurance that larry and he will be protected by col. pfeffenhoffen and major samovar. among the guests at the hotel are arabella, a recent arrival from butte, mont., and her ma, a very melancholy old lady "with a past." another guest is la belle olga of the folies bergere, who arrives with eight little dancers after a tour of the capitals of europe. she is an old sweetheart of vladimir's and serves to add complications. act ii. scene i. finds us in the dressmaking shop of m. jabot where great preparation is being made for 'the reception and carnival of dance which mrs. skidmore is planning in honor of the distinguished nobleman who is to marry her niece. dick is masquercontinued 30 white motor cars electrically started and lighted white cars are equipped with a starting system that cranks the motor easily and naturally. there are no valves to leak, no gears to engage, and no explosions in the cylinders while the pistons are stationary. the white starting system is one hundred per cent efficient. moreover, the lights are operated by the same system that starts the engine. logical, isn't it. "the car that made long stroke famous" the white company m factory and general sales-offices saint clair avenue corner east 79th street manufacturers of gasoline motor cars, trucks and taxicabs 31 synopsis-continued ading as the prince and has fallen deeply in love with louise. he incurs the displeasure of fifi and at the close of the scene is denounced by her as an impostor. mrs. skidmore is very suspicious of her spouse and her constant vigilance irritates him. he decides to cure his wife and hits upon a novel plan, but as the best laid plans gang aft aglee he finds himself in very hot water until the tables are suddenly turned in his favor. the lordly airs of larry, who is now masquerading as a baron, the shopping of arabella and the plight of the two old military aids, who are reduced to sore straits by the conduct of the prince, rounds out the scene. scene 11. takes place at the skidmore villa during the reception and carnival of dance. the affair at jabot's is brought to a crisis by the arrival of mr. skidmore's lawyer, mr. chatter, but the difficulty between husband and wife is straightened out. dick lays aside the uniform of the prince and wooes louise for himself alone. the carnival of dance with its interesting phantasy, the dawn of love, is given and when the real prince sends word that he has married the queen of the folies bergere the lovers are made happy. 32 pneu d nous les fabriquerions mieux diamond 크크​크크 ​크크크 ​٢٢٢٢٢ 7777 diamond tires they call them "pneu diamonds" in paris, and they deliver greatest mileage there in competition with european tires, just as they do in this country. "the hermits in paris" will find a diamond service station at no. 5 rue denispoisson where they can get "pneu diamonds" in all types, all treads and all sizes, but only one quality-the highest. "the hermits in cleveland" know that they can get diamond tires of all dependable dealers, and at the diamond store, 2017 euclid ave. the diamond rubber co. akron, ohio 33 peter schuyler and el planco havana two of the best 10c cigars generally sold pure whiskey our number 31 thirty one finest procurable the weideman company cleveland, ohio established 1861 34 e. m. f. "30" $1100.00 flanders "20" $800.00 the a. r. davis motor company 2034-36 euclid avenue north 1253 central 910 flanders electrics $2250.00 flanders delivery wagons $800.00 35 the hermits in paris staff business managers fred s. borton general stage director r. h. burnside musical director frank b. meade j. r. kraus stage managers s. w. scofield wm. wieman carl ford property masters guy s. gardner william brunskill b. m. gardner choristers albert rees davis · felix hughes 36 quality up; price down the winton co. guarantees every statement made in winton six advertising to be true without qualification. winton six the winton six acknowledges no superior in quality at any price. we invite the closest comparison with cars selling at the highest prices, because we are sure of our ground, and because we have confidence in your judgment of plain facts. we do not claim for our cars a mysterious social influence, and charge an extra $2000 for the mystery. what we sell you is an ideal, proved, standard, dependable six-cylinder car, capable of doing more and better work than most cars, and excelled by no other. we can sell this car at $3000, give you the fullest of motor car satisfaction and efficiency, and make a reasonable profit for ourselves. after the purchase. best of all is the hand-in-hand relationship we enjoy with the men and women who buy winton six cars. proud of their patronage and eager to have them proud of their winton sixes, we hold ourselves responsible for the service these cars deliver to their owners. this means that we maintain a thorough and efficient service department, whose duty it is to co-operate heartily with winton six owners (without charge) to the end that every single winton six in use may prove itself, in every sense and detail, to be the superior, satisfactory, and delightful car we said it was before the sale. call or phone for demonstration the winton motor car co. 1228 huron road 37 the hermits in paris committees music j. c. royon john s. zamecnik frank b. meade scenery and costumes frank b. meade gardner abbott jas. h. donahey a. h. shotter, chairman wilbur m. baldwin john c. chandler c. k. chisholm harold b. cobb c. c. coventry randall crawford w. a. daley p. j. darling edw. l. davis program arthur d. brooks program advertising walter m. ernst h. b. gay frank h. grace g. r. ingersoll j. h. kline m. p. klumph l. e. myers w. s. pollock w. c. sayle john p. witt h. r. valentine, chairman r. f. berwald a. d. brooks c. k. chisholm publicity s. w. hubbard h. h. kendall ole may h. p. mcintosh, jr. c. a. otis, jr. e. s. gilbert c. r. housum g. m. rogers h. m. terrell 38 if your tire blows out to-nightthe pleasure of this day will be forever obscured behind the remembrance of the mishap :-: :-: unless your car is equipped with "standard universal rims" which are made in cleveland sixth city by the "standard welding co." makers of most because makers of best rims. 39 b berghoff the berghoff entertains after every performance of "the hermits in paris" albert menjou president 40 "blue diamond" "green diamond" sinks floats "diamond chip" a little 'un "white diamond" the old standby they are all made out at elyria, ohio, by the worthington ball co. and then there is a new one called the diamond a 4i hermits in paris poster for the hermits in paris drawn by hermit donahey 42 cleveland agency conducted continuously since 1859. over 2,000 cleveland policyholders. many policies over forty years old. ask them. the mutual benefit life insurance company of newark, n. j. issues monthly income policies guaranteed payable every month unaffected by panics and business depression no taxes no mis-investments sure = regular write to j. w. pickard, jr. superintendent of agencies new england building cleveland 43 photo by hermit rogers gardner abbott as billy phibbs in the hermits at happy hollow 44 "america's best milk” gold cross regus. unsweetened pat off gold cross milk absolutely pure sterilized milk trade-marks redeemed for valuable premiums. 57 the arcade, :-: :-: :-: cleveland "the society wine” pol roger & co. dry special brut special 1900 brut special 1904 on sale at the leading hotels, restaurants, clubs and wine merchants. anthony oechs & co. 51 warren street, new york city sole agents for the united states t 45 hermits who live on the original and only genuine horlick's malted milk horlick m.m mark walted mil don't need το cook forlicks trade m.m. mark milk walted even when in paris with one of cook's tours 46 cable address alfredare no other house or connection alfred nelson company 261 fifth ave., near 29th street, new york english tailors practical breeches makers c riding, shooting, hunting, polo, racing and buckskin breeches and pigskin leggings. scarletts for field and dress. ladies riding breeches. patterns and forms for self-measurement on application. largest and most exclusive assortment of hand made homespuns in america. our breeches are acknowledged by expert riders superior to any other make in the country. gold medal paris exposition. george kramer we are represented in cleveland three times each season. 47 photo by hermit brooks hotel guillaume-le-conquerant at dives-sur-mer france 48 steinway pianos pianola pianos victor victrolas recognized leaders in the world of music. the b. dreher's sons co. truman bldg. 1028 1030 euclid ave. this picture shows a browning standard locomotive crane used in the erection of a steel building. this is one of the many uses to which these cranes may be put. handling coal, ashes, cement, brick, ties, sand, gravel, lumber, steel with lifting magnet, excavating, driving piles, etc., is done with a saving of hand labor and time and represents more profit. may we send you a catalog? the browning engineering co. cleveland, o. 49 felix hughes as lord arthur basingstoke in the hermits at happy hollow photo by hermit rogers 50 belle vernon jersey milk extra quality produced by jersey herds, kept in the finest condition. ask for extra quality jersey milk. rich, delicious, tuberculin tested. bulgarian lactic buttermilk it refreshes when you are tired. it rebuilds wasted tissues. it is meat, drink and tonic. it possesses medicinal qualities. prolongs life. the belle vernon-mapes dairy company 51 inol she was bred kent cky green river distilang every man who drinks green river straight whiskey the whiskey without trade g.r. s. m. mark a headache green river bottled green river by owensboro distilling co kentucky 283 guaranteed under the food and drugs act. june the whiskey without a headache will live in happy hollow every day of the year "the finest and smoothest that ever percolated down a human throat." kept popular by quality green river distilling co. incorporated owensboro, kentucky 52 wheeling & lake erie railroad b. a. worthington, receiver the busy man uses the wheeling & lake erie on his trips between cleveland, canton, coshocton, zanesville and wheeling the only line operating electric lighted cafe parlor cars cuisine unsurpassed pay-for-what-you-order everything for your comfort numerous trains fast service attentive employes take trains from ontario street or 93rd street stations r. f. kelley, general passenger agent 53 charles a. maher as skid dooley arthur j. caldwell as mary in the hermits at happy hollow photo by hermit rogers 54 the advantages of buying pearls at homewhile abroad the temptation to purchase a necklace or other ornament of pearls is often very tempting on account of the apparently low cost. the duty, however, amounting to sixty per cent, always makes the cost as much, if not a great deal more, than if originally bought in america. absolute assurance of quality is indeed essential, often-times impossible in any of the foreign shops. this can only be obtained here at home, where the merchant and his reputation are recognized and mutual confidence prevails. pearls for americans can be bought best in america! our series pearl necklaces and pearl ornaments at once combine a marked saving in money in addition to the priceless satisfaction of the guarantee of this house. we invite your inspection of our extensive pearl displays. the cowell & hubbard company 605 euclid avenue 55 washing clothes in brittany -france photo by hermit brooks 56 take mapi flake the whole wheat toasted made in the mapl-flake mills battle creek sygheric food company mapl-flake is made from the whole wheat, cooked and flaked, then run under a hot mist of maple and rock candy syrup, which gives it a most delicious flavor. we leave the bran coat on the wheat, because it supplies the "rough stuff" for proper digestion and elimination. * * necessary mapl-corn flakes is another flake food surprise. the ordinary corn flake is too starchy for easy digestion. on each maplcorn flake we place as much bran as there is on a kernel of wheat, and thus make it a well balanced food. flakes toasted maplflake mills battle creek sam thompson pure rye whiskey manufactured on the monongahela river, at west brownsville, penna. the oldest brand of whiskey manufactured in pennsylvania. 57 the service secured from an "electric" depends upon the battery the "ironclad-exide" battery will run an electric vehicle-pleasure or commercial-more miles with less expense, less attention and with greater continuity of service than any other battery made. the "ironclad-exide" battery will not "stall" on a hill nor in starting heavy loads. the "ironclad-exide" battery gives good service in either cold weather or hot. the "ironclad-exide" battery can be recharged at a reasonable cost and keeps in good order with minimum attention. 44 the ironclad-exide" the famous "exide" or "bycap-eride” battery is used by 23 prominent electric vehicle makers. no other battery carries such an endorsement. these batteries have been the standard of some of these makers for periods ranging up to eight years. investigate the "tronclad-exide" battery, and you will insist upon it for your new "electric" or for renewing your present battery. eride" guarantee is plain and straightforward. you will find valuable information in the the troncladironcladeride" book. write the nearest office for a copy. the electric storage battery co. the oldest and largest battery maker in the country new york, 1888 philadelphia 1912 detroit, cleveland office-citizens building boston, chicago, st. louis, atlanta, denver, san francisco, toronto, portland, ore., seattle, los angeles "eride" depots in philadelphia, boston, chicago, cleveland, st. louis, denver, atlanta and san francisco 860"eride" distributors "eride" inspection corps ask about the "exide" battery for gas car ignition. 58 the f. a. pease engineering company civil and consulting engineers municipal improvements electric railways subdivisions 930-931-932-933 williamson building 59 james wagenhorst as miss koogen in the hermits at happy hollow photo by hermit rogers * 60 the cleveland savings and loan company (hollenden corner) interest paid on savings deposits loans made to buy or build homes wm. r. creer, prest. a. w. ellenberger, vice prest. j. c. nicholls, treas. j. j. sullivan, secretary all around the world you will find people ready to cash our travelers' checks. failure to make satisfactory arrangements of their funds has placed many people in embarrassing situations. provided with our checks, these experiences are avoided. k. n. & k. checks are safe, convenient and economical. if you contemplate a trip to any part of the world, send for our booklet "funds for travelers." it contains information that is both interesting and valuable. knauth, nachod & kühne, bankers leipzig, germany. 15 william st., new york 19 versailles photo by hermit brooks bassin de latone and grand canal 62 baker's breakfast cocoa is of unequaled quality for delicious natural flavor, delicate aroma, absolute purity and food value, the most important requisites of a good cocoa, it is the standard. trade-mark on every package 53 highest awards in europe and america walter baker & co. ltd. registered, dorchester, mass. u. s. pat. off. established 1780 united states tires the strongest tires in the world ¶ have service yielding qualities not possessed by other tires because they are made different from other tires. ¶they are the product of a four-fold method of manufacture which is unique in tire history. ¶they combine the strongest individual points of four world-famous brands of tires. the strength of four in every one why not try them? united states tire company new york dealers everywhere 63 the a. g. harbaugh company lubricants 713 prospect street cleveland 64 first mortgage real estate bonds to net 6% call or write for descriptive circulars. the harley e. williams co. investment 1114 citizens bldg. bonds cleveland, o. wabash pittsburg terminal railway co. h. w. mcmaster, receiver the short line between pittsburg and chicago rate $9.00. the only line running through reclining chair cars, seats free. all trains arrive and depart from the most centrally located and finest station in pittsburg. r. f. kelley, general passenger agent 65 bon jour gentlemens maybe you like to see some funny moving pictures yes? wie gehts greetings doc ។ i 66 special announcement frank b. meade and james hamilton have banded together to practice architecture with offices at 1002 garfield building hen houses our specialty we point with pride to some of our satisfied customers: northern ohio brown leghorn club; home gardening association; cleveland bar association; national sunday school union; early settlers' association; cleveland cat club; cheese club; sheriff street market; cleveland pantorium awnings view of country club at east palestine designed by mr. meade endorsed by the chamber of commerce 67 officers of the hermit club frank b. meade guy s. gardner joseph c. royon joseph r. kraus house committee president vice-president secretary treasurer hez. m. terrell, chairman. r. prescott beardslee harwood wilson entertainment committee jos. c. royon, chairman fred s. porter dudley j. hard arthur d. brooks e. l. worthington guy s. gardner, property master. everett l. brown, music librarian. chas. k. arter, club historian. 68 national car wheel company general offices: pittsburg, pennsylvania 1 manufacturers of chilled cast iron car wheels for steam and electric railways, industrial cars and locomotives works: pittsburg, pa., cleveland, o., rochester, n. y., sayre, pa., new york city 69 business founded 1865. manufacture of these bitters begun 1872. c w. abbott & co established 1876 incorporated 1907. trade emblem copyrighted 1899. abbott's bitters best for cocktails. adds zest and bouquet to wine, spirit and soda beverages. abbott's bitters (on the market over 30 years) besides being the best aromatic flavoring for all mixed drinks, requiring bitters, is also a fine addition to other things, such as grapefruit. use teaspoonful or more to half grapefruit.-add sugar to suit. oranges, sliced or minced. few dashes to each portion before adding the sugar. a sherbet. to each pint of lemonade add teaspoonful before freezing. vanilla ice cream. put few dashes in the dish or glass before serving, gives a delightful aroma. iced tea. in large glass 1-4 filled with cracked ice, squeeze half lemon, teaspoonful of abbott's bitters, fill glass with tea, sweeten to suit. it wins favor by its flavor-try a bottle at home for sale at wine merchants, grocers and druggists. 70 the morehouse co the corset makes or mars the gown omen have come to realize this, and w are more and more exacting as to the model and quality of their corsets. we have a real corset specialty shop where not only are offered garments perfect in construction and materials, and with the lines demanded by fashion, but where expert corsetieres are ready to help find the right corset for each individual figure. all models of the best makes are in our corset shop momart, lavida, maxine, american lady, warner's, henderson's and numerous others. if you have not yet found the proper model for your figure, let our corsetiere help you. 71 members of the hermit club date of election 1905 abbott, gardner 1905 albright, c. a. *c arter, charles k. 1909 augustus, a. a. 1300 schofield bldg. albright coal co. 1206 williamson 501 rockefeller bldg. a c 1909 bailey, albert c. baldwin, wilbur m. c beardslee, r. p. 1904 bedell, a. h. 1907 berkes, dr. h. a. 1911 berwald, r. f. 1904 bierce, george w. c bliss, harry a. c blood, john h. 1908 blossom, dudley s. 1907 bonnell, w. f. c borton, fred s. 1904 borton, t. e. c bowler, walter s. c brooks, arthur d. 1908 brown, everett l. c brown, m. stanley 1906 1911 brown, william h. brunskill, william o. 1904 bulger, william 1905 bulkley, r. j. 1909 burnside, r. h. 1911 burrows, charles w. 1905 burt, charles e. 1906 caldwell, arthur j. 1908 cannon, john l. 1911 carder, howard a. 1908 castle, carl b. 1910 casto, dr. f. m. 1908 chandler, john c. grasselli chemical co. citizens sav. & trust co. petroleum products sales co. plain dealer bldg. 536 rose bldg. 913 williamson bldg. 2120 e. 105th st. bliss supply co. 1411 williamson bldg. the wm. bingham co. schofield bldg. guardian bldg. guardian bldg. lake shore banking & savings co. the brooks co. 2165 e. 31st st. 902 garfield bldg. 706 rose bldg. 301 citizens bldg. 105th and quebec sts. 1015 garfield bldg. 712 times bldg., new york, n. y. the burrows bros. co. 1012 new england the brooks co. 1030 williamson bldg. w. 9th and mandrake care w. bingham co. 520 rose bldg. 1203 citizens bldg. b c * charter 72 t he printing of anything commercial--used to help sell any product---bears a greater amount of responsibility than the selection of a salesman as a personal representative--he sees a comparatively few and can meet argument. the printed representative has a broad distribution and is mute---therefore its personality should be even stronger than that of the man. the penton press company catalog, commercial and color printers bingham building cleveland 73 date members of the hermit club-continued of election 1912 chapin, f. h. 1911 chisholm, c. k. c chisholm, wilson k. c clark, charles c. 1912 clark, frank h. 1910 cobb, harold b. 1908 cool, henry r. 1904 coventry, c. c. 1904 crawford, h. j. 1908 crawford, randall 1907 crawford, w. j. jr. 1904 creech, harris 1907 croxton, d. t. 1910 crum, phelps 1910 curry, r. a. 1904 curtiss, c. e. 1905 curtiss, e. s. 1909 cutler, dr. f. e. c cutler, sam c. 1910 daley, w. a. 1911 darling, p. j. 1907 1911 dautel, carl davis, a. r. c davis, albert rees 1906 davis, charles w. 1910 davis, e. l. 1909 dawley, w. j. 1910 denny, c. e. 1904 dielheim, c. a. 1904 dinsmore, r. a. c donahey, j. h. 1910 dresser, f. j. c duncan, w. m. c dyer, j. m. 1904 ellenberger, a. w. c enwright, r. c. 1909 ernst, walter m. 900 schofield bldg. 1146 euclid ave. 6407 euclid ave. 808 new england 2041 e. 3rd st. 3751 prospect ave. s. e. 2344 e. 105th st. cleveland tool & supply co. 808 perry payne. 720 cuyahoga bldg. 720 cuyahoga bldg. garfield sav. bank co. cleveland furnace co. 1507 williamson bldg. 10403 euclid ave. the bruce-macbeth engine co. cleveland trust co. 936 rose bldg. 423 schofield bldg. gilkey printing co. superior sav. & trust co. 312 citizens bldg. 2034 euclid ave. perry payne bldg. perry payne bldg. davis, hunt & collister co. 619 williamson bldg. l. s. & m. s. ry. 1250 ontario st. 812 new england plain dealer . 815 superior ave. n. w. 808 perry payne 825 cuyahoga 1854 scranton rd. n. w. c d guardian bldg. e national carbon co. 74 the chandler & rudd company .. grocers.. serve luncheon all day at the down town store 234-236 euclid avenue they also put up box lunches at all the stores, for all kinds of outdoor life the chandler & rudd company stores on euclid avenue 3$ 234 euclid down-town main 4260 central 5771 6000 euclid willson east 3260 princeton 123 10609 euclid fairmount doan 3400 princeton 350 €3 75 hommel's naturally fermented in the bottle champagnes distinctly american brands white star (special dry) red star (a sparkling burgundy) extra dry ideal brut (specially selected cuvee) at all better wine merchants, clubs, hotels and cafes for one-half the price of the imported ** -:we are also producers of pure wines and vermouth paling hommel aite sta white star trade mark special dry m.hommel qualite superieure the m. hommel wine co. sandusky, ohio sandor 76 hermits in shaker heights the shaker heights improvement co. will help you find a cave light roomy airy beautiful ask e. warner white, pres. t. w. larwood, secy. t. e. borton, treas. 77 f hush rube nothings is is it free? o not so much 800 francs for today only thank you ever free ~ ii 78 the o. m. stafford-goss-bedell company general insurance plain dealer building, superior ave. and e. 6th st. 79 members of the hermit club-continued date of election 1908 fehrenbach, joseph 1904 fenton, a. w. 1906 fleming, w. j. 1907 ford, louis j. c foster, j. h. 1904 fuller, c. w. 1904 gage, benjamin a. 1905 ganson, george h. 1911 gardner, b. m. 1905 gardner, guy s. 1908 gay, h. b. 1911 gilbert, e. s. 1908 gilchrist, albert j. c gilchrist, j. a. c gilchrist, j. d. 1905 gilkey, william s. 1905 gill, paul s. 1911 grace, frank h. 1906 grover, m. b. 1905 gundry, j. m. 1905 1910 hamlin, e. b. 1905 hamilton, j. m. hanna, h. m., jr. hannaford, a. m. 1912 harbaugh, f. c. 1908 1907 hard, dudley j. c harris, herman a. hartley, s. w. 1908 c hasbrouck, n. b. 1911 henderson, j. r. c herriman, h. n. 1910 higgins, grover 1908 housun, charles r. 1905 howe, f. c. 1904 hubbard, sterling w. 1905 hughes, felix ohio rubber co. 508 century bldg. bourne fuller co. 2121 e. 2nd st. 3152 e. 61st st. 532 society for savings 1018 rockefeller bldg. 509 cuyahoga bldg. 1010 williamson bldg. the housum grace co. 1219 citizens bldg. 911 williamson bldg. rockefeller bldg. columbia bldg. garfield sav. bank co. the brooks co. gill lumber co. 842 e. 79th st. 917 schofield bldg. lake shore banking & savings co. 412 williamson bldg. 1002 garfield bldg. m. a. hanna & co. 426 huron rd. 913 prospect ave. 8 st. clair ave. n. w. 5001 lexington ave. standard welding co. 720 cuyahoga bldg. 411 electric bldg. 862 rockefeller bldg. 1300 schofield bldg. 2269 coventry rd. 929 garfield bldg. rogers, brown & co. clarence bldg. f g h 80 wwwwww liquor tie piscand wwwwwwww d.o.m bénédictine beware of counterfeits the best after-dinner cordial. delbeck champagne vin brut 1906 cuvee exceptionelle noilly prat & co. dry french vermouth unequalled for cocktails 81 i forged labels for gordon gin (this is not a joke) 82 brown brothers & co. 4th & chestnut streets philadelphia, pa. 59 wall street new york 60 state street boston, mass. international cheques and letters of credit for travelers, available everywhere can be obtained from your own bank at home. special facilities in london for forwarding your mail to meet you on arrival, as you are traveling from place to place. investment securities statistics and specially prepared lists furnished on application brown, shipley & company, london head office: founders court, lothbury, e. c. office for travelers: 123 pall mall, s. w. 83 date of election members of the hermit club-continued 1910 ingersoll, g. r. c ingersol, leland 1904 jackson, ward b. 1904 jackson, john 1904 johnston, jas. d. 1911 jones, arthur 1905 kendall, hayward 1906 kerr, clarence v. 1905 kilfoyl, john f. 1910 king, harry w. c kline, joseph h. 1906 klumph, a. c. 1906 kraus, j. r. 1911 kridler, geo. m. 1910 kroenke, a. j. 1911 kurtz, dr. h. b. 1908 lamprecht, w. h., 2nd 1910 landon, c. n. 1910 laughlin, charles f. 1904 laundon, m. h. 1909 loomis, harry e. 1910 lundoff, clement w. 1905 lusk, milton w. 1909 mcallister, colin c mcallister, w. b. 1908 mcgreary, robert g. 1908 mcintosh, henry p., jr. c mcdonald, c. a. 1910 mcgowan, roland t. 1904 mcloud, norman c. 1910 mcvey, charles y. c maher, chas. a. 1908 marvin, frank r. 1907 mason, edwin l. l. s. & m. s. ry. 504 garfield bldg. 1014 w. 11th st. 1014 w. 11th st. 1913 e. 86th st. w. m. pattison supply co. kendall coal mining co. lennox bldg. 511 cuyahoga bldg. lake shore banking & trust co. the b. w. housum co. cuyahoga lumber co. first nat'l bank. l. s. & m. s. ry. p. o. box 386 1002 rose bldg. national refining co. 1429 schofield bldg. 219 williamson bldg. 720 cuyahoga bldg. hippodrome bldg. crowell & sherman co. olds mobile co. the w. b. mcallister co. the w. b. mcallister co. colonial hotel guardian sav. & trust co. 301 electric bldg. interstate drug co. 1006 auditorium bldg. cuy. tel. co. nat. car wheel co. 718 williamson bldg. cleveland trust co. j k l m 84 when the hermits were in holland, our deposits were $2,200,000.00 today they are $4,400,000.00 the hermits have been going some and so have we importing ailor the w. h. coffee company tailors... hippodrome bldg. 85 date of election members of the hermit club-continued c mathers, james 1904 mathews, herbert 1912 may, ole c meade, frank b. 1905 1911 1905 merkel, arthur e. merrick, f. c. miller, john l., jr. 1904 morgan, a. h. mullen, j. p. 1911 c murch, maynard h. murray, w. p. 1905 1911 1907 myers, l. e. nash, richard p. c nash, sam t. 1910 nash, thomas h. 1904 nash, william f. 1910 newcomb, a. g. 1905 newcomb, r. b. 1904 newcomer, frank c. 1911 newcomer, harry w. 1904 nichols, a. b. 1908 otis, arthur h. 1904 otis, charles a., jr., 1904 paine, charles a. 1908 palmer, w. p. 1905 perkins, r. g. 1905 pettee, h. f. 1904 philpott, wм. b. c pickard, john w., jr. 1905 pollock, w. s. c porter, fred s. 1909 1905 power, charles a. prescott, orville w. 1904 ranney, rufus p. 1905 richards, frank b. society for savings 912 williamson bldg. cleveland leader 1005 garfield bldg. 404 century bldg. a. s. gilman ptg. co. the j. b. moos co. morgan lithograph co. studebaker auto co. 806 hippodrome bldg. pickands, mather & co. 907 williamson bldg. cleveland provision co. cleveland provision co. cleveland provision co. cleveland provision co. 818 society for savings 818 society for savings 1300 schofield bldg. 1300 schofield bldg. 36 commercial bank bldg. otis elevator co. otis & hough superior savings & trust co. western reserve bldg. western reserve med. school 3152 e. 61st st. standard oil co. 808 new england bldg. the weideman co. 1016 citizens bldg. martien electric co. saginaw bay co. 1016 citizens bldg. 617 perry payne bldg. m n 0 p r 86 you'd better do it to-day 2 lo {extra fine lbs frankli granulated 31/ extra fine lbs sugar franklin extra fine granulated suc ibs. sta 2 frankl superior extra fine lbs. nklin fruit powde suga 1 ib ulated •standard of pu refined for frankli franklin sugar refining philadelphia powdered sugar standard of purity. refined for franklin sugar refining co. philadelphia. gar rd of purity fined for anklin refining co. ladelphia. instruct the maid, or better yet-phone your grocer right now and tell him to be sure next time to send you franklin sugar in sealed cartons you know the advantage of getting this perfect sugar in perfect condition. you know the convenience and cleanliness and the real economy. but what good will this knowledge do you unless you act on it. act while you think of itnow. a kind for every use granulated-in 2-pound and 5-pound cartons powdered-in 1-pound cartons lined with wax paper. positively airtight fruit powdered-in 2-pound cartons for fruits, desserts, and general table use full weight of sugar guaranteed by us the franklin sugar refining co., phila. 87 the exline co. x cleveland your catalog represents your product more ore people, perhaps, than you have any idea of, believe that the man who has the most attractive catalog makes the best goods. it isn't always so, but as long as many people think so you've got to meet the fact. let us help you do justice to your goods in your printed matter we'll be glad to make suggestions and help you plan a catalog. just write or phone. the exline company 113 st. clair avenue cleveland, ohio 88 incorporated 1849. society for savings in the city of cleveland. individual deposits $54,961,144.74 undivided profits surplus fund 616, 109.60 3,500,000.00 ninety-five thousand one hundred fifty open accounts 89 f п ㄷㄷ ​0 moulin xxxx be they scandalous? rouge o la la you will be ashamed to look at them twice o goody iii 90 a priceless habit cleansing the teeth with christie's dentals tooth powder or paste christie's dentine elixir and mouth wash general agents strong, cobb & company retail store, 199 superior avenue you can't get it out of your system—the lime you drink in lake water. it produces the marks of age. drink distillata it keeps you young and healthy. that's a fact! 1 the city ice delivery co. producers and distributors 91 date of election members of the hermit club-continued 1906 rieley, oliver r. c robbins, l. s. c rogers, arthur c. 1910 rogers, g. m. 1907 rogers, j. e. 1911 rose, b. h. 1905 royon, jos. c. 1907 runyon, walter c., jr. 1905 rust, john f. schneider, chas. s. 1909 sawyer, l. p. 1911 sayle, w. c. c c 1910 1904 1905 scofield, s. w. semon, paul o. shackleton, dr. w. e. sherwin, george n. c sherwood, charles f. 1910 shotter arthur h. c smith, arthur m. 1910 smith, f. j. 1905 smythe, a. b. 1910 snider, harry m. 1911 somers, charles w. 1905 c 1904 spencer, richard s. stage, charles w. stamp, charles e. 1904 stockwell, john n., jr. c strong, herbert w. strong, sam e. 1905 1904 terrell, h. m. 1906 thompson, charles e. 1908 valentine, harry r. 1905 walker, f. r. 1906 wallace, robert b. 221 society for savings 2471 w. 41st st. s. w. 1200 b. of l. e. bldg. plain dealer 1936 e. 6th st. n. e. 748 rockefeller bldg. 1507 williamson 1316 citizens bldg. 904 citizens bldg. r 714 b. of l. e. bldg. s 2102 e. 100th st. 1105 schofield bldg. 1400 schofield bldg. 1406 w. 9th st. 310 osborn bldg. first national bank 1616 w. 3rd st. columbia bldg. 719 citizens 1114 auditorium bldg. cleveland trust co. 911 swetland bldg. 521 cuyahoga bldg. 2127 e. 105th st. 1011 society for savings 801 new england bldg. 506 williamson bldg. strong, carlisle, hammond co. strong-cobb co. electric welding product co. 713 garfield bldg. t 217 the arcade v w 1900 euclid ave. american ship building co. 92 no-rim-cut tires 10% oversize one year ago. that means that this army of men who know, have proved that these tires cut their tire bills in two. they make rim-cutting impossible. they avoid the blow-outs due to overloading, because of their goodyea the sale of goodyear tires has reached the million mark. that means that these tires have been tested out, probably, on 200,000 cars. and 127 leading makers of cars have contracted for them this year. the result is this: no-rim-cut tires our patented typenow far outsell any other make of tire. in two years the demand has multiplied by six. it is three times larger than amoon onio oversize. yet they now cost no more than other standard tires. every motorist who makes the test is bound to adopt these tires. the goodyear tire & rubber co akron, o. cleveland branch, 1735 euclid ave. perfection springs are used on the best motor cars built in this country the perfection spring company cleveland ohio 93 braided whip cord garden hose with ordinary care will last three or four seasons it is worth trying for sale by cleveland tool & supply co. 1515-19 columbus rd. 94 perly and "good individual tailoring at the price of non-individual readymade" evening dress suits to order $32.50 of good material, fashionably designed, perfectly fitted, and very well made. silk lined, $32.50-about half that other good tailors begin at. of finer materials at $37.50 and $42.50-still much under other tailors and no higher than ready made. tuxedo or dinner jacket suits to order, $30, $35, $40 -silk lined. inverness overcoats and opera capes to order, $22.50, $25, $30, $35. dress waistcoats of white silk or wash fabrics, $5, $6. all clothes made by us prest and kept in repair for one year free of charge. english woolen mills co tailors and woolen merchants inc 416 to 422 superior avenue, n. w gould storage batteries for economy and best service ¶ gould storage batteries have maintained their clean lead by making good where others have unfailingly failed to produce promised results. familiarize yourself with the facts about battery performances, and if you haven't already done so, you surely will come to gould as the one battery for maximum output per charge and for best value per dollar invested. we stand ready to refer you to any number of users who will back our claims of high capacity, high economy and long life. send for a copy of our book "care of storage batteries." gould storage battery co. american trust bldg., cleveland. 95 idate of election members of the hermit club-continued 1904 wasser, george n. 1908 waycott, albert 1908 welch, henry j. 1910 white, philip t. 1904 white, walter c. c whiting, william b. -1904 wilbur, r. a. 1911 wilson, f. h. 1908 wilson, harwood 1908 witt, john p. c wolcott, f. b. c woodworth, f. j. 1912 worden, a. m. 1909 worthington, e. l. 1904 wright, c. c. 1906 zamecnik, john s. 1102 new england bldg. crosby ave. and nickel plate ry. care sterling & welch co. cleveland trust co. 842 e. 79th st. 808 perry payne bldg. 1018 rockefeller bldg. l. s. & m. s. ry. 1314 rockefeller bldg. lake shore electric ry. guardian bldg. first national bank 812 citizens bldg. guardian bldg. 1515 columbus rd. n. w. 1430 w. 84th st. w z 96 belle of nelson the whiskey that made kentucky famous g mellwood america's most popular whiskey 97 non-resident members date of election 1910 ade, george 1906 anderson, j. scott 1907 baker, f. s. c bates, a. c. 1904 bates, geo. d. 1908 beebe, r. w. 1911 bonnell, wm. w. 1904 botsford, j. l., jr. 1907 bowman, w. p. 1905 boynton, a. j. 1908 boynton, frank l. 1904 braggins, f. w. 1904 bruner, c. t. c cady, edw. h. 1905 call, d. w. 1908 campbell, e. t. 1908 carle, richard 1905 carter, chas. e. 1909 cole, howard e. 1908 condit, e. a. 1906 connell, frank 1911 connelly, e. k. 1905 curtiss, j. s. 1908 day, wm. l. 1909 dur, jacques 1910 ely, r. w. 1907 eppley, e. c. 1908 evans, wm. kendall 1907 ford, c. b. 1909 garberson, harry w. 1908 gardner, fred 1907 goodbody, thos. p. 1909 goudie, j. 1911 graham, c. j. 1905 greene, frank h. 1909 greene, wm. e. 1908 griess, justin, jr. c hale, edwin w. 1905 hall, g. a. brook, ind. new york, n. y. boston, mass. new york, n. y. akron, ohio akron, ohio youngstown, ohio ashland, mass. new york city elyria, ohio cleveland, ohio columbus, ohio akron, ohio toledo, ohio milwaukee, wis. chicago, ill. erie, pa. yokohama, japan pittsburg, pa. erie, pa. pittsburgh, pa. erie, pa. cleveland, ohio oklahoma city, okla. germantown, pa. lima, ohio dayton, ohio cleveland, ohio cleveland, ohio chicago, ill. chicago, ill. detroit, mich. pittsburgh, pa. new york, n. y. new york, n. y. bedford, ohio iola, kans. boston, mass. 98 trade mark trade mark trade mark the charm of hospitality is greatly augmented when the character, quality, and general excellence of your dispensation are beyond all doubt or question hence, when you offer your good friend hunter whiskey it signifies a desire to give "the best to your guest"? sold at all first-class cafes and by jobbers. wm. lanahan & son, baltimore, md. c. f. laughlin real estate insurance mortgages williamson building exclusive listings of income properties 99 the w. b. mcallister co. builders 2165 east 31st street cleveland 100 i have known many, liked a few, but there is only one "saegertown ginger ale" ιοι is here where we laugh? make a hurry 8 now messieurs vait right here on zis spot iv 102 trade mark norton registered the hermit who should stay away from paris the hermits have found the "norton" the most popular and most efficient grinding wheel in dixie, africa and cleveland, and they'll find the same is true in paris. if there is a "hermitage" in cleveland where grinding wheels are used that has not tried alundum or crystolon, there is a hermit who should stay home from paris, for his business needs him. the cleveland tool and supply co. want to know if you are the one norton company worcester, mass. 103 non-resident members-continued date of election 1911 hammar, harry c. 1904 hopper, chas. h. c hungate, wilson 1906 hunt, e. m. 1906 huntley, f. p. 1908 ingalls, f. a. 1908 iglestroem, john 1905 jewett, john e. 1905 ketchum, f. h. 1908 kingsbury, f. c. 1907 klumph, m. p. 1908 ladd, geo. f. 1904 mccormick, douglas 1907 macdonald, albert 1908 mcdonald, r. a. 1906 mcmahon, h. r. 1907 marks, arthur h. 1907 miller, w. s. 1911 morehouse, max 1904 myers, h. e. 1904 nicholas, f. m. 1907 odell, c. p. c pettengill, g. b. 1908 porter, r. l. 1907 rawlings, ralph 1910 reeve, h. s. 1906 richardson, e. m. 1905 rickerr, w. w. 1907 robbins, sabin, jr. 1908 schmock, e. l. 1906 siegle, p. r. 1905 skinner, e. c. 1905 smart, a. r. 1908 smith, c. h. 1905 stark, a. l. 1908 steese, chas. w., jr. 1905 taggart, f. f. 1911 turner, l. h. 1908 van orman, fred h. 1907 vaughan, guy painesville, ohio unionville, ohio new york, n. y. trenton, n. j. new york, n. y. chicago, ill. massillon, ohio buffalo, n. y. east orange, n. j. columbus, ohio cleveland, ohio pittsburgh, pa. columbus, ohio albany, n. y. pittsburgh, pa. pittsburgh, pa. akron, ohio elyria, ohio columbus, ohio cleveland, ohio cleveland, ohio new york, n. y. willoughby, ohio pittsburgh, pa. lansing, mich. newport, n. y. new york, n. y. new york, n. y. middletown, ohio willoughby, ohio colorado springs, colo. cleveland, ohio chicago, ill. e. cleveland, ohio elyria, ohio massillon, ohio massillon, ohio pittsburgh, pa. evansville, ind. new york, n. y. 104 b. g. tremaine, prest. f. b. evarts, v. prest. p. w. flicker, secy. & treas. telephones bell, main 2183 cuy., central 1934 the evarts-tremaine-flicker co. fidelity and surety bonds fire, life and casualty insurance & real estate williamson bldg. cleveland, o. g. a. bentz & co. 612 euclid avenue clarence building tailors makers of good clothes for men 105 stack men's clothes fifth floor swetland building why are columbia multiple ignition batteries like the hermits? because they are hot sparkers. columbia mvltiple battery for motor ignition 350 national carbon co. cleveland, ohio. national carbon co cleveland for all systems of ignition 106 great western extra dry champagne greatwestern great western menna 1873 extra dry first prize heasantvalley windgee, rheums r the only american champagne ever awarded a gold medal at foreign expositions: paris exposition, 1867, france paris exposition, 1889, france paris exposition, 1900, france vienna exposition, 1873, austria exposition, 1897, bruxelles belgium bruxelles belgium exposition, 1910, pleasant valley wine co. oldest and largest champagne producers in america rheims, new york 107 non-resident members-continued date of election 1907 wagenhorst, j. h. 1912 viall, phillip o. 1904 waite, geo. s. 1908 wasey, louis r. 1912 wellman, marshall 1908 weybrecht, chas. c. 1911 whitmer, hubert k. 1904 wieman, wm. 1907 wilson, j. roberts 1910 wood, w. l. 1908 worthington, b. a. 1905 worthington, geo. akron, ohio painesville, ohio north ridgeville, ohio cleveland, ohio willoughby, ohio columbus, ohio cleveland, ohio pittsburg, pa. ampere, n. j. ithaca, n. y. euclid heights, ohio elyria, ohio junior members 1912 carleton, geo. m. 1912 hobson, f. h. 1912 ingersoll, kenneth cleveland, ohio cleveland, ohio cleveland, ohio 1912 1912 kyhne, carl c. 1912 leach, wм. m. 1912 roof, jos. b. sadler, russel k. 1912 teare, halsey j. 1912 wieber, carl l., jr. cleveland, ohio cleveland, ohio cleveland, ohio cleveland, ohio cleveland, ohio cleveland, ohio 1912 woolsey, s. a. cleveland, ohio 1912 zurlinden, cyril p. cleveland, ohio 108 ll continuous joint over 50,000 miles weber joint in use rolled from best quality steel wolhaupter joint the rail joint company general offices: 185 madison avenue, new york city makers of base-supported rail joints for standard and special rail sections, also girder, step or compromise, frog and switch, and insulated rail joints, protected by patents. highest awards-paris, 1900; buffalo, 1901; st. louis, 1904. catalogs at agencies: boston, mass., india bldg. denver, colo., equitable bldg. pittsburgh, pa., oliver bldg. troy, n. y., burden avenue chicago, ill., railway exchange bldg. portland, ore., wilcox bldg. st. louis, mo., commonwealth trust bldg. montreal, canada, board of trade bldg. london, e. c., eng., 36 new broad st. 109 the hermit club in memoriam wyman, h. w. wellman, chas. h. rogers, a. l. morgan, t. r. prior, l. w. reeves, f. h. lawrence. m. w. bradley, geo. i. teare, wm. h. bolton, kenneth c. canfield, b. k. king, c. j. hinkley, c. w. ιιο c. l. poston, wm. harper, president sec'y & treas. t. r. biddle, vice president the morris-poston coal co. miners and shippers of pittsburg number eight coal daily capacity 2,000 tons general offices, cleveland, o. mines located at dunglen, o. if you want to be sure of lasting satisfaction in the next suit you order, visit schleman bros. high-grade fabrics not only shape better to your figure and look better at the start, but they hold their shape; wear longer; and show their quality as long as they last. you cannot be sure of satisfactory custom tailors cloths unless you are sure of the 401-403-405 schofield bldg. euclid, cor. east 9th st. cuyahoga, central 2581 w fabrics they are made of. p. s. we carry the celebrated shackamoxon cloth iii this blue & gold banner label is your guarantee of a quality, flavor and purity that has been famous since 1857 recognized everywhere as the standard rye whiskey of america. guckenheimer comes in quart, pint, and half pint bottles. limer this little green stamp is the government's guarantee that the whiskey is absobottled in bond guckenheimer pure rye biskey distilled & bottled by a.guckenheimer & bros pittsburgh u.s.a. penna lutely pure, perfectly aged and is full measure. since 1857 the government's standard of purity. a. guckenheimer & bros. distillers, pittsburg since 1857 in the early times we had hermits but like the early times sour mash, kentucky whiskey of today---quite a difference from the old style. test the difference. 112 fels-naptha soap will do splendid work quickly. the wash is completed without boiling or steaming, and very little rubbing. garments are not worn out, nor is their fibre destroyed by chemicals or by boiling. no fuel is needed. there arises no poisonous suds-steam vapor to breathe. it does more work, does better work, and does it more easily. harms neither clothing, paints nor hands. the j. m. gasser company ... florists... swetland bldg. 1006 euclid ave. no use talking it pays to be well-dressed. you'll find no better tailors than otto & kub euclid front colonial arcade bldg. the hermits at home who want the best in wines and liquors, will find that they get the best values in schuster's "euclid brand" wines, whiskies, brandies, cordials and fancy liqueurs. made in cleveland-no duty, ocean-freight or other expenses. you pay for nothing but the value of the goods. if your dealer will not furnish, phone or write the schuster company 2214-16-18 e. fourth st. cleveland 113 moving van in french stinged ک v 114 original budweiser bir budweiser lager soazer hopfen? bester geste c&conrad & co. anheuser busch brewing art michalg anheuser busch budweiser beer is a friend of mine the wm. edwards co. distributors 115 the hermits' meditation saturday, january 21, 1911 1. the orchestra will play something to get everybody in the proper state of gloom necessary to witness this performance. 2. a pianologue a. the first spasm will be blue dandruff waltzes. minuet c. stars and stripes forever. and if the audience insists b. d. narcissus.. by the club cut-up johan strauss padrewski john philip sousa everybody get calm and listen to a . ethelbert nevin 3. lecture on modern art of the extreme impressionistic school. by f. r. walker illustrated by a loan exhibit. those remaining will be treated to some 4. songs and monologue. by john witt the act that made dave warfield jealous. and now, one of the greatest crimes of the century 5. the third degree... ..by clay m. greene loaned to the hermit club by the lambs club. captain of detectives.. the suspect..... policeman on duty scene-office of chief of detectives. c. k. arter .c. a. maher .j. h. kline we will bet this was a good act in new york intermission-to give the orchestra another chance. all cheered up now 6. mr. albert rees davis.. . by himself a hot number-nothing like it ever seen at the star 7. the girl with the goo-goo eyes. this act has been stopped by the police wherever it has appeared. rufe ranney will sit in the front row and represent the police department. 8. r. a. curry in illustrated songs "the grizzly bear." "stop-stop-stop-stop." "mr. wright you're wrong." and now the big scream 9. the clinic. cast dr. sandy carver……. dr. r. perkins killem. rachel the trained nurse the patient.... by s. w. hubbard mr. r. c. enwright .mr. a. r. davis mr. john witt . mr. carl ford hospital attendants, ambulance corps, assistants, etc. scene-operating room in the carver medical institute. time-whenever you like. the survivors may now witness some 10. moving pictures-rich, rare and racy this is a scandalous act, so do not bring the children. all over-was it not a good show? 116 pittsburgh plate glass co. glass mirrors paints varnishes brushes 1430-34 w. 3rd street the j. n. hahn co. manufacturer of corrugated paper boxes etor ahn lo corrugated 117 the cleveland & eastern traction co. the cleveland, youngstown & eastern railway co. the scenic lines fast and frequent service to points of interest passenger, mail and express service special cars party rates 701 electric building cleveland golden wedding pure rye whiskey bottled in bond distilled by jos. s. finch & co. pittsburgh, pa. 118 drink little sarge a soda fountain in your home we are prepared to deliver to any home in cleveland any of the following beverages that have proven so popular at our stores : ginger ale orange phosphate lemon phosphate root beer they are identical with the goods served at our fountains and make a delicious table drink-the kind that have made the standard famous-put up in a case of two dozen bottles at $2.00, half of which will be refunded when empty bottles and case are returned, making the net cost just $1.00 for 24 bottles delivered. order a case by phone at our wholesale department or at any of our eight stores. standard drug company bell phone main 1825 cor. east 9th and bolivar rd. cuy. phone erie 10 10,000 typewriters underwood have been sold to the western union telegraph co. largest typewriter sale in history. "the machine you will eventually buy." underwood typewriter co., inc. 822 huron road. cleveland, o. 119 spring meditation of the hermits 1. march-winter april 22nd, 1911 as soon as winter is over we will have 2. the suicide.. . orchestra messrs. enwright, caldwell and semon a cheerful little sketch borrowed from the lambs club. 3. songs 4. orchestra f. j. dresser (a) ballet music from la source, (no. 2). .. delibes edw. german (b) nell gwyn dance, no. 3 intermission-free beer (a nominal charge of ten cents per mug for service) 5. overture-pique dame . suppe orchestra 6. ouch! a five minute talk by bill brown, incidentally displaying the spring style in whiskers. 7. hermits illustrated a novel skit, written by al davis and illustrated by donahey. (you may see yourself as others see you.) 8. hermits in happy hollow orchestra the last show music, now playing professionally as the girl i love last night of the architects' exhibition i 20 fernet-branca of fratelli branca, milan, italy standard bitters of the world best flavor}to cocktails beware of imitations wholesaled in cleveland by the weideman company new jersey fidelity & plate glass insurance company newark, new jersey shotter, faerber & co. represented by 826 columbia bldg. ¶ plate glass burglary accident x there are brooms and brooms the best are from paris (illinois) blu j is the famous broom made from finest selected stock demand it from your merchant the weideman co. distributors א 121 a movez along aber i vill make ze arrest of ५०० is it not? i wish i was back in that dear hermit club тими vi 111 drawn by unknown artist 122 eclipse the electrodipe & eng engraving leveland co telephone cuyahoga service is one hundred per cent efficiency the cuyahoga telephone company electric building, 644 prospect ave. (taylor arcade is opposite) 123 = high & dry gin the best london dry gin made and bottled in london by booths distillery, ltd. established 1740 purveyors, by royal warrant of appointment, to his majesty king george v. site label tren mc mullen's white label guinness bass and ale stout white label romas & macklem mess foreign extra pints and splits gate dub 124 for home sites in east cleveland and shaker heights mayfield heights see the berwald-stewart company 913 williamson bldg. mellow as moonlight cascade pure whisky ceo.a.dickel &co cascade old fashn distillery sour mash tennessee whisky sera dickelas cascade cisviller hisky original bottling has old gold label geoa.dickel & co.distillers nashville tenn. ceo.a.dickel &co cascade distillery old fashn 00:00-00 sour mash tennessee whisky 125 the hermits' meditation november 18th, 1911 1. meade's melifluous murderers with meade do what pleases you most 2. alfy's rehearsal .hermit hubbard scene-club rooms of the light brigade, london time-the present cast major coates capt. larry o'reilly lieut. alfy lieut. ferdy lieut. harry peters 3. josh wise hermit ford hermit donaldson hermit herriman hermit valentine hermit dresser hermit somebody blame them not. hubbard stung 'em. a graduate of the spencerian school of expression rowdyism will not be countenanced 4. the same bunch-sans meade sounds better since its fixed 5. least, but not last an incident at reno you are entitled to two guesses the following have promised to attend: billy jordan robt. fitzsimmons. and thos. sharkey the following: the white man's hope will attend to the following: the bacon snatcher jas. j. corbet t. kilbane jim hamilton ..hermit wagenhorst hermit porter there will also be present attendants, seconds, bacon, champagne, et al., all in charge of director of public safety, hermit stage. (opportunity will be afforded to all members of the colonial club to retire immediately after the foregoing.) don't go home-it's early 126 lozier six cylinders-$5,000 the choice of "men who know" lozier branch, 6402 euclid avenue main 2483 central 4515 w wm. o. brunskill insurance.. 301 citizens building bush & lavin tailors distinctive clothes $30.00 and upward public square and ontario st. second floor park bldg. the thomas coughlin co. general insurance 614 williamson bldg. automobile insurance surety bonds fire and liability reliable companies prompt settlements 127 photo by hermit rogers john witt as katrina in the hermits at happy hollow 128 pure rye whiskey mount vernon pure rye whiskey berries in minded as bears cook & bernbeimer co ane pony guarantees by the rannis dishing do the original and only distillery bottling mount vernon pure rye whiskey is in square bottles cook & bernheimer co., new york pure old kentucky leaf mellowed by nature's process bull dog cut plug 10c for the tidy tin with the red dog ask the weideman company klondike aluminum paint for highest class silvering & decorative work on any surface baer brothers klondike l gold paint for highest class gilding corarye work on any surfa baer brothers klondike liquid gold or silver the newest and best for gilding and re-silvering. a child can apply same, and make a perfect finish = manufactured by baer brothers, new york bouvier original buchu gin for the kidneys and bladder 129 "famous for fine foods' we supply most everything eaten in the hermit club from soup to nuts. 99 largest hotel and club supply house in ohio. dealers in meats, game, poultry, fish, seafood, rare vegetables and groceries :-: :-: :-: :-: we ship everywhere brandt's sheriff st. market cleveland 130 do you know we sold over 1,000,000 gallons of oil for cooking purposes alone during the year 1911 ? why did we sell it? because of its superiority over lard and other fats. try it and be convinced. louisville cotton oil coincorporated progress cooking oil office & refinery floyd&k street louisville refiners louisville cotton oil co. office and refinery floyd & k sts., incorporated louisville, ky. cable address cottonoil, louisville london & lancashire fire insurance co. of liverpool, england the o. m. stafford-goss-bedell co.. agents plain dealer building 131 nutty stuff at the hermit club saturday, december 16th, 1911 preliminary round "the power of the press" a bluff-in one act by hermit housumever local talent dave stevens, reporter on "the cleveland muckraker". hermit abbott, the siren stuyvesant st. john, senator from new york.... hermit rogers, buster brown . hermit crum, excuse me van rensselaer st. john, his son.. tom burkinghart, senator from iowa. hermit gilkey, the man from home hildegarde burkinghart st. john, his daughter.. hermit hamilton, sis hopkins patrolman mike gilhooley, one of chief kohler's finest. hermit enwright, three weeks scene-residence of garrett st. john on euclid runner-up avenue, ohio instrumental trial a sad thing-in one exposure fiddle dog house pianny mr. miller mr. berkes mr. valentine scene-rocky river bridge at midnight time-during the strike semi-finals uncle joshua's christmas party a tone poem-fortunely in one act by hermit a. c. klump-the deep sea going hack uncle joshua simkins mr. fred nicholas, a gentleman of leisure aunt leviny simkins, his wife . mr. albert rees davis, the traveling salesman billy simkins, their son mr. rowland curry, bright eyes dr. clarence v. kerr, the medicine man deacon hardpenny. ezra hoskins, the village fiddler.. zeke snodgrass, his partner. village boys. village girls mr. dick spencer, way down east mr. joseph royon, the piper mr. john rust, the pink lady mr. frank grace, the girl i love mr. arthur caldwell mr. wm. lamprecht, 2nd base mutt and jeff mr. ted mason, the chorus lady scene living room, old new england homestead time-christmas eve finale-impromptu exhibitions by intoxicated members also the orchestra whenever necessary 132 o fun! recreation! and healthful exercise for your boy! the very latest sensation in boys' sports is the pushmobile! safe! speedy! exciting! pushmobile races and contests will be the rage this summer in cleveland. for early delivery, place your order now with nearest dealer in children's vehicles. other vehicles for girls and boys, too. tricycles, velocipedes, toy garden barrows, express wagons, hand cars, automobiles and sulkies. all manufactured in cleveland by the kirk-latty mfg. co. see our cleveland pushmobile used by hermits in paris. 133 photo by hermit rogers carl ford as appamatox boggs in the hermits at happy hollow 134 sectional bookcases made in oak and mahogany adjustable shelves ¶ with art glass, plate glass or plain glass doors 9 noiseless rolling doors artistic and harmonious effects are produced by grouping the various sections, desks, etc. send for illustrated catalog. the cleveland desk company our equipment for illustrated catalog printing is unsurpassed and our product the best the j. b. savage co. 1395 e. 3rd st. cleveland established forty-three years 135 : the standard tool co. manufacturers of twist drills, reamers, milling cutters, taps, chucks and special tools of the best quality. tools bearing the shield brand are in constant use everywhere where economical efficiency is required. cleveland, new york salesroom, chicago salesroom, general offices and factory · 94 reade street 552 w. washington blvd. 136 the higgins-babcock-hurd company wholesale grocers importers, packers and jobbers of food products the burt olney canning co's products canned vegetables canned fruit . the higgins-babcock-hurd co. distributers 137 photo by hermit rogers j. h. kline as a polo boy in the hermits at happy hollow 138 the hermits are going some so are davis & farley! why don't you give them your insurance and surety bonds? address chamber of commerce bldg., cleveland telephones: main 233, central 1574 we have good markets for the securities named below: stocks northern ohio trac. & l. co. lake shore elec. ry. co. wash. balt. & annapolis rd. co. cleve. s. w. & col. ry. co. cleveland railway co. great lakes towing co. national refining co. diamond rubber co. firestone tire & rubber co. cleve. & sandusky brew. co. kansas city brew. co. cities service co. bonds cuyahoga tel. co. 5s, 1919 united states tel. co. 5s, 1919 aurora, elgin & chi. 1st. 5s, 1941 stark electric r. r. city ice delivery 5s, 1928 6s, 1920 dow chemical co. 6s, 1925 upson nut co. 6s, 1937 n. o. t. & l. con. 5s, 1919 cleve. & sand. brew. 6s, 1930 wash. balt. & a. r. r. 5s, 1941 cleve. & s. w. trac. 5s, 1923 lake shore elec. gen. 5s, 1933 columbia gas & elec. 5s, 1927 grasselli chemical co. city ice delivery co. kansas city brewg. western ohio ry. 6s, 1930 5s, 1921 members cleveland stock exchange 606 hippodrome bldg. phones: main 2012, cent. 470 american ship bldg. co. w. s. snyder & co., bankers & brokers 139 emery c. prior as a show girl in the hermits at happy hollow photo by hermit rogers 140 dubonnet the genuine dubonnet is always clear as a real ruby imitations are always cloudy and muddy this is a fac-simile of the bottle of the only genuine dubonnet dubonney very cole france dubonnet wine 18 of alcomo sthet creat french appetizer gubonnet 7 que mornay pare ibeware imitations. the great french appetizer made in paris since 1846 imported in the united states for more than 20 years beware of spurious imitations york annual sales 12,000,000 bottles the weideman company, distributors for cleveland, ohio. the best pulley! the best service!! is what you get when you order "the reeves" wood split pulley. high quality and quick delivery is our hobby. short rim segments, every segment hot glued and doubly nailed; the arms set edgewise to the load, extended through, built up in alternate layers of the rim and nailed and glued; absolutely clear, straight-grained stock, skilled workmanship and rigid inspection from start to finish make "the reeves" wood split pulley the best on earth. the strong, carlisle & hammond co. keep every standard size of pulley. from 3 to 60 inches, in stock and make immediate delivery. a great combination-"the best pulley," "the best delivery," "the best treatment." reeves pulley co., columbus, indiana. cleveland agents-the strong, carlisle & hammond company. 141 ernst and ernst certified public accountants impartial audits practical systems bank examinations cleveland cincinnati new york chicago 142 uckeye lamps first ecause uckeye lamps last the buckeye electric works of general electric co. cleveland 143 orchester-programm hermits in alt-wien 6. januar 1912 1. march... 2. la tosca.. a. secret woe 3. vocal b. secret greeting c. anathema .hermits in vienna hermit lundoff, with orchestra . puccini r. wagner 4. ein albumblatt. 5. schoener mai.. 6. songs. 7. baron trenk... . johann strauss .by hermit lundoff . felix albini the exhibition of original cartoons and illustrations by hermits donahey and landon will continue for one week. no-treat rule in force among members tonight 144 "i am the little hermit." i travel from cleveland to pittsburgh seven times every day on the trains of the erie railroad entering pittsburgh over the picturesque pittsburgh & lake erie r. r., along the banks of the historical old ohio river. from the car windows i see many steam boats, pretty villages, mountains and valleys. i always pass through youngstown on my journey over the erie railroad my agent requests that you send him a postal with your address for a large colored map of the united states. it is sent free of charge. his address is no. 825 garfield building. j. d. brown cleveland, o. 145 george smiley as a milkmaid in the hermits at happy hollow photo by hermit rogers 146 compliments of the cleveland ball club u. s. league luna ball grounds admission 25 to 50 cents. score cards free. cleveland's complete piano house pianos player pianos victrolas the caldwell piano co. e. 9th street prospect avenue huron road i. greenstein john f. schnitker greenstein & co. tailors 258 superior ave., n. e. louis b. kramer cleveland g. j. nikolas & co. makers of high grade lacquers chicago, ill. 147 goodrich tires best in the long run trade mark 148 the artcraft company are producers of advertising and business literaturemakers of complete catalogs. their art, engraving and print shops occupy the 6th & 7th floors of the vulcan building, cleveland. main 4900 the exchange cleveland the builders exchange permanent exhibit of building materials headquarters for information on all matters pertaining to construction third floor chamber of commerce building visitors welcome main four thousand 149 the annual pilgrimage of the hermit club itinerary. jan. 27, 1912........cleveland. 29, 30, 66 66 31, 31, feb. 1, 2, 66 3, hermit theater town hall skating rink -jones' barn berea.. grafton.. lafayette (mat.) medina (eve.). smith's garage wellington... oberlin*. elyria*. ..cold storage warehouse *it was deemed advisable to cancel these dates in order that the artists might be sure to reach their homes by sunday. the roads are reported in very bad condition. program january 27, 1911. the hermits' pilgrimage the first stage of the pilgrimage the hermit minstrels pullman car porters gardner abbott colin mcallister fred nicholas harry donaldson opening chorus interlocutor f. s. porter hermit chefs john witt sterling hubbard louis ford c. e. lundoff minstrels h. n. herriman f. j. dresser hermit orchestra, frank b. meade, musical numbers tenor solo and chorus (night and day). baritone solo and chorus (let the sunshine in) bass solo (perfect day) song and dance (mail for the hermit club).. director company herriman dresser lundoff maher abbot (sung by author) company topical song (aint it funny what a difference a little grease paint makes) hermit hymn (by albert r. davis) the second stage of the pilgrimage "the music merchant" a comedy sketch in one act by f. s. porter scene-interior of music store. time-spring morning cast herr bald, proprietor of music store.. vera bright, his clerk "grouchy" phelan, customer justus black, customer abel bowman, customer officer sargent, policeman .a. r. davis r. s. spencer r. c. enwright c. a. maher john miller .h. c. donaldson introducing carl castle hammerstein's comedy four herriman, donaldson, dresser, lundoff the end of the pilgrimage eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we sleep. 150 capital and surplus over $6,000,000.00 american surety company of new york over thirteen millions paid in claims largest and strongest bonding company cleveland branch: garfield bldg. m. stanley-brown, manager. to the hermits in paris greeting h. w. johns-manville co. poe brothers 8523 hough avenue men's furnishers, hatters and tailors dry cleaning burt a. miller general agent southwestern surety insurance company 507 century building main 1329 res. marlo 305 j 151 hermit clum b drawn by hermit walker no passengers' allowed on this wagon to night menu cover for annual dinner 1911 152 the cleveland realty improvement company c. l. douglass, pres. s. h. hutchinson, v. p. and treas. a. w. henry, secy. the bingham & douglass co. general insurance the cuyahoga bell main 134 telephones: cuyahoga cent. 5858 cleveland, o. longer's like the hermits are great on the parisian stuff models arriving daily at 17-19 colonial arcade the wm. downie co. painters decorators 153 his most excellent majesty king william the fourth v. o. p. scotch whisky f. o. de luze & co. sole agents new york 154 rubberall you want the ohio rubber company 725-727 st. clair ave., n. w. bell phone main 3395 cuyahoga 5329 the w. s. gilkey printing co. railroad printers www 1212 west sixth street, cleveland 155 r. f. smith as fleurette dementhe photo by hermit rogers in the hermits at happy hollow 156 the 'manest' family clothes dryer is absolutely fireproof. there are no combustible parts in its makeup. the simplest, safest, most durable and economical dryer made. :-: :-: the mannen & esterly co. 2241 st. clair ave. cleveland the geo. worthington co. hardware electric fixtures and supplies sporting goods and gymnasium outfits harness and horse clothing 802 to 832 st. clair ave., n. w. established 1829 157 : ladies' night at the hermit club march 2nd, 1912 daffy dills 1. "the" orchestra after the deafening applause has subsided, we will have a 2. song "perfect day". cello obligato by hermit lundoff by hermit berkes could a man be arrested for killing a deer in ohio? not if arthur shotter. 3. pianologue .by hermit lusk should charlie maher the following sketch, would it give harry bliss to see roland curry favor with the ladies? no, but it would give charles a. paine. 4. sketch "the third degree". captain of detectives the suspect policeman on duty .by clay m. greene scene-office of chief of detectives hermit arter hermit maher hermit kline 5. a hair-raising harangue....by herr hermit herriman hitting the high harmonies would henry welch if bart tucker away? no, but it would make sam nash his teeth. 6. "the" orchestra after the deafening applause has subsided, we will have 7. fred porter's latest masterpiece herr bald vera bright grouchy phelan justus black abel bowman officer sargent "the music merchant" second appearance in america cast .hermit davis hermit spencer hermit enwright . hermit maher . hermit miller hermit donaldson introducing the quaggy quartette lundoff, donaldson, dresser, herriman scene interior of music shop. time-spring morning 158 by royal warrant of appointment to his majesty king edward vil "black and white" the standard of excellence in scotch whiskies james buchanan & company 29 broadway, new york arthur j. billin, managing director lang & sarstedt painters and interior finishers paint supplies, etc. 1529 prospect avenue both phones. 159 e. h. taylor jr. & sons inc. distillers-f s-frankfort, kentucky. a smile on the taylor face of earth the ear bottled in bond there is no such care observed in the manufacture of any other whiskey in or out of america as is observed in the manufacture of old taylor it is manufactured at a greater cost than is any other whiskey. it is the leading beverage whiskey of america. it is in a class by itself. further praise would be"to paint the lily-to gild refined gold." e. h. taylor jr. & sons, incorporated 160 meadville rye "puryo" a pure rye whiskey distilled from choice rye and malt -no corn. exceptional medicinal value bottled in bond 1507 1203 100) meadville try a bottle and note the richness and flavor. if too strong, use less whiskey or more water pure rye whiskey mawice pennsylvania distr faoville, under u. s. government supervision dewar's white label" scotch whisky 161 carl castle as hy. low in the hermits at happy hollow photo by hermit rogers 162 my conservative investments government bonds municipal bonds railroad bonds traction bonds industrial bonds yielding from 2 to 6 per cent. members of the cleveland stock exchange hayden, miller & company investment bonds citizens bldg. cleveland nau, rusk & swearingen certified public accountants new york 50 church street cleveland american trust building 163 annual dinner a 1212 menu cover for annual dinner, 1912 drawn by hermit brooks 164 the nicola, stone & myers co. lumber have a little moore old possum hollow pure rye whiskey sold everywhere the thos. moore distillery co. mckeesport, pa. chapin, trull & co. distillers of pure fire copper molasses rum no. 33 broad street boston white top a true champagne and the equal of any on the market white top champagne co. hammondsport, n. y. 165 = homes of f. w. reindel and d. c. griese showing type of landscape work done by w. h. temblett landscape architect and forrester 163 hower ave., e. c. "canadian club" whisky distilled and bottled by hiram walker & sons, limited walkerville, ont., canada 166 these makers of electrics pay extra to save you tire trouble argo century babcock church-field bailey clark baker colonial borland dayton brock detroit fritchle grinnell rauch & lang standard hupp-yeates studebaker kimball waverley ohio phipps ¶ in order to give an easy-riding electric pleasure car, with tires that are free from trouble, all leading manufacturers who build 95 per cent of all american-made electrics, are now putting motz cushion tires on their cars as standard equipment. ¶ they do this, even though they must pay $50 to $125 more per set for motz cushion tires than for pneumatic, semi-solid or truck tires. yet motz tire equipment, in most cases, adds nothing to the price you pay for your electric. simply advise any of these makers that you want motz cushion tires on your electric and you will get them. and you will have tires that last, on an average, five times as long as the most costly pneumatics. motz cushion tires are guaranteed for 10,000 miles-two years. pneumatic tires average less than 3,000. ¶ if you have an electric equipped with pneumatic or solid tires, you can easily change to motz cushion tires and multiply many fold the pleasure, comfort and safety of motoring. motz cushion tires fit any standard clincher, universal quick detachable or demountable rim. write today for our booklet h. please mention make and model of your car. d the amazing resiliency of this tire is produced by means of double, notched treads, undercut sides, slantwise bridges and secret processed rubber. a-shows double, notched treads. b-shows undercut sides. c-shows slantwise bridges. d-shows absorbing means when passing over an obstruction. (1771) the motz tire & rubber co. factories and executive offices: akron, ohio cleveland branch: 2352 euclid avenue we also manufacture demountable solid and cushion tires for commercial cars. motz cushion tires 167 = lamprecht, wolsey, nash, caldwell, mason, dawley, conley in the hermits at happy hollow photo by hermit rogers 168 main 765 central 442-r the gainer electric co. electrical contractors construction, wiring, repairing of all electrical apparatus 80 public square main 1905 standard cycle repair co. vulcanizing a specialty 722 frankfort ave., n. w. cleveland, ohio 169 0 photo by hermit rogers cutler falls crum prior warren gardner in the hermits at happy hollow 170 why are the hermits such cut-ups? because they drink the classiest whiskies hermitage bourbon and hermitage rye bottled in bond as old as possible and bottled out of bond at the distillery. a curiosity in old whiskey h. f. walker 2298 e. 93rd st. mason contractor all kinds of masonry-particularly a builder of fine residences 171 a night in paris then a cold bath in a room like this the schneider plumbing co. 2024 euclid avenue white shoes cannot be made clean and white unless the dirt is removed, rubbing it in or covering makes the shoe gray. mason's white dressing before કમ to renovate and clean we canvas, biccain and sue de shoes *00% after a renovator for white shoes mason's white dressing jas s. mason co 134-140 n pront st philadelphia pa is the only dressing that removes the dirt. it is an absolute cleaner and "it doesn't rub off." for buckskin, canvas and 10c. cravenette, at all dealers 25c. 172 see america now! this summer gratify that innate desire to see some of the beauties and wonders of your own country. start in by visiting first, america's only geyserland-that storehouse of phenomena: yellowstone park season june 15 to sept. 15. northern pacific railway only line to gardiner gateway, official entrance. then continue your trip through the scenic and fertile northwest to the north pacific coast and puget sound, the "mediterranean of america." low fares special reductions on certain dates write for illustrated booklet and full information. enclose 6 cents in stamps for "through wonderland," most beautiful book on yellowstone park ever published. address a. m. cleland, general passenger agent, st. paul, minn. orther pacific yellow st ark line stone park panama pacific exposition, san francisco, 1915 173 the hermits' annual dinner march 30th, 1912 toasts toastmaster-one who prefers to be unknown for family reasons 1. gentlemen, be seated. salute your partners in crime 2. flag raising the hermit flag, designed by c. k. a., will be flung to the breeze for the first time. patriotic music by the hominy quartette, and when enthusiasm has reached its highest pitch, all break out into the hermit hymn led by bro. davis and rendered by the entire club, en masse. 3. during the spoon vittles the t. m. will introduce parson ruthless p. ranney on how i escaped from matteawan don't let him escape this time. 4. if the t. m. hurries, we may be able to listen to physical director albert c. bailey of the y. w. c. a. on the subject of indoor sports. all those not shouting "louder" will be put out. 5. during the next lull, if there is one, rev. james mathers, ll. d., will deliver his annual plea for temperance. only one drink at a time those who do not care to listen may sing. 6. intermission, during which dr. walter s. bowler will try to spell esquimau. 7. the t. m., with the aid of a megaphone, will now try to present judge john n. stockwell, a monarch of the old regime, on why i am a suffragent, or anything to get votes. any glass broken during this speech will be cheerfully paid for by john m. gundry. 8. the prince of good fellers, mr. paul s. gill, will expose many card tricks and gamblers' secrets, illustrated by 1001 methods of stacking the deck in use by mr. gill. all fruit taken from the table will be charged extra. 9. awarding of prizes to winning contestants, impromptu speeches and songs all at once, after which the party will break up (everything). 174 1527-1531 prospect avenue sixth city the clarence h. collings co. the fireplace is an altar for sacrifice for refuge for love. make, therefore, this altar the most beautiful place in your home. tiles, mantels, brasses fine marbles electric fixtures and bronzes north 512 * quality * central 4855 "paris is a neat town" but there are more pretty girls in cleveland. clean clothes are their adornment. phone us to put your name on our calling list. the fuller cleaning co. 7606 carnegie avenue east 2946 princeton 110 175 e. photo by hermit rogers wagenhorst-beebe-witt in the hermits at happy hollow 176 improve your car with a globe box twenty-seven sizes to choose from. for sale in cleveland at bailey co. may co. collister & sayle m. & m. co. penna rubber & supply co. cray bros. lockwood-luetkemeyer-henry co. made here in the "sixth city" by the globe machine & stamping co. the king of wines the f. chauvenet burgundy sparkling and still 177 the hermit patron of music and the fine artsworshiper at the shrine of beauty and exponent of all that is most worthy and desirable-finds that when it comes to flowers, his desires are best satisfied at the jones russell co. flowers euclid point bldg. euclid at huron. f-j-l mint-lax gum a dinner digest as a gum it excels in purity-in quality and in the charm of its lingering, fascinating mint flavor. f-j-l mint-lax is more than a gum-each stick contains a single drop of mild emollient laxative, which aids the digestion, stimulates the liver and assists nature. mint-lax recommends itself to refined tastes. by the package 5c. sold also by the box may be had at drug, confectionery and cigar stores. 178 l.c.smith & bros. smith & bros. typewe no5 lcsmith & bros typewriter co. no5 made in syracuse, ny. u.s l. c. smith & bros. typewriter ball bearing long wearing an example of the highest refinement of mechanical skill. every practical device and convenience is inbuilt-not added. ball bearings permit close adjustments. all operations controlled from the keyboard. write for free book. l. c. smith & bros. typewriter co. 640 prospect ave., s. e., cleveland, ohio. る​。 179 c. w. lundoff as jeremiah buglewood in the hermits at happy hollow photo by hermit rogers 180 the hill clutch co. principal products hill friction clutches hill collar oiling bearings turned steel shafting rope drives pulleys and complete power transmission machinery equipments foundry and special machine work officers j.. b. perkins presiden h. d. campbell vice-president thos. l. johnson secretary geo. d. cowley treasurer hunter morrison sales manager h. j. smith chief engineer j. f. mollen purchasing agent clutch the hill clutch company cleveland, ohio 181 cleveland interesting facts about our city "sixth city cleveland-sixth city was forty-third city in 1850. at that time new york, chicago, philadelphia, boston and st. louis were all among the first ten cities, so that everybody has had more than fifty years to get acquainted with their bigness. cleveland was but a lusty child, and lots of people who dwell in outer darkness are still inclined to pat us on the head, not realizing how high they would have to reach to do it. cleveland— sixth city is fifth city in manufacturing, and it is because we have all the great advantages for manufacturing that we have grown. and how we have grown in manufacturing! even in the ten years from 1900 to 1910, uncle sam's census shows that the value of our manufactured products increased 116%; that the payroll of cleveland factories increased 112%; and that the capital invested in manufacturing in cleveland increased in that short period of ten years, 144%, being thus nearly two and a half times as great as in 1900. and this growth was not due to any one industry, like the automobile industry in detroit. there is a reason for all this. it means that the conditions for manufacturing are right in cleveland. it means bigger growth in the future. cleveland, it is believed, has more different kinds of industries for its size than any other city, and that is another reason for cleveland's prosperity. while pittsburgh and youngstown have been in the dumps because of the slump in the steel trade, cleveland, bolstered up by its garment industries, its automobile industries, and scores of other prosperous trades, has gone serenely on its onward and upward way without knowing that there is any industrial depression. cleveland's products range from great steam ships to little tacks; from great cranes to complexion creams; from standard. oil to women's clothing; from flavoring extracts to automobile trucks; from toys to telescopes. when you awake in the morning you throw back the cleveland blankets and rise from a cleveland mattress which rests on the cleveland bed springs in your cleveland bed. after putting on your mentor underwear and cleveland shirt and cleveland suit of clothes and cleveland shoes, you eat your cleveland ham or bacon which has been cooked on a cleveland stove with cleveland cooking utensils; you light a cleveland cigar and proceed out upon your cleveland stone pavement to your cleveland automobile, or take the street car which is made continued 182 the hydraulic pressed steel company cleveland the van dorn iron works co. metallic furniture department steel roll top and flat top desks, filing devices, vault fixtures, lockers vertical files, shelving, chairs, doors, omnibuses, etc., etc. e. l. fisher a. m. allyn e. g. fisher pres. & gen. mgr. v. pres. & treas. secretary the fisher & wilson co. manufacturers of white pine lumber drop and heading machine forgings steam hammer forgings. foundry chaplets. the champion machine & forging co. cleveland, o.--"sixth city" 183 cs gold stal gold seal special dry tabora wine company gold seal champagne best american champagne equal to the imported fermented in the bottle sold everywhere urbana wine co. urbana, n. y. the harshaw fuller & goodwin co. cleveland new york 184 next time you buy auto oil buy bull-dog brand climax non-carbon auto oil "dog-on good oils" it's cheaper to take the carbon out of the oil than to take it out of the engine. it's no trouble to get climax non-carbon auto oil. just phone or write "rich" and have climax non-carbon auto oil delivered to your garage. barrels, half-barrels or tengallon cans. the climax refining company 1231-2 williamson bldg. cleveland 185 leveland interesting facts about our city stash city in cleveland also. if it is raining you put on cleveland rubbers and raise a cleveland umbrella. the button which you press when you want to get off the street car rings the bell with the aid of a cleveland dry battery, and when you get to your office your telephone bell works the same way. you sit down to a cleveland desk in a cleveland chair, which may be made of steel or wood. your but why follow you all through the business hours? wife in the meantime, unless she is too busy with her cleveland sewing machine, refreshes her complexion with cleveland massage cream and cleveland toilet water, gets into her cleveland electric coupe and goes down town to buy cleveland millinery and cleveland suits and cloaks and cleveland sweater-coats, and perhaps a bit of cleveland jewelry, and for the small boy cleveland blouses and cleveland rompers; she may stop at a cleveland soda fountain to buy cleveland soft drinks flavored with cleveland fruit juices. her packages she takes home in cleveland paper boxes. the children at home are playing with cleveland dolls or cleveland velocipedes and wagons, or they are away at school sitting at cleveland desks and chewing cleveland gum until teacher orders it out. when you are ready to go home, you sign your letters with a cleveland fountain pen, buy a few cleveland paints and varnish stains to brighten up the house with the aid of cleveland brushes, and cleveland chemical compounds to discourage the insect pests from your garden and trees; you water the lawn with a cleveland hose, and tinker around with cleveland tools. in the evening you pass through streets brilliantly lighted by cleveland arc lamps burning cleveland carbons, to the theatre which is lighted by cleveland mazda incandescent lamps; you may sit on cleveland seats, and perhaps afterward you have a little glass of cleveland beer. when you go traveling you probably ride on cleveland boats, or at least the train is running on cleveland wheels or held together by cleveland malleable castings; slung over your shoulder is a fine pair of cleveland binoculars, unless you have them in your cleveland traveling bag. you are sure to cross cleveland bridges, even in the ends of the earth. we have not mentioned the steel frame, the axles and other continued 186 the acme foundry company makers of fine grey iron castings japanning, galvanizing and nickel plating office, corner sweeney avenue and e. 51st street e. e. teare potter, teare & co. wholesale-retail lumber 1918 carter road f. p. potter cleveland, ohio 187 cleveland interesting facts about our city stath city forgings, the ball bearings, the bolts and nuts, the grease cups, the hardware of all kinds, which constitute the bone and sinew of your automobile, all of which were made in cleveland; and we refer only in passing to the screws and tacks you use, the wire and wire nails, and button-hooks, and horse-shoes, and wire fences, and hosts of other things that are a part of your daily life. perhaps you cannot yourself use the cranes and hoists, the rudder frames and crank shafts for war vessels, the lathes and planes and drill presses and automatic screw machines which help to make the things you do use, nor do you recognize the castings which we produce in such quantities; and perhaps you never see the pig-iron. in a very large measure, cleveland lights the world's streets and factories and stores and homes, rings the world's bells, nails together the world's houses and screws together the world's furniture and tacks the world's carpets, fences the world's farms and gardens, paints the world's houses inside and out, to say nothing of putting the finishing coats on the world's automobiles, carriages and furniture, furnishes the metal for the world's harnesses and saddlery, furnishes the world's chewing gum (in fact, cleveland's chewing gum factories are said to have more men, women and children working for them than any other institutions in the world); besides, cleveland cooks a very considerable part of the world's meals, and protects with fashionable outer garments a very large proportion of american women. and still we have not mentioned the awnings, tents and sails, the brass ware, the bridges, the many kinds of chemicals, the marine motors, the plows, the printing presses, the twist drills, and the scores of other things of which either the most or the best are made in cleveland. if all the cleveland product of the american steel & wire company were drawn out into telephone and telegraph wire, the amount of it made every day would more than go completely around the earth. there is reason to believe that cleveland makes more automobile parts than any other city in america. cleveland makes more dry batteries than all the rest of the world together. the headquarters and some of the principal plants of the continued 188 stearns the hermits at play mr. frank b. meade driving his stearns-knight toy tonneau runabout for recreation, the hermits are automobilists. and they know good cars. read on the opposite page what one of them thinks of his car it's a stearns-knight. — our demonstrator is always at your service. the f. b. stearns co. 12963 euclid ave. cleveland 189 stearns telephone main 1256 1001-1005 garfield bldg. frank b. meade & james hamilton architects cleveland 4-26-12 mr. frank l. alcott jr., the stearns co., cleveland. my dear mr. alcott: when the stearns-knight car was delivered to me, last november, i promised you i would let you know how it pleased me, and this morning my desk calendar brought the matter to my attention. the service that the car has given me is splendid, and i feel perfectly free in so going on record. the knight type of motor has more than fulfilled all the claims of silence, power, simplicity and ease of action that are made for it. i really believe, that the silent knight type of engine will, in a few years, be used as commonly in this country as in europe. i wish you and your company all the success you deserve, and i want to thank you at this time, for the courteous attention you have given me during the time i have driven stearns cars. sincerely yours, pburad 190 your front door gives the first impression of your home. a corbin unit lock set creates a favorable feeling and indicates comfort and good taste within. burglar-proof and time-proof. ornament in all schools of art. we sell it. the w. bingham co. 748-750 superior ave., n. w. k62 e 191 cleveland interesting facts about our city shah city largest paint manufacturing institution in the world (the sherwin-williams company) are located in cleveland. the largest varnish manufacturing plant in the world (owned by the glidden varnish company) is located in cleveland. and these are not by any means the only paint and varnish manufacturers in cleveland. cleveland is the headquarters of the principal producers of incandescent electric lamps, and in cleveland are made a large proportion of the incandescent lamps made in america. we make are lamps, too, and the arc lamp was first produced in cleveland. cleveland is the headquarters of the american shipbuilding company, which produces a greater tonnage of steel steam vessels than are launched in any other port in this hemisphere. cleveland men operate 80% of the great fleet which carries the iron and coal and other bulk freight of the lakes, taking through the detroit river every year a tonnage greater than the total tonnage of new york, london and liverpool combined. the equipment for unloading and handling the iron-ore which comes down the lakes was practically all devised and made by cleveland inventors and manufacturers. this machinery is an object of wonder and admiration to engineers all over the world. a cargo of more than 10,000 tons has been unloaded in less than four hours. the panama canal will owe a great deal to cleveland machinery. now if you need more facts to bolster up your pride in cleveland, to convince you or to enable you to convince somebody else that cleveland is growing, we must resort once more to cold, hard figures. number of street car passengers 134% increase in ten years 148% increase in ten years 147% increase in ten years iron-ore receipts, cleveland district. 124% increase in ten years sale of postage stamps mileage of paved streets new buildings miles of sewers postoffice pieces handled ..263% increase in ten years 120% increase in ten years .117% increase in ten years 1 192 the pyramid air forest city cleveland ones 1910 air blast the pyramid furnace will burn any kind of fuel but is especially adapted for the consumption of the cheaper grades of soft coal. with a ton of slack coal the pyramid will furnish almost as much heat as the ordinary furnace with a ton of hard coal at the usual ratio in cost of about one to three in favor of the slack coal. no dust, no dirt, no gases to impair the health and convenience of the user. we want every dealer to have our catalog, illustrating and describing this wonderful furnace. write for it today. made in full size which is the best insurance of long life in a furnace the forest city foy. & mfg. co., cleveland, ohho the a. s. gilman printing co. catalog makers railroad printers st. clair avenue and west third street cleveland 76 c. p. zurlinden h. e. gaines walter s. bowler c. p. zurlinden in the hermits at happy hollow photo by hermit rogers 194 lowest to all points c&b $8 pm line steamers daily ste tv up buffalo thei #refferfare $250 daily between cleveland and buffalo on "city of erie" on the palatial twin "city of buffalo" lve. cleveland 8:00 p. m. arr. buffalo 6:30 a. m. flyers of the lakes central standard time lve. buffalo 8:00 p. m. arr. cleveland 6:30 a. m. $3.00 every saturday night to buffalo or niagara falls and return. new steamer now building for 1913 will be the largest on inland waters in the world. tickets, berths and all information at city ticket office. 201 euclid ave., williamson bldg., or dock, 1290 w. 11th st. phone main 1401. the cleveland and buffalo transit co. when a hermit or when a friend needs help in things electricalwhether it be a cell to be wired, a little repair job, or new lamps to replace old ones, he can be sure of prompt attention by calling main 4051. the martien electric co. electric construction 402-3-4 cuyahoga bldg. 195 drills and reamers c made by the morse twist drill & machine company new bedford, mass. for sale by the strong, carlisle & hammond company 336-344 frankfort ave. n. w., cleveland 196 wedding gifts pr the he collection of exclusive art objects in our studios offers many suggestions for the careful gift buyer. we have aimed that every piece should reflect the high standard of our work. to do this we have given the greatest care to our selection, buying each article not because of its intrinsic value alone, but for the reason that it possesses some distinctive decorative charm. the range of values is wide and will attract the giver of simple, inexpensive gifts as well as those who appreciate the rare colorings and form of our more expensive wares. the public is cordially invited to visit our studios, and need feel no obligation to purchase. the rorheimer brooks studios decorators and furnishers 1931 east ninth street cleveland 197 courtyard of the grand hotel de l'univers tours, france photo by hermit brooks 198 safety and six per cent. on cleveland investments six per cent. bonds secured by cleveland real estate or issued by corporations in the cleveland district are of the same class as those issued in other communities at a lower rate. investments at home pay clevelanders best. further facts on request the tillotson & wolcott company guardian building you will always know your exact weight if have a you fairbanks bathroom scale we have scales for every requirement and the name "fairbanks" means correct weights. fairbanks, morse & co. 1354 west 9th street cleveland, o. roger enwright as "teddy" in africa reminiscences of old time shows drawn by hermit ole may 200 the halle bros. eo. grebe & davis proprietors "raths-keller" 2046-2054 east 4th street the euclid stag buffet 742 euclid avenue 201 what is the matter with this child? she is under treatment for tuberculosis of the spine. what would happen if she did not have that treatment? she would become a hunchback. what is rainbow cottage doing for her? giving her fresh air, good food and the most skilled medical and surgical treatment. why does she look so comfortable in spite of her position? because the frame on which she lies takes the pressure from the diseased spot in the spine and gives her relief. why is she so smiling? she is watching for the teacher to come to her bedside for her daily lessons. this is only one of many kinds of cases at rainbow cottage. will you help some crippled child? contributions may be sent to the rainbow cottage office 402 new england bldg. 202 chamberlin metal weather strip keeps out cold, soot, dust and dirt. saves fuel, prevents draughts. the chamberlin system is installed by our own skilled workmen and is always guaranteed by us. estimate of cost and full information furnished by any branches. of our specified by all leading architects. j. j. rauscher, manager builders' exchange, chamber of commerce bldg., main 4000 cleveland cent. 1575 milt lusk as "paderewski" in holland m reminiscences of old time shows drawn by hermit ole may 204 victrola xvi. $200.00 if you haven't a victrola in your home, you don't know what you are missing. may we demonstrate? $15.00 to $400.00 all styles all finishes the eclipse musical co. 1130 euclid ave. athletic club building. stocks bonds t. h. towell, prest. investments roland t. meacham member cleveland stock exchange citizens building, cleveland i make a specialty of bonds and stocks of all public utility companies. such companies supply a necessity, heat and light, and consequently their earnings continue approximately normal in times of business depression. i handle all securities on a strictly commission basis, subject to the rules of the cleveland stock exchange. gardner abbott " as billy phibbs" in happy hollow ove meg reminiscences of old time shows drawn by hermit ole may · 206 coventry subdivision the one place to build your new home shaker lakes, 400 feet above lake erie. the james j. hinde realty co. 512 hippodrome main 1800 cent. 1366 organized in 1848 assets $53,000,000. olmsted bros. & co. state agents national life insurance co. montpelier, vt. geo. h. olmsted o. n. olmsted e. b. hamlin annuities corporation and monthly income insurance i 207 sion in paris too main 1800 230 cent. 1960 the cleveland leader 000. the cleveland leader 208 made from the best grade of cocoanut oil hospital 29 now 5 cents 20 now 5 cents کو carbolic oil soap no animal fats in hospital carbolic soap the central soap mfg. co. wm. l. meyer with the h. leopold furniture co. ck arter as "thursday" in africa reminiscences of old time shows drawn by hermit ole may 210 bowman's display of fine goods ¶the remodeling of our store--the shifting of many departments-has given much additional space for the display of new goods. ¶you'll always find the largest and choicest assortment of dinnerware, china, cut glass, rock crystal, silverware, electric lamps and bric-a-brac at "bowman's." the geo. h. bowman company 222-224-226 euclid avenue standard be thankful you live in an age that affords the comfort of standard fixtures of quality and sanitary plumbing. why not remodel that old bath room? the proper installation of plumbing is our business. twenty years experience. the cleveland sanitation company plumbing and heating contractors 6519 euclid avenue cleveland herbert matthews as "miss mehitable storke" in california the may reminiscences of old time shows drawn by hermit ole may 212 old farm whiskey! one of the things of life that is ever good-ev -ever welcome. a smooth, pennsylvania rye made of selected grain and pure mountain water by the best processes known. bottled in bond. good, wholesome, satisfying. you will find it at your favorite bar or cafe. remember-it hits the spot. west overton distilling co., scottdale, pa. kornman's cafe euclid ave & e 6th st cleveland, o kornman's cafe the finest cafe in the middle west 213 it is not necessary for hermit members to go to paris in search for the best grades of paper for their stationery, catalogues and general work, for the best is in cleveland. investigate, specify our brands, and you will be satisfied the petrequin paper company 1236-1250 west 3rd st. 214 from the best hotel in new york and run by the best peoplecuy. central 4132 w renz motor car co. largest garage in the city livery cars for all occasions repairing, storing and supplies 6410-14 detroit ave. astic starch great invention arequires no cooking. makes collars and cuffs stiff and nice alas when first bought new prepared for laundry purposes only one pound of this starch will of any other starch. hubinger bros.co manufactured only by haven,conn: keokuk, iowa ridge 856 cleveland, 0. elastic starch the original and only reliable. also pop's corn starch the best for pies, cakes, puddings, etc. tiger brand lump starch bulk and packages. ask for these brands swans down (prepared) cake flour "not self-rising" ask your grocer for a package. he sells it. pre-eminently the best of its class. sold everywhere swans down (small) sells every day, everywhere awarded grand prize, world's fair, st. louis, 1904 enclose 2c stamp and we will send free a copy of "cake secrets," a 36 page booklet containing many recipes for cake baking and much valuable information for the housewife. address, igleheart brothers, in writing give name and street address of your grocer. flux swans down prepared cake flour gleheart brothers evansville, ind., dept. 14 h o ends 0 act c.a.maher as "skid dooley" in happy hollow 14 reminiscences of old time shows drawn by hermit ole may 216 headquarters trophies prizes 1114 euclid avenue the webb c. ball co. cleveland motor accessories co. 6521 euclid avenue w. a. harshaw, manager high grade automobile supplies the best of everything for everybody that drives a motor car. east end branch kelly springfield tires and tubes made to make good bell phone east 3614 g. b. pettengill as "heissler" in spain de ma reminiscences of old time shows drawn by hermit ole may 218 new y york new york eather and leather belting co le belting textile you more than chicago strong, carlisle & hammond co. of cleveland, ohio who carry a large stock of our famous belting in which quality belting worth get your money's will tell you more about it in a few minutes than we could in ten times this space. new york leather belting co. new york phone north 518 d. e. mathias designer and maker of men's clothes chicago 401-403 cleveland athletic club building cleveland 219 ال = kar-a-van el perco coffee "a liquid delight that's always made right" especially prepared for percolators the original and only perfect percolating coffee buy kar-a-van el perco from your grocer. make coffee according to directions governing the use of your percolator and you can always serve the most delicious coffee it has ever been your privilege to drink. packed in one pound tin cans only and guaranteed 100 per cent pure. the gasser coffee company cleveland branch, 719 woodland avenue, s. e. 220 20 celestins vichy natural alkaline bottled at the springs water ask your physician chy la capule le nom de la source est sar etablissement thermal vichy propriete de l'etat sourceseg celestins not genuine without the word celestins charged with snap and nutrition bass islands golden catawba unfermented grape juice latawba bass islands grape juice there are many brands of grape juice offered, but there is only one that stands head and shoulder above all the others; that's bass islands catawba that comes in the style bottle shown in cut. it's so differentbeautiful, golden color, clear and sparkling, delicate flavor and bouquet and that snappy tart put there by nature. and it's absolutely pure ask your dealer the bass islands vineyards co. sandusky, ohio. 221 cleveland men who have become notorious f. b. meade franklin bartholomew meade was born in 1840 in the house standing at what is now known as the corner of orange street and 3rd place s. e. a stranger passing this quaint old home, which has fallen into shameful disrepair, may see a small bronze plate, placed there by some of the old residents, reading, "birthplace of f. b. meade. he done the city good." after graduating from the public schools in 1865 he earned money selling newspapers during 1866 and 1867, his stand being the southeast corner of the public square. many of our oldest citizens remember the chubby, sturdy little boy, with the laughing eyes and curly, golden hair, crying in his sweet childish voice: "oh sir, please buy my poipers." he earned enough in these two years to pay his way through the boston technical school of applied science, from whence he graduated as an architect in 1882. while in boston he designed and planned what is now known as the boston bean and which has become since almost a national necessity. owing to the fact that he had absolutely no legal protection at that time he never made a cent out of this great work, and poverty urging him, he went west in 1883. in 1887 we find him in chicago just starting to work at his chosen profession. in 1890 as captain of a company of national guards he was given a gold medal by the s. p. c. a. of michigan for his bravery during the teamsters' strike. his words, uttered as he and his gallant men were expecting an attack from a dozen or more infuriated strikers are known to every school boy in the country, continued 222 manufacturers and all corporations entitled to credit should be interested in our methods for placing :-: commercial paper details gladly given upon application jno. w. moore sixth floor park bldg. cleveland the club cocktails the club trade mark manhattan cocktails prepared& bottled by g.bleublein horo new york hartford london teed under the nationalpur 1707 drucs act, approved junc will you have a cocktail before your dinner? you can offer this polite attention to the guest who dines with you at your home if you have a bottle of the club cocktails. they are home cocktails. they are on the sideboards of thousands of homes. ¶are they on yours? it's the proper thing to have. the age of the club cocktails, the pure liquors used, the perfect blending, make them better than you can mix; once serve them and you will make a reputation as a cocktail mixer, and your guests will wonder how you learned the art. ¶thousands are doing it. why not you? for sale by all fancy grocers and dealers g. f. heublein & bro. hartford new york london 223 cleveland men who have become notorious f. b. meade (continued) and we all feel a glow of pride in him as we hear in imagination, his voice, crying to his soldiers: "wait 'til you see the whites of their eyes, then run.” with the money which he received for leaving chicago he started in business in cleveland in 1892 and up to 1903 he designed many public buildings, hotels, office buildings, residences, etc. had any of these been accepted there is no doubt but that cleveland would be a much more beautiful city, today. in 1904 he founded the hermit club and his acquaintance in cleveland being slight, drew up the plans for it himself. since then he has done very little in architecture as his time is virtually all taken up by his violin and the production of the hermit club plays. he not only paints all of the scenery, designs all the costumes, rehearses the dancers and actors, but leads the orchestra. mr. meade, or "frankie" as he is called by his friends, is by nature very quiet, retiring, modest and rather bashful. he is a brilliant after-dinner speaker and is very fond of animals, of which he has a great many. as an architect his better known works are the old market house, the union depot and the cuyahoga river. so pure, so fall'n! how dare to think of the first common kindred link? 224 hale & kilburn company manufacturers of allsteel car interiors, steel car seats, steel building trim, steel automobile bodies, etc., etc. 30 church street new york limalene a water softener & cleanser for toilet and domestic use it is a pure chemical product containing no free alkali, and can be used for toilet purposes with absolute safety; suitable for bathroom, kitchen and laundry. superior to borax as a water softener; cheaper by one-third in price and goes twice as far. a soap aid and a soap saver. water softened with climalene needs only onehalf the usual amount of soap. try a pinch in the wash bowl. a tablespoonful in the bath. a teaspoonful in the dish pan. two tablespoonfuls in the wash boiler. climalene is put up in twelve ounce packages 10c three packages 25c 225 highest quality frog crossings switches and switch stands · highest durability for steam and electric railways cleveland bell, north 825 l frog & crossing co. cleveland, o. cuyahoga, central 5862 w geo. h. herron & co. painting and hardwood finishing contractors estimates furnished 1238 chester ave., vanderwerf bldg. cleveland, o. compliments of the chas. boldt co. cincinnati, ohio owens automatic machine made bottles 226 accident and liability insurance strongest company honest contracts assets 104 millions fair rates complete claim department with immediate service, affording direct dealing. all of this with the etna fidelity and surety bonds w. g. wilson, manager ætna floor, cuyahoga bldg. reese-owen-clark agency nine twelve society for savings suretyship and insurance general agents fidelity & deposit company of maryland london guarantee & accident main 1350 company, limited telephones central 1484 h. n. herriman as betty bard" in california mu reminiscences of old time shows drawn by hermit ole may 228 wiltshire breakfast bacon in glass we are now putting up wiltshire breakfast bacon in glass. when you move to the country, this summer, you will find wiltshire bacon put up in this way most convenient. put up by the cleveland provision co. independent packers sixth city established 1878 telephones: bell, main 1088 cuy., central 5044 incorporated 1905 the chafer company heating and ventilating contractors cleveland, ohio ļ arthur caldwell as melissa" " in dixie she may reminiscences of old time shows drawn by hermit ole may 230 buffalo copper & brass rolling mill buffalo, new york manufacturers of sheet copper brass in sheets brass wire roll copper copper tubes brass in rolls brass rod brass tubes angles copper bottoms channels etc. flats and circles we carry a large stock of sheet copper for quick shipment branch offices: new york, 1216 flat iron bldg. philadelphia, 708-9 arcade bldg. boston, 141 milk street. this space reserved 231 the hermits in paris found samiest ideal gran crystal the saltiest salt the made by the wadsworth salt wadsworth.ohio. guaranteed by the w under the food and dan salt compart s act june 36.1906 best in table salt a pure rye whiskey fleischmann's eastern rye whiskey the fleischmann co. 34th street and 11th ave. new york city compliments of a friend 232 the aluminum castings co. general offices cleveland, ohio aluminum, brass and bronze castings plants detroit cleveland buffalo syracuse new kensington, pa. fairfield, conn. manitowoc, wis. "it's better to use log cabin prepared salt than to wish you had" * log cabin prepared salt in the handy box for filling shaker "runs freely in damp weather" the colonial salt company akron, ohio a.r. davis as "henry clay knott" california い ​reminiscences of old time shows drawn by hermit ole may 234 the korner & wood circulating library is equipped to supply you with new fiction as it is published-the book you want when you want it. 737 euclid avenue. the wadsworth-adelson co. tilers of quality latest creations in fireplaces cleveland cuy. tel. cent. 4225-w bell tel. north 1183-j jos. n. pierson dealer and shipper in live and dressed poultry, butter, eggs, etc. squabs a specialty 2332-34 woodland ave. cleveland, o. prexy meade at rehearsal gosh, boys it's hot! reminiscences of old time shows drawn by hermit ole may 236 write for our list. tenth floor steel electros electrotyping bonds municipal corporation c. e. denison & co. guardian bldg., cleveland, o. between the acts opera house buffet b. h. fitzgerald, prop. 2015 e. 4th street entrance from lobby and e. 4th st. we handle only the best brands of everything moss & maguire tailors hippodrome bldg. bell main 4352 central electrotype foundry nickeltyping engraving vulcan bldg., 113 st. clair ave. m. j. hoynes, prop. 237 angostura bitters celebrated appetizer of exquisite flavor dr. siegert's the only genuine beware of substitutes originated 1824 buy gilka kümmel the delightful cordial that stimulates digestion and pleases the palate beware of imitations phone, bell eddy 1890 l g. f. dalton, jr. mason and plastering contractor 11214 primrose avenue 238 crawford realty company bell, north 114 warden & leese central 3551 plumbing, heating, gas fitting, sewerage 1905 prospect ave. s. e. cleveland silent motor oil manufactured by the middle states oil co. cleveland addressograph company addresses 3000 pieces of mail matter per hour home office, chicago, ill. branch office, 312 garfield building cleveland, ohio 239 garden of royal bath hotel, bournemouth, england photo by hermit brooks 240 the ambler realty co. 44 the arcade east end homes a specialty niles cars trucks niles car & mfg. co. niles, ohio, and 312 electric building, cleveland we handle the highest grade quality cigars manufactured. our brands are the best known and most popular. the louis klein cigar company avon beach park on lake erie where the better class hold their outings chicken dinners our specialty. f. j. roth, prop. beach park co. cuy. phone 236 cleve. phone cuy. 3207 r long dist. 241 sheep fair at woodstock, england photo by hermit brooks 242 jerry o. mcnaughton company tailors to gentlemen 1001 citizens bldg. soapine the leading soap powder for 33 years the purest and best see that a whale is on the package established 1827 kendall mfg. co. there are reasons why every hermit should ask for and drink armour's grape juice it is made from rich ripe grapes at their factory in westfield, n. y. and every order helps a brother hermit who represents armour's main 4000 central 1575 the foote & davies co. screens and metal weather strips 3rd floor chamber of commerce bldg. 243 = a hermit in paris 66 and when you come to cleveland. read the news" 244 the driving park realty company james young contractor high grade residence work office and mill 1959 e. 105th st. both phones cleveland, ohio residence 2120 e. 106th st. telephone central 6763 r. irving w. greenberg glass for buildings office and warehouse 1265 w. 6th st. cleveland, o. soutar & brown mason and cut stone contractors 1476 east 114th place doan 2493 j 245 the bristol channel at lynton, england photo by hermit brooks 246 wuest's crushed fruit chocolates caster oldest caster m in the & largest facturers foundry casters for world every purpose "sec and pommery buc "brut the standard for champagne quality. made of choicest grapes exclusively francis draz & co., sole agents united states, 24 hudson st., new york tailor c. w. schmidt 138 arcade cleveland 247 harbor at lynton, england photo by hermit brooks 248 david henderson, sr. david henderson, jr. doan 682-l eddy 1744-l david henderson & son 2265 e. 100th st., s. e. carpenters and general contractors .. jobbing cook's imperial extra dry an american champagne of established quality american wine co. st. louis, mo. 249 in dealer hermits in raris den 250 the mar adams co. haberdashers and motor apparel shop 3 stores 31-33 colonial arcade. 1889 e. 6th street. hollenden hotel, arcade entrance. all hermits sleep in forest city brass beds "the lock that locks" forest city bedstead company cleveland, ohio 251 porlock weir, england photo by hermit brooks 252 telephone main 434 the mulcahy-nelson company makers of high-class garments for men $40.00 to $55.00 300-302-304 schofield building paper bag cookery no fuss. no muss. no smell. continental cookery bags are the best. ask for them. on sale at stores of the chandler & rudd co., and the cleveland provision co. continental paper bag company cleveland agency, 1281 w. 9th street u. s. p. zipp's flavoring extracts they are made from the formula of the united states pharmacopoeia and conform to all pure food laws. they are prepared from the choicest material and not marketed until fully matured. made by the zipp manufacturing company cleveland, ohio 253 red lion inn at henley, england photo by hermit brooks 254 the p. o. viall lumber co., ltd. port daniel, east, p. q. manufacturers and shippers of spruce, pine, birch and cedar lumber baltimore copper smelting & rolling company baltimore, maryland manufacturers of copper in sheets, bottoms, plates, rolls and anodes 255 every dollar's worth of merchandise we sell you has to carry with it a full dollar's worth of confidence and good will. the satisfaction that you buy here is our satisfaction and yours. it is on just such profit that we have built up this store's enviable reputation. the merchandise that we sell you is our surest and strongest bid for your continued patronage. the may co the onelly co. building lots in "beach grove" allotment main office 120-121-122 williamson bldg. ground floor the canton malleable iron co. canton, ohio k manufacturers of malleable castings and saddlery hardware 256 the scribner & loehr co. wholesale and manufacturing jewelers 2047 e. 9th st. cleveland, o. main 2809 let us give you original and artistic ideas on coming events; weddings, receptions, parties, etc. r cent. 1866 the smith and fetters co. 735 euclid bell phone, main 263 member cleveland stock exchange jos. schauweker stocks, bonds and loans 1435 schofield building his only rival edison mazda lamp bell main 278 cuy. cent. 5921w cleveland, o. agents for mazda lamps the electric wiring company electric light and power wiring and repairs 401-403 columbia bldg. 257 the thames at henley photo by hermit brooks 258 for rent offices stores manufacturing space bradley bros. realty company 822 columbia building prospect and east 2nd st. 259 extra flexible americore rubber coveredw for interior wiring سله american ire rope a new standard a new wire american steel & wire company 260 an french lick springs is all year round resort, famed for its healing waters and the out of door attractions of its climate and scenery. the thousand acres of natural park, walks, drives, golf and other outdoor amusements are charming any season. hotel is modern in every respect, affording accommodations for 700 guests, with home comforts; all sleeping apartments are outside rooms, light and airy. a stay of two or four weeks will prove very beneficial. french lick springs waters possess medicinal properties unequalled for the treatment of stomach, liver, bowel and kidney diseases. pluto concentrated spring water is recommended by physicians everywhere and sold at all drug stores in half pint and quart bottles, costing 15c and 35c. write for booklet giving full information concerning the hotel, waters, etc. french lick springs hotel co. t. o. taggert, manager thomas taggert, pres. french lick, indiana on the monon and southern railways = 261 wilson scott gilkey jones waycott thompson chisholm kline denney hermits at french lick springs photo by hermit harris smith bedell 262 hippodrome inn cleveland. hippodrome inn hippodrome building euclid avenue its unique arrangement, its inviting hospitality and the perfection of its service will give cleveland a new conception of progressive restaurant management. open daily except sunday serving luncheon at noon day dinner at six supper after the play music from 6 to 8:30-9:30 to 12 263 the thames river photo by hermit brooks เก 264 "world's largest piano house" knabe pianos grands, uprights and players sold only by w. f. frederick piano co. 1612 euclid ave. entire building m a at best coal lowest prices i n central 2146 84 we guarantee our coal the zettelmeyer coal co. 265 polarine for motor car and motor boat lubrication zero temperature standard oil company for automobile lubrication use polarine polarine leaves practically no carbon deposit; its lubricating and cushioning qualities are unsurpassed; it "stands up" under any speed and pressure. in short, polarine is the best automobile oil for any make of car; and the best gasoline is red crown gasoline. polarine is sold in handy, flat, sealed cans; also in barrels and half barrels. ask your dealer, or write direct. the standard oil company (incorporated) cleveland, columbus, cincinnati. 266 1893 the audit company cleveland 1912 for nineteen years the audit company of cleveland has made a specialty of studying the individual needs of business houses and originating or improving cost and other systems, thus saving time and money as well as increasing efficiency. a prominent feature of our service is that we absolutely guarantee the strictest privacy concerning all matters entrusted to our care. no information is ever imparted to anyone, either outside of this company or in it, by our officials having the work in charge. we conduct every branch of general and bank auditing. the audit company of cleveland citizens building, cleveland 267 rothenberg, bavaria photo by hermit brooks 268 otis and hough cuyahoga building cleveland dealers in municipal, railway, public service, corporation bonds we have published a book, "bonds and how to buy them", which is of great practical value and should be read by every investor. on request we will promptly furnish a copy free of charge to any address. members new york, cleveland, chicago, columbus stock exchanges, chicago board of trade. telephones: columbus erie 146 main 3788 branch offices colorado springs denver, colo. 269 albert rees davis general insurance perry payne building cleveland fire companies represented:national fire insurance company insurance company of north america michigan commercial insurance company old colony insurance company new brunswick fire insurance company north british & mercantile insurance co. calumet insurance company citizens fire insurance company potomac fire insurance company sun insurance office (underwriters agency) firemen's insurance co. (underwriters agency) prussian national insurance company also the best automobile contract on the market 270 the art engraving & electrotyping co. artists designers engravers electrotypers the art engraving selectrotyping g artists engravers electrotypers reliable printing plates prospect building 1104 pro ect avenue operating day and night the northern ohio traction & light co. schedule of limited cars on the a. b. c. canton, akron, massillon, canal dover & new philadelphia electric lines in effect sept. 11, 1911 north bound a. m. a. m. a.m. p. m. p. m. p. m. p. m. p. m. new philadelphia.. .lv. 7.00 3 00 canal dover.. 7 12. 3 12 strasburg 7 24 3 24 beech city 7 31 3 31 harmon junction. 7 40 3 40 massillon 8 05 4 05 canton public square.. .lv. 7 35 8 35 12 35 4 35 5 35 akron.. .lv. 7 30 8 30 9 30 12 30 1 30 4 30 5 30 6 30 cuyahoga falls. 7 43 8 43 9 43 12 43 1 43 4 43 5 43 6 43 silver lake junction. 7 46 8 46 9 46 12 46 1 46 4 46 5 46 646 cleveland public square arr. 9 10 10 10 11 10 2 10 3 10 6 10 7 10 8 10 south bound cleveland public square .lv. a. m. a. m. a. m. 7 20 7 50 9 50 a. m. p. m. p. m. p. m. pm. p. m. p. m. 10 50 12 50 1 50 2 50 4 20 6 50 8 20 silver lake junction.. 8 44 9 14 11 14 12 14 2 14 3 14 4 14 5 44 8 14 9 44 cuyahoga falls 8 47 9 17 11 17 12 17 2 17 3 17 4 17 5 47 8 17 9 47 akron arr. 9 00 9 30 11 30 12 30 2 30 3 30 4 30 6 00 8 30 10 00 canton public square....arr. 10 00 1 30 3 30 7 00 11 00 massillon 10 25 harmon junction. 10 45 beech city. 10 53 strasburg 11 00 canal dover. 11 15 new philadelphia. ..arr. 11 25 7 25 7 45 7 53 8 00 8 15 8 25 271 society automobile drama music art read cleveland town topics on sale all news stands saturday 5 cents per copy $2.00 per year 272 new records made day after day wouldn't you like to smoke a cigar that experienced smokers ask for, come back for and recommend strongly to their friends el yutan mild cigars sold by all first-class dealers the j. b. moos company distributors 273 photo by hermit brooks alt-nurenberg 由 ​ 274 overheard in paris first hermit:-"they tell me there is a fellow called charvet here in paris who turns out some nifty shirts." second hermit:-"no matter what part of the world i happen to be in, i send my order back to cleveland. bennet & fish operate quite a custom shirt factory. the other fellow would have to overwork his accellerator to beat them at shirt making." the entire fourth floor of our building is devoted to our custom shirt factory-prices $3 to $18. 301 303-305 euclid ave. bennet & fish gammel's now is the time to have your furs repaired and remodeled we store furs the r. w. gammel co. 522 euclid avenue, cleveland 275 f. m. osborne, pres. s. h. robbins, sec. & treas. the youghiogheny and ohio coal co. producers and shippers of youghiogheny gas pittsburgh steam pittsburgh no. 8 and amsterdam hocking coal general offices western reserve bldg., cleveland, o. pittsburgh buffalo chicago milwaukee st. paul 276 do your feet hurt? foot troubles are caused by ill fitting shoes. we make stylish shoes by hand that need no "breaking in". our shoes are endorsed by thousands of people who are wearing them why do you suffer? the boyd dean co. scientific boot makers 2060 euclid avenue musical menu counterpoints on the half-note string beans con sourdine rare violins soup pickled beats au natural baked scales contra bass fried sole bow-frogs with rosin sauce prime cello ribs rolls au tambour tutti frutti pie a la breve haendel's lager potpourri sharp cheese the ball music store 25 taylor arcade a hard winter teaches the advantage of building in the summer. splendid building weather now. the geo. a. rutherford co. building contractors 2160 east 18th street 277 the cleveland, painesville and eastern railroad company 11 limited trains in addition to the hourly service between cleveland, willoughby, mentor, painesville, fairport, perry, madison, geneva and ashtabula. if you expect to take a vacation for a day, week or for a month, write for a booklet "where to go"---and you will surely find a place to suit you. now is the time to book your picnic day at willoughbeach park, shore line, ċ. p. & e. r. r. general offices, willoughby, ohio 278 marmon "the easiest riding car in the world" international champion marmon specifications show many reasons why this car is well worth its price. you but there are more than specifications to consider. cannot compare cars on that basis alone. back of every feature of the marmon is an unequaled system of manufacture based on the success of sixty years experience. and in the point of efficient, capable, luxurious and economical service, the marmon shows its true value. investigate through asking for our literature or, if you choose ask for our representative to call on you and make good our claims. made on one chassis-a body type for every requirement. touring car $2,750 joseph h. greenwald 6504 euclid ave. distributor for northern ohio east 2580 279 doge's palace, venice photo by hermit brooks 280 the cuyahoga lumber co. arch c. klumph, pres. and mgr. lumber of all kinds boxes and crates 1948 carter rd. in deklyns candies and chocolates only hermit quality sold which means "the best" in paris the women admire the millinery and garments, but the men look to america for their clothing. in cleveland "miller clothes" are made. a new plan was inaugurated recently by this clothing manufacturer which gives the men of cleveland an opportunity to get their clothing at factory prices, at their "outlet" store 413 euclid avenue. the middleman's profit of $10 is thereby eliminated. suits $15 and $20. miller clothing co. 413 euclid ave. factory cor. w. 6th and st. clair born's ranges and kitchen appliances have made good in the kitchens of the clubs, hotels and cafes of cleveland where they receive the hardest kind of use. we offer the same substantial construction in a range of suitable size for your home. coal, interchangeable, combination, or made to order. explain your requirements. the born steel range co. manufacturers, wholesale, retail gas, 2163 e. ninth st. 281 fiscal trustees l. h. kittredge, chairman a. r. horr, (clev. trust co.) treas. geo. a. schneider, secretary elroy m. avery thos. l. johnson homer mcdaniel frank a. scott the maternity hospital founded 1891 cleveland, ohio mr. a. h. shotter, city. may 11th, 1912. dear sir: have you ever stopped to think how far a dollar will go toward caring for a little round eyed baby? of us. a dollar isn't much-or even five or ten with some maternity hospital, upon endorsement of the chamber of commerce, is raising $50,000 in order to facilitate a philanthropic work. new buildings, more modern equipment, will help bring hundreds of more babies into the world under an environment as ideal as that of your own home. maternity hospital has been doing this splendid work for twenty years. the only non-sectarian hospital in cleveland where two hundred and twenty-two babies in 1911 first viewed the world and cooed a greeting. more than half of these cases were charity or part pay. whether your contribution be five or ten dollars, or only one, in any case, please enclose some amount in the stamped envelope and help these luckless little tots. please. respectfully yours, l. h. kittredge, chairman fiscal trustees. geo. a. schneider, secretary fiscal trustees. 282 e.g. ernst 100 ed b.g. heiser 000 ernst heiser 8th floor, vulcan bldg. company 113 st. clair ave., n.e. commercial photography in all its branches we photograph anything anywhere anytime phone main 344 try us the beer of cleveland leisy's special brew "specially made for a critical trade" order a case 283 the mills, carleton co. lumber 1886 carter rd. cleveland, o. 20 mule team bors is well known to all of you as the world's greatest cleanser and most harmless antiseptic. it cleans things clean. you may not be so familiar, however, with 20 mule team borax soap chips, which contain 25% of pure borax and work wonders in the laundry and kitchen. they are sanitary, convenient and economical. 284 peerless mazda lamps the lamp of strength reduce the cost of electric lighting over one-half. this lamp gives twice as much light for the same current consumption as the old style carbon lamps. cost all that the name implies 25 watt 20 c. p. .50c 40 66 32 66 .55c 60 66 51 66 100 66 84 66 .75c $1.10 we are sales agents and distributors ask us to give you the benefit of our experience in planning electric light installations artistic fixtures and shades the enterprise electric construction & fixture company (a. l. oppenheimer) contractors :: supplies :: fixtures the vickers bldg., bell east 29 6509-6511 euclid ave. cuy. princeton 29 285 photo by hermit brooks venice 286 the osborn manufacturing co. cleveland hardware specialties brushes & brooms foundry supplies the rowland a. curry co. general building contractors 10403 euclid ave. kamerer & benes tailors cleveland wm. krause & son costumes for all occasions private theatricals a specialty 2042 e. fourth st. opp. opera house 287 the rogers co. cleveland agents for cross leather goods and likly of rochester trunks 1008 euclid ave. the dodd-rogers co. kodacs 1926 east 26th st. 288 2 ideal boiler american 00÷00 radiator go american radiators and ideal boilers are recognized by the leading architects as being the best. the hermits also know a good thing. look into this when arranging the heating for your new home. sold by the w. m. pattison supply co. 197 to 211 st. clair ave., n. e. 289 stanby the junior office boy of the cleveland press press so the hermitts are going to parris thats a fine place for a hermitt to go if parris wouldent cure him of being a hermitt, i dont supose nuthing in this world ever would but at that, them cleaveland hermitts aint got much to get cured of, there aint nuthing very hermitty about them exept their name a feller wrote me about the peace they are going to play, it must be very comikel, all about a rubber man from akron that has a dauter witch is going to marry a dook, but she dont, becos the dook gits a sozzle on and a nice yung feller pretends he is the dook aud cops the dame i think the guy that sent me the letter about the show must be horasho harryman's press agint, he dident tell me the name of nobody else in the show horry is going to play the part of the beutiful louise, heroine of the play, witch starts out to marry the dook of latimer, or sum sutch a name like that, and gets a real guy insted and i betcha horry is there with the bells on when it comes to dollin up and lookin the part, horry has got valeska suratt and eva tangway tied to a tree well, good luck to the hermitts, with a few more shows they ought to be able to buy the holenden and use it for a club house n. y. 1912 johny 290 our quality. the hermits recognize the quality of the brooks company's printing look at this program 291 the hermits in paris advertisers' index abbott, c. w. & co., baltimore. page 69 acme foundry co. addressograph co. alco cleveland motor co. 186 a 238 320 aluminum castings co. ambler realty co. american steel & wire co. american surety co. american wine co., st. louis.. apollinaris agency co., new york. arbor tea shop armstrong cork co., pittsburgh. art engraving & electrotyping co. artcraft co. 232 240 259 150 248 26 22 231 270 148 astor hotel, new york. 214 audit company 266 avon beach park 240 babies dispensary and hospital .300-301 baer bros., new york 128 baker motor vehicle co. b 28 baker, walter, & co., ltd., boston. 62 ball, webb c., co. 216 ball music co. 276 baltimore copper smelting co. 254 barger automobile co. 302 barnes, will r., new york 17 bass islands vineyard co., sandusky. 220 belle vernon-mapes dairy co. 50 belt & terminal realty co. 310 bennet & fish 274 bentz, g. a., & co. 104 berghoff 39 berwald stewart co. 124 bingham & douglass co. 152 bingham, w., co. 190 blood, jno. h. 311 boldt, chas., co., cincinnati.. 225 n. o. stone & co. footwear for every want quality and prices from medium to highest 312 to 318 euclid ave. 292 soticed in clo fitzgerald anmade pot sill bottled in bond pot still whiskey are y ld fitzgera rye med in small tubs b cherbst. rt kentucky pure pot still wh rye or bourbon old fitzgerald old judge rye and bourbon bourbon jun no made pot still bottled in bond the pure pot still whiskies djudge hand made sour mash matured by natural heat u. s. reg. distillery no. 11, 7th district, frankfort, kentucky s. c. herbst importing co. sole controllers milwaukee, wis. 8 years in wood before bottling in bond old sour pot still bourbon whiskey judge distillery ca bankfort, kentucky pure pot still whe bourbon the wm. edwards company cleveland, ohio distributors 293 bond inn page 305 born steel range co. borton & borton boyd & dean co. brandt, r. f. 280 b 2 bowman, geo. h., co. bouvier specialty co., louisville, ky. bradley bros. realty co. brooks co. brooks-mcaninch-wilbor-parsons co. 210 128 276 258 129 290 24 browning engineering co. brown, c. r. brown bros. & co., new york brunskill, w. o. 48 334 82 126 buchanan, james, & co., new york. 158 buckeye electric co. 142 buffalo copper & brass rolling mills. 230 builders' exchange burroughs adding machine co. burrows bros. 148 320 4 bush & lavin 126 caldwell piano co. canton malleable iron co., canton.. 146 255 c central electrotype foundry 236 central soap mfg. co. 208 chafer co. 228 chamberlin metal weather strip co. 202 chandler & rudd co. 74 chapin trull & co., boston 164 champion machine & forging co. 182 climalene chemical co., canton 224 chisholm boot shop 314 city ice delivery co. 90 clark, r. d. cleveland desk co. cleveland electrical supply co. cleveland frog & crossing co. cleveland face brick ass'n cleveland leader co. cleveland news cleveland, painesville & eastern r. r. co. cleveland plain dealer 318 134 325 225 294-295 207 243 277 249 mcnally doyle caterers and confectioners of ouality 294 "when you build, use brick" brick education every man has a home of some kind even a hermit. there are some things every home builder should know about brick. the leading dealers in brick in cleveland have united to educate the people about brick. these brick men realize that it is going to take dynamite to wake up some people and get them out of the rut, but they are willing to furnish the dynamite. the dynamite has been prepared in small, palatable doses, and it will be sent free, on application, to those who would like to know why brick is the best and most economical building material in the world don't be a doubter. the impression that the brick house costs a great deal more than a frame house of the same plan is out of date. cleveland brick men are prepared to prove that when insurance, painting and repairs are taken into account the brick house is cheaper than wood. the cleveland face brick ass'n, cleveland, ohio organized for the purpose of advertising, developing, and promoting the increased use of face brick. 295 "when you build, use brick" here's the dynamite: the cleveland face brick association will send a copy of the following publications, without cost, to all who want to be convinced that brick is the best building material: "the beauty of a brick house" "maintenance of a brick house" "brick house safe from fire" "the choice-frame or brick" "a revolution in building materials" the following publications have been prepared at great cost but will be sent to prospective builders for the nominal charge of 50 cents, and they are worth ten times the amount: "100 types of $3,000 brick bungalows" "a house of brick for $4,000" "a house of brick for $10,000" each of these publications contains designs, sketches and floor plans that will be of practical value to every home owner or prospective builder. architects, as well as those who would build a home for themselves, will find much valuable information in each of these publications. send for them. robert l. beck, the arcade hydraulic-press brick co. the cleveland builders' supply co. hippodrome bldg. schofield bldg. the queisser-bliss co. the cuyahoga builders' supply co. schofield bldg. schofield bldg. the stowe-fuller co. rockefeller bldg. the cleveland face brick ass'n, cleveland, ohio schofield building 296 the strong, carlisle & hammond co. supplies tools and machinery strong steam specialties, frankfort furnaces, randall graphite, mac-it set screws 336 frankfort avenue cleveland 297 cleveland provision co. cleveland press cleveland realty improvement co. page 228 289 152 cleveland sanitation co. cleveland savings & loan co. cleveland taxicab co. cleveland tool & supply co. cleveland town topics co. cleveland twist drill co. cleveland & buffalo transit co. cleveland & eastern traction co. climax cleaner co. climax refining co. coffee, w. h., & co. colonial salt co., akron collings, clarence h., co. continental paper bag co. connelly co. cook & bernheimer co., new york coughlin, thos., co. cowell & hubbard co. crawford realty co. 210 60 10 93 271 318 194 117 12 184 84 232 174 252 255 128 126 54 238 286 280 122 c curry, rowland a., co. cuyahoga lumber co. cuyahoga telephone co. dalton, g. f. davis hunt collister co. davis & farley 237 324 d 138 davis, a. r., motor co. 34 davis, albert rees 269 deklyn co. 280 denison, c. e., & co 236 detroit roofing tile co., detroit, mich. 335 dewar, john, & sons, ltd., new york. 160 diamond rubber co. 32 dickel, geo. a., nashville, tenn. 124 dodd-rogers co. dorn shoe co. downie, wm., & co. draz, francis, & co., new york dreher, b., sons co. for that toy for the "kid' that prize for the gamethat novelty that you can't get elsewhere287 298-312 152 246 48 try the stearn store ·stearn-&-co240 to 248 euclid ave. 298 made-to-order shoes $5, $6 and $7 base ball shoes $2.45 bicycle shoes $2.85 street boots $3 to $6 basket ball shoes $1.95 gym shoes "ground gripper" shoes and oxfords for men $6 dorn shoe "on the square" cuyahoga bldg. chat attractive appearance the quality of our work in the art of dry cleaning and dyeing is noticeable wherever you go. to demonstrate we solicit your the d. o.. summers cleaning co. 6202-6220 carnegie avenue s. e. order. phones: east 3023 princeton 184 all hermits stop at ressler's cafe 5517 euclid east of 55th street bell, doan 244-j special mill work john riggs builder and jobber special interior work office and store fixtures 1561 e. 118th st. cleveland, o. 299 page driving park realty co. dunbar, william, co. duncan, a. r., jr., co. early times distillery co., paducah, ky. eckenroth sales co. eclipse electrotype & engraving co. eclipse musical co. edwards, wm., co. electric storage battery co. electric wiring co. english woolen mills co. enterprise electric construction co. epple, fred erie ry. co. ernst & ernst ernst-heiser co. evarts-tremaine-flicker co. exline co. 244 328 d 334 111 328 e 122 204 114 57 256 94 284 309 144 141 282 104 87 fairbanks, morse & co. 198 fels & co., philadelphia, pa. 112 f finch, jos. s., & co., pittsburgh. 117 finlay, h. p., & co., limited, new york.. 176 firestone tire & rubber co. 322 fisher & wilson co. 182 f-j-l, mint-lax gum co. 177 fleischman co., new york foote, d. e., rubber co. 231 330 foote & davies co. 242 forest city foundry & mfg. co. 192 forest city ball & amusement co. 146 franklin sugar refining co., philadelphia, pa. 86 frederick, w. f., piano co. 264 french lick springs hotel co., french lick, ind. 260 fuller cleaning co. 174 gainer electric co. 168 gammel, r. w., co. 274 g 120 garford co. 16 219 gandolfi, l., & co., new york gasser coffee co. the macdiarmid's caterers yes-catering every minute to the wishes of our candy-loving customers. we solicit any suggestions or criticisms that improve our candies or our service. three macdiarmid's candy stores in cleveland 300 elevation of proposed babies' hospital (to be erected in memory of dr. edward f. cushing) 301 giving his pennywon't you give yours? the babies banking house to build and endow the babies' hospital where the sick babies who now die at home without the proper care can be made well. ¶ where the diseases of little children about which the world is now so ignorant may be studied and cures discovered. where physicians, nurses and nursery maids may learn to care for babies. if everyone helps with big gifts or small, cleveland will have its babies' hospital in 1913. the babies' dispensary and hospital 2500 east 35th st. 302 a a a a custom quality shoes for men the kelley bootery co. 2018 east ninth street schofield building cadillac motor cars nothing better built the barger automobile co. 1628-32 euclid ave. 303 page gasser, j. m., co. gilkey, w. s., printing co. gill & gardner, trustees gilman, a. s., printing co, globe machine & stamping co. goodyear tire & rubber co. goodrich, b. f., co. 112 154 g 307 192 176 92 147 gould storage battery co. 94 gourd, henry e., new york 80 graham co. 303 grebe & davis 200 green river distilling co., owensboro, ky. 51 greenstein & co. 146 greenwald, joseph h. 278 greenberg, i. w., 244 guckenheimer, a., & co., pittsburgh, pa. 111 hahn, j. n., co. 116 hale & kilburn co., new york 224 h halle bros. co. 200 hanan & son harris, herman a. harshaw, fuller & goodwin 317 319 183 hill & hart hippodrome inn harbaugh, a. g., co. hayden, miller & co. herner, new york herron, geo. h., & co. henderson, david, & son heublein, g. f., & bro., hartford, conn. higgins-babcock-hurd co. hill clutch co. hinde, james j., realty co. hohlfelder, f., co. hollenden hotel hommel, m., wine co., sandusky, o. horlick's malted milk co., racine, wis. 63 162 17 225 herbst, s. c., importing co., milwaukee, wis. 292 248 222 136 180 324 206 262 250 313 75 45 214 56 182 hubinger, j. c., bros. co., new haven, conn. hygienic food co., battle creek, mich. hydraulic pressed steel the graham company tailors successor to the wieber company 2073 e. ninth st., opp. rose bldg. cleveland bell phone north 476 304 the superior value of the mason & hamlin mason & hamlin pianos is based on a superior method of construction, by which a beauty and permanency of tone quality is secured, surpassing anything ever before obtained, or possible under any other system of construction. scientists, musicians and the cultured generally declare that the mason & hamlin is the greatest piano the world has ever seen. uprights $550.00 and up. grands $800.00 and up. the j. t. wamelink & sons piano co. 53 years in business new higbee bldg. mooney bros. leading tailors we beg to announce our removal to nos. we 200 to 206 schofield building [second floor], and are prepared to show you all the new cloths for spring and summer wear. our garments, as in the past, shall be made up strictly first-class in every particular. our prices for suitings range from $35.00 to $60.00. nos. 200 to 206 schofield bldg. 305 page igleheart bros., evansville, ind.. 214 johns-manville, h. w., co. jones russell co. 150 177 j kamerer & benes 286 kelley bootery co. 302 k kendall mfg. co. 242 koblitz plumbing & heating co. 306 korner & wood co. 234 kornman, wm. 212 kirk, h. b., & co., new york. 230 kirk latty mfg. co. 132 klein, louis, cigar co. 240 knauth, nachod & kuhne, new york.. 60 krause, wm., & son 286 la montagne's, e., sons, new york 81 lake shore banking & trust co.... 84 lake shore electric ry. co..... l 330 lanahan, wm., & son, baltimore, md. lang & sarstedt langer's 98 158 152 large distilling co., pittsburgh, pa. laughlin, c. f. 118 98 law, h. robert, studios, new york. lederer furniture co. leisy brewing co. 17 312 282 leopold, henry, furniture co. 208 london & lancashire fire ins. co. 130 l. s. & m. s. ry. co.... 14 louisville cotton oil co., louisville, ky.. 130 lovell & buffington tobacco co., covington, ky. 128 lozier motor co. 126 luze, f. o. de, & co., new york.. 153 macadams co. 250 mac diarmid's 297 macdonald, t. b., construction co., new york. m 17 mannen & esterly co. 156 martien electric co. "and when i drink i drink with billy" at the bond inn 194 east 6th st., opposite the hollenden. bill lomnitz, prop. 306 the hermits in paris would be apt to see the latest in fashionable tailoring, but of course they don't have to go so far to see and obtain such clothes. some of the best dressed men in cleveland, men who know all the little niceties of properly tailored clothes, are finding perfect satisfaction in the clean-cut appearance and style of "advanced tailoring". you will like mclachlan clothes, and mclachlan prices, too. my w. j. mclachlan 33-35 taylor arcade "advanced tailoring for the man and woman who knows." have a shower in your bathroom. you will get more comfort and pleasure out of it than you can imagine. but have the right kind put in right by right mechanics. we have put shower baths in many fine homes and would be glad to estimate on the cost of placing one in yours. the koblitz plumbing and heating co. 1305 prospect 5315 lorain 307 gardner & gill gill & gardner we need your help all hermits please respond promptly and frequently 308 whether you go to paris canada, the seashore, or the mountains, we can issue a tourist policy which will insure your baggage against fire anywhere. maxson & perdue guardian bldg. walker & weeks architects 1900 euclid ave. 309 page martin, j. b., importation co., new york 140 mason, j. s. & co. 171 m maternity home 281 mathews & gilbert 18 mathias, d. e. 218 max & mahieu, new york 17 maxson & purdue 308 may co. 255 mcallister, w. b., co. 99 mcglade, james 332 mckay, j. m. 312 mclachlan, w j. 306 mcmillin, h. e., & son co. 312 mcmullin, thomas h., & co., new york. 123 mcnally-doyle 293 mcnaughton, jerry o., co. 242 meacham, roland t. 204 meade & hamilton 66 meadville, pa. distilling co. 160 melville, percy f., new york 170 merkle wiley broom co., paris, ill. 120 middle states oil co. 238 miller, burt a. 150 miller clothing co. 280 miller, i., inc., new york 17 mills, carleton co. moehring, wm. g., & co., new york. 283 237 mohawk condensed milk co., new york mooney bros. moore, james g. moore, jno. w. moore, thos., distilling co., mckeesport, pa. moos, j. b., co. morehouse co. 44 304 315 222 164 272 70 morris poston coal co. morse twist drill & machinery co., new bedford, mass. 110 195 moss & mcguire motor accessories co. motz tire & rubber co. mouat-squires co. mulcahy & nelson co. mulrooney, john m. 236 216 166 316 252 334 mutual benefit life insurance co. 42 bell doan 2344 fred cople decorator and painter wall paper and paint store 10305 euclid ave. and 105th princeton 792 cleveland 310 the belt & terminal realty company 830 society for savings bldg. factory sites on the best "belt line" in america. 311 page 60 national car wheel co. national carbon co. national distributing co., cincinnati national safe & lock co. au, rusk & swearingen nelson, alfred, co., new york new jersey fidelity & plate glass insurance co. new york leather belting co., new york.. nicholas, g. s., & co., new york nicola, stone & myers 105 n 96 334 162 46 120 218 123 164 nikolas, g. j., & co., chicago niles car & mfg. co. norton company, worcester, mass. northern ohio traction & light co. northern pacific ry. co. 146 240 102 270 172 oechs, anthony, & co., new york 44 ohio rubber co. 154 olds oakland co. 0 20 olmsted bros. & co. 206 olney, burt, canning co., oneida, n. y. 136 opera house buffet 236 osborn manufacturing co. 286 otis & hough 268 otto & kub pacific coast borax co., chicago pattison, w. m., supply co. pease, f. a., engineering co. peerless motor car co. perfection spring co.. 112 283 288 p 58 336 92 pleasant valley wine co., rheims, n. y. petrequin paper co. penton press co. pierson, j. n. pittsburgh plate glass co. poe brothers pocock-wolfram potter teare & co. rail joint co., new york raimbouville, e., de, new york rainbow cottage for rent stores, lofts, light and heavy manufacturing space jno. h. blood real estate 813 williamson bld'g 213 72 234 116 106 150 321 186 108 220 r 201 business properties factory plants, 99 yr. leases for sale 312 "ground gripper shoes for men and women 99 great for walking ladies like them men demand them sure foot comfort ladies shoes $5.00 and $5.50 men's shoes $6.00 the j. k. dorn shoe co., 2517 woodland avenue "ground gripper" shoes and oxfords for men $6.00 at dorn shoe co. "on the square" cuyahoga bldg. all work done on the most approved plan and on reasonable terms. 1425 e. ninth st. john m. mckay sanitary plumbing practical plumber and lead burner telephone 1459 cleveland, o. remember that mcmillin's is ohio's only complete music store and located at 2053 east 9th st., opposite rose building "it came from lederer's” means "good furniture” you will find both prices and quality to your liking the lederer furniture co. east ninth, near euclid. 313 the hollenden -after the theatre 314 the chisholm boot shops the current fashions in foot-wear, as worn by the right people abroad and in the principal cities of the states, are shown in our shops in the dependable quality of walk over footwear 1874 to 1912 you are as cordially invited to come to view our displays as to come to purchase. you will have the personal, interested attention of an expert fitter, who will help you secure the right size, in the right last for you to wear. prices range from $3.50 to $7.00. the chisholm boot shops 322 superior avenue 1140-1146 euclid avenue 2041 e. fourth street our athletic club building 315 rauch & lang carriage co. reese-owen-clark agency co. reeves pulley co., columbus, ind. renz motor car co. ressler, fred c. riggs, john rogers co. rorheimer-brooks studios rutherford, geo. a., & co. ruy suarez & co., new york page 8 226 r 140 214 298 298 287 196 276 234 saegertown mineral springs, saegertown, pa. 100 sauters coal co. savage, j. b., co. schauweker, jos. schleman bros. 335 s 134 256 110 schmidt, c. w. 246 schuster company 112 schneider plumbing co. 171 scribner & loehr co. 256 seidle, edward, inc., new york 17 shaker heights improvement co. 76 shotter faerber co. 3 smith & fetters 256 smith, c. h. 242 society for savings 88 soutar & brown 244 stack co. stafford-goss-bedell, o. m., co. 105 78 standard cycle repair co. 168 standard drug co. 118 standard electric car co. 326 standard oil co. 265 standard tool co. 135 stearn co. 297 stearns, f. b., co. 188-189 smith, l. c., & bros. typewriter co. 178 snyder, w. s., & co. 138 stone, n. o., co. 291 strong, cobb & co. 90 strong carlisle & hammond 296 summers, d. o., cleaning co. 298 phone main 868 james g. moore high class haberdasher 809 euclid avenue 316 the mouat vapor heating system the heating system de luxe-with modified heat control at each radiator the main feature of the mouat vapor heating system is the ability to control the heat to suit weather conditions. each radiator is equipped with a fractional valve and may be kept partially or entirely heated as required. shaded portions of the radiators show the parts heated at the various positions of the fractional valves. the mouat-squires company 1246-1254 w. 4th st. cleveland, ohio 317 page taylor, e. h., jr., & sons, frankfort, ky 159 temblett, w. h. 165 t thompson distilling co., pittsburgh 56 tillotson and wolcott company 198 timendorfer, j., co. 332 urbana wine co., urbana, n. y. 183 underwood typewriter co. 118 u united states tire co., new york 62 universal castor & fdy. co., new york. 246 van dorn iron works 182 viall, p. o., lumber co., port daniel, canada.. 254 v visiting nurse assn. 6 wabash pittsburgh terminal r. r. 64 wadsworth-adelson co. 234 w wadsworth salt co., wadsworth, o. 231 walker, h. f. 170 walker, hiram, & sons, ltd., walkersville, canada. 165 walker & weeks 308 wamelink, j. t., & sons piano co. 304 warden & leese 238 weideman co. 33 western reserve motor car co. 26 west overton distilling co., scottdale, pa. 212 wheeling & lake erie r. r. co. *52 white co., the 30 white top champagne co., hammondsport, pa. 164 wilson, w. g. 226 winton motor car co. 36 williams, harley e., co. 64 woman suffrage party 331 worthington ball co., elyria, o. 40 worthington, geo., co. 156 wuest-bauman-hunt co. 246 237 244 275 y wupperman, j. w., new york young, james y. & o. coal co. zettelmeyer coal co. zipp mfg. co. 264 252 let us initiate you into the luxury of wearing hanan shoes---the shoes that exemplify the smartest custom style, and give perfect ease and comfort from the first. hanan & son 608 euclid ave. z 318 lark's offee co "the best in town" at clark's lunch room 1954 east 6th st. the quality eat shop drills reamers sockets high speed tools 1874 these pictures tell the story arbors mills mandrels counterbores 1912 the cleveland twist drill co. new york cleveland chicago 319 herman a. harris builder 320 alco cars now represented in cleveland the alco cleveland motor co. have the pleasure of showing the expectional people of cleveland an exceptional car. in the alco you cannot conceive the comfort and easy riding qualities until you have rode in it. the alco is built like a locomotive and rides like a pullman coach. alco cars are made in both four and six cylinders and all types of bodies. a demonstration will convince the most critical. alco cleveland motor co. phone east 637 6506 euclid ave. a new one burroughs calculating machine $150 we have 85 styles of different bookkeeping machines, hand and electrically operated. prices from $175 to $900 burroughs adding machine co. f. s. crane, manager rockefeller building 321 cleveland the advertising statistics he hermits wish to thank the individuals and firms who are advertising in this program and request that their friends patronize the advertisers whose generous support helps to make our shows a success. the following list shows the hermits who have secured two or more pages of advertising: pages 334 w. s. pollock 16½ f. b. meade 1134 g. r. ingersoll 104 a. h. shotter 7½ a. j. kroenke 634 c. l. f. wieber, jr., f. j. woodworth 6½ f. h. grace 54 c. c. coventry, w. m. ernst 4 a. d. brooks, guy s. gardner, s. e. strong 3½ w. a. daley, j. h. kline, s. t. nash, a. g. newcomb 34 c. k. arter, m. p. klumph, s. w. scofield 3 h. w. strong, h. m. terrell 234 w. m. baldwin, r. c. enright 24 r. f. berwald, h. r. valentine 2 a. j. caldwell, j. l. cannon, c. k. chisholm, l. p. sawyer. the sign of shoe excellence the joll trade mark. shoe sole agents pocock-wolfram the store of famous shoes stores: 520 euclid avenue-shoes for the entire family. 824 superior avenue-men's shoes only. 322 "firestone restong tires and demountable rims on are masters of all roads, at all seasons, in every climate. the inbuilt extra mileage of every "firestone" tire; the clinging security of firestone non-skid tires; the non-delay, ease assurance of "firestone" quick detachable demountable rims -combine to make them unchallenged leaders by right of accomplishment. ten years, without an off-season is the record of their quality construction. a factory made three times larger within the past year, tells the story of their popularity. the firestone tire & rubber co., akron, ohio "america's largest exclusive tire and rim makers" 1918-22 euclid ave., cleveland. the service-wise specify firestone equipment and get most miles per dollar 323 some busy hermits דום arthur h. shotter chairman of the program advertising committee drawn by hermit donahey 324 għadvilio when you think of hats, think of us straw hats $2.00 to $5.00 panama's $5.00 to $15.00 2020 east 9th st. schofield bldg. hill & hart 318 superior ave. opp. city hall exclusive hatters the davis hunt collister company headquarters for yale builder's hardware corner ontario and prospect 325 dear mr. hermit and friends: cleveland, ohio here and now, 1912 whether in paris or cleveland, you want to be cool in hot weather. on hot, boiling days, whether in bed-room, in the parlor, at meal time, during any illness, or again in an office, you can have a constant refreshing breeze. use a portable electric fan. you can buy an electric fan and run it all summer for a price that is but a trifle in comparison with a trip to the seashore or the mountains. besides this, nature's breezes are fitful, while the breeze of an electric fan can be regulated as you will. no matter what your taste or purse, we can suit you. we have 8 in., 12 in. and 16 in. fans, for alternating or direct current, desk or oscillating, single or gyro. why wait another day. every hot day brings a rush of orders. get your order in now, and have a cooling breeze all summer long. yours truly, the cleveland electrical supply co. 724-726 prospect ave. tel. main 4277, erie 220 prompt service 326 1913 announcement the standard electrique everywhere acclaimed most advanced in construction. most eye pleasing in body design. most exclusive in interior appointment. most efficient in efficiency. most comfortable in riding ability. most reasonable in cost. the one electrique that has promoted the standard of high quality and retarded the trend toward high purchase price. :-: $1885 call or 'phone east 3744 for a demonstration. the western reserve motor car co. 6604 euclid ave. 327 some busy hermits harry r. valentine chairman of the publicity committee drawn by hermit donahey 328 william dunbar & co. builders 507-11 champlain ave. office and store fixtures, store fronts hardwood interiors and special mill work main 2705 eckenroth sales co. haynes cars wilcox trux expert garage service livery in connection touring cars limousines b cent. 2705 taxicabs and trucks for hire. 620 frankfort ave. 329 some busy hermits guy s. gardner perpetual property master drawn by hermit donahey 330 oldest and most complete automobile supply house in cleveland service and price our motto. d. e. foote rubber co. 1901-1903-1905 euclid ave. some things worth remembering we havethe ideal service from cleveland -tolorain, sandusky, norwalk, fremont and toledo. six through limited trains daily from cleveland to detroit. two through limited trains daily from cleveland to fostoria, findlay and lima. double-head limiteds everywhere, every two hours, "half-past the odd hour." beach park don't forget crystal beach ideal summer resorts cedar point the lake shore electric ry. co. interurban station, public square 331 the "heathen chinee” donahey in the cleveland plain dealer equal suffrage granted vote for the equal suffrage amendment at the special election this summer woman suffrage party headquarters 1264 euclid ave. 332 main 2182 phones central 7990 the j. timendorfer company real estate insurance loans investments main 4665 garfield bldg. cleveland, ohio james mcglade 1907 e. ninth street cor. chestnut avenue cleveland, central 2046 ohio 333 some busy hermits arthur d. brooks ye program editor drawn by hermit donahey 334 c. r. brown high grade hats 1937-45 east sixth street cleveland the a. r. duncan, jr. co. wholesale dealers butter eggs cheese we manufacture "fireproof safes' 99 and "burglar-proof safes" in any style or size the national safe & lock co. works office: 2341 e. 69th st. salesroom: 2135 e. 9th st. y. m. c. a. building on the job again mulrooney rockefeller building investment securities vessel stocks especially members cleveland stock exchange 335 detroit roofing tile co. detroit, mich. art in tile roofs manufacturers of every pattern, color and shade known agencies in all principal cities catalogue and samples on request coal the kind that produces heat the sauters coal company 514 williamson bldg. cleveland, ohio 336 peerless 1913 many hermits in and out of paris travel in peerless motor cars. in any setting the distinction of this superb vehicle is equally marked. its charm is as quickly recognized on the bois de boulogne as it is in the streets of cleveland, where it greatly outnumbers other cars of similiar grade or pretension. the 1913 models in three six cylinder sizes-38-six", "48-six" and "60-six" are ready for immediate delivery. examine them at our showrooms. the peerless motor car co. east 93rd street and quincy avenue "60-six" seven-passenger touring mr, if not h 1 4 mm. feb 56 89073124232 b89073124232a 89073124232 b89073124232a 89073124232 b89073124232a 356 217 columbia libraries offsite restricted cr59882450 lm99 e35 b47 einsiedeln in the da seinsiedeln being vie story of an alpine sanctuary establishments bentiger & co. le einsiedeln. hew york ciscinasti chicago benzione brothers charles stoddard 1 einsiedeln «in the dark wood». union theological seminary apw pore eredi 1001 00 00 einsiedeln. einsiedeln ,,in the dark wood" or our lady of the hermits. the story of an alpine sanctuary. bennett, mrs. anne r. (gladstone) with numerous illustrations. einsiedeln, switzerland, new-york, cincinnati & st. louis charles & nicholas benziger brothers. london: burns and oates. 1883. library of the union theological seminary new york city presented by chas. a. stoddard, nov 6 1920 copyright 1883 by benziger brothers. «all rights reserved. » lm99 e35 60047 b47 preface the account given in the following pages of the shrine of our lady of the hermits and of the monastery at einsiedeln has been in a great measure compiled and translated from a most able and exceedingly interesting little work in german which has recently been published by messrs. benziger under the title of, beschreibung des klosters und der wallfahrt. extracts have also been made from a very learned work by rev. fr albert kuhn on einsiedeln, now in course of publication, and from a french ιο preface. guide-book bearing the title of précis historique de l'abbaye et du pèlerinage de notre-damedes-ermites. the concluding portion is devoted to the personal recollections of a visit made by me to einsiedeln during the summer of 1881. tours, march 1882. anne r. bennett née gladstone, maria gratia plena a greeting to the blessed virgin mary of einsiedeln, translated from the german. all hail to thee, rich source of every grace! oh! throne of graces of the queen of heaven! with childlike trust i near the holy place where graces numberless for pilgrims flow; where breathes within the lovely alpine vale sweet calm and rest and god's own holy peace. hark! mary calls, oh come, all ye who wail and who are weary, come, from tumult rest. the burdens pressing on you lay down here; pour out your hearts before your mother! see with mother's eyes she greets her children dear. come linger trustfully within her house. oh mother! let the peace of this sweet vale flow also thro' my poor and storm-tossed souls and let me also henceforth never fait as well thy servant as thy child be. union * theological seminary new york v.b. α p ouren s αφαι b a chapter i. st. meinrad. mongst the many thousands of tourists who year after year visit the play-ground" of europe, ascending its snow-capped mountains. and exploring the recesses of its picturesque alpine vallies, how few there are, at any rate of the english-speaking peoples, who are aware that switzerland has something far more beautiful and more grand to shew them than even its glaciers and its majestic mountains. here and there, indeed, some chance traveller may be found, who, having heard of the sanctuary „in the dark wood" has turned his steps thither. but even he, when he has reached the goal of his pilgrimage, seldom remains longer than a couplé of days at einsiedeln and therefore, takes away with him but a very faint and incomplete idea of a place which would have made him feel himself to be transported back to the ages of faith. it was my happy lot to spend two months j4 chapter 1. last year at the shrine of our lady of the hermits, and it seems to me that an account of einsiedeln, the monastery, the church, and the pilgrimage thither, cannot fail to interest and to attract many to make a visit to a spot consecrated by the blood of st. meinrad and the divine dedication of the church built over his cell. it is from wädensweil, a quaint little village situated on the charming shores of the lake of zurich, on whose waters, hundreds of little vessels ply from side to side, that the pilgrim wends his way to einsiedeln by means of the wädensweil mountain railway. as he reaches higher ground, the view of the lake becomes more and more delightful, its smiling banks being dotted with villas and farmhouses, each of them surrounded by orchards or vineyards, whilst lofty heights bound the horizon. far away below, on the shining waters, his eyes rest with pleasure upon the pretty little island of ufnau and its ancient church; and in the distance, he catches glimpse of the island of lutzelau and the lofty and majestic towers of rapperschwyl with its dam stretching like a dark ribbon across the lake. the chief object of merit in the little town is the possession of the great polish national museum, containing very many objects of great historical interest. strangers are freely admitted a wädensweil on the lake of zurich. 16 chapter i. to view the collection, which is the only one in switzerland, and one of the finest of its kind. arrived at schindellegi, he will find that the road crosses the sihl, a picturesque mountain torrent, which flows into the lake of zurich, and that he has exchanged his outlook over the lake for one in which the more austere characteristics of an alpine valley are predominant. passing by st. meinrad's brunnen he will next reach biberbruck and crossing the alp will see stretched out before him the green pastures of the secluded valley of einsiedeln. before giving a detailed description of a place "" which may indeed he called the house of god and the gate of heaven" it will be well to cast a glance over the history of st. meinrad, as it has been handed down to us in the old chronicles and manuscripts preserved in the benedictine monastery at einsiedeln. according to the oldest records extant, st. meinrad, to whom the sanctuary ,,in the dark wood" owes its origin, sprang from the noble race of the hohenzollern, and was born at sulchen, the castle of his maternal ancestors, about the year 797. during his infancy, his mother, a woman of lofty mind and cultivated intellect, superintended his education and whilst still a child he acquired under her influence manners singularly marked by calmness and modesty; his physiognomy bearst. meinrad. 17 ing the impress of a gravity, which, even in his tender years commanded respect. as soon as the boy had attained the requisite age, his father, count berchtold, sent him to the then famous school attached to the abbey of reichenau, situated on an island bearing the same name on the lake of constance. two of meinrad's relatives were established there, one of them being the abbot hatto by name, the other, the monk erlebad, who was one of the most distinguished and cultivated men of his time. the abbot having been raised to the episcopal see of bâle, erlebad was appointed abbot in his place; but his elevation did not prevent him from superintending, as assiduously as before, the education of his nephew. meinrad, under such careful tuition, soon became as learned as his masters, without on that account losing his modest simplicity of manner. more than once, while giving lessons to his nephew, erlebad was struck with admiration and astonishment and predicted for him a glorious future in the monastery over which he himself presided. when, however, he spoke on the subject to the youth, whose heart was already filled with longings for the religious life, meinrad would not give a decisive answer, saying he must first consult his father. having done so the count replied that he felt he should he wanting in his descr. of einsiedeln. 2 18 chapter 1. duty to god if he were to combat his son's desire, and accordingly meinrad assumed the benedictine habit in the year 822, and the 25th year of his age. a little later on he was sent as a teacher to bollingen on the upper lake of zurich, where the benedictines of reichenau had established a school. but the view that he always had before him there of the forest-clad summits of the etzel, rising from the opposite side of the lake, excited in the heart of the pious young man more and more ardent longings for a wholly solitary life. at last, having seriously weighed the question, meinrad, with the permission of his superiors betook himself to the heights of the etzel, in the year 828, there to lead the life of a hermit. a holy widow of altendorf having given him permission, he built for himself a little oratory, and close beside it a cell, where he lived, and where the pious woman came day by day to supply him with the necessaries of life. but meinrad was not allowed to remain long in quiet enjoyment of his beloved solitude. from far and near, crowds soon began to resort to the saintly hermit for counsel and conference on spiritual matters. so, after having spent seven years on the etzel, he fled away from his cell and withdrew still farther into the depths of the ,,dark wood." st. meinrad. 19 it was upon a small table-land, the south side of which was protected by a hill enclosing it like an amphitheatre, and close to a clear bright spring of water that meinrad at last established himself and, with the permission of the abbess hedwig, built himself a dwelling and a chapel which was destined in after times to develope into the famous benedictine monastery and pilgrimage church of einsiedeln. his only possessions were the rule of st. benedict, a missal, a book of homilies, the works of the monk cassian and the statue of the blessed virgin, presented to him by the abbess hildegarde, a daughter of king ludwig, which under the title of our lady of the hermits is still the object of veneration in the holy chapel at einsiedeln. meinrad had there passed many years of a life devoted to god and to his fellow creatures, when one unhappy day two robbers broke into his poor dwelling in the hopes of finding concealed treasure and the holy man at once recognising them as destined, in the counsels of the most high, to be his murderers, gave them kindly welcome. but after he had supplied their needs, fed them at his table and given them warnings and advice how to provide for their own security, the two wicked men fell upon him, and slew him on the 21st of 20 chapter i. january 861, the saint having lived at einsiedeln five and twenty years. hoping to find safety in flight, the murderers betook themselves to zurich, but were pursued by two ravens belonging to the saint. this unusual circumstance attracting the notice of the people of zurich, a carpenter of wollerau hastened to the cell of the saint, and there discovered his corpse, then returning to zurich he made diligent search for the murderers and having found them he delivered them into the hands of the judge by whom they were tried and condemned to death. as soon as the tidings of this terrible murder reached reichenau, the abbot walter, accompanied by several of his monks, set out for st. meinrad's cell in the dark wood", and after having deposited his heart on the summit of the etzel, he conveyed the rest of his mortal remains to the abbey of reichenau in solemn procession. for the space of 178 years the body of the saint remained there. in the meantime, out of the little cell of st. meinrad, rose the vast convent of einsiedeln and in the year 1039 the body of the saint was brought back to its cell where it is venerated at the present day. amongst the old chronicles and manuscripts preserved in the convent of einsiedeln is a very st. meinrad. 21 interesting book profusely adorned with illustrations which most probably dates as far back as 1482. it was most likely intended as a souvenir for the pilgrims visiting einsiedeln to whom it would serve as a precious remembrance of the days they had passed near st. meinrad's tomb. as to the place where it was printed and the name of the author, nothing certain is known, tho' there seems a possibility that it may be ascribed to albrecht von bonstetten who wrote the legend of st. idda and the life of brother klaus and who travelled to italy to obtain from pope pius ii., the ratification of the privileges bestowed at an earlier date on the convent of einsiedeln. with regard to the contents of this most interesting book, of which only two copies are known to exist, they are, as may readily be imagined, most naïve in character and specially adapted to the popular taste. this is peculiarly observable in the woodcuts representing the murder of st. meinrad which is given with all possible detail and in the most realistic manner. as is but natural, manners and customs characteristic of the fifteenth century are cast back into the ninth and particulars borrowed from the lives of other saints are introduced into the legend. a facsimile of this quaint old book was published in 1861, being the thousandth 22 chapter 1. anniversary of st. meinrad's death. a slight description of some of the illustrations can hardly fail to be of interest; at any rate the reader will thereby be enabled to place the saint before him as he appeared to the eyes of the readers of the legend nearly four hundred years ago. the first of these rude, but bold and life-like illustrations, shows us count berchtold of hohenzollern praying to god for a son and promising that, if his request were granted, the child should be dedicated to his service. ,,god our father," he exclaims,,,i implore thee, give me a child"; and an angel appearing to him in a cloud replies: ,,that which thou hast prayed for shall be granted to thee." in the following picture the count is represented standing by the bed-side of his wife, with the child, which god had given him in his arms. then, in regular order, are given illustrations of meinrad's career, showing how, after having received his early education, he is sent to reichenau where we see him saying his first mass and shortly after receiving a summons from the abbot of bollingen to betake himself thither. the surprise with which the humble saint receives the command and the simplicity with which he sets forth at once to obey it are most vividly depicted. st. meinrad. 23 in the following illustration he is seen taking his departure from bollingen accompanied by three of his scholars, who are a head and shoulders shorter than himself, and crossing the lake of zurich in a wide flat-bottomed boat; his countenance beaming with joy and his companions gazing at him with admiration. having landed at the foot of the etzel mountain they bend their steps towards the forest in search of a place wherein to take up their abode. after a while, meinrad meets with a widow woman of whom he enquires whether he and his companions may remain in the „dark wood", to which she replies ,you and your young men are welcome". in the following illustration she is represented as supplying the saint and his disciples with garments of which they seem in great need. for the space of three days the two young men fish in a brook, which flows through the forest in a very impossible manner, while st. meinrad, after having held converse with the widow woman, seeks for a still more solitary retreat wherein to spend his days. hardly has he found one when a nest with two young ravens is brought to him by one of his disciples, or ,,little brothers" (bruderlin) as they are affectionately called. then the three return to the widow's house where they are seen seated at a table partaking of fish and 24 chapter 1. bread, a further supply of fish frying the while on a gridiron placed on the floor. the meal ended, st. meinrad departs for his hermitage and his little brothers" return to their convent. the next illustration shows us st. meinrad hard at work, surrounded by heaps of stones and mortar, building his chapel, whilst, on either side of the altar are perched the two ravens with outstretched necks and open beaks croaking their satisfaction. but st. meinrad is not allowed long to remain at peace in his solitude and accordingly we see him assaulted, whilst at his prayers before the door of his cell, by two devils of frightful aspect who beat him sorely with their heavy clubs. but an angel comes to his rescue, and the ravens settling on the heads of the devils peck them so fiercely that they are obliged to take flight. nor is the saint left without earthly friends, for the widow with whom he had made acquaintance on the etzel visits him at einsiedeln, bringing with her fish in a basin wherewith to supply his frugal wants. pilgrims also visit him frequently and we are shown two of them approaching st. meinrad's cell and receiving at the hands of the saint loaves of bread and a cup of wine, a spectacle which seems greatly to rejoice the ravens who are look7 be biberbrück near einsiedeln, 26 chapter 1. ing down on the scene from the gable where they are perched on either side of a crucifix. but all are not true pilgrims who resort to st. meinrad's cell, for the following illustration shows us the robbers and murderers who have been attracted thither by the fame of the charity of the holy man and by the expectation of finding treasures of gold and silver concealed in his hut. so they come and ask for food and alms from the saint who, seating them at his table sets bread and wine before them, begging them to tarry a while with him, but saying at the same time,,that for which you are come hither, do". even while they are eating bread and drinking wine, the ravens, full of righteous indignation settle on the heads of the murderers who, however seem utterly insensible to their screams and the vícious pecks which they inflict upon them. hardly have they ended their meal, when full of haste to carry out their evil designs they set upon the saint and beat him with clubs, the one saying to the other,,let me kill the monk, thou canst not do it" and all the time the ravens are pecking their foreheads, till at last death comes to relieve the saint from his sufferings. then suddenly, so we are told, the forest is filled with a sweet odour, and the murderers, perhaps seized with remorse, lay st. meinrad out, 1 st. meinrad. 27 placing a ca...ile at his head and another at his feet, whilst an angel coming down from heaven lights them with a flaming torch which he holds in his hand. on seeing this the murderers take flight, and at the very same moment a carpenter, a friend of st. meinrad's, hewing wood at the door of his house says suddenly to his brother that he fears some harm has happened to the saint and he will set out to seek him. in the following illustration the carpenter and his brother, their friends and relations and acquaintances are gathered together and are seen weeping over the body of st. meinrad; then they hasten back to zurich where the two murderers, pursued by the ravens, have already betaken themselves. the criminals, being discovered by the screams and croaking of the ravens, are quickly seized and brought before the burgomaster who, finding in the birds sufficient testimony of „peter's" and ,,richard's" guilt, sentences them to be tied with ropes to a horse and dragged over sharp rocks; the ravens meantime tearing their naked flesh and continuing to cling to them, when they are bound to wheels and afterwards set on piles over a fire, the flames of which speedily consume them. the lives of both of them being thus miserably ended, their ashes are cast into a running stream as being unworthy of christian burial. in the fol28 chapter 1. lowing illustration we are shown st. meinrad's corpse, conveyed on a bier drawn by oxen from einsiedeln up the etzel and placed in the chapel which, from that day forward, has been known by his name. the next picture portrays the removal of st. meinrad's remains to reichenau where the abbot, clad in cope and mitre, preceded by his cross-bearer, and accompanied by a monk, carrying his crosier, goes forth to meet them. with this illustration the series representing the history of st. meinrad concludes. "" there still remain a few more woodcuts to be described. the first of these shows us our lady's chapel in the dark wood" falling into ruins and almost buried beneath the forest-trees and rank herbage which have sprung up around it. the next exhibits st. gregory preaching at rome during the year of the jubilee and asking whether any one amongst his audience can tell him where the „dark wood" in germany is situated; to which question a monk replies in the affirmative, whilst an angel descends bearing with him a scroll whereon are inscribed the words ,,thou shalt go to the dark wood“. st. eberhard, praying in his church at strasburg, also receives from an angel a similar command bidding him go to the dark wood" and st. meinrad. 29 betake himself to the chapel of our lady of the hermits. in the following woodcut we see st. gregory toiling up the mountain of the etzel accompanied by a,,brother" from zurich who pointing upwards with his finger says to the saint:,,this is the dark wood", ,,das ist der finstere wald". there st. gregory meets st. eberhard and after discoursing together respecting the command laid upon them by god, they build up with their own hands st. meinrad's chapel. only two more illustrations remain to be mentioned. the first of these represents our saviour and his angels consecrating the chapel of st. meinrad and also shows us st. conrad, bishop of constance, being withheld from performing the like sacred ceremony by the voice of an angel speaking from heaven and saying,,cease brother" or as it is given in the legend borne in his hand ,,cessa frater". the last illustration represents st. conrad and other holy men prostrate at the feet of the pope begging him to ratify the divine dedication. the bull granted by pope leo is then alluded to, but as its contents had already been given to the world the author does not repeat them in full and contents himself with concluding his work by an eloquent and beautiful greeting to our blessed lady. 30 chapter 1. a very curious and striking frontispiece is attached to this most interesting old book, its subject being the divine dedication of the chapel of st. meinrad; it bears the date 1466. the tenderness of feeling and delicacy of execution which mark the original are clearly discernible in the fac-simile, proving the work to be that of a master. as to the meaning of the engraving there can be no doubt, seeing that it bears the following inscription: ,,this is the divine consecration of our dear lady at einsiedeln. ave gratia plena!" the statue of the blessed virgin which is represented standing upon the altar closely resembles the one in the holy chapel. in a gallery above the altar the son of god is seen sprinkling the sacred precincts with holy water, and in a line with him god the father, one hand raised in the act of blessing, the other resting on a book; on either side stand choirs of angels, some with musical instruments in their hands, whilst above the holy spirit is shown under the form of a dove. as to the master (meister e), whose initial is affixed to the engraving, many conjectures have been hazarded which are all equally unsatisfactory. it seems probable that he was the head of a school and that his pupils produced, with more or less of success, works in the same style as those which came from the hand of the master. cons crrine per dididitus chapter ii. the monastery of einsiedeln. " in the year 838, st. meinrad took leave of his cell on the heights of the etzel and withdrew still farther into the depths of the dark wood" near the sihl, where he built a little chapel and a cell beside a spring of water. this was the commencement of the convent of einsiedeln. in the year 1704, on the 31st of march, at five o'clock in the morning the abbot maurus von roll accompanied by certain of his monks, went forth from the convent which up to that time he had inhabited and turned up the soil three times with his spade, as did also those that were with him; then the workmen advanced and began to dig the foundations on which the present convent was destined to rise. between the building of the first cell and of the chapel of our blessed lady by st. meinrad and the great work undertaken by the forty-third prince abbot, 32 chapter 2. nine centuries had elapsed, during which period einsiedeln had been subjected to the vicissitudes which we shall now proceed to relate. seventy four years after st. meinrad's death, st. benno, a scion of a princely burgundian house and a canon of the cathedral of strasbourg, being inspired by divine grace, betook himself to the hermitage of st. meinrad accompanied by some of his friends of like mind. arrived at their destination, they built cells for themselves which encircled the holy chapel, and by their holy sacrifices, prayers and penances they illumined the „dark wood“. there st. benno lived till 925, when he was elevated to the see of metz. but his zeal in fulfilling his episcopal duties inflamed the minds of wicked men against him, and at last their malice rose to such a height that they dragged him from his palace, tore out his eyes and drove him from his see. the king of germany put to death the authors of this abominable crime and invited the holy prelate to return to his diocese. but st. benno preferred to go back to his beloved cell and the companions he had left there and among them he died the death of the just in the year 940. st. benno was still living when another dignitary of the cathedral of strasbourg, eberhard 3 u the figetes the monastery. 34 chapter 2. by name, a member of a noble french family, decided to follow his example. in the autumn of the year 934, he arrived with a very numerous suite at st. meinrad's hermitage and, soon after his coming there, drew the plan of a church and a large monastery to be built on the spot consecrated by st. meinrad's blood. the chapel of the saint dedicated to the mother of god and already the goal of many pilgrimages was to remain on the site which it had always occupied, whilst around and above it were to rise the walls and roof of the church. in every succeeding reconstruction of the monastery these features were retained. the monastery was finished in 946 and, two years later, the church. that was the first monastery at einsiedeln. we have but little information respecting the aspect of the building, but the ecclesiastical architecture of that early period was so severe and simple in its character that it is not difficult to form an idea of the appearance presented by the church which must have been a flat-roofed basilica of the usual oblong form, and the monastery an irregular pile of buildings devoid of any special beauty. st. eberhard, by means of his great wealth, and the aid afforded him by neighbouring lords, having built the monastery, was elected first abbot of the community and gave to his monks the monastery of einsiedeln. 35 the rule of st. benedict placing the convent beneath the protection of the blessed virgin under the title of our lady of the hermits. he then begged of conrad, bishop of constance, to consecrate the holy chapel and also the church attached to the monastery. it was on the eve of the 14th of september 948, that the venerable bishop arrived at einsiedeln, together with the holy bishop of augsburg and a great number of knights and gentlemen. on that same eve the bishop rose, according to his wont, at midnight and went to the church to pray in the holy chapel, accompanied by some of the monks. he had been there but a short time when suddenly it was filled with light brighter than that of the sun at midday, while the chanting of psalms by a great multitude fell upon his ears. hastening towards the altar which was illuminated as for a solemn festival he beheld, standing in front of the statue of our blessed lady, jesus christ himself assisted by the four evangelists, offering up the most holy sacrifice; angels standing on either side of the divine pontiff wafted incense on the air, the apostles ss. peter and paul and the pope st. gregory bore in their hands the pontifical insignia. a choir of angels made the church resound with their celestial songs and ss. stephen and laurence officiated as deacons. 36 chapter 2. st. conrad himself relates in his book, de secretis secretorum that the text of the sanctus was thus modified by the angelic voices; sanctus deus in aula gloriosæ virginis, miserere nobis! benedictus mariæ filius in æternum regnaturus qui venit! he also cites variations in the agnus as well as in the blessing which ran thus „may the blessing of heaven rest upon you, and may the angels, may god himself make his dwelling in you." 65 astonished though he was by such a celestial apparition, the bishop did not at once leave the holy chapel, but continued to pray there till the eleventh hour of the morning. at last, not having made his appearance, the monks who had been long awaiting his return went into the church to beg that he would perform the ceremony which had been fixed to take place on that day. he then related to them what he had seen and refused to consecrate a chapel which had already received a divine dedication. no one, however, gave credence to his recital, on the contrary, he was harshly blamed by st. eberhard and ordered at once to begin the ceremonial. accordingly, after having made long resistance to the utmost of his power, the bishop withdrew his opposition, and, returning to the church prepared to ascend the steps of the altar in the holy chapel in the presence of a great concourse of people who had ion cen hacl the miraculous consecration. 38 chapter 2. collected together from all parts. but no sooner had his foot reached the first step of the altar, than a voice, heard by all present, and which seemed to descend from heaven, exclaimed,,cease, brother, the chapel is divinely consecrated“. „cessa, cessa, frater, capella divinitus consecrata est." this marvellous history was afterwards confirmed by numerous contemporary witnesses, by judicial enquiries signed by the highest civil and ecclesiastical authorities and lastly, sixteen years later, by a bull of pope leo viii, given at the instance and in the presence of st. conrad, of the emperor otto, of his spouse adelheid and of many other personages, secular and ecclesiastic, assembled together at the foot of the apostolic throne. after relating the particulars of the divine consecration the bull pronounces an anathema upon any who, in the future, should dare to renew the consecration of the holy chapel, and concludes with these words: ,,we absolve all who shall visit the above-named holy spot, after confession and repentance, from all their sins and the penalties attached thereto. this bull was confirmed by pope innocent iv. and many succeeding pontiffs, among whom may be named leo x. and clement vii. pius vi. ratified the bulls of his predecessors on the the monastery of einsiedeln. 39 15th of may 1773,,,to honour the monastery, and to shame sceptics, who are always ready to cast doubts upon events which it does not suit them to believe and to place implicit faith in any absurdities which please their taste." the monastery built by st. eberhard did not last even a hundred years. in 1029, according to an old chronicler, a miserable knight, eppo von stetten by name, a wretch hated of god and man, burnt the house of god at einsiedeln down to the ground. the holy chapel, however, remained uninjured in the midst of the desolation, but the whole of the monastery fell a prey to the flames. in the year 1031, embrich, the fifth prince abbot, laid the foundation stone of another church and monastery, which was completed in 1039. that same year the new convent and church were solemnly consecrated, with the exception, of course, of the holy chapel, by the bishop of constance and, on that occasion also, the remains of st. meinrad were brought back from reichenau to the chapel in the dark wood. no further information respecting the second monastery of einsiedeln has been handed down to us. two centuries passed by and then another conflagration took place, with regard to which some chroniclers state that the church only was burnt to the ground, whilst others assert that the mon40 chapter 2. astery shared the same fate. but all agree in affirming that the chapel of the mother of god, although built almost entirely of wood, was miraculously spared. it was conrad i, count of thun, at that time reigning as prince abbot, who undertook the building of the third monastery, which, as soon as it was brought to completion, was consecrated by the bishop of constance. during two hundred and forty one years the convent remained uninjured. in 1467, however, the church fell once more a prey to the flames. on quasimodo sunday everything in the sacred building that was constructed of wood, together with all the ornaments, chalices and books were destroyed, "only" the old chronicler adds, „,the holy chapel suffered no harm notwithstanding that much wood had been employed in the construction of its walls". from other sources we learn that a portion of the monastery also was destroyed by the flames which had attacked the church and therefore a fourth reconstruction of the building became necessary. it was then that the chapel of our lady was rebuilt with hewn stones and vaulted over. but before it was possible to carry out the plans which had been drawn for the extension of the monastery, a fire broke out on the 30th of the monastery of einsiedeln. 4i march 1509, in a cottage, and spreading to the village consumed it entirely, damaging also a portion of the church and part of the monastery; the holy chapel, as on every former occasion, being miraculously preserved from harm. as soon as the conflagration had reached the monastery, abbot conrad hastened to the ,,chapel where, in the words of the historian, he prayed very earnestly and piously to god and at the conclusion of his prayer, being filled with great zeal and confidence in the mother of god, he exclaimed, ,,oh mary, mother of god, take heed, for all that is here is thine and belongs wholly to thee." then he went forth from the chapel and said he knew positively that the fire would not come near the abbot's house, which prediction came to pass, for it remained untouched by the flames." the injuries which the church and convent received on this occasion were not, happily, of a nature to render necessary their entire reconstruction. between the years 1544 and 1569 a cupola was placed above the holy chapel and we are also informed that this fourth monastery was more regular and beautiful in style than had been the former buildings. the majestic construction had now attained the height of its splendour, it had been restored at vast cost and nothing was wanting to its magni42 chapter 2. ficence; all on which the eye rested was grand and beautiful as became the house of god. but ecce! in the ninth year of the reign of the prince abbot adam heer, a fearful raging fire broke out again in the village, and burnt down, not only all the houses therein, but also the monastery, together with the church and all the ornaments it contained, doing no injury however to the holy chapel. this terrific conflagration began about noon on st. mark's day 1577. it lasted three or four hours only, but in that short space of time everything that was not conveyed out of doors was utterly destroyed. all the roofs of the houses in the village, as well as that of the monastery, were covered either with tiles or shingles and a fearful rushing wind drove the flames from one house to another. even to the waggithal, three long hours distant from einsiedeln and separated from it by a mountain, half consumed shingles and sheets of paper were carried by the wind. the prince abbot chanced on that day to be at the convent of the nuns at au, about half an hour distant from einsiedeln, but on receiving the terrible tidings he hastened to return in the morning to the monastery and has left in his own handwriting a very touching description of the desolation he found there. the monastery was entirely destroyed and became a mass of ruins, the monastery of einsiedeln. 43 the roof of the church was consumed, the lofty cupola surmounting the towers had disappeared, all the bells had melted, even the stone work was injured, and the roof had great rents in it. but the destructive element had spent itself on the exterior of the building and scarcely any injury had been done to the interior though traces remained of the fiery tongues which had penetrated into it by roof and window. but alas! all the works of art and the valuables collected in the newly-built treasure chambers and in other parts of the monastery were utterly and irretrievably destroyed. the building of the fifth monastery was immediately undertaken by the prince abbot adam, and finished by his successor ulrich iii. the new monastery resembled its predecessor in all respects with the exception of some unimportant modifications. the convent and church preserved the same aspect in all their essential details until the construction of the choir and penitentiary in the year 1674. it must, nevertheless be mentioned, that under the reign of every succeeding abbot improvements were continually being effected. that the monastery was very hastily and badly built after the great fire of 1577 is clearly proved by the fact that after a lapse of fifty years 44 chapter 2. it was thought that it would be necessary to rebuild it. the intention was not, however, carried out, and it is well that it was not, as the plans which were designed in 1704 were in most respects much more grandiose than those of 1633. it was in the year 1721 that abbot schenklin of wyl laid the foundation stone of the present church, which was solemnly consecrated in the year 1735. the building of the monastery, the arcades and the flight of steps leading up from the „place" to the space in front of the church, were brought to a conclusion some years afterwards. on the 1st november 1755 such terrible convulsions of nature occurred that it was feared the efforts made to beautify einsiedeln would prove vain. in an account given by an eye-witness we are told that a few days after the earthquakes which had taken place in spain and portugal, a fearful shaking to and fro of the earth was experienced at the monastery of einsiedeln and every one expected that the church and the choir would fall in. it lasted about four minutes and many persons being gathered together in the choir for vespers they all fled away with pale faces and could hardly persuade themselves to return. nothing was really injured, only an old crack which had already been noticed in the church was widened. „god preserve us in future," conthe madonna of einsiedeln. 46 chapter 2. icludes the pious writer,,from all such-like visitations," as indeed he has done up to the present day. it was in the same year 1755 that on the 31st august the prince abbot nicholas solemnly consecrated the altar of the rosary. the other numerous altars were finished afterwards and consecrated together with all the other buildings forming portions of the church, which had been raised at the cost of so much time and trouble. it is easy to understand why the diarist, after giving these details, should associate with them the wish that all being brought to a conclusion the happy hope may be entertained that the church will in future enjoy rest and that silence may follow the noise and turmoil of its building". chapter iii. the present monastery. the pile of buildings of which the present monastery is composed covers a space of 150 yards in width by 172 yards in length, the church occupying the central portion of the principal façade. on either side are wings which are connected together by four pavilions placed at the north, south, east and west angles of the monastery and which enclose within their walls four courts or gardens. the monastery is two stories in height, exclusive of the ground floor, each story containing forty two windows. the pavilions at the angles are one story higher than the wings and add great dignity to the simple and severe style of the edifice. the interior is divided into four separate portions comprising, ist the chambers of the abbot, 2dly the apartments of the monks, 3dly the college, 4thly the library. the suites of rooms occupied by the abbot are situated in the pavilion and wing which look 48 chapter 3. towards the south. stretching along one side of the corridor are the guest chambers, and opposite them the dining room and reception rooms. with these last is connected a hall of noble proportions decorated in the same style as the rest of the monastery, the ceiling being adorned with a fresco by deschwanden, representing the divine dedication of the holy chapel. on the walls hang full length portraits of the pope, the emperors of france, germany and austria and of some other princely personages. in presenting their portraits to the monastery the most distinguished members of the royal families of europe showed their wish to perpetuate the relations which in former times subsisted between them and the convent, as well as their sense of the services rendered to them by the benedictine fathers in by-gone ages. at the lower end of the great hall, which is 33 yards long and wide in proportion, are two large historical pictures given to the monastery on the occasion of the millenary festival in 1861, by the prince of hohenzollern sigmaringen. the subject of one of these paintings is st. meinrad preaching on the etzel; the figures grouped around him being relations of the prince whose ancestors were nearly connected with the saint. the pendant represents the gift of the miraculous statue made by the abbess of frauen münster to st. meinrad; 70 bird'seye-view of the monastery from the east. 50 chapter 3. the four sons of the prince occupying the most prominent positions in the composition. near these pictures is one of the holy father which pope pius ix of sacred memory bestowed on the monastery as a mark of his sympathy on the occasion of the jubilee. then follow lifesize portraits of the emperor and empress of austria; of louis napoleon iii and of the empress eugenie, also a very interesting drawing of the prince imperial taken when he was a child. next in order is an excellent portrait of frederic william iv, king of prussia, who, as chief of the hohenzollerns presented it to the convent on the occasion of the jubilee of his ancestor st. meinrad, in 1861. in the year 1865 his brother, the present emperor, sent his portrait to einsiedeln and lastly, the crown princes of austria and prussia have testified their high estimation of the monastery by also sending their portraits to adorn the hall. amongst the religious pictures may be mentioned a portrait of brother klaus, and on each side of the entrance two altar-pieces, one representing the martyrdom of st. catharine and the other that of st. barbara; these are remarkable as works of art as well as for their antiquity. at the further end of the hall is an altar, beautifully and elaborately carved in wood, the work of one of the lay-brothers; the altar-piece which the present monastery. 51 is a madonna of corregio's is an exceedingly fine specimen of that master. the apartments of the religious are in the two wings of the monastery which are connected with the eastern pavilion; they consist of the cells of the monks, the hall where prayers are said, the refectory and the recreation rooms. connected with these apartments is the seminary and rooms for the brothers and for novices who have a library of their own and a garden set apart for their special use. the aspirants newly received into the order, are subjected to a severe novitiate of a year's duration under the superintendance of a novice-master, when they take the simple vows and receive a new name. after three years further probation they take the solemn vows and are professed. the college. the north pavilion with its adjoining wings is appropriated to the college which contains three halls for study, instruction being given in a great number of class and music rooms. a chapel with beautiful frescos, and an altar-piece by deschwanden is appropriated to the devotions of the boys and a sermon is preached to them there on sundays and festivals. space has been found in this portion of the building for a school library, an infirmary and a small theatre. 52 chapter 3. the library. this is in the north wing and is, next to the church, the most important portion of the monastery. a description of its contents will be given in a later chapter. the presbytery. the wing between the east pavilion and the church has been set apart as a presbytery for the use of the parishioners of einsiedeln who are placed under the spiritual care of one of the fathers, assisted by several vicars chosen from among the ranks of the monks. as the parish comprises not only the village proper of einsiedeln, but also six out-lying hamlets. the number of souls, according to the census taken in december 1880 amounts to 8403. no parish church now exists, the services are performed in one of the chapels of the monastery church and in the chapel attached to the neighbouring school. the buildings adjoining the monastery and comprised within its walls are devoted to the labourers and artizans connected with the monastery; the space thus occupied is open to the public, access to it being obtained by means of a portal ornamented with a beautiful wrought iron grating situated at the extremity of the right wing of the principal facade. the corresponding portal at the extremity of the left wing gives access to the college. the buildings comprise dwellings the present monastery. 53 for the bailiff and for field-labourers, also a buttery, a wash-house, and cow-houses, work-shops for carpenters, wheelwrights etc. and an immense range of stables. in the centre of the space encircled by these constructions rises the tall chimney belonging to the apparatus for heating the monastery by steam. the adjacent courts and gardens are surrounded by a wall of hewn stone which extends from north to south along a space of 284 yards and from east to west of 281 yards. the interior of the church. "" chapter iv. the church. ,,the church of einsiedeln", says a distinguished french traveller, is the finest edifice which i have seen in switzerland. its situation in a solitary alpine valley and in the midst of lower buildings of simple construction, over which it towers, adds to the impression produced by the noble and harmonious style of its architecture while it affords a touching symbol of the protection which religion ever extends to the poor and weak who fly to it for refuge." the church which stands in the centre of the monastery has on either side of its principal entrance, a lofty and beautiful tower containing thirteen bells which, on occasion of great festivals, send forth their melodious peals, awaking the echoes of the mountains and filling the air with enchanting sounds. the first object which strikes the eye on entering 56 chapter 4. is the small black marble building which rises in the midst among the frescos and paintings like a tomb in a garden of flowers. it is the holy chapel. advancing along the majestic nave the next object which attracts special attention is a colosa mes eparcs sovs la sal corona suspended from the central dome, given by the emperor napoleon in 1865 in memory of the pilgrimage made by his mother queen hortense to our lady of the hermits. this magnificent corona is of copper gilt, and measures 4 yards in diameter by 6 yards and the church. 57 a half in height. on a band which encircles it, is inscribed in brilliant enamel the following words: ,,i desire to place myself and my children under the protection of the blessed virgin." these words are taken from a letter written by queen hortense to the abbot of the monastery. in the interior of the corona is an imperial crown with the inscription: „given by napoleon iii, emperor of the french, 1865." the church is 125 yards long by 47 broad. the nave is divided into three aisles, the central one being 13 yards and a half wide. eight colossal columns support the vaulted roof, which is decorated with frescos and golden arabesques. all round the church runs a triforium connecting it with the monastery and with the choir occupied by the monks. at 20 yards from the great entrance the division into nave and aisles ceases, and on either side of the space two isolated pillars support a triumphal arch rising above the holy chapel. to the right and left of the nave, in the side arches, are fourteen chapels, all of them separated from the body of the church by screens of wrought iron, graceful and varied in design and beautiful in execution. the altars are, generally speaking, in the italian style, the two largest being of einsiedeln marble; all of them are decorated with reliquaries, statues, and paintings. 58 chapter 4. the first altar to the left is the altar of the rosary. it is of marble and in the modern roman style which although not in accordance with the purest taste, is grandiose and impressive. on the frontal of the altar, and at the base of the candelabra are small bas-reliefs in copper gilt representing the scenes of the passion; these being the only stations of the cross which the church possesses. statues of st. matthew and st. luke stand on side pillars, and the summit of the altar is adorned with a statue of the archangel raphael. the picture over the altar represents the blessed virgin giving the rosary to st. dominic, who is kneeling at her feet, while in the background is depicted the battle of lepanto. this picture was painted by kraus, seven of whose productions are to be seen at einsiedeln. death prevented him from bringing his last work to a conclusion and it was accordingly finished in 1752 by weiss, a native of einsiedeln who had studied at rome. near the altar stands a font for the parishioners of einsiedeln. since the removal of the parish church the altar of the rosary has been appropriated to the use of the parish. the fresco on the vault represents the dream of the patriarch jacob. it is the work of keller of pfrundten, who also executed the greater part of the frescos in the church. the church. 59 the second altar to the left is dedicated to st. joseph. this altar is much smaller than the preceding one, but it is equally harmonious in its style. the body of the holy martyr dionysius rests in a sarcophagus above the altar and takes the place generally occupied by a picture. the statue of st. joseph, as well as the allegorical figures adorning this and other altars, are by francis carloni of lugano. they are remarkably graceful and refined in style, the heads of the cherubim and the figures symbolising innocence and truth being especially charming. innumerable marriages are celebrated throughout the year at the altar of st. joseph, especially between persons belonging to einsiedeln and the surrounding districts. the third altar to the left is that of st. meinrad, and the two side altars are dedicated to st. conrad and st. henry. the small altar dedicated to the holy bishop of constance is adorned by one of the most beautiful master-pieces of deschwanden; it consists of a lifesize portrait of the saint. the large marble altar of st. meinrad has above it a picture representing st. meinrad in the desert, seeing in a vision the blessed virgin and the holy child. in the back ground the murderers of the saint are taking flight. 60 chapter 4. the fresco on the roof is a repetition of the picture over the altar and on one side is a smaller one representing god commanding noah to build the ark and bearing this inscription, „fac tibi arcam et foedus ponam tecum!" words which serve to remind the beholder that st. meinrad in founding einsiedeln was providing for many an ark of safety. another fresco represents st. meinrad in glory surrounded by angels. the altar is decorated with many excellent statues by carloni, of the two largest one represents st. wolfgang, bishop of ratisbon, and the other st. eberhard, the first abbot of einsiedeln. beneath the altar rest the remains of the holy martyr vitalis. corresponding with the altar dedicated to st. conrad is one to the right dedicated to the holy emperor henry, and over it is a picture of the saint. st. wolfgang was st. henry's patron. it was this pious emperor who, when he was praying in the church of st. maria maggiore at rome, on the first night of his arrival there, saw,,the sovereign and eternal priest christ-jesus enter to say mass. st. lawrence and st. vincent assisted as deacon and subdeacon, saints innumerable filled the church, and angels sang in the choir. after the gospel an angel was sent by our lady to give him the book to bless. touthe church. 61 ching henry lightly on the thigh, as the angel did to jacob, he said: accept this sign of god's love for your chastity and justice', and from that time the emperor always halted". st. henry died in the year 1022. the fourth altar is dedicated to st. maurice. it is in the same style as that of st. joseph and may be appropriately termed the altar dedicated to christian heroes. the three beautiful statues, which are placed on it are by carloni the statue of st. maurice, the patron of the church at einsiedeln, with banner and lance in hand, stands over the altar, whilst st michael the archangel, is placed on the left and st. george on the right. beneath the altar lies the body of the holy martyr placidus. the fresco on the roof represents the great benefactress of einsiedeln, the holy empress adelheid, and another large fresco shows us st. maurice in glory, whilst st. adelrich, a guardian of the monastery, holding a key in one hand leads with the other his mother regulina, the duchess of germany. behind them stand the abbot gregory, st. sigismund, his pupil, st. placid, st. wolfgang and st. thietland, the second abbot of the monastery, with a book in his hand. the fifth altar is dedicated to the holy cross. it stands near the entrance to the choir and instead of a picture has over it a large bas-relief 62 chapter 4. representing the saviour dying on the cross, whilst above is a head of our blessed lord. the statues of the blessed virgin and st. john, placed on either side of the altar, are remarkable for their expression of profound and dignified sorrow; they are considered to form the master-pieces, of carloni whose work the bas-relief also is. the relics venerated at this altar are those of one of the martyred soldiers of the theban legion. passing in front of the choir we come first to the altar of the mount of olives. this altar corresponds with that of the holy cross which has just been described. the basrelief represents our lord praying on the mount of olives, above it is the head of the,,ecce homo“. on either side are two beautiful life-size figures; one of st. john the baptist, the other of moses. there is also a group of angels weeping over the instruments of the passion. in a reliquary the skull of the holy martyr balbina is preserved. the fresco represents, in common with that on the other side of the choir, the patrons of the monastery. st. gerold, with his two sons kuno and ulrich, look down from their seats in glory upon the hermitage which they inhabited during their pilgrimage on earth. st. sigismund, the king of burgundy, is also there, and st. scholastica with the dove, under the form of which her brother the church. 63 saw her soul ascend to heaven. there, too, is the abbot frederick who was thrown into prison by certain wicked monks, and near him is st. gregory, the third abbot of the monastery, who is being led by an angel into the desert, and lastly st. benno, st. meinrad's successor, who may be recognised by his episcopal vestments and the knife with which the burghers of metz thrust out his eyes. the seventh altar is dedicated to st. sigismund. of this holy king of burgundy the monastery has from the earliest times possessed some precious relics. his altar is immediately opposite that of st. maurice, and may be designated as the altar of christian monarchs, seeing that it is adorned with statues of three royal saints. above the altar is the statue of st. sigismund himself, at his side is st. ursula with a crown on her head, whilst in her hand she holds the arrows with which her arms and breast were pierced. on the other side of the king is the holy adelheid, the wife of the emperor otho the great. on the altar rest the remains of the roman martyr candida. the fresco on the roof represents the holy emperor henry ii, who, it may be stated, was a great benefactor to the monastery. the eighth altar is dedicated to st. benedict, and the two side-altars to the sacred heart of jesus and the sacred heart of mary. 64 chapter 4. in this chapel is represented the order under whose banner the monks of einsiedeln live and labour. the subject of the beautiful altar-piece is the death of st. benedict and is the work of the brother of carloni. here again, as in the altarpiece of st. meinrad's chapel, the contrast between heaven and earth is portrayed, and the way pointed out by which our saviour passed to his father and by which also st. benedict ascends to paradise. on either side of the altar stand two exceedingly striking statues, one of them representing gregory the great, who wrote the life of the founder of the order, the other pope zacharias, who gave his sanction to the rule of st. benedict. three other statues adorn the altar and are allegorical representations of the rule of st. benedict and of the vows required from his disciples. the figure on the right hand pillar symbolises chastity, that on the left, obedience, while the sacred words of poverty and fidelity are inscribed on small scrolls in the hands of cherubim; lastly on the summit of the altar the female figure bearing a torch is the rule personified, the book she holds in her hand being open at the page inscribed ausculta etc. it is needless to say that it is to the chisel of carloni these graceful and striking statues are due. the church. 65 the fresco shows us god the father giving to abraham the promise of an innumerable posterity, as contained in the words ,,faciam te in gentem magnam, erisque benedictus" being a play upon the word benedictus, which signifies blessed. st. benedict is moreover represented in glory surrounded by angels, one of whom holds a branch from which thorns and roses spring and which bears allusion to st. benedict having conquered the impure thoughts that were besieging him by throwing himself naked into a thorn-bush on which roses immediately blossomed. the corpse of the roman martyr gregory rests below the altar which was erected in 1739 by franzlin of bregenz, who had formerly been a novice in the convent. at the side-altars dedicated to the sacred heart of jesus and the sacred heart of mary mass is said uninterruptedly for several hours every morning, and devout persons are never wanting to assist at it. the ninth altar is consecrated to st. anne. it corresponds to the small altar of st. joseph. above the altar is placed the statue of st. anne teaching her holy daughter to read. to the left and right are statues of hope and love by carloni. the reliquary contains the body of the holy martyr charitosa with the sword symbolising, as in the case of other martyrs whose relics are preserved in the descr. of einsiedeln. 5 66 chapter 4. church, the manner of her martyrdom, such being also the system adopted in the catacombs of rome. the tenth altar is that of the confraternity of our lady of the hermits. this altar is in the modern italian style and is profusely decorated with marbles, gilding etc. its construction cost 18,000 italian lire. the picture on the anti-pendium represents the divine dedication, and the beautiful altar-piece is the first work produced by the artist kraus after his return from france. he appears to have taken special pains with the composition which represents our lady of the hermits and the patroness of christians. her beautiful and graceful form floats on the air, and her blue mantle envelopes the holy chapel on which a miraculous light streams down from heaven. groups of angels separate the upper portion of the picture from the lower, on which all descriptions of human suffering are depicted this picture, as well as the others which decorate the chapel, was skilfully restored in the year 1844. the statues on either side of the altar, placed upon pillars, represent st. john and st. mark whilst between them is st. michael holding the sceptre of the heavenly choir. the fresco represents our saviour with zaccheus. the church. 67 the choir. the lower choir is in a different style of architecture from that of the nave, which was constructed at a later period and therefore forms a striking contrast to it. allegorical frescos and beautiful golden arabesques are abundantly employed and the whole of the decoration makes a deep impression on the pilgrim, awaking emotions which the splendours of a dwelling dedicated to the majesty of the most high god are ever calculated to excite. outside the choir and facing the nave are two marble monuments which may be regarded as the farewell of carloni to his admirers, seeing that they were the last works which proceeded from his chisel. in the pavement immediately below the monument to the right is a stone, which on being raised gives entrance to the burial-vaults of the monks. the choir is separated from the nave by a very beautiful and artistic iron screen of which kind of work numerous and exquisite specimens are to be found in the church. the coat of arms introduced in the iron-work proves that this screen dates from the time of the earlier church and was placed there by the abbot augustus reding as the lilies of his crest occur continually in it. 68 chapter 4. the great frescos which decorate the roof or the choir may be divided into different portions, the whole forming a complete representation of the sacrifice of the new testament. the large frescos above the centre of the choir represent the lamb of god who, dying on the cross, sheds his blood for the salvation of the world. before the lamb kneel the four and twenty elders of the apocalypse, whilst in the background the jewish high priest, overwhelmed with fear, takes flight. in another fresco, the son of god appears before the almighty father and offers himself a sacrifice for man. the archangel gabriel is about hastily to depart to announce the mystery to mary, whilst on the other side angels are depicted bearing in their hands the instruments of the passion. in the foreground the kings and peoples of the old testament are seen standing or kneeling, abraham with his son isaac and king david being the most conspicuous figures. these immense frescos are surrounded by five smaller, the subjects of which are taken from the old testament, and are also connected with the idea of the great sacrifice of jesus. they are the work of the artist rüep of augsburg and of kraus, whose name has been already mentioned, and who also painted the magnificent picture redeschwanden's assumption over the high-altar. 70 chapter 4. presenting the dying christ, which is placed in the upper choir set apart for the monks. kraus 'spent part of his life at einsiedeln and died while painting the head of the blessed virgin in the rosary chapel. two bas-reliefs in the centre of the choir represent the sacrifice of melchisedech and that offered by aaron. the accompanying decorations also carry out the same idea as that symbolised by the frescos and bas-reliefs. the high-altar, which is 16 yards distant from the beautiful and exquisitely wrought iron screen, separating the choir from the nave, was executed by pozzi of milan in marble, from a drawing of torricelli's and cost 27,000 lire. it was begun in the year 1749 and finished in 1751. set in the centre of it is a bas-relief in bronze, also by pozzi, representing the last supper. thus, as in the frescos on the roof is given a representation of the heavenly conception of the sacrifice of jesus, so on the altar below is shown forth how the sacrifice is continually solemnized and repeated on earth, to the truth of which the animals typifying the evangelists and the angels with grapes and ears of corn, placed at the corners of the altar, also bear witness. above the altar is our blessed lord on the cross, a work of rare merit, as is also the rethe church. 71 presentation of the resurrection on the door of the tabernacle. on the side walls are four bas-reliefs representing events in the life of the blessed virgin who had so large a share in the work of redemption, and crowning all there rises in the background the picture of the assumption of our lady, painted in oil on the wall. this picture, as well as the whole of the frescos in the choir, was retouched and greatly altered in the summer of 1857-1858 by deschwanden. the divinely inspired pencil of the master has given quite a new character to it. the artist, who, to the great grief of all who knew him and his works, died on the 25th february 1881, held einsiedeln in especial reverence and often resorted thither as a pilgrim to offer up his prayers to our lady. nowhere are to be found such numerous and beautiful productions of his pencil as at einsiedeln. another great artist of his time was franz kraus who was born at augsburg 1706, and spent four years at einsiedeln 1745-1749 during which years he executed the greater portion of the frescos in the choir as well as several of the altar-pieces. in 1752 he planned and executed all the decorations of the lower choir and had also undertaken the construction of the upper choir when he died in 1755. his remains rest 72 chapter 4. in the cemetery at einsiedeln. in a gallery near the picture of the assumption are four colossal statues, of which one of them, representing innocence, was thrown down in the time of the french revolution, but a new one was, at a later period placed there. the upper choir. the wall on which the picture of the assumption is painted separates the lower from the upper choir; the latter being set apart for the monks. divided as it is by the wall from the church it forms, so to speak, an independent building, but on both sides of the picture a good view is obtained into the nave from between six pillars of black marble. on the altar is a beautiful tabernacle of carved wood, cased in silver, and in it are preserved several precious relics of st. benedict which were presented to the monastery on the 14th of august 1857 by the bishop of orleans. the paintings with which the whole of the choir is decorated are by the artist torricelli. in his works he shows more of skill than of genius, nevertheless they give evidence of great power and thereby raise him to a high position among fresco painters. the subjects of these frescos are either connected the church. 73 with choral song or with those which characterise the frescos of the lower choir. in the middle of the choir are two immense lecturns on which are placed two great parchment choir-books, in the composition of which fr john häfele was engaged, during the 17th century, for the space of twenty years. they are decorated with very beautiful illuminations and are still used in the choir. an excellent double organ daily accompanies the choral offices, but it is not favourably placed, buried as it is in the wall; it suffered greatly during the french revolution and has since that period been frequently restored. it may here be remarked that there are two new organs in the gallery of the church, one near the altar of st. benedict, the other near that of st. meinrad, of which the larger was built by kiene of kislegg. the frescos on the cupolas in the nave. these decorations are in quite a different style of art from those of the choir and are characterized by great brilliancy and freedom, as indeed is the case with all the frescos painted by cosmas asam, a bavarian artist of the last century who executed these works. his youthful heads have 74 chapter 4. an indescribable charm whilst the grandeur and boldness of his designs are very appropriate to the vast dimensions of the church. on the first of the three great cupolas of the nave is depicted the nativity. it was a difficult task to fill so large a space with one sole subject, but the artist has been wonderfully successful in his attempt. the figure of the eternal father contemplating from the upper portion of the cupola the magnificent representation of the nativity beneath him was painted, it is said, by the artist during the mid-day repast of the community. the monks on entering the church after their meal saw the sky opened and the glory of heaven revealed to their astonished eyes. the second cupola represents the last supper. this fresco is full of life and movement. the principal groups are especially beautiful, and as admirable in conception as they are skilful in execution. if there is any fault to be found with the work, it lies in its very beauty, that is to say, in the wealth of accessories which it displays. the third cupola which rises above the holy chapel, is larger than the two others and is separated into four parts which, meeting together, repose upon the two pillars on either side of the holy chapel. asam to whom was committed the decoration of this cupola, has depicted upon it the church. 75 in glowing colours the history of the divine dedication. in the centre the saviour, surrounded by angels bearing the sacerdotal vestments, descends from heaven, whilst in the space on one side of him, preparations are being made for the solemn ceremonial and on the other side another series of preparations are going on. opposite the christ and above the portion occupied by kneeling pilgrims, the blessed virgin, the queen of heaven, for whom the divine consecration of the chapel was celebrated, bears in her hand the sceptre of her kingdom; myriads of angels surround her while she looks down radiantly upon her people. in the gallery over the great doors of the church are represented the faithful, amongst whom is st. conrad, hastening to the celebration of the consecration of the sanctuary. but they all suddenly halt upon hearing a voice descending from heaven and exclaiming,,cease brother, cease, the chapel is divinely consecrated". in the background is represented the dedication of the temple of solomon; a beautiful type of the consecration of the holy chapel. the penitentiary. in addition to the great church there is on the left of the choir a chapel dedicated to 76 chapter 4. st. mary magdalen, otherwise styled the penitentiary, because it is used for the sacrament of penance. it was built by the abbot augustine ii, about the year 1680, over a cemetery. at a former period this chapel was remarkable for the wealth of its decorations, the frescos adorning the roof being especially held in high esteem. but since then they have been superseded by a series of paintings which form a gallery of representations of penance taken from the scriptures and from the lives of the saints. the architecture of the chapel is rather heavy in style, the roof is supported by six marble pillars and the choir is entirely separated from the nave; its cupola is very elevated and decorated with appropriate frescos. the altar-piece represents a magdalen painted by gaspard sing of munich and is undoubtedly the finest picture on canvas possessed by the community. on each side of the nave are placed nine and twenty confessionals, and there are days and weeks during the year when this chapel, which is capable of containing fifteen hundred people, is filled with pilgrims from morning to night, whilst numbers wait for hours outside the door till they can obtain entrance. chapter v. the holy chapel. when st. eberhard united together the oratory and cell of st. meinrad and enclosed them within the great church, the walls of the holy chapel were constructed of wood, but of the building as it existed in its original state, no account or illustration has come down to us; it may, however, be taken for granted that it was of very simple construction. neither have we any description of the edifice of stone, which was erected at a later period; we can therefore only form a conjecture as to its primary appearance. after the great fire of 1467, which has been described in a foregoing chapter, the bishop of constance directed that the holy chapel should be arched over, and on the persons employed in the work stating it to be their opinion that the walls had been built by very inefficient workmen he directed that they should be strengthened and 78 chapter 5. furnished with pillars and pilasters of stone. he also employed a certain „master schleerbach" of bâle to paint the ceiling over it at his own cost. about the year 1617 the pillars erected by the bishop of constance were taken down and the whole of the chapel faced with marble under the superintendence of marcus sitticus, archbishop of salzburg. in 1730 the prince abbot thomas removed the ceiling, and surrounded the top of the walls with a marble balustrade. at the last restoration of the holy chapel, which was effected after the french revolution, as much as possible of its former proportions and characteristics were retained, and the exterior is at present, as it was at an earlier date, a structure of black marble, with the exception of the capitals of the pillars and of the bas-reliefs which are of white marble. it measures 8 yards and a half in length by 6 yards in breadth and is 5 yards and a half high. to the front is a great portal, 2 yards broad by 4 yards and a half high, made of wrought iron of very beautiful design; on either sidewall are also doors of wrought iron richly ornamented and opening into the chapel. the bas-reliefs of the nativity of the blessed virgin and of the annunciation were formerly placed beside the one representing the death of our blessed lady, but they now accupy a position where they can be better seen. the holy chapel. 80 chapter 5. the statues which decorate the front-angles of the balustrade represent st. meinrad, st. adelrich, st. benno and st. conrad, the statue of the blessed virgin immaculate occupying a position between the two last; at her feet on the exterior wall of the chapel is an inscription in latin, stating that marcus sitticus, archbishop of salzburg, faced the wooden walls of the chapel with marble. in the interior, the walls of the upper portion are covered with stucco up to the vault which rises in the form of a cupola. the lower portion of the chapel is decorated with carrara and other marbles. above the altar stands st. meinrad's statue of the blessed virgin. it is of wood and very massive; the drapery, which is uncommonly noble and beautiful in its simple folds was, at an earlier period, ornamented in colours and gold. the child, who is on the left arm of his mother, holds in his hand a little bird which is pecking it. the faces and hands of both figures are black, as is the case with the majority of ancient representations of the blessed virgin venerated by pilgrims. whether the colour is symbolical, or only the effect of smoke is a question not yet decided. in any case the blackness is not the natural colour of the wood. as a work of art the statue has always been a problem difficult of solution. distinguished mom the altar of the holy chapel. 6 82 chapter 5. artists and antiquarians consider it to be a remarkable specimen of early christian art and in its treatment and conception find a proof that it belongs to a period much earlier in date than that of the later middle ages, although it shows no signs of the stiffness, heaviness, and want of correctness which distinguish the generality of old german statues. there is no evidence, however, that its origin is to be sought for in the east, although an old tradition declares it to have been brought from thence by the crusaders, for there is no indication of byzantine character in any portion of the statue and least of all in the face. it is most probable that it belongs to the period of st. meinrad and is a work of the ninth century. the statue is clothed in garments made of cloth of gold, and on the heads of mother and child are placed golden crowns set with precious stones. five silver lamps, the gifts of royal and aristocratic personages, used to burn night and day before it, and in front of the altar were formerly sixteen great tapers, which were kept constantly burning at the expense of the catholic cantons who loved to see typified in the perpetual flame, their own constancy and faith. these tapers weighed from 20 to 30 kilogrammes each and their brilliant light formed a glowing backthe holy chapel. 83 ground to the statue. but the golden decorations are gone, the silver lamps have disappeared and given place to copper and the silver bas-reliefs representing the divine dedication, which formerly adorned the altar, are no longer to be seen. the flaming tapers were extinguished in the political tempests, which desolated switzerland, but the most ancient ornament of the chapel and the one which evil men and conquerors have over and over again attempted to destroy, still remains intact, for the miraculous statue, after a short exile from the holy chapel during the period of the french revolution, returned once more to its former home where it still continues, year by year, to receive the homage of above a hundred thousand pilgrims. the altar of the holy chapel, made of carrara marble, is the work of the artist argentini of vieggiu; on its frontal is a bas-relief in brass of the divine dedication designed by j. j. wikart of einsiedeln and executed by manfredini of milan. it was presented to the chapel by charles albert, king of sardinia. on either side of the altar are reliefs in gilt bronze, one representing the statue of the blessed virgin being conveyed to the hermitage of st. meinrad, and the other the death of the saint. on the altar is a reliquary containing the head. of the servant of god. abbot basil born the 28th dec. 1821. professed the 24th sept. 1843 elected abbot the 13th ian, 1875. + utinomnibus regulas glorificetur sancti deus! patris benedicti. chapter vi. the benedictine fathers of einsiedeln. ever since the time that the convent of einsiedeln developed itself from its humble origin in st. meinrad's cell into a vast benedictine monastery, its influence has made itself perceptible far and wide, as well as in its more immediate surroundings, and this not only in matters solely concerning the spiritual life, but also in those associated with secular culture. in its early days whoever showed a desire to lead an industrious and holy life was sure of receiving encouragement and aid from the religious, whilst the devout crowds who in ever-increasing numbers went year after year on pilgrimage to the holy chapel and who assisted at the solemn and beautiful functions, celebrated in the church, received a most wholesome influence and spread it over a wide extent of country. the esteem in which the monks of einsiedeln 86 chapter 6. were held soon reached an extraordinary, height and from every side the flower of the nobility and the most enlightened men of the ages of faith pressed for admittance into the ranks of the monks. on the other hand the fathers were frequently raised to episcopal sees or elected abbots over newly established foundations. to the universal respect and reverence in which the benedictine fathers at einsiedeln have always been held must also be ascribed the valuable gifts with which emperors and princes have, at different periods, enriched the monastery. amongst these may be named the island of ufnau on the lake of zurich, presented by the emperor otho i to the convent, with all the rights thereto appertaining. similar gifts were made to the fathers by other emperors and in particular by henry ii, surnamed ,,the pious". otho and henry may indeed be considered as the greatest of the many benefactors of the monastery, the year book of which mentions them with exceeding gratitude and their statues still adorn the great stone balustrade in front of the church. abbot gregory, in whom the english church has a special interest on account of his being a descendant of alfred the great, was invested by otho iii. with the dignity of a prince of the empire, which investiture was renewed in favour the benedictine fathers. 87 of abbot ulrich ii. and his successors by king rudolph of habsburg in the year 1274. baron gerold, of hohensax in graubunden, both of whose sons had become monks at einsiedeln, gave to the convent a forest (wildniss) in the vorarlberg where he had lived for a long time as a hermit. this forest bears a great resemblance to einsiedeln and was named by the monks after st. gerold, whose life, as has already been mentioned, was written by walter von bonstetten. many costly reliquaries, holy vessels, and other church-treasure were in like manner presented to the monastery, and although in the stormy times of war, during the so-called reformation, and the french revolution, a great many of these gifts were lost, or were sacrificed to meet pressing necessities, the grateful remembrance of the donors still dwells in the hearts of the monks of einsiedeln. severe indeed were the storms which at different times swept over the monastery, especially during the period when the catholic church in switzerland was torn by internal dissensions. in the year 1526, after the death of prince abbot conrad iii., the convent was left almost destitute of monks, and the greater part of its possessions was seized by the followers of zwingle whilst the small remainder was laden with debts. at last, after repeated appeals and representations 88 chapter 6. addressed by the inhabitants of the canton of schwytz to the government, ludwig blarer, one of the most distinguished of the monks of the old benedictine abbey of st. gall, was summoned to einsiedeln. with the utmost diligence and zeal he at once set himself to educate young men to enter the order and to bring back again the possessions which had been alienated from the monastery. in this good work he was greatly assisted by the catholic cantons and the emperor of austria. up to that time the monastery seems only to have been open to the highest members of the nobility and therefore the number of its religious was relatively small, but under its reorganisation by ludwig blarer all were received without distinction of rank who, in addition to possessing a vocation for the religious life, showed the necessary qualifications for filling the various offices in the community. the labours undertaken by the monks are of a varied description but the convent of the holy st. meinrad is specially a school for wisdom and virtue. great is the number of the fathers who have distinguished themselves by their holiness, their science and their sagacity in the administration of temporal affairs. many have been inscribed by the church in her calendar of saints. others, called to preside over the episcopal sees of metz, ratisthe benedictine fathers. 89 bon, constance, chur and como, have ruled their dioceses with wisdom and zeal: others again have been called upon to occupy the chair of professors in the high schools of germany, and have been elected members of scientific associations. very great has also been the mumber of those who, in the stillness and silence of their cells, have benefitted their fellow men by the composition of learned works and spiritual treatises, others again have been distinguished by a holy zeal in the winning of souls. the rule of the monastery has always been that of st. benedict, modified, under the approbation of the sovereign pontiff, by special constitutions. the days of the benedictines at einsiedeln are devoted to prayer, to the confessional, to teaching, to study, and to the fine arts. istly prayer. the offices in the choir begin at the same hour as the first mass in the holy chapel, i. e. at four o'clock in the morning. matins last one hour and are terminated by the te deum and lauds, accompanied on feast-days by the organ. the masses in the holy chapel and at all the numerous altars in the church follow one after another without interruption for several hours, the mass at six o clock being reserved for special foundations. at seven o'clock 90 chapter 6. prime and tierce are said and are immediately followed by the conventual high mass, celebrated at the high altar; it is sung to the accompaniment of either a full orchestra, or else of a simple choir of voices with an organ. the fathers are admirably aided in this respect by the pupils belonging to the college of the monastery, who assist at all the great offices. after high mass sext and none are said. on sundays and festivals a sermon is preached at eight o' clock and whilst it lasts no masses or offices go on. at three o'clock every day vespers are chanted, after which the religious, who have taken part in the office, preceded by some of their pupils, descend into the church and walk in procession down one of the aisles with slow step and grave demeanour until, arrived at the holy chapel, they kneel upon the marble pavement and sing the salve regina. when it is well executed, and when the listener has chosen his position at some distance from the chapel this chant, which is a composition of the eleventh century, is very solemn and impressive, adapted as it is to one of the most beautiful odes of the catholic church. compline, which is chanted at seven o'clock, concludes the services of the day. 2dly the confessional. the cares and duties appertaining to this priestly office absorb a large the benedictine fathers. 91 portion of the time of the fathers and are as fatiguing as they are important. the number of confessors varies according to the time of year, the greatest demand being from easter to the end of october. sundays and festivals are naturally the days when most pilgrims resort to the church; on each of such occasions thousands assemble there, the majority having been to confession on the vigil of the feast. the average number of confessions is reckoned at 154,000 yearly and to meet such an immense demand requires the combined force of all the available priests. 3dly teaching and study. the college of einsiedeln can look back on many a past century. st. meinrad, being a distinguished teacher of youth, may be regarded as its founder. after him the first name distinguished in history is that of st. wolfgang, who died bishop of ratisbon in 994. another remarkable name is that of rudolf von radegg, the poet, who taught in the college in the fourteenth century. for nearly two hundred years the convent had a branch-school at bellinzona in canton tessin, which was dissolved by the government in 1852 just when it had attained its most flourishing state and numbered 90 scholars. this event led to the enlarging of the college at einsiedeln 1 92 chapter 6. which, up to that period, had not had more than forty pupils at one time. the new abbot, heinrich schmid, as soon as he had been elected, made it his first care to provide accommodation for the scholars who had been sent from bellinzona and at the same time he enlarged the scope of their studies. new life was infused into the college. young and able men were sent to foreign lands to be trained as professors, a school-library was established, and means for study provided so that, in a very short space of time, the school was in a position to take its stand among the first catholic schools in switzerland. a further step in advance has been taken under the rule of the present abbot basil who was formerly one of the most distinguished professors in the college. in the year 1883, the number of pupils had risen to about 300. the course of instruction is the same for boarders and day pupils and a term of eight years is divided between a gymnasium and a lyceum. the gymnasium comprises courses of study in latin, greek, german and religion, lasting for six years, the lessons in these various branches being given by the same professor, whilst instruction in mathematics, history and physics is given by different professors. the lyceum habitually numbers about 40 pupils under the benedictine fathers. 93 six professors, who, in the first yearly course, teach philosophy in all its essential branches, the second year being devoted to the study of astronomy, chemistry etc. lessons are also given in modern languages, french, italian, english, and in music, singing and drawing. such of the fathers who are not otherwise engaged, work in their cells. some give themselves up to the study of the scriptures and theology; others occupy themselves with various periods of ecclesiastical history, others again penetrate into the mysteries of science. among these last may be numbered the inventor of an ingenious machine connected with the electric. telegraph. others devote themselves to painting, others to the composition of music and others again to poetry. for the rest, the distinguished labours of the religious at einsiedeln have always been recognised by learned and scientific societies. for instance, in 1865, when the university of vienna celebrated the five hundredth anniversary of its foundation, it remembered the convent of einsiedeln, its senior by five hundred years and conferred the degree of d. d. on fr brandes, on account of his authorship of several scientific books and of his historical researches in connection with the order of st. benedict. fr gall morel, who 94 chapter 6. died in 1872, is known as a distinguished poet far and wide; as a connoisseur of art and a musician. he ranks also amongst the most distinguished theologians, philologists and librarians of the convent. a memoir of him entitled „the life of a monk in the 19th century“ has been published by fr benno kühne; it is impossible to imagine a more interesting work, showing as it does in a most vivid and striking manner how many-sided a man fr gall morel was, how full of interest was his career, and how beneficial and elevating was the influence which this admirable monk exerted over all who came in contact with him; above all how lasting and excellent was the effect produced by his teaching on the hearts and minds of his pupils, many of whom confess that, humanly speaking, they owe all the good that is in them and the whole of their success in life to the lessons given them and the example set them by their beloved and lamented professor. in order to aid them in their studies the monks possess a library of over 30,000 volumes, among which are to be found several remarkable works, comprising a great many bibles in different languages and about 900 black-letter editions. very important and curious is also the collection of manuscripts, among which one is to be found the benedictine fathers. 95 more than a thousand years old. the most remarkable of these manuscripts is a so-called regionator einsidlensis, or collection of latin epigraphs written down on the spot by a pilgrim of the 8th century. very interesting also are certain books of prayer with the old musical notation, amongst which may be mentioned a splendid antiphonarium. the number of printed books is continually receiving fresh additions through donations, or by purchase. the same may be said of the collection of minerals and other illustrations of natural history which are daily made use of in the interests of science and in the studies carried on in the college. another special merit distinguishes the fathers at einsiedeln for, amongst the religious associations which have of late made such strenuous efforts to withdraw church music from the beaten track it has hitherto followed, the benedictines have acquired a special title to the gratitude of real artists. faithful to the traditions of their illustrious predecessors they have always assigned to music its proper province. of old the fathers held that one of the most honorable of the offices they could be called upon to fill was that of the cantor who, was it were, a living diapason imposing on the choir the unity of his voice until, at a later period, the organ was introduced. but neither organ nor 96 chapter 6. song forms the entire orchestre at einsiedeln, wind and stringed instruments being also used by experienced and skilful musicians. of the organs placed by the abbot augustin i. in the great church, which, on the occasion of solemn festivals are made to discourse exquisite music, and to hold ravishing dialogues with each other, raising the soul of the listener to heaven, we have already spoken. the musical archives of the monastery are being continually enriched by the compositions of the fathers. they can also boast a very valuable collection of musical works, amongst which may be mentioned those of our english composer pearsall, whose portrait the mon!:s are proud to possess. fr schubiger, ex-director of the musical department of einsiedeln, has earned the gratitude of all true friends of art by a collection of thirty beautiful airs composed by him in honour of the blessed virgin. this little book which bears the title of „roses of mary" has reached its tenth edition in germany and has also been published in france and spain. fr schubiger has also recently published a work full of erudition, which throws great light on the question of liturgical song; it is entitled the „school of song at st. gall from the sixth to the twelfth century“ the benedictine fathers. 97 and is enriched with fac-similes remarkable for their execution. but the labours and good works of the fathers do not end here. though too numerous to mention in detail, reference may be made to a guild for working men and apprentices, which they have established in a portion of the convent. every evening, between six and ten, the members gather together, some of them to receive instruction from the monks, others to listen to lectures, others to practise drawing, or to devote themselves to one or another branch of study likely to be useful to them in their daily life. nor must the lay-brothers, who are already monks, though not priests, be forgotten. to them is committed the care of the church and the menial offices necessary in the monastery, also the nursing of the sick and infirm. thirty-four of the fathers are employed as parish priests; these have the care of seven parishes; others administer the estates belonging to the monastery and superintend the stables, which are celebrated for a peculiar and beautiful breed of horses of which the community at present possesses over seventy. other fathers of einsiedeln have gone out as missionaries to north america where they have founded a monastery of st. meinrad in spencer county indiana. descr. of einsiedeln. 7 a procession in einsiedeln. chapter vii. the pilgrimage. it is to the pilgrimage made to our lady of the hermits that einsiedeln owes its fame, and the inhabitants of the village, in a great measure, their livelihood. the pilgrims come principally from the catholic cantons of switzerland, and from the borders of france, germany and italy, and even from america, asia and africa. amongst them are often to be found personages of the highest rank, both clerical and lay, as will be seen by the following extracts, taken from the lists of visitors which have been kept at the monastery from the earliest times. in the year 915. adalbert, bishop of bâle, a relative of st. benno. 955. the emperor otho, the great, and st. adelheid, his spouse. 900-972. st. ulrich, st. wolfgang and st. gerold. 100 chapter 7. in the year 1100. ulrich, count of kyburg, bishop of constance, who consecrated the altar of. st. john in the church. 1141. theodewin, papal nuncio to germany, cardinalbishop of porto. 1335. st. elizabeth, daughter of andrew iii., king of hungary. 1353. king charles iv. with a great suite of princes and prelates, 1442. frederick iii., emperor of rome. 1576. st. charles borromeo, cardinal-archbishop of milan. 1589. octavius pallavicini, who received the cardinal's hat, when he was on a pilgrimage to einsiedeln. 1595 and onwards. the princes and princesses of hohenzollern. 1622. louis xiii., king of france. 1683. fr mabillon, a learned benedictine of the convent of st. maur. 1775. st. benedict joseph labre, who made the pilgrimage several times. goethe, the german poet, who visited einsiedeln a second time in 1797. 1793. the archbishop of paris, accompanied by many refugee priests. 1813. ludwig i., king of bavaria. 1814. the archduke nicholas, afterwards emperor of russia; also archduke romanow and the ex-empress, louise, duchess of parma. 1816. queen hortense, who made pilgrimages to einsiedeln several times, between the years 1816 and 1823, being accompanied on some of these occasions by her son, louis napoleon. 1819. frederick william, crown prince of prussia, afterwards king; also frederick, prince of holland, and the pilgrimage. ιοι in the year ludwig, crown prince, and afterwards king of bavaria. 1820. prince charles esterhazy. -ignatius naffali, archbishop of tyre, apostolical nuncio in switzerland, and afterwards cardinal. 1826. frederick charles christian, prince of denmark. several members of the chamber at frankfurt. 1829. the duke de rohan, card.-archbishop of besançon. 1831. william, king of wurtemberg. 1835. ferdinand, duke of orleans. marie isabella of bourbon, and the widowed queen of naples. 1838. mgr. dupanloup, grandvicar of paris, later bishop of orleans. 1840. count neukomm, the musical composer. 1842. mgr. polding, benedictine archbishop of sydney in australia. 1843. mgr. purcell, bishop of cincinnati, north-america. fr lacordaire, dominican monk. 1852. professor döllinger of munich. 1854. mgr. dupanloup, bishop of orleans. 1857. mgr. ullathorne, bishop of birmingham. mgr. dupanloup. mgr. de bonnechose, cardinal-archbishop of rouen. 1859. mgr. st. palais, bishop of vincennes, northamerica. louise marie, duchess of parma. prince henry, count of bardi. of bourbon. ― princess margaret henry, count of chambord.. 1860. mgr. hartmann, bishop of patna, east-india. and bishops. 1861. year of the great jubilee. numerous archbishops prince chigi, apostolical nuncio a great number of abbots. at paris. the duchesses of parma and berri. the princesses ― ** 102 chapter 7. in the year sidonia and sophia of saxony. margaret and alice of bourbon. princess caroline of hohenzollern. princess galitzin. princess of windishgrätz. the archduke ferdinand of tuscany. charles ludwig of austria. prince adalbert of bavaria. prince george of saxony. prince humbert and prince amadeus of savoy. baron of mayenfisch, as representative of the king of prussia, and about 2000 ecclesiastics from all parts of the world. *) 1862. the archbishops and bishops schwarzenberg of prague, furstenberg of olmütz, fessler of nyssa etc. louise, duchess of parma. amelia, princess of fürstenberg. princess of baden. elise, princess of fürstenberg. the princely family of hohenzollern-sigmaringen. 1863. the archbishops and bishops falcinelli, nuncio at vienna, johann of soissons, langalerie of belley, marilley of friburg. augustus, prince of saxecoburg-gotha. clementine of orleans, princess of saxe-coburg, with prince philip and princess clotilde of saxe-coburg. eleanor, amelia. princesse of salm. the princesses francisca and therese lichtenstein. duchess of berri. louis of orleans, duke of nemours. and blanche of orleans. tuscany. margaret grand-duchess of prince orloff from russia. 1864. amelia, queen of saxony. portugal, duchess of saxony. donna maria of · count and count*) the numbers of distinguished persons, who together with those belonging to the middle and lower classes, made a pilgrimage to einsiedeln in 1861, being extraordinarily great, it has been im possible to do more than give a selection of a few of the most widely known names. the pilgrimage. 103 in the year ess montalembert. land. lord dunraven from iremarquis of bethune with his family. 1865. the duke of norfolk. mgr. mgr. nardi, 1866. archbishop merode, almoner of pius ix. dupanloup, bishop of orleans. -domestic chaplain to pius ix. prince and princess borghese with their family. of joinville. frances, princess the duchess of chartres. 1867. the archbishops and bishops of st. francisco, st. louis, cincinnati and many other prelates. four members of the japanese embassy at paris. 1868. the queen of naples. 1869. mgr. dupanloup, bishop of orleans. — dr. augustus theiner, librarian at the vatican. 1870. archbishop spalding of baltimore. bishops serra from australia and sweeny from newbrunswick. princes of thurn and taxis. 1871. a great number of prelates, among whom nay be named mgr. dupanloup and mgr. mermillod. henry, archduke of austria and his family. duke salviati from rome. the duke of norfolk. marquis patrizi from rome. charles bodenham with his wife from england. earl of denbigh from england. 1872. george, prince of prussia. lembert. countess merode. count. countess montamgr. du1873. archbishop vaughan from sydney. panloup. 1874. bishop ignatius ordonez of riobamba in the republic of ecuador. prince and princess radziwill. ― marie, queen of saxony. 1875. mgr. dupanioup. earl of denbigh. 104 chapter 7. in the year 1877. archbishop paul melchers of cologne. -mgr. dupanloup. 1878. archbishop langenieux of rheims. mgr. dupanloup of orleans. mgr. bagnoud of bethlehem, abbot of st. maurice in canton valais, switzerland. 1880. mgr. machelbeuf, vicar apostolic of colorado. abbot horner of st. peters at salzburg. duke of nemours. wife and family. ― louis, archduke henry with his prince jerome napoleon. the princess of fürstenberg. czartoryski, etc. 1881. count albert of thun. -the princes dowager, duchess of norfolk, and the ladies howard. of chambord. henry, count mgrs. freppel and ratisbon of angers and about 200 french priests. the names selected from the lists in the monastery books are those most likely to be familiar to general readers, they are however but a tithe of the numbers who have made the pilgrimage to einsiedeln. as has already been mentioned, the average yearly number of communions at einsiedeln, during the last three hundred years, has been 150,000. in the year 1710 it rose to 260,940, and in the year 1749 to 226,500. during the french revolution the influx of pilgrims, especially from france, was very great. in the year of the jubilee, 1861, the communions were over 210,000. the pilgrimage. 105 one of the most interesting events connected with the pilgrimage, is the resort thither in the year 1864 of the parish of st. laurence in paris. three hundred and fifty of the faithful, attended by sixty five priests, belonging to paris and its environs, set out under the guidance of the venerable curé m. l'abbé duquesnay on sunday, the 12th of june, after mass, for the terminus of the eastern railway and were accompanied to the station by their relations and friends. twenty five hours later they entered einsiedeln in thirty five large vehicles, singing hymns and chanting sacred canticles. amid the melodious pealing of bells, they went in procession up the great stone steps into the church, and after having made their act of thanksgiving, betook themselves to the various guest-houses with which the town abounds. the following day was consecrated to the exercises of the pilgrimage. the next morning, filled with joy and gratitude the pilgrims started on their return journey to their homes. numerous as are the pilgrimages made throughout the year to the sanctuary of our lady of the hermits, it is on the 14th of september, the anniversary of the feast of the divine dedication, that the vast proportions of the church are found all too small for the crowds of people who flock thither. of one of these anniversaries viscount de 106 chapter 7. melun gives the following most interesting account: „einsiedeln was more animated than on the occasion of my previous visit at an earlier period of the year. the approach of the festival infused into it glad life and activity; along all the roads leading to the village pilgrims were advancing towards the sanctuary, the guest-houses and the streets were crowded, and on the eve of the 14th there was no room left in the little town for the numbers that were still flocking thither. the people, wandering from the church to the surrounding heights, or scattered over all the open spaces and the avenues leading to the town, resembled a camp composed of a hundred different nations and a thousand tribes. the variety of costume and of physionomy revealed at a glance the most opposite habits and manners, the gravity of germany contrasted with the vivacity of italy; while each canton had its own characteristics, and each family its favourite prayers, but all were animated by one and the same motive, only the country, age and sex of each varied in the expression of it. france also, indifferent as she is said to be to the ancient faith, had sent some few of her children, some peasants, some old soldiers etc. who still believe in the omnipotence of god, and who, amidst wars and revolutions, have not forgotten their prayers. i recall to mind the pilgrimage. 107 with emotion, a poor man who had come from the farthest parts of alsace, bringing his poor blind wife with him to einsiedeln, and above all the touching accents of their gratitude for the too slight alms bestowed on them by their compatriot, and their wishes that my family might long continue to enjoy the blessing of sight. touching wishes from such as have been deprived of it! the whole of the day was devoted to pious offices, preludes of the festival about to be celebrated. little by little the church filled, and at vespers it was difficult to penetrate thro' the crowds, which were so pious and recollected that not a single word mingled with the chanting of the psalms, not a movement of curiosity disturbed the order of the ceremonies. after vespers the monks returned to the penitentiary to resume their places in the confessionals, which had been besieged since the morning, just in the same manner as places of amusement are thronged elsewhere. the great candles and nearly all the lamps were extinguished, except those burning before the blessed sacrament and in front of the statue of our lady of the hermits. the church had been given up to darkness and prayers were being recited aloud by the pilgrims. from every part of the vast edifice, from every side chapel and from every bench arose a murmured sound 108 chapter 7 of prayer creating a most marvellous impression of which no words can convey any idea; it was the united voice of all who had come to einsiedeln to celebrate the festival of our lady of the hermits; it was the expression of the longing desires, of the innermost feelings of ten thousand pilgrims; accents of sorrow and of hope, psalms of thanksgiving for a miracle, sighs and entreaties that one might be performed, a te deum and a stabat, groans of penitence, expressions of ardent love, the prayer of the publican, the appeal of the centurion, the cry of the leper, the tears of the magdalen; all that in the days of the gospel the saviour had listened to from suppliant humanity; all that the human soul can say to and ask from god, all was to be heard in that strange and supernatural murmur. although night was quickly advancing, i could not bear to leave the church, or separate myself from my brethren; i felt as though their simple and recollected souls lifted me upwards on the wings of their desires and their merits, and that whilst they commended themselves and all whom they loved best on earth to the care of the mother of god, they included me, their unknown brother, in their supplications, compensating for my unworthiness, thanks to the holy union foretold in the gospel. i was enjoying the pilgrimage. 109 to prayer. one of those privileged hours, one of those moments of grace in which god can refuse nothing i was continually finding something fresh to ask for my relatives and for my friends. alas! perhaps i shall never again hear voices so pure and so expressive! it was, however, necessary to think of repose, but still the wonderful sound of united prayer, to which i had been listening, accompanied me to my retreat, and for a long time after sleep had weighed heavily on my eyelids, i still heard its voice, like to that of a mother singing her infant to rest. on the day of the festival the chapel of the blessed virgin was brilliantly illuminated. as early as four o'clock masses began to be said at all the altars; the bread of angels was distributed to the faithful, and the abbot offered the holy sacrifice for the people. at ten o'clock the papal nuncio officiated pontifically; the arches resounded with the sacred music which so well expresses the aspirations of the heart, gladness was depicted on every countenance, for recollection did not exclude joy, the consciences of all present having been reconciled to god and, with few exceptions, all having approached the holy table. what a contrast to the amusements offered in our towns; to the pleasures that corrupt, to the ιιο chapter 7. excesses which kill! a gentle and sweet gaiety had descended upon all, charity was the soul of their intercourse, every`repast was preceded and followed by prayer, it was the great family celebrating the festival of its mother, happy in her presence and beneath her protection. in the evening there was a solemn procession. the abbot, assisted by numerous priests, came to take the blessed sacrament from the altar, and preceded by the whole of his religious, advanced processionally between the ranks of the kneeling multitude. when he descended the steps of the church, bearing beneath a däis the god-made man, the sky was covered with clouds, the darkness was profound, nothing could be seen of the monastery, except a fiery cross, and the reflection through the windows of the lamps burning before the altar. the immense space in front of the church which, but a moment before, was quite empty had disappeared beneath the flood of pilgrims whilst the long file of monks, each with a lighted taper in his hand, described a moving. and luminous line through the multitudes. great flaming torches revealed here and there groups of people in reverential attitudes and with recollected demeanour. the reposoir was erected at the opposite end of the space facing the church; the pilgrimage. iii its pillars, its arched roof, and the altar and tabernacle were marked out with lines of fire, and the blessed virgin in like manner, as st. john beheld her, with the crescent beneath her feet and crowned with stars, presented her son to the veneration of the world. beyond and above the illuminated town the distant alps projected their giant forms against the sky. the wind, sweeping from the glaciers, bowed down the lofty pine trees in lowly homage to the divine majesty and mingled its grave and majestic murmur with the boom of the cannon, the pealing of the bells, the sighs of the organ and the chants of the priests and the people. arrived at the reposoir, the abbot intoned those beautiful eucharistic hymns which were composed by saints and are repeated by the angels, after which he turned to the people to give the blessing. all was then silence and attention; every forehead was bowed to the ground, every soul was raised to heaven, none prayed any longer, but every one adored, and at the moment when, at the voice of the priest, the trinity itself blessed us from the supernal heights reivealed by faith, the pilgrims of einste 17 lieved that they beheld our lady of the hermits graciously and with smiles receiving their homage whilst each one of them heard a vpice: the cal seminary apm ii2 chapter 7. depths of his heart assuring him that his prayer was sucessful and that the object of his pilgrimage was accomplished. whenever the 14th of september falls on a sunday, the celebration of the festival continues throughout the week, and on each day is observed with the utmost solemnity and pomp: on these occasions the influx of pilgrims is even greater than in ordinary years; it is impossible to find sufficient accommodation in the town, and the neighbouring villages as well as the portion of the monastery set apart for guests, and even the church itself, are filled each night to overflowing. as the foundation of the pilgrimage to our lady of the hermits goes back to the 9th century, the ancient abbey of einsiedeln celebrated on the 21st january 1861 the thousandth anniversary of st. meinrad. for a long time previously einsiedeln had been preparing for the celebration of its jubilee. the whole of the surrounding population was united in the resolve that nothing should be wanting to the public expression of its gladness, and that the pilgrims, no matter how numerous they might be, should receive a cordial reception. the monastery had spared nothing in order to give unaccustomed pomp to the religious solemnities of the festival, and such the pilgrimage. 113 splendour as should be in accordance with the general anticipation. the restoration of the choir, undertaken some years before at great expense, had at last been finished. the whole of the church, and especially the holy chapel, was decorated with exquisite taste. the programme of the festival had been published in foreign journals and an extraordinary influx of pilgrims arrived on the 14th and the 29th of september and on the 13th of october. these dates are famous in the history of the sanctuary, the 14th of september being the anniversary of the divine dedication of the holy chapel, the 29th of the same month that of the translation of the holy statue from the vorarlberg to einsiedeln in 1803, and the 13th of october that of the translation of the relics of st. meinrad from reichenau to the chapel of our lady of the hermits in 1039. a large majority of the pilgrims in 1861 belonged to the highest classes of society in switzerland, france, germany, italy etc. and princes and princesses and many illustrious personages then presented on the holy mountain the touching spectacle of a lively faith and of a tender devotion towards the august mother of god. in proportion as the pilgrimage to our lady of the hermits increases year by year, thanks in some measure to the extension of railways descr. of einsiedeln. 8 114 chapter 7. and the means of communication which did not exist in earlier times, and also in proportion to its true nature being better known and more highly appreciated, the monastery, which fulfils a large portion of its mission by consecrating itself to the spiritual needs of the pilgrims, receives from all sides, proofs of veneration and esteem. the roads which, for more than a thousand years, have led to the sanctuary in the „dark wood" are at the present day more frequented than ever. pilgrims find their way thither from all parts of the earth and it is easy to understand the impossibility of preserving complete lists of their names. as to the monastery, it has never been in so flourishing a state, never has its sphere of influence been so widely extended, or the number of its members so considerable, never has its energy and activity been displayed in so many different directions, never has it received more distinguished marks of approbation, never has it been so well known in distant countries, as it is now. these striking facts must lead the reader to ask himself the question — what are the motives and the objects which draw so many to einsiedeln. it is impossible that deception and illusion should be the cause of so general and lasting a practice. illusions vanish with the lapse of time, but the the pilgrimage. 115 pilgrimage to einsiedeln has continued and increased through many succeeding centuries. the earlier pilgrims must have found and experienced something there, the thankful remembrance of which they not only retained themselves, but transmitted to their children and their children's children. it is, therefore, the experience of miracles worked and of favours received at the shrine of our lady of the hermits, which still attracts pilgrims of all classes and all countries to a spot consecrated by the faith of past generations. it would be easy to cite a great number of miracles clearly proving the predilection of our holy mother for her sanctuary of the hermits, but they are facts so generally known to people of different countries that it is not necessary to give them in detail. the object which the pilgrim has in view is best declared by his actions. disengaged for a short time from domestic cares, he occupies himself solely with spiritual interests, to which he has consecrated the whole of his leisure. the salvation of his soul is the one object which he has in view, and which enables him to bear, cheerfully and patiently, all the discomforts of his pilgrimage. repentance for past sins, reconciliation with god, the renewal and strengthening of every virtue and of fidelity to duty are the 116 chapter 7. if he also asks for aims he sets before him a matter of temporal graces he makes them a secondary importance. in all classes and conditions of men sorrows are to be found which need consolation, secrets of conscience which demand extraordinary counsel and burdens of the spirit which crave for special help such particular consolation, such special grace, such profound counsel are granted by the divine spirit on these occasions. the pilgrim starts on a laborious journey to seek at the feet of the blessed virgin for that peace of heart and divine strength which he so sorely needs. the pilgrimage itself offers a multitude of circumstances calculated to reanimate faith. the suspension of daily duties and occupations, the parting from home, the solitude of the road, its difficulties and roughnesses, the soul elevating majesty of the lofty, snow-crowned alps, the splendid and beautiful monastery church, the solemnity of the functions, the magnetism of the mental union of so many persons of different nations, but of one faith these and many other causes aid the pilgrim to self examination, isolating him from worldly things, opening his whole being to the spiritual, intensifying his desires for holiness and virtue and for all that unites him to the pilgrimage. 117 god. the recollection also of the power of the blessed virgin to succour all who seek her help, and of the love between jesus and his mother, further feeds and rests the heart of the pilgrim at einsiedeln, where her protection is specially vouchsafed. the religious house, its venerable age, and striking history, the divinely consecrated chapel, the miracles performed there, and the graces obtained all these are considerations calculated to make a great and abiding impression on the soul. no reasonable friend of humanity can, therefore, find fault with the pilgrimage, but if unconvinced of its utility, then let him determine to judge for himself and instead of preventing others from going there, let him accompany them to einsiedeln. this description cannot be more appropriately concluded than by quoting the opinions entertained of einsiedeln by two illustrious men, one of whom is almost a pagan, while the other is a canonised saint. it is thus that goethe expresses himself in his memoirs: „the antique dwelling of st. meinrad, he says, appeared to me something extraordinary of which i had never seen the like. the sight of the little building, surrounded by great pillars and surmounted by arches, excited in me serious reflections. it is 118 chapter 7. there that one single spark of holiness and the fear of god kindled a flame which is always burning, and which has never ceased to give light; a flame to which faithful souls make a pilgrimage, often attended with great difficulties, in order to kindle their little taper at its holy flame. it is such a circumstance as this which makes us understand that the human race stands in infinite need of the same light and the same heat which the first anchorite who inhabited this spot nourished and enjoyed in the depths of his soul, animated as it was by the most perfect faith.“ st. charles borromeo on his side, gives similar testimony. writing to his cousin the cardinal of hohen-ems in 1576 he says: "i have a hundred things to tell you about my journey and yet i shall only mention one, namely my visit to the sanctuary of our lady of the hermits, of which i must say that next to the holy house of loretto, said to have been transported from under other skies by the hands of angels, i know of no place where my soul has been inflamed with such pious ardour as it was at einsiedeln." chapter viii. the village of einsiedeln. the large and flourishing village of einsiedeln stretches down from the monastery to the little river alp, and is the principal place in the district known by the same name. the parish comprises the outlying villages of bennau, egg, willerzell, gross, euthal and trachslau, the commune numbering 8403 souls, and the village of einsiedeln proper, 4266. the village is divided into two almost equal portions by a paved street, and is situated in a pleasant valley enclosed by two ranges of mountains of moderate height. additions are constantly being made to it, and during the last few years it has been greatly improved and beautified. from the surrounding heights, which are easy of ascent, beautiful views are to be obtained of the cantons of st. gall, zurich etc., and of the snow-clad alps which bound the horizon. 120 chapter 8. the botanist will find in the neighbourhood many rare plants, and the geologist many different kinds of minerals, together with a rich booty in fossils. between the village and the monastery lies the spacious,,place" which has already been mentioned. it is almost surrounded by shops, stalls and booths, which are filled with books of devotion, statues, pictures and articles of piety intended as souvenirs of the pilgrimage. in the centre of the ,,place" is the fountain of the blesthe village. 121 sed virgin, constructed of grey marble, and whose pure sparkling waters flow through fourteen bronze pipes. pilgrims may often be seen there slaking their thirst and bathing their faces. on the fountain is placed a beautiful bronze statue of mary immaculate, and over it, resting on seven pillars is a lofty and majestic baldaquin supporting a golden crown. beyond the fountain are the great stone steps with arcades leading up to the monastery which forms the boundary of the place on the south. when the sun is shining brightly the immense façade, pierced by no less than a hundred windows, resembles a mirror with thousands of facets which sparkle and reflect their light upon the place and the fountain in its midst. the village of einsiedeln has given many distinguished men to the forest canton of schwytz, among whom may be named the prince abbot placidus reymann (1629-1670), beneath whose rule the monastery flourished exceedingly, and rose high in public esteem. the emperor bestowed on him the dignity of count and the pope, during the wars which broke out whilst he was ruling over the abbey, commended him and the monastery in an especial manner to the protection of france and austria. he also caused the functions of the church to be celebrated 122 chapter 8. with hitherto unwonted pomp, added fresh buildings to the convent and increased the library by many costly folios which are still marked with his coat of arms. amongst the scientific men who were natives of einsiedeln one of them, a physician and chemist of great-renown, theophrastus paracelsus von hohenheim by name, was born there in 1493 and died at salzburg in 1541. he was the author of many theological as well as medical works, and also of a great number of treatises on philosophy. in consequence of his advanced knowledge of the natural sciences the common people believed him to be a sorcerer. brother kuriger of einsiedeln was distinguished as an artist and especially as a modeller in wax and clay. at the beginning of the present century his productions, finding their way into foreign countries, were greatly esteemed, especially at vienna and paris. wikart also practised the same branch of art. his anatomical tables, modelled in clay, which are preserved in the natural history collections of the monastery, are a remarkable proof of his thorough knowledge and of his technical skill. a sculptor in wood and stone, bodenmüller also made a name for himself, as did birchler, who was a clever portrait painter. the village. 123 the inhabitants of einsiedeln are distinguished for their lively, genial disposition and the richness of the faculties with which they are endowed. a large proportion of the population is engaged in the breeding of cattle and in agriculture; the cows and horses of the so-called einsiedeln stock being the most excellent of the famed swiss breeds. their principal source of revenue is, however, the pilgrimage. the village contains upwards of a hundred large guest-houses, as well as numerous smaller ones where pilgrims are received. many of the former are provided with all the comforts to be found in modern hotels, whilst the houses set apart for the lowest classes of pilgrims are clean and suitably furnished. another branch of industry which employs a portion of the inhabitants is a waxbleaching manufactory. there are also two cotton manufactories, and a good deal of silk weaving is carried on in the district, hand-looms being in use in many of the cottages. lastly, einsiedeln, for a long time past, has distinguished itself through its establishments devoted to the higher branches of industry and art. thus there are no less than three houses of this kind in the village, the most important of which is the celebrated firm of charles and nicholas benziger brothers. this establishment alone comprises a typographic printing office of 20 presses aided by type-setting, 124 chapter 8. electro-typing and a stereo foundry. a chromolithographic printing office of 18 presses, a copperplate printing office of 7 presses and a large book bindery of over 40 presses also belong to the firm. moreover, it possesses photographic, photozinkographic and xylographic studios, where a large number of artists are engaged in the production of religious pictures. messrs benziger also own two large book-binding establishments at euthal and gross. this business, some houses of which are situated on the square opposite the monastery, was founded in the year 1792, and has ever since steadily developed, so that it is now spread not only over europe, but also possesses three establishments in america, at newyork, cincinnati and st. louis. in one of the above-mentioned houses on the square, are the extensive magazines for the sale of prayer-books and books of devotion in german, english, french, italian, spanish and other languages. the firm also publishes handsome illustrated works, books suitable for family reading, for children, and for the people, school books, and ecclesiastical compositions. since the year 1867, messrs benziger have edited an illustrated fortnightly magazine entitled << the old and the new world», which is widely circulated in europe and america. the modelling of casts, the manufacture of rosaries, • establishments for graphic arts book-bindery, euthag boardinghouse for young employees. book-bindery gross lith. printing office. the monastery. einsiedeln. the village vaults. export. dep 興 ​stores and offices. printing office, bookbindery graphic art. offices stores einsiedlerhof. charles & nicholas benziger bros. einsiedeln switzerland • 126 chapter 8. crucifixes, medals and other objects of piety, and in america the extensive manufacture of church vestments and holy vessels, claim a large portion of the attention of the firm. the number of people employed in it amounts to 700; besides a large number of artists at einsiedeln and in nearly all the great european cities who are constantly at work for their litterary and artistical enterprises. everybody who pays a visit to these most interesting establishments, which no tourist should omit to do, must be struck how a business of this description could be carried on with such success in a village so far remote from all the great centres of literature and art. also the merits of the firm have not only been recognized in the most flattering manner at several international exhibitions, but by a special favour, the late pope pius ix, honoured charles and nicholas benziger brothers by granting them the official title of typographers to the holy see. it is not to be expected that a village like einsiedeln should have many public buildings. there are, however, two, which call for remark; namely, the new and commodious school with the children's chapel, containing a beautiful altarpiece by deschwanden, and the more recently erected hospital. chapter ix. the neighbourhood of einsiedeln. the pilgrim having made acquaintance with the monastery and the village will do well to cast a glance on the objects of interest to be found in the environs, before he returns to his home. first let him direct his steps to the south, and after half an hour's walk thro' pleasant meadows and along the valley of the alp, at the end of which rise the majestic peaks of the mythen, he will perceive a humble convent of benedictine nuns, situated on the slope of the mountain to his right. the convent owes its origin to some pious maidens who in the year 1200, were attracted by devotion for the blessed virgin to einsiedeln. in a valley of the forest of the alpegg they made for themselves little separate dwellings, where they lived under a superior and were known by the name of,,sisters of the forest". 128 chapter 9. about the year 1403 a charitable person of the name of grätzer having bestowed on them a piece of ground, they built a convent on the site where the present one stands, and dwelt there under the protection of the monastery of einsiedeln. a conflagration having destroyed a large portion of their house, the poor sisters, despite their poverty, succeeded in building another house by means of alms which they received from germany. in the year 1602 prince abbot augustine i. rebuilt their convent and placed them under the rule of st. benedict. up to that time they had had no chaplain living at their convent, and had therefore been obliged, summer and winter, to assist at the offices at the monastery church, which was no easy matter when summer heat and winter cold had to be encountered, making of their daily journey, a true pilgrimage. but when their new convent was built the abbot augustine provided them with a chaplain and appointed one of his benedictine fathers their director. in 1798 the poor and pious nuns shared in the fate which befell the monastery, and were obliged to exchange their beloved solitude for the miseries of a forced exile which lasted several years. numerous postulants have of late continued to present themselves at the convent, being attracted thither by the special devotion to which the convent of the benedictine nuns near einsiedeln. 130 chapter 9. the nuns consecrate themselves, namely, the perpetual adoration of the blessed sacrament. by day and night the chapel resounds with the prayers and canticles which the sisters unceasingly offer to almighty god in union with the great propitiatory sacrifice perpetually offered on the altars. a large number of pilgrims, and of persons living in the world are aggregated to this work of reparation, in order that they may profit by its graces. convent chapel was small and inconvein the year 1880 the pulled down, as being too nient, and the nuns have now built a more commodious one. as they have few possessions, and no resources to fall back upon they are obliged to gain a livelihood by making and embroidering vestments. this work is performed in such a skilful and beautiful style that it is a pity the excellence they have attained in this branch of industry should not be more generally known. the poor sisters are often without orders, as is the case at present, when specially in need of means not only for self-support but for paying off the debt on their church. it is, not however in the making of vestments alone that the nuns are employed, they are obliged even to work in the fields which adjoin their convent and to attend to their cattle and perform all h the neighbourhood. 131 kinds of menial work. despite the smallness of their means they share them with the poor and no one is sent away from the convent without a basin of soup and bread. so perfectly do these good sisters practise the law of charity to god and man that they are held in the highest possible esteem throughout the whole district, and are blessed alike by god and by their neighbour. turning his steps to the north from einsiedeln, and proceeding on the road to rapperswyl, the pilgrim will in process of time reach the chapel of st. meinrad, on the heights of the etzel. year after year pilgrims flock there in thousands to pray, and venerate the saint whose history is depicted on the altar-piece and on the frescos of the roof. between einsiedeln and the etzel the wayfarer, on descending the hill, will come to the sihl, a wild mountain torrent, which flows tumultuously along its wild and rocky bed. the solid stone bridge by which it is spanned was constructed 600 years ago under the direction of one of the lay-brothers of einsiedeln, and has been rebuilt during the present century. in the neighbourhood of this bridge the house still exists in which theophrastus paracelsus was born. from the sihl bridge, which, in common with many other bridges stretching boldly across a mountain tor132 chapter 9. rent, is known by the name of the devil's bridge, the road passes for a long while between treeless barren moors out of which turf is dug and laboriously prepared for fuel. soon, however, the eye is again rejoiced by the sight of green fields, here and there crowned with dark pine forests. to the east a glimpse is obtained of the picturesque valley of the sihl which is about two hours distant from einsiedeln. the lofty mountains enclosing the green valley on three sides form the buttresses of the majestic alpine chain of the glärnisch mountains, the highest being the great and little-fluhbrig (called by the peasants ,,diethelm") and at the foot of their sharply hewn perpendicular walls the sihl has its source. lastly, if the pilgrim turn his eyes to the heights on the west of einsiedeln he will see a building which owes its creation to the noblest christian charity. it is an orphanage for boys on the mountain called maria-end, founded in 1869 by counsellor stephen steinauer-benziger, who was, alas, too early called away from the scene of his earthly labours in the year 1878. he also erected the beautiful little chapel set apart for the inmates. the institution contains about 30 orphans who are trained and educated under the care of a priest and several sisters. on visiting it the pilgrim will surely pray that it mount etzel, 134 chapter 9. may please god to bless so beautiful a good work and give it long life and prosperity. receive my greetings, woods of pine and beech! sweet scents of alpine flowers perfume the air, and jubilant rings out the song of birds, of saucy chaffinch and of blackbird staid. oh lovely hills! from out the narrow vale lift me that i may breathe the clear pure air, and thence, amidst the herbage-covered heights, gaze down upon the verdant pastoral land! * see! in the very centre of the vale the buildings of the noble cloister stand neath clustering roofs, which like a forest seem; into the sky two towers uplift their domes, and in the sunbeams shines the golden cross; whilst, deeper lying in the beauteous au, crowded together or in scattered groups the thickly-peopled village stretches out. p. gall morel. chapter x. personal recollections. a never-to beforgotten day was that on which b. and i set out for einsiedeln. it was a lovely afternoon in the beginning of july, the sun was shining brightly as we left ragatz and the sky was blue as a turquoise; all nature seemed to be rejoicing in the pleasant light and genial heat of the midsummer season. at wädensweil we seated ourselves in the train which takes the traveller by the mountain railway to einsiedeln, and as we slowly ascended, the views on either side of us became more beautiful. below us to our left was the bright shining lake, whilst on our right were green, picturesque, alpine dells, pine forests, mountain torrents, and, in front of us, far away, on the horizon, the serrated peaks of the churfirsten range rose into the azure sky. after passing for a little while along a narrow defile, suddenly, at a most pic136 chapter 10. turesque turn of the road, we came in sight of the goal of our pilgrimage. in the midst of a long valley, closed at the further end by the grand forms of the larger and smaller mythen, appeared the monastery, encased, like a precious jewel, in a setting of verdant slopes and lofty fir-clad heights. in the centre rose the noble church with its two majestic towers, the great grey piles of the monastery buildings stretching out on either side, and their innumerable windows glittering like diamonds in the rays of the setting sun. one glance was sufficient to make us feel that high as our expectations had been raised, they were not destined to be disappointed. the impression which had been made upon us, when first the abbey disclosed itself so suddenly to our view, was deepened and strengthened in proportion as we drew nearer and nearer to it, until from the windows of our hotel we could study it at leisure. immediately before us lay the large irregular place flanked by guesthouses, the st. catharine" the "st. joseph" and the three kings"; whilst from the centre of it rose the gleaming fountain of our blessed lady with her statue under its sheltering canopy and glittering crown, whilst below it streams of water, pouring incessantly into their channel, sparkled and flashed perpetually. in the little "" the valley of einsiedeln. 138 chapter 10. shops, at the doors of the booths, and on either side of the great steps leading up to the church, women were sitting, their nimble fingers busily engaged in making rosaries of all kinds of beads and seeds which they were manufacturing in such quantities that is was impossible to believe sufficient purchasers would ever be found for them. beyond the place, and situated on a wide platform above it, the monastery rose in its simple grandeur and not many minutes passed ere we were quickly ascending the steps and entering the church by one of its side portals. but the air within was so cold in contrast to that which i had been breathing outside that i dare only linger a moment before the holy chapel and take one hasty glance at the vast interior of the sacred building. i had been told that i should think it gaudy, but it is sober in colouring compared with the generality of italian churches. for the thousands of pilgrims who visit it year after year the frescos with which it is so profusely adorned form a perfect bible, teaching them lessons which they will never afterwards forget, whilst the rich decorations of every portion, and the heavenly cheerfulness which is its distinguishing characteristic must make many of the innumerable poor who flock thither to pray and to praise god, feel as though paradise itself had come down to personal recollections. 139 earth, enabling them to realise, as they never could have done before, that the house of god is in truth the gate of heaven. happy indeed, and abiding, must be the impression received by them when, after their long and weary pilgrimage they are suddenly ushered into such a temple! before four o'clock the next morning i was roused by the sound of a bell, giving evidence that the masses had begun at the church. across the little green in front of my window groups of men and women were passing on their way thither, their prayer-books and rosaries in their hands, thankful to have it in their power to begin their day by assisting at the holy sacrifice. i believe it may with truth be said that there is hardly a man, woman or child at einsiedeln who is not present at one or other of the daily masses unless disabled by illness. the parish mass proper is said at half past five in the chapel of the rosary, but it is rather a distracting one at which to assist, for whilst it is going on the rosary is said in a loud voice by all who are present. at its close holy communion is given and it is astonishing to see the numbers of those who daily partake of it, not only at this mass but also at those which follow and precede. it is given until after nine or ten o'clock and sometimes even later. 140 chapter 10. the conventual mass is sung at a quarter past seven and is a delightful function, having just enough music to help the soul on its upward path and none of a kind to disturb recollection. the choir is principally composed of the pupils belonging to the college, and it often seemed to me as if the clear melodious strains of their young voices could hardly be less sweet than that of the angel host when they came to proclaim peace on earth to men of good will. as soon as the conventual mass is over, as well as after vespers, the pilgrims who are present flock to one of the side altars to have their rosaries, statues, prayerbooks, and other souvenirs of their pilgrimage blessed by one of the benedictine fathers. at first i used to wonder what the big valises and baskets which i saw people bringing into the church could possibly contain, but the problem was quickly solved when after mass they at once began to empty out their treasures and then to carry them to the altar. many of these souvenirs were evidently intended for presents and very amusing it was to see the purchase of them. for instance a shyfaced youth would spend an hour at a booth weighing the rival merits of a prayerbook bound in violet velvet with silver clasps or in green morocco with gold ones, while another would be equally anxious and perplexed about personal recollections. 141 a rosary, it being easy to see in both cases, that the gift was intended for some beloved village maiden. one morning as b. and i were sitting near the church door, we were quite touched as well as entertained at witnessing the pride and delight a poor ragged little fellow took in his possession of an ugly brown clay figure of our blessed lady, gilded here and there, and looking more like a piece of ginger bread than anything artistic. his first aim was to attract our attention, and when he had succeeded in doing so he began gradually to disclose his treasure, as though he feared that the effect of a sudden view of it might be too much for our nerves. then, after he had had it blessed, it was delightful to see him walking by his mother hugging his statue in his arms as proud as a king. two or three times afterwards we saw them wandering about the village, the last time they were evidently setting out on their homeward pilgrimage, his beloved statue having of course been carefully packed away in the ,,hotte" his mother was carrying on her back. many of the pilgrims from distant villages who come only for the day spend all their time in the church, going out now and then to eat a morsel of bread. before they take their final leave, late in the afternoon, they are as busy as 142 chapter 10. they can be packing up their purchases in a basket. it is pleasant to see them thus employed and to feel that they look on the sacred building, not only as the house of god, but also as their father's home, where they may occupy themselves in innocent employments as they would in their own dwellings. i have visited the church at all hours, but never have i seen it destitute of worshippers. all day long the voice of prayer ascends to heaven as well as that of praise. the weather was very hot during nearly the whole of the two months we spent at einsiedeln, and as the only cool spot we had near to our hotel was in the shadow cast by the great church, it was our custom to betake ourselves there with our camp stools, our books and our work early in the morning, and sitting close by one of the portals, to watch the people who were constantly streaming in and out. on one occasion i remember that we suddenly heard the voice of singing break the silence, and looking into the church saw a group of pilgrims, old men and maidens, young men and children standing before the holy chapel and chanting canticles in honor of the blessed virgin. when the count de melun was at einsiedeln some years ago he witnessed an incident of the same kind of which, in his interesting,,souvenir“ personal recollections. 143 "" he gives the following description. whilst i was praying before one of the altars", he says, „the church resounded with a hymn to the blessed virgin; never had i heard a more enchanting melody, and st. john in the isle of patmos could scarcely, i think, have listened to a more ravishing concert. it was fifty tyrolese pilgrims who were singing a hymn in honor of our lady of the angels. they had arrived that evening, and on the next day were going to return to their homes taking with them the blessing of the virgin of einsiedeln! their fatiguing journey had been undertaken for no other purpose than that of pouring out their heart's desires at the foot of her image, reciting their chaplets, singing a psalm of thanksgiving, and then returning home fortified by the bread of angels. scarcely could we distinguish thro' the shades of evening, the frank honest faces of the tyrolese, their picturesque costumes, and the tired forms of the women and children who had derived from their faith the strength necessary for so long a journey. some old men, weary with the burden of life and the hardships incident to their pilgrimage mingled with the sonorous voices of their younger companions the deep sighs which are inspired by a near approach to the grave. more than one mother, who perhaps had left her son upon a 144 chapter 10. bed of suffering, united her plaintive accents of supplication with the songs of joy and accompanied them with her tears." of such sweet and pleasant surprises as these we had many during our sojourn in that hallowed spot. at three o' clock in the afternoon the mur mured sounds of prayer rise while vespers are being said by the fathers in the monastery choir, then, when the office is over, the sons of st. benedict come in their turn to pay their homage to our lady of the hermits, while the pilgrims in serried ranks kneel behind them. as soon as the salve regina has been sung in the same old world tones which for centuries has been heard in the same place, the fathers and their pupils return in slow procession, with bent heads and reverent demeanour, down the aisle between the rows of pilgrims standing on either side, and re-enter the monastery. immediately after the door has closed behind them, the people gather round the altar where their souvenirs of the pilgrimage are blessed, and afterwards resume their prayers, which are continued until long after darkness has come on for it is not until a late hour that the church is closed. one great comfort and pleasure which the catholic visitor to einsiedeln enjoys is that it is a spot which does not attract tourists, and that personal recollections. 145 all who meet together there are of one heart and of one mind. here, at least, is never seen the unseemly lounging and staring and whispering which so painfully distract the worshipper in the churches throughout italy. all and each of those gathered together in the sacred building have come there for one sole purpose, and their devotion and recollection is something wonderful. there is none of the excitement here which one often sees italians indulge in, no audible sobbing, or extravagant gestures. pilgrims come into the church quietly, they pray quietly, they go to confession quietly, and quietly they return to their homes. although the music performed at festivals and on sundays is very beautiful, it is strictly ecclesiastical in character, quite devoid of anything florid, or operatic, and never mingled with the display of solo singing which in the present day is too often heard in churches. consequently there is nothing that appeals to the sensuous feelings of the pilgrims, while, at the same time, there is everything which is needed to soothe and calm the soul and to help it to maintain a spirit of recollection. moreover, when it is remembered that the compositions which are generally performed at einsiedeln are those of such masters as leo, durante, caponi, bach, händel and haydn, it is hardly necessary to add descr. of einsiedeln. ιο 146 chapter 10. that the standard which the fathers have set up is a very high one. i have said that numbers of people are, at all hours of the day, praying in the church, but, of course, the majority is to be found in front of the holy chapel. although situated close to the entrance of the building, the quiet there is as great as it is in the vicinity of the high altar at the further end of the church, and no loud noise of footsteps, or clanging of doors, or sound of greetings, or farewells, distract the worshippers; they never turn their heads, never cast a glance around, but are utterly absorbed in their prayers and devotions. if, perchance, any one who is not a catholic enters the church, a unit among the assembled crowd, he is so impressed by what he sees, that, unconsciously perhaps, his demeanour becomes reverent and befitting the holy place in which he finds himself. from all that i witnessed during my stay at einsiedeln, it is evident that the people who make the pilgrimage there require no adjuncts to excite their devotion, no splendid functions, no magnificent vestments, no long processions with banners streaming in the air amid the clang of bells. a simple low mass succeeded by a sermon satisfies them and after that stillness and silence. hardly a day passes but a pilgrimage from one or another personal recollections. 147 place, more or less distant, arrives, sometimes in numbers varying from 1000 to 2000, sometimes composed of two or three dozen families only. on the second day of our sojourn as b. and i were sitting beside the mountain path which leads to the summit of the etzel, we heard in the distance a sound of chanting, and presently, coming down between the green meadows, we saw a great company of people advancing, men, women and children in equal proportions. it was a very hot day so the men had taken of their coats while the women, holding up their umbrellas to protect them from the sun, looked like a host of gigantic mushrooms. as they passed by they scarcely turned their eyes towards us, but looked straight before them, chanting their litanies as they walked quietly along. following in their wake, we observed them halt as soon as they drew near the village, the men to put on their coats, the curé to vest himself in his cotta, and the flag-bearer to unfurl his banner. then they proceeded along the road, and having reached the great crucifix at the corner of the village green, the bells of the church rang out a welcome, and one of the fathers, preceded by a lay-brother carrying a banner came out to meet them. the two banners having touched in salutation, the benedictine father and the curé, followed by the pilgrims, 148 chapter 10 advanced towards the church, and having entered the great portal, opened wide to receive them, they knelt on the pavement in front of the holy chapel there to give thanks for having been permitted to reach the goal of their pilgrimage; and also to implore the intercession of our blessed mother to enable them to make good use of the privileges they were about to enjoy. their whispered petitions ended, they left the church and dispersed to seek in the various guest-houses the rest and refreshment so sorely needed after the labours of the day. some, however remained seated on the benches outside the church where they partook of the food they had brought with them. after resting an hour or two they returned to the church to resume their devotions until vespers. the office being ended one of the fathers ascended the pulpit and preached for more than an hour, to the great delight of the pilgrims who love long sermons, and their rapt attention was most edifying. the sermon over, as many as could crowd into the penitentiary chapel did so, and, as soon as there was no longer any standing room the door was closed, while those unable to get in sat on the steps awaiting their turn. the penitentiary, as has already been mentioned, is a spacious building. of the twenty eight confessionals ranged personal recollections. 149 on either side some are for the french, others for germans, others for italians etc. one benedictine father hears confessions in english, but alas! it is seldom that one of our countrymen is seen approaching his confessional. the pilgrims remained praying until a late hour, for long after dark i saw a faint light burning in the church showing that it was not yet emptied of its worshippers. some of the pilgrimages are received with more ceremony than others, in observance of usages dating from far distant ages. thus we observed that when the whole town of rapperschwyl with its syndic, the members of the municipality and other officials at its head, made its annual visit to einsiedeln, all the benedictine fathers issued from the church to meet and welcome it, preceded by the 200 pupils of the college clad in soutane and cotta, bearing velvet cushions on each of which reposed the relic of a saint and chanting litanies, while the bells of the church gave out their most melodious chimes in the good old days now passed away, but one would fain hope destined to return in god's own time, the pilgrimage from schwytz, the capital of the canton, was marked by a really splendid ceremonial, the pilgrims being preceded by heralds to announce their approach, and the members 150 chapter 10. of the governement being received with great pomp and solemnity. as our lady of mount carmel is the patron saint of the parish of einsiedeln, great numbers of people collected in the church on the vigil of her feast to assist at vespers and to listen to the sermon that followed. on this occasion, as well as whenever there is a pilgrimage to the shrine of our lady of the hermits, it is very striking to see the men grouped about the various altars, men, for the most part between 20 and 45 years of age praying with wonderful fervour and recollection, each in his own language, and seeming as though he would take heaven by violence. the united sound of these numerous voices is like that of a mighty wind, rising through the shades of evening, and made an impression on me which i shall not easily forget. in the gathering darkness the scene in the church was most striking. crowds of people surrounded the holy chapel, some kneeling and praying, some seated on the stone pavement reading by the light of little tapers which they held in their hand or stuck in the ground beside them. small candles glimmered here and there in the nave where crowds of men were assembled, the only greater lights being those of the lamp before the blessed sacrament and those before our personal recollections. 151 lady of the hermits. many were obliged to remain in the church through the night, there being no room for them in the guest-houses. at three o' clock the following morning, when b. looked out from her window, she could see the faint light of tapers still glimmering in the church as they had done when we had taken our last look at it the night before. the numbers of pilgrims visiting einsiedeln on the feast of the assumption was greater far than even on the feast of our lady of mount carmel. during the previous day, from early morning, people were streaming along the roads leading to the village, some coming from the direction of the etzel, others along the valley which connects einsiedeln with schwytz and the lake of lucern, others crossing the mountains which separate it from the lake of zurich. none of the pilgrims halted in the village; tired, footsore, and hungry, as they must many of them have been, they would not have felt satisfied and happy if, ere resting themselves, they had not first paid their homage in the church before the chapel of the divine consecration. then, and not till then, did they begin to look out for lodgings wherein to spend the night. but, in spite of the hundred guest-houses and upwards, which the village contains their endeavours to find 152 chapter 10. accommodation were not all successful. at our hotel, which was filled from basement to attics with guests of all ranks and positions in life, from the noble to the peasant, fully a hundred persons were rejected; and about fifty women were obliged to pass the night in the salles à manger of the various hotels. the day had been a very rainy one, and many of the pilgrims must have been wet through, but not a sign of annoyance was seen on any of their faces, old and young, looked as happy and pleased as if they had been favoured with the brightest and sunniest of summer days. rain was so much wanted for the country, they said, how could they be otherwise than glad and thankful? i forget how many thousands came to einsiedeln on that occasion, but i know that the church holds eight thousand and that it was so crowded from first thing in the morning until after the last mass was over that there was scarcely standing room to be had. on the evening of a previous day, when two thousand people had made a pilgrimage to einsiedeln, a concert was given at our hotel; the musicians and singers being placed in the terrace garden overlooking the great place. it was crowded from side to side with a vast multitude of people, sitting or standing on the pavement, and it was a curious sight to see the myriads personal recollections. 153 of faces turned up towards the spot whence the music proceeded, and looking of a waxen whiteness in the light cast upon them by the lamps set at intervals along the balcony. on another occasion a concert was given by the town band of wind instruments in a small garden opposite the school, which was listened to with great delight by the peasants who chanced to have made a pilgrimage to einsiedeln on that day. the village seems from time to time to have enjoyed many recreations. we have an account of one kind of them in an old diary dating from the year 1748. on the 4th of september antonio kälin, the intendant, went to the curé and recommended to his favorable notice an exhibition of marionettes, requesting that the proprietor might be allowed to show them at the town hall. permission was given on the condition that the curé should first inspect and pronounce upon the intended representation, and having done so the marionettes were exhibited next day,,after the rosary" the performance lasting four hours. shooting at a target is also a very common amusement among the swiss youth,,who form themselves into societies for that purpose" and hold their tir, as it is called, annually in different 154 chapter 10. towns and villages. whilst we were at einsiedeln a tir took place there, and early one sunday morning bands of young men came thither to have a shooting match which was held in a field adjoining the monastery. a tent was erected there and flags placed at intervals on the green. several men clad in scarlet stood at the targets to mark the shots, one of their number acting as master of the ceremonies. the match began at twelve o'clock and was over at five, when each company, preceded by its banner, departed in good order. the tir has, for many years past, been a favourite recreation with the people and more than one hundred years ago one of a very curious sort took place. on the 11th of july, the women of the village went forth from their houses, carrying banners, beating drums, and armed with pistols, their motive in doing so being to excite the astonishment of the men by their shooting. the standard-bearer was one salome kälin, still a common name at einsiedeln, the drum-major being carl willi's shop girl. the curé, it appears, had given them leave to close their shops whilst they were having their shooting match but, it is added by the relator of the story, they ought to have had a surgeon with them in case of any of them being wounded. the various costumes to be seen at einsiedeln personal recollections. 155 form an interesting feature of the pilgrimages. among them the most common are those of the women from the black forest, whose head dresses are embroidered in gold and silver and furnished with two long black ribbons descending nearly to the feet. the prettiest costume is that of the peasants of the vorarlberg, consisting of a skirt of black glossy material, trimmed half way up with a band of light blue braid; the bodice of black, or coloured velvet is embroidered in silver and gold, the patterns being always elegant and artistic; the narrow sleeves are of silk brocade, and on the head is worn a black straw hat, trimmed with bright ribbons and flowers. this costume is becoming even to old women, and for the young girls, who are generally pretty and have a sweet expression of countenance, it is especially suitable. there are also peasants who wear red handkerchiefs folded on their heads, and gigot sleeves, stuffed as full as pincushions at the shoulders; very short waists coming just beneath the arm-pits, and exceedingly short stuff petticoats, so closely plaited that they stand out some inches round the hips. other women wear blue petticoats and black bodices over white linen chemisettes; the starched sleeves standing very high above the shoulders and reaching down as far as the elbows. perhaps it is owing to the variety of 156 chapter 10. costume which the women of einsiedeln are constantly in the habit of seeing, that many years ago they were infected with such a love of dress and delighted to wear such extraordinary costumes,,to their temporal injury and eternal hurt", that the curé, in order to turn them into ridicule, caused a certain ludwig zing, a man who was wont to act the part of fool during the carnival, to parade the village dressed up in the new einsiedeln fashions, and especially to caricature the fashionable head gear by decorating his own with horns and bells. the 14th of september, when the feast of the divine dedication is celebrated, is of course the day of days at einsiedeln. we were, alas!, obliged to leave three weeks before it took place, and a sad disappointment it was not to be able to assist at it. as a proof of the impression this feast produces i may mention that a lady, who has passed all her life in the village, and who has never missed being present at one of these anniversaries, told me that she felt on every successive occasion, as though it were the first, so deep and fresh was the impression made on her. in every respect this festival is celebrated in a far more splendid and solemn manner than that of st. meinrad, or our lady of the hermits; the blessed sacrament not being carried in propersonal recollections. 157 cession round the great place on either of those occasions as it is on the 14th of september. it is generally speaking only on that day that a french sermon is given, and it is hardly needful to add that it is always delivered by some preacher of note. from one of these sermons, preached by the abbé retours, the following extracts have been made, as they may serve to cast some fresh light on the signification of the pilgrimage to our lady of the hermits. although the whole earth belongs to the lord," says the abbé, ,,he has seen fit to choose certain spots in which more especially to show forth his mercy and goodness, communicating to them a sanctifying and healing influence, and manifesting himself by the miracles which are at the root of all pilgrimages." then alluding to the great festival which the people were engaged in celebrating, he exclaims: „who is there among us who did not feel moved by the first solemn mass said this morning in the holy chapel. darkness reigned without, but already the sanctuary was brilliantly illuminated and crowds of people were approaching the altar." speaking of einsiedeln itself he remarks that it not only possesses, in a high degree, the sanctifying power to be found at all places of pilgrimage, but, on account 158 chapter 10. of the patrons who are there honoured, it seems to surpass every other shrine and to enjoy a privilege possessed by itself alone. for it has pleased the almighty, he goes on to say, not only to make it the place of his choice by means of numerous and striking miracles, but also, through an august consecration, to bestow on it a wonderful power of sanctification. in all pilgrimages either the example set by a saint, or his intercession is sought for, or the protection of the blessed virgin; and in the august and venerable sanctuaries of the holy land, we find the traces of our saviour's life and of the mysteries attached to it. now, by a miraculous privilege, granted to einsiedeln alone, these several characteristics are found united together here. for this morning whilst celebrating mass in the holy chapel, what had i before my eyes, but the venerated head of the holy martyr st. meinrad, and above it the statue of mary before which he delighted to pray, whilst around me were the sacred walls consecrated a thousand years ago by the saviour and his angels. thus surrounded, who could do otherwise than believe that, when the divine pontiff of the new law touched with oil those holy precincts, the angels must have repeated the prayer which solomon of old uttered on the day of the consecration of the temple of jerusalem“. personal recollections. 159 alluding to st. meinrad, the abbé said that ,,after longing during the whole of his existence for a hidden life, and longing in vain, he must surely have expected to find obscurity after his death. but it was not so, for century after century he was destined to be had in remembrance, and to have his memory for ever asso ciated with the pilgrimage to the splendid church of einsiedeln". amongst the numerous pilgrims from distant lands whom we met at our hotel, was the venerable abbé carton who had come there to spend the whole month of his yearly holiday, for, as he said, it would take him all that time to get through what he had to say to our blessed lady of the hermits, and to plead with her to obtain for him, i don't know how many thousand francs, which he smilingly said his ,,bonne mère" was bound to procure, as she could not allow the poor whom he had confided to her care, to remain any longer without the asylum he was endeavouring to provide for them. it was to this same abbé carton that on the 4th of august 1881, at the annual public sitting of the académie française, a sum of 2000 francs was presented by m. ernest renan, who also delivered a speech in honour of his exertions in the cause of charity. shortly after we had left the place, monseigneur 160 chapter 10. freppel, bishop of angers, went to einsiedeln for the great festival of september the 14th, and we may well imagine what must have been the subject of his petitions as well as those of the count de chambord who was also this summer at einsiedeln! yet another pilgrim came to the holy chapel not long ago, and prayed on his knees before it, the tears pouring the while down his cheeks. surely this gives a grain of hope that he, on whose eloquent accents all paris once hung enraptured, may hereafter return to the fold from whence he has strayed, there to find pardon and peace. the holy and venerable bishop of orleans, monseigneur dupanloup, made frequent pilgrimages to einsiedeln. the last time he was there he told the fathers he should return the next year, for he had „so many things to ask of the blessed virgin", but before the time he had fixed upon had arrived, he was taken to paradise, there to intercede with his heavenly mother, for his beloved france more powerfully by far than he could ever do on earth. a very great pleasure it was to us whilst at einsiedeln to visit one of the monks with whom we had made acquaintance. on one of these occasions he took us to the atelier where the personal recollections. 161 artist of the community works at the pictures, altar-pieces etc. with which many of the neighbouring churches are adorned. he is a disciple of deschwanden, and there is a great resemblance between their works, those of the monk manifesting the same religious feeling which was the chief characteristic of the master. the pictures of both involuntarily recall to memory the lovely creations of fra angelico, and no wonder, for like the great dominican, deschwanden never took pencil in hand without first addressing himself in prayer to god, and who can doubt that his example, in this respect, is followed by his disciple. amongst the most remarkable of the father's productions is one representing the stoning of st. stephen, which we admired in a church about two miles from einsiedeln. when we had the pleasure of visiting him he was engaged upon a composition destined to be placed in the boy's college chapel, and in which are represented st. cecilia as patroness of music, st. catharine of philosophy, st. thomas aquinas as patron of theology, fra angelico of painting and st. francis of poetry. this work will certainly be one of the most admirable and beautiful of any which the artist has produced. he is not only a painter, but a musician also being, like many other of the fathers, an able performer on the violin, and descr. of einsiedeln. ii 162 chapter 10. delighting to join in the trios and quartettes in which, from time to time, the monks take their recreation. among protestants the idea seems generally to prevail that the life led in monasteries must be either an idle, or a tiresomely monotonous one, but a visit to the abbey of einsiedeln would convince them that it is far from being so, and that in the monasteries of the present day, as well as in those of the middle ages, of which such houses as that of einsiedeln are but the continuation, the life led by the monks is as full of variety and interest as any human existence possibly can be. within its happy enclosure every talent is cultivated to the utmost, and each fills the position for which his abilities, the bent of his character, and his disposition best fit him. actively employed during the whole day, either in researches connected with literature, the fine arts, philosophy, science or theology, or occupied in religious offices, in the confessional, the pulpit, or the college, or else engaged with the administration of the various possessions of the monastery, every hour is filled up. the monk then retires at eight o'clock in the evening to his cell, there to read in quiet, and resume, for as many hours as he pleases, the studies which have occupied him during the day. once during the year the fathers go in parpersonal recollections. 163 ties of ten or twelve for a few days holiday to a country-house they have at pfäffikon on the shores of the lake of zurich, immediately opposite to which is a picturesque island, also belonging to the monastery, with a church founded in 973. it was here, curious to say, that ulrich von hutten died, and was buried, in the year 1523. close to the church is a farm house surrounded by orchards, whence we once saw the fathers bring a rich booty of rosy-cheeked apples on their return from their yearly excursion. they also, from time to time, visit their other dependencies, of which they have several in other parts of switzerland, and on the borders of austria. of these various houses there is a series of watercolour drawings, in the gallery leading to the abbot's apartments. some of them are beautifully situated, several are large turreted buildings, having the air more of secular castles than of monastic establishments. every now and then some of the fathers set out, with the whole of the boys belonging to the college, for a long excursion, and on these occasions are accompanied by the college band which does great credit to the musical instruction imparted by the professors. no prettier sight did we witness at einsiedeln than when, on the sound of music being heard in the distance, every one hastened 164 chapter 10. to the windows to see the great gates of the college thrown open, and the long procession of boys in their soutanes, and of the fathers in their habits, issuing forth, and setting out merrily on the road. our stay at einsiedeln was marked by one tragical occurrence, namely, the death by drowning of two of the best and most promising youths in the college. they were both of them outboarders, and had been accustomed to go several times a week to bathe in the sihl, which in many places is a very dangerous river, on account of the deep holes occurring in its bed. however, as several accidents had already happened there before, a safe bathing place had been constructed for the boys, but on this sad evening one of the two youths already mentioned, passed for some reason or other, beyond the bounds of safety. his companion, seeing that he was sinking, hastened to him in the hopes of saving him. but his efforts were of no avail, and both boys were drowned. their bodies were not recovered till the following day, when they were placed in coffins and carried to the chapel attached to the school, whence the funeral took place the following morning and was most impressive. all the fathers, all the college boys, and most of the inhabitants of the village, in a long and mournpersonal recollections. 165 ful procession, followed the bier, on which were placed, side by side, the two coffins completely hidden beneath masses of roses, lilies and other bright, sweet-scented, summer flowers. for some time, every evening at seven o'clock, all the out-door pupils assembled at the foot of the great crucifix placed at the head of the road leading to the cemetery, and then, preceded by one of the fathers, walked slowly along saying their rosaries. as soon as they had reached the graves, each of which had a cross at its head with a white crape veil over it, the graves themselves being covered with flowers, the father recited the prayers for the dead, after which they all returned quietly and in silence to the place whence they had set out, not surely without having received an impressive lesson, calculated to profit them during the whole of their after lives. the cemetery at einsiedeln is about a quarter of a mile from the village, and is beautifully situated at the foot of the green and wooded heights which rise to the south of the monastery. when we were there it looked lovely, every grave being planted with the same kind of flowers, pinks and white saxifrage. unlike many cemeteries in other parts of switzerland, it is affectionately cared for, and it is clear that the honour due to the dear remains of their dead is a duty 166 chapter 10. which is religiously performed by the inhabitants of einsiedeln. in common with the convent church, the cemetery is never empty. every evening numbers may be seen wending their way thither, their prayerbooks in their hands, and saying their rosaries, and as long as man or boy remains within its precincts he keeps his head uncovered, taking off his hat even if only passing it hastily. along the walls are placed the stations of the cross, it being considered better to have them there than in the church, because such persons as repair to the cemetery to make them can hardly help saying, at the same time, a prayer for the dead who are resting around them. the children's graves, as in most swiss cemeteries, occupy a place set apart. on nearly all of these tiny mounds are placed bright green mosses generally in the form of a cross, or they are surmounted by little marble crucifixes and monuments of equally small dimensions. i know no more affecting sight than that of these little graves, set close to one another, with their touching memorials testifying the faith and hope, the love and sorrow of the parents. the mortality among children is very great at einsiedeln, but when the period of infancy is safely passed, the inhabitants generally attain to a good old age. personal recollections. 167 the in the centre of the cemetery is a large cross, to which is affixed, not the whole body of our lord, but only his face on the handkerchief of veronica, his hands, and his feet. chapel is commodious and simple in its structure. adjoining to it is a bone-house where rows of skulls, with the name and date of the death painted on the forehead, are ranged upon shelves. strange though it may seem, it is nevertheless true, that not many years ago, when the cemetery was reopened, as it is called, that is to say when the old graves are once more used, it was not an uncommon practice for survivors of deceased relatives to take possession of their skulls and keep them in their own houses. a lady at einsiedeln told me that she quite well remembered seeing, in the bed chamber of a friend, the skulls of her father and mother, placed under a glass-case. the inhabitants of einsiedeln seem to me a population such as is now-a-days but seldom to be met with in other parts of switzerland and especially in such portions as are the resort of tourists. the same impression was made upon the viscomte de melun when he visited einsiedeln. ,,it was not only the glaciers and the monastery", he says in his „souvenir", which i admired, but also everything which piety had added to the 168 chapter 10. creation in order to speak of god to man. each of the mountains has its chapel, its patronage, and its pilgrimage, while at intervals the stations of the cross call for a prayer and pious thoughts; the stranger moreover is saluted with the sweet greeting,,blessed be jesus christ", and when wearied and wanting repose he may always find a seat placed before a cross or a holy picture, or else a little chapel open for rest as well as devotion. catholicism is here the principle as well as the foundation of everything, it does not merely form a portion of a thousand other interests, men remain always in the presence of god, and the cross surmounts their town-house as well as their churches." the character of the inhabitants is genial, self-respecting and industrious, thrifty, but free from the grasping, greedy spirit which characterises many of their fellow countrymen; well educated and liberal minded, they set a bright example, not only to their own nation, but to all who come in contact with them. grounded in the doctrines and practices of their religion from their childhood upwards they are, for the most part, profoundly pious, and, as i said before, there is hardly a man, woman, or child in einsiedeln who does not assist at one or other of the daily masses, unless prevented by duty or illness. personal recollections. 169 at einsiedeln, for the first time, since i had left rome i witnessed the beautiful and affecting sight of a priest carrying the blessed sacrament to a sick person, preceded by a boy ringing a bell and carrying a lighted lamp. there also, as in the eternal city, every one knelt on the ground in reverence and adoration while our lord passed by. another day the curé in his cotta went on horseback to some distant village, bearing the blessed sacrament, and, as before, the people knelt in the road and in front of their houses, as soon as the tinkling of the bell announced the approach of our lord. all the time that i was at einsiedeln i never saw any one drunk in the street, a striking contrast to what i had been accustomed to in the canton vaud, and cases of immorality, i am told, are equally rare in the district; truly the spirit of virtue that prevails at einsiedeln is an important ingredient in the charm of a sojourn there. a french lady whom i met at our hotel assured me that, after visiting all the principal shrines in france and italy she awarded the palm to einsiedeln, because of the spirit of piety which prevails among its people. in common with the other „little cantons", as the forest cantons" of switzerland are called, schwytz has been always governed in a peaceable "" 170 chapter 10. manner, none of the difficulties with which some of the other cantons have to contend having ever occurred in its administration. just opposite our windows was a kind of village green, at the further end of which stands the school, a very large, commodious building, as indeed it needs to be to hold upwards of seven hundred children. the boys and girls attend in almost equal numbers, i do not know how many masters are employed, but the girls have seven mistresses assisted by a goodly number of pupil-teachers. at intervals between their various lessons the children have a quarter of an hours recreation, and at such times it was curious to see the girls playing at our old english games of oranges and lemons, threading the needle, hunt the slipper and blind man's buff; as for the boys their principal amusement seemed to consist in running after one another, until the one who was caught, being thrown on the ground by his captor, was soundly flogged, the punishment being received by the victim with unvarying patience and good humour. if, in the midst of their games, any of them chanced to perceive the curé, or one of the fathers passing along the road, there was a general rush of girls and boys towards him, each anxious to obtain the smile, or kind word, or shake of the hand which the personal recollections. 171 good fathers seem never weary of bestowing. once or twice in the week the boys are drilled, and it was most amusing to watch the awkward squad of little fellows going through their exercises and marching along, the majority of them with naked feet. during the summer time the children seldom wear shoes and stockings, however well to do their parents may be, excepting of course on sundays and feast-days, when both boys and girls are always dressed in their best. every day they have a mass said for them in the school chapel, and on the sundays they have their own high mass and very often a procession. it is pretty to see it passing round the green, the very little children dressed in white, as well as some of the elder girls, and the curé at their head. as soon as it has re-entered the school-chapel the great procession issues from the monastery church. on high festivals, the abbot takes part in it, carrying a statue of the blessed virgin, and accompanied by the whole of the fathers all the pupils of the college and numbers of the parishioners. three splendid banners are borne by sacristans whilst others carry on a platform an immense statue of our blessed lady. marshalled in due order the procession descends the great steps and, after having made the circuit 172 chapter 10. of the place, re-enters the church when high mass immediately begins. during the college vacations the absence of the long stream of boys in their white cottas and soutanes makes a great void in the procession, and the sweet harmony of their young voices is much missed in the church-music. but a portion of the boys who belong to the choir return to their posts after an absence of a week only, and spend the remainder of their holidays at the monastery taking long excursions with the fathers, or amusing themselves with acting plays in the college-theatre. we happened to be at einsiedeln when the summer vacation commenced. the sunday before breaking up all the boys assembled in the court below the abbot's apartments and gave a vocal and instrumental concert. all the windows on that side of the monastery were thrown wide open and at them were gathered the fathers, in whose honour the performance was given, while the whole of the vacant space was crowded by a delighted audience. the song with which the concert concluded is centuries old, and it is only lately that the music and words have been printed; it has fifteen verses, of which the following will serve as a specimen. a, a, a, valete studia, omnia jam tædia vertuntur in gaudia, a, a, a, valete studia. personal recollections. 173 e, e, e, ite miseriæ, ite, ite lacrymæ læti sumus hodie; e, e, e, ite miseriæ! i, i, i, vale professor mi! valeas ad optimum, cures me ad minimum. i, i, i, vale professor mi! o, o, o, magno cum gaudio einsidlam relinquimus, patriam repetimus. o, o, o, magno cum gaudio. u, u, u, læto cum spiritu libros nunc abjicimus, poculum accipimus. u, u, u, læto cum spiritu. the remaining verses are in german, the tune, a very lively one, rang in our ears for long afterwards. then the boys, amidst much applause, set off on a march round the precincts of the monastery, still singing to the accompaniment of their band their a, a, a, valete etc. on nearing the cemetery, the merry voices were hushed into silence, and the boys gathering round the graves. of their dead comrades, chanted the litany of the blessed virgin and the „de profundis", after which they all of them returned silently, and quietly, to the monastery. the following morning high mass was celebrated with a full orchestre 174 chapter 10. and all the boys received holy communion. in an hour or two afterwards they were starting for their various destinations, only, before leaving the college, they went, some singly, some in parties of half a dozen, to say a prayer before the holy chapel. it was a very edifying scene the seriousness and recollection of the boys being most delightful to witness. there are many charming walks in the neighbourhood of einsiedeln, though in the heat of summer there is a great want of shade in the vicinity of the monastery. suggestions have often. been made to the fathers respecting the advantages of planting trees, so as to form avenues along the neighbouring roads, but the monks preferred to lay out a most attractive walk, leading from the monastery up the hills. there, in the woods which cover the sides of all the neighbouring heights, a pleasant shade can always be found, and in the early mornings, or evenings, nothing can be more delightful than the rambles along the different vallies branching out from einsiedeln. on every road and field path are placed at intervals way-side chapels with quaint ornaments and pictures, offering to the pedestrian at once a place of devotion and shelter from the heat. pillars are also often to be seen, supporting a framework on which is placed a picture of personal recollections. 175 our lord, and i seldom saw the peasants pass them without taking off their hats or kneeling down to say a prayer. in the village itself, at the foot of the principal street, is an immense crucifix before which lights are kept burning during the night. in fact wherever the eyes turn they rest upon some sacred object calculated to lift the soul to heaven. it is of course to be expected that at the height at which einsiedeln is situated above the sea the winters should be severe. they are not, however exceptionally so. even in the coldest months of the year pilgrimages are continually made to the shrine of our lady of the hermits, though not in such great numbers as in the summer. throughout the winter the church is well frequented even at the early masses which, as in summer, begin at four o'clock. on the feast of st. meinrad, which occurs in january, multitudes visit his chapel on the etzel, together with the benedictine fathers who go there in sledges, accompanied by all the boys of the college. of the kind of weather prevailing during the year a good idea may be gained from a note book kept by one of the officials connected with the monastery. we find from it that on the 19th of january 1724 snow fell incessantly and 176 chapter 10. • was already knee deep. traces of two wolves had, moreover, been seen. the 21st of january was the festival of st. meinrad, but there was so much wind and snow that no one could venture out of doors. on the 15th february the chronicler mentions that an old cart driver in the service of the community, aged 78, donned a masquerade dress and went thro' a performance to the astonishment of all the beholders. during the months of february and march the weather was beautiful and not cold, but there was often snow and fog. the 11th april (coena domini) was fine, then came snow and rain again. in may there were „,beautiful dews" and lovely days. in june there fell a good deal of rain and there was but little sun. july, august and september were lovely months. in october also, the weather was splendid. on the 30th of december, the roads were in good order for sledging and up to the 31st the weather remained beautiful and mild, though at intervals snow had fallen. a favourite excursion during winter is to a beautiful alpine village called yberg. of an annual pilgrimage made there by the benedictine fathers, fr gall morel has given a charming idyllic picture, in a poem of which the following extracts, roughly overset" into english, may enable the reader to form some idea. "" personal recollections. 177 the pilgrimage to ýberg: dawn flushed all the sky, and pale grew the stars in the heavens. sweetly sounded the bells of einsiedeln's beautiful cloister. the people in crowds and with prayers followed the fluttering banners, slowly borne down the aisles and out thro' the wide open portals, while resounded the chants sung in honour of mary our mother. and i with my brethren, clothed in choir habits carefully plaited, joined with delight in the songs of the pious suppliant people. the annual pilgrimage making to the mountainous village of yberg; a pilgrimage dating from out the dim and far distant ages, when the hapless chevalier amberg, his soul overwhelmed with anguish, decreed that for him and his son pious prayers should yearly be offered. and so we went on our way, in the pleasant cool of the morning, through the vale which the swift flowing sihl in its many meanderings waters. melodiously mingled the tinkle of bells with the sound and the loud jödlings of our chanting; of herdsmen from the velvety grass-covered uplands, whilst up in the ether the larks, soaring high, were descr. of einsiedeln. exultingly singing. 12 178 chapter 10. little by little the valley grew narrow and alpine giants high towering, enclosed it well nigh within a steadfast immoveable circle, awe-inspiring their snow-peaks rise high into the beautiful azure. already the sun had ascended above their lofty far away summits, and its beams were lighting and warming the valley of peace and seclusion, when suddenly down from a lovely and verdant slope of the mountain yberg's church looked smiling upon us, encircled by numerous chalets. brightly shone the dear house of the lord midst its sombre and lowly surroundings, and there also stood the good priest, full of zeal in the midst of his people, looking up to the god of all mercy as he prayed for the flock of his pasture, e'en as the tower soars above the chalets gathered singing, we drew nearer which born at the foot around it. and nearer to the alp circled village of yberg, of the mountains, in deepest retirement and quiet, rests like an infant asleep on the calm loving breast of its mother. joyous and fearless and strong, as healthy in soul as in body, are the peasants who dwell there, true switzers of happy and pastaway ages, even such as we see them depicted in old-world legends and stories, personal recollections. 179 or in pious heart stirring songs flowing forth from the soul of the poet. then as we approached to our goal, preceded by fluttering banners, a welcome to give us, advanced the worthy priest of the village. and up to the temple of old to god dedicated he led us, to share in the feast instituted by jesus our lord and our saviour, ere his children he left and to god his father in heaven ascended. that his own upon him might think, with holy love overflowing. ah! that feast which to thousands brings strength and comfort and healing, to the living and also the dead in the dreary realms of flames purifying, whom we pray for, clad as to day, in sombre habits of mourning, deeply bewailing the fate of our fellows reduced into dust and to ashes, whilst the knell of the deep sounding bell resounds thro' the aisles of the temple. and now the sacrifice ended many in quiet are praying, and many canticles singing, e'en as the peasants are wont to raise up their voices to heaven. then to a different repast we were, one and all of us, summoned, a repast which to the body might give its needful refreshment. 180 chapter 10. ere this the glorious sun had already the height of the heavens almost ascended, when called by the kindly voice of the pastor, my brethren and i round the well-spread table were gathered. the pleasant time of refreshment with affectionate converse being shortened, longing to wander away in the verdant, velvety pastures, to all who were present at table i said: let us ramble up to the surging torrent which hastes raging out of the thalgrund, known by, that into its dreadful abysses guggern the name it is our eyes may gaze awe inspired. all applauded my words and consented; many rose up at once, only a few of the weary and aged, or of those retained by their glass, remaining seated at table. many, too, of the women, the boys and the peasants came with us, also the worthy shepherd of souls accompanied with gladness his people. up through the meads clad in verdure, and by pathways softly ascending, need i describe all the pleasure of such friendly heartcheering rambles, or tell of the fragrance cast forth by ambrosian alpine sprung flowrets or of the heart lightening, dark blue, mountainous ether, personal recollections. 181 or of the sound of the cow-bells tinkling from far and around us, or of the tones of the horns re-echoing into the valley? these things thou knowest thyself and like me thou hast often enjoyed them. scarcely half of the way o'er lofty rocks had we clambered, when suddenly stretched out before us a lovely grasscovered upland, tempting our footsteps to astonished the eye swept to the left and the right stay and gaze on the beautiful prospect. over the snowy peaks of the mountains, and around us, a temple to god consecrated. there by many a lake and many a ravine and valley, dwell in quiet and peace and joy the noble race of the schwytzers. low alpine shrubs grew all round the flower and grasscovered upland, where berries of sweetness and fragrance are eagerly sought for by children. traces of walls built in ages gone by showed here and resting upon the green the little lambs skipped there through the bushes. sward we gazed delightedly round us. at our feet, and goats leaped from one rock to another, well watched by the eyes of a boy lying down in the midst of the pasture, 182 chapter 10. his rustic pipe playing, then singing a jubilant song of the mountains, which as he saw us draw near, he broke off and suddenly ended. then the good shepherd of souls addressing himself to the cowherd, come hither my boy, he exclaimed, sit down, and bring your pipe with you, and sing to our friends the song of the castle whose ruins are round us. then he got up, but slowly and as though he were almost unwilling. nathless feeling he must, for so his good pastor had willed it. shyly nearer he drew, then seated himself on the ruins, whilst all of us gathered around him to list to his tale of the foretime. first from his pipe he drew forth a strain of sorrowful such as the wanderer oft music, hears the shepherds play on the mountain, making the heart of the listener overflow with a sweet and a yearning sadness. then with clear voice he began to sing the sorrowful legend of yberg. telling how a maiden with pale face and sad countenance stood in days gone by in the moonlight before a lordly castle, whilst a wild northwind chased the clouds across the sky. ravens croaked around her as she uttered her compersonal recollections. 183 plaint, exclaiming: „and is it thus that thou hast forsaken me, thou faithless, knight? ah me! ah me! full well i know that what thou hast done to me god will certainly avenge. for he is the strength of the weak, he sets down the deeds of the wicked and punishes their infamy." whilst the maiden was thus making her complaint there issued forth, like a mocking echo, from out the chambers of the castle, sounds of mirth and jollity. in the great hall, intoxicated with pleasure, sat the young knight von amberg, and to the sound of the zither indulged in rude riot with his friends. the maiden, seized with shuddering horror, tottered to the edge of the precipice on which the castle stood and gazed into the abyss, as though unknowing and unconscious of what she did. she is about to fall into it, when suddenly she beholds, standing by her side her two brothers, who, seizing hold of her, cry out,,,sister what art thou doing here?" she looks fixedly and long at both the well-known faces, and then exclaims as though distraught with grief, ,,oh false, false knight!" but the brothers hold. their peace, and return in silence to their dwelling, leading their sister with them. then having placed her there in safety they hasten forth, bent on taking their revenge. now the old knight von amberg filled the 184 chapter 10. office of judge at that time in the canton of schwytz, and so it was to him that the brothers brought their plaint. but the two avengers did not divulge the name of the criminal to the judge, who carefully examined into the evidence laid before him. the next morning he summoned them again to appear at the judgment seat. then raising his voice in the presence of all the people he cried out: „alas! for what has chanced upon our alpine heights! wo to him by whom the evil deed was done! wo to him by whom the maiden's honour was so shamefully destroyed; even though he were my son it should avail him nothing; he shall die by the sword, be he knight or be he peasant, who in secret decoyed a pure maiden and robbed her of her fair fame. accusers take my knightly sword, and in accordance with your rights bring the craven wretch before me. obediently they departed and quickly returned with von amberg's only son, in order that his father might take vengeance upon him for the crime he had committed. as when in a storm the thunderbolt falls, so the grey-headed old man sank to the ground. then looking upon his son, he exclaimed in his agony „oh god, oh god, is it indeed too late? ah me the sentence has been pronounced, and the deed has gone before the majesty of the personal recollections. 185 almighty!" then the broken hearted father withdrew to his chamber, whilst like a plaint there mingled with his grief the knell of the funeral bell. to heaven he turned his stony gaze and wrung his trembling hands „oh god of heaven," he cried,,,have mercy on my child's soul." laying down his office he left his castle and sought a home on yberg's rocks. there he built for himself a dwelling and passed his time in prayer, until the lamp of his life was extinguished by death. the sorrowful story ended, for a space we were all of us speechless. thinking over in silence the gone by, terrible sorrow, yet living e'en now in song as vivid as in the afore time. whilst many wiped away tears which coursed slowly down from their eyelids. perceived it, the worthy priest of his people, but when the pastor speaking in soft sounding tones he exclaimed, it seemeth unto me, almost as if the sad song of the lad our innocent pleasure had troubled. so let us cease for a while to speak of the tragical and bend our steps story, towards home for the sun to the westward is hastening. neither is time remaining to scale the heights rising around us, 186 chapter 10. that we may thence gaze awe stricken into the depths of the thalgrund. but we have looked far down into lifes still more fearful abysses, which cannot be sounded by lead or by our own understanding. he spoke, and quickly we hastened home to the house of the pastor, then in the low rustic chamber of the friendly and pastoral chalet we gathered together once more. too soon came the hour of departure, but where is the pastor? ah see! even now he makes his appearance, in his right hand bearing a cross, a black one painted all over, and in his left holding a skull, ghastly, and grinning, and fearful. astonished we all gazed upon him with looks of longing enquiry. till at last spoke in these words the worthy pastor of yberg. >>moved by the tragical story of the fate of the ritter von amberg, look on these sorrowful relics, thro' centuries carefully guarded; gaze on the sign of all comfort that of old the grave overshadowed, where, resting from sorrow and pain, the knight lay mid peasants and shepherds; look on the skull where first dwelt his noble and chivalrous spirit, see the holes whence the eyes looked so boldly with angry flashes like lightning, personal recollections. 187 when injustic or crime were but named, or else unmasked in his presence; but which lovingly smiled on the good; glistening with pleasure and gladness. look at the sternly set mouth which once penance or freedom awarded, or with heaviest sorrow o'erwhelmed, bewailed his son, his beloved. dumb and blind and unconscious are now the remains, which aforetime and once but foolish and hard and far from fitting is what i have spoken to men who are better and wiser than i am.» thus saying he hasted forthwith to the room, where in silence and quiet, the cross and the skull lie at rest, the one by the side of the other. then rising we went to the church, and gathered in front of the altar, praying in stillness and silence awhile, to god our father and leader, to the dear saviour of all, and to the holy mother of sorrows, laying with trust in their hands our past and present and future. but now see the sun hastens on to sink 'neath the snow covered mountains, while smilingly fall his last beams on the kneeling crowd in the chapel; e'en as they fall on the altar, gracious sign of a merciful answer. so then after pressing the hand of the worthy pastor of yberg, 188 chapter 10. bidding him hearty farewell, i quitted the pastoral valley, wending my way back to the hearth of my lares and well loved penates. some time ago a quarrel arose between the village of yberg and an adjacent one respecting the site that was to be chosen for a church which was intended to serve both villages. the result was a happier one than often attends such altercations. the conclusion ultimately arrived at was to build a church and also a schoolhouse in each village. a friend of mine, who went to yberg just after the building of the church had begun, on the occasion of the festival of the patron saint of the village, which occurs in mid-winter, told me that it was a most touching and interesting sight to see the peasants driving up to the village from their far-away dwellings on the mountain, each bringing with him, on his sledge, a large stone as his contribution to the erection of the sacred edifice. something has been already said in the account given at the commencement of this little book of the hotels of einsiedeln, and i can certainly add my testimony to the good food and comfortable rooms to be found therein. a german author who, not long ago, published an account of his travels in france remarks that personal recollections. 189 all sorts and conditions of men are to be found among the saints, with the single exception of hotel keepers, which shows how very difficult it must be for such people to save their souls. i think, however, that amongst the hosts of the guest-houses at einsiedeln, the majority may be considered as not belonging to the category on which the learned doctor passes so sweeping a censure. the salle à manger of our hotel resembled the refectory of a monastery rather than the dining room of an inn, a large crucifix hanging on its walls and opposite it a beautiful picture of blessed nicholas of flüe by deschwanden. our great object of interest during our stay at the hotel du paon was the visitor's book, which contains hundreds of distinguished names of pilgrims, most of whom come only for a day and then depart; at the table d'hôte there is a constant succession of fresh faces of people from all quarters of the globe, the party one day including a japanese. all kinds of religious orders may also be seen there, both nuns and monks, and the number of different languages spoken is legion. i have already alluded to the high state of civilisation of the inhabitants of einsiedeln. this is to be attributed, in a large measure, to the in190 chapter 10. fluence of the benedictine fathers, who are, of course, the great benefactors of the district. the condition of the roads, the appearance of the fields, the well built, well cared-for cottages on the property belonging to the monastery, all testify to the excellence of their administration, and the good example given by them to the farmers and peasants far and near. the monastery is celebrated for its breed of horses, and must have been equally famous at one time for its breed of cows, seeing that in the year 1748, the king of poland sent one of his herdsmen thither to purchase some of the monastery cows, similar to those which he had bought twenty years before. next to the convent, the extensive commercial pursuits of messrs benziger exercise the most beneficial influence in keeping permanently employed about 700 hands. the whole village follows the brilliant example set by this enterprising firm. this is proved by the fact that loungers are never seen in the village, here everybody works. messrs benziger have established, among other philanthropical institutions, a house for their young apprentices, some forty in number, who are placed under the care of three sisters of charity. early in the morning and at bed-time we often used to hear the tinkling of the bell summoning the youths to prayer. the square facing the monastery. hotel du paon. 192 chapter 10. as i have already mentioned in chapter viii, a visit to the establishments of messrs charles and nicholas benziger brothers is also one of the great interests of einsiedeln which no one will undertake without deriving much pleasure and instruction. it is scarcely possible to think of the artistical productions of the above firm without remembering the name of m. p. von deschwanden who worked so much for it. this great swiss artist, whose recent death has been so deeply regretted, used to take special delight to be employed for poor churches, and indeed he did not care to use his brush unless his productions were to be devoted to religious purposes. a native of stans, and of good family, the cultivated, pious, kindly man was beloved and esteemed by all who came in contact with him, whilst his modesty was so great that he never alluded to his works in any way. one of the fathers, rev. dr kuhn, has recently written his life, which will, doubtless, be as interesting as that of father gall morel published a few years ago. theodore deschwanden, a younger brother, who died at the early age of 22, seems to have been possessed of equal, if not greater genius than paul, if we may judge from his picture of the death of the blessed virgin, which is in the chapel of the orphanage on the heights opposite einsiedeln. personal recollections. 193 he died before it was finished and the last touches were put in by his elder brother. although miracles are constantly being wrought at einsiedeln, the fathers do not approve of publicity being given to them, on account of the times in which we live. unbelievers, they say, would but scoff at them, and good catholics do not need to hear of them. some few, however, which have occurred are so interesting that i cannot refrain from given an account of them. going back to the last century, we find that on the 8th of september 1748, the archbishop of vienna preached a sermon in honour of our lady, and in his exordium spoke of the miracle worked on himself at vienna the year before, when he was lying ill of a dangerous malady. on the vigil of the nativity of the blessed virgin he had been given up by three doctors, after every remedy had been tried without avail. death was quickly approaching, when he made a vow that if it should please god to restore him to health he would go on a pilgrimage to einsiedeln, and, to the astonishment of all, the following day, and without taking any medicine, he was perfectly well. the doctors on visiting him were surprised to find him alive. his sermon, we are told, was so touching that it made tears flow from many eyes. descr. of einsiedeln. 13 194 chapter 10. the other cases which i shall mention have occurred in more recent years. the first is that of a servant of the count de m. at innspruck who, after living thirty years in his family, became, by degrees, entirely blind. she had been so faithful a domestic, that she was not allowed to leave her master's house. chancing to hear, from one of the members of the household, of the miracles wrought at einsiedeln she was seized with a longing to go here, but was told, over and over again, that, utterly blind as she was, it would be impossible for her to undertake the long and arduous journey. at last, however, moved by her entreaties, her master arranged that a fellow servant should accompany her to the shrine. they set off on foot on the 14th of august, and reached einsiedeln on the 7th of september. arrived there, the two women hastened to the church, where she who was blind prayed most earnestly to our lady of the hermits that her sight might be restored. but, at the conclusion of the novena which she began that day, she was as blind as ever, and with a half broken heart prepared to set off on her journey back to innspruck. before doing so, however, she went to bid the friend from whom i heard the story, goodbye, „ah mademoiselle" she exclaimed "you see it has not pleased the blessed personal recollections. 195 29 virgin to cure me." then she went back to the church to say a farewell prayer, rose from her knees and on reaching the door cried out to her companion why! what has happened to me i see houses, trees, people, i see your black dress and your white cap!" then she began to laugh and to cry, and almost running back to the holy chapel, prostrated herself on the pavement, and remained there for a long space of time offering up with sobs and tears her thanks to god. from that time she made a pilgrimage on foot every year to einsiedeln, the basket which she carried on her back being always laden with tapers for the shrine of our blessed lady. it was the count de m., her master, who as a thank-offering for the miracle wrought upon. his servant, erected in one of the side-chapels in the monastery church the beautiful altar of the sacred heart. the second miracle of which i heard was performed in favour of a sister of charity who, whilst still a novice, became blind of both eyes. it was arranged that an operation should be performed by a physician at lucerne, on a certain monday morning. the previous saturday the young novice went to einsiedeln, not, as she said, to ask our lady to cure her, but to obtain through her all-powerful intercession, fortitude to 196 chapter 10. bear the operation. the night on which she reached her destination she had intense pain in her eyes, and the next morning, when about to receive holy communion, it became so intolerable that she could hardly endure it. just as the priest put the host on her tongue the agony was so great that involuntarily she put her hand to her eyes and when she took it away found that she could see as well and clearly as ever she had done in her life. a third miracle, and one of a very remarkable kind, was wrought on a young girl belonging to the department of doubs in france who, while quite a child, had received such injuries as to render her a perfect cripple. her arms were bent at the elbow and her hands nailed as it were to her shoulders; she could neither feed herself nor move, for her legs were bent in the same way as her hands. she had been to the first physicians in paris, but they all pronounced her case hopeless, and added that nothing could be done to alleviate her sufferings. at last her relatives resolved to take her to einsiedeln, and on arriving there she was wheeled in her little cart into the church, just as mass was being celebrated at the high altar. at the elevation a noise was heard which startled the congregation, most of whom imagined that something had personal recollections. 197 fallen from the roof. but the persons who chanced to be standing near the little cart were aware that the sound proceeded from the girl suddenly rising, standing upright in her cart, then stepping out of it, and prostrating herself before the holy statue, at the same time crying out „i am cured, i am cured!" a telegram was instantly despatched to the cure of her parish, but at first the people there would not credit the news. the girl remained at einsiedeln till the goverment officials at schwytz and the abbot had caused enquiry to be made into all the circumstances attendant upon the miracle, and had verified the certficates of the french physicians. when at last she returned home, all the people of her own parish, and of the villages situated far`and wide, went out to meet her in procession, and a splendid robe of cloth of gold, the same in which the statue of our lady has ever since been vested on the festival of the 14th september was sent by them as a votive offering to einsiedeln. another miracle of which i heard was wrought upon a blind girl whose parents lived at besançon. one of their children, a youth of 12, had been sent to the college at einsiedeln and hearing of the miracles which were constantly occurring he wrote to his father, begging him to bring his sister there. accordingly, soon after, the whole 198 chapter 10. 1 family set out on foot on their pilgrimage to the shrine. the girl was cured and the father made a vow to pay an annual pilgrimage to einsiedeln. since his death the son who was educated there, and is now a priest, has taken his father's vow upon himself, and whilst we were at einsiedeln he made his annual pilgrimage to our lady of the hermits. in his „souvenir de voyage" the count de melun states that his mother had been seized with a sudden and dangerous illness the previous winter, and that very soon she was given up by the doctors. already her family were gathered round her bed, weeping and imagining they were listening to her last words, when suddenly the remembrance of our lady of the hermits, whose shrine the viscount had recently visited, flashed upon his recollection like a ray of hope. hastening to a neighbouring church he made a vow that, if his mother were spared, he would make a pilgrimage to einsiedeln to thank our lady for her cure. very soon afterwards the doctor was able to conquer the malady and the invalid was restored to perfect health. wonderful, however, as are the corporeal miracles performed at einsiedeln of those a spiritual kind are still more so. the numbers of conversions which are constantly taking place there, and personal recollections. 199 the abundance of graces vouchsafed in answer to prayer are fully known to god alone, though in part they are also known to the good fathers into whose ears are daily poured the secrets of overburdened, erring, contrite souls. "" at last came the day of our departure from einsiedeln. a last visit to the holy chapel, a last look at the church and the monastery and we had bidden farewell, probably for ever, to the sanctuary in the dark wood" where we had spent so many happy days, the recollection of which will ever fill a treasured place in our memories. if pilgrimages had no other use than that of removing us for a time out of every-day life, and lifting the soul from the dust that it may ascend on the wings of prayer to heaven in spots peculiarly sanctified by god they would need no further justification. and if there be any place on earth in which everything around one tends to raise the heart to god, it surely is einsiedeln. of it may with truth he said omnia si lustres alienæ climata terræ, non est in toto sanctior orbe locus. gall fr gall morel's poems translated from the german. the pilgrim's prayer. there, where in an alpine vale high the holy chapel stands, and where with rejoicing songs journey many pilgrim bands. draw me also, mary mild, to adore thee and thy child! mary mild, star in desert drear and wild. there, where crowds have comfort found, there, where wounds have all been healed, where st. meinrad shed his blood, and where saints their faith have sealed, draw me also, mary mild, to adore thee and thy child! mary mild, star in darkness drear and wild. where the burden of its sin falls from off the o'er laden heart, and inspired with trust the child from his mother cannot part. 202 poems. draw me also, mary mild, to adore thee and thy child! mary mild, star in desert drear and wild. where before the sacred shrine, bitter tears have oft been shed, many souls been reconciled, many wanderers to thee led, draw me also, mary mild, to adore thee and thy child! mary mild, star in desert drear and wild. there may i, too, weep and pray, and before thee bowing down. weave, oh mother pure and sweet, rosary garlands for thy crown; thither draw me, mary mild, to adore thee and thy child! mary mild, star in desert drear and wild. mother, full of mercy, hear, turn thy children not away, show to us thy own dear son, hear thy suppliants while they pray and draw near thee, mary mild, to adore thee and thy child! mary mild, star in desert drear and wild. poems. 203 the pilgrim's arrival. аh! what fresh marvel is it that he sees! and who has this majestic temple built, which like a mountain rises up to heaven, and thence in royal guise on him looks down? who was it that conceived this splendid fane, before whose majesty his soul is awed? who was it that upreared these vaulted doors thro' whose wide cavities the people throng? now from the minster towers he hears resound, throughout the air, loud heart-inspiring tones; from every height and through the vale advance the pilgrim folk, with swift and eager step, their staffs in hand and wallets on their back; and never empty is the village street. for aye, new bands of pilgrims issue forth and with their crowds afresh the valley fill. from far and near the noble nations come, from ancient rhine and from the shores of aar, from all the beauteous provinces of france, from snowy mountains and from lowly vales, where dwell the free-born sons of switzerland; from swabia and far off german realms, from many a distant spot they hither stream; from the warm south and from the chilly north. the pilgrim's entrance into the church. what feelings born of joy o'ercome him here! unutterable! never felt before. how pants his heart with quick redoubled pulse! how swells his inmost breast with lofty thoughts! 204 poems. and now his eyes are filled with happy tears. he rises high above the desert world, and longs to sing of all his spirit feels. but ah! his tongue is impotent and dumb. he sees how midst majestic columns placed, a dome within a dome the chapel stands! and how, midst many golden lightning rays the virgin is enshrined in majesty. he sees the nations how they haste within, and sees how brightly burns devotion's flame. he comes, beholds, and humbly bows him down, his soul with sweet emotions overawed. then on his own beloved home he thinks, and on the loved ones gathered round his hearth; for them he utters many a fervent prayer, and more and more his heart o'erflows with love. and he is recompensed for all the toil he underwent that he might hither come. with him i kneel in prayer before thy throne, oh heavenly virgin, and before thy son. the pilgrim's return home. who is it wakes him out of heavenly sleep? e'en now sweet morning lifts her veil from dawn. with songs of joy the youthful day comes forth, and hails the flying moon with smiling scorn. with roseate hues the snow-clad alps are flushed. the little bell rings out for holy mass; the temple's lofty doors are opened wide, already throng therein the pilgrim bands. poems. 205 they come with staves held ready in their hands, with garments girded for the journey back; they come to offer thee a farewell prayer oh queen august, then to the stony paths which lead them home, they slowly bend their steps, there to resume afresh their wonted life. with sorrowing tears they tear themselves away, so dear the spot has to their hearts become. the pilgrim goes, and from the farthest spot whence he the sanctuary can still perceive, sends once more thither greetings and farewells. full happy does he deem the holy monks who rest have found within its quiet gates, and aye the mother blest and child enjoy. go on thy way, oh pilgrim, know to all alike is life but one great pilgrimage. memories of einsiedeln. to silence hushed will be my songs by time, and by his whirlwinds sweeping thro' the years. and what i sang in freshness of my youth in other hearts will seldom echo find. untwined will be the garland which i wove; but still the theme i sang for aye will live. einsiedeln! ne'er will it forgotten be in dazzling splendour it will ever shine. its walls indeed may into ruins fall; the marble chapel know its place no more; the vaulted roofs and towers may all be riven; and one by one extinguished be the lamps, preface contents. chapter i. st. meinrad chapter ii. the monastery of einsiedeln chapter iii. the present monastery chapter iv. the church the choir the upper choir the frescos on the cupolas in the nave the penitentiary chapter v. the holy chapel chapter vi. the benedictine fathers of einsiedeln chapter vii. the pilgrimage chapter viii. the village of einsiedeln chapter ix. the neighbourhood of einsiedeln chapter x. personal recollections fr gall morel's poems brary of th thes agical * page 9 13 31 47 55 67 72 73 75 77 85 99 119 127 135 201 charles & nicholas benziger brothers edit over 300 books of devotion, of which the following first three are english. short prayers for little catholics. with 1 engraving. small in-32. 192 pages. cover no. 2, cloth, gilt edges: 9d. 1. 8, imitation cloth, gilt edges: 6d. the little path to heaven. with 1 engraving. small in-32. 288 pages. cover no. 2, cloth, gilt edges: 1s. id. no. 11, imitation morocco, gilt edges: is. 3d. bible history containing the most remarkable events of the old and new testament, prepared for the use of the catholic schools. with 140 illustrations. in-8. 352 pages. strong cardboard sides with cloth back, net. is. the alte und neue welt“, a fortnightly review, is the oldest and first in rank among the german catholic illustrated magazines. the,,alte und neue welt", written for persons of every age and rank, always treats of subjects calculated to interest and amuse, without ever being offensive to the morals or hurtful to the mind. this review comprises all kinds of writings, and satisfies the desire for general knowledge which is so universal. illustrated poems, tales, history, modern enterprises, inventions, discoveries, biographies of great men with faithful portraits etc., are all treated of in a most interesting manner. the,,alte und neue welt" is rendered much more valuable owing to its being illustrated by numerous first-class artists. special pains are taken with these illustrations which are really very true and life-like. it is needless to say that these are selected with as much care as the articles, for we are particularly careful to let nothing offensive enter our paper. owing to the lowness of its price and its real merit, it has now thousands of subscribers all over the world the annual subscription, including postage and a very fine chromo as supplement, is 8s. iod. as we have in stock a small quantity of numbers of the past years, we are enabled to offer the public complete handsome volumes at the following reduced prices: s. d. year 1867 to 1874 inclusive, paper bound to 99 1875 to 1881 handsomely bound in cloth paper bound 3. 3 4. io 4. io to " n " 27 1882 to 1883 handsomely bound in cloth paper bound 6. 6. to handsomely bound in cloth 7. 3005100 8 the burke library charles de foucauld hermit and explorer by rené bazin charles r-libris kofain alwodu bmc gift of prof. c. a. kofoid califo niversitatis. lvx at mdccclxvi ex libris ¡ charles de foucauld nihil obstat: c. schut, s.t.d., imprimatur: edm. can. surmont, westmonasterii, censor deputatus. die 16 aprilis, 1923. vicarius generalis. charles de foucauld hermit and explorer 5-52 by rené bazin translated by peter keelan london burns oates & washbourne ltd. 28 orchard street, w. 1 8-10 paternoster row, e.c. 4 and. at. manchester. birmingham. and glasgow 1923 bx4705 865b22 made and printed in great britain hf glossary chapter 1. his youth ii. the preliminaries of the journey 1. the disguise and the first steps 2. the story of mardochée abi servur viii. beni-abbes contents ix. training tours x. the settlement in hoggar iii. the explorer iv. his conversion v. the trappist vi, nazareth and jerusalem vii. charles de foucauld a priest-the desert road xi. poetry and proverbs xii. tamanrasset appendix · · 7249560 · · 17 23 · 35 61 · · 77 iio 136 150 · page vii · 211 · i 16 · · 231 273 280 355 1 1 1 1 f glossary abd ennebi, servant of the prophet. abdjesu, servant of jesus. ahal, social gathering among the tuaregs. aman, armistice. amenokal, a noble elected chief over a confederation of tribes. amrar, a subordinate chief under an amenokal. anaia, the pledged perpetual protection of a man or tribe. baraquer, to kneel down (of camels). belras, turkish slippers. ben, son. berdis, reeds or rushes. bled, country, but especially used of the back-country or hinterland, the saharan desert. borj, blockhouse or fortified post. burnous, an arab cloak. caid, judge of a town or village: see khalifa. casbah, chapel or citadel. chambi, chambaa, warlike plundering tribes like the cossacks. cheggar, cloth or linen. debiha, the act of putting oneself under anaia. diss, a reed or rush like an alfa. douar, a village of tents, arranged in streets. ethel, an atlee-a kind of tree. fellagas, outlawed native factions hostile to the friendly natives under french protection. gaila, midday heat, time of siesta. gandourah, an oriental sleeveless shirt-like garment. guettaf, a whitish saltwort. gum, band or troop; escort of arab chiefs; also french commanders in africa. hajj, a musulman who has made the pilgrimage to mecca. harka, an expeditionary column. harratins, a crossbreed of arabs and negroes, between slaves and freemen, who work as labourers, without political status. hartani, singular of harratin. imrad, equality, also a clan. imzad, violin, with only one string. jelabia, a cowl or hood. jerjir, a flower, the stems of which are blown away by the winds of the desert. kafer, infidel. khalifa, arab chief: the order is as follows: caïd, khalifa, cadi, adel, bachadel. khaua, brotherhood or confraternity. vii viii glossary khefis, a very composite food liked by father de foucauld (see p. 382). khenif, a black burnous with a yellow moon. khoja, a mohammedan schoolmaster or teacher. ksar, settled village, not movable like a douar. ksur, same as above. litham, a blue bandage fastening the veils of the multimin and other tuaregs in place. makhzen, an administrative district, or a troop recruited from such a district. marabout, a mohammedan name for a holy man or saint. mehari, a racing camel or express camel. mellah, a quarter set apart, as the jewish quarter of a town. mokhazeni, a territorial coming from a makhzen. multimin, veiled men of the time of the crusades, probably ancestors of the tuaregs. nouader, locks (of hair). rahla, a pack-saddle for camels. razzia, a raid. rezzu, an expedition, or band of a tribal faction. rumis, "romans,' a general name applied by moslems to european christians. sbaot, feast of weeks, corresponding with pentecost. shehada, the musulman form of prayer. sherif, a noble, a title of honour, a local governor. shott, a shallow saline lake. sidi, an african title of respect given by musulmans to one in authority. sisit, a long garment. tamahak or tamachek, the spoken tuareg language. tebbel, a war-drum. thalebs, religious teachers of islam. tholba, same as thalebs. tifinar, the written tuareg language. wady, river or dry watercourse. zaptie, a turkish policeman. zauia, house of an arab chief and his dependents. zeriba, an improvised stockade, usually of thorn-bushes. zettet, a protector who gives anaia. charles de foucauld chapter i his youth harles eugène de foucauld, whose history i shall try to relate, was born at strasbourg on september 15, 1850. he was not of alsatian origin. his father, françois édouard, viscount de foucauld de pontbriand, deputyinspector of forests, belonged to an ancient and noble family of périgord, which gave saints to the church and very good servants to france, and of which it is important that i should here say something, because the merit of ancestors, even unknown, even forgotten, continues to live in our blood and urges us to imitation. according to the genealogist chabault, the name of foucauld has been known since 970, an epoch in which hugues de foucauld, having given a part of his wealth to the abbeys of chancelade and of saint-pierre d'uzerches, retired from the world, and, in order to prepare better for death, entered the monastery. one bertrand de foucauld, who set out for the crusade with st. louis, fell in the battle of mansurah defending his king against the musulmans. another, gabriel, was delegated by françois ii to espouse mary stuart by proxy. jean, chamberlain to the dauphin, assisted, near jeanne d'arc, at the coronation of rheims. in several letters henry iv called jean iii de foucauld "his good and very trusty friend." in order to express still better his friendship for him he named him governor of the comté of périgord and vicomté of limoges: "i can assure you, monsieur de lardimalie," he wrote to him, "i esteem you and your virtue, and i am as satisfied with you as you could desire"-a fine testimonial, which was worth a government and would last longer. numerous other foucaulds, in the course of time, were killed at the head of their company or their regiment, in france, italy, spain, or germany, always in the service of france. but one of its greatest glories came to this i hach charles de foucauld family from armand de foucauld de pontbriand,' canon of meaux,2 vicar-general to his cousin jean-marie du lau, prince archbishop of arles. he was a man whose charity was very great, who distributed to the poor the larger part of his income, and "frequented only his church and the hospitals." now this income was considerable-not that he had inherited it, he a son of a younger son and fifth of eleven children; but two years before the revolution he had been endowed by the king with the usufruct of the abbey of solignac in limoges. in 1790 the archbishop of arles addressed to his clergy the celebrated exposition des principes de la constitution civile du clergé, a document in which he denounced the attempt at schism decided by the men of the revolution. it was signed by one hundred and twenty-nine bishops of france, defenders of the roman catholic and apostolic faith. the chapter of arles replied by an address of the soundest doctrine, at the bottom of which is found, among those of the other canons, the signature of armand de foucauld. having become suspected through their attachment to the church, the refractory priests were soon condemned to transportation by the décret of may 26, 1792. armand de foucauld then set out from arles for paris to join mgr. du lau, who said: "they want to inoculate the church with schism and heresy; we can only die." this was giving himself up to death. on august 11 he was arrested with his bishop, and led into the confiscated church of the carmelites, in which numerous priests were already shut up. many of these confessors of the faith were about to become martyrs. they knew it. they were all preparing for it, trembling and staunch, depending on the grace of god for the courage of which none are sure. on september 2 the prisoners received the order to walk in the garden of the carmelites; even the sick and infirm must go out. they understood that they were going to the torture. m. de foucauld and the other vicar-general of arles, gathering round their archbishop, directed their steps towards an oratory, at the bottom of the garden, dedicated to the blessed virgin. the windows of the convent were full of red caps, brandishing their arms and insulting the penned-up victims. "let us thank god, gentlemen," said the prelate, "that he calls us to seal with our 1 his mother was marie sibylle de lau. 2 where he was ordained priest in 1774. 3 armand de foucauld de pontbriand, 1751-1792 (h. oudin, paris, 1902). his youth 3 blood the faith which we profess." he was the first to be struck down by sabres and pikes. a moment after, m. de foucauld fell near the body of his cousin. he was fortyone. to the old nobility another of the highest was added. in his race little charles found by the score fine examples to follow. he did not, as will be seen, at first follow them, but he was brought back to them; and none, since then, among the soldiers, the sailors, or priests of his house, could be named who had surpassed this charles de foucauld in selfsacrifice, austerity, bravery, and pity. he was pious during the days of his childhood. many are the same in france, where there are so many predestined mothers. madame de foucauld had two children, charles and mary. she had barely the time to teach them to join their hands and say their prayers; she hardly saw the first dawn of the passionate soul of her son charles, over which she would have wept, if death had not prematurely carried off that monica from this augustine. in order to train her children in piety, but quite as much to obey a divine attraction and habit, she used to visit various churches in turn, loving them all on account of him who inhabits them all. in the same way, at home, with her children she used to decorate the crib at christmastide, a statue of the virgin in the month of may. she gave charles a little altar which was placed on a chest of drawers, before which he used to kneel morning and evening, a relic of his first years, of presage still obscure, which he mentions later on: "i kept it as long as i had a room to myself in my family, and it outlived my faith." when they went for a walk on the sloping woods of saverne or spent the holidays together, she recommended her children to gather bunches of flowers and to place them at the foot of the calvaries at the cross-roads, betraying a french mother's tender love, more educationist in acts than in words, the memory of which is never effaced. madame de foucauld died on march 13, 1864, at the age of thirty-four; her husband on august 9 of the same year. the orphans were then confided to their maternal grandfather, m. charles-gabriel de morlet, a retired colonel of engineers, who was nearly seventy years of age. do not often have that passionate application to the duties of primary education, nor that gift of divination which men 1 a first child named charles had not lived. 2 his first wife was mlle. la quiante, and his second mlle. de labouche; the latter had no children. 4 charles de foucauld teaches mothers and prompts them to take alarm at the faults of their children and to correct them. affectionate, passionately fond of play, with a great gift for drawing, quickwitted, a pretty child and with a bold expression, charles pleased the old soldier. he was spoiled; m. de morlet could not resist the tears of this little charles: "when he cries," he used to say, "he reminds me of my daughter." even charles's fits of anger met with a secret indulgence, and were passed over as a sign of character. he was violent. the most innocent mockery put him into a rage. he had once cut out and modelled a fort in a heap of sand, an elaborate construction of moats and towers, of bridges and approaches. one of his relations, thinking to please him, took it into his head to put lighted candles on the summit, and potatoes for cannon-balls in the moats. charles thought that they were making fun of him and flew into a violent fury. he trampled on his work till no trace of it remained; then, in revenge, after dark he threw the very sandy potatoes into every bed in the house. we know by his letters that he made his first communion with fervour. he was sent to the episcopal school of saint-arbogast, under the management of the priests of the diocese of strasbourg, then to the lycée.¹ the war came on, and the grandfather and the two children were driven from alsace and took refuge in berne. in 1872 m. de morlet, not being able to go back to strasbourg, went to live in nancy. it was in the lycée of this town that charles commenced to lose the habit of regular ordered work, and soon lost the faith. when one goes through all the correspondence of charles de foucauld, one understands the bitterness of his memories of his years of study at nancy. these years were the beginning of a life of frailty, the period which in penance he goes over again and again till the end, to efface the faults of mind and body. ¹ one of the former professors of the lycée de strasbourg has been good enough to write to me on this subject: "i had charles de foucauld as pupil, 1868-1869, in my sixth form. he was an intelligent and studious child, but was far from giving any indication of the passionate and quick-witted nature that he was to manifest later on. besides, his delicate health did not allow him to attend the classes regularly enough to get always into the first places. i find, however, to his credit, that he was fourth and third for latin translation, in a class of fifty-five pupils. he was under the care of his grandfather, m. de morlet, an old gentleman with distinguished manners and language, who occupied himself with archæology and was passionately fond of the classics." his youth 5 i ought, indeed, to quote here some of his confessions after he had returned to god and judged his past. he wrote to a friend: "if i worked little at nancy, it is because i was allowed to mix with my studies a quantity of reading which gave me the taste for study, but did me the harm of which you know." he again wrote to him that it was during his course of rhetoric that he lost all faith, "and that is not the only evil." the year of philosophy was worse: "if you knew how all the objections which tormented me, and which lead young men astray, are luminously and simply solved by a good christian philosophy! it meant a real revolution when i saw that. . . but children are thrown on the world without giving them the arms that are indispensable to combat the enemies they find in and outside themselves, lying in wait for them in hosts on the threshold of youth. the christian philosophers have long since and very clearly solved so many questions that each young man puts feverishly to himself, without even suspecting that an answer, luminous and clear, lies close at hand. still later on, in a letter to his brother-in-law, he earnestly begs that his nephews be brought up by christian masters: "i had no bad master; all, on the contrary, were full of reverence; but even those are harmful, because they are neutral, and youth needs to be educated not by neutrals but by men of faith and sanctity, learned in religion, knowing how to give reasons for their beliefs and inspiring young men with a firm confidence in the truth of their faith. 991 "let my experience, i pray you, do for the family.' this collegian left the lycée a bachelor (b.a.), like others, inquisitive about everything and determined to enjoy himself; and sad m. de morlet wanted his grandson to enter the ecole polytechnique. but charles chose to lead an easy life. he declared, with that frankness which was one of the unchangeable features of his moral life, that he would prefer to go to the ecole de saint-cyr, because the competition demanded less work; and he set out for paris. from memory he depicts himself as he was when he was attending the preparatory classes of the ecole de saintgeneviève. "at seventeen i was beginning my second year at the rue des postes. i believe i had never been in such a lament1 letter of march 5, 1901. 6 charles de foucauld able state of mind. in a way i have done more harm at other times, but then there was some good mingled with the evil. at seventeen i was all egotism, vanity, impiety, with every desire for evil; i was, as it were, mad. as for my laziness, at the rue des postes it was such that they would not keep me there, and i have told you that in spite of the form used so as not to grieve my grandfather, i considered my departure a dismissal, a dismissal of which idleness was not the sole cause. . . . i was so free, so young! what i wish above all to say is that, for me and for many others, the age of x... was the worst period. at seventeen i had made my poor grandfather suffer so much, refusing work to such an extent that in the month of february, i had not, i believe, yet cut the pages of euclid which i ought to have studied every day since november; writing to him nearly every other day, sometimes letters forty pages long, to ask him to bring me back to nancy, and all else that you can suppose such folly must suggest. . · • "of faith, not a trace remained in my soul." elsewhere he says and repeats that for thirteen years he did not believe in god. the confession, though not developed, is clear. it appears to me that it calls for an observation, and sets a problem. no doubt faith in the church and her morality had been cast aside. had it disappeared? that is another question. i rather think it was kept far in the distant background, invisible, like a land that a navigator has abandoned and means never to revisit, but the existence of which he knows; a land which he still loves, and, if not the days that he spent there, at least several of the inhabitants who live there and belong to his quondam home. as long as one loves a christian, one still has a little love for christ who formed him. general hatred alone is a sign of atheism. this young man read everything with the superb imprudence of his age, and saturated his mind with objections against a doctrine which he did not know well, but in him two sentiments which might call the past to life survived-respect for the priest and most tender attachment to the family. nay, more, he had a taste for reading, giving strong grounds for hoping he might return to the faith, and, further, he knew how to read. the true name for his idleness was fantasy, imprudence, and sensual curiosity. but his ardent mind, 1 letters to a friend, april 17, 1892, and november 8, 1893. 2 letter to a friend, february 24, 1893. his youth 7 capable of reflection, would not look upon life without understanding its lessons, would not read what pleased without paying attention to that which condemned him, save to reject the conclusion. foucauld was an intellectual given up to the senses, but capable of dominating them, if some great event, hidden in the heart-the grace of godshowed him his error. i have just said that he much esteemed his religious masters. they first warned him, and then threatened him with dismissal, and soon even requested him to leave the school of the rue des postes.¹ here is what he says of them : "you know what i think of the boarding-school; good for many, it was detestable to me. liberty at the same age might perhaps have been worse, and, in any case, i must say that i brought away with me from this boarding-school such deep esteem for the jesuits that, even when i least respected our holy religion, i always very highly respected the fathers, and that is no small blessing. 992 when the hour of return came, charles de foucauld had no fear of priests. remembering the good fathers he knew, he went to one of them with confidence. the affections of his childhood helped him still more powerfully. those who loved, petted, and even spoiled him, he continued to cherish, and, as he came to understand better what they had done for him, to admire. in them, he came to see, not only his mother, sister, grandfather, aunts, and cousins, but the united members of a very christian family, very devoted to their brother, son, nephew, cousin charles, exercising a great silent pity towards him, and not abandoning him; for to that pity he was the child of silent prayer, the wordless prayer that proceeds from the depths of the soul at night, when they are all together still on their knees, and about to rise. i have also said that a question presents itself. this is it. this child of a bold race was endowed with a strong will. it will be seen by the sequel. how could he thus give himself up to idleness, and afterwards live a loose life for many years? one could understand violent passions, storms, occasional adventures, but this insipid commonplace life with no relief? what was his will doing then, and where was it hiding? it was on the watch that nothing should disturb a life of pleasure. it is not a faculty which 1 as charles was poorly, his status was changed from a boarder's to a day-boy's. 2 to a friend, easter monday, 1890. 8 charles de foucauld remains unemployed. it is at the service of that high centre of the mind which chooses one's abode and friends, one's habits and occupations. and if the misled, perverted mind, detached from all restraining morals, perceives its weal in the disorder of the imagination and the satisfaction of the body, it is wonderfully quick in walling up the windows even in the garrets through which we might see any sky; in driving away intruding recollections; in protecting our inner selves from any words and examples involving a reproach. charles de foucauld sat for the competitive examination of the military school in 1876. he just scraped through, and was then on the point of being rejected for premature corpulency at the medical examination. colonel de morlet was sad that his grandson was one of the last to be admitted. "on the contrary," replied charles, "it is very jolly; i shall have a chance of many a rise in rank." he did not rise at all, and came out as he had gone in. general laperrine wrote, in an account which he called stages in the conversion of a hussar,¹ these lines, full both of meaning and reserve: "very clever indeed would be the man who could have foreseen in the gluttonous and sceptical young fellow of saint-cyr the ascetic and apostle of to-day. a scholar and artist, he employed the leisure which the military exercises left him to stroll about, pencil in hand, or to plunge into the reading of the latin and greek authors. as to his theories and lectures, he did not look at them, trusting to his lucky star not to be plucked." he told the truth; the portraits of the pupil of saint-cyr are a proof of that. above a too thick bust and neck the photographs of this period represent a round puffy face without distinction, which has nothing fine but the straight broad forehead, and the scarcely curved line of the eyebrows. deep set in their orbits, the brilliant and forbidding eyes appeared smaller on account of the fat which surrounded them. as to the almost formless and indolent lips, they were such as taste, talk but little, and do not command. flesh predominated. how is this face hereafter to become, with the tense energy of all the features, the splendour of the eyes and the celestial charity of its smile, almost like that of st. francis of assisi ? it is the miracle of the soul, which models the body and sets its stamp upon it. from saint-cyr, foucauld passed, in 1878, to the 1 revue de cavalerie, october, 1913. his youth 9 cavalry school of saumur.¹ he shared the room of a comrade with whom he had contracted a friendship at saintcyr, antoine de vallombrosa, afterwards marquis de morès, destined to display a dazzling and brief career, and who was also to perish assassinated in the desert. this room "became celebrated on account of the excellent dinners and long card parties which were held there, to keep company with the one under punishment, for it was very rare that one of the two occupants was not under arrest."2 the contrast was very great between vallombrosa, always on the go, a fine horseman, a sportsman, and foucauld the stay-at-home, apathetic, and dreamer. however, for common or different reasons they were both in favour with the officer students: foucauld, for instance, as much as his comrade, was liked for his generosity, his quick-witted intelligence and frankness. his pranks and whims were laughed at. he dressed with extreme elegance, only smoked cigars of a certain brand, never took the change of a louis from a waiter or jarvey, played for high stakes, and spent so foolishly, that his uncle, m. moitessier, was soon obliged, to the great fury of charles, to provide him with a legal guardian. one surmises that others besides innkeepers, bootmakers, tailors, and croupiers, were sharp enough to make holes in the fortune of this young nobleman. the life he led at pont-àmousson, on leaving the cavalry school, was no more staid. it is even said that he was obliged to leave several lodgings because the other tenants complained of the racket he made and the disagreeable company which he brought in, and he finished by having some difficulty in finding a lodging in that little town. fortunately, in 1880, the fourth hussars, of which he was a lieutenant, were sent to algeria. it was a day of decision the passion for africa-in a word, the colonial passion-was to take possession of the young officer, and grow till it gave a fresh direction to a badly begun life. the fourth hussars, afterwards the fourth chasseurs d'afrique, garrisoned bône and setif. pronounce the word setif before one of those who know the legend, if not the history of father de foucauld, you will almost surely hear one or two anecdotes of which the famous lieutenant was the principal personage. they are amusing; are they true? i doubt it. in my presence many of the tellers of 1 from october, 1878, to november, 1879. 2 general laperrine, op. cit. 10 charles de foucauld he these regimental tales would change the hero's name. was no longer charles de foucauld, but one of his comrades; and the dates changed. i prefer to keep to wellestablished facts. here they are. the lieutenant had hardly landed than he set out for the manœuvres. a few weeks passed; he came back to setif and settled down. soon remonstrances were made to him, friendly at first, then stiffer; he was reproached with giving scandal by living with a young woman who had come from france at the same time as he and was making a parade of the liaison. he took his colonel's counsels, and afterwards his orders, very badly. his retorts and absolute refusal as lieutenant to obey his superior officer injured discipline. the issue was a foregone conclusion-he must break with his mistress or leave the regiment. what will foucauld do? he will not give in. i do not believe it can be said in this case that passion swayed him; no, it was the will, terrible and still without a master, which refused to bend. he left his comrades, half broke his career, got the minister to put him on temporary leave, and returned to evian. he was there, far from his relations, useless, when in the spring of 1881 the news reached him of the insurrection of bu-amama, in south oranais. the fourth chasseurs were going to begin the campaign, his comrades were going to fight. when the blood of france cries aloud, nothing can silence it. lieutenant de foucauld wrote at once to the minister of war. the letter urged that he could not bear the thought that his comrades would be at the post of honour and danger, whereas he would not, and that, in order to rejoin his regiment, he accepted any and every condition that would be imposed on him. his request was granted. foucauld set out again for algeria. an unexpected event had aroused him. the thought of sacrifice had come home to his soul. it begets all sorts of nobility. charles de foucauld was no more a believer than he had been of late, but the force which makes christians asserted itself in him. since he had offered himself for france, he had drawn nearer to god, who sees his son in man's self-sacrifice, and is moved at the sight. a native marabout, bu-amama, of the ulad-sidisheikh-gharaba, was stirring up the tribes, and preaching a holy war in south oranais. the campaign against the fanatic brought out the first indications of the final personality of charles de foucauld. general laperrine, who was with the expedition and could judge his comrade, his youth ii writes in the étapes de la conversion d'un hussard as follows: "in the midst of the dangers and privations of the expeditionary columns, this literary viveur showed himself to be a soldier and a leader, gaily enduring the hardest trials, constantly exposing himself to danger, devoting all his time to his men. he was the admiration of the old mexicans of the regiment, who were connoisseurs. "of the foucauld of saumur and pont-à-mousson nothing was left except a tiny pet edition of aristophanes which was always with him, and just a touch of snobbery which made him give up smoking from the day that he could no longer procure cigars of his favourite brand." one of the old soldiers who had chased bu-amama told me that one day, after a long march, when lieutenant de foucauld saw his men, exhausted by the heat, rush to a well, he went back quickly and bought a bottle of rum from the canteen-woman, and returned saying, "how glad i am to have my bottle to give you !" and the soldiers mixed a little of the rum with the brackish water. "he made the men love him," added the narrator, "but he, too, loved the privates! many years after our fights with buamama, i saw my old commander, and he said to me these very words: the african army is still better than the european; half of the men in my company would have made excellent monks.' perhaps he exaggerated a little; but that proves the friendship which he still felt for us.¹ "the arabs made a deep impression upon him. when the insurrection was over, he asked for leave in order to go on a journey in the south and study them. as he could not get this leave, he sent in his resignation, and went and settled down in algiers to prepare for his great journey in morocco."2 he was twenty-four. if the unknown bulked largely in the future of this very young ex-officer, one thing was from that time certain: he was born to inhabit the east. he had in him that vocation which is not born, as some fancy, of the love of light, but rather of the love of habitual silence, of space, of the unforeseen and the primitive in life, and of the mystery one suspects of being concealed in the very reserved. when this vocation speaks and issues orders within a 1 it was in that expedition that lieutenant de foucauld got to know the officer-interpreter motylinski, whom he was to meet again later on in the tuareg country. 2 general laperrine, les étapes de la conversion d'un hussard. 12 charles de foucauld man, he can do nothing but follow it. he fights against it, and cannot get over it. ask the veterans of the sahara who have tried service in france, and find that the best garrison is not worth the desert, and that no colonel at the head of his regiment experiences the sensation of free power, or the slight thrill of loneliness and possible adventure which keeps the little lieutenant on the alert and in fidgety joy. he, too, is a company commander with his twenty-five meharistes marching in indian file under the stars, making the sand of the dunes give way under the feet of the camels, following a wandering and often uncertain trail, in search of a well or of some plundering band. ask those who have imprudently retired to the seaside in brittany or on the shores of nice; above all, those, too old for a wandering life, hence feeling too deeply uprooted in their native land, whose homes are hidden in the neighbourhood of algiers or oran, in a villa under the pines, where they still hear the noise of the wind which comes from the south, and receive the visits of their young successors, the happy ones who knock at the door, saying, "good-morning, captain, i'm back from the bled." after handing in his resignation, charles de foucauld followed the first call of his vocation, which the manoeuvres around setif, the tales of the old africans, the discovery of a new people, lastly the war against the fanatic, had settled. he would not leave africa without having studied it, he would be a man of action. what then would he do? one of the most difficult things there is: he would undertake to explore morocco, a closed country, mistrustful of the foreigner, cruel in its vengeance, but so near our coasts, that one was sure, in travelling over it, to help the france of to-morrow. he went to algiers. he went to algiers. seized by the thirst for knowledge which he had so far slaked at haphazard, he shut himself up in libraries, took lessons in arabic, and got into contact with men who could prepare him for the daring enterprise. 66 one of these, the most useful perhaps, one of the best known figures in old algiers, was called oscar maccarthy. he was quite a little man, as brown as a white man could be, as lean as a man in health could be," who wore his hair close cropped and a long beard, and whom the arabs sometimes called "the big-headed man," or "the gun man." he got this second nickname from the custom he had while travelling of suspending over his shoulder a big 1 eugène fromentin, in un été dans le sahel, often speaks of his friend louis vandell, who is none but this maccarthy. his youth 13 barometer shut up in a leather case. maccarthy had once planned crossing the sahara and reaching timbuctoo. he never set out, but the biscuit prepared for that expedition still existed twenty years after, and maccarthy used always to speak of starting soon.¹ he had visited the least important villages, stayed in the douars of all the tribes, collected thousands of notes which he confided to friends here and there; he had read all that had been written by travellers, historians, and archæologists about the things and people of africa, and remembered it all. "the land of africa was his mind's possession.' "12 in his frail body lived an intrepid and learned soul. a sure guide, with methods of exploration always very much his own, his advice to the young officer who put himself into his hands is easily conjectured. to be safe everywhere, he had become insensible to heat or cold, travelled without escort or baggage, his pockets stuffed with notebooks and manuscript cards, heedless of all the conveniences, of material life, protected by his destitution itself, according to the oriental proverb which says: "a thousand horsemen could not strip a naked man.' "" oscar maccarthy was the keeper of the library of mustapha pasha's palace in the rue de l'etat major. "both the old scholar and the young officer used to spend long hours, leaning on the balustrade of the moorish courtyard, bent over ancient maps and dusty folios, turning over the pages of old geographers, whom foucauld was to leave far behind him."' most important for the success of a journey in morocco was the choice of the disguise. it was impossible to go through this hostile country without concealing the fact that he was a christian. only the representatives of european powers could do it, if they kept to the "ambassadors' road," which ran from the coast to fez or to marrakesh, and did not wander from the traditional track where they are constantly spied upon, and obliged to know no more of morocco than the functionaries and intimates of the sultan, always haunted by the fear of conquest, are willing to show them. with only two costumes could anyone pass among the tribes and be received in villages where no european had ever put his foot, and converse with the moroccans: the costume of the arab, and that of the jew, 1 un saint français, le père de foucauld, by augustin bernard, paris, plon, 1917. * augustin bernard, op. cit. fromentin, loc. cit. 14 charles de foucauld a dealer who is tolerated and watched. but what a knowledge must he possess of musulman or jewish ways, so as not to betray himself! maccarthy advised, and charles de foucauld accepted, the second solution. he has told us why: "there are only two religions in morocco. it is necessary, at no matter what cost, to be of one of them. would i be a musulman or a jew? should i put on the turban or the black cap? rené caillie, rohlfs, and lenz had all chosen the turban. i, on the contrary, decided for the cap. what, above all, induced me to do so was the thought of the difficulties which these travellers had met with in their costumes-the obligation of leading the same life as their co-religionists, the continual presence of real musulmans around them. the very suspicion and watchfulness of which they found themselves often the object, were a great obstacle to their work. i was afraid of a disguise which, far from favouring my investigations, might put many hindrances in the way; i cast my eyes on the jewish costume. it seemed to me that its lowliness would help me to pass more unnoticed and give me more liberty. i was not mistaken. during all my journey i kept this disguise, and had only reason to congratulate myself. if i sometimes incurred a little ill-treatment, i was indemnified for it, always finding facilities for work: during the stops, it was easy for me to make my astronomical observations in the shade of the mellahs, and to spend whole nights in writing and finishing my notes. on the march no one paid attention or deigned to speak to the poor jew who was just then consulting compass, watch, barometer, one after the other, and taking the bearings of the road we were following besides, in every place i obtained from my cousins, as the jews of morocco call each other among themselves, sincere and full particulars of the region in which i found myself. lastly, i excited little suspicion. my bad accent might cause some, but one knows that there are jews of all countries. my disguise was further completed by the presence of a real jew at my side. his first business everywhere was to swear that i was a rabbi, then so to put himself forward in all dealings with the natives as to leave me as much as possible in the shade; lastly, he always had to find me lodgings by myself in which i could conveniently take my observations, and, if that could not be done, he had to forge the most fantastic stories to explain the exhibition of my instruments."¹ 1 reconnaissance au maroc, preface. his youth 15 this decision to travel disguised as a jew forced the explorer to learn hebrew at the same time as arabic, and also to study jewish customs. it was again maccarthy who, at the library of algiers, introduced to charles de foucauld the rabbi mardochée, his future guide. chapter ii the preliminaries of the journey th he account of his exploration in morocco, published by the vicomte de foucauld, begins at tangier on june 20, 1883. now, the traveller had left algiers on june io, and, according to his plans, he was not to penetrate into the forbidden empire by the north, but to seek his route by the rif, crossing the frontier of algiers and morocco. what reasons prevented him? what happened between june 10 and 20? we should not have known very much about it, unless, luckily, on returning to his family in paris, the explorer had written for the benefit of one of his nephews, in a fair hand on fine sheets of vellum bound up with the printed pages, three important fragments, the first of which relates precisely the preparations for the journey and the incidents of the start. i shall publish first this sort of unedited preface of the reconnaissance au maroc. likewise i shall cite at length the story of the guide mardochée, not so much because it is amusing, dramatic, a little extravagant, like so many oriental stories, but because it shows admirably to what sort of a man charles de foucauld had confided himself. in short, when in rapidly and boldly analyzing the book, i come to where the author relates his stay at ab-el-jad, i shall publish the third fragment, at the head of which he wrote these lines : "i had to do with several members of the family of sidi ben daud. i suppressed this in my work, because if the knowledge of it had reached the sultan that would have created dangers for my friends of abu-el-jad. i am going to tell you about it, my dear nephew." to-day the public may be told of these interviews, in the course of which the young french officer, cleverly questioned and feeling himself found out, confessed to being a christian, and confided in the honour of his host. time has flown. what might have been a cause of annoyances -even death might have been one of them-under the reign of the former sultans has assumed its true character of rare generosity and chivalry. the treaty of 1912 makes the printing of it possible. 16 the preliminaries of the journey 17 1. the disguise and the first steps "on june 10, 1883, at 5 o'clock in the morning, i enter an old house in the jewish quarter of algiers: it is the home of rabbi mardochée. my companion lives there in a single room with his wife and four children; he expects me: i am to get out of my european clothes and put on a jewish costume: a long shirt with flowing sleeves, linen trousers reaching to the knees, a turkish waistcoat of dark cloth, a white robe with short sleeves and hood (jelabia), white stockings, open shoes, a red cap, and a black silk turban are prepared for me. this makes up a jewish costume half algerian, half syrian, which suits the various rôles i may have to play. "i dress up; and mardochée, his wife, children, and myself, go out and down the steps of the little narrow streets that lead to the harbour, where the oran station is. we shall start for oran in the morning by the 7 o'clock train. to be in keeping with my costume, i asked for two tickets, in bad french; mardochée bade farewell to his family, and behold both of us seated in a third-class carriage. the weather is splendid, the carriage full of arab workmen ; we set out surrounded by gaiety and flooded with sunshine. "i am called rabbi joseph aliman. i was born in muscovy, whence recent persecutions have driven me. i fled first to jerusalem. after piously spending some time there i have reached the north of africa, and now i am travelling at random, poor but trusting in god. mutual esteem binds me to mardochée abi servur-like me, a learned rabbi who has spent long years in jerusalem. mardochée wears a costume similar to mine, that gives us a family appearance. he declares, too, that i am like him, and if necessary he will pass me off as his son. we have little luggage a sack and two boxes. the boxes hold: the first one a medicine chest, which will enable me in case of need to call myself a doctor; the other a sextant, compasses, barometers, thermometers, paper, and cards. the sack contains a change of costume and a blanket for each of us, cooking utensils, and provisions. as money, i brought 3,000 francs, partly in gold and partly coral. it was in this equipment that we dragged along towards oran. i am going to oran because i wish to enter morocco by land; my project is to go from tlemcen to tetuan by crossing the region of the rif, which makes all the coast-line between 2 18 charles de foucauld the algerian frontier and tetuan. from oran, i shall go to tlemcen; there, i shall find out how to travel in the rif." "we arrived at oran at 6 o'clock in the evening. the station is outside the town. going halves with two jews who were in the train, we took a cab which brought us to an hotel frequented by israelites. we hired a room at two francs a day, and drawing on our provisions we took our first evening meal tête-à-tête. a strange house, the hotel in which we are! i was surprised for a moment on hearing myself addressed in the second person singular by the servant. in algeria the jews are all addressed thus. "june 11.-this day is the first of the feast of sbaot (pentecost), on which the gift of the faith to moses on mt. sinai is celebrated; the jews are forbidden to travel to-day or to-morrow. i remain in my room; mardochée went to the synagogue and came back at night with his co-religionists. they began to chat. i learn that my companion applies himself to seeking the philosopher's stone, the other jew is a fellow-alchemist. for a long time i see them argue, feebly lit by a candle, their shadows making enormous silhouettes on the walls. i fall asleep on my straw mattress, lulled by this strange talk." "june 12.-towards 5 o'clock in the evening, we board the diligence, and set out for tlemcen. in going to the coach, i hear a passer-by saying to his neighbour, pointing to me, do you know where we get that from? that's what comes to us straight from jerusalem.'" "june 13.-reaching tlemcen at 9 in the morning, we at once set out in quest of the jews of the rif. at 1 o'clock we had not found one who could give us any useful information. being tired, we bought some bread and olives, and we began breakfast seated on the ground in a square. whilst we were thus, a band of officers of the chasseurs d'afrique, coming out of the club, passed at two paces from me. i know nearly all of them; they looked at me without suspecting who i was.¹ our afternoon was more fortunate than the morning: we discovered a certain number of jews of the rif; they were to come and see us at 1 captain rené de segonzac, in an article dated from rabat january 15, 1917, confirming the account of charles de foucauld, writes: "the officers filed off, heedless or contemptuous; one of them, with a sneer, remarked to his comrades, that that little squatting jew, eating olives, looked like a monkey. none recognized him" (l'afrique français, janvier-février, 1917). the preliminaries of the journey 19 eight o'clock in the evening in a hired room, where we were to meet and discuss the means of crossing the rif. no more jewish hotels here; so we hire a room in a jewish family. "at 8 o'clock all is ready to receive our guests in a room 2 metres wide by 5 long, of which the walls, floor, and ceiling are painted in grey, a candle, a bottle of aniseed and a glass were placed on a stool. one after the other a dozen jews, the greater number with white beards, come discreetly in, and here we are all seated on the ground in a circle round the candle. mardochée fills his glass of aniseed, raises it and says, 'to the health of the law! to the health of israel! to the health of jerusalem! to the health of the holy land! to the health of the sbaot! to all your healths, o doctors! to the health of the rabbi joseph (me)!' he touches the glass with his lips, and passes it to his neighbour, who empties it: then the glass goes the round, and each of the jews, at one draught, empties it. mardochée begins to speak. . . . "he tells his tale, and winds up with this wholly fancy incident it is now two years since mardochée had a discussion with his wife's brother, and the young man left algiers and was seen no more. since then, mardochée's wife cannot be consoled. she does nothing but weep. "now, a few days ago, she was told, without being able to specify the town, that her brother was in the rif, carrying on the trade of jeweller. at once she prayed her husband to go and seek out the fugitive, and he, good man, in order to restore health and peace to his wife, decided upon this journey; he has therefore resolved to explore the rif, village by village, if necessary, to find his brother-in-law again. that is what brings him to-day to tlemcen. as to this young israelite who accompanies him, and whom they hear him call rabbi joseph, he is a poor muscovy rabbi who is going to morocco, the land of pious jews, to collect alms; mardochée brought him with him through pure pity, and paid for his journey as far as nemours. now he begs these doctors, who all have lived in the rif, to consider and let him know if they had not seen the man he is seeking, a fair and pale jew, about twenty-two years of age, called juda safertani. what present will he not give to anyone who will tell him where to find him? the company reflected, inquired and debated, but in vain; none of them knew juda safertani. mardochée sighs, and begs them to give him at least some information about the rif: where to get into it? how to travel there? and in what 20 charles de foucauld places are there jews? who are the influential men of the country? the conversation on the subject is taken up again, the glass goes round and round and round. voices grow louder, and the discussion as to the best means of travelling through the rif gets animated. when our cousins retire, it is agreed that we shall start the next morning for lalla-marnia; from there we shall get to nemours; thence we shall, if it pleases god, enter the rif." june 14-a diligence brings us from tlemcen at 9 o'clock in the morning, and we stop at 6 o'clock in the evening at the village of lalla-marnia. we settle down for the night in the synagogue: it is just like all the jewish temples i saw in morocco: a rectangular hall, with a sort of desk in the centre, and, in the wall, a cupboard. the desk serves to rest the book of the law on, for the public readings which are given twice a week: in rich communities it is on a raised platform and under a canopy; in poor villages, it consists of a horizontal piece of wood resting on two posts. the cupboard contains one or several copies of the law (sepher torah), written on parchment and rolled on wooden cylinders (like roman books, except that it is rolled on two cylinders instead of one); these double rolls are about 18 inches high and are covered three or four times deep with the richest materials. such is the synagogue; a bench resting against the wall goes all round and completes it. we were finishing dinner when, one after another, thirty or forty men entered and sat down on the benches and chatted in a low voice. they are the israelites of the place, who come to say their evening prayer in common. at a signal all stand up, turn towards the east, and begin to pray in a low or subdued voice. in perplexity i look at them to do as they do. trying to imitate them, i sway rhythmically backward and forward like a schoolboy saying his lesson, now dumb, now mumbling through my at the end of eight or ten minutes everyone makes a great bow simultaneously, and all is over. the jews are just moving off when, to my great surprise, mardochée begs them to remain and listen to him. he is, he says, a poor rabbi living in algiers, whom a misfortune obliged to leave his wife and children, and, though old and ill, to undertake the long journey of the rif. he is going to explore this province in search of his brother-in-law; he tells the tale of yesterday, of the despair and illness of his wife; . . . lastly, and here is the crown of all ills: he believed the journey easier than it is, and, though so far from nose. the preliminaries of the journey 21 the end, he already lacks money. . . now he begins to shed tears, and, in a broken voice, beseeches his brother of lalla-marnia to have pity on him and give him some alms. they drily tell him to apply to the consistory of oran. as much astonished as displeased at this comedy, i ask mardochée for an explanation as soon as we are alone, 'it was to get used to lying,' he replies." "june 15.-left lalla-marnia by diligence at 4 in the morning. arrived at the little harbour of nemours at 10a.m. we take a room in a jew's house and begin collecting information about the rif. "here we change our tales, especially mine. mardochée tells the same yarn as at tlemcen, adding that the people of that town assured him they knew his brother-inlaw in the rif. as for me, i am a great doctor and a learned astrologer; i have wrought wonderful cures; i am invincible with diseases of the eyes, curing the worst cases; i have restored sight to the born blind. this great science, this wonderful success, has so drawn down on me the envy of christian doctors, that they would have done me bodily harm if i had stayed in my own country. i was obliged to flee, and i decided to go and exercise my profession in morocco, where, according to mardochée, i hope to make great profits. such was his tale on our arrival. i forbade him to spread the story in that form; he told it the next few days, leaving out the envy of the christian doctors and the danger caused by their hatred." "june 16 and 17.-in vain do we try to find a way of entering into the rif : many of the jews whom we consulted declare that one can only enter by nemours with the protection of a certain moroccan sheikh who will perhaps come here in a fortnight or a month, perhaps later; and even this means would be uncertain; they add that it is as difficult in starting from here to cross the rif as it is easy in setting out from tetuan, where men of influence can give efficacious recommendations. i do not wish to wait a fortnight or month at nemours; much better reach tetuan by sea and begin my journey from there." it is "june 18.—a steamer appears in the roadstead. going to tangier via gibraltar. i embark on it with mardochée. being jews, we take the lowest class and cross on deck in the company of israelites and musulmans. start at 9 a.m. pretty bad weather." 22 charles de foucauld "june 19.-wake up in the roadstead of gibraltar. the packet-boat will lie at anchor all day. i land and visit the town; mardochée remains on board. a young jew of eighteen who knows spanish accompanies me; as for me, i know nothing but arabic. my excursion has a practical aim. on board, the water we are given is filthy; took a large iron pot and brought it back full of water. i walk about for five hours in gibraltar, pot in hand; i push on to a spanish village under a mile from the town. cross the frontier and note the english and spanish sentinels mount guard only 60 yards apart, the former as well as the latter badly dressed." "june 20.-left gibraltar at midday; arrived at tangier at 2.45." "" "on june 20, 1883, my journey really began, lasting till may 23, 1884. during this time my made-up tale altered but little. i was a rabbi of algiers going, as the musulmans thought, to collect alms, to inquire about the conditions and wants of my brethren; while jews believed mardochée was from jerusalem: for the musulmans he was asking for charity, for the jews he was fulfilling the same mission as i. it was no longer a question of juda safertani nor of medicine. the latter had a double inconvenience : the moroccans, for whom every christian is a born doctor, were disposed to suspect my race on account of this profession; then the box of medicine inspired covetousness: a box suggests a treasure, and they said i had two cases of gold with me. at fas, in the course of the month of august, taught by the experience of the first days on the road, i distrusted my remedies, and changed my baggage and dress. the boxes were replaced by a goat-skin sack; in my dress i left out what recalled the eastern jew-that is to say, the red cap, the black turban, the shoes and stockings, and i adopted the black cap, the blue handkerchief, and black belras (turkish slippers) of the moroccan rabbis. i let grow nuader-locks of hair, placed on the side of the temples, which fall down on to the shoulders. my costume was henceforth that of all the jews of morocco; nor was it further altered except that at the beginning of winter i added a khenif (black burnous with yellow crescents or moons). at fas i definitely organized my means of transport. up to then i had hired mules; i bought two that carried mardochée and me with our baggage for ten months, until our return to the algerian frontier. the preliminaries of the journey 23 "in the first days of my journey, i had found lodgings, sometimes in hired rooms in jews' houses, sometimes in synagogues. at tangier and at tetuan, i hired rooms; beyond fas, that never happened again. from there, in the desert i spent my nights in the open air, in inhabited places, under the shelter of jewish or musulman hospitality. when we halted in an inhabited place, a group of tents or village, if no jews resided there, my escort kept me with them, and got me hospitality from the family from whom they had asked it for themselves; when there was a jewish community, the escort conducted me to the synagogue, where mardochée and i unloaded our mules and took up our quarters provisionally, whilst waiting till the rabbi and the jews of the place came and offered us full hospitality, shelter, and food. the maintenance of travelling doctors falls upon all the families, a rota regulates the order in which they take their turn: in poor places the rabbis keep the synagogue for putting them up, and hospitality has only to do with food, and the list makes each family give one day or one meal, so that one goes successively to all the inhabitants; in rich localities, the hospitality includes lodgings and lasts two, four, or eight days. the rota obliges one to feed a rabbi, so that at the jews' houses mardochée and i were generally separated for meals, but we were allowed to lodge together with one of our two hosts. in rare places, we were received together outside of the rota, and for an unlimited time by rich families. in some miserable places, the jews turned their backs on us, and knowing that we were in the synagogue, they did not come there, and went without saying their prayers in order to dispense with receiving us. we were obliged to return to our escort and ask a shelter from the musulmans. with the musulmans as well as the jews hospitality is gratuitous: i used to return thanks by a present of sugar or tea, sometimes of coral or a sheep.' "" 2. the story of mardochée abi servur. "mardochée abi servur, son of iais abi servur, a native of mhamid-el-rozlân, was born in the south of morocco, in the oasis of akka, towards 1830. before he was fourteen, he left his country to complete his theological studies. he studied at marrakesh, mogador, and tangier, whence he embarked for palestine. after having resided a year or two in the holy land and having there become an acting rabbi, he gained algeria, where he spent 24 charles de foucauld some months at philippeville as officiating rabbi; then, remembering his native place, set sail for morocco and returned to akka. he was not twenty-five. enticed by the prospect of a rapid fortune, he threw himself into an audacious enterprise; he was the first of his race to enter timbuctoo. his arrival in the sudan and the beginning of his stay there were surrounded with a hundred dangers; by dint of courage and cunning he maintained his position; his business soon assumed great prosperity; and with fortune came security, credit, and even power. "in a short time, he was the most notable merchant in timbuctoo. he then had ten or twelve years of prosperity and happiness. his business consisted in the exchange of the produce of morocco and the sudan ; the desert was crossed in every direction by caravans bearing his merchandise. his fortune reached 200,000 or 300,000 francs. his name was honoured at timbuctoo and mogador, and known to all the tribes of the sahara. every year he used to spend two or three months in morocco. towards 1865 he married. he contemplated bringing his wife to the sudan and founding a colony of israelites there, when his brilliant star suddenly became dim. in returning from the vicinity of mogador, where his marriage was celebrated, he received at akka the news that several caravans belonging to him had just been carried off by plunderers. a few days after some musulmans arriving from timbuctoo reported to him that during his absence one of his brothers, left at the head of the firm, had died, and that the leading man in the town had at once confiscated the contents of the deceased's house on the pretext of debts. foreseeing grave difficulties, mardochée left his wife at his father's in akka, and hastened to set out alone for the sudan. all sorts of troubles were lying in wait for him. the chief refused to give back what he had confiscated and became unfriendly; the pent-up envy of his competitors broke loose at the sight of his adversity and misfortune, and displayed itself in noisy hostility. mardochée felt that, for the moment, his residence in timbuctoo was impossible; he gathered together the remains of his fortune-40,000 francs-and left the sudan. "sad and discouraged, he again took the road to morocco, which he had so often followed full of joy and hope; only a jew, a black slave, and a very trusty arab guide, called el mokhtar, accompanied him. all four were mounted with luggage on swift camels and marched quickly. mardochée had converted all his wealth into goldthe preliminaries of the journey 25 dust; two little goat-skins contained the treasure; he carried one of them, the jew the other. it is not without danger that so feeble a troop enters the sahara; generally it is crossed in a numerous caravan, but the caravans take thirty days to do the journey, and mardochée, mounted as he was, hoped to do it in twenty-one. he had thus crossed the desert often, and always successfully. the first eighteen days on the road were passed in safety; the travellers did not meet a human being. el mokhtar led them outside the beaten tracks, and stopped for water at places known to him alone. they had just halted at one of them, which mardochée saw for the first time. it was a little grass-bordered marsh, hidden at the bottom of a circle of sandy downs. the two jews were there with hearts full of joy and thanksgiving, beginning to rest, for they thought their dangers were at an end: three days separated them from aqqa, and they were watering for the last time. 66 " suddenly el mokhtar, who had set out to go round the marsh, came running back looking very disturbed. he had just perceived fresh traces of numerous camels on the other side; more than twenty had quenched their thirst here a few hours ago. would they come back? what direction had they taken? their lives depended upon knowing. el mokhtar jumped on to his méhari and flew to reconnoitre in the direction of the tracks. mardochée looked after him, and saw him go into the downs, appearing or disappearing between the sand-dunes. as for him, he hastily takes his measures in case of a surprise; for safety's sake they had taken musulman clothes and a small stock of perfumery with them. in a twinkling the two jews undressed, disguised themselves as musulmans, and buried the gold dust at the foot of a gum-tree. you are called muley ali, and i muley ibrahim,' said mardochée to his companion; ' we are two sheriffs from tafelelt going to sahel to deal in perfumes.' a question arises: if they are plundered, their slave will tell from where they come and confess the presence of the gold: they must kill him, but the unfortunate man is only twenty-one and since his childhood has been brought up in mardochée's house. after some hesitation, pity gains the day; he is not to be killed. they begin to scrutinize the horizon again, but do not see el mokhtar. suddenly, he appears on a near ridge, arriving at full speed and, with the skirt of his burnous, making signs of despair to them. they run to their mounts; it was too late. el mokhtar had not advanced a hundred yards when amidst a violent dust appears a 26 charles de foucauld numerous troop of meharis in full cry after the guide. shots ring out. el mokhtar falls dead with a bullet in his skull. next moment mardochée was surrounded by sixty arabs. without saying a word they cut open the sacks which contain the goods. finding nothing of any value, they seize the two jews and strip them; mardochée scolds them in vain, calls them miscreants, and says that his name is muley ibrahim. turban, burnous, and shirt are off in an instant: ungodly fellows! will you take away the trousers of a child of the prophet?' he had hardly finished when off came his trousers, too. the filched clothes are searched, turned inside out, and thoroughly examined; nothing is found. furious, the plunderers turn towards the two men who are naked on the grass. from where do you come? who are you?' they all ask at the same time. they are not here for nothing! they have merchandise! they must come from the sudan! they have gold! where is it? let them confess, or, by god, they shall be killed on the spot!' they shout and push and pull them about, and brandish their arms. . . . now, by their language, mardochée recognized arabs of the sahil, a region not far from his native place. in an instant he changed his plan and says, with a laugh: 'ha! why did you not say you are regibats? i am one of your party. may god curse muley ibrahim and muley ali! we are called mardochée and isaac, and are jews of akka! you will not injure poor jews, your servants! how could we have gold? we come from akka, and we are going to your tribe itself to sell perfumes do you not see our stock?' "this speech throws doubt into the minds of the robbers the accent and faces of the two men are those of israelites, the box of perfumery seems to indicate that they are telling the truth; they search the baggage a second time. mardochée had changed his plan because he felt that if he persisted in calling himself a shereef they would take what he had, and kill him to avoid reprisals; a jew, they would take everything from him, but they would perhaps spare his life, not having to fear any vengeance from him. nothing would make him own to having gold, which would increase his peril. the arabs, in fact, found nothing, and everything indicated mardochée's sincerity; they were getting ready to lead the meharis, slave, and baggage away, and leave the two jews to extricate themselves as best they could. naked, without food or guide, they would get back to akka or die on the way, please god. mardochée sighed, wept, begged that they would at least leave him a camel the preliminaries of the journey 27 and goat-skin, but was unfeelingly spurned. he expected this refusal. his demand was just a comedy; really, he was pleased; he saved his life and his gold, and, knowing the country well, he would easily reach akka. in less than an hour, when the arabs had disappeared, he would set out. his despoilers are loading his méharis, and a few are already starting. suddenly, one of them, in consolidating the pack-saddle of one of the four animals, perceives, through a tear, some bits of the straw stuffing; he pulls out one : ha! come back! ha! come back!' he shouts. ( sudan straw! the jew lies: he comes from the sudan !' in less than two minutes all the arabs throng round mardochée: gold! gold !' is the only cry that is heard. 'by god! i have none. by our lord moses, i have none. ó gentlemen, i have none, i have none!' no more stories. a dagger is pressed to his throat. "where is it?'-' i have none.' the point is thrust in a little; blood flows. 'i have none!' he murmurs, having half fainted. the question will be renewed when he comes to; while he is recovering his senses, they go on to the other jew he sees the blood flow without confessing. they leave him swooning and run to the slave. where do you come from?''from timbuctoo.' 'have your masters any gold?' -'no.' in his turn he feels the point of the blade press against his throat; the poor negro trembles: 'i do not know whether they have gold or not,' he groaned; ‘a while ago they dug at the foot of that tree, look.' . . . it was useless for mardochée and his companion to allow themselves to be wounded and their throats almost cut-their secret was discovered; mardochée was ruined and would probably be killed to prevent any vengeance after so considerable a robbery. for the second time that day safety had given place to the greatest danger. . . . it did not take long to dig up the treasure. who will describe the joy of the arabs at the sight of so much gold? there was no longer any question of starting. they killed a camel and thought of nothing but eating to celebrate their prize. the two jews spent this day and night in the midst of a circle of arabs, witnessing their rejoicing without knowing what was to become of them. "the next day the arabs wished to divide the gold between them. . . they were sixty troopers; not knowing how to make sixty equal parts, they ordered mardochée to do the sharing. the little scales found among his baggage were put into his hands, and for two days he was, under the eyes of his ravishers, obliged to weigh out his 28 charles de foucauld own gold and tax his wits in allotting sixty equal parts to them. the unfortunate man looked upon that as a respite; he expected to be butchered as soon as he had completed his work. besides, was he not going to perish of hunger? all food was refused him, and since his captivity he fed on grass. ་་ most of the robbers were regibats, some ulad delim accompanied them. on the second day of the sharing mardochée heard one of the men who surrounded him speak of the shgarna tribe as being of the party: are there any shgarnas among you?' mardochée asked. 'yes, we are five shgarnas here, such and such and such a one. a few hours afterwards, the arabs having scattered to take their siesta, mardochée went towards the shgarni who had spoken to him, and falling at his feet, holding on to his burnous, exclaimed: ' by god and your honour! god put me under your protection, do not take it away from me. i have a debiha¹ on the shgarnas. i am called mardochée abi servur, such a one amongst you is my lord. by god and your honour! save me, show that the shgarnas defend their clients, and that their protection is not vain.' 2 "the shgarni was a relation of mardochée's lord; he replied that as for the gold, he could not get it given back, the more so as it had been taken before the knowledge of the debiha, but he guaranteed the life of the two jews; he could give no other pledge on account of the small number of shgarnas present at the rezzu. on the evening of the same day, when the sharing was over, the arabs held council; they discussed what they would do. it was decided that they would scour the desert in the same region. then they spoke about mardochée; the greater number were for killing him and his companion. the five shgarnas opposed this, acknowledging mardochée as a client of their tribe. hence, they declared, he was under their protection. a violent discussion arose, the chief of the rezzu, a regibi, wished for the death of the jews, and his regibats applauded him loudly. the shgarnas were firm, and, when it was seen that they were ready to fight rather than abandon the suppliants, they gave way to them. "mardochée led a sad life during the week which followed the rezzu had resumed its incursions; 50 kilometres a day were often covered at a rapid pace; the two 1 the act by which one places oneself under the perpetual protection of a man or a tribe. it is a prolonged anaïa. 2 an expedition, or band of adherents. 3 singular of regibat. the preliminaries of the journey 29 jews ran naked by the sides of the mounts of the shgarnas, from whom they dared not get separated. they were tormented by hunger, for their protectors only had what was strictly necessary, and could give them nothing. herbs, filthy bones flung away by the musulmans, and a pinch of tea obtained through charity-such was the only food of mardochée and his companion during this period. how long would this existence be prolonged? mardochée, squatting near a well at which they camped on the eighth day, asked himself. in vain he begged the shgarnas to bring him to akka; they replied that if they separated themselves from the rezzu the pact of union would be broken, and the latter would pursue and attack them after their departure. as the objection was sound, mardochée did not insist. whence, then, would deliverance come? would it arrive in time? all at once a whirlwind of dust appeared at the end of the valley; it approached like a hurricane. a few arabs jump up in a scare, but not one has, so far, seized his arms. the cloud is upon them, and shows two hundred horsemen mounted on méharis. a man comes out of it and rides towards the regibats; his white camel lies down, he places his feet, on which he is wearing high top boots, on the animal's head, levels his rifle at the regibi chief. 'may god curse the regibats and sidi hamed the regibi their patron! may god burn your fathers and your ancestors! you have oppressed our brothers and wish to put our clients to death; at this moment you are at our mercy. ha, women! you are only courageous against jews; you are about to learn what a man's word of honour means!' it was the shgarna chief who spoke thus; celebrated in the sahara for his famous courage, he was recognized from a distance by his white mount, better trained than the best horse and taught to obey his master's voice. the man who had taken mardochée under his protection had sent a trusty servant to warn him of the danger which the shgarnas and their protégés ran, and he came to deliver his brothers out of the regibats' hands. "the shgarnas only made use of their advantage to bring away their men and the two jews. mardochée, sent back to akka under a good escort, at length regained his home. as to the rezzu, this adventure brought it bad luck. they went to attack a berber band, and were so vigorously received, that their chief and the greater part of the horsemen were killed and but very few returned. the sahara, after twenty years, still remembers the disaster of this ressu. 30 charles de foucauld mardochée was back in akka, which he had never expected to see again, but he returned ruined, and a still greater grief awaited him. during his absence, his father and mother had quitted this world. their legacy ought to have been considerable; it was a trifle. mardochée, coldly received by his brothers, who had undoubtedly purloined a part of the inheritance, decided to leave a country in which he had found so much sadness. selling what remained to him, he went for the last time to his parents' grave, taking away a little scrap of it-a relic which was never to quit him-and set out with his wife for mogador. "there a new period in mardochée's life began, a period of constant relations with europeans, which includes the remainder of his existence. at mogador, he was found by m. beaumier, the french consul, a conscientious orientalist and zealous member of the société de géographie. m. beaumier put him into touch with this society, which brought him twice to paris, and entrusted him with missions in southern morocco. in his journeys to france, mardochée entered into relations with the general union of the israelites, and with several scholars such as dr. cosson, who, by the help which they gave him and the paid missions with which they entrusted him, helped him to earn a living for some years. mardochée thus made, from 1870 to 1878, two or three expeditions in the interest of the société de géographie, and several collections of plants for dr. cosson. his work fell short of what was expected, for at the end of this time they ceased to give him any. meanwhile m. beaumier died. his means of subsistence and patron disappeared at the same time. without means of existence at mogador, where he was in bad odour with his co-religionists, mardochée, with his wife and children, embarked for algeria, and, supported by the société de géographie, asked the french government for a post which would enable him to get a living. he was appointed rabbi tutor at oran, then at algiers. "one day in february, 1883, i was in the library of this latter town, chatting with the keeper, m. maccarthy, when we saw a jew, fifty or sixty years old, tall, strong, but bent and walking with the hesitation of those who have bad sight, come in. when he was near, i saw that his eyes were red and sore; he wore a long black beard mixed with white hairs; his face expressed rather simplicity and peace than anything else. he was dressed in syrian fashion; a crimson caftan tightened at the waist fell down to his feet; over this hung a blue cloth mantle of the same length; his "" the preliminaries of the journey 31 • head-dress was a red cap surrounded by a black turban; in his hand he had a snuff-box, out of which he was continually taking pinches; his clothes, formerly rich, were old and dirty, and his whole person revealed a poor and negligent man. 'who is that jew?' i asked. he is just what you want; a man who has spent all his life in morocco, was born at akka, has travelled very much and been several times to timbuctoo, and can give you precious information; he is the rabbi mardochée mentioned in the bulletins of the société de géographie.' i went to mardochée and questioned him, judging that he could furnish me with good information. i took his address and went to see him. a musulman of mascara, with whom i was to set out for morocco, having in the meantime written to me that he could not accompany me for family reasons, i proposed to mardochée to take him in his place; he consented, on condition that i should put on a jewish costume. i saw nothing but advantage in such disguise. all that remained was to make my agreement with mardochée. with my authority, m. maccarthy took the negotiations upon himself, and, after long debates, drew up an agreement which mardochée and i signed, and it is now in the library of algiers. here is a summary of it: "mardochée will leave his wife and children at algiers during the whole of my journey. he is to accompany me and second me faithfully in all the places in morocco to which i please to go. on my side i shall give him 270 francs a month; 600 francs will be handed to him before we start, the remainder on our return; if my absence lasts less than six months, he is nevertheless to receive six months' salary. the maintenance of mardochée during the journey will be at my charge. if mardochée should, without my permission, abandon me in the course of the journey, he will thereby lose his rights to all remuneration, however long may have been the time spent with me, and he himself will owe me the 600 francs he has received beforehand.' me. "my companion's obligation to leave his family at algiers guaranteed me against all thought of treason on his part. the article by which he was to lose his pay, if he left me against my will, assured me that he would not abandon these two clauses, inspired by m. maccarthy through his knowledge of the algerian jews, ensured the success of my journey and probably saved my life; how often did mardochée wish to leave me, and how often did the signed conditions alone prevent him. 32 charles de foucauld "these agreements were signed in may, 1883; a few days after, on june 10, mardochée and i set out together for morocco. "i have spoken little of mardochée in the account of my journey, i have hardly mentioned him. his part was, however, great, for he was entrusted with our relations with the natives, and all material cares fell upon him; speeches to the jews and musulmans, explanations on the object of the journey, organization of the escorts, the search after lodgings and food-he undertook all that; i intervened only to approve or say no. intelligent, very prudent, and too much so, infinitely cunning, a fine and even eloquent talker, a rabbi educated enough to inspire the israelites with consideration, he rendered me great services; i ought to add that he always showed himself vigilant and devoted in looking after my safety. if i have kept silence about his many services, it is because his illwill was a constant and considerable obstacle to the execution of my journey. while contributing to the success of my enterprise, from the first day to the last he did all he could to make it fail. in leaving algiers, mardochée, knowing only the environs of akka and the coast of morocco, thought he was setting out on an easy and dangerless journey. i had given him details of the places which i wished to visit, but as he did not even know the names of most of them, this enumeration awoke no idea in his mind. besides, he undoubtedly said to himself, that once in morocco, he would do what he liked with so young a companion, and change my plans at his pleasure. now, the journey was full of perils, and he could not change my designs at all. this was doubly unlucky for him; the conditions of the journey were, in fact, very different from what he had thought them. from nemours, we had serious disputes, and he spoke of returning to algiers; the rif was the cause. at the first word about the dangers of this region, he declared he would not enter it; i ordered him to seek the means of going into it, and i sought them myself. at tetuan, the same quarrel lasted for a fortnight; at fas, it began again with extreme violence, and there, so much did mardochée dread the route which led to abu-el-jad, that he was on the point of leaving me. after fas, the dispute did not cease; two causes stirred it up afresh each day. mardochée did not want to follow the route i had fixed, and wished to travel slowly; i, on the contrary, was determined to execute my original plan exactly, and i held to travelling without loss of time. on the the preliminaries of the journey 33 first point, after fas, i never yielded, and my route was followed according to my will. on the second point, i was not so successful, and, in spite of my reproaches, our progress was extremely slow until my departure from tisint for mogador. if my journey was quicker towards the end, it was that i promised mardochée a gratuity, if we were at lalla-marnia on may 25. between these two parts of my journey i was on the point of breaking with mardochée. when i went to mogador, i left him at tisint, and set out with a musulman, the hajj bu rhim, an excellent man whom i can hardly praise enough. i travelled with him from january 9 to march 31, 1884. once again in tisint, i proposed to him to replace mardochée and to accompany me to algeria; he accepted, and i had already given mardochée his testimonial and the sum necessary to get back to algiers, when an obstacle prevented the hajj bu rhim from starting. i took back mardochée, who was only too pleased. "if i had to complain of mardochée's disagreeableness, it is fair to say that it was not inspired by any desire to be disobliging to me personally: his fear of danger caused his opposition to my route; his love of ease and his interest in prolonging services paid for by the month kept his slowness alive. "after my return from morocco in 1884, mardochée left algiers no more. retired in his house, his old passion for alchemy again took hold of him. to find gold! with the gold of his pay he bought mercury for experiments in the transmutation of metals. and as he hung all day over his crucibles, the vapour of mercury did not take long to poison the last of alchemists." if the reconnaissance au maroc is almost silent as regards mardochée, the intimate letters written by the explorer are not. i must say they speak of the rabbi without great consideration, and that the notes go decrescendo. their descent is curious. foucauld writes on june 17, 1883, a few hours after starting: "i am very satisfied with mardochée. he has but one fault; it is excessive prudence." on june 24, having already travelled a few days in moroccan country, he writes to his sister: "i am fairly pleased with mardochée; he goes on all right, but he has to be vigorously shaken. i am obliged to give him a pulling up nearly every day." july 2: "i am not pleased 3 34 charles de foucauld with mardochée. he is lazy and cowardly, he is only good for cooking." july 23: "as for mardochée, i am not satisfied with him; you could not find a lazier creature. besides, he is cowardly beyond all expression, awkward, and knows nothing about travelling." lastly, january 30, 1884, he wrote: "mardochée is a brute." it is only quite at the end that a little pity, as we have just seen, brings back what he has to say towards indulgence and excuse. when the journey is over, the route becomes more beautiful, and so does his companion. chapter iii the explorer above la reconnaissan at once geographical, military, and political. the qualities of order and precision which one observes in each page are quite astonishing, and still more so if one thinks of all the difficulties, even dangers, which the explorer ran, if he wished to take notes. he was surrounded by people who suspected, and sometimes divined, his being a christian, and therefore always in peril. in the itinéraires au maroc he explains how he was able to beguile the watchfulness of witnesses or to get them out of the way. "the position of an israelite did not lack unpleasantness; to walk barefooted in the towns, and sometimes in the gardens, to receive insults and stones was nothing; but to live constantly with moroccan jews-people, apart from rare exceptions, despicable and repugnant among all others was utterly intolerable. they spoke openly to me as a brother, boasting of their crimes, disclosing their base feelings. how often i regretted my hypocrisy! all this annoyance and disgust were recompensed by the facility for work which my disguise gave me. as a musulman it would have been necessary to live the common life unceasingly in broad daylight, unceasingly in company; never a moment of solitude; with eyes constantly fixed upon one; difficult to obtain any information; more difficult to write; impossible to make use of my instruments. as a jew these things did not become easy, but were generally possible. "my instruments were: a compass, a watch, and a pocket barometer, to take the bearings of the route; a sextant, a chronometer, and a false horizon, for observations of longitudes and latitudes; two holosteric barometers, some hygrometers and maximum and minimum thermometers, for meteorological observations. "my route was mapped out with the compass and barometer. on the tramp, i always had a notebook 2 inches square hidden in my left hand; and a pencil less than an inch long, never out of the other hand, recorded anything remarkable on the right or left of the road. i noted the 35 36 charles de foucauld changes of direction by referring to the compass, the rise and fall of the ground by reading the barometer, the exact time of each observation, the stops, my rate of progress, and so on. thus i was writing almost all the time i was on the road, and all the time in the hilly regions. even in the most numerous caravan, no one ever perceived it; i took care to walk in front of or behind my companions, in order that the amplitude of my garments might prevent them from seeing the slight movement of my hands. the contempt felt for the jews favoured my isolation. the description and survey of my itinerary thus filled a certain number of little notebooks. as soon as i reached a village where i could have a room to myself, i completed them, and recopied them into memorandum-books which formed the diary of my journey. i devoted my nights to this work; in the day i always had the jews around me; to write for long before them would have filled them with suspicion. night brought solitude and work. "to make astronomical observations was more difficult than to map out the route. a sextant cannot be disguised like a compass. it takes time to use it. i took most of the elevations of the sun and stars in the villages. in the daytime i used to watch for the moment when nobody was on the terrace of the house. i carried my instruments wrapped in clothes which i said i wanted to put out to air. rabbi mardochée remained on guard on the stairs and had to stop all who tried to get at me with interminable stories. i began my observation, choosing the moment when nobody was looking from the nearest terraces; i was often obliged to break off; it took me very long. sometimes it was impossible to be alone. what stories were not invented to explain setting up the sextant? sometimes it was for reading the future in the sky, sometimes for getting news of the absent. at tasa, it was a preventative against cholera, in the tadla it showed the sins of the jews, elsewhere it told me the time of the day, what the weather would be; it warned me of the dangers of the road and i don't know what else. at night i operated more easily: i could nearly always work in secret. few observations were made in the country; it was difficult to isolate oneself there. i sometimes succeeded, pretending to pray; as if for meditation, i went to some distance, covered from head to foot in a long sisit; the folds hid my instruments; a bush, a rock, an undulation of the ground hid me for a few moments; i returned when i had finished praying. "to draw mountain contours and make topographical the explorer 37 the sexsketches, more mystery still was necessary. tant was an enigma which revealed nothing, french writing kept its secret; any drawing would have betrayed me. on the terraces, as in the country, i only worked alone with paper hidden and ready to disappear under the folds of my burnous." his reconnaissance is also a diary. usually there are as many chapters as there were days in it. charles de foucauld rarely dallies for descriptions. he does it in few words, and as an artist; his simple landscapes, his choice of expression and discreet and harmonious elegance reveal a remarkably gifted man, and he might have been counted among the writers who have given us a picture of new countries. but he did not allow himself to yield to such inclinations. he wrote with the fixed intention, not to get himself admired, but to help france, the probable heir to morocco, to prepare the way for her, for the benefit of comrades who, as he feels, will one day have the mission of conquering this empire, in which he often met chiefs secretly desirous of the coming of the french. in a word, he is already the forerunner. this mark distinguishes his whole life. later on, when he reappears in africa, foucauld sets himself the mission of "taming the musulmans, of bringing them nearer to us and to the law of christ. all his efforts, all his sacrifices to the very last, tend only to that: they make the preaching of the gospel possible for the missionaries who come after him; he will also be the precursor, the quartermaster, the leader in religion. "" viscount de foucauld and mardochée leave tangier on june 21, 1883, at 3 p.m. they form part of a small caravan; they are mounted on mules, thanks to which the long journey undertaken in morocco is accomplished quickly enough. they ride until 9 in the evening, part of the time amidst splendid wheatfields. next day the caravan starts at 4 a.m. there were then no roads in morocco, but only tracks of men and beasts. each day charles de foucauld notes the quality of the land, the principal properties of the trees which cover the ground in places, the colour of the rocks; he tells of meetings with other travellers, whether many partridges and doves rose on his way, if many hares started. at the outset of his journey he is struck by the multitude of brooks and little rivers that he crosses or walks by the side of, the vigour of the vegetation, the beauty of the tillage, and already he pities the poor moroccan peasant 38 charles de foucauld from whom the pillager on one hand, the treasury on the other, carry off the best part of the crops. almost at once the travellers make a loop to the east, and spend a few days at tetuan. they set out again from there on july 2 in the direction of the south, for sheshuan. one is surprised, in reading the reconnaissance au maroc, at the frequency of the idyllic tone. the freshness of the gardens, the abundance of the crops, the mildness of the air, are expressions which come again and again under the pen of the explorer when he describes certain regions, as that of the sheshuan. in the first place, it is not doubtful that he saw accurately, but also a kind of natural sympathy puts him in harmony with this landscape, and makes him enjoy its beauty. reaching the mountains on july 2, he writes: "the jebel beni hasan now affords an enchanting view; fields of wheat rising one above another form an amphitheatre on its slopes, and, from the rocks which crown it down to the bottom of the valley, cover it with a carpet of gold; among the wheatfields shine a multitude of villages surrounded by gardens. springs gush out on every side; at every step one crosses brooks; they flow in cascades amongst ferns, laurels, fig-trees, and vines, which themselves grow on the edges. nowhere have i seen a more smiling landscape, nowhere such an air of prosperity, nowhere so generous a land, nor more laborious inhabitants. from here to sheshuan, the country is just the same; the names of the valleys change, but there are the same riches everywhere; indeed, it increases as one goes on." "" from the beginning of the journey, ten days after he left tangier, the explorer is right in the unknown. into this little village of sheshuan a single christian had entered, a spaniard, about 1863; he did not return. charles de foucauld, twenty years later, on july 2, stopped on the neighbouring heights to take a sketch, from which viscount de bondy was able to produce the large and accurate drawing published in the reconnaissance au maroc. he even went into the jewish quarter, and on the way met people of beni-zejel, who shouted at him: "may god eternally burn the father that begot thee, jew." he spent the night between the 2nd and the 3rd in the mellah. he does not seem to have visited the town itself. but he went as far as he could go, and alone. into this morocco he enters in a sorry garb, but with a strong and magnificent ambition-on the look-out for the unknown, above all. all his preferences are for the forbidden and wilder countries. from one the explorer 39 point on the map to another equally settled on, he at any rate tries to go by a route over which nobody has been. must he wait? he waits. pay guides more? he pays up. dangers, he never thinks about them. on the word of many of his intimate friends, i believe that fear and he were strangers. the traveller who thus describes and sketches the landscape, also points out all the characteristics of the habits and customs that he observes. in this excursion, he meets a hajj-that is to say, a musulman who has made the pilgrimage to mecca, and he at once notes that these pilgrims, who have some idea of what europeans are, in general are less fanatic, more polished and affable than their co-religionists. ten pages further on, he analyzes the different political position and the similar misery of the two parts of morocco, the bled el makhzen under the sultan, and the free or revolted country, the bled es siba; everywhere he collects and with an extreme care records information which may be of service to a geographer, sociologist, colonist, or soldier. even had he been quite free to travel about in morocco, one would be astonished that he had been able to become so completely acquainted with it. sometimes he ceases to make notes, and judges. his judgments have a contour as firm as his topographical details or his pen sketches. he has a certain sympathy for the moroccans. i made allusion, for instance, to what he said about the pilgrims to mecca. but he saw too closely, though enclosed in the crowd, what the inhabitants of the towns and villages were morally worth; he cannot pass over in silence the vices which consume the musulman populations. and it is curious to read the lines i have just cited, when above all one remembers that the man who wrote them was to give a great part of his life to the conversion of these peoples of north africa, as to whom he had few illusions even when quite young. he says: "extreme cupidity and, as companions, robbery and lying in all their forms reign almost everywhere. brigandage, armed attacks are, in general, considered as honourable actions. morals are dissolute. the condition of woman, in morocco, is what it is in algeria. the moroccans are ordinarily but little attached to their wives, and yet have a great love for their children. the finest quality they show is devotion to their friends; they push it to the last limits. this noble feeling daily produces the finest actions. with the exception of the towns and some isolated districts, morocco is very ignorant. they are, 40 charles de foucauld nearly everywhere, superstitious, and accord an unbounded respect and confidence to the local marabouts, the extent of whose influence varies. even external religious duties are nowhere regularly carried out, save in the towns and districts above excepted. there are mosques in every village or important douar; they are more frequented by poor travellers who use them as shelters, than by the inhabitants." he is harder upon the moroccan jews. on july 7 he was detained at el ksar for twenty-four hours because of the sabbath, and writes: "if i could only take advantage of this delay to write out my notes! but it is almost impossible. in morocco, has a jew ever been seen writing on the sabbath? it is forbidden just like travelling, lighting a fire, selling, counting money, talking business, and what not? and all these precepts are observed with equal care! for the jews of morocco, all religion consists in that moral precepts they deny. the ten commandments are bygone tales, at most good for children; but as for the three daily prayers and lengthy graces before and after meals, keeping the sabbath and feasts, i believe nothing in the world would make them miss them. endowed with a very lively faith, they scrupulously fulfil their duties towards god, and indemnify themselves at the expense of his creatures." to visit tetuan, and above all mt. beni-hasan and mt. sheshuan, foucauld had left the road from tangier to fez. he took it up again, and, going on a line from nearly north to south, he reached fez on july 11. he hoped not to remain long in that well-known town, but a man with no time to waste should not venture into sunny lands. a man in a hurry, chooser of the most dangerous roads! a man-a jew, it is true-who seems to forget dates and not to remember the great musulman fast! what insolence! he was made to feel it. from fez, on august 14, he wrote this letter, addressed to his cousin m. georges de latouche : "you see i am still at fez, and you must think that i have hardly made a start; it is but too true. it is because i always wished to go by the least known roads, and it is sometimes a long job to find the means of travelling by them. "from fez, i wished to go to tadla; there are two roads; one by rabat, easy and safe; the other very little frequented, very difficult, and crossing a completely unthe explorer 41. explored country; naturally i had it very much at heart to take the second. from what i learn there is nobody here who can guide us safely along it. we are sending inquiries to mekinez; from there they reply that there is an influential shereef, who knows the road, takes it sometimes, knows the tribes we shall come across, and who can, in a word, bring us safely to bu jaad, the capital of tadla. (tadla is a province, and not a town as shown on the maps.) we get him to come here; he consents to accompany us, but declares he will only start after the fêtes which finish ramadan. we have been obliged to wait, and that is why we have remained so long at fez. the ramadan festival will be over the day after to-morrow; so to-morrow we set out for mekinez, and from there, immediately, for tadla. during the three weeks that i knew i should be obliged to remain in fez, so as not to lose my time, i went from fez to tasa (three days' distance). i went there by one road and came back by another. the position of the town was known, but the roads which converge to it had not been marked; i mapped them as exactly as possible. "i there unexpectedly discovered a town where all the inhabitants, musulmans and jews, think but of one thing -the coming of the french before long. these poor devils are in a country in which the authority of the sultan is nil, and they are a constant prey to the violence and robbery of the powerful kabyle tribe of the riatas; so they do not cease praying to allah to send them the french, in order to rid them of the riatas. i remained a week at tasa, because i could not find anyone with whom to get out of it safely. we are at last back from it, and are going to set out for tadla. "" up to the present i am not at all satisfied with mardochée: he is inexpressibly cowardly and lazy. as in the case of figaro, it cannot be said that these two failings divide him up between them; they reign within him together in the most perfect harmony. he is unspeakably downhearted into the bargain: he spends his time whining, and sometimes even sheds floods of tears. at first it was only ridiculous; in the end it gets very tiresome. if we are riding, it is the sun and the jolting of the mule; when we are in town, there are the fleas and bugs. and then there is the water, that is hot; and next the food is poor. all these little things may sometimes be hard to endure; but all he had to do was not to worry me in algiers to travel with me. i confess to you that if i had not the accomplishment of my itinerary very much at heart, and not to return without 42 charles de foucauld having done anything, i should have dismissed him more than a month ago, and should have returned to algiers to seek someone more active, enterprising, and manly. but i won't come back at any price without seeing what i said i would see; without going where i said i would go. "i think that my journey will cost me all that i brought with me, or little less; up to the present i have spent 1,500 francs, and i have not gone far; it is true i have to the good two mules worth 250 francs each. . . . it is the travelling that is dear. if you want to go from one point to another, here is what you must do; you go to some local notability, who can certainly bring you safely to the point you wish to reach. you say to him: 'i want to go to that place give me your anaia, and be my zettet.' anaia means protection, and the zettet is the protector. he replies, very willingly, it is so much. we bargain for a good hour, finally the price is agreed. the said sum is given to him on condition that he accompanies you himself or gets one of his relations or servants to accompany you as far as your destination. this is the only way to travel among the berber and kabyle tribes. without this precaution, even the people of the place you are leaving run after you, to rob you within a mile of the town or village from which you come. 66 this zettet is the real costly thing in our journey; it costs more or less, according to the danger of the tribes one has to pass through. sometimes it is excessively dear; thus, in leaving tasa for another point on the fez route, only six hours' distance by road from the town, i paid sixty francs (it was a question of crossing the territory of the terrible riatas). you understand that with such difficulties in communication, trade in morocco is not brisk; although the country is marvellously fertile, the inhabitants are not rich; they cultivate just the necessaries of life, not being able to sell their surplus. there is no comparison between this country and algeria, which is a desert compared to it. in algeria, even in winter, there is no water anywhere. here at this season there is water everywhere; there are running rivers, brooks, torrents, and springs. and note that since i set foot in morocco i have not seen a drop of water fall. but there are high wooded mountains, and, in the direction of the south-east, from the terrace of this house, threads of snow can be seen on the distant tops of the jebel." a month's halt! charles de foucauld employs it to make two great excursions—one to tasa, as he said, in the east, the explorer 43 the other to safra. the very detailed account which he gives of these two excursions seems to me to be the best part of the reconnaissance au maroc. here, also, picturesque phrases abound; for instance, this one: "at halfpast three, we reached a pass: tasa appeared, a high cliff standing out in relief from the mountain and advancing, like a cape, into the plain. on its summit the town dominated by an old minaret: at its feet vast gardens.' foucauld reaches the gate of the outer walls, takes off his shoes, and enters the town. the most miserable town in morocco! the riata tribe pillage it perpetually. always in arms, filling the narrow streets and squares, if they find any object or beast of burden which suits them, they seize it, and there is no hope of justice against them. "it is difficult to express the terror in which the population live; so they think only of one thing-the coming of the french. how many times have i heard the musulmans exclaim: when will the french come? when will they at last rid us of the riatas ? when shall we live in peace, like the people of tlemcen?' and then they pray for the hastening of that day; they have no doubt of its arrival: in this respect they share the common opinion of a great part of eastern morocco, and of nearly all the upper class in the empire. . . " "" safra, on the contrary, is flourishing, full of well-built white brick houses; there the traveller walks about in "endless and wonderful gardens. . . big bushy woods whose thick foliage spreads an impenetrable shade and delightful coolness on the ground." when these excursions were over, the terrible road was at last open, and the explorer was able to reach mekinez, and from there abu-el-jad, where he arrived on september 6. "here was neither sultan nor makhzen: nothing but allah and sidi ben daud." this great personage has hardly seen rabbi joseph aleman than he gives evidence of the most singular respect towards him. the reconnaissance au maroc does not make any allusion to this, but in the third manuscript note already mentioned, charles foucauld tells at length the exciting adventure which befell him in the town of abu-el-jad: "i arrive in abu-el-jad escorted by a grandson of sidi ben daud: the sid had sent me this distinguished protector after having received a letter from a great lord of fas, his friend, hajj tib ksous. to do complete honour to this recommendation, he gave me audience immediately 44 charles de foucauld on my arrival in his town. mardochée and i were received and questioned separately; we presented ourselves as two rabbis from jerusalem who had been settled in algiers for seven years. we had hardly come out of the sid's house than we saw a musulman, seated in the middle of a group, make us a sign to approach. he who called us was the second son of sidi ben daud, sidi omar. he brought us into his house, and began to put questions about algeria. meanwhile, the sid sent for the principal jews of the town, ordered them to receive us well, and appointed one of them to give us hospitality in his name. these two audiences and such care for putting us up were extraordinary favours. "the day after my arrival, i received the visit of a son of sidi omar, sidi el hajj edris; although a mulatto, he is a very fine young man of twenty-five; tall, well-proportioned, supple and graceful in movement, intelligent-looking, lively and gay. his title of hajj, intelligence, education, and a fine appearance made him one of the most highly esteemed members of sidi ben daud's family. he comes, he says, to see that we want for nothing; three or four musulmans accompany him; for half an hour we chat of one thing and another, our visitors showing an extreme affability. in taking leave of us s. edris asks whether we have seen the rabbis of abu-el-jad. 'not yet.' 'whether they come or do not come, whether you remain several days or months, you are a thousand times welcome!' what is the meaning of such unparalleled attentions to the jews? "it was not long before i understood. two things were remarkable during the four following days: on the one hand, the frequent visits, the excessive amiability of sid's relations, who endeavoured to give me confidence and to make me speak; on the other, the open spying of the jews who watched my least act, thrust their noses into my notebook as soon as i wanted to write, rushed on my thermometer, as soon as i touched it, and were rude and insufferable. . . . these two lines of conduct were too accentuated not to betray their cause. something must have made sidi ben daud, or his son sidi omar, suspect my being a christian. the marabouts had resolved to enlighten themselves by having me spied upon by the jews, while making their own examination of me; for the last four days they were plainly following up this investigation. on september 11, in the morning of the sixth day after my arrival, one of sidi edris's slaves came into my room, the explorer 45 and told me to follow him with mardochée to his master's. he showed us into a house of the zauïa. we expect fresh questions. no! as soon as we are seated, breakfast is brought in. tea, pastries, butter, eggs, coffee, almonds, grapes, and figs are placed on dazzling dishes. s. edris offers me lemonade, and makes excuses for having neither knives nor forks; he eats with us, which is an unheard-of favour, and, keeping up a long conversation, tells us that he knows tunis, algiers, bone, bougie, philippeville, and oran, which he visited in coming back from mecca. at the end of two hours, we are dismissed, and a slave conducts us back to our house. "my relations with s. edris and his father become more intimate from day to day. on the 13th at noon, i am called with mardochée to the house of the former. again a breakfast is waiting for us: s. edris shares it with us. as i speak to him of my desire to leave abu-el-jad, he replies that he will escort me himself. he is one of the most exhalted personages of his family, and puts himself out only for caravans of two or three hundred camels; but for my companion and me, there is nothing that he will not do. all three of us are to set out alone in a few days; he wants to make friends of us; we are to write to him on our return to algiers, and he will come and see us there. when the meal was over, he led me to a window, and showed me the chain of the middle atlas which extends along the horizon towards the south. he begins describing and giving me a host of details about its inhabitants. for me the better to enjoy this fine sight, he has a chair and a small telescope brought me. 66 'so many favours cannot possibly be disinterested. what are s. edris and his father driving at? i do not know; however, they have promised to escort me on my departure from abu-el-jad; so their good intentions must be cultivated. the same day, i send s. edris twenty francs and three or four sugar-loaves-a suitable present for the country. next day, the 14th, s. edris sends for us towards evening to dine with him on his terrace. as we are talking he repeats that he would like to go to algiers, and from there to the christians' continent; would it be possible? nothing easier, i tell him, the french minister at tangier will enable him to reach algiers, where i shall be altogether at his service. and could he bring a christian to abu-el-jad? he would be delighted to do so, provided that the christian were disguised as a musulman, or a jew, and that the sultan knew nothing about it. the 46 charles de foucauld affair would have to be negotiated secretly between him and the french minister. in that case, added mardochée, the french authorities would give him the best of receptions, for they would be very pleased to send a frenchman to explore abu-el-jad, which no christian has ever seen. s. edris smilingly replies that christians have visited it. 'in musulman costume?'-' no! in jewish costume no one knew who they were; but we recognized them.' "next morning, a fresh visit to s. edris: the conversation became quite intimate. after what he said to us yesterday, would he write a letter to the french minister, and enter into an engagement to receive and protect any frenchman in his town? willingly, he said, and he was ready to visit the functionary, to assure him of his goodwill towards france. "the same day, we were called to sidi ben daud's house. we were shown into a beautiful hall, in which seven or eight marabouts of the sid's family were seated on carpets around him. we were invited to sit down, and little negresses from eight to ten years old brought us cups of tea and palmers. when we had enjoyed looking at the saint for half an hour, we were dismissed with kind words, and he himself said to us: 'may god aid you!' in coming out, we were rejoined by s. omar, who led us away to his house; it was he, he said, who had got us invited to his father's, with the thought that that visit might interest us. he questioned me on astronomy. the jews had told him i was a great astronomer. i am said to spend my nights in looking at the stars. thus the jews spy upon me for the benefit of the musulmans. on the 16th, sidi edris sends for me early; first of all he puts into my hand two letters recommending mardochée and me to the jews of kasba and to those of kasba-beni-mellal, signed by the rabbis of abu-el-jad. they were not written willingly; sidi edris makes the rabbis come to his house and orders them to sign the letters under his eyes. sidi edris afterwards gives me a word of recommendation for a friend of his who lives at bezzu, a place to which i shall go later on. lastly he composes a letter to the french minister: he reads it to me before closing it; it is couched somewhat thus: to the ambassador of the french government. i inform you that two men of your country have come to me, and that, for love of you, i have given them the best of receptions and have taken them where they wished. in like manner i will receive all those who come in your name; the bearers of this letter will give you more complete the explorer 47 information. if you wish to see me, let me know through the french consul at dar-beida. i shall at once proceed to tangier.' sidi edris signs this document, folds it, seals it with his seal, and hands it over to me, recommending secrecy and prudence: he is putting his head into my hands; a great risk to run, if the letter gets lost and comes to the eyes of the sultan. "this business done, s. edris told me we should start the next day for kasba-tadla. not only would he be my guide, but my companion as far as kasba-beni-mellal, where i should leave the tadla. i was to be as a brother to him, and he would go to the end of the world to please me, but he could no longer bear my living in the town with the jews, who were savages. he would have my mules and baggage fetched, and henceforth i was to be his guest. an hour later, i was put up in his house. "from this moment, my relations with s. edris assumed a new character: up to then his excessive attention had made me distrustful, the gift of the letter for the french minister was such a mark of confidence, that i could no longer doubt of his present good intentions: besides, this letter explained his advances, showing that the cause of them was his desire of entering into relations with the french government. sure of s. edris, henceforth i was on the same footing with him as a friend. i returned his confidence and, as he had put himself into my hands, i put myself into his. i told him unreservedly who i was, who mardochée was, and what i came to do. this only increased his fidelity. he was overwhelmed with regret at not knowing the truth from the first day i should have lodged in his house; i should have worked there, drawn and made my observations at my ease; if i would postpone my departure, he would bring me to visit the qoubbas and mosques, put at my disposal the library of the sauïa, which is rich in historical works, and take me for walks in the neighbourhood. . . . what would he not do? sooner. "then he offered me a hundred things, musulman costumes, a slave; . . . as the waiting of the little negresses at sidi ben daud's seemed to me so charming, he offered me one of them. upon my arrival, he said, my face made him suspect that i was a christian, and the jews had confirmed that opinion. let me beware of the jews! they were untrustworthy people, rascals to be unceasingly on one's guard against. the day after my arrival the local jews told him that i was busy with astronomy, that i did not speak their language, did not write as they did, never 48 charles de foucauld foucaul went to the synagogue; in a word, that they believed i was a christian. he told them they were asses, and that the jews of algiers and france were different from the jews of that country.¹ "on september 17, sidi edris, mardochée, and i quitted abu-el-jad. on the 20th we arrived at kasba-benimellal. on the 23rd sidi edris bade us adieu and again took the road to his zauïa. i cannot express what he was to me while we travelled together. as we rode, he would ride close beside me, and give me explanations about all we passed through, met, or saw. if i wished to draw, he stopped. on his own initiative he always chose the most interesting and not the shortest roads. if we stopped anywhere he took me by the hand to see anything curious. he used to do more; as the house in which he received hospitality filled on his arrival, and a crowd came to kiss his hand, this great marabout used to hide a part of my instruments in his ample garments, whilst i carried the other, and lead me to a retired place to make my observations; he would mount guard over me, to prevent me from being surprised. how many excursions we made together near kasba-beni-mellal. if i stopped to draw, he used to sit down beside me, and his talk taught me a host of things. all i know about the zauïa of abu-el-jad, sidi ben daud's family, the population of the tadla, came from him. from him i got nearly all the information printed in this volume from page 259 to 267, about the wadyum-er-rebia basin. he also dictated what one reads from page 65 to 67, on the campaign of the sultan in the tadla in 1883; he had followed the expedition of marrakesh to meris-el-biod as sidi ben daud's representative to muley el hasen. on the subject of the relations of his family with the sultan, he said to me: 'we do not fear 1 i found, in charles de foucauld's papers, this note about the incident here related: "mardochée never knew that i had disclosed my christianity and the plan of my journey to sidi edris: an instinctive hatred rather than a reasoned prudence made him distrust every musulman, and he would have thought himself lost if he had believed me guilty of confid. ing in a musulman. i revealed who i was and what i was doing to four persons only in morocco: samuel ben semhoun, a jew of fas; the hajj bu rhim, a musulman of tisint, who was a real friend to me; sidi edris; and a jew of debdu. to the two jews, mardochée and i agreed to make our disclosures together. to the two musulmans i alone made it, and mardochée was always ignorant of it. all four religiously kept my secret, rendered me a thousand services, and it only remains for me to congratulate myself for having trusted them and to feel a lively gratitude towards them." the explorer 49 him, and he does not fear us; he can do us no harm, and we can do him none.' having asked him whether muley el hasen was loved: no, he is grasping and avaricious.' (this was, word for word, what was told me at fas). sidi edris intends to come and see me at algiers and in france, and makes me promise to return later on to abu-el-jad; that if i come back as a turk, he will put me up in his house, and we shall spend pleasant weeks there, and i shall travel about as much as i wish. he entrusts me with the letter he has given me: if the sultan had any knowledge of it, he would have my tongue cut out and my hand cut off.' i ask him if his father s. omar knows that he has written it. yes, it was s. omar who inspired it, and it was he who told his son to behave to me as he had done; but the secret remains between s. omar and s. edris: they had not confided it to sidi ben daud, 'because he is rather old.' 'how rich this country would be if the french were governing it!' my companion was always saying, as he gazed on the fertile plains which spread out at our feet. 'if the french come here, will they make me kaïd,' he once added. "the belief in a coming invasion by the french was the cause of the reception i had at abu-el-jad. the marabouts received me well because they took me for a spy. in the greater part of morocco, it is believed that before long france will seize muley el hasan's empire, and they are preparing for this event, and already the great are seeking to assure themselves of our favour. the favours with which sidi ben daud's family loaded me and the letter entrusted to me, are a proof of the state of mind of the highest persons in morocco. "do they dread this expected french domination? the great lords, the traders, the groups oppressed by the sultan or by powerful neighbours would accept it without displeasure. to them it represents an increase of riches, the establishment of railways (a thing very much desired), peace, security; in a word, a regular and protective government. 99 eleven years later, charles de foucauld, who had become a priest travelling in the sahara, to his great astonishment received the following letter, signed by a young marabout, who had become chief of the zauïa: "casablanca, “august 16, 1904. "i desire excessively to hear from you, for i have no good news of you for a long while, though i am very 4 50 charles de foucauld interested in hearing of you. lately, i asked the french consul here about you. he told me that you are in jerusalem in the holy land in the honest service of god, and that you have sacrificed your time to the eternal. 66 i congratulate you, and i am certain that the world no longer interests you: and this is essential for the present and the future. be good enough to write to the french ambassador at tangier, to tell him of my work and endeavours with you during your stay here. this is to get the ambassador to write to the french consul to let him know of my fidelity towards you. 66 thanking you sincerely in anticipation, and again congratulating you on the good state to which you have attained. for ever your devoted servant, "hajj-driss-el-sherkaui. abu-el-jad, where i was with you in the kabil tadla journey." the letter was addressed "à l'officier foukou," and handed, at algiers, to commandant lacroix, who filled in the address. 66 "" after leaving abu-el-jad, charles de foucauld was escorted by one of the grandsons of sidi ben daud, and that for as long as the travellers were in the tadla. they kept going to the south and through dangerous regions. during a stay at tikirt, he studied the very different political régimes of the tribes dwelling in the independent countries to the north of the great atlas range, or to the south of the mountains. in the former, the government was democratic, each section of the tribe governed by an assembly in which each family was represented. in general there were no laws, and, when the clans of the same tribe were not agreed, each followed its own will or caprice, and the dispute was sometimes settled by shooting. to the south of mt. atlas, there was also a kind of democratic state, but the tribes were not always isolated, and between them, there were bonds of seigniory and vassalage. all these kinds of local polities are explained in the reconnaissance au maroc, with an abundance of details and nice distinctions which prove the cleverness of the inquirer and the richness of his notebooks. a little farther on he describes the three mountain-chains of the great, middle, and lesser atlas. after these dry pages, and when he leaves tikirt to go to tisint, the poet the explorer 51 reappears, always keeping himself well in hand, but taking pleasure in painting in a few lines these gardens of the oasis, and, beneath the shade of the palm-trees, the land divided in squares, watered by a thick tangle of canals, and covered with maize, millet, and vegetables. they are spots of happiness between the most wild, bare, and desolate of landscapes. he goes as far as to write : a charming spot, and made for none but the happy." 66 66 in his journey to the south, he reaches the region of the saharan morocco, via tanzida and tisint. the description which he gives of the southern landscape, as seen from the tisint oasis, is, i think, the most finished picture that he brought back from his exploratory journey: on entering tisint, one steps into a new world. here, for the first time, the eye looks to the south without seeing a single mountain. the region to the south of bani is one immense plain, now white, now brown, with its stony solitudes stretching far away out of sight; an azure streak limits it on the horizon and separates it from the sky: it is the slope of the left bank of the dra. beyond commences the hammada. this scorched plain has no other vegetation than a few stunted gum-trees, no other relief than the narrow chains of rocky and broken hills twisting about like fragments of serpents. alongside of the dismal desert are the oases, with their wonderful vegetation, their forests of evergreen palm-trees, their ksars full of comfort and riches. working in the gardens, stretched nonchalantly in the shadow of the walls, squatting at the house-doors, chatting and smoking, are seen a numerous population of blackfaced men, very dark harratin. first i am struck by their garments; all are dressed in indigo cottons, sudan materials. i am in a new climate; there is no winter. they sow in winter, reap in march; the air is never cold; above my head the sky is ever blue." charles de foucauld stops only two days at tisint. he is the object of the most lively curiosity. "all the hajjs, familiar with the things and peoples of distant countries, wished to see me. once more, i recognized the excellent effects of the pilgrimage (of mecca). from the fact alone that i came from algeria, where they had been received well, all gave me the best welcome. ševeral, i knew later on, suspected that i was a christian; they did not say a word, understanding better perhaps than i the dangers into which their talk might throw me. one amongst them, the hajj bu rhim, eventually became my true friend, and rendered me the most signal services, saving me from the 52 charles de foucauld greatest perils." long excursions in the south, to tatta, to the mader and to akka, filled the following month. home from these two excursions, foucauld thought of regaining algeria, recrossing the inhospitable rif, the western approach of which had been forbidden him at the start. he could not undertake such an adventure without powerful protection, and once more he turned southwards to pay a visit to sidi abd allah, a person of mark, living at mrimima. no doubt this man would provide him with the necessary guides. but the stranger had no sooner entered sidi abd allah's house than the report spread that he was a christian and laden with gold. immediately two bands of robbers lay in ambush in the mountains, and set about watching for this excellent and easy prey. foucauld was kept in sight by the sons of his host. in this danger, he wrote a letter to his friend the hajj bu rhim, and gave it to a beggar. "at 7 a.m. next day there is a great stir in the village. a troop of twenty-five foot soldiers and two troopers arrive suddenly, and go straight into the courtyard. it is the hajj coming to take me. he received my note that night. he got up at once and ran to his brothers and relations; each armed himself and joined him with his servants; they set out on march, and here they are." half an hour later he was delivered and left mrimima. but the unreasonable demands and successive robberies of which he had been the victim had so reduced his resources that, when he had got back in tisint and made up his accounts, he recognized that it was impossible for him to undertake the return journey without renewing his supply of money. mogador, to the north-west on the atlantic coast, was the nearest town, in which there were europeans. there he must go. foucauld confided his project to his friend the hajj. the latter agreed to accompany the traveller to mogador, wait for him there, and bring him back to tisint. mardochée, on the contrary, was to remain in that village. they were to join him later on. they had to start at night with the greatest secrecy, so as not to be attacked and robbed. this departure from tisint for the atlantic coast took place on january 9, 1884. from mrimima, and just at one of the really perilous hours of his journey, charles de foucauld had written to his sister mary. it was not the first time he had written to her. how, by whom, was this note brought? it was written on a little square of paper, folded and refolded, so as not to show more surface than a receipt stamp. i do not the explorer 53 know. some caravan must have taken charge of it. the letter was received; it was dated from the zauia of sidi abd allah umbarek, january 1. "a happy new year, my good mimi; if only i could let you know this day that i am well and in no danger! if you knew how sad i am at the thought of your probably not having heard from me for so long, and being uneasy about my fate, so that this day, which is a holiday for so many, is sadder for you than other days! at this time, when everyone receives letters from relations and friends, you alone receive none from the only very near one you have in the world. i know how sad you must be, and how full your heart must be. but perhaps i am mistaken: god grant it! perhaps some of my letters have reached you. if you get this letter, my good mimi, be of good cheer, don't be anxious. i run no risk and shall run none until my arrival. the road is long, but it is not at all dangerous. if the bad weather, which has delayed my going for the last month and a half, continues, i shall take three good months to get back. if i find the roads easy, two will be enough. god grant that it may be so, and that i shall soon be again with you. . . .” 99 at mogador, where he arrived on january 28, after having, for three and a half hours, travelled through “a vast forest overshadowing immense grazing fields," he went straight to the french consulate, where he found himself in presence of a jewish secretary and translator, called zerbib, who was working in the offices. "i should like to see the french consul, to cash a cheque on the bank of england. i am the vicomte de foucauld, officer of the french cavalry." the other, eyeing this dirty and tattered pedestrian from head to foot, and knowing the dodges of such cadgers received him very badly. "go and sit outside with your back to the wall: you can't see the consul in that rig." charles de foucauld went and lay down near the wall, and remained there some time. then he came back to zerbib: "give me a little water, and please show me a spot to undress and wash in." while he was stripping in a shed close by, someone looked through the keyhole. it was zerbib. to his great astonishment, he saw this tramp was the bearer of a number of surveying instruments hidden in the pockets or folds of his clothes, deposited one after the other on the ground. 54 charles de foucauld "after all," he said to himself, "i may be mistaken, and he may be telling the truth." he goes at once and informs his superior. the vicomte de foucauld is shown in to m. moutel, chancellor of the consulate. the first question he puts to the latter is this: "have you received the letters for my family which i addressed here?" alas! of all the letters that he had written, the last eight months, not one had yet come to hand. he therefore writes without further delay to his sister marie, telling her first that he has never been a minute ill, and has never risked the least danger. this assertion was not quite true. he added that of the 6,000 francs which he had at his disposal for the journey, 4,000 were spent, and that he had left in reserve 2,000 francs, which he now comes for. "in setting out, i told you i shall remain a year. at the bottom of my heart, i thought of remaining at most six months. i told you double so that you might not be anxious in case my absence was prolonged; and you see the time i gave you turns out right. my journey has lasted very nearly a year. it is now eight months since i set out. i am going to spend about a month here, waiting for news from you and money, then i shall again set out for the south, and return to algeria, if it please god, by the following route: mezquita, dadis, todra, ferkla, ksabi-eshsheurfa, the course of the wady-muluya, debdu, ujda, from where i shall re-enter french territory by lallamarnia; all that will take me two months and a half. as soon as i get back to algeria, how happy, my dear mimi, shall i be to take the steamer and hasten to you! ་་ "from the geographical point of view, my journey goes on very well: my instruments are in good condition; none of them got out of order; i have visited new countries, and bring back, i believe, some useful information. from the moral point of view, it is very sad; always alone, never a friend, never a christian to speak to. . . . if you knew how much i am thinking of you, of our happy days of the past with grandfather, and of those we spent together with my aunt; and how all these thoughts absorb one when one is as isolated as i have just been. it is, above all, christmas and new year's day which seemed to me so sad. i remembered grandfather and the christmas-tree, and all the good times of our childhood. and on new year's day, it is for you i was sorry. . . . and yet i did not know that none of my letters had reached you! i sent you some by special messenger, i sent you some by caravans : the explorer 55 each time i found an opportunity to send off a word, i seized it eagerly; and nothing got through. my poor mimi, how pleased you will be to hear from me, and how happy i shall be to hear from you! i fear but one thing: it is that you will beg me to end my journey and return immediately. i pray you to be sensible: relatively i shall want only a very little time to end it, and then i shall have made a fine journey, and finished what i meant to do. when you start with saying what you are going to do you must not come back without having done it. at the end of the letter, charles de foucauld explains how the money is to be sent to tangier, where a banker will write to one of his colleagues in mogador, and the traveller will be able to set out again. "" "" other letters to his sister relate, with charm and vivacity, the life he is leading at mogador; it is not an idle life or simply repose. "i am up to my neck in my longitudes,' he writes on february 8. "i work from morning to night, and a part of the night. this is a hundred times more thrilling than the journey itself, for there lies the result. if it is not good, then eight months of toil and trouble have been thrown away; but i hope it will be presentable. here i am marvellously placed for work. i lodge in a boarding hotel arranged in european fashion, but kept by spanish jews; i have a suitable room, in which i stay all day long, and in the evening dine in it. i go out only once a day, to lunch at the house of the only frenchman in mogador, m. moutel, chancellor of the consulate (the consul is absent). every day i am very pleased to find myself once more, for two or three hours, in a french home. .. • "" : "february 14.-i spend my time in the most routine manner in the world: from 7 o'clock to 11 in the morning i work from 11 to 1 o'clock, i go and lunch at the chancellor's; at 1 i get back to work; at 7 o'clock i dine at my hotel. then i go back and work till 1 o'clock in the morning. as to visits, i pay none, since there is nobody to see; i receive one each day from the negro who commands the escort which accompanied me. don't fancy this is enormous. at the start it was three men, and now is no more than two; the third, who was a slave of the said negro, was latterly sold by his master. those that remain are patiently, or rather a little_impatiently, waiting for the time of my starting again. every day the chief, the negro, a sheikh of tisint, comes to report the condition of the men and mules, and what he has done, and to take his 56 charles de foucauld money for the day: it means a chat and a lesson in 'arabic. . . . i am very anxious not to be too much noticed, so that the moroccan government may not get wind of my projects, and seek to put obstacles in my way: its policy has long been to prevent europeans by every possible means from travelling in the interior of the empire. ... "" "march 7, 1884.-letters are very behindhand, my good mimi. every minute i fancy i see a mail arrive; but nothing comes, always nothing. however, it is thirty-five days to-day since my first letters left. . . . i am still staying at the same jewish hotel. . . . the french colony is not very numerous here: the consul, the chancellor and his wife, a merchant and his wife, an anglican missionary, nationalized french, and an alsatian doctor. the missionary is a very agreeable and well-bred man. he is married and has almost always european friends in his house. at present a very handsome young english lady is there, who speaks french perfectly. i find it very pleasant to go from time to time and spend the evening in this house, where i hear the lac and l'envoi de fleurs sung, which reminds me of a very happy time: but it is already far however, as soon as your letters arrive, i shall be off at a gallop towards the south." away. . in a letter charles de foucauld pretends that he cannot draw. if you open the reconnaissance au maroc, you will find on the title-page: with four full-page and a hundredand-one other illustrations from the author's sketches. these sketches, a few pen-strokes, but composed with a very sure feeling for landscape, and drawn with an evident scruple for exactitude, add singularly to the beauty of the work, and afford play to the imagination. doubtless, we would like to see the colour of these rocks, mountains, this desert and those palm-trees on the bank of a wady, but, however imperfect a simple line illustration may be, it helps to guide our eyes, which arouse memory and fill it with light. the money having come, foucauld sets off again with the hajj bu rhim from mogador for tisint on march 14, 1884, by a different way to that which he had taken in going there. reaching the wady-sus to the south of agadir, he follows the right bank of the river some way off: "i shall see it all day long, winding among tamarisks, surrounded by cultivation, with tall olive-trees shading its the explorer 57 course, and two rows of villages arranged in a zig-zag along its banks. the river, with its border of fields, trees, and houses, forms a wide green band unwinding through the middle of the plain, about 35 feet below the general level. a slope with an angle of 45° unites the hollow to the surrounding land. i go to the north of the slope, in the sus plain. it is an immense surface, smooth as a mirror, of red earth without a stone. it spreads between the great and lesser atlas. . . . here its width is 40 kilometres. . . . the valley of the sus does not vary during the three days that i go up it; a plain of marvellous fertility, enclosed between two long chains, one of which, less lofty and with uniform ridges, borders the horizon on the south by a brown line, whilst the other, shooting into the clouds, raises above the country the bluish flanks and white tops of its gigantic masses perpendicularly. . . ." on march 31, the traveller was back in the tisint region, where rabbi mardochée was waiting for him. he did not immediately proceed to the north-east. no one would agree to accompany him into the country which he first sought to enter: he was obliged to go back by tazendakht. we know henceforth what was charles de foucauld's manner of travelling, the endurance and courage he showed, and how fine a mind as scholar and poet he showed in writing his memoranda. i have therefore only to note a few names, on this return journey, so soon finished. from tazendakht, he went to mezquita, then to dadis, then to ksabi-esh-sheurfa. on the way, he was detained for two days by heavy rains. on may 8 he forded the muluya, apparently the widest stream that he crossed, since the reconnaissance au maroc notes here a width of over 100 feet and a depth of 4 feet. the last stages brought him to debdu, the first place carrying on regular trade with algeria. the traveller had not a centime. fortunately he was only a four days' ride from lalla-marnia. he sold his mules, thus procuring the wherewithal to hire others, and, starting from ujda at 7 a.m. on may 23, arrived on french territory at 10, and soon after in lalla-marnia, where he left mardochée. after the reconnaissance au maroc, charles de foucauld wrote a second part, which he entitled "information," with the methodical mind that is so striking in the actual telling of his travels. in this wholly scientific part are assembled the details that the traveller was able to observe 58 charles de foucauld or collect about the rivers and their tributaries; the tribes and their divisions; the number of guns and horses at their disposal; the routes, those which he had followed and those which he was told about, with notes of the duration of the stages: a sort of guide-book used, and still in use, by the leaders of our troops operating in morocco. towards the end is an appendix on the jews of morocco, a social and statistical study; then the list of astronomical observations made in the course of the journey, the table of latitudes and longitudes, the meteorological observations, and an index of the geographical names contained in the volume and the atlas. a year after the return of charles de foucauld to french territory, on april 24, 1885, at the paris société de géographie a report was read by duveyrier on the reconnaissance au maroc, of which he had studied the manuscript. "in eleven months, from the 20th of june, 1883, to the 23rd of may, 1884, a single man, the vicomte de foucauld, has doubled, at least, the length of carefully surveyed itineraries in morocco. he went over again and perfected 689 kilometres of the works of his predecessors, and added 2,250 other kilometres to them. as to astronomic geography, he has determined 45 longitudes and 40 latitudes; and where we only possessed a few dozen altitudes, he has brought back 3,000. you must see that we have to thank m. de foucauld for opening what is indeed a new era, and one does not know which is to be most admired, these fine and useful results, or the self-sacrifice, courage, and ascetic abnegation, thanks to which this young french officer has obtained them." duveyrier indicates afterwards which are the parts of the journey that may justly bear the name of discoveries; they are numerous and important. he proves that the vicomte de foucauld's observations have corrected by a full degree to the west the direction of the course of the dra, as shown on the map of the german doctor rohlfs. lastly, he announced, in finishing his report, that the société de géographie conferred the first of its gold medals on the young explorer. in our curtailed account of it the journey may appear to be comparatively easy. in reality, it presented all sorts of difficulties and dangers. although, on this last point, charles de foucauld has been very sparing in details, and has elsewhere voluntarily omitted many troublesome incidents which delayed or hastened his journey, it is easy, in going through the reconnaissance au maroc, to point out numerous occasions where the energy, endurance, and skill the explorer 59 of the french officer were put to proof. for instance, on october 26, 1883, the chief of a caravan met on the road proposes to the escort to help him to loot the traveller and share the booty. on april 7, 1884, charles de foucauld's host tells him that he receives him willingly on the recommendation of a friend, but that if he, abd allah, or his sons, had found this jew in the country, with so feeble an escort, they would undoubtedly have robbed him. on may 12, the traveller, who was taking notes and riding at the head of the caravan, is suddenly shot at from behind, thrown off his mount by two of his guides, who rob him of his money and all the objects which appear to them of any value. still more, for a day and a half these robbers pressed the third guide to let them kill charles de foucauld, who did not miss a word they said. it must be added, to the honour of the rabbi mardochée, that he there and then went to the help of his companion; but he was quickly thrust aside. these few incidents, others that i have cited, and others that may be guessed between the lines; but, above all, his tenacity in following up his route, in spite of all kinds of obstacles; his refusal to interrupt his journey at mogador and return directly to france; his patience in presence of insults; his fidelity to take daily, on march or in repose, always at the risk of his life, notes and sketches; his quickness in discerning the secret dispositions of minds so different from his own; such strength of will in moral solitude, so austere a diet, such unremitting work-reveal in this young man a mastery over self, such as the past hardly foretold. he, himself, recognized it later on, and said that the eight months' campaign against bu amama had changed him very much. the great exploration of morocco will, as we shall see, change him still more deeply. what must be said in finishing this chapter is that charles de foucauld will never forget morocco. once, he will seem on the point of returning there: he will rejoice in his heart at the thought of going freely over this country to which france has at last come, and, along with her, a hope of improvement, of justice and friendship for the people "seated in the shadow of death." soon the project of a mission that he had neither inspired nor hastened was abandoned, and fell along with the good political intentions which have found no man strong enough to defend them. but all his life, the officer, become a priest, will remain "at the disposal of morocco "; in 1901 he will settle down, 60 charles de foucauld almost on the frontier of this state; he will note in his memorandum-book, with a happiness that may be guessed, the visits he has received from moroccans; in his conversations, in his letters, above all in his prayers in which the unfortunates of so many nations will find a place, he will not cease to name morocco. he will feel for the tribes which he visited, for the known and unknown of this land of his youth, renewed and increasing friendship. for it is not only the geographer, the clear-eyed artist, the frenchman always thinking of the call of france, who will love the maghreb empire; it will be the priest moved by a fraternal compassion, and who will write on a december evening: "for some time i have been thinking so much about morocco, of that morocco where ten million inhabitants have neither priest nor altar; where christmas night will pass without mass and without prayers.' 1 foreign geographers, and specially the english, have appreciated, in a suitable manner, the exploration undertaken by vicomte de foucauld and the account which he has given of it. i would give many quotations. i reproduce only these lines written by one of the most competent judges, mr. budgett meakin : "it is a real satisfaction to have these magnificent volumes in one's hands. they relate the most important and most remarkable journey that a european has for a century or more undertaken to morocco. no modern traveller has approached m. de foucauld, from the double point of view of the precision of the observations and the preparation for the journey. besides the work accomplished by him, the attempts of other travellers have been but child's play" (extract from the compte rendu du congrès de géographie d'oran, april, 1902). the paris société de géographie possesses three books of drawings by vicomte de foucauld, lead-pencil drawings, done during the journey in morocco. these number 135. the day on which the gold medal was awarded to him by this society, the explorer was in algiers, and the reporter, duveyrier, was travelling in morocco. the medal was handed to vicomte de bondy, charles de foucauld's cousin. chapter iv his conversion the he first months, after the return from morocco, were almost entirely spent in algeria. charles de foucauld did not at once begin to compile and write the book for which he brought back the materials: he verified his notes, deciphered them if necessary, consulted his friends-in a word, prepared the work that he was to do a little later in paris. he made a few stops in france, some visiting tours and looking people up, but his "headquarters," his papers, library, and habits continued to be what they were before the great journey. at one moment, it might even be thought that the explorer was going to get married in algeria. a young girl had taken his fancy. she was of a good family, and he came from far. he wrote to paris, where he found little encouragement. i don't know whether he was badly smitten and what opposition he had. but when he had made another excursion to france, in the summer of 1885, and lived some time near bordeaux, at his aunt's, madame moitessier, in the château du tuguet, he gave up the idea. he was called to quite other destinies; he thus helped them forward without knowing it. a higher will has him in its grip. it urges him on to action, lashes him, and leads him on towards a hidden goal. the call of the desert makes itself heard once more. from the beginning of september, charles has been at nice, at his brother-in-law's, m. de blic, the confidant of his thoughts. what are they? do you not guess? he is going to set out again: naturally, he is going south. he wants to visit the oases and the shotts of algeria and tunis. it may be only the prelude to a greater journey. i know an intimate friend of his who believes that the explorer's secret intention was to investigate the means and find the best startingpoint for crossing the sahara. henceforth who can tell? foucauld hardly gave any intimation of his plans and did not talk about his recollections. on the eve of undertaking this "excursion," as he used to say, in the regions of the shotts, he now and then saw his sister's uneasy looks directed towards him. "fear nothing," he used to reply, "no harm will happen to me: with care one can go anywhere." 61 62 charles de foucauld on september 14, he embarked at port-vendres for algiers. a few weeks earlier he had written to his friend de vassal, who was at el-golea, begging him to get two camels and two horses, and to engage an arab servant for the expedition. the route in all its parts is not known to us. we only know that foucauld, passing through the south of the province of oran, visited laghuat, then, going still more to the south, the oasis of ghardaïa and the inhospitable mzab, where he was one day to return in the habit of a monk, and to win the sympathy of a people hostile beyond all others to christians: then el-golea, wargla, where lieutenant cauvet was officer in charge (at the end of november, 1885); tuggurt: the region of jerid, between the shott el-gharsa and the shott el-jerid. an immense journey through desolate countries, where one must travel many days and sleep many nights, before perceiving, paled by the blinding light, a palm-grove's dash of green. if you try to follow it on the atlas, you will find few names printed between the above-mentioned. but what do they indicate? not villages, as in europe, or running rivers, but dunes, stony expanses, fossil rivers, dried-up quagmires where, among the salt deposits of the evaporated waters, a few tufts of reddened or grey grass live with difficulty; a well; the uncertain habitat of a wandering tribe. we know, moreover, that charles de foucauld, in love with solitude, already affianced to her, often leaves his native servant and baggage behind, and steals off, until he no longer sees anything around him but the desert. he thus more than once went two days ahead. he used to eat what he had in his pockets. at night he lay down on the ground, and gazed for a long time at the stars. perhaps training himself to do without sleep. perhaps the religious crisis which i am going to relate kept him awake, questioning, waiting for the breath of god, which fills the heart better in darkness and silence. he loved scenery, and therefore the starry heavens, the grandest of all. in the morning he saddled his tethered horse, joined his arab servant, took food enough for a day or two, and went off again. having crossed southern algeria, from west to east, he must naturally end on the tunisian coast. the last oasis he visited was, in fact, the warm and hidden oasis of gabes, quite close to the shore, where barley and vegetables grow 'under the bushes, and the bushes beneath the shade of high palms. from there he embarked for france. 1 1 his conversion 63 back in nice, on january 23, 1886, after more than four months' absence, charles rested until february 19. at that date he left his brother-in-law and sister, came and settled down in paris, where he took a small apartment at no. 50, rue de miromesnil. the period which opens belongs to work and the family circle. the family, far from which he had lived for a long time, received him intelligently and delightfully. there was nothing but joy: no sermons or reproaches, and no wish put forward. he was fêted and they were proud of him; he saw the most select and thoughtful society of paris. men, whose ascent to power had made them famous without compromising them, conversed in his presence of the religious and political affairs of france. they were christians who made no mystery of their faith. charles met them every week. gentle feminine influences were all about him; he lived in the intimacy of relations who reminded him of his mother, and from whom he received, without their knowing it, a perpetual example of wit, grace, and wholesome gaiety and piety. they were the countess armand de foucauld, mother of louis de foucauld, the future military attaché in berlin; and madame moitessier and her two daughters, the countess de flavigny and the countess de bondy. inés de foucauld, charles's aunt, a person of great beauty, painted twice by ingres,' had married m. moitessier, a native of mirecourt, who had made a considerable fortune as an importer of tobacco. she lived in a fine mansion, 42, rue d'anjou, at the corner of boulevard malesherbes, where she received a great deal of company. very intelligent, endowed with a will of the foucaulds, which goes where it wants to go; very much a woman of the world; marvellously skilled in the art of making others appreciated and desired, of appearing interested in discussions she did not quite understand, of starting them again if they languished, marking by a word or smile what she did not approve, without ever offending-she had held the political salon of one of the youngest ministers we have had, louis buffet, her husband's nephew, who was minister at the age of thirty. louis buffet; aimé buffet his brother, an inspector of bridges and roads; estancelin, duc de broglie, had remained the intimates of the house. some were invited of right, and there were others. charles was one of those at all madame moitessier's "sunday at homes." in addition to that, he used to go to the rue 1 these two fine portraits were exhibited in paris among others of ingres in may, 1921. one of them is dated 1851, the other 1856. 64 charles de foucauld d'anjou several times a week to dine at 6 o'clock, of course always in evening-dress. when he got home to the rue de miromesnil, he undressed, put on a gandourah, soft leather slippers, enfolded himself in a burnous, put a cushion under his head, and lay on a carpet. one of the remarkable particularities of charles de foucauld's room was that no bed was seen there. there was none. the furniture was that of a man of taste, who had had ancestors in the history of france, and who dreams of the east. on the walls water-colours and pen sketches of landscapes in morocco hung beside family portraits painted by largillière: here and there were suspended arms and stuffs, brought back from algeria. the book-case did not contain a great number of books, but the greater number were rare ones or elegant editions. shut up all day, charles used to write, delete or correct, consult his notes and put together the solid and magnificent book which was to make his name known to all the geographers in the world and even in other circles. if he was puzzled or had to look up something, he left his work-table and went to a public library, or to duveyrier's. duveyrier was celebrated at the age of twenty since then he had lived in the glory of his past, incapable of renewing it. in 1860, when young men are still but b.a.'s, uncertain of the road to choose, already a botanist, geologist, versed in oriental languages, thoroughly civilized, marvellously endowed for meeting and winning barbarians, he made the then perilous journey from laghuat to el-golea. imprisoned by the inhabitants of el-golea, then delivered, he only made use of his liberty to plunge into the dread unknown of the sahara, to visit the south of tunis, a part of tripoli and the territory of the azjers, the most oriental, and also the most hostile of all the tuareg tribes. the book he then wrote very justly made him famous; but prostrated by illness, and hence condemned to be no more than an adviser on the sahara, duveyrier suffered, not only from being unable to start afresh and make new discoveries and increase his reputation, but from seeing france lessened in 1871, and as it were diffident of her powers. he never lost his recollection. of the work he had done, but could not continue it. he received his rival, the explorer of morocco, affectionately, and began to travel again, but in a way he did not like: on maps, in books, in his own memories, and in those of others. slowly, the innumerable documents brought back by foucauld turned into science and life. not without some his conversion 65 astonishment can one witness this transformation in the habits of the former lieutenant of pont-à-mousson and sétif. whence does it come? principally from an ambition that had taken possession of him, and which he served with that tense and restless will which was the original mark of charles de foucauld, and, it may be said, of his race. after the publication of the book which he wrote after the excursion to the shotts, he had resolved to undertake other great journeys. he did not speak of his plans to anybody, but his mind was often busy with them. another thought haunted and disturbed it. 66 i said that charles de foucauld had been deeply moved, during his sojourn in algeria and morocco, by the perpetual invocation of god among those around him. their calls to prayer, the prostrations five times a day towards the east, the name of allah unceasingly repeated in conversations or writings, all the religious pomp of musulman life, led him to say to himself: "and here am i without religion!" for the jews prayed also, and to the same god as the arabs or the moroccans. the vices which had corrupted the mind or heart of these men had not prevented their meditative witness from feeling the grandeur of faith. again in algeria, he had even said to a few of his friends: 'i am thinking of becoming a musulman." words of feeling, which reason had not ratified. on the first examination, it appeared to him, as he confided to one of his intimate friends, that the religion of mahomet could not be the true one, "being too material." but the uneasiness remained. blessed be it! for it is a proof of superiority in him who experiences it, a great event in the order of grace, the blessed sign that a soul is going to find the way again. this young man, born in catholicism, lacked a good understanding of this magnificent, divine and sound religion, and any such sense of its transcendence to return to it without hesitation as soon as the tyranny of matter weighed too heavily upon him. he was, in truth, sad at the bottom of his heart, with an old sadness. live a life of pleasure as he would, it had only increased. it had held him, as he confessed when he wrote: "silent and overwhelmed at so-called fêtes." since then, it had neither been dispelled by man's science, nor by action, nor by success and fame. now he had certainly submitted to the discipline of work, and hence felt better than in the past, but not disburdened of his faults, not what he ought to be, morally very far from those dear ones whom he saw living in his own united and happy family. 5 66 charles de foucauld he read a great deal. but a great secret cowardice is in us when it is a question of taking up a rule of life which we know to be strict and repressive. we seek approximations in order not to have to come to the ideal of perfection, and trembling nature makes us take counsel with men rather than with god, because we know that god is exacting. it was thus that charles de foucauld, in the intervals of writing the reconnaissance au maroc, used to consult pagan philosophers, and question them upon duty, the soul, and the life to come. he thought their answers were poor. they are necessarily so. unguided reason does not go far in the problem of creation and destiny. charles's mind was too clear to be satisfied with the noise of words and the brilliancy of images. he also knew that the philosophy of ancient times had purified nothing, softened nothing, brought no consolation, and doubtless he would have returned to the maxim of absolute scepticism he had learnt at college: "man cannot know the truth," if the sight of the chosen little society in which he again found himself had not each day shaken the fragile authority of this inference. the probity, delicacy, and charity which had become habitual and in a manner natural, the joy also of the consciences around him which were not hidden from him, but which he could read, constantly forced him to return to himself. "here are," he said to himself, "men and women, all cultivated, some of quite superior intelligence, and since they entirely accept the catholic faith, may it not be true? they have studied it, they live it fully. and what do i, indeed, know of it? honestly, do i know catholicism ?" mere anxiety about such things is itself a prayer, and god was hearkening to it. a few pages of a christian book which he had opened after so many others, in a moment of anguish-i do not know what it was-began to enlighten this unbeliever, who had sought perfect beauty and infinite tenderness wherever they were not. probably his aunt, cousins, and sister, who came several times to see him in paris, and whom he loved tenderly, had some suspicion of the interior work which was leading a stray heart and mind to the truth. they did not hurry it on by any human means. they were good and kind, they followed the straight path, they prayed. it was by chance that one evening, at madame moitessier's, charles met abbé huvelin, who had long been a friend of many of the de foucaulds. being very humble, very simple, very much a man of prayer and mysticism, this old normal scholar his conversion 67 made a great impression on the man who was one day to resemble him. what did he say that evening? it is quite certain he did not try to be smart. if he had wit, it was because he could not help having it. friendships like that about to spring up between charles de foucauld and him have not their origin in words, nor in the brilliancy of talent, nor in the will to conquer. an unbeliever, who had also lived badly, finds himself in presence of another man, not only believing and chaste, but now a man of prayer, and the essence of pity for man's immense frailty and suffering; perhaps even more, perhaps one of the victims who are said to offer themselves in secret to god for suffering to make reparation for the evil, and to alleviate the punishment of others. these two men may only have exchanged commonplace remarks; may only have bowed, then looked at each other five or six times that evening. that was enough: they recognized and waited for one another; in their hearts henceforth they called this meeting a great event. the one thought: "you are religion itself"; the other: "brother, unhappy brother, i am but a poor man, but god is very kind. he is seeking your soul's salvation." they never forgot one another. abbé huvelin, born in 1838, was therefore, in 1886, still a young man, although he hardly appeared so; the penitent life which he led from his youth, and which had made his comrades of the école normale smile or stirred them; the fatigue of being and of having been at the mercy of all sorrows in quest of easing, of all human restlessness seeking a decision; illness also, a sort of general rheumatism which already afflicted him, left him little but the youth of a quick mind and a very tender heart. his head leant upon his shoulder, and his face was full of wrinkles; walking was often a torture to him. in paris, this curate at saint augustine's had a tremendous clientèle of penitents, innumerable friends, and, what further singularly added to the complications of his life, a reputation for sanctity. holiness is the most powerful attraction for drawing souls together. his had promptly revealed itself in the conferences which he gave to young men, from 1875, on the history of the church. in spite of his protestations, he had seen women in great numbers, and men whose youth one of his maxims was this: "one does good much less by what one does or says, than by what one is." see l'enseignement catholique dans la france contemporaine, by mgr. baudrillart, bloud et cie., 1918. 68 charles de foucauld was over, mix with the public for which his conferences in the crypt were first arranged. he spoke also in the parish pulpit, and they thronged to hear the talks of one who did not make a recitation, did not seek to astonish, but improvised on a theme always thoroughly prepared, pouring forth an exuberant wit in living and natural language, prudent in doctrine, bold in what he had to say, abundant in reminiscences of literature or history, a man of digressions, parentheses, exclamations, and unexpected flashesabove all, a man with a long experience of the world and of mercy. hence he was near each of his hearers: hence he was their sure and wished-for friend. his pity for sinners, one may say his tenderness for them, touched the most indifferent. they felt that he wished them better so that they might be happier, and that he was always thinking, for those who hardly reflected about it, of the definite hour at which they would appear before god, when they would be judged, condemned in their unhappiness without hope of dying, for death does not exist, even for a moment; all we have is two lives. the extreme zeal of abbé huvelin, the steps he took, the visits he paid and those he received, his immense correspondence-short, affectionate, and clear notes the increase of austerity, proof of which is forthcoming at certain periods, though we cannot exactly tell why: all this is explained by his love for souls in danger. for yet another reason, and a very powerful one, he was a counsellor to whom people resorted at once he understood human suffering. he sympathized with it; whatever it was, he had already met and heard and helped it. for him no aspect of it was unknown. of it he said, simplifying a phrase of bossuet's and stripping off its seventeenth-century majesty: "we get a charm from sorrow. in the same spirit he thus defined the church: "the church is a widow." this saying to a society woman is also his : "long ago i found out how to be happy." "how?" "" "by abstaining from pleasures." but to give a better understanding of how far such words go, i must quote others, and shall do so from one of his hearers. at the same time we shall hear the orator speak. it will be no hors-d'œuvre, since we are speaking with the priest who is to convert charles de foucauld and turn him into father de foucauld.¹ 1 i owe this inestimable passage to vicomte de montmorand. his conversion 69 "jesus is the man of sorrows, because he is the son of man, and man is but sorrow. sorrow accompanies us from birth to death; it purifies and ennobles us, it gives us charm. it is because it is our inseparable companion that jesus wished it to be his. "great souls-for the honour of humanity, we must have some to follow in the footsteps of christ-have called for and desired sorrow. they have said the fac me tecum plangere of the stabat mater. we have no such ambition; we only ask to accept sorrow with compunction and resignation, when it is offered. "far from us, above all, be those little sorrows, less easy to endure than the great ones, those wounds so paltry, so peevish, so venomous, wrought by the passions, and by self-love! it is the shame of mankind to suffer so much for so little. "jesus in the garden of olives. he is sorrowful even unto death. the apostles do not understand his sorrow; this divine sorrow is too far beyond them. to understand it, one must know what sin is. they knew it not, nor can we know it. "his attitude is not a greek attitude. he does not dominate his sadness, does not say, as a stoic would: 'sorrow, thou art but a word!' far from it! sorrow invaded him through every pore; it inundated his soul; it rose like a tide and submerged all the heights. "he prays, but his prayer is not the natural movement, the happy breathing of his soul; nor is it a flow of beautiful thoughts; it is a sob, a sob dying down into an amen. so be it!' is his whole prayer. his will, united, identified hitherto with that of the father, now for the first time seems something distinct. the load is too heavy: 'thou canst do all things: take away this chalice from me.' "he seeks help from the apostles and finds them asleep. one is alone in sadness when yearning for a word from the heart. friends come only in our hours of calm, or if they drop in during the storm, they don't say what should be said, or they wound by their want of tact or silliness. such were job's friends. "at last an angel comes to strengthen him: angelus confortavit eum. to strengthen, not to console him. grace is essentially strengthening, not consoling. . . . 99 i cannot quote more at length without going beyond my purpose. the above quotation and what i have said are enough to make us understand why all human miseries, all doubts, and all repentance went naturally to abbé huvelin. 70 charles de foucauld he heard confessions at saint augustine's, he received many people at home. what a robust and agile mind must this invalid and cripple have had, to form one idea after another of all the moral problems submitted to him, so as to study and solve them in a moment! but he was gifted with so sure a judgment that he unravelled all the cases, and with a vision so penetrating of the intimate dispositions of the persons who consulted him, that several attributed it to a singular grace of god. even circumstances are quoted in which he alluded to past and secret events in the life of his penitents. his advice was clear, simple, full of good sense, and he did not change it. he varied it according to persons. he did not treat bears as if they were swallows. more than once he was heard to say: "to some one has to say: 'you must submit to that!" in canonical decisions there is a force with which those who despise them have to reckon more fully than they think." this great specialist in spiritual direction was generally at home in the afternoon. people of all ages and classes, parisians and passing travellers, were to be met in his little antechamber. by turns they entered the next room, filled with books and papers, in which m. huvelin was sitting with a cat on his knees, and as resigned to the crowd as to illness. the visitors who had been introduced to him, even in the distant past, were sure to be recognized. he listened with all his faculties. as he was brief, he required them to be the same. his office was a hard one. he, though naturally gay, was very often seen to weep; he suffered with all the sorrows brought to him, with all the sins acknowledged to him, or that he divined in men's hearts. such was the priest eminent in holiness-that is to say, in the science of god and man-whom charles de foucauld had met late one summer's evening. they did not immediately see each other again. but in charles's soul the tide of grace was rising. one does not know whence it first comes. it is promised to men of good-will, or rather it is already given to them, and their good-will itself is its work. just when it looked a long way off, it has already covered the muddy background; it is cool; it brings the birds with it, and its waves, breaking one after another, all say: “you must believe, be pure, be joyous with the great joy of god, and get the light on the living waters." this dim stirring, this desire for illumination, he felt more and more strongly within him. between two walks or at nightfall, he might now be seen to go into a church; he would sit far from the altar, understanding neither what had drawn him in, nor his conversion 71 what held him there; and he would say none of his prayers of former days, but this, which went straight up to heaven : 66 my god, if you exist, make me know it!" one october evening, in one of those family talks, in which the mind and heart speak freely and without trying to find the way, when the children were playing round the table before going to bed, one of his cousins said to charles: "it appears that abbé huvelin will not go on with his conferences again; i regret it very much." "so do i," replied charles, "for i intended to follow them." the reply was not noticed. some days later he gravely said to his cousin : "you are fortunate to believe; i am seeking the light, and do not find it." between october 27 and 30, the next day after this conversation, abbé huvelin saw a young man enter his confessional without kneeling down. he simply bent forward and said: 66 abbé, i have not the faith, i have come to ask you to instruct me. "" m. huvelin looked at him. "kneel down, confess to god; you will believe." “but i did not come for that." "confess." the man who wanted to believe felt that pardon was for him the condition of light. he knelt down, and made a confession of all his life. when he saw the absolved penitent get up, the abbé added: "are you fasting?" 66 "" 'yes. "go to communion!" and charles de foucauld at once approached the holy table, and made his "second first communion." he did not speak of his conversion. it was by certain acts that it was gradually seen that the depths of his soul were changed. his life continued to be laborious; peace had returned to it, and was always transparently visible in his eyes, smile, voice or words. his letters, which never had ceased being affectionate, became grateful. the name of god often occurs in them. his life is silently remoulded on the recovered ideal. in this renewal all is profound, discreet, and simple. for instance, charles soon heard of the birth of a nephew, 72 charles de foucauld who became his godson: he set out for dijon, spent a few days with his sister and brother-in-law, and was no sooner back in paris than he sent them the thanks of a rejuvenated heart: "visits to you are very pleasant. they only have one fault: that one is surrounded with so much kindness and affection that one feels one's heart too poor to give back as much as one has received, and one fears never to love enough, never to show enough appreciation and gratitude. living in your home is not only most delightful, but also one gets better from inhaling its atmosphere of affection and calm. i hope soon to be able to return. in leaving you, i am thinking of nothing but the time of my return. i do not believe much in acting according to plans, but if i do not rely on my foresight, i preserve the hope that some unforeseen thing will bring me to you before long. "you know my work and ideas, and my vague thoughts as to the future: we spoke of them yesterday you will easily follow me from now until we see each other again. in leaving you, it is a very great joy for me to know all the places between which you will divide your time. in writing to you, i am near you in dijon: the day after to-morrow, i shall follow you to echalot; i shall hunt with you, i shall drag the wheelbarrow with maurice; i shall admire m. de blic's library; i shall warm myself en famille by the fireside. now that i know all your retreats, i am going to be very often and pleasantly with you." the manuscript of the reconnaissance au maroc was finished at the beginning of 1887, and, immediately, the printed proofs began to come in abundance to the rooms in rue de miromesnil: very laborious work for a scholar so careful about details, who wished his work to be in fulldress, as he was himself at the time of the cavalry school: a heavy expense for a budget which the journey to the shotts, ten excursions in france, and setting up in paris, had already burdened him. my income is enough for these unusual expenses, but only just; also, since my return from morocco, i have borrowed nothing whatever, but i have saved nothing. i desire to get rid of my legal guardian, whom i have had now for seven years. with this guardianship going on, i cannot think of any other journeys, and as my book is coming out, it is time to consider fresh expeditions." 66 1 at the end of 1887 and beginning of 1888, vicomte 1 letter to a friend, april 9, 1887. the guardian was removed in october, 1888. his conversion 73 de foucauld's works, itinéraires au maroc, reconnaissance au maroc, appeared among the booksellers. their success, as i have said, in the restricted_circle of geographers, scholars, and colonials, either in france or foreign countries, was very great. but, when a great book appears, the people who speak of it are of two sorts, and are like the moon with its halo: some read the famous pages and carry away with them fresh information and ideas; others get some brightness at any rate. they run through a few pages; they pick out some quotations; they rehearse the title and extol the author on the strength of the nearest newspaper, review, or drawing-room talker. this was immediately the case with the reconnaissance au maroc. the young explorer was celebrated on all sides: his renown spread: letters of congratulation poured in to the rue de miromesnil; friends climbed the stairs, and each recalling his claim upon the memory of his glorious comrade called out: "well, old man, there is a success for you. and well deserved, too! what untold dangers you ran! where are you going to now? for you owe it to us and to yourself to start on fresh explorations!" our friend, as we know, was not a man to discuss his plans in public. he preferred to think over them with a few rare initiates. before setting out for morocco he had consulted maccarthy, books and atlases. now he takes counsel of god, who has determined to take the explorer into his service. nature was not destroyed by de foucauld's conversion, but improved and renewed. henceforth his courage, strength of will, and extraordinary faculty of endurance were to be exercised for the good of souls. one of the men of our times, best endowed for colonial adventure and the study of unknown tongues and customs, was not lost to science; but its disciple, who was never to deny it, now perceived that the finest employment of the gifts which he had received was called charity, consisting in the total oblation of oneself, one's work, one's thoughts, one's patience, and one's blood, if necessary, in order that men may at last recognize their creator through such selfsacrifice. he wished to prepare himself for this mission by a journey to the holy land. he would visit the earthly home of jesus christ : he would go and pray in the solitude which had never ceased to attract him. on november 2, 1888, he went to le tuquet, in the bordeaux country: from there he reached nancy. he said farewell to the family. he said that his plan was to stay 74 charles de foucauld only a few weeks in the holy land. and he embarked at marseilles. in the middle of december he was in jerusalem, which he found covered with snow he lingered to walk through the streets, to visit the churches, to go up and come down the mount of olives: he spent christmas at bethlehem, then made a great excursion into galilee on horseback, accompanied by a guide on a pack-horse. in his letters he shows a lively devotion for nazareth. after leaving the town, he returned to it. there he meditated more feelingly than elsewhere. and if you wish to know the main theme of his meditation, i can tell you. this white town with steep and winding streets on the flanks of nebi-saïn, touched the penitent heart of charles de foucauld. it inspired him with an unquenchable love for the hidden life, and for obedience, the state of voluntary humility. it reechoed to him abbé huvelin's magnificent saying: "our lord took the last place in such a way that nobody can ever rob him of it." i think i may affirm that all the rest of de foucauld's life was worked and modelled by the recollection of nazareth. it was clearly seen at the beginning of march, 1889, as soon as the traveller was back in paris. this is the year of resolutions, or to use the language of spirituality-of election. what was he going to do? since his conversion he read still more than before, but other books, and his reading made him enter into the world of doctrine, morals, and religious history. he marvelled to see how simple and how reasonable truth is; he wondered how he could formerly have been so upset as to doubt religion, as to cast it away for objections so long ago answered and so easy to clear up. he learned the first of the sciences—that of the conduct of life. on the advice of abbé huvelin, he went to mass every morning, and after beginning with frequent communion, it became his daily bread. we know the care he had given to the preparation of his main journey. he wished all the more to prepare for the vocation which increasingly attracted him. from the very moment of his conversion, he felt himself called to the religious life. but there are numerous orders. if they are all meant to lead to heaven, the men who enrol themselves in them are different; each has his own temperament, even in the service of god, and ought to have a road of his own. which should he take? in order to find out, in that same year charles made no his conversion 75 less than four retreats. he approached in succession the living rule of three great orders. at easter he was with the benedictines at solesmes; at trinity he started for the grande-trappe; on october 20 he went up to notre-damedes-neiges and spent a whole week in meditation, after which he came to no decision. at last, in the second half of november, under the direction of a jesuit at clamart, having again taken up the examination of the first truths and the study of his religious vocation, the former lieutenant of chasseurs d'afrique, the explorer of yesterday, wrote to his sister: "i returned from clamart yesterday, and i have at last, in great security and great peace, on the formal counsel of the father who directed me, taken entire and without reserve the resolution of which i have been thinking for a long time; it is to enter la trappe. it is now a settled thing: i have been thinking of it for a long time. i have been in four monasteries: in the four retreats, i was told that god called me, and that he called me to la trappe. inwardly i feel drawn to the same place, my director is of the same opinion. . . . it is something determined, and i tell you of it as such. i shall enter the monastery of notre-dame-des-neiges, where i was some time ago. . . when? it is not yet settled; i have several things to put straight; i have, above all, to go and bid you farewell.. but, indeed, that will not take very long. 66 when i start, i shall say i am off on some journey, and not at all that i am entering, or thinking in the least of entering, the religious life." he had obtained the consent of the abbot of notre-damedes-neiges. but in his letter of application, he had named la trappe at akbes, in syria, and begged that after some months of probation and novitiate, he might be sent to that distant house, "if that is, as i think it is, the holy will of our father who is in heaven." alone, the nearest relations were advised of the great decision. the days were henceforth counted. charles started on december 11 for dijon: with his sister and m. de blic he spent a week, the last he could give them before his retirement, solitude, and silence. then he returned to paris to settle some business, notably the leaving of his property to his sister. he went away poor, the world was to see him no more. one of his friends saw him on the top of an omnibus and was very much astonished. a few days later the letters of invitation addressed to vicomte de foucauld remained with76 charles de foucauld out an answer. one of his cousins asked him to come and partake of some alsatian venison, venison from saverne, and charles, habitually punctilious, gave no sign of life. they made inquiries, and learnt that he had left paris. on january 14, 1890, he sent his sister a farewell letter: "au revoir, my good mimi. i leave paris to-morrow. about 2 p.m. i shall be at notre-dame-des-neiges. pray for me. i shall pray for you and yours. we do not forget one another in drawing nearer to god. . . 99 he had said, at dijon, a few weeks earlier: "let us be sad, but let us thank god for our sadness." chapter v the trappist to o understand the extraordinary life of father de foucauld, we must consider two spiritual facts upon which all was built: first, his passion for the east, which was far from a mere love of colour and picturesqueness— it was primarily a preference for solitude and silence, and for such extreme simplicity of dress, food, and lodging as one can adopt without singularity; secondly, the energy, the inward dominance of will, that strove for evangelical perfection with the same ardour, the same tenacity, the same absence of all fear as were seen in the young officer undertaking his journey to morocco. the conversion was thorough. charles de foucauld abandoned himself entirely to the divine will, to be what it desired. he already knew that he had to serve it in charity and obscurity. step by step he learnt the rest; he went where the most neglected souls on earth were to call him, and, hard on the flesh which had ruled him in the past, tried by love to bring himself down to the poverty of god made man. at the time, all that came after was hidden from him; he had only one thing shining clear: the resolve to obey, and his passionate desire for the best. likewise, around him, nobody suspected into what exceptional ways he was one day to be led. and if we are astonished that so experienced and sagacious a counsellor as abbé huvelin foresaw nothing of it, it may be answered that the best endowed of us cannot disclose the future; that just as the world was created in six days, so does god act in transforming a soul, which is also a world; that he exercises consideration for our weakness, and does not at once adapt our circumstances to certain dreams of perfection, which no doubt do not displease, and may even come from him, but which he wishes us to attain by degrees, when the practice of patience has made us more prudent and stronger. i decided to visit la trappe of notre-dame-des-neiges. it is built on the high plateaux of the heights of the vivarais, in a wild country, which formerly belonged to languedoc.¹ when you reach the wind-swept, heather1 situated in the commune of saint-laurent les bains (ardèche), the abbey of notre-dame-des-neiges has its station and post-office at the bastide-saint-laurent (lozère). 77 78 charles de foucauld clad summits that surround the monastery, you see all around in the far distance only peaks of about the same height, stretching their rocky ridges and meagre verdure upwards into the light, separated from one another by the violet shadows of the ravines. there are, one may say, no farms on the heights; or just one or two, with squat walls and crouching roofs, made to bear six months' snow and storm. i came from afar, by a road which follows the hill-tops. the road descended a little; the motor entered an avenue bordered by two woods of pine and beeches, then, suddenly, coming out of the shade, the wide spaces again stretched out in the sun. before me, half-way up the slope, stood the monastery of white granite with its barns, cellars, cow-houses, and stables; a forest sown by the monks covered the slopes of the mountain opposite, and the whole valley between the two great woods was but an undulating river of ripe oats and wheat. the monastery, such as it is to-day, is no longer the one into which charles de foucauld was received. the monks' cells, the chapter-house, and the church were destroyed by fire on january 27, 1912, but these monks, the sowers of forests, are also builders. on a more elevated and much more beautiful site than the former one, 3,500 feet up, they have built a new and plain abbey, on sober lines, in which the clock alone speaks, where cistercian peace and work take shelter.¹ when charles de foucauld presented himself at notredame-des-neiges to be admitted among the novices, he was questioned. the rule of st. benedict orders the superiors to examine the postulants carefully, and in questioning them to test them, so as to know the character of the future brother well, and the motives which have brought him to the abbey door. dom martin, abbot of this community of silent workers, knew that the man who speaks willingly of himself thus declares himself inclined to selfsatisfaction and boasting. he asked : "what can you do?" "not much." "read?" "a little." the abbot saw by this, as well as by many other replies in the same tone, that this lieutenant of chasseurs d'afrique 1 the first inhabitants of this new house were the soldiers wounded in the great war of 1914. during this war the trappists of notredame-des-neiges had twenty-two of their members in the first line at the front; seven fell for france. the trappist 79 was, on the contrary, no great talker, and so far very modest. having finished questioning him, he asked him to sweep a little, so as to see. he perceived at the first sweep of the broom that the postulant had had no practice. his education would have to be completed. it was thus the vicomte charles de foucauld entered the novitiate of la trappe of notre-dame-des-neiges to become brother marie-albéric. the brothers of this great order afterwards recollected him as a monk ever ready to help, very pious, almost excessive in his austerity, but a man of balanced judgment: in a word, they recollected a personality and a saint. i employ these terms as all those who knew father de foucauld do; these monks, soldiers, and travellers knew very well that the church alone has the right to judge of holiness. waiting for her decision, if she one day does decide, they followed the custom of the world and said: "i have seen a saint." and how could we express better and more briefly our admiration for a man in whom we think an uncommon virtue lives? brother marie-albéric edified the monastery, above all, by his humility. he was perfectly simple, and he knew what to do, being a man of the best society, whom virtue led to take the lowest place. education is useful for everything, even for getting oneself forgotten and unnoticed, or for trying to be so. one of these monks, a reaper of wheat, a driver of oxen, whom i questioned, gave me this remarkable reply: he "sir, i talked to him as i should to a peasant!" added: "i saw him every day : he never refused to do anything for anyone: he was as good as a second francis of assisi!" the regimen of la trappe tested more than one solidly built novice. brother albéric had a constitution of iron and a will of the same metal. he declared many times that neither fasting, nor vigils, nor work ever inconvenienced him. the only thing that was difficult for him was obedience, and here again we seize a feature of his proud impetuous nature, made and accustomed to command, which only yielded to grace.¹ i shall now quote a certain number of letters written from 1 it is necessary, however, to beware of believing legends which have singularly exaggerated the severities of the trappist rule. penance, with the monks, as with all christians, is but a means of moral perfection; it would exceed its intent if the body became a weak and sickly servant of the soul. a subjugated body; a soul consequently more free: the austerity allowed does not go beyond that point-i.e., equilibrium. it should also be known that in the course of time there was 80 charles de foucauld notre-dame-des-neiges by brother albéric, either to his sister or to other members of his family. they will show better than a story the thoughts of the novice in his solitude under the rule of a very capable monk, a worthy son of st. bernard, abbot martin. he entered the novitiate on january 16, 1890, and the same day wrote in the sorrow of separation: "i must get strength from my weakness, employ this weakness itself for god, thank him for this suffering and offer it to him. . . . i ask him from the bottom of my heart to increase my suffering if i can bear a heavier load, so that it may afford him a little more compensation and do his children a little more good: that he may diminish it if it is not for his glory and according to his will, but i am sure it is the will of him who wept for lazarus. in the second letter he says that he will take the trappist habit on january 26, the feast of st. alberic: "it is probable that i shall send in my resignation as a reserve officer, giving akbes as my residence, which will simplify everything. i continue to be in the best of health. from the first day i have led the regular life . . . and how goes my soul? less badly than i expected: the good god let me find unexpected consolation in solitude and silence. i am constantly, absolutely constantly, with him, and with those whom i love. this continual life with all that is dear to me in heaven and on earth, without filling the void, has afforded me consolation, but, indeed, god has himself upheld me during these first days. . manual work does not prevent meditation; i am recommended to work steadily so as to be able to meditate. "i have not suffered at all from cold; up to the present it has not snowed, and it is sunny. no doubt hard moments will come, but as yet there are none; neither have i suffered from hunger, and, thanks to the variety of work and exercises, i did not feel hungry before sitting down to table. this is to tell you that the material side of the life has not cost me the shadow of a sacrifice. some mitigation of the rigour which appeared quite simple to our fathers, undoubtedly more robust than we are. and to quote only the most recent in 1892 pope leo xiii united in a single order -that of the reformed cistercians-the divers congregations of trap. pists, and ordered that fasts were never to be prolonged beyond midday. 1 the chief meal at la trappe was then at half-past 2 in the afternoon; the time of rising 2 in the morning, and of going to bed 7 in the evening. the trappist 81 "up to now i have carried branches, made wreaths for the perpetual adoration, swept the church, and polished the candlesticks; nothing hard, you see." "february 6, 1890.-in this sad world, we have a real happiness which neither the saints nor the angels havethat of suffering with our well-beloved, for our wellbeloved. however hard this life may be, however long these sad days may be, however consoling the thought of this good valley of josaphat may be, let us not be more eager than god wishes to quit the foot of the cross. . . . 'good cross,' said st. andrew. since our master has deigned to make us feel, if not always the sweetness of it, at least its beauty and necessity for him who desires to love him, let us not wish to be freed from it sooner than he wishes. . . . however, god knows that the day when this exile ends will be welcome, for there is more strength in my words than in my heart."¹ he read st. bernard, learnt the psalms by heart, and how to make use of the breviary; he studied the holy scriptures for an hour and read abbé fouard, bossuet, the imitation, the gospels, the life of st. gertrude, and the works of st. teresa. "february 18, 1890.-about myself, i have little to tell you. no rumour from outside reaches us; here are solitude and silence with god. the time is divided between prayer, readings bringing one nearer to god, manual labour done in imitation of him and in union with him. that fills every day, except sundays and feasts, when work ceases. i could live long thus without having to talk much of myself. . . . they are very good to me, with a charity full of tenderness; a great charity reigns in the convent: i thus, and in many other ways, receive examples which i must beg god to turn to my advantage.' "" "easter monday, 1890.-i must not say that i bore the fast and cold well; i did not feel them . . . of the lenten diet (a single meal a day at half-past four2) i can only say one thing i found it pleasant and comfortable, and i did 1 he expressed this noble feeling for the cross in another letter of the same period : "i desired to enter the religious life to keep our lord company in his sufferings as much as possible." 2 now the trappists take their principal meal in lent at noon, and partake of a collation in the evening. 6 82 charles de foucauld not feel hungry a single day. however, i did not gorge too much. "as for my soul, it is absolutely in the same state as at the time of my last letter; the only difference is that the good god upholds me still more; he sustains both my soul and body; i have nothing to bear: he bears all. i should be very ungrateful towards this loving father, towards our gentle lord jesus, if i did not tell you how he holds me in his hand, putting me in his peace, keeping trouble away from me, driving it away, driving off depression as soon as it tries to draw near. this state of things is too unexpected for me to be able to attribute it to any other than him. what is this peace, this consolation? it is nothing extraordinary; it is a union of every moment in prayer, reading, work, in all, with our lord, with the holy virgin, with all the saints who surrounded him in his life. .. the offices, holy mass, prayer in which my dryness was so painful to me, are, in spite of the innumerable distractions of which i am guilty, very sweet to me. . . . manual labour is a consolation through its likeness to our lord's, and it is a continual meditation (it ought to be, but i am very apt to idle)." in this letter and in some other records, we have already been able to note the minute care with which brother albéric analyzes the motions of his mind and heart. no doubt, it is more than a first effort and a novelty; it is a habit he had acquired in the solitudes during his great journeys, and which the religious life had perfected. he complains, like all souls given to spirituality, of moments of dryness, and declares that he is unworthy of the consolations which follow. 66 whit-sunday, 1890.-the origin of this dryness is almost always in the slackness with which i resist temptations, especially temptations against obedience in spirit: i find it hard to subject the senses-that will not astonish you; however that is a trifle. i do not accept gladly enough the manual labours assigned me, and this shows a great want of love; if i felt how they bring me near to our lord, how happy should i be in everything. . . . may the will of our lord be done, not mine'; this i say to him with my whole heart; i tell him, at least, that i want to say this to him with my whole heart, for i fear i only say it to him with my lips; . . . it is, however, true that i solely desire his will." the trappist 83 yes, surely, he desired the will of god, and no doubt he wrote these lines to prepare the family at dijon, and also in paris, and those still farther away, for the more complete separation which had just been decided upon. why did brother albéric leave la trappe of notredame-des-neiges? i have said that from the beginning he had asked to be sent to the poorest and most distant monastery in asia minor; was it his desire for absolute solitude? to be nothing but a name, one of whom people say, "he is away yonder, we don't know where"? was it his recollection of the horizons he had loved? no doubt, but the time was past when the east was to him only his favourite land of travel, investigation, and dreams. other attractions, of an austere and mysterious kind, led him to the monastery of akbes, now that he had determined to bring under his long dominant body and to do penance. he went to the east to be still poorer there; to feel nearer to the holy land, where the son of god had suffered and worked; he went moved by a compassion for the peoples sunk in error, a feeling which was to carry him much farther away; in short, he went to this new dwelling because it was hard for him to leave france. "i shall not say to you that i am not downcast at this time," he wrote in the month of june; "it will be hard to watch the coast fading away." everything is prepared for the departure. a place reserved, for alexandretta, on a vessel which sails from marseilles on the 27th. on the eve, brother marie-albéric bids adieu to his brothers of notre-dame-des-neiges. he writes to his family: "i find myself on the boat which will carry me away to-morrow; it seems to me that i shall feel each wave, one after the other, taking me farther away. . . it appears to me that my only help will be to think of each as one step nearer to the end of life. "from marseilles to alexandretta i shall be alone; the brother who was to leave with me remains. i am satisfied with this solitude; i shall be able to think without check. my address is: trappe de notre-dame-du-sacré-cœur, via alexandretta (syria). i shall reach alexandretta on the thirteenth day of the voyage. i set out next day for notredame-du-sacré-coeur, and after two days' travel, get there in the evening of the next day." and when the voyage is nearly done, he pens these words, a real cry of loving anguish: "to-morrow i shall be at alexandretta, and i shall say good-bye to this sea, the last link with the country where you all live." 84 charles de foucauld he landed. the journey to the mountains began at once. brother marie-albéric set out from alexandretta in the afternoon of july 10, with a father of notre-dame-du sacré-cœur who had come the night before to fetch him. "except for a five hours' halt we rode all night and the next day, mounted on mules, escorted by three armed turks on friday at 6 o'clock we arrived at notre-damedu-sacré-cœur, a mass of small houses of boards and pisé, covered with thatch, a sort of jules verne establishment, a tangle of barns, cattle and little houses crowding quite close to one another for fear of raids and robbers; it is shaded by tall trees and watered by a spring which comes out of the rock; but the outside only is in jules verne style, the inside is better our lord is within. . • • • the house is made up of a score of religious and about fifteen orphans from six to twelve years of age, without speaking of birds of passage." "" what was this monastery of notre-dame-du-sacré-cœur, a summary description of which we have just read? an improvised abbey, founded in 1882 as a refuge in the mountains by the trappists of notre-dame-des-neiges, in case they happened to have to leave france. the domain is called sheikhlé (pronounced shirley) and forms part of the province (vilayet) of adana. to get there, you leave alexandretta by the aleppo road. it ascends a little at first, then the ascent becomes very difficult. indeed, you must cross the chain of the amanus. the windings increase. on the road cut out of the rock, and without any parapets, rows of pack-camels, teams, and people riding or walking descend or climb up. in five hours you arrive at the bailan pass, a famous spot passed through by all the invaders of this part of asia: the assyrians, the armies of darius, of alexander, the armies of the romans, of the arab sultans and of the crusaders, when seeking the plain of antioch. the ruins of medieval castles are still used as quarries by the people of the country. you come to a stop at bailan, the frontier between the vilayets of aleppo and adana, for the turks have placed a custom-house there. it is here that travellers coming from the interior and intending to go to the coast have to give their arms back to the zaptiés (police), or, at least, as the kurds and circassians are seldom absent, thrust or hide their pistols or daggers between the folds of their girdles. beyond the village the descent begins. the bridges over the torrents are not so safe as the fords. the aleppo road is left only at the foot of the mountain, to take to the left a simple track the trappist 85 through the forests, moors or arable land, and it hardly swerves away from the lowest slopes of the amanus and winds round the spurs of the mountain. after a long march, a very jagged cleft in the mountain is reached. there is the little town of akbes with the lazarist mission. travellers, like brother albéric and his companion, who wish to go on to la trappe of sheïkhlé, then enter the ravine, go up it for two hours, and then descend a little to reach the bottom of a high valley quite wonderful in its formation and scenery. imagine a circle of mountains surrounding it, all covered with tall parasol pines, under which oaks and other trees and shrubs grow. it is itself cultivated, tilled and sown like the country in france or italy, since there are monks of st. bernard in this wild corner of turkey. gushing springs water it and form a stream which has ended in cutting through the mountain-side and falls in cascades. in the distance through this cutting stretches away the waving expanse towards killis and aleppo. it is the only opening on the world. outside the gap, there is nothing but verdure and blue sky. the monastery was built in haste. one really cannot imagine a poorer one. a fence limits and protects it against prowlers, but it is made of dry thorn and stakes. no church is to be seen, with its roof and spire dominating the other buildings as in our western abbeys. the entrance gate of the sheïkhlé trappe opens on to a farmyard. all along the right are the mules' stables and the cowhouses; on the left, a bakery, kitchen, forge, and a shed where the agricultural implements are put up; at the farther end, the chapter-hall, refectory, and the prior's room. several other buildings to the left were grouped as requiredchapel, joiners' shop, wood-house, rooms for study, library and linen-room; but stone having been reserved for the chapel, the chapter-hall and the stables, the rest were built with cob-walls and roofed with boards or thatch. the appearance had none of the beautiful order that the word monastery" conveys to us. to live there, men had to be stout in limb and heart. for, not to speak of always possible incursions of bands of brigands tempted by the granaries, or excited by fanaticism, comfort was necessarily lacking and necessaries habitually. for example, in summer the monks slept in a loft over the stables, the worn and badly joined lath floor of which let through the noise and odour of the animals. in winter they had as their dormitory another loft, over the chapter-hall and refectory, but "" 86 charles de foucauld they slept scarcely any better there than in the other one, when the snow covered the sheet-iron roof which was very near their moss-stuffed mattresses. the bed-clothes did not give much protection from the bite of the cold. in addition to this, if the domain sufficed to support those who cultivated it, it did not raise funds enough to build a real abbey. the land had been cleared eight years ago, and produced fine crops of wheat, barley, and cotton; the kitchen-garden furnished an abundance of vegetables; the well-kept and selected varieties of vines, at the end of the summer, promised a delicious white wine, but the distance from the markets rendered the sale almost useless, and carriage ate up the profits. such were the place, scene, and material state of life in which brother albéric went on with his trappist novitiate. his time was no longer spent in quite the same way. "the manual labour here was to gather cotton, carry away stones in the fields and make a heap of them where they are not in the way, to wash and saw wood; we never know beforehand what work we shall have to do. at the hour for work a wooden slab is struck. the choir-monks assemble in a small room where the aprons and sabots are, and the superior assigns each man his work. since i have been here, i have spent two, sometimes three days a week, washing, the remainder in working in the fields; there my ordinary work is to clear the soil of the stones which encumber it and to carry them in baskets into heaps. . . . when there is particular work, crops to gather, i am sent to do it. i spent eight or ten days in gathering potatoes, two or three at the vintage, nearly three weeks at the cotton harvest. besides, novices have the pleasing duty of sweeping the church twice a week.. "our orphans are catholic children of akbes, where three lazarist missionaries have converted eight hundred schismatics in the last twenty years." who are the neighbours of this monastery lost in the mountains of asia minor and what may be expected from them? comte louis de foucauld asked his cousin. "" "you wish to know," replied brother marie-albéric, "whether i am in contact with the musulmans: not much. it appears to me that this mixture of kurds, syrians, turks, and armenians would make a brave, laborious, and honest people if they were educated, governed, and above all converted. for the moment, they are mercilessly overtaxed, profoundly ignorant, and the musulman religion has its sad influence on morals: our region is a corner of brigands. it the trappist 87 is for us to make the future of these peoples. the future, the only true future, is life eternal: this life is but the short trial which prepares for the next. the conversion of these people depends on god, on them, and on us christians. god always gives grace abundantly: they are free to receive, or not to receive, the faith: preaching in musulman countries is difficult, but the missionaries of so many centuries past have overcome many other difficulties. we have to be the successors of the first apostles, the first evangelists. the word is much, but example, love, and prayer are a thousand times more. let us give them the example of a perfect life, of a superior and divine life: let us love them with that all-powerful love which makes itself beloved; let us pray for them with a heart warm enough to draw down on them from god a superabundance of graces, and we shall infallibly convert them. . . .” "november 10, 1890.-the principal difference from notre-dame-des-neiges is that here i am given the order to work with all my strength, though meditation should lose thereby; that is more conformable with poverty, with our lord's example. but up to the present god has not willed meditation to lose by it; on the contrary, he gives me during work the faithful thought of him and of those i love, which forms my life." he adds that he has not taken advantage of any exception. "it is true," he says, "that i have asked for nothing."2 "our mountains are entirely wooded with tall parasol pines under which grow oak-trees, holm-oaks and wild olives, and amidst which great masses of grey, cavernous rocks rise up in places. they swarm with partridges and deer; in winter, wolves, panthers, bears, and wild boars, which are very numerous in the neighbourhood, venture into them." april.-holy communion is my great support, my all. i dare not ask for it every day : my unworthiness is infinite." 66 "easter tuesday, 1890.-we should be joyful, for our lord is risen; our well-beloved, our betrothed, the divine spouse of our soul is infinitely happy, and his reign will 1 letter of november 28, 1892. he said: "to ask for nothing, unless in great necessity, is a maxim of st. teresa which i try to put into practice, and each time that i do so, i find myself the better for it." 88 charles de foucauld have no end; . . . this is the true foundation of our joy. however sad i may be when i kneel at the foot of the altar, and say to our lord, lord, thou art infinitely happy and dost want for nothing,' i cannot do otherwise than add : 'then i too am happy, and in want of nothing; thy happiness suffices me.' july 14, 1890.-the foundation is going on very well: there are many novices, and some come from france, others from this country. . . . i hope that god will bless this monastery, that can do so much good in the midst of a musulman population among whom there is a certain number of schismatic christians. 66 ... exercises follow each other at short intervals, and one can hardly do the same thing long; it is this that after, and with the grace of god, makes life here so easy materially; the great diversity of exercises, prayer, reading, and work follow one another. . . . i am coming from church; i am going, i think, to the fields; and thus it is all day long. we are now in the season of hard work; the wheat is being threshed; for husbandmen, for trappists, it is a big business. "november 11, 1890.-here god gives me a novicemaster whose knowledge and example are admirable; he is a retired abbot. a former abbot of notre-dame-desneiges, he has come here to finish his already long religious career; he is the real founder of this house, and does an immense amount of good in it." 991 "january 3, 1891.-to-day, i write to you particularly to make you a gift of all my flat in paris contains: henceforth it is yours, do what you please with it, sell, give, order what you like; it is just yours. . . . except what is left as a souvenir, which raymond will give back in my name, you will find most, and even all the things we cared for as coming from grandfather and our parents.' 992 you ask to hear about me. my soul enjoys a profound peace, which has not ceased since coming here. it grows stronger every day, although i feel how little it comes from myself, how much it is a pure gift from god. it is a peace which increases faith, which calls for gratitude. give thanks for me, so that i may be less ungrateful. . . · 1 this monk was called dom polycarpe. 2 in a later letter are these words written to his sister : · "the greatest joy that my little possessions have given me will be to get rid of them and to have them no longer." the trappist 89 i feel more every day that i am where god wishes me to be. in a few days it will be a year since i have been at la trappe. i am only overwhelmed by the infinite goodness of our lord jesus, who has thus called and led and overwhelmed me with so many graces. in a year i shall make my profession. my heart is longing to be bound by vows, but i am already so by all my desires. 66 think much of the poor, my good mimi, during this hard winter. if you only knew how i regret not having done more for them when i was in the world! i know well you need not have the same regrets, but i think i am right to tell you this, for here in la trappe, though we don't suffer ourselves, we can imagine what they must suffer when they have not what we have. 66 'july 3, 1881.-you ask me for news of my convent and of our work; we are about a score of trappists, novices included. we are installed, as you see by the photographs, in a pretty extensive range of huts. there are live-stock; oxen, goats, horses, and asses-all that is required for cultivation on a big scale. in our huts we board from fifteen to twenty catholic orphans, between five and fifteen years of age; there are at least ten or fifteen lay-workmen also sheltered by us; lastly, guests whose number varies; you know monks are essentially hospitable. you will also get a very good idea of our life by reading les moines d'occident by montalembert. however, there is a difference: the monks of whom he speaks studied more than we, busied themselves more than we with certain work, such as copying of manuscripts. our great work is field labour; this distinguishes the order of st. bernard, to which we belong, from the old monks. thus, in autumn there was the vintage and the clearing of the fields; in winter, sawing wood; in spring, working with picks at the vine; in summer, harvesting the hay. the harvest was finished the day before yesterday. it is peasants' work, a toil infinitely salutary for the soul; while employing the body, it leaves the soul free to pray and meditate. then this work, harder than you think if you have never done it, gives you such compassion for the poor, such charity towards workmen and labourers! you understand the cost of a piece of bread so well, when you see for yourself how much trouble it takes to produce it! you feel so much pity for all who work, when you share in that work! ... "you wish me to describe one of our days. we get up at two in the morning, run to church, where we remain two 90 charles de foucauld hours reciting the psalms aloud in the choir; then, for an hour or an hour and a half we are free, we read and pray; and the priests say mass. towards half-past five we go back to the choir, we again say some psalms; it is the first canonical hour; and we assist at mass in common. from there we go to the chapter and say some prayers; the superior comments on a passage of the rule; and if any one has committed a fault, he then confesses it in public, and is given a penance (not generally very hard, far from it). another three-quarters of an hour free for reading or prayer; again in the choir we say the little office of terce; then about seven, work begins; the superior assigns it to each man after terce. we remain at work till about eleven o'clock; we then say sext, and go to the refectory at halfpast eleven. "after lunch (the monks' dinner) we go up to the dormitory, where we sleep till half-past one. the office of none is at half-past one. an interval of three-quarters of an hour for privates prayers or reading. at half-past two vespers. after vespers, work till a quarter to six. at six o'clock prayer; at a quarter past six, supper; a little free time; at a quarter past seven, reading for the whole community in chapter; then compline, singing of the salve and to bed. we go to bed at eight. "have i spoken enough to you about myself, dear mimi? i hope you are satisfied." "october 29, 1891.. . . thanks for having thought of me on the 15th of september; on that day i was thirtythree; the years pass, may they bring us nearer to god in every way! let us pray for each other, in order to be faithful to what god desires from us each in our own lives. they appear very different, but it is only in appearance; when god makes the foundation of life as it ought to be, all lives resemble each other, the rest is of little importance." "" the ceremony of brother marie-albéric's religious profession took place on candlemas day, february 2, 1892. it was presided over by dom martin, abbot of notre-damedes-neiges, who was in the east for the regular visit. the newly professed monk wrote next day: "from yesterday i belong entirely to our lord. about seven o'clock i made my vows; about eleven o'clock a few locks of my hair were cut off in the church, then my head was shaved, leaving the monastic crown. and now i no longer belong to myself in any way. . . . i am in a state i have never experienced, except just a little on my return from jeruthe trappist 91 salem... it is a craving for meditation and silence, for lying at god's feet and looking at him almost in silence. óne feels, and would like to go on indefinitely feeling, that one belongs all to god, and that he is all our own. the 'is it, then, nothing to belong all to god?' of st. teresa, furnishes the prayer. . . 991 66 "" around him, admiration increased. "our brother mariealbéric appears like an angel amidst us," said the abbot of notre-dame-des-neiges; he wants nothing but wings." the prior of the sheïkhlé trappe, dom louis de gonzague, wrote the same way to madame de blic, the day after the religious profession: "you know, madam, what a holy companion on our journey to heaven we have taken to ourselves to-day! his spiritual director, our venerable father dom polycarpe, who will soon have had fifty years of religious profession and has been a superior more than thirty years, assures me that, in his long life, he has not yet met with a soul so entirely given to god. allow me to make a little disclosure with regard to this dear and holy soul. . . . i should naturally like to get father mariealbéric to make his theological studies here, so that he may some day be promoted to the priesthood. i have not yet spoken to him of this intention, but i foresee very well that i shall have to maintain a serious struggle against his humility, and finally, it is a thing that, in our order, we cannot command in virtue of obedience. . . . in spite of his marvellous austerities, his health remains excellent. . . ."2 a little later on, when back in france after his journey in syria, dom martin, giving to the general chapter an account of the visit he had paid to akbes, named charles de foucauld among the monks who might one day be appointed superiors of that foundation. brother marie-albéric forbore thinking of the future. but it is so difficult for us to live entirely in the present, that he happened to ask himself: "what will they do with me? if only they don't take me away from the common life of the brothers who are wood-choppers, weeders of wheat and grass, harvesters, grape-gatherers, according to the seasons!" he disclosed his perplexity to abbé huvelin, and, to meet the reply, prepared his defence against dignities and offices: "if they speak to me of studies, i shall show that i have a great liking for being neck-deep in wheat and wood, and a strong repugnance for everything 1 letter of january 2, 1892. letter of february 4, 1892. 92 charles de foucauld that would take me away from the lowest place which i came to find, from the abjection in which i desire to be buried ever deeper and deeper, following our lord's example, and then, after all, i shall obey. . . . but what i tell you here is a stroll in the forbidden garden; god is with us to-day: is not that enough ?" he was bidden to begin his theological studies a few months after his profession. "august 22, 1892.-this week the lazarite father superior of akbes comes back. . . . it appears that, over a year ago, it was arranged that he should teach me theology: he was professor of theology at montpellier and is very learned. he is a neapolitan (m. destino). on being told this, i did not conceal my lack of attraction for this new vocation. i also pointed out my great ignorance of monastic things. they replied that it was settled, and that i should soon begin: so i did not persist.' in fact, he became initiated in many other employments, for, having had a slight illness in the course of that year, brother marie-albéric was provisionally exempted from work in the open air, and confided to the linen-brother, who taught him how to mend and darn. "july 5, 1892.—why can't i give you a little of my taste for solitude? i, indeed, love it more every day, and think there is never enough of it. "i am always thinking of our lord and the blessed virgin... and i live happy in their dear society. when i am mending the little orphans' clothes, i say to myself, how happy i am in doing this work, so familiar in the house at nazareth. . . . how unworthy i am of these graces! fancy me, for three days last week working at a strange job: the orphans' nurse was indisposed, and i was told to take his place by day. just think how strange it was to find myself all at once in charge of nine little turks from six to fifteen years old! when i saw myself in the midst of this little family, i could not help thinking of those who say that one enters religion to avoid the cares of life. one has not the same cares, but very happy ones when god wishes it. as for me, on account of my great weakness, he has given me nothing but peace.... these poor little ones were as good as possible." "" may 21, 1893.-the studies interest me, holy scripture above all-it is the word of our heavenly father. dogmatic theology, too; it is the study of what we must believe the trappist 93 about the holy trinity, our lord and the church; that, too, brings us much nearer to god: moral theology less. but these studies . . . have not the same value as the practice of poverty, abjection, mortification, and finally the imitation of our lord which manual labour provides. however, since i do them through obedience, having resisted as much as i ought, this is evidently what god desires of me now." · yes, he felt sure of not being mistaken in rejecting the world and becoming a monk, but a long road remained for him to travel, and sometimes his peace was disturbed, and a call came from the heart of god to this man of good-will, splitting wood, patching breeches, or bending over a theological treatise, and a voice said to him: "go farther into solitude!" the temptations against obedience continued to exercise the virtue of the still young religious; the spirit of mistrust tried him, leading him to think his superiors were surely making a mistake and did not know how to guide everyone, and that it would be very easy to name a novice whose real inclinations they had overlooked. brother marie-albéric silenced this tempting voice; but the other that said, "go farther" he always heard. very resolute not to swerve from obedience, he waited, without knowing where it wished to lead him, for a certain sign of the will which was drawing him outside. it was then that he wrote to his cousin comte louis de foucauld: "i relish the charms of solitude more and more, and i am trying to find out how to enter into a deeper and deeper solitude. three lines of another intimate letter show even more clearly this extraordinary attraction, which makes him wish for an order still more strict than the strictest of religious orders. he told a friend, on june 27, 1893, that the trappists of notre-dame-des-neiges had received the new constitutions of the cistercian order: "it is all very pious," he said, 99 64 very austere, very good in every way; however, be it said between you and me, there is not all the poverty i wish for, nor the abjection i long for: my desires in that direction are not satisfied." here was a sort of excess and singularity which could not fail to puzzle the most learned and experienced of directors. for the ideal of poverty, humility, mortification and charity has been attained by a great number of holy monks and nuns, in all the recognized orders, under divers rules. for centuries all religious life has tended that way, even in the world. the obstacles are in ourselves much more than in 94 charles de foucauld the exterior circumstances and equipment of life. he was deceived as to the motives which were driving him out of la trappe: he conceived a project which he was never to accomplish-that of grouping around him "a few souls with which he could form a beginning of a little congregation," answering to the longings of a mind which did not cease to be haunted by the vision of nazareth. what would be the aim of this new company? what would be its essential rule? from this moment brother marie-albéric sets it forth thus: "to lead the life of our lord as closely as possible, living solely by the work of their hands, without accepting any gift, either spontaneous or asked for, and following to the letter all his counsels, possessing nothing, giving to all who ask, claiming nothing, stinting themselves as much as possible . . . adding to this work much prayer; .. forming small groups only; . . . scattered, above all, through infidel and neglected lands, in which it would be so pleasing to increase the love and service of jesus christ." · souls chosen, like charles de foucauld, for an exceptional life, are led through darkness less and less dense to light. here the desire of devoting all his forces to the salvation of infidel lands appears, and his often expressed thought of being the most destitute and unknown of men again shows itself. he feels himself urged along by an increasing interior force towards an undefined and dangerous future. for on one point he has no illusions: perhaps he will be long alone. he trembles at the thought, but does not change the desire: "being in a boat, i am afraid of jumping into the sea.' but his shrinking does not disquiet him, and his uncertainty does not reach the higher self where peace rules untouched. and the explanation of the wonder was quite simple: brother marie-albéric left the decision of his extreme difficulty to the greatest of all authorities, to the authority which puts god before us in our order, and self afterwards: obedience. this enabled him to overcome everything and persuade everyone. look at this trappist who has pronounced his first vows. he believes he is called to leave the order, not to return to secular life, which would not be without precedent, but to follow an entirely personal, and even strange, inspiration, which urges him to disappear still more completely than in a syrian monastery. he has gained the sympathy and aroused even the admiration of his superiors and brothers: and he wants to leave these friends, and theirs is the 1 letter of october 4, 1893. the trappist 95 decision he asks for! in france, in paris, very far away, he had a director who was a curate at saint augustine's; and this prudent parisian with his distrust of the exceptional, a moderate man by temperament and experience, as anxious as a mother, he had to convince and bring to utter this decision: "yes, my child, go to that wonderful unknown that you long for." to put one's trust in one who is worthy of it, to speak out freely, not to shirk owning up, to be patient only afterwards, and if one must: men have found no better means of driving away the clouds which uncertainty and conflicting reasons gather within them. it is an honest, prompt, and military method. it was charles de foucauld's. he therefore began, about the middle of september, to speak of his trouble to dom polycarpe, whom he had chosen as his confessor, and asked him : "does this come from god, the devil, or my imagination ?" 66 "think no more about it," was substantially the prior's reply, and wait in peace, for the good god, if it comes from him, will well know how to provide the occasion." he wrote at the same time to abbé huvelin. we have not these letters, but, in a sort of journal addressed to a friend, he summarized them. they showed an entire liberty of procedure and judgment. then abbé huvelin, who understood his patient very well and was very fond of him, became uneasy. without retaining the least hope of keeping this man, with his extreme yearnings, a neophyte in whom he observed a sort of agitated seeking after perfection, at la trappe, he tried to retard the dénouement of the inward crisis. the idea that charles de foucauld might be called to follow the vocation of the fathers of the desert by degrees entered his mind, but before he was persuaded of it, before saying so, he had to oppose a project which appeared to be an adventure, one of those adventures into which he knew the best endowed souls may in good faith throw themselves and perish. here are a few fragments of the numerous letters that he wrote in the months which follow brother mariealbéric's disclosure. they tell of the suffering brought upon this tender-hearted priest by the event the shadow of which, like that of a storm-cloud, he already felt draw near. "january 29, 1894.-go on with your theological studies, at least up to the diaconate; cultivate the interior virtues, 96 charles de foucauld and above all self-annihilation; as for the exterior virtues, practise them in the perfection of obedience to the rule and to your superiors; for the rest we shall see later on. besides, you are not made, not at all made, to lead others." "july 29, 1895 (to a third party).-evidently he will not stay. he will take his idea more and more for the voice of god speaking. the beauty of the end to which he believes himself called will veil all the rest, and above all the unattainable. . . .' "" "july 30, 1895 (to a third party).-how alarmed i am about the life which he wishes to lead, about nazareth where he wishes to go and live, about the band which he wants to gather around him! but i do not hope to keep him at la trappe. 99 66 september 30, 1897.-i find that he wishes for too many things, and therein i fear some uneasiness of mind, and that constant striving for the best which upsets a soul." thus thought the two advisers to whom brother mariealbéric had appealed. and what was he thinking about during these months of waiting? this, which he had revealed to abbé huvelin, and probably to his trappist confessor: he wished to be a choir-monk no longer, to lead outside of la trappe what he calls "the life of nazareth," and, more definitely, to become "a simple inmate, a simple day-labourer in some convent. besides, he had resolved to undertake nothing, as long as the guides, whose very clear advice we have just seen, would not encourage him to change his condition, rule, domicile, and habit. as long as my directors refuse their permission, i should think i was disobeying god, whatever i did." "" "the abbé (huvelin) tells me to find out whether i could not discover what god expects of me, here, in this life where i am.... you know with what respect and affection i listen to this word: but everything calls me in an opposite direction. . . . time or death, and in any case god will arrange the rest. but i always hope he will allow me to follow him in the way he points out to me."3 we shall presently see how these difficulties were unravelled, how, without laying aside all apprehension, men of entire sincerity and men of prayer were led to change their mind and give an authorization that charles de foucauld waited for in perfect obedience. 1 letter of march 19, 1896. 2 letter of january 3, 1894. 3 letter of august 30, 1895. the trappist 97 while these things were taking place unknown to the world, two events attracted the attention, not of a great number of men, but of some, to la trappe of akbes. in the first place, at the beginning of 1894 it ceased to be attached to the abbey of notre-dame-des-neiges, and was placed under that of stauëli, which, having more important farms and vineyards in full produce, could more easily bring help to the very poor trappe of syria. the second event was the period of massacres that the sultan permitted or ordered. once more armenia was the victim, armenia and all the undefined fringe of countries which border upon it. "it is not the kurds who stir, it is the armenian christians, and the turks take advantage of this to commit terrible massacres, and to do as much harm as they can, not only to the armenians, but to all christians, catholic or others, who are still so numerous in these countries. . . around us there were horrors, a number of massacres, burnings and lootings. many of the christians were really martyrs, for they died voluntarily, without defending themselves, rather than deny their faith. . . . there is frightful misery in this unfortunate country. the winter is very hard; i do not know what these poor unfortunates, all of whose possessions have been seized and their houses burned, will do not to die of hunger and cold. . . . i write to you to ask for alms; not for us, god forbid, for i shall never be poor enough, but for the victims of the persecutions. in the last few months nearly 140,000 christians were murdered by the sultan's orders. . . . in the nearest town from here, at marache, the garrison killed 4,500 christians in two days. we at akbes, and all the christians within two days of us, ought to have perished. i was not worthy. . . . pray for my conversion, and that next time, in spite of my misery, i shall no longer be thrust back from the already half-open gates of heaven. "europeans are protected by the turkish government, so that we are in safety: a guard was put at our gate, so that no harm might be done to us. it is miserable to be in such favour with those who slaughter our brethren; it were better to suffer with them than to be protected by their persecutors. . . . it is shameful for europe; with a word, she could have prevented these horrors, and she did not say it. it is true that the world knew so little about what was happening here, the turkish government having bought up the press, having given enormous sums to certain journals not to publish any despatches which did not come from 7 98 charles de foucauld itself. but the governments know the whole truth through the ambassadors and consuls. what punishments from god are they not preparing for themselves by such ignominies! i come to call you to our help, to aid us to give relief, to prevent several thousand christians who escaped from the massacres and took refuge in our mountains from perishing of hunger; they do not dare to leave their retreat for fear of being massacred, and they have no means. it is our imperative duty to stint ourselves of everything for them, but whatever we do we cannot satisfy such needs." finally, to complete the portrait of charles de foucauld during this period so troubled in so many ways; and since our souls are a mystery to ourselves, since they can be happy and suffer at the same time, since they are a vast domain, with the storm below, some mist farther up, and a clear sky over all; i shall quote this note, written by brother marie-albéric to m. de blic, recently settled in burgundy, in the castle of barberey : "it is the happiness of the country to be able to surround ourselves with all those we love . . . to have always round us those we love, this indeed is sweet. why did i go so far away, you will say to me, if i feel this happiness so keenly? i have in no wise sought joy, i have sought to follow 'by the odour of his perfumes,' jesus, who has loved us so much. . . and if i have found my delight in following him, it is without having sought it. but this delight does not prevent me from feeling profoundly the sorrow of being separated from all those i love."2 days and months went by. the time came when the fifth anniversary of the simple vows would be fulfilled. at this date, february 2, 1897, solemn vows had to be taken, or a dispensation requested, and the order of st. bernard must surely be left. brother marie-albéric's heart was always troubled by the same obsession : "i am very eager, indeed, to follow the life that i have been seeking for seven years . . . which i caught a glimpse of and divined in walking through the streets of nazareth, where our lord's feet had trodden, when he was a poor artisan, lost in abjection and obscurity."3 then the consent of abbé huvelin, hoped for but unexpected, arrived in the sheïkhlé trappe. 1 letters of november 20, 1895; february 21, 1896; june 24, 1896. 2 letter of june 18, 1894. 3 letter of june 24, 1896. the trappist 99 "paris, june 15, 1896.-my dear child, i read and reread your letter. i have made you wait long for my answer, when you were so thirsty! but i thought that you would not lose your time by studying theology and getting from it sure and broad ideas, and thus preparing, in that teaching, your mind and heart for a sure mysticism, free from illusions. "i had hoped, my dear child, that you would find in la trappe what you were seeking, that you would find enough poverty, humility and obedience, to be able to follow our lord in his life of nazareth. i thought you might have said on entering it: hæc requies mea in sæculum sæculi! i still regret that it is not so. there is a too deep-seated urge towards another ideal, and through the strength of this impulse you get out of your framework and find yourself dislocated. i don't think, indeed, that you can get rid of this impulse. say so to your superiors at la trappe, at stauëli. tell them your thought simply. tell them also of your profound esteem for the life you see around you, and of the invincible impulse which, in spite of all your endeavours, has so long urged you towards another ideal.... not that i think you are called higher. . . . i do not see you higher up; no, indeed, i see that you feel yourself uplifted in another direction. i won't make you wait any longer. show my letter, speak. write to stauëli. i should have liked to keep you in a family where you are loved, to which you would have been able to give so much! i think, my child, that you have been well directed and formed in la trappe; but inevitably, you see something else. oh! how i pray for you! .. "i have been a priest twenty-nine years to-day! how i should have liked to have seen you, too, a priest !" no sooner had brother marie-albéric ascertained the contents of this happy letter than he submitted to his director the sketch of a rule for the future community of the petits frères de jésus-a voluminous work, in which the extreme austerity of the convert and monk was given full scope. he hoped for approbation, but the reply was not in that sense. in an intimate note, abbé huvelin sets down clearly what he had in mind: "i have just received the letter. it is accompanied by a long rule of the community of the petits frères de jésus, which you hope to found. the rule is impossible, and it contains everything but discretion. i am broken-hearted." and, as he is a very firm ¹ a trappe near algiers, no longer in existence. 100 charles de foucauld adviser, able to check his penitent where required, with a sure hand now that he is carried away by ardour to the point of judging others by himself and their strength by his own, the abbé replies in no less clear terms as follows: "fontainebleau, sunday, august 2, 1896.—if your superiors ask you to make another attempt, make it loyally! what would above all frighten me, my dear child, is not the life of which you are thinking for yourself, if you remain isolated... but it is to see you found, or think of founding something.... your rule is absolutely impracticable.. "the pope hesitated to give his approbation to the franciscan rule; he thought it too severe; but this rule! to tell you the truth it terrified me! live at the door of a community, in what abjection you like, but draw up no rule, i beg you!" hence no foundation, no company. henceforth charles de foucauld appears in the eyes of this priest, who is a connoisseur of souls, as a born solitary. a single permission was accorded to him; that of trying to live, outside the trappe, a hidden life, in some corner of syria or palestine. furthermore, before taking up so singular a part, he was to submit to the test of obedience and the study that his superiors would doubtless require of him. but, on the main point of his vocation, of his attraction to complete solitude, abbé huvelin no longer hesitated, and he again said: "yes, my child, i see the east with your eyes. "" therefore brother marie-albéric wrote to the fathergeneral of the trappists in rome, praying him to obtain the necessary dispensations from the pope. the reply arrived about the end of the month of august. the superior-general of the order, before deciding, imposed a trial on brother marie-albéric; he ordered the latter first to go to la trappe of stauëli, where instructions would be sent. the monk replied that he submitted with all his heart to what might be ordered, and set out by the next steamer. "algiers, september 25.-reached marseilles on wednesday at 5 o'clock in the evening. i left there again an hour after, on the algiers boat. think of the time i spent in algeria, and the life i led there, of my absolute impiety at that time, and beg for me to be forgiven." he went at once to the stauëli trappe, and this is what he learnt: "october 12, 1896.-i want to tell you immediately of some news which will give you much joy: . . . the test the trappist alforgia laid upon me is to go and study theology in rome for about two years. "i start in a fortnight, about the 25th. it was père louis de gonzague who settled that in his great affection for me. it is a great blessing to make me thus drink at the purest fountain of religious teaching, and this favour is rarely accorded in our order. . . . i shall be in rome with seven other monks at the general's house, where we shall live under the supervision of the most reverend fathergeneral and council: from there we shall go and attend the lectures at the roman college. "you know that my desires are by no means changed, they are steadier than ever: but i obey with simplicity, with extreme gratitude, and with confidence that after this long trial the will of god will be manifested very clearly to all of us who have but one sole desire to know the will of god in order to do it, whatever it may be, and to throw ourselves into it with our whole heart and strength." his obedience and simplicity of heart shone forth in his acceptance of the trial imposed on him. this was all the father-general was in quest of, as the event consequently proved. but charles de foucauld knew nothing of that. he had asked to leave the order, and before according any dispensation, two years' waiting were imposed on his ardent nature. he obeyed, not only without murmuring, but with gratitude : he agreed to be kept under the trappist rule long after the fifth anniversary of his vows. how long did he remain at stauëli? a few weeks. and at once he formed friendships: he was immediately venerated by his brethren: they still recollect his passage as one of the more important events. after over twenty years one of these witnesses, questioned on the subject of father de foucauld, was moved at the thought of brother marie-albéric, and replied: "i was a novice then. how he edified the whole community! in church, his eyes were always fixed on the blessed sacrament. he did not believe, he saw. he lived on nothing, being satisfied with the vegetables he found in the soup, not touching the soup itself or anything else; and that only once a day at noon. he only slept two hours. he used to sit up till midnight, in a little infirmary chapel whence he could see the blessed sacrament. at midnight, he went and took a little rest, and at 2 o'clock he was in the choir with the community."" letter from father yves, february 16, 1917. 102: charles de foucauld some days passed: and he was in rome. he lived in the father-general's house, 95, via san giovanni in laterano. there, he did everything that he was told to do; he became a student again amongst clergy younger than he; his strong will held him under obedience and, in truth, saved him. "november 19, 1896.-old and ignorant, and unfamiliar with latin, i find it very hard to follow the lectures. i shall be as great an ass in theology as in everything else." "december 7, 1896.-please god, i shall most probably spend three years here: this year, i am only taking philosophy. i take that as a trial which i am endeavouring to accomplish as well as possible, with obedience and gratitude yet desiring another life with increasing ardour. · · "pardon me if my replies are not long. in conscience, i am obliged to study hard,—and with my bad memory, my thirty-eight years of age, and but little time, it is tough work getting through, and i must try to benefit by the sacrifices which my superiors are making for me through a very pure and disinterested kindness, since they are fully acquainted with my desires." at stauëli, brother marie-albéric became intimately acquainted with father jérôme: the letters which he sent him from rome are invaluable records. he seems to deliver his soul fully in them; they reveal it in his thoughts in his regular prayer, and they also disclose all the characteristics of a friendship which rarely flourishes except in the cloister or on the mountains near it. "rome, november 8, 1896.-after leaving algiers, which was so sorrowful for all, but had the blessing of affording us the opportunity of offering a sacrifice to godand that is still the greatest blessing, the only true one there is in life, the one which unites us most to our blessed saviour -when one loves, what is sweeter than to give something to the beloved; above all, to give him something to which we are attached, to suffer for love of him, to give him all our heart's blood? . . . i wanted to speak to you of our arrival in rome, but here i am, still at the departure from algiers. . . . it was so sorrowful for me! but blessed be god for it and blessed be all sorrow! 66 we reached rome on friday at half-past i in the afternoon we did not get out at san paolo station, which is the trappist 103 near st. peter's; it was not very feasible, and we thanked god for that; if we had got out there, we should have had to take cab after cab, and it would have really grieved me to enter, with so little poverty, the city into which st. peter and st. paul both walked so poor and miserable, and st. peter in chains. . . . we therefore went on foot from the station to the procurator, and stopped on our way at two churches where we adored the holy sacrament on our first steps in rome, in order to ask him that we might live there according to his will. . . ." he says that he frequently passed before the colosseum, "where so many martyrs gave their blood for our lord jesus with such joy and love! how our lord has been loved within these walls! what flames of love rose up to heaven! what are we in comparison with such souls? however, we have hearts like theirs, our lord loves us as much as them, and we can and ought to love him as much. oh, father, how we ought to love! how you and i must try to love this divine spouse of our souls! if our hearts are capable of loving passionately, and they are, let us drown ourselves in this love! the colosseum is quite close to us: i can see it from my window; it is there that st. ignatius joyfully let himself be crushed for our lord! how these stones speak! what a strain of love still rises thence to heaven! "i did my best to commend you at the same time as myself to st. paul, to that apostle who loved jesus so much, who worked so much for him, who suffered so much for him. may he draw you and me after him, and teach us to love!" "november 29, 1896.-dearest father, how right you are to speak to me at length of our lord! if there are two persons on earth who should speak only of god, are they not we in whose friendship there is nothing terrestrial? let our conversation be, then, that of the angels, my dearest father.... but whilst the angels have tongues of gold and hearts of fire, we stammer and are lukewarm; let us do what we can. . . that will be a reason for helping each other, for praying much for one another, for loving each other all the more because we are weaker, for having to sustain one another from afar, in order to follow, like our lord, the sorrowful way which he has shown us: "take up your cross and follow me." i send you a little flower that i gathered while praying for you in the catacomb of 104 charles de foucauld st. cecilia on the border of her tomb, on her feast; may this flower of martyrs recall to you, as to me, what the saints suffered, and what we ought to desire to suffer. .. this is our advantage over the angels! . . . at least we have tears, sorrows, perhaps would to god it were soblood to offer to our lord, in union with his tears and sorrows and blood! "manual labour is necessarily put into the second place at present because you, like myself, are in the period of infancy; we are not yet old enough to work with st. joseph: we are still with jesus the little child on the virgin's knees, learning to read. but later on, humble, vile, despised manual labour will again take its great place, and then, with holy communion, the lives of the saints, prayer, the humble work of our hands, humiliation, suffering, and if it please god, at last, the death of st. cecilia and so many others! with that we shall have the life of our lord and well-beloved master jesus. . . . permit one who has no right to give you the shadow of a counsel, one who is neither priest nor learned nor anything but a sinner, nevertheless to give you a hint. there is only one thing that authorizes me to do so-the fraternal love i have for you in our lord; it is to consult your director in everything, about everything, even little things. i tell you this because i was always the better for doing so, and the worse for doing otherwise; i wish you to profit by my experience. this habit of asking what one should do, even in little things, has a thousand good effects: it gives peace; it accustoms you to conquer yourself; it makes you look upon the things of this earth as nothing: it gets one to make a host of acts of love to obey is to love; it is the purest, the most perfect, the highest, the most disinterested, the most adoring act of love; it makes one, especially at first, perform not a few acts of mortification. "rome, december 21, 1896.-i do not want the feast of christmas to pass without telling you that i shall do my best to be united with you at the feet of our lord jesus in these days of benediction. . . behold, then, our lord on the way to bethlehem; probably five days' journey, the last of two or three hours from nazareth to en-gannin, from there to sichar, from there to bethel, from bethel to jerusalem, lastly from jerusalem to bethlehem. with what love, what meditation, the virgin must have made this journey! with what burning desire for the salvation of men, for whom the son of god had come down unto her the trappist 105 womb! every moment of this journey, our lord saw not only his mother and st. joseph, and the angels adoring him he saw the present and the future, and every moment in the lives of all men; and his sacred heart already felt that immense sorrow which was his lot during all his mortal life at the sight of the sins, ingratitude, and damnation of so many souls. and he felt also along with the deep consolation afforded him by his mother's holiness a lesser but real consolation at the sight of many holy souls, of all the souls who had loved him and would one day love him, of all the hearts which unite with that of mary to try and throb only for him. . . . shall we be of these, dear father? shall we be a consolation or a sorrow to our blessed saviour? if christmas is the beginning of our joys, it is the beginning of the sorrows of jesus. christmas is only eight days from the circumcision. bethlehem is only 8 kilometres from jerusalem. when one is in palestine that strikes one painfully after having spent the christmas of 1888 at bethlehem, having heard midnight mass and received holy communion in the grotto; after two or three days, i returned to jerusalem. "the sweetness that i had experienced in praying in that grotto which had resounded with the voices of jesus, mary and joseph, and where i was so near them, had been inexpressible. . . . but, alas! after an hour's walk, the dome of the holy sepulchre, calvary, and the mount of olives rose up before me. i was obliged, whether i wished it or not, to change my thoughts and find myself once more at the foot of the cross." • the study of theology, some walks in rome, letters like those which we have just read or shall read later on, along with prayer, took up the end of 1896 and the two first months of 1897. still, however firmly he might be anchored in obedience, he could not fail to perceive the dates coming closer on which a change would occur, an order be given determining his future. brother marie-albéric thought of the 2nd of february. and, shortly before that anniversary, to a friend, this time not father jérôme, he set forth the suppositions and the probabilities on which he reckoned: "the end of this month and the beginning of next are critical for me; on the 2nd of february five years ago i took my first vows. by the terms of the constitution, on that date i am to take my solemn vows or leave the order. . . . to remain in the order two years and a half more without 106 charles de foucauld taking my solemn vows, a dispensation of the holy see, only granted for strong reasons, would be necessary. my novice master does not think that in this case there are sufficient motives to ask for a dispensation. it might happen that in a few days from now i may be obliged to come to a definite decision . . . that will depend upon the most reverend father general, who will be here to-morrow or the day after. . . . the day on which my vocation is clearly known to my father general and the novice master, and that it appears clear to them that god does not want me at la trappe (at least as a father), they will tell me, and ask me to retire, for they are too conscientious to wish to retain me a single day, when they see the will of god is otherwise.¹ he consented to live thus for three years! his superiors had no need of so long a trial to be sure that so humble a virtue could vanquish the dangers of a solitary life among men. by the perfection of his obedience, they recognized that the call he heard since the first days of his entrance to la trappe was not that of a masked pride. the general of the order, who was travelling, reached rome on january 16, 1897. immediately, he made it his business to get a decision on the case of brother mariealbéric by the members of his council. the latter suspected nothing. the general sent for him, and told him that the moment had come to inquire what were god's designs for his servant charles de foucauld; and that, if the fathers, after prayer, study, and reflection, recognized that the latter had an exceptional vocation, outside the rule of st. benedict and st. bernard, he must follow it without delay and with his whole heart. ་་ "i laid before him in writing the state of my soul; then he gathered his council, and there, before god, having no longer but one thing in view, his will, the father general and all the members of the council declared unanimously that the good god called me to a particular life of poverty and abjection, and that i should enter it without further delay. consequently, i am to be given a dispensation, and all doors are open for me to follow god's call immediately. our good father general told me that yesterday. he at the same time said that he thought i ought to remain under obedience as to the matter of my vocation, but in that and in all, it was best for me to refer not to him, but to the abbé. i wrote to him yesterday evening. as soon as i have his 1 letter to a friend, january 15, 1897. the trappist 107 answer, i shall set out. you know that i wish to be a servant in an eastern convent, the abbé will indicate which, and i shall go there."¹ "my dear child," m. huvelin replied, "i fear another trappe for you, where i should prefer to see you nevertheless. the same thought will come to you there, the same comparison between the life you see and the life you follow after. i prefer capharnaum or nazareth, or some such franciscan convent; not in the convent, but only under the shadow of the convent; asking only for spiritual assistance, living in poverty at the gate. do not think of banding any souls around you, nor, above all, of giving them a rule. live your life, then; if any souls come, live the same life together, without making any regulations. on this point i am quite clear. "i admire the goodness and simplicity of the father general; i admire the charity of the good fathers, who love you and part with you. i am touched by their way of treating you. the trappists paid him the courtesy, the exquisite attention, of offering him a ticket on the boat, though he ceased to be brother marie-albéric, and of conveying him thus to the door of the "franciscan convent." "what a favour god bestows on me!" replied charles de foucauld. "how good he is to have made me come so far, to rome, to give my vocation the very fullest and most entire confirmation that is possible in this world. i thought i came to rome to study: i came here to be sent, without asking, by the very hand of our general, to follow the attraction which has been drawing me for so long." the news that brother marie-albéric had left la trappe circulated quickly from the convent of rome to the other convents where he was known. it made more than one old monk weep. one of them, the former prior of notre-dame at akbes, who had become prior of stauëli, even wrote: "in leaving us, he has given me the greatest pain that i have ever felt in my life."2 charles de foucauld had spent seven years in la trappe. all his life he preserved the greatest respect and gratitude for the venerable order he left; later on he was to return 1 letter of january 24, 1897. 2 letter of dom louis de gonzague to m. de blic. the same monk had thus judged brother marie-albéric in a letter dated the month of the preceding october: "for almost seven years i have seen him a trappist, and faithful to all his religious duties, and i was wont to look upon him as a real saint; it is also the impression that he has left here amongst a community of eight hundred after a month's short stay. 108 charles de foucauld and ask the trappe of notre-dames-des-neiges to receive him, for several months, as guest and friend. one of his first cares, henceforward, was to advise father jérôme of the great event which had transformed brother marie-albéric into a secular, and was to make him change habit, rule, and scene. · "rome, january 24, 1897.-i believe it is my vocation to come down all the doors are open to me, in order to cease being a choir-monk and go down to the rank of servant and menial. yesterday i received this news from the very mouth of my good and excellent father general, whose goodness to me touches me so deeply! . . . but i needed obedience before he came to a decision; i had promised god to do all that my most reverend father told me, after undertaking the examination of my vocation, and also all my confessor told me. so that had i been told: 'you are going to take your solemn vows in ten days, and afterwards receive holy orders, i should have obeyed with joy, being certain that i was doing the will of god. . . . and even now i am in the hands of god and obedience. i asked where i must go on leaving here in a few days: it will be to the east; but in what house i don't know at all. god will tell me by the voice of my director. . . . you see i need my brother's prayers. . . . i am bringing you down too, my dearest brother, to be the brother of a domestic, a servant, a menial; this is not glorious in the eyes of the world. . . but you are dead to the world, and nothing can make you blush. . . . • "thanks for having opened your heart to me about your desires for the priesthood: i thank god with all my soul for inspiring you with that desire: i do not for a moment doubt that it is your vocation, and, from the bottom of my heart, i thank god for it. . . . there is no vocation in the world as great as a priest's; and in truth, it is not of the world, it is, even here, of heaven. . . . the priest is something transcendent, exceeding all.. what a vocation, my dear brother, and how much i praise god for having given it to you.... once, i regretted not receiving it, regretted not to be clothed in that sacred character; it was at the height of the armenian persecutions. . . . i should have wished to be a priest, to know the language of the poor persecuted christians, and to be able to go from village to village to encourage them to die for their god. . . . i was not worthy of it. . . but you, who knows what god reserves for you? the future is so unknown! god • · . • the trappist 109 leads us by such unexpected paths! ... if ever obedience brings you to these distant shores where so many souls are lost for want of priests, where the harvest abounds and perishes for want of workers, thank god, without measure. wherever one can do most good to others, there one is best: entire forgetfulness of self, entire devotion to the children. of our heavenly father, that is our lord's life, the life of all true christians, that is above all the priest's life... also, if ever you are called to these countries where the people are seated in the shadow of death, thank god without measure, and give yourself up body and soul to make the light of christ shine amongst these souls watered with his blood; you can do it in the trappe with wonderful results; obedience will furnish you with the means. . . . charles de foucauld, in announcing his early departure for the east to his brother-in-law, asked him to keep it secret: "the new life that i am going to begin will be much more hidden, much more solitary than that which i am leaving. i want you alone to know where i am; do not therefore say that i am in the holy land; say only that i am in the east, leading a very retired life, writing to nobody, and not wanting anyone to know where i am." charles de foucauld left rome in the beginning of february, to embark at brindisi. he was going to lead the life he had longed for; it was to be an extraordinary one, a life adapted to him. naturally, he was convinced that he was going into asia for ever, where his bones would rest later on beside the dust of the patriarchs. he was mistaken; other and wilder countries were awaiting him, and other labours. nazareth and jerusalem were to be for him only splendid experiments, two steps of the scala santa that he had commenced to climb. chapter vi nazareth and jerusalem 99 olessed are the poor; that is the beatitude i want. i have already been offered a corner where i believe my soul will be well. in any case, he who assigns each leaf its place can put me in mine, charles de foucauld wrote to his sister, when he was leaving italy for the east. the boat was one of those calling at alexandria, then at jaffa, before going on to constantinople. the pilgrim landed on the shore which is bordered by a semi-circle of square painted houses in filth at the bottom, but with very beautiful gardens of orange-trees extending at the back. he neither stayed in the houses nor in the shade of their gardens, and at once set out on foot, to reach by stages the town where he wanted to live: nazareth. having passed through ramleh, acre, bethlehem, jerusalem, and sichar, on march 5, 1897, and quite unknown, like the poor who still stand at the town gates, he entered nazareth the blessed. a week later the leaf had found its place. charles de foucauld wrote to his counsin, colonel louis de foucauld, who had just been appointed military attaché at berlin: แ "i am settled in nazareth henceforth; there you may henceforth write to the following address: charles de foucauld, nazareth, holy land, poste restante. the good god has let me find here, to the fullest extent, what i wanted poverty, solitude, abjection, very humble work, complete obscurity, as perfect an imitation as possible of the life of our lord jesus in this same nazareth. love imitates, love wants to conform with its beloved; it tends to unite everything, their souls in the same feelings, all the moments of existence in a kind of identity of life; that is why i am here. la trappe made me ascend, made me a life of study, an honoured life. that is why i left it and embraced here the humble and hidden life of the divine workman of nazareth. "keep my secrets; they are love-secrets that i entrust to you. i am very happy; my heart has what it yearned for so many years. nothing remains now beyond going to heaven.' 1 letter to comte louis de foucauld, april 12, 1897. iio nazareth and jerusalem iii what had happened, and what employment had he found? "" charles de foucauld had at first presented himself to the franciscan fathers who gave hospitality to pilgrims to the holy land, and had asked them to accept him as a servant to the religious. they had no need of his services. he had therefore decided to live in the franciscan house, casanova, for three days as an ordinary guest, but after making his confession to one of the religious, a chaplain of the poor clares of nazareth, he looked so perplexed that his confessor said to him: "i shall speak of you at st. clare's; they will perhaps find you a place. but already the traveller had been recognized by the brother guest-master of casa-nova, who remembered perfectly having seen him some years before in nazareth, in quite another turn-out. the abbess was therefore warned that a strange pilgrim would come to the monastery and offer himself as servant, and that this pilgrim, vowed to penance, was named the vicomte de foucauld. she was a woman to understand the greatness as well as the singularity of such a conjuncture, and then to contrive all for the soul's peace. on the feast of st. colette, at the exposition of the blessed sacrament, they saw a man still young come into the chapel of the poor clares, dressed in such a way that no one could tell to what nation he belonged, unless it were to that of the poor, which is immense and of all countries. he knelt down some way off before the altar, and remained there without stirring, for one, two, three hours, so that the attendant sister, an arabian, was quite anxious, and said to one of her companions: "i must watch that man, who does not leave the chapel. i fear he may steal something." the unknown one went out after doing nothing beyond praying a great deal. but three days later he came back and asked to speak to the abbess of st. clare's, the reverend mother st. michael. to understand the sequel of this story, you must know that charles de foucauld, on disembarking in the holy land, had adopted a costume which might have some kinship with the clothes of certain orientals-people of so many races are met with in the eastern crowds-but which caused astonishment even in that country. he wore a long hooded blouse with white and blue stripes, blue cotton trousers, and on his head a very thick white woollen cap, around which he had rolled a strip of fabric in the form of a turban. he had only sandals on his feet. a rosary of big beads hung from the leather girdle which tightened his tunic. in 112 charles de foucauld adopting this dress, no doubt the solitary meant to expiate the smartness of former days, and to excite to some extent the scorn of the passers-by and the mockery of the children in the street, and to take all this gladly. he knew the saying of st. ignatius, used by so many saints of all ages: "i prefer to be regarded as a nobody and a madman for christ, who was thus looked upon before me." he imagined that everybody would take him for what he was not a poor beggar, without name, education or style. but the delicacy of his features, his accent and involuntary choice of words, his easy gestures and pose which just altered some fold or line that is to say, nearly everything in the look of his dress-betrayed him. that is what happened when he was called to the parlour to interview the abbess of nazareth standing on the other side of the enclosure. she did not see him, but heard him. the abbess had no sooner questioned this visitor than she understood that she had not been misled. we can fancy her smiling whilst the pilgrim was asking for work, any job they liked to give him, provided they left him time to pray; a hut under the shadow of the monastery, and the guaranteed wage of just a slice of bread. as she was not only acute but advanced in spirituality, she very clearly felt that the man was sincere, and that he must be helped in the exceptional work he was undertaking. very well," she said. "nearly all the work within the enclosure is done by the sisters: but we indeed want a sacristan, a man who will take our orders to the post and do other little jobs. you will be the man, and you will get the wages you ask for." she had thought of giving him a gardener's quarters. he blankly refused, and looking round he saw a log-hut outside the yard about a hundred yards off. it was used as a lumber-room, and looked quite like a sentry-box covered with tiles. this cabin leant against a wall and was situated on the border of land belonging to the poor clares. "that will do for me," he said, "i shall stay there." 66 they gave him two trestles, two boards, a straw mattress, a woollen wrapper stuffed with rags to use as a coverlet : this was all the hovel could hold. when the mattress and planks had to be lifted up, the pilgrim was too worn out by his journey to do it. his swollen and sore feet gave way under the weight; and he was obliged to drag his bed to the hut. here he is now a hermit, apparently lost in his often longed-for nazareth. nazareth and jerusalem 113 to meet his wishes, some little jobs were given him in the days which followed; he was asked to pick lentils; then to repair the enclosure wall, which threatened falling in several places, with dry stone; then to dig a few beds in the garden. the attempts were generally not very successful. the abbess soon saw that her guest was not accustomed to such work. she let him serve mass, sweep the chapel, pray bowed and motionless in a corner as long as he wanted to do so; and then shut himself up in the hut, where he gave very few hours to sleep, and many to meditation, reading and writing. she learned by degrees that he was studying theology, and composing several works, especially meditations on the gospels. being quite sure that she had received a holy man, she gave him more and more freedom to live as he was inspired to live, and ordered him to be given only the errands which the attendants could not do as well as he. lastly, the sisters were discreet enough to let him long remain ignorant of the fact that they knew his real name and something of his history. he himself related his start in life in the east. το colonel de foucauld he revealed the place of his hermitage, to monsieur and madame de blic he details "his use of his time." 66 coming here without knowing any trade, without a testimonial, with no other papers than my passport, on the sixth day i found out not only how to gain my living, but to gain it in such conditions that i have absolutely what i have longed to have for so many years, and one would say that this place was waiting for me; and, in fact, it was waiting for me, for nothing happens by chance and everything that takes place has been prepared by god: i am a domestic, servant, and menial of a poor religious community. "you ask me for the details of my life. "i live in a solitary little house, situated in a close belonging to the sisters whose happy servant i am. i am there quite alone on the border of the little town on one side is the sisters' enclosure, on the other the country, fields, and hillocks; it is a delightful and perfectly solitary hermitage. . . . i get up when my good angel wakens me, and i pray till the angelus; at the angelus i go to the franciscan convent; then i go down into the grotto which formed part of the house of the holy family; i remain there till about 6 o'clock in the morning, saying my rosary and hearing the masses which are said in that adorably holy place, where god became incarnate, where the voices of 8 114 charles de foucauld jesus, mary and joseph echoed for thirty years. it is sweet to feel one is looking at the walls of rock on which the eyes of jesus rested and which his hands touched. "6 at at 6 o'clock i go to the sisters, who are so good to me that they are really my mothers. in the sacristy and chapel i prepare what is necessary for mass and pray. . . 7 o'clock i serve mass. . . . 'after thanksgiving i put the sacristy and chapel in order. when sweeping is required (on saturday only) i sweep. on thursday and sunday i go and fetch the letters (there is no postman, everybody goes and fetches his letters); i am the sisters' postman. by the way, put poste restante on the addresses no longer; put simply' nazareth.' then i do what i am told, now one little job, now another; very often i draw little pictures (mere elementary drawings), the sisters want them and get me to do them.. "if there is a little errand, i do it, but it is very rare; in general i spend my whole day doing little jobs in my little room, near the sacristy; about 5 o'clock i prepare whatever is wanted for benediction, when there is any, which is very often, thank god. "from then i remain in the chapel till half-past 7 in the evening. then i return to my hermitage, where i read till 9 o'clock. at 9 o'clock the bell announces evening prayers; i say them and go to bed. i read during my meals; i take them quite alone. i am the only servant, which is very pleasant for me; i see nobody in the world but my confessor every week for confession, and the sisters when they have something to say to me; which is rare, for they are very silent. ،، besides i spend half an hour before 11 o'clock, and half an hour at 3 o'clock, in the chapel; they are the hours of sext, none, and vespers. "the sisters supply me with all the books i want; they are infinitely good to me. "the more you give to god, the more he renders. i thought i gave up all in leaving the world and entering la trappe, i received more than i had given. once more i thought i had given all in leaving la trappe: i have been loaded and overloaded without measure. infinitely enjoy being poor, dressed as a workman, a servant, in that low condition which was that of jesus our lord; and by an overplus of exceptional grace, to be all that in nazareth." . . i 1 letters to m. de blic, april 24 and november 25, 1897. nazareth and jerusalem 115 one. he was no longer a religious, but he always lived like it must also be added that after being dispensed from his trappist vows, at rome he had taken the vow of perpetual chastity under his confessor-a trappist of rome; and also this never to have in his possession or for his own use more than a poor workman has. in landing, he had brought no luggage. in the hermitage only the smallest amount of furniture could have been listed a few pictures, a much cherished crucifix inlaid with a piece of the true cross, then a few books, given or borrowed. perhaps the number of books exceeded that which would be found in a workman's library, but it might be replied that they were tools. as to the table, it was neither abundant nor varied. the hermit adopted the diet of the poor clares. on sundays and feast-days a few almonds and dried figs were added. but charles de foucauld did not eat any of them. one day one of the lay-sisters found, in one of the chapel stalls, a box in which he had put away the almonds and figs in view of distributing them to the children in the street or country when he went out. at first they readily used to mock the foreigner who walked with downcast eyes and a big rosary at his girdle. soon they ran after him, begging the dainties which he had for them in his pocket, and with their naked uplifted arms and dancing eyes, they surrounded him with brightness. the other poor soon came to know his charity. they came to find him in his hut, knocking at the door behind which the hermit was studying or praying. one sunday, towards evening, while the sun was still strong, but when the first fresh breath of night was passing over the stifled earth, three ragged travellers from goodness knows where, going right on begging for everything, stopped before the hermit and said to him: "we have nothing left to clothe us. see, the night will be cold." he looked at them, was moved with pity, thought of st. martin, and taking his knife, he cut in two the great woollen mantle which he wore. then, seizing the spare tunic which was hanging on a nail, he beckoned to the third beggar, the one who had received nothing: "come along with me." they both went into the monastery yard, before the portress's lodge. " sister," charles de foucauld said to the lay-sister, i pray you fit my garment to this unfortunate man; a cut or two of the scissors and a few stitches will do." "but, brother charles, it is sunday to-day !" "i will help you; i will cut and then you will sew; we 116 charles de foucauld may work a little, because these poor people are in such need." every time he was asked by the rare passers-by, or by the chaplain or sisters, he put himself out of the way and tried to oblige his neighbours. it was thus that one day he agreed to lie in wait. a jackal was robbing the poor clares' poultry-yard. it used to slip into the garden by a certain well-known path between two rocks, and carry off a still cackling hen; the next day it would be off with the best layer, and if there followed a little respite, it was because the fine fellow with the long pointed ears had paid a visit to a neighbour's hen-roost. the country must be rid of this offensive and thieving brute. and who would do it more easily than an ex-cavalry officer? a gun was borrowed from a consular agent; charles de foucauld lay hiding, at a good distance from the rock, and began to wait for the jackal. but no sooner was he seated with the loaded gun on his knees than he began reciting the rosary according to the custom which he loved, and to meditate upon the joyful, sorrowful, and glorious mysteries. time passed delightfully for him. the eyes of the solitary wandered on to the terraces of the town which was going to sleep. he saw before him houses like one another and like our saviour's former workman's home. he was happy and absent-minded. mr. jackal asked for nothing more. he came trotting along, stopped before showing himself, observed that the enemy's mind was elsewhere, entered the poultry-yard, killed a selected hen right off, and then galloped away with it. when the lay-sisters came to question brother charles, and ask him about the hunt : "i have seen nothing," he replied. this was his first and last lying in wait for game in the hills of nazareth. these stories and many others which are told of him, the singularity of his costume, his politeness, his charity, and his long daily prayers attracted the attention of all who lived in nazareth or spent any time there. he came to be highly regarded: they tried to know why he had come to the country from so far; and as the idea of power, in the popular imagination, rarely goes without gold or precious stones, he was represented as a very rich man, and this gave him a place apart among the servants of the charitable establishments of the town. for instance, at the, post-office he met a lay-brother of a salesian house at nazareth, and was accosted by him. "excuse me," said the brother; "they say lots of things nazareth and jerusalem 117 i should like to know whether they are about you. true ?" "what's the good?" "it is said that you had a good position in france. . . ." "what position?" a count's.' 66 brother charles smiled, and replied carelessly: "i am an old soldier." his letters during this period of his life are particularly affectionate. he writes only to his relatives. how often lost in silence, the door of his hut open, gazing at the eastern heavens, better jewelled with more numerous stars than ours, he thought of his sister and of his sister's children, of the peaceful hills of barbirey, of his cousin louis de foucauld, of his cousins in paris and abbé huvelin, of that little group of dear ones who knew his place of retreat, and wrote regularly to brother charles of jesus, nazareth. for he finally adopted that name, which hid his own, but disclosed his love. he was in infinite peace. let me make a sort of psalm with the phrases of joy which are scattered through his letters: "i am in infinite peace, flooded with peace overflowing. "" if you knew the joys of the religious life, and all the jubilation of my soul ! "how does god repay even here a hundredfold in inward grace what we give unto him. "the more i gave up all comforts, the more happiness i have found! "i praise god daily for the life he has ordained for me, and i am overwhelmed with gratitude. give thanks and praise with me!" news comes from france, from the scattered family. he, the hermit, has none to give in return, but he sings the psalm that i have just spoken; and he replies promptly, letting speak each of his childhood's affections, which are now as lively as ever and always referred to god by some quotation betraying the practice of meditation. he heard that one of his nieces was going to make her first communion: "how i shall be with you on that day !" he wrote. "look for me quite close to you, in church; before and after and at home. i shall be with you everywhere.' his sister was going to leave dijon to live in the country: "my little mimi, don't be frightened of going to barbirey or of anything in the world. fear not to find depression 118 charles de foucauld there believe the experience of your old brother: god is the master of our hearts as well as our bodies: he gives us, as he wills, joy and sorrow, as well as health and sickness. believe indeed that it is folly to say to yourself: 'this will make me happy, that unhappy'; for happiness or depression do not depend on this or that, but on god, who has a host of means of filling us with joy or sorrow.' his brother-in-law informed him of the birth of a child. "my dear friend," brother charles replies, "how great and wonderful is a soul! such a soul is your child's, and, after its time of trial it will live for ever in the glory, radiance, beatitude, and ineffable perfection of the elect at the feet of god! ... i am settled in nazareth. ... am as happy as one can be down here, in my life of a labouring son of mary, endeavouring to follow, as far as my moral poverty permits, the vanishing and hidden life of our wellbeloved jesus, in whom i love you with my whole heart." i the envelope contained a second letter for comte louis de foucauld. and brother charles added, as a postscript, this recommendation: "be good enough, i beg you, to forward this letter to louis de foucauld. it worries me to make known to the persons who take my letters to the post, the names of those to whom i write: i am solitary, silent and unknown." the little child of whom i have just spoken died a few months after its birth. brother charles consoled the father and mother, as his custom was, by setting heaven's gates ajar. he says how well he understands the parents' sorrow, and then tells them of their son's eternal happiness: "how great he is compared with you and with all of us! how high he is over us!... none of your children love you as much as he does, because he drinks deeply of the torrent of divine love. . . . i have already familiarly invoked my little nephew-saint. . . . pray to him constantly, dear marie, and thank god well for making you the mother of a saint. a mother lives in her children: you are partly in heaven already! more than ever henceforth you will have your conversation in heaven.'" i all the correspondence of this period is in words thus "winged." i should like to quote at full length a very fine series of letters to a trappist, on monastic obedience. cannot interrupt my story too often. it ought to picture a life hastening on, and, above all, its example must be made plain. i shall therefore only say that, during his hermit-life in the holy land, the requests for books and the thanks for nazareth and jerusalem 119 books sent, are numerous. brother charles asked his sister to forward to the east the german translation of the vulgate and also a history of the catholic church in german (he wished to lend them to some german protestants who were then living in nazareth); the last edition of two courses of philosophy in latin by father de mandato and father feretti, both jesuits: the roman ordo for the breviary and the mass-"i say the breviary," he added, and in my great love of rome, as i am not bound to anything, i want to say it as roman priests say it";-four volumes by abbé darras; a "good" st. john chrysostom; a little later on he took delight in a new testament and a prayer-book in arabic. prayer, study, and solitude, these were to bring upon him the grace of god. ་ he was accustomed from the beginning of his conversion and while with the trappists to go into retreats. he went on a twelve days' retreat at nazareth, not to speak of one or two shorter ones. it took place at the beginning of november, 1897. the meditations were all written down; i have the text of them before me. they give some idea of his fervour and faith and power of self-analysis. i here give one of them, and reading it reminds one of certain chapters of the confessions of st. augustine: the same ardour of contrition, the same gratitude, the same frankness. myself and my past life god's mercy. (the fourteenth meditation of the retreat.) ―――― ... "lord jesus, make thou my thoughts and words. if i was weak in previous meditations, how much more so in this! . . . it is not material that is wanting . . . on the contrary, it overwhelms me! what mercies there are, god, mercies of yesterday, of to-day, of every moment of my life; before my birth and before time itself! i am submerged in them, flooded by them; they cover and enclose me on all sides. . . . ah, my god, we have all to sing of thy mercies, we who are all of us created for eternal glory and redeemed by the blood of jesus, by thy blood, dear lord jesus, who art close to me in this tabernacle; but if all of us owe it thee, how much do i, who have been from my infancy surrounded by so many graces, the son of a holy mother, learning from her to know thee, to love thee and to pray to thee as soon as i could understand a word! is not my first recollection that of the prayer she made me recite morning and evening: 'o god, bless papa, mamma, grandpapa, grandmamma, grandmamma foucauld, and 120 charles de foucauld my little sister'? and that pious bringing up! ... those visits to churches. . . those flowers placed beneath the crosses, the christmas cribs, the months of mary; the little altar in my room, kept for me as long as i had a room to myself at home, and which outlived my faith! the catechisms, the first confessions seen to by a christian grandfather... the examples of piety given in my familyi see myself going to church with my father (how long ago that is), with my grandfather; i see my grandmother and my cousins going to mass every day. . . . and that first communion, after a long and careful preparation surrounded with the graces and encouragement of a whole christian family, under the eyes of those i loved most in all the world, so that all was united together in one day to make me taste all the sweetness of it. . . . and then the catechism of perseverance under the direction of a good, pious, intelligent, and zealous priest, my grandfather always encouraging me by word and example in the paths of piety; the most pious and most beautiful souls of my family loading me with encouragement and kindness, and thou, my god, planting in my heart an attachment for them which the storms that followed could not uproot, and which thou madest use of later on to save me when i was dead and drowned in evil. . . . and then when i began to stray away from thee, in spite of so many graces, with what gentleness didst thou recall me to thee by the voice of my grandfather, with what mercy didst thou prevent me from falling into extreme excesses by keeping in my heart my affection for him! but in spite of all that, unfortunately i forsook thee more and more, my lord and my life-and my own life, too, began to be a death, or rather it was a death in thine eyes. and in that state of death thou didst still preserve me. . . . thou didst preserve my memories of the past, my esteem of virtue, my friendship-sleeping like fire under ashes, but always existing-for certain beautiful and pious souls, my respect for the catholic religion and priests: all faith had disappeared, but my respect and esteem remained intact. thou gavest me other graces, o god-thou didst preserve in me the liking for study, serious reading, beautiful things, the dislike of vice and ugliness. . . . i did evil, but neither approved nor loved it. . . . thou madest me feel a sorrowful void, a depression that i experienced then only; . . . it used to come upon me every evening, when i was alone in my rooms; . . . it kept me dumb and oppressed during socalled fêtes: i organized them, but when the time came i · nazareth and jerusalem 121 .. spent them in dumbness, distaste, and infinite boredom.... thou gavest me the vague uneasiness of a bad conscience, which was all asleep yet not quite dead. i never felt such depression, so ill at ease, such anxiety till then. o god, it must have been a gift from thee; . . . how far i was from suspecting it! ... how good thou art. and by this invention of thy love, at the same time as thou didst prevent my soul from drowning beyond recovery, thou didst take care of my body for had i then died, i should have been in hell. . . riding accidents, miraculously avoided and averted! the duels that thou didst prevent! during expeditions, the perils that thou didst turn aside! the many and great dangers of travelling, through which thou hast brought me as if by a miracle. my health unaffected even in the most unwholesome places, and despite such great fatigue! ... o god, how thy hand was upon me, and how little i felt it! how good thou art! how didst thou watch over me! how didst thou cover me with thy wings when i did not even believe in thine existence! and whilst thou wert thus guarding me thou didst deem it was now time for me to return to the fold. . . . thou didst unloose in my despite all the evil ties that would have kept me far from thee. . . thou didst even untie the good bonds which would have prevented me re-entering into the bosom of that family, in which thou desiredst to make me find salvation, and which would have hindered me from being one day all thine. ... at the same time, thou gavest me a life of serious studies, a hidden life, solitary and poor. . . . my heart and mind were far from thee, but yet i lived in a less tainted atmosphere; not in the light nor in goodness, far from it; ... but the mire was no longer so deep, nor the evil so odious; . . . the place was being cleared out little by little; . . . the water of the deluge still covered the earth, but it was subsiding more and more, and the rain was no longer falling. . . thou hadst broken the obstacles, softened the soul, prepared the ground by burning the thorns and bushes. by stress of circumstances didst thou force me to be chaste, and soon, at the end of the winter of '86, didst thou bring me back to my family in paris, and chastity became my delight and my heart's desire. it is thou, o god, who didst that, thou alone; unhappily, i had nothing to do in it. how good hast thou been! from what sad and guilty relapses hast thou mercifully saved me! in all this, thy hand alone wrought the beginning, the middle, and the end. how good thou • 122 charles de foucauld art! it was necessary in order to prepare my soul for the truth; the devil's power is too great over an unchaste soul for the truth to enter in. . . . thou, o god, couldst not enter a soul where the demon of uncleanness held the mastery. . . . thou desiredst to enter mine, o good shepherd, and thou thyself didst drive out thine enemy, and after having driven him out by force, in spite of me, seeing my infirmity and how incapable i was of myself to keep my soul pure, thou didst set a good guardian to guard it, so strong and so gentle that not only did he not leave the least entrance for the demon of impurity, but made me feel the need and the charm of the delights of chastity. ... o god, how shall i praise thy mercies! . . . and after having emptied my soul of its filth and having entrusted it to thine angels, thou wouldst return to it anew, o god! for after receiving all these graces, it yet knew thee not! thou didst continually work in it and on it. thou didst transform it with a sovereign power and astonishing rapidity, and it was completely ignorant of thee. . . then didst thou inspire it with a taste for virtue, for pagan virtue; thou madest me seek it in the books of pagan philosophers, and i found there nothing but emptiness and dislike. then didst thou let me see a few pages of a christian book, and madest me feel their warmth and beauty. . . thou madest me suspect that perhaps i should there find, if not the truth (i did not think that men could know it), at least the teachings of virtue, and thou inspiredst me to seek lessons of an altogether pagan virtue in christian books. . . . thus didst thou familiarize me with the mysteries of religion. . . . at the same time, thou didst knit more and more closely the bonds which united me to finer souls; thou broughtest me back to the family, to which i was passionately attached in my young days, in childhood. . . . for these souls thou madest me feel again my old admiration, and them thou didst inspire to receive me as the prodigal son who was not even made to feel that he had ever abandoned the paternal roof. thou madest them as kind to me as i might have expected had i never erred. . . . i drew nearer and nearer to this well-beloved family. there i lived in such an atmosphere of virtue that my life recovered visibly; it was spring restoring life to earth after the winter; . . . it is in that gentle sun that the desire for goodness grew, and the dislike of evil, the impossibility of backsliding into certain faults, the striving after goodness. . . . thou hadst driven evil out of my heart; my good angel came back, and thou nazareth and jerusalem 123 .. gavest me a terrestrial angel as well. . . at the beginning of october, '86, after six months of family life, i admired and desired goodness, but thee i knew not. what devices, o god of goodness, didst thou use to reveal thyself to me! what circuitous ways! what gentle and strong outward means? what a series of astonishing circumstances, where all united to urge me towards thee; unexpected solitude, emotions, illnesses of beloved ones, ardent feelings of the heart, the return to paris after an amazing event. . . . and what interior graces! the desire for solitude, meditation, pious reading, the desire to go into thy churches, though i did not believe in thee, the trouble of my soul, the anguish, the striving after truth, the prayer: 'o god, if thou dost exist, make me know it.' all that was thy work, o god, thy work, thine alone. . . . a fine soul was helping thee, but by its silence, its gentleness, goodness, and perfection: it let itself be seen, it was good and exhaled its attractive perfume, but it did not act. thou, o jesus my saviour, thou didst all within me as well as without. thou drewest me to virtue by the beauty of a soul in which virtue appeared so beautiful that it ravished my heart for ever. . . thou drewest me to the truth by the beauty of this soul. thou then gavest me four graces: the first was to inspire me with this thought: since this man is so intelligent, the religion which he believes so firmly could not be the folly i think it. the second was to inspire me with this thought: since religion is not a folly, is the truth which on the earth is in no other nor in any philosophical system perhaps there? the third was to say to myself: let us then examine this religion; let us take a professor of the catholic religion, a learned priest, and let us see what it is, and whether we must believe what it says.' the fourth was the incomparable grace of applying to m. huvelin for my religious lessons. in making me enter his confessional, between the 27th and 30th, i think that thou, o god, gavest me every kind of good. if there is joy in heaven over one sinner being converted, there was joy when i entered that confessional! what a blessed day, what a day of benediction! . . . and since that day, my whole life has been only a chain of benedictions! thou didst put me under the wings of that saint, and i remained there. thou didst open the door by his hand, and there has been only grace upon grace. i asked for religious lessons; he made me kneel down and make my confession, and on the spot sent me to communion. ... i cannot help crying when i think of it, i 124 charles de foucauld don't want to check these tears, they are only too fitting, o god! what streams of tears ought to flow from my eyes at the thought of so many mercies! how good thou hast been! how happy i am! what have i done for this? since then, o god, there has been nothing but a chain of ever-increasing graces-a rising tide, always rising; direction, and such direction! prayer, holy reading, daily attendance at mass laid down from the first day of my new life; frequent communion, frequent confessions every few weeks; direction becoming more and more intimate and frequent, enveloping my whole life and making it a life of obedience in the smallest things, and obedience to such a master! communion becoming almost daily, . . . the desire for the religious life growing, gaining strength, . . . exterior events independent of my will forcing me to detach myself from material things which had a great deal of charm for me, and which would have held back my soul, would have bound it to the earth. thou didst violently shatter these bonds as well as many others. my god, how good thou art to have shattered all around me, to have so reduced to nothing all that would have prevented me from being thine alone! ... the deepening feeling of the vanity, the falseness of the worldly life, and of the distance which exists between the perfect evangelical life and that which one leads in the world. . . . the tender and increasing love of thee, lord jesus, the taste for prayer, the faith in thy word, the deep sense of the duty of almsgiving, the desire to follow thee, the words of m. huvelin's sermon: thou hast so taken the lowest place that no one can snatch it from thee!' so inviolably graven on my soul; the thirst to offer thee the greatest sacrifice i could possibly offer thee by leaving for ever a family in which all my happiness was centred and by going far away from it to live and to die; ... the striving after a life like thine, in which i can completely partake of thy abjection, poverty, humble labour, burial, thy hiddenness, a striving so clearly shown in a last retreat at clamart. . on january 15, 1890, the sacrifice accomplished, and that great grace being given me by thy hand. . . . la trappe, . . daily communion, ... what i learned during seven years of religious life, the graces of notre-dames-des-neiges, the graces of notre-dame-du-sacré-cœur, . . . the graces of stauëli,... the graces of rome, the town of st. peter and the martyrs, the holy father, the basilicas, the churches, the thousand marks of the apostles and martyrs, . . . theology, philosophy, readings, the exceptional vocation to • · nazareth and jerusalem 125 a life of abjection and obscurity. after three and a half years waiting the very reverend general told me, on january 23, 1897, that god's will is for me to follow the attraction which urges me to leave the trappist order for the life of abjection, humble toil and deep obscurity, of which i have had the vision for so long, my departure for the holy land, . . the pilgrimage, the arrival in nazareth, . . . the first wednesday that i spent there, o god, through the intercession of st. joseph, thou madest me a menial at the convent of st. clare. the peace, the happiness, consolations, graces, and marvellous felicity which i feel. . misericordias domini in æternum cantabo. . venite et videte, quoniam suavis est dominus. . . . o god, i can only tremble at such mercies; i can only beg the holy virgin and all the saints and holy souls to give thanks for me, for i faint beneath the load of graces... oh! my spouse, what hast thou not done for me! what then wouldst thou have of me that thou hast thus overwhelmed me? what dost thou expect of me to have thus overpowered me? o god, thank thyself within me, within me do thou thyself create gratitude, thanks, fidelity, and love; i succumb, i swoon, o god; transform my thoughts and words and works, so that everything may thank and glorify thee in me. amen, amen, amen." • thus the summer, autumn, and winter of 1897 were spent in nazareth. about this period the renown of brother charles of jesus reached as far as jerusalem. the abbess of the poor clares of nazareth had written to the abbess of jerusalem about the benevolent servant, who dressed like a pauper, spoke and wrote like a scholar and prayed like a saint. mother elizabeth du calvaire wished to see and question him. she had founded two monasteries and was, indeed, a sort of superioress-general. they therefore hastened to obey her. she was a most prudent woman, and, in the circumstances, feared that the nazareth community might be the victim of an adventurer. she would judge the case. brother charles was therefore sent by mother st. michael, who commissioned him to carry an important letter to the poor clares of jerusalem. he at once assented, and said that he was ready to start: he had no business to settle, no luggage to prepare. they suggested that he should take some provisions with him. he refused, saying that he knew the language of the country, and would beg his bread in the villages. he left as he had come, alone on foot, and passed through 126 charles de foucauld galilee and samaria, thinking of the master who had made this long journey so many times for him and for us all. christians gave him the bread and water he asked for; they put him up, nor did the turks refuse him. very tired, he came in sight of the walls on june 24, the feast of st. john the baptist, but as night was falling he slept on the ground in a field near the convent. next day he was received by the abbess, whose distrust did not last long after he had spoken for only five minutes. they could not think of letting the traveller, whose feet had been made sore by a bad pair of sandals, set out again for some time. there, too, he had an empty hut outside the enclosure, and built at some distance from another, in which lived a negro and his wife. as guardians of the sisters' little ground, brother charles asked to be allowed to be the neighbour of these poor people, and to stop in the empty hut. he refused to lodge in the chaplain's rooms, which the abbess placed at his disposal for a few days. to explain this offer, we must say that mother elizabeth du calvaire knew by the letter from nazareth whom she was receiving, and that from her first meeting with brother charles, he saw that he was known, and had spoken of himself more fully than usual, telling what trials he had undergone and for what he had come to the east. he had related some incidents of his infancy, his conversion, his years in la trappe, and let it just be seen that the hardest sacrifice for him had been, and still was, his separation from an excellent and beloved and united family. then suddenly he ceased speaking. the man of silence reappeared. the servant had taken leave of the abbess and begged permission to lodge outside the enclosure, not far from the negro guardian, in the country near the holy town. in the evening mother elizabeth, speaking to her daughters, said to them: "nazareth was not mistaken: he is truly a man of god; we have a saint in the house." this venerable and highly spiritual woman was, as we shall see, to have a decisive influence in the determination to which charles de foucauld came less than two years later, to prepare for the priesthood. he was at jerusalem for some weeks at least; he led the same life there in the same conditions as at nazareth, and he wrote to his relations in france: "i have just received your letter at jerusalem, where i have definitely settled down in the convent of the poor clares. the mother abbess of the jerusalem convent, who is the foundress of nazareth and jerusalem 127 the two monasteries, asked me to come here. i do not know why she made me come, for i am not much good; i believe it is simply for her to be able to show charity towards me and to overwhelm me with kindness. she is a saint. . . . how beautiful god makes souls, and how good he is to let me see them! what treasures of moral beauty there are in the depths of these cloisters, and what fair flowers blossom there, for god alone! . . . i have a little house with its back against the great wall of the enclosure. . . . i live like a hermit, or an independent workman, getting all i ask for, and working as and when i wish at very easy work that they have been so considerate as to give me, so that i may say that i gain my bread. . . . "my life here is exactly the same as at nazareth with this difference, that i am still more solitary-that is to say, better. the convent is over a mile from jerusalem on the bethania road, in an admirable position, on the border of the vale of cedron, opposite the mount of olives. from my windows i see all jerusalem, gethsemane, all the mount of olives, bethania, and, in the distance, the mountains of moab and edom, which rise up like a dark wall on the other side of the jordan; it is extremely beautiful. on the other side of the convent you can see the hills of bethlehem to the south and those of st. john the baptist (his birthplace and the deserts in which he lived) to the west... the cenacle, the road that jesus took with his apostles after the wedding-feast to go to the garden of the agony, the garden itself, the palace of the high priest to which he was led after having been bound, herod's palace, calvary, the cupola of the basilica of the holy sepulchre, the place of the ascension, dear and beloved bethania, the sole place in which our lord was always well received, the whole road which leads from jerusalem to bethania which our lord followed so often, bethphage the temple in which jesus so often taught, siloë with the pool in which the man blind from birth bathed his eyes all this is under our eyes and cries aloud, singing without ceasing of jesus. . . "why cannot you come here? how you would enjoy it! how touched you would feel and happy to know that jesus was speaking to your heart! "i never go into the town, nobody comes to the convent; i have therefore a marvellous solitude which i profoundly enjoy.... god is good! ... the farther i go, the more joy i find. i must humble myself for it: it shows i am not strong enough to endure crosses, but i must also be 128 charles de foucauld grateful to god, who, in his tender care, is so good as to save this poor shorn lamb from the least wind." brother charles rarely left his solitude except to go to the chapel. he used to say: "i have quite the life of a monk, except the habit." he soon returned to nazareth, but he really considered himself as a servant of both monasteries, and as mother elizabeth du calvaire had expressed the desire that he would come back and live in jerusalem, he returned there before the end of the year. what did it matter to him to be here or there, as the life was similar and the soul in safety? no one escapes entirely from his neighbour's eye. however hidden charles de foucauld might be, he was esteemed. he spoke very little; he avoided entering into conversation with the few people whom he met on his way; the abbess, remaining in the enclosure, only spoke to him on rare occasions and if he wanted a permission of her; nevertheless, as at nazareth, a murmured opinion at the outset, made up of astonishment, of hesitating admiration, of restrained but keen esteem, was being formed around this mysterious person. like one of the poor he was seen going daily to fetch his meals from the monastery door and then returning without ceasing to read a book which he invariably carried; he was seen taking holy communion each morning, serving masses, scrupulously doing the little jobs which were given him, spending an hour and a half after his midday dinner in the chapel, going back in the evening, if there was a service; they knew that he slept on two boards covered with a mat, with a stone for pillow, as at nazareth; that he slept barely more than two hours a night; that he was extremely temperate and equally charitable. the arabic or french speaking people who had conversed with him remembered his very kind eyes and his brotherly ways. they also wondered at the joy which they detected in this homeless man, without relations, riches, and without position. several in the country about jerusalem and the town called him "the poor clares' holy hermit." some inquired if they might consult him. the poor tried to get in his path when he went out. at the french consulate, where he sometimes went to transact business for the community, he was received with honour, and at once shown into the drawing-room in spite of his extraordinary and unprepossessing costume. 1 letters of october 15, and november 10, 1898. nazareth and jerusalem 129 the negro himself and his wife, neighbours of the hut, whom he always called "brother or sister, treated him with a great deal of consideration. one day, in order to try him, the abbess said to the guardian: "take this to the workman." "to the gentleman," quickly replied the negro. å short time after he had settled in jerusalem, and at the end of a retreat he had just made, brother charles declared that he would henceforth take to the trappists' diet; at midday, milk-soup, figs, and some honey; in the evening, a piece of bread of the same weight as a poor clare's-180 grammes. during advent of 1898 and lent of 1899, he contented himself with a piece of bread at midday and in the evening. some nuns of the monasteries in the holy land remembered these things, and have written of them to me. one of them remarks by the way: "trappist he remained in the full sense of the term; in all circumstances he used to remark, 'as the trappist rule says,' and this rule he always carried about him." "" let it not be imagined, as certain people in the world might perhaps think, that piety and regular meditation had made of charles de foucauld a mawkish, insipid, and formal man. the man who lived the life of which i have just spoken proved that he had the gift of strength. generally he exercised it in subduing himself; on some occasions, and when it was necessary, he showed hardness to others. one day a troop of italian beggars succeeded in getting into the lay-sisters' yard; they made a great uproar because the sisters rightly refused to give them dinner. the poor girls, insulted and threatened, did not know what to do, when charles happened to arrive. without reflecting, without saying a word, he threw himself on one of the worst fellows, seized him round the body and put him out; then it was the turn of a second and a third. with incredible and masterly skill, he succeeded in this little police operation in one minute. his eyes were blazing. next moment brother charles passed before the laysisters' lodge: "perhaps i have disedified you!" he said. 66 'oh no; you have delivered us. thank you!" when she had seen him live thus for several months, and was sure of his great intelligence and singular virtue, mother elizabeth began to exhort him to take holy orders. she showed him that he would do much more good by becoming a missionary; but he changed the con1 about six ounces. 9 130 charles de foucauld 1 versation, and went back to the hermitage. as she was a woman of very strong will and accustomed to guide souls that do not give in to every argument, but only to one, she returned to the subject, and observed to brother charles that, if he became a priest, there would daily be one more mass in the world, and an infinite number of graces for men; that it was then in his power to pour down a fresh blessing on the earth, or to keep it in heaven. if he had received gifts, which he had increased by study and a long spiritual work, was it to make use of them for himself alone? brother charles, whom the thought of honouring still more the blessed sacrament had moved to the depths of his soul, reflected on the words which had been said to him, and then replied: "to be a priest is to put myself forward, and i am made for the hidden life.' "" the abbess decided to procure one more holy priest for the church, and set her daughters to pray, and, after some time, the solitary, having seen her again, said to her: "write yourself to my director," and this was done. now, at this time an evil dispute had arisen with the poor clares of nazareth, about a piece of land which belonged to them the piece, i suppose, on which was situated the hut that brother charles had lived in. they wrote, begging the latter to retake possession of this disputed piece of their ground, to till it a little, and to undertake to arrange the difference, for no one could succeed in it as well as he. he at once set out, accompanied by a priest who was going down to preach a retreat there. the travellers went from jerusalem to jaffa, where they embarked for haifa, and, from there, reached nazareth at the beginning of 1899. abbé huvelin had been told of all these things by his penitent, who asked him for counsel. he had long thought that charles de foucauld was intended for the priesthood, and he had let him know it. in the little hut at nazareth, brother charles had at last formed the resolution of preparing himself for holy orders. but he could not deny his particular vocation, studied, meditated, and proved for so many years; it was necessary to find a solution to the problem to live as a priest, and also as a hermit. where could he live thus? and how? this man, tormented by an overflowing imagination which was at times chimerical, always grandiose in the choice of its dream, would have quickly made his decision; he would have bought the mount of the beatitudes; he would have set up a hermitage on the summit, and there nazareth and jerusalem 131 quite alone or perhaps with a few little brothers whose coming he always hoped for-he would have guarded that sacred spot; he would have adored the blessed sacrament, having brought it among fierce populations; he would have received the passing bedouins and the pilgrims who ascended in the footsteps of jesus christ. a contemplative, unprotected, austere, and charitable priest," he would have preached the gospel in silence." the book of intimate notes is here very touching. one finds in it the purity of intention, the generosity of this solitary who, in his log-hut, meditating on the near future, was only concerned with his own effacement and the glory of god. here is what he writes: "i believe it my duty to try and buy the probable site of the mount of the beatitudes. clearly seeing that, either on account of obstacles placed by the turkish government, or on account of their actual burdens, the franciscans cannot take upon themselves to set up immediately, nor in a given time, an altar with a tabernacle and a chaplain, give cannot make any better suggestion to them than to take upon myself to maintain on the top of the mount an altar and a tabernacle in which the blessed sacrament will be reserved, and a chaplain entrusted to say mass there every day, on condition that, whenever the franciscans wish to take upon themselves the keeping up of the altar, tabernacle, and chaplain, the place shall immediately be handed over to them by me or my heirs. "i had at first thought of setting up a hermit chaplain there, in a poor room, and to settle down near him, to serve him as servant and sacristan. but i find that i cannot on any account impose these charges on my family. another means must therefore be found. i see only one it is to be myself the poor chaplain of this poor sanctuary." brother charles, continuing his meditation upon this subject, asks himself whether he will thus fill his vocation better, which is "to imitate, in the most possible and perfect way, our lord jesus in his hidden life." and he replies affirmatively, comparing what he does in nazareth with what he would do on the mount of the beatitudes. "faith in the word of god and of his church can be practised equally well everywhere, but there, on the mount of the beatitudes, in destitution, isolation, in the midst of very malevolent arabs, i shall, so as not to lose courage, need a firm and constant faith in these words: seek ye the kingdom of god, and all things shall be added unto you.... • 132 charles de foucauld here, on the contrary, i lack nothing, and am safe. it is there then that my faith will be best exercised. "there i shall be able to do infinitely more for my neighbour by the sole offering up of the holy sacrifice, .. by setting up a tabernacle which will invisibly sanctify the environs by the simple presence of the holy sacrament, as our saviour in his mother's womb sanctified the house of john, . . . or else by pilgrimages, . . . or by hospitality, alms, and the charity i shall strive to give to all. 66 here, my condition is lower in itself; there, it will be, in my eyes, of an infinite height, for nothing in the world seems to me greater than a priest. but where is there a closer imitation of our lord? the priest more perfectly imitates our lord, the most high priest, who offers himself up daily. i must put humility where our lord put it, . . . i must practise it in the priesthood as he did. ... "here i have more distractions through my surroundings. .. there i can be much more before the holy sacrament, for i shall be able to keep at his feet part of the night. 66 · although here the abjection of my state be, at first sight, greater, there i shall be subject to ever so many more humiliations. here, in my own eyes, i am above my rank; . . . there, an ignorant and incapable priest, i shall be far beneath my office in my own opinion. appearing in a strange habit, asking to live a special life, to set up a tabernacle in a holy place, the authenticity of which is disputable (though i have no doubt about it), from the first i shall be the butt of all sorts of mockeries, rebuffs, and contradictions. . . . alone in a desert, with an indispensable native christian, in the midst of a wild and hostile population, . courage will find much more field for its exercise." he ends his "election" by giving a definition of himself. who is it, he asks, who thus weighs the pros and cons? "a sinner, an unworthy, poor, ignorant fellow, yet a soul of good-will, desiring all that god desires, and that alone." such are the principal ends that brother charles proposed to himself, when he thought of buying the mount of the beatitudes. they are those of a great soul. in the sequel, if he pursued them otherwise and in other countries, one observes that they never ceased to be present in his mind. in other places he was what he contemplated being on the mount where our lord preached the eight beatitudes of which the world knew not. nazareth and jerusalem 133 in june, 1900, brother charles, having come to a decision, set out and reached jerusalem. he reached that town on the eve of the feast of the sacred heart. he wished to see mgr. l. piavi, for the authority to set up as a hermit priest on the top of the mount of the beatitudes could only be given by the patriarch. no doubt in this interview he could also get the proposed rule which he had drawn up for himself and the future" little brothers of the sacred heart" approved. abbé huvelin had only reluctantly accepted this idea. he knew he had the care of an extraordinary soul which "upset all estimates," and that is why he dare not go so far as a formal veto. but the terms which he used involved a forcible warning. he refused to decide: "my dear child, i have no light about that, and only see the objections; and i fear there is selfwill beneath your self-sacrifice and piety." the day after his arrival in jerusalem, brother charles went up early to calvary and heard a mass; then he directed his steps to the patriarchate. in what a dress and in how pitiable a condition ! he was not a traveller who had a change of dress in a bag, or possessed the wherewithal to buy a new one. on the way his sandals must have given out on the road; he had replaced them by mere bits of wood strapped together. bands of thick paper tied up with string hid the holes in his breeches, broken at both knees. besides, the poor traveller, walking all day long in the height of summer, without any precaution, had had a terrible sunstroke; his eyelids, forehead, and cheeks were swollen and freckled. when such a ragamuffin asked to be received by mgr. piavi, the staff of the patriarchate naturally offered some objections. it was only after waiting a long time, and on his renewed affirmation that he wished to speak to the patriarch himself, that brother charles was admitted to his beatitude. mgr. piavi listened to him; then, imagining that he had to do with one of the visionaries who are often found in the east and elsewhere, and not suspecting that before him was a man of powerful mind and heroic virtue, he replied: "i will think about it, and now withdraw for a while." he reflected indeed and made inquiries; he heard something of brother charles's exceptional life, and tried to get this queer petitioner to return to the patriarchate. but the dream was over. brother charles considered the rebuff a sign of the divine will. he therefore returned to nazareth. at the same time, and whilst he yet thought himself actually in possession of the mount of the beatitudes, he discovered 134 charles de foucauld that he had been tricked by the seller, and that the latter-a born german-had sold the land on which the altar and cabin were to be raised without having any rights. the cash paid was lost. brother charles tells us in his letters how he bore these deceptions and humiliations; and in doing so unsuspectingly sings his own praise. i saw the patriarch, and i told him what i had to say to him. and, although he dismissed me quickly enough, i am very pleased. . . . i am in deep peace and great joy i have but one thing to fear; being unfaithful to grace. 991 "my desire for holy orders is stedfast, but all the rest is in doubt. . . be very certain of one thing, my dear; it is that the will of god will be done either by men, or despite of them, he will do for us what is best. don't be grieved because i shall not go to france this year. perhaps, without knowing it, i am on the point of going there. 992 · "do not let us attach importance to the events of this life, nor to material things; they are but as dreams after a night's carousal. . . what is left us at the hour of death, save our merits and our sins?""s abbé huvelin encouraged his penitent to prepare for the priesthood; he thought that the preparation would be short, on account of the philosophy and theology already learnt, and he hoped, as the idea had struck brother charles, it would take place at la trappe of notre-dame-des-neiges. since the attempt made on mgr. piavi had not succeeded, yes, indubitably until the priesthood, it would be wise to ask the vivarais abbey, where the training was perfect, for a refuge. besides, there was no hurry; he himself proposed in good time to take the necessary steps with the father abbot and the bishop. the poor curate of saint augustine's was very poorly indeed, and, as he said, enclosed in a network of pains." he wrote pretty frequent notes, in which abandoned plans and present ones were passed in review one after another. but the slowness of the mails, the impossibility of making themselves entirely understood at such distances, the violent instinctive need which urges us to seize upon the fringe of the morrow before us, overcame charles de foucauld's patience. he hastened things; he sent a note to tell abbé huvelin, and started for france. 66 1 letter to a friend, june 28, 1900. 2 letter to madame de blic, july 10, 1900. 3 ibid., july 21, 1900. nazareth and jerusalem 135 he left the holy land at the beginning of august, 1900, taking with him only a breviary and an old basket containing his food. he crossed the sea on deck, in the fourth class, and no doubt unknown. he went where he was called by a will which only unfolds its secrets little by little, but which clearly and with suavity orders what is essential for each day. he felt sure that he ought, henceforth, to accept the priesthood from which the thought of his unworthiness at first and for long had kept him away; he was sure that his vocation was to bear the host into wild countries, among infidels, and to live ever adoring it in silence, but preaching only by the heroic charity which it instilled into his heart. but as he watched the houses of jaffa and the land behind them fade away, he was in the deepest ignorance as to the country and people to whom he would soon be sent. the time for that revelation had not yet come. in palestine and judea the renown of brother charles remained. already legend had taken possession of the story of the hermit of nazareth and jerusalem and embellished it with its flowers, so often unprofitable and vain. it was rumoured in the villages that brother charles liked to be let down to the bottom of dried-up wells, and, being quite sure of being undisturbed there, prayed and meditated for hours. there was no truth in the story nor in several others like it, except the veneration which had inspired them. the long years spent in the east were a time of preparation for charles de foucauld. they had accustomed him to a solitary life, to discipline without witnesses, to work without a set programme. he had served his apprenticeship, which would permit him to support much harder trials without weakness, with the joy of the one who obeys his vocation. but he did not know these things; he only went forward to meet them with confidence. chapter vii charles de foucauld a priest-the desert road th 'he direction of a soul, two thousand five hundred miles away, is no easy thing. what was abbé huvelin going to think of this sudden return to france? his advice had not been followed; the journey had been undertaken in spite of a telegram saying: "remain at nazareth." he was at first displeased and troubled, but he had hardly seen his terrible penitent again, when he, like the others, submitted to the charm, and recognized his utter good faith and, what was much more and much better, the mysterious and certain call which charles de foucauld had obeyed. at first, and when he had in hand charles de foucauld's letter telling of his coming, abbé huvelin, always quickly roused and smart at repartee, exclaimed: "the ball is shot; who will stop it?" another letter came on august 16. brother charles had landed at marseilles, and following the attraction of a former devotion, had run to sainte-baume, so as to pray to mary magdalen; he was now going to take one of the first trains for paris, and, if he did not find m. huvelin at rue de laborde, he would go to fontainebleau, where, in fact, the abbé was ill as usual and tormented with gout. m. huvelin then decided to go back to paris; he received the dear, strangely dressed hermit, who looked very tired as anyone would be. he scolded him a little and then listened to him. not having seen one another for so many years, they had a thousand things to say to each other. twenty-four hours were not too many to tell, explain, and arrange everything. on seeing his penitent going away, abbé huvelin wrote these lines : he dined, slept in the house, and had breakfast with me, and took the road to notre-dame-des-neiges and rome. . . . he is a very holy soul. he wants to be a priest. i showed him how. he had little, too little money: i gave him a little. he knew my mind very well. i had told him about it in a telegram; but something stronger drives him on, and one can only admire and love him." 66 i can imagine brother charles, in his third-class carriage, on this journey. he is sitting near a window. 136 charles de foucauld a priest 137 already reassured and quieted by the approbation he has received and the undiminished affection of his guide, he at times stops praying to look at the landscape. how this fresh scenery touches the traveller, how sweetly it speaks to him of former days! he is going down the valley of the rhone; in his sensitive soul he finds an image of one of our great rivers which flow, reflecting the countryside, green even in summer; he beholds a picture of the mountains in the distance, the mist of which always softens the ridges and the line of the heights. i see him getting out of the express, and taking a slow train, accustomed to long delays, and about to enter into the valleys and slopes of the ardèche. those around him are astonished; they wonder who is this singular man, half monk, half layman, bareheaded and untonsured, dressed in a whitish cotton robe, with a rosary round his waist. he looks like a very poor man, hollow-featured; he goes along with downcast eyes, without bothering about the sun, or the laughter, or the raillery, or the pity, perhaps, that he excites in passing. at what station did he stop to climb the last slopes which lead to notre-dame-des-neiges? one can go as far as la bastide-saint-laurent. but he who followed the counsels of poverty and mortification in the least things, must, i imagine, have got off the train long before saint-laurent, to make the long climb while thinking of calvary, and of his approaching priesthood, of the years spent in la trappe, and, now and then, of the splendour of the high plateaux of heather and rocks which, at this hour of sunset, displayed for a solitary traveller and god their treasures of colour, outline, and perfume. he was mistaken in thinking that he was alone in these great open spaces. poor people like him, but who had always been so-wanderers more or less steady, more or less crippled, young or old, whose favourite trade is going from one shake-down to another with outstretched hand-were travelling by the same road or mountain paths. he, when he came in, altogether done up and brown with dust, found more than half a dozen of them at the abbey door, between the long low façade and the fullgrown trees planted by the old monks. the brother-porter was not expecting him. he had not known charles de foucauld, a novice of notre-dame, ten years earlier. when he came out of his lodge, at the hour provided for by the regulations, to count the guests that the monastery would receive that evening for the charity of christ, if he noticed in the darkness that one of the poor people was 138 charles de foucauld whiter than the others, it was to smile at his get-up. he had seen all sorts of them. so he only counted his boarders and said: 66 'come in, my friends; you will get some soup, and then a nice corner to sleep in." brother charles, glad of such an opportunity for following his master, took good care not to give his name. like the others, he ate his bowl of hot soup, slept with them in the barn, and only made himself known next morning when the convent bell rang for first mass. there, the incident is still fresh in all memories. to the old brother who told me of it i remarked that the porter was really not very clear-sighted to be so mistaken. "ha!" he replied, laughing heartily, "father de foucauld looked so pitiful: he was dusty to the shoulders, and around his body, sir, a rosary long and big and heavy enough for tethering a calf !" the laugh was very frank, but edification pervaded it. dom martin welcomed ex-brother marie-albéric, and at once zealously set to work to get the bishop of viviers to have him amongst the clergy of the diocese. he succeeded; for testimonials sought from several quarters represented charles de foucauld as a man of high virtue. between the abbot of la trappe and de foucauld, it was agreed that after a short stay in rome he should return to notre-damedes-neiges, and there prepare for the priesthood. what was he going to do in rome? at the moment of taking holy orders and of choosing his final abode, from which perhaps he would never return, he wanted to speak to some whom he had known there and i hardly doubt that among the subjects about which he proposed to talk to them, the principal one was that dear foundation of the little brothers of the sacred heart, his dream now seven years old, the hope in which he took delight; that the hermitage amongst the musulmans, the difficult and hard enterprise of poor charles of jesus, might not die with him. dom martin let him go, after making him give up costumes more or less eastern while travelling in europe, and giving him one of the black habits which the la trappe lay-brothers wear. at the beginning of september, brother charles, having made a short stay in milan, was in rome. "i am at rome, in a little nook that god seems to have prepared on purpose; just opposite the fathers of the holy sacrament, who have it exposed day and night at saintclaude-des-bourguignons. these good fathers whom i charles de foucauld a priest 139 asked for hospitality and who could not give it me for want of room, found me a cabin in a very pious house, where i am as tranquil and solitary as possible, and can enjoy the blessed sacrament with as much facility as if i were in the convent itself. "i think that i wrote you that it is no longer a question of my living on the mount of the beatitudes: according to the abbé's advice, after being ordained priest, i shall return to nazareth, where i shall continue to live as a priest, but in the shade."¹ even in rome he led a hermit's life, hardly going out of the church close by, in which, day and night, the blessed sacrament was exposed. he studied theology there; he usually read on his knees the big books that he brought in; from time to time he raised his eyes towards him of whom the books spoke to him; he prayed by way of relaxation, and from the morning angelus to the evening angelus, the hours passed as calmly as at nazareth. he would have liked the desert: at any rate he found out and made himself a solitude everywhere. two of the professors he wished to consult were in rome. he saw them. a third religious, his friend, came back about september 20. then, when it was time to leave the holy city for shutting himself up in la trappe, charles de foucauld impatiently awaited an answer from abbé huvelin: permission to stop on the way back, to go up to barbirey. for ten years he had not seen his sister, nor his nephews and nieces whom he did not know, nor the nook in the hills of burgundy, where he had only been in spirit. "i do not yet know," he writes to madame de blic, "whether it is the will of god, or whether he prefers me to mortify myself by making this sacrifice. i shall do what i am told to be most perfect. . . . if i am told to go and see you, what joy it will be! how happy shall i be to embrace you, to find myself in your little nest, between you, raymond, and your children !" the reply came: m. huvelin gave permission. brother charles left rome and took the road to burgundy. the whole family was overjoyed. everyone knew that these days so long dreamt of, to be so long remembered, would perhaps pass more quickly than the rest, and that the sweetness of meeting again from the outset was already diminished by the nearness of the farewell. he had to set out quickly for the vivarais mountains, to 1 letter to a friend, september 3, 1900. he was lodging at madame marie basetti's, 105, via pozetto, on the third floor. 140 charles de foucauld cross the pine-woods, to knock at the abbey door, and go into retreat. the latter began on september 29, 1900. from that date and for nearly a year the eternal traveller remained in the enclosure of notre-dame-des-neiges. it was in the monastery chapel that, on the feast of the holy rosary, october 7, he received the minor orders. the oldest fathers, the oldest brothers, still speak of the affection which they all had for charles de foucauld, and of the daily edification they received from him. the day after the feast dom martin wrote: "i cannot tell you how happy we were to possess our dear and holy hermit for some time. he is rather jaded just now, and we do not know how to set about taking care of him. i had the happiness of conferring minor orders on him on the feast of the holy rosary; perhaps it is the greatest happiness of my life." it had been decided to abridge, as much as possible, any delays in ordaining the candidate, for he had already studied so much, prayed so much, and so amply proved his vocation. on december 22 he was made subdeacon, at viviers. almost at once he went again into retreat for the sake of the diaconate. his life glided on in continual meditation. all day long he perused the gospel, the bible, and the writings of the fathers. accustomed to soar, his soul was carried away as if on wings by the sacred text, and far above the world blossomed forth fully in the divine light. we have books in which this assiduous annotator wrote certain of his thoughts and resolutions. promptly enough, the question presented itself to him: "what shall i be?" and plans were outlined, and the way grew clear. recapitulating this period, he afterwards wrote: "my retreats for the diaconate and priesthood made me see that the life of nazareth which appeared to be my vocation must be led not in my beloved holy land, but among souls most in need of the physician, sheep most in need of a shepherd. the heavenly feast of which i was about to be a minister must be offered not to kinsmen and rich neighbours, but to the halt, the blind, and the poor-that is to say, to souls lacking priests. in my youth i travelled over algeria and morocco. in morocco, as large as france, with ten million inhabitants, there was not a single priest in the interior;¹ in the sahara, seven or eight times as large as france and • 1 letter to abbé caron, vicar-general of versailles, april 8, 1905. to-day the french franciscans and nuns of the same order have begun the establishment of missionary posts and charitable institutions in morocco. charles de foucauld a priest 141 much more populous than was formerly thought, are a dozen missionaries! no people seemed to me more abandoned than those." above the walls, blackened by the burning of the former chapel, they took pleasure in showing me the window of the cell which brother charles had chosen when preparing for holy orders. it could only be reached by going up to the top of the arches. but the door opened out on a gallery from which you could see the altar, and the future priest used to spend many hours there. in his cell under the roof brother charles used to do his cooking, which was very simple-a plate of haricot beans or a boiled cabbage. there, as at nazareth and jerusalem, he had his hermitage. his only walk was from the cell to the chapel. as the end of 1900 drew near, he resolved to pray very much for the world which was changing centuries. he spent the two last nights of the closing century and the two first of the new one before the blessed sacrament. how many others did as much? it was just when the french church was being severely and unjustly treated by public authorities. he was grieved by it, because weaker souls fall in times of persecution, and because it was an offence to jesus, the raising of whose hand alone maintains france. he used to say: "but jesus remains the master; the more he seems to die, the more he rises again as god and lord: stat crux dum volvitur orbis." he also said: "but how unfortunate are the fortunate!" without allowing himself to be dejected, he endeavoured to employ well every minute given him, "little bits of the examination which mortal life is." he was ordained deacon on the eve of passion sunday. in may, 1901, began the thirty days' retreat, which ended his preparation for the priesthood. his ordination took place at viviers on june 9. charles de foucauld was ordained by mgr. montéty, in the presence of mgr. bonnet. the night before the father abbot dom martin said to him : "i shall accompany you; make provision for us both." the two travellers set out a few minutes afterwards. when lunch-time came, charles de foucauld drew a little parcel out of his pocket, opened the envelope, and on the abbot's robe put three figs for each of them, two walnuts, and a bottle of water. several of the clergy at viviers were amused when told of this incident, and wondered: "what is he going to do at monseigneur's, who has invited him to lunch after the 142 charles de foucauld ceremony?" he did as everyone else, and was not singular in any way. the same evening the new priest regained the ardèche mountains, so as to say his first mass, on june 10, at notredame-des-neiges. his sister had preceded him. she lodged outside the monastery in a little house where this letter from her brother was handed to her on her arrival : "best and dearest, "thanks for coming, your arrival touches me to the bottom of my heart. i shall get there on the night between sunday and monday about midnight or i in the morning. take care not to wait for me; rather go to bed very early, like the trappists, at 8 o'clock. on my arrival, i shall go straight to church to worship the blessed sacrament, to whom i owe my first visit; and i shall remain in silence and adoration till the day after my first mass. you cannot speak to me before my first mass, but afterwards we shall make up for it, my dear; the community mass is sung at half-past 6, before the most blessed sacrament exposed; i shall act as deacon. . . . as soon as high mass is finished, i shall go to the sacristy and put on a chasuble, and shall reappear at the same altar as where high mass was celebrated, to say my first mass. i shall give you holy communion there, through one of the gratings of the little chapel where you will be. after the thanksgivings of my first mass (three-quarters of an hour or an hour after) i shall go and spend a good long time with you. . . . wait for me in your room then: take care to have a good breakfast after communion. be assured that your arrival here is a real joy for the whole community, which is full of illusions about me and loves me a thousand times more than i deserve, and in particular good father abbot, who is going to viviers on purpose to accompany me, though he is very busy. . . . "welcome, my dear, and thanks for coming. i embrace you as i love you with all my heart in the heart of jesus. "fr. albéric." from consideration, and during his stay at la trappe, charles de foucauld had retaken his former trappist name. after his ordination he continued to live in his cell at notredame-des-neiges until the end of the negotiations, which were to prepare for the establishment in north africa. they were of two kinds : they had to obtain the permission of the religious authorities, and those of the general government and of the military chiefs. charles de foucauld a priest 143 the letters which i am going to quote are to my mind beautiful for their honesty, clear-sightedness and affection, when they speak of charles de foucauld; and for their humility and ardour, when signed by him. it seems to me that any unbiassed mind must admire the priests of france, whether in him who offers himself for an unprecedented mission, or in those who commend him. by a mistake the first letters were addressed to mgr. bazin; it was quickly seen that mgr. guérin, the prefect apostolic of the sahara, should have been written to, as well as mgr. livinhac, superior-general of the white fathers. m. l'abbé huvelin to mgr. bazin. "martigny-les-bains, "6 august 25, 1901. "monseigneur, "m. le vicomte charles de foucauld, long a lieutenant in the african army, then an intrepid and skilful traveller in morocco, then a novice with the trappist fathers of akbes, in syria, afterwards devoted to the service of the poor clares of nazareth, lastly returned to the trappist monastery of notre-dame-des-neiges, where he has just received holy orders and the priesthood, asks me to commend him to your grace. "when you see him, you will judge that my recommendation is quite unnecessary, for he is himself his own recommendation. "you will find in him heroic self-sacrifice, unlimited endurance, a vocation to influence the musulman world, humble and patient zeal, obedience in his zeal and enthusiasm, the spirit of penance without any thought of fault-finding and condemnation for anyone else. i "i have been his spiritual father for fifteen years. have always followed him, i have always found him, even in the midst of his enthusiasm and transports, prudent and knowing how to wait, taking refuge in prayer when action was forbidden him. i admire and i love him, as do the trappist fathers who testify to you for him. the reverend father abbot of stauëli had a most real affection for him, and saw in him a hope for his order, even after he had left it. "m. de foucauld's difficulty was the question of holy orders. in his humility he long refused to take them; he required clear enlightenment to show him that his way lay in mission work sustained by prayer. 144 charles de foucauld "it is a simple portrait i am sending you, not flattering, but true to life. i am unknown to your grace, but i'ope you will find an appearance of truth in my words, and will see in the priest who presents himself to you a help and benediction for work in africa. . "" abbé huvelin, "honorary canon of paris; curate of saint-augustine's." the rev. father martin, abbot of notre-dame-des-neiges, to mgr. bazin. "notre-dame-des-neiges, "july 15, 1901. "i send you the enclosed letter of my dear and holy friend, for the bishop of the sahara. "i have neither to judge nor to weigh pious plans: spiritus sanctus posuit episcopos regere ecclesiam dei, and not abbots. but what i can affirm is that i have intimately known m. charles de foucauld for eleven years, and that never in my life have i seen a man realizing so fully the ideal of holiness. never, except in books, have i seen such prodigies of penance, humility, poverty, and of the love of god. "i will add, what is less important, that this former pupil of saint-cyr, a cavalry officer, was an explorer of the highest rank in morocco, algeria and tunis, that he belongs to a very noble family, and that he is connected with the best families in france." charles de foucauld to mgr. bazin. "la trappe de notre-dame-des-neiges. 'august 22, 1901. "" "monseigneur, "i throw myself at your grace's feet. . . . the remembrance of my companions who died without the sacrament and without a priest, twenty years ago, in the expeditions in which i took part, against bu-amama, urges me strongly to set out for the sahara, as soon as you have accorded me the necessary faculties, without a single day's delay, since a gain of one day may mean the salvation of the soul of one of our soldiers. i also look upon it as a duty of charity to write to you again, in order to be able to set out as soon as possible. "i humbly ask your grace for two things: (1) the charles de foucauld a priest 145 faculty of setting up between ain sefra and the twat, in one of the french garrisons which has no priest, a little public oratory, with the sacrament reserved for the needs of the sick, and to reside and administer the sacraments there; (2) authorization to associate with me companions, priests or laymen, if jesus sends them, and with them to practise adoration of the blessed sacrament exposed. "if you deign to grant me this twofold request i shall reside there as chaplain of this humble oratory without the title of parish priest or curate or chaplain, and without any emolument, living as a monk, following the rule of st. augustine, either alone or with brethren, in prayer, poverty, work and charity, without preaching, and not going out except to administer the sacraments, in silence and enclosed. "the object is to give spiritual help to our soldiers, to prevent their souls being lost for want of the last sacraments, and above all to sanctify the infidel populations by bringing into their midst jesus present in the most blessed sacrament, as mary sanctified the house of st. john the baptist by bringing jesus into it. 66 i promise your grace with all my heart to endeavour with god's help, despite my misery, never to be an occasion of scandal, and never to be a cause of expense nor material burden to your delegation; with my whole heart i promise you beforehand filial love and the most faithful obedience. "i take the liberty of adding that the presence of your unworthy servant in the sahara, although he be very poor, will probably save several souls who will otherwise die without the sacraments, and that it will give your delegation one more tabernacle, and one more holy sacrifice daily. 66 if your grace wishes to speak to me, on a word from you, by post or telegram, i shall immediately go to algiers. "i am with the most profound respect, monseigneur, "charles de foucauld, "an unworthy priest." m. l'abbé huvelin to mgr. livinhac. "sunday, september 1. "monseigneur, "a week ago i sent to mgr. bazin, of the white fathers, all the information about m. de foucauld for which you ask me. he asked me to send it to mgr. bazin. "what i can tell your grace is good in every way he has much enthusiasm, but wisdom-much zeal, but much 10 146 charles de foucauld obedience-love of a hard life with the minimum of alleviation, but under direction-his love of mortification is a' need resulting from his love of god. "his vocation always drew him to the musulman world. his sojourn in algeria, his journey in the interior of morocco, his years spent in palestine, have prepared and hardened him for this mission. i saw the coming of his vocation. i saw him grow wiser through it, more humble, more simple, and obedient. when i bade him to put it aside as chimerical, he put it aside, but it returned stronger and more imperious. in my soul and conscience, i believe it comes from god. love of silence and hidden action you will find in him. . . . his difficulties in la trappe all came from his repugnance to receive holy orders. he dare not! "nothing queer or extraordinary, but an irresistibly urging force, a hard instrument for tough work-that is what your grace will find in m. de foucauld. "how often have all the objections which occur to you occurred to me! i gave in only after trial and many tests. "stedfastness, a desire to go to the end in love and in the gift of self-to bear all the consequences-never discouragement, never; a little harshness formerly-but now much mitigated! "let him come, and then see for yourself. i regret having destroyed the admirable letter in which he very humbly asked me to give you information about him. it is in all conscience that i am sending you this, which will complete what i gave mgr. bazin a week ago. get him to come at his own risk and peril; see him at work and judge. 66 receive, monseigneur, my respect, and my profound and religious devotion, and give me your blessing. "i cannot tell you how touched and stirred i was by your letter, in which i felt the spirit of god. you will quickly discern who is leading my dear child. "l'abbé huvelin." dom henri, prior of notre-dame of stauëli, to mgr. guérin, prefect apostolic of the sahara. "september 5, 1901. "father duffourd spoke to me of a business you had to discuss verbally with a former officer of the province of oran, who desired to go back to it. i think it is a question of our former father albéric (charles de foucauld -or rather charles of jesus). i forward you the last letter ... charles de foucauld a priest 147 i had from him. if you have the good-fortune to have him as a collaborator i shall be very happy both for you and for him. he is the finest soul i know: with incredible generosity he advances with giant strides on the path of sacrifice, and he has an insatiable desire to devote himself to the work of redeeming the infidels. he can do everything, but perhaps he cannot follow direction if it is too narrow. the reverend dom martin must have recommended him to mgr. livinhac: all that i can add is that, having lived intimately with him for ten months, i was profoundly edified by his heroic virtue. there is in him the material of many saints. his sole presence is a most eloquent sermon, and in spite of the apparent singularity of the mission to which he believes himself called, you may quite safely receive him into your apostolic prefecture. . ... the bishop of viviers to mgr. livinhac. "notre-dame-des-neiges, "september 5, 1901. monseigneur, "i recommend to your benevolence the humble and holy priest who comes to bring you his co-operation, and i beg you be good enough to accept him. abbé de foucauld is an old and brilliant officer, who broke off his career to give himself more completely to god in the priesthood. i had him ordained priest; he is my subject, and i hold it a great favour for my diocese to have possessed for some time a priest of such merit and character. if a vocation of too long standing and too urgent did not call him to devote himself to the conversion of the musulmans, i should be happy to give him employment in my ministry. . . . here he has acquired the reputation of a saint, and our priests beg the happiness of having access to him for a few moments as a great favour. "all this will tell you, monseigneur, in what esteem i hold the priest who is going to you, and how obliged i should be to you to receive him with great kindness. "j. m. frederic, 'bishop of viviers." 66 at the beginning of september, charles de foucauld bade farewell to the fathers of notre-dame-des-neiges. the boxes in which the brothers had put the provisions and all the furniture that the hermit would take with him were already nailed down and labelled. what did they contain? 148 charles de foucauld what was wanted for the chapel, a small number of books, over 50 yards of rope with a small bucket to draw water from the desert wells, some strong cloth to make a tent, and some sacks cut up for carpets. the poor luggage was put in a cart. the former brother marie-albéric received a last blessing from the abbot and went away, much affected. a few days afterwards he crossed the sea, and landed in africa, his africa. at maison carrée he was received by mgr. livinhac, "the bishop of the sahara "; he was given the necessary authorization to set up in the south of oran, near morocco. while he was waiting for the second authorization, that of the governor of algeria, to reach him-an old friend, commandant lacroix, one of the best known africains, had taken the necessary steps¹-he was invited to spend a few days at the stauëli trappe. there he again found the monks so long devoted to him. new and immediately intimate friendships sprang up between him and the missionaries of maison carrée. he was full of hopes and plans. "at beni-abbes, i shall actually be alone as priest," he writes, "two hundred and fifty miles from the nearest one. my prefect apostolic, mgr. guérin, allows me to have companions!" on his side, mgr. guérin said: "i have only known charles de foucauld since the beginning of september, but it did not take me long to esteem him as he merits and to recognize his wonderful goodness. i regard as a blessing from god the coming of this holy priest into the territory of the prefecture entrusted to me. a real saint, like charles of jesus, necessarily does good. he cannot help radiating round him some of the sweetness and goodness of jesus, who is henceforth his whole life." the favourable reply from the governor-general and general in command of the army corps came on october 14, and the start for oran, and then the south, took place next day. the officers of the posts échelonned on the route from oran to beni-abbes had learned that the celebrated explorer, their old comrade, now a monk, was on his way, he too following the call of the desert, but from other motives. they were waiting for him at the stations of the little strategic railway, at present laid down for two hundred 1 head of native affairs to the gouvernement général at algiers; one of the authors of that remarkable work, la pénétration saharienne, by augustin bernard and commandant lacroix. m. augustin bernard, who was at that period professor at the ecole supérieure des lettres of algiers, is at present professor at the sorbonne. the nearest points at which a priest could be found were: ain sefra, el-golea, timbuctoo. charles de foucauld a priest 149 and fifty miles from oran, and in 1901, ending at ain sefra; and they came to greet him, some bringing him provisions for the journey. at ain sefra, the little white town at the foot of the dunes, he might have found an inn. but general cauchemez took him to the arab office, a white castle among european trees, and gave him a room, in which charles de foucauld lodged, we may be sure, but that the hermit-explorer had slept on the floor during the two or three days he stayed with his friend. he expressed much gratitude to the officers of all ranks who had welcomed him. and so as not to annoy them, after intending to go on foot to beni-abbes, he reluctantly agreed to start with lieutenant huot, who was returning from leave, and consequently to undertake on horseback-on a maghzen cavalry mount-and with an escort, the long route from ain sefra to beni-abbes. they entered the desert regions. about half-way are the oasis of taghit and the redoubt, which commands a dangerous region frequently overrun by marauding bands. as the french travellers and their little escort approached taghit, they saw a troop of horsemen coming. it was captain de susbielle, commander of the post, at the head of his maghzen. hearing that the old lieutenant of the chasseurs d'afrique was coming soon, he was there to meet the man who had given himself up to the poor of the desert for ever. on his way he said to his men: "you are going to see a french marabout; he comes through love of you: receive him with honour." foucauld, recognizing france, advanced at a gallop towards her, his white robe flying in the wind. he stopped his horse within three yards of the officer, and replied to m. de susbielle's salute. at the same time, the fifteen troopers, faithful to native politeness, dismounted and surrounded the marabout, "who came for love of them," and several together bowed and kissed the hem of his gandourah. this was the sahara's welcome. brother charles stopped for a few hours at taghit. on october 24, before remounting, he celebrated mass before the frenchmen of the garrison. "it is the first mass since the occupation," he said. "probably no priest has ever been here. i am very much affected at bringing down jesus into these places, where, in all probability, he has never been corporally." four days later, in the evening of a hot day, the travellers saw the first palm-trees of beni-abbes. chapter viii beni-abbes b eni is an oasis of seven to eight thousand palm-trees. they grow on the left bank of the saura in earth and sand in which are numerous fountains, and they form a long thick forest close up against a cliff which rises high above it. the saura itself is no other than the zusfana, coming from figig, which, at twenty-five miles to the north of the oasis, mingles with a more abundant river, the wady guir, which comes down from the plateaux of the great moroccan atlas. after the manner of saharan rivers, their mingled waters burrow so as not to be drunk up by the sun; they cross the deserts through tunnels; they only come to light at the entrance of the palm plantation, the border of which they follow-the right bank being almost without verdure for over a mile, then disappear again, perhaps, a long way off, mysteriously to swell the course of the upper niger.¹ travellers coming from colomb-béchar and following the wide valley have a long ride across pebbles, between the dried-up bed of the saura and the dunes which bound the desert to the left. when they have got beyond the mazzer palm grove, with their feet deep in the sand they have to cross successive spurs of dunes, which edge the horizon in front of them. it is only from the top of the last dune that they suddenly see between the two cliffs, close to them, the bending river, the first small strips of water, the first waving tops of a large green palm plantation, a high plateau on the right, a high plateau on the left, and on the crest of the latter the white crenellated walls of the borj of the native office. you emerge from aridity and enter the region of shade, springs, cultivation, and life. the interval between the cliffs which hold the oasis in their arms is narrow at first, and then opens out like the bulge of a ewer; it is more than a wooded corridor-it is a little plain they embrace, divided by the river, without trees on the right bank, covered on the left bank with palms which shelter apricot, peach and fig trees and vines. there, 1 it is probable that the niger formerly had no connection with the sea. this immense river rose and was lost in the african continent. its waters filled the depression of the desert in which the taudeni salt-mines are worked, and there formed a second lake chad. 150 beni-abbes 151 towards the centre of the forest, is a fortified town into which one enters by a single gate, in which the streets are almost everywhere covered in; a village peopled by free men, who consider themselves as the aborigines of the place, the abbabsa. farther on towards the end is a second village with very high walls like those of a feudal castle, and it is inhabited by arabs of the rehamna tribe, who graze their camels and asses on the poor pasture-lands of the region. negro gardeners, sowers, and barley-reapers lodge on the borders of the palm grove, along a ravine which gives access to the borj plateau. and the native population, divided thus into three groups, numbers from twelve to fifteen hundred souls. 1 brother charles had chosen this place for his apostolate because of the wretchedness to be found there, which no priest had been able to relieve; also on account of the nearness of his much loved morocco, which he hoped some day to enter as missionary; he knew also that beni-abbes passed for one of the most beautiful of the south algerian oases, the most beautiful part of the long avenue of palms which begins at figig and ends at in-salah. at the time of his arrival, there was not the great redoubt which commands the entry of the palm groves; a smaller one, now destroyed, was a little farther away on the crest of the cliff, and it sheltered the garrison. he followed the track made by the feet of men and beasts. hardly had he climbed the steep slope, bordered by huts, which leads to the top of the plateau, than he was struck with admiration. to the north and east beni-abbes was enveloped to some distance by the rose-coloured or golden sand-waves of the western erg, the great mingled dunes sweeping away, several of which rose from 500 to more than 600 feet, whilst to the west, beyond the cleft of the ravine and palm groves, stretched the second plateau-a rocky, rigid tableland, without a tree, apparently without end. the traveller found himself at a junction point between the two saharan deserts, between the sandy desert that covers the whole of the south of oran, and the rocky hamada, which goes to the frontier of morocco. splendour of light, poverty of soil, purity and silence of night, how often will brother charles make use of them in his meditations, and unfold the eternal meaning hidden in the most humble or most magnificent landscape! he immediately sought a place in which to fix his abode, 1 the first troops of occupation comprised three companies of african sharpshooters and a company of light infantry. 152 charles de foucauld and, on the plateaux of the left bank, not on the edge but over 200 yards back, bought three little humps which he called mountains, and two untilled hollows which he called valleys, where several wild palms grew. of course the price was excessive. brother charles paid 1,170 francs for these 22 or 24 acres of desert. the whole was shaped like a bent pumpkin. it was the "tillage land" of the future "fraternity." fortunately there was water, or at least some possibility of getting it. the property contained several springs and old wells. the wells were dug, the springs cleared. brother charles, with his lively imagination and his mind a day, month, or year ahead of the present moment, was delighted with this new residence, and was half a hermit already when he thought of living there, and he fancied that the fruit and vegetables of the garden would be abundant, that he would be able to give some away, and that famine would be thus avoided in years of great drought, and that he would be the foster-father, comforter and friend of many of the poor, particularly of french soldiers and slaves. at first he lodged in the building of the arab office. in the morning he set out, with some willing sharpshooters placed at his disposal, to build the hermitage. this was never anything but a poor collection of earth huts, without any artistic feature, built in a ravine, and quite fragile: if they very nearly kept off the sun, they would have melted under two days' rain. fortunately, it rains barely more than once a year in the saura district, and sometimes it may not rain at all. stones gleaned on the plateau, but chiefly bricks of dried clay, were used for building; a little earth mixed with water was the mortar; porous planks of palms did duty for beams; the veins of large leaves and reeds made the roofing. naturally the chapel held a place of favour, and was built first. brother charles describes it lovingly in a letter to a friend: "the roof is horizontal, of big palm beams in the rough, covered with mats of palm branches: it is very rustic, very poor, but harmonious and pretty. to carry the beams, there are four upright palm stems in the middle; in their rusticity they produce a very good effect and frame the altar very well; from the one which is near the gospel corner is hung a petroleum lamp which lights me at night, and throws a great deal of light on the altar. . . . a tentlike canopy of heavy dark green canvas, absolutely waterproof, is hung from the ceiling to protect the altar and its steps from the rain." beni-abbes 153 an officer of the garrison drew four large figures of saints for the chapel. still, the principal decorator was the architect, brother charles. he painted on fabric-in the most modern manner, i.e., just a few lines of the finest accuracy, which he so often exemplified in illustrating la reconnaissance au maroc-a picture representing christ "stretching out his arms to embrace, to press closer and to call all men to him, and to give himself for all." on the gospel side was a st. joseph, from the father's "factory." on the walls of the "nave" hung the fourteen pictures of the stations of the cross, drawn in black, blue, or red ink, not on canvas or paper, but on the boards of the boxes which brother charles had cut and planed a little. he never ceased adorning this saharan chapel, of which he says: "it suits me perfectly; it is pious, poor and clean, and very contemplative." on the epistle side, in a niche, he put an alarum-the fraternity clock. there he was to spend many an hour of the day and night. in adoration or meditation: there at first he was to sleep, alone in this isolated hut. he lay down at length, and fully dressed, on the altar steps. he slept near the tabernacle, like a dog at his master's feet. yet he thought himself unworthy of such a favour. as soon as the first buildings, which were to go along with the chapel, were begun, a non-commissioned officer of the sharpshooters, m. j., who was a friend of his, having got up very early to come to the hermitage, found the father lying down under the shelter of an unfinished wall. "" what," he said to him, "have you given up sleeping in the chapel ?" "yes." "you told me yesterday that you were all right there!" "that is just why i have left it." a little later, father de foucauld chose the chapel sacristy to sleep in. now, the little room that he called the sacristy was not long enough for a man to lie down at full length on the sand in it. the same adjutant of sharpshooters observed this to the father, who replied, "jesus did not lie down at full length on the cross.' the workmen went on working. beyond the sacristy, they erected brick and dry mud huts, which were named the cells of st. peter and st. paul, and these little buildings, being perpendicular to the apse of the chapel, formed a right angle with the nave. at the back a courtyard soon extended, called the "retreat courtyard." brother charles built a few more huts, "the non-christian 154 charles de foucauld "" guest-room," an infirmary to which the sick of beni-abbes and neighbouring tents came to be taken care of, a lumberhouse, and the walls of a second courtyard, the "almonry yard,' on the epistle side. he hoped that some day, perhaps soon, an unknown priest, called by the same vocation which had urged the former cavalry lieutenant towards the souls of the poor people of the oasis, would come and join him at beni-abbes, and that the hermitage would number two companions while waiting for something better. the workmen and troopers were much younger than he, and worked deftly and willingly for one as poor as themselves. they felt he was better than they were, and his goodness secretly touched them. he never left them when his rule bound him to manual labour; even at noon and when the heat was extreme, he was seen going with them over the waste ground around the hermitage, and stooping down, picking up and lifting stones which might do for the foundations, and generally the last to join the file and return to the workyard. sometimes the stone he was carrying back on his shoulder was not very big, and he would make excuses. "my dear fellows, "he would say, laughing, "i know very well that i am the fly on the wheel, but i work up to my strength." thoughtful care of the least details was one of the notes of brother charles's mind. must not those who entered the house be brought to god, and the walls tell something of jesus christ and his teaching? while he was finishing the building of the hermitage, brother charles adorned the completed rooms with "texts" appropriate to their use. he gave the thoughts which were his strength and joy to himself and others for meditation. "if the texts in the sacristy were: "follow me!" any man will come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross, and follow me!" "live to-day as if you were to die a martyr to-night." sole desire of giving jesus to all." 66 'be all to all, with the those in st. paul's cell: "i have come to cast fire on the earth." "i have come to save those who were lost." "whatever ye do for one of these little ones ye do for me." "our father, who is in heaven, willeth not that one of these little ones should perish." "go ye into the whole world, and preach the gospel to every creature.' those in st. peter's cell: "other sheep i have that are not of this fold; them also i must bring: there shall be one fold and one shepherd.' "that they may be one, as we are one." "" beni-abbes 155 after the chapel and the rooms, an enclosure wall was made around the almonry yard; then brother charles thought he ought to bound and close the fraternity grounds, for he had resolved to live in seclusion, and not to go out of bounds without very grave reason. in the beginning he was satisfied to mark the boundaries of his ground with lines of pebbles about the size of an egg. one of the soldiers who had most to do with him just then told me that he sometimes returned to the camp after sunset. studious to win souls of good-will, and more polite and obliging to the humble and disregarded than to the great and powerful, brother charles used to accompany him. he chatted amicably; he would speak of god and the beauty of the night. around them were absolute silence and the desert, above an immense sky which did not conceal a single star. the hot air rose from the sand, and the former officer and the soldier went along on a barely visible track, each thanking god for an unexpected friendship, of which he was the origin and end. and that would last some minutes. then brother charles bent down and felt the ground with his hand to see whether he had reached the boundary. when he touched the row of pebbles, he used to say: "i cannot bring you any further, here is the enclosure; good-bye; we shall soon meet again.' "" far, far away from their families and country, we can tell how touched the soldiers were by a friendship such as this! their sensitive french hearts with an old-time politeness which survives many counter-influences, made them fear to take any advantage of it. can one go and talk thus, almost as a friend, with a former officer, with a monk who after all has his business, and, as they clearly felt, with a highly educated man whom a sharpshooter's conversation could not always interest? they made excuses for not returning; they deprived themselves of a pleasant hour, in order not to take it from him. then he wrote them letters like this: "dear friend, "you told me that you are depressed at night and that your evenings are dull. ... will you-if you are allowed to leave the camp, which i do not know-come and spend the evenings regularly with me? we shall make them as long as you like, chatting fraternally of the future, of your children and your plans . . . of what you and those you love more than yourself want and hope for. .. you will find a brother's heart, if nothing else. . 156 charles de foucauld "you would have liked a short account of st. paul. . . i should have liked to send you it, but i cannot, i have other urgent things to write at this moment. . . . i could tell you about it by mixing my poor words with passages from his letters. i have them and they are wonderful. . . "the poor man offers you what he has. what he offers you, above all, is his very tender and brotherly affection, his profound devotion in the heart of jesus. "brother charles of jesus." the natives, who were inquisitive, insinuating, tormented with hunger and thirst, and therefore ready pilferers, showed a kind of respect for brother charles's enclosure almost from the outset. not that they stood upon ceremony as to entering the grounds and coming to visit the "marabout," but the reputation of holiness of the latter rendered sacred to them the things they found on the way and in the interior of the enclosure. the nomad unloaded his camel on the other side of the pebble boundary; the poor arab woman, returning with her daily load of wood, threw her faggot down there; the butcher put down his bundle of blood-stained kid-skins; and, even if he had to be several hours or a whole night away, the caravaneer found his goods untouched, the woman her load of palm roots, the butcher his bale of fresh leather. afterwards, the row of pebbles was replaced by a row of stakes, more or less twisted, on which were fixed two lines of barbed wire. seven stout posts, with two sticks across on top of each, were set at intervals as props for the slight enclosure and as standards for the man of god. the farming made very slow progress. it is no slight undertaking to hollow out a piece of desert which has perhaps never been dug; to secure water-that is to say, life for the trees one plants and the seed one sows, when the temperature, as at beni-abbes, is always 86° from october to june, and afterwards rises to 122°! brother charles, as i said, began by deepening the abandoned wells of his property; he hollowed out irrigating canals to bring the water of the springs to the feet of the palm-trees which grew at hazard and were half covered with sand by the south wind. the work was of a kind that the poor gardener of nazareth could not continue without help, for the most energetic will does not suffice-men learn it quickly -to be everything to all men and to all things. after a few trials, father de foucauld engaged two harratins¹ who were 1 arabs and negro half-breeds found in all the oases, whose social position is intermediate between that of the slave and the free man. beni-abbes 157 not lacking at beni-abbes, and he called them gardeners for the work he required them to do. perhaps, after all, they knew better than the master of the property what care to give the palm-trees and the infinite precautions which must be taken in hot countries to keep the vegetable seedplot from being at once burned up by the sun, after putting forth its first leaves. with but little supervision these blacks had to do with so good a master that they remained faithful to him a long time. he only found that they lost many hours daily in going from the hermitage to the oasis ksar and back. he would have liked to keep them and feed them at the hermitage. the blacks wanted nothing better. they were surely not used to dainty cooking, nor even to eat according to their hunger. but when they had shared in father de foucauld's fare several days following, they declared they might die but not live on that diet, for the marabout lunched on a piece of barley broad soaked in a decoction of a saharan plant which bears the innocent name of "desert tea," and in the evening he dined on a bowl of the same tea to which he added a little condensed milk. the harratins went on as outside gardeners. by degrees their labour improved the land, and made a sensible distribution of the water. in the sand there were some young palmtrees, the promise of a few fig-trees, and even olive-trees and vines. some years later, the name of “garden," at first given to these attempts at cultivation, began to be deserved. but just then the hermit quitted beni-abbes, and returned there on rare occasions only. sometimes brother charles accepted the invitations which the officers, his comrades, frequently sent him, and came out of the enclosure to go and dine with them at the borj. he seldom did so except to salute in passing a saharan chief, like laperrine or lyautey, or a scholar sent on a mission into this desolate country, but which leads to all others, and where, as at an enormous cross-road, all the riches of africa may one day meet. on those evenings he did not take a place of honour, but the lowest one, beside the youngest officer. they tried to get him to talk, and did not fail to question him about morocco, which was quite near, and which he alone knew well. but the fear of pride made him dumb on that subject. to all other questions he replied, but without carrying on the conversation. his vocation was silence, self-effacement and retirement. he only agreed to appear in a circle of men of the world so as not to seem wanting in courtesy, or, somehow, in the discipline of his former profession. the story of military 158 charles de foucauld doings interested him in the highest degree. brother charles kept watch over himself less narrowly, if he was asked his opinion on a police operation which had just been executed, or that was contemplated. if the news came, for instance, of some movement of pillagers carrying off flocks and women, assassinating and mutilating men, at once reappeared the ardent chief, the lover of justice seen in the pursuit of bu-amama. "you must catch them up," he said, "and set about it vigorously." next moment, he saw a mouse caught by a dog in the dining-room: "poor little thing, what a pity!" he murmured. he withdrew early; he lit his lantern, and reached the hermitage, going through the dark by himself. i should not be a faithful historian, did i not also say that, as soon as the chapel was built, brother charles dug his own grave in a corner of the garden, and blessed it for his own burial. he did the same afterwards in the various parts of the sahara in which he stayed a little while. such were the frame and outward trappings of this unprecedented life, ordered by a powerful will. the rest was almost entirely hidden from men. had they tried, they could hardly have found out the division of the hours between charitable duties, manual labour, reading, and the duties of prayer: the rule to which father de foucauld had bound himself. they would miss the soul. every soul is more or less of a secret to others. the mystery is greater when souls are great, when they turn aside from our pleasures and work, and from our ordinary thoughts which are hardly anything but ourselves; and when they give themselves to god for him to set at the service of his poor. then we see only what they bring us, their goodness, their fraternal works, the faint reflection of themselves on their faces and in their eyes. but with what efforts they keep themselves apart from the common life, in the constant presence of him whose smile and peace are lost by a single little thought; what graces they have had, what combats, what delights, what dreams: all that, we know not. his rule of life was unchanged from this period to the end. brother charles has himself set it forth in a letter addressed to the prefect apostolic of the sahara.¹ 66 ... get up at four (when i hear the alarum, which is 1 this letter of september 30, 1902, reproduces the rule almost as it may be read in a former letter to a friend (december 13, 1901). the sole difference to be noted is that the hour of getting up, originally fixed at three, is altered by an hour in 1902. i am inclined to believe that this was a concession asked for by père guérin. i beni-abbes 159 not always!). angelus, veni creator, prime and terce, mass, thanksgiving. "at six, a few dates or figs and the discipline; immediately afterwards, an hour's adoration of the most blessed sacrament. then manual labour (or its equivalent : correspondence, copies of various things, extracts of authors to be kept, readings aloud, or explanation of the catechism to anyone), until eleven. at eleven sext and none, short mental prayer, particular examen until half-past eleven. "at half-past eleven dinner. 66 midday, angelus, and veni creator (this latter is sung. you will laugh when you hear me singing! unintentionally, i have certainly invented a new air.) "the afternoon is given entirely to god, to the blessed sacrament, except an hour devoted to necessary conversation, to various replies, to cooking, the sacristy, etc., necessary housework, and to alms; this hour is divided up throughout the whole day. "from noon to half-past twelve, adoration; from halfpast twelve to half-past one, stations of the cross, some vocal prayers, the reading of a chapter of the old and new testaments, a chapter of the imitation and a few pages of a spiritual author (st. teresa, st. john chrysostom, st. john of the cross, perpetually follow one another). "from one to two, written meditation on the holy gospel. "from two to half-past two, moral or dogmatic theology. "from half-past two to half-past three, reserved for the catechumens. "from half-past three to half-past five, adoration; after mass and the night, this is the best moment of the day; work is over, i say to myself, i have only to look to jesus this is an hour full of sweetness. 66 at half-past five, vespers. 60 at six, collation. . . "at seven, explanation of the holy gospel to some soldiers, prayer and benediction of the blessed sacrament with the holy ciborium, followed by the angelus, veni creator. then the soldiers leave after a short conversation in the open air. i say the rosary (and i say compline, if i have not been able to say it before the short explanation of the holy gospel), and i go to sleep in my turn about halfpast eight. "at midnight i get up (when i hear the alarum), and sing the veni creator, recite matins and lauds: this is also a very sweet moment: alone with the spouse, in the profound silence of the sahara, under the vast sky, this 160 charles de foucauld hour of tête-a-tête is a supreme comfort. i go back to bed at one. thus he had six hours' sleep, divided by an hour's vigil, and prayer held the first place. the work of charity alone upset the rule. this was a most acute trial for brother charles, whose contemplative soul thirsted for meditation. he accepted it, however. he was one who gave a fraternal welcome to the poorest and most unknown and undeserving of neighbours, who never let it be suspected that he was put out, and was willing to waste his time for talking with god upon unreliable nomads, corrupt slaves, beggars and bores. every minute somebody would come and open the door, and brother charles appeared with his beautiful eyes full of serenity, his head bent forward a little, and his hand already held out. he wore a white gandourah, fastened with a girdle on which there was worked a heart surmounted by a cross in red cloth; he had sandals on his feet. as to the headgear, it was his own invention-it was made of a cap which he had stripped of its peak and covered with a white pugaree to shield the back of his neck. the picture of the cross and the sacred heart told from a distance what this white man's faith was. nobody could fail to see it. that is why, on some desert post, many years after the time of beni-abbes, when general laperrine read an article representing charles de foucauld as a priest who never spoke of his beliefs or did much preaching of the faith, he seized his pen and angrily scribbled in his notebook: "what of his conversations ? and his dress?" he wrote the truth: his habit was a sermon and, besides, brother charles's whole life proclaimed the gospel. the natives were never mistaken about it. we can now follow the events which marked his stay at beni-abbes, and, in order to do so, we shall only have to consult that most accurate and assiduous taker of notes, father de foucauld himself, who studiously entered in what he called his "diary" the little happenings of the day, his accounts, and even the names of his visitors. "october 29, 1901.-celebrated mass for the first time at beni-abbes. ex voto to our lady of africa. "november 5. erection of the first stations of the cross." "november 30.-formal opening of the chapel of the fraternity of the sacred heart.' beni-abbes 161 "december 25.-first exposition of the blessed sacrament for over ten hours." this man had given himself up to being forsaken so that in the far-off sahara jesus christ at any rate might not be forsaken. the religious ceremonies of the first christmas at beni-abbes therefore delighted him, and he wrote of them to his friends in france: "we have had the blessed sacrament exposed from midnight to 7 o'clock in the evening. we shall have it on new year's day from 7 o'clock in the morning till 7 in the evening. i was far from hoping there would be enough adorers for it to be possible. jesus provided them. "the good-will, the unhoped-for piety of the poor soldiers round me enable me to give a reading and explanation of the holy gospel every evening (i cannot get over my surprise at their willingness to come and listen to me); benediction is followed by a very short evening prayer. ... this benediction and holy mass are both a consolation and an infinite joy." about twenty years ago a handful of algerian sharpshooters who formerly had been taught the catechism and had not forgotten it, assisted at the first catholic offices celebrated in the earthen chapel of beni-abbes. they still speak of it readily. one of them who i met in paris said to me: "i was one of the faithful of father de foucauld. he used to say mass when it suited us. if you asked him to say it at four o'clock in the morning or at noon he would always say yes. and what a mass! if you were never at his mass you don't know what mass is. when he said the domine non sum dignus it was in such a tone that you wanted to weep with him." • "january 9, 1902.-first slave ransomed; joseph of the sacred heart. this afternoon there was very little hope of freeing this child; his master refused to sell him at any price; but yesterday, wednesday, the day of good st. joseph, i had changed the name of the child to that of joseph of the sacred heart and promised st. joseph to erect an altar to him in the bay on the gospel side, and one to the blessed virgin in the one on the epistle side, if he obtained the liberation of the child for me. to this good father everything is easy at 5 in the evening, the master came to claim the child for the last time, and in two • ii 162 charles de foucauld minutes accepted the price i offered him. i paid it on the spot, and you would have been delighted at the joy of poor joseph of the sacred heart' reiterating that god was his only master.' . . . he is a musulman, but more in name than in fact. i hope that, naturally and of himself (i shall avoid anything like pressure-he will be quite free) he will go to jesus and to the heart which willed him to be free." this young man of twenty, very much touched by father de foucauld's charity and seeing his life, soon felt that religion was the principle of such great perfection, and asked of his own accord to be instructed in the catholic faith. he began at the hermitage; then, at the end of a month, finding an opportunity of getting out of the country and escaping from the influence of the society in which he lived, he went to algiers, where the white fathers looked after him. "he already looked upon himself as a christian," the hermit wrote. it was a fine work of piety, mixed with some imprudence, for slaves were numerous around brother charles. many must have begged him to set them free like joseph. "it breaks my heart to have to leave them with their masters," he said. and he gave way more than once, as often as he had the means. after joseph he redeemed a youth of fifteen whom he called paul, and whom we shall meet with again later on.¹ no doubt he must also have ransomed the little negro aged four, who is seen in several photographs seated on the father's knees, or standing beside him and gambolling. anyhow, we know that he freed other captives. to buy back saharan slaves, to feed the hungry, father charles would not have liked to ruin his friends; but he shrank less from troubling them a little. he collected small sums, but often. his family got used to it and lovingly let him do as he pleased; the white fathers from time to time silently settled any arrears of heroic charity; the officers of the beni-abbés club, moved to pity for the slave, took their share of the purchase money; the safe of the arab office remained closed, decidedly distrustful. the liberator quite understood that wanting to ransom slaves ruined his credit; that political economy put him in the wrong, and that, perhaps, strict reason was on the same side. he then examined his conscience. "i could get a small sum," he wrote, "by taking stipends for masses. the good father abbot of notre1 paul entered the fraternity about october 15, 1902. fourteen years later he was the chief witness of father foucauld's death. beni-abbes 163 dame-des-neiges has offered me some, and if i have no means of living and paying my debts, i shall make use of it; but as long as a glimmer of hope of my being able to do without it exists, i shall do so because i believe that much more perfect: i live on bread and water, which costs me seven francs a month. . . . as for clothes, stauëli gave me a coat and two shirts with twelve napkins, a rug, and a cloak; these are a gift of good father henry, or rather a loan, because he has only lent me them, so that i may not give them away; a very nice officer here, captain d'u offered me so graciously a rug and two small knitted vests that i could not refuse; you see i am well set up. for myself i want nothing. to help me to get the slaves, travellers, and the poor together to tell them of jesus and induce them to love him, i want a small sum to buy barley; i asked c― for thirty francs a month, for the slaves' barley, and m for twenty for that of the travellers. . . . i confess i must also pay for the ground i bought, and go to some expense in planting some dates which, in three years will provide food for me and the poor, please god. my only capital on leaving france was what it still is, the word of jesus: 'seek ye therefore first the kingdom of god and his justice, and all these things shall be added unto you.' i was quite at ease here up to the last few days; the purchase and freeing of joseph of the sacred heart made me get to the bottom of my little purse, but our heavenly father's is still full." again he wrote: "i wish to accustom all the inhabitants, christians, musulmans, jews and idolaters, to look upon me as their brother, the universal brother. . they begin to call the house the fraternity (the khaua, in arabic), and i am delighted." this beautiful word suits our missionary and might describe him he was truly the universal brother, not in words, but in deeds; he did not scatter political formulæ, or promises which only add to the weight of wretchedness, but he forgot himself for the sake of his nearest neighbours, he spent beyond his means to feed them and to ransom them if ransomed they could be. his way was the silent way. before living four months in beni-ábbés, he had already reckoned up all the material and moral wretchedness there which found no alleviation. in his long meditations before the altar, or while carrying his stone along with the hermitage masons, he forthwith planned out a better beni-abbes, but in his plan his own share of the work and self-sacrifice were to be the greatest. • 164 charles de foucauld always building the ideal he asked himself: "what good can others, better than i, do for these people, and what above all can i do, who am but a wretched good-fornothing?" in a letter addressed to a friend in france, thus does he distribute the rôles. he confessed to this friend his great desire to obtain some sisters of st. vincent de paul for the oasis of beni-abbes. "i am heartbroken when i see the children of the town idling at haphazard with nothing to do, without teachers or religious education. a place of sanctuary would do so much good! it is just what we want for spreading the gospel.. with god's help a few good sisters of charity would soon give all this country to jesus.' then, putting all his thoughts on this subject together, he draws up a regular memorandum and sends it to père guérin, prefect apostolic of the sahara. in it we see his great heart, and the minutia which never leave him, even in his dreams. he goes beyond the present, beyond the good immediately possible, and the complaint of this christian thrown among so many infidels gains a thrilling greatness from the slenderness of the means at his disposal and the breadth of the imagined conquest. from beni-abbes in the sahara, he sends to his spiritual head his report for getting the world forward. i am obliged to condense these pages of boundless charity. "" the first charity to undertake, according to the hermit, would be "slave relief work." they are miserable in every way, treated in the hardest possible manner by the arabs and especially by the marabouts; they have every vice and neither hope nor friends. but they would soon consider the christians who did them good as saviours, and perhaps they would be the first saharans to become christians, as the first christians of rome were largely made of slaves. the second charity would be meant to give a shelter and a meal to poor travellers, who sleep in the open when it is so cold at night. also christian teaching for the children must be thought of. there is no school in the whole oasis except a musulman one. a crowd of children run about all day long, idle vagabonds and quickly perverted; it would at least be necessary to have a shelter where they could learn reading, writing, french, sacred history, and the catechism, where they would be given a few dates in the morning and a little cooked barley at noon. this would cost at most "two sous a day." no doubt there would be few arab children in this christian school, but the little berbers, children of a mild race and quite ready to take to the latin they once knew, would all come beni-abbes 165 one to it. the berbers are neither fanatics nor scornful. may expect in the future that "when the berbers are settled in the faith, that will prepare and induce the arabs to embrace it." the memoir continued to enumerate the necessary charitable organizations: a civil hospital, a military hospital, visiting the sick in their homes, the distribution of remedies and alms at the fraternity door, zeal for the souls of the soldiers, officers, musulmans of all sorts, jews, "of all the inhabitants of the country, of the prefecture, of the world and purgatory." there are fifteen paragraphs outlining fifteen projects. having thus described the work to be organized, brother charles sets forth for mgr. guérin the work he had done : ". . . i am alone for this immense task. . . ་་ for the slaves, i have a little room in which i gather them and where they always find a lodging, a reception, daily bread and friendship; by degrees i teach them to pray to jesus. since january 15, the day on which their little room was finished, i have had some every night at the fraternity. sometimes i see twenty slaves a day. "the poor travellers also find a humble shelter and a poor meal at the fraternity, with a good reception and a few words to bring them to goodness and to jesus; but the place is so small, the virtue of the monk and his skill are still less; more virtue, intelligence and means, would allow of much more good being done. sometimes i see thirty or forty travellers a day. "the infirm and aged here find a shelter with a roof, food and attention when forsaken . . . but what inadequate care and what poor food! . . . and for want of separate places, i can only take in those who get on with the others, and women not at all; yet the women, even more than the men, need a home for old people. "for the christian teaching of the children i do absolutely nothing; it seems to me that i can do nothing. i sometimes see as many as sixty children in a single day at the fraternity, and with a heart full of sorrow have to send them away without doing anything for them." and the list of replies continues; the military hospital, the civil hospital for the natives, visiting the sick at their homes, 66 are beyond my power and vocation; nuns are required." so it is with the visits to the homes of the poor. doubtless he daily distributes remedies to ten or fifteen people, but he is very cautious, having little confidence in his talents. there is a doctor at the arab office, he is very good, 166 charles de foucauld but women and children cannot go to him-they come to the fraternity, and the men themselves prefer applying to the marabout. what is to be done? nuns would do all the good that he can only look on at, estimate and plan. at the hermitage gate, in a single day, taken at hazard, he has counted seventy-five poor people. he begins to know his people; but how much help was wanted! what need there was of intelligent almoners for such great poverty and so many outstretched hands! "if i do not ask you to send any white sisters out here, it is because i know that you will settle them wherever you can, and never have enough to put wherever they are required. . . . 'i am still alone: i am not faithful enough for jesus to give me a companion, still less . . . i follow to the best of my abilities the little rule you know. . . "" this report, like all the correspondence of father de foucauld, shows the extreme humility of the man to whom were wanting neither pretexts nor opportunities for seeming proud. race, fortune, superior intelligence, relations, the gift of sympathy were his, and he could have chosen a brittle branch on which to perch and sing his own praises. the very sacrifice he had made in leaving the world might have done for self-adoration, which can entrench itself among the ruins, provided they rise high enough. instead of that, he showed a most respectful tone, promptness in obedience, a liking for checking inclination almost to the point of indifference, a great esteem for others, a great contempt of himself, and a great astonishment at being employed in a work that demands saints for workmen. brother charles never ceased blaming himself for the slow progress of his apostleship; if he were less unworthy, all the musulmans, jews, and bad christians would have already been, or have again been, converted. at any rate he would have had help, instead of wearing himself out in solitude. he declared that his own conversion was evidently the condition of his converting others. but how far was he from it! he begged prayers from all to whom he wrote. the remembrance of the sins of his past life was rarely even alluded to, but it was always present. "i have all i need to do immense good," he exclaims, 66 except myself." charles de foucauld was a humble man, and i firmly believe that his prime virtue, the principle of his influence over infidels and christians, lay in that. this judgment may surprise. we readily imagine that humility breaks i 1 beni-abbes 167 the ardour of nature, and that such an impulse as pride can do no more. but we do not observe that humility, if it destroys one energy, replaces it at once by another which is far higher. it consists in knowing the limits of one's powers, which is a reasonable thing to do, and to expect less of such weak powers than of god's. hence no enterprise seemed to him impossible, no check held him back. humility has nothing to do with timidity. let us reckon up the audacity there was in the programme which father de foucauld had just laid down. a poor priest, lost in an oasis of the sahara, proposed to found more institutions than a monastery quite full of heroes of charity could maintain; in his zeal he forgot no one; he allowed himself to be carried away far beyond the palm-trees of beni-abbés; he wished for and aimed at the conversion of the whole of africa, of the entire world. was he, then, a madman? no a very humble man, who knew the power of god. the reply which père guérin sent to this long report is not textually known to us. it certainly counselled brother charles to ransom slaves only in rare cases, otherwise the poor hermit would get himself intolerably into debt. "may, 1903.-thirty years ago to-day i made my first communion and received my god for the first time. . . . this is the first time that i celebrate the holy mass on that day. ... what graces i have received in these thirty years! how good god has been! how many times i have received jesus with these unworthy lips! and lo, here i hold him in my poor hands! he puts himself into my hands! and now i officiate at an oratory; night and day, i have the holy tabernacle-i possess it, so to speak, as mine alone! now, every morning. i consecrate the holy eucharist, every evening i give benediction with it! and here at last and above all i have the permission to make a foundation! what graces!" the foundation to which he alludes is that of the "little brothers of the sacred heart of jesus," the future religious family which he already contemplated in palestine, an enclosed family, destined to adore the perpetually exposed holy eucharist day and night, and to live in a missionary country, in poverty and work. this congregation of missionaries would not therefore directly preach the gospel, but would make it known, admired, and loved by the life of prayer, charity, and poverty that the monks would lead among musulmans. the little brothers of the sacred heart would be primarily 168 charles de foucauld adorers, bringing their master into the midst of infidels. brother charles wished to establish them in groups wherever possible; he wished, not one oratory at beniabbes, but a great number of them to be raised, whence the blessed eucharist and sacred heart should shine as the light of the world, upon many infidel regions, for ages. a magnificent thought, which he never ceased to express all his life long! when he undertook some new journey, he rejoiced, as he did at taghit, in consecrating the body of christ in places where no priest had been for two thousand years. thinking of rome, he exclaimed: "i love rome so much! that is where there are most tabernacles, where jesus is most present corporally. one of my aspirations would have been to restore worship in the little chapel domine quo vadis, via appia.' 991 here, at beni-abbes, if he asked for help, for companions to be sent him, it was because he wanted first of all to multiply the real presence among those who had no tabernacle or host. he constantly thought of the immense peoples around him and among whom the saviour did not dwell. he wanted to give him to them. "for men die every day and souls fall into hell, souls redeemed at so great a price, dyed in the blood of jesus, which st. colette saw falling into hell, as thick as the snowflakes in a winter storm." we shall soon see what came of these plans of foundations. i shall only note now that father de foucauld has entered into the life of recollection so long desired, and declares himself the happiest man in the world. when we compare his happiness with that which some of us pursue, we are confounded as to ourselves, and many of us have so little elevation of soul, that we can barely imagine the exultation of the hermit of beni-abbes. did. he eat and drink to sate hunger and thirst, since these satisfactions are called happiness? we know he did not. did he keep any past habits of luxury or self-pleasing? not the least. did he try to find in the books he brought into the desert a diversion from the monotony of his days, with their servile tasks and boring conversations? with his artistic temperament he doubtless enjoyed certain pages of st. chrysostom, and in more than one point he was too like st. augustine not to be moved by the human beauty of the city of god or the confessions: but his happiness was far above such pleasures as these. may it not be that 1 letter to a friend, december 20, 1903. beni-abbes 169 exceptional graces were granted him, and that in communion or meditation, or in the evening, when he could go on no longer through working so hard and giving consolation to so many, and grain and dates, and when suffering from the torrid heat, some sudden nameless immeasurable sweetness came down into his heart and filled it with delight? i hardly doubt it, although nowhere, to my knowledge, has this humble servant explicitly spoken of any heavenly favours bestowed upon him. but he spoke of his joy, and extolled it. indeed it was the purest, the most detached from all that is human that anyone could experience. we can know no more. at la trappe, at nazareth, he experienced periods of interior trials, and something like darkness. "i only managed to get through by entire obedience to the abbé, even in little things: i clung to him like a child to its mother's dress. at present i am in great peace. that will last as long as jesus wills. i have the blessed sacrament, the love of jesus; others have the earth, i have the good god. . . . when i am sad, this is my recipe: i recite the glorious mysteries of the rosary, and i say to myself: what does it matter after all if i am miserable, and if i get none of the good i want? all that does not prevent my well-beloved jesus-who wants it a thousand times more than i do from being blessed, eternally and infinitely blessed. "our well-beloved is blessed: what do we lack? you know that to love is to forget yourself for another whom you love a thousand times more than yourself, that to love is to give up working and wishing to be happy, and to desire solely and with all the strength of your heart the happiness of the beloved: well, we have what we desire. our beloved jesus is blessed, so we lack nothing! if we love him, let us praise god without end, for our wishes are granted: he is happy!" brother charles was self-forgetful to a point which sometimes made his friends anxious. he had fever, rheumatism, and was utterly tired out. some officers had to write to his family about it. one of brother charles's relations, thinking that the diet of bread and herb-tea was insufficient for a man still young, asked the missionary to accept a small sum monthly, on condition that this money should be used to buy some extra food. he replied: "i accept the ten francs, and so that you may know the menu, i tell 1 letter to count louis de foucauld, september 3, 1902; letters to a friend, dated march 21, april 4, september 3, 1902. 170 charles de foucauld you that i am adding some dates, which are very good and nourishing fruit, to my bread." a short time after, his director, abbé huvelin, counselled moderation as follows: "my dear friend, my dear child, bear with yourself! be humble and patient with yourself, less anxious to overcome sleep than restlessness and that anxious striving after the best which torments you. be at peace, in order to receive god's graces, and, if you have and keep your hatred of yourself, let it be a hatred as calm as deep water. . possess your own soul; do not cut yourself down too much; eat a little; sleep as long as action requires.' "" père guérin wrote to him in the same strain, and i believe this was the finishing stroke for the "desert tea." in a letter of brother charles "cous-cous" is spoken of at the midday meal: perhaps it was on the great feasts. brother charles's attack of fever had stirred the little military colony of beni-abbes. immediately all flocked to the fraternity: "the doctor with his advice and remedies, all the officers and non-commissioned officers, goats' milk, jam, coffee, tea, and i don't know what besides !" and he was astonished that they did so much for him. what is to be feared by such souls as this holding the highest within them above the world? absolutely nothing. in the summer of 1902, one of his friends told him he feared that the berbers might attack beni-abbes, and brother charles did not deny the danger, but rejoiced in it. "i thank you for what you have told me about possible dangers; . . . i regard them with the peace of god's children.... if you knew how i desire to end my poor and miserable life, so badly begun and so empty, according to our lord's saying on the night of the last supper: 'greater love than this no man hath, that a man lay down his life for his friends!' i am unworthy of it, but how much i desire it! reports of war are reviving; . . . it is very sweet to feel oneself always so near, on the threshold of eternity; it is extremely sweet and also good for one's soul." "july 4.-there is nothing new in my life; oh yes, there is! i have had the great joy of being able to buy and free a slave; he is staying with me provisionally as a guest, and working in the garden; . . . he appears to be twentyfive years of age. .. pray for his conversion! pray also for that of a good musulman turco who is most devoted to me and pray for mine!" • · beni-abbes 171 the slave of whom brother charles here speaks was a beraber, carried off in a raid by the doni meuia, who were not then very reliable friends, and a party of them were camping on the beni-abbes plateau. moved by pity of this fine young captive, brother charles said to a french non-commissioned officer: "we must buy him from his master. but, if they hear that it is i who wish to free the slave, they will ask a price i cannot pay. go, then, as if for yourself, to buy the captive and keep me informed of the negotiations.' these lasted three days. we have still the notes he addressed to the adjutant. "add another douro or two, my dear j, but i can't give any more; indeed, i can't.' "" 99 next day, a fresh letter: "well, yes, go up to 400 francs, and don't hesitate or haggle. . . . our brother's freedom is priceless.... jesus might have redeemed us by a word, but willed to do it with all his blood to show his love by the price he paid. let us follow god's example." at last the master gave way. the slave went to thank the great christian marabout who had delivered him. they chatted for a moment, then brother charles said to the beraber : "now you are free; what are you going to do?" 66 say good-bye to my captors." $6 and then ?" "i shall go back to my first master, who treated me well. my wife is still there." "june 28, 1902.-saturday is the day for giving out the barley distribution. we must make our sundays and feast-days known. it is a very inferior way, but just now the only practical method, i believe, of evangelizing." 'july 12, 1902.-first baptism at beni-abbes: mariejoseph abdjesu carita, a little negro of three and a half."'¹ 66 "july 21.-four soldiers of the garrison have died this month of extreme heat. not one of them refused the sacraments; two died very piously after a long illness. . . .' 99 "august 13.-i am still alone-the only religious-with abdjesu, a negro of twenty-five redeemed and liberated some time ago; an artilleryman who serves my mass; some 1 "abdjesu" means, in arabic, "servant of jesus"; as "abd ennebi," "servant of the prophet." 172 charles de foucauld sharpshooters who are repairing the chapel, the roof of which is getting weak. the fraternity, very silent at night and from 10 to 3 in the afternoon, is a beehive from 5 to 9 in the morning; and from 4 to 8 in the evening. i never stop talking and seeing people; slaves, poor people, invalids, soldiers, travellers, and inquirers; the latterinquirers-i have but rarely, but the slaves, invalids, and poor increase. . . . i celebrate mass, except on sundays and great festivals-i say it, on those days, when the military desire to which nobody ever comes on weekdays, before daybreak, so as not to be too much disturbed by the noise, and to make my thanksgiving in some peace; but however early i may be, i am always called three or four times while making my thanksgiving." 66 september 12.-what are wonderful here are the sunsets, the evenings, and the nights. the evenings are so calm, the nights so serene; the great sky and the vast horizons half lit by the stars are so peaceful, and in silence thrill the soul by hymning the eternal, the infinite, and the beyond, so that one could spend entire nights in such contemplation; however, i curtail it and return after spending a few moments before the tabernacle, for there is more in the humble tabernacle: nothing is nothing, compared to the well-beloved." • 14th.-ransomed two slaves: a father of a family and a young man of fifteen, whom brother charles provisionally named paul. "november 5, 1902.-it has rained twice, so i hide the altar furniture under the altar; and the altar, as soon as the sky grows cloudy, under a waterproof covering a little tarpaulin. at the fraternity, as at the camp and in the village, it rains as much inside the rooms (and chapel) as outside. the roofs protect only from the sun. that, far from hindering, contributes to happiness: in making the inclemencies of the weather felt, god reminds us that jesus had not a stone whereon to lay his head. all that makes us like the well-beloved unites us to him and is perfect happiness. the very sight of my nothingness, instead of afflicting me, helps me to forget myself and to think only of him who is all." the end of the year came. the buildings and repairs of the poor hermitage were finished-waiting for the brothers to tell of their early coming and thus bring the workmen back to the workyard. ordinary and regular life was, no doubt, beginning. it must be as strict as possible, and beni-abbes 173 brother charles, thinking of this obligation of his calling, thought it better to do without the daily help of a soldier who had been his "housekeeper." they told him he was overdone, but he maintained his decision; he gave this noble and witty reply: "jesus had no orderly.' 99 his only anxiety was for souls. thanks to the two blacks he had redeemed, he could have exposition of the blessed sacrament in the not quite empty chapel when the soldiers were kept in camp. and then, on christmas day and the day after, he had an "immense joy"; some moroccans came to pay him a visit. with what friendship he must have received them, and with what dreams beyond their understanding he must have followed them! on these same days, he had surprises of another sort. for many centuries christmas has been a season when friends have been accustomed to exchange gifts. brother charles saw a porter coming to the hermitage carrying a light parcel, carefully tied, that the ass-driver postmen had delivered at the native office. "where does it come from? the east? do they still remember me?" they remembered him so well that the nuns of a convent in the holy land where he had spent some time, wishing to give pleasure to the hermit whom they had known as gardener, porter, and messenger, sent him a christmas present. but what can one give a hermit, when one is oneself poor? first of all relics for the chapel. there were several in the parcel: relics of the saints, particles of the holy sepulchre or of the nativity cave. the donors had added some flowers from palestine, arranged as a bouquet and pasted on vellum; then, having sought such small things as a father of the thebaid might want for his household, they had put into one envelope a wooden spoon, a mousetrap, and a yard of white cloth. the man who brought the parcel, seeing this remnant and also father de foucauld's poor threadbare and tattered gandourah full of holes, surmised that pieces much needed by his friend's tunic might be cut out of this fine white cloth. no sooner was he back in camp than he went to the army tailor, and told him to go quickly to the hermitage. the tailor did not loiter much on the way. perhaps he wanted to wait till the worst heat of the afternoon was over. anyhow, a little before sunset he was back in camp, with discomfited expression. nothing doing." "what? won't he have his gandourah mended?” 174 charles de foucauld "not quite that; but he had no more of the cloth; he has given it away.'" 93 in fact, on the still burning plateau, they could see a little negro, running round with pride and showing himself to his comrades. he had just come from the hermitage clad in a sack as white as snow. about the same time-perhaps a little sooner-an officer, who had to do with sending supplies to the oasis posts, remarked on the platform of oran station a little cask addressed to the révérend père de foucauld at beniabbes. "altar wine," he thought, "and it cannot fail to turn sour; the journey and the heat must already have damaged it. in what state will it reach the poor father?" as soon as the discovery was made, they hastened to put the cask in the shade in a store. a man of good-will, who knew what to do for wine in danger, poured several buckets of water on the barrel, which was given into the charge of the guards of the train from oran to beni-unif, and sprinkled two or three times en route. at beni-unif, when the time came to form the convoy for revictualling beni-abbes, the cask was put on the camel's back, and, as everyone was a great friend of father de foucauld, never was a parcel more closely looked after, better covered with wool while on the way, or unloaded with more care when the caravan in the evening halted for the night. at last the precious barrel was brought to the hermitage. "here is your altar wine, father." "but i have not ordered any." 66 they have sent you some; look at the address." brother charles decided to open the cask. it was then perceived that it was a bell, with a clapper well wrapped in rags, which had travelled under chestnut staves and had been refreshed with such touching care. it was hung from the top of a sort of small rectangular tower—i should say campanile, if the word here did not suggest immoderate ambition-at the side of the chapel. and it rang, a witness told me: "it used to ring oftener than we wanted sometimes, not only in the day, but at night, at 10, at midnight, at 4 in the morning. the sound, through the clear desert air, reached us in the redoubt, as if we had been under the clapper. it was brother charles summoning himself to say his office." ¹ at the same time (end of 1902), at the other end of the cliff of beniabbes, the soldiers were building a monumental arab office, to which a redoubt was added. this is the vast mass of buildings surrounded by ramparts that you see to-day on your left as you enter the oasis. beni-abbes 175 "january 20, 1903.-two harratins of anfid, the fakir barka ben ziân, and the fakir ombarek, known for their honesty, ask me to instruct them in our holy religion, and they seem sincere." "january 21, 1903.-a child of thirteen, a native of twat, a slave for six years, has been ransomed, and declares even before his ransom that he wishes to follow the religion of jesus and stay with me. ransomed to-day at noon, he immediately enters the catechumenate under the name of peter." in march came the visit of a former comrade, henri laperrine.' he reached beni-abbés on the 6th. he is chief in command of the saharan oases-that is to say, of gurara, twat, and tidikelt. henry laperrine, who here reappears by the side of charles de foucauld, had been a sub-lieutenant in the fourth chasseurs d'afrique. of middle height, with a supple and muscular body, a pale and lean face, refined features, short fan-shaped light auburn beard, bright eyes -generally roguish, at moments hard-he was already regarded, at the time of his arrival, on his round as chief at beni-abbes, as an accomplished type of the colonial cavalryman. he was hardly ever seen wearing the linen helmet or dressed in arab fashion or as a tuareg. he allowed such fancies-and others-to his subordinates, in their stopping places. under the blazing sun he wore his cloth cap cocked over his left ear, and the regulation uniform. he would ride for ten hours, with the thermometer at 102°, and reach the halting-place with his collar buttoned up and sitting bolt upright in the saddle. few bushrangers were such men of the world as he in the desert. he made up for it by shunning towns and their ceremony, detested official visits, and used to declare that between submitting to an hour's wait in the antechamber of a minister and enduring a sandstorm, he would choose the storm. his good-humour was well known. he liked lively, even light 1 born at castelnaudary on september 29, 1860, consequently two years younger than charles de foucauld. a pupil of the école spéciale militaire, october 25, 1878; sub-lieutenant pupil at the école d'application de cavalerie, october 1, 1880; sub-lieutenant in the 4th regiment of chasseurs d'afrique, september 10, 1881; lieutenant in the 1st regiment of the spahis, july 29, 1885; of the squadron of senegal, march 22, 1889; captain in the 2nd dragoons, november 1, 1891; in the 2nd squadron of spahis soudanais, september 13, 1893; in the squadron of the mounted méhari saharan spahis, november 6, 1897; squadron commander in the 7th regiment of chasseurs, october 7; commanderin-chief of the saharan oasis, july 6, 1901. 176 charles de foucauld stories, preferably those which introduced the people of the bled. but he was subject to sudden changes. this impressionable, spirited, absent-minded man had twenty and often thirty times a day reason for losing patience or being angry. the only thing he did not forgive was deceit. you won his confidence once, not twice. as for the rest, he easily forgot the wrongs of others and his own; he possessed in perfection the gift of sympathy, which in a man of feeling becomes an art. all good workers, all energetic servants of the cause-that is to say, of france in africaloved laperrine. he could be amiable without being familiar. he had his rank in his look, gesture, and soul. in the desert he used to make his non-commissioned officers sit round the burnous spread out on the ground and used as a tablecloth for lunch. his officers on mission corresponded, in private letters, with their chief, even in service matters, each giving news of himself and telling stories, and commenting and complaining if there were reason to do so. he replied in the same way. his energy was prodigious, his exactness equally so. hardly was he off his horse or méhari, after a ride of thirty or forty, and sometimes fifty miles, before having his work-table set up; he then drank a cup of tea, and set about writing. the messengers who joined him en route could set out again the same evening with his reply. during the siesta there was often only one man who was not asleep-laperrine. there, in the desert, he was in his kingdom, the whole of which he knew, men and things. one of his disciples and friends said: "he was fully himself only from the moment he placed his bare foot on the supple neck of his méhari." his authority over so many of the tribes of algeria, the soudan and the sahara, was obtained by the certainty, established by a hundred proofs in the hearts of the natives, that this great chief was not their enemy. laperrine wished neither to humiliate nor impose on them; he wished to conciliate them, to get them to enter, as protegés, helpers, and friends, an extended france. this constitutional liberalism, which was victorious and has brought france a much envied colonial empire, he expounded neither in a treatise of military art nor in an account of his campaigns. "it is in his correspondence as military commander that an historian, enamoured of the things of the sahara, will go sooner or later to find the principles of civilizing the desert. if it be true that a man writes as he thinks, there is laperrine in his entirety. the big books of instructions and orders are in his own firm and beni-abbes 177 expressive handwriting; his matter sets aside the accessory to get to the essential. even the jumbled spelling-laperrine, like madame de sévigné, had a disdain for academic conventions-all reveals his inner fire. everywhere one finds the impress left on laperrine's mind by his youthful years. he adapted himself to his surroundings, became a nomad with the nomad, a counter-raider with the raiders, took from the native all the instinctive experience he could give, and surpassed him in moral ascendency, reasoning, and conscience."¹ the vocations of laperrine and de foucauld were sisters, not similar nor of the same character, but both varieties of the same species, very french and very christian. their friendship, during forty years, is explained by their common understanding of the civilizing rôle of france. but i believe other elements formed and maintained it. foucauld admired in laperrine a loyal and ardent soul, capable of sacrificing to the ideal all his ease, repose, health, life itself and, what is more rare, promotion. laperrine in foucauld admired gifts similar to his own, placed at the service of a still grander ideal: his personal holiness and radiation of holiness among the natives. colonial military life, which is not that of a girls' boarding-school, the remoteness of christian society, the preoccupation of a mind always on the strain or brought back to military duty, may have turned laperrine away from religious practice. but this pupil of the dominicans of sorèze remained a believer at heart. his two dearest friends were priests, with whom he kept up a most constant correspondence-viz.: his brother mgr. laperrine of hautpoul, and father de foucauld. and if any sally of his can be quoted to lead one to suppose that he had no faith, great care must be taken not to draw from so slight a cause, so grave and distressing a conclusion. we ought to accord quite another credit to some positive facts which shall, in their place, be related in this book, and to the affirmation of one of his intimates, who said to me: "on all serious occasions he used to speak of the things of religion with wonderful respect.' "9 i should give a very incomplete sketch of this great frenchman if i did not further say that he was generous. his purse was easily opened. on a journey he used to share his commander's provisions with the officers and noncommissioned officers whom he had invited; he was fond of 1 "notes sur le général laperrine" (bull, de l'afrique française, mai, 1920). 12 178 charles de foucauld distributing presents among the tribes, and one cannot think, without emotion, that many years after the one i am now speaking of, when setting out for that air journey to hoggar which was to be his last, laperrine brought as his luggage on board the aeroplane a little parcel of light silks for the tuareg women and children. such was the visitor whose coming was a great joy to brother charles. they must have had a long talk, a little of the past, much of the future of their africa. however, the diary makes no mention of it. neither the arrival of this military detachment on the beni-abbes plateau, nor the reception given to this already legendary commander, nor laperrine's words, nor the conversation of the two friends, are related. how little of a romancer this brother charles was! just a simple note, very short, a confidential intimation: "a few days ago he [laperrine] had obtained authority for undertaking a triple operation next spring: ist, to go from in-salah to timbuctoo, and definitively and militarily to join tidikelt to the soudan by force, if necessary; 2nd, to conquer the hoggar and to push on as far as agades; 3rd, to gain the atlantic ocean to the south of dra, occupying tabelbalet and tinduf. but, after having thus given him authority, they have now almost immediately withdrawn it." and laperrine continued his round. days and months went by; but de foucauld was always entirely alone, i mean in his apostolate. no other man offered to share the life of him who had gone out to be vox clamantis in deserto, like john the baptist. the baptist well knew he would have no companion: brother charles hoped to find one, and surely in the hardest days, when the body droops with weariness and the mind begins to ask cui bono, he took refuge in the hope of this help to come. how often is the flight of time, the lack of continuance which is one of the infirmities of our state, a consolation to us. but poor brother charles felt this trial keenly. loving solitude, he did not suffer from it for himself, but for his fellowmen. working by himself amidst total corruption, total ignorance, in which he never encountered even the glimmers, the veiled regrets, the power of resurrection felt to be latent in the souls of the baptized, he had tried in the course of years to induce a few little brothers or sisters to prepare for the future community. his letters and cautiously distributed regulations did not seem to touch any heart. can any generous idea fail to germinate in france? how could such a thing take place? beni-abbes 179 the answers may vary. persons ever so little acquainted with ecclesiastical history will doubtless observe that religious orders are not born in the abstract; that constitutions are not made a priori, but at first lived, tried, and proved by a band of men or women drawn together by the moral strength of their future chief. others will point out that the regulations of brother charles overstep the mark, do too much violence to human weakness, presuppose a vigour of temperament and a power of will rarely associated. we shall see this opinion firmly, even hardly expressed by the prior of a trappe, who had not forgotten brother marie-albéric, considering him an eminently holy man, but who believed he was not called to govern a community. we have arrived at that point of father de foucauld's "life" where it will be necessary to explain why he so eagerly desired as he does to the end-other priests, like himself, to become little brothers of the sacred heart, and to break into the mohammedan countries. he had sought solitude; he had bought it dearly; he held to it. but the workman plunged into the harvest, and seeing the immensity of the task, was dejected at not belonging to a band. he did more, he accused himself unceasingly; in his correspondence and intimate notes he declares that his unworthiness is the cause of the isolation in which he lives. "i am still alone at beni-abbes," he wrote to the marchioness de foucauld. "more than ever i believe beniabbes favourable for a community of poor solitaries, living to adore the blessed sacrament and for manual labour; it is so solitary and so central, between algeria, morocco, and the sahara! pray that my infidelities may not in any way hinder the designs of the sacred heart." he was always lamenting such shortcomings. we find the same thought, the same fervour of contrition and supplication, in his diary, at easter, 1903. unless "not a single postulant, novice, or sister. the grain of wheat die, it remains alone. lord jesus, pardon my innumerable infidelities and slacknesses! help me, holy virgin, st. magdalen, blessed margaret mary! reign in me, heart of jesus, that i may at last die to myself, to the world, and to all that is not thee and thy will, and bear fruit for thy glory. · "after great misdeeds the catechumen paul has left me; the catechumen peter has left me: he desired to return to his parents, and i have sent him to them; the catechumen joseph of the sacred heart, sent to the white 1 letter of november 15, 1903. 180 charles de foucauld fathers at algiers in february 1902, and brought back by them to the soudan in october, has left me, and his was a bad leaving. .. two persons only remain with me at the fraternity: the little christian abdjesu and the old blind catechumen marie." · all at once it looked as if those men of mortification, prayer, example, and charity, whose coming brother charles implores, are going to be sent him. two fathers and two brothers of la trappe of staouëli have spokenno doubt vaguely enough-of imitating father de foucauld and putting themselves under his obedience. but look at him and see him as he is: he does not seek to attract them; he tests them from the beginning; he writes to one of them : "dear and venerated father, "m. de la h—tells me that you and another father and two trappist brothers feel yourselves urged to share in my poor, abject, and solitary life of the hidden jesus, the life which he put before us for thirty years at nazareth. . . . "my very dear father, what all of you have to do is simple. jesus never asks us to do things that are complicated, but he asks all of us to combine childlike simplicity with great prudence, which consists, as st. paul says, in seeking carefully, by sure means, what is the will of god, so as to do it without mistake. "it is enough for you and for each of the other three of you, the father and brothers, to know god's will, and then to do it, cost what it may. "there is but one infallible way of knowing the divine will in such a question; it is by spiritual direction: open your soul fully to a conscientious, learned, intelligent, meditative, unprejudiced director; and take his reply as the divine will of the present moment, in virtue of the promise: 'he that heareth you, heareth me'; that is the infallible means of doing the will of jesus in this case and in all others; if he says to you: jesus calls you to leave la trappe and join brother charles,' come, my arms and heart are open to you, i shall receive you as brought by the hand of jesus. if he says to you: 'wait,' obey and wait. if he says: 'stay in la trappe,' obey; in this last case, if, while obeying, you continue to feel yourself interiorly urged to come and follow jesus in his poverty, abjection, solitude, and hidden life, again, tell him so from time to time, always keeping your soul open to him. "but to know if you are called by god to share my • beni-abbes 181 humble kind of life, you must know exactly what it is: it is fixed now by constitutions and a rule which i submitted to my prefect apostolic: the latter permitting me to establish myself in his prefecture has also permitted me to gather round me a certain number of priests and laymen according to these constitutions and this rule. when we are numerous enough, final authority will be sought for from rome. "forewarn them well as to dura et aspera. show them this letter, the constitutions and the passing of the preliminaries of the rule. . . tell them frankly that besides what is generally demanded of postulants—namely, the good-will to practise the constitutions and the rule to the best of their ability-i ask for three things as the first stones of this little building: ist, readiness to have one's head cut off; 2nd, readiness to die of hunger; 3rd, to obey me in spite of my unworthiness, until there are a few of us and we can have an election (which, i hope, will replace me by one more worthy than i am, and put me, as i deserve, in the lowest place). "my thought is that, since we are accepted in the apostolic prefecture of the sahara, where i have at the present time a little land, enough to feed from twenty to twentyfive monks, and the beginning of a monastery capable of being finished in a few weeks at very little cost, and where, what is more, an enormous amount of good can be done to the populations of the sahara as well as to those of morocco sheep more lost than any-the best thing is for both brothers and sisters to concentrate and be trained here, if it is possible. . . "" he was never to have, with one exception for a very short time, a missionary companion. already the hope of the early establishment of some nuns at beni-abbes was abandoned. brother charles had corresponded, on this subject, with père guérin, and in one of his letters accepted the reply given him: "as for the sisters, yes, it is very just and wise, not to send them to me here, as long as i am the only priest. you are a thousand times right.' "" the reason of the refusal must have been, i suppose, that the sisters would be compelled to take the only priest there was within three hundred miles, as their spiritual director. ecclesiastical law respects the liberty of souls, and prevents this sort of constraint as far as possible. therefore, no sisters for the refuge, none for the little negroes or for the girls who lived in the oasis. he was 182 charles de foucauld with still more reason obliged to put off until later, till much later, the foundation of those little sisters of the sacred heart, for whom he had also thought out and written the sketch of a rule. as to the little brothers of the sacred heart, the reply was also in the negative, but brother charles did not know it. some months previously mgr. guérin, desirous of helping him and sending him companions, had corresponded with the father abbot of notre-dame-des-neiges. the latter replied: "" ... you exhort me to give him a helper, a companion. for the moment i cannot, but could i do so, i should still hesitate. you know, monseigneur, i have the deepest esteem for the heroic virtues of father albéric, and it is well rooted by twelve years of intimate companionship. the only thing at which i am astonished is that he does not perform miracles. i have never seen, outside of books, such holiness on the earth. but i must confess that i am a little doubtful of his prudence and discretion. the austerities he practises, and which he thinks of demanding of his companions, are such that i am inclined to believe that neophytes would soon succumb to them. moreover, the intensity of mind that he imposes on himself and wishes to impose on his disciples, appears to me so superhuman as to make me dread lest such excessive tension of mind might drive his disciple mad before he had been killed with the excess of austerities. "if you think that we may entrust anyone to him without danger for his head and for his life, i shall blindly agree with your decision, and shall set to work to find him a companion as soon as possible." staouëli said the same. one of the monks of that abbey at the beginning of 1902-questioned, no doubt, by commandant lacroix-delivered himself with the same frankness about the desired companions. "our holy friend is at the height of his desires; thanks to your fraternal support, all the personnel of beni-abbes is devoted to him. . . you can rely on him as on a perfect instrument of pacification and moralization. he will do yonder on a small scale what the great cardinal did in tunis for french influence. my only regret is not to have anybody to send to second him. his life is so austere, that those among the superiors of our order who have the sincerest affection for him judge him more admirable than imitable, and fear to throw into discouragement any disciples they might be able to procure him. he will therebeni-abbes 183 fore be probably obliged to live alone, or by degrees recruit, on the spot, the elements of his future community."¹ brother charles never read these letters. he continued to wait and be resigned. he had not to make his sacrifice just once; he made it yearly, perhaps every month, as long as he lived, seeing clearly that nobody came to relieve him. and how did he take this hard trial? perfectly. it is proved by the lines which he chanced to write, not knowing what was thought of his plans : "as for companions, i shall, my very dear father, from the bottom of my heart, be perfectly content, whatever may happen. if one day i have some, i shall be satisfied to see in that the accomplishment of god's will and his name glorified. if i have none . . . i shall say to myself that he is glorified in so many other ways, and that his beatitude so little needs our poor praises and hearts! if i could but i cannot-do otherwise than lose myself totally in union with his divine will, i should prefer for myself total failure and perpetual solitude and defeats all round: elegi abjectus esse. there we see the union with the abjection and the cross of our divine well-beloved, which to me has always seemed most desirable of all. i do all i can to have companions; the means of getting them is, in my eyes, to sanctify myself in silence. if i had some, i should rejoice in many annoyances and crosses having none, i am perfectly joyful." indeed, nature cannot be more completely overcome, and this soul is great among the great. men suspected it : even during his life they called brother charles à paladin, and they spoke truly. but several added, a paladin who mistook his century. a quip which marks an era. the war proved it; never were so many paladins seen as in the twentieth century, and in each province of france, and in the most humble families. and these were thoroughly men of their time! so was charles de foucauld. in other circumstances calling for devotion and self-sacrifice, he was one of them, born before them. and, if he had no disciples, who could say that they will not come to him, now that death is over, and the experiment has been made? for heroes are not lacking: it is the causes which have need of them that they want to know. 1 letter of january 5, 1902. it will be remembared that abbé huvelin, at the time of the hermitages in the holy land, had expressed himself in the same manner as the abbot of notre-dame-des neiges and the trappist of stauëli. 184 charles de foucauld "may 5, 1903.-the old catechumen marie is very ill. the doctor is away. fearing that she might die, i baptized her, on her very clearly expressed desire, after having made her recite, in arabic, the pater, the credo, the acts of faith, hope, charity and contrition, and having got her, once more, formally to ask for baptism." this baptism of the poor musulman negress was a missionary's joy. brother charles communicates the news to a priest whom he knows to be very devoted to the saharan work; it gives him an opportunity of humiliating himself.¹ "i ask your prayers for the poor old negress whose soul is so white, who would this evening be in paradise were she to die now. i had much better ask them for the old sinner now writing to you. "" indeed, monsieur l'abbé, it is a sinner who thanks you. one thing alone equals and surpasses the sins of my youth -the infidelities, the cowardice, the lukewarmness of my riper years, my daily wretchedness: it is the graces and the mercies with which god overwhelms and confounds me. pray, i beg you, that i may at last be faithful. pray that i may love and serve. pray that my life may be all alleluias and obedience. pray that this little atom that i am may accomplish, in the midst of these millions of souls which have never heard jesus spoken of, the work for which he sent me. pray for morocco and for the sahara, which are unhappily a sealed tomb. pray that, like the angels, we may work with all our strength for the salvation of men, rejoicing with our whole soul in the happiness of god." the hermit was going to receive another visit. père guérin, who had set out from ghardaia, and was making a "round of inspection" of the white fathers' stations, was expected at beni-abbes from the first weeks of the year 1903. brother charles was delighted; captain regnault, his friend, chief of the arab office, planned to go as far as ksabi to meet the traveller-a desert politeness which recalls the time of the stage-coaches, when our fathers used to go as far as the next posting-station to meet a friend. but the journey was lengthened; after tidikelt, the prefect apostolic of the soudan visited twat, gurara; there he stopped, and brother charles's letters followed him as best they could. i will quote some fragments of this correspondence, because they show even better than others the ardent soul of the solitary, all affection, prayer, hope, and repentance. 1 letter of may 25, 1903, to abbé laurain. beni-abbes 185 • he wrote on february 27: "my very dear and reverend father, tuum. 66 with my whole heart i follow you, with thought and prayer on your journey. . . . oh, yes, with my whole soul i consent, in spite of my ardent desire to see you, to your arrival being delayed beyond anticipation, if a journey farther to the south is to cause this delay: adveniat regnum my beloved father, i am poor to the last degree, yet, seek as i will, i find no other desire within me than this: adveniat regnum tuum! sanctificetur nomen tuum! do not think that in my kind of life the hope of enjoying sooner the vision of the well-beloved stands for anything no, i wish for one thing only: it is to do what pleases him most. if i love fasting and watching, it is because jesus loved them so much: i envy his nights of prayer on the mountain-tops: i would like to keep him company night is the time for the tête-à-tête. . . . alas! i am so cold that i dare not say i love: but, i want to love! that is why i love watching. unhappily, less and less am i able to watch. as to the fasting, in obedience to your letter, i shall mitigate it with all my might. i shall eat better and drink some milk: besides, in conformity with abbé huvelin's order, i have for several months been taking great care of myself, using condensed milk, and i eat according to my hunger. be certain that your letter and recommendations will have an immediate and serious effect on my sleep and food. . "thanks for what you tell me of my big negro paul: you will judge. . . . i do not think there is any reason to bring him here; he is not trustworthy. . . . i am not surprised at joseph's flight [another young ransomed slave]: the most encouraging example, which i call to mind at every moment in order to guide me, is that of our lord's behaviour towards judas iscariot. we are surrounded with nothing but negroes, arabs, and revellers. i think also of the epistles to the corinthians, which show the christians of st. paul in a very sorry light. it was for our hope that those lines were written for, seeing what surrounds us, we are terrified. what is impossible for us is possible for god let us pray to him to send his angel to roll the stone away from the tomb. . . ." • this sets us thinking: is it not a pity for a man of such worth to condemn himself to live among such people? but brother charles is right: it is just these beautiful souls so 186 charles de foucauld closely akin to jesus christ that are required to draw together and reconcile the most unfortunate. while father guérin continued his journey, raids increased round beni-abbes. that home of gossip, the desert, talked about the exploits of the berbers, who were attacking convoys and sometimes carrying them off. the zusfana tracks were not very safe. more than one sign suggested agitation amongst the tribes; the governorgeneral of algeria, m. revoil, had just sent in his resignation; the news from france was depressing; religious persecutions were spreading; both men's orders and women's were upset; irreproachable frenchmen were being unjustly stripped of their property, deprived of the free choice of a vocation, and driven to leave their dear fatherland; it was to be feared that similar measures would be taken against the algerian missionaries and sisters. charles de foucauld went on writing the journal of the poor christians of beniabbes for father guérin. the father's arrival was at last announced for the end of may. brother charles rejoiced, and asked god to bless the journey. "may he let you long enjoy his little tabernacle at beni-abbes, and long enjoy your adoration therein! i dream of many days and nights for you here before the most blessed sacrament exposed. it must be long since you enjoyed hours of silence at the feet of the sacred host." on may 17 another letter gave the arrangements made and final advice. "do not let yourself be monopolized by the others! they will want to receive you! there are even three officers, at this moment, messing together at beniabbes. the first two days they will quarrel about your visit. . . . it goes without saying that you and your suitemehara included-will lodge at the fraternity. there you are at home. captain regnault strongly insisted on putting you up at the borj of the arab office, where you might be more comfortable, but i told him your place was under the roof of the blessed sacrament, and he understood. but your cook will not take a holiday. you would have only me, if your cook did not lend a hand, and i do not wish to kill you with my cooking. "i shall receive you as a poor man receives his dearly beloved father-that is to say, very poorly; but you will do whatever you like, you will be the master: if you wish, i will be your guest. i shall not press you in any way, you will have complete liberty, you will be at home. 66 abdjesu and marie-who did not die, i believe you beni-abbes 187 ten will find her alive-are impatiently awaiting you. times a day, abdjesu asks me where is the pope now, charles? do what i will, he will not give up calling you the pope. 66 it goes without saying, that on your arrival i shall first of all get you to go into the chapel to the feet of the master, of the all." father guérin and his companion, father villard, remained five days at beni-abbes, from may 27 to the evening of june 1. we can imagine what must have been the first meeting, the prayers in common, then the conversations of these monks brought together for a moment in the course of the long journeys which were their vocation. they can hardly have spoken of what other travellers willingly relate their impressions of the route, of the misery or discomfort of the resting-places, of the beauty of the landscape: they were taken up with the subject that was, is, and shall be, the greatest; with souls, with the ignorant and hostile multitude which they met in dry mud houses and under tents, and with the share of eternal life which is nevertheless promised to every one of these poor people. we know that on may 31, whit-sunday, father guérin celebrated the principal mass, and the diary bears this note: "the first time for many centuries, absolutely the first time, perhaps, three priests are at beni-abbes." presently we shall see a few of the observations that father guérin made in reference to the missionary methods of father de foucauld. i will first quote the letter which the latter wrote to his superior, two days after père guérin had quitted the hermitage plateau and descended the bank of the zusfana in the evenhing, taking the track which leads in the direction of taghit. he had just heard that a lady named tavernier, a kinswoman of père guérin-he did not know how close-had just died, and to console him he sent him such condolences as only one near to god can give or receive. what a distance between our formulæ, our efforts to console our neighbour, our poor inventions, even those into which we have put our whole heart, and this sort of hymn of probation and alleluia of suffering, written hastily on a small sheet of paper by father de foucauld from his renewed solitude: "well-beloved and much venerated father, "sorrows follow closely upon joys. . . . it is in sorrow that i write to you to-day, for i know that your sojourn in taghit will not be spent without sadness. . . . it is by 188 charles de foucauld the cross that jesus wished to save men, and by it he continues to save them; his apostles, who carry on his life here below, do good in proportion to their holiness, but only on condition of suffering and according to their sufferings.... in order to be an alter jesus, if we are no longer to live, but jesus live in us; we must above all things be holy, before all burn with love like his heart; we must also carry the cross and be crowned with the crown of thorns. 66 the trial which you feel is a divine dew for the sahara mission: all your sorrows, all your tears are souls. . . . it is by the crosses which jesus sends us, much more than by mortifications of our own choice, that we drink of the chalice of the spouse and shall be baptized with his baptism, for he knows much better than we how to crucify us. · • "well-beloved father, i do not say to you: be resigned; i say: bless and thank god, lose yourself in thanksgiving; jesus is giving you souls; your suffering is their salvation. if you could only suffer much in order to save many! . . . if you could only die of grief to save the greatest number possible! ... how good jesus is to share his chalice with us; how good he is to mark the month of his heart by piercing yours; how good he is to hear your prayer and make you suffer in order to make you a saviour! "i don't know if you feel as i do: separated so long from souls so dear, when i hear of the departure of one of them for the fatherland, it seems to me that it is not a separation, but the beginning of reunion; i can speak to them and they hear me; pray to them, and i hope they help me; it is the beginning of eternal union. "i felt myself alone for the first time for many years, on monday evening, when you gradually disappeared in the dusk. i then understood and felt that i was a hermit. . . . then i remembered that i had jesus, and i said: jesus, i love you.'. . . well-beloved father, how much i thank you for your visit, for the good you have done me. . . . i shall do my best to conform to all you said in order to mend, improve, and correct myself according to your wishes and desires. "p.s.-tell abdjesu that i embrace and bless him, complexans eos, et imponens manus super illos.... if he ever asks my name, tell him that i am called abdjesu. pray that i may be so! 66 yesterday, a long visit from two men of tafilelt, two beni-abbes 189 marabouts. they heard you spoken of, and asked me whether you had gone to tafilelt. gone to tafilelt. 'no, he will 'no, he will go another time!'— marhaba! does he travel on foot ?—no, on a camel.'-this question asked by marabouts, made me reflect. . . . they went on foot, leading their asses. . . . we are disciples of jesus, we want jesus to live in us, christianus alter christus, and we are always talking of poverty... they are disciples of mahomet. i turn to the example of our brethren the apostles. we are in such infidel countries as st. peter and st. paul were in. . . . if we wish to do their work, let us follow their example. every time i pray to jesus, the same answer seems to come back: 'do miracles for me, and i will do them for thee.' 66 • 99 · now that the vicar-apostolic of the sahara has left beniabbes, let us again open the diary, and we shall know what were the conversations of fathers guérin and de foucauld. "june 1, 1903.-mgr. guérin left for taghit. here are some of his remarks: "ist. talk a good deal to the natives, and not of things commonplace, but always bring the talk back to god; if we cannot preach jesus to them because they would certainly not accept such teaching, prepare them little by little to receive it, by unceasingly preaching natural religion in our talks. ... speak much and always so as to improve and uplift and bring souls nearer to god, and prepare the ground for the gospel. 66 2nd. arrange benches and shelters in the yards, make visitors sit down, and don't leave them standing. when people are sitting conversation more easily takes a serious and intimate turn. 66 3rd. make temporal alms help the soul by speaking of god, and give the spiritual alms of good instruction to those to whom you are giving material alms. 46 4th. the work of evangelists in musulman countries is not only to take children and try and inculcate christian principles in them, but also to convert grown men as far as possible. children will not be able to make the evangelical seed cast into their souls germinate, if they do not find the society in which they live somewhat prepared beforehand and well disposed. besides, all men are made for the light, for jesus; all are his heritage, and not one, if he has good-will, is incapable of knowing and loving · • 190 charles de foucauld him. . . . musulmans are then by no means unfitted for conversion. let us try hard to evangelize men of riper years, first by conversations turning only to god and natural religion; then, according to circumstances, giving to each such truth as we hope to get him to accept. "5th. while evangelizing the poor, do not neglect the rich. our lord did not neglect them; neither did st. paul, his imitator. on account of their influence their reformation is a blessing to the poor. their sincerity is less doubtful, there is less reason to fear that they are 'soupers listening to christian truths only for material interests. • "6th. i build too much : stop, don't go on building. "7th. the musulmans of the sahara receive their false religion solely through confidence in their ancestors, in their marabouts, in those who surround them, solely through the authority which these have over them, and without a shadow of reasoning or verification. . . we ought, then, to try more to gain their confidence, and to acquire more authority than those who surround them and indoctrinate them. for that, three things are necessary : ist, to be very holy; 2nd, to show ourselves to the natives a great deal; and 3rd, to speak a good deal to them. holiness, which is the main thing, will sooner or later give us the authority and inspire confidence. constantly seeing us will bring them round to our cause, and, if we are holy, that will be preaching without words, and strengthening our authority. " "8th. to bring musulmans to god, must we try to make them esteem us by excelling in things which they esteem; for instance, by being audacious, a good horseman, a good shot, and slightly ostentatious in liberality, etc., or by practising the gospel in its abjection and poverty, going about on foot and without luggage, working with our hands as jesus in nazareth, living poorly, like a petty workman? it is not from the chambãa that we ought to learn to live, but from jesus. . . . we ought not to take lessons from them, but to give them some. jesus said to us: follow me.' st. paul said to us: 'be ye imitators of me as i also am of christ.' jesus knew the best way of bringing souls to himself, and st. paul was his incomparable disciple. do we hope to do better than they? musulmans do not make a mistake. of a priest who is a good horseman, a good shot, etc., they say: 'he is an excellent rider, none shoot better than he'; and maybe they will add, ' he would be worthy of being a chambi!' they do not say: 'he is a saint.' let a missionary lead · beni-abbes 191 the life of st. anthony in the desert, they will all say: 'he is a saint.' for natural reasons they will often give their friendship to the first, to the chambi; if they give their confidence in matters of the soul, they will only give it to the second." the question thus treated between fathers guérin and de foucauld is of great importance: it is, besides, for france and other nations, the first of colonial questions. i must therefore stop a little and say, in the first place, that it is but little known, and that, generally, it is answered off-hand. in drawing rooms and at meetings, if there is talk of the better administration of our african possessions, one is certain to hear this opinion expressed: "musulmans are incapable of conversion "; or, as they used to say at the beginning of the nineteenth century: "you can't associate or mingle with them." it became a maxim. undoubtedly, it grieves, it galls several of those who hear it, but it finds few contradictors among them. unhappily, the immense world which it condemns and despairs of is far from our eyes. we do not see clearly enough the injustice we help to commit by thus keeping silence. those whose purely worldly interests nearly always direct such efforts do not measure the danger that the very development of our colonial power makes us run, if we do not know how to conciliate men's minds and hearts. or even, in spite of many warnings, they imagine-and it is an infirmity of the intelligence called "practical"that mechanical and economic civilization has the power of changing men fundamentally, and of transforming into faithful friends nations whose religion stirs them up to despise and curse us, and who learn, in the tent or earth-walled house, to repeat the proverb: "kiss the hand you cannot cut off." yet note how inhuman and uncharitable is this widespread opinion! several hundred millions of men must therefore find it impossible to know the truth and rise to true civilization. the musulman must be perpetually an inferior being. there must be on earth two sorts of men, pagan, jewish, and buddhists, who can perceive the transcendent beauty of the christian religion, be converted and fraternize with christ's people, and then the musulmans, incapable of understanding or incapable of the act of will which enters into all conversions? can we grant this? can so great an insult be offered to men? is it not in the first place offered to god? does it not 192 charles de foucauld deny his power, his grace, his express word, since he ordered the gospel to be preached to all nations? reason, and revelation, which exceeds and satisfies it, forbid us to condemn any human race, any followers of a false religion, so cruelly. such is the objection on principle. i shall presently return to that which they claim to draw from experience. what is beyond doubt is that successive french governments in the last century and in this, have acted as if it were certain, a priori, that musulmans cannot become christians. ninety-one years ago france began to conquer algeria. since then an immense territory has been added to the first coasts on which french troops landed in 1830. since then, also, many efforts have been made to assimilate the natives. the african empire has been provided with roads, railways, tramways, post and telegraph offices; the french have spread new crops or new agricultural methods, established hospitals and dispensaries, built schools where everything is taught except the christian religion. are the natives nearer to them in mind than at the beginning of the conquest? readily making use of several of the advantages which their civilization has brought them, have they accepted it, and can it be said that they consider themselves as the faithful subjects of france and for ever? it is enough to know slightly the history of the last thirty or forty years, not to speak of the regions recently annexed, but only of the three old departments-algiers, oran, and constantine to reply: no. even less is enough; just walk for an hour in the midst of musulman crowds, and read their looks. doubtless, during the great war, thousands of arabs or berbers, french subjects, came and fought alongside of our metropolitan troops, and many died for our salvation. in that there is a proof of loyalty which will never be forgotten. but many tribes and nations, since the world has been a world, have made war to uphold causes which were not those of their heart, but rather of their courage, interest, or pride. it would be false, and therefore dangerous, to believe that, since 1914, the musulman populations of north africa have become assimilated to us or simply come near to us, and that between them and us there are the only durable bonds of understanding, esteem, and friendship. the fault of this belongs to the men of very different origin and talents but similar in their illusions or prejudices, who have guided our african policy during the last hunbeni-abbes 193 dred years. they have never understood that our civilization is essentially christian. some of them have never been able to cast aside all religion for themselves; they cannot prevent all our national history being catholic; our feeling, habits, manners, and charity from showing the stamp of our faith. in our present state, if they fail to recognize this truth, it appears evident to the musulmans, the inhabitants of our colonies, who call all frenchmen christians. in this the musulmans are in the right against the very short-sighted politicians. they think that this historic power, against which theirs has in the past clashed more than once, has remained fundamentally the same. we are for them the roumis. our state neutrality, our acts of persecution and speeches, even the favours imprudently accorded to islamism, do not prevent them from seeing that the vocation of france has not changed. and besides, if everof which there is no appearance the french were to abjure the catholic faith, they would gain nothing from the african musulmans, and more surely and irretrievably earn the contempt of such religious races. this ignoring or negation of souls is an error with such inevitable consequences that, in seeking to conciliate the natives, we have often worked against our own interests. i will give two proofs only: in the first place, we made mistakes in organizing the schools. the evidence abounds: i quote only one of the most recent. in its number of december 11, 1920, a french review, la renaissance, published an article on "la politique musulmane," by an african. the author denounces this sort of" educational fury educational fury" which everywhere for the children of the primitive races in algeria has set up schools, the main business of which is to exalt "liberty, the rights of citizens, the electorate, and the whole considered as the supreme good"; an ideology baneful in france, and still more so between the sea and desert. what results could we expect from a teaching so inappropriate? exactly such as have followed. "in a general way experience has shown, that the more the natives had acquired french culture, the more they had a tendency, in secret or openly, to hate us: this manifestly disappointing statement represents the unanimous opinion of those who have impartially watched the results." publicists, witnesses acquainted with the errors committed, and foreseeing the dangers ahead, have proposed this remedy that the education given to the natives should be henceforth quite elementary. that is not worthy of a 13 194 charles de foucauld nation such as ours. besides, we do not see how the little arabs, remaining ignorant or nearly so, would love us so much better because they had learned less. the evil complained of would not be cured. it lies in the very principle of the education given. exalting the rights of the individual, and offering him as a first truth the proud and fallacious notion of equality, no wonder it promotes still further the arabs' spirit of insubordination. it spreads amongst their sons scorn of their environment and ordinary calling, and urges them to leave home surroundings for what is called "a good place." it thus makes a great number of nondescripts, who will be the disillusioned of tomorrow and next day, the irreconcilable enemies of the french authorities. lastly, as it furnishes the little arabs with no morality beyond an ensemble of precepts without obligation or sanction, it cannot seriously correct any fault. it leaves him provided with a collection of proverbs, hygienic recommendations, fragments of election speeches, in presence of all the passions, all the cupidities, all the temptations of revolt that he has in his blood, through his age, race, and religion; and if he succumbs, as almost necessarily he will, we have provided him with the means of being socially more dangerous than his fathers, since he will be better educated. the other error consists in favouring and spreading mohammedanism. that we have deliberately done it, no examples are needed to show; they abound, and the mufti of algiers could reasonably say to a friend of his: "our religion is the only one recognized by the french state." now, the history of fourteen centuries and the daily experience of those who live among musulman populations tell us that animosity against the christian is, in fact, developed and taught in the law of the koran. one of the men who is an authority on these questions, the dutchman snouck hurgronje, said not long ago (1911) in one of his celebrated lectures at the academy of the administrators of the dutch indies: "according to the letter and spirit of the sacred laws [of the musulmans], it is in violent measures that the very best means of propagating the faith are to be sought. this faith considers all unbelievers as enemies of allah. a small party of mohammedans actually appear, it is true, as partisans of the adaptation of islam to 1 m. jules cambon, then governor-general of algeria, said in the senate, january 8, 1894: "i have asked myself if, in developing [primary instruction] beyond measure in a people which is not yet fitted to receive it, we are not going to make a lot of wasters." beni-abbes 195 modern conceptions, but they represent as little the religion of which they are adepts by birth, as modernists do that of the catholic church. on this question no divergencies are found between learned legists of the different schools in successive periods." we may conclude from this that any act of public authority which tends to develop the teaching of the koran is directed against ourselves. it is enough not to infringe the religious liberty of musulmans, to leave them their worship and customs, to be perfectly just and good to them:¹ if we go any farther, we are weak, and even rather more than weak. when these truths of common sense have been recognized by those who direct, the musulman policy of france, what ought to be done? neither our heart nor interest counsel us to restrict our ambition to some inferior and precarious economic alliance with the musulman peoples who live in the french possessions. as the dutchman quoted a moment ago said finely, "material annexation must be followed by spiritual annexation." now that is an aspiration one may make without being a catholic. from the day on which the musulman understands the beauty of catholicism, he will have understood france; and in proportion as he admires christian charity, he will love us. does this mean that we should just try what can be done to convert the musulmans and make them christians? the prescription would be ambiguous: it would not specify how slowly, gently, and fraternally such a conversion, if god permits it, is to be accomplished. it is better to say this: france, being responsible for a numerous colonial family, must at last take cognizance of her whole maternal mission; and that musulman, as well as pagan, subjects of a great nation-catholic by its history, its genius, by its whole soul, and even by its trials-must be able to know catholicism and come to it, if they wish. at any rate, they will know it, and that, in the first place, by its charity. charity will be its ambassador. so let charity go to them; let it not be shackled and suspected, but 1 the palestinian law of the crusaders shows the dispositions inspired in our fathers by this spirit of justice, and by the respect of religious men for the word of religious men. thus the oath of the saracen, taken on the koran in the commercial court, was as good as the oath of the christian on the gospels or of the jew or samaritan on the pentateuch. in case of a dispute between a saracen and a frank, the saracen got his discharge by swearing on the koran (assises de jerusalem, t. xi., chap. 241 and 60). this example is all the more significant as in ordinary musulman law the testimony of a christian or a jew is not received against a musulman. 196 charles de foucauld amicably supported. in our own possessions, we are in the presence of an immense population, compacted of errors, agelong furies and hatreds, some of which are justified. the first work to be done is "to break in the musulmans,' according to the expression of father de foucauld and his friend general laperrine, who so often led "training tours" in the desert. in doing that our officials and officers can play a magnificent rôle. through them may the justice of france that is to say, christian justice, the kindness of france that is to say, christian kindness, become manifest to those who thirst for something more than water from the wells. but let charity, both adroit and mighty, for two thousand years familiar with all human suffering, be also free to console, care, heal, and endure, as evil and suffering endure, by self-renewal. let it found its asylums and schools, its dispensaries and hospitals, its orphanages for young boys and girls, its homes for the old who have been left in the lurch by all men. it will take in the unfortunate without testimonials of character and conduct, without asking for police records, nor concern itself with the beliefs of its clients. it will preach its god silently, if it is so splendid that they cannot help seeing that its radiancy is divine. that will take years, perhaps many years. it has all the years before it, and so has france: they can wait. surely, combining its efforts with those i have already spoken of, it will win this grand triumph: that the musulman peoples, without yet accepting christian doctrine, will at least have the knowledge, the esteem, and here and there the secret desire of it. and if, later, musulmans, thus persuaded that there is nothing in islam which is as good as charitable and religious france, came to say: "if the disciple is thus, what must the master be? teach us the law which makes you so great of heart." what a gain it would be to the state, what a victory for france in northern 'africa! it would mean a regenerated world, a greater france, our authority recognized, our future assured, the highest glory that a civilized nation can desire and obtain : creation in its own likeness! here we come into collision with the commonplace objection: musulmans, in fact, do not get converted; there is, so to speak, no example of it. this is a less grave error than to pretend that they cannot be converted; but it is one. all the apostolic life of father de foucauld was founded on the conviction that it is possible, by prayer and example, beni-abbes 197 and by preaching which takes into account the inveterateness of their errors and the weakness of poor human wills wrestling with the centuries and with a whole population, to lead musulmans gradually into the full grace of christ. he shared the hope which had sustained cardinal lavigerie; the hope of the church shown in that letter of pope leo ix, conferring on the bishop of carthage, at the moment of the worst arab persecutions, the title of "first archbishop after the roman pontiff, and major metropolitan of all africa," and proclaiming that this privilege would last till the end of time, "whether ruined carthage remain a desert or one day revive in glory." the difficulty is not so much in persuading a musulman of the truth of the christian religion, as of ensuring the perseverance of the convert. arabs who become christians can no longer live where they used to live. they are outlawed. everything is put in motion to make them abandon the faith; even their life is threatened, and the fear of seeing them apostatize that is to say, loaded with a monstrous crime is the reason which often prevents the request of catechumens from being granted, and their being baptized. the time of collective preparation for receiving the faith cannot be short. the public mind must be changed before achieving individual conversions. dwelling in centres of musulman population, self-sacrifice, charity, the school, and conversation on high points open to reason, ought to prepare the preaching of revealed doctrine. those who have most loved africa have not ceased recommending this method. they did not pretend that the musulman was unconvertible. after having made a summary of father guérin's counsels, father de foucauld quoted in his diary passages from the life of st. peter claver, who, in cartagena of the indies, devoted himself to the conversion of the moors. the book relates that the saint by his charity vanquished many of these fierce and hostile souls. as soon as father claver heard of the arrival of any fleet loaded with moors, he at once went to find them, either on the vessels, or in houses in the town; he tried by degrees to make " 1 the text is inscribed in gilt capitals on the walls of the new basilica of carthage, as louis bertrand reminds us in his fine book, les villes d'or, in which he is one of the first to urge with such force, that "in re-entering africa we are only recovering a lost province of latinity." (paris, 1921. 198 charles de foucauld friends with them, interested himself in their affairs, asked them if they needed anything. at the same time, he gave them to understand that they could make use of him, and that he was ready to help them in anything that depended upon him. in a word, he did so well, by his perseverance and services, that he won them insensibly to jesus christ." the history of the franciscan missions, of the trinitarians and of st. vincent de paul, a captive of barbary pirates, would no doubt afford similar examples. we could easily name musulmans converted by a sort of miracle of grace, or through meditation on christian dogmas, or by the study of mysticism, or through admiration for the superior morals of christians. there were conversions of entire musulman families (the families of emirs chehab and bellama in syria at the end of the eighteenth century). there were mass conversions of musulman colonies often berbers-in various spanish provinces, the conversion of the maragatos around leon and astorga in the tenth and eleventh centuries; of the husbandmen of majorca in the thirteenth; of those of jaen in the fourteenth, thanks to the preaching and example of st. peter paschasius; and the same in italy and crete. in our time, an orthodox russian society devoted itself to the conversion of the kazan musulmans, and succeeded by a method which approaches that of father de foucauld. but have we not, quite near us, the spectacle of groups of kabyle christians round the stations of the white fathers? beginnings, no doubt, small christian societies disseminated amidst eleven often distant points of this mountainous country, each composed of thirty, forty, or fifty families, but the living proof that it is possible to bring musulmans to catholicism. i visited in upper kabylia one of these missionary posts, that of beni-mengallet. i heard high mass amidst a congregation of eighty people. the men and little boys occupied the upper, the women and young girls the lower part of the chapel. i looked at these young berber husbandmen, white-faced, with moustaches, solid, grave, attentive, and i found them, except their costume, very like our french peasants. after mass, i chatted with them, for they know french. in the eyes of most, i read that welcome, that confidence prepared from afar, in which one is not deceived. the mission began about thirty years ago. there, as elsewhere, it has been favoured but little by the authorities which stand for france in algeria; it has often been thwarted by the general policy beni-abbes 199 of our country; for various reasons the governors did not understand, or did not appear to understand that african peace will be the certain sequel and reward of the conversion of africa, and that all other means, force and weakness, repression and flattery, the abundance of riches and inventions, will not bring closer to us a nation which looks upon us only as pagans, and so calls us. it must perceive the greatest, the most essential, the highest of all things-religion. it is to hearts won by holiness that it will one day be possible to explain our teaching. we have seen that st. peter claver acted thus. the founder of the white fathers, cardinal lavigerie, explained his views in known documents, dated september 24, 1871, april 3 and july 6, 1873, and december 15, 1880. he had no illusions about the duration of this first period, all of sacrifice, in which the best workmen would perish and be replaced by others who would die in their turn, without either of them having the joy, which comes yearly to tillers of the land, of seeing the corn turn yellow. in a retreat lecture he said to his missionaries : "before beginning the preaching of the gospel among them (the musulmans) it is necessary to prepare for conversion en masse. this preparation will perhaps last a century. i am a bishop; i have a crosier and mitre: well, it is no use to put my mitre on top of my crosier, and lift my arm as high as possible; i shall disappear with you in the foundations of the new african church." let us go back to the gospel: our saviour did not employ any other method. he also addressed an obstinate race which was far from recognizing the messias in the man who was going to be and was already the man of sorrows. he did not begin by teaching dogmas. he disclosed his divinity only by degrees; having such a splendid message to transmit, he delays doing it. he fears to scare and repel his friends the jews. but he begins with preaching what can best touch, uplift, open, and attract souls charity, humility, fraternity, the forgiving of injuries, and disdain of riches. the sermon on the mount gathers up all these features of christ's first preaching. and it is the sermon on the mount that father de foucauld repeated all his life to the musulmans.¹ if we do not change our present methods of colonization, this very french and reliable witness does not hesitate to 1 see le dieu vivant, by jules lebreton, professor of the history of christian origins at the institut catholique de paris, pp. 76 ff. (paris: beauchesne, 1919.) 200 charles de foucauld foretell that within fifty years we shall be driven out of north africa.1 "june 21, 1903.-a few days ago i received from commander laperrine d'hautpoul, chief in command of the saharan oases, a letter containing the following passages: 'at the time of the massacre of the flatters mission, a tuareg woman of a "noble "noble" family took up a splendid position, opposing the killing of the wounded, receiving and looking after them in her own house, shutting her door against attisi, who, returning wounded from the battle of amguid against dianoux, wished to finish them off himself, and when they were healed she had them sent back to tripoli. she is now from forty to forty-three years of age, regarded as having a great deal of influence, and is renowned for her charity.' "is not this soul," continues father de foucauld, " ready for the gospel? would there not be grounds for writing to tell her that the charity she practises so often, and with which, twenty years ago, she received, took care of, defended and sent back to their country the wounded of the french mission, is known to us, and we are filled with joy and gratitude to god? .. god says: "the first commandment is to love thy god with thy whole heart. the second is to love thy neighbour as thyself." wondering and returning thanks to god on seeing you practise charity so well towards men, we write this letter to tell you that among christians there are hundreds of thousands of souls, men and women, renouncing marriage and terrestrial riches, consecrating their lives to prayer, meditating the word of god and habitually doing good, and all these monks and nuns on hearing of you will bless and praise god for your virtues, and will pray to him to overwhelm you with graces in this world and glory in heaven. ... we write to you also to ask you very earnestly to pray for us, certain that god, who has put in your heart the will to love him, will listen to the prayers you address to him. we beg of you to pray for us and all men so that we may all love him and obey him with all our soul. to him be glory, benediction, honour and praise, now and for ever. amen.' "i have just sent a copy of this draft of a letter to mgr. guérin, asking him whether he wishes to write himself, or if he desires me to write, offering-if intercourse • 1 see father de foucauld's letter to me on july 16, 1916, given in the last chapter of this book. beni-abbes 201 is opened up and if i remain alone to go on foot and pay this lady a visit." the man of the world and the christian, courtesy and charity, have together dictated this letter to a "lady" of the tuareg red cross. brother charles even had had the idea of asking the pope to write himself to this charitable nomad. and why not? it was too great a liberty to venture on. here we see revealed for the first time the still secret resolution which the hermit formed of pentrating as far as the regions inhabited by the tuaregs, and of winning to christian civilization, then to the christian religion, this nation of berber race said to be proud, intelligent, and much less fanatic than the arabs. charles de foucauld had certainly heard about the tuaregs through duveyrier in paris when drawing up the notes of his reconnaissance au maroc. he lived among african officers, the people of the oasis, the caravaneers, hawkers of the stories and legends of the tribes: lastly he had recently conversed with commander laperrine, who was haunted by the military and poetic dream of a great frankish kingdom, of an africa renewed by french genius, and they had spoken of hoggar as much as of tidikelt and timbuctoo. wherever the officer had wished the civilization of france, in a durable peace, to be established-how fine these conversations of which nothing remains must have been-brother charles had promised himself to bring the prayer and charity of the missionary nation. laperrine had persuaded him, as the diary thus testifies. "feast of st. mary magdalen.-seeing that, in consequence of religious persecutions, the prefect apostolic could send no priest to the tuaregs, nor to tidikelt, twat, gurara, nor into the saura and zusfana, i wrote on june 24 to mgr. guérin, to ask his permission to go-until he is able to send priests-and settle among the tuaregs, and as much as possible in the heart of the country; i shall pray there, study the language, and translate the holy gospel i shall get into intercourse with the tuaregs; i shall live among them without enclosure. every year i shall go up north to confession. on the way i shall administer the sacraments at all the stations, and talk to the natives of god. i shall wait for m. huvelin's authorization. . . .' 1 "next october will be two years since my last confession" (letter to a friend, march 16, 1903). 202 charles de foucauld "june 29.-i am writing to commandant laperrine, communicating this project to him, and asking his authorization to execute it." "july 13.-received letter of authorization from m. huvelin." "july 22.-letter of authorization from commandant laperrine. ་་ "" august 1.-letter from mgr. guérin, asking for time to reflect." brother charles, hermit and missionary, depending on providence, waits for permission to set to work. in the reply of his superiors, he will see god's command. he is deeply imbued with father de caussade's doctrine: "the present moment is always like an ambassador, declaring god's command. all our learning consists in recognizing his command in the present moment." assuredly the ardent imagination of a charles de foucauld dreams, demands, and prepares great plans; but hearkening to every complaint, and also to every bit of news coming from the world in which he lives, he is always ready to respond and to consider himself as under orders. the summer of 1903 suddenly offered him the opportunity of bringing the help of religion to frenchmen in danger of death. he was the only priest in these vast regions; our stations had no chaplains; although the highest virtue of obedience and sacrifice was expected of them, their souls had been neglected. he did not hesitate a minute he was off, and fulfilled one of the great offices for which he went deep into the sahara. here are the facts: the attacks on convoys or posts were increasing; the agitation might at any moment turn to revolt. the subdued tribes had just risen; a serious defeat would have meant their defection. were not the french military forces scattered in small parties over so vast a space, and likely to be surprised, surrounded and forced to surrender in detail; was this not the expected opportunity, the signal for all the horse and foot of the sahara to rise and bundle us out? on july 16, at 3 in the morning, a rezzu of 200 berabers, mounted on meharis, attacked a detachment of fifty algerian riflemen of the adrar company, which lost beni-abbes 203 twenty-two men, and under a non-commissioned officer beat a retreat, fighting all the way. the counter-thrust was prompt. nine days after, captain regnault, chief of the arab office of beni-abbes, set out as soon as the news was received with forty-five men of his makhzen and forty meharistes of the timimun company; took up the fresh traces of the rezzu in the tabelbala dunes, to the south-west of beni-abbes; surprised the berabers near the bu-kheila wells, killed thirty of their combatants, and put the others to flight. soon much greater enterprises were going to be attempted against us and the allied tribes. this was known. information flowed in from all parts. what was not known was which of our posts of the zusfana or saura would be first attacked. would it be beni-unif? taghit? beni-abbes? brother charles was told of these rumours which were flying about the desert. priest and ex-officer, he was thoroughly roused and demanded to serve. he conjectured and calculated that the taghit post was more threatened than the others; a company of riflemen, a company of the african battalion and three score horsemen of the makhzen made up a very feeble garrison; besides, the post was dominated on several sides. there would be killed and wounded; there would be danger. certainly, there his duty lay. brother charles wrote on august 12 to captain de susbielle, commander of the arab office of taghit, asking him: "could you send for me? they will not let me set out alone, because the roads are not safe." he was ready and expecting every moment to leave beni-abbes, and by way of precaution, took the blessed sacrament out of the tabernacle of his little church. all at once news broke down. for six days no courier reached beni-abbes. the great storm-cloud was on its way. a harka, an expeditionary column composed of 9,000 men, women, and children from all the divisions of the berabers, from all the districts upon the moorish district of tafilelt, were going to fall upon the zusfana. it was commanded by one of our most determined enemies, muley mostapha, sherif of matrara. it numbered nearly 6,000 combatants, of whom 500 were on meharis; most of them were armed with breechloading guns; there were 600 pack-camels loaded with stores. captain de susbielle had the village of taghit, where some subdued tribes of our protégés had taken refuge, put into a state of defence. they could only muster 470 men 204 charles de foucauld and two small mountain-guns against a whole army of enemies. on the morning of the 17th the column was signalled, and lieutenant de ganay went out first at the head of a cavalry detachment of makhzen, to reconnoitre the enormous gathering, which he forced to deploy. the shells threw the moroccan masses into disorder, and they retired to the shelter of the dunes and into the palm grove, two miles from taghit. but next day, the battle began again. on the 18th, 19th, and 20th of august furious assaults were delivered. taghit defended itself victoriously; its small garrison performed prodigies, and—a marvel which might give courage to the least brave-it was relieved. once more the young saharan officers had displayed a decision which saved both honour and life at stake. on the 8th at dawn lieutenant pointurier arrived from el-morra with his mounted company of the foreign legion which had covered forty miles in the night; on the 20th came lieutenant de lachaux, hastening up to the gun, riding in at a gallop under fire with his forty troopers from beni-abbes who had set out from igli on the evening of the previous day. the harka was decimated, and raised camp on the 21st. it had 1,200 men hors de combat. it went back to the north-west, carrying away the arms and clothes of its dead, instead of the expected plunder. the success of our arms was splendid. "it is the finest feat of arms in algeria for forty years!" says brother charles, in a letter to the marchioness de foucauld. he rejoiced at the victory, but regret tormented him at not having been there. among the defenders, nine were killed, twenty-one wounded. and he, the chaplain of the sahara, could not console, absolve, and bless! a less delicate and humble conscience would not have been disturbed. had he not asked to set out, spoken to officers on the spot, written to those out yonder? no doubt, but he was not at ease. he ought to have done without an escort. "i must draw lessons from the difficulties i have had in doing my duty," he jotted in his journal. and at once he made resolutions. henceforth he will accustom himself by hard work to walking," so as not to need a mount; he meant to be the poorest of travellers; he would go on foot, without a servant, and, since he must have a guide, he would make sure of finding someone, even in hours of danger, by showing redoubled kindness to everybody. 66 the danger was, in fact, only averted; it was not over. the marabouts continued to preach the holy war, and the beni-abbes 205 revolted tribes were roving over the sandy and stony desert. on september 2, twenty miles to the north of taghit, and at the hour of the long halt-that is to say, about 9 in the morning-a half-company of the mounted squadron of the 2nd foreign legion, escorting a convoy, were suddenly attacked on a level with el-mungar by a band of several hundred robbers. these, ulad jerir, old supporters of bu-amama, after becoming detached from the harka victoriously repulsed from taghit on august 20, had hidden in the dunes, waiting for an opportunity of taking their revenge. they attacked the convoy on the plateau between the wady zusfana and the great sands. the first discharge from the bandits brought down, killed or wounded, the two officers of the mounted company, all the non-commissioned officers and a great number of soldiers. the survivors banded together on a projection of the ground and, under the overpowering heat which was increasing from minute to minute, decided to fight to death. two spahis, from a quarter of a company which completed the escort were able to cut a passage through the enemy and, at a gallop, went to give the alarm to the taghit garrison. half an hour after being informed, captain de susbielle left the post, bringing all his makhzen and spahis, and, at top speed, in the height of the afternoon, went to relieve our encircled soldiers. he arrived on the scene of battle at 5 o'clock. as soon as they perceived the dust made by the troopers launched against them, the robbers disbanded and took refuge in the dunes. it was time to relieve the besieged, who were reduced to a handful of men exhausted with thirst. they were about thirty, commanded by a wounded soldier, quartermaster-sergeant tisserant, who had been hit by two bullets. they continued to fire on the moors scattered around them, hidden behind the smallest undulations of the ground, and thus protected, besides their own lives, forty-nine wounded lying around them. a detachment was sent to a distance to bring water. tisserant, with his head covered with blood, stood upright to fulfil his duty as quartermaster. he went from one to the other of the wounded, made out a list, picked up cartridges and arms which had fallen on the ground, and before leaving the place of battle, in a loud voice called the roll of the killed. during the night the forty-nine wounded were transported to taghit. three days after, at 7 in the morning, the news of the battle reached beni-abbés. brother charles ran to the 206 charles de foucauld native office. he renewed his demand. this time it was granted. the chaplain of the sahara might go to the wounded. he was given a burnous and spurs; one of the mokhazenis lent him a horse. at the last moment, someone there tried to stop what he thought was a mad adventure. "how can we allow the father to go without an escort? he will be killed on the way!" "i shall get through," said the father quite simply. "yes, he will get through; let him go," replied the captain of the arab office, who just then came on the scene. "he can't tell you so, but he can go right through the whole of the rebel country unarmed; nobody will lift a hand against him; he is sacred." at 10 o'clock brother charles was in the saddle and started with the courier. on the way he met two horsemen bringing him a letter from captain de susbielle, asking him to come immediately to the wounded. they travelled all day and night; they covered as fast as possible the seventy-five miles between beni-abbes and taghit, where they arrived about 9 in the morning. no sooner had he dismounted than without the slightest thought of the fatigue of such a ride father de foucauld first said mass. then he asked to be taken to the wounded, who were assembled in two rooms of the redoubt, and began his mission of friend and priest. witnesses of this apostolate of father de foucauld with the taghit wounded exist, and those witnesses have spoken to me. during the twenty-five days that he spent in the redoubt, father de foucauld, to whom one of the officers' rooms had been given, did not for a single night sleep in the bed that was kept for him. all his time, except the few hours given to sleep-and those not every_night-and the time for his mass and rapid meals, the father devoted to the wounded. he chatted with each of them, spoke to them of their country and families, and wrote their letters. when he entered one of the ambulance rooms, all the wounded called out to him with one voice: "good-morning, father," and each wished to be the first to receive the visit of the friend of all. they recognized one who loved the soldier and understood him. certainly, most of these legionaries were not accustomed to speak to a priest; piety was not their dominant characteristic; but the sweetness, the affable and sprightly manner, the self-sacrifice of this priest who devoted every instant of his time to them, rapidly conquered them one after the other. the presence beni-abbes 207 of this monk became indispensable to them. an officer of the post, whom i questioned, said to me: "it is beyond doubt that his influence on their morale had a great deal to do with this singular fact: of these forty-nine wounded, of whom several were seriously injured and with many wounds, only one succumbed. i remember a certain legionary, of german origin, whom we considered a not very commendable subject. at el-mungar he had had a bullet through his chest. father de foucauld took him in hand as the most seriously wounded and the least sympathetic, indeed, quite the reverse. received at first more than coolly, with his patience and sweetness he ended in conciliating this poor man to such a point that the latter called for him at every moment, and related to him the intimate history-not always edifying-of an old african soldier. i believe i may affirm that all the fortynine wounded, each in turn, received communion from the hands of father de foucauld." only once did father de foucauld leave them. it was on september 18. that day, accompanied by some officers and non-commissioned officers and a company of the makhzen, he went to the battlefield of el-mungar, and blessed the tombs of the two officers, and the grave in which the other victims had been buried. he took the road to beni-abbes once more on september 30. in the two following months he again returned to pay his taghit convalescents a visit. then, towards the end of the year, he went into retreat. the retreats of father de foucauld, as we have already seen, were for him occasions for the most minute examination of conscience, and of the most genuine resolutions. this time he wrote to his director, abbé huvelin: "the three principal things for which i have to ask pardon of jesus, for the year 1903, are: sensuality, lack of charity toward my neighbour, lukewarmness to god." now he never ate according to his hunger, he prayed night and day, and refused none of those who importuned him. but to advance, the perfect need-humility. a very grave question occupied his mind, and without doubt, in that retreat at the end of 1903, he had studied it in its inmost recesses, putting, according to st. ignatius' method, the reasons for and against in juxtaposition. it will be remembered that brother charles had requested 208 charles de foucauld m. huvelin, commander laperrine and mgr. guérin, each having a particular right to be asked, for permission to go on reconnaissance into twat and tidikelt, and to settle eventually amongst the tuaregs or elsewhere, without altogether abandoning beni-abbes, to which he would return and make visits. the hermit would have several hostelries in the desert. the last authorization had reached him on august 29. a few days earlier he had received a letter from commander laperrine, urging him to start, and adding: "i believe there is a great deal of good to be done, for if we may not hope for immediate conversions and to get doctrine accepted, we can, by example and daily contact, put in evidence the christian morale and spread it." the battles of taghit and el-mungar did not allow brother charles to carry out the plan. he was obliged to launch out on a trail which was not that of the hoggar country. but at the end of the year, when he came out of retreat, the rebellion appeared to be quelled, and he asked himself anew: "where is my duty?" contrary to what we should have expected, the idea of plunging deeper into the desert did not please him; the conquest of souls, above all the high ambition of bringing jesus to new nations, tempted the imagination and the great heart of the apostle, but regret at leaving beni-abbes pulled him back. what would the natives and soldiers who loved him say? and what would become of the work begun? he wrote to abbé huvelin : "i am in great uncertainty about the journey that i had planned to the south, to the oases of twat and tidikelt which are absolutely without a priest, where our soldiers never hear mass, the musulmans never see a minister of jesus. . . . you remember that after receiving the three authorizations from you, mgr. guérin and the military authorities, i was going to set out in september when i was called to taghit for the wounded. . . . now that peace seems re-established, ought i to carry out my plan? this is a big note of interrogation for me. i know beforehand that mgr. guérin leaves me free; it is from you, therefore, that i ask for advice. "if mgr. guérin could and would send another priest there, i would certainly not go my very clear duty would be to remain at beni-abbes. but i believe he will send nobody there, i even believe he cannot send anybody. "in those conditions, ought i not to set out, found a beni-abbes 209 pied-à-terre, so to say, in the far south, which would enable me to go every year and spend two, three, or four months there, and use the journey to administer or at least offer the sacraments in the garrisons, and show the cross and the sacred heart to the musulmans, speaking a little about our holy religion to them? ... "nothing is, just now, easier for me than that. i am invited and expected. nature is excessively opposed to it. i shudder-i am ashamed to say-at the thought of leaving beni-abbes, the quiet at the foot of the altar, and at flinging myself into journeys, of which i have now an excessive horror. if i did not believe, with all my strength, that such words as sweet, painful, joy, sacrifice, should be crossed out of my dictionary, i should say that i am rather sorry to absent myself from beni-abbes. "reason, too, shows many drawbacks: leaving the tabernacle at beni-abbes empty, going away from here, where perhaps, if not very probably, there will be fights; getting dissipated by journeys which are not good for the soul. should i not glorify god more by adoring him as a solitary? "although reason and nature oppose it, i feel myself extremely, and more and more interiorly, urged to this journey. "a convoy starts for the south on january 10; ought i to take it? ought i to wait for another? there will perhaps be none for several months, and i have reasons for fearing that i shall then not find the same facilities as now. "ought i not to start at all? "i feel quite clearly that i ought to set out on january 10. "i beg you to write me a line on this subject. i shall obey you. if i get nothing from you before january 10, i shall probably set out." 66 january 10 passed. m. huvelin's reply had not come. on the 13th a convoy was to set out for the twat and tidikelt. brother charles, considering that he had a chance of visiting these regions, and that perhaps no other priest would have one for several years," decided to undertake the journey which cost him so much. he writes, on january 13, 1904: "this morning i take the reserved sacrament from the tabernacle, and at eight i start from adrar, the capital of twat." he thus began a new phase of his career. he was going towards the unknown, 14 210 charles de foucauld the tuaregs of the hoggar who were to have the greater portion of his friendship and apostolate, and with whom his sacrifice would one day be consummated. as he wrote to his superior, father guérin : "you ask me whether i am ready to go anywhere else than beni-abbes for the propagation of the gospel? for that i am ready to go to the end of the world and to live till the last judgment." he often used to say: "dread is the sign of duty." chapter ix training tours¹ hey set out on the morning of january 13, 1904. brother charles joined a big caravan escorted by fifty soldiers, commanded by lieutenant yvart of the second chasseurs d'afrique. they started, as one of his letters neatly phrased it, with the catechumen paul, an ass carrying the chapel and provisions, her foal carrying nothing, some new sandals, and two pairs of esparto shoes. 66 his friend, captain regnault, fearing the fatigue of such a journey for him-above all, that of the first stagehad ordered two mokhazenis to accompany the convoy for a little while, and had provided them with a led horse, on which brother charles could mount in case of need. but they soon came back, saying that the marabout had persevered in his idea, and stood the tramp like a young man, behind the ass and her foal. we have the precise information of the diary as to the route of the column. the first considerable cluster of humans towards which they directed their steps was adrar, the capital of touat. but, on the way, brother charles notes in his pocket-book all the points at which they halted for the night, the little ksours he visited, the encampments, wells, and even the palms he met with and the distance traversed. wherever he could he entered into relations with the natives, distributed remedies and alms, and regretted not having any vegetable seeds to give these poor people. he chatted with them. he was well received. the soldiers gave him their confidence. mass was celebrated every morning in a tent. he rejoiced at the good he was able to do in various ways to his wandering parishioners, to christians and others. after eighteen days on the road the convoy, on february 1, entered adrar. "i find," writes father de foucauld, "commandant laperrine there; in his own house he gives me a room which i have transformed into a chapel. the commandant informs me that, of the six large divisions which make up the tuareg people-azjers, near rât; kel-ui (ahir); hoggar (jebel ahaggar); taïtok 1 les tournées d'apprivoisement-i.e., "civilizing rounds" for breaking in the wild tribes. 211 212 charles de foucauld (ahnet); iforas (east adrar); illemeden (on the banks of the niger)-three have this year given their submission into his hands; that is to say, in the last twelve months, the iforas, taïtok, and hoggar. the chief of the latter, the most important, the most warlike of the six divisions, the one that massacred colonel flatters and has, up to the present, shown itself the greatest enemy of the christians, is at this very moment at in-salah, where he has just arrived with eighty hoggar notables to make his submission and present that of his tribe. this news is very important, for it shows the whole tuareg country, hitherto so closed against christians, is open from to-day. commandant laperrine is disposed to facilitate with all his influence my entry, journeys, and establishment. he voluntarily offers me to go with him on the very important tour he intends to take among his new subjects of ahmet, adrar, and hoggar. i believe he will not accord these facilities to any other priest but me. i therefore accept, thanking god for the good he has given me to do, and begging him to render me faithful. perhaps in his next tour, which will begin in five or six weeks, commander laperrine will push on to timbuctoo. if he does so, i shall accompany him, for the more i travel, the more natives i shall see, the more also i shall be known to them, and i hope to obtain their friendship and confidence. the best place to study tuareg (tamahak) is akabli, where all the inhabitants speak it, and where there are constant tuareg caravans.¹ it is therefore decided that i am to go there and study tuareg as hard as i can, until commandant laperrine comes and takes me with him on his tour." brother charles then set out for in-salah, whence he went to akabli, the place for study. he went with another officer, lieutenant besset, and the diary again takes up the enumeration of the stages, 20, 21, 25, 28, 38 miles long, and of the stopping-points which in this region are described five times out of the six days' journey as "desert." he only stopped thirty-six hours at in-salah, and went on to tit, where he makes a note of the visits he paid to the caïd, the marabout sidi-ali, and settles down at akabli on february 20. his first care was to see sergeant brun, commanding the detachment of the aulef saharans, the sergeant commanding the well-sinkers, the cäid, his calif, and others; and next day he began to take tamachek 1 tamahak, or tamachek, is the spoken language; tifinar, the written language. training tours 213 lessons from a settaf man who had travelled for a long time among the tuaregs. the sojourn at akabli lasted a little more than three weeks. brother charles was worried at having to give so many alms in the journeys that he was about to undertake in quite new and, just lately, hostile countries, and at having to buy both an express and a pack camel in order to accompany laperrine. where was the money to be found? the best thing to do was to write to the family and beg for it; in fact, who would be the chosen almoner? he reflected, made up his mind, and jotted down the arguments which had determined his choice, and, perfectly certain that, in six months at most, the amount demanded would have reached his treasury, the chief of the arab office of beni-abbes, he committed to his travelling diary the extraordinary permissions father guérin had given him for the celebration of mass on long journeys. permission to celebrate mass an hour after midnight; to employ any lights, if beeswax is lacking; to celebrate even without lights in the very remote regions which do not produce olives and where no supplies for lamps are to be found. these latin prescriptions, taken from canon law, give a curious touch of civilization to the pages of a diary full of barbarous names. " the weeks in akabli were weeks of work and meditation. brother charles was all his life an extraordinary worker. he never lost an hour. his notes contain nothing of the picturesque; he writes: "the populations of this region, like those of morocco, speak less arabic than berber, the old language of africa and palestine, which the carthaginians spoke and so did st. monica, whose berber and not greek name signifies queen.' i learnt it formerly, and then forgot it; i am tackling it again, so as to be able to talk with everybody." but this great worker was before all a priest. his notebooks as well as his letters were always marked with the sign of the cross. the thought of christ made science of greater value, and poverty dearer in his eyes. among other comforts, there is one that i have been asking of jesus for a long time; it is, for the love of him, to be in similar conditions, as to well-being, to those in which i was in morocco for my pleasure. here my establishment is just the same.' "" 99 on march 14, commandant laperrine, faithful to the rendezvous, left akabli with his companion and friend, who, this time, rode on a mehari. he intended to push on as far as timbuctoo. he would pass through in-sis, 214 charles de foucauld ahmet, adrar, timissao, in-uzal, mabruk; stop a few days in timbuctoo and return by adrar and hoggar. “if public opinion is ripe for it," wrote father de foucauld, our idea is that, on the return journey, i shall be left with the hoggars and settle down there." under his orders laperrine had lieutenants bricogne, nieger, and besset. on the first day they only travelled seven miles and a half and stopped in the desert. on the evening of the 15th they camped in the bed of the wady keraan in the desert, after a thirty-mile ride; on the 16th in the desert, near the tin-tenai wells; on the 17th in the desert; the 18th in the desert, where they bivouac for a day; on the 20th still in the desert; on the 23rd at the tinagart wells the commander received the visit of aziouel, the nominated successor of the amenokal of taïtok. near other wells, they were visited by taïtok or kel ahnet warriors; during the great heat they stayed near a nomad encampment. "a pacific paternal tour for training and encouragement, for winning confidence and friendship, a true episcopal round." this is french policy, the only one worthy of a nation which dominates a country solely to pacify it, a strange race solely to elevate it, and which has no sooner ceased fighting, punishing, subjecting, than it lays aside all, and even legitimate, anger, and employs its genius only to make itself beloved. brother charles had not given up his hope that one day the little brothers of the sacred heartno matter whether he were dead or alive-would undertake to give these poor people of the desert the most beautiful present that france can bring them, jesus christ. on good friday evening, april 1, stopping at the wady in-sis, two and a half miles from the wells, he thus meditates and dreams: "the in-sis well is in the rock; and at the bottom of it there is always a spring of excellent and abundant water. every caravan can always get water there. we met two caravans there, going from gogo to akabli : one from iforas, the other of akabli people: each composed of five or six men, a few camels and some sheep. when it rains, the wady in-sis is covered with abundant vegetation. four years ago, after the rains, 500 tentshoggar, ahnet, and iforas-spent several weeks there drinking from the well. it is a place in which a fraternity might be founded, for it is: 1st, very desert; 2nd, a place of passage for travellers; 3rd, always sufficiently supplied with water for them to drink; 4th, sufficiently provided with earth for a few small gardens." training tours 215 he had the same desire a few days later, on april 6, when the column stopped at the timissao well, the finest they had come across, a well at which any caravan could draw water" not only without drying it up but without the water becoming less limpid. it would be a still better place to establish a fraternity-yes, preferable to in-sis, for everything is ready, water, ground easy to cultivate near the well, and almost a place for lodging, since at a little distance, in the perpendicular side of a rock, there is a very large natural grotto covered with inscriptions, and surrounded by several lesser ones . . which would make an excellent lodging for the brothers, as long as they were not very numerous. . . settle in the grotto with dates and flour, begin a small garden, cover the well with a dome; always have halters at the disposal of travellers, and some dates or a little flour for the poor." in proportion as the mission went deeper into this region, it received more numerous visits from native tuaregs, friendly tribes, iforas, taïtok, or hoggar. one evening, one of our most implacable enemies, the marabout abidin, who had long fought against us, sent a rather insolent peace message to the commander; he would not come himself; but he sent his messenger to salute the great chief. laperrine understood the desert, and sent back word to the marabout that he would grant him peace, aman (safety), and pardon. the other then promised a visit, which he would pay soon with the prince, the amenokal musa ag amastane. i picture the commander bringing his mehari to the right of brother charles's and speaking to his friend about the hoggar country, into which the mission was to enter in a few weeks. for the notes dispersed through the diary, and summarized hereafter, were jotted down in the notebook in the evening after the conversations on the ride. they give us the living words. and who could be a better master or as reliable an informant as laperrine? "hoggar is a country of mountains and high plateaux. the temperature is therefore cooler than that which we sometimes expect to kill us here. in the greater number of deep hollows, valleys and ravines, there are trees, above all gum, and ethel trees; some of them were splendid. hoggar extends in width from jebel-udan to the village of tamanrasset; in length, from wady igharghar to abalessa. it has what might be called four gates: inamadgel is the northern gate, abalessa the western, tazeruk to the east, tamanrasset to the south. the vil216 charles de foucauld lage of tit is the centre; a village famous for lieutenant cottenest's fight with the hoggars, which led to the submission of the whole country. among these shepherds you will find some features which recall our middle ages; a few poor nobles; the dag-rali, vassal tribes much reduced by the losses cottenest inflicted on them; a relatively large and wealthy division which is neither noble nor vassal, a kind of nomad bourgeoisie, and the harratins, negroes of twat or tidikelt, freed slaves or the descendants of the freed, and these are the only ones who do a little tillage of the ground. however, they cannot be compared with our former serfs attached to the soil: they are free to leave the country; they may be considered as foreign workmen. they have no share in public affairs. these are all more or less subject to the amenokal, a king without pomp, without personal retinue, who, as sign of his authority, has only a big drum placed before his tent, an authority as variable as that of the first capetians, depending on the valour of the man and the number of his vassals. i shall introduce musa, the present amenokal, to you and tell you his story. thus the mission goes very peacefully until april 16. that day, at the timiauin well in the desert, commandant laperrine's troop, arriving towards evening, met a french column composed of twenty-five soudan sharpshooters, ten kenata auxiliaries, and commanded by two officers. this troop had set out from timbuctoo when informed of the commander's march; it had passed through aslar, suk, attalia, and tessalit; it came to make him abandon the plan of crossing the sahara to timbuctoo. strange as such an enterprise may appear, yet the french from the niger colony lay claim to prevent the french of the algerian colony from travelling in the southern territories, in the region which they consider as a dependency of the timbuctoo post. the limits had not been fixed by the higher authority of algiers or paris. therefore, the south had resolved to defend its morsel of the sahara. they had got excited. in these extreme climates, jealousies become ferocious, dissensions degenerate into obsessions, the worst of fancies may fasten upon an honest man and, if he does not react, dominate him entirely. after the first salute, commandant laperrine saw that he must show a more plentiful discretion. fully master of himself, he parleyed with his comrades from the niger. he observed that the latter had not even forgiven the iforas for having submitted to france through the intermediary of algeria. training tours 217 according to them, that tribe should have asked for peace from the nigerian authorities. the difference was so serious that calm discussion was impossible. and night was coming on. laperrine broke off the discussion and made arrangements to prevent any fighting_between the two opposing troops, and then reflected. he would have no violence or outburst at any price. he would give way however hard the sacrifice might be. at daybreak the two troops had already parted, and the commandant, renouncing the coveted glory of crossing the desert_in peace from one side to the other, retraced his steps. but he had got the commandant of the nigerian force on his side to retire immediately, without molesting or disturbing the iforas who had submitted. the question of the zones of influence would, later on, be settled by the minister. and this was done.¹ father de foucauld, on this occasion, restrained himself with difficulty. it was not the traveller suddenly stopped and obliged to retrace his steps who showed his vexation : it was the ex-officer, the colonizer, the friend of the saharan nomads, the priest, who judged this wayside incident with a severity of which his pen shows no other example. however, he succeeded in concealing his condemnation. he wished to keep silent, and he did. the officers from the south misused their strength-that was his principal grievance-in going through the camp of the iforas. he privately made a note of it that evening in his diary, and ended thus: "after fraternally shaking hands with them on their arrival, to-morrow i shall set off without bidding them adieu.... i shall not utter a single word of reproach to them: 1st, because it would do them no good; 2nd, because it might estrange them from religion; 3rd, because that might make a row between them and commandant laperrine's officers." the latter gave up his hope, changed his course, and arranged to march first to the east, as far as tin-zauaten, by 19° 57' north latitude, where he met several tuareg chiefs and conferred with them. they had crossed the ahnet; they returned by the adrar and the hoggar. it was a year of drought, and after the column had resumed its road northwards, brother charles noted that it took sixty hours to water 150 camels and fill 150 goat-skin bottles at the tinghaor wells. everywhere, for several weeks, the word "desert" recurs in the diary. one day 1 the line of demarcation adopted gives the south saharan territories to the nigerian colony, and the rest to algeria. 218 charles de foucauld brother charles wrote that he could not say mass on account of a storm of wind. another day, after a halt, he celebrated it at noon! on may 17, the feast of st. pascal baylon, he prayed thus: "i put under your protection, o protector of all eucharistic associations and families, the sanctuary and the fraternity of the sacred heart of jesus, which i should like to found in the heart of the tuareg country. with my whole soul i recommend the conversion of the tuaregs to you. i offer you my life for them." then brother charles set forth the various points of his meditation: "if i can stay in the tuareg country, how am i to act? who am i? what ought i to set myself to do? where shall i settle? what helpers shall i find?" and then brother charles_enumerates: "jesus, the blessed virgin, st. joseph, st. margaret, st. pascal baylon, st. augustine, all the saints, all the angels, all the souls in purgatory whom i now supplicate, all good souls living in this world who help me with their prayers, counsels, commands, and with all sorts of good." "why should i settle in this country? how?" and he replied: "silently, secretly, like jesus at nazareth; obscurely like him; gently, disarmed and mute before injustice like him; allowing myself to be shorn and immolated like him, without resisting or speaking." at every moment, in this journey of discovery, an abundant well, as at silet; a fairly good crop of wheat, as at abalessa; a group of palm trees, here or there suggesting a former palm grove; the crossing of frequented tracks, awakened in brother charles the idea of founding a fraternity or mission, of rebuilding a village, or even of erecting a convent. small sketches are jotted down on the margin of the diary, minute signs of the sites of habitations, of the best methods of civilizing, of the most profitable kind of example to give. here a dispensary would be of assistance; there an agricultural or, still better, a horticultural centre. here two brothers could do the work; there ten at least and ten sisters would be wanted. all along the route father de foucauld placed subjects of an order then non-existent. inspired with charity, he imagined and then built. like the great monastic pioneers, he already saw a new civilization growing up amidst these wild countries; he was alone and did not despair: the boldness of his purposes would justly be called madness, if it belonged to those whose trust is only human. they stopped for five days in abalessa. on whit-suntraining tours 219 day, may 22, "with great_emotion" he celebrated mass there in the presence of laperrine and several officers. there the commandant was visited by two notables of the kel-rela, coming by forced marches and bringing a letter from musa ag amastane. one of these notables, a very near relation of the amenokal and his designated successor soua, was the brother of the young girl whom musa loved and could not marry.-this romance of the desert was known yonder.-in this letter, the hoggar chief showed himself very well disposed and declared that he was a friend of france, so much so that brother charles asked himself whether it was not time for the hermit to stop and found a hermitage in the village of tit, which was reached on may 26, and was the most central of the hoggar. laperrine considered it safer not to grant permission then. they therefore continued the enormous round riding on camels. each day the diary mentions the presence of some native in a big tent. on june 7 it was a woman's, a taïtoq, tarichat ult ibdakan, the very woman who had been so courageous at the time of the massacre of the flatter column, taking in and protecting our wounded. brother charles had formerly wished to pay her a visit; he met and thanked her. the diary, which does not tell a story, and was not written for curiosity, recorded only this: "she is from forty to fifty years of age, distinguée, talking little, of simple and modest attitude, very nice in every way and speaks arabic fairly well." however, a few pages farther on, so as not to be too incomplete, and without doubt to remember better the fulfilling of the commission he accepted, brother charles, at the moment of quitting the encampment where tarichat's tents were, added these words: she commissioned me to write in her name to rifleman amer, whom she had saved and sent back to his own country. he promised her her weight in silver, and never sent her anything. she has debts: and 50 or 100 douros would give her great pleasure." his mind was always busy with what might help his tuareg brothers, and he took advantage of this halt in the desert to write a very long note, in which he summarized the experience which he had just had in this five months' travel, visits, conversations with the natives and saharan officers, and he entitled this note: observations on missionary journeys in the sahara. it may be said that everything is found in it and in proper order. what ought the missionary to do to keep his soul right? what provisions should he take with him, and how choose his mehari and 66 220 charles de foucauld pack-camel? what place should the missionary take in the military or civilian convoy? ought he to eat with the officers? etc. i commence by giving the replies to these last questions: "let the missionaries be alone whenever possible," says father de foucauld. "let them eat alone, to lose less time, and to have more for spiritual exercises and good works, in order not to be obliged to listen often to bad talk, not to lose popular respect by showing their defects, and to be more accessible to the poor. but when the good of souls requires, the brothers will eat with the officers." other questions are treated in this practical and unbiassed spirit which directs everything invariably to one end-the good of souls. father de foucauld appears to be writing the constitutions which were to be followed by his missionary successors, the civilizers whom his experience and thought will bring forth from that inexhaustible treasury of mission work-france. of these observations, one may also say that they are a kind of portrait of father de foucauld painted by himself. i shall therefore reproduce some of them. in the first place take these lines on the use of camels by the missionary : "as on a journey, one may have to go very long stages, and cross long distances without water, the missionaries and their servants must be mounted. that will not prevent both doing the greater part of the stages on foot, in order to imitate our lord, by penitence, abjection, poverty, and to save their animals as well as the money belonging to jesus and the poor. and now, what ought the missionary to do for the souls of others" of christians, native soldiers and civilians; of the inhabitants, particularly those of the saoura? the counsels are marvellously graduated, and i regret giving only fragments of them. "christians.-talk a good deal with them; be the friend of all, good and bad. .. render them every service compatible with your state, with perfection. . . • "native soldiers.-always speak seriously and gravely to them of heavenly things, never of temporal; be easy of access and very civil to them, but not familiar, not talking aimlessly, and accept no presents; give them helpful advice in family matters, if they ask for it. never give them any advice as to temporal business. "" "other natives.-you must first gain their esteem by an exemplary and holy life, then obtain their friendship by training tours 221 kindness, patience, and all sorts of little services that you can render to all, small alms, remedies, and hospitality. try to have as much intercourse as possible with them; but be discreet, reserved, without excessive eagerness, so as to draw them to you, rather than go to them; . . . don't enter their villages, tents, or houses unnecessarily, unless you are called there. . . . live as much as possible as they do; try to be friendly with all, rich and poor; but go, above all and first of all, to the poor according to the gospel tradition. in speaking to them, take great care not to go too quickly into such matters as are rather new to them. try to make them ask questions, and lead them to be the first to speak of what you want to talk about. . . . avoid theological discussions at present; more curiosity than good-will would enter into it; reply briefly, without admitting discussion; keep to natural theology and, except for special reasons, don't set forth christian dogmas. în most cases, now is the time to say: cast not your pearls before swine. slaves.-father de foucauld ascertained that in general the slaves were better treated by the tuaregs than in the saoura. "nevertheless, their condition is worthy of pity and their dignity as human beings totally unacknowledged. there is neither family nor chastity, nor probity, nor truth, nor goodness, among the greater part of the slaves. the young negro servant-girls are all put to immoral uses by the tuaregs it is the same, more or less, in all the other parts of the sahara. the tuaregs generally have only one wife, but when their fortune allows it they also have several young negresses as concubines. we must therefore work with all our might to suppress slavery very quietly, progressively, and really, so as to improve not only the material condition, but the minds of the slaves. the best way seems to be to spread the method of commandant métois in tidikelt. he permits all slaves to redeem themselves by paying the master back the amount they cost or what they are considered to be worth; and in order that they may be able to procure this sum, he gets those who ask for it enough work to do to wipe out in wages the ransom required. . . . freedom is obtained by degrees, and the slaves trained to work. . . . with the slaves thus liberated commandant métois then makes new villages, beside freshly worked springs. all this is excellent and worthy of imitation." · what means, then, are best for starting the moral education of this poor musulman people, and what part will 222 charles de foucauld the gospel have in our first intercourse with them? father de foucauld's experience is too full, his authority too considerable, not to put on record his observations intended for those who may continue or imitate his work. "the saura and tuareg.-it is somewhat difficult to have religious talks with the people of the saharan oases, or of the saura; they tend to become embittered, and to set a gulf between us instead of strengthening the bonds of charity. the best is to keep to short but reiterated advice on natural religion and christian morals. ... read them from the holy gospels some of the clearest passages about natural religion, but do not put the whole book into their hands; . . . when they esteem us, we can have long religious talks, without fear of estrangement, with those whom we know to be serious and men of good-will. in certain cases that may be done soon; when they reach this point we must be ready to put the holy gospels before them. it seems, therefore, that it would be a very good thing to prepare a translation immediately in algerian arabic, to read to them or make them read, and this even the least educated will understand. "the same order is to be followed with the tuaregs. . . . prepare at once a tamahak translation for them. above all, this translation should be read to them. . . there is no reason in trying to teach the tuaregs arabic, which brings them nearer the koran; it is, on the contrary, necessary that they should be diverted from it. they must be taught tamahak, an excellent and very easy language, and by degrees we must provide it with words indispensable for the expression of religious ideas and christian virtues, and improve, without changing, its system of writing. read them passages about natural religion or morals, such as the parables of the prodigal son, of the good samaritan, of the last judgment; comparing it with a shepherd separating the sheep from the goats, etc. it goes without saying that, as soon as conversions begin to take place, we must have a tamahak catechism." commander laperrine's column was at aseksen on june 12, when it was rejoined by a detachment of the tidikelt company, commanded by lieutenant roussel. while the commander returned to in-salah, lieutenant roussel with quartermaster duillier, two corporals, and seventy-five native meharistes were ordered to continue the "training tour." they were to spend three months amongst the hoggar tuaregs, to go slowly and stop from time to time. brother charles was much perplexed, and training tours 223 wrote in his notebook: "sacred heart of jesus, i have something to ask you ought i to go with him (roussel), if i am allowed? or ought i to visit twat, gurara, and go and spend some time at ghardaïa with father guérin, and return to the saura, continuing to study tamahak and translate the holy gospels which i began to do a few days ago? what does your heart wish?" according to his custom, brother charles made a parallel of the pros and cons, and, after choosing what he thought best-that is to say, the most divinely useful-noted in his diary on june 14: "this morning i asked laperrine to permit me to stay with roussel, as long as roussel is out of in-salah. he gladly gave me permission, and himself told m. roussel, if he sees musa, to try to arrange with him for my actual and immediate settlement in hoggar. he is leaving me, after having loaded me for five months with all sorts of kindnesses for which i can never be grateful enough, and telling me that it is in hoggar he hopes to see me again." thus started a second pacific mission, and father de foucauld along with it. on june 22, they cleared twentyfive miles, and the troop stopped for the night between aseksen and tin tunin. for most of these travellers the route was new; they met unknown faces; the programme was the same; they opened up intercourse, lessened prejudice, and even won, if they could, some friendship for faroff france. a magnificent work, which presupposed in our saharan officers, even in the youngest, qualities of tact, diplomatic patience and kindness, and also an education which would not be so easily found in all armies. this mission of lieutenant roussel was to succeed in every way. father de foucauld, writing to a friend on july 3, thus defined the character and conduct of this journey: "we go from spring to spring, to the pasturages most frequented by nomads, settling amidst them and spending several days there. with holy mass, prayers, the needs of one's body of death, the frequent tramping, and the time given to one's neighbour, my days are taken up with the study of the language of this country-a very pure berber tongue-and with translating the gospels into that language. "the natives receive us well; not sincerely: they yield to necessity. how long will it be before their feelings are what they pretend to be? perhaps they will never be. 224 charles de foucauld if some day they are so, it will be when they have become christians. will they know how to distinguish soldiers from priests, to see in us god's servants, ministers of peace and charity, universal brothers? i do not know. if i do my duty, jesus will pour down abundant graces, and they will understand." 66 however distrustful, however malevolent these picious brothers" of the hoggar often appeared to him, he judged them much less separated from us than the arabs," and the idea of settling down in this milieu continued to haunt his mind. however, he recognized that the hour had not yet come. he was to return with the mission to the saharan towns of the north. at this point i shall only give short passages from the diary or letters, which may complete the knowledge we already have of this great apostolic soul, and i shall leave to others, as occasion requires, the care of noting the thousand details of river-geography, essays on tillage, temperature, habits and the names of tribes and divisions of tribes, which frequently recalled the celebrated work, reconnaissance au maroc. the traveller of 1904 was still the careful scientist who would record only the most certain observations, the ardent geographer, the psychologist who, in the eyes, gestures and words, quickly discovered the secret thoughts of those who came to him; but a singular nobility was superadded to all that; a heart athirst for justice, full of charity, ready to sacrifice itself for each of his unknown and hostile brothers, animated these humble jottings, and interspersed learned notes with prayers, desires, and aspirations. 66 "amra, july 2.-feast of the visitation. patronal feast of all the fraternities of the little brothers and little sisters of the heart of jesus. dearest mother, . . . do to all, by visiting with heavenly grace and by the visits of holy monks and nuns and holy souls, what you did in visiting st. john the baptist! continue your visitation; visit the tuaregs, morocco, the sahara, the infidels, and all souls, unworthy me; visit me, beloved mother; convert me, i ask you on my knees. • . • • 99 "july 8.-as our stay is prolonged, i have the happiness of putting the reserved host in the tabernacle for the first time in the tuareg country. we have built a chapel of branches, surmounted by a wooden cross: a tent pitched underneath forms a daïs over the altar and protects it from the dust. . . . sacred heart of jesus, thanks for this training tours 225 first tabernacle in the tuareg country! may it be the prelude to many others and foretell the salvation of many souls! shine from within this tabernacle on the people who surround you without knowing you! send saints and numerous gospel workers wherever they are wanted here!" "wady agelil, in the desert, july 22.-feast of st. magdalen. st. magdalen, i lay at your feet the intentions of my soul; inspire me. are there any resolutions that please the heart of jesus which i ought to make? in what must i correct myself? what must i do?" on august 3 they were in the village of tazeruk, at an altitude of over 6,000 feet. there was then some talk of returning. "these are the probabilities," writes brother charles to a friend. "i shall be back in in-salah about september 20; i shall not stop there, but shall go through tidikelt, twat, and gurara quietly, stopping at each village there are 300 of them-leaving at each a few remedies, some words: from there i shall go to ghardaïa, then to beni-abbes." the extreme fatigue of so long a journey, and in the hardest season, impaired brother charles's health. a photograph taken at that period shows us that he was evidently exhausted, his eyes sunk in their sockets, his face thin and ploughed with deep wrinkles. he would not acknowledge it. to a friend of his in france who inquired for news of him he replied: "yes, i need rest, but not in the sense you think; it is not spiritual solitude that weighs upon me, it is the lack of material solitude: a few days' silence at the foot of the tabernacle, that is what i feel the need of !" 66 the better to assert his will to accomplish the second part of the journey as a workman of the holy gospel," he recorded in his diary how much to give to the poor villagers. "i intend to give an alms of seven francs in each small or average ksar, fourteen in every larger village, and twenty-one in every very large one.' 99 his forecasts were right. on september 20 father de foucauld was at in-salah, where the troops took up their country quarters again: he did not stay there. henceforth without convoy or armed force, with a single native soldier as his guide, he continued his journey through inghar, aulet, adrar. according to promise, wherever there was a tent, a group of huts (gurbis) or mud houses, he stopped to let the wild people of africa see what the 15 226 charles de foucauld 66 heart of a christian frenchman is like. at timimun, populous, rich, accustomed to europeans, and a prospectively flourishing mission centre," he remained three days. then, with his guide, he resumed his solitary journey, sleeping in the open air, during the whole week encountering only one inhabited place, fort macmahon, where there were some christian soldiers, and some musulmans, and a native chief who gave me a good welcome." he hardly stopped at all at el-golea, where three white fathers welcomed him: he was in a hurry to reach the ghardaïa mission station again, and his great friend, the prefect apostolic of the sahara. the latter was impatiently awaiting the traveller, and went to meet him. they met at metlili, a day's walk from the residence, and conversed on the way. when at last the two companions hove in sight, it was hard to believe that this poor lame ragged pedestrian, who was also leading his camel by the head, was their old officer of the chasseurs. he looked like some dervish beggar. but his eyes were full of joy, and his smile betrayed him. ghardaïa was his resting-place. brother charles lived for six weeks, from november 12 to the day after christmas, 1904, in this small town, the capital of mzab. "i am resting in silence and solitude, in the pleasant friendship of pére guérin and his missionaries." there were many questions to settle with his superior and friend. he gave him the whole of the finished translation of the four gospels in the tuareg language, at which he did not cease to work while on the march, or even at night in his tent. he laid before the missionaries his principal observations on the new countries through which he had just passed, and gave them advice on the future evangelization of the people who lived there or passed through. and, after leaving "a report of many little things in this connexion in order to complete and recall his conversations, he made his annual retreat. among the resolutions he took in those days of selfexamination, there were two which reveal his deep interior life. he thought of his constant stream of visitors at beni-abbes, of the many journeys or doings which interrupted meditation, and he notes: "take care: 1st, to make a spiritual communion every time i go into chapel, or talk to anyone, or write to anyone; 2nd, in all goings and comings, and travels, when i am not making any other spiritual exercise, recite some aves for the universal reign of the heart of jesus: also during manual work; when i training tours 227 wake at night; lastly, whenever my mind is not engaged in some other duty.' "" during his stay at ghardaïa he avoided appearing as much as possible among those houses and hovels, those narrow streets and half-covered little squares-sol y sombra -in which the curiosity of inhabitants and nomads is always on the watch, and always murmuring. but a man of his holiness and renown could not pass unnoticed. although the people of the mzab were of a close disposition and distrustful of europeans, notables came to solicit the favour of a reception by "him who had sold this world for the other": the little people, who dared not do any more, tried to see the great marabout," at work or in prayer, at least through the window. one of those who paid a visit to father de foucauld, one of the most important bourgeois in the town, said: "when i went in, he said to me, the lord be with thee! and that moved my heart." there were always children on the watch near his house, and they used to get up on each others' shoulders so as to be able to boast of having seen him. 66 on december 26, very much touched by the reception of his friends and the people of the mzab, he left ghardaïa. two white fathers went with him from ghardaïa to el-golea. he knew the road and, always walking by his mehari so as not to be distracted in his meditations and prayers, he went on in front like the caravan guides who always go on fifty yards ahead. not having a watch, he had asked one of the fathers, while the light lasted, to tell him when a new hour began. and every time the hand arrived at the top of the dial, the timekeeper, mounted on his camel, struck a few blows on a pot or tin can. the noise was carried along by the hot air, which was otherwise soundless. then, far ahead, the perpetual walker never stopped but turned round and made a bow of thanks. they reached el-golea on january 1, 1905. brother charles there found his friend laperrine appointed lieutenant-colonel, and wished him a happy new year. two days later he set out with him for adrar, "where there was a chance of going to beni-abbes." i see by the diary that between them en route there was often talk of saharan missions. at last, on january 24, father de foucauld again took possession of his dear hermitage. he did not find captain regnault, who had been appointed to another post and was replaced by captain martin. but many other friends welcomed and made much of him! they thought he was lost: he came back. he at once resumed his former 228 charles de foucauld rule: he did not mislead anybody when he told officers, soldiers, native alms-collectors, invalids or visitors, that he wished never more to leave the enclosure nor the cabin of sun-roasted earth, which he had made his grounds and enclosure. "i return," he said, "without meaning to go away again; above all, with the great desire that the white fathers in the future may do what i have done this year, with the great desire of staying in this dear fraternity, which only lacks one thing: brothers amidst whom i can disappear. being alone, every moment i am obliged to run to the door, reply and talk. terrestrial troubles are sent in order to make us feel our exile, to make us sigh after the fatherland. jesus chooses for each the kind of suffering which he sees best suited to sanctify him, and often the cross he imposes is the one that we would have refused had we dared, while accepting all the rest. the one he gives is the one that we least understand.... he directs us into bitter pastures which he knows to be good for us. poor sheep, we are so blind!" no sooner had he arrived than he received a telegram telling of the death of the mother of the prefect apostolic of the sahara: he wrote at once to mgr. guérin : • "beni-abbes, "january 28, 1905. "very dear and venerable father, "my mass was for that soul so very dear to you, much dearer to the heart of jesus. we love with the poor hearts of sinners, he loves with his divine heart. she is in good hands in a good place, the place where you so much desire to be, where one day you will be with her and with him whom she taught you to love. she is at rest. yet she has no need of rest. she has entered into the abundance of peace, where there is no longer either wind or winter, because these things have passed away. when shall we be there? . . . for myself i hardly dare think of that resting-place of which i am so unworthy. should we dare have hope if god did not make it our duty? hope is faith in his heart. our conversation will be more and more in heaven. there you will find not only the only adored one, but also your dear mother. henceforth for her no more distance, no more absence: night and day she will hear you, watch over you, reply to your questions, your demands, by her prayers: for her the barrier is passed, the wall broken down, the night over. . . how happy she is! . . . for the few years which perhaps training tours 229 remain to you of life, the separation is a cross-a cross you accepted with all the rest, when you told jesus that you loved him. an apparent cross, for joy at the happiness of that much loved soul, daily more intimate and continual conversation with her, increasing aspiration for total union with jesus, and growing weariness of the life of earth, will soon leave you only the joy of feeling her near jesus and the desire of rejoining her there. let us kiss the cross that jesus sends. one can, in this life, only embrace jesus by embracing his cross. and let us praise him for the happiness of her beloved soul. "i meant to write you a long letter. . . . general lyautey's visit to beni-abbes prevented me doing so. he got here to-day and is going off again to-morrow to ainsefra." "" this beautiful letter was therefore cut short because there was a guest of mark at beni-abbes, and that day courtesy had to make devotions and silence give way, and many things that one would have liked to finish had to be let go. marshal lyautey remembers this meeting at beni-abbes very well indeed. he spoke of it like this: we dined together with the officers, on saturday, in the redoubt.. after dinner a phonograph gave us some songs of montmartre. i looked at foucauld, saying to myself, 'he will go out.' he did not; he even laughed. the next day, sunday, at 7 o'clock, the officers and i heard mass in the hermitage. a hovel, this hermitage! his chapel, a miserable corridor with rush-covered columns. for its altar, a plank! for decoration it had a calico panel with a picture of christ, and tin candlesticks! our feet were in the sand. well! i have never heard a mass said as father de foucauld said his. i believed myself in the thebaid. it is one of the greatest impressions of my life." father de foucauld had again taken up the sedentary life he led a year before. the bell again began to be heard at midnight on the desert plateau. the natives were more numerous than ever in begging the marabout's sous, dates, and barley, and in endlessly telling him of their complicated affairs. however, he was no longer as robust as before the great journey which he had just finished, and he confesses it. "i'm not ill," he says. "i celebrate holy mass; i am up, but i have great headaches and some fever, and a lot of ailments. i don't think they are serious." his strength returned, but he had no help. it was again 230 charles de foucauld suggested that he should go back to the hoggar, and he was authorized to settle as the first priest among the tuaregs, whose language he was almost the only one to speak and write well. he left his first chosen residence with its poor and beloved chapel and the silence of hours set apart to plunge still deeper into the desert and recommence elsewhere the now promising work begun at beniabbes. for a vocation is a terrible thing to one who obeys it resolutely with a virile will. while waiting he rejoiced to be in the hermitage once more. he wrote to commandant lacroix: "you are at the top of the heights, i am at the bottom of the well; my place is the easier and pleasanter. i would far rather be at the hoggar, or in the dunes, than at algiers. oh! how good is solitude!" i 1 chapter x the settlement in hoggar the he invitation to return to hoggar also came from commandant laperrine. by two letters, of april 1 and 8, 1905, he proposed to father de foucauld to go and spend the summer at hoggar with captain dinaux, chief of annexation of in-salah, commanding the saharan company of tidikelt. the latter was to start at the beginning of may, and go over ahnet, and adrar of the iforas and aïr. brother charles at first replied that he could not leave the saoura before autumn. at that moment he would decide either to live finally enclosed at beni-abbes, or to divide his life as a travelling priest between the saura, gurara, twat, tidikelt, and the tuaregs. at heart he was extremely troubled. he wrote to abbé huvelin, and one gathers from his letter that the hope of at last attracting some little brother of the sacred heart to the fraternity of beni-abbes, to transform his personal and precarious work into a durable foundation, went for a great deal in the uncertain reply given to laperrine. though so quick to conceive and so ardent and firm in execution, he was slow to make up his mind, through love of perfection. he also hinted that such great journeys were not free from fatigue. nevertheless he would do what his director and father guérin advised. on april 22 he received from father guérin, then in france, a telegram which expressed the opinion of the prefect apostolic and abbé huvelin: "we should be inclined to accept invitation." brother charles at once made inquiries. he learnt that captain dinaux would not leave akabli before may 15. there was time to get there. on may 3 he set out for adrar with paul. at the two first stops, twenty-two miles from beni-abbes, at the village of tametert where he slept, then forty-four miles off at geurzim where he breakfasted and spent the hours of the great heat, he was welcomed. his many sacrifices were not made without some return, and the distant stranger sometimes gave thanks for neighbourly charity. the words "very well received" occur again and again in the diary, coupled to the names of the ksurs at which 231 232 charles de foucauld the traveller asked hospitality for a night. on june 5 in one of these villages brother charles met aziuel, the future successor of the amenokal of the taïtok, "quite changed since last year, full of confidence, quite civilized." three days later, near a well in the twat region he at last found captain dinaux, who had four french "civilians " as companions, three at least of whom were very well known: m. e. gautier, an explorer and geographer; m. chudeau, a geologist; a writer, m. pierre mille; and a post and telegraph inspector on mission, m. étiennot. the conversations between these men, so different in temperament, studies, and in their spirit of inquiry, must have been more than once worthy of being recorded. their words are still in the desert. the order of the march joined brother charles to m. étiennot, whom fifteen men mounted on meharis escorted; but he was often found elsewhere apart, according to the precept he had himself drawn up, going along on foot, with his head down, keeping silence, the better to hold his soul in peace. poor dear father de foucauld," pierre mille said to me, "i believe we all recognized his worth: he was an admirable man and a saint, tinged, perhaps, with orientalism: we loved him. we used sometimes to smile at his extraordinary love of the desert. with the freedom of youth we used to call him between ourselves "the man who can't stand tramways.' 66 "" war chief, scientists, artists, and religious, each one went seeking his own good, and all desired, too, the good of france. they usually set out under the stars, so as to cover more road before the extreme heat stopped the doleful steps of man and beast. father de foucauld frequently said his mass at 2 o'clock in the morning; then he would fold his tent, to prevent delay and to inconvenience nobody. whenever possible, tents were pitched as soon as evening drew near. on june 23, while the mounted men were driving the tent-pegs near the in-uzel well under the eyes of two young tuaregs of about ten years of age and two slaves who were grazing a flock of camels, a man was signalled as coming, the only one in sight. he was quickening his mehari. he was soon recognized. he was a courier sent by captain dinaux in search of the new amenokal of hoggar. he found the latter at tin-zauaten. he was bringing a letter from musa ag amastane announcing the approaching arrival of the chief of the hoggar tuaregs. in fact, two days after musa entered the camp and saluted the french commander. brother charles thought well of him. "he is a good fellow," he says, "very intelligent, the settlement in hoggar 233 very open, a very pious musulman, willing the good as a liberal musulman, but at the same time ambitious and loving money, pleasure and honour, like mahomet, in his eyes the most perfect of men. he is entirely devoted to the bey of attalia, from whom he says he has received everything.¹ . . upon the whole, musa is a good and pious musulman, having the ideas and life, the qualities and vices of a logical musulman, and at the same time as broadminded as possible. he very much wants to go to algiers and france. . . . as agreed with him, my setting up in hoggar is decided." for a fortnight the young chief-he was about thirty-five -accompanied the dinaux mission. there was mutual instruction from which all learnt something. then the column grew thinner. musa went off as a nomad, i know not where, m. e. gautier and pierre mille, escorted and guided by three chiefs of the tuareg ifors, undertook to cross the south of the sahara, reached gao and timbuctoo, and got back to france after visiting senegal. captain dinaux continued his expedition towards the lofty hoggar plateaux, and twenty-eight days later entered the valley of tamanrasset. this name of tamanrasset, underlined three times on the margin of the diary, is followed by these lines in which father de foucauld's emotion is plain: "by the grace of the divine well-beloved jesus, it is possible for me to settle down in tamanrasset or any other place in hoggar, to have a house and garden, and to get established there for ever. . . . i choose tamanrasset, a village of twenty homes, right in the mountain in the heart of hoggar and of the dag-rali, the principal tribe, far from all important centres. i don't think that there is ever likely to be a garrison, telegraph station, or a european here: it will be long before there is any mission: i choose this abandoned place, and here i stick." thus speaks charity. then the colonist comes out. he would like to attract and settle in hoggar (the list is curious, and an economist would not perhaps have drawn it up so well): “a nurseryman; a well-sinker; a doctor; a few women weavers of wool, cotton, and camel-hair; then one or two traders in cotton goods, hardware, sugar, and salt; but honest folks who would get us blessed and not cursed." the only fault the hermit finds with tamanrasset is the absence of any priest in the neighbourhood, or even within a reasonable distance. "at an ordinary pace, it takes sixty ¹ a marabout of the family of the kunta, residing in attalia. 234 charles de foucauld days to get to beni-unif, the only point at which i can conveniently find a priest. i do not think the precept [of confession] is binding in such conditions. in spite of my misery, i am tranquil and in great peace.' as at beni-abbes, so at tamanrasset, brother charles began building a "house," or rather a sort of corridor, twenty feet long by six feet wide, to be the chapel and sacristy. for himself he first had a rush hut some way off to work and sleep in; then he lengthened the corridor, and separated the chapel from the library and room with a curtain. he celebrated his first mass in hoggar on september 7, 1905. he reckoned to stay there until the autumn of 1906, then to set out for beni-abbes, where he would spend the autumn and winter, then go back to tamanrasset at the beginning of the summer of 1907. he would thus divide himself between the two hermitages. he would be a wandering monk with two huts, the friend of two neglected peoples. at least such was the plan, god willing. 99 what country, what people could he see from his cabin door? the high plateau of tamanrasset is at an altitude of about five thousand feet. the dry bed of a fairly wide river crosses it, and it is only there, in a depression of the ground, that there were some very primitive and poor attempts at cultivation when charles de foucauld built his oratory and hut near the left bank. all around was undulating stony ground, in which grew tufts of hard grass at every ten yards; guettaf, whitish saltworts, a yard high; um rokba, of a yellowish-green, not quite so tall; diss, a kind of rush somewhat similar to alfa: in a word, rather poor camel pasture. the faded tint of its growth does not rest the eyes and does not give them any pleasure. the beauty of the valley, its grandeur, is given by its frame of mountains, for on the north, within from two to three miles of the hermitage, the solid mass of the kudiat rises up dominated by the ilaman peak, ten thousand feet high, bare, heaped-up and rocky mountains, coloured by the sun, above all towards evening, with rose or fawn, with gloomy or dark purple tints, undimmed by mist or dust to the east, and closer, is the little hageran chain to the west the undulations through which the in-salah track penetrates and winds: on the south the split rock of mt. hadrian, famous in tuareg legend. at these great heights the air is of such perfect transparency as our 1 the legend relates that long ago the giant elias split the mountain with a blow of his sword. the settlement in hoggar 235 eyes have never seen. autumn is the fine season; the days are mildly warm, the nights sparkling with stars: one has not to go a long way up to see the southern cross. what a magic name! the very mention of this heavenly jewel gives plenty of food for imagination, and allows us to reckon how far infinite charity has led father de foucauld from europe. he is there on the threshold of his cabin, dressed in his white robe, which bears a red heart and cross on the breast. if he looks again into the plain, he will see but a single tree there, an ethel, a sort of enormous round tamarisk, which grew in the bed of the wady. in the shade of this only spot of verdure he suspended his barometers and thermometers, except the large mercury barometer over six feet high, brought with so much difficulty on camel-back, and now hung up in the hermitage. at that period a single tree and no house, only a few zeribas, rush huts similar to his own, half hidden in the bed of the wady tamanrasset, in which lived some harratins, who grew a little barley, carrots, and red guinea pepper. they were his ordinary companions. there were others who passed by. in the expanse, except in the great droughts, tuareg shepherds, dwellers in great tents, guarding troops of camels, asses, sheep and goats, were nearly always wandering about. one morning, without any noise having revealed the march of a caravan, appears the ungainly outline in shadow of a few extra camels, whose feet and bellies make windows, and not far away are three or four hillocks which were not visible the evening before, brown molehills made of animals' skins under which the nomads sleep. these "masters of the desert, as the tuaregs are often called, lead the most nomadic life possible. they fill the desert with their name, but they are not very numerous. tamanrasset ordinarily only numbered about sixty inhabitants. father de foucauld estimated the various kel-ahaggar tribes at from eight to nine hundred families, whilst other groups of tribes of the same people-the iforas, for instanceamounted to at least two thousand families. summer drives them away and compels them to convey their cattle to immense distances, as far as the sudan, where they pay very high for pasturage. they also travel for commerce. caravans set forth to sell sheep and goats in the markets of tidikelt, and bring back cotton goods, dates, and millet. other tuaregs carry on traffic with rhat and rhadames: others lead their camels loaded with salt from the celebrated mines of taudeni as far as timbuctoo. "" 236 charles de foucauld a wretched people, on the whole, often tormented with hunger and thirst. it does not know whence it comes, nor through what event it was obliged to retire into so rude a region. for a long time the legend of the european origin of the tuaregs was upheld, on account of the whiteness of their skin, and the cross which they carry as an ornament on the pommels of their saddles and on their clothes. it is now thought that they are berbers thrust back by arab invasions into the depths of the desert, "simply libyans, the last survivors," says m. e. gautier. and father de foucauld, who studied them more closely than anyone, was of the same opinion. "they are," he wrote, "certainly hamites; their language shows it clearly. when of pure type they have the physiognomy of the ancient egyptians : very white, slender, long-faced, regular features, large eyes, slightly receding forehead, arms and legs rather long and thin the egyptians of the old sculptures. their customs are very different from those of the arabs. they are musulmans with a great deal of faith but no practice or education.' the middle ages seem to have known them : annals of the time of the crusaders speak of veiled men, the multimin. they have, in fact, their faces veiled up to the eyes by a blue bandage, the litham. their pride is immense, their coquetry greater than that of women. when these tall thin devils, leaning on their lance, approach a stranger they hold their heads straighter, they affect a more solemn walk than if they were princes of former times. 991 up to the beginning of our century war and expeditions of vengeance and plunder were the most lucrative industry of the tuareg tribes: the free man does not work. emile gautier describes the warrior thus: "the accoutrements of the tuareg warriors are well known: the long fine lance, all of iron, inlaid with brass, with fierce barbs; the great long straight sword, with round point and cross-hilt, ... the antelope-skin shield, painted with barbarous figures. they are dreadfully 'poor,' far beyond our usual conception of the word: the cost of a winchester rifle and its annual supply of cartridges, doubled or tripled by the carriage across a thousand miles of desert, is about as ¹ letter to comte de foucauld, april 3, 1906. the tuaregs believe in god, but do not observe the ramadan fast, nor say the five daily prayers. e. gautier said: "nowhere in the rest of the berber world does the primitive man appear under so superficial and scaly a varnish of islam." no doubt that was one of the reasons which decided father de foucauld to settle in hoggar. the settlement in hoggar 237 disproportioned to the resources of an average tuareg as, for instance, the upkeep of a 60-h.p. motor-car to the income of a rural postman. "" the fighting men, when they go on an expedition and it is time for the night halt, bring several shields together and sleep thus under shelter. the family tent is not quite so primitive. "a big skin made of an infinite number of sheepskins sewn together, fixed by cords to twelve stakes, a long central pole which raises the skin, and there your tuareg family lodges," says a traveller who recently visited hoggar. "the dag rali that i visited were rich, and had tents of fine skins and carved stakes. to complete their dwellings, through which the wind passes without meeting any obstacle, the tent is surrounded by a sort of screen formed of fibre mats which the tuaregs make themselves. at night the tent is closed by the mat; in the day the mat is rolled up. . . the furniture is reduced to nothing: a few coverlets, kitchen utensils, the rahla to mount the camel, the woman's violin (imzad), and arms-that is all. of course, they have no beds: all sleep on the ground. . around the tents negro and negress slaves attend to the household duties. the men, at least at this season, do nothing, spend their time in palaver or sword-fencing with great skin shields. the women are busy with the children and cooking, which is really too inadequate; they play the imzad and make visits in the evening.' 99 the nomad women not only pay visits to one another. frequently at the end of the afternoon, before the hour for milking the animals, they go to a gallant party which brings together the young girls, the young widows or those cast off, the young or comparatively young and unmarried men. there is great liberty of speech. sometimes the ahâl is held in the shade of a tree, if there is one, or a rock; at other times, under the tent of a woman living alone, or a tent put up on purpose. they sit beside one another. they meet old friends, they chat, invent witticisms, a woman plays the imzad, a violin with one string, the men accompanying in an undertone: the men often recite poetry of their own composition or poems that have been handed down in the family or tribe from generation to generation. young tuareg warriors sometimes go from 60 to 120 miles to be at an ahal of a woman reputed for her beauty or wit. a traditional etiquette regulates everything in this corner 1 doctor vermale, au sahara pendant la guèrre européene, 1913-1917 (written notes). doctor vermale was killed by the tuaregs in the battle of ain-el-hajaj, february 13, 1917. he was twenty-nine years of age. 238 charles de foucauld of the desert en fête. "clothes, behaviour, and conversation are all governed by a graded worldly code, discreet, absurd, and inflexible. flirting is naturally the great occupation."' the hoggar confederation, like the other tuareg confederations, is commanded by an elected chief, the amenokal chosen among the nobles :2 each tribe obeys an amrar. we already know that when father de foucauld began to build his hermitage at tamanrasset, the hoggar amenokal was musa ag amastane. he succeeded two declared enemies of the french: ahitarel, who governed the confederation at the time of the massacre of the flatter mission; then attisi, who had himself taken part in the massacre. more clever and also more intelligent than his predecessors, musa entered into negotiation with the military chiefs of the oases even before his election as chief of his nation. at the beginning of 1904 he concluded a treaty of friendship with the french at in-salah, had himself recognized chief of the hoggar tuaregs, and-cleverest of all in the chief of a band-obtained from france pardon for the former amenokal attisi, who had become unpopular and retired towards the south-east, to the azjer tuaregs. such was the country in which father de foucauld proposed to live, such were the tuaregs whom he was going to have as companions and witnesses. he could still change his mind and go back north. that was proposed to him. captain dinaux, who had followed his journey and run over the aïr region, again at the end of five weeks passed through tamanrasset on october 15, 1905. he inquired about the hermit's plans: they had not changed. then he bade him adieu, put in his report this memorable fact that a civilized man had asked as a great favour to be left in hoggar, and added: "he will remain thus alone in the midst of the tuaregs, 425 miles from in-salah, and will be united to us only by the monthly courier which we are going to try to inaugurate." what faith and what moral energy to support such a trial victoriously! no one of his race and education. no help for body or soul! no hope for years and years of altogether winning a people to his faith across such a distance and so many obstacles! he knew for a certainty that he would die before getting the reward-that is to say, before securing the full conversion of a single soul to the 1 emile gautier, la conquête du sahara. 2 the hoggar noble tribes are the kel rela and the taïtok: both have vassal tribes. the settlement in hoggar 239 law of salvation and christian civilization. and yet, not to doubt, not to hesitate, to offer himself resolutely for a task which no human attraction recommended, to break with all that he loved on earth and in the mind of europe, to obtain the difficult, the uncertain distrustful sympathy of nomad shepherds, of warriors accustomed to robbery, and of miserable negroes-that is the life which father de foucauld chose. most men, even of the stoutest type, would have succumbed to one or other of these temptations: discouragement or corruption. he remained pure he made progress in the art of sacrifice, the longest of all to learn and the one the mastery of which is never assured; he rendered france the incomparable service of allowing a glimpse of her to be caught, for she was present and recognizable in him; he rendered other services to science; he prepared a whole people for missionaries to come; he was the great solitary sower whose steps nobody has been able to count. he never counted them himself. i believe the words of one of his near relations are quite right: "hoggar. this is the period of his life in which charles showed all he could do." his self-surrender was apparently complete: yet it was to be much greater. faithful to his unchangeable resolution to prepare for the conversion of the infidels, father de foucauld, as soon as he had taken possession of his hermitage, made his retreat, and noted in his diary the means he would use for such a blessing. "do my utmost for the salvation of the infidel peoples of these countries by the total forgetfulness of self. "every year make a round of the arrhem¹ of hoggar; accept invitations to journeys in the sahara, if they are useful; if possible, spend a few days every year in the tents of the hoggars." with the help of abd en nebi, a tamanrasset harratin, whom he paid twenty centimes a lesson-a price which was then and there sufficient-he at once undertook the translation into tuareg of extracts from the holy scriptures. total forgetfulness of self, a life of prayer, charity, and study: how could a man faithful to such an ideal be unsuccessful in gaining the sympathy of these camel-drivers and savage traders, even of giving them a glimpse of the moral superiority of christians? how doubt that france, of whom he was a model son, would benefit by such an exile? captain dinaux, the refined and cultivated officer who had ¹ little colonies of agriculturists are thus described. 240 charles de foucauld brought him to hoggar and then left him there, said in his report to the governor-general of algeria: "the father's reputation for holiness, the results he has clearly obtained in curing the sick, will do more for the extension of our influence and the rallying to our ideas, than a permanent occupation of the country. . . . the manner in which he was received and installed is a characteristic proof of musa's good dispositions." he added these lines, which do him honour, and which should be remembered: "on the same grounds, we should encourage the establishment of the half-nomadic white sisters as much as possible: the position of the tuareg woman would further the improvement of their race by contact with european women. their devotion, their kindness, and spirit of sacrifice would have the happiest influence on the tuaregs." "" father de foucauld's rule was still the same as that of the little brothers of the sacred heart, but he was obliged to make two modifications in them: he devoted a great deal of time to the study of tamachek, and at first he had to leave the enclosure, in order "to be in contact" with his changing neighbours. "he had to take the first steps: the tuaregs would not come of themselves when there was no material profit to be hoped for. brother charles would therefore go into the gardens where the harratins were working he would go and chat with the shepherds and their slaves around the tents scattered in the plain. he gave out remedies and little presents of coloured pictures, and above all needles that women riding on donkeys came from very far to beg for, since the greater part of the time they had to sew with thorns, to the end of which they fastened a piece of thread. later on he learnt to knit, so as to give them knitting lessons: he thought of the great material and moral gain of establishing little workrooms managed by french sisters in this country, "where they work so little and talk so much," and where the women "die of idleness." if only they could be taught to weave wool! when the sheep falls, unfortunately its wool along with the camel's hair are carried off by the wind. "nobody makes anything of them: a little goat's hair is used to make cords, the rest is unused." the thought of "his people" never left this colonizing monk. he also saw musa ag amastane, and spoke of him in his letters, and the opening sketch of the amenokal's face helps us to a much clearer idea of him. 66 i again saw a lot of tuaregs whom i saw last year: we are on very good terms. as to the natives, i see no other the settlement in hoggar 241 duty than that of praying for them, and making them like me, and, should an opportunity offer, giving them good advice very discreetly. i endeavour to prepare the way for others, praying to jesus to send them. it seems to me that at present the most necessary things in hoggar are education and the reconstitution of the family; their ignorance is so profound as to render them incapable of distinguishing the true from the false, and the looseness of family life, the sequel to that of morals and numerous divorces, leaves the children to grow up as chance may decide and without education. . · "the setting up of french authority among the hoggar and the taïtok has made great progress since last year. "as long as france has not a european war, we seem to be safe. if there is a european war, there would probably be risings in the whole south and here as elsewhere. "actually both are entirely subject and pay france tribute the amrar of the taïtok and the amenokal of the hoggar were solemnly invested with their authority in the name of france by the chief of the dependency of in-salah, to whom they are subordinate. the taïtok has an amrar gidi ag geraji, an intelligent old man but without great authority, and not a very responsible character. the hoggar have musa ag amastane as amenokal; he is a very intelligent man, animated with good intentions, seeking solely the welfare of the musulmans and tuaregs; large-minded, he devotes his life to make peace reign among the tuaregs, to protect the weak against the violence of the strong, and by that acquires, as well as by his liberality, piety, amiability, and courage, a universal veneration from in-salah to timbuctoo; the good he does, his efforts for peace and justice, are not restricted to hoggar, but extend to the neighbouring tribes-azjers, kel-ui, taïtok, aulimmiden his moderation, his spirit of peace, and his constancy in upholding the poor and oppressed against injustice, are remarkable; he is open-minded, wise, and moderate; if god gives him life, his influence will go on increasing and will last for a long time. it is very interesting to see this mixture of great natural gifts and profound ignorance in this man who, from certain points of view, is a savage, and, from others, has a right to esteem and consideration; for his justice, his courage, and the elevation of his character have made for him a peerless position from twat and rhât as far as the niger. my relations with him are excellent. i had not seen him last year; this year i have 16 242 charles de foucauld not left him for four months; he is here even now; he has no residence, and is a nomad like all his compatriots. do his fine qualities exclude ambition, sensuality, and disdain and hatred in his heart for non-musulmans? i do not think so, but he seems to have enough real piety, so that striving for the general good influences his conduct more than private interest, and he is intelligent enough to change to good whatever is false and bad in his mind and heart."" this detailed analysis of musa ag amastane's character shows frequent intercourse between him and father de foucauld. the above letter alludes to it, but does not give any detailed account. what subjects were approached in these conversations between the european christian and the african musulman? the happy influence of father de foucauld, even his moral authority over the hoggar chief, is undeniable. it will be clearly seen later, when i have to speak of the last moments and last words of the amenokal. but what sort of talks went on with the hermit of tamanrasset when he paid or received visits from the chief? in spite of his personal fervour, did he confine himself to vague counsels with distant or discreetly veiled references to the law of christ? this has been maintained, because many require positive proofs in order to believe in goodness, especially in a certain courage in which they are wanting; and so far these proofs could not be given. but now we have them. after father de foucauld's death in his hermitage at tamanrasset, among many other papers dispersed and thrown in the dust was found a pocket-book of intimate notes, a sort of memento, which i have under my eyes in writing these lines. several pages are headed: things to say and letters written to musa. these things were not said or written at the beginning of his stay at tamanrasset, but they are clearness itself; they reply to a question still more general than the one which has been put. about what did father de foucauld speak to the tuaregs and, in a more general way, to musulmans; and up to what point did he use that right of counsel which he bought so dearly and which his strict duty forbade him to drop? here it is. i shall reproduce the greater part of the two documents, of which the first is dated easter, 1912, the second 1914, but which both explain the whole of his dwelling at tamanrasset, and reveal the secret of an action, always french, but also essentially and always religious. 1 letter to mgr. livinhac, october 26, 1905. the settlement in hoggar 243 "tell musa: "1. surround yourself with worthy people, keep no good-for-nothings about you. "2. keep away all strange arabs who only come to settle here in order to eat up the country and to eat up you, musa. "3. encourage settlers. 66 4. reduce expenses. be humble. god alone is great. he who thinks himself great, or who seeks to be great, does not know god. 66 5. first of all, love god with your whole heart and above all things; next, love all men as yourself. from the love of your neighbour as yourself follows the triple law of fraternity, equality (imrad), liberty (slaves). 'when adam delved and eve span, where was then the gentleman ?' where was the imrad, where the slave? "6. if he wants to know how the prophets think, speak, and act, he must come to see me. i shall read the gospels to him. 7. don't ask for, and don't accept presents. by asking for presents from his friends, he burdens them heavily; by accepting presents from anyone, he becomes the slave of the riff-raff. "8. pay all debts and don't incur new ones: don't borrow of friends, because that is unworthy of you and will weigh heavily upon them. don't borrow of unknown people, for that will make you their slave. in the holy books, god often tells chiefs not to take gifts. if the man from whom they have taken a gift asks them for an unjust thing, they find it hard to refuse; if he does wrong, they find it hard to punish him; it is to be feared that they will prefer him to others, who have given nothing, as good or better than them. "9. don't give presents or hospitality without necessity, otherwise you will always be: (1) in money difficulties and debts; (2) surrounded by riff-raff, for it is they and not worthy people whom hospitality attracts; (3) to provide for it you will have to get considerable presents given you by those of the imrad who are most devoted to you, and they will end by hating you on account of your requests for money, for your waste and his bad company. "10. have fewer slaves; a band of wasteful good-fornothings who make you ridiculous are no good to you. "11. when you are near an officer, go frequently to see him quite alone; many things are better treated in a têteà-tête; and speak to him without an interpreter, quite 244 charles de foucauld frankly as to a real friend; never tell the shade of an untruth. treat all grave affairs always in a tête-à-tête with the officer without interpreter. "12. never lie to anybody; all untruth is hateful to god, for god is truth. 66 13. always furnish thoroughly good men as guides, because often all the other tuaregs get judged by them. "14. never praise a person to his face; when one loves and esteems anyone, that is shown by confidence and acts; there is no use in talking about it; to flatter is a low thing good enough for the arabian thalebs. "15. don't be slow and lazy, manage to husband your time. "16. try hard to get your people to learn french, to become naturalized french, not to become our subjects but our equals, to be everywhere on the same footing as we, so as to be everywhere free from annoyance. that will come sooner or later; those who see what is coming prepare for it; thanks to that, and probably in a short time, all the military and employés of ahaggar will be natives. 66 17. never make a real present to any frenchman; that rather annoys than pleases those to whom you give them; for it is an expense to you (which they wish to spare you), and also to the receiver (who will always make a present in return); when a frenchman takes a gift, it is only through politeness and with regret. never ask the captain for sugar, tea, or anything; bring what is necessary, and if you lack anything, put up with it. if you ask, you get what you want, but at the same time you obtain what you don't wish for-contempt.' "" "letters to musa: "love god above all things, with your whole heart, your whole strength, and your whole mind. 66 love all men as yourself, for the love of god. "do unto all men what you wish they would do unto you. 66 'do to none what you would not wish them to do unto you. "abase yourself inwardly: god alone is great; all men are little the man who is puffed up is mad, for he knows not whether he is going to heaven or hell. "god sees all your thoughts, words, and deeds; remember and do them all as in his sight. "do each act as you would have it done at the hour of death. the settlement in hoggar 245 "the hour of death is unknown : let your soul be as you would have it at the hour of death. "each evening reflect on the thoughts, words, and deeds of the day; ask pardon of god for those that are bad and for all the sins of your life, as if you were going to die in the night, and say to god from the bottom of your heart: "ŏ god, i love thee with my whole heart, above all things. night "o god, thy will in all things is mine. 666 my god, all that thou willest me to do, i will do.' 999 is not that the summary of all evangelical morality, and is it necessary to remark that such teaching, commented on by frequent conversations, either with musa, or with the tuaregs and harratins of hoggar, was excellently calculated to prepare the chief and his people to receive and understand catholic dogma? is not the poor saharan who undertakes to examine his conscience and say the above prayer in the best dispositions for deserving and desiring to know the whole truth? and how near us he would be! and how much better would treaties hold with men thus taught! brother charles, living in the midst of them, and having intercourse only with them, quickly judges the tuaregs. he compares them to the arabs; in both cases there are the same ignorance and violence. but the ignorance of the tuaregs can be more easily combated and overcome, because they are of a more amiable nature, and more inquisitive. their greatest fault is pride. these nomads of a saharan tribe," the proudest of men," look upon us as savages. they esteem themselves as the most perfect of mankind, "the best on earth." they even take us for know-nothings, and no doubt this would be a sign of madness if they had not some slight excuse pride is contented with little and sometimes even with nothing-in their manner of life, and in their extreme remoteness, and in the obstacles of all sorts which make their country so inaccessible. one of the best-known officers of our african army, an expert in all saharan questions, whom i questioned in algiers about the incredible contempt for us which the natives feel or affect, replied: "they feel that we are at their mercy whenever we ask them to act as guides in the desert, or advise us about a police operation. the natives think we are their inferiors in their own surroundings, and that is enough. our machinery makes little impression upon them. a picture or a legend seems 246 charles de foucauld an explanation to them, and satisfies their very superficial desire for knowledge. thus, to them an aeroplane is only atent that flies'; the wireless, the utilization of the wind which we send from one post to another; the motor, an iron box in which we have imprisoned the genii of fire. it is the genii that make the wheels turn. and the proof is the drubbing (the turning of the crank-handle) we give them at starting, to force them to work. when once a native has heard these poor explanations, he considers himself well-informed, and as he feels no need to change his customs, the camel caravans seem to him the best means of transporting dates, millet, and salt, just as do runners for sending news; he agrees to use our inventions but does not esteem us on account of them, having been able to live at less expense, freely and as he pleased, before they were known.” that is not the whole explanation of the natives' pride. they were told, and thought there were many signs that europeans, and particularly the french, were unbelievers. it is another error, another want of knowledge, more serious than the first, but which is explained by our fault, and they say: "you have the earth, but we have heaven. father de foucauld, who was familiar with the subject, might then quite rightly conclude thus: our civilized nations-which have among them many savages, many who are ignorant of primary truths and as violent as the tuaregs are very guilty for not spreading the light and propagating the right, education and laws of peace, in these backward countries. how easy that would be! but instead of that, they waste their substance in follies, or wars, or mad contradictions."¹ such were the companions among whom it may be said father de foucauld lived in solitude. he had his refuge in the adoration of the blessed sacrament and the celebration of mass. but the consecration of the body of christ demanded some one to serve mass along with the priest. now, a letter to father guérin, on april 2, 1906, let it be seen that the negro, the former slave brought from beniabbes to ahaggar, would have to go: "paul goes from bad to worse-morally-the impossibility of saying mass without him alone makes me keep him. if i were obliged to part with him, or if he, of his own accord, leaves me, might i say holy mass, every fortnight, alone, in order to renew the holy species? might i myself communicate daily as priests in prison do? . . . thanks be to god! 1 letter to the comte de foucauld, april 3, 1906. the settlement in hoggar 247 i am the happiest of men; solitude with jesus is a delicious tête-à-tête, but i should like good to be done, to spread and be propagated; nevertheless, non mea voluntas, sed tua fiat!.. my soul is in great peace. i am full of miseries, but without any serious thing tormenting me. i am happy and peaceable at the feet of the well-beloved!" the will of god was that trial should come and the courage of his priest appear with more splendour. on may 17 the diary tells us that paul left the fraternity of tamanrasset. brother charles gives no explanation; he has only a cry for pity: "o god, make me go on celebrating the holy sacrifice! let me not lose my soul! save it." in his letters he spoke of a coming visit to hoggar: "i am expecting the visit of my old and good friend, motylinski, a former army interpreter, one of the most learned men in algeria, who has asked to spend the summer with me, in order to study tamachek. .. i am preparing a grammar, a tamachek-french and a french-tamachek lexicon, and a translation of extracts from the bible, making both an abridged bible-history and a collection of the most useful passages for this place, from poetic, sapiential, and prophetic books. all that is fairly forward, and may be finished two or three months from "" now.' on whit-sunday, june 3, 1906, motylinski arrived. "a very good-hearted man," wrote father de foucauld, 66 and he will contribute to making the tuaregs our friends." and motylinski agreed to serve mass. "the good god has sent him here just in the nick of time to allow me to continue to say it. "9 "" m. de motylinski's stay in hoggar lasted three months, during which the linguistic work made great progress. at the beginning of september the two friends set out for the "north,' as the extreme south oranais is here called. father de foucauld wished to see beni-abbes again. there he received a welcome which, in his modesty, he did not expect. "i was very satisfied with what i found at beni-abbes: the french, beyond all expression, and the natives of the saura beyond all hope, were just perfect to me." it was a very rapid journey: father de foucauld, whom motylinski had left at el-golea-on the way to ghardaïa and biskra-went farther north, spent a few days at maison carrée with father guérin and his friends the white fathers, and then hastily returned to hoggar. hoggar is still so new," he said, 'so little accustomed to "" "" 248 charles de foucauld our presence, that i think it very desirable to be absent the shortest time possible." and he set out from algiers on december 10, with the intention of spending a few weeks at beni-abbes, then of going full speed to the south and regaining tamanrasset. for a wonder, the hermit had a companion, not an exploring amateur or scientist, but a companion who said he meant to follow him into the desert. this was a young breton, a fisherman's son, who had spent three years with the white fathers, then three years in a zouaves' regiment in africa. he was seeking his final career, and believed he had found it when he heard all about father de foucauld's mission. they therefore set out together. after having spent the whole evening and night with the natives in one of the compartments of the little train which starts from oran and nears the moroccan frontier and touches it at beni-unif, the father and brother michael, dressed in arab fashion, got off at ain-sefra station, the chief town of the military sub-division. it is a large village built on the left of the railway, beyond a wide space where the sand flies; bright houses, the information office and club built in moorish style; the little shops of a southern station; among the roofs, tufts of trees; and quite in the background are seen the projecting spurs of the great dunes, and a mountain. about fifteen officers had come to the station to wait for their former comrade, among them general lyautey, who offered him hospitality. "i found him," the marshal told me, "poor and neglected, though he used to be so refined. and that was intentional. nothing was left of the former foucauld. yes, something: his eyes, which were beautiful, illumined. the officers adored him. he rode with them barefooted. i had given him a room. next day when he left us, i just received a telegram announcing that friends were coming. i said to the orderly: "hurry up and get the room ready!" "it will be ready very quickly, sir." "why?" "the bed has not been touched; not a thing has been moved; he slept on the floor." it had become a habit. from aïn-sefra, the two travellers gained colombbéchar by train. they stopped, however, twenty-four hours at beni-unif, and, at the invitation of commander pariel, who was already popular and quite safe in the moroccan oasis, visited figig, where the governor-general the settlement in hoggar 249 of algeria had been welcomed with rifle-shots three or four years earlier. it was but a little thing, a walk under the palms and in the ksurs, a few minutes' conversation with the natives, looking white in the blue shadow of the winding-streets, a salute, a friendly word, an alms. however, certain people have a mysterious power: they pass, and he who has only seen, touched, or heard them for a moment, cannot forget them. after over thirteen years, in the spring of 1920 i found the recollection of father de foucauld's visit very enduring at figig. one of the soldiers of the maghzen, a magnificent trooper in his highcoloured costume, a man with a serious and mild face, when i questioned him, replied: "you are speaking of the christian marabout? yes, i remember him." "what did you think of him?" "what everybody thought: he was a good man.” after colomb-béchar, there was no railway or road to beni-abbes, and the companion began his real apprenticeship in saharan travel. he wrote his impressions; he formed his opinion of his " superior," and the pages he wrote are one of the most informing records of father de foucauld's life on the tramp through the desert or at beni-abbes. brother michael's story. "we reached colomb-béchar, the railway terminus. at the station the french officers of the garrison again came to seek my venerated superior, who received hospitality at the house of one of them, whilst i went and lodged, as agreed, in a modest hotel. on our arrival, the first care of the father was to hire a servant who could be trusted to lead and take care of the two camels that carried our luggage and provisions across the sahara. he was a big boy of thirty, a negro, a former slave in timbuctoo, called ubargua, a drinker and stubborn, vain, a liar, lazy and greedy, repulsively dirty and without any religion. thinking the father was very rich, he had joyfully agreed to serve him in the hope of having abundant and delicate food, and also very little work. at the end of a few days his disappointment was great, when he saw that instead of good cheer he had only just enough. he had also made up his mind to leave his place with us as soon as he found another in which he would be better fed. "the next day we entered the desert, escorted by five or six african privates under a sergeant. the soldiers 250 charles de foucauld were always a few paces ahead of us, searching carefully every bush, every bit of cover in the land, to see they did not conceal any caravan robbers. after three days' march without any disagreeable encounter, we at last reached beni-abbes, where the father had established what he called his first hermitage, and where we were to rest for a few days. it was a very modest convent, built with earth and wood, like all the cabins in the country. the cells, to the number of seven or eight, intended for the future monks, were so low that a man of ordinary stature touched the roof on raising his hand a little over his head, so narrow that in stretching out one's arms in the form of a cross one could touch the wall on the right and left. no bed, seat, table, or a prie-dieu to kneel on; one had to sleep, fully dressed, on a palm mat spread out on the floor. the sacristy was large enough and did for the father's library and store, bedroom and study. the chapel was built like 'all the rest with wood and earth and surmounted by a dome; inside there was no other furniture than a very simple altar and two prie-dieu; therefore, during the long offices and the daily and nightly exercises of piety, one had to stand, or kneel, or sit on the mats. near the sacristy there was a fine room, completely empty, which the father intended to keep for passing strangers, for the prefect apostolic, for officers and other distinguished people who might come to visit him. . . we spent every christmas in this hermitage. at midnight mass there were a hundred present, all officers, non-commissioned officers or soldiers, who filled not only the church but also the sacristy. i remarked a single woman in this numerous assembly. she was an old mulatto, very poor, quite blind, a beautiful soul enshrined in an ugly body, whom the father had baptized three or four months ago, and whom he kept alive by his alms. she spent all her days in prayer and did not fail to go to communion every time that the holy sacrifice of the mass was offered at beni-abbės. at the departure of her benefactor, she wept bitter tears and uttered cries of grief. "here is the rule we followed during the ten days we spent at the hermitage. as we had no lamps to light us, and were obliged to economize the wax and candles for the long and frequent liturgical ceremonies; our rising and going to bed were regulated by the sun. the father loved punctuality, and himself fulfilled the difficult office of timekeeper, assigned in most communities to the youngest and least worthy. in the morning he came and wakened me the settlement in hoggar 251 at daybreak. as we slept fully dressed, our toilet was quickly finished, and a few minutes after getting up i said the angelus in my cell. at the sound of the bell i went to church. my superior then recited a long prayer, half in latin, half in french, which i answered; he exposed the blessed sacrament, singing the tantum ergo, then celebrated holy mass, which i served, and during which i communicated. we remained in silence and adoration for more than two hours. the thanksgiving and meditation over, the father said his breviary in a low voice, while i said some paters and aves. before leaving the chapel the father gave benediction with the blessed sacrament and shut the holy ciborium up in the tabernacle. about 9 o'clock we went each to our work: my superior shut himself up in the sacristy, where his books and manuscripts are, and wrote letters, or worked at his dictionary of the tuareg language, always writing, for want of a table, on a simple box. as for me, i retired to my cell, the only one that had a chimney, and which served at once as workshop, kitchen, and refectory. there i read a pious book; then i set to work, either grinding wheat between two stones, as the people of the country do, crushing dates with a pestle and mortar, baking thick flat cakes in the ashes, or cooking. at 11 o'clock we had our meal, preceded by the reading of a chapter of the new testament and particular examen. after saying grace, the father stood up and read aloud two or three passages from a chapter of the imitation; then we all sat on our mats around the saucepan placed on the ground, just off the fire, the father, our negro servant and myself, and we ate in the greatest silence, fishing food out of the dish with a spoon, and drinking water out of the same vessel. the menu varied very little; it was composed now of a dish of rice cooked in water and, very exceptionally, with condensed milk, sometimes mixed with carrots and turnips which grow in the desert sand, sometimes with a sort of marmalade of a fairly pleasant flavour made with wheat-flour, crushed dates, and water. there were no napkins, table-cloth, plates, or knives or forks with which to eat this slight collation. we stood up at the end of a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, and after thanksgiving and grace, both went to the chapel chanting the miserere, to pay a visit to the blessed sacrament, and for spiritual reading in common. about 2 o'clock we returned, each on our own side, to our usual occupations, the father to his studies, and i to manual work. at 6 in the evening we had supper with only one course, like 252 charles de foucauld the other meal. it was taken in the same way and despatched with the same rapidity. about half-past 6 we went to church for mental prayer before the blessed sacrament exposed, then a long evening prayer followed by benediction with the blessed sacrament. we finished the day with the hymn veni creator. bedtime was regularly fixed by twilight, but it was always dark when we went to rest. 66 we remained more than a week in the oasis of beniabbes, faithful observers of the austere rule which i have just described. on december 27, 1906, we continued our journey, accompanied by several officers, among others the captain who commanded the garrison, and two native soldiers. the officers accompanied us for a whole day. in the afternoon a herd of gazelles passed before our caravan, at a fair distance, and stopped to look at us. one of our men on meharis at once aimed at one and brought it down. it was cut up and roasted. the supper was a real feast, in which all took part, even my venerated superior. "next morning the officers left us, after an exchange of good wishes and hearty handshaking, giving us two native soldiers to protect us. the father at the moment of parting gave the keys of his beni-abbes hermitage to the captain, saying to him: 'watch well over the house of god; i entrust it to you.' 66 during the whole crossing of the desert, which took place in winter, the day temperature was from 59° to 68°, that of night from four or five degrees below freezing-point. in the morning we sometimes found frozen water in the cruet, and the ground covered with a thin coat of ice. from time to time a violent wind blew and made thick clouds of dust, driving sand into our eyes and small pebbles into our faces. when we arrived in a village at night, we were always offered hospitality, and we passed the night in a house. more often we slept under the canopy of heaven without any fire, in a hole large enough to lodge a man's body, which we ourselves hollowed out with our hands in the sand, and which served us as a bed. benumbed with cold, rolled up in our camp blankets, we turned and turned again and again on our mats all night, to warm ourselves and induce sleep, but without succeeding. towards noon we used to halt for a good hour, which enabled us to light a fire for cooking our dinner; a little before sunset at the place where we were to camp, we had supper. the menu of these two meals was that of the hermitage, to which a cup of coffee was added. one day the father invited some the settlement in hoggar 253 officers to his table as a joke. they accepted the challenge; but during the whole meal they appeared very ill at ease, ate with extreme repugnance, and were soon satisfied: they had no wish, i presume, to accept a second invitation to such a feast. "in the depths of silent nature, in this dead land, where never had human being fixed his abode, it was easy for us to lead the life of solitude and contemplation. the father did not once miss celebrating the holy mysteries on a portable altar at sunrise, generally in the open air, only three or four times in the tent we had pitched the evening before, so as not to suffer from the gusty squalls. "like moses, i was only to see the promised land from a distance. already anything but well at our departure from algiers, i felt seriously ill a little more than two months after our departure from beni-abbes, and i felt incapable of continuing so toilsome a journey on foot in the sands. i was obliged to stop at in-salah, and, to my great regret, renounce the tuareg mission. the good father at first tried to keep me, but having been examined by the garrison doctor, . . . seeing very clearly, too, that my strength was exhausted and that i should be rather a hindrance than a help, he gave me a good sum of money and abundant provisions, and confided me to two trustworthy men. . ... • "i remained with the reverend father charles de jesus from december 2 or 3, 1906, to march 10, 1907. i therefore lived with him in the greatest intimacy for three months. i can affirm under oath that he always edified me greatly by his tender devotion to the sacred heart, to the most blessed sacrament and to the blessed virgin mary; by his ardent zeal for souls and his charity towards his fellow-men; by his spirit of faith, his firm hope, and his complete detachment from worldly goods; by his profound humility, his imperturbable patience under trials; and above all, by his terrible mortification. to tell the whole truth, i ought, however, to point out one imperfection, common enough in men who have for a long time exercised authority, that i perceived in my worthy superior. from time to time, when things did not go as he wished, he betrayed a sign of impatience, but it was promptly checked. apart from this slight fault, which he must have corrected, i esteem that father charles practised to an heroic degree the three theological and the four cardinal virtues, as well as the moral virtues which belong to them. 254 charles de foucauld 66 charity towards god. he passionately loved jesus christ, his god, brother, and friend, and his great happiness was to converse with the prisoner of love, really present in the tabernacle. prayer was his delight, it was truly his life and the breath of his soul. he spent the greater part of his days and nights kneeling before the blessed sacrament, adoring, supplicating, giving thanks, and making reparation. as, on christmas night, he did not quit our church for a single instant, i was bold enough to ask him next day how he could remain awake so long in the darkness: one has no need of seeing clearly,' he replied, 'to speak to him who is the sun of justice and the light of the world.' • "desire of martyrdom.-he would have wished to give to jesus christ the greatest proof of affection that a friend can give to a friend, by dying for him as he died for us. he desired and earnestly begged martyrdom from god as the greatest of all favours. the prospect of immolation, the beauty and greatness of which exalted his generous faith, transformed his always bold and ardent speech into true hymns of joy. to be killed by pagans,' he used to exclaim, 'what a beautiful death! my very dear brother, how honoured and happy should i be if god hearkened to me l' humility. this old pupil of saint-cyr was the most humble of men. i never heard him speak to his own. advantage. one had to question him to learn anything of his family, his past, and his successes. one day i asked him how many pagans he had converted. 'a single one,' he replied modestly: the old mulatto woman you saw at beni-abbes hermitage.' " "have you not made other conquests?' 66 "yes, it is true i also baptized a little child in danger of death, who had the happiness of almost immediately leaving this world to fly to heaven. indeed, i administered baptism to a boy of thirteen, but it was not i who converted him. he was presented to me by a french sergeant, who had taught him the catechism and had prepared him to receive the sacraments. you see, my dear brother, that i am truly an unprofitable servant.' "he loves, he seeks affronts, derision and insults by an outward get-up that he strives to make extravagant. he always walks in rough sandals, his feet bare and chapped by the cold. he wears an unbleached linen robe, always the settlement in hoggar 255 he cuts his own too short and often stained and torn. beard and hair without using a glass. how does it matter what people say and think about him? provided he pleases god, he is not going to put himself out for what men think of him. mortification.-like all the saints, father charles of jesus never stopped crucifying his flesh. on the railway he always chooses a third-class carriage; in the sandy plains of the sahara, he always goes on foot, although he is an excellent horseman. when the soldiers who escorted us dismounted to stretch themselves, they offered us their mounts: once the father was extremely fatigued, and consented, on my urging him to ride. when we halted, jaded and covered with perspiration, he would give me his burnous to cover me, while he, wearing nothing but his light linen robe, trembled with cold. i never saw him drink wine or liquors, and he never allowed me to accept any when the officers offered me some. on this point of his rule he was inexorable, and declared that he would never give me a dispensation. he only once ate meat in my presence, with all who belonged to the caravan. during our stay at beni-abbes i never saw him breakfast in the morning; he was satisfied with dinner at eleven o'clock and supper at six in the evening, of which i have given the menu. he made me, on the contrary, break off mental prayer and go out of the chapel for ten minutes every day about seven in the morning, to take a cup of coffee and a piece of thin cake. 66 "poverty. he never went to any expense without absolute necessity. as he travelled about six months in the year, i advised him to buy a third camel, which he could use as a mount instead of going on foot. 'no,' he said energetically; 'i live at my family's expense; besides, i must help the poor. i have no right to go to that expense. i have two camels, necessary to carry our travelling provisions and baggage; a third would be superfluous." 1 "he made use of everything: packing-cases took the place of bookcases for the books, and of cupboards to put away our two poor ornaments for mass and other things needed for divine worship. when one of his robes was so used that it was past mending, he used to cut it into several pieces, and these rags we used as handkerchiefs and towels, instead of throwing the envelopes, letters, and prospectuses that he received into the waste paper-basket, he collected them carefully and used them as scribbling-paper and for making notes." 256 charles de foucauld "i shall remember till the end of my life father charles's mass, which i so often had the happiness of serving. he said it without slowness as without precipitation, devoutly, with dignity and humility, with faith and an air of compunction which greatly impressed me. "generosity.-this nobleman . . .. was generous to prodigality, and gave without reckoning. when we entered a village, which happened nearly every day, and even from time to time twice in the same day, the inhabitants in great numbers, the caïd at their head, attracted by the reputation of holiness of the great monk, came to meet him, and pressed round him to see and hear him. they saluted the father with veneration, kissed his hand, and gave him the title of sidi marabout. sometimes a european with a photographic apparatus slipped into the crowd, and tried to take a portrait of this extraordinary man. above all, a multitude of beggars ran up and besieged him whom they called their benefactor, to get alms. the father then distributed, in small coins, a sum of fifteen to twenty francs, to those who seemed to him the least poverty-stricken; to those who were ragged and almost naked he gave pieces of material, recommending them to make it into a garment. . "work.-father charles meant to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow; there was no unemployed moment in his day. in the desert, at the hours of halt, instead of taking the siesta or resting, even when he was weakened by a long tramp in the sun, he used to work at his dictionary which he had at heart to finish before his death to facilitate the work of future missionaries.' i can declare that he never smoked, even when he was in the company of members of his family or of his former regimental comrades. . . . "during our stay at the hermitage, when he was not praying in the chapel, i was sure to find him in the sacristy, with a pen or a book in his hand. i never saw him take a walk outside the enclosure, or in our garden. he never took any recreation. to rest after prayer and study, he used to make little wooden crosses which formed the sole decoration of the poor cells: he painted pictures of the sacred heart or the blessed virgin, and drew all sorts of religious emblems with which he adorned our modest chapel and sacristy: he wrote on placards in a fine round hand or in gothic characters the most edifying sentences the settlement in höggar 257 from the ancient fathers of the thebaid, the maxims of holy doctors or holy martyrs the most likely to inspire the spirit of sacrifice, and placed them on all the walls. "it has been most agreeable for me to speak of the reverend father charles of jesus, who gave me so often such beautiful examples of all the virtues during the too short time i had the happiness of living in his intimacy. i was his first and last disciple. god grant me to imitate him according to my strength.' the slight hope of having a mission companion, perhaps a successor, went north with brother michael.¹ at the same time colonel laperrine, passing through in-salah, informed father de foucauld of the death of m. de motylinski, which took place on march 2, 1907. this sorrow and the disappointment which preceded it did not discourage the energetic brother charles, but he thought of the precariousness of his work. he soon wrote to father voillard (may 6, 1907): "i am getting old. i should like to see someone better than i replace me at tamanrasset, another better than i installed at beni-abbes, so that jesus may continue to reside in those places, and that souls may get more and more there." while waiting for the joy of a working successor who was always farther off, brother charles "sets up "-which is rather a big word for an owner with no furniture—a little house at in-salah. it cost him 160 francs. he chose it in the middle of the native quarter, in the ksar-el-arab, quite close to the dunes. "one must foresee and prepare one's halting-places, because," he said, "if i am not a parish priest, this corner of the earth, which is as it were my parish, is 1,250 miles from north to south and 625 miles from east to west, with 100,000 souls scattered over it." during his stay at in-salah, he continued his studies of the tuareg language with ben messis, whom his pupil's extraordinary energy for work astonished and fatigued a little. m'ahmed ben messis was one of the most intelligent and sympathetic persons in the sahara. the son of a chambi father and a tuareg mother of a noble tribe of the azjers, he was considered by the tuaregs as one of them, in spite of the lively enmity that he met among them, the cause of which was ben messis' devotion to france. it vas ben messis who denounced the greater part of the assassins of the marquis de morès; he, again, who served as guide to the 150 african troops of lieutenant cottenest, 1 the latter is at present a monk in a foreign carthusian monastery. 17 258 charles de foucauld when the latter, on may 7, 1902, defeated 300 tuaregs at tit, and brought about the submission of several tribes. no native of those regions spoke tamachek better, none knew the traditions of the country better. he was a very devoted friend to father de foucauld.¹ so, when a detachment of eighty men, commanded by captain dinaux, left in-salah on march 8, going by short daily stages through adrar and hoggar, father de foucauld, who highly esteemed the captain, and was also sure of travelling with the tuareg ben messis, willingly agreed to make the tour. he therefore set out as both a missionary and a philologist. we know how he was accustomed to work during his marches and halts, and even at night by candlelight, if the wind did not blow: he did not alter his habits. as the journey was for training the natives, stays were made near shepherds' encampments, and they were fine weeks for a scholar who wished to collect traditions, and also poetry which nobody had written, and which men have only kept in memory. "precious records for grammar and lexicon; one gets examples for the grammar, when in doubt; one gets many words not often used in conversation for the lexicon. on arriving here— it was at durit, 100 kilometres to the south of timiauini promised a small payment for the verses which might be brought me; this promise, at a time when the country is poor, sufficed to fill my tent for a month. i was also told, by neighbouring douars, that they wished for a visit from me, so that the women, too, could give me some poetry. i have therefore been several times in the douars, spending hours under a tree or in a tent, in the midst of all the children and women, writing verses and giving little presents. i am very happy about my training work, which is getting on; it is only a first step, very small and humble, but, in fine, it had to be taken to break down a great deal of prejudice, antagonism, and suspicion. i shall do all in my power to finish the tuareg-french lexicon this year. i begged laperrine to get published by anyone he likes, as if they were his and belonged to the military commander of the oases, the tuareg grammar and the french-tuareg lexicon, which are finished, as well as the tuareg-french lexicon at which i am working, and the pieces of poetry which i collected on the sole condition that my name does not appear, and that i remain entirely unknown and ignored. next year, i should like to have nothing to do 1 m'ahmed ben messis, decorated with the military medal and the legion of honour, died at in-salah in 1919. the settlement in hoggar 259 but correct the holy gospels and bible extracts previously translated, and after that no other work except giving the example of a life of prayer and manual labour, an example of which the tuaregs are so much in need."" a little later he reiterated his express injunction: "i wish to remain unknown." his extreme humility revolted at the idea that the work he composed might bring him some reputation. "these are not the means god gave us to continue the work of the world's salvation. the means which he employed in the manger, at nazareth, and on the cross are: poverty, abjection, humiliation, abandonment, persecution, suffering, the cross. behold our aims! we shall not find anything better than he, and he is not outworn.' "2 brother charles promised one sou a verse, and all the war and love-songs of the tuaregs, those of distant and uncertain date, and those of to-day, those of famous and of unknown poets, fell once more from the lips of the reciter, and were set down in writing by a scholar. their fate was changed, they escaped oblivion, and were born to book-life, which would carry them elsewhere. a learned work, no doubt, but a missionary work in intention. father de foucauld's correspondence shows proofs in abundance of his considered purpose, which he retained to the end, not to regard the gaining and vulgarizing of the tuareg language as his goal. he always had in view the far-away people who were the parish of his desire: for them to be better known, more loved, and one day more easily evangelized, he translated their poetry; to enable them to understand revealed truth better, he undertook the translation of the holy scriptures; for them, and for those who followed him as teachers and preachers, he compiled his grammar and lexicon. in the letters of this period, it appears clearly that he worked in the hope that the white fathers would soon begin to evangelize those whom he had brought nearer to them. the little house in in-salah would provide them with quarters on the way, as well as a home for himself. on the whole, the adrar and hoggar tour was very fortunate. "i spent a few days more in the pastureland with the detachment, in order to make use of ben messis and push on my tuareg studies with him: in four or five days he sets out for in-salah with captain dinaux, who is always very good to me, like all the french in the detachment. i shall at once take the road to tamanrasset. 1 letter to père guérin, may 31, 1907. 2 ibid., christmas, 1907. 260 charles de foucauld "thanks to the french in the detachment, never since my departure from in-salah have i lacked someone to serve mass. how shall i manage in tamanrasset? it is for the divine master to arrange things. . . ."'¹ the rest of this letter to père guérin is a reply, and we shall see how far charity carries a missionary-i.e., as to the point of giving up mass from which as a priest he drew strength to meet his daily trials. "the question which you put: is it better to live in hoggar without being able to celebrate holy mass, or to celebrate it and not go there? i have often put to myself. being the only priest able to go to hoggar, while many can celebrate the holy sacrifice, i believe it is, after all, better to go to hoggar, leaving to god the care of giving me the means of celebrating, if he wishes (which up to the present he has always done in the most various ways). formerly i was inclined to see, on one hand, the infinite, the holy sacrifice; on the other, the finite, all that was not it, and always to sacrifice everything to the celebration of holy mass. but this reasoning must be faulty somewhere, since, from the time of the apostles, in certain circumstances, the greatest saints have sacrificed the possibility of celebrating to works of spiritual charity, such as travelling, etc. if experience proved that i must make very long stops at tamanrasset without celebrating, i think there might be means of shortening them, and of not binding myself to keep company with detachments, which is not at all the same thing as residing alone. residing alone in the country is good; one has some influence even without doing much, because one belongs to the country'; one is so accessible there and so very small '! very small '!... then, at tamanrasset, even without daily mass, there is the blessed sacrament, regular prayer, much time for adoration, and i get great silence and recollection, and grace for the whole country upon which the sacred host shines. " "i considered the establishment at in-salah as a great blessing, rather thinking of the future and of you than of myself. no doubt in going to and fro i shall spend more time there than in the past, and shall try to have some intercourse with the poor and accustom them to have confidence in the marabout, but i am a monk and not a missionary, made for silence, not for preaching; and in order to have influence in in-salah, there must be intercourse and going about and visiting, which is not my vocation: i only 1 letter to père guérin, july 2, 1907. the settlement in hoggar 261 try to prepare the way a little for what will be your work." brother charles again found a plain and mountain horizon at tamanrasset. they came at once to beg alms, for hoggar was suffering from a great famine. the hermit had a provision of wheat: he quickly raided it and gave it out to the poor women who held out their empty porringers; he arranged little dinners for the children, and each day brought the little ones together to satisfy their hunger. he waited on them and forgot to keep a part for himself. one thing made him uneasy, and justly so: musa's efforts to islamize hoggar. taking advantage of our organization of hoggar being so far rather nebulous and uncertain, rather that of a little self-governing kingdom than of a country directly governed by us, he hastened to organize it as a musulman country. two years ago there was complete anarchy: no rule, no submission to rule, robbery everywhere, religion nowhere. to-day musa is obeyed; he assesses the taxes, names the subordinate chiefs, makes himself obeyed, raises armed forces, prohibits, under very severe penalties, robbery, theft, and murder; he has set up a cadi to judge all according to musulman law. he is going to build a mosque and zaouia at tamanrasset, which he makes his capital. must i flee to a more deserted place, or see the hand of jesus extending my influence more easily? the religious tithe is to be raised throughout hoggar for the upkeep of this zaouia, in which the cadi will probably preside, and the tholbas of tidikelt or twat teach the koran, religion, and arabic to the young tuaregs. it means the islamizing of hoggar, and also of the taïtok. it is most serious. up to the present the tuaregs, not very fervent musulmans, easily made acquaintance with us, becoming very familiar and frank. if once this very bad, narrow, close spirit of the people of twat and tidikelt, which is so full of antipathy 1 this letter of july 2, 1907, contains this passage, relating to the publication of works that were ready: "for twenty-five or thirty years motylinski was attached to m. basset, director of the école des lettres at algiers, a scholar of great merit in all arabian and berber matters. believing that he was going to publish the records gathered by my dear friend, i wrote to him as soon as i learned the sad news, putting myself at his disposal to send him, as i did to motylinski, all information needed to complete the work. i have just received his reply: it is he indeed who is to publish everything in motylinski's works; he will publish a little grammar, lexicons, dialogues and texts. you know what i feel and think, and how i rejoice in it. i have demanded that my name shall not be mentioned anywhere, and that i shall be treated as if i did not exist." 262 charles de foucauld towards us, takes hold of them, the tholbas teaching the children, it will be very different, and it is to be feared that in a few years the population of hoggar may be much more hostile than to-day. to-day it is distrustful, fearful, and wild; in a few years, if the musulman influence of twat gains the upper hand, it will mean a deep and lasting hostility. "as i said to you, tamanrasset tends to become the musulman centre of hoggar, musa's capital. musa is carrying on big tillage works: he now has his fields and gardens there; he usually pitches his camp close by; . he is going to set up a regular market there with shops. 991 brother charles, watching these efforts at organization and islamitic teaching, and suffering, therefore, through his love of catholic truth and dear colonizing france; brother charles spending months without any news from europe, for the posts are still very irregular; brother charles without mass, because there are no servers, writes to his brother-in-law on december 9, 1907: "i am happy, happy in resorting to the presence of the blessed sacrament at any time, happy in the great solitude of the place, happy to be and do excepting my sins and miseries-whatever jesus wishes; happy, above all, in the infinite happiness of god. if there were not this inexhaustible source of happiness and peace, the eternal, immutable, and infinite happiness and peace of the well-beloved, the evil that one sees around one on all sides, and also the miseries one sees in oneself, would quickly lead one to depression. if, in christian countries, there is so much good and so much evil, think what these countries can be, in which there is, so to speak, nothing but evil, where good is almost totally absent here all is lies, duplicity, cunning, all kinds of covetousness and violence, and how much ignorance and barbarism! the grace of god can do all things, but in face of so many moral miseries . . . one sees clearly that human means are powerless, and that god alone can effect so great a transformation. prayer and penance! the farther i go, the more i see that these are the principal means of acting upon these poor souls. what am i doing in the midst of them? the great good that i do is that my presence procures that of the blessed sacrament. ... yes, there is at least one soul between timbuctoo and elgolea who adores jesus. lastly, my presence in the midst of the natives familiarizes them with christians and particularly with priests. . . . those who will follow me will letter to father guérin, july 22, 1907. the settlement in hoggar 263 find men's minds less distrustful and better disposed. it is very little; it is all that can be done at present; to wish to do more would compromise everything in the future." his will to stay there did not change; despite the ordeal he never tried to go to places in the sahara where there were christians, servers, and talk according to his mind. obstinate in doing his duty, he refused proposals of travel: "may the will of the well-beloved be blessed in everything! as for me, i see clearly that it is his will that i remain here until the lexicon is finished, because it is a work of the first necessity for those who come after me. besides, it produces an unexpected good: shut up from sunrise to sunset with a very intelligent and talkative tuareg (the khoja of musa), i learn many things, and have the opportunity of teaching him many, and of rectifying not only his own ideas on many points, but those of others, for words run. may the well-beloved bless you from his manger! may his will be done in africa, as it is in heaven, after so long a night !''¹ nevertheless, though his inward peace set him above discouragement, he was not therefore insensible. he would not be human if he never uttered a groan. i open his diary or the letters at the end of 1907, and read there, like a refrain, the complaint of the priest who no longer enjoys the lofty privilege of consecrating the body of christ. on great feasts above all, brother charles, while committing himself herein to god's grace, says: "dost thou not forget me?" 66 august 15.-well-beloved mother, have pity on this people for whom your son died; give it your help; your poor priest invokes you for this people." "september 8.-two years ago to-day thou didst deign to inhabit this poor chapel! o thou, who hast never been invoked in vain, convert, visit, and sanctify this people that is thine. no mass, for i am alone." "november 21.-dwelling in hoggar would be of an extreme sweetness, thanks to solitude, especially since i now have books; if it were not for want of mass. "i have always the blessed sacrament, to be sure; i renew the sacred species, when a christian passes by, and i can say mass. i never thought i had a right to give myself communion outside of mass. if i am mistaken in 1 letter to mgr. guérin, christmas, 1907. 264 charles de foucauld that, be quick to tell me so; that would make an infinite change in my position, for this is a question of the infinite." "december 25.-christmas; no mass, because i am alone.' "january 1, 1908.-unite me to all the sacrifices offered up to-day. no mass, because i am alone." while he was thus imploring, someone in rome was asking the pope for the extraordinary permission so much wished for. a petition had been prepared on choice vellum. the prefect apostolic of the sahara, after summarizing father de foucauld's life in a few lines, told the pope : "for six years this very holy priest has not ceased leading the most heroic and most admirable life in the apostolic prefecture of ghardaïa.__actually he is absolutely alone in the midst of the savage tuareg tribes, which he has succeeded in civilizing, and to which he does the greatest good by the example of his life of extreme poverty, of charity as unfailing, and of continual prayer. for long, no doubt, he will be the only priest to go into the midst of the tuaregs. the prefect apostolic of ghardaïa therefore most humbly supplicates your holiness to consider both the eminent virtues of this servant of god and the very great good he is doing, and therefore to deign to accord him the very signal favour. . . .' "" the petition was not presented. in a private audience which he had obtained for other reasons, father burtin, procureur of the white fathers, asked for the privilege of celebrating mass without a server, which was immediately accorded. o it was by a letter from colonel laperrine, his great friend, that father de foucauld heard the news, on january 31, 1908. "deo gratias! deo gratias! deo gratias! god, how good thou art!" sings the hermit: "to-morrow i shall be able to say mass! christmas! christmas ! thanks, my god!" this joy came to him at the moment when illness obliged the relentless worker to cease all work, and one who never complained to speak of himself. writing to father guérin, he confided to him, as a secret to be rigorously kept, that there was a big hitch in his health": general fatigue, complete loss of appetite, "then something in my chest, or rather heart, which made me pant so much at the slightest 66 1 from the diary. the settlement in hoggar 265 movement, that one might think the end was near." he had to keep quite motionless. to feed him, his friends the tuaregs milked all the goats that had a little milk and brought it to the christian marabout's cabin. to a friend in france, whom he told of everything, he wrote: "" "at my age there is always something wrong; it is the father's warning from above. . . . i have no more teeth or hair; my eyes are good for some way off, but weaker and weaker for anything close.' but he wrote at the same time to others: "don't be uneasy. i do not believe there is any reason for being so. but absolute rest and a month's entire cessation of work are ordered, and afterwards i shall have to set to work again much more moderately than in the past.... i am getting the most varied sorts of food sent from in-salah in order to recover my strength : condensed milk, wine (!), dried vegetables, some jams; i am doing all that is necessary." in the same letter-and it suggests some doubt as to these fine resolutions to work less in future-brother charles asks the white fathers to send him the summa theologica of st. thomas, the summa contra gentiles-that is to say, ten latin octavo volumes-and three other volumes of philosophy. "the farther i go," he says in explanation of the request, "the more opportunities i have for carrying on serious conversations with the best natives." then returning to his illness, and fearing they may be uneasy at ghardaïa and algiers, he says: "jesus is giving me a month of recollection and a very sweet retreat by this enforced rest; i enjoy it at his feet." when he recovered from this rude shock he felt himself incapable of the least continued manual labour; he could not therefore manage to work at leather-dressing or saddlery, as he intended, "and i regret it. for one thing, this humble and low work formed so intimate a part of jesus of nazareth's life, the model of monastic life; and then nothing could do more good than such an example amidst these races eaten up with pride and laziness!" the gravity of this illness, in spite of the precautions taken by father de foucauld, was soon suspected by the hermit's friends, and first of all by colonel laperrine, whom he had to tell that he could not go to in-salah at the beginning of spring. one after the other, on february 3 and 13, laperrine wrote to father guérin letters which he need not have signed, so far do the traits of the saharan life and their lively and pleasant tone proclaim their author. 266 charles de foucauld "february 3. "reverend father, "i was going to reply to your letter of january 13, when i received a long one from de foucauld; he does not think he will be here before march 15, and yet he does not give that date as certain. he feels worn out. . . . this letter worries me very much, because if he admits he is worn out and asks me for condensed milk, he must be really ill. i do not yet know what to do. i am waiting for authorizations. but the actual situation inclines me preferably towards the east, to come back by ahaggar. i am going to read de foucauld's letter again deliberately, and should such be the case, i shall make a loop to take in ahaggar, or send the doctor there, if his condition gets worse. he must have wanted to push penance and fasting too far, but our strength has its limits. i am going to abuse him, and get your authority to tell him that penance up to the point of progressive suicide is not permitted.... the 15th of march following the 15th of february, which followed the 15th of november-these dates don't inspire me with confidence. if i send a detachment down, perhaps he had better stay there and have a few meals with the officer, so as to get into condition for the journey. pardon this scribble, reverend father. my respects to the fathers at el-golea. "yours, etc., "h. laperrine." "february 11. "reverend father, "a few lines at a gallop, to give you news of de foucauld. he puts off his journey till october. he has been more ill than he admits; he had fainting fits, and the tuaregs who took great care of him are very anxious. he is better. i sent him a lecture, for i am strongly of opinion that his exaggerated penances have a great deal to do with his weakness, and the overworking at his dictionary did the rest. "as the lecture was not all that was wanted, we added three camels with provisions, condensed milk, sugar, tea, and various preserves. besides, he felt he would have to cut boiled barley out of his régime, since he asks for milk. . . . in any case, i think it indispensable that on his approaching return to the north, you put your grappling-irons on him and keep him a month or two at the settlement in hoggar 267 ghardaïa or maison carrée, so that he may fill his hump again-excuse the saharan expression."" colonel laperrine's and captain nieger's stay at tamanrasset was a great joy to father de foucauld, who for five months had received no news from europe. his health improved by degrees. letters from the invalid became more frequent. one of them, written during this period of convalescence, in reply to questions put by father guérin, illustrates his energy of will and ardent courage, qualities which a person so self-effacing only expresses in moments of surprise and provocation. it also acknowledges that he is the author of the works on the tuareg language. the letter is divided into paragraphs as the interrogatory was. "i do not hesitate to prolong our talks and to let them last very long, when i see they are useful to souls; i sometimes spend days in explaining and showing books of pious pictures, or in reading passages from the holy gospel to the tuaregs. it is with this idea that i intend, next year, entirely to revise, or rather renew-because they are no good-my translations of the gospel and of part of the bible in tuareg. that will be of use to me now, and afterwards help others. "as to the question of signing the linguistic works with my name, in spite of the authority of father voillard, in whom i have so much respectful confidence, and in spite of yours, i have not changed my mind. what you and he say would probably be true of a white father, but not of me, vowed as i am to a hidden life. . . . what determined me to write those works, to put the finishing touches to them, and to have them printed, is precisely because the great good of their publication can be effected without my appearing or being named at all. . . . ... 56 the well-beloved has turned musa's efforts to organize hoggar into a regular and fervent musulman kingdom to the good of souls. his efforts have totally and piteously failed; not only failed, but produced an inverted effect. he nominated a cadi to whom he entrusted important sums to build a mosque and zaouia, and gathered tithes for religion all over hoggar. in three months his cadi had made himself hated of all, had dissipated all the 1 to ascertain a camel's state of health and vigour, one first sees whether its hump is full or flabby. colonel laperrine, then chief in command at in-salah, had as a companion, captain nieger, commanding the saharan company of in-salah, and another very dear friend of father de foucauld. 268 charles de foucauld sums entrusted to him, and built nothing; the collection of tithe made everybody discontented; so that now. . . only the recollection of a disagreeable adventure and the horror of cadis and tithes remain. let us pray and do penance. "had i been called up for the moroccan expeditions, i should have started the same day, and i should have done seventy-five miles a day to arrive in time; but nobody gave me a sign of life. if they want me, they know i am ready to go. i told general lyautey that in whatever place there was an important expedition, he had only to telegraph for me, and i would come directly.' he, too, and from the beginning of his mission, had put to himself the very objection which they did not fail to make afterwards, when father de foucauld's work got to be known: "is the sahara worth so many sacrifices, so much time and work? is it not too costly, to take so much trouble for a few wandering tribes, who do not ask to be converted?" father de foucauld replies on this point:¹ "no doubt the sahara is not one of the most inhabited countries, but after all the oases, including the tuaregs, contain 100,000 people, who are born, live and die without any knowledge of jesus who died for them nineteen hundred years ago. he gave his blood for each of them, and what are we doing? it seems to me that two things are necessary: (1) a sort of third order, having for one of its objects the conversion of infidel peoples a conversion which is, at the present time, a strict duty for christian nations, whose position in the last seventy years has totally changed with regard to the infidels. on the one hand, the infidels are nearly all subjects of christians; on the other hand, the rapidity of communications, and the exploration of the entire world, now give comparatively easy access to all. from these two facts follows quite a strict duty-above all, for nations having colonies: the duty of christianizing. "(2) not everywhere, but in countries where there are special difficulties, like yours, we ought to have missionaries, à la sainte-priscille2 of both sexes. they might be gleaned either here and there, or grouped in order to give them a common preparation before sending them. the thought of a kind of third order, having for one of its aims the conversion of infidels, came to me last september, at the time of my retreat. it has recurred to me very often since, with the consideration that it is a duty and not solely a work of zeal and counsel for christian nations to work 2 i.c., catechists. 1 letter to père guérin, june 1, 1908. the settlement in hoggar 269 energetically for the conversion of infidels and, above all, of those of their colonies. there would, i think, be occasions for showing this duty to those who appear to have no suspicion of it, and for urging them to accomplish it. during holy week and easter week i put down what the association might be. i am revising this and re-copying i shall show it you in november. if you think it contains anything good, you will make use of it. but certainly there is something to be done.... for twenty years france has had an immense colonial empire, which imposes evangelizing duties on french christians... it is not with ten, fifteen, twenty, or thirty priests, even if you were given them, that you will convert the vast sahara ; you must therefore find other auxiliaries. · "pardon me, my well-beloved father, getting mixed up in what is none of my business, and an old sinner and quite insignificant priest of very recent ordination, and still a poor sinner, who has never been able to attain anything, or even to get a companion, who has had nothing but desires without effect, and whose plan of life, constitutions and rule are always but useless papers, daring to expose my thoughts and continuing to form plans. my excuse is the souls around me who are being lost and will perpetually remain in that state, if we do not try to find the means of acting efficaciously on them." in the summer of 1908 the military administration decided that a detachment of troops should be sent to and maintained in hoggar; from time to time it was to go on rounds there, and a fort was to be built. laperrine wished to name it "fort de foucauld," but the hermit refused. it therefore became fort motylinski, over thirty miles from tamanrasset. brother charles also heard that next year musa ag amastane would certainly be taken to france by an officer. he asked himself and father guérin whether it would not be a good thing if other tuaregs were to travel in our country, to obtain some idea of a society so different from theirs, and live for a week in some french family, so as to bring back with them the conviction that we are not pagans and savages at any rate : these were the names used in hoggar to describe the french, and europeans in general. further news: the amenokal of hoggar is getting an important house built in tamanrasset-in sun-baked bricks and dry mud, of course; several of his near relations were imitating him. laperrine was in the country; he saw musa and rejoiced at his colonizing efforts; he was specially 270 charles de foucauld glad to find his friend, father de foucauld, whom he looked upon as lost, in fine health. on july 22nd, 1908, he sent this good news to father guérin : "reverend father, "i send you a few lines from tamanrasset, where i have been with de foucauld since july 16. he came to meet me at twenty miles from tarhauhaut on june 29, and we spent june 30 and july 1, 2, and 3 together. he is very well, and glowing with health and gaiety. . on june 29 he came galloping into my camp like a sublieutenant at the head of a group of tuareg riders. he is more popular than ever among them, and appreciates them more and more. on the other hand, he has very little esteem for the negroes settled here, who are all lazy, and of the lowest type. "i am leaving him this evening to return to in-salah by the longest way. . . . de foucauld intends to go and see you in november; i leave him here putting the finishing touches to the enormous tamachek work which he undertook; this work will be thoroughly complete. yours, etc., "h. laperrine." several months ago brother charles had formed the plan to go and spend a few days at ghardaïa. would he not go farther? as far as algiers? why not to burgundy? it was one of the subjects of epistolary conversation between him and madame de blic. the latter did not lack good arguments to prove to him that a visit to france was not only expected, but more than advantageous: it was quite necessary. had he not been seven years absent? was it not cruel that a brother and sister should live thus separated one from the other by thousands of miles? he was also an uncle; was not the family of nephews and nieces whom he hardly knew, growing up? the hermit tried to find an answer which might be accepted. "i am a monk," he said, "and monks ought not to travel for their pleasure. we shall together offer this sacrifice to the well-beloved jesus. he offered up so much of all sorts! how often did he leave his mother alone during his life! in what solitude did he leave her by dying! "perhaps we shall see each other again here below. god may, as he has already done, so dispose circumstances that it will be more perfect to go and see you than to stint myself. because if you say you would be happy the settlement in hoggar 271 you to see me again, you so surrounded, how happy should i be, who am alone in the midst of savages? here no new love has come to take the place of the old ones. . . are deceiving yourself very much in believing that i should do good, my dear: i gain a great deal by not being seen, and from a distance i am thought better than i am.. "" · shaken by the earnest entreaties of "dear marie," he finished by writing: "if you wish me to come, ask god and m. l'abbé huvelin, my interpreter of his will." he wrote these things and many others on old envelopes, "because," he said, "i am a hundred miles from a paper dealer." when consulted, m. huvelin replied: "my heart very much desires this little journey to france that you will take to see your family. . . . i do not see any objection to your journey with or without a tuareg.' mgr. guérin was of the same opinion. in consequence, brother charles left tamanrasset at noon on christmas day, alone, without any tuareg, none being sufficiently prepared. on january 22, 1909, he arrived at el-golea, where fathers richerd and périer of the white fathers were: a few days later he saw mgr. guérin, who had come from ghardaïa to meet him: on february 13 he was at maison carrée, among his friends the white fathers, who were under mgr. livinhac. he again saw the convent gardens, the mediterranean, which he was about to cross, and beyond which was france. maison carrée, as we know, is a small town to the east of algiers, near the coast; and the residence of the white fathers, a little more to the east in the open country, has no hill or forest before it, which prevents it looking towards france. the garden, of orange and lemon trees, descends towards the market-gardeners' fields, which continue the dunes covered with locust-trees and rushes, asphodels and african marigold. the violet mountains of kabyle bound the horizon on the east side; on the west, algiers, similar to a bright quarry of rose-and-white marble, raises the headland of its arab quarter above the sea. in this religious house, young men, under the direction of missionaries back from central africa, are preparing to conquer for christ, for civilization here, for eternity afterwards, the blacks who surround lakes chad and victoria nyanza; and other peoples, where the number of christians is rapidly increasing they are waiting for the master of the world to be free to make known his incarnation, his passion, and his law to musulmans. it is a place of prayer, work, 272 charles de foucauld and peace. brother charles loved it, and wished the house were always full of "workers" and of special workers for musulman lands. i was told that during this stay at maison carrée he was with father de ch, a friend of his, and was talking to him, when the bell rang. "excuse my leaving you alone," said father de ch———. without reflecting, brother charles replied: "oh! i am never alone!” then, having said too much, he hung his head. although he loved this great and brotherly house, he did not tarry there, and, in the same way, he only passed through france. the least saharan tour took him ten times longer than he would give to his human joy. he had to resume divine work without the least delay. on january 17 he embarked at marseilles, of course as deck passenger. his route in france comprised paris, nancy, notre-dame-des-neiges, toulon, and grasse, where father de foucauld's sister was. lastly, twenty days after leaving africa, brother charles was back again, having given just enough time to his visit to escape being convicted of "cruelty." for three weeks, then, he changed customs, costume, landscape, and the idioms of habitual conversation. i shall let him travel, and take advantage of his absence to quote some of the tuareg proverbs he had collected, and some of those pieces of poetry he got recited to him at the doors of the nomads' tents. chapter xi poetry and proverbs nothing and slakes its thirst on the wind which blows. do not let us be surprised that the inhabitants of the sahara consider themselves the first of men; the most beautiful, of course; the most intelligent; the only ones worthy to lead the world and to be its models. i am persuaded that they consider their poets, not knowing any others, as the greatest of all. they will one day know they are mistaken. but we must acknowledge that these nomads without education are not without intelligence. they write verses, which sing of love, anxiety, defiance, the pride of youth and pluck, or of beauty and courtship; poems on incidents which do not lack features, but in which the work of composition is to seek. it is a wild sourish grape, which does not produce any wine, but the fruit of which may be eaten, and more than one author whom our little reviews praise has not yet found as many happy expressions as a shepherd warrior of hoggar puts into his verse, when rhyming his song for the next ahal. father de foucauld said that among the tuaregs "everybody writes verses: always rhymed and of various rhythms." would free verse, therefore, be condemned in the sahara? so his words seem to say, but the question of prosody in a tongue which is unknown to us, is one of those which prudence bids us avoid. let us leave it to scholars. when the pieces collected, translated, and annotated by the father are published, we shall be able to judge; i think he has said everything. i will only tell here of one of the observations he made. 1 "the usual subjects of the verse by the kel-ahaggar and the kel-azjer and taïtok are the same: love, war, camels, travel, and epigrams. often the warlike poetry and epigrams give rise to answers; an enemy poet or the person attacked replied in verse. a poetic duel was sometimes engaged: the pieces of verse, the attacks and 1 this collection as well as the other works of père de foucauld and m. de motylinski, will be published by the celebrated berber scholar at the head of the algerian faculty of letters, m. rené basset. 273 18 274 charles de foucauld in wars, replies, followed one another in great numbers. poetic hostilities always accompanied armed hostilities. "there is no difference of language between verses by the kel-ahaggar, the kel-azjer and taïtok. as to groundwork and form, there is. "the poetry of the ahaggar is at times somewhat sentimental and philosophic; that of the kel-azjer is full of ardent, warlike images; that of the taïtok, elegant in form, has little substance in thought; echoes of islam are more frequently found in it than elsewhere.¹ i have gone over a great number of sheets which were found dispersed in the room father de foucauld worked in at tamanrasset. they were rough copies of the works he had finished. i shall cite some of the pieces which appeared to me charming, or curious, and, mixed with those, others which m. henri basset, deputy-lecturer to the algiers faculty of letters, was good enough to communicate to me. successful raid of musa ag amastane (date: 1894.) musa, son of amastane, rides amidst the sandhills. we follow him as, with his foot, he urges on his enlisted mehari, which has a (high) hump and is girthed with white muslin. on its flank rests his rifle. musa has given him a great number of horses as companions. you have no honour left, o bad imrad! you have rejected musa and let him go alone into ahnet, the country of violins, to recruit his companions. in none of your men has awakened the sense of honour. look! all follow musa, even the lame and the onearmed, but not you. 1 there is no really reliable census of the tuareg populations. around the so-called tuaregs, we find tribes more or less tainted with black blood, and speaking tamachek. here is the statement of one of the officers best instructed in all things of the sahara. tuareg populations speaking tamachek: (1) azjer tuaregs, algerians and the people of tripoli, about 5,000; (2) hoggar tuaregs, about 4,500; (3) tuaregs of air, about 17,000; (4) tuaregs of feuve (the sudan sahara), about 38,000; (5) tuaregs of the niger loop, about 40,000-or an approximate total of 105,000, speaking tamachek. poetry and proverbs 275 the lame akamadu with his white-footed camel rides close by the side of musa's, kaima the one-armed with his bundle tramps side by side with musa and his men. at the well of i-n-eelren, there we left our women, whose temples and cheeks are rimmed with indigo. bekki, from whom shall i hide my love of thee? for it is not in my hand, from which a blow might dash it to the ground; it is firmly fixed in the centre of my heart. hekhu's skin is as sweet as the bread of sugar that all young men love; she is like an antelope fawn following along the river tigi, going from gum-tree to gum-tree, browsing on their leaves through the summer nights. the battle with the iullemeden (date: 1895.) i send a decree to all women who go to gallant parties, to those of this country and even to arab women: whenever you find the men who hid from the fray near you, shower down your curses on the cowards. we saw them that day, in the morning. when the iullemeden came straight on to the attack: then took place a festival of powder and bullets, and the javelins flung in such hosts as to make a tent over the heads of the fighters. when the enemy fled, i took my sword in my hand, i struck at their legs, which flew off like jerjer stalks¹ i defy them to use them hereafter on march. the battle of tit (one of lieutenant cottenest's disciplinary rounds in ahaggar. date: 1902.) i tell you so, women of sense, and all you who put blue between your mouth and nostrils : 2 amessara, there we fought on both sides to a finish with javelins, pagan rifles and the sword unsheathed. 1 a plant the stalks of which are carried away by the wind of the desert. 2 the valley of amessara touches the tit field of battle. 276 charles de foucauld i flew at the enemy; i smote, and was smitten, even until blood covered me all over like a wrapping inundating me from the shoulder down to the arms. the young women who gather round the violin will not hear it said of me that i hid in the rocks. is it not true that after falling three times they had to lift me up, and that they bound me unconscious on a camel with cords? on that account, defeat is not dishonour : even against the prophet himself, pagans have won the victory in days of yore. "" starting for the ahal " my parents had stopped me from starting for the ahâl; they had, it seems, no ulterior design. i remained, i shed tears, i went back to the tent; i wrapped myself up and hid my face and lay down : even that seemed to increase my sorrow. i could not rest: i put on my crossed sash; i ran through the place where the camels were crouching: i seized a well-trained one; i put the saddle on the top of his hump where the hair ends; i was evenly balanced on him, and made him go down into the valley of isten. when i stopped short, on getting near the ahâl, they said to me: "what has happened?" i replied: "nothing has happened but depression and a gloomy face." and now, there is but one god! it is written : i shall see the maiden with the white teeth. declaration one thing is no wise doubtful but certain. it is that if the torment of love could kill, by god! i should not live till this evening; the sun would no longer rise for me to see it. geggé, thy love is hard for my heart: it has dissolved the marrow in my bones; it has drunk my blood and my flesh: i do not know what has become of them. poetry and proverbs 277 i have only my bones which hold together and my breathing which heaves slowly and silently beneath them. you have never yet seen a soul in which exists a whole town full of torments, and yet alive going to gallant parties, playing and laughing.¹ to amenokal amud kenua ult amâstân, a woman of the noble tribe of taïtok, is, of all the persons actually living with the kelahaggar and the taïtok, and all those who have lived there for half a century, the one who has the greatest reputation for poetic talent. amud el mektar, an important person, travelling among the taïtok, one day stopped to take his siesta near a tree, in the vicinity of kenua's encampment. while he was resting with his companion under the shade of a burnous fastened to the branches, kenua came and invited them to follow her to her tents; she offered them hospitality, and put them up for two days. the day after their arrival, she composed this piece of poetry in honour of amud: this year have i seen dates such as the hand gives not to the tongue; this year have i seen a green date-tree loaded with ripening dates; this year have i seen gold and silver intertwined; this year have i seen heaven; i reached it, but did not sleep there; this year have i seen mecca; i prayed, but did not spend the noon there; this year have i seen medina; i was there and did not take a meal there; this year have i seen the waters of zemzem, but i did not drink thereof; this year have i seen tender young antelopes like children who speak in gentle tones; they were making a sunshade of wool under which they were having their midday nap: ¹ communicated by m. henri basset. 278 charles de foucauld made for play, capable of playing, they were in a bed of silk and silver. this year have i seen a colt whose love has wounded me. he is in a wheat-field, standing, grazing there. if only he were for sale, i should give for him a thousand young men! . . . a poem of eberkau (a woman celebrated for her beauty and wit.) shall i compare him to a white mehari, to a shield of tarmai? to a herd of kita antelopes? to the fringe of jerba's red scarf? to grapes which have just ripened in a valley where alongside of them ripens the date? amûmen is the thread on which have been strung the pearls of my necklace. he is the cord on which are hung the talismans on my breast; he is my life.¹ thanks a poor woman of a tribe belonging to the imrad, having received alms from the french officer, thanked him thus: i leave the tents after morning prayer, i take a walk full of anxious reflections; i left tekadeit and lilli yonder, hungry, exhausted, crying: grasshoppers are the death of the poor. i went to the captain, who had pity on me: he is a young man who tries to do all good. he is valorous in war, he is benevolent; he makes women shout with joy and wins merits in the eyes of god; his challenge none takes up. he excels above all the pagans. when one has read many improvisations by tuareg poets, one remarks that they repeat themselves, and that in the sahara more than elsewhere, certain metaphors, which at first amused or touched one, are tricks of style 1 communicated by m. henri basset. poetry and proverbs 279 and hackneyed. it matters little here. i wished simply to add a few features to the picture of the people among whom father de foucauld lived the last years of his life, to whom he was so devoted, whose traditions, customs, vocabulary, language, and poetry he had spent so many hours in studying. and with this same intention, i shall choose some tuareg proverbs from those which he collected. in these we shall see still better the quick mind of these ahaggar people, and their good sense, in which all the human hope of charles de foucauld must have been bound up. tuareg proverbs part your tents, bring your hearts together. when you see a halo round the moon, a king is travelling by its light. fear the noble if thou make little of him: fear the base man if thou honour him. he who drinks out of a jug (the sedentary) is no guide. however long a winter night may be, the sun follows it. the viper takes the colour of the country it lives in. laugh at baked clay (terra cotta). kiss the hand you cannot cut off. whoever loves thee, even a dog, thou wilt also love. it is better to spend the night in anger than in repentance. reasonings are the shackles of the coward. a single hand without a fellow will not untie a double knot, whatever it may do. when a noble spreads the rich material of his dress for thy carpet, sit not right in the middle. hell itself holds dishonour in horror. living people often meet. if a man puts a cord round his neck, god will provide someone to pull it. in your native land, birth; in a foreign land, dress. the palm of your hand does not eclipse the sun. the beetle, in its mother's eyes, is a gazelle. the beaten path, even if it winds: the king, even if he is aged. chapter xii tamanrasset n passion sunday, march 27, 1909, father de possession of his first hermitage, so as to have mass at beni-abbes on that day. he spent eastertide there. to the last he wanted to be at the disposal of the christian officers and soldiers who wished to make their easter duties, and was visited by french, berbers and arabs, and, in the hours of solitude, put the finishing touches to the rules of the association for the development of the missionary spirit, according to the suggestions of mgr. bonnet who was interested in the project. it was, indeed, a fine idea of the great african monk to band the french and algerian christians together, especially the saharans who belong to both countries, but also those who live at home and never cross the sea, and to get them to pray daily for the conversion of our musulman brothers who are subjects of france. the idea is simple, too, and a practical one, which will deeply affect christian france, accustomed, from time immemorial, to understand these sorts of fraternal and extended developments of the communion of saints. already, although the work has remained humble and without means of propaganda, travellers, officers, sailors, parents and relations of missionaries, and communities of men and women have promised to intercede for the neglected peoples who belong to us. at the end of the book i shall tell what has been done, and what that very simple rule of this union of prayer is, father de foucauld's legacy to many who know nothing of it. 66 " after about a month's stay in the hermitage of beni-abbes, then the hermit became a pilgrim once more. he made or bought the two pairs of sandals required; he would put on the second when the stones had worn out the soles of the first pair, or the heat hardened and shrivelled up the leather; and now he was off on his journey. the reception given him everywhere was his reward. no doubt there were many beggars among those who came to the marabout. but to many he was the friend of whom they sought counsel. when walking by his camel, when going through a ksar, or 280 tamanrasset 281 lying down for a midday siesta in the shade of a tree or rock, someone would slip close up to him and entrust him with some anxiety or trouble; there were so many of them! here is an example of this sort of apostolate. about this time a soldier came to the father. he was living with a negress, a slave that her arab masters had been obliged to liberate, because they ill-treated her. this woman was looking forward in terror to the soldier's approaching return to france. the latter loved and esteemed her; although he was living irregularly, he had at heart the faith of the old country, and perhaps a little through remorse, and because we are naturally missionaries, he had taught this woman the principles of the christian religion. he even declared that she might already be regarded as being of our religion, her soul was so much disposed to receive it. but what would she do when he left her? knowing that she regarded the arabs with horror and could not stay on where she had suffered so much at their hands, he was most perturbed. he laid the matter before the ambulant monk, the universal brother. the answer given him is to be found in a letter to father guérin: "i urged him to ask you to take this woman into your ghardaïa workroom. he was to take her and she was to remain there, living entirely with the sisters, where her work would pay for her board. she looks very well, and the corporal esteems and loves her very much; besides, it would be a soul's salvation. . she has always led a regular life; when she was freed, the frenchman received her; according to her own ideas, her position has never ceased to be regular." what became of the poor "quiet and hard-working" negress of thirty? it is one of the countless stories of which we shall never know the end. back in tamanrasset, father de foucauld found his hermitage somewhat enlarged by the care of his friends, motylinski and the village harratins. a young officer gave him the additional surprise of discovering amidst the lumber of the corridor he called his house, a bed, a campbed brought on camel-back. . . . he did not grumble, but acepted the gift with thanks, and for the first time in twentyseven years, being thoroughly tired out, slept on canvas. as soon as he had got into the hermitage again he started with his old ardour on his works in the tuareg language, and hastened to finish them, in order "to work more directly for the one end: to see more people, and to give more time to prayer and spiritual reading.' this idea of progressive evangelization, which he never gave up, inspired all his acts and prompted him to draw up 282 charles de foucauld a few forms of prayer for his poor saharans, and, in the same letter, he submitted to father guérin the sketch of a simplified rosary for the use of infidels. at the beginning they would make an act of charity, and then, in any language, say on the little beads: "my god, i love thee "; and on the big beads: "my god, i love thee with my whole heart!" "would you think it right," he concludes, "to ask for indulgences for this very simple rosary, which is also good for the use of christians ?" and this letter ends with this noble outburst, revealing the memories that helped this great soul in his poor life with its want of response in all around it : 66 to-day is the feast of ss peter and paul. it is delightful to write to you on this day. let no difficulties daunt us; they conquered many far greater ones, and they are always with us. peter is always at the helm of the barque. if jesus' disciples could have been discouraged, what a reason for discouragement roman christians had on the evening of the martyrdom of both? i have often thought of that evening; how sad it must have been, and how all must have appeared to have gone under, had it not been for the faith in their hearts! there will always be struggles, and always real triumphs of the cross in apparent defeat. so be it." he expected colonel laperrine from day to day; he remarks, as a happy event, the nomination, as musa's secretary, of a young man brought up at tlemcen, speaking french well, having a good french and an excellent arab education, very french in his ideas, and by no means fanatical. it is to be hoped that this new arrival will destroy the bad influence of the so-called thalebs, ignorant fanatics from rhât." when shall we rejoice at the arrival, not of musulmans, but of catholic priests ?" he asked. "with what ardour i desire a priest as companion to instruct by example and daily talks, so as to lead souls by degrees to another teaching !" laperrine, "after a very successful and fruitful round, pushed on as far as gogo," spent a week at tamanrasset, and took his friend father de foucauld with him; they made the tour of ahaggar in such a way as to see the principal inhabited cantons. this time he had resolved to take a fresh census of the hoggar warriors, and to review the troops available against the azjers, and had distributed rifles of the 1874 pattern. this was both a proof and an earnest of trust: musa and the colonel deliberated together as to where to order the assembly, and decided on tamanrasset 283 the high valley of the wady tmereri, which is "provided with water and pasturage, and covered with very fine "" ethels. on the day and hour agreed, laperrine was on the summit of a hillock in the middle of the valley, and the valley was still deserted. around him were lieutenant saint-léger, lieutenant sigonney, doctor hérisson, father de foucauld, and four orderlies. near the french commander was the war-drum, the tebbel, which signals the call to arms. in a neighbouring valley, where he had convoked his warriors, musa ag amastane began to make his troops pass into the tmereri plain. between the trees was seen the glitter of arms and moving shields, and outlines of the foremost warriors riding high, and meharis' heads. then the colonel had the tocsin beaten: the dust rose between the ethels, and 252 meharis of musa dashed towards the great french chief, who was immobile but secretly delighted. after the fantasia there was a long chat. laperrine spoke of the customs to be kept, of others to be given up-for instance, the raids. the rumour went round that he wished to forbid ahâls-that is to say, gallant and "fashionable" parties. laperrine, who knew tamachek imperfectly, turned his head, looking for a good interpreter to contradict the report. "there was one, he says in his annales de géographie-" there was father de foucauld, but i hardly dared ask him to do it. he began to laugh, and after having told me that i was getting him to make very uncanonical interpretations, he translated my phrase to the great joy of all the young people, and in particular of alkhammuk, who saw in it a splendid opportunity for teasing the father on their long rides." on returning from this expedition towards the end of october, the father was visited by captain nieger at tamanrasset. fort motylinski was built. for a traveller like brother charles thirty miles was a walk, and when a french soldier fell seriously ill, the hermit was told of it. he at once left the hermitage, and heard the dying man's confession. "there is nothing new," he writes to father guérin, "in the country, which the presence of the officers is getting more and more in hand; the farther we go, the more it is prepared for the arrival of your fathers. at present, the officers' work is the best one can desire; it opens up the ways, establishes contact, makes safety prevail, and gives a good opinion of us, for the colonel, captain nieger, • 284 charles de foucauld m. de saint-léger and the others, are wonderfully good to the natives." so many efforts are not and cannot be vain. all the evidence agrees in proving that civilization had made a beginning in hoggar. "our training is making great strides." father de foucauld gives all the honour of it to the officers, but we know that, in this beginning of civilization, he had a very considerable share. "wherever an officer has been, the population, once wild and suspicious, has become friendly. . . . a biennial fair has been started at fort motylinski (tarhauhaut), in march and october; people are invited from all sides, from agades, zinder, air, as from in-salah, wargla, etc. the constant presence of a detachment of a hundred soldiers in ahaggar has brought to light the resources of the country. this detachment finds all its supply of wheat, meat, vegetables, as well as barley for its horses, on the spot. wheat costs 40 francs a hundredweight, barley 30; a goat 7.50 francs, a sheep 10 francs, butter 1.50 francs a pound. all french vegetables are grown in the gardens; their quality is excellent. water and land are abundant; much more could be grown, only hands are lacking." to know the daily life of the hermit in detail, and just what he does not tell us, we took a few pages from brother michel, a passing guest of beni-abbes. to depict his life at tamanrasset, we shall give the notes which surgeon hérisson was good enough to put into my hands, referring to the years 1909 and 1910. doctor hérisson resided for many months in hoggar as assistant senior surgeon of the motylinski station, in charge of the medical mission among the tuareg tribes. he, too, and in the sphere of science, was one of the invaluable agents of the " training" system invented by laperrine. he was in the tripolitan oasis of janet, when he received from the colonel a service letter which rather surprised him. the colonel wrote to him to go to hoggar, and there to put himself at the disposal of father de foucauld, to receive instruction as to how to act with regard to the tuaregs, and especially to ask him in what tribes, in agreement with musa ag amastane, it was advisable to vaccinate and provide medical care. father de foucauld had hardly spoken to the young doctor, when he invited him, according to his custom, to come to mass next day. m. robert hérisson replied that he was a protestant, and regretted he could not accept the invitation. tamanrasset 285 66 "i addressed father de foucauld with curiosity and some reserve, knowing that he was going to be my instructor.' "i saw a man of sorry appearance at first sight, about fifty, simple, and modest. in spite of his habit, recalling that of the white fathers, which i had seen in wargla, there was nothing monastic in his gestures or attitude. neither was there anything military. beneath very great affability, simplicity and humility of heart, were the courtesy, the finesse and refinement of a man of the world. although he appeared badly dressed, without any care for elegance, and though he was very accessible to all, french workmen or native corporals, the vivacity and penetration of his look, the height of his forehead, and his expression of intelligence made of him a 'somebody.' he was below middle height; at first sight he looked of no account, but i had quickly the impression that father de foucauld was a highly intellectual man, both sensitive and tactful. . . . he was very winning. i felt myself attracted to him. "i saw he was adored by all the french who already knew him, and there was, even amongst the non-commissioned officers and artisans, a certain pride in talking with father de foucauld and in writing letters to him as familiarly as to one of their old comrades. "the father was really singular. "what do you advise me to do about the tuaregs, father?' i said to him. 'i am ordered to follow your instructions.' ... "he spoke at length. "'you must be simple, affable and good to the tuaregs; love them and make them feel they are loved, so as to be loved by them. "don't be the assistant-surgeon, not even the doctor with them; don't take offence at their familiarities or their easy manners: be human, charitable, and always gay. you must always laugh even in saying the simplest things. i, as you see, am always laughing, showing very ugly teeth. laughing puts the person who is talking to you in a good humour; it draws men closer together, allows them to understand each other better; it sometimes brightens up a gloomy character, it is a charity. when you are among the tuaregs, you must always laugh. "give them your medical assistance patiently, cure them; they will get a high idea of our science, power, and kindness. if they ask you to attend a goat, don't be annoyed. "in my opinion, you should reside long near a tuareg 286 charles de foucauld encampment, not mixing with them, but on the edge, not to be in the way, but ready to receive them should they wish to come. remain here, without stirring from the spot, for three weeks; you will have time to cure them, and also to know them and to get known. "they do not know us. absurd legends about the french have been put in circulation. it is said we eat children, that at night we turn into animals, etc. "use an interpreter, to tell those who want to come and talk with you about our intimate family lives, our manners and customs, the birth and sponsorship, the religious education of our children, marriage, marriage laws, and duties between husband and wife and their children; about deaths, ceremonies, legacies, wills, what deeds we honour, those we despise. "he advised me to show the tuaregs verascopic photographs, representing agricultural work in france, our flocks, country life, the rivers, farms, oxen, horses. 'make them understand that a frenchman's life is made up of peaceable honesty, work and production. show them that the foundation of our peasants' lives is the same as theirs, that we resemble them, that we live in our country as they do, but in a more beautiful country. "you will doubtless have leisure, for the country is very healthy, there are few patients and the population is very thinly scattered. what do you intend doing?' 666 'the colonel,' i said, 'commissioned me to collect samples of plants and send them to algiers to m. trabut, the botanical professor, who will ascertain the species. i am also going to try and make a kitchen-garden at tarhaouhaout. "it would be interesting,' father de foucauld said to me, 'to know if any other race than the tuaregs has inhabited the desert. there are very old tombs here-pagan tombs, anterior to islam. they are very probably the tuaregs' ancestors, but they will not acknowledge that. you would be able to make excavations. they will see no harm in your exhuming these bones. you can then ascertain the relationship of race existing between those pagans and the tuaregs of the present day.' "father de foucauld was the soul of hoggar. colonel laperrine did nothing without taking his advice, and musa ag amastane did the same. "the natives held him in such esteem that they made him their judge. one morning i saw this very remarkable scene. he was before his door, slightly bent towards the tamanrasset 287 ground, dressed in white: before him in the foreground were two immense tuaregs dressed in black, their faces veiled with the litham, in full dress, with swords at their sides, with daggers on the left forearm, and lances in the right hand; behind were four or five other tuaregs, squatting, as witnesses or hearers. it was a story of camel robbery, and blows given to the negro, the owner's slave and guardian of the drove. "the one accused, the other denied. both assumed the emphatic theatrical attitude of the hoggars, the imperious gesture, the marked accentuation, though deadened by the litham, which acted as a slight gag. "finally a koran was brought; the accused protested his innocence by swearing on the koran before father de foucauld. "about 10 o'clock every morning the father used to call his negro; he gave him a wooden bowl full of wheat, and a handful of dates. the day on which he invited me to lunch he warned me the menu would be detestable. i accepted through politeness and curiosity, but never again. "the negro went and ground the grain in a stone handmill, as the berbers in the atlas and the natives of the moroccan countries do. this mill broke the grain but did not make flour of it. with the broken wheat, without any yeast, he made a flat round cake, which he put to bake under the ashes. in a little wrought-iron saucepan he had boiled some coarse dates, full of sand and camel-hair-and lunch was ready. "father de foucauld then took away the books and sheets of paper which were on the table, and laid two hollow plates and two wrought-iron spoons on it, and said to me: 666 have you ever eaten any khefis?' "no." "" "it is my usual food. i do not know whether you will find it good, but i can offer you nothing else. i had still a few little tins of "bully (singe) that saint-léger's sergeant wanted to leave behind on his last visit; i gave them to corporal x, who wanted to invite me when he was here. khefis seems to me a perfect food, which is easily prepared and suits my poor teeth.' "here is the recipe for khefis. you take the wheaten cake, break it up into small pieces, quite hot, and put it into the wrought-iron plate. stone the dates, pour the stewed dates on the pieces of cake. then take some old melted arab butter and spread it over the cake and dates. now take all this by the handful, triturate and crush it, and make 288 charles de foucauld a sort of putty of it. the taste is insipid, sugary, but not bad. "a glass of water and a cup of coffee complete the meal. "to-night we shall have a couscousou without meatmy usual dinner, that will please you more.' it was not good for much. "before sunset the father took an hour's recreation. he used to walk to and fro before his hermitage. then he talked amiably of everything. we walked side by side. he put his hand on my shoulder, laughed, spoke about the tuaregs and his memories. at first he used to ask me every time how i had spent the day. he got me to make a sort of examination of conscience, and blamed me if i had not attended some tuaregs, learned arabic or tamachek. "the day on which i saw father de foucauld really annoyed was when i confessed to him, a few months before my final departure from hoggar, that i had not made any anthropological researches for seven to eight months. "i saw, i told him, that i was not going to get any result. i should be quite as ignorant as before as to what race those pagans belonged to. were they the ancestors of the hoggars, or were they another people? my work was condemned beforehand to mediocrity. "father de foucauld reproached me for being wanting in perseverance. the little that you would have done, and which you would have left to your successors, would have been work already done; others, taking up the even negative results of your researches and going on with them, would have carried the matter further. by abstaining from following up your researches, you hinder the work. to be held up by the idea that your work would only be mediocre, is nothing else than pride. your abandoning the pursuit of these researches may discourage at the outset those who come after you. 999 "one had to work. one day while i was there, a negro came and asked him for alms. he was dying of hunger, he said. he was well set up, but appeared thin. he was about twenty-five years of age. father de foucauld asked him why he did not work in the tit, abalessa, and other centres of civilization. he replied that there was nothing to do there. then father de foucauld, showing him a little wooden box which was used to mould bricks, said to him: 'make me twenty bricks, and i give you a measure of wheat.' there was hardly an hour's tamanrasset 289 work he had only to make twenty little pies such as children make at the seaside; the negro refused. the father held out, and gave him nothing, except advice to work for his living.' "" on other occasions, there was a lesson for the tuareg nobles. surgeon robert hérisson tells us, for instance, that one evening, at sunset-that is to say, at one of the hours of musulman prayer-five or six kel-ahaggar and kel-rela were talking with father de foucauld and the amenokal. the latter, his cousin akhammuk and aflan, dassine's husband, rose up, adjusted their blue lithams on their faces, and prepared to say the prayer. the other tuaregs, indifferent, continued talking. but the father stopped them sharply: well, don't you pray?" he said. he thus excited them to honour god in the only manner known and recognized by them. they understood, and at once got up to imitate musa. dr. hérisson saw laperrine and father de foucauld live side by side in tamanrasset. between these two men there was fraternal affection and a great mutual esteem, with that little shade of deference that laperrine knew how to show towards his great senior of saint-cyr, a cavalryman like himself. when he was passing through hoggar, they always took their meals in common. 67 for lunch or dinner, a big rug is spread on the ground in the shade of some tree if there is one, or in the colonel's tent, which is quite large. each gives his table-gear, can, and cup to the cook, who places them anyhow. there is no precedence. "when all is ready, they sit down to table, squatting like tailors on the edge of the rug. the cook brings the dish. each man has his little wheaten cake cooked under the ashes. the colonel calls upon anyone he likes to help himself the first. then they talk away and there is no constraint. the colonel always invites all the french in the neighbourhood to his table-quartermasters, corporals, gunsmiths and joiners. they will pay nothing to the mess. sometimes he has them served first. they take any place whatever at table, just by chance. father de foucauld always comes at noon, with a bottle of white muscat, his sacramental wine. we drink a claret-glass of it at the end of the meal. we protest, and call out on seeing the bottle: 'father, you will run out of stock; it is too much, you will exhaust your supply: we won't drink it!' but he laughs and insists: 'you may drink it. 19 290 charles de foucauld i only bring you what i can.' and, of course, we drink it with delight. "at table, we do not talk about serious things; we tell stories, jokes, and chaff the colonel's cook. father de foucauld laughs. the colonel has a very varied and amusing stock of stories, which he says are true. he is a very charming raconteur. father de foucauld smiles when everybody else laughs. but if the story goes a little beyond the limits of propriety, he hears nothing, he is deaf, and seems to be thinking of other things. then someone remarks that the conversation has taken a silly turn,' and that the father must be scandalized; but if excuses are made, he protests that he was not listening and did not hear; no one was embarrassed. 66 during the rounds' he used to come with a negro servant and a hired camel, without tent or camp-bed. he slept on the ground in his blankets. the greater part of the time he took a pack-camel without a saddle (without a rahla). not to lose time, he wanted us to go on, and to come and join us at the place agreed upon, doubling his stages, and doing fifty miles a day at three miles an hour, and, as far as possible, using a route still unexplored by the french. "he then arrived with little bits of paper full of notes and sketches, quite small, but very clear, like those of his morocco exploration, and put them all into the colonel's hands. "at meetings and palavers, he used to refuse to sit on a camp-stool alongside of the colonel; he wished to squat on the ground beside him. the colonel made use of him as an interpreter. these tuaregs, indeed, did not know the arab language, or did not know it well. the father not only understood them and expressed himself perfectly in set speech, but, by his knowledge of their characters and habits, he knew what had to be made clear to them, the doubts or apprehensions that might arise, etc. lastly, his moral valour was held in such consideration and so highly esteemed that everything said by him carried greater weight. 66 the tuaregs used to say: 'he knows our language better than ourselves.' "during evening recreation, when walking to and fro before his hermitage, at sunset, with his arm on my shoulder, he told me that personal distinction is not due to birth or education, but is innate, and that he had found amongst the simple at la trappe a remarkable loftitamanrasset 291 ་ ness of feeling. we lived beside each other without knowing one another's origin or name, doing our work according to our aptitudes. there was a peasant without any education, who had inspirations, perfectly beautiful thoughts which came from his heart. he was unconscious of their worth. i was delighted to hear him. he was eloquent, and that without art, quite naturally and simply.' "father de foucauld, unlike what is said of celebrated men, became immeasurably greater when one saw him every day and close by." do not these lines with which doctor hérisson's manuscript ends, recall the judgments passed on the hermit when he lived at beni-abbes? did not these re-echo the many praises of akbes, nazareth, jerusalem, and notredame-des-neiges? in 1910, two great friendships, two supports, were taken from father de foucauld. on may 14 the mail coming from in-salah brought news of father guérin's death, at thirty-five, worn out by the fatigue of the saharan life. the long voluminous correspondence between him and father de foucauld showed the respect that these two men had for one another. when two men, thanks to the faith which fills them, are almost free from self-love; when they become, as much as nature permits, entirely noble influences, ever waiting to obey the slightest sign from god, the understanding between them is immediately perfect, whether silent or expressed, and the confidence which they have in each other surpasses all other friendship in sweetness. in their numerous letters there is not a trace of disagreement. on either side is the same certainty that the friend addressed-one asking counsel, the other replying-was only thinking of the reign of the sovereign beauty over the world. father de foucauld submitted all his plans of journeys, and distant future foundations to his director-friend, and, if he did not render him an account, as he did to m. huvelin, of his spiritual state, he nevertheless did not mark off the limit between these two domains-the one outward, the other inwardand very often spiritual confidences, resolutions, hesitations, and passing depression found expression in the letters of the hermit of beni-abbes or tamanrasset to the prefect apostolic of ghardaïa. "god has just inflicted a trial upon us both," he wrote to father voillard, two days after the news came. "you have lost a very good son, and i a very good father; lost in appearance, for he is nearer to us than ever. . . . i • 292 charles de foucauld had never thought that he might not survive me, and i leant upon his friendship as if it would never fail me. you know the void that his departure has left me. jesus remains blessed be he in all things! blessed be he in having called our very dear father guérin to his reward! blessed be he also for having lent him to us for a few years! "this unforeseen departure makes me wish all the more for the company of a priest who may continue the very small work begun here. he might live along with me, living the same life or not. i don't want to be his superior, but his friend, ready to leave him alone as soon as he knows the routine. "from 1905, captain dinaux, then chief of the arab office at in-salah, asked for some white sisters for ahaggar: now that there is a permanent garrison, a french officer, a doctor, several french non-commissioned officers and corporals, and a hundred native soldiers permanently in the country, with the mail twice a month, great security and the conveniences of life, we might reasonably think about it. sisters are not sent apart from white fathers; but there might be grounds for considering the possibility of a foundation for the white fathers... the tuaregs of ahaggar are musulmans only in name; they detest the arabs. their submission to france introduces into the country arab musulmans, musulman khojas in the service of france, as soldiers or interpreters. arabs from tidikelt and other countries are allowed to circulate freely, to carry on commerce without fear of being robbed; whence will probably follow an islamic propaganda and a renewal of islamic fervour: it would be useful to be beforehand. . . "i am preparing for a greater spiritual activity by getting a little hermitage for two built about forty miles away in the heart of the highest mountains in ahaggar, and where tents are quartered in larger numbers. there i shall be much more at the centre of the inhabitants than here. next year i mean to divide myself between it and tamanrasset. • .. "i ask you to pray for my director, m. l'abbé huvelin; he has been my father for twenty-four years; nothing could explain what he is to me and what i owe him. the news about his health is lamentable. at each mail i fear to learn that he, too, has fulfilled his time of exile." less than two months later, in fact on july 10, abbé huvelin died. the one whom he had led back to god tamanrasset 293 wept and then, like the best, raised his eyes to heaven, and there found immutable joy to comfort him. to one of the white fathers expressing sympathy with him in the circumstances, he replied: "yes, jesus is enough: where he is, nothing lacks. however dear be those in whom his likeness shines, it is he who is all. he is all in time and in eternity." as if all supports were to be taken away from the finished building, a third friend of father de foucauld was to leave africa that same year. colonel laperrine, who had been in command of the oases for nine years, asked for the command of a regiment in france; he left those territories organized by him in peace, and enlarged by the whole tuareg country.¹ why did this great saharan quit the sahara? for the best of reasons. brother charles, his confidant, said in fact: "he is right; we must not seem to cling to office." only the highest type of man thinks thus. the life and death of laperrine justify us in thinking that brother charles was not mistaken. laperrine never returned to hoggar, until the middle of the great war. he never again saw his friend alive. as almost always, it was an unconscious adieu. foucauld not only had a tested love for the man who had been the comrade of his youth, he admired the commander who had done so much for the greatness of france in africa—that is to say, for the civilization of the nations who are confided to us. a few months before his departure, he paid this tribute to him in a letter: "laperrine spends himself beyond measure; he has impressed all who are under his orders with a wonderful energy and activity. the last six years, the amount of work the officers under his orders have done, and what has been effected from the military, administrative, geographical, and commercial points of view, are unheard of.' 99 on laperrine's departure he summed up his colonial career thus: "since the age of twenty-one he has not spent three years in france; one summer as lieutenant, fifteen months as captain, and six months as commander; all the rest in algeria, tunis, and above all senegal, the sudan and the sahara. it is he who gave the sahara to france, in spite of her, and at the risk of his career, and he it is who united our algerian possessions with our colony in the sudan." 1 he was appointed colonel of the 18th regiment of chasseurs, on november 8, 1910. 294 charles de foucauld before leaving africa, the colonel had decided on taking musa ag amastane to france. some noble tuaregs accompanied the amenokal; they were made to assist at gunnery experiments at creusot; they visited the breeding studs, factories and towns, especially paris and its "curiosities," among which was certainly one of the least parisian and most cosmopolitan-the moulin rouge. it was a lightning visit of rapid skipping without respite, meant to astound rather than to appeal to the heart, a visit such as governors who have no paternal feeling of responsibility can order. brother charles received some news of this promenade, which was too official for his taste; but he rejoiced at the thought of the good the tuareg chief would nevertheless derive from this very partial experience of a "on his return,' superior civilization. he wrote, "i shall try to make him understand that three things are necessary if he wishes to work for the eternal salvation of his people: (1) to get education for the children and youths, who are as neglected as animals. (2) to get a certain amount of instruction imparted to them. (3) to work to make his people settle down and give up the nomad life, while keeping their pastoral character. "this third thing is the sine qua non of the two first, for education and instruction seem incompatible with the nomad life. 66 99 for the kel-ahaggar, or at least for most of them, the transition from the nomad to the settled life would be easy; the strongest tribes are almost stationary; the camels, under the care of a few shepherds, go and graze a long way off; but the tents with the families and the flocks of goats are almost settled-they only move within a circle of about twenty-five miles. ... moreover, the peace of these three years of french occupation has already had the effect of stabilizing the inhabitants. on my arrival there was only one house in tamanrasset, the other dwellings were huts; now there are fifteen or twenty houses; they are constantly being built; the huts will soon have disappeared; it is the same, they say, in the other villages.. tillage is increasing. every tuareg in slightly easy circumstances has fields. unfortunately, they do not cultivate them themselves; they get them cultivated by the harratins of tidikelt or negroes. the tuaregs superintend the work, and harvesting, but they despise putting their hand to the hoe. the settlement in this country of monks cultivating with their own hands would be a great blessing. . . tamanrasset 295 no sooner was the hoggar chief back on african soil, than he wrote to his friend, father de foucauld; and here is the letter he addressed him, on a sheet of the hotel de l'oasis paper: "praise be to the one god, and may god bless mahomet. "from algiers, for hoggar, "6 'september 20, 1910.” "to his honoured excellency, our dear friend above all, monsieur le marabout abed aissa,' the sultan musa ben mastane salutes thee, and wishes thee the grace of the very high god and his benediction. how art thou? if thou wishest news of us, as we ask for thine, we are well, thank god, and we have only good news to give thee. here we are arrived from paris, after a good voyage. the paris authorities were pleased with us. i saw thy sister and remained two days at her house; i also saw thy brother-in-law. i visited their gardens and houses. and thou, thou art in tamanrasset like the poor man !2 on my arrival, i shall give thee all the news in detail. "wani ben lemniz and sughi ben chitach salute thee. 66 greeting !" the hermit remained at tamanrasset until the end of the year, and at the beginning of 1911 undertook a second journey to france, a little longer than the first. the latter lasted three weeks. in 1911 father de foucauld took a month to get over the following_complicated itinerary: marseilles, viviers, nîmes, notre-dame-des-neiges, paris, nancy, lunéville, saverne, paris, bergerac, angoulême, paris, barbirey, lyons, marseilles. on may 3 he was back in tamanrasset, after having made a stop at beni-abbes, where he spent only three days. the calm of hoggar appeared, after those four months travelling, very agreeable to him, and his reception by the tuaregs touched him. he wrote, on may 14, to father voillard, who had become his spiritual director since abbé huvelin's death: "at this moment, there are a great many people here on account of the harvest; i shall remain here about three weeks more, to take advantage of their assembly, to see various people, to talk with musa, and to give the poor of the neighbourhood 1 abed aissa-servant of jesus. 2 el meskine is the poor man, an object of pity by his destitution. 296 charles de foucauld their share of alms; then i shall go to askrem, the mountain hermitage, for a year at least. i shall work there with all my might at my tuareg books, so as to finish them in a year and a half from now. . . . i was very well received by the whole population; it is making progress in confidence and civilization, it is also making material progress . . . an intellectual movement will certainly follow." summer came. suddenly letters became less and less frequent. father de foucauld's correspondents must have thought that he was ill or lost in the sahara. lost would perhaps be nearly true. the man who had settled in one of the most unknown places in the world was tempted by the inaccessible. on july 5 he had set out for askrem, where he dwelt in a hovel nearly ten thousand feet up, assuredly the highest point on earth where a hermit had ever lived. must we think that he was led there by a whim, by some fanciful eccentricity of an adventurous nature? that would be to form a wrong opinion of him, and we already know it. his villeggiatura in askrem is only fresh evidence of his charity and fearlessness. he went yonder to seek, through cold and storm, the souls whose wandering pastor he had made himself. the dryness drove the tuaregs from the ahaggar plateaux; they went and camped in the kudiat valleys, where there was a little green grass for the flocks. and brother charles went up to them. they came not only from tamanrasset and neighbourhood, but from several deserts around the hoggar heights, and nomads of divers tribes were there for a short time, shivering, but no longer famishing. the road was long and rough. the last part could hardly be done except on foot: the camels stumbled on the fallen and broken stones. it took at least three days to reach askrem, the citadel of the country-a plateau enveloped in a fantastic landscape of peaks and points and tabular heights, and grottos carved on the tops of the lower mountains. to the north and south nothing stops the view. here and there are statues of men or animals upright in the limpid air, changing in colour, shading and expression, according to the height and secret power of the sun. in our european mountains there is rain; here is wind, always blowing the drifting sand; it has worn away the friable rocks, and leaves standing the harder pillars with resisting angles, and fine or enormous spires, like the ilaman peak which dominates the rest. the askrem plateau has not only this strange beauty: it reminds the tamanrasset 297 scientist of the first ages of the world; it is the watershed. the great saharan rivers, to-day dried up, flowed from its flanks. on all sides one can follow the beds which they have hollowed out, and which go, some towards the taudeni basin, others towards the atlantic, others, like the wady tamanrasset, towards the niger. father de foucauld loved with all the ardour of his poetic and contemplative soul this extraordinary solitude. 36 it is," he said, "a beautiful place to adore the creator. may his reign be established here. i have the advantage of having many souls around me, and of being very solitary on my summit. . . • since i was twenty i have always relished the sweetness of solitude, whenever i got it. even in my non-christian days, i loved the solitude of beautiful nature along with books, but now all the more when the sweetness of the invisible world prevents one's solitude from ever being lonely. the soul is not made for noise, but for meditation, and life ought to be a preparation for heaven-not only by meritorious works, but by peace and recollection in god. but man has launched out into endless discussions: the little happiness he finds in loud debates is enough to show how far they lead him away from his vocation." at askrem as at tamanrasset, he had chosen a commanding position. his house was but a corridor, built in stone and earth, and so narrow that two men could not pass abreast. but in this poor refuge he had a chapel, and, beyond, a number of things in wonderful order, a great number of books, provisions, and packing-cases, opened and unopened. he slept on one of the latter. in the daytime he used it as a table. around him the wind blew, with the noise of the sea when the tide is rising. abbé huvelin had sent his friend two hundred francs, to help him build this shelter; he had also given him the little altar for the chapel, and brother charles, enraptured and grateful, had exclaimed: "i hope holy mass will be said on this altar long after my death." there, more than once a week, he received the visits of tuareg families; men, women, and children all came up together from the innumerable valleys hidden in the kudiat. they were both pilgrimages and pleasure parties. they came a long way, at least one or two days' march. they had to rest up yonder, sup, and spend the night. brother charles joyfully spent his precious time in welcoming his guests; he made them little presents; he 298 charles de foucauld shared his meals with them. "one or two meals taken together, a day or half a day spent together, put us on far better terms with one another than a great number of visits of half an hour or an hour, as at tamanrasset. some of these families are comparatively good, as good as they can be without christianity. these souls are directed by natural lights; although musulmans by faith, they are very ignorant of islam, and have not been spoiled by it. in this direction, the work i am now doing is very good. lastly, my presence is an opportunity for the officers to come into the very heart of the country.' 991 all the rest of the time-and there is plenty of time when one gets up long before the sun-brother charles prayed or worked. he brought with him a native whom he called his "tuareg teacher"; he gave him five sous an hour to pay for his trouble, but as the sittings of questions and answers lasted on an average nine hours a day, the pupil found the professor's fees a heavy expense, and the latter that so much diligence wearied a nomad's head. this weariness, so new to an ahaggar, the distance from the wells from which he used to go and fetch water every day, perhaps the austere solitude, perhaps the cold at night, with winter coming on, made the "coadjutor " ask to be sent back to his country. brother charles, who had taken his provisions of books and preserves "like someone who plans a sixteen months' voyage without having to call at any harbour," was forced to give way and go down. at the beginning of december, he again entered the tamanrasset hermitage. there he resumed his usual charitable and hidden life, answering the appeals of poverty, which is always great among the tribes. the tribes. brother charles gave himself up entirely to almsgiving, and distributed his provisions. he just came to hear of news which was stale for the rest of the world: the war between the italians and the tripolitan arabs. his friends were anxious about the reaction this war might have on the sahara. "don't be alarmed," he wrote to one of them, "about the preaching of a holy war. the sahara is large, the turks are certainly doing all they can to get the holy war preached among the arab tribes of tripoli, but that does not touch us. the tuaregs, very lukewarm musulmans, are equally indifferent about the holy war and about the turks and italians. it is all the same to them; what solely interests them is their flocks, the grazing and the harvest. before 1 letter to father voillard, december 6, 1911. tamanrasset 299 their submission to france, they joined to these callings the profession of highwaymen; now that is forbidden them, they devote themselves with all the more ardour to the others. "i found tamanrasset and the neighbouring inhabitants in a terrible state of misery, and i thought i ought to give much more in alms than i foresaw. the reason of this misery is twofold: (1) drought has prevailed for twenty months: hence it follows that milk, butter, and butcher's meat, which are the principal riches of the country, have been lacking for twenty months; (2) in 1911, the two harvests (there is a wheat harvest in spring and a millet harvest in autumn) were failures, owing to greenfly eating away the inside of the ears just before they ripened. results: (1) there is nothing to eat in the country: i could not buy a litre of any grain whatever here (wheat, barley or millet); (2) nobody has any clothes, because they can only get them by selling butter, animals, etc. i have something to eat, because i have stores, but there are few people here who have two meals a day, and many who live entirely on wild roots. . . . i cannot feed the people, but i have given much more clothes than i usually do; it is the cold season. "since my return, i have so far done little beyond praying to god and receiving visits from my neighbours one after another. . . . i have not yet taken the work of the lexicon and grammar up again: i shall set about it after new year's day: in the first place, i would like to be able to stay at the foot of the crib during this holy christmastide, then i must see all my poor neighbours who begin to be old friends, for i am in my seventh year at taman"" rasset. he brought back little presents which he distributed to his visitors of both sexes, and which were highly treasured in hoggar. the most ordinary gifts were needles; further, there were safety pins, then boxes of matches; scissors were kept for the great ladies, and knives for the more influential tuaregs. as time went by and experience increased, father charles was strengthened in his conviction that his missionary methods were not mistaken. dwelling among the native camps in the high mountain provided him with fresh proofs of it. "i help as far as i can; i try to show that i love. when the opportunity seems favourable, i speak of natural religion, of god's commandments, of his love, of union with his will and love of one's neigh300 charles de foucauld bour... the tuaregs have the character of our good rustics in france, of the best of our peasants: like them, they are industrious, prudent, economical, opposed to novelties, and full of suspicion as to unknown persons and things. ignorant as they are, they can receive the gospel only by authority, and the authority necessary to make them adopt it and reject all they know, love and venerate, can only be acquired after long and intimate contact, by great virtue and god's blessing.¹ "some very few-seriously question me on religious matters; in my counsels i keep to natural religion, insisting on avoiding sin, on night prayers with an examination of conscience, and acts of contrition and charity." these good countryfolk of the sahara are not wanting in vices, which brother charles enumerates without dwelling on them, for fear of letting it be thought that he was in an evil neighbourhood. they were extremely violent, proud to the point of madness; laxity of morals was general; the tuareg rules of honour allowed women, and even advised them, to do away with children born outside marriage, and there were so many infanticides that "perhaps a third of the children perish at birth." • send some white sisters," he wrote to mgr. livinhac; "they will start a round for the newly-born, and that will be the remedy until conversion takes place." at each page in the voluminous correspondence of the tamanrasset hermit, we find him thinking out the best human means of raising this people to whom he was the first missionary. he came with a complete civilization in his heart. for him civilization "consists of two things: education and gentleness." nothing was indifferent to him if it helped to protect children, to free slaves, to teach the ignorant, to settle nomads and draw them closer to france. he preferred solitude, and we have heard his praises of it; but for the good of the 100,000 souls in the sahara, whose chaplain he was, that solitude had to be enlivened, that silence disturbed. post and telegraph, railways, biennial fairs-he called for such " " with a progress county councillor's passion, though caring but little about it for himself. he rejoiced at the speedy coming of a mission of engineers, officers, and geologists charged with inquiring into the eventual line of a trans-saharan railway to follow the great curve of oran, beni-unif, beniabbes, twat, aulef, silet (forty-six miles west of 1 letter to father voillard, july 12, 1912. tamanrasset 301 "i am very tamanrasset), in-gezzam, agades, chad. happy about it, for the railway in these regions is a powerful means of civilization, and civilization a powerful help to christianization; savages cannot be christians.' above all, let them hasten to build the railway!" and immediately after that wish follows this sentence which shows the officer, the great and true frenchman: "it is a necessity for the preservation of our african empire, but also for bringing all our forces, in case of need, to the rhine." fresh good news came in. near fort motylinski had just arrived an officer, "who was charming and distinguished, lieutenant depommier." there was also an "extremely nice" doctor." these were causes of joy to which was added a last one of another order, wished for, called for, and long expected: morocco had come under the protection of france. letters told brother charles of it. he at once replied in these lines, which are well worth reflecting on: "here is our colonial empire greatly enlarged. if we are what we ought to be, if we civilize, instead of exploiting algeria, tunis and morocco will, in fifty years, be an extension of france. if we do not fulfil our duty, if we exploit instead of civilizing, we shall lose everything, and our uniting these people will turn against ourselves. in the constant desire of civilizing which filled his mind with aspirations and plans, he contemplated making another journey to france in a few months, and taking with him a young tuareg of an important bourgeois family, "if one may speak thus." he began to prepare madame de blic and his cousins in france to receive the tourist, dressed in a waistcloth, with plaited hair and cheeks covered with a blue veil. he introduced him by making a favourable portrait of him. according to brother charles, no one in ahaggar was equal to his candidate, who was "not only affectionate, intelligent, and gentle, but exceptionally steady. the son of one of the principal men of his tribe, first cousin to the chief, he has been half adopted by the latter, who had no children; he entirely manages the material affairs of his adopted father, whose stepdaughter he is going to marry. he is nice in every way and of the best plebeian family. we are here in a country of castes; there are plebeians and patricians, the 1 letter to a friend, february 1, 1912. the mission comprised four engineers of bridges and roads, a geologist (m. rené chudeau), and two captains, old saharans; it was commanded by captain nieger. 302 charles de foucauld first incomparably superior to the others in moral value, and making all the strength and hope of the country.' but, before undertaking this journey, brother charles had many pages to write, and the fiancé had to set out in a caravan, with the healthy men of the country, to fetch millet from damergu. spring, like winter and all the seasons, found brother charles shut up in his hermitage, bending over the packing-case which he used as a table, surrounded by his manuscripts and books, in difficult passages consulting his "teacher," who had a headache. he finished the dictionary, and promised himself to send the work soon to m. rené basset, who would publish it "under the name of our common friend m. de motylinski." the transsaharan mission traversed ahaggar. it stopped at tamanrasset. "very well managed and well composed, it has accomplished an extraordinary amount of work. i saw the members of the mission; several have long been my friends. they hope that in about a year the work will begin. what fields are opened for the holy gospel: morocco, the sudan, and the sahara!" there were frequent comings and goings between the camp and hermitage. brother charles mentions captain nieger, m. rené chudeau, captain cortier of the colonial infantry, m. mousserand (a mining engineer). he notes also that he receives numerous visits from tuaregs, who have formed the habit of coming to see him at sunset on sundays, a day during which they observed that the marabout received them still more willingly and chatted at greater length than on other days. the mission went away; great heat fell upon the tamanrasset plateau. suddenly a serious accident interrupted work. charles de foucauld was bitten by a horned viper. the bite is nearly always fatal. the shepherds and blacks in the vicinity of the hermitage heard of the occurrence. they ran up and found their friend lifeless. no european doctor was there. they therefore nursed the marabout according to their custom, burning the wound brutally with hot irons, bandaging the arm to prevent the venom from spreading to the whole body, then, as the syncope persisted, they applied the red iron to the soles of his feet; a terrible blister, administered through compassion. the hermit at last came to himself. he was extremely weak; they searched everywhere in the valley for milk to feed him. but the heat was great, the goats no longer had any grass. musa became anxious, and ordered two cows to tamanrasset 303 be brought from very far away to hoggar to save the marabout. brother charles was long unable to study or walk. he ended, however, by recovering from the viper's bite, and from the treatment which had saved him. he never dreamt of complaining. in that he was like my old professor of chemistry. when he caught a fever, and the doctor told him that the illness would be very serious, he joyfully exclaimed: "what luck; i shall be able to have a rest!" charles de foucauld rested a moment before his door, and long in his chapel-only one step away-in meditation and prayer. and we know that, in that autumn of 1912-autumn is the favourite season of europeans who have lived in ahaggar-two principal thoughts made his soul rejoice and his life of solitude light. the first was: "the farther i go, the more i enjoy the beauty of nature. how beautiful are the works of god! benedicite, omnia opera domini, domino!" and the second: "the time of advent is always sweet, but particularly so here. tamanrasset, with its forty hearths of poor husbandmen, is very much what nazareth and bethlehem may have been in the time of our lord." 59 i ascribe to this period a story which i have not been able to date exactly. it was and is still being told all wrong. in the reviews or newspapers, one may read of "musa ag amastane's mother falling very seriously ill, when father de foucauld was called in to her. to encourage her in the hour of death he found nothing better than to recite some suras from the koran: "he came and fulfilled his office of comfort and laid the old woman to sleep in allah, with appropriate verses from the koran." when these lines fell under my eyes-many months agoi at once felt that the truth must be otherwise. i thought that a catholic priest might, indeed, have suggested to the dying woman to recite suras expressing timely truthsexhorting, for instance, to repentance or to hope in god. this would have simply meant translating an act of contrition or christian charity into the language most intelligible to the woman. but i could not believe that father de foucauld had done it, knowing how he dreaded the extension of islam, and therefore that he would avoid quoting the koran, even if appropriate, as much as possible. i wished to know whether i was right, and wrote to the amenokal of hoggar. i asked him to call to mind the very words of his friend father de foucauld. he well understood the sense of the question i had put to him. though uncivilized, he was intelligent. 304 charles de foucauld he answered me a few months later in the following letter: "praise to the one god! there is none but he! "tamanrasset, "5 chabân, 1338, " april 25, 1920. "to the most honoured of french scholars, réne bazin, of the academy. "to thee, thousands of greetings, a thousand divine favours! from the servant of france, the emir musa, son of amastane, amenokal in hoggar. 66 thy letter reached me, in which thou askest me to give thee details about the great friend of the hoggar-tuaregs. so be it! know that the marabout charles held me in great esteem. god bless him, and make him dwell in paradise, if it be his will. "now, here are the details thou askest me for about his life, in the first place. the people among the hoggartuaregs loved him deeply during his life, and now still they love his tomb as if he were alive. thus the women, children, poor, and whoever passes near his tomb, salute it, saying: may god raise the marabout higher in paradise, for he did good to us during his life!' all the people of hoggar also honour his tomb as if he were alive-yes, indeed, quite as much. 66 ( 'then, thou askest me what took place when he was present at the illness of my mother-that is to say, my aunt (tîhit), my father's sister, at the time of the illness of which she died. the marabout charles said to her in tamachek: oksâd massinîn' [fear god], and afterwards he left her. she died the next day. we carried the body to the tomb, and he was with us; whilst we were praying for her, he was standing, the colour [of his face] impaired on account of her death. he did not pray with us for her. when we placed her in her tomb, he kept standing on the edge, buried her with us, and said to us: 'god increase your consolation on the subject of tîhit! may god give her paradise in her tomb!' "one of my days, a year before her death, she came to see him in his cell, and found him praying: she stood motionless behind him, waiting till he had finished his prayer, then she said to him: 'i also pray to god, at the hour at which thou prayest.' 66 as to the fame of the marabout, it is always enduring tamanrasset 305 in hoggar, and the persons to whom, as to us, he did good -that is to say, all the people of hoggar-honour his tomb as if he were living. "such is the information that thou hast asked me for, given without fault. i hand this letter for thee to captain depommier, the commander-in-chief with us. 66 may god bless thee in thy life! mayest thou live in good health! greeting. "" '(seal of) musa ag amastane.' the answer is clear; i was right. the incident helped father de foucauld's memory more than i expected. it led, indeed, musa's thaleb, ba-hammu, who worked for ten years with father de foucauld, to make some most interesting statements, sent on to me by a witness along with the letter. here they are: "we know well that the marabout could not tell us to say the shahada [the musulman form of prayer]; we are in no doubt about this. that was inconsistent with his office as a catholic priest; we all know it. a fact well known to everyone here proves it. father de foucauld was continually visited by the poor, the aged, the sick, women, children, and numerous tuaregs who came to ask for his help and counsel. at the beginning of his installation, it happened that some of his visitors, coming out of his house at the musulman hours of prayer, stopped near the hermitage to pray. father de foucauld amiably invited them to move away from the hermitage, telling them that they must understand that he did not want them to pray near his house, as they could not themselves want him to pray near a mosque. . . . he said these things in such an amiable and kindly way, that we all soon got to know them, and would not think of violating his wishes."¹ the very well-informed witness who told to me these memories of the thaleb, added this personal reflection: "if we strip father de foucauld's intercourse with the tuaregs of all purely formal considerations, it is absurd and untrue to say that he ever did or said anything which did not aim at their evangelization, which was, after all, his object." the journey to france with a young tuareg was one of the thousand means devised by his charity to diminish the 1 in order to understand father de foucauld's words better, we must realize that the tuaregs have no mosque, and that their religious memorials are only marked on the ground by lines of stones. hence, the musulman prayer, repeated frequently in the same place, and near the hermitage, might give rise to an unfortunate legend. 20 306 charles de foucauld distance between the musulman tribes and catholic france. brother charles expected a great deal of good from it. he had already obtained a favourable reply from his sister and other relations, who agreed to receive the young tuareg in their houses. the african missionaries were told of the scheme, and also promised to offer hospitality to the two travellers at maison carrée. other letters were posted to france, asking his friends for the same favours or for introductions. it was touching to see father de foucauld, so hard upon himself, doing his best to arrange and settle everything, so that uksem's journey might be as pleasant and friendly, and as little tiresome as possible. would not the fate of many souls depend, at least to some extent, on the recollections of our civilization that this young barbarian would bring back? such a journey "is the means of overthrowing a host of errors at a single stroke, of opening men's eyes, of bringing about a several months' tête-à-tête with a chosen soul. it goes without saying, there is to be no paying of visits to museums or curiosities; he must be made to partake of the sweetness and affectionate atmosphere of family life in christian society, and be given a glimpse of what christian life is, and be shown how religion impregnates the whole of life." among these letters there is one which i want to give almost entirely. in it charles de foucauld forcibly set forth ideas lightly touched on elsewhere. it is addressed to his friend the duc de fitz-james, and dated december 11, 1912. it begins thus: "i won't fail to tell you when i am coming to marseilles; i shall be so delighted to see you again!" he then says that the journey is put off to the month of may, 1913. uksem will hardly be ready to start before then, and, besides, "i do not wish to show him france in snow, cold, and north wind, without verdure and leaves; it would even have been very imprudent to expose the saharan's chest to our cold and damp winter. so i have decided to go to france only this summer. with my young companion, i shall land at marseilles about the first fortnight in may. . "" we french have two essential duties to fulfil in africa: "the first thing is the administration and civilization of our north-west african empire. algeria, morocco, tunis, the sahara, and the sudan form an immense and magnificent empire in one lump, having this unity for the first time. . . how are we to attach this empire to us? by civilizing it, by working to raise its inhabitants morally tamanrasset 307 and intellectually as much as possible. the inhabitants of our african empire are very varied: some, the berbers, may rapidly become like us; others, arabs, are slower in progress; the negroes are very different from each other; but all are capable of progress. "the second thing is the evangelization of our colonies. now, what are we doing for the evangelization of our north-west african empire? one might say, nothing. in algeria, tunis, and the sahara, the only priests engaged in the evangelization of the natives are the white fathers; they are, according to their 1910-1911 report, fifty-six in north africa, eleven in the sahara. a drop of water. i can well understand that the white fathers, seeing the evangelization of the musulmans to be slow and difficult, have turned aside their efforts and sent the great majority of their missionaries into equatorial africa, where they are working wonders, and affecting conversions as rapid as they are numerous, and winning heaven for a host of souls. here they would have saved few, there they save many: so i can understand their going there. it is nevertheless true that algeria, tunis, and morocco (where there are only chaplains at the consulates) are entirely neglected. . . . this is a situation which french christians ought to remedy. it will be a work of time, demanding self-sacrifice, character, and constancy. we want good priests in fair quantity (not to preach: they would be received as turks coming to preach mahomet would be received in breton villages, or much worse with the help of barbarism), but to establish contact, to make themselves loved, to inspire esteem, trust, and friendship; then we should want good lay christians of both sexes to fulfil the same rôle, to enter into still closer contact, to go where the priest hardly canabove all, to musulmans' homes, to give an example of christian virtue, to show the christian life, family, and spirit: then we want good nuns to take care of the sick and to bring up the children, mingling much with the population, dispersed by twos or threes wherever there are priests and christians. that being done, conversions, at the end either of twenty-five, fifty, or a hundred years, will come of themselves, as fruit ripens, according to the spread of education. . . but if these unfortunate musulmans know no priest, see, as self-styled christians, only unjust and tyrannical speculators giving an example of vice, how can they be converted? how can they but hate our holy religion? how are they not to become more and more hostile to us? ... • 308 charles de foucauld "after drawing your attention to these two very important points, let me add a word: whether it be to administer and civilize our african empire, or to evangelize it, we must first get to know its population. but we know very little of it. that is partly due to musulman customs, but that is an obstacle which can be overcome; this deplorable fact remains, that we are alarmingly ignorant of our native african population. i have hardly quitted north africa for the last thirty-two years (except during the ten years, from 1890 to 1900, which i spent in turkey in asia, armenia, and the holy land); i have seen nobody, neither officer, nor missionary, nor colonist or any other person who knows enough of the natives; as for myself, i have a fair knowledge of my little corner of tuaregs, but a very superficial acquaintance with the rest. . . . there is a vice which must be remedied; our administrators, officers, and missionaries must have a much closer contact with the populations, long residence in the same stations (with promotion on the spot for administrators and officers), that they may know and instruct their superiors correctly, and that the latter may get to know through them. . the diary goes on, mentioning the events which take place around the hermitage. there were great and small happenings. the great one was the arrival of general bailloud at the beginning of 1913, and the perfect success of the experiment with which he was entrusted. he was to secure the setting up of wireless communications between tamanrasset and paris. attempts were made, and, to the satisfaction of father de foucauld, who clearly foresaw all the coming mechanical improvements, the capital of ahaggar could "talk" without difficulty with the eiffel tower. a little later a flight of storks passed over the hermitage, going from north to south. on march 9, general bailloud, wishing to thank the inhabitants for the good reception he had met with, sent a female camel for the poor. charles de foucauld had it killed, and the meat distributed to all the unfortunate without exception, to all the wives of the harratins, to the artisans, to the shepherds, to the married women, to the widows, and to the cast-off. "on the morning of the 18th a thick damp fog and light south wind; it is the signal of spring. a man from insalah crosses the country. he tells me that the outer yard of my house yonder is buried under the sand, and that the rest of the house is threatened." not a word of regret, not a syllable comes from the owner; he will go and see. tamanrasset 309 at last, after long delay, the most important of the caravans which set out yearly in september to go and fetch millet, returned to tamanrasset. it was time: the population was beginning to suffer. among the caravan chiefs was uksem, the fiancé, the candidate chosen for the journey to france. 66 "i shall only be in paris on may 25," wrote brother charles to a friend. pray for my little uksem; he is going to be married to a flame of his childhood. it has long been settled; he is nearly twenty-two; mlle. kaubeshisheka is eighteen. they are very near relations, and have been brought up together. she is very intelligent and has plenty of determination." uksem's marriage took place at the beginning of april, and on the 28th father de foucauld jotted in his diary: 66 set out for france at 6 o'clock in the morning with uksem. the night before, his mother came to the hermitage and said: 'say to your sister: take great care of my child; i entrust him to you.' 939 to avoid the expense of a guide they travelled by the mail which took the fort motylinski despatches to in-salah. the travellers were at maison carrée on june 8. they only stopped two days in this house and country where brother charles had so many friends. nevertheless, he saw some of them, and even pushed on to birmandréis, where the white sisters had their chief foundation. those acquainted with monasteries know that a traveller, if he is a christian, rarely visits these houses without being invited to relate what is happening to jesus christ and his servants in the countries where he has been. thus was it with brother charles in the house where the old nuns, back from the missions of the great lakes and kabylia, train novices to go joyfully and live in the bush, catechize the negroes, bring up the cast-off children, attend the sick, comfort many sorts of wretchedness, and keep quite pure in centres which are not so. brother charles was asked to explain what he had done and what he wished to do in beni-abbes and hoggar. he spoke in a white room to nuns dressed in white, listening closely to every word, whether lofty or entertaining, and bowing at the name of their master, jesus. he was not eloquent, but the life he described was eloquent. in finishing, it occurred to him to say: "which of you, sisters, would sacrifice herself for the tuaregs?" silently, all arose with one motion. we must, however, believe that the hour had not yet brother charles returned to maison carrée to find come. 310 charles de foucauld uksem. on the 10th they embarked on the timgad, and the poor marabout, accustomed to the standard of deck passengers, now took first-class tickets to give pleasure to the infidel about to visit christian countries; on the 13th he made a pilgrimage to sainte-baume; on the 15th, mgr. bonnet, bishop of viviers, received father de foucauld, a priest of his diocese, and uksem-two very different examples of civilization-in his house set high on the ramparts of the old town, in the shadow of the cathedral. and from this summit, a place of prayer and mistral, the tuareg, for whom rivers were but names and beds of sand and stone among pastures, perceived the full, strong, confined rhone which came from the north between cultivated and quite green banks, which struggles and eddies and foams and, swirling with all its waters, passes out through the gates of provence. he was merry and in good health. everybody fêted him. he understood a few words of french. he ate everything except fish and pork. from viviers they continued the journey by lyons, where father de foucauld and uksem became the guests of colonel laperrine; then they went into burgundy. there they stopped for a few hours in a little valley with a canal in it and watered by a quick-flowing river, between two chains of wooded hills. if you cross, as the crow flies, a high undulating plateau to the north covered with wood and heaths, you land in the country of famous and rich. slopes, where the villages are named vougeot, nuits, musigny, chambertin. but the ouche flows through more shade; a peaceful and humble recess of our pasture and tillage land. you leave the railway at gissey. over a mile off, adjoining the market-town of barbirey, there is an ancient manor with two wings and covered with tiles, where m. de blic lives. this time it was only an introduction. uksem, received by the brother-in-law, sister, nephews and nieces of his protector and friend, began to see what a french and christian family, a country-house and day in the countryside were like. he gazed with astonishment at the courtyard before the castle full of plants and flowers, the terrace behind, the meadow which falls away to the stream, and then rises by steep slopes to the hills, and above all at the extreme beauty and vigour of the trees planted in the hollow of the park: plane-trees, sycamores, firs, elms, all their branches and leaves new to him. then they took leave, promising to stay at barbirey, on their return, for at least a week. tamanrasset 311 "" one after the other, father de foucauld's relations lent themselves to the plan he had made and received uksem. first there was the marquis de foucauld at his castle of bridoire, in périgord. they still remember vividly more than one touching incident of that visit. "i remember, said one of the witnesses lately-" i remember the winsome youth and his admiration of the father, and the father's kindness to him. i see them both on all-fours in the smoking-room, cutting out on the floor with a carving-knife the trousers to be sewn by the young tuareg during his leisure. i also see him, standing every night on the chapel steps, not daring to go in, through respect, his large eyes wet with tears during the household prayers.' "" after the visit to the head of the family, they went, also in périgord, to count louis de foucauld, at the château de la renaudie, then to viscountess de bondy, in villeggiatura at saint-jean-de-luz. then, passing through paris, the father returned to barbirey about july 20. uksem's "apprenticeship to the french way of life" was carried on in the gaiety of a numerous and united family. the tuareg learned to knit, so as to give lessons to the women of his tribe later on; he quickly became dexterous, whilst his guide, the marabout, got tangled up in the needles and stitches. uksem rode a bicycle on the road to autun, and, in order to help him to do this well, the tuareg gandourah was transformed into zouave's breeches with the help of a few safety-pins. "teach him french," the father said to his nephew edouard; "in return for your lessons, when you come to see me in africa, he will teach you to ride a mehari, in which he is a past master." in the evening they chatted, mlles. de blic sang songs by botrel at the piano; they played at hunt-the-slipper and other traditional games. uksem understood everything and laughed at the right__moment. the experiment appeared to be successful. the father showed no singularity in this family life. he was charles at his sister marie's. he ate what was served; he said his long prayers at night when he was sure that uksem, "his child," was asleep. worn out and aged by penance, and always hard upon himself, he seemed to have only one ambition-not to keep any of these young people from fully enjoying the holidays. one sunday he was asked: "will you go to vespers ?" "it is not obligatory. "but the people will be surprised if they don't see you there." 312 charles de foucauld "then i shall go." he was mainly engaged in civilizing uksem, but he also promised himself to make known to a chosen few the pious association for the conversion of infidels who are french subjects. this affair was to take him to champagne and lorraine; he disclosed his plan to general laperrine, to whose house he went on leaving barbirey, and whose guests uksem and he were. laperrine, promoted to be a general since the preceding june 22, commanded the sixth brigade of dragoons at lyons. happy at seeing his friend de foucauld again, he said to him: "your tuareg only knows his ahaggar mountains; you must show him the alps and go to switzerland; i shall be one of the party." he was so much so that his fine silhouette is seen in the corner of several photographs which represent uksem beaming with admiration at the sea of ice, or climbing some peak of mont blanc. the travellers spent august 3 at chamounix, the 4th at lucerne, the 6th at belfort. after the swiss excursion there was a second stop at barbirey-the longest; it lasted a fortnight. young tuareg, taken about everywhere, everywhere spoiled, was getting broken in. when he left burgundy and took the train for paris, he received from one of father de foucauld's friends a present with which he was delighted: a fowling-piece. he had to go out shooting at once and fire off his gun, and this letter was sent to one of m. de blic's sons; it was written in tifinar and translated by uncle charles: "this is me, uksem, who says: i greet édouard warmly; i love thee very much; the time seems long without thee. i killed a partridge, a hare, and a squirrel. i embrace thee." the some other visits, notably one to berry, took up the last weeks. on september 25, father de foucauld, going down towards marseilles, stopped at viviers and spent the day with his dear bishop, mgr. bonnet, who authorized, "in the diocese, the little association (the confraternity), and encouraged it with a letter." three days later, the travellers, finishing a journey of three months and a half in france, embarked for africa, and charles de foucauld wrote to his sister: "unless in exceptional circumstances, a missionary does not spend so long a time of rest with his relatives. in uksem's voyage, god provided such an exceptional circumstance. i thank him for it with my whole heart.... you also i thank, as well as raymond and your children, for the pleasant weeks you made me spend, and for your extreme kindness to uksem, kindness tamanrasset 313 which does so much good to his soul; i quite understand that his joy at meeting his own relations again is tempered very much by his grief at leaving those who received him so well in france. the apostolate of kindness is the best of all." these holidays-the only ones that brother charles believed he had the right to take during his career as a christian-enabled him to see at leisure nearly all his family or friends once more. these were farewells; perhaps he thought so. to several among them, and also to some pious souls-met here and there and at once recognized, eternal relations that god shows in an instant-he spoke of the association he so much wanted to promote, the association blessed by the bishop of viviers: and not only did they enter into the spirit of this higher charity which is ever ready to pray for or to put its spiritual treasures at the disposal of fresh misfortune, but some men of good-will apparently were quite glad to devote themselves to the salvation of "our musulman brothers" in other ways. he may have been mistaken as to the time: he believed that a few laymen would soon become "missionaries à la priscilla," as he said, and come to africa to prepare by their example, by the care they gave to the sick and poor, for the evangelization of the berbers and arabs, which is the great duty of france. then he wrote a very singular note to one of his relations, with this heading : "what does a frenchwoman require to do good among the tuaregs?" "1. the will to live among them long enough to know their language (which is not difficult), and to be known by them, because you can only do good when you know and are known. "2. much patience and gentleness: the tuaregs cannot make fine distinctions; they cannot tell a person's quality, and pass quickly from barbarous behaviour to exaggerated familiarity. 3. an elementary knowledge of medicine-above all, of the complaints of young women and little children-so as to be able to attend to the sick without a doctor and dispensary. 4. ability to vaccinate, and the wherewithal for vaccination. "5. ability to bring up children abandoned by their mother at birth. "6. ability to impart the rudiments of hygiene. "7. ability to wash in the simplest way, to iron a little (but not to starch), to cook a little, so as to teach it. "8. ability, both for yourself as well as to teach by 314 charles de foucauld example, to give the orders required for the laying out of a kitchen garden, a poultry-yard, and a stable containing a few goats. goats are abundant in the country, but they don't know how to feed them on clover or garden herbs; there are hens, but of too small a kind, and they don't know how to protect them by wire-netting from birds of prey; a few vegetables are cultivated, but without the necessary care, also their yield is very poor, whilst the soil and climate of ahaggar would grow nearly all the vegetables and fruits of france, and of as good a quality as at algiers. "it would be well, but it is not indispensable, to know when and how to shear sheep and goats, how to spin their wool and hair, how common fabrics are made with the wool and hair thus spun ; a few days spent with the white sisters of laghuat or ghardaïa would do for learning all this. it would be an excellent thing to take with one a native woman of mature age, expert in such labours, and accustomed to do them for the white sisters. "the tuaregs have many goats and sheep, but they do not shear them, and let their hair and wool go to waste. none of them can weave. "it would also be well to be able to knit and crochet, so as to teach the women if need be. the women sew very well, prepare skins very well, and, with a great deal of cleverness and delicacy, do a lot of various leather-work. they look upon it as beneath them to spin, weave, knit, etc. being extremely conservative, they are most antagonistic to all new work. "n.b. one of the things which it is most necessary to teach the tuareg women, is personal cleanliness. they never wash themselves, and hardly ever wash their clothes; they cover their hair with butter, have no fleas, for fleas do not exist in the country, but they have an abundance of other parasites. they say it makes them ill to wash; there is some truth in this in the case of those who only wash themselves in the open air without wiping themselves; they must be taught to use a towel, and to do their toilet privately. a frenchwoman in the tuareg country will do well to have a good supply of marseilles soap and very common towels, in order to give some to the women. "the tuaregs are gay and childlike; if one wishes to know them quickly and be known by them, one must attract them. a gramophone, without great compositions, but with lively and gay tunes and songs, peals of laughter, animal cries, dance music, etc., is a means of attraction. tamanrasset 315 it is the same with pictures: in that line nothing equals photographs viewed through a stereoscope; not photographs of buildings, nor landscapes, but those of persons, animals, and animated scenes: the photographs they like best are those of their compatriots, taken in their own country. bring a verascope, take plenty of photographs of tuareg groups, and show them; and you will get numerous visitors. a collection of coloured postcards representing persons and animals is also a good thing. "there is no lack of women who come and ask for a remedy to blacken the few white hairs which begin to show on their heads: bottles of jet-black dye might well find a place in the stock of drugs: this would be a charity and a way of winning faithful friends. "several thousand sewing-needles of all sizes (very fine for the young, more or less coarse for the grown-ups and old women), and one or two thousand safety-pins a year, to give to the women, are very useful things to have. "there is no need to establish a hospital, but a simple dispensary, with a place to bring up the children cast off at birth, and a 'turning-box' with a bell in order to take them in discreetly.' the return journey had to be made slowly for two reasons: the extreme heat that the travellers met with as soon as they had left the seaside; then the lean condition of the saddleand pack-camels, which during their absence had had little care; so much so that though the departure from maison carrée took place at the end of september, the father and his companion only came in sight of the hermitage on november 22. at the request of uksem they had passed through timmimun. brother charles had not seen the oasis for seven years, and was astounded at the progress made: “a great increase of commerce with the north and south, an increase of the native industry of woollen materials, the taking in hand and training of the population, the increase and decoration of the buildings: a well-kept native infirmary; a school kept by a french teacher, helped by an arab monitor; the school has about eighty pupils." on november 22 they entered the tamanrasset valley before daybreak. "i wished to get here before daylight," the father explained to m. de blic, "to get off the camel quietly without a crowd of people, and to have the whole day to put a little order into my hermitage, which has been uninhabited for seven months. uksem was neither ill nor downcast 316 charles de foucauld for a minute during the whole journey; he did not cease to be as nice as possible; he found all his people here in good health. how many times has he spoken to me of you, marie and your sons, of barbirey and its fine verdure! he has acquired a taste for french, and makes great efforts not to forget what he knows. he teaches a few words to some of his relations, who go into ecstasies on hearing him speak to me in my language; and he is going, i hope, to begin giving lessons in knitting and crochet; he is recruiting pupils. this journey has had an effect which i see already beginning it increases the trust they have in me, and consequently in all the french." a few days later he wrote again: "poor uksem spent only twenty days here. he has just set out again for six months, he is going 750 miles away from here towards tahua right in the sudan, to superintend the grazing of the family camels. during his first year of marriage he will have spent forty days with his wife. . when shall we win his soul altogether? he, his father, his father-in-law, his mother and others, are souls of goodwill; but to cease believing what one has always believed, what one has always seen believed around one, what is believed by all whom one loves and respects-this is difficult." in the first months of 1914, the visits of uksem's father and sisters were almost daily, and in a letter to the duc de fitz-james, brother charles says that since his return to tamanrasset he has seen frenchmen four times, officers or non-commissioned officers. officers passing through quiet ahaggar, now less opposed to the tastes of civilized folks, were a joy to father de foucauld. he made their visits an opportunity for a fête both of the natives and themselves. nowhere does he tell of the "entertaining gatherings" which were held, not round the hermitage, but somewhat to the east, before the door of the "guest-house." fortunately the young officers often took notes of their impressions, and two diaries of the road have been handed to me. on january 20, 1914, commandant meynier, doctor vermale (assistant-surgeon), and m. lefranc (editor of the temps) arrived at tamanrasset, where they spent three days. "the great interest of tamanrasset," says doctor vermale,¹ "is the presence of father de foucauld. yesterday evening we had tea at his hermitage, and he takes all 1 manuscript notes. tamanrasset 317 .. his meals with us. he has a wonderfully intelligent head. by his kindness, his sanctity and learning, he has won a great reputation among the population. i am promising ising myself to spend some interesting days with him. . was obliged to interrupt my written talk to go and lunch. with father de foucauld, then to the grand fête of rejoicing given in our honour. it has quite a character of its own on account of the presence of women of the dag-rali tribe, which is now close to tamanrasset. in our zeriba, they squat down in their most beautiful clothes; they are tall, and many of them pretty. pre-eminent among them is the celebrated dassine, the wife of aflan, formerly renowned for her beauty, and retaining the very fine eyes of her glorious youth, and much wit and distinction. gifts were distributed to them, then there was a prodigiously successful phonographic performance; the men's songs slightly puzzled them but interested them very much, because the tuareg never sings before women. then a great doll lottery was got up, whilst outside the negroes gave themselves up to wild dances. all this lasted three hours.' "" my second witness is lieutenant_l—, whom i had the pleasure of seeing at algiers. the detachment commanded by captain de saint-léger and lieutenant land entrusted with a mission to hoggar in june, 1914, was composed, in addition to the officers, of ten mehari mounted men of the saharan company of tidikelt, and father de foucauld's collaborator and friend of the french, m'ahmed ben messis. it set out from in-salah on june 13 and entered on the high tamanrasset plateau on the morning of july 1. at a few miles from the village we halted for a short space to do our toilet. for we are going to make our entry into the 'capital' of ahaggar, in which is the residence of the amenokal musa ag amastane, where there are numerous tuareg nobles, and where, above all, is one of the greatest propagators of french influence in the sahara-the one who, by his example and persuasion, has been able to contribute in a large measure in rallying to our cause the tuareg people hitherto reputed to be the most impervious to all notions of civilization. this is father de foucauld, who is as learned as he is modest, and he never feared exile in the midst of the sahara at a stormy period. "at first view, tamanrasset appears more important than the other centres already visited. hardly any more zeribas are seen; they have disappeared to make room for 318 charles de foucauld numerous houses, like those that are built in the tidikelt ksurs. these buildings give tamanrasset the aspect of a little agricultural village, of a fairly important productive centre. "some of these houses have even a european form, ornamented with terraces and galleries; the prettiest is certainly that of the amenokal musa ag amastane, who has set up his residence in tamanrasset, and who even possesses a very well cultivated garden. this house which we visited at the invitation of akhamuk, musa's khoja, is situated a little apart; it serves as a point of support to other little buildings in which musa's family live, tuaregs nobles of the kel-rela, and particularly the celebrated dassine, musa's cousin, reputed in days of yore to be the most beautiful of ahaggar women. "it is thanks to the father de foucauld that tamanrasset is in a relatively flourishing condition; it was his advice and example which led numerous tuaregs to work the generous soil which gives them a livelihood. among them the dag-rali and their chief uksem are very especially interested in agricultural work, and their perseverance is to-day bearing its fruits. the dag-rali were essentially a nomad tribe; the kel-rela imrad of tuareg nobles, it was decimated at the time of the battle of tit in 1902. it is beginning to rise again; the young boys have become men who, under the energetic influence of their chief uksem, have almost entirely renounced the nomad life, the long fruitless rounds in the desert, to become agriculturists." during captain de saint-léger's and lieutenant l's stay at tamanrasset there was a gathering of the notables in front of the guest-house. on the stone bench placed along the wall and which looks towards the west, the captain was seated; he had father de foucauld on his right and lieutenant lon his left. before him, forming a half-circle, were the amenokal musa ag amastane, his khoja akhammuk, the guide and interpreter ben messis, the poetess dassine, and a good number of men and women whose tents formed brown molehills on the stony and burnt plain. what amusement do you think father de foucauld, their old friend, was offering them? a reading of la fontaine's fables! he had handed an illustrated copy of the fables to the captain, who presided at the meeting. m. de saint-léger began by translating the verses into arabic, and commented on them. ben messis translated the arabic into tuareg, and he had not • tamanrasset 319 finished speaking when bursts of laughter arose on all sides. talks began between members of the audience; those who understood best explained the lion and the rat, the frog who wanted to become as big as an ox, the milkmaid and the milk-jug, to the others. they came to the officer who had the volume on his knees, in order to see the pictures. after la fontaine, an artist among artists who wrote for the simplest and most refined of men, had thus amused the assembly of hoggar nomads, there was, as in paris, an hour's music." "" fête-days were followed by ordinary days, days of overwork. one can judge of the undiminished ardour of the scholar and the piety of the monk by these simple lines which i take from his diary: may 8, 1914.-began to make a fair copy of the whole tuareg-french dictionary." 66 "same date.-received permission this evening, and put the reserved host in the tabernacle." "july 31.-this evening reached page 385 of the dictionary.' 66 99 august 31.-reached page 550." suddenly the great news reaches hoggar: war is declared between germany and france. the diary shows material proof of the emotion it caused; nothing but notes in telegraphic style. i copy a few, which tell of the first arrangements made by the young french officers in the sahara, and the immediate attacks upon the natives friendly to us. "september 3rd, 5 a.m.-express to hand from fort motylinski, telling me that germany has declared war on france, invaded belgium, attacked liége. m. de la roche (commander of the station) starts on the 4th or 5th for adrar, with all his band. he orders afegzag to muster a gum, and musa to come with at least twenty men, into ahaggar.¹ "saw afegzag; he orders 10 dag-rali, 10 iklam, 10 aguh-n-tabli, 10 aït-lohen, 10 kel-tazulet, to muster immediately; personally, he sets out this evening for motylinski, where he will be to-morrow morning. 1 the amenokal was far away, in the tassili of hoggar, near tinzauaten (to the south-west of hoggar); he had only a very small number of his people with him. 320 charles de foucauld september 7.-m. de la roche and corporal garnier arrive at 9 a.m. m. de la roche will set out to-morrow for adrar.” september 9.-received 1,500 cartridges of 1874 for 66 66 musa.' "september 10.-courier from in-salah; letter from de saint-léger and official news. i take note of it, and send at once to fort motylinski."" "september 11.-noon post to hand. captain de saintléger orders m. de la roche to remain at ahaggar with his whole force. i forward the order by express. bad news; we are retreating all along the frontier, before superior forces. we cannot help belgium. the germans occupy brussels." • "september 24.-received news on september 11 from in-salah and on 3rd from paris. always falling back; government sits at bordeaux." 66 september 30.-this evening page 700 of the dic"" tionary. "october 12.-victory! a great victory, apparently decisive! the germans had driven our army of the north back to the marne, even beyond the marne. . . then from september 8 to 12, a general battle which lasted five days took place on the whole course of the marne. . . 12 four days later a letter from musa, written from tinzaouaten and brought by a mehari rider, said that he was nearly carried off by a party of uled-jerir, which surrounded their camp with thorn branches and fired copper bullets. warned by the messenger's sister who had escaped from their hands, the amenokal had set out in the night for the nearest kel-ahaggar encampment. he had only six men with him. he left two of them as rearguard, and sent on one in advance to tell his men to come and meet him. so he was saved. his opponents entered tin-zauaten, raided 400 camels, made ten prisoners, and then went away. but towards the middle of december, musa started in pursuit of them. he caught them up and attacked them, twenty to twenty, on this side of bir1 captain de saint-léger at that time commanded the saharan company of in-salah. 2 letter to sergeant garnier, of the saharan company of tidikelt. " i 1 tamanrasset 321 zemile, killed seven of their men, carried off all the captured camels and meharis, and left his enemies to die of thirst in the desert. the attempt against musa was only the precursor of more serious events and more direct attacks. armed bands, recruited in tripoli, would no doubt soon try to enter into our territories; emissaries would be launched across the sahara preaching the holy war against us, and none of our friendly tribes who were faithful would escape temptation. from the first day charles de foucauld foresaw it. what would he do? would he shut himself up in the fortified post of motylinski, as he was invited to do? not for a moment did he think of it. his immediate duty was to stay where he was and to live just as he was living; he had a smile for all, he gave to all as he had done, and suffered a great sorrow without anyone seeing it. ... "the tuaregs do not know germany even by name. you know what it costs me to be so far away from our soldiers and the frontier; but my duty is evidently to remain here, to help to keep the population calm. i shall not leave tamanrasset until the peace. .. every nine days a special messenger, carrying official despatches, will be sent to us. the official despatches take twenty-five days to come from paris, the letters and papers forty; the latest letter to hand from paris is yours of august 4, the last official despatches (which come by telegraph as far as el-golea) are of august 20. nothing is changed outwardly in my peaceful and regular life, because the natives must not see any show of excitement or of an unusual state of things. 991 · · however, this man, ever haunted by the thought of the best, wanted to be confirmed in the resolution he had formed of staying at ahaggar. no doubt his duty clearly seemed to be there, where none could replace him. but some friend or soldier might think otherwise. the hermit therefore wrote to general laperrine, who was "prudent and in the first line of battle, and also knew about things african. he asked: "should i not do more good at the front as chaplain or stretcher-bearer? if you don't tell me to come, i shall wait here till peace comes; if you tell me to come, i shall set out on the spot, and speedily.' by return of post, two months later, he got this reply: "wait." 12 the question was settled provisionally. i say provision· 1 letters of september 13 and october 5, 1914. • letter of december 14. 99 21 322 charles de foucauld ally, because a year later charles de foucauld heard that priests were fighting, and, supposing that a dispensation might have been granted, he asked again. "and shall i not be one of them? if only i might serve!" the correspondence between the two great saharans, the monk and the soldier, began at the beginning of the war and went on till one of them disappeared. i have been through forty-one of father de foucauld's letters to his friend, from december, 1914, up to november 16, 1916, and which the general had carefully classified. they are quite military. they tell all he knows of the friendly and hostile tribes and their movements, of intrigues entered into by the senussi, who were closely linked with the turks of tripoli and with the germans; of sudden attacks and the whole of the news of the desert. when opportunity offered, he took the side of his clients, the nomads, who complained of certain delays or excesses of the administration. his decisions were always clear and firm. when the danger of a rising or an attack became pressing, he said: "this is what i should do." and no doubt in more than one case his advice was followed by laperrine, who, from afar, exercised his right of counsel in our african matters. in any case, the great chief was warned. letters addressed to others during this war period gave expression above all to his inner life. they were often very fine in their patriotic tone, their invariable and resolute hope, their note of authority, also in the secret and repressed anxiety they sometimes suggest. he said: "as soon as the post comes in, i count the days until the next one." i think that by selecting passages from these letters and arranging them in order of date, i shall give a picture of the two last years of père de foucauld's life, free from repetition, and better than the most careful summary would be. september 15, 1914.-in spirit and prayer i am at the frontier." "october 21, 1914.-this is the war for europe's independence of germany. and the way in which the war is carried on shows how necessary it was, how great was germany's power, and how it was time to break the yoke before she became still more formidable; it shows by what barbarians europe was half enslaved, and near becoming completely so, and how necessary it is once for all to deprive of force a nation which uses it so badly and in such an immoral and dangerous way for others. it is ger66 tamanrasset 323 many and austria that wanted war, and it is they who deserved to have it made against them, and who, i hope, will receive a blow that will make them unable to do any harm for centuries." "december 7, 1914.-the tripoli disturbance has not crossed the frontier. we cannot thank god enough for the numberless favours that he has bestowed on the eldest daughter of his church; not the least is the fidelity of our colonies. . "the confidence of the tuaregs in me keeps on increasing. the work of the slow preparation for the gospel is pursued. may the almighty soon make the hour strike for you to send workers into this part of your field. . . .”¹ "february 20, 1915.-the south of tripoli is disturbed; saint-léger and 200 or 300 soldiers are on the frontier, to prevent bands in revolt against the italians from breaking into our territory. only one french adjutant and six or seven native soldiers remain at fort motylinski. this adjutant is a capital fellow. we often write to each other, but we rarely see one another; being alone, he cannot leave his post, and i, having a great deal to do, cannot move from here without serious reason. i have not been to fort motylinski for two years. "" "february 21, 1915.-like you, i find that the work (to pray for the conversion of our colonial infidels) is more indispensable than ever, now that so many of our infidel subjects give their blood for us. the loyalty and courage with which our subjects serve us show everyone that more must be done for them than we have done in the past. the first duty is the one we know-the salvation of souls; but everything is bound up together, and many things which don't properly involve the action of priests and monks are very important for the good of souls: their education, their good civil administration, their close contact with honest french people, for some their settling down and an increase of material welfare. also i should like our union,' which ought before everything to urge each of us to unite ourselves to our lord and to be filled with his spirit, living according to his will and grace, also to urge each one to do, according to his conditions and means, all that he can for the salvation of the infidels of our colonies." "march 12, 1915.-like you, i hope that from the great evil of this war will go forth a great blessing to souls-a 1 letter to mgr. livinhac, superior-general of the white fathers. 324 charles de foucauld blessing in france, where the sight of death will inspire serious thoughts, and where the accomplishment of duty in the greatest sacrifices will uplift souls and purify them, bringing them nearer to him who is the uncreated good, and make them more fit to see the truth and stronger to live in conformity with it;-a blessing to our allies, who in coming nearer to us come nearer to catholicism, and whose souls, like ours, are purified by sacrifice—a blessing to our infidel subjects, who, fighting in crowds on our soil, learn to know us and get nearer to us, and whose loyal devotion will stir up the french to work for them more than in the past, and govern them better than in the past.” "april 15, 1915.-saint-léger leaves in-salah, and takes command of another saharan company, that of twat... he is replaced by another friend, also very much liked, captain duclos, whom i knew there as lieutenant, an officer of great worth and fine character. . . . i constantly see uksem. marie asks me if he knits: he knits wonderfully, and all the young people in his encampment and village have begun to knit and crochet under his directions; knitted socks, and crocheted vests and caps. that took a long time, but since his return, thanks to one of his sisters-in-law who set about it with a great deal of good-will, it started, and everybody is beginning it." "july 15, 1916.-st. henry.-a happy feast to you, my dear laperrine, i am thinking of you, and praying very much for you to-day. . . . "the tuaregs here remember you, speak of you, and love you as if you had left the sahara yesterday. "i am well; in spite of the drought and locusts, the gardens in tamanrasset are increasing; there is not a single zareba now left; there are only houses, several of which have chimneys. some harratins are beginning to learn a little french; they come of their own accord and ask me, nearly every evening, how such or such a word is said. nearly all the dag-rali women in the vicinity of tamanrasset and a certain number of harratins know how to knit socks, caps, and vests, to the great joy of the old and of not a few of the young people. 66 august 2, 1915.-my dear laperrine, thanks for your letter of june 14, which came last night. i am delighted to know that you are well. may god bless you and protect france! i lead my ordinary life in a great apparent tamanrasset 325 calmness, but in spirit i am at the front with you and your soldiers. after the abridged tuareg-french dictionary, and the dictionary of proper names, now the larger tuaregfrench dictionary is finished and ready to be printed. i have just begun copying poetry for the press. . it seems strange at so grave a time to be spending my days. copying out pieces of verse! the echo de paris tells me of the enemy having killed father rivet, a jesuit, professor at the roman čollege, who in 1893 resigned his commission in the chasseurs alpins. . . it seems to me that he must at least be forty-five, and he must have served, not as a conscript, but as a volunteer: the paper says that he was made lieutenant to the legion. . . i did not think a priest was allowed by the laws of the church to enlist, although he is obliged to go to the regiment when he is called up. there may have been recent pontifical decisions with which i am not acquainted. none could know better than father rivet, a professor of canon law. should the laws of the church permit me to enlist, would it be better for me to do so? if so, how am i to set about enlisting and getting sent to the front (for it is much better to be here than in a depôt or an office). between the little unit that i am and zero, there is very little difference, but there are times when everybody ought to come forward. . . . reply without delay; by the same post i am writing to ask whether the church authorizes anyone in my position to enlist.' "august 2, 1915.-a young negro who knows ghardaïa, the fathers and sisters, told me a few days ago: when the sisters come here i shall put my wife with them, so that she may learn to weave, and i shall ask to be their gardener.' . . . the time is near when the sisters will be received by the natives with great gratitude, above all by the settled cultivators. . . will god arrange things in such a way as to bring the white fathers and the white sisters here ?" september 7, 1915.-to-morrow will be the feast of the nativity of the blessed virgin, ten years since my tamanrasset hermitage was built and i have said mass 66 1 the information which reached father de foucauld was not correct. father rivet, a professor of canon law at rome, was mobilized because his class was called up; he had obeyed, but to show his respect for the ecclesiastical law which forbids churchmen to shed blood, he had decided in attacks, as an officer could do, to go against the enemy with only a stick in his hand. 326 charles de foucauld in it. i owe much thanksgiving and gratitude to god for all the graces he has bestowed on me here." "october 13, 1915.-thank you, my dear laperrine, for your letter of august 24, and for the very pretty tricolour badge,' the hope and salvation of france,' you have sent me; it reached me safely, it is in front of me on my table, a souvenir of you in this great year." "november 19, 1915.-the courier from azjer has not yet come in. but i hear this: the dehibat post of tunis is attacked by the senussi, commanded by officers in khaki uniforms, with field-glasses and revolvers (germans,_no doubt). general moinier has_sent reinforcements. the situation is serious on all the tunis-tripoli frontier." january, 1916.-never have i felt as much as now the happiness of being french; we both know that there are many unhappy things in france; but in the present war she is defending the world and future generations against the moral barbarism of germany. "for the first time i really understand the crusades; the present war, like the preceding crusades, will have the result of preventing our descendants from becoming barbarians. it is a blessing that cannot be too dearly paid for."2 66 "march 6, 1916.-uksem is still far away, they have no more need of him to learn to crochet and knit; all the young women and girls and the greater part of the children, and not a few men in the neighbourhood, know how to do it; your parcel of wool and cotton has provided work for many fingers. . ... 66 they are at present actively working at a road for motors between wargla and in-salah. "besides this, in a year we shall have a wireless station at motylinski. militarily and administratively, this progress is very favourable, and politically too; these works show the natives that nothing is changed in france, and that france carries on the war without difficulty or uneasiness." 1 letter to general laperrine. here i notice two things: the first that the general used to write to his friend by every mail. in the second place, that these mails reached tamanrasset every eighteenth day, bringing news forty or sixty days old; but from the middle of 1916 they became a little more frequent, and a mail arrived every fortnight. official telegrams took about twenty-two days to reach tamanrasset. 2 letter to general mazel. tamanrasset 327 66 april 10, 1916.-my dear laperrine, it appears that when you went with musa to fihrun's, on coming back from niamey, fihrun proposed to musa to assassinate you with your escort. as musa refused, fihrun reproached him with having no courage. musa answered him: thou followest thy way, i mine; in a few years from now, we shall see which of the two is the better.' i heard this from uksem, chief of the dag-rali; i believe it is true, and my gratitude and affection for musa is greatly increased." on april 11 there was another letter to the general. the french fort of janet, on the tripoli frontier, was surrounded at the beginning of march by more than 1,000 senussi armed with a cannon and mitrailleuses. behind the ramparts there were only fifty men, commanded by quartermaster lapierre. it is rumoured in the desert that the little garrison held out as long as it could, and that, after eighteen days' siege, the outworks being destroyed, the soldiers nearly all wounded, the only well filled up, the non-commissioned officer in command had the fort blown up. "the senussi have the road free to come here,' adds father de foucauld. "by this word 'here' i do not mean tamanrasset, where i am alone, but fort motylinski, the capital of the country, which is thirty miles from tamanrasset. if my advice is followed, we shall all come through if attacked. i have advised a retreat with all the munitions and stores to an impregnable place well supplied with water in the mountains, where we can hold out indefinitely and against which cannon is useless. if they do not follow my advice and are attacked, god knows what will happen. .. but i think that they will follow my advice; i shall do everything in my power to get them to do so. don't be uneasy if you are without a letter for some time; it may happen that our messengers will be intercepted without any misfortune having happened to us for all that. i am in daily correspondence with the commander of fort motylinski, sub-lieutenant constant. if i think it useful, i shall go and pay him short visits; if he is attacked i shall join him. the population is all right. . . . we are in the hands of god; nothing happens except what he permits." · "" a clear-sighted decision and worthy of charles de foucauld. not to leave tamanrasset, nor the poor harratins, for the insufficient reason that there may, from one moment to another, be an incursion attempted by the senussi; but if the soldiers of fort motylinski are the 328 charles de foucauld first to be attacked, to join them. in either case, to be at the danger-point. while awaiting probable events to seek a place in the mountains, easy to fortify and defend, even against cannon; also while waiting, to make no change in his habits, "to keep confident and smiling." it is not only in france we see that frenchmen kept smiling; they did so in the sahara, and that without getting the order of the day. the very next day charles made the journey from tamanrasset to fort motylinski, to choose the defensive position to which the little garrison of the borj would retire in case of attack. he had pointed out four of them, and he knew every stone in the country.' with sub-lieutenant constant he discovered a fifth only a few miles from motylinski, and he reminded the general, the other great saharan, of it thus: "those narrow gorges, where the tarhauhaut valley is buried; those gorges at the entrance of which there is a thick forest of berdis (that is to say, reeds), and then running water for over two miles between the very steep sides. it has been agreed that constant will put the berdi in a state of defence, and a part of the gorges downstream, by means of trenches and firing shelters, and transport stores and munitions, and set a guard there, and betake himself there on the first alarm. fortunately, constant has at this moment four other frenchmen-two good quartermasters, a corporal of the engineer corps, and a private soldier-and thirty native soldiers, one of whom is the excellent non-commissioned officer belaïd. with this number of rifles thus surrounded, and the strong position chosen, he can defend himself advantageously against very numerous enemies, and cannon has no power over him."2 charles de foucauld's absence only lasted forty-eight hours. he returned to his post without garrison or defence; to the hermitage. the news of the taking of janet had already spread. the messenger, like all the desert messengers, was questioned, and, like a rural postman, he told what he knew. the chief of the tribe of the dag-rali imrad at once hastened to the marabout's. musa's representative followed him there. he was first of all upset, but a few words from chief uksem, and father de foucauld's tranquil countenance restored his confidence. the three men took counsel together and made 1 these details and many others-in a word, the whole preparation for the defence-are given in a letter of april 9 to commander meynier. 2 letter to general laperrine, april 27, 1916. tamanrasset 329 some preparations; it was agreed, for instance, that vedette posts should be established in five places, so that tamanrasset and motylinski might be informed of the enemy's approach. by degrees more exact accounts of the taking of janet reached the valley. no, quartermaster lapierre did not blow up the fort. after a fine defence of twenty-one days, having no more stores, no longer able to get to the well of the dismantled redoubt, he made a sortie, on the night of march 24. his little troop wandered about the desert for three days, hoping to meet some french detachment. after that it was surrounded by the fellagas and captured. the quartermaster was ordered to pronounce the form of abjuration; he refused. nevertheless, he was not killed, but led into captivity, first into the janet oasis, then to rhât, afterwards to fezzan. the story was more truthful, but danger was no less great on that account. the officers of our posts and father de foucauld expected that the tribes in revolt, proud of having captured a fortress from the french, and excited by agitators from tripoli, were preparing fresh attacks. may 15.-complete victory is indispensable, otherwise everything would have to be begun over again in a few years, and probably under less favourable conditions, for god has visibly protected us. the resistance of belgium, the alliance of england and russia, the coming in of italy, the fidelity of our colonies and the english colonies, are, among others, among many others, exceptional graces on which one cannot reckon. these graces ought to give us every hope, for god has without doubt bestowed them on us because he wills us to conquer and protect the world against the inundation of german paganism which threatened it; what would become of our latin nations, if victorious germany imposed germanic education on them? what liberty would remain to the church, if the german emperor had triumphed? the allies, wishing it or not, knowing it or not, carry on a real crusade. they are fighting not only for the freedom of the world, but for the freedom of the church and the upholding of christian morals in the world.¹ 66 may 30, 1916.-the saint-cyr commissions of my time are serving the fatherland well: mazel, d'urbal, and pétain are among them. my seniors, too: maud'huy, serrail, driant." 1 letter to m. de blic. 330 charles de foucauld whit-monday.'-every year the month of june brings in the anniversary of my ordination, and renews and increases my gratitude to you who adopted me and made me a priest of jesus christ. with my whole heart i pray for you. more than fifteen years ago you accepted me as a son, and i also pray for your beloved diocese of viviers. "in body i am here, where i shall remain till peace comes, believing i am more useful here than elsewhere; but how often my spirit is in france at the front, where the struggle must be at this moment more ardent than ever, and behind the lines, where so many families are weeping for their most beloved, or are in mortal anxiety. "around me, the native population is calm and faithful; its attitude is excellent. 66 "i still greatly desire to see the confraternity started in france for the conversion of the french colonies, the scheme of which you were good enough to approve. during this whitsuntide i think more than ever of the fifty millions of native infidels in our colonies. may the holy ghost set up his reign in their souls, and may the french, who ask for this help to defend their own temporal fatherland, help them to obtain the eternal fatherland !" the threats were too serious for the military authorities not to think of protecting father de foucauld and the tuaregs or their servants, who were friendly to us and inhabited tamanrasset. at the beginning of 1916, on the plans and under the direction of the father, they had begun the construction of a small fort. the hermit changed his abode on june 23. he thus went from the left to the right bank of the wady tamanrasset, and was nearer the village houses. we shall see that all precautions had been taken to enable the little fortress to stand a siege. it formed a square measuring about twenty feet on the sides, surrounded by a ditch two yards deep. at the angles it was strengthened by four bastions provided with embrasures, the terrace of which was reached by a staircase. the walls, in toubes, were two yards thick at the base, and over sixteen feet high. there was no opening outside, except a very low door. the danger lay there; the door might be forced; the enemy might slip into the place by surprise. this had been guarded against as much as possible. the first door prevented a man from entering upright; he had to stoop; besides, it did not give direct admission to the fort, but to a brick corridor, so narrow ¹ letter to mgr. bonnet, bishop of viviers. tamanrasset 331 that only one man could pass; and it was closed by a second low door. then, just opposite the outside opening, and to prevent attacks with stones or pikes, they had built a solid small wall on the platform, very close to the façade, so that it was impossible to fire from outside at a person in front of the entrance door. furthermore, the latter was also defended by two bastions at the angles. a cross made of two tamarisk branches was planted on the top of the wall over the door. lastly, for crossing the ditch there remained a ridge of earth ending to the left of the small protection wall. the inside was arranged so as to receive a considerable band of refugees and combatants. lieutenant l, who was then staying at tamanrasset, thus describes the various parts of the fortified hermitage: "in the centre of the yard, about thirteen feet square, was a well about twenty feet deep, covered with a thick door strengthened by plates of sheet-iron. plenty of water. all around, pretty spacious rooms, all of them rectangular. "one was used by the father as a chapel; another reserved for passing guests; another was used to store provisions, cotton stuffs, etc., which the father reserved for the tuaregs; lastly, a fourth constituted the father's private apartment: it was at once bedroom, study, and dining-room, all on the same footing and giving their true meaning to the words as used by father de foucauld. "the study alone deserved its name: books everywhere, manuscripts scattered over the little table, made out of packing-cases, that served as a bureau. "thus built, the little fort is impregnable against a band armed with rifles; to scale it is almost impossible, and two men, or even one man armed with grenades, would be enough for its defence." "june 16, 1916.-the senussi danger appears to be turned aside for the moment. our janet fort on the tripoli frontier was taken by the senussi on march 24, and retaken by our troops on may 16: our soldiers pursued the flying enemy. as long as the italians have not retaken all the south of tripoli, which they have evacuated, our tripoli frontier will be threatened, and a serious watch will be necessary: let us hope it will be kept up. they are distant countries; when the authorities who reside at algiers are spoken to, they only half believe what they are told, 1 the building was only finished on october 15. 332 charles de foucauld only grant half what is asked for, and consent to take the necessary measures only after an accident has happened." 66 'july 16, 1916.-such isolated missionaries as i am are very few. their rôle is to prepare the way, so that the missions which replace them will find a friendly and trustful population, souls somewhat prepared for christianity, and, if possible, a few christians. you have partly_set forth their duties in your article in the echo de paris: the greatest service."¹ we must get ourselves accepted by the musulmans, become their sure friends, to whom they come when in doubt or trouble; on whose affection, wisdom, and justice they can absolutely rely. it is only when we arrive at this point that we shall come to do good to their souls. "therefore my life consists in having the greatest possible intercourse with those who surround me, and in rendering all the services i can. as soon as intimacy is established, i speak, always or nearly always, in a tête-àtête, of our good god, and briefly giving each man what he can bear avoidance of sin, a perfect act of love, a perfect act of contrition, the two great commandments of the love of god and of our neighbour, examination of conscience, meditation on the last things, the creature's duty of thinking of god, etc., giving to each according to his strength, and going on slowly and prudently. "there are very few isolated missionaries fulfilling this pioneer work; i wish there were many of them every parish priest in algeria, tunis, or morocco, every military chaplain, every pious catholic layman, could be one. the government forbids the secular clergy to carry on antimusulman propaganda; but it is not a question of open and more or less noisy propaganda; friendly intercourse with many natives, tending to induce musulmans slowly, gently, and silently to come closer to christians and become their friends. this nobody can be forbidden to do. every parish priest in our colonies could exert himself to train his male and female parishioners to be priscillas and aquilas. there is quite a loving and discreet propaganda to be carried on among the infidel natives—a propaganda which requires as great kindness, love and prudence, as when we wish to bring a relation who has lost the faith back to god. . . . "let us hope that when we have won the war our colonies will make fresh progress. what a beautiful mission for our younger sons of france, to go and colonize the african 1 letter to réne bazin. tamanrasset 333 territories of the mother-country, not to get rich, but to make france beloved, to make souls french, and above all to obtain eternal salvation for them. "i think that if the musulmans of our colonial empire of north africa are not converted gradually and gently, a national movement like that of turkey will come about; an intellectual élite will be formed in the large towns, educated à la française, but having neither the french mind nor heart, an élite which will have lost all the faith of islam, but which will keep the label in order to be able to use it to influence the masses. on the other hand, the crowd of nomads and countrymen will remain ignorant, estranged from us, firmly mahometan, incited to hatred and contempt of the french by their religion, their marabouts, and by their contact with the french (representatives of authority, colonists, merchants)-contacts which too often are not apt to make them love us. national or barbarian feeling will therefore become worked up in the educated élite; when it finds an opportunity-for instance, at a time of france's difficulties at home or abroad-it will make use of islam as a lever to rouse the ignorant mass, and seek to create an independent musulman african empire. "the french north-west african empire-algeria, morocco, tunis, french western africa, etc.-has a population of thirty millions; it will, thanks to peace, have double in fifty years. it will then be in full material progress, rich, intersected with railways, inhabited by people trained to the use of arms, the élite of which will have received its education in our schools. if we have not been able to make these people french, they will drive us out. the only means of making them french is for them to become christians."'¹ 66 august 31, 1916.-from here to in-salah the motorroad is finished or very nearly finished. the first motor that comes here will be a joy to me: it puts a finish to our taking possession of the country. this road should be carried on to the sudan: it is only four hundred and forty miles from here to agades, the first sudan post-the same distance as from here to in-salah: four months' work.2 this would be an enormous advantage for administration and defence, and an enormous economy. 1 the paragraph is the repetition, almost word for word, of a passage in a letter written in 1912 to the duc de fitz-james. his longer experience only strengthened the conviction of the witness. 2 the first motor reached in-salah on august 11. 334 charles de foucauld "" september 1, 1916.1-the corner of the sahara from which i write to you, my dear mazel, is still calm. however, we are on the qui vive, on account of the increasing agitation of the senussi in tripoli; our tuaregs here are faithful, but we might be attacked by the tripolitans. i have transformed my hermitage into a little fort; there is nothing new under the sun. when i see my embrasures i think of the fortified convents and churches of the tenth century. how old things come back, and how what we thought had disappeared is for ever reappearing! they have given me six cases of cartridges and thirty gras rifles, which remind me of our youth.. "i am pleased that you have our brave laperrine under your orders; i hope that you will long have him. it is to him we owe the peace of the algerian sahara: the wisdom and vigour of his acts, and the incomparable memory he left behind, are the cause of the fidelity of these reputedly troublesome populations. "enclosed is the translation of a prayer of the ninth century, which has probably been said and sung more than once in rheims cathedral: 666 almighty and eternal god, who hast established the empire of the franks to do thy holy will in the world, and to be the glory and rampart of thy holy church, let thy heavenly light shine everywhere and always upon the praying sons of the franks, so that they may see what they should do to extend thy kingdom in the world, and that they may ever increase in charity and valour, to fulfil what thy light hath shown them.'” "september 15, 1916.-unfortunately, the news from the tripoli frontier is bad. . . . without having suffered a check, our troops are falling back before the senussi : they are not now on the frontier, but a long way this side of it; after recapturing janet, they have evacuated it; they have evacuated some other points. this retreat before a few hundred rifles is lamentable. there must be (how far up i don't know) some serious error in the command. it is clear that if we fall back without any fighting the senussi will advance. if the method is not promptly changed, they will get here some day. i regret worrying you again, but dear truth wills that i should tell you this.' "september 24, 1916.-a few days ago we had a great news came that we were to be attacked; but the 1 to general mazel, commanding the fifth army. alarm. tamanrasset 335 news was false; nothing turned up, and yesterday's news shows that, on the contrary, the situation is very good. the alarm only served to prove the fidelity of the population; far from looking like going over to the enemy, they gathered round the officer in command of the neighbouring fort, and round me, ready to defend the fort and the hermitage. this fidelity was very pleasing, and i am very grateful to these poor people, who might have taken refuge in the mountains where they had nothing to fear, and who preferred to shut themselves up in the neighbouring fort and my hermitage, although they knew the enemy had cannon and bombardment was certain. "same period.-by the crusade that he gets the eldest daughter of his church to carry on, god provides the opportunity and grace for innumerable acts of virtue: acts of devotion, self-forgetfulness, charity, resignation, mercy; the sacrifice of life, happiness, and all that is dear; acts of love of god. no doubt there is also evil; evil will be mixed with good up to the end of the world; but for the two years that the war has lasted, an amount of heroic acts of virtue have been accomplished and a number of sacrifices offered to god in union with that of his son, such as are usually produced only in a great number of years. here is a total of merits and immolations which purify and raise france, and bring her nearer to god. i have great hope that she will come out, not only victorious, but better, much better, from this crusade." "october 1, 1916.-i look upon the long months during which the war detains me in the sahara as a time of retreat, during which i pray and reflect, asking jesus to make known to me the final shape to be given to our confraternity." "october 15, 1916.-musa, who is three hundred and seventy-five miles from here, hearing that the neighbouring fort was to be attacked, at once sent all the men he had with him that he could dispose of-about eighty-by forced marches, to help us to defend ourselves. since the beginning of the war musa could not be better than he has unceasingly been. the condition of the people who surround me is enough to make one weep. they are so surrounded by evil and error! it is difficult for them to lead even a naturally good life! there are good natures, 1 letter to colonel p. leroy. • 336 charles de foucauld but in the environment in which they are, and with their ignorance, how can they be saved?" 'october 31, 1916.-in azjer there has been only one military event since my last letter. about september 20, a big revictualling convoy, led by duclos, from flatters to polignac, was attacked on the way at wady ehen by three hundred senussi commanded by an ex-corporal of the tidikelt company, for several years in revolt. the senussi were defeated with serious losses; all the loads of the convoy arrived safely at polignac. on our side there were some killed and wounded; amongst the killed, an excellent adjutant, lenoir, had a bullet through his heart: he was carried to polignac and buried there. the defeated senussi retired in haste in the direction of admer. 56 "did i tell you that about forty days ago a little rezzu (twenty men) of kel-azjer operated on the tefedest (eastern slope) at amrah? we were pretty long without any accurate details of it: i have just received some. it only raided a hundred of the kel-inrar camels and rapidly fell back. up to the present there have been no other enemy rezzus against ahaggar, and, if things go all right in azjer, there will be none. " "a rather big senussi rezzu operated in the north of aïr; instead of raiding, they told the people to move and come and settle down altogether at fezzan with us, and we shall do you no harm; if you refuse we shall raid you.' some kel-air accepted and followed them in revolt; the sudan tirailleurs of agades overtook them, beat the senussi, and brought back the revolters. some kelahaggar, who happened to be on the way of the senussi's rezzu, pretended to accept their terms and followed them for a day or two; then at night, eluding their watch, set out by forced marches towards adrar and escaped them."¹ "november 16, 1916.-how good god is to hide the future from us! what a torture life would be were it less unknown to us! and how good he is to make so clearly known to us the heaven hereafter which will follow our earthly time of trial!" the writer of these lines had only two weeks to live. he did not know it, but he was ready to receive death any day from the hands of those for whom he had so much prayed, walking so far over the sand and pebbles, suffering so 1 letter to general laperrine. tamanrasset 337 severely from thirst and heat, working so many days and nights, in so much solitude, and for whom, in short, he had toiled so hard with body and mind. the following letters express his last thoughts; his resolution appears in them as well as his charity. these letters, among others, were found in the small fort at tamanrasset after his assassination they must have been given on december 1, 1916, to the mehari rider arriving from motylinski, and going on to in-salah, after stopping at the hermitage. "november 28, 1916 (to the prioress of the poor clares of nazareth, who had fled to malta).-france, in spite of appearances, is still the france of charlemagne, st. louis, and jeanne d'arc; the old soul of the nation lives on in our generation the saints of france are always praying for her; the gifts of god are without repentance, and the people of saint-rémi and clovis are still the people of christ. . . . in choosing france for the birthplace of the devotion to the sacred heart and the apparitions of lourdes, our lord has clearly shown that he keeps france's rank of the first-born for her. "i can regularly say holy mass every day. i have another happiness: that of having the reserved sacrament in my little chapel. i am always by myself. some frenchmen come to see me from time to time: every thirty or forty days i see one of them on his way. we live in days when the soul strongly feels the need of prayer. in the tempest which is blowing over europe we feel the nothingness of the creature, and turn to the creator. in the bark tossed about by the billows we turn to the divine master, and implore him who can give victory with a word, and restore a great and durable peace. we raise our hands to heaven as moses did during the battle of his people, and where man is powerless we pray to him who is almighty. before the blessed sacrament we feel so clearly in the presence of real being, when all that is created appears so plainly bordering upon nothingness! "pray very much, most reverend mother, for the poor infidels who surround me and for their poor missionary. with you, i pray for france." december 1, 1916.-a reply to an officer, a military interpreter of the army of the east, who had written from monastir of his decision to go into a regiment of colonial infantry, and asked father de foucauld for a prayer : 22 338 charles de foucauld "very dear brother in jesus, "i have this morning received your letters of october 3 and 9, moved by the thought of the greater dangers that you are perhaps going to meet, that you probably are already incurring. you have done quite right in asking to join the troops. we must never hesitate to ask for posts in which danger, sacrifice, and devotion are greatest: let us leave honour to any who desire it, but let us always ask for danger and toil. as christians we should give an example of self-sacrifice and devotion. it is a principle to which we must be faithful all our life, in simplicity, without asking ourselves whether pride does not enter into our conduct it is our duty, let us do it, and ask the wellbeloved spouse of our soul that we may do it in all humility, in all love of god and our neighbour. . . .. "don't_be_anxious about your home. trust yourself and it to god, and walk in peace. if god preserves your life, which with my whole heart i ask him to do, your home will be more blessed because, sacrificing yourself more, you will be more united to jesus, and will have a more supernatural life. if you die, god will keep your wife and son without you, as he would have kept them through you. offer your life to god through the hands of our mother, the most blessed virgin, in union with the sacrifice of our lord jesus christ, and with all the intentions of his heart, and walk in peace. be sure that god will give you the best lot for his own glory, the best for your soul, the best for the souls of others, since that is all you ask of him, since you will fully and without any reservation all that he wills for you. "our corner of the sahara is peaceful. i pray for you with my whole heart, and at the same time for your home. "this will reach you about christmas and the 1st of january. look for me quite near you on those two days. a happy and holy new year to you; many holy new years, if it be god's will; and then heaven! god guard you and protect france! may jesus, mary and joseph between them guard you in all your life on earth, at the hour of death, and in eternity. ་་ "i embrace you, as i love you in the heart of jesus. "ch. de foucauld." father de foucauld was certain he would be attacked, and he had long desired to die for his lost sheep. he continued to live alone and in peace. not a shadow of uneasiness dimmed the joyful expression of his face. he even spoke to his friends of plans far ahead, because we are made tamanrasset 339 for constant rebirth and fresh starts, and we always arrange our lives for a longer time than we have to live. in the middle of 1915 he had finished the tuareg-french dictionary; on october 28, 1916, the diary says: "finished the tuareg poems." the hermit had resolved to return to france as soon as he had heard of victory, and to remain there as many months as would be necessary to plant firmly the confraternity of prayer for the infidels in a generous land then to return to ahaggar and give himself up more completely and directly to the religious apostolate, to preparing the way of christ, now that the tools of conversion were ready, the methods tried, and that he had perceived the first blades of the coming harvest. god had only made him for sowing. charles de foucauld never saw the victory; he never saw france again; he went among the good servants whom god receives and thanks, because they have saved their souls and taken care of the souls of others. in order to understand better the causes that led to the death of father de foucauld, we must recapitulate the political and military situation of the eastern sahara at this time. to the south of tripoli, in fezzan, si mohamed labed, the senussi religious chief, had his headquarters, and had assembled in his camp our enemies the azjer tuaregs. senussi, azjers, outlawed partisans, whom the hoggars called by the common name of fellagas, occupied rhât, in tripoli, a place abandoned by the italians, where they found stores, material, and munitions of war. at some distance from rhât, and in our own possessions, janet, taken by the fellagas, retaken by us, had been finally evacuated, on account of the insurmountable difficulty of re-victualling. a little more to the north fort polignac was also evacuated. a band of rebels operating on the sudan region besieged agades, under the command of rhaussen. except for a few tents scattered about the hoggar mountains, most of the encampments depending on musa ag amastane were in this same region with the flocks. the mehari men of fort motylinski followed and protected them. the garrison of the fort, thus reduced, was not very mobile, and incapable of helping father de foucauld and his harratins. on december 1, a friday, at nightfall, the father was alone at home, and the door was bolted. his servant was in the village, as well as two mehari riders of the motylinski post, who had come on service business, and were waiting for the night to regain the fort. 340 charles de foucauld now, a score of fellagas were, at that moment, near tamanrasset, and were seeking to seize the marabout whom they would have kept as a hostage, and to plunder the fortlet in which they knew there were arms and provisions. as the country was denuded of troops, they were almost sure of succeeding. nevertheless, for their coup de main, they recruited some tuareg nomads and also some harratins, even among those whom the father took care of, helped and treated as brothers, and, in particular, an amsel husbandman called el madani. the people of the rezzu were armed with italian repeating rifles (for five shots); all their auxiliaries were not armed. together, some on foot, others on camels, advanced to within two hundred yards of the fortlet, made their camels crouch under the garden wall, and silently surrounded the dwelling of the "marabout of the rumis." there were about forty of them. but they had to have a member of the father's household with them to get the door opened. el madani, knowing the habits and the password of his benefactor, approached the fortlet door and knocked. soon the father came and asked, as his custom was, who was there, and what he wanted. "it is the postman from motylinski," was the reply. as it was, indeed, the day on which the mail went through, the father opened the door and put out his hand. his hand was seized and firmly held. immediately some tuaregs, hidden close by, sprang forward and pulled the priest out of the little fort, and, with cries of victory, bound his hands behind his back and left him on the platform, between the door and the small wall that masked it, in the care of one of the men of the band, armed with a rifle. father de foucauld knelt down and remained motionless; he was praying. here i set down and combine the evidence of paul, the negro servant, and that of another harratin, as they were recorded in two official reports, and i shall complete them from statements in various records.¹ "on_december 1, after having served the marabout's dinner, i went to my zariba, about five hundred yards from there. it was about 7 o'clock, and dark. "a short time afterwards, when i had myself finished my 1 report of captain de la roche, commanding that portion of hoggar, to the colonel commanding, december 6, 1916: the report of captain depommier, of september 11, 1917; the account of the assassination given to the comtesse de foucauld in may, 1917, by captain de la roche; information gathered at hoggar by lieutenant proust; information gathered by sub-lieutenant rejot, of the agurai post, near meknes, in january, 1918; various personal letters. tamanrasset 341 meal, two armed tuaregs sprang into the zariba and said to me: are you paul, the marabout's servant? why do you hide? come and see with your own eyes what is happening follow us!' i replied that i was not hiding, and that what was happening was god's will. "on arriving near the marabout's house, i perceived the latter seated, his back to the wall, on the right of the door, his hands bound behind his back, looking straight in front of him. we did not exchange a single word. i crouched down as ordered, on the left of the door. numerous tuaregs surrounded the marabout; they were speaking and gesticulating, congratulating and blessing the hartani el madani, who had drawn the marabout into the trap, foretelling a life of delights for him in the other world as a reward for his work. some other tuaregs were in the house, going in and coming out, carrying various things found in the interior-rifles, munitions, stores, chegga (cloth), etc. those who surrounded the marabout pressed him with the following questions: when does the convoy come? where is it? what is it bringing? are there any soldiers in the bled? where are they? have they set out? where are the motylinski soldiers?' the marabout remained impassible, he did not utter a word. the same questions were then put to me, as well as to another hartani, who was passing in the wady and caught in the meantime. "the whole did not last half an hour. " "the house was surrounded by sentinels. at this moment one of the sentinels gave the alarm, shouting: 'here are the arabs! here are the arabs (the soldiers of motylinski).' at these cries, the tuaregs, with the exception of three, two of whom remained in front of me and the other standing on guard near the marabout, went towards the place whence the cries came. a lively fusillade broke out. the tuareg who was near the marabout brought the muzzle of his rifle close to the head of the latter and fired. the marabout neither moved nor cried. i did not think he was wounded: it was only a few minutes afterwards that i saw the blood flow, and that the marabout's body slipped slowly down upon its side. he was dead.¹ 1 in captain de la roche's report there is a slight variation; paul expressed himself thus: "the hartani (whom they were questioning) said that there were two soldiers in the bled, who were to leave tamanrasset that same evening for tarhauhaut, and that they had perhaps already set out. he had no sooner said that, than the soldiers came on their camels; they were coming to greet the marabout. the enemies entered the trenches which surround the father's house, and all fired 342 charles de foucauld "the tuaregs were not long in returning, after having killed the two soldiers who, on their way through tamanrasset were coming, as usual, to greet the marabout before taking the road back to motylinski. they entirely stripped the marabout of all his effects, and threw him into the ditch which surrounds the house. they then discussed what they were going to do with the body, and whether they were going to kill me or not, en kafer (unbeliever) like my master. on the intervention of the bled harratins and their chief, who, at the noise of the firing, had run up, i was spared and set at liberty. as to the marabout, some wished to carry him off and hide him, others wanted to tie him to a tree which was not far from the house in the wady, and let him become the prey of the dogs of the tuareg chikkat of the dag-rali tribe, whom they knew to be the marabout's personal friend.¹ lastly, other tuaregs, who took no interest in the question, and found enough in the victuals discovered in the house to satisfy their desires, put an end to the discussion, compelling everyone to look after his own share of the booty. "the marabout's body was momentarily forgotten. the assassins spent the night in eating and drinking. next morning the discussion was renewed without a final solution being reached, and the marabout's body was abandoned without being mutilated. "in the morning the tuaregs were able to surprise and kill one more isolated soldier, who knew nothing of the drama, and came from motylinski and was going to the marabout's with the mail from in-salah. "they left tamanrasset about noon, carrying off their plunder. the harratins then buried the marabout and soldiers. that evening i set out to go and inform the station at fort motylinski, where i arrived at noon on december 3."2 together. bu aisha fell at once; bujema ben brahim tried to run away, but he had hardly gone sixty yards when he fell. "the marabout, at the moment the mehari riders appeared, made an intuitive movement, foreseeing the fate that was reserved for them. then..." 1 "father de foucauld had indeed a great affection for chikkat and his son uksem, whom he made one of his legatees; i cannot say that such noble feelings were reciprocated. in fact, uksem participated very actively in the rebellious movement that broke out in february among the hoggar, two months after the assassination of father de foucauld." (note by captain depommier.) 2 a different reading of the same evidence, according to captain de la roche's report: "they ate ben aïsha's camel and slept there. in tamanrasset 343 captain depommier added the following observations to paul's account : "what was the object of the assassins? what feelings governed them? 66 among the primary feelings impelling the assassins, we must certainly put fanaticism, war on the roumis.' for a long time, the propaganda of the holy war had been active in the district; many of its propagators came from the east from amongst the senussi, and had gained to their cause the aït-lohen, a hoggar tribe bordering on the azjer region. father de foucauld knew all about this. (father de foucauld himself had knowledge of a plot for his assassination hatched in september by the hartanis of amsel. papers found after his death by captain de la roche prove it. father de foucauld never mentioned this to anybody.) however, that was probably not the only cause of the assassins' conduct. 66 " why did they attack father de foucauld alone and a priest, who had won, by a thousand acts of charity and kindness, the sympathy, if not the gratitude, of many of those who came to him? must we see in this only the work of fanatics, and think that the latter disregarded the precepts of the koran, which recommends the sparing of priests? "another cause of the crime appears much simpler. it is this. few things were hidden at father de foucauld's, and everybody knew he had rifles, carbines, and munitions in store; it was a question of appropriating these arms; perhaps they might also find a big sum of money in the house of this generous benefactor. lastly, the band were not unaware that the motylinski garrison had been reduced to a few men, and could do nothing against them. "but then, why did the robbers assassinate father de foucauld when the arms had been captured and the house was in their possession? some of the rumours brought in might lead us to believe that it was only a matter of chance, of circumstances. father de foucauld's guard would not have received the order to kill him; on the contrary, ebeh, according to the instructions received from si-labed, his chief, would have recommended his being kept a prisoner, the morning they were preparing to go away when kuider ben lakhal, who was bringing the mail, arrived. the enemy took up positions, some in the ditch, others on the terrace; they fired at him, but he was not hit. suddenly his camel baraqued (knelt down), they then threw themselves on kuider and held his hands and legs. one of them shot him from behind in the head. they tore up the sack and all the papers in the mail." 344 charles de foucauld not ignoring the enormous importance such a hostage as father de foucauld might hereafter possess (it is known that the enemy acted thus several times with the french captured at janet and in azjer region). the arrival of the two soldiers on the scene of the drama, and the fusillade which followed, might have been the determining cause of the assassination. only ebeh and the murderer could clear this up. "it is well here to settle another matter. it was not to make war that father de foucauld had a little arsenal in his house personally he could have found refuge and protection at fort motylinski, and the commander of the post, captain de la roche, had several times made it a duty to insist that he should come and settle down in a place of security at tarhauhaut, or in the village of motylinski, since fears of insurrection and pillage existed. father de foucauld always replied with an obstinate refusal. he loved the poor people in the midst of whom he had lived for ten years, and he would not abandon them in the midst of danger; then he considered he might be of some use to them. he wished to protect them, and it was with that sole object that, no doubt exaggerating the risks they ran, he asked for arms and built a regular little fort which, in case of attack, was to serve as a retreat for the inhabitants of tamanrasset and help them to repel the robbers. would he have been assassinated if he had not had some arms? "what was the conduct of the hoggar in this sad event? it is possible and even probable that none of the inhabitants at tamanrasset on the day of the drama knew of the coming of ebeh's band. there were only harratins in the village. father de foucauld, having no confidence in the fundamental principle of the senussi method-'war on the infidels and union of the believers '-feared for his hoggar friends, and had himself sent away from the centre the few imrads of the dag-rali party who permanently lived there : he had advised them to stop in kudia, in the heart of the mountain, with their tents, women and children. "many of the poor people appeared to regret their benefactor; they might be sincere even if they only deplored the disappearance of his numerous gifts. "the leaders of the band of plundering assassins were azjer strangers, who were joined by aït-loghen fanatics, gained to the cause of the holy war and inhabiting a region at a distance of more than seventy-five miles from tamanrasset on the other side of the mountainous heights; and one cannot be astonished that they could easily obtain, tamanrasset 345 in a hoggar region, the co-operation of one or several fanatics, so numerous in islam, among the hartanis, negroes with the vile temperament of born slaves. "nothing, up to the present, makes us think that a single imrad or tuareg noble of the kudia region favoured the murderers' plan. nevertheless, the event is still quite recent, and a wise prudence bids us leave time to do its work of making things plain before being affirmative on this point. . . "from the general point of view, it may be said that at the time of father de foucauld's assassination all hearts in the hoggar had been won over to the cause of our enemies, and that their dearest wish was for our speedy and final disappearance from the region. 66 '(signed) captain depommier."' "motylinski, "september 11, 1917.” after the official report, general laperrine dictated and put on record a brief and important note as follows: "in my opinion the assassination of the reverend père de foucauld is to be connected with the letter found at agades in the papers of kaucen, in which a european (turk or german) advised him, as a first measure, before stirring up the populations, to kill or take as hostages europeans known to have influence over the natives and native chiefs devoted to the french. “ wargla, "october 20, 1917. "for general laperrine, chief in command of the saharan territories. "(p.o. signed) bettembourg." the general, talking with father nouet of the white fathers, on september 7, again expressed the conviction that one of the causes of the outrage of december 1, 1916, must be sought in the powerful influence father de foucauld exercised over the hoggar populations. father nouet thus sums up the general's words: 1 this report, drawn up at motylinski on september 11, 1917, was founded upon the interrogatories previously made by captain depommier and lieutenant lehuraux. the information which is in it was confirmed by tuaregs who came to the iniker camp in june and july, 1917. captain depommier was commander of the districts of tidikelt and from hoggar to in salah. 346 charles de foucauld 'turkey, incited by germany, wished to make the tuaregs in the first place, then all the desert tribes, revolt against us. the agents of the policy saw very quickly that their object could not be attained if father de foucauld remained in the midst of the northern tuaregs, whence his influence radiated. they decided to seize him and keep him as a hostage, but their resolution was not, according to the general, to put him to death. a band was launched towards tamanrasset, etc." in fact, it seems quite probable that, as the holy war was being preached in the whole of french africa, the chief of the band who seized father de foucauld wished to get rid of the principal cause which prevented the defection of the hoggar tuaregs-that is to say, the great and dominating influence of the beloved hermit of tamanrasset. if it is contended that this chief was too poor a creature to allow himself to be led by considerations of a general character, and that the allurement of gain suffices to explain his aggression and the ruffianly act of his troop, it is very easy to admit that the principal chiefs of the insurrection made use of these bandits of a second order, and associated them with vaster plans. we must think that the musulman world obeys very well-informed chiefs, capable of very broad designs. i ought to make several other remarks on this last act of life, death, for which our whole life prepares us, if we will. father de foucauld, since his conversion, never for one day stopped thinking of that hour after which there are no others, and which is the supreme opportunity offered for our repentance and acquisition of merit. he died on the first friday of december, the day consecrated to the sacred heart, and in the manner that he wished, having always desired a violent death dealt in hatred of the christian name, accepted with love for the salvation of the infidels of his land of election-africa. betrayed and bound, he refused to reply to the insults as well as to the questions of those who surrounded him, and said not a word again, imitating in that his divine model: jesus autem tacebat. may it be maintained that he died a martyr, in the exact sense of that word, according to catholic doctrine? of this i shall say what i know. two weeks after the assassination, when the information gathered was brought to in-salah, the rumour went about that the assassins had ordered father de foucauld to apostatize and recite the shehada-that is to say, the form of musulman prayer-and that he had refused: a letter tamanrasset 347 addressed to m. de blic, to announce his brother-in-law's death, is the proof. neither captain de la roche's report nor that of captain depommier mentions it. but that father de foucauld, during that half-hour of bad treatment and insults which he endured before being killed, was called upon to abjure, is very probable for two reasons: first, as a saharan officer writes to me, because the contrary would be the exception with musulmans who never separate death from the shehada; in the second place, because the conversation reported by the negro paul was repeated by him in 1921. i heard, indeed, that when questioned again on the subject of the murder, father de foucauld's servant replied: "in my presence, the enemy simply asked: 'where is the convoy? where are the people?' after de foucauld's death, i heard them say between themselves : 'he was asked to say the shehada, but he replied: "i am going to die." this last sentence was said by the aïtlohen, whose names i do not know." to-day it appears, therefore, probable that, according to custom, father de foucauld was called upon to abjure. it appears certain that the assassination did not immediately follow his refusal: the arrival of the motylinski mehari riders was the determining cause of his death. the first idea was to make father de foucauld a prisoner; an opportunity of killing him was offered, and he was killed for fear that he might escape or be delivered. however, hatred of christians cannot be considered as unconnected with this drama, and the domestic paul is of this opinion, since, in his evidence, he says that he also was threatened with death, as an unbeliever. it must also be remarked that father de foucauld, having built the fortlet so that the poor people of the village might be sheltered with him, never would abandon them, and that it was therefore through his obstinate charity that he died. when the people of the rezzu had retired in the direction of debnat (west of fort motylinski) the victims' bodies did not remain long abandoned. the harratins, being no longer afraid, approached and interred the victims in the ditch of the little fort, a few yards from the place where father de foucauld fell. his body was not freed from the bonds by which his arms were bound, but after having deposited it in the ditch, the harratins, who knew the christians put their dead into coffins, placed stones, sheets of paper, and fragments of wooden cases around the body. then they walled up the door of the fortlet. the first thing the commander of the hoggar district did 348 charles de foucauld 39 was to set off in pursuit of the band of fellagas. the rezzu was "hooked on december 17, and lost several men.' it was only on december 21 that captain de la roche was able to go to tamanrasset. he came accompanied by a sergeant and a soldier. immediately on his arrival he went and examined the graves, and had the layer of earth which covered the bodies made thicker; he planted a cross on the father's grave; and then had military honours paid to those who had died for france. only then did the officer enter the fortified hermitage. "the inside of the kasba had been pillaged; the bandits carried off everything of any value. the remainder was thrown into disorder, torn and partly burned. the whole library and all the papers were scattered about the room which served as chapel and room. here are the various things found: "articles of worship and devotion and pious books; the four volumes of the dictionary and the two volumes of poetry could be reconstructed in their entirety; stationery, a colonial helmet, a camp-table, a camp-bed, a big thermometer; a certain number of letters written by the father on december 1, sealed and stamped, etc."2 > among the "articles of worship articles of worship" and the "articles of devotion found in the fortlet, there was the father's rosary; the stations of the cross made of little boards on which he had drawn, with the pen and very finely, scenes of the passion; a wooden cross, with a very finely drawn representation of the body of christ. in stirring up with his foot the ground on which all sorts of things had been thrown, the young officer found in the sand a small monstrance in which the host appeared to be still enclosed. he picked it up respectfully, wiped it, and enveloped it in a linen cloth. "i was very worried," he relates later, "for i felt it was not for me thus to carry the good god." when the time arrived to leave tamanrasset, he took the little monstrance, put it in front of him on the saddle of his mehari, and thus did the thirty miles 1 later on, in february, 1918, a detachment of saharan troops, operating against the rebels, found in a camp at 188 miles to the east of tamanrasset, sandals, kitchen utensils, scissors, and different things belonging to father de foucauld. in the fight seven men of the camp were killed. (note of sub-lieutenant béjot, of the aguraï station.) 2 report of december 27, 1916, to the lieutenant-colonel commanding the oasis territory in the azjer country. communicated by the governor-general of algeria. tamanrasset 349 which separate tamanrasset from fort motylinski. this was the first procession of the blessed sacrament in the sahara. when he arrived at the station his embarrassment was great. on the way m. de la roche remembered a conversation that he had had one day with father de foucauld. when he said to him: "you have permission to keep the blessed sacrament; but, if a misfortune happened to you, what should be done?" the father replied: there are two answers: make a perfect act of contrition, and administer communion to yourself, or send the consecrated host to the white fathers by post." he could not make up his mind to do the second. having called a noncommissioned officer of the post, an old ecclesiastical student who was a fervent christian, m. de la roche held counsel with him. they thought it best for one of them to give himself communion. the officer " put on white gloves he had never worn to open the cover of the monstrance and assure himself that he was not mistaken that the host was there. it was there all right, just as the priest had consecrated and adored it. the two young men asked one another: "will you receive it, or shall i?" then the non-commissioned officer knelt down and made his communion.¹ 99 of the numerous expressions of respect and admiration which were addressed to father de foucauld's family, i shall only publish the letter of the chief of the hoggar tuaregs, and those of the bishop of viviers. letter of musa ag amastane to madame de blic. "praise to the one god. "to her ladyship our friend marie, the sister of charles our marabout, whom traitors and deceivers, people of azjer assassinated, from tebeul musa ag 'amastane, amenokal of hoggar. "much greeting to our aforesaid friend marie! as soon as i heard of the death of our friend, your brother charles, my eyes closed; all is dark to me: i wept and i shed many tears, and i am in great mourning. his death is a great grief to me. "i am far from where the thieving traitors and deceivers killed him; that is to say, they killed him in ahaggar; and i am in adrar, but, if it please god, we shall kill those who 1 statement made by captain de la roche to the comtesse de foucauld, may, 1917; statement also made at maison carrée, and letter to m. de blic, december 27, 1916. 350 charles de foucauld killed the marabout, until we have taken our vengeance to the full. "say good-day for me to your daughters, your husband, and all your friends, and tell them: charles the marabout has died not only for you, but for us all. may god have mercy on him, and may we meet him in paradise! "the 20 of safar, 1335 (december 13, 1916). "translated at fort motylinski, december 25, 1916."1 letter of mgr. bonnet, bishop of viviers, to madame de blic. "episcopal residence, viviers, january 17, 1917. "" "madame, "the sorrow which afflicts you, touches me too painfully for me to keep from uniting my legitimate and profound regrets to yours. "i feel most acutely your loss in the person of the reverend father de foucauld. in my long life i have known few more loving, sensitive, generous, and ardent souls than his. god had so entered into him, that his whole being overflowed with light and charity. "you know better than i do what hold the great and holy love of church, country, and family had on his heart and how great was his ardour; you know how heroic was his zeal for the salvation of souls: his departure for heaven will be an irreparable misfortune for the countries whose return to the faith he so skilfully and courageously prepared, unless the blood which has just watered them be for them a sowing of christian seed. 1 the amenokal of hoggar died at the end of 1920, and his last words were to recommend the people of hoggar to be faithful to france. thus he bore in mind father de foucauld's advice. the father called him "my best friend among the tuaregs." the letter which informed me of this event first told of musa's illness, the cause of which was not known. on december 22, he rested more calmly than before, and his near relations left him with the hope that he would soon be cured; but on december 23, at one in the morning, he asked to say his prayers, and repeated several times: "follow the good road of the french," and expired in the presence of his two negroes, othman and ilbak. on december 23, at 7, the burial took place before the whole population in tears. "" musa ag amastane was commander of the legion of honour, and military honours were paid him by the saharan detachment commanded by an officer. "immediately after the ceremony, the nobles, imrad chiefs and notables went to the commander of the station and swore to follow musa's counsels and to remain faithful to the french government." tamanrasset 351 "i should not be comforted in the misfortune which strikes you if i did not consider that your dear and venerated martyr is more living than ever, that he has ceased to suffer, but does not cease to love us; that he is nearer god, more powerful over his heart, and that he may make him merciful to our afflicted church, to wounded france, to my diocese that petitions him, to his family which mourns him. "with, etc. . . "j. m. frédéric, 66 bishop of viviers." the same year, thanking madame de blic for the memento he had received, mgr. bonnet wrote this second letter, dated all saints' day: "episcopal residence, viviers, "“november 1, 1917. "the precious picture could not have reached me more opportunely than on the day when my thoughts turn to him in ardent memory and fervent prayer amongst the immense legion of saints that the church proposes for our especial remembrance to-day. the public veneration that i give him along with others, i offer every day in the secret of my soul: i owe him so much! he so often prayed effectively for my diocese and me during his life, and i must be silent about all the favours he has granted me since he is nearer god.' 991 in december, 1917, the father's great friend, general laperrine, passed through hoggar. a few weeks later he wrote to madame de blic from timbuctoo : "i called at tamanrasset on december 9. i considered that the last wishes of your brother, saying that he wished to be buried where he fell, had been taken too literally, and he was left in the provisory grave made by his servant paul, in the ditch of the house, a ditch which risked being flooded with water at the first rains. "on my return from motylinski, on december 15, i had him exhumed and interred on the top of the hill on which his borj is, and about 200 yards to the west of this one (the hill is a simple undulation of the ground, but isolated in the middle of the plain, and is seen from very far). the 1 mgr. bonnet, whom i questioned at viviers on the subject of father de foucauld, thus summed up his judgment: "he was a great character, a great man, and a great saint." 352 charles de foucauld three native soldiers killed at the same time as he, two of whom were the involuntary cause of his death through trying to deliver him, are buried at his feet. the very simple grave, without any inscription, is surmounted by a black wooden cross, but larger and stouter than the one which was on the grave in the ditch. moreover, from its position, it is seen from a long way off. "m. lutaud, governor-general of algeria, got a sum voted to erect a monument to him at tamanrasset; in order to do this without slighting his last wishes, i intend to leave the grave as it is, but about five yards off, on the ridge of the same undulation of the ground, i mean to put up a large cross of hoggar granite, a kind of mission cross, a cross which will be seen from a great distance. "your brother was, as it were, mummified when we exhumed him, and could still be recognized. the translation was very moving.' "" in another letter, addressed to father voillard, of the white fathers, the general said: "the ball entered behind the right ear and came out through the left eye. he was buried in the position in which he was killed; kneeling, his elbows tied behind his back. we were obliged to inter him in that position, so as not to break his limbs : we simply wrapped him in a shroud." whilst the last burial was being carried out by his friend, the general was very much affected; he was astonished that the body was without any break and the face so recognizable, while what remained of the arabs buried near him was only a little dust. one of the native soldiers then said to him: "why are you astonished that he is thus preserved, general ? it is not astonishing, since he was a great marabout." these words were reported to me by a witness who heard them. when he thus gave charles de foucauld a final restingplace, and placed it under the sign of the cross, which alone explains the life and death of the hermit, the general did not suspect that he was marking the place of his own tomb. we know that this other great servant of his country, a conqueror who spared bloodshed to friends and foes, after having so many times, at the head of his mehari riders, crossed the sahara which he had pacified, was led to attempt crossing his kingdom by way of the air in february, 1920. the aeroplane, which started from tamanrasset and was to carry him in a few hours as far as senegal, got lost among 1 letter of december 15, 1917. tamanrasset 353 the fogs and fell in the desert. wounded in the fall, having suffered without complaining for many days, exhausted by hunger and thirst, laperrine died in the anesberakka region on march 6, and his body, wrapped in the linen of the aeroplane, was put on the back of a camel, and again took the road to tamanrasset. he was buried near his friend; father de foucauld took him in on his way. what has become of the hermitages inhabited by father de foucauld in various parts of the sahara? i tried to find out, and some evidence has reached me. the "fraternity" at beni-abbes was put under the custody of the french officers of the arab office. it is used as a shelter for poor nomads who cross the plateau. no doubt the chapel has lost its priest, who each morning bade christ to come down to where he was more unknown than in bethlehem. but the altar remains; the canvases on which jesus, mary, and saints are represented, hang on the walls; the thick close columns continue to support date-wood joists and the roof of leaves and earth which the rain had once got through. they have kept on the gardener hajj ben ahmed, who receives his wages regularly from france. some vegetables grow in the garden, and the palm grove has prospered. at in-salah, nothing is left. the pied-à-terre of the traveller is covered with the sand, which at present threatens the enclosure walls, and will break them down at the first simoom. i have also bad news of the kudiat cabin. some day we shall certainly hear of the father's observatory being destroyed; in the month of march, 1920, it was very much damaged by field-mice, which swarm up there. the tamanrasset fortlet has held out. france occupies and repairs it. it is used as lodgings for the lieutenant and a shelter for the bureaus of the detachment of the saharan company. the soldiers cultivate the garden; they have even sown flowers in it, which one of my friends, a traveller, saw blooming in february, 1920. we may hope that these relics of earth and stone will not disappear too quickly. but the memory of the man who did not seek, like the rest of men, a convenient house, defended against cold, heat, and the passer-by, will continue and increase. the name of de foucauld will be cited among those of the servants of god; he will be exalted in christian communities which will not fail to rise up in the heart of islam. kabyles, arabs, blacks, hindoos, their 23 354 charles de foucauld souls opened to the truth, and seeing what a price was paid for their ransom, will remember the apostles who worked for them in poverty, obscurity, and extreme indigence of consolation. may the new missionaries hasten on the work of evangelization prepared by cardinal lavigerie, by the white fathers, by the great brotherly monk charles de foucauld, sent to africa as a sign of mercy, and as the messenger of the salvation which is to be hers. lord jesus christ, who art with us, be with the host of peoples and tribes that depend on us. sole remedy of death, living god, bring to thyself the souls of the musulmans so long left in error. and, for that, first touch some essentially missionary hearts in france, a still undependable mother with too little affection for her millions of african and asiatic children. thy servant charles de foucauld has shown the way; he endured their pride, their hardness, sometimes their treachery; he implored thee so much for them; he was a monk without a monastery, a master without disciples, a penitent and a solitary, ever hoping for a time he was not to see. he died at his work. for his sake, have pity on them! give part of thy riches to the poor of islam, and forgive the nations of the baptized their inveterate love of money. appendix association for the growth of the missionary spirit ; especially in our french colonies.¹ the o found this association was one of the constant thoughts of father de foucauld. "after the peace,' he wrote to one of his friends," "i shall do all in my power for the final establishment of our union, going where necessary and remaining in france as long as necessary. may the will of jesus christ be done in this and in all things." the rules of this union, drawn up in 1909, were abridged and simplified in 1913 and 1916. they are inspired by two essential ideas. the first is that at present a vigorous effort of evangelization of the infidels must be made, and that there is great negligence among christians with respect to this primary duty, notably among us french people, who have not yet worked at the evangelization "of our musulman brothers, who are french subjects." the second, which gives the association its distinctive character, is that this hard work will not be accomplished if we only try to get alms and prayers. we must also ask the greatest possible number of catholics to bear the infidels always in mind, to have a "missionary spirit." they will get it by a seriously christian life which will maintain this thought and make it pass into action. the means to arrive at this sincere, profound, and active christianity, is to bind ourselves to the observance of a rule, and organize ourselves into an association. "" the thought of father de foucauld embraced all infidels. consequently, according to him, each mother-country should be called on to constitute a similar union for its own colonial infidels, who could not ordinarily attain to the knowledge of the true religion except through the christian peoples upon whom they depend. there is hardly a broader, more fraternal, or a more urgent idea. approved first in 1909 by mgr. bonnet, 1 i asked for this note from one of the men who were the friends of father de foucauld and talked with him about the association. 2 letter to m. l'abbé laurain, all saints' day, 1916. 355 356 charles de foucauld bishop of viviers, and by mgr. livinhac, superior-general of the white fathers, then by cardinal amette in 1919, the association has received the individual and collective adhesion of persons or communities. as soon as it is known it will, no doubt, attract many hearts. it is worthy to succeed from its breadth and generosity, from the very help with which it furnishes the clergy and faithful in setting forth a rule of life, a discipline, directed towards the apostolate under all its forms. it is the one legacy, the last word of father de foucauld to his friends. 1 the president of the association is his grace mgr. le roy, archbishop of caria, superior-general of the fathers of the holy ghost. apply for admission or information to the secretary of the association foucauld, 30, rue lhommond, paris, v. university of california library berkeley return to desk from which borrowed. this book is due on the last date stamped below. 13 mar50mb 13sep'55ct sep 2 0 1955 lu j.l.l. 7/26 sacramento city co lib inter-library loan aug 16 1973 ld 21-100m-11,'49 (b7146s16) 476 m249560 bx4705 f65b32 the university of california library disposemission 375 305 ue) of ou hermit's dell henry carmer wetmore ܩܬܩܘܕܪܨ ܆ ܘܓ i 1 1 1 1 1 ! 1 ! 1 1 ان بن شداد کی۔ hermits 3 cofin her mit's de ll. from the diary of 1 penciller. d “our eyes see all around, in gloom or glow, hues of their own, fresh borrow'd from the heart.” keble, new york : j. o. derby, 8 park plaqe. boston: phillips, sampson & 00. cincinnati: h. w. derby. 1854. the new york public liblari 288213 astor, lenox and tilden foundations b 1939 entered, according to act of congress, by j. c. derby, in the clerk's office of the u. s. district court for the southern district of new york, in the year of our lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty-four. horace greeley & co., stereotypers, 29 beekman street, n. y. dedicatory letter. : my dear frank : when you have seen me pencilling on my tablets in the shadowy retreats of hermit's dell, and amidst scenes more or less sequestered—when you have seen me transcribing those rough sketchings upon the pages of my journal, by the light of our study-lamp—you have often expressed a desire to look over my shoulder and read them. henceforth, some of them are yours ; and you will not wonder that your name is so frequently upon them, when you remember how, in scenes of both joy and sorrow, in wanderings oft glad, oft gloomy, we have been together. though these desultory pencillings are woven in somewhat a fanciful web, your eye can trace the thread that gleams through it—the shining thread of truth. you know how we have loved to tread alike the byways and highways of life, to weep sometimes with the sad and laugh sometimes with the gay : saying with the good loof 19 feb 30 iv dedication. lavater—"what sublime joys do we drive from our souls, when we banish thence the sweet feeling of human brotherhood, which is its most precious jewel.” knowing, then, our kindred sympathies, as also your friend's fancies and failings, accept my frail gift—too frail to bear “ the iron verdict of the world." that at briar cliff, your beautiful home, long years of happiness may be for you and yours, is the fervent wish of your friend harry. hermit’s dell. i. our simple cottage stands upon the crest of a hill whose undulating slopes, dotted with noble trees, fall gradually away to the bank of the river. though unpretending in architecture, the high peaked roof and bracketed gables of our dwelling may be seen from points, miles away in the adjacent country. a low piazza, whose chief beauty is in the vines which clamber up its pillars, and all the long summer festoon its lattices with their odorous wreaths, completely surrounds it. the situation is one not often surpassed for rare and varied beauty. a wide expanse of water, bounded within view by verdure covered shores, fills up the foreground : to the north are ranges of hills with white farm-houses glistening on their sides, and behind them in the distance " rise the blue mountains, shapes which seem like wrecks of childhood's sunny dream.” southward are lofty and rugged hills, amidst which 6 hermit's dell. the river winds from our view, whilst to the east, a wide section of farming country stretches away to the distant housatonic. a gravelled and winding path, whose terminus is invisible from the house, leads to a graceful knoll above the river bank, whereon is a rustic seat overarched by trees, which parasite creepers have mantled with dense masses of verdure. here the eye may take in at a glance, river, mountain, stream, cascade and shadowy glen, nor desire a view more lovely. spring with its balmy airs and life-renewing breezes has fairly come, waking from their long sleep the piping frogs, and bringing back the glad blue-birds from their winter quarters. the hills, from whose southern slopes the snow has vanished, already look green and smiling: the river is free from ice, and the stream which courses through our meadow is casting over the mill-dam the last links of its wintry chain. the spray of the willows by the brook side is changing its golden hue, and the red buds of the maple are almost bursting into leaf. by the southern piazza the sweet briar is already green, and the virginia creepers are about starting on their summer race. another month and nature will look her loveliest ! it is our first experience of country life, but already we love it, and the weaning from city associations and excitements has been accomplished with scarcely a hermit's dell. 7 > sigh. a few days since, the din and jostle of the city seemed accompaniments to existence not easily shaken off or forgotten; but now, leaning beside half hidden waters, i fancy their murmur the same my boyhood heard and loved, nor think of time's interlapse. thus with more than electric speed does thought flash along the chain of years that binds the present to the past., there was just such a stream with willow-fringed and grassy banks that gladdened my schoolday loiterings, and with companions whose “brows were bright as spring or morning," i stole many an hour from my books to catch the minnows with which it abounded, on our slily-made pin-hooks ; and there was a mill too, very like the one i see now, only more dilapidated and lonely, in whose old lofts we romped and played our childish games, raising such a dust as the worn out stones never did when they were in their prime. of that gay frolicking band there are very few i can identify now. some have become “fishers of men;" others have been caught by wiles more potent than minnows ever knew; some are in untimely graves, and others like me are idling or improving the precious hour. but my reveries have made me prosy, and i must not pass judgment! we know not how much the follies and fancies of youth may tend to form the idiosyncrasies of after years. a short distance from the cottage and visible from 8 hermit's dell. one of its gable windows there is a cleft amidst the hills, deep, verdurous, and shadowy, whence the dash and murmur of lapsing waters come to us on the southern breeze. the beauty of the spot can only be realized by nearer and frequent vision. the sides of the hills which form the glen are covered with a dense growth of spruce, hemlock and cedar, forming as it were an undergrowth to the maples and chestnuts which tower above them. a stream, whose source is amidst far-off hills comes babbling over its pebbly bed till it widens and deepens into a pool which naiads might have envied alike for a bath and mirror. thence over tiers of rocks overhung by spreading hemlocks, the waters rush in mimic rapids till they leap in foamy cascatelles the wall of roughly piled boulders, which form the upper barrier of the glen. winding through a narrow strip of natural meadow, which in the dryest summer is always fresh and green, the stream soon mingles with the river. “sometimes it fell among the moss, with hollow harmony dark and profound. now on the polished stones it danced; like childhood laughing as it went: then, through the plain in tranquil wanderings crept, reflecting every herb and drooping bud that overhung its quietness.” we have called this glen of shadows, hermit's dell, hermit's dell. 9 not only for its seclusion, which an anchorite might covet, but because of the strange and lonely woman whose dwelling is upon its borders. she is not altogether solitary, for her life is gladdened by the sunshiny presence of her child, a boy some eight years old. her habitation is a small frame cabin, rudely built, yet far from comfortless, and the indigenous creepers, which so rankly festoon its sides, screen many a crevice and unsightly time-stain. a noble weeping elm flings it boughs over the cabin roof, making a wide spreading shade alike grateful and protecting during the heats of summer. a small garden patch, watered by a rivulet and cultivated by her own hands, affords sufficient sustenance of its kind during most of the year. in the winter season she sets snares for the rabbits and partridges which abound amidst the hills and thickets; these are also a source of profit to her when the season is propitious, finding ready purchasers in the immediate neighborhood. a couple of goats, which obtain a good subsistence in their wide rovings, afford her and her child no small degree of comfort and nourishment. so, with contented spirit, few wants and not many household cares, the visible life of our mysterious neighbor is not an irksome one : though she may have sorrows which her own heart alone knoweth. 1* 10 hermit's dell. we have all this information concerning her from our gardener teddy, who has lived hereabout previous to our coming. but little more than this is known of her, though she has lived in her present dwelling nearly four years : rarely leaving home except to make needful and occasional visits to the village store, two miles distant. she is generally supposed to be an italian, and has the reputation of a fate-teller. we have heard that occasional parties of swains and maidens visit her on moonlit eves, to hear their destinies read from a parchment book, and sip sometimes a love-potion from her mystic bowl. at such times, the echoes of the dell reply to glad voices and merry laughter, which seem alınost a profanation of its quietude. strolling as we often do near the domain of la solitaire, as my fair cousin blanche has named her, a desire to know her history more intimately possesses me, and i am only waiting a fitting opportunity : now we can only speculate concerning her, and indulge strange surmises as to what and where her past life has been. watching her the other day from a distance, busied in some womanly avocation, and pausing now and then to caress her child, who was weaving beside her a tiny osier basket, in which perhaps to gather wild berries when the summer should come, i thought—how varied and dissimilar are the links which form the hermit's dell 11 great chain of human-kind : some bright and lustrous, fresh from the hand of their artisan, god; some, worn and fragile from too much attrition with their fellows; others unique and peculiar; whilst on the rest, inaction and age gather their cankering rust! some such idea had shelly, perhaps, when he wrote so beautifully, “life, like a dome of many colored glass, stains the white radiance of eternity, until death tramples it to fragments." 12 hermit's dell. ii. our garden lies upon the southern hill-side, convenient to the house, and from its favorable exposure must be an early one. a wide border of lilacs and syringas mingled with lesser shrubs and plants, divides it from the lawn and serves as a screen to veil from the house our prospective cabbage and potato patches, which are not very ornamental appendages. to the east of the garden is a small peach orchard, which now gives promise of an abundant crop, notwithstanding the late april frosts. skirting the orchard is a long range of trellises, covered with wide-spreading grape vines, at which teddy the gardener has lately been busy with his pruning knife and bass strings. they look dry and lifeless now, those interwoven and errant branches; but soon the sweet juices coursing through them, will swell their latent buds, the germs of shoots, whose pendant clusters the september sun shall warm and ripen. as i came out on the piazza before breakfast this morning, to snuff the pure air, i perceived the fragrance of freshly-turned earth, and soon descried teddy in his shirt sleeves, delving away in the garden with hermit's dell. 13 a might and main. it was a pleasant sight and a “goodlye smell” too, furnishing a provocation to my matinal appetite which lucullus might have envied. oh, ye denizens of the city, inhaling an atmosphere heavy with smoke and dust, the wear and tear of life, little do ye know the blessedness and healthfulness of our rural airs ! so teddy dug all the day, and i raked off a bed for our first sowing of lettuce and peas, which may escape the occasional night frosts. my fair cousin blanche is out on the lawn near by, equipped with scissors and cord, clipping off the dead shoots from the rose-bushes and tying up their refractory branches : another one still is sitting in the sunshine not far distant, weaving airy ladders for wild creepers to climb and mantle the dead maple that stands by the garden gate. oh, my minnie, thought i, true to your woman nature, so would you veil from the world, as your loved but unsightly tree, man's often failings and infirmities! by and by, the lighter tasks of my companions are finished, and they stroll towards the river to watch the fishermen draw in their shad nets, the first they have set this but on the porch i hear the patter of little feet endeavoring to follow the two well-known forms that are disappearing over the knoll; this however is quickly stopped by ever-watchful bridget, who is not quite ready to take birdie his daily walk. my labors season. 14 hermit's dell. are not quite over, for i have to manufacture a ladder, that i may attach to the maple that cunning device over which its leafy shroud is to gather and thicken. then there are some loose pickets wanting a nail on the garden fence, and after that, there are letters to be written for the city mail, and so the morning wears away. then comes dinner, and after it an hour's reading for the sake of wholesome digestion, before i saddle old charley to ride four miles to the post office over the eastern hills. blanche proposes i should send teddy to-day, for the roads are not settled yet and i cannot go faster than a walk ; but i divine her motive when i remember that it is wednesday, when she never fails to receive a very suspicious-looking, daintilysealed envelope, containing four or more pages of closely-written lines ; but pretending not to fathom her innocent sophistry, i prefer going and draw my inference from the sequel. when i emerge from the gravelled lane i find the road bad enough and am almost persuaded to return, but then blanche would clap her hands and think how nicely she had outwitted her shrewd cousin,” as she often calls me. so i keep on and arrive at hillsdale in a sorry plight. there i discover that charley has left a shoe somewhere in the mud, and he must stand at the blacksmith's for half an hour. there is a letter for blanche hermit's dell. 15 in the post office and a packet of papers for me, with a letter well covered with european post-marks; it is dated, venice, march —, and has been only thirty days coming, thanks to collins' enterprise. the superscription is in a familiar hand-writing, that of blanche's brother, my familiar friend. i put it in my pocket unopened, to be read by our evening fire. the papers are interesting with details of the revolution in paris, and i sit down to read them whilst charley is being shod. it is sun down when i reach our gate, and as i look upward, i see minnie and blanche in the arbor on the knoll, waving their handkerchiefs at my return. birdie is there too, and i know he has been watching for "his ship” to emerge from the highlands, the ship which his nurse tells him will bring the long talked-of pony. how unshadowed is childhood's faith and hopefulness! yes, my child, your pony will come, but that fabled ship, like ours, is moored on viewless waters beside aerial castles, nor freighted yet with the wealth that lies beneath their “pleasure domes !” we all meet at the house, and blanche getting the letter, saunters away to read it, her sunny face beaming with pleasure ; whilst i, wearied after my ride, lounge upon the sofa and frolic with birdie till bridget takes him away for the night. tea over, that genial cup so grateful to the weary, abused by hanway and defended 16 a hermit's dell. by johnson, we gather round the fire, not a dead, dry, grate-confined fire, though the house is modern built, but a kindling, flashing blaze of old hickory, diffusing its moist warmth into every corner and lighting up the study, so that the reading lamp is fairly dimmed. when the flame is brightest, i take from my pocket frank's travel-soiled letter, the first we have had from him since the scrawl he sent by a stray pilot-boat coming homeward. thus he writes with all the warmth of an out-gushing, imaginative spirit : “harry, minnie, blanche,-i am in venice, the city of the doges, of the rialto and silent highways.' i walk the piazza of st. marc with shylock and othello and jessica, but in thought i roam with you the leafy paths of hermit’s dell. this is a strange city! the swiftly gliding, funereal gondolas, the deserted and desecrated palaces, the degenerated people, all impress me wonderfully; yet it is as a dream, and i cannot realize that i am in venice. you, harry, may never cease to regret not coming here when you were in italy. florence, rome, naples, each have their charms and storied associations, but venice is unique. i wish you could see the ducal palace, whose long halls are fairly warmed by the glowing colors of titian, paul veronese and tintoretto. i wish you could stand with me in the barbarigo palace, before the hermit's dell. 17 6 wonderful magdalen' or over the tomb of its author, on which is inscribed 'qui giace il gran tiziano.' * * but i must wait till i am with you all again before i can relate my impressions; a letter is but a poor vehicle to convey them. tell blanche she must not be married before i return, which will be in three months, unless i go to the east, which depends upon my companion. have you made the acquaintance of the strange being you wrote me about in your last letter? by the by, it came to hand at paris. if you write again, direct as before, for i do not think i shall reach egypt. a few words about * * * *" but the rest is for myself, and i expect frank will not dream that i have transcribed his rambling letter into my diary ; but it gladdened an evening in our experience, and so it must have its page. blanche was a little disappointed at not having a few lines especially for herself, but this was soon forgotten. frank's letter had really given me the italian fever, so i spent the rest of the evening over my own journal, written five years before, and in brushing up my memories of masters and master-pieces sadly confused. 18 hermit's dell. what an influence a friend's letter exerts upon the spirit! if kind and genial, it seems almost like the familiar pressure of the hand that wrote it; if harsh or reproving, it wounds us; if ungracious and condemning, it angers us, and threatens to sever the links which never so much weight of mutual grief or care could weaken or separate ! frank's letter had imbued us all with its warm italian spirit; it even generated yearnings to be with him in his travels, and made us almost discontented with our hitherto charming locality. but a thought was engendered in my brain, as a passing breeze bore to our ears the voice of the waterfall far down in the valley. it whispered the magic name, la solitaire. yes, it dissipated my dreams of venetian gondolas and palaces, shylock and titian. i looked at blanche; she was bending over her tambour frame, and i saw that her thoughts were far away; perhaps in the sunny south,—perhaps nearer home. minnie is busy too upon a new frock for birdie, and with maternal vanity is doubtless thinking how becoming it will be to his fair skin and rotund form. preparatory to the suggestion i was about to make, i stepped out upon the piazza, (anglice, porch, for my evening researches had reminded me of the misnomer,) to take an observation of the weather. it was a beautiful night, but a rime, glistening like diamond hermit's dell. 13 dust in the light of the moon, lay upon the grass and coated the lightest branches of the shrubbery. on the river, white sails were gleaming as if unsoiled by time or weather, whilst the lantern of the pharos, ever lighted by its watchful guardian to warn unskilful mariners of the shoal it stands upon, seemed a superfluous feature of the scene; though its cheerful radiance has been often our pleasure during the dreary nights of stormy march. the cool night air effectually dissipated my italian fever, so i came back to my chair and cold supper, for we dine early in the country, with a wholesome appetite. the good bread and butter and cold beef had the effect of opening our long silent mouths in a twofold blanche had done dreaming, for a while at least, and birdie's gay frock was finished excepting the buttons, so i had the field to myself, for i knew it would require some degree of persuasion on my part to secure minnie's co-operation at least, into my plan, for they both had always felt a little afraid of la solitaire. as blanche is the most persuasible of the two, i try her first. “blanche," i said, “let me show you how to catch a trout to-morrow; you may have my light rod, i will bait the hook for you and take the fish off, if you get one ; you shall do none of the drudgery of the sport. you need not be afraid of the sun either, for my seat is a shady one, and the sense. 20 dell, hermit's april sun is not warm enough to be unpleasant." no, cousin,” replies blanche, “ i want to finish this piece in time for the fair at the church next week; besides, i have two or three letters to write, and i have promised to make uncle william a visit certainly this month, so you see i have my hands full; but i will go one of these days.” “but blanche, cousin mine, it will only be for an hour or two, you can certainly spare that time, and now it is not so warm as it will be in june." · but, cousin harry, i had rather not go; why are you so pertinacious, i fancy you have some other object in mind, haven't you now, speak the truth ?” “well blanche,” said i, not wishing to commit myself, “i will not urge you, we will wait your pleasure, for the fish need coaxing; they won't bite at unwilling hooks, 66 you know." minnie is equally intractable ; she does not like fishing, and not only that, there are household matters requiring attention. the cook has given notice of retiring from kitchen duties to become a wife, and there will be a week or two before another can be persuaded to “lave her frinds” in the city and go to the “ lone counthry.” so i am completely vanquished, and decide to await another letter from frank, which may cause a relapse of the “fever,” for this i think will beget a sympathy for la solitaire. i sit down again to my book, the “cosmos” of humboldt, which frank's hermit's deil. 21 " letter and my old journal has superseded for a while, and am soon absorbed in his “study of nature," with all its wonderful and philosophical details. to the ardent lover of nature and all that is her handiwork, he who derives his highest pleasure in the contemplation of grasses, mosses and springing flowers, in beholding the glories of sunrise and sunset, and the silvery radiance of moonlight; to him who listens with “rapt ear” ; to the whispers of leaf-stirring breezes or the roar of the tempest amid the primeval forests ; to him who loves the murmur of streams, the voice of the waterfall and the dash of ocean's surge ; or finds delight in anything that is nature's, how fertile seems the theme which the great naturalist expounds! he awakens memories of our schoolboy days, and going back to our alma mater, we con again the wellworn pliny, virgil, and euripides of those classic days. then there are gregory of nyssa and chrysostom the hermit, camoens and dante, and a host of others, ancient and modern, with whose works we are more or less familiar. but blanche is dozing, minnie is getting impatient, my lamp is burning dim, and it is long past bedtime. 22 hermit's dell. iii. 1. as in city, so in country life, day after day brings its employments, duties and pleasures. they err who say, that out of cities and towns, in the wide domain of woods and fields, existence is lazy and selfish. true, that contact with our fellow men is less frequent here, and that our sphere for well-doing unto others is far more limited; but the poor and suffering are everywhere ; all over the world reigns the curse for sin, in the “hedges” as well as the “ highways.” there are some who everywhere wrap about them the impenetrable cloak of selfishness; but to him of willing heart and hand, occasions for kindly words and deeds are never wanting. there are many too who have had their share of the jostle and hurry which characterizes city life; it is perhaps uncongenial to their natures, and when the object which stimulated their endeavors is acquired, they look about for rest. beautifully has some one written,“ one does not want for ever to contend with the mad race of waters, and the arm longs to put out of the curhermit's 23 dell. a rent into some quiet cove where sunbeams glitter in golden rings, and overhanging trees make green shadows and soft whisperings—it longs for a rest." some such thoughts had i this morning as a poor, travel-worn stranger stopped at the kitchen door to crave a mouthful of food. after he had eaten his fill he came to the garden, where, like the child i have read of, i was examining some of the seeds we had planted, to see whether they were growing. he wanted work ; for he says he is poor, and has no home or friends, but is willing to work. he is a pole, and having vainly tried to find employment in the city, has started, he knows not whither, in search of a living. i question him a little, but he hardly understands me, nor i, him. yet i gather enough to know that it is the same tale we often hear: a recital of oppression, cruelty and suffering, of family ties rudely sundered, and warm hearts ruthlessly broken. he is a strong man, but weeps like a child as he strives to tell me his history. poor fellow ! he has probably pawned all the clothing that is not absolutely necessary to cover him ; yet he still wears his braided coat, now sadly out of repair, and destined soon to be cast aside. i find something for him to do and promise him a shelter for the night, and he almost overpowers me with gratitude. teddy brings me word that brindle, our choice devon, has a calf an hour old, but unfortunately it is a 24 hermit's dell. mal wh pul 70 71 peri 1 fact the st! cor 10 of the male gender, at which i am greatly disappointed, for i had hoped to raise a heifer from her this season. the butcher from the village reaches us three times in the week, and brings, for our convenience, whatever letters or papers come for us by the mail of the previous night; as yet the terminus of the railroad running from the city is many miles distant, and our only communication is by steamboat and barge. but the butcher's red wagon is at the door, and blanche is on the piazza, holding up a letter for me. it contains, as i expected, notice that the shetland pony which birdie has been looking for so long, was shipped, no not “shipped,” but “barged,” last evening from the city. it must have arrived at the point this morning, and i forthwith despatched teddy after it on old charley, a ride of three miles. poor teddy! he does not want to go, for he is planting with great care a large bed of early beets, and is afraid that “polaski,” as he calls the poor fellow, his co-worker, will destroy it, but i promise it shall not be disturbed, and he is off to the stable as fast as his short legs can carry him. he is a perfect jewel in his way, that same teddy, as honest and faithful an hibernian as ever lived; there is no pretension in him either, though he can do almost anything, and what he undertakes, he does well. grooming charley, milking brindle, chopping wood, tar ma s th 11. hermit's dell. 25 making the garden, and running here and there, keep him busy ; but he is never behindhand, and never tired. where could i get such another? i endeavor to show pulaski what i wish him to do, and not to do, then go to the house and sit awhile with minnie and blanche, perusing the papers which came this morning. the steamer is to sail day after to-morrow, and this fact reminds me that i must write to frank, but i put off the task till evening, when there will be nothing to interrupt me. we pass away an hour in pleasant talk on subjects domestic and foreign ; though there is one domestic topic broached by minnie, not very pleasant to me. she says, i must search for a cook; and if i cannot find one here, why, i will have to go to the city for one. i protest loudly against this innovation of marital duties, but minnie's persuasive powers carry the day, and i promise to try : blanche roguishly say. ing, only think, cousin, what an amusing little story you might write, called, 'harry cin search of a cook.'" twelve o'clock comes, and soon after teddy passes the window, leading as diminutive and shaggy a specimen of horse-flesh as i ever saw. we all run out to see him, and some one calls bridget and tells her to bring birdie down, and even pulaski ventures to leave his work and draw nearer. birdie cannot get down stairs fast enough, so bridget must carry him, and 2 26 dell. hermit's when he reaches the scene, what an impersonation of delight he becomes. the pony is a perfect stoic; he allows all sorts of liberties from us. teddy opens his mouth to see how old he is. i look at his unshod feet. blanche handles his long mane ; while to crown all, birdie is placed upon his back, switch in hand, and wonderfully brave, till teddy leads his charge a step forward, upon which the young novice utters piteous cries for papa, mamma and bridget to take him down. this done, shag is led to the stable to get a good mess of bran and rest after his long journey, for he is still on his sea legs. whilst we are at dinner, the ladies propose that i take them a drive this afternoon. there are necessary purchases to be made at hillsdale store, and we can get the morning papers from the post-office. i acquiesce if they will go in the box wagon, as it is lighter than the other, and the roads are not yet in order. in an hour charley is at the door, and though he is pretty well advanced in years, yet when well groomed and harnessed, there are few nobler looking animals; and then he is so gentle and fast, and knows so well the gait he is to travel. we drive slowly down the road which winds along our hill-side, and crossing the creek that bounds our domain upon the north, we enter the river woods, beneath whose overarching branches, the road is always damp and shadowy, even hermit's 27 dell. in summer. here and there, where the high ground commands a fine river or mountain view, or both combined, the forest has been long since cleared away, and tasteful dwellings with velvety lawns and well kept enclosures, mark the hand of wealth and taste. they are the abodes of those upon whose intercourse and society we are dependant for much of our present and prospective pleasure. keeping the river road, which runs northward for many iniles some distance farther, we diverge into a narrow lane cut through the woods, and intersecting the level turnpike leading from hillsdale to the river. this is skirted by large and fertile farms, mostly grazing land, and is much travelled. we have taken this roundabout way to our destination merely for the drive, and shall return by a more direct road. reaching the village which, as its name mplies, is embosomed amidst the hills, i discharge minnie and blanche at the main store, and then tying charley under the tavern shed, i stop at the post-office and getting my papers, sit down to chat awhile with its sociable and news-burdened functionary. when the ladies' shopping time has expired, and i rise to leave, a flaming yellow handbill posted on the wall attracts my notice. it is to inform the public that an itinerant lecturer will address them to-morrow evening at the meeting-house in bridge valley, on 28 a hermit's dell. animal magnetism, illustrated by subjects.” we will go, thought i, it will just suit our dreamy blanche, and if we do not become converts, it will be a pleasant moonlight ride at least! by the time i reach the store and the assiduous clerk packs away the various sized straw-papered packages, minnie and blanche have finished their business with the dressmaker who lives adjoining the store, and we are soon on our way homeward. the road now lies over and between the ridges of hills which run parallel with the river, and break the force of those chill easterly winds so prevalent in our latitude. the sun is nearing the horizon; and, as we follow the inequalities of the road, sometimes we are in sunlight, sometimes and oftener in shadow, so like" the lights and shades, whose well-accorded strife gives all the strength and colour of our life.” we reach home in time to give birdie his goodnight kiss, and take tea at the usual hour. teddy has made pulaski an odorous bed in the hay loft, and the poor wanderer has gone to it, perhaps to dream of his country and her wrongs. w the astral is lighted and a fresh stick put on the fire, we dispose ourselves as best pleases us. i take my book till blanche finishes her two pages to frank at the escritoire, whilst industrious minnie hermit's dell. 29 opens some of her many bundles, which perfume the room with a mingled scent of coffee, cinnamon and sugar, to find buttons and cord for that frock which to display her darling's charms so becomingly. it is soon finished, and bridget is summoned to take it to the nursery and put it on the child when he is dressed for dinner to-morrow. oh! a mother's vanity! but it is akin to her love. blanche is a ready writer, and has spun out three pages, from which she reads us occasional passages and then gives me her seat. i have much to write about, so i hunt up some paris post paper that has been reposing in my drawer for years, and shall probably indite six or eight pages of it. as i write, blanche opens the piano and plays the serenade from “don pasquale,” for, ever thoughtful as she is, she knows it is a favorite air of mine, and that music is always suggestive to my pen. minnie tells me not to forget to thank frank for that case of anchovies and basket of florentine oil he shipped from leghorn, and which are now in our larder. no, my friend, those choice and spicy fish keep you in eternal remembrance; as for the oil, we will prove its delicacy when my lettuce is well up and before it has headed, i assure you. when i reached my third page, blanche says she forgot to tell frank not to fail bringing her the coral and lava sets 30 hermit's dell. from naples, and if he should go to constantinople, “ he must bring her a pair of turkish slippers, the handsomest blue and silver ones he can find." by and by, i am in want of a sentence, and i ask minnie if she has any commission for frank to fill. she says she will think, but as the thought does not come very soon, i have to think of something i would like for myself, a chibouque perhaps, if he goes to the east, or a damascus hunting knife. but at last i reach my eighth page of desultory matter, and looking over what i have written, i believe i have touched on every topic that could interest my friend. he has never been here, and has no idea of our location except from the description i wrote him after we came. i tell him of charley and brindle, shag, birdie and teddy, and of ourselves, our quiet home pleasures, our hopes and fears; i speak again of la solitaire, but can tell him little more than i did at first, then i close with wishes from all of us for his safe and speedy return. no, there is a p. s. to be crowded in ; it is minnie's wish that has reached her lips at last. well, minnie, what is it? “why just ask frank, if it is not too much trouble, to bring me a fine scotch woollen plaid to make birdie a coat next fall, he knows my taste." oh, minnie, minnie, you will spoil that boy! blanche's sweeping fingers stop for a moment in the aermit's dell. 31 middle of a passage from "sonnambula," as though a sudden thought had struck her, and she wishes to express it; but it is only for a moment; she restrains it and her hand sweeps the keys again. “i know you are wishing for something more, blanche, but i think you can do without it. frank's trunk is over-burdened already, and will hardly pass the custom-house duty free.” i enclose blanche's letter in mine, seal it and direct it to his banker's at paris; he will open it within thirty days, and in less time than that, he will be with us i know, if i mistake not the influence of his sister's letter. will she postpone that eventful day to which she is looking forward, if he is not here? her own heart can tell. but it is nearly midnight, later by two hours than we generally sit up. books, paper and pen are laid aside, the piano closed; and lighting their chamber candles, my companions quietly vanish. i turn down the wick of the astral till its flame expires, and then heap ashes on the smouldering embers of the fire, which, “ just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall." 32 a hermit's dell. iv. spring is maturing most beautifully, and the sight most grateful to mine eyes this morning are the welldefined rows of my early frame pease, and the tender leaves of nascent lettuce. pulaski spades with greater vigor than he did yesterday, and seems elated from some cause or other. can it be that he carries a stimulus in his pocket? no, i wrong him, for teddy i approaches and tells me he went over to farmer mead's last night, hearing he wanted a man to tend his cattle; and that he has promised to take the poor pole on trial, as soon as i have done with him. this is pleasant to all parties, for i felt loth to discharge the wanderer, as i intended doing in a day or two. brindle's calf is thriving finely, and shag looks somewhat better after the grooming he had this morning ; by and by we will have him on the lawn, and try to make him and birdie better acquainted. the weather is so pleasant and the meadow looks so much dryer, i return to the house and get out my gun in hopes of finding some english snipe on the low grounds. dash, my noble setter, whom, amidst the hermit's dell. 33 variety of topics which have engaged my pen, i have forgotten to mention, is almost beside himself at sight of my gun, so long laid aside. he runs and turns and hunts the lawn in the wildest manner, then comes up to me and crouches at my feet whilst i charge my piece. a fine and full-blooded setter is dash, the treasured gift of a friend who has long been gone "to the dim unknown.” many are the woodcocks we have shot together on the meadows of the delaware and amidst jersey swamps; many the quail flushed on autumn stubble-fields. but those days are over, and it is seldom that i hunt now! dash is getting old too, and fat and lazy ; he loves better to lie dozing in the sunshine on the cottage porch, than soil his coat with black swamp mud or tangle it with briars. it is a novelty to him now, and we go toward the meadow with careful step. dash is wild, and i have to restrain him. there ! a bird rises and is off with rapid zigzags; a little farther and up gets another; i fire as he turns and drop him. charge, dash ! i may want two barrels for the next one. another and still another rises, and i get two out of the four. the meadow stretches for a half mile along the creek, and then merges into swamp and woodland, on which doubtless the woodcock are plenty in july. by the 2* 34 hermit's dell. time i reach home there are five birds in my pocket, whose succulent flesh will make us a glorious supper after our return from bridge-valley to-night. dinner has been over for some time, but thoughtful hands have placed in the heater before the fire a plate or two of substantials and a dish of some delicate compound, blanche's invention and handiwork. whilst i eat, birdie is in the hall, wondering at the birds and caressing them after his fashion, till bridget takes them to the kitchen. blanche practises the last new polka, which she does not fancy much because it is not difficult enough ; she loves dashing, brilliant music, like jullien's and herz's. minnie is almost lost in my great reading chair“ an antique chair cushioned with cunning luxury”— and deeply absorbed with the glowing pages of hans anderson's “improvisatore.” we are to have tea served early, for there are three miles to drive to bridge-valley, and i send orders to teddy about the conveyance. the couch before the fire looks inviting, and, taking up “cosmos," which i have nearly finished, i read till the book drops out of my hand, and almost unconsciously i am dozing. blanche's music was soothing, and minnie's attitude was drowsily suggestive ; besides, i was reading of hermit's 35 dell. stellar research, which savors of drowsy night; so it is not surprising that i was overpowered. the clatter of the cups and saucers, however, rouses me, and blanche, who likes to get the advantage of me sometimes, exclaims, “ there, cousin harry, you say you never sleep in the daytime ; why, you have been sound asleep and snoring for an hour; you owe me a pair of gloves too-bajou's best, dove color, number seven-don't forget.” looking at the clock, i have to plead guilty, and my fair cousin has no doubt earned the gloves ; in fact, i felt the impress of her lips upon my forehead when i woke. my demure minnie, who is little older than her companion, laughs at her gay raillery. she is not jealous, and says i shall pay the gloves. what a happy home is ours ! how closely are the hearts of its in-dwellers united! but one of these days blanche, whose very presence is as a ray of sunlight and a blessing, is to go out from us and form new tiesnew associations. we often think of it, and are selfish enough to wish it otherwise; but it is human nature. as the sun sets we take a cup of tea, reserving our appetites for the better appreciation of the supper in store for us, and soon the wagon is at the door, we take an easterly direction now, for the little settlement at bridge-valley lies amidst the hills equidistant from hillsdale and another village of the same 36 h hermit's dell. size farther south. after the hills are crossed, we come into a wide and fertile valley, through which a rapid creek winds, whose waters furnish motive power sufficient to drive a large paper and grist mill the year round. these probably formed the nucleus round which the village has gathered and grown. this is the old post route, and an antiquated tavern with a high sign-post, from which a weather-beaten portrait of the “father of his country" hangs creaking and dangling, still offers dubious “ accommodation for man and beast." this, with the post-office store on one corner, and a rival one on the other, a butcher's and baker's shop, a shoe store, and the “meeting-house,” mainly constitute the village of bridge-valley. the place derives its name from the noble stone structure which spans the stream on two massive arches, forming the only substantial connection of the twe shores for a distance of three miles. we reach the “meeting-house,” as they choose to call it, in good season. it is plainly a gala-night in bridge-valley. the sheds are occupied by every description of vehicle, from the lumber-box family wagon, with its spring-seats covered with buffalo skins, to the light, spider-bodied sulky, driven by some "fast young man with a fast horse. aspiring youths with very stiff collars and fanciful hermit's dell. 37 cravats, stand in knots about the door, awaiting the lecturer. inside, the plain pine benches are pretty well filled with promiscuous occupants. staid farmers and their wives in unassuming apparel; smart-looking beaux, whip in hand, sitting snugly between gailydressed, buxom maidens, to many of whom this is doubtless an eventful occasion, an epoch in their lives. on the foremost benches, noisy and inquiring boys sit, scraping their feet over the sanded floor, and slyly munching peanuts and mint-stick à la “national." here and there in the assembly, we recognize a familiar face, drawn hither like ourselves from curiosity or to enjoy a moonlight drive. soon a wonderful commotion at the door, and a sudden influx of the “outsiders,” herald the coming of the lecturer. there is considerable excitement for a while in the assembly : a great many have bad coughs, numerous heads bob this way and that, and the boys in front whisper and giggle and rub their hands together in anticipation of fun. two youngsters in front of us joke about the “ lecturer's hair,” which really does stand from his head as though it was magnetized. when silence is restored to some degree, the “professor” mounts the platform, and addresses his audience. he talks of mesmer, and gall, and spurzheim, and enlarges upon “magnetic influences" and “phrenological developments.” he indulges in a great 38 a hermit's dell. many hard words, among which are “clairvoyance” and "psychology," whereupon some of his listeners look very much edified, though they have not the remotest idea of their meaning. he tried very hard to convert unbelievers to his doctrine, which he insists “is as true as the gospel,” and that he will prove it by “ocular demonstration if any of the audience will step to the stage :" to which blanche adds, sotto voce," and be made fools of." upon this invitation from the “professor," one or two of the older boys in front go upon the platform and take their seats ; and soon after, two young men from the rear of the room join them. they are each provided with some talismanic bit of zinc and silver combined, and directed to keep their eyes upon it. whilst they are thus employed, the lecturer proceeds with his elucidations. in a few minutes there is a titter among the audience, for one of the “subjects” is nodding in an unequivocal manner; soon another follows suit, and then a third, but the remaining one is not“susceptible," and he is discharged. the professor now makes sundry gestures and manipulations over the individuals, and soon“ wills" them to do marvellous things. one imagines he is fishing, and goes through all the movements pertaining to the art ; another fancies himself to be henry clay, and makes a speech after the style of the statesman. the other makes wry faces at tasting hermit's 39 dell. a glass of water the lecturer gives him, thinking it to be vinegar; all of which is very amusing and “convincing” to the audience. we have seen enough, however, and leave before we are made converts of. i remain decidedly skeptical, and as to the ladies, they seem equally unbelieving teddy alone expresses his undisguised opinion, in declaring “they can't humbug him." our ride home is delightful, and charley whirs us over the road at a glorious rate, for in half an hour from the meeting-house, we are sitting cozily by the parlor fire, expatiating on the merits and demerits of the evening's entertainment. by and by, a savory and appetizing odor penetrates the house, and when the table is spread in the diningroom, we are summoned to our supper. there is everything necessary to its appreciation, but the salad, that we think grows so slowly. blanche and i enjoy the birds with epicurean zest, but minnie, a true disciple of epicurus, craves their heads for the dainty bits that are within. what do you think of that, oh! sage and genial frank-forrester? is not her taste appreciative? it is saturday night. a sensation of weariness comes over us, even at the remembrance, and we go early to bed. “good night, cousin !” “good night, “ minnie !"_“bon soir, blanche ; pleasant dreams !” 40 hermit's dell. v. sabbath in the country! a day of real rest and quiet, except for those employments which are always necessary, even in the performance of religious duty. the clatter of the mill is stopped, that whir and clatter so familiar, that we do not think of it till it is missed. the garden tools are laid aside ; pulaski has gone to his new home, and the halloo of the boy, who has been all the week ploughing farmer mead's corn ground, is hushed for the day. we hear the bell of hillsdale church-our churchbut faintly through the intervening woods; and fainter still, that of the meeting-house at bridge-valley, over the hills. breakfast over, and morning duties attended to, we prepare for church, in which there is service but once during the day. blanche, however, changes her mind as she is about to get into the carriage, and says she does not feel very well, and would rather not go ; so we go without her. ah! blanche, i well know what affects you, and why your eyes looked so tearſul this hermit's dell. 41 morning ; but you must try to conquer this proneness to melancholy ! yes,” replies minnie to my soliloquy, which i had unconsciously spoken aloud. “she must do it, for it is affecting her health ; she is too doubting and apprehensive, and it is all for another, too." we reach the church as the bell ceases tolling. it is an old dutch building, with a high modern-built steeple, and the interior has been so completely modified to our ideas of comfort, it is doubtful if the van winkles and wynkoops, and all the other “ vans” and “koops,” who helped to build it, would recognize their handiwork, if they could take a peep at it from their graves, which lie under its shadow. the congregation is large and wealthy, for it is the only church in the place, if we except a small frame building occupied by the catholics as a chapel. our pastor, though old and gray-headed, is still faithful and vigorous, truly a vigilant “watchman on the towers of zion.” he preaches to us in plain terms the truths of the gospel, avoiding those controversial and labyrinthine doctrines, amidst which some of our teachers love to flounder. good old man ! we sit and listen to your words, and go to our homes wiser and better for their influence-not mystified and misled. we reach the cottage with pleasant reflections on 42 a hermit's dell. 6 what we have heard, and find our cousin absorbed in the perusal of some sombre and hypochondriac memoir, whose spirit is probably in unison with her present state of feeling minnie kisses her, and inquires if she feels any better. “not much, cousin," replies blanche. “no, nor you never will, blanche," i add, “ unless you lay aside that book; better read good burton's · anatomy of melancholy' than that, in your present morbid state.” birdie, whose laughing face and winsome frolics are enough to cure the “hypo” in any body, has escaped bridget's eye, and rushes into the room, with his resplendent frock of spring colors and material half buttoned. i take him on my knee, and ask him the few questions from the child's catechism which are plain to his comprehension. he knows them already from frequent rehearsal, and soon slips from my knee to prattle with his " aunty blanche.” but blanche is not in the humor for it, and the little fellow gets a book, and sits down on the floor to amuse himself with his own resources. i take up a book to read till dinner-time, but in a a few minutes i hear birdie give a long-drawn sigh, as if from the very depths of his tiny heart; his book is thrown aside, and with the versatility of childhood, he flies to some other attraction. how suggestive, though hermit's dell. 43 comparatively meaningless, was that sigh! age sighs beneath the weight of years; manhood, with the burden of care ; youth longs for a better and a happier day, and childhood sighs amidst its playthings. the afternoon comes, the warm, quiet sabbath afternoon. it is a dreamy one, and i am inclined to sit in my luxurious reading chair, and fall unconsciously to sleep over my “theron and aspasio." but i take my cane, and walk toward the belt of woods which lies between us and our neighbor mead. there, under a spreading chestnut, i sit and view the fair scene that stretches away before me. i think of birdie's sigh, and weave in my memory some rhyming thoughts, which if i keep till then, shall be inscribed in blanche's scrap-book when the “lamps are lighted.” lured by the voice of the cascade not far distant, i go homeward by the way of hermit's dell, and loitering there awhile, it is evening ere i reach the house. minnie is reading aloud from my book, and blanche is attentively listening with unclouded brow. reader! if any there may be, who shall scan these desultory pages, are you conversant with “ theron and aspasio? if not, get it; it is a book for your rural sabbath ; read the fourteenth dialogue, and marvel not that some love the country. "blanche, you feel better, do you not ?" i ask. 44 hermit's dell. “yes, cousin, i am quite well now. say no more about my foolish whims; i know i am doubtful sometimes without cause, but then, i cannot help having presentiments." “ ah! blanche, you know what we are told : sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' bring me your 'index rerum, if you will." it is cheerfully handed me, and i write therein, bowring's translation of the chinese maxim. 6. to seek relief from doubt, in doubt, from woe in woe, from sin in sin, is but to drive a tiger out, and let a hungrier wolf come in.” there, look at that sometimes, blanche, not only now, but in after-life. it has been in my memory for years. “i will,” comes from her trembling lips. “do not put away the book yet, blanche. do you remember birdie's sigh this morning? when tea is over, i have a few lines to write: some of my afternoon's rhyming." the evening comes, with its cheerful fire-light, for we need a little yet, and the astral throws its pleasant light upon the table, round which we sit. minnie re-opens the book she was reading, and blanche finds another, whilst i take from the booka hermit's dell. 45 case an old calf-covered volume of donne's sermons, wherein there is so much of rare worth and beauty. so we sit and read till bed-time, when i take up blanche's scrap-book again, wherein is written in fairy characters, many a fugitive gem of prose and verse, gathered here and there, as they have struck her fancy. their burden now is mainly of joy and love and hope. will they be less shadowy hereafterthose sunshiny pages? who can tell ! blanche shows me where i may write my effusion, and it is soon indited. birdie's sigh. child! i heard thee sadly sigh, midst thy trifles playing: still, no tear-drop from thine eye, down thy cheek is straying. dost thou know a secret grief in thine infant bosom ? like the frost on bursting leaf, or on tender blossom? soon enough thy heart will be conversant with sorrow; now thy day is full of glee, with as glad a morrow. 46 hermit's dell. like the bee amidst the flowers, pass that day in gladness; soon enough will come the hours, bearing pain and sadness. yet that little sigh of thine, was to me a blessing, on this wayward heart of mine, sober truth impressing. a hermit's dell. 47 vi. the early rains and late blighting frosts are over, and on the bright weeks of spring we are gliding rapidly towards summer. the early fruits have begun to ripen, and the gardens and fields promise opulent returns to the labor of the husbandman. blanche has already been a week at her uncle's place, glen-clunie, a day's travel westward, and we are anxiously awaiting her return. the house seems gloomy, in a degree, when her gay laugh is not ringing through it. minnie says, this is a foretaste of what is to be hereafter; for when frank comes back from his travels, she is to be married. we can hardly realize it ; for a year or two ago, she was a fairy-like girl, just from school. “standing with reluctant feet, where the brook and river meet; womanhood and childhood sweet." now, almost a woman, accomplished and beautiful, she is worthy of all the love that can be lavished on her by the heart of man. 48 termit's dell. pe 1 it is a soft star-lit evening, and we sit on the porch, now festooned with twining and odorous creepers, and listen to the sounds which form our out-door melodies : the occasional chirp of a sleepless bird upon its nest in the sweet-briar; the bell on the factory at bridgevalley striking the quarter-hours; the murmur of waters; the breeze-whisperings, and now and then the hoot of the owl in farmer mead's woods. birdie's little “chippy," doubtless listens to the last ominous sound, its heart throbbing with all a mother's anxieties. we have been to briar-cliff to day : a deserted old mansion of which we had frequently heard, and long desired to see. it is five miles inland, and a pleasant drive most of the distance along the post road. we had started soon after breakfast from home, and spent some hours there, wandering over the desolated grounds. the approach to the mansion is by a short and narrow lane leading from the main road, and going no farther than the enclosure of the property. we entered the unclosed gate-way, flanked by massive stone pillars, leaning and defaced ; and keeping the gravelled road, now overgrown with grass and weeds, a drive of a few hundred yards brought us to the house. it stands amidst majestic locust and chestnut trees, mingled with indigenous evergreens, under which is a hermit's 49 dell. ch, end es : est e of ye st es 1 level sward, sloping and undulating, which must have been a beautiful lawn; but now covered with long, waving grass and underbrush. at a little distance from the rear of the house, you stand upon the edge of a cliff and look down into a glen, full of dense verdure, and holding in its bosom a deep, dark pond of living water. the sides of the cliff, steep and rugged, are covered with tangled briars and creepers, and from this the place derives its name. it was melancholy to walk the long, winding paths of the once beautiful garden, now a wilderness of rank weeds. choice fruit trees and luxuriant grape vines were left unpruned, and threw their straggling branches far and wide, yet giving promise of fruit in abundance. in the pleasure grounds, a few hardy plants were still living and blossoming; but everywhere else was nothing but desolation and gloom. the house was closed, though the frail door could have been easily burst open. it was no less dilapidated than the out-buildings which surround it, though it bore witness to the action of fire upon one of its wings, probably at a remote time. there was no living thing upon the premises, except the birds and squirrels, which sing and gambol undisturbed in fearless freedom. we have never heard the full history of those who once lived there, and we wondered why it was deserted, and that no one had ever been tempted to purchase 3 50 s dell. h hermit and restore the property to its former beauty, for it has evidently been highly improved at no inconsiderable expense and labor. as we emerged from the avenue into the lane, on our way homeward, we noticed a small cottage, which had escaped us before, almost hid from view by a hedge of willows on the road side. it was not far from the gate-way we had just passed through, and had probably been a lodge or tenant house attached to briar-cliff mansion. an old, decrepid man sat on the door-step, watching a sportive child playing with a kitten on the grass before him. he seemed to be dreaming of his own youthful days, if we might judge by his listless expression and disregard of our passing. i proposed to stop under pretence of giving charley a draught of water from the well near by, thinking we might gain some information concerning the spot we had been visiting. minnie, none the less curious, assented; so, tying the horse by the fence, we entered the picket gate amidst the willows. the child, probably unaccustomed to the sight of strangers, left its sport and ran into the house crying. the old man essayed to rise, and respectfully asked us into the house, but i insisted on his not disturbing himself, as we only stopped for a moment. “ay, but ye must sit," said he; “ • jenny ! hermit's 51 dell. bring a chair for the people !” he continued, to some one inside. it was brought by jenny, a woman of middle age, cleanly and neatly dressed, whom we rightly supposed was his married daughter, and the mother of the child that was playing in the yard. we could not but accept the cheerfully proffered hospitality of the strangers, and minnie took the seat while i watered charley. on my return, i found minnie and old grandfather well acquainted, for he appeared to be communicative in the extreme; so much so, that his listener could not put in a question, even if it was necessary. i sat down on the door-step near him and listened for a while too, but his subject was irrelevant to the one i wished to be informed on, and i let him edify minnie whilst my inquiries were addressed to “ jenny.” this did not suit the old man though ; he wanted to give all the information himself. “ay, ye want to know about the old house up there, do ye? i know all about it,” said he, as soon as he heard our conversation. “yes, my friend, we have been there this morning for the first time, and are a little curious about it.” · well, i'll tell ye. i was a boy about here when they builded the big house there, and a power of men was at it, a-workin' on it ; i said i was a boy, some twenty-two or three, thereabout; we wasn't 52 ħ hermit's dell. men then right out of school; and i worked at cats pentering with old boss jones, dead, you know. well, i worked on the house odd spells, when dad wasn't harvesting or makin' cider, and i knows about the house, roof to cellar. when it was done, there was nary a house in the country about, near it. oh ! dear me; the rooms, and the closets, and the cupboards, and sich a hall! all carved and painted like, what d'ye call it ? friscoes ; i forget, it's so long gone. how somever, they was grand folks what came in coaches when it was done, and sich furniture and trampery as they brought, too, among us farmers and sich like ; and sich horses, big and slick, and black men to mind and drive 'em. there was an old man and his wife and two boys, about twenty-five and thirty, like you, sir, or thereabouts ; and they were wild enough too--made the mud and dust fly on yon road there. people said they'd been over the sea and got forrin ways; i don't know, but they used to talk of their grand-dad bein'an englishman, and a lord, too. in summers there was loads of company from the city, and they lived high at the hall, we called it; plenty wine, and fruits in the garden, lots of it, and to spare : look at it now, goin' to waste." “my good friend,” said i, for the old man had stopped a minute to get breath, we do not want to tire you, only tell us the reason why no one lives there now, hermit's dell. 53 why some one does not buy it and put it in order; there are always purchasers to be found for such places. who holds the property ?" “well, have patience. i'll tell you in time, sir ; you must know whys and wherefores, always. ye see, the old man took sick after he lived there a spell, mortal sick, and doctors, city doctors couldn't save him ; so he died. a great funeral that was ; he wasn't buried hereabouts ; some big church-yard in the city; trinity, i believe ; and then the old lady lived with the boys ; but they was away a good deal, and she was lonesome, very, only an old nurse with her betimes ; and then she pined away, and went aſter the old man; and the boys had it all their own way awhile, till they got quarrelling about money matters, and went to law, and the old place 'gan to go to rack, and the servants wasted every thing “ that was fiſteen years ago, or thereabouts; time goes so fast now, these old days! well, the law giv the hall to one on 'em, the oldest, and then, arter that, the other never come here again ; they said he went over the sea to live. i never saw him more. and the one what lived there was always gloomy like; he never liked no one, and people hereabout never liked him, he was so grum and short. the boys called him • old grum’arter a while, and he sent off all the servants but one white-headed negro, black enough too ; 54 hermit's dell. 6 the boys about called him · guinny,' for he told 'em he came from there when he was a youngster. he used to cook vittles for the master, and work in the garden, and do all sorts of work and chores around. well, by this time, the young man that was had got to be nigh fifty or thereabouts, and he takes a notion the house was hanted, and he had a room made out-doors somewhere, and shut up the old house, and made old 'guinny'sleep at the foot of his bed. people got to say he was a miser, and only eat bread and cheese, and sich like, and put his silver, all he could get, in holes and rags, and sich places. he looked poor enough, skin and bone, and the old nigger not much better; he was a true friend though; old guinny never said a hard word about the man. 'sometimes, there would be people come from the city to see the miser, but by and by they stopped ; he didn't want to see nary body. he took sick too, one winter, when he wouldn't have fire, and no doctor either afterward; and he lay so a while, till it got on his lungs, and he didn't last long. “ old guinny was with him when he went, and cried like a baby too; and when word got to the city of his death, some old friends come up and took him down to where the old folks was buried; and then they sent word to his brother, and after two or three months, or thereabouts, they had a great vandoo at the hall; but 66 hermit's 55 dell. one; his own brother wasn't there, only folks from the city and towns about. there was heaps of rubbish, and what money the lawyer found, what old guinny had safe laid by, he took to keep, i s'pose, for the other and so no one has been in the house since. people about here won't go there; they say it's hanted. boys go there in day-times to get the fruit when it's ripe; they wont go there of nights though. i s'pose the brother what's away hasn't come back yet, and so they don't sell the old place. it got afire once tow, and burnt some, but not much ; some boys was 'spected of it. i'd tell ye great stories of doin's there, if ye'd wait a while, or come again, but i guess that's enough now.” • yes,” replied minnie, “that will do, my old friend, perhaps we will have another talk the next time we come.” we both acknowledged our thanks, but the old man would not let us go till we ate a piece of bread and butter, and drank a glass of buttermilk right out of the churn, which we did with great relish. jenny” told us, when we came again, her husband, who was away from home then, would take us down to the pond we had seen from the cliff, and catch us a mess of trout, with which it is full, notwithstanding its frequent dragging by the boys of the neighborhood. it was a pleasant hour we spent with the garrulous old 66 56 dell. heryit's man, and he seemed to live over the best part of hislie, during the recital of his tale. as we sit on the porch and talk over our excursion, we fancy the interest with which blanche, who is inclined to be romantic, would visit those deserted grounds, and listen to the narrative of our superannuated informer. strange it is, that in this enlightened age of ours, this short life too, wherein we may gather and cherish so many elements of true happiness, a man can become the vile slave of accumulating gold ! living devoid of every comfort to“take pleasure in his abjectness, and hug the scorpion that consumes him.” aermit's dell. 57 vii. june, sweet, leafy june has come! bringing roses and strawberries, and other pleasant things, among which, last but far from least, is our radiant and long absent blanche, laden with gifts and messages of love from our kindred at glen-clunie. we have many questions to ask about nelly, and kate, and bob, just from college; and in return, blanche has so much to tell, she hardly knows where to begin. in a day or two, however, all is thought of and communicated, and blanche settles down again to our quiet life, yet looking forward to her brother's return with no little anxiety. we had a few hurried lines from him yesterday, written at naples, as he was embarking for the ioniar islands, closing thus :-"i may go to egypt, but if : i do not, you will see me as soon as a letter could reach you." blanche says when he receives her letter, he will not go farther east ; it will bring him right home. minnie and her cousin both intimate a desire to go trout-fishing to-day, in accordance with a promise 3* 58 dell. hermit's made some weeks ago, and which i had not forgotten. it was proposed to wait till the afternoon, when the pool would be more shady, and the walk pleasanter; so after dinner the ladies equipped themselves with sun-bonnets and stout shoes, and were soon on the way to hermit's dell, whilst i followed their tripping feet, dearing poles and all necessary accompaniments. a few minutes walking brought us into the shadows of the glen, past the cabin of la solitaire ; along the brook side till we crosssd the rustic bridge below the cascade, and wound our way up the steep bank, fragrant with cedar boughs, to the brink of the pool. my companions not being skilled in fly-fishing, preferred other bait, which teddy had provided, and i fixed their hooks for them. blanche, entering into the sport with great enthusiasm, caught the first fish, and a very fine one, which disengaged itself from the hook when landed, and was quickly secured in the basket. minnie, the very impersonation of patience, reclined upon the bank, waiting for a bite at her quiescent hook; a minnie catching “minnies,” for her first fish was one of those diminutive shiners which so often annoy the angler by their pertinacious nibbles at his bait. minnie has no fondness for the craft; she only came to keep us company. her minnows, however, did me good service, for not finding my fly taking, i substituted a live fish, and was very successful. in hermit's 59 dell. two hours our basket was full, some of the fish weighing nearly a pound, though we followed the stream some distance from the pool, before we took them. blanche was uncommonly successful, although a novice in the art, taking almost as many as i did, and taking them from the hook herself with perfect nonchalance. there are some beautiful walks through the surrounding woods, which we had never explored, so, when we became tired of fishing, we took a long stroll of discovery, embracing quite a circuit. the ridge which commences at hermit’s dell runs for miles and miles eastward from the river, and is covered with dense woods, most of which are primeval. here and there they have been cut off by their owners, but a dense second growth is rapidly filling up the openings. where a little spot of natural meadow lay along the stream, we came upon the goats which belong to our neighbor la solitaire; and as the afternoon was wearing away, they were browsing homeward. it was quite a pastoral picture, and we could almost imagine ourselves for the moment amidst alpine hills or the ridges of la cava, and we wondered if it might not be that the similitude of these hills and streams to those of her native land, had won the heart and feet of the italian woman hither. 60 dell. ii hermit's it was sundown when we stood upon the bridge again, returning, yet lingering awhile to watch the foamy waters of the cascade, and feel its cool spray upon our faces. the cabin of la solitaire lay near our homeward path. she came to the door as we passed, and we . were inclined to stop and exchange a few words with her, the first opportunity we had ever had, but seeming to be in dishabille, she retired inward, as if to avoid an interview. blanche was much disappointed, for it was the first time she had manifested any desire to approach the stranger, with whose appearance she was evidently pleased at the first glance. “you will have other “ opportunities, blanche, and i expect i shall introduce i you, after all, for i am determined to know something more than we do of the woman.' “yes, harry,” replies minnie, “you are quite famous for making wonderful acquaintances, and we must depend on you for an introduction to la solitaire." i felt a little chagrined at this termination to our excursion, for my sole object in making it, was to get the ladies into the good graces of our neighbor, whom i, for some undefined reason, had always felt an interest in. still, though she appeared unapproachable, as we have heard she was, i did not despair. when we reached home, birdie was riding his pony hermit's 61 dell. on the lawn, under the guidance of bridget, and the little fellow was enjoying himself to the utmost. our approach was, however, a pretext for his being tired of riding, and shag was soon in the back-ground. we had a royal supper of broiled trout, and a modicum of strawberries, the first of the season, which teddy's sharp eyes had discovered in the sunniest portion of the bed. some pleasant neighbors came in after tea, and with a stroll along the river, a short and breezy sail to the light-house and back, and a little music at the house, the evening glides away. not our evening though, for we sit an hour or two after our friends leave, and blanche listens to the description of our excursion to the deserted domain of briar cliff with great interest, proposing, when frank arrives, that we shall all go and spend a day there. ah! frank, i expect you will be valued more than ever, when you return; you are becoming of great importance to us, in more ways than one! there are even half a dozen bottles of that amber olive oil reserved for your enjoyment, not to mention the spiced fish, over which, with our rural bread and butter and a bottle of “sauterne,” we shall talk away many a cosy, lamp-lit hour! “is the day fixed yet, blanche, rain or shine, frank 62 dell. hermit's or no frank? come, you have kept your secret long enough.” blanche's reply is non-committal, though i shall probably be informed. “don't ask me, cousin, minnie knows;" and the next sound i hear is my favorite “don pasquale,” with a new and brilliant after-piece, something she has brought from glenclunie. minnie whispers that r-, our prospective cousin, intends visiting us soon, and as he is one of us already, he will be welcome as ever to this our country home. how doubly happy blanche will be ! hermit's dell. 63 viii. leaning over the pool whose full bosom nurses the sportive rapids, there is a massive rock, from the crevices of which, dense cedars spring and mingle, forming an arbor almost impervious to the wind or sun. it is a favorite resort of mine, and sitting there in the breezy afternoons of june, i while away many an hour in enticing the silver trout from their cool nooks below, by means of worm or fly too tempting for their epicurean taste to resign. it was on one of these occasions that i won the acquaintance of la solitaire's child. he had been searching the woods for the goats, and attracted by the wild flowers which grow in such profusion along the margin of the stream, unconsciously drew near to where i was sitting. the cast of my line upon the water first apprised him of my presence. unaccustomed to strangers, he started back half affrighted, but a kind word or two and the proffer of a live fish in his hand, brought him to my side and we were soon friends. the remarkable beauty of the boy somewhat surprised me; it seemed so inconsistent with the humble and secluded 64 hermit's dell. ! ! life in which he was nurtured. not that there is less of loveliness to be found amid the by-ways than the highways of the world, but there was a light in his dark eye and an expression about his lip which spoke of a spirit that, when cognizant of its strength and fitness, would deniand a far wider sphere for the exercise of its powers. amused and made wiser by his childish prattle, the twilight was deepening before we started homeward, but a walk of a few minutes brought us into the glen. the goats which had found their way homeward were already enclosed for the night, as descending the hillside we looked down upon the cabin ; and there in the door-way sat the child's mother watching for him, and wondering, no doubt, the cause of his delay. coming as we did from an opposite, or rather angular direction to that in which she was looking, we were not seen till nearly at the house. though my first near meeting with the woman, who had been to me an enigma, i was not wholly a stranger to her, for she had seen me frequently pass her dwelling in my strolls through the valley. first offering me a seat, she gently chided the boy for his long absence, but for which i apologized, as being perhaps the cause of it. no one could mistake the parentage of the child on seeing his mother ; his were the same dark eyes and hair, the same glowing complexion, in everything alike except hermit's dell. 65 form and accent. it needed no very skilful ear to discover that she was of foreign birth or parentage; i fancied her an italian from the flowing softness of her accent, and her physical peculiarities; and my impressions were strengthened when i surveyed the apartment in which i sat. it was small and scantily furnished, but scrupulously neat and clean. . a plaster statuette of the virgin and child stood upon the mantel-shelf, and over it hung a highly colored but coarse picture of guido's magdalen delle radici, whose original i had seen in the sciarra palace at rome. these objects bespoke her religion, and they may be her comfort too, if her faith in them is sincere. as i rose to depart, my eyes were momentarily attracted by what appeared to be a picture shrouded in black muslin and hanging in a sort of cupboard or recess beside the chimney. it stimulated my curiosity, but appearing not to notice it, i took my leave only to await with feverish anxiety another interview. it was evident to my mind that she was no ordinary woman; that whatever she might be now, however humble her lot or employments, she had or should have adorned a different station in life; and so the little insight i had accidentally gained of our mysterious neighbor, furnished food for musing on my lonesome walk homeward. i strived to divine what accident or vagary had brought this woman from her 66 hermit’s dell. native land and placed her here in comparative soli. tude. was it some deep wrong, or disgrace, or poverty, or a misanthropic spirit? i should judge from my observation it was neither of these. it might be then some deep heart-sorrow; for grief seeks solitude and looks for solace often “from nature up to nature's god.” better that it were so than otherwise, and it might be said of her as of another, when seeking the comfort and sympathy man could not give"she found it on the breast of nature kindly ever; there she leaned sick, worn with long unrest, and gladly learned she was her child unweaned.” so petrarch found healing for a wounded spirit amidst the shadows of vaucluse. another hour, and sitting on the knoll which overlooks the river, we three, the congenial spirits of our household, enjoy pleasant converse. it is one of those moon-lit, delicious eves which so often bless our american june; when it seems a happiness merely to live and breathe the balmy southern airs, laden as they are for us with the breath of roses from our carefully tended garden. we talk of old brindle and argue if her pretty calf had better be weaned and put in order for the butcher. i decide in the affirmative, but blanche objects on account of its beauty, though she 1 hermit's 67 dell. knows we require more cream now, as strawberries are ripening, and city friends are to help us eat them. but utility finally carries the point, and brindle's nursling is sentenced; so on the morrow teddy will have orders accordingly. and then we wonder if the meadow by the creek will yield hay enough this season to keep old charley and brindle and birdie's pony through the winter, not forgetting the two south-down cossets we keep tethered on the lawn; but the decision on this question is deferred till after the change of the moon, which the almanac presages will bring dry weather. a little distance down the road that skirts the river bank, there is a low red house in which old jimmy pike, the fisherman, lives. he has a daughter wasting away with consumption, and the doctor says she cannot last long. we see a light glimmering from her chamber window, and now and then discern the form of her old mother, bowed by grief and years, moving about the room, busied in tending the child who should have been the staff of her age. we often send trifling delicacies to the sick girl; but our sympathies are freshly awakened, and thinking what a treat a bowl of strawberries would be to the fevered invalid, our tenderhearted cousin promises to pick them early in the morning, fresh and cool, and take them to her with some new cream. 68 dell. hermit's as the evening wears on into the early night, we hear far away amidst the river hills the faint echoes of revolving paddles, heralding the approach of boats going northward from the city; and soon we see their colored lights emerging from between the mountains, as they speed their way like spirits of the night. what a varied and priceless freight they bear ! youth and age-rich and poor; hearts, gay and bounding with hope-heavy with grief and despair ; forms, fair and graceful—bowed by disease and years ; some, seeking pleasure and change-others searching for a home and rest. but they have passed like a dream, and all is still again but the measured ripple of the tide, the breeze whispering amid the tree-tops, and, above all, the dash of falling waters away in the depths of hermit's dell. we think and speak of frank, and wonder if we shall hear from him again, and in what “haunts of old romance” his feet may wander now. he may be amid the doric ruins of greece, or within the shadows of the pyramids; but wherever he is, our thoughts are with him. so we sit and talk musingly till the moon sinks behind the western hills, and then loiter houseward to close our eyes within that dreamy realm, whose far niente is more perfect than that of parthenope, # hermit's dell, 69 ix. 6 frank is here at last, and our first intimation of his arrival was his well-known shout under our chamber window at sun-rise this morning. i was up and half dressed, for it is my custom in summer to be out of doors early; yet i was startled and surprised, and minnie none the less so. in a minute i was at the door. “harry !” “frank! why, my dear fellow how are you ?” was our mutual exclamation. “why, frank, what brought you here at this time of day? how did you get here?” the story was soon told ; he had taken the night boat from the city, and consequently reaching our landing at a late hour, was obliged to remain at the miserable tavern there till daylight. well, how are blanche and minnie and birdie ?" but before i can reply they are in the room, and blanche in her brother's arms, laughing and crying at a great rate. why, brother, we never expected you so soon,” says blanche, “though you have been among the turks, too; just look at his beard !” 66 70 de ll. hermit's sure enough, blanche might think so, for frank's beard and moustache would be the pride of a mussulman; it looked like a six month's growth. we were all so excited and had so many questions to ask, all at once, breakfast was served before frank thought of his toilet. this was soon attended to, and we gathered round the table--four as congenial spirits as might be found under one roof. “oh! how often i have thought of you all,” said frank; “how much i have dreamed of you! and blanche ; i was so afraid you would play truant, and run away before i got home. how much longer could i have trusted you?” ‘now, frank, we will talk about that some other time; you know i am always guided by you.” “yes, but we are told love laughs at bolts and wards; how is it, harry ?” “it is so sometimes, frank, but blanche has been very reasonable ; a little melancholy once in a while; but it is all over now, is it not, blanche ?" yes, cousin, that verse you wrote in my index rerum cured me; i shall never forget it; and frank must see it too." after breakfast, blanche monopolized her brother for an hour or two, whilst i attended to my various engagements about the place. there are dead fruit trees to be rooted up, at which teddy is busy; and 66 hermit's 71 dell. the long shoots of the grape vines want guiding aright; always something to be done or thought of even on our limited possessions. there is an unsightly heap of rock, too, which impedes somewhat of a view southward from the house, which must be quarried out, and converted into a wall to divide the pasture lot. the surrounding ground must be graded into a lawn, which will be enlarged in consequence; and so one improvement suggests another. but blanche has finished her private confab and gone into the house, leaving frank to stroll about with me till dinner-time. we go to the barn-yard and descant upon the merits of brindle junior, whom the butcher is to take away to-morrow; then to the stable where charley and shag are domiciled, and so away to the pasture lot, of which brindle is sole possessor. its extremity is bounded by the belt of woods, through which the white farm-house of our neighbor mead is plainly descernible, and in the adjoining field, the industrious old man himself, ploughing his corn. he is a perfect pattern of a farmernever idle--and it is to be regretted that his only son, who is an erratic genius, does not possess the enterprise of his father. we sit down under the spreading chestnut, my favorite seat here, and enjoy the fair landscape before 72 dell. hermit's and around us. memories of past days throng our spirits, and we talk over our wanderings together, the joys of the present and the hopes of the future, with all the license of long-tried friendship. i reveal to him my interview with the divinity of hermit's dell, and the discoveries i had made in her lowly cabin, not spoken of before to minnie or blanche, for some good reason of my own. as we walk homeward, 1 take him to a point whence he can look down into the glen, and catch a glimpse of the cascade's foam through the dense foliage, and the lofty branches of the elm which overhang the dwelling of la solitaire. it is a fair sight; and he wonders not that i have made it so frequent a theme in my letters; he must visit its recesses to-morrow. “yes, frank, you shall go; we will all go, and trive to unveil the mystery which shrouds the lonely dweller there." dinner is ready when we reach home, and frank tastes for the first time his florentine oil, which like the finest neapolitan maccaroni, is seldom found on italian tables; the best is sent abroad. “ it is the way of the world, frank, even a prophet is not without honor, save in his own country.” during the afternoon, frank and i drive to the landing after his choicest trunk, which he had ordered to be sent after him, and in whose contents, both hermit's 73 deli. minnie and blanche have considerable interest. we return in due time, bringing the repository of treasures, and it is opened in the presence of many witnesses. snugly packed away amidst layers of clothing, are numerous little packets, marked with the names of tho recipients—to be. blanche has several and minnie her share also, whilst mine comes from the bottom, an elegant morocco case, enclosing a splendidly mounted huntingknife. “many thanks, my brother nimrod, for this reminder of our deer-hunts away on the beaverkill, it may do us service yet; but no, it is too handsome for use,” minnie has unrolled her parcel, and displays a dress for birdie of real “mcgregor" plaid, marvellously fine. frank says, he had to laugh when he read my letter conveying to him our various commissions, minnie’s was so very modest. but that is not all belonging to her; another wrapper contains a choice cameo from rome, and a set of corals for birdie. blanche is also well supplied ; she has her lava ornaments, her embroidered slippers redolent with genuine attar of rose from the gardens of stamboul ; and in addition, some spider-web laces from mechlin. “ how apropos ! brother, you are very kind and thoughtful, and all in such good taste,” says blanche. we all acknowledge our thanks to frank for his 4 74 hermit's del l. gifts and his judicious selection of them ; but there are some other parcels for glen-clunie, which he unseals for our inspection, evincing no less taste and judgment. there are some things of his own too, in the customhouse, which we shall see at some future time. a choice copy of “the cenci,” and carlo dolce's magdalen, and some others, which all travellers love to remember, with alabasters and bronzes and other “knick-knacks," as he calls them. evening again, and frank is with us! we sit in the vine-shaded arbor on the knoll, and remember that it is almost eight months since he was last with us, just previous to his sailing. we cannot realize it, neither can he, when he recounts to us the many spots of interest, and the various countries he has visited during the time. from england to italy and turkey, through the intermediate central and southern countries of europe, he has travelled, and returned to us full of information, not ephemeral and superficial, but lasting and solid. with all his enthusiastic love for the beautiful, not only in nature, but in art, it has been to him a tour of highest profit and pleasure ; few would enjoy it more. the evening wanes, and night comes. minnie and hermit's dell. 75 blanche have left us, yet we linger on the porch, fragrant with the smoke from our choice cheroots : some frank brought from the east. we speak softly of blanche's approaching marriage, and of arrangements connected therewith ; of his future prospects and hopes, none the less interesting; of a country-seat not far from us that he has heard may be purchased, and of many other matters important to none but ourselves. as frank speaks of a country-seat for sale, i mention briar cliff, and wonder if it may not be the identical property of which he has heard. we will soon see, and if so, how very pleasant for us both, should it fall into my friend's hands. he has roamed and roved enough now, and longs to settle down in some quiet nook like ours, yet near enough to the city for occasional visits. “i am tired of single-blessedness too, harry, but you must not betray my prospects on this score yet; it is all sub rosa." “no, frank, but do not put the day off any longer than necessary; believe me, you will never think it came too soon, afterward. profit by a friend's advice and experience. be a bachelor no longer." stopping in the library before we retire, a cold supper, nicely spread, greets our eyes, and over the spiced anchovies, crisp salad, sweet bread and butter, and 66 76 dell. hermit's iced sauterne, we sit till the small hours commence, and minnie raps on the floor overhead. “ to hermit's dell to-morrow, frank, with the ladies!” “yes, and to briar cliff before i go to the city. good-night!” hermit's 77 dell. x. sauntering laughingly along, frank and minnie, blanche and i, went our way downward toward the dell. we take with us our rods and baskets, ostensibly, for fishing, but that is not our chief object. frank is to see the cascade, the rustic bridge, the "big rock," and last, but not least, la solitaire, if it may so happen. reaching the bridge, we stand a while leaning over its side to watch the swift waters beneath it, and for frank to obtain the best view of the cascade. he marvels at its beauty, and asks me if it does not remind me of something i have seen elsewhere. yes, frank, one of the cascatelles which form the great falls of the reichenbach ; i remember it well.” “it reminds me more,” says frank, “ of tivoli.” “how proud we should be of our sweet little waterfall!” exclaim minnie and blanche. we climb the steep bank by a winding path amidst the dense cedars and hemlocks, and emerge by the great rock which overhangs the pool. rude steps of nature's chiselling lead to the platform on its summit, 78 hermit's dell. where, under the hemlock branches which shade it, six persons may sit comfortably, if there were accomodations for the purpose. my companions are pleased with my sequestered seat, and give me the credit of its discovery, but i show them on the trunk of the tree, hidden from superficial view, some characters, deeply carved into the bark, and almost overgrown. they are—a heart, and within it the letters, a. m.-k. g. “ there, friends, you see i am not the first who has trodden this ground, ‘hereby hangs a tale!”” “let us call it henceforth, the lovers' rock," says minnie. “and so it shall be,” we all exclaim. we linger there awhile, whilst frank tries his hand with my fly-rod, catching a few fish ; and then we roam through the woods, gradually ascending, till we stand upon the summit of a ridge, which, almost bare of trees, commands a prospect of considerable extent. northward on the high ground is our picturesque cottage, a mile distant. beneath us lies hermit's dell with its familiar murmurs. westward stretches the river, and its opposite shores, sunny and beautiful; whilst nearer by, is the lonely cabin of la solitaire, and the fair fields of farmer mead lying along the hilltop behind it. but the day is getting warm, and it is proposed that we walk homeward. hermit's dell. 79 "i want a taste of goat's milk,” says frank ; suppose we go by the cabin, and get some.” “who ever heard of such a thing !" blanche ex claims, for she had forgotten our neighbor's idiosyncrasy. “why blanche!" answers frank, “in some parts of europe you can find no other milk; it is excellent for delicate stomachs. if i get any, you shall taste it.” we are soon near the cabin door, and admire the neatness of everything around it. the garden, though a mere patch, was well stocked and flourishing; the creepers were fantastically trained over the doors and lower windows, and a few flowering plants, tastefully disposed here and there, evinced careful tending. minnie and blanche seemed mollified, and more kindly disposed than formerly towards the lonely wo. man. i had never been able to fathom their unwillingness to become acquainted with her, supposing they might have heard some scandal, or perhaps were in awe of a person living so incomprehensibly as la solitaire. the door was open, but no one discernible; and as our approach had been quiet, we were not perceived. frank, free and easy as he is, advanced to the door and knocked. his summons was quickly answered by the woman, who seemed a little surprised on discerning us standing near by. 80 hermit's dell. frank gave her no time, however, to inquire his business; for, without ceremony, he made known his wish for a cup of milk, if she had it to spare. it was quickly brought, and a gracious invitation extended to us to come and partake of it also. frank took the draught with all the gusto of a swiss herdsman; and when another cupfull was offered to us, blanche and minnie each took a sip out of compliment to the donor, leaving me to finish it. “signor,” said la solitaire, “will not your friends sit awhile?" as the ice now seemed broken, the invitation was accepted: chairs were brought, and we sat, partly in the room and on the little porch without. after apologizing for our abrupt visit, minnie and her new acquaintance were soon chatting sociably on various topics. blanche had won the heart of pedro, the dark-eyed boy, who had escaped our notice before, whilst frank and i employed ourselves in taking observations of the fanciful interior within our view, and catching an occasional sentence of the conversation. “would you see one of his pictures ? come with me," said la solitaire to minnie. they go towards the cupboard, which is formed between the chimney and the wall. the door is opened, and the black shroud, which had so excited my curiosity before, drawn aside by the hand of the italian. our eyes were all turned and riveted upon the gem ii hermit's 81 dell. 66 " revealed to us,-a “magdalen” of such unearthly beauty, it seemed almost the production of an inspired hand. frank and i stand amazed at its wondrous love liness; we have seen many an old master-piece, but never before such a magdalen.” our companions share our enthusiasm, and blanche stands before it with clasped hands, the image of wonderment. it is indeed a marvellous production; she kneels before a narrow window through which a ray of sunlight is gleaming, lighting up her pale and tearful face, and the golden hair which streams adown her partially covered breast and shoulders in dishevelled masses. the dark grey robe which enshrouds her form and indicates her penitence, shows in fine contrast with the pallid yet life-like skin it touches. it is a picture of sin, penitence, and pardon. " and this was the work of your husband, signora ?” inquired frank. “it was his last work, signor; but will you not call me bella ?" “your husband is not living then ? bella,” i continued. “no, signor, he has been dead almost six years; before i came here in the valley." “our neighbor has been informing me some little of her past life," said minnie, “and we will not ask her to repeat it. it is time we were on our way home too, 4* 82 hert's dell. 66 66 it is almost our dinner hour." as we rose to leave, la solitaire expressed a desire that we would stop again when in the dell, for she was often lonesome. we promised to do so, and taking a parting look at the "magdalen,” departed. “i think," said frank, "her history would be an interesting one; minnie, you have heard some of it, and must enlighten us this evening.” “did you see the image and the crucifix, harry ?" asks blanche; “so italian looking, and she seems to be perfectly happy! !" yes, blanche, but the veiled picture! do you not covet it almost? and how romantic too, shrouded in mourning !-frank! i wonder if she would part with it." no, never till death,” replies minnie ; “ she told me that it is the only treasure she possesses—except her child." full of interest in the somewhat mysterious lot of the subject of our conversation, we reach home again, finding birdie and bridget awaiting our coming most anxiously. the cook sends word that the dinner is spoiled, as it should have been served an hour ago but no matter, we can afford to eat a poor dinner after the morning's enjoyment. frank and i while away the long, sunny afternoon, beneath the willows by the mill-dam, catching perch and chub which there abound. 66 hermit's 83 lell. as the sun declines, we stroll along the stream, fishing as we go, till the swamp prevents our further progress. about a mile eastward of this, where the stream is wide and deep, there was, some years ago, another mill-dam. the remains of it are to be seen yet, with those of the mill, fast crumbling to the ground; and near by, stands a dilapidated and deserted house, once the dwelling of the miller and his family. they are scattered now; some dead, others wanderers—they who once filled a happy home! the ruins are still called “ramsay's mill;" and the history connected with it is a melancholy one, which may be written in after pencillings. where, on the face of the earth, may we not see the traces of guilt and sorrow ? for “sorrow treads heavily, and leaves behind a deep impression, even when she departs.” as we ascend the hill leading homeward, minnie and blanche, with a companion whose form is not unfamiliar to our eyes, are coming to meet us. it is blanche's lover, who has arrived during our absence. we meet him with a warm welcome, and return to the cottage together. how happy is blanche to-night! and r no less so, of course. the quiet, delicious evening comes, bringing us on 84 hermit's dell. says blanche. the porch, frank to enjoy his havana, the lovers their quiet intercourse, and minnie ready to tell us all she knows about la solitaire. “come, minnie, let us have your story; we will listen now," “ it is not much to tell, for it was told me hurriedly," replies the narrator, “but this is the import of it. i asked our neighbor, bella—for we may as well call her by her right name—if she was not lonesome sometimes ? she said, “no, it was her choice.' i asked her how long she had been living in the valley ? and she commenced to tell me in a very intelligent manner, all i wanted to know for the time being. you know she speaks with considerable italian accent, and there were some words i did not exactly understand; so i will give the information i received in my own language. her native place is near amalfi, not far from the bay of naples, and her parents are still living there, together with one or two sisters. her father is a fisherman, or was when she left there, which was some seven years ago; and the tears came into her eyes when she told me of their white cottage, surrounded by an orange grove and vineyard, which her father, assisted by his children, found time to attend to. her husband had been a peasant of the country near by, but having a taste for painting, went to naples, and hermit's dell. 85 found employment sufficient to give them means to buy a plot of ground and build a small cabin for themselves; for, she says, everything is very cheap there. by and by, her husband, she called him pietro, obtained employment in making copies of paintings in the royal museum, to sell to strangers in naples. he was very successful, and made considerable money, coming home one or two days in the week, to finish his paintings and attend to their little vineyard, which she was able to cultivate herself. by and by, from making copies, he painted occasionally originals, creations of his own fancy, or now and then a madonna or a magdalen after life. one day, an american gentleman chanced to enter his studio, attracted by some beautiful copies hanging within the door. he made a large purchase of the young artist, and gave him farther orders to be finished and shipped to the united states. pietro felt flattered at this appreciation of his talent, and thinking that there must be a rich field here in which to labor, hastily made up his mind to emigrate and seek his fortune accordingly. gathering up all they possessed, they came to america, full of hopeful anticipation. they landed at new-york, but soon found that an artist's life was one of toil. the few 86 hermit's dell. pictures they brought with them were sacrificed from necessity, and then the trial came. the change of climate, want, and exposure, soon preyed upon her husband's health and spirits, till he was laid up with a lung fever. she, with a young child, and obliged to labor to obtain even the poorest necessaries of life, at the same time nursing her sick husband, was almost worn out. but some charitable persons assisted them till pietro died, and she was left a stranger, alone in a strange land. she knew not which way to turn, when an opportunity offered for her to come into the country, some twenty miles distant from here, as a domestic or housekeeper in the family of an invalid lady. she had by this time acquired sufficient knowledge of our language to make herself useful in various capacities, but the lady died, and she was thrown out of a home, till wandering hither, the house she now occupies struck her fancy, and as it was then vacant, and she could obtain it for a trifling rent, it was taken; and now by economy and taking in a little sewing or fancy work, she obtains a comfortable subsistence. the picture she showed us was the last labor of her husband, and though often in want and tempted to dispose of it, she still retains it. with her garden and her goats, which last are kept because of their requiring so little care, she lives in comparative comfort. she farther said, h hermit's 87 dell 66 that some call her a fortune-teller, but that is only to amuse the young people who come to the glen in picnic parties. there, friends, my story is told, it is just as she told it to me, except with the peculiarities of her language; quite romantic-is it not ?" “well, minnie !" says frank, “you are not far out of the way, for i did not miss a dozen words of her relation to you this morning, though i did not appear to be listening; but i shall see la solitaire again." r— is very much pleased and interested, and says that blanche must show him the way to hermit's dell to-morrow; he must make the acquaintance of bella too. “ho! for a sail," exclaims frank, “see what a glorious breeze is springing up· like the wings of ocean birds, flash the white caps of the seariver-i mean. it is not long before we are at the dock, the white sail of our little “glide" hoisted, and flying along before the south-east breeze across the wake of a steamer ploughing her way northward. we round to by the wall of the light-house, and take old dederich, the dutchman, and his wife by surprise. we sit awhile on the abutments and watch 88 dell, hermir's the passing craft; frank and blanche sing a gay song; then leaving the trusty pharos keeper a handful of cigars, we regain our boat and tack shoreward. a heaped dish of “hovey's,” and rich cream to smother” them, await us at the house, ai suother day is gone. 66 hermit's 89 dell, xi. the dark wing of death's angel has cast its shadow over our fair landscape. bessie pike, the fisherman's daughter, died this morning. her old mother sent for minnie at day-break, when the last hour of her daughter's life seemed approaching. it was a sad scene, as a death-chamber always is; but with the dying girl, all was peace and comfort. there were no shudderings at thought of the dark valley; no impatient longings to go or stay. it is the first time that death has entered the lowly dwelling, and it is a hard trial. she was their only child, and they too upon the brink a of the grave. it was a sad task for minnie to perform--the closing of the eye, the robing for the grave; but on whom else could they call in their grief and loneliness! to-morrow she will be buried; we shall, some of ! us, follow her to the quiet churchyard, and see her remains decently interred. till then, oh heart-stricken parents, weep and lament her loss, for she was dear to you, though a seeming burthen in your old age! yet90 hermit's dell. “she will awake no more, oh, never more! within the twilight chamber spreads apace the shadow of white death, and at the door invisible corruption waits to trace his extreme way to her dim dwelling place.” the event has cast a gloom over our household; for we had felt interested in the family, and had ministered somewhat to their comfort occasionally. blanche and her friend spend most of the afternoon amidst the quietudes of hermit's dell. minnie has household duties to attend to; so frank and i drive by the river road to hillsdale, stopping on the way to visit the beautiful grounds and conservatories of a neighbor, which i was desirous my friend should see. we go on to the post office, sit and read our papers for awhile, and drive by a circuitous route homeward as the shadows are lengthening. frank is becoming enamoured of country life, and it would not be surprising, if another season found him settled down among us, and married too. “by the by, harry, can we go over to briar-cliff in a day or two? i am anxious to see it before i go to the city and make farther inquiries. i have to go to glen-clunie too, and my friends in the city will wonder how much longer i am to be absent. you know i came here right off ship.” to-morrow, frank, the funeral takes place, you hermit's 91 dell. know, and i should attend it. suppose we leave going to briar-cliff till thursday. will that suit you?” . "perfectly,” replies frank; “friday night will find me at uncle's; i can stay there until monday, and be in the city by tuesday morning. that will do very well.” when we reach our gate, we see our friends sitting on the knoll above, awaiting us. r—is obliged to leave us on the morrow, and frank tells me that the wedding day is appointed some time during the fall. we do not like to anticipate the event, for blanche has become endeared to us, and minnie will miss her so much; they have been companions so long. but "change is the order of nature," and we will have to submit. joining the party on the knoll, we sit an hour or more, looking at and expatiating on the surrounding scenery, so varied and beautiful. below us, half hidden amid old willow trees, by the river bank, is the dwelling, wherein bessie pike lies cold and still; and as we speak of her, it is a question what the poor old people will do now. will they live there still, or go among their kindred in the neighboring county? time will solve! but a coming thunder-shower, with its precursive gust, drives us to the house. we cannot even remain 92 dell. hermit's on the porch, and by and by the heavy rain comes, beating down the gravel, despoiling the rose-bushes of their lingering flowers, and making a mimic flood to course down our steep carriage road to make work for teddy again. on our elevated position, we feel a little fearful of the vivid lightning whenever it comes, although the house is well rodded; still to me, the lightning has always been a sort of terror. but it is soon over; everything is glittering and bright with the rays of the setting sun, and in the east, a faint tinge of prismatic hues is lingering, but fading. how delightfully cool and fresh is the air now, and how grateful to our parched garden has been this shower! we will not complain to-morrow of wilted salad or peas, and our late potatoes will com mence growing again. the pasture lot wanted it too, and also our meadow, which must be mowed next week. another shower, whose premonitory mutterings had been long continued, ushers in the night. we are driven in doors for the rest of the evening, and each amuses himself or herself to their inclination. frank settles himself in my study chair and reads sir thomas brown's essay on “urn burial,” now and then reciting a passage for our appreciation. i have letters to write; minnie is at her everlasting sewing hermit's dell. 03 and stitching, whilst our interesting couple play chess till blanche is tired and betakes herself to the piano, to enliven us with the translation of some difficult music, frank brought her from paris. 94 hermit's delt. xii. the green sods are heaped over bessie pike's grave in the churchyard of hillsdale, and will soon seem as if they had never been disturbed. her old parents, bowed down and grief-stricken, are sitting lonely enough in their desolate home, perhaps soon to be vacated by them, too, and minnie is with them, striving to tender all the consolation in her power. r-has taken his departure for a season, leaving blanche in a saddened mood. the next time he comes, perhaps, it will be for a more satisfactory purpose to both of them, but not so much so to us. as the afternoon is long, and the ladies have said that they did not care to go to briar-cliff again so soon, frank and i purpose going without them. old charley is put to the light wagon, and we are soon on our way over the hills. it is but an half hour's drive, yei a charming one, embracing almost every variety of scenery; and my friend is much pleased with the appearance of the country. passing by the cottage at which we had stopped on the previous visit, we enter the grounds hermit's dell. 95 and, tying our horse, commence our survey. everything is in a most dilapidated condition ; ground run to waste and well stocked with weeds of every sort, especially those odious specimens, st. john's wort and canada thistle. the out-buildings are commodious and may be repaired at small expense. the house, which we managed to enter by creeping through a narrow cellar window, is well built and roomy; a little old fashioned as to its finish, but still elegant. the upper windows command a glorious view, not only of the surrounding country, but a range of mountains, forty miles distant, and a broad stretch of the river, not more than five miles away at the farthest. frank says his only objection to the place would be its distance from the river, and consequently the difficulty of access in winter or when the roads are bad. without guidance we descend into the valley or glen in the rear of the house, and wander through its rethere is no waterfall, as at hermit's dell, but in its stead a large and deep pond of ever-living water, stocked with choice fish. traces of gravelled walks winding among the woods are visible, but now choked up with leaves, and barricaded with broken branches. it has evidently been a fair haunt in years gone by. bridge-valley cannot be very far from here, and hillsdale is almost as near as to us, being in a different direction. cesses. 96 h hermit's dell. frank appears pleased with the property, and if it can be purchased at a fair price, i doubt not he will buy it and live here permanently. on our departure, we stop a few moments at the cottage to chat with the old man, who entertains us awhile, and would keep us till night if he could, listening to his manifold relations. he has not heard that the property is offered for sale, though he thinks "it mout be so," and evidently wishes it were; for he was very anxious to fathom the motives of our visit. he gave us, however, one item of information which was new; and that is, the probability of a railroad running about half a mile distant, and forming a connection with the city. that would obviate much of frank's objection to the residence, at any rate. it is quite late when we reach our home. minnie and blanche have been delaying supper for us, which we are prepared to enjoy with good relish, especially as a dish of fine red “ antwerps,” the first we have had this season, grace the table. birdie climbs upon my knee with his picture alphaget, to show me what he has learned under bridget's tuition, who is very proud of her success. the little fellow informs me too that “ aunty blanche" has been riding his pony alınost to the village; and he laughs thinking how "funny” shag 1 hermit's 97 dell. looked under his unaccustomed burden. but his bedtime has arrived, and off he scampers to dream his fairy visions. frank says he must leave us to-morrow for a few days; and then our household will relapse into its former quietness. “i shall miss you very much, frank; more now than ever before.” “and so shall we;" continue the others. “but then, not as much as harry will, you know, blanche; for we shall have our hands full of work for two weeks,” says minnie. frank promises to return soon, and stay till we get tired of him ; but notwithstanding this, we-he and i find matter for converse till the clock strikes twelvelate hour for our simple, country life. 5 98 hermit's dell. xiii. it is the sweet haying-time! and the air is fragrant with the odor of drying grass, which teddy is turning on our meadow-lot. bridget and birdie are revelling sportively amidst the odorous winrows, whilst some truant urchins, who should be conning their tasks in the corner school-house, are popping away most industriously at the meadow larks, scattered over the field and perched on the neighboring tree-tops. it is nearly noon, and i have just returned from old farmer mead's, with whom it is my pleasure to have a frequent chat, either over the fence which divides our possessions, or more sociably, upon his ample porch, shaded by great locusts, planted by his father fifty years ago. hard labor and the burden of years have left their impress on the old farmer. his head is gray and his form bowed, but not with infirmity; for he is as sturdy as an old oak, and likely to live for many years to he is a thoughtful old man too, for he has had his share of sorrows and cares, and loves to sit in his accustomed seat within the door, whence he can look come. hermit's 99 dell. over the greater part of the farm that has witnessed for so many years his untiring labors. some of those years have been weighty with affliction, but he never repines; though he often wishes “his boy had taken to the farm better than he did." looking upon him this morning as he sat musing, but cheerful, i thought of those beautiful lines which he might fitly sing. “no more to bind the amber sheaves with the reaper bands i go; i stand where the rays in the gabled eaves from the orient softly flow. i am old, but hope can never decay, and why should my spirit care: the sun sheds blessings on locks of grey, and hallows an old man's hair." frank has returned to us again, but is away most of the time, attending to his new purchase, for he is possessor of briar-cliff. its last owner, who had been abroad many years, returned a few weeks since, and not wishing to revive old and painful reminiscences, offered the property for sale. the price was less than we anticipated, and my friend became the willing purchaser. he has bought a horse, and divides his time between us and briar-cliff, superintending masons, carpenters, 358211 100 hermit's dell. and gardeners in their manifold labors. i go there with him occasionally, and although it is but two weeks since he commenced operations, a great change is manifest. the old man at the cottage near the gate is highly delighted to see the “haunted house” again occupied, and hobbles back and forth to note the improvements and occasionally tender frank his advice. he is desirous that his little house should be moved within the gate, so that it may be called “the lodge,” and offers to teach his grandchild to be gatekeeper. frank has promised to think of it, and if he can modernize the house, perhaps he will make use of it in that way. blanche is delighted at her brother's good fortune in being able to settle so near us. she is at briarcliff frequently, roaming over the grounds and suggesting many alterations and improvements. she says she will have two homes to visit now when tired of the one she is soon to occupy in the city. frank has committed to us a confidential item of information too. · he is to be married soon after blanche; and he kept his secret pretty well, for the chosen person is one he met in his travels abroad—a resident of a southern city, and who has just returned. what with preparations for blanche's wedding and the entertainment of our metropolitan friends who visit us occasionally, our ladies have about as much as hermit's dell. 101 they can attend to. consequently frank and i depend upon ourselves and each other for company and amusement. when not obliged to be at briar-cliff, we don our thick boots and shooting jackets, and spend a day scouring the swamps after our favorite game, woodcock. frank is a glorious shot, and always drops his wird ; i cannot speak as well of my skill. it is rather against our principles to kill woodcock before the fall months; but as our rustic sportsmen commence early in july, we are rather loth to lose the share we are entitled to, as some of the best ground in the country is embraced within the bounds of briar-cliff. frank wants to string up the heads of all we kill as a tally ; but minnie rebels at this innovation of her epicurean taste; she must have the heads for her share. as we were sitting on the porch last evening, the only part of the day which brings us all together, sounds of gay merriment came up from hermit's dell. we proposed walking thitherward to see what was going on. crossing the stream which flows into the river, some distance below the cascade, we wound our way through the woods till the path brought us to a point in view of “the lovers' rock." sitting upon its mossy summit, revealed by the 102 hermit's dell. unseen. moonlight were two figures; one clothed in white, the other, a manly form not unfamiliar to me, that of farmer mead's son. we thought of the mysterious initials on the trunk of the hemlock, and passed on below, by the cascade and on the rustic bridge were many others, some of whom recognized us as we passed ; the sons and daughters of neighboring farmers. again, in the doorway of la solitaire's dwelling, stood a more silent and thoughtful group, listening to the oracle perhaps, or some story of old italy. we pass by unobserved, and reaching the cottage, hear for an hour or two longer the voices and laughter of that merry party, ringing through the woods and valleys. how, in this world of ours, are scenes of gladness and sorrow mingled! like the changing phases of the kaleidoscope, sometimes dull and clouded, sometimes bright and brilliant. the merry sounds to which we have been listening are scarcely silenced, when a pitiful and travel-worn group come winding up the hill and stand before us. it is superfluous and cruel to ask them their cravings; they are apparent enough. a man of stout form, but wan and wasted, bearing in his arms a child four years old; a woman of like appearance carrying a whining infant, and two older children following after, constitute the group. they hermit's 103 dell. are irish emigrants, come from their famine-stricken isle, and wandering about the country looking for a relative, whom they have traced to this vicinity. they have travelled thus for many days, sleeping by the roadside when weary and during the night, but they are almost discouraged. they thought this a country were gold could be picked up in the streets, and bread might be had for nothing ; but they find it far different. we can do nothing for them except to give them food and a few articles of clothing, which they sorely need. they do not want a shelter; for they say it is warm, and if we will let them lie on the hay down in the meadow, they will bless us. poor wanderers ! may you find him you are seeking; but it will be a long and weary search; and may be you will wish that you had never left “swate ireland,” miserable as she is, and blighted with a withering curse. 104 a hermit's dell. xiv. how quickly flies time with us! we can scarcely realize that the bright, beautiful summer which has been so pregnant with events conducive to our happiness, has almost gone. yet so it is. frank has performed wonders at briar-cliff with his stout hibernian aids. the house has been repaired and repainted, the garden cultivated, the walks freshly gravelled, and the whole grounds put in complete order. the old man's cottage too, stands at the gate, remodelled and quite ornamental, much to the delight of its inmates. frank and blanche have spent several days in the city, selecting furniture and decorations which are rapidly arriving and arranged according to blanche's fancy; for her brother has given her sole charge of this department. in a week or two, all will be finished and the house ready to receive its new mistress, whom we have none of us seen, excepting frank, of course. the hall of the mansion is very fine and capacious, as that of all country houses should be. it is panelled with polished oak, and all the rooms on the first floor hermit's dell. 105 open into it. frank's taste is manifest in its decorations, we can plainly see. as you enter the door from the portico, two knights clad in mail, which frank picked up in some antiquarian museum abroad, standing on massive pedestals, confront you. on brackets along the wall are placed beautiful models in plaster bronzed, of classic and historical figures, male and female, draped and undraped, whilst over the library door is a finely preserved deer's head and antlers, a trophy from the adirondacks. the library-for frank is a great reader and has a literary turn too—is a bijou of a room, not large, but l'oomy enough and right cozy. it is finished and furnished in oak, with book-cases built on the wall and surmounted with busts of the great and wise. his paintings, some of which are very fine, are not yet hung, neither are his books unpacked, of which he has a valuable collection. he opened a case yesterday packed in rome, and showed me a “beatrice cenci” copied from the original by mazzolini, as fine a copy as may be found anywhere. “but harry," he says, "next week you shall see a gem not inferior to la solitaire's, though a different subject; it is not unpacked yet." “ah, frank, i expect your choice things will draw us here often; briar-cliff will be the magnetic pole to hermit's dell, and i am afraid your grand establish5* 106 dell. ii hermit's ment will make us dissatisfied with our little unpretending cottage." then, in his stable, is a pair of spanking blacks, which think nothing of accomplishing the distance between our places in half an hour, though the road is hilly. they do it nearly every day, now that we go back and forth so much. frank has bis hands full of employment, but does not want for assistants. minnie and i are only . lookers-on ; blanche, like one of old, "is careful after many things ;” but in addition to her, there is another helper who has offered his services to frank, when not engaged with the duties of his vocation. this is a young man, whose sphere of action is in the schoolhouse by the dusty roadside about half a mile distant. ile dropped in to see frank the other day and welcome him to the neighborhood, at the same time tendering his services in any way that might be acceptable. seeing that he felt the need of more congenial society than he has for most of the six days in the week, frank has taken quite an interest in him. his occupation is probably followed more from necessity than choice, for he is evidently a young man of talent and refinement, fitted for a different position than the one he occupies. there are many such sons of new-england—for he is one-scattered throughout the country, and laboring hermit's dell. 107 for a subsistence which is often begrudged by those who little know the self-denials and struggles which the dependent often knows. frank says that he stopped in the school-house a few days ago, after the rude troop were dismissed, for the purpose of ascertaining, in as delicate a manner as possible, how the young teacher was domiciled; for he had an idea that his accomodations were not the most fitly chosen or agreeable, though perhaps equal to his means. it proved to be so, and frank has now provided him with a snug little room in the cottage at the gate, for the present. i have frequently passed the school-house, and noticed some inscription over the door that i could not decipher from the road. i asked frank if he had ever observed it. “why yes, harry, and a very appropriate motto too, ' hoc opus, hic labor est,' but whether it was put up by the present incumbent or not i am unable to say; it is quite an original idea, is it not ?" frank is superintending the erection of a grapery in addition to his other improvements, and when that is done, i cannot see but that he has all that heart can desire to make a country residence perfect. “yes, harry, by the middle of september i hope to be through with masons, carpenters and all super108 hermit's dell. numeraries; then for the weddings-blanche's and mine; after that, we will have a grand reunion here and settle down to the calm duties of life, like you and minnie, hey!” “i trust all your anticipations may be answered, frank; we shall be happy in your happiness.” so we pass many days, partly at briar-cliff, partly at hermit's dell. frank lodges with us at night, driving to his place every morning, and returning here in the evening minnie and blanche find abundance of work to employ them, so that they can hardly spare time to sail with us occasionally; and as for music, the piano has been unopened for a month; our musician has too much else to think of. there is little for me to look after at this season, as teddy is diligent and keeps everything in good order, so i amuse myself in “taking notes” of all that passes here and at briar-cliff. suppose i should take a notion to “prent em !” but that is not very probable. hermit's dell. 109 xv. minnie and i are alone again for a day or two; and employing our time in returning some visits to our neighbors, whom we have neglected amidst the excitements of the summer. our social intercourse is limited, however, for the country is not yet thickly settled, and the “places” of our friends are widely scattered. when the projected railroad is in operation, we may expect many additions and acquisitions to our circle. this afternoon we paid la solitaire a visit, the first for weeks. she was happy to see us, and we sat a long while with her, gleaning from her memory many incidents of her past life. she loves to talk of her native village, and more especially when she knows that i have been there, and through all that picturesque country which lies between awalfi and the doric temples of paestum, those wondrous ruins " which stand between the mountains and the sea, awful memorials, but of whom we know not.” she is a woman of no common mind; not one of those 110 a hermit's dell. ignorant calabrian peasants which you often meet in their hovels over the southern part of italy. the associations amidst which her husband's employment had thrown her have had their influence on her mind and heart. she reads the books we lend her and takes good care of them. she instructs her child, and is training him to follow his father's profession, for which he begins to show a taste. she talks often of her lost husband, pietro; of those days when, a happy peasant girl, she knew no care, except of trailing vines and trees burdened with golden fruit; when love, wakened in her heart by the voice of the dark haired painter, ripened into devotion, and they were wedded. she speaks of the blue sea and the sunny bay over which they often sailed in the swift felucca, and how on the sea-shore they watched the ocean and the sky together, under the roof of blue italian weather;" then of their after trials and his death, and now of the hope she cherishes that one day she may be able to return and see her old father and mother, who may yet be alive, though she cannot tell. there is a certain charm in the intercourse with her which we cannot define, and we wonder not that the young people love to visit her sometimes and call her a “fortune-teller." 1 ! 1 1 hermit's dell. 111 i tell her, if she ever leaves us and returns to italy, she must let me make her an offer for “the magdalen” we love to look at so much. “ah, signor, you have been so kind; if ever i part with it, it shall be yours.” i tell little pietro, that if he will continue to improve in his sketches, i will give him a paint-box • with brushes and paper all complete. it is really a joy to see his dark eyes dance with delight at the promise; but he shall have it at any rate. we return home by the way of farmer mead's, and sit awhile with the old couple ; for it is a long time since minnie was there. the thrifty dame, good natured and gossiping as she is, keeps minnie entertained in the best room, whilst the farmer and i walk over the pasture-lot to look at a famous cow he has, that gives twenty-two quarts of milk a day, and ten pounds of butter a week; then i must see his wheat, which is especially fine and promises a good yield. he is very busy now, trying to reclaim a large piece of swamp land, which has long been worthless, but he expects not to live to see it done. he says he cannot get any one to work now as he used to in his young days. when we reach home, frank and blanche, who have been at briar-cliff since monday, greet us on the porch, and ask how we have got along without them so long? 112 hermit's dell. frank says he can now receive us at briar-cliff ; the furniture has all arrived and been arranged; carpets down, pictures hung, and everything in order, but one thing wanting to make the house complete—servants; and he is going to the city to-morrow to get them. we chat on topics connected with his plans, over our tea-table, on which is a goodly bowl of peaches and cream, the products of our orchard and old brindle. frank has brought a basket of peaches from briar cliff too, which are very fine, though he says most of the fruit has been appropriated by others. “when i get back from my city expedition,” says frank to me, “i want you to spend a day with me at my place, and give your opinion of the tout ensemble. there are some little matters to be considered yet; and then, next week, you must all come over and dine with me, a sort of house-warming you know.” “now frank," i say, "you have everything around you so choice and elegant, go over some time and buy our neighbor mead's great cow that i saw to day. i do not know whether you can or not, but if you offer him an hundred dollars, i do not believe he will hesitate.” “i will try any how, harry; you have a penchant for fine cattle, and you know what is good. how many quarts does she give ?" hermit's dell. 113 i tell him what i have heard from the lips of her owner, but he does not believe it, although he is unwilling to impeach the good farmer's veracity. “i have heard of such things, harry, but have never been able to see for myself; but now i have an opportunity, and will embrace it.” it is a clear, breezy evening, just the one for our little “glide” to prove her sailing qualities. minnie and blanche are fairly caught idle, so they have to join us. frank pockets his flute, which from its long inaction requires a good soaking, and away we go for the river. the tide is very low, and we find some trouble to work our vessel out of the creek and through the grass on the flats; but after hoisting her broad sail, and getting away from the shoals, we fly through the water at a glorious rate before the ten-knot breeze. our destination is a cove on the other side of the river, some three or four miles below. it sets in between two high mountains, from which the echoes are very fine. it is not our first visit there, and as we cross the river, frank plays, whilst minnie and blanche accompany him with their voices. by and by, the echoes are wakened, and we lay motionless on the smooth waters of the cove, listening to the prolonged answers of imaginary dryades. we are told that from the summit of the mountains, the view is very extensive, 114 hermit's dell. reaching to the valleys of the delaware and connecticut; but the fear of rattle-snakes, which are also said to abound upon them, has prevented our going thither. on our return, we stop a few minutes at the lighthouse, where the dutchman and his family live the year round, isolated and lonely enough, rarely seeing any one, but those who take pity on them and drop in as we have done. the old fellow has had an eventful life, incidents of which he frequently tells us. he ran away from his father's house in holland, when a boy, and became a sailor. there is hardly a part of the world he has not been in, even to the arid isles that lie under the equator, and away north amidst arctic icebergs. now, he has a quiet berth, with nothing much to do but light his lantern at night, put it out in the morning, and spend the rest of the time in smoking his pipe, making nets, and dreaming over his past freezings and scorchings. i do not wonder he is satisfied with his situation, for he has probably seen as much of the world as he cares to for the rest of his life. there is little excitement in his vocation. it is not like being on an ocean light-house, where the waves make continual dash, and sometimes thunder against its base with fearful violence. here there are no breakers, no noble ships sweeping by before the gale, no roar of winds and waters. but once has any incihermit's dell. 115 dent of excitiny nature happened since he has been here, and that was some years ago. during a violent squall, which are not unfrequent on the river, an eastern sloop with a cargo of brick became unmanageable, and ran head on against the stone abutments. she was shivered into fragments, and two of her crew drowned. “ i shall never forget it,” said diedrich, “how wicked she pitched on; it most made the lantern crack, when she struck; the poor fellers hollerin too for me to put out my boat; two on em never came up alive, they got mashed in the brick." we always take the old fellow some tobacco, which is his greatest comfort, and occasionally the children, now growing to be boys and girls of ten to fifteen years, get some acceptable gifts. a few minutes more, and the “glide” is moored by the dock, and we sauntering up the long avenue, weary and sleepy. frank says i must have him up bright and early in the morning, to take the boat which stops at our landing by eight o'clock. so we go, now here, now there ; it is the way of life. 116 h ernit's dell. xvi. “there, harry, is not that a superb copy? look at the eye and the tint of the hair-is it not life-like?” we are sitting in the library at briar-cliff, before the painting frank calls “his gem;" and it is indeed a treasure : not a copy either, but an original by some unknown master. the subject is judith and holofernes, never a pleasing one to me; but as a picture, equal, except in age, to the great original. it came into his possession merely by accident; for frank is one of those “lucky dogs," who always appear to be under the tutelage of dame fortune. diving into the shop of an old virtuoso in rome one day, this picture caught his eye, peeping out from a heap of other rubbish, as if for his special benefit. the owner was miserably poor, and it was not long before a bargain was struck, the picture cleaned of dust and in frank's possession. he had it revarnished and framed in the heavy roman style, and sent out of the country as soon as possible, for fear of losing it. he has a copy of the “ cumæan sibyl” too, from that in the borghese palace, which is hermit's dell. 117 very beautiful, with about a dozen others of lesser beauty and merit. then he has a parcel of old manuscripts, blackletter volumes, and ancient prints; a copy of tasso published in venice 1670, and a history of the sacred wars of jerusalem, published in 1562-pretty venerable books of their class. i can find nothing to criticise in any of my friend's arrangements; everything is in good taste, plain, substantial and for use, not show. his grounds look in fine condition too, though the season is too late for a great display of flowers in the parterres, but there is fruit in abundance. “now, frank, for the wife, and you will be settled for life as comfortably as any one i know. when does the wedding come off ?” “next week,” replies frank, “i shall go away again to-morrow and be back with my wife in a fortnight from to-day. i will write you in a day or two concerning my arrangements. come this way and see what i purpose doing.” the face of the cliff in the rear of the house is too precipitous for any one to descend without considerable agility ; so frank intends building a staircase, with one or two landings, from the lawn above to the shady depths of the glen, through which are winding walks of miles, pleasant views, a stream, and the pond mentioned before. these little valleys, hemmed in by 118 hermit's dell. wooded hills, are frequent features of our country hereabout, and some of them are very lovely; a few trees cut away to make winding walks, and nature does the rest for your pleasure ground. " it will be an improvement, frank, but let me suggest an addition. over the commmencement of the stairs--here, where we stand, build a tower twenty or thirty feet high, with an ascent to the top inside. see what a splendid view you will have—the river there, mountains here, and the depths below—i should think five hundred feet from the top of the tower.” “a good idea, harry, but i cannot do it this year, my purse is not long enough; another season we will think of it again. you had better sell out at hermit's dell and build on that lot south of my garden. i won't charge you much for the ground, in fact i have more than i really want. come now, think seriously of it; how pleasant it would be to have you so near--and we could improve together; have a paradise here one of these days. i guarantee minnie would approve of it; you know she will be very lonesome after blanche leaves." “i will say as you do, frank-i will think of it. we have not lived long enough at hermit's dell to become very strongly attached to it, though it is very pleasant, and i have no doubt it would bring a good price, if put into market. i agree with you that it 72 hiervit's dell, 119 would be delightful to live so near each other, especially on minnie's account, and i shall hardly dare to broach the subject to her; but i will as soon as i get home.” we spend the afternoon at the pond, fishing, and lake some fine lake bass which have been bred here, originally transported from the northern lakes. the old man tells us afterward, that his hoy has caught them weighing seven pounds. frank will not have to depend upon the river for fish. then the streams abound in trout, though not very large. we take a basket full with us in my wagon, for frank returns home with me to-night, wishing to see blanche before his departure south. he says it is the last drive he will take with me as a single man; for he does not like to be called or to call himself a bachelor. he thinks he is too young for that. “yes, frank, but i hope we shall have many more rides and walks together, and hunts too. i was in hopes we would have been able to go to indian lake or the adirondacks this fall, and revive some of our old memories. i often think of old 'uncle josh,' don't you? and little kate,' as we used to call her. how time does go? just think how long ago that was. but i cannot ask you to go deer-hunting this fall; but in june, if we all live, we might go to the saranac lakes, trout-fishing, and bring home a can full to put in your pond. they would thrive here famously.” 120 hermit's dell. “ i should like nothing better, harry, if it can be so arranged; as for deer-hunting, that last tramp we had through the snow in those swamps and over the “wind-falls" about indian lake, i am almost sick of it; but we were too late that season. do you remember bill tanner, and “ ike” as the loggers called him? what a genius he was ! that fellow would have made something more than a hunter, if his opportunities had been good. and don't you often think what a trick that crack-brained tim played us, the time we treed a bear after he had killed one of the best dogs. how true is that saying the chinese have, i saw translated the other day“to place in danger's foremost rank a feeble man, is but to use a locust's slank for your sedan.'" “to change the subject, frank, i have a promise from la solitaire-i cannot help calling her by that title—that if she parts with that “magdalen,” i shall have it. she appears to have a fancy to go back to italy again, and i do not blame her; if she could afford it, i think she would sail to-morrow. i have an idea of sounding her a little farther on the subject, and if her poverty is the only hindrance, why we could soon make up an hundred or two dollars in the neighborhood, and that, with what i would give her for the a hermit's dell. 121 2 picture, would make her comfortable till she reached home.” “i will do my part towards it, harry, for i think the woman is deserving of sympathy and aid, and she always appears grateful for any little attention shown her; i hope you may get the picture, but she idolizes it so, i doubt if she will part with it. she has had temptation enough to induce her to sell it, if her story is true, which we cannot doubt." we are home already, or nearly so. the ladies are on the look-out for us from the summer-house; though they know very well from past experience, that when frank and i get off together, there is little calculation to be made concerning our movements. “however, this time we are home in good season, are we not minnie?" “very dutiful young men,” she replies, “and how have you spent your day? charmingly, i presume.” of course we have to enter into all the particulars and descriptions necessary to the edification of our friends till we are spun out," and even then blanche asks, “have'nt you something more to tell us?" 6 122 hermit's dell xvii. the summer is waning, and nature has lost much of that freshness which so enhances her beauty. the sheen of ripeness is over woods and fields and gardens, awakening thoughts of ceres and pomona, and the yellow-haired bacchus. it is a season of both labor and joy to the farmer, for his toil is rewarded with rich promise and opulent yield. this is perhaps the last harvest season that my good neighbor mead may ever know, unless it be in that unknown clime, “where he shall come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.” he sent over for me yesterday, to come and sit with him awhile; for he has been complaining, during the past week, of symptoms which seem to indicate a mortal disease. he has been a hard-worker all his lifetime, and it is telling on his frame now, though to a casual observer it would not be apparent. sitting on the porch in his large arm-chair, he looks with me over the fields which he has tilled so long and well, and heaves a sigh. a hermit's 123. dell. “ he hears the autumn rustling in his corn, cloud chases cloud across his bending grain ; the reaper's scythe-song greets the golden morn, the soft eve welcomes home the loaded wain." but he cannot go as he used to, and reap or bind with as stalwart and tireless arm as the youngest. he is beginning to despond, but i endeavor to cheer him with the hope that his day is not ended yet. he cannot think so, and begins to talk more familiarly with me than ever before. “i see it all ahead,” ι ” he says; “yes, i know well when i am gone that the old farm will run down and go into other hands before long. the old woman will soon follow me, and abel is young and foolish, always wants guiding-running after new notions all the time, and yet i've done my best with the boy—but it's his nature—yes, i see it all." in some such strain the old man talks since he has been complaining; he cannot bear the idea of the farm passing into the hands of others, and his prescience may prove true. it is very doubtful if his son follows in his footsteps. frank is married at last! his letter conveying the news arrived to day, and we are all to meet him and his bride to-morrow at their beautiful home. blanche is very happy of course, and fairly nervous with impa124 hermit's dell. tience to welcome her new sister, whom she has never seen. “i wonder what her style of beauty is,” she says ; “frank never would tell me any particulars; he said i must wait and see; frank is so funny sometimes." “no matter now, blanche, you will see for yourself in twelve hours or so. come! it is too cool to sit on the porch any longer; the dew is very heavy to-night; let us have one of those fantasies' frank brought you; the piano has not been opened for a month. i want to write a little to-night, and you know that music is suggestive.” my fair cousin is always obliging, so i have music to my heart's content for the rest of the evening, beginning with “ les fugitives,” and ending with “don pasquale.” blanche sings delightfully too, but has never forgiven me for what she pleases to call “a piece of my flattery,” in my writing on a page of her scrap book, "inscribed to blanche,” “so sweet in her is music's power, her mouth breaths fragrance like a flower, and the bee passing, as he sips, makes honey from her odorous lips.". minnie, always busy, is embroidering some fanciful article of apparel for blanche's wardrobe or trousseau, hermit's dell. 125 which, from the quantity of work and material i have seen for the last six weeks, ought to last her half a lifetime. but it is nearly finished now, for in two weeks, the eventful day will arrive. but here comes bridget with a dish of luscious grapes, such rich catawbas as bacchus never knew. “put away your work for to-night, minnie; and 2lanche, you think you are consumptive sometimes, eat your fill! are they not delicious ? and these heath peaches! why, minnie, you should keep these to brandy, they are far better than those “morris whites' you bought at the nursery the other day.” we sit long over our evening feast, and make plans for the next week and week after. tomorrow we go to briar-cliff. on monday, frank and his wife must dine with us; and during the week we will visit back and forth. the week after, there will be this and that to do in preparation for blanche's wedding, which is to be very quiet. after madame rreturns from the fallsniagara of course-she is to make a visit at glenclunie, then spend a week with us and receive her country friends. “ then, blanche,” says minnie, and the tears come into her eyes, "you will go to your new home; and when shall we see you again? i cannot bear to think of it !” 126 dell. hermit's this makes blanche feel pathetic, and we have quite a "scene" for awhile; till a little philosophising on my part brings smiles again. after all, how dependent we are upon each other! hermit's dell. 127 xviii. another month has gone! and how much that was dear and beautiful to us has gone with it from our view! some, for a season—the rest, for ever! the birds of summer are flocking to take their accustomed exodus towards the sunny south; the flowers are fading, leaves beginning to wither and fall. the woods are gorgeous with those countless tints which no painter's pencil may copy, and which nowhere else in the world are half so beautiful as here. blanche has gone too, and more than birds or flowers, we miss her. our old neighbor mead, worn and wasted at last, is receiving his reward. whilst we were gay and happy, whilst sounds of mirth were in our dwelling, sadness and sighs were in his; yet we miss him and sorrow with those who mourn a good man, a kind father, and a warm friend gone. at briar-cliff we have been frequent and welcome visitors. frank and his wife are as happy as our warmest wishes could have them. i cannot picture, on the pages of my diary, the face and form which are my friend's delight, or echo in 128 hermit': dell. other ears the voice that is his music. enough it is to say, that she is all his heart could crave—all that can bless his life. we have all been in such a state of excitement during the last month, entertaining, and being entertained, “marrying and giving in marriage,” it is difficult to settle down again to our usually quiet life. blanche is coming back to stay with us awhile, before going to the south; though she has promised to spend her summers with us. she is happy, except in leaving us, and hermit's dell, so rich in dear and pleasant associations. frank is making a paradise, almost, around him ; it would be difficult to find a lovelier spot. lle has acted upon my suggestion made some time ago, and is building a tower upon the verge of the cliff, which will command a beautiful view, not only of his grounds, but the surrounding country, and the river gleaming in the distance. the ravine below is a peaceful resort, and capable of being beautified also. yet nature has done her part, and at this season“ there, the children of the autumnal whirlwind bear ili wanton sport, those bright leaves, whose decay, red, yellow, or ethereally pale, hermit's dell. 129 rival the pride of summer. 'tis the haunt of every gentle wind, whose breath can teach the wilds to love tranquillity.” frank and i spent a day in and about hermit's dell last week, shooting quails, with which the thickets abound this season. we were very successful, and on our way home, stopped to chat with la solitaire, as we still call her, and leave her a few of the birds. she still talks of going back to italy; her heart is evidently there. frank asked her if she would not leave pietro with him, and he would educate him ; but she prefers that her boy shall go with her, if she returns, and follow his father's occupation, for which he has a decided talent. he is highly delighted with the box of colors which frank gave him, and is commencing to use them. frank says that he has no doubt i most heartily wish for la solitaire's departure, hoping i may get the picture she has promised me conditionally; but i do not plead guilty to being as selfish as he insinuates : though i must acknowledge i look at the painting with a covetous eye whenever i visit the owner. poor, lonely woman! she may be happy in her selfchosen and peculiar solitude, but i do not believe she is; and we decide that the next time minnie goes to see her, she shall inquire more fully into her wants and wishes. 6* 130 hernit's dell. winter will soon be here, and how much better for her to be amidst the orange groves and vineyards of her native valley, than in this lonely glen. i am sure her heart would leap with joy were the prospect before her; but she has too much delicacy to ask assistance: or it may be-pride. there are many little improvements and alterations i contemplate making this season about our grounds, provided that frank and his wife do not prevail on us to build on that fair site he has at briar-cliff. there is no telling how it may be; it all rests with minnie, and she is cogitating on the subject. one advantage at any rate, would be in having a good school near at hand for our little birdie, one of these days; and there are other matters too to be considered, which make it desirable. minnie and i were caught in a storm there a few nights since, and obliged to stay till morning. how comfortable it was in the library, with its glowing pictures and high-piled book-cases! what a scene of quiet and domestic comfort ! frank at his desk, writing something "funny,” as blanche says, for the “spirit of the times," currente calamo: minnie and the lady of the house, buried amidst the cushions of a luxurious sofa, engaged in confidential chit-chat; and my humble self, stretched out in the reading chair, hermit's dell. 131 absorbed in “ michelet,” excepting the few moments in which i survey our tableau vivant. by and by, when the wind whistles louder, and the rain beats faster against the windows, we get up a concert of our own; frank with his flute, his wife on her guitar, and minnie at the piano-together with their voices-discourse "soft lydian airs married to immortal verse." but one rich voice is wanting to make the harmony complete, and that is blanche's; but next week she will be here, and there will be a grand reunion.” the storm is over, and what a change it has wrought in the appearance of our country! the trees are almost leafless, and a phase of cheerlessness is cast over the face of nature, before so smiling. in another month, it will be winter, dreary and cold in our northern latitude, and we shall be more than ever dependent upon each other for comfort and enjoyment. another season, and much of our interest in hermit's dell and its surrounding haunts may have ceased. change is over all ! “but the unborn hour, cradled in fear and hope, conflicting storms, who shall unveil ? nor thou, nor i, nor any mighty or wise." 132 hermit's dell. xix. the winds of winter, laden with snow and sleet, are sweeping over the hills and through the glens between them, piling up great driſts along our hedge-rows and shrubbery, and shrouding the young evergreens which were looking so verdant and cheerful. one only, a graceful hemlock, remains uncovered. it stands in a sunny corner, where the north wind cannot reach it, and was planted by our cousin blanche on the day of her departure. something lively,” she said, "to remind you of me in the dreary winter, dear minnie.” yes, blanche, we will often look on your little immortelle, and think of you in your sweet southern home around which no snows gather : but as yet our memories need no prompter. it has been a long storm, and we have been penned in-doors to profit and amuse ourselves as we best could. the snow lies over a foot deep, and teddy and i, with the aid of “old charley,” have been striving to break the road through the dense drifts which cover our approach from the road houseward. it is very cold and h hermit's dell. 133 severe work for us all, but it is over at last, and that necessary purveyor, the butcher, is the first one to reap the advantage of our labor. he brings the mail of four days with him too-a most acceptable packet, and which will be the means of making one evening at least pass speedily enough. i go to the house and shuffling off my moccasins on the porch, doff my rough frieze overcoat, and donning my wrapper, compose myself in the great chair before the fire for uninterrupted enjoyment of my newsbudget. opening the wrapper i find a letter from blanche to minnie, who is sitting near me engaged in knitting a pair of polish boots with which to encase her feet when sleighing, of which from present prospects we shall enjoy a superabundance. the work is thrown aside and she is soon absorbed in the perusal of blanche's, epistle, an eight-paged one, closely written. i look up from my paper occasionally upon her face, over which expressions flit changeful as the gleams and shadows of an april day over a fair landscape. if i read them aright, blanche must be as happy a bride “as the sun shines upon,” her lot bright as the skies which bend over her. by and by minnie reads to me a sentence here and there. may i not transcribe one ? 134 dell. hermit's “yes, minnie, i am very, very happy, my spirit is in sunshine all the time, but i often find myself asking -will i always be thus happy? are there no clouds in view ? “what a blessed thing it is that we cannot look into the future! sometimes i feel a little lonesome, and then i think of you all and wish i were nearer to you: but how can i be dissatisfied with my lot! “i am looking forward already to the summer, when i hope to make you that promised visit. i suppose you are enjoying sleigh-riding now to the utmost, but i wish you were here to enjoy the bananas you are so fond of.” it is a joy to us that blanche is thus happy, for upon a nature like hers anything like disappointment falls with a saddening influence. the letter is laid away to be re-read and answered, and i return to my papers. as the afternoon wears away, the sky clears up and the wind begins to rise again, making the air bitter cold. our cottage stands exposed to the full force of the northern wind, and, being intended only as a summer residence, we have great difficulty to keep ourselves comfortable. there is a rap upon the outer door: who can it be braving the snow and wind ? i go to the door and find that it is pietro, the child of la solitaire. 1 1 1 hermit's dell. 135 > he is warmly clad, but he has been up to his waist amidst the snow-drifts and shivers like a leaf. i take a broom to him and beat off the clinging snow, then bring him to the fire. he has a book in his hand, one i lent his mother some time since, but his sole errand is not to return that. well, pietro what is it? his lip commences to quiver as he tells us that his mother is sick and wants to see us. she is in need of tea and sugar too, and doubtless of other necessaries, for she has not been able to go to the store very lately. it is cold and disagreeable enough, but it is our duty to go. teddy is ordered to bring up the light sleigh, for we cannot walk there, and whilst he is getting ready, we fortify ourselves as well as possible against the searching wind and drifting snow. teddy comes with the sleigh well stocked with robes, and minnie has had the wisdom of providing a bottle of hot water to keep her feet warm. she has packed a basket too with little delicacies and necessaries for bella, which she knows will be acceptable and thankfully received. we place pietro between our feet and teddy arranges the warm furs so that not a crevice is left for rude to pry into . though our destination is but a few moments' walk from the cottage by the foot-path, we are obliged to boreas to pry 136 hermit's dell. drive a circuit of some four miles to reach it. we find the road unbroken after leaving our gate, and charley has about as much as he can do to flounder through the drifts and draw us after him. the road keeps the river bank for a mile or two and then enters the woods. how beautiful are the cedars and hemlocks, clothed as in winding sheets! now and then a limb bursts through its shroud, emerging, as it were, into life again, and seeming to say— "oh year! we are immortal, we die not with thee." it is almost evening when we reach the narrow defile forming the entrance into the glen, and in a few minutes' time we are at the cabin door. a taper casts its feeble glimmer through the window: no human form is visible; the scene is one of utter loneliness. pietro emerges from his warm mufflings, and fearlessly jumping into the snow, opens the door. i lift minnie out, and placing her on the threshold, hand her the basket of provisions, and then make our faithful co-worker, charley, as comfortable as possible. as i am about to enter the cabin, minnie tells me there is no wood within, and the fire is expiring, that i must hunt up some fuel. i find a heap of dead branches against the southern house-side, and with the aid of pietro a goodly quantity hermit's dell. 137 is brought and soon cracking and blazing upon the hearth. poor bella ! she is very sick, and can scarce express her thanks for our coming to her. she has a racking cough, and already looks wasted with fever, the effects of too much exposure to the inclement weather. ah, bella ! you were born and nurtured under a warmer sky than ours! would that you were now where your thoughts are oftentimes—amidst the orange groves of sweet la-cava.” “yes, señor, it is my heart's wish—but how can i return!” as the night gathers, minnie proposes that she remain with the sick woman, for there is no one to wait on her, and that i return home to bring some other necessaries in the morning. the doctor must be sent for too, but that cannot be done to-night. minnie's plan seems the wisest under the circumstances, and after making everything snug i start homeward alone. it is bitterly cold, and i rejoice to reach my own fireside again, for i am perfectly impregnated with the frosty air ; but the fragrant tea is steaming on the hearth, and i am in a mood to enjoy it. birdie misses his mother, and most pertinaciously asks me again and again when she will come back. her absence is a novelty to him, and the reason i give for it is incomprehensible to him. 138 hermit's dell. how blissful is childhood's unconsciousness of the pains and sorrows of humanity! its sky is ever bright, its flowers ever blooming, and as we look upon the smoothly rounded cheek, the lithe and dancing formas we hear the joyous prattle and unstudied laugh of childhood, how few of us often sigh not“oh! what a world of beauty fades away, with the winged hours of youth.” but birdie's prattle is soon hushed in slumber, and i am alone. the wind sweeps and whistles drearily round the cottage, begetting a feeling almost of melancholy. i take up a paper, and turning to its “fun corner strive to laugh over its oddities, but it is futile for me to make the endeavor. my thoughts are in the gloomy depths of hermit's dell—the sick chamber wherein minnie is administering to the invalid bella. she will not sleep to-night i know; what a cheerless vigil she will keep in that lonely dwelling! oh, woman! frail and gentle as thou seemest, thy spirit is brave and strong! i have a letter in my desk which i prize very much. it was written by a friend years ago, and i read it very often still. his heart was almost broken when he traced these lines : “ yes, my young wife is dead : she was very dear to a a 6 hermit's deli. 139 me you know. it was very hard for me to give her up, and i cannot realize that she is gone. the piano is still open as she left it the day she sickened. there is her sewing-chair and work-table, and the little garment in the drawer still unfinished. her moss-rose and mignonette are blooming under the window, but their fragrance is wasted. only a year gone since she was a bride ; you remember how lovely she looked in her wreath of orange blossoms. “i was sick once, and she tended me. many a long hour she sat by my bedside, bathing my pulses when they were wild with fever : and when i was well again, how happy she became, how radiant were her smiles. here is the garden, and the little arbor overhung by the passion-vine and clematis, where we used to sit and talk of days gone.' oh! my friend ! i am very lonely—may your heart and home never be thus desolate.” poor fred! years have gone since he met his great loss, but he often talks and writes of his "angel wife,” and has never married again. with all its wretchedness, his heart could not wail with edgar poe"respite, respite, and nepenthe, from the memories of lenore, quaff! o quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget thy lost lenore." 140 hermit's dell. xx. with the morning light teddy is despatched for the physician, with a request from me that he will visit bella as soon as possible, for i know not how important his services may be. as charley will be in use for an hour or two, i put on my top-boots and walk by the nearest route to the cabin. the path runs along a steep hillside the greater part of the distance, and as the snow is very deep and i am the first one to break the surface, my walk is toilsome enough. the little dwelling of bella is soon visible, and i perceive a thick column of smoke curling upward from the chimney. they are not suffering with cold at any rate, and it has a cheerful look too. when i reach the house minnie replies to my summons at the door, and if her face is an index of her patient's condition, all is still well. she tells me that bella passed the night very comfortably, though suffering some pain and oppression. “i did not sleep a wink the whole night through,” she continues; "you have no idea how lonesome i felt here, though i did not feel afraid of anything. i spent most of the time in reading, and when i became tired 1 hermit's dell. 141 of that, i stood the light under the magdalen and studied it for an hour. i never appreciated its beauty before. did you send for the doctor? bella intimated last evening that she would like to see the priest—but i have had a serious talk with her, and i think she is indifferent now to his coming at all. i find that she is not a very rigid catholic.” the doctor arrives soon, and pronounces bella in no danger at present, though her lungs are slightly affected -a little medicine, quiet, and good nursing are all that is necessary, and those she will have. minnie suggests that i return home and send teddy after old mrs. pike, who is a capital nurse, to come and remain at the cabin till bella is convalescent. this meets my approval, and after replenishing the pile of fuel by the hearth i again tramp and flounder through the drifts homeward. i find my breakfast awaiting me, and it is discussed with a most capital appetite, for i have done hard service since daylight. a covey of quail are running over the snow before the door half famished, and birdie and i amuse ourselves with feeding them. hunger has tamed them so that they venture within a few feet of us. if bella were well she would soon entice them to her traps, and it may be their fate still to get into them. “ teddy has gone after the nurse, and when he returns, birdie, we will go after mamma." 142 hermit's dell. the little fellow says it is cold, but i teli bridget to bundle him up in shawls and i will see that he does not suffer in the sleigh. in due time we are off, birdie nestled among the furs and blankets, his little face only visible, reminding me of a tiny chicken peeping from beneath its mother's wings. it is his first sleigh-ride, and he is delighted with the jingle of the bells and the fine snow that charley flings up for the wind to dust us with. we find good mrs. pike installed into her office, and minnie waiting patiently for us to take her home. telling the nurse to send us word by pietro if we can be of any service, we drive rapidly homeward. minnie is tired out, and is glad to reach home again, but there we find frank and his wife, who have arrived during my absence, and promise to spend the rest of the day with us. they are sorry to hear of bella's sickness, for they already feel as much interest in her as we do. frank suggests that we delay the project no longer of trying to enable her to return home when the spring opens. we know she is longing to do so, and only wants the means. “ two or three hundred dollars, harry, will cover all expenses, and provide for contingencies; i will give a quarter of the amount, and i know you will second me : the rest can soon be raised among our neighbors.” minnie and i promise co-operation, and in a few 1 1 . 143 hermit's dell. weeks bella's heart will know a new joy, if our promises are good. the river is covered with an unbroken sheet of ice, and we see the fishermen going out to lift their “fykes” which are generally burdened with fish. the wind has swept off the snow, and frank proposes that we drive over the river and back for the sake of a good trot. his horses are brought up and we are off. the river is over a mile in width, but in five minutes we are across and warming our fingers at the fishermen's fire in the hut upon the shore. we buy some fine perch of them, and retrace our way, stopping to see old diedrich, the genius of the lighthouse. he does not have to light his lantern now, but he lives beneath it because it is his only shelter. he is busy at his old work, making nets to sell to the shad-fishers, and smoking his pipe by way of recreation. he speaks very highly of that last tobacco we brought him, which insinuation we understand: but unfortunately have omitted taking any with us this time. “ we will bring some the next visit we make you, diedrich," says my companion. “gute !" is his laconic reply, tinctured with a tone of disappointment, and we are off again. we are at home in time to find dinner on the table, and the ladies looking out for us, for with the glass they could see all our movements. 144 hermit's dell. “harry, what do you think,” says minnie, “we have an invitation to domesticate ourselves at briarcliff till the weather becomes milder. kate will take no refusal ; she says she knows we are suffering with the cold here, and that you won't refuse.” “ well, minnie, as far as the cold is concerned, it is true enough. the house is not proof against these northwesters, and as far as qur comfort is concerned, i think it a very desirable change, but” to 'buts' are necessary at all, cousin harry," replies kate ; “there is nothing to keep you here whatever; the servants are trusty, we have abundance of room, and to spare, and it will add much to our happito have you with us. you must go over with us this afternoon, bridget and birdie, bag and baggage.” frank is not only as decided but quite peremptory in trying to persuade us, and at last we assent to the arrangement. we leave the house and its appurtenances under the charge of teddy, promising but a week's absence, and all packed in frank's commodious sleigh we speed towards briar-cliff. the road is now in fine order from frequent travel, and in half an hour we are at the mansion. what an air of comfort there is about it : a veritable arctic atmosphere could not penetrate its thick stone walls. ness hermit's 145 dell. there is a great stove in the hall whose capacity is suggestive of never-failing coal-fields : and in the library a hickory fire that would put “ uncle josh’s” to shame is fiercely blazing. intimately acquainted and connected as we are with the dwellers here, minnie and i soon make ourselves perfectly“ at home,” complying with the spirit of our friends' often repeated wish that we shall do so. evening comes with its social tea-quaffing, and afterward we gather in the library to a cozy game of chess or bagatelle. by and by we have music—the spirit-stirring drinking song, crambamboli, which frank sings finely. it is echoed from the kitchen, in which department of the household a young german is instated. as the notes of a tuneful lied which we sing afterward come to his ear, i can divine his thoughts if he cherishes fond memories of the fatherland. he is again amidst the vineyards by the rhine, or beneath the lindens that o'erhang the neckar. he remembers the day when, embarking for his new home, he listened tearfully to the melodies of the old. there were others with him too: some perhaps were his kindred : but where are they now? away through the valleys of the west, by the banks of the ohio and the rio grande, they build their quaint cabins, and gather their viny harvests, but our songs are over, and whilst our fair compan7 146 dell. hermit's ions draw their lounge aside for a private tête-à-tête, frank takes from his writing-desk a box of old letters which he wishes i would assist him to sort and file. they are the accumulation of years, and some are to be garnered again—others, to feed the fire. how many memories do those rustling pages awaken! how varied the phases of life they chronicle! some are worn with frequent reading—others unrumpled and scarcely opened. of those who wrote them, a few, very few were friends : the rest, not foes perhaps, but selfish and calculating scriveners. the characters upon some of those chequered pages were traced by fingers which shall hold the pen no more. their writing is familiar as were the faces of those who wrotefaces we have looked not on for many a long year. what so recalls the voice and smile of a lost friend as a letter of his inditing? others have forgotten himbut to you he seems to speak with silent tongue--you hold in yours his invisible fingers. “here, harry,” said frank, as he handed me a letter of several pages, “is one i prize highly and often read. it was written by a chum of mine only a few months since. he was a noble fellow, and had his health been spared him, would have made his mark upon our country's page. i do not know of any one more thoroughly educated or possessing more general information. he was a deep thinker and a great obhermit's dell. 147 server of men and things, neglecting nothing that could add to his fund of useful knowledge. “he used to take a great interest in politics, and i have often heard him say it was his ambition to shine in public life. poor fellow ! he died of a cancer before any of his hopes were answered. i think that is the last letter he ever wrote, and i never read it without thinking of that touching sentiment uttered by henry clay when he felt that he was failing. what a depth of regretful feeling is contained in those few lines! do you not remember them? i believe my memory serves me right—'if the days of my usefulness be indeed past, i desire not to linger an impotent spectator of the oft-scanned field of life.' “there are passages in that letter imbued with the same spirit. after all, harry, how vain are our calculations and endeavors." i read the letter so full of regrets, yet not repinings, and then frank hands me another written in a different vein. it is from “a musical genius” studying abroad, . and is full of the spirit which characterizes the works of beethoven and mozart, and others of their school. its pages, written almost in rhythmical measure, give evidence of a mind gifted with an intense perception of all that is beautiful and divine in music. it remains to be seen whether, master of his art, he will one day exclaim with the dying mozart—"now i begin to see a 148 hermit's dell. what might be done in music :" or, disappointed in his aspirings, sigh with jean paul richter—" away, music, away! thou tellest me of joys i shall never realize." so for an hour or two we sit over that receptacle of old letters and discuss its contents. out of hundreds, a few only are laid aside to be kept for reperusalmementoes of those who are held worthy of remembrance. hermit's 149 dell. xxi. “come, frank ! it is a fine, still morning : what do you say to a drive over to hermit’s dell? i promised bella that we would not neglect her, and at the same time there are matters at the cottage i wish to look after." such was minnie's salutation and proposition to our host at breakfast this morning. “only grant me an hour to scribble off a letter or two, and i and the horses are at your service for the day,” is frank's reply. it is indeed a pleasant winter's day! the snow lies dense and level over the lawn; here and there a hemlock or pine relieving its glistening surface with its dark shadows, and giving a phase of cheerfulness to the else gloomy woods. the sunshine falls warmly into the winter conservatory on the southern porch, and sitting within it, inhaling its delicious atmosphere, laden with scents of geranium and orange blossoms, we fancy that the breath of a summer's day is here caged and kept for our enjoyment. frank comes here sometimes to enjoy his cigar, 150 dell. hermit's which his wife declaims against most forcibly; but he defends himself with the plea that he drives away the spiders which are particularly obnoxious to her : so he gains his point. but the horses are at the door. frank has finished his epistles, and whilst the ladies are pulling on their polish boots, we arrange the hot bricks in a damp blanket on the bottom of the sleigh, and otherwise consult the comfort of our companions; for frank slily whispers in my ear, “ i'm going to give them a drive to leeville.” our destination, then, is nearly thirty miles distant, and the prospect is that we shall not get home again tonight. frank takes the reins, for our vehicle holds but four persons comfortably, and in half an hour we are at the door of bella's cabin. minnie runs in for a few moments, and returns with tidings that the invalid is fast improving and very comfortable, wanting nothing but a few more days of good abby pike's nursing. as the cottage we call our home is on the route we intend taking, minnie tells our jehu not to drive by without stopping, for she begins to suspect that frank and i have had our heads together, concocting some scheme or other for their surprise or amusement. at home we find everything as it should be in-doors, but have to force a perfect barricade of snow, piled upon the porch by the busy winds, before effecting an hermit’s dell. 151 entrance. teddy is now sole occupant, for during our absence his kitchen companions have gone to visit their friends elsewhere. a good hickory-wood fire is blazing in the kitchen, whither we descend to warm our fingers preparatory to a start, and at the same time inspect the larder, which we fear is nearly empty. it is rather soon after breakfast for us to be hungry, but the ladies being admonished that they have a long ride before them, think it best to fortify themselves a little. minnie produces part of a smoked salmon from a dark corner, and kate has spied out a jar of pickles, of which, with most of her sex, she is uncommonly fond. there is no lack of bread and butter, so whilst our fair companions take their “cold snap," frank and i imbibe a warm potation whose flavor awakens memories of “old schiedam." but teddy calls out, “ mister frank, the beasts are shiverin',” despite of their blankets, and so once more snugly tucked in, we are off again. away through the woods, along the river bank, and then into the woods again, we speed at a gallant rate, till we reach 66 the point" where we are to cross the river. the covers the surface only in detached places, and keeping watch for the air-holes, we drive straight across. the river is here almost a mile in width, but the ice is nearly a foot thick, and perfectly solid, so we feel there is no risk in snow 152 heryit's dell. crossing on it. as we near the other shore, we find the tide has overflowed the surface, to the depth of several inches, and become frozen again. our horses break through it, which alarms the ladies some, but it is soon over. we take the shore near an old-fashioned tavern, which frank and i well remember as the rendezvous of a sleighing party in which we were prominent actors a few years ago. there is the same flaunting sign swinging and creaking, the same tall porch, and there is the identical woolly-headed “ cæsar," who rubbed down frank's horses so faithfully on that eventful night. “we must stop for the sake of old times, harry," said frank, and so we do. the old negro recognizes us, but says, “ dem ain't the hosses, massa-yah-yah !" no, cæsar, and where are the fair forms which they bore that night? where is mabel lee, the belle of the frolic; where her fair companion ? are they living still, mindful oftentimes of by-gone days, or are they in that realm where retrospection neither gladdens or saddens the spirit! leeville is still some ten miles distant, but we are on the post road, now beaten smooth and hard by constant travel. a fine farming country here stretches for miles westward from the river. great red barns are visible hermit's dell. 153 from the road, doubtless heaped high with hay and grain, for there are stacks without—the surplus of garnered crops. our road courses amidst varied scenes : now, through a piece of woodland; now ascending, then descending; here, over a wide stream, on stone arches; there, through a region of broad and level meadows. the snow lies deeply over all now, but in the summer time it must be a beautiful country that surrounds us. the moon lights us into leeville, that quiet little village in which frank and i have spent so many pleasant days. we pass by the old homestead, standing away back from the road, and dimly seen through the dense locusts and elms which surround it. my friend's right and title to that substantial old mansion has been long since conveyed into other hands, and nothing about it belongs to him now but its pleasant associations. we stop for a moment upon the bridge that crosses a little stream flowing near the village. “there, kate,” says frank, pointing to the spot where the willows thickly cluster, “there is a deep pool in which a poor misguided girl drowned herself a few years ago. i will tell you more about it when we reach the tavern." we have had a long drive, and though not suffering with cold, thanks to the hot bricks and thick furs, it is 7* 154 hernit's dell. pleasant to gather round the wide hearth in the parlor of the tavern, which the family have vacated for our accommodation. old walton is the landlord still, and recognizing us as friends, strives to make us comfortable. supper is soon prepared, and a good supper too, consisting of coffee, buckwheat cakes, fresh pickerel from a neighboring lake, and sundry other accompaniments; to all of which we do ample justice. the dry wood is heaped upon the fire, and cozily disposed around it, frank and i revive old memories. we remember the harvests-home, the corn-huskings, the apple-peelings, and all the other frolics in which we once took a part. an hour or two passes away in such converse, till frank is reminded of the little history he promised to give concerning the suicide girl. “i shall tell it hastily," frank says, “ for it is getting late, and we are all tired.” “she was the daughter of a rich farmer in this vicinity, and it may be that her parents are living yet, although they were pretty old people at the time the affair happened. during the summer, a party of young men from the city came here to rusticate, fish, and shoot woodcock, for the country abounded in game. they were wild boys, full of fun, and ready for any frolic : cruising about in every direction, and 66 hermit's 155 dell. making the acquaintance of all the pretty girls for miles around. every few days they would get up a pic-nic or a fishing frolic, or something of the kind. the girls felt flattered with the attentions of these city beaux, though i don't suppose any one of them had the remotest idea of picking up a wife here. at any rate they all had their favorites, and it is only to be wondered at that there were not more broken hearts than bell darragh's. poor girl! she was young and very susceptible, and was deep in love before she knew it. the young man who waited on her most was well calculated to win a girl's heart, but i am convinced that he was not aware how deep an impression he had made. it was the talk, however, of the whole neighborhood, how deeply the girl was in love with him, till by and by it reached his ears. he did not give it much attention, but rather laughed at it as only a passing fancy, though at the same time withdrawing his attentions to a certain degree; for i believe that he was strictly honorable. it was different with the girl; and though her companions laughed at her and called her foolish, it was soon evident that she was serious in her attachment. her temperament was peculiar, and she became quite melancholy z would not go out, and refused to join any more of the parties that were made up. “her father sent her away to an uncle living in a 156 uert's deli. different part of the country, thinking a change of scene would have a good effect upon her; but it was of no use. when she came home, the young men had all left, and the one to whom she was attached, not dreaming but that her fancy for him would cease on his departure, had thought it needless to enter into any explanation. this was a twofold disappointment to her. she became moody and mopish, and subject to melancholy spells, so that her parents were obliged to watch her constantly. “she went on so for several weeks, till one morning she did not make her appearance at breakfast, which was very unusual. her mother went up to her room, but it was vacant and the bed had not been disturbed. the old people were much alarmed, and the news soon spread through the village that bell darragh was missing “ her body was found in less than an hour. it lay upon the pebbly bottom of the pool under the willows that i pointed out to you near the bridge. her face was turned upward, and those who saw it first said that it glistened through the clear water calm and beautiful in its expression. every means were resorted to in the hope of restoring her, but she was perfectly lifeless. " i saw her soon after she was taken from the water, her bonnet hung upon the willows, as if to show the spot where she laid herself down to die. she had hermit's 157 dell. dressed herself in a white robe, with more than usual care, and had even twined some white rose-buds in her hair. it was a fair but sad sight, and as i looked upon the lifeless form, surrounded by wailing friends, i could not but think and exclaim, how soon 66 * the illusion o’er, the spell dispersed, life and life's bubble burst.' “ it cast a gloom over the village for weeks, for bell was a general favorite with young and old. i have often thought how sadly her young love was wasted and quenched, and how many of us would give the world, if we could, to be the object of such devotion as hers.” such was frank's relation, and strictly true. i remember well when it occurred, but our companions had never heard of the incident before. “ it is a sad story,” says one, “but such things happen oftener than we know of. the world scoffs at there being such a thing as a broken heart, but i know of two in my own experience. harry, you remember julia c-! you know the doctor said she died of a galloping consumption : but her intimate friends knew better." it is late before we retire, although our breakfast is to be ready by daylight, so we can reach home in good and a good night's rest we have on the laven. season. 158 herwit's dell. der scented beds, yet promptly obeying old walton's summons at our doors ere daylight. the horses, equally refreshed and well cared for as ourselves, are at the door, anxious to turn their heads homeward again, and it is not long before they are doing so. we propose taking the road running parallel with the river now, and cross it some ten miles farther down than we did yesterday, consequently nearer briar-cliff. the road is tortuous and billy, and the ride rather tedious, but we reach briar-cliff before evening, much to the relief of the domestics and delight of birdie, who could not divine the reason of our absence. again in the library with its warm atmosphere and glowing hangings, we find our city papers and a letter from blanche to her brother. he reads to us passages from it, and she is amidst our circle again, but impalpable, invisible. she has been journeying a few days in florida, and gives us charming descriptions of its almost tropical scenery and climate. why cannot you all make me a visit before spring? it is only a trip of four days from briar-cliff here," she writes. we all ayree that it would be very pleasant to do so, but then there are good reasons to prevent us this wina 66 ter. “but we can go to the city at any rate, can we not, kate ?" minnie says, half inquiringly, half decidedly. hermit's dell. 159 6 “i see there is a fine opera for friday night, and the · philharmonic' on saturday, so let us go down this week." frank and i are content to remain perfectly passive in this arrangement, so it is decided that day after tomorrow we leave for town, where we shall spend the holidays. minnie has some preparatory needle-work to do, and forthwith sets about it with borrowed materials. she intimates, too, that i must go over to the cottage in the morning and pack her bonnet-box with some necessary habiliments. kate draws her easel to the light and gives the finishing touches to a sketch of hermit's dell, which she wishes to have framed in the city; whilst frank and i light our “noriegas,” and each with a paper in hand “place” ourselves as our notions of comfort indicate. “aha! so nellie c— is married at last," exclaims frank : and he reads the notice from the paper he holds. “ to a foreigner too, frank! well! her fancy is gratified at last. i am sure you remember as well as i do that fitting summer of ours, when we met her at the springs. i suppose you have long ago told your wife of that famous flirtation you had with the fair nellie! for like most of us married men you have doubtless made confession of all pre-hymeneal strayings 160 hermit's dell. and preferences. has he not, kate? you needn't give minnie the wink, frank, for she knows who i was enamored with at the same time that you was so desperate. that was a pleasant time nevertheless, though we wasted so much attention and i was going to say something else more valuable: but no matter for that! if it had not gone one way, it would another. " that was a golden season to us then, frank, however we may think of it now. “what glorious gallops and drives over the hills and through the valleys of fair berkshire ! what stolen glances and smiling recognitions by day—what rovings and whisperings on moon-lit eves under the old treeswhat dreams by night! “ all gone-wasted, my friend ! friend! we are not sorry though, are we? we do not miss them, do we? there are fairer forms, and whiter hands, and darker eyes nearer and dearer to us now, are there not? “we were married, too, before either of them, the sweet coquettes, and they know it. i wonder if it made them feel they were growing passé. perhaps the old proverb proved true in their case ! but no! let us be generous, frank ; such creatures as they were never grow old : let us hope they have gone farther to fare no worse. “ ah! you shake your head--cannot forgive her, hey! well it was rather provoking to be shuffled off like an hermit's 161 dell. old shoe, and discarded for the sake of that parvenu count. but you were well avenged at any rate, frank; what was he after all, and how every one laughed at her, and none pitied her. i wonder if she has caught a real count now !" “ you have made quite an exposé, harry,” says frank's wife ; “he never told me the whole affair, or why he was jilted. ah! frank, you need never tell me you are not conceited after this.” frank pretends to be very stoical, and, absorbed in his paper, says nothing : but i fancy that his thoughts are running back to that gay summer and its flitting memories. i know that in his life-view the growing years have left a vista through which a reach half shady, half sunny, sometimes opens to his spirit's vision. like the bit of landscape which the claude lorraine mirror pictures, it is clothed in a warm and dreamy haze—the haze of the past. unto what spirit is retrospection not pleasant ! over the long review the shadow and the sunshine are not unequally cast, "and every cloud hath a lining of silver." in the careless days of boyhood we listlessly read from our dog-eared martial the truthful line " hoc est vivere bis, vita posse priore frui.” but it is only in after years that we realize its meaning. 162 hermit's dell. xxii. the christmas holidays are over, and we have been spending them in the city, renewing some old acquaintances and dissipating in various ways. again amidst the quiet comforts of home we are recovering from the effects of the week's excitement, and enjoying ourselves as we are wont to do. the weather still continues cold, but we are so comfortably domesticated, day after day passes by and we linger, loth to return to hermit's dell. teddy came over this morning, and brings my accumulated mail, with tidings that bella is now well; and we send back by him an inclosure for the good old nurse who has attended her so faithfully. it has long been a matter of cogitation and consultation with minnie and myself whether we shall embrace frank's offer and build near him. there are many matters to be taken into consideration, but on must accounts it seems desirable, and we have almost decided to do so. it is a beautiful site that he has selected for us ; few hermit's dell. 163 could be more delightful. at a short distance from his own dwelling, yet screened from sight of it by a dense grove of old forest trees, it commands a lovely and wide-spread inland view of hill and valley, with a glimpse of far-off mountains, and from an elevation the river may be seen also. a wide stretch of greensward is capable of being made a beautiful lawn, dotted as it is naturally with fine deciduous and evergreen trees. near by is the glen with its stream and fish pond, its sequestered walks and shadowy nooks—a resort which the hand of nature alone has made lovely in the extreme. there in the summer time one may imagine himself far removed from the haunts of men, amidst the solitudes of scarcely trodden forests, for there are “dark owlet nooks, and caves, and battled rocks, and winding valleys roofed with pendant shade.” ני we are talking it all over this evening, and frank's wife volunteers to draft a plan for us to build after-a gothic cottage, an italian villa, or any style we may fancy. she even brings her drawing materials and carelessly pencils a fanciful outline for minnie's consideration : and minnie is none the less in the spirit of it, for she lays out the form and dimensions of the dining-room and library, the size of the hall, and expresses her 164 de ll. hermit's opinion of the best exposure for the parlor with its bow window and french sashes. then there must be a winter conservatory, for she has a passion for flowers, and the porch must have trellisses for her favorite wistaria and trumpet-creeper. i even find myself becoming more interested, and confer with frank in the most serious manner as to the best location for the garden, the most effective disposition of the shrubbery and flower borders, and the easiest route for the approach. then there are the out-buildings and fruitery, the pasture lot, and sundry other matters to be considered. how easy it is to plan and suggest ! how interested we can often become in what, after all, is uncertain and perhaps impossible ! this thought strikes me, and i look at minnie. she is more enthusiastic than i am, and sits dreamily looking at the fairy creation already made by kate's agile fingers. already in her fancy the graceful cottage is reared on yonder knoll. the summer's sun, shining through the foliage of overhanging trees, flecks its roof with gleams and shadows. the lattices are shrouded with dense festoons of odorous creepers, amidst which her canary hangs and gleefully warbles. the breath of june has blown open the buds of her prairie rose, and the “ bourbons" hermit's 165 dell. on the lawn are out in all their brilliancy. velvetty glades, their surface chequered with sunshine and shade, and bossed with beds of flowers, stretch away amidst the tree-openings forming long vistas of varied beauty. ah! my dreamer, i almost say, your eyes see fair visions, your thoughts wander in a mimic fairy-land ! will your feet ever tread it, think you ? “well,” says frank, "we will say no more about it now, but leave it an open question for you to decide before spring. i am sure we have offered you every inducement to be our near neighbors.” and so we leave the subject for farther consideration. during the evening frank's protégé, the young school-teacher, joins our circle." he is a frequent visi, . tor here, and finds it pleasant to associate with those whose tastes are congenial with his. young as he is, he has seen considerable of the ups and downs of life, and experience has been his teacher in much that most of us only casually learn. he has made frank acquainted with many circumstances which have conspired to place him in his present position. he has truly been reared in the school of adversity, and it is only to be wondered that he has not long ago become disheartened. his family were once in affluent circumstances, and his father held a high position in one of the new eng166 dell. hermit's land states : but by some misdemeanor of persons connected with him in financial operations, he was completely ruined. his reputation was blasted too, but as is too often the case, the aspersions cast upon him were unjust and without a shadow of reason. the world makes few allowances, and public opinion is often too hastily formed and biased. it was so in this case ; but the amendment came too late at last ; for soon after his reverses, the injured man filled a suicide's grave. a wife, daughter, and only son were left to struggle on as they could; the son, our present companion, the youngest of the children. his mother removed from her native town, and went to a neighboring city, where she found employment in a seminary for young ladies. her daughter became instated in a private family as children's governess, and the son, prepared already to enter college, was admitted as a charity student, an unenviable position generally. he applied himself though to his labors, and graduated well, blessed with a good education and naturally gifted, as we have seen, with talents of a high order. since then, his mother has died, and he is endeavoring to the utmost to place his sister in a position above dependency. whatever he could find to do by which hermit 167 s dell. he might gain an honest livelihood, he has not scorned or neglected. he has been an engineer in a cotton factory, a conductor on a railroad, and now a village school teacher : but brighter days are in store for him. frank has interested himself in his behalf, and a station of trust and honor will soon be opened for him to fill. he sits long with us this evening, and recounts many incidents in his past life. for one so young, he has tasted much that is bitter, little that is sweet, and early trials have left their impress on him. we can only wonder that he has braved and borne them so well, better than many older and wiser than he is. it becomes us to encourage him in his onward course, which bids fair to be successful if he does not neglect his opportunities. it is not likely that he will. when we once weather the storm, confidence is gained and strengthened, and we almost long to brave another, so the mastery may be more perfect. “yet after all,” says frank, who is in his moralizing mood, "what is our joy and glory? we live our little day, robust ephemeræ' as the poet says we are, we die, others fill our places, and we are soon forgotten, unnumbered. do you remember what that quaint old english poet, 168 dell. h.hermit's edward bolten, wrote two centuries ago ?" and taking from his book-shelf a rusty volume, he reads : as withereth the primrose by the river, as fadeth summer's sun from gliding fountains, as vanisheth the light-blown bubble ever, as melteth snow upon the mossy mountains, so melts, so vanisheth, so fades, so withers, the rose, the shine, the bubble and the snow of praise, pomp, glory, joy, which short life gathers. fair praise, vain pomp, sweet glory, little joy. the withered primrose by the mourning river, the faded summer sun from weeping fountains, the light-blown bubble vanished forever, the melten snow upon the naked mountains are emblems—that the treasures we uplay, soon wither, vanish, fade and melt away. stray chapters. "i heard, as all have heard, life's various story, and in no careless heart transcribed the tale : so did i gather food to feed my many thoughts—a tameless multitude." * * * shelley. hermit's de1l. 171 i. “the days of our youth are the days of our glory.” " years steal fire from the mind as vigor from the limb, and life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.” thus wrote byron! he who had quaffed life's cup even to its dregs, and taken his fill of every pleasure which could sweeten or embitter his existence. how comprehensive are those stanzas of the poet—what a depth of thoughtful meaning lies hid beneath their tuneful sadness. in the sensitive and morbid spirit, they would stifle every dawning of ambition and cloud every hope, or cause him who is bearing the “heat and burden of the day,” yearn with heartfelt longings to live over his long-past spring-time. i remember well the first time those thoughts of the poet woke dreary feelings in my own earnest spirit. i was a youth then; schoolboy days and sports were over, but the present was bright as sunset clouds with anticipations of college-life—the romance of prospective travel, and the thousand airy schemes which haunt the fancy of youth. " 172 a hermit's dell. it was a hazy, dreamy day in early autumn; the sun still shone warmly on the hill-sides and in grassy dells, as if loth to leave the wealth of fields and orchards which had flourished and ripened under its summer sway. the corn-fields were growing “yellow unto the harvest," and here and there among the woods flashed the brilliant foliage of some tender vine which untimely frost had touched. the bustle of men and the hum of the work-day world were aſar; no sound broke the sabbath stillness save the whispering of the breeze amidst the high tree-tops, the tapping of the woodpecker upon some hollow trunk, or the lowing of cattle on the distant meadows. it was to no new haunt my steps were tending; near by rose the ruined walls and mossy wheel of the old mill, which, long disused and deserted, had been my favorite resort. flowed the bright neshaminy, winding like a silver thread amidst the woods and meadows towards the distant delaware ; above and around me were the dimlit woods, into whose depths of shade the sun seldom shone. near by, it was a spot i loved with youth's excess, not for itself, but for its loneliness. l'ired and warm, i sat down to rest upon the twisted root of an old sycamore, which threw its white arms hermit's dell. 173 far across the stream; my dog lay at my feet, warm and panting too, from his fruitless chase after a grey squirrel, which, nestled safely in the crotch of a high oak, looked down upon his baffled pursuer in quiet security. taking from my pocket the well worn book whose pages had whiled away many an else idle hour, i opened it at random, and these lines first met my eye oh, talk not to me of a name great in story; the days of our youth are the days of our glory; and the myrtle and ivy of sweet two and twenty, are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty." the stanza was deeply scored too, with an heavy ink mark; it must have been by the hand of him who was the chosen friend of schoolboy days. the book had been his parting gift, but his grasp, once so warm and true, is powerless now ! ah, herman ! thought i, who shall atone for thy wild errors! well i know" carpe diem” was your motto, but did you sieze the day for any good purpose ? yet the grave covers every error; peace be with thee; but thy legacy may teach thy friend what it never taught thee! as i read again and again the half sad, half joyous. lines of the poet, i pondered; then closing the book, i leaned over the clear waters that were flowing gently 174 hermit's dell. by me, unrippled by a breeze, and in my reverie, methought i was gazing into the magic crystal of the eastern fakir, wherein i might read my fate. i saw myself a child again, sporting along the streamlet's bank, or amidst bright gardens, plucking gay flowersnow swinging on the willow's pendant boughs—now sleeping on a mossy bank, dreaming sweet dreams. insensibly i glided into early youth; familiar forms were round me, glad faces met mine. i knew no care or sorrow! the present was all light and joy—the future, bright with hope; but one little cloud swept over my unstained mirror. amidst its shadowy folds there gleamed for an instant a pale and agonizing brow, and methought a wailing voice cried, “carpe diem-carpe diem.” my reverie was ended; the spell was broken; yet a “still small voice” seemed whispering in my ear, “whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” and my heart replied, yes ! " live while we may,” is the creed of the pleasure-seeker, the proverb of the boy ; yet it is the language of the worker and philanthropist too, but abused and perverted by the one, valued and improved by the other. so musing again, yet with a lightened heart and clearer understanding, i rose from my shady seat and retraced my way homeward. no longer, thought i, shall the morbid sentiment of hermit's dell. 175 the sated sensualist cast a gloom over my untried future. let those who will, seek pleasure, and when sated with its nectar draught, sigh that the “days of their glory are over," as for myself, i will strive for a nobler destiny, and time shall solve whether the teachings of my spirit have been right or wrong. the sun was setting behind curtains of crimson and gold, and lighting up my quiet study-chamber with hues bright as the new-born hopes which filled my spirit. taking from my book-shelf an unpretending volume, i read by the roseate light these thoughtful lines from the “psalm of life." “ not enjoyment and not sorrow is our destined end or way: but to act, that each to-morrow finds us farther than to-day. “ lives of great men all remind us we can make our lives sublime and departing, leave behind us foot-prints on the sands of time. “let us then, be up and doing with a heart for any fate; still achieving, still pursuing, learn to labor and to wait." 176 h hermit's dell. ii. the wild and silvery beaverkill winds its way through a wilderness as yet untrodden save by the indian and the hunter. in its clear depths the wily trout finds a seldom-disturbed retreat, and to its grassy brink the timid deer and his tired hunter come, to slake their thirst with its pure and unsullied waters. there are haunts of rare loveliness by its wooded banks which it would be hard to match the world over, tempting the “world's tired denizen" almost to be an anchorite, and forsaking the beaten thoroughfares of life, say with the poet: “ to sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, to slowly trace the forests' shady scene, where things that own not man's dominion, dwell, and mortal foot hath ne'er, or rarely been; to climb the trackless mountains all unseen, with the wild flock that never needs a fold : alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean : this is not solitude'tis but to hold converse with nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled.” it was early in the autumn of a year long past, 1 1 hermit's dell. 177 when, with a cherished friend at my side, i sat upon the brink of a wooded cliff which overhung the flashing waters of the beaverkill. we had been hunting from early dawn, and as the shadows lengthened on the hillsides, and the gloom deepened in the valleys, had slowly loitered on our way to the logger's cabin, which had been our home for days. the sun was near the horizon as we reached the lofty ledge that formed the precipitous side of a wide ravine, through whose shady depths the stream was murmuring the beauty of the view won our tired feet, so, seating ourselves upon a mossy rock, we gave up the hour to memories of the past and plans for the future ; such a communion as only well-tried friends can know. we were young in years, but world-wise withal. we had roamed the old world together and seen every phase of life, from the rude châlet of the alpine herdsman by the glacier's side, to the gilded halls of royalty with their proud attributes and gay surroundings. alike in disposition and congenial in tastes, we had made mankind our study lookers-on rather than comminglers in the turmoil and bustle, the strife and competition, amidst which so many find their highest joy. the leaves of our journals on which we had faithfully inscribed the chequered experiences of our many sojournings, seemed often-times like the pro8* 178 hermit’s dell. ! 1 11 phetic tablets of the soothsayer, by whose silent teachings we might follow or avoid the paths which had led others either to their making or undoing. as we sat upon the cliff, the warm glow of the autumnal sunset, which is nowhere else so beautiful, lighted up the forest that surrounded us, and shining through the frost-dyed verdure of the tenderer trees, clothed every object with its roseate hue. we thought of many an old cathedral chapel, with its stained windows, and the “dim religious light” streaming through them upon the altars and paintings and worshippers. as we still sat and musingly talked, the twilight came, and with it the evening breeze, gently at first, then freshening, and ere long rising almost to a gale. as it soughed and wailed through the dense pine forest which stretched around us, and the twilight began to deepen, we thought of the solemn tenebrae and the wail of the miserere in dim roman chapels. who that has once heard that shrill cry of seeming agony, which is almost supernatural in its wild notes of sorrow, has not in after years heard it again and again in fancy! like the fearful scream which the terrorstricken steed is said to give, it is a sound never to be forgotten. night was coming on and leaden-hued clouds were gathering in the west, when we reached our rude place of shelter; but the logger's fireside was as warm as hermit's dell, 179 success. his heart, and throwing off our hunting gear, we sat down to our hearty supper and talked of our day's the goodly array of game which hung from the rafters of the wood-shed, attested that the busy world was still far distant; yet, in a few years, the old forests will be cleared away, and those now quiet solitudes echo with the sounds of every-day life. and we, too, were never more to tread that ground together. that night was our last in the hunter's cabin, though we promised the old man that we would come again the next season and make a longer stay. little did we dream that one of us would be where no plans are formed, no hopes blighted; so true is it that we must " trust no future, howe'er pleasant.” there are not many who can truly realize or fitly appreciate an all-abiding and enduring friendship, and still fewer are they, who when they gain a friend, may keep that friend for ever. the ascetic and the misanthrope may scoff at friendship and call it but a name, a fleeting fancy of the hour, but it is not so. there are those whose hearts are bound by ties which even the grave cannot severties which have stood every test of life unchanging and unchanged. the month in which we had promised to revisit the 180 hermit's dell. hunting ground, again arrived, but my friend could not keep his promise with the old woodsman. the companion of my last hunt, the best friend of my boyhood and youth was beneath the sod. loving him with almost a woman's love, it was hard to give him up to the grasp of the spoiler, adding another to those “who, like to autumn leaves by tempests whirled, are swept forever from this busy world.” with another companion i have revisited the scenes above described, and we have sat upon that same pine ridge and listened to the same sighing wind, fancying that a familiar voice came to our ears upon its “wings,” reminding us of bygone days. hermit's dell. 181 iii. beneath a rough and unseemly exterior, how much that is intrinsically valuable or lovely may be hidden ! the fire of the diamond is clouded by baser soil, till revealed by the hand and skill of the polisher; the water that is purest and coolest, wells from the roughest and hardest rock. as in nature, so, oftentimes in life. there is many a roughly-clad pilgrim, journeying earth's pathways with us, who beneath his tattered garb, wears a brave and noble heart. he is an unstudied masquer, yet the world, which with cursory glance, “ weighs all things in custom's falsest scale," will, too often, denounce him as an outcast, or despise as a misanthrope. he may, and he may not be, deserving of that merciless ban. “a word fitly spoken,” a little heartfelt sympathy invested in his behalf, may reveal that though a “ the tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind chapped by the axe looks rough and little worth, the sap still lasts." 182 h hermit's dell. there are few men so utterly lost and degraded, as to be insensible to kindness or sympathy; there are few so rough-hewn, who may not suffer some gentle hand to round off and polish here and there an unsightly corner. with skilful pruning and careful nurture, the roadside bramble may adorn the parterre ; so too, may the scraggy oak be taught to assume almost the innate grace of the maple and elm. necessity, and may we not say, destiny oftentimes make men belie their very nature. with the high-souled of such, life is a continuous struggle. “to be, or not to be, that is the question," the casus belli between the spirit and the flesh-whose arbiter is too often-death. with one thus constituted and thus situated, i was once familiar. a genius and a scholar by nature, but by the misfortunes of his family compelled to forego those opportunities which in early youth he had been led to expect, and which he would have improved so well, he was thrown upon the world, dependent on his own exertions; fitted for some callings—unfitted for others, yet compelled to do something for a livelihood. his birthplace and early home was in a secluded and mountainous district of new england; of his parentage i knew but little. hermit's dell. 183 “suffice it, that perchance they were of fame, and had been glorious in another day, but one sad losel soils a name for aye, however mighty in the olden time." by a misdemeanor of an elder and only brother, was his name soiled, his father's hard-earned property lost, and a happy home vacated. the mother, heart-broken and hopeless, died soon after the disgrace of her son; the father, taking with him herbert, my after friend, emigrated to the farwest, where amid the toils and dangers of a pioneer's life, he reared his rude log-cabin, and in the excitement of a hunter's life strove to forget his past troubles. amid such scenes, herbert grew from youth to manhood; by such associations his tastes and habits in after life were indelibly tinctured. the old man lived to see the forests through whose solitudes his axe had first resounded, cleared away and replaced by a thriving village ; but ere long he died, and the link that bound herbert there was broken. yearning for a life more in unison with his earlier tastes, and longing to ascertain somewhat of his brother, who had been lost to him for five long years, he shouldered his rifle and knapsack and retraced his steps toward the home of his childhood. it was a long and weary way thither, but at last the goal was reached, though the hope that led him on was doomed to dis184 hermit's dell. appointment. the erring and forsaken brother was in a nameless grave, and of all who once filled the old homestead, herbert alone walked the earth. it was soon after this when i first met himdispirited, but not despairing: world-sick, but not misanthropic. he had been seeking some situation, where, earning enough for a mere support, he might once more apply himself to study, and become fitted for a sphere of influence and mayhap-renown. the hardships and habits of a frontier life had given him a rough exterior ; for this he had met many rebuffs and in some cases, insult, from those to whom he had applied for advice and aid. they little knew how superior in intellect was the being they despised, or how at a future day he would tower above them all. he was conscious of the truth, that “he who surpasses or subdues mankind, must look down on the hate of those below." for a month or two i saw much of him, and as acquaintance ripened into intimacy, i could not fail to discover that he was possessed of talents brilliant to a pre-eminent degree. with the exception of a few hours a day, devoted to the business of a trifling agency, which afforded him a small income, the most of his time was spent in hard, untiring study. a hermit's 185 dell. he was a passionate lover of nature, but chiefly in her wildest forms. he loved to roam the deep woods, and climbing the loftiest hills, gaze upon the distant river, for it reminded him of his father's cabin by the banks of the missouri, and of his deer-hunts amidst the forests of the west. his fondness for study made him a lover of solitude ; the soothing murmur of a mountain stream, or the whisperings of the breeze through the leafy woods, were far sweeter to him than the hum and bustle of the crowd. for this, the world called him misanthropic and stoical ; as if all men are constituted alike, and no happiness may be found save along the beaten thoroughfares of busy life. ere long an opportunity for more engrossing employment offered. it was in taking charge of a district school situated in a newly settled county of an adjoining state. the enterprise, though holding out little inducement as to pecuniary advantage, accorded well with his tastes and habits. the country itself was new and wild, its inhabitants plain and unassuming, and the desk might be the stepping-stone to a position which his ambitious spirit had long coveted. so once more starting on his pilgrimage, he trod his way thither, with a hand ready for any good endeavor, and a heart nerved for any fate. though corresponding at short intervals, and the 186 hermit's dell. a distance between us but a short day's journey, i saw nothing of my friend for more than a year : yet wish. ing to see him again, and knowing it would afford him pleasure, i packed up my hunting habiliments one fine day in early autumn, and ere many hours had elapsed, again felt the warm grasp of my friend's hand. the rude house of the raftsman, in whose family he was living, stood in a wild and lonely glen, not far from the little village which had sprung up and flourished like a mushroom on the banks of the delaware. a few months previous, its site had been a part of the wilderness, but armies of sturdy men, marshalled by all-conquering progress, had marched thither, levelling the hills, bridging the streams, and filling up the valleys, to make a pathway for the iron horse to travel, whose deep pantings woke strange echoes amidst the woods and mountains. i found my friend, unconscious of my coming, poring over the pages of his well-worn virgil. the small yet comfortable chamber allotted him was filled with objects indicative of his tastes : it was alike the studio of a scholar and a hunter. guns and fishing-rods, pouches and baskets, deer hides and antlers, skins of wild-cats and foxes, stuffed birds, books, papers, and some crayon sketches, all were fancifully arranged upon the walls, so that hardly a chink in the log siding could be discerned. and there, by the blaza hermit's dell. 187 ing hickory fire, so lavishly piled, we spent the greater part of the night in talk of bygone days, of present troubles, and of future plans and hopes. thus far he had been prospered beyond his most ardent anticipa tions. though he had spent many wearisome hours and days in striving to teach pupils who were heedless, and slow to learn—though the people amidst whom he was thrown were mostly ignorant and uncultivated, still he felt that he would rather strive to “ carve himself a name” there, than among those who had cast him out in his day of need, and had never appreciated him as he felt he should be. . giving his scholars a play-day before my departure, we levoted it to hunting and rambling the woods and hills which surrounded his home. he was familiar with them all, and grew eloquent sometimes, as his heart swelled with memories of other days. at noon, tired and satisfied with our sport, we seated ourselves upon the summit of a knoll, which commanded a beautiful prospect of the wild valley beneath us, and a wide expanse of forest on every side. here and there a column of blue smoke rising above the high tree-tops, told of some woodman's lonely clearing, along the distant railroad track or within reach of some mountain stream, whose swollen waters might bear his lumber to the river. 188 hermit's dell. no sound came upon our ears but the occasional bark of the squirrel, the murmur of the stream far down in the ravine, or the trumpet-like bay of our hound on the track of a fox or deer along the opposite hillside. such sights and sounds awoke, in my companion's spirit, recollections of the time when he and his father reared their cabin amidst the wilds of illinois, and lived happily enough surrounded with the hard-earned comforts of a frontier life. his warmest sympathies were with those early emigrants who, won by the tales of that wondrous beauty, grandeur, and fertility which would greet their eyes and bless their labors, went forth from eastern homes to rear a new and untried one amidst forests untrodden and unknown, save by the “untutored indian.” their only guide thither had been the trail and war-path which the red man had made and tramped from time immemorial. what volumes more stirring than those of romance might be written, recounting the trials and adventures of those earnest and faithful men! what tales of warfare and ! the whoop of the indian, the howl of the wolf, and the scream of the panther, broke their slumbers, and caused the timid mother to draw her babes still closer to her bosom. with all these and more, it was their savage torture ! hermit's dell, 189 lot to contend; yet with their labors and trials came reward. the wilderness was made to “ blossom as the rose,” according to the promise given them, and their children know but little what their fathers suffered. the noble, dauntless pioneers, journeying afar new homes to raise, in the lone woods with toils and tears, meeting with faith the coming years, theirs be the highest meed of praise.” yet with all his admiration of those in whose trials he had borne a part, not the less was his pity awakened for the poor indian, who, scared away from his old haunts by the noisy tread of the white man, broke his bow over the grave of his fathers, and with wounded or embittered spirit made a new trail towards the unknown realms between him and the setting sun. their hunting grounds were broken up by the axe and the plough-the ashes of their council-fires and the bones of their kindred, enriched the fields of their sucby little and little, their names would fade from the memory of man, till lost among “the things that were.” cessors. “there were their homes, but now no more, their day of power and pride is o'er ; they urge the chase, where other skies are spread, and other hills arise." 190 hermit's dell. with such reflections and in such converse we passed many a pleasant hour. it was a joy to me to see one whom, a few months before, i had feared would shrink disheartened from the strife in which he must engage, thus manfully and cheerfully bearing his part. well i knew there were some, whose taunts were still rankling in his spirit, whom, at some future day, he would compel to acknowledge that “mind, not manners, make the man.” and so i left him in his rude school-room, surrounded by his pupils, happy and contented, yet looking forward to a loftier and more extended sphere about to open before him. hermit's dell. 191 iv. “may you die among your kindred,” is an aspiration which none can fitly appreciate but those who have stood by the bedside of one dying in a strange land. there are not a few of us who have gathered those that were loved and loving unto the company of that “ silent multitude” whose realmn is the tomb. some are sleeping quietly enough beneath the green turf of the village churchyard, afar from the noise of the city and the busy tread of men: others maybe have costlier sepulchres and rarer flowers above them, by the shady avenues of auburn and greenwood; but we, who survive them, have the consolation of knowing that they lie with their kindred, and that their last hours were not embittered with the thought that they were dying in a strange land. there is scarcely anything that so saddens the heart of one journeying abroad, as to roam through the cemeteries contiguous to the larger cities of the continent. a few winters since, it was my mela melancholy pleasure to visit some of these, and in two of the most lovely of them, i assisted to inter several of my coun192 heryit's dell. trymen, and in one instance, a fair young girl, who had left home and friends in quest of health, but to die amidst strangers. the cemetery at leghorn is beautifully laid out, and contains the graves of some ten or twelve americans, and many more of english birth. the following inscription on an unassuming tomb therein, struck me as at once simple and touching : m. r. c. æ. 19. mourn not for her; she died as christians die, there was no earthward clinging of the heart, no shuddering terror, no reluctant sigh. the campo santo of naples is as lovely a spot as the world can show. its graves are ever green, and flowers are perpetually blooming and fading over them; but on the hill of posillipo, at the other extremity of the city, there was one solitary grave whose site was far more lovely. it lay hidden from view, till closely approached, in a shady dell upon the sloping southern hillside: above it are white villas, luxuriant vineyards, and odorous orange groves. before it, stretches the blue expanse of the noble bay, girt well nigh round with shores which for beauty and variety cannot be surpassed, while far below, the surf breaks upon the shore with its deep and restless murmur, and still farhermit's dell. 193 ther away lies the city, whose din and rattle come thither only on the breeze. it is the last resting-place of a young german girl, who died here years ago, and few strangers visit naples, who do not time and again stand by her grave-stone, and marvel at the loveliness amidst which it is enshrined. at the baths of lucca, which lie so warm and sheltered in the bosom of the apennines, one may see in a morning's walk, during the winter months, invalids of almost every clime. i remember a pale, fragile girl of my own country, who, with an elderly father, had been roaming europe for a year or two, searching for that fountain, whose fabled waters so few may find. to the stranger, it was evident enough that the spoiler had long ago set his ineffaceable seal upon her brow; but with that delusive hope, which to the last fills the heart of the consumptive, and often too, of their friends, she was confident that a few weeks more would find her at home again, with every prospect of a long and happy life. one morning, gay and flushed, she would mingle with the crowd upon the shady promenade—the next, ale and languid, she would be carried in her palanquin where the sun was warmest, and the air most soft and tempered. i saw her again in naples, sometimes on the crowded 9 194 u hermit's dell. toledo, or in the gay villa-reale, but oftener in the invalid's chair upon her chamber balcony, i saw her last, inhaling the balmy and odorous air of sorrento on the opposite shore of the bay, but i knew when the rainy season came, she would fly elsewhere, yet for her all places were alike. i was at rome during the carnival, but even amidst its follies and gaieties, in which every stranger must mingle more or less, i could not forget the pale face of the young, deluded invalid. she too had come to rome, but my first intimation of it was the mourning-enveloped note of our consul, summoning me and my friends to her funeral. that was a gloomy day, on which some sixty of us followed to the grave the remains of one whom we felt was one of us, because of our country. the weather had been cold and damp for days, colder than usual in rome; and the occasion was one which is always saddening at any time, but more so to those who are far away from home and kindred. the service, conducted in the english chapel, by an english chaplain, was very solemn, and when it was all over, and a few of us stepped forward to press the hand of the heart-stricken father, who was to return home not “bringing his treasure with him," i thought how touching and how beautiful are the farewell words of the orienthermit's dell. 195 “may you die among your kindred !" two weeks afterward, i saw another of my countrymen buried near by. he was from our own sunny south, and had left at home a young wife and child to mourn him, in a stranger's grave. most of the tomb-stones in the english cemetery bear the names of english persons. one is that of a young and beautiful girl, whose horse became unmanageable as she was riding by the tiber, when its waters were swollen by a freshet. the animal plunged into the river with her, and she was carried swiftly away before a helping hand could reach her. there also is the tomb of the poet shelley, and near by, that of keats, who, stung almost to madness by the malice of a few heartless critics, desired these words inscribed upon his tomb-stone. 6. here lies one whose name was writ in water." as i read the inscription, and looked around me upon the thickly-strewn graves of his countrymen, these beautiful lines of his, rose in my memory66 stop and consider! life is but a day: a fragile dew-drop on its perilous way from a tree's summit; a poor indian's sleep while his boat hastens to the monstrous steep 196 hermit's dell. of montmorenci. why so sad a moan? life is the rose's hope while yet unblown; the reading of an ever-changing tale, the light uplifting of a maiden's veila pigeon tumbling in clear summer air, a laughing schoolboy, without grief or care." hermit's 197 dell. v. abel mead was a “tiller of the ground” by destiny, not by nature. his father and his father's family were farmers before him, and the fair homestead which he now owned, with its well-lying fields and opulent woodlands, had been the scene of earnest and untiring toil for two generations. it was known as hillside throughout the neighboring country, and acknowledged to be the “crack farm” of the county. there were not a few of the young farmers in the vicinity, who envied the heir of hillside his rich acres, for at all the agricultural shows held year after year in the town near by, the “meads” had uniformly taken the premium for the largest corn and potatoes, and the best seed wheat. yet it was not likely so to be, the season in which i sojourned thereabout. a year had not passed since abel, upon his father's death, became sole possessor of the farm; yet already did it give evidence that a less thrifty and industrious hand superintended its labors. here and there the fences were tottering, and the wealth of the barn-yard, 198 hermit's dell. once so carefully gathered and heaped, was wasting away beneath the sun and rain. the last labor of the old farmer, previous to his death, had been in clearing up an overgrown swamp, which embraced the best land on the farm. death came, and his work was unfinished; so it was left for abel to accomplish. the middle of september had come, bringing the husbandman to his corn-field ; and already the winds which whisper of the equinox were rustling among the yellow stalks. the season had been a propitious one, and the heart of the hard-toiling farmer was made glad. a few weeks before, i had seen the wheat crop gathered, and followed “the large, o'er loaded, wealthy looking wains, quietly swaggering home through leafy lanes, leaving on all low branches as they come straws for the birds, ears for the harvest home." again, beneath the warm october sun the corn was stacked and drying upon the fields of hillside, and as i threaded my way across them towards the distant swamp, in search of game, the sounds of labor came thenceward to my ear: rising the hill that intercepted the view, i looked down into the hollow. it was as i had supposed. hermit s dell. 199 abel was striving to carry out his father's plan—to finish what his father had begun. though superintending the work, the young man's hand was not to the plough—the plough that his father had held and guided many a weary day. upon the stump of an old oak tree that lay across my path, an open book was lying. curious to know what might have been the study of the young farmer, i took it up—it was a copy of “byron,”—and opened at the tragedy of “cain.” these lines, deeply scored, first met my eye“i have toiled, and tilled, and sweaten in the sun according to the curse; must i do more? for what should i be gentle ? for a war with all the elements ere they will yield the bread we eat? for what must i be grateful ? for being dust, and grovelling in the dust, till i return to dust?" these lines, then, shadowed forth the feelings of abel mead! these were the thoughts which filled his spirit, breeding discontent and misery amidst the blessings of his lot—a lot that his companions envied, and which might better have fallen to some of them than to him. i marvelled not that his fair estate was running to waste; i only wondered what freak had driven him to undertake the labor in which he was then engaged. 200 hermit's dell. it was but a short time afterward, that i again wandered by the swamp; but no work was going on. the clearing was put off till the next season, and the half finished work left to bear witness to the supineness and irresolution of the young farmer. thus it was in all that he undertook. impulsive and undecided, his plans were quickly formed and as quickly abolished, exemplifying the truism of the bard“the flighty purpose never is o'ertook, unless the deed go with it.” 92 it was a few months afterward when i revisited the vicinity of hillside, but abel mead was no longer its possessor. the valuable farm and all its appurtenances had passed into other hands; it might be of some who had looked upon it with longing eyes for years. in a lowly school-house, not far off, abel was striving to teach a wild troop of urchins the rudiments of learning. his task was ill-chosen, for he lacked that decision so necessary to success in his vocation, and especially among the untamed youth under his charge. passing by the school-house one day at noon, when its noisy occupants were improving to the utmost their hour's release, i stepped in to renew my acquaintance with their teacher. he seemed much worn and changed, both in appearance and manners; i thought 1 hermit's dell. 201 for the better, and wondered if his change in circumstances and position had not been also a school for him, wherein he had learned the lesson of contentment. but it was not so ; for in the short intercourse we held together, i saw that his spirit was haunted with sad memories-memories of the happy hours which had been his in the old homestead and amidst the fields of hillside. the hope that he might at some future day again be its possessor, shed somewhat of gladness through the gloom that shrouded his being; but that hope was never realized. month after month passed by in fruitless and changeful endeavors, but abel mead never again entered the home of his childhood. i never saw him after that hour in the school-house ; for, when i passed that way a few weeks later, a strange form and face were in the place of his, and he had gone from the neighborhood. from those who still felt an interest in the unstable youth, i heard how from his desk and his pupils, he had gone into the woods, along the sources of a noble river, and floated his raft for a season to a distant market. tiring of that, he next became a methodist exhorter, and in church and camp sought “to turn men from the error of their ways," and teach them that which he had not yet learned. the last tidings of him brought to hillside were * 202 hermit's dell. vague and doubtful: yet, corresponding so well with his vacillating course, hitherto, they were generally believed. it was said that he had joined a tribe of indians in the far west, and with the little knowledge of physic and anatomy that he possessed, became their great “medicine-man." where, after that, were abel's wanderings or what his pursuits, his friends never heard ; but there were some of them who looked for him day after day, expecting that he might come home laden with gold, to buy the still fertile acres of hillside. there was one too, among those well-tried friends, who had thought of him and loved him, through all his chances and changes. her hope has been long deferred and is doomed to disappointment, for it is far from probable that she will ever see again her errant and misguided lover. hermit's dell. 203 vi. the harvest-time of the year comes always fraught to me with many tender and pleasant recollections. at times i am a child again, sporting with my playmates amidst the newly mown hay upon the meadows of willowdale; or later in the season, as older in years, i follow the reapers to the opulent wheat-field to hear the rustling of the grain as it falls beneath their sweeping cradles. a glorious sight it is to me when the capacious granary is heaped to its very eaves with its golden wealth ; for it makes the heart of the husbandman glad, and his toil in the hot summer is forgotten. and sometimes i am by the rhine again in fancy, where is “a blending of all beauties; streams and dells, fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine, and chiefless castles, breathing stern farewells, from grey but leafy walls, where ruin greenly dwells ;" and amidst those mellowed beauties i listen to the peasant's song as he gathers to the wine-press the fruit of his sunny vineyard. i think of the olive gatherings in sunny provence and still sunnier tuscany, 204 hermit's dell. of the orange groves of sorrento and messina, and the date-harvests on the far-off plains of ismir. thus with the ripened grain and the rustling corn do slumbering memories of past years, and the scenes which gladdened them, waken with renewed freshyet the memories of foreign climes and scenes, impregnated as they are with what longfellow terms “the delicious perfume, the soft ausonian air of travel,” are not near so sweet as those that cluster around the old farm-house at leeville. yet it was not the dwelling-place of my ancestors, but the time-worn inheritance of a friend, companion of many wanderings. one of us had roamed the classic shores of the old world; on ancient battle-fields, in dim cathedrals, and gorgeous palaces, strayed and marvelled. he had gazed on glorious views from high snow-peaks and cliff-perched castles by the rhine and rhone; and where ruined temples and lava-buried cities are, his tireless feet had wandered. once more at home, what wonder was it that he loved to sit with his companion in the old homestead hall, and recount his travels. the hot and dusty summer brought memories of windermere and lomond lying cool and placid amidst their shadowy hills; and longing for a breath of the cool airs which come from alpine glaciers, we envied for a while the monks of st. bernard. but when the hert's 205 dell. cold winds of winter swept around the old hall, and the well-filled fire-place was all a-glow, we thought of once blistered feet in the crater of vesuvius, and on the burning sands of egypt. it was a noble old place of which i write : the ancestral oaks and elms which shade it have not yet fallen beneath the vandal axe of the woodcutter. through their dense summer foliage the eye may catch the gleam of the distant river, flowing proudly on its course to the distant sea. the hum of the city is far away; but a quiet village with linden-shaded and cottage-lined avenues lies near hy. no louder sounds come thence than the clink of the blacksmith's hammer, or the glad voices of children as they break loose from school restraint and go sporting homewards. now and then a travelling circus company stop for a day and pitch their huge tent on the village green, making a little more bustle and excitement than is common; but this is a rare occurrence. a thrifty and intelligent class of farmers here and there dot the surrounding country with their houses and barns. it is a region where vast grain-fields, wide pastures, and fine cattle most abound. a range of well wooded hills are visible from leeville, till lost in the blue distance, they merge into the spurs of the alleghanies, fifty miles away. 206 hermit's dell. not a half day's ride to the west lies indian lake, a smooth sheet of water embosomed amidst hills whose sides are covered with forests of pine and hemlock. there, six years ago, we could drive any day, and find in the log cabin of “uncle josh" a warm welcome. then deer were plenty thereabout, and trout of the very finest could be had for nothing but the sport of taking them. of old uncle josh we have spoken before ; but the warm-hearted hunter and woodsman sleeps his last sleep. his cabin has given place to a flaunting tavern; now and then a stray deer, whose fellows are far away amidst the adirondacks, is hunted to death and murdered in the water. city sportsmen brag of catching an occasional “two pounder" in the lake, but the indian lake of to-day is not that of ten years ago. even its name has been changed by the progress of the age; the hemlocks and pines are being cut from the hills; and could good uncle josh be permitted to wake up awhile and look around him, like old rip van winkle, it is doubtful if he would know the site of his humble cabin. i loved my winter visits at leeville. my friend spent most of the season at home; and being but a day's journey from the city, i was often there. many were the glorious sleighing frolics we enjoyed together; and i remember one in particular, as being the occasion of a difficulty between my friend frank and a hermit's dell. 207 dashing young farmer in the vicinity, not easily settled. almost all villages and communities have their chosen belles. in this respect, leeville was not peculiar. mabel lee, with a little more cultivation—a few artificial acquirements and accomplishments, would have been a belle at saratoga, newport, anywhere. she was in fact the reigning beauty, not only of the village, but the surrounding country. a year's study at a city school had added somewhat to her natural charms both of body and mind; so on 'her return to leeville, there was quite a rivalry among the beaux of the vicinity, as to which would be the favorite. through my friend, i was invited to join a sleighing party which was appointed to gather on the night of the full moon. it had thus far been a delightful winter for the country. the snow had fallen heavy early in the season; and occasionally deepened by slighter falls, had made the roads in fine order. the night of the frolic came, bright and cold : and the village tavern, which was to be the rendezvous of the company, presented its gayest appearance. sleigh loads of gay maidens with their brothers, suitors, and friends, came dashing to the door. frank's splendid “blacks,” loaded with bells, and attached to a richly ſurred cutter holding four persons, were near at hand. 208 hermit's dell. he had determined that mabel lee and a companion of hers from the city should occupy his sleigh, and we four form the load. it was not long before it was so arranged; for the superiority of my friend's team above all others there, was temptation sufficient for the belle and her friend. i had noticed, however, that a young man of the vicinity, who had been somewhat of a suitor in days gone by for the heart and hand of the beauty of leeville, was watching us narrowly. he bore rather a dare-devil, though by no means bad character, in the staid village; and i soon discovered from some of his actions, that he was bent on mischief that night. i did not however fathom his intentions. at last the vehicles were loaded, some fifteen in number, of all shapes, styles, and sizes, from the homemade hickory pole jumper to the great omnibus sled built for such occasions. just previous to starting, i had gone into the tavern to light my segar, leaving frank busy in arranging the robes for the comfort of our ladies, when a jingling of many bells that i knew were ours, and a loud shout from my friend, brought me hastily to the door. at first i supposed his horses had become restive and started suddenly without a driver: but by the bright moonlight i could plainly see they were under control. it was only a second before i comprehended all. hermit's dell. 209 a there stood frank surprised and angered, looking after his team as they swept over the frozen road under the guidance of his rival. the fellow had taken advantage of our inattention, and played us a trick. but there stood the sorrel mare and light cutter of the interloper. jump in for heaven's sake, hal;” said harry, and away we sped in chase, with a dozen others after us to see the fun. for a mile or two we saw nothing of the runaways, and the noise of the bells behind us prevented our hearing those ahead. up hill and down, we flew like the wind; but we knew the mettle and the speed of our blacks, and that a stern chase would prove a long one in this instance at least. it was five miles from our place of starting before we caught a glimpse of the pursued: they were rising a steep hillside, and we could see the moonbeams glisten on the silver bells of the horses. we shouted, and drove as fast as we dared to, but away they went over the hill and down its descent with unfailing speed. it was nearly ten miles to the river, where we were to stop and take supper before returning. there, too, the chase would be ended; unless they avoided us by taking another road. i had seldom seen frank more excited : for he was 210 hermit's dell. seen. naturally calm though decided, and not a man to be trifled with, even in sport : but to have his noble team over-driven by a stranger and a would-be rival too, was more than he could bear. at last the river bank was reached. our sleigh stood at the door, and the ladies were on the piazza awaiting us : but their dare-devil driver was nowhere to be thinking perhaps that he had carried the joke too far, he thought it prudent to keep out of sight for awhile: and it was well he did. frank's first inquiry was after his horses : but they had been well-cared-for, and the negro hostler was as wet as his charge from the exertion of rubbing them down. mabel and her friend seemed rather mortified at being carried off so unceremoniously : though i fancied they inwardly thought it was a capital joke. by degrees, the parties who had not come over the road as fast as we did, arrived at the river; and ere long the adventure of the evening was forgotten, save by us, in the enjoyment of a famous supper, an enlivening dance, and another rapid drive homeward. frank's wrath was a little appeased, by receiving an apology the next day from the “harum-scarum” youth: but he never forgot the affront. we were thinking of the autumn though; yet, in thinking of leeville, my thoughts have played a hermit's dell. 211 truant, and unconsciously led me into an unseasonable digression. i remember one glorious autumn, most of which was spent at my friend's farm. the frosts had fallen early on the hillsides and in the low grounds, turning the maple leaves to a golden yellow, and the tenderer forest vines that beautiful scarlet and crimson which art can scarcely equal. the season had been a most propitious one for the farmer. the great red barns were filled with golden wheat-sheaves, bundles of rye, and the finest of hay. the orchard fruit had been gathered to the mill or cellar, and the corn was ready for husking. it was to be a gay season in and about leeville, for mabel lee, the belle, was to be married; and the occasion was looked forward to as about to be one of more than ordinary brilliancy. and who was now the accepted suitor? not frank, nor the hero of the sleighing frolic. a stranger had stepped in unawares, and quietly wooed and won gentle mabel lee. the eve of the wedding arrived. it was to precede the corn-husking frolic of the season on her father's farm, and form a part of the occasion. it was a large company of young and old that gathered beneath the roof of samuel lee on that bright october eve. never before had there been such a festive gathering 212 hermit's dell. in leeville; never in all the country round had a lovelier bride been given away. and when the ceremony was over, and the husking commenced on the great granary floor, how the hours sped amidst laugh and song, till supper was prepared in the wide hall of the farm-house, and duly appreciated! and when the feast was over, and the dance began, how many wondered who would be the bride at the next corn-husking! “ that night there was joy in the gabled manse, when home were the harvest wains; the young and the beautiful met in the dance to the bounding music's strains. and the trusting love of mabel's eyes, in their clear and holy light, was the love-oh! spirit of paradise, that could know no change or blight." hermit's dell. 213 vii. years. the places which we were accustomed to frequent in childhood and early youth, are seldom, if ever, forgotten. they are endeared to us by associations whose memories seem rather to freshen than fade as we advance in the smoothly-shorn meadows upon which we played —the newly-mown hay, to us so sweet and healthfulthe shady woods through which we roved during the summer noontides in search of wild flowers and berries -all come before our mental vision as though they had never faded or changed with the lapse of years. “the young! oh! what should wandering fancy bring, in life's first spring-time, but the thoughts of spring? world without winter, blooming amaranth bowers, garlands of brightness, wreath'd from changeless flowers." as well remembered as 'twere but yesterday are those joyous summers when, freed from the restraints of the heated city, we children, brothers and sisters, revelled in the liberty of that happy change. it was to no gay watering-place with its round of 214 hermit's dell. dissipation, its fashions, formalities and discomforts, our feet were guided; but to a large and quiet farmhouse that lay amidst the hills which skirt the gently flowing passaic. childhood is observant, but not appreciative, and though i remember well the lovely panorama that lay around us, even to every knoll and tree which added to its beauty, i was too young then to realize its charms. there was the shady school-house lane, with its noble old elms and chestnuts veiling out the sunshine with their dense foliage. there, too, was the lowly school-house, with its rude desks and whittled benches, its noisy troop, and their meek, unappreciated teacher. poor woodford ! his was a hard and thankless task; yet there was one among his charge who gained his love and gladdened many a sad hour by her gentle sympathy. she was the eldest of his female scholars, the most intelligent, and consequently his greatest favorite. moreover, her father-ralph somers, had been the first to lend a helping hand to the indigent and invalid student, when he first came to willow-dale, seeking employment. the farmer's ample roof had been his shelter, till he almost learned to call it his home. the whole household honored him for his virtues, and therefore it is hermit's dell. 215 not strange that a “feeling akin to love" for him · should spring up in the heart of esther somers. there was too much of sympathy in their tastes, too much congeniality in their natures, for anything like indifference. the burden of her satchel to and from school was his lightest labor. he sheltered her from the rainlifted her over fences, and in aught that he could be, was her willing helper. a year or two before, she had been my playmate, during our summer stay at willow-dale ; but girls mature sooner than boys, and so, whilst i was in my early “teens," she became a budding woman. still i was allowed to be a frequent companion, and therefore witness of that sympathy, which one day ripened into love. "we strayed together in the wood, we roved the meadows soft and green; or on the rustic footbridge stood, over its silvery flood to lean.” the “gulley,” as we used to call the shady ravine which bounded one side of the farm, was our favorite resort. there, when our daily studies were over, or on saturday afternoons, we youngsters, under the guidance of the teacher and his fair companion, wandered in search of wild plums and berries, making the glen 216 hermit's dell. our resound with our laughing frolics. there was rustic arbor, made of birch boughs, and almost impervious to sun and rain, with the wild vines creeping so densely over it. many were the feasts of wild straw. berries and whortleberries that we enjoyed there, served up so daintily on vine-leaf platters. som “we feasted, with no grace but song, in summer when the days were long." we loved the old-fashioned garden too, with its tall holly-hocks and flaunting sun-flowers, its great, odorous beds of thyme, and sage, and marjoram, which were the especial care of our thrifty housewife, and duly cut and put away in the dry garret for winter use. but better did we love to visit the huge coop of softeyed wild pigeons that stood in a shady corner, and feed them morning and evening with their allowance of buckwheat, that they might afford us betimes a dainty pie. the old cider-mill in the orchard, and the haybarracks in the meadow, were scenes of many a merry game of " hide and seek" and "puss in the corner;" they were mute witnesses too of childish quarrels and childhood's smiles and tears. so were three happy summers passed, but the fourth was shadowed by the first heartfelt sorrow that i ever hermit's 217 del l. knew; the bitterest, because the first. what an incomprehensible mystery is death to the glad spirit of youth! how dense, yet fleeting, is the shadow which the wings of the dark angel cast over life's sunny landscape ! sweet esther somers! she faded from our sight like a flower beneath the early frost. i was too much of a boy then to know or regard how she sickened or suffered. i can only remember how we missed her in our many walks and sports, how we wondered why " the schoolmaster” looked so sad and laughed so little, and how we wished the doctor would make her well again before the wild strawberries were ripe. we little knew, when sometimes we were admitted to her bedside, and grew frightened at her pale, thin face, that she would never more go down into the “gulley” again, nor into the distant woods, nor even into the garden beneath the window. i remember how she grew worse, and then the bright afternoon on which she died, when we were one by one summoned to her chamber that we might receive the little tokens of affection, and the last kiss she should ever give us; but even then we could not feel that she was going to die. it was only when we stood by her coffin, and gazed upon her closed eyes, and silent lips, and forehead so white and cold, that we realized we should have her with us no more. 10 218. hermit's dell. so in her youth and loveliness they buried her in the quiet village churchyard, beneath an old willow tree, whose drooping branches seemed weeping over her; and there we were wont to go, on still sabbath eves, to tend the flowers which loving hands had planted, and talk of her whom we all so dearly loved. i did not feel so much then, but i know now what a void her death had made, which could never be refilled. thenceforth, her father's hearth was gloomy and desolate; thenceforth did poor woodford, her lover, wear a saddened brow. his hopes were soon overcast, and to a nature like his they were seemingly shadowed for ever. it is many a long year since my feet have trodden the well-known haunts of my childhood in fair willowdale. i have looked on many a glorious view from lake, river, and high mountain-top, but never have i forgotten those quiet spots, so dear with youthful and tender associations. doubtless the tripping feet of children are treading the winding paths in the shady “ gulley," and maybe gentle hands are keeping the birchen arbor from falling to decay: and the old cider-mill must be sadly dilapidated now, but if it is standing yet, i know that it echoes oftentimes with the merry voices of childhood. beneath the old willow tree in the churchyard, there hermit's dell. 219 is the same green grave, but do loving children bend over it and weep, as we used to ? there are graves there, too, which we have never seen. ralph somers is in one, and a playmate of ours in another. woodford may be there too, but we know not. 220 hermit's dell. viii. summer, with its luxuriance of flowers and verdure, had passed away, and autumn, with its wealth of grain and fruits, its frosty mornings and clear skies, had come in its most gorgeous beauty. the cornfields, stripped of their rustling crop, looked bare and sterile, and the meadows, faded from their rich green, had put on the more sombre garb of the season. the woodlands alone had gained in beauty, and already were clothed in those matchless tints which constitute the crowning glory of our northern autumns. but for frank and me, the season had other charms, and ere november came with its sharper frosts, we were snugly domesticated in the rude but comfortable cabin at otter-creek. “uncle josh,” as we boys familiarly called him, was the first settler in that untamed country. his own busy axe had made the small clearing that afforded ground sufficient for the cultivation of corn and potatoes and a few garden plants. his own hands had felled the logs and reared the walls of his lonely tenement, and with untiring zeal, though with hard hermit's dell. 221 labor, he had supported his small family from day to day and year to year. we, who though young enough to be his children, had seen more of the world, often wondered that the old man was so well contented with his lot, for his declining years were almost as devoid of the simplest luxuries, as were his earlier ones. he was not lonely either, for there was one true helpmate ever at his side, not less loving and mindful of his comfort than on the day when, with little worldly wealth, they wedded and emigrated from the banks of the penobscot, to build up a new home and find new friends amidst unknown wilds. it was always an epoch in their work-day life when we visited the woods, to spend a week or two of the sporting season. seldom did a newspaper find its way thither except in our portmanteaux, and when “uncle josh” had read and re-read them, they were neatly pasted on the rough walls and ceilings, in lieu of better hangings. and then there was so much to tell in reply to his questions as to what was going on in the old world as well as the new, to all of which information he was as completely a novice as though he was not a part and parcel of our republic. those were cosy nights indeed, when we came in tired and hungry from our long tramps over hill and 222 h hermit's dell. dale, through swamps and underbrush; and after a hearty supper, stretched ourselves before the huge fire, which was so generously fed, to listen to the long yarns which no sailor could spin better than uncle josh. there we would sit for hours, cracking jokes and hickory-nuts till the good-natured dame would send us laughingly to bed. an epicurean fare we lived on, too, such as a haunch of venison betimes, varied by quail and partridge, and now and then a rabbit-pie, to say nothing about 'cornbread and buckwheat cakes, with the best of milk and butter—for uncle josh kept a cow which managed to get a good subsistence in her wide, forest range. but there was another inmate of the cabin, of whom i should have spoken before, and that was “little kate,” for thus the old people used to call her, even when she had grown to womanhood. . kate was the child of their old age and the chief blessing of their life. though born in almost a wilderness, and the lightest comforts of her home hard-earned and few, no daughter of wealth and luxury was more tenderly loved and nurtured. but the old man had determined that kate should not grow up “to be no good to nobody," so when she was twelve years old, and had acquired pretty much all she could learn at home, the trial of parting came. it was during our second visit to otter-creek that hermit's dell. 223 this was decided upon. the nearest town of importance, in which there was a boarding school, was thirty or forty miles distant; there were no railroads through the forest then, as now, and the common by-way was rough and intricate too, so it was a two-days' journey, most of the way on horseback. it was thus kate and her father started from home; the old man leading the way, and she on the old grey nag, following after ; one, gay and delighted with the prospective change, the other, heavy-hearted enough. we promised uncle josh to remain till his return, and after he had gone, we did all in our power to reconcile the tender-hearted woman to the absence of her daughter. four days elapsed before uncle josh was again at home. the sacrifice was made, and though he felt that he should have to work a little harder that year and perhaps the next, in order to meet the extra expense of kate's schooling, he would often say cheerfully, “it makes no odds ; larnin, never made nobody poorer.” two years had now passed, and kate was once more at home, there to remain and cheer with her gentle care the declining days of her aged parents. she had come back to her sylvan home a creature of grace and beauty, so that it was difficult for frank and i to realize it was the same nut-brown girl, who used to 224 h hermit's dell. stand beside us and listen to our simple stories. she was more of a woman, yet the indian-like grace of her step was the same, but her brow had grown fairer, and the brown hair laid over it in a smoother fold, the old cabin was changed for the better too, both inside and without; wild-flowers and creepers were clambering up to the eaves, hiding from view many an unsightly notch. the smoke-browned newspapers which once covered the walls of the sitting-room, had given place to more tasty hangings, and a few books and engravings lay upon the table, betokening a more refined taste than is generally found in the woods. yet all these little trifles, which to our friends were luxuries, had been attained by an elegant and simple labor of the maiden's own hands. it was an art she had acquired at school—the making of paper flowers, and with the most exquisite taste did she copy the forms and colors of nature in their loveliest varieties. how much may love sweeten even a home in the wilderness : what a sunshiny gladness can woman's smile create in the darkest hour, if her love is valued as it should be! with such a blessing was the monotonous life of uncle josh gladdened and prolonged. across the hills and through the woods, a few miles distant, there was another home which furnished a sad and strange contrast. we were its inmates on one stormy night when far away from our accustomed hermit's dell. 225 shelter, cold and belated, and no other refuge to be had. were it not that our old host was with us, we should have hesitated to trust ourselves for the night among such rude and forbidding people; but uncle josh was well known there, although there was little communi cation or sympathy between the two families. the snow had commenced falling early in the afternoon, whilst we were deep in the forest, and as evening came on, the storm increased; but under the pilotage of our old guide, we reached without difficulty the rude hut wherein we must pass the night. a gruff voice bidding us enter, answered our impatient knock upon the door. it was far from an inviting shelter that opened before us. stretched upon a rough bench before the dim fire, lay the man of the house apparently half intoxicated; two huge hounds which growled at our intrusion occupied the stone hearth ; a rickety bed in one corner of the room contained two young children, whilst a third was in the arms of its mother, who was doing the double duty of nursing and clearing the table of a few broken pieces of crockery, from which the household had apparently just taken their supper. the atmosphere of the apartment was redolent with the combined fumes of grease, tobacco-smoke, and whiskey, and we were almost tempted to brave 10* 226 u ernit's dell. the storm again and seek shelter in the woods, rather than inhale till morning such a nauseating and impure air. the poor woman, who, by her worn and pale face had already enlisted our sympathies, though uncle josh had told us something of her history, seemed anxious to make us comfortable. her husband had risen from his hard couch and rudely told us to come to the fire ; but when he bade the poor woman go out and bring in an armful of wood, we determined that whilst we were in the house, she should not be thus imposed upon. the wretch did not move even when we started to perform the office ; and when the wood was brought and heaped upon the fire, all the thanks we had from him was a muttered curse at our interference, and a still deeper one grumbled at his wife. we were not sorry, when our clothes had become somewhat dry and we had put our guns in order, to retire to the other apartment assigned us for the night, and, wrapping ourselves in some buffalo robes, strive to shut our eyes and ears to all that was unpleasant in sight and sound. with the morning, came a recurrence of brutality on the part of the man, and a display of weakness and long-suffering on the part of his wife. it was sickening to see one who had evidently been hermit's dell. 227 born to a better lot thus enslaved and maltreated; yet so had she lived for years, nursing his children, tending his wants, bearing his abuse. could it be other than for love? such was a mystery to us. the devotedness and fortitude of woman have been the themes of poet and philosopher from the day when her gentle foot first pressed the flowering sod of eden. there have been not a few whose names are immortalized upon the deathless page of history; yet in our own day of outrage and wrong, there are spirits whose devotion is no less deathless than was gertrude vanderwarts', whose love is as changeless as was that of arabella stuart. thus in joy, and pain, and sorrow, woman ever bears her part; sad to-day and glad to-morrow, weak of hand, but strong of heart. it was a joy again to sit by the cheerful fireside at otter-creek, where the voice and smile of a loving child made glad the heart of an aged father, and lightened the cares of a failing mother : and as we sadly spoke of the worn woman and her cheerless lot in the far-off forest, till the eyes of the maiden filled with tears, we thought of the poet's words“a fearful gift upon thy heart is laid, woman-a power to suffer and to love: therefore thou so canst pity." 228 hermit's dell. ix. the lapse of three years makes sad changes, not only over all the world, but in the little sphere immediately around us. the seasons, with their attributes of fruits and flowers, sunshine and snows, have gone their accustomed round: friends with whom we were familiar, the loving and the loved, have passed away: some like the fragile flowers of spring—others like old forest trees, sapless, and broken by the weight of years. “a few short years! less time may well suffice for death and fate to work all change on earth; to break the ties which early love had formed, and to bow down th' elastic spirit, and to blight each flower strewn in life's crowded path.” not less altered than the more crowded haunts of men—not more improved in the eyes of some, is the aspect of that once sequestered valley through which the otter-creek winds its silvery flood. what a change is there! the old log cabin which hermit's dell. 229 was the handiwork of uncle josh, and for so many years the homely shelter of his little family, has fallen to decay. the old man and the thrifty housewife have been gathered to their graves; they sleep beneath the shade of ancient trees in a newly-made burial ground, not far from where they lived. the old pine forest which once surrounded them has been burnt over and cleared away, and the more quiet solitudes of distant woods echo to the neigh of the iron horse, as he rushes on his path to the farther west. the deer have sought out more noiseless feedinggrounds, and the smaller game has been driven off by the pursuing and reckless sportsmen till it is almost extinct. an embryo town is growing and flourishing where we once sported and roved, and the little kate" of those careless days, no more gathers wild flowers or imitates their hues in her gentle art. she lives and loves beneath a more modern roof than then, and fair children “like olive plants round about her table,” claim her care. her day of romance is over with ours, and amidst the calmer duties of life with all their varied accompaniments, she finds her pleasure. beside the remembrances which her still laughing eyes recall to our hearts and lips, the scenes of our first acquaintance have no other charm, for the glare 230 hermit's dell. of paint and white-wash is far less pleasing than was the dense verdure of that old pine forest with its gleams and shadows. the busy hum of labor seems irrelevant with the holy quiet that should reign in the surrounding forest, for far to the north and west there stretches still an almost trackless wilderness, awaiting the axe and fire of the settler with all their succeeding attendants. earnest men, united in all the great purposes of life, are pushing forward, making nature subservient to their endeavors, and a strong assistant in their labors. the once free streams turn their busy millwheels, feed their canals, and float their timber to the river. the mineralogist and assayer are piercing the mountains to find and prove their garnered wealth, whilst to the tourist and the invalid, an almost terra incognita is laid open, whose lakes, and streams, and mountains, rival those of far-off europe in beauty. eight years have passed away since the night on which we first slept beneath the roof-tree of uncle josh's cabin ; and already all this change is wrought. the simplicity of forest-life was then untinctured with any of the “isms" which flourish so rankly in the hot-bed soil of the present day. the fancied power of the magnetizer was then scarcely heard of or believed in; men and women managed their affairs without the aid of the clairvoyant, 6 hermit's dell. 231 and were content to await their own entrance into the spirit-land, to see the forms and hear the voices of their departed friends. i know that sound and healthful sleep was to our good old host, a “sweet restorer" after the labors of the day; he needed no other anodyne or incentive. his own good sense and forecast taught and told him all he wished to know, and in the presence of ghosts and wraiths in our matter-of-fact world, i am sure he was a mirthful and decided unbeliever. but my random diary cannot embrace a dissertation on fallacies, or a stricture on the so-called “humbugs of the day;" only we had heard that the “rappings" were frequent in the very neighborhood where no like sounds used to break the sabbath silence of the woods, save the tapping of the woodpecker or the measured stroke of uncle josh's busy axe. with the changes which had passed over and marred, in our eyes, the fair scenes which had become so dear and familiar, we had changed also in a measure. new haunts, where we could still foster and indulge our fondness for occasional retirement from the busier scenes of life, must be sought out; but with them we well knew there could be no second uncle josh, with his good helpmate so thoughtful of our comfort; no second "little kate" with her laughing eye and joyous step; these were to be with us only in memory. 232 hermit's dell. the spot we next sought, when the mood was upon us, lay among the low, wooded hills whose sparkling rivulets swell the romantic winnipee. the waters of this tiny lake wash the base of a range of hills which almost gird it round. so sheltered is it, the winds scarcely ruffle its glassy surface, on which the shores are faithfully mirrored in all their wild and varied beauty. ! so lonely in its slumber there, it seems a spirit's haunt of prayer." joining the swamp-lands of alder and hazel which form a portion of the shore, lay a fertile farm nearly a mile square, embracing acres of woodland and meadow which yielded rich returns under the husbandry and tillage of their thrifty owner. beyond, stretched an undulating farming country, not densely settled, yet dotted here and there with substantial farm-houses and their huge red barns, bespeaking great crops of hay and grain. it was mainly a german settlement, and its inhabitants the children of those who came from the faderland with their primitive notions and rude tools of labor. the old house near the lake, and in which we tarried for a season, bore evidence of dutch handicraft. the thick stone walls and projecting gables, the low ceilings and huge fireplaces, with their tiled mantels hermit's dell. 233 and hearths, almost led one to think that the whole building was brought bodily from holland or germany. every part of it had the appearance of cleanliness and comfort-such solid comfort as we seldom see in these days of ours. farmer fritz was an honest, plain-spoken man, and though dutch in blood, a good and true republican, and born in the house he lived in. his acres were his birthright, and therefore he felt and was independent. when it suited him, he went fishing or gunning with us; when it did not suit him, he said so and staid at home. the swamps which bounded his farm abounded with woodcock in the season, furnishing us all the sport, and our good dogs, pilot and dash, all the practice we could wish. but we loved better, in those hot july days, to troll upon the lake within the shadow of the mountains, for our favorite fish, or trace some of the leaping rivulets to their cool sources amidst the hills. there were few who were acquainted with those spots then, or aware of their pleasant resources, but the mode of access to them is easier now. farmer fritz has enlarged his house, become an hotel-keeper, and is making his fortune. the swamps' are cleared up and drained, and the little lake, once so naturally beautiful, serves the purpose of a dam to a noisy paper-mill. 234 hermit's dell. change is one of the grand features, not only of our life, but of our age; the old must give place to the new; the natural to the artificial; the beautiful to the useful, and they who would seek to see the face of nature unmarred by the hand of man, must set forth as upon a pilgrimage, almost, to a far-off land. . hermit's dell. 235 x. to those, whose feet have not always trodden the crowded highways of life, but oftener its less-frequented by-ways, how varied seems the lot of man, how countless the phases of joy and sorrow which fill up the measure of his cup! such was the tenor of my thoughts, as on a day in july, i sat on the crumbling threshold of that picturesque ruin, known in the vicinity as “ramsay's mill.” it was a spot round which sad and happy associations alike clustered ; once the scene of all those domestic joys which make life pleasant and desirable; but error, and at last guilt, had crept in, bringing blight and sorrow with their train of misery and desolation. the dwelling-house, which for many years had been the shelter of the miller and his family, was also tenantless and going to ruin. the doors had fallen from their fastenings, and the windows were open to the sun and storm, affording free passage to the swallows, which twittered joyously around and down the chimneys, and through the deserted rooms, unimpeded in their flight. 236 hermit's dell. the little garden, once so thriving and productive, was overgrown with rank weeds, save here and there a sun-flower looking down from its tall stalk upon the miniature wilderness; yet, there was one remnant of domestic life left-a lonely cat, stealthily creeping along the overgrown paths and beds, in quest of a chance subsistence, loth to leave the home where she may have been fondled for years. but the petting mistress, on whose lap tabby had slept so cosily the long winter evenings befere the warm fireside, would fondle her no more, and the prattling child, whose cradle was so soft and warm, had gone too. the mill-buildings were no less dilapidated : the huge wheel had grown mossy and decayed, and the flume that once carried the water upon it, was gaping with rents from the frost of many winters. the interior machinery had been mostly removed, to do its work elsewhere, leaving but cold and silent walls, upon which the cobwebs hung heavy and undisturbed. yet there, for many years, the trusty miller had plied his trade, till his white locks showed not the flour-dust that gathered on them. sons and daughters were born and reared in the dwelling near by, and grew up, some to be a blessing —others, the reverse. the boys were strong and hardy; and one, loving and dutiful, followed in his father's footsteps, and lightened many of his labors. hermit's dell. 237 the other, and the elder, loving better the noise of the great city than the clatter of the mill, which had become a familiar sound, left his father's roof with no parting word or blessing, and became a wanderer. he had been his mother's favorite ; but though her loving heart yearned after him and mourned him for years, even to the day when her sorrow went down into the grave with her, his shadow never again darkened his father's threshold. once only were faint tidings brought the old man of his long-lost son; but it were better that they should have been unheard, adding, as they did, another sorrow to those which burdened already the stricken household. mabel and kate, the twin sisters, with the other brother, were left, and by their tender sympathy did much towards gladdening the declining days of their parents. the girls were dissimilar in everything but age. mabel was gentle and loving, fair-haired and azureeyed : kate haughty and impulsive, with hair and eyes dark as night. she had more tact than her gentler sister, and knew so well how to school herself, that of the two, it was difficult to decide which had the greater charms. 238 hebut's dell. kate, however, was her father's favorite, yet it was her destiny to be “a thorn in his side,” a reproach and sorrow to the neighborhood. mabel married, and with the trustfulness of her nature, bade farewell to all that was loved and familiar, and with many tears went to the far west, there to shed her gentle influence, and brighten a settler's home. kate went from home also, soon after her sister, but stealthily and by night. the flattery of an unprincipled man had won her heart, and in an hour of impulse she yielded to persuasion, and forsook her home. words may not describe the sorrow that overwhelmed the old couple ; suffice it to say, it broke their hearts. on a stormy winter's night, a year or two after the last occurrence, the erring and long-lost brother once more stood in his childhood's home. he was a worn and broken man now, for the riotings and wanderings of years had done their work; but where was the once happy circle, of which he was the first broken link? but one, his brother, was left to tell him of the past. the wanderer had hoped to have his father's blessing before he died, but the grey-haired man had been in his grave for months. the prodigal-repentant, but still bound by shackles he could not break, and bowed down by remorse, soon filled a drunkard's grave. of that broken family, one only now remained at hermit's dell. 239 home, and he, at last, gathering up all that was available of the little property, rejoined his sister in her western home, there to recount the trials they had borne, and strive once more to be happy. it is a sad history! yet on that old door-step i had often sat before, but never with such feelings of sadness as then. to me, the story was familiar, but never had the loneliness of the spot seemed so oppressive, or its desolation more complete. gladly, if possible, would i have called back the vanished years, the miller to his labors, the fond mother and her children to the cheerful fireside, with all those joys so rudely blighted and gone forever. it was the last week of october, in which i again trod the shady glens of dark-hollow ; the trees were putting on a gayer livery, and the summer birds were flocking off to the more genial south, engendering in the spirit a feeling alike of gladness and melancholy. the twilight was deepening in the woods, as i neared the old mill, which lay by my path homeward. in a locust grove, upon the sloping hillside not far distant, gleamed the white tents of a camp-meeting just convened, and as the wild melody of their spiritstirring hymns echoed through the hollow, bringing dread thoughts of death and the judgment, i sat 210 hermit's dell. again in tnat crumbling doorway, and listened to the sounds which so truly harmonized with the memories of the spot. "they pealed along-those bymns of night, the anger of the lord their theme; with echoing swell and cadence light, o'er mountain wild and gliding stream." hermit's dell. 241 xi. one of our own writers has said, “the value of life deepens incalculably with the privilege of travel.” the remark is a truthful one, but how few there are who fitly appreciate the privilege. there are thousands of our fellow-men who spend their lives in roaming the world; some, in search of change and pleasure; others, of wealth, whilst many more go shifting about like helmless barques, with no guide—no quest, knowing no rest. some pluck flowers at every step; others, fruit, like the apples of the dead sea, fair to the sight, but filled with dust and ashes. some find their highest joy in alleviating the woes of others, whilst too many, like the pharisee of old, pass by on the other side. such was my train of thought as i occupied a seat in a crowded stage-coach traversing a dusty highway of a neighboring state. as we pitched and rattled along, i amused myself by surveying the countenances of my fellow-travellers, as is my habit on such occa11 242 hermit's dell. sions, and thereby learning sometimes more of human nature, than we would with more casual notice. the back seat was occupied by a mother and her daughter, who, i fancied, was on her return to boarding school, vacation having expired. the centre seat was well filled by the stout forms of three well-to-do farmers, dressed in home-spun, who had been attending an agricultural show in one of the county towns. they were full of converse on fine cattle, labor-saving machines, and other objects interesting to their class and calling next to me, on the other seat, sat a quiet and thoughtful man, apparently heeding little of what was going on around him, and wrapped up in his own reflections. the little observation i was able to take of him without being rude, impressed me with the idea that he was laboring under some deep dejection or, perhaps, sorrow. yet his dress and general expression bespoke him to be a man of the world. how often do we meet such men ! seeming as if some great and untold sorrow lay crushingly upon their hearts; a sorrow hoarded as it were, and jealously veiled from prying eyes. to such, a kind word or a sympathizing glance sometimes, are blessings not craved, but when freely offered, accepted gratefully. like a forest tree, touched, yet not riven by the lightning, but wanting more than its fellows, the sun and rain to renew its hermit's 243 dell. verdure; such an one stands amidst his fellow-men more mindful, because more needful of, smiles and tears. sincere and well-timed sympathy is to the worn and fainting spirit as the cool dew of eve to the fading flower. one by one, most of my fellow-travellers had, almost unconsciously to me, been dropped at their places of destination along the route, giving me an opportunity to change my seat for one more airy, and from which i could look out on the country through which we were passing. it was new to me, and beautiful and varied. now, on the summit of a lofty hill, the eye could command a wide expanse, dotted here and there with white-farm houses, and diversified with woods and fields clad with the rich verdure of early summer; then, descending into a valley carpeted with green meadows, we would seem almost caged in from the world by the wooded hills rising on either side. as we neared the little village of h—, which lies nestling in the lap of a fertile valley, i noticed the quiet stranger was affected by some strong emotion, evidently of sorrow, and that uncontrollable. i never before had seen a strong man so shaken and overcome by grief. it was embarrassing to me, and would have been more so, had he not, in a few moments, said: “pardon my weakness, sir, but this is my native place-ten 244 hermit's dell. years have gone since i was here last, and my recollections are very sad.” in a few minutes we reached the small tavern of the village, and weary from my long ride, i soon domesticated myself amidst the snug and cleanly comforts of the attentive host. i saw no more of my companion till we met at our evening meal, yet drawn towards each other by an undefinable sympathy, we sat long together engaged in most social conversation. afterwards, strolling out together, we found a secluded spot, where he told me much of his history, and of the great sorrow, that years before, had blighted his youthful hopes and saddened his after life. he may be dead now, or living ; but with a few alterations, yet with no fancies,and little adornment, i have woven in this chequered woof his sombre thread. “my own early home; though many years have passed, and sad changes been wrought since i sported in its halls and roamed its green woods, it stands before me now, as on the day i left it for ever-all bright and gay, save my own heart. i never knew a father's love; he died ere i was old enough to recognize his care, and in the old homestead i grew up under the fostering love of my dear, widowed mother-a wayward, petted child. hermit' dell. 245 “i had my own quiet room, my little cabinet of minerals and shells, my library of treasured books; when tired of these, there were my dog and gun, and my saddle pony. “what was the world to me, or i to the world ; i was happy and contented with my selfish pleasures in my little hermitage. "i had no playmate-knew no game, yet often left my book to run and blow bright bubbles in the sun ; in after life we do the same.' “so time passed with little variation till i was eighteen years of age, and excepting the few studies that were imposed upon me, which occupied an hour or two a day, i sought but my own enjoyment, and the happiness of my devoted mother. but in the course of another year, she was taken from me, and i was thrown upon my own resources, with no guardian, and scarcely a friend in the wide world. “with regard to pecuniary matters, i was well provided for, and i resolved to retain the property i now owned, as hallowed by associations which others could never realize; so with an old and faithful housekeeper, the nurse of my infancy, another and another year few almost unheeded by, for i was happy and asked or sought no change. “but an unwritten leaf in my book of life was soon 246 hermit's dell. to turn; a change i dreamed not of was soon to be ; my heart was to expand, and instead of beating for itself alone, was to throb more wildly for another. “ there was a rustic cottage not far from my dwelling, and which you see through the trees now, that had been a long time unoccupied. its last tenant was a poor and lonely widow, who had then been dead a year or more, at the time of which i speak, and during that season, no living being had entered the door, except an old dependent of the former occupant, who now and then, took possession for an hour, to sweep away the cobwebs, and see that no unlawful intruder had disturbed the scanty furniture which still remained, for the house belonged to the heirs of an estate that was then in litigation. it was a sweet spot then, the house half-hidden from view amidst weeping willows and old shady elms; and the low, rustic porch almost crushed beneath the vines and creepers, which for two summers, had known no pruning or care. a little streamlet, with grassy banks, murmured through a shady dell near by, fed the year round by a tiny cascade that came leaping down yonder hillside. such was willowdale. “a very home for loveman eden spot, that seemed secluded from the rest of earth; where care and sorrow might be e'er forgot, and thoughts of joy and love have cloudless birth. hermit's dell. 247 “but rumor whispered that the cottage was soon to be inhabited again ; that a family from the city had leased it, and the report was ere long confirmed by the presence of workmen in and about the house, who were soon busy in renovating the paint and plaster, remodelling and refurnishing. “a skilful gardener soon put the long-neglected grounds in perfect order, and before many weeks had passed, the cottage was ready for its new occupants as it is natural for youth to be curious and imaginative, you may suppose i was full of impatience to know who were to be my new neighbors; and for several days i watched the stage-coach, as it passed by on its way from the city, with more than usual interest. it came at last, one lovely april morning, loaded with trunks and boxes, and more than its accustomed number of passengers. i saw within it a grey-haired man, a middle-aged, matronly looking woman, and more than all, a sweet young face looking earnestly from the window, as it passed swiftly by they stopped at the cottage; the strangers had arrived. “i remember that i lay awake most of the following night, wondering what relation those three persons bore to each other. at last, it was settled in my mind, that the old gentleman and the pale-faced girl were father and daughter, and the matronly looking 248 hermit's dell. person must be their housekeeper, for she looked like one; the sequel proved my suppositions to be correct. then, with youth's hopefulness, and love for anything that savored of a change in my theretofore quiet life, i fancied how delightful it would be, when i had made their acquaintance, to act as cicerone, and show them the romantic walks and drives of our wild neighborhood. “a new source of happiness had sprung up before me; the void in my heart seemed about to be filled, and i felt as though i was to enter upon a new state of being. but i will not weary you with trifling relations or details. “ere many weeks had passed, i was a constant visitor at the cottage. alice g alice g— was my divinityher father almost a second one to me. words cannot describe the happiness i knew in that delightful intercourse. “i shall not attempt to describe her beauty to you; enough that she seemed to me more of heaven than earth-born only to love and be loved. 6. she was my world; filled up the whole of beingsmiled in the sunshine—walked the glorious earth, sat in my heart—was the sweet life of life.' “she was young, gay, and happy ; but there were some who said there was often too much color in her hermit's dell. 249 cheek, and that her eyes wore a strange brightnessthat she was not going to live long. “i laughed at their strange forebodings; for to me these seemed but attributes of her matchless loveliness. boy that i was, love had stolen into my heart, and i felt that she was necessary to my existence. “and so we lived on for a year or more; we drove, we rode, we walked together. the grove that separated our homes was threaded with paths which our straying feet had made. there we had our rustic seat, where we read our books, and held sweet conversation ; and there too, was our trysting-tree, 666 wbere erst we learned love's lesson.' “as weeks and months flew swiftly by, and i reached, almost unconsciously, the years of manhood, love grew with my growth, and from early blossoming, ripened into full maturity. my books, with which i , once found perfect joy, were thrown aside, save when i read them to another. my horse and dog were alike neglected, save when they afforded sport or recreation for the loved one. “i was happy only in her presence, and with her love; but with this joy, there swept across my spirit, oftentimes, a feeling of distrust,-a prestige that my new-born hopes might soon be blighted. "is it not always so, when we fancy that we are 11* 250 hermit's dell. happy? who among us knows what the morrow may bring forth ? the flower, whose bloom and fragrance gladdens us to-day, may fade and fall tonight beneath an untimely frost. the sky, that is bright and blue above us now, may, in one short hour, be swept by lowering clouds. nothing is sure but death and sorrow. “but to go on :-)t was early in summer, when the roses and honey-suckles that twined so lovingly around the cottage porch were in their richest blossoming, that i was unexpectedly summoned to the city upon urgent business. with my manhood, new cares and responsibilities had also come, and it was necessary that i should go. “i was at the cottage very early on the morning of my departure, to say a few farewell words. “ the parting seemed to me prophetic of some unforeseen woe; i know not why such doubts and fears harassed me—they were strange presentiments, but oh ! how sad. “ ten days passed wearily away before my business was ended, and i felt comparatively happy when once more on my way homeward. it was nearly evening when i saw again the spire of the village church rising in the distance far above the old trees of the graveyard; and when drawing nearer, the pointed roof of the cottage rose into view, my heart beat more quickly, hermit's dell. 251 and my check grew pale with the thought that all might not be well. “ as the coach passed by, i instinctively looked up at the little window where i had often seen the face of my beloved, radiant with smiles and beauty. the blinds were closed, and her eyes gleamed not through them. i knew if all was well, she would have been there, but now-sickness or death was within, and my heart asked—who is the victim ? “ once more in my quiet chamber, i strove to nerve myself for whatever i might be called to undergo; then summoning the old nurse, who was almost a mother to me, i learned all that my heart had dreaded. alice was sick and had been in her room for two days. calmly, yet with a sad spirit, i once more trod the shady avenue of willow-dale. again i sat in the darkened parlor, once so sunny and cheerful, and awaited the summons to the sick-chamber. an half hour passed, and i was once more by the side of her i loved. but what a change a few short days had wrought; what a sad reunion was ours! she was pillowed on her father's breast, and his careworn brow told of the anxiety that filled his heart. her complaint was told me in a few words—she had been spitting blood. though thin and worn, she appeared to me lovelier than ever, with a bloom upon her cheek, that to my unpractised eye, spoke of returning health ; 252 a hermit's dell. 1 1 1 but when i took her hand, and felt the fever that was burning in her veins, hope died within me, and i feared the worst. “ another week went by, and except at short intervals, i kept a sleepless vigil by her side. “those were hours of sweet communion, the memory of which is as fresh and holy as though they were of yesterday ; but as she daily grew weaker and thinner, the conviction forced itself upon her that there was no hope of life. yet, there was no repining at the thought of her blighted youth, no shudder on the verge of the dark valley; all was joy and peace. “ so she faded, day by day through the long winter. march came with its blustering winds and passed away, but the april showers fell like tears upon her new-made grave. she died at the close of a bright, warm day, when nature was putting on her garments of joy, and smiling as if in mockery of our desolated hearts. she lies in yonder churchyard, and there 1 have spent my afternoon. years have passed since she was laid there, and i have been a wanderer in many lands : but from the halls of mirth and splendor from the smiles of beauty and the fascinations of the world, i have turned away, to think of that green grave, and of that gentle being, whose spirit may now be hovering around me on viewless wings. “ to-morrow i go away again upon my wanderings; hermit's dell. 253 you may never see me more, but i shall remember your kindness whilst i live." such was the substance of the stranger's tale, and with few additions, this little sketch is a faithful transcript of his history. that night, our paths through life divided, and they have never met again. i know not where his feet may be roving: maybe he has long ago returned to his native village to die and be buried in the old churchyard. i often think of him and remember the poet's saying : " what is our bliss that changeth with the moon, and day of life that darkens ere 'tis noon ?” 254 hermit's dell. xii. once more in the forest, after a lapse of two years, yet it is a different section from that with which i have been familiar. the haunts of the deer we are disturbing now are far removed from the beaverkill, and the once hospitable cabin of “uncle josh.” as somewhat of his history, and our acquaintance with the old hunter, has been chronicled on former pages, we will not recur to them now. suffice it to say, that where his lonely clearing broke the gloom of the forest, a village with more pretending, but less verdureshaded dwellings than his, is now growing and thriving. the waters of the beaverkill, once so swift and silvery, have been dammed up for utilitarian purposes, and are discolored by the various uses they are made to serve. uncle josh, that honest old man and truehearted hunter, has passed away, with most of that race which followed so closely the footsteps of the receding red man. one of the friends who so humorously chronicled the sayings and doings of those our pristine hunting days is gone too, and pilot, his faithful hound, so hermit's 255 dell. gems amidst swift of foot, so keen of scent, has long ago followed his last chase. the features of the country which surrounds us now, are not unlike those which the waters of the shohokin and the beaverkill mirror on their way to the infant delaware; yet here, the mountains are grander, and the wilderness is more unbroken. countless lakes, of varied size and form, lie like the densely wooded hills and surrounding forests. our rude cabin is on the shore of one of them, overshadowed by swaying spruces and sighing pines, the “silver mountain" and "owl's head" cast their long shadows athwart its calm bosom, whilst behind them, old “bluebeard,” his top white with early snows, towers grandly above its surrounding hills. not many miles to the north is the noble st. lawrence and the canadian boundary. to the south are the adirondack mountains with their lofty peaks of tahawus and seward, looking down upon the saranac lakes, which stretch like a silvery chain through miles and miles of wilderness. to those who never traversed this part of the state, it is difficult to imagine what wild wastes cover the greater parts of the counties of hamilton, clinton, essex, franklin and st. lawrence. and so they will remain for years to come, whilst the rich and unencumbered prairie lands of the west 256 hert's dell. tempt the settler with their more fertile soil and salubrious climate. from the rude cabin, in which i am striving to indite these records, to the nearest post-town, it is twelve miles, half of which we came afoot through the forest. two active, muscular guides carried our provisions in sacks slung over their shoulders, whilst we trudged after them with no heavier burden than our rifles. our clothes are stout and warm, and our feet well shod, for the path, scarcely discernible, lies over swamps, and streams, and fallen timber, to say nothing of the snow, which covers the ground, in places, to the depth of several inches. it was nearly night of our second day from home, when we reached the shore of indian lake, our destination. hemmed in by densely wooded hills, and veiled from sight by the spruces and hemlocks which fringe its margin, we were upon the beach before we were aware of its proximity. nothing impressed me so much as the utter loneliness and seclusion of the place. the shadows of the mountains lying on the water, the old forest with its immense trunks, some dead and bearded with swaying moss, and above all, the mournful cry of the loon, echoing from the opposite shore, increased the awe which those who love such scenes must always feel, and especially at such an hour. hermit's dell. 257 as i looked upon the forest surrounding us, dark and dim, these stanzas from evangeline came into my memory“this is the forest primeval; the murmuring pines and the hemlocks, bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, stand like druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic, stand like harpers hoar with beards that rest on their bosoms." a ruinous shanty of boughs open to the south, with the smouldering ashes of a fire before it, offered us a shelter; but a storm seemed brewing, and our guides advised our taking the skiff which was moored here and going a mile down the lake to a settler's more comfortable cabin. this we agreed to, and having packed in our luggage we put out from shore, one of the men having concluded to build a fire and remain in the shanty till we rejoined him in the morning. our oarsman had not rowed us far before he perceived in the distant water, what appeared, by the dim light of evening, to be the wake of a swimming deer. our rifles were loaded, and we started in pursuit; but after rowing half-way across the lake, much to our disappointment we found it was made by a flock of ducks, which dived away from us on a nearer approach. our course was then laid for the clearing, which 258 hermit's dell. was a mile and a half distant, but we soon found our boat to be leaking so badly, it was necessary to put to shore and turn out the water. we found an old pan at the shanty, where tom had made himself so comfortable, and were almost persuaded to remain and keep him company; but we again started, though it required constant bailing to keep our craft afloat. we took turns at the service till we reached the clearing, cold, wet, and hungry, after a day's hard travel. it was now dark, and the approach to the cabin lay over burnt and fallen timber, heaped up in every imaginable form, the débris of what is called in forest parlance, a "slash.” with climbing, scrambling, and tumbling for nearly half an hour, we at last reached the house and found not only a warm welcome but a warm supper awaiting us; for our arrival at the lake that night was not unlooked for, and with the foresight natural to his calling, the hunter had predicted we would not pass the night at the shanty. our supper of venison and sundry accompaniments was discussed with hearty relish, and afterward, with feet toasting before the roaring fire, we passed an hour two in “deer and dog" talk, and of our plans for the morrow. ellis, our host, was a whole-souled, cheerful fellow, 1 h hermit’s dell. 259 and withal, intelligent. our shelter was built of logs, rude, yet comfortable enough in moderate weather, for two small rooms were all that it contained, and they were kitchen, bed-room, living room and all. here the old settler had lived for years with a wife and a growing family of children : the nearest neighbor four miles distant through the forest and the nearest town eight miles farther. to us, used as we are to the social intercourse of communities, it is a marvel how men can live so isolated, unless they are misanthropic, or are compelled to through necessity, which was not the case in this instance. yet i have seen in the wilderness, a woman who had not looked upon one of her sex for eight years, nearly one-third of her lifetime. with her, it was necessity at first, but after awhile this begot indifference, and she was happy in her seclusion. what a blank seems such an existence! among the hunters and loggers who here and there inhabit this northern wilderness, one often finds men of mind and manners which seem at utter variance with their situation and calling. some of them have seen better days; but either soured by disappointments or adventurous in their tastes, have adopted that mode of life. regardless of our conventionalities they meet you as a man, with a 260 hermit's dell. 1 hearty grasp of the hand and a welcome, if you will take it “rough and tumble” with them. a man who cannot follow them through the woods, or ford a stream if it crosses the path, or eat out of the same dish and drink out of the same bottle, gets very little sympathy from them. their motto is, “take it as you get it,” and my own experience has taught me it is the only comfortable plan. so in their camps they all find the same social level : fraternization and “solidarity,” as kossuth has it, are the chief elements of their happiness and success. “and the strongest of hand is highest in rank, the boldest is first of the band." we were up before day-break in the morning, and sat down to a breakfast of pork and venison, stewed cranberries, bread and green tea; you rarely taste coffee in the woods. our meal finished, we again essayed the “slash” on our way to the boats. this time the passage over it was not so difficult, for ellis had his private path, which was nothing more than adroit jumping from one log to another where they lay a little more sinoothly and scattered. after frequent journeys over the obstacle during the time we were thereabout, the hurdle jumpings at the hermit's dell. 261 hippodrome rather fell in my estimation. they were nothing to our display of agility. as we expected to drive the deer into the lake, which, by the way, is a mode of sport i do not like, inasmuch as the game are out of their element, one of the hunters, tom, who had been at the shanty all night, took the dogs some two miles back from the lake to start a deer, whilst we, each in a boat, , rowed for our appointed stations on the opposite shore. my stand was nearly at the extreme end, so i had a pull of some two miles to reach it. it was a lovely day, hazy and warm, the first of the indian summer. the water lay smooth and glassy, save when a passing breeze rippled its surface. the glorious mountains environing it, the sombre pines, and tall swaying spruces, the lofty tamaracks, and graceful hemlocks—all mirrored to a line in the clear, deep water; there was but one thing wantingthe bloom and verdure of summer. a row of some twenty minutes brought me to my station, where i moored my skiff to the trunk of a hemlock and stepped ashore. it was an out-jutting point, covered with a dense spruce thicket, except where it had been cut away to give room for a fire, which here we are always at liberty to kindle. from it i could see the whole 262 hermit's dell. expanse of the lake, and also my companions on their stands, half a mile and a mile from me. i selected a spot where i could sit unseen from the opposite shore, and listened for the yell of the hounds when a deer should be started. no sound broke the perfect stillness, save now and then the quack of a duck or the cry of the northern diver far out in the lake. an hour passed, before i caught the first faint bay of “dash," the hound that generally took the lead. he was a mile away, coursing along the side of a mountain, between which and the steep shore of the lake, there lay a deep valley. by the undulations of his voice, i could tell the nature of the ground over which he was chasing; now seeming farther off as they took the low ground; now louder and nearer as they gained some ridge-top, till his yell opened like a trumpet on the summit of the ridge nearest me. i almost held my breath waiting for the deer to strike the shore, for the dog appeared to be making for a point nearly opposite me. a moment more, and over a fallen pine tree that lay along the steep bank, a noble buck leaping into the lake, throwing the water up into spray as he bounded forward. though a quarter of a mile from me, i could hear his rapid strokes and labored breathing as he made for the shore on which i stood. a few minutes more, and it would be time for me to take my hermit's dell. 263 1 boat and strive to cut himn off from the shore, or drive him down the lake. but i was disappointed; for not hearing the dogs after him, and the water being cold, he turned back again. it was too long a shot for any probability of hitting him, so i watched him regain the woods and dash off unharmed. at noon we all met, according to signal, at the brush shanty, where, reclining on odorous hemlock boughs around a well piled fire, we enjoyed our simple luncheon preparatory to another row and afternoon stand. but one more deer, which i did not see, but my nearer companion did, came to the lake that day; and sundown found us once more displaying our agility upon the sinuous “slash" path that led to ellis's cabin. that evening we listened to the story which gave the “silver mountain" its euphonious title. even here in the wilderness, men have become the dupes of cunning speculators, and the victims of a wild belief in clairvoyance and the mysteries of the “dark stone." the story is in this wise, and its incidents date but a few months back. a french hunter, in his tramps through the forest, found a stone flecked with shining particles resembling silver. his apparent good fortune was soon confided to a few of his trusty brethren, and having sent some fifty miles for a man who pretended to see far down in the earth by the aid of magic rods, 264 hebmit's dell. magician's stone, and other like creations, their search for the mine commenced. with the aid of a conniving female medium, the imposter pointed out the exact spot where the vein could be struck with very little boring. expensive tools were made and carried with much labor six miles through the wilderness. cabins were built, and provisions stored regardless of expense, for the miners were sanguine of soon amassing great wealth. by and by, great blasts were made, awakening the solitudes far and near, and days and weeks of constant and expensive toil were rewarded with not even the promise of success. the bubble at last burst; the magnetizer and his accomplice decamped with their ill-gotten gains, and ere long the miners, one by one, dropped away from the camp, laden not with ore, but with dearly-bought experience. thenceforth the mountain at whose base the mine was supposed to be, and which was nameless before, has borne its present title, and will bear it for ever. those who were beguiled in that futile research after hidden treasures, never or seldom speak of their operations—it is a forbidden subject—but it would take a very shrewd “professor” to beguile them again. two days more were spent on and about the lake, but either from the coldness of the water or the frequency with which they had been hunted that season, the deer avoided the lake when started by the a hermit's dell. 265 dogs, and took another direction toward the salmon river or the horse shoe pond, some miles distant. our hunters advised hunting on “run-ways," and we, hoping for better luck, assented. once more our luggage was bagged and shouldered, and we started on a five-mile tramp. fording half-frozen streams on foot, or crossing them on slippery logs—wading oozy swamps-threading pathless woods, and climbing steep ridges, noon found us on the ground, four miles from the nearest habitation. our first stands were on the crest of a lofty ridge which was attained from the river's level with arduous climbing. before reaching its base, we could see nothing before or around us but dense thickets, spruce and alder ; yet, following our guide closely, and struggling through intertwisted branches and over fallen logs, we commenced ascending. patiently, and breathlessly almost, we climbed on, stopping now and then to recruit our lungs, and wondering how far we were from the summit. at length we came into the more open timber of beech and maple which crowned the ridge. deer tracks were abundant on every side, and the sight of them alone inspirited us. one of the hunters assigned us our stands, near which the deer would run, if started, towards the river, whose waters washed the base of the hill on the oppo12 266 hermit's dell. site side to that from which we had come. great quiet and watchfulness are requisite in this mode of hunting, though to many it is by far the pleasantest plan, but most fatiguing on account of so much walking from one section to another. my stand was by a fallen pine tree that lay upon the brow of the ridge, from which the descent to the river was over a thousand feet, yet not very steep. the view of the country beneath me and far away to the south and west, was worth a day's travel. the rapid stream, winding with short and graceful curves through the low land and forest till lost to view—the vast stretch of widerness, with no clearing or habitation in sight—the distant ridges with their sides of evergreen timber, and beyond them the higher peaks of the adirondacks, capped with snow; combined to form a landscape i thought could rarely be surpassed. but soon the rifle of the hunter who had charge of the dogs told us that a deer was started. in a few minutes the faint bay of the hounds came up over the ridge, now louder, now almost unheard, till it died away in the distance. that deer was lost to us, for he went round the ridge, instead of across it. the day was waning, and we had four miles to walk, besides the river to cross, on our nearest route to a shelter; but before joining my companions, i thought i would shoot a partridge that sat drumming hermit's deli. 267 on a log a few rods from me. as i carefully walked forward, a deer, which had probably been lying in her bed not far off, and roused by my footsteps, sprang with tremendous bounds down the hillside for the river below. through the dense timber i caught for a moment a fair view of her going from me, and i fired, but with little hope of reaching her. she staggered, however, and fell, but rose again with a broken leg dangling uselessly in her flight. following quickly on her track to where the view was more open, i stood and watched her tripedal race to the bottom of the slope. she plunged into the stream and swam across, regaining the opposite shore, and clumsily leaping some fallen timber that lay upon the bank, disappeared in the forest. my shot had brought my companions to me, and with one of the dogs, which had come in, the hunters started in pursuit. it was not long before dash caught the wounded animal, as its pitiful and quavering bleat announced. the men, following the sounds, came up in time to give it the finishing stroke, and soon returned to us waiting by the river bank, bearing the deer. as it was getting late and dark, the question arose how we were to get it out of the woods ; but these hunters are never in a dilemma. one of them proposed to make a raft of logs and float down the river with it to the fording place, two miles below, where we were to 268 heruits dell. cross. the raft, bound together with withes, was soon made, and tom on it, floating quickly down the stream. our return path was nearly the one by which we had come, but doubly intricate on account of the darkness; but an half hour's walk brought us to the ford, where tom was awaiting us with his raſt, ready to ferry us over. his small and slippery craft would support but two at a time, so one by one, we were ferried over and landed without any mishap, except an unlucky slip of one of us into the river, where the water was waist deep and icy cold. shouldering the deer, our guides led the way, and an hour's walk brought us to a comfortable cabin beneath the shadow of a mountain by the river bank. that night we sat long by the great, crackling fire, listening to tales of sport and danger from our hardy companions, who little thought there was a “chiel among them taking notes." i hermit's dell. 269 xiii. the last night we had spent at the lake was one of storm and tumult: such a night as made the cabin of ellis a shelter not to be despised. all the day, the near mountain tops had been wreathed by heavy mists, which at intervals came down before the sleet-laden gusts, enveloping the forest and the lake in vapory shrouds. we had found it difficult to keep our fires ablaze upon our stands that stormy noon, and as the chance of driving a deer to water seemed rather doubtful, our spirits and the weather were well nigh congenial. it was to be our last rendezvous at the shanty, and as we pulled our skiffs ashore under the drooping hemlocks, which the clear, cold waters, over which they hung, mirrored so perfectly, i stood for a moment to indulge the reflections which the scene engendered. here and there upon the opposite shore, the blue smoke of our untended fires was curling gracefully upward and mingling with the white mist that lay along the tree-tops and the hillsides. a log canoe, with shattered side, which a wandering indian had 270 hermit's dell. used in hunting a year ago, lay half sunken near the shore, and not far distant were the remnants of the cabin he had built, and when departing, burned, that the white man might not have it for a shelter. i thought of the red men and their fate, and how in days gone by, their council-fires had blazed upon these very shores, and the forest around me echoed with their war-songs. but they are gone now, and the few wandering outcasts that remain, are but the mockeries of former greatness. alas, for the red man! well has the poet said“nor lofty pile, nor glowing page, shall link him to a future age, or give him with the past a rank: his heraldry is but a broken bow, his history but a tale of wrong and woe, his very came must be a blank.” a but my reveries were broken by the stentorian voice of ellis, calling me to "come and get dinner,” or i would lose my share, as he was "orful hungary." thinking this would suit kossuth about as well as myself, though i was rather more interested in and anxious for the “material aid and comfort” the good hunter promised, i was soon seated by the great fire before the shanty, with the smoking wing of a parhermit's dell. 271 tridge in one hand, and a chunk of bread in the other, expatiating between the mouthsfull, upon the extreme liberality of the party in my behalf, in regard to my appetite. “ so much for standin thar, a strainin yer eyes arter nothin," says ellis. “we're all starved here—fust come, fust sarved," chimed in tom. and so i felt very much like a martyr to my silent sympathy for the red man. my delicate dinner was soon finished, and so, packing our small stock of cooking utensils in carrying condition upon the broad shoulders of tom, who was to go to salmon river that evening, where we were to meet him on the morrow, we once more returned by the lake to ellis's cabin. ere we reached it, the storm had increased almost to a gale, and the snow now falling rapidly, was drifting before it in blinding clouds. right glad were we to reach our shelter, and exchange our damp clothes for others kept in reserve for just such an occasion. when supper was served and we were enjoying it, i fancied, and ellis asserted that my appetite had improved wonderfully since morning; he was even commencing to philosophize as to the cause, when i reminded him of my partridge wing and bread, minus butter, at the shanty. 272 hermit's dell. i even went farther, and committed the imprudence of informing him what i was thinking of, when he supposed i was looking for a deer, and cut short my reverie by his call to dinner. ellis had some sympathy akin to mine, for the unfortunate indian, but 0%, our other companion, had none. “ you needn't preach to me about the tarnal redskins,” said he, “for didn't that skulking rascal that hunted here a year ago, steal a buck saddle of mine what hung in the gap yonder; and didn't he steal bill parris's powder-horn too? don't talk to me on em, they're a bad brood.” so much for my sentiment in that quarter, and on that subject : there was no need of preaching any more, and i did not. supper over, we each employed ourselves as pleased ellis and w— were soon playing “pull and haul” from one side of the cabin to the other, by the medium of a rifle and its refractory cleaning rod, which no gentler persuasion could move one way or the other. it came at last, however, by a dexterous jerk of ellis's, and with a corresponding movement in the opposite direction, w— went, and some crockery went too, to say nothing of the rather severe concussion another individual received, whilst poring over us. hermit's dell. 273 the pages of “bleak house” by the dim light of a deer-tallow dip. 0—, who was inclined to be taciturn at times, sat in one corner of the room, quietly enjoying his pipe and w—'s overthrow. we sat up late that night, for it was to be our last there, unless the storm should continue and detain us. the wind made a great strife amidst the old trees that long wintry night, for they flung their huge arms about, and intertwined their long, giant fingers, till some were broken and disjointed, and came crashing to the ground. how mournfully wailed the wind through the dense pines; how it whistled and soughed amidst the close and swaying spruces! its voice brought to me memories of a long gone night at sea, when a noble ship, in which strong men trembled and frail women wept, bravely struggled and outlived the storm. there were tones on the gale that night which the forest seemed to echo back in all their wildness of grief and terror. “it was such a night as this,” said ellis, “the wind made just such a mournful noise like, when bill parris went off. he was my nighest neighbor then-about four miles away west, towards ragged lake. he took a bad cough, sugar makin time, and, though i guess he was a deal heavier than me, before september he a 12* 274 hermit's dell. didn't weigh more than a spike-buck. along towards winter, the doctor gin him up, and bill kinder felt he wouldn't last long, and gan to get uneasy about his family; for he had a woman and two young gals. but somehow, he got all that fixed, and sold his clearin besides, and gin her the money, so arter he should be dead, she should go back to her folks down on the black river. bill sent over arter me one cold november mornin, for, as i said before, i was his nighest neighbor, and he wanted me to see him buried, for he said he wouldn't last the night. it was gloomy enough there, i tell you, and the way it came on to storm that night was a caution. there was a growth of heavy pine timber just behind the cabin ; and when the wind came in gusts like through the trees, it sounded like uneasy spirits a groaning and sighing. bill was very restive all the arternoon, and when it got dark, so he couldn't see plain, he had a dip lighted, and got his woman to read him a psalm out of the bible. “once in a while he would groan, and kinder jump up and look wild, and say somethin to himself. i thought he was wanderin, but i don't think so now: for i heerd some one tell since, that know'd him, how he was rich once and his father lived down in warren county, and he used to go to york sometimes. bill must have seen better times some day, for he was smart and had considerable larnin. but let the dead a hermit's dell. 275 be: he was a good feller as ever lived, and i allers liked him. well, as it got towards night, he grew worse, and he called the children to him, and gin them some advice, and then he told his woman what she must do; and after that, he made me promise to bury him under an old hemlock back of the house. it wasn't till nigh mornin that he died, and jest before, he asked his wife to turn him on his back. that brought on a coughin spell and a gush of blood : so that was the last of poor bill. “i came over home and got my boy to to go and help dig the grave, and that arternoon we buried him under the old hemlock. we all brought over what we could of the truck and notions in the cabin, and left the rest for the new settler. the woman and her gals staid with us awhile, and then went off to the settlements down on the black river. poor bill! we missed him a good deal, loggin that season, for he swung a powerful axe and was a right jovial feller when he was well and strong. but jest hear how the wind blows: it ain't often so here, the woods to the nor’-west is so thick." it was a fitting time for such a tale, and we, almost trangers to the gloom and loneliness of the forest, could only fancy the awful solemnity of such a death scene. the morning hours had come before we laid down 276 a hermit's dell. to take a short nap previous to our tramp; but the narrative of ellis had put us in a wakeful mood, and we listened with interest to farther tales of excitement and wild adventure. many were the stories they told us of daring encounters with bears and catamounts, and hair-breadth escapes of life and limb too, from the noble moose, which, wilder and fiercer than either of the others in close combat, was their choicest game. these, more shy in their habits than deer, have gone farther into the wilderness, amidst the recesses of the adirondacks and the raquette river, where we may at some future day strive to follow them. with all our fondness for forest scenes and associations, and enjoying as we did the rough though exciting life of the hunter, we were sorry not to be able to spend a week longer in the woods. we had tramped many miles, day after day, over swamps and hills, and through pathless forests, and when night came, we had slept none the less soundly because our couch was of hemlock twigs rather than feathers, and our shelter none the closest. yet" fresh we woke upon the morrow, all our thoughts and words had scope; we had health and we had hope, toil and travel, but no sorrow." hermit's dell. 277 xiv. it is a dreary winter night, and the snow is falling fast, and drifting deep about the mansion at briar-cliff. yet within, all is glowing and cheerful, for every one is happy. minnie and i are storm-bound for the night, so we make ourselves at home. “come harry," says frank, “take the easy-chair and draw up to the fire ; i want you to read a page or two from my journal that i kept during my last year's travel. to-night is the anniversary of one i shall never forget. you have heard me speak of my college chum larry g-, haven't you ?” “ yes—he is living at the south, is he not; was he not a virginian ?” why no, harry! i thought i wrote you that i met him abroad: you are thinking of travers, quite another person.” “you are mistaken, frank, you only wrote me one long letter whilst you were away; the rest were very unsatisfactory, i assure you. but i remember now that you were obliged to go somewhere south after your return; to convey bad news, i remember you 278 hermit's dell. said : and you promised to tell us the particulars when you returned; but it was forgotten amidst other matters." “well! here is a little sketch i scribbled off the other day for our village paper. read it whilst i write a letter or two: it is truthful at any rate.” i draw my chair under the reading lamp, and read in frank's familiar characters, his feeling sketch of a friend's melancholy fate. “when the flush and buoyancy of youth are over, and the days are reached in which we look back upon the past with somewhat of regret, and to the future with less of enthusiasm ; how often do memories of school and college life crowd upon the spirit ! some fraught with joy-others tinctured with enduring sadness. “of those with whom we were then so intimately associated, how few can we discern through the mists which veil the past, or gather round us in our present hours of need and pleasure! some are far off by sea and land-others, in untimely graves : some, nearing with steady yet toilsome step fame's dizzy height and gilded temple—others, fast travelling the smooth road to ruin. “of one in whom i felt an unchanging interest, i may be privileged to speak, feeling that beneath the a hermit's dell. 279 slight disguise which robes the memoir, none may recognize its subject; for the annals of every-day life are full of like histories. “he was my chum at college; and of the close intimacy which such an association always begets, how many pleasant recollections are treasured up, never to be forgotten-shadows of past hours indelibly daguerreotyped upon the tablets of the heart. situated as we were, of course we were much together. we held everything in common-studied the same booksroved the same paths—cultivated the same tastes—in all save one thing : and that was my friend's grievous failing-a love for strong drink. “full of generous feeling-keenly alive to all that was due alike to others as himself, and in everything else the beau ideal of all that man may deem noble in a fellow man: it was a source of deep grief to me thus to see him becoming a slave to one of the most debasing tastes that can disgrace humanity. “ it was to be attributed in a great measure to the absence of those domestic ties, which, woven round us in youth, are rarely to be broken in maturer years. bereft early in life of a fond mother, and soon after, of his father also, he was thrown much into the world, with an ample fortune and a character unformed. “ the precincts of a college are not always the most favorable for the morals of a student, and there 280 hermit's dell. were no opportunities lacking by which my friend might indulge his taste: and still it seemed to me as if it was a desire inborn, coeval with his very being, so necessary did it seem to his existence, and so firmly did he repel all my attempts to reason with him concerning it. it was only occasionally that he so far indulged as to compromise his self-respect or that of others. “he was a hard student, and by far the best linguist of his class. from the first, i knew he was striving for one of the high honors; and i have often awakened at night, to find him 'keeping the small hours' in unwearied study. “four years had nearly passed away, and our collegiate course was drawing to its close. my chum's ambition was not disappointed; for he was awarded an high honor, and this was ample recompense to him for his hours of toil. he had manfully striven for the prize, and it was won. “ commencement day came, and with it those regretful feelings which fill the heart of the student as he begins to realize how many pleasant associations -how many ardent friendships, must soon be 'numbered among the things that were.' “some were gay, some thoughtful, some sad, on that eventful morning. to many, life had been, and seemingly was to be, an easy path strewn with flowhermit's dell. 281 ers : to others—a wild battle, in which they were to struggle for a fortune or renown. “the exercises and excitements of the day over, we sat together for the last time in our little study, the scene of so many pleasant interviews and such close companionship. “on the morrow we were to separate. he, to the home of southern friends, and i, for mine own at the north. “my heart was filled with many fearful misgivings as to the future course of my friend. i had done all that i could to wean him from his fearful mania : but now that the little influence i possessed over him was to cease, how could i but fear that the serpent which has cast down many strong men wounded,' might destroy him also. “we parted with the mutual promise of frequent correspondence, and the hope that we might often meet to renew old associations. and thus our paths in life diverged, and we knew not whether they should meet again. “with the strong buckler of our young manhood girt firmly on-a good education—we were leaving the fostering care of our alma mater, to enter the wide arena of the world, wherein to strive for, and it might be, win-a name. “a year passed away, and during that time i heard 282 a hermit's dell. frequently from my friend. favored with great advantages of wealth and station, yet too ambitious to waste his acquirements by a life of indolence, he was rising rapidly in his profession, and gaining an enviable noto riety. “ as of old, our hopes and fears were blended : the confidence of past days was not lessened by absence, and we continued to feel that interest in each other, which early and long-tried friendship alone begets. “our first meeting since we parted at college, was on the eve of his departure for europe. he said that his health was suffering from too close application to his professional duties; but i feared that a more insidious foe than hard study was preying on his strength, and gradually undermining his naturally strong constitution. “he sailed, yet first committing to my friendly attentions, one whom he hoped to call his wife at some future day. it were better for him and her, had she sooner become his 'guardian angel !' “ ere long, an opportunity offered by which i was enabled to gratify a long-cherished desire to visit some of the countries of the old world; and the pleasure was enhanced by the hope that i might again be thrown into the company of my friend. “i tracked him from paris, and we clasped hands again on the banks of the arno, in lovely florence; hermit's dell. 283 but the gladness of meeting was sadly shadowed as i looked upon the wreck of all that was once so noble. “it was late in the summer, and we proposed travelling further north till the approach of winter, when we would go through france and take the mediterranean to southern italy. “we crossed the st. bernard into switzerland, and after wandering awhile over the rich plains of the vallais, took up our residence at a rustic inn on the shore of lake luzerne; whence we made excursions of days at a time to objects and places of interests more or less remote. i fancied that the pure, invigorating air of the mountains, the cool waters of the lake, and more than all, the absence of undue excitement, might have their influence upon my friend's temperament. “i believe that if i could have kept him a few weeks isolated from the exciting scenes and habits of the gay watering-places, whither his desires tended, i could have prevailed on him to cast aside for ever the habit that was destroying him. but it was not so to be . the demon was within him: and he one day threatened that if i did not yield to his wish and go with him to paris, he would start off alone. i had never seen him more excited. persuasion and reasoning on my part were alike useless; and all that i could do, was to alter the route, and take the road to 24 hermit's dell. italy. i sought to keep him constantly moving. from florence to rome from rome to tivoli, genoa, pisa, naples and its environs—we travelled till winter. “ january found us again in naples, enjoying its balmy air, and the countless beauties of earth and water which surround the city of the siren. “but to me, its dolce far niente was a mockery, for it required the utmost watchfulness on my part, lest in some hour of mania, occasioned by indulgence, my companion should destroy himself or me. “he became at last unmanageable. his physician could do no more for him, and i had done all that a brother could do in his behalf. “in the beautiful city of messina, there is an asylum for the insane, and by the advice of physicians and others, my friend was taken there-a raving maniac. all hope of his recovery was over, and he went there to die. he did not last long; but there came a lucid interval, when he spoke of loved ones far away, and of one dearer than all others. he knew it would break her heart, if she should know his fate. “ though in a strange land, one friend went with him to the dark valley,' and marked out his place of burial. the stranger in naples, wandering over that loveliest of cemeteries overlooking the bay and its charming shores, will not fail to note the few white hermit's dell. 285 tablets which record the names of those who have won a stranger's grave. amidst them sleeps my friend. his history is but a page or two in a faithfully kept journal, which all may read: but his memory is cherished by a few fond friends in those niches of the heart which no other image may ever fill. to the one whose young hopes were so rudely blighted, it was a joy to know that· e'en as the weary spirit passed, her name was on his marble lips.?” the end. . 1 1 1 ! jw 1 1 feb 21 1940 586 isa the complete poetical works of john greenleaf whittier john greenleaf whittier al 4162.174 a4416 lloyd herbert marshall presented το harvard college library en royal d el. lord fine tevesty mais theid a.b.l. نے ۔ 95 al 4162.174 herb rshall presented to harvard college library سر کا تار . the complete poetical works of john greenleaf whittier cambridge edition hd .thetfome.at amesbury els sc boston and new york houghton, mifflin and company the riverside press, cambridge 1895 al 4162.174 harvard university library copyright, 1848,1850, 1863, 1856, 1857, 1800, 1863, 1866, 1867, 1868, 1870, 1872, 184, 1875, 1876, 1878, 1881, 1883, 184, 185, 1888, 1890, and 1891, by john greenleaf whitti er, ticknor & fields, james r. osgood & co., and houghton, mifflin & co. copyright, 1892, by george f. bagley and george w. cate, executors and trustees. copyright, 1894, by houghton, mifflin & co. all rights reserved. the pirerside press, cambridge, mas., .. a. electrotyped and printed by h. o. houghton and company, publishers note a in 1888, mr. whittier supervised the preparation of a collective edition of his writings which was published in seven volumes, under the title of the riverside edition, uniform in general plan with the riverside edition of longfellow's writings. for this edition the poet furnished introductions and headnotes, and in many cases revised the text. he decided which of his earlier poems to discard altogether, which to insert in an appendix, and which to include in the body of his poetry. he also determined on a classification of his poems, and divided the four volumes containing them into definite subdivisions, nine in all besides a small group of his sister's poems which he wished preserved with his own. thus, very near the end of his life, he formed what was a definitive edition of his writings. he continued, however, to send out poems occasionally in the remaining four years, and these were gathered after his death into a small volume entitled “at sundown.” this little book was indeed the extension of one which he had issued privately in the last year of his life. the present cambridge edition is based upon the original riverside edition. it contains the same text in the same topical arrangement, together with “ at sundown” and a few poems which were gleaned after. mr. whittier's death and included in the authorized biography. the head-notes and the notes at the end of the volume are for the most part copies or abridgments of those used in the riverside edition, but a few have been added containing facts brought to light after mr. whittier's death. these are distinguished by being inclosed in brackets (). as in the cambridge edition of longfellow's complete works, a biographical sketch has been provided. the introduction which follows the sketch is that prepared by mr. whittier for the riverside edition. boston, 4 park street, september 1, 1894. table of contents page 66 . . page biographical sketch . xi introduction . xxi proem narrative and legendary poems. the vaudois teacher 3 the female martyr extract from a new england legend” the demon of the study 6 the fountain 7 pextucket 8 the norsemen 9 funeral tree of the sorokis 11 st. john 12 the cypress-tree of ceylon 14 the exiles. 14 the knight of st. john 17 cassandra southwick 18 the new wife and the old 21 the bridal of pennacook 23 i. the merrimac . 25 ii. the bashaba 26 iii. the daughter. 27 iv. the wedding 28 v. the new home 29 vi. ar pennacook 31 vii. the departure 32 viii. song of indian women 33 barclay of ury 33 the angels of buena vista 35 the legend of st. mark 36 kathleen 37 the well of loch maree 39 the chapel of the hermits 39 taller 44 the hermit of the thebaid 45 maud meller. 47 mary garvin 49 the ranger 51 the garrison of cape ann 52 the gift of tritemius 54 skipper ireson's ride 55 the sycamores 56 the pipes at lucknow 58 telling the bees. 59 the swan song of parson avery 60 the double headed snake of newbury. 61 mabel martin: a harvèst idyl 62 proem 62 i. the river valley 63 ii. the husking 63 iii. the witch's daughter. 64 iv. the champion 65 v. in the shadow . 65 vi. the betrothal 66 the prophecy of samuel sewall 67 the red river voyageur 69 the preacher 69 the truce of piscataqua 74 my playmate 76 cobbler keezar's vision 77 amy wentworth. 79 the countess 81 among the hills 83 prelude 84 among the hills . 85 the dole of jarl thorkell 89 the two rabbins 91 norembega 92 miriam 93 nauhaught, the deacon 99 the sisters 100 marguerite 101 the robin 102 the pennsylvania pilgrim . 103 prelude 103 the pennsylvania pilgrim 103 king volmer and elsie 112 the three bells 114 john underhill 115 conductor bradley 117 the witch of wenham 117 king solomon and the ants 120 in the “old south” 121 the henchman. 121 the dead feast of folk. 122 the khan's devil 123 the king's missive. 124 valuation 126 rabbi ishmael . 126 the rock-tomb of bradore 127 . . the kol. . vi contents . 170 171 173 . . . 173 174 175 177 177 178 179 150 . death of . . . 181 12 193 19 18+ 185 . . lakeside . 187 18 118 . the bay of seven islands . 127 'the wishing bridge . 130 how the women went from dover 130 st. gregory's guest 132 birchbrook mill 133 the two elizabeths . 134 requ'ital 135 the homestead 135 ilow the robin came 136 banished from massachusetts 137 the brown dwarf of rigen 138 poems of nature. the frost spirit 141 'the merrimac 111 hampton beach 142 a dream of summer 143 the lakeside . 114 autumn thoughts th ox receiving an eagle's quill from lake superior 11 april 1 15 pictures 116 summer by the 1 17 the frrrr-gift flowers in winter 148 the mayflowers 119 the last walk in artean 130 the first flowers the old burying-ground the palm-tree 133 the river path . 1.35 mountain pictures. 16 1. franconia from the pemigewasset 1.36 ii. monadnock from wachuset 136 the vanishers 1.57 the pageant 1.58 tur pre**ed gentian 1.19 a mystery 159 a sea dream hazel blossoms 161 sunset on the bearcamp 101 the seeking of the waterfall the trailing arritus . 104 sr. martin's suyer. 164 storm on lake a-quam 105 a summer pilarimage sweet fern 11 the wood giant. a day. 165 personal poems. a lament. 169 to the memory of charles b. storrs. 170 lines on the death of s. oliver torrey to—, with å copy of wooni man's journal. leggett's monument to a friend, on her return from europe lucy hooper follen to j. p. chalkley hall gone to roxge (hanning to my friend on the his sister. daniel wheeler to fredrika bremer to avis keene. the hill-top elliott ichabod. the lost occasion . wordsworth to—: links written after a summer day's excursion in peace benedicite kosstth. to my old schoolmaster the cross the hero. rantoil. william forster to (harles sumner burns. to george b. chfever to james t. fields the memory of burns in remembrance joseph sturge brown of ossawatomie nap'len a memorial bryant on uus birthday thomas starr king lines on a fly-leaf george l. stearns garibaldi to lydia maria child 'the singer how mary grew. simner thers fuz-greene kalleck willian francis bartlett 1.53 . 18 118 19 19 19) 1.2 1972 1923 1.045 195 1986 199 11 199 . of . 106) . 1979 2011 . . k3 2013 313 . 210 211 211 contents vii . . 212 213 213 214 215 215 216 216 217 217 217 the wreck of rivermouth the grave by the lake the brother of mercy the changeling the maids of attitash kallundborg church the cable hymn. the dead ship of harpswell the palatine abraham davenport the worship of nature. 245 247 250 251 253 255 256 257 258 259 261 . . . bayard taylor our autocrat within the gate in memory: james t. fields . wilson the poet and the children a welcome to lowell. an artist of the beautiful mulford to a cape ann schooner. samuel j. tilden occasional poems. eva. a lay of old time a song of harvest kenoza lake for an autumn festival . the quaker alumni our river revisited “the laurels" june on the merrimac. hymx for the opening of thomas starr king's house of worship hymn for the house of worship at georgetown, memory of a mother a spiritual manifestation chicago kinsman. the golden wedding of long218 218 219 219 220 220 224 225 226 226 "7 . 272 . 227 erected in . . 228 228 230 231 a wood 231 anti-slavery poems. to william lloyd garrison 262 toussaint l'ouverture 262 the slave-ships 265 expostulation 267 hymn: “o thou, whose presence went before 268 the yankee girl 269 the hunters of men 270 stanzas for the times 271 clerical oppressors a summons 272 to the memory of thomas shipley 274 the moral warfare . 275 ritner 275 the pastoral letter 276 hymn: "o holy father! jost and true" 278 the farewell of virginia slave mother 278 pennsylvania hall 279 the new year 281 the relic. 283 the world's convention 284 massachusetts to virginia 286 the christian slave. 288 the sentence of john l. brown 289 texas: voice of new england 291 to faneuil hall. 292 to massachusetts 292 new hampshire 293 the pine-tree. 293 to a southern statesman 294 at washington 295 the branded hand 296 the freed islands . 298 a letter 298 lines from a letter to a young clerical friend 300 daniel neall 300 song of slaves in the desert 301 to delaware 301 yorktown. 302 randolph of roanoke 303 . . . 232 232 233 . . hymn for the opening of plymouth church, st. paul, minnesota lexington, the library. “i was a stranger, and ye took me in” centennial hymn at school-close hymn of the children the landmarks garden, a greeting godspeed winter roses the reunion norumbega hall the bartholdi statue one of the signers the tent on the beach. prelude . the tent on the beach . 233 234 234 235 236 237 237 238 238 239 239 240 240 . . 242 242 . viii contents . the lost statesman 304 laus deo! the slaves of martinique 305 hymn for the celebration the curse op the charterof emancipation at newbreakers 306 buryport. pean 308 after the war. the crisis. 308 the peace autumn lines on the portrait of a celeto the thirty-ninth coxbrated publisher 310 gress. derne. 311 the hive at gettysburg. 3 a sabbath scene 312 howard at atlanta 3 in the evil days 313 the emancipation group. 3 moloch in state street 314 the jubilee singers 3 official piety . 315 garrison. . the rendition 315 arisen at last 316 songs of labor and reform. the haschish 316 the quaker of the olden time 3 the kansas emigrants . 317 democracy for righteousness' sake . 317 the gallows letter from a missionary of the seed-time and harvest methodist episcopal church to the reformers of england south, in kansas, to a distinthe human sacrifice guished politician 318 songs of labor. burial of barber 319 dedication to pennsylvania 320 the shoemakers le marais du cygne. 320 the fishermen the pass of the sierra 321 the lumbermen a song for the time 322 the ship-builders what of the day? 322 the drovers a song, inscribed to the fréthe huskers. mont clubs 323 the reformer . the panorama . 323 the peace convention at berson a prayer-book 330 sels the simmons 332 the prisoner for debt to william h. seward 332 the christian tourists in war time. the men of old to samuel e. sewall and to pius ix. harriet w. sew all 332 calef in boston thy will be done 333 our state a word for the hocr. 333 the prisoners of naples * ein feste burg ist unser the peace of europe gort" 334 astraa to john c. frémont 334 the disenthralled the watchers 335 the poor voter on election to english men 336 day. mithridates at chios . the dream of pio noxo. ат рокт royal. 337 the voices astrxa at the capitol 338 the new exodus. the battle autumn or 1862. 339 the conquest of finland hyun, bing at christmas by the eve or election. the scholars or sr. hefrom perugia . lena's island, s. c. . 340 italy. tuk proclamation 340 freedom in brazil. anniversary poem 341 after election barbara friet hie. 342 disarmament what the birds said . 343 the problem the mantlk or st. john de our country matha 314 on the big horn . . . . 337 . . . e . . contents ix . 386 387 388 390 . . 390 391 434 435 435 436 437 438 439 441 442 443 443 445 447 448 . . 448 . . . . 391 392 393 395 395 396 397 398 398 406 407 408 408 409 409 410 411 412 412 413 413 415 . poems subjective and reminiscent. memories raphael . ego the pumpkin forgiveness to my sister. my thanks remembrance my namesake a memory my dream. the barefoot boy my psalm the waiting. snow-bound my triumph in school-days my birthday red riding-hood response ar eventide voyage of the jettie my trust a name. greeting an autograph abram morrison a legacy religious poems. the star of bethlehem the cities of the plain the call of the christian . the crucifixion palestine hymns from the french of la: martine. i. encore un hymne ii. le cri de l'ame the familist's hymn. ezekiel what the voice said. the angel of patience the wife of manoah to her husband my soul and i. worship. the holy land the reward. the wish of to-day all's well invocation questions of life first-day thoughts trust . trinitas the sisters “the rock in el ghor the over-heart. the shadow and the light the cry of a lost soul. andrew rykman's prayer. the answer . the eternal goodness. the common question our master the meeting the clear vision divine compassion the prayer-seeker the brewing of soma a woman the prayer of agassiz in quest the friend's burial . a christmas carmen vesta child songs the healer. the two angels overruled hymn of the dunkers giving and taking the vision of echard inscriptions. on a sun-dial on a fountain the minister's daughter by their works the word the book requirement help utterance oriental maxims. the inward judge . laying up treasure conduct an easter flower gift the mystic's christmas at last. what the traveller said at sunset. "the story of ida" the light that is felt the two loves adjustment hymns of the brahmo somaj revelation 449 450 450 451 452 453 454 454 454 455 455 456 456 457 . 416 417 417 418 419 459 459 459 460 460 460 461 461 461 . . . . 420 421 421 423 424 425 461 462 462 462 462 463 . . 425 426 429 430 430 431 431 431 432 433 434 463 464 464 464 464 465 465 . . . . at sundown. to e. c.s. 467 x contents 488 . 491 491 483 494 494 495 600 56 08 508 . 503 609 510 512 the christmas of 1888. 467 the vow of washington 467 the captain's well 408 an outdoor reception . 470 r. s. s., at deer island on the merrimac 471 burning drift-wood 471 0. w. holmes on his eightieth birthday 473 james russell loweli. 473 haverhill 473 to g. g.: an autograph 474 inscription 475 lydia h, sigourney 475 milton 475 the birthday wreath 475 the wind or march 476 between the gates 476 the last eve of summer 477 to oliver wendell holmes 477 poems by elizabeth h. whittier. the dream of argyle 479 lines, written on the departure of joseph sturge . 480 john quincy adams 481 dr. kane in cuba 481 lady franklin 482 night and death 482 the meeting waters 483 the wedding v'eil . 483 charity. 483 appendix. i. early and u'ncollected verses. the exile's departure 484 the deity 484 the vale of the merrimac benevolence. 483 ocean the sicilian vespers the spirit of the north 487 the earthquake . 457 judith at the tent of holofernes metacom mount agiochook the drunkard to his bottle the fair quakeress bolivar. isabella of austria the fratricide isabel stanzas . mogg megone the past and coming year. the missionary evening in burmah massachusetts . . ii. poems printed in the “life of whittier." the home-coming of the bride the song of the vermonters, 1779 to a poetical trio in the city of gotham album verses what state street said to south carolina, and what south carolina said to state street. a frémont campaign song . the quakers are out a legend of the lake . letter to lucy larcom lines on leaving appledore . mrs. choate's house-warming an autograph to lucy larcom a farewell on a fly-leaf of longfellow's poems samuel e. sewail. lines written in an album a day's journey a fragment iii. notes . . iv. a chronological list of mr. whittier's poems index of first lines index of titles . . 512 512 513 513 514 515 515 515 515 516 . . 516 516 516 316 516 . 517 . 528 . 3 539 biographical sketch > the house is still standing in east haverhill, massachusetts, where john greenleaf whittier was born, december 17, 1807. it was built near the close of the seventeenth century by an ancestor of the poet, it sheltered several generations of whittiers, in it john greenleaf whittier lived till his thirtieth year, and now it is likely to enjoy a long lease of life in association with his name, for since his death it has come into the possession of the whittier club of haverhill, and its chief room has been restored to the condition in which it was when the boy was living in it the recollection of whose experience inspired that idyl of new england life,“ snow-bound.” it is to “snow-bound” that one resorts for the most natural and delightful narrative of the associations amongst which whittier passed bis boyhood. his family held to the tenets of the friends, and the discipline of that society in connection with the somewhat rigorous exactions of country life in new england in the early part of the century determined the character of the formal education which he received. in later life he was wont to refer to the journals of friends which he found in the scanty library in his father's house as forming a large part of his reading in boyhood. he steeped his mind with their thoughts and learned to love their authors for their unconscious saintliness. there were not more than thirty volumes on the shelves, and, with a passion for reading, be read them over and over. one of these books, however, was the bible, and he possessed himself of its contents, not only becoming familiar with the text, but penetrated by the spirit. when he began to write, his practice pieces were very largely paraphrases of scriptural themes, and throughout his poetry allusions to biblical characters and passages fall as naturally from his lips as allusions to greek or roman literature and history from the lips of milton. of regular schooling he had what the neighborhood could give, a few weeks each winter in the district school, and when he was nineteen, a little more than a year in an academy just started in haverhill. in “snow-bound” he has drawn the portrait of one of his teachers at the district school, and his poem “ to my old schoolmaster” commemorates another, joshua coffin, with whom he preserved a strong friendship in his manhood, when they were engaged in the same great cause of the abolition of human slavery. these teachers, who, according to the old new england custom, lived in turn with the families of their pupils, brought into the whittier household other reading than strietly religious books, and coffin especially rendered the boy a great service in introducing him to a knowledge of burns, whose poems he read aloud once as the family sat by the fireside in the evening. the boy of fourteen was entranced ; it was the voice of poetry speaking directly to the ear of poetry, and the new-comer recognized in an instant the prophet whose mantle he was to wear. coffin was struck with the effect on his listener, and left the book with him. in one of his best known poems, written a generation later, when receiving a sprig of heather in bloom, whittier records his indebtedness to barns. to use his own expression, “ the older poet woke the younger.” he had been dreaming of indians, much as a young scotsman might have pleased his imagination by picturing border chieftains. he said himself, looking back with amusement to his poem of “mogg megone,” “ it suggests the idea of a big indian in his war paint strutting about in sir walter scott's plaid. but except for one or two intentional imitations, burns' influence over whittier was summed up in that sudden illumination which showed him, not indeed the beauty of nature and the worth of man, the knowledge of these was a birthright,— but what poetry could do in transfiguring both. the home life which the boy led, aside from the conscious or unconscious schooling xi xii john greenleaf whittier which he found in books, was one of many hardships, but within the sanctuary of a gracious and dignified home. the secluded valley in which he lived was three miles from the nearest village ; from the date of the erection of the homestead till now no neighbor's roof has been in sight. the outdoor life was that of a farmer with cattle, tempered indeed in the short summer by the kindly gifts of nature, so happily shown in the poem of the “barefoot boy," but for the most part a life of toil and endurance which left its marks indelibly in the shattered constitution of the poet. twice a week the family drore to a friends' meeting at amesbury, eight miles distant, and in winter without warm wraps or protecting robes. the old barn, built before that celebrated in " snow-bound," had no doors, and the winter snows drifted upon its floor, for neither beasts nor men, in the custom of the time, were expected to resist cold except by their native vigor. whittier's companions of his own age were a brother and two sisters, one of whom, elizabeth whittier, was his nearest associate for the better part of his life, and the household held also that figure so beautiful and helpful in many families, an aunt merey, as also a lively, adventurous bachelor, l'ncle moses. the father of the house, as we are told, was a man of few words ; the mother, whose life was spared till that happy time when mother and son change places in care-taking, had a rarely refined pature, in which the quaker graces of calmness and order were developed into a noble beauty of living. the appendix to whittier's poetical works contains a few out of a large number of poems written by bim when he was a schoolboy. they display, as indeed did most of his writing for a few years to come, little more than a versifying facility and a certain sense of correct form as copied from correct, but rather lifeless models. "they were, for all that, witnesses to the intellectual activity of a rudely trained boy, and showed that his mind was intent on high, oftentimes poetic themes. his mother and his sister mary encouraged him, but his father, a hard-headed, hard-working farmer, of sound judgment and independent habits of thinking, was too severely aware of the straitened condition of the family to think of anything else for his son than a life of toil like his own. mary whittier, with a sister's pride, sent one of her brother's poems, unknown to the author, to the “ free press” of newburyport, a new paper lately started which commended itself by its tone to the quaker whittier, so that he had subscribed to it. the poem was printed, and the first that the poet knew of it was when he caught the paper from the postman riding by the field where he and his father were working. it was such a moment as comes to a young poet, believing in himself and having that aspiration for recognition which is one of the holiest as it is one of the subtlest elements in the poetic constitution. the poem was followed by another, which the author himself sent. its acceptance was followed by an unheralded visit by the editor, who had learned that the writer was scarcely more than a boy, and whose own taste in poetry led him to set a high value on this versification of scripture, for the poem was that preserved under the title “ the deity.” whittier was at work in the fields when the editor, himself a young man, called. he held back, but was induced by his sister to make himself presentable and come in to see the visitor. it was one of those first encounters which in the history of notable men are charged with most interesting potentialities. garrison, for he was the editor, had not yet done more than take the first step on his thorny path to greatness, and whittier was still working in the fields, though harboring poetic visitants. garrison was but a few years older, and in later life those few years counted nothing, but now they were enough to lead him to take the tone of an adviser, and both to greenleaf and his father, who entered the room, he spoke of the promise of the youth and the importance of his acquiring an academic education. it was against the more rigorous interpretation of the friends' doctrine that literary culture should be made an end, and the notion that the boy should be sent to an academy was not enconraged; but a few months later, garrison having left newburyport for boston, and whittier making a new connection with the haverhill gazette," the editor of that paper, mr. a. w. thayer, gave the same advice and pressed the consideration that a new acadeiny was shortly to be opened in haverhill. he ottered the boy a home in his own w biographical sketch xiii a family, and the father now consented, moved also by the doubt if his son could stand the physical strain of farm work. he had no money, however, to spare, and the student must earn his own living. this he did by making a cheap kind of slipper, and devoted himself so faithfully to the industry in the few months intervening between the decision and the opening of the academy in may, 1827, that he earned enough to pay his expenses there for a term of six months. “ he calculated so closely every item of expense,” says his biographer, “that he knew before the beginning of the term that he would have twenty-five cents to spare at its close, and he actually had this sum of money in his pocket when his half year of study was over. it was the rule of his whole life never to buy anything until he had the money in hand to pay for it, and although his income was small and uncertain until past middle life, he was never in debt." by teaching a district school a few weeks and aiding a merchant with bookkeeping, he was enabled to make out a full year of study, and meantime continued to write both verse and prose for the newspapers. by this means he paved the way for an invitation when he was twenty-one years of age to enter the printing office in boston of the colliers, father and son, who published two weekly papers and a magazine. one of the weeklies was a political journal, “ the manufacturer,” the other a paper of reform and humanitarianism called “ the philanthropist.” whittier had editorial charge of the former, and occupied himself with writing papers on temperance and the tariff of which he was an ardent advocate, and with verses and tales. it was not altogether a congenial relation in which he found himself, though the occupation was one to which he was to turn naturally for some time to come for self-support ; he remained with the colliers for a year and a half, and then returned to his father's farm, with between four and five hundred dollars, the savings of half his salary. this he devoted to freeing the farm from the incumbrance of a mortgage, and himself took charge of the farm, for his father was rapidly failing in health. the death of his father in june, 1830, while it set him free from his father's occupation, made it still more imperative for him to earn his living, since the care of the family fell upon him. he had been using his pen and studying meanwhile, and his verses were bringing him acquaintances and friends. through one of these, the brilliant george d. prentice, he was induced to take up editorial work again in hartford; but after a determined effort it became clear that his health was too fragile to permit him to devote himself to the exacting work of editing a journal, and in january, 1832, he returned to his home. just at this time he published his first book, a mere pamphlet of twenty-eight octavo pages containing a poem of new england legendary life, entitled “moll pitcher.” he had contributed besides, more than a hundred poems in the three years since leaving the academy, and had written many more. but though thus active with his pen, his strongest ambition, it may be said, was at this time in the direction of politics. for the next four years he remained on the farm at haverhill, and when in april, 1836, the farm was sold, he removed with his mother and sister to the village of amesbury, chiefly that they might be nearer the friends' meeting, but also that whittier might be more in the centre of things. in his seclusion at east haverhill he had eagerly watched the course of public events. he was a great admirer of henry clay, and a determined opponent of jackson. with his engaging character, his intellectual readiness, and that political instinct which never deserted him, he was rapidly coming into public notice in his district, and his own desire for serving in office drew him on. to be a member of congress he must be twentyfive years old, and at the election which was to occur just before his birthday there were many indications that he would be the nominee of his party. this was at the end of 1832, but before the next election occurred there was a grave obstacle created by whittier himself , and thenceforward through the years when he would naturally engage in public life he was practically disbarred. it was not the precariousness of his health which kept whittier out of active politics, though this was a strong reason for avoiding the stress and strain of a public life, but the decision which led him to enlist in an unpopular cause. in november, 1831, he had published his poem “to william lloyd garrison," which introduces the section anti-slavery a xiv john greenleaf whittier poems in this collection. it intimates a personal influence under, which, with a moral nature fortified by great political insight, he began to consider seriously the movement for the abolition of slavery which was making itself evident here and there. as a specific result of this study he wrote in the spring of 1833 the pamphlet" justice and expedieney," and published it at his own expense. it was a piece of writing compact with carefully gathered facts and logical deduction, and earnest with the rhetoric of personal conviction. every sentence was an arraignment of slavery and a blow at his own chances of political office. the performance was in answer to the appeal of his own truthful nature, and it was a deliberate act of renunciation. now also began, at first with remote suggestions as in “ toussaint l'ouverture," then nearer and nearer as he sings his tribute to the men of his day, known or unknown, who had been champions of freedom, storrs, shipley, torrey, those bursts of passionate verse which were the veut of his soul overburdened with a sense of the deep wrong committed against god and man by the persistency of african slavery in the united states. in the years immediately following his decision to cast in his lot with the small band of despised anti-slavery agitators almost all of the poems which he wrote were of two sorts, either breathings of a spirit craving close communion with god as in his hymns, his lines on “the call of the christian,” « the female martyr,” and other poems, or fiery, scarce-controlled outbursts of feeling upon the evils of slavery, and vials of wrath poured out on those who aided and abetted the monstrous wrong. such poems as “the slave ships," " the hunters of men," “ stanzas for the times,” “clerical oppressors,” « massachusetts," “ the pastoral letter," derive their power not from their poetic spirit and form so much as from the righteous indignation, the pity, the overcharged feeling which crowd them. and if, in the years before, whittier's verses with their conventional smoothness had drawn notice by the gentle spirit which suffused them, now his loud cry, violent and tempestuous, broke upon the ear with a harshness and yet an insistent fervor which compelled men to listen. it is indeed a striking phenomenon in poetic growth which one perceives who is familiar with whittier's compositions and casts his eye down a chronological list of his poems. up to the date of his enlistment in the ranks of the anti-slavery army his ambition had been divided between literature and politics, with a taste in verse which was harmonious and an execution which was not wanting in melody yet had no remarkable note. after he stepped into the ranks a great change came over his spirit. he rushed into verse in a tumultuous fashion, careless of the form, eager only to utter the message which half choked him with its violence. there was a tierce note to his poetry, rough, but tremendously earnest. this was the first effect, such a troubling of the waters as gave a somewhat turbid aspect to the stream, and for a while his verse was very largely declamatory, rhymed polemics. but such poems as “ expostulation,” beginning “our fellow-countrymen in chains !" were to people then living scarcely so much poems as they were sounds of a great trumpet which were heard, not for their musical sonance, but for their power to stir the blood, and whittier, though living almost in seclusion, became a name of note to many who would scarcely have known of him had he been a mere legislator or smooth-singing verse maker. he was recognized by the anti-slavery leaders as one of themselves, and this not only because of his powerful speech in song, but because on closer acquaintance he proved to be a most sagacious and wise reader of men and affairs. his own neighbors quickly learned this quality in him. he was sent to the legislature in 1835 and rëelected in 1836, but his frail health made it impossible for hiin to continue in this service. never. theless, be wielded political power with great skill aside from political office. he was indefatigable in accomplishing political ends through political men. no important nominations were made in his district without a preliminary conference with bim, and more than once he compelled unwilling representatives to work for the great ends he had in view. it may be said here that though a stead inst leader in the anti-slavery cause be differed from some of his associates, both now and throughout his life, in setting a high a biographical sketch xv value upon existing political organizations. “from first to last,” says his biographer, " he refused to come out from his party until he had done all that could be done to induce it to assist in the work of reform," and whittier himself, in an article written about this time, exclaims, “ what an absurdity is moral action apart from political !” meaning of course when dealing with those subjects which demand political action. once more, in a letter written to the anti-texas convention of 1845, he said that though as an abolitionist he was no blind worshiper of the union, he saw nothing to be gained by an effort, necessarily limited and futile, to dissolve it. the moral and political power requisite for dissolving the union could far more easily abolish every vestige of slavery. we bave anticipated a little in these comments the strict order of whittier's life. in 1836 was published the first bound volume of his verse. it was confined to his poem " mogg megone,” which he had before printed in the “ new england magazine.” it may be taken as the last expression of whittier's poetic mind before the great change came over it of which we have spoken, and he was himself later so aware of its lack genuine life that in collecting finally his writings he buried this so far as he could in the fine type of an appendix; but at the end of 1837 isaac knapp, publisher of the “ liberator," garrison's paper, to which whittier had been contributing his stirring verses, without consulting the poet, issued a volume of over a hundred pages, entitled “poems written during the progress of the abolition question in the united states, between the years 1330 and 1838. by john g. whittier.” this was the first collection of his miscellaneous poems, and a year later another volume was issued by joseph healy, the financial agent of the anti-slavery society of pennsylvania. meanwhile whittier had been staying awhile in philadelphia, engaged in editing the “ pennsylvania freeman.” it was during this time that pennsylvania hall was burnt by a mob enraged at the gathering there of an anti-slavery convention. besides his work on the paper, which was frequently interrupted by ill health, he devoted himself in other ways to the promotion of the cause in which he was so ardently involved, but early in 1840 he found it imperative to give up all this work and retire to his home in amesbury. from this time forward he made no attempt to engage in any occupation which did not comport with a quiet life in his own home, except that for a few months in 1814 he resided in lowell, editing the “middlesex standard.” he wrote much for the papers, and the poetic stream also flowed with greater freedom and it may be said clearness. he contributed a number of poems to the democratic review” and other periodicals, and in 1813 the firm of w. d. ticknor published “ lays of my home, and other poems," the first book from which whittier received any remuneration. the struggle for maintenance through these years was somewhat severe, but in january, 1847, be formed a connection which was not only to afford him a more liberal support, but was to give him a most favorable outlet for his writings, both prose and verse. it had been decided by the american and foreign anti-slavery society to establish a weekly paper in washington, and the editorial charge was committed to dr. gamaliel bailey, an intrepid and able man of experience. the paper was named “ the national era,” and whittier was invited to become a regular contributor, editorial and otherwise, bat not required to do his work away from home. the paper, as is well known, was the medium for the publication of “uncle tom's cabin,” and its circulation was so considerable as to make it a source of profit to its conductors as early as by the end of the first year. from 1847 till 1860 whittier made this paper the chief vehicle of his writings, contributing not only poems, but reviews of contemporary literature, editorial articles, letters, sketches, and the serial which was published afterward in a book, “ leaves from margaret smith's journal.” in 1849 b. b. mussey & co. of boston brought out a comprehensive collection of whittier's poems in a dignified octavo volume illustrated with designs by hammatt billings. it was a venture made quite as much on friendly as on commercial grounds. mr. mussey was a cordial supporter of the anti-slavery cause and had a great admiration for whittier's genius. he was determined to publish the poems in a worthy form, and his generous act met with an agreeable reward. its success was a testimony to the xvi john greenleaf whittier repute in which whittier was now beld. at the same time his publishers, messrs. ticknor & fields, were in negotiation with him for a new volume, and in 1850 appeared “songs of labor, and other poems." these two volumes which gathered the fruit of twenty years show unmistakably the further growth of whittier’s poetic power. with the establishment of his anti-slavery convictions into firm working principles, the maturing of his experience, the enlargement of his political vision, and the increase in his friendship, there had come also a strengthening of his hand in the use of his pen, and a finer use, because more clear and restrained, of his poetic voice. moreover, the religious feeling which was seen in his earlier life, and put to the test by closer association with men, had deepened into a serene confidence in god which pervaded his life and sustained him against all the shock of a disappointing age. moreover, his eye and ear were in harmony with nature, and more and more he found not only an escape to nature as a relief from the world but a positive enjoyment in the field of beauty. poetry, once a literary exercise, then a channel for the relief of a mind overburdened with its sense of an unconquered evil, was now become the full, free expression of a nature broadening under the thought of god, delighting in response to the world of beauty, strong and secure in a great purpose of humanity. it was his natural voice, which formerly broke under the strain of a changing constitution, but now was pure, sweet and far-carrying, obeying a trained impulse and resonant with a full force. the establishment of “ the atlantic monthly” in 1857 gave another impetus to whittier's poetic productiveness. here was a singular illustration of the growth in the community about him of a spirit quite in agreement with his own personality. opposition to slavery lay at the base of the origin of the magazine, and yet in the minds of its projectors, this political bond was to unite men of letters and not simply antagonists of slavery. the “ atlantic” was to be the organ of the literary class, but it was to be by no means exclusively devoted to an anti-slavery crusade. indeed it would almost seem as if this specific purpose of the magazine was almost lost sight of at first in the richness and abundance of general literature which it immediately stimulated. it is easy now to see how natural and congenial a medium this was for whittier's verse. in subjecting his political and literary ambition to a great moral purpose, so that he could no longer hope for political official power, and, in his own words * had left the muses' haunts to turn the crank of an opinion mill, making his rustic reed of song a weapon in the war with wrong. yoking his fancy to the breaking-plough that beam-deep turned the soil for truth to spring and grow," — in doing this, though it cost him a struggle, he had fulfilled the true saving that to save one's life one must lose it. he had given up the name and place of a political magnate, but he had secured the more impregnable position of the power behind the throne in polities, and in place of a smooth versitier, holding the attention of those with whom poetry was a plaything, he had become one of the few imperative voices of song, and had taken his place as one of the necessary men in the group of men of letters who now came together to represent the highest force in american literature. for it is to be observed that whittier was now no longer regarded as only the singer of spirited songs flying with all their winged power straight at the enemy as they sped from a bow held by an apollo. the passion which he had shown in his polemic verse bad awakened his whole nature, and his poems on whatever theme came from a nature which had been developed in all its powers by this commanding purpose. nevertheless, it is noticeable how the new opportunity atforded by the “ atlantic," and the increased association with the other great writers of the day, was consonant with if not the cause of a broadening of whittier's mind, a sunny burst of full life, finding expression in such poems as “ skipper ireson's ride," “ the sycamores," " the pipes at lucknow," “ mabel 1 biographical sketch xvii "" martin," " the garrison of cape ann," “ the swan song of parson avery,” “telling the bees," “ the last walk in autumn," as well as “ the eve of election” and “ moloch in state street." the war for the union naturally found whittier strongly stirred, and more than ever watchful of the great issue which throughout his manhood has been constantly before his eyes, and his triumphant" laus deo” is as it were the nunc dimittis of this modern prophet and servant of the lord. but whittier was a quaker not in any conventional sense, but by birthright, conviction, and growing consciousness of communion with god. though he wrote such a stirring ballad, therefore, as “barbara frietchie,” he wrote also the lines addressed to his fellow-believers : “the levelled gun, the battle brand we may not take: but, calmly loyal, we can stand and suffer with our suffering land for conscience' sake." it is interesting also to observe how in this time of stress and pain, he escaped to the calm solace of nature. his poem “ the battle autumn of 1862," records this emotion specifically, but more than one poem in the group“ in war time” bears testimony to this sentiment. meanwhile other poems written during the years 1861-1865 illustrate the longing of whittier's nature for relief from the terrible knowledge of human strife, a longing definitely expressed by him in the prelusive address to william bradford, the quaker painter, prefacing “ amy wentworth,” in which he says :“we, doomed to watch a strife we may not share with other weapons than the patriot's prayer, yet owning with full hearts and moistened eyes the awful beauty of self-sacrifice, and wrung by keenest sympathy for all who give their loved ones for the living wall 'twixt law and treason, in this evil day may haply find, through automatic play of pen and pencil, solace to our pain, and hearten others with the strength we gain." something of the same note is struck in the introduction to “the countess." but before the war closed, whittier met with a personal loss which meant much to him every way. his sister elizabeth, as we have seen, had been his closest companion, his most intimate acquaintance. he had shared his life with her in no light sense, and now he was to see the flame of that life flicker and at last expire in the early fall of 1864. the first poem after her death, “the vanishers," in its theme, its faint note as of a bird calling from the wood, is singularly sweet both as a sign of the return of the poet to the world after his flight from it in sympathy and imagination with the retreating spirit of bis sister, and as a prophecy of the character of so large a part of whittier's poetry from this time forward. “the eternal goodness," written a twelvemonth later, may be said more positively than any other poem to contain whittier's creed, and the fullness of faith which characterizes it found free and cheerful expression again and again. yet another poem which immediately followed it is significant not only by its repetition of his note of spiritual trust, but by its strong witness to the sane, human quality of whittier's genius. “snow-bound,” simple and radiant as it is with human life, is also the reflection of a mind equally at home in spiritual realities. it may fairly be said to sum up whittier's personal experience and faith, and yet so absolutely free is it from egotism that it has taken its place as the representative poem of new england country life, quite as surely as burns' "the cotter's saturday night” expresses one large phase of scotthe success which attended “snow-bound” was immediate, and the result was such as to put whittier at once beyond the caprices of fortune, and to give him so firm a place in tish life. xviii john greenleaf whittier : the affections of his countrymen as to complete as it were the years of his struggle and his patient endurance. there is something almost dramatic in the appearance of this poem. the war was over : the end of that long contest in which whittier, physically weak but spiritually strong, had been a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. what was the force which had been too mighty for a great entrenched wrong? with no conscious purpose, but in the simple delight of poetry, whittier sang this winter idyl of the north, and one now sees how it imprisons the light which shatters the evil, for it is an epitome of homely work and a family life lived in the eye of god, “duty keeping pace with all,” and the whole issuing in that large hope. ** life greatens in these later years, the century's aloe towers to-day." the history of whittier's life after this date is written in his poems. the outward adventure was slight enough. he divided his year between the amesbury home and that which he established with other kinsfolk at oak knoll in danvers. in the summer time he was wont to seek the mountains of new hampshire or the nearer beaches that stretch from newburyport to portsmouth. the seenes thus familiar to him were translated by him into song. human life blended with the forms of nature, and he made this whole region as distinctively his poetic field as wordsworth made the lake district of cumberland, or as irving made the banks of the hudson. in such a group as “ the tent on the beach," in " among the hills,” “ the witch of wenham," "sunset on the bearcamp," " the seeking of the waterfall," " how the women went from dover," “ the homestead,” and many others he records the delight which he took in nature and especially in the human associations with nature. ** the tent on the beach” again illustrates the personal attachments which he formed and which constituted so large an element in the last thirty years of his life. in actual contact and in the friendships formed through books, one may read the largeness of whittier's sympathy with his fellows, and the warmth of his generous nature. such poems as the frequent ones commemorating garrison, sumner, longfellow, lowell, holmes, the fields's, mrs. child, the spoffords, stedman, barnard, bayard taylor, weld and others illustrates the range of his friendship ; but the poems also which bear the names of tilden, mulford, thiers, halleck, agassiz, garibaldi illustrate likewise a strong sense of the lives of men who, perhaps, never came within the scope of personal acquaintance. nor was it only through human lives that he touched the world about him. his bio grapher bears witness to the assiduity with which he compensated in later years for the restrictions imposed by necessity on his education in earlier years. he became a great and diseursive reader, and his poems, especially after “snow-bound,” contain many proofs of this both in the suggestions which gave rise to them and in the allusions which they contain. northern literature is reflected in “ the dole of jarl thorkell," " king volmer and elsie,” “ the brown dwarf of rügen," and others ; eastern life and religion reappear in " oriental maxims," • hymns of the brahmo somaj," “ the brewing of soma," “ giving and taking," and many more, and history, especially that involved with his own religious faith, gave opportunity for “the king's missive," " st. gregory's guest," " banished from massachusetts," " the two elizabeths,” · the pennsylvania pilgrim.” yet, as we suggested above, the most constant strain, after all, was that which found so full expression in " the eternal goodness." so pervasive in whittier's mind was this thought of god that it did not so much seek occasion for formal utterance, as it used with the naturalness of breathing such opportunities as arose, touching with light one theme after another, and forming, indeed, the last whispered voice beard from his lips, “ love to all the world." it was a serene life of the spirit which whittier led in the closing years of his life, and he was secure in friendship and the shelter of home. he read, he saw his neighbors and friends, he wrote letters, he took the liveliest interest in current affairs, and was, 6 biographical sketch xix " 66 indeed, an elector on the republican side in the great presidential canvass which resulted in the first election of cleveland. he was much sought for occasional poems, and he complied with these requests from time to time, as in his “ centennial hymn,” “in the old south,” “the bartholdi statue,” “ one of the signers,” and “haverhill ;” but he was quite as likely to take hint from an occasion without the asking. yet all this time he was assailed by infirmities which would have shaken the serenity of most. he suffered intensely from neuralgic disorders, and was sadly broken in the last years of his life. he sang up to the end, one may say. a few weeks before his death, he wrote the verses to oliver wendell holmes which stand at the completion of this collection in the division “ at sundown." true to the controlling spirit of his life, he sings, “the hour draws near, howe'er delayed and late, when at the eternal gate we leave the words and works we call our own, and lift void hands alone “for love to fill. our nakedness of soul brings to that gate no toll; giftless we come to him, who all things gives, and live because he lives." he died at hampton falls, new hampshire, september 7, 1892, in the eighty-fifth year of his age. h. e. s. 1 introduction 6 the edition of my poems published in 1857 contained the following note by way of preface: "in these volumes, for the first time, a complete collection of my poetical writings has been made. while it is satisfactory to know that these scattered children of my brain have found a home, i cannot but regret that i have been unable, by reason of illness, to give that attention to their revision and arrangement which respect for the opinions of others and my own afterthought and experience demand. " that there are pieces in this collection which i would • willingly let die,' i am free to confess. but it is now too late to disown them, and i must submit to the inevitable penalty of poetical as well as other sins. there are others, intimately connected with the author's life and times, which owe their tenacity of vitality to the circumstances under which they were written, and the events by which they were suggested. * the long poem of • mogg megone' was in a great measure composed in early life; and it is scarcely necessary to say that its subject is not such as the writer would have chosen at any subsequent period.” after a lapse of thirty years since the above was written, i have been requested by my publishers to make some preparation for a new and revised edition of my poems. i cannot flatter myself that i have added much to the interest of the work beyond the correction of my own errors and those of the press, with the addition of a few heretofore unpublished pieces, and occasional notes of explanation which seemed necessary. i have made an attempt to classify the poems under a few general heads, and have transferred the long poem of "mogg megone” to the appendix, with other specimens of my earlier writings. i have endeavored to affix the dates of composition or publication as far as possible. in looking over these poems i have not been unmindful of occasional prosaic lines and verbal infelicities, but at this late day i have neither strength nor patience to undertake their correction. perhaps a word of explanation may be needed in regard to a class of poems written between the years 1832 and 1865. of their defects from an artistic point of view it is not necessary to speak. they were the earnest and often vehement expression of the writer's thought and feeling at critical periods in the great conflict between freedom and slavery. they were written with no expectation that they would survive the occasions which called them forth: they were protests, alarm signals, trumpet-calls to action, words wrung from the writer's heart, forged a ixi xxii introduction at white heat, and of course lacking the finish and careful word-selection which reflection and patient brooding over them might have given. such as they are, they belong to the history of the anti-slavery movement, and may serve as way-marks of its progress. if their language at times seems severe and harsh, the monstrous wrong of slavery which provoked it must be its excuse, if any is needed. in attacking it, we did not measure our words. “ it is,” said garrison, “a waste of politeness to be courteous to the devil.” but in truth the contest was, in a great measure, an impersonal one; — hatred of slavery and not of slave-masters. “no common wrong provoked our zeal, the silken gauntlet which is thrown in such a quarrel rings like steel." even thomas jefferson, in his terrible denunciation of slavery in the “ notes on virginia," says: “it is impossible to be temperate and pursue the subject of slavery." after the great contest was over, no class of the american people were more ready, with kind words and deprecation of harsh retaliation, to welcome back the revolted states than the abolitionists; and none have since more heartily rejoiced at the fast increasing prosperity of the south. grateful for the measure of favor which has been accorded to my writings, i leave this edition with the public. it contains all that i care to republish, and some things which, had the matter of choice been left solely to myself, i should have omitted. j. g. w. proem [written to introduce the first general collection of whittier's poems. ] i love the old melodious lays which softly melt the ages through, the songs of spenser's golden days, arcadian sidney's silvery phrase, sprinkling our noon of time with freshest morning dew. yet, vainly in my quiet hours to breathe their marvellous notes i try ; i feel them, as the leaves and flowers in silence feel the dewy showers, and drink with glad, still lips the blessing of the sky. a the rigor of a frozen clime, the harshness of an untaught ear, the jarring words of one whose rhyme beat often labor's hurried time, or duty's rugged march through storm and strife, are here. of mystic beauty, dreamy grace, no rounded art the lack supplies ; unskilled the subtle lines to trace, or softer shades of nature's face, i view her common forms with unanointed eyes. nor mine the seer-like power to show the secrets of the heart and mind; to drop the plummet-line below our common world of joy and woe, a more intense despair or brighter hope to find. yet here at least an earnest sense of human right and weal is shown; a hate of tyranny intense, and hearty in its vehemence, as if my brother's pain and sorrow were my own. o freedom! if to me belong nor mighty milton's gift divine, nor marvell's wit and graceful song, still with a love as deep and strong as theirs, i lay, like them, my best gifts on thy shrine ! a amesbury, 11th mo., 1847. 1 1 narrative and legendary poems the vaudois teacher the lady smiled on the worn old man through the dark and clustering curls which veiled her brow, as she bent to view his silks and glittering pearls ; and she placed their price in the old man's hand and lightly turned away, but she paused at the wanderer's earnest call, -"my gentle lady, stay ! “o lady fair, i have yet a gem which a purer lustre flings, than the diamond flash of the jewelled crown on the lofty brow of kings; a wonderful pearl of exceeding price, whose virtue shall not decay, whose light shall be as a spell to thee and a blessing on thy way!” this poem was suggested by the account given of the manner in which the waldenses disseminated their principles among the catholie gentry. they gained access to the house through their occupation as peddlers of silks, jewels, and trinkets. having disposed of some of their goods,” it is said by a writer who quotes the inquisitor rainerus sacco, they cautiously intimated that they had commodities far more valuable than these, inestimable jewels, which they would show if they could be protected from the clergy. they would then give their purchasers a bible or testament; and thereby many were deluded into heresy." the poem, under the title_ le colporteur vaudois, was translated into french by professor g. de felice, of montauban, and further naturalized by professor alexandre rodolphe l'inet, who quoted it in his lectures on french literature, afterwards published. it became familiar in this form to the waldenses, who adopted it as a household poem. an american elergyman, j. c. fletcher, frequently heard it when he was a student, about the year 1850, in the theological seminary at geneva, switzerland, but the authorship of the poem was unknown to those who used it. twenty-five years later, jl. fletcher, learning the name of the author, wrote to the moderator of the waldensian synod at la tour, giving the information. at the banquet which closed the meeting of the synod, the moderator announced the fact, and tas instructed in the name of the waldensian ehurch to write to me a letter of thanks. my letter, written in reply, was translated into italian and printed throughout italy. "o) lady fair, these silks of mine are beautiful and rare, the richest web of the indian loom, which beauty's queen might wear ; and my pearls are pure as thy own fair neck, with whose radiant light they vie; i have brought them with me a weary way, — will my gentle lady buy?" the lady glanced at the mirroring steel where her form of grace was seen, where her eye shone clear, and her dark locks waved their clasping pearls between ; “ bring forth thy pearl of exceeding worth, thou traveller gray and old, and name the price of thy precious gem, and my page shall count thy gold.” the cloud went off from the pilgrim's brow, as a small and meagre book, unchased with gold or gem of cost, from his folding robe he took ! “ here, lady fair, is the pearl of price, may it prove as such to thee! nay, keep thy gold — i ask it not, for the word of god is free !" the hoary traveller went his way, but the gift he left behind hath had its pure and perfect work on that highborn maiden's mind, and she hath turned from the pride of sin to the lowliness of truth, 4 narrative and legendary poems 1 a and given her human heart to god in its vor flower, nor cross, nor hallowed taper beautiful hour of youth ! gave grace to the dead, and beauty to the grave! and she hath left the gray old halls, where an evil faith had power, yet, gentle sufferer ! there shall be, the courtly knights of her father's train, in every heart of kindly feeling, and the maidens of her bower ; a rite as holy paid to thee and she hath gone to the vaudois vales by as if beneath the convent-tree lorilly feet untrod, thy sisterhood were kneeling, where the poor and needy of earth are at vesper hours, like sorrowing angels, rich in the perfect love of god ! keeping their tearful watch around thy place of sleeping: the female martyr for thou wast one in whom the light mary gm, aged eighteen, a “sister of of heaven's own love was kindled well ; charity," died in one of our atlantic cities, enduring with a martyr's might, during the prevalence of the indian cholera, through weary day and wakeful night, while in voluntary attendance upon the sick. far more than words may tell : gentle, and meek, and lowly, and unknown, “ bring out your dead !” the midnight | thy mercies measured by thy god alone ! street heard and gave back the hoarse, low where manly hearts were failing, where call; the throngful street grew foul with death, harsh fell the tread of hasty feet, o high-souled martyr! thou wast there, glanced through the dark the coarse white inhaling, from the loathsome air, sheet, poison with every breath. her coftin and her pall. yet shrinking not from offices of dread " what — only one !” the brutal hack-man for the wrung dying, and the unconscious said, dead. as, with an oath, he spurned away the dead. and, where the sickly taper shed llow sunk the inmost hearts of all, its light through vapors, damp, confined, as rolled that dead-art slowly bv, hushed as a seraph's fell thy tread, with creaking wheel and harsh hoof-fall ! a new electra by the bed the dying turned him to the wall, of suffering human-kind ! to hear it and to die ! pointing the spirit, in its dark dismay, onward it rolled ; while oft its driver to that pure hope which fadeth not away. stayed, and hoarsely clamored, “ho ! bring out innocent teacher of the high and holy mysteries of heaven! how turned to thee each glazing eye, it paused beside the burial-place ; in mute and awful sympathy, “ toss in your load !” and it was done. as thy low prayers were given; with quick hand and averted face, and the o'er-hovering spoiler wore, the ha-tily to the grave's embrace while, they cast them, one by one, an angel's features, a deliverer's smile ! stranger and friend, the evil and the just, together trolden in the churchyard dust! a blessed task ! and worthy or one who, turning from the world, as thou, and thou, young martyr! thou wast there; before life's pathway had begun no white-robesd sister round thee trod, to leave its spring-time flower and sun, vor holy hymn, por funeral prayer haul sealed her early vow ; rose throngh the damp and noisome air, giving to god her beauty and her youth, giving thee to thy god; her pure affections and her guilelens truth. your dead." “a new england legend” 5 earth may not claim thee. nothing here could be for thee a meet reward; thine is a treasure far more dear : eve hath not seen it, nor the ear of living mortal heard the joys prepared, the promised bliss above, the holy presence of eternal love ! sleep on in peace. the earth has not a nobler name than thine shall be. the deeds by martial manhood wrought, the lofty energies of thought, the fire of poesy, these have but frail and fading honors ; thine shall time unto eternity consign. yea, and when thrones shall crumble down, and human pride and grandeur fall, the herald's line of long renown, the mitre and the kingly crown, perishing glories all ! the pure devotion of thy generous heart shall live in heaven, of which it was a part. their sorcery no pale blue flame sends out its flashes through creviced roof and shattered sashes ! the witch-grass round the hazel spring may sharply to the night-air sing, but there no more shall withered hags refresh at ease their broomstick nags, or taste those hazel-shadowed waters as beverage meet for satan's daughters ; no more their mimic tones be heard, the mew of cat, the chirp of bird, shrill blending with the hoarser laughter of the fell demon following after ! the cautious goodman nails no more a horseshoe on his outer door, lest some unseemly hag should fit to his own mouth her bridle-bit ; the goodwife's churn no more refuses its wonted culinary uses until, with heated needle burned, the witch has to her place returned ! our witches are no longer old and wrinkled beldames, satan-sold, but young and gay and laughing creatures, with the heart's sunshine on their features ; the light which dances where the raised lid unveils its glances ; or that low-breathed and gentle tone, the music of love's twilight hours, soft, dream-like, as a fairy's moan above her nightly closing flowers, sweeter than that which sighed of yore along the charmed ausonian shore ! even she, our own weird heroine, sole pythoness of ancient lynn, sleeps calmly where the living laid her; and the wide realm of sorcery, left by its latest mistress free, hath found no gray and skilled invader. so perished albion’s “glammarye,” with him in melrose abbey sleeping, his charmëd torch beside his knee, that even the dead himself might see the magic scroll within his keeping: and now our modern yankee sees nor omens, spells, nor mysteries ; and naught above, below, around, of life or death, of sight or sound, whate'er its nature, form, or look, excites his terror or surprise, all seeming to his knowing eyes familiar as his " catechise,' or “ webster's spelling-book." extract from “ a new england legend" originally a part of the author's moll pitcher. how has new england's romance fled, even as a vision of the morning ! its rites foredone, its guardians dead, its priestesses, bereft of dread, waking the veriest urchin's scorning ! gone like the indian wizard's yell and fire-dance round the magic rock, forgotten like the druid's spell at moonrise by his holy oak ! no more along the shadowy glen glide the diin ghosts of murdered men ; no more the unquiet churchyard dead glimpse upward from their turfy bed, startling the traveller, late and lone ; as, on some night of starless weather, ther silently commune together, each sitting on his own head-stone ! the roofless house, decayed, deserted, its living tenants all departed, no longer rings with midnight revel of witch, or ghost, or goblin evil ; 6 narrative and legendary poems corn, seems the demon of the study and he wipes his glasses and clears his throat, tue brownie sits in the scotchman's room, and, button by button, unfolds his coat. and eats his meat and drinks his ale, and beats the maid with her unused broom, and then he reads from paper and book, and the lazy lout with his idle flail ; in a low and husky asthmatic tone, but he sweeps the floor and threshes the with the stolid sameness of posture and look and hies him away ere the break of dawn. of one who reads to himself alone ; and hour after hour on my senses come the shade of denmark fled from the sun, that husky wheeze and that dolorous hum and the cocklane ghost from the barnloft cheer, the price of stocks, the auction sales, the fiend of faust was a faithful one, the poet's song and the lover's glee, agrippa's demon wrought in fear, the horrible murders, the seaboard gales, and the devil of martin luther sat the marriage list, and the jeu d'esprit, by the stout monk's side in social chat. all reach my ear in the self-same tone, i shudder at each, but the fiend reads on ! the old man of the sea, on the neck of hiin oh, sweet as the lapse of water at noon who seven times crossed the deep, o'er the mossy roots of some forest tree, twined closely each lean and withered the sigh of the wind in the woods of june, timb, or sound of flutes o'er a moonlight sea, like the nightmare in one's sleep. or the low soft music, perchance, which but he drank of the wine, and sindbad cast to float through the slumbering singer's the evil weight from his back at last. dreams, but the demon that cometh day by day so sweet, so dear is the silvery tone, to my quiet room and fireside nook, of her in whose features i sometimes look, where the casement light falls dim and as i sit at eve by her side alone, gray and we read by turns, from the self-same "on faded painting and ancient book, book, is a sorrier one than any whose names some tale perhaps of the olden time, are chronicled well by good king james. some lover's romance or quaint old rhyme. xo bearer of burdens like caliban, then when the story is one of woe, so runner of errands like ariel, some prisoner's plaint through his dunhe comes in the shape of a fat old man, geon-bar, without rap of knuckle or pull of bell; ller blue eye glistens with tears, and low and whence he comes, or whither he goes, her voice sinks down like a moan afar; i know as i do of the wind which blows. and i seem to hear that prisoner's wail, and his face looks on me worn and pale. a stout old man with a greasy hat slonched heavily down to his dark, red and when she reads some merrier song, nose, her voice is glad as an april bird's, and two gray eyes enveloped in fat, and when the tale is of war and wrong, looking through glasses with iron bows. a trumpet's suinmons is in her words, read ye, and heed ye, and ye who can, and the rush of the hosts i seem to hear, guard well your doors from that old man ! and see the tossing of plume and spear! ile comes with a careless “how d'ye do ? " oh, pity me then, when, day by day, and seats himself in my elbow-chair ; the stout tiend darkens my parlor door; and my morning paper and pamphlet new and reads me perchance the self-sume lay fall forth with under his special care, which melted in musie, the night before, the fountain 7 from lips as the lips of hylas sweet, listen, while all else is still, and moved like twin roses which zephyrs to the brooklet from the hill. meet ! wild and sweet the flowers are blowing i cross my floor with a nervous tread, by that streamlet's side, i whistle and laugh and sing and shout, and a greener verdure showing i flourish my cane above his head, where its waters glide, and stir up the fire to roast him out; down the hill-slope murmuring on, i topple the chairs, and drum on the pane, over root and mossy stone. and press my hands on my ears, in vain ! where yon oak his broad arms flingeth i've studied glanville and james the wise, o'er the sloping hill, and wizard black-letter tomes which treat beautiful and freshly springeth of demons of every name and size that soft-flowing rill, which a christian man is presumed to through its dark roots wreathed and bare, meet, gushing up to sun and air. but never a hint and never a line can i find of a reading fiend like mine. brighter waters sparkled never in that magic well, i've crossed the psalter with brady and of whose gift of life forever tate, ancient legends tell, and laid the primer above them all, in the lonely desert wasted, i've nailed a horseshoe over the grate, and by mortal lip untasted. and hung a wig to my parlor wall once worn by a learned judge, they say, waters which the proud castilian at salem court in the witchcraft day ! sought with longing eyes, underneath the bright pavilion “ conjuro te, sceleratissime, of the indian skies, abire ad tuum locum !”. still where his forest pathway lay like a visible nightmare he sits by me, through the blooms of florida. the exorcism has lost its skill; and i hear again in my haunted room years ago a lonely stranger, the husky wheeze and the dolorous hum ! with the dusky brow of the outcast forest-ranger, ah ! commend me to mary magdalen crossed the swift powow, with her sevenfold plagues, to the and betook him to the rill wandering jew, and the oak upon the hill. to the terrors which haunted orestes when the furies his midnight curtains drew, o'er his face of moody sadness but charm him off, ye who charm him can, for an instant shone that reading demon, that fat old man ! something like a gleam of gladness, as he stooped him down to the fountain's grassy side, the fountain and his eager thirst supplied. on the declivity of a hill in salisbury, essex with the oak its shadow throwing county, is a fountain of clear water, gushing o'er his mossy seat, from the very roots of a venerable oak. it is and the cool, sweet waters flowing about two miles from the junction of the softly at his feet, powow river with the merrimac. closely by the fountain's rim that lone indian seated him. traveller ! on thy journey toiling by the swift powow, autumn's earliest frost had given with the summer sunshine falling to the woods below on thy heated brow, hues of beauty, such as heaven 8 narrative and legendary poems lendeth to its bow ; and the soft breeze from the west scarcely broke their dreamy rest. far behind was ocean striving with his chains of sand ; southward, sunny glimpses giving, "twixt the swells of land, of its calm and silvery track, rolled the tranquil merrimac. over village, wood, and meadow gazed that stranger man, sadly, till the twilight shadow over all things ran, save where spire and westward pane flashed the sunset back again. while the western half of heaven blushed with sunset still, from the fountain's mossy seat turned the indian's weary feet. year on year hath flown forever, but he came no more to the hillside on the river where he came before. but the villager can tell of that strange man's visit well. and the merry children, laden with their fruits or flowers, roving boy and laughing maiden, in their school-day hours, love the simple tale to tell of the indian and his well. gazing thus upon the dwelling of his warrior sires, where no lingering trace was telling of their wigwam fires, who the gloomy thoughts might know of that wandering child of woe ? naked lay, in sunshine glowing, hills that once had stood down their sides the shadows throwing of a mighty wood, where the deer his covert kept, and the eagle's pinion swept ! where the birch canoe had glided down the swift powow, dark and gloomy bridges strided those clear waters now; and where once the beaver swam, jarred the wheel and frowned the dam. for the wood-bird's merry singing, and the hunter's cheer, iron clang and hammer's ringing smote upon his ear ; and the thick and sullen smoke from the blackened forges bruke. could it be his fathers ever loved to linger here? these bare hills, this conquered river, — ('ould they hold them dear, with their native loveliness tamed and tortured into this ? sadly, as the shades of even gathered o'er the hill, pentucket the village of llaverhill, on the merrimae, called by the indians pentucket, was for nearly seventeen years a frontier town, and during thirty years endured all the horrors of savage warfare. in the year 1705, a combined body of french and indians, under the command of de chaillons, and hertel de rouville, the infamous and bloody sacker of deerfield, made an attack upon the village, which at that time contained only thirty houses. sixteen of the villagers were massacred, and a still larger number made prisoners. about thirty of the enemy also fell, and among them hertel de rouville. the minister of the place, benja min rolfe, was killed by a shot throngh his own door. in a paper entitled the border war of 1708, published in my collection of recreations and miscellanits, i have given a prose narrative of the surprise of haverhill. how sweetly on the wood-girt town the mellow light of sunset shone ! each small, bright lake, whose waters still mirror the forest and the hill, reflected from its waveless breast the beauty of a cloudless west, glorious as if a glimpse were given within the western gates of heaven, left, by the spirit of the star of sunset's holy hour, ajar! beside the river's tranquil flood the dark and low-walled dwellings stood, where many a rood of open land stretched up and down on either hand, the norsemen 9 with corn-leaves waving freshly green the thick and blackened stumps between. behind, unbroken, deep and dread, the wild, untravelled forest spread, back to those mountains, white and cold, of which the indian trapper told, l'pon whose summits never yet was mortal foot in safety set. quiet and calm without a fear, of danger darkly lurking near, the weary laborer left his plough, the milkmaid carolled by her cow; from cottage door and household hearth rose songs of praise, or tones of mirth. at length the murmur died away, and silence on that village lay. so slept pompeii, tower and hall, ere the quick earthquake swallowed all, undreaming of the fiery fate which made its dwellings desolate ! and blended fire and moonlight glared on still dead men and scalp-knives bared. the morning sun looked brightly through the river willows, wet with dew. no sound of combat filled the air, no shout was heard, nor gunshot there ; yet still the thick and sullen smoke from smouldering ruins slowly broke ; and on the greensward many a stain, and, here and there, the mangled slain, told how that midnight bolt had sped pentucket, on thy fated head ! even now the villager can tell where rolfe beside his hearthstone fell, still show the door of wasting oak, through which the fatal death-shot broke, and point the curious stranger where de rouville's corse lay grim and bare ; whose hideous head, in death still feared, bore not a trace of hair or beard ; and still, within the churchyard ground, heaves darkly up the ancient mound, whose grass-grown surface overlies the victims of that sacrifice. a the norsemen hours passed away. by moonlight sped the merrimac along his bed. bathed in the pallid lustre, stood dark cottage-wall and rock and wood, silent, beneath that tranquil beam, as the hushed grouping of a dream. yet on the still air crept a sound, no bark of fox, nor rabbit's bound, nor stir of wings, nor waters flowing, nor leaves in midnight breezes blowing. was that the tread of many feet, which downward from the hillside beat ? what forms were those which darkly stood just on the margin of the wood ? charred tree-stumps in the moonlight dim, or paling rude, or leafless limb ? no, — through the trees fierce eyeballs glowed, dark human forms in moonshine showed, wild from their native wilderness, with painted limbs and battle-dress! a yell the dead might wake to hear swelled on the night air, far and clear ; then smote the indian tomahawk on crashing door and shattering lock ; then rang the rifle-shot, and then the shrill death-scream of stricken men, sank the red axe in woman's brain, and childhood's cry arose in vain. bursting through roof and window came, red, fast, and fierce, the kindled flame, in the early part of the present century, a fragment of a statue, rudely chiselled from dark gray stone, was found in the town of bradford, on the merrimac. its origin must be left entirely to conjecture. the fact that the ancient northmen visited the northeast coast of north america and probably new england, some centuries before the discovery of the western world by columbus, is now very generally admitted. gift from the cold and silent past! a relic to the present cast, left on the ever-changing strand of shifting and unstable sand, which wastes beneath the steady chime and beating of the waves of time ! who from its bed of primal rock first wrenched thy dark, unshapely block ? whose hand, of curious skill untaught, thy rude and savage outline wrought ? the waters of my native stream are glancing in the sun's warm beam ; from sail-urged keel and flashing oar the circles widen to its shore ; io narrative and legendary poems and cultured field and peopled town bared to the sun and soft warm air, slope to its willowed margin down. streams back the northmen's yellow hair. yet, while this morning breeze is bringing i see the gleam of axe and spear, the home-life sound of school-bells ringa sound of smitten shields i hear, ing, keeping a harsh and fitting time and rolling wheel, and rapid jar to saga's chant, and runic rhyme ; of the fire-winged and steedless car, such lays as zetland's scald has sung, and voices from the wayside near his gray and naked isles among ; come quick and blended on my ear, or muttered low at midnight hour a spell is in this old gray stone, round odin's mossy stone of power. my thoughts are with the past alone! the wolf beneath the arctic moon has answered to that startling rune ; a change !— the steepled town no more the gael has heard its stormy swell, stretches along the sail-thronged shore ; the light frank knows its summons well ; like palace-domes in sunset's cloud, iona's sable-stoled culdee fade sum-gilt spire and mansion proud : has heard it sounding o'er the sea, spectrally rising where they stood, and swept, with hoary beard and hair, i see the old, primeval wood; his altar's foot in trembling prayer ! dark, shadow-like, on either hand i see its solemn waste expand ; 't is past, – the 'wildering vision dies it climbs the green and cultured hill, in darkness on my dreaming eyes ! it arches o'er the valley's rill, the forest vanishes in air, and leans from cliff and crag to throw hill-slope and vale lie starkly bare; its wild arms o'er the stream below. i hear the common tread of men, l'nchanged, alone, the same bright river and hum of work-day life again ; flows on, as it will flow forever! the mystic relic seems alone i listen, and i hear the low a broken mass of common stone ; soft ripple where its waters go ; and if it be the chiselled limb i hear behind the panther's cry, of berserker or idol grim, the wild-bird's scream goes thrilling by, a fragment of valhalla's thor, and shyly on the river's brink the stormy viking's god of war, the deer is stooping down to drink. or praga of the runic lay, or love-awakening siona, but hark!—from wood and rock flung back, i know not, – for no graven line, what sound comes up the merrimac? nor druid mark, nor runic sigu, what sea-worn barks are those which throw is left me here, by which to trace the light spray from each rushing prow ? its name, or origin, or place. hlave they not in the north sea's blast yet, for this vision of the past, bowed to the waves the straining mast ? this glance upon its darkness cast, their frozen sails the low, pale sun my spirit bows in gratitude of thule 's night has shone upon ; before the giver of all good, flapped by the sea-wind's gusty sweep who fashioned so the human mind, round icy drift, and headland steep. that, from the waste of time behind, wild jutland's wives and lochlin's daugha simple stone, or mound of earth, ters can summon the departed forth; hlave watched them fading o'er the waters, quicken the past to life again, lessening through driving mist and spray, the present lose in what hath been, like white-winged sea-birds on their way! and in their primal freshness show the buried forms of long ago. onward they glide, – and now i view as if a portion of that thought their iron-armed and stalwart crew; be which the eternal will is wrought, joy glistens in each wild blue eye, whose impulse fills anew with breath turned to green earth and summer sky. the frozen solitude of death, each brond, seamed breast has cast aside to mortal mind were sometimes lent, its cumbering vest of shaggy hide ; to mortal musings sometimes sent, funeral tree of the sokokis ii to whisper-even when it seems her tokens of renewing care but memory's fantasy of dreams hath nature scattered everywhere, through the mind's waste of woe and sin, in bud and flower, and warmer air. of an immortal origin! but in their hour of bitterness, what reck the broken sokokis, funeral tree of the beside their slaughtered chief, of this ? sokokis the turf's red stain is yet undried, polan, chief of the sokokis indians of the scarce have the death-shot echoes died country between agamenticus and casco bay, along sebago's wooded side; was killed at windham on sebago lake in the spring of 1756. after the whites had retired, and silent now the hunters stand, the surviving indians “swayed” or bent down grouped darkly, where a swell of land a young tree until its roots were upturned, slopes upward from the lake's white sand. placed the body of their chief beneath it, and then released the tree, which, in springing back to its old position, covered the grave. fire and the axe have swept it bare, the sokokis were early converts to the cathosave one lone beech, unclosing there lic faith. most of them, prior to the year 1756, its light leaves in the vernal air. had removed to the french settlements on the st. françois. with grave, cold looks, all sternly mute, they break the damp turf at its foot, around sebago's lonely lake and bare its coiled and twisted root. there lingers not a breeze to break the mirror which its waters make. they heave the stubborn trunk aside, the firm roots from the earth divide, the solemn pines along its shore, the rent beneath yawns dark and wide. the firs which hang its gray rocks o'er, are painted on its glassy floor. and there the fallen chief is laid, in tasselled garb of skins arrayed, the sun looks o'er, with hazy eye, and girded with his wampum-braid. the snowy mountain-tops which lie piled coldly up against the sky. the silver cross he loved is pressed beneath the heavy arms, which rest dazzling and white ! save where the upon his scarred and naked breast. bleak, wild winds have bared some splintering 't is done : the roots are backward sent, peak, the beechen-tree stands up unbent, or snow-slide left its dusky streak. the indian's fitting monument ! yet green are saco's banks below, when of that sleeper's broken race and belts of spruce and cedar show, their green and pleasant dwelling-place, dark fringing round those cones of snow. which knew them once, retains no trace ; the earth hath felt the breath of spring, oh, long may sunset's light be shed though yet on her deliverer's wing as now upon that beech's head, the lingering frosts of winter cling. a green memorial of the dead ! fresh grasses fringe the meadow-brooks, there shall his fitting requiem be, and mildly from its sunny nooks in northern winds, that, cold and free, the blue eye of the violet looks. howl nightly in that funeral tree. and odors from the springing grass, to their wild wail the waves which break the sweet birch and the sassafras, forever round that lonely lake upon the scarce-felt breezes pass. a solemn undertone shall make ! : i2 xarrative and legendary poems 66 and who shall deem the spot unblest, where nature's younger children rest, lulled on their sorrowing mother's breast ? deem ye that mother loveth less these bronzed forms of the wilderness she foldeth in her long caress ? as sweet o'er them her wild-flowers blow, as if with fairer hair and brow the blue-eyed saxon slept below. what though the places of their rest no priestly knee hath ever pressed, vo funeral rite nor prayer hath blessed ? fended by its high-spirited mistress. a second attack however followed in the fourth month, 1617, when d'aulnay was successful, and the garrison was put to the sword. lady la tour languished a few days in the hands of her enrmy, and then died of grief. “ to the winds give our banner! bear homeward again !” cried the lord of acadia, cried charles of estienne ! from the prow of his shallop he gazed, as the sun, from its bed in the ocean, streamed the st. john. up o'er the blue western waters that shallop had passed, where the mists of penobscot clung damp on her mast. st. saviour had looked on the heretic sail, as the songs of the huguenot rose on the gale. what thongh the bigot's ban be there, and thoughts of wailing and despair, and cursing in the place of prayer ! yet heaven hath angels watching round the indian's lowliest forest-mound, and they have made it holy ground. there ceases man's frail judgment ; all his powerless bolts of cursing fall cnheeded on that grassy pall. () peeled and hunted and reviled, sleep on, dark tenant of the wild ! great nature owns her simple child ! and nature's god, to whom alone the secret of the heart is known, — the hidden language traced thereon ; who from its many cumberings of form and creed, and outward things, to light the naked spirit brings ; not with our partial eye shall sean, not with our pride and scorn shall ban, the spirit of our brother man ! the pale, ghostly fathers remembered her well, and had cursed her while passing, with taper and bell ; but the men of monhegan, of papists abhorred, hlad welcomed and feasted the heretic lord. they had loaded his shallop with dun-fish and ball, with stores for his lariler, and steel for his wall. pemaquid, from her bastions and turrets of stone, had welcomed his coming with banner and gun. and the prayers of the elders had followed his way, as homeward he glided, down pentecost bay. oh, well sped la tour ! for, in peril and pain, his lady kept watch, for his coming again. o'er the isle of the pheasant the morning sun shone, on the plane-trees which shaded the shores of st. john. st. john the fierce rivalry between charles de la tour, a protest int, and d'aulnar charnasy, a catholio, for the passion of acadia, forms one of the most romantic pages in the history of the low world. la tour trerived aid in seve eral instance from the puritan colony of massachusetts during one of his voyages for the purpose of obtuning arms and provisions for his establishment at st. john, he castle was attu.ked by aulasy, and successfully dest. john 13 86 “now, why from yon battlements speaks not my love! why waves there no banner my fortress above ? ” but woe to the heretic, evermore woe ! when the son of the church and the cross is his foe ! dark and wild, from his deck st. estienne gazed about, on fire-wasted dwellings, and silent redoubt; from the low, shattered walls which the flame had o'errun, there floated no banner, there thundered no gun! “in the track of the shell, in the path of the ball, pentagoet swept over the breach of the wall ! steel to steel, gun to gun, one moment, and then alone stood the victor, alone with his men ! but beneath the low arch of its doorway there stood a pale priest of rome, in his cloak and his hood. with the bound of a lion, la tour sprang to land, on the throat of the papist he fastened his hand. “of its sturdy defenders, thy lady alone saw the cross-blazoned banner float over st. john." “ let the dastard look to it ! cried fiery estienne, “were d'aulnay king louis, i'd free her again ! ” “ alas for thy lady! no service from thee is needed by her whom the lord hath set free ; nine days, in stern silence, her thraldom she bore, but the tenth morning came, and death opened her door !” "speak, son of the woman of scarlet and sin! what wolf has been prowling my castle within? from the grasp of the soldier the jesuit broke, half in scorn, half in sorrow, he smiled as he spoke : “no wolf, lord of estienne, has ravaged thy hall, but thy red-handed rival, with fire, steel, and ball ! on an errand of mercy i hitherward came, while the walls of thy castle yet spouted with flame. “ pentagoet's dark vessels were moored in the bay, grim sea-lions, roaring aloud for their prey. “but what of my lady?" cried charles of estienne. “on the shot-crumbled turret thy lady was seen : “ half-veiled in the smoke-cloud, her hand grasped thy pennon, while her dark tresses swayed in the hot breath of cannon ! as if suddenly smitten la tour staggered back; his hand grasped his sword-hilt, his forehead grew black. he sprang on the deck of his shallop again. “ we cruise now for vengeance ! give way !” cried estienne. 66 “ massachusetts shall hear of the huguenot's wrong, and from island and creekside her fishers shall throng ! pentagoet shall rue what his papists have done, when his palisades echo the puritan’s gun!” oh, the loveliest of heavens hung tenderly o'er him, there were waves in the sunshine, and green isles before him ; 14 xarrative and legendary poems but a pale hand was beckoning in answer to the breath of prayer, the huguenot on; upon the waiting head and in blackness and ashes behind was st. john! not to restore our failing forms, and build the spirit's broken shrine, but on the fainting soul to shed the cypress-tree of ceylon a light and life divine ibn batuta, the celebrated mussulman travshall we grow weary in our watch, eller of the fourteenth century, speaks of a and murniur at the long delay ? cypress-tree in ceylon, universally held sacred impatient of our father's time by the natives, the leaves of which were said and his appointed way? to fall only at certain intervals, and he who had the happiness to find and eat one of them or shall the stir of outward things was restored, at once, to youth and vigor. the traveller saw several venerable jogees, or saints, allure and claim the christian's eye, sitting silent and motionless under the tree. when on the heathen watcher's ear their powerless murmurs die ? they sat in silent watchfulness the sacred cypress-tree about, alas! a deeper test of faith and, from beneath old wrinkled brows, than prison cell or martyr's stake, their failing eyes looked out. the self-abasing watchfulness of silent prayer may make. gray age and sickness waiting there through weary night and lingering | we gird us bravely to rebuke day, — our erring brother in the wrong, grim as the idols at their side, and in the ear of pride and power and motionless as they. our warning voice is strong. c'nheeded in the boughs above easier to smite with peter's sword the song of ceylon's birds was sweet ; than “watch one hour" in humbling l'nseen of them the island flowers prayer. bloomed brightly at their feet. life's "great things,” like the syrian lord, our hearts can do and dare. o'er them the tropic night-storm swept, the thunder crashed on rock and hill; but oh! we shrink from jordan's side, the cloud-fire on their eyeballs blazed, from waters which alone can save; yet there they waited still ! and murmur for abana's banks and pharpar's brighter wave. what was the world without to them ? the moslem's sunset-call, the dance o thon, who in the garden's shade of ceylon's maids, the passing gleam didst wake thy weary ones again, of battle-ttag and lance ? who slumbered at that fearful hour forgetful of thy pain; they waited for that falling leaf of which the wandering jogees sing : bend o'er us now, as over them, which lends once more to wintry age and set our sleep-bound spirits free, the greenness of its spring. nor leave us slumbering in the watch our souls should keep with thee ! oh, if these poor and blinded ones in trustful patience wait to feel o'er torpid puise and failing limb the exiles a youthful freshness steal ; the incidents upon which the following bulo shall we, who sit beneath that tree lad has its found ition occurred about the year whose healing leaves of life are shed, 100). thomas macy was one of the tirst, if 1 1 3 the exiles 15 66 > pot the first white settler of nantucket. the oh, kindly spoke the goodman's wife, career of macy is briefly but carefully outlined come in, old man !” quoth she, in james s. pike's the new puritan. “we will not leave thee to the storm, whoever thou mayst be.” tue goodman sat beside his door, one sultry afternoon, then came the aged wanderer in, with his young wife singing at his side and silent sat him down ; an old and goodly tune. while all within grew dark as night beneath the storm-cloud's frown. a glimmer of heat was in the air, the dark green woods were still ; but while the sudden lightning's blaze and the skirts of a heavy thunder-cloud filled every cottage nook, hung over the western hill. and with the jarring thunder-roll the loosened casements shook, black, thick, and vast arose that cloud above the wilderness, a heavy tramp of horses' feet as some dark world from upper air came sounding up the lane, were stooping over this. and half a score of horse, or more, came plunging through the rain. at times the solemn thunder pealed, and all was still again, “ now, goodman macy, ope thy door, save a low murmur in the air we would not be house-breakers ; of coming wind and rain. a rueful deed thou 'st done this day, in harboring banished quakers." just as the first big rain-drop fell, a weary stranger came, out looked the cautious goodman then, and stood before the farmer's door, with much of fear and awe, with travel soiled and lame. for there, with broad wig drenched with rain, sad seemed he, yet sustaining hope the parish priest he saw. was in his quiet glance, and peace, like autumn's moonlight, “open thy door, thou wicked man, clothed and let thy pastor in, his tranquil countenance, – and give god thanks, if forty stripes repay thy deadly sin." a look, like that his master wore in pilate's council-hall: “what seek ye?” quoth the goodman ; it told of wrongs, but of a love “ the stranger is my guest ; meekly forgiving all. he is worn with toil and grievous wrong, pray let the old man rest." "friend! wilt thou give me shelter here?” “now, out upon thee, canting knave !" the stranger meekly said ; and strong hands shook the door. and, leaning on his oaken staff, “believe me, macy,” quoth the priest, the goodman's features read. “ thou 'lt rue thy conduct sore.” "my life is hunted, evil men then kindled macy's eye of fire : are following in my track ; “no priest who walks the earth, the traces of the torturer's whip shall pluck away the stranger-guest are on my aged back ; made welcome to my hearth.” "and much, i fear, 't will peril thee down from his cottage wall he caught within thy doors to take the matchlock, hotly tried a bunted seeker of the truth, at preston-pans and marston-moor, oppressed for conscience' sake.” by fiery ireton's side ; 16 narrative and legendary poems where puritan, and cavalier, with shout and psalm contended; and rupert's oath, and cromwell's prayer, with battle-thunder blended. a leap — they gain the boat -and there the goodman wields his oar ; “ iii luck betide them all," he cried, “ the laggards on the shore.” l'p rose the ancient stranger then : “my spirit is not free to bring the wrath and violence of evil men on thee ; n down through the crashing underwood, the burly sheriff came : “ stand, goodman maey, yield thyself ; yield in the king's own name.” “ now out upon thy hangman's face ! ” bold macy answered then, • whip women, on the village green, but meddle not with men." “ and for thyself, i pray forbear, bethink thee of thy lord, who healed again the smitten ear, and sheathed iiis follower's sword. was " i go, as to the slaughter led. friends of the poor, farewell !” beneath his hand the oaken door back on its hinges fell. “come forth, old graybeard, yea and nay," the reckless scoffers cried, as to a horseman's saddle-bow the old man's arms were tied. and of his bondage hard and long in boston's crowded jail, where suffering woman's prayer heard, with sickening childhood's wail, it suits not with our tale to tell ; those scenes have passed away ; let the dim shadows of the past brood o'er that evil day. “ ho, sheriff !” quoth the ardent priest, “ take goodman macy too; the sin of this day's heresy ilis back or purse shall rue." “ now, goodwife, haste thee !" macy cried. she caught his manly arm ; behind, the parson urged pursuit, with outery and alarm. ho! speed the macys, neck or naught, the river-course was near ; the plashing on its pebbled shore was music to their ear. a gray rock, tasselled o'er with bireh, above the waters hung, and at its base, with every wave, a small light wherry swung. the priest came panting to the shore, his grave cocked hat was gone ; behind him, like some owl's nest, hung his wig upon a thorn. “ come back! come back!” the parson cried, “ the church's curse beware." “curse, an thou wilt,” said macy, " but thy blessing prithee spare." “ vile scoffer!” cried the baffled priest, “ thou 'lt yet the gallows see.” “who's born to be hanged will not be drowned," quoth macy, merrily ; “ and so, sir sheriff and priest, good-by!" he bent him to his oar, and the small boat glided quietly from the twain upon the shore. now in the west, the heavy clouds scattered and fell asunder, while feebler came the rush of rain, and fainter growled the thunder. and through the broken clouds, the sun looked out serene and warm, painting its holy symbol-light l'pon the passing storm. oh, beautiful! that rainbow span, o'er dim crane-neck was bended ; one bright foot touched the eastern hills, and one with ocean blended. by green pentucket's southern slope the small boat glided fast ; the watchers of the block-house saw the strangers as they passed. the knight of st. john 17 how others drew around them, and how their fishing sped, until to every wind of heaven nantucket's sails were spread ; 'how pale want alternated with plenty's golden smile ; behold, is it not written in the annals of the isle ? that night a stalwart garrison sat shaking in their shoes, to hear the dip of indian oars, the glide of birch canoes. the fisher-wives of salisbury the men were all away looked out to see the stranger oar upon their waters play. deer island's rocks and fir-trees threw their sunset-shadows o'er them, and newbury's spire and weathercock peered o'er the pines before them. around the black rocks, on their left, the marsh lay broad and green; and on their right with dwarf shrubs crowned, plum island's hills were seen. and yet that isle remaineth a refuge of the free, as when true-hearted macy beheld it from the sea. free as the winds that winnow her shrubless hills of sand, free as the waves that batter along her yielding land. with skilful hand and wary eye the harbor-bar was crossed; a plaything of the restless wave, the boat on ocean tossed. than bers, at duty's summons, no loftier spirit stirs, nor falls o'er human suffering a readier tear than hers. 0 god bless the sea-beat island ! and grant forevermore, that charity and freedom dwell as now upon her shore ! the knight of st. john the glory of the sunset heaven on land and water lay ; on the steep hills of agawam, on cape, and bluff, and bay. *they passed the gray rocks of cape ann, and gloucester's harbor-bar; the watch-fire of the garrison shone like a setting star. how brightly broke the morning on massachusetts bay ! blue wave, and bright green island, rejoicing in the day. ere down yon blue carpathian hills the sun shall sink again, farewell to life and all its ills, farewell to cell and chain ! these prison shades are dark and cold, but, darker far than they, the shadow of a sorrow old is on my heart alway. for since the day when warkworth wood closed o'er my steed, and i, an alien from my name and blood, a weed cast out to die, – on passed the bark in safety round iste and headland steep ; so tempest broke above them, no fog-cloud veiled the deep. far round the bleak and stormy cape the venturous macy passed, and on nantucket's naked isle drew up his boat at last. and how, in log-built cabin, they braved the rough sea-weather ; and there, in peace and quietness, went down life's vale together; when, looking back in sunset light, i saw her turret gleam, and from its casement, far and white, her sign of farewell stream, like one who, from some desert shore, doth home's green isles descry, 18 narrative and legendary poems and, vainly longing, gazes o'er the waste of wave and sky; so from the desert of my fate i gaze across the past; forever on life's dial-plate the shade is backward cast ! i've wandered wide from shore to shore, i've knelt at many a shrine ; and bowed me to the rocky floor where bethlehem's tapers shine ; and by the holy sepulchre i've pledged my knightly sword to christ, his blessed church, and her, the mother of our lord. and falls beneath the self-same blow the lover and the priest ! o pitying mother! souls of light, and saints and martyrs old! pray for a weak and sinful knight, a suffering man uphold. then let the paynim work his will, and death unbind my chain, ere down yon blue carpathian hill the sun shall fall again. cassandra sol'thwick oh, vain the vow, and vain the strife! how vain do all things seem! my soul is in the past, and life to-day is but a dream ! in vain the penance strange and long, and hard for tlesh to bear ; the prayer, the fasting, and the thong, and sackcloth shirt of hair. in 1638 two young persons, son and daughter of lawrence southwick of salem, who had himself been imprisoned and deprived of nearly all his property for having entertained quaken at his house, were fined for non-attendance at church. they being unable to pay the tine, the general court issued an order empowering * the treasurer of the connty to sell the sud persons to any of the english nation of virgin.a or barbadors, to answer said fints." in attempt was made to carry this order into execution, but no shipmaster was found willing to convey them to the west indies. the eyes of memory will not sleep, — its ears are open still ; and vigils with the past they keep against my feeble will. and still the loves and joys of old do evermore uprise ; i see the flow of locks of gold, the shine of loving eyes! ah me! upon another's breast those golden locks recline ; i see upon another rest the glance that once was mine. to the god of all sure mercies let my blessing rise to-av; from the scoffer and the cruel he hath plucked the spoil away ; yea, he who cooled the furnace around the faithful three, and tamed the chaldean lions, hath set his handmaid free! last night i saw the sunset melt through my prison bars, last night across my damp earth-floor fell the pale gleam of stars ; in the coldness and the darkness all throngh the long night-time, my grated casement whitened with autumn's early rime. alone, in that dark sorrow, hour after hour crept by ; star after star looked palely in and sank adown the sky; no sound amid night's stillness, save that which seemed to be the dull and heavy be of the pulses of the sea ; "() faithless priest! ( perjured knight!" i hear the master cry ; "shut out the vision from thy sight, let earth and nature die. • the church of god is now thy spouse, and thou the bridegroom art ; then let the burden of thy vows crush down thy buman heart !” in vain! this heart its grief must know, till life itself hath ceased, cassandra southwick 19 4 6 all night i sat unsleeping, for i knew that who rail against the pulpit, and holy on the morrow bread and wine ; the ruler and the cruel priest would mock sore from their cart-tail scourgings, and me in my sorrow, from the pillory lame, dragged to their place of market, and bar| rejoicing in their wretchedness, and glorygained for and sold, ing in their shame. like a lamb before the shambles, like a heifer from the fold ! “ and what a fate awaits thee ! a sadly toiling slave, oh, the weakness of the flesh was there, dragging the slowly lengthening chain of the shrinking and the shame ; bondage to the grave ! and the low voice of the tempter like think of thy woman's nature, subdued in whispers to me came : hopeless thrall, “why sit'st thou thus forlornly,” the the easy prey of any, the scoff and scorn wicked murmur said, of all ! " “ damp walls thy bower of beauty, cold earth thy maiden bed ? oh, ever as the tempter spoke, and feeble nature's fears “where be the smiling faces, and voices wrung drop by drop the scalding flow of soft and sweet, unavailing tears, seen in thy father's dwelling, heard in the i wrestled down the evil thoughts, and pleasant street ? strove in silent prayer, where be the youths whose glances, the to feel, o helper of the weak! that thou summer sabbath through, indeed wert there ! turned tenderly and timidly unto thy father's pew? i thought of paul and silas, within philippi's cell, · why sit'st thou here, cassandra ? — beand how from peter's sleeping limbs the think thee with what mirth prison shackles fell, thy happy schoolmates gather around the till i seemed to hear the trailing of an warm, bright hearth; angel's robe of white, how the crimson shadows tremble on foreand to feel a blessed presence invisible to heads white and fair, sight. on eyes of merry girlhood, half bid in golden hair. bless the lord for all his mercies ! for the peace and love i felt, * not for thee the hearth-fire brightens, like dew of hermon's holy hill, upon my not for thee kind words are spoken, spirit melt; not for thee the nuts of wenham woods when “get behind me, satan ! ” was the by laughing boys are broken ; language of my heart, so first-fruits of the orchard within thy and i felt the evil tempter with all his lap are laid, doubts depart. for thee no flowers of autumn the youthful hunters braid. slow broke the gray cold morning ; again the sunshine fell, 40 weak, deluded maiden !— by crazy flecked with the shade of bar and grate fancies led, within my lonely cell ; with wild and raving railers an evil path the hoar-frost melted on the wall, and upto tread ; ward from the street to leave a wholesome worship, and teachcame careless laughi and idle word, and ing pure and sound, tread of passing feet. and mate with maniac women, loosehaired and sackcloth bound, at length the heavy bolts fell back, my door was open cast, "mad scoffers of the priesthood, who mock and slowly at the sheriff's side, up the at things divine, long street i passed ; 20 narrative and legendary poems 66 a 66 i heard the murmur round me, and felt, of the poor hearts thou hast hunted, thou but dared not see, wolf amid the flock !” how, from every door and window, the people gazed on me. dark lowered the brows of endicott, and with a deeper red and doubt and fear fell on me, shame o'er rawson's wine-empurpled cheek the burned upon my cheek, flush of anger spread; swam earth and sky around me, my trem* good people," quoth the white-lipped bling limbs grew weak: priest, “ heed not her words so wild, "0) lord ! support thy handmaid ; and her master speaks within her, — the devil from her soul cast out owns his child!” the fear of man, which brings a snare, the weakness and the doubt." but gray heads shook, and young brows knit, the while the sheriff read then the dreary shadows scattered, like a that law the wicked rulers against the poor cloud in morning's breeze, have made, and a low deep voice within me seemed who to their house of rimmon and idol whispering words like these : priesthood bring “ though thy earth be as the iron, and thy | no bended knee of worship, nor gainful heaven a brazen wall, offering trust still his lovingkindness whose power is over all. then to the stout sea-captains the sheriff, turning, said, we paused at length, where at my feet“ which of ye, worthy seamen, will take the sunlit waters broke this quaker maid ? on glaring reach of shining beach, and in the isle of fair barbadoes, or on l'irshingly wall of rock ; ginia's shore, the merchant-ships lay idly there, in hard you may hold her at a higher price than clear lines on high, indian girl or moor.” tracing with rope and slender spar their network on the sky. grim and silent stood the captains ; and when again he cried, and there were ancient citizens, cloak“speak out, my worthy seamen !” — no wrapped and grave and cold, voice, no sign replied ; and grim and stout sea-captains with but i felt a hard hand press my own, and faces bronzed and old, kind words met my ear, — and on his horse, with rawson, his cruel “ god bless thee, and preserve thee, my clerk at hand, gentle girl and dear !” sat dark and haughty endicott, the ruler of the land. a weight seemed lifted from my heart, a pitying friend was nigh, and poisoning with his evil words the i felt it in his hard, rough hand, and saw it ruler's ready ear, in his eye ; the priest leaned o'er his saddle, with and when again the sheriff spoke, that laugh and scoff and jeer ; voice, so kind to me, it stirred my soul, and from my lips the growled back its stormy answer like the seal of silence broke, roaring of the sea, as if through woman's weakness a warning spirit spoke. “ pile my ship with bars of silver, pack with coins of spanish gold, i cried, “ the lord rebuke thee, thou from keel-piece up to deck-plank, the smiter of the meek, roomage of her hold, thou robber of the righteous, thou trampler by the living god who mule me!i of the weak ! would sooner in your bay go light the dark, cold hearth-stones, go sink ship and crew and cargo, than bear turn the prison lock this child away!" the new wife and the old 21 66 * well answered, worthy captain, shame on uplift the loud thanksgiving, pour forth their cruel laws ! ” the grateful psalm ; ran through the crowd in murmurs loud let all dear hearts with me rejoice, as did the people's just applause. the saints of old, * like the herdsman of tekoa, in israel of when of the lord's good angel the rescued old, peter told. shall we see the poor and righteous again for silver sold ?” and weep and howl, ye evil priests and mighty men of wrong, i looked on haughty endicott; with weathe lord shall smite the proud, and lay pon half-way drawn, his hand upon the strong: swept round the throng his lion glare of woe to the wicked rulers in his avenging bitter hate and scorn ; hour! fiercely he drew his bridle-rein, and turned woe to the wolves who seek the flocks to in silence back, raven and devour ! and sneering priest and baffled clerk rode murmuring in his track. but let the humble ones arise, the poor in heart be glad, hard after them the sheriff looked, in bitand let the mourning ones again with terness of soul ; robes of praise be clad. thrice smote his staff upon the ground, for he who cooled the furnace, and and crushed his parchment roll. smoothed the stormy wave, "good friends," he said, “ since both have and tamed the chaldean lions, is mighty fled, the ruler and the priest, still to save ! jndge ye, if from their further work i be not well released." the new wife and the old loud was the cheer which, full and clear, swept round the silent bay, the following ballad is founded upon one of as, with kind words and kinder looks, he the marvellous legends connected with the fabade me go my way ; mous general m-, of hampton, new hampfor he who turns the courses of the streamshire, who was regarded by his neighbors as a let of the glen, yankee faust, in league with the adversary. and the river of great waters, had turned i give the story, as i heard it when a child, the hearts of men. from a venerable family visitant. oh, at that hour the very earth seemed dark the halls, and cold the feast, changed beneath my eye, gone the bridemaids, gone the priest. a holier wonder round me rose the blue all is over, all is done, walls of the sky, twain of yesterday are one ! a lovelier light on rock and hill and stream blooming girl and manhood gray, and woodland lay, autumn in the arms of may ! and softer lapsed on sunnier sands the waters of the bay. hushed within and hushed without, dancing feet and wrestlers' shout ; thanksgiving to the lord of life ! to him dies the bonfire on the hill ; all praises be, all is dark and all is still, who from the hands of evil men hath set save the starlight, save the breeze his handmaid free ; moaning through the graveyard trees; all praise to him before whose power the and the great sea-waves below, mighty are afraid, pulse of the midnight beating slow. who takes the crafty in the snare which for the poor is laid ! from the brief dream of a bride she hath wakened, at his side. sing, o my soul, rejoicingly, on evening's with half-uttered shriek and start, twilight calm feels she not his beating heart ? 22 narrative and legendary poems 66 love's fair gifts of gold and gem. • waken ! save me !" still as death at her side he slumbereth. 66 and the pressure of his arm, and his breathing near and warm ? lightly from the bridal bed springs that fair dishevelled head, and a feeling, new, intense, half of shame, half innocence, maiden fear and wonder speaks through her lips and changing cheeks. from the oaken mantel glowing, faintest light the lamp is throwing on the mirror's antique mould, high-backed chair, and wainscot old, and, through faded curtains stealing, his dark sleeping face revealing. listless lies the strong man there, silver-streaked his careless hair ; lips of love have left no trace on that hard and haughty face; and that forehead's knitted thought love's soft hand hath not unwrought. “yet,” she sighs, " he loves me well, more than these calm lips will tell. stooping to my lowly state, he hath made me rich and great, and i bless him, though he be hard and stern to all save me !" ring and bracelet all are gone, and that ice-cold hand withdrawn; but she hears a murmur low, full of sweetness, full of woe, half a sigh and half a moan : fear not ! give the dead her own!” ah!the dead wife's voice she knows ! that cold hand whose pressure froze, once in warmest life had borne gem and band her own hath worn. · wake thee! wake thee !” lo, his eyes open with a dull surprise. 66 in his arms the strong man folds her, closer to his breast he holds her ; trembling limbs his own are meeting, and he feels her heart's quick beating : nay, my dearest, why this fear?” hush!" she saith, "ibe dead is here!" 66 66 while she speaketh, falls the light (er her fingers small and white ; gold and gem, and costly ring back the timid lustre fling, love's selectest gifts, and rare, his proud hand had fastened there. gratefully she marks the glow from those tapering lines of snow ; fondly o'er the sleeper bending, his black hair with golden blending, in her soft and light caress, (cheek and lip together press. ha! — that start of horror! why that will stare and wilder cry, full of terror, full of pain ? is there muness in her brain ? hark! that gasping, hoarse and low, "spare me, — spare me, let me go ! " god have mercy! icy cold spectral hand, her own enfold, drawing silently from them “nay, a dream, — an idle dream." but before the lamp's pale gleam tremblingly her hand she raises. there no more the diamond blazes, clasp of pearl, or ring of gold, " ah!” she sighis, “ her hand was cold ! " broken words of cheer he saith, but his dark lip quivereth, and as o’er the past he thinketh, from his young wife's arms he shrinketh; can those soft arms round him lie, l'nderneath his dead wife's eye ? she her fair young head can rest soothed and childlike on his breast, and in trustful innocence draw new strength and courage thence ; lle, the proud man, feels within but the cowardice of sin ! she can murmur in her thought simple prayers her mother taught, and his blessed angels call, whose great love is over all ; he, alone, in praverless pride, meets the dark past at her side! one, who living shrank with dread from his look, or word, or tread, the bridal of pennacook 23 l'nto whom her early grave was as freedom to the slave, moves him at this midnight hour, with the dead's unconscious power ! ah, the dead, the unforgot ! from their solemn homes of thought, where the cypress shadows blend darkly over foe and friend, or in love or sad rebuke, back upon the living look. and the tenderest ones and weakest, who their wrongs have borne the meekest, lifting from those dark, still places, sweet and sad-remembered faces, o'er the guilty hearts behind an unwitting triumph find. of the bright waters. we had checked our steeds, silent with wonder, where the mountain wall is piled to heaven ; and, through the narrow rift of the vast rocks, against whose rugged feet beats the mad torrent with perpetual roar, where noonday is as twilight, and the wind comes burdened with the everlasting moan of forests and of far-off waterfalls, we had looked upward where the summer sky, tasselled with clouds light-woven by the sun, sprung its blue arch above the abutting crags o'er-roofing the vast portal of the land beyond the wall of mountains. we had passed the high source of the saco; and bewildered in the dwarf spruce-belts of the crystal hills, had heard above us, like a voice in the cloud, the horn of fabyan sounding ; and atop of old agioochook had seen the mountains piled to the northward, shagged with wood, and thick as meadow mole-hills, the far sea of casco, a white gleam on the horizon of the east ; fair lakes, embosomed in the woods and the bridal of pennacook winne purkit, otherwise called george, sachem of saugus, married a daughter of passaconaway, the great pennacook chieftain, in 1662. the wedding took place at pennacook (now concord, n. h.), and the ceremonies closed with a great feast. according to the usages of the chi-fs. passaconaway ordered a select number of his men to accompany the newly married couple to the dwelling of the husband, where in turn there was another great feast. some time after, the wife of winnepurkit expressing a desire to visit her father's house was permitted to go, accompanied by a brave escort of her husband's chief men. but when she wished to return, her father sent a messenger to saugus, informing her husband, and asking him to come and take her away. he returned for answer that he had escorted his wife to her father's house in a style that became a chief, and that now if she wished to return, her father must send her back, in the same way. this passaconaway refused to do, and it is said that here terminated the connectim of his daughter with the saugus chief. vide morton's new canaan. hills ; moosehillock’s mountain range, and kearsarge lifting his granite forehead to the sun ! we had been wandering for many days through the rough northern country. we had seen the sunset, with its bars of purple cloud, like a new heaven, shine upward from the lake of winnepiseogee ; and had felt the sunrise breezes, midst the leafy isles which stoop their summer beauty to the lips and we had rested underneath the oaks shadowing the bank, whose grassy spires are shaken by the perpetual beating of the falls of the wild ammonoosuc. we had tracked the winding pemigewasset, overhung by beechen shadows, whitening down its rocks, or lazily gliding through its intervals, from waving rye-fields sending up the gleam of sunlit waters. we had seen the moon rising behind umbagog's eastern pines, like a great indian camp-fire ; and its beams а 24 narrative and legendary poems streams green islands, at midnight spanning with a bridge of and lifts her half-formed flower-bell on its silver stem, the merrimac by l'ncanoonuc's falls. poisoning our seaside atmosphere. there were five souls of us whom travel's it chance chance that as we turned upon our homeward had thrown together in these wild north way, hills : a drear northeastern storm came howling a city lawyer, for a month escaping up from his dull office, where the weary eye the valley of the saco ; and that girl saw only hot brick walls and close thronged who had stood with us upon mount waste streets ; ington, briefless as yet, but with an eye to see her brown locks ruffled by the wind which life's sunniest side, and with a heart to whirled take in gusts around its sharp, cold pinnacle, its chances all as godsends ; and his brother, who had joined our gay trout-tishing in the pale from long pulpit studies, yet retaining the warmth and freshness of a genial heart, which lave that giant's feet; whose laugh whose mirror of the beautiful and true, was heard in man and nature, was as yet undimmed like a bird's carol on the sunrise breeze by dust of theologic strife, or breath which swelled our sail amidst the lake's of seet, or cobwebs of scholastic lore ; like a clear crystal calm of water, taking shrank from its harsh, chill breath, and the hue and image of o'erleaning towers, visibly drooped sweet human faces, white clouds of the like a flower in the frost. so, in that noon, quiet inn slant starlight glimpses through the dewy which looks from conway on the mounleares, tains piled and tenderest moonrise. 't was, in truth, heavily against the horizon of the north, a study, like summer thunder-clouds, we made our to mark his spirit, alternating between home : a decent and professional gravity and while the mist hung over dripping and an irreverent mirthfulness, which often hills, langhed in the face of his divinity, and the cold wind-driven rain-drops all plucked off the sacred ephod, quite unday long shrined beat their sad music upon roof and pane, the oracle, and for the pattern priest we strove to cheer our gentle invalid. left us the man. a shrewd, sagacious merchant, the lawyer in the pauses of the storm to whom the soiled sheet found in crawwent angling down the saco, and, returning, ford's inn, recounted his adventures and mishaps ; giving the latest news of city stocks gave us the history of his scaly clients, and sales of cotton, had a deeper meaning ! mingling with ludicrous yet apt citations than the great presence of the awful of barbarous law latin, passages mountains from izaak walton's angler, sweet and glorified by the sunset ; and his daughter, fresh a delicate flower on whom had blown tooas the flower-skirted streams of staffordlong shire, those evil winds, which, sweeping from : where, under aged trees, the southwest the ice wind and winnowing the fogs of labrador, of soft june mornings fanned the thin, shed their cold blight round massachusetts white hair bar, of the sage fisher. and, if truth be told, with the same breath which stirs spring's ! our youthful candidate furrouk his seropening leaves mous, the bridal of pennacook 25 i. the merrimac his commentaries, articles and creeds, that our broad land, our sea-like lakes for the fair page of human loveliness, and mountains the missal of young hearts, whose sacred piled to the clouds, our rivers overhung text by forests which have known no other is music, its illumining, sweet smiles. change he sang the songs she loved ; and in his for ages than the budding and the fall low, of leaves, our valleys lovelier than those deep, earnest voice, recited many a page which the old poets sang of, — should but of poetry, the holiest, tenderest lines figure of the sad bard of olney, the sweet songs, on the apocryphal chart of speculation simple and beautiful as truth and nature, as pastures, wood-lots, mill-sites, with the of him whose whitened locks on rydal privileges, mount rights, and appurtenances, which make up åre lifted yet by morning breezes blowing a yankee paradise, unsung, unknown, from the green hills, immortal in his lays. to beautiful tradition ; even their names, and for myself, obedient to her wish, whose melody yet lingers like the last i searched our landlord's proffered library : vibration of the red man's requiem, a well-thumbed bunyan, with its nice exchanged for syllables significant, wood pictures of cotton-mill and rail-car, will look kindly of scaly fiends and angels not unlike them; upon this effort to call up the ghost watts unmelodious psalms ; astrology's of our dim past, and listen with pleased ear last home, a musty pile of almanacs, to the responses of the questioned shade. and an old chronicle of border wars and indian history. and, as i read a story of the marriage of the chief of saugus to the dusky weetamoo, daughter of passaconaway, who dwelt o child of that white-crested mountain in the old time upon the merrimac, whose springs our fair one, in the playful exercise gush forth in the shade of the cliff-eagle's of her prerogative, — the right divine wings, of youth and beauty, — bade us versify down whose slopes to the lowlands thy the legend, and with ready pencil sketched wild waters shine, its plan and outlines, laughingly assigning leaping gray walls of rock, flashing to each his part, and barring our excuses through the dwarf pine ; with absolute will. so, like the cavaliers whose voices still are heard in the romance from that cloud-curtained cradle so cold of silver-tongued boccaccio, on the banks and so lone, of arno, with soft tales of love beguiling from the arms of that wintry-locked mother the ear of languid beauty, plague-exiled of stone, from stately florence, we rehearsed our by hills hung with forests, through vales rhymes wide and free, to their fair auditor, and shared by turns thy mountain born brightness glanced her kind approval and her playful cendown to the sea ! no bridge arched thy waters save that it may be that these fragments owe alone where the trees to the fair setting of their circumstretched their long arms above thee and stances, kissed in the breeze : the associations of time, scene, and audino sound save the lapse of the waves on ence, thy shores, their place amid the pictures which fill up the plunging of otters, the light dip of oars. the chambers of my memory. yet i trust that some, who sigh, while wandering in green-tufted, oak-shaded, by amoskeag's , thought, fall pilgrims of romance o'er the olden world, thy twin uncanoonucs rose stately and tall, sure. 26 narrative and legendary poems thy nashua meadows lay green and unshorn, and the hills of pentucket were tasselled with corn. but thy pennacook valley was fairer than these, and greener its grasses and taller its trees, ere the sound of an axe in the forest had rung, or the mower his scythe in the meadows sadly and full of reverence let us cast a glance upon tradition's shadowy ground, led by the few pale lights which, glimmering round that dim, strange land of eld, seem dying fast; and that which history gives not to the eye, the faded coloring of time's tapestry, let fancy, with her dream-dipped brush, supply. roof of bark and walls of pine, through whose chinks the sunbeams shine, tracing many a golden line on the ample hoor within ; where, upon that earth-floor stark, lay the gaudy mats of bark, with the bear's hide, rongh and dark, and the red-deer's skin. had swung: in their sheltered repose looking out from the wood the bark-builded wigwams of pennacook stood ; there glided the corn-dance, the counciltire shone, and against the red war-post the hatchet was thrown. there the old smoked in silence their pipes, and the young to the pike and the white-pereh their baited lines flung ; there the boy shaped his arrows, and there the shy maid wove her many-hued baskets and bright wampum braid. () stream of the mountains ! if answer of thine could rise from thy waters to question of mine, methinks through the din of thy thronged banks a moan of sorrow would swell for the days which window-tracery, small and slight, woven of the willow white, lent a dimly checkered light ; and the night-stars glimmered down, where the lodge-tire's heavy smoke, slowly through an opening broke, in the low roof, ribbed with oak, sheathed with hemlock brown. 3 have gone. not for thee the dull jar of the loom and the wheel, the gliding of shuttles, the ringing of steel ; but that old voice of waters, of bird and of breeze, the dip of the wild-fowl, the rustling of trees! gloomed behind the changeless shade by the solemn pine-wood made ; through the rugged palisade, in the open foreground planted, glimpses came of rowers rowing, stir of leaves and wild-flowers blowing, steel-like gleanis of water tlowing, in the sunlight slanted. here the mighty bashaba keld his long-unquestioned sway, from the white hills, far away, to the great sea's sounding shore ; chief of chiefs, his regal word all the river sachems heard, at his call the war-lance stirred, or was still once more. there his spoils of chase and war, jaw of wolf and black bear's paw, panther's skin and eagle's claw, lay beside his are and bow ; and, adown the roof-pole hung, loosely on a snake-skin strung, ii. the bashaba lift we the twilight curtains of the past, and, turning from familiar sight and sound, the bridal of pennacook 27 in the smoke his scalp-locks swung grimly to and fro. nightly down the river going, swifter was the hunter's rowing, when he saw that lodge-fire glowing o'er the waters still and red ; and the squaw's darkeye burned brighter, and she drew her blanket tighter, as, with quicker step and lighter, from that door she fled. as upon a marble floor, moves the strong man still. still, to such, life's elements with their sterner laws dispense, and the chain of consequence broken in their pathway lies ; time and change their vassals making, flowers from icy pillows waking, tresses of the sunrise shaking over midnight skies. for that chief had magic skill, and a panisee's dark will, over powers of good and ill, powers which bless and powers which ban ; wizard lord of pennacook, chiefs upon their war-path shook, when they met the steady look of that wise dark man. still, to th' earnest soul, the sun rests on towered gibeon, and the moon of ajalon lights the battle-grounds of life ; to his aid the strong reverses hidden powers and giant forces, and the high stars, in their courses, mingle in his strife ! iii. the daughter tales of him the gray squaw told, when the winter night-wind cold pierced her blanket's thickest fold, and her fire burned low and small, till the very child abed, drew its bear-skin over head, shrinking from the pale lights shed on the trembling wall. all the subtle spirits hiding under earth or wave, abiding in the caverned rock, or riding misty clouds or morning breeze ; every dark intelligence, secret soul, and influence of all things which outward sense feels, or hears, or sees, the soot-black brows of men, the yell of women thronging round the bed, the tinkling charm of ring and shell, the powah whispering o'er the dead ! all these the sachem's home had known, when, on her journey long and wild to the dim world of souls, alone, in her young beauty passed the mother of his child. three bow-shots from the sachen's dwelling they laid her in the walnut shade, where a green hillock gently swelling her fitting mound of burial made. there trailed the vine in summer hours, the tree-perched squirrel dropped his shell, on velvet moss and pale-hued flowers, woven with leaf and spray, the softened sunshine fell ! these the wizard's skill confessed, at his bidding banned or blessed, stormful woke or lulled to rest wind and cloud, and fire and flood; burned for him the drifted snow, bade through ice fresh lilies blow, and the leaves of summer grow over winter's wood ! not untrue that tale of old ! now, as then, the wise and bold all the powers of nature hold subject to their kingly will ; from the wondering crowds ashore, treading life's wild waters o'er, the indian's heart is hard and cold, it closes darkly o'er its care, and formed in nature's sternest mould, is slow to feel, and strong to bear. the war-paint on the sachem's face, unwet with tears, shone fierce and red, and still, in battle or in chase, dry leaf and snow-rime crisped beneath his foremost tread. 28 narrative and legendary poems 0 yet when her name was heard no inore, the outlines of divinest grace ; and when the robe her mother gave, unknown the fine soul's keen unrest, and small, light moccasin she wore, which sees, adınires, yet yearns alway; had slowly wasted on her grave, too closely on her mother's breast unmarked of him the dark maids sped to note her smiles of love the child of natheir sunset dance and moonlit play ; ture lay! no other shared bis lonely bed, no other fair young head upon his bosom it is enough for such to be lay. of common, natural things a part, to feel, with bird and stream and tree, a lone, stern man. yet, as sometimes the pulses of the same great heart; the tempest-sinitten tree receives but we, from nature long exiled, from one small root the sap which climbs in our cold homes of art and thought its topmost spray and crowning leaves, grieve like the stranger-tended child, so from his child the sachem drew which seeks its mother's arms, and sees a life of love and hope, and felt but feels them not. his cold and rugged nature through the softness and the warmth of her young the garden rose may richly bloom being melt. in cultured soil and genial air, to cloud the light of fashion's room a laugh which in the woodland rang or droop in beauty's midnight hair ; bemocking april's gladdest bird, — in lonelier grace, to sun and dew a light and graceful form which sprang the sweetbrier on the hillside shows to meet him when his step was its single leaf and fainter hue, heard, l'ntrained and wildly free, yet still a sister eyes by his lodge-fire flashing dark, rose ! smail fingers stringing beal and shell or weaving mats of bright-hued bark, – thus o'er the heart of weetamoo with these the household-god had graced their mingling shades of joy and ill his wigwam well. the instincts of her nature threw ; the savage was a woman still. child of the forest! strong and free, midst outlines dim of maiden schemes, slight-robed, with loosely flowing hair, heart-colored prophecies of life, she swam the lake or climbed the tree, rose on the ground of her young dreams or struck the flying bird in air. the light of a new home, the lover and the o'er the heaped drifts of winter's moon wife. her snow-shoes tracked the hunter's way ; and dazzling in the summer noon iv. the wedding the blare of her light oar threw off its shower of spray! cool and dark fell the autumn night, but the bashaba's wigwam glowed with l'nknown to her the rigid rule, light, the dull restraint, the chiding frown, for down from its roof, by green withes the weary torture of the school, hung, the taming of wild nature down. flaring and smoking the pine-knots swung. hler only lore', the legends told around the hunter's tire at night ; and along the river great wood-fires stars rose and set, and seasons rolled, shot into the night their long, red spires, flowers bloomed and snow-tlakes fell, unshowing behind the tall, dark wood, questioned in her sight. flashing before on the sweeping tiood. unknown to her the subtle skill in the changeful wind, with shimmer and with which the artist-eye can trace shade, in rock and tree and lake and bill now high, now low, that firelight played, the bridal of pennacook 29 on tree-leaves wet with evening dews, and, drawn from that great stone vase on gliding water and still canoes. which stands in the river scooped by a spirit's hands, the trapper that night on turee's brook, garnished with spoons of shell and horn, and the weary fisher on contoocook, stood the birchen dishes of smoking corn. saw over the marshes, and through the pine, and down on the river, the dance-lights thus bird of the air and beast of the field, shine. all which the woods and the waters yield, furnished in that olden day for the saugus sachem had come to woo the bridal feast of the bashaba. the bashaba's daughter weetamoo, and laid at her father's feet that night and merrily when that feast was done his softest furs and wampum white. on the fire-lit green the dance begun, with squaws' shrill stave, and deeper hum from the crystal hills to the far southeast of old men beating the indian drum. the river sagamores came to the feast ; and chiefs whose homes the sea-winds shook painted and plumed, with scalp-locks flowsat down on the mats of pennacook. ing, and red arms tossing and black eyes glowthey came from sunapee's shore of rock, ing, from the snowy sources of snooganock, now in the light and now in the shade and from rough coös whose thick woods around the fires the dancers played. shake their pine-cones in umbagog lake. the step was quicker, the song more shrill, and the beat of the small drums louder still from ammonoosuc's mountain pass, whenever within the circle drew wild as bis home, came chepewass ; the saugus sachem and weetamoo. and the keenomps of the hills which throw their shade on the smile of manito. the moons of forty winters had shed their snow upon that chieftain's head, with pipes of peace and bows unstrung, and toil and care and battle's chance glowing with paint came old and young, had seamed his hard, dark countenance. in wampum and furs and feathers arrayed, to the dance and feast the bashaba made. a fawn beside the bison grim,why turns the bride's fond eye on him, bird of the air and beast of the field, in whose cold look is naught beside all which the woods and the waters yield, the triumph of a sullen pride ? on dishes of birch and hemlock piled, garnished and graced that banquet wild. ask why the graceful grape entwines the rough oak with her arm of vines ; steaks of the brown bear fat and large and why the gray rock's rugged cheek from the rocky slopes of the kearsarge ; the soft lips of the mosses seek : delicate trout from babboosuck brook, ind salmon speared in the contoocook ; why, with wise instinct, nature seems to harmonize her wide extremes, squirrels which fed where nuts fell thick linking the stronger with the weak, in the gravelly bed of the otternic ; the haughty with the soft and meek ! and small wild-hens in reed-snares caught from the banks of sondagardee brought ; v. the new home pike and perch from the suncook taken, nuts from the trees of the black hills a wild and broken landscape, spiked with shaken, firs, cranberries picked in the squamscot bog, roughening the bleak horizon's northern and grapes from the vines of piscataquog : edge ; 30 narrative and legendary poems lock spurs show, steep, cavernous hillsides, where black hemno warmth of heart, no passionate burst of feeling and sharp, gray splinters of the windrepaid her welcoming smile and parting swept ledge kiss, pierced the thin-glazed ice, or bristling rose, no fond and playful dalliance half conwhere the cold rim of the sky sunk down cealing, upon the snows. under the guise of mirth, its tenderness ; but, in their stead, the warrior's settled and eastward cold, wide marshes stretched pride, away, and vanity's pleased smile with homage dull, dreary flats without a bush or tree, satisfied. o'er-crossed by icy creeks, where twice a day enough for weetamoo, that she alone gurgled the waters of the moon-struck sat on his mat and slumbered at his side ; sea ; that he whose fame to her young ear had and faint with distance came the stifled flown roar, now looked upon her proudly as his the melancholy lapse of waves on that low bride ; shore. that he whose name the mobawk trembling heard no cheerful village with its mingling vouchsafed to her at times a kindly look smokes, or word. no laugh of children wrestling in the for she had learned the maxims of her no camp-tire blazing through the hillside race, oaks, which teach the woman to become a no fishers kneeling on the ice below; slave, yet midst all desolate things of sound and and feel herself the pardonless disgrace view, of love's fond weakness in the wise and through the long winter moons smiled brave, dark-eyed weetamoo. the scandal and the shame which they incur, her heart had found a home ; and freshly who give to woman all which man reall quires of her. its beautiful affections overgrew their rugged prop. as o'er some granite so passed the winter moons. the sun at wall soft vine-leaves open to the moistening broke link by link the frost chain of the dew rills, and warın bright sun, the love of that and the warm breathings of the southwest young wife passed found on a hard cold breast the dew and over the hoar rime of the sangus hills ; warmth of life. the gray and desolate marsh grew green once more, the steep, bleak hills, the melancholy and the bireb-tree's tremulous shade fell shore, round the sachem's door. the long, dead level of the marsh between, then from far pennacook swift runners a coloring of unreal beauty wore came, through the soft golden mist of young with gift and greeting for the sangus love seen. chief: for o'er those hills and from that dreary beseeching him in the great sachem's plain, nightly she welcomed home her hunter that, with the coming of the flower and chief again. leaf, last 0 name, the bridal of pennacook 31 sees the song of birds, the warm breeze and midst the cold dreary sea-watch, home's the rain, hearth-light young weetamoo might greet her lonely shines round the helmsman plunging sire again. through the night ; and still, with inward eye, the traveller and winnepurkit called his chiefs together, and a grave council in his wigwam met, in close, dark, stranger streets his native solemn and brief in words, considering trees. whether the rigid rules of forest etiquette the home-sick dreamer's brow is nightly permitted weetamoo once more to look fanned upon her father's face and green-banked by breezes whispering of his native land, pennacook. and on the stranger's dim and dying eye the soft, sweet pictures of his childhood with interludes of pipe-smoke and strong lie. water, the forest sages pondered, and at length joy then for weetamoo, to sit once more concluded in a body to escort her a child upon her father's wigwam floor ! cp to her father's home of pride and once more with her old fondness to beguile strength, from his cold eye the strange light of a impressing thus on pennacook a sense smile. of winnepurkit's power and regal consequence. the long, bright days of summer swiftly passed, so through old woods which aukeetamit's the dry leaves whirled in autumn's rising hand blast, a soft and many-shaded greenness lent, and evening cloud and whitening sunrise over high breezy hills, and meadow land rime yellow with flowers, the wild procession told of the coming of the winter-time. went, till, rolling down its wooded banks between, but vainly looked, the while, young weetaa broad, clear, mountain stream, the merrimac was seen. down the dark river for her chief's canoe ; no dusky messenger from saugus brought the hunter leaning on his bow undrawn, the grateful tidings which the young wife the fisher lounging on the pebbled shores, sought. squaws in the clearing dropping the seedcorn, at length a runner from her father sent, young children peering through the to winnepurkit's sea-cooled wigwam went; wigwam doors, • eagle of saugus, in the woods the dove saw with delight, surrounded by her train mourns for the shelter of thy wings of of painted saugus braves, their weetamoo love." again. but the dark chief of saugus turned aside in the grim anger of hard-hearted pride ; at pennacook “i bore her as became a chieftain's daughter, the hills are dearest which our childish up to her home beside the gliding water. feet have climbed the earliest ; and the streams “if now no more a mat for her is found most sweet of all which line her father's wigwam are ever those at which our young lips round, drank let pennacook call out his warrior train, stooped to their waters o'er the grassy and send her back with wampum gifts bank. again." moo vi. 32 narrative and legendary poems 66 66 the baftled runner turned upon his track, cold, crafty, proud of woman's weak disbearing the words of winnepurkit back. tress, dog of the marsh,” cried pennacook, her home-bound grief and pining loneli“ no more ness? shall child of mine sit on his wigwam floor. vii. the departure go, let him seek some meaner squaw to spread the wild march rains had fallen fast and the stolen bear-skin of his beggar's bed ; long son of a fish-hawk! let bim dig his clams the snowy mountains of the north among, for some vile daughter of the agawams, making each vale a watercourse, each hill bright with the cascade of some new-maule " or coward nipmucks ! may his scalp dry rill. black in mohawk smoke, before i send her back.” gnawed by the sunbeams, softened by the he shook his clenched hand towards the rain, ocean wave, ileaved underneath by the swollen current's while hoarse assent his listening council strain, gave. the ice-bridge yielded, and the merrimae bore the huge ruin crashing down its track. alas, poor bride ! can thy grim sire impart his iron hardness to thy woman's heart ? on that strong turbid water, a small boat or cold self-torturing pride like his atone guided by one weak hand was seen to float: for love denied and life's warın beauty evil the fate which loosed it from the shore, flown? too early voyager with too frail an oar! on autumn's gray and mournful grave the down the vexed centre of that rushing tide, the thick, huge ice blocks threatening hung its white wreaths ; with stifled voice either side, and low the foam-white rocks of amoskeag in view, the river crept, by one vast bridge o'erwith arrowy swiftness sped that light crossed, canoe. built by the hoar-locked artisan of frost. the trapper, moistening his moose's meat and many a moon in beauty newly born on the wet bank by l'ncanoonue's feet, pierced the red sunset with her silver horn, saw the swift boat flash down the troubled or, from the east, across her azure field stream ; rolled the wide brightness of her full-orbed slept he, or waked he ? was it truth or shield. dream? yet winnepurkit came not, — on the mat the straining eye bent fearfully before, of the scorned wife her dusky rival sat ; the small hand elenching on the useless oar. and he, the while, in western woods afar, the bead-wrought blanket trailing o'er the l’rged the long chase, or trod the path of waterile knew them all – woe for the sachem's daughter ! dry up thy tears, young daughter of a chief! sick and aweary of her lonely life, waste not on him the sacredness of grief ; , needless of peril, the still faithful wife be the fierce spirit of thy sire thine own, had left ber mother's grave, her father's ilis lips of scorning, and his heart of stone. door, to seek the wigwam of her chief once more. what heels the warrior of a bundred fights, the storm-worn watcher through long bunt down the white rapids like a sear leaf ing nights, whirled, snow wur. barclay of ury 33 on the sharp rocks and piled-up ices hurled, empty and broken, circled the canoe in the vexed pool belowbut where was weetamoo ? now low, now harsh, with sob-like pause and swell, on the high wind their voices rose and fell. nature's wild music, sounds of windswept trees, the scream of birds, the wailing of the breeze, the roar of waters, steady, deep, and strong, mingled and murmured in that farewell song. viii. song of indian women the dark eye has left us, the spring-bird has flown ; on the pathway of spirits she wanders alone. the song of the wood-dove has died on our shore : mat wonck kunna-monee! we hear it no more! barclay of ury o dark water spirit ! we cast on thy wave these furs which may never hang over her grave ; bear down to the lost one the robes that she wore : mat wonck kunna-monee! we see her no more! among the earliest converts to the doctrines of friends in scotland was barclay of ury, an old and distinguished soldier, who had fought under gustavus adolphus, in germany. as a quaker, he became the object of persecution and abuse at the hands of the magistrates and the populace. none bore the indignities of the mob with greater patience and nobleness of soul than this once proud gentlenian and soldier. one of his friends, on an occasion of uncommon rudeness, lamented that he should be treated so harshly in his old age who had been so honored before. “i find more satisfaction,” said barclay, “as well as honor, in being thus insulted for my religious principles, than when, a few years ago, it was usual for the magistrates, as i passed the city of aberdeen, to meet me on the road and conduct me to public entertainment in their hall, and then escort me out again, to gain my favor." of the strange land she walks in no powah has told : it may burn with the sunshine, or freeze with the cold. let us give to our lost one the robes that she wore : mat ronck kunna-monee! we see her no more ! the path she is treading shall soon be our own ; each gliding in shadow unseen and alone ! in vain shall we call on the souls gone before : jlal wonck kunna-monee! they hear us no more ! u'p the streets of aberdeen, by the kirk and college green, rode the laird of ury ; close behind him, close beside, foul of mouth and evil-eyed, pressed the mob in fury. o mighty sowanna ! thy gateways unfold, from thy wigwam of sunset lift curtains of gold ! take home the poor spirit whose journey is o'er : jat rronck kunna-monee! we see her no more! flouted him the drunken churl, jeered at him the serving-girl, prompt to please her master ; and the begging carlin, late fed and clothed at ury's gate, cursed him as he passed her. yet, with calm and stately mien, up the streets of aberdeen came he slowly riding ; and, to all he saw and heard, answering not with bitter word, turning not for chiding: so sang the children of the leaves beside the broad, dark river's coldly flowing tide ; 34 narrative and legendary poems came a troop with broadswords swinging, bits and bridles sharply ringing, loose and free and froward ; quoth the foremost, " ride him down ! push him ! prick him ! through the town drive the quaker coward !”. but from out the thickening crowd cried a sudden voice and loud : “ barclay! ho! a barclay !” and the old man at his side saw a comrade, battle tried, scarred and sunburned darkly ; who with ready weapon bare, fronting to the troopers there, cried aloud : “god save us, call ve coward him who stood ankle deep in lützen's blood, with the brave gustavus ?” “give me joy that in his nam i can bear, with patient frame, all these vain ones offer ; while for them he suffereth long, shall i answer wrong with wrong, scoffing with the scoffer ? “ happier i, with loss of all, hunted, outlawed, held in thrall, with few friends to greet ine, than when reeve and squire were seen, riding out from aberdeen, with bared heads to meet me. “ when each goodwife, o'er and o'er, blessed me as i passed her door ; and the snooded daughter, through her casement glancing down, smiled on him who bore renown froin red fields of slaughter. “llard to feel the stranger's scoff, hard the old friend's falling off, hard to learn forgiving ; but the lord his own rewards, and his love with theirs accords, warm and fresh and living. a “ nay, i do not need thy sword, comrade mine," said lry's lord ; ** put it up, i pray thee : passive to his holy will, trust i in my master still, even though he slay me. " pledges of thy love and faith, proved on many a field of death, not by me are needed." marvelled much that henchman bold, that his laird, so stout of old, now so meekly pleaded. “ woe's the day !” he sadly said, with a slowly shaking head, and a look of pity ; “ury's honest lord reviled, mock of knave and sport of child, in his own good city! "speak the word, and, master mine, as we charged on tilly's line, and his walloon lancers, smiting throngh their midst we 'll teach civil look and decent speech to these boyish prancers!” “ marvel not, mine ancient friend, like beginning, like the end," quoth the laird of l'ry ; "is the sinful servant more than his gracious lord who bore bonds and stripes in jewry ? “ through this dark and stormy night faith beholds a feeble light l'p the blackness streaking; knowing god's own time is best, in a patient hope i rest for the full day-breaking !" so the laird of u'ry said, turning slow his horse's head towards the tolbooth prison, where, through iron gates, he heard poor disciples of the word preach of christ arisen ! not in vain, confessor old, l'nto us the tale is told of thy day of trial ; every age on him who strays from its broad and beaten ways pours its seven-fold vial. happy he whose inward ear angel comforting can hear, o'er the rabble's laughter; and while hatred's fagots burn, glimpses through the smoke discern of the good hereafter, the angels of buena vista 35 seen knowing this, that never yet and i see the northern rifles gleaming down share of truth was vainly set the ranks of gray. in the world's wide fallow ; hark! that sudden blast of bugles ! there after hands shall sow the seed, the troop of minon wheels ; after hands from hill and mead there the northern horses thunder, with reap the harvests yellow. the cannon at their heels. thus, with somewhat of the seer, "jesu, pity ! how it thickens ! now retreat must the moral pioneer and now advance ! from the future borrow ; right against the blazing cannon shivers clothe the waste with dreams of grain, peubla's charging lance ! and, on midnight's sky of rain, down they go, the brave young riders ; paint the golden morrow! horse and foot together fall; like a ploughshare in the fallow, through the angels of buena vista them ploughs the northern ball." a letter writer from mexico during the nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling mexican war, when detailing some of the incifast and frightful on ! dents at the terrible fight of buena vista, speak, ximena, speak and tell us, who has mentioned that mexican women were lost, and who has won ? hovering near the field of death, for the pur“ alas! alas ! i know not ; friend and foe pose of giving aid and succor to the wounded. together fall, one poor woman was found surrounded by the o'er the dying rush the living : pray, my maimed and suffering of both armies, ministersisters, for them all ! ing to the wants of americans as well as mexicans with impartial tenderness. “ lo! the wind the smoke is lifting. speak and tell us, our ximena, looking blessed mother, save my brain ! north ward far away, i can see the wounded crawling slowly out o'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the mexfrom heaps of slain. now they stagger, blind and bleeding ; now who is losing? who is winning ? are they they fall , and strive to rise ; far or come they near ? hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither they die before our eyes ! rolls the storm we hear. “o my heart's love! ( my dear one ! lay “ down the hills of angostura still the storm thy poor head on my knee ; of battle rolls; dost thou know the lips that kiss thee ? blood is flowing, men are dying ; god have canst thou hear me ? canst thou mercy on their souls ! ” who is losing? who is winning ? « over o my husband, brave and gentle ! o my hill and over plain, bernal, look once more i see but smoke of cannon clouding through on the blessed cross before thee ! mercy ! the mountain rain.” mercy | all is o'er!” holy mother! keep our brothers ! look, dry thy tears, my poor ximena ; lay thy ximena, look once more. dear one down to rest ; " still i see the fearful whirlwind rolling let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross darkly as before, upon his breast; bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his foeman, foot and horse, funeral masses said ; like some wild and troubled torrent sweepto-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ing down its monntain course. ask thy aid. look forth once more, ximena! “ah ! the close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and smoke has rolled away ; young, a soldier lay, ican array, 64 see ? 36 narrative and legendary poems 2 torn with shot and pierced with lances, over weak and suffering brothers, with a bleeding slow his life away ; tender care they hung, but, as tenderly before him the lorn ximena and the dying foeman blessed them in a knelt, strange and northeru tongue. she saw the northern eagle shining on his pistol-belt. not wholly lost, ( father! is this evil world of ours ; with a stifled cry of horror straight she upward, through its blood and asbes, spring turned away her head ; afresh the eden flowers ; with a sad and bitter feeling looked she from its smoking hell of battle, love and back upon her dead ; pity send their prayer, but she heard the youth's low moaning, and and still thy white-winged angels hover his struggling breath of pain, dimly in our air ! and she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again. the legend of st. mark whispered low the dying soldier, pressed her hand and faintly smiled ; " this legend (to which my attention was was that pitying face his mother's ? did called by my friend charles sumner, is the she watch beside her child ? subject of a celebrated picture by tintoretta all his stranger words with meaning her of which mr. rogers possesses the original sketch. the slave lies on the ground, ami a woman's heart supplied ; with her kiss upon his forehead, “ mother!" crowd of spectators, who look on, animated by all the various emotions of sympachy, raut, murmured he, and died ! terror; a woman, in front, with a child in ber arms, has always been admired for the lifelike “ a bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who vivacity of her attitude and expression. the led thee forth, executioner holds up the broken implements, from some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weepst. mark, with a headlong movement, seeius to ing, lonely, in the north !” rush down from heaven in haste to save his spake the mournful mexic woman, as she worshipper. the dramatic grouping in this laid him with her dead, picture is wonderful; the coloring. in its gorand turned to soothe the living, and bind sketch. finer than in the picture." mrs. geous depth and harmony, is, in mr. rogers the wounds which bled. jamison's sacred and legendary .lrt, i. 1. look forth once more, ximena! “ like a the day is closing dark and cold, cloud before the wind with ronring blast and sleety showers; rolls the battle down the mountains, leavand through the dusk the lilacs wear ing blood and death behind ; the bloom of snow, instead of flowers. ah! they plead in vain for merey ; in the dust the wounded strive ; i turn me from the gloom without, hide your faces, holy angels! (thou to ponder o'er a tale of old; christ of god, forgive !” a legend of the age of faithi, by dreaming monk or abbess told. sink, 0 night, among thy mountains ! let the cool, gray shadows fall; on tintoretto's canvas lives dying brothers, tighting demons, drop thy that fancy of a loving heart, curtain over all ! in graceful lines and shapes of power, through the thiekening winter twilight, and hues immortal as his art. wide apart the battle rolled, in its sheath the sabre rested, and the canin provence (so the story runs) nou's lips grew cold. there lived a lord, to whom, as slave, a peasant-boy of tender years but the noble mexic women still their holy the chance of trade or conquest gave. task pursued, through that long, dark night of sorrow, forth-looking from the castle tower, worn and faint and lacking food. beyond the hills with almonds dark, kathleen 37 the straining eye could scarce discern the chapel of the good st. mark. and there, when bitter word or fare the service of the youth repaid, by stealth, before that holy shrine, for grace to bear his wrong, he prayed. the steed stamped at the castle gate, the boar-hunt sounded on the hill ; why staved the baron from the chase, with looks so stern, and words so ill ? o weary ones ! ye may not see your helpers in their downward flight; nor hear the sound of silver wings slow beating through the hush of night! but not the less gray dothan shone, with sunbright watchers bending low, that fear's dim eye belield alone the spear-heads of the syrian foe. there are, who, like the seer of old, can see the helpers god has sent, and how life's rugged mountain-side is white with many an angel tent ! they hear the heralds whom our lord sends down his pathway to prepare ; and light, from others hidden, shines on their high place of faith and prayer. let such, for earth's despairing ones, hopeless, yet longing to be free, breathe once again the prophet's prayer : lord, ope their eyes, that they may "go, bind yon slave! and let him learn, by scath of fire and strain of cord, how ill they speed who give dead saints the homage due their living lord !” 66 see !" kathleen they bound him on the fearful rack, when, through the dungeon's vaulted dark, he saw the light of shining robes, and knew the face of good st. mark. then sank the iron rack apart, the cords released their cruel clasp, the pincers, with their teeth of fire, fell broken from the torturer's grasp. and lo! before the youth and saint, barred door and wall of stone gave way; and np from bondage and the night they passed to freedom and the day ! o dreaming monk ! thy tale is true ; o painter! true thy pencil's art ; in tones of hope and prophecy, ye whisper to my listening heart ! unheard no burdened heart's appeal moans up to god's inclining ear ; cnheeded by his tender eye, falls to the earth no sufferer's tear. for still the lord alone is god! the pomp and power of tyrant man are scattered at his lightest breath, like chaff before the winnower's fan. this ballad was orig bublished in my prose work, leaves from margaret smith's journal, as the song of a wandering milesian schoolmaster. in the seventeenth century, slavery in the new world was by no means confined to the natives of africa. political offenders and criminals were transported by the british government to the plantations of barbadoes and virginia, where they were sold like cattle in the market. kidnapping of free and innocent white persons was practised to a considerable extent in the seaports of the united kingdom. o norah, lay your basket down, and rest your weary hand, and come and hear me sing a song of our old ireland. there was a lord of galaway, a mighty lord was he ; and he did wed a second wife, a maid of low degree. xot always shall the slave uplift his heavy hands to heaven in vain. god's angel, like the good st. mark, comnes shining down to break his chain ! but he was old, and she was young, and so, in evil spite, she baked the black bread for his kin, and fed her own with white. 38 narrative and legendary poems she whipped the maids and starved the they crept before the dead-vault door, kern, and there they all stood still! and drove away the poor ; “ah, woe is me!” the old lord said, “get up, old man ! the wake-lights shine!" " i rue my bargain sore !” “ ye murthering witch," quoth he, “so i'm rid of your tongue, i little care this lord he had a daughter fair, if they shine for you or me." beloved of old and young, and nightly round the shealing-fires “oh, whoso brings my daughter back, of her the gleeman sung. my gold and land shall have !" oh, then spake up his handsome page, “ as sweet and good is young kathleen “ no gold nor land i crave ! as eve before her fail ;" so sang the harper at the fair, “ but give to me your daughter dear, so harped he in the hall. give sweet kathleen to ine, be she on sea or be she on land, “oh, come to me, my daughter dear! i 'll bring her back to thee." come sit upon my knee, for looking in your face, kathleen, “my daughter is a lady born, your mother's own i see !" and you of low degree, but she shall be your bride the day he smoothed and smoothed her hair you bring her back to me." away, iie kissed her forehead fair ; he sailed east, he sailed west, * it is my darling mary's brow, and far and long sailed be, it is my darling's hair!" l'ntil he came to boston town, across the great salt sea. oh, then spake up the angry dame, “get up, get up," quoth she, “oh, have ye seen the young kathleen, “i'll sell ye over ireland, the flower of ireland ? i 'll sell ye o'er the sea !” ye 'll know her by her eyes so blue, and by her snow-white hand !" she clipped her glossy hair away, that none her rank might know, ont spake an ancient man, “ i know she took away her gown of silk, the maiden whom ye mean ; and gave her one of tow, i bought her of a limerick man, and she is called kathleen. and sent her down to limerick town and to a seaman sold “xo skill bath she in honsehold work, this daughter of an irish lord ller hands are soft and white, for ten good pounds in gold. yet well by loving looks and ways she doth her cost requite." the lord he smote upon his breast, and tore his beard so gray; so up they walked through boston town, but he was old, and she was young, and met a maiden fair, and so she had her way. a little basket on her arın so snowy-white and bare. sure that same night the banshee howled to fright the evil dame, “come hither, child, and sar hast thou and fairy folks, who loved kathleen, this young man ever seen?” with funeral torches came. they wept within each other's arms, the page and young kathleen. she watched them glancing through the trees, “oh give to me this darling child, and glimmering down the hill; and take my purse of gold." the well of loch maree 39 26 а “ nay, not by me,” her master said, “shall sweet kathleen be sold. the shadows of a humbled will and contrite heart are o'er it; go read its legend, “trust in god,” on faith's white stones before it. the chapel of the hermits “we loved her in the place of one the lord hath early ta'en ; but, since her heart's in ireland, we give her back again !” oh, for that same the saints in heaven for his poor soul shall pray, and mary mother wash with tears his heresies away. sure now they dwell in ireland; as you go up claremore ye 'll see their castle looking down the pleasant galway shore. and the old lord's wife is dead and gone, and a happy man is he, for he sits beside his own kathleen, with her darling on his knee. the well of loch maree 6 pennant, in his voyage to the flebrides, describes the holy well of loch maree, the waters of which were supposed to effect a miraculous eure of melancholy, trouble, and insanity. his old age. calm on the breast of loch maree a little isle reposes ; a shadow woven of the oak and willow o'er it closes. within, a druid's mound is seen, set round with stony warders ; a fountain, guishing through the turf, flows o'er its grassy borders. the incident upon which this poem is based is related in a note to bernardin henri saint pierre's etudes de la nature. “we arrived at the habitation of the hermits a little before they sat down to their table, and while they were still at church. j. j. rousseau proposed to me to offer up our devotions. the hermits were reciting the litanies of providence, which are remarkably beautiful. after we had addressed our prayers to god, and the hermits were proceeding to the refectory, rousseau said to me, with his heart overflowing, “at this moment i experience what is said in the gospel: where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am i in the midst of them. there is here a feeling of peace and happiness which penetrates the soul.' í said, if fénelon had lived, you would have been a catholic.' he exclaimed, with tears in his eyes, 'oh, if fénelon were alive, i would struggle to get into his service, even as a lackey!” ” in my sketch of saint pierre, it will be seen that i have somewhat antedated the period of at that time he was not probably more than fifty. in describing him, i have by no means exaggerated his own history of his mental condition at the period of the story. in the fragmentary sequel to his studies of nature, he thus speaks of himself: “ the ingratitude of those of whom i had deserved kindness, unexpected family misfortunes, the total loss of my small patrimony through enterprises solely undertaken for the benefit of my country, the debts under which i lay oppressed, the blasting of all my hopes, – these combined calamities made dreadful inroads upon my health and reason. .. i found it impossible to continue in a room where there was company, especially if the doors were shut. i could not even cross an alley in a public garden, if several persons had got together in it. when alone, my malady subsided. i felt myself likewise at ease in places where i saw children only. at the sight of any one walking up to the place where i was, i felt my whole frame agitated, and retired. i often said to myself, “my sole study has been to merit well of mankind; why do i fear them ?'” he attributes his improved health of mind and body to the counsels of his friend, j. j. rousseau. “i renounced," says he," my books. and whoso bathes therein his brow, with care or madness burning, feels once again bis healthful thought and sense of peace returning. o restless heart and fevered brain, unquiet and unstable, that holy well of loch maree is more than idle fable ! life's changes vex, its discords stun, its glaring sunshine blindeth, and blest is he who on his way that fount of healing findeth! 40 narrative and legendary poems a i threw my eyes upon the works of nature, o light and air of palestine, whicl spake to all my senses a langnage which impregnate with his life divine ! neither time nor nations have it in their power to alter. thenceforth my histories and my “oh, bear me thither! let me look journals were the herbage of the fields and on siloa's pool, and kedron's brook ; meadows. my thoughts did not go forth painkneel at gethsemane, and by fully after them, as in the case of human systems; but their thoughts, under a thousand gennesaret walk, before i die ! engaging forms, quietly sought me. in these i studid, without effort, the laws of that l'ni. “methinks this cold and northern night versal wisdom which had surrounded me from would melt before that orient light ; the cradle, but on which heretofore i had beand, wet by hermon's dew and rain, stowed little attention." my childhood's faith revive again!” speaking of rousseau, he says: “i derived inexpressible satisfaction from his society. so spake my friend, one autumn day, what i prized still more than his genius was where the still river slid away his probity. he was one of the few literary characters, tried in the furnace of affliction, to beneath us, and above the brown whom you could, with perfect security, contide red curtains of the woods shut down. your most secret thoughts. ... even when he deviated, and became the victim of himself or then said i, for i could not brook of others, he could forget his own misery in the mute appealing of his look,devotion to the welfare of mankind. he was * i too am weak, and faith is small, uniformly the advocate of the niserable. and blindness happeneth unto all. there might be inscribed on his tomb these atfeeting words from that book of which he “ yet sometimes glimpses on my sight, carried always about him some select passages, during the last years of his life: ílis sins, through present wrong, the eternal right; which are many, are forgiven, for he loved and, step by step, since time began, much." i see the steady gain of man ; “i do believe, and yet, in grief, * that all of good the past hath had i pray for help to unbelief; remains to make our own time glad, for needful strength aside to lay our common daily life divine, the daily cumberings of my way. and every land a palestine. “i'm sick at heart of craft and cant, “ thou weariest of thy present state ; sick of the crazed enthusiast's rant, what gain to thee time's holiest date? profession's smooth hypocrisies, the doubter now perchance had been and creeds of iron, and lives of ease. .is high priest or as pilate then! “i ponder o'er the sacred word, “what thought chorazin's scribes? what i read the record of our lord ; faith and, weak and troubled, envy them in him bad nain and nazareth ? who touched llis seamless garment's of the few followers whom he led hein ; que sold ilim, all forsook and hed. “who saw the tears of love lle wept “() friend! we need nor rock nor sand, above the grave where lazarus slept ; vor storied stream of morning-land ; and heard, amidst the shadows dim the heavens are glassed in vierrimac, — of olivet, his evening hyran. what more could jordan rinder back? “ hlow blessed the swineherd's low estate, “we lack but open eve and ear the beggar crouching at the gate, to find the orient's marvels here ; the leper loathils and abhorred, the still small voice in autumn's hush, whose eyes of thesh bebeld the lord ! yon maple wood the burning bush. * () sacred soil ilis sandals pressed ! « for still the new transcends the old, sweet fountains of this noonday rest! in signs and tokens manifold ; the chapel of the hermits 41 slaves rise up men; the olive waves, with roots deep set in battle graves ! and, mateless, childless, envied more the peasant's welcome from his door by smiling eyes at eventide, than kingly gifts or lettered pride. until, in place of wife and child, all-pitying nature on him smiled, and gave to him the golden keys to all her inmost sanctities. " through the harsh noises of our day a low, sweet prelude finds its way ; through clouds of doubt, and creeds of fear, a light is breaking, calm and clear. “that song of love, now low and far, erelong shall swell from star to star ! that light, the breaking day, which tips the golden-spired apocalypse !” then, when my good friend shook his head, and, sighing, sadly smiled, i said : · thou mind'st me of a story told in rare bernardin's leaves of gold." mild druid of her wood-paths dim ! she laid her great heart bare to him, its loves and sweet accords ; – he saw the beauty of her perfect law. the language of her signs he knew, what notes her cloudy clarion blew ; the rhythm of autumn's forest dyes, the hymn of sunset's painted skies. and while the slanted sunbeams wove the shadows of the frost-stained grove, and, picturing all, the river ran o'er cloud and wood, i thus began :and thus he seemed to hear the song which swept, of old, the stars along ; and to his eyes the earth once more its fresh and primal beauty wore. summer in mount valerien's chestnut wood the chapel of the hermits stood ; and thither, at the close of day, came two old pilgrims, worn and gray. one, whose impetuous youth defied the storms of baikal's wintry side, and milsed and dreamed where tropic day flamed o'er his lost virginia's bay. his simple tale of love and woe all hearts had melted, high or low ;a blissful pain, a sweet distress, immortal in its tenderness. who sought with him, from air, and field and wood, a balm for care, and bathed in light of sunset skies his tortured nerves and weary eyes ? his fame on all the winds had flown ; his words had shaken crypt and throne ; like fire on camp and court and cell they dropped, and kindled as they fell. beneath the pomps of state, below the mitred juggler's masque and show, a prophecy, a vague hope, ran his burning thought from man to man. for peace or rest too well he saw the fraud of priests, the wrong of law, and felt how hard, between the two, their breath of pain the millions drew. a prophet-utterance, strong and wild, the weakness of an unweaned child, a sun-bright hope for human-kind, and self-despair, in him combined. yet, while above his charmëd page beat quick the young heart of his age, he walked amidst the crowd unknown, a sorrowing old man, strange and lone. a homeless, troubled age, pale setting of a weary day; too dull his ear for voice of praise, too sadly worn his brow for bays. pride, lust of power and glory, slept ; yet still his heart its young dream kept, and, wandering like the deluge-dove, still sought the resting-place of love. the gray he loathed the false, yet lived not true to half the glorious truths he knew ; the doubt, the discord, and the sin, he mourned without, he felt within. 42 narrative and legendary poems u'ntrod by him the path he showed, to them the green fields and the wood sweet pictures on his easel glowed lent something of their quietude, of simple faith, and loves of home, and golden-tinted sunset seemed and virtue's golden days to come. prophetical of all they dreamed. but weakness, shame, and folly made the hermits from their simple cares ti foil to all bis pen portrayed ; the bell was calling home to prayers, still, where his dreamy splendors shone, and, listening to its sound, the twain the shadow of himself was thrown. seemed lapped in childhood's trust again. lord, what is man, whose thought, at times, wide open stood the chapel door ; i'p to thy sevenfold brightness climbs, a sweet old music, swelling o'er while still his grosser instinet clings low prayerful murmurs, issued thence, – to earth, like other creeping things! the litanies of providence ! so rich in words, in acts so mean ; then rousseau spake : “where two or so high, so low; chance-swing between three the foulness of the penal pit in his name meet, he there will be !" and truth's clear sky, millennium-lit ! and then, in silence, on their knees they sank beneath the chestnut-trees. vain, pride of star-lent genius! — vain, quick faney and creative brain, as to the blind returning light, unblest by prayerful sacrifice, as daybreak to the arctic night, 1 bsurdly great, or weakly wise ! old faith revived ; the doubts of years dissolved in reverential tears. midst yearnings for a truer life, without were fears, within was strife; that gush of feeling overpast, and still his wayward act denied “ ah me!” bernartlin sighed at last, the perfect good for which he sighed. i would thy bitterest foes could see thy heart as it is seen of me! the love he sent forth void returned ; the fame that crowned him scorched and * no church of god hast thon denied ; burned, thou hast but spurned in scorn aside burning, yet cold and drear and lone, a bare and hollow counterfeit, a fire-mount in a frozen zone! profaning the pure name of it! like that the gray-haired sea-king passed, “with dry dead moss and marish weeds seen southward from his sleety mast, his fire the western herdsman feeds, about whose brows of changeless frost and greener from the ashen plain wreath of tlame the wild winds tossed. the sweet spring grasses rise again. far round the mournful beauty played “ vor thunder-peal nor mighty wind of lambent light and purple shade, disturb the solid sky behind ; lost on the fixed and dumb despair and through the cloud the red bolt rends of frozen earth and sea and air! the calm, still smile of ileaven descends ! a man apart, unknown, unloved “ thus through the world, like bolt and by those whose wrongs his soul had moved, blast, he bore the ban of church and state, and scourging fire, thy words have passed. the good man's fear, the bigot's hate ! clouds break, -the steadfast heavens remain ; forth from the city's noise and throng, weeds burn, – the ashes feed the grain ! its pomp and shame, its sin and wrong, the twain that summer day had strayed * but whoso strives with wrong may find to mount valerien's chestnut shade. its touch pollute, its darkness bliad; 66 66 the chapel of the hermits 43 and learn, as latent fraud is shown in others' faith, to doubt his own. “ he lived the truth which reconciled the strong man reason, faith, the child ; in him belief and act were one, the homilies of duty done ! ” • with dream and falsehood, simple trust and pious hope we tread in dust; lost the calm faith in goodness, lost the baptism of the pentecost ! so speaking, through the twilight gray the two old pilgrims went their way. what seeds of life that day were sown, the heavenly watchers knew alone. 66 alas!the blows for error meant too oft on truth itself are spent, as through the false and vile and base looks forth her sad, rebuking face. time passed, and autumn came to fold green summer in her brown and gold ; time passed, and winter's tears of snow dropped on the grave-mound of rousseau. * not ours the theban's charmëd life ; we come not scathless from the strife! the python's coil about us clings, the trampled hydra bites and stings ! « the tree remaineth where it fell, the pained on earth is pained in hell !” so priestcraft from its altars cursed the mournful doubts its falsehood nursed. * meanwhile, the sport of seeming chance, the plastic shapes of circumstance, what might have been we fondly guess, if earlier born, or tempted less. ah ! well of old the psalmist prayed, “ thy hand, not man's, on me be laid !” earth frowns below, heaven weeps above, and man is hate, but god is love! " and thou, in these wild, troubled days, misjudged alike in blame and praise, cnsought and undeserved the same the skeptic's praise, the bigot's blame ; "i cannot doubt, if thou hadst been among the highly favored men who walked on earth with fénelon, he would have owned thee as his son ; no hermits now the wanderer sees, nor chapel with its chestnut-trees; a morning dream, a tale that's told, the wave of change o'er all has rolled. yet lives the lesson of that day ; and from its twilight cool and gray comes up a low, sad whisper, “make the truth thive own, for truth's own sake. 5. and, bright with wings of cherubim visibly waving over him, seen through his life, the church had seemned all that its old confessors dreamed.” “why wait to see in thy brief span its perfect flower and fruit in man? no saintly touch can save ; no balm of healing hath the martyr's palm. “i would have been," jean jacques replied, " the humblest servant at his side, obscure, unknown, content to see how beautiful man's life may be ! “ midst soulless forms, and false pretence of spiritual pride and pampered sense, a voice saith, · what is that to thee ? be true thyself, and follow me!' 6 * oh, more than thrice-blest relic, more than solemn rite or sacred lore, the holy life of one who trod the foot-inarks of the christ of god ! “in days when throne and altar heard the wanton's wish, the bigot's word, and pomp of state and ritual show scarce hid the loathsome death below, ** amidst a blinded world he saw the oneness of the dual law ; that heaven's sweet peace on earth began, and god was loved through love of man. “ midst fawning priests and courtiers foul, the losel swarm of crown and cowl, white-robed walked françois fénelon, stainless as uriel in the sun ! 44 narrative and legendary poems 64 66 60 ** yet in his time the stake blazed red, “ to these bowed hearens let wood and the poor were eaten up like bread : hill men knew him not ; his garment's hem lift voiceless praise and anthem still ; no healing virtue had for them. fall, warın with blessing, over them, light of the new jerusalem ! alas ! no present saint we find ; the white cymır gleams far behind, “ flow on, sweet river, like the stream revealed in outline vaglie, sublime, of john's apocalyptic dream ! through telescopic mists of time ! this mapled ridge shall horeb be, yon green-banked lake our galilee ! “ trust not in man with passing breath, but in the lord, old scripture saith ; “ henceforth my heart shall sigh no more the truth which saves thou mayest not for olden time and holier shore ; blend god's love and blessing, then and there, with false professor, faithless friend. are now and here and everywhere." “ search thine own heart. what paineth thee tauler in others in thyself may be ; all dust is frail, all flesh is weak; tauler, the preacher, walked, one aube thou the true man thou dost seek! tumn day, without the walls of strasburg, by the “where now with pain thou treadest, rhine, trod pondering the solemn miracle of life ; the whitest of the saints of god ! as one who, wandering in a starless night, to show thee where their feet were set, feels momently the jar of unseen waves the light which led them shineth yet. and hears the thunder of an unknown sea, breaking along an unimagined shore. "the footprints of the life divine, which marked their path, remain in thine ; and as he walked he prayed. even the and that great life, transfused in theirs, awaits thy faith, thy love, thy prayers !” old prayer with which, for half a score of years, a lesson which i well may heed, morning, and noon, and evening, lip and a word of fitness to my need ; heart so from that twilight cool and gray had groaned : " have pity upon me, loni! still saith a voice, or seems to say. thou seest, while teaching others, i am blind. send me a man who can direct my step !** we rose, and slowly homeward turned, then, as he mused, he heard along his while down the west the sunset burned ; path and, in its light, hill, wood, and tide, a sound as of an old man's staff among and human forins seemed glorified. the dry, dead linden-leaves ; and, looking up, the village homes transfigured stood, he saw a stranger, weak, and poor, ani and purple bluffs, whose belting wood old. across the waters leaned to hold the yellow leaves like lamps of gold. ** peace be unto thee, father!" tauler said, then spake my friend : “ thy words are “god give thee a good day!” the old trne ; man raised forever old, forever new, slowly his calm blue eyes, “ i thank thee, the home-ween splendors are the same son ; which over eden's sunsets came. but all my days are good, and none are ill.** same the hermit of the thebaid 45 man 66 mean. 9 ful step wondering thereat, the preacher spake apart the shadow wherein he had walked again, darkly at noon. and, as the strange old "god give thee happy life.” the old man smiled, went his slow way, until his silver hair “ i never am unhappy.” set like the white moon where the hills of vine tauler laid slope to the rhine, he bowed his head and his hand upon the stranger's coarse gray said : sleeve : "my prayer is answered. god bath sent "tell me, o father, what thy strange words the man long sought, to teach me, by his simple surely man's days are evil, and his life trust, sad as the grave it leads to.” “nay, my wisdom the weary schoolmen never knew.” son, our times are in god's hands, and all our so, entering with a changed and cheerdays are as our needs ; for shadow as for sun, the city gates, he saw, far down the street, for cold as heat, for want as wealth, alike a mighty shadow break the light of noon, our thanks are due, since that is best which which tracing backward till its airy lines hardened to stony plinths, he raised his eyes and that which is not, sharing not his life, o'er broad façade and lofty pediment, is evil only as devoid of good. o'er architrave and frieze and sainted niche, and for the happiness of which i spake, up the stone lace-work chiselled by the i find it in submission to his will, wise and calm trust in the holy trinity erwin of steinbach, dizzily up to where of knowledge, goodness, and almighty in the noon-brightness the great minster's power.” tower, jewelled with sunbeams on its mural crown, silently wondering, for a little space, rose like a visible prayer. “behold !” he stood the great preacher ; then he spake said, “the stranger's faith made plain before who, suddenly grappling with a haunting thought as yonder tower outstretches to the earth which long has followed, whispering the dark triangle of its shade alone through the dark when the clear day is shining on its top, strange terrors, drags it, shrieking, into so, darkness in the pathway of man's life light: is but the shadow of god's providence, " what if god's will consign thee hence to by the great sun of wisdom cast thereon ; hell ?” and what is dark below is light in heaven.” is ; as one mine eyes. the hermit of the thebaid o strong, upwelling prayers of faith, from inmost founts of life ye start, the spirit's pulse, the vital breath of soul and heart ! “ then,” said the stranger, cheerily, “ be it so. what hell may be i know not ; this i know, i cannot lose the presence of the lord. one arm, humility, takes hold upon his dear humanity; the other, love, clasps his divinity. so where i he goes ; and better fire-walled hell with hin than golden-gated paradise without.” tears sprang in tauler's eyes. a sudden light, like the first ray which fell on chaos, clove gro from pastoral toil, from traffic's din, alone, in crowds, at home, abroad, unheard of man, ye enter in the ear of god. ye brook no forced and measured tasks, nor weary rote, nor formal chains ; 46 narrative and legendary poems the simple heart, that freely asks in love, obtains. for man the living temple is : the merey-seat and cherubim, and all the holy mysteries, he bears with him. and most avails the prayer of love, which, wordless, shapes itself in deeds, and wearies heaven for naught above our common needs. which brings to god's all-perfect will that trust of his undoubting child whereby all seeming good and ill are reconciled. “my brother tills beside the nile his little field ; beneath the leaves my sisters sit and spin, the while my mother weaves. “and when the millet's ripe heads fall, and all the bean-field hangs in pod, my mother smiles, and says that all are gifts from god. * and when to share our evening meal, she calls the stranger at the door, she says god tills the hands that deal food to the poor.” adown the hermit's wasted cheeks glistened the flow of human tears ; * dear lord !” he said, " thy angel speaks, thy servant hears." within his arms the child he took, and thought of home and life with men; and all his pilgrim feet forsook returned again. the palmy shadows cool and long, the eves that smiled through lavish locks, home's cradle-hymn and harvest-song, and bleat of tlocks. and, seeking not for special signs of favor, is content to fall within the providence which shines and rains on all. alone, the thebaid hermit leaned at noontime o'er the sacred word. was it an angel or a fiend whose voice he heard ? 0 it broke the desert's hush of awe, a human utterance, sweet and mild ; and, looking up, the hermit saw a little child. n a child, with wonder-widened eyes, o’erawed and troubled by the sight of hot, red sands, and brazen skies, and anchorite. “ what dost thou here, poor man? no shade of cool, green palms, nor grass, nor well, nor corn, nor vines." the hermit said : “with god i dwell. “() child !” he said, “thou teachest me there is no place where god is not ; that love will make, where'er it be, a holy spot." he rose from off the desert sand, and, leaning on his staff of thorn, went with the young child band in hani. like night with morn. they crossed the desert's burning line, and heard the palm-tree's rustling fan, the nile-bird's cry, the low of kine, and voice of man. l'nquestioning, his childish guide lle followed, as the small hand led to where a woman, gentle-eyed, her distaff fed. she rose, she clasped her truant boy, she thanked the stranger with her eyes ; the hermit gazed in doubt and joy and dumb surprise. ** alone with him in this great calm, i live not by the outward sense ; my nile his love, my sheltering palm his providence." the child gazed round him. “ does god live here only ?-where the desert's rim is green with corn, at morn and eve, we pray to him. maud muller 47 and lo! — with sudden warmth and light a tender memory thrilled his frame; new-born, the world-lost anchorite a man became. but when she glanced to the far-off town, white from its hill-slope looking down, the sweet song died, and a vague unrest and a nameless longing filled her breast, * o sister of el zara's race, behold me !— had we not one mother?” she gazed into the stranger's face : "thou art my brother !” a wish that she hardly dared to own, for something better than she had known. the judge rode slowly down the lane, smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. ** () kin of blood! thy life of use and patient trust is more than mine ; and wiser than the gray recluse this child of thine. he drew his bridle in the shade of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, "for, taught of him whom god hath sent, that toil is praise and love is prayer, i come, life's cares and pains content with thee to share." and asked a draught from the spring that flowed through the meadow across the road. she stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, and filled for him her small tin cup, even as his foot the threshold crossed the hermit's better life began ; its boliest saint the thebaid lost, and found a man ! and blushed as she gave it, looking down on her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. maud muller “ thanks !” said the judge ; "a sweeter draught from a fairer hand was never quaffed.” he spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, of the singing birds and the humming bees ; then talked of the haying, and wondered whether the cloud in the west would bring foul weather. a the recollection of some descendants of a hessian deserter in the revolutionary war bearing the name of muller doubtless suggested the somewhat infelicitous title of a new england idyl. the poem had no real foundation in fact, though a hint of it may have been found in recalling an incident, trivial in itself, of a journey on the picturesque maine seaboard sith mr sister some years before it was written. we had stopped to rest our tired horse under the shade of an apple-tree, and refresh him with water from a little brook which rippled through the stone wall across the road. a very beautiful young girl in scantest summer attire was at work in the bay-field, and as we talked with her we noticed that she strove to hide her bare feet by raking hay over them, blushing as she did so, through the tan of her check and neck. macd muller on a summer's day paked the meadow sweet with hay. and maud forgot her brier-torn gown, and her graceful ankles bare and brown ; and listened, while a pleased surprise looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. at last, like one who for delay seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. : maud muller looked and sighed : “ah me! that i the judge's bride might be ! “ he would dress me up in silks so fine, and praise and toast me at his wine. beneath her torn hat glowed the health of simple beauty and rustic health. singing, she wrought, and her merry glee the mock-bird echoed from his tree. “my father should wear a broadcloth coat ; my brother should sail a painted boat. 18 narrative and legendary poems " i'd dress my mother so grand and gay, and the proud man sighed, with a secret and the baby should have a new toy each pain, day. “ah, that i were free again ! * and i'd feed the hungry and clothe the “ free as when i rode that day, poor, where the barefoot maiden raked ber hay.** and all should bless me who left our door." she wedded a man unlearned and poor, the judge looked back as he climbed the and many children played round her door hill, and saw maud muller standing still. but care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, left their traces on heart and brain. “ a form more fair, a face more sweet, ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. and oft, when the summer sun shone hot on the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, “ and her modest answer and graceful air show her wise and good as she is fair. and she heard the little spring brook fall over the roadside, through the wall, “ would she were mine, and i to-day, like her, a harvester of hay ; in the shade of the apple-tree again she saw a rider draw his rein; * no doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, vor weary lawyers with endless tongues, and, gazing down with timid grace, she felt his pleased eyes read her face. “but low of cattle and song of birds, and healtlı and quiet and loving words.” sometimes her narrow kitchen walls stretched away into stately halls; but he thought of his sisters, proud and cold, the weary wheel to a spinnet turned, and his mother, vain of her rank and gold. the tallow candle an astral burned, so, closing his heart, the judge rode on, and for him who sat by the chimney lug, and mand was left in the field alone. dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, but the lawyers smiled that afternoon, a manly form at her side she saw, when he hinnmed in court an old loveand joy was duty and love was law. tune; then she took up her burden of life again, and the young girl mused beside the well saying only, “ it might have been.” till the rain on the unraked clover fell. alas for maiden, alas for judge, lle wedded a wife of richest dower, for rich repiner and house holi drudge ! who lived for fashion, as he for power. god pity them both! and pity us all, yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, who vainly the dreams of youth recall. he watched a picture come and go; for of all sad words of tongue or pen, and sweet maud muller's hazel eyes the saddest are these : " it might have looked out in their innocent surprise. been!” oft, when the wine in his glase was red, ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies he longed for the way ide well instead ; deeply buried from human eyes; and closed his eyes on his garnished rooms and, in the hereafter, angels may to dream of meadows and clover-blooms. i roll the stone from its grave away! mary garvin 49 and westward on the sea-wind, that damp mary garvin and gusty grew, over cedars darkening inland the smokes from the heart of waumbek methna, from of spurwink blew. the lake that never fails, falls the saco in the green lap of conway's | on the hearth of farmer garvin, blazed intervales; the crackling walnut log ; there, in wild and virgin freshness, its right and left sat dame and goodman, and waters foam and flow, between them lay the dog, as when darby field first saw them, two hundred years ago. head on paws, and tail slow wagging, and beside him on her mat, but, vexed in all its seaward course with sitting drowsy in the firelight, winked and bridges, dams, and mills, purred the mottled cat. how changed is saco's stream, how lost its freedom of the hills, “twenty years !” said goodman garvin, since travelled jocelyn, factor vines, and speaking sadly, under breath, stately champernoon and his gray head slowly shaking, as one heard on its banks the gray wolf's howl, who speaks of death. the trumpet of the loon ! the goodwife dropped her needles : “it is with smoking axle hot with speed, with twenty years to-day, steeds of fire and steam, since the indians fell on saco, and stole our wide-waked to-day leaves yesterday bechild away.” hind bim like a dream. still, from the hurrying train of life, fly then they sank into the silence, for each backward far and fast knew the other's thought, the milestones of the fathers, the landof a great and common sorrow, and words marks of the past. were needed not. but human hearts remain unchanged: the “ who knocks ?” cried goodman garvin. sorrow and the sin, the door was open thrown ; the loves and hopes and fears of old, are to on two strangers, man and maiden, cloaked our own akin; and furred, the fire-light shone. and if, in tales our fathers told, the songs our mothers sung, one with courteous gesture lifted the beartradition wears a snowy beard, romance skin from his head ; is always young « lives here elkanah garvin ?” “i am he," the goodman said. o sharp-lined man of traffic, on saco's banks to-day! “sit ye down, and dry and warm ye, for 0 mill-girl watching late and long the the night is chill with rain." shuttle's restless play! and the goodwife drew the settle, and let, for the once, a listening ear the workstirred the fire amain. ing hand beguile, and lend my old provincial tale, as suits, the maid unclasped her cloak-hood, the a tear or smile ! firelight glistened fair in her large, moist eyes, and over soft folds of dark brown hair. the evening gun had sounded from gray fort mary's walls ; through the forest, like a wild beast, roared and plunged the saco's falls. dame garvin looked upon her : “it is mary's self i see ! dear heart !” she cried, tell me, has my child come back to now me ? » 50 narrative and legendary poems far away. “my name indeed is mary,” said the but he started at beholding, as he rose stranger sobbing wild ; from off his knee, " will you be to me a mother? i am the stranger cross his forehead with the mary garvin's child ! sign of papistrie. “ she sleeps by wooded simcoe, but on her “ what is this?” cried farmer garvin. dying day " is an english christian's home she bade my father take me to her kinsfolk a chapel or a mass-house, that you make the sign of rome ?" “ and when the priest besought her to do then the young girl knelt beside him, kissed me no such wrong, his trembling hand, and cried : she said, . may god forgive me! i have “ oh, forbear to chide my father ; in that closed my heart too long. faith my mother died ! “* when i hid me from my father, and shut “on her wooden cross at simcoe the dews out my mother's call, and sunshine fall, i sinned against those dear ones, and the as they fall on spurwink's graverard ; and father of us all. the dear god watches all !” “ christ's love rebukes no home love, the old man stroked the fair head that breaks no tie of kin apart ; rested on his knee ; better heresy in doctrine, than heresy of “your words, dear child," he answered, heart. “are god's rebuke to me. “ * tell me not the church must cen“ creed and rite perchance may differ, yet sure : she who wept the cross beour faith and hope be one. side let me be your father's father, let him be never made her own flesh strangers, nor to me a son.” the claims of blood denied ; when the horn, on sabbath morning, “* and if she who wronged her parents, through the still and frosty air, with her child atones to them, from spurwink, pool, and black point, earthly daughter, heavenly mother! thou called to sermon and to prayer, at least wilt not condemn!' to the goodly house of worship, where, in “so, upon her death-bed lying, my blessed order due and fit, inother spake ; as by public vote directed, classed and as we come to do her bidding, so receive ranked the people sit ; us for her sake." mistress first and goodwife after, clerkly “ god be praised !" said goodwife garvin, squire before the clown, "he taketh, and he gives ; from the brave coat, lace-embroidered, to he woundeth, but he healeth ; in her the gray frock, shading down ; child our daughter lives!” from the pulpit read the preacher, “good* amen!" the old man answered, as he man garvin and his wife brushed a tear away, fain would thank the lord, whose kind. and, kneeling by his hearthstone, said, with ness has followed them through reverence, " let us pray." life, all its oriental symbols, and its hebrew “ for the great and crowning mercy, that paraphrase, their daughter, from the wild, warm with earnest life and feeling, rose where she rests (ther bope in god's peace), his prayer of love and praise. has sent to them her child ; the ranger 51 “ and the prayers of all god's people they ask, that they may prove not unworthy, through their weakness, of such special proof of love." as the preacher prayed, uprising, the aged couple stood, and the fair canadian also, in her modest maidenhood. through his painted woodlands stray, than where hillside oaks and beeches overlook the long, blue reaches, silver coves and pebbled beaches, and green isles of casco bay ; nowhere day, for delay, with a tenderer look beseeches, “let me with my charmed earth stay." thought the elders, grave and doubting, “she is papist born and bred ; thought the young men, “ 'tis an angel in mary garvin's stead ! ” on the grain-lands of the mainlands stands the serried corn like train-bands, plume and pennon rustling gay ; out at sea, the islands wooded, silver birches, golden-hooded, set with maples, crimson-blooded, white sea-foam and sand-hills gray, stretch away, far away, dim and dreamy, over-brooded by the hazy autumn day. the ranger originally published as martha mason; a song of the old french war. robert rawlin !— frosts were falling when the ranger's born was calling through the woods to canada. gone the winter's sleet and snowing, gone the spring-time's bud and blowing, gone the summer's harvest mowing, and again the fields are gray. yet away, he's away! faint and fainter hope is growing in the hearts that mourn bis stay. where the lion, crouching high on abrabam's rock with teeth of iron, glares o'er wood and wave away, faintly thence, as pines far sigbing, or as thunder spent and dying, come the challenge and replying, come the sounds of flight and fray. well-a-day! hope and pray ! a some are living, some are lying in their red graves far away. straggling rangers, wom with dangers, homeward faring, weary strangers pass the farm-gate on their way ; tidings of the dead and living, forest march and ambush, giving, till the maidens leave their weaving, and the lads forget their play. “still away, still away !” sighs a sad one, sick with grieving, * why does robert still delay !" nowhere fairer, sweeter, rarer, does the golden-locked fruit bearer gayly chattering to the clattering of the brown nuts downward pattering, leap the squirrels, red and gray. on the grass-land, on the fallow, drop the apples, red and yellow ; drop the russet pears and mellow, drop the red leaves all the day. and away, swift away, sun and cloud, o'er hill and hollow chasing, weave their web of play. “martha mason, martha mason, prithee tell us of the reason why you mope at home to-day : surely smiling is not sinning ; leave your quilling, leave your spinning ; what is all your store of linen, if your heart is never gay? come away, come away ! never yet did sad beginning make the task of life a play." overbending till she's blending with the flaxen skein she's tending pale brown tresses smoothed away from her face of patient sorrow, sits she, seeking but to borrow, from the trembling hope of morrow, solace for the weary day. “go your way, laugh and play ; unto him who heeds the sparrow and the lily, let me pray.” “with our rally rings the valley, join us !” cried the blue-eyed nelly ; (6 52 narrative and legendary poems “ join us !” cried the laughing may, * to the beach we all are going, and, to save the task of rowing, west by north the wind is blowing, blowing briskly down the bay ! come away, come away! time and tide are swiftly flowing, let us take them while we may ! " never tell us that you 'll fail us, where the purple beach-plum mellows on the bluffs so wild and gray. hasten, for the oars are falling ; hark, our merry mates are calling ; time it is that we were all in, singing tideward down the bay !” “nay, nay, let me stay ; sore and sad for robert rawlin is my heart,” she said, “ to-day.” " vain your calling for rob rawlin! some red squaw his moose-meat 's broiling, or some french lass, singing gay ; just forget as he 's forgetting ; wbat avails a life of fretting ? if some stars must needs be setting, others rise as good as they." “ cease, i pray ; go your way!” martha cries, her eyelids wetting ; “ foul and false the words you say !” “ martha mason, hear to reason ! prithee, put a kinder face on!” “cease to vex me," did she say; * better at his side be lying, with the mournful pine-trees sighing, and the wild birds o'er us crying, than to doubt like mine a prey ; while away, far away, turns my heart, forever trying some new hope for each new day. " when the shadows veil the meadows, and the sunset's golden ladders sink from twilight's walls of gray, — from the window of my dreaming, i can see his sickle gleaming, cheery-voiced, can hear him teaming down the loeust-shaled way; but away, swift away, fades the fond, delusive seeming, and i kneel again to pray. ** · when the growing dawn is showing, and the barn-yard cock is crowing, and the horned moon pales away : from a dream of him awaking, every sound my heart is making seems a footstep of his taking ; then i hush the thought, and say, nay, nay, he's away ! ah ! my heart, my heart is breaking for the dear one far away." look up, martha ! worn and swarthy, glows a face of manhood worthy : “ robert !” “martha !” all they say. o’er went wheel and reel together, little cared the owner whither; heart of lead is heart of feather, noon of night is noon of day! come away, come away! when such lovers meet each other, why should prying idlers stay ? quench the timber's fallen embers, quench the red leaves in december's hoary rime and chilly spray. but the hearth shall kindle clearer, household welcomes sound sincerer, heart to loving heart draw nearer, when the bridal bells shall say: “ hope and pray, trust alway; life is sweeter, love is dearer, for the trial and delay!” the garrison of cape ain from the hills of home forth looking, far beneath the tent-like span of the sky, i see the white gleam of the headland of cape ann. well i know its coves and beaches to the ebb-tide glimmering down, and the white-walled hamlet children of its ancient fishing-town. long has passed the summer morning, and its memory waxes old, when along yon breezy headlands with a pleasant friend i strolled. ah! the autumn sun is shining, and the ocean wind blows cool, and the golden-rod and aster bloom around thy grave, rantoul ! with the memory of that morning by the summer sea i blend the garrison of cape ann 53 a wild and wondrous story, by the younger mather penned, in that quaint magnalia christi, with all strange and marvellous things, heaped up huge and undigested, like the chaos ovid sings. before the deep-mouthed chimney, dimly lit by dying brands, twenty soldiers sat and waited, with their muskets in their hands; on the rough-hewn oaken table the venison haunch was shared, and the pewter tankard circled slowly round from beard to beard. coarse dear to me these far, faint glimpses of the dual life of old, inward, grand with awe and reverence ; outward, mean and and cold; gleams of mystic beauty playing over dull and vulgar clay, golden-threaded fancies weaving in a web of hodden gray. the great eventful present hides the past ; but through the din of its loud life hints and echoes from the life behind steal in ; and the lore of home and fireside, and the legendary rhyme, make the task of duty lighter which the true man owes his time. long they sat and talked together, talked of wizards satan-sold; of all ghostly sights and noises, signs and wonders manifold; of the spectre-ship of salem, with the dead men in her shrouds, sailing sheer above the water, in the loom of morning clouds; of the marvellous valley hidden in the depths of gloucester woods, full of plants that love the summer, blooms of warmer latitudes; where the arctic birch is braided by the tropic's flowery vines, and the white magnolia-blossoms star the twilight of the pines ! so, with something of the feeling which the covenanter knew, when with pious chisel wandering scotland's moorland graveyards through, from the graves of old traditions i part the blackberry-vines, wipe the moss from off the headstones, and retouch the faded lines. but their voices sank yet lower, sank to husky tones of fear, as they spake of present tokens of the powers of evil near ;of a spectral host, defying stroke of steel and aim of gun ; never yet was ball to slay them in the mould of mortals run ! thrice, with plumes and flowing scalp-locks, where the sea-waves back and forfrom the midnight wood they ward, hoarse with rolling pebbles, came, ran, thrice around the block-house marchthe garrison-house stood watching on the ing, met, unbarmed, its volleyed gray rocks of cape ann; flame; on its windy site uplifting gabled roof and then, with mocking laugh and gesture, palisade, sunk in earth or lost in air, and rough walls of unhewn timber with all the ghostly wonder vanished, and the the moonlight overlaid. moonlit sands lay bare. on his slow round walked the sentry, south | midnight came ; from out the forest moved and eastward looking forth a dusky mass that soon o'er a rude and broken coast-line, white grew to warriors, plumed and painted, with breakers stretching north, grimly marching in the moon. wood and rock and gleaming sand-drift, “ghosts or witches, * said the captain, jagged capes, with bush and tree, “ thus i foil the evil one !" leaning inland from the smiting of the and he rammed a silver button, from his wild and gusty sea. doublet, down his gun. а 54 narrative and legendary poems once again the spectral horror moved the from the childhood of its people comes the guarded wall about ; solemn legend down. once again the levelled muskets through not in vain the ancient fiction, in whose the palisades flashed out, moral lives the youth with that deadly aim the squirrel on his and the fitness and the freshness of an untree-top might not shun, decaying truth. nor the beach-bird seaward flying with his slant wing to the sun. soon or late to all our dwellings come the spectres of the mind, like the idle rain of summer sped the harmdoubts and fears and dread forebodings, less shower of lead. in the darkness undefined ; with a laugh of fierce derision, once again round us throng the grim projections of the the phantoms tled ; heart and of the brain, once again, without a shadow on the sands and our pride of strength is weakness, and the inoonlight lay, the cunning hand is vain. and the white smoke curling through it drifted slowly down the bay ! in the dark we cry like children ; and no answer from on high “god preserve us !” said the captain ; breaks the crystal spheres of silence, and "never mortal foes were there ; no white wings downward tly ; they have vanished with their leader, but the heavenly help we pray for comes to prince and power of the air ! faith, and not to sight, lay aside your useless weapons ; skill and and our prayers themselves drive backward prowess nanght avail ; all the spirits of the night! they who do the devil's service wear their master's coat of mail !” the gift of tritemil's so the night grew near to cock-crow, when again a warning call tritemics of herbipolis, one day, roused the score of weary soldiers watchwhile kneeling at the altar's foot to pray ing round the dusky hall : alone with goil, as was his pious choice, and they looked to flint and priming, and heard from without a miserable voice, they longed for break of day ; a sound which seemed of all sad things to but the captain closed his bible : "let us tell, cease from man, and pray !” as of a lost soul crying out of hell. to the men who went before us, all the unthereat the abbot paused ; the chain seen powers seemed near, whereby and their steadfast strength of courage his thoughts went upward broken by that struck its roots in holy fear. cry ; every hand forsook the musket, every head and, looking from the casement, saw below was bowed and bare, a wretched woman, with gray hair a-tlow, every stout knee pressed the flag-stones, as and witbered hands held up to him, who the captain led in prayer. cried for alms as one who might not be denied. c'eased thereat the mystic marching of the spectres round the wall, she cried, " for the dear love of him who but a sound abhorred, mearthly, smote the gave ears and hearts of all, – his life for ours, my child from bondage ilowls of rage and shrieks of anguish! sare, never after mortal man my beautiful, brave first-born, chained with saw the ghostly leaguers marching round slaves the block-house of cape inn. in the moor's galley, where the sun-smit so to us who walk in summer through the lap the white walls of tunis!" -"what cool and sea-blown town, i can 66 waves skipper ireson's ride 55 " ( man i give," tritemius said, “my prayers.”. abled vessel. to screen themselves they charged their captain with the crime. in view of god !” she cried, for grief had made of this the writer of the ballad addressed the her bold, following letter to the historian : “ mock me not thus ; i ask not prayers, oak knoll, danvers, 5 mo. 18, 1880. but gold. my dear friend; i heartily thank thee words will not serve me, alms alone suffice ; for a copy of thy history of marblehead. i even while i speak perchance my firsthave read it with great interest and think good born dies." use has been made of the abundant material. no town in essex county has a record more "woman !” tritemius answered, “from honorable than marblehead; no one has done our door more to develop the industrial interests of our none go unfed, hence are we always poor ; new england seaboard, and certainly none have given such evidence of self-sacrificing a single soldo is our only store. thou hast our prayers; patriotism. i am glad the story of it has been what can we at last told, and told so well. i have now no give thee more ? ” doubt that thy version of skipper ireson's ride is the correct one. my verse was founded “give me,” she said, “ the silver candlesolely on a fragment of rhyme which i heard sticks from one of my early schoolmates, a native of on either side of the great crucifix. marblehead. god well may spare them on his errands i supposed the story to which it referred dated sped, back at least a century. i knew nothing of the participators, and the narrative of the ballad or he can give you golden ones instead.” was pure fancy. i am glad for the sake of truth and justice that the real facts are given in then spake tritemius, “even as thy thy book. i certainly would not knowingly do word, injustice to any one, dead or living. woman, so be it ! (our most gracious i am very truly thy friend, lord, john g. whittier. who loveth mercy more than sacrifice, pardon me if a human soul i prize of all the rides since the birth of time, abore the gifts upon his altar piled !) told in story or sung in rhyme, take what thou askest, and redeem thy on apuleius's golden ass, child." or one-eyed calendar's horse of brass, witch astride of a human back, but his hand trembled as the holy alms islam's prophet on al-borák, he placed within the beggar's eager palms ; | the strangest ride that ever was sped and as she vanished down the linden shade, was ireson's, out from marblehead ! he bowed his head and for forgiveness old floyd ireson, for his hard heart, prayed. tarred and feathered and carried in a cart so the day passed, and when the twilight by the women of marblehead ! he woke to find the chapel all aflame, body of turkey, head of owl, and, dumb with grateful wonder, to bewings a-droop like a rained-on fowl, hold feathered and ruffled in every part, l'pon the altar candlesticks of gold ! skipper ireson stood in the cart. scores of women, old and young, strong of muscle, and glib of tongue, skipper ireson's ride pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, shouting and singing the shrill refrain : in the valuable and carefully prepared his“ here's flud oirson, fur his horrd horrt, tory of marblehead, published in 1879 by samuel roads, jr., it is stated that the crew torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a of captain ireson, rather than himself, were corrt responsible for the abandonment of the disby the women o' morble’ead !” came a 56 narrative and legendary poems a wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, sweetly along the salem road girls in bloom of cheek and lips, bloom of orchard and lilac showed. wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase little the wicked skipper knew bacchus round some antique vase, of the fields so green and the sky so blue. brief of skirt, with ankles bare, riding there in his sorry trim, loose of kerchief and loose of hair, like an indian idol glum and grim, with conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' searcely he seemed the sound to bear twang, of voices shouting, far and near: over and over the mænads sang : “ here's flud oirson, fur his bornt “llere 's flud oirson, fur bis horrd horrt, horrt, torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt by the women o' morble’ead !” by the women o' morble’ead !” “ hear me, neighbors ! ” at last he cried, small pity for him ! he sailed away “what to me is this noisy ride ? from a leaking ship in chaleur bay, what is the shame that clothes the skin sailed away from a sinking wreck, to the nameless horror that lives within: with his own town's-people on her deck ! waking or sleeping, i see a wreck, “ lay by ! lay by !” they called to him. and hear a cry from a reeling deck ! back he answered, “ sink or swim ! hate me and curse me, i only dread brag of your catch of fish again!” the hand of god and the face of the dead ! ** and off he sailed through the fog and said old floyd ireson, for his hani beart, rain ! tarred and feathered and carried in a old floyd ireson, for his hard heart, cart tarred and feathered and carried in by the women of marblehead ! cart by the women of marblehead ! then the wife of the skipper lost at sea said, “ god has touched him! why should fathoms deep in dark chaleur that wreck shall lie forevermore. said an old wife mourning her only son, mother and sister, wife and maid, “cut the rogue's tether and let him run!" looked from the rocks of marblehead so with soft relentings and rude excuse, over the moaning and rainy sea, half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, looked for the coming that might not and gave him a cloak to hide him in, be ! and left him alone with his shame and what did the winds and the sea birds sin. say poor floyd ireson, for his hard heart, of the cruel captain who sailed away ? tarred and feathered and carried in a old floyd ireson, for his hard heart, cart tarred and feathered and carried in a by the women of marblehead ! cart by the women of marblehead ! the sycamores through the street, on either side, l'p tlew windows, doors swung wide ; hugh tallant was the first irish resident of sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, haverhill . mass. he planted the button wood treble lent the fish-horn's bray. trees on the bank of the river below the village sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, in the early part of the seventeenth centur hulks of old sailors run aground, i'nfortunately this noble avenue is now nearly shook head, and fit, and hat, and cane, destroyed. and cracked with curses the hoarse refrain : in the outskirts of the village, " llere 's flud oirson, fur his horrd horrt, on the river's winding shores, torr'd an' futherr'd an'corr'd in a corrt stand the occidental plane-trees, by the women o' morble'ead!" stand the ancient sycamores. we!” the sycamores 57 how the souls in purgatory scrambled up from fate forlorn, on st. keven's sackcloth ladder, slyly hitched to satan's horn. of the fiddler who at tara played all night to ghosts of kings ; of the brown dwarfs, and the fairies dancing in their moorland rings ! one long century hath been numbered, and another half-way told, since the rustic irish gleeman broke for them the virgin mould. deftly set to celtic music, at his violin's sound they grew, through the moonlit eves of summer, making amphion's fable true. rise again, thou poor hugh tallant ! pass in jerkin green along, with thy eyes brimful of laughter, and thy mouth as full of song. pioneer of erin's outcasts, with his fiddle and his pack ; little dreamed the village saxons of the myriads at his back. how he wrought with spade and fiddle, delved by day and sang by night, with a hand that never we wearied, and a heart forever light, jolliest of our birds of singing, best he loved the bob-o-link. “ hush !” he'd say, "the tipsy fairies ! hear the little folks in drink!” « merry-faced, with spade and fiddle, singing through the ancient town, only this, of poor hugh tallant, hath tradition handed down. not a stone his grave discloses ; but if yet his spirit walks, 'tis beneath the trees he planted, and when bob-o-lincoln talks ; a still the gay tradition mingles with a record grave and drear, like the rollic air of cluny with the solemn march of mear. green memorials of the gleeman ! linking still the river-shores, with their shadows cast by sunset, stand hugh tallant's sycamores! when the father of his country through the north-land riding came, and the roofs were starred with banners, and the steeples rang acclaim, when the box-tree, white with blossoms, made the sweet may woodlands glad, and the aronia by the river lighted up the swarming sbad, and the bulging nets swept shoreward, with their silver-sided haul, midst the shouts of dripping fishers, he was merriest of them all. when each war-scarred continental, leaving smithy, mill, and farm, waved his rusted sword in welcome, and shot off his old king's-arm, when, among the jovial huskers, love stole in at labor's side, with the lusty airs of england soft his celtic measures vied. slowly passed that august presence down the thronged and shouting street ; village girls as white as angels scattering flowers around his feet. midway, where the plane-tree's shadow deepest fell, his rein he drew : on his stately head, uncovered, cool and soft the west-wind blew. songs of love and wailing lyke-wake, and the merry fair's carouse ; of the wild red fox of erin and the woman of three cows, by the blazing hearths of winter, pleasant seemed his simple tales, midst the grimmer yorkshire legends and the mountain myths of wales. and he stood up in his stirrups, looking up and looking down on the hills of gold and silver rimming round the little town, – 58 narrative and legendary poems on the river, full of sunshine, to the lap of greenest vales winding down from wooded headlands, willow-skirted, white with sails. and he said, the landscape sweeping slowly with his ungloved hand, “i have seen no prospect fairer in this goodly eastern land.” then the bugles of his escort stirred to life the cavalcade : and that head, so bare and stately, vanished down the depths of shade. ever since, in town and farm-house, life has had its ebb and flow ; thrice hath passed the human harvest to its garner green and low. but the trees the gleeman planted, through the changes, changeless stand ; as the marble calm of tadmor mocks the desert’s shifting sand. still the level moon at rising silvers o'er each stately shaft ; still beneath them, half in shadow, singing, glides the pleasure craft ; still beneath them, arm-enfolded, love and youth together stray ; while, as heart to heart beats faster, more and more their feet delay. where the ancient cobbler, keezar, on the open hillside wrought, singing, as he drew his stitches, songs his german masters taught, singing, with his gray hair floating round his rosy ample face, now a thousand saxon craftsmen stitch and hammer in his place. all the pastoral lanes so grassy now are traffic's dusty streets ; from the village, grown a city, fast the rural grace retreats. but, still green, and tall, and stately, on the river's winding shores, stand the occidental plane-trees, stand hugh tallant's sycamores. the pipes at luck.xow an incident of the sepoy mutiny. pipes of the misty moorlands, voice of the glens and hills; the droning of the torrents, the treble of the rills ! not the braes of bloom and heather, nor the mountains dark with rain, nor maiden bower, nor border tower, have heard your sweetest strain ! dear to the lowland reaper, and plaided mountaineer, to the cottage and the castle the scottish pipes are dear ;sweet sounds the ancient pibroch ()'er mountain, loch, and glade ; but the sweetest of all music the pipes at lucknow played. day by day the indian tiger louder yelled, and nearer crept ; round and round the jungle-serpent near and nearer circles swept. “ pray for rescue, wives and mothers, pray to-day!” the soldier said ; “ to-morrow, death 's between us and the wrong and shame we dread." oh, they listened, looked, and waited, till their hope became despair ; and the sobs of low be wailing filled the pauses of their prayer. then up spake a scottish maiden, with her ear unto the ground : “ dinna ye hear it ? — dinna ye hear it? the pipes o' havelock sound !" hushed the wounded man his groaning : ilushed the wife her little ones; alone they heard the drum-roll and the roar of sepoy guns. but to sounds of home and childhood the highland ear was true ; as her mother's cradle-crooning the mountain pipes she knew. like the march of soundless music through the vision of the seer, more of feeling than of hearing, of the heart than of the ear, she knew the droning pibroch, w telling the bees 59 3 a year she knew the campbell's call : you can see the gap in the old wall still, · hark! hear ye no' macgregoris, and the stepping-stones in the shallow the grandest o' them all ! " brook. oh, they listened, dumb and breathless, there is the house, with the gate redand they caught the sound at last ; barred, faint and far beyond the goomtee and the poplars tall ; rose and fell the piper's blast ! and the barn's brown length, and the cattlethen a burst of wild thanksgiving yard, mingled woman's voice and man's and the white horns tossing above the "god be praised ! — the march of havewall. lock ! the piping of the clans ! ” there are the beehives ranged in the sun ; louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance, and down by the brink sharp and shrill as swords at strife, of the brook are her poor flowers, weedcame the wild macgregor's clan-call, o'errun, stinging all the air to life. pansy and daffodil, rose and pink. but when the far-off dust-cloud to plaided legions grew, has gone, as the tortoise goes, full tenderly and blithesomely heavy and slow; the pipes of rescue blew ! and the same rose blows, and the same sun glows, round the silver domes of lucknow, and the same brook sings of a year moslem mosque and pagan shrine, ago. breathed the air to britons dearest, the air of auld lang syne. there's the same sweet clover-smell in the o'er the cruel roll of war-drums breeze ; rose that sweet and homelike strain ; and the june sun warm and the tartan clove the turban, tangles his wings of fire in the trees, as the goomtee cleaves the plain setting, as then, over fernside farm. dear to the corn-land reaper i mind me how with a lover's care and plaided mountaineer, from my sunday coat to the cottage and the castle i brushed off the burrs, and smoothed my the piper's song is dear. hair, sweet sounds the gaelic pibroch and cooled at the brookside my brow o'er mountain, glen, and glade ; and throat. but the sweetest of all music the pipes at lucknow played ! since we parted, a month had passed, – to love, a year ; telling the bees down through the beeches i looked at last on the little red gate and the well-sweep a remarkable custom, brought from the old country, formerly prevailed in the rural districts of new england. on the death of a i can see it all now, the slantwise rain toember of the family, the bees were at once of light through the leaves, informed of the event, and their hives dressed the sundown's blaze on her window-pane, in mourning. this ceremonial was supposed the bloom of her roses under the eaves. to be necessary to prevent the swarms from leaving their hives and seeking a new home. just the same as a month before, [the scene is minutely that of the whittier humestead.] the house and the trees, the barn's brown gable, the vine by the here is the place ; right over the hill door, runs the path i took ; nothing changed but the hives of bees. near. a 60 narrative and legendary poems before them, under the garden wall, and hills rolled wave-like inland, with forward and back, oaks and walnuts green ; went drearily singing the chore-girl small, a fairer home, a goodlier land, his eyes draping each hive with a shred of black. had never seen. trembling, i listened : the summer sun yet away sailed parson avery, away where had the cbill of snow ; duty led, for i knew she was telling the bees of and the voice of god seemed calling, to one break the living bread gone on the journey we all must go ! to the souls of fishers starving on the rocks of marblehead. then i said to myself, “my mary weeps for the dead to-day : all day they sailed : at nightfall the haply her blind old grandsire sleeps pleasant land-breeze died, the fret and the pain of his age away." the blackening sky, at midnight, its starr: lights denied, but her dog whined low ; on the doorway and far and low the thunder of tempest sill, prophesied ! with his cane to his chin, the old man sat ; and the chore-girl still blotted out were all the coast lipes. sung to the bees stealing out and in. gone were rock, and wood, ani sand ; and the song she was singing ever since grimly anxious stood the skipper with tim in my ear sounds on :rudder in his hand, “stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence ! and questioned of the darkness what was mistress mary is dead and gone!” sea and what was land. and the preacher heard his dear on the swan song of parson nestled round him, weeping sore : avery “ never heed, my little children! chns: is walking on before in young's chronicles of massachusetts bay to the pleasant land of beaven, where the from 1623 to 1636 may be found anthony sea shall be no more." thacher's varratire of his shipureck. thacher was avery's companion and survived to tell the all at once the great cloud parted, like a tale. mather's magnalia, iii. 2, gives further curtain drawn aside, particulars of parson ivery's end, and suggests the title of the poem. to let down the torch of lightning on the terror far and wide ; when the reaper's task was ended, and the and the thunder and the whirlwind together summer wearing late, smote the tide. parson avery sailed from newbury, with his wife and children eight, there was wailing in the shallop, woman's dropping down the river-harbor in the wail and man's despair, shallop watch and wait." a crash of breaking timbers on the role so sharp and bare, pleasantly lay the clearings in the mellow and, through it all, the murmur of father summer-morn, avery's prayer. with the newly planted orchards dropping their fruits first-born, from his struggle in the darkness with the and the home-roofs like brown islands wild waves and the blast, amid a sea of corn. on a rock, where every billow broke abore him as it passed, broad meadows reached out seaward the alone, of all his household, the man of tided creeks between, god was cast. 0 the double-headed snake of newbury 61 6 there a comrade heard him praying, in the heads, one at each end ; two months, two stings pause of wave and wind : or tongues." —rev. christopher toppan to “ all my own have gone before me, and i cotton mather. linger just behind ; not for life i ask, but only for the rest thy far away in the twilight time ransomed find ! of every people, in every clime, dragons and griffins and monsters dire, "* in this night of death i challenge the born of water, and air, and fire, promise of thy word ! or nursed, like the python, in the mud let me see the great salvation of which and ooze of the old deucalion flood, mine ears have heard ! crawl and wriggle and foam with rage, let me pass from hence forgiven, through throngh dusk tradition and ballad age. the grace of christ, our lord ! so from the childhood of newbury town and its time of fable the tale comes down " in the baptism of these waters wash of a terror which haunted bush and brake, white my every sin, the amphisbæna, the double snake ! and let me follow up to thee my housebold and my kin ! thou who makest the tale thy mirth, open the sea-gate of thy heaven, and let consider that strip of christian earth me enter in !” on the desolate shore of a sailless sea, full of terror and mystery, when the christian sings his death-song, half redeemed from the evil hold all the listening heavens draw near, of the wood so dreary, and dark, and old, and the angels, leaning over the walls of which drank with its lips of leaves the dew crystal, hear when time was young, and the world was how the notes so faint and broken swell to new, music in god's ear. and wove its shadows with sun and moon, ere the stones of cheops were squared and the ear of god was open to his servant's hewn. last request ; think of the sea's dread monotone, as the strong wave swept him downward of the mournful wail from the pine-wood the sweet hymn upward pressed, blown, and the soal of father avery went, singing, of the strange, vast splendors that lit the to its rest. north, of the troubled throes of the quaking earth, there was wailing on the mainland, from and the dismal tales the indian told, the rocks of marblehead; till the settler's heart at his hearth grew in the stricken church of newbury the notes cold, of prayer were read ; and he shrank from the tawny wizard and long, by board and hearthstone, the boasts, living mourned the dead. and the hovering shadows seemed full of ghosts, and still the fishers outbound, or scudding and above, below, and on every side, from the squall, the fear of his creed seemed verified ;with grave and reverent faces, the ancient and think, if his lot were now thine own, tale recall, to grope with terrors nor named nor known, when they see the white waves breaking how laxer muscle and weaker nerve on the rock of avery's fall ! and a feebler faith thy need might serve ; and own to thyself the wonder more that the snake had two heads, and not a the double-headed snake score ! of newbury "concerning y amphisbæna, as soon as i whether he lurked in the oldtown fen received your commands, i made diligent inor the gray earth-flax of the devil's den, quiry: ... he assures me yi it had really two or swam in the wooded artichoke, . 62 narrative and legendary poems a or coiled by the northman's written rock, nothing on record is left to show ; only the fact that he lived, we know, and left the cast of a double head in the scaly mask which he yearly shed. for he carried a head where his tail shonld be, and the two, of course, could never agree, but wriggled about with maim and might, now to the left and now to the right ; pulling and twisting this way and that, neither knew what the other was at. publish the shame of their daily strife, and, with mad cross-purpose, tug and strain at either end of the marriage-chain, the gossips say with a knowing shake of their gray heads, “look at the double snake ! one in body and two in will, the amphisbæna is living still ! " mabel martin a harvest idyl a snake with two heads, lurking so near ! judge of the wonder, guess at the fear ! think what ancient gossips might say, shaking their heads in their dreary way, between the meetings on sabbath-day! how urchins, searching at day's decline the common pasture for sheep or kine, the terrible double-ganger heard in leafy rustle or whir of bird ! think what a zest it gave to the sport, in berry-time, of the younger sort, as over pastures black berry-twined, reuben and dorothy lagged behind, and closer and closer, for fear of harm, the maiden clung to her lover's arm ; and how the spark, who was forced to stay, by his sweetheart's fears, till the break of day, thanked the snake for the fond delay ! far and wide the tale was told, like a snowball growing while it rolled. the nurse hushed with it the baby's cry: and it served, in the worthy minister's eye, to paint the primitive serpent by. cotton mather came galloping down all the way to newbury town, with his eyes agog and his ears set wide, and his marvellous inkborn at his side ; stirring the while in the shallow pool of his brains for the lore he learned at school, to garnish the story, with here a streak of latin and there another of greek : and the tales he heard and the notes he took, behold! are they not in his wonder-book ? stories, like dragons, are hard to kill. if the snake does not, the tale runs still in byfield meadows, on pipestave hill. and still, whenever husband and wife susanna martin, an aged woman of ames bury, mass., was tried and executed for the alleged crime of witchcraft. her home was in what is now known as pleasant valley on the merrimac, a little above the old ferry way. where, tradition says, an attempt was made to assassinate sir edmund andros on his way to falmouth (afterward portland) and pem. quid, which was frustrated by a warning timely given. goody martin was the only woman hanged on the north side of the merrim.. during the dreadful delusion. the aged wife of judge bradbury, who lived on the other soda of the powow river, was imprisoned and would have been put to death but for the collapse of the hideous persecution. the substance of the poem which folloss was published under the name of the ward's daughter, in the national era in 97. is 1977 my publishers desired to issue it with illas trations, and i then enlarged it and otherwise altered it to its present form. the principal addition was in the verses which constitute part i. proem i call the old time back : i bring my lay in tender memory of the summer day when, where our native river lapsed away, we dreamed it over, while the thrusbes made songs of their own, and the great pine-trees laid on warm noonlights the masses of their shade. and she was with us, living o'er again her life in ours, despite of years and pain, the autunin's brightness after latter rain. mabel martin 63 beautiful in her holy peace as one who stands, at evening, when the work is done, glorified in the setting of the sun ! who bear the pleasant name of friends, and keep their fathers' gentle ways and simple speech of bible days; her memory makes our common landscape in whose neat homesteads woman holds with modest ease her equal place, and wears upon her tranquil face seem fairer than any of which painters dream ; lights the brown hills and sings in every stream; the look of one who, merging not her self-hood in another's will, is love's and duty's handmaid still. for she whose speech was always truth's pure gold heard, not unpleased, its simple legends told, and loved with us the beautiful and old. pass with me down the path that winds through birches to the open land, where, close upon the river strand 1. you mark a cellar, vine o'errun, above whose wall of loosened stones the sumach lifts its reddening cones, the river valley across the level tableland, a grassy, rarely trodden way, with thinnest skirt of birchen spray and the black nightshade's berries shine, and broad, unsightly burdocks fold the household ruin, century-old. and stunted growth of cedar, leads to where you see the dull plain fall sheer off, steep-slanted, ploughed by all here, in the dim colonial time of sterner lives and gloomier faith, a woman lived, tradition saith, the seasons' rainfalls. on its brink the over-leaning harebells swing, with roots half bare the pine-trees cling ; and, through the shadow looking west, you see the wavering river flow along a vale, that far below holds to the sun, the sheltering hills and glimmering water-line between, broad fields of corn and meadows green, who wrought her neighbors foul annoy, and witched and plagued the countryside, till at the hangman's hand she died. sit with me while the westering day, falls slantwise down the quiet vale, and, haply ere yon loitering sail, that rounds the upper headland, falls below deer island's pines, or sees behind it hawkswood's belt of trees and fruit-bent orchards grouped around the low brown roofs and painted eaves, and chimney-tops half hid in leaves. no warmer valley hides behind yon wind-scourged sand-dunes, cold and bleak; no fairer river comes to seek rise black against the sinking sun, my idyl of its days of old, the valley's legend, shall be told. ii. the husking it was the pleasant harvest-time, when cellar-bins are closely stowed, and garrets bend beneath their load, the wave-sung welcome of the sea, or mark the northmost border line of sun-loved growths of nut and vine. here, ground-fast in their native fields, untempted by the city's gain, the quiet farmer folk remain and the old swallow-haunted barns, brown-gabled, long, and full of seams through which the moted sunlight streams, 64 narrative and legendary poems and winds blow freshly in, to shake the red plumes of the roosted cocks, iii. the witch's daughter and the loose hay mow's scented locks, but still the sweetest voice was mute that river-valley ever heard are filled with summer's ripened stores, from lips of maid or throat of bird ; its odorous grass and barley sheaves, from their low scaffolds to their eaves. for mabel martin sat apart, and let the hay-mow's shadow fall on esek harden's oaken floor, l'pon the loveliest face of all. with many an antumn threshing worn, lay the heaped ears of unhusked corn. she sat apart, as one forbid, who knew that none would condescend and thither came young men and maids, to own the witch-wife's child a friend beneath a moon that, large and low, lit that sweet eve of long ago. the seasons scarce had gone their round, since curious thousands thronged to see they took their places ; some by chance, her mother at the gallows-tree ; and others by a merry voice or sweet smile guided to their choice. and mocked the prison-palsied limbs that faltered on the fatal stairs, how pleasantly the rising moon, and wan lip trembling with its prayers! between the shadow of the mows, looked on them through the great elm| few questioned of the sorrowing child, boughs! or, when they saw the mother die, dreamed of the daughter's agony. on sturdy boy hood, sun-embrowned, on girlhood with its solid curves they went up to their homes that day, of healthful strength and painless nerves! as men and christians justified : god willed it, and the wretch had died ! and jests went round, and laughs that made dear god and father of us all, the house-dog answer with his howl, forgive our faith in cruel lies, and kept astir the barn-yard fowl ; forgive the blindness that denies ! and quaint old songs their fathers sung forgive thy creature when he takes, in derby dales and yorkshire moors, for the all-perfect love thou art, ere norman william trod their shores ; some grim creation of his heart. and tales, whose merry license shook cast down onr idols, overturn the fat sides of the saxon thane, our bloody altars ; let us see forgetful of the hovering dane, thyself in thy humanity! rude plays to celt and cimbri known, young mabel from her mother's grave the charms and riddles that beguiled (rept to her desolate hearth-stone, on oxus' banks the young world's and wrestled with her fate alone ; child, with love, and anger, and despair, that primal picture-speech wherein the phantoms of disordered sense, have youth and maid the story told, the awful doubts of providence! so new in each, so dateless old, oh, dreary broke the winter days, recalling pastoral ruth in her and dreary fell the winter nights who waited, blushing and demure, when, one by one, the neighboring the red-ear's kiss of forfeiture. lights mabel martin 65 went out, and human sounds grew still, and all the phantom-peopled dark closed round her hearth-fire's dying spark. had been her warm and steady friend, ere yet her mother's doom had made even esek harden half afraid. and summer days were sad and long, and sad the uncompanioned eves, and sadder sunset-tinted leaves, he felt that mute appeal of tears, and, starting, with an angry frown, hushed all the wicked murmurs down. and indian summer's airs of balm ; she scarcely felt the soft caress, the beauty died of loneliness! “good neighbors mine,” he sternly said, “this passes harmless mirth or jest ; i brook no insult to my guest. “ she is indeed her mother's child, but god's sweet pity ministers unto no whiter soul than hers. “let goody martin rest in peace; i never knew her harm a fly, and witch or not, god knows — not i. “i know who swore her life away ; and as god lives, i'd not condemn an indian dog on word of them.” the school-boys jeered her as they passed, and, when she sought the house of prayer, her mother's curse pursued her there. and still o'er many a neighboring door she saw the horseshoe's curvēd charm, to guard against her mother's harm : that mother, poor and sick and lame, who daily, by the old arm-chair, folded her withered hands in prayer ;who turned, in salem's dreary jail, her worn old bible o'er and o'er, when her dim eyes could read no more ! sore tried and pained, the poor girl kept her faith, and trusted that her way, so dark, would somewhere meet the day. and still her weary wheel went round day after day, with no relief : small leisure have the poor for grief. the broadest lands in all the town, the skill to guide, the power to awe, were harden's ; and his word was law. none dared withstand him to his face, but one sly maiden spake aside: “ the little witch is evil-eyed ! “ her mother only killed a cow, or witched a churn or dairy-pan ; but she, forsooth, must charm a man ! ” v. in the shadow iv. the champion poor mabel, homeward turning, passed the nameless terrors of the wood, and as if a ghost pursued, saw, so in the shadow mabel sits ; untouched by mirth she sees and hears, her smile is sadder than her tears. but cruel eyes have found her out, and cruel lips repeat her name, and taunt her with her mother's shame. her shadow gliding in the moon ; the soft breath of the west-wind gave a chill as from her mother's grave. how dreary seemed the silent house ! wide in the moonbeams' ghastly glare its windows had a dead man's stare ! she answered pot with railing words, but drew her apron o'er her face, and, sobbing, glided from the place. and only pausing at the door, her sad eyes met the troubled gaze of one who, in her better days, and, like a gaunt and spectral hand, the tremulous shadow of a birch reached out touched the door's low porch, 66 narrative and legendary poems “o god! have mercy on thy child, whose faith in thee grows weak and small, and take me ere i lose it all ! " as if to lift its latch ; hard by, a sudden warning call she heard, the night-cry of a boding bird. she leaned against the door ; her face, so fair, so young, so full of pain, white in the moonlight's silver rain. the river, on its pebbled rim, made music such as childhood knew ; the door-yard tree was whispered through a shadow on the moonlight fell, and murmuring wind and ware became a voice whose burden was her name. vi. the betrothal by voices such as childhood's ear had heard in moonlights long ago ; and through the willow-boughs below she saw the rippled waters shine ; beyond, in waves of shade and light, the hills rolled off into the night. she saw and heard, but over all a sense of some transforming spell, the shadow of her sick beart fell. and still across the wooded space the harvest lights of harden shone, and song and jest and laugh went had then god heard her ? had le sent his angel down? in flesh and blood, before her esek harden stood ! he laid his hand upon her arm : " dear mabel, this no more shall be ; who scoffs at you must scoff at me. “you know rough esek handen well ; and if he seems no suitor gay, and if his hair is touched with gray, “ the maiden grown shall never find his heart less warm than when sbe smiled, l'pon his knees a little child !” her tears of grief were tears of jos, as, folded in his strong embrace, she looked in esek harden's face. on. and be, so gentle, true, and strong, of men the bravest and the best, had he, too, scorued her with the rest ? she strove to drown her sense of wrong, and, in her old and simple way, to teach ber bitter heart to pray. poor child! the prayer, begun in faith, grew to a low, despairing cry of utter misery : " let me die ! “oh! take me from the scornful eyes, and hide me where the cruel speech and mocking finger may not reach! “i dare not breathe my mother's name : a daughter's right i dare not crave to weep above her unblest grave ! “let me not live until my heart, with few to pity, and with none to love me, hardens into stone. “() truest friend of all !” she said, “god bless you for your kindly thought, and make me worthy of my lot!" he led her forth, and, blent in one, beside their happy pathway ran the shadows of the maid and man. he led her through his dewy fields, to where the swinging lanterns glowed, and through the doors the huskers showed. “good friends and neighbors !” esek sand. “i'm weary of this lonely life ; in mabel see my chosen wife! "she greets you kindly, one and all ; the past is past, and all offence falls harmless from her innocence. the prophecy of samuel sewall 67 66 “ henceforth she stands no more alone ; you know what esek harden is ; he brooks no wrong to himn or bis. "now let the merriest tales be told, and let the sweetest songs be sung that ever made the old heart young ! #4 for now the lost has found a home; and a lone hearth shall brighter burn, as all the household joys return !” oh, pleasantly the harvest-moon, between the shadow of the mows, looked on them through the great elmboughs ! on mabel's curls of golden hair, on esek's shaggy strength it fell ; and the wind whispered, “ it is well !” of the fast which the good man lifelong kept with a haunting sorrow that never slept, as the circling year brought round the time of an error that left the sting of crime, when he sat on the bench of the witchcraft courts, with the laws of moses and hale's reports, and spake, in the name of both, the word that gave the witch's neck to the cord, and piled the oaken planks that pressed the feeble life from the warlock's breast ! all the day long, from dawn to dawn, his door was bolted, his curtain drawn ; no foot on his silent threshold trod, no eye looked on him save that of god, as he baffled the ghosts of the dead with charms of penitent tears, and prayers, and psalms, and, with precious proofs from the sacred word of the boundless pity and love of the lord, his faith confirmed and his trust renewed that the sin of his ignorance, sorely rued, might be washed away in the mingled flood of his human sorrow and christ's dear blood ! a the prophecy of samuel sewall the prose version of this prophecy is to be found in sewall's the new heaven upon the new earth, 1697, quoted in joshua coffin's history of newbury. judge sewall's father, henry sewall, was one of the pioneers of newbury. up and down the village streets strange are the forms my fancy meets, for the thoughts and things of to-day are hid, and through the veil of a closed lid the ancient worthies i see again : i hear the tap of the elder's cane, and his awful periwig i see, and the silver buckles of shoe and knee. stately and slow, with thoughtful air, his black cap hiding his whitened hair, walks the judge of the great assize, samuel sewall the good and wise. his face with lines of firmness wrought, he wears the look of a man unbought, who swears to his hurt and changes not ; yet, touched and softened nevertheless with the grace of christian gentleness, the face that a child would climb to kiss ! true and tender and brave and just, that man might honor and woman trust. green forever the memory be of the judge of the old theocracy, whom even his errors glorified, like a far-seen, sunlit mountain-side by the cloudy shadows which o'er it glide ! honor and praise to the puritan who the halting step of his age outran, and, seeing the infinite worth of man in the priceless gift the father gave, in the infinite love that stooped to save, dared not brand his brother a slave ! “who doth such wrong," he was wont to say, in his own quaint, picture-loving way, flings up to heaven a hand-grenade which god shall cast down upon his head !” widely as heaven and hell, contrast that brave old jurist of the past and the cunning trickster and knave of courts who the holy features of truth distorts,ruling as right the will of the strong, poverty, crime, and weakness wrong ; wide-eared to power, to the wronged and weak deaf as egypt's gods of leek ; touching and sad, a tale is told, like a penitent hymn of the psalmist old, 68 xarrative and legendary poems scoffing aside at party's nod i see it all like a chart unrolled, orier of nature and law of god; but my thoughts are full of the past and for whose dabbled ermine respect were old, waste, i hear the tales of my boyhood told ; reverence folly, and awe misplaced ; and the shadows and shapes of early days justice of whom 't were vain to seek flit dimly by in the veiling haze, as from koordish robber or syrian sheik! with measured movement and rhythmie oh, leave the wretch to his bribes and sins ; chime let him rot in the web of lies he spins ! weaving like shuttles my web of rhyine. to the saintly soul of the early day, i think of the old man wise and good to the christian judge, let us turn and who once on yon misty hillsides stood, say : (a poet who never measured rhyme, “ praise and thanks for an honest man ! à seer unknown to his dull-eared time,) glory to god for the puritan!” and, propped on his staff of age, looked down, i see, far southward, this quiet day, with his boyhood's love, on his native town, the hills of newbury rolling away, where, written as if on its hills and plains with the many tints of the season gay, his burden of prophecy yet remains, dreamily blending in autumn mist for the voices of wood, and wave, and wind crimson, and gold, and amethyst. to read in the ear of the musing mind :long and low, with dwarf trees crowned, plum island lies, like a whale aground, “ as long as plum island, to guard the a stone's toss over the narrow sound. coast inland, as far as the eye can go, as god appointed, shall keep its post ; the hills curve round like a bended bow ; as long as a salmon shall haunt the deep a silver arrow from out them sprung, of merrimac river, or sturgeon leap; i see the shine of the quasycung ; as long as pickerel swift and slim, and, round and round, over valley and or red-backed perch, in crane pond swim; hill, as long as the annual sea-fowl know old roads winding, as old roads will, their time to come and their time to go; here to a ferry, and there to a mill ; as long as cattle shall roam at will and glimpses of chimneys and gabled the green grass meadows by turkey hill ; eaves, as long as sheep shall look from the side through green elm arches and maple of oldtown hill on marishes wide, leaves, and parker river, and salt-sea tide ; old homesteads sacred to all that can as long as a wandering pigeon shall search gladden or sadden the heart of man, the fields below from his white-oak perch. over whose thresholds of oak and stone when the barley-harvest is ripe and shorn, life and death have come and gone ! and the dry husks fall from the standing tbere pictured tiles in the fireplace show, corn ; great beams sag from the ceiling low, as long as nature shall not grow old, the dresser glitters with polished wares, nor drop her work from her doting bold, the long clock ticks on the foot-worn stairs, and her care for the indian corn forget, and the low, broad chimney shows the and the yellow rows in pairs to set ; crack so long shall christians here be born, by the earthquake made a century back. grow up and ripen as god's sweet corn! ['p from their midst springs the village by the beak of bird, by the breath of frust, spire shall never a holy ear be lost, with the crest of its cock in the sun afire ; but, husked by death in the planter's beyond are orchards and planting lands, sight, and great salt marshes and glimmering be sown again in the fields of light !" sands, and, where north and south the coast-lines the island still is purple with plums, i'p the river the salmou comes, the blink of the sea in breeze and sun ! the sturgeon leaps, and the wild-fowl feels run, the preacher 69 the voyageur smiles as he listens to the sound that grows apace ; well he knows the vesper ringing of the bells of st. boniface. on hillside berries and marish seeds, all the beautiful signs remain, from spring-time sowing to autumn rain the good man's vision returns again ! and let us hope, as well we can, that the silent angel who garners man may find some grain as of old he found in the human cornfield ripe and sound, and the lord of the harvest deign to the bells of the roman mission, that call from their turrets twain, to the boatman on the river, to the hunter on the plain ! own the precious seed by the fathers sown! even so in our mortal journey the bitter north-winds blow, and thus upon life's red river our hearts, as oarsmen, row. the red river voyageur (suggested by reading the following passage in minnesota and its resources, by j. wesley bond: “as i pass slowly along the lonely road that leads me from thee, selkirk, mine eves do turn continually to gaze upon thy smiling, golden fields, and thy lofty towers, now burnished with the rays of the departing sun, while the sweet vesper bell reverberates afar and strikes so mournfully pleasant upon mine tär. i feel satisfied that, though absent thousands of weary miles, my thoughts will always dwell on thee with rapturous emotions.” at midnight, with the last stroke of the clock ushering in the 17th of december, 1891, the mth anniversary of whittier's birth, the bells of st. boniface rang a joyous peal.] and when the angel of shadow rests his feet on wave and shore, and our eyes grow dim with watching and our hearts faint at the oar, happy is he who heareth the signal of his release in the bells of the holy city, the chimes of eternal peace ! the preacher george whitefield, the celebrated prea died at newburyport in 1770, and was buried under the church which has since borne his name. a out and in the river is winding the links of its long, red chain, through belts of dusky pine-land and gusty leagues of plain. only, at times, a smoke-wreath with the drifting cloud-rack joins, the smoke of the hunting-lodges of the wild assiniboins ! drearily blows the north-wind from the land of ice and snow ; the eyes that look are weary, and heavy the hands that row. its windows flashing to the sky, beneath a thousand roofs of brown, far down the vale, my friend and i beheld the old and quiet town; the ghostly sails that out at sea flapped their white wings of mystery ; the beaches glimmering in the sun, and the low wooded capes that run into the sea-mist north and south ; the sand-bluffs at the river's mouth ; the swinging chain-bridge, and, afar, the foam-line of the harbor-bar. and with one foot on the water, and one upon the shore, the angel of shadow gives warning that day shall be no more. over the woods and meadow-lands a crimson-tinted shadow lay, of clouds through which the setting day flung a slant glory far away. it glittered on the wet sea-sands, it flamed upon the city's panes, smote the white sails of ships that wore outward or in, and glided o'er the steeples with their veering vanes ! is it the elang of wild-geese ? is it the indian's yell, that lends to the voice of the north-wind the tones of a far-off bell ? 70 narrative and legendary poems awhile my friend with rapid search when the night is darkest he gives the o’erran the landscape. "yonder spire morn; over gray roofs, a shaft of fire ; when the famine is sorest, the wine and what is it, pray ?” – “the whitefield corn! church! walled about by its basement stones, in the church of the wilderness edwards there rest the marvellous prophet's bones.” wrought, then as our homeward way we walked, shaping his creed at the forge of thought ; of the great preacher's life we talked ; and with thor's own hammer welded and and through the mystery of our theme bent the outward glory seemed to stream, the iron links of his argument, and nature's self interpreted which strove to grasp in its mighty span the doubtful record of the dead ; the purpose of god and the fate of man! and every level beam that smote yet faithful still, in his daily round the sails upon the dark atloat to the weak, and the poor, and sin-sick a symbol of the light became, found, which touched the shadows of our blame the schoolman's lore and the casuist's art with tongues of pentecostal tlame. drew warmth and life from his fervelt heart. over the roofs of the pioneers had he not seen in the solitudes gathers the moss of a hundred years ; of his deep and dark northampton wools on man and his works has passed the a vision of love about him fall? change not the blinding splendor which fell og which needs must be in a century's range. saul, the land lies open and warm in the sun, but the tenderer glory that rests on them anvils clamor and mill-wheels run, who walk in the new jerusalem, flocks on the hillsides, herds on the plain, where never the sun nor moon are known, the wilderness gladdened with fruit and but the lord and his love are the lgti grain ! alone! but the living faith of the settlers old and watching the sweet, still conntenance a dead profession their children hold ; of the wife of his bosom rapt in trance, to the lust of office and greed of trade had he not treasured each broken word a stepping-stone is the altar made. of the mystical wonder seen and beant; the church, to place and power the door, and loved the beautiful dreamer more rebukes the sin of the world no more, that thus to the desert of earth she bore nor sees its lord in the homeless poor. clusters of eshcol from canaan's shure : everywhere is the grasping hand, and eager adding of land to land; as the barley-winnower, holding with pain and earth, which seemed to the fathers aloft in waiting his chaff and grain, meant joyfully welcomes the far-uff breeze but as a pilgrim's wayside tent,sounding the pine-tree's slender keys, a nightly shelter to fold away so he who had waited long to hear when the lord should call at the break of the sound of the spirit drawing near, day, like that which the son of iddo heard solid and steadfast seems to be, when the feet of angels the myrties and time has forgotten eternity ! stirred, felt the answer of prayer, at last, but fresh and green from the rotting roots as over his church the afflatus passed, of primal forests the young growth shoots ; breaking its sleep as breezes break from the death of the old the new proceeds, to sun-bright ripples a stagnant lake. and the life of truth from the rot of creeds: on the ladder of god, which upward leads, at first a tremor of silent fear, the steps of progress are human needs. the creep of the thewh at danger near, for his judgments still are a mighty deep, a vague foreboding and discontent, and the eyes of his providence never sleep: over the hearts of the people went. the preacher 71 wisely and well said the eastern bard : fear is easy, but love is hard, easy to glow with the santon's rage, and walk on the meccan pilgrimage ; but he is greatest and best who can worship allah by loving man. thus he, — to whom, in the painful stress of zeal on fire from its own excess, heaven seemed so vast and earth so small that man was nothing, since god was all, forgot, as the best at times have done, that the love of the lord and of man are one. all nature warned in sounds and signs : the wind in the tops of the forest pines in the name of the highest called to prayer, as the muezzin calls from the minaret stair. through ceiled chainbers of secret sin sudden and strong the light shone in ; a guilty sense of his neighbor's needs startled the man of title-deeds ; the trembling hand of the worldling shook the dust of years from the holy book ; and the psalms of david, forgotten long, took the place of the scoffer's song. the impulse spread like the outward course of waters moved by a central force ; the tide of spiritual life rolled down from inland mountains to seaboard town. prepared and ready the altar stands waiting the prophet's outstretched hands and prayer availing, to downward call the fiery answer in view of all. hearts are like wax in the furnace ; who shall mould, and shape, and cast them anew? lo! by the merrimac whitefield stands in the temple that never was made by hands, curtains of azure, and crystal wall, and dome of the sunshine over all a homeless pilgrim, with dubious name blown about on the winds of fame ; now as an angel of blessing classed, and now as a mad enthusiast. called in his youth to sound and gauge the moral lapse of his race and age, and, sharp as truth, the contrast draw of human frailty and perfect law; possessed by the one dread thought that lent its goad to his fiery temperament, up and down the world he went, a john the baptist crying, repent! no perfect whole can our nature make ; here or there the circle will break; the orb of life as it takes the light on one side leaves the other in night. nerer was saint so good and great as to give no chance at st. peter's gate for the plea of the devil's advocate. so, incomplete by his being's law, the marvellous preacher had his flaw; with step unequal, and lame with faults, his shade on the path of history halts. little to him whose feet unshod the thorny path of the desert trod, careless of pain, so it led to god, seemed the hunger-pang and the poor man's wrong, the weak ones trodden beneath the strong. should the worm be chooser ? — the clay withstand the shaping will of the potter's hand ? in the indian fable arjoon hears the scorn of a god rebuke his fears : “spare thy pity !” krishna saith ; “ not in thy sword is the power of death ! all is illusion, loss but seems ; pleasure and pain are only dreams ; who deems he slayeth doth not kill ; who counts as slain is living still. strike, nor fear thy blow is crime ; nothing dies but the cheats of time ; slain or slayer, small the odds to each, immortal as indra's gods !” so by savannah's banks of shade, the stones of his mission the preacher laid on the heart of the negro crushed and rent, and made of his blood the wall's cement; bade the slave-ship speed from coast to coast, fanned by the wings of the holy ghost; and begged, for the love of christ, the gold coined from the hearts in its groaning hold. what could it matter, more or less of stripes, and hunger, and weariness? living or dying, bond or free, what was time to eternity ? alas for the preacher's cherished schemes ! mission and church are now but dreams; nor prayer nor fasting availed the plan to honor god through the wrong of man. 72 narrative and legendary poems of all his labors no trace remains of sin and its guilty consequence. save the bondman lifting his hands in it was as if an angel's voice chains. called the listeners up for their final choier ; the woof he wove in the righteous warp as if a strong hand rent apart of freedom-loving oglethorpe the veils of sense from soul and heart, clothes with curses the goodly land, showing in light ineffable changes its greenness and bloom to sand ; the joys of heaven and woes of hell ! and a century's lapse reveals once more all about in the misty air the slave-ship stealing to georgia's shore. the hills seemed kneeling in silent prayer. father of light ! how blind is he the rustle of leaves, the moaning sedge, who sprinkles the altar he rears to thee the water's lap on its gravelled edge, with the blood and tears of humanity! the wailing pines, and, far and faint, the wood-dove's note of sad complaint, he erred : shall we count his gifts as to the solemn voice of the preacher lent naught? an undertone as of low lament ; was the work of god in him unwrought ? and the rote of the sea from its sandy coast, the servant may through his deafness err, on the easterly wind, now heard, now lure and blind may be god's messenger; seemed the murmurous sound of the juda but the errand is sure they go upon,ment host. the word is spoken, the deed is done. was the llebrew temple less fair and good yet wise men doubted, and good men w pe. that solomon bowed to gods of wood ? as that storm of passion above them sw*i for his tempted heart and wandering feet, and, comet-like, adding flame to flame, were the songs of david less pure and the priests of the new evangel came, sweet? davenport, tlashing upon the crowd, so in light and shadow the preacher went, charged like summer's electric cloud, god's erring and human instrument ; now holding the listener still as death and the hearts of the people where he with terrible warnings under breath, passed now shouting for joy, as if he viewed swayed as the reeds sway in the blast, the vision of heaven's beatitude ! l'nder the spell of a voice which took and celtic tennant, his long coat bound in its compass the flow of siloa's brook, like a monk's with leathern girille round, and the mystical chime of the bells of gold wild with the toss of unshorn hair, on the ephod's hem of the priest of old, and wringing of hands, and eyes agiare, now the roll of thunder, and now the awe groaning under the world's despair! of the trumpet heard in the mount of law. grave pastors, grieving their thorks to lose. prophesied to the empty pews a solemn fear on the listening crowd that gourils would wither, and mushrooms fell like the shadow of a cloud. die, the sailor reeling from out the ships and noisiest fountains run soonest drr, whose masts stood thick in the river-slips like the spring that gushed in new buurt felt the jest and the curse die on his lips. street, listened the fisherman rude and hard, l'nder the tramp of the earthquake's furt. the calker rough from the builder's yard ; a silver shaft in the air and lighi, the man of the market left his load, for a single day, then lost in night, the teamster leaned on his bending goad, leaving only, its place to tell, the maiden, and youth beside her, felt sandy fissure and sulphurous smell. their hearts in a closer union melt, with zeal wing-clippevi and white-heat el and saw the towers of their love in bloom moved by the spirit in grooves of rule, down the endless vistas of life to come. no longer harried, and cropped, ani old age sat feebly brushing away fleeced. from his ear the scanty locks of gray; flogged by sheriff and cursed by priest, and enreless boy hood, living the free but by wiser counsel left at ease l'nconscious life of bird and true, to settle quietly on his lees, suddenly wakened to a sense and, self-concentred, to count as done the preacher 73 the work which his fathers well begun, in silent protest of letting alone, the quaker kept the way of his own, a non-conductor among the wires, with coat of asbestos proof to fires. and quite unable to mend his pace to catch the falling manna of grace, he hugged the closer his little store of faith, and silently prayed for more. and vague of creed and barren of rite, but holding, as in his master's sight, act and thought to the inner light, the round of his simple duties walked, and strove to live what the others talked. who cares for the hadji's relics sunk? who thinks of the drowned out coptic monk? the tide that loosens the temple's stones, and scatters the sacred ibis-bones, drives away from the valley-land that arab robber, the wandering sand, moistens the fields that know no rain, fringes the desert with belts of grain, and bread to the sower brings again. so the flood of emotion deep and strong troubled the land as it swept along, but left a result of holier lives, tenderer mothers and worthier wives. the husband and father whose children fled and sad wife wept when his drunken tread frightened peace from his roof-tree's shade, and a rock of offence his hearthstone made, in a strength that was not his own began to rise from the brute's to the plane of old friends embraced, long held apart by evil counsel and pride of heart ; and penitence saw through misty tears, in the bow of hope on its cloud of fears, the promise of heaven's eternal years, – the peace of god for the world's annoy, beauty for ashes, and oil of joy! man. and who shall marvel if evil went step by step with the good intent, and with love and meekness, side by side, lust of the flesh and spiritual pride ? that passionate longings and fancies vain set the heart on fire and crazed the brain ? that over the holy oracles folly sported with cap and bells ? that goodly women and learned men marvelling told with tongue and pen how unweaned children chirped like birds texts of scripture and solemn words, like the infant seers of the rocky glens in the puy de dome of wild cevennes : or baby lamas who pray and preach from tartar cradles in buddha's speech ? in the war which truth or freedom wages with impious fraud and the wrong of ages, hate and malice and self-love mar the notes of triumph with painful jar, and the helping angels turn aside their sorrowing faces the shame to hide. never on custom's oilëd grooves the world to a higher level moves, but grates and grinds with friction hard on granite boulder and flinty shard. the heart must bleed before it feels, the pool be troubled before it heals ; ever by losses the right must gain, every good have its birth of pain ; the active virtues blush to find the vices wearing their badge behind, and graces and charities feel the fire wherein the sins of the age expire ; the fiend still rends as of old he rent the tortured body from which he went. but time tests all. in the over-drift and flow of the nile, with its annual gift, under the church of federal street, under the tread of its sabbath feet, walled about by its basement stones, lie the marvellous preacher's bones. no saintly honors to them are shown, no sign nor miracle have they known ; but he who passes the ancient church stops in the shade of its belfry-porch, and ponders the wonderful life of him who lies at rest in that charnel dim. long shall the traveller strain his eye from the railroad car, as it plunges by, and the vanishing town behind him search for the slender spire of the whitefield church; and feel for one moment the ghosts of trade, and fashion, and folly, and pleasure laid, by the thought of that life of pure intent, that voice of warning yet eloquent, of one on the errands of angels sent. and if where he labored the flood of sin like a tide from the harbor-bar sets and over a life of time and sense the church-spires lift their vain defence, a 74 narrative and legendary poems as if to scatter the bolts of god with the points of calvin's thunder-rod, still, as the gem of its civic crown, precious beyond the world's renown, his memory hallows the ancient town! $6 66 the truce of piscataqua in the winter of 1675–76, the eastern indians, who had been making war upon the new hampshire settlements, were so reduced in numbers by fighting and famine that they agreed to a peace with major waldron at dover; but the peace was broken in the fall of 1070. the famous chief, squando, was the principal negotiator on the part of the savages. he had taken up the batchet to revenge the brutal treatment of his child by drunken white sailors, which caused its death. it not unfrequently happened during the border wars that young white children were adopted by their indian captors, and so kindly treated that they were unwilling to leave the free, wild life of the woods; and in some instances they utterly refused to go back with their parents to their old homes and civilization. raze these long blocks of brick and stone, these huge mill-monsters overgrown ; blot out the humbler piles as well, where, moved like living shuttles, dwell the weaving genii of the bell ; tear from the wild cocheco's track the dams that hold its torrents back ; and let the loud-re joicing fall plunge, roaring, down its rocky wall; and let the indian's paddle play on the unbridged piscataqua! wide over hill and valley spread once more the forest, dusk and dread, with here and there a clearing cut from the walled shadows round it shut; each with its farm-house builded rude, by english yeoman squared and hewed, and the grim, flankered block-house bound with bristling palisades around. so, haply shall before thine eyes the dusty veil of centuries rise, the old, strange scenery overlay the tamer pictures of to-day, while, like the actors in a play, pass in their ancient guise along the figures of my borler song : what time beside ('ocheco's tlood the white man and the red man stood, with words of peace and brotherbood; when passed the sacred calumet from lip to lip with fire-draught wet, and, puffed in scorn, the peace pipe's smoke through the gray beard of waldrud broke, and squando's voice, in suppliant plea for mercy, struck the haughty key of one who held, in any fate, his native pride inviolate ! let your ears be opened wide ! ile who speaks has never lied. waldron of piscataqua, hear what squando has to say ! · squando shuts his eyes and sees, far off, saco's hemlock-trees. in his wigwam, still as stone, sits a woman all alone, wampum beads and birchen strands dropping from her careless hands, listening ever for the fleet patter of a dead child's feet! “ when the moon a year ago told the tlowers the time to blow, in that lonely wigwam smiled menewee, our little child. · ere that moon grew thin and old, he was lying still and cold ; sent before us, weak and small, when the master did not call ! “on his little grave i lay ; three times went and came the day, thrice above me blazed the noon, thrice upon me wept the moon. “in the third night-watch i heard, far and low, a spirit-bird ; very mournful, very wild, sang the totem of my child. “menewee, poor menewee, walks a path he cannot see : let the white man's wigwam light with its blaze his steps aright. "* all-uncalled, he dares not show empty bands to manito : better gifts he cannot bear than the scalps his slayers wear.' 66 the truce of piscataqua 75 * all the while the totem sang, lightning blazed and thunder rang ; and a black cloud, reaching high, pulled the white moon from the sky. “ gift or favor ask i none; what i have is all my own : never yet the birds have sung, * squando hath a beggar's tongue.' a * i, the medicine-man, whose ear all that spirits hear can hear, – i, whose eyes are wide to see all the things that are to be, “ yet for her who waits at home, for the dead who cannot come, let the little gold-hair be in the place of menewee ! “well i knew the dreadful signs in the whispers of the pines, in the river roaring loud, in the mutter of the cloud. i " at the breaking of the day, from the grave i passed away ; flowers bloomed round me, birds sang glad, but my heart was hot and mad. “ there is rust on squando's knife from the warm, red springs of life ; on the funeral hemlock-trees many a scalp the totem sees. * blood for blood ! but evermore squando's heart is sad and sore ; and bis poor squaw waits at home for the feet that never come ! “ mishanock, my little star ! come to saco's pines afar where the sad one waits at home, wequashim, my moonlight, come !” “what !” quoth waldron, “ leave a child christian-born to heathens wild ? as god lives, from satan's hand i will pluck her as a brand !” “ hear me, white man !” squando cried ; “ let the little one decide. weqnashim, my moonlight, say, wilt thou go with me, or stay ?” slowly, sadly, half afraid, half regretfully, the inaid owned the ties of blood and race, turned from squando's pleading face. not a word the indian spoke, but his wampum chain he broke, and the beaded wonder hung on that neck so fair and young. silence-shod, as phantoms seem in the marches of a dream, single-filed, the grim array through the pine-trees wound away. “waldron of cocheco, hear ! squando speaks, who laughs at fear; take the captives he has ta’en ; let the land have peace again !” as the words died on his tongue, wide apart his warriors swung ; parted, at the sign he gave, right and left, like egypt's wave. and, like israel passing free through the prophet-charmëd sea, captive mother, wife, and child through the dusky terror filed. one alone, a little maid, middleway her steps delayed, glancing, with quick, troubled sight, round about from red to white. then bis hand the indian laid on the little maiden's head, lightly from her forehead fair sinoothing back her yellow hair. doubting, trembling, sore amazed, through her tears the young child gazed. “god preserve her!” waldron said ; “ satan hath bewitched the maid !” years went and came. at close of day singing came a child from play, tossing from her loose-locked head gold in sunshine, brown in shade. pride was in the mother's look, but her head she gravely shook, and with lips that fondly smiled feigned to chide her truant child. 76 narrative and legendary poems unabashed, the maid began : blame her not, as to her soul "up and down the brook i ran, all the desert's glamour stole, where, beneath the bank so steep, that a tear for childhood's loss lie the spotted trout asleep. dropped upon the indian's cross. “ • chip !' went squirrel on the wall, when, that night, the book was read, after me i heard him call, and she bowed her widowed bead. and the cat-bird on the tree and a prayer for each loved name tried his best to mimic me. rose like incense from a flame, “where the hemlocks grew so dark with a hope the creeds forbid that i stopped to look and hark, in her pitying bosom hid, on a log, with feather-bat, to the listening ear of heaven by the path, an indian sat. lo! the indian's name was given. “ then i cried, and ran away ; but he called, and bade me stay ; my playmate and his voice was good and mild [when written, this poem bore the titl. as my mother's to her child. eleanor, and when first printed the piaymune. “ and he took my wampum chain, the pines were dark on ramoth hill, looked and looked it o'er again ; their song was soft and low; gave me berries, and, beside, the blossoms in the sweet may wind on my neck a plaything tied." were falling like the snow. straight the mother stooped to see the blossoms drifted at our feet, what the indian's gift might be. the orchard birds sang clear ; on the braid of wampum hung, the sweetest and the saildest day lo! a cross of silver swung. it seemed of all the year. well she knew its graven sign, for, more to me than birils or flowers, squando's bird and totem pine ; my playmate left her home, and, a mirage of the brain, and took with her the laughing spring, flowed her childhood back again. the music and the bloom. flashed the roof the sunshine through, she kissed the lips of kith and kin, into space the walls outgrew; she laid her hand in mine : on the indian's wigwam-mat, what more could ask the bashful boy blossom-crowned, again she sat. who fed her father's kine ? cool she felt the west-wind blow, she left us in the bloom of may : in her ear the pines sang low, the constant years told o'er and, like links from out a chain, their seasons with as sweet may morns, dropped the years of care and pain. but she came back no more. from the outward toil and din, i walk, with noiseless feet, the round from the griefs that gnaw within, of uneventful years ; to the freedom of the woods still o'er and o'er i sow the spring called the birds, and winds, and floods. and reap the autumn ears. well, () painful minister! she lives where all the golden year watch thy tlock, but blame not her, her summer roses blow ; if her ear grew sharp to hear the dusky children of the sun all their voices whispering near. before her come and go. cobbler keezar's vision 77 there haply with her jewelled hands she smooths her silken gown, no more the homespun lap wherein i shook the walnuts down. the minks were fish-wards, and the crows surveyors of highway, the wild grapes wait us by the brook, the brown nuts on the hill, and still the may-day flowers make sweet the woods of follymill. when keezar sat on the hillside upon his cobbler's form, with a pan of coals on either hand to keep his waxed-ends warm. the lilies blossom in the pond, the bird builds in the tree, the dark pines sing on ramoth hill the slow song of the sea. and there, in the golden weather, he stitched and hammered and sung ; in the brook he moistened his leather, in the pewter mug his tongue. well knew the tough old teuton who brewed the stoutest ale, and he paid the goodwife's reckoning in the coin of song and tale. i wonder if she thinks of them, and how the old time seems, if ever the pines of ramoth wood are sounding in her dreams. the songs they still are singing who dress the hills of vine, the tales that haunt the brocken and whisper down the rhine. i see her face, i hear her voice; does she remember mine ? and what to her is now the boy who fed her father's kine ? what cares she that the orioles build for other eyes than ours, that other hands with nuts are filled, and other laps with flowers ? o playmate in the golden time! our mossy seat is green, its fringing violets blossom yet, the old trees o'er it lean. woodsy and wild and lonesome, the swift stream wound away, through birches and scarlet maples flashing in foam and spray, down on the sharp-horned ledges plunging in steep cascade, tossing its white-maned waters against the hemlock's shade. woodsy and wild and lonesome, east and west and north and south ; only the village of fishers down at the river's mouth ; a the winds so sweet with birch and fern a sweeter memory blow; and there in spring the veeries sing the song of long ago. and still the pines of ramoth wood are moaning like the sea, the moaning of the sea of change between myself and thee ! only here and there a clearing, with its farm-house rude and new, and tree-stumps, swart as indians, where the scanty harvest grew. no shout of home-bound reapers, no vintage-song he heard, and on the green no dancing feet the merry violin stirred. “why should folk be glum," said keezar, “ when nature herself is glad, and the painted woods are laughing at the faces so sour and sad ?" cobbler keezar's vision this ballad was written on the occasion of a horticultural festival. cobbler keezar was a noted character among the first settlers in the valley of the merrimac. the beaver cut his timber with patient teeth that day, small heed had the careless cobbler what sorrow of heart was theirs 78 narrative and legendary poems who travailed in pain with the births of god, and planted a state with prayers, – hunting of witches and warlocks, smiting the heathen horde,one hand on the mason's trowel, and one on the soldier's sword ! but give him his ale and cider, give him his pipe and song, little he cared for church or state, or the balance of right and wrong. “ 'tis work, work, work,” he muttered, “and for rest a snuttle of psalms !” he smote on his leathern apron with his brown and waxen palms. to a cobbler minnesinger the marvellous stone gave he, and he gave it, in turn, to keezar, who brought it over the sea. he held up that mystic lapstone, he held it up like a lens, and he counted the long years coming by twenties and by tens. “one hundred years," quoth keezar, “ and fifty have i told : now open the new before me, and shut me out the old !” like a cloud of mist, the blackness rolled from the magic stone, and a marvellous picture mingled the unknown and the known. still ran the stream to the river, and river and ocean joined ; and there were the bluffs and the blue sealine, and cold north hills behind. “oh for the purple harvests of the days when i was young! for the merry grape-stained maidens, and the pleasant songs they sung! " oh for the breath of vineyards, of apples and nuts and wine! for an oar to row and a breeze to blow down the grand old river rhine!” a tear in his blue eye glistened, and dropped on his beard so gray. " old, old am i," said keezar, “ and the rhine flows far away !" but the mighty forest was broken by many a steepled town, by many a white-walled farm-house, and many a garner brown. turning a score of mill-wheels, the stream no more ran free ; white sails on the winding river, white sails on the far-off sea. but a cunning man was the cobbler; he could call the birds from the trees, charm the black snake out of the ledges, and bring back the swarming bees. all the virtues of herbs and metals, all the lore of the woods, he knew, and the arts of the old world mingled with the marvels of the new. below in the noisy village the flags were floating gay, and shone on a thousand faces the light of a holiday. swiftly the rival ploughmen turned the brown earth from their shares; here were the farmer's treasures, there were the craftsman's wares. golden the goodwife's butter, ruby her currant-wine ; grand were the strutting turkers, fat were the beeves and swine. yellow and red were the apples, and the ripe pears russet-brown, and the peaches had stolen blushes from the girls who shook them down. well he knew the tricks of magic, and the lapstone on his knee had the gift of the mormon's goggles or the stone of doctor dee. for the mighty master agrippa wrought it with spell and rhyme from a fragment of mystic moonstone in the tower of nettesheim. amy wentworth 79 and with blooms of hill and wildwood, that shame the toil of art, mingled the gorgeous blossoms of the garden's tropic heart. but oft the idle fisher sits on the shadowy bank, and his dreams make marvellous pictures where the wizard's lapstone sank. "what is it i see?” said keezar : "am i here, or am i there? is it a fête at bingen ? do i look on frankfort fair? and still, in the summer twilights, when the river seems to run out from the inner glory, warm with the melted sun, 66 the weary mill-girl lingers beside the charmëd stream, and the sky and the golden water shape and color her dream. fair wave the sunset gardens, the rosy signals fly ; her homestead beckons from the cloud, and love goes sailing by. amy wentworth to william bradford but where are the clowns and puppets, and imps with horns and tail ? and where are the rhenish flagons ? and where is the foaming ale? “ strange things, i know, will happen, strange things the lord permits ; but that droughty folk should be jolly puzzles my poor old wits. " here are smiling manly faces, and the maiden's step is gay ; vor sad by thinking, nor mad by drinking, nor mopes, nor fools, are they. ** here's pleasure without regretting, and good without abuse, the holiday and the bridal of beauty and of use. " here's a priest and there is a quaker, do the cat and dog agree? hare they burned the stocks for ovenwood ? have they cut down the gallows-tree ? “would the old folk know their children ? would they own the graceless town, with never a ranter to worry and never a witch to drown ?” 46 as they who watch by sick-beds find relief unwittingly from the great stress of grief and anxious care, in fantasies outwrought from the hearth’s embers flickering low, or caught from whispering wind, or tread of passing feet, or vagrant memory calling up some sweet snatch of old song or romance, whence or why they scarcely know or ask, so, thou and i, nursed in the faith that truth alone is strong in the endurance which outwearies wrong, with meek persistence baffling brutal force, and trusting god against the universe, we, doomed to watch a strife we may not share with other weapons than the patriot's prayer, yet owning, with full hearts and moistened eyes, the awful beauty of self-sacrifice, and wrung by keenest sympathy for all who give their loved ones for the living wall 'twixt law and treason, in this evil day may haply find, through automatic play of pen and pencil, solace to our pain, and hearten others with the strength we gain. a lond laughed the cobbler keezar, laughed like a school-boy gay ; tossing his arms above him, the lapstone rolled away. it rolled down the rugged hillside, it spun like a wheel bewitched, it plunged through the leaning willows, ànd into the river pitched. there, in the deep, dark water, the magic stone lies still, [nder the leaning willows in the shadow of the hill. 80 narrative and legendary poems cove i know it has been said our times require a song for oars to chime with, such as might no play of art, nor dalliance with the lyre, be sung by tired sea-painters, who at night no weak essay with fancy's chloroform look from their hemlock camps, by quiet to calm the hot, mad pulses of the storm, but the stern war-blast rather, such as sets or beach, moon-lighted, on the waves they the battle's teeth of serried bayonets, love. and pictures grim as vernet's. yet with (so hast thou looked, when level sunset these lay some softer tints may blend, and milder on the calni bosom of some eastern bay, keys and all the spray-moist rocks and waves relieve the storm-stunned ear. let us that rolled keep sweet, up the white sand-slopes flashed with ruddy if so we may, our hearts, even while we eat gold.) the bitter harvest of our own device something it has — a flavor of the sea, and half a century's moral cowardice. and the sea's freedom which reminds of as nürnberg sang while wittenberg defied, thee. and kranach painted by his luther's side, its faded picture, dimly smiling down and through the war-march of the puritan from the blurred fresco of the ancient the silver stream of marvell's music ran, town, so let the household melodies be sung, i have not touched with warmer tints in the pleasant pictures on the wall be hung, vain, so let us hold against the hosts of night if, in this dark, sad year, it steals one and slavery all our vantage-ground of light. thought from pain. let treason boast its savagery, and shake from its flag-folds its symbol rattlesnake, nurse its fine arts, lay human skins in tan, and carve its pipe-bowls from the bones of her fingers shame the irory keys man, they dance so light along; and make the tale of fijian banquets dull the bloom upon her parted lips by drinking whiskey from a loyal skull,is sweeter than the song. but let us guard, till this sad war shall cease, (god grant it soon !) the graceful arts of o perfumed suitor, spare thy smiles ! peace : hler thoughts are not of thee ; no foes are conquered who the victors teach she better loves the salted wind, their vandal manners and barbaric speech. the voices of the sea. and while, with hearts of thankfulness, we her heart is like an outbound ship bear that at its anchor swings ; of the great common burden our full share, the murmur of the stranded shell let none upbraid us that the waves entice is in the song she sings. thy sea-dipped pencil, or some quaint device, she sings, and, smiling, hears her praise, rhythmic and sweet, beguiles my pen away but dreams the while of one from the sharp strifes and sorrows of ton who watches from his sea-blown deek day. the icebergs in the sun. thus, while the east-wind keen from labrarlor she questions all the winds that blow, sings in the leafless elms, and from the shore and every fog-wreath dim, of the great sea comes the monotonous roar and bids the sea-birds tlying north of the long-breaking surf, and all the sky bear messages to him. is gray with cloud, home-bound and dull, i try she speeds them with the thanks of men to time a simple legend to the sounds he perilled life to save, of winds in the woouls, and waves on peband grateful pravers like holy oil bled bounds, to smooth for him the wave. the countess 81 oh, rank is good, and gold is fair, and high and low mate ill ; but love has never known a law beyond its own sweet will ! brown viking of the fishing-smack ! fair toast of all the town! the skipper's jerkin ill beseems the lady's silken gown ! but ne'er shall amy wentworth wear for him the blush of shame who dares to set his manly gifts against her ancient name. the stream is brightest at its spring, and blood is not like wine ; vor honored less than he who heirs is he who founds a line. the countess to e. w. full lightly shall the prize be won, if love be fortune's spur ; and never maiden stoops to him who lifts himself to her. her home is brave in jaffrey street, with stately stairways worn by feet of old colonial knights and ladies gentle-born. still green about its ample porch the english ivy twines, trained back to show in english oak the herald's carven signs. i inscribed this poem to dr. elias weld of haverhill, massachusetts, to whose kindness i was much indebted in my boyhood. he was the one cultivated man in the neighborhood. his small but well-chosen library was placed at my disposal. he is the “wise old doctor" of snow-bound. count françois de vipart with his cousin joseph rochemont de poyen came to the united states in the early part of the present century. they took up their residence at rocks village on the merrimac, where they both married. the wife of count vipart was mary ingalls, who, as my father remembered her, was a very lovely young girl. her wedding dress, as described by a lady still living, was “pink satin with an overdress of white lace, and white satin slippers." she died in less than a year after her marriage. her husband returned to his native country. he lies buried in the family tomb of the viparts at bordeaux. [see note at end of volume.] . and on her, from the wainscot old, ancestral faces frown,and this has worn the soldier's sword, and that the judge's gown. but, strong of will and proud as they, she walks the gallery floor as if she trod her sailor's deck by stormy labrador ! the sweetbrier blooms on kittery-side, and green are elliot's bowers; her garden is the pebbled beach, the mosses are her flowers. i know not, time and space so intervene, whether, still waiting with a trust serene, thou bearest up thy fourscore years and ten, or, called at last, art now heaven's citizen ; but, here or there, a pleasant thought of thee, like an old friend, all day has been with me. the shy, still boy, for whom thy kindly hand smoothed his hard pathway to the wonderland of thought and fancy, in gray manhood yet keeps green the memory of his early debt. to-day, when truth and falsehood speak their words through hot-lipped cannon and the teeth of swords, listening with quickened heart and ear intent to each sharp clause of that stern argument, i still can hear at times a softer note of the old pastoral music round me float, while through the hot gleam of our civil strife she looks across the harbor-bar to see the white gulls fly; his greeting from the northern sea is in their clanging cry. she hums a song, and dreams that be, as in its romance old, shall homeward ride with silken sails and masts of beaten gold ! 82 narrative and legendary poems the river's steel-blue crescent curves to meet, in ebb and flow, the single broken wharf that serves for sloop and gundelow. looms the green mirage of a simpler life. as, at his alien post, the sentinel drops the old bucket in the homestead well, and hears old voices in the winds that toss above his head the live-oak's beard of moss, so, in our trial-time, and under skies shadowed by swords like islam's paradise, i wait and watch, and let my fancy stray to milder scenes and youth's arcadian day; and howsoe'er the pencil dipped in dreams shades the brown woods or tints the sunset streams, the country doctor in the foreground seems, whose ancient sulky down the village lanes dragged, like a war-car, captive ills and pains. i could not paint the scenery of my song, mindless of one who looked thereon so long ; who, night and day, on duty's lonely round, made friends o' the woods and rocks, and knew the sound of each small brook, and what the hillside trees said to the winds that touched their leafy keys ; who saw so keenly and so well could paint the village-folk, with all their humors quaint, the parson ambling on his wall-eyed roan, grave and erect, with white hair backward blown; the tough old boatman, half amphibious grown ; the muttering witch-wife of the gossip's tale, and the loud straggler levying his blackmail, old customs, habits, superstitions, fears, all that lies buried under fifty years. to thee, as is most fit, i bring my lay, and, grateful, own the debt i cannot pay. with salt sea-scents along its shores the heavy hay-boats crawl, the long antennæ of their oars in lazy rise and fall. along the gray abutment's wall the idle shad-net dries; the toll-man in his cobbler's stall sits smoking with closed eyes. you hear the pier's low undertone of waves that chafe and gnaw ; you start, – a skipper's horu is blown to raise the creaking draw. at times a blacksmith's anvil sounds with slow and sluggard beat, or stage-coach on its dusty rounds wakes up the staring street. a place for idle eyes and ears, à cobwebbed nook of dreams ; left by the stream whose waves are years the stranded village seems. and there, like other moss and rust, the native dweller clings, and keeps, in uninquiring trust, the old, dull round of things. the fisher drops his patient lines, the farmer sows his grain, content to hear the murmuring pines instead of railroad train. go where, along the tangled steep that slopes against the west, the hamlet's buried idlers sleep in still profounder rest. throw back the locust's flowery plume, the birch's pale-green scarf, and break the web of brier and bloom from name and epitaph. a simple muster-roll of death, of pomp and romance shorn, the dry, old names that common breath has cheapened and out worn. ()ver the wooded northern ridge, between its houses brown, to the dark tunnel of the bridge the street comes straggling down. you catch a glimpse, through birch and pine, of gable, roof, and porch, the tavern with its swinging sign, the sharp horn of the church. the countess 83 yet pause by one low mound, and part the wild vines o'er it laced, and read the words by rustic art upon its headstone traced. her rest is quiet on the hill, beneath the locust's bloom ; far off her lover sleeps as still within his scutcheoned tomb. haply yon white-haired villager of fourscore years can say what means the noble name of her who sleeps with common clay. the gascon lord, the village maid, in death still clasp their hands ; the love that levels rank and grade unites their severed lands. an exile from the gascon land found refuge here and rest, and loved, of all the village band, its fairest and its best. what matter whose the hillside grave, or whose the blazoned stone ? forever to her western wave shall whisper blue garonne ! o love ! — so hallowing every soil that gives thy sweet flower room, wherever, nursed by ease or toil, the human heart takes bloom ! plant of lost eden, from the sod of sinful earth unriven, white blossom of the trees of god dropped down to us from heaven ! this tangled waste of mound and stone is holy for thy sake ; a sweetness which is all thy own breathes out from fern and brake. he knelt with her on sabbath morns, he worshipped through her eyes, and on the pride that doubts and scorns stole in her faith's surprise. her simple daily life he saw br homeliest duties tried, in all things by an untaught law of fitness justified. for her his rank aside he laid ; he took the hue and tone of lowly life and toil, and made her simple ways his own. yet still, in gay and careless ease, to harvest-field or dance he brought the gentle courtesies, the nameless grace of france. and she who taught him love not less from him she loved in turn caught in her sweet unconsciousness what love is quick to learn. each grew to each in pleased accord, vor knew the gazing town, if she looked upward to her lord or he to her looked down. and while ancestral pride shall twine the gascon's tomb with flowers, fall sweetly here, o song of mine, with summer's bloom and showers ! and let the lines that severed seem unite again in thee, as western wave and gallic stream are mingled in one sea ! among the hills how sweet, when summer's day was o'er, his violin's mirth and wail, the walk on pleasant newbury's shore, the river's moonlit sail ! this poem, when originally published, was dedicated to annie fields, wife of the distinguished publisher, james t. fields, of boston, in grateful acknowledgment of the strength and inspiration i have found in her friendship and sympathy. the poem in its first form was entitled the wife: an idyl of bearcamp water, and appeared in the atlantic monthly for january, 1868. when i published the volume among the hills, december of the same year, i ex panded the prelude and filled out also the outlines of the story. ah! life is brief, though love be long ; the altar and the bier, the burial hymn and bridal song, were both in one short year ! 84 virrative and legendary poems prelude become when beauty, barmony, and love sit at their humble hearth as angels sat along the roadside, like the flowers of at evening in the patriarch's tent, when mun gold makes labor noble, and his farmer's frock that tawny ineas for their gardens wrought, the symbol of a christian chivalry heavy with sunshine droops the golden-rud, tender and just and generous to her and the red pennons of the cardinal-towers who clothes with grace all duty ; still, i hang motionless upon their npright staves. know the sky is hot and hazy, and the wind, too well the picture has another side, – wing-weary with its long flight from the how wearily the grind of toil goes on south, where love is wanting, how the eye and l'nfelt; yet, closely scanned, yon maple ear leaf and heart are starved amidst the plenitude with faintest motion, as one stirs in dreams, of nature, and how hard and colorless confesses it. the locust by the wall is life without an atmosphere. i look stabs the poon-silence with his sharp alarm. across the lapse of half a century, a single hay-cart down the dusty road and call to mind old homesteads, where no ('reaks slowly, with its driver fast asleep flower on the load's top. against the neighbortold that the spring had come, but evi ing hill, weeds, huddled along the stone wall's shady side, nightshade and rough-leaved burdock in the sheep show white, as if a snowdrift the place still of the sweet doorway greeting of the perse defied the dog-star. through the open and honeysuckle, whore the house walls door seemed a drowsy smell of flowers gray helioblistering in sun, without a tree or vine trope, to cast the tremulous shadow of its leares and white sweet clover, and shy mignonacross the curtainless windows, from whose ette panes comes faintly in, and silent chorus lends fluttered the signal rags of shiftlessness. to the pervading symphony of peace. within, the cluttered kitchen toor, unwashed no time is this for hands long over-worn (broom-clean i think they called it); the to task their strength: and (unto him be best room praise stifling with cellar-damp, shut from the air who giveth quietness !) the stress and in hot midsummer, bookless, pictureless strain save the inevitable sampler hung of years that did the work of centuries over the fireplace, or a mourning piere, have ceased, and we can draw our breath a green-haired woman, peony-cheeked, be neath freely and full. so, as yon harvesters impossible willows; the wide-throated make glad their nooning underneath the hearth elms bristling with faded pine-boughs half cus with tale and riddle and old snatch of song, cealing i lay aside grave themes, and idly turn the piled up rubbish at the chimney's the leaves of memory's sketeb-book, dreamback ; ing o'er and, in sad keeping with all things about old summer pictures of the quiet hills, them, and human life, as quiet, at their feet. shrill, querulous women, sour and sulla men, and yet not idly all. a farmer's son, l'ntidy, loveless, old before their time, proud of field-lore and harvest craft, and with scarce a human interest save their own feeling monotonous round of small economies all their fine possibilities, how rich or the poor scandal of the peighborhod: and restful even poverty and toil blind to the beauty everywhere revealed once more among the hills 85 feet; moon treading the may-flowers with regardless on happy homes, or where the lake in the for them the song-sparrow and the bobolink sleeps dreaming of the mountains, fair as sang not, nor winds made music in the ruth, leaves ; in the old hebrew pastoral, at the feet for them in vain october's holocaust of boaz, even this simple lay of mine burned, gold and crimson, over all the hills, may seem the burden of a prophecy, the sacramental mystery of the woods. finding its late fulfilment in a change church-goers, fearful of the unseen powers, slow as the oak's growth, lifting manhood up but grumbling over pulpit-tax and pewthrough broader culture, finer manners, rent, love, saring, as shrewd economists, their souls and reverence, to the level of the hills. and winter pork with the least possible outlay o golden age, whose light is of the dawn, of salt and sanctity ; in daily life and not of sunset, forward, not behind, showing as little actual comprehension flood the new heavens and earth, and with of christian charity and love and duty, thee bring as if the sermon on the mount had been all the old virtues, whatsoever things outdated like a last year's almanac : are pure and honest and of good repute, rich in broad woodlands and in half-tilled but add thereto whatever bard has sung fields, or seer has told of when in trance and dream and yet so pinched and bare and comfortthey saw the happy isles of prophecy ! less, let justice hold her scale, and truth divide the veriest straggler limping on his rounds, between the right and wrong; but give the the sun and air his sole inheritance, heart laughed at a poverty that paid its taxes, the freedom of its fair inheritance ; and hugged his rags in self-complacency ! let the poor prisoner, cramped and starved so long, not such should be the homesteads of a at nature's table feast his ear and eye land with joy and wonder ; let all harmonies where whoso wisely wills and acts may of sound, form, color, motion, wait upon dwell the princely guest, whether in soft attire as king and lawgiver, in broad-acred state, of leisure clad, or the coarse frock of with beauty, art, taste, culture, books, to toil, make and, lending life to the dead form of faith, his hour of leisure richer than a life give human nature reverence for the sake of fourscore to the barons of old time, of one who bore it, making it divine our veoman should be equal to his home with the ineffable tenderness of god; set in the fair, green valleys, purple walled, let common need, the brotherhood of a man to match his mountains, not to creep prayer, dwarfed and abased below them. i would the heirship of an unknown destiny, fain the unsolved mystery round about us, make in this light way (of which i needs must a man more precious than the gold of ophir. sacred, inviolate, unto whom all things with the knife-grinder of whom canning should minister, as outward types and signs sings, of the eternal beauty which fulfils "story, god bless you! i have none to tell the one great purpose of creation, love, you !") the sole necessity of earth and heaven ! invite the eye to see and heart to feel the beauty and the joy within their reach, home, and home loves, and the beatitudes of nature free to all. haply in years for weeks the clouds had raked the hills that wait to take the places of our own, and vexed the vales with raining, heard where some breezy balcony looks and all the woods were sad with mist, down and all the brooks complaining. own 86 xirrative and legendary poems at last, a sudden night-storm tore the mountain veils asunder, and swept the valleys clean before the besom of the thunder. we paused at last where home-bound cows brought down the pasture's treasure, and in the barn the rhythmic tlails beat out a harvest measure. through sandwich notch the west-wind we heard the night-hawk's sullen plange, slig the crow his tree-mates calling: good morrow to the cotter ; the shadows lengthening down the slopes and once again chocorua's horn about our feet were falling. of shadow pierced the water. and through them smote the level sun above his broad lake (ssipee, in broken lines of splendor, once more the sunshine wearing, touched the gray rocks and made the stooped, tracing on that silver shield green ilis grim armorial bearing. of the shorn grass more tender. clear drawn against the hard blue sky, the maples bending o'er the gate, the peaks had winter's keenness ; their arch of leaves just tinted and, close on autumn's frost, the vales with yellow warmth, the golden glow had more than june's fresh greenness. of coming autumn hinted. again the sodden forest floors keen white between the farm-house showed, with golden lights were checkered, and smiled on porch and trellis, once more rejoicing leaves in wind the fair democracy of flowers and sunshine danced and flickered. that equals cot and palace. it was as if the summer's late and weaving garlands for her dog, atoning for its sadness 'twixt chidings and caresses, had borrowed every season's charm a human flower of childhood shook to end its days in gladness. the sunshine from her tresses. i call to mind those banded vales on either hand we saw the signs of shadow and of shining, of fancy and of shrewdness, through which, my hostess at my side, where taste had wound its arms of vides i drove in day's declining. round thrift's uncomely rudeness. we held our sideling way above the sun-brown fariner in his frock the river's whitening shallows, shook hands, and called to mary : by homesteads old, with wide-tlung barns bare-armed, as juno might, she came, swept through and through by swallows ; white-aproned from her dairy. by maple orchards, belts of pine her air, her smile, her motions, told and larches climbing darkly of womanly completeness ; the mountain slopes, and, over all, a music as of household songs the great peaks rising starkly. was in her voice of sweetuess. you should have seen that long hill-range not fair alone in curve and line, with gaps of brightness riven, but something more and better, how through each pass and hollow streamed the secret charin «luding art, the purpling lights of heaven, its spirit, not its letter ;rivers of gold-mist flowing down an inborn grace that nothing lacked from far celestial fountains, of culture or appliance, the great sun tauming through the rifts the warmth of ginal courtesy, beyond the wall of mountains ! the calm of self-reliance. among the hills 87 before her queenly womanhood how dared our hostess utter the paltry errand of her need to buy her fresh-churned butter ? “she looked up, glowing with the health the country air had brought her, and, laughing, said : “you lack a wife, your mother lacks a daughter. • to mend your frock and bake your bread you do not need a lady: be sure among these brown old homes is some one waiting ready,she led the way with housewife pride, her goodly store disclosing, full tenderly the golden balls with practised hands disposing. then, while along the western hills we watched the changeful glory of sunset, on our homeward way, i beard her simple story. the early crickets sang; the stream plashed through my friend's narration : her rustic patois of the hills lost in my free translation. * more wise,” she said, “than those who “• some fair, sweet girl with skilful hand and cheerful heart for treasure, who never played with ivory keys, or danced the polka's measure.' “ he bent his black brows to a frown, he set his white teeth tightly. "'t is well,' he said, 'for one like you to choose for me so lightly. 6 swarm «« you think because my life is rude i take no note of sweetness : i tell you love has naught to do with meetness or unmeetness. 66 our hills in middle summer, she came, when june's first roses blow, to greet the early comer. * from school and ball and rout she came, the city's fair, pale daughter, to drink the wine of mountain air beside the bearcamp water. her step grew firmer on the hills that watch our homesteads over ; on cheek and lip, from summer fields, she caught the bloom of clover. " for health comes sparkling in the streams from cool chocorua stealing : there's iron in our northern winds ; our pines are trees of healing. "she sat beneath the broad-armed elms that skirt the mowing meadow, and watched the gentle west-wind weave the grass with shine and shadow. “beside her, from the summer heat to share her grateful screening, with forehead bared, the farmer stood, cpou his pitchfork leaning. “ • itself its best excuse, it asks no leave of pride or fashion when silken zone or homespun frock it stirs with throbs of passion. *you think me deaf and blind : you bring your winning graces hither as free as if from cradle-time we two had played together. 6. you tempt me with your laughing eyes, your cheek of sundown's blushes, a motion as of waving grain, a music as of thrushes. “• the plaything of your summer sport, the spells you weave around me you cannot at your will undo, nor leave me as you found me. « • you go as lightly as you came, your life is well without me ; what care you that these hills will close like prison-walls about me? “no mood is mine to seek a wife, or daughter for my mother : who loves you loses in that love all power to love another ! " framed in its damp, dark locks, his face had nothing mean or common, strong, manly, true, the tenderness and pride beloved of woman. 88 narrative and legendary poems ** i dare your pity or your scorn, with pride your own exceeding; i fling my heart into your lap without a word of pleading.' a “she looked up in his face of pain so archly, yet so tender : * and if i lend you mine,' she said, • will you forgive the lender? «« « nor frock nor tan can hide the man ; and see you not, my fariner, how weak and fond a woman waits behind the silken armor ? “in sugar-camps, when south and warm the winds of march are blowing, and sweetly from its thawing veins the maple's blood is tlowing, – “ in summer, where some lilied pond its virgin zone is baring, or where the ruddy autumn fire lights up the apple-paring, “ the coarseness of a ruder time her finer mirth displaces, a subtler sense of pleasure fills each rustic sport she graces. " her presence lends its warmth and health to all who come before it. if woman lost us eden, such as she alone restore it. 66 ** i love you : on that love alone, and not my worth, presuming, will you not trust for summer fruit the tree in may-day blooming ?' “ alone the hangbird overhead, his hair-swung cradle straining, looked down to see love's miracle, the giving that is gaining. “ and so the farmer found a wife, his mother found a daughter : there looks no happier home than hers on pleasant bearcamp water. “ flowers spring to blossom where she walks the careful ways of duty ; our hard, stiff lines of life with her are flowing curves of beauty. “ our homes are cheerier for her sake, our door-yards brighter blooming, and all about the social air is sweeter for her coming. “ ['nspoken homilies of peace her daily life is preaching; the still refreshment of the dew is her unconscious teaching. " and never tenderer hand than hers l'nknits the brow of ailing; her garments to the sick man's ear have music in their trailing. “ and when, in pleasant harvest moons, the youthful huskers gather, or sleigh-drives on the mountain ways defy the winter weather, “ for larger life and wiser aims the farmer is her debtor ; who holds to his another's heart must needs be worse or better. • through her his civic service shows a purer-toned ambition ; no double consciousness divides the man and politician. “in party's doubtful ways he trusts her instincts to determine ; at the loud polls, the thought of her recalls christ's mountain sermon. “ he owns her logic of the heart, and wisdom of unreason, supplying, while he doubts and weighs, the needed word in season. “ he sees with pride her richer thought, her faney's freer ranges ; and love thus deepened to respect is proof against all changes. * and if she walks at ease in ways his feet are slow to travel, and if she reads with cultured eyes what his may scarce unravel, “still clearer, for her keener sight of beauty and of wonder, he learns the meaning of the hills he dwelt from childhood under. the dole of jarl thorkell 89 “he sees with eyes of manly trust all hearts to her inclining ; not less for him his household light that others share its shining." " and higher, warmed with summer lights, or winter-crowned and hoary, the ridged horizon lifts for him its inner veils of glory. " he has his own free, bookless lore, the lessons nature taught him, the wisdom which the woods and hills and toiling men have brought him : 4 thus, while my hostess spake, there grew before me, warmer tinted and outlined with a tenderer grace, the picture that she hinted. ** the steady force of will whereby her flexile grace seems sweeter ; the sturdy counterpoise which makes her woman's life completer ; the sunset smouldered as we drove beneath the deep hill-shadows. below us wreaths of white fog walked like ghosts the haunted meadows. sounding the summer night, the stars dropped down their golden plummets ; the pale arc of the northern lights rose o'er the mountain summits, "a latent fire of soul which lacks no breath of love to fan it ; and wit, that, like his native brooks, plays over solid granite. “ how dwarfed against his manliness she sees the poor pretension, the wants, the aims, the follies, born of fashion and convention ! until, at last, beneath its bridge, we heard the bearcamp tlowing, and saw across the mapled lawn the welcome home-lights glowing. and, musing on the tale i heard, 't were well, thought i, if often to rugged farm-life came the gift to harmonize and soften ; if more and more we found the troth of fact and fancy plighted, and culture's charm and labor's strength in rural homes united, the simple life, the homely hearth, with beauty's sphere surrounding, and blessing toil where toil abounds with graces more abounding. “ how life behind its accidents stands strong and self-sustaining, the human fact transcending all the losing and the gaining. “ and so in grateful interchange of teacher and of hearer, their lives their true distinctness keep while daily drawing nearer. "and if the husband or the wife in home's strong light discovers sach slight defaults as failed to meet the blinded eyes of lovers, “why need we care to ask ? who dreams without their thorns of roses, or wonders that the truest steel the readiest spark discloses ? "for still in mutual sufferance lies the secret of true living ; love scarce is love that never knows the sweetness of forgiving. we send the squire to general court, he takes his young wife thither ; no prouder man election day rides through the sweet june weather. the dole of jarl thorkell tue land was pale with famine and racked with fever-pain ; the frozen fiords were fishless, the earth withheld her grain. men saw the boding fylgja before them come and go, and, through their dreams, the c'rdarmoon from west to east sailed slow ! jarl thorkell of thevera at yule-time made his vow ; 90 narrative and legendary poems on rykdal's holy doom-stone he slew to frey his cow. but the old men bowed their white heads, and answered not a word. to bounteous frey he slew her; to skuld, the younger norn, who watches over birth and death, he gave her calf unborn. and his little gold-haired daughter took up the sprinkling-rod, and smeared with blood the temple and the wide lips of the god. hoarse below, the winter water ground its ice blocks o’er and o'er ; jets of foam, like ghosts of dead waves, rose and fell along the shore. 66 then the dream-wife of thingvalla, a vala young and fair, sang softly, stirring with her breath the veil of her loose hair. she sang : “ the winds from alfheim bring never sound of strife ; the gifts for frey the meetest are not of death, but life. " he loves the grass-green meadows, the grazing kine's sweet breath ; he loathes your bloody horg-stones, your gifts that smell of death. "no wrong by wrong is righted, no pain is cured by pain ; the blood that smokes from doom-rings falls back in redder rain. the gods are what you make them, as earth shall asgard prore; and hate will come of hating, and love will come of love. the red torch of the jokul, aloft in icy space, shone down on the bloody horg-stones and the statue's carven face. and closer round and grimmer beneath its baleful light the jotun shapes of mountains came crowding through the night. 66 the gray-haired hersir trembled as a flame by wind is blown ; a weird power moved his white lips, and their voice was not his own! “ the esir thirst !” he muttered ; “ the gods must have more blood before the tun shall blossom or fish shall fill the flood. « the evir thirst and hunger, and hence our blight and ban ; the mouths of the strong gods water for the flesh and blood of man! “ whom shall we give the strong ones? not warriors, sword on thigh ; but let the nursling infant and bedrid old man die." " so be it !” cried the young men, ** there needs nor doubt nor parle." but, knitting hard his red brows, in silence stood the jarl. a sound of woman's weeping at the temple door was heard, “make dole of skyr and black bread that old and young may live ; and look to frey for favor when first like frey you give. “ even now o'er njord's sen-meadows the summer dawn begins : the tun shall have its harvest, the fiord its glancing tins." then up and swore jarl thorkell : * by gimli and by hel, o vala of thingvalla, thou singest wise and well ! “ too dear the esir's favors bought with our children's lives; better die than shame in living our mothers and our wives. ** the full shall give his portion to him who hath most need ; of curilled skyr and black bread, be daily dole decreed.” he broke from off his neck-chuin three links of beaten gold ; the two rabbins 91 and each man, at his bidding, suddenly in the darkness feels a hand brought gifts for young and old. thrill with its touch his own, and his cheek fanned then inothers nursed their children, by odors subtly sweet, and whispers near and daughters fed their sires, of words he loathes, yet cannot choose but and health sat down with plenty hear, before the next yule fires. so, while the rabbi journeyed, chanting low the wail of david's penitential woe, the horg-stones stand in rykdal ; before him still the old temptation came, the doom-ring still remains ; and mocked him with the motion and the but the snows of a thousand winters shame have washed away the stains. of such desires that, shuddering, he abhorred christ ruleth now; the æsir himself ; and, crying mightily to the lord have found their twilight dim ; to free his soul and cast the demon out, and, wiser than she dreamed, of old smote with his staff the blankness round the vala sang of him ! about. at length, in the low light of a spent day, the two rabbins the towers of ecbatana far away rose on the desert's rim ; and nathan, faint the rabbi nathan twoscore years and ten and footsore, pausing where for some dead walked blameless through the evil world, saint and then, the faith of islam reared a domed tomb, just as the almond blossomed in his hair, saw some one kneeling in the shadow, whom met a temptation all too strong to bear, he greeted kindly : “may the holy one and miserably sinned. so, adding not answer thy prayers, o stranger !” wherefalsehood to guilt, he left his seat, and upon taught the shape stood up with a loud cry, and yo more among the elders, but went out then, from the great congregation girt about clasped in each other's arms, the two gray with sackcloth, and with ashes on his head, making his gray locks grayer. long he wept, praising him whose gracious proviprayed, dence siniting his breast; then, as the book he made their paths one. but straightway, as laid the sense open before him for the bath-col's choice, of his transgression smote him, nathan tore pausing to hear that daughter of a voice, himself away: “o friend beloved, no behold the royal preacher's words : “a friend worthy am i to touch thee, for i came, loveth at all times, yea, unto the end ;, foul from my sins, to tell thee all my shame. and for the evil day thy brother lives." haply thy prayers, since naught availeth marvelling, he said: “it is the lord who mine, gives may purge my soul, and make it white like counsel in need. at ecbatana dwells thine. rabbi ben isaac, who all men excels pity me, o ben isaac, i have sinned!” in righteousness and wisdom, as the trees of lebanon the small weeds that the bees awestruck ben isaac stood. the desert bow with their weight. i will arise, and wind blew his long mantle backward, laying bare my sins before him." the mournful secret of his shirt of hair. “i too, o friend, if not in act,” he said, and he went his way in thought have verily sinned. hast barefooted, fasting long, with many prayers; thou not read, but even as one who, followed unawares, better the eye should see than that desire men % a more lay 92 narrative and legendary poems his own, should wander ?' burning with a hidden from where, to count its beaded lakes, fire the forest sped its brook. that tears and prayers quench not, i come to thee a narrow space 'twixt shore and shore, for pity and for help, as thou to me. for sun or stars to fall, pray for me, o my friend !” but nathan while evermore, behind, before, cried, closed in the forest wall. pray thou for me, ben isaac !” the dim wood hiding underneath side by side wan flowers without a name ; in the low sunshine by the turban stone life tangled with decay and death, they knelt ; each made his brother's woe league after league the sanie. forgetting, in the agony and stress unbroken over swamp and hill of pitying love, his claim of selfishness ; the rounding shadow lay, peace, for his friend besought, his own besave where the river cut at will came ; a pathway to the day. his prayers were answered in another's name ; beside that track of air and light, and, when at last they rose up to embrace, weak as a child unweaned, each saw god's pardon in his brother's face ! at shut of day a christian knight c'pon his henchman leaned. long after, when his headstone gathered moss, the embers of the sunset's fires traced on the targum-marge of onkelos along the clouds burned down ; in rabbi nathan's hand these words were “ i see," he said, “ the domes and spires read : of norembega town." " ilope not the cure of sin till self is dead ; forget it in love's service, and the debt “ alack! the domes, 0 master mine, thou canst not pay the angels shall forget; are golden clouds on high ; heaven's gate is shut to him ucho comes alone; yon spire is but the branchless pine sare thou a soul, and it shall save thy own!” that cuts the evening sky." “oh, hush and hark! what sounds are these norembega but chants and holy hymns ?” “ thou hear'st the breeze that stirs the trees norembege, or norimbegue, is the name through all their leafy limbs." given by early french fishermen and explorers “ is it a chapel bell that fills to a fabulous country south of cape breton, first discovered by verrazzani in 1524. it was the air with its low tone ?" supposed to have a magnificent city of the “ thou hear'st the tinkle of the rills, same name on a great river, probably the per the insect's vesper drone." nobscot. the site of this barbarie city is laid down on a map published at antwerp in 1570. * the christ be praised ! he sets for me in 1604 champlain siled in search of the a blessed cross in sight!" vorthern elorado, twenty-two leagues up the " now, nay, 't is but you blasted tree penobscot from the i«le haute. he supposed with two gaunt arms outright !” the river to be that of norembega, but wisely came to the conclusion that those travellers who told of the great city had never seen it. “be it wind so sad or tree so stark, he saw no evidence of anything like civilizait mattereth not, my knare ; tion, but mentions the finding of a cross, very methinks to funeral hymns i hark, old and massy, in the woods. the cross is for my grave ! tur winding way the serpent takes “my life is sped ; i shall not see the mystic water took, my home-set sails again ; miriam 93 the sweetest eyes of normandie shall watch for me in vain. a city never made with hands alone awaiteth me " yet onward still to ear and eye the battling marvel calls ; i fain would look before i die on norembega's walls. 66 • urbs syon mystica ; ' i see its mansions passing fair, • condita cælo;' let me be, dear lord, a dweller there !” above the dying exile hung the vision of the bard, as faltered on his failing tongue the song of good bernard. " so, haply, it shall be thy part at christian feet to lay the mystery of the desert's heart my dead hand plucked away. " leave me an hour of rest ; go thou and look from yonder heights ; perchance the valley even now is starred with city lights." m the henchman dug at dawn a grave beneath the hemlocks brown, and to the desert's keeping gave the lord of fief and town. the henchman climbed the nearest hill, he saw nor tower nor town, but, through the drear woods, lone and still, the river rolling down. years after, when the sieur champlain sailed up the unknown stream, and norembega proved again a shadow and a dream, he heard the stealthy feet of things whose shapes he could not see, a flutter as of evil wings, the fall of a dead tree. he found the norman's nameless grave within the hemlock's shade, and, stretching wide its arms to save, the sign that god had made, the cross-boughed tree that marked the spot and made it holy ground : he needs the earthly city not who hath the heavenly found. are miriam to frederick a. p. barnard the pines stood black against the moon, a sword of fire beyond ; he heard the wolf howl, and the loon laugh from his reedy pond. he turned him back : “o master dear, we but men misled ; and thou hast sought a city here to find a grave instead.” " as god shall will! what matters where a true man's cross may stand, so hearen be o'er it here as there in pleasant norman land ? "these woods, perchance, no secret hide of lordly tower and hall ; yon river in its wanderings wide has washed no city wall ; "yet mirrored in the sullen stream the holy stars are given : is norembega, then, a dream whose waking is in heaven ? "no builded wonder of these lands my weary eyes shall see ; [when whittier was an editor in hartford, mr. barnard, afterward president of columbia college, was a teacher in the asylum for the deaf and dumb in that place. both men were at the time especially interested in eastern history and romance.] the years are many since, in youth and hope, under the charter oak, our horoscope we drew thick-studded with all favoring stars. now, with gray beards, and faces seamed with scars from life's hard battle, meeting once again, we smile, half sadly, over dreams so vain ; a 94 narrative and legendary poems and song, knowing, at last, that it is not in man the sabbath rest. we traced the track who walketh to direct his steps, or plan of the sea-seeking river back, his permanent house of life. alike we glistening for miles above its month, loved through the long valley to the south, the muses' haunts, and all our fancies and, looking eastward, cool to view, moved stretched the illimitable blue to measures of old song. how since that of ocean, from its curved coast-line ; day sombred and still the warm sunshine our feet have parted from the path that filled with pale gold-dust all the reach lay of slumberous woods from hill to beach, so fair before us ! rich, from lifelong slanted on walls of thronged retreats search from city toil and dusty streets, of truth, within thy academic porch on grassy bluff, and dune of sand, thou sittest now, lord of a realm of fact, and rocky islands miles from land ; thy servitors the sciences exact ; tonched the far-glancing sails, and shown stiil listening with thy hand on nature's white lines of foam wbere long waves keys, flowed to hear the samian's spheral harmonies dumb in the distance. in the north, and rhythm of law. 1, called from dream dim through their misty hair, looked forth the space-dwarfed mountains to the sea, thank god! so early to a strife so long, from mystery to mystery ! that, ere it closed, the black, abundant hair so, sitting on that green hill-slope, of boyhood rested silver-sown and spare we talked of human life, its hope on manhood's temples, now at sunset-chime and fear, and unsolved doubts, and what tread with fond feet the path of morning it might have been, and yet was not. time. and, when at last the evening air and if perchance too late i linger where grew sweeter for the bells of prayer the flowers have ceased to blow, and trees ringing in steeples far below, are bare, we watched the people churchward go, thou, wiser in thy choice, wilt scarcely each to bis place, as if thereon blame the true shekinah only shone ; the friend who shields his folly with thy and my friend queried how it came name. to pass that they who owned the same great master still could not agree to worship him in company. one sabbath day my friend and i, then, broadening in his thought, he ran after the meeting, quietly over the whole vast field of man, passed from the crowded village lanes, the varying forms of faith and creed white with dry dust for lack of rains, that somehow served the holders' need; and climbed the neighboring slope, with in which, unquestioned, undenied, feet l'ncounted millions lived and died ; slackened and heavy from the heat, the bibles of the ancient folk, although the day was wellnigh done, through which the heart of nations spoke ; and the low angle of the sun the old moralities which lent along the naked hillside cast to home its sweetness and content, our shadows as of giant, vast. and rendered possible to bear we reached, at length, the topmost swell, the life of peoples everywhere : whenee, either way, the green turf fell and asked if we, who boast of light, in terraces of nature down claim not a too exclusive right to fruit-hung orchards, and the town to truths which must for all be meant, with white, pretenceless houses, tall like rain and sunshine freely sent. church-steeples, and, o'ershalowing all, in bondage to the letter still, huge mills whose windows hul the look we give it power to cramp and kill, of eager eyes that ill could brook to tax god's fulness with a scheme miriam 95 narrower than peter's house-top dream, his wisdom and his love with plans poor and inadequate as man's. it must be that he witnesses somehow to all men that he is : that something of his saving grace reaches the lowest of the race, who, through strange creed and rite, may draw the hints of a diviner law., we walk in clearer light ;but then, is he not god ? — are they not men ? are his responsibilities for us alone and not for these? a “wherever through the ages rise the altars of self-sacrifice, where love its arms has opened wide, or man for man has calmly died, i see the same white wings outspread that hovered o'er the master's head ! up from undated time they come, the martyr souls of heathendom, and to his cross and passion bring their fellowship of suffering. i trace his presence in the blind pathetic gropings of my kind, — in prayers from sin and sorrow wrung, in cradle-hymns of life they sung, each, in its measure, but a part of the unmeasured over-heart; and with a stronger faith confess the greater that it owns the less. good cause it is for thankfulness that the world-blessing of his life with the long past is not at strife ; that the great marvel of his death to the one order witnesseth, no doubt of changeless goodness wakes, no link of cause and sequence breaks, but, one with nature, rooted is in the eternal verities ; whereby, while differing in degree as finite from infinity, the pain and loss for others borne, love's crown of suffering meekly worn, the life man giveth for his friend becomes vicarious in the end ; their healing place in nature take, and make life sweeter for their sake. and i made answer : “ truth is one ; and, in all lands beneath the sun, whoso hath eyes to see may see the tokens of its unity. no scroll of creed its fulness wraps, we trace it not by school-boy maps, free as the sun and air it is of latitudes and boundaries. in vedic verse, in dull korán, are messages of good to man ; the angels to our aryan sires talked by the earliest household fires ; the prophets of the elder day, the slant-eyed sages of cathay, read not the riddle all amiss of higher life evolved from this. "nor doth it lessen what he taught, or make the gospel jesus brought less precious, that his lips retold some portion of that truth of old ; densing not the proven seers, the tested wisdom of the years ; confirming with his own impress the common law of righteousness. we search the world for truth; cull the good, the pure, the beautiful, from graven stone and written scroll, from all old flower-fields of the soul ; and, weary seekers of the best, we come back laden from our quest, to find that all the sages said is in the book our mothers read, and all our treasure of old thought in his harmonious fulness wrought who gathers in one sheaf complete the scattered blades of god's sown wheat, the common growth that maketh good his allembracing fatherhood. we “ so welcome i from every source the tokens of that primal force, older than heaven itself, yet new as the young heart it reaches to, beneath whose steady impulse rolls the tidal wave of human souls ; guide, comforter, and inward word, the eternal spirit of the lord ! nor fear i aught that science brings from searching through material things ; content to let its glasses prove, not by the letter's oldness move, the myriad worlds on worlds that course the spaces of the universe ; since everywhere the spirit walks the garden of the heart, and talks with man, as under eden's trees, in all his varied languages. why mourn above some hopeless flaw 96 narrative and legendary poems in the stone tables of the law, the mirror of its cork-grown hills of drouth when scripture every day afresh and vales of vine, at lisbon's harbora is traced on tablets of the flesh ? mouth. by inward sense, by outward signs, god's presence still the heart divines ; the date-palms rustled not; the perpul through deepest joy of ilim we learn, laid in sorest grief to him we turn, its topmost boughs against the balustrade, and reason stoops its pride to share motionless as the mimic leaves and vines the child-like instinct of a prayer.” that, light and graceful as the shawldesigns and then, as is my wont, i told of delhi or c'mritsir, twined in stone ; a story of the days of old, and the tired monarch, who aside har not found in printed books, in sooth, thrown a fancy, with slight hint of truth, the day's hard burden, sat from care apart, showing how ditfering faiths agree and let the quiet steal into his heart in one sweet law of charity. from the still hour. below him agra slept meanwhile the sky had golden grown, by the long light of sunset overwept : our faces in its glory shone ; the river flowing through a level land, but shadows down the valley swept, by mango-groves and banks of yellow sand, and gray below the ocean slept, skirted with lime and orange, gay kiosks as time and space i wandered o'er fountains at play, tall minarets of mosques, to tread the mogul's marble tloor, fair pleasure-gardens, with their tlowering and see a fairer sunset fall trees on jumna's wave and agra's wall. relieved against the mournful cypresses ; and, air-poised lightly as the blown sathe good shah akbar (peace be his alway!) foam, came forth from the divan at close of day the marble wonder of some holy dome bowed with the burden of his many eares, hung a white moonrise over the still wixi, worn with the hearing of unnumbered glassing its beauty in a stiller fol. prayers, wild cries for justice, the importunate silent the monarch gazed, until the night appeals of greed and jealousy and hate, swift-falling hid the city from his sight; and all the strife of sect and creed and rite, then to the woman at his feet he said : santon and gouroo waging holy fight : “ tell me, 0 miriam, something thou hast for the wise monarch, elaiming not to be read allah's avenger, left his people free, in childhood of the master of thy faith, with a faint hope, his book scarce justified, whom islam also owns. our prophet saith: that all the paths of faith, though severed he was a true apostle, yea, a won wide, and spirit sent before me from the lori." o'er which the feet of prayerful reverence thus the book witnesseth ; and well i kiww passed, by what thou art, () dearest, it is so. met at the gate of paradise at last. as the lute's tone the maker's hand be trays, he sought an alcove of his cool hareem, the sweet disciple speaks her master's where, far beneath, he heard the jumna's praise.' stream lapse soft and low along his palace wall, then miriam, glad of heart, (for in some and all about the cool sound of the fall sort of fountains, and of water cireling free she cherished in the moslem's liberal court through marble ducts along the balcony ; the sweet traditions of a christian child ; the voice of women in the distance sweet, and, throngh her life of sense, the upand, swerter still, of one who, at his feet, defiled soothed his tired car with songs of a far | and chaste ideal of the sinless one land gazed on her with an eye she might not where tagus shatters on the salt sea-sand shun, 66 miriam 97 a the sad, reproachful look of pity, born herself, and veiling in her large, soft eyes of love that hath no part in wrath or scorn,) the passion and the languor of her skies, began, with low voice and moist eyes, to tell the abyssinian knelt low at the feet of the all-loving christ, and what befell of her stern lord : “o king, if it be meet, when the fierce zealots, thirsting for her and for thy honor's sake,” she said, “that i, blood, who am the humblest of thy slaves, should dragged to his feet a shame of womanhood. die, how, when his searching answer pierced i will not tax thy mercy to forgive. within easier it is to die than to outlive each heart, and touched the secret of its sin, all that life gave me, him whose wrong and her accusers fled his face before, of thee he bade the poor one go and sin no more. was but the outcome of his love for me, and akbar said, after a moment's thought, cherished from childhood, when, beneath "wise is the lesson by thy prophet taught; the shade woe unto him who judges and forgets of templed axum, side by side we played. what hidden evil his own heart besets ! stolen from his arms, my lover followed me something of this large charity i find through weary seasons over land and sea ; in all the sects that sever humankind ; and two days since, sitting disconsolate i would to allah that their lives agreed within the shadow of the hareem gate, more nearly with the lesson of their creed ! suddenly, as if dropping from the sky, those yellow lamas who at meerut pray down from the lattice of the balcony by wind and water power, and love to say : fell the sweet song by tigre's cowherds "he who forgiveth not shall, unforgiven, sung fail of the rest of buddha,' and who even in the old music of his native tongue. spare the black gnat that stings them, vex he knew my voice, for love is quick of ear, iny ears answering in song: with the poor hates and jealousies and fears this night he waited near nursed in their human hives. that lean, to fly with me. the fault was mine alone : fierce priest he knew thee not, he did but seek his own ; of thy own people, (be his heart increased who, in the very shadow of thy throne, by allah's love!) his black robes smelling sharing thy bounty, knowing all thou art, ret greatest and best of men, and in her heart of goa's roasted jews, have i not met grateful to tears for favor undeserved, meek-faced, barefooted, crying in the street turned ever homeward, nor one moment the saying of his prophet true and sweet, * he who is merciful shall mercy meet!” from her young love. he looked into my eyes, but, next day, so it chanced, as night behe heard my voice, and could not otherwise gan than he hath done ; yet, save one wild emto fall, a murmur through the hareem ran brace that one, recalling in her dusky face when first we stood together face to face, the full-lipped, mild-eyed beauty of a race and all that fate had done since last we met known as the blameless ethiops of greek seemed but a dream and left us children song, yet, plotting to do her royal master wrong, he hath not wronged thee nor thy royal bed : watching, reproachful of the lingering spare him, o king! and slay me in his light, stead !” the evening shadows deepen for her flight, love-guided, to her home in a far land, but over akbar's brows the frown hung now waited death at the great shah's comblack, mand. and, turning to the eunuch at his back, “ take them,” he said, “and let the jumna's shapely as that dark princess for whose smile hide both my shame and these accursed a world was bartered, daughter of the nile slaves !” swerved : waves 98 narrative and legendary poems shut eyes sees 6 his loathly length the unsexed bondman knew menu's laws, and through his closebowed : “on my head be it ! ” saw things far off, and as an open look straightway from a cloud into the thoughts of other men could look) of dainty shawls and veils of woven mist began, half chant, half howling, to rehearse the christian miriam rose, and, stooping, the fragment of a holy vedic vere ; kissed and thus it ran : “he who all things forthe monarch's hand. loose down her gives shoulders bare conquers himself and all things else, and swept all the rippled darkness of her hair, lives veiling the bosomn that, with high, quick above the reach of wrong or hate or frar, swell calm as the gods, to whom he is most dear." of fear and pity, through it rose and fell. two leagues from agra still the traveller “ alas !” she cried, “hast thou forgotten quite the tomb of akbar through its cypress the words of him we spake of yesternight ? trees; or thy own prophet's, * whoso doth endure and, near at hand, the marble walls that and pardon, of eternal life is sure'? hide o great and good ! be thy revenge alone the christian begum sleeping at his side felt in thy mercy to the erring shown ; and o'er her vault of burial (who shall ta let thwarted love and youth their pardon if it be chance alone or miracle?) plead, the mission press with tireless hand unruile who sinned but in intent, and not in deed ! ” the words of jesus on its lettered scrolls tells, in all tongues, the tale of mercy o'er, one moment the strong frame of akbar | and bids the guilty, “go and sin no more! shook with the great storm of passion. then his look softened to her uplifted face, that still it now was dew-fall ; very still pleaded more strongly than all words, until the night lay on the lonely hill, its pride and anger seemed like overblown, down which our homeward steps we be ni, spent clouds of thunder left to tell alone and, silent, through great silence went, of strife and overcoming. with bowed save that the tireless crickets played head, their long, monotonous serenade. and smiting on his bosom : “god,” he said, a young moon, at its narrowest, “ alone is great, and let his holy name curved sharp against the darkening west. be honored, even to his servant's shame! and, momently, the beacon's star, well spake thy prophet, miriam, --he alone slow wheeling o'er its rock afar, who hath not sinned is meet to cast a stone from out the level darkness shot at such as these, who here their doom one instant and again was not. await, and then my friend spake quietly held like myself in the strong grasp of the thought of both : " yon crescent see fate. like islam's symbol-moon it gives they sinned through love, as i through love hints of the light whereby it lives : forgive ; somewhat of goodness, something true take them beyond my realm, but let them from sun and spirit shining through live !" all fniths, all worlds, as through the dark of ocean shines the lighthouse spark, and, like a chorus to the words of grace, attests the presence everywhere the ancient fakir, sitting in his place, of love and providential care. motionless as an idol and as grim, the faith the old norse heart confessed in the pavilion akbar built for him in one dear name, – the hopefulest l’nder the court-yard trees, (for he was and tenderest heard from mortal lips wise, in pangs of birth or death, from ships nauhaught, the deacon 99 ice-bitten in the winter sea, or lisped beside a mother's knee, — the wiser world hath not outgrown, and the all-father is our own!” the loser, doubtless rich, would scarcely miss this dropped crumb from a table always full. still, while he mused, he seemed to hear the cry a nauhaught, the deacon of a starved child ; the sick face of his wife tempted him. heart and flesh in fierce nauhaught, the indian deacon, who of old revolt dwelt, poor but blameless, where his narurged the wild license of his savage youth rowing cape against his later scruples. bitter toil, stretches its shrunk arm out to all the winds prayer, fasting, dread of blame, and pitiless and the relentless smiting of the waves, eyes awoke one morning from a pleasant dream to watch his halting, had he lost for of a good angel dropping in his hand these a fair, broad gold-piece, in the name of god. the freedom of the woods ; – the huntinggrounds he rose and went forth with the early day of happy spirits for a walled-in heaven far inland, where the voices of the waves of everlasting psalms? one healed the sick mellowed and mingled with the whispering very far off thousands of moons ago : leaves, had he not prayed him night and day to as, through the tangle of the low, thick come woods, and cure his bed-bound wife? was there he searched his traps. therein nor beast a hell ? nor bird were all his fathers' people writhing he found ; though meanwhile in the reedy there pools like the poor shell-fish set to boil alive – the otter plashed, and underneath the pines forever, dying never ? if he kept the partridge drummed : and as his this gold, so needed, would the dreadful thoughts went back god to the sick wife and little child at home, torment him like a mohawk's captive what marvel that the poor man felt his faith stuck too weak to bear its burden, — like a rope with slow-consuming splinters ? would that, strand by strand uncoiling, breaks the saints above and the white angels dance and laugh to the hand that grasps it. « even now, o lord ! burn like a pitch-pine torch ? his chrissend me,” he prayed,“ the angel of my tian garb dream! seemed falling from him; with the fear naubaught is very poor ; he cannot wait.” and shame of adam naked at the cool of day, even as he spake he heard at his bare feet he gazed around. a black snake lay in coil a low, metallic clink, and, looking down, on the hot sand, a crow with sidelong eye he saw a dainty purse with disks of gold watched from a dead bough. all his i̇ncrowding its silken net. awhile he held dian lore the treasure up before his eyes, alone of evil blending with a convert's faith with his great need, feeling the wondrous in the supernal terrors of the book, coins he saw the tempter in the coiling snake slide through his eager fingers, one by one. and ominous, black-winged bird ; and all so then the dream was true. the angel the while brought the low rebuking of the distant waves one broad piece only; should he take all stole in upon him like the voice of god these? among the trees of eden. girding up who would be wiser, in the blind, dumb his soul's loins with a resolute hand, he woods ? thrust see him a ioo narrative and legendary poems : 66 66 the base thought from him : "nauhaught, that the cape opens in its sandy wall – be a man! he answered, with a wise smile, to birt starve, if need be ; but, while you live, look self : out “i saw the angel where they see a man." from honest eyes on all men, unashamed. god help me! i am deacon of the church, a baptized, praying indian! should i do the sisters this secret meanness, even the barken knots annie and rhoda, sisters twain, of the old trees would turn to eyes to see woke in the night to the sound of rain, it, the birds would tell of it, and all the leaves the rush of wind, the ramp and roar whisper above me : nauhaught is a of great waves climbing a rocky sbore. thief!' the sun would know it, and the stars that annie rose up in her bed-gown white, hide and looked out into the storm and night. behind his light would watch me, and at night “ hush, and hearken!” she cried in fear, follow me with their sharp, accusing eyes. hearest thou nothing, sister dear ?" yea, thou, god, seest me!” then nauhaught drew “ i hear the sea, and the plash of rain, closer his belt of leather, dulling thus and roar of the northeast hurricane. the pain of hunger, and walked bravely back “get thee back to the bed so warm, to the brown fishing-hamlet by the sea ; no good comes of watching a storin. and, pausing at the inn door, cheerily asked: what is it to thee, i fain would know, “who hath lost aught to-day ?” that waves are roaring and wild winds “ i," said a voice ; blow? ten golden pieces, in a silken purse, my daughter's handiwork.” he looked, “no lover of thine 's afloat to miss and lo ! the harbor-lights on a night like this." one stood before him in a coat of frieze, and the glazed hat of a seafaring man, “ but i heard a voice cry out my name, shrewd-faced, broad-shouldered, with no l'p from the sea on the wind it came ! trace of wings. marvelling, he dropped within the stran“ twice and thrice have i heard it call, ger's hand and the voice is the voiee of estwie the silken web, and turned to go his way. hall!” but the man said : " a tithe at least is yours ; on her pillow the sister tossed her head take it in god's name as an honest man." hall of the heron is safe,” she said. and as the deacon's dusky fingers closed over the golden gift, “ yea, in god's name • in the tantest schooner that ever swam i take it, with a poor man's thanks,” he he rides at anchor in annisquam. said. so down the street that, like a river of " and, if in peril from swamping sex sand, or lee shore rocks, would he call on thee: * ran, white in sunshine, to the summer sen, he sought his home, singing and praising but the girl heard only the wind and tale, god; and wringing her small white hands and when his neighbors in their careless cried: way spoke of the owner of the silken purse — " ( sister rhoda, there's something wrong: a wellileet skipper, known in every port i hear it again, so loud and long. 66 66 marguerite ιοι **annie ! annie!'i hear it call, and the voice is the voice of estwick hall !” marguerite cp sprang the elder, with eyes aflame, "thou liest! he never would call thy name ! massachusetts bay, 1760 upwards of one thousand of the acadian peasants forcibly taken from their homes on the gaspereau and basin of minas were assigned to the several towns of the massachusetts colony, the children being bound by the authorities to service or labor. "* if he did, i would pray the wind and sea to keep him forever from thee and me !" then out of the sea blew a dreadful the robins sang in the orchard, the buds into blossoms grew; little of human sorrow the buds and the robins knew! blast ; like the cry of a dying man it passed. sick, in an alien household, the poor french neutral lay; into her lonesome garret fell the light of the april day, the young girl hushed on her lips a groan, but through her ears a strange light shone, the solemn joy of her heart's release to own and cherish its love in peace. " dearest !” she whispered, under breath, “life was a lie, but true is death. * the love i hid from myself away shall crown me now in the light of day. “my ears shall never to wooer list, never by lover my lips be kissed. “sacred to thee am i henceforth, thou in heaven and i on earth!” through the dusty window, curtained by the spider's warp and woof, on the loose-laid floor of hemlock, on oaken ribs of roof, the bedquilt's faded patchwork, the teacups on the stand, the wheel with flaxen tangle, as it dropped from her sick hand ! what to her was the song of the robin, or warm morning light, as she lay in the trance of the dying, heedless of sound or sight? she came and stood by her sister's bed : “ hall of the heron is dead !” she said. “ the wind and the waves their work have done, we shall see him no more beneath the done was the work of her hands, she had eaten her bitter bread; the world of the alien people lay behind her dim and dead. sun. but her soul went back to its child-time; she saw the sun o'erflow with gold the basin of minas, and set over gaspereau ; 5 little will reck that heart of thine ; it loved him not with a love like mine. “ i, for his sake, were he but here, could hem and 'broider thy bridal gear, the low, bare flats at ebb-tide, the rush of the sea at flood, through inlet and creek and river, from dike to upland wood ; though hands should tremble and eyes be wet, and stitch for stitch in my heart be set. * but now my soul with bis soul i wed; thine the living, and mine the dead !” the gulls in the red of morning, the fishhawk's rise and fall, the drift of the fog in moonshine, over the dark coast-wall. 102 narrative and legendary poems 0 64 а she saw the face of her mother, she heard she paused on the threshold of bearen ; the song she sang; love, pity, surprise, and far off, faintly, slowly, the bell for wistful, tender, lit up for an instant the vespers rang! cloud of her eyes. by her bed the hard-faced mistress sat, with his heart on his lips he kissed her, smoothing the wrinkled sheet, but never her cheek grew rerd, peering into the face, so helpless, and feeland the words the living long for he spuke ing the ice-cold feet. in the ear of the dead. with a vague remorse atoning for her greed and the robins sang in the orchard, wbere and long abuse, buds to blossoms grew; by care no longer heeded and pity too late of the folded hands and the still face never for use. the robins knew ! l'p the stairs of the garret softly the son of the mistress stepped, the robin leaned over the head-board, covering his face with his hands, and wept. my old welsh neighbor over the way crept slowly out in the sun of spring, outspake the mother, who watched him pushed from her ears the locks of gras, sharply, with brow a-frown : and listened to hear the robins sing. “ what ! love you the papist, the beggar, the charge of the town ?” her grandson, playing at marbles, stopped, and, cruel in sport as boys will be, · be she papist or beggar who lies here, i | tossed a stone at the bird, who bopped know and god knows from bough to bough in the apple-tree. i love her, and fain would go with her wherever she goes ! “nay!” said the grandmother ; "have you not heard, “o mother! that sweet face came pleading, my poor, bad boy ! of the fiery pit, for love so athirst. and how, drop by drop, this merciful bin you saw but the town-charge ; i knew her carries the water that quenches it ? god's angel at first." “ ile brings cool dew in his little bill, shaking her gray head, the mistress hushed and lets it fall on the souls of sin : down a bitter cry ; you can see the mark on his red breast sti:] and awed by the silence and shadow of of tires that scorch as he drops it in. death drawing nigh, “my poor bron rhuddyn! my breastshe murmured a psalm of the bible ; but burned bird, closer the young girl pressed, singing so sweetly from limb to limb, with the last of her life in her fingers, the very dear to the heart of our lord cross to her breast. is he who pities the lost like him!" " my son, come away,” cried the mother, " amen!" i said to the beautiful myth: her voice cruel grown. "sing, bird of god, in my heart as well “she is joined to her idols, like ephraim ; fach good thought is a drop wherewith let her alone!" to cool and lessen the fires of beil. but he knelt with his hand on her forehead, “ prayers of love like rain-drops fall, his lips to her ear, tears of pity are cooling dew, and he called back the soul that was and dear to the heart of our lori are all passing: “ marguerite, do you who suffer like him in the good they hear?" do!” 6. the pennsylvania pilgrim 103 the garland which his meekness never the pennsylvania pilgrim sought i bring him ; over fields of harvest sown with seeds of blessing, now to ripeness (for the preface which introduced this poem when first published, see the notes at the end grown, of this volume. the verses which precede the i bid the sower pass before the reapers' prelude are from the latin of francis daniel sight. pastorics in the germantown records, 1688.] hail to posterity ! never in tenderer quiet lapsed the day hail, future men of germanopolis ! from pennsylvania's vales of spring away, let the young generations yet to be where, forest-walled, the scattered hamlets look kindly upon this. lay think how your fathers left their native land, along the wedded rivers. one long bar dear german-land ! o sacred hearths of purple cloud, on which the evening and homes ! star and, where the wild beast roams, shone like a jewel on a scimitar, in patience planned new forest-homes beyond the mighty sea, held the sky's golden gateway. through there undisturbed and free the deep to live as brothers of one family. hush of the woods a murmur seemed to what pains and cares befell, creep, what trials and what fears, the schuylkill whispering in a voice of remember, and wherein we have done well sleep. follow our footsteps, men of coming years ! all else was still. the oxen from their where we have failed to do ploughs aright, or wisely live, rested at last, and from their long day's be warned by us, the better way pursue, browse and, knowing we were human, even as you, came the dun files of krisheim's homepity us and forgive ! bound cows. farewell, posterity ! farewell, dear germany! and the young city, round whose virgin forevermore farewell ! the rivers like two mighty arms were prelude thrown, marked by the smoke of evening fires i sing the pilgrim of a softer clime alone, and milder speech than those brave men's who brought lay in the distance, lovely even then to the ice and iron of our winter time with its fair women and its stately men a will as firm, a creed as stern, and gracing the forest court of williain penn, wrought with one mailed hand, and with the other urban yet sylvan; in its rough hewn fought. frames simply, as tits my theme, in homely rhyme of oak and pine the dryads held their i sing the blue-eyed german spener claims, taught, and lent its streets their pleasant woodland through whose veiled, mystic faith the inward light, steady and still, an easy brightness, anna pastorius down the leafy lane shone, looked city-ward, then stooped to prune transfiguring all things in its radiance again white. her vines and simples, with a sigh of pain. zone a names. 104 narrative and legendary poems • as for fast the streaks of ruddy sunset paled with cautious phrase, a voice there seemed in the oak clearing, and, as daylight failed, to be, slow, overhead, the dusky night birds ye have done to these ye do to me!' sailed. “so it all passed ; and the old tithe went on again she looked : between green walls of of anise, mint, and cumin, till the sun shade, set, leaving still the weightier work uswith low bent head as if with sorrow done. weighed, daniel pastorius slowly came and said, “ help, for the good man faileth! who is strong, “god's peace be with thee, anna !” then if these be weak ? who shall rebuke the he stood wrong, silent before her, wrestling with the mood if these consent ? how long, o lord' of one who sees the evil and not good. how long!” “what is it, my pastorius ?” as she spoke, he ceased ; and, bound in spirit with the a slow, faint smile across his features broke, bound, sadder than tears. “dear heart," he said, with folded arms, and eyes that sough: tie "our folk ground, walked musingly his little garden roand. “ are even as others. yea, our goodliest friends about him, beaded with the falling dew, are frail; our elders have their selfish ends, rare plants of power and herbs of healing and few dare trust the lord to make grew, amends such as van helmont and agrippa knew. “for duty's loss. so even our feeble word for, by the lore of gorlitz' gentle sage, for the dumb slaves the startled meeting with the mild mystics of his dreamy age heard he read the herbal signs of nature's page, as if a stone its quiet waters stirred ; as once he heard in sweet von merlau's “ and, as the clerk ceased reading, there bowers began fair as herself, in boyhood's happy hour a ripple of dissent which downward ran the pious spener read his creed in tlowers. in widening circles, as from man to man. “ the dear lord give us patience !" sud “somewhat was said of running before his wife, sent, touching with finger-tip an aloe, rife of tender fear that some their guide outwith leaves sharp-pointed like an aztec went, knife troublers of israel. i was scarce intent or carib spear, a gift to william penn “ on hearing, for behind the reverend row from the rare gardens of john evelyn, of gallery friends, in dumb and piteous brought from the spanish main by mnershow, chantmen. i saw, methought, dark faces full of woe. " see this strange plant its steady purpuse " and, in the spirit, i was taken where hold, they toiled and suffered ; i was made aware and, year by year, its patient leaves unfo l of shame and wrath and anguish and de| till the young eyes that watched it tirst arr spair! old. " and while the meeting smothered our “ but some time, thou hast told me, there poor plea shull come 60 the pennsylvania pilgrim 105 a sudden beauty, brightness, and perfume ; | of flaxen webs, and on the table, bare the century-moulded bud shall burst in of costly cloth or silver cup, but where, bloom. tasting the fat shads of the delaware, “so may the seed which hath been sown the courtly penn had praised the goodto-day wife's cheer, grow with the years, and, after long delay, and quoted horace o'er her home-brewed break into bloom, and god's eternal yea beer, till even grave pastorius smiled to hear. ** answer at last the patient prayers of them who now, by faith alone, behold its stem in such a home, beside the schuylkill's crowned with the flowers of freedom's wave, diadem. he dwelt in peace with god and man, and gave “meanwhile, to feel and suffer, work and food to the poor and shelter to the slave. wait, remains for us. the wrong indeed is for all too soon the new world's scandal great, shamed but love and patience conquer soon or late.” the righteous code by penn and sidney framed, "well hast thou said, my anna !” tenand men withheld the human rights they derer claimed. than youth's caress upon the head of her pastorius laid his hand. “ shall we demur and slowly wealth and station sanction lent, and hardened avarice, on its gains intent, " because the vision tarrieth? in an hour stifled the inward whisper of dissent. we dream not of, the slow-grown bud may flower, yet all the while the burden rested sore and what was sown in weakness rise in on tender hearts. at last pastorius bore their warning message to the church's door then through the vine-draped door whose legend read, in god's name ; and the leaven of the word "procul este profani !” anna led wrought ever after in the souls who beard, to where their child upon his little bed and a dead conscience in its grave-clothes stirred looked up and smiled. “ dear heart,” she said, “ if we to troubled life, and urged the vain excuse most bearers of a heavy burden be, of hebrew custom, patriarchal use, our boy, god willing, yet the day shall see good in itself if evil in abuse. “when from the gallery to the farthest seat, gravely pastorius listened, not the less slave and slave-owner shall no longer meet, | discerning through the decent fig-leaf dress but all sit equal at the master's feet.” of the poor plea its shame of selfishness. on the stone hearth the blazing walnut block one scripture rule, at least, was unforgot ; set the low walls a-glimmer, showed the he hid the outcast, and bewrayed him not ; cock and, when his prey the human hunter rebuking peter on the van wyck clock, sought, shone on old tomes of law and physic, side he scrupled not, while anna's wise delay by side with fox and behmen, played at and proffered cheer prolonged the master's hide stay, and seek with anna, midst her household to speed the black guest safely on his pride way. power!” 106 narrative and legendary poems a yet who shall guess his bitter grief who or painful kelpius from his hermit den lends by wissahickon, maddest of good men, his life to some great cause, and finds his dreamed o'er the chiliast dreams of peterfriends sen. shame or betray it for their private ends ? deep in the woods, where the small river how felt the master when his chosen strove slid in childish folly for their seats above ; snake-like in shade, the helmstadt mystie and that fond inother, blinded by her love, hid, weird as a wizard, over arts forbid, besought him that her sons, beside his throne, reading the books of daniel and of john, might sit on either hand ? amidst his own and behmen's morning-redness, through a stranger oft, companionless and lone, the stone of wisdom, vouchsafed to his eyes alone, god's priest and prophet stands. the martyr's pain whereby he read what man ne'er read be is not alone from scourge and cell and fore, chain ; and saw the visions man shall see no more, sharper the pang when, shouting in his till the great angel, striding sea and sbore, train, shall bid all flesh await, on land or ships, his weak disciples by their lives deny the warning trump of the apocalypse, the loud hosannas of their daily cry, shattering the heavens before the dread and make their echo of his truth a lie. eclipse. his forest home no hermit's cell he found, or meek-eyed mennonist his bearded chin guests, motley-minded, drew his hearth | leaned o'er the gate ; or ranter, pure around, within, and held armed truce upon its neutral aired his perfection in a world of sin. ground. or, talking of old home scenes, op der there indian chiefs with battle-bows ungraaf strung, teased the low back-log with his shodden strong, hero-limbed, like those whom hostaff, mer sung, till the red embers broke into a laugh pastorius fancied, when the world was young, and dance of flame, as if they fain would cheer came with their tawny women, lithe and the rugged face, half tender, half austere, tall, touched with the pathos of a botesak like bronzes in his friend von rodeck's tear! hall, comely, if black, and not unpleasing all. or sluyter, saintly familist, whose wor! as law the brethren of the manor heari, there hungry folk in homespun drab and announced the speedy terrors of the land, gray drew round his board on monthly meeting and turned, like lot at sodom, from his race, genial, half merry in their friendly way. above a wrecked world with complaceat face or, haply, pilgrims from the fatherland, riding secure npon his plank of grace ! weak, timid, homesick, slow to understand the new world's promise, sought his help haply, from finland's birchen groves exing hand. iled, the pennsylvania pilgrim 107 once more manly in thought, in simple ways a child, one faith alone, so broad that all mankind his white hair floating round his visage within themselves its secret witness find, mild, the soul's communion with the eternal mind, the swedish pastor sought the quaker's door, the spirit's law, the inward rule and pleased from his neighbor's lips to hear guide, scholar and peasant, lord and serf, allied, his long-disused and half-forgotten lore. the polished penn and cromwell's ironside. for both could baffle babel's lingual curse, as still in hemskerck's quaker meeting, and speak in bion's doric, and rehearse face cleanthes' hymn or virgil's sounding verse. by face in flemish detail, we may trace how loose-mouthed boor and fine ancestral and oft pastorius and the meek old man grace argued as quaker and as lutheran, ending in christian love, as they began. sat in close contrast, the clipt-headed churl, with lettered lloyd on pleasant morns he broad market-dame, and simple servingstrayed girl where sommerhausen over vales of shade by skirt of silk and periwig in curl ! looked miles away, by every flower delayed, for soul touched soul ; the spiritual treasure-trove or song of bird, happy and free with one made all men equal, none could rise above who loved, like him, to let his memory run nor sink below that level of god's love. over old fields of learning, and to sun so, with his rustic neighbors sitting down, himself in plato's wise philosophies, the homespun frock beside the scholar's and dream with philo over mysteries gown, whereof the dreamer never finds the keys ; | pastorius to the manners of the town to touch all themes of thought, nor weakly added the freedom of the woods, and stop sought for doubt of truth, but let the buckets drop the bookless wisdom by experience taught, deep down and bring the hidden waters and learned to love his new-found home, while not up. for there was freedom in that wakening forgetful of the old ; the seasons went time their rounds, and somewhat to his spirit of tender souls ; to differ was not crime ; lent the varying bells made up the perfect of their own calm and measureless content. chime. glad even to tears, he heard the robin sing on lips unlike was laid the altar's coal, his song of welcome to the western spring, the white, clear light, tradition-colored, and bluebird borrowing from the sky his stole wing. through the stained oriel of each human soul. and when the miracle of autumn came, and all the woods with many-colored flame gathered from many sects, the quaker of splendor, making summer's greenness brought tame, his old beliefs, adjusting to the thought that moved his soul the creed his fathers burned, unconsumed, a voice without a taught. sound 108 narrative and legendary poems spake to him from each kindled bush to query with him of climatic change, around, of bird, beast, reptile, in his forest range, and made the strange, new landscape holy of flowers and fruits and simples new and ground ! strange. and when the bitter north-wind, keen and and thus the old and new world reached swift, their hands swept the white street and piled the dooracross the water, and the friendly lands yard drift, talked with each other from their severed he exercised, as friends might say, his gift strands. of verse, dutch, english, latin, like the pastorius answered all : while seed and now hash sent from his new home grew to flower and of corn and beans in indian succotash ; fruit dull, doubtless, but with here and there a along the rhine and at the spessart's foot; flash and, in return, the flowers his boyhood knew of wit and fine conceit, – the good man's smiled at his door, the same in forin and play hue, of quiet fancies, meet to while away and on his vines the rhenish clusters grew the slow hours measuring off an idle day. no idler he ; whoever else might shirk, at evening, while his wife put on her look he set his hand to every honest work, of love's endurance, from its niche he farmer and teacher, court and meeting took clerk. the written pages of his ponderous book. still on the town seal his device is found. and read, in half the languages of man, grapes, flax, and thread-spool on a tref] his “rusca apium,” which with bees beground, gan, with « vinum, linum et textrinur" and through the gamut of creation ran. wound. or, now and then, the missive of some friend one house sufficed for gospel and for law, in gray altorf or storied nürnberg penned where paul and grotius, scripture text and dropped in upon him like a guest to spend saw, assured the good, and held the rest in awe. the night beneath his roof-tree. mystical the fair von merlau spake as waters fall whatever legal maze he wandered throngte and voices sound in dreams, and yet withal he kept the sermon on the mount in vies, and justice always into merey grew. human and sweet, as if each far, low tone, over the roses of her gardens blown no whipping-post he needed, stocks, but brought the warm sense of beauty all her jail, nor ducking-stool ; the orchard-thief ga pale wise spener questioned what his friend at his rebuke, the vixen ceased to rail, could trace of spiritual intlux or of saving grace the usurer's grasp released the forfeit land; in the wild natures of the indian race. the slanderer faltered at the witness-stani and all men took his counsel for command. and learned schurmberg, fain, at times, to look was it caressing air, the brooding love from talmud, koran, veds, and pentaof tenderer skies than german land kne teuch, of, sought out his pupil in his far-off nook, green calın below, blue quietness above, own. the pennsylvania pilgrim 109 run. spoke still flow of water, deep repose of wood beneath the warm wind waves of green that, with a sense of loving fatherhood and gold; and childlike trust in the eternal good, the planted ear returned its hundred-fold. softened all hearts, and dulled the edge of great clusters ripened in a warmer sun hate, than that which by the rhine stream shines hushed strife, and taught impatient zeal to upon wait the purpling hillsides with low vines o'erthe slow assurance of the better state ? who knows what goadings in their sterner about each rustic porch the humming-bird way tried with light bill, that scarce a petal o'er jagged ice, relieved by granite gray, stirred, blew round the men of massachusetts bay ? the old world flowers to virgin soil transferred ; what bate of heresy the east-wind woke ? what hints of pitiless power and terror and the first fruits of pear and apple, bending in waves that on their iron coast-line broke ? the young boughs down, their gold and russet blending, be it as it may : within the land of penn made glad his heart, familiar odors lendthe sectary yielded to the citizen, ing and peaceful dwelt the many-creeded men. to the fresh fragrance of the birch and peace brooded over all. no trumpet stung pine, the air to madness, and no steeple flung life-everlasting, bay, and eglantine, alarums down from bells at midnight rung. and all the subtle scents the woods combine. the land slept well. the indian from his fair first-day mornings, steeped in sumface mer calm, washed all his war-paint off, and in the warm, tender, restful, sweet with woodland place balm, of battle-marches sped the peaceful chase, came to him, like some mother-hallowed psalm or wronght for wages at the white man's side, to the tired grinder at the noisy wheel giving to kindness what his native pride of labor, winding off from memory's reel and lazy freedom to all else denied. a golden thread of music. with no peal and well the curious scholar loved the of bells to call them to the house of old praise, traditions that his swarthy neighbors the scattered settlers through green foresttold ways by wigwam-fires when nights were growing walked meeting-ward. in reverent amaze cold, the indian trapper saw them, from the discerned the fact round which their fancy dim drew shade of the alders on the rivulet's rim, its dreams, and held their childish faith seek the great spirit's house to talk with more true him. to god and man than half the creeds he knew. there, through the gathered stillness multiplied the desert blossomed round him ; wheatand made intense by sympathy, outside fields rolled the sparrows sang, and the gold-robin cried, iio narrative and legendary poems room and solemn meeting, summer sky and wood, old kindly faces, youth and maidenhood seemed, like god's new creation, very good' and, greeting all with quiet smile and word, pastorius went his way. the unscared birl sang at his side ; scarcely the squirrel stirred scars a-swing upon his elm. a faint perfume breathed through the open windows of the from locust-trees, heavy with clustered bloom. thither, perchance, sore-tried confessors came, whose fervor jail nor pillory could tame, proud of the cropped ears meant to be their shame, men who had eaten slavery's bitter bread in indian isles ; pale women who had bled under the hangman's lash, and bravely said god's message through their prison’s iron bars ; and gray old soldier-converts, seamed with from every stricken field of england's wars. lowly before the unseen presence knelt each waiting heart, till haply some one felt on his moved lips the seal of silence melt. or, without spoken words, low breathings stole of a diviner life from soul to soul, baptizing in one tender thought the whole. when shaken hands announced the meeting o'er, the friendly group still lingered at the door, greeting, inquiring, sharing all the store of weekly tidings. meanwhile youth and maid down the green vistas of the woodland strayed, whispered and smiled and oft their feet delayed. did the boy's whistle answer back the thrushes? did light girl laughter ripple through the bushes, as brooks make merry over roots and rushes ? at his hushed footstep on the mossy sond; and, wheresoe'er the good man looked or trod, he felt the peace of nature and of god. his social life wore no ascetic form, he loved all beauty, without fear of harm, and in his veins his teuton blood ran warm. strict to himself, of other men no spp, he made his own no circuit-judge to try the freer conscience of his neighbors by. with love rebuking, by his life alone, gracious and sweet, the better way was shown, the joy of one, who, seeking not his own, and faithful to all scruples, finds at last the thorns and shards of duty overpest, and daily life, beyond his hope's forecast, pleasant and beautiful with sight and sound and flowers upspringing in its narrue round, and all his days with quiet gladne crowned. he sang not; but if sometimes tempted strong, he hummed what seemed like altorfs burschen-song, his good wife smiled and did not count it wrong. for well he loved his boyhood's brothr: band; his memory, while he trod the new world's strand, a double-ganger walked the fatherland! if, when on frosty christmas eves the lizh: shone on his quiet hearth, he missed it sight of yule-log, tree, and christ-child all on white; l’nvered the sweet air seemed. without a wound the ear of silence heard, and every sound its place in nature's fine accordance found. the pennsylvania pilgrim iii and closed his eyes, and listened to the sweet old wait-songs sounding down his native street, and watched again the dancers' mingling within himself he found the law of right, he walked by faith and not the letter's sight, and read his bible by the inward light. feet; yet not the less, when once the vision passed, he held the plain and sober maxims fast of the dear friends with whom his lot was cast. and if sometimes the slaves of form and rule, frozen in their creeds like fish in winter's pool, tried the large tolerance of his liberal school, still all attuned to nature's melodies he loved the bird's song in his door-yard trees, and the low hum of home-returning bees ; his door was free to men of every name, he welcomed all the seeking souls who came, and no man's faith he made a cause of blame. the blossomed flax, the tulip-trees in bloom down the long street, the beauty and perfume of apple-boughs, the mingling light and gloom but best he loved in leisure hours to see his own dear friends sit by him knee to knee, in social converse, genial, frank, and free. ear, of sommerhausen's woodlands, woven there sometimes silence (it were hard to through tell with sun-threads; and the music the wind who owned it first) upon the circle fell, drew, hushed anna's busy wheel, and laid its spell mournful and sweet, from leaves it overblew. on the black boy who grimaced by the hearth, and evermore, beneath this outward sense, to solemnize his shining face of mirth ; and through the common sequence of only the old clock ticked amidst the dearth events, he felt the guiding hand of providence of sound ; nor eye was raised nor hand was stirred reach out of space. a voice spake in his in that soul-sabbath, till at last some word of tender counsel or low prayer was heard. and lo! all other voices far and near died at that whisper, full of meanings clear. then guests, who lingered but farewell to say the light of life shone round him ; one by and take love's message, went their homeone the wandering lights, that all-misleading so passed in peace the guileless quaker's run, day. went out like candles paling in the sun. his was the christian's unsung age of that light he followed, step by step, gold, wbere'er a truer idyl than the bards have told it led, as in the vision of the seer of arno's banks or arcady of old. the wheels moved as the spirit in the clear where still the friends their place of and terrible crystal moved, with all their burial keep, eyes and century-rooted mosses o'er it creep, watching the living splendor sink or rise, the nürnberg scholar and his helpmeet its will their will, knowing no otherwise. sleep. ward way ; ii2 narrative and legendary poems of his power, and anna's aloe? if it flowered at last in merry mood king volmer sat, forgetful in bartram's garden, did john woolman cast as idle as the goose of gold that brooded a glance upon it as he meekly passed ? on his tower. and did a secret sympathy possess out spake the king to henrik, his young that tender soul, and for the slave's redress and faithful squire : lend hope, strength, patience? it were “ dar'st trust thy litile elsie, the maid of vain to guess. thy desire ?” “of all the men in denmark she loveth nay, were the plant itself but mythical, only me : set in the fresco of tradition's wall as true to me is elsie as thy lily is to like jotham's bramble, mattereth not at thee." all. loud laughed the king : “to-morrow shall enough to know that, through the winter's bring another day, frost when i myself will test her; she will not and summer's heat, no seed of truth is lost, say me nay." and every duty pays at last its cost. thereat the lords and gallants, that rouni about him stood, for, ere pastorius left the sun and air, wagged all their heads in concert and god sent the answer to his life-long prayer ; smiled as courtiers should. the child was born beside the delaware, the gray lark sings o'er vordingborg, and who, in the power a holy purpose lends, on the ancient town guided his people unto nobler ends, from the tall tower of valdemar the t and left them worthier of the name of golden goose looks down ; friends. the yellow grain is waving in the pleasant wind of morn, and lo! the fulness of the time has come, the wood resounds with cry of hounds are and over all the exile's western home, blare of hunter's horn. from sea to sea the flowers of freedom bloom ! in the garden of her father little elsie sits and spins, and jor-bells ring, and silver trumpets and, singing with the early birds, her daily task begins. but not for thee, pastorius! even so gay tulips bloom and sweet mint earl the world forgets, but the wise angels around her garden-bower, know. but she is sweeter than the mint and fair r than the flower. king volmer and elsie about her form her kirtle blue cling lot. ingly, and, white after the danish of christian as snow, her loose sleeves only leave beer winter small, round wrists in sight; below, the modest petticoat can only hai [ a danish gentleman, mr. p. taft, sent the conceal port an unrhymed outline in english of win the motion of the lightest foot that ever ter's ballad.] turned a wheel. wherk, over heathen doom-rings and gray the cat sits purring at her side, ber's hun stones of the horg, in sunshine warm ; in its little christian city stands the church | but, look! she starts, she lifts her face of vordingborg, she shades it with her arm. blow; king volmer and elsie 113 at frosty eventide for us the blazing hearth shall shine, while at our ease we play at draughts, and drink the blood-red wine." and, hark ! a train of horsemen, with sound of dog and horn, come leaping o'er the ditches, come trampling down the corn! merrily rang the bridle-reins, and scarf and plume streamed gay, as fast beside her father's gate the riders held their way; and one was brave in scarlet cloak, with golden spur on heel, and, as he checked his foaming steed, the maiden checked her wheel. “ all hail among thy roses, the fairest rose to me! for weary months in secret my heart has longed for thee!” what noble knight was this? what words for modest maiden's ear ? she dropped a lowly courtesy of bashfulness and fear. then elsie raised her head and met her wooer face to face ; a roguish smile shone in her eye and on her lip found place. back from her low white forehead the curls of gold she threw, and lifted up her eyes to his, steady and clear and blue. “ i am a lowly peasant, and you a gallant knight; i will not trust a love that soon may cool and turn to slight. if you would wed me henceforth be a peasant, not a lord; i bid you hang upon the wall your tried and trusty sword.” she lifted up her spinning-wheel ; she fain “to please you, elsie, i will lay keen dywould seek the door, nadel away, trembling in every limb, her cheek with and in its place will swing the scythe and blushes crimsoned o'er. mow your father's hay.” " nay, fear me not,” the rider said, “i “nay, but your gallant scarlet cloak my offer heart and hand, eyes can never bear ; bear witness these good danish knights a vadmal coat, so plain and gray, is all who round about me stand. that you must wear.' " i grant you time to think of this, to an“well, vadmal will i wear for you,” the swer as you may, rider gayly spoke, for to morrow, little elsie, shall bring “ and on the lord's high altar i 'll lay my another day." scarlet cloak.” he spake the old phrase slyly, as glancing “but mark,” she said, “no stately horse round his train, my peasant love must ride, he saw his merry followers seek to hide a yoke of steers before the plough is all their smiles in vain. that he must guide." 66 “ the snow of pearls i'll scatter in your curls of golden hair, i'll line with furs the velvet of the kirtle that you wear ; all precious gems shall twine your neck ; and in a chariot gay you shall ride, my little elsie, behind four the knight looked down upon his steed : well, let him wander free : no other man must ride the horse that has been backed by me. henceforth i'll tread the furrow and to my oxen talk, if only little elsie beside my plough will walk.” steeds of gray. * and harps shall sound, and flutes shall play, and brazen lamps shall glow ; on marble floors your feet shall weave the dances to and fro. “you must take from out your cellar cask of wine and flask and can ; the homely mead i brew you may serve a peasant-man." 114 narrative and legendary poems “ most willingly, fair elsie, i'll drink that none saw the fond embracing, save, shipmead of thine, ing from afar, and leave my minstrel's thirsty throat to the golden goose that watched them from drain my generous wine." the tower of valdemar. "now break your shield asunder, and ( darling girls of denmark! of all the shatter sign and boss, flowers that throng c'nmeet for peasant wedded arms, your her vales of spring the fairest, i sing for knightly knee across. you my song and pull me down your castle from top to no praise as yours so bravely rewards the basement wall, singer's skill; and let your plough trace furrows in the thank god! of maids like elsie the last ruins of your hall!” has plenty still ! then smiled he with a lofty pride ; right well at last he knew the three bells the maiden of the spinning-wheel was to her troth-plight true. beneath the low-hung night cloud “ah, roguish little elsie ! you act your part that raked her splintering mast full well : the good ship settled slowly, you know that i must bear my shield and the cruel leak gained fast. in my castle dwell ! over the awful ocean “ the lions ramping on that shield between her signal guns pealed out. the hearts atlame dear god! was that thy answer keep watch o'er denmark's honor, and from the horror round about ? guard her ancient name. for know that i am volmer; i dwell in a voice came down the wild wind, yonder towers, “ ho! ship ahos!” its cry : who ploughs them ploughs up denmark, “our stont three bells of glasgow this goodly home of ours ! shall lay till daylight by!” “i tempt no more, fair elsie ! your heart hour after hour crept slowly, i know is true ; yet on the heaving swells would god that all our maidens were good tossed up and down the ship-lights, and pure as you ! the lights of the three bells ! well have you pleased your monarch, and he shall well repay ; and ship to ship made signals, god's peace ! farewell ! to-morrow will man answered back to man, bring another day !" while oft, to cheer and hearten, the three bells nearer ran; he lifted up his bridle hand, be spurred his good steed then, and the captain from her taffrail and like a whirl-blast swept away with all sent down his hopeful cry : his gallant men. “ take heart ! hold on!” he shouted' the steel hoofs beat the rocky path ; again “ the three bells shall lay by !" on winds of morn the wood resounds with cry of hounds and all night across the waters blare of hunter's horn. the tossing lights shone clear ; all night from reeling taffrail “ thou true and ever faithful !" the listenthe three bells sent her cheer. ing henrik cried ; and, leaping o'er the green hedge, he stood and when the dreary watches by elsie's side. of storm and darkness passed, john underhill 115 just as the wreck lurched under, and he rose in his stirrups and looked all souls were saved at last. abroad over land and water, and praised the lord. sail on, three bells, forever, in grateful memory sail ! goodly and stately and grave to see, ring on, three bells of rescue, into the clearing's space rode he, above the wave and gale ! with the sun on the hilt of his sword in sheath, type of the love eternal, and his silver buckles and spurs beneath, repeat the master's cry, and the settlers welcomed him, one and all, as tossing through our darkness from swift quampeagan to gonic fall. the lights of god draw nigh! and he said to the elders : “lo, i come as the way seemed open to seek a home. john underhill somewhat the lord hath wrought by my hands a score of years had come and gone in the narragansett and netherlands, since the pilgrims landed on plymouth and if here ye have work for a christian stone, man, when captain cnderhill, bearing scars i will tarry, and serve ye as best i can. from indian ambush and flemish wars, left three hilled boston and wandered “i boast not of gifts, but fain would own down, the wonderful favor god hath shown, east by north, to cocheco town. the special mercy vouchsafed one day on the shore of narragansett bay, with vane the younger, in council sweet, as i sat, with my pipe, from the camp aside, he had sat at anna hutchinson's feet, and mused like isaac at eventide. and, when the bolt of banishment fell on the head of his saintly oracle, “ a sudden sweetness of peace i found, he had shared her ill as her good report, a garment of gladness wrapped me round ; and braved the wrath of the general i felt from the law of works released, court. the strife of the flesh and spirit ceased, my faith to a full assurance grew, he shook from his feet as he rode away and all i had hoped for myself i knew. the dust of the massachusetts bay. the world might bless and the world might “now, as god appointeth, i keep my ban, way, what did it matter the perfect man, i shall not stumble, i shall not stray ; to whom the freedom of earth was given, he bath taken away my fig-leaf dress, proof against sin, and sure of heaven ? i wear the robe of his righteousness ; and the shafts of satan no more avail he cheered his heart as he rode along than pequot arrows on christian mail." with screed of scripture and holy song, or thought how he rode with his lances tarry with us,” the settlers cried, free “thou man of god, as our ruler and guide.” by the lower rhine and the zuyder-zee, and captain underhill bowed his head. till his wood path grew to a trodden “ the will of the lord be done !” he said. road, and the morrow beheld him sitting down and hilton point in the distance showed. in the ruler's seat in cocheco town. he saw the church with the block-house and he judged therein as a just man should ; nigh, his words were wise and his rule was good ; the two fair rivers, the flakes thereby, he coveted not his neighbor's land, ard, tacking to windward, low and crank, from the holding of bribes he shook his the little shallop from strawberry bank ; hand ; 116 narrative and legendary poems ran in ; and through the camps of the heathen hate me or pity me, as you will, the lord will have mercy on sinners still ; a wholesome fear of the valiant man. and i, who am chiefest, say to all, watch and pray, lest ye also fall." but the heart is deceitful, the good book saith, no voice made answer : a sob so low and life hath ever a savor of death. that only his quickened ear could know through hymns of triumph the tempter smote his heart with a bitter pain, calls, as into the forest he rode again, and whoso thinketh he standeth falls. and the veil of its oaken leares shut alas ! ere their round the seasons ran, down there was grief in the soul of the saintly on his latest glimpse of cocheco town. man. crystal-clear on the man of sin the tempter's arrows that rarely fail the streams tlashed up, and the sky shone had found the joints of his spiritual mail; and men took note of his gloomy air, on his cheek of fever the cool wind bles, the shame in his eye, the halt in his prayer, the leaves dropped on him their tears of the signs of a battle lost within, dew, the pain of a soul in the coils of sin. and angels of god, in the pure, swert guise then a whisper of scandal linked his name of flowers, looked on him with sad surprise. with broken vows and a life of blame; and the people looked askance on him was his ear at fault that brook and breer as he walked among them sullen and grim, sang in their saddest of minor keys? ill at ease, and bitter of word, what was it the mournful wood-thrush and prompt of quarrel with hand or sword. said ? what whispered the pine-trees overhead! none knew how, with prayer and fasting did he hear the voice on his lonely way still, that adam beard in the cool of day? lle strove in the bonds of his evil will ; but he shook himself like samson at length, into the desert alone rode be, and girded anew his loins of strength, alone with the intinite purity ; and bade the crier go up and down and, bowing his soul to its tender rebuke, and call together the wondering town. as peter did to the master's look, he measured his path with prayers of jeer and murmur and shaking of head pain ceased as he rose in his place and said : for peace with god and nature again. * men, brethren, and fathers, well ye know how i came among you a year ago, and in after years to cocheco came strong in the faith that my soul was freed the bruit of a once familiar name : from sin of feeling, or thought, or deed. how among the dutch of new setber lands, “i have sinned, i own it with grief and from wild danskamer to haarlem sapus, shame, a penitent soldier preached the word, but not with a lie on my lips i came. and smote the heathen with gideon's in my blindness i verily thought my heart sword! swept and garnished in every part. ile chargeth his angels with folly ; le and the heart of boston was glad to hear sees how he harried the foe on the long inathe heavens unclean. was i more than tier, these? and beaped on the land against him barred the coals of his generous watch and want. " i urge no plea. at your feet i lay frailest and bravest ! the bay state still the trust you gave me, and go my way. counts with her worthies john caderkuil. the witch of wenham 117 name we bow as in the dust, with all our pride conductor bradley of virtue dwarfed the noble deed beside. a railway condnctor who lost his life in an accident on a connecticut railway, may 9, 1873. god give us grace to live as bradley died ! conductor bradley, (always may his the witch of wenham be said with reverence !) as the swift doom came, the house is still standing in danvers, mass., smitten to death, a crushed and mangled where, it is said, a suspected witch was conframe, fined overnight in the attic, which was bolted fast. in the morning, when the constable came sank, with the brake he grasped just where to take her to salem for trial, she was missing, he stood although the door was still bolted. her escape to do the utmost that a brave man could, was doubtless aided by her friends, but at the time it was attributed to satanic interference. and die, if needful, as a true man should. i along crane river's sunny slopes blew warm the winds of may, and over naumkeag's ancient oaks the green outgrew the gray. men stooped above him ; women dropped their tears on that poor wreck beyond all hopes or fears, lost in the strength and glory of his years. what heard they ? lo! the ghastly lips of pain, dead to all thought save duty's, moved again : " put out the signals for the other train !” no nobler utterance since the world began from lips of saint or martyr ever ran, electric, through the sympathies of man. the grass was green on rial-side, the early birds at will waked up the violet in its dell, the wind-flower on its hill. “where go you, in your sunday coat, son andrew, tell me, pray.” " for stripëd perch in wenham lake i go to fish to-day.” ah me! how poor and noteless seem to this the sick-bed dramas of self-consciousness, our sensual fears of pain and hopes of bliss ! “unharmed of thee in wenham lake the mottled perch shall be : a blue-eyed witch sits on the bank and weaves her net for thee. “she weaves her golden hair ; she sings her spell-song low and faint ; the wickedest witch in salem jail is to that girl a saint.” oh, grand, supreme endeavor ! not in vain that last brave act of failing tongue and brain ! freighted with life the downward rushing train, following the wrecked one, as wave follows wave, obeyed the warning which the dead lips gave. others he saved, himself he could not save. nay, the lost life was saved. he is not dead who in his record still the earth shall tread with god's clear aureole shining round his head. “ nay, mother, hold thy cruel tongue ; god knows,” the young man cried, “ he never made a whiter soul than hers by wenham side. a “she tends her mother sick and blind, and every want supplies ; to her above the blessed book she lends her soft blue eyes. “ her voice is glad with holy songs, her lips are sweet with prayer ; 118 narrative and legendary poems go where you will, in ten miles round is none more good and fair.” “son andrew, for the love of god and of thy mother, stay!” she clasped her hands, she wept aloud, but andrew rode away. the black man's godless sacrament and signed his dreadful book. “ last night my sore-afflicted child against the young witch cried. to take her marshal herrick rides even now to wenham side.” “ () reverend sir, my andrew's soul the wenham witch has caught ; she holds him with the curled gold whereof her snare is wrought. the marshal in his saddle sat, his daughter at his knee ; “i go to fetch that arrant witch, thy fair playmate," quoth he. “ller spectre walks the parsonage, and haunts both ball and stair; they know her by the great blue eyes and floating gold of hair." * they lie, they lie, my father dear! no foul old witch is she, but sweet and good and crystal-pure as wenham waters be.' “she charms him with her great blue eyes, she binds him with her hair ; oh, break the spell with holy words, unbind him with a prayer !” “ take heart,” the painful preacher said, this mischief shall not be ; the witch shall perish in her sins and andrew shall go free. * our poor ann putnam testifies she saw her weave a spell, bare-armed, loose-haired, at full of moon, around a dried-up well. “«spring up, () well!' she softly sang the hebrew's old refrain (for satan uses bible words), till water towed amain. “ and many a goodwife beard her speak by wenham water words that made the buttercups take wings and turn to yellow birds. “they say that swarming wild bees seek the hive at her command ; and fishes swim to take their food from out her dainty hand. “ meek as she sits in meeting-time, the godly minister notes well the spell that doth compel the young men's eyes to her. “ the mole upon her dimpled chin is satan's seal and sign ; her lips are red with evil bread and stain of unblest wine. “i tell thee, child, the lord hath set before us good and ill, and woe to all whose carnal loves oppose his righteous will. “ between him and the powers of hell choose thou, my child, to-day : no sparing hand, no pitying eye, when god commands to slay!” he went his way; the old wives shouk with fear as he drew nigh; the children in the dooryanis held their breath as he passed by. too well they knew the gaunt 6721 horse the grim witch-hunter rode, the pale apocalyptie beast by grisly death bestrode. 11 oh, fair the face of wenham lake l'pon the young girl's sbone, her tender mouth, her dreaming eyes, her yellow hair outblown. by happy youth and love attuned *to natural harinonies, the singing birds, the whispering wind, she sat beneath the trets. * for tituba, my indian, kaith at quasycung she took the witch of wenham 119 sat shaping for her bridal dress her mother's wedding gown, when lo! the marshal, writ in hand, from alford hill rode down. but up and down the chimney stack the swallows moaned and stirred. his face was hard with cruel fear, he grasped the maiden's hands : **come with me unto salem town, for so the law commands !" $$ and o'er her, with a dread surmise of evil sight and sound, the blind bats on their leathern wings went wheeling round and round. low hanging in the midnight sky looked in a half-faced moon. was it a dream, or did she hear her lover's whistled tune ? a “oh, let me to my mother say farewell before i go !” he closer tied her little hands unto his saddle bow. she forced the oaken scuttle back; a whisper reached her ear : “slide down the roof to me,” it said, “so softly none may hear." “ ['nhand me,” cried she piteously, “for thy sweet daughter's sake.” "i'll keep my daughter safe,” he said, * from the witch of wenham lake." 64 " she slid along the sloping roof till from its eaves she hung, and felt the loosened shingles yield to which her fingers clung. 64 below, her lover stretched his hands and touched her feet so small; drop down to me, dear heart,” he said, “my arms shall break the fall.” 66 " "oh, leave me for my mother's sake, she needs my eyes to see." “ those eyes, young witch, the crows shall peck from off the gallows-tree.” he bore her to a farm-bouse old and up its stairway long, and closed on her the garret-door with iron bolted strong. the day died out, the night came down : her evening prayer she said, while, through the dark, strange faces seemed to mock her as she prayed. he set her on his pillion soft, her arms about him twined ; and, noiseless as if velvet-shod, they left the house behind. but when they reached the open way, full free the rein he cast; oh, never through the mirk midnight rode man and maid more fast. the present horror deepened all the fears her childhood knew ; the awe wherewith the air was filled with every breath she drew. and could it be, she trembling asked, some secret thought or sin had shut good angels from her heart and let the bad ones in ? along the wild wood-paths they sped, the bridgeless streams they swam ; at set of moon they passed the bass, at sunrise agawam. at high noon on the merrimac the ancient ferryman forgot, at times, his idle oars, so fair a freight to scan. had she in some forgotten dream let go ber bold on heaven, and sold herself unwittingly to spirits unforgiven ? oh, weird and still the dark hours passed ; no human sound she heard, and when from off his grounded boat he saw them mount and ride, “god keep her from the evil eye, and harm of witch !” he cried. the maiden laughed, as youth will laugh at all its fears gone by ; 120 narrative and legendary poems “ he does not know," she whispered low, “ a little witch am i.” that wondrous song of songs, sensuous and mystical, whereto devout souls turn in fond, ecstatic dream, and through its earth-born theme the love of loves discern. all day he urged his weary horse, and, in the red sundown, drew rein before a friendly door in distant berwick town. a fellow-feeling for the wronged the quaker people felt; and safe beside their kindly hearths the hunted maiden dwelt, until from off its breast the land the haunting horror threw, and hatred, born of ghastly dreams, to shame and pity grew. sad were the year's spring morns, and sad its golden summer day, but blithe and glad its withered fields, and skies of ashen gray ; for spell and charm bad power no more, the spectres ceased to roam, and scattered households knelt again around the hearths of home. proud in the syrian sun, in gold and purple sheen, the dusky ethiop queen smiled on king solonion. wisest of men, he knew the languages of all the creatures great or small that trod the earth or flew. across an ant-bill led the king's path, and he heard its small folk, and their word he thus interpreted : “here comes the king men greet as wise and good and just, to crush us in the dust l’nder his heedless feet." the great king bowed his head, and saw the wide surprise of the queen of sheba's eres as he told her what they said. and when once more by beaver dam the meadow-lark outsang, and once again on all the hills the early violets spraug, and all the windy pasture slopes lay green within the arms of creeks that bore the salted sea to pleasant inland farms, the smith filed off the chains he forged, the jail-bolts backward fell; and youth and hoary age cane forth like souls escaped from hell. “o king !” she whispered sweet, “ too happy fate have they who perish in thy way beneath thy gracious feet ! “ thou of the goul-lent crown, shall these vile crentures dare murmur against thee where the knees of kings kneel down? “ nay," solomon replied, « the wise and strong should seek the welfare of the weak," and turned his horse aside. his train, with quick alarm, curved with their leader round the ant-hill's peopled mound, and left it free from harm. king solomon and the ants ort from jerusalem the king rode with his great war chiets and lords of state, and sheba's queen with them; comely, but black withal, to whom, perehance, belongs the jewelled head bent low; "o king !" she said, “ henceforth in the “old south” i21 the secret of thy worth and wisdom well i know. let all souls worship him in the way his light within reveals.” " happy must be the state whose ruler heedeth more the murmurs of the poor than flatteries of the great." she shook the dust from her naked feet, and her sackcloth closer drew, and into the porch of the awe hushed church she passed like a ghost from view. they whipped her away at the tail o' the cart through half the streets of the town, but the words she uttered that day nor fire could burn nor water drown. in the “old south" on the 8th of july, 1677, margaret brewster with four other friends went into the south church in time of meeting, “in sackcloth, with ashes upon her head, barefoot, and her face blackened," and delivered "a warning from the great god of heaven and earth to the rulers and magistrates of boston." for the offence she was sentenced to be “ whipped at a cart's tail up and down the town, with twenty lashes." and now the aisles of the ancient church by equal feet are trod, and the bell that swings in its belfry rings freedom to worship god ! she came and stood in the old south church, a wonder and a sign, with a look the old-time sibyls wore, half-crazed and half-divine. and now whenever a wrong is done it thrills the conscious walls ; the stone from the basement cries aloud and the beam from the timber calls. save the mournful sackcloth about her wound, l'nclothed as the primal mother, with limbs that trembled and eyes that blazed with a fire she dare not smother. there are steeple-houses on every hand, and pulpits that bless and ban, and the lord will not grudge the single church that is set apart for man. for in two commandments are all the law and the prophets under the sun, and the first is last and the last is first, and the twain are verily one. loose on her shoulders fell her hair, with sprinkled ashes gray; she stood in the broad aisle strange and weird as a soul at the judgment day. so long as boston shall boston be, and her bay-tides rise and fall, shall freedom stand in the old south church and plead for the rights of all ! the henchman and the minister paused in his sermon's midst, and the people held their breath, for these were the words the maiden spoke through lips as the lips of death : “thus saith the lord, with equal feet all men my courts shall tread, and priest and ruler no more shall eat my people up like bread ! " repent! repent ! ere the lord shall speak in thunder and breaking seals ! (written at the request of a young lady, who said to the poet: * mr. whittier, you never wrote a love song. i do not believe you can write one. i wish you would try to write one for me to sing." in sending the poem afterward to the editor of the independent, whittier wrote: “i send, in compliance with the wish of mr. bowen and thyself, a ballad upon which, though not long, i have bestowed a good deal of labor. it is not exactly a i 22 narrative and legendary poems quakerly piece, nor is it didactic, and it has no moral that i know of. but it is, i think, natural, simple, and not unpoetical."] no lanee have i, in joust or fight, to splinter in my lady's sight; but, at her feet, how blest were i for any need of hers to die ! my lady walks her morning round, my lady's page her fleet greyhound, my lady's hair the fond winds stir, and all the birds make songs for her. the dead feast of the kol-folk her thrushes sing in rathburn bowers, and rathburn side is gay with flowers ; but ne'er like hers, in flower or bird, was beauty seen or music heard. the distance of the stars is hers; the least of all her worshippers, the dust beneath her dainty heel, she kuows not that i see or feel. 1 oh, proud and calm ! she cannot know where'er she goes with her i go ; oh, cold and fair ! she canuot guess i kneel to share her hound's caress! e. b. tylor in his primitive culture, chapter xii., gives an account of the reverence paid the dead by the koltribes of chota nagpur, asim. * when a ho or munda," he says, “has been burned on the funeral pile, collected morses of his bones are carried in procession with a solemn, ghostly, sliding step, keping time to the deep-sounding drum, and when the old woman who carries the bones on her bamboo tray lowers it from time to time, then giris who carry pitchers and brass vesse is mournfuliv reverse them to show that they are empty: thus the remains are taken to visit every house in the village, and every dwelling of a friend or rila tive for miles, and the inmates come out to mourn and praise the goodness of the departed, the bones are carried to all the dead ma's favorite haunts, to the fields he cultivated, to the grove he planted, to the threshing-tider where he worked, to the village dance-room where he made merry. at last they are tak-a to the grave, and buried in an earthen ik upon a store of food, covered with one of the huge stone slabs which european visitors der at in the districts of the abongin of india." in the journal of the isiatic searty, bengal, vol. ix. p. 70.), is a ho dirge. gay knights beside her hunt and hawk, i rob their ears of her sweet talk ; her suitors come from east and west, i steal her smiles from every guest. unheard of her, in loving words, i greet her with the song of birds ; i reach her with her green armed bowers, i kiss her with the lips of flowers. the hound and i are on her trail, the wind and i uplift her veil ; as if the calm, cold moon she were, and i the tide, i follow her. as unrebuked as they, i share the license of the sun and air, and in a common homage hide my worship from her scorn and pride. world-wide apart, and yet so near, i breathe her charmed atmosphere, wherein to her my service brings the reverence due to holy things. her maiden pride, her hanghty name, my dumb devotion shall not shame; the love that no return doth crave to knightly levels lifts the slave. we have opened the door, once, twice, thrice! we have swept the floor, we bave boiled the rice. come hither, come hither! come froin the far lands, come from the star lands, come as before ! we lived long together, we loved one another; come back to our life. come father, come mother, come sister and brother, child, husband, and wife, for you we are sighing. come take your old places, (ome look in our faces, the dead on the dying, come home! the khan's devil 123 nor seeing nor hearing, we wait without fearing to feel you draw near. o dead, to the dying come home! the khan's devil we have opened the door, once, twice, thrice ! we have kindled the coals, and we boil the rice for the feast of souls. come hither, come hither! think not we fear you, whose hearts are so near you. come tenderly thought on, come all unforgotten, come from the shadow-lands, from the dim meadow-lands where the pale grasses bend low to our sighing. come father, come mother, come sister and brother, come husband and friend, the dead to the dying, come home! the khan came from bokhara town to hamza, santon of renown. “ my head is sick, my hands are weak; thy help, o holy man, i seek.” in silence marking for a space the khau's red eyes and purple face, thick voice, and loose, uncertain tread, “ thou hast a devil !” hamza said. a “ allah forbid !” exclaimed the khan. rid me of him at once, o man !” 66 “nay,” hamza said, “no spell of mine can slay that cursed thing of thine. “ leave feast and wine, go forth and drink water of healing on the brink we have opened the door you entered so oft ; for the feast of souls we have kindled the coals, and we boil the rice soft. come you who are dearest to us who are nearest, come hither, come hither, from out the wild weather ; the storm clouds are flying, the peepul is sighing ; come in from the rain. come father, come mother, come sister and brother, come husband and lover, beneath our roof-cover. look on us again, the dead on the dying, come home! “where clear and cold from mountain snows, the nahr el zeben downward flows. “ six moons remain, then come to me ; may allah's pity go with thee!” awestruck, from feast and wine the khan went forth where nahr el zeben ran. roots were his food, the desert dust his bed, the water quenched his thirst ; and when the sixth moon's scimitar curved sharp above the evening star, we have opened the door! for the feast of souls we have kindled the coals we may kindle no more! suake, fever, and fainine, the curse of the brahmin, the sun and the dew, they burn us, they bite us, they waste us and smite us; our days are but few ! in strange lands far youder to wonder and wander we hasten to you. list then to our sighing, while yet we are here : he sought again the santon's door, not weak and trembling as before, but strong of limb and clear of brain ; “behold,” he said, “ the fiend is slain." 66 “ nay," hamza answered, “starved and drowned, the curst one lies in death-like swound. 124 narrative and legendary poems * but evil breaks the strongest gyves, and jins like him have charmed lives. “one beaker of the juice of grape may call him up in living shape. “ when the red wine of badakshan sparkles for thee, beware, o khan! * with water quench the fire within, and drown each day thy devilkin !” thenceforth the great khan shunned the cup as shitan's own, though offered up, with laughing eyes and jewelled hands, by yarkand's maids and samarcand’s. and, in the lofty vestibule of the medress of kaush kodul, the students of the holy law a golden-lettered tablet saw, with these words, by a cunning hand, graved on it at the khan's command : “in allah's name, to him who hath a devil, khan el llamed saith, "wisely our prophet cursed the vine : the fiend that loves the breath of wine u'nder the great hill sloping bare to cove and meadow and common lot, in his council chamber and oaken chair, sat the worshipful governor endicott. a grave, strong man, who knew no peer in the pilgrim land, where he ruled in frar of god, not man, and for good or ill held his trust with an iron will. he had shorn with his sword the cross from out the flag, and cloven the may-pole down, harried the heathen round about, and whipped the quakers from town to town. earnest and honest, a man at need to burn like a torch for his own barsh erece!, he kept with the tiaming brand of his zeal the gate of the holy common weal. his brow was clouded, his eye was stern, with a look of mingled sorrow and wrath ; “woe's me!” he murmured : “at every turn the pestilent quakers are in my path! some we have scourged, and banished some, some banged, more doomed, and still they come, fast as the tide of yon bay sets in, sowing their heresy's seed of sin. “ did we count on this ? did we leave to hind the graves of our kin, the comfort and ease of our english hearths and homes, to final troublers of israel such as these? shall i spare ? shall i pity them? (wi forbid ! i will do as the prophet to agong did: they come to poison the wells of the world i will hew them in pieces before the luni!" the door swung open, and rawson the clerk entered, and whispered under breath, “ there waits below for the hangman's work a fellow banished on pain of leathshattuck, of salem, unhealed of the who brought over in master goldsmith's skap at anchor here in a christian port, with freight of the devil and all his sort twice and thrice on the chamber too striding fiercely from wall to wall, “ no prayer can slay, no marabout nor neccan dervis can drive out. “ 1, khan el hamed, know the charm that robs him of his power to harm. " drowu him, ( islam's child! the spell to save thee lies in tank and well !” the king's missive 1061 this ballad, originally written for the memorial history of boston, describes, with pardonable poetic license, a memorable incident in the annals of the city. the interview between shattuck and the governor took place. i have since learned, in the residence of the latter, and not in the council chamber. the publication of the ballud led to some discussion as to the historical truthfulness of the picture, but i have sen no r.son to rub out any of the figures or alter the lines and colors. the king's missive 125 : the lord do so to me and more,” the governor cried, “ if i hang not all ! bring hither the quaker.” calm, sedate, with the look of a man at ease with fate, into that presence grim and dread came samuel shattuck, with hat on head. and much scourged wharton of salem took ilis burden of prophecy up and cried : “ rest, souls of the valiant! not in vain have ye borne the master's cross of pain ; ye have fought the fight, ye are victors crowned, with a fourfold chain ye have satan bound !” the autumn haze lay soft and still on wood and meadow and upland farms ; on the brow of snow hill the great windmill slowly and lazily swung its arms ; broad in the sunshine stretched away, with its capes and islands, the turquoise bay ; and over water and dusk of pines blue hills lifted their faint outlines. off with the knave's bat !” an angry hand smote down the offence ; but the wearer said, with a quiet smile, “by the king's command i bear his message and stand in his stead.” in the governor's hand a missive he laid with the royal arms on its seal displayed, and the proud man spake as he gazed thereat, uncovering, "give mr. shattuck bis hat.” he turned to the quaker, bowing low, ** the king commandeth your friends' release ; doubt not he shall be obeyed, although to his subjects' sorrow and sin's increase. what he here enjoineth, john endicott, his loyal servant, questioneth not. you are free! god grant the spirit yon may take you from us to parts unknown.” so the door of the jail was open cast, and, like daniel, out of the lion's den tender youth and girlhood passed, with age-bowed women and gray-locked men. and the voice of one appointed to die was lifted in praise and thanks on high, and the little maid from new netherlands kissed, in her joy, the doomed man's hands. the topaz leaves of the walnut glowed, the sumach added its crimson fleck, and double in air and water showed the tinted maples along the neck ; through frost flower clusters of pale starmist, and gentian fringes of amethyst, and royal plumes of golden-rod, the grazing cattle on centry trod. own but as they who see not, the quakers saw the world about them; they only thought with deep thanksgiving and pious awe on the great deliverance god had wrought. through lane and alley the gazing town noisily followed them up and down ; some with scoffing and brutal jeer, some with pity and words of cheer. and one, whose call was to minister to the souls in prison, beside him went, an ancient woman, bearing with her the linen sbroud for his burial meant. for she, not counting her own life dear, in the strength of a love that cast out fear, had watched and served where her brethren died, like those who waited the cross beside. one brave voice rose above the din. upsall, gray with his length of days, cried from the door of his red lion inn : “men of boston, give god the praise ! no more shall innocent blood call down the bolts of wrath on your guilty town. the freedom of worship, dear to you, is dear to all, and to all is due. one moment they paused on their way to look on the martyr graves by the common side, “ i see the vision of days to come, when your beautiful city of the bay shall be christian liberty's chosen home, and none shall his neighbor's rights gainsay. the varying notes of worship shall blend 126 narrative and legendary poems . and as one great prayer to god ascend, and hands of mutual charity raise rabbi ishmael walls of salvation and gates of praise.” “rabbi ishmael ben elisha said. once i so passed the quakers through boston entered into the holy of holies' as high press town, to burn incense, when i saw aktriel tbe in whose painful ministers sighed to see vine crown jah, lord of hosts, sitting ayam a throne, high and lifted up, who said unto the walls of their sheep-fold falling down, me, · ishmael, my son, bless me.' i answend, and wolves of heresy prowling free. may it please thee to make thy compassion pou but the years went on, and brought no rail over thine anger; may it be rereutda wrong ; thy other attributes; mayest thou drai ris with milder counsels the state grew strong, thy children according to it, and not accurd y as outward letter and inward light to the strict measure of judgment.' it seemed to kept the balance of truth aright. me that ile bowed ilis head, as though to bswer amen to my blessing." — talmud (bera the puritan spirit perishing not, chóth, i. f. 6 b.). to concord's yeomen the signal sent, and spake in the voice of the cannon-shot the rabbi ishmael, with the woe and sin that severed the chains of a continent. of the world heavy upon him, entering in with its gentler mission of peace and goodthe holy of holies, saw an awful face will with terrible splendor filling all the place the thought of the quaker is living still, “() ishmael ben elisha!” said a voice, and the freedom of soul he prophesied “what seekest thou? what blessing is is gospel and law where the martyrs died. thy choice? and, knowing that he stood before the lord, within the shadow of the cherubim, valuation wide-winged between the blinding light and him, the old squire said, as he stood by his he bowed himself, and uttered not a worl, gate, but in the silence of his soul was prayer and his neighbor, the deacon, went by, “() thou eternal! i am one of all, “in spite of my bank stock and real estate, and nothing ask that others may pot sur you are better off, deacon, than i. thou art almighty; we are weak ant small, “we 're both growing old, and the end's and yet thy children : let thy mer! drawing near, you have less of this world to resign, trembling, he raised his eyes, and in the but in heaven's appraisal your assets, i place fear, of the insufferable glory, lo! a face will reckon up greater than mine. of more than mortal tenderness, that let graciously down in token of assent, “ they say i am rich, but i'm feeling so and, smiling, vanished ! with strange jos poor, elate, i wish i could swap with you even : the wondering rabbi sought the temples the pounds i have lived for and laid up in gate. store radiant as moses from the mount, be for the shillings and pence yon have stood given." and cried aloud unto the multitude : “() israel, hear! the lori our god is “well, squire," said the deacon, with good! shrewd common sense, mine eyes have seen his glory and lis while his eye had a twinkle of fun, grace ; "let your pounds take the way of my shil. beyond his judgments shall his love eplings and pence, dure; and the thing can be easily done !" the mercy of the all merciful is sure !” spare 1 " the bay of seven islands 127 the rock-tomb of bradore h. y. hind, in explorations in the interior of the labrador peninsula (ii. 166), mentions the finding of a rock tomb near the little fishing port of bradore, with the inscription upon it shich is given in the poem. the stranger paused and read. “ () winter land !” he said, thy right to be i own ; god leaves thee not alone. and if thy fierce winds blow over drear wastes of rock and snow, and at thy iron gates the ghostly iceberg waits, thy homes and hearts are dear. thy sorrow o'er thy sacred dust is sanctified by hope and trust; god's love and man's are here. and love where'er it goes makes its own atmosphere ; its flowers of paradise take root in the eternal ice, and bloom through polar snows ! ” a drear and desolate shore ! where no tree unfolds its leaves, and never the spring wind weaves green grass for the hunter's tread; a land forsaken and dead, where the ghostly icebergs go and come with the ebb and flow of the waters of bradore ! a the bay of seven islands a wanderer, from a land by summer breezes fanned, looked round him, awed, subdued, by the dreadful solitude, hearing alone the cry of sea-birds clanging by, the crash and grind of the floe, wail of wind and wash of tide. “ () wretched land !” he cried, land of all lands the worst, god forsaken and curst ! thy gates of rock should show the words the tuscan seer read in the realm of woe : hope entereth not here!” 63 the volume in which the bay of seven islands was published was dedicated to the late edwin percy whipple, to whom more than to any other person i was indebted for public recognition as one worthy of a place in american literature, at a time when it required a great degree of courage to urge such a claim for a proscribed abolitionist. although younger than i, he had gained the reputation of a brilliant essayist, and was regarded as the highest american authority in criticism. his wit and wisdom enlivened a small literary circle of young men, including thomas starr king, the eloquent preacher, and daniel n. haskell, of the daily transcript, who gathered about our common friend james t. fields at the old corner bookstore. the poem which gave title to the volume i inscribed to my friend and neighbor, harriet prescott spofford, whose poems have lent a new interest to our beautiful river-valley. lo! at his feet there stood a block of smooth larch wood, waif of some wandering wave, beside a rock-closed cave by nature fashioned for a grave; safe from the ravening bear and fierce fowl of the air, wherein to rest was laid a twenty summers' maid, whose blood bad equal share of the lands of vine and snow, half french, half eskimo. in letters uneffaced, l'pon the block were traced the grief and hope of man, and thus the legend ran : “ we loved her! words cannot tell how well ! we loved her! god loved her ! and called her home to peace and rest. we love her!" from the green amesbury hill which bears the name of that half mythic ancestor of mine who trod its slopes two hundred years ago, down the long valley of the merrimac, midway between me and the river's mouth, i see thy home, set like an eagle's nest among deer island's immemorial pines, crowning the crag on which the sunset breaks its last red arrow. many a tale and song, which thou hast told or sung, i call to mind, softening with silvery mist the woods and hills, 128 narrative and legendary poems the out-thrust headlands and inreaching the little hamlet, nestling below bays great hills white with lingering snow, of our northeastern coast-line, trending with its tin-roofed chapel stood where half hid in the dwarf spruce wood; the gulf, midsummer, feels the chill blockade green-turfed, flower-sown, the last outpost of icebergs stranded at its northern gate. of summer upon the dreary coast, with its gardens small and spare, to thee the echoes of the island sound sad in the frosty air. answer not vainly, nor in vain the moan of the south breaker prophesying storm. hard by where the skipper's schooner lay, and thou hast listened, like myself, to men a fisherman's cottage looked away sea-periled oft where anticosti lies over isle and bay, and behind like a fell spider in its web of fog, on mountains dim-defined. or where the grand bank shallows with the wrecks and there twin sisters, fair and young, of sunken fishers, and to whom strange laughed with their stranger guest, and isles sung and frost-rimmed bays and trading stations in their native tongue the lays seem of the old provençal days. familiar as great neck and kettle cove, nubble and boon, the common names of alike were they, save the faint ontline home. of a scar on suzette's forehead fine ; so let me offer thee this lay of mine, and both, it so befell, simple and homely, lacking much thy play loved the heretic stranger well. of color and of fancy. if its theme and treatment seem to thee befitting youth both were pleasant to look upon, rather than age, let this be my excuse : but the heart of the skipper clave to one ; it has beguiled some heavy hours and called though less by his eye than beart some pleasant memories up ; and, better he knew the twain apart. still, occasion lent me for a kindly word despite of alien race and creed, to one who is my neighbor and my friend. well did his wooing of marguerite speed : and the mother's wrath was vain as the sister's jealous pain. the skipper sailed out of the harbor mouth, leaving the apple-bloom of the south the shrill-tongued mistress ber house for for the ice of the eastern seas, bade, in his fishing schooner breeze. and solemn warning was sternly said by the black-robed priest, whose word handsome and brave and young was he, as law the hamlet heard. and the maids of newbury sighed to see his lessening white sail fall but half by voice and half by signs under the sea's blue wall. the skipper said, “ a warm sun shines on the green-banked merrimae ; through the northern gulf and the misty wait, watch, till i come back. screen of the isles of mingan and madeleine, “ and when you see, from my mast head, st. paul's and blanc sablon, the signal fly of a kerchief red, the little breeze sailed on, my boat on the shore shall wait; come, when the night is late." backward and forward, along the shore of lorn and desolate labrador, ah! weighed with childhood's haunts and and found at last her way friends, to the seven islands bay. and all that the home sky orerbends, the bay of seven islands 129 did ever young love fail to turn the trembling scale ? c'nder the night, on the wet sea sands, slowly unclasped their plighted hands : one to the cottage hearth, and one to his sailor's berth. on the morrow's morn in the thick, gray weather they sat on the reeling deck together, lover and counterfeit of hapless marguerite. with a lover's hand, from her forehead fair he smoothed away her jet-black hair, what was it his fond eyes met ? the scar of the false suzette ! what was it the parting lovers heard ? nor leaf, nor ripple, nor wing of bird, but a listener's stealthy tread on the rock-moss, crisp and dead. he weighed his anchor, and fished once more by the black coast-line of labrador; and by love and the north wind driven, sailed back to the islands seven. fiercely he shouted : “ bear away east by north for the seven isles bay!” the maiden wept and prayed, but the ship her helm obeyed. once more the bay of the isles they found : they heard the bell of the chapel sound, and the chant of the dying sung in the barsh, wild indian tongue. in the sunset's glow the sisters twain saw the breeze come sailing in again ; said suzette, “mother dear, the beretic's sail is here." a feeling of mystery, change, and awe was in all they heard and all they saw : spell-bound the hamlet lay in the hush of its lonely bay. “go, marguerite, to your room, and hide ; your door shall be bolted !” the mother cried : while suzette, ill at ease, watched the red sign of the breeze. at midnight, down to the waiting skiff she stole in the shadow of the cliff ; and ont of the bay's mouth ran the schooner with maid and man. and when they came to the cottage door, the mother rose up from her weeping sore, and with angry gestures met the scared look of suzette. ; “ here is your daughter,” the skipper said “give me the one i love instead." but the woman sternly spake ; “go, see if the dead will wake!” and all night long, on a restless bed, her prayers to the virgin marguerite said: and thought of her lover's pain waiting for her in vain. he looked. her sweet face still and white and strange in the noonday taper light, she lay on her little bed, with the cross at her feet and head. did he pace the sands? did he pause to hear the sonnd of her light step drawing near ? and, as the slow hours passed, would be doubt her faith at last ? in a passion of grief the strong man bent down to her face, and, kissing it, went back to the waiting breeze, back to the mournful seas. bat when she saw through the misty pane, the morning break on a sea of rain, could even her love avail to follow his vanished sail ? never again to the merrimac and newbury's homes that bark came back. whether her fate she met on the shores of carraquette, meantime the breeze, with favoring wind, left the rugged moisic hills behind, and heard from an unseen shore the falls of manitou roar. miscou, or tracadie, who can say ? but even yet at seven isles bay is told the ghostly tale of a weird, unspoken sail, a 130 narrative and legendary poems in the pale, sad light of the northern the other said : " the great world lies day beyond me as it lay ; seen by the blanketed montagnais, o'er love's and duty's boundaries or squaw, in her small kyack, my feet may never stray. crossing the spectre's track. “i see but common sights of home, on the deck a maiden wrings her hands ; its common sounds i hear, her likeness kneels on the gray coast | my widowed mother's sick-bed room sands ; sufficeth for my sphere. one in her wild despair, and one in the trance of prayer. “i read to her some pleasant page of travel far and wide, she flits before no earthly blast, and in a dreainy pilgrimage the red sign fluttering from her mast, we wander side by side. over the solemn seas, the ghost of the schooner breeze ! “and when at last she falls asleep, my book becomes to me a magic glass : my watch i keep, the wishing bridge but all the world i see. among the legends sung or said “a farm-wife queen your place you fill, along our rocky shore, while fancy's privilege the wishing bridge of marblehead is mine to walk the earth at will, may well be sung once more. thanks to the wishing bridge." an hundred years ago (so ran “ nay, leave the legend for the truth,“ the old-time story) all the other cried, " and say good wishes said above its span god gives the wishes of our youth, would, soon or late, befali. but in his own best way!” if pure and earnest, never failed î'he prayers of man or maid how the women went from for him who on the deep sea sailed, dover for her at home who stayed. the following is a copy of the warrant is sued by major waldron, of dover, in land once thither came two girls from school, the quakers, as was their wont, propheed and wished in childish glee : against him, and saw, as they suppoud, tb and one would be a queen and rule, fulfilment of their prophecy when, many years and one the world would see. after, he was killed by the indians. to the constables of lorvt, harper, salsa. time passed ; with change of hopes and verbury, rowlew, ipswich, weniam. le fears, boston, rorbury. dedham,and until these roya and in the self-same place, bond quakers are carried out of this jurisditie two women, gray with middle years, yon, and every one of you, are required in stood, wondering, face to face. the king's majesty's name, to take these vx abond quakers, anne colman, mary tomkin. with wakened memories, as they met, and alice ambrose, and make them fut to the they queried what had been : cart's tail, and driving the cart through your “a poor man's wife am i, and yet," several towns, to whip them upon their tako said one, “ i am a queen. backs not exceeding ten stripes apiace on eh of them, in each town; and so to convey them “my realm a little homestead is, from constable to constable till they are out of this jurisdiction, as you will answer it at yover where, lacking crown and throne, peril; and this shall be your warrant. i rule by loving services richard waldros and patient toil alone." dated at dorer, december 2, 102. how the women went from dover 131 66 this warrant was executed only in dover and the indian hunter, searching his traps, hampton. at salisbury the constable refused peered stealthily through the forest gaps ; to obey it. he was sustained by the town's and the outlying settler shook his head, prople, who were under the influence of major * they ’re witches going to jail,” he said. robert pike, the leading man in the lower valley of the merrimac, who stood far in advance of his time, as an advocate of religious freedom at last a meeting-house came in view ; and an opponent of ecclesiastical authority. a blast on his horn the constable blew ; he had the moral courage to address an able and the boys of hampton cried up and down and manly letter to the court at salem, remon“ the quakers have come !” to the wonstrating against the witchcraft trials. dering town. the tossing spray of cocheco's fall from barn and woodpile the goodman came; hardened to ice on its rocky wall, the goodwife quitted her quilting frame, as through dover town in the chill, gray with her child at her breast; and, hobbling dawn, slow, three women passed, at the cart tail the grandam followed to see the show. drawn ! once more the torturing whip was swung, bared to the waist, for the north wind's grip once more keen lashes the bare flesh stung. and keener sting of the constable's whip, “oh, spare ! they are bleeding !” a little the blood that followed each hissing blow maid cried, froze as it sprinkled the winter snow. and covered her face the sight to hide. priest and ruler, boy and maid a murmur ran round the crowd : “good followed the dismal cavalcade ; folks," and from door and window, open thrown, quoth the constable, busy counting the looked and wondered gaffer and crone. strokes, “no pity to wretches like these is due, "god is our witness,” the victims cried, they have beaten the gospel black and * we suffer for him who for all men died ; blue !” the wrong ye do has been done before, we bear the stripes that the master bore ! then a pallid woman, in wild-eyed fear, with her wooden noggin of milk drew near. " and thou, o richard waldron, for whom drink, poor hearts !” a rude hand smote we hear the feet of a coming doom, her draught away from a parching throat. on thy cruel heart and thy hand of wrong vengeance is sure, though it tarry long. “ take heed,” one whispered, “they 'll take your cow " in the light of the lord, a flame we see for fines, as they took your horse and climb and kindle a proud roof-tree ; plough, and beneath it an old man lying dead, and the bed from under you." “ even so," with stains of blood on his hoary head.” she said ;“they are cruel as death, i know.” ** smite, goodman hate evil ! — harder then on they passed, in the waning day, still !” through seabrook woods, a weariful way ; the magistrate cried, “lay on with a will ! by great salt meadows and sand-hills bare, drive ont of their bodies the father of and glimpses of blue sea here and there. lies, who through them preaches and propheby the meeting-house in salisbury town, sies!” the sufferers stood, in the red sundown, bare for the lash! o pitying night, so into the forest they held their way, drop swift thy curtain and hide the sight ! by winding river and frost-rimmed bay, orer wind-swept hills that felt the beat with shame in his eye and wrath on his lip of the winter sea at their icy feet. the salisbury constable dropped his whip. 4 132 narrative and legendary poems &6 66 * this warrant means murder foul and red ; o woman, at ease in these happier days, cursed is he who serves it,” he said. forbear to judge of thy sister's ways! “show me the order, and meanwhile strike how much thy beautiful life may owe a blow at your peril !” said justice pike. to her faith and courage thou canst not of all the rulers the land possessed, know, wisest and boldest was he and best. nor how from the paths of thy calm retreat he scoffed at witchcraft ; the priest he met she smoothed the thorns with ber bleedin: as man meets man ; his feet he set feet. beyond his dark age, standing upright, soul-free, with his face to the morning light. saint gregory's gl'est he read the warrant : “ these convey from our precincts ; at every town on the way a tale for roman guides to tell give each ten lashes.” “god judge the to careless, sight-worn travellers still, brute ! who pause beside the narrow cell i tread his order under my foot ! of gregory on the cælian hill. “cut loose these poor ones and let them one day before the monk's door came go; a beggar, stretching empty palms, come what will of it, all men shall know fainting and fast-siek, in the name no warrant is good, though backed by the of the most holy asking alms. crown, for whipping women in salisbury town !” and the monk answered, “all i have in this poor cell of mine i give, the hearts of the villagers, half released the silver cup my mother gave ; from creed of terror and rule of priest, in christ's name take thou it, and by a primal instinct owned the right live." of human pity in law's despite. years passed ; and, called at last to bear for ruth and chivalry only slept, the pastoral crook and keys of rote, his saxon manhood the yeomau kept ; the poor monk, in saint peter's chair, quicker or slower, the same blood ran sat the crowned lord of christendom. in the cavalier and the puritan. prepare a feast,” saint gregory cried, the quakers sank on their knees in praise “ and let twelve beggars sat thereat." and thanks. a last, low sunset blaze the beggars came, and one beside, flashed out from under a cloud, and shed an unknown stranger, with themn sat. a golden glory on each bowed head. “i asked thee not," the pontiff spake, the tale is one of an evil time, “() stranger ; but if need be thine, when souls were fettered and thought was i bid thee welcome, for the sake crime, of him who is thy lord and mine." and beresy's whisper above its breath meant shameful scourging and bonds and a grave, calm face the stranger raised, death! like his who on gennesaret trol, or his on whom the chaldeans gazed, what marvel, that hunted and sorely tried, whose form was as the son of god. even woman rebuked and prophesied, and soft words rarely answered back “ know'st thou,” he said, “thy gift of the grim persuasion of whip and rack ! old ?" and in the band he lifted up if her cry from the whipping-post and jail the pontiff marvelled to behold pierced sharp as the kenite's driven nail, once more his mother's silver cup. 66 birchbrook mill 133 64 “ thy prayers and alms have risen, and bloom sweetly among the flowers of heaven. i am the wonderful, through whom whate'er thou askest shall be given.” by day the sunlight through the leaves falls on its moist, green sod, and wakes the violet bloom of spring and autumn's golden-rod. he spake and vanished. gregory fell with his twelve guests in mute accord prone on their faces, knowing well their eyes of flesh had seen the lord. its birches whisper to the wind, the swallow dips her wings in the cool spray, and on its banks the gray song-sparrow sings. but from it, when the dark night falls, the school-girl shrinks with dread; the farmer, home-bound from his fields, goes by with quickened tread. the old-time legend is not vain ; nor vain thy art, verona's paul, telling it o'er and o'er again vicenza's frescoed wall. on gray still wheresoever pity shares its bread with sorrow, want, and sin, and love the beggar's feast prepares, the uninvited guest comes in. they dare not pause to hear the grind of shadowy stone on stone ; the plashing of a water-wheel where wheel there now is none. c'nheard, because our ears are dull, unseen, because our eyes are dim, he walks our earth, the wonderful, and all good deeds are done to him. has not a cry of pain been heard above the clattering mill ? the pawing of an unseen horse, who waits his mistress still ? birchbrook mill yet never to the listener's eye has sight confirmed the sound ; a wavering birch line marks alone the vacant pasture ground. no ghostly arms fling up to heaven the agony of prayer ; no spectral steed impatient shakes his white mane on the air. a noteless stream, the birchbrook runs beneath its leaning trees ; that low, soft ripple is its own, that dull roar is the sea's. the meaning of that common dread no tongue bas fitly told ; the secret of the dark surmise the brook and birches hold. of human signs it sees alone the distant church spire's tip, and, ghost-like, on a blank of gray, the white sail of a ship. no more a toiler at the wheel, it wanders at its will ; nor dam nor pond is left to tell where once was birchbrook mill. the timbers of that mill have fed long since a farmer's fires ; his doorsteps are the stones that ground the harvest of his sires. man trespassed here ; but nature lost no right of her domain ; she waited, and she brought the old wild beauty back again. what nameless horror of the past broods here forevermore ? what ghost his unforgiven sin is grinding o'er and o'er ? does, then, immortal memory play the actor's tragic part, rehearsals of a mortal life and unveiled human heart? god's pity spare a guilty soul that drama of its ill, and let the scenic curtain fall on birchbrook's haunted mill! 134 narrative and legendary poems she kept life fragrant with good deeds and the two elizabeths prayer, and fresh and pure the white flower of read at the unveiling of the bust of elizabeth her soul. fry at the friends' school, providence, r. i. death found her busy at her task: olie a. d. 1209 word amidst thuringia's wooded hills she dwelt, alone sbe uttered as she paused to die, a high-born princess, servant of the poor, "silence !” — then listened even as one sweetening with gracious words the food who heard she dealt with soug and wing the angels drawing to starving throngs at wartburg's blanigh! zoned door. now fra angelico's roses fill ber hands, a blinded zealot held her soul in chains, and, on murillo's canvas, want and cramped the sweet nature that he could pain not kill, kneel at her feet. her marble image scarred her fair body with his penancestands pains, worshipped and crowned in marburg's and gauged her conscience by his narrow holy fane. will. yea, wheresoe'er her church its cross up god gave her gifts of beauty and of grace, rears, with fast and vigil she denied them all; wide as the world her story still is told; unquestioning, with sad, pathetic face, in manhood's reverence, woman's prayers she followed meekly at her stern guide's and tears, call. she lives again whose grave is centuries so drooped and died her home-blown rose of bliss and still, despite the weakness or the blame in the chill rigor of a discipline of blind submission to the blind, slae that turned her fond lips from her chilhath dren's kiss, a tender place in hearts of every name, and made her joy of motherhood a sin. and more than rome owns salut eliza beth! to their sad level by compassion led, one with the low and vile herself she a. d. 1780 made, while thankless misery mocked the hand slow ages passed : and lo! another came, that fed, an english matron, in whose simple faith and laughed to scorn her piteous masnor priestly rule nor ritual had claim, querade. a plain, uncanonized elizabeth. but still, with patience that outwearied no sackcloth robe, nor ashen sprinkle hate, hair, she gave her all while yet she had to nor wasting fast, nor scourge, nor vig.] give ; long, and then her empty bands, importunate, marred her calm presence. god had made in prayer she lifted that the poor might her fair, live. and she could do his goodly work no wrong sore pressed by grief, and wrongs more hard to bear, their yoke is easy and their burden light and dwarfed and stified by a harsh conwhose sole confessor is the christ of trol, god; old. the homestead 135 should pay “ even yet her quiet trust and faith transcending united now, the briton and the hun, sight each, in her own time, faithful unto smoothed to her feet the difficult paths death, she trod. live sister souls ! in name and spirit one, thuringia's saint and our elizabeth ! and there sbe walked, as duty bade her go, safe and unsullied as a cloistered nun, requital shamed with her plainness fashion's gaudy show, as islam's prophet, when his last day drew and overcame the world she did not nigh to its close, besought all men to shun. say whom he had wronged, to whom he then in earlham's bowers, in plashet's liberal hall, a debt forgotten, or for pardon sue, in the great city's restless crowd and and, through the silence of his weeping din, friends, her ear was open to the master's call, a strange voice cried : “thou owest me and knew the summons of his voice a debt,” within. “ allah be praised !” he answered. tender as mother, beautiful as wife, he gives me power to make to thee amends. amidst the throngs of prisoned crime o friend! i thank thee for thy timely she stood word.” in modest raiment faultless as her life, so runs the tale. its lesson all may the type of england's worthiest womanheed, hood! for all have sinned in thought, or word, or deed, to melt the hearts that harshness turned to or, like the prophet, through neglect have stone erred. the sweet persuasion of her lips sufficed, all need forgiveness, all have debts to pay and guilt, which only hate and fear had ere the night cometh, while it still is day. known, saw in her own the pitying love of christ. the homestead so wheresoe'er the guiding spirit went she followed, finding every prison cell against the wooded hills it stands, it opened for her sacred as a tent ghost of a dead home, staring through pitched by gennesaret or by jacob's well. its broken lights on wasted lands where old-time harvests grew. and pride and fashion felt her strong appeal, unploughed, unsown, by scythe unshorn, and priest and ruler marvelled as they the poor, forsaken farm-fields lie, once rich and rife with golden corn how hand in hand went wisdom with her and pale green breadths of rye. zeal, and woman's pity kept the bounds of of healthful herb and flower bereft, law. the garden plot no housewife keeps ; through weeds and tangle only left, she rests in god's peace ; but her memory the snake, its tenant, creeps. stirs the air of earth as with an angel's wings, a lilac spray, still blossom-clad, and warms and moves the hearts of men sways slow before the empty rooms ; like hers, beside the roofless porch a sad the sainted daughter of hungarian king3. pathetic red rose blooms. saw 136 narrative and legendary poems his track, in mould and dust of drouth, on floor and hearth the squirrel leaves, and in the fireless chimney's mouth his web the spider weaves. the leaning barn, about to fall, resounds no more on husking eves ; no cattle low in yard or stall, no thresher beats his sheaves. what matter if the gains are small that life's essential wants supply? your bomestead's title gives you all that idle wealth can buy. all that the many-dollared crave, the brick-walled slaves of change and mart, lawns, trees, fresh air, and flowers, you have, more dear for lack of art. so sad, so drear! it seems almost some haunting presence makes its sign ; that down yon shadowy lane some ghost might drive bis spectral kine ! o home so desolate and lorn! did all thy memories die with thee? were any wed, were any born, beneath this low roof-tree ? your own sole masters, freedom-willed, with none to bid you go or stay, till the old fields your fathers tilled, as manly men as they ! with skill that spares your toiling hands, and chemic aid that science brings, reclaim the waste and outworn lands, and reign thereon as kings ! how the robin came whose axe the wall of forest broke, and let the waiting sunshine through ? what goodwife sent the earliest smoke up the great chimney flue ? did rustic lovers hither come ? did maidens, swaying back and forth in rhythmic grace, at wheel and loom, make light their toil with mirth? did child feet patter on the stair ? did boyhood frolic in the snow ? did gray age, in her elbow chair, knit, rocking to and fro ? the murmuring brook, the sighing breeze, the pine's slow wbisper, cannot tell ; low mounds beneath the heinlock-trees keep the home secrets well. cease, mother-land, to fondly boast of sons far off who strive and thrive, forgetful that each swarming host must leave an emptier hive! o wanderers from ancestral soil, leave noisome mill and chaffering store : gird up your loins for sturdier toil, and build the home once more ! an algonquin legend happy young friends, sit by me, under may’s blown apple-tree, while these home-birds in and out through the blossoms flit about. hear a story, strange and old, by the wild red indians told, how the robin came to be : once a great chief left his son, — well-beloved, his only one, when the boy was well-nigh growi, in the trial-lodge alone. left for tortures long and slow youths like himn must undergo, who their pride of manhood test, lacking water, food, and rest. seven days the fast be kept, seven nights he never slept. then the young boy, wrung with pain, weak from nature's overstrain, faltering, moaned a low complaint : " spare me, father, for i faini !" but the chieftain, haughty-eyed, hid his pity in his pride. " you shall be a hunter good, knowing never lack of fool : come back to bayberry-scented slopes, and fragrant fern, and ground-nut vine ; breathe airs blown over holt and copse sweet with black birch and pine. banished from massachusetts 137 a banished from massachusetts you shall be a warrior great, wise as fox and strong as bear; many scalps your belt shall wear, if with patient heart you wait bravely till your task is done. better you should starving die than that boy and squaw should cry shame upon your father's son !” 1660 samp and moose when next morn the sun's first rays glistened on the hemlock sprays, straight that lodge the old chief sought, and boiled meat brought. “ rise and eat, my son !” he said. lo, he found the poor boy dead ! as with grief his grave they made, and his bow beside him laid, pipe, and knife, and wampum-braid, on the lodge-top overhead, preening smooth its breast of red and the brown coat that it wore, sat a bird, unknown before. and as if with human tongue, “ mourn me not," it said, or sung ; " i, a bird, am still your son, happier than if hunter fleet, or a brave, before your feet laying scalps in battle won. friend of man, my song shall cheer lodge and corn-land ; hovering near, to each wigwam i shall bring tidings of the coming spring; every child my voice shall know in the moon of melting snow, when the maple's red bud swells, and the wind-flower lifts its bells. as their fond companion men shall henceforth own your son, and my song shall testify that of human kin am i.” on a painting by e. a. abbey. the general court of massachusetts enacted oct. 19, 1658, that “any person or persons of the tursed sect of quakers" should, on conviction of the same, be banished, on pain of death, from the jurisdiction of the commonwealth. over the threshold of his pleasant home set in green clearings passed the exiled friend, in simple trust, misdoubting not the end. “dear heart of mine!” he said, “the time has come to trust the lord for shelter." one long gaze the goodwife turned on each familiar thing, the lowing kine, the orchard blossoming, the open door that showed the hearth-fire's blaze, and calmly answered, “yes, he will provide." silent and slow they crossed the homestead's bound, lingering the longest by their child's grave-mound. “ move on, or stay and hang !” the sheriff cried. they left behind them more than home or land, and set sad faces to an alien strand. a а thus the indian legend saith how, at first, the robin came with a sweeter life than death, bird for boy, and still the same. if my young friends doubt that this is the robin's genesis, not in vain is still the myth if a truth be found therewith : t'nto gentleness belong gifts unknown to pride and wrong ; happier far than hate is praise, he who sings than he who slays. safer with winds and waves than human wrath, with ravening wolves than those whose zeal for god was cruelty to man, the exiles trod drear leagues of forest without guide or path, or launching frail boats on the uncharted sea, round storm-vexed capes, whose teeth of granite ground the waves to foam, their perilous way they wound, enduring all things so their souls were free. oh, true confessors, shaming them who did anew the wrong their pilgrim fathers bore ! 138 narrative and legendary poems the gray, for you the mayflower spread her sail once more, the brown dwarf of rügen freighted with souls, to all that duty bid faithful as they who sought an unknown the hint of this ballad is found in arndt's land, märchen, berlin, 1810. the ballad appeand o'er wintry seas, from holland's hook of first in st. nicholas, whose young readers were sand ! advised, while smiling at the absurd superstition, to remember that bad companionship and evil habits, desires, and passions are more to so from his lost home to the darkening main, be dreaded now than the elves and trolis who boueful of storm, stout macy held his frightened the children of past ages. way, and, when the green shore blended with the pleasant isle of rügen looks the baltic water o'er, his poor wife moaned : " let us turn back to the silver-sanded beaches of the pomagain.” eranian shore ; “nay, woman, weak of faith, kneel down," said he, and in the town of rambin a little boy and “ and say thy prayers : the lord himself maid will steer; plucked the meadow-flowers together and and led by him, nor man nor devils i in the sea-surf played. fear ! so the gray southwicks, from a rainy sea, alike were they in beauty if not in theu saw, far and faint, the loom of land, and degree : gave he was the aiptman's first-born, the milwith feeble voices thanks for friendly ler's child was sbe. ground whereon to rest their weary feet, and now of old the isle of rugen was full of found dwarfs and trolls, a peaceful death-bed and a quiet grave the brown-faced little earth-men, the where, ocean-walled, and wiser than his people without souls ; age, the lord of shelter scorned the bigot's and for every man and woman in rugza's rage. island found walking in air and sunshine, a troll was 第 ​aquidneck’s isle, nantucket's lonely shores, underground. and indian-haunted narragansett saw the way-worn travellers round their it chanced the little maiden, one morning, camp-fire draw, strolled away or heard the plashing of their weary oars. among the haunted vine hills, where the and every place whereon they rested grew elves and goblins play. happier for pure and gracious womanhood, that day, in barley fields below, the bar and men whose names for stainless honor vesters had known stood, of evil voices in the air, and heard the founders of states and rulers wise and true. small horns blowu. the muse of history yet shall make amends to those who freedom, peace, and justice she came not back ; the search for her is taught, field and wood was vain : beyond their dark age led the van of they cried her east, they cried her west, thought, but she came not again. and left unforfeited the name of friends. () mother state, how foiled was thy de "she 's down among the brown dwar! sign! said the dream-wives wise and oli, the gain was theirs, the loss alone was and pravers were made, and masses sari, thine. and rambin's church bell tolled. the brown dwarf of rügen 139 five years her father mourned her; and then john deitrich said : “i will find my little playmate, be she alive or dead.” how fair she seemed among the trolls so ugly and so wild ! yet pale and very sorrowful, like one who never smiled! he watched among the nine hills, he heard the brown dwarfs sing, and saw them dance by moonlight merrily in a riug. her low, sweet voice, her gold-brown hair, her tender blue eyes seemed like something he had seen elsewhere or something he had dreamed. and when their gay-robed leader tossed up his cap of red, young deitrich caught it as it fell, and thrust it on his head. he looked ; he clasped her in his arms; he ; knew the long-lost one ; “o lisbeth ! see thy playmate i am the amptman's son!” the troll came crouching at his feet and she leaned her fair head on his breast, and wept for lack of it. through her sobs she spoke : “oh, give me back my magic cap, for your “oh, take me from this evil place, and great head unfit !” from the elfin folk ! “nay,” deitrich said ; “the dwarf who “ and let me tread the grass-green fields throws his charmëd cap away, and smell the flowers again, must serve its finder at his will, and for and feel the soft wind on my cheek and his folly pay. hear the dropping rain ! " you stole my pretty lisbeth, and hid her “and oh, to hear the singing bird, the in the earth ; rustling of the tree, and you shall ope the door of glass and let the lowing cows, the bleat of sheep, the me lead her forth." voices of the sea ; "she will not come ; she's one of us ; she's “ and oh, upon my father's knee to sit bemine!” the brown dwarf said ; side the door, " the day is set, the cake is baked, to-morand hear the bell of vespers ring in ramrow we shall wed.” bin church once more !” “the fell fiend fetch thee !” deitrich cried, he kissed her cheek, he kissed her lips ; "and keep thy foul tongue still. the brown dwarf groaned to see, quick! open, to thy evil world, the glass and tore his tangled hair and ground his door of the hill !” long teeth angrily. the dwarf obeyed ; and youth and troll but deitrich said : “for five long years down the long stairway passed, this tender christian maid and saw in dim and sunless light a country has served you in your evil world, and well strange and vast. must she be paid ! weird, rich, and wonderful, he saw the “ haste !hither bring me precious gems, elfin under-land, the richest in your store ; its palaces of precious stones, its streets of then when we pass the gate of glass, you 'll golden sand. take your cap once more.' he came unto a banquet-hall with tables no choice was left the baffled troll, and, richly spread, murmuring, he obeyed, where a young maiden served to him the and filled the pockets of the youth and red wine and the bread. apron of the maid. 140 narrative and legendary poems they left the dreadful under-land and and soon from rambin's hols church the passed the gate of glass ; twain came forth as one, they felt the sunshine's warm caress, they the amptman kissed a daughter, the miltrod the soft, green grass. ler blest a son. and when, beneath, they saw the dwarf john deitrich's fame went far and wide, stretch up to them his brown and nurse and maid crooned o'er and crooked claw-like fingers, they tossed their cradle song : “ sleep on, sleep wrlin his red cap down. the trolls shall come no more!" oh, never shone so bright a sun, was never for in the haunted nine hills he set a sky so blue, cross of stone ; as hand in hand they homeward walked and elf and brown dwarf sought in fale the pleasant meadows through ! a door where door was none. and never sang the birds so sweet in ramthe tower be built in rambin, fair rugeo's bin's woods before, pride and boast, and never washed the waves so soft along looked o'er the baltic water to the pome the baltic shore ; ranian coast; and when beneath his door-yard trees the and, for his worth ennobled, and rich be father met his child, yond compare, the bells rung out their merriest peal, the count deitrich and his lovely bride dwe's folks with joy ran wild. long and happy tbere. poems of nature the frost spirit and turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil power away ; and gather closer the circle round, when that firelight dances high, and laugh at the shriek of the baffled fiend as his sounding wing goes by! comes ! he comes, he comes, the frost spirit you may trace his footsteps now on the naked woods and the blasted fields and the brown hill's withered brow. he has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees where their pleasant green came forth, and the winds, which follow wherever he goes, bave shaken them down to earth. the merrimac a “ the indians speak of a beautiful river, far to the south, which they call merrimac.". sieur de monts, 1604. he comes, – be comes, the frost spirit stream of my fathers ! sweetly still comes ! from the frozen labrador, the sunset rays thy valley fill ; from the icy bridge of the northern seas, poured slantwise down the long defile, which the white bear wanders o'er, wave, wood, and spire beneath them smile. where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, i see the winding powow fold and the luckless forms below the green hill in its belt of gold, in the sunless cold of the lingering night and following down its wavy line, into marble statues grow ! its sparkling waters blend with thine. there's not a tree upon thy side, he comes, — he comes, – the frost spirit nor rock, which thy returning tide comes ! on the rushing northern as yet hath left abrupt and stark blast, above thy evening water-mark ; and the dark norwegian pines have bowed no calm cove with its rocky hem, as his fearful breath went past. no isle whose emerald swells begem with an unscorched wing he has hurried on, thy broad, smooth current ; not a sail where the fires of hecla glow bowed to the freshening ocean gale ; on the darkly beautiful sky above and the no small boat with its busy oars, ancient ice below. nor gray wall sloping to thy shores ; nor farm-house with its maple shade, he comes, – he comes, – the frost spirit or rigid poplar colonnade, comes ! and the quiet lake shall feel but lies distinct and full in sight, the torpid touch of his glazing breath, and beneath this gush of sunset light. ring to the skater's heel ; centuries ago, that harbor-bar, and the streams which danced on the stretching its length of foam afar, broken rocks, or sang to the leaning and salisbury's beach of shining sand, grass, and yonder island's wave-smoothed strand, shall bow again to their winter chain, and saw the adventurer's tiny sail, in mournful silence pass. flit, stooping from the eastern gale ; and o'er these woods and waters broke he comes, he comes, the frost spirit | the cheer from britain's hearts of oak, comes! let us meet him as we may, as brightly on the voyager's eye, 141 142 poems of nature weary of forest, sea, and sky, the mohawk's softly winding stream; breaking the dull continuous wood, the level light of sunset shine the merrimac rolled down his hood ; through broad potomac's hem of pipe ; mingling that clear pellucid brook, and autumn's rainbow-tinted banner which channels vast agioochook hang lightly o'er the susquehanna ; when spring-time's sun and shower unlock yet wheresoe'er his step might be, the frozen fountains of the rock, thy wandering child looked back to the and more abundant waters given heard in bis dreams thy river's sound from that pure lake, "the smile of of murmuring on its pebbly bound, heaven," the unforgotten swell and roar tributes from vale and mountain-side, of waves on thy familiar shore ; with ocean's dark, eternal tide ! and saw, amidst the curtained gloom and quiet of his lonely room, on yonder rocky cape, which braves thy sunset scenes before him pass; the stormy challenge of the waves, as, in agrippa's magie glass, midst tangled vine and dwarfish wood, the loved and lost arose to view, the hardy anglo-saxon stood, remembered groves in greenness grow, planting upon the topmost crag bathed still in childhood's morning dew, the staff of england's battle-tlag ; along whose bowers of beauty swept and, while from out its heavy fold whatever memory's mourners weph, saint george's crimson cross unrolled, sweet faces, which the charnel kept, midst roll of drum and trumpet blare, young, gentle eyes, which long had slept ; and weapons brandishing in air, and while the gazer leaned to trace, he gave to that lone promontory more near, some dear familiar face, the sweetest name in all his story ; he wept to find the vision flown, of her, the flower of islam's daughters, a phantom and a dream alone ! wbose harems look on stamboul's waters, who, when the chance of war had bound hampton beach the moslem chain his limbs around, wreathed o'er with silk that iron chain, the sunlight glitters keen and bright, soothed with her smiles his hours of pain, where, miles away, and fondly to her youthful slave lies stretching to my dazzled sight a dearer gift than freedom gave. a luminous belt, a misty light, beyond the dark pine bluffs and wastes of but look! the yellow light no more sandy gray. streams down on wave and verdant shore ; and clearly on the calm air swells the tremulous shadow of the sea ! the twilight voice of distant bells. against its ground from ocean's bosom, white and thin, of silvery light, rock, hill, and tree, the mists come slowly rolling in ; still as a picture, clear and free, hills, woods, the river's rocky rim, with varying outline mark the coast five amidst the sea-like vapor swim, miles around. while yonder lonely coast-light, set within its wave-washed minaret, on --on — we tread with loose-flung trin half quenched, a beamless star and pale, our seaward way, shines dimly through its cloudy veil! throngh dark-green fields and blossuthing grain, home of my fathers !i have stood where the wild brier-rose skirts the lane, where hudson rolled his lordly flood : and bends above our heads the tiowering seen sunrise rest and sunset fade locust spray along his frowning palisade; looked down the appalachian peak ha! like a kind hand on my brow on juniata's silver streak; comes this fresh breeze, have seen along his valley gleam cooling its dull and feverish glow, a dream of summer 143 while through my being seems to flow the breath of a new life, the healing of the seas ! what heed i of the dusty land and noisy town? i see the mighty deep expand from its white line of glimmering sand to where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shuts down ! in listless quietude of mind, i yield to all the change of cloud and wave and wind; and passive on the flood reclined, i wander with the waves, and with them rise and fall. now rest we, where this grassy mound his feet hath set in the great waters, which have bound his granite ankles greenly round with long and tangled moss, and weeds with cool spray wet. good-by to pain and care! i take mine ease to-day : here where these sunny waters break, and ripples this keen breeze, i shake all burdens from the heart, all weary thoughts away. i draw a freer breath, i seem like all i see waves in the sun, the white-winged gleam of sea-birds in the slanting beam, and far-off sails which flit before the southwind free. but look, thou dreamer! wave and shore in shadow lie; the night-wind warns me back once more to where, my native hill-tops o'er, bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset sky. so then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell ! i bear with me no token stone nor glittering shell, but long and oft shall memory tell of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the sea. so when time's veil shall fall asunder, the soul may know no fearful change, nor sudden wonder, nor sink the weight of mystery under, but with the upward rise, and with the vastness grow. a dream of summer and all we shrink from now may seem a no new revealing ; familiar as our childhood's stream, or pleasant memory of a dream the loved and cherished past upon the new life stealing. serene and mild the untried light may have its dawning ; and, as in summer's northern night the evening and the dawn unite, the sunset hues of time blend with the soul's new morning. i sit alone ; in foam and spray wave after wave breaks on the rocks which, stern and gray, shoulder the broken tide away, or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossy cleft and cave. bland as the morning breath of june the southwest breezes play ; and, through its haze, the winter noon seems warm as summer's day. the snow-plumed angel of the north has dropped his icy spear; again the mossy earth looks forth, again the streams gush clear. the fox his hillside cell forsakes, the muskrat leaves his nook, the bluebird in the meadow brakes is singing with the brook. “bear up, o mother nature !” cry bird, breeze, and streamlet free; “our winter voices prophesy of summer days to thee !” so, in those winters of the soul, by bitter blasts and drear o'erswept from memory's frozen pole, will sunny days appear. reviving hope and faith, they show the soul its living powers, 144 poems of nature and tinted sunset sea. for not in mockery dost thon fill our earth with light and grace ; thou hid'st no dark and cruel will behind thy smiling face ! and how beneath the winter's snow lie germs of summer flowers ! the night is mother of the day, the winter of the spring, and ever upon old decay the greenest mosses cling. behind the cloud the starlight lurks, through showers the sunbeams fall ; for god, who loveth all his works, has left llis hope with all ! autumn tholghts the lakeside gone hath the spring, with all its flowers, and gone the summer's pomp and show, and autumn, in his leafless bowers, is waiting for the winter's snow. i said to earth, so cold and gray, “ an emblem of myself thou art." “ not so," the earth did seem to say, " for spring shall warm my frozen heart." the shadows round the inland sea are deepening into night ; slow up the slopes of ossipee they chase the lessening light. tired of the long day's blinding heat, i rest my languid eye, lake of the hills! where, cool and sweet, thy sunset waters lie! along the sky, in wavy lines, o'er isle and reach and bay, green-belted with eternal pines, the mountains stretch away. below, the maple masses sleep where shore with water blends, while midway on the tranquil deep the evening light descends. so seemed it when yon hill's red crown, of old, the indian trod, and, through the sunset air, looked down l'pon the smile of god. to him of light and shade the laws no forest skeptic taught ; their living and eternal cause his truer instinct sought. he saw these mountains in the light which now across them shines; thin lake, in summer sunset bright, walled round with sombering pines. god near him seemed ; from earth and skies his loving voice he heard, as, face to face, in paradise, man stood before the lord. i soothe my wintry sleep with dreams of warmer sun and softer rain, and wait to hear the sound of streams and songs of merry birds again. but thou, from whom the spring hath gone, for whom the flowers no longer blow, who standest blighted and forlorn, like autumn waiting for the snow; no hope is thine of sunnier bours, thy winter shall no more depart ; no spring revive thy wasted tlowers, nor summer warın thy frozen heart. on receiving an figies qu'ill from lake si'p'lrier all day the darkness and the cold l'pon my heart have lain, like shadows on the winter sky, like frost upon the pane ; but now my torpid fancy wakes, and, on thv eagle's plume, rides forth, like sindbad on his bird, or witch upon her broom ! below me roar the rocking pines, before me spreads the lahe whose long and solemn-sounding wares against the sunset break. thanks, () our father ! that, like him, thy tender love i see, in radiant hill and woodland dim, april 145 i hear the wild rice-eater thresh the grain he has not sown ; i see, with flashing scythe of fire, the prairie harvest mown ! i hear the far-off voyager's horn; i see the yankee's trail, his foot on every mountain-pass, on every stream his sail. the snowy cones of oregon are kindling on its way ; and california's golden sands gleam brighter in its ray ! then blessings on thy eagle quill, as, wandering far and wide, i thank thee for this twilight dream and fancy's airy ride! yet, welcomer than regal plumes, which western trappers find, thy free and pleasant thoughts, chance sown, like feathers on the wind. by forest, lake, and waterfall, "i see his pedler show ; the mighty mingling with the mean, the lofty with the low. he's whittling by st. mary's falls, c'pon his loaded wain ; he's measuring o'er the pictured rocks, with eager eyes of gain. thy symbol be the mountain-bird, whose glistening quill i hold ; thy home the ample air of hope, and memory's sunset gold ! i hear the mattock in the mine, the axe-stroke in the dell, the clamor from the indian lodge, the jesuit chapel bell ! in thee, let joy with duty join, and strength unite with love, the eagle's pinions folding round the warm heart of the dove ! i see the swarthy trappers come from mississippi's springs; and war-chiefs with their painted brows, and crests of eagle wings. behind the scared squaw's birch canoe, the steamer smokes and raves ; and city lots are staked for sale above old indian graves. so, when in darkness sleeps the vale where still the blind bird clings, the sunshine of the upper sky shall glitter on thy wings ! april “the spring comes slowly up this way.” christabel. i hear the tread of pioneers of nations yet to be ; the first low wash of waves, where soon shall roll a human sea. 't is the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird heard ; the radiments of empire here are plastic yet and warm ; the chaos of a mighty world is rounding into form ! each rude and jostling fragment soon its fitting place shall find, the raw material of a state, its muscle and its mind ! and, westering still, the star which leads the new world in its train has tipped with fire the icy, spears of many a mountain chain. in the wind-shaken elm or the maple is for green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow, and blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow; where wind-flower and violet, amber and white, on south-sloping brooksides should smile in the light, o'er the cold winter-beds of their latewaking roots the frosty hake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots ; and, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps, 146 poems of nature and show, round the boles of the pine-wood the voice of the west-wind from the lo ground-laurel creeps, of pine, unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of and the brimmed river from its distart fall. showers, low hum of bees, and jorous inu rlude with buds scarcely swelled, which should of bird-songs in the streamlet-shirts burst into flowers ! wood, — we wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the heralds and prophecies of sound and south! sight, for the touch of thy light wings, the kiss blessed forerunners of the warmth and of thy mouth; light, for the yearly evangel thou bearest from attendant angels to the house of prayer, god, with reverent footsteps keeping prace resurrection and life to the graves of the with mine, sod! once more, through god's great lore, with l'p our long river-valley, for days, have not you i share ceased a morn of resurrection sweet and fair the wail and the shriek of the bitter northas that which saw, of old, in palestine, east, immortal love uprising in fresh blown raw and chill, as if winnowed through ices from the dark night and winter of the tomb! all the way from the land of the wild esii quimau, until all our dreams of the land of the blest, white with its sun-bleached dust, the path like that red hunter's, turn to the sunny way winds southwest. before me ; dust is on the shrunken gran ( soul of the spring-time, its light and its and on the trees beneath whose bours breath, i pass ; bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to frail screen against the hunter of the this death ; sky, renew the great miracle ; let us behold who, glaring on me with his liddless ere, the stone from the mouth of the sepulcbre while mounting with his dog-suar k. rolled, and higher and nature, like lazarus, rise, as of old ! ambushed in light intolerable, unlinis let our faith, which in darkness and coldthe burnished quiver of his slaafts & ness has lain, fire. revive with the warmth and the brightness between me and the hot fields of again, south and in blooming of flower and budding of a tremulous glow, as from a fars tree mouth, the symbols and types of our destiny see ; glimmers and swims before my dark the life of the spring-time, the life of the sight, whole, as if the burning arrows of his ire and, as sun to the sleeping earth, love to broke as they fell, and shattered the soul ! light ; yet on my cheek i feel the western wiede pictures and hear it telling to the orchani tres and to the faint and flower-foruakrel 1 tales of fair meadows, green with celight, warmth, and sprouting greenness, stant streams, and o'er all and mountains rising blue and cool br. blue, stainless steel-bright ether, raining where in moist dells the purple it be down gleams, tranquillity upon the deep-hushed town, and starred with white the virgin's bower the freshening meadows, and the hill. is twined. sides brown; so the o'erwearied pilgrim, as he fares summer by the lakeside 147 along life's summer waste, at times is this western wind hath lethean powers, fanned, yon noonday cloud nepenthe showers, eren at noontide, by the cool, sweet airs the lake is white with lotus-flowers ! of a serener and a holier land, fresh as the morn, and as the dewfall even duty's voice is faint and low, bland. and slumberous conscience, waking slow, breath of the blessed heaven for which | forgets her blotted scroll to show. we pray, blow from the eternal hills ! make glad the shadow which pursues us all, our earthly way! whose ever-nearing steps appall, whose voice we hear behind us call, summer by the lakeside that shadow blends with mountain gray, . it speaks but what the light waves say, death walks apart from fear to-day ! lake winnipesaukee i. noon rocked on her breast, these pines and i alike on nature's love rely ; and equal seems to live or die. assured that he whose presence fills with light the spaces of these hills no evil to his creatures wills, the simple faith remains, that he will do, whatever that may be, the best alike for man and tree. white clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep, light mists, whose soft embraces keep the sunshine on the hills asleep ! o isles of calm ! o dark, still wood ! and stiller skies that overbrood your rest with deeper quietude ! o shapes and hues, dim beckoning, through yon mountain gaps, my longing view beyond the purple and the blue, to stiller sea and greener land, and softer lights and airs more bland, and skies, – the hollow of god's hand ! transfused through you, o mountain friends! with mine your solemn spirit blends, and life no more hath separate ends. what mosses over one shall grow, what light and life the other know, unanxious, leaving him to show. ii. evening yon mountain's side is black with night, while, broad-orbed, o'er its gleaming crown the moon, slow-rounding into sight, on the hushed inland sea looks down. i read each misty mountain sign, i know the voice of wave and pine, and i am yours, and ye are mine. life's burdens fall, its discords cease, i lapse into the glad release of nature's own exceeding peace. o welcome calm of heart and mind ! as falls yon fir-tree's loosened rind to leave a tenderer growth behind, how start to light the clustering isles, each silver hemmed! how sharply show the shadows of their rocky piles, and tree-tops in the wave below! how far and strange the mountains seem, dim-looming through the pale, still light! the vague, vast grouping of a dream, they stretch into the solemn night. beneath, lake, wood, and peopled vale, hushed by that presence grand and grave, are silent, save the cricket's wail, and low response of leaf and wave. so fall the weary years away ; a child again, my head i lay l'pon the lap of this sweet day. 148 poems of nature fair scenes ! whereto the day and night make rival love, i leave ye soon, what time before the eastern light the pale ghost of the setting moon shall hide behind yon rocky spines, and the young archer, morn, shall break his arrows on the mountain pines, and, golden-sandalled, walk the lake ! farewell ! around this smiling bay gay-hearted health, and life in bloom, with lighter steps than mine, may stray in radiant summers yet to come. but none shall more regretful leave these waters and these hills than i : or, distant, fonder dream how eve or dawn is painting wave and sky; how rising moons shine sad and mild on wooded isle and silvering bay; or setting suns beyond the piled and purple mountains lead the day ; nor laughing girl, nor bearding boy, nor full-pulsed manhood, lingering here, shall add, to life's abounding joy, the charmed repose to suffering dear. still waits kind nature to impart her choicest gifts to such as gain an entrance to her loving heart through the sharp discipline of pain. forever from the land that takes one blessing from us others fall; and, soon or late, our father makes his perfect recompense to all ! oh, watched by silence and the night, and folded in the strong embrace of the great mountains, with the light of the sweet heavens upon thy face, lake of the northland ! keep thy dower of beauty still, and while above thy solemn mountains speak of power, be thou the mirror of god's love. i sat, vague listening, lapped in twiligts dreams, to the leaf's rustle, and the cricket's ery. then, like that basket, flush with sun. rct fruit, dropped by the angels at the prophet's foot, came, unannounced, a gift of clustered sweetness, full-orbed, and glowing with the prisoned beams of summery suns, and rounded to em pleteness by kisses of the south-wind and the des thrilled with a glad surprise, methought i kuew the pleasure of the homeward-turn.sg jew, when eshcol's clusters on his shoulder lay, dropping their sweetness on his desert way i said, “ this fruit beseems no world of sin. its parent vine, rooted in paradise, o'ercrept the wall, and never paid the price of the great mischief, an ambrogi tree, eden's exotic, somehow smnggled in, to keep the thorns and thistles company perchance our frail, sad mother plucard a haste a single vine-slip as she passed the gate, where the dread sword alternate paded and burned, and the stern angel, pitying her fate, forgave the lovely trespasser, and turard aside his face of fire ; and thus the wase and fallen world hath yet its annual taste of primal good, to prove of sin the caret. and show by one gleaned ear the higher harvest lost. flowers in winter the fruit-gift last night, just as the tints of autumn's sky of unstt faed from our hills and streams, painted l'pon a porte livre how strange to greet, this fromty min, in graceful counterfeit of flowers these children of the meadows, bora of sunshine and of showers ! how well the conscious wood retains the pictures of its tower-sown bosve, the mayflowers 149 yet, summer-like, we sit between the autumn and the spring. the lights and shades, the purple stains, and golden hues of bloom ! it was a happy thought to bring to the dark season's frost and rime this painted memory of spring, this dream of summer-time. the one, with bridal blush of rose, and sweetest breath of woodland balm, and one whose matron lips unclose in smiles of saintly calm. our hearts are lighter for its sake, our fancy's age renews its youth, and dim-remembered fictions take the guise of present truth. fill soft and deep, () winter snow ! the sweet azalea's oaken dells, and hide the bank where roses blow, and swing the azure bells ! a wizard of the merrimac, so old ancestral legends say, could call green leaf and blossom back to frosted stem and spray. o'erlay the amber violet's leaves, the purple aster's brookside home, guard all the flowers her pencil gives a life beyond their bloom. the dry logs of the cottage wall, beneath his touch, put out their leaves ; the clay-bound swallow, at his call, played round the icy eaves. and she, when spring comes round again, by greening slope and singing flood shall wander, seeking, not in vain, her darlings of the wood. the settler saw his oaken flail take bud, and bloom before his eyes ; from frozen pools he saw the pale, sweet summer lilies rise. the mayflowers to their old bomes, by man profaned, came the sad dryads, exiled long, and through their leafy tongues complained of household use and wrong. the beechen platter sprouted wild, the pipkin wore its old-time green, the cradle o'er the sleeping child became a leafy screen. haply our gentle friend hath met, while wandering in her sylvan quest, haunting his native woodlands yet, that druid of the west ; the trailing arbutus, or mayflower, grows abundantly in the vicinity of plymouth, and was the first flower that greeted the pilgrims after their fearful winter. the name mayflower was familiar in england, as the application of it to the historic vessel shows, but it was applied by the english, and still is, to the hawthorne. its use in new england in connection with epigæa repens dates from a very early day, some claiming that the first pilgrinis so used it, in affectionate memory of the vessel and its english flower association. a sad mayflower! watched by winter stars, and nursed by winter gales, with petals of the sleeted spars, and leaves of frozen sails ! what had she in those dreary hours, within her ice-rimmed bay, in common with the wild-wood flowers, the first sweet smiles of may ? and, while the dew on leaf and flower glistened in moonlight clear and still, learned the dusk wizard's spell of power, and caught his trick of skill. but welcome, be it new or old, the gift which makes the day more bright, and paints, upon the ground of cold and darkness, warmth and light ! yet, “god be praised !” the pilgrim said, who saw the blossoms peer above the brown leaves, dry and dead, “ behold our mayflower here !” without is neither gold nor green ; within, for birds, the birch-logs sing ; “ god wills it : here our rest shall be, our years of wandering o'er ; 150 poems of nature in with mingled sound of borns and bulls, a far-heard clang, the wild geese tv, storm-sent, from aretic moors and leave like a great arrow through the sky, two dusky lines converged in one, chasing the southward-flying sun ; while the brave snow-bird and the hard, jay call to them from the pines, as if to loud them stay. iv for us the mayflower of the sea shall spread her sails no more." () sacred flowers of faith and hope, as sweetly now as then ye bloom on many a birchen slope, in many a pine-dark glen. behind the sea-wall's rugged length, l'nchanged, your leaves unfold, like love behind the manly strength of the brave hearts of old. so live the fathers in their sons, their sturdy faith be ours, and ours the love that overruns its rocky strength with tlowers. the pilgrim's wild and wintry day its shadow round us draws ; the mavtlower of his stormy bay, our freedom's struggling cause. but warmer suns erelong shall bring to life the frozen sod; and through dead leaves of hope shall spring afresh the flowers of god! i passed this way a year ago : the wind blew south ; the noon of day was warm as june's ; and save that snow flecked the low mountains far away, and that the vernal-seeming breese mocked faded grass and leatiess thos i might have dreamed of summer as lia. watching the fallen leaves with the su1 wind at play. v the last walk in altumn 1 o'er the bare woods, whose outstretched hands plead with the leaden heavens in vain, i see, beyond the valley lands, the sea's long level dim with rain. around me all things, stark and dumb, seem praying for the shows to come, and, for the summer bloom and greenness gone, with winter's sunset lights and dazzling morn atone. since then, the winter blasts have piled the white pagulas of the snow on these rough slopes, and, strung aal wild, yon river, in its overflow of spring-time rain and sun, set free, crashed with its ices to the sea ; and over these gray fields, then green an: gold, the suminer corn has waved, the thunder's organ rolled. vi rich gift of god! a year of time! what pomp of rise and shut of dai. what hues where with our northern vi makes autumn's dropping wonline gay, what airs outblown from ferny delis, and clover-bloom and sweetbrer siu«» « what songs of brooks and birds, what in: and flowers, green woods and moonlit snows, lave 12 its roand been ours ! vii i know not how, in other lands, the changing seasons come aurl gon; what speudors fall on syrian saini what purple lights ou alpine sa** 11 along the river's summer walk, the withered tufts of asters nod ; and trembles on its arid stalk the boar plume of the golden-rud. and on a ground of sombre fir, and azur-studded juniper, the silver birch its buds of purple shows, and barlet brues tell where bloomed the sweet wild-rine ! the last walk in autumn 151 nor how the pomp of sunrise waits on venice at her watery gates ; a dream alone to me is arno's vale, and the alhambra's halls are but a traveller's tale. viii yet, on life's current, he who drifts is one with him who rows or sails ; and he who wanders widest lifts no more of beauty's jealous veils than he who from his doorway sees the miracle of flowers and trees, feels the warm orient in the noonday air, and from cloud minarets hears the sunset call to prayer! obey my call, and trace for me their words of mingled tears and fire ! i talk with bacon, grave and wise, i read the world with pascal's eyes ; and priest and sage, with solemn brows austere, and poets, garland-bound, the lords of thought, draw near. xiii ix the eye may well be glad that looks where pharpar's fountains rise and fall; but he who sees his native brooks laugh in the sun, has seen them all. the marble palaces of ind rise round him in the snow and wind; from his lone sweetbrier persian hafiz smiles, and rome's cathedral awe is in his woodland aisles. х and thus it is my fancy blends the near at hand and far and rare ; and while the same horizon bends above the silver-sprinkled hair which flashed the light of morning skies on childhood's wonder-lifted eyes, within its round of sea and sky and field, earth wheels with all her zones, the kosmos stands revealed. xi and thus the sick man on his bed, the toiler to his task-work bound, behold their prison-walls outspread, their clipped horizon widen round ! while freedom-giving fancy waits, like peter's angel at the gates, the power is theirs to baffle care and pain, to bring the lost world back, and make it theirs again! xii what lack of goodly company, when masters of the ancient lyre methinks, o friend, i hear thee say, “in vain the human heart we mock ; bring living guests who love the day, not ghosts who fly at crow of cock ! the herbs we share with flesh and blood are better than ambrosial food with laurelled shades.” i grant it, nothing loath, but doubly blest is he who can partake of both. xiv he who might plato's banquet grace, have i not seen before me sit, and watched his puritanic face, with more than eastern wisdom lit ? shrewd mystic! who, upon the back of his poor richard's almanac writing the sufi's song, the gentoo's dream, links manu's age of thought to fulton's age of steam ! xv here too, of answering love secure, have i not welcomed to my hearth the gentle pilgrim troubadour, whose songs have girdled half the earth; whose pages, like the magic mat whereon the eastern lover sat, have borne me over rhine-land's purple vines, and nubia's tawny sands, and phrygia's mountain pines ! xvi and he, who to the lettered wealth of ages adds the lore unpriced, the wisdom and the moral health, the ethics of the school of christ; the statesman to his holy trust, as the athenian archon, just, struck down, exiled like him for truth alone, has he not graced my home with beauty all his own ? 152 poems of nature xvii my feet! the simple roof where prayer is made, than gothic groin and colonnade ; what greetings smile, what farewells the living temple of the heart of man, wave, than rome's sky-mocking vault, or mans. what loved ones enter and depart ! spired milan! the good, the beautiful, the brave, the heaven-lent treasures of the xxii heart ! hlow conscious seems the frozen sod more dear thy equal village scbools, and beechen slope whereon they trod ! where rich and poor the bible teade the oak-leaves rustle, and the dry grass than classic halls where priesteraft rules, bends and learning wears the chains of beneath the shadowy feet of lost or absent creed ; friends. thy glad thanksgiving, gathering in xviii the scattered sheaves of home and kin. than the mad license ushering leltea then ask not why to these bleak hills pains, i cling, as clings the tufted moss, or holidays of slaves who laugh and dance to bear the winter's lingering chills, in chains. the mocking spring's perpetual loss. i dream of lands where summer smiles, xxiii and soft winds blow from spicy isles, but scarce would ceylon's breath of flowand sweet homes nestle in these dals, ers be sweet, and perch along these wooded swetha ; could i not feel thy soil, new england, at and, blest beyond arcadian vales, they hear the sound of sabluth kis! xix here dwells no perfect man sublime, nor woman winged before ber time, at times i long for gentler skies, but with the faults and follies of the race, and bathe in dreams of softer air, old home-bred virtues hold their pot as but homesick tears would fill the eyes honored place. that saw the cross without the bear. the pine must whisper to the palm, xxiv the north-wind break the tropic calm ; and with the dreamy languor of the line, here manhood struggles for the sake the north's keen virtue blend, and strength of mother, sister, daughter, wife, to beauty join. the graces and the loves which make the music of the march of life; xx and woman, in her daily round of duty, walks on holy ground. better to stem with heart and hand no unpaid menial tills the soil, nor bere the roaring tide of life, than lie, is the bad lesson learned at buman l'nmindful, on its towery strand, to sneer. of god's occasions drifting by! xxv better with naked nerve to bear the needles of this goading air, then let the icy north-wind blow than, in the lap of sensual ease, forego the trumpets of the coming stort, the godlike power to do, the godlike aim to arrowy sleet and blinding snow to know yon slanting lines of rain transform. xxi young hearts shall hail the drifted con as gayly as i did of old ; home of my heart ! to me more frir and i, who watch them through the frisis than gay versailles or windsor's halls, pane, the painted, shingly town-house where l'nenvious, live in them my boy hoved ver the freeman's vote for freedom falls ! again. the old burying-ground 153 xxvi they break the spell of cold and darkness, the weary watch of sleepless pain ; and i will trust that he who heeds and from my heart, as from the river, the life that hides in mead and wold, the ice of winter melts again. who hangs yon alder's crimson beads, and stains these mosses green and gold, thanks, mary ! for this wild-wood token will still, as he bath done, incline of freya's footsteps drawing near ; his gracious care to me and mine ; almost, as in the rune of asgard, grant what we ask aright, from wrong debar, the growing of the grass i hear. and, as the earth grows dark, make brighter every star! it is as if the pine-trees called me from ceiled room and silent books, to see the dance of woodland shadows, i have not seen, i may not see, ι and hear the song of april brooks ! my hopes for man take form in fact, but god will give the victory, as in the old teutonic ballad in due time ; in that faith i act. of odenwald live bird and tree, and he who sees the future sure, together live in bloom and music, the baffling present may endure, i blend in song thy flowers and thee. and bless, meanwhile, the unseen hand that leads earth's rocky tablets bear forever the heart's desires beyond the halting step the dint of rain and small bird's track : of deeds. who knows but that my idle verses may leave some trace by merrimac ! xxvii xxviii not, and thou, my song, i send thee forth, the bird that trod the mellow layers where harsher songs of mine have of the young earth is sought in vain ; flown ; the cloud is gone that wove the sandstone, go, find a place at home and hearth from god's design, with threads of rain ! where'er thy singer's name is known ; revive for him the kindly thought so, when this fluid age we live in of friends ; and they who love him shall stiffen round my careless rhyme, who made the vagrant tracks may puzzle touched by some strain of thine, perchance the savants of the coming time; may take the hand he proffers all, and thank him for and, following out their dim suggestions, thy sake. some idly-curious hand may draw my doubtful portraiture, as cuvier drew fish and bird from fin and claw. the first flowers and maidens in the far-off twilights, ages, on our river borders, singing my words to breeze and stream, these tassels in their tawny bloom, shall wonder if the old-time mary and willowy studs of downy silver, were real, or the rhymer's dream ! have prophesied of spring to come. for ages have the unbound waters the old burying-ground smiled on them from their pebbly hem, and the clear carol of the robin our vales are sweet with fern and rose, and song of bluebird welcomed them. our hills are maple-crowned ; but not from them our fathers chose but never get from smiling river, the village burying-ground. or song of early bird, have they been greeted with a gladder welcome the dreariest spot in all the land than whispers from my heart to-day. to death they set apart ; for 154 poems of nature with scanty grace from nature's hand, and harebells swung as if they rung and none from that of art. the chimes of peace beneath. a winding wall of mossy stone, the beauty nature loves to share, frost-tlung and broken, lines the gifts she hath for all, a lonesome acre thinly grown the common light, the common air, with grass and wandering vines. o'ercrept the graveyard's wall. without the wall a bireh-tree shows it knew the glow of eventide, its drooped and tasselled head ; the sunrise and the noon, within, a stag-horn sumach grows, and glorified and sanctified fern-leafed, with spikes of red. it slept beneath the moon. there, sheep that graze the neighboring with flowers or snow-flakes for its sod, plain around the seasons ran, like white ghosts come and go, and evermore the love of god the farm-horse drags his fetlock chain, rebuked the fear of man. the cow-bell tinkles slow. we dwell with fears on either hand low moans the river from its bed, within a daily strife, the distant pines reply ; and spectral problems waiting stand like mourners shrinking from the dead, before the gates of life. they stand apart and sigh. the doubts we vainly seek to solve, unshaded sinites the summer sun, the truths we know, are one ; l'uchecked the winter blast; the known and nameless stars revolve the school-girl learns the place to shun, around the central sun. with glances backward cast. and if we reap as we have sown, for thus our fathers testified, and take the dole we deal, that he might read who ran, the law of pain is love alone, the emptiness of human pride, the wounding is to heal. the nothingness of man. c'nharmed from change to change we glade, they dared not plant the grave with flowwe fall as in our dreams ; ers, the far-off terror at our side nor dress the funeral sod, a smiling angel seems. where, with a love as deep as ours, they left their dead with god. secure on god's all-tender heart alike rest great and small; the hard and thorny path they kept why fear to lose our little part, from beauty turned aside ; when he is pledged for all ? nor missed they over those who slept the grace to life denied. () fearful heart and troubled brain ! take hope and strength from this, yet still the wilding flowers would blow, that nature never hints in vain, the golden leaves would fall, nor prophesies amiss. the seasons come, the seasons go, and god be good to all. her wild birds sing the same sweet stave, her lights and airs are given above the graves the blackberry hung alike to playground and the grave; in bloom and green its wreath, and over buth is heaven. the river path 155 the palm-tree is it the palm, the cocoa-palm, on the indian sea, by the isles of balm ? or is it a ship in the breezeless calm ? and, in the hour of his great release, his need of the palm shall only cease with the shroud wherein he lieth in peace. “ allah il allah !” he sings his psalm, on the indian sea, by the isles of balm ; “ thanks to allah who gives the palm ! the river path a ship whose keel is of palm beneath, whose ribs of palm have a palm-bark sheath, and a rudder of palm it steereth with. no bird-song floated down the hill, the tangled bank below was still ; no rustle from the birchen stem, no ripple from the water's hem. the dusk of twilight round us grew, we felt the falling of the dew; branches of palm are its spars and rails, fibres of palm are its woven sails, and the rope is of palm that idly trails ! what does the good ship bear so well ? the cocoa-nut with its stony shell, and the milky sap of its inner cell. what are its jars, so smooth and fine, but hollowed nuts, filled with oil and wine, and the cabbage that ripens under the line ? for, from us, ere the day was done, the wooded hills shut out the sun. but on the river's farther side we saw the hill-tops glorified, who smokes his nargileh, cool and calm ? the master, whose cunning and skill could charm cargo and ship from the bounteous palm. a tender glow, exceeding fair, a dream of day without its glare. with us the damp, the chill, the gloom : with them the sunset's rosy bloom ; in the cabin he sits on a palm-mat soft, while dark, through willowy vistas seen, from a beaker of palm his drink is quaffed, | the river rolled in shade between. and a palm-thatch shields from the sun aloft ! from out the darkness where we trod, we gazed upon those hills of god, his dress is woven of palmy strands, and he holds a palm leaf scroll in his whose light seemed not of moon or sun. hands, we spake not, but our thought was one. traced with the prophet's wise commands ! we paused, as if from that bright shore the turban folded about his head beckoned our dear ones gone before ; was daintily wrought of the palm-leaf braid, and stilled our beating hearts to hear and the fan that cools him of palm was the voices lost to mortal ear! made. sudden our pathway turned from night; of threads of palm was the carpet spun the hills swung open to the light; whereon he kneels when the day is done, and the foreheads of islam are bowed as through their green gates the sunshine one ! showed, a long, slant splendor downward flowed. to him the palm is a gift divine, wherein all uses of man combine, down glade and glen and bank it rolled ; house, and raiment, and food, and wine ! it bridged the shaded stream with gold ; 156 poems of nature near and, borne on piers of mist, allied burned clean of mist, so starkly bold and the shadowy with the sunlit side! clear, i almost pause the wind in the pines to be ar, “so," prayed we, “when our feet draw the loose rock's fall, the steps of browsing deer. the river dark, with mortal fear, the clouds that shattered on yon slide-wurts walls " and the night cometh chill with dew, and splintered on the rocks their spears o father ! let thy light break through! of rain have set in play a thousand waterfalls, “so let the hills of doubt divide, making the dusk and silence of the winds so bridge with faith the sunless tide ! glad with the laughter of the chasing theme and luminous with blown spray and miser “ so let the eyes that fail on earth gleams, on thy eternal hills look forth ; while, in the vales below, the dry-lipped streains " and in thy beckoning angels know sing to the freshened meadow-lanis the dear ones whom we loved below!”. again. so, let me hope, the battle-storm that beats the land with hail and tire may passaws mountain pictures with its spent thunders at the break of day, i. franconia from the pemigewasset like last night's clouds, and leave, as it retreats, once more, o mountains of the north, una greener earth and fairer sky blind, veil blown crystal clear by freedom's northyour brows, and lay your cloudy mantles ern wind ! by! and once more, ere the eyes that seek ye ii. monadnock from wachi'yft fail, l'plift against the blue walls of the sky i would i were a painter, for the sake your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine of a sweet picture, and of her who lol. weave a fitting guide, with reverential trade its golden net-work in your belting woods, into that mountain mystery. fint a la smile down in rainbows from your falltinted with sunset; next the wav: 112* ing toods, of far receding hils; and yet but and on your kingly brows at morn and eve far, set crowns of fire ! so shall my soul monadnock lifting from his night of pines receive his rosy forehead to the evening at haply the secret of your calm and strength, beside us, purple-zoned, wachuset lund your unforgotten beauty interfuse his head against the west, whose warm my common life, your glorious shapes and light made hues ilis aureole ; and o'er him, sharp and and sun-dropped splendors at my bidding clear, come, like a shaft of lightning in mid-launch. loom vast through dreams, and stretch staved, in billowy length a single level cloud-line, shone upwa from the sea-level of my lowland home! by the tierce glances of the sunken sun, menaced the darkness with its guiden they rise before me! last night's thunspar! der-gust roared not in vain : for where its light. so twilight deepened round us. st.ll an! ning thrust black their tongues of fire, the great peaks seem the great woods climbed the mountain at so near, our back; the vanishers 157 the vanishers and on their skirts, where yet the lingering day on the shorn greenness of the clearing lay, the brown old farm-house like a bird'snest hung: with home-life sounds the desert air was stirred : the bleat of sheep along the hill we heard, the bucket plashing in the cool, sweet well, the pasture bars that clattered as they dogs barked, fowls fluttered, cattle lowed ; sweetest of all childlike dreams in the simple indian lore still to me the legend seems of the shapes who flit before. flitting, passing, seen and gone, never reached nor found at rest, baffling search, but beckoning on to the sunset of the blest. fell; the gate from the clefts of mountain rocks, through the dark of lowland firs, flash the eyes and flow the locks of the mystic vanishers ! and the fisher in his skiff, and the hunter on the moss, hear their call from cape and cliff, see their hands the birch-leaves toss. of the barn-yard creaked beneath the merry weight of sun-brown children, listening, while they swung, the welcome sound of supper-call to hear; and down the shadowy lane, in tinklings clear, the pastoral curfew of the cow-bell rung: thus soothed and pleased, our backward path we took, praising the farmer's home. he only spake, looking into the sunset o'er the lake, like one to whom the far-off is most wistful, longing, through the green twilight of the clustered pines, in their faces rarely seen beauty more than mortal shines. fringed with gold their mantles flow on the slopes of westering knolls ; in the wind they whisper low of the sunset land of souls. near : doubt who may, o friend of mine! thou and i have seen them too ; on before with beck and sign still they glide, and we pursue. more than clouds of purple trail in the gold of setting day ; more than gleams of wing or sail beckon from the sea-mist gray. “yes, most folks think it has a pleasant look; i love it for my good old mother's sake, who lived and died here in the peace of god!” the lesson of his words we pondered o'er, as silently we turned the eastern flank of the mountain, where its shadow deepest sank, doubling the night along our rugged road : we felt that man was more than his abode, the inward life than nature's raiment more ; and the warm sky, the sundown-tinted hill, the forest and the lake, seemed dwarfed and dim before the saintly soul, whose human will meekly in the eternal footsteps trod, making her homely toil and household ways an earthly echo of the song of praise swelling from angel lips and harps of seraphim. glimpses of immortal youth, gleams and glories seen and flown, far-heard voices sweet with truth, airs from viewless eden blown ; beauty that eludes our grasp, sweetness that transcends our taste, loving hands we may not clasp, shining feet that mock our haste ; gentle eyes we closed below, tender voices heard once more, 158 poems of nature smile and call us, as they go how flash the ranked and mail-clad alder, on and onward, still before. through what sharp-glancing span of reeds guided thus, () friend of mine! the brook its muffled water leals! let us walk our little way, knowing by each beckoning sign yon maple, like the bush of horeb, that we are not quite astray. burns unconsumed : a white, cold fire rays out from every grassy spire. chase we still, with baffled feet, smiling eye and waving hand, each slender rush and spike of mullein, sought and seeker soon shall meet, low laurel shrub and drooping fern. lost and found, in sunset land ! transtigured, blaze where'er i turn how yonder ethiopian hemlock the pageant crowned with his glistening cinit stands ! a sound as if from bells of silver, what jewels light his swarthy hands! or eltin cymbals smitten clear, through the frost-pictured panes i here, where the forest opens southwari, hear. between its hospitable pines, as through a door, the warın sun shines a brightness which outshines the morning, a splendor brooking no delay, the jewels loosen on the branches, beckons and tempts my feet away. and lightly, as the soft winds blow, fall, tinkling, on the ice below. i leave the trodden village highway for virgin snow-paths glimmering and through the clashing of their eyalado through i hear the old familiar fall a jewelled elm-tree avenue ; of water down the rocky wall, where, keen against the walls of sapwhere, from its wintry prison breaking, phire, in dark and silence hidden long. the gleaming tree-bolls, ice-embossed, the brook repeats its summer *** hold up their chandeliers of frost. one instant flashing in the sunshine, i treaul in orient halls enchanted, keen as a sabre from its sheath, i dream the saga's dream of caves then lost again the ice beneath. gew-lit beneath the north sea waves ! i hear the rabbit lightly leaping, i walk the land of eldorado, the foolish screaming of the jas, i touch its mimie garden bowers, the chopper's axe-struke far awar; its silver leaves and diamond flowers ! the clamor of some neighboring hur the flora of the mystic mine-world yard, around me lifts on crystal stems the lazy cock's belated crow, the petals of its clustered gems! or cattle-tramp in crispy snow. what miracle of weird transforming and, as in some enchanted forest in this wild work of frost and light, the lost knight hears his commes this glimpse of glory infinite ! sing, and, near at hand, their bridles riesthis foregleam of the holy city like that to hiin of patmos given, so welcome i these sounds and roies the white bride coming down from these airs from far-off summer me heaven! this life that leaves me aut alue. a mystery 159 for the white glory overawes me ; the crystal terror of the seer of chebar's vision blinds me here. they blossom best where hearth-fires burn, to loving eyes alone they turn the flowers of inward grace, that hide their beauty from the world outside. rebuke me not, o sapphire heaven ! thou stainless earth, lay not on me thy keen reproach of purity, if, in this august presence-chamber, i sigh for summer's leaf-green gloom and warm airs thick with odorous bloom ! but deeper meanings come to me, my half-immortal flower, from thee! man judges from a partial view, none ever yet his brother knew ; the eternal eye that sees the whole may better read the darkened soul, and find, to outward sense denied, the flower upon its inmost side ! let the strange frost-work sink and crumble, and let the loosened tree-boughs swing, till all their bells of silver ring. shine warmly down, thou sun of noontime, on this chill pageant, melt and move the winter's frozen heart with love. a mystery the river hemmed with leaning trees wound through its meadows green; a low, blue line of mountains showed the open pines between. one sharp, tall peak above them all clear into sunlight sprang : i saw the river of my dreams, the mountains that i sang ! and, soft and low, thou wind south-blowing, breathe through a veil of tenderest haze thy prophecy of summer days. come with thy green relief of promise, and to this dead, cold splendor bring the living jewels of the spring! no clue of memory led me on, but well the ways i knew; a feeling of familiar things with every footstep grew. not otherwise above its crag could lean the blasted pine ; not otherwise the maple hold aloft its red ensign. the pressed gentian so up the long and shorn foot-hills the mountain road should creep ; so, green and low, the meadow fold its red-haired kine asleep. the time of gifts has come again, and, on my northern window-pane, outlined against the day's brief light, a christmas token hangs in sight. the wayside travellers, as they pass, mark the gray disk of clouded glass ; and the dull blankness seems, perchance, folly to their wise ignorance. they cannot from their outlook see the perfect grace it hath for me ; for there the flower, whose fringes through the frosty breath of autumn blew, turns from without its face of bloom to the warm tropic of my room, as fair as when beside its brook the hue of bending skies it took. so from the trodden ways of earth, seem some sweet souls who veil their worth, and offer to the careless glance the clouding gray of circumstance. the river wound as it should wind; their place the mountains took ; the white torn fringes of their clouds wore no unwonted look. yet ne'er before that river's rim was pressed by feet of mine, never before mine eyes had crossed that broken mountain line. a presence, strange at once and known, walked with me as my guide ; the skirts of some forgotten life trailed noiseless at my side. 160 poems of nature was it a dim-remembered dream ? or glimpse through aons old ? the secret which the mountains kept the river never told. while, timing to its minor strain, the waves in lapsing cadence beat but from the vision ere it passed a tender hope i drew, and, pleasant as a dawn of spring, the thought within me grew, that love would temper every change, and soften all surprise, and, misty with the dreams of earth, the hills of heaven arise. a sea dream we saw the slow tides go and come, the curving surf-lines lightly drawn, the gray rocks touched with tender bloom beneath the fresh-blown rose of dawn. we saw in richer sunsets lost the sombre pomp of showery noons ; and signalled spectral sails that crossed the weird, low light of rising moons. on stormy eves from cliff and head we saw the white spray tossed and spurned ; while over all, in gold and red, its face of fire the lighthouse turned. the rail-ear brought its daily crowds, half curious, half indifferent, like passing sails or floating clouds, we saw them as they came and went. but, one calm morning, as we lay and watched the mirage-lifted wall of coast, across the dreamy bay, and heard atar the curlew call, and nearer voices, wild or tame, of airy flock and childish throng, l'p from the water's edge there came faint snatches of familiar song. careless we heard the singer's choice of old and common airs; at last the tender pathos of his voice in one low chanson beld us fast. a song that mingled jos and pain, and memories old and sadly sweet; the waves are glad in breeze and sun; the rocks are fringed with foam ; i walk once more a haunted shore, a stranger, yet at bome, a land of dreams i roam. is this the wind, the soft sea-wind that stirred thy locks of brown? are these the rocks whose mosses kes the trail of thy light gown, where boy and girl sat down ? i see the gray fort's broken wall, the boats that rock below; and, out at sea, the passing sails we saw so long ago rose-red in morning's glow. the freshness of the early time on every breeze is blown ; as glad the sea, as blue the sky, the change is ours alone ; the saddest is my own. a stranger now, a world-worn man. is he who bears my name ; but thou, methinks, whose mortal lie immortal youth became, art evermore the same. thou art not here, thou art not there, thy place i cannot see ; i only know that where thou art the blessed angels be, and heaven is glad for thee. forgive me if the evil years have left on me their sign; wash out, () soul so beautiful, the many stains of mine in tears of love dirine ! i could not look on thee and live, if thou wert by my side ; the vision of a shining one, the white and heavenly bride, is well to me denied. but turn to me thy dear girl-face without the angel's crown, sunset on the bearcamp 161 the grass is browning on the hills ; no pale, belated flowers recall the astral fringes of the rills, and drearily the dead vines fall, frost-blackened, from the roadside wall. the wedded roses of thy lips, thy loose hair rippling down in waves of golden brown. look forth once more through space and time, and let thy sweet shade fall in tenderest grace of soul and form on memory's frescoed wall, a shadow, and yet all ! draw near, more near, forever dear! where'er i rest or roam, or in the city's crowded streets, or by the blown sea foam, the thought of thee is home ! at breakfast hour the singer read the city news, with comment wise, like one who felt the pulse of trade beneath his finger fall and rise. his look, his air, his curt speech, told the man of action, not of books, to whom the corners made in gold and stocks were more than seaside nooks. yet through the gray and sombre wood, against the dusk of fir and pine, last of their floral sisterhood, the hazel's yellow blossoms shine, the tawny gold of afric's mine ! small beauty hath my unsung flower, for spring to own or summer bail ; but, in the season's saddest hour, to skies that weep and winds that wail its glad surprisals never fail. o days grown cold ! o life grown old ! no rose of june may bloom again ; but, like the hazel's twisted gold, through early frost and latter rain shall hints of summer-time remain. of life beneath the life confessed his song had hinted unawares ; of flowers in traffic's ledgers pressed, of human hearts in bulls and bears. and as within the hazel's bough a gift of mystic virtue dwells, that points to golden ores below, and in dry desert places tells where flow unseen the cool, sweet wells, – but eves in vain were turned to watch that face so hard and shrewd and strong ; and ears in vain grew sharp to catch the meaning of that morning song. in rain some sweet-voiced querist sought to sonnd him, leaving as she came ; her baited album only caught a common, unromantic name. no word betrayed the mystery fine, that trembled on the singer's tongue ; he came and went, and left no sign behind him save the song he sung. so, in the wise diviner's hand, be mine the bazel’s grateful part to feel, beneath a thirsty land, the living waters thrill and start, the beating of the rivulet's heart ! sufficeth me the gift to light with latest bloom the dark, cold days ; to call some hidden spring to sight that, in these dry and dusty ways, shall sing its pleasant song of praise. o love ! the hazel-wand may fail, but thou canst lend the surer spell, that, passing over baca's vale, repeats the old-time miracle, and makes the desert-land a well. hazel blossoms sunset on the bearcamp the summer warmth has left the sky, the summer songs have died away ; and, withered, in the footpaths lie the fallen leaves, but yesterday with ruby and with topaz gay. a gold fringe on the purpling hem of hills the river runs, as down its long, green valley falls 162 poems of nature the last of summer's suns. the sunset fires will burn, along its tawny gravel-bed the flowers will blow, the river flow, broad-towing, swift, and still, when i no more return. as if its meadow levels felt no whisper from the mountain pine the hurry of the hill, nor lapsing stream shall tell noiseless between its banks of green the stranger, treading where i tread, from curve to curve it slips ; of him who loved them well. the drowsy maple-shadows rest like fingers on its lips. but beauty seen is never lost, god's colors all are fast ; a waif from carroll's wildest hills, the glory of this sunset heaven l'nstoried and unknown ; into my soul has passed, the ursine legend of its name a sense of gladness uncontined prowls on its banks alone. to mortal date or clime ; yet flowers as fnir its slopes adorn as the soul liveth, it shall live as ever yarrow knew, beyond the years of time. or, under rainy irish skies, beside the mystic asphodels by spenser's mulla grew; shall bloom the home-born flowers, and through the gaps of leaning trees and new horizons tlush and glow its mountain cradle shows : with sunset hues of ours. the gold against the amethyst, the green against the rose, farewell! these smiling hills must wear too soon their wintry frown, touched by a light that hath no name, and snow-cold winds from off them shake a glory never sung, the maple's red leaves down. aloft on sky and mountain wall but i shall see a summer sun are god's great pictures hung. still setting broad and low; how changed the summits vast and old ! the mountain slopes shall blush and blowers no longer granite-browed, the golden water flow. they melt in rosy mist; the rock a lover's claim is mine on all is softer than the cloud ; i see to have and hold, the valley holds its breath ; no leaf the rose-light of perpetual hills, of all its elms is twirled : and sunsets never cold ! the silence of eternity seems falling on the world. the seeking of the watfkfall the pause before the breaking seals of mystery is this ; they left their home of summer case you miracle-play of night and day beneath the lowland's sheltering trees, makes dumb its witnesses. to seek, by ways unknown to all, what unseen altar crowns the hills the promise of the waterfall. that reach up stair on stair? what eyes look through, what white wings some vague, faint rumor to the vale fan had crept – perchance a hunter's tale these purple veils of air ? of its wild mirth of waters lost what presence from the heavenly heights on the dark woods through which it to to those of earth stoops down? not vainly hellas dreamed of gods somewhere it laughed and sang; on ida's snowy crown! where whirled in mad dance its misty hair ; slow fades the vision of the sky, but who had raised its veil, or sera the golden water pales, the rainbow skirts of that l'odine! and over all the valley-land agray-winged vapor sails. they sought it where the mountain buruk i go the common way of all ; its swift way to the valley took ; the seeking of the waterfall 163 : along the rugged slope they clomb, their guide a thread of sound and foam. height after height they slowly won ; the tiery javelins of the sun smote the bare ledge ; the tangled shade with rock and vine their steps delayed. but one, with years grown wiser, said : “so, always baffled, not misled, we follow where before us runs the vision of the shining ones. “not where they seem their signals fly, their voices while we listen die; we cannot keep, however fleet, the quick time of their wingëd feet. “from youth to age unresting stray these kindly mockers in our way; yet lead they not, the baffling elves, to something better than themselves ? but, through leaf-openings, now and then they saw the cheerful homes of men, and the great mountains with their wall of misty purple girdling all. 66 here, though unreached the goal we sought, its own reward our toil has brought : the winding water's sounding rush, the long note of the hermit thrush, the leaves through which the glad winds blew shared the wild dance the waters knew ; and where the shadows deepest fell the wood-thrush rang his silver bell. fringing the stream, at every turn swung low the waving fronds of fern from stony cleft and mossy sod pale asters sprang, and golden-rod. and still the water sang the sweet, glad song that stirred its gliding feet, and found in rock and root the keys of its beguiling melodies. berond, above, its signals flew of tossing foam the birch-trees through ; now seen, now lost, but baffling still the weary seekers' slackening will. each called to each : “lo here! lo there! its white scarf flutters in the air !” they climbed anew; the vision fled, to beckon higher overhead. so toiled they up the mountain-slope with faint and ever fainter hope ; with faint and fainter voice the brook still bade them listen, pause, and look. “ the turquoise lakes, the glimpse of pond and river track, and, vast, beyond broad meadows belted round with pines, the grand uplift of mountain lines ! “what matter though we seek with pain the garden of the gods in vain, if lured thereby we climb to greet some wayside blossom eden-sweet ? “ to seek is better than to gain, the fond hope dies as we attain ; life's fairest things are those which seem, the best is that of which we dream. “ then let us trust our waterfall still flashes down its rocky wall, with rainbow crescent curved across its sunlit spray from moss to moss. “and we, forgetful of our pain, in thought shall seek it oft again ; shall see this aster-blossomed sod, this sunshine of the golden-rod, meanwhile below the day was done ; above the tall peaks saw the sun sink, beam-shorn, to its misty set behind the hills of violet. " and haply gain, through parting boughs, grand glimpses of great mountain brows cloud-turbaned, and the sharp steel sheen of lakes deep set in valleys green. " here ends our quest!” the seekers cried, **the brook and rumor both bave lied ! the phantom of a waterfall has led us at its beck and call.” “ so failure wins ; the consequence of loss becomes its recompense ; and evermore the end shall tell the unreached ideal guided well. 164 poems of nature * our sweet illusions only die fulfilling love's sure prophecy ; st. martin's summer and every wish for better things an undreamed beauty nearer brings. this name in some parts of europe is given to the season we call indian summer, in base “ for fate is servitor of love; of the good st. martin. the title of the sweet desire and hope and longing prove was suggested by the fact that the day it in the secret of immortal youth, to was the exact date of that set apart to the and nature cheats us into truth. saint, the 11th of november. “o kind allurers, wisely sent, trocoa flowers have perished at the toard beguiling with benign intent, of frost, the early comer, still move us, through divine unrest, i hail the season loved so much, to seek the loveliest and the best! the good st. martin's summer. “go with us when our souls go free, o gracious morn, with rose-red dawn, and, in the clear, white light to be, and thin moon curving o'er it! add unto heaven's beatitude the old year's darling, latest born, the old delight of seeking good !” more loved than all before it ! how flamed the sunrise through the pines ! how stretched the birchen shadows, the trailing arbutus braiding in long, wind-wavered lines the westward sloping meadows ! i wandered lonely where the pine-trees made the sweet day, opening as a flower against the bitter east their barricade, unfolds its petals tender, and, guided by its sweet renews for us at noontide's hour perfume, i found, within a narrow dell, the summer's tempered splendor. the trailing spring tlower tinted like a shell the birds are hushed ; alone the wind, amid dry leaves and mosses at my that through the woodland searches feet. the red-oak's lingering leaves can tiad, and yellow plumes of larebes. from under dead boughs, for whose loss the pines but still the balsam-breathing pine moaned ceaseless overhead, the blossoming invites no thought of sorrow, vines no hint of loss from air like wize lifted their glad surprise, the earth's content can borrow. while yet the bluebird smoothed in leafless trees the summer and the winter bere his feathers ruffled by the chill sen-breeze, midway a truce are holding, and snow-drifts lingered under april | a soft, consenting atmosphere skies. their tents of peace enfolding. as, pausing, o'er the lonely flower i bent, the silent woods, the lonely hills, i thought of lives thus lowly, clogged and rise solemn in their gladness; pent, the quiet that the valley tills which yet find room, is scarcely joy or sadness. through care and cumber, coldness and decay, how strange! the autumn yesterlar to lend a sweetness to the ungenial dar, in winter's grasp seemed dying: and make the sad earth happier for their on whirling winds from skies of gray bloon. the early snow was tiying. a summer pilgrimage 165 and now, while over nature's mood there steals a soft relenting, i will not mar the present good, forecasting or lamenting. to lift itself o'er wooded cardigan, growing and blackening. suddenly, a flaw my autumn time and nature's hold a dreamy tryst together, and, both grown old, about us fold the golden-tissued weather. i lean my heart against the day to feel its bland caressing ; i will not let it pass away before it leaves its blessing. of chill wind menaced ; then a strong blast beat down the long valley's murmuring pines, and woke the noon-dream of the sleeping lake, and broke its smooth steel mirror at the mountains' feet. thunderous and vast, a fire-veined darkness swept over the rough pine-bearded asquam range ; a wraith of tempest, wonderful and strange, from peak to peak the cloudy giant stepped. god's angels come not as of old the syrian shepherds knew them; in reddening dawns, in sunset gold, and warm noon lights i view them. nor need there is, in times like this when heaven to earth draws nearer, of wing or song as witnesses to make their presence clearer. one moment, as if challenging the storm, chocorua's tall, defiant sentinel looked from his watch-tower ; then the shadow fell, and the wild rain-drift blotted out his form. o stream of life, whose swifter flow is of the end forewarning, methinks thy sundown afterglow seems less of night than morning! old cares grow light ; aside i lay the doubts and fears that troubled ; the quiet of the happy day within my soul is doubled. that clouds must veil this fair sunshine not less a joy i find it ; nor lese von warm horizon line that winter lurks behind it. and over all the still unhidden sun, weaving its light through slant-blown veils of rain, smiled on the trouble, as hope smiles on pain; and, when the tumult and the strife were done, with one foot on the lake, and one on land, framing within his crescent's tinted streak a far-off picture of the melvin peak, spent broken clouds the rainbow's angel spanned. a summer pilgrimage the mystery of the untried days i close my eyes from reading ; his will be done whose darkest ways to light and life are leading ! less drear the winter night shall be, if memory cheer and hearten its heavy hours with thoughts of thee, sweet summer of st. martin ! to kneel before some saintly shrine, to breathe the health of airs divine, or bathe where sacred rivers flow, the cowled and turbaned pilgrims go. i too, a palmer, take, as they with staff and scallop-shell, my way, to feel, from burdening cares and ills, the strong uplifting of the hills. the years are many since, at first, for dreamed-of wonders all athirst, i saw on winnipesaukee fall storji on lake asquam a cloud, like that the old-time hebrew saw on carmel prophesying rain, began 166 poems of nature the shadow of the mountain wall. ah! where are they who sailed with me the beautiful island-studded sea ? and am i he whose keen surprise flashed out from such unclouded eyes ? that nature's forms of loveliness their heavenly archetypes confess, fashioned like israel's ark alone from patterns in the mount made know ! a holier beauty overbroods these fair and faint similitudes; yet not unblest is he who sees shadows of god's realities, and knows beyond this masquerade of shape and color, light and shade. and dawn and set, and wax and wane, eternal verities remain. still, when the sun of summer burns, my longing for the hills returns ; and northward, leaving at my back the warın vale of the merrimac, i go to meet the winds of morn, blown down the hill-grups, mountain-born, breathe scent of pines, and satisfy the hunger of a lowland eye. again i see the day decline along a ridged horizon line ; touching the hill-tops, as a nun her beaded rosary, sinks the sun. one lake lies golden, which shall soon be silver in the rising moon; and one, the crimson of the skies and mountain purple multiplies. with the untroubled quiet blends the distance-softened voice of friends ; the girl's light laugh no discord brings to the low song the pine-tree sings ; and, not unwelcome, comes the hail of boyhood from his nearing sail. the human presence breaks no spell, and sunset still is miracle ! () gems of sapphire, granite set ! ( hills that charmed horizons fret! i know how fair your morns can break, in rosy ligbt on isle and lake ; how over wooded slopes can run the noonday play of cloud and sun, and evening droop her orittamme of gold and red in still asquam. the summer moons may ronnd again, and careless feet these hills protate ; these sunsets waste on vacant eyes the lavish splendor of the skies ; fashion and folly, misplaced here, sigh for their natural atmosphere, and travelled pride the outlook kur of lesser heights than matterhorn : but let me dream that hill and sky of unseen beauty prophesy ; and in these tinted lakes behold the trailing of the raiment fold of that which, still eluding gaze, allures to upward-tending wave whose footprints make, wherever fuardi, our common earth a holy ground. calm as the hour, methinks i feel a sense of worship o'er me steal ; not that of satyr-charming pan, no cult of nature shaming man, not beauty's self, but that which lives and shines through all the veils it weaves, soul of the mountain, lake, and wood, their witness to the eternal good ! and if, by fond illusion, bere the earth to heaven seems drawing near, and yon outlying range invites to other and serener beights, searce hid behind ittopmost swell, the shining mounts delectable ! a dream may hint of truth no less than the sharp light of wakefulness. as through her veil of incense smoke of old the spell-rapt prie teen spoke, more than her hentbep oru les, jay not this trance of sunset tell sweet fers the subtle power in perfume found nor priest nor sibyl vainly learneel; on grecian shrine or aztec mound no censer idly burned. that power the old-time worhip knew, the corybantes' frenzied danie, the pythian priente*s swooning through the wonderland of trance. and nature holds, in wood and field, her thousand sunlit censers still ; the wood giant 167 to spells of flower and shrub we yield against or with our will. “ look where we will o'er vale and hill, how idle are our searches for broad girthed maples, wide limbed oaks, centennial pines and birches ! i elimbed a hill path strange and new with slow feet, pausing at each turn ; a sudden waft of west wind blew the breath of the sweet fern. « their tortured limbs the axe and saw have changed to beams and trestles ; they rest in walls, they float on seas, they rot in sunken vessels. “ this shorn and wasted mountain land of underbrush and boulder,who thinks to see its full-grown tree must live a century older.” that fragrance from my vision swept the alien landscape ; in its stead, cp fairer hills of youth i stepped, as light of heart as tread. i saw my boyhood's lakelet shine once more through rifts of woodland shade; i knew my river's winding line by morning mist betrayed. with me june's freshness, lapsing brook, murmurs of leaf and bee, the call of birds, and one in voice and look in keeping with them all. at last to us a woodland path, to open sunset leading, revealed the anakim of pines our wildest wish exceeding. alone, the level sun before ; below, the lake's green islands ; beyond, in misty distance dim, the rugged northern highlands. dark titan on his sunset hill of time and change defiant ! how dwarfed the seemed, before the old-time giant ! common woodland a fern beside the way we went she plucked, and, smiling, held it up, while from her hand the wild, sweet scent i drank as from a cap. o potent witchery of smell ! the dust-dry leaves to life return, and she who plucked them owns the spell and lifts her ghostly fern. or sense or spirit? who shall say what touch the chord of memory thrills ? it passed, and left the august day ablaze on lonely hills. what marvel that, in simpler days of the world's early childhood, men crowned with garlands, gifts, and praise such monarchs of the wild-wood ? that tyrian maids with flower and song danced through the bill grove's spaces, and hoary-bearded druids found in woods their holy places ? the wood giant written at sturtevant's farm, about a mile from centre harbor, n. h.] frou alton bay to sandwich dome, from mad to saco river, for patriarchs of the primal wood we sought with vain endeavor. and then we said : “ the giants old are lost beyond retrieval ; this prgmy growth the axe has spared is not the wood primeval. with somewhat of that pagan awe with christian reverence blending, we saw our pine-tree's mighty arms above our heads extending we heard his needles' mystic rune, now rising, and now dying, as erst dodona's priestess heard the oak leaves prophesying. was it the half-unconscious moan of one apart and mateless, 168 poems of nature the weariness of unshared power, singing a pleasant song of summer still, the loneliness of greatness ? a line of silver, down the hill-slope shines () dawns and sunsets, lend to him hushed the bird voices and the hum uf your beauty and your wonder! bees, blithe sparrow, sing thy summer song in the thin grass the crickets propue su his solemn shadow under! more ; but still the squirrel hoards his winter play lightly on his slender keys, store, o wind of summer, waking and drops his nut-shells froin the shapfor hills like these the sound of seas bark trees. on far-off beaches breaking! softly the dark green hemlocks whisper and let the eagle and the crow high find shelter in his branches, above, the spires of yellowing larrbes when winds shake down his winter snow show, in silver avalanches. where the woodpecker and hom--loving crow the brave are braver for their cheer, and jay and nut hatch winter's threat the strongest need assurance, defy. the sigh of longing makes not less the lesson of endurance. o gracious beauty, ever new and old ! o sights and sounds of nature, dual dear a day when the low sunshine warns the clomine year talk not of sad november, when a day of snow-blown fields and waves of arctae of warm, glad sunshine fills the sky of cold ! noon, and a wind, borrowed from some morn close to my heart i fold each lovely of june, thing stirs the brown grasses and the leafless the sweet day yields; and, not disents spray. late, with the calm patience of the winnis i on the unfrosted pool the pillared pines wait lay their long shafts of shadow: the for leaf and blossom when god gives small rill, spring! personal poems now brow; a lament and the charm of her features, while over the whole “ the parted spirit, played the hues of the heart and the sunknoweth it not our sorrow? answereth not shine of soul; its blessing to our tears ?” and the tones of her voice, like the music the circle is broken, one seat is forsaken, which seems one bud from the tree of our friendship is murmured low in our ears by the angel of shaken ; dreams! one heart from among us no longer shall thrill but holier and dearer our memories hold with joy in our gladness, or grief in our those treasures of feeling, more precious ill. than gold, the love and the kindness and pity which weep! lonely and lowly are slumbering gave fresh flowers for the bridal, green wreaths the light of her glances, the pride of her for the grave ! weep! sadly, and long shall we listen in the heart ever open to charity's claim, vain unmoved from its purpose by censure and to hear the soft tones of her welcome again. blame, while vainly alike on her eye and her ear give our tears to the dead! for humanfell the scorn of the heartless, the jesting ity's claim and jeer. from its silence and darkness is ever the same ; how true to our hearts was that beautiful the hope of that world whose existence is sleeper! bliss with smiles for the joyful, with tears for may not stifle the tears of the mourners of the weeper ! this. yet, evermore prompt, whether mournful or gay, for, oh! if one glance the freed spirit can with warnings in love to the passing astray. throw on the scene of its troubled probation befor, though spotless herself, she could sorlow, row for them than the pride of the marble, the pomp of who sullied with evil the spirit's pure gem; the dead, and a sigh or a tear could the erring reprove, to that glance will be dearer the tears which and the sting of reproof was still tempered we sbed. by love. oh, who can forget the mild light of her as a cloud of the sunset, slow melting in smile, heaven, over lips moved with music and feeling the as a star that is lost when the daylight is while, given, the eye's deep enchantment, dark, dreamas a glad dream of slumber, which wakens like, and clear, in bliss, in the glow of its gladness, the shade of its she hath passed to the world of the holy tear. from this. 169 170 personal poems to the memory of charles b. storrs late president of western reserve college, who died at his post of duty, overworn by his strenuous labors with tongue and pen in the cause of human freedom. thor hast fallen in thine armor, thou martyr of the lord ! with thy last breath crying “onward !” and thy hand upon the sword. the haughty heart derideth, and the sinful lip reviles, but the blessing of the perishing around thy pillow smiles ! when to our cup of trembling the added drop is given, and the long-suspended thunder falls terribly from heaven, -when a new and fearful freedom is proffered of the lord to the slow-consuming famine, the pestilence and sword ! 1 and pride and lust debases the workmanship of god, there shall thy praise be spoken, redeemed from falsehood's ban, when the fetters shall be broken, and the slave shall be a man! joy to thy spirit, brother! a thousand hearts are warm, a thousand kindred bosoms are baring to the storm. what though red-handed violence with secret fraud combine ? the wall of fire is round us, our present help was thine. lo, the waking up of nations, from slavery's fatal sleep; the murmur of a l'niverse, deep calling unto deep! joy to thy spirit, brother! on every wind of heaven the onward cheer and summons of freedom's voice is giveu ! glory to god forever! beyond the despot's will the soul of freedom liveth imperishable still. the words which thou hast uttered are of that soul a part, and the good seed thou hast scattend is springing from the heart. in the evil days before us, and the trials yet to come, in the shadow of the prison, or the cruel martyrdom, we will think of thee, ( brother! and thy sainted name shall be in the blessing of the captive, and the anthem of the free. when the refuges of falsehood shall be swept away in wrath, and the temple shall be shaken, with its idol, to the earth, shall not thy words of warning be all remembered then ? and thy now unheeded message burui in the hearts of men ? oppression's hand may scatter its nettles on thy tomb, and even christian bosoms deny thy memory room ; for lying lips shall torture thy merey into crime, and the slanderer shall flourish as the bay-tree for a time. lines i on the death of s. oliver turkft. secretary of the boston tv men's anti-slavery sokin ty but where the south-wind lingers ou carolina's pines, or falls the careless sunbeam down georgia's golden mines ; where now beneath his barthen the toiling slave is driven ; where now a tyrant's mockery is offered uuto heaven ; where mammon hath its altars wet o'er with human bloou, gone before us, () our brother, to the spirit-land ! vainly look we for another in the place to stand. who shall otfer youth and beauty 1 το. 171 on the wasting shrine of a stern and lofty duty, with a faith like thine ? be thy virtues with the living, and thy spirit ours ! a to with a copy of woolman's journal oh, thy gentle smile of greeting who again shall see? who amidst the solemn meeting gaze again on thee ? who, when peril gathers o'er us, wear so calm a brow ? who, with evil men before us, so serene as thou ? “get the writings of john woolman by heart." essays of elia. a maiden ! with the fair brown tresses shading o'er thy dreamy eye, floating on thy thoughtful forehead cloud wreaths of its sky. early hath the spoiler found thee, brother of our love ! autumn's faded earth around thee, and its storms above ! evermore that turf lie lightly, and, with future showers, o'er thy slumbers fresh and brightly blow the summer flowers ! youthful years and maiden beauty, joy with them should still abide, instinct take the place of duty, love, not reason, guide. in the locks thy forehead gracing, not a silvery streak ; nor a line of sorrow's tracing on thy fair young cheek ; eyes of light and lips of roses, such as hylas wore, over all that curtain closes, which shall rise no more ! will the vigil love is keeping round that grave of thine, mournfully, like jazer weeping over sibmah's vine ; will the pleasant memories, swelling gentle hearts, of thee, in the spirit's distant dwelling all unheeded be? ever in the new rejoicing, kindly beckoning back the old, turning, with the gift of midas, all things into gold. and the passing shades of sadness wearing even a welcome guise, as, when some bright lake lies open to the sumy skies, every wing of bird above it, every light cloud floating on, glitters like that flashing mirror in the self-same sun. but upon thy youthful forehead something like a shadow lies; and a serious soul is looking from thy earnest eyes. with an early introversion, through the forms of outward things, seeking for the subtle essence, and the hidden springs. if the spirit ever gazes, from its journeyings, back ; if the immortal ever traces o'er its mortal track; wilt thou not, o brother, meet us sometimes on our way, and, in hours of sadness, greet us as a spirit may ? peace be with thee, o our brother, in the spirit-land ! vainly look we for another in thy place to stand. unto truth and freedom giving all thy early powers, deeper than the gilded surface hath thy wakeful vision seen, farther than the narrow present have thy journeyings been. thou hast midst life's empty noises heard the solemn steps of time, and the low mysterious voices of another clime. 172 personal poems saw. all the mystery of being even as the great augustine hath upon thy spirit pressed, — questioned earth and sea and sky, thoughts which, like the deluge wanderer, and the dusty tomes of learning find no place of rest : and old poesy. that which mystic plato pondered, but his earnest spirit needed that which zeno heard with awe, more than outward nature taught; and the star-rapt zorvaster more than blest the poet's vision in his night watch sa or the sage's thought. from the doubt and darkness springing only in the gathered silence of the dim, uncertain past, of a calm and waiting frame, moving to the dark still shadows light and wisdom as from heaven ('er the future cast, to the seeker camne. early hath life's mighty question not to ease and aimless quiet thrilled within thy heart of youth, doth that inward answer tend, with a deep and strong beseeching : but to works of love and duty what and where is truth? as our being's end ; hollow creed and ceremonial, not to idle dreams and trances, whence the ancient life hath fled, length of face, and solemn tone, idle faith unknown to action, but to faith, in daily striving dull and cold and dead. and performance shown. oracles, whose wire-worked meanings earnest toil and strong endearor only wake a quiet scorn, of a spirit which within xot from these thy seeking spirit wrestles with familiar evil hath its answer drawn. and besetting sin; but, like some tired child at even, and without, with tireless vigor, on thy mother nature's breast, steady heart, and weapon strong, thou, methinks, art vainly seeking in the power of truth assailing truth, and peace, and rest. every form of wrong. o'er that mother's rugged features guided thus, how passing lovely thou art throwing fancy’s veil, is the track of woolmau's feet ! light and soft as woven moonbeams, and his brief and simple record beautiful and frail ! how serenely sweet ! o'er the rough chart of existence, ('er life's humblest duties throwing rocks of sin and wastes of woe, light the earthling never knew, soft airs breathe, and green leaves tremble, freshening all its dark waste places and cool fountains tlow. as with hermon's dew. and to thee an answer cometh all which glows in pascal's pages, from the earth and from the sky, all which sainted guion sought, and to thee the hills and waters or the blue-eyed german rahel and the stars reply. half-unconscious taught : but a soul-sufficing answer beauty, such as goethe pictured, llath no outward origin; such as shelley dreanied of, shurd more than nature's many voices living warmth and starry brightness may be heard within. round that poor man's head. a to a friend 173 “ye build the tombs of the prophets." — holy writ. " not a vain and cold ideal, not a poet's dream alone, but a presence warm and real, seen and felt and known. when the red right-hand of slaughter moulders with the steel it swung, when the name of seer and poet dies on memory's tongue, all bright thoughts and pure shall gather round that meek and suffering one, glorious, like the seer-seen angel standing in the sun ! take the good man's book and ponder what its pages say to thee ; blessed as the hand of healing may its lesson be. yes, pile the marble o'er him! it is well that ye who mocked him in his long stern strife, and planted in the pathway of his life the ploughshares of your hatred hot from hell, who clamored down the bold reformer when he pleaded for his captive fellow-men, who spurned him in the market-place, and sought within thy walls, st. tammany, to bind in party chains the free and honest thought, the angel utterance of an upright mind, well is it now that o'er his grave ye raise the stony tribute of your tardy praise, for not alone that pile shall tell to fame of the brave heart beneath, but of the builders' shame! if it only serves to strengthen yearnings for a higher good, for the fount of living waters and diviner food; to a friend on her return from europe if the pride of human reason feels its meek and still rebuke, quailing like the eye of peter from the just one's look ! how smiled the land of france under thy blue eye's glance, light-hearted rover ! old walls of chateaux gray, towers of an early day, which the three colors play flauntingly over. if with readier ear thou heedest what the inward teacher saith, listening with a willing spirit and a childlike faith, — a thou mayst live to bless the giver, who, himself but frail and weak, would at least the highest welfare of another seek ; now midst the brilliant train thronging the banks of seine : now midst the splendor of the wild alpine range, waking with change on change thoughts in thy young heart strange, lovely, and tender. and his gift, though poor and lowly it may seem to other eyes, yet may prove an angel holy in a pilgrim's guise. a leggett's monument vales, soft elysian, like those in the vision of mirza, when, dreaming, he saw the long hollow dell, touched by the prophet's spell, into an ocean swell with its isles teeming. cliffs wrapped in snows of years, splintering with icy spears autumn's blue heaven : loose rock and frozen slide, hung on the mountain-side, william leggett, who died in 1839 at the age of thirty-seven, was the intrepid editor of the new york evening post and afterwards of the plain dealer. his vigorous assault upon the system of slavery brought down upon him the enmity of political defenders of the system. 174 personal poems waiting their hour to glide downward, storm-driven ! him who, as staff and stay, watched o'er thy wandering way, freshly remember. rhine-stream, by castle old, baron's and robber's hold, peacefully tlowing ; sweeping through vineyards green, or where the cliffs are seen o'er the broad wave between grim shadows throwing. or, where st. peter's dome swells o'er eternal rome, vast, dim, and solemn; hymns ever chanting low, censers swung to and fro, sable stoles sweeping slow, cornice and column! so, when the call shall be soon or late unto thee, as to all given, still may that picture live, all its fair forms survive, and to thy spirit give gladness in heaven! oh, as from each and all will there not voices call everinore back again ? in the mind's gallery wilt thou not always see diin phantoms beckon thee o'er that old track again ? new forms thy presence haunt, new voices softly chant, new faces greet thee! pilgrims from many a shrine hallowed by poet's line, at memory's magic sigii , rising to meet thee. and when such visions come l’nto thy ollen home, will they not waken deep thoughts of him whose hand led thee o'er sea and land back to the household band whence thou wast taken? lucy hooper lucy hooper died at brooklyn, ll, on the ist of sth mo., 1811, aged twenty-four frans. they tell me, lucy, thou art deal, that all of thee we loved au chensbe! has with thy summer roses perished; and left, as its young beauty tied, an ashen memory in its stead, the twilight of a parted day whose fading light is cold and rain, the heart's faint echo of a struin of low, sweet music passed away. that true and loving heart, that gift of a mind, earnest, clear, profound. bestowing, with a glad unthrift, its sunny light on all around, affinities which only could cleave to the pure, the true, and gow : and sympathies which found du troi save with the loveliest and best. of them — of thee – remains there nargit but sorrow in the mourner's breasi : a shadow in the land of thought ? no! even my weak and trembling fath can lift for thee the veil which dubt and human fear have drawn about the all-awaiting scene of death. eren'as thou wast i see thee s ill; and, save the absence of all ill and pain and weariness, which larse summoned the sigh or wrung the trar, the same as when, two summers bek, beside our childhood's merrimac, i saw thy dark eye wander o'er stream, sunny upland, rocky shore, and heard thy low, soft voice alor midst lapse of waters, and the tone of pine-leaves by the west-wind blown, there's not a charın of soul or brun, of all we knew and loved in ther, while, at the sunset time, swells the cathedral's chime, yet, in thy dreaming, while to thy spirit's eye yet the vast mountains lie piled in the switzer's sky, ley and gleaming : prompter of silent prayer, be the wild picture there in the mind's chamber, and, through each coming day lucy hooper 175 which opens on eternity. yet shall we cherish not the less all that is left our hearts meanwhile ; the memory of thy loveliness shall round our weary pathway smile, like moonlight when the sun has set, a sweet and tender radiance yet. thoughts of thy clear-eyed sense of duty, thy generous scorn of all things wrong, the truth, the strength, the graceful beauty which blended in thy song. all lovely things, by thee beloved, shall whisper to our hearts of thee ; these green hills, where thy childhood roved, yon river winding to the sea, the sunset light of autumn eves reflecting on the deep, still floods, cloud, crimson sky, and trembling leaves of rainbow-tinted woods, these, in our view, shall henceforth take a tenderer meaning for thy sake ; and all thou lovedst of earth and sky seem sacred to thy memory. but lives in holier beauty now, baptized in immortality! not mine the sad and freezing dream of souls that, with their earthly mould, cast off the loves and joys of old, cnbodied, like a pale moonbeam, as pure, as passionless, and cold; xor mine the hope of indra's son, of slumbering in oblivion's rest, life's myriads blending into one, in blank annihilation blest ; dust-atoms of the infinite, sparks scattered from the central light, and winning back through mortal pain their old unconsciousness again. xo! i have friends in spirit land, sot shadows in a shadowy band, not others, but themselves are they. and still i think of them the same as when the master's summons came; their change, — the holy morn-light breaking ['pon the dream-worn sleeper, waking, a change from twilight into day. they've laid thee midst the household graves, where father, brother, sister lie; below thee sweep the dark blue waves, above thee bends the summer sky. thy own loved church in sadness read her solemn ritual o'er thy head, and blessed and hallowed with her prayer the turf laid lightly o'er thee there. that church, whose rites and liturgy, sublime and old, were truth to thee, undoubted to thy bosom taken, as symbols of a faith unshaken. eren i, of simpler views, could feel the beauty of thy trust and zeal ; and, owning not thy creed, could see how deep a truth it seemed to thee, and how thy fervent heart had thrown o'er all, a coloring of its own, and kindled up, intense and warm, a life in every rite and form, as, when on chebar's banks of old, the hebrew's gorgeous vision rolled, a spirit filled the vast machine, a life within the wheels” was seen. a follen on reading his essay on the "future state" charles follen, one of the noblest contributions of germany to american citizenship, was at an early age driven from his professorship in the university of jena, and compelled to seek shelter from official prosecution in switzerland, on account of his liberal political opinions. he became professor of civil law in the university of basle. the governments of prussia, austria, and russia united in demanding his delivery as a political offender; and, in consequence, he left switzerland, and came to the united states. at the time of the formation of the american anti-slavery society he was a professor in harvard university, honored for his genius, learning, and estimable character. his love of liberty and hatred of oppression led him to seek an interview with garrison and express his sympathy with him. soon after, he attended a meeting of the new england antislavery society. an able speech was made by rev. a. a. phelps, and a letter of mine addressed to the secretary of the society was read. whereupon he rose and stated that his views were in unison with those of the society, and that after hearing the speech and the letter, he was ready to join it, and abide the probable consequences of such an unpopular act. he lost by so doing his professorship. 66 farewell! a little time, and we who knew thee well, and loved thee here, one after one shall follow thee as pilgrims through the gate of fear, 176 personal poems he was an able member of the executive the burthen of life's cross of pain, committee of the american anti-slavery soci. and the thorned crown of suffering wuth. ety. he perished in the ill-fated steamer lexington, which was burned on its passage from oh, while life's solemn mystery glooms new york, january 13, 1810. the few writings around us like a dungeon's wall. left behind him show him to have been a silent earth's pale and crowded tombs, profound thinker of rare spiritual insight. silent the heaven which bends o'er friend of my soul ! as with moist eye all ! i look up from this page of thine, is it a dream that thou art nigh, while day by day our loved ones glide thy mild face gazing into mine ? in spectral silence, hushed and lone, to the cold shadows which divide that presence seems before me now, the living from the dread unknown ; a placid heaven of sweet moonrise, when, dew-like, on the earth below while even on the closing eye, descends the quiet of the skies. and on the lip which moves in rain, the seals of that stern mystery the calm brow through the parted hair, their undiscovered trust retain ; the gentle lips which knew no guile, softening the blue eye's thoughtful care and only midst the gloom of death, with the bland beauty of their smile. its mournful doubts and haunting fears two pale, sweet angels, hope and fath, ab me! at times that last dread scene smile dimly on us through their teuins; of frost and fire and moaning sea will cast its shade of doubt between 'tis something to a heart like mine the failing eyes of faith and thee. to think of thee as living yet ; to feel that such a light as thine yet, lingering o'er thy charmëd page, could not in utter darkness set. where through the twilight air of earth, alike enthusiast and sage, less dreary seems the untried way prophet and bard, thou gazest forth, since thou hast left thy footprints there, and beams of mournful beauty play lifting the future's solemn veil ; round the sad angel's sable hair. the reaching of a mortal hand to put aside the cold and pale oh ! at this hour when half the sky cloud-curtains of the l'nseen land ; is glorious with its evening light, and fair broad fields of summer lie in thoughts which answer to my own, hung o'er with greenness in my sght: in words which reach my inward ear, like whispers from the void l'nknown, while through these elm-boughs wet wise i feel thy living presence here. rain the sunset's golden walls are seen, the waves which lull thy body's rest, with clover-bloom and yellow grain the dust thy pilgrim footsteps trod, and wood-draped hill and stream be l'nwasted, through each change, attest tween ; the fixed economy of god. i long to know if scenes like this shall these poor elements outlive are hidden from an angel's eyes ; the mind whose kingly will they if earth's familiar loveliness wrought ? haunts not thy heaven's serener skies. their gross unconsciousness survive thy godlike energy of thought ? for sweetly here upon thee grew the lesson which that beauty gave, thon liveat, follen ! not in vain the ideal of the pure and true hath thy fine spirit mechly borne in earth and sky and gliding ware. chalkley hall 177 and it may be that all which lends the soul an upward impulse here, with a diviner beauty blends, а and greets us in a holier sphere. a for dreamy ease and fancy's graceful sport; and girded for thy constant strife with wrong, like nehemiah fighting while he wrought the broken walls of zion, even thy song hath a rude martial tone, a blow in every thought ! through groves where blighting never fell the humbler flowers of earth may twine ; and simple draughts from childhood's well blend with the angel-tasted wine. but be the prying vision veiled, and let the seeking lips be dumb, where even seraph eyes have failed shall mortal blindness seek to come ? chalkley hall we only know that thou hast gone, and that the same returnless tide which bore thee from us still glides on, and we who mourn thee with it glide. on all thou lookest we shall look, and to our gaze erelong shall turn that page of god's mysterious book we so much wish yet dread to learn. with him, before whose awful power thy spirit bent its trembling knee ; who, in the silent greeting flower, and forest leaf, looked out on thee, chalkley hall, near frankford, pa., was the residence of thomas chalkley, an eminent minister of the friends' denomination. he was one of the early settlers of the colony, and his journal, which was published in 1749, presents a quaint but beautiful picture of a life of unostentatious and simple goodness. he was the master of a merchant vessel, and, in his visits to the west indies and great britain, omitted no opportunity to labor for the highest interests of his fellow-men. during a temporary residence in philadelphia, in the summer of 1838, the quiet and beautiful scenery around the ancient village of frankford frequently attracted me from the heat and bustle of the city. i have referred to my youthful acquaintance with his writings in snow-bound. we leave thee, with a trust serene, which time, nor change, nor death can more, while with thy childlike faith we lean on him whose dearest name is love ! how bland and sweet the greeting of this breeze to him who flies from crowded street and red wall's weary gleam, till far behind him like a hideous dream a the close dark city lies ! to j. p. john pierpont, the eloquent preacher and poet of boston. not as a poor requital of the joy with which my childhood heard that lay of thine, which, like an echo of the song divine at bethlehem breathed above the holy boy, bore to my ear the airs of palestine, sot to the poet, but the man i bring in friendship's fearless trust my offering : how much it lacks i feel, and thou wilt see, yet well i know that thou hast deemed with here, while the market murmurs, while men throng the marble floor of mammon's altar, from the crush and din of the world's madness let me gather in my better thoughts once more. oh, once again revive, while on my ear the cry of gain and low hoarse hum of traffic die away, ye blessed memories of my early day like sere grass wet with rain ! once more let god's green earth and sunset air old feelings waken ; through weary years of toil and strife and ill, me life all too earnest, and its time too short 178 personal poems oh, let me feel that my good angel still oh, far away beneath new england's sky, hath not his trust forsaken. even when a boy, following my ploughi by merrimac's greta and well do time and place befit my mood : shore, beneath the arms his simple record i have pondered o'er of this embracing wood, a good man made with deep and quiet joy. his home, like abraham resting in the shade of mamre's lonely palms. and hence this scene, in sunset glory warm, here, rich with autumn gifts of countless its woods around, years, its still stream winding on in light and the virgin soil shade, turned from the share he guided, and in its soft, green meadows and its uplam" rain glade, and summer sunshine throve the fruits and to me is holy ground. grain which blessed his honest toil. and dearer far than haunts where geb'n keeps here, from his voyages on the stormy seas, his vigils still ; weary and worn, than that where avon's son of song is in he came to meet his children and to bless or vaucluse hallowed by its petrini. the giver of all good in thankfulness shade, and praise for his return. or virgil's laurelled hill. and here his neighbors gathered in to greet to the gray walls of fallen panclete, their friend again, to juliet's urn, safe from the wave and the destroying gales, fair arno and sorrento's orange-grove, which reap untimely green bernuda's where tasso sang, let young romance to vales, love and vex the carib main. like brother pilgrims turn. to hear the good man tell of simple truth, but here a deeper and serener charm sown in an hour to all is given ; of weakness in some far-off indian isle, and blessed memories of the faithful des! from the parched bosom of a barren soil, ('er wood and vale and meadow-ora. raised up in life and power: have shed the holy hues of heaven! how at those gatherings in barbadian vales, a tendering love came o'er him, like the gentle rain from gone heaven, and words of fitness to his lips were given, | another hand is beckoning us, and strength as from above : another call is given ; and glows once more with angel-stepa how the sad captive listened to the word, the path which reaches ileaven. l'ntil his chain grew lighter, and his wounded spirit felt our young and gentle friend, whese sim: the healing balm of consolation melt made brighter summer hours, l'pon its life-long pain : amid the frosts of autumn time has left us with the towers. how the armed warrior sat him down to hear of peace and truth, no paling of the cheek of bloom and the proud ruler and his ('reole dame, forewarned us of decay : jewelled and gorgeons in her beanty came no shadow from the silent land and fair and bright-eyed youth. fell round our sister's way. to ronge 179 the light of her young life went down, as sinks behind the hill the glory of a setting star, clear, suddenly, and still. and grant that she who, trembling, here distrusted all her powers, may welcome to her holier home the well-beloved of ours. as pure and sweet, her fair brow seemed etemal as the sky ; and like the brook's low song, her voice, a sound which could not die. to ronge and half we deemed she needed not the changing of her sphere, to give to heaven a shining one, who walked an angel here. this was written after reading the powerful and manly protest of johannes ronge against the “ pious fraud” of the bishop of treves. the bold movement of the young catholic priest of prussian silesia seemed to me full of promise to the cause of political as well as religious liberty in europe. that it failed was due partly to the faults of the reformer, but mainly to the disagreement of the liberals of germany upon a matter of dogma, which prevented them from unity of action. ronge was born in silesia in 1813 and died in october, 1887. his autobiography was translated into english and published in london in 1846. the blessing of her quiet life fell on us like the dew; and good thoughts where her footsteps pressed like fairy blossoms grew. sweet promptings unto kindest deeds were in her very look ; we read her face, as one who reads a true and holy book : the measure of a blessed hymn, to which our hearts could move ; the breathing of an inward psalm, a canticle of love. we miss her in the place of prayer, and by the bearth-fire's light; we pause beside her door to hear once more her sweet “good-night !” strike home, strong-hearted man! down to the root of old oppression sink the saxon steel. thy work is to hew down. in god's name then put nerve into thy task. let other men plant, as they may, that better tree whose fruit the wounded bosom of the church shall heal. be thou the image-breaker. let thy blows fall heavy as the suabian's iron hand, on crown or crosier, which shall interpose between thee and the weal of fatherland. leave creeds to closet idlers. first of all, shake thou all german dream-land with the fall of that accursed tree, whose evil trunk was spared of old by erfurt's stalwart monk. fight not with ghosts and shadows. let there seems a shadow on the day, her smile no longer cheers; a dimness on the stars of night, like eyes that look through tears. alone unto our father's will one thought hath reconciled ; that he whose love exceedeth ours hath taken home his child. us hear the snap of chain-links. let our gladdened ear fold her, o father! in tbine arms, and let her henceforth be a messenger of love between our human hearts and thee. still let her mild rebuking stand between us and the wrong, and her dear memory serve to make our faith in goodness strong. catch the pale prisoner's welcome, as the light follows thy axe-stroke, through his cell of night. be faithful to both worlds ; nor think to feed earth's starving millions with the husks of creed. servant of him whose mission high and holy 180 personal poems was to the wronged, the sorrowing, and the the slopes lay green with summer rains, lowly, the western wind blew fresh and free, thrust not his eden promise from our and glimmered down the orchard lanes sphere, the white surf of the sea. distant and dim beyond the blue sky's span; with us was one, who, calm and true, like him of patmos, see it, now and here, life's highest purpose understood, the new jerusalem comes down to man ! and, like his blessed master, knew be warned by luther's error. nor like the joy of doing good. him, when the roused tenton dashes from his unlearned, unknown to lettered fame, limb yet on the lips of england's por the rusted chain of ages, help to bind and toiling millions dwelt his name, his hands for whom thou claim’st the freewith blessings evermore. dom of the mind ! unknown to power or place, yet wbere the sun looks o'er the carib sea, channing it blended with the freeman's prayer and song of jubilee. the last time i saw dr. channing was in the summer of 181, when, in company with my he told of england's sin and wrong, english friend, joseph sturge, so well known the ills her suffering children kaww, for his philanthropie labors and liberal political the squalor of the city's thrung, opinions, i visited him in his summer residence in rhode island. in recalling the impressions the green field's want and woe. of that visit, it can scarcely be necessary to say: o'er channing's face the tenderness that i have no reference to the peculiar religious opinions of a man whose life, beautifully of sympathetic sorrow stole, and truly manifested above the atmosphere of like a still shadow, passionless, sect, is now the world's common legacy. the sorrow of the soul. not vainly did old poets tell, but when the generous briton told nor vainly did old genius paint how hearts were answering to his nex god's great and crowning miracle, and freedom's rising murmur rolled the hero and the saint ! l'p to the dull-eared throne, for even in a faithless day i saw, methought, a glad surprise can we our sainted ones discern; thrill through that frail and pain-sut2 and feel, while with them on the way, frame, our hearts within us burn. and, kindling in those deep, calm eyes, a still and earnest tlame. and thus the common tongue and pen which, world wide, echo channing's his few, brief words were such as move fame, the human heart, -the faith-sown ser as one of heaven's anointed men, which ripen in the soil of love have sanctified his name. to high heroic deeds. in vain shall rome her portals bar, no bars of sect or clime were felt, and shut from him ber saintly prize, the babel strife of tongues had ceasei whom, in the world's great calendar, and at one common altar knelt all men shall canonize. the quaker and the priest. by narragansett's sunny bay, and not in vain : with strength reneve beneath his green embowering wood, and zeal refreshed, and hope less elus to me it seems but yesterday for that brief meeting, each pursued since at his side i stood. the path allotted him. to my friend on the death of his sister 181 thine is a grief, the depth of which another may never know ; yet, o'er the waters, o my stricken brother ! to thee i go. flow echoes yet each western hill and vale with channing's dying word ! how are the hearts of freemen stili by that great warning stirred ! the stranger treads his native soil, and pleads, with zeal unfelt before, the honest right of british toil, the claim of england's poor. before him time-wrought barriers fall, old fears subside, old hatreds melt, and, stretching o'er the sea's blue wall, the saxon greets the celt. the yeoman on the scottish lines, the sheffield grinder, worn and grim, the delver in the cornwall mines, look up with hope to him. swart smiters of the glowing steel, dark feeders of the forge's flame, pale watchers at the loom and wheel, repeat his honored name. i lean my heart unto thee, sadly folding thy hand in mine ; with even the weakness of my soul upholding the strength of thine. i never knew, like thee, the dear departed; i stood not by when, in calm trust, the pure and tranquilhearted lay down to die. and on thy ears my words of weak condoling must vainly fall : the funeral bell which in thy heart is tolling, sounds over all ! and thus the influence of that hour of converse on rhode island's strand lives in the calm, resistless power which moves our fatherland. i will not mock thee with the poor world's common and heartless phrase, nor wrong the memory of a sainted woman with idle praise. god blesses still the generous thought, and still the fitting word he speeds, and truth, at his requiring taught, he quickens into deeds. where is the victory of the grave ? what dust upon the spirit lies ? god keeps the sacred life he gave, – the prophet never dies ! with silence only as their benediction, god's angels come where, in the shadow of a great affliction, the soul sits dumb! yet, would i say what thy own heart approveth : our father's will, calling to him the dear one whom he loreth, is mercy still. to my friend on the death of his sister sophia sturge, sister of joseph sturge, of birmingham, the president of the british complete suffrage association, died in the 6th month, 15. she was the colleague, counsellor, and ever-ready helpmate of her brother in all his vast designs of beneficence. the birmingham pilot says of her: “never, perhaps, were the active and passive virtues of the human character more harmoniously and beantifully blended than this excellent wonot upon thee or thine the solemn angel hath evil wrought : her funeral anthem is a glad evangel, the good die not ! god calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly what he hath given ; they live on earth, in thought and deed, as truly as in his heaven. 182 personal poems and she is with thee; in thy path of trial fallen, while thy loins were girded still, she walketh yet ; thy feet with zion's dews still wet, still with the baptism of thy self-denial and in thy hand retaining yet her locks are wet. the pilgrim's staff and scallop-shell! unharmed and safe, where, wild and free, lp, then, my brother! lo, the fields of across the neva's cold morass harvest the breezes from the frozen sea lie white in view ! with winter's arrowy keenness pass; she lives and loves thee, and the god thou or where the unwarning tropie gale servest sinote to the waves thy tattered sail, to both is true. or where the noon-hour's fervid brat against tahiti's mountains beat ; thrust in thy siekle ! engla.d's toilworn the same mysterious land which gave peasants deliverance upon land and wave, thy call abide ; tempered for thee the blasts which blew and she thou mourn'st, a pure and holy ladaga's frozen surface o'er, presence, and blessed for thee the baleful dew shall glean beside ! of evening upon eimeo's shore, beneath this sunny heaven of our midst our soft airs and opening towers daniel wheeler hath given thee a grave! daniel wheeler, a minister of the society of his will be done, friends, who had labored in the cause of his who seeth not as man, whose way divine master in great britain, russia, and is not as ours ! 't is well with thee! the islands of the pacific, died in new york in nor anxious doubt nor dark dismay the spring of 1810, while on a religious visit to disquieted thy closing day, this country. but, evermore, thy soul could say, o dearly loved ! “ my father careth still for me!" and worthy of our love! no more called from thy hearth and home, -fruc thy aged form shall rise before her, the hushed and waiting worshipper, the last bud on thy household tree, in meek obedience utterance giving the last dear one to minister to words of truth, so fresh and living, in duty and in love to thee, that, even to the inward sense, from all which nature holdeth dear. they bore unquestioned evidence feeble with years and worn with pus, of an anointed messenger! to seek our distant land again, or, bowing down thy silver hair bound in the spirit, yet unknowing in reverent awfulness of prayer, the things which should befall thee her. the world, its time and sense, shut out, whether for labor or for death, the brightness of faith's holy trance in childlike trust serenely going gathered upon thy countenance, to that last trial of thy faith! as if ench lingering cloud of doubt, the cold, dark shadows resting here oh, far away, in time's unluminous atmosphere, where never shines our northern star were lifted by an angel's hand, on that dark waste which ballway w and through them on thy spiritual eye from darieu's mountains stretching iur. shone down the blessedness on high, so strange, beaven-broad, and love, the the glory of the better land ! there, with forehead to its damp wind lurr, the oak has fallen! he bent his mailed knee in anr : while, meet for no good work, the vine in many an inle whose coral feet may yet its worthless branches twine, the surges of that ocean beat, who knoweth not that with thee fell in the palm shadows, oahu, а great man in our grael? dud ilonolulu's silver bay, to fredrika bremer 183 amidst owyhee's hills of blue, to gather to the fold once more and taro-plains of tooboonai, the desolate and gone astray, are gentle hearts, which long shall be the scattered of a cloudy day, sad as our own at thought of thee, and zion's broken walls restore ; worn sowers of truth's holy seed, and, through the travail and the toil whose souls in weariness and need of true obedience, minister were strengthened and refreshed by beauty for ashes, and the oil thine. of joy for mourning, unto her! for blessëd by our father's hand so shall her holy bounds increase was thy deep love and tender care, with walls of praise and gates of peace : thy ministry and fervent prayer, so shall the vine, which martyr tears grateful as eshcol's clustered vine and blood sustained in other years, to israel in a weary land ! with fresher life be clothed upon ; and to the world in beauty show and they who drew like the rose-plant of jericho, by thousands round thee, in the hour and glorious as lebanon ! of prayerful waiting, hushed and deep, that he who bade the islands keep silence before him, might renew to fredrika bremer their strength with his unslumbering power, it is proper to say that these lines are the they too shall mourn that thou art gone, joint impromptus of my sister and myself. they that nevermore thy aged lip are inserted here as an expression of our admirashall soothe the weak, the erring warn, tion of the gifted stranger whom we have since of those who first, rejoicing, heard learned to love as a friend. through thee the gospel's glorious word, — seals of thy true apostleship. seeress of the misty norland, and, if the brightest diadem, daughter of the vikings bold, whose gems of glory purely burn welcome to the sunny vineland, around the ransomed ones in bliss, which thy fathers sought of old ! be evermore reserved for them who here, through toil and sorrow, soft as flow of silja's waters, when the moon of summer shines, many to righteousness, strong as winter from his mountains may we not think of thee as wearing roaring through the sleeted pines. that star-like crown of light, and bearing, heart and ear, we long have listened amidst heaven's white and blissful band, to thy saga, rune, and song ; th' unfading palm-branch in thy hand ; as a household joy and presence and joining with a seraph's tongue we have known and loved thee long. in that new song the elders sung, dscribing to its blessed giver by the mansion's marble mantel, thanksgiving, love, and praise forever ! round the log-walled cabin's hearth, thy sweet thoughts and northern fancies farewell ! meet and mingle with our mirth. and though the ways of zion mourn when her strong ones are called away, and o'er weary spirits keeping who like thyself have calmly borne sorrow's night-watch, long and chill, the heat and burden of the day, shine they like thy sun of summer yet he who slumbereth not nor sleepeth over midnight vale and hill. his ancient watch around us keepeth ; still , sent from his creating hand, we alone to thee are strangers, new witnesses for truth shall stand, thou our friend and teacher art; new instruments to sound abroad come, and know us as we know thee ; the gospel of a risen lord ; let us meet thee heart to heart ! turn 184 personal poems to our homes and household altars we, in turn, thy steps would lead, as thy loving hand has led us o'er the threshold of the swede. to avis keene on receiving a basket of sea-mosses thanks for thy gift of ocean flowers, born where the golden drift of the slant sunshine falls down the green, tremulous walls of water, to the cool, still coral bowers, where, under rainbows of perpetual showers, god's gardens of the deep his patient angels keep ; gladdening the dim, strange solitude with fairest forms and hues, and thus forever teaching us the lesson which the many-colored skies, the flowers, and leaves, and painted butter. flies, the deer's branched antlers, the gay bird that things the tropic sunshine from its golden wings, the brightness of the human countenance, its play of smiles, the magic of a glance, 'forevermore repeat, in varied tones and sweet, that beauty, in and of itself, is good. o kind and generous friend, o'er whom the sunset hues of time are cast, painting, upon the overpast and scattered clouds of noonday sorrow the promise of a fairer morrow, an earnest of the better life to come ; the binding of the spirit broken, the warning to the erring spoken, the comfort of the sad, the eye to see, the band to cull of common things the beautiful, the absent heart made glad by simple gift or graceful token of love it needs as daily food, all own one source, and all are good ! hence, triching sunny cove and reach, where spent waves glimmer up the beach, and toss their gifts of weed and shell from foamy curve and combing swell, no unbefitting task was thine to weave these flowers so soft 224 fair in unison with his design who loveth beauty everywhere ; and makes in every zone and clime, in ocean and in upper air, “ all things beautiful in their time." for not alone in tones of awe and power he speaks to man; the cloudy horror of the thunder-bewer his rainbows span; and where the caravan winds o'er the desert, leaving, as in air the crane-flock leaves, no trace of pares there, he gives the weary eye the palm-leaf shadow for the hot b = hours, and on its branches dry calls out the acacia's tlowers; and where the dark shaft pierces dro beneath the mountain roots, seen by the miner's lainp alone, the star-like crystal shoots ; so, where, the winds and waves bois the coral-branched gardens grup, his climbing weeds and mones sb like foliage, on each stony bough of varied hnes more strangely pa! than forest leaves in autumn's cza thus evermore, on sky, and wave, and shore, an all-pervading beauty seems to god's love and power are one , thev, who, like the thunder of a sultry dissmite to restore, and they, who, like the gentle wind, athe petals of the dew-wet flowers, alu *** their perfume on the air, alike may serve him, each, with their us? gift, making their lives a prayer ! the hill-top the burly driver at my side, we slowly climbed the luil, whose summit, in the hot nuvabe. seemed rising, rising still. at last, our short noon-shadows had the top-stone, bare and brown elliott 185 from whence, like gizeh's pyramid, the rough mass slanted down. upraised and glorified, i never saw a prettier sight in all my mountain ride. i felt the cool breath of the north ; between me and the sun, o'er deep, still lake, and ridgy earth, i saw the cloud-shades run. before me, stretched for glistening miles, lay mountain-girdled squam ; like green-winged birds, the leafy isles l'pon its bosom swam. and, glimmering through the sun-haze warm, far as the eye could roam, dark billows of an earthquake storm beflecked with clouds like foam, their vales in misty shadow deep, their rugged peaks in shine, i saw the mountain ranges sweep the horizon's northern line. “ as good as fair ; it seemed her joy to comfort and to give ; my poor, sick wife, and cripple boy, will bless her while they live ! the tremor in the driver's tone his manhood did not shame : i dare say, sir, you may have known he named a well-known name. 66 then sank the pyramidal mounds, the blue lake fled away ; for mountain-scope a parlor's bounds, a lighted hearth for day! from lonely years and weary miles the shadows fell apart ; kind voices cheered, sweet human smiles shone warm into my heart. we journeyed on ; but earth and sky had power to charm no more ; still dreamed my inward-turning eye the dream of memory o'er. ah ! human kindness, human love, to few who seek denied ; too late we learn to prize above the whole round world beside ! there towered chocorua's peak ; and west, moosehillock's woods were seen, with many a nameless slide-scarred crest and pine-dark gorge between. beyond them, like a sun-rimmed cloud, the great notch mountains shone, watched over by the solemn-browed and awful face of stone ! elliott “a good look-off !” the driver spake : " about this time last year, i drove a party to the lake, and stopped, at evening, here. 't was duskish down below ; but all these hills stood in the sun, till , dipped behind yon purple wall, he left them, one by one. "a lady, who, from thornton hill, had held her place outside, and, as a pleasant woman will, had cheered the long, dull ride, besought me, with so sweet a smile, that — though i hate delays — i could not choose but rest awhile, (these women have such ways !) “on yonder mossy ledge she sat, her sketch upon her knees, a stray brown lock beneath her hat unrolling in the breeze ; her sweet face, in the sunset light ebenezer elliott was to the artisans of england what burns was to the peasantry of scotland. his corn-law rhymes contributed not a little to that overwhelming tidle of popular opinion and feeling which resulted in the repeal of the tax on bread. well has the eloquent author of the reforms and reformers of great britain said of him, “not corn-law repealers alone, but all britons who moisten their scanty bread with the sweat of the brow, are largely indebted to his inspiring lay, for the mighty bound which the laboring mind of england has taken in our day.” hands off ! thou tithe-fat plunderer! play no trick of priesteraft here ! back, puny lordling! darest thou lay a hand on elliott's bier ? alive, your rank and pomp, as dust, beneath his feet he trod : he knew the locust swarm that cursed the harvest-fields of god. 186 personal poems senator was never stronger than when i ad down his speech, and, in one of the saddest moments of my life, penned my protest. i saw, as i wrote, with painful clearness its sur results, – the slave power arrogant and det. ant, strengthened and encouraged to carry out its scheme for the extension of its baleiad sya tem, or the dissolution of the union, the guar anties of personal liberty in the free state's broken down, and the whole country with hunting-ground of slave-catchers. in the bus ror of such a vision, so soon fearfnlly fulied, if one spoke at all, he could only speak in the of stern and sorrowful rebuke. but death softens all resentments, and the consciousness of a common inheritance of trade ty and weakness modifies the severity and judgment. years after, in the last (kita gave utterance to an almost universal remot that the great statesman did not live to see the flag which he loved trampled under the feet of slavery, and, in view of this deseration, made his last days glorious in defence of “litway and union, one and inseparable." on these pale lips, the smothered thought which england's millions feel, a fierce and fearful splendor caught, as from his forge the steel. strong-armed as thor, a shower of fire his smitten anvil tlung; god's curse, earth's wrong, dumb hunger's ire, he gave them all a tongue ! then let the poor man's horny hands bear up the mighty dead, and labor's swart and stalwart bands behind as mourners tread. leave cant and craft their baptized bounds, leave rank its minster floor; give england's green and daisied grounds the poet of the poor ! lay down upon his sheaf's green verge that brave old heart of oak, with fitting dirge from sounding forge, and pall of furnace smoke ! where wbirls the stone its dizzy rounds, and axe and sledge are swung, and, timing to their stormy sounds, his stormy lays are sung. there let the peasant's step be heard, the grinder chant his rhyme ; nor patron's praise nor dainty word befits the man or time. no soft lament nor dreamer's sigh for him whose words were bread; the runic rhyme and spell whereby the foodless poor were fed ! pile up the tombs of rank and pride, o england, as thou wilt! with pomp to nameless worth denied, emblazon titled guilt! no part or lot in these we claim ; but, o'er the sounding wave, a common right to elliott's name, a freehold in his grave ! so fallen! so lost ! the light withdrawn which once he wore ! the glory from his gray hairs gone forevermore! revile him not, the tempter hath a snare for all ; and pitying tears, not scorn and waik, betit his fall! oh, dumb be passion's stormy rage, when he who might have lighted up and led his age, falls back in night. scorn! would the angels laugh, to mark a bright soul driven, fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, from hope and heaven! ichabod this poem was the outcome of the surprise and grief and forecast of evil consequences which i felt on reading the seventh of march speech of daniel webster in support of the * compromise," and the fugitive slave law. no partis in or personal enmity dictated it on the contrary my admiration of the splendid parwalty and intellectual power of the great let not the land once proud of him insult him now, nor brand with deeper shame his dım, dishonored brow. but let its humbled sons, instead, from sea to lake, a long lament, as for the dead, in sadness make. of all we loved and honored, naught save power remailis; the lost occasion 187 a fallen angel's pride of thought, the late-sprung mine that underlaid still strong in chains. thy sad concessions vainly made. thou shouldst have seen from sumter's all else is gone ; from those great eyes wall the soul has fled : the star-flag of the union fall, when faith is lost, when honor dies, and armed rebellion pressing on the man is dead ! the broken lines of washington ! no stronger voice than thine had then then, pay the reverence of old days called out the utmost might of men, to his dead fame ; to make the union's charter free walk backward, with averted gaze, and strengthen law by liberty. and hide the shame! how had that stern arbitrament to thy gray age youth's vigor lent, shaming ambition's paltry prize before thy disillusioned eyes ; the lost occasion breaking the spell about thee wound like the green withes that samson some die too late and some too soon, bound; at early morning, heat of noon, redeeming in one effort grand, or the chill evening twilight. thou, thyself and thy imperilled land ! whom the rich heavens did so endow ah, cruel fate, that closed to thee, with eyes of power and jove's own o sleeper by the northern sea, brow, the gates of opportunity! with all the massive strength that fills god fills the gaps of human need, thy home-horizon's granite hills, each crisis brings its word and deed. with rarest gifts of heart and head wise men and strong we did not lack; from manliest stock inherited, but still, with memory turning back, new england's stateliest type of man, in the dark hours we thought of thee, in port and speech olympian ; and thy lone grave beside the sea. whom no one met, at first, but took a second awed and wondering look above that grave the east winds blow, (as turned, perchance, the eyes of greece and from the marsh-lands drifting slow on phidias' unveiled masterpiece); the sea-fog comes, with evermore whose words in simplest homespun clad, the wave-wash of a lonely shore, the saxon strength of cædmon's had, and sea-bird's melancholy cry, with power reserved at need to reach as nature fain would typify the roman forum's loftiest speech, the sadness of a closing scene, sweet with persuasion, eloquent the loss of that which should have been. in passion, cool in argument, but, where thy native mountains bare or, ponderous, falling on thy foes their foreheads to diviner air, as fell the norse god's hammer blows, fit emblem of enduring fame, crushing as if with talus' flail one lofty summit keeps thy name. through error's logic-woven mail, for thee the cosmic forces did and failing only when they tried the rearing of that pyramid, the adamant of the righteous side, – the prescient ages shaping with thou, foiled in aim and hope, bereaved fire, flood, and frost thy monolith. of old friends, by the new deceived, sunrise and sunset lay thereon too soon for us, too soon for thee, with hands of light their benison, beside thy lonely northern sea, the stars of midnight pause to set where long and low the marsh-lands spread, their jewels in its coronet. laid wearily down thy august head. and evermore that mountain mass seems climbing from the shadowy pass thou shouldst have lived to feel below to light, as if to manifest thy feet disunion's fierce upthrow ; thy nobler self, thy life at best ! 188 personal poems 1 a wordsworth written on a blank leaf of his memoirs dear friends, who read the world aright, and in its common forms discern a beauty and a harmony the many never learn! kindred in soul of him who found in simple flower and leaf and stone the impulse of the sweetest lays our saxon tongue has known, accept this record of a life as sweet and pure, as calm and good, as a long day of blandest june in green field and in wood. how welcome to our ears, long pained by strife of sect and party noise, the brook-like murmur of his song of nature's simple joys ! the violet by its mossy stone, the primrose by the river's brim, and chance-sown daffodil, have found immortal life through him. the sunrise on his breezy lake, the rosy tints his sunset brought, world-seen, are gladdening all the vales and mountain-peaks of thought. art builds on sand ; the works of pride and human passion change and fall; but that which shares the life of god with him surviveth all. thanks for your graceful oars, which broke the morning dreams of artichoke, along his wooded shore ! varied as varying nature's ways, sprites of the river, woodland ſays, or mountain nymphs, ye seem; free-limbed dianas on the green, loch katrine's ellen, or c'ndine, upon your favorite stream. the forms of which the poets told, the fair benignities of old, were doubtless such as you ; what more than artichoke the rill of helicon? than pipe-stave hill arcadia's mountain-view ? no sweeter bowers the bee delayed, in wild hymettus' scented shade, than those you dwell among : snow-howered azaleas, intertwined with roses, over banks inclined with trembling harebells hung! a charmed life unknown to death, immortal freshness sature hath ; her fabled fount and glen are now and here : dodona's shrine still murmurs in the wind-swept pike', — all is that e'er bath been. the beauty which old greece or romne sung: painted, wrought, lies close at bowe; we need but eye and ear in all our daily walks to trace the outlines of incarnate grace, the hymns of gods to hear ! to) in peace lines written after a summer day's a track of moonlight on a quiet lake. ex( l'rsion whose small waves on a silver-sand shore fair nature's priestesses ! to whom, whisper of peace, and with the low winds in hieroglyph of bud and bloom, make her mysteries are told ; such harmonies as keep the woods awake. who, wise in lore of wood and mead, and listening all night long for their sweet the seasons' pictured scrolls can read, sake; in lessons manifold ! a green-waved slope of meadow, horend o'er thanks for the courtesy, and gay by angel-troops of lilies, swaving light good-humor, which on washing day on viewless stems, with folded wings of our ill-timed visit bore ; 1 white; kossuth 189 seen and green, nor a slumberous stretch of mountain-land, far fair nature's book together read, the old wood-paths that knew our tread, where the low westering day, with gold the maple shadows overhead, purple and amber, softly blended, fills the hills we climbed, the river seen the wooded vales, and melts among the by gleams along its deep ravine,hills: all keep thy memory fresh and green. a vine-fringed river, winding to its rest on the calm bosom of a stormless sea, where'er i look, where'er i stray, bearing alike upon its placid breast, thy thought goes with me on my way, with earthly flowers and heavenly stars imand hence the prayer i breathe to-day ; pressed, the hues of time and of eternity : o’er lapse of time and change of scene, such are the pictures which the thought of the weary waste which lies between thee, thyself and me, my heart i lean. o friend, awakeneth, charming the keen pain thou lack'st not friendship's spell-word, of thy departure, and our sense of loss requiting with the fullness of thy gain. the half-unconscious power to draw lo! on the quiet grave thy life-borne all hearts to thine by love's sweet law. cross, dropped only at its side, methinks doth with these good gifts of god is cast shine, thy lot, and many a charm thou hast of thy beatitude the radiant sign! to hold the blessed angels fast. no sob of grief, no wild lament be there, to break the sabbath of the holy air ; if, then, a fervent wish for thee but, in their stead, the silent-breathing the gracious heavens will heed from me, prayer what should, dear heart, its burden be? of hearts still waiting for a rest like thine. o spirit redeemed! forgive us, if hencethe sighing of a shaken reed, — forth, what i more than meekly plead with sweet and pure similitudes of earth, the greatness of our common need ? we keep thy pleasant memory freshly green, god's love, – unchanging, pure, and true, – of love's inheritance a priceless part, the paraclete white-shining through which fancy's self, in reverent awe, is his peace, the fall of hermon's dew! to paint, forgetful of the tricks of art, with such a prayer, on this sweet day, with pencil dipped alone in colors of the as thou mayst hear and i may say, heart. i greet thee, dearest, far away ! can seen benedicite kossuth god's love and peace be with thee, where soe'er this soft autumnal air lifts the dark tresses of thy hair ! whether through city casements comes its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms, or, out among the woodland blooms, it freshens o'er thy thoughtful face, imparting, in its glad embrace, beauty to beauty, grace to grace ! it can scarcely be necessary to say that there are elements in the character and passages in the history of the great hungarian statesman and orator, which necessarily command the ad. miration of those, even, who believe that no political revolution was ever worth the price of human blood. type of two mighty continents !combining the strength of europe with the warmth and glow 190 personal poems of asian song and prophecy, the shining of orient splendors over northern snow ! who shall receive him ? who, unblushing, speak welcome to him, who, while he strove to break the austrian yoke from magyar necks, smote off at the same blow the fetters of the serf, rearing the altar of his fatherland on the firm base of freedom, and thereby lifting to leaven a patriot's stainless hand, mocked not the god of justice with a lie! who shall be freedom's mouthpiece? who shall give her welcoming cheer to the great fugitive ? not he who, all her sacred trusts betraying, is scourging back to slavery's hell of pain the swarthy kossuths of our land again ! vot he whose utterance now from lips designed the bugle-march of liberty to wind, and call her hosts beneath the breaking light, the keen reveille of her morn of fight, is but the hoarse note of the bloodhound's baying, the wolf's long howl behind the bondman's flight! oh for the tongue of him who lies at rest in quincy's shade of patrimonial trees, last of the puritan tribunes and the best, to lend a voice to freedom's sympathies, and hail the coming of the noblest guest the old world's wrong has given the new world of the west ! never fail thy cheerfulness ; care, that kills the cat, may plough wrinkles in the miser's brow, deepen envy's spiteful frown, draw the mouths of bigots down, plague ambition's dream, and sit heavy on the hypocrite, haunt the rich man's door, and ride in the gilded coach of pride ;let the fiend pass ! — what can he find to do with such as thee? seldom comes that evil guest where the conscience lies at reat, and brown health and quiet wit smiling on the threshold sit. i, the urchin unto whom, in that smoked and dingy room, where the district gave thee rule o'er its ragged winter school, thou didst teach the mysteries of those weary a b c's, where, to fill the every pause of thy wise and learned saws, through the cracked and crazy wall came the cradle-rock and squall, and the goodman's voice, at strife with his shrill and tipsy wife, luring us by stories old, with a comie unction told, more than by the eloquence of terse birchen arguments (doubtful gain, i fear), to look with complacence on a book ! where the genial pedagogue half forgot his rogues to flog, citing tale or apologue, wise and merry in its drift as was phedrus' twofold gift, had the little rebels known it, risum et prudentiam monel! 1,the man of middle years, in whose sable locks appears many a warning tleck of gray, looking back to that far day, and thy primal lessons, feel grateful smiles my lips unseal, as, remembering thee, i blend olden teacher, present friend, wise with antiquarian searh, in the scrolls of state and church : named on history's title-page, parish-clerk and justice sage ; for the ferule's wholesome awe wielding now the sword of law. a to my old schoolmaster an epistle not after the manner of horace these lines were addressed to my worthy friend joshua coffin, teacher, historian, and an. tiquariin. he was one of the twelve persons who with william lloyd garrison formed the first anti-slavery society in new england. oud friend, kind friend ! lightly down drop time's snow-flakes on thy crown ! sever be thy shadow less, to my old schoolmaster 191 threshing time's neglected sheaves, gathering up the scattered leaves which the wrinkled sibyl cast careless from her as she passed, twofold citizen art thou, freeman of the past and now. he who bore thy name of old midway in the heavens did hold over gibeon moon and sun ; thou hast bidden them backward run ; of to-day the present ray flinging over yesterday ! long-drawn bill of wine and beer for his ordination cheer, or the flip that wellnigh made glad his funeral cavalcade ; weary prose, and poet's lines, flavored by their age, like wines, eulogistic of some quaint, doubtful, puritanic saint ; lays that quickened husking jigs, jests that shook grave periwigs, when the parson had his jokes and his glass, like other folks ; sermons that, for mortal hours, taxed our fathers' vital powers, as the long nineteenthlies poured downward from the sounding-board, and, for fire of pentecost, touched their beards december's frost. let the busy ones deride what i deem of right thy pride : let the fools their treadmills grind, look not forward nor behind, shuffle in and wriggle out, veer with every breeze about, turning like a windmill sail, or a dog that seeks his tail let them laugh to see thee fast tabernacled in the past, working out with eye and lip riddles of old penmanship, patient as belzoni there sorting out, with loving care, mummies of dead questions stripped from their sevenfold manuscript ! time is hastening on, and we what our fathers are shall be, shadow-shapes of memory! joined to that vast multitude where the great are but the good, and the mind of strength shall prove weaker than the heart of love ; pride of graybeard wisdom less than the infant's guilelessness, and his song of sorrow more than the crown the psalmist wore ! who shall then, with pious zeal, at our moss-grown thresholds kneel, from a stained and stony page reading to a careless age, with a patient eye like thine, prosing tale and limping line, names and words the hoary rime of the past has made sublime ? who shall work for us as well the antiquarian's miracle ? who to seeming life recall teacher grave and pupil small ? who shall give to thee and me freeholds in futurity ? dabbling, in their noisy way, in the puddles of to-day, little know they of that vast solemn ocean of the past, on whose margin, wreck-bespread, thou art walking with the dead, questioning the stranded years, waking smiles by turns, and tears, as thou callest up again shapes the dust has long o'erlain, fair-haired woman, bearded man, cavalier and puritan; in an age whose eager view seeks but present things, and new, mad for party, sect and gold, teaching reverence for the old. on that shore, with fowler's tact, coolly bagging fact on fact, naught amiss to thee can float, tale, or song, or anecdote ; village gossip, centuries old, scandals by our grandams told, what the pilgrim's table spread, where he lived, and whom he wed, a well, whatever lot be mine, long and happy days be thine, ere thy full and honored age dates of time its latest page! squire for master, state for school, wisely lenient, live and rule ; over grown-up knave and rogue play the watchful pedagogue ; or, while pleasure smiles on duty, at the call of youth and beauty, 192 personal poems in paths where faith alone could see the master's steps supporting thee. thine was the seed-time ; god alone beholds the end of what is sown ; beyond our vision, weak and dim, the harvest-time is hid with him. yet, unforgotten where it lies, that seed of generous sacrifice, though seeming on the desert cast, shall rise with bloom and fruit at last. speak for them the spell of law which shall bar and bolt withdraw, and the flaming sword remove from the paradise of love. still, with undimmed eyesight, pore ancient tome and record o'er; still thy week-day lyrics croon, pitch in church the sunday tune, showing something, in thy part, of the old puritanic art, singer after sternhold's heart ! in thy pew, for many a year, homilies from oldbug hear, who to wit like that of south, and the syrian's golden mouth, doth the homely pathos add which the pilgrim preachers had ; breaking, like a child at play, gilded idols of the day, cant of knave and pomp of fool tossing with his ridicule, yet, in earnest or in jest, ever keeping truth abreast. and, when thou art called, at last, to thy townsmen of the past, not as stranger shalt thou come; thou shalt find thyself at home with the little and the big, woollen cap and periwig, madam in her high-laced ruff, goody in her home-made stuff, wise and simple, rich and poor, thou hast known them all before ! the hero the hero of the incident related in this pwm was dr. samuel gridley howe, the well-knuwa philanthropist, who when a young man vin teered his aid in the greek struggle fut indo pendence. “on for a knight like bayard, without reproach or fear ; my light glove on his casque of steel, my love-knot on his spear! “oh for the white plume floating sad zutphen's field above, the lion heart in battle, the woman's heart in love ! “oh that man once more were manly, woman's pride, and not her scorn : that once more the pale young mother dared to boast -a man is born'! “ but now life's slumberous current no sun-bowed cascade wakes ; no tall, heroic manhood the level dulness breaks. the cross richard dillingham, a young member of the society of friends, died in the nashville penitentiary, where he was contined for the act of aiding the escape of fugitive slaves. “ the cross, if rightly borne, shall be no burden, but support to thee ;." so, moved of old time for our sake, the holy monk of kempen spake. thou brave and true one ! upon whom was laid the cross of martyrdom, how didst thou, in thy generous youth, bear witness to this blessed truth! thy cross of suffering and of shame a staff within thy hands became, “oh for a knight like bayard, without reproach or fear! my light glove on his casque of steel, my love-knot on his spear!” then i said, my own heart throbtvang to the time her proud pulse beat, “life hath its regal natures yet, true, tender, brave, and swert ! “smile not, fair unbeliever! one man, at least, i know, who might wear the crest of bayan or sidney's plume of snow. rantoul 193 "once, when over purple mountains died away the grecian sun, and the far cyllenian ranges paled and darkened, one by one, “but dream not helm and harness the sign of valor true ; peace hath higher tests of manhood than battle ever knew. " fell the turk, a bolt of thunder, cleaving all the quiet sky, and against his sharp steel lightnings stood the suliote but to die. woe for the weak and halting ! the crescent blazed behind a curving line of sabres, like fire before the wind ! “wouldst know him now? behold him, the cadmus of the blind, giving the dumb lip language, the idiot-clay a mind. “walking his round of duty serenely day by day, with the strong man's hand of labor and childhood's heart of play. "last to fly, and first to rally, rode he of whom i speak, when, groaning in his bridle-path, sank down a wounded greek. “ true as the knights of story, sir lancelot and his peers, brave in his calm endurance as they in tilt of spears. "with the rich albanian costume “ as waves in stillest waters, wet with many a ghastly stain, as stars in noonday skies, gazing on earth and sky as one all that wakes to noble action who might not gaze again ! in his noon of calmness lies. “he looked forward to the mountains, “wherever outraged nature back on foes that never spare, asks word or action brave, then flung him from his saddle, wherever struggles labor, and placed the stranger there. wherever groans a slave, – " allah! hu!' through flashing sabres, “ wherever rise the peoples, through a stormy hail of lead, wherever sinks a throne, the good thessalian charger the throbbing heart of freedom finds up the slopes of olives sped. an answer in his own. " hot spurred the turbaned riders ; “knight of a better era, he almost felt their breath, without reproach or fear ! where a mountain stream rolled darkly said i not well that bayards down and sidneys still are here?” between the hills and death. “one brave and manful struggle, rantoul he gained the solid land, and the cover of the mountains, no more fitting inscription could be placed and the carbines of his band !' on the tombstone of robert rantoul than this: “he died at his post in congress, and his last " it was very great and noble,” words were a protest in the name of democracy said the moist-eyed listener then, against the fugitive-slave law.” " but one brave deed makes no hero; one day, along the electric wire tell me what he since hath been!" his manly word for freedom sped ; we came next morn : that tongue of fire still a brave and generous manhood, said only, “he who spake is dead !” still an honor without stain, in the prison of the kaiser, dead! while his voice was living yet, by the barricades of seine. in echoes round the pillared dome ! 194 personal poems dead ! while his blotted page lay wet with themes of state and loves of home! dead ! in that crowning grace of time, that triumph of life's zenith hour ! dead! while we watched his manhood's prime break from the slow bud into flower! 1 dead ! he so great, and strong, and wise, while the mean thousands yet drew breath ; how deepened, through that dread surprise, the mystery and the awe of death! from the high place whereon our votes had borne him, clear, calm, earnest, fell his first words, like the prelude notes of some great anthem yet to swell. we seemed to see our flag unfurled, our champion waiting in his place for the last battle of the world, the armageddon of the race. through him we hoped to speak the word which wins the freedom of a land ; and lift, for human right, the sword which dropped from hampden's dying hand. still rose majestic on his view the awful shape the schoolman saw. her home the heart of god; her voice the choral harmonies whereby the stars, through all their spheres, reperice, the rhythmic rule of earth and sky! we saw his great powers misapplied to poor ambitions ; yet, through all, we saw him take the weaker side. and right the wronged, and fre the thrall. now, looking o'er the frozen north, for one like him in word and act, to call her old, free spirit forth, and give her faith the life of fact, to break her party bonds of shame, and labor with the zeal of him to make the democratic name of liberty the synonyme, — we sweep the land from hill to strand. we seek the strong, the wise, the brave, and, sad of heart, return to stand in silence by a new-made grave! there, where his breezy bills of home look out upon his sail-white seas, the sounds of winds and waters come, and shape themselves to wonis lie these: for he had sat at sidney's feet, and walked with pymn and vane apart ; and, through the centuries, felt the beat of freedom's march in cromwell's heart. 66 ile knew the paths the worthies held, where england's best and wisest trod ; and, lingering, drank the springs that welled beneath the touch of milton's rod. no wild enthusiast of the right, self-poised and clear, he showed alway the coolness of his northern night, the ripe repose of autumu's day. his steps were slow, yet forward still he pressed where others paused or failed ; the calın star clomb with constant will, the restless meteor flasbed and paled! skilled in its subtlest wile, he knew and owned the higher ends of law; why, murmuring, mourn that he, wb power was lent to party over-long, heard the still whisper at the bour he set his foot on party wrong? “ the human life that closed so well no lapse of folly now can stain : the lips whence freedom's protest fe 11 no ineaner thought can now profane. · mightier than living voice his grace that lofty protest utters o'er ; through roaring wind and smiting we it speaks his hate of wrong once enese. “ men of the north! your weak regret is wasted here ; arise and pas to freedom and to him your debt, by following where he led the ray william forster 195 from what great perils, on his way, william forster he found, in prayer, release ; through what abysmal shadows lay his pathway unto peace, william forster, of norwich, england, died in east tennessee, in the 1st month, 1854, while engaged in presenting to the governors of the god knoweth : we could only see states of this union the address of his religious the tranquil strength he gained ; society on the evils of slavery. he was the the bondage lost in liberty, relative and coadjutor of the buxtons, gurneys, the fear in love unfeigned. and frys; and his whole life, extending almost to threescore and ten years, was a pure and and i, — my youthful fancies grown beautiful example of christian benevolence. the habit of the man, he had travelled over europe, and visited most whose field of life by angels sown of its sovereigns, to plead against the slavetrade and slavery; and had twice before made the wilding vines o’erran, visits to this country, under impressions of religious duty. he was the father of the right low bowed in silent gratitude, hon. william edward forster. he visited my my manhood's heart enjoys father's house in haverhill during his first tour that reverence for the pure and good in the united states. which blessed the dreaming boy's. the years are many since his hand was laid upon my head, too weak and young to understand the serious words he said. still shines the light of holy lives like star-beams over doubt ; each sainted memory, christlike, drives some dark possession out. o friend ! o brother! not in vain thy life so calm and true, the silver dropping of the rain, the fall of summer dew ! yet often now the good man's look before me seems to swim, as if some inward feeling took the outward guise of him. as if, in passion's heated war, or near temptation's charm, through him the low-voiced monitor forewarned me of the harm. stranger and pilgrim ! from that day of meeting, first and last, wherever duty's pathway lay, his reverent steps have passed. the poor to feed, the lost to seek, to proffer life to death, hope to the erring, — to the weak the strength of his own faith. το plead the captive's right; remove the sting of hate from law ; and soften in the fire of love the hardened steel of war. how many burdened hearts have prayed their lives like thine might be ! but more shall pray henceforth for aid to lay them down like thee. with weary hand, yet steadfast will, in old age as in youth, thy master found thee sowing still the good seed of his truth. as on thy task-field closed the day in golden-skied decline, his angel met thee on the way, and lent his arm to thine. thy last thy latest care for man, of earthly thought a prayer, oh, who thy mantle, backward cast, is worthy now to wear ? he walked the dark world, in the mild, still guidance of the light ; in tearful tendern a child, a strong man in the right. methinks the mound which marks thy bed might bless our land and save, ol to life the dead who touched the prophet's grave ! as rose, 196 personal poems ear one (for nature speaks in symbols and in signs, to charles sumner and through her pictures human fate divines), if i have seemed more prompt to censure that rock, wherefrom we saw the billows wrong sink than praise the right; if seldom to thine in murmuring rout, uprising clear and tall my voice hath mingled with the exultant in the white light of heaven, the type of cheer borne upon all our northern winds along ; who, momently by error's host assailed, if i have failed to join the fickle throng stands strong as truth, in greaves of in wide-eyed wonder, that thou standest granite mailed ; strong and, tranquil-fronted, listening over vil in victory, surprised in thee to find the tumult, bears the angels say, will brougham's scathing power with canning's done ! grace combined ; that he, for whom the ninefold muses burns sang, from their twined arms a giant athlete on receiving a sprig of heather in sprang, blossom barbing the arrows of his native tongue with the spent shafts latona's archer no more these simple flowers belong flung, to scottish maid and lover; to smite the python of our land and sown in the common soil of song, time, they bloom the wide world over. fell as the monster born of crissa's slime, like the blind bard who in castalian in smiles and tears, in sun and showers, springs the minstrel and the heather, tempered the steel that clove the crest of the deathless singer and the flowers kings, he sang of live together. and on the shrine of england's freedom laid wild heather-bells and robert bures! the gifts of cume and of delphi's shade, the moorland flower and peasant ! small need hast thou of words of praise how, at their mention, memory turns from me. her pages old and pleasant i thou knowest my heart, dear friend, and well canst guess the gray sky wears again its gold that, even though silent, i have not the aud purple of adorning, less and manhood's noonday shadows hold rejoiced to see thy actual life agree the dews of boyhood's morning. with the large future which i shaped for thee, the dews that washed the dust and suli when, years ago, beside the summer sea, from off the wings of pleasure, white in the moon, we saw the long waves the sky, that flecked the ground of til fall with golden threads of leisure. baffled and broken from the rocky wall, that, to the menace of the brawling tlood, i call to mind the summer day, opposed alone its massive quietude, the early harvest mowing, calm as a fate ; with not a leaf vor vine the sky with sun and clouds at p!»v, nor birch-spray trembling in the still and flowers with breezes blowilig moonshine, crowning it like god's peace. i sometimes i hear the blackbird in the corn, think the locust in the having ; that night scene by the sea prophet. | and, like the fabled hunter's born, ical old tunes my heart is playing burns 197 o’er rank and pomp, as he had seen, i saw the man uprising ; no longer common or unclean, the child of god's baptizing ! with clearer eyes i saw the worth of life among the lowly ; the bible at his cotter's hearth had made my own more holy. and if at times an evil strain, to lawless love appealing, broke in upon the sweet refrain of pure and healthful feeling, it died upon the eye and ear, no inward answer gaining ; no heart had i to see or hear the discord and the staining. let those who never erred forget his worth, in vain bewailings ; sweet soul of song! i own my debt uncancelled by his failings ! how oft that day, with fond delay, i sought the maple's shadow, and sang with burns the hours away, forgetful of the meadow! bees hummed, birds twittered, overhead i heard the squirrels leaping, the good dog listened while i read, and wagged his tail in keeping. i watched him while in sportive mood i read “ the twa dogs'" story, and half believed he understood the poet's allegory. sweet day, sweet songs ! the golden hours grew brighter for that singing, from brook and bird and meadow flowers a dearer welcome bringing. new light on home-seen nature beamed, new glory over woman ; and daily life and duty seemed no longer poor and common. i woke to find the simple truth of fact and feeling better than all the dreams that held my youth a still repining debtor : that nature gives her handmaid, art, the themes of sweet discoursing ; the tender idyls of the heart in every tongue rehearsing. why dream of lands of gold and pearl, of loving knight and lady, when farmer boy and barefoot girl were wandering there already ? i saw through all familiar things the romance underlying ; the joys and griefs that plume the wings of fancy skyward flying. i saw the same blithe day return, the same sweet fall of even, that rose on wooded craigie-burn, and sank on crystal devon. i matched with scotland's heathery hills the sweetbrier and the clover ; with ayr and doon, my native rills, their wood hymns chanting over. lament who will the ribald line which tells his lapse from duty, how kissed the maddening lips of wine or wanton ones of beauty ; but think, while falls that shade between the erring one and heaven, that he who loved like magdalen, like her may be forgiven. not bis the song whose thunderous chime eternal echoes render; the mournful tuscan's haunted rhyme, and milton's starry splendor ! but who his human heart has laid to nature's bosom nearer ? who sweetened toil like him, or paid to love a tribute dearer ? through all his tuneful art, how strong the human feeling gushes ! the very moonlight of his song is warm with smiles and blushes ! give lettered pomp to teeth of time, so “ bonnie doon” but tarry ; blot out the epic's stately rhyme, but spare his highland mary! 198 personal poems 1 to george b. cheever to see the angel in one's way, who wants to play the ass's part, bear on his back the wizard art, and in his service speak or bray ? and who his manly locks would share, and quench the eyes of common sens, to share the noisy recompense that mocked the shorn and blinded slave' so spake esaias : so, in words of fame, tekoa's prophet herdsnuan smote with blame the traffickers in men, and put to shame, all earth and heaven before, the sacerdotal robbers of the poor. all the dread scripture lives for thee again, to smite like lightning on the hands profane lifted to bless the slave-whip and the chain. once more the old hebrew tongue bends with the shafts of god a bow newstrung! 1 the heart has needs beyond the head, and, starving in the plenitude of strange gifts, craves its comma food, our human nature's daily bread. . we are but men : no gods are we, to sit in mid-heaven, cold and bleak, each separate, on his painful peak, thin-cloaked in self-complacency ! take up the mantle which the prophets wore ; warn with their warnings, show the christ once more bound, scourged, and crucified in his blameless poor ; and shake above our land the unquenched bolts that blazed in hosea's hand! better his lot whose axe is swung in wartburg's woods, or that poor girl's who by the ilm her spindle whirls and sings the songs that luther sung, than his who, old, and cold, and vain, at weimar sat, a deinigod, and bowed with jore's imperial nod his votaries in and out again! not vainly shalt thou cast upon our years the solemn burdens of the orient seers, and smite with truth a guilty nation's ears. mightier was luther's word than seckingen's mailed arm or hutton's sword! to james t. fields on a blank leaf of " poems printed, not published". well thought! who would not rather hear the songs to love and friendship sung. than those which move the stranger's tongue, and feed his unselected ear? ply, vanity, thy winged feet! ambition, hew thy rocky stair! who envies him who feeds on air the icy splendor of his seat ? i see your alps, above me, cut the dark, cold sky; and dim and luar i see ye sitting, -stone on stune, with human senses dulled and shut. i could not reach you, if i would, nor sit among your cloudy shapes ; and (spare the fable of the grap and fox) 'i would not if i could. keep to your lofty pedestals ! the safer plain below i chose : who never wins can rarely linie, who never climbs as rarely falls. let such as lore the eagle's scream divide with him his home of ice : for me shall gentler notes sufher, the valley-song of bird and stream; our social joys are more than fame ; life withers in the public look. why mount the pillory of a book, or barter comfort for a wame? who in a house of ginss would dwell, with curious eyes at every pane? to ring himn in and out again, who wants the public crier's bell? in remembrance of joseph sturge 199 the pastoral bleat, the drone of bees, the flail-beat chiming far away, the cattle-low, at shut of day, the voice of god in leaf and breeze ! to sing in door-yard trees. and, heart to heart, two nations lean, no rival wreaths to twine, but blending in eternal green the holly and the pine ! then lend thy hand, my wiser friend, and help me to the vales below, (in truth, i have not far to go,) where sweet with flowers the fields extend. in remembrance of joseph sturge in the fair land o'erwatched by ischia's mountains, across the charmëd bay whose blue waves keep with capri's silver fountains perpetual holiday, the memory of burns read at the boston celebration of the hundredth anniversary of the birth of robert burns, 25th 1st mo., 1859. in my absence these lines were read by ralph waldo emerson. how sweetly come the holy psalms from saints and martyrs down, the waving of triumphal palms above the thorny crown! the choral praise, the chanted prayers from harps by angels strung, the hunted cameron's mountain airs, the hymns that luther sung! yet, jarring not the heavenly notes, the sounds of earth are heard, as through the open minster floats the song of breeze and bird ! not less the wonder of the sky that daisies bloon below ; the brook sings on, though loud and high the cloudy organs blow ! a king lies dead, his wafer duly eaten, his gold-bought masses given ; and rome's great altar smokes with gums to sweeten her foulest gift to heaven. and while all naples thrills with mute thanksgiving, the court of england's queen for the dead monster so abhorred while living in mourning garb is seen. with a true sorrow god rebukes that feigning ; by lone edgbaston's side stands a great city in the sky's sad raining, bareheaded and wet-eyed ! and, if the tender ear be jarred that, haply, hears by turns the saintly harp of olney's bard, the pastoral pipe of burns, no discord mars i̇lis perfect plan who gave them both a tongue ; for he who sings the love of man the love of god hath sung! silent for once the restless hive of labor, save the low funeral tread, or voice of craftsman whispering to his neighbor the good deeds of the dead. today be every fault forgiven of him in whom we joy ! we take, with thanks, the gold of heaven and leave the earth’s alloy. be ours his music as of spring, his sweetness as of flowers, the songs the bard himself might sing in holier ears than ours. for him no ininster's chant of the immortals rose from the lips of sin ; no mitred priest swung back the heavenly portals to let the white soul in. sweet airs of love and home, the hum of household melodies, come singing, as the robins come but age and sickness framed their tearful faces in the low hovel's door, and prayers went up from all the dark byplaces and ghettos of the poor. 200 personal poems praying for pity, like the mournful cit. ing of jonah out of hell. not his the golden pen's or lip's persassion, but a fine sense of right, and truth's directness, meeting each cocasion straight as a line of light. his faith and works, like streams that is termingle, in the saine channel ran : the crystal clearness of an eye kept ssgle shamed all the frauds of man. 1 ! the pallid toiler and the negro chattel, the vagrant of the street, the human dice wherewith in games of battle the lords of earth compete, touched with a grief that needs no outward draping, all swelled the long lament, of grateful hearts, instead of marble, shaping his viewless monument ! for never yet, with ritual pomp and splendor, in the long heretofore, a heart more loyal, warm, and true, and tender, has england's turf closed o'er. and if there fell from out her grand old steeples no crash of brazen wail, the murmurous woe of kindreds, tongues, and peoples swept in on every gale. it came from holstein's birchen-belted meadows, and from the tropie calms of indian islands in the sun-smit shadows of occidental palms ; from the locked roadsteads of the bothnian peasants, and harbors of the finn, where war's worn victims saw his gentle presence come sailing, christ-like, in, to seek the lost, to build the old waste places, to link the hostile shores of severing seas, and sow with england's daisies the moss of finland's moors. thanks for the good man's beautiful example, who in the vilest saw some sacred crypt or altar of a temple still vocal with god's law; and heard with tender ear the spirit sighing as from its prison cell, the very gentlest of all human naturs he joined to courage strong, and love outreaching unto all god's creatures with sturdy hate of wrong. tender as woman, manliness and mexs. ness in him were so allied that they who judged him by his strength or weakness saw but a single side. men failed, betrayed him, but his za: seemed nourished by failure and by fall; still a large faith in human-kind be cherished, and in god's love for all. and now he rests: his greatness and has sweetness no more shall seem at strife, and death has moulded into calm complete ness the statue of his life. where the dews glisten and the song and warble, his dust to dust is inid, in nature's keeping, with no pop ce marble to shame his modest shade. the forges glow, the hammers all are ring ing : beneath its smoky veil, naples 201 hard by, the city of his love is swinging its clamorous iron flail. but round his grave are quietude and beauty, and the sweet heaven above, the fitting symbols of a life of duty transfigured into love ! so vainly shall virginia set her battle in array ; in vain her trampling squadrons knead the winter snow with clay. she may strike the pouncing eagle, but she dares not harm the dove; and every gate she bars to hate shall open wide to love ! brown of ossawatomie naples inscribed to robert c. waterstox, of boston john brown of ossawatomie spake on his dying day : “i will not have to shrive my soul a priest in slavery's pay. but let some poor slave-mother whom i have striven to free, with her children, from the gallows-stair helen waterston died at naples in her eighteenth year, and lies buried in the protestant cemetery there. the stone over her grave bears the lines, fold her, o father, in thine arms, and let her henceforth be a messenger of love between our human hearts and thee. i give thee joy !—i know to thee the dearest spot on earth must be where sleeps thy loved one by the summer sea ; john brown of ossawatomie, they led him out to die; and lo! a poor slave-mother with her little child pressed nigh. then the bold, blue eye grew tender, and the old harsh face grew mild, as he stooped between the jeering ranks and kissed the negro's child ! the shadows of his stormy life that moment and they who blamed the bloody hand forgave the loving heart. that kiss from all its guilty means redeemed the good intent, and round the grisly fighter's hair the martyr's aureole bent ! fell apart ; where, near her sweetest poet's tomb, the land of virgil gave thee room to lay thy flower with her perpetual bloom. i know that when the sky shut down behind thee on the gleaming town, on baiæ's baths and posilippo's crown ; and, through thy tears, the mocking day burned ischia's mountain lines away, and capri melted in its sunny bay ; through thy great farewell sorrow shot the sharp pang of a bitter thought that slaves must tread around that holy spot. perish with him the folly that seeks through evil good! long live the generous purpose unstained with human blood ! not the raid of midnight terror, but the thought which underlies ; not the borderer's pride of daring, but the christian's sacrifice. nevermore may yon blue ridges the northern rifle hear, nor see the light of blazing homes flash on the negro's spear, but let the free-winged angel truth their guarded passes scale, to teach that right is more than might, and justice more than mail ! thou knewest not the land was blest in giving thy beloved rest, holding the fond hope closer to her breast that every sweet and saintly grave was freedom's prophecy, and gave the pledge of heaven to sanctify and save. 202 personal poems ness that pledge is answered. to thy ear the unchained city sends its cheer, and, tuned to joy, the muftled bells of fear ring victor in. the land sits free and happy by the summer sea, and bourbon naples now is italy ! she smiles above her broken chain the languid smile that follows pain, stretching her cramped limbs to the sun again. oh, joy for all, who hear her call from gray camaldoli's convent-wall and elmo's towers to freedom's carnival ! a new life breathes among her vines and olives, like the breath of pines blowu downward from the breezy apenuines. lean, () my friend, to meet that breath, rejoice as one who witnesseth beauty from ashes rise, and life from death! thy sorrow shall no more be pain, its tears shall fall in sunlit rain, writing the grave with tlowers : “ arisen agaiu ! ” but life to thee was warm and present, and love was better than a name. to homely joys and loves and friendships thy genial nature fondly clung ; and so the shadow on the dial ran back and left thee always young and who could blame the generous weide which, only to thyself unjust, so overprized the worth of others, and dwarfed thy own with self-distrust! all hearts grew warmer in the presence of one who, seeking not his own, gave freely for the love of giving, nor reaped for self the harvest san thy greeting smile was pledge and preinde of generous deeds and kindly wunis : in thy large heart were fair guest-chamin open to sunrise and the birds ! the task was thine to mould and fast en life's plastic newness into grace : to make the boyish heart heroic, and light with thought the mar-tea's face. o'er all the land, in town and prairie. with bended heads of mourning, la the living forms that owe their beauty and fitness to thy shaping hand. thy call has come in ripened manhed. the noonday calm of heart and mini while i, who dreamed of thy renamug to mourn me, linger still behind : live on, to own, with self-upbraiding, a debt of love still due from me, the vain remembrance of occasions, forever lost, of serving thee. it was not mine among the kindred to join the silent funeral prayers, but all that long snd dar of summer my tears of mouruing dropped with theirs. a memorial moses austin cartland, a dear friend and relation, who led a faithful life as a teacher, and died in the summer of 1503. oh, thicker, deeper, darker growing, the solemn vista to the tomb must know henceforth another shadow, and give another cypress room. in love surpassing that of brothers, we walked, () friend, from childhood's day; and, looking back o'er fifty summers, our footprints track a common way. one in our faith, and one our longing to make the world within our reach somewhat the better for our living, and gladder for our human speech. thou heard'st with me the far-off voices, the old beguiling song of fame, all day the sea-waves robbed with stru the birds forgot their merry trills : all day i heard the pines lamenting with thine upon thy homestead tulis. lines on a fly-leaf 203 green be those hillside pines forever, and green the meadowy lowlands be, and green the old memorial beeches, name-carven in the woods of lee ! but, dimmed and dwarfed, in times like these, the poet seems beside the man ! so be it ! let the garlands die, the singer's wreath, the painter's meed, let our names perish, if thereby our country may be saved and freed ! still let them greet thy life companions who thither turn their pilgrim feet, in every mossy line recalling a tender memory sadly sweet. thomas starr king o friend ! if thought and sense avail not to know thee henceforth as thou art, that all is well with thee forever i trust the instincts of my heart. published originally as a prelude to the posthumous volume of selections edited by richard frothingham. thine be the quiet habitations, thine the green pastures, blossom-sown, and smiles of saintly recognition, as sweet and tender as thy own. thou com'st not from the hush and shadow to meet us, but to thee we come, with thee we never can be strangers, and where thou art must still be home. bryant on his birthday the great work laid upon his twoscore years is done, and well done. if we drop our tears, who loved him as few men were ever loved, we mourn no blighted hope nor broken plan with him whose life stands rounded and approved in the full growth and stature of a man. mingle, o bells, along the western slope, with your deep toll a sound of faith and hope ! wave cheerily still, o banner, half-way down, from thousand-masted bay and steepled town! let the strong organ with its loftiest swell lift the proud sorrow of the land, and tell that the brave sower saw his ripened grain. ( east and west! o morn and sunset twain no more forever! has he lived in vain who, priest of freedom, made ye one, and told your bridal service from his lips of gold ? mr. bryant's seventieth birthday, november 3, 184, was celebrated by a festival to which these verses were sent. we praise not now the poet's art, the rounded beauty of his song ; who weighs him from his life apart just do his nobler nature wrong. lines on a fly-leaf not for the eye, familiar grown with charms to common sight denied, the marvellous gift he shares alone with him who walked on rydal-side ; not for rapt hymn nor woodland lay, too grave for smiles, too sweet for tears ; we speak his praise who wears to-day the glory of his seventy years. when peace brings freedom in her train, let happy lips his songs rehearse ; his life is now his noblest strain, his manhood better than his verse ! [suggested by the book a new atmosphere, by gail hamilton. the other friends referred to in the lines are lydia maria child, grace greenwood, anna e. dickinson and mrs. stowe.] i need not ask thee, for my sake, to read a book which well may make its way by native force of wit without my manual sign to it. its piquant writer needs from me no gravely masculine guaranty, a thank god! his hand on nature's keys its cunning keeps at life's full span ; 204 personal poems nor wrong the manliest saint of all by doubt, if he were here, that paul would own the heroines who have lent grace to truth's stern arbitrament, foregone the praise to woman sweet, and cast their crowns at duty's feet; like her, who by her strong appeal made fashion weep and mammon ferl, who, earliest summoned to withstand the color-madness of the land, counted her life-long losses gain, and made her own her sisters' pain ; or her who, in her greenwood shade, heard the sharp call that freedom me. and, answering, struck from sapple's by: of love the tyrtæan carmen's tire : or that young girl, domrémy's read] revived a nobler cause to aid, shaking from warning finger-tips the doom of her apocalypse ; or her, who world-wide entrance gave to the log-cabin of the slave, made all his want and sorrow knowa, and all earth’s languages his own. and well might laugh her merriest laugh at broken spears in her behalf ; yet, spite of all the critics tell, i frankly own i like her well. it may be that she wields a pen too sharply ribbed for thin-skinned men, that her keen arrows search and try the armor joints of dignity, and, though alone for error meant, sing through the air irreverent. i blame her not, the young athlete who plants her woman's tiny feet, and dares the chances of debate where bearded men might hesitate, who, deeply earnest, seeing well the ludicrous and laughable, mingling in eloquent excess her anger and her tenderness, and, chiling with a half-caress, strives, less for her own sex than ours, with principalities and powers, and points us upward to the clear sunned heights of her new atmosphere. heaven mend her faults ! i will not pause to weigh and doubt and peek at flaws, or waste my pity when some fool provokes her measureless ridicule. strong-minded is she? better so than dulness set for sale or show, a household folly, capped and belled in fashion's dance of puppets held, or poor pretence of womanhood, whose formal, flavorless platitude is warranted from all offence of robust meaning's violence. give me the wine of thought whose bead sparkles along the page i read, electric words in which i find the tonic of the northwest wind ; the wisdom which itself allies to sweet and pure humanities, where scorn of meanness, hate of wrong, are underlaid by love as strong ; the genial play of mirth that lights grave themes of thought, as when, on nights of summer-time, the harınless blaze of thunderless heat-lightning plays, and tree and hill-top resting dim and doubtful on the sky's vague rim, touched by that soft and lambent gleam, start sharply outlined from their dreain. tjk not to me of woman's sphere. nor point with scripture texts a sneer, george l. stearys no man rendered grater servire to be cause of freedom than major strame in great struggle between invading slieho and the free settlers of kansis. he has done the work of a true man, crown him, honor him, love him. weep over him, tears of woman, stoop manliest brows above him! o dusky mothers and daughters, vigils of mourning keep for lum! l'p in the mountains, and down both waters, lift up your voices and weep for los! for the warmest of hearts is frozen, the freest of hands is still ; and the gap in our picked and cbosen the long years may not till. no duty could orertask him, no need his will outrun ; or ever our lips could ask him, his hands the work had done. ile forgot his own soul for others himself to his neighbor lending ; to lydia maria child 205 seas he found the lord in his suffering brothers, and not in the clouds descending. so the bed was sweet to die on, whence he saw the doors wide swung against whose bolted iron the strength of his life was fung. and he saw ere his eye was darkened the sheaves of the harvest-bringing, and knew while his ear yet hearkened the voice of the reapers singing. ah, well! the world is discreet; there are plenty to pause and wait ; but here was a man who set his feet sometimes in advance of fate ; and from the seine's thronged banks, a murmur strange and glad floats to thee o'er thy summer on the salt wind that stirs thy whitening hair,the song of freedom's bloodless victories ! rejoice, o garibaldi ! though thy sword failed at rome's gates, and blood seemed vainly poured where, in christ's name, the crownëd infidel of france wrought murder with the arms of hell on that sad mountain slope whose ghostly dead, unmindful of the gray exorcist's ban, walk, unappeased, the chambered vatican, and draw the curtains of napoleon's bed! god's providence is not blind, but, full of eyes, it searches all the refuges of lies ; and in his time and way, the accursed things before whose evil feet thy battle-gage has clashed defiance from hot youth to age shall perish. all men shall be priests and kings, one royal brotherhood, one church made free by love, which is the law of liberty ! placked off the old bark when the inner was slow to renew it, and put to the lord's work the sinner when saints failed to do it. vever rode to the wrong's redressing a worthier paladin. shall he not hear the blessing, "good and faithful, enter in !” garibaldi ix trance and dream of old, god's prophet saw to lydia maria child on reading her poem in “the standard zone 66 the casting down of thrones. thou, watching lone the hot sardinian coast-line, hazy-hilled, where, fringing round caprera's rocky with foam, the slow waves gather and withdraw, behold'st the vision of the seer fulfilled, and hear'st the sea-winds burdened with a sound of falling chains, as, one by one, unbound, the nations lift their right hands up and their oath of freedom. from the chalkwhite wall of england, from the black carpathian range, along the danube and the theiss, through all the passes of the spanish pyrenees, mrs. child wrote her lines, beginning, again the trees are clothed in vernal green, may 24, 1859, on the first anniversary of ellis gray loring's death, but did not publish them for some years afterward, when i first read them, or i could not have made the reference which i did to the extinction of slavery. swear the sweet spring day is glad with music, but through it sounds a sadder strain ; the worthiest of our narrowing circle sings loring's dirges o'er again. o woman greatly loved ! i join thee in tender memories of our friend ; with thee across the awful spaces the greeting of a soul i send ! a 206 personal poems mance. what cheer hath he ? ilow is it with him ? her gravest mood could scarce displace where lingers he this weary while ? the dimples of her nut-brown face. over what pleasant fields of ileaven dawns the sweet sunrise of his smile ? wit sparkled on her lips not less for quick and tremulous tenderness ; does he not know our feet are treading and, following close her merriest glance, the earth hard down on slavery's grave ? dreamed through her eyes the beart's ro that, in our crowning exultations, we miss the charm his presence gave ? timid and still, the elder bad why on this spring air comes no whisper even then a smile too sweetly sad ; from him to tell us all is well ? the crown of pain that all must wear why to our flower-time comes no token too early pressed her midnight bur. of lily and of asphodel ? yet ere the summer eve grew long, i feel the unutterable longing, her modest lips were sweet with svag : thy hunger of the heart is mine ; a menory baunted all her worls i reach and grope for hands in darkness, of clover-tields and singing birds. my ear grows sharp for voice or sign. her dark, dilating eyes expressed still on the lips of all we question the broad horizons of the west ; the finger of god's silence lies ; her speech dropped prairie flowers ; tər will the lost hands in ours be folded ? gold will the shut eyelids ever rise ? of harvest wheat about her rolled. () friend ! no proof beyond this yearning, fore-doomed to song she seemed to me this outreach of our hearts, we need ; i queried not with destiny : god will not mock the hope he giveth, i knew the trial and the need, no love he prompts shall vainly plead. yet, all the more, i said, god speed ! then let us stretch our hands in darkness, what could i other than i did? and call our loved ones o'er and o'er ; could i a singing-bird forbid ? some day their arms shall close about us, deny the wind-stirred leaf? rebuke and the old voices speak once more. the music of the forest brook : no dreary splendors wait our coming she went with morning from my door, where rapt ghost sits from ghost apart ; | but left me richer than before ; homeward we go to heaven's thanksgiving, | thenceforth i knew her voice of cheer, the harvest-gathering of the heart. the welcome of her partial ear. years passed : through all the land ! the singer name a pleasant household word became : this poem was written on the death of alice all felt behind the singer stood cary. her sister phorbe, heart-broken by her a sweet and gracious womanhood. les, followed soon after. noble and richly gifted, lovely in person and character, they her life was earnest work, not play : left behind them only friends and admirers. her tired feet climbed a weary way; years since (but names to me before), and even through her lightest strain two sisters sought at eve my door ; we heard an undertone of pain. two song-birds wandering from their nest, a gray old farin-house in the west. unseen of her her fair fame grew, the good she did she rarely knew, how fresh of life the younger one, l'nguessed of her in life the love half smiles, half tears, like rain in sun ! that rained its tears ber grave abure. how mary grew 207 when last i saw her, full of peace, she waited for her great release ; and that old friend so sage and bland, oar later franklin, held her hand. and mortal need can ne'er outgrow what it is waiting to bestow! o white soul ! from that far-off shore float some sweet song the waters o'er, our faith confirm, our fears dispel, with the old voice we loved so well! for all that patriot bosoms stirs had moved that woman's heart of hers, ånd men who toiled in storm and sin found her their meet companion. how mary grew . our converse, from her suffering bed to healthful themes of life she led : the out-door world of bud and bloom and light and sweetness filled her room. these lines were in answer to an invitation to hear a lecture of mary grew, of philadelphia, before the boston radical club. the reference in the last stanza is to an essay on sappho by t. w. higginson, read at the club the preceding month. yet evermore an underthought of loss to come within us wrought, and all the while we felt the strain of the strong will that conquered pain. god giveth quietness at last ! the common way that all have passed she went, with mortal yearnings fond, to fuller life and love beyond. fold the rapt soul in your embrace, my dear ones! give the singer place ! to you, to her,i know not where, i lift the silence of a prayer. for only thus our own we find ; the gone before, the left behind, all mortal voices die between ; the unheard reaches the unseen. with wisdom far beyond her years, and graver than her wondering peers, so strong, so mild, combining still the tender heart and queenly will, to conscience and to duty true, so, up from childhood, mary grew! then in her gracious womanhood she gave her days to doing good. she dared the scornful laugh of men, the hounding mob, the slanderer's pen. she did the work she found to do, a christian heroine, mary grew ! the freed slave thanks her ; blessing comes to her from women's weary homes ; the wronged and erring find in her their censor mild and comforter. the world were safe if but a few could grow in grace as mary grew ! again the blackbirds sing ; the streams wake, laughing, from their winter dreams, and tremble in the april showers the tassels of the maple flowers. so, new year's eve, i sit and say, by this low wood-fire, ashen gray; just wishing, as the night shuts down, that i could hear in boston town, in pleasant chestnut avenue, from her own lips, how mary grew! but not for her bas spring renewed the sweet surprises of the wood ; and bird and flower are lost to her who was their best interpreter ! what to shut eyes bas god revealed ? what hear the ears that death has sealed ? what undreamed beauty passing show requites the loss of all we know? and hear her graceful hostess tell the silver-voiced oracle who lately through her parlors spoke, as through dodona's sacred oak, a wiser truth than any told by sappho's lips of ruddy gold, the way to make the world anew is just to grow as mary grew! o silent land, to which we move, enough if there alone be love, 208 personal poems he set his face against the blast, sumner his feet against the flinty shard, till the hard service grew, at last, "i am not one who has disgraced beauty of its own exceeding great reward. sentiment by deformity of conduct, or the maxims of a freeman by the actions of a slave; but, lifted like saul's above the crowd, by the grace of god, i have kept my life unsulupon his kingly forehead fell lied." milton's defence of the people of the first sharp bolt of slavery's cloud, england. launched at the truth he urged so well. o mother state! the winds of march ah ! never yet, at rack or stake, blew chill o'er auburn's field of god, was sorer loss made freedom's gain, where, slow, beneath a leaden arch than his, who suffered for her sake of sky, thy mourning children trod. the beak-torn titan's lingering pain! and now, with all thy woods in leaf, the fixed star of his faith, through all thy fields in flower, beside thy dead loss, doubt, and peril, shone the same; thou sittest, in thy robes of grief, as through a night of storm, some tall, a rachel yet uncomforted ! strong lighthouse lifts its steady thaine. and once again the organ swells, beyond the dust and smoke he saw once more the flag is half-way hung, the sheaves of freedom's large increase, and yet again the mournful bells the holy fanes of equal law, in all thy steeple-towers are rung. the new jerusalem of peace. and i, obedient to thy will, the weak might fear, the worllling mock have come a simple wreath to lay, the faint and blind of heart ngri; supertluous, on a grave that still all knew at last th' eternal rock is sweet with all the flowers of may. on which his forward feet were set. i take, with awe, the task assigned ; the subtlest scheme of compromise it may be that my friend might miss, was folly to his purpose bold; in his new sphere of heart and mind, the strongest mesh of party lies some token from my hand in this. weak to the simplest truth be told by many a tender memory moved, one language held his heart and lip, along the past my thought i send ; straight onward to his goal he tried, the record of the canse he loved and proved the highest statesmanshup is the best record of its friend. obedience to the voice of god. no wail was in his voice, none hrani, when treason's storm-cloud biscarsi grew, the weakness of a doubtful word ; his duty, and the end, he knew. no trumpet sounded in his ear, he saw not sinai's cloud and flame, but never yet to hebrew seer a clearer voice of duty came. god said: “ break thou these yokes ; undo these heary burdens. i ordain a work to last thy whole life through, a ministry of strife and pain. * forego thy dreams of lettered ease, put thou the scholar's promise by, the rights of man are more than these." he heard, and answered : " here am i !" the first to smite, the first to spare ; when once the hostile ensigns f.!!. he stretched out hands of geners are to lift the foe be fought so well. for there was nothing base or small or craven in his soul's bruad plan; forgiving all things personal, he hated only wrong to man. sumner 209 the old traditions of his state, the memories of her great and good, took from his life a fresher date, and in himself embodied stood. ah! who shall blame him now because he solaced thus his hours of pain ! should not the o'erworn thresher pause, and hold to light his golden grain ? how felt the greed of gold and place, the vepal crew that schemed and planned, the fine scorn of that haughty face, the spurning of that bribeless hand ! if than rome's tribunes statelier he wore his senatorial robe, his lofty port was all for her, the one dear spot on all the globe. if to the master's plea he gave the vast contempt his manhood felt, he saw a brother in the slave,with man as equal man he dealt. no sense of humor dropped its oil on the hard ways his purpose went ; small play of fancy lightened toil ; he spake alone the thing he meant. he loved his books, the art that hints a beauty veiled behind its own, the graver's line, the pencil's tints, the chisel's shape evoked from stone. he cherished, void of selfish ends, the social courtesies that bless and sweeten life, and loved his friends with most unworldly tenderness. but still his tired eyes rarely learned the glad relief by nature brought ; her mountain ranges never turned his current of persistent thought. the sea rolled chorus to his speech three-banked like latium's tall trireme, with laboring oars ; the grove and beach were forum and the academe. proud was he? if his presence kept its grandeur wheresoe'er he trod, as if from plutarch's gallery stepped the hero and the demigod, none failed, at least, to reach his ear, sor want nor woe appealed in vain; the homesick soldier knew his cheer, and blessed him from his ward of pain. safely his dearest friends may own the slight defects he never hid, the surface-blemish in the stone of the tall, stately pyramid. suffice it that he never brought his conscience to the public mart ; but lived himself the truth he taught, white souled, clean handed, pure of heart. the sensuous joy from all things fair his strenuous bent of soul repressed, and left from youth to silvered hair few hours for pleasure, none for rest. for all his life was poor without, o nature, make the last amends ! train all thy flowers his grave about, and make thy singing-birds his friends! revive again, thou summer rain, the broken turf upon his bed ! breathe, summer wind, thy tenderest strain of low, sweet music overhead ! what if he felt the natural pride of power in noble use, too true with thin humilities to bide the work he did, the lore he knew ? was be not just ? was any wronged by that assured self-estimate ? he took but what to him belonged, unenvious of another's state. with calm and beauty symbolize the peace which follows long annoy, and lend our earth-bent, mourning eyes, some hint of his diviner joy. well might he heed the words he spake, and scan with care the written page through which he still shall warm and wake the hearts of men from age to age. for safe with right and truth he is, as god lives he must live alway; there is no end for souls like his, no night for children of the day ! 210 personal poems thiers nor cant nor poor solicitudes made weak his life's great argument ; small leisure his for frames and moods who followed duty where she went. 1 the broad, fair fields of god he saw beyond the bigot's narrow bound; the truths he moulded into law in christ's beatitudes he found. fate summoned, in gray-bearded age, to act a history stranger than his written fact, him who portrayed the splendor and the gloom of that great hour when throne and alluar fell with long death-groan which stall is audeble. he, when around the walls of parus rung the prussian bugle like the blast of document and every ill which follows unbles war maddened all france from finistere tu var, the weight of fourscore from s shoulders flung, and guided freedom in the path be sav lead out of chaos into light and law, peace, not imperial, but republican, and order pledged to all the rights of man. ii his state-craft was the golden rule, his right of vote a sacred trust; clear, over threat and ridicule, all heard his challenge : “ is it just ?” and when the hour supreme had come, not for himself a thought he gave; in that last pang of martyrdom, his care was for the half-freed slave. not vainly dusky hands upbore, in prayer, the passing soul to heaven whose mercy to i̇lis suffering poor was service to the master given. long shall the good state's annals tell, her children's children long be taught, how, praised or blamed, he guarded well the trust he neither shunned nor sought. if for one moment turned thy face, o mother, from thy son, not long he waited calmly in his place the sure remorse which follows wrong. forgiven be the state he loved the one brief lapse, the single blot; forgotten be the stain removed, ller righted record shows it not ! the lifted sword above her shield with jealous care shall guard his fame; the pine-tree on her ancient field to all the winds shall speak his name. the marble image of her son her loving hands shall yearly crown, and from her pictured pantheon ilis grand, majestic face look down. o state so passing rich before, who now shall doubt thy highest claim ? the world that counts thy jewels o'er shall longest pause at sumner's name ! death called him from a need as immnent as that from which the silent wam went when powers of evil, like the sil::: seas on holland's dikes, assailed her libertine sadly, while yet in doubtful balanee burg the weal and woe of france, the bells were rung for her lost leader. paralyzed of will. above his bier the hearts of men stxx still. then, as if set to his dead lips, the buwan of roland wound once more to ruuse s warn, the old voice filled the air! his last beau word not vainly france to all her boundar stirred. strong as in life, he still for free wrought, as the dead cid at red toloso fought william francis bartlett 2ii fitz-greene halleck alive, he loved, like all who sing, the echoes of his song ; too late the tardy meed we bring, the praise delayed so long. at the unveiling of his statue too late, alas ! of all who knew the living man, to-day before his unveiled face, how few make bare their locks of gray ! among their graven shapes to whom thy civic wreaths belong, o city of his love, make room for one whose gift was song. not his the soldier's sword to wield, nor his the helm of state, nor glory of the stricken field, nor triumph of debate. in common ways, with common men, he served his race and time as well as if his clerkly pen had never danced to rhyme. our lips of praise must soon be dumb, our grateful eyes be dim ; o brothers of the days to come, take tender charge of him ! new hands the wires of song may sweep, new voices challenge fame ; but let no moss of years o'ercreep the lines of halleck's name. william francis bartlett if, in the thronged and noisy mart, the muses found their son, could any say his tuneful art a duty left undone ? he toiled and sang ; and year by year men found their homes more sweet, and through a tenderer atmosphere looked down the brick-walled street. oh, well may essex sit forlorn beside her sea-blown shore; her well beloved, her noblest born, is hers in life no more ! the greek's wild onset wall street no lapse of years can render less her memory's sacred claim ; no fountain of forgetfulness can wet the lips of fame. knew ; the red king walked broadway ; and alnwick castle's roses blew from palisades to bay. a grief alike to wound and heal, a thought to soothe and pain, the sad, sweet pride that mothers feel to her must still remain. fair city by the sea ! upraise his veil with reverent hands ; and mingle with thy own the praise and pride of other lands. let greece his fiery lyric breathe above her hero-urns ; and scotland, with her holly, wreathe the flower he culled for burns. good men and true she has not lacked, and brave men yet shall be ; the perfect flower, the crowning fact, of all her years was he ! as galahad pure, as merlin sage, what worthier knight was found to grace in arthur's golden age the fabled table round ? oh, stately stand thy palace walls, thy tall ships ride the seas ; to-day thy poet's name recalls a prouder thought than these. not less thy pulse of trade shall beat, nor less thy tall fleets swim, that shaded square and dusty street are classic ground through him. a voice, the battle's trumpet-note, to welcome and restore ; a hand, that all unwilling smote, to heal and build once more ! a soul of fire, a tender heart too warm for hate, he knew 212 personal poems ii old; sure. let age the generous victor's graceful part to sheathe the sword he drew. he brought us wonders of the new and when earth, as if on evil dreams, looks back upon her wars, we shared all climes with him. the and the white light of christ outstreams arab's tent from the red disk of mars, to him its story-telling secret lent. and, pleased, we listened to the tales be his fame who led the stormy van told. of battle well may cease, his task, beguiled with songs that shall esbut never that which crowns the man dure, whose victory was peace. in manly, honest thoroughness be wrought ; mourn, essex, on thy sea-blown shore from humble home-lays to the brights thy beautiful and brave, of thought whose failing hand the olive bore, slowly he climbed, but every step was whose dying lips forgave! how, with the generous pride that friend lament the youthful chief, ship hath, and tender eyes be dim ; we, who so loved him, saw at last the the tears are more of joy than grief crown that fall for one like him ! of civic honor on his brows pressed down, rejoiced, and kuew not that the gift was death. bayard taylor and now for him, whose praise in de afened ears two nations speak, we answer but with tears! “and where now, bayard, will thy footsteps tend ?" iii my sister asked our guest one winter's day. o vale of chester! trod by him so eft. smiling he answered in the friends'sweet green as thy june turf keep his memory let common to both : “wherever thou shalt nor wood, nor dell, nor storied stream send ! forget, what wouldst thou have me see for thee ? " nor wins that blow round lonely cedar she laughed, croft ; her dark eyes dancing in the wood-fire's let the home voices greet him in the far, glow : strange land that holds him ; kot tube “loffoden isles, the kilpis, and the low, messages unsetting sun on finmark's fishing-craft." of love pursue him o'er the chartins * all these and more i soon shall see for thee !" and unmapped vastness of his unknoot he answered cheerily : and he kept his star! pledge love's language, heard beyond the lama. on lapland snows, the north cape's discoure windy wedge, of perishable fame, in every sphere and tromsö freezing in its winter sea. itself interprets; and its utteranee bere he went and came. but no man knows somewhere in god's unfolding universe the track shall reach our traveller, softening the of his last journey, and he comes not surprise back ! of his rapt gaze on unfamiliar skies ! 1 way seas within the gate 213 within the gate l. m. c. our autocrat read at the breakfast given in honor of dr. holmes by the publishers of the atlantic monthly, december 3, 1879. his laurels fresh from song and lay, romance, art, science, rich in all, dud young of heart, how dare we say we keep his seventieth festival ? no sense is here of loss or lack ; before bis sweetness and his light the dial holds its shadow back, the charmëd hours delay their flight. i have more fully expressed my admiration and regard for lydia maria child in the biographical introduction which i wrote for the volume of letters, published after her death. we sat together, last may-day, and talked of the dear friends who walked beside us, sharers of the hopes and fears of five and forty years, since first we met in freedom's hope forlorn, and heard her battle-horn sound through the valleys of the sleeping north, calling her children forth, his still the keen analysis of men and moods, electric wit, free play of mirth, and tenderness to heal the slightest wound from it. and his the pathos touching all life's sins and sorrows and regrets, its hopes and fears, its final call and rest beneath the violets. and youth pressed forward with hopelighted eyes, and age, with forecast wise of the long strife before the triumph won, girded his armor on. his sparkling surface scarce betrays the thoughtful tide beneath it rolled, the wisdom of the latter days, and tender memories of the old. sadly, as name by name we called the roll, we heard the dead-bells toll for the unanswering many, and we knew the living were the few. and we, who waited our own call before the inevitable door, listened and looked, as all have done, to win some token from within. what shapes and fancies, grave or gay, before us at his bidding come! the treadmill tramp, the one-horse shay, the dumb despair of elsie's doom ! the tale of avis and the maid, the plea for lips that cannot speak, the holy kiss that iris laid on little boston's pallid cheek ! long may he live to sing for us his sweetest songs at evening time, and, like his chambered nautilus, to holier heights of beauty climb ! though now unnumbered guests surround the table that he rules at will, its autocrat, however crowned, is but our friend and comrade still. no sign we saw, we heard no voices call ; the impenetrable wall cast down its shadow, like an awful doubt, on all who sat without. of many a hint of life beyond the veil, and many a ghostly tale where with the ages spanned the gulf between the seen and the unseen, the world may keep his honored name, the wealth of all his varied powers ; a stronger claim has love than fame, and he himself is only ours ! seeking from omen, trance, and dream to gain solace to doubtful pain, and touch, with groping hands, the garment hem of truth sufficing them, 214 personal poems in memory james t. fields as a guest who may not stay long and sad farewells to say glides with smiling face away, of the sweetness and the zest of thy happy life possessed thou hast left us at thy best. warm of heart and clear of brain, of thy sun-bright spirit's wane thou hast spared us all the pain. now that thou hast gone away, what is left of one to say who was open as the day? we talked ; and, turning from the sore unrest of an all-baffling quest, we thought of holy lives that from us passed hopeful unto the last, as if they saw beyond the river of death, like him of nazareth, the many mansions of the eternal days lift up their gates of praise. and, hushed to silence by a reverent awe, methought, () friend, i saw in thy true life of word, and work, and thought the proof of all we sought. did we not witness in the life of thee immortal prophecy ? and feel, when with thee, that thy footsteps trod in everlasting road ? not for brief days thy generous sympathies, thy scorn of seltish ease ; not for the poor prize of an earthly goal thy strong uplift of soul. than thine was never turned a fonder heart to nature and to art in fair-formed hellas in her golden prime, thy philothea's time. yet, loving beauty, thou couldst pass it by, and for the poor deny thyself, and see thy fresh, sweet flower of fame wither in blight and blame. sharing his love who holds in his embrace the lowliest of our race, sure the divine economy must be conservative of thee! what is there to gloss or shun? save with kindly voices none speak thy name beneath the sun. safe thou art on every side, friendship nothing tinds to hide, love's demand is satisfied. over manly strength and worth, at thy desk of toil, or hearth, played the lambent light of mirth, — mirth that lit, but never burned; all thy blame to pity turned ; hatred thou hadst never learned. every harsh and vering thing at thy bome-fire lost its sting : where thou wast was always spring and thy perfect trust in good, faith in man and womanhood, chance and change and time withstwah small respect for cant and whine, bigot's zeal and hate maliga, had that sunny soul of the but to thee was dnty's claim sured, and thy lips became reverent with one boly same. for truth must live with truth, self-sacritice seek out its great allies ; good must find good by gravitation sure, and love with love endure. and so, since thou hast passed within the gate whereby awhile i wait, i give blind grief and blinder sense the lie : thou hast not lived to die ! therefore, on thy unknown war, go in god's peace! we who star but a little wlule delay. the poet and the children 215 beyond the accident of birth he proved his simple manhood's worth ; ancestral pride and classic grace confessed the large-brained artisan, so clear of sight, so wise in plan and counsel, equal to his place. keep for us, o friend, where'er thou art waiting, all that here made thy earthly presence dear; something of thy pleasant past on a ground of wonder cast, in the stiller waters glassed ! keep the human heart of thee; let the mortal only be clothed in immortality. and when fall our feet as fell thine upon the asphodel, let thy old smile greet us well ; proving in a world of bliss what we fondly dream in this, love is one with holiness! with glance intuitive he saw through all disguise of form and law, and read men like an open book ; fearless and firm, he never quailed nor turned aside for threats, nor failed to do the thing he undertook. how wise, how brave, he was, how well he bore himself, let history tell while waves our flag o'er land and sea, no black thread in its warp or weft; he found dissevered states, he left a grateful nation, strong and free ! wilson the poet and the children read at the massachusetts club on the seventieth anniversary of the birthday of vice-preslongfellow ident wilson, february 16, 1882. with a glory of winter sunshine the lowliest born of all the land, over his locks of gray, he wrung from fate's reluctant hand in the old historic mansion the gifts which happier boyhood claims ; he sat on his last birthday ; and, tasting on a thankless soil the bitter bread of unpaid toil, with his books and his pleasant pictures, he fed his soul with noble aims. and his household and his kin, while a sound as of myriads singing and nature, kindly provident, from far and near stole in. to him the future's promise lent; the powers that shape man's destinies, it came from his own fair city, patience and faith and toil, he knew, from the prairie's boundless plain, the close horizon round him grew from the golden gate of sunset, broad with great possibilities. and the cedarn woods of maine, by the low hearth-fire's fitful blaze and his heart grew warm within him, he read of old heroic days, and his moistening eyes grew dim, the sage's thought, the patriot's speech ; for he knew that his country's children unhelped, alone, himself he taught, were singing the songs of him : his school the craft at which he wrought, his lore the book within his reach. the lays of his life's glad morning, the psalms of his evening time, he felt his country's need; he knew whose echoes shall float forever the work her children had to do ; on the winds of every clime. and when, at last, he heard the call in her behalf to serve and dare, all their beautiful consolations, beside his senatorial chair sent forth like birds of cheer, he stood the unquestioned peer of came flocking back to his windows, all. and sang in the poet's ear. 216 personal poems grateful, but solemn and tender, the music rose and fell with a joy akin to sadness and a greeting like farewell. with a sense of awe he listened . to the voices sweet and young ; the last of earth and the first of heaven seemed in the songs they sung. and waiting a little longer for the wonderful change to come, he heard the summoning angel, who calls god's children bome! for him, whose voice for freedom swayed friend and foe at will, hushed is the tongue of silver, the golden lips are still ! for her whose life of duty at scoff and menace smiled, brave as the wife of roland, yet gentle as a child. and for him the three-billed city shall bold in memory long, whose name is the hint and token of the pleasant fields of song ! for the old friends unforgotten, for the young thou hast not known, i speak their heart-warm greeting; come back and take thy own! from england's royal farewells, and honors titly paid, come back, dear ritssell lowell, to elmwood's waiting shade! come home with all the garlands that crown of right thy head. i speak for comrades living, i speak for comrades dead ! and to him in a holier welcome was the mystical meaning given of the words of the blessed master : "of such is the kingdom of heaven!” a welcome to lowell as artist of the beautiful george fi'ller take our hands, james russell lowell, our hearts are all thy own; to-day we bid thee welcome not for ourselves alone. in the long years of thy absence some of us have grown old, and some have passed the portals of the mystery untold ; for the hands that cannot clasp thee, for the voices that are dumb, for each and all i bid thee a grateful welcome home! for cedareroft's sweet singer to the nine-fold muses dear ; for the seer the winding concord paused by his door to hear ; for him, our guide and nestor, wbo the march of song began, the white locks of his ninety years bared to thy winds, cape ann ! for him who, to the music her pines and hemlocks played, set the olal and tender story of the loru acadian maid ; haunted of beauty, like the marrellus youth who sang saint agnes' eve! how passes fair her shapes took color in thy homestead ari llow on thy canvas even her dreams site truth! magiciau ! who from commonest elemen called up divine ideals, clothed upon by mystic lights soft blending into one womanly grace and child-like innocens teacher! the lesson was not givra in va beauty is goodness ; ugliness is san : art's place is sacred: nothing foul then. may crawl or tread with bestial feet produse if rightly choosing is the painter's test, thy chuice, 0 master, ever was the best samuel j. tilden 217 mulford round grand manan with eager finny swarms, break the long calms, and charm away the storms. author of the nation and the republic of god. samuel j. tilden l'nnoted as the setting of a star he passed ; and sect and party scarcely knew when from their midst a sage and seer withdrew to fitter audience, where the great dead are in god's republic of the heart and mind, leaving no purer, nobler soul behind. greystone, august 4, 1886 once more, o all-adjusting death ! the nation's pantheon opens wide ; once more a common sorrow saith a strong, wise man has died. to a cape ann schooner faults doubtless had he. had we not our own, to question and asperse the worth we doubted or forgot until beside his hearse ? ambitious, cautious, yet the man to strike down fraud with resolute hand; a patriot, if a partisan, he loved his native land. luck to the craft that bears this name of mine, good fortune follow with her golden spoon the glazed hat and tarry pantaloon ; and wheresoe'er her keel shall cut the brine, cod, hake and haddock quarrel for her line. shipped with her crew, whatever wind may blow, or tides delay, my wish with her shall go, fishing by proxy. would that it might show at need her course, in lack of sun and star, where icebergs threaten, and the sharp lift the blind fog on anticosti's lee and avalon's rock ; make populous the sea so let the mourning bells be rung, the banner droop its folds half way, and while the public pen and tongue their fitting tribute pay, reefs are ; shall we not yow above his bier to set our feet on party lies, and wound no more a living ear with words that death denies ? occasional poems eva one morning of the first sad fall, poor adam and his bride sat in the shade of eden's wall but on the outer side. suggested by mrs. stowe's tale of uncle tom's cabin, and written when the characters in the tale were realities by the fireside of countless american homes. dry the tears for holy eva, with the blessed angels leave her ; of the form so soft and fair give to earth the tender care. for the golden locks of eva let the sunny south-land give her flowery pillow of repose, orange-bloom and budding rose. in the better home of eva let the shining ones receive her, with the welcome-voiced psalm, harp of gold and waving palm ! all is light and peace with eva ; there the darkness cometh never; tears are wiped, and fetters fall, and the lord is all in all. she, blushing in her fig-leaf suit for the chaste garb of old ; he, sighing o'er his bitter fruit for eden's drupes of gold. behind them, smiling in the morn, their forfeit garden lay, before them, wild with rock and thorn, the desert stretched away. they heard the air above them fanned, a light step on the sward, and lo! they saw before them stand the angel of the lord ! “ arise," he said, “why look behind, when hope is all before, and patient hand and willing mind your loss may yet restore ? “i leave with you a spell whose power can make the desert glad, and call around you fruit and flower as fair as eden had. weep no more for happy eva, wrong and siu no more shall grieve her; care and pain aud weariness lost in love so measureless. 2 gentle eva, loving eva, child confessor, true believer, listener at the master's knee, “suffer such to come to me.” oh, for faith like thine, sweet eva, lighting all the solemn river, and the blessings of the poor wafting to the beavenly shore ! “ i clothe your hands with power to lift the curse from off your soil ; your very doom shall seem a gift, your loss a gain through toul. “go, cheerful as yon humming-bees, to labor as to play." white glimmering over eden's trees the angel passed away. the pilgrims of the world went forth obedieut to the word, and found where'er they tilled the earth a garden of the lord ! the thorn-tree cast its evil fruit and blushed with plum and prar, a lay of old time written for the fasex county agricultnral fair, and sung at the banquet at newbury port, october 2, . 218 kenoza lake 219 and seeded grass and trodden root grew sweet beneath their care. and, soon or late, to all that sow, the time of harvest shall be given ; the flower shall bloom, the fruit shall grow, if not on earth, at last in heaven. we share our primal parents' fate, and, in our turn and day, look back on eden's sworded gate as sad and lost as they. kenoza lake but still for us his native skies the pitying angel leaves, and leads through toil to paradise new adams and new eves ! this beautiful lake in east haverhill was the “ great pond” of the writer's boyhood. in 1859 a movement was made for improving its shores as a public park. at the opening of the park, august 31, 1859, the poem which gave it the name of kenoza (in the indian language signifying pickerel) was read. a song of harvest for the agricultural and horticultural exhibition at amesbury and salisbury, september 28, 1858. as adam did in paradise, to-day the primal right we claim : fair mirror of the woods and skies, we give to thee a name. lake of the pickerel ! let no more the echoes answer back, “great pond," but sweet kenoza, from thy shore and watching hills beyond, let indian ghosts, if such there be who ply unseen their shadowy lines, call back the ancient name to thee, as with the voice of pines. this day, two hundred years ago, the wild grape by the river's side, and tasteless groundnut trailing low, the table of the woods supplied. unknown the apple's red and gold, the blushing tint of peach and pear ; the mirror of the powow told no tale of orchards ripe and rare. wild as the fruits he scorned to till, these vales the idle indian trod ; nor knew the glad, creative skill, the joy of him who toils with god. o painter of the fruits and flowers ! we thank thee for thy wise design whereby these human hands of ours in nature's garden work with thine. and thanks that from our daily need the joy of simple faith is born ; that he who smites the summer weed, may trust thee for the autumn corn. give fools their gold, and knaves their power ; let fortune's bubbles rise and fall ; who sows a field, or trains a flower, or plants a tree, is more than all. the shores we trod as barefoot boys, the nutted woods we wandered through, to friendship, love, and social joys we consecrate anew. here shall the tender song be sung, and memory's dirges soft and low, and wit shall sparkle on the tongue, and mirth shall overflow, harmless as summer lightning plays from a low, hidden cloud by night, a light to set the hills ablaze, but not a bolt to smite. in sunny south and prairied west are exiled hearts remembering still, as bees their hive, as birds their nest, the homes of haverhill. for he who blesses most is blest ; and god and man shall own his worth who toils to leave as his bequest an added beauty to the earth. they join us in our rites to-day ; and, listening, we may hear, erelong, from inland lake and ocean bay, the echoes of our song. 220 occasional poems kenoza ! o'er no sweeter lake shall morning break or noon-cloud sail, no fairer face than thine shall take the sunset's golden veil. long be it ere the tide of trade shall break with harsh-resounding din the quiet of thy banks of shade, and hills that fold thee in. still let thy woodlands hide the hare, the shy loon sound his trumpet-note, wind-weary from his fields of air, the wild-goose on thee float. thy peace rebuke our feverish stir, thy beauty our deforming strife ; thy woods and waters minister the healing of their life. and sinless mirth, from care released, behold, unawed, thy mirrored sky, smiling as smiled on cana's feast the master's loving eye. and when the summer day grows dim, and light mists walk thy mimic sea, revive in us the thought of him who walked on galilee ! once more with barvest-song and shout is nature's bloodless triumph toll. our common mother rests and sings, like ruth, among her garnered sin ares; her lap is full of goodly things, her brow is bright with autuinn leaves. oh, favors every year made new ! oh, gifts with rain and sunshine sent ! the bounty overruns our due, the fulness shames our discontent. we shut our eyes, the flowers bloot ou ; we murmur, but the corn-ear till, we choose the shadow, but the sun that casts it shines behind us stiil. god gives us with our rugged soil the power to make it eden-fair, and richer fruits to crown our toil than summer-wedded islantis bear. who murmurs at his lot today? who scorns his native fruit and bliwum or sighs for dainties far away, beside the bounteous board of home thank heaven, instead, that freedom's arm can change a rocky soil to gold, that brave and generons lives can warm a clime with northern ices cold. for an altumn festival and let these altars, wreathed with fkurn and piled with fruits, awake again thanksgivings for the golden bours, the early and the latter rain! the persian's flowery gifts, the shrine of fruitful ceres charm no more ; the woven wreaths of oak and pine are dust along the isthmian shore. but beauty hath its homage still, and nature holds us still in debt; and woman's grace and household skill, and manhood's toil, are honored yet. and we, to-day, amidst our flowers and fruits, have come to own again the blessings of the summer hours, the early and the latter rain ; to see our father's hand once more reverse for is the plenteons horn of autumn, filled and running o'er with fruit, and hower, and golden corn! once more the liberal year langhs out o'er richer stores than gems or gold ; the qu'aker all'uni read at the friends' school annuvenir providence, r. i., tith mo., i. from the well-springs of hudson, the beso cliffs of maine, grave men, suber matrons, you gaiber again ; and, with bearts warmer grown as heads grow more cool, play over the old game of going to sched all your strifes and vexations, your w . and complaints, (yon were not saints yourselves, if the children of saints!) the quaker alumni 221 all your petty self-seekings and rivalries done, round the dear alma mater your hearts beat as one ! should the heart closer shut as the bonnet grows prim, and the face grow in length as the hat grows in brim ? . warm. so soon how widely soe'er you have strayed from life is brief, duty grave ; but, with rainthe fold, folded wings, though your "thee” has grown “you," and of yesterday's sunshine the grateful heart your drab blue and gold, sings ; to the old friendly speech and the garb's and we, of all others, have reason to pay sober form, the tribute of thanks, and rejoice on our like the heart of argyle to the tartan, you way ; for the counsels that turned from the follies but, the first greetings over, you glance of youth ; round the ball; for the beauty of patience, the whiteness of your bearts call the roll, but they answer truth ; not all: for the wounds of rebuke, when love temthrough the turf green above them the dead pered its edge ; cannot hear ; for the household's restraint, and the disciname by name, in the silence, falls sad as pline's hedge ; a tear! for the lessons of kindness vouchsafed to in love, let us trust, they were summoned the least of the creatures of god, whether human from the morning of life, while we toil or beast, through its noon; bringing hope to the poor, lending strength they were frail like ourselves, they had to the frail, needs like our own, in the lanes of the city, the slave-hut, and and they rest as we rest in god's mercy jail ; alone. for a womanhood higher and holier, by all cnchanged by our changes of spirit and her knowledge of good, than was eve ere frame, her fall, past, now, and henceforward the lord is whose task-work of duty moves lightly as play, though we sink in the darkness, his arms serene as the moonlight and warm as the break our fall, day ; and in death as in life, he is father of all ! and, yet more, for the faith which embraces the whole, we are older: our footsteps, so light in of the creeds of the ages the life and the the play soul, of the far-away school-time, move slower wherein letter and spirit the same channel to-day ; run, here a beard touched with frost, there a and man has not severed what god has bald, shining crown, made one! and beneath the cap's border gray mingles with brown. for a sense of the goodness revealed everywhere, but faith should be cheerful, and trust as sunshine impartial, and free as the air ; should be glad, for a trust in humanity, heathen or jew, and our follies and sins, not our years, make and a hope for all darkness the light us sad. shineth through. the same ; а 222 occasional poems who scoffs at our birthright? the words for the sake of his gifts, and the works that of the seers, outlive hiin, and the songs of the bards in the twilight and his brave words for freedom, we freely of years, forgive him! all the foregleams of wisdom in santon and sage, there are those who take note that war in prophet and priest, are our true heritage. numbers are small, new gibbons who write our decline and per the word which the reason of plato disfall ; cerned ; but the lord of the seed-field takes care of the truth, as whose symbol the mithra-fire his own, burned ; and the world shall yet reap what our guethe soul of the world which the stoic but ers have sown. guessed, in the light universal the quaker conthe last of the sect to his fathers may ga. fessed ! leaving only his coat for some barnam 1: show ; no honors of war to our worthies bebut the truth will outlive him, and broadro long ; with years, their plain stem of life never flowered into till the false dies away, and the wrong des song ; appears. but the fountains they opened still gush by the way, nothing fails of its end. out of sites and the world for their healing is better tosinks the stone, day. in the deep sea of time, but the circies sweep on, he who lies where the minster’s groined till the low-rippled murmurs along the arches curve down shores run, to the tomb-crowded transept of england's and the dark and dead waters leap glad in renown, the sun. the glorious essayist, by gepius enthroned, whose pen as a sceptre the muses all meanwhile shall we learn, in our ease, to owned, forget to the martyrs of truth and of freels who through the world's pantheon walked our debt? in his pride, hide their words out of sight, like the car setting new statues up, thrusting old ones that they wore, aside, and for barclay's apology offer our tikute and in tiction the pencils of history dipped, to gild o'er or blacken each saint in his shall we fawn round the priesteraft tis: crypt, glutted the shears, and festooped the stocks with our gohow vainly he labored to sully with fnthers' ears? blame talk of woolman's unsoundness com the white bust of penn, in the niche of his penn heterodox ? fame! and take ('otton mather in place of grote self will is self wounding, perversity fox? blind : on himself fell the stain for the quaker make our preachers war-chaplains ? 4-6 designed! scripture to take the hunted slave back, for opesinas'sekr for the sake of his true-hearted father bego to burning church-candles, anii chart fore him ; in choir, for the sake of the dear quaker mother and on the old meeting-house sto s ap that bore him ; spire ? the quaker alumni 223 no! the old paths we'll keep until better are shown, credit good where we find it, abroad or our own ; and while “ lo here” and “lo there” the multitude call, be true to ourselves, and do justice to all. three shades at this moment seem walking her strand, each with head halo-crowned, and with palms in his hand, wise berkeley, grave hopkins, and, smiling serene on prelate and puritan, channing is seen. the good round about us we need not refuse, nor talk of our zion as if we were jews; but why shirk the badge which our fathers or beg the world's pardon for having been born ? have worn, one holy name bearing, no longer they need credentials of party, and pass-words of creed: the new song they sing hath a threefold accord, and they own one baptism, one faith, and one lord ! we need not pray over the pharisee's prayer, nor claim that our wisdom is benjamin's share ; truth to us and to others is equal and one : shall we bottle the free air, or hoard up the but the golden sands run out: occasions like these glide swift into shadow, like sails on the sun ? seas: more. soil grow; dame. be true, the eye while we sport with the mosses and pebbles well know we our birthright may serve ashore, but to show they lessen and fade, and we see them no how the meanest of weeds in the richest but we need not disparage the good which forgive me, dear friends, if my vagrant we hold; thoughts seem though the vessels be earthen, the treasure like a school-boy's who idles and plays with is gold ! his theme. forgive the light measure whose changes enough and too much of the sect and the display the sunshine and rain of our brief april what matters our label, so truth be our day. aim ? the creed may be wrong, but the life may there are moments in life when the lip and and hearts beat the same under drab coats try the question of whether to smile or to or blue. cry ; and scenes and reunions that prompt like so the man be a man, let him worship, at will, the tender in feeling, the playful in tone. in jerusalem's courts, or on gerizim's hill. when she makes up her jewels, what cares i, who never sat down with the boys and the yon good town girls for the baptist of wayland, the quaker of at the feet of your slocums, and cartlands, brown? and earles, by courtesy only permitted to lay and this green, favored island, so fresh and on your festival's altar my poor gift, tosea-blown, day, — when she counts up the worthies her annals have known, i would joy in your joy : let me have a never waits for the pitiful gaugers of sect friend's part to measure her love, and mete out her rein the warmth of your welcome of hand spect. and of heart, our own 224 occasional poems and go ; on your play-ground of boyhood unbend slopes of the newbury side of the river oppo the brow's care, pleasant valley in amesbury. the mal and shift the old burdens our shoulders poems called out by these gatherings are here must bear. printed in sequence. long live the good school ! giving out year once more on yonder lagrelled heizbt by year the summer towers have buddded; recruits to true manhood and womanhood once more with summer's golden litt dear: the vales of home are flooded ; brave boys, modest maidens, in beauty sent and once more, by the grace of him forth, of every good the giver, the living epistles and proof of its worth ! we sing upon its wooded rim the praises of our river: in and out let the young life as steadily flow its pines above, its waves below, as in broad narragansett the tides come the west-wind down it blowing, as fair as when the young brisst and its sons and its daughters in prairie beheld it seaward flowing, and town and bore its memory o'er the deep, remember its honor, and guard its renown. to soothe the martyr's sadness, and fresco, in his troubled sleep, not vainly the gift of its founder was his prison-walls with gladness. made ; not prayerless the stones of its corner were we know the world is rich with streams laid : renowned in song and story, the blessing of him whom in secret they whose music murmurs through our dreams songht of human love and glory : has owned the good work which the fathers we know that arno's banks are fair, have wronght. and rhine has castled shadows, and, poet-tuned, the doon and irr to him be the glory forever! we bear go singing down their meadows. to the lord of the harvest our wheat with the tare. but while, unpictured and unsung what we lack in our work may he find in by painter or by poet, our will, our river waits the tuneful tongue and winnow in mercy our good from the and cunning hand to show it, – ill! we only know the fond skies lean above it, warm with blessing, and the sweet soul of our lindine our river awakes to our caressing. for a summer festival at “the no fickle sun.god holds the forks lau'rels" on the merrimac that graze its shores in keeping: no icy kiss of dian mocks jean pierre brissot, the famous leader of the the youth beside it sleeping: girondist party in the french revolution, when our christian river loveth most a young man travelled extensively in the united the beautiful and human; states. ple visited the valley of the merrimae, the heathen streams of nauads boast, and speaks in terms of animiration of the view but ours of man and woman. from moulton's hill opposite amesbury. the * laurel party," so called, was composed of the miner in his cabin hears ladies and gentlemen in the lower valley of the merrimac, and invited friends and guests in the ripple we are hearing : other sections of the country. its thoroughly it whispers soft to homesick ears enjovable annual festivals were held in the early around the settler's clearing : summer on the pine-shaded, laurel-blossomed in sacramento's vales of corn, revisited 225 or santee's bloom of cotton, our river by its valley-born was never yet forgotten. let thy hills give thanks, and all thy waters break into jubilant waves of song! bring us the airs of hills and forests, the sweet aroma of birch and pine, give us a waft of the north-wind laden with sweetbrier odors and breath of kine! the drum rolls loud, the bugle fills the summer air with clangor ; the war-storni shakes the solid hills beneath its tread of anger ; young eyes that last year smiled in ours now point the rifle's barrel, and hands then stained with fruits and flowers bear redder stains of quarrel. but blue skies smile, and flowers bloom on, and rivers still keep flowing, the dear god still his rain and sun on good and ill bestowing. his pine-trees whisper, “trust and wait !” his flowers are prophesying that all we dread of change or fate his love is underlying. bring us the purple of mountain sunsets, shadows of clouds that rake the hills, the green repose of thy plymouth meadows, the gleam and ripple of campton rills. lead us away in shadow and sunshine, slaves of fancy, through all thy miles, the winding ways of pemigewasset, and winnipesaukee's hundred isles. shatter in sunshine over thy ledges, laugh in thy plunges from fall to fall; play with thy fringes of elms, and darken under the shade of the mountain wall. no more and thou, o mountain-born ! we ask the wise allotter than for the firmness of thy shore, the calmness of thy water, the cheerful lights that overlay thy rigged slopes with beauty, to match our spirits to our day and make a joy of duty. the cradle-song of thy hillside fountains here in thy glory and strength repeat ; give us a taste of tby upland music, show us the dance of thy silver feet. : ows revisited into thy dutiful life of uses pour the music and weave the flowers : with the song of birds and bloom of meadlighten and gladden thy heart and ours. sing on ! bring down, o lowland river, the joy of the hills to the waiting sea ; the wealth of the vales, the pomp of mountains, the breath of the woodlands, bear with thee. read at “the laurels," on the merrimac, 6th month, 1865. the roll of drums and the bugle's wailing ver the air of our vales no more ; the spear is beaten to hooks of pruning, the share is the sword the soldier wore ! here, in the calın of thy seaward valley, mirth and labor shall hold their truce ; dance of water and mill of grinding, both are beauty and both are use. sing soft, sing low, our lowland river, under thy banks of laurel bloom ; softly and sweet, as the hour beseemeth, sing us the songs of peace and home. let all the tenderer voices of nature temper the triumph and chasten mirth, full of the infinite love and pity for fallen martyr and darkened hearth. but to him who gives us beauty for ashes, and the oil of joy for mourning long, type of the northland's strength and glory, pride and hope of our home and race, freedom lending to rugged labor tints of beauty and lines of grace. once again, o beautiful river, hear our greetings and take our thanks; hither we come, as eastern pilgrims throng to the jordan's sacred banks. 226 occasional poems for though by the master's feet untrodden, though never his word has stilled thy waves, well for us may thy shores be holy, with christian altars and saintly graves. and well may we own thy hint and token of fairer valleys and streams than these, where the rivers of god are full of water, and full of sap are lis healing trees ! june on the merrimac o dwellers in the stately towns, what come ye out to see? this common earth, this common sky, this water flowing free? as gayly as these kalmia flowers your door-yard blossoms spring; as sweetly as these wild-wooci vinis your caged minstrels sing. “the laurels” you find but common bloom and grees the rippling river's rune, the beauty which is everywhere beneath the skies of june ; the hawkswood oaks, the storm trts. plumes of old pine-forest kings, beneath whose century-woven shade deer island's mistress sings. and here are pictured artichoke, and curson's bowery mill; and pleasant valley smiles between the river and the hill. at the twentieth and last anniversary. from these wild rocks i look to-day o'er leagues of dancing waves, and see the far, low coast-line stretch away to where our river meets the sea. the light wind blowing off the land is burdened with old voices ; through shut eyes i see how lip and hand the greeting of old days renew. () friends whose hearts still keep their prime, whose bright example warms and cheers, ye teach us how to smile at time, and set to music all his years ! i thank you for sweet summer days, for pleasant memories lingering long, for joyful meetings, fond delays, and ties of friendship woven strong. as for the last time, side by side, you tread the paths familiar grown, i reach across the severing tide, and blend my farewells with your own. make room, () river of our home! for other feet in place of ours, and in the summers yet to come, make glad another feast of flowers ! hold in thy mirror, calm and deep, the pleasant pictures thou hast seen; forget thy lovers not, but keep our memory like thy laurels green. you know full well these banks of blox , the uplaud's wavy line, and how the sunshine tips with fire the needles of the pine. yet, like some old remembered psalm, or sweet, familiar face, not less because of commonness you love the day and place. and not in vain in this soft air shall hard-strung nerves relax, not all in vain the o'erworn brain forego its daily tax. the lust of power, the greed of gain have all the year their own ; the haunting demons well may let our one bright day alone. unheeded let the newsboy call, aside the ledger lay : the world will keep its treadmill step though we fall out today. די hymn 227 from manhood's weary shoulder falls his load of selfish cares ; and woman takes her rights as flowers and brooks and birds take theirs. the truants of life's weary school, without excuse from thrift we change for once the gains of toil for god's unpurchased gift. from ceiled rooms, from silent books, from crowded car and town, dear mother earth, upon thy lap we lay our tired heads down. the license of the happy woods, the brook's release are ours; the freedom of the unshamed wind among the glad-eyed flowers. cool, summer wind, our heated brows; blue river, through the green of clustering pines, refresh the eyes which all too much have seen. yet here no evil thought finds place, nor foot profane comes in ; our grove, like that of samothrace, is set apart from sin. we walk on holy ground ; above a sky more holy smiles ; the chant of the beatitudes swells down these leafy aisles. for us these pleasant woodland ways are thronged with memories old, have felt the grasp of friendly hands and heard love's story told. a sacred presence overbroods the earth whereon we meet ; these winding forest-paths are trod by more than mortal feet. thanks to the gracious providence that brings us here once more ; for memories of the good behind and hopes of good before ! old friends called from us by the voice which they alone could hear, from mystery to mystery, from life to life, draw near. and if, unknown to us, sweet days of june like this must come, unseen of us these laurels clothe the river-banks with bloom ; more closely for the sake of them each other's hands we press ; our voices take from them a tone of deeper tenderness. and these green paths must soon be trod by other feet than ours, full long may annual pilgrims come to keep the feast of flowers ; the matron be a girl once more, the bearded man a boy, and we, in heaven's eternal june, be glad for earthly joy ! hymn our joy is theirs, their trust is ours, alike below, above, or here or there, about us fold the arms of one great love ! we ask to-day no countersign, no party names we own ; c'nlabelled, individual, we bring ourselves alone. what cares the unconventioned wood for pass-words of the town ? the sound of fashion's sbibboleth the laughing waters drown. here cant forgets his dreary tone, and care his face forlorn ; the liberal air and sunshine laugh the bigot's zeal to scorn. for the opening of thomas starr king's house of worship, 1864 the poetic and patriotic preacher, who had won fame in the east, went to california in 1860 and became a power on the pacific coast. it was not long after the opening of the house of worship built for him that he died. amidst these glorious works of thine, the solemn minarets of the pine, and awful shasta's icy shrine, 228 occasional poems a where swell thy hymns from wave and that song shall swell from sbore to sbore, gale, one hope, oue faith, one love, restore and organ-thunders never fail, the seamless robe that jesus wore. behind the cataract's silver veil, our puny walls to thee we raise, hymn our poor reed-music sounds thy praise : forgive, o lord, our childish ways ! for the house of worship at georgf. town, erected in memory of for, kneeling on these altar-stairs, mother we urge thee not with selfish prayers, nor murmur at our daily cares. the giver of the house was the late geurs peabody, of london. before thee, in an evil day, our country's bleeding heart we lay, thou dwellest not, o lord of all! and dare not ask thy hand to stay ; in temples which thy children raise ; our work to thine is mean and small, but, through the war-cloud, pray to thee and brief to thy eterual days. for union, but a union free, with peace that comes of purity ! forgive the weakness and the pride, if marred thereby onr gift may be, that thou wilt bare thy arm to save for love, at least, has sanctified and, siniting through this red sea wave, the altar that we rear to thee. make broad a pathway for the slave ! the heart and not the hand has wrongt: for us, confessing all our need, from sunken base to tower above we trust nor rite nor word nor deed, the image of a tender thonght, nor yet the broken staff of creed. the memory of a deathless love! assured alone that thou art good and though should never sound of sports to each, as to the multitude, or organ echo from its wall, eternal love and fatherhood, – its stones would pious lessons teach, its shade in benedictions fall. weak, sinful, blind, to thee we kneel, stretch dumbly forth our hands, and here should the dove of peace be found. feel and blessings and not curses given : our weakness is our strong appeal. nor strife profane, nor hatred wount the mingled loves of earth and beatre so, by these western gates of even we wait to see with thy forgiven thou, who didst soothe with dsing berstà the opening golden gate of heaven! the dear one watching by thy cross forgetful of the pains of death suffice it now. in time to be in sorrow for her mighty luss, shall holier altars rise to thee, — thy church our broad humanity! in memory of that tender claim, o mother-born, the offering take, white flowers of love its walls shall and make it worthy of thy name, climb, and bless it for a mother's sake! soft bells of peace shall ring its chime, its days shall all be holy time. a spiritual manifestat!:) a sweeter song sball then be heard, the music of the world's accord read at the president's levee, brown i'> ('onfessing christ, the inward word ! versity, arth oth month, isid. a spiritual manifestation 229 to-day the plant by williams set its summer bloom discloses ; the wilding sweetbrier of his prayers is crowned with cultured roses. “shrill anabaptists, shorn of ears ; gray witch-wives, hobbling slowly ; and antinomians, free of law, whose very sins were holy. “ hoarse ranters, crazed fifth monarchists of stripes and bondage braggarts, pale churchmen, with singed rubrics snatched from puritanic fagots. “ and last, not least, the quakers came, with tongues still sore from burning, the bay state's dust from off their feet before my threshold spurning; once more the island state repeats the lesson that he taught her, and binds his pearl of charity cpon her brown-locked daughter. is't fancy that he watches still his providence plantations ? that still the careful founder takes a part on these occasions ? methinks i see that reverend form, which all of us so well know : he rises up to speak ; he jogs the presidential elbow. “good friends," he says, “you reap a field i sowed in self-denial, for toleration had its griefs and charity its trial. "great grace, as saith sir thomas more, to him must needs be given who heareth heresy and leaves the heretic to heaven ! “a motley host, the lord's débris, faith's odds and ends together; well might i shrink from guests with lungs tough as their breeches leather : “if, when the hangman at their heels came, rope in hand to catch them, i took the hunted outcasts in, i never sent to fetch them. " i hear again the snuffled tones, i see in dreary vision dyspeptic dreamers, spiritual bores, and prophets with a mission. " each zealot thrust before my eyes his scripture-garbled label ; all creeds were shouted in my ears as with the tongues of babel. "scourged at one cart-tail, each denied the hope of every other ; each martyr shook his branded fist at the conscience of his brother ! “i fed, but spared them not a whit ; i gave to all who walked in, not clams and succotash alone, but stronger meat of doctrine. "i proved the prophets false, i pricked the bubble of perfection, and clapped upon their inner light the snuffers of election, “ and looking backward on my times, this credit i am taking; i kept each sectary's dish apart, no spiritual chowder making. “ where now the blending signs of sect would puzzle their assorter, the dry-shod quaker kept the land, the baptist held the water. a " how cleft the dreary drone of man the shriller pipe of woman, as gorton led his saints elect, who held all things in common ! * their gay robes trailed in ditch and swamp, and torn by thorn and thicket, the dancing-girls of merry mount came dragging to my wicket. “ a common coat now serves for both, the hat's no more a fixture ; and which was wet and which was dry, who knows in such a mixture ? « well ! he who fashioned peter's dream to bless them all is able ; 230 occasional poems and weeds the garden of the lord with satan's borrowed dibble. and bird and beast and creeping thing make clean upon his table ! “ i walked by my own light; but when the ways of faith divided, was i to force unwilling feet to tread the path that i did ? “ i touched the garment-hem of truth, yet saw not all its splendor ; i knew enough of doubt to feel for every conscience tender. . * god left men free of choice, as when ilis eden-trees were planted ; because they chose amiss, should i deny the gift he granted ? “so, with a common sense of need, our common weakness feeling, i left them with myself to god and his all-gracious dealing ! " i kept his plan whose rain and sun to tare and wheat are given; and if the ways to hell were free, i left them free to heaven!” to-day our hearts like organ keys one master's touch are feeling ; the branches of a common vine have only leaves of healing. co-workers, yet from varied fields, we share this restful nooning; the quaker with the baptist here believes in close communing forgive, dear saint, the playful tone, too light for thy deseasing; thanks for thy generous faith in man, thy trust in god unswerving. still echo in the hearts of men the words that thou hast spoken no forge of hell can weld again the fetters thou hast broken. the pilgrim needs a pass no more from roman or genevan; thought-free, no ghostly tollman keep henceforth the road to heaven ! take heart with us, o man of old, soul-freedom's brave confessor, so love of god and man wax strong, let sect and creed be lesser. chicago the jarring discords of thy day in ours one hymn are swelling ; the wandering feet, the severed paths, all seek our father's dwelling. and slowly learns the world the truth that makes us all thy debtor, — that holy life is more than rite', and spirit more than letter ; that they who differ pole-wide serve perchance the common master, and other sheep lle bath than they who graze one narrow pasture ! for truth's wort foe is he who claims to act as goul's avenger, and deems, beyond his sentry-beat, the crystal walls in danger! the great fire at chicago was on 10 (bet ber, 1871. mex said at vespers : “ all is well!" in one wild night the city fell ; fell shrines of prayer and marts of gaia before the fiery hurricane. on threescore spires had sunset sbae, where ghastly sunrise looked on dee men clasped each other's hands, and saa! " the city of the west is dead!" brave hearts who fought, in slow mpeten the fiends of fire from street to stnt. turned, powerless, to the blinding far, the dumb definance of despair. a sudden impulse thrilled each wire that signalled round that sea of tim: swift words of cheer, warm heart-thr's came ; in tears of pity died the flame ! who sets for heresy his traps of verbal quirk and quibble, the golden wedding of longwood 231 from east, from west, from south and north, the messages of hope shot forth, and, underneath the severing wave, the world, full-handed, reached to save. and there, as here, on main and isle, the dews of holy peace shall fall, the same sweet heavens above him smile and god's dear love be over all ! the golden wedding of longwood fair seemed the old ; but fairer still the new, the dreary void shall fill with dearer homes than those o'erthrown, for love shall lay each corner-stone. rise, stricken city! from thee throw the ashen sackcloth of thy woe ; and build, as to amphion's strain, to songs of cheer thy walls again! longwood, not far from bayard taylor's birthplace in kennett square, pennsylvania, was the home of my esteemed friends john and hannah cox, whose golden wedding was celebrated in 1874. how shrivelled in thy hot distress the primal sin of selfishness ! how instant rose, to take thy part, the angel in the human heart ! with fifty years between you and your well-kept wedding vow, the golden age, old friends of mine, is not a fable now. and, sweet as has life's vintage been through all your pleasant past, still, as at cana's marriage-feast, the best wine is the last ! ah! not in vain the flames that tossed above thy dreadful holocaust; the christ again has preached through thee the gospel of humanity ! then lift once more thy towers on high, and fret with spires the western sky, to tell that god is yet with us, and love is still miraculous ! again before me, with your names, fair chester's landscape comes, its meadows, woods, and ample barns, and quaint, stone-builded homes. the smooth-shorn vales, the wheaten slopes, the boscage green and soft, of which their poet sings so well from towered cedarcroft. and lo! from all the country side come neighbors, kith and kin; from city, hamlet, farm house old, the wedding guests come in. kinsman died at the island of panay (philippine group), aged nineteen years. where ceaseless spring her garland twines, as sweetly shall the loved one rest, as if beneath the whispering pines and maple shadows of the west. ye mourn, o hearts of home ! for him, but, haply, mourn ye not alone ; for him shall far-off eyes be dim, and pity speak in tongues unknown. there needs no graven line to give the story of his blameless youth ; all hearts shall throb intuitive, and nature guess the simple truth. the very meaning of his name shall many a tender tribute win ; the stranger own his sacred claim, and all the world shall be his kin. and they who, without scrip or purse, mobhunted, travel-worn, in freedom's age of martyrs came, as victors now return. older and slower, yet the same, files in the long array, and hearts are light and eyes are glad, though heads are badger-gray. the fire-tried men of thirty-eight who saw with me the fall, midst roaring flames and shouting mob, of pennsylvania hall; 232 occasional poems and they of lancaster who turned the may many more of quiet years be added to checks of tyrants pale, your sum, singing of freedom through the grates of and, late at last, in tenderest love, the moyamensing jail ! beckoning angel come. and haply with them, all unseen, old comdear hearts are here, dear hearts are there. rades, gone before, alike below, above ; pass, silently as shadows pass, within your our friends are now in either world, and open door, love is sure of love. the eagle face of lindley coates, brave garrett's daring zeal, hymn tbe christian grace of pennock, the steadfast heart of neal. for the opening of plymouth chiron, st. paul, minnesota ab me! beyond all power to name, the worthies tried and true, all things are thine : no gift have se, grave men, fair women, youth and maid, lord of all gifts, to offer thee ; pass by in hushed review. and hence with grateful hearts today, thy own before thy feet we lay. of varying faiths, a common cause fused all their hearts in one. thy will was in the builders' thought ; god give them now, whate'er their names, thy hand unseen amidst us wrought; the peace of duty done ! through mortal motive, sebe me and plan. thy wise eternal purpose ra ran. how gladly would i tread again the oldremembered places, no lack thy perfect fulness knew; sit down beside your hearth once more and for human needs and longings grew look in the dear old faces ! this house of prayer, this home of rest, in the fair garden of the west. and thank you for the lessons your fifty years are teaching, in weakness and in want we call for honest lives that louder speak than on thee for whom the heavens are sata, half our voisy preaching ; thy glory is thy children's good, thy joy thy tender fatherhood. for your steady faith and courage in that dark and evil time, o father! deign these walls to bless, when the golden rule was treason, and to fill with thy love their emptiness, feed the hungry crime ; and let their door a gateway be to lead us from ourselves to thee! for the poor slave's house of refuge when the hounds were on his track, and saint and sinner, church and state, lexington joined hands to send him back. 1775 blessings upon yon ! what you did for each sad, suffering one, yo berserk thirst of blood hnd ther, so homeless, faint, and naked, unto our no battle-jor was theirs, who set lord was done! against the alien bayonet their homespun breasts in that old day fair fall on kennett's pleasant vales and langwool', bowery ways their feet had trodden peaceful ways: the mellow sunset of your lives, friends of they loved not strife, they dreaded my early days. 1 pain; “i was a stranger and ye took me in” 233 they saw not, what to us is plain, that god would make man's wrath his praise. the library sung at the opening of the haverhill library, november 11, 1875. no seers were they, but simple men ; its vast results the future hid : the meaning of the work they did was strange and dark and doubtful then. “let there be light !” god spake of old, and over chaos dark and cold, and through the dead and formless frame of nature, life and order came. swift as their summons came they left the plough mid furrow standing still, the half ground corn grist in the mill the spade in earth, the axe in cleft. faint was the light at first that shone on giant fern and mastodon, on half-formed plant and beast of prey, and man as rude and wild as they. they went where duty seemed to call, they scarcely asked the reason why ; they only knew they could but die, and death was not the worst of all ! age after age, like waves, o'erran the earth, uplifting brute and man; and mind, at length, in symbols dark its meanings traced on stone and bark. of man for man the sacrifice, all that was theirs to give, they gave. the flowers that blossomed from their grave have sown themselves beneath all skies. on leaf of palm, on sedge-wrought roll; on plastic clay and leathern scroll, man wrote his thoughts ; the ages passed, and lo ! the press was found at last ! as their death-shot shook the feudal tower, and sbattered slavery's chain well ; on the sky's dome, as on a bell, its echo struck the world's great hour. then dead souls woke; the thoughts of men whose bones were dust revived again ; the cloister's silence found a tongue, old prophets spake, old poets sung. and here, to-day, the dead look down, the kings of mind again we crown ; we hear the voices lost so long, the sage's word, the sibyl's song. here greek and roman find themselves alive along these crowded shelves ; and shakespeare treads again his stage, and chaucer paints anew his age. that fateful echo is not dumb : the nations listening to its sound wait, from a century's vantage-ground, the holier triumphs yet to come, the bridal time of law and love, the gladness of the world's release, when, war-sick, at the feet of peace the hawk shall nestle with the dove ! as if some pantheon's marbles broke their stony trance, and lived and spoke, life thrills along the alcoved hall, the lords of thought await our call ! the golden age of brotherhood unknown to other rivalries than of the mild humanities, and gracious interchange of good, when closer strand shall lean to strand, till meet, beneath saluting flags, the eagle of our mountain-crags, the lion of our motherland! "i was a stranger and ye took me in" an incident in st. augustine, florida. 'neath skies that winter never knew the air was full of light and balm, 234 occasional poems ii here, where of old, by thy design, the fathers spake that word of thine whose echo is the glad refrain of rended bolt and falling chain, to grace our festal time, from all the zones of earth our guests we call. in and warm and soft the gulf wind blew through orange bloom and groves of palm. a stranger from the frozen north, who sought the fount of health in vain, sank homeless on the alien earth, and breathed the languid air with pain. god's angel came! the tender shade of pity made her blue eye dim; against her woman's breast she laid the drooping, fainting head of him. she bore him to a pleasant room, flower-sweet and cool with salt sea air, and watched beside his bed, for whom his far-off sisters might not care. she fanned his feverish brow and smoothed its lines of pain with tenderest touch. with holy hymn and prayer she soothed the trembling soul that feared so much. through her the peace that passeth sight came to him, as he lapsed away as one whose troubled dreams of night slide slowly into tranquil day. the sweetness of the land of flowers l'pon his lonely grave she laid : the jasmine dropped its golden showers, the orange lent its bloom and shade. be with us while the new world greets the old world thronging all its sirrets, t'nveiling all the triumphis won by art or toil beneath the sun ; and unto common good ordain this rivalship of hand and brain. iv thou, who bast bere in concord furled the war flags of a gathered world, beneath our western skies full the orient's mission of good-will, and, freighted with love's golden fleece, send back its argonauts of peace. for art and labor met in truce, for beauty made the bride of use, we thank thee ; but, withal, we crare the austere virtues strong to save, the honor proof to place or gold, the manhood never bought nor sold ! and something whispered in her thought, more sweet than mortal voices be : “ the service thou for him hast wrought o daughter! hath beep doue for me." centennial hymn vi oh make thou us, through centuries loos, in peace secure, in justice strong; around our gift of freedom draw the safeguards of thy righteous law : and, cast in some diviner mould, let the new cycle shame the old ! written for the opening of the international exhibition, philadelphia, may 10, 1971. the music for the hymn was written by john k. paine and may be found in the atlantic winthiy for june, 1976. 1 our fathers' god! from out whose hand the centuries fall like grains of sand, we meet to-day, united, free, and loval to our land and thee, to thank thee for the era done, and trust thee for the opening one. at school-close bowdoin street, boston, 1977 the end has come, as come it must to all things in these sweet jade days the teacher and the scholar trust their parting feet to separate wars hymn of the children 235 be gentle : unto griefs and needs, be pitiful as woman should, and, spite of all the lies of creeds, hold fast the truth that god is good. they part : but in the years to be shall pleasant memories cling to each, as shells bear inland from the sea the murmur of the rhythmic beach. one knew the joy the sculptor knows when, plastic to his lightest touch, his clay-wrought model slowly grows to that fine grace desired so much. so daily grew before her eyes the living shapes whereon she wrought, strong, tender, innocently wise, the child's heart with the woman's thought. give and receive ; go forth and bless the world that needs the hand and heart of martha's helpful carefulness no less than mary's better part. so shall the stream of time flow by and leave each year a richer good, and matron loveliness outvie the nameless charm of maidenhood. and, when the world shall link your names and one shall never quite forget the voice that called from dream and play, the firm but kindly hand that set her feet in learning's pleasant way, the joy of undine soul-possessed, the wakening sense, the strange delight that swelled the fabled statue's breast and filled its clouded eyes with sight! with gracious lives and manners fine, the teacher shall assert her claims, and proudly whisper, " these were mine!” hymn of the children sung at the anniversary of the children's mission, boston, 1878. o youth and beauty, loved of all ! ye pass from girlhood's gate of dreams ; in broader ways your footsteps fall, ye test the truth of all that seems. thine are all the gifts, o god ! thine the broken bread; let the naked feet be shod, and the starving fed. let thy children, by thy grace, give as they abound, till the poor have breathing-space, and the lost are found. her little realm the teacher leaves, she breaks ber wand of power apart, while, for your love and trust, she gives the warm thanks of a grateful heart. hers is the sober summer noon contrasted with your morn of spring, the waning with the waxing moon, the folded with the outspread wing. across the distance of the years she sends her god-speed back to you ; she has no thought of doubts or fears : be but yourselves, be pure, be true, and prompt in duty ; heed the deep, low voice of conscience ; through the ill and discord round about you, keep your faith in human nature still. wiser than the miser's hoards is the giver's choice ; sweeter than the song of birds is the thankful voice. welcome smiles on faces sad as the flowers of spring ; let the tender hearts be glad with the joy they bring. happier for their pity's sake make their sports and plays, and from lips of childhood take thy perfected praise ! 236 occasional poems the landmarks this poem was read at a meeting of citizens of boston having for its object the preservation of the old south church, famous in colonial and revolutionary history. 1 through the streets of marblehead fast the red-winged terror sped ; blasting, withering, on it came, with its hundred tongues of flame, where st. michael's on its way stood like chained andromeda, waiting on the rock, like her, swift doom or deliverer! church that, after sea-moss grew over walls no longer new, counted generations five, four entombed and one alive ; round the low tower wall the fire snake-like wound its coil of ire. sacred in its gray respect from the jealousies of sect, “save it," seemed the thought of all, “ save it, though our roof-trees fall!" l'p the tower the young men sprung; one, the bravest, outward swung by the rope, whose kindling strands smoked beneath the holder's hands smiting dowu with strokes of power burning fragments from the tower. then the gazing crowd beneath broke the painful pause of breath ; brave men cheered from street to street with home's ashes at their feet; houseless women kerchiefs waved : “ thank the lord ! st. michael's nared** 11 in the heart of boston town stands the church of old renown, from whose walls the impulse went which set free a continent ; from whose pulpit's oracle prophecies of freedom fell; and whose steeple-rocking din rang the nation's birth-day in! standing at this very hour perilled like st. michael's tower, held not in the clasp of flame, but by mammon's grasping claim. shall it be of boston said she is shamed by marblehead ? city of our pride! as there, hast thou none to do and dare ? heard the martial thousand tread battleward from marblehead ; saw within the rock-walled bay treville's lilied pennous play, and the fisher's dory met by the barge of lafayette, telling good news in advance of the coming tleet of france ! church to reverend memories dear, quaint in desk and chandelier ; bell, whose century-rusted tongue burials tolled and bridals rung; loft, whose tiny organ kept keys that snetzler's hand had swept ; altar, o'er whose tablet old sinai's law its thunders rolled ! suddenly the sharp cry came : "look! st. michael's is atiame !" life was risked for michael's shrine shall not wealth be staked for thine a greeting 237 woe to thee, when men shall search vainly for the old south church ; o painter of the fruits and flowers, we own thy wise design, whereby these human hands of ours may share the work of thine ! when from neck to boston stone, all thy pride of place is gone ; when from bay and railroad car, stretched before them wide and far, apart from thee we plant in vain the root and sow the seed; thy early and thy later rain, thy sun and dew we need. men shall only see a great wilderness of brick and slate, every holy spot o'erlaid by the commonplace of trade ! our toil is sweet with thankfulness, our burden is our boon ; the curse of earth's gray morning is the blessing of its noon. city of our love ! to thee duty is but destiny. why search the wide world everywhere for eden's unknown ground ? that garden of the primal pair may nevermore be found. true to all thy record saith, keep with thy traditions faith ; but, blest by thee, our patient toil may rigbt the ancient wrong, and give to every clime and soil the beauty lost so long. ere occasion's overpast, hold its flowing forelock fast ; honor still the precedents of a grand munificence ; in thy old historic way give, as thou didst yesterday our homestead flowers and fruited trees may eden's orchard shame ; we taste the tempting sweets of these like eve, without her blame. at the south-land's call, or on need's demand from fired st. john. set thy church's muffled bell free the generous deed to tell. and, north and south and east and west, the pride of every zone, the fairest, rarest, and the best may all be made our own. its earliest shrines the young world sought in hill-groves and in bowers, the fittest offerings thither brought were thy own fruits and flowers. let thr loval hearts rejoice in the glad, sonorous voice, ringing from the brazen mouth of the bell of the old south, ringing clearly, with a will, "what she was is boston still !” and still with reverent hands we cull thy gifts each year renewed ; the good is always beautiful, the beautiful is good. garden a greeting read at harriet beecher stowe's seventieth anniversary, june 14, 1882, at a garden party at ex-governor claflin's in newtonville, mass. a hymn for the american horticultural society, 1882. (originally written to be sung at an agricultural and horticultural fair in amesbary in 1853. it was translated into portuguese by dom pedro, emperor of brazil, and read at a harvest festival. it has been translated into italian also and sung by peasants at the gathering of the vintage.] thrice welcome from the land of flowers and golden-fruited orange bowers to this sweet, green-turfed june of ours ! 238 occasional poems godspeed written on the occasion of a vorige made by my friends annie fields and sarah chips jewett. to her who, in our evil time, dragged into light the nation's crime with strength beyond the strength of men, and, mightier than their swords, her pen! to her who world-wide entrance gave to the log-cabin of the slave ; made all his wrongs and sorrows knowu, and all earth's languages his own, — north, south, and east and west, made all the common air electrical, until the vercharged bolts of heaven blazed down, and every chain was riven ! outbound, your bark awaits you. were i one whose prayer availeth much, my w should be your favoring trade-wind and conse'" sea. by sail or steed was never lore oʻtrun, and, here or there, love follows her un whom all graces and sweet charities un te, the old greek beanty set in bolerki, and her for whom new england's beware bloom, who walks among us welcome as the spring, calling up blossoms where her hight fort stray. god keep you both, make beautiful yout way, comfort, console, and bless; and safein bring, ere yet i make upon a vaster sea the unreturning voyage, my friends :me. winter roses welcome from each and all to her whose wooing of the minister revealed the warm heart of the man beneath the creed-bound puritan, and taught the kinship of the love of man below and god above ; to her whose vigorous pencil-strokes sketched into life her oldtown folks ; whose fireside stories, grave or gay, in quaint sam lawson's vagrant way, with old new england's flavor rife, waifs from her rude idyllic life, are racy as the legends old by chaucer or boccaccio told ; to her who keeps, through change of place and time, her native strength and grace, alike where warı sorrento smiles, or where, by birchen-shaded isles, whose summer winds have shivered o'er the icy drift of labrador, she lifts to light the priceless pearl of harpswell's angel-beckoned girl! to her at threescore years and ten be tributes of the tongue and pen ; be honor, praise, and heart-thanks given, the loves of earth, the hopes of heaven! ah, dearer than the praise that stirs the air to-day, our love is hers! she needs no guaranty of fame whose own is linked with freedom's name. long ages after ours shall keep her memory living while we sleep ; the waves that wash our gray coast lines, the winds that rock the southern pines, shall sing of her; the unending years shall tell her tale in unborn ears. and when, with wins and follies past, are numbered color-hate and caste, white, black, and red shall own as one the noblest work by woman done. in reply to a flower gift from mr. patsan. school at jamaica plain. my garden roses long ago have perished from the leaf-stress walks ; their pale, fair sisters smile no more l'pon the sweet-brier stalks. gone with the flower-time of my life, spring's violets, summer's boas pride, and nature's winter and my own stand, tlowerless, side by side. so might i yesterday hare sung ; today, in bleak december's bon, come sweetest fragrance, shapes, 10 hues, the rosy wealth of june ! norumbega hall 239 bless the young hands that culled the gift, aud bless the hearts that prompted it; if undeserved it comes, at least it seems not all unfit. the pain that spared us sorer hurt, the wish denied, the purpose crossed, and pleasure's fond occasions lost, were mercies to our small desert. of old my quaker ancestors had gifts of forty stripes save one ; to-day as many roses crown the gray head of their son. 't is something that we wander back, gray pilgrims, to our ancient ways, and tender memories of old days walk with us by the merrimac ; that even in life's afternoon a sense of youth comes back again, as through this cool september rain the still green woodlands dream of june. and with them, to my fancy's eye, the fresh-faced givers smiling come, and nine and thirty happy girls make glad a lonely room. they bring the atmosphere of youth ; the light and warmth of long ago are in my heart, and on my cheek the airs of morning blow. o buds of girlhood, yet unblown, and fairer than the gift ye chose, for you may years like leaves unfold the heart of sharon's rose ! the eyes grown dim to present things have keener sight for bygone years, and sweet and clear, in deafening ears, the bird that sang at morning sings. dear comrades, scattered wide and far, send from their homes their kindly word, and dearer ones, unseen, unheard, smile on us from some heavenly star. the reunion for life and death with god are one, unchanged by seeming change ilis care and love are round us here and there ; he breaks no thread his hand has spun. read september 10, 1885, to the surviving students of haverhill academy in 1827-1830. soul touches soul, the muster roll of life eternal has no gaps ; and after half a century's lapse our school-day ranks are closed and whole. the gulf of seven and fifty years we stretch our welcoming hands across ; the distance but a pebble's toss between us and our youth appears. for in life's school we linger on the remnant of a once full list; conning our lessons, undismissed, with faces to the setting sun. hail and farewell! we go our way; where shadows end, we trust in light ; the star that ushers in the night is herald also of the day ! norumbega hall and some have gone the unknown way, and some await the call to rest ; who knoweth whether it is best for those who went or those who stay ? and yet despite of loss and ill, if faith and love and hope remain, our length of days is not in vain, and life is well worth living still. still to a gracious providence the thanks of grateful hearts are due, for blessings when our lives were new, for all the good vouchsafed us since. norumbega hall at wellesley college, named in honor of eben norton horsford, who was one of the most munificent patrons of that noble institution, and who had just published an essay claiming the discovery of the site of the somewhat mythical city of norumbega, was opened with appropriate ceremonies, in april, 1886. the following sonnet was written for the occasion, and was read by president alice e. freeman, to whom it was addressed. not on penobscot's wooded bank the spires of the sought city rose, nor yet beside 240 occasional poems one of the sigxers our the winding charles, nor where the daily tide of naumkeag's haven rises and retires, the vision tarried ; but somewhere we knew the beautiful gates must open to quest, somewhere that marvellous city of the west would lift its towers and palace domes in view, and, lo! at last its mystery is made known its only dwellers maidens fair and young, its princess such as england's laureate sung ; and safe from capture, save by love alone, it lends its beauty to the lake's green shore, and vorumbega is a myth no more. written for the unveiling of the statue of josiah bartlett at amesbury, mass, jule te 1848. governor bartlett, who was a native of the town, was a signer of the declaraun of independence. amesbury or amirester, so called from the "anointed stones of the great druidical temple near it, was the seat care one of the earliest religious houses in bnia the tradition that the guilty wife of king ar thur fled thither for protection forms of the finest passages in tennyson's layu's og the king. the bartholdi statue 1886 the land, that, from the rule of kings, in freeing us, itself made free, our old world sister, to us brings her sculptured dream of liberty : l'nlike the shapes on egypt's sands l'plifted by the toil-worn slave, on freedom's soil with freemen's hands we rear the symbol free hands gave. o france, the beautiful! to thee once more a debt of love we owe : in peace beneath thy colors three, we hail a later rochambeau ! o storied vale of merrimac, rejoice through all thy shade and shine, and from his century's sleep call back a brave and honored son of thine. c'nveil his effigy between the living and the dead to-day ; the fathers of the old thirteen shall witness bear as spirits may. unseen, unheard, his gray compeers, the shades of lee and jefferson, wise franklin reverend with his years, and carroll, lord of carrollton ! be thine henceforth a pride of place beyond thy namesake's over.sra, where scarce a stone is left to trace the holy house of amesbury. a prouder memory lingers round the birthplace of thy true man bare than that which haunts the refuge found by arthur's mythic guinevere. the plain deal table where he sat and signed a nation's title-deed is dearer now to fame than that which bore the scroll of runnymede long as, on freedom's natal mort, shall ring the independence bells, give to thy dweller vet unborn the lesson which his image tells. for in that hour of destiny. which tried the men of bravest stack he knew the end alone must be a free land or a truitor's blok. rise, stately symbol! holding forth thy light and hope to all who sit in chains and darkness! belt the earth with watch-fires from thy torch uplit! reveal the primal mandate still which chlos heard and ceased to be, trace on mid-air th' eternal will in signs of tire : " let man be free!” shine far, shine free, a guiding light to reason's ways and virtue's aim, a lightning-flash the wretch to smite who shields his license with thy name ! one of the signers 241 among those picked and chosen men than his, who here first drew his breath, no firmer fingers held the pen which wrote for liberty or death. to-day, in all her holy fanes, it rings the bells of freed brazil. o hills that watched his boyhood's home, o earth and air that nursed him, give, in this memorial semblance, room to him who shall its bronze outlive! not for their hearths and homes alone, but for the world their work was done ; on all the winds their thought has flown through all the circuit of the sun. we trace its flight by broken chains, by songs of grateful labor still ; and thou, o land he loved, rejoice that in the countless years to come, whenever freedom needs a voice, these sculptured lips shall not be dumb ! the tent on the beach the tent on the beach three friends, the guests of summer time, it can'scarcely be necessary to name as the pitched their white tent where you two companions whom i reckoned with myself winds blew. in this poetical picnic, fields the lettered magbehind them, marshes, seamed anè nate, and taylor the free cosmopolite. the crossed long line of sandy beach which defines almost with narrow creeks, and toweren the whole of the new hampshire sea-coast is bossed, especially marked near its southern extremity, by the salt-meadows of hampton. the llamp; stretched to the dark oak wood, wbuse leafy ton river winds through these meadows, and arms the reader may, if he choose, imagine my tent screened from the storiny east the pleasant pitched near its mouth, where also was the inland farms. scene of the wreck of river mouth. the green bluff to the northward is great boar's head; at full of tide their bolder shore southward is the merrimac, with newburyport of sun-bleached sand the water trai, lifting its steeples above brown roofs and green at ebb, a smooth and glistening the mot trees on its banks. (mr. whittier originally they touched with light, receiling feet designed following the decameron method and feigning that each person read his own poem, northward a green bluff broke the etes but abandoned it as too hackneyed.] of sand hills ; southward stretched a plain i would not sin, in this half-playful of salt grass, with a river winding dorth strain, sail-whitened, and beyond the sicepirs of too light perhaps for serious years, the town, though born of the enforced leisure of slow pain, — whence sometimes, when the wimi »» against the pure ideal which has drawn light my feet to follow its far-shining gleam. and dull the thunder of the beach a simple plot is mine : legends and runes they heard the bells of morn and in of credulons days, old fancies that have lain swing, miles away, their silver spæve silent from boyhood taking voice again, above low scarp and turf-grown wall warmed into life once more, even as the they saw the fort-hlag rise and fall ; tunes and, the first star to sigual twingo that, frozen in the fabled hunting-horn, hour, thawed into sound :—a winter fireside the lamp-fire glimmer down from the time dream light-house tower. of dawns and sunsets by the summer sea, whose sands are traversed by a silent they rested there, escaped awhile throug from cares that wear the life away, of voyagers from that vaster mystery to eat the lotus of the nile of which it is an emblem ; – and the dear and drink the poppies of cathay, memory of one who might have tuned my to tling their loads of custom down. song like drift weed, on the sand sl pre to sweeter music by her delicate ear. brown, and in the sea-waves drown the restre pack when heats as of a tropie clime of duties, claims, and needs that tark * burped all our inland valleys through, upon their track. the tent on the beach 243 a silent, shy, peace-loving man, he seemed no fiery partisan to hold his way against the public frown, the ban of church and state, the fierce mob's hounding down. a one, with his beard scarce silvered, bore a ready credence in his looks, a lettered magnate, lording o'er an ever-widening realm of books. in him brain-currents, near and far, converged as in a leyden jar; the old, dead authors thronged him round about, and elzevir's gray ghosts from leathern graves looked out. he knew each living pundit well, could weigh the gifts of him or her, and well the market value tell of poet and philosopher. but if he lost, the scenes behind, somewhat of reverence vague and blind, finding the actors human at the best, so readier lips than his the good he saw confessed. for while he wrought with strenuous will the work his hands had found to do, he heard the fitful music still of winds that out of dream-land blew. the din about him could not drown what the strange voices whispered down ; along his task-field weird processions swept, the visionary pomp of stately phantoms stepped. his boyhood fancies not outgrown, he loved himself the singer's art ; tenderly, gently, by his own he knew and judged an author's heart. no rhadamanthine brow of doom bowed the dazed pedant from his room ; dud bards, whose name is legion, if denied, bure off alike intact their verses and their pride. the common air was thick with dreams,he told them to the toiling crowd ; such music as the woods and streams sang in his ear he sang aloud ; in still, shut bays, on windy capes, he heard the call of beckoning shapes, and, as the gray old shadows prompted him, to homely moulds of rhyme he shaped their legends grim. he rested now his weary hands, and lightly moralized and laughed, as, tracing on the shifting sands a burlesque of his paper-craft, he saw the careless waves o'errun his words, as time before had done, each day's tide-water washing clean away, like letters from the sand, the work of yesterday. pleasant it was to roam about the lettered world as he had done, and see the lords of song without their singing robes and garlands on. with wordsworth paddle rydal mere, taste rugged elliott's home-brewed beer, and with the ears of rogers, at fourscore, hear garrick’s buskiped tread and walpole's wit once more. and one there was, a dreamer born, who, with a mission to fulfil, had left the muses' haunts to turn the crank of an opinion-mill, making his rustic reed of song a weapon in the war with wrong, yoking his fancy to the breaking-plough that beam-deep turned the soil for truth to spring and grow. too quiet seemed the man to ride the winged hippogriff reform ; was his a voice from side to side to pierce the tumult of the storm ? and one, whose arab face was tanned by tropic sun and boreal frost, so travelled there was scarce a land or people left him to exhaust, in idling mood had from him hurled the poor squeezed orange of the world, and in the tent shade, sat beneath a palm, smoked, cross-legged like a turk, in oriental calm. the very waves that washed the sand below him, he had seen before whitening the scandinavian strand and sultry mauritanian shore. from ice-rimmed isles, from summer seas palm-fringed, they bore him messages ; 244 the tent on the beach he heard the plaintive nubian songs again, and mule-bells tinkling down the mountainpaths of spain. his memory round the ransacked earth on puck's long girdle slid at ease ; and, instant, to the valley's girth of mountains, spice isles of the seas, faith flowered in minster stones, art's guess at truth and beauty, found access ; yet loved the while, that free cosmopolite, old friends, old ways, and kept his boyhood's dreams in sight. and youths and maidens, sitting in s moon, dreamed o'er the old fond dream frus which we wake tou soon. at times their fishing-lines they pled, with an old triton at the car, salt as the sea-wind, tough and dned as a lean cusk from labrutor. strange tales he told of work and storm, had seen the sea-snake's awful forn, and heard the ghosts on haley's late complain, speak him off shore, and beg a passage to old spain ! and there, on breezy morns, they saw the fishing-schooners out wari run, their low-bent sails in tark an. taw turned white or dark to slie ! sometimes, in calms of closing dar, they watched the spectral uurs php saw low, far islands looming tallarla and ships, with upturued keels, slide sea the sky. sometimes a cloud, with thunder kak, stooped low upon the darken. at piercing the waves along its truck with the slaut jaselins of rain. and when west-wind and suustine are chased out to sea its wrecks of stora, they saw the prismy hues in that showers where the green buds of waves bun ini white froth flowers. l'ntouched as yet by wealth and pride, that virgin innocence of beach : no shingly monster, hundred-eyed, stared its gray sand-birds out of reach ; unhoused, save where, at intervals, the white tents showed their canvas walls, where brief sojourners, in the cool, soft air, forgot their inland heats, hard tvil, and year-long care. sometimes along the wheel-deep sand a one-horse wagon slowly crawled, deep laden with a youthful band, whose look some homestead old recalled ; brother perchance, and sisters twain, and one whose blue eyes told, more plain than the free language of her rosy lip, of the still dearer claim of love's relationship. with cheeks of russet-orchard tint, the light laugh of their native rills, the pertume of their garden's mint, the breezy freedom of the hills, they bore, in unrestrained delight, the motto of the garter's knight, careless as if from every gazing thing hid by their innocence, as gyges by his ring: the clanging sea-fowl came and went, the hunter's gun in the marshes rang; at nightfall from a neighboring tent a tute-voiced woman swertly sang. loose-haired, barefooted, hand-in-hand, young girls went tripping down the sand; sun. and when along the line of share the mists erept upward (..!! damp, stretched, careless, on their care. .. beneath the faring lanteru lar they talked of all things old aruit. , read, slept, and dreamed as win! and in the unquestioned frreeboka l tent, body and o'er-taxed mind to be alibrum unbent. oner, when the sunset splendors de and, trampling up the slopes: 2 in lines outreaching far and we the wbite-mancd billows user & tu la the wreck of rivermouth 245 pause between. a dim seen across the gathering shade, once, in the old colonial days, a vast and ghostly cavalcade, two hundred years ago and more, they sat around their lighted kerosene, a boat sailed down through the winding hearing the deep bass roar their every ways of hampton river to that low shore, full of a goodly company then, urged thereto, the editor sailing out on the summer sea, within his full portfolio dipped, veering to catch the land-breeze light, feigning excuse while searching for with the boar to left and the rocks to (with secret pride) his manuscript. right. his pale face flushed from eye to beard, with nervous cough his throat he cleared, in hampton meadows, where mowers laid and, in a voice so tremulous it betrayed their scythes to the swaths of salted the anxious fondness of an author's heart, grass, he read : “ah, well-a-day ! our hay must be made !” a young man sighed, who saw them pass. the wreck of rivermouth lond laughed his fellows to see him stand whetting his scythe with a listless hand, the goody cole who figures in this poem and the changeling was eunice cole, who for a hearing a voice in a far-off song, quarter of a century or more was feared, perwatching a white hand beckoning long. secuted, and hated as the witch of hampton. she lived alone in a hovel a little distant from “ fie on the witch !” cried a merry girl, the spot where the hampton academy now as they rounded the point where goody stands, and there she died, unattended. when cole her death was discovered, she was hastily covsat by her door with her wheel atwirl, ered up in the earth near by, and a stake a bent and blear-eyed poor old soul. driven through her body, to exorcise the evil “ oho!” she muttered, “ ye're brave to spirit. rev. stephen bachiler or batchelder day! was one of the ablest of the early new engbut i hear the little waves laugh and say, land preachers. his marriage late in life to a • the broth will be cold that waits at home ; foman regarded by his church as disreputable induced him to return to england, where he for it's one to go, but another to come !"" enjoyed the esteem and favor of oliver cromwell during the protectorate. “ she's cursed," said the skipper ; "speak her fair : rivermouth rocks are fair to see, i'm scary always to see her shake by dawn or sunset shone across, her wicked head, with its wild gray hair, when the ebb of the sea has left them and nose like a hawk, and eyes like a snake.” to dry their fringes of gold-green moss : but merrily still, with laugh and shout, for there the river comes winding down, from hampton river the boat sailed out, from salt sea-meadows and uplands brown, till the huts and the flakes on star seemed and waves on the outer rocks afoam nigh, shout to its waters, “ welcome home ! ” and they lost the scent of the pines of rye. and fair are the sunny isles in view they dropped their lines in the lazy tide, east of the grisly head of the boar, drawing up haddock and mottled cod; and agamenticus lifts its blue they saw not the shadow that walked bedisk of a cloud the woodlands o'er ; side, and southerly, when the tide is down, they heard not the feet with silence shod. *twixt white sea waves and sand hills but thicker and thicker a hot mist grew, brown, shot by the lightnings through and through; the beach-birds dance and the gray gulls and muffled growls, like the growl of a wheel beast, over a floor of burnished steel. ran along the sky from west to east. free a 246 the tent on the beach run." then the skipper looked from the darkenfrom sand and seaweed where they lar ing sea the mad old witch-wife wailed and wipe l'p to the dimmed and wading sun ; and cursed the tide as it backward crop but he spake like a brave man cheerily, “ ('rawl back, crawl back, blue water-base! * yet there is time for our homeward leave your dead for the hearts that breaki" veering and tacking, they backward wore ; solemn it was in that old day and just as a breath from the woods ashore in hampton town and its log-l-ul blew out to'whisper of danger past, church, the wrath of the storm came down at where side by side the coffins lay last ! and the mourners stood in aisle abil porch. the skipper hauled at the heavy sail : in the singing-seats young eyes were dim, “god be our help!” he only cried, the voices faltered that raised the hymu, as the roaring gale, like the stroke of a and father dalton, grave and stern, flail, sobbed through his prayer and wept in ter smote the boat on its starboard side. the shoalsmen looked, but saw alone but his ancient colleague did not pray: dark films of rain-cloud slantwise blown, cnder the weight of his fourcore years wild rocks lit up by the lightning's glare, he stood apart with the iron-gray the strife and torment of sea and air. of his strong brows knitted to hide ! . tears ; goody cole looked out from her door : and a fair-faced woman of doulful fap. the isles of shoals were drowned and | linking her own with his bogorrd nabe. gone, subtle as sin, at his side with toodi scarcely she saw the head of the boar the felt reproach of her neighborhood toss the foain from tusks of stone. she clasped her hands with a grip of pain, apart with them, like them forbid, the tear on her cheek was not of rain : old goody cole looked drearils round, " they are lost," she muttered, “boat and as, two by two, with their faces had, crew ! the mourners walked to the burying lord, forgive me! my words were true !” ground. she let the staff from her clasped kan suddenly seaward swept the squall ; fall : the low sun smote through cloudy rack ; “ lord, forgive us ! we're sinners all ! ** the shoals stood clear in the light, and all and the voice of the old man answered bet the trend of the coast lay hard and " amen!" said father bachiler. black. but far and wide as eye could reach, so, as i sat upon appledore no life was seen upon wave or beach ; in the calm of a closing summer day, the boat that went out at morning never and the broken lines of llampton sbaze sailed back again into hampton river. in purple mist of cloudland lar, the rivermouth rocks their story twind, () mower, lean on thy bended snath, and waves aglow with sunset gold, look from the meadows green and low : | rising and breaking in steady chime, the wind of the sea is a waft of death, beat the rhythm and kept the time. the waves are singing a song of woe ! by silent river, by moaning sra, and the sunset paled, and warmed den long and vain shall thy watching be : more never again shall the sweet voice call, with a softer, tenderer after-glow : never the white hand rive and fall! in the east was moon-rise, with boats shore () rivermouth rocks, how sad a sight and sails in the distance drifting de ye saw in the light of breaking day! the beacon glimmered from portske dead faces looking up cold and white bar, the grave by the lake 247 the white isle kindled its great red star ; and life and death in my old-time lay mingled in peace like the night and day ! rugged type of primal man, grim utilitarian, loving woods for hunt and prowl, lake and hill for fish and fowl, as the brown bear blind and dull to the grand and beautiful : "well !” said the man of books, " your story is really not ill told in verse. as the celt said of purgatory, one might go farther and fare worse." the reader smiled ; and once again with steadier voice took up his strain, while the fair singer from the neighboring tent drew near, and at his side a graceful listener bent. not for him the lesson drawn from the mountains smit with dawn. star-rise, moon-rise, flowers of may, sunset's purple bloom of day, took his life no hue from thence, poor amid such affluence ? haply unto hill and tree all too near akin was he : unto him who stands afar nature's marvels greatest are ; who the mountain purple seeks must not climb the higher peaks. the grave by the lake at the mouth of the melvin river, which empties into moultonboro bay in lake winnipesaukee, is a great mound. the ossipee indians had their home in the neighborhood of the bay, which is plentifully stocked with fish, and many relics of their occupation have been found. yet who knows, in winter tramp, or the midnight of the camp, what revealings faint and far, stealing down from moon and star, kindled in that human clod thought of destiny and god ? stateliest forest patriarch, grand in robes of skin and bark, what sepulchral mysteries, what weird funeral-rites, were his ? what sharp wail, what drear lament, back scared wolf and eagle sent ? where the great lake's sunny smiles dimple round its hundred isles, and the mountain's granite ledge cleaves the water like a wedge, ringed about with smooth, gray stones, rest the giant's mighty bones. close beside, in shade and gleam, laughs and ripples melvin stream; melvin water, mountain-born, all fair flowers its banks adorn ; all the woodland voices meet, mingling with its murmurs sweet. over lowlands forest-grown, over waters island-strown, over silver-sanded beach, leaf-locked bay and misty reach, melvin stream and burial-heap, watch and ward the mountains keep. now, whate'er he may have been, low he lies as other men ; on his mound the partridge drums, there the noisy blue-jay comes ; rank nor name nor pomp has he in the grave's democracy. part thy blue lips, northern lake! moss-grown rocks, your silence break! tell the tale, thou ancient tree! thou, too, slide-worn ossipee ! speak, and tell us how and when lived and died this king of men ! who that titan cromlech fills ? forest-kaiser, lord o' the hills ? knight who on the birchen tree carved his savage heraldry ? priest o' the pine-wood temples dim, prophet, sage, or wizard grim ? wordless moans the ancient pine ; lake and mountain give no sign; vain to trace this ring of stones ; vain the search of crumbling bones : deepest of all mysteries, and the saddest, silence is. 248 the tent on the beach nameless, noteless, clay with clay mingles slowly day by day ; but somewhere, for good or ill, that dark soul is living still ; somewhere yet that atom's force moves the light-poised universe. strange that on his burial-sod harebells bloom, and golden-rod, while the soul's dark horoscope holds no starry sign of hope ! is the unseen with sight at odds ? nature's pity more than god's ? hear'st thou, () of little faith, what to thee the mountain saith, what is whispered by the trees? “ cast on god thy care for these ; trust him, if thy sight be dim: doubt for them is doubt of him. “ blind must be their close-shut eyes where like night the sunshine lies, fiery-linked the self-forged chain binding ever sin to pain, strong their prison-house of will, but without i̇le waiteth still. thus i mused by melvin's side, while the summer eventide made the woods and inland sea and the mountains mystery ; and the hush of earth and air seemed the pause before a prayer, prayer for him, for all who rest, mother earth, upon thy breast, – lapped on christian turf, or hid in rock-cave or pyramid : all who sleep, as all who live, well inay need the prayer, “ forgive !” desert-smothered caravan, knee-deep dust that once was man, battle-trenches ghastly piled, ocean-floors with white bones tiled, crowded tomb and mounded sod, dumbly crave that prayer to god. oh, the generations old over whom no church-bells tolled, christless, lifting up blind eyes to the silence of the skies! for the innumerable dead is my soul disquieted. where be now these silent hosts ? where the cainping-ground of ghosts ? where the spectral conscripts led to the white tents of the dead ? what strange shore or chartless sea holds the awful mystery ? then the warm sky stooped to make double sunset in the lake ; while above i saw with it, range on range, the mountains lit ; and the calm and splendor stole like an answer to my soul. “not with hatred's undertow doth the love eternal tlow ; every chain that spirits wear crumbles in the breath of prayer ; and the penitent's desire opens every gate of fire. “still thy love, o christ arisen, yearns to reach these souls in priser.' through all depths of sin and loss drops the plummet of thy cross ! never yet abyss was found deeper than that cross could sound !" therefore well may nature keep equal faith with all who sleep, set her watch of hills around christian grave and heathen mound, and to cairn and kirkvari send summer's flowery dividend. keep, ( pleasant melvin stream, thy sweet laugh in shade and gleam ! on the indian's grassy tomb swing, () towers, your bells of bloom! deep below, as high above, sweeps the circle of god's love. he paused and questioned with his eye the hearers' verdict on his sig a low voice asked : “is 't well to pry into the secrets which belong only to god ? the life to be is still the unguessed mystery : unsealed, unpierced the cloudy walls main, we beat with dream and wish the soundir doors in vain. the tent on the beach 249 better to use the bit, than throw the reins all loose on fancy's neck. the liberal range of art should be the breadth of christian liberty, restrained alone by challenge and alarm where its charmed footsteps tread the border land of harm. “ but faith beyond our sight may go.”. he said : “ the gracious fatherhood can only know above, below, eternal purposes of good. from our free heritage of will, the bitter springs of pain and ill flow only in all worlds. the perfect day of god is shadowless, and love is love alway.” “i know,” she said, “ the letter kills ; that on our arid fields of strife and beat of clashing texts distils the dew of spirit and of life. but, searching still the written word, i fain would find, thus saith the lord, a voucher for the hope i also feel that sin can give no wound beyond love's power to heal.” "pray,” said the man of books,“give o'er a theme too vast for time and place. go on, sir poet, ride once more your hobby at his old free pace. but let him keep, with step discreet, the solid earth beneath his feet. in the great mystery which around us lies, the wisest is a fool, the fool heaven-helped is wise." beyond the poet's sweet dream lives the eternal epic of the man. he wisest is who only gives, true to himself, the best he can ; who, drifting in the winds of praise, the inward monitor obeys ; and, with the boldness that confesses fear, takes in the crowded sail, and lets his conscience steer. “thanks for the fitting word he speaks, nor less for doubtful word unspoken, for the false model that he breaks, as for the moulded grace unbroken; for what is missed and what remains, for losses which are truest gains, for reverence conscious of the eternal eye, and truth too fair to need the garnish of a lie." the traveller said : “if songs have creeds, their choice of them let singers make ; but art no other sanction needs than beauty for its own fair sake. it grinds not in the mill of use, nor asks for leave, nor begs excuse ; it makes the flexile laws it deigns to own, and gives its atmosphere its color and its tone. laughing, the critic bowed. “i yield the point without another word ; who ever yet a case appealed where beauty's judgment had been heard ? and you, my good friend, owe to me your warmest thanks for such a plea, as true withal as sweet. for my offence of cavil, let her words be ample recompense.” “confess, old friend, your austere school has left your fancy little chance ; you square to reason's rigid rule the flowing outlines of romance. with conscience keen from exercise, and chronic fear of compromise, you check the free play of your rhymes, to clap a moral underneath, and spring it like a trap." across the sea one lighthouse star, with crimson ray that came and went, revolving on its tower afar, looked through the doorway of the tent. while outward, over sand-slopes wet, the lamp flashed down its yellow jet on the long wash of waves, with red and green tangles of weltering weed through the white foam-wreaths seen. : the sweet vo answered : “ better so than bolder flights that know no check; “sing while we may, another day may bring enough of sorrow ;' – thus our traveller in his own sweet lay, his crimean camp-song, hints to us,” 250 the tent on the beach the lady said. “so let it be ; it might have been the sound of seas sing us a song," exclaimed all three. that rose and fell; she smiled : “i can but marvel at your but, with her heart, if not her ear, choice the old loved voice she seemed to bear : to hear our poet's words through my poor “ i wait to meet thee : be of cheer, borrowed voice." for all is well !" : the sweet voice into silence went, a silence which was almost pain as through it rolled the long lament, the cadence of the mournful man glancing his written pages o'er, the reader tried his part once more : leaving the land of hackmatack and pz for tuscan valleys glad with olive and with vine. the brother of mercy [suggested by reading c. e. norton's account piero luca, known of all the town as the gray porter by the pitti wall where the noon shadows of the gandeas fall, sick and in dolor, waited to lay down his last sad burden, and beside his must the barefoot monk of la certosa sat. her window opens to the bay, on glistening light or misty gray, and there at dawn and set of day in prayer she kneels. “ dear lord !" she saith,“ to many a home from wind and wave the wanderers come ; i only see the tossing foam of stranger keels. “ blown out and in by summer gales, the stately ships, with crowded sails, and sailors leaning o'er their rails, before me glide ; they come, they go, but nevermore, spice-laden from the indian shore, i see his swift-winged isidore the waves divide. “() thou! with whom the night is day and one the near and far away, look out on yon gray waste, and say where lingers he. alive, perchance, on some lone beach or thirty isle beyond the reach of man, he hears the mocking speech of wind and sea. “() dread and cruel deep, reveal the secret which thy waves conceal, and, ye wild sea-birds, hither wheel and tell your tale. let winds that tossed his raven hair a message from my lost one bear, some thought of me, a last fond prayer or dying wail ! " ('ome, with your dreariest truth shut out the fears that haunt me round about ; o god! i cannot bear this doubt that stitles breath. the worst is better than the dread ; give me but leave to mourn my dead asleep in trust and hope, instead of life in death! it might have been the evening breeze that whispered in the garden trees, l'nseen, in square and blossoming ganisa drifted, soft sunset lights through greca val d arno sifted ; unheard, below the living shuttles shifted backward and forth, and wore, in love at strife, in mirth or pain, the mottled web of life. but when at last came upwand from the street tinkle of bell and tread of measured festa the sick man started, strore to ns = vain, sinking back heavily with a moan of pain and the monk said, " "tis but the broken hood of merey going on some errand gwa: their black masks by the palace-wall i see piero answered faintly, "woe is me! this day for the first time in forty years in vain the bell hath sounded in my car calling me with my brethren of be ask beggur and prince alike, to some new task the changeling 251 sin !) done ; 66 of love or pity, — haply from the street than dog or ass, in holy selfisbness ? to bear a wretch plague-stricken, or, with methinks (lord, pardon, if the thought be feet hushed to the quickened ear and 'feverish the world of pain were better, if therein brain, one's heart might still be human, and deto tread the crowded lazaretto's floors, sires down the long twilight of the corridors, of natural pity drop upon its fires midst tossing arms and faces full of pain. some cooling tears.' i loved the work : it was its own reward. thereat the pale monk crossed i never counted on it to offset his brow, and muttering, “ madman ! thou my sins, which are many, or make less my art lost!” debt took up his pyx and fed ; and, left alone, to the free grace and mercy of our lord ; the sick man closed his eyes with a great but somehow, father, it has come to be groan in these long years so much a part of me, that sank into a prayer, “ thy will be i should not know myself, if lacking it, done!” but with the work the worker too would die, and in my place some other self would sit then was he made aware, by soul or ear, joyful or sad, what matters, if not i ? of somewhat pure and boly bending o'er and now all 's over. woe is me!” –“my him, son, and of a voice like that of her who bore the monk said soothingly, “thy work is him, tender and most compassionate : “never and no more as a servant, but the guest fear! of god thou enterest thy eternal rest. for heaven is love, as god himself is love ; no toil, no tears, no sorrow for the lost, thy work below shall be thy work above.” shall mar thy perfect bliss. thou shalt sit and when he looked, lo! in the stern down monk's place clad in white robes, and wear a golden he saw the shining of an angel's face ! forever and forever.” — piero tossed on his sick-pillow : “miserable me ! i am too poor for such grand company ; the traveller broke the pause. “i've seen the crown would be too heavy for this gray the brothers down the long street steal, old head ; and god forgive me if i say black, silent, masked, the crowd between, it would be hard to sit there night and day, and felt to doff my hat and kneel like an image in the tribune, doing naught with heart, if not with knee, in prayer, with these hard hands, that all my life have for blessings on their pious care. wrought, the reader wiped his glasses : “friends not for bread only, but for pity's sake. of mine, i'm dull at prayers : i could not keep we'll try our home-brewed next, instead awake, of foreign wine.” counting my beads. mine 's but a crazy head, searce worth the saving, if all else be dead. the changeling and if one goes to heaven without a heart, god knows he leaves behind his better part. for the fairest maid in hampton i love my fellow-men : the worst i know they needed not to search, i would do good to. will death change who saw young anna favor come walking into church, that i shall sit among the lazy saints, tuming a deaf ear to the sore complaints or bringing from the meadows, of souls that suffer? why, i never yet at set of harvest-day, left a poor dog in the strada hard beset, the frolic of the blackbirds, or ass o'erladen ! must i rate man less the sweetness of the hay. crown me so 252 the tent on the beach “make her lips like the lips of mary kissing her blessed son; let her hands, like the hands of jesus, rest on her little one. now the weariest of all mothers, the saddest two years' bride, she scowls in the face of her husband, aud spurns her child aside. “ rake out the red coals, goodman,for there the child shall lie, till the black witch comes to fetch her and both up chimney tly. " it's never my own little daughter, it's never my own," she said ; “ the witches have stolen my anna, and left me an imp instead. “oh, fair and sweet was my baby, blue eyes, and hair of gold ; but this is ugly and wrinkled, cross, and cunning, and old. “i hate the touch of her fingers, i hate the feel of her skin; it's not the milk from my bosom, but my blood, that she sucks in. “my face grows sharp with the torment; look! my arms are skin and bone ! rake open the red coals, goodman, and the witch shall have her own. “comfort the soul of thy handmaid, open her prison-door, and thine shall be all the glory and praise forevermore.' then into the face of its mother the baby looked up and smiled ; and the cloud of her soul was lifted, and she knew her little child. a beam of the slant west sunshine made the wan face almost fair, lit the blue eyes' patient wonder and the rings of pale gold hair. she kissed it on lip and forehead, she kissed it on cheek and chin, and she bared her snow-white busum to the lips so pale and thin. oh, fair on her bridal morning was the maid who blushed and smiled, but fairer to ezra dalton looked the mother of his child. with more than a lover's fondness he stooped to her worn young face, and the nursing child and the mother he folded in one embrace. “ blessed be god!” he murmurd. * blessed be godl!" she said ; * for i see, who once was blinded, i live, who once was dead. “now mount and ride, my goodman, as thou lovest thr own soni! woe's me, if my wicked fancies be the death of goody cole !" his horse he saddled and bridled, and into the night rode he, vow through the great black woowlland, now by the white-beached sea. he rode through the silent clearings he came to the ferry wide, and thrice he called to the boatinan asleep on the other side. "she 'll come when she hears it crying, in the shape of an owl or bat, and she 'll bring us our darling anna in place of her screeching brat." then the good man, ezra dalton, laid his hand upon her head : “ thy sorrow is great, () woman! i sorrow with thee," he said. · the paths to trouble are many, and never but one sure way leads out to the light beyond it : my poor wife, let us pray." then be anid to the great all-father, * thy daughter is weak and blind ; læt her right come back, and clothe her once more in her right mind. " lead her out of this evil shadow, out of these fancies wild ; let the holy love of the mother turn again to her child. the maids of attitash 253 he set his horse to the river, he swam to newbury town, and he called up justice sewall in his nightcap and his gown. swan flocks of lilies shoreward lying, in sweetness, not in music, dying ; hardhack, and virgin’s-bower, and white-spiked clethra-flower. and the grave and worshipful justice (upon whose soul be peace !) set his name to the jailer's warrant for goodwife cole's release. with careless ears they heard the plash and breezy wash of attitash, the wood-bird's plaintive cry, the locust's sharp reply. and teased the while, with playful hand, the shaggy dog of newfoundland, whose uncouth frolic spilled their baskets berry-filled. a then through the night the hoof-beats went sounding like a flail ; and goody cole at cockcrow came forth from ipswich jail. “here is a rhyme : i hardly dare to venture on its theme worn out ; what seems so sweet by doon and ayr sounds simply silly hereabout; and pipes by lips arcadian blown are only tin horns at our own. yet still the muse of pastoral walks with us, while hosea biglow sings, our new theocritus." then one, the beauty of whose eyes was evermore a great surprise, tossed back her queenly head, and lightly laughing, said : “no bridegroom's hand be mine to hold that is not lined with yellow gold ; i tread no cottage-floor ; i own no lover poor. · my love must come on silken wings, with bridal lights of diamond rings, not foul with kitchen smirch, with tallow-dip for torch.” the other, on whose modest head was lesser dower of beauty shed, with look for home-hearths meet, and voice exceeding sweet, 66 the maids of attitash answered, “ we will not rivals be ; take thou the gold, leave love to me ; mine be the cottage small, and thine the rich man's hall. attitash, an indian word signifying “huckleberry," is the name of a large and beautiful lake in the northern part of amesbury. [in a letter to mr. fields, whittier wrote: "i should like to show thee attitash, as it is as pretty as st. mary's lake which wordsworth sings, in fact a great deal prettier. the glimpse of the pawtuckaway range of mountains in nottingham seen across it is very fine, and it has noble groves of pines and maples and ash trees.") in sky and wave the white clouds swam, and the blue hills of nottingham through gaps of leafy green across the lake were seen, when, in the shadow of the ash that dreams its dream in attitash, in the warm summer weather, two maidens sat together. they sat and watched in idle mood the gleam and shade of lake and wood ; the beach the keen light smote, the white sail of a boat; " i know, indeed, that wealth is good ; but lowly roof and simple food, with love that hath no doubt, are more than gold without.” hard by a farmer hale and young his cradle in the rye-field swung, tracking the yellow plain with windrows of ripe grain. and still, whene'er he paused to whet his scythe, the sidelong glance he met of large dark eyes, where strove false pride and secret love. a 254 the tent on the beach be strong, young mower of the grain ; her haughty vow is still unsaid, that love shall overmatch disdain, but all she dreamed and coveted its instincts soon or late wears, half to her surprise, the heart shall vindicate. the youthful farıner's guise ! in blouse of gray, with fishing-rod, with more than all her old-time pride half screened by leaves, a stranger trod she walks the rye-field at his side, the margin of the pond, careless of cot or hall, watching the group beyond. since love transfigures all the supreme hours unnoted come ; rich beyond dreams, the vantage-ground unfelt the turning tides of doom ; of life is gained ; her hands have found and so the maids laughed on, the talisman of old nor dreamed what fate had done,that changes all to gold. vor knew the step was destiny's while she who could for love dispense that rustled in the birchen trees, with all its glittering accidents, as, with their lives forecast, and trust her heart aloue, fisher and mower passed. finds love and gold her own. erelong by lake and rivulet side what wealth can buy or art can build the summer roses paled and died, awaits her ; but her erp is filled and autumn's fingers shed even now unto the brim ; the maple's leaves of red. her world is love and him! throngh the long gold-hazed afternoon, alone, but for the diving loon, the partridge in the brake, the while he heard, the book-man dr the black duck on the lake, a length of make-believing face, with smothered mischief langt ó beneath the shadow of the ash througb : sat man and maid by attitash; “why, you shall sit in ramsay's place. and earth and air made room and, with his gentle shepherd keep for human hearts to bloom. on yankee hills immortal sheep. while love-lorn swains and maids thr: 24 soft spread the carpets of the sod, beyond and scarlet-onk and golden-rod hold dreamy trust around your huek with blushes and with smiles berry-poud." lit up the forest aisles. the traveller laughed : “sir galled the mellow light the lake aslant, singing of love the 'trouvere's the pebbled margin's ripple-chant how should he know the windfesta! attempered and low-toned, from one of vulcan's forge-barys the tender mystery owned. “ nay, he better sees who stands outside and throngh the dream the lovers dreamed than they who in procession ride," sweet sounds stole in and soft lights the reader answered: “selectmeu ami streamed ; squire the sunshine seemed to bless, miss, while they make, the show that way. the air was a caress. side folks adınire. not she who lightly laughed is there, "here is a wild tale of the north, with scornful tons of midnight hair, our travelled friend will own as one her dark, di dainful eyes, fit for a norland christmas bearth and proud lip worldly-wise. and lips of christian anderen. kallundborg church 255 a they tell it in the valleys green and helva of nesvek, young and fair, of the fair island he has seen, prayed for the soul of esberu snare. low lying off the pleasant swedish shore, washed by the baltic sea, and watched by and now the church was wellnigh done ; elsinore.” one pillar it lacked, and one alone ; and the grim troll muttered, “fool thou art! kallundborg church to-morrow gives me thy eyes and heart ! ” "tie stille, barn min! imorgen kommer fin, by kallundborg in black despair, fa'er din, through wood and meadow, walked esbern og gi'er dig esbern snares öine og hjerte at lege med!" zealand rhyme. snare, till, worn and weary, the strong man “ build at kallundborg by the sea sank a church as stately as church may be, under the birches on ulshoi bank. and there shalt thou wed my daughter fair," at his last day's work be heard the troll said the lord of nesvek to esbern snare. hammer and delve in the quarry's hole ; before him the church stood large and and the baron laughed. but esbern said, fair : " though i lose my soul, i will helva wed !” “i have builded my tomb,” said esbern and off he strode, in his pride of will, snare. to the troll who dwelt in ulshoi hill. and he closed his eyes the sight to hide, " build, o troll, a church for me when he heard a light step at his side : at kallundborg by the mighty sea ; “ o esbern snare ! a sweet voice said, build it stately, and build it fair, “ would i might die now in thy stead ! ” build it quickly," said esbern snare. with a grasp by love and by fear made but the sly dwarf said, “no work is strong, wrought he held her fast, and he held her long ; by trolls of the hills, o man, for naught. with the beating heart of a bird afеard, what wilt thou give for thy church so fair?” she hid her face in his flame-red beard. “ set thy own price," quoth esbern snare. “o love !” he cried, “let me look to-day "when kallundborg church is builded well, in thine eyes ere mine are plucked away ; thou must the name of its builder tell, let me hold thee close, let me feel thy or thy heart and thy eyes must be my heart boon." ere mine by the troll is torn apart ! " build,” said esbern, “and build it soon.” “i sinned, o helva, for love of thee! by night and by day the troll wrought | pray that the lord christ pardon me !" on ; but fast as she prayed, and faster still, he bewed the timbers, he piled the stone ; hammered the troll in ulshoi hill. but day by day, as the walls rose fair, darker and sadder grew esbern snare. he knew, as he wrought, that a loving heart he listened by night, he watched by day, was somehow baffling his evil art ; he sought and thought, but he dared not for more than spell of elf or troll pray ; is a maiden's prayer for her lover's soul. in vain he called on the elle-maids shy, and the neck and the nis gave no reply. and esbern listened, and caught the sound of a troll-wife singing underground : of his evil bargain far and wide “ to-morrow comes fine, father thine : a rumor ran through the country-side ; lie still and hush thee, baby mine! a 66 256 the tent on the beach "lie still, my darling! next sunrise thou 'lt play with esbern snare's heart and the cable hymn eyes !” “ ho! ho!” quoth esbern, “is that your o lonely bay of trinity, game ? o dreary shores, give ear! thanks to the troll-wife, i know his lean down unto the white-lipped sea name !" the voice of god to hear! the troll he heard him, and hurried on from world to world his couriers tly, to kallundborg church with the lacking thought-winged and shod with tire ; stone. the angel of his stormy sky "too late, gaffer fine !" cried esbern rides down the sunken wire. snare; and troll and pillar vanished in air ! what saith the herald of the lon!? “ the world's long strife is doue ; that night the harvesters heard the sound close wedded by that mystic cord, of a woman sobbing underground, its continents are one. and the voice of the hill-troll loud with blame “ and one in heart, as one in blood, of the careless singer who told his name. shall all her peoples be ; the hands of human brotherhood of the troll of the church they sing the are clasped beneath the sea. rune by the northern sea in the harvest moon ; “ through orient seas, o'er afric's plam and the fishers of zealand hear him still and asian mountains borne, scolding his wife in clsboi hill. the vigor of the northern brain shall nerve the world out worn. and seaward over its groves of birch still looks the tower of kallundborg church, “from clime to clime, from sbore to sbore, where, first at its altar, a wedded pair, shall thrill the magic thread; stood helva of nesvek and esbern snare! the new prometheus steals once more the fire that wakes the dead." throb on, strong pulse of thunder! beat “what," asked the traveller, “ would from answering beach to lach; our sires, fuse nations in the kindly heat, the old norse story-tellers, say and melt the chains of each! of sun-graved pietures, ocean wires, and smoking steamboats of to-day ? wild terror of the sky above, and this, () lady, by your leave, glide tamed and dumb below! recalls your song of yester eve : bear gently, ocean's carrier-dove, pray, let us have that cable-hymn once thy errands to and fro. more." “ hear, bear!" the book-man cried, “the weave on, swift shuttle of the lord, lady has the floor. beneath the deep so far, the bridal robe of earth's accord, " these noisy waves below perhaps the funeral shroud of war! to such a strain will lend their ear, with softer voice and lighter lapse for lo ! the fall of (cean's wall come stealing up the sands to hear, space mocked and time outrun; and what they once refused to do and round the world the thought of all for old king knut accord to you. is as the thought of one! nay, even the ti shes shall your listeners be, as once, the legend runs, they beard st. the po unite, the zones agree, anthony." the tongues of striving cele ; the dead ship of harpswell 257 come. as on the sea of galilee what weary doom of baffled quest, the christ is whispering, peace ! thou sad sea-ghost, is thine ? what makes thee in the haunts of home a wonder and a sign? no foot is on thy silent deck, "glad prophecy! to this at last,” upon thy helm no hand; the reader said, “shall all things no ripple hath the soundless wind that smites thee from the land ! forgotten be the bugle's blast, and battle-music of the drum. for never comes the ship to port, a little while the world may run howe'er the breeze may be ; its old mad way, with needle-gun just when she nears the waiting shore and ironclad, but truth, at last, shall reign : she drifts again to sea. the cradle-song of christ was never sung no tack of sail, nor turn of helm, in vain ! nor sheer of veering side ; stern-fore she drives to sea and night, shifting his scattered papers, “ here,” against the wind and tide. he said, as died the faint applause, " is something that i found last year in vain o'er harpswell neck the star down on the island known as orr's. of evening guides ber in ; i had it from a fair-haired girl in vain for her the lamps are lit who, oddly, bore the name of pearl, within thy tower, seguin ! (as if by some droll freak of circumstance,) iu vain the harbor-boat shall hail, classic, or wellnigh so, in harriet stowe's in vain the pilot call ; romance. no hand shall reef her spectral sail, or let her anchor fall. the dead ship of harpswell shake, brown old wives, with dreary joy, your gray-head hints of ill ; and, over sick-beds whispering low, your prophecies fulfil. some home amid yon birchen trees shall drape its door with woe ; and slowly where the dead ship sails, the burial boat shall row ! from what flecks the outer gray beyond the sundown's golden trail ? the white flash of a sea-bird's wing, or gleam of slanting sail ? let young eyes watch from neck and point, and sea-worn elders pray, the ghost of what was once a ship is sailing up the bay ! gray sea-fog, from icy drift, from peril and from pain, the home-bound fisher greets thy lights, o hundred-harbored maine ! but many a keel shall seaward turn, and many a sail outstand, when, tall and white, the dead ship looms against the dusk of land. she rounds the headland's bristling pines ; she threads the isle-set bay ; no spur of breeze can speed her on, nor ebb of tide delay, old men still walk the isle of orr who tell her date and name, old shipwrights sit in freeport yards who hewed her oaken frame. from wolf neck and from flying point, from island and from main, from sheltered cove and tided creek, shall glide the funeral train. the dead-boat with the bearers four, the mourners at her stern, and one shall go the silent way who shall no more return ! and men shall sigh, and women weep, whose dear ones pale and pine, and sadly over sunset seas await the ghostly sign. they know not that its sails are filled by pity's tender breath, nor see the angel at the helm who steers the ship of death ! 258 the tent on the beach “chill as a down-east breeze should be," when the hills are sweet with the besep the book-man said. “a ghostly touch rose, the legend has. i'm glad to see and, hid in the warm, soft dells, upelose your flying yankee beat the dutch." flowers the mainland rarely knows; “well, here is something of the sort which one midsummer day i caught i when boats to their morning fishing go, in narrayansett bay, for lack of fish." and, held to the wind and slanting low, “we wait,” the traveller said ; serve whitening and darkening the suall sails hot or cold your dish.” show, then is that lonely island fair ; the palatine and the pale health-seeker findeth there the wine of life in its pleasant aur. block island in long island sound, called by the indians manisees, the isle of the little no greener valleys the sun invite, god, was the scene of a tragic incident a hunon smoother beaches no sea-biris light. dred years or more ago, when the palatine, an no blue waves shatter to foam rote emigrant ship bound for philadelphia, driven white ! off its course', came upon the coast at this point. a mutiny on board, followed by an inhuman there, cireling ever their narrow range, desertion on the part of the crew, had brought quaint tradition and legend stringe the unhappy passengers to the verge of starvation and madness. tradition says that wrecklive on unchallenged, and know no change ers on shore, after rescuing all but one of the survivors, set fire to the vessel, which was driven old wives spinning their webs of tow, out to sea before a gale which had sprung up. or rocking weirdly to and fro every twelve month, according to the same tradiin and out of the peat's dull glow, tion, the spectacle of a ship on fire is visible to the inhabitants of the island. and old men mending their pets of tw.be, talk together of dream and sign, leagues north, as fly the gull and auk, talk of the lost ship palatine, point judith watches with eve of hawk ; leagues south, thy beacon flames, monthe ship that, a hundred years before, tauk! freighted deep with its goodly store, in the gales of the equinox went asku se lonely and wind-shorn, wood-forsaken, with never a tree for spring to waken, the eager islanders one by one for tryst of lovers or farewells taken, counted the shots of her signal gun, and heard the crash when she drore di circled by waters that never freeze, on ! beaten by billow and swept by breeze, lieth the island of manisees, into the teeth of death she sped: (may god forgive the hands that fed set at the mouth of the sound to hold the false lights over the rocky head !! the coast lights up on its turret old, yellow with moss and sea-fog mould. omen and brothers ! what sights there ! dreary the land when gust and sleet white upturned faces, hands stretebed at its doors and windows howl and beat, prayer ! and winter laughs at its fires of peat ! where waves bad pity, could ye pot spare but in summet time, when pool and down swooped the wreckers, like burds and pond, prey held in the laps of valleys fond, tearing the heart of the ship awar, are blue as the glimpses of sea beyond ; and the dead had never a word to say, abraham davenport 259 and then, with ghastly shimmer and shine over the rocks and the seething brine, they burned the wreck of the palatine. reef their sails when they see the sign of the blazing wreck of the palatine ! in their cruel hearts, as they homeward sped, * the sea and the rocks are dumb,” they said: “ there 'll be no reckoning with the dead.” but the year went round, and when once “a fitter tale to scream than sing," the book-man said. well, fancy, then," the reader answered, “ on the wing the sea-birds shriek it, not for men, but in the ear of wave and breeze !” the traveller mused : “ your manisees is fairy-land : off narragansett shore who ever saw the isle or heard its name before ? more along their foam-white curves of shore they heard the line-storm rave and roar, behold! again, with shimmer and shine, over the rocks and the seething brine, the flaming wreck of the palatine ! so, haply in fitter words than these, mending their nets on their patient knees, they tell the legend of manisees. “ 't is some strange land of flyaway, whose dreamy shore the ship beguiles, st. brandan's in its sea-mist gray, or sunset loom of fortunate isles !” “no ghost, but solid turf and rock is the good island known as block," the reader said. “for beauty and for i chose its indian name, soft-flowing manisees! ease nor looks nor tones a doubt betray ; " it is known to us all,” they quietly say ; “ we too have seen it in our day.” is there, then, no death for a word once spoken? was never a deed but left its token written on tables never broken? “but let it pass ; here is a bit of unrhymed story, with a hint of the old preaching mood in it, the sort of sidelong moral squint our friend objects to, which has grown, i fear, a habit of my own. 't was written when the asian plague drew near, and the land held its breath and paled with sudden fear.” abraham davenport do the elements subtle reflections give ? do pictures of all the ages live on nature's infinite negative, which, half in sport, in malice half, she shows at times, with shudder or laugh, phantom and shadow in photograph ? for still, on many a moonless night, from kingston head and from montauk light the spectre kindles and burns in sight. the famous dark day of new england, may 19, 1780, was a physical puzzle for many years to our ancestors, but its occurrence brought something more than philosophical speculation into the minds of those who passed through it. the incident of colonel abraham davenport's sturdy protest is a matter of history. in the old days (a custom laid aside with breeches and cocked hats) the people sent their wisest men to make the public laws. and so, from a brown homestead, where the sound now low and dim, now clear and higher, leaps up the terrible ghost of fire, then, slowly sinking, the flames expire. and the wise sound skippers, though skies be fine, 260 the tent on the beach i choose, for one, to meet him face to face, no faithless servant frightened from my task, but ready when the lord of the barrest calls ; and therefore, with all reverence, i would say, let god do his work, we will see to ours. bring in the candles.” and they broagtas them in. drinks the small tribute of the mianas, waved over by the woods of rippowams, and hallowed by pure lives and tranquil deaths, stamford sent up to the councils of the state wisdom and grace in abraham davenport. 't was on a may-day of the far old year seventeen hundred eighty, that there fell over the bloom and sweet life of the spring, over the fresh earth and the heaven of noon, a horror of great darkness, like the night in day of which the worland sagas tell, the twilight of the gods. the low-hung sky was black with ominous clouds, save where its rim was fringed with a dull glow, like that which climbs the crater's sides from the red hell below. birds ceased to sing, and all the barn-yard fowls roosted ; the cattle at the pasture bars lowed, and looked homeward ; bats on leathern wings flitted abroad ; the sounds of labor died ; men prayed, and women wept ; all ears grew sharp to hear the doom blast of the trumpet shatter the black sky, that the dreadful face of christ might look from the rent clouds, not as he looked a loving guest at bethany, but stern as justice and inexorable law. meanwhile in the old state house, dim as ghosts, sat the lawgivers of connecticut, trembling beneath their legislative robes. " it is the lord's great day! let us adjourn," some said ; and then, as if with one accord, all eyes were turned to abraham davenport. he rose, slow cleaving with his steady voice the intolerable hush. “ this well may be the day of judgment which the world awaits ; but be it so or not, i only know my present duty, and my lori's command to occupy till he come. so at the post where lle hath set me in his providence, then by the flaring lights the speaker read, albeit with husky voice and shaking bures. an act to amend an act to regulate the shad and alewive fisheries. where upon wisely and well spake abraham davenport straight to the question, with no figures of speech save the ten arab signs, yet not withuat the shrewd dry humor natural to the man his awe-struck colleagues listening all the while, between the pauses of his argument, to hear the thunder of the wrath of god break from the bollow trumpet of the ciund and there he stands in memory to t dav, erect, self-poised, a rugged face, haliwe against the background of unnatural jark a witness to the ages as they pass, that simple duty hath no place for fear. he ceased : just then the ocean seered to lift a half-faced moon in suglas: and, shore ward, o'er the gleamed, from crest to crest, a line of light, such as of old, with solemn ane, the fishers by gennesarrt saw, when dry-shod o'er it walked the sued god, tracking the waves with light wbere'er bus sandals trod. silently for a space each eye l'pon that sudden glory turned : cool from the land the breeze blev by, the worshịp of nature 261 the tent-ropes flapped, the long beach churned its waves to foam ; on either hand stretched, far as sight, the hills of sand ; with bays of marsh, and capes of bush and tree, the wood's black shore-line loomed beyond the meadowy sea. the mists above the morning rills rise white as wings of prayer ; the altar-curtains of the hills are sunset's purple air. 66 one song, “ before we the winds with hymns of praise are loud, or low with sobs of pain, the thunder-organ of the cloud, the dropping tears of rain. with drooping head and branches crossed the twilight forest grieves, or speaks with tongues of pentecost from all its sunlit leaves. the lady rose to leave. or hymn,” they urged, part.” and she, with lips to which belong sweet intuitions of all art, gave to the winds of night a strain which they who heard would hear again ; and to her voice the solemn ocean lent, touching its harp of sand, a deep accompaniment. the blue sky is the temple's arch, its transept earth and air, the music of its starry march the chorus of a prayer. so nature keeps the reverent frame with which her years began, and all her signs and voices shame the prayerless heart of man. the worship of nature the harp at nature's advent strung has never ceased to play ; the song the stars of morning sung has never died away. and prayer is made, and praise is given, by all things near and far ; the ocean looketh up to heaven, and mirrors every star. its waves are kneeling on the strand, as kneels the human knee, their white locks bowing to the sand, the priesthood of the sea ! they ponr their glittering treasures forth, their gifts of pearl they bring, and all the listening hills of earth take up the song they sing. the green earth sends her incense up from many a mountain shrine ; from folded leaf and dewy cup she pours her sacred wine. the singer ceased. the moon's white rays fell on the rapt, still face of her. “allah il allah! he hath praise from all things,” said the traveller. “ oft from the desert's silent nights, and mountain hymns of sunset lights, my heart has felt rebuke, as in his tent the moslem's prayer has shamed my christian knee unbent." he paused, and lo ! far, faint, and slow the bells in newbury's steeples tolled the twelve dead hours ; the lamp burned low; • the singer sought her canvas fold. one sadly said, “at break of day we strike our tent and go our way.” but one made answer cheerily, “ never fear, we'll pitch this tent of ours in type another year.” anti-slavery poems to william lloyd garrison [read at the convention which formed the american anti-slavery society, in philadelplia, december, 1833.] and shall the slanderer's demon breath avail with one like me, to dim the sunshine of my faith and earnest trust in thee ? go on, the dagger's point may glare amid thy pathway's gloom ; the fate which sternly threatens there is glorious martyrdom! then onward witli a martyr's zeal ; and wait thy sure reward when man to man no more shall kneel, and god alone be lord ! champion of those who groan beneath oppression's iron hand : in view of penury, hate, and death, i see thee fearless stand. still bearing up thy lofty brow, in the steadfast strength of truth, in manhood sealing well the vow and promise of thy youth. go on, for thou hast chosen well; on in the strength of god! long as one human heart shall swell beneath the tyrant's rod. speak in a slumbering nation's ear, as thou hast ever spoken, until the dead in sin shall bear, the fetter's link be broken ! ness. toussaint l'ouverture toussaint l'ouverture, the blank ch-fa of hayti, was a slave on the planta'da ' se libertas," belonging to m bayou. web rising of the ni groes louk place, in : toussaint refused to join them until i bat aided m. bayou and his famils to w baltimore. the white man had disitorofa toussaint many noble qualities, and be s structed him in some of the tint brand education; and the priservation of his sto su owing to the negro's gratitude tor thuis kind in 1797. toussaint l'ouverture was 25 pointed, by the french governirent, ( in-chief of the armies of st. dhunina 21 such, signed the consention wit for maitland for the evacuation of the nazi the british. from this period until the island, under the government of " inst, was happy, tranquil. and prompt miserable attempt of napolion tons. slavery in st. domingo, although 1:1:1 its intended object, prored fa'al to the chieftain. tracherously *i. he was hurried on board a vt sel bra. conteved to france, where he was cara a cold subterran an dungeon, at where, in april, i thi, he died. tiem tr tºmbe of toussunt tinds a parallel onls in the pas der of the duke d'enghien it was mark of godwin, in his laetuss, tal of. | weat india islands, since their tirsi dusurer i love thee with a brother's love, i feel my pulses thrill, to mark the spirit soar above the clond of human ill. my heart bath leaped to answer thine, and echo back thy words, as leaps the warrior's at the shine and flash of kindred swords ! they tell me thou art rash and vain, i searcher after fame ; that thou art striving but to gain a long-enduring naine ; that thou hast nerved the afric's hand aud steeled the afric's heart, to sbake aloft his vengeful braud, and rend his chain apart. have i not known thee well, and read thy mighty purpose long? and watched the trials which have made thy buman spirit strong ? 基 ​ toussaint l'ouverture 263 by columbus, could not boast of a single name hark to that cry! long, loud, and shrill, which deserves comparison with that of tousfrom field and forest, rock and hill, saint l'ouverture. thrilling and horrible it rang, around, beneath, above ; 't was night. the tranquil moonlight the wild beast from his cavern sprang, smile the wild bird from her grove ! with which heaven dreams of earth, nor fear, nor joy, nor agony shed down were mingled in that midnight cry ; its beauty on the indian isle, but like the lion's growl of wrath, on broad green field and white-walled when falls that hunter in his path town; whose barbëd arrow, deeply set, and inland waste of rock and wood, is rankling in his bosom yet, in searching sunshine, wild and rude, it told of hate, full, deep, and strong, rose, mellowed through the silver gleam, of vengeance kindling out of wrong; soft as the landscape of a dream. it was as if the crimes of years all motionless and dewy wet, the unrequited toil, the tears, tree, vine, and flower in shadow met : the shame and hate, which liken well the myrtle with its snowy bloom, earth's garden to the nether hell — crossing the nightshade's solemn gloom, had found in nature's self a tongue, the white cecropia's silver rind on which the gathered horror hung; relieved by deeper green behind, as if from cliff, and stream, and glen the orange with its fruit of gold, burst on the startled ears of men the lithe paullinia's verdant fold, that voice which rises unto god, the passion-flower with symbol holy, solemn and stern, the cry of blood ! twining its tendrils long and lowly, it ceased, and all was still once more, the rhexias dark, and cassia tall, save ocean chafing on his shore, and proudly rising over all, the sighing of the wind between the kingly palm's imperial stem, the broad banana's leaves of green, crowned with its leafy diadem, or bough by restless plumage shook, star-like, beneath whose sombre shade, or murmuring voice of mountain brook. the fiery-winged cucullo played ! brief was the silence. once again how lovely was thine aspect, then, pealed to the skies that frantic yell, fair island of the western sea ! glowed on the heavens a fiery stain, lavish of beauty, even when and flashes rose and fell; thy brutes were happier than thy men, and painted on the blood-red sky, for they, at least, were free ! dark, naked arms were tossed on high ; regardless of thy glorious clime, and, round the white man's lordly hall, ünmindful of thy soil of flowers, trod, fierce and free, the brute he made ; the toiling negro sighed, that time and those who crept along the wall, no faster sped his hours. and answered to his lightest call for, by the dewy moonlight still, with more han spaniel dread, he fed the weary-turning mill, the creatures of his lawless beck, or bent him in the chill morass, were trampling on his very neck! to pluck the long and tangled grass, and on the night-air, wild and clear, and hear above his scar-worn back rose woman's shriek of more than fear ; the heavy slave-whip’s frequent crack : for bloodied arms were round her thrown, while in his heart one evil thought and dark cheeks pressed against her own! in solitary madness wrought, one baleful fire surviving still then, injured afric! for the shame the quenching of the immortal mind, of thy own daughters, vengeance came one sterner passion of his kind, full on the scornful hearts of those, which even fetters could not kill, who mocked thee in thy nameless woes, the savage hope, to deal, erelong, and to thy hapless children gave a vengeance bitterer than his wrong! one choice, — pollution or the grave ! 264 anti-slavery poems though offered up by christian hands, than the foul rites of pagan land: ! where then was he whose fiery zeal had taught the trampled heart to feel, until despair itself grew strong, and vengeance fed its torch from wrong? now, when the thunderbolt is speeding ; now, when oppression's heart is bleeding ; now, when the latent curse of time is raining down in fire and blood, that curse which, through long years of crime, has gathered, drop by drop, its flood, why strikes he not, the foremost one, where murder's sternest deeds are done? he stood the aged palms beneath, that shadowed o'er his humble door, listening, with half-suspended breath, to the wild sounds of fear and death, toussaint l'ouverture ! what marvel that his heart beat high ! the blow for freedom had been given, and blood had answered to the cry which earth sent tip to heaven! what marvel that a fierce delight smiled grimly o'er his brow of night, as groan and shout and bursting flame told where the midnight tempest came, with blood and fire along its van, and death behind ! he was a man! sternly, amidst his household band, his carbine grasped within his hand, the white man stood, prepared and st.ll. waiting the shock of maddened mra, cnchained, and fierce as tigers, wbın the horn winds through their caserned hill. and one was weeping in his sight, the sweetest flower of all the isle. the bride who seemed but yesternight love's fair embodied smile. and, clinging to her trembling knee, looked up the form of infanes, with tearful glance in either face the secret of its fear to trace. “ha! stand or die!” the white man'sere his steady musket gleamed along, as a tall negro hastened nigh, with fearless step and strong. “ what ho, toussaint !" a moment mure. his shadow crossed the lighted hoor. “ away !” he shouted ; “tly with me, the white man's bark is on tbe sea : her sails must catch the seaward wind, for sudden vengeance sweeps behu. our brethren from their grares have spurt the yoke is spurned, the chain is turaden : on all the hills our fires are glowing, through all the vales red blood is tuwing no more the mocking white shall rest his foot upon the negro's breast ; no more, at morn or eve, shall dnp the warm blood from the driver's whip yet, though toussaint has vengraner se ts for all the wrongs his race have done, though for each drop of negro blowned the white man's veins shall pour a tondi not all alope the sense of ill a round his heart is lingering still, vor deeper can the white man feel the generous warmth of grateful real friends of the negro! fly with me, the path is open to the sea : away, for life!" he spoke, and pressed the young child to his manly breast. as, headlong, through the cracking came, down swept the dark insurgent train, drunken and grim, with shout and sell howled through the dark, like sounds free hell. yes, dark-souled chieftain ! if the light of mild religion's heavenly ray unveiled not to thy mental sight the lowlier and the purer way, in which the holy sufferer trod, meekly amidst the sons of crime ; that calm reliance upon god for justice in his own good time ; that gentleness to which belongs forgiveness for its many wrongs, even as the primal martyr, kneeling for merey on the evil-dealing ; let not the favored white man name thy stern appeal, with wonis of blame. has he not, with the light of heaven broadly around him, made the same ? yea, on his thousand war-fields striven, and gloried in his ghastly shame? kneeling amidst his brother's blood, to offer mockery unto god, as if the high and holy one could smile on deeds of murder done! as if a human sacrifice were purer in his holy eyes, the slave-ships 265 far out, in peace, the white man's sail swayed free before the sunrise gale. cloud-like that island hung afar, along the bright horizon's verge, o'er which the curse of servile war rolled its red torrent, surge on surge ; and he, the negro champion, where in the fierce tumult struggled he ? go trace him by the fiery glare of dwellings in the midnight air, the yells of triumph and despair, the streams that crimson to the sea ! sleep calmly in thy dungeon-tomb, beneath besançon's alien sky, dark haytien ! for the time shall come, yea, even now is nigh, when, everywhere, thy name shall be redeemed from color's infamy ; and men shall learn to speak of thee as one of earth's great spirits, born in servitude, and nursed in scorn, casting aside the weary weight and fetters of its low estate, in that strong majesty of soul which knows no color, tongue, or clime, which still hath spurned the base control of tyrants through all time ! far other hands than mine may wreathe the laurel round thy brow of death, and speak thy praise, as one whose word a thousand fiery spirits stirred, who crushed his foeman as a worm, whose step on human hearts fell firm : be mine the better task to find a tribute for thy lofty mind, amidst whose gloomy vengeance shone some milder virtues all thine own, some gleams of feeling pure and warm, like sunshine on a sky of storm, proofs that the negro's heart retains some nobleness amid its chains, that kindness to the wronged is never without its excellent reward, holy to human-kind and ever acceptable to god. sixty negro slaves, sailed from bonny, in africa, april, 1819. on approaching the line, a terrible malady broke out, an obstinate disease of the eyes, contagious, and altogether beyond the resources of medicine. it was aggravated by the scarcity of water among the slaves (only half a wine-glass per day being allowed to an individual), and by the extreme impurity of the air in which they breathed. by the advice of the physician, they were brought upon deck occasionally; but some of the poor wretches, locking themselves in each other's arms, leaped overboard, in the hope, which so universally prevails among them, of being swiftly transported to their own homes in africa. to check this, the captain ordered several, who were stopped in the attempt, to be shot, or hanged, before their companions. the disease extended to the crew ; and one after another were smitten with it, until only one remained unaffected. yet even this dreadful condition did not preclude calculation : to save the expense of supporting slaves rendered unsalable, and to obtain grounds for a claim against the underwriters, thirty-sir of the negroes, having become blind, were thrown into the sea and drowned !” – speech of m. benjamin constunt, in the french chamber of deputies, june 17, 1820. in the midst of their dreadful fears lest the solitary individual whose sight remained unaffected should also be seized with the malady, a sail was discovered. it was the spanish slaver, leon. the same disease had been there ; and, horrible to tell, all the crew had become blind! unable to assist each other, the vessels parted. the spanish ship has never since been heard of. the rodeur reached guadaloupe on the 21st of june; the only man who had escaped the disease, and had thus been enabled to steer the slaver into port, caught it in three days after its arrival. — bibliothèque ophthalmologique for november, 1819. 66 “all ready?” cried the captain ; ay, ay !” the seamen said ; “heave up the worthless lubbers, – the dying and the dead." up from the slave-ship's prison fierce, bearded heads were thrust : “ now let the sharks look to it, toss up the dead ones first !” the slave-ships " that fatal, that perfidious bark, built i' the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark.” milton's lycidas. corpse after corpse came up, death had been busy there ; where every blow is mercy, why should the spoiler spare ? corpse after corpse they cast sullenly from the ship, "the french ship le rodeur, with a crew of twenty-two men, and with one hundred and 266 anti-slavery poems yet bloody with the traces of fetter-link and whip. gloomily stood the captain, with his arms upon his breast, with his cold brow sternly knotted and his iron lip compressed. “ are all the dead dogs over ? growled through that matted lip; “the blind ones are no better, let's lighten the good ship." hark! from the ship's dark bosom, the very sounds of bell ! the ringing clank of iron, the maniac's short, sharp yell ! the hoarse, low curse, throat-stitled ; the starving infant's moan, the horror of a breaking heart poured through a mother's groan. l'p from that loathsome prison the stricken blind ones came ; below, had all been darkness, above, was still the same. yet the holy breath of heaven was sweetly breathing there, and the heated brow of fever cooled in the soft sea air. gazed, from the burdened slaver's deck, into that burning sky. “a storm,” spoke out the gater, " is gathering and at hand ; curse on it, i'd give my other eye for one firm rood of land." and then he laughed, but only his echoed laugh replied, for the blinded and the suffering aloue were at his side. night settled on the waters, and on a stormy heaven, while fiercely on that lone ship's track the thunder-grist was drive the * a sail ! — thank god, a sail !" and as the helmsman spoke, c'p through the stormy murmur a shout of gladness broke. down came the stranger vessel, l'nheeding on her way, so near that on the slaver's deck fell off her driven spray. “ho ! for the love of merei, we're perishing and blind ! " a wail of utter agony came back upon the wind : “ help us ! for we are stricken with blindness every one ; ten days we've floated fearfully, innoting star or sun. our ship's the slaver leon, we've but a score on bard; our slaves are all gove oset, help, for the love of god!" “overboard with them, shipmates !" (utlass and dirk were plied ; fettered and blind, one after one, plunged down the vessel's side. the sabre smote above, beneath, the lean shark lay, waiting with wide and bloody jaw his quick and human prey. god of the earth! what cries rang "pward unto thee? voices of agony and blood, from ship-deck and from sea. the last dull plunge was heari, the last wave caught its stain, and the unsated shark looked up for human hearts in vain. on livid brows of agony the broad red lightning stone; but the roar of wind and thunder suitled the answering green : wailed from the broken waters a lant despairing cry, as, kindling in the stormy lizht, the stranger ship weut bis. red glowed the western waters, the setting sun was there, scattering alike on wave and cloud his tiery mesh of hair. amidst a group in blindness, a solitary eye in the sunny guadaloupe a dark-lulled vesseilar, with a crew who noti never the nightfall or the dar. the blossom of the oring was white by every stras, expostulation 267 and tropic leaf, aud flower, and bird were in the warm sunbeam. slaves, crouching on the very plains where rolled the storm of freedom's war! and the sky was bright as ever, and the moonlight slept as well, on the palm-trees by the hillside, and the streamlet of the dell: and the glances of the creole were still as archly deep, and her smiles as full as ever of passion and of sleep. a groan from eutaw's haunted wood, a wail where camden's martyrs fell, by every shrine of patriot blood, from moultrie's wall and jasper's well ! but vain were bird and blossom, the green earth and the sky, and the smile of human faces, to the slaver's darkened eye ; at the breaking of the morning, at the star-lit evening time, o'er a world of light and beauty fell the blackness of his crime. by storied hill and hallowed grot, by mossy wood and marshy glen, whence rang of old the rifle-shot, and hurrying shout of marion's men ! the groan of breaking hearts is there, the falling lash, the fetter's clank ! slaves, slaves are breathing in that air which old de kalb and sumter drank ! expostulation what ho ! our countrymen in chains ! the whip on woman's shrinking flesh ! our soil yet reddening with the stains caught from her scourging, warm and fresh! what ! mothers from their children riven ! what! god's own image bought and sold ! americans to market driven, and bartered as the brute for gold ! (originally termed stanzas, then follen.] dr. charles follen, a german patriot, who had come to america for the freedom which was denied him in his native land, allied himself with the abolitionists, and at a convention of delegates from all the anti-slavery organizatious in new england, held at boston in may, 1931, was chairman of a committee to prepare an address to the people of new england. toward the close of the address occurred the passage which suggested these lines. * the despotism which our fathers could not bear in their native country is expiring, and the sword of justice in her reformed hands has applied its exterminating edge to slavery. shall the united states — the free united states, which could not bear the bonds of a king cradle the bondage which a king is abolishing ? shall a republic be less free than a monarchy ? shall we, in the vigor and buoyancy of our manhood, be less energetic in rightpousness than a kingdom in its age ?” – dr. folen's address. “genius of america! – spirit of our free institution! where art thou? how art thou fallen, o lncifer! son of the morning, how art thou fallen from heaven! hell from beneath is moved for thee, to meet thee at thy coming! the kings of the earth cry out to thee, aha! aha! art thou become like unto speech of samuel j. may. our fellow-countrymen in chains ! slaves, in a land of light and law ! speak! shall their agony of prayer come thrilling to our hearts in vain ? to us whose fathers scorned to bear the paltry menace of a chain ; to us, whose boast is loud and long of holy liberty and light; say, shall these writhing slaves of wrong plead vainly for their plundered right ? what! shall we send, with lavish breath, our sympathies across the wave, where manhood, on the field of death, strikes for his freedom or a grave ? shall prayers go up, and hymns be sung for greece, the moslem fetter spurning, and millions hail with pen and tongue our light on all her altars burning ? shall belgium feel, and gallant france, by vendome's pile and schoenbrun's wall, and poland, gasping on her lance, the impulse of our cheering call ? and shall the slave, beneath our eye, clank o'er our fields his hateful chain ? and toss bis fettered arms on high, and groan for freedom's gift, in vain ? 3 ? " 268 anti-slavery poems oh, say, shall prussia's banner be rise now for freedom ! not in strife a refuge for the stricken slave ? like that your sterner fathers saw, and shall the russian serf go free the awful waste of human life, by baikal's lake and neva's wave ? the glory and the guilt of war : and shall the wintry-bosomed dane but break the chain, the yoke remove, relax the iron hand of pride, and smite to earth oppression's roxl. and bid his bondmen cast the chain with those mild arms of truth and love, from fettered soul and limb aside ? made mighty through the living god! shall every flap of england's flag down let the shrine of moloch sink, proclaim that all around are free, and leave no traces where it stood; from farthest ind to each blue crag nor longer let its idol drink that beetles o'er the western sea ? his daily cup of human blood; and shall we scoff at europe's kings, but rear another altar there, when freedom's fire is dim with us, to truth and love and merry given, and round our country's altar clings and freedom's gift, and freedou prayer, the damning shade of slavery's curse ? shall call an answer down from heates' go, let us ask of constantine to loose his grasp on poland's throat ; hymn and beg the lord of mahmoud's line to spare the struggling suliote ; written for the meeting of the anti-sharin will not the scorching answer come society, at chatham street chapel, neu liek from turbaned turk, and scornful russ: held on the ith of the seventh month, in “go, loose your fettered slaves at home, (originally entitled lines.) then turn and ask the like of us!” o thou, whose presence went before just god! and shall we calmly rest, our fathers in their weary way, the christian's scorn, the heathen's is with thy chosen noved of yore mirth, the fire by night, the cloud by day! ('ontent to live the lingering jest and by-word of a mocking earth ? when from each temple of the free, shall our own glorious land retain a nation's song ascends to heaven, that curse which europe scorns to most holy father! unto thee hear ? may not our humble prayer be given" shall our own brethren drag the chain which not even russia's menials wear ? thy children all, though hue and form are varied in thine own good wil. l'p, then, in freedom's manly part, with thy own holy breathing warm, from graybeard eld to fiery youth, and fashioned in thine image si.il and on the nation's naked heart seatter the living coals of truth ! we thank thee, father! hill and plain l'p! while ye slumber, deeper yet around us wave their fruits once inre, the shadow of our fame is growing ! and clustered vine and blossomed grain t'p! while ve pause, our sun may set are bending round each cottage dome. in blood around our altars flowing ! and pence is here ; and hope and love oh! rouse ye, ere the storm comes forth, are round us as a mantle thruwa, the gathered wrath of god and man, and unto thee, supreme above, like that which wasted egypt's earth, the knee of prayer is bowed alone. when hnil and fire above it ran. hear ye no warnings in the air ? but oh, for those this day can bring, feel ye no earthquake underneath ? is unto us, no jorful thrill; l'p, up! why will ve slumber where for those who, under freedom's wing, the sleeper only wakes in death? are bound in slavery's fetters stid: the yankee girl 269 let them toil as they will at the loom or the wheel, too stupid for shame, and too vulgar to feel ! for those to whom thy written word of light and love is never given ; for those whose ears have never heard the promise and the hope of heaven ! for broken heart, and clouded mind, whereon no human mercies fall ; oh, be thy gracious love inclined, who, as a father, pitiest all ! and grant, o father! that the time of earth's deliverance may be near, when every land and tongue and clime the message of thy love shall hear ; “but thou art too lovely and precious a gem to be bound to their burdens and sullied by them ; for shame, ellen, shame, cast thy bondage aside, and away to the south, as my blessivg and pride. 66 when, smitten as with fire from heaven, the captive's chain shall sink in dust, and to his fettered soul be given the glorious freedom of the just ! oh, come where no winter thy footsteps can wrong, but where flowers are blossoming all the where the shade of the palm-tree is over year long, my home, and the lemon and orange are white in their bloom ! the yankee girl she sings by her wheel at that low cottage-door, which the long evening shadow is stretching before, with a music as sweet as the music which “oh, come to my home, where my servants shall all depart at thy bidding and come at thy call ; they shall `heed thee as mistress with trembling and awe, and each wish of thy heart shall be felt as a law.". а seems breathed softly and faint in the ear of our dreams ! the sky! oh, could ye have seen her that pride of our girls arise and cast back the dark wealth of her curls, with a scorn in her eye which the gazer could feel, and a glance like the sunshine that flashes on steel ! how brilliant and mirthful the light of her eye, like a star glancing out from the blue of and lightly and freely her dark tresses play o'er a brow and a bosom as lovely as they ! who comes in his pride to that low cottage-door, the haughty and rich to the humble and 't is the great southern planter, the master who waves his whip of dominion o'er hundreds of slaves. “nay, ellen, for shame! let those yankee fools spin, who would pass for our slaves with a change of their skin ; poor? “go back, haughty southron ! thy treasures of gold are dim with the blood of the hearts thou bast sold ; thy home may be lovely, but round it i hear the crack of the whip and the footsteps of fear ! “and the sky of thy south may be brighter than ours, and greener thy landscapes, and fairer thy flowers ; 270 anti-slavery poems but dearer the blast round our mountains the drunk and the sober, ride mernly there which raves, and woman, kind woman, wife, widow, and than the sweet summer zephyr which maid, breathes over slaves ! for the good of the hunted, is lending bra aid : “ full low at thy bidding thy negroes may her foot 's in the stirrup, her hand on the kneel, rein, with the iron of bondage on spirit and how blithely she rides to the hunting of heel ; men ! yet know that the yankee girl sooner would be oh, goodly and grand is our hunting to her in fetters with them, than in freedom with in this “ land of the brave and this bome it thee !" the free." priest, warrior, and statesman, from gece gia to maine, the hunters of men all mounting the saddle, all grasping the rein ; these lines were written when the orators of right merrily hunting the black man, wbre the american colonization society were desin manding that the free blacks should be sent to is the curl of his hair and the hue of his africa, and opposing emancipation unless exskin ! patriation followed. see the report of the prowoe, now, to the hunted who turns him as ceedings of the society at its annual meeting bay ! in 1834. will our hunters be turned from their pe pose and prey ? have ye heard of our hunting, o'er moun. will their hearts fail within them? tbr: tain and glen, nerves tremble, when through cane-brake and forest, -the hunt| all roughly they ride to the hunting of met irig of men ? the lords of our land to this hunting have ho! alms for our hunters ! all weary and gone, faint, as the fox-hunter follows the sound of the wax the curse of the sinner and prayer ! horn ; the saint. hark! the cheer and the hallo! the crack | the horn is wound faintly, the echoes are of the whip, still, and the yell of the hound as he fastens his over cane-brake and river, and forest and grip! bill. all blithe are onr hunters, and noble their haste, alms for our hunters ! the braised match, once more though hundreds are caught, there are mil. have turned from their flight with the lions to catch. backs to the shore : so speed to their hunting, o'er mountain what right have they here in the base and glen, the white, through cane-brake and forest, – the huntshadowed v'er by our banner of freresa ing of men ! and right? ho! alms for the hunters ! or bever 1929 gay luck to our hunters ! how nobly they will they ride in their pomp to the bus ride of men ! in the glow of their zeal, and the strength of their pride! alms, alms for our hunters ! why will repetun the priest with his cassock flung back on lav, the wind, when their pride and their glory are more just screening the politie statesman behind ; ing away? the saint and the sinner, with cursing and the parson has turned ; for, on charged prayer, his own, stanzas for the times 271 who goeth a warfare, or hunting, alone ? the politic statesman looks back with a sigh, there is doubt in his heart, there is fear in shall freemen lock the indignant thought ? shall pity's bosom cease to swell ? shall honor bleed ? shall truth succumb ? shall pen, and press, and soul be dumb ? his eye. no; by each spot of haunted ground, where freedom weeps her children's fall; oh, haste, lest that doubting and fear shall prevail, and the head of his steed take the place of the tail. oh, haste, ere he leave us ! for who will ride then, for pleasure or gain, to the hunting of men ? by plymouth's rock, and bunker's mound; by griswold's stained and shattered by warren's ghost, by langdon's shade ; by all the memories of our dead ! wall; stanzas for the times the " times" referred to were those evil times of the pro-slavery meeting in faneuil hall, august 21, 183.), in which a demand was made for the suppression of free speech, lest it should endanger the foundation of commercial society. by their enlarging souls, which burst the bands and fetters round them set; by the free pilgrim spirit nursed within our inmost bosoms, yet, by all above, around, below, be ours the indignant answer, no! is this the land our fathers loved, the freedom which they toiled to win ? is this the soil whereon they moved ? are these the graves they slumber in ? are we the sons by whom are borne the mantles which the dead have worn ? no; guided by our country's laws, for truth, and right, and suffering man, be ours to strive in freedom's cause, as christians may, as freemen can ! still pouring on unwilling ears that truth oppression only fears. what ! shall we guard our neighbor still, while woman shrieks beneath his rod, and while he tramples down at will the image of a common god ? shall watch and ward be round him set, of northern nerve and bayonet ? and shall we crouch above these graves, with craven soul and fettered lip? yoke in with marked and branded slaves, and tremble at the driver's whip ? bend to the earth our pliant knees, and speak but as our masters please ? shall outraged nature cease to feel ? shall mercy's tears no longer flow? shall ruffian threats of cord and steel, the dungeon's gloom, the assassin's blow, turn back the spirit roused to save the truth, our country, and the slave ? of human skulls that shrine was made, round which the priests of mexico before their loathsome idol prayed ; is freedom's altar fashioned so ? and must we yield to freedom's god, as offering meet, the negro's blood ? shall tongue be mute, when deeds are wrought which well might shame extremest hell ? and shall we know and share with him the danger and the growing shame ? and see our freedom's light grow dim, which should have filled the world with flame ? and, writhing, feel, where'er we turn, a world's reproach around us burn ? is 't not enough that this is borne ? and asks our haughty neighbor more ? must fetters which his slaves have worn clank round the yankee farmer's door ? must he be told, beside his plongh, what he must speak, and when, and how ? must he be told his freedom stands on slavery's dark foundations strong ; on breaking hearts and fettered hands, on robbery, and crime, and wrong? 272 anti-slavery poems that all his fathers taught is vain, that freedom's emblem is the chain ? its life, its soul, from slavery drawn ! false, foul, profane! go, teach as well of holy truth from falsehood born! of heaven refreshed by airs from hell ! of virtue in the arms of vice! of demons planting paradise ! rail on, then, brethren of the south, ye shall not hear the truth the less ; no seal is on the yankee's mouth, no fetter on the yankee's press ! from our green mountains to the sea, one voice shall thunder, we are free ! of those high words of truth which seareb and burn in warning and rebuke ; feed fat, ye locusts, feed ! and, in your tasselled pulpits, thank the lord that, from the toiling bondman's utter deed, ye pile your own full board. how long, o lord ! how long shall such a priesthood barter truth away, and in thy name, for robbery and wpusg at thy own altars pray ? is not thy hand stretched forth visibly in the heavens, to awe and smite shall not the living god of all the earik, and heaven above, do right? clerical oppressors 7 in the report of the celebrated pro-slavery woe, then, to all who grind meeting in charleston, s. (., on the 4th of the their brethren of a common father don: ninth month, 18:3), published in the courier of to all who plunder from the immurta that city, it is stated : “ the clergy of all demind nominations attended in a body, lending their sanction to the proceedings, and adding by its bright and glorious crown! their presence to the impressive character of the scene!" woe to the priesthood i woe to those whose hire is with the price od just god! and these are they blood ; who minister at thine altar, god of right ! perverting, darkening, changing, as they men who their hands with prayer and blessgo, ing lay the searching truths of god! on israel's ark of light ! their glory and their might what! preach, and kidnap men ? shall perish ; and their very names give thanks, and rob thy own afflicted be poor? vile before all the people, in the light talk of thy glorious liberty, and then of a world's liberty. bolt hard the captive's door ? oh, speed the moment on what! servants of thy own when wrong shall cease, and liberty as merciful son, who came to seek and save lov the homeless and the outcast, fettering and truth and right throughout the earl down be known the tasked and plundered slave ! as in their home above. pilate and herod, friends ! chief priests and rulers, as of old, coma summons bine! just god and holy ! is that church, which written on the adoption of pinekwerk lends lutions in the house of representatives, una strength to the spoiler, thine ? the passage of calhoun's " bill fog eir.is papers written or printed, touching the se paid hvpocriter, who turn ject of slavery, from the l'. s postad judgment aside, and rub the holy book the senate of the l'nited states. a summons 273 and, in oppression's hateful service, libel both man and god ? mr. pinckney's resolutions were in brief that congress had no authority to interfere in any way with slavery in the states; that it ought not to interfere with it in the district of colambia, and that all resolutions to that end should be laid on the table without printing. mr. calhoun's bill made it a penal offence for postmasters in any state, district, or territory “knowingly to deliver, to any person whatever, any pamphlet, newspaper, handbill, or other printed paper or pictorial representation, touching the subject of slavery, where, by the laws of the said state, district, or territory, their eirculation was prohibited.” (originally entitled lines. ] shall our new england stand erect no longer, but stoop in chains upon her downward way, thicker to gather on her limbs and stronger day after day? oh no; methinks from all her wild, green mountains ; from valleys where her slumbering fathers lie; from her blue rivers and her welling fountains, and clear, cold sky; men of the north-land ! where's the manly spirit of the true-hearted and the unshackled gone ? sons of old freemen, do we but inherit their names alone ? from her rough coast, and isles, which hungry ocean gnaws with his surges; from the fishwith white sail swaying to the billow's motion round rock and cliff ; er's skiff, is the old pilgrim spirit quenched within us, stoops the strong manhood of our souls so low, that mammon's lure or party's wile can win us to silence now? now, when our land to ruin's brink is verging, in god's name, let us speak while there is time! now, when the padlocks for our lips are forging, silence is crime ! from the free fireside of her unbought farmer ; from her free laborer at his loom and wheel ; from the brown smith-shop, where, beneath the hammer, rings the red steel ; from each and all, if god hath not forsaken our land, and left us to an evil choice, loud as the summer thunderbolt shall waken a people's voice. what! shall we henceforth humbly ask as favors rights all our own ? in madness shall we barter, for treacherous peace, the freedom nature gave us, god and our charter ? here shall the statesman forge his human fetters, here the false jurist human rights deny, and in the church, their proud and skilled abettors make truth a lie ? startling and stern! the northern winds shall bear it over potomac's to st. mary's wave; and buried freedom shall awake to hear it within her grave. oh, let that voice go forth! the bondman sighing by santee's wave, in mississippi's cane, shall feel the hope, within his bosom dying, revive again. torture the pages of the hallowed bible, to sanction crime, and robbery, and blood ? let it go forth! the millions who are gazing sadly upon us from afar shall smile, 274 anti-slavery poems and unto god devout thanksgiving raising, when autunn's sun is downward ging, bless us the while. the blessed memory of thy worth around thy place of slumber glowug! oh for your ancient freedom, pure and holy, but woe for us! who linger still for the deliverance of a groaning earth, with feebler strength and beart, less for the wronged captive, bleeding, crushed, lowly, and lowly, and minils less steadfast to the will let it go forth! of him whose every work is holy. for not like thine, is crucified sons of the best of fathers ! will ye falthe spirit of our human pride : ter and at the bondinan's tale of woe, with all they left ye perilled and at and for the outcast and forsaken, stake? not warm like thine, but cold and skw, ho! once again on freedom's holy altar our weaker sympathies awaken. the fire awake! darkly upon our struggling way prayer-strengthened for the trial, come tothe storm of human hate is sweeps. gether, hunted and branded, and a prey, put on the harness for the moral fight, our watch amidst the darkness kereg and, with the blessing of your heavenly oh, for that hidden strength which can father, nerve unto death the inner man ! maintain the right! oh, for thy spirit, tried and true, and constant in the hour of trial, prepared to suffer, or to do, to the memory of thomas in meekness and in self-denial. shipley oh, for that spirit, meek and mild, derided, spurned, yet incomplaining. thomas shipley of philadelphia was a lifeby man deserted and reviled, long christian philanthropist, and advocate yet faithful to its trust remaining of emancipation. at his funeral thousands of colored people came to take their last look at still prompt and resolute to save their friend and protector. he died septemfrom scourge and chain the hurted .. ber 17, 1836. unwavering in the truth's defence, even where the fires of hate were bus gone to thy heavenly father's rest! ing, the flowers of eden round thee blow| the unquailing eye of innocence ing, alone upon the oppressor turning! and on thine ear the murmurs blest of siloa's waters softly flowing ! o loved of thousands ! to thy grare, beneath that tree of life which gives sorrowing of heart, thy brethro be to all the earth its healing leaves thee. in the white robe of angels clad, the poor man and the rescued slave and wandering by that sacred river, wept as the broken earth clused upon whose streams of holiness make glad thee ; the city of our god forever! and grateful tears, like snmmer run, quickened its dying grass again! gentlest of spirits! not for thee and there, as to some pilgrim-shrine. our tears are shed, our sighs are given ; shall come the outcast and the louls, why mourn to know thou art a free of gentle deeds and words of thine partaker of the joys of heaven? recalling memories sweet and bandy! finished thy work, and kept thy faith in christian firmness unto death; oh, for the death the righteous die! and beautiful as sky and earth, an end, like autumn's day declining, ritner 275 on human hearts, as on the sky, with holier, tenderer beauty shining; as to the parting soul were given the radiance of an opening heaven ! as if that pure and blessed light, from off the eternal altar flowing, were bathing, in its upward flight, the spirit to its worship going ! thank god for the token ! one lip is still free, one spirit untrammelled, unbending one knee ! like the oak of the mountain, deep-rooted and firm, erect, when the multitude bends to the storm ; when traitors to freedom, and honor, and god, are bowed at an idol polluted with blood ; when the recreant north has forgotten her trust, and the lip of her honor is low in the dust, thank god, that one arm from the shackle has broken! thank god, that one man as a freeman has spoken ! the moral warfare whex freedom, on her natal day, within her war-rocked cradle lay, an iron race around her stood, baptized her infant brow in blood; and, through the storm which round her swept, their constant ward and watching kept. then, where our quiet herds repose, the roar of baleful battle rose, and bretbren of a common tongue to mortal strife as tigers sprung, and every gift on freedom's shrine was man for beast, and blood for wine ! o'er thy crags, alleghany, a blast has been blown ! down thy tide, susquehanna, the murmur has gone ! to the land of the south, of the charter and chain, of liberty sweetened with slavery's pain ; where the cant of democracy dwells on the lips of the forgers of fetters, and wielders of whips ! where “ chivalric” honor means really no than scourging of women, and robbing the where the moloch of slavery sitteth on high, and the words which he utters, are — worship, or die ! more our fathers to their graves have gone ; their strife is past, their triumph won ; but sterner trials wait the race which rises in their honored place ; a moral warfare with the crime and folly of an evil time. so let it be. in god's own might we gird us for the coming fight, and, strong in him whose cause is ours in conflict with unholy powers, we grasp the weapons he has given,the light, and truth, and love of heaven. poor! ritner written on reading the message of governor ritner, of pennsylvania, 1836. the fact redounds to the credit and serves to perpetuate the memory of the independent farmer and high-souled statesman, that he alone of all the governors of the union in 1836 met the insulting demands and menaces of the south in a manner becoming a freeman and hater of slavery, in his message to the legislature of pennsylvania. originally entitled lines.] right onward, oh, speed it! wherever the blood of the wronged and the guiltless is crying to god; wherever a slave in his fetters is pining ; wherever the lash of the driver is twining ; wherever from kindred, torn rudely apart, comes the sorrowful wail of the broken of heart; wherever the shackles of tyranny bind, in silence and darkness, the god given mind ; there, god speed it onward ! its truth will be felt, the bonds shall be loosened, the iron shall melt ! 276 anti-slavery poems and grow and oh, will the land where the free soul one brow for the brand, for the padini of penn one mouth? still lingers and breathes over mountain and they cater to tyrants? they rives the glen; chain, will the land where a benezet's spirit which their fathers smote off, on the begi went forth again ? to the peeled and the meted, and outcast of earth; no, never! one voice, like the sound in t! where the words of the charter of liberty cloud, first when the roar of the storm waxes io. from the soul of the sage and the patriot and more loud, burst; wherever the foot of the freeman eati where first for the wronged and the weak pressed of their kind, from the delaware's marge to the like the christian and 'statesman their efforts of the west, combined ; on the south-going breezes shall depan will that land of the free and the good wear a chain ? till the land it sweeps over shall trembo will the call to the rescue of freedom be below ! vain ? the voice of a people, nprisen, awake. pennsylvania's watchword, with free no, ritner! her “friends” at thy warnat stake, ing shall stand thrilling up from each valley, tung down erect for the truth, like their ancestral from each height, band ; “our country and liberty! god for the forgetting the feuds and the strife of past right” time, counting coldness injustice, and silence a crime ; the pastoral letter turuing back from the cavil of creeds, to unite the general association of contº once again for the poor in defence of the ministers in massachusetts met at tink* & june 27, 1537. and issued a pastural ley breasting calmly, but firmly, the full tide the churches under its care. the industr of wrong, occasion of it was the profound 141 *** overwhelmed, but not borne on its surges duced by the recent public lecture in yunus along ; chusetts by angelina and sarah grieks ir l'nappalled by the danger, the shame, and noble women from south carolina. we los bancome the pain, their testimony against slavery. i be lt and counting each trial for truth as their demanded that “ibe perplexed and 4***** gain! subjects which are now commwa am. ... should not be forced upon any ch.14 as matters for debate, at the harada and that bold-hearted yeomanry, honest tion and division," and called attention > and true, dangers now seeming " to thrraten the fol who, haters of fraud, give to labor its due ; character with widespread and peril at: whose fathers, of old, sang in concert jury." with thine, on the banks of swetara, the songs of the so, this is all, – the ntmost reach rhine, – of priestly power the mind to fettre the german-born pilgrims, who first dared when laymen think, when women per to brave a war of words, a “ pastoral latter the scorn of the proud in the cause of the now, shame upon ye, panish pupus slave ; was it thus with thone, your pruebe *** will the sons of such men yield the lords who sealed with rachs, and fire, at : *** of the south their loving-kindness to transgress right; the pastoral letter 277 a“ pastoral letter,” grave and dull ; alas! in hoof and horns and features, how different is your brookfield bull from him who bellows from st. peter's ! your pastoral rights and powers from harm, think ye, can words alone preserve them? your wiser fathers taught the arm and sword of temporal power to serve them. oh, glorious days, when church and state were wedded by your spiritual fathers ! and on subinissive shoulders sat your wilsons and your cotton mathers. no vile “itinerant” then could mar the beauty of your tranquil zion, but at his peril of the scar of hangman's whip and branding-iron. if when an earthquake voice of power and signs in earth and heaven are showing that forth, in its appointed hour, the spirit of the lord is going ! and, with that spirit, freedom's light on kindred, tongue, and people breaking, whose slumbering millions, at the sight, in glory and in strength are waking ! when for the sighing of the poor, and for the needy, god hath risen, and chains are breaking, and a door is opening for the souls in prison ! if then ye would, with puny hands, arrest the very work of heaven, and bind anew the evil bands which god's right arm of power bath riven ; then, wholesome laws relieved the church of heretic and mischief-maker, and priest and bailiff joined in search, by turns, of papist, witch, and quaker! the stocks were at each church's door, the gallows stood on boston common, a papist's ears the pillory bore, the gallows-rope, a quaker woman ! yonr fathers dealt not as ye deal with non-professing ”frantic teachers ; they bored the tongue with red-hot steel, and flayed the backs of “ female preachwhat marvel that, in many a mind, those darker deeds of bigot madness are closely with your own combined, yet “less in anger than in sadness"? what marvel, if the people learn to claim the right of free opinion ? what marvel, if at times they spurn the ancient yoke of your dominion ? ers." old hampton, had her fields a tongue, and salem's streets could tell their story, of fainting woman dragged along, gashed by the whip accursed and gory ! and will ye ask me, why this taunt of memories sacred from the scorner ? and why with reckless hand i plant a nettle on the graves ye honor ? not to reproach new england's dead this record from the past i summon, of manhood to the scaffold led, and suffering and heroic woman. no, for yourselves alone, i turn the pages of intolerance over, that, in their spirit, dark and stern, ye haply may your own discover! for, if ve claim the “pastoral right” to silence freedom's voice of warning, and from your precincts shut the light of freedom's day around ye dawning ; a glorious remnant linger yet, whose lips are wet at freedom's fountains, the coming of whose welcome feet is beautiful upon our mountains ! men, who the gospel tidings bring of liberty and love forever, whose joy is an abiding spring, whose peace is as a gentle river ! but ye, who scorn the thrilling tale of carolina's high-souled daughters, which echoes here the mournful wail of sorrow from edisto's waters, close while ye may the public ear, with malice vex, with slander wound them, the pure and good shall throng to hear, and tried and manly hearts surround them. oh, ever may the power which led their way to such a fiery trial, and strengthened womanhood to tread the wine-press of such self-denial, 278 anti-slavery poems be round them in an evil land, praise ! for the pride of man is low, with wisdom and with strength from the counsels of the wise are naught, heaven, the fountains of repentance flow; with miriam's voice, and judith's hand, what hath our god in inerey wtuaget? and deborah’s song, for triumph given ! speed on thy work, lord god of hosts! and what are ye who strive with god and when the bondman's chain is gives against the ark of his salvation, and swells from all our guilty coasts moved by the breath of prayer abroad, the anthem of the free to heavan, with blessings for a dying nation ? oh, not to those whom thou hast led. what, but the stubble and the hay as with thy cloud and fire before, to perish, even as fax consuming, but unto thee, in fear and dread, with all that bars his glorious way, be praise and glory evermore. before the brightness of his coming ? and thou, sad angel, who so long the farewell hast waited for the glorious token, that earth from all her bonds of wrong of a virginia slave mother to !!!. to liberty and light has broken, daughters sold inio solihias angel of freedom ! soon to thee bondage the sounding trumpet shall be given, and over earth's full jubilee gone, gone, sold and gone, shall deeper joy be felt in heaven ! to the rice-swamp dank and lone. where the slave-whip ceaseless swing where the noisome insect stings, hymn where the fever demon strews poison with the falling dews, written for the celebration of the third anwhere the sickly sunbeams glare niversary of british emancipation, at the broad-through the hot and unisty air ; way tabernacle, new york, first of august, gone, gone', — sold and gone, 1837. [originally entitled lines.] to the rice-swamp dank and free, from virginia's hills and water; o holy father ! just and true woe is me, my stolen daugliters! are all thy works and words and ways, and unto thee alone are due gone, gone, — sold and gone, thanksgiving and eternal praise ! to the rice-swamp dank and i be. as children of thy gracious care, there no mother's eye is near them, we veil the eye, we bend the knee, there no mother's ear can hear them; with broken words of praise and prayer, never, when the torturing lash father and god, we come to thee. seams their back with many a ganh, shall a mother's kindness bless them, for thou hast heard, o god of right, or a mother's aris caress them. the sighing of the island slave ; gone, gone, sold and gone, and stretched for him the arm of might, to the rice-swamp dank ad lore. not shortened that it could not save. from virginia's hills and water: the laborer sits beneath his vine, woe is me, my stolen daughters! the shackled soul and hand are free ; thanksgiving ! for the work is thine ! gone, gone, – sold and gone. praise ! for the blessing is of thee ! to the rice-swamp danh and luar. oh, when weary, sad, and slow, and oh, we feel thy presence here, from the fields at night they go thy awful arm in judgment bare ! faint with toil, and racked with pain, thine eye hath seen the boudman's tear; to their cheerless homes aguin, thine ear hath heard the bondman's there no brother's voice shall greet theon ; prayer. · there no father's welcome meet them. pennsylvania hall 279 gone, gone, sold and gone, to the rice-swamp dank and lone, from virginia's hills and waters ; woe is me, my stolen daughters ! stroying the office of the pennsylvania freeman, of which i was editor, and with it my books and papers. not with the splendors of the days of old, the spoil of nations, and barbaric gold ; no weapons wrested from the fields of blood, where dark and stern the unyielding roman stood, and the proud eagles of his cohorts saw a world, war-wasted, crouching to his law; nor blazoned car, nor banners floating gay, like those which swept along the appian way, gone, gone, gone, gone, sold and gone, to the rice-swamp dank and lone. from the tree whose shadow lay on their childhood's place of play ; from the cool spring where they drank ; rock, and hill, and rivulet bank ; from the solemn house of prayer, and the holy counsels there ; gone, gone, sold and gone, to the rice-swamp dank and lone, from virginia's hills and waters ; woe is me, my stolen daughters ! sold and gone, to the rice-swamp dank and lone ; toiling through the weary day, and at night the spoiler's prey. oh, that they had earlier died, sleeping calmly, side by side, where the tyrant's power is o'er, and the fetter galls no more ! sold and gone, to the rice-swamp dank and lone, from virginia's hills and waters ; woe is me, my stolen daughters ! sold and gone, to the rice-swamp dank and lone. by the holy love he beareth ; by the bruised reed he spareth ; oh, may he, to whom alone all their cruel wrongs are known, still their hope and refugę prove, with a more than mother's love. gone, gone, — sold and gone, to the rice-swamp dank and lone, from virginia's hills and waters ; woe is me, my stolen daughters ! gone, gone, when, to the welcome of imperial rome, the victor warrior came in triumph home, and trumpet peal, and shoutings wild and high, stirred the blue quiet of the italian sky ; but calm and grateful, prayerful and sincere, as christian freemen only, gathering here, we dedicate our fair and lofty hall, pillar and arch, entablature and wall, as virtue's shrine, as liberty's abode, sacred to freedom, and to freedom's god ! far statelier halls, 'neath brighter skies than these, stood darkly mirrored in the ægean seas, pillar and shrine, and life-like statues seen, graceful and pure, the marble shafts between ; where glorious athens from her rocky hill saw art and beauty subject to her will ; and the chaste temple, and the classic grove, the hall of sages, and the bowers of love, arch, fane, and column, graced the shores, gone, gone, and gave pennsylvania hall read at the dedication of pennsylvania hall, philadelphia, may 15, 18:38. the building was erected by an association of gentlemen, irrespretive of sect or party. “ that the citizens of philadelphia should possess a room wherein the principles of liberty, and equality of civil rights, could be freely discussed, and the evils of slavery fearlessly portrayed.” on the evening of the 17th it was burned by a mob, detheir shadows to the blue saronic wave ; and statelier rose on tiber's winding side, the pantheon's dome, the coliseum's pride, the capitol, whose arches backward flung the deep, clear cadence of the roman tongue, whence stern decrees, like words of fate, went forth to the awed nations of a conquered earth, where the proud cæsars in their glory came, and brutus lightened from his lips of flame ! yet in the porches of athena's halls, and in the shadow of her stately walls, 280 anti-slavery poems woe saw men lurked the sad bondman, and his tears of the virgin verdure of the wilderness. here, where all europe with amaze mest wet the cold marble with unheeded flow; and fetters clanked beneath the silver the soul's high freedom trammelled by au dome law; of the proud pantheon of imperious rome. here, where the fierce and warlike furret oh, not for him, the chained and stricken slave, gathered, in peace, around the home by tiber's shore, or blue ægina's wave, penn, in the thronged forum, or the sages' seat, awed by the weapons love alone hal ve the bold lip pleaded, and the warm heart drawn from the holy armory of heaves beat ; where nature's voice against the bottom aa's no soul of sorrow melted at his pain, wrong no tear of pity rusted on his chain ! first found an earnest and indignat tongue ; but this fair hall to truth and freedom where lay's bold message to the prized given, was borne ; pledged to the right before all earth and and keith's rebuke, and franklin's the heaven, scorn! a free arena for the strife of mind, fitting it is that bere, where freedom to to caste, or sect, or color unconfined, from her fair feet shook off the oli wuris shall thrill with echoes such as ne'er of dust, old spread her white pinions to our wesun from roman hall or grecian temple rolled; blast, thoughts shall find utterance such as never and her free tresses to our sunshine yet one hall should rise redeemed front the propylea or the forum met. very's ban, beneath its roof no gladiator's strife one temple sacred to the rights of na' shall win applauses with the waste of life ; no lordly lictor urge the barba rous game, oh! if the spirits of the parted come, no wanton lais glory in her shame. visiting angels, to their olden houe ; but here the tear of sympathy shall flow, if the dead fathers of the land luk in? as the ear listens to the tale of woe ; from their fair dwellings, to the things here in stern judgment of the oppressor's earth, wrong is it a dream, that with their eyes of !.** shall strong rebukings thrill on freedon's they gaze now on us from the bowalu te" tongue, lay's ardent soul, and benezet the abil no partial justice hold th' unequal scale, steadfast in faith, yet gentle as a ch... no pride of caste a brother's rights assail, meek-hearted woolman, and that larutlet xo tyrant's mandates echo from this wall, band, holy to freedom and the rights of all! the sorrowing exiles from their father but a fair field, where mind may close with land," mind, leaving their homes in krieshiem's been free as the sunshine and the chainless wind; of vine, where the high trust is fixed on truth and the blue beauty of their glorum e alone, to seek amidst our solemn depths of 2 and bonds and fetters from the soul are freedom from man, and holy pesce *** thrown; god; where wealth, and rank, and worldly pomp, who first of all their testimonial pare and miglit, against the oppressor, for the oute asian yield to the presence of the true and right. is it a dream that such as these domok : and with their blessing our rj 10 and fitting is it that this hall should stand crown? where pennsylvania's founder led his band, 'let us rejoice, that while the pulpit's done fruiu thy blue waters, delaware ! to press · is barred against the pleaders for the few the new year 281 while the church, wrangling upon points of faith, the new year forgets her bondmen suffering unto death ; while crafty traffic and the lust of gain addressed to the patrons of the pennsylvania c'nite to forge oppression's triple chain, freeman. one door is open, and one temple free, the wave is breaking on the shore, as a resting-place for hunted liberty ! the echo fading from the chime ; where men may speak, unshackled and again the shadow moveth o'er unawed, the dial-plate of time ! high words of truth, for freedom and for god. o seer-seen angel ! waiting now and when that truth its perfect work hath with weary feet on sea and shore, done, impatient for the last dread vow and rich with blessings o'er our land hath that time shall be no more ! gone ; when not a slave beneath his yoke shall once more across thy sleepless eye pine, the semblance of a smile has passed : from broad potomac to the far sabine : the year departing leaves more nigh when unto angel lips at last is given time's fearfullest and last. the silver trump of jubilee in heaven ; and from virginia's plains, kentucky's | oh, in that dying year hath been shades, the sum of all since time began ; and through the dim floridian everglades, the birth and death, the joy and pain, rises, to meet that angel-trumpet's sound, of nature and of man. the voice of millions from their chains unbound ; spring, with her change of sun and shower, then, though this hall be crumbling in deand streams released froin winter's cay, chain, its strong walls blending with the common and bursting bud, and opening flower, clay, and greenly growing grain ; yet round the ruins of its strength shall stand and summer's shade, and sunshine warm, the best and noblest of a ransomed land and rainbows o'er her hill-tops bowed, pilgrims, like these who throng around the and voices in her rising storm ; shrine god speaking from his cloud ! of mecca, or of holy palestine ! a pronder glory shall that ruin own and autumn's fruits and clustering sheaves, than that which lingers round the partheand soft, warm days of golden light, the glory of her forest leaves, here shall the child of after years be taught and harvest-moon at night; the works of freedom which his fathers wrought ; and winter with her leafless grove, told of the trials of the present hour, and prisoned stream, and drifting snow, our weary strife with prejudice and power; the brilliance of her heaven above how the high errand quickened woman's and of her earth below : soul, and touched her lip as with a living coal ; and man, in whom an angel's mind how freedom's martyrs kept their lofty with earth's low instincts finds abode, faith the highest of the links which bind true and unwavering, unto bonds and death; brute nature to her god; the pencil's art shall sketch the ruined hall, his infant eye hath seen the light, the muses' garland crown its aged wall, his childhood's merriest laughter rung, and history's pen for after times record and active sports to manlier might its consecration unto freedom's god ! the nerves of boyhood strung! non 232 anti-slavery poems sold, bargained off for southern futes, a passive herd of northern mules, just braying through their purchased throats whate'er their owner rules. and quiet love, and passion's fires, have soothed or burned in manhood's breast, and lofty aims and low desires by turns disturbed his rest. the wailing of the newly-born has mingled with the funeral knell ; and o'er the dying's ear has gone the merry marriage-bell. and he, the basest of the base, the vilest of the vile, whose name, embalmed in infinite disgrace, is deathless in its shame! and wealth has filled his halls with mirth, while want, in many a humble shed, toiled, shivering by her cheerless hearth, the live-long night for bread. and worse than all, the human slave, the sport of lust, and pride, and scorn! plucked off the crown his maker gave, his regal manhood gone ! oh, still, my country! o'er thy plains, blackened with slavery's blight and ban, that human chattel drags his chains, an uncreated man ! a tool, to bolt the people's door against the people clamoring there, au ass, to trample on their floor a people's right of prayer ! nailed to his self-made gibbet fast, self-pilloried to the publie view, a mark for every passing blast of seorn to whistle through ; there let him hang, and hear the breas of southrons o'er their pliant toul, a new stylites on his post, “sacred to ridicule ! " and still, where'er to sun and breeze, my country, is thy tag unrolled, with scorn, the gazing stranger sees a stain on every fold. oh, tear the gorgeous emblem down ! it gathers scorn from every eye, and despots smile and good men frown whene'er it passes by. shame! shame ! its starry splendors glow above the slaver's loathsome jail ; its folds are ruftling even now his erimson tlag of sale. still round our country's proudest hall the trade in human flesh is driven, and at each careless hammer-fall a human heart is riven. look we at home! our noble hall, to freedom's holy purpose given, now.rears its black and ruined wall, beneath the wintry heaven, telling the story of its doom, the fiendish mob, the provetrate law, the fiery jet through miduight's gion our gazing thousands saw. look to our state ! the poor man's riabi torn from him : and the sons of the whose blood in freedom's steresitat sprinhled the jersey snows, outlawed within the land of penn, that slavery's guilts fan nikt cess, and those whom god created me toil on as brutes in peace. yet o'er the blackness of the storm a bow of promise bends on ligh. and gleams of sunshine, soft and warsz, break through our clouded sky. east, west, and north, the shont in beer. of freemen rising for the right : each valles hath its rallsing word, each hill its signal lignt. and this, too, sanctioned hy the men veated with power to shield the right, and throw each vile and robber den wide open to the light. yet, shame upon them ! there they sit, men of the north, subdued and still ; merk, pliant poltroons, only fit to work a master's will. 1 the relic 283 pure thoughts and sweet like flowers unfold, and precious memories round it cling, even as the prophet's rod of old in beauty blossoming : and buds of feeling, pure and good, spring from its cold unconscious wood. o'er massachusetts' rocks of gray the strengthening light of freedom shines, rhode island's narragansett bay, and vermont's snow-hung pines ! from hudson's frowning palisades to alleghany's laurelled crest, o'er lakes and prairies, streams and glades, it shines upon the west. speed on the light to those who dwell in slavery's land of woe and sin, and through the blackness of that hell let heaven's own light break in. relic of freedom's shrine ! a brand plucked from its burning ! let it be dear as a jewel from the hand of a lost friend to me! flower of a perished garland left, of life and beauty unbereft ! so shall the southern conscience quake before that light poured full and strong, so shall the southern heart awake to all the bondman's wrong. and from that rich and sunny land the song of grateful millions rise, like that of israel's ransomed band beneath arabia's skies : oh, if the young enthusiast bears, ()'er weary waste and sea, the stone which crumbled from the forum's stairs, or round the parthenon ; or olive-bough from some wild tree hung over old thermopylæ : if leaflets from some hero's tomb, or moss-wreath torn from ruins hoary ; or faded flowers whose sisters bloom on fields renowned in story ; or fragment from the alhambra's crest, or the gray rock by druids blessed ; and all who now are bound beneath our banner's shade, our eagle's wing, from slavery's night of moral death to light and life shall spring. broken the bondman's chain, and gone the master's guilt, and hate, and fear, and unto both alike shall dawn a new and happy year. sad erin's shamrock greenly growing where freedom led her stalwart kern, or scotia's “rough bur thistle” blowing on bruce's bannockburn ; or runnymede's wild english rose, or lichen plucked from sempach's snows ! if it be true that things like these to heart and eye bright visions bring, shall not far holier memories to this memorial cling ? which needs no mellowing mist of time to hide the crimson stains of crime ! a the relic written on receiving a cane wrought from a fragment of the wood-work of pennsylvania hall which the fire had spared. tower of friendship true and tried, from one whose fiery heart of youth with mine has beaten, side by side, for liberty and truth ; with honest pride the gift i take, and prize it for the giver's sake. but not alone because it tells of generous hand and heart sincere ; around that gift of friendship dwells a memory donbly dear ; earth's noblest aim, man's holiest thought, with that memorial frail inwrought ! wreck of a temple, unprofaned ; of courts where peace with freedom trod lifting on high, with hands unstained, thanksgiving unto god ; where mercy's voice of love was pleading for human hearts in bondage bleeding ! where, midst the sound of rushing feet and curses on the night-air flung, that pleading voice rose calm and sweet from woman's earnest tongue ; and riot turned his scowling glance, awed, from her tranquil countenance ! 234 anti-slavery poems thence let them come, and greet each other, and know in each a friend and brutber! а that temple now in ruin lies ! the fire-stain on its shattered wall, and open to the changing skies its black and rootless hall, it stands before a nation's sight, a gravestone over buried right ! but from that ruin, as of old, the fire-scorched stones themselves are crying, and from their ashes white and cold its timbers are replying ! a voice which slavery cannot kill speaks from the crumbling arches still ! and even this relic from thy shrine, o holy freedom ! hath to me a potent power, a voice and sign to testify of thee ; and, grasping it, methinks i feel a deeper faith, a stronger zeal. 1 and not unlike that mystic rod, of old stretched o'er the egyptian wave, which opened, in the strength of god, a pathway for the slave, it yet may point the bondman's way, and turn the spoiler from his prey. yes, let them come! from each green na where england's old baronial balis still bear upon their storied walls the grim crusader's rusted mail, battered by paynim spear and brand on malta's rock or syria's sand ! and mouldering pennon-staves obice set within the soil of palestine, by jordan and gennesaret ; or, borne with england's battle line, o'er acre's shattered turrets stoopix.g. or, midst the camp their banner du with dews from hallowed hernu wote a holier summons now is given than that gray bermit's voice of ohl, which unto all the winds of beaven the banners of the cross unnilel! not for the long-deserted shrine ; not for the dull unconscious sol, which tells not by one lingering siga that there the hope of israel trui; but for that truth, for which alone in pilgrim eyes are sanctified the garden moss, the mountain stone, whereon his holy sandals pressed. , the fountain which ilis lip hath wirewt. whate'er hath touched his garine nt's bes. at bethany or bethlehem, or jordan's river-side. for freedom in the name of him who came to raise earth's drumas, to break the chain from every line, the bolt from every prison door! for these, o'er all the earth hath me an ever-deepening trumpet blast, as if an angel's breath lad lett its vigor to the instrument. the world's convention of the friends of emancipation, held in london in 1810 joseph sturge, the founder of the british and foreign anti-slavery society, proposed the calling of a world's anti-slavery convention, and the proposal was promptly seconded by the american anti-slavery society. the call was adressed to " friends of the slave of every nation and of every clime.” yes, let them gather! summon forth the pledged philanthropy of earth. from every land, whose hills have heard the bugle blast of freedom waking; or whrieking of her symbol-bird from out his cloudy eyrie breaking : where justice hath one worshipper, or truth one altar built to her ; where'er a human eye is werping oor wrongs which earth's sad children know ; where'er a single heart is keeping its prayerful watch with buinan woe: and wales, from snowden's mountain shall start le at that thrilling eall. as if she heard her bars aguin; and erin's “harp on tara's wall" give out its ancient strain, mirthful and sweet, yet saud withal, the melody which erin lores, when o'er that harp, 'mid bursis of gli nes and slogan cries and like-make sonra the hand of her o'connell mores ! scotland, from lake and tarn and rill, and mountain hold, and heather b. the world's convention 28; and hayti, from her mountain land, shall send the sons of those who hurled defiance from her blazing strand, the war-gage from her petion's hand, alone against a hostile world. shall catch and echo back the note, as if she heard upon the air once more her cameronian's prayer and song of freedom float. and cheering echoes shall reply from each remote dependency, where britain's mighty sway is known, in tropic sea or frozen zone ; where'er her sunset flag is furling, or morning gun-fire's smoke is curling; from indian bengal's groves of palm and rosy fields and gales of balm, where eastern pomp and power are rolled throngh regal ava's gates of gold ; and from the lakes and ancient woods and dim canadian solitudes, whenee, sternly from her rocky throne, queen of the north, quebec looks down ; and from those bright and ransomed isles where all unwonted freedom smiles, and the dark laborer still retains the scar of slavery's broken chains ! nor all unmindful, thou, the while, land of the dark and mystic nile ! thy moslem mercy yet may shame all tyrants of a christian name, when in the shade of gizeh’s pile, or, where, from abyssinian hills el gerek's upper fountain fills, or where from mountains of the moon el abiad bears bis watery boon, where'er thy lotus blossoms swim within their ancient hallowed waters ; where'er is heard the coptic hymn, or song of nubia’s sable daughters ; the curse of slavery and the crime, thy bequest from remotest time, at thy dark mehemet's decree forevermore sball pass from thee; and chains forsake each captive's limb of all those tribes, whose hills around have echoed back the cymbal sound and victor horn of ibrahim. from the hoar alps, which sentinel the gateways of the land of tell, where morning's keen and earliest glance on jura's rocky wall is thrown, and from the olive bowers of france and vine groves garlanding the rhone, "friends of the blacks," as true and tried as those who stood by oge's side, and heard the haytien's tale of wrong, shall gather at that summons strong ; broglie, passy, and he whose song breathed over syria's holy sod, and in the paths which jesus trod, and murmured midst the hills which hem crownless and sad jerusalem, hath echoes wheresoe'er the tone of israel's prophet-lyre is known. and thon whose glory and whose crime to earth's remotest bound and clime, in mingled tones of awe and scorn, the echoes of a world have borne, my country! glorious at thy birth, a day-star flashing brightly forth, the herald-sign of freedom's dawn ! oh, who could dream that saw thee then, and watched thy rising from afar, that vapors from oppression's fen would cloud the upward tending star ? or, that earth's tyrant powers, which heard, awe-struck, the shout which hailed thy dawning, would rise so soon, prince, peer, and king, to mock thee with their welcoming, like hades when her thrones were stirred to greet the down-cast star of morning ! « aha! and art thon fallen thus ? art thou become as one of us?” still let them come ; from quito's valls, and from the orinoco's tide, from lima's inca-haunted halls, from santa fé and yucatan, men who by swart guerrero's side proclaimed the deathless rights of man, broke every bond and fetter off, and hailed in every sable serf a free and brother mexican ! chiefs who across the andes' chain have followed freedom's flowing pennon, and seen on junin's fearful plain, glare o'er the broken ranks of spain the fire-burst of bolivar's cannon ! land of my fathers ! there will stand, amidst that world-assembled band, those owning thy maternal claim unweakened by thy crime and shame; the sad reprovers of thy wrong ; the children thou hast spurned so long. 286 anti-slavery poems still with affection's fondest yearning to their unnatural mother turning. no traitors they! but tried and leal, whose own is but thy general weal, still blending with the patriot's zeal the christian's love for human kind, to caste and climate uncontined. as to the pomp of babylon the fire-sign on the palace wall! and, from her dark iniquities, methinks i see my country rise : not challenging the nations rourd to note her tardy justice dobe : her captives from their chains urboard. her prisons opening to the sun : but tearfully her arms extending over the poor and upoffending ; her regal emblem now no longer a bird of prey, with talons reeking, above the dying captive shrieking, but, spreading out her ample wing, a broad, impartial covering, the weaker sheltered by the strong:?! oh, then to faith's anointed eyes the promised token shall be giren; and on a nation's sacrifice, atoning for the sin of years, and wet with penitential tears, the fire shall fall from hearen! massachusetts to virginia a holy gathering ! peaceful all : no threat of war, no savage call for vengeance on an erring brother! but in their stead the godlike plan to teach the brotherhood of man to love and reverence one another, as sharers of a common blood, the children of a common god ! yet, even at its lightest word, shall slavery's darkest depths be stirred : spain, watching from her moro's keep her slave-ships traversing the deep, and rio, in her strength and pride, lifting, along her mountain-side, her snowy battlements and towers, her lemon-groves and tropie bowers, with bitter hate and sullen fear its freedom-giving voice shall hear; and where my country's flag is flowing, on breezes from mount vernon blowing, above the nation's council halls, where freedom's praise is loud and long, while close beneath the outward walls the driver plies his reeking thong : the hammer of the man-thief falls, o’er hypocritic cheek and brow the crimson flush of shame shall glow : and all who for their native land are pledging life and heart and hand, worn watchers o'er her changing weal, who for her tarnished honor feel, through cottage door and council-hall shall thunder an awakening call. the pen along its page shall burn with all intolerable scorn ; an eloquent rebuke shall go on all the winds that southward blow ; from priestly lips, now sealed and dumb, warning and drvad appeal shall come, like those which isrnel heard from him, the prophet of the cherubim ; or those which sad esaias hurled against a sin-accured world ! its wizard leaves the press shall ling l'nceasing from its iron wing, with characters inscribed thereon, as fearful in the despot's hall written on reading an account of the pro ceedings of the citizens of north. la, reference to george latin.er, the alleged tzo tive slave, who was seized in boston der warrant at the request of jam b grey norfolk, claiming to be his ir aster "the caused great excitement surth and smeh sad led to the presentation of a putiti u to lo gress, signed by more than titty the seal izens of massachusetts, calling for sub 18 and proposed amendments to the coa) as should relieve the commonwealth from a further participation in the crime of operas george latimer himself was finally ver true papers for the sum of four hundnd duties tue blast from freedom's northern li upon its southern way, bears greeting to virginia fran massachusetts bay: no word of haughty challenging, but baizie bugle's peal, nor steady tread of marching files : clang of horse men's steel. no trains of deepmouthed cannon along our highways go ; around our silent arsenals untrodden les the snow ; massachusetts to virginia 287 and to the land-breeze of our ports, upon their errands far, a thousand sails of commerce swell, but none are spread for war. if she can scoff at freedom, and its great charter spurn, must we of massachusetts from truth and duty turn ? we hear thy threats, virginia ! thy stormy we hunt your bondmen, flying from slawords and high very's hateful hell ; swell harshly on the southern winds which our voices, at your bidding, take up the melt along our sky ; bloodhound's yell; yet, not one brown, hard hand foregoes its we gather, at your summons, above our honest labor here, no hewer of our mountain oaks suspends from freedom's holy altar-horns to teai his axe in fear. your wretched slaves ! fathers' graves, a wild are the waves which lash the reefs thank god ! not yet so vilely can massaalong st. george's bank ; chusetts bow; cold on the shores of labrador the fog the spirit of her early time is with her even lies white and dank; now ; through storm, and wave, and blinding dream not because her pilgrim blood moves mist, stout are the hearts which man slow and calm and cool, the fishing-smacks of marblehead, the seashe thus can stoop her chainless neck, a sisboats of cape ann. ter's slave and tool ! the cold north light and wintry sun glare all that a sister state should do, all that a on their icy forms, free state may, bent grimly o’er their straining lines or heart, hand, and purse we proffer, as in our wrestling with the storms ; early day; free as the winds they drive before, rough but that one dark loathsome burden ye must as the waves they roam, stagger with alone, they laugh to scorn the slaver's threat and reap the bitter harvest which ye youragainst their rocky home. selves have sown ! what means the old dominion ? hath hold, while ye may, your struggling slaves, she forgot the day and burden god's free air when o'er her conquered valleys swept with woman's shriek beneath the lash, and the briton's steel array ? manhood's wild despair ; how side by side, with sons of hers, the cling closer to the “cleaving curse massachusetts men writes upon your plains encountered tarleton's charge of fire, and the blasting of almighty wrath against a stout cornwallis, then ? land of chains. " that forgets she how the bay state, in answer to the call of her old house of burgesses, spoke out from faneuil hall ? when, echoing back her henry's cry, came pulsing on each breath of northern winds the thrilling sounds of “liberty or death !” what asks the old dominion ? if now her sons have proved false to their fathers' memory, false to the faith they loved ; still shame your gallant ancestry, the cavaliers of old, by watching round the shambles where human flesh is sold ; gloat o'er the new-born child, and count his market value, when the maddened mother's cry of woe shall pierce the slaver's den! lower than plummet soundeth, sink the virginia name ; plant, if ye will, your fathers' graves with rankest weeds of shame ; 288 anti-slavery poems be, if ye will, the scandal of god's fair unialong the broad connecticut old hampden verse ; felt the thrill, we wash our hands forever of your sin and and the cheer of hampshire's waximes shame and curse. swept down from holyoke hui. a voice from lips whereon the coal from the voice of massachusetts ! of her free freedom's shrine hath been, sons and daughters, thrilled, as but yesterday, the hearts of deep calling unto deep aloud, the sound of berkshire's mountain men : many waters! the echoes of that solemn voice are sadly against the burden of that voice what trlingering still rant power shall stand ? in all our sunny valleys, on every windno fetters in the bay state! no share swept hill. upon her landi and when the prowling man-thief came look to it well, virginians! in calmnes hunting for his prey we have borne, beneath the very shadow of bunker's shaft in answer to our faith and trust, your ins. : of gray, and your scorn ; how, through the free lips of the son, the you've spurned our kindest counse is father's warning spoke ; you've hunted for our lives; how, from its bonds of trade and sect, the and shaken round our hearths and be pilgrim city broke ! your manacles and gyves ! a hundred thousand right arms were lifted we wage no war, we lift no arm, we the up on high, no torch within a hundred thousand voices sent back their the fire-damps of the quaking mine beneath loud reply ; your soil of sin ; through the thronged towns of essex the we leave ye with your bondmen, to wrester, startling summons rang, while ye can, and up from beneh and loom and wheel her with the strong upward tendenses and young mechanics sprang ! godlike soul of man ! the voice of free, broad middlesex, of thou| but for us and for our children, the one sands as of one, which we have given the shaft of bunker calling to that of lexfor freedom and humanity is registra un ington : heaven ; from norfolk's ancient villages, from ply| no slave-hunt in our borders, ne purata mouth's rocky bound on our strand ! to where nantucket feels the arms of ocean no fetters in the bay state, no vare close her round; upon our land! from rich and rural worcester, where through the calın repose of cultured vales and fringing woods the the christian slave gentle nashua flows, to where wachuset's wintry blasts the mountain larches stir, in a publication of l. f. taxistru rs. swelled up to heaven the thrilling cry of shots and southern brerars is a dan a slare auction at new orleans, at whand the “god save latimer!" auctioneer recommended the woman stand as a good (hri-t14x!" 1.**** and sandy barnstable rose up, wet with the uncommon to see adsertisements of slave for salt sea spray ; sale, in which they were desenud. and bristol sent her answering shout down as members of the church. in e atvart narragansett bay! ment a slave was noted as “a baput preaber the sentence of john l. brown 289 while turning to the sacred kebla feels his fetters break and fall. a christian ! going, gone ! who bids for god's own image ? for his grace, which that poor victim of the market-place, hath in her suffering won ? my god! can such things be? hast thou not said that whatsoe'er is done unto thy weakest and thy humblest one is even done to thee ? cheers for the turbaned bey of robber-peopled tunis ! he hath torn the dark slave dungeons open, and hath borne their inmates into day : in that sad victim, then, child of thy pitying love, i see thee stand ; once more the jest-word of a mocking band, bound, sold, and scourged again! but our poor slave in vain turns to the christian shrine his aching eyes ; its rites will only swell his market price, and rivet on his chain. a christian up for sale ! wet with her blood your whips, o'ertask her frame, make her life loathsome with your wrong and shame, her patience shall not fail ! cell ; a heathen hand might deal back on your heads the gathered wrong of years : but her low, broken prayer and nightly tears, ye neither heed nor feel. god of all right ! how long shall priestly robbers at thine altar stand, lifting in prayer to thee the bloody hand and haughty brow of wrong ? oh, from the fields of cane, from the low rice-swamp, from the trader's from the black slave-ship's foul and loathsome hell, and coffle's weary chain ; hoarse, horrible, and strong, rises to heaven that agonizing cry, filling the arches of the hollow sky, how long, o god, how long ? con well thy lesson o'er, thou prudent teacher, tell the toiling slave no dangerous tale of him who came to save the outcast and the poor. the sentence of john l. brown but wisely shut the ray of god's free gospel from her simple heart, and to ber darkened mind alone impart one stern command, obey ! john l. brown, a young white man of south carolina, was in 1844 sentenced to death for aiding a young slave woman, whom he loved and had married, to escape from slavery. in pronouncing the sentence judge o'neale addressed to the prisoner words of appalling blasphemy (of which the following passages give some notion] : so shalt thou deftly raise the market price of human flesh ; and while on thee, their pampered guest, the planters smile, thy church shall praise. grave, reverend men shall tell from northern pulpits how thy work was blest, while in that vile south sodom first and best, thy poor disciples sell. oh, shame! the moslem thrall, who, with his master, to the prophet kneels, you are to die!... 0f your past life i know nothing, except what your trial furnished. that told me that the crime for which you are to suffer was the consequence of a want of attention on your part to the duties of life. the strange woman snared you. she flattered you with her words, and you became her victim. the consequence was, that, led on by a desire to serve her, you committed the offence of aiding a slave to run away and depart from her master's service ; and now, for it you are to die! .... you are young; quite too young to be where you are. if you had remembered your creator in your past days, you would not now be in a felon's place, to receive a felon's judgment. still, it is not too late to remember your creator. he calls early, and he calls 290 anti-slavery poems . late. he stretches ont the arms of a father's love to but vain is irony – unmeet you to the vilest sioner and says: “ come unto me and be saved." its cold rebuke for deeds which start in tiery and indign:int beat no event in the history of the anti-slavery the pulses of the heart. struggle so stirred the two hemisphere's as did leave studied wit and guarded phrase this dreadful sentence. a cry of horror was for those who think but do not feel : heard from europe. in the british house of let men speak out in words whib raise lords brougham and denman spoke of it with where'er they fall, an answering blare mingled pathos and indignation. thirteen like tlints which strike the fire from ster hundred clergymen and church officers in great britain addressed a memorial to the churches of south carolina against the atrocity. still let a mousing priesthood ply indeed, so strong was the pressure of the sentheir garbled text and gloss of sin, timent of abhorrence and disgust that south and make the lettered scroll deny carolina yielded to it, and the sentence was its living soul within : commuted to scourging and banishment. still let the place-fed, titled knare plead robbery's right with purchased in ho! thou who seekest late and long and tell us that our fathers gare a license from the holy book for freedom's pedestal, a slave, for brutal lust and fiendish wrong, the frieze and moulding, chains man of the pulpit, look! whips ! lift up those cold and atheist eyes, this ripe fruit of thy teaching see ; but ye who own that higher law and tell us how to heaven will rise whose tablets in the heart are set, the incense of this sacritice speak out in words of power and awe this blossom of the gallows tree ! that god is living yet! breathe forth once more those tones sul! search out for slavery's hour of need which thrilled the burdened propers. some fitting text of sacred writ; lyre, give heaven the credit of a deed and in a dark and evil time which shames the nether pit. smote down on israel's fa-t of crime kneel, smooth blasphemer, unto him and gift of blood, a rain of fire ! whose truth is on thy lips a lie ; ask that his bright winged cherubim oh, not for us the graceful lay may bend around that scaffold grim to whose soft measures liglitly more to guard and bless and sanctify. the footsteps of the fans and far, o'er-locked by mirth and love! ( champion of the people's cause ! but such a stern and startling stra:a suspend thy loud and vain rebuke as britain's hunted bands hang de of foreign wrong and old world's laws, from snowden to the conquered pics man of the senate, look ! where harshly clanked the saron was this the promise of the free, on trampled tield and smoking to the great hope of our early time, that slavery's poison vine should be by liberty's dishonored name. l'plwrne by freedom's praver-nursed tree by man's lost hope and failing tret. o'erclustered with such fruits of crime? | by words and deeds which bos with our foreheads to the dust, send out the summons east and west, by the exulting strangers' snees, and south and north, let all be there borne to us from the old wis.' where he who pitied the oppressed thrones, swings out in sun and air. and by their victims' grief who bear, let not a democratic hand in sunless mines and dungeous direct, the grisly hangman's task refuse ; how freedom's land her faith disse there let each loyal patriot stand, awaiting slavery's command, speak out in acts. the time for words to twist the rope and draw the noose ! has passed, and deeds sufřce alvor i a texas 291 whoso shrinks or falters now, whoso to the yoke would bow, brand the craven on his brow ! in vain against the clang of swords the wailing pipe is blown ! act, act in god's name, while ye may ! smite from the church her leprous limb! throw open to the light of day the bondman's cell, and break away the chains the state has bound on him ! freedom's soil hath only place for a free and fearless race, none for traitors false and base. a perish party, perish clan ; strike together while ye can, like the arm of one strong man. ho ! every true and living soul, to freedom's perilled altar bear the freeman's and the christian's whole tongue, pen, and vote, and prayer ! one last, great battle for the right one short, sharp struggle to be free ! to do is to succeed our fight is waged in heaven's approving sight; the smile of god is victory. like that angel's voice sublime, heard above a world of crime, crying of the end of time; with one heart and with one mouth, let the north unto the south speak the word befitting both : texas voice of new england “what though issachar be strong! ye may load his back with wrong overmuch and over long : the five poems immediately following indicate the intense feeling of the friends of freedom in view of the annexation of texas, with its vast territory sufficient, as was boasted, for six new slave states. the first poem seems to have been written at the earnest entreaty of lowell, who called on whittier aloud and spare not against the accursed texas plot."] “ patience with her cup o'errun, with her weary thread outspun, murmurs that her work is done. to cry “make our union-bond a chain, weak as tow in freedom's strain link by link shall snap in twain. up the hillside, down the glen, rouse the sleeping citizen; summon out the might of men ! “ vainly shall your sand-wrought rope bind the starry cluster up, shattered over heaven's blue cope ! like a lion growling low, а like a night-storm rising slow, like the tread of unseen foe; “give us bright though broken rays, rather than eternal haze, clouding o'er the full-orbed blaze. it is coming, it is nigh ! stand your homes and altars by; on your own free thresholds die. “take your land of sun and bloom ; only leave to freedom room for ber plough, and forge, and loom ; clang the bells in all your spires ; on the gray hills of your sires fling to heaven your signal-fires. from wachuset, lone and bleak, unto berkshire's tallest peak, let the flame-tongued heralds speak. “take your slavery-blackened vales ; leave us but our own free gales, blowing on our thousand sails. “boldly, or with treacherous art, strike the blood-wrought chain apart ; break the union's mighty heart ; “work the ruin, if ye pluck upon your heads an ill which shall grow and deepen still. will ; oh, for god and duty stand, heart to heart and hand to hand, round the old graves of the land. 292 anti-slavery poems wrongs which freemen never brook de dangers grim and fierce as they, which, like couching lions, looked on your fathers' way ; these your instant zeal demand, shaking with their earthquake-cail every rood of pilgrim land, ho, to faneuil ilall! “ with your bondman's right arm bare, with his heart of black despair, stand alone, if stand ye dare ! “ onward with your fell design ; dig the gulf and draw the line : fire beneath your feet the mine : “ deeply, when the wide abyss yawns between your land and this, shall ye feel your helplessness. “ by the hearth, and in the bed, shaken by a look or tread, ye shall own a guilty dread. “ and the curse of unpaid toil, downward through your generous soil like a fire shall burn and spoil. “ our bleak hills shall bud and blow, vines our rocks shall overgrow, plenty in our valleys how ;" and when vengeance clouds your skies, ilither shall ye turn your eyes, as the lost on paradise ! “we but ask our rocky strand, freedom's true and brother band, freedom's strong and honest hand; valleys by the slave antrod, and the pilgrim's mountain sod, blessed of our fathers' god !” from your capes and sandy bars, from your mountain-ridges cold, through whose pines the westering star stoop their crowns of gold ; come, and with your footsteps wake echoes from that holy wall ; once again, for freedom's sake, rock your fathers' hall ! l'p, and tread beneath your feet every cord by party spun : let your hearts together beat as the heart of one. banks and tariffs, stocks and trade, let them rise or let them fall : freedom asks your common aid, l'p, to faneuil hall! l'p, and let each voice that speaks ring from thence to southern plaink sharply as the blow which breaks prison-bolts and chains ! speak as well becomes the free: dreaded more than steel or ball, shall your calmest utterance be, ileard from faneuil hall ! to faneuil hall have they wronged us? let us then render back nor threats nor pravert: have they chained our free-born tea: let us unchain theirs ! ['p, your banner leads the van, blazoned, “ liberty for all!" finish what your sires began ! l'p, to faneuil hall ! written in 1844, on reading a call by "a massachusetts freeman” for a meeting in faneuil hall of the citizens of massachusetts, without distinction of party, opposed to the andexation of texas and the aggressions of south ('arolina, and in favor of decisive action against slavery. men! if manhood still ye claim, if the northern pulse can thrill, roused by wrong or stung by shame, freely, strongly still; let the sound of traffic die : shut the mill-gate, leave the stall, fling the use and hammer by; throng to faneuil llall! to massachusetts wrist though around thee blares no fiery rallying sign? from all thy own high places, give heaven the light of thine ! what though anthrilled, unmoving, the statesman stand apart, the pine-tree 293 and comes no warm approving from mammon's crowded mart ? still let the land be shaken by a summons of thine own! by all save truth forsaken, stand fast with that alone ! shrink not from strife unequal ! with the best is always hope ; and ever in the sequel god holds the right side up ! but when, with thine uniting, come voices long and loud, and far-off hills are writing thy fire-words on the cloud ; when from penobscot's fountains a deep response is heard, and across the western mountains rolls back thy rallying word ; the long-bound vassal of the exulting south for very shame her self-forged chain has broken ; torn the black seal of slavery from her mouth, and in the clear tones of her old time spoken! oh, all undreamed of, all unhoped for changes ! the tyrant's ally proves his sternest foe ; to all his biddings, from her mountain ranges, new hampshire thunders an indignant no! who is it now despairs ? oh, faint of heart, look upward to those northern mountains cold, flouted by freedom's victor flag unrolled, and gather strength to bear a manlier all is not lost. the angel of god's blessing encamps with freedom on the field of fight; still to her banner, day by day, are pressing unlooked for allies, striking for the right! courage, then, northern hearts! be firm, be true : what one brave state hath done, can ye not also do? part ! shall thy line of battle falter, with its allies just in view ? oh, by hearth and holy altar, my fatherland, be true! fling abroad thy scrolls of freedom ! speed them onward far and fast ! over hill and valley speed them, like the sibyl's on the blast! lo! the empire state is shaking the shackles from her hand ; with the rugged north is waking the level sunset land ! on they come, the free battalions ! east and west and north they come, and the heart-beat of the millions is the beat of freedom's drum. the pine-tree “ to the tyrant's plot no favor! no heed to place-fed knaves ! bar and bolt the door forever against the land of slaves !” hear it, mother earth, and hear it, the heavens above us spread ! the land is roused, its spirit was sleeping, but not dead ! written on hearing that the anti-slavery resolves of stephen c. phillips had been rejected by the whig convention in faneuil hall, in 1846. lift again the stately emblem on the bay state's rusted shield, give to northern winds the pine-tree on our banner's tattered field. sons of men who sat in council with their bibles round the board, answering england's royal missive with a firm, “ thus saith the lord !" rise again for home and freedom ! set the battle in array ! what the fathers did of old time we their sons must do to-day. new hampshire god bless new hampshire ! from her granite peaks once more the voice of stark and langdon speaks. 294 anti-slavery poems tell us not of banks and tariffs, cease your actæon-like, the bay of thine own boun-ks paltry pedler cries ; spurning the leas., and leaping o'er lirt: shall the good state sink her honor that bounds ? your gambling stocks may rise ? sore baftled statesman! when thy can't would ye barter man for cotton ? that hand, your gains may sum up higher, with game afoot, unslipped the hun, ti must we kiss the feet of moloch, pass our pack, children through the fire ? to hunt down freedom in her chosen land. is the dollar only real ? god and truth hladst thou no fear, that, erelong, duabile and right a dream ? back, weighed against your lying ledgers must these dogs of thine might snuff on st our manhood kick the beam ? very's track ? where's now the boast, which even thy o my god! for that free spirit, which of guarded tongue, old in boston town cold, calm, and proud, in the tertb o'tir smote the province house with terror, senate flung, struck the crest of andros dowu ! o'er the fulfilment of thy baleful plan, for another strong-voiced adams in the like satan's triumph at the fall of man city's streets to cry, how stood'st thou then, thy feet on free “ l'p for god and massachusetts ! set dom planting, your feet on mammon's lie ! and pointing to the lurid heaven alır, perish banks and perish traffic, spin your whence all could see, through the wata cotton's latest pound, windows slanting, but in heaven's name keep your honor, crimson as blood, the beans of that large keep the heart o' the bay state star! sound !” the fates are just ; they give us but a own ; where's the man for massachusetts ? nemesis ripens what our hands have sows where's the voice to speak her free? there is an eastern story, not unkon where's the hand to light up bonfires from doubtless, to thee, of one when i ber mountains to the skill beats her pilgrim pulse no longer ? sits called demons up his water-jars to hall; she dumb in her despair ? deftly and silently, they did his wil. hlas she none to break the silence ? hlas but, when the task was done, kept * she none to do and dare ? still. () my god! for one right worthy to lift up in vain with spell and charm the no.:/ her rusted shield, wrought, and to plant again the pine-tree in her faster and faster were the buckets bred banner's tattered field ! higher and bigber tuse the hool arvien till the tiends clapped their habis die their master drowned ! to a southern statesman so, carolinian, it may prove with thee, for god still overrules man's sabemes and john c. calhoun, who had strongly urged takes the extension of slave territory by the annexacraftiness in its self-set snare, and kne tion of texas, even if it should insolve a war the wrath of man to praise hiin. it ne! with england, was unwilling to promote the be, acquisition of oregon, which would onların that the roused spirits of democray the northern domain of frredom, and pleaded may leave to freer states the viewed as an excuse the peril of forrign complications which he had defied when the interests of ladoor very were involved. through which thy slave-cursed t. westered in, is this thy voice whose treble notes of fear from out the blood and tire, the wregard waal in the wind? and dost thou shake sin. to bear, of the stormed city and the ghastiy piece sea ? at washington 295 beat by hot hail, and wet with bloody rain, the myriad-handed pioneer may pour, and the wild west with the roused north combine and heave the engineer of evil with his mine. from this glittering lie my vision takes a broader, sadder range, full before me have arisen other pictures dark and strange ; from the parlor to the prison must the scene and witness change. at washington hark! the heavy gate is swinging on its hinges, harsh and slow ; one pale prison lamp is flinging on a fearful group below such a light as leaves to terror whatsoe'er it does not show. suggested by a visit to the city of washington, in the 12th month of 1845. (originally entitled lines.] with a cold and wintry noon-light on its roofs and steeples shed, shadows weaving with the sunlight from the gray sky overhead, broadly, vaguely, all around me, lies the half-built town outspread. pitying god! is that a woman on whose wrist the shackles clash ? is that shriek she utters human, underneath the stinging lash ? are they men whose eyes of madness from that sad procession flash ? still the dance goes gayly onward ! what is it to wealth and pride that without the stars are looking on a scene which earth should hide ? that the slave-ship lies in waiting, rocking on potomac's tide ! through this broad street, restless ever, ebbs and flows a human tide, wave on wave a living river ; wealth and fashion side by side ; toiler, idler, slave and master, in the same quick current glide. underneath yon dome, whose coping springs above them, vast and tall, grave men in the dust are groping for the largess, base and small, which the hand of power is scattering, crumbs which from its table fall. vainly to that mean ambition which, upon a rival's fall, winds above its old condition, with a reptile's slimy crawl, shall the pleading voice of sorrow, shall the slave in anguish call. base of heart! they vilely barter honor's wealth for party's place ; step by step on freedom's charter leaving footprints of disgrace ; for to-day's poor pittance turning from the great hope of their race. vainly to the child of fashion, giving to ideal woe graceful luxury of compassion, shall the stricken mourner go ; hateful seems the earnest sorrow, beautiful the hollow show ! yet, where festal lamps are throwing glory round the dancer's hair, gold-tressed, like an angel's, flowing backward on the sunset air ; and the low quick pulse of music beats its measure sweet and rare : nay, my words are all too sweeping : in this crowded human mart, feeling is not dead, but sleeping; man's strong will and woman's heart, in the coming strife for freedom, yet shall bear their generous part. and from yonder sunny valleys, southward in the distance lost, freedom yet shall summon allies worthier than the north can boast, with the evil by their hearth-stones grappling at severer cost. there to-night shall woman's glances, star-like, welcome give to them ; fawning fools with shy advances seek to touch their garments' hem, with the tongue of flattery glozing deeds which god and truth condemn. 296 anti-slavery poems now, the soul alone is willing : faint the heart and weak the knee ; and as yet no lip is thrilling with the mighty words, " be free ! ” tarrieth long the land's good angel, but his advent is to be! | be it so. it should not swerve us from a purpose true and brave; dearer freedom's rugged serine than the pastime of the slave ; better is the storm above it than the ques of the grave. a meanwhile, turning from the revel let us then, uniting, bury to the prison-cell my sight, all our idle feuds in dust, for intenser hate of evil, and to future contlicts carry for a keener sense of right, mutual faith and common trust; shaking off thy dust, i thank thee, city of always he who most forgiveth in his last the slaves, to-night! is most just. “to thy duty now and ever! from the eternal shadow rour.dug dream no more of rest or stay : all our sun and starlight here, give to freedom's great endeavor voices of our lost ones sounding all thou art and hast to-day :" bid us be of heart and cherr, thus, above the city's murmur, saith a through the silence, down the spaces, famt voice, or seems to say. ing on the inward ear. ye with heart and vision gifted know we not our dead are looking to discern and love the right, downward with a sad surpr., whose worn faces have been lifted all our strife of words rebuking to the slowly-growing light, with their mild and loving into where from freedom's sunrise drifted shall we grieve the holy any los slowly back the murk of night! cloud their blessed skies? ye who through long years of trial let us draw their mantles o'er us still have held your purpose fast, which have fallen in our way; while a lengthening shade the dial let us do the work before us, from the westering sunshine cast, cheerly, bravely, while we may, and of hope each hour's denial seemed an ere the long night-silence cum ih, echo of the last ! with us it is not day ! o my brothers ! o my sisters ! would to god that ye were near, the branded hand gazing with me down the vistas of a sorrow strange and drear ; ('aptain jonathan walker. of hary would to god that ye were listeners to the mass., was solicited by everal fugitive u. voice i seem to hear ! at pensacola, florida, to carry them to sp vessel to the british west indies 11. * with the storm above ne driving, well aware of the great hazant of the : with the false earth mined below, prise he attempted to comply with the po who shall marvel if thus striving but was seinad at sea by an ann we have counted friend as foe ; consigned to the authontus at thepce sent back to pole, l'nto one another giving in the darkness a long and rigorous contin fuur tot in fas: blow for blow. was tried and sunt need to tre burde 1.6 right hand with the letters "s well it may be that onr natures stealer) and amerced in a heavy tum have grown sterner and more bard, and the freshness of their features welcome home again, brair & somewhat harb and battle-scarred, with the thoughtful brow and the and their harmonies of feeling overtasked and the old heroic spirit of uur ear and rudely jarred. better day; the branded hand 297 and the solemn priest to moloch, on each god-deserted shrine, broke the bondman's heart for bread, poured the bondman's blood for wine ; with that front of calm endurance, on whose steady nerve in vain pressed the iron of the prison, smote the fiery shafts of pain ! is the tyrant's brand upon thee? did the brutal cravens aim to make god's truth thy falsehood, his boliest work thy shame? when, all blood-quenched, from the torture the iron was withdrawn, how laughed their evil angel the baffled fools to scorn! while the multitude in blindness to a faroff saviour knelt, and spurned, the while, the temple where a present saviour dwelt ; thou beheld'st him in the task-field, in the prison shadows dim, and thy mercy to the bondman, it was mercy unto him ! they change to wrong the duty which god in thy lone and long night-watches, sky hath written out above and wave below, on the great heart of humanity, too legible thou didst learn a higher wisdom than the for doubt! babbling schoolmen know ; they, the loathsome moral lepers, blotched god's stars and silence taught thee, as his from footsole up to crown, angels only can, give to shame what god hath given unto that the one sole sacred thing beneath the honor and renown! cope of heaven is man! a why, that brand is highest honor! than its traces never yet l'pon old armorial hatchments was prouder blazon set ; and thy unborn generations, as they tread our rocky strand, shall tell with pride the story of their father's branded band ! tha he who treads profanely on the scrolls of law and creed, in the depth of god's great goodness may find mercy in bis need; but woe to him who crushes the soul with chain and rod, and herds with lower natures the awful form of god ! as the templar home was welcome, bearthen lift that manly right hand, bold ing back from syrian wars ploughman of the wave ! * the scars of arab lances and of payniin its branded palm shall prophesy, “ salvation scimitars, to the slave !" the pallor of the prison, and the shackle's hold up its fire wrought language, that whoso reads may feel so we meet thee, so we greet thee, truest his heart swell strong within him, his friend of god and man. sinews change to steel. crimson span, he suffered for the ransom of the dear redeemer's grave, thou for his living presence in the bound and bleeding slave ; he for a soil no longer by the feet of angels trod, thou for the true shechinah, the present home of god ! hold it up before our sunshine, up against our northern air ; ho! men of massachusetts, for the love of god, look there! take it henceforth for your standard, like the bruce's heart of yore, in the dark strife closing round ye, let that hand be seen before ! for, while the jurist, sitting with the slave-whip o'er him swung, from the tortured truths of freedom the lie of slavery wrung, and the masters of the slave-land shall tremble at that sign, when it points its finger southward along the puritan line : 298 anti-slavery poems ('an the craft of state avail then! cau a christless church withstand, lu the van of freedom's ouset, the coming of that hand ? the freed islands written for the anniversary celebration of the tirst of august, at milton, 1840. (originally entitled lines.] not always shall your outraged poor, appailed by democratic crime, grind as their fathers ground before ; the bour which sees our prison door swing wide shall be their triun. ph time. on then, my brothers ! every blow ye deal is felt the wide earth through; whatever here uplifts the low or humbles freedom's hateful for, blesses the old world through the new take heart ! the promised hour draws near ; i hear the downward beat of wings and freedom's trumpet sounding ckus: “joy to the people! woe and fear to uew-world tyrants, old-world kings!" a few brief years have passed away since britain drove her inillion slaves beneath the tropic's fiery ray : god willed their freedom; and to-day life blooms above those island graves ! he spoke ! across the carib sea, we heard the clash of breaking chains, and felt the heart-throb of the free, the first strong pulse of liberty which thrilled along the boudman's veins. though long delayed, and far, and slow, the briton's triumph shall be ours : wears slavery here a prouder brow than that which twelve short years ago scowled darkly from ber island bowers? mighty alike for good or ill with mother-land, we fully share the saxon strength, the perve of steel, the tireless energy of will, the power to do, the pride to dare. a letter supposed to be written by the claims of the "central clique" at concuni. n 41. to the flon. m. n., jr., at washington, giving the result of the election. the following verses were published in the boston chronotype in 1816. they refer to the contest in new hampshire, which resultado em the defeat of the proslavery demoral in the election of john p. lile to the l** states senate. although their authent. ** not acknowledged, it was strongly suomi they furnish a specimen of the war, abe whole rather good-natured, in wlarb the i erts-lovers of half a century ago answer 1 social and political outlawry and mob un to which they were subjected. "t is over, moses ! all is lost! i hear the bells a-ringing; of pharaoh and his red sea host i hear the free-wills singing we're routed, moses, home and further if there be truth in figures, with federal whig in hot pursuit and hale, and all the “mone" aluck! alas ! this month or more we've felt a sad foreboding: our very dreams the burden bure of central cliques exploling; before our eyes a furnace sbour, where heads of dough were met. and one we tak to be your own the traitor hale was toasting! what she has done can we not do ? our hour and men are both at hand; the blast which freedom's angel blew ()'er her green islands, echoes through each valley of our forest land. hear it, old europe! we have sworn the death of slavery. when it falls, look to your vassals in their turn, your poor dumb millions, crushed and worn, your prisons and your palace walls ! () kingly mockers ! scoffing show what deeds in freedom's name we do ; yet know that every taunt ye throw aeross the waters, goals our slow progression towards the right and true. a letter 299 the hills have bonfires ; in our streets flags flout us in our faces ; the newsboys, peddling off their sheets, are hoarse with our disgraces. in vain we turn, for gibing wit and shoutings follow after, as if old kearsarge had split his granite sides with laughter ! what boots it that we pelted out the anti-slavery women, and bravely strewed their hall about with tattered lace and trimming ? was it for such a sad reverse our mobs became peacemakers, and kept their tar and wooden horse for englishmen and quakers ? a our belknap brother heard with awe the congo minstrels playing ; at pittsfield reuben leavitt saw the ghost of storrs a-praying ; and carroll's woods were sad to see, with black-winged crows a-darting ; and black snout looked on ossipee, new-glossed with day and martin. we thought the “old man of the notch” his face seemed changing wholly ilis lips seemed thick ; his nose seemed flat ; his misty hair looked woolly ; and coös teamsters, shrieking, fled from the metamorphosed figure. “ look there !” they said, “ the old stone head himself is turning nigger!” the schoolhouse, out of canaan hauled, seemed turning on its track again, and like a great swamp-turtle crawled to canaan village back again, shook off the mud and settled flat cpon its underpinning ; a nigger on its ridge-pole sat, from ear to ear a-grinning. gray h—d heard o' nights the sound of rail-cars onward faring ; right over democratic ground the iron horse came tearing: a flag waved o'er that spectral train, as high as pittsfield steeple ; its emblem was a broken chain, its motto: “to the people ! ” for this did shifty atherton make gag rules for the great house ? wiped we for this our feet upon petitions in our state house ? plied we for this our axe of doom, vo stubborn traitor sparing, who scoffed at our opinion loom, and took to homespun wearing ? ab, moses ! hard it is to scan these crooked providences, deducing from the wisest plan the saddest consequences ! strange that, in trampling as was meet the nigger-men's petition, we sprung a mine beneath our feet which opened up perdition. how goodly, moses, was the game in which we've long been actors, supplying freedom with the name and slavery with the practice ! our smooth words fed the people's mouth, their ears our party rattle ; we kept them headed to the south, as drovers do their cattle. i dreamed that charley took his bed, with hale for his physician; his daily dose an old "unread and unreferred ” petition. there hayes and tuck as nurses sat, as near as near could be, man ; they leeched him with the “ democrat ;”. they blistered with the “ freeman.” ah! grisly portents! what avail your terrors of forewarning ? we wake to find the nightmare hale astride our breasts at morning ! from portsmouth lights to indian stream our foes their throats are trying ; the very factory-spindles seem to mock us while they're flying. but now our game of politics the world at large is learning ; and men grown gray in all our tricks state's evidence are turning. votes and preambles subtly spun they cram with meanings louder, and load the democratic gun with abolition powder. 300 anti-slavery poems the ides of june! woe worth the day when, turning all things over, the traitor hale shall make his hay from democratic clover! who then shall take him in the law, who punish crime so flagrant ? whose hand shall serve, whose pen shall draw, a writ against that “vagrant" ? alas ! no hope is left us here, and one can only pine for the envied place of overseer of slaves in carolina ! pray, moses, give calhoun the wink, and see what pay he's giving ! we've practised long enough, we think, to know the art of driving. and for the faithful rank and file, who know their proper stations, perhaps it may be worth their while to try the rice plantations. let hale exult, let wilson scoff, to see us southward scamper ; the slaves, we know, are better off than laborers in new hampshire !” from hollow rite and narrow span of law and sect by thee released, oh, teach him that the christian man is holier than the jewish priest. chase back the shadows, gray and old, of the dead ages from his way, and let his hopeful eyes beboli the dawn of thy millennial day; that day when fettered limb and mind shall know the truth which makrth ir, and he alone who loves his kind shall, childlike, claim the love of tber' daniel weall dr. neall, a worthy disciple of that 5: ated philanthropist, warner mimin, wel . >* girondist statesman, jean pierre brosse nounced "an angel of mercy, the best mar >> ever knew," was one of the noble bavi -# pennsylvania abolitionists, whose bravers un equalled only by their gentleness and teaser ness lines from a letter to a young clerical friend a strength thy service cannot tire, a faith which doubt can never dim, a heart of love, a lip of tire, () freedom's god! be thou to him ! i friend of the slave, and yet the friend and all ; lover of peace, yet ever foremost win the need of battling freedom cai.eu le men to plant the banner on the onter wall ; gentle and kindly, ever at distress melted to more than woman's tenders yet tiri and steadfast, at his durys games fronting the violence of a maddened up like some gray rock from which the warra are tossed ! knowing his deeds of love, men questa the faith of one whose walk and we were right; who tranquilly in life's great taskto wrought, and, side by side with evil, scareris a: a stain upon his pilgrim garb of .ie prompt to redress another's wronx. is leaving to time and truth and penisky alone. ii such was our friend. formed on the rus old plan, a true and brave and downright b. nuan! not speak through him words of power and fear, as through thy prophet bards of old, and let a scornful people hear once more thy sinai-thunders rolled. for lying lips thy blessing seek, and hands of blood are raised to thee, and on thy children, crushed and weak, the oppressor plants his kneeling knee. let then, () god! thy servant dare thy truth in all its power to tell, l'nmash the priestly thieves, and tear the bible from the grasp of bell! to delaware 301 he blew no trumpet in the market-place, nor in the church with hypocritic face supplied with cant the lack of christian grace ; loathing pretence, he did with cheerful moons of marches from our eyes bornou land behind us lies ; stranger round us day by day bends the desert circle gray ; wild the waves of sand are flowing, hot the winds above them blowing, lord of all things ! where are we going ? where are we going, rubee ? will what others talked of while their hands were still ; and, while “ lord, lord !” the pions tyrants cried, who, in the poor, their master crucified, his daily prayer, far better understood in acts than words, was simply doing good. so calm, so constant was his rectitude, that by his loss alone we know its worth, and feel how true a man has walked with us on earth. we are weak, but thou art strong ; short our lives, but thine is long ; we are blind, but thou hast eyes ; we are fools, but thou art wise ! thou, our morrow's pathway knowing through the strange world round us growing, hear us, tell us where are we going, where are we going, rubee ? song of slaves in the to delaware desert written during the discussion in the legis[suggested by a passage in richardson's lature of that state, in the winter of 1816-17, journal in africa.) of a bill for the abolition of slavery. where are we going ? where are we going, thrice welcome to thy sisters of the east, where are we going, rubee? to the strong tillers of a rugged home, lord of peoples, lord of lands, with spray-wet locks to northern winds look across these shining sands, released, through the furnace of the noon, and hardy feet o’erswept by ocean's through the white light of the moon. foam ; strong the ghiblee wind is blowing, and to the young nymphs of the golden strange and large the world is growing ! west, speak and tell us where we are going, whose harvest mantles, fringed with where are we going, rubee ? prairie bloom, trail in the sunset, o redeemed and bornou land was rich and good, blest, wells of water, fields of food, to the warm welcome of thy sisters dourra fields, and bloom of bean, come ! and the palm-tree cool and green : broad pennsylvania, down her sail-white bornou land we see no longer, bay here we thirst and here we hunger, shall give thee joy, and jersey from her here the moor-man smites in anger : plains, where are we going, rubee ? and the great lakes, where echo, free alway, moaned never shoreward with the clank when we went from bornou land, of chains, we were like the leaves and sand, shall weave new sun-bows in their tossing we were many, we are few ; spray, life has one, and death has two : and all their waves keep grateful holiday. whitened bones our path are showing, and, smiling on thee through her mountain thou all-seeing, thou all-knowing ! rains, hear us, tell us, where are we going, vermont shall bless thee ; and the granwhere are we going, rubee ? ite peaks, 302 anti-slavery poems wear and vast katahdin o'er his woods, shall while through them, sullen, grin, ara! slow, their snow-crowns brighter in the cold, the conquered hosts of england go : keen air ; o'hara's brow belies his dress, and massa husetts, with her rugged gay tarleton's troop rides bannerles : cheeks shout, from thy fired and wasted homes, o'errun with grateful tears, shall turn to thy scourge, virginia, captive comes ! thee, when, at thy bidding, the electric wire nor thou alone : with one glad voice shall tremble northward with its words let all thy sister states rejoice ; of fire ; let freedom, in whatever clime glory and praise to god ! another state is she waits with sleepless eve her time, free! shouting from cave and mountain road make glad her desert solitude, yorktown while they who hunt ber quail with fear the new world's chain lies brokin bert' dr. thacher, surgeon in scammel's regimint, in his description of the siege of yorkbut who are they, who, cowering, wait town, says: “the labor on the virginia planwithin the shattered fortress gate ? tations is performed altogether by a species dark tillers of virginia's soil, of the human race cruelly wrested from their classed with the battle's common spel. native country, and doomed to perpetual bondwith household stuffs, and fowl, asi : age, while their masters are manfully contending for freedom and the natural rights of man. with indian weed and planters' wire, such is the inconsistency of human nature." with stolen beeves, and foraged cost, eighteen hundred slaves were found at yorkare they not men, virginian born: town, after its surrender, and restored to their well was it said by dr. barnes, in oh, veil your faces, young and brare! bis late work on slavery : "no slave was any sleep, scammel, in thy soldier grave! nearer bis freedom after the surrender of york. sons of the northland, ye who st town than when patrick henry first taught the stout hearts against the baronet, notes of liberty to echo among the hills and vales of virginia." and pressed with steady futfall near the moated battery's blazing tier. from yorktown's ruins, ranked and still, turn your scarred faces from the single ting two lines stretch far o'er vale and hill : let shame do homage to the right! who curbs his steed at head of one ? hark! the low murmur : washington ! lo! fourscore years have passed; as who bends his keen, approving glance, where where down the gorgeous line of france the gallic bugles stirred the air, shine knightly star and plume of snow ? and, through breached batteries, site de thou too art victor, rochambeau ! side, to victory stormed the hosts allied. the earth which bears this calm array and brave foes grounded, pale with pas shook with the war-charge yesterday, the arms they might not liſt again, ploughed deep with hurrying hoof and as abjeet as in that old dar wheel, the slave still toils his life away. shot-sown and bladed thick with steel; october's clear and noonday sun oh, fields still green and fru in stany, paled in the breath-smoke of the gun, old days of pride, old names of glom, and down night's double blackness fell, old marvels of the tongue and peth, like a dropped star, the blazing shell. old thoughts which stirred the brarte ! men, now all is hushed : the gleaming lines ye spared the wrong ; and orer all stand moveless as the neigleboring pines ; behold the avenging shadow fall! masters. randolph of roanoke 303 your world-wide honor stained with shame, your freedomi's self a hollow name! there, where with living ear and eye he heard potomac's flowing, and, through his tall ancestral trees, saw autumu's sunset glowing, he sleeps, still looking to the west, beneath the dark wood shadow, as if he still would see the sun sink down on wave and meadow. where's now the flag of that old war ? where flows its stripe? where burns its star? bear witness, palo alto's day, dark vale of palıns, red monterey, where mexic freedom, young and weak, flesbes the northern eagle's beak; symbol of terror and despair, of chains and slaves, go seek it there ! laugh, prussia, midst thy iron ranks ! laugh, russia, from thy neva's banks! brave sport to see the fledgling born of freedom by its parent torn! safe now is speilberg's dungeon cell, safe drear siberia's frozen hell : with slavery's flag o'er both unrolled, what of the new world fears the old ? bard, sage, and tribune ! in himself all moods of mind contrasting, the tenderest wail of human woe, the scorn like lightning blasting ; the pathos which from rival eyes unwilling tears could summon, the stinging taunt, the fiery burst of hatred scarcely human ! mirth, sparkling like a diamond shower, from lips of life-long sadness; clear picturings of majestic thought upon a ground of madness ; and over all romance and song a classic beauty throwing, and laurelled clio at his side her storied pages showing. a randolph of roanoke though not published until 1847, several lines indicate that the poem was written not long after randolph's death in 1833. in a letter published in july, 1833, whittier says: “in the last hour of his (randolph's] existence, when his soul was struggling from its broken tenement, his latest effort was the confirmation of this generous act of a former period [the manumission of his slaves). light rest the turf upon him, beneath his patrimonial oaks! the prayers of many hearts made happy by his benevolence shall linger over his grave and bless it.”] o mother earth! upon thy lap thy weary ones receiving, and o'er them, silent as a dream, thy grassy mantle weaving, fold softly in thy long embrace that heart so worn and broken, and cool its pulse of fire beneath thy shadows old and oaken. all parties feared him : each in turn bebeld its schemes disjointed, as right or left his fatal glance and spectral finger pointed. sworn foe of cant, he smote it down with trenchant wit unsparing, and, mocking, rent with ruthless hand the robe pretence was wearing. too honest or too proud to feign a love he never cherished, beyond virginia's border line his patriotism perished. while others hailed in distant skies our eagle's dusky pinion, he only saw the mountain bird stoop o'er his old dominion ! still through each change of fortune strange, racked nerve, and brain all burning, his loving faith in mother-land knew never shade of turning ; by britain's lakes, by neva's tide, whatever sky was o'er him, he heard her rivers' rushing sonnd, her blue peaks rose before himn. shut out from him the bitter word and serpent biss of scorning ; nor let the storms of yesterday disturb his quiet morning. breathe over him forgetfulness of all save deeds of kindness, and, save to smiles of grateful eyes, press down his lids in blindness. 304 anti-slavery poems he held his slaves, yet made withal no false and vain pretences, vor paid a lying priest to seek for seriptural defences. his harshest words of proud rebuke, his bitterest taunt and scorning, fell fire-like on the northern brow that bent to him in fawning. he held his slaves ; yet kept the while his reverence for the human ; in the dark vassals of his will he saw but man and woman! no hunter of god's outraged poor his roanoke valley entered ; no trader in the souls of men across his threshold ventured. and hark ! from thy deserted fields are sadder waruings spoken, from quenched hearths, where thy erik sons their household gods have broken. the curse is on thee, — wolves for men, and briers for corn-sheares giving ! oh, more than all thy dead renown were now one hero living! the lost statesman written on hearing of the death of s. wright of new york. originails ea: lines.) and when the old and wearied man lay down for his last sleeping, and at his side, a slave no more, his brother-man stood weeping, his latest thought, his latest breath, to freedom's duty giving, with failing tongue and trembling hand the dying blest the living. of noon, as they who, tossing midst the storm si night, while turning shoreward, where a bez con shone, meet the walled blackness of the bearen alone, so, on the turbulent waves of party torsd in gloom and tempest, men have seen in light quenched in the darkness. at thy bxet while life was pleasant to thy undira sight, and, day by day, within thy spirit gris a holier hope than young ambition knet. as through thy rural quiet, not in vain, pierced the sharp thrill of freedom's cry man of the millions, thou art lost famo soon! portents at which the bravest seal aghast, the birth-throes of a future, strange azvast, alarm the land ; yet thou, so wise and strong, suddenly summoned to the burial but, lapped in its slumbers deep and ever long, hearst not the tumult surging overhemi who now shall rally freedom's killers host? who wear the mantle of the leader ret* who stay the march of slavery • be whose voice oh, never bore his ancient state a truer son or braver ! none trampling with a calmer scorn on foreign hate or favor. he knew her faults, yet never stooped his proud and manly feeling to poor excuses of the wrong or meanness of concealing. but none beheld with clearer eve the plague-spot o'er her spreading, none heard more sure the steps of doem along her future treading. for her as for himself he spake, when, his gaunt frame upbracing, lle traced with dying hand ** remorse !" and perished in the tracing. as from the grave where henry sleeps, from vernon's weeping willow, and from the grassy pall which hides the sacre of monticello, so from the leaf-strewn burial-stone of randolph's lowly dwelling, virginia ! o'er thy land of slaves a warning voice is swelling! of pain, the slaves of martinique 305 hath called thee from thy task-field and, at evening, when his comrades dance shall not lack before their master's door, yet bolder champions, to beat bravely folding arms and knitting forehead, stands back he silent evermore. the wrong which, through his poor ones, reaches him : god be praised for every instinct which yet firmer hands shall freedom's torchrebels against a lot lights trim, where the brute survives the human, and and wave them high across the abysmal man's upright form is not ! black, till bound, dumb millions there shall see as the serpent-like bejuco winds his spiral them and rejoice. fold on fold round the tall and stately ceiba, till it withers in his hold ; the slaves of martinique slow decays the forest monarch, closer suggested by a daguerreotype taken from girds the fell embrace, å stall french engraving of two negro figures, till the tree is seen no longer, and the vine sent to the writer by oliver johnson. is in its place ; beams of noon, like burning lances, through so a base and bestial nature round the vasthe tree-tops flash and glisten, sal's manhood twines, as she stands before her lover, with raised and the spirit wastes beneath it, like the face to look and listen. ceiba choked with vines. god is love, saith the evangel; and our world of woe and sin is made light and happy only when a love is shining in. a dark, but comely, like the maiden in the ancient jewish song : scarcely has the toil of task-fields done her graceful beauty wrong. he, the strong one and the manly, with the vassal's garb and hue, holding still his spirit's birthright, to his higher nature true; hiding deep the strengthening purpose of a freeman in his heart, as the gregree holds his fetich from the white man's gaze apart. ever foremost of his comrades, when the driver's morning horn calls away to stifling mill-house, to the fields of cane and corn : ye whose lives are free as sunshine, finding, wheresoe'er ye roam, smiles of welcome, looks of kindness, making all the world like home ; in the veins of whose affections kindred blood is but a part, of one kindly current throbbing from the universal heart ; can ye know the deeper meaning of a love in slavery nursed, last flower of a lost eden, blooming in that soil accursed ? a fall the keen and burning lashes never on his back or limb; searce with look or word of censure, turns the driver unto him. love of home, and love of woman ! dear to all, but doubly dear to the heart whose pulses elsewhere measure only hate and fear. yet, his brow is always thoughtful, and his eye is hard and stern; slavery's last and humblest lesson he has never deigned to learn. all around the desert circles, underneath a brazen sky, only one green spot remaining where the dew is never dry ! 306 anti-slavery poems 1 1 from the horror of that desert, from its “ but for me, my mother, lying on ber made atmosphere of hell, bed all the day, turns the fainting spirit thither, as the lifts ber weary head to watch me, cutiik diver seeks his bell. through the twilight gray. 't is the fervid tropic noontime ; faint and “should i leave her sick and helpless, erea low the sea-waves beat ; freedom, shared with thre, hazy rise the inland mountains through the would be sadder far than bondage, lonely glimmer of the heat, — toil, and stripes to me. where, through mingled leaves and blos. “ for my heart would die within me, and soms, arrowy sunbeams flash and my brain would soon be wild ; glisten, i should bear my mother calling three speaks her lover to the slave-girl, and she the twilight for her child!" lifts her head to listen :blazing upward from the ocean, shines the “ we shall live as slaves no longer! freesun of morning-time, dom's hour is close at hand ! through the coffee-trees in blossomn, und rocks her bark upon the waters, rests the green hedges of the lime. boat upon the strand ! side by side, amidst the slave-gang, toute “ i have seen the haytien captain ; i have i lover and the maid ; seen his swarthy crew, wherefore looks he o'er the waters, lears haters of the pallid faces, to their race and forward on his spade ? color true. sadly looks he, deeply sighs he : 't is the “ they have sworn to wait our coming till haytien's sail be sees, the night has passed its noon, like a white cloud of the mountains, drien and the gray and darkening waters roll seaward by the breeze ! above the sunken moon!”. but his arm a light hand presses, and bor oh, the blessed hope of freedom ! how with hears a low voice call : joy and glad snrprise, hate of slavery, hope of freedom, lovro for an instant throbs her bosom, for an inmightier than all. stant beam her eyes ! but she looks across the valley, where her the curse of the charter mother's hut is seen, breakers through the snowy bloom of coffee, and the lemon-leaves so green. the rights and liberties affirmed by vis charta were deemed of such importance un ta thirteenth century, that the bishop, **. and she answers, sad and earnest : “ it year, with tapers burning and in their pa were wrong for thee to stay ; cal robes, pronounced, in the produce the god hath heard thy prayer for freedom, king and the representatives of the esta** and his finger points the way. england, the greater excommunicat). 2 the infringer of that instrument. "ihr “ well i know with what endurance, for the ing ceremony took place in the great lie. " sake of me and mine, westminster. thou hast borne too long a burden never in westminster's roval halls, meant for souls like thine. robed in their pontiticals, england's ancient prelates stod “ go; and at the hour of midnight, when for the people's right and good. our last farewell is o'er, kneeling on our place of parting, i will closed around the waiting crowd. bless thee froin the shore. dark and still, like winter's cloud 1 the curse of the charter-breakers 307 king and council, lord and knight, squire and yeoman, stood in sight; slavery laughs, while ghostly lips bless his manacles and whips. stood to hear the priest rehearse, in god's name, the church's curse, by the tapers round them lit, slowly, sternly uttering it. not on then the poor rely, not to them looks liberty, who with fawning falsehood cower to the wrong, when clothed with power. " right of voice in framing laws, right of peers to try each cause ; peasant homestead, mean and small, sacred as the monarch's hall, oh, to see them meanly cling, round the master, round the king, sported with, and sold and bought, pitifuller sight is not ! * whoso lays his hand on these, england's ancient liberties ; whoso breaks, by word or deed, england's vow at runnymede; tell me not that this must be : god's true priest is always free ; free the needed truth to speak, right the wronged, and raise the weak. * be he prince or belted knight, whatsoe'er his rank or might, if the highest, then the worst, let him live and die accursed. not to fawn on wealth and state, leaving lazarus at the gate ; not to peddle creeds like wares; not to mutter hireling prayers ; nor to paint the new life's bliss on the sable ground of this ; golden streets for idle krave, sabbath rest for weary slave ! thou, who to thy church hast given keys alike of hell and heaven, make our word and witness sure, let the curse we speak endure !” silent, while that curse was said, every bare and listening head bowed in reverent awe, and then all the people said, amen! seven times the bells have tolled, for the centuries gray and old, since that stoled and mitred band cursed the tyrants of their land. not for words and works like these, priest of god, thy mission is ; but to make earth's desert glad, in its eden greenness clad ; and to level manhood bring lord and peasant, serf and king ; and the christ of god to find in the humblest of thy kind ! since the priesthood, like a tower, stood between the poor and power ; and the wronged and trodden down blessed the abbot's shaven crown. gone, thank god, their wizard spell, lost their keys of heaven and hell ; yet i sigh for men as bold as those bearded priests of old. now too oft the priesthood wait at the threshold of the state ; waiting for the beck and nod of its power as law and god. fraud exults, while solemn words sanctify his stolen hoards ; thine to work as well as pray, clearing thorny wrongs away ; plucking up the weeds of sin, letting heaven's warm sunshine in ; watching on the hills of faith ; listening what the spirit saith, of the dim-seen light afar, growing like a nearing star. god's interpreter art thon to the waiting ones below ; 'twixt them and its light midway heralding the better day ; catching gleams of temple spires, hearing notes of angel choirs, 308 anti-slavery poems where, as yet unseen of them, as into these repentant ones comes the new jerusalem ! we open wide our toil-worn ranks, along our line a murmur runs like the seer of patmos gazing, of song, and praise, and grateful thanks on the glory downward blazing ; till upon earth's grateful sod sound for the onset! blast on blast! rests the city of our god ! till slavery's minions cower and qua? one charge of fire shall drive them fast like chaff before our northern gale! pæan o prisoners in your house of pain, this poem indicates the exultation of the dumb, toiling millions, bound anul mil anti-slavery party, in view of the revolt of the look! stretched o'er southern vale an: friends of martin van buren in new york from plain, the democratic presidential nomination in the lord's delivering hand behold! 1848. now, joy and thanks forevermore ! above the tyrant's pride of power, the dreary night has wellnigh passed, his iron gates and guarded wall, the slumbers of the north are o'er, the bolts which shattered shar's tower the giant stands erect at last ! hang, smoking, for a fiercer fall. more than we hoped in that dark time awake! awake ! my fatherland! when, faint with watching, few and worn, it is thy northern light that shines ; we saw no welcome day-star climb this stirring march of freedom's brand the cold gray pathway of the morn! the storm-song of thy mountain pizes o weary hours! o night of years ! wake, dwellers where the day expires! what storms our darkling pathway swept, and hear, in winds that swrep you where, beating back our thronging fears, lakes by faith alone our march we kept. and fan your prairies' roaring fires, the signal-call that freedom males! how jeered the scoffing crowd behind, how mocked before the tyrant train, as, one by one, the true and kind the crisis fell fainting in our path of pain ! they died, their brave hearts breaking slow, written on learning the terms of the team with mexico. but, self-forgetful to the last, in words of cheer and bugle blow across the stony mountains, o'er tbe des their breath upon the darkness passed. ert's drouth and sand, the circles of our empire touch the westers a mighty host, on either hand, ocean's strand ; stood waiting for the dawn of day from slumberous timpanogos, to g12, .* to crush like reeds our feeble band; and free, the morn has come, and where are they? ; flowing down from nuevo-leon to (a!! : nia's sea ; troop after troop their line forsakes ; and from the mountains of the east, to . with peace-white banners waving free, ta rosa's shores, and froin our own the glaul shout breaks, the eagles of mexitli shall beat the ut > of freedom and fraternity ! more. like mist before the growing light, o vale of rio bravo! let thy simple clan the hostile cohorts melt away ; dren weep; our frowning foemen of the night close watch about their boly fire les mes are brothers at the dawn of day! of pecos keep; the crisis 309 let taos send her cry across sierra madre's pines, ind santa barbara toll her bells amidst her corn and vines ; for lo! the pale land-seekers come, with eager eyes of gain, wide scattering, like the bison herds on broad salada'; plain. or shall the evil triumph, and robber wrong prevail ? shall the broad land o'er which our flag in starry splendor waves, forego through us its freedom, and bear the tread of slaves ? let sacramento's herdsmen heed what sound the winds bring down of footsteps on the crisping snow, from cold nevada's crown ! full hot and fast the saxon rides, with rein of travel slack, and, bending o'er his saddle, leaves the sunrise at his back ; by many a lonely river, and gorge of fir the day is breaking in the east of which the prophets told, and brightens up the sky of time the christian age of gold ; old might to right is yielding, battle blade to clerkly pen, earth's monarchs are ber peoples, and her serfs stand up as men; the isles rejoice together, in a day are nations born, and the slave walks free in tunis, and by stamboul's golden horn ! and pine, on many a wintry hill-top, bis nightly camp-fires shine. is this, 0 countrymen of mine ! a day for us to sow the soil of new-gained empire with slavery's seeds of woe ? to feed with our fresh life-blood the old world's cast-off crime, dropped, like some monstrous early birth, from the tired lap of time ? to run anew the evil race the old lost nations rall, and die like them of unbelief of god, and wrong of man ? o countrymen and brothers ! that land of lake and plain, of salt wastes alternating with valleys fat with grain ; of mountains white with winter, looking downward, cold, serene, on their feet with spring-vines tangled and lapped in softest green ; swift through whose black volcanic gates, o'er many a sunny vale, wind-like the arapahoe sweeps the bison's dusty trail ! great spaces yet antravelled, great lakes whose mystic shores the saxon rifle never heard, nor dip of saxon oars ; great herds that wander all unwatched, wild steeds that none have tained, strange fish in unknown streams, and birds the saxon never named ; deep mines, dark mountain crucibles, where nature's chemic powers work out the great designer's will ; all these ye say are ours ! forever ours ! for good or ill, on us the burden lies : god's balance, watched by angels, is hung across the skies. shall justice, truth, and freedom turn the poised and trembling scale ? great heaven! is this our mission ? end in this the prayers and tears, the toil, the strife, the watchings of our younger, better years ? still as the old world rolls in light, shall ours in shadow turn, a beamless chaos, cursed of god, through outer darkness borne ? where the far nations looked for light, a blackness in the air ? where for words of hope they listened, the long wail of despair ? the crisis presses on us ; face to face with us it stands, with solemn lips of question, like the sphinx in egypt's sands! this day we fashion destiny, our web of fate we spin ; this day for all hereafter choose we holiness or sin ; 310 anti-slavery poems his way ; even now from starry gerizim, or ebal's a pleasant print to peddle out cloudy crown, in lands of rice and cotton ; we call the dews of blessing or the bolts the model of that face in dough of cursing down ! would make the artist's fortune. for fame to thee has come unsought, by all for which the martyrs bore their while others vainly woo her, agony and shame ; in proof how mean a thing can make by all the warning words of truth with a great man of its doer. which the prophets came ; by the future which awaits us ; by all the to whom shall men thyself compare, hopes which cast since common models fail 'em, their faint and trembling beams across save classic goose of ancient rome, the blackness of the past ; or sacred ass of balanın ? and by the blessed thought of him who the gabble of that wakeful goose for earth's freedom died, saved rome from sack of breunus ; 0 my people! () my brothers ! let us the braying of the prophet's ass choose the righteous side. betrayed the angel's menace ! so shall the northern pioneer go joyful on so when guy fawkes, in petticoats and azure-tinted hose on, to wed penobscot's waters to san franwas twisting from thy love-loro sbexts cisco's bay, the slow-match of explosion – to make the rugged places smooth, and an earthquake blast that would have turns sow the vales with grain ; the l'aion as a feather, and bear, with liberty and law, the bible thy instinct saved a perilled land in his train : and perilled purse together. the mighty west shall bless the east, and sea shall answer sea, just think of carolina's sage and mountain unto mountain call, praise sent whirling like a dervis, god, for we are free! of quattlebum in middle air performing strange drill-service! doomed like assyria's lord of old, lines on the portrait of who fell before the jewesy, a celebrated publisher or sad abimelech, to sigh, * alas! a woman slew us!" the lines following were addressed to a thou saw'st beneath a fair disguise magazine publisher, who, alarmed for his the danger darkly lurking, southern circulation, not only dropped the name of grace greenwood from his list of con. , and maiden bodice dreaded more tributors, but made an offensive paraule of his than warrior's steel-wrought yetka. action, with the view of strengthening his posihow keen to scent the hidden plus ! tion among slaveholders and conservatives, how prompt wert thou to balk it, by some coincidence his portrait was issued with patriot zeal and pedler thritt, about the same time. for country and for pocket! a moony breadth of virgin face, thy likeness here is doultless well, by thought inviolated ; but higher honor 's due it; a patient mouth, to take from scorn on auction-block and negro-jail the hook with bank-notes baited ! admiring eyes should view it. its self-complacent sleekness shows or, hung aloft, it well night grace how thrift goes with the fawner ; the nntion's senate-clubes an ictuons unconcern of all a greely northern bottle-tly which nice folks call dishonor ! preserved in slavery's aniber! derne 311 *derne o’erwrit alike, without, within, with all the woes which follow sin; but, bitterest of the ills beneath whose load man totters down to death, is that which plucks the regal crown of freedom from his forehead down, and snatches from his powerless hand the sceptred sign of self-command, effacing with the chain and rod the image and the seal of god; till from his nature, day by day, the manly virtues fall away, and leave him naked, blind and mute, the godlike merging in the brute ! why mourn the quiet ones who die beneath affection's tender eye, unto their household and their kin like ripened corn-sheaves gathered in ? o weeper, from that tranquil sod, that holy harvest-home of god, turn to the quick and suffering, shed thy tears upon the living dead ! thank god above thy dear ones' graves, they sleep with him, they are not slaves. the storming of the city of derne, in 1805, by general eaton, at the head of nine americans, forty greeks, and a motley array of turks and arabs, was one of those feats of hardihood and daring which have in all ages attracted the admiration of the multitude. the higher and holier heroism of christian self-denial and sacritice, in the humble walks of private duty, is seldom so well appreciated. sight on the city of the moor ! on mosque and tomb, and white-walled shore, on sea-waves, to whose ceaseless knock the narrow harbor-gates unlock, on corsair's galley, carack tall, and plundered christian caraval ! the sounds of moslem life are still ; so mule-bell tinkles down the hill ; stretched in the broad court of the khan, the dusty bornou caravan lies heaped in slumber, beast and man ; the sheik is dreaming in his tent, his noisy arab tongue o'erspent ; the kiosk’s glimmering lights are gone, the merchant with his wares withdrawn ; rough pillowed on some pirate breast, the dancing-girl has sunk to rest ; and, save where measured footsteps fall along the bashaw's guarded wall, or where, like some bad dream, the jew creeps stealthily his quarter through, or counts with fear his golden heaps, the city of the corsair sleeps ! but where yon prison long and low stands black against the pale star-glow, chafed by the ceaseless wash of waves, there watch and pine the christian slaves ; rough-bearded men, whose far-off wives wear out with grief their lonely lives ; and youth, still flashing from his eyes the clear blue of new england skies, a treasured lock of whose soft hair now wakes some sorrowing mother's prayer ; or, worn upon some maiden breast, stirs with the loving heart's unrest ! a bitter cup each life must drain, the groaning earth is cursed with pain, and, like the scroll the angel bore the shuddering hebrew seer before, what dark mass, down the mountain-sides swift-pouring, like a stream divides ? a long, loose, straggling caravan, camel and horse and armëd man. the moon's low crescent, glimmering o'er its grave of waters to the shore, lights up that mountain cavalcade, and gleams from gun and spear and blade near and more near! now o'er them falls the shadow of the city walls. hark to the sentry's challenge, drowned in the fierce trumpet's charging sound ! the rush of men, the musket's peal, the short, sharp clang of meeting steel ! vain, moslem, vain thy lifeblood poured so freely on thy foeman's sword ! not to the swift nor to the strong the battles of the right belong ; for he who strikes for freedom wears the armor of the captive's prayers, and nature proffers to his cause the strength of her eternal laws; while he whose arm essays to bind and herd with common brutes his kind strives evermore at fearful odds with nature and the jealous gods, and dares the dread recoil which late or soon their right shall vindicate. 312 anti-slavery poems "tis done, the hornëd crescent falls ! the star-flag flouts the broken walls ! joy to the captive husband ! joy to thy sick heart, () brown-locked boy ! in sullen wrath the conquered moor wide open flings your dungeon-cloor, and leaves ye free from cell and chain, the owners of yourselves again. dark as his allies desert-born, soiled with the battle's stain, and worn with the long marches of his band through hottest wastes of rock and sand, scorched by the sun and furnace-breath of the red desert's wind of death, with welcome words and grasping hands, the victor and deliverer stands! she saw the white spire through the troen, she heard the sweet hytun sbling: o pitying christ ! a refuge give that poor one in thy dwelling! like a scared fawn before the bounds, right up the aisle she glided, while close behind her, whip in hand, a lank-haired hunter strided. she raised a keen and bitter cry, to heaven and earth appealing: were manhood's generous pulses dendº had woman's heart no feeling? a score of stout bands rose between the hunter and the flying : age clenched his staff, and maiden eyes flashed tearful, yet defying. “ who dares profane this house and day cried out the angry pastor. “why, bless your soul, the webeb's : slave, and i'm her lord and master! the tale is one of distant skies ; the dust of half a century lies ['pon it ; yet its hero's name still lingers on the lips of fame. men speak the praise of him who gave deliverance to the moorman's slave, yet dare to brand with shame and crime the heroes of our land and time, the self-forgetful ones, who stake home, name, and life for freedom's sake. god mend his heart who cannot feel the impulse of a holy zeal, and sees not, with his sordid eyes, the beauty of self-sacrifice ! though in the sacred place he stands, l'plifting consecrated hands, l'n worthy are his lips to tell of jesus' martyr-miracle, or name aright that dread embrace of suffering for a fallen race ! “i've law and gospel on my side, and who shall dare refuse me! down came the parson, bowing low, * my good sir, pray excuse me! “of course i know your right divine to own and work and whip hr? ; quick, deacon, throw that polskist before the wench, and trip her!" plump dropped the holy tome, and w'er its sacred pages stumbling, bound hand and foot, a slave once th the hapless wretch lay trembling a sabbath scene this poem finds its justification in the readiness with which, even in the north, clergymen urged the prompt execution of the fugitive slave law as a christian dutv, and defended the system of slavery as a bible institution. scarce had the solemn sabbath-bell ceased quivering in the steeple, scarce had the parson to his desk walked stately through his people, when down the summer-shnded street a wasted female figure, with dusky brow and naked feet, came rushing wild and eager, i saw the parson tie the knots, the while his flock addressing, the scriptural claims of slavery with text on text impressing “ although," said be, "on sabbath dar all secular occupations are deadly sins, we must fultil our moral obligations : " and this commends itself as one to every conscience tender; as paul sent back onesimus, my christian friends, we send lat!" in the evil days 313 shriek rose on shriek, the sabbath air her wild cries tore asunder ; i listened, with hushed breath, to hear god answering with his thunder! as bird and flower made plain of old the lesson of the teacher, so now i heard the written word interpreted by nature ! all still ! the very altar's cloth had smothered down her shrieking, and, dumb, she turned from face to face, for human pity seeking! for to my ear methought the breeze bore freedom's blessed word on ; thus saith the lord : break every yoke, undo the heavy burden ! in the evil days i saw her dragged along the aisle, her shackles harshly clanking ; i heard the parson, over all, the lord devoutly thanking! my brain took fire : “is this," i cried, " the end of prayer and preaching ? then down with pulpit, down with priest, and give us nature's teaching ! “ foul shame and scorn be on ye all who turn the good to evil, and steal the bible from the lord, to give it to the devil ! this and the four following poems have special reference to that darkest hour in the aggression of slavery which preceded the dawn of a better day, when the conscience of the people was roused to action. [originally entitled stanzas for the times, 1850.] the evil days have come, the poor are made a prey ;. bar up the hospitable door, put out the fire-lights, point no more the wanderer's way. "than garbled text or parchment law i own a statute higher ; and god is true, though every book and every man 's a liar !” for pity now is crime ; the chain ; which binds our states is melted at her hearth in twain, is rusted by her tears' soft rain : close up her gates. a just then i felt the deacon's hand in wrath my coat-tail seize on; i heard the priest cry, “ infidel! the lawyer inutter, « treason!” i started up, – where now were church, slave, master, priest, and people ? i only heard the supper-bell, instead of clanging steeple. but, on the open window's sill, o'er which the white blooms drifted, the pages of a good old book the wind of summer lifted, our union, like a glacier stirred by voice below, or beli of kine, or wing of bird, a beggar's crust, a kindly word may overthrow ! poor, whispering tremblers ! yet we boast our blood and name ; bursting its century-bolted frost, each gray cairn on the northman's coast cries out for shame! oh for the open firmament, the prairie free, the desert hillside, cavern-rent, the pawnee's lodge, the arab's tent, the bushman's tree ! and flower and vine, like angel wings around the holy mother, waved softly there, as if god's truth and mercy kissed each other. and freely from the cherry-bough above the casement swinging, with golden bosom to the sun, the oriole was singing. than web of persian loom most rare, or soft divan, better the rough rock, bleak and bare, or hollow tree, which man may share with suffering man. 314 anti-slavery poems i hear a voice : “ thus saith the law, let love be dumb; clasping her liberal hands in awe, let sweet-lipped charity withdraw froin hearth and home.” i hear another voice : * " the poor are thine to feed ; turn not the outcast from thy door, nor give to bonds and wrong once more whom god hath freed. 1 dear lord ! between that law and thee no choice remains ; yet not untrue to man's decree, though spurning its rewards, is he who bears its pains. not mine sedition's trumpet-blast and threatening word ; i read the lesson of the past, that firin endurance wins at last more than the sword. o clear-eyed faith, and patience thou so calm and strong! lend strength to weakness, teach us how the sleepless eyes of god look through this night of wrong! on, swift and still ! the conscious stree! is panged and stirred ; tread light! that fall of serried feet the dead have heard ! the first drawn blood of freedom's reine gushed where ye tread ; lo! through the dusk the martyr-stales blush darkly red ! beneath the slowly-waning stars and whitening day, what stern and awful presence bars that sacred way? what faces frown upon ve, dark with shame and pain ? come these from plymouth's pilgrim buri is that young vane ? who, dimly beckoning, speed ye on with mocking cheer? lo! spectral andros, hutchinson, and gage are here ! for ready mart or favoring blast through moloch's tir', flesh of his tleski, unsparing, passed the tyrian sire. ye make that ancient sacrifice of man to gain, your traffic thrives, where freedom din beneath the chain. ye sow to-day; your harvest, seora and hate, is near ; how think ve freemen, mountain-barn, the tale will hear ? thank god! our mother state can get her fame retrieve; to you and to your children let the scandal clease. (chain hall and pulpit, court and press make gouls of gold; let honor, truth, and manliness like wares be sold. moloch in state street in a foot-note of the report of the senate of massachusetts on the case of the arrest and return to bondage of the fugitive slave thomas sims it is stated that " it would have been impossible for the u.s. marshal thus successfully to have resisted the law of the state, without the assistance of the municipal authorities of boston, and the countenance and support of a numerous, wealthy, and powerful body of citizens. it was in evidence that 1000 of the most wealthy and spectable citizens — merchants, bankers, and other volunteered thrir services to aid the manhal on this occasion. ... xo watch was kept upon the doings of the marshal, and while the state officers slept, after the moon had gone down, in the darkrst hour before day. break, the accused was taken out of our juris. diction by the armed police of the city of boston." the moon has set : while yet the dawn breaks cold and gray, between the midnight and the morn bear off your prey! your boards are great, your wals are strong, but god is just ; the gilded chambers built by wrong invite the rust. the rendition 315 tory !” a see what ! know ye not the gains of crime on dark abruzzo tells of life's dread loss are dust and dross ; from his own carbine, glancing still abroad its ventures on the waves of time for some new victim, offering thanks to foredoomed to loss ! god! rome, listening at her altars to the cry and still the pilgrim state remains of midnight murder, while her hounds of what she hath been ; hell her inland hills, her seaward plains, scour france, from baptized cannon and still nurture men ! holy bell and thousand-throated priesthood, loud vor wholly lost the fallen mart ; and high, her olden blood pealing te deums to the shuddering sky, throngh many a free and generous heart “ thanks to the lord, who giveth vicstill pours its flood. what prove these, but that crime was ne'er that brave old blood, quick-flowing yet, so black shall know no check, as ghostly cheer and pious thanks to lack ? till a free people's foot is set satan is modest. at heaven's door he on slavery's neck. lays his evil offspring, and, in scriptural phrase even now, the peal of bell and gun, and saintly posture, gives to god the praise and hills aflame, and honor of the monstrous progeny. tell of the first great triumph won what marvel, then, in our own time to in freedom's name. his old devices, smoothly acted o'er, the long night dies : the welcome gray official piety, locking fast the door of dawn we see; of hope against three million souls of speed up the heavens thy perfect day, men, god of the free! brothers, god's children, christ's deemed, — and then, with uprolled eyeballs and on bended knee, official piety whining a prayer for help to hide the key ! suggested by reading a state paper, wherein the higher law is invoked to sustain the lower the rendition one. (originally entitled lines.] a pots magistrate! sound his praise on the 2d of june, 1854, anthony burns, a throughout fugitive slave from virginia, after being under the wondering churches. who shall hencearrest for ten days in the boston court house, forth doubt was remanded to slavery under the fugitive that the long-wished millennium drawslave act, and taken down state street to a eth nigh? steamer chartered by the united states govsin in high places has become devout, ernment, under guard of united states troops tithes mint, goes painful faced, and and artillery, massachusetts militia and boston police. public excitement ran high, a futile straight up to heaven, and calls it piety ! during his confinement, and the streets were attempt to rescue burns having been made crowded with tens of thousands of people, of the pirate, watching from his bloody deck whom many came from other towns and cities the weltering galleon, heavy with the of the state to witness the humiliating specgold tacle. of acapulco, holding death in check while prayers are said, brows crossed, i heard the train's shrill whistle call, and beads are told ; i saw an earnest look beseech, the robber, kneeling where the wayside and rather by that look than speech my neighbor told me all. reprays its lie cross 316 anti-slavery poems and, as i thought of liberty marched bandcuffed down that sworded street, the solid earth beneath my feet reeled huid as the sea. i felt a sense of bitter loss, – shame, tearless grief, and stifling wrath, and loathing fear, as if my path a serpent stretched across. all love of home, all pride of place, all generous confidence and trust, sank smothering in that deep disgust and anguish of disgrace. once more thy strong maternal artis are round about thy children flung, a lioness that guards her young! no threat is on thy closed lips, but in thine eye a power to smite the mad wolf backward from its like? southward the baffled robber's track henceforth runs only ; hereaway, the fell lycanthrope finds no prey. henceforth, within thy sacred gates, his first low bowl shall downward dros the thunder of thy righteous law. not mindless of thy trade and grin, but, acting on the wiser plat, thou 'rt grown conservative of man. so shalt thou clothe with life the bope, dream-painted on the sightless eyes of him who sang of paradise, the vision of a christian man, in virtue, as in stature great embodied in a christian state. down on my native hills of june, and home's green quiet, hiding all, fell sudden darkness like the fall of midnight upon noon! and law, an unloosed maniac, strong, blood drunken, through the blackness trod, hoarse-shouting in the ear of god the blasphemy of wrong. “() mother, from thy memories proud, thy old renown, dear commonwealth, lend this dead air a breeze of health, and smite with stars this cloud. “ mother of freedom, wise and brave, rise awful in thy strength,” i said ; ab me! i spake but to the dead ; 1 stood upon her grave ! and thou, amidst thy sisterhood forbearing long, yet standing fast, shalt win their grateful thanks at las. when north and south shall strive '. more, and all their feuds and fear be lost in freedom's holy pentecost. the haschish of all that orient lauds can raunt of marvels with our own compt16. the strangest is the haschish plant, and what will follow on its eating arisen at last on the passage of the bill to protect the rights and liberties of the people of the state against the fugitive slave act. (originally entitled simply lines.] i said i stood upon thy grave, my mother state, when last the moon of blossoms clomb the skies of june. and, scattering ashes on my head, i wore, in dreaming of relief, the sackcloth of thy shame and grief. aguin that moon of blossoms shines on leaf and flower and folded wing, and thou hast risen with the spring! what pictures to the taster rise, of dervish or of almeh dances ! of eblis, or of paradise, set all aglow with houri glances! the poppy visions of cathar, the heavy beer-trance of the sual-ar; the wizard lights and demon play of nights walpurgis and arabian for righteousness' sake 317 the mollah and the christian dog change place in mad metempsychosis ; the muezzin climbs the synagogue, the rabbi shakes his beard at moses ! the arab by his desert well sits choosing from some caliph's daughters, and hears his single camel's bell sound welcome to his regal quarters. the koran's reader makes complaint of shitan dancing on and off it ; the robber offers alms, the saint drinks tokay and blasphemes the prophet. such scenes that eastern plant awakes ; but we have one ordained to beat it, the haschish of the west, which makes or fools or knaves of all who eat it. conflict on that ground between freedom and slavery. the opponents of the movement used another kind of weapon. [this song was sent to the first company of emigrants by the poet. “it is one of those prophecies," says e. e. hale, " for which poets are born, uttered before the event and not after. in absolute hard fact, the song was sung by parties of emigrants, sung when they started, sung as they rode, and sung in the new home."] we cross the prairie as of old the pilgrims crossed the sea, to make the west, as they the east, the homestead of the free ! we go to rear a wall of men on freedom's southern line, and plant beside the cotton-tree the rugged northern pine ! we 're flowing from our native hills as our free rivers flow : the blessing of our mother-land is on us as we go. the preacher eats, and straight appears his bible in a new translation ; its angels negro overseers, and heaven itself a snug plantation ! the man of peace, about whose dreams the sweet millennial angels cluster, tastes the mad weed, and plots and schemes, a raving cuban filibuster ! we go to plant her common schools on distant prairie swells, and give the sabbaths of the wild the music of her bells. the noisiest democrat, with ease, it turns to slavery's parish beadle ; the shrewdest statesman eats and sees due southward point the polar needle. the judge partakes, and sits erelong upon his bench a railing blackguard ; decides off-hand that right is wrong, and reads the ten commandments backward. upbearing, like the ark of old, the bible in our van, we go to test the truth of god against the fraud of man. no pause, nor rest, save where the streams that feed the kansas run, save where our pilgrim gonfalon shall flout the setting sun ! we 'll tread the prairie as of old our fathers sailed the sea, and make the west, as they the east, the homestead of the free ! 0 potent plant ! so rare a taste has never turk or gentoo gotten ; the hempen haschish of the east is powerless to our western cotton ! for righteousness' sake the kansas emigrants inscribed to friends under arrest for treason against the slave power. [originally entitled lines.] the age is dull and mean. not walk ; with blood too pale and tame to pay the debt they owe to shame ; buy cheap, sell dear ; eat, drink, and sleep this poem and the three following were called ont by the popular movement of free state men to occupy the territory of kansas, and by the use of the great democratic weapon an overpowering majority — to settle the men creep, 318 anti-slavery poems on down-pillowed, deaf to moaning want ; pay tithes for soul-insurance ; keep six days to mammon, one to cant. in such a time, give thanks to god, that somewhat of the holy rage with which the prophets in their age on all its decent seemings trod, has set your feet upon the lie, that man and ox and soul and clod are market stock to sell and buy ! the hot words from your lips, my own, to caution trained, might not repeat ; but if some tares among the wheat of generous thought and deed were sown, no common wrong provoked your zeal ; the silken gauntlet that is thrown in such a quarrel rings like steel. the brave old strife the fathers saw for freedom calls for men again like those who battled not in vain for england's charter, alfred's law ; and right of speech and trial just wage in your naine their ancient war with venal courts and perjured trust. god's ways seem dark, but, soon or late, they touch the shining hills of day; the evil cannot brook delay, the good can well afford to wait. give ermined knaves their hour of crime ; ye have the future grand and great, the safe appeal of truth to time ! l'ncircumcised and gentile, aliens fruta the commonwealth of israel, wbo de.. the prize of the high calling of the sa:2x, who plant amidst this heathen wilderness pure gospel institutions, sanctitied by patriarchal use. the meeting opened with prayer, as was most fitting huf an hour, or thereaway, i groaned, and strove, and wrestled, as jacob did at penuel, till the power fell the people, and they cred “ amen!" glory to god !” and stamped and clapped their hands ; and the rough river boatmen wiped there eyes ; “go it, old hoss!” they cried, and cured the niggers – fulfilling thus the word of prophecy, “ cursed be (anaan." after prayer, the meeting chose a committee good and pres men a presbyterian elder, baptist dearon, a local preacher, three or four classesden anxious inquirers, and renewed twasasliders, a score in all to watch the river ferty, (as they of old did watch tbe fors of jordan,) and cut off all whose yankee tonguere fuse the shibboleth of the nebraska bil and then, in answer to repeated calls i gave a brief account of what i say in washington ; and truly many bearts rejoiced to know the president, and you and all the cabinet regularly bear the gospel message of a sunday morn 5 drinking with thirty souls of the siberre milk of the word. glory! awen, ar! selah! letter from a missionary of the methodist episcopal church south, in kansas, to a distinguished politician docolas mission, august, 1954. last week the lord be praised for all his mercies to his unworthy servant ! i arrived safe at the mission, via westport where i tarried over night, to aid in forming a vigilance committee, to send back, in shirts of tar, and feather-doublets quilted with forty stripes save one, all yankee comers, here, at the mission, all things krie gone well : the brother who, throughout my al me acted as overseer, assures me that the crocan never were better. i have lost one the a first-rate hand, but obstinate and su.. lie ran away some time last spring am: hid in the river timber. there my ini. converts burial of barber 319 and the persuasive lips of colt's revolvers. there may'st thou, underneath thy vine and fig-tree, watch thy increase of sugar cane and negroes, calm as a patriarch in his eastern tent !” amen : so mote it be. so prays your friend. found him, and treed and shot him. for the rest, the heathens round about begin to feel the influence of our pious ministrations and works of love ; and some of them already have purchased negroes, and are settling down as sober christians! bless the lord for this ! i know it will rejoice you. you, i hear, are on the eve of visiting chicago, to fight with the wild beasts of ephesus, long john, and dutch free-soilers. may your arm be clothed with strength, and on your tongue be found the sweet oil of persuasion. so desires your brother and co-laborer. amen! burial of barber thomas barber was shot december 6, 1855, near lawrence, kansas. bear him, comrades, to his grave ; never over one more brave shall the prairie grasses weep, in the ages yet to come, when the millions in our room, what we sow in tears, shall reap. a bear him up the icy hill, with the kansas, frozen still as his noble heart, below, and the land he came to till with a freeman's thews and will, and his poor hut roofed with snow ! one more look of that dead face, of his murder's ghastly trace ! one more kiss, 0 widowed one ! lay your left hands on his brow, lift your right hands up, and vow that his work shall yet be done. p. s. all 's lost. even while i write these lines, the yankee abolitionists are coming upon us like a flood – grim, stalwart men, each face set like a flint of plymouth rock against our institutions — staking out their farm lots on the wooded wakarusa, op squatting by the mellow bottomed kansas ; the pioneers of mightier multitudes, the small rain patter, ere the thunder shower drowns the dry prairies. hope from man is not. oh, for a quiet berth at washington, snug naval chaplaincy, or clerkship, where these rumors of free labor and free soil might never meet me more. better to be door-keeper in the white house, than to dwell amidst these yankee tents, that, whitening, show on the green prairie like a fleet becalmed. methinks i hear a voice come up the river from those far bayous where the alligators mount guard around the camping filibusters: “ shake off the dust of kansas. turn to cuba (that golden orange just about to fall, o'er-ripe, into the democratic lap ;) keep pace with providence, or, as we say, manifest destiny. go forth and follow the message of our gospel, thither borne upon the point of quitman's bowie knife, patience, friends! the eye of god every path by murder trod watches, lidless, day and night; and the dead man in his shroud, and his widow weeping lond, and our hearts, are in his sight. every deadly threat that swells with the roar of gambling hells, every brutal jest and jeer, every wicked thought and plan of the cruel heart of man, though but whispered, he can hear ! we in suffering, they in crime, wait the just award of time, wait the vengeance that is due ; not in vain a heart shall break, not a tear for freedom's sake fall unheeded : god is true. 320 anti-slavery poems while the flag with stars bedecked threatens where it should protect, and the law shakes hands with crime, what is left us but to wait, match our patience to our fate, and abide the better time? patience, friends! the human heart everywhere shall take our part, everywhere for us shall pray ; on our side are nature's laws, and god's life is in the cause that we suffer for to-day. well to suffer is divine ; pass the watchword down the line, pass the countersign : “ endure." not to him who rashly dares, but to him who nobly bears, is the victor's garland sure. frozen earth to frozen breast, lay our slain one down to rest ; lay him down in hope and faith, and above the broken sod, once again, to freedom's god, pledge ourselves for life or death, that the state whose walls we lay, in our blood and tears, to-day, shall be free from bonds of shame, and our goodly land untrod by the feet of slavery, shod with cursing as with flame ! plant the buckeye on his grave, for the hunter of the slave in its shadow cannot rest ; and let martyr mound and tree be our pledge and guaranty of the freedom of the west ! wild-wailing from missouri's flood the crying of thy children's blood is in thy ears to-day ! and unto thee in freedom's bour of sorest need god gives the power to ruin or to save ; to wound or heal, to blight or bless with fertile field or wilderness, a free home or a grave ! then let thy virtue match the crime, rise to a level with the time ; and, if a son of thine betray or tempt thee, brutus-like for fatherland and freedom strike as justice gives the sign. wake, sleeper, from thy dream of case, the great occasion's forelock se ize; and let the north-wind strong, and golden leaves of autumn, be thy coronal of victory ånd thy triumphal song. le marais du cygne the massacre of unarmed and upoffende men, in southern kansas, in may, isto place near the marais du cygne of the fress a voyageurs. to pennsylvania o state prayer-founded ! never hung such choice upon a people's tongue, such power to bless or ban, as that which makes thy whisper fate, for which on thee the centuries wait, and destinies of man ! across thy alleghanian chain, with groanings from a land in pain, the west-wind finds its way : a blush as of roses where rose never grew! great drops on the bunch-grass, but not of the dew ! a taint in the sweet air for wild bees to shun ! a stain that shall never bleach out in the sun ! back, steed of the prairies ! sweet song-bird, fly back! wheel hither, bald vulture ! gray wolf, call thy pack! the foul human vultures have feasted and fled ; the wolves of the border have crept from the dead. from the hearths of their cabins, the fields of their corn, l'nwarned and unweaponed, the victims were torn, the pass of the sierra 321 by the whirlwind of murder swooped up and swept on to the low, reedy fen-lands, the marsh of the swan. henceforth to the sunset, unchecked on her way, shall liberty follow the march of the day. the pass of the sierra with a vain plea for mercy no stout knee was crooked ; in the mouths of the rifles right manly they looked. how paled the may sunshine, o ñarais du cygne ! on death for the strong life, on red grass for all night above their rocky bed they saw the stars march slow ; the wild sierra overhead, the desert's death below. green ! the indian from his lodge of bark, the gray bear from his den, beyond their camp-fire's wall of dark, glared on the mountain men. still upward turned, with anxious strain, their leader's sleepless eye, where splinters of the mountain chain stood black against the sky. in the homes of their rearing, yet warm with their lives, ye wait the dead only, poor children and wives ! put out the red forge-fire, the smith shall not come ; unyoke the brown oxen, the ploughman lies dumb. wind slow from the swan's marsh, o dreary death-train, with pressed lips as bloodless as lips of the slain ! kiss down the young eyelids, smooth down the gray hairs ; let tears quench the curses that burn through your prayers. strong man of the prairies, mourn bitter and wild ! wail, desolate woman ! w fatherless child ! but the grain of god springs up from ashes beneath, and the crown of his harvest is life out of death. the night waned slow : at last, a glow, a gleam of sudden fire, shot up behind the walls of snow, and tipped each icy spire. “up, men !” he cried, “yon rocky cone, to-day, please god, we'll pass, and look from winter's frozen throne on summer's flowers and grass ! ” weep, they set their faces to the blast, they trod the eternal snow, and faint, worn, bleeding, hailed at last the promised land below. behind, they saw the snow-cloud tossed by many an icy horn ; before, warm valleys, wood-embossed, and green with vines and corn. not in vain on the dial the shade moves along, to point the great contrasts of right and of wrong : free homes and free altars, free prairie and flood, the reeds of the swan's marsh, whose bloom is of blood ! they left the winter at their backs to flap his baffled wing, and downward, with the cataracts, leaped to the lap of spring. strong leader of that mountain band, another task remains, to break from slavery's desert land a path to freedom's plains. the winds are wild, the way is drear, yet, flashing through the night, on the lintels of kansas that blood shall not dry ; henceforth the bad angel shall harmless go by ; 322 anti-slavery poems lo! icy ridge and rocky spear blaze out in morning light! rise up, frémont, and before ; the hour must have its man; put on the hunting-shirt once more, and lead in freedom's van! oh, the cruel to man, and the hatefal to god, smite him down to the earth, that is card where he trod ! go a song for the time written in the summer of 1856, during the political campaign of the free soil party under the candidacy of john c. frémont. u'p, laggards of freedom ! our free flag is cast to the blaze of the sun and the wings of the blast ; will ye turn from a struggle so bravely from a foe that is breaking, a field that's half won ? for deeper than thunder of summer's local shower, on the dome of the sky god is striking the hour! shall we falter before what we've prayad for so long, when the wrong is so weak, and the right is so strong ? come forth all together! come old and cures young, freedom's vote in each band, and her sc: on each tongue ; truth naked is stronger than falsebou.. mail ; the wrong cannot prosper, the right carnot fail ! like leaves of the summer once number the foe, but the hoar-frost is falling, the portiera winds blow; like leaves of november ereloog shulther fall, for earth wearies of them, and god's over all! begun, whoso loves not his kind, and who fears not the lord, let him join that foe's service, accursed and abhorred! let him do his base will, as the slave only can, let him put on the bloodhound, and put off the man! let bim go where the cold blood that creeps what of the day? in his veins shall stiffen the slave-whip, and rust on his chains ; written during the stirring weeks when the where the black slave shall laugh in his great political battle for freedom under 1 mont's leadership was permitting strite bonds, to behold of success, – a hope overshadowed ani 3 the white slave beside him, self-fettered nized by a sense of the magnitude of the fact and sold ! baric riil, and a forecast of the unserupa and desperate use of all its powers in the but ye, who still boast of hearts beating and decisive struggle. and warm, rise, from lake shore and ocean's, like a sound of tumult troubles all the air, waves in a storm, like the low thunders of a sultry ako come, throng round our banner in liberty's far-rolling ere the downright like name, glare ; like winds from your mountains, like praithe hills blaze red with warnings ; fue ries atlame ! dmw nigh, treading the dark with challenge and our foe, hidden long in his ambush of night, reply. now, forced from his covert, stands black behold the burden of the prophet's mere in the light. the gathering hosts, – the valley of itpun sion, the panorama 323 dusk with the wings of eagles wheeling for god be praised ! new england o'er. takes once more her ancient place ; day of the lord, of darkness and not again the pilgrim's banner light! leads the vanguard of the race. it breaks in thunder and the whirlwind's then sound again the bugles, etc. roar! even so, father! let thy will be done ; along the lordly hudson, turn and o’erturn, end what thou hast bea shout of triumph breaks ; gun the empire state is speaking, in judgment or in mercy : as for me, from the ocean to the lakes. if but the least and frailest, let me be then sound again the bugles, etc. evermore numbered with the truly free who find thy service perfect liberty ! the northern hills are blazing, i fain would thank thee that my mortal the northern skies are bright; life and the fair young west is turning has reached the hour (albeit through care her forehead to the light ! and pain) then sound again the bugles, etc. when good and evil, as for final strife, close dim and vast on armageddon's | push every outpost nearer, plain ; press hard the hostile towers ! and michael and his angels once again another balaklava, drive howling back the spirits of the and the malakoff is ours ! night. then sound again the bugles, oh for the faith to read the signs aright call the muster-roll anew ; and, from the angle of thy perfect sight, if months have well-nigh won the field, see truth's white banner floating on bewhat may not four years do ? fore ; the panorama and the good cause, despite of venal friends, and base expedients, move to noble ends ; see peace with freedom make to time amends, and, through its cloud of dust, the threshing-floor, flailed by the thunder, heaped with chaffless grain ! [written with a view to political effect in the presidential campaign of 1856. it was read by t. starr king at the opening of a course of lectures on slavery delivered in boston at that time.] a song "a! fredome is a nobill thing! fredome mayse man to haif liking. fredome all solace to man giffis ; he levys at ese that frely levys! a nobil hart may haif nane ese na ellys nocht that may him plese gyff fredome failythe." archdeacon barbour. inscribed to the frémont clubs written after the election in 1856, which showed the immense gains of the free soil party, and insured its success in 1860. beneath thy skies, november ! thy skies of cloud and rain, around our blazing camp-fires we close our ranks again. then sound again the bugles, call the muster-roll anew ; if months have well-nigh won the field, what may not four years do ? through the long hall the shuttered windows shed a dubious light on every upturned head ; on locks like those of absalom the fair, on the bald apex ringed with scanty hair, on blank indifference and on curious stare ; on the pale showman reading from his stage the hieroglyphics of that facial page ; half sad, half scornful, listening to the bruit of restless cane-tap and impatient foot, 324 anti-slavery poems gin!” and the shrill call, across the general din, “such," said the showman, as the cur“ roll up your curtain ! let the show betain fell, “ is the new canaan of our israel ; the land of promise to the swarming north at length a murmur like the winds that which, hive-like, sends its annual surplus break forth, into green waves the prairie's grassy lake, to the poor sonthron on bis wordt syi. deepened and swelled to music clear and scathed by the curses of uunatural tol; loud, to europe's exiles seeking bome and rese and, as the west-wind lifts a summer cloud, and the lank nomads of the wandet the curtain rose, disclosing wide and far west, a green land stretching to the evening star, who, asking neither, in their love of change fair rivers, skirted by primeval trees and the free bison's amplitude of range, and flowers hummed over by the desert rear the log-hut, for present shelter mast, bees, not future comfort, like an arab's tent." marked by tall bluffs whose slopes of greenness show then spake a shrewd on-looker, *$4," fantastic outcrops of the rock below ; said he, the slow result of patient nature's pains, “i like your picture, but i fain wvald sa and plastic tingering of her sun and rains ; a sketch of what your promised land wi? arch, tower, and gate, grotesquely winbe dowed ball, when, with electric nerve and fiery-bora cand and long escarpment of half crumbled with nature's forces to its chariot et. ...i wall, the future grasping, by the past obred, iluger than those which, from steep hills the twentieth century rounds a br* de of vine, cade." stare through their loopholes on the travelled rhine ; then said the showman, sadly : le suggesting vaguely to the gazer's mind who grieves a fancy, idle as the prairie wind, over the seattering of the sibyl's leaves of the land's dwellers in an age unguessed; unwisely mourns. suftice it, that were the unsung jotuns of the mystic west. what needs must ripen from the senses we sow; beyond, the prairie's sea-like swells sur| that present time is but the mould sbr. pass we cast the shapes of holiness and sin. the tartar's marvels of his land of grass, a painful watcher of the passing bout, vast as the sky against whose sunset shores its lust of gold, its strife for place and wave after wave the billowy greenness power ; pours ; its lack of inanhood, honor, reverence, and, onward still, like islands in that truth, main wise-thoughted age, and generoas-brarte loom the rough peaks of many a mountain youth; chain, nor yet unmindful of each better se whence east and west a thousand waters the low, far lights, which on th' brie run shine, from winter lingering under summer's sun. like those which sometimes tremble other and, still beyond, long lines of foam and rim sand of clouded skies when day is closir tell where pacific rolls his waves a-land, flashing athwart the purple spears fra from many a wide-lapped port and landthe hope of sunshine on the hills agas locked bay, i need no prophet's word, nor slapes :opening with thunderous pomp the world's pass highway like clouding shadows o'er a magic glas; to indian isles of spice, and marts of far for now, as ever, passionless and evi cathay. | doth the dread angel of the future band the panorama 325 all 66 evil and good before us, with no voice like sudden nightfall over bloom and or warning look to guide us in our choice ; green with spectral hands outreaching through the curtain dropped : and, momently, bethe gloom tween the shadowy contrasts of the coming doom. the clank of fetter and the crack of thong, transferred from these, it now remains to half sob, half laughter, music swept along ; give a strange refrain, whose idle words and low, the sun and shade of fate's alternative." like drunken mourners, kept the time of woe ; then, with a burst of music, touching as if the revellers at a masquerade heard in the distance funeral marches the keys of thrifty life, the mill-stream's played. fall, such music, dashing all his smiles with tears, the engine's pant along its quivering rails, the thoughtful voyager on pontchartrain the anvil's ring, the measured beat of flails, hears, the sweep of scythes, the reaper's whistled where, through the noonday dusk of tune, wooded shores answering the summons of the bells of noon, the negro boatman, singing to his oars, the woodman's hail along the river shores, with a wild pathos borrowed of his wrong the steamboat's signal, and the dip of oars : redeems the jargon of his senseless song: slowly the curtain rose from off a land “look," said the showman, sternly, as he fair as god's garden. broad on either hand rolled the golden wheat-fields glimmered in the his curtain upward. fate's reverse besun, hold !” and the tall maize its yellow tassels spun. smooth highways set with hedge-rows liva village straggling in loose disarray ing green, of vulgar newness, premature decay ; with steepled towns through shaded vistas a tavern, crazy with its whiskey brawls, seen, with “ slaves at auction ! ” garnishing its the school-house murmuring with its hivewalls ; like swarm, without, surrounded by a motley crowd, the brook-bank whitening in the grist-mill's the shrewd-eyed salesman, garrulous and storm, loud, the painted farm-house shining through the a squire or colonel in his pride of place, leaves known at free fights, the caucus, and the of fruited orchards bending at its eaves, race, where live again, around the western prompt to proclaim his honor without blot, hearth, and silence doubters with a ten-pace shot, the homely old-time virtues of the north ; | mingling the negro-driving bully's rant where the blithe housewife rises with the with pious phrase and democratic cant, day, yet never scrupling, with a filthy jest, and well-paid labor counts his task a play. to sell the infant from its mother's breast, and, grateful tokens of a bible free, break through all ties of wedlock, home, and the free gospel of humanity, and kin, of diverse sects and differing names the yield shrinking girlhood up to graybeard shrines, sin ; one in their faith, whate'er their outward sell all the virtues with his human stock, signs, the christian graces on his anction-block, like varying strophes of the same sweet and coolly count on shrewdest bargains hymn driven from many a prairie's swell and river's in hearts regenerate, and in souls forgiven ! brim, a thousand church-spires sanctify the air look once again ! the moving canvas of the calm sabbath, with their sign of shows prayer. a slave plantation's slovenly repose, a 326 anti-slavery poems where, in rude cabins rotting midst their from sea to sea the mauraises terres have weeds, grown, the human chattel eats, and sleeps, and a belt of curses on the new world's zut! breeds ; and, held a brute, in practice, as in law, the curtain fell. all drew a freer brand.com becomes in fact the thing he 's taken for. as men are wont to do when mouratul death there, early summoned to the hemp and is covered from their sight. the show corn, stood the nursing mother leaves her child newwith drooping brow in sorrow's attitude boru ; one moment, then with sudden gedie!" there haggard sickness, weak and deathly shook faint, ilis loose hair back, and with the air and crawls to his task, and fears to make comlook plaint; of one who felt, beyond the narrow start and sad-eyed rachels, childless in decay, and listening group, the presence of weep for their lost ones sold and torn age, away! and heard the footsteps of the things to be of ampler size the master's dwelling stands, poured out his soul in earnest worus u. in shabby keeping with his half-tilled lands ; free. the gates unhinged, the yard with weeds unclean, “o friends !” he said, “in this puur trik the cracked veranda with a tipsy lean. of paint without, loose-scattered like a wreck adrift, you see the semblance, incompl te sa: signs of misrule and tokens of unthrift; faint, within, profusion to discomfort joined, of the two-fronted future, which, toxlas, the listless body and the vacant mind ; stands dim and silent, waiting in your ! the fear, the hate, the theft and falsehood, to-day your servant, subject to your born to-morrow, master, or for good or il in menial bearts of toil, and stripes, and if the dark face of slavery on you turns, scorn! if the mad curse its paper barrier sirom there, all the vices, which, like birds obif the world granary of the west i* ilms scene, the last foul market of the slaver's trade, batten on slavery loathsome and unclean, why rail at fate? the mischafu from the foul kitchen to the parlor rise, own. pollute the nursery where the child-heir why bate your neighbor! blame your lies, selves alone! taint infant lips beyond all after cure, with the fell poison of a breast impure ; “men of the north! the suath you touch boyhood's passions with the breath of charge with wrong flaine, is weak and poor, while you are rib and from girlhood's instincts steal the blush of strong. shame, if questions, – idle and alsurd as the so swells, from low to high, from weak to the old-time monks and padua d.**** strong, chose, the tragic chorus of the baleful wrong ; mere ghosts of questions, tarifls, and dem guilty or guiltless, all within its range bank, feel the blind justice of its sure revenge. and scarecrow pontiffs, never brve ruet ranks, still scenes like these the moving chart your thews united could, at once, rell reveals. the joutled pation to its primal trus l'p the long western steppes the blighting nay, were you simply steadfast, mans.co. steals; true to the faith your fathers left i down the pacific slope the evil fate if stainless honor outweighed in our glides like a shadow to the golden gate : a codtish quintal or a factory bale, from sea to sea the drear eclipse is thrown, full many a noble heart, (and sub the panorama 327 own. wave in all the south, like lot in siddim's plain, “grant that the north 's insulted, who watch and wait, and from the wrong's scorned, betrayed, control o'erreached in bargains with her neighbor keep white and pure their chastity of soul,) made, now sick to loathing of your weak comwhen selfish thrift and party held the scales plaints, for peddling dicker, not for honest sales, your tricks as sinners, and your prayers as whom shall we strike ? who most desaints, serves our blame ? would half-way meet the frankness of your the braggart southron, open in his aim, tone, and bold as wicked, crashing straight and feel their pulses beating with your through all that bars his purpose, like a cannon-ball ? or the mean traitor, breathing northern "the north ! the south ! no geographic air, line with nasal speech and puritanic hair, can fix the boundary or the point define, whose cant the loss of principle survives, since each with each so closely interblends, as the mud-turtle e'en its head outlives ; where slavery rises, and where freedom who, caught, chin buried in some foul ends. offence, beneath your rocks the roots, far-reaching, puts on a look of injured innocence, hide and consecrates his baseness to the cause of the fell upas on the southern side ; of constitution, union, and the laws ? the tree whose branches in your north winds “praise to the place-man who can hold dropped its young blossoms on mount aloof vernon's grave; his still unpurchased manhood, officethe nursing growth of monticello's crest, proof is now the glory of the free northwest ; who on his round of duty walks erect, to the wise maxims of her olden school and leaves it only rich in self-respect ; virginia listened from thy lips, rantoul ; as more maintained his virtue's lofty port seward's words of power, and sumner's in the eighth henry's base and bloody fresh renown, flow from the pen that jefferson laid down ! but, if exceptions here and there are found, and when, at length, her years of madness who tread thus safely on enchanted ground, o'er, the normal type, the fitting symbol still like the crowned grazer on euphrates' of those who fatten at the public mill, shore, is the chained dog beside his master's door, from her long lapse to savagery, her mouth or circe's victim, feeding on all four ! bitter with baneful herbage, turns the south, “give me the heroes who, at tuck of resumes her old attire, and seeks to smooth drum, her unkempt tresses at the glass of truth, salute thy staff, immortal quattlebum ! her early faith shall find a tongue again, or they who, doubly armed with vote and new wythes and pinckneys swell that old gun, refrain, following thy lead, illustrious atchison, her sons with yours renew the ancient their drunken franchise shift from scene pact, to scene, the myth of union prove at last a fact ! as tile-beard jourdan did his guillotine ! then, if one murmur mars the wide conrather than him who, born beneath our tent, skies, some northern lip will drawl the last disto slavery's hand its supplest tool supsent, plies ; some union-saving patriot of your own the party felon whose unblushing face lament to find his occupation gone. looks from the pillory of his bribe of place, court. a 328 anti-slavery poems rave saves and coolly makes a merit of disgrace, “such are the men who in your (kurios points to the foot marks of indignant scorn, shows the deep scars of satire's tossing to swearing-point, at mention of the slave' horn ; when some poor parson, haply unawar's and passes to his credit side the sum stammers of freedom in his timid prayer of all that makes a scoundrel's martyrwho, if some foot-sore begro thringt i dom! town steals northward, volunteer to hunt ki “ bane of the north, its canker and its down. moth ! or, if some neighbor, flying from disse these modern esaus, bartering rights for courts the mild balsam of the souther broth! breeze, taxing our justice, with their double claim, with hue and cry pursue him on his tra i as fools for pity, and as knaves for blame ; and write free-soiler on the poor mai who, urged by party, sect, or trade, within back. the fell embrace of slavery's sphere of such are the men who leave the pp. sin, cart, part at the outset with their moral sense, while faring south, to learn the drive's the watchful angel set for truth's defence ; art, confound all contrasts, good and ill; reor, in white neckcloth, soothe with you verse aim the poles of life, its blessing and its curse ; the graceful sorrows of some lassins and lose thenceforth from their perverted dame, sight who, from the wreck of her bereare m-**, the eternal difference 'twixt the wrong and right; the double charm of widow hond 4: ! to them the law is but the iron span slaves ! that girds the ankles of imbruted man ; pliant and apt, they lose no chance to sl.. to them the gospel has no higher aim to what base depths aposta«s can ; than simple sanction of the master's claim, outdo the natives in their readiness dragged in the slime of slavery's loathto roast a negro, or to mob a pres; some trail, poise a tarred schoolmate on the lyukle:) like chalier's bible at his ass's tail ! rail, or make a bonfire of their birthplace usi “such are the men who, with instinctive dread, “so some poor wretch, whose lips whenever freedom lifts her drooping head, longer bear make prophet-tripods of their office-stools, the sacred burden of his mother's pharet and scare the nurseries and the village by fear impelled, or lust of gold rit. vi. schools turns to the crescent from the (tas with dire presage of ruin grim and great, christ, a broken union and a foundered state ! and, overacting in superfluous zeal, such are the patriots, self-bound to the crawls prostrate where the faithiul. stake kneel, of office, martyrs for their country's sake: out-how's the dervish, hngs his rig: who fill themselves the hungry jaws of court fate, the squalid santon's sanctity of dirt ; and by their loss of manhood save the and, when beneath the city gateways state. files slow and long the meccan cararea in the wide gulf themselves like curtius and through its midst, punued by isa. throw, prayers, and test the virtues of cohesive dough ; the prophet's word some farored eze as tropic monkeys, linking heads and tails, bears, bridge o'er some torrent of ecuador's the marked apostate has his place ale asཝ་ལམ་ vales ! the koran-bearer's sacred rump box2.n. the panorama 329 the north-wind's anger, and the southwind's sigh, the midnight sword-dance of the northern sky, and, to the ear that bends above the sod of the green grave-mounds in the fields of god, in low, deep murmurs of rebuke or cheer, the land's dead fathers speak their hope or fear, yet let not passion wrest from reason's hand the guiding rein and symbol of command. blame not the caution proffering to your zeal a well-meant drag upon its hurrying wheel ; nor chide the man whose honest doubt extends to the means only, not the righteous ends ; nor fail to weigh the scruples and the fears of milder natures and serener years. in the long strife with evil which began with the first lapse of new-created man, wisely and well has providence assigned to each his part, — some forward, some behind; with brush and pitcher following, grave and mute, in meek attendance on the holy brute ! “men of the north ! beneath your very eyes, by hearth and home, your real danger lies. still day by day some hold of freedom falls through home-bred traitors fed within its walls. men whom yourselves with vote and purse sustain, at posts of honor, influence, and gain ; the right of slavery to your sons to teach, and • south-side' gospels in your pulpits preach, transfix the law to ancient freedom dear on the sharp point of her subverted spear, and imitate upon her cushion plump the mad missourian lynching from his stump ; or, in your name, upon the senate's floor yield up to slavery all it asks, and more ; and, ere your dull eyes open to the cheat, sell your old homestead underneath your feet! while such as these your loftiest outlooks bold, while truth and conscience with your wares are sold, while grave-browed merchants band themselves to aid an annual man-hunt for their southern trade, what moral power within your grasp remains to stay the mischief on nebraska's plains ? high as the tides of generous impulse flow, as far rolls back the selfish undertow ; and all your brave resolves, though aimed as true as the horse-pistol balmawhapple drew, to slavery's bastions lend as slight a shock as the poor trooper's shot to stirling rock! * yet, while the need of freedom's cause demands the earnest efforts of your hearts and hands, urged by all motives that can prompt the heart το prayer and toil and manhood's manliest part ; though to the soul's deep tocsin nature joins the warning whisper of her orphic pines, and they, too, serve who temper and restrain the o'erwarm heart that sets on fire the brain. true to yourselves, feed freedom's altarflame with what you have ; let others do the same. spare timid doubters ; set like flint your face against the self-sold knaves of gain and place : pity the weak ; but with usparing hand cast out the traitors who infest the land ; from bar, press, pulpit, cast them everywhere, by dint of fasting, if you fail by prayer. and in their place bring men of antique mould, like the grave fathers of your age of gold ; statesmen like those who sought the primal fount of righteous law, the sermon on the mount ; lawyers who prize, like quincy, (to our day still spared, heaven bless him!) honor more than pay, and christian jurists, starry-pure, like jay ; preachers like woolman, or like them who bore 330 anti-slavery poems the faith of wesley to our western shore, and one long rolling fire of triumph run and beld no convert genuine till he broke between the sunrise and the sunset gun!" alike his servants' and the devil's yoke ; and priests like him who newport's market trod, my task is done. the showman and le and o'er its slave-ships shook the bolts of show, god ! themselves but shadows, into shadows go, so shall your power, with a wise prudence and, if no song of idlesse i have sung, used, nor tints of beauty on the canvas tung: strong but forbearing, firm but not abused, if the harsh numbers grate on tender res in kindly keeping with the good of all, and the rough picture overwrought aſupan the nobler maxims of the past recall, with deeper coloring, with a sterne. her natural home-born right to freedom before my soul a voice and vision perde give, such as might milton's jarring trump to and leave her foe his robber-right, – to live. quire, live, as the snake does in his noisome fen! or glooms of dante fringed with lard live, as the wolf does in bis bone-strewn oh, not of choice, for themes of pathe win: den ! i leave the green and pleasant paths of live, clothed with cursing like a robe of the mild, sweet words which soften flame, adorn, the focal point of million-fingered shame ! for sharp rebuke and bitter langh of sny live, till the southron, who, with all his more dear to me some song of private web faults, some homely idyl of my native sortie has manly instincts, in his pride revolts, some summer pastoral of ber iniand van dashes from off him, midst the glad world's or, grim and weird, her winter tirre cheers, tales the hideous nightmare of his dream of haunted by ghosts of nnretuming sale years, lost barks at parting hung from ten and lifts, self-prompted, with his own right helm hand, with prayers of love like dreams on 1.16 the vile encumbrance from his glorious elm. land ! nor private grief nor malice holds av pea i owe but kindness to my fellow-ren: “so, wheresoe'er our destiny sends forth and, south or north, wherever daearts i its widening circles to the south or north, prayer where'er our banner flaunts beneath the their woes and weakness to our fat berben stars wherever fruits of christian love arr fue its mimic splendors and its clondlike bars, in holy lives, to me is holy ground. there shall free labor's hardy children but the time passes. it wer vain to cart stand a late indulgence. what i had i gave the equal sovereigns of a slaveless land. forget the poet, but his warning beetha and when at last the hunted bison tires, and shame his poor word with your nadir and dies o'ertaken by the squatter's fires ; deed. and westward, wave on wave, the living flood breaks on the snow-line of majestic hood ; on a prayer-book and lonely shasta listening hears the tread of europe's fair-baired children, hesperwith its frontispit( e. ary shefy1). led ; *christi's consolator," anerkan and, gazing downward through his boarized by the omission of the bli locks, sees mas the tawny asian climb his giant knees, it is hardly to be creditrd. vet is trot the eastern sea shall hush his waves to in the an viety of the northern metra hear conciliate his southern customer, a pesa" pacific's surf-beat answer freedom's cheer, was found ready thus to mutilate sebatte: on a prayer-book 331 are moved by flattery's oil of tongue alone ; that in the scale eternal justice bears the generous deed weighs less than selfish prayers, and words intoned with graceful unction move the eternal goodness more than lives of truth and love. alas, the church! the reverend head of jay, enhaloed with its saintly silvered hair, adorns no more the places of her prayer ; and brave young tyng, too early called away, troubles the haman of her courts no more picture. he intended his edition for use in the southern states undoubtedly, but copies fell into the hands of those who believed literally in a gospel which was to preach liberty to the captive. 0 ary scheffer ! when beneath thine eye, touched with the light that cometh from above, grew the sweet picture of the dear lord's love, no dream hadst thou that christian hands would tear therefrom the token of his equal care, and make thy symbol of his truth a lie ! the poor, dumb slave whose shackles fall away in his compassionate gaze, grubbed smoothly out, to mar no more the exercise devout of sleek oppression kneeling down to pray where the great oriel stains the sabbath day ! let whoso can before such praying-books kneel on his velvet cushion; i, for one, would sooner bow, a parsee, to the sun, or tend a prayer-wheel in thibetar brooks, or beat a drum on yedo's temple-floor. no falser idol man has bowed before, in indian groves or islands of the sea, than that which through the quaintcarved gothic door looks forth, -a church without humanity! patron of pride, and prejudice, and wrong, the rich man's charm and fetich of the strong, the eternal fulness meted, clipped, and shorn, the seamless robe of equal mercy torn, the dear christ hidden from his kindred flesh, and, in his poor ones, crucified afresh! better the simple lama scattering wide, where sweeps the storm alechan's steppes along, his paper horses for the lost to ride, and wearying buddha with his prayers to make the figures living for the traveller's sake, than he who hopes with cheap praise to begnile the ear of god, dishonoring man the while ; who dreams the pearl gate's hinges, rusty grown, like the just hebrew at the assyrian's door ; and her sweet ritual, beautiful but dead as the dry husk from which the grain is shed," and holy hymns from which the life devout of saints and martyrs has wellnigh gone out, like candles dying in exhausted air, for sabbath use in measured grists are ground; and, ever while the spiritual mill goes round, between the upper and the nether stones, unseen, unheard, the wretched bondman groans, and urges his vain plea, prayer-smothered, anthem-drowned ! o heart of mine, keep patience! looking forth, as from the mount of vision, i behold, pure, just, and free, the church of christ on earth; the martyr's dream, the golden age foretold ! and found, at last, the mystic graal i see, brimmed with his blessing, pass from lip to lip in sacred pledge of human fellowship ; and over all the songs of angels hear ; songs of the love that casteth out all fear; songs of the gospel of humanity! lo! in the midst, with the same look he wore, healing and blessing on gennesaret's shore, 332 anti-slavery poems folding together, with the all tender might of his great love, the dark hands and the white, stands the consoler, soothing every pain, making all burdens light, and breaking every chain. the summons (after publishing this poem whittier wrote to lucy larcom: "i do not quite like the tone of the summons now that it is published. it was, however, an expression of a state of mind which thee would regard as pardonable if thee knew all the circumstances. it is too complaining, and i hope i shall not be left to do such a thing again.") my ear is full of summer sounds, of summer sights my languid eye ; beyond the dusty village bounds i loiter in my daily rounds, and in the noon-time shadows lie. to william h. seward on the 12th of january, ini, mrvard delivered in the senate chamber a speech on the state of the union, in which be tarpeiden paramount duty of peserving the l'nü, sai went as far as it was possible to go, siehe : surrender of principles, in concessd seas to : southern party. statesman, i thank thee ! and, if needs sent mingles, reluctant, with my large content, i cannot censure what was nobly meant. but, while constrained to hold even l'eda less than liberty and truth and rightrouver i thank tbee in the sweet and body mase of peace, for wise calm words that pul to shame passion and party. courage teay be buna not in detiance of the wrong albe; he may be bravest who, unweapmied, lean the olive branch, and, strong in je spares the rash wrong-doer, giving widest super to christian charity and genera lo que if, without damage to the sacred (52 of freedom and the safeguard u lawsif, without yielding that for which we we prize the l'nion, thou canst autº from a baptism of blood, upon the bir a wreath whose tlowers no earth! have known, woven of the beatitudes, shall ret and the peacemaker be forever bles! now i hear the wild bee wind his horn, the bird swings on the ripened wheat, the long green lances of the corn are tilting in the winds of morn, the locust shrills his song of heat. another sound my spirit hears, a deeper sound that drowns them all ; a voice of pleading choked with tears, the call of human hopes and fears, the macedonian cry to paul ! the storm-bell rings, the trumpet blows; i know the word and countersign ; wherever freedom's vanguard goes, where stand or fall her friends or foes, i know the place that should be mine. shamed be the hands that idly fold, and lips that woo the reed's accord, when lagunrd time the hour has tolled for true with false and new with old to fight the battles of the lord ! () brothers ! blest by partial fate with power to match the will and deed, to him your summons comes too late who sinks beneath his armor's weight, and has no answer but god-speed ! ix wir time to samuel e. sewall av! harriet w. sewall of melrose these lines to my old friends s** cation in the volume which canta.-d... tion of pieces under the gun tal til iar time. the group bloning 4.1".' under that title i have record bo other pieces in the volume are distr:. among the appropriate divisions. a word for the hour 333 our feet are seamed with crimson scars, thy will be done ! olor iscanus queries : “why should we l'ex at the land's ridiculous miserie ?" so on his usk banks, in the blood-red dawn of england's civil strife, did careless vaughan bemock his times. o friends of many if, for the age to come, this hour of trial hath vicarious power, and, blest by thee, our present pain be liberty's eternal gain, thy will be done ! years! strike, thou the master, we thy keys, the anthem of the destinies ! the minor of thy loftier strain, our hearts shall breathe the old refrain, thy will be done ! though faith and trust are stronger than our fears, and the signs promise peace with liberty, not thus we trifle with our country's tears and sweat of agony. the future's gain is certain as god's truth ; but, meanwhile, pain is bitter and tears are salt : our voices take a sober tone ; our very bousehold songs are heavy with a nation's griefs and wrongs ; and innocent mirth is chastened for the sake of the brave hearts that nevermore shall beat, the eyes that smile no more, the unreturning feet! a word for the hour thy will be done we see not, know not ; all our way is night, with thee alone is day : from out the torrent's troubled drift, above the storm our prayers we lift, thy will be done ! *the flesh may fail, the heart may faint, but who are we to make complaint, or dare to plead, in times like these, the weakness of our love of ease ? thy will be done ! the firmament breaks up. in black eclipse light after light goes out. one evil star, luridly glaring through the smoke of war, as in the dream of the apocalypse, drags others down. let us not weakly weep nor rashly threaten. give us grace to keep our faith and patience ; wherefore should we leap on one hand into fratricidal fight, or, on the other, yield eternal right, frame lies of law, and good and ill confound ? what fear we ? safe on freedom's vantageground our feet are planted : let us there remain in unrevengeful calm, no means untried which truth can sanction, no just claim denied, the sad spectators of a suicide ! they break the links of union : shall we light the fires of hell to weld anew the chain on that red anvil where each blow is pain ? draw we not even now a freer breath, as from our shoulders falls a load of death loathsome as that the tuscan's victim bore when keen with life to a dead horror bound? why take we up the accursed thing again? pity, forgive, but urge them back no more who, drunk with passion, flaunt disunion's rag with its vile reptile-blazon. let us press the golden cluster on our brave old flag in closer union, and, if numbering less, brighter shall shine the stars which still remain. a we take with solemn thankfulness our burden up, nor ask it less, and count it joy that even we may suffer, serve, or wait for thee, whose will be done ! though dim as yet in tint and line, we trace thy picture's wise design, and thank thee that our age supplies its dark relief of sacrifice. thy will be done ! and if, in our unworthiness, thy sacrificial wine we press; if from thy ordeal's heated bars 334 anti-slavery poems 1 “ein feste burg ist unser gott" luther's hymn we wait beneath the furnace-blast the pangs of transformation ; not painlessly doth god recast and mould anew the nation. hot burns the fire where wrongs expire ; nor spares the hand that from the land uproots the ancient evil. the hand-breadth clond the sages feared its bloody rain is dropping ; the poison plant the fathers spared all else is overtopping: east, west, south, north, it curses the earth; all justice dies, and fraud and lies live only in its shadow. what gives the wheat-field blades of steel ? what points the rebel cannon ? what sets the roaring rabble's heel on the old star-spangled pennon ? what breaks the oath of the men o' the south ? what whets the knife for the union's life ? hark to the answer : slavery ! then waste no blows on lesser foes in strife unworthy freemen. god lifts to-lay the veil, and shows the features of the demon ! ( north and south, its victims both, can ye not cry, * let slavery die !" and union find in freedom ? what though the cast-out spirit tear the nation in his going? we who have shared the guilt must share the pang of his o'erthrowing ! whate'er the loss, whate'er the cross, shall they complain of present pain who trust in god's hereafter ? for who that leans on his right arm was ever yet forsaken? what righteous cause can suffer harm if he its part has taken ? though wild and loud, and dark the cloud, behind its folds his hand upholds the calm sky of to-morrow! above the maddening cry for blood, above the wild war-drumming, let freedom's voice be heard, with gowe the evil overcoming. give prayer and purse to stay the curse whose wrong we share, whose shame we bear, whose end shall gladden heaven! in vain the bells of war shall ring of triumphs and revenges, while still is spared the evil thing that severs and estranges. but blest the ear that yet shall hear the jubilant bell that rings the knell of slavery forever! then let the selfish lip be dumh, and hushed the breath of sighing: before the joy of peace must come the pains of purifying. god give us grace each in his place to bear his lot, and, murmuring not, endure and wait and labor ! to john c. fremont on the 31st of august, 1-11. general f mont, then in charge of the western i. ment, issued a proclamation which entaba clause, famous as the first annunc et er emancipation : "the property," it deia "real and personal, of all persons in the 20* of missouri, who shall take up arms arias le l'nited states, or who shall be directly pro v to have taken active part with their ebethe field, is declard to be contiecated to them public use; and their slaves, if any the bar are hereby declared free wen." mr. liberalerna the watchers 333 regarded the proclamation as premature and countermanded it, after vainly endeavoring to persuade frémont of his own motion to revoke it. two angels, each with drooping head and folded wings and noiseless tread, watched by that valley of the dead. the one, with forehead saintly bland and lips of blessing, not command, leaned, weeping, on her olive wand. the other's brows were scarred and knit, his restless eyes were watch-fires lit, his hands for battle-gauntlets fit. thy error, frémont, simply was to act a brave man's part, without the statesman's tact, and, taking counsel but of common sense, to strike at cause as well as consequence. oh, never yet since roland wound his horn at roncesvalles, has a blast been blown far-heard, wide-echoed, startling as thine own, heard from the van of freedom's hope forlorn! it had been safer, doubtless, for the time, to flatter treason, and avoid offence to that dark power whose underlying crime heaves upward its perpetual turbulence. but if thine be the fate of all who break the ground for truth's seed, or forerun “ how long !” i knew the voice of peace, “is there no respite ? no release ? when shall the hopeless quarrel cease ? “o lord, how long! one human soul is more than any parchment scroll, or any flag thy winds unroll. “what price was ellsworth's, young and brave? how weigh the gift that lyon gave, or count the cost of winthrop's grave ? . their years “o brother ! if thine eye can see, tell how and when the end shall be, what hope remains for thee and me." till lost in distance, or with stout hearts make a lane for freedom through the level spears, still take thou courage ! god has spoken through thee, irrevocable, the mighty words, be free ! the land shakes with them, and the slave's dull ear turns from the rice-swamp stealthily to hear. who would recall them now must first arrest the winds that blow down from the free northwest, ruffling the gulf; or like a scroll roll back the mississippi to its upper springs. sach words fulfil their prophecy, and lack but the full time to harden into things. then freedom sternly said : "i shun no strife nor pang beneath the sun, when buman rights are staked and won. “i knelt with ziska's hunted flock, i watched in toussaint's cell of rock, i walked with sidney to the block. a “the moor of marston felt my tread, through jersey snows the march i led, my voice magenta's charges sped. the watchers beside a stricken field i stood ; on the torn turf, on grass and wood, hung heavily the dew of blood. still in their fresh mounds lay the slain, bat all the air was quick with pain and gusty sighs and tearful rain. “ but now, through weary day and night, i watch a vague and aimless fight for leave to strike one blow aright. “ on either side my foe they own : one guards through love his ghastly throne, and one through fear to reverence grown. “why wait we longer, mocked, betrayed, by open foes, or those afraid to speed thy coming through my aid ? 66 336 anti-slavery poems why watch to see who win or fall ? i shake the dust against them all, i leave them to their senseless brawl.” 66 "nay,” peace implored : " yet longer wait ; the doom is near, the stake is great : god knoweth if it be too late. still wait and watch ; the way prepare where i with folded wings of prayer may follow, weaponless and bare." “ too late !" the stern, sad voice replied, too late!” its mournful echo sighed. in low lament the answer died. a rustling as of wings in flight, an upward gleam of lessening white, so passed the vision, sound and sight. but round me, like a silver bell rung down the listening sky to tell of holy help, a sweet voice fell. “still hope and trust," it sang ; "the rod must fall, the wine-press must be trod, but all is possible with god ! ” lo ! – presto, change! its claims toe urge, send greetings to it o'er the surge, and comfort and protect it. but yesterday you scarce could shake, in slave-abborring rigor, our northern palms for conscience' sake to-lay you clasp the hands that ache with“ walloping the nigger!" () englishmen!-in hope and creed, in blood and tongrie our brothers! we too are heirs of runnymede ; and shakespeare's fame and cromweis deed are not alune our mother's. “ thicker than water," in one rill through centuries of story our saxon blood has flowed, and still we share with you its good and ill, the shadow and the glory. joint heirs and kinfolk, leagues of vare nor length of years can part us: your right is ours to shrine and grave, the common freehold of the brave, the gift of saints and martyrs. our very sins and follies teach our kindred frail and human : we carp at faults with bitter speerb, the while, for one unshared by each, we have a score in common. we bowed the heart, if not the knee, to england's queen, god bless ber' we praised you when your slaves were free: we seek to nncbain ours. will re join hands with the oppressor : and is it christian england cheers the bruiser, not the bruined ? and must she run, despite the tears and prayers of eighteen hundred years amuck in slavery's crusade? oh, black disgrace! oh, shame aral kums too deep for tongue to phrase on! tear from your tiag its holy cros, and in your van of battle foss the pirate's skull-bobe blazon ! to englishmen written when, in the stress of our terrible war, the english ruling class, with few exceptions, were either coldly indifferent or hostile to the party of freedom. their attitude was illustrated by caricatures of america, among which was one of a slaveholder and cowhide, with the motto, haven't i a right to wallop my nigger?" you flung your taunt across the wave ; we bore it as became us, well knowing that the fettered slave left friendly lips no option save to pity or to blame us. you scoffed our plea. “ mere lack of will. not lack of power," you told us : we showed our free-state records ; still you mocked, confounding good and ill, slave-haters and slaveholders. we struck at slavery ; to the verge of power and means we checked it; at port royal 337 mithridates at chios of slaves uprising, freedom-crowned, to break, not wield, the scourge wet with their blood and tears. at port royal it is recorded that the chians, when subjugated by mithridates of cappadocia, were delivered up to their own slaves, to be carried away captive to colchis. athenæus considers this a just punishment for their wickedness in first introducing the slave-trade into greece. from this ancient villainy of the chians the proverb arose, the chian hath bought himself a master. kxow'st thou, o slave-cursed land ! how, when the chian's cup of guilt was full to overflow, there came god's justice in the sword of flame that, red with slaughter to its hilt, blazed in the cappadocian victor's hand ? in november, 1861, a union force under commodore dupont and general sherman captured port royal, and from this point as a basis of operations the neighboring islands between charleston and savannah were taken possession of. the early occupation of this district, where the negro population was greatly in excess of the white, gave an opportunity which was at once seized upon, of practically emancipating the slaves and of beginning that work of civilization which was accepted as the grave responsibility of those who had labored for freedom. the heavens are still and far ; but, not unheard of awful jove, the sighing of the island slave was answered, when the ægean wave the keels of mithridates clove, and the vines shrivelled in the breath of war. the tent-lights glimmer on the land, the ship-lights on the sea ; the night-wind smooths with drifting sand our track on lone tybee. at last our grating keels outslide, our good boats forward swing ; and while we ride the land-locked tide, our negroes row and sing. “robbers of chios ! hark," the victor cried, “to heaven's decree ! pluck your last cluster fro the vine, drain your last cup of chian wine ; slaves of your slaves, your doom shall be, in colchian mines by phasis rolling dark.” then rose the long lament from the hoar sea-god's dusky caves : the priestess rent her hair and cried, “ woe! woe! the gods are sleeplesseyed!" and, chained and scourged, the slaves of slaves, the lords of chios into exile went. for dear the bondman holds his gifts of music and of song : the gold that kindly nature sifts among his sands of wrong ; the power to make his toiling days and poor home-comforts please ; the quaint relief of mirth that plays with sorrow's minor keys. another glow than sunset's fire has filled the west with light, where field and garner, barn and byre, are blazing through the night. “ the gods at last pay well,” so hellas sang her taunting song, “ the fisher in his net is caught, the chian hath his master bought ;" and isle from isle, with laughter long, took up and sped the mocking parable. once more the slow, dumb years bring their avenging cycle round, and, more than hellas taught of old, our wiser lesson shall be told, the land is wild with fear and hate, the rout runs mad and fast ; from hand to hand, from gate to gate the flaming brand is passed. the lurid glow falls strong across dark faces broad with smiles : not theirs the terror, hate, and loss that fire yon blazing piles. 338 anti-slavery poems with oar-strokes timing to their song, they weave in simple lays the pathos of remembered wrong, the hope of better days, the triumph-note that miriam sung, the joy of uncaged birds : softening with afric's mellow tongue their broken saxon words. so, like de 'postles in de jail, we waited for de lord : an' now he open ebery door, an' trow away de key; he tink we lub him so before, we lub him better free. de yam will grow, de cotton blow, lle 'll gib de rice an' corn ; ob nebber you fear, if nebber you bees de driver blow his horn! song of the negro boatmen oh, praise an' tanks ! de lord he come to set de people free ; an' massa tink it day ob doom, an' we ob jubilee. de lord dat heap de red sea waves he jusº as trong as den ; he say de word : we las' night slaves ; to-day, de lord's free men. de yam will grow, de cotton blow, we'll hab de rice an' corn ; oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear de driver blow his horn ! so sing our dusky gondoliers; and with a secret pain, and smiles that seem akin to tear, we hear the wild refrain. we dare not share the negro's trust, nor yet his hope deny ; we only know that god is just, and every wrong shall die. rude seems the song ; each swarthy far flame-lighted, ruder still : we start to think that hapless nice must shape our good or ill ; that laws of changeless justice lind oppressor with oppressed; and, close as sin and suffering juined, we march to fate abreast. sing on, poor hearts ! your chant sha! our sign of blight or bloom, the vala-song of liberty, or death-rune of our doom ! ole massa on he trabbels gone ; he leaf de land behind : de lord's breff blow him furder on, like corn-shuck in de wind. we own de hoe, we own de plough, we own de hands dat hold; we sell de pig, we sell de cow, but nebber chile be sold. de yam will grow, de cotton blow, we'll hab de rice an' corn ; oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear de driver blow his horn! astræa at the capito: th abolition of slavery ix trict of coll mia, in: we pray de lord : he gib us signs dat some day we be free ; de norf-wind tell it to de pines, de wild-duck to de sea ; we tink it when de church-bell ring, we dream it in de dream; de rice-bire mean it when he sing, de eagle when he scream. de vam will grow, de cotton blow, we'll hab de rice an' corn ; oh nebber you fear, if nebber you bear de driver blow his horn! we know de promise nebber fail, an' nebber lie de word ; [the reference in the fourth stane sť reuben crandall of washington dunn was arrested and contined in the entry pro until his health was destrutud. his in lending to a brother physician wa **** pamphlet justice and erdenaje wrex first i saw our banner ware above the nation's councilla!1. i heard beneath its marble mail the clanking fetters of the slasr' the battle autumn of 1862 339 god lays, with wiser hand than man's, the corner-stones of liberty. i cavil not with him : the voice that freedom's blessed gospel tells is sweet to me as silver bells, rejoicing ! yea, i will rejoice! dear friends still toiling in the sun; ye dearer ones who, gone before, are watching from the eternal shore the slow work by your hands begun, in the foul market-place i stood, and saw the christian mother sold, and childhood with its locks of gold, blue-eyed and fair with saxon blood. i shut my eyes, i held my breath, and, smothering down the wrath and shame that set my northern blood aflame, stood silent, where to speak was death. beside me gloomed the prison-cell where wasted one in slow decline for uttering simple words of inine, and loving freedom all too well. the flag that floated from the dome flapped menace in the morning air ; i stood a perilled stranger where the human broker made his home. for crime was virtue : gowu and sword and law their threefold sanction gave, and to the quarry of the slave went hawking with our symbol-bird. rejoice with me! the chastening rod blossoms with love ; the furnace heat grows cool beneath his blessed feet whose form is as the son of god ! rejoice! our marah’s bitter springs are sweetened ; on our ground of grief rise day by day in strong relief the prophecies of better things. rejoice in hope ! the day and night åre one with god, and one with them who see by faith the cloudy hem of judgment fringed with mercy's light ! on the oppressor's side was power ; and yet i knew that every wrong, however old, however strong, but waited god's avenging hour. the battle autumn of 1862 i knew that truth would crush the lie, somehow, some time, the end would be ; yet scarcely dared i hope to see the triumph with my mortal eye. but now i see it! in the sun a free flag floats from yonder dome, and at the nation's hearth and home the justice long delayed is done. not as we hoped, in calm of prayer, the message of deliverance comes, but heralded by roll of drums on waves of battle-troubled air! the flags of war like storm-birds fly, the charging trumpets blow; yet rolls no thunder in the sky, no earthquake strives below. and, calm and patient, nature keeps her ancient promise well, though o'er her bloom and greenness sweeps the battle's breath of hell. midst sounds that madden and appall, the song that bethlehem's shepherds knew ! the harp of david melting through the demon-agonies of saul ! not as we hoped ; but what are we? above our broken dreams and plans and still she walks in golden hours through harvest-happy farms, and still she wears her fruits and flowers like jewels on her arms. what mean the gladness of the plain, this joy of eve and morn, the mirth that shakes the beard of grain and yellow locks of corn ? ah! eyes may well be full of tears, and hearts with hate are hot ; 340 anti-slavery poems we hear no more the driver's born, no more the whip we fear, this holy day that saw thee born was never half so dear. but even-paced come round the years, and nature changes not. she meets with smiles our bitter grief, with songs our groans of pain ; she mocks with tint of flower and leaf the war-field's crimson stain. still, in the cannon's pause, we hear her sweet thanksgiving-psalm ; too near to god for doubt or fear, she shares the eternal calm. she knows the seed lies safe below the tires that blast and burn; for all the tears of blood we sow she waits the rich return. the very oaks are greener clad, the waters brighter smile ; oh, never shone a day so glad on sweet st. helen's isle. we praise thee in our songs to-day, to thee in praver we call, make swift the feet and straight the way of freedom unto all. come once again, o blessed lord ! come walking on the sea ! and let the mainlands hear the word that sets the island free! she sees with clearer eye than ours the good of suffering born, the hearts that blossom like her flowers, and ripen like her corn. oh, give to us, in times like these, the vision of her eyes ; and make her tields and fruited trees our golden prophecies ! oh, give to us her finer ear! above this stormy din, we too would hear the bells of cheer ring peace and freedom in. hymn the proclamation president lincoln's proclanation of emas pation was issued january 1, lami saint patrick, slave to milcho of the herds of ballymena, wakened with these wuris " arise, and flee out from the land of bondage, and be free !" glad as a soul in pain, who beans fra heaven the angels singing of his sins forgiven, and, wondering, sees his prison opening to their golles kers he rose a man who laid him down a las shook from his locks the ashes of the grave. and outward trud into the glorious liberty of gud. lle cast the symbols of his shame awar. and, passing where the sleepung di lay, though back and limb smarted with wrong, he prayed, " gal per don him!” sung at christmas by the scholars of st. helena's island, s. c. [written at the request of the teacher, miss charlotte forten, now mrs. grinké.] oh, none in all the world before were ever glad as we ! we're free on carolina's shore, we're all at home and free. thou friend and helper of the poor, who suffered for our sake, to open every prison door, and every yoke to break! bend low thy pitying free and mild, and help us sing and pray ; the hand that blessed the little child, l'pon our foreheads lay. so went he forth ; but in gol's se ca me to light on l'illine's hills a holy tlstar; and, dying, gave the land a saint that lost him as a slav anniversary poem 341 o dark, sad millions, patiently and dumb but now the cross our worthies bore waiting for god, your hour at last has on us is laid ; come, profession's quiet sleep is o'er, and freedom's song and in the scale of truth once more breaks the long silence of your night of our faith is weighed. wrong ! the cry of innocent blood at last arise and flee! shake off the vile restraint is calling down of ages ; but, like ballymena’s saint, an answer in the whirlwind-blast, the oppressor spare, the thunder and the shadow cast heap only on his head the coals of prayer. from heaven's dark frown. go forth, like him ! like him return again, the land is red with judgments. who to bless the land whereon in bitter pain stands guiltless forth ? ye toiled at first, have we been faithful as we knew, and heal with freedom what your slavery to god and to our brother true, cursed. to heaven and earth ? how faint, through din of merchandise anniversary poem and count of gain, read before the alumni of the friends' have seemed to us the captive's cries ! yearly meeting school, at the annual meeting how far away the tears and sighs at newport, r. i., 15th cth 1863. of souls in pain ! once more, dear friends, you meet beneath this day the fearful reckoning comes a clouded sky : to each and all ; not yet the sword has found its sheath, we hear amidst our peaceful homes and on the sweet spring airs the breath the summons of the conscript drums, of war floats by. the bugle's call. yet trouble springs not from the ground, our path is plain ; the war-net draws nor pain from chance ; round us in vain, the eternal order circles round, while, faithful to the higher cause, and wave and storm find mete and bound we keep our fealty to the laws in providence. through patient pain. mo., the levelled gun, the battle-brand, we may not take : but, calmly loyal, we can stand and suffer with our suffering land for conscience' sake. full long our feet the flowery ways of peace have trod, content with creed and garb and phrase : a harder path in earlier days led up to god. too cheaply truths, once purchased dear, are made our own ; too long the world has smiled to hear our boast of full corn in the ear by others sown; to see us stir the martyr fires of long ago, and wrap our satisfied desires in the singed mantles that our sires have dropped below. why ask for ease where all is pain ? shall we alone be left to add our gain to gain, when over armageddon's plain the trump is blown ? to suffer well is well to serve ; safe in our lord the rigid lines of law shall curve to spare us ; from our heads shall swerve its smiting sword. 342 anti-slavery poems barbara frietchie and light is mingled with the gloom, and joy with grief ; divinest compensations come, through thorns of judgment mercies bloom in sweet relief. . thanks for our privilege to bless, by word and deed, the widow in her keen distress, the childless and the fatherless, the hearts that bleed ! for fields of duty, opening wide, where all our powers are tasked the eager steps to guide of millions on a path untried : the slave is ours ! ours by traditions dear and old, which make the race our wards to cherish and uphold, and cast their freedom in the mould of christian grace. and we may tread the sick-bed floors where strong men pine, and, down the groaning corridors, pour freely from our liberal stores the oil and vine. this poem was written in strict confirmat to the account of the incident as i had it fra respectable and trustworthy sources it km since been the subject of a good deal of een flicting testimony, and the story was prutales incorrect in some of its details. it is admin?" by all that barbara frietehie was no myth," a worthy and highly esteemed grote en intensely loyal and a hater of the slavery le bellion, holding her l'nion flag saited sa keeping it with her bible; that when the most federates halted before her house, and air her doorvard, she denonnced them in tiga language, shook her cane in their imma drove them out; and when general bure troops followed close upon jackson's she want her flag and cheered them. it is stated that may quantrell, a brave and loval iady in a other part of the city, did wave her txa sight of the confederates. it is possible that there has been a blending of the two index ['p from the meadows rich with coria, clear in the cool september morn, the clustered spires of frederick stand green-walled by the hills of maryland. round about them orchards sweep, apple and peach tree fruited deep fair as the garden of the lord to the eyes of the famished rebel burde, on that pleasant morn of the early fan when lee marched over the mantas wall ; over the mountains winding down, horse and foot, into frederick tout. forty flags with their silver stars, forty flags with their crimson bars, flapped in the morning wind: the sun of noon looked down, and saw but use. l'p rose old barbara frietehie thea, bowed with her fourscore years and tea. bravest of all in frederick town, she took up the flag the men hauled dors, who murmurs that in these dark days his lot is cast ? god's hand within the shadow lays the stones whereon his gates of praise shall rise at last. turn and o'erturn, ( outstretched hand ! nor stint, nor stay ; the years have never dropped their sand on mortal issue vast and grand as ours to-day. already, on the sable ground of man's despair is freedom's glorious picture found, with all its dusky hands unbound u praised in prayer. oh, small shall seem all sacrifice and pain and loss, when god shall wipe the weeping eyes, for suffering give the victor's prize, the crown for cross ! what the birds said 343 in her attic window the staff she set, to show that one heart was loyal yet. peace and order and beauty draw round thy symbol of light and law; and ever the stars above look down on thy stars below in frederick town! c'p the street came the rebel tread, stonewall jackson riding ahead. cnder his slouched hat left and right he glanced ; the old flag met his sight. what the birds said 66 halt!" the dust-brown ranks stood fast. "fire !" out blazed the rifle-blast. the birds against the april wind flew northward, singing as they flew; they sang, “ the land we leave behind has swords for corn-blades, blood for dew." it shivered the window, pane and sash ; it rent the banner with seam and gash. quick, as it fell, from the broken staff dame barbara snatched the silken scarf. “o wild-birds, flying from the south, what saw and heard ye, gazing down ? ” “ we saw the mortar's upturned mouth, the sickened camp, the blazing town! she leaned far out on the window-sill, and shook it forth with a royal will. "shoot, if you must, this old but spare your country's flag,” she said. a shade of sadness, a blush of shame, over the face of the leader came ; gray head, “beneath the bivouac's starry lamps, we saw your march-worn children die ; in shrouds of moss, in cypress swamps, we saw your dead uncoffined lie. “we heard the starving prisoner's sighs and saw, from line and trench, your sons the nobler nature within him stirred to life at that woman's deed and word ; “ who touches a hair of yon gray head dies like a dog! march on ?” he said. all day long through frederick street sounded the tread of marching feet: all day long that free flag tost over the heads of the rebel host. follow our flight with home-sick eyes beyond the battery's smoking guns.” “ and heard and saw ye only wrong and pain," i cried, “o wing worn flocks ?” “we heard,” they sang, “the freedman's song, the crash of slavery's broken locks ! ever its torn folds rose and fell on the loyal winds that loved it well ; and through the hill-gaps sunset light shone over it with a warm good-night. barbara frietchie's work is o'er, and the rebel rides on his raids no more, “we saw from new, uprising states the treason-nursing mischief spurned, as, crowding freedom's ample gates, the long-estranged and lost returned. “o'er dusky faces, seamed and old, and hands horn-hard with unpaid toil, with hope in every rustling fold, we saw your star-dropt flag uncoil. “ and struggling up through sounds accursed, a grateful murmur clomb the air ; a whisper scarcely heard at first, it filled the listening heavens with prayer. honor to her ! and let a tear fall, for her sake, on stonewall's bier. over barbara frietchie's grave, flag of freedom and union, wave ! 344 anti-slavery poems a “ and sweet and far, as from a star, replied a voice which shall not cease, till, drowning all the noise of war, it sings the blessed song of peace !" so to me, in a doubtful day of chill and slowly greening spring, low stooping from the cloudy gray, the wild-birds sang or seemed to sing. they vanished in the misty air, the song went with them in their flight ; but lo! they left the sunset fair, and in the evening there was light. the mantle of st. john de matha a legend of "the red, white, and blue," a. d. 1154-1804 a strong and mighty angel, calm, terrible, and bright, the cross in blended red and blue l'pon his mantle white ! two captives by him kneeling, each on his broken chain, sang praise to god who raiseth the dead to life again! dropping his cross-wronght mantle, "wear this," the angel said ; “ take thou, o freedom's priest, its sign, – the white, the blue, and red." 66 but, torn by paynim hatred, her sails in tatters hung; and on the wild waves, rudderless, a shattered bulk she swung. “god save us !” cried the captain, “for naught can man avail ; oh, woe betide the ship that lacks her rudder and her sail ! “ behind us are the moormen ; at sea we sink or strand : there's death upon the water, there's death upon the land ! " then up spake john de matha : “god's errands never fail! take thou the mantle which i wear, and make of it a sail." they raised the cross-wrought mantle the blue, the white, the red ; and straight before the wind off-bore the ship of freedom sped. “god help us !” cried the seamen, for vain is mortal skill : the good ship on a stormy sea is drifting at its will." then up spake john de matha: my mariners, never fear! the lord whose breath has filled kes sail may well our vessel steer!" so on through storm and darkness they drove for weary hours ; and lö! the third gray morning shooe on ostia's friendly towers. and on the walls the watchers the ship of mercy knew,they knew far off its holy cross, the red, the white, and blue. and the bells in all the steeples rang out in glad accord, to welcome home to christian soi the ransomed of the lord. so runs the ancient legend by bard and painter told ; and lo! the cycle rounds again, the new is as the old ! 66 then rose up john de matha in the strength the lord christ gave, and begged through all the land of france the ransom of the slave. the gates of tower and castle before him open tlew, the drawbridge at his coming fell, the door-wolt backward drew. for all men owned his errand, and paid his righteous tax; and the hearts of lord and peasant were in his hands as wax. at last, ontbound from tunis, his bark her anchor weighed, freighted with seven-score christian souls whose ransom he had paid. laus deo 345 with rudder foully broken, and sails by traitors torn, our country on a midnight sea is waiting for the morn. laus deo! before her, nameless terror ; behind, the pirate foe ; the clouds are black above her, the sea is white below. on hearing the bells ring on the passage of the constitutional amendment abolishing slavery. the resolution was adopted by congress, january 31, 1863. the ratification by the requisite number of states was announced december 18, 1865. [the suggestion came to the poet as he sat in the friends' meeting-house in amesbury, where he was present at the regular fifthday meeting all sat in silence, but on his return to his home, he recited a portion of the poem, not yet committed to paper, to his housemates in the garden room. * it wrote itself, or rather sang itself, while the bells rang,' he wrote to lucy larcom.] the hope of all who suffer, the dread of all who wrong, she drifts in darkness and in storm, how long, o lord ! how long ? but courage, o my mariners ! ye shall not suffer wreck, while up to god the freedman's prayers are rising from your deck. is not your sail the banner which god hath blest anew, the mantle that de matha wore, the red, the white, the blue ? it is done ! clang of bell and roar of gun send the tidings up and down. how the belfries rock and reel ! how the great guns, peal on peal, fling the joy from town to town! ring, o bells ! every stroke exulting tells of the burial hour of crime. loud and long, that all may bear, ring for every listening ear of eternity and time ! its hues are all of heaven, the red of sunset's dye, the whiteness of the moon-lit cloud, the blue of morning's sky. wait cheerily, then, o mariners, for daylight and for land ; the breath of god is in your sail, your rudder is his hand. let us kneel : god's own voice is in that peal, and this spot is holy ground. lord, forgive us! what are we, that our eyes this glory see, that our ears have heard the sound ! sail on, sail on, deep-freighted with blessings and with hopes ; the saints of old with shadowy hands are pulling at your ropes. behind ye holy martyrs uplift the palm and crown; before ye unborn ages send their benedictions down. for the lord on the whirlwind is abroad ; in the earthquake he has spoken ; he has smitten with his thunder the iron walls asunder, and the gates of brass are broken ! take heart from john de matha! god's errands never fail ! sweep on through storm and darkness, the thunder and the hail ! loud and long lift the old exulting song ; sing with miriam by the sea, he has cast the mighty down ; horse and rider sink and drown ; “ he hath triumphed gloriously!” sail on! the morning cometh, the port ye yet shall win ; and all the bells of god shall ring the good ship bravely in! did we dare, in our agony of prayer, ask for more than he has done ? 346 anti-slavery poems when was ever his right hand over any time or land stretched as now beneath the sun ? yet held through all the paths we trod our faith in man and trust in god. how they pale, ancient myth and song and tale, in this wonder of our days, when the cruel rod of war blossoms white with righteous law, and the wrath of man is praise ! we prayed and hoped ; but still, with ate, the coming of the sword we saw; we heard the nearing steps of dorm, we saw the shade of things to come. in grief which they alone can feel who from a mother's wrong appeal, with blended lines of fear and bope we cast our country's horoscope. blotted out! all within and all about shall a fresher life begin ; freer breathe the universe as it rolls its heavy curse on the dead and buried sin ! for still within her house of life we marked the lurid sign of strife, and, poisoning and imbittering all, we saw the star of wormwood fall. deep as our love for her became our hate of all that wrought her shame, and if, thereby, with tongue and ped we erred, we were but mortal men. it is done! in the circuit of the sun shall the sound thereof go forth. it shall bid the sad rejoice, it shall give the dumb a voice, it shall belt with joy the earth ! a ring and swing, bells of joy! on morning's wing send the song of praise abroad ! with a sound of broken chains tell the nations that lle reigns, who alone is lord and god ! we hoped for peace ; our eyes survey the blood-red dawn of freedom's dar: we prayed for love to loose the chain; "t is shorn by battle's axe in twain ! nor skill nor strength nor zeal of ours hlas mined and heaved the hostile towers, not by our hands is turned the key that sets the sighing captives free. a redder sen than egypt's ware is piled and parted for the slave ; a darker cloud moves on in light; a fiercer fire is guide by night! the praise, o lord ! is thine aloue, in thy own way thy work is done! our poor gifts at thy feet we cast, to whom be glory, first and last ! hymn for the celebration of emancipation at newburyport after the war not unto us who did but seek the word that burned within to speak, not unto us this day belong the triumph and exultant song. l'pon us fell in early youth the burden of unwelcome truth, and left us, weak and frail and few, the censor's painful work to do. thenceforth our life a fight became, the air we breathed was hot with blame ; for not with gauged and softened tone we made the bondman's cause our own. we bore, as freedom's hope forlorn, the private hate, the public scorn ; the peace al'tumn written for the essex county agricultura festival, 1805. thank god for rest, where none makes and none can make aímid; for peace that sits as plenty's guest beneath the homestead shade! to the thirty-ninth congress 347 bring pike and gun, the sword's red scourge, the negro's broken chains, and beat them at the blacksmith's forge to ploughshares for our plains. to the thirty-ninth congress alike henceforth our hills of snow, and vales where cotton flowers ; all streams that flow, all winds that blow, are freedom's motive-powers. the thirty-ninth congress was that which met in 1865, after the close of the war, when it was charged with the great question of reconstruction; the uppermost subject in men's minds was the standing of those who had iecently been in arms against the union and their relations to the freedmen. henceforth to labor's chivalry be knightly honors paid ; for nobler than the sword's shall be the sickle's accolade. o people-chosen ! are ye not likewise the chosen of the lord, to do his will and speak his word ? build up an altar to the lord, o grateful hearts of ours ! and shape it of the greenest sward that ever drank the showers. from the loud thunder-storm of war not man alone hath called ye forth, but he, the god of all the earth! lay all the bloom of gardens there, and there the orchard fruits ; bring golden grain from sun and air, from earth her goodly roots. the torch of vengeance in your hands he quenches ; unto him belongs the solemn recompense of wrongs. there let our banners droop and flow, the stars uprise and fall ; our roll of inartyrs, sad and slow, let sighing breezes call. their names let bands of horn and tan and rough-shod feet applaud, who died to make the slave a man, and link with toil reward. enough of blood the land has seen, and not by cell or gallows-stair shall ye the way of god prepare. say to the pardon-seekers : keep your manhood, bend no suppliant knees, nor palter with unworthy pleas. above your voices sounds the wail of starving men; we shut in vain our eyes to pillow's ghastly stain. there let the common heart keep time to such an anthem sung as never swelled on poet's rhyme, or thrilled on singer's tongue. what words can drown that bitter cry? what tears wash out the stain of death ? what oaths confirm your broken faith? song of our burden and relief, of peace and long annoy ; the passion of our mighty grief and our exceeding joy ! a song of praise to him who filled the harvests sown in tears, aud gave each field a double yield to feed our battle-years ! a song of faith that trusts the end to match the good begun, nor doubts the power of love to blend the hearts of men as one! from you alone the guaranty of union, freedom, peace, we claim ; we urge no conqueror's terms of shame. alas ! no victor's pride is ours ; we bend above our triumphs won like david o'er his rebel son. be men, not beggars. cancel all by one brave, generous action ; trust your better instincts, and be just ! make all men peers before the law, take hands from off the negro's throat, give black and white an equal vote. 348 anti-slavery poems keep all your forfeit lives and lands, but give the common law's redress to laboris utter nakedness. revive the old heroic will ; be in the right as brave and strong as ye have proved yourselves in wrong. defeat shall then be victory, your loss the wealth of full amends, and hate be love, and foes be friends. the low reveille of their battle-trum disturbs no morning prayer : with deeper peace in summer noons their hum fills all the drowsy air. and samson's riddle is our own today, of sweetness from the strong, of union, peace, and freedom plucked away from the rent jaws of wrong. from treason's death we draw a pure: life, as, from the beast he slew, a sweetness sweeter for his bitter strife the old-time athlete drew ! then buried be the dreadful past, its common slain be mourned, and let all memories soften to regret. then shall the union's mother-heart her lost and wandering ones recall, forgiving and restoring all, – and freedom break her marble trance above the capitolian dome, stretch hands, and bid ye welcome home! howard at atlanta the hive at gettysburg in the old iiebrew myth the lion's frame, so terrible alive, bleached by the desert's sun and wind, became the wandering wild bees' hive ; and he who, lone and naked-handed, tore those jaws of death apart, in after time drew forth their honeyed store to strengthen his strong heart. dead seemed the legend : but it only slept to wake beneath our sky; just on the spot whence ravening treason crept back to its lair to die, bleeding and torn from freedom's moun. tain bounds, a stained and shattered drum is now the hive where, on their flowery ronnds, the wild bees go and come. unchallenged by a ghostly sentinel, they wander wide and far, along green hillsides, sown with shot and shell, through vales once choked with war. right in the track where sherman ploughed his red furrow, out of the narrow cabin, up from the cellar's burrow, gathered the little black people, with freedom newly dowered, where, beside their northern teacher, stood the soldier, howard. he listened and heard the children of the poor and longenslaved reading the words of jesus, singing the songs of darid. behold ! the dumb lips speaking, the blind eyes seeing ! bones of the prophet's vision warmed into being ! transformed he saw them passing their new life's portal! almost it seemed the mortal put on the immortal. no more with the beasts of burden, no more with stone and clod, but crowned with glory and honor in the image of god! there was the human chattel its manhood taking ; there, in each dark, bronze statue, a soul was waking! the man of many battles, with tears his erelids pressing, stretched over those dusky forebeads his one-armed blessing. the jubilee singers 349 and he said : “who hears can never fear for or doubt you ; what shall i tell the children up north about you ? " then ran round a whisper, a murmur, some answer devising ; and a little boy stood up.: “ general, tell 'em we're rising !” the cloudy sign, the fiery guide, along his pathway ran, and nature, through his voice, denied the ownership of man. a we rest in peace where these sad eyes saw peril, strife, and pain ; his was the nation's sacrifice, and ours the priceless gain. o black boy of atlanta ! but half was spoken : the slave's chain and the master's alike are broken. the one curse of the races held both in tether : they are rising, — all are rising, the black and white together! o symbol of god's will on earth as it is done above! bear witness to the cost and worth of justice and of love. stand in thy place and testify to coming ages long, that truth is stronger than a lie, and righteousness than wrong. the jubilee singers o brave men and fair women ! ill comes of hate and scorning : shall the dark faces only be turned to morning ? make time your sole avenger, all-healing, all-redressing; meet fate half-way, and make it a joy and blessing ! the emancipation group a number of students of fisk university, under the direction of one of the officers, gave a series of concerts in the northern states, for the purpose of establishing the college on a firmer financial foundation. their hymns and songs, mostly in a minor key, touched the hearts of the people, and were received as peculiarly expressive of a race delivered from bondage. voice of a people suffering long, the pathos of their mournful song, the sorrow of their night of wrong! moses kimball, a citizen of boston, presented to the city a duplicate of the freedman's memorial statue erected in lincoln square, washington. the group, which stands in park square, represents the figure of a slave, from whose limbs the broken fetters have fallen, kneeling in gratitude at the feet of lincoln. the group was designed by thomas ball, and was unveiled december 9, 1879. these verses were written for the occasion. their cry like that which israel gave, a prayer for one to guide and save, like moses by the red sea's wave! amidst thy sacred effigies of old renown give place, o city, freedom-loved! to his whose band unchained a race. the stern accord her timbrel lent to miriam's note of triumph sent o’er egypt's sunken armament ! take the worn frame, that rested not save in a martyr's grave ; the care-lined face, that none forgot, bent to the kneeling slave. the tramp that startled camp and town, and shook the walls of slavery down, the spectral march of old john brown ! the storm that swept throngh battle-days, the triumph after long delays, the bondmen giving god the praise ! let man be free! the mighty word he spake was not his own ; an impulse from the highest stirred these chiselled lips alone. voice of a ransomed race, sing on till freedom's every right is won, and slavery's every wrong undone ! 350 anti-slavery poems w garrison the earliest poem in this division was my youthful tribute to the great reformer when himself a young man he was first sounding his trumpet in essex county. i close with the verses inscribed to him at the end of his earthly career, may 21, 1879. my poetical service in the cause of freedom is thus almost synchronous with his life of devotion to the same cause. the storm and peril overpast, the hounding hatred shamed and still, go, soul of freedom ! take at last the place which thou alone canst fill. now past and present are as one ; the life below is life above ; thy mortal years have but begum t'hy inmortality of love. with somewhat of thy lofty faith we lay thy outworn garment br, give death but what belongs to death, and life the life that cannot die ! ('onfirm the lesson tanght of old — life saved for self is lost, while they who lose it in his service hold the lease of god's eternal day. not for thyself, but for the slave thy words of thunder shook the world ; no selfish griefs or hatred gave the strength wbere with thy bolts were hurled. not for a soul like thine the calm of selfish ease and joys of sense ; but duty, more than erown or pulm, its own exceeding recompense. go up and on! thy day well done, its morning promise well fulfilled, arise to triumphs yet unwon, to holier tasks that god has willed go, leave behind thee all that mars the work below of man for man; with the white legions of the stars do service such as angels can. wherever wrong shall right deay or suffering spirits urge their ples, be thine a voice to smite the lie, a hand to set the captive free! from lips that sinai's trumpet blew we heard a tender under song ; thy very wrath from pity grew, from love of man thy hate of wrong. songs of labor and reform the quaker of the olden time the quaker of the olden time! how calm and firm and true, unspotted by its wrong and crime, he walked the dark earth through. the lust of power, the love of gain, the thousand lures of sin around him, had no power to stain the purity within. with that deep insight which detects all great things in the small, and knows how each man's life affects the spiritual life of all, he walked by faith and not by sight, by love and not by law; the presence of the wrong or right he rather felt than saw. the foe of all which pains the sight, or wounds the generous ear of god ! beautiful yet thy temples rise, though there profaning gifts are thrown ; and fires unkindled of the skies are glaring round thy altar-stone. still sacred, though thy name be breathed by those whose hearts thy truth deride ; and garlands, plucked from thee, are wreathed around the haughty brows of pride. oh, ideal of my boyhood's time ! the faith in which my father stood, even when the sons of lust and crime had stained thy peaceful courts with blood ! he felt that wrong with wrong partakes, still to those courts my footsteps turn, that nothing stands alone, for through the mists which darken there, that whoso gives the motive, makes i see the flame of freedom burn, his brother's sin his own. the kebla of the patriot's prayer ! and, pausing not for doubtful choice of evils great or small, the generous feeling, pure and warın, he listened to that inward voice which owns the right of all divine ; which called away from all. the pitying heart, the helping arm, the prompt self-sacrifice, are thine. o spirit of that early day, so pure and strong and true, beneath thy broad, impartial eye, be with us in the narrow way how fade the lines of caste and birth ! our faithful fathers knew. how equal in their suffering lie give strength the evil to forsake, the groaning multitudes of earth! the cross of truth to bear, and love and reverent fear to make still to a stricken brother true, our daily lives a prayer ! whatever clime hath nurtured him ; as stooped to heal the wounded jew democracy the worshipper of gerizim. all things whatsoever ye would that men should do by misery unrepelled, unawed to you, do ye even so to them. matthew vii. 12. by pomp or power, thou seest a man bearer of freedom's holy light, in prince or peasant, slave or lord, breaker of slavery's chain and rod, pale priest, or swarthy artisan. a 351 352 songs of labor and reform i through all disguise, form, place, or name, beneath the flaunting robes of sin, through poverty and squalid shame, thou lookest on the man within. on man, as man, retaining yet, flowe'er debased, and soiled, and dim, the crown upon his forehead set, the immortal gift of god to him. and there is reverence in thy look ; for that frail form which mortals wear the spirit of the holiest took, and veiled his perfect brightness there. not from the shallow babbling fount of vain philosophy thou art ; he who of old on syria's mount thrilled, warmed, by turns, the listener's heart, in holy words which cannot die, in thoughts whicb angels leaned to know, proclaimed thy message from on high, thy mission to a world of woe. that voice's echo hath not died ! from the blue lake of galilee, and tabor's lonely mountain-side, it calls a struggling world to thee. thy name and watchword o'er this land i hear in every breeze that stirs, and round a thousand altars stand thy banded party worshippers. not to these altars of a day, at party's call, my gift i bring ; but on thv olden shrine i lay a freemau's dearest offering : the voiceless utterance of his will, his pledge to freedom and to truth, that manhood's heart remembers still the homage of bis generous youth. the suns of eighteen centuries have shume since the redeemer walked with man, and made the fisher's boat, the cavern's floor of suns. and mountain moss, a pillow for the head ; and he, who wandered with the pease! jew, and broke with publicans the bread al shame, and drank with blessings, in his father's name, the water which samaria's outcast drew, hath now his temples upon every skure. altar and shrine and priest ; and incens linux evermore rising, with low prayer an! hymn, from lips which press the temple's marile floor, or kiss the gilded sign of the dread crum he bore. ii yet as of old, when, meekly doing good." he fed a blind and selfish multitude, and even the poor companions of his lost with their dim earthly vision köw hon not, how ill are his high teachings unies stood ! where he hath spoken liberty, the proces at his own altar binds the chain abw: where he hath bidden to life's equal toast the starving many wait upon the few; where he hath spoken peace, his mane hath been the loudest war-cry of contending mes; priests, pale with vigils, en llis name kaip blessed the unsheathed sword, and laid the *** in rest, wet the war-banner with their sured , and crossed its blazon with the bolt yea, in ilis name who bude the errita** and daily taught his lesson, to forgive' twisted the cord and edged the murder ous strel; and, with his words of mery or thruz lips, hung gloating o'er the pinoers' busting grips, the gallows written on reading pamphlets published by clergvmen against the abolition of the gallows. originally entitled lines.] the gallows 353 and the grim horror of the straining wheel; fed the slow flame which gnawed the victim's limb, who saw before his searing eyeballs swim the image of their christ in cruel zeal, through the black torment-smoke, held mockingly to him! the beautiful lesson which our saviour taught through long, dark centuries its way hath wrought into the common mind and popular thought ; and words, to which by galilee's lake shore the humble fishers listened with hushed oar, have found an echo in the general heart, and of the public faith become a living part. iii v ye brood, thers sung sneer the blood which mingled with the desert who shall arrest this tendency ? bring sand, back and beaded with its red and ghastly the cells of venice and the bigot's rack ? dew harden the softening human heart again the vines and olives of the holy land ; to cold indifference to a brother's pain ? the shrieking curses of the hunted jew; ye most unhappy men ! who, turned away the wbite-sown bones of heretics, where'er from the mild sunshine of the gospel day, they sank beneath the crusade's holy spear, grope in the shadows of man's twilight goa's dark dungeons, malta's sea-washed time, cell, what mean ye, that with ghoul-like zest where with the hymns the ghostly fao'er those foul altars streaming with warm mingled the groans by subtle torture blood, wrung, permitted in another age and clime ? heaven's anthem blending with the shriek why cite that law with which the bigot jew of hell ! rebuked the pagan's mercy, when he knew the midnight of bartholomew, the stake no evil in the just one ? wherefore turn of smithfield, and that thrice-accursed to the dark, cruel past? can ye not learn aame from the pure teacher's life how mildly which calvin kindled by geneva's lake ; free new england's scaffold, and the priestly is the great gospel of humanity ? the flamen's knife is bloodless, and no which mocked its victims in that hour of fear, mexitli's altars soak with human gore, when guilt itself a human tear might no more the ghastly sacrifices smoke claim, through the green arches of the druid's bear witness, 0 thou wronged and mercioak; ful one ! and ye of milder faith, with your high claim that earth's most hateful crimes have in of prophet-utterance in the holiest name, thy name been done ! will ye become the druids of our time ! set up your scaffold-altars in our land, and, consecrators of law's darkest crime, urge to its loathsome work the hangthank god ! that i have lived to see the man's hand ? time beware, lest human nature, roused at last, when the great truth begins at last to from its peeled shoulder encumbrance find cast, an utterance from the deep heart of and, sick to loathing of your cry for mankind, blood, earnest and clear, that all revenge is crime, rank ye with those who led their victims that man is holier than a creed, that all round restraint upon him must consult his good, the celt's red altar and the indian's mound, hope's sunshine linger on his prison wall, abhorred of earth and heaven, a pagan and love look in upon his solitude. brotherhood ! more iv your 354 songs of labor and reform seed-time and harvest as o'er his furrowed fields which lie beneath a coldly dropping sky, yet chill with winter's melted snow, the husbandman goes forth to sow, for better is your sense of right than king-craft's triple mail than tyrant's law, or bigot's ban, more mighty is your simplest word; the free heart of an honest man than crosier or the sword. thus, freedom, on the bitter blast the ventures of thy seed we cast, and trust to warmer sun and rain to swell the germs and fill the grain. who calls thy glorious service hard ? who deems it not its own reward ? who, for its trials, counts it less a cause of praise and thankfulness ? it may not be our lot to wield the sickle in the ripened field ; nor ours to hear, on summer eves, the reaper's song among the sheaves. yet where our duty's task is wrought in unison with god's great thought, the near and future blend in one, and whatsoe'er is willed, is done ! and ours the grateful service whence comes day by day the recompense ; the hope, the trust, the purpose stayed, the fountain and the noonday shade. go, let your blinded church rebeare the lesson it has learned so well ; it moves not with its praver or curse the gates of heaven or bell. let the state scaffold rise again ; did freedom die when russell died forget ye how the blood of lane from earth's green bosom cried ? the great hearts of your olden time are beating with con, full and strong all holy memories and sublime and glorious round ye thrung. the bluff, bold men of runnymede are with ye still in times like these ; the shades of england's mighty dead, your cloud of witnesses ! the truths ye urge are borne abroad by every wind and every tide ; the voice of nature and of god speaks out upon your side. the weapons which your hands hare fun! are those which learen itself to wrought, light, truth, and love; your batin ground the free, broad field of thought no partial, selfish purpose breaks the simple beauty of your plan, vor lie from throne or altar stakes your steady faith in man. the languid pulse of england starts and bounds beneath your words power, the beating of her million hearts is with you at this hour ! () ve who, with undoubting eres, throngh present cloud and fatbere storm, and were this life the utmost span, the only end and aim of man, better the toil of fields like these than waking dream and slothful ease. bnt life, though falling like our grain, like that revives and springs again ; and, early called, how blest are they who wait in heaven their harvest-day ! to the reformers of england this poem was addressed to those who like richard ('obelin and john bright were seeking the reform of political evils in great britain by peaceful and christian means. it will be remembered that the anti-korn-law league was in the midst of its labors at this time. god bless ye, brothers ! in the fight ye 're waging now, ye cannot fail, the human sacrifice 355 ii behold the span of freedom's skies, again he felt the western breeze, and sunshine soft and warm ; with scent of flowers and crisping hay ; and down again through wind-stirred trees press bravely onward ! not in vain he saw the quivering sunlight play. your generous trust in human-kind; an angel in home's vine-hung door, the good which bloodshed could not gain he saw his sister smile once more ; your peaceful zeal shall find. once more the truant's brown-locked head upon his mother's knees was laid, press on ! the triumph shall be won and sweetly lulled to slumber there, of common rights and equal laws, with evening's holy hymn and prayer! the glorious dream of harrington, and sidney's good old cause. he woke. at once on heart and brain blessing the cotter and the crown, the present terror rushed again ; sweetening worn labor's bitter cup ; clanked on his limbs the felon's chain ! and, plucking not the highest down, he woke, to hear the church-tower tell lifting the lowest up. time's footfall on the conscious bell, and, shuddering, feel that clanging din press on ! and we who may not share his life's last hour had ushered in ; the toil or glory of your fight to see within his prison-yard, may ask, at least, in earnest prayer, through the small window, iron barred, god's blessing on the right! the gallows shadow rising dim between the sunrise heaven and him ; a horror in god's blessed air ; a blackness in his morning light ; the human sacrifice like some foul devil-altar there built up by demon hands at night. some leading sectarian papers had lately and, maddened by that evil sight, published the letter of a clergyman, giving dark, horrible, confused, and strange, an account of his attendance upon a criminal a chaos of wild, weltering change, (who had committed murder during a fit of all power of check and guidance gone, intoxication), at the time of his execution, in western new york. the writer describes the dizzy and blind, his mind swept on. agony of the wretched being, his abortive atin vain he strove to breathe a prayer, tempts at praver, his appeal for life, his fear in vain he turned the holy book, of a violent death; and, after declaring his he only heard the gallows-stair belief that the poor victim died without hope creak as the wind its timbers shook. of salvation, concludes with a warm eulogy no dream for him of sin forgiven, upon the gallows, being more than ever conwhile still that baleful spectre stood, vinced of its utility by the awful dread and with its hoarse murmur, blood for horror which it inspired. blood !" between him and the pitying heaven ! far from his close and noisome cell, by grassy lane and sunny stream, low on his dungeon floor he knelt, blown clover field and strawberry dell, and smote his breast, and on his chain, and green and meadow freshness, fell whose iron clasp he always felt, the footsteps of his dream. his hot tears fell like rain ; again from careless feet the dew and near him, with the cold, calm look of summer's misty morn he shook ; and tone of one whose formal part, again with merry heart he threw unwarmed, unsoftened of the heart, his light line in the rippling brook. is measured out by rule and book, back crowded all his school-day joys; with placid lip and tranquil blood, he urged the ball and quoit again, the hangman's ghostly ally stood, and heard the shout of laughing boys blessing with solemn text and word come ringing down the walnut glen. the gallows-drop and strangling cord; 1 iii 356 songs of labor and reform iv lending the sacred gospel's awe into the silent, unknown dark? and sanction to the crime of law. no, from the wild and shrinking dread, with which he saw the victim led beneath the dark veil which dirides he saw the victim's tortured brow, ever the living from the dead, the sweat of anguish starting there, and nature's solemn secret hides, the record of a nameless woe the man of prayer can only draw in the dim eye's imploring stare, new reasons for his blowly law ; seen hideous through the long, damp new faith in staying murder's hand hair, by murder at that law's command; fingers of ghastly skin and bone new reverence for the gallow-rupe, working and writhing on the stone ! as human nature's latest hope ; and heard, by mortal terror wrung last relic of the good old time, from heaving breast and stiffened tongue, when power found license for its crior. the choking sob and low hoarse prayer; and held a writhing world in <brck as o'er his half-crazed fancy came by that fell cord about its neck; a vision of the eternal fame, stitled sedition's rising shout, its smoking cloud of agonies, choked the young breath of freedinom. its demon worm that never dies, and timely checked the words wt.. the everlasting rise and fall sprung of fire-waves round the infernal wall ; from heresy's forbidden tongue : while high above that dark red food, while in its noose of terror bound, black, giant-like, the gallows stood ; the church its cherished union found, two busy fiends attending there : conformning, on the moslem plan, one with cold mocking rite and prayer, the motley-colored mind of man. the other with impatient grasp, not by the koran and the sword, tightening the death rope's strangling but by the bible and the core ! clasp. vi o thou ! at whose rebuke the grave the unfelt rite at length was done, back to warm life its sleeper gare, the prayer unheard at length was said, beneath whose sad and tearful glarce an hour bad passed : the noonday sun the cold and changed countenance smote on the features of the dead ! broke the still horror of its trance, and he who stood the doomed beside, and, waking, saw with joy above, calm ganger of the swelling tide a brother's face of tenderest lore; of mortal agony and fear, thou, unto whom the blind and larre, hleeding with curious eye and ear the sorrowing and the sin-sick cane, whate'er revealed the keen excess and from thy very garment's hem of man's extremest wretchedness : drew life and healing unto them, and who in that dark anguish saw the burden of thy holy faith an earnest of the victim's fate, was love and life, not hate and death, the vengeful terrors of god's law, man's demon ministers of pain, the kinellings of eternal hate, the fiends of his revenge, were at the first drops of that fiery rain from thv pure gospel's element which beats the dark red realm of pain, to their dark bome again. did he uplift his earnest cries the name is love! what, then, is against the crime of law, which gare who in that name the gallows ran his brother to that fearful grave, an awful altar built to thee, whereon hope's moonlight never lies, with sacrifice of blood and tear : and faith's white blossoms never wave oh, once again thy healing lay to the soft breath of memory's sighs ; on the blind eyes which koru tom which sent a spirit marred and stained, not, by tiends of sin possessed, profaned, and let the light of thr pure dar in madness and in blindness stark, melt in upon his darkened thoaját. v the shoemakers 357 soften his hard, cold heart, and show the power which in forbearance lies, and let him feel that mercy now is better than old sacrifice ! dry root and mossëd trunk between, a sober after-growth is seen, as springs the pine where falls the gayleafed maple wood ! vii yet birds will sing, and breezes play their leaf-harps in tbe sombre tree ; and through the bleak and wintry day it keeps its steady green alway, so, even my after-thoughts may have a charm for thee. as on the white sea's charmëd shore, the parsee sees his holy hill with dunnest smoke-clouds curtained o'er, yet knows beneath them, evermore, the low, pale fire is quivering still ; so, underneath its clouds of sin, the heart of man retaineth yet gleams of its holy origin ; and half-quenched stars that never set, dim colors of its faded bow, and early beauty, linger there, and o'er its wasted desert blow faint breathings of its morning air. ob, never yet upon the scroll of the sin-stained, but priceless soul, hath heaven inscribed “despair !” cast not the clouded gem away, quench not the dim but living ray, my brother man, beware ! with that deep voice which from the skies forbade the patriarch's sacrifice, god's angel cries, forbear ! art's perfect forms no moral need, and beauty is its own excuse ; but for the dull and flowerless weed some healing virtue still must plead, and the rough ore must find its honors in its use. so haply these, my simple lays of homely toil, may serve to show the orchard bloom and tasselled maize that skirt and gladden duty's ways, the unsung beauty hid life's common things below. haply from them the toiler, bent above his forge or plough, may gain a manlier spirit of content, and feel that life is wisest spent where the strong working hand makes strong the working brain. the doom which to the guilty pair without the walls of eden came, transforming sinless ease to care and rugged toil, no more shall bear the burden of old crime, or mark of primal shame. songs of labor dedication prefixed to the volume of which the group of six poems following this prelude constituted the first portion. i would the gift i offer here might graces from thy favor take, and, seen through friendship's atmosphere, on softened lines and coloring, wear the unaccustomed light of beauty, for thy sake. a blessing now, a curse no more ; since he, whose name we breathe with awe, the coarse mechanic vesture wore, a poor man toiling with the poor, in labor, as in prayer, fulfilling the same law. few leaves of fancy's spring remain : but what i have i give to thee, the o'er-sunned bloom of summer's plain, and paler flowers, the latter rain calls from the westering slope of life's autumnal lea. above the fallen groves of green, where youth's enchanted forest stood, the shoemakers ho! workers of the old time styled the gentle craft of leather ! young brothers of the ancient guild, stand forth once more together ! 358 songs of labor and reform the soul of behmen teaches, and england's priesteraft shakes to bear of fox's leathern breeches. call out again your long array, in the olden merry manner! once more, on gay st. crispin's day, fling out your blazoned banner i rap, rap! upon the well-worn stone how falls the polished haminer! rap, rap! the measured sound has grown a quick and merry clamor. now shape the sole i now deftly curl the glossy vamp around it, and bless the while the bright-eyed girl whose gentle fingers bound it ! for you, along the spanish main a hundred keels are ploughing ; for you, the indian on the plain his lasso-coil is throwing ; for you, deep glens with hemlock dark the woodman's fire is lighting ; for you, upon the oak's gray bark, the woodman's axe is smiting. for you, from carolina's pine the rosin-gum is stealing ; for you, the dark-eyed florentine her silken skein is reeling ; for you, the dizzy goat herd roams his rugged alpine ledges; for you, round all her shepherd homes, bloom england's thorny hedges. the foot is yours ; where'er it falls, it treads your well-wrought leather, on earthen floor, in marble halls on carpet, or on heather. still there the sweetest charm is found of matron grace or vestal's. as hebe's foot bore peetar round among the old celestials! rap, rap!your stout and bluff brocar. with footsteps slow and wrary, may wander where the sky's blue pa shuts down upon the praine. on beanty's foot your slipper glance, by saratoga's fountains, or twinkle down the summer dance beneath the crystal mountains ! the red brick to the mason's hand, the browu earth to the tiller's, the shoe in yours shall wealth cou.mand like fairy cinderella's ! as they who shunned the household lan beheld the crown upon ber, so all shall see your toil repaid with hearth and home and bubur then let the toast be freely quaffe, in water cool and brimmilg. “ all honor to the good old craft, its merry men and women!" call out again your long array. in the old time's pleasant manner: once more, on gay it. crispin': das, fling out his blazoned banner ! the foremost still, by day or night, on moated mound or heather, where'er the need of trampled right brought toiling men together; where the free burghers from the wall defied the mail-clad master, than yours, at freedom's trumpet-call, no craftsmen rallied faster. the fishermen let foplings sneer, let fools deride, ye heed no idle scorner; free hands and hearts are still your pride, and duty done your honor. ye dare to trust, for honest fame, the jury time empanels, and leave to truth each noble name which glorities your annals. thy songs, hans sachs, are living yet, in strong and hearty german ; and bloomfield's lay, and gifford's wit, and patriot fame of sherman ; still from his book, a mystic seer, hurrau ! the seaward breries sweep down the bay amain ; heave up, my lauls, the anelser! run up the sail again! leave to the lubber landenen the rail-car and the stredi the stars of heaven shall gunle os, the breath of heaven shall speed from the hill-top looks the steri, and the lighthouse from the sa. the lumbermen 359 and our lines wind stiff and slowly from off the frozen reels ; though the fog be dark around us, and the storm blow high and loud, we will whistle down the wild wind, and laugh beneath the cloud ! i and the scattered pines are waving their farewell from the land. one glance, my lads, behind us, for the homes we leave one sigh, ere we take the change and chances of the ocean and the sky. now, brothers, for the icebergs of frozen labrador, floating spectral in the moonshine, along the low, black shore ! where like snow the gannet's feathers on brador's rocks are shed, and the noisy murr are flying, like black scuds, overhead ; in the darkness as in daylight, on the water as on land, god's eye is looking on us, and beneath us is his hand ! death will find us soon or later, on the deck or in the cot ; and we cannot meet him better than in working out our lot. where in mist the rock is hiding, and the sharp reef lurks below, and the white squall smites in summer, and the autumn tempests blow ; where, through gray and rolling vapor, from evening unto morn, a thousand boats are hailing, horn answering unto horn. hurrah ! hurrah ! the west-wind comes freshening down the bay, the rising sails are filling ; give way, my lads, give way! leave the coward landsman clinging to the dull earth, like a weed ; the stars of heaven shall guide us, the breath of heaven shall speed ! the lumbermen hurrah ! for the red island, with the white cross on its crown! hurrah ! for meccatina, and its mountains bare and brown ! where the caribou's tall antlers o'er the dwarf-wood freely toss, and the footstep of the mickmack has no sound upon the moss. wildly round our woodland quarters sad-voiced autumn grieves ; thickly down these swelling waters float his fallen leaves. through the tall and naked timber, columu-like and old, gleam the sunsets of november, from their skies of gold. there we 'll drop our lines, and gather old ocean's treasures in, where'er the mottled mackerel turns up a steel-dark fin. the sea 's our field of harvest, its scaly tribes our grain ; we'll reap the teeming waters as at home they reap the plain ! our wet hands spread the carpet, and light the hearth of home; from our fish, as in the old time, the silver coin shall come. as the demon fled the chamber where the fish of tobit lay, so ours from all our dwellings shall frighten want away. o’er us, to the southland heading, screams the gray wild-goose ; on the night-frost sounds the treading of the brindled moose. noiseless creeping, while we're sleeping, frost his task-work plies ; soon, his icy bridges heaping, shall our log-piles rise. when, with sounds of smothered thunder, on some night of rain, lake and river break asunder winter's weakened chain, down the wild march flood shall bear them to the saw-mill's wheel, or where steam, the slave, shall tear them with his teeth of steel. though the mist upon our jackets in the bitter air congeals, 360 songs of labor and reform be it starlight, be it moonlight, not for us the measured ringing in these vales below, from the village spire, when the earliest beams of sunlight not for us the sabbath singing streak the mountain's snow, of the sweet-voiced choir ; crisps the hoar-frost, keen and early, ours the old, majestic temple, to our hurrying feet, where god's brightness shines and the forest echoes clearly down the dome so grand ani ample, all our blows repeat. propped by lofty pines ! where the crystal ambijejis through each branch-enwoven skylight stretches broad and clear, speaks he in the breeze, and millnoket's pine-black ridges as of old beneath the twilight hide the browsing deer: of lost eden's trees! where, through lakes and wide morasses, for his ear, the inward feeling or through rocky walls, needs no outward tongue ; swift and strong, penobscot passes he can see the spirit kneeling white with foamy falls; while the axe is swung. where, through clouds, are glimpses given heeding truth alone, and turning of katahdin's sides, from the false and dim, rock and forest piled to heaven, lamp of toil or altar burning torn and ploughed by slides ! are alike to ilim. far below, the iudian trapping, strike then, comrades! trade is wat in the sunshine warm ; on our rugged toil ; far above, the snow-cloud wrapping far ships waiting for the freighting half the peak in storm! of our woodland spoil ! where are mossy carpets better ships whose traffic links these highlanés , than the persian weaves, bleak and cold, of ours, and than eastern perfumes sweeter with the citron-plauted islands seem the fading leaves ; of a clime of flowers ; and a music wild and solemn, to our frosts the tribute bringing from the pine-tree's height, of eternal heats; rolls its vast and sea-like volume in our lap of winter flinging on the wind of night; tropic fruits and sweets. make we here our camp of winter ; cheerly, on the axe of labor, and, through sleet and snow, let the sunbeams dance, pitchy knot and beechen splinter better than the flash of sabre on our hearth shall glow. or the gleam of lance ! here, with mirth to lighten duty, strike ! with every blow is given we shall lack alone freer sun and sky, woman's smile and girlhood's beauty, and the long-hid earth to heaven childhood's lisping tone. looks, with wondering eye! but their hearth is brighter burning loud behind us grow the murinurs for our toil to-day ; of the age to come ; and the welcome of returning clang of smiths, and tread of farmers shall our loss repay, bearing harvest home! when, like seamen from the waters, here her virgin lap with treasures from the woods we come, shall the green earth till ; greeting sisters, wives, and daughters, waving wheat and golden mise-can angels of our home! crown each beechen hill. i 1 1 the ship-builders 361 for us the century-circled oak falls crashing down bis hill. keep who will the city's alleys, take the smooth-shorn plain ; give to us the cedarn valleys, rocks and hills of maine ! in our north-land, wild and woody, let us still have part : rugged nurse and mother sturdy, hold us to thy heart ! oh, our free hearts beat the warmer for thy breath of snow; and our tread is all the firmer for thy rocks below. freedom, hand in hand with labor, walketh strong and brave ; on the forehead of his neighbor no man writeth slave ! up! up! in nobler toil than ours no craftsmen bear a part : we make of nature's giant powers the slaves of human art. lay rib to rib and beam to beam, and drive the treenails free ; nor faithless joint nor yawning seam shall tempt the searching sea ! where'er the keel of our good ship the sea's rough field shall plough ; where'er her tossing spars shall drip with salt-spray caught below; that ship must heed her master's beck, her helm obey his band, and seamen tread her reeling deck as if they trod the land. her oaken ribs the vulture-beak of northern ice may peel ; the sunken rock and coral peak may grate along her keel ; and know we well the painted shell we give to wind and wave, must float, the sailor's citadel, or sink, the sailor's grave ! lo, the day breaks ! old katahdin's pine-trees show its fires, while from these dim forest gardens rise their blackened spires. up, my comrades ! up and doing ! manhood's rugged play still renewing, bravely hewing through the world our way! the ship-builders ho! strike away the bars and blocks, and set the good ship free! why lingers on these dusty rocks the young bride of the sea ? look! how she moves adown the grooves, in graceful beauty now! how lowly on the breast she loves sinks down her virgin prow! the sky is ruddy in the east, the earth is gray below, and, spectral in the river-mist, the ship's white timbers show. then let the sounds of measured stroke and grating saw begin ; the broad-axe to the gnarled oak, the mallet to the pin ! hark! roars the bellows, blast on blast, the sooty smithy jars, and fire-sparks, rising far and fast, are fading with the stars. all day for us the smith shall stand beside that flashing forge ; all day for us his heavy hand the groaning anvil scourge. from far-off hills, the panting team for us is toiling near ; for us the raftsmen down the stream their island barges steer. rings out for us the axe-man's stroke in forests old and still ; god bless her! wheresoe'er the breeze her snowy wing shall fan, aside the frozen flebrides, or sultry hindostan ! where'er, in mart or on the main, with peaceful flag unfurled, she helps to wind the silken chain of commerce round the world ! speed on the ship! but let her bear no merchandise of sin, no groaning cargo of despair her roomy hold within ; no lethean drug for eastern lands, nor poison-draught for ours ; 362 songs of labor and reform but honest fruits of toiling hands and nature's sun and showers. be hers the prairie's golden grain, the desert's golden sand, the clustered fruits of sunny spain, the spice of morning-land ! her pathway on the open main may blessings follow free, and glad hearts welcome back again her white sails from the sea ! the drovers through heat and cold, and shower and sun, still onward cheerly driving ! there 's life alone in duty done, and rest alone in striving. but see! the day is closing cool, the woods are dim before us ; the white fog of the wayside pool is creeping slowly o’er us. the night is falling, comrades mine, our footsore beasts are weary, and through yon elms the tavern sign looks out upon us cheery, the landlord beckons from his door, his beechen fire is glowing ; these ample barns, with feed in store, are filled to overflowing. from many a valley frowned across by brows of rugged mountains ; from hillsides where, through spongy moss, gush out the river fountains ; from quiet farm-fields, green and low, and bright with blooming clover; from vales of corn the wandering crow no richer hovers over, — day after day our way has been o'er many a hill and hollow ; by lake and stream, by wood and glen, our stately drove we follow. through dust-clouds rising thick and dun, is smoke of battle o'er us, their white horns glisten in the sun, like plumes and crests before us. we see them slowly climb the hill, as slow behind it sinking ; or, thronging close, from roadside nike or sunny lakelet, drinking. now crowding in the narrow road, in thick and struggling masses, they glare upou the teamster's load, or rattling coach that passes. anon, with toss of horn and tail, and paw of hoof, and bellow, they leap some farmer's broken pale, o'er meadow-close or fallow, forth comes the startled golman ; furtu wife, children, house-log, rally, till once more on their dusty path the baffled truants rally. we drive no starvelings, scraggy gmun, loose-legged, and ribbed and lway, like those who grind their poses down on pastures bare and stony, lank oxen, rough as indian dogs and cows too lean for shadows, disputing feebly with the frogs the crop of saw-grass meadows! in our good drove, so sleek and fair, no bones of leanness rattle: no tottering hide-bound ghosts are there, or pharaoh's evil cattle. each stately beeve bespeaks the land that fed him unrepining ; the fatness of a goodly land in each dun hide is shining. we've sought them where, in warm nooks, the freshest feed is growing, by sweetest springs and clearest broods through honeysuckle flowig: wherever hillsides, sloping south, are bright with early grasses or, tracking green the lowlatni's drouth the mountain streamlet passes. but now the day is closing cool, the woods are dim before us, the white fog of the way side pol is creeping slowly o'er us. the cricket to the frog's bassoon his shrillest time is keeping; the sichle of yon setting mou the meaulow-mist is reaping. the night is falling, comrades mine, our foolsore beasts are welry, the huskers 363 ind through yon elms the tavern sign looks out upon us cheery. to-morrow, eastward with our charge we 'll go to meet the dawning, ere yet the pines of kearsarge have seen the sun of morning. and shouting boys in woodland haunts caught glimpses of that sky, flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, they knew not why ; and school-girls, gay with aster-flowers, beside the meadow brooks, mingled the glow of autumn with the sunshine of sweet looks. when snow-flakes o'er the frozen earth, instead of birds, are flitting ; when children throng the glowing hearth, and quiet wives are knitting ; while in the fire-light strong and clear young eyes of pleasure glisten, to tales of all we see and hear the ears of home shall listen. from spire and barn looked westerly the patient weathercocks ; but even the birches on the hill stood motionless as rocks. no sound was in the woodlands, save the squirrel's dropping shell, and the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rustling as they fell. by many a northern lake and hill, from many a mountain pasture, shall fancy play the drover still, and speed the long night faster. then let us on, through shower and sun, and heat and cold, be driving ; there's life alone in duty done, and rest alone in striving: the summer grains were harvested ; the l stubble-fields lay dry, where june winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale green waves of rye ; but still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with wood, ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop stood. the huskers it was late in mild october, and the long autumnal rain had left the summer harvest fields all green with grass again ; the first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving all the woodlands gay with the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow-flowers of may. bent low, by autumn's wind and rain, through husks that, dry and sere, unfolded from their ripened charge, shone out the yellow ear ; beneath, the turnip lay concealed, in many a verdant fold, and glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's sphere of gold. there wrought the busy harvesters ; and many a creaking wain bore slowly to the long barn-floor its load of husk and grain ; till broad and red, as when he rose, the sun sank down, at last, and like a merry guest's farewell, the day in brightness passed. through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose broad and red, at first a rayless disk of fire, he brightened as he sped ; yet even his noontide glory fell chastened and subdued, on the cornfields and the orchards and softly pictured wood. and all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the night, he wove with golden shuttle the haze with yellow light; slanting through the painted beeches, he glorified the hill ; and, beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, greener still. and lo ! as through the western pines, on meadow, stream, and pond, flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire beyond, slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone, and the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into one ! a 364 songs of labor and reform as thus into the quiet night the twilight while on the hills the sun and bones lapsed away, of changeful april played. and deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil shadows lay ; we dropped the seed o'er hill and plain from many a brown old farm-house, and , hamlet without name, and frightened from our sprouting grain their milking and their home-tasks done, the robber crows away. the merry huskers came. all through the long, bright days of juar swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from its leaves grew green and fair, pitchforks in the now, and waved in hot midsummer's nova shone dimly down the lanterns on the its soft and yellow hair. pleasant scene below ; the growing pile of husks behind, the and now, with autumn's moonlit eves, golden ears before, its harvest-time has come, and laughing eyes and busy hands and we pluck away the frusted leaves, brown cheeks glimmering o'er. and bear the treasure home. half hidden, in a quiet nook, serene of there, when the snows about us drift, look and heart, and winter winds are cold, talking their old times over, the old men fair hands the broken grain shall st. sat apart ; and kuead its meal of gold. while up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade, let vapid idlers loll in silk at hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, around their costly beard ; the happy children played. give us the bowl of samp and mill, by homespun beauty poured ! l'rged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young and fair, where'er the wide old kitchen baru lifting to light her sweet blue eyes and sends up its smoky curls, pride of soft brown hair, who will not thank the kiully earring the master of the village school, sleek of and bless pur farmer girls ! hair and sinooth of tongue, to the quaint tune of some old psalm, a then shame on all the proud and s...the husking-ballad sung. whose folly laughs to seorn the blessing of our hardy grain, the corn-song our wealth of golden corn! heap high the farmer's wintry hoard ! let earth withhold her goodly rout, heap high the golden corn! let mildew blight the rye, no richer gift bas autumn poured give to the worm the orchard's fruta from out her lavish horn! the wheat-tield to the ty : let other lands, exulting, glean but let the good old crop adorn the apple from the pine, the hills our fathers trod; the orange from its glossy green, still let us, for his golden corti, the cluster from the vine ; send up our thanks to god! we better love the hardy gift our rugged vales bestow, the reformer to cheer us when the storin shinll drift our harvest-fields with snow. all grim and soiled and brown with, t. i saw a strong one, in his wrath through vales of grass and meads of flowers smiting the godless shrines of nan our ploughs their furrows made, along his path. the reformer 365 the church, beneath her trembling dome, essayed in vain her gliostly charm : wealth shook within his gilded home with strange alarm. through vine-wreathed cups with wine once red, the lights on brimming crystal fell, drawn, sparkling, from the rivulet head and mossy well. : fraud from his secret chambers fled before the sunlight bursting in : sloth drew her pillow o'er her head to drown the din. through prison walls, like heaven-sent hope, fresh breezes blew, and sunbeams strayed, and with the idle gallows-rope the young child played. "spare,” art implored, “yon holy pile ; that grand, old, time-worn turret spare ;” meek reverence, kneeling in the aisle, cried out, “ forbear !” where the doomed victim in his cell had counted o’er the weary hours, glad school-girls, answering to the bell, came crowned with flowers. gray-bearded v'se, who, deaf and blind, groped for his old accustomed stone, leaned on his staff, and wept to find his seat o'erthrown. young romance raised his dreamy eyes, o'erhung with paly locks of gold, "why smite,” he asked in sad surprise, “the fair, the old ?” grown wiser for the lesson given, i fear no longer, for i know that, where the share is deepest driven, the best fruits grow. yet louder rang the strong one's stroke, yet nearer flashed his axe's gleam ; shuddering and sick of heart i woke, as from a dream. the outworn rite, the old abuse, the pious fraud transparent grown, the good held captive in the use of wrong alone, these wait their doom, from that great law which makes the past time serve to-day ; and fresher life the world shall draw from their decay. i looked : aside the dust-cloud rolled, the waster seemed the builder too ; l'pspringing from the ruined old i saw the new. oh, backward-looking son of time ! the new is old, the old is new, the cycle of a change sublime still sweeping through. so wisely taught the indian seer ; destroying seva, forming brahm, who wake by turns earth's love and fear, are one, the same. 't was but the ruin of the bad, the wasting of the wrong and ill ; whate'er of good the old time had was living still. calm grew the brows of him i feared ; the frown which awed me passed away, and left behind a emile which cheered like breaking day. the grain grew green on battle-plains, o'er swarded war-mounds grazed the cow ; the slave stood forging from his chains the spade and plough. where frowned the fort, pavilions gay and cottage windows, hower-entwined, looked out upon the peaceful bay and hills behind. idly as thou, in that old day thon mournest, did thy sire repine ; so, in his time, thy child grown gray shall sigh for thine. but life shall on and upward go ; th' eternal step of progress beats to that great anthem, calm and slow, which god repeats. take heart ! the waster builds again, — a charmëd life old goodness hath ; 366 songs of labor and reform the tares may perish, but the grain is not for death. god works in all things ; all obey his first propulsion from the night : wake thou and watch ! the world is gray with morning light! the peace convention at brussels & staggering to take the pledge of brother hood, like tipplers answering father matb* call; the sullen spaniard, and the mad-cap ga. the bull-dog briton, yielding but willie, the yankee swaggering with his wr knife, the russ, from banquets with the valta shared, the blood still dripping from his ambers beard, quitting their mad berserker dance tori the dull, meek droning of a draberatspur: leaving the sport of presidents and his where men for dice each titled gans of hlings, to meet alternate on the seine and times for tea and gossip, like old country dan! no! let the cravens plead the weaking cant, let cobden cipher, and let vinernt maat, let sturge preach peace to democra throngs, and burritt, stammering through his bdred tongues, repeat, in all, his ghostly lessons otr, timed to the pauses of the battery's nur. check ban or kaiser with the barruar of olive-leaves' and resolutiotis m**. spike guns with pointed scripture-ter's and hope to capsize navies with a winds trope: still shall the glory and the pomp of wialong their train the shouting in draw : still dusty labor to the passing brave his cap shall doff, and beauty's her: wave : still shall the bard to valor tune his : still hero-worship kneel before the trut: rosy and sleek, the sable-gown drum o'er his third bottle of sugative wr. to plumed and sworded auditors stad prove their trade accordant with the las love ; and church for state, and state . church, shall fight, and both agree, that 'might aluee right " despite of sneers like these, o faithful be who dare to hold god's word and wits. true, still in thy streets, o paris ! doth the stain of blood defy the cleansing autumn rain ; still breaks the smoke messina's ruins through, and naples mourns that new bartholomew, when squalid beggary, for a dole of bread, at a crowned murderer's beck of license, fed the yawning trenches with her noble dead ; still, doomed vienna, through thy stately halls the shell goes crashing and the red shot falls, and, leagued to crush thee, on the danube's side, the bearded croat and bosniak spearman still in that vale where himalaya's snow melts round the cornfields and the vines below, the sikh's hot cannon, answering ball for ball, flames in the breach of moultan's shattered wall; on chenali's side the vulture seeks the slain, and sutlej paints with blood its banks again. “what folly, then,” the faithless critic cries, with sneering lip, and wise world-knowing eyes, • while fort to fort, and post to post, repeat the ceaseless challenge of the war-drum's beat, and round the green earth, to the churchbell's chime, the morning drum-roll of the camp keeps time, to dream of peace amidst a world in arms, of swords to ploughshares changed by scriptural charms, of nations, drunken with the wine of blood, ride ; the prisoner for debt 367 whose clear-eyed faith transcends our evil town jail for a debt of fourteen dollars, and time, on the fourth of july was seen waving a handand o'er the present wilderness of crime kerchief from the bars of his cell in honor of the day. sees the calm future, with its robes of green, its fleece-flecked mountains, and soft look on him ! through his dungeon grate, streams between, feebly and cold, the morning light still keep the path which duty bids ye tread comes stealing round him, dim and late, though worldly wisdom shake the cautious sight. head ; reclining on his strawy bed, no truth from heaven descends upon our his hand upholds his drooping head ; sphere, his bloodless cheek is seamed and hard, without the greeting of the skeptic's sneer; unshorn his gray, neglected beard ; denied and mocked at, till its blessings fall, and o'er his bony fingers flow common as dew and sunshine, over all. his long, dishevelled locks of snow. then, o'er earth's war-field, till the no grateful fire before him glows, strife shall cease, and yet the winter's breath is chill ; like morven's barpers, sing your song of and o'er his half-clad person goes peace; the frequent ague thrill ! as in old fable rang the thracian's lyre, silent, save ever and anon, midst howl of fiends and roar of penal fire, a sound, half murmur and half groan, till the fierce din to pleasing murmurs fell, forces apart the painful grip and love subdued the maddened heart of of the old sufferer's bearded lip; hell. oh, sad and crushing is the fate lend, once again, that holy song a tongue, of old age chained and desolate ! which the glad angels of the advent sung, their cradle-anthem for the saviour's birth, just god! why lies that old man there? glory to god, and peace unto the earth ! a murderer shares his prison bed, through the mad discord send that calming whose eyeballs, through his horrid hair, word gleam on him, fierce and red; which wind and wave on wild gennesareth and the rude oath and heartless jeer heard, fall ever on his loathing ear, lift in christ's name his cross against the and, or in wakefulness or sleep, sword ! nerve, flesh, and pulses thrill and creep not vain the vision which the prophets saw, whene'er that ruffian's tossing limb, skirting with green the fiery waste of war, crimson with murder, touches him ! through the hot sand-gleam, looming soft and calm what has the gray-haired prisoner done? on the sky's rim, the fountain shading has murder stained his hands with gore ? palm. not so ; his crime 's a fouler one ; still lives for earth, which fiends so long god made the old man poor! have trod, for this he shares a felon's cell, the great hope resting on the truth of the fittest earthly type of hell ! god, for this, the boon for which he poured evil shall cease and violence pass away, his young blood on the invader's sword, and the tired world breathe free through and counted light the fearful cost, a long sabbath day. his blood-gained liberty is lost ! and so, for such a place of rest, the prisoner for debt old prisoner, dropped thy blood as rain on concord's field, and bunker's crest, before the law authorizing imprisonment for and saratoga's plain ? debt had been abolished in massachusetts, a look forth, thou man of many scars, revolutionary pensioner was confined in charles| through thy dim dungeon's iron bars ; 368 songs of labor and reform isles of old song, the moslem's an in marts, and scythia's steppes, theç trud. where the long shadows of the fir and puse in the night sun are east, and the deep heart of many a sriant mine quakes at each riving blast; where, in barbaric graudeur, lokm stands, a baptized scythian queen, with europe's arts and asia's jeweilri hands, the north and east between ! it must be joy, in sooth, to see yon monument upreared to thee ; piled granite and a prison cell, — the land repays thy service well! go, ring the bells and fire the guns, and hing the starry banner out ; shout “ freedom !” till your lisping ones give back their cradle-shout; let boastful eloquence declaim of honor, liberty, and fame ; still let the poet's strain be heard, with glory for each second word, and everything with breath agree to praise “our glorious liberty"! but when the patron cannon jars that prison's cold and gloomy wall, and through its grates the stripes and stars rise on the wind, and fall, think ye that prisoner's aged ear rejoices in the general cheer ? think ve bis dim and failing eye is kindled at your pageantry ? sorrowing of soul, and chained of limb, what is your carnival to him ? down with the law that binds him thus ! unworthy freemen, let it find no refuge from the withering curse of god and human-kind ! open the prison's living tomb, and usher from its bruoding gloom the victims of your savage code to the free sun and air of god ; no longer dare as crime to brand the chastening of the almighty's hand. where still, through vales of grecian alle stray the classic forms of yore, and beauty smiles, new risen from the spray, and dian weeps once more ; where every tongue in smyrna's mart sounds ; and stamboul from the sea lifts her tall minarets over burial grous black with the cypress-tree ! from malta's temples to the gates of ruse, following the track of panl, and where the alps gird round the sr.:2er's home their vast, eternal wall ; they paused not by the ruins of old time, they scanned no pictures rare, nor lingered where the snow-lucked moss tains climb the cold abyss of air ! but nnto prisons, where men lar in class, to haunts where hunges p:nel. to kings and courts forgetful of the use and wants of human-kind, scattering sweet words, and quiet deeds. good, along their war, like flowers, or pleading, as christ's freemen only cosi with princes and with power ; their single aim the purpose to fiel of truth, from day to day. simply obedient to its ginding will, they held their pilgrim war. yet dream not, hence, the beautiful and we were wasted on their sight, the christian tourists the reader of the biography of william allen, the philanthropic associate of clarkson and romills, cannot fail to admire his simple and beautiful record of a tour through europe, in the years 1915 and 1919. in the company of his american friend, stephen grellett. no aimless wanderers, by the fiend inrest goaded from shore to shore ; no schoolmen, turning, in their classic quest, the leaves of empire o'er. simple of faith, and bearing in their hearts the love of man and god, the men of old 369 who in the school of christ had learned to hold all outward things aright. not less to them the breath of vineyards blown from off the cyprian shore, not less for them the alps in sunset shone, that man they valued more. a life of beauty lends to all it sees the beauty of its thought ; and fairest forms and sweetest harmonies make glad its way, unsought. in sweet accordancy of praise and love, the singing waters run ; and sunset mountains wear in light above the smile of duty done ; sure stands the promise, ever to the meek a heritage is given ; nor lose they earth who, single-hearted, seek the righteousness of heaven ! st. anselm (may he rest forevermore in heaven's sweet peace !) forbade, of old, the sale of men as slaves, and from the sacred pale hurled the northumbrian buyers of the poor. to ransom souls from bonds and evil fate st. ambrose melted down the sacred plate, image of saint, the chalice, and the pix, crosses of gold, and silver candlesticks. “ man is worth more than temples !” he replied to such as came his holy work to chide. and brave cesarius, stripping altars bare, and coining from the abbey's golden hoard the captive's freedom, answered to the prayer or threat of those whose fierce zeal for the lord stifled their love of man, “ an earthen dish the last sad supper of the master bore : most miserable sinners ! do ye wish more than your lord, and grudge his dying poor what your own pride and not his need requires ? souls, than these shining gauds, he values more : mercy, not sacrifice, his heart desires !” o faithful worthies ! resting far behind in your dark ages, since ye fell asleep, much has been done for truth and humanthe men of old kind ; well speed thy mission, bold iconoclast ! yet all unworthy of its trust thou art, if, with dry eye, and cold, unloving heart, thou tread'st the solemn pantheon of the past, by the great future's dazzling hope made blind to all the beauty, power, and truth behind. not withont reverent awe shouldst thou put by the cypress branches and the amaranth blooms, where, with clasped hands of prayer, upon their tombs the effigies of old confessors lie, god's witnesses ; the voices of his will, heard in the slow march of the centuries still! such were the men at whose rebuking frown, dark with god's wrath, the tyrant's knee went down ; such from the terrors of the guilty drew the vassal's freedom and the poor man's due. shadows are scattered wherein ye groped blind ; man claims his birthright, freer pulses leap through peoples driven in your day like sheep; yet, like your own, our age's sphere of light, though widening still, is walled around by night ; with slow, reluctant eye, the church has read, skeptic at heart, the lessons of its head; counting, too oft, its living members less than the wall's garnish and the pulpit's dress ; world-moving zeal, with power to bless and feed 370 songs of labor and reform life's fainting pilgrims, to their utter hider at gaeta, seize thy chance ! need, coward and cruel, come! instead of bread, holds out the stone of creed ; creep now from naples' blowly skirti sect builds and worships where its wealth thy mummer's part was acted well, and pride while rome, with steel and fire legirt, and vanity stand shrined and deified, before thy crusade fell ! careless that in the shadow of its walls god's living temple into ruin falls. her death-groans answered to the past we need, methinks, the prophet-hero still, thy chant, the drum and bugletali; saints true of life, and martyrs strong of thy lights, the burning villa's glare ; will, thy beads, the shell and ball! to tread the land, even now, as xavier trod let austria clear thy way, with hands the streets of goa, barefoot, with his foul from ancona's cruel sak, bell, and naples, with his da-land bands proclaiming freedom in the name of god, of murderers, lead thee back! and startling tyrants with the fear of hell ! rome's lips are dumb ; the orphan's na: soft words, smooth prophecies, are the mother's shriek, thou mast nebs doubtless well ; above the faithless frenchman's bil, but to rebuke the age's popular crime, the unsexed shaveling's cheer! we need the souls of fire, the hearts of that old time! go, bind on rome her cast-off wright, the double curse of crook and cnim though woman's scorn and mabadla: to pius ix from wall and roof flash down! the writer of these lines is no enemy of nor heed those blood-stains on the wail, catholics. he has, on more than one occanot tiber's hood can wash away, sion, exposed himself to the censures of his where, in thy stately quirinal, protestant brethren, by his strenuous endeathy mangled victims lay! vors to procure indemnification for the owners of the convent destroyed near boston. let the world murmur ; let its car he defended the cause of the irish patriots of horror and disgust be heant: long before it had become popular in this truth stands alone ; thy coward le country; and he was one of the first to urge the most liberal aid to the suffering and starvis backed by lance and sword ! ing population of the catholic island. the severity of his language finds its ample apol | the cannon of st. angelo, ory in the reluctant confession of one of the and chanting priest and clanging but most eruinent romish priests, the eloquent and beat of drum and bugle blow and devoted father ventura. shall greet thy coming well! the cannon's brazen lips are cold ; let lips of iron and tongues of larong no red shell blazes down the air ; fit welcome give thee ; for bet kurt and street and tower, and temple old, rome, frowning o'er her new-9131 4717are silent as despair. shall curse thee from ber bort the lombard stands no more at bay, no wreaths of sad campagna's then rome's fresh young life has bled in vain; shall childhood in thy pathway * the ravens scattered by the day no garlands from their ravaged bres come back with night again. shall terni's maidens bring : now, while the fratricides of france but, hateful as that trrant old, are treading on the neck of rome, the mocking witness of his enime. our state 371 in thee shall loathing eyes behold the nero of our time ! “god is good and god is light, in this faith i rest secure ; evil can but serve the right, over all shall love endure. stand where rome's blood was freest shed, mock heaven with impious thanks and call its curses on the patriot dead, its blessings on the gaul ! “of your spectral puppet play i have traced the cunning wires ; come what will, i needs must say, god is true, and ye are liars." or sit upon thy throne of lies, a poor, mean idol, blood-besmeared, whom even its worshippers despise, cnhonored, unrevered ! yet, scandal of the world ! from thee one needful truth mankind shall learn : that kings and priests to liberty and god are false in turn. when the thought of man is free, error fears its lightest tones ; so the priest cried, “ sadducee ! ” and the people took up stones. in the ancient burying-ground, side by side the twain now lie ; one with humble grassy mound, one with marbles pale and high. earth wearies of them ; and the long meek sufferance of the heavens doth fail : woe for weak tyrants, when the strong wake, struggle, and prevail ! but the lord bath blest the seed which that tradesman scattered then, and the preacher's spectral creed chills no more the blood of men. not vainly roman hearts have bled to feed the crosier and the crown, if, roused thereby, the world shall tread the twin-born vampires down ! let us trust, to one is known perfect love which casts out fear, while the other's joys atone for the wrong he suffered here. calef in boston our state 1692 [originally entitled dedication of a schoolhouse. it was written for the dedication services of a new school building in newbury, mass.] in the solemn days of old, two men met in boston town, one a tradesman frank and bold, one a preacher of renown. cried the last, in bitter tone : “ poisoner of the wells of truth! satan's hireling, thou hast sown with his tares the heart of youth !” spake the simple tradesman then, “god be judge 'twixt thee and me ; all thou knowest of truth hath been once a lie to men like thee. the south-land boasts its teeming cane, the prairied west its heavy grain, and sunset's radiant gates unfold on rising marts and sands of gold ! rough, bleak, and hard, our little state is scant of soil, of limits strait ; her yellow sands are sands alone, her only mines are ice and stone ! from autumn frost to april rain, too long her winter woods complain ; from budding flower to falling leaf, her summer time is all too brief. “ falsehoods which we spurn to-day were the truths of long ago ; let the dead boughs fall away, fresher shall the living grow. yet, on her rocks, and on her sands, and wintry hills, the school-house stands, 372 songs of labor and reform ease see and what her rugged soil denies, of fire and spirit over all the earth, the barvest of the mind supplies. making the dead in slavery live again. let this great hope be with the in, as they the riches of the commonwealth lie are free, strong minds, and hearts of health; shut from the light, the greenness, and to and more to her than gold or grain, sky; the cunning hand and cultured brain. from the cool waters and the pleasu: breeze, for well she keeps her ancient stock, the smell of flowers, and shade of sumus: the stubborn strength of pilgrim rock ; trees ; and still maintains, with milder laws, bound with the felon lepers, when and clearer light, the good old cause ! and sins abhorred make loathsome ; de: nor heeds the skeptic's puny hands, them share while near her school the church spire pellico's faith, foresti's strength to be stands ; years of unutterable torment, stena sa nor fears the blinded bigot's rule, still, while near ber church spire stands the as the chained titan victor through .. scbool. will! comfort them with thy future ; let :bro the prisoners of naples the day-dawn of italian liberty : for that, with all good things, is hard i have been thinking of the victims bound thee, in naples, dying for the lack of air and, perfect in thy thought, awaits its ts and sunshine, in their close, damp cells of to be! pain, where hope is not, and innocence in vain i, who have spoken for freedom at appeals against the torture and the chain ! cost unfortunates! whose crime it was to share of some weak friendships, or some pa': our common love of freedom, and to dare, prize in its behalf, rome's harlot triple-crowned, of name or place, and more than i and her base pander, the most hateful lost thing have gained in wider reach of sympt who upon christian or on pagan ground and free communion with the gimsi makes vile the old heroic name of king. wise ; () god most merciful! father just and may god forbid that i should ever km2 kind ! such easy self-denial, or repine whom man hath bound let thy right hand that the strong pulse of health no me unbind. mine ; or, if thy purposes of good behind that, overworn at noondar, i must visai their ills lie hidden, let the sufferers find to other hands the gleaning of the tu! strong consolations ; leave them not to a tired on-looker through the day doubt cline. thy providential care, nor yet without for blest beyond deserving still, and is the hope which all thy attributes inspire, ing that not in vain the martyr's robe of that kindly providence its care is fire ing is worn, nor the sad prisoner's fretting : in the withdrawal as in the besto: chain ; scarcely i dare for more or less to ! since all who suffer for thy truth send beautiful yet for me this autuma day forth, melts on its sunset hill, ; and, far asar. electrical, with every throb of pain, for me the ocean lifts its solemn penis l'nquenchable sparks, thy own baptismal 'to me the pine-woods whisper ; at ruin me astræa 373 yon river, winding through its vales of where kings and priests hold carnival ! calm, weak vassal tricked in royal guise, by greenest banks, with asters purpleboy kaiser with thy lip of lies ; starred, base gambler for napoleon's crown, and gentian bloom and golden-rod made barnacle on his dead renown ! gay, thou, bourbon neapolitan, flows down in silent gladness to the sea, crowned scandal, loathed of god and man; like a pure spirit to its great reward ! and thou, fell spider of the north ! stretching thy giant feelers forth, nor lack i friends, long-tried and near and within whose web the freedom dies dear, of nations eaten up like flies ! whose love is round me like this atmosspeak, prince and kaiser, priest and phere, czar ! warm, soft, and golden. for such gifts to if this be peace, pray what is war ? me what shall i render, o my god, to thee ? let me not dwell upon my lighter share of pain and ill that human life must bear ; save me from selfish pining ; let my heart, drawn from itself in sympathy, forget the bitter longings of a vain regret, the anguish of its own peculiar smart. remembering others, as i have to-day, in their great sorrows, let me live alway not for myself alone, but have a part, such as a frail and erring spirit may, in love which is of thee, and which indeed thou art ! white angel of the lord ! unmeet that soil accursed for thy pure feet. never in slavery's desert flows the fountain of thy charmed repose ; no tyrant's band thy chaplet weaves of lilies and of olive-leaves ; not with the wicked shalt thou dwell, thus saith the eternal oracle ; thy home is with the pure and free ! stern herald of thy better day, before thee, to prepare thy way, the baptist shade of liberty, gray, scarred and hairy-robed, must press with bleeding feet the wilderness ! oh that its voice might pierce the ear of princes, trembling while they hear a cry as of the hebrew seer : repent ! god's kingdom draweth near ! the peace of europe astræa “great peace in europe ! order reigns from tiber's hills to danube's plains !” so say her kings and priests ; so say the lying prophets of our day. go lay to earth a listening ear ; the tramp of measured marches hear; the rolling of the cannon's wheel, the shotted musket's murderous peal, the night alarm, the sentry's call, the quick-eared spy in hut and hall ! from polar sea and tropic fen the dying-groans of exiled men ! the bolted cell, the galley's chains, the scaffold smoking with its stains ! order, the bush of brooding slaves ! peace, in the dungeon-vaults and graves ! o fisher ! of the world-wide net, with meshes in all waters set, whose fabled keys of heaven and hell bolt hard the patriot's prison-cell, and open wide the banquet-ball, “ jove means to settle astræa in her seat again, and let down from his golden chain an age of better metal." ben jonson, 1615. o poet rare and old ! thy words are prophecies; forward the age of gold, the new saturnian lies. the universal prayer and hope are not in vain ; rise, brothers ! and prepare the way for saturn's reign. perish shall all which takes from labor's board and can ; perish shall all which makes a spaniel of the man ! 374 songs of labor and reform the honored and the wise once more within his presence came ; and lingered oft on lovely lips his once forbidden name. free from its bonds the mind, the body from the rod ; broken all chains that bind the image of our god. just men no longer pine behind their prison-bars ; through the rent dungeon shine the free sun and the stars. there may be glory in the might, that treadeth nations down; wreaths for the crimson conquerut, pride for the kingly crown; but nobler is that triumph hour, the disenthralled shall tird, when evil passion boweth down l'nto the godlike mind! earth own, at last, untrod by sect, or caste, or clan, the fatherhood of god, the brotherhood of man! fraud fail, craft perish, forth the money-changers driven, and god's will done on earth, as now in heaven ! the poor voter on ele.tion day the disenthralled he had bowed down to drunkenness, an abject worshipper: the pride of manhood's pulse had grown too faint and cold to stir ; and he had given his spirit up to the unblessed thrall, and bowing to the poison cup, he gloried in his fall! there came a change — the cloud rolled off, and light fell on his brain and like the passing of a dream that cometh not again, the shadow of the spirit fled. he saw the gulf before, he shuddered at the waste behind, and was a man once more. the proudest now is but my peer, the highest not more high; to-day, of all the weary year, a king of men am i. to-day alike are great and su.all, the nameless and the known; my palace is the people's hall, the ballot-box my throne ! who serves to-day upon the list beside the served shall stand: alike the brown and wrinkle tist, the gloved and dainty hand! the rich is level with the poor, the weak is strong tomir; and sleekest broadeloth counts bo pup than homespun frock of grar. to-day let pomp and rain pretence my stubborn right abide ; i set a plain man's common sense against the pevant' pride. to-elay shall simple manhood try the strength of gold and las; the wide world has not wraiti te laat the power in my right hand ! while there's a grief to seek merr or balance to asijust, where weighs our living manbundle than mammon 's vilest dust, while there's a right to nerd my role a wrong to sweep away, l'p! clouted knee and ragged coni! a man 's a man to-day ! he shook the serpent folds away, that gathered round his heart, as shakes the swaying forest-oak its poison vine apart ; he stood erect; returning pride grew terrible within, and conscience sat in judgment, on his most familiar sin. the light of intellect again along his pathway shone ; and reason like a monarch sat l'pon his olden throne. the dream of pio nono 375 men seen shout, drum beat, and the clanging larumthe dream of pio nono bell, and tramp of hosts, sent up a mingled it chanced that while the pious troops of sound, france half wail and half defiance. as they passed fought in the crusade pio nono preached, the gate of san pancrazio, human blood what time the holy bourbons stayed his flowed ankle-high about them, and dead hands (the hur and aaron meet for such a choked the long street with gashed and moses), gory piles, – stretched forth from naples towards rebela ghastly barricade of mangled flesh, lious rome from which, at times, quivered a living to bless the ministry of oudinot, hand, and sanctify his iron bomilies and white lips moved and moaned. a and sharp persuasions of the bayonet, father tore that the great pontiff fell asleep, and his gray hairs, by the body of his son, dreamed. in frenzy ; and his fair young daughter wept he stood by lake tiberias, in the sun on his old bosom. suddenly a flash of the bright orient; and beheld the clove the thick sulphurous air, and man lame, and maid the sick, and blind, kneel at the master's sank, crushed and mangled by the shatterfeet, ing shell. and rise up whole. and, sweetly over all, then spake the galilean : “thou bast dropping the ladder of their hymn of praise from heaven to earth, in silver rounds of the blessed master and his works of love; song, look now on thine! hear'st thou the he heard the blessed angels sing of peace, angels sing good-will to man, and glory to the lord. above this open hell ? thou god's highpriest ! then one, with feet unshod, and leathern thou the vicegerent of the prince of peace ! face thou the successor of his chosen ones ! hardened and darkened by fierce summer i, peter, fisherman of galilee, in the dear master's name, and for the and hot winds of the desert, closer drew love his fisher's haick, and girded up his loins, of his true church, proclaim thee antiand spake, as one who had authority : christ, “come thou with me.” alien and separate from his holy faith wide as the difference between death and lakeside and eastern sky life, and the sweet song of angels passed away, the hate of man and the great love of god ! and, with a dream's alacrity of change, hence, and repent !” the priest, and the swart fisher by his side, thereat the pontiff woke, beheld the eternal city lift its domes trembling, and muttering o'er bis fearful and solemn fanes and monumental pomp dream. above the waste campagna. on the hills “what means he ?” cried the bourbon. the blaze of burning villas rose and fell, “ nothing more and momently the mortar's iron throat than that your majesty hath all too well roared from the trenches; and, within the catered for your poor guests, and that, in walls, sooth, sharp crash of shells, low groans of human the holy father's supper troubleth him," pain, said cardinal antonelli, with a smile. suns " ܪ 376 songs of labor and reform i “ the meal unshared is food ur blest the voices thou hoard'st in vain what love showed spend ; “why urge the long, unequal fight, self-ease is pain ; thy only rest since truth has fallen in the street, is labor for a worthy end ; or lift anew the trampled light, quenched by the heedless million's feet ? * a toil that gains with what it yields, and scatters to its own increase, “give o'er the thankless task ; forsake and hears, while sowing out wani firids, the fools who know not ill from good : the harvest-song of inward peace. eat, drink, enjoy thy own, and take thine ease among the multitude. “ free-lipped the liberal streamlets run free shines for all the healthful ray; “ live out thyself ; with others share the still pool stagnates in the sun, thy proper life no more ; assume the lurid earth-tire haunts decay! the inconcern of sun and air, for life or death, or blight or bloom. “ what is it that the crowd requite thy love with hate, thy truth with fairy “ the mountain pine looks calmly on and but to faith, and not to sight, the fires that scourge the plains bethe walls of freedon's tenuple rise low, nor heeds the eagle in the sun “yet do thy work ; it shall succeed the small birds piping in the snow ! in thine or in another's day; and, if denied the victor's meed, “the world is god's, not thine ; let him thou shalt not lack the toiler's par work out a change, if change must be : the hand that planted best can trim “ faith shares the future's promise ; lappi and nurse the old unfruitful tree.” self-offering is a triumple wou ; and each good thought or action inwes so spake the tempter, when the light the dark world nearer to the sun. of sun and stars had left the sky; i listened, through the cloud and night, " then faint not, falter not, por plead and heard, methought, a voice reply : thy weakness ; truth itself is stra. the lion's strength, the eagle's sprerede “that task may well seem over-hard, are not alone vouchsafed to wres who scatterest in a thankless soil thy life as seed, with no reward “ thy nature, which, through fire and br. save that which duty gives to toil. to place or gain finds out its war, hath power to seek the highest grande “ not wholly is thy heart resigned and duty's holiest call obey! to heaven's benign and just decree, which, linking thee with all thy kind, "strivest thou in darkness! loes transmits their joys and griefs to thee. out in league with traitor thoughts web!" “ break off that sacred chain, and turn thy night-wateh kept with treadingin. back on thyself thy love and care ; and pale remorse the glust of saº be thou thine own mean idol, burn faith, hope, and trust, thy children, “ hast thou not, on some week of s2 there. seen the sweet sabbath bread.refl. and cloud and shadow, sunlit, forma “ released from that fraternal law the curtains of its tent of prayer? which shares the common bale and bliss, no sadder lot could folly draw, “so, haply, when thy task shall end or sin provoke from fate, than this. the wrong shall lose itself in nobis the conquest of finland 377 and all thy week-day darkness blend with the long sabbath of the light !” through human hearts, by love of him controlled, runs now that path of god ! the new exodus the conquest of finland written upon hearing that slavery had been formally abolished in egypt. unhappily, the professions and pledges of the vacillating government of egypt proved unreliable. by fire and cloud, across the desert sand, and through the parted waves, from their long bondage, with an outstretched hand, god led the hebrew slaves ! joseph sturge, with a companion, thomas harvey, has been visiting the shores of finland, to ascertain the amount of mischief and loss to poor and peaceable sufferers, occasioned by the gun-boats of the allied squadrons in the late war, with a view to obtaining relief for them." – friends' review. dead as the letter of the pentateuch, as egypt's statues cold, in the adytum of the sacred book now stands that marvel old. across the frozen marshes the winds of autumn blow, and the fen-lands of the wetter are white with early snow. “ lo, god is great !” the simple moslem says. we seek the ancient date, turn the dry scroll, and make that living phrase a dead one : “god was great !” but where the low, gray headlands look o'er the baltic brine, a bark is sailing in the track of england's battle-line. no wares hath she to barter for bothnia's fish and grain ; she saileth not for pleasure, she saileth not for gain. and, like the coptic monks by mousa's wells, we dream of wonders past, vague as the tales the wandering arab tells, each drowsier than the last. but still by isle or mainland she drops her anchor down, where'er the british cannon rained fire on tower and town. o fools and blind! above the pyramids stretches once more that hand, and trancëd egypt, from her stony lids, flings back her veil of sand. and morning smitten memnon, singing, wakes ; and, listening by his nile, o'er ammon's grave and awful visage breaks a sweet and human smile. outspake the ancient amtman, at the gate of helsingfors : “ why comes this ship a-spring in the track of england's wars ?” “god bless her,” said the coast-guard, “god bless the ship, i say. the holy angels trim the sails that speed her on her way ! “where'er she drops her anchor, the peasant's heart is glad ; where'er she spreads her parting sail, the peasant's heart is sad. not as before, with hail and fire, and call of death for midnight graves, but in the stillness of the noonday, fall the fetters of the slaves. no longer through the red sea, as of old, the bondmen walk dry shod ; “ each wasted town and hamlet she visits to restore ; to roof the shattered cabin, and feed the starving poor. 378 songs of labor and reform “ the sunken boats of fishers, the foraged beeves and grain, the spoil of take and storehouse, the good ship brings again. “ and so to finland's sorrow the sweet amend is made, as if the healing hand of christ l'pon her wounds were laid !” in its pale fire, the village spire shows like the zodiac's spectral lance ; the painted walls whereon it falls transfigured stand in marble trance ! o'er fallen leaves the west-wind grieves, yet comes a seed-time round again ; and morn shall see the state sown free with baleful tares or healthful grain. then said the gray old amtman, the will of god be done ! the battle lost by england's hate, by england's love is won ! “ we braved the iron tempest that thundered on our shore ; but when did kindness fail to find the key to finland's door ? “ no more from aland's ramparts shall warning signal come, nor startled sweaborg hear again the roll of midnight drum. • beside our fierce black eagle the dove of peace shall rest ; and in the mouths of cannon the sea-bird make her nest. along the street the shadows meet of destiny, whose hands conceal the moulds of fate that shape the state, and make or mar the common weal. 0 around i see the powers that be ; i stand by empire's primal springs ; and princes meet, in every street, and hear the tread of uncrowned kings! 64 for finland, looking seaward, no coming foe shall scan ; and the holy bells of abo shall ring, “good-will to man!' * then row thy boat, ( fisher ! in peace on lake and bay ; and thou, young maiden, dance again around the poles of may! • sit down, old men, together, old wives, in quiet spin ; henceforth the anglo-saxon is the brother of the finn!” hark! through the crowd the laugh runs loud, beneath the sad, rebuking moon. god save the land a careless hand may shake or swerve ere morrow's noon! no jest is this ; one cast amiss may blast the hope of freedom's year. oh, take me where are hearts of prayer, and foreheads bowed in reverent fear! not lightly fall beyond recall the written scrolls a breath can float; the crowning fact, the kingliest act of freedom is the freeman's vote! for pearls that gem a diadem the diver in the deep sea dies; the regal right we boast to-night is ours through costlier sacrifice; the eve of election from gold to gray our mild sweet day of indian summer fades too soon; but tenderly above the sen hangs, white and calm, the hunter's moon. from perugia 379 them, has been the encouragement and promotion he gave to the officer under whom were executed the slaughters of perugia. that made the breaking point in many honest hearts that had clung to him before." harriet beecher stowe's letters from italy. the blood of vane, his prison pain who traced the path the pilgrim trod, and hers whose faith drew strength from death, and prayed her russell up to god ! our hearts grow cold, we lightly hold a right which brave men died to gain ; the stake, the cord, the axe, the sword, grim nurses at its birth of pain. the tall, sallow guardsmen their horsetails have spread, flaming out in their violet, yellow, and red and behind go the lackeys in crimson and buff, and the chamberlains gorgeous in velvet and ruff ; next, in red-legged pomp, come the cardinals forth, each a lord of the church and a prince of the earth. a the shadow rend, and o'er us bend, o martyrs, with your crowns and palms; breathe through these throngs your battle songs, your scaffold prayers, and dungeon psalms ! look from the sky, like god's great eye, thou solemn moon, with searching beam, till in the sight of thy pure light our mean self-seekings meaner seem. shame from our hearts unworthy arts, the fraud designed, the purpose dark ; and smite away the hands we lay profanely on the sacred ark. to party claims and private aims, reveal that august face of truth, whereto are given the age of heaven, the beauty of immortal youth. what's this squeak of the fife, and this batter of drum ? lo! the swiss of the church from perugia come ; the militant angels, whose sabres drive home to the hearts of the malcontents, cursed and abhorred, the good father's missives, and “thus saith the lord !" and lend to his logic the point of the sword ! o maids of etruria, gazing forlorn o'er dark thrasymenus, dishevelled and torn! o fathers, who pluck at your gray beards for shame! o mothers, struck dumb by a woe without name! well ye know how the holy church hireling behaves, and his tender compassion of prisons and graves ! so shall our voice of sovereign choice swell the deep bass of duty done, and strike the key of time to be, when god and man shall speak as one ! there they stand, the hired stabbers, the blood-stains yet fresh, that splashed like red wine from the vintage of flesh; grim instruments, careless as pincers and rack how the joints tear apart, and the strained sinews crack ; but the hate that glares on them is sharp as their swords, and the sneer and the scowl print the air with fierce words ! from perugia “ the thing which has the most dissevered the people from the pope, – the unforgivable thing, – the breaking point between him and 380 songs of labor and reform off with hats, down with knees, shout your who keeps, all as one, the pope's conscance vivas like mad ! and gold, here's the pope in his holiday righteousness mounts guard on the altar, and pilfers from clad, thence, from shorn crown to toe-nail, kiss-worn to and flatters st. peter while stealing ks the quick, pence! of sainthood in purple the pattern and pick, who doubts antonelli ? hare miracing who the role of the priest and the soldier ceased unites, when robbers say mass, and barables > and, praying like aaron, like joshua fights ! priest ? when the church eats and drinks, at : is this pio xono the gracious, for whom mystical board, we sang our hosaunas and lighted all the true flesh and blood carved and shed roine ; by its sword, with whose advent we dreamed the new when its martyr, unsinged, claps the cruel era began on his head, when the priest should be human, the monk and roasts, as his proxy, his neighboursbe a man? stead! ah, the wolf 's with the sheep, and the fox with the fowl, there ! the bells jow and jangle the cam when freedom we trust to the crosier and blessed way cowl ! that they did when they rang for bartinoomew's day. stand aside, men of rome! here's a hanghark! the tallow faced monsters, bet man-faced swiss — women nor boss, (a blessing for him surely can't go amiss) — | vex the air with a shrill, sexless borrit of would kneel down the sanctified slipper to noise. kiss. te deum laudamus ! all round wit :: short shrift will suffice him, he's blest stint beyond doubt ; the incense-pot swings with a taint of bleed but there's blood on his bands which would in 't ! scarcely wash out, though peter himself held the baptismal and now for the blessing! of litte arspout ! count, you know, is the old one they heard on the make way for the next! here's another mount. sweet son ! its giver was landless, his raiment ** what is this mastiff-jawed rascal in epaulets poor, done ? no jewelled tiara his fishermen wirst; he did, whispers rumor, (its truth god forno incense, no lackeys, no ribes, then be to, bid !) no swiss guards! we order thazina beste at perugia what herod at bethlehem at rome. did. and the mothers ? don't name them! so bless us the strong hand, and curse es these humors of war the weak; they who keep him in service must pardon let austria's vulture have food for bet him for. beak ; let the wolf-whelp of naples play boss hist! here's the arch-knave in a cardinal's again, hat, with his death-cap of silence, ani lalter. with the heart of a wolf, and the stealth and chain ; of a cat put reason, and justice, and truth anje (as if judas and herod together were ban; rolled), for the sin unforgiven is freedom for mas' freedom in brazil 381 italy no fettered feet thy shaded margins press ; but all men shall walk free where thou, the high-priest of the wilderness, hast wedded sea to sea. across the sea i heard the groans of nations in the intervals of wind and wave. their blood and bones cried out in torture, crushed by thrones, and sucked by priestly cannibals. i dreamed of freedom slowly gained by martyr meekness, patience, faith, and lo! an athlete grimly stained, with corded muscles battle-strained, shouting it from the fields of death ! i turn me, awe-struck, from the sight, among the clamoring thousands mute, i only know that god is right, and that the children of the light shall tread the darkness under foot. i know the pent fire heaves its crust, that sultry skies the bolt will form to smite them clear ; that nature must the balance of her powers adjust, though with the earthquake and the storm. and thou, great hearted ruler, through whose mouth the word of god is said, once more, “let there be light !”. son of the south, lift up thy honored head, wear unashamed a crown by thy desert more than by birth thy own, careless of watch and ward ; thou art begirt by grateful hearts alone. the moated wall and battle-ship may fail, but safe shall justice prove ; stronger than greaves of brass or iron mail the panoply of love. crowned doubly by man's blessing and god's grace, god reigns, and let the earth rejoice! i bow before his sterner plan. dumb are the organs of my choice ; he speaks in battle's stormy voice, his praise is in the wrath of man! yet, surely as he lives, the day of peace he promised shall be ours, to fold the flags of war, and lay its sword and spear to rust away, and sow its ghastly fields with flowers ! thy future is secure ; who frees a people makes his statue's place in time's valhalla sure. lo! from his neva's banks the scythian czar stretches to thee his hand, who, with the pencil of the northern star, wrote freedom on his land. and he whose grave is holy by our calm and prairied sangamon, from his gaunt hand shall drop the martyr's palm to greet thee with “ well done ! ” and thon, o earth, with smiles thy face make sweet, and let thy wail be stilled, to hear the muse of prophecy repeat her promise half fulfilled. the voice that spake at nazareth speaks still, no sound thereof hath died ; alike thy hope and heaven's eternal will shall yet be satisfied. the years are slow, the vision tarrieth long, and far the end may be ; but, one by one, the fiends of ancient wrong go out and leave thee free. freedom in brazil with clearer light, cross of the south, shine forth in blue brazilian skies ; and thou, o river, cleaving half the earth from sunset to sunrise, from the great mountains to the atlantic waves thy joy's long anthem pour. yet a few years (god make them less !) and slaves shall shame thy pride no more. 382 songs of labor and reform woe sons under a rain of fire ; through warls of after election down which a groaning diapason runs the day's sharp strife is ended now, from tortured brothers, husbands, lover our work is done, god knoweth how ! as on the thronged, unrestful town of desolate women in their far-off homes, the patience of the moon looks down, waiting to hear the step that arvet i wait to hear, beside the wire, comes ! the voices of its tongues of fire. o men and brothers ! let that voire le heard. slow, doubtful, faint, they seem at first : war fails, try peace ; put up the te be strong, my heart, to know the worst ! sword! hark! there the alleghanies spoke ; that sound from lake and prairie broke, fear not the end. there is a story told that sunset-gun of triumph rent in eastern tents, when autumn til the silence of a continent ! grow cold, and round the fire the mongol she pherds that signal from nebraska sprung, sit this from nevada's mountain tongue ! with grave responses listening unto it. is that thy answer, strong and free, | once, on the errands of his mercy bent, o loyal heart of tennessee ? | buddha, the holy and benevolent, what strange, glad voice is that which calls met a fell monster, huge and fierce and from wagner's grave and sumter's walls ? look, whose awful voice the hills and fupra from mississippi's fountain-head shook. a sound as of the bison's tread ! “o son of peace !” the giant cried. "the there rustled freedom's charter oak! fate in that wild burst the ozarks spoke ! is sealed at last, and love shall field to cheer answers cheer from rise to set hate." of sun. we have a country yet! the anarmed buddha looking, with m trace the praise, o god, be thine alone ! of fear or anger, in the monster's farve, thou givest not for bread a stone ; in pity said : pour fiend, even thee i thou hast not led us through the night love." to blind us with returning light ; lo! as he spake the sky-tall terror esrik vot through the furnace have we passed, to hand-breadth size ; tbe huge abborrente to perish at its mouth at last. shrank into the form and fashion of a dore; o night of peace, thy flight restrain ! and where the thunder of its ruge ** november's moon, be slow to wane ! heard, shine on the freedman's cabin floor, circling above him sweetly sang the bird on brows of prayer a blessing pour ; “ hate hath no harm for lore," so ran : and give, with full assurance blest, song ; the weary heart of freedom rest ! “and peace unweaponed conquers erer! wrong!" disarmament “ put up the sword!" the voice of christ the problem once more 1 speaks, in the panses of the cannon's roar, o'er fields of corn by fiery sickles reaped not without envy wealth at times fast and left dry ashes ; over trenches heaped look with nameless dead; o'er cities starving on their brown strength who wid dibe slow reaping-hook 64 our country 383 ii and scythe, or at the forge-fire shape the fathers sleep, but men remain the plough as wise, as true, and brave as they; or the steel harness of the steeds of steam; why count the loss and not the gain ? all who, by skill and patience, anyhow the best is that we have to-day. make service noble, and the earth redeem from savageness. by kingly accolade whate'er of folly, shame, or crime, than theirs was never worthier knighthood within thy mighty bounds transpires, made. with speed defying space and time, well for them, if, while demagogues their comes to us on the accusing wires ; vain and evil counsels proffer, they maintain while of thy wealth of noble deeds, their honest manhood unseduced, and thy homes of peace, thy votes unsold, wage the love that pleads for human needs, no war with labor's right to labor's gain the wrong redressed, but half is told ! of sweet home-comfort, rest of hand and brain, we read each felon's chronicle, and softer pillow for the head of age. his acts, his words, his gallows-mood; we know the single sinner well and not the nine and ninety good. and well for gain if it ungrudging yields labor its just demand ; and well for yet if, on daily scandals fed, ease we seem at times to doubt thy worth, if in the uses of its own, it sees we know thee still, when all is said, no wrong to him who tills its pleasant the best and dearest spot on earth. fields and spreads the table of its luxuries. from the warm mexic gulf, or where the interests of the rich man and the poor belted with flowers los angeles are one and same, inseparable evermore ; basks in the semi-tropic air, and, when scant wage or labor fail to give to where katahdin's cedar trees, food, shelter, raiment, wherewithal to live, are dwarfed and bent by northern winds, need has its rights, necessity its claim. thy plenty's horn is yearly filled ; yea, even self-wrought misery and shame alone, the rounding century finds test well the charity suffering long and thy liberal soil by free hands tilled. kind. the home-pressed question of the age can a refuge for the wronged and poor, find thy generous heart has borne the blame no answer in the catch-words of the blind that, with them, through thy open door, leaders of blind. solution there is none the old world's evil outcasts canie. save in the golden rule of christ alone. but, with thy just and equal rule, and labor's need and breadth of lands, our country free press and rostrum, church and school, read at woodstock, conn., july 4, 1883. thy sure, if slow, transforming hands, we give thy natal day to hope, shall mould even them to thy design, o country of our love and prayer ! making a blessing of the ban ; thy way is down no fatal slope, and freedom's chemistry combine but up to freer sun and air. the alien elements of man. tried as by furnace-fires, and yet the power that broke their prison bar by god's grace only stronger made, and set the dusky millions free, in future tasks before thee set and welded in the flame of war thou shalt not lack the old-time aid. the union fast to liberty, 384 songs of labor and reform shall it not deal with other ills, redress the red man's grievance, break the circean cup which shames and kills, and labor full requital make ? o land of lands ! to thee we give our prayers, our hopes, our service free, for thee thy sons shall nobly live, and at thy need shall die for thee! on the big horn alone to such as fitly bear thy civic honors bid them fall ? and call thy daughters forth to share the rights and duties pledged to all ? give every child his right of school, merge private greed in public good, and spare a treasury overfull the tax upon a poor man's food ? no lack was in thy primal stock, no weakling founders builded here ; thine were the men of plymouth rock, the huguenot and cavalier ; and they whose firm endurance gained the freedom of the souls of men, whose hands, unstained with blood, maintained the swordless commonwealth of penn. and thine shall be the power of all to do the work which duty bids, and make the people's council hall as lasting as the pyramids ! well have thy later years made good thy brave-said word a century back, the pledge of human brotherhood, the equal claim of white and black. that word still echoes round the world, and all who hear it turn to thee, and read upon thy flag unfurled the prophecies of destiny. thy great world-lesson all shall learn, the nations in thy school shall sit, earth's farthest mountain-tops shall burn with watch-fires from thy own uplit. great without seeking to be great by fraud or conquest, rich in gold, but richer in the large estate of virtue which thy children hold, with peace that comes of purity and strength to simple justice due, so runs our loval dream of thee ; god of our fathers ! make it true. in the disastrous battle on the bis hirm river, in which general ('uster and her. force were slain, the chief rain-in-the twee was one of the tiercest leaders of the latinas in longfellow's poem on the massere, the lines will be remembered : " revenge!” cried rain-in-the-face, ** revenge upon all the race of the white chief with yellow har*** and the mountains dark and paintbe from their crags reechoed the cry of his anger and despair. he is now a man of peace; and the acuzi si standing rock, dakota, writes, septeutuut 1 st: rain-in-the-face is very anywas to to hampton. i fear he is too old, but he de very much to go." the southern work ads the organ of general armstrong's industriale at hampton, l'a., says in a late number * rain-in-the-face has applied before the come to hampton, but his age would -ir's him from the school as an ordinary stwist ile has shown himself very much in earts about it, and is anxious, all sav. to learn t". better ways of life. it is as unasual as r > striking to see a man of his age, and has had such an experience, willing to gre t the old way, and put himself in the poine a boy and a student." the years are but half a score, and the war-whoop sounds po more with the blast of bugles, where straight into a slaughter peni, with his doomed three hunind men, rode the chief with the yellow bear. o hampton, down by the sea ! what voice is beseeching thee for the scholar's lowliest place : can this be the voice of bim who fought on the big horn's non can this be rain-in-the-face ? his war-paint is washed away, his hands have forgotten to slar : he seeks for himself and his the the arts of peace and the lore that give to the skilled hand more than the spoils of war and chase. on the big horn 385 o chief of the christ-like school ! can the zeal of thy heart grow cool when the victor scarred with fight like a child for thy guidance craves, and the faces of hunters and braves are turning to thee for light? the hatchet lies overgrown with grass by the yellowstone, wind river and paw of bear; and, in sign that foes are friends, each lodge like a peace-pipe sends its smoke in the quiet air. the hands that have done the wrong to right the wronged are strong, and the voice of a nation saith : “ enough of the war of swords, enough of the lying words and shame of a broken faith!” the hills that have watched afar the valleys ablaze with war shall look on the tasselled corn ; and the dust of the grinded grain, instead of the blood of the slain, shall sprinkle thy banks, big horn ! the ute and the wandering crow shall know as the white men know, and fare as the white men fare ; the pale and the red shall be brothers, one's rights shall be as another's, home, school, and house of prayer ! o mountains that climb to snow, o river winding below, through meadows by war once trod, o wild, waste lands that await the harvest exceeding great, break forth into praise of god! poems subjective and reminiscent memories i feel its glow upon my cheek, its fulness of the heart is mine, (“it was not without thought and deliberaas when i leaned to hear thee speak, tion," whittier's biographer writes, “that in or raised my doubtful eye to thine. 1868 he directed this poem to be placed at the head of his poems subjective and reminiscent. he had never before publicly acknowledged i hear again thy low replies, how much of his heart was wrapped up in this i feel thy arm within my own, delightful play of poetic fancy. the poem was and timidly again uprise written in 1811, and although the romance it the fringed lids of hazel eyes, embalms lies far back of this date, possibly with soft brown tresses overblown. there is a heart still beating which fully underah ! memories of sweet summer eres, stands its meaning. the biographer can do no of moonlit wave and willowy way, more than make this suggestion, which has the of stars and flowers, and dewy leaves, sanction of the poet's explicit word. to a friend and smiles and tones more dear that who told him that memories was her favorite they ! poem, he said, i love it too; but i hardly knew whether to publish it, it was so personal and near my heart.'”] ere this, thy quiet eye hath smiled my picture of thy youth to see, a beautiful and happy girl, when, half a woman, half a child, with step as light as summer air, thy very artlessness iwguiled, eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, and folly's self seemed wise in thee; shadowed by many a careless curl i too can smile, when o'er that bour of uncontined and flowing hair ; the lights of memory backward struas. a seeming child in everything, yet feel the while that manhood's power save thoughtful brow and ripening is vainer than my boyhood's dream. charms, as nature wears the smile of spring years have passed on, and left their trare. when sinking into summer's arms. of graver care and deeper thought, and unto me the calm, cold face a mind rejoicing in the light of manhood, and to thee the grace which melted through its graceful of woman's pensive beauty brought. bower, more wide, perehance, for blame tik leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright, praise, and stainless in its holy white, the school-boy's humble name has the unfolding like a morning tower : thine, in the green and quiet ways a heart, which, like a fine-toned lute, of unobtrusive goodness known. with every breath of feeling woke, and, even when the tongue was mute, and wider yet in thought and deed from eye and lip in music spoke. diverge our pathways, one in path; thine the genevan's sternest eredi, how thrills once more the lengthening while answers to my spirit's perd chain the derby dalesman's simple truth. of memory, at the thought of thee! for thee, the priestly rite and prayer, old hopes which long in dust have lain, and holy day, and solemn psalm; old dreams, come thronging back again, for me, the silent reverence where and boyhood lives again in me; my brethren gather, slow and calm. 386 raphael 387 the narrow room had vanished, space, broad, luminous, remained alone, through which all hues and shapes of grace and beauty looked or shone. around the mighty master came the marvels which his pencil wrought, those miracles of power whose fame is wide as human thought. yet hath thy spirit left on me an impress time has woru not out, and something of myself in thee, a shadow from the past, i see, lingering, even yet, thy way about ; not wholly can the heart unlearn that lesson of its better hours, not yet has time’s dull footstep worn to common dust that path of flowers. thus, while at times before our eyes the shadows melt, and fall apart, and, smiling through them, round us lies the warm light of our morning skies, the indian summer of the heart ! in secret sympathies of mind, in founts of feeling which retain their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find our early dreams not wholly vain ! there drooped thy more than mortal face, o mother, beautiful and mild ! enfolding in one dear embrace thy saviour and thy child ! the rapt brow of the desert john ; the awful glory of that day when all the father's brightness shone through manhood's veil of clay. and, midst gray prophet forms, and wild dark visions of the days of old, how sweetly woman's beauty smiled through locks of brown and gold ! raphael suggested by the portrait of raphael, at the age of fifteen. i shall not soon forget that sight : the glow of autumn's westering day, a hazy warmth, a dreamy light, on raphael's picture lay. there fornarina's fair young face once more upon her lover shone, whose model of an angel's grace he borrowed from her own. slow passed that vision from my view, but not the lesson which it taught ; the soft, calm shadows which it threw still rested on my thought : it was a simple print i saw, the fair face of a musing boy ; yet, while i gazed, a sense of awe seemed bending with my joy. a single print, – the graceful flow of boyhood's soft and wavy hair, and fresh young lip and cheek, and brow unmarked and clear, were there. the truth, that painter, bard, and sage, even in earth's cold and changeful clime, plant for their deathless heritage the fruits and flowers of time. yet through its sweet and calm repose i saw the inward spirit shine ; it was as if before me rose the white veil of a shrine. we shape ourselves the joy or fear of which the coming life is made, and fill our future's atmosphere with sunshine or with shade. the tissue of the life to be we weave with colors all our own, and in the field of destiny we reap as we have sown. as if, as gothland's sage has told, the hidden life, the man within, dissevered from its frame and mould, by mortal eye were seen. was it the lifting of that eye, the waving of that pictured hand ? loose as a cloud-wreath on the sky, i saw the walls expand. still shall the soul around it call the shadows which it gathered here, and, painted on the eternal wall, the past shall reappear. 388 poems subjective and reminiscent think ye the notes of holy song on milton's tuneful ear have died ? think ye that raphael's angel throng has vanished from his side ? and sadder still, i saw the woe which only wounded spirits know when pride's strong footsteps o'er thea go. oh no! we live our life again ; or warmly touched, or oldly dim, the pictures of the past remain, man's works shall follow him ! ego written in the album of a friend [originally entitled lines written in the book of a friend. on page of thine i cannot trace the cold and heartless commonplace, a statue's fixed and marble grace. for ever as these lines i penned, still with the thought of thee will blend that of some loved and common friend, who in life's desert track has made his pilgrim tent with mine, or strayed beneath the same remembered shade. and hence my pen unfettered moves in freedom which the heart approves, the negligence which friendship loves. and wilt thou prize my poor gift less for simple air and rustic dress, and sign of haste and carelessness ? oh, more than specious counterfeit of sentiment or studied wit, a heart like thine should value it. yet half i frar my gift will be unto thy book, if not to thee, of more than doubtful courtesy. a banished name from fashion's sphere, a lay unheard of beauty's ear, forbid, disowned, — what do they here? 'pon my ear not all in vain came the sad captive's clanking chain, the groaning from his bed of pain. spurned not alone in walks abroad, but from the temples of the lon thrust out apart, like things abhorred. deep as i felt, and stern and strong. in words which prudence sinot hered long, my soul spoke out against the wrung; not mine alone the task to speak of comfort to the poor and weak, and dry the tear on sorrow's cheek; but, mingled in the conflict warin, to pour the fiery breath of storm through the harsh trumpet of refur ; to brave opinion's settled frown, from ermined robe and saintly gown, while wrestling reverenced error du? founts gushed beside my pilgrim way, cool shadows on the greeniswari lar. flowers swung upon the bending spray and, broad and bright, on either hand, stretched the green slopes of fursund with hope's eternal sunbow spalities; whence voices called me like the flow, which on the listener's ear will groa, of forest streamlets soft and low. and gentle eyes, which still retain their picture on the heart and brain smiled, beckoning from that path of pas. in vain ! nor dream, nor rest. nor pua, 125 remain for him who round bim draws the battered mail of freedom's cause. from youthful hopes, from eab gros spot of young romance, and gentle thures where storm and tumult enter dat; from each fair altar, where lelong the offerings lore rramures of song io homage to her brightened througe i ego 389 with soul and strength, with heart and hand, i turned to freedom's struggling band, to the sad helots of our land. and when the summer winds shall sweep with their light wings my place of sleep, and mosses round my headstone creep ; if still, as freedom's rallying sign, upon the young heart's altars shine the very fires they caught from mine; what marvel then that fame should turn her notes of praise to those of scorn ; her gifts reclaimed, her smiles withdrawn? if words my lips once uttered still, in the calm faith and steadfast will of other hearts, their work fulfil ; what matters it ? a few years more, life's surge so restless heretofore shall break upon the unknown shore ! perchance with joy the soul may learn these tokens, and its eye discern the fires which on those altars burn; in that far land shall disappear the shadows which we follow here, the mist-wreaths of our atmosphere ! before no work of mortal hand, of human will or strength expand the pearl gates of the better land ; alone in that great love which gave life to the sleeper of the grave, resteth the power to seek and save. yet, if the spirit gazing through the vista of the past can view one deed to heaven and virtue true ; a marvellous joy that even then, the spirit hath its life again, in the strong hearts of mortal men. take, lady, then, the gift i bring, no gay and graceful offering, no flower-smile of the laughing spring. midst the green buds of youth's fresh may, with fancy's leaf-enwoven bay, my sad and sombre gift i lay. if through the wreck of wasted powers, of garlands wreathed from folly's bowers, of idle aims and misspent hours, and if it deepens in thy mind a sense of suffering human-kind, the outcast and the spirit-blind ; the eye can note one sacred spot by pride and self profanëd not, a green place in the waste of thought, oppressed and spoiled on every side, by prejudice, and scorn, and pride, life's common courtesies denied ; where deed or word hath rendered less the sum of human wretchedness, aud gratitude looks forth to bless ; the simple burst of tenderest feeling from sad hearts worn by evil-dealing, for blessing on the hand of healing; better than glory's pomp will be that green and blessed spot to me, a palm-shade in eternity! something of time which may invite the purified and spiritual sight to rest on with a calm delight. sad mothers mourning o'er their trust, children by want and misery nursed, tasting life's bitter cup at first ; if to their strong appeals which come from fireless hearth, and crowded room, and the close alley's noisome gloom,though dark the hands upraised to thee in mute beseeching agony, thou lend’st thy woman's sympathy ; not vainly on thy gentle shrine, where love, and mirth, and friendship twine their varied gifts, i offer mine. 390 poems subjective and reminiscent siin, run, when wood-grapes were purpling aa! the pumpkin brown nuts were falling! when wild, ugly faces we carved in its on, greenly and fair in the lands of the skin, glaring out through the dark with a cando the vines of the gourd and the rich melon within ! when we laughed round the corn-bras. and the rock and the tree and the cottage with hearts all in tune, enfold, our chair a broad pumpkin, – our lanter: with broad leaves all greenness and blosthe moon, soms all gold, telling tales of the fairy who travelled ike like that which o'er nineveh's prophet once steam, grew, in a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats is while lie waited to know that his warning her team! was true, and longed for the storm-cloud, and listhen thanks for thy present ! none swerter tened in vain or better for the rush of the whirlwind and red firee’er smoked from an oven or circled . rain. platter ! fairer hands never wronght at a pastry on the banks of the xenil the dark spanish more fine, maiden brighter eyes never watched o'er its badcomes up with the fruit of the tangled vine ing, than thine ! laden ; and the prayer, which my mouth is to and the creole of cuba laughs out to befull to express, hold swells my heart that thy shadow mua! through orange-leaves shining the broad never be less, spheres of gold ; that the days of thy lot may be lengte yet with dearer delight from his home in ened below, the north, and the fame of thy worth like a purupl.: on the fields of his harvest the yankee looks forth, and thy life be as sweet, and its last en where crook-necks are coiling and yellow set sky fruit shines, golden-tinted and fair as thy own pumpk: and the sun of september melts down on pie ! his vines. ah! on thanksgiving day, when from east forgiveness and from west, from north and from south come the pil. my heart was heavy, for its trust bu grim and guest, been when the grav-haired new englander sees abused, its kindness answered with fia round his board wrong ; the old broken links of affection restored, so, turning gloomily from my fell when the care-wearied man seeks his momen, ther once more, one summer sabbath day i sta and the worn matron smiles where the girl among smiled before, the green mounds of the village barewhat moistens the lip and what brightens place ; the eye ? where, pondering how all humas per what calls back the past, like the rich and hate pumpkin pie ? find one sad level; and bow, sode late, oh, fruit loved of boy bood ! the old days wronged and wrong loer, each with metrecalling, ened face, vine grow, my thanks 391 and cold hands folded over a still heart, pass the green threshold of our common grave, whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart, awed for myself, and pitying my race, our common sorrow, like a mighty wave, swept all my pride away, and trembling i forgave! dear heart ! the legend is not vain which lights that holy hearth again, and calling back from care and pain, and death's funereal sadness, draws round its old familiar blaze the clustering groups of happier days, and lends to sober manhood's gaze a glimpse of childish gladness. and, knowing how my life hath been a weary work of tongue and pen, a long, harsh strife with strong-willed men, thou wilt not chide my turning to con, at times, an idle rhyme, to pluck a flower from childhood's clime, or listen, at life's noonday chime, for the sweet bells of morning ! to my sister with a copy of "the supernaturalism of new england” my thanks the work referred to was a series of papers under this title, contributed to the democratic review and afterward collected into a volume, in which i noted some of the superstitions and folklore prevalent in new england. the volume has not been kept in print, but most of its contents are distributed in my literary recreations and miscellanies (now scattered in volumes v. and vi. of the riverside edition). accompanying manuscripts presented to a friend [formerly entitled lines.] 't is said that in the holy land the angels of the place have blessed the pilgrim's bed of desert sand, like jacob's stone of rest. that down the hush of syrian skies some sweet-voiced saint at twilight sings the song whose holy symphonies are beat by unseen wings ; dear sister! while the wise and sage turn coldly from my playful page, and count it strange that ripened age should stoop to boyhood's folly ; i know that thou wilt judge aright of all which makes the heart more light, or lends one star-gleam to the night of clouded melancholy. away with weary cares and themes ! swing wide the moonlit gate of dreams ! leave free once more the land which teems with wonders and romances ! where thou, with clear discerning eyes, shalt rightly read the truth which lies beneath the quaintly masking guise of wild and wizard fancies. till starting from his sandy bed, the wayworn wanderer looks to see the halo of an angel's head shine through the tamarisk-tree. so through the shadows of my way thy smile hath fallen soft and clear, so at the weary close of day hath seemed thy voice of cheer. that pilgrim pressing to his goal may pause not for the vision's sake, yet all fair things within his soul the thought of it shall wake : 0 lo ! once again our feet we get on still green wood-paths, twilight wet, by lonely brooks, whose waters fret the roots of spectral beeches ; again the hearth-fire glimmers o'er home's whitewashed wall and painted floor, and young eyes widening to the lore of faery-folks and witches. the graceful palm-tree by the well, seen on the far horizon's rim ; the dark eyes of the fleet gazelle, bent timidly on him ; 392 poems subjective and reminiscent each pictured saint, whose golden hair streams sunlike through the convent's gloom ; pale shrines of martyrs young and fair, and loving mary's tomb; pressed on thy heart, the leares i bring may well defy the wintry cold, until, in heaven's eternal spring, life's fairer ones unfold remembrance with copies of the author's writings common and thus each tint or shade which falls, from sunset cloud or waving tree, along my pilgrim path, recalls the pleasant thought of thee. of one in sun and shade the same, in weal and woe my steady friend, whatever by that holy name the angels comprehend. not blind to faults and follies, thou hast never failed the good to see, nor judged by one unseemly bough the upward-struggling tree. these light leaves at thy feet i lay, poor common thoughts on things, which time is shaking, day by day, like feathers from his wings ; chance shootings from a frail life-tree, to nurturing care but little known, their good was partly learned of thee, their folly is my own. that tree still clasps the kindly mould, its leaves still drink the twilight dew, and weaving its pale green with gold, still shines the sunlight through. there still the morning zephyrs play, and there at times the spring bird sings, and mossy trunk and fading spray are flowered with glossy wings. yet, even in genial sun and rain, root, branch, and leaflet fail and fade ; the wanderer on its lonely plain erelong shall miss its shade. o friend beloved, whose curious skill keeps bright the last year's leaves and flowers, with warm, glad, summer thoughts to fill the cold, dark, winter hours ! friend of mine! whose lot was cast with me in the distant past; where, like shadows flitting fast, fact and fancy, thought and theme, word and work, begin to seem like a half-remembered dream! touched by change have all things bees, yet i think of thee as when we had speech of lip and pen. for the calm thy kindness lent to a path of discontent, rough with trial and dissent; gentle words where such were few, softening blame where blame was true, praising where small praise was due ; for a waking dream made good, for an ideal understood, for thy christian womanhood ; for thy marvellous gift to eull from our common life and dull whatsoe'er is beautiful ; thoughts and fancies, hybla's bees dropping sweetness ; true heart's ease of congenial sympathies ;still for these i own my debt; memory, with her erelids wet. fain would thank thee even yet i and as one who scatters flowers where the queen of may's sweet bour sits, o'ertwined with blossomed buwers in superfluous zeal bestowing gifts where gifts are overtlowing, so i pay the debt i'm owing. my namesake 393 to thy full thoughts, gay or sad, sunny-hued or sober clad, something of my own i add ; well assured that thou wilt take even the offering which i make kindly for the giver's sake. yet not the less i own your claim to grateful thanks, dear friends of mine. hang, if it please you so, my name upon your household line. let fame from brazen lips blow wide her chosen names, i envy none : a mother's love, a father's pride, shall keep alive my own! my namesake addressed to francis greenleaf allison of burlington, n. j. still shall that name as now recall the young leaf wet with morning dew, the glory where the sunbeams fall the breezy woodlands throngh. that name shall be a household word, a spell to waken smile or sigh ; in many an evening prayer be heard and cradle lullaby. a you scarcely need my tardy thanks, who, self-rewarded, nurse and tend a green leaf on your own green banks the memory of your friend. for me, no wreath, bloom-woven, hides the sobered brow and lessening hair : for aught i know, the myrtled sides of helicon are bare. and thou, dear child, in riper days when asked the reason of thy name, shalt answer : “one 't were vain to praise or censure bore the same. their scallop-shells so many bring the fabled founts of song to try, they've drained, for aught i know, the spring of aganippe dry. “some blamed him, some believed him good, the truth lay doubtless 'twixt the two; he reconciled as best he could old faith and fancies new. ah well ! the wreath the muses braid proves often folly's cap and bell ; methinks, my ample beaver's shade may serve my turn as well. “in him the grave and playful mixed, and wisdom held with folly truce, and nature compromised betwixt good fellow and recluse. let love's and friendship’s tender debt be paid by those i love in life. · why should the unborn critic whet for me his scalping-knife ? “ he loved his friends, forgave his foes ; and, if his words were harsh at times, he spared his fellow-men, — his blows fell only on their crimes. why should the stranger peer and pry one's vacant house of life about, and drag for curious ear and eye his faults and follies out ? “he loved the good and wise, but found his human heart to all akin who met him on the common ground of suffering and of sin. why stuff, for fools to gaze upon, with chaff of words, the garb he wore, as corn-husks when the ear is gone are rustled all the more ? “whate'er his neighbors might endure of pain or grief his own became ; for all the ills he could not cure he held himself to blame. let kindly silence close again, the picture vanish from the eye, and on the dim and misty main let the small ripple die. “ his good was mainly an intent, his evil not of forethought done ; the work he wrought was rarely meant or finished as begun. 394 poems subjective and reminiscent “ ill served his tides of feeling strong to turn the common mills of use ; and, over restless wings of song, his birthright garb hung loose! “ his eye was beauty's powerless slave, and his the ear which discord pains ; few guessed beneath his aspect grave what passions strove in chains. “ he had his share of care and pain, no holiday was life to him ; still in the heirloom cup we drain the bitter drop will swim. “yet heaven was kind, and here a bird and there a flower beguiled his way ; and cool, in summer noons, he heard the fountains plash and play. “ on all his sad or restless moods the patient peace of nature stole ; the quiet of the fields and woods sank deep into his soul. “ile worshipped as his fathers did, and kept the faith of childish days, and, howsoe'er he strayed or slid, ile loved the good old ways. “the simple tastes, the kindly traits, the tranquil air, and gentle speech, the silence of the soul that waits for more than man to teach. “like childhood, listening for the sound of its dropped pebbles in the well, all wainly down the dark profound his brief-lined plummet fell. “so, scattering flowers with pioas pains on old beliefs, of later creeds, which claimed a place in truth's dom mains, he asked the title-deeds. “ he saw the old-time's groves and shrines in the long distance fair and din; and heard, like sound of far-off pines, the century-mellowed hymn ! “ he dared not mock the dervish whirl, the brahmin's rite, the lama's speil; god knew the heart ; devotion's pearl might sanctify the shell. “while others trod the altar stairs he faltered like the publican ; and, while they praised as saints, ka prayers were those of sinful man. saw “the cant of party, school, and sect, provoked at times his honest scorn, and folly, in its gray respect, he tossed on satire's horn. “for, awed by sinai's mount of law, the trembling faith alone suttede that, through its cloud and tiame, the sweet, sad face of christ! “ and listening, with his forehead boved. heard the divine compassion til the pauses of the trump and cloud with whispers small and still. “ the words he spake, the thoughts penned, are inortal as his hand and brain. but, if they served the master's end, he has not lived in vain!" " but still his heart was full of awe and reverence for all sacred things ; and, brooding over form and law, he saw the spirit's wings ! “ life's mystery wrapt him like a cloud; he heard far voices mock his own, the sweep of wings unseen, the loud, long roll of waves unknown. “ the arrows of his straining sight fell quenched in darkness ; priest and sage, like lost guides calling left and right, perplexed his doubtful age. heaven make thee better than thy dame child of my friends ! – fof thre i crave what riches never bought, nor fame to mortal longing gave. i pray the prayer of plato old : god make thee beautiful within, and let thine eyes the good bebold in everything save sin ! my dream 395 my dream imagination held in check to serve, not rule, thy poisëd mind ; thy reason, at the frown or beck of conscience, loose or bind. no dreamer thou, but real all, strong manhood crowning vigorous youth life made by duty epical and rhythmic with the truth. so shall that life the fruitage yield which trees of healing only give, and green-leafed in the eternal field of god, forever live! in my dream, methought i trod, i yesternight, a mountain road ; narrow as al sirat's span, high as eagle's flight, it ran. overhead, a roof of cloud with its weight of thunder bowed ; underneath, to left and right, blankness and abysmal night. here and there a wild-flower blushed; now and then a bird-song gushed ; now and then, through rifts of shade, stars shone out, and sunbeams played. a memory [the singer in this poem was a daughter of whittier's early friend, n. p. rogers.] but the goodly company, walking in that path with me, one by one the brink o'erslid, one by one the darkness bid. some with wailing and lament, some with cheerful courage went ; but, of all who smiled or mourned, never one to us returned. here, while the loom of winter weaves the shroud of flowers and fountains, i think of thee and summer eves among the northern mountains. when thunder tolled the twilight's close, and winds the lake were rude on, and thou wert singing, ca' the yowes, the bonny yowes of cluden ! when, close and closer, hushing breath, our circle narrowed round thee, and smiles and tears made up the wreath wherewith our silence crowned thee; and, strangers all, we felt the ties of sisters and of brothers ; ah! whose of all those kindly eyes now smile upon another's ? anxiously, with eye and ear, questioning that shadow drear, never hand in token stirred, never answering voice i heard ! steeper, darker !lo! i felt from my feet the pathway melt, swallowed by the black despair, and the hungry jaws of air, past the stony-throated caves, strangled by the wash of waves, past the splintered crags, i sank on a green and flowery bank, – soft as fall of thistle-down, lightly as a cloud is blown, soothingly as childhood pressed to the bosom of its rest. the sport of time, who still apart the waifs of life is flinging ; oh, nevermore shall heart to heart draw nearer for that singing ! yet when the panes are frosty-starred, and twilight's fire is gleaming, i hear the songs of scotland's bard sound softly through my dreaming ! of the sharp-horned rocks instead, green the grassy meadows spread, bright with waters singing by trees that propped a golden sky. painless, trustful, sorrow-free, old lost faces welcomed me, a song that lends to winter snows the glow of summer weather, again i hear thee ca' the yowes to cluden's hills of heather ! -396 poems subjective and reminiscent with whose sweetness of content still expectant hope was blent. waking while the dawning gray slowly brightened into day, pondering that vision fled, thus unto myself i said:“ steep and hung with clouds of strife is our narrow path of life; and our death the dreaded fall through the dark, awaiting all. “so, with painful steps we climb up the dizzy ways of time, ever in the shadow shed by the forecast of our dread. “ dread of mystery solved alone, of the untried and unknown; yet the end thereof may seem like the falling of my dream. " and this heart-consuming care, all our fears of here or there, change and absence, loss and death, prove but simple lack of faith.” thou, o most compassionate! who didst stoop to our estate, drinking of the cup we drain, treading in our path of pain, through the doubt and mystery, grant to us thy steps to see, and the grace to draw from thence larger hope and confidence. show thy vacant tomb, and let, as of old, the angels sit, whispering, by its open door : · fear not! he hath gone before !" i was once a barefoot boy ! prince thou art, — the grown-up man only is republican. let the million-dollared ride! barefoot, trudging at his side, thou hast more than he can buy in the reach of ear and eye,outward sunshine, inward jor: blessings on thee, barefoot boy! oh for boyhood's painless play, sleep that wakes in laughing day, health that mocks the doctor's rules, knowledge never learned of schools, of the wild bee's morning chave, of the wild flower's time and place, flight of fowl and habitude of the tenants of the wood; how the tortoise bears his shell, how the woodchuck digs his cell, and the ground-mole sinks his well; how the robin feeds her young, how the oriole's nest is hung; where the whitest lilies blow, where the freshest berries grow, where the ground-nut trails its vide, where the wood-grape's cluster shine; of the black wasp's cunning way, mason of his walls of clay, and the architectural plans of gray hornet artisans ! for, eschewing books and tasks, nature answers all he asks ; hand in hand with her he walks, face to face with her be talks, part and parcel of her jos, blessings on the barefoot bor! oh for boyhood's time of june, crowding years in one brief moon, when all things i heard or saw, me, their master, waited for. i was rich in tlowers and trees, humming-birds and honey-hees; for my sport the squirrel plaved, plied the snouted mole his spade ; for my taste the blackberry code purpled over hedge and stone ; laughed the brook for my delight through the day and through the night, whispering at the garden wall, talked with me from fall to fall; mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pood mine the walnut slopes berond. mine, on bending orchard trees, the barefoot boy blessings on thee, little man, barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! with thy turned-rp pantaloons, and thy merry whistled tunes ; with thy red lip, redder still kissed by strawberries on the hill ; with the sunshine on ths face, through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; from my heart i give thee joy, — my psalm 397 no longer forward nor behind i look in hope or fear ; but, grateful, take the good i find, the best of now and here. i plough no more a desert land, to harvest weed and tare ; the manna dropping from god's hand rebukes my painful care. apples of hesperides ! still as my horizon grew, larger grew my riches too; all the world i saw or knew seemed a complex chinese toy, fashioned for a barefoot boy ! oh for festal dainties spread, like my bowl of milk and bread; pewter spoon and bowl of wood, on the door-stone, gray and rude ! o'er me, like a regal tent, cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, purple-curtained, fringed with gold, looped in many a wind-swung fold; while for music came the play of the pied frogs' orchestra ; and, to light the noisy choir, lit the fly his lamp of fire. i was monarch : pomp and joy waited on the barefoot boy ! i break my pilgrim staff, i lay aside the toiling oar ; the angel sought so far away i welcome at my door. the airs of spring may never play among the ripening corn, nor freshness of the flowers of may blow through the autumn morn ; yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look through fringed lids to heaven, and the pale aster in the brook shall see its image given ; the woods shall wear their robes of praise, the south-wind softly sigh, and sweet, calm days in golden haze melt down the amber sky. cheerily, then, my little man, live and laugh, as boyhood can ! though the flinty slopes be hard, stubble-speared the new-mown sward, every morn shall lead thee through fresh baptisms of the dew ; every evening from thy feet shall the cool wind kiss the heat : all too soon these feet must hide in the prison cells of pride, lose the freedom of the sod, like a colt's for work be shod, made to tread the mills of toil, up and down in ceaseless moil : happy if their track be found never on forbidden ground ; happy if they sink not in quick and treacherous sands of sin. ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy, ere it passes, barefoot boy! not less shall manly deed and word rebuke an age of wrong ; the graven flowers that wreathe the sword make not the blade less strong. but smiting hands shall learn to heal,to build as to destroy ; nor less my heart for others feel that i the more enjoy. my psalm i mourn no more my vanished years: beneath a tender rain, an april rain of smiles and tears, my heart is young again. all as god wills, who wisely heeds to give or to withhold, and knoweth more of all my needs than all my prayers have told ! enough that blessings undeserved have marked my erring track ; that wheresoe'er my feet have swerved, his chastening turned me back ; that more and more a providence of love is understood, making the springs of time and sense sweet with eternal good ; the west-winds blow, and, singing low, i hear the glad streams run ; the windows of my soul i throw wide open to the sun. 398 poems subjective and reminiscent that death seems but a covered way which opens into light, wherein no blinded child can stray beyond the father's sight; that care and trial seem at last, through memory's sunset air, like mountain-ranges overpast, in purple distance fair; that all the jarring notes of life seem blending in a psalm, and all the angles of its strife slow rounding into calm. and so the shadows fall apart, and so the west-winds play ; and all the windows of my heart i open to the day. like one whose limbs are bound in trance i hear the day-sounds swell and grue, and see across the twilight glane, troop after troop, in swift advaner, the shining ones with plunes of snow! i know the errand of their feet, i know what mighty work is theirs ; i can but lift up hands unmeet the threshing-floors of god to beat, and speed them with unworthy prayers i will not dream in vain despair the steps of progress wait for me : the pony leverage of a hair the planet's impulse well may spare, a drop of dew the tided sea. the loss, if loss there be, is mine, and yet not mine if understood ; for one shall grasp and one resign, one drink life's rue, and one its wine, and god shall make the balance goed oh power to do! oh baffled will! oh prayer and action ! ye are one. who may not strive, may yet fulfil the harder task of standing still, aud good but wished with god is dee! the waiting i wait and watch : before my eyes methinks the night grows thin and gray ; i wait and watch the eastern skies to see the golden spears uprise beneath the oriflamme of day! snow-bound a winter idyl to the memory of the hol'sehold it describes this poem is dedicated by the author the inmates of the family at the whittier vent, and felt it her duty to prowlaim the 1.-2. homestead who are referred to in the poem speedy coming. with this nusiske were my father, mother, my brother and two the atlantic and spent the greater part ! sisters, and my uncle and aunt, both unmarried. long life in travelling over earp and 1... in addition, there was the district school mas. she lived some time with luy liestr ter, who boarded with us. the "not unfeared, hope, a woman as fantastic i half-welcome guest" was harriet livermore, strained as herself. on the slope of mi l danghter of judge livermore, of new hamp. but finally quarrelled with her in mani to te shire, a young woman of fine natural ability, white horses with nd marks on the ball enthusiastic, eccentric, with slight control over which suggested the idea of ea! [.. her violent tempur, which sometimes made her her titled hostres expected to malo into ou religions profession doubtful. she was equally len with the lord. a friend of 1.5 reads to exhort in school-house praver-meetings her, when quite an old woman, w***** and dance in a washington ball-room, while syria with a tribe of arabe, w bo with thrin her father was a member of congress. she ental notion that madines is inspirata * early embraced the doctrine of the second ad. i cepted her as their prophetess and is snow-bound 399 slow tracing down the thickening sky its mute and ominous prophecy, a portent seeming less than threat, it sank from sight before it set. a chill no coat, however stout, of homespun stuff could quite shut out, a hard, dull bitterness of cold, that checked, mid-vein, the circling race of life-blood in the sharpened face, the coming of the snow-storm told. the wind blew east; we heard the roar of ocean on his wintry shore, and felt the strong pulse throbbing there beat with low rhythin our inland air. the time referred to in snow-bound she was boarding at the rocks village, about two miles from us. in my boyhood, in our lonely farm-house, we had scanty sources of information ; few books and only a small weekly newspaper. our only annual was the almanac. under such circumstances story-telling was a necessary resource in the long winter evenings. my father when a young man had traversed the wilderness to canada, and could tell us of his adventures with indians and wild beasts, and of his sojourn in the french villages. my uncle was ready with his record of hunting and fishing and, it must be confessed, with stories which he at least half believed, of witchcraft and apparitions. my mother, who was born in the indian-haunted region of somersworth, new hampshire, between dover and portsmouth, told us of the inroads of the savages, and the narrow escape of her ancestors. she described strange people who lived on the piscataqua and cocheco, among whom was bantam the sorcerer. i have in my possession the wizard's “conjuring book," which he solemnly opened when consulted. it is a copy of cornelius agrippa's magic, printed in 1651, dedicated to dr. robert child, who, like michael scott, had learned “the art of glammorie in padua beyond the sea," and who is famous in the annals of massachusetts, where he was at one time a resident, as the first man who dared petition the general court for liberty of conscience. the full title of the book is three books of occult philosophy, by henry cornelius agrippa, knight, doctor of both laws, counsellor to cæsar's sacred majesty and judge of the prerogative court. meanwhile we did our nightly chores, brought in the wood from out of doors, littered the stalls, and from the mows raked down the herd's-grass for the cows : heard the horse whinnying for his corn ; and, sharply clashing horn on horn, impatient down the stanchion rows the cattle shake their walnut bows ; while, peering from his early perch upon the scaffold's pole of birch, the cock his crested helmet bent and down his querulous challenge sent. unwarmed by any sunset light the gray day darkened into night, a night made hoary with the swarm and whirl-dance of the blinding storm, as zigzag, wavering to and fro, crossed and recrossed the wingëd snow : and ere the early bedtime came the white drift piled the window-frame, and through the glass the clothes-line posts looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. ** as the spirits of darkness be stronger in the dark, so good spirits, which be angels of light, are angmented not only by the divine light of the sun, but also by our common v vood fire: and as the celestial fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our fire of vvood doth the same." -cor. agrippa, occult philosophy, book i. ch. v. * announced by all the trumpets of the sky, arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, seema powhere to alight : the whited air hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven, and veils the farm-house at the garden's end. the sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit around the radiant fireplace, enclosed in a tumultuous privacy of storm.” emerson. the snow storm. so all night long the storm roared on : the morning broke without a sun; in tiny spherule traced with lines of nature's geometric signs, in starry flake, and pellicle, all day the hoary meteor fell ; and, when the second morning shone, we looked upon a world unknown, on nothing we could call our own. around the glistening wonder bent the blue walls of the firmament, no cloud above, no earth below, a universe of sky and snow ! the old familiar sights of ours took marvellous shapes ; strange domes and towers the sun that brief december day rose cheerless over hills of gray, and, darkly circled, gave at noon a sadder light than waning moon. 400 poems subjective and reminiscent unbound the spell, and testified of human life and thought outside. we minded that the sharpest ear the buried brooklet could not bear, the music of whose liquid lip had been to us companionship, and, in our lonely life, had grown to have an almost human tone. rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, or garden-wall, or belt of wood ; a smooth white mound the brush pile showed, a fenceless drift what once was road ; the bridle-post an old man sat with loose-tlung coat and high cocked hat ; the well-curb had a chinese roof ; and even the long sweep, high aloof, in its slant splendor, seemed to tell of pisa's leaning miracle. a prompt, decisive man, no breath our father wasted : “ boys, a path!” well pleased, (for when did farmer boy count such a summons less than joy ?) our buskins on our feet we drew; with mittened hands, and caps drawn low, to guard our necks and ears from snow, we cut the solid whiteness through. and, where the drift was deepest, made a tunnel walled and overlaid with dazzling crystal : we had read of rare aladdin's wondrous cave, and to our own his name we gave, with many a wish the luck were ours to test his lamp's supernal powers. we reached the barn with merry din, and roused the prisoned brutes within. the old horse thrust his long head out, and grave with wonder gazed about ; the cock his lusty greeting said, and forth his speckled harem led ; the oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, and mild reproach of hunger looked ; the horned patriarch of the sheep, like egypt's amun roused from sleep, shook his sage head with gesture mute, and emphasized with stamp of foot. all day the gusty north-wind bore the loosening drift its breath before ; low circling round its southern zone, the sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. no church-bell lent its christian tone to the savage air, no social smoke curled over woods of snow-hung oak. a solitude made more intense by dreary-voiced elements, the shrieking of the mindless wind, the moaning tree-boughs swaying blind, and on the glass the unmeaning beat of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. beyond the circle of our hearth no welcome sound of toil or inirth as night drew on, and, from the crest of wooded knolls that ridged the mes, the sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank from sight beneath the smothering hunk, we piled, with care, our nightly sitede of wood against the chimney-bank, the oaken log, green, huge, and thick, and on its top the stout back-tak; the knotty forestick laid apart, and filled between with curious art the ragged brush ; then, hovering near, we watched the first red blaze appear, heard the sharp crackle, caught the giess on whitewashed wall and sagving beatz until the old, rude-furnished room burst, flower-like, into rosy blom ; while radiant with a mimic tiame outside the sparkling drift becamne, and through the bare-boughed llac-tree our own warm hearth seemed bluang ine the crane and pendent trammel skre, the turks' heads on the andina gluwa, while childish fancy, prompt to tell the meaning of the miracle, whispered the old rhyme : "/ider. when fire outdoors burns merriw, there the witches are making tec" the moon above the eastern wood shone at its full ; the hill-range stood transfigured in the silver too, its blown snows tlashing cold and here dead white, save where some sharp rasm took shadow, or the sombre grreu of hemlocks turned to pitchy black against the whiteness at their back for such a world and such a zat most fitting that unwarming light which only seemned whesperit feil to make the coldness visible. shut in from all the world witboat, we sat the clean-wingrul bearth about, content to let the north-wind nuar in baffled rage at pane and dour, while the red logs before us buat snow-bound 401 a : the frost-line back with tropic heat ; we sped the time with stories old, and ever, when a louder blast wrought puzzles out, and riddles told, shook beam and rafter as it passed, or stammered from our school-book lore the merrier up its roaring draught “the chief of gambia's golden shore.” the great throat of the chimney laughed; how often since, when all the land the house-dog on his paws outspread was clay in slavery's shaping hand, laid to the fire his drowsy head, as if a far-blown trumpet stirred the cat's dark silhouette on the wall the languorous sin-sick air, i heard : a couchant tiger's seemed to fall ; “ does not the voice of reason cry, and, for the winter fireside meet, claim the first right which nature gave, between the andirons' straddling feet, from the red scourge of bondage fly, the mug of cider simmered slow, nor deign to live a burdened slave !” the apples sputtered in a row, our father rode again his ride and, close at hand, the basket stood on memphremagog's wooded side ; with nuts from brown october's wood. sat down again to moose and samp in trapper's hut and indian camp; what matter how the night behaved ? lived o'er the old idyllic ease what matter how the north-wind raved ? beneath st. françois' hemlock-trees; blow high, blow low, not all its snow again for him the moonlight shone could quench our hearth fire's ruddy on norman cap and bodiced zone ; glow. again he heard the violin play o time and change! — with hair as gray which led the village dance away. as was my sire's that winter day, and mingled in its merry whirl how strange it seems, with so much gone the grandam and the laughing girl. of life and love, to still live on! or, nearer bome, our steps he led ah, brother ! only i and thou where salisbury's level marshes spread are left of all that circle now, mile-wide as fies the laden bee; the dear home faces whereupon where merry mowers, hale and strong, that fitful firelight paled and shone. swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along henceforward, listen as we will, the low green prairies of the sea. the voices of that hearth are still ; we shared the fishing off boar’s head, look where we may, the wide earth o'er and round the rocky isles of shoals those lighted faces smile no more. the hake-broil on the drift-wood coals ; we tread the paths their feet have worn, the chowder on the sand-beach made, we sit beneath their orchard trees, dipped by the hungry, steaming hot, we hear, like them, the hum of bees with spoons of clam-shell from the pot. and rustle of the bladed corn ; we heard the tales of witchcraft old, we turn the pages that they read, and dream and sign and marvel told their written words we linger o'er, to sleepy listeners as they lay but in the sun they cast no shade, stretched idly on the salted hay, no voice is heard, no sign is made, adrift along the winding shores, no step is on the conscious floor ! when favoring breezes deigned to blow yet love will dream, and faith will the square sail of the gundelow trust, and idle lay the useless oars. (since he who knows our need is just,) that somehow, somewhere, meet we must. our mother, while she turned her wheel alas for him who never sees or run the new-knit stocking-heel, the stars shine through his cypress-trees ! told how the indian hordes came down who, hopeless, lays his dead away, at midnight on cocheco town, nor looks to see the breaking day and how her own great-uncle bore across the mournful marbles play! his cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. who hath not learned, in hours of faith, recalling, in her fitting phrase, the truth to flesh and sense unknown, so rich and picturesque and free, that life is ever lord of death, (the common unrhymed poetry and love can never lose its own! of simple life and country ways,) 402 poems subjective and reminiscent the story of her early days, – she made us welcome to her home ; old hearths grew wide to give us room ; we stole with her a frightened look at the gray wizard's conjuring-book, the fame whereof went far and wide through all the simple country side ; we heard the hawks at twilight play, the boat-horn on piscataqua, the loon's weird laughter far away ; we fished her little trout-brook, knew what flowers in wood and meadow grew, what sunny hillsides autumn-brown she climbed to shake the ripe nnts down, saw where in sheltered cove and bay the ducks' black squadron anchored lay, and heard the wild-yeese calling loud beneath the gray november cloud. then, haply, with a look more grave, a and soberer tone, some tale she gave from painful sewel's ancient tome, beloved in every quaker home, of faith fire-winged by martyrdom, or chalkley's journal, old and quaint, — gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint ! who, when the dreary calms prevailed, and water-butt and bread-cask failed, and cruel, hungry eyes pursued his portly presence mad for food, with dark hints muttered under breath of casting lots for life or death, offered, if heaven withheld supplies, to be himself the sacrifice. then, suddenly, as if to save the good man from his living grave, a ripple on the water grew, a school of porpoise flashed in view. “ take, eat,” he said, “and be content ; these fishes in my stead are sent by him who gave the tangled ram to spare the child of abraham.” our uncle, innocent of books, was rich in lore of fields and brooks, the ancient teachers never dumb of nature's unhoused lyceum. in moons and tides and weather wise, he read the clouds as prophecies, and foul or fair could weil divine, by many an occult hint and sign, holding the cunning-warded keys to all the woodcraft mysteries ; himself to nature's beart so near that all her voices in his ear of beast or bird had meanings clear, like apollonius of old, who knew the tales the sparrows told, or hermes who interpreted what the sage cranes of nilus said; content to live where life began ; a simple, guileless, childlike man, strong only on his native grounds, the little world of sights and sounds whose girdle was the parish bounds, whereof his fondly partial pride the common features magnified, as surrey hills to mountains grew in white of selborne's loving view,he told how teal and loon be shot, and how the eagle's eggs he gut, the feats on pond and river done, the prodigies of rod and gun ; till, warming with the tales he told, forgotten was the outside cold, the bitter wind unheeded blew, from ripening corn the pigeons flew, the partridge drummed i' the wood, the mink went fishing down the river-brink in fields with bean or clover gay, the woodchuck, like a hermit gray, peered from the doorway of his cell; the muskrat plied the mason's trade, and tier by tier his mud-walls land; and from the shagbark overhead the grizzled squirrel dropped his st: next, the dear annt, whose smile of ebeer and voice in dreams i see and hear, the sweetest woman ever fate perverse denied a household mate, who, lonely, homeless, not the less found peace in love's unselfishness, and welcome wheresoe'er she went, a calm and gracious element, whose presence seemed the sweetness and womanly atmosphere of home, called up her girlhood memories, the huskings and the apple-bees, the sleigh-rides and the summer sails weaving through all the poor detais and homespun warp of circumstance a golden woof-thread of romance. for well she kept her genial mood and simple faith of maidenhood; before her still a cloud-land lay, the mirage loomed across ber war; the morning dew, that dries so we with others, glistened at her port, snow-bound 403 through years of toil and soil and care, from glossy tress to thin gray hair, all unprofaned she held apart the virgin fancies of the heart. be shame to him of woman born who hath for such but thought of scorn. there, too, our elder sister plied her evening task the stand beside ; a full, rich nature, free to trust, truthful and almost sternly just, impulsive, earnest, prompt to act, and make her generous thought a fact, keeping with many a light disguise the secret of self-sacrifice. o heart sore-tried ! thou hast the best that heaven itself could give thee, – rest, rest from all bitter thoughts and things ! how many a poor one's blessing went with thee beneath the low green tent whose curtain never outward swings ! what change can reach the wealth i hold ? what chance can mar the pearl and gold thy love hath left in trust with me ? and while in life's late afternoon, where cool and long the shadows grow, i walk to meet the night that soon shall shape and shadow overflow, i cannot feel that thou art far, since near at need the angels are ; and when the sunset gates unbar, shall i not see thee waiting stand, and, white against the evening star, the welcome of thy beckoning hand ? as one who held herself a part of all she saw, and let her heart against the household bosom lean, c'pon the motley-braided mat our youngest and our dearest sat, lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, now bathed in the unfading green and holy peace of paradise. oh, looking from some heavenly hill, or from the shade of saintly palms, or silver reach of river calms, do those large eyes behold me still? with me one little year ago :the chill weight of the winter snow for months upon her grave has lain ; and now, when summer south-winds blow and brier and harebell bloom again, i tread the pleasant paths we trod, i see the violet-sprinkled sod whereon she leaned, too frail and weak the hillside flowers she loved to seek, yet following me where'er i went with dark eyes full of love's content. the birds are glad ; the brier-rose fills the air with sweetness ; all the hills stretch green to june's unclouded sky; but still i wait with ear and eye for something gone which should be nigh, a loss in all familiar things, in flower that blooms, and bird that sings. and yet, dear heart ! remembering thee, am i not richer than of old ? safe in thy immortality, brisk wielder of the birch and rule, the master of the district school held at the fire his favored place, its warm glow lit a laughing face fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared the uncertain prophecy of beard. he teased the mitten-blinded cat, played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, sang songs, and told us what befalls in classic dartmouth's college halls. born the wild northern hills among, from whence his yeoman father wrung by patient toil subsistence scant, not competence and yet not want, he early gained the power to pay his cheerful, self-reliant way; could doff at ease his scholar's gown to peddle wares from town to town; or through the long vacation's reach in lonely lowland districts teach, where all the droll experience found at stranger hearths in boarding round, the moonlit skater's keen delight, the sleigh-drive through the frosty night, the rustic-party, with its rough accompaniment of blind-man's-buff, and whirling-plate, and forfeits paid, his winter task a pastime made. happy the snow-locked homes wherein he tuned his merry violin, or played the athlete in the barn, or held the good dame's winding-yarn, or mirth-provoking versions told of classic legends rare and old, wherein the scenes of greece and rome had all the commonplace of home, and little seemed at best the odds 'twixt yankee pedlers and old gods ; where pindus-born arachthus took the guise of any grist-mill brook, 404 poems subjective and reminiscent and dread olympus at his will became a huckleberry hill. a careless boy that night he seemed ; but at his desk he had the look and air of one who wisely schemed, and hostage from the future took in trained thought and lore of book. large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as he shall freedom's young apostles be, who, following in war's bloody trail, shall every lingering wrong assail ; all chains from limb and spirit strike, uplift the black and white alike ; scatter before their swift advance the darkness and the ignorance, the pride, the lust, the squalid sloth, which nurtured treason's monstrous growth, made murder pastime, and the hell of prison-torture possible ; the cruel lie of caste refute, old forms remould, and substitute for slavery's lash the freeman's will, for blind routine, wise-handed skill ; a school-house plant on every hill, stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence the quick wires of intelligence ; till north and south together brought shall own the same electric thought, in peace a common flag salute, and, side by side in labor's free and unresentful rivalry, harvest the fields wherein they fought. another guest that winter night flashed back from lustrous eyes the light. cnmarked by time, and yet not young, the honeyed music of her tongue and words of meekness scarcely told a nature passionate and bold, strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, its milder features dwarfed beside her unbent will's majestic pride. she sat among us, at the best, a not unfeared, half-welcome guest, rebuking with her cultured phrase our homeliness of words and ways. a certain pard-like, treacherous grace swayed the lithe limbs and dropped the lash, lent the white teeth their dazzling flash; and under low brows, black with night, rayed out at times a dangerous light; the sharp beat-lightnings of her face presaging ill to him whom fate condemned to share her love or hate. a woman tropical, intense in thought and act, in soul and sense, she blended in a like degree the vixen and the devotee, revealing with each freak or feint the temper of petruchio's kate, the raptures of siena's saint. her tapering hand and rounded wrist had facile power to form a fist; the warm, dark languish of her eyes was never safe from wrath's surprise. brows saintly calm and lips devout knew every change of scowl and poat: and the sweet voice had notes more bita and shrill for social battle-cry. since then what old cathedral town has missed her pilgrim staff and gowth what convent-gate has beld its lock against the challenge of her knock! through smyrna's plague-hushed thutus fares, l'p sea-set malta's rocky stairs, gray olive slopes of bills that bem thy tombs and shrines, jerusalem, or startling on her desert throne the crazy queen of lebanon with claims fantastic as her own. her tireless feet have held their way; and still, unrestful, bowed, and gray, she watches under eastern skies, with hope each day renewed and the lord's quick coming in the these whereof she dreams and prophesies! where'er her troubled path may live, the lord's sweet pity with here! the outward wayward life we see, the hidden springs we may not knue nor is it given us to discern what threads the fatal sistes spas. through what ancestral years las rum the sorrow with the woman born, what forged her cruel chain of unis what set her feet in solitudes, and held the love within her rner, what mingled madness in the bed, a life-long discord and annos, water of tears with oil of joy, and hid within the folded bud perversities of flower and fruit it is not ours to separate the tangled skein of will and fu'r. snow-bound 405 to show what metes and bounds should stand upon the soul's debatable land, and between choice and providence divide the circle of events ; but he who knows our frame is just, merciful and compassionate, and full of sweet assurances and hope for all the language is, that he remembereth we are dust! and saw the teamsters drawing near to break the drifted highways out. down the long hillside treading slow we saw the half-buried oxen go, shaking the snow from heads uptost, their straining nostrils white with frost. before our door the straggling train drew up, an added team to gain. the elders threshed their hands a-cold, passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes from lip to lip ; the younger folks down the loose snow banks, wrestling, rolled, then toiled again the cavalcade o’er windy hill, through clogged ravine, and woodland paths that wound between low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed. from every barn a team afoot, at every house a new recruit, where, drawn by nature's subtlest law, haply the watchful young men saw sweet doorway pictures of the curls and curious eyes of merry girls, lifting their hands in mock defence against the snow-ball's compliments, and reading in each missive tost the charm with eden never lost. at last the great logs, crumbling low, sent out a dull and duller glow, the bull's-eye watch that hung in view, ticking its weary circuit through, pointed with mutely warning sign its black hand to the hour of nine. that sign the pleasant circle broke : my uncle ceased his pipe to smoke, knocked from its bowl the refuse gray, and laid it tenderly away; then roused himself to safely cover the dull red brands with ashes over. and while, with care, our mother laid the work aside, her steps she stayed one moment, seeking to express her grateful sense of happiness for food and shelter, warmth and health, and love's contentment more than wealth, with simple wishes (not the weak, vain prayers which no fulfilment seek, but such as warm the generous heart, o'er-prompt to do with heaven its part) that none might lack, that bitter night, for bread and clothing, warmth and light. within our beds awhile we heard the wind that round the gables roared, with now and then a ruder shock, which made our very bedsteads rock. we heard the loosened clapboards tost, the board-nails snapping in the frost; and on us, through the unplastered wall, felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall. but sleep stole on, as sleep will do when hearts are light and life is new; faint and more faint the murmurs grew, till in the summer-land of dreams they softened to the sound of streams, low stir of leaves, and dip of oars, and lapsing waves on quiet shores. next morn we wakened with the shout of merry voices high and clear; we heard once more the sleigh-bells' sound ; and, following where the teamsters led, the wise old doctor went his round, just pausing at our door to say, in the brief autocratic way of one who, prompt at duty's call, was free to urge her claim on all, that some poor neighbor sick abed at night our mother's aid would need, for, one in generous thought and deed, what mattered in the sufferer's sight the quaker matron's inward light, the doctor's mail of calvin's creed ? all hearts confess the saints elect who, twain in faith, in love agree, and melt not in an acid sect the christian pearl of charity ! so days went on : a week had passed since the great world was heard from last. the almanac we studied o'er, read and reread our little store of books and pamphlets, scarce a score ; one harmless novel, mostly hid from younger eyes, a book forbid, 406 poems subjective and reminiscent i hear again the voice that bids the dreamer leave his dream midway for larger hopes and graver fear : life greatens in these later years, the century's aloe tlowers to-day! yet, haply, in some lull of life, some truce of god which breaks its stri the worldling's eyes shall gather dew, dreaming in throngful city wars of winter joys his boyhood knew; and dear and early friends the frø who yet remain — shall pause to view these flemish pictures of old dars; sit with me by the homestead hearih, and stretch the hands of memory firth to warın them at the wood-fire's blaze and thanks untraced to lips unknown shall greet me like the olors blown from unseen meadows newly mowi, or lilies floating in some pond, wood-fringed, the wayside gaze berood, the traveller owns the grateful sense of sweetness near, he knows not w bener. and, pausing, takes with forehead bare the benediction of the air. and poetry, (or good or bad, a single book was all we had,) where ellwood's meek, drab-skirted muse, a stranger to the heathen nine, sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, the wars of david and the jews. at last the floundering carrier bore the village paper to our door. lo! broadening outward as we read, to warmer zones the horizon spread in panoramic length unrolled we saw the marvels that it told. before us passed the painted creeks, and daft mcgregor on his raids in costa rica's everglades. and up taygetos winding slow rode ypsilanti's mainote greeks, a turk's head at each saddle-bow ! welcome to us its week-old news, its corner for the rustic muse, its monthly gauge of snow and rain, its record, mingling in a breath the wedding bell and dirge of death : jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale, the latest culprit sent to jail ; its hue and cry of stolen and lost, its vendue sales and goods at cost, and traffic calling loud for gain. we felt the stir of hall and street, the pulse of life that round us beat ; the chill embargo of the snow was melted in the genial glow; w’ide swung again our ice-locked door, and all the world was ours once more ! clasp, angel of the backward look and folded wings of ashen gray and voice of echoes far away, the brazen covers of thy book ; the weird palimpsest old and vast, wherein thou hid'st the spectral past ; where, closely mingling, pa and glow the characters of joy and woe ; the monographs of outlived years, or smile-illumed or dim with tears, green hills of life that slope to death, and haunts of home, whose vistaed trees shade off to mournful eypresses with the white amaranths underneath. even while i look, i can but heed the restless sands' incessant fall, importunate hours that hours succeed, each clamorous with its own sharp need, and duty keeping pace with all. shut down and clasp the heavy lids; my triumph the autumn-time has come ; on woods that dream of bleu, and over purpling vines, the low sun fainter shines. the aster-flower is failing, the hazel's gold is paling : yet overhead more near the eternal stars appear! and present gratitude insures the future's good, and for the things i see i trust the things to be ; that in the paths antrod, and the long days of god, my feet shall still be led, my heart be comforted. o living friends who love me! () dear ones gone ahore me ! careless of other fame, i leave to you my name. in school-days 407 hide it from idle praises, save it from evil phrases : 6 why, when dear lips that spake it are dumb, should strangers wake it ? parcel and part of all, i keep the festival, fore-reach the good to be, and share the victory. let the thick curtain fall; i better know than all ? how little i have gained, how vast the unattained. i feel the earth move sunward, i join the great march onward, and take, by faith, while living, my freehold of thanksgiving. not by the page word-painted let life be banned or sainted : ć deeper than written scroll the colors of the soul. in school-days still sits the school-house by the road, a ragged beggar sleeping; around it still the sumachs grow, and blackberry-vines are creeping. sweeter than any sung my songs that found no tongue ; 9 nobler than any fact my wish that failed of act. others shall sing the song, others shall right the wrong, finish what i begin, and all i fail of win. what matter, i or they? mine or another's day, so the right word be said and life the sweeter made ? within, the master's desk is seen, deep scarred by raps official ; the warping floor, the battered seats, the jack-knife's carved initial; the charcoal frescos on its wall ; its door's worn sill, betraying the feet that, creeping slow to school, went storming out to playing ! long years ago a winter sun shone over it at setting ; lit up its western window-panes, and low eaves' icy fretting. it touched the tangled golden curls, and brown eyes full of grieving, of one who still her steps delayed when all the school were leaving. hail to the coming singers ! hail to the brave light-bringers ! forward i reach and share all that they sing and dare. the airs of heaven blow o'er me ; a glory shines before me of what mankind shall be, pure, generous, brave, and free. a dream of man and woman diviner but still human, solving the riddle old, shaping the age of gold ! the love of god and neighbor ; an equal-banded labor ; the richer life, where beauty walks hand in hand with duty. ring, bells in unreared steeples, the joy of unborn peoples ! sound, trumpets far off blown, your triumph is my own! for near her stood the little boy her childish favor singled : his cap pulled low npon a face where pride and shame were mingled. pushing with restless feet the snow to right and left, he lingered ; as restlessly her tiny bands the blue-checked apron fingered. he saw her lift her eyes ; he felt the soft hand's light caressing, and heard the tremble of her voice, as if a fault confessing. “i'm sorry that i spelt the word : i hate to go above you, a 408 poems subjective and reminiscent becanse,” the brown eyes lower fell, – " because, you see, i love you ! ” still memory to a gray-haired man that sweet child-face is showing. dear girl! the grasses on her grave have forty years been growing ! he lives to learn, in life's hard school, how few who pass above him lament their triumph and bis loss, like her, — because they love him. how hushed the hiss of party hate, the clamor of the throng ! how old, harsh voices of debate flow into rhythmic song ! methinks the spirit's temper grows too soft in this still air ; somewhat the restful heart foregoes of needed watch and prayer. the bark by tempest vainly tossed may fowder in the calın, and he who braved the polar frost faint by the isles of balm. better than self-indulgent years the outflung heart of youth, than pleasant songs in idle ears the tumult of the truth. my birthday beneath the moonlight and the snow lies dead my latest year ; the winter winds are wailing low its dirges in my ear. i grieve not with the moaning wind as if a loss befell ; before me, even as behind, god is, and all is well ! his light shines on me from above, his low voice speaks within, the patience of immortal love outwearying mortal sin. not mindless of the growing years of care and loss and pain, my eyes are wet with thankful tears for blessings which remain. if dim the gold of life has grown, i will not count it dross, xor turn from treasures still my own to sigh for lack and loss. the years no charm from nature take ; as sweet her voices call, as beautiful her mornings break, as fair her evenings fall. love watches o'er my quiet ways, kind voices speak my name, and lips that find it hard to praise are slow, at least, to blame. rest for the weary hands is good, and love for hearts that pine, but let the manly habitude of upright souls be mine. let winds that blow from heaven refresh, dear lord, the languid air ; and let the weakness of the flesh thy strength of spirit share. and, if the eye must fail of light, the ear forget to hear, make clearer still the spirit's sight, more fine the inward ear! be near me in mine hours of need to soothe, or cheer, or warn, and down these slopes of sunset lead as up the hills of morn! red riding-hood on the wide lawn the snow lar deen, ridged o'er with many a drifted brap: the wind that through the pine-trees sang the naked elm-boughs tosses and swu: while, through the window, froy-starrival against the sunset purple barrel, we saw the sombre crow flap by. the hawk's gray tleck along tbe sky, the crested blue-jay flitting wift, the squirrel poising on the drift, erect, alert, bis broad gray tail set to the north wind like a sail. how softly ebb the tides of will ! how tields, once lost or won, now lie behind me green and still beneath a level sun ! at eventide 409 the literary world gathered in his paper many affectionate messages from my associates in literature and the cause of human progress. the lines which follow were written in acknowledgment. it came to pass, our little lass, with flattened face against the glass, and eyes in which the tender dew of pity shone, stood gazing through the narrow space her rosy lips had melted from the frost's eclipse : “oh, see,” she cried, “the poor blue-jays ! what is it that the black crow says ? the squirrel lifts his little legs because he has no hands, and begs; he's asking for my nuts, i know : may i not feed them on the snow ?” beside that milestone where the level sun, nigh unto setting, sheds his last, low rays on word and work irrevocably done, life's blending threads of good and ill outspun, i hear, o friends! your words of cheer and praise, half doubtful if myself or otherwise. like him who, in the old arabian joke, a beggar slept and crownëd caliph woke. thanks not the less. with not unglad surprise i see my life-work through your partial eyes ; assured, in giving to my home taught songs a higher value than of right belongs, you do but read between the written lines the finer grace of unfulfilled designs. a half lost within her boots, her bead warm-sheltered in her hood of red, her plaid skirt close about her drawn, she foundered down the wintry lawn; now struggling through the misty veil blown round her by the sbrieking gale ; now sinking in a drift so low her scarlet hood could scarcely show its dash of color on the snow. she dropped for bird and beast forlorn her little store of nuts and corn, and thus her timid guests bespoke : "come, squirrel, from your hollow oak, come, black old crow, come, poor bluejay, before your supper 's blown away ! don't be afraid, we all are good ; and i'm mamma's red riding-hood !” o thou whose care is over all, who heedest even the sparrow's fall, keep in the little maiden's breast the pity which is now its guest ! let not her cultured years make less the childhood charm of tenderness, but let her feel as well as know, nor harder with her polish grow! l'nmoved by sentimental grief that wails along some printed leaf, but prompt with kindly word and deed to own the claims of all who need, let the grown woman's self make good the promise of red riding-hood | at eventide poor and inadequate the shadow-play of gain and loss, of waking and of dream, against life's solemn background needs must seem at this late hour. yet, not unthankfully, i call to mind the fountains by the way, the breath of flowers, the bird-song on the spray, dear friends, sweet human loves, the joy of giving and of receiving, the great boon of livin grand historic years when liberty had need of word and work, quick sympathies for all who fail and suffer, song's relief, nature's uncloying loveliness ; and chief, the kind restraining hand of providence, the inward witness, the assuring sense of an eternal good which overlies the sorrow of the world, love which outlives ing response on the occasion of my seventieth birthday, in 1877, i was the recipient of many tokens of esteem. the publishers of the atlantic monthly gave a dinner in my name, and the editor of 410 poems subjective and reminiscent all sin and wrong, compassion which forgives to the uttermost, and justice whose clear eyes through lapse and failure look to the intent, and judge our frailty by the life we meant. voyage of the jettie the picturesquely situated wayside inn at west ossipee, n. h., is now in ashes; and to its former guests these somewhat careless rhymes may be a not unwelcome reminder of pleasant summers and autumns on the banks of the bearcamp and chocorua. to the author himself they have a special interest from the fact that they were written, or improvised, under the eye and for the amusement of a be. loved invalid friend, whose last earthly sunsets faded from the mountain ranges of ossipee and sandwich. a shallow stream, from fountains deep in the sandwich mountains, ran lakeward bearcamp river; and between its flood-torn shores, sped by sail or urged by oars, no keel had vexed it ever. and the answer to the favor from the bay state's graceful daughter then a singer, richly gifted, her charmed voice uplifted ; and the wood-thrush and song-sparrow listened, dumb with envious pain, to the clear and sweet refrain whose notes they could not bortow. then the skipper plied his oar, and from off the shelving shore, glided out the strange explorer; floating on, she knew not whither, — the tawny sands beneath her, the great hills watching o'er ber. on, where the stream flows quiet as the meadows' margins by it, or widens out to borrow a new life from that wild water, the mountain giant's daughter, the pine-besung chocorua. or, mid the tangling cumber and pack of mountain lumber that spring floods downward force, over sunken snag, and bar where the grating shallows are, the good boat held her course. under the pine-dark highlands, around the vine-hung islands, she ploughed her crooked furrow; and her rippling and her lurches scared the river eels and perches, and the musk-rat in his burrow. every sober clam below her, every sage and grave pearl-grower, shut his rusty valves the tighter; crow called to crow complaining, and old tortoises sat craning their leathern necks to sight her. so, to where the still lake glasses the misty mountain masses rising din and distant northward, and, with faint-drawn shadow pictures, low shores, and dead pine spectres blends the skyward and the eartbward. on she glided, overladen, with merry man and maiden sending back their song and laagttet, – alone the dead trees yielding to the dull axe time is wielding, the shy mink and the otter, and golden leaves and red, by countless autumns shed, had floated down its water. from the gray rocks of cape ann, came a skilled seafaring man, with his dory, to the right place ; over hill and plain he brought her, where the boatless bearcamp water comes winding down from white-face. quoth the skipper : “ ere she floats forth, i'm sure my pretty boat 's worth, at least, a name as pretty.". on her painted side he wrote it, and the flag that o'er her floated bore aloft the name of jettie. on a radiant morn of summer, elder guest and latest comer saw her wed the beareamp water; heard the name the skipper gave her, my trust 411 that, safe from snag and fall and siren-haunted islet, and rock, the unseen pilot may guide us one and all. while, perchance, a phantom crew, in a ghostly birch canoe, paddled dumb and swiftly after ! and the bear on ossipee climbed the topmost crag to see the strange thing drifting under ; and, through the haze of august, passaconaway and paugus looked down in sleepy wonder. my trust a picture memory brings to me : i look across the years and see myself beside my mother's knee. all the pines that o'er her hung in mimic sea-tones sung the song familiar to her ; and the maples leaned to screen her, and the meadow-grass seemed greener, and the breeze more soft to woo her. i feel her gentle hand restrain my selfish moods, and know again a child's blind sense of wrong and pain. but wiser now, a man gray grown, my childhood's needs are better known, my mother's chastening love i own. the lone stream mystery-haunted to her the freedom granted to scan its every feature, till new and old were blended, and round them both extended the loving arms of nature. gray grown, but in our father's sight a child still groping for the light to read his works and ways aright. i wait, in his good time to see that as my mother dealt with me so with his children dealeth he. of these hills the little vessel henceforth is part and parcel ; and on bearcamp shall her log be kept, as if by georges or graud menan the surges tossed her skipper through the fog. i bow myself beneath his hand : that pain itself was wisely planned i feel, and partly understand. the joy that comes in sorrow's guise, the sweet pains of self-sacrifice, i would not have them otherwise. and i, who, half in sadness, recall the morning gladness of life, at evening time, by chance, onlooking idly, apart from all so widely, have set her voyage to rhyme. and what were life and death if sin knew not the dread rebuke within, the pang of merciful discipline ? dies now the gay persistence of song and laugh, in distance ; alone with me remaining the stream, the quiet meadow, the hills in shine and shadow, the sombre pines complaining. not with thy proud despair of old, crowned stoic of rome's noblest mould ! pleasure and pain alike i hold. i suffer with no vain pretence of triumph over flesh and sense, yet trust the grievous providence, how dark soe'er it seems, may tend, by ways i cannot comprehend, to some unguessed benignant end ; and, musing here, i dream of voyagers on a stream from whence is no returning, under sealėd orders going, looking forward little knowing, looking back with idle yearning. and i pray that every venture the port of peace may enter, that every loss and lapse may gain the clear-aired heights by steps of pain, and never cross is borne in vain. 412 poems subjective and reminiscent a name each lip must learn the taste of truth, each foot must feel its way. we cannot hold the hands of choice that touch or shun life's fateful keys; the whisper of the inward voice is more than homilies. addressed to my grand-nephew, greenleaf whittier pickard. jonathan greenleaf, in a genealogy of the greenleaf family, says briefly : " from all that can be gathered, it is believed that the ancestors of the greenleaf family were huguenots, who left france on account of their religious principles some time in the course of the sixteenth century, and settled in england. the name was probably translated from the french feuillevert." the name the gallic exile bore, st. malo! from thy ancient mart, became upon our western shore greenleaf for feuillevert. dear boy ! for whom the fiowers are born, stars shine, and happy song-binis sing, what can my evening give to morn, my winter to thy spring! a life not void of pure intent, with small desert of praise or blame, the love i felt, the good i meant, i leave thee with my name. a name to hear in soft accord of leaves by light winds overrun, or read, upon the greening sward of may, in shade and sun. the name my infant ear first heard breathed softly with a mother's kiss ; his mother's own, no tenderer word my father spake than this. greeting originally prefixed to the volume. th., missire and other poems. (entitled ther, prelude.] i spread a scanty board too late ; the old-time guests for whom i wait come few and slow, methinks, to-dar. ah! who could hear my messages across the dim unsounded seas on which so many have sailed away! come, then, old friends, who linger yet, and let us meet, as we have met, once more beneath this low sunshi; and grateful for the good we've kno's the the riddles solved, the ills outer, shake hands upon the border line. no child have i to bear it on ; be thou its keeper ; let it take from gifts well used and duty done new beauty for thy sake. the fair ideals that outran my halting footsteps seek and find the flawless symmetry of man, the poise of heart and mind. stand firmly where i felt the sway of every wing that fancy flew, see clearly where i groped my way, nor real from seeming knew. and wisely choose, and bravely hold thy faith unswerved by cross or crown, like the stout huguenot of old whose name to thee comes down. the favor, asked too oft hefore, from your indulgent ears, once more i crave, and, if belated lars to slower, feebler measures more, the silent sympathy of love to me is dearer now than praise. as marot's songs made glad the heart of that lone exile, haply mine may in life's heavy hours impart some strength and hope to thine. yet when did age transfer to youth the hard-gained lessons of its day? and ye, () younger friends, for wbum my hearth and heart keep open mom. come smiling through the sh woms ko. be with me while the sun goes down, and with your cheerful voices drown the minor of my eren-song. for, eqnal through the day and night, the wise eternal overight and love and power and righteous :) abram morrison 413 66 remain : the law of destiny, the best for each and all must be, and life its promise shall fulfil. an autograph • if, of the law's stone table, to hold he scarce was able the first great precept fast, he kept for man the last. • through mortal lapse and dulness what lacks the eternal fulness, if still our weakness can love him in loving man? i write my name as one, on sands by waves o’errun or winter's frosted pane, traces a record vain. oblivion's blankness claims wiser and better names, and well my own may pass as from the strand or glass. “ age brought him no despairing of the world's future faring ; in human nature still he found more good than ill. wash on, ( waves of time ! melt, noons, the frosty rime! welcome the shadow vast, the silence that shall last ! “ to all who dumbly suffered, his tongue and pen he offered ; his life was not his own, nor lived for self alone. when i and all who know and love me vanish so, what harm to them or me will the lost memory be? “ hater of din and riot he lived in days unquiet ; and, lover of all beauty, trod the hard ways of duty. “ he meant no wrong to any he sought the good of many, yet knew both sin and folly,may god forgive him wholly! if any words of mine, through right of life divine, remain, what matters it whose hand the message writ ? why should the “crowner's quest sit on my worst or best? why should the showman claim the poor ghost of my name? abram morrison yet, as when dies a sound its spectre lingers round, haply my spent life will leave some faint echo still. 'minst the men and things which will haunt an old man's memory still, drollest, quaintest of them all, with a boy's laugh i recall good old abram morrison. a whisper giving breath of praise or blame to death, soothing or saddening such as loved the living much. when the grist and rolling mill ground and rumbled by po hill, and the old red school-house stood midway in the powow's flood, here dwelt abram morrison. therefore with yearnings vain and fond i still would fain a kindly judgment seek, a tender thought bespeak. from the beach to far beyond bear-hill, lion's mouth and pond, marvellous to our tough old stock, chips o' the anglo-saxon block, seemed the celtic morrison. and, while my words are read, let this at least be said : * whate'er his life's defeatures, he loved his fellow-creatures. mudknock, balmawhistle, all only knew the yankee drawl, never brogue was heard till when, 414 poems subjective and reminiscent foremost of his countrymen, hither came friend morrison ; yankee born, of alien blood, kin of his had well withstood pope and king with pike and ball under derry's leaguered wall, as became the morrisons. wandering down from mutfield woods with his household and his goods, never was it clearly told how within our quiet fold came to be a morrison. looks across its stormy bay, once the home of morrisons first was he to sing the praise of the powow's winding ways; and our straggling village took city grandeur to the louk of its poet morrison. all his words have perished. shame on the saddle-bags of fame, that they bring not to our time one poor couplet of the rhyme made by abram morrison ! when, on calm and fair first days, rattled down our one-horse chaise, through the blossoined apple-lughs to the old brown meeting-house, there was abram morrison. a once a soldier, blame him not that the quaker he forgot, when, to think of battles won, and the red-coats on the run, laughed aloud friend morrison. from gray lewis over sea bore his sires their family tree, on the rugged boughs of it grafting irish mirth and wit, and the brogue of morrison. half a genius, quick to plan, blundering like an irishman, but with canny shrewdness lent by his far-off scotch descent, such was abram morrison. back and forth to daily meals, rode his cherished pig on wheels, and to all who came to see, “ aisier for the pig an' me, sure it is," said morrison. c'nderneath his hat's broad brim peered the queer old face of him ; and with irish jauntiness swung the coat-tails of the dress worn by abram morrison. still, in memory, on his feet, leaning o'er the elders' seat, mingling with a solemn drone, celtic accents all his own, rises abram morrison. “ don't," he's pleading, “don't ve ger dear young friends, to sight and stws : don't run after elephants, learned pigs and presidents and the likes !” said morrison on his well-worn theme intent, simple, child-like, innocent, heaven forgive the half-checked son of our careless boyhood, wlule listening to friend morrison ! we have learned in latter dars truth may speak in simplest phrase: that the man is not the less for quaint ways and bome-spun dress thanks to abram morrison ! simple-hearted, boy o'ergrown, with a humor quite his own, of our sober-stepping ways, speech and look and cautious phrase, slow to learn was morrison. much we loved his stories told of a country strange and old, where the fairies danced till dawn, and the goblin leprecaun looked, we thought, like morrison. or wild tales of feud and fight, witch and troll and second sight whispered still where stornoway not to pander nor to please ('ome the needed homilies, with no lofty argument a legacy 415 let me not leave, to pain and sadden thee, a memory of tears, is the fitting message sent, through such lips as morrison's. dead and gone! but while its track powow keeps to merrimac, while po hill is still on guard, looking land and ocean ward, they shall tell of morrison ! after half a century's lapse, we are wiser now, perhaps, but we miss our streets amid something which the past has hid, lost with abram morrison. but pleasant thoughts alone of one who was thy friendship's honored guest and drank the wine of consolation pressed from sorrows of thy own. i leave with thee a sense of hands upheld and trials rendered less the unselfish joy which is to helpfulness its own great recompense ; gone forever with the queer characters of that old year! now the many are as one ; broken is the mould that run men like abram morrison. the knowledge that from thine, as from the garments of the master, stole calmness and strength, the virtue which makes whole and heals without a sign; a legacy yea more, the assurance strong that love, which fails of perfect utterance here, lives on to fill the heavenly atmosphere with its immortal song. friend of my many years ! when the great silence falls, at last, on me, religious poems 66 the star of bethlehem as if the burning eye of baal the servant of his conqueror knew. where time the measure of his hours from skies which knew no cloudy veil, by changeful bud and blossom keeps, the sun's hot glances smote him tl.ruun and, like a young bride crowned with flowers, “ah me! ” the lonely stranger said, fair shiraz in her garden sleeps ; the hope which led my footsteps on, and light from heaven around them sked where, to her poet's turban stone, o'er weary wave and waste, is gobe ! the spring her gift of flowers imparts, less sweet than those his thoughts have “where are the harvest fields all white, sown for truth to thrust her sickle in: in the warm soil of persian hearts : where tlock the souls, like dove in the from the dark hiding place of sin : there sat the stranger, where the shade of scattered date-trees thinly lay, “a silent horror broods o'er all. while in the hot clear heaven delayed the burden of a hateful spill, the long and still and weary day. the very flowers around recall the hoary magi's rites of bell ! strange trees and fruits above him bung, strange odors filled the sultry air, “ and what am i, o'er such a land strange birds upon the branches swung, the banner of the cross to bear : strange insect voices murmured there. dear lord, uphold me with thy hand, thy strength with human weakers and strange bright blossoms shone around, share !" turned sunward from the shadowy bowers, he ceased ; for at his very feet as if the gheber's soul had found in mild rebuke a tloweret smiled; a titting home in iran's flowers. how thrilled his sinking heart to the the star-flower of the virgin's chic! whate'er he saw, whate'er he heard, awakened feelings new and sad, sown by some wandering frank, it dres no christian garb, nor christian word, its life from alien air and earth, nor church with sabbath bell chimes and told to paynim sun and dew glad, the story of the saviour's birth. but moslem graves, with turban stones, from scorching beams, in kindly moved and mosque-spires gleaming white, in the persian plants its beauty streir view, and on its pagan sisterhool, and graybeard mollahs in low tones in love, the christian tloweret lease chanting their koran service through. with tears of joy the wanderer felt the flowers which smiled on either hand, the darkness of his long despair like tempting fiends, were such as they before that hallowed symbol melt, which once, o'er all that eastern land, which god's dear love bu nurturn as gifts on demon altars lay. there. 416 the call of the christian 417 from nature's face, that simple flower the lines of sin and sadness swept ; and magian pile and paynim bower in peace like that of eden slept. each moslem tomb, and cypress old, looked holy through the sunset air ; and, angel-like, the muezzin told from tower and mosque the hour of prayer, where the shrines of foul idols were lighted on high, and wantonness tempted the lust of the eye ; midst rites of obsceneness, strange, loathsome, abhorred, the blasphemer scoffed at the name of the lord. with cheerful steps, the morrow's dawn from shiraz saw the stranger part ; the star-flower of the virgin-born still blooming in his hopeful heart ! hark! the growl of the thunder, – the quaking of earth! woe, woe to the worship, and woe to the mirth! the black sky has opened ; there's flame in the air ; the red arm of vengeance is lifted and bare ! the cities of the plain "get ye up from the wrath of god's terrible day! ungirded, unsandalled, arise and away ! 't is the vintage of blood, 't is the fulness of time, and vengeance shall gather the harvest of crime!” then the shriek of the dying rose wild where the song and the low tone of love had been whispered along ; for the fierce flames went lightly o'er palace and bower, like the red tongues of demons, to blast and devour ! the warning was spoken the righteous had gone, down, down on the fallen the red ruin rained, and the reveller sank with his wine-cup undrained ; the foot of the dancer, the music's loved thrill, and the shout and the laughter grew suddenly still. and the proud ones of sodom were feasting alone; all gay was the banquet — the revel was long, with the pouring of wine and the breathing of song. ’t was an evening of beauty ; the air was perfume, the earth was all greenness, the trees were all bloom; and softly the delicate viol was heard, like the murmur of love or the notes of a bird. the last throb of anguish was fearfully given; the last eye glared forth in its madness on heaven ! the last groan of horror rose wildly and vain, and death brooded over the pride of the plain ! the call of the christian and beautiful maidens moved down in the dance, with the magic of motion and sunshine of glance ; and white arms wreathed lightly, and tresses fell free as the plumage of birds in some tropical tree. not always as the whirlwind's rush on horeb's mount of fear, not always as the burning bush to midian's shepherd seer, 418 religious poems + -a nor as the awful voice which came though dropping, as the manna fell, to israel's prophet bards, unseen, yet from above, nor as the tongues of cloven flame, noiseless as dew-fall, heed it well, nor gift of fearful words, – thy father's call of love! not always thus, with outward sign the crucifixion of tire or voice from heaven, the message of a truth divine, sunlight upon judæa's hills ! the call of god is given ! and on the waves of galilee ; awaking in the human heart on jordan's stream, and on the rills love for the true and right, – that feed the dead and sleeping sea' zeal for the christian's better part, most freshly from the green wood spring strength for the christian's tight. the light breeze on its scented wings: and gayly quiver in the sun nor unto manhood's heart alone the cedar tops of lebanon ! the holy influence steals : warm with a rapture not its own, a few more hours, a change hath cutie the heart of woman feels! the sky is dark without a cloud ! as she who by samaria's wall the shouts of wrath and joy are dunk, the saviour's errand sought, and proud knees unto earth are lowed as those who with the fervent paul a change is on the hill of death, aud meek aquila wrought : the helmëd watchers pant for breath, and turn with wild and maniac eyes or those meek ones whose martyrdom from the dark scene of sacrifice ! rome's gathered grandeur saw : or those who in their alpine home that sacrifice !the death of llin, braved the crusader's war, the christ of god, the holy one! when the green vaudois, trembling, heard, well may the conscious heaven grow dim, through all its vales of death, and blacken the beholding sun. the martyr's song of triumph poured the wonted light hath tied away, from woman's failing breath. night settles on the middle day, and earthquake from his caverned bed and gently, by a thousand things is waking with a thrill of dread! which o'er our spirits pass, like breezes o'er the harp's fine strings, the dead are waking underneath! or vapors o'er a glass, their prison door is rent away! leaving their token strange and new and, ghastly with the seal of death of music or of shade, they wander in the eve of day! the summons to the right and true the temple of the cherubim, and merciful is made. the house of god is cold and dim; a curse is on its trembling walls, oh, then, if gleams of truth and light its mighty veil asunder falls ! flash o'er thy waiting mind, l'nfolding to thy mental sight well may the cavern-depths of earth the wants of human-kind ; be shaken, and her mountains pod: if, brooding over human grief, well may the sheeted dead come forth the earnest wish is known to see the suffering son of god! to soothe and gladden with relief well may the temple-shrine grow dim. an anguish not thine own; and shadows veil the (herubim, when he, the chosen one of heaven, though heralded with naught of fear, a sacrifice for guilt is given ! or outward sign or show ; though only to the inward ear and shall the sinful heart, alone, it whispers soft and low; behold unmoved the fearful hour, n palestine 419 which rang air. when nature trembled on her throne, and the chariots of jabin rolled harmlessly and death resigned his iron power ? on, oh, shall the heart whose sinfulness for the arm of the lord was abinoam's gave keenness to his sore distress, son ! and added to his tears of blood refuse its trembling gratitude ? there sleep the still rocks and the caverns to the song which the beautiful prophetess palestine sang, when the princes of issachar stood by her blest land of judæa! thrice hallowed of side, song, and the shout of a host in its triumph rewhere the holiest of memories pilgrim-like plied. throng ; in the shade of thy palms, by the shores of lo, bethlehem's hill-site before me is seen, thy sea, with the mountains around, and the valleys on the hills of thy beauty, my heart is with between ; thee. there rested the shepherds of judah, and there with the eye of a spirit i look on that the song of the angels rose sweet on the shore where pilgrim and prophet have lingered before ; and bethany's palm-trees in beauty still with the glide of a spirit i traverse the throw sod their shadows at noon on the ruins below; made bright by the steps of the angels of but where are the sisters who hastened to god. greet the lowly redeemer, and sit at his feet ? blue sea of the hills ! in my spirit i hear thy waters, gennesaret, chime on my i tread where the twelve in their wayfaring ear; trod; where the lowly and just with the people i stand where they stood with the chosen of sat down, godand thy spray on the dust of his sandals where his blessing was heard and his leswas thrown. sons were taught, where the blind were restored and the beyond are bethulia's mountains of green, healing was wrought. and the desolate hills of the wild gadarene ; oh, here with his flock the sad wanderer and i pause on the goat-crags of tabor to these hills he toiled over in grief are the the gleam of thy waters, o) dark galilee ! same ; the founts where le drank by the wayside hark, a sound in the valley ! where, swollen still flow, and strong, and the same airs are blowing which thy river, 0 kishon, is sweeping along ; breathed on his brow ! where the canaanite strove with jehovah in vain, and throned on her hills sits jerusalem and thy torrent grew dark with the blood yet, of the slain. but with dust on her forehead, and chains on her feet ; there down from his mountains stern zebfor the crown of her pride to the mocker and naphthali's stag, with his eyeballs of and the holy shechinah is dark where it flame, came; see a sbone. ulon came, hath gone, 420 religious poems but wherefore this dream of the earthly oh, who the speed of bird and wind abode and sunbeam's glance will lend to me, of humanity clothed in the brightness of that, soaring upward, i may find god? my resting place and home in thee ? were my spirit but turned from the outthou, whom my soul, midst doubt and ward and dim, gloom, it could gaze, even now, on the presence of adoreth with a fervent flame, him! mysterious spirit ! unto whom pertain nor sign nor name ! not in clouds and in terrors, but gentle as when, swiftly my lyre's soft murmurs go iu love and in meekness, he moved among up from the cold and joyless earth, men ; back to the god who bade them tiow, and the voice which breathed peace to the whose moving spirit sent them forth. waves of the sea but as for me, o god ! for me, in the hush of my spirit would whisper to the lowly creature of thy will, me ! lingering and sad, i sigh to thee, an earth-bound pilgrim still! and what if my feet may not tread where he stood, was not my spirit born to shine nor my ears hear the dashing of galilee's where yonder stars and suns are glos. flood, ing? nor my eyes see the cross which he bowed to breathe with them the light divine him to bear, from god's own holy altar flowing ! nor my knees press gethsemane's garden | to be, indeed, whate'er the soul of prayer. in dreams hath thirsted for so long a portion of heaven's glorious wboje yet, loved of the father, thy spirit is near of loveliness and song? to the meek, and the lowly, and penitent here; oh, watchers of the stars at night, and the voice of thy love is the same even who breathe their fire, as we the air, suns, thunders, stars, and rays of ligte, as at bethany's tomb or on olivet's brow. oh, say, is he, the eternal, there? bend there around his awful throne oh, the outward hath gone ! but in glory the seraplu's glance, the angel's knee: and power, or are thy inmost depths his own, the spirit surviveth the things of an hour; o wild and mighty sea ? l'nchanged, undecaying, its pentecost flame on the heart's secret altar is burning the thoughts of my soul, how swift re gu! same! swift as the eagle's glance of tire, or arrows from the archer's bow, to the far aim of your desire ! hymns thought after thought, ye thron zing ne, like spring-doves from the startied ud, from the french of lamartine bearing like them your sacrifice of music unto god! ** encore un hymne, o ma lyre! and shall these thoughts of joy and love i'n hympe pour le seigneur, ('ome back again no more to me l'n hymne dans mon delire, returning like the patriarch's dore l'n hymne dans mon bonheur." wing-weary from the eternal sea, one hymn more, () my lyre ! to bear within my longing arms praise to the god above, the promise-bough of kindlier skies of joy and life and love, plucked from the green, immortal palmas sweeping its strings of fire ! which shadow paradise ? now 1 hymns 421 all-moving spirit ! freely forth at thy command the strong wind goes : its errand to the passive earth, nor art can stay, nor strength oppose, until it folds its weary wing, once more within the hand divine ; so, weary from its wandering, my spirit turns to thine! child of the sea, the mountain stream, from its dark caverns, hurries on, ceaseless, by night and morning's beam, by evening's star and noontide's sun, until at last it sinks to rest, o'erwearied, in the waiting sea, and moans upon its mother's breast, so turns my soul to thee ! through the deep and dark abyss, flowers of midnight's wilderness, blowing with the evening's breath sweetly in their maker's path : when the breaking day is flushing all the east, and light is gushing upward through the horizon's haze, sheaf-like, with its thousand rays, spreading, until all above overflows with joy and love, and below, on earth's green bosom, all is changed to light and blossom : when my waking fancies over forms of brightness flit and hover holy as the seraphs are, who by zion's fountains wear on their foreheads, white and broad, “ holiness unto the lord ! ” when, inspired with rapture high, it would seem a single sigh could a world of love create ; that my life could know no date, and my eager thoughts could fill heaven and earth, o'erflowing still ! 0 thou who bidst the torrent flow, who lendest wings unto the wind, mover of all things ! where art thou ? oh, wbither shall i go to find the secret of thy resting-place ? is there no holy wing for me, that, soaring, i may search the space of highest heaven for thee ? oh, would i were as free to rise as leaves on autumn's whirlwind borne, the arrowy light of sunset skies, or sound, or ray, or star of morn, which melts in heaven at twilight's close, or aught which soars unchecked and free through earth and heaven ; that i might lose myself in finding thee ! then, o father! thou alone, from the shadow of thy throne, to the sighing of my breast and its rapture answerest. all my thoughts, which, upward winging, bathe where thy own light is springing, – all my yearnings to be free are as echoes answering thee ! seldom upon lips of mine, father ! rests that name of thine ; deep within my inmost breast, in the secret place of mind, like an awful presence shrined, doth the dread idea rest ! hushed and holy dwells it there, prompter of the silent prayer, lifting up my spirit's eye and its faint, but earnest cry, from its dark and cold abode, unto thee, my guide and god ! ii le cri de l'ame “quand le souffle divin qui flotte sur le monde." when the breath divine is flowing, zephyr-like o'er all things going, and, as the touch of viewless fingers, softly on my soul it lingers, open to a breath the lightest, conscious of a touch the slightest, as some calm, still lake, whereon sinks the snowy-bosomed swan, and the glistening water-rings circle round her moving wings : when my upward gaze is turning where the stars of heaven are burning the familist's hymn the puritans of new england, even in their wilderness home, were not exempted from the sectarian contentions which agitated the mother country after the downfall of charles the 422 religious poems sweet the songs we loved to sing underneath thy holy sky; words and tones that used to bring tears of joy in every eye ; dear the wrestling hours of prayer, when we gathered knee to hnee, blameless youth and hoary hair, bowed, o god, alone to thee. first, and of the established episcopacy. the quakers, baptists, and catholics were banished, on pain of death, from the massachusetts colony. one samuel gorton, a bold and eloquent declaimer, after preaching for a time in boston against the doctrines of the puritans, and declaring that their churches were mere human devices, and their sacrament and baptism an abomination, was driven out of the jurisdiction of the colony, and compelled to seek a residence among the savages. he gathered round him a considerable number of converts, who, like the primitive christians, shared all things in common. his opinions, however, were so troublesome to the leading clergy of the colony, that they instigated an attack upon his “ family" by an armed force, which seized upon the principal men in it, and brought them into massachusetts, where they were sentenced to be kept at hard labor in several towns (one only in each town), during the pleasure of the general court, they being forbidden, under severe penalties, to utter any of their religious sentiments, except to such ministers as might labor for their conversion. they were unquestionably sincere in their opinions, and, whatever may have been their errors, deserve to be ranked among those who have in all ages suffered for the freedom of conscience. father ! to thy suffering poor strength and grace and faith impart, and with thy owu love restore comfort to the broken heart ! oh, the failing ones confirm. with a holier strength of zeal ! give thou not the feeble worm helpless to the spoiler's heel ! as thine early children, lord, shared their wealth and daily bread, even so, with one accord, we, in love, each other fed. not with us the miser's hoard, not with us his grasping hand; equal round a common board, drew our meek and brother band ! safe our quiet eden lay when the war-whoop stirred the land and the indian turned away from our home his bloody hand. well that forest-ranger saw, that the burthen and the earse of the white man's cruel law rested also upon us. torn apart, and driven forth to our toiling hard and long, father! from the dust of earth lift we still our grateful seng! grateful, that in bonds we share in thy love which maketh free; joyful, that the wrongs we lear, draw us nearer, lord, to tbte! father! for thy holy sake we are spoiled and hunted thus ; jorful, for thy truth we take bonds and burthens unto us : poor, and weak, and robbed of all, weary with our daily task, that thy truth may never fall through our weakness, lord, we ask. round our fired and wasted homes flits the forest-bird unscared, and at noon the wild beast comes where our frugal meal was shared ; for the song of praises there shrieks the crow the livelong day ; for the sound of evening praver howls the evil beast of prey. grateful! that where'er we toil, by wachuset's wooded side, on nantucket's sea-worn izle, or by wild lepouset's tide, still, in spirit, we are near, and our evening hymns, which rue separate and discordant bere, meet and mingle in the skies! let the scoffer scorn and mock, let the proud and evil priest rob the needy of his tlock, for his wine-cup and his fast, – redden not the bolts in store through the wackness of thy skies! for the sigling of the poor wilt thou not, at length, arise! ezekiel 423 worn and wasted, oh ! how long sball thy trodden poor complain ? in thy name they bear the wrong, in thy cause the bonds of pain! melt oppression's heart of steel, let the haughty priesthood see, and their blinded followers feel, that in us they mock at thee ! in thy time, o lord of hosts, stretch abroad that hand to save which of old, on egypt's coasts, smote apart the red sea's wave! lead us from this evil land, from the spoiler set us free, and once more our gathered band, heart to heart, shall worship thee ! in sudden whirlwind, cloud and flame, the spirit of the highest came ! before mine eyes a vision passed, a glory terrible and vast ; with dreadful eyes of living things, and sounding sweep of angel wings, with circling light and sapphire throne, and flame-like form of one thereon, and voice of that dread likeness sent down from the crystal firmament ! the burden of a prophet's power fell on me in that fearful hour ; from off unutterable woes the curtain of the future rose ; i saw far down the coming time the fiery chastisement of crime ; with noise of mingling bosts, and jar of falling towers and shouts of war, i saw the nations rise and fall, like fire-gleams on my tent's white wall. ezekiel ezekiel xxxiii. 30-33. they hear thee not, o god! nor see ; beneath thy rod they mock at thee ; the princes of our ancient line lie drunken with assyrian wine ; the priests around thy altar speak the false words which their hearers seek ; and hymns which chaldea's wanton maids have sung in dura's idol-shades are with the levites' chant ascending, with zion's holiest anthems blending ! in dream and trance, i saw the slain of egypt heaped like harvest grain. i saw the walls of sea-born tyre swept over by the spoiler's fire ; and heard the low, expiring moan of edom on his rocky throne ; and, woe is me! the wild lament from zion's desolation sent ; and felt within my heart each blow which laid her holy places low. on israel's bleeding bosom set, the heathen heel is crushing yet ; the towers upon our holy hill echo chaldean footsteps still. our wasted shrines, — who weeps for them ? who mourneth for jerusalem ? who turneth from his gains away ? whose knee with mine is bowed to pray ? who, leaving feast and purpling cup, takes zion's lamentation up ? in bonds and sorrow, day by day, before the pictured tile i lay ; and there, as in a mirror, saw the coming of assyria's war; her swarthy lines of spearmen pass like locusts through bethhoron's grass ; i saw them draw their stormy hem of battle round jerusalem ; and, listening, heard the hebrew wail blend with the victor-trump of baal ! a sad and thoughtful youth, i went with israel's early banishment ; and where the sullen chebar crept, the ritual of my fathers kept. the water for the trench i drew, the firstling of the flock i slew, and, standing at the altar's side, i shared the levites' lingering pride, that still, amidst her mocking foes, the smoke of zion's offering rose. who trembled at my warning word ? who owned the prophet of the lord ? how mocked the rude, how scoffed the vile, how stung the levites' scornful smile, as o'er my spirit, dark and slow, the shadow crept of israel's woe as if the angel's mournful roll had left its record on my soul, and traced in lines of darkness there the picture of its great despair ! 424 religious poems yet ever at the hour i feel my lips in prophecy unseal. prince, priest, and levite gather near, and salem's daughters haste to hear, on chebar's waste and alien shore, the harp of judah swept once more. they listen, as in babel's throng the chaldeans to the dancer's song, or wild sabbeka's nightly play, as careless and as vain as they. and thus, o prophet-bard of old, hast thou thy tale of sorrow told ! the same which earth's unwelcome seers have felt in all succeeding years. sport of the changeful multitude, nor calmly heard nor understood, their song has seemed a trick of art, their warnings but the actor's part. with bonds, and scorn, and evil will, the world requites its prophets still. so was it when the holy one the garments of the flesh put on ! men followed where the highest led for common gifts of daily bread, and gross of ear, of vision dim, owned not the godlike power of him. vain as a dreamer's words to them his wail above jerusalem, and meaningless the watch he kept through which his weak disciples slept. “love is lost, and faith is dying; with the brute the man is sold ; and the dropping blood of labur hardens into gold. here the dying wail of famine, there the battle's groan of pain; and, in silence, smooth-faced manut reaping men like grain. ** where is god, that we should fear him?' thus the earth-born titans say ; . god ! if thou art living, hear us !! thus the weak ones pray." “ thou, the patient heaven upbraz-ling," spake a solemn voice within ; weary of our lord's forbearaine, art thou free from sin ? “ fearless brow to him uplifting, canst thou for his thunders call, knowing that to guilt's attraction evermore they fall ? “know'st thou not all germs of evil in thy heart await their time? not thyself, but god's restraining, stays their growth of crime. “couldst thou boast, o) child of weakers o'er the sons of wrong and strife, were their strong temptations planted in thy path of life ? “ thou hast seen two streamlets gushing from one fountain, clear and free, but by widely varying channels searching for the sea. “glideth one through greenest vallera kissing them with lips still sweet. one, mad roaring down the moulin stagnates at their feet. "is it choice whereby the parser kneels before his mother's tire! in his black tent did the tartar choose his wandering sire ! “ he alone, whose hand is bounding human power and human will, looking through each soul's surround. knows its good or ill. a yet shrink not thou, whoe'er thou art, for god's great purpose set apart, before whose far-discerning eyes, the future as the present lies ! beyond a narrow-bounded age stretches thy prophet-heritage, through heaven's vast spaces angel-trod, and through the eternal years of god! thy audience, worlds ! -all things to be the wituess of the truth in thee! what the voice said maddened by earth's wrong and evil, “ lord !" i cried in sudden ire, " from thy right hand, clothed with thunder, shake the bolted fire ! the wife of manoah to her husband 425 “ for thyself, while wrong and sorrow o thou who mournest on thy way, make to thee their strong appeal, with longings for the close of day; coward wert thou not to utter he walks with thee, that angel kind, what the heart must feel. and gently whispers, “ be resigned : bear up, bear on, the end shall tell “ earnest words must needs be spoken the dear lord ordereth all things well !” when the warm heart bleeds or burns with its scorn of wrong, or pity for the wronged, by turns. the wife of manoah to her husband “but, by all thy nature's weakness, hidden faults and follies known, be thou, in rebuking evil, against the sunset's glowing wall conscious of thine own. the city towers rise black and tall, where zorah, on its rocky height, “not the less shall stern-eyed duty stands like an armed man in the light. to thy lips her trumpet set, but with harsher blasts shall mingle down eshtaol's vales of ripened grain wailings of regret.” falls like a cloud the night amain, and up the hillsides climbing slow cease not, voice of holy speaking, the barley reapers homeward go. teacher sent of god, be near, whispering through the day's cool silence, look, dearest ! how our fair child's head let my spirit hear ! the sunset light hath hallowed, where at this olive's foot he lies, so, when thoughts of evil-doers uplooking to the tranquil skies. waken scorn, or hatred move, shall a mournful fellow-feeling oh, while beneath the fervent heat temper all with love. thy sickle swept the bearded wheat, i've watched, with mingled joy and dread, our child upon his the angel of patience joy, which the mother feels alone a free paraphrase of the german whose morning hope like mine had flown, when to her bosom, over-blessed, to weary hearts, to mourning homes, a dearer life than hers is pressed. god's meekest angel gently comes : no power has he to banish pain, dread, for the future dark and still, or give us back our lost again ; which shapes our dear one to its will ; and yet in tenderest love, our dear forever in his large calm eyes, and heavenly father sends him here. i read a tale of sacrifice. there's quiet in that angel's glance, the same foreboding awe i felt there's rest in his still countenance ! when at the altar's side we knelt, he mocks no grief with idle cheer, and he, who as a pilgrim came, nor wounds with words the mourner's ear; rose, winged and glorious, through the but ills and woes he may not cure flame. he kindly trains us to endure. i slept not, though the wild bees made angel of patience ! sent to calm a dreamlike murmuring in the shade, our feverish brows with cooling palm ; and on me the warm-fingered hours to lay the storms of hope and fear, pressed with the drowsy smell of flowers. and reconcile life's smile and tear ; the throbs of wounded pride to still, before me, in a vision, rose and make our own our father's will ! the hosts of israel's scornful foes, grassy bed. 426 religious poems 6. rank over rank, helm, shield, and spear, “ to him shall zorah's daughters raise glittered in noon's hot atmosphere. through coming years their hymes d praise, i heard their boast, and bitter word, and gray old men at evening tell their mockery of the hebrew's lord, of all he wrought for israel i saw their hands llis ark assail, their feet profane his holy veil. “ and they who sing and they who bear alike shall hold thy memory dear, no angel down the blue space spoke, and pour their blessings on thy bend, no thunder from the still sky broke ; () mother of the mighty dead !” but in their midst, in power and awe, like god's waked wrath, our child i saw ! it ceased ; and though a sound i beard as if great wings the still air stirred, a child no more! harsh browed and i only saw the barley sheaves strong, and hills half hid by olive leaves. he towered a giant in the throng, and down his shoulders, broad and bare, i bowed my face, in awe and fear, swept the black terror of his hair. on the dear child who slumbered near ; with me, as with my only son, he raised his arm — he smote amain ; o god," i said, “ thy will be done !" as round the reaper falls the grain, so the dark host around him fell, so sank the foes of israel ! my soul and i again i looked. in sunlight shone stand still, my soul, in the silent dark the towers and domes of askelon ; i would question thee, priest, warrior, slave, a mighty crowd alone in the shadow drear and stark within her idol temple bowed. with god and me! yet one knelt not ; stark, gaunt, and blind, what, my soul, was thr errand bere? his arms the massive pillars twined, was it mirth or ease, an eyeless captive, strong with hate, or heaping up dust from year to year? he stood there like an evil fate. “ nay, none of these!" the red shrines smoked, – the trumpets speak, soul, aright in his holy sight pealed : whose eye looks still he stooped, — the giant columns reeled ; and steadily on thee through the night reeled tower and fane, sank arch and wall, “ to do his will ! " aud the thick dust-cloud closed o'er all ! what hast thou done, ( sonl of mine, above the shriek, the crash, the groan that thou trenublest so? of the fallen pride of askelon, hast thou wrought his task, and kept the i heard, sheer down the echoing sky, line a voice as of an angel cry, — he bade thee go ? the voice of him, who at our side what, silent all! art sad of cheer? sat through the golden eventide ; art fearful now? of him who, on thy altar's blaze, when god seemned far and men were bre? rose fire-winged, with his song of praise. how brave wert thou ! “rejoice o'er israel's broken chain, aha! thou tremblest ! — well i see gray mother of the mighty slain ! thou 'rt craven grown. rejoice !” it cried, " be vanquisheth! is it so hard with god and me the strong in life is strong in death! to stand alone ? my soul and i 427 summon thy sunshine bravery back, o wretched sprite ! let me hear thy voice through this deep and black abysmal night. “ whither i go i cannot tell : that cloud hangs black, high as the heaven and deep as hell across my track. 66 “i see its shadow coldly enwrap the souls before. sadly they enter it, step by step, to return no more. 66 what hast thou wrought for right and truth, for god and man, from the golden hours of bright eyed youth to life's mid span ? ah, soul of mine, thy tones i hear, but weak and low, like far sad murmurs on my ear they come and go. “i have wrestled stoutly with the wrong, and borne the right from beneath the footfall of the throng to life and light. they shrink, they shudder, dear god ! they kneel to thee in prayer. they shut their eyes on the cloud, but feel that it still is there. “in vain they turn from the dread before to the known and gone ; for while gazing behind them evermore their feet glide on. “yet, at times, i see upon sweet pale faces a light begin to tremble, as if from holy places and shrines within. “wherever freedom shivered a chain, god speed, quoth i; to error amidst her shouting train i gave the lie." “and at times methinks their cold lips move with hymn and prayer, as if somewhat of awe, but more of love and hope were there. 66 ah, soul of mine ! ah, soul of mine! thy deeds are well : were they wrought for truth's sake or for thine ? my soul, pray tell. “of all the work my hand hath wrought beneath the sky, save a place in kindly human thought, no gain have i." go to, go to ! for thy very self thy deeds were done : thoa for fame, the miser for pelf, your end is one ! “i call on the souls who have left the light to reveal their lot ; i bend mine ear to that wall of night, and they answer not. “ but i hear around me sighs of pain and the cry of fear, and a sound like the slow sad dropping of rain, each drop a tear! and where art thou going, soul of mine ? canst see the end ? and whither this troubled life of thine evermore doth tend ? “ah, the cloud is dark, and day by day i am moving thither : i must pass beneath it on my way god pity me! — whither ? ' what daunts thee now ? what shakes thee so ? my sad soul, say. " i see a cloud like a curtain low hang o'er my way. ah, soul of mine ! so brave and wise in the life-storm lond, fronting so calmly all human eyes in the sunlit crowd ! 428 religious poems now standing apart with god and me thou art weakness all, gazing vainly after the things to be through death's dread wall. but never for this, never for this was thy being lent ; for the craven's fear is but selfishness, like his merriment. folly and fear are sisters twain : one closing her eyes, the other peopling the dark inane with spectral lies. know well, my soul, god's hand controls whate'er thou fearest ; round him in calmest music rolls whate'er thou hearest. what to thee is shadow, to him is day, and the end he knoweth, and not on a blind and aimless way the spirit goeth. man sees no future, a phantom show is alone before him ; past time is dead, and the grasses grow, and tlowers bloom o'er him. linked in sympathy like the keys of an organ vast. pluck one thread, and the web ye mar; break but one of a thousand keys, and the paining jas through all will run. o restless spirit! wherefore strain beyond thy sphere? heaven and hell, with their joy and pais, are now and here. back to thyself is measured well all thou hast given ; thy neighbor's wrong is thy present being his bliss, thy heaven. and in life, in death, in dark and light, all are in god's care : sound the black abyss, pierce the deep of night, and he is there! all which is real now remaineth, and fadeth never : the hand which upholds it now sustaine in the soul forever. nothing before, nothing behind ; the steps of faith fall on the seeming void, and find the rock beneath. the present, the present is all thou hast for thy sure possessing ; like the patriarch's angel hold it fast till it gives its blessing. why fear the night ? why shrink from death, that phantom wan? there is nothing in heaven or earth beneath save god and man. peopling the shadows we turn from him and from one another ; all is spectral and vague and dim save god and our brother! like warp and woof all destinies are woven fast, leaning on him, make with reverent bekness his own thy will, and with strength from him shall thy ter weakness life's task fulfil ; and that cloud itself, which now di... thee lies dark in view, shall with beams of light from the lear glory be stricken through. and like meadow mist through anter. dawn l'prolling thin, its thickest folds when about thee draws let sunlight in then of what is to be, and of his done, why queriest thou ? the past and the time to be are one, and both are now ! worship 429 worship pure religion and undefiled before god and the father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world. -james i. 27. feet red from war-fields trod the church aisles holy, with trembling reverence : and the oppressor there, kneeling before his priest, abased and lowly, crushed human hearts beneath his knee of prayer. the pagan's myths through marble lips are spoken, and ghosts of old beliefs still flit and moan round fane and altar overthrown and broken, o'er tree-grown barrow and gray ring of stone. not such the service the benignant father requireth at his earthly children's hands : not the poor offering of vain rites, but rather the simple duty man from man demands. cruel eye nave. blind faith had martyrs in those old high for earth he asks it: the full joy of places, heaven the syrian hill grove and the druid's knoweth no change of waning or inwood, crease ; with mothers offering, to the fiend's the great heart of the infinite beats even, embraces, untroubled flows the river of his peace. bone of their bone, and blood of their own blood. he asks no taper lights, on high surrounding red altars, kindling through that night of the priestly altar and the saintly grave, error, no dolorous chant nor organ music soundsmoked with warm blood beneath the ing, nor incense clouding up the twilight of lawless power and sanguinary terror, throned on the circle of a pitiless sky; for he whom jesus loved hath truly beneath whose baleful shadow, overcasting spoken : all heaven above, and blighting earth the holier worship which he deigns to below, bless the scourge grew red, the lip grew pale restores the lost, and binds the spirit with fasting, broken, and man's oblation was his fear and and feeds the widow and the fatherless! woe! types of our human weakness and our sorthen through great temples swelled the dismal moaning who lives unhaunted by his loved ones of dirge like music and sepulchral dead ? prayer ; who, with vain longing, seeketh not to pale wizard priests, o'er occult symbols borrow droning, from stranger eyes the home lights swung their white censers in the burwhich have fled ? dened air : o brother man ! fold to thy heart thy as if the pomp of rituals, and the savor brother ; of gums and spices could the unseen where pity dwells, the peace of god is one please ; as if his ear could bend, with childish to worship rightly is to love each other, favor, each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a to the poor flattery of the organ keys ! prayer. row ! there; 430 religious poems follow with reverent steps the great examfelt hands of fire direct his own, ple and sweep for god the conscions straps. of him whose holy work was doing good ;' i have not climbed to olivet, so shall the wide earth seem our father's nor laid me where my saviour lay, temple, and left his trace of tears as yet each loving life a psalm of gratitude. by angel eyes unwept awar; nor watched, at midnight's solemn tine. then shall all shackles fall; the stormy the garden where lis prayer and pro: clangor wrung by his sorrow and our crime, of wild war music o'er the earth shall rose to one listening (ar alone. cease ; love shall tread out the baleful fire of anger, i have not kissed the rock-hewn grot and in its ashes plant the tree of peace ! where in his mother's arms ile lar. nor knelt upon the sacred spot where last his footsteps pressed is the holy land clay ; nor looked on that sad mountain beach paraphrased from the lines in lamartine's nor smote my sinful breast, where e adieu io marseilles, beginning his arms to fold the world lle spread, "je n'ai pas navigué sur l'océan de sable.” and bowed his head to bless -anti che i have not felt, o'er seas of sand, the rocking of the desert bark ; the reward nor laved at hebron's fount my hand, by hebron's palm-trees cool and dark; who, looking backward from his 2 nor pite bed my tent at even-fall, hood's prime, on dust where job of old has lain, sees not the spectre of his misspent time nor dreamed beneath its canvas wall and, through the shade the dream of jacob o'er again. of funeral cypress planted thick lekin! hears no reproachful whisper on the wind one vast world-page remains unread ; from his loved dead ? how shine the stars in chaldea's sky, how sounds the reverent pilgrim's tread, who bears no trace of passion's evil firme how beats the heart with god so nigh! who shuns thy sting, ( terrible remune how round gray arch and column lone who does not cast the spirit of the old time broods, on the thronged pages of his metres and sighs in all the winds that moan book, along the sandy solitudes ! at times, a sad and half-reluctant look, regretful of the past ? in thy tall cedars, lebanon, i have not heard the nations' cries, alas! the evil which we fain would she nor seen thy eagles stooping down we do, and leave the wished-for goed where buried tyre in ruin lies. done : the christian's prayer i have not said our strength to-day in tadmor's temples of decay, is but tomorrow's weakness, prone te fem, nor startled, with my dreary tread, poor, blind, unprofitable servants al the waste where memnon's empire lay. are we alway. nor have i, from thy hallowed tide, yet who, thus looking backwan o'q! () jordan ! heard the low lament, years, like that sad wail along thy side feels not his eyelids wet with gra. which israel's mournful prophet sent ! tears, vor thrilled within that grotto lone if he hath been where, deep in night, the bard of kings | permitted, wenk and sinful as be ris invocation 431 to cheer and aid, in some ennobling cause, his fellow-men ? and, like a weary child, would come, o father, unto thee i if he hath hidden the outcast, or let in a ray of sunshine to the cell of sin ; if he hath lent strength to the weak, and, in an hour of need, over the suffering, mindless of his creed or home, hath bent; though oft, like letters traced on sand, my weak resolves have passed away, in mercy lend thy helping hand unto my prayer to-day ! all's well a he has not lived in vain, and while he gives the clouds, which rise with thunder, slake the praise to him, in whom he moves and our thirsty souls with rain ; lives, the blow most dreaded falls to break with thankful heart ; from off our limbs a chain ; he gazes backward, and with hope before, and wrongs of man to man but make knowing that from his works he neverthe love of god more plain. as through the shadowy lens of even can henceforth part. the eye looks farthest into heaven on gleams of star and depths of blue the glaring sunshine never knew! the wish of to-day more invocation i ask not now for gold to gild with mocking shine a weary frame ; the yearning of the mind is stilled, i ask not now for fame. through thy clear spaces, lord, of old, formless and void the dead earth rolled ; deaf to thy heaven's sweet music, blind to the great lights which o'er it shined ; no sound, no ray, no warmth, no breath,a dumb despair, a wandering death. a rose-cloud, dimly seen above, melting in heaven's blue depths away ; oh, sweet, fond dream of human love! for thee i may not pray. but, bowed in lowliness of mind, i make my humble wishes known ; i only ask a will resigned, o father, to thine own! a to that dark, weltering horror came thy spirit, like a subtle flame, – a breath of life electrical, awakening and transforming all, till beat and thrilled in every part the pulses of a living heart. to-day, beneath thy chastening eye i crave alone for peace and rest, submissive in thy hand to lie, and feel that it is best. then knew their bounds the land and sea ; then smiled the bloom of mead and tree; from flower to moth, from beast to man, the quick creative impulse ran ; and earth, with life from thee renewed, was in thy holy eyesight good. a marvel seems the universe, a miracle our life and death ; a mystery which i cannot pierce, around, above, beneath. in vain i task my aching brain, in vain the sage's thought i scan, i only feel how weak and vain, how poor and blind, is man. and now my spirit sighs for home, and longs for light whereby to see, as lost and void, as dark and cold and formless as that earth of old ; a wandering waste of storm and night, midst spheres of song and realms of light; a blot upon thy holy sky, untouched, unwarned of thee, am i. o thou who movest on the deep of spirits, wake my own from sleep! 432 religious poems its darkness melt, its coldness warm, of all i see, in earth and sky, the lost restore, the ill transform, star, flower, beast, bird, — what part hare lº that flower and fruit henceforth may be this conscious life, is it the same its grateful offering, worthy thee. which thrills the universal frame, whereby the caverned crystal shoots, and mounts the sap from forest roots, questions of life whereby the exiled wood-bird tells when spring makes green her native de": how feels the stone the pang of birth, and the angel that was sent unto me, whose name was uriel, gave me an answer, which brings its sparkling pri-forth and said, thy heart hath gone too far in this world, the forest-tree the throb which gives and thinkest thou to comprehend the way of the most high? the life-blood to its new-born leaves ? then said i, yea, my lord. do bird and blossom feel, like me, then said he unto me, go thy way, weigh me the life's many-folded mystery, — weight of the fire or measure me the blast of the wind, or call me again the hour that is past. — 2 esdras ch. iv. the wonder which it is to be ? or stand i severed and distinct, a bending staff i would not break, from nature's chain of life anlinked ? a feeble faith i would not shake, allied to all, yet not the less nor even rashly pluck away prisoned in separate consciousness, the error which some truth may stay, alone o'erburdened with a sense whose loss might leave the soul without of life, and cause, and consequence ? a shield against the shafts of doubt. in vain to me the sphinx propounds and yet, at times, when over all the riddle of her sights and sounds; a darker mystery seems to fall, back still the vaulted mystery gives (may god forgive the child of dust, the echoed question it receives. who seeks to know, where faith should what sings the brook? what oracle trust !) is in the pine-tree's organ swell? i raise the questions, old and dark, what may the wind's low burden be ? of l'zdom's tempted patriarch, the meaning of the moaning sea ? and, speech-confounded, build again the hieroglyphics of the stan? the battled tower of shinar's plain. or clouded sunset's crimson ban? i vainly ask, for mocks my skill i am : how little more i know! the trick of nature's cipher still. whence came i? whither do i go ? a centred self, which feels and is ; i turn from nature unto men, a cry between the silences ; i ask the stylus and the pen ; a shadow-birth of clouds at strife what sang the bards of old ? what is with sunshine on the hills of life ; the prophets of the orient ? a shaft from nature's quiver cast the rolls of buried egypt, hid into the future from the past ; in painted tomb and pyramid ? between the cradle and the shroud, what mean idúmea's arrowy lines, a meteor's flight from cloud to cloud. or dusk elora's moustrous signs? how speaks the primal thought of man thorough the vastness, arching all, from the grim carvings of (opan ? i see the great stars rise and fall, where rests the secret ? where the key the rounding seasons come and go, of the old death-bolted mrstenes the tided oceans ebb and flow; alas ! the dead retain their trust; the tokens of a central force, dust hath no answer from the dust. whose circles, in their widening course, o'erlap and more the universe ; the great enigma still unguessed, the workings of the law whence springs unanswered the eternal quest; the rhythmic harmony of things, i gather up the scattered rays which shapes in earth the darkling spar, of wisdom in the early dars, and orbs in heaven the morning star. faint gleams and broken, like the light first-day thoughts 433 a a of meteors in a northern night, betraying to the darkling earth the unseen sun which gave them birth ; i listen to the sibyl's chant, the voice of priest and hierophant ; i know what indian kreeshna saith, and what of life and what of death the demon taught to socrates ; and what, beneath his garden-trees slow pacing, with a dream-like tread, the solemn-thoughted plato said ; nor lack i tokens, great or small, of god's clear light in each and all, while holding with more dear regard the scroll of hebrew seer and bard, the starry pages promise-lit with christ's evangel over-writ, thy miracle of life and death, o holy one of nazareth ! on aztec ruins, gray and lone, the circling serpent coils in stone, type of the endless and unknown ; whereof we seek the clue to find, with groping fingers of the blind! forever sought, and never found, we trace that serpent-symbol round our resting-place, our starting bound ! oh, thriftlessness of dream and guess ! oh, wisdom which is foolishness ! why idly seek from outward things the answer inward silence brings ? why stretch beyond our proper sphere and age, for that which lies so near ? why climb the far-off hills with pain, a nearer view of heaven to gain ? in lowliest depths of bosky dells the hermit contemplation dwells. a fountain's pine-hung slope his seat, and lotus-twined his silent feet, whence, piercing heaven, with screened sight, he sees at noon the stars, whose light shall glorify the coming night. here let me pause, my quest forego ; enough for me to feel and know that he in whom the cause and end, the past and future, meet and blend, who, girt with his immensities, our vast and star-hung system sees, small as the clustered pleiades, moves not alone the heavenly quires, but waves the spring-time's grassy spires, guards not archangel feet alone, but deigns to guide and keep my own; speaks not alone the words of fate which worlds destroy, and worlds create, but whispers in my spirit's ear, in tones of love, or warning fear, a language none beside may hear. to him, from wanderings long and wild, i come, an over-wearied child, in cool and shade his peace to find, like dew-fall settling on my mind. assured that all i know is best, and humbly trusting for the rest, i turn from fancy's cloud-built scheme, dark creed, and mournful eastern dream of power, impersonal and cold, controlling all, itself controlled, maker and slave of iron laws, alike the subject and the cause ; from vain philosophies, that try the sevenfold gates of mystery, and, baffled ever, babble still, word-prodigal of fate and will ; from nature, and her mockery, art, and book and speech of men apart, to the still witness in my heart; with reverence waiting to behold his avatar of love untold, the eternal beauty new and old ! first-day thoughts in calm and cool and silence, once again i find my old accustomed place among my brethren, where, perchance, no human tongue shall utter words ; where never hymn is sung, nor deep-toned organ blown, nor censer swung, nor dim light falling through the pictured pane ! a there, syllabled by silence, let me hear the still small voice which reached the prophet's ear; read in my heart a still diviner law than israel's leader on his tables saw ! there let me strive with each besetting sin, recall my wandering fancies, and restrain the sore disquiet of a restless brain ; and, as the path of duty is made plain, 434 religious toems a may grace be given that i may walk no partial favor dropped the rain ; therein, alike the righteous and profane not like the bireling, for his selfish gain, rejoiced above their beading grain. with backward glances and reluctant tread, making a merit of his coward dread, and my heart murmured, " is it meet but, cheerful, in the light around ine that blindfold nature thus should treat thrown, with equal hand the tares and wheat?"" walking as one to pleasant service led ; doing god's will as if it were my own, a presence melted through my mood. – yet trusting not in mine, but in his a warmth, a light, a sense of good, strength alone! like sunshine through a winter wood. i saw that presence, mailed complete trust in her white innocence, pause to grees a fallen sister of the street. the same old baffling questions! o my friend, l'pon her bosom snowy pure i cannot answer them. in vain i send the lost one clung, as if secure my soul into the dark, where never burn from inward guilt or outward lure. the lamps of science, nor the natural light “ beware!” i said ; “ in this i spe of reason's sun and stars! i cannot learn no gain to her, but loss to thee : their great and solemn meanings, nor diswho touches pitch defiled must be.** cern the awful secrets of the eyes which turn i passed the haunts of shame and sin, evermore on us through the day and and a voice whispered, " who there in night shall these lost souls to heaven's preces with silent challenge and a dumb dewin ? mand, proffering the riddles of the dread un. “who there shall hope and health dis known, pense, like the calın sphinxes, with their eyes of and lift the ladder up from thenee stone, whose rounds are prayers of penitence :* questioning the centuries from their veils of sand ! i said, “ no higher life they know; i have no answer for myself or thee, these earth-worms love to have it o. save that i learned beside my mother's who stoops to raise them sinks as low." kuee ; “ all is of god that is, and is to be ; that night with painful care i read and god is good.” let this suffice us what hippo's saint and calvin said ; still, the living seeking to the dead ! resting in childlike trust upon his will who moves to his great ends unthwarted in vain i turned, in weary quest. by the ill. old pages, where (god give them rest!! the poor creed mongers drared and guessed. trinitas and still i prayed, “ lord, let me se at morn i prayed, " i fain would see how three are one, and one is lire; how three are one, and one is three ; read the dark riddle unto me!" read the dark riddle unto me." then something whispered, dost the i wandered forth, the sun and air pray i saw bestowed with equal care for what thou hast ? this very day on good and evil, foul and fair. the holy three have crossed thy war. " the rock" in el ghor 435 6 “ did not the gifts of sun and air to good and ill alike declare the all-compassionate father's care ? nor need we fear her human love is less for love divine. “in the white soul that stooped to raise the lost one from her evil ways, thou saw'st the christ, whom angels praise ! the songs are sweet they sing beneath the trees of life so fair, but sweetest of the songs of heaven shall be her children's prayer. “a bodiless divinity, the still small voice that spake to thee was the holy spirit's mystery ! then, darling, rest upon my breast, and teach my heart to lean with thy sweet trust upon the arm which folds us both unseen ! “() blind of sight, of faith how small ! father, and son, and holy call; this day thou hast denied them all ! “the rock” in el ghor “ revealed in love and sacrifice, the holiest passed before thine eyes, one and the same, in threefold guise. “the eqnal father in rain and sun, his christ in the good to evil done, his voice in thy soul ;and the three are one!” dead petra in her hill-tomb sleeps, her stones of emptiness remain ; around her sculptured mystery sweeps the lonely waste of edom's plain. from the doomed dwellers in the cleft the bow of vengeance turns not back ; of all her myriads none are left along the wady mousa's track. i shut my grave aquinas fast ; the monkish gloss of ages past, the schoolman's creed aside i cast. clear in the hot arabian day her arches spring, her statues climb; unchanged, the graven wonders pay no tribute to the spoiler, time! and my heart answered, “ lord, i see how three are one, and one is three ; thy riddle hath been read to me!” unchanged the awful lithograph of power and glory undertrod ; of nations scattered like the chaff blown from the threshing-floor of god. the sisters a picture by barry yet shall the thoughtful stranger turn from petra's gates with deeper awe, to mark afar the burial urn of aaron on the cliffs of hor; the shade for me, but over thee the lingering sunshine still ; as, smiling, to the silent stream comes down the singing rill. so come to me, my little one, my years with thee i share, and mingle with a sister's love a mother's tender care. and where upon its ancient guard thy rock, el ghor, is standing yet, looks from its turrets desertward, and keeps the watch that god has set. the same as when in thunders loud it heard the voice of god to man, as when it saw in fire and cloud the angels walk in israel's van! but keep the smile upon thy lip, the trust upon thy brow; since for the dear one god hath called we have an angel now. our mother from the fields of heaven shall still her ear incline ; or when from ezion-geber's way it saw the long procession file, and heard the hebrew timbrels play the music of the lordly nile ; 436 religious poems or saw the tabernacle pause, cloud-bound, by kadesh barnea's wells, while moses graved the sacred laws, and aaron swung his golden bells. rock of the desert, prophet-sung! how grew its shadowing pile at length, a symbol, in the hebrew tongue, of god's eternal love and strength. on lip of bard and scroll of seer, from age to age went down the name, l'ntil the shiloh's promised year, and christ, the rock of ages, came ! the path of life we walk to-day is strange as that the hebrews trod ; we need the shadowing rock, as they, we need, like them, the guides of god. god send his angels, cloud and fire, to lead us o'er the desert sand ! god give our hearts their long desire, his shadow in a weary land ! the over-heart and what is he? the ripe grain boda the sweet dews fall, the sweet tower blow; but darker signs his presence show: the earthqnake and the storm are god's, and good and evil intertlow. o hearts of love! o souls that turn like sunflowers to the pure and best! to you the truth is manifest : for they the mind of christ discern who lean like john upon his breast! in him of whom the sibyl told, for whom the prophet's harp was thord, whose need the sage and magian oward, the loving heart of god behold, the hope for which the ages gruaned! fade, pomp of dreadful imagery wherewith mankind have deitied their hate, and selfishness, and pride! let the scared dreamer wake to see the christ of nazareth at his side! what doth that holy guide require ? no rite of pain, nor gift of blood, but man a kindly brotherhood, looking, where duty is desire, to him, the beautiful and good. gone be the faithlessness of fear, and let the pitying heaven's sweet rain wash out the altar's bloods stain ; the law of hatred disappear, the law of love alone remain. how fall the idols false and grim! and lo! their hideous wreck abore the emblems of the lamb and dore! man turns from god, not god from him; and guilt, in suffering, whi-pers lane! the world sits at the feet of christ, unknowing, blind, and unconsoled; it yet shall touch ilis garunent's fulde and feel the heaveuly al hemist transform its very dust to gold. the theme befitting angel tongues beyond a mortal's scope has gror. o heart of mine ! with rererence on the fulness which to it belongs aud trust the unknown for the known. for of him, and through him, and to him are all things : to whom be glory forever! -romans xi. 36. above, below, in sky and sod, in leaf and spar, in star and man, well might the wise athenian scan the geometric signs of god, the measured order of his plan. and india's mystics sang aright, of the one life pervading all, one being's tidal rise and fall in soul and form, in sound and sight, eternal outflow and recall. god is : and man in guilt and fear the central fact of nature owns ; kneels, trembling, by his altar stones, and darkly dreams the ghastly smear of blood appeases and atones. guilt shapes the terror : deep within the human heart the secret lies of all the hideous deities ; and, painted on a ground of sin, the fabled gods of torment rise ! the shadow and the light 437 the shadow and the light as moses looked of old on him, and saw his glory into goodness turn ! for he is merciful as just ; and so, by faith correcting sight, i bow before his will, and trust howe'er they seem he doeth all things right. "and i sought, whence is evil : i set before the eye of my spirit the whole creation; whatsoever we see therein, sea, earth, air, stars, trees, moral creatures, -yea, whatsoever there is we do not see, angels and spiritual powers. where is evil, and whence comes it, since god the good hath created all things? why made he anything at all of evil, and not rather by his almightiness cause it not to be? these thoughts i turned in my iniserable heart, overcharged with most gnawing cares." * and, admonished to return to myself, i entered even into my inmost soul, thou being my guide, and beheld even beyond my soul and mind the light unchangeable. he who knows the truth knows what that light is, and he that knows it knows eternity! o truth, who art eternity! love, who art truth! eternity, who art love! and i beheld that thou madest all things good, and to thee is nothing whatsoever evil. from the angel to the worm, from the first motion to the last, thou settest each in its place, and everything is good in its kind. woe is me! how high art thou in the highest, how deep in the deepest! and thou never departest from us, and we scarcely return to thee." augustine's soliloquies, book vii. and dare to hope that he will make the rugged smooth, the doubtful plain ; his merey never quite forsake ; his healing visit every realm of pain ; that suffering is not his revenge upon his creatures weak and frail, sent on a pathway new and strange with feet that wander and with eyes that fail ; the fourteen centuries fall away between us and the afric saint, and at his side we urge, to-day, the immemorial quest and old complaint. that, o'er the crucible of pain, watches the tender eye of love the slow transmuting of the chain whose links are iron below to gold above ! no outward sign to us is given, from sea or earth comes no reply ; hushed as the warm numidian heaven he vainly questioned bends our frozen sky. ah me! we doubt the shining skies, seen through our shadows of offence, and drown with our poor childish cries the cradle-hymn of kindly providence. and still we love the evil cause, and of the just effect complain : we tread upon life's broken laws, and murmur at our self-inflicted pain ; no victory comes of all our strife, – from all we grasp the meaning slips ; the sphinx sits at the gate of life, with the old question on her awful lips. in paths unknown we hear the feet of fear before, and guilt behind ; we pluck the wayside fruit, and eat ashes and dust beneath its golden rind. from age to age descends unchecked the sad bequest of sire to son, the body's taint, the mind's defect; through every web of life the dark threads we turn us from the light, and find our spectral shapes before us thrown, as they who leave the sun bebind walk in the shadows of themselves alone. and scarce by will or strength of ours we set our faces to the day ; weak, wavering, blind, the eternal powers alone can turn us from ourselves away. run. oh, why and whither ? god knows all; i only know that he is good, and that whatever may befall or here or there, must be the best that could. our weakness is the strength of sin, but love must needs be stronger far, outreaching all and gathering in the erring spirit and the wandering star. a voice grows with the growing years ; earth, hushing down her bitter cry, looks upward from her graves, and hears, “ the resurrection and the life am i." between the dreadful cherubim a father's face i still discern, 438 religious poems o love divine !-whose constant beam shines on the eyes that will not see, and waits to bless us, while we dream thou leavest us because we turn from thee! a cry, as of the pained heart of the wood, the long, despairing moan of solitude and darkness and the absence of all good, startles the traveller, with a sonnd so dress, so full of hopeless agony and fear, his heart stands still and listens like his ear. the guide, as if he heard a dead-bell toll, starts, drops his oar against the gunwaie's thole, crosses himself, and whispers, “a lust soul !" all souls that struggle and aspire, all hearts of prayer by thee are lit ; and, dim or clear, thy tongues of fire on dusky tribes and twilight centuries sit. nor bounds, nor clime, nor creed thou know'st, wide as our need thy favors fall; the white wings of the holy ghost stoop, seen or unseen, o'er the heads of all. o beauty, old yet ever new! eternal voice, and inward word, the logos of the greek and jew, the old sphere-music which the samian heard ! “ no, señor, not a bird. i know it well, it is the pained soul of some infidel or cursed heretic that cries from beil. “ poor fool! with hope still mocking lus despair, he wanders, shrieking on the arms air for human pity and for christian prayer saints strike him dumb! our holy von ther bath no prayer for him who, sinning onto death, burns always in the furnae of guis wrath!” truth which the sage and prophet saw, long sought without, but found within, the law of love beyond all law, the life o'erflooding mortal death and sin ! shine on us with the light which glowed l'pon the trance-bound shepherd's way, who saw the darkness overtlowed aud drowned by tides of everlasting day. shine, light of god ! — make broad thy scope to all who sin and suffer; more and better than we dare to hope with heaven's compassion make our longings poor ! thus to the baptized pagan's cruelle, lending new horror to that mourut di crp, the voyager listens, making no reply. dim burns the boat-lamp; shadows deepen round, from giant trees with snake-like creepers wound, and the black water glides without a sand. but in the traveller's heart a secret sase of nature plastie to benign intents and an eternal good in providetur, lifts to the starry calm of heavea bus eyes ; and lo! rebuking all earth's omsch the cross of pardon lights the truth shies! the cry of a lost soul lieutenant herndon's report of the er; loration of the imazon has a striking description of the peculiar and melancholy notes of a bird heard by night on the shores of the river. the indian guides called it " the cry of a lost soul"! among the numerous translations of this poem is one by the emperor of brazil. in that black forest, where, when day is done, with a snake's stillness glides the amazon darkly from sunset to the rising sun, “father of all !” he urges his string ples “ thou lovest all: thy erring chi ed! be lost to himself, but never lost to thee! andrew rykman's prayer 439 “ all souls are thine ; the wings of morning bear none from that presence which is everywhere, nor hell itself can hide, for thou art there. “ through sins of sense, perversities of will, through doubt and pain, through guilt and shame and ill, thy pitying eye is on thy creature still. * wilt thou not make, eternal source and goal ! in thy long years, life's broken circle whole, and change to praise the cry of a lost soul? andrew rykman's prayer andrew rykman's dead and gone ; you can see his leaning slate in the graveyard, and thereon read his name and date. “ trust is truer than our fears," runs the legend through the moss, “gain is not in added years, nor in death is loss." melt into the vague immense, father ! i may come to thee even with the beggar's plea, as the poorest of thy poor, with my needs, and nothing more. not as one who seeks his home with a step assured i come ; still behind the tread i hear of my life-companion, fear; still a shadow deep and vast from my westering feet is cast, wavering, doubtful, undefined, never shapen nor outlined : from myself the fear has grown, and the shadow is my own. yet, o lord, through all a sense of thy tender providence stays my failing heart on thee, and confirms the feeble knee ; and, at times, my worn feet press spaces of cool quietness, lilied whiteness shone upon not by light of moon or sun. hours there be of inmost calm, broken but by grateful psalm, when i love thee more than fear thee, and thy blessed christ seems near me, with forgiving look, as when he beheld the magdalen. well i know that all things move to the spheral rhythm of love, that to thee, o lord of all ! nothing can of chance befall : child and seraph, mote and star, well thou knowest what we are ! through thy vast creative plan looking, from the worm to man, there is pity in thine eyes, but no hatred nor surprise. not in blind caprice of will, not in cunning sleight of skill, not for show of power, was wrought nature's marvel in thy thought. never careless hand and vain smites these chords of joy and pain ; no immortal selfishness plays the game of curse and bless : heaven and earth are witnesses that thy glory goodness is. not for sport of mind and force hast thou made thy universe, but as atmosphere and zone of thy loving heart alone. man, who walketh in a show, still the feet that thither trod, all the friendly eyes are dim ; only nature, now, and god have a care for him. . there the dews of quiet fall, singing birds and soft winds stray shall the tender heart of all be less kind than they ? what he was and what he is they who ask may haply find, if they read this prayer of his which he left behind. pardon, lord, the lips that dare shape in words a mortal's prayer ! prayer, that, when my day is done, and i see its setting sun, shorn and beamless, cold and dim, sink beneath the horizon's rim, when this ball of rock and clay crumbles from my feet away, and the solid shores of sense 440 religious poems sees before him, to and fro, shadow and illusion go; all things flow and fluctuate, now contract and now dilate. in the welter of this sea, nothing stable is but thee ; in this whirl of swooning trance, thou alone art permanence ; all without thee only seems, all beside is choice of dreams. never yet in darkest mood doubted i that thou wast good, nor mistook my will for fate, pain of sin for heavenly hate, never dreamed the gates of pearl rise from out the burning marl, or that good can only live of the bad conservative, and through counterpoise of hell heaven alone be possible. for myself alone i doubt ; all is well, i know, without ; i alone the beauty mar, i alone the music jar. yet, with hands by evil stained, and an ear by discord pained, i am groping for the keys of the heavenly harmonies ; still within my heart i bear love for all things good and fair. hands of want or souls in pain have not sought my door in vain ; i have kept my fealty good to the human brotherhood ; scarcely have i asked in prayer that which others might not share. i, who hear with secret shame praise that paineth more than blame, rich alone in favors lent, virtuous by accident, doubtful where i fain would rest, frailest where i seem the best, only strong for lack of test, what ain i, that i should press special pleas of selfishness, coolly mounting into heaven on my neighbor unforgiven ? ne'er to me, howe'er disguised, comes a saint unrecognized ; never fails my heart to greet noble deed with warmer beat ; halt and maimed, i own not less all the grace of holiness ; nor, through shame or self-distrust, less i love the pure and just. lord, forgive these words of mine. what have i that is not thine ! whatsoe'er i fain would boast needs thy pitying pardon most thou, o elder brother ! who in thy flesh our trial knew, thou, who hast been touched by these our most sad infirmities, thou alone the gulf canst span in the dual heart of man, and between the soul and sense reconcile all difference, change the dream of me and mine for the truth of thee and thine, and, through chaos, doubt, and strife, interfuse thy calm of life. haply, thus by thee renewed, in 'thy borrowed goodness good, some sweet morning yet in god's dim, æonian periods, joyful i shall wake to see those i love who rest in thee and to them in thee allied, shall my soul be satisfied. scarcely hope bath shaped for me what the future life may be. other lips may well be bold; like the publican of old, i can only urge the plea, “lord, be merciful to me!” nothing of desert i claim, c'nto me belongeth shame. not for me the crowns of gold, palms, and harpings manifold; not for erring eye and feet jasper wall and golden street. what thou wilt, ö father, gire! all is gain that i receive. if my voice i may not raise in the elders' song of praise, if i may not, sin-defiled, claim my birthright as a child, suffer it that i to thee as an hired servant be ; let the lowliest task be mine, grateful, so the work be thibe ; let me find the humblest place in the shadow of thy grace : blest to me were any spot where temptation whispers not. if there be some weaker one, give me strength to help him on ; if a blinder soul there be, the answer 441 “ to-morrow is with god alone, and man hath but to-day. let me guide him nearer thee. make my mortal dreams come true with the work i fain would do ; clothe with life the weak intent, let me be the thing i meant ; let me find in thy employ peace that dearer is than joy ; out of self to love be led and to heaven acclimated, until all things sweet and good seem my natural habitude. “say not, thy fond, vain heart within, the father's arm shall still be wide, when from these pleasant ways of sin thou turn'st at eventide. “cast thyself down,' the tempter saith, • and angels shall thy feet upbear.' he bids thee make a lie of faith, and blasphemy of prayer. “ though god be good and free be heaven, no force divine can love compel ; and, though the song of sins forgiven may sound through lowest hell, so we read the prayer of him who, 'with john of labadie, trod, of old, the oozy rim of the zuyder zee. thus did andrew rykman pray. are we wiser, better grown, that we may not, in our day, make his prayer our own ? “the sweet persuasion of his voice respects thy sanctity of will. he giveth day : thou hast thy choice to walk in darkness still ; the answer “ as one who, turning from the light, watches his own gray shadow fall, doubting, upon his path of night, if there be day at all ! “no word of doom may shut thee out, no wind of wrath may downward whirl, no swords of fire keep watch about the open gates of pearl ; spare me, dread angel of reproof, and let the sunshine weave to-day its gold-threads in the warp and woof of life so poor and gray. spare me awhile ; the flesh is weak. these lingering feet, that fain would stray among the flowers, shall some day seek the strait and narrow way. take off thy ever-watchful eye, the awe of thy rebuking frown ; the dullest slave at times must sigh to fling his burdens down ; to drop his galley's straining oar, and press, in summer warmth and calm, the lap of some enchanted shore of blossom and of balm. “ a tenderer light than moon or sun, than song of earth a sweeter hymn, may shine and sound forever on, and thou be deaf and dim. “ forever round the mercy-seat the guiding lights of love shall burn ; but what if, habit-bound, thy feet shall lack the will to turn ? grudge not my life its hour of bloom, my heart its taste of long desire ; this day be mine : be those to come as duty shall require. “what if thine eye refuse to see, thine ear of heaven's free welcome fail, and thou a willing captive be, thyself thy own dark jail ? “oh, doom beyond the saddest guess, as the long years of god unroll, to make thy dreary selfishness the prison of a soul ! the deep voice answered to my own, smiting my selfish prayers away ; 442 religious poems “ to doubt the love that fain would break the fetters from thy self-bound limb; and dream that god can thee forsake as thou forsakest him !” i hear, with groan and travailaries, the world confess its sin. the eternal goodness o friends ! with whom my feet have trod the quiet aisles of prayer, glad witness to your zeal for god and love of man i bear. i trace your lines of argument ; your logic linked and strong i weigh as one who dreads dissent, and fears a doubt as wrong. but still my human hands are weak to hold your iron creeds : against the words ye bid me speak my heart within me pleads. who fathoms the eternal thought ? who talks of scheme and plan ? the lord is god! he needeth not the poor device of man. i walk with bare, hushed feet the ground ye tread with boldness shod ; i dare not fix with mete and bound the love and power of god. ye praise his justice ; even such his pitying love i deem : ye seek a king ; i fain would touch the robe that hath no seam. yet, in the maddening maze of things and tossed by storm and to to one fixed trust my spirit clings; i know that god is good ! not mine to look where cherubim and seraphs may not see, but nothing can be good in him which evil is in me. the wrong that pains my soul balos i dare not throne above, i know not of his hate, i know his goodness and his love. i dimly guess from blessings known of greater out of sight, and, with the chastened psalmist, own his judgments too are right. i long for household voices gute', for vanished smiles i long, but god hath led my dear ones on, and he can do no wrong. i know not what the future hath of marvel or surprise, assured alone that life and death liis mercy underlies. and if my heart and flesh are weak to bear an untried pain, the bruised reed he will not break, but strengthen and siistain. no offering of my own i have, xor works my faith tv prute ; i can but give the gifts lle gave, and plead his love for love. and so beside the silent sea i wait the muftled var; no harm from himn can come to me on ocean or on shore. i know not where his islands lift their fronded palms in air; i only know i cannot drift beyond his love and care. o brothers ! if my faith is vain, if hopes like these letray, ye see the curse which overbroods a world of pain and loss ; i hear our lord's beatitudes and prayer upon the cross. more than your schoolmen teach, within myself, alas! i know : too dark ye cannot paint the sin, too small the merit show. 1 i bow my forehead to the dust, i veil mine eyes for shame, and urge, in trembling self-listrust, a prayer without a claim. i see the wrong that round me lies, i feel the guilt within ; our master 443 pray for me that my feet may gain the sure and safer way. our master and thou, o lord ! by whom are seen thy creatures as they be, forgive me if too close i lean my human heart on thee ! immortal love, forever full, forever flowing free, forever shared, forever whole, a never-ebbing sea ! the common question behind us at our evening meal the gray bird ate his fill, swung downward by a single claw, and wiped his hookëd bill. our outward lips confess the name all other names above ; love only knoweth whence it came and comprehendeth love. blow, winds of god, awake and blow the mists of earth away ! shine out, o light divine, and show how wide and far we stray ! he shook his wings and crimson tail, and set his head aslant, and, in his sharp, impatient way, asked, “what does charlie want ?” hush every lip, close every book, the strife of tongues forbear ; why forward reach, or backward look, for love that clasps like air ? " fie, silly bird !” i answered, “tuck your head beneath your wing, and go to sleep ;” – but o'er and o'er he asked the self-same thing. we may not climb the heavenly steeps to bring the lord christ down : in vain we search the lowest deeps, for him no depths can drown. then, smiling, to myself i said : how like are men and birds ! we all are saying what he says, in action or in words. nor holy bread, nor blood of grape, the lineaments restore of him we know in outward shape and in the flesh no more. the boy with whip and top and drum, the girl with hoop and doll, and men with lands and houses, ask the question of poor poll. he cometh not a king to reign ; the world's long hope is dim; the weary centuries watch in vain the clouds of heaven for him. however full, with something more we fain the bag would cram; we sigh above our crowded nets for fish that never swam. death comes, life goes ; the asking eye and ear are answerless ; the grave is dumb, the hollow sky is sad with silentness. no bounty of indulgent heaven the vague desire can stay ; self-love is still a tartar mill for grinding prayers alway. the dear god hears and pities all ; he knoweth all our wants ; and what we blindly ask of him his love with holds or grants. the letter fails, and systems fall, and every symbol wanes ; the spirit over-brooding all eternal love remains. and not for signs in heaven above or earth below they look, who know with john his smile of love, with peter his rebuke. and so i sometimes think our prayers might well be merged in one ; and nest and per and hearth and church repeat, “ thy will be done.” in of inward peace, or sense of sorrow over sin, 444 religious poems he is his own best evidence, all sweet accords of hearts and homes his witness is within. in thee are multiplied. no fable old, nor mythic lore, deep strike thy roots, o heavenly line, vor dream of bards and seers, within our earthly sod, no dead fact stranded on the shore most human and yet most divine, of the oblivious years ;the flower of man and god! but warm, sweet, tender, even yet o love! o life! our faith and salt a present help is he ; thy presence maketh one, and faith has still its olivet, as through transfigured clouds of wir and love its galilee. we trace the noon-day sun. the healing of his seamless dress so, to our mortal eyes sublued, is by our beds of pain ; flesh-veiled, but not concealed, we touch him in life's throng and press, we know in thee the fatherhood and we are whole again. and heart of god revealed. through him the first fond prayers are said we faintly hear, we dimly see, our lips of childhood frame, in differing phrase we pray; the last low whispers of our dead but, dim or clear, we own in thee are burdened with his name. the light, the truth, the way! our lord and master of us all ! the homage that we render thee whate'er our name or sign, is still our father's own; we own thy sway, we hear thy call, no jealous claim or rivalry we test our lives by thine. divides the cross and throne. thou judgest us ; thy purity to do thy will is more than praise, doth all our lusts condemn ; as words are less than deris, the love that draws us nearer thee and simple trust can find thx ways is hot with wrath to them. we miss with chart of creeds. our thoughts lie open to thy sight; no pride of self thy service hath, and, naked to thy glance, no place for me and mine ; our secret sins are in the light our human strength is weakness, death of thy pure countenance. our life, apart from thine. thy healing pains, a keen distress apart from thee all gain is loss, thy tender light shines in ; all labor vainly done ; thy sweetness is the bitterness, the solemn shadow of thy cross the pang of sin. is better than the sun. yet, weak and blinded though we be, alone, () love ineffable ! thou dost our service own; thy saving name is given ; we bring our varying gifts to thee, to turn aside from thee is bell, and thou rejectest none. to walk with thee is heaven ! to thee our full humanity, how vain, secure in all thou art, its joys and pains, belong ; our noisy championship! the wrong of man to man on thee the sighing of the contrite beart intricts a deeper wrong. is inore than flattering lip. vho hates, hates thee, who loves becomes not thine the bigot's partial plea, therein to thee allied ; nor thine the zealot's lan; thy grace the meeting 445 thou well canst spare a love of thee which ends in hate of man. our friend, our brother, and our lord, what may thy service be ? vor name, nor form, nor ritual word, but simply following thee. we bring no ghastly holocaust, we pile no graven stone ; he serves thee best who loveth most his brothers and thy own. thy litanies, sweet offices of love and gratitude ; thy sacramental liturgies the joy of doing good. in vain shall waves of incense drift the vaulted nave around, in vain the minster turret lift its brazen weights of sound. the heart must ring thy christmas bells, thy inward altars raise ; its faith and hope thy canticles, and its obedience praise ! is silence worship ? seek it where it soothes with dreams the summer air, not in this close and rude-benched hall, but where soft lights and shadows fall, and all the slow, sleep-walking hours glide soundless over grass and flowers ! from time and place and form apart, its holy ground the human heart, nor ritual-bound nor templeward walks the free spirit of the lord ! our common master did not pen his followers up from other men ; his service liberty indeed, he built no church, he framed no creed ; but while the saintly pharisee made broader his phylactery, as from the synagogue was seen the dusty-sandalled nazarene through ripening cornfields lead the way upon the awful sabbath day, his sermons were the healthful talk that shorter made the mountain-walk, his wayside texts were flowers and birds, where mingled with his gracious words the rustle of the tamarisk-tree and ripple-wash of galilee.” “ thy words are well, o friend,” i said ; “ unmeasured and unlimited, with noiseless slide of stone to stone, the mystic church of god has grown. invisible and silent stands the temple never made with hands, unheard the voices still and small of its unseen confessional. he needs no special place of prayer whose hearing ear is everywhere ; he brings not back the childish days that ringed the earth with stones of praise, roofed karnak's hall of gods, and laid the plinths of philæ's colonnade. still less he owns the selfish good and sickly growth of solitude, the worthless grace that, ont of sight, flowers in the desert anchorite ; dissevered from the suffering whole, love hath no power to save a soul. not ont of self, the origin and native air and soil of sin, the living waters spring and flow, the trees with leaves of healing grow. the meeting the two speakers in the meeting referred to in this poem were avis keene, whose very presence was a benediction, a woman lovely in spirit and person, whose words seemed a message of love and tender concern to her hearers; and sibyl jones, whose inspired eloquence and rare spirituality impressed all who knew her. in obedience to her apprehended duty she made visits of christian love to various parts of europe, and to the west coast of africa and palestine. the elder folks shook hands at last, down seat by seat the signal passed. to simple ways like ours unused, half solemnized and half amused, with long drawn breath and shrug, my guest his sense of glad relief expressed. outside, the hills lay warm in sun; the cattle in the meadow-run stood half-leg deep; a single bird the green repose above us stirred. " what part or lot have you,” he said, “ in these dull rites of drowsy-head ? “dream not, o friend, because i seek this quiet shelter twice a week, i better deem its pine-laid floor а 446 religious poems than breezy hill or sea-sung shore ; but nature is not solitude : she crowds us with her thronging wood ; her many hands reach out to us, her many tongues are garrulous ; perpetual riddles of surprise she offers to our ears and eyes ; she will not leave our senses still, but drags them captive at her will : and, making earth too great for heaven, she hides the giver in the given. “ and so i find it well to come for deeper rest to this still room, for here the habit of the soul feels less the outer world's control ; the strength of mutual purpose pleads more earnestly our common needs ; and from the silence multiplied by these still forms on either side, the world that time and sense have known falls off and leaves us god alone. “ yet rarely through the charmed repose unmixed the stream of motive flows, a flavor of its many springs, the tints of earth and sky it brings ; in the still waters needs must be some shade of human sympathy ; and here, in its accustomed place, i look on memory's dearest face ; the blind by-sitter guesseth pot what shadow haunts that vacant spot ; no eyes save mine alone can see the love wherewith it welcomes me! and still, with those alone my kin, in doubt and weakness, want and sin, i bow my head, my heart i bare, as when that face was living there, and strive (too oft, alas ! in vain) the peace of simple trust to gain, fold fancy's restless wings, and lay the idols of my heart away. « welcome the silence all unbroken, nor less the words of fitness spoken, such golden words as here for whom our autumn flowers have just made room ; whose hopeful utterance through and through the freshness of the morning blew ; who loved not less the earth that light fell on it from the heavens in sight, but saw in all fair forms more fair the eternal beauty mirrored there. whose eighty years but added grace and saintlier meaning to her face, – the look of one who bore away glad tidings from the hills of day, while all our hearts went forth to meet the coming of her beautiful feet! or haply hers, whose pilgrim trad is in the paths where jesu led ; who dreams her childhood's sallad dream by jordan's willow-shaded stream, and, of the hymns of hope and faith, sung by the monks of nazareth, hears pious echoes, in the call to prayer, from moslem minar ts full. repeating where his works were wront the lesson that her master taught, of whom an elder sibyl gave, the prophecies of cumæ's cave ! “i ask no organ's soulless breath to drone the themes of life and death, day, no ornate wordsman's thietorie-play, no cool philosophy to teach its bland audacities of speech to double-tasked idolaters themselves their gods and wonkippers no pulpit hammered by the tist of loud-asserting dogmatist, who borrows for the land of love the smoking thunderbolts of jore. i know how well the fathers tau, what work the later schoolmen wrought, i reverence old-time faith andi mnt, but god is near us now as then ; his force of love is still unspent, his hate of sin as imminent; and still the measure of our needs outgrows the cramping bounds of eness. the manna gathered yesterday already savors of decay ; doubts to the world's child-beart unkn. question us now from star and true ; too little or too much we know, and sight is swift and faith is slow; the power is lost to self-deceive with shallow forms of make-leliere. we walk at high noon, and the bells call to a thousand oracles, but the sound deafens, and the light is stronger than our dazzled sigut; the letters of the sacred book glimmer and swim beneath our lix; still struggles in the age's breast the clear vision 447 with deepening agony of quest the old entreaty : art thou he, or look we for the christ to be ?' “god should be most where man is least : so, where is neither church nor priest, and never rag of form or creed to clothe the nakedness of need, where farmer-folk in silence meet, i turn my bell-unsummoned feet ; i lay the critic's glass aside, i tread upon my lettered pride, and, lowest-seated, testify to the oneness of humanity ; confess the universal want, and share whatever heaven may grant. he findeth not who seeks his own, the soul is lost that's saved alone. not on one favored forehead fell of old the fire-tongued miracle, but flamed o'er all the thronging host the baptism of the holy ghost; heart answers heart : in one desire the blending lines of prayer aspire ; • where, in my name, meet two or three,' our lord hath said, i there will be !! that to be saved is only this, — salvation from our selfishness, from more than elemental fire, the soul's unsanctified desire, from sin itself, and not the pain that warns us of its chafing chain ; that worship's deeper meaning lies in mercy, and not sacrifice, not proud humilities of sense and posturing of penitence, but love's unforced obedience ; that book and church and day are given for man, not god, — for earth, not heaven, the blessed means to holiest ends, not masters, but benignant friends; that the dear christ dwells not afar, the king of some remoter star, listening, at times, with flattered ear to homage wrung from selfish fear, but here, amidst the poor and blind, the bound and suffering of our kind, in works we do, in prayers we pray, life of our life, he lives to-day.” the clear vision “so sometimes comes to soul and sense the feeling which is evidence that very near about us lies the realm of spiritual mysteries. the sphere of the supernal powers impinges on this world of ours. the low and dark horizon lifts, to light the scenic terror shifts ; the breath of a diviner air blows down the answer of a prayer : that all our sorrow, pain, and doubt a great compassion clasps about, and law and goodness, love and force, are wedded fast beyond divorce. then duty leaves to love its task, the beggar self forgets to ask ; with smile of trust and folded hands, the passive soul in waiting stands to feel, as flowers the sun and dew, the one true life its own renew. i did but dream. i never knew what charms our sternest season wore. was never yet the sky so blue, was never earth so white before. till now i never saw the glow of sunset on yon hills of snow, and never learned the bough’s designs of beauty in its leafless lines. did ever such a morning break as that my eastern windows see? did ever such a moonlight take weird photographs of shrub and tree? rang ever bells so wild and fleet the music of the winter street ? was ever yet a sound by half so merry as yon school-boy's laugh ? o earth! with gladness overfraught, no added charm thy face hath found ; within my heart the change is wrought, my footsteps make enchanted ground. from couch of pain and curtained room forth to thy light and air i come, to find in all that meets my eyes the freshness of a glad surprise. “so to the calmly gathered thought the innermost of truth is taught, the mystery dimly understood, that love of god is love of good, and, chiefly, its divinest trace in him of nazareth's holy face ; 448 religious poems fair seem these winter days, and soon shall blow the warm west-winds of spring, to set the unbound rills in tune and hither urge the bluebird's wing. the vales shall laugh in flowers, the woods grow misty green with leating buds, and violets and wind-tlowers sway against the throbbing heart of may. has saintly ease no pitying care ? has faith no work, and love po prarer while sin remains, and souls in darkness dwell, can heaven itself be heaven, and look usmoved on hell ?" break forth, my lips, in praise, and own the wiser love severely kind ; since, richer for its chastening grown, i see, whereas i once was blind. the world, o father ! hath not wronged with loss the life by thee prolonged ; but still, with every added year, more beautiful thy works appear ! then through the gates of pain, i dream, a wind of heaven blows coolly in ; fainter the awful discords seem, the smoke of torment grows more this, tears quench the burning soil, and the ce spring sweet, pale flowers of penitency : and through the dreary realm of man's de spair, star-crowned an angel walks, and lo! god's hope is there! is it a dream? is heaven so high that pity cannot breathe its air? its happy eyes forever dry, its holy lips without a prayer! my god! my god! if thither led by thy free grace unmerited, no crown nor palm be mine, but let me keep a heart that still can feel, and eyes that stara can weep. a as thou hast made thy world without, make thou more fair my world within ; shine through its lingering clouds of doubt; rebuke its haunting shapes of sin; fill, brief or long, my granted span of life with love to thee and inan ; strike when thou wilt the hour of rest, but let my last days be my best ! divine compassion the prayer-seeker long since, a dream of heaven i had, and still the vision haunts me oft ; i see the saints in white robes clad, the martyrs with their palms aloft ; but hearing still, in middle song, the ceaseless dissonance of wrong ; and shrinking, with hid faces, from the strain of sad, beseeching eyes, full of remorse and pain. the glad song falters to a wail, the harping sinks to low lament; before the still unlifted veil i see the crowned foreheads bent, making more sweet the heavenly air with breathings of unselfish prayer; and a voice saith : “() pity which is pain, o love that weeps, fill up my sufferings which remain ! “ shall souls redeemed by me refuse to share my sorrow in their turn ? or, sin-forgiven, mv gift abuse of peace with selfish unconcern ? along the aisle where prayer was made, a woman, all in black arraved, close-veiled, between the kneeling host, with gliding motion of a ghost, passed to the desk, and laid thereon a scroll which bore these words alune, pray for me! back from the place of worshipping she glided like a guilty thing : the rustle of her draperies, stirred by hurrying feet, alone was heard ; while, full of awe, the preacher read, as out into the dark she sped : pray for me! back to the night from whence she case, to unimagined grief or shame! across the threshold of that door vone knew the burden that she hair; alone she left the written scroll, the legend of a troubled soul, pray for me! the brewing of soma 449 and shouted, with one voice and will, “behold the drink of gods !” glide on, poor ghost of woe or sin ! thou leav'st a common need within ; each bears, like thee, some nameless weight, some misery inarticulate, some secret sin, some shrouded dread, some household sorrow all unsaid. pray for us! they drank, and lo! in heart and brain a new, glad life began; the gray of hair grew young again, the sick man laughed away his pain, the cripple leaped and ran. pass on! the type of all thou art, sad witness to the common heart ! with face in veil and seal on lip, in mute and strange companionship, like thee we wander to and fro, dumbly imploring as we go : pray for us! “ drink, mortals, what the gods have sent, forget your long annoy.' so sang the priests. from tent to tent the soma's sacred madness went, a storm of drunken joy. then knew each rapt inebriate a winged and glorious birth, soared upward, with strange joy elate, beat, with dazed head, varuna's gate, and, sobered, sank to earth. ah, who shall pray, since he who pleads our want perchance hath greater needs ? yet they who make their loss the gain of others shall not ask in vain, and heaven bends low to hear the prayer of love from lips of self-despair : pray for us ! the land with soma's praises rang ; on gihon's banks of shade its hymns the dusky maidens sang ; in joy of life or mortal pang all men to soma prayed. in vain remorse and fear and hate beat with bruised hands against a fate whose walls of iron only move and open to the touch of love. he only feels his burdens fall who, taught by suffering, pities all. pray for us! he prayeth best who leaves unguessed the mystery of another's breast. why cheeks grow pale, why eyes o'erflow, or heads are white, thou need'st not know. enough to note by many a sign that every heart hath needs like thine. pray for us ! the morning twilight of the race sends down these matin psalms ; and still with wondering eyes we trace the simple prayers to soma's grace, that vedic verse embalms. as in that child-world's early year, each after age has striven by music, incense, vigils drear, and trance, to bring the skies more near, or lift men up to heaven ! some fever of the blood and brain, some self-exalting spell, the scourger's keen delight of pain, the dervish dance, the orphic strain, the wild-haired bacchant's yell, – the brewing of soma * these libations mixed with milk have been prepared for indra : offer soma to the drinker of soma." -va. shista, translated by max möller. the fagots blazed, the caldron's smoke c'p through the green wood curled ; “ bring honey from the hollow oak, bring milky sap," the brewers spoke, in the childhood of the world. the desert's hair-grown hermit sunk the saner brute below; the naked santon, hashish-drunk, the cloister madness of the monk, the fakir's torture-show ! and brewed they well or brewed they ill, the priests thrust in their rods, first tasted, and then drank their fill, and yet the past comes round again, and new doth old fulfil ; in sensual transports wild as vain 450 religious poems rise from the dust thou liest in, as mary rose at jesns' word, redeemed and white before the lord! reclaim thy lost soul! in his name, rise up, and break thy bonds of starte art weak? he's strong. art fearla hear the world's o'ercomer : “be of ebeer '* what lip shall judge when he approves? who dare to scorn the child he loves : we brew in many a christian fane the heathen soma still ! dear lord and father of mankind, forgive our foolish ways ! reclothe us in our rightful mind, in purer lives thy service find, in deeper reverence, praise. in simple trust like theirs who heard beside the syrian sea the gracious calling of the lord, let us, like them, without a word, rise up and follow thee. o sabbath rest by galilee ! () calm of hills above, where jesus knelt to share with thee the silence of eternity interpreted by love ! with that deep hush subduing all our words and works that drown the tender whisper of thy call, as noiseless let thy blessing fall as fell thy manna down. drop thy still dews of quietness, till all our strivings cease ; take from our souls the strain and stress, and let our ordered lives confess the beauty of thy peace. breathe through the heats of our desire thy coolness and thy balm ; let sense be dumb, let hesh retire ; speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire, o still, small voice of calm ! the prayer of agassiz the island of penikese in bunard's bar ve given by mr. john anderson to aguu fthe uses of a summer school of natural lustat a large barn was cleared and improvised . lecture-room. here, on the first murunk a the school, all the company was gathered ** agassiz had arranged no programme of en ercises," says mrs. agassiz, in lexis . qu: his life and correspondence, “trusting to the interest of the occasion to suggest what this best be said or done. but, as he looked up his pupils gathered there to study nature him, by an impulse as natural as it was premeditated, he called upon them to jest na silently asking god's blessing on their var together. the pause was broken by the ting words of an address no less fervent than it a spoken prelude." this was in the same 1873, and agassiz died the december fuils on the isle of penikese, ringed about by sapphire seas, fanned by breezes silt and could, stood the master with tus sebool over sails that not in vain wooed the west-wind's steady strain line of coast that low and far stretched its undulating bar, wings aslant across the rim of the waves they stooped to skia, rock and isle and glistening bay, fell the beautiful white day. said the master to the youth: “we have come in search of truth, trying with uncertain key door by door of mystery ; we are reaching, through his laos, to the garment-bem of (ause, him, the endless, unbegun, the unnamable, the one light of all our light the source life of life, and force of force a woman oh, dwarfed and wronged, and stained with ill, behold! thou art a woman still ! and, by that sacred name and dear, i bid thy better self appear. still, through thy fool disguise, i see the rudimental purity, that, spite of change and loss, makes good thy birthright-claim of womanhood ; an inward loathing, deep, intense ; a shame that is half innocence. cast off the grave-clothes of thy sin ! in quest 451 as with fingers of the blind, we are groping here to find what the hieroglyphics mean of the unseen in the seen, what the thought which underlies nature's masking and disguise, what it is that hides beneath blight and bloom and birth and death. by past efforts unavailing, doubt and error, loss and failing, of our weakness made aware, on the threshold of our task let us light and guidance ask, let us pause in silent prayer !” but the lord of the domain comes not to his own again : where the eyes that follow fail, on a vaster sea his sail drifts beyond our beck and hail. other lips within its bound shall the laws of life expound; other eyes from rock and shell read the world's old riddles well : but when breezes light and bland blow from summer's blossomed land, when the air is glad with wings, and the blithe song-sparrow sings, many an eye with his still face shall the living ones displace, many an ear the word shall seek he alone could fitly speak. and one name forevermore shall be uttered o'er and o'er by the waves that kiss the shore, by the curlew's whistle sent down the cool, sea-scented air ; in all voices known to her, nature owns her worshipper, half in triumph, half lament. thither love shall tearful turn, friendship pause uncovered there, and the wisest reverence learn from the master's silent prayer. then the master in his place bowed his head a little space, and the leaves by soft airs stirred, lapse wave and cry of bird, left the solemn hush unbroken of that wordless prayer unspoken, while its wish, on earth unsaid, rose to heaven interpreted. as, in life's best hours, we hear by the spirit's finer ear his low voice within us, thus the all-father heareth us ; and his holy ear we pain with our noisy words and vain. not for him our violence storming at the gates of sense, his the primal language, his the eternal silences ! in quest even the careless heart was moved, and the doubting gave assent, with a gesture reverent, to the master well-beloved. as thin mists are glorified by the light they cannot hide, all who gazed upon him saw, through its veil of tender awe, how his face was still uplit by the old sweet look of it, hopeful, trustful, full of cheer, and the love that casts out fear. who the secret may declare of that brief, unuttered prayer ? did the shade before him come of th' inevitable doom, of the end of earth so near, and eternity's new year ? in the lap of sheltering seas rests the isle of penikese ; have i not voyaged, friend beloved, with thee on the great waters of the unsounded sea, momently listening with suspended oar for the low rote of waves upon a shore changeless as heaven, where never fogcloud drifts over its windless wood, nor mirage lifts the steadfast hills ; where never birds of doubt sing to mislead, and every dream dies out, and the dark riddles which perplexus here in the sharp solvent of its light are clear ? thou knowest how vain our quest ; how, soon or late, the baffling tides and circles of debate swept back our bark unto its startingplace, where, looking forth upon the blank, gray space, and round about us seeing, with sad eyes, 452 religious poems wishes and prayers ; but thoa, 0 land, wilt do, in thy own time, by wars i cannot see, all that i feel when i am nearest ther!" the same old difficult hills and cloud-cold skies, we said : “ this outward search availeth not to find him. he is farther than we thought, or, haply, nearer. to this very spot whereon we wait, this commonplace of home, as to the well of jacob, he may come and tell us all things.” as i listened there, through the expectant silences of prayer, somewhat i seemed to hear, which hath to me been hope, strength, comfort, and i give it thee. “ the riddle of the world is understood only by him who feels that god is good, as only he can feel who makes his love the ladder of his faith, and climbs above on th' rounds of his best instincts ; draws no line between mere human goodness and divine, but, judging god by what in him is best, with a child's trust leans on a father's breast, and hears unmoved the old creeds babble still of kingly power and dread caprice of will, chary of blessing, prodigal of curse, the pitiless doomsman of the universe. can hatred ask for love? can selfishness invite to self-denial? is he less than man in kindly dealing ? can he break his own great law of fatherhood, forsake and curse his children? not for earth and heaven can separate tables of the law be given. no rule can bind which he himself denies ; the truths of time are not eternal lies." so heard i ; and the chaos round me spread to light and order grew; and, “lord,” i said, * our sins are our tormentors, worst of all felt in distrustful shame that dares not call l'pon thee as our father. we have set a strange god up, but thou remainest yet. all that i feel of pity thou hast known before i was ; my best is all thy own. from thy great heart of goodness mine but drew the friend's burial my thoughts are all in yonder town, where, wept by many tears, to-day my mother's friend lays down the burden of her years. true as in life, no poor disguise of death with her is seen, and on her simple casket lies no wreath of bloom and green. oh, not for her the florist's art, the mocking weeds of wue ; dear memories in each mourner's beart like heaven's white lilies blow. and all about the softening air of new-born sweetness tells, and the ungathered may-tlowers wear the tints of ocean shells. the old, assuring miracle is fresh as heretofore ; and earth takes up its parable of life from death once more. here organ-swell and churcb-bell to methinks but discord were ; the prayerful silence of the soul is best befitting her. no sound should break the quietnde alike of earth and sky; () wandering wind in seabrook wood, breathe but a half-beard sigh! sing softly, spring-bird, for her sake ; and thon not distant sea, lapse lightly as if jesus spake, and thou wert galilee ! for all her quiet life flowed on as meadow streamlets tiow, where fresher green reveals alone the noiseless ways they go. from her loved place of prayer i see the plain-robed mouruers pass, a christmas carmen 453 the blessed master none can doubt revealed in holy lives. with slow feet treading reverently the graveyard's springing grass. make room, o mourning ones, for me, where, like the friends of paul, that you no more her face shall see you sorrow most of all. a christmas carmen i sound over all waters, reach out from all lands, the chorus of voices, the clasping of hands; sing hymns that were sung by the stars of the morn, her path shall brighten more and more unto the perfect day ; she cannot fail of peace who bore such peace with her away. o sweet, calm face that seemed to wear the look of sins forgiven ! o voice of prayer that seemed to bear our own needs up to heaven ! how reverent in our midst she stood, or knelt in grateful praise ! what grace of christian womanhood was in her household ways ! sing songs of the angels when jesus was born ! with glad jubilations bring hope to the nations ! the dark night is ending and dawn has begun : rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, all speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one ! ii for still her holy living meant no duty left undone ; the heavenly and the human blent their kindred loves in one. and if her life small leisure found for feasting ear and eye, and pleasure, on her daily round, she passed unpausing by, sing the bridal of nations ! with chorals of love sing out the war-vulture and sing in the dove, till the hearts of the peoples keep time in accord, and the voice of the world is the voice of the lord ! clasp hands of the nations in strong gratulations : the dark night is ending and dawn has begiin ; rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, all speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! iii yet with her went a secret sense of all things sweet and fair, and beauty's gracious providence refreshed her unaware. she kept her line of rectitude with love's unconscious ease ; her kindly instincts understood all gentle courtesies. an inborn charm of graciousness made sweet her smile and tone, and glorified her farm-wife dress with beauty not its own. the dear lord's best interpreters are humble human souls ; the gospel of a life like hers is more than books or scrolls. from scheme and creed the light goes out, the saintly fact survives ; blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace ; east, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease : sing the song of great joy that the angels began, sing of glory to god and of good-will to man ! hark! joining in chorus the heavens bend o'er us ! the dark night is ending and dawn has begun; rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, all speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! 454 religious poems vesta o christ of god! whose life and death our own have reconciled, most quietly, most tenderly take home thy star-named child ! thy grace is in her patient eyes, thy words are on ber tongue ; the very silence round her seems as if the angels sung. her smile is as a listening child's who hears its mother call; the lilies of thy perfect peace about her pillow fall. she leans from out our clinging arms to rest herself in thine ; alone to thee, dear lord, can we our well-beloved resign ! oh, less for her than for ourselves we bow our heads and pray ; her setting star, like bethlehem's, to thee shall point the way ! the voices loved of him who saig, where tweed and teviot glide, that sound to-day on all the winds that blow from rydal-side, – heard in the teuton's household songs and folk-lore of the finn, where'er to holy christmas hearths the christ-child enters in ! before life's sweetest mystery still the heart in reverence kneels; the wonder of the primal birth the latest mother feels. we need love's tender lessons taught as only weakness can ; god hath his small interpreters ; the child must teach the man. we wander wide through evil years, our eyes of faith grow dim; but he is freshest from his hands and nearest unto him ! and haply, pleading long with him for sin-sick hearts and cold, the angels of our child bood still the father's face behold. child-songs still linger in our noon of time and on our saxon tongue the echoes of the home-born hymns the aryan mothers sung. and childhood had its litanies in every age and clime ; the earliest cradles of the race were rocked to poet's rhyme. nor sky, nor wave, nor tree, nor flower, nor green earth's virgin sod, so moved the singer's heart of old as these small ones of god. of such the kingdom! teach tours o master most divine, to feel the deep signincance of these wise words of thine! the hanghty eye shall seek in rain what innocence beholds ; no cunning finds the key of bearen, no strength its gate unfolds. alone to guilelessness and lore that gate shall open fall; the mind of pride is nothingness the childlike heart is ali ! the healer to a young physician. w*tt*!. picture of (hrist healing inly the mystery of unfolding life was more than dawning morn, than opening flower or crescent moon the human soul new-born ! and still to childhood's sweet appeal the heart of genius turns, and more than all the sages teach from lisping voices learns, – so stood of old the holy christ amidst the suffering throng: with whom his lightest touch suffed to make the weakest strong. overruled 455 that healing gift he lends to them who use it in his name ; that filled his garment's hem is evermore the same. let love drop smiles like sunshine, and pity tears like rain!” the power for lo ! in human hearts unseen the healer dwelleth still, and they who make his temples clean the best subserve his will. two faces bowed before the throne, veiled in their golden hair ; four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of air. the way was strange, the flight was long ; at last the angels came where swung the lost and nether world, red-wrapped in rayless flame. there pity, shuddering, wept ; but love, with faith too strong for fear, took heart from god's almightiness and smiled a smile of cheer. and lo! that tear of pity quenched the flame whereon it fell, and, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered into hell ! the holiest task by heaven decreed, an errand all divine, the burden of our common need to render less is thine. the paths of pain are thine. go forth with patience, trust, and hope ; the sufferings of a sin-sick earth shall give thee ample scope. beside the unveiled mysteries of life and death go stand, with guarded lips and reverent eyes and pure of heart and hand. so shalt thou be with power endued from him who went about the syrian hillsides doing good, and casting demons out. that good physician liveth yet thy friend and guide to be ; the healer by gennesaret shall walk the rounds with thee. two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the throne, four white wings folded at the feet of him who sat thereon ! and deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling flake, amidst the hush of wing and song the voice eternal spake : “welcome, my angels ! ye have brought a holier joy to heaven ; henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of sin forgiven ! the two angels god called the nearest angels who dwell with him above : the tenderest one was pity, the dearest one was love. overruled the threads our hands in blindness spin no self-determined plan weaves in ; the shuttle of the unseen powers works out a pattern not as ours. “ arise,” he said, “my angels ! a wail of woe and sin steals through the gates of heaven, and saddens all within. ‘my harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost world swells, the smoke of torment clouds the light and blights the asphodels. ah ! small the choice of him who sings what sound shall leave the smitten strings ; fate holds and guides the hand of art ; the singer's is the servant's part. the wind-harp chooses not the tone that through its trembling threads is blown ; the patient organ cannot guess what hand its passive keys shall press. fly downward to that under world, and on its souls of pain 456 religious poems through wish, resolve, and act, our will no discord mar below, above, is moved by undreamed forces still ; the music of eternal love! and no man measures in advance his strength with untried circumstance. sound, welcome trump, the last alarm! lord god of hosts, make bare thine arte as streams take hue from shade and sun, fulfil this day our long desire, as runs the life the song must run ; make sweet and clean the world with ere' but, glad or sad, to his good end god grant the varying notes may tend ! sweep, flaming besom, sweep from siglat the lies of time ; be swift to smite, sharp sword of god, all idols down, hymn of the dunkers genevan creed and roman crown. kloster kedar, ephrata, pennsylquake, earth, through all thy zobes, tai. vania (1738) all the fanes of pride and priesterft fall sister maria christina sings. and lift thou up in place of them wake, sisters, wake ! the day-star shines ; | thy gates of pearl, jerusalem! above ephrata's eastern pines the dawn is breaking, cool and calm. lo! rising from baptismal flame, wake, sisters, wake to prayer and psalm ! transfigured, glorious, yet the same, within the heavenly city's bound praised be the lord for shade and light, our kloster kedar shall be found. for toil by day, for rest by night! praised bé his name who deigns to bless he cometh soon ! at dawn or noon our kedar of the wilderness ! or set of sun, he cometh soon. our prayers shall meet him on his way, our refuge when the spoiler's hand wake, sisters, wake! arise and pray! was heavy on our native land ; and freedom, to her children due, the wolf and vulture only knew. giving and taking we praised him when to prison led, i have attempted to put in english per we owned him when the stake blazed red; prose translation of a pam by 'tinaria a we knew, whatever might befall, hindoo poet of the third century of our era his love and power were over all. who gives and hides the giving hani, he heard our prayers ; with outstretched nor counts on favor, fame, or pra.s. shall find his smallest gift out weigte he led us forth from cruel harm ; the burden of the sea and land. still, wheresoe'er our steps were bent, his cloud and fire before us went ! who gives to whom hath nanght been girl his gift in need, though small indred the watch of faith and prayer he set, as is the grass-blade's wind-blown we kept it then, we keep it yet. is large as earth and rich as heaven. at midnight, crow of cock, or noon, he cometh sure, le cometh soon. forget it not, () man, to whom a gift shall fall, while yet on earth; he comes to chasten, not destroy, yea, even to thy seven-fold birth to purge the earth from sin's alloy. recall it in the lives to come. at last, at last shall all confess his merey as his righteousness. who broods above a wrong in thevught sins much ; but greater sin is his the dead shall live, the sick be whole, who, fed and clothed with kindner the scarlet sin be white as wool; shall count the holy alms as naazht. arm the vision of echard 457 have i not dawns and sunsets ? have i not winds that blow ? who dares to curse the hands that bless shall know of sin the deadliest cost ; the patience of the heavens is lost beholding man's unthankfulness. for he who breaks all laws may still in sivam's mercy be forgiven ; but none can save, in earth or heaven, the wretch who answers good with ill. “do i smell your gums of incense ? is my ear with chantings fed ? taste i your wine of worship, or eat your holy bread ? “of rank and name and honors am i vain as ye are vain ? what can eternal fulness from your lip-service gain ? the vision of echard the benedictine echard sat by the wayside well, where marsberg sees the bridal of the sarre and the moselle. “ye make me not your debtor who serve yourselves alone ; ye boast to me of homage whose gain is all your own. fair with its sloping vineyards and tawny chestnut bloom, the happy vale ausonius sung for holy treves made room. “for you i gave the prophets, for you the psalmist's lay : for you the law's stone tables, and holy book and day. on the shrine helena builded to keep the christ coat' well, on minster tower and kloster cross, the westering sunshine fell. “ye change to weary burdens the helps that should uplift; ye lose in form the spirit, the giver in the gift. there, where the rock-hewn circles o'erlooked the roman's game, the veil of sleep fell on him, and his thought a dream became. he felt the heart of silence throb with a soundless word, and by the inward ear alone a spirit's voice he heard. and the spoken word seemed written on air and wave and sod, and the bending walls of sapphire blazed with the thought of god : “ who called ye to self-torment, to fast and penance vain ? dream ye eternal goodness has joy in mortal pain ? “for the death in life of nitria, for your chartreuse ever dumb, what better is the neighbor, or happier the home ? “who counts his brother's welfare as sacred as his own, and loves, forgives and pities, he serveth me alone. “what lack i, o my children ? all things are in the vast earth and the awful stars i hold as grains of sand. my hand ; “i note each gracious purpose, each kindly word and deed; are ye not all my children ? shall not the father heed ? “need i your alms? the silver and gold are mine alone ; the gifts ye bring before me were evermore my own. “ heed i the noise of viols, your pomp of masque and show ? "no prayer for light and guidance is lost upon mine ear : the child's cry in the darkness shall not the father hear ? “i loathe your wrangling councils, i tread upon your creeds ; 458 religious poems the far is even as the near, the low is as the high. who made ye mine avengers, or told ye of my needs ; “ i bless men and ye curse them, i love them and ye hate ; ye bite and tear each other, i suffer long and wait. “ ye bow to ghastly symbols, to cross and scourge and thorn ; ye seek his syrian manger who in the heart is born. “ for the dead christ, not the living, ye watch his empty grave, whose life alone within you has power to bless and save. “() blind ones, outward groping, the idle quest forego ; who listens to his inward voice alone of him shall know. “ his love all love exceeding the heart must needs recall, its self-surrendering freedom, its loss that gaineth all. “climb not the holy mountains, their eagles know not me ; seek not the blessed islands, i dwell not in the sea. “what if the earth is hiding her old faiths, long outworu ? what is it to the changeless truth that yours shall fail in tur ? “ what if the o'erturned altar lays bare the ancient lie ? what if the dreams and legends of the world's childhood die ? “ have ye not still my witness within yourselves alway, my hand that on the keys of life for bliss or bale i lay? "still, in perpetual judgment, i hold assize within, with sure reward of boliness, and dread rebuke of sin. “a light, a guide, a warning, a presence ever near, through the deep silence of the besà i reach the inward ear. “my gerizim and ebal are in each human soul, the still, small voice of blessing. and sinai's thunder-roll. “ the stern behest of duty, the doom-book open thrown, the heaven ye seek, the hell ye fear, are with yourselves alone." a gold and purple sunset flowed down the bruad merile; on hills of vine and meadow lanis the peace of twilight tell. a slow, cool wind of evening blew over leaf and bloom: and, faint and far, the angel rang from saint matthew i tuneb then up rose master ecbani, and marvelled : “can it be that here, in dream and vidos, the lord hath talked with me." he went his way ; behind him the shrines of saintly dead, “gone is the mount of meru, the triple gods are gone, and, deaf to all the lama's prayers, the buddha slumbers on. 44 “ no more from rocky horeb the smitten waters gush ; fallen is bethel's ladder, quenched is the burning bush. “ the jewels of the u'rim and thumınim all are dim ; the fire has left the altar, the sigu the teraphim. “ no more in ark or hill grove the holiest abides ; not in the scroll's dead letter the eternal secret hides. " the ere shall fail that searches for me the hollow sky; the minister's daughter 459 the holy coat and nail of cross, he left unvisited. he sought the vale of eltzbach his burdened soul to free, where the foot-hills of the eifel are glassed in laachersee. a kindly thought on her who bade this fountain flow, yet hath no other claim than as the minister of blessing in god's name. drink, and in his peace go ! the minister's daughter and, in his order's kloster, he sat, in night-long parle, with tauler of the friends of god, and nicolas of basle. in the minister's morning sermon he had told of the primal fall, and how thenceforth the wrath of god rested on each and all. and lo! the twain made answer : “ yea, brother, even thus the voice above all voices hath spoken unto us. and how of his will and pleasure, all souls, save a chosen few, were doomed to the quenchless burning, and held in the way thereto. “ the world will have its idols, and flesh and sense their sign : but the blinded eyes shall open, and the gross ear be fine. yet never by faith's unreason a saintlier soul was tried, and never the harsh old lesson a tenderer heart belied. “what if the vision tarry ? god's time is always best ; the true light shall be witnessed, the christ within confessed. and, after the painful service on that pleasant sabbath day, he walked with his little daughter through the apple-bloom of may. “ in mercy or in judgment he shall turn and overturn, till the heart shall be his temple where all of him shall learn." sweet in the fresh green meadows sparrow and blackbird sung ; above him their tinted petals the blossoming orchards hung. inscriptions on a sun-dial around on the wonderful glory the minister looked and smiled ; “how good is the lord who gives us these gifts from his hand, my child ! for dr. henry i. bowditch with warning hand i mark time's rapid flight from life's glad morning to its solemn night ; yet, through the dear god's love, i also show there's light above me by the shade below. “ behold in the bloom of apples and the violets in the sward a hint of the old, lost beauty of the garden of the lord !" then up spake the little maiden, treading on snow and pink : “ o father ! these pretty blossoms are very wicked, i think. on a fountain for dorothea l. dix stranger and traveller, drink freely and bestow “ had there been no garden of eden there never had been a fall; and if never a tree had blossomed god would have loved us all." 460 religious poems by their works “ hush, child ! " the father answered, “by his decree man fell; his ways are in clouds and darkness, but he doeth all things well. “and whether by his ordaining to us cometh good or ill, joy or pain, or light or shadow, we must fear and love him still.” call him not heretic whose works attest his faith in goodness by no creed couiend whatever in love's name is truly done to free the bound and lift the fallen one is done to christ. whoso in deed and word is not against him labors for our lord. when he, who, sad and weary, long for love's sweet service, sought the sisters door, one saw the heavenly, one the human get but who shall say which loved the maste: best? sore “oh, i fear him !” said the daughter, “ and i try to love him, too ; but i wish he was good and gentle, kind and loving as you." the minister groaned in spirit as the tremulous lips of pain and wide, wet eyes uplifted questioned his own in vain. bowing his head he pondered the words of the little one ; had he erred in his life-long teaching ? had he wrong to his master done ? to what grim and dreadful idol had he lent the holiest name? did his own heart, loving and human, the god of his worship shame ? the word seers, and lo! from the bloom and greenness, from the tender skies above, and the face of his little daughter, he read a lesson of love. voice of the holy spirit, making knows man to himself, a witness swift and sure, warning, approving, true and wise ani pure, counsel and guidance that misleadeth or by thee the mystery of life is read ; *the picture-writing of the world's my the myths and parables of the pribadi years, whose letter kills, by thee interpreted take healthful meaning, fitted to our rada and in the soul's vernacular espress the common law of simple righteoushatred of cant and doubt of human credo may well be felt : the unpardonable sin is to deny the word of god within! dess. no more as the cloudy terror of sinai's mount of law, but as christ in the syrian lilies the vision of god he saw. and, as when, in the clefts of horeb, of old was llis presence known, the dread ineffable glory was infinite goodness alone. thereafter his hearers noted in his prayers a tenderer strain, and never the gospel of hatred burned on his lips again. and the scoffing tongne was prayerful, and the blinded eves found sight, and hearts, as flint aforetime, grew soft in his warmth and light. the book. gallery of sacred pictures manifold, a minster rich in bolj eftigies, and bearing on entablature and for the hieroglyphic oracles of old. along its transept aureoled martyrs sit : and the low chancel side-lights hali se quaint the eye with shrines of propbet, bare and saint, their age-dimmed tablets traced in do'a. ful writ! oriental maxims 461 utterance but only when on form and word obscure falls from above the white supernal light we read the mystic characters aright, and life informs the silent portraiture, until we pause at last, awe-held, before the one ineffable face, love, wonder, and adore. requirement we live by faith ; but faith is not the slave of text and legend. reason's voice and god's, nature's and duty's, never are at odds. what asks our father of his children, save justice and mercy and humility, a reasonable service of good deeds, pure living, tenderness to human needs, reverence and trust, and prayer for light to see the master's footprints in our daily ways ? no knotted scourge nor sacrificial knife, but the calm beauty of an ordered life whose very breathing is unworded praise ! a life that stands as all true lives have stood, firm-rooted in the faith that god is good. but what avail inadequate words to reach the innermost of truth? who shall essay, blinded and weak, to point and lead the way, or solve the mystery in familiar speech ? yet, if it be that something not thy own, some shadow of the thought to which our schemes, creeds, cult, and ritual are at best but dreams, is even to thy unworthiness made known, thou mayst not hide what yet thou shouldst not dare to utter lightly, lest on lips of thine the real seem false, the beauty undivine. so, weighing duty in the scale of prayer, give what seems given thee. it may prove of goodness dropped in fallow-grounds of need. a seed oriental maxims paraphrase translaof sanscrit tions the inward judge help from institutes of manu. the soul itself its awful witness is. say not in evil doing, “ no one sees, and so offend the conscious one within, whose ear can hear the silences of sin ere they find voice, whose eyes unsleeping see the secret motions of iniquity. snares dream not, o soul, that easy is the task thus set before thee. if it proves at length, as well it may, beyond thy natural strength, faint not, despair not. as a child may ask a father, pray the everlasting good for light and guidance midst the subtle of sin thick planted in life's thoroughfares, for spiritual strength and moral hardihood ; still listening, through the noise of time to the still whisper of the inward word ; bitter in blame, sweet in approval heard, itself its own confirming evidence : to health of soul a voice to cheer and please, to guilt the wrath of the eumenides. and sense, nor in thy folly say, “i am alone.” for, seated in thy heart, as ona throne, the ancient judge and witness liveth still, to note thy act and thought ; and as thy ill or good goes from thee, far beyond thy reach, the solemn doomsman's seal is set on each. 462 religious poems 66 66 : silent, in his accustomed place, laying up treasure with god's sweet peace upon his face. from the mahabáhrata. why sitt'st thou thus ?” his brethren cried. before the ender comes, whose charioteer “ it is the blessed christmas-tide ; is swift or slow disease, lay up each year the christmas lights are all aglow, thy harvests of well-doing, wealth that the sacred lilies bud and blow. kings nor thieves can take away. when all the “above our heads the joy-bells ring, things without the happy children sing, thou callest thine, goods, pleasures, honors and all god's creatures hail the more fall, on which the holy christ was born ! thou in thy virtue shalt survive them all. rejoice with us ; no more rebuke conduct our gladness with thy quiet look." the gray monk answered : " keep, i pray, from the mahabharata. even as ye list, the lord's birthulay. heed how thou livest. do no act by day “let heathen yule fires flicker red which from the night shall drive thy peace where thronged refectory feasts aty away. spread ; in months of sun so live that months of rain with mystery-play and masque and lite shall still be happy. evermore restrain and wait-songs speed the holy time! evil and cherish good, so shall there be another and a happier life for thee. “ the blindest faith may haply sare ; the lord accepts the things we have ; and reverence, howsoe'er it strats, an easter flower gift may find at last the shining wars. o dearest bloom the seasons know, “they needs must grope who cannot see, flowers of the resurrection, blow, the blade before the ear must be; our hope and faith restore ; as ye are feeling i have felt, and through the bitterness of death and where ye dwell i too have dwelt. and loss and sorrow, breathe a breath of life forevermore ! “ but now, beyond the things of sense, beyond occasions and events, the thought of love immortal blends i know, through god's exceeding grace, with fond remembrances of friends ; release from form and time and piace in you, o sacred flowers, by human love made doubly sweet, “ i listen, from no mortal tongue, the heavenly and the earthly meet, to hear the song the angels sung; the heart of christ and ours ! and wait within myself to know the christmas lilies bud and blow. the mystic's christmas “ the outward symbols disappear from him whose inward sight is clear, “ all hnil ! " the bells of christmas rang, and small must be the choice of dass * all bail ! " the monks at christmas sang, to him who fills them all with praise the merry monks who kept with cheer the gladdest day of all their year. "keep while you need it, brothers with honest zeal your christmas 20% but still apart, unmoved thereat, but judge not him who every morn a pious elder brother sat feels in his heart the lord christ bora what the traveller said at sunset 463 at last what the traveller said at sunset [recited by one of the little group of relations, who stood by the poet's bedside, as the last moment of his life approached.] whex on my day of life the night is falling, and, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown, i hear far voices out of darkness calling my feet to paths unknown, the shadows grow and deepen round me, i feel the dew-fall in the air ; the muezzin of the darkening thicket, i hear the night-thrush call to prayer. the evening wind is sad with farewells, and loving hands unclasp from mine ; alone i go to meet the darkness across an awful boundary-line. as from the lighted hearths behind me i pass with slow, reluctant feet, what waits me in the land of strangeness ? what face shall smile, what voice shall greet ? thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant, leave not its tenant when its walls decay; o love divine, o helper ever present, be thou my strength and stay ! be near me when all else is from me drifting; earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade and shine, and kindly faces to my own uplifting the love which answers mine. what space shall awe, what brightness blind me ? what thunder-roll of music stun ? what vast processions sweep before me of shapes unknown beneath the sun ? i have but thee, my father ! let thy spirit be with me then to comfort and uphold ; no gate of pearl, no branch of palm i merit, nor street of shining gold. suffice it if my good and ill unreckoned, and both forgiven through thy abounding grace i find myself by hands familiar beckoned unto my fitting place. some humble door among thy many mansions, some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease, and flows forever through heaven's green expansions the river of thy peace. there, from the music round about me stealing, i fain would learn the new and holy song, and find at last, beneath thy trees of healing, the life for which i long. i shrink from unaccustomed glory, i dread the myriad-voiced strain ; give me the unforgotten faces, and let my lost ones speak again. he will not chide my mortal yearning who is our brother and our friend ; in whose full life, divine and human, the heavenly and the earthly blend. mine be the joy of soul-communion, the sense of spiritual strength renewed, the reverence for the pure and holy, the dear delight of doing good. no fitting ear is mine to listen an endless anthem's rise and fall ; no curious eye is mine to measure the pearl gate and the jasper wall. for love must needs be more than knowledge : what matter if i never know why aldebaran's star is ruddy, or warmer sirius white as snow ! forgive my human words, o father ! i go thy larger truth to prove ; 464 religious poems thy mercy shall transcend my longing : i seek but love, and thou art love! take thou the hands of prayer we ruise, and let us feel the light of thee ! i go to find my lost and mourned for safe in thy sheltering goodness still, and all that hope and faith foreshadow made perfect in thy holy will ! “ the story of ida" francesca alexander, whose pen and pencil have so reverently transcribed the simple faith and life of the italian peasantry, wrote the narrative published with john ruskin's introduction under the title, the story of ida. weary of jangling noises never stilled, the skeptic's sneer, the bigot's hate, the din of clashing texts, the webs of creed men spin round simple truth, the children grown who build with gilded cards their new jerusalem, busy, with sacerdotal tailorings and tinsel gauds, bedizening holy things, i turn, with glad and grateful heart, from them to the sweet story of the florentine immortal in her blameless maidenhood, beautiful as god's angels and as good ; feeling that life, even now, may be divine with love no wrong can ever change to hate, no sin make less than all-compassionate ! the two loves smoothing soft the nestling hend of a maiden fancy-led, thus a grave-eyed woman said : “ richest gifts are those we make, dearer than the love we take that we give for love's own sake. “ well i know the heart's unrest; mine has been the common quest, to be loved and therefore blest. “ farors undeserved were mine ; at my feet as on a shrine love has laid its gifts divine. “sweet the offerings seemed, and yet with their sweetuess came regret, and a sense of unpaid debt. “ heart of mine unsatisfied, was it vanity or pride that a deeper joy denied ? “ hands that ope but to receive empty close ; they only live richly who can richly give. “still,” she sighed, with moistening eyes, “ love is sweet in any guise ; but its best is sacritice ! “ he who, giving, does not crave likest is to him who gave life itself the loved to save. the light that is felt "love, that self-forgetful gives, sows surprise of ripened sheares, late or soon its own receives." a tender child of summers three, seeking her little bed at night, paused on the dark stair timidly. “oh, mother! take my hand," said she, * and then the dark will all be light." we older children grope our way from dark behind to dark before ; and only when our hands we lay, dear lord, in thine, the night is day, and there is darkness nevermore. reach downward to the sunless days wherein our guides are blind as we, and faith is small and hope delays ; adjustment the tree of faith its bare, dry boughs 11 shed that nearer heaven the living ones ar climb; the false 'must fail, though from our shores of time hymns of the brahmo somaj 465 i vanes: ii iii the old lament be heard, “great pan is dead !” that wail is error's, from his high place the mercy, o eternal one ! hurled ; by man unmeasured yet, this sharp recoil is evil undertrod; in joy or grief, in shade or sun, our time's unrest, an angel sent of god i never will forget. troubling with life the waters of the world. i give the whole, and not a part, even as they list the winds of the spirit of all thou gavest me ; blow my goods, my life, my soul and heart, to turn or break our century rusted i yield them all to thee ! sands shift and waste; the rock alone remains we fast and plead, we weep and pray, where, led of heaven, the strong tides from morning until even ; come and go, we feel to find the holy way, and storm-clouds, rent by thunderbolt and we knock at the gate of heaven ! wind, and when in silent awe we wait, leave, free of mist, the permanent stars and word and sign forbear, behind. the hinges of the golden gate move, soundless, to our prayer ! therefore i trust, although to outward sense who hears the eternal harmonies both true and false seem shaken ; i will can heed no outward word ; hold blind to all else is he who sees with newer light my reverence for the the vision of the lord ! old and calmly wait the births of providence. no gain is lost ; the clear-eyed saints look o soul, be patient, restrain thy tears, down have hope, and not despair ; untroubled on the wreck of schemes and as a tender mother heareth her child creeds; god hears the penitent prayer. love yet remains, its rosary of good and not forever shall grief be thine ; deeds on the heavenly mother's breast, counting in task-field and o'erpeopled town. washed clean and white in waters of joy truth has charmed life ; the inward word shall his seeking child find rest. survives, console thyself with his word of grace, and, day by day, its revelation brings ; and cease thy wail of woe, faith, hope, and charity, whatsoever for his mercy never an equal hath, and his love no bounds can know. which cannot be shaken, stand. still holy lean close unto him in faith and hope ; lives how many like thee have found reveal the christ of whom the letter told, in him a shelter and home of peace, and the new gospel verifies the old. by his mercy compassed round ! there, safe from sin and the sorrow it brings, hymns of the brahmo they sing their grateful psalms, somaj and rest, at noon, by the wells of god, in the shade of his holy palms ! i have attempted this paraphrase of the hymns of the brahmo somaj of india, as i find them in mozoomdar's account of the devorevelation tional exercises of that remarkable religious development which has attracted far less atten“ and i went into the vale of beavor, and as i went i tion and sympathy from the christian world preached repentance to the people. and one morning than it deserves, as a fresh revelation of the sitting by the fire, a great cloud came over me, and a temptation beset me. all things direct action of the divine spirit upon the hucome by nature, and the elements and the stars came man heart. and as i sat still and let it alone, a living things a and it was said : over me. 466 religious poems than theirs the powers of nature own, and, to its goal as at its source, his spirit moves the universe. hope arose in me, and a true voice which said: there is a living god who made all things. and immediately the cloud and the temptation vanished, and lite rose over all, and my heart was glad and i praised the living god." journal of george for, 1690. still, as of old, in beavor's vale, o man of god! our hope and faith the elements and stars assail, and the awed spirit holds its breath, blown over by a wind of death. takes nature thought for such as we, what place her human atom fills, the weed-drift of her careless sea, the mist on her unheeding hills ? what recks she of our helpless wills ? strange god of force, with fear, not love, its trembling worshipper! can prayer reach the shut ear of fate, or move unpitying energy to spare ? what doth the cosmic vastness care ? “ believe and trust. through stars : suns, through life and death, through soul as sense, his wise, paternal purpose runs ; the darkness of his providence is star-lit with benign intents." o joy supreme! i know the voice, like none beside on earth or sea; yea, more, o soul of mine, rejoice, by all that he requires of me, i know what god himself must be. in vain to this dread cnconcern for the all-father's love we look; in vain, in quest of it, we turn the storied leaves of nature's book, the prints her rocky tablets took. i pray for faith, i long to trust; i listen with my heart, and hear a voice without a sound : “ be just, be true, be merciful, revere the word witbin thee : god is near! no picture to my aid i call, i shape no image in my prayer; i only know in him is all of life, light, beauty, everywhere, eternal goodness here and there! i know he is, and what he is, whose one great purpose is the good of all. i rest my soul on his immortal love and fatherhood ; and trust him, as his children sboek i fear no more. the clouded face of nature smiles ; through all her t. of time and space and sense i truce the moving of the spint's wings and hear the song of hope she sings “ a light to sky and earth unknown pales all their lights : a mightier force at sundown to e. c. s. the morning's promise noon and eve fulfilled poet and friend of poets, if thy glass in warm, soft sky and landscape hazy-billed detects no flower in winter's tuft of grass, and sunset fair as they ; let this slight token of the debt i owe outlive for thee december's frozen day, a sweet reminder of his holiest time, and, like the arbutus budding under snow, a summer-miracle in our winter clime, take bloom and fragrance from some morn god gave a perfect day. of may when he who gives it shall have gone the way, where faith shall see and reverent trust shåll the near was blended with the old and far, know. and bethlehem's hillside and the magi's star seemed here, as there and then,the christmas of 1888 our homestead pine-tree was the syrian palm, low in the east, against a white, cold our heart's desire the angels' midnight dawn, psalm, the black-lined silhouette of the woods was peace, and good-will to men ! drawn, and on a wintry waste the vow of washington of frosted streams and hillsides bare and brown, read in new york, april 30, 1889, at the through thin cloud-films a pallid ghost centennial celebration of the inauguration of looked down, george washington as the first president of the the waning moon half-faced ! united states. the sword was sheathed : in april's sun in that pale sky and sere, snow-waiting lay green the fields by freedom won ; earth, and severed sections, weary of debates, what sign was there of the immortal birth? joined hands at last and were united what herald of the one ? states. lo! swift as thought the heavenly radiance came, o city sitting by the sea ! a rose-red splendor swept the sky like how proud the day that dawned on thee, flame, when the new era, long desired, began, up rolled the round, bright sun ! and, in its need, the hour had found the man ! and all was changed. from a transfigured world one thought the cannon salvos spoke, the moon's ghost filed, the smoke of homethe resonant bell-tower's vibrant stroke, hearths curled the voiceful streets, the plaudit-echoing up tbe still air unblown. halls, in orient warmth and brightness, did that and prayer and hymn borne heavenward from st. paul's ! o'er nain and nazareth, when the christ was born, how felt the land in every part break fairer than our own ? the strong throb of a nation's heart, morn 467 468 at sundown ful past, as its great leader gave, with reverent awe, our first and best ! his ashes lie his pledge to union, liberty, and law ! beneath his own virginian sky. forgive, forget, ( true and just and brave. that pledge the heavens above him the storm that swept above thy sund heard, grave ! that vow the sleep of centuries stirred ; in world-wide wonder listening peoples for, ever in the awful strife bent and dark hours of the nation's life, their gaze on freedom's great experiment. through the fierce tumult pierced l warning word, could it succeed? of honor sold their father's voice his erring ek.idees and hopes deceived all history told. heard ! above the wrecks that strewed the mournthe change for which he prayed an was the long dream of ages true at last ? sought in that sharp agony was wrought; thank god! the people's choice was just, no partial interest draws its alien line the one man equal to his trust, 'twixt north and south, the cypress and wise beyond lore, and without weakness the pine ! good, calm in the strength of flawless rectitude ! one people now, all doubt be vond, his name shall be our l'nion-bond; his rule of justice, order, peace, we lift our hands to heaven, and here at: made possible the world's release ; now taught prince and serf that power is but a take on our lips the old centennial ruw. trust, and rule alone, which serves the ruled, is for rule and trust must needs be ours; just; chooser and chosen both are powers equal in service as in rights; the elam that freedom generous is, but strong of duty rests on each and all the sause. in bate of fraud and selfish wrong, pretence that turns her holy truth to lies, then let the sovereign millions, where and lawless license masking in her guise. our banner floats in sun and air, from the warm palm-lands to alaska's land of his love ! with one glad voice cold, let thy great sisterhood rejoice ; repeat with us the pledge a century vid' a century's suns o'er thee have risen and set, and, god be praised, we are one nation yet. and still we trust the years to be the captain's well shall prove his hope was destiny, leaving our flag, with all its added stars, the story of the shipwreck of captain t. unrent by faction and unstained by wars. entine bagley, on the coast of arali ! sufferings in the desert, has been tanda *m3 lo! where with patient toil he nursed my childhood. it has been partialir tais", and trained the new-set plant at first, singularly beautiful lines of tuv trvat lie the widening branches of a stately tree riet prescott spotfond, on the oras a ;) lic celebration at the newbury lin stretch from the sunrise to the sunset sea. to the charm and felicity of bep or as it goes, nothing can be added hutan and in its broad and sheltering shade, following ballad i have endeavor to . sitting with none to make afraid, fuller detail of the touching inne pm were we now silent, through each mighty which it is founded. limb, the winds of heaven would sing the praise from pain and peril, by land and main. of him. the shipwrecked sailor came back ag... the captain's well 469 and like one from the dead, the threshold crossed of his wondering home, that had mourned him lost, “ tortured alike by the heavens and earth, i cursed, like job, the day of my birth. “ then something tender, and sad, and mild as a mother's voice to her wandering child, “ rebuked my frenzy; and bowing my head, i prayed as i never before had prayed : where he sat once more with his kith and kin, and welcomed his neighbors thronging in. but when morning came he called for his spade. “i must pay my debt to the lord,” he said. “ pity me, god! for i die of thirst; take me out of this land accurst ; “why dig you here ? ” asked the passerby; “ is there gold or silver the road “ and if ever i reach my home again, where earth has springs, and the sky has rain, so nigh ?” “ i will dig a well for the passers-by, and none shall suffer from thirst as i. 66 no, friend,” he answered : “but under this sod is the blessed water, the wine of god.” “i saw, as i prayed, my home once more, the house, the barn, the elms by the door, “ water ! the powow is at your back, and right before you the merrimac, “ and look you up, or look you down, there's a well-sweep at every door in town." “the grass lined road, that riverward wound, the tall slate stones of the burying-ground, “the belfry and steeple on meeting-house hill, the brook with its dam, and gray grist mill, “and i knew in that vision beyond the sea, the very place where my well must be. “true," he said, "we have wells of our own ; but this i dig for the lord alone.” said the other : “ this soil is dry, you know, i doubt if a spring can be found below; “ you had better consult, before you dig, some water-witch, with a hazel twig.” no, wet or dry, i will dig it here, shallow or deep, if it takes a year. “god heard my prayer in that evil day; he led my feet in their homeward way, “from false mirage and dried-up well, and the hot sand storms of a land of hell, а 66 “ in the arab desert, where shade is none, the waterless land of sand and sun, “under the pitiless, brazen sky my burning throat as the sand was dry ; my crazed brain listened in fever dreams for plash of buckets and ripple of streams; “ and opening my eyes to the blinding glare, and my lips to the breath of the blistering air, “till i saw at last through the coast-hill's gap, a city held in its stony lap, “the mosques and the domes of scorched muscat, and my heart leaped up with joy thereat ; “for there was a ship at anchor lying, a christian flag at its mast-head flying, “and sweetest of sounds to my homesick ear was my native tongue in the sailor's cheer. 470 at sundown soon “ now the lord be thanked, i am back “ he would drink and rest, and go bueze te again, tell where earth has springs, and the skies have that god's best gift is the wayside wel:** rain, “and the well i promised by oman's sea, an outdoor reception i am digging for him in amesbury." the substance of these lines, hastily porn his kindred wept, and his neighbors said : cilled several years ago, i find among sa my unprinted scraps as have escaped the se “ the poor old captain is out of his head.” basket and the fire. in transcribing it i v* made some changes, additions, and oturistaa but from morn to noon, and from noon to night, ox these green banks, where falls tox he toiled at his task with main and might ; the shade of autumn's afternoon, and when at last, from the loosened earth, the south wind blowing soft and sweet, under his spade the stream gushed forth, the water gliding at my feet, the distant northern range uplit and fast as he climbed to his deep well's by the slant sunshine over it, brim, with changes of the mountain mist the water he dug for followed him, from tender blush to amethyst, the valley's stretch of shade and gleam he shouted for joy : “i have kept my fair as in mirza's bagdad dream, word, with glad young faces smiling near and here is the well i promised the lord !” and merry voices in my ear, i sit, methinks, as llafiz might the long years came and the long years in iran's garden of delight. went, for persian roses blushing red, and he sat by his roadside well content ; aster and gentian bloom instead ; for shiraz wine, this mountain air ; he watched the travellers, heat-oppressed, for feast, the blueberries which i skarp pause by the way to drink and rest, with one who proffers with stained bass her gleanings from yon pasture lands, and the sweltering horses dip, as they wild fruit that art and culture spuil, drank, the harvest of an untilled soul; their nostrils deep in the cool, sweet tank, and with her one whose tender eyes reflect the change of april skies, and grateful at heart, his memory went midway 'twixt child and maiden yet, back to that waterless orient, fresh as spring's earliest violet ; and one whose look and voice and ways and the blessed answer of prayer, which make where she goes idyllie dars ; and one whose sweet, still countenance to the earth of iron and sky of flame. seems dreamful of a child's romane; and others, welcome as are these, and when a wayfarer weary and hot, like and unlike, varieties kept to the mid road, pausing not of pearls on nature's chaplet struly, and all are fair, for all are young for the well's refreshing, he shook his gathered from seaside cities old, head; from midland prairie, lake, and wil. " he don't know the value of water," he from the great wheat-tields, which 5* feed the hunger of a world at deed, "had he prayed for a drop, as i have done, in healthful change of rest and plas in the desert circle of sand and sun, their school-vacations glide away. came said ; burning drift-wood 471 the curtain falls, i only pray that hope may lose itself in truth, and age in heaven's immortal youth, and all our loves and longing prove the foretaste of diviner love! the day is done. its afterglow along the west is burning low. my visitors, like birds, have flown ; i hear their voices, fainter grown, and dimly through the dusk i see their kerchiefs wave good-night to me, light hearts of girlhood, knowing naught of all the cheer their coming brought ; and, in their going, unaware of silent-following feet of prayer : heaven make their budding promise good with flowers of gracious womanhood ! r. s. s., at deer island on the merrimac no critics these : they only see an old and kindly friend in me, in whose amused, indulgent look their innocent mirth has no rebuke. they scarce can know my rugged rhymes, the harsher songs of evil times, nor graver themes in minor keys of life's and death's solemnities; but haply, as they bear in mind some verse of lighter, happier kind, hints of the boyhood of the man, youth viewed from life's meridian, half seriously and half in play my pleasant interviewers pay their visit, with no fell intent of taking notes and punishment. as yonder solitary pine is ringed below with flower and vine, more favored than that lonely tree, the bloom of girlhood circles me. in such an atmosphere of youth i half forget my age's truth ; the shadow of my life's long date runs backward on the dial-plate, until it seems a step might span the gulf between the boy and man. my young friends smile, as if some jay on bleak december's leafless spray essayed to sing the songs of may. well, let them smile, and live to know, when their brown locks are flecked with snow, 'tis tedious to be always sage and pose the dignity of age, while so much of our early lives on memory's playground still survives, and owns, as at the present hour, the spell of youth's magnetic power. but though i feel, with solomon, 't is pleasant to behold the sun, i would not if i could repeat a life which still is good and sweet ; i keep in age, as in my prime, a not uncheerful step with time, and, grateful for all blessings sent, i go the common way, content to make no new experiment. on easy terms with law and fate, for what must be i calmly wait, and trust the path i cannot see, that god is good sufficeth me. and when at last on life's strange play make, for he loved thee well, our merrimac, from wave and shore a low and long lament for him whose last look sought thee, as he went the unknown way from which no step comes back. and ye, o ancient pine-trees, at whose feet he watched in life the sunset's reddening glow, let the soft south wind through your needles blow a fitting requiem tenderly and sweet ! no fonder lover of all lovely things shall walk where once he walked, no smile more glad greet friends than his who friends in all men had, whose pleasant memory to that island clings, where a dear mourner in the home he left of love's sweet solace cannot be bereft. burning drift-wood before my drift-wood fire i sit, and see, with every waif i burn, old dreams and fancies coloring it, and folly's unlaid ghosts return. 472 at sundown o ships of mine, whose swift keels cleft the enchanted sea on which they sailed, are these poor fragments only left of vain desires and hopes that failed ? did i not watch from them the light of sunset on my towers in spain, and see, far off, uploom in sight the fortunate isles i might not gain ? did sudden lift of fog reveal arcadia's vales of song and spring, and did i pass, with grazing keel, the rocks whereon the sirens sing ? have i not drifted hard upon the unmapped regions lost to man, the cloud-pitched tents of prester john, the palace domes of kubla khan ? did land winds blow from jasmine flowers, where youth the ageless fountain fills ? did love make sign from rose blown bowers, and gold from eldorado's hills ? alas ! the gallant ships, that sailed on blind adventure's errand sent, howe'er they laid their courses, failed to reach the haven of content. may fitly feed my drift-wood fire, and warm the hands that age las chied whatever perished with my ships, i only know the best remains ; a song of praise is on my lips for losses which are now iny gains. heap high my hearth! no worth is lows; no wisdom with the folly dies. burn on, poor shreds, your holocaust shall be my evening sacrifice ! far more than all i dared to dream, unsought before my door i see ; on wings of fire and steeds of steam the world's great wonders come to me, and holier signs, unmarked before. of love to seek and power to save, the righting of the wronged and poor, the man evolving from the slave ; and life, no longer chance or fate, safe in the gracious fatherhood. i fold o'er-wearied hands and wait, in full assurance of the good. and well the waiting time must be, though brief or long its granted dars if faith and hope and charity sit by my evening heartb-fire's blase. and with them, friends whom hearen las spared, whose love my heart has comforted, and, sharing all my joys, has shared my tender memories of the dead, dear souls who left us lonely here, bound on their last, long rorage, whom we, day by day, are drawing near, where every bark has sailing room. i know the solemn monotone of waters calling unto me ; i know from whence the airs hare blows that whisper of the eternal sea. as low my fires of drift-wood burn, i hear that sea's deep sounds increase, and, fair in sunset light, discern its mirage-lifted isles of peace. and of my ventures, those alone which love had freighted, safely sped, seeking a good beyond my own, by clear-eyed duty piloted. o mariners, hoping still to meet the luck arabian voyagers met, and find in bagdad's moonlit street, haroun al raschid walking yet, take with you, on your sea of dreams, the fair, fond fancies dear to youth. i turn from all that only seems, and seek the sober grounds of truth. what matter that it is not may, that birds bave flown, and trees are bare, that darker grows the shortening day, and colder blows the wintry air ! the wrecks of passion and desire, the castles i no more rebuild, haverhill 473 o. w. holmes on his eightieth birthday the voices of to-day are dumb, unheard its sounds that go and come ; we listen, through long-lapsing years, to footsteps of the pioneers. climbing a path which leads back never more we heard behind his footsteps and his cheer ; now, face to face, we greet him standing here upon the lonely summit of fourscore ! welcome to us, o'er whom the lengthened day is closing and the shadows colder grow, his genial presence, like an afterglow, following the one just vanishing away. long be it ere the table shall be set for the last breakfast of the autocrat, and love repeat with smiles and tears thereat his own sweet songs that time shall not forget. waiting with us the call to come up higher, life is not less, the heavens are only nigher ! gone steepled town and cultured plain, the wilderness returns again, the drear, untrodden solitude, the gloom and mystery of the wood ! once more the bear and panther prowl, the wolf repeats his hungry howl, and, peering through his leafy screen, the indian's copper face is seen. we see, their rude-built huts beside, grave men and women anxions-eyed, and wistful youth remembering still dear homes in england's haverhill. we summon forth to mortal view dark passaquo and saggahew, wild chiefs, who owned the mighty sway of wizard passaconaway. weird memories of the border town, by old tradition handed down, in chance and change before us pass like pictures in a magic glass, the terror of the midnight raid, the death-concealing ambuscade, the winter march, through deserts wild, of captive mother, wife, and child. ah! bleeding hands alone subdued and tamed the savage habitude of forests hiding beasts of prey, and human shapes as fierce as they. james russell lowell from purest wells of english undefiled none deeper drank than he, the new world's child, who in the language of their farm-fields spoke the wit and wisdom of new england folk, shaming a monstrous wrong. the worldwide laugh provoked thereby might well have shaken half the walls of slavery down, ere yet the ball and mine of battle overthrew them all. slow from the plough the woods withdrew, slowly each year the corn-lands grew; nor fire, nor frost, nor foe could kill the saxon energy of will. haverhill 1640-1890 read at the celebration of the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the city, july 2, 1890. and never in the hamlet's bound was lack of sturdy manhood found, and never failed the kindred good of brave and helpful womanhood. o river winding to the sea ! we call the old time back to thee ; from forest paths and water-ways the century-woven veil we raise. that hamlet now a city is, its log-built huts are palaces ; the wood-path of the settler's cow is traffic's crowded highway now. 474 at sundown no task is ill where hand and brain and skill and strength have equal gain, and each shall each in honor bold, and simple manhood outweigh gold. earth shall be near to heaven when all that severs man from man shall fall, for, here or there, salvation's plan alone is love of god and man. and far and wide it stretches still, along its southward sloping hill, and overlooks on either hand a rich and many-watered land. and, gladdening all the landscape, fair as pison was to eden's pair, our river to its valley brings the blessing of its mountain springs. and nature holds with narrowing space, from mart and crowd, her old time grace, and guards with fondly jealous arms the wild growths of outlying farms. her sunsets on kenoza fall, her autumn leaves by saltonstall ; no lavished gold can richer make her opulence of hill and lake. wise was the choice which led our sires to kindle here their household fires, and share the large content of all whose lines in pleasant places fall. more dear, as years on years advance, we prize the old inheritance, and feel, as far and wide we roam, that all we seek we leave at home. our palms are pines, our oranges are apples on our orchard trees; our thrushes are our nightingales, our larks the blackbirds of our vales. o dwellers by the merrimac, the heirs of centuries at your back, still reaping where you have not sowi, a broader field is now your own. hold fast your puritan heritage, but let the free thought of the age its light and hope and sweetness add to the stern faith the fathers had. adrift on time's returnless tide, as waves that follow waves, we glide. god grant we leave upon the shore some waif of good it lacked before ; some seed, or flower, or plant of worth, some added beauty to the earth ; some larger bope, some thought to make the sad world happier for its sake. as tenants of uncertain stay, so may we live our little day that only grateful hearts shall fill the homes we leave in haverhill. the singer of a farewell rhyme, l'pon whose outmost verge of time the shades of night are falling down, i pray, god bless the good old town! to g. g. no incense which the orient burns is sweeter than our hillside ferns ; what tropic splendor can outvie our autumn woods, our sunset sky? if, where the slow years came and went, and left not affluence, but content, now flashes in our dazzled eyes the electric light of enterprise ; and if the old idyllic ease seems lost in keen activities, and crowded workshops now replace the bearth's and farm-field's rustic grace ; no dull, mechanic round of toil life's morning charm can quite despoil ; and youth and beauty, hand in hand, will always tind enchanted land. ax al'tograph the daughter of daniel gurteen, esq. dele gate from llaverhill, england, to the chus dred and fiftieth anniversary celebratio of tim verhill, massachusetts. the rev. jahn west of the former place and many of his old paste ishioners were the pioneer settlers of the s* town on the merrimac. graceful in name and in thyself, our river xone fairer saw in john ward's pilgtin flock, the birthday wreath 475 proof that upon their century-rooted stock milton the english roses bloom as fresh as ever. inscription on the memorial window in st. take the warm welcome of new friends margaret's church, westminster, the gift of with thee, george w. childs, of america. and listening to thy home's familiar chime the new world honors him whose lofty dream that thou hearest, with it keepplea ing time, for england's freedom made ber own the bells on merrimac sound across the more sure, sea. whose song, immortal as its theme, shall be think of our thrushes, when the lark sings their common freehold while both worlds clear, endure. of our sweet mayflowers when the daisies bloom ; and bear to our and thy ancestral home the birthday wreath the kindly greeting of its children here. december 17, 1891. say that our love survives the severing blossom and greenness, making all strain ; the winter birthday tropical that the new england, with the old, and the plain quaker parlors gav, holds fast have gone from bracket, stand, and wall; the proud, fond memories of a common we saw them fade, and droop, and fall, past; and laid them tenderly away. l'nbroken still the ties of blood remain ! white virgin lilies, mignonette, blown rose, and pink, and violet, inscription a breath of fragrance passing by ; visions of beauty and decay. for the bass-relief by preston powers, carved colors and shapes that could not stay, upon the huge boulder in denver park, col., the fairest, sweetest, first to die. and representing the last indian and the last bison. but still this rustic wreath of mine, of acorned oak and needled pine, the eagle, stooping from yon snow-blown and lighter growths of forest lands, peaks, woven and wound with careful pains, for the wild hunter and the bison seeks, and tender thoughts and prayers, remains, in the changed world below; and finds as when it dropped from love's dear alone hands. their graven semblance in the eternal stone. and not unfitly garlanded, is he, who, country-born and bred, welcomes the silvan ring which gives lydia h. sigourney a feeling of old summer dars, the wild delight of woodland ways, inscription on her memorial tablet in christ the glory of the autumn leaves. church at hartford, conn. and, if the flowery meed of song sar sang alone, ere womanhood had known to other bards may well belong, the gift of song which fills the air tobe his, who from the farm-field spoke day : a word for freedom when her need tender and sweet, a music all her own was not of dulcimer and reed, may fitly linger where she knelt to pray. this isthmian wreath of pine and oak. 476 at sundown blow, then, wild wind ! thy roar shall end the wind of march in singing, thy chill in blossoming ; up from the sea the wild north wind is come, like bethesda's troubling angel blowing bringing under the sky's gray arch ; the healing of the spring. smiling, i watch the shaken elm-boughs, knowing it is the wind of march. between the gates between the passing and the coming season, between the gates of birth and death this stormy interlude an old and saintly pilgrim passed, gives to our winter-wearied hearts a reason with look of one who witnesseth for trustful gratitude. the long-sought goal at last. welcome to waiting ears its harsh fore“o thou whose reverent feet have found warning the master's footprints in thy way of light and warmth to come, and walked thereon as holy ground, the longed for joy of nature's easter a boon of thee i pray. morning, the earth arisen in bloom ! “my lack would borrow thy excess, my feeble faith the strength of thine ; in the loud tumult winter's strength is i need thy soul's white saintliness breaking ; to hide the stains of mine. i listen to the sound, as to a voice of resurrection, waking “the grace and favor else denied to life the dead, cold ground. may well be granted for thy sake." so, tempted, doubting, sorely tried, between these gusts, to the soft lapse i a younger pilgrim spake. hearken of rivulets on their way ; thy prayer, my son, transcends toy gift; i see these tossed and naked tree-tops no power is mine," the sage replied, darken “ the burden of a soul to lift with the fresh leaves of may. or stain of sin to hide. this roar of storm, this sky so gray and “howe'er the outward life may seem, lowering for pardoning grace we all must prar: invite the airs of spring, no man his brother can redeem a warmer sunshine over fields of flowering, or a soul's ransom pay. the bluebird's song and wing. “not always age is growth of good; closely behind, the gulf's warm breezes its years have losses with their gain; follow against some evil youth withstond this northern hurricane, weak hands may strive in vain. and, borne thereon, the bobolink and swal. low “with deeper voice than any speech shall visit us again. of mortal lips from man to man, what earth's unwisdom may not teach and, in green wood-paths, in the kine-fed the spirit only can. pasture and by the whispering rills, “ make thou that holy guide thine on, shall flowers repeat the lesson of the masand following where it leads the way, ter, the known shall lapse in the unknown taught on his syrian hills. as twilight into day. to oliver wendell holmes 477 “ the best of earth shall still remain, and heaven's eternal years shall prove that life and death, and joy and pain, are ministers of love." come then, in thought, if that alone may be, o friend ! and bring with thee thy calm assurance of transcendent spheres and the eternal years ! the last eve of summer to oliver wendell holmes 8th mo. 29th, 1892 summer's last sun nigh unto setting shines through yon columnar pines, [this, the last of mr. whittier's poems, was and on the deepening shadows of the written but a few weeks before his death.] lawn its golden lines are drawn. among the thousands who with hail and cheer dreaming of long gone summer days like will welcome thy new year, this, how few of all have passed, as thou and i, feeling the wind's soft kiss, so many milestones by! grateful and glad that failing ear and sight have still their old delight, we have grown old together ; we have seen, i sit alone, and watch the warm, sweet our youth and age between, day two generations leave us, and to-day lapse tenderly away ; we with the third hold way, and, wistful, with a feeling of forecast, i ask, “ is this the last ? loving and loved. if thought must backward run will nevermore for me the seasons run to those who, one by one, their round, and will the sun in the great silence and the dark beyond of ardent summers yet to come forget vanished with farewells fond, for me to rise and set ?” unseen, not lost ; our grateful memories thou shouldst be here, or i should be with still thee their vacant places fill, wherever thou mayst be, and with the full-voiced greeting of new lips mute, hands clasped, in silences of friends speech a tenderer whisper blends. each answering unto each. linked close in a pathetic brotherhood for this still hour, this sense of mystery of mingled ill and good, far of joy and grief, of grandeur and of shame, beyond the evening star, for pity more than blame, no words outworn suffice on lip or scroll : the soul would fain with soul the gift is thine the weary world to make more cheerful for thy sake, wait, while these few swift-passing days soothing the ears its miserere pains, fulfil with the old hellenic strains, the wise-disposing will, and, in the evening as at morning, trust lighting the sullen face of discontent the all-merciful and just. with smiles for blessing sent. enough of selfish wailing has been bad, the solemn joy that soul-communion feels thank god ! for notes more glad. immortal life reveals ; and human love, its prophecy and sign, life is indeed no holiday ; therein interprets love divine. are want, and woe, and sin, 478 at sundown death and its nameless fears, and over all our pitying tears must fall. sorrow is real ; but the counterfeit which folly brings to it, we need thy wit and wisdom to resist, o rarest optimist! thy hand, old friend ! the service of our days, in differing moods and ways may prove to those who follow in our train not valueless nor vain. yet on our autumn boughs, untlown with spring, the evening thrushes sing. the hour draws near, howe'er delayed and late, when at the eternal gate we leave the words and works we call var own, and lift void hands alone for love to fill. our nakedness of soal brings to that gate no toll ; giftless we come to him, who all the gives, and live because he lives. far off, and faint as echoes of a dream, the songs of boyhood seem, poems by elizabeth h. whittier originally published in the volume entitled hazel blossoms, and accompanied by the following prefatory note : i have ventured, in compliance with the desire of dear friends of my beloved sister, elizabeth h. whittier, to add to this little volume the few poetical pieces which she left bebind her. ... these poems, with perhaps two or three exceptions, afford but slight indications of the inward life of the writer, who had an almost morbid dread of spiritual and intellectual egotism, or of her tenderness of sympathy, chastened mirthfulness, and pleasant play of thought and fancy, when her shy, beautiful soul opened like a flower in the warmth of social communion. in the lines on dr. kane her friends will see something of her fine individuality, — the rare mingling of delicacy and intensity of feeling which made her dear to them. this little poem reached cuba while the great explorer lay on his death-bed, and we are told that he listened with grateful tears while it was read to him by his mother. i am tempted to say more, but i write as under the eye of her who, while with us, shrank with painful deprecation from the praise or mention of performances which seemed so far below her ideal of excellence. to those who best knew her, the beloved circle of her intimate friends, i dedicate this slight memorial. j. g. w. amesbury, 9th mo., 1874. the dream of argyle bends to him her snooded tresses, treads with him the grassy floor. earthly arms no more uphold him on his prison's stony floor ; waiting death in his last slumber, lies the doomed maccallum more. now he hears the pipes lamenting, harpers for his mother mourn, slow, with sable plume and pennon, to her cairn of burial borne. then anon his dreams are darker, sounds of battle fill his ears, and the pibroch's mournful wailing for his father's fall he hears. and he dreams a dream of boyhood ; rise again his heathery hills, sound again the hound's long baying, cry of moor-fowl, laugh of rills. now he stands amidst his clansmen in the low, long banquet-hall, over grim ancestral armor sees the ruddy firelight fall. wild lochaber's mountain echoes wail in concert for the dead, and loch awe's deep waters murmur for the campbell's glory fled ! once again, with pulses beating, hears the wandering minstrel tell how montrose on inverary thief-like from his mountains fell, fierce and strong the godless tyrants trample the apostate land, while her poor and faithful remnant wait for the avenger's hand. down the glen, beyond the castle, where the linn's swift waters shine, round the youthful heir of argyle shy feet glide and white arms twine. once again at inverary, years of weary exile o'er, armed to lead his scattered clansmen, stands the bold maccallum more. fairest of the rustic dancers, blue-eyed effie smiles once more, once again to battle calling sound the war-pipes through the glen; 479 480 poems by elizabeth h. whittier and the court-yard of dunstaffnage uplifted, as by miracle, the solemn churches rings with tread of armëd men. stand ! the grass is trodden from the paths wbere all is lost! the godless triumph, waiting freemen throng, and the faithful ones and true athirst and fainting for the cup of life defrom the scaffold and the prison nied so long. covenant with god anew. oh, blessed were the feet of him wbuse on the darkness of his dreaming generous errand here great and sudden glory shone ; was to unloose the captive's chain and dry over bonds and death victorious the mourner's tear ; stands he by the father's throne ! to lift again the fallen ones a brocher's robber hand from the radiant ranks of martyrs had left in pain and wretchedness by the notes of joy and praise he hears, waysides of the land. songs of his poor land's deliverance sounding from the future years. the islands of the sea rejoice; the harvest anthems rise ; lo, he wakes ! but airs celestial the sower of the seed must own 't is man bathe him in immortal rest, vellous in his eyes ; and he sees with unsealed vision the old waste places are rebuilt, the scotland's cause with victory blest. broken walls restored, and the wilderness is blooming like the shining hosts attend and guard him garden of the lord ! as he leaves his prison door ; and to death as to a triumph thanksgiving for the holy fruit! should walks the great maccallum more ! not the laborer rest, his earnest faith and works of lore hare been so richly blest ? lines the pride of all fair england shall bet ocean islands be, written on the departure of joseph sturgeand their peasantry with joyful bearts after his visit to the abolitionists of the united keep ceaseless jubilee. states. fair islands of the sunny sea! midst all | rest, never! while his country men bare rejoicing things, trampled hearts to bleed, no more the wailing of the slave a wild the stifled murmur of their wrags discordance brings ; listening ear shall beed, on the lifted brows of freemen the tropic | where england's far dependencies bez breezes blow, might, not mercy, know, the mildew of the bondman's toil the land to all the crushed and suffering there is no more shall know. pitying love shall flow. how swells from those green islands, the friend of freedom everywhere, bor where bird and leaf and flower mourns he for our land, are praising in their own sweet way the the brand of whose hypocrisy burns dawn of freedom's hour, ber guilty hand! the glorious resurrection song from hearts her thrift a theft, the robber's greed and cunning in her eye, thanksgiving for the priceless gift, – man's her glory shaine, her haunting ting ce es regal crown restored ! the winds a lie ! how beautiful through all the green and for us with steady strength of beart as! tranquil summer land, zeal forever true, dr. kane in cuba 481 the champion of the island slave the conflict doth renew, his labor here bath been to point the pharisaic eye away from empty creed and form to where the wounded lie. gliding foremost in the misty band a gentle form is there, in the white robes of the angels and their glory round her hair. she hovers near and bends above her worldwide honored child, and the joy that heaven alone can know beams on her features mild. how beautiful to us should seem the coming feet of such ! their garments of self-sacrifice have healing in their touch ; their gospel mission none may doubt, for they heed the master's call, who here walked with the multitude, and sat at meat with all ! and so they bear him to his grave in the fulness of his years, true sage and prophet, leaving us in a time of many fears. nevermore amid the darkness of our wild and evil day shall his voice be heard to cheer us, shall his finger point the way. john quincy adams dr. kane in cuba he rests with the immortals ; his journey has been long : for him no wail of sorrow, but a pæan full and strong! so well and bravely has he done the work he found to do, to justice, freedom, duty, god, and man forever true. a noble life is in thy care, a sacred trust to thee is given ; bright island ! let thy healing air be to him as the breath of heaven. the marvel of his daring life the self-forgetting leader bold stirs, like the trumpet's call to strife, a million hearts of meaner mould. strong to the end, a man of men, from out the strife he passed ; the grandest hour of all his life was that of earth the last. now midst his snowy hills of home to the grave they bear him down, the glory of his fourscore years resting on him like a crown. eyes that shall never meet his own look dim with tears across the sea, where from the dark and icy zone, sweet isle of flowers ! he comes to thee. fold him in rest, о pitying clime ! give back his wasted strength again ; soothe, with thy endless summer time, his winter-wearied heart and brain. the mourning of the many bells, the drooping flags, all seem like some dim, unreal pageant passing onward in a dream ; and following with the living to his last and narrow bed, methinks i see a shadowy band, a train of noble dead. sing soft and low, thou tropic bird, from out the fragrant, flowery tree, – the ear that hears thee now has heard the ice-break of the winter sea. 't is a strange and weird procession that is slowly moving on, the phantom patriots gathered to the funeral of their son ! in shadowy guise they move along, brave otis with husbed tread, and warren walking reverently by the father of the dead. through his long watch of awful night, he saw the bear in northern skies ; now, to the southern cross of light he lifts in hope his weary eyes. pravers from the hearts that watched in fear when the dark north no answer gave, rise, trembling, to the father's ear, that still his love may help and save. 482 poems by elizabeth h. whittier lady franklin fold thy hands, thy work is over ; cool thy watching eyes with tears ; let thy poor heart, over-wearied, rest alike from hopes and fears, hopes, that saw with sleepless vision one sad picture fading slow; fears, that followed, vague and nameless, lifting back the veils of snow. for thy brave one, for thy lost one, truest heart of woman, weep! owning still the love that granted unto thy beloved sleep. not for him that hour of terror when, the long ice-battle o'er, in the sunless day his comrades deathward' trod the polar shore. spared the cruel cold and famine, spared the fainting heart's despair, what but that could mercy grant him ? what but that has been thy prayer ? the roused sea is lashing the bold shore behind, and the moan of its ebbing keeps time with the wind. on, on through the darkness, a spectre, i pass where, like moaning of broken bearis, surges the grass ! i see her lone head-stone, 't is white as a shroud ; like a pall hangs above it the low drooping cloud. who speaks through the dark night and lull of the wind ? 't is the sound of the pine-leaves and sea-waves behind. the dead girl is silent, — i stand by her now ; and her pulse beats no quicker, nor crimsons her brow. the small band that trembled, when last in my own, lies patient and folded, and colder than stone. like the white blossoms falling to-night in the gale, so she in her beauty sank mournful and pale. yet i loved her! i utter such words by her grare, as i would not have spoken her last breath to save. of her love the angels in heaven might tell, while mine would be whispered with shudders in bell i 't was well that the white ones who bore her to bliss shut out from her new life the vision of this; else, sure as i stand here, and speak of my love, she would leave for my darkness her glory above. dear to thee that last memorial from the cairn beside the sea ; evermore the month of roses shall be sacred time to thee. sad it is the mournful yew-tree o'er his slumbers may not wave ; sad it is the english daisy may not blossom on his grave. but his tomb shall storm and winter shape and fashion year by year, pile his mighty mausoleum, block by block, and tier on tier. guardian of its gleaming portal shall his stainless honor be, while thy love, a sweet immortal, hovers o'er the winter sea. night and death the storm-wind is howling through old pines afar ; the drear night is falling without moon or star. charity 483 the meeting waters we passed from out the searching light; the summer night was calm and fair : i did not see her pitying eyes, i felt her soft hand smooth my hair. close beside the meeting waters, long i stood as in a dream, watching how the little river fell into the broader stream. her tender love unlocked my heart ; mid falling tears, at last i said, “ forsworn indeed to me that veil because i only love the dead !” calm and still the mingled current glided to the waiting sea ; on its breast serenely pictured floating cloud and skirting tree. and i thought, “o human spirit ! strong and deep and pure and blest, let the stream of my existence blend with thine, and find its rest!” she stood one moment statue-still, and, musing, spake, in undertone, “ the living love may colder grow ; the dead is safe with god alone !” charity i could die as dies the river, in that current deep and wide ; i would live as live its waters, flashing from a stronger tide ! a the wedding veil dear anna, when i brought her veil, her white veil, on her wedding night, threw o'er my thin brown hair its folds, and, laughing, turned me to the light. the pilgrim and stranger who through the day holds over the desert his trackless way, where the terrible sands no shade have known, no sound of life save his camel's moan, hears, at last, through the mercy of allah to all, from his tent-door at evening the bedouin's call : “ whoever thou art whose need is great, in the name of god, the compassionate and merciful one, for thee i wait ! ” for gifts in his name of food and rest the tents of islam of god are blest ; thou who hast faith in the christ above, shall the koran teach thee the law of love ? o christian ! open thy heart and door, cry east and west to the wandering poor : “ whoever thou art whose need is great, in the name of christ, the compassionate and merciful one, for thee i wait ! ” “ see, bessie, see ! you wear at last the bridal veil, forsworn for years !” she saw my face, her laugh was hushed, . her happy eyes were filled with tears. with kindly haste and trembling hand she drew away the gauzy mist ; “ forgive, dear heart !” her sweet voice said : her loving lips my forehead kissed. appendix i. early and uncollected verses ever, sever, i am yielding to what seems, under the circumstances, almost a necessity, in adding to the pieces assigned for one reason or another to the limbo of an appendix, some of my very earliest attempts at verse, which have been kept alive in the newspapers for the last half century. a few of them have even been printed in book form without my consent, and greatly to my annoyance, with all their accumulated errors of the press added to their original defects and crudity. i suppose they should have died a natural death long ago, but their feline tenacity of life seems to contradict the theory of the “survival of the fittest." i have consented, at my publishers' request, to take the poor vagrants home and give them a more presentable appearance, in the hope that they may at least be of some interest to those who are curious enough to note the weak beginnings of the graduate of a small country district school, sixty years ago. that they met with some degree of favor at that time may be accounted for by the fact that the makers of verse were then few in number, with little competition in their unprofitable vocation, and that the standard of criticism was not discouragingly high. the earliest of the author's verses that found their way into print were published in the newburyport free press, edited by william lloyd garrison, in 120. the poems here collected, with the exception of the last, were written during the years 1825-1833.] i've fought for my country i've brar'd si the dangers that throng round the path of the warrat a strife; i now must depart to a nation of stranger and pass in seclusion the remnant of info: far, far from the friends to my busu ms dear, with none to support me in peril and pa. and none but the stranger to drop the suiton the grave where the heart-bruken ke» lain. friends of my youth! i must leave yua la and hasten to dwell in a region unkow yet time cannot change, nor the brud *** hearts firmly united and tried as on ah, no! though i wander, all sad and form in a far distant land, yet shall memory : when far o'er the ocean's white surges in borne, the scene of past pleasures, my own matira place. farewell, shores of erin, green land of way to thers :once more, and forever, a momful in for round thy dim headlands the on gathers, and shrouds the fair isle i no longer can rys i go but wherever my footsteps i bent, for freedom and peace to my own native de and contentment and joy to each warm-briel friend shall be the heart's prayer of the lord exile! the exile's departcre fond scenes, which delighted my youthful existence, with feelings of sorrow i bid ye adien a lasting adieu! for now, dim in the distance, the shores of hibernia recede from my view. farwell to the cliffs, tempest-beaten and gray, which guard the lov'd shores of my own native land ; farewell to the village and sail-shadow'd hay, the forest-crown'd hill and the water-washid strand. the deity the propbre stawi on the high mount, and saw the temps en pour the fierce whirlwind from its res of congregated gloom. the man'a nak. torn from the earth, heaved hugto its roots when once its branches waved. the fir trer's shaped formu, smote by the tempest, lashed the mana side. yet, calm in conscions purity, the seer b. held the awful desolation, for the eternal spirit moved not in the storm. early and uncollected verses 485 the tempest ceased. the caverned earthquake burst forth from its prison, and the mountain rocked even to its base. the topmost crags were thrown, with fearful crashing, down its shuddering sides. unawed, the prophet saw and heard; he felt not in the earthquake moved the god of heaven. the murmur died away; and from the height, torn by the storm and shattered by the shock, rose far and clear a pyramid of flame mighty and vast; the startled mountain deer shrank from its glare, and cowered within the shade; the wild fowl shrieked – but even then the seer untrembling stood and marked the fearful glow, for israel's god came not within the flame ! the fiery beacon sank. a still, small voice, unlike to human sound, at once conveyed deep awe and reverence to his pious heart. then bowed the holy man; his face he veiled within his mantle and in meekness owned the presence of his god, discerned not in the storm, the earthquake, or the mighty flame. where the snows of long years are the hoary alps crowning, and the tempest-charg'd vapor their tall tops embraces : there sure might be fix'd, amid scenery so frightful, the region of romance and wild fairy-tale, but such scenes could not be to my heart so delightful as the home of my fathers, fair merrimac's vale ! there are streams where the bounty of providence musters the fairest of fruits by their warm sunny sides, the vine bending low with the grape's heavy clusters, and the orange-tree waving its fruit o'er their tides : but i envy not him whose lot has been cast there, for oppression is there and the hand of the spoiler, regardless of justice or mercy, has past there, and made him a wretched and indigent toiler. no-dearer to me are the scenes of my childhood, the moss-cover'd bank and the breeze-wafted sail, the age-stinted oak and the green groves of wild-wood that wave round the borders of merrimac's vale! the vale of the merrimac there are streams which are famous in history's story, whose names are familiar to pen and to tongue, renowned in the records of love and of glory, where knighthood has ridden and minstrels have sung : fair streams thro’ more populous regions are gliding, tower, temple, and palace their borders adorning, with tall-masted ships on their broad bosoms riding, their banners stretch'd out in the breezes of morning; and their vales may be lovely and pleasant but never was skiff ever wafted, or wav'd a white sail o'er a lovelier wave than my dear native river, or brighter tides roll'd than in merrimac's vale ! oh, lovely the scene, when the gray misty vapor of morning is lifted from merrimac's shore ; when the fire-fly, lighting his wild gleaming taper, thy dimly seen lowlands comes glimmering o'er; when on thy calm surface the moonbeam falls brightly, and the dull bird of night is his covert forsaking, when the whippoorwill's notes from thy margin sound lightly, and break on the sound which thy small waves are making, o brightest of visions ! my heart shall forever, till memory shall perish and reason shall fail, still preference give to my own native river, the name of my fathers, and merrimac's vale ! benevolence and fair streams may glide where the climate is milder, where winter ne'er gathers and spring ever blooms, and others may roll where the region is wilder, their dark waters hid in some forest's deep gloom, where the thunder-scath'd peaks of helvetia are frowning, and the rhine's rapid waters encircle their bases, hail, heavenly gift! within the human breast, germ of unnumber'd virtues – by thy aid the fainting heart, with riving grief opprest, survives the ruin adverse scenes have made : woes that have wrung the bosom, cares that preyed long on the spirit, are dissolv'd by thee misfortune's frown, despair's disastrous shade, 486 appendix then in that hour of joy will be fulfilled the prophet's heart-consoling prophecy : then war's commotion shall on earth be sºld and men their swords to other use app). then afric's injured sons no more shall try the bitterness of slavery's toil and pain, nor pride nor love of gain direct the eye of stern oppression to their homes again, but peace, a lasting peace, throughout tb world shall reign. ghastly disease, and pining poverty, thy influence dread, and at thy approach they flee. thy spirit led th' immortal howard on; nurtur'd by thee, on many a foreign shore imperishable fame, by virtue won, adorns his memory, tho' his course is o'er; thy animating smile his aspect wore, to cheer the sorrow-desolated soul, compassion's balm in grief-worn hearts to pour, and snatch the prisoner from despair's control, steal half his woes away, and lighter make the whole. green be the sod on cherson's honor'd field, where wraps the turf around his mouldering clay; there let the earth her choicest beauties yield, and there the breeze in gentlest murmurs play; there let the widow and the orphan stray, to wet with tears their benefactor's tomb; there let the rescued prisoner bend his way, and mourn o'er him, who in the dungeon's gloom had sought him and averted misery's fearful doom. his grave perfum'd with heartfelt sighs of grief, and moistened by the tear of gratitude, oh, how unlike the spot where war's grim chief sinks on the field, in sanguine waves imbrued! who mourns for him, whose footsteps can be viewed with reverential awe imprinted near the monument reard o'er the man of blood ? or who waste on it sorrow's balmy tear? none ! shame and misery rest alone upon his bier. offspring of heaven! benevolence, thy pow'r bade wilberforce its mighty champion be, and taught a clarkson's ardent mind to soar o'er every obstacle, when serving thee : theirs was the task to set the sufferer free, to break the bonds which bound th' unwilling slave, to shed abroad the light of liberty, and leave to all the rights their maker gave, to bid the world rejoice o'er hated slavery's grave. diffuse thy charms, benevolence ! let thy light pierce the dark clouds which age's past have thrown before the beams of truth and nature's right, inborn, let every hardened tyrant own; on our fair shore be thy mild presence known; and every portion of columbia's land be as god's garden with thy blessings sown; yea, o'er earth's regions let thy love expand till all united arv in friendship’s sacred band! ocean unfathomed deep, unfetter'd waste of never-silent waves, each by its rushing follower chas'd, through unillumind caves, and o'er the rocks whose turrets rade, e'en since the birth of time, have heard amid thy solitude the billow's ceaseless chime. o'er what recesses, depths unknown, dost thou thy waves impel, where never yet a sunbeam shone, or gleam of moonlight fell? for never yet did mortal eyes thy gloom-wrapt deeps behold, and naught of thy dread mysteries the tongue of man hath told. what, though proud man presume to bold his course upon thy tide. o'er thy dark billows uncontrollid his fragile bark to guide -yet who, upon thy mountain waves. ('an feel himself secure while sweeping o'er thy yawning eaves deep, awful, and obscure ? but thou art mild and tranquil now thy wrathful spirits sleep and gentle billows, calm and slow, across thy bosom sweep. yet where the dim horizon's bound rests on thy sparkling bed. the tempest-cloud, in gloom profound prepares its wrath to shed. thus, mild and calm in youth's bright lue the tide of life appears, when fancy paints, with magie spil the bliss of cuming year; but clouds will rise, and darkness bras ()'er life's deceitful wav, and cruel disappointment aling its shade on hope's dum ray. the sicilian vespers silence o'er sea and earth with the veil of evening fell. till the convent-tower sent deepły forth the chime of its vesper bell. early and uncollected verses 487 a down from thy eternal throne, from thy land of cloud and storm, where the meeting icebergs groan, sweepeth on thy wrathful form. spirit of the frozen wing! dweller of a voiceless clime, where no coming on of spring gilds the weary course of time ! monarch of a realm untrod by the restless feet of men, where alone the hand of god mid his mighty works hath been! throned amid the ancient hills, piled with undecaying snow, flashing with the path of rills, frozen in their first glad flow; thou hast seen the gloomy north, gleaming with unearthly light, spreading its pale banners forth, checkered with the stars of night. one moment and that solemn sound fell heavy on the ear; but a sterner echo passed around, and the boldest shook to hear. the startled monks thronged up, in the torchlight cold and dim; and the priest let fall his incense-cup, and the virgin hushed her hymn, for a boding clash, and a clanging tramp, and a summoning voice were heard, and fretted wall, and dungeon damp, to the fearful echo stirred. the peasant heard the sound, as he sat beside his hearth; and the song and the dance were hushed around, with the fire-side tale of mirth. the chieftain shook in his banner'd hall, as the sound of fear drew nigh, and the warder shrank from the castle wall, as the gleam of spears went by. woe! woe! to the stranger, then, at the feast and flow of wine, in the red array of mailed men, or bowed at the holy shrine ; for the wakened pride of an injured land had burst its iron thrall, from the plumed chief to the pilgrim band; woe! woe! to the sons of gaul ! proud beings fell that hour, with the young and passing fair, and the flame went up from dome and tower, the avenger's arm was there! the stranger priest at the altar stood, and clasped his beads in prayer; but the holy shrine grew dim with blood, the avenger found him there! woe! woe! to the sons of gaul, to the serf and mailed lord ; they were gathered darkly, one and all, to the harvest of the sword : and the morning sun, with a quiet smile, shone out o'er hill and glen, on ruined temple and smouldering pile, and the ghastly forms of men. ay, the sunshine sweetly smiled, as its early glance came forth, it had no sympathy with the wild and terrible things of earth. and the man of blood that day might read, in a language freely given, how ill his dark and midnight deed became the calm of heaven. thou hast gazed untrembling, where giant forms of flame were driven, like the spirits of the air, striding up the vault of heaven! thou hast seen that midnight glow, hiding moon and star and sky, and the icy hills below reddening to the fearful dye. dark and desolate and lone, curtained with the tempest-cloud, drawn around thy ancient throne like oblivion's moveless shroud, dim and distantly the sun glances on thy palace walls, but a shadow cold and dun broods along its pillared halls. lord of sunless depths and cold ! chainer of the northern sea! at whose feet the storm is rolled, who hath power to humble thee? spirit of the stormy north ! bow thee to thy maker's nod; bend to him who sent thee forth, servant of the living god. the earthquake the spirit of the north calmly the night came down o'er scylla's shatter'd walls; how desolate that silent town! how tenantless the halls, where yesterday her thousands trod, and princes graced their proud abode ! low, on the wet sea sand, humbled in anguish now, the despot, midst his menial band, bent down his kingly brow; and prince and peasant knelt in prayer, for grief had made them equal there. spirit of the frozen north, where the wave is chained and still, and the savage bear looks forth nightly from his caverned hill ! 488 appendix 1 again as at the morn, the earthquake roll'd its car : lowly the castle-towers were borne, that mock'd the storms of war; the mountain reeled, its shiver'd brow went down among the waves below. up rose the kneelers then, as the wave's rush was heard : the horror of those fated men was uttered by no word. but closer still the mother prest the infant to her faithful breast. one long, wild shriek went up, full mighty in despair; as bow'd to drink death's bitter cup, the thousands gathered there ; and man's strong wail and woman's cry blent as the waters hurried by. on swept the whelming sea ; 'the mountains felt its shock, as the long cry of agony thrills thro' their towers of rock ; an echo found that fatal shore the death wail of the sufferers bore. the morning sun shed forth its light upon the scene. where tower and palace strew'd the earth with wrecks of what had been. but of the thousands who were gone, no trace was left, no vestige shown. god be with thee in thv danger, israel's lone and perrlees daughter! she hath bared her queenly beauty to the dark assyrian's glance ; now a high and sterner duty bids her to his couch advance. beautiful and pale she bendeth in her earnest prayer to hiraren: look again, that maiden sanneth in the strength her gulliks given! strangely is her dark eye hinil.d. hot blood through her che-k is pard lo, her every fear hath duindled, and her hand is on the sword: l'pward to the flashing curtain. see, that mighty blad is driven. and its fall! -. 't is swift and certain as the clond-fire's track in braven: down, as with a power supural, twice the lifted weapon fell; twice, his slumber is eternal who shall wake the infidel? sunlight on the mountains streamth like an air-borne wave of gud; and bethulia's armor gleameth round judea's bannerfeld. down they go, the mailed warriors as the upper torrents sally headlong from their mountain-barrier down upon the sleeping valles. ronse thee from the couch. aextrin! dream no more of woman is smule. fiercer than the leagnend turian or the dark-browed suits of dem foes are on thy slumber breaking. chieftain, to thy battle rise! vain the call he will not waken headless on his couch be bes. who hath dimmed your boasted glin what hath woman's weakness aduer whose dark brow is tp bmfree re, blackening in the theneurd san lo! an eye that never slums leukech in its vengeane down: and the throned and maied number wither at jehovah's fruun! judith at the tent of holofernes night was down among the mountains, in her dim and quiet manner, where bethulia's silver fountains gushed beneath the assyrian banner. moonlight, o'er her meek dominion, as a mighty flag unfurled, like an angel's snowy pinion resting on a darkened world! faintly rose the city's murmur, but the crowded camp was calm; gird, d in their battle armor, each a falchion at his arm. lordly chief and weary vasal in the arms of slumber fell; it had been a day of wawil, and the wine had circled well. c'nderneath his proud pavilion lay assyria's champion. where the ruby's rich vermilion shone beside the beryl stone. with imprtial purpl· laden, breathing in the perfumed air, dreams he of the jewish i don. with her dark and jewelled hair. who is she, the palm-browed stranger, bending o'er that son of slaughter? metacom metacom, or philip, the chief of the .. panoags, was the most powerful and 12 -> sachem who ever made war upa the la red as the banner which etzlır ads the warriordead, when stnir os dire, a broken maxs of crinisun clubs hung over the departed sain the shadow of the ***t ! crept swiftly down, and varkly still. as if a sullen wave of maht were rushing on the pule twilight; early and uncollected verses 489 told that another red man fell, and blazed a sudden light again across that kingly brow and eye, like lightning on a clouded sky, and a low growl, like that which thrills the hunter of the eastern hills, burst through clenched teeth and rigid lipand, when the great chief spoke again his deep voice shook beneath its rein, as wrath and grief held fellowship. the forest-openings grew more dim, as glimpses of the arching blue and waking stars came softly through the rifts of many a giant limb. above the wet and tangled swamp white vapors gathered thick and damp, and through their cloudy curtaining flapped many a brown and dusky wing pinions that fap the moonless dun, but fold them at the rising sun! beneath the closing veil of night, and leafy bough and curling fog, with his few warriors ranged in sight scarred relics of his latest fight rested the fiery wampanoag. he leaned upon his loaded gun, warm with its recent work of death, and, save the struggling of his breath, that, slow and hard and long-repressed, shook the damp folds around his breast, an eye that was unused to scan the sterner moods of that dark man had deemed his tall and silent form with hidden passion fierce and warm, with that fixed eye, as still and dark as clouds which veil their lightning spark, that of some forest-champion, whom sudden death had passed upon a giant frozen into stone! son of the thronëd sachem ! thou, the sternest of the forest kings, shall the scorned pale-one trample now, unambushed on thy mountain's brow, yea, drive his vile and hated plough among thy nation's holy things, crushing the warrior-skeleton in scorn beneath his armëd heel, and not a hand be left to deal a kindred vengeance fiercely back, and cross in blood the spoiler's track ? he turned him to his trustiest one, the old and war-tried annawon * brother!" the favored warrior stood in hushed and listening attitude * this night the vision-spirit hath unrolled the scroll of fate before me ; and ere the sunrise cometh, death will wave his dusky pinion o’er me! nay, start not — well i know thy faith thy weapon now may keep its sheath ; but, when the bodeful morning breaks, and the green forest widely wakes unto the roar of english thunder, then trusted brother, be it thine to burst upon the foeman's line, and rend his serried strength asunder. perchance thyself and yet a few of faithful ones may struggle through, and, rallying on the wooded plain, strike deep for vengeance once again, and offer up in pale-face blood an offering to the indian's god.” a musket shot -a sharp, quick yell and then the stifled groan of pain, “ brother! methought when as but now i pondered on my nation's wrong, with sadness on his shadowy brow my father's spirit passed along ! he pointed to the far south-west, where sunset's gold was growing dim, and seemed to beckon me to him, and to the forests of the blest! my father loved the white men, when they were but children, shelterless, for his great spirit at distress melted to woman's tenderness nor was it given him to know that children whom he cherished then would rise at length, like armëd men, to work his people's overthrow. yet thus it is ;--the god before whose awful shrine the pale ones bow hath frowned upon, and given o'er the red man to the stranger now ! a few more moons, and there will be no gathering to the council tree; the scorched earth – the blackened log the naked bones of warriors slain, be the sole relics which remain of the once mighty wampanoag ! the forests of our hunting-land, with all their old and solemn green, will bow before the spoiler's axe – the plough displace the hunter's tracks, and the tall prayer-house steeple stand where the great spirit's shrine hath been! “yet, brother, from this awful hour the dying curse of metacom shall linger with abiding power upon the spoilers of my home. the fearful veil of things to come, by kitehtan's hand is lifted from the shadows of the embryo years; and i can see more clearly through than ever visioned powwah did, for all the future comes unbid yet welcome to my tranced view, as battle-yell to warriorcars! from stream and lake and hunting-hill our tribes may vanish like a dream, and even my dark curse may seem like idle winds when heaven is still, no bodeful harbinger of ill ; but, fiercer than the downright thunder, when yawns the mountain-rock asunder, and riven pine and knotted oak are reeling to the fearful stroke, that curse shall work its master's will! the bed of you blue mountain stream 490 appendix shall pour a darker tide than rain the sea shall catch its blood-red stain, and broadly on its banks shall gleam the steel of those who should be brothers; yea, those whom one fond parent nursed shall meet in strife, like tiends accursed, and trample down the once loved form, while yet with breathing passion warm, as fiercely as they would another's !" the morning star sat dimly on the lighted eastern horizon the deadly glare of levelled gun came streaking through the twilight haze and naked to its reddest blaze, a hundred warriors sprang in view ; one dark red arm was tossed on high, one giant shout came hoarsely through the clangor and the charging cry, just as across the scattering gloom, red as the naked hand of doom, the english volley hurtled by the arm the voice of metacom ! one piercing shriek one vengeful yell, sent like an arrow to the sky, told when the hunter-monarch fell! some dreadful spirit found his thrope, and hid within the thick cloud ived, heard only in the thunder's crash, seen only in the lightning's tiash, when crumbled rock and riven branch went down before the avalanche! no more that spirit moveth there : the dwellers of the vale are dead; no hunter's arrow cleaves the air; no dry leaf rustles to his tread. the pale-face climbs thy tallest rock, his hands thy crystal gates unluk; from steep to steep his maidens call. light laughing, like the streans that fall in music down thy rocky wall, and only when their careless trud lays bare an indian arrow-brad, spent and forgetful of the deer, think of the race that perished here. oh, sacred to the indian seer. gray altar of the men of old ! not vainly to the listening ear the legends of thy past are told. tales of the downward sweeping tod, when bowed like reeds thy ancient word. of armed hands, and spectral forms; of giants in their leafy shroud. and voices calling long and loud in the dread pauses of the storms, for still within their caverned bome dwell the strange gods of heatheodum! mount agiochook the indians supposed the white mountains were the residence of powerful spirits, and in consequence rarely ascended them. gray searcher of the upper air, there 's sunshine on thy ancient walls, a crown upon thy forehead bare, a tash upon thy waterfalls. a rainbow glory in the cloud upon thine awful summit bowed, the radiant ghost of a dead storm! and music from the leafy shroud which swathes in green thy giant form, mellowed and softened from above steals downward to the lowland ear, sweet as the first, fond dream of love that melis upon the maiden's ear. the time has been, white giant, when thy shadows veiled the red man's home, and over crag and serpent den, and wild gorke where the steps of men in chase or battle might not come, the mountain eagle bore on high 'the emblem of the free of soul, and, midway in the fearful sky, sent back the indian battle cry, and answered to the thunder's roll. the wigwam fires have all burned out, the moccasin has left no track ; nor wolf nor panther roan about the saco and the merrimac. and thou, that liftest up on high thy mighty barriers to the sky, art not the haunted mount of old, where on each cray of blasted stono the drunkard to his bottle i was thinking of the temperance ivries et great poet of scotland might have written byd he put his name to a pledge of abstrare a thing unhappily unknown in his dar. the result of my cogitation was this poor install of his dialect. hoot! daur ye shaw ye're fare again, ye auld black thief o'pur an brain for foul disgrace, for dool in pala an' shame i ban ve: wae's me. that e'er my!ps have ta** your kiss uncanny! nae mair, auld knave, without a shillin' to keep a starvin' wighe frue stealin' ye 'll sen' me hameward, blin' and rew frae nightly swagger, by wall an' past my pathway frelin', wi' mony a stanker. nae mair o' fights that bruise anº mang nae mair o' nets my fret to tangle, nae mair o' sensebes hrani in' wrazgle, wi' frien' an' wife to, nae mair o' deavin' din an' janie my feckless life through yr thievin', cheatin' anld (har xk puddlin' your poison bruse, i chak early and uncollected verses 491 your banes against my ingle-back wi' meikle pleasure. deil mend ye i' his workshop black, e'en at his leisure ! i'll brak ye're neck, ye foul auld sinner, i'll spill ye're bluid, ye vile beginner o a' the ills an' aches that winna quat saul an' body! gie me hale breeks an’ weel-spread dinner deil tak' ye're toddy! nae mair wi' witches' broo gane gyte, gie me ance mair the auld delight o sittin' wi' my bairns in sight, the gude wife near, the weel-spent day, the peacefu' night, the mornin' cheer! for the regardful glances of a child. a yea, the high ones and powerful of earth, the helmëd sons of victory, the grave and schooled philosophers, the giant men of overmastering intellect, have turned each from the separate idol of his high and vehement ambition for the low idolatry of human loveliness ; and bartered the sublimity of mind, the godlike and commanding intellect which nations knelt to, for a woman's tear, a soft-toned answer, or a wanton's smile. and in the chastened beauty of that eye, and in the beautiful play of that red lip, and in the quiet smile, and in the voice sweet as the tuneful greeting of a bird to the first flowers of springtime, there is more than the perfection of the painter's skill or statuary's monlding. mind is there, the pure and holy attributes of soul, the seal of virtue, the exceeding grace of meekness blended with a maiden pride; nor deem ye that beneath the gentle smile, and the calm temper of a chastened mind no warmth of passion kindles, and no tide of quick and earnest feeling courses on from the warm heart's pulsations. there are springs of deep and pure affection, hidden now, within that quiet bosom, which but wait the thrilling of some kindly touch, to flow like waters from the desert-rock of old, cock a' ye're heids, my bairns fu' gleg, my winsome robin, jean, an' meg, for food and claes ye shall na beg a doited daddie. dance, auld wife, on your girl-day leg, ye've foun' your laddie! the fair quakeress bolivar she was a fair young girl, yet on her brow no pale pearl shone, a blemish on the pure aud snowy lustre of its living light, no radiant gem shone beautifully through the shadowing of her tresses, as a star through the dark sky of midnight; and no wreath of coral circled on her queenly neck, in mockery of the glowing cheek and lip, whose hue the fairy guardian of the flowers might never rival when her delicate touch tinges the rose of springtime. unadorned, save by her youthful charms, and with a garb simple as nature's self, why turn to her the proud and gifted, and the versed in all the pageantry of fashion ? she hath not moved down the dance to music, when the hall is lighted up like sunshine, and the thrill of the light viol and the mellow flute, and the deep tones of manhood, softened down to very music melt upon the ear. – she has not mingled with the hollow world nor tampered with its mockeries, until all the delicate perceptions of the heart, the innate modesty, the watchful sense of maiden dignity, are lost within the maze of fashion and the din of crowds. a dirge is wailing from the gulf of stormvexed mexico, to where through pampas' solitudes the mighty rivers flow; the dark sierras hear the sound, and from each mountain rift, where andes and cordilleras their awful summits lift, where cotopaxi's fiery eye glares redly upon heaven, and chimborazo's shattered peak the upper sky has riven ; from mount to mount, from wave to wave, a wild and long lament, a sob that shakes like her earthquakes the startled continent ! a light dies out, a life is sped – the hero's at whose word the nations started as from sleep, and girded on the sword ; the victor of a hundred fields where blood was poured like rain, and freedom's loosened avalanche hurled down the hosts of spain, the eagle soul on junin's slope who showed his shouting men a grander sight than balboa saw from wavewashed darien, yet beauty hath its homage. kings have bowed from the tall majesty of ancient thrones with a prostrated knee, yea, cast aside the awfulness of time-created power +92 appendix as from the snows with battle red died out the the willow crossing with its green some stator's sinking sun, marble hair, and broad and vast beneath him lay a world all that might charm the fresh young , for freedom won. light the soul, was there! how died that victor? in the field with banbut she, a monarch's treasured one, loaned ners o'er him thrown, gloomily apart, with trumpets in his failing ear, by charging with her dark eyes tearfully cast dost, ani squadrons blown, a shadow on her heart. with scattered foemen flying fast and fearfully young, beautiful, and dearly loved, what simo before him, hath she known: with shouts of triumph swelling round and are not the hearts and swords of all bra brave men bending o'er him? sacred as her own? not on his fields of victory, nor in his council is not her lord the kingliest in battle-bed un hall, tower the worn and sorrowing leader heard the inevthe wisest in the council-hall, the guests itable call. the bower? alone he perished in the land he saved from is not his love as full and deep as he was slavery's ban, danube's tide ? maligned and doubted and denied, a brokenand wherefore in her princely home rep hearted man! isabel, his bride ? now let the new world's banners droop above she raised her jewelled hand, and flung bei the fallen chief, veiling tresses back, and let the mountaineer's dark eyes be wet bathing its snowy tapering within their game with tears of grief ! black. for slander's sting, for envy's hiss, for frienda tear fell on the orange leaves, rich gem ship hatred grown, mimie blossom, can funeral pomp, and tolling bell, and priestly and fringed robe shook fearfully apa ber mass atone ? sighing bosom. better to leave unmourned the dead than wrong “smile on, smile on," she murmured here, men while they live; ** for all is joy around what if the strong man failed or erred, could shadow and sunshine, stainless sky, suit un not his own forgive ? and blossomed ground. o people freed by him, repent above your hero's 'tis meet the light of heart should suuk. bier : when nature's smile is fair, the sole resource of late remorse is now his and melody and fragrance meet, twin six tomb to rear! of the air. “ but ask me not to share with you the beasty isabella of austria of the scene, the fountain-fall, mosaic walk, and bread isabella, infanta of parma, and consort of of tender green; joseph of austria, predicted her own death, and point not to the mild blue sky, orgina iminediately after her marriage with the emperor. amidst the gayety and splendor of i know how very fair is all the hand mad vienna and presburg, she was reserved and i has done. melancholy; she believed that heaven had the hills, the sky, the sunlit cloud, the war leaping forth, given her a view of the future, and that her the swaying trees. the scented town child, the namesake of the great maria the! dark green robes of earth. resa, would perish with her. her prediction i love them well, but i have learned to turn was fulfilled. aside from all. and nevermore my hrart must own the minst the palace bowers of hungary, imperial sweet but fatal thrall. presbury's pride, with the noble born and beautiful assembled * and i conld love the noble one who mister at her side. name i bear. she stood beneath the summer heavens, the soft and closer to my breaking brart har nav wind sighing on. image wear, stirring the green and arching boughs like and i could love our sweet young teef, or dancers in the sun. folding day by day. the beautiful pomegranate flower, the snowy and taste of that unearthly joy while bit orange bloom, only may; the lotus and the trailing vine, the rose's but what am i to cling to these? av> meek perfume, in my ear, summer sun. 1 1 early and uncollected verses 493 his cave, a shadow lingers at my side, the death-wail the dwellers in colorno's halls, the slowak at and the bier! the cold and starless night of death where the bowed at the escurial, the magyar stoutly day may never beam, brave, the silence and forgetfulness, the sleep that all wept the early stricken flower; and still hath no dream! the anthem rung: “mourn for the pride of austria! mourn for "o god, to leave this fair bright rld, and the loved and young!” more than all to know the moment when the spectral one shall strike his fearful blow; the fratricide to know the day, the very hour, to feel the tide roll on, he stood on the brow of the well-known hill, to shudder at the gloom before and weep the its few gray oaks moan'd over him still ; sunshine gone; the last of that forest which cast the gloom to count the days, the few short days, of light of its shadow at eve o'er his childhood's home; and love and breath and the beautiful valley beneath him lay between me and the noisome grave, the voicewith its quivering leaves, and its streams at less home of death! play, alas! if feeling, knowing this, i murmur at and the sunshine over it all the while my doom, like the golden shower of the eastern isle. let not thy frowning, o my god! lend darkness to the tomb. he knew the rock with its fingering vine, and its gray top touch'd by the slant sunshine, “oh, i have borne my spirit up, and smiled and the delicate stream which crept beneath amidst the chill soft as the flow of an infant's breath; remembrance of my certain doom which linand the flowers which lean'd to the west gers with me still; wind's sigh, i would not cloud my fair child's brow, nor let kissing each ripple which glided by; a tear-drop dim and he knew every valley and wooded swell, the eye that met my wedded lord's, lest it for the visions of childhood are treasured well. should sadden him ; but there are moments when the strength of why shook the old man as his eye glanced down feeling must have way; that narrow ravine where the rude cliffs frown, that hidden tide of unnamed woe nor fear nor with their shaggy brows and their teeth of love can stay. stone, smile on, smile on, light-hearted ones! your and their grim shade back from the sunlight sun of joy is high: thrown? smile on, and leave the doomed of heaven what saw he there save the dreary glen, alone to weep and die!” where the shy fox crept from the eye of men, and the great owl sat on the leafy limb a funeral chant was wailing through vienna's that the hateful sun might not look on him ? holy pile, a coffin with its gorgeous pall was borne along fix'd, glassy, and strange was that old man's the aisle ; eye, the drooping hags of many lands waved slow as if a spectre were stealing by, above the dead, and glared it still on that narrow dell a mighty band of mourners came, a king was where thicker and browner the twilight fell; at its head, yet at every sigh of the fitful wind, a youthful king, with mournful tread, and or stirring of leaves in the wood behind, dim and tearful eye; his wild glance wander'd the landscape o'er, he scarce had dreamed that one so pure as his then fix'd on that desolate dell once more. fair bride could die. and sad and long above the throng the funeral oh, who shall tell of the thoughts which ran anthem rung : through the dizzied brain of that gray old “mourn for the hope of austria! mourn for man? the loved and young!” his childhood's home, and his father's toil, and his sister's kiss, and his mother's smile, the wail went up from other lands, the valleys and his brother's laughter and gamesome mirth, of the hun, at the village school and the winter hearth; fair parma with its orange bowers, and hills of the beautiful thoughts of his early time, vine and sun : ere his heart grew dark with its later crime. the lilies of imperial france drooped as the sound went by, and darker and wilder his visions came the long lament of cloistered spain was minof the deadly feud and the midnight flame, gled with the cry. of the indian's knife with its slaughter red, of the ghastly forms of the scalpless dead, 494 appendix of his own fierce deeds in that fearful hour when the terrible brandt was forth in power, and he clasp'd his hands o'er his burning eye to shadow the vision which glided by. it came with the rush of the battle-storm with a brother's shaken and kneeling form, and his prayer for life when a brother's arm was lifted above him for mortal harm, and the fiendish curse, and the groan of death, and the welling of blood, and the gurgling breath, and the scalp torn off while each nerve could feel the wrenching hand and the jagged steel! and the old man groan`d -for he saw, again, the mangled corse of his kinsman slain, as it lay where his hand had hurl'd it then, at the shadow'd foot of that fearful glen! and it rose erect, with the death-pang grim, and pointed its bloodied finger at him! and his heart grew cold — and the curse of cain burn'd like a fire in the old man's brain. but words are idle, isabel, and if i praise or blame, or cheer or warn, it matters not ; thy life wall be the same; still free to use, and still abuse, unmindful the harm, the fatal gift of beauty, the power to charm and charm. then go thy way, fair isabel, nor berd the from thy train a doubtful follower falls away, enough will sta remain. but what the long-rebuking years may bring tone them or thee no prophet and no prophet's son am i to gar or see. on i do not love thee, isabel; i would as soon a crown of slender frost work beneath the heated sun, or chase the winds of summer, or trust the sleeping sea, or lean upon a shadow as think of loving the oh, had he not seen that spectre rise on the blue of the cold canadian skies? from the lakes which sleep in the ancient wood, it had risen to whisper its tale of blood, and follow'd his bark to the sombre shore, and glared by night through the wigwam door; and here, on his own familiar hill, it rose on his haunted vision still ! whose corse was that which the morrow's sun, through the opening boughs, look'd calmly there were those who bent o'er that rigid face who well in its darken'd lines might trace the features of him who, a traitor, hled from a brother whose blood himself had shed, and there, on the spot where he strangely died, they made the grave of the fratricide! on ? stanzas bind up thy tresses, thou beautiful one, of brown in the shadow and gold in the sun free should their delicate lustre be thrwa o'er a forehead more pure than the paris stone; shaming the light of those orient pearl which bind o'er its whiteness thy soft wrak ing curls. smile, for thy glance on the mirror is throat, and the face of an angel is meeting own! beautiful creature, i marvel not that thy cheek a lovelier tint hath caught and the kindling light of thine eye hath budd of a dearer wealth than the miser's gull. away, away, there is danger her! a terrible phantom is bending nar: ghastly and sunken, his ravless eve scowls on thy loveliness scorufully. with no human look, with no human breath he stands beside thee, the haunter ikuth fly! but, alas! he will follow still. like a moonlight shadow, buyoni the vil: in thy noonday walk, in thy min hesen close at thy hand will that phant. m keep still in thine ear shall his whispiele: woe, that such phantom should follow ther! in the lighted hall where the danerna like beautiful spirits, to and fro; when thy fair arms glance in their sau white, like ivory bathed in still moonlight; and not one star in the holy sky hath a clearer light than thine uwa bla ege! isabel i do not lore thee, isabel, and yet thou art most fair! i know the tempting of thy lips, the witchcraft of thy hair, the winsome smile that might beguile the shy bird from his tree; but from their spell i know so well, i shake my manhood free. i might have loved thee, isabel; i know i should if aught of all thy words and ways had told of one unseltish thought; if throngh the cloud' of fashion, the pictured vril of art, one casual tash had broken warm, earnest from the heart. early and uncollected verses 495 oh, then, even then, he will follow thee, he listens ; each sound from afar is caught, as the ripple follows the bark at sea; the faintest shiver of leaf and limb: in the soften'd light, in the turning dance, but he sees not the waters, which foam and he will fix on thine his dead, cold glance ; fret, the chill of his breath on thy cheek shall linger, whose moonlit spray has his moccasin wet, and thy warm blood shrink from his icy fingeri and the roar of their rushing, he hears it not. and yet there is hope. embrace it now, the moonlight, through the open bough while thy soul is open as thy brow; of the gnarl'd beech, whose naked root while thy heart is fresh, while its feelings still coils like a serpent at his foot, gush clear as the unsoil'd mountain-rill; falls, checkered, on the indian's brow. and thy smiles are free as the airs of spring, his head is bare, save only where greeting and blessing each breathing thing. waves in the wind one lock of hair, reserved for him, whoe'er he be, when the after cares of thy life shall come, more mighty than megone in strife, when the bud shall wither before its bloom ; when breast to breast and knee to knee, when thy soul is sick of the emptiness above the fallen warrior's life and changeful fashion of human bliss ; gleams, quick and keen, the scalping-knife. when the weary torpor of blighted feeling over thy heart as ice is stealing ; megone hath his knife and hatchet and gun, and his gaudy and tasselled blanket on: then, when thy spirit is turn'd above, his knife hath a handle with gold inlaid, by the mild rebuke of the chastener's love; and magic words on its polished blade, when the hope of that joy in thy heart is stirr’d, 't was the gift of castine to mogg megone, which eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, for a scalp or twain from the yengees torn: then will that phantom of darkness be his gun was the gift of the tarrantine, gladness, and promise, and bliss to thee. and modocawando's wives had strung the brass and the beads, which tinkle and shine on the polished breach, and broad bright line mogg megone of beaded wampum around it hung. this poem was commenced in 1830, but what seeks megone? his foes are near, did not assume its present shape until four grey jocelyn's eye is never sleeping, years after. it deals with the border strife of and the garrison lights are burning clear, the early settlers of eastern new england and where philip's men their watch are keeping. let him hie him away through the dank river their savage neighbors; but its personages fog, and incidents are mainly fictitious. looking never rustling the boughs nor displacing the at it, at the present time, it suggests the idea rocks, of a big indian in his war-paint strutting for the eyes and the ears which are watching about in sir walter scott's plaid. for mogg are keener than those of the wolf or the fox. part i he starts, there's a rustle among the leaves : who stands on that cliff, like a figure of stone, another, the click of his gun is heard ! unmoving and tall in the light of the sky, a footstep. is it the step of cleaves, where the spray of the cataract sparkles on with indian blood on his english sword ? high, steals harmon down from the sands of york, lonely and sternly, save mogg megone? with hand of iron and foot of cork ? close to the verge of the rock is he, has soamman, versed in indian wile, while beneath him the saco its work is do for vengeance left his vine-hung isle ? ing, hark! at that whistle, soft and low, hurrying down to its grave, the sea, how lights the eye of mogy megone! and slow through the rock its pathway hewa smile gleams o'er his dusky brow, ing! · boon welcome, johnny boniton!" far down, through the mist of the falling river, which rises up like an incense ever, out steps, with cautions foot and slow, the splintered points of the crags are seen, and quick, keen glances to and fro, with water howling and vexed between, the hunted outlaw, boniton! while the scooping whirl of the pool beneath a low, lean, swarthy man is he, seems an open throat, with its granite teeth! with blanket-garb and buskined knee, and naught of english fashion on ; but mogg megone never trembled yet for he hates the race from whence he sprung, wherever his eye or his foot was set. and he couches his words in the indian tongue. he is watchful: each form in the moonlight dim, "hush, let the sachem's voice be weak; of rock or of tree, is seen of him : the water-rat shall hear him speak, a 495 appendix the owl shall whoop in the white man's ear, that mogy megone, with his scalps, is here!' he pauses, dark, over cheek and brow, a flush, as of shame, is stealing now: “ sachem!” he says, “let me have the land, which stretches away upon either hand, as far about as my feet can stray in the half of a gentle summer's day, from the leaping brook to the saco river, and the fair -haired girl thou hast sought of me shall sit in the sachem's wigwam, and be the wife of mogy megone forever." there's a sudden light in the indian's glance, a moment's trace of powerful feeling, of love or triumph, or both perchance, over his proud, calm features stealing. ** the words of my father are very good; he shall have the land, and water, and wood; and he who harms the sagrumore john, shall feel the knife of mogg megone; but the fawn of the yengees shall sleep on my breast, and the bird of the clearing shall sing in my nest. a "but, father!" – and the indian's hand falls gently on the white man's arın, and with a smile as shrewdly bland as the deep voice is slow and calm, ** where is my father's singing-bird, the sunny eye, and sunset hur? i know i have my father's word and that his word is good and fair ; but will my father tell me where megone shall go and look for his bride? for he sees her not by her father's side." the dark, stern eve of boniton flashes over the features of mong megone, in one of those glances which search within ; but the stolid calm of the indian alone remains where the trace of emotion has been. ** does the sachem doubt? let him go with me, and the eyes of the sachem his bride shall see." cautious and slow, with pauses oft, and watchful eyes and whispers soft, the twain are stealing through the wood, laving the downward-rushing tlood, whose deep and solemn roar behind grows fainter on the evening wind. hark! -is that the angry howl of the wolf, the hills among? or the hooting of the owl, on his leafy cradle swung? quickly glancing, to and fro, listening to each sound they go round the columns of the pine, indistinct, in shadow, seeming likes me old and pillared shrine ; with the soft and white moonshine. round the foliago--tracery shed of each columin's branching head, for its lamps of worship gleaming! and the sounds awakened there. in the pine-leaves fine and sull. soft and sweetly musical, by the fingers of the air, for the anthem's dying fall lingering round some ternple's wall! niche and cornice round and round wailing like the ghost of sound! is not nature's worship thus, ceaseless ever, going on? hath it not a voice for as in the thunder, or the time of the leaf-harp faint and ul. speaking to the uneal dear words of blended love anif ar, of the mighty soul of all ? nanght had the twain of thonghts like these as they wound along through the crowded where never had rung the axeman's smoke on the gnarled trunk of the magh-barked oak ; climbing the dead tree's mossy loc, breaking the mesh of the bramble fine, turning aside the wild grapevine, and lightly crossing the quaking burg whose surface shakes at the leap the frg. and out of whose pools the ghostly fing creeps into the chill moonshine! yet, even that indian's ear had heard the preaching of the holy word: sanchekantacket's isle of sandt was once his father's hunting land, where zealous hiacoumes stood, the wild apostle of the word, shook from his soul the fear of hurm, and trampled on the powwau's cları : until the wizard's curses hung suspended on his palsying tougnie, and the fierce warrior, krim and tall. trembled before the forest paul! a cottage hidden in the wool. red through its seams a light is gkswing. on rock and bough and tree-trunk rude, a narrow lustre throwing. ** who's there?" a clear, firm voice demands, * hold, ruth, 't is i, the sapunur: * quick, at the summons, hasty hands unclose the bolted door; and on the outlaw's daughter shine the flashes of the kindled pine. tall and erect the maiden stande, like some young priestess of the woodle the freeborn child of solitude, and bearing still the wild and rude, yet noble trace of nature's hands. her dark brown cheek has caught its stais more from the sunshine than the rain: yrt, wherr her lung tair hur is pertins. a pure white brow into lich! is ***11: and, where the folds of her blanket writ. ar neck and a bosom as white an*** the foam-wreaths rise on the leaping tret. early and uncollected verses 497 29 a 3 : but in the convulsive quiver and grip of the muscles around her bloodless lip, there is something painful and sad to see ; and her eye has a glance more sternly wild than even that of a forest child in its fearless and untamed freedom should be. yet, seldom in hall or court are seen so queenly a form and so noble a mien, as freely and smiling she welcomes them there, her outlawed sire and mogg megone: ** pray, father, how does thy hunting fare? and, sachem, say, — does scamman wear, in spite of thy promise, a scalp of his own? hurried and light is the maiden's tone; but a fearful meaning lurks within her glance, as it questions the eye of megone, an awful meaning of guilt and sin! the indian hath opened his blanket, and there hangs a human scalp by its long damp hair! with hand upraised, with quick-drawn breath, she meets that ghastly sign of death. in one long, glassy, spectral stare the enlarging eye is fastened there, as if that mesh of pale brown hair had power to change at sight alone, even as the fearful locks which wound medusa's fatal forehead round, the gazer into stone. with such a look herodias read the features of the bleeding head, so looked the mad moor on his dead, or the young cenci as she stood, o'er-dabbled with a father's blood ! crying over a paltry lock of hair, like a love-sick girl at school ? curse on it!an indian can see and hear : away, and prepare our evening cheer!' how keenly the indian is watching now her tearful eye and her varying brow, with a serpent eye, which kindles and burns, like a fiery star in the upper air : on sire and daughter his fierce glance turns : “ has my old white father a scalp to spare ? for his young one loves the pale brown hair of the scalp of an english dog far more than mogg megone, or his wigwam floor; go, — mogg is wise : he will keep his land, and sagamore john, when he feels with his hand, shall miss his scalp where it grew before." the moment's gust of grief is gone, the lip is clenched, the tears are still, god pity thee, ruth boniton! with what a strength of will are nature's feelings in thy breast, as with an iron hand, repressed ! and how, upon that nameless woe, quick as the pulse can come and go, while shakes the unsteadfast knee, and yet the bosom heaves, – the eye is wet, has thy dark spirit power to stay the heart's wild current on its way? and whence that baleful strength of guile, which over that still working brow and tearful eye and cheek can throw the mockery of a smile ? warned by her father's blackening frown, with one strong effort crushing down grief, hate, remorse, she meets again the savage murderer's sullen gaze, and scarcely look or tone betrays how the heart strives beneath its chain. “ is the sachem angry, — angry with ruth, because she cries with an ache in her tooth, which would make a sagamore jump and cry, and look about with a woman's eye? no, ruth will sit in the sachem's door and braid the mats for his wigwam floor, and broil his fish and tender fawn, and weave his wampum, and grind his corn, for she loves the brave and the wise, and none are braver and wiser than mogg megone!” the indian's brow is clear once more : with grave, calm face, and half-shut eye, he sits upon the wigwam floor, and watches ruth go by, intent upon her household care; and ever and anon, the while, or on the maiden, or her fare, which smokes in grateful promise there, bestows his quiet smile. a look! — feeling melts that frozen glance, it moves that marble countenance, as if at once within her strove pity with shame, and hate with love. the past recalls its joy and pain, old memories rise before her brain, the lips which love's embraces met, the hand her tears of parting wet, the voice whose pleading tones beguiled the pleased ear of the forest-child, and tears she may no more repress reveal her lingering tenderness. oh, woman wronged can cherish hate more deep and dark than manhood may ; but when the mockery of fate hath left revenge its chosen way, and the fell curse, which years have nursed, full on the spoiler's head hath burst, when all her wrong, and shame, and pain, burns fiercely on his heart and brain, still lingers something of the spell which bound her to the traitor's bosom, still, midst the vengeful fires of hell, some flowers of old affection blossom. john boniton's eyebrows together are drawn with a fierce expression of wrath and scorn, he hoarsely whispers, “ ruth, beware! is this the time to be playing the fool, ah, mogg megone! what dreams are thine, but those which love's own fancies dress, the sum of indian happiness! 498 appendix a wigwam, where the warm sunshine looks in among the groves of pine, a stream, where, round thy light canoe, the trout and salmon dart in view, and the fair girl, before thee now, spreading thy mat with hand of snow, or plying, in the dews of morn, her hoe amidst thy patch of corn, or offering up, at eve, to thee, thy birchen dish of hominy! from the rude board of boniton, venison and succotash have gone, for long these dwellers of the wood have felt the gnawing want of food. but untasted of ruth is the frugal cheer, with head averted, yet ready ear, she stands by the side of her austere sire, feeding, at times, the unequal tire with the yellow knots of the pitch-pine tree, whose haring light, as they kindle, falls on the cottage-roof, and its black log walls, and over its inmates three. from sagamore boniton's hunting flask the fire-water burns at the lip of megone : * will the sachem hear what his father shall ask? will he make his mark, that it may be known, on the speaking-leaf, that he gives the land, from the sachem's own, to his father's hand ? " the fire-water shines in the indian's eyes, as he rises, the white man's bidding to do: * wuttanuttata weekan! mogg is wise, for the water he drinks is strong and new, mogg's heart is great! -will he shut his hand, when his father asks for a little land?" with unsteady fingers, the indian hias drawn on the parchment the shape of a hunter's bow, “ boon water, boon water. sagamore john! wuttamuttata, — weekan! our hearts will grow!" he drinks yet deeper, he mutters low, he reels on his bearskin to and fro, his head falls down on his naked breast, he struggles, and sinks to a drunken rest. ** humph drunk as a beast!" -and boniton's brow i. darker than ever with evil thought * the fool has signed his warrant; but how and when shall the deed be wronght? speak, ruth! why, what the devil is there, to tix thv gar in that empty air ? spuak, ruth! by my soul, if i thought that tear which shames thyself and our purpose here, were shed for that cursed and pale-faced dog. whose green scalp hangs from the belt of morg. ani wlus beastly soul is in satan's keeping; this this!" he dashes his band upon the rattling stock of his loa led gun, "should send thee with him to do thy weep ing!" " father!" – the eye of beniton sinks at that low, sepulchral tone, hollow and deep, as it were spoken by the unmovinz tongue of death, or from some statue's lipw had broken, a sound without a breath! * father! my life i value less than yonder fool his gaudy dress; and how it ends it matters not, by heart-break or by ritte-hot ; but spare awhile the scoff and threat, our business is not tinished yet." true, true, my girl, i only meant to draw up again the bow unbent. harm thee, my ruth! i only sucht to frighten off thy gloomy thought: come, – let's be friends!" he seks to cap his daughter's cold, damp hand in his ruth startles from her father's grasp. as if each nerve and muscle felt, instinctively, the touch of guilt through all their subtle sympathies. he points her to the sleeping morg: " what shall be done with yomder deg? scamman is dead, and revenge is thin. the deed is signed and the land is mim ; and this drunken fool is of nsr bo "se. save as thy hopeful bridegroom, and wh. 't were christian merey to finish him, ruth now, while he lies like a beast on our tione, if not for thine, at least for his sake, rather than let the poor dog awake to drain my flask, and claim as his bride such a forest devil to run by his szik, -such a wetuomanit as thou wou dst make** he laughs at his jest. hush what is there the sleeping indian is striving to use, with his knife in his hand, an iclarines “wagh! mogy will have the palo-f. for his knife is sharp, and his fins che! the hair to pull and the skin to pred let him cry like a woman and twist like an el the great (aptain scanman must loss scalp ! and ruth, when she sees it, shall dance va mogg." his eyes are fixed, -but his lips draw in. with a low, hoane chuckle, and then shram and he sinks again, like a suele in ruth does not speak, she dew not stur ; but she gazes down on the murderer whose broken and dreamful slumstol too much for her ear of that deed of bei she sees the knife, with its slaughter ret. and the dark tingers clenching the bark bed! what thoughts of horror and mana shirt through the burning brain of that ta' john boniton lifts his gain to his ere, its muzzle is close to the inli un's rar, but he drops it again. " sans rema nigh, and i would not that even the walios abil hear." early and uncollected verses 499 . he draws his knife from his deer-skin belt, its edge with his fingers is slowly felt; kneeling down on one knee, by the indian's side, from his throat he opens the blanket wide ; and twice or thrice he feebly essays a trembling hand with the knife to raise. “i cannot,” — he mutters, did he not save my life from a cold and wintry grave, when the storm came down from agiochook, and the north-wind howled, and the tree-tops shook, and i strove, in the drifts of the rushing snow, till my knees grew weak and i could not go, and i felt the cold to my vitals creep, and my heart's blood stiffen, and pulses sleep! i cannot strike him ruth boniton! in the devil's name, tell me what's to be done ?" oh, when the soul, once pure and high, is stricken down from virtue's sky, as, with the downcast star of morn, some gems of light are with it drawn, and, through its night of darkness, play some tokens of its primal day, some lofty feelings linger still, the strength to dare, the nerve to meet whatever threatens with defeat its all-indomitable will ! but lacks the mean of mind and heart, though eager for the gains of crime, or, at his chosen place and time, the strength to bear his evil part; and, shielded by his very vice, escapes from crime by cowardice. ruth starts erect, with bloodshot eye, and lips drawn tight across her teeth showing their locked embrace beneath, in the red firelight: “mogg must die ! give me the knife!” the outlaw turns, shuddering in heart and limb away, but, fitfully there, the hearth-fire burns, and he sees on the wall strange shadows play. a lifted arm, a tremulons blade, are dimly pictured in light and shade, plunging down in the darkness. hark, that cry again and again – he sees it fall, that shadowy arm down the lighted wall ! he hears quick footsteps a shape flits by the door on its rusted hinges creaks :* ruth – daughter ruth!” the outlaw shrieks. but no sound comes back, – he is standing alone by the mangled corse of mogg megone ! and wearing all the hues which glow in heaven's own pure and perfect bow, that glorious picture of the air, which summer's light-robed angel forms on the dark ground of fading storms, with pencil dipped in sunbeams there, and, stretching out, on either hand, o'er all that wide and unshorn land, till, weary of its gorgeousness, the aching and the dazzled eye rests, gladdened, on the calm blue sky, slumbers the mighty wilderness! the oak, upon the windy hill, its dark green burthen upward heaves the hemlock broods above its rill, its cone-like foliage darker still, against the birch's graceful stem, and the rough walnut-bough receives the sun upon its crowded leaves, each colored like a topaz gem ;, and the tall maple wears with them the coronal, which autumn gives, the brief, bright sign of ruin near, the hectic of a dying year! the hermit priest, who lingers now on the bald mountain's shrubless brow, the gray and thunder-smitten pile which marks afar the desert isle, while gazing on the scene below, may half forget the dreams of home, that nightly with his slumbers come, the tranquil skies of sunny france, the peasant's harvest song and dance, the vines around the hillsides wreathing, the soft airs midst their clusters breathing, the wings which dipped, the stars which shone within thy bosom, blue garonne ! and round the abbey's shadowed wall, at morning spring and even-fall, sweet voices in the still air singing, the chant of many a holy hymn, the solemn bell of vespers ringing, and hallowed torchlight falling dim on pictured saint and seraphim! for here beneath him lies unrolled, bathed deep in morning's flood of gold, a vision gorgeous as the dream of the beatified may seem, when, as his church's legends say, born upward in ecstatic bliss, the rapt enthusiast soars away unto a brighter world than this: a mortal's glimpse beyond the pale, a moment's lifting of the veil ! far eastward o'er the lovely bay, penobscot's clustered wigwams lay; and gently from that indian town the verdant hillside slopes adown, to where the sparkling waters play upon the yellow sands below; and shooting round the winding shores of narrow capes, and isles which lie slumbering to ocean's lullaby, – with birchen boat and glancing oars, the red men to their fishing go; part ii 't is morning over norridgewock, on tree and wigwam, wave and rock, bathed in the autumnal sunshine, stirred at intervals by breeze and bird, 500 appendix wbile from their planting ground is borne 'the treasure of the golden corn, by laughing girls, whose dark eyes glow wild through the locks which o'er them flow. the wrinkled squaw, whose toil is done, sits on her bear-skin in the sun, watching the huskers, with a smile for each full ear which swells the pile ; and the old chief, who nevermore may bend the bow or pull the oar, smokes gravely in his wigwam door, or slowly shapes, with axe of stone, the arrow-head from flint and bone. beneath the westward turning eye a thousand wooded islands lie, gems of the waters! with each hue of brightness set in ocean's blue. each bears aloft its tuft of trees touched by the pencil of the frost, and, with the motion of each breeze, moment seen, a moment lost, changing and blent, confused and tossed, the brighter with the darker crossed, their thousand tints of beauty glow down in the restless waves below, and tremble in the sunny skies, as if, from waving bough to bough, flitted the birds of paradise. there sleep placentia's group, and there pere breteaux marks the hour of prayer; and there, beneath the sea-worn cliff, on which the father's hut is sten, the indian stays his rocking skiff, and peers the hemlock-boughs between, half trenibling, as he seeks to look upon the jesuit's cross and book. there, gloomily against the sky the dark isles rear their summits high ; and desert rock, abrupt and bare, lifts its grav turrets in the air, seen from afar, like some stronghold built by the ocean kings of old; and, faint as smoke-wreath white and thin, swells in the north vast katahdin: and, wandering from its marshy feet, the broad penobscot comes to meet and mingle with his own bright bay. slow sweep his dark and gathering tloods, arched over by the ancient woods, which time, in those dim solitudes, wirlding the dull are of decay, alone hath ever shorn away. not thus, within the woods which hide the beauty of thy azure tide, and with their falling timbers block thy broken currents, kennebec! gazes the white man on the wreck of the down-trodden sorriderwock ; in one lone villaga hemmed at length, in battle shorn of half their strength, turned, like the panther in his lair, with his fast-flowing life-blood wet, for one last struggle of despair, wounded and faint, but tamelos yet! unreapod, upon the planting lunds, the scant, neglected harvest stands : no shout is there, no dance, no song: the aspect of the very child scowls with a meaning sad and wild of bitterness and wrong. the alınost infant norridgewock essays to lift the tomahawk; and plucks his father's knif away, to mimic, in his frightful play, the scalping of an english toe: wreathes on his lip a horrid smile, burns, like a snake's, his small up, while some bough or sapling meets his blow. the fisher, as he drops his line, starts, when he sees the hazels quiver along the margin of the river, looks up and down the rippling tide, and grasps the firelook at his side. for bomazeen from tacconoek hlas sent his runners to norridgewock. with tidings that moulton and hard york far up the river have come: they have left their boats, they have entered the wood, and filled the depths of the solitude with the sound of the ranger's drum. on the brow of a hill, which slopes to meet the flowing river, and bathe ite; the bare-washed rock, and the droping and the creeping vine, as the water pus a rude and unshapely chapel stands. built up in that wild by unskilled hands yet the traveller knows it a place of prayer. for the holy sign of the cross is there : and should he chance at that place to be. of a sabbath morn, or some hallowed day. when prayers are made and mastan si some for the living and some for the dead well might that traveller start to see the tall dark forms, that take thvir way from the birch canoe, on the river shit, and the forest paths, to that chapel dor; and marvel to mark the naked knees and the dusky foreheads bending there. while, in coarse white vesture, over three in blessing or in prayer, stretching abrosul his thin pale hands like a shrouded ghust, the jesuit slanuls. two forms are now in that charl dim, the jesuit, silent and sad and pale anxiously heeding some fearful tale, which a stranger is telling him. that stranger's garb is soiled and torn, and wet with dew and lovely wom; her fair neglected hair falls down o'er cheeks with wind and sunshine brus; yet still, in that disordered face, the jeruit's cautious eye can trace these clements of former grave which, half effveed, se'm scarely less even now, than perfect loveliness with droping head, and voice on that scarce it meets the jesut's ean early and uncollected verses 501 while through her claspëd fingers flow, from the heart's fountain, hot and slow, her penitential tears, she tells the story of the woe and evil of her years. “o father, bear with me; my heart is sick and death-like, and my brain seems girdled with a fiery chain, whose scorching links will never part, and never cool again. bear with me while i speak, but turn away that gentle eye, the while ; the fires of guilt more fiercely burn beneath its holy smile; for half i fancy i can see my mother's sainted look in thee. “my dear lost mother! sad and pale, mournfully sinking day by day, and with a hold on life as frail as frosted leaves, that, thin and gray, hang feebly on their parent spray, and tremble in the gale; yet watching o'er my childishness with patient fondness, not the less for all the agony which kept her blue eye wakeful, while i slept; and checking every tear and groan that haply might have waked my own, and bearing still, without offence, my idle words, and petulance; reproving with a tear, and, while the tooth of pain was keenly preying upon her very heart, repaying my brief repentance with a smile. • oh, in her meek, forgiving eye there was a brightness not of mirth, a light whose clear intensity was borrowed not of earth. along her cheek a deepening red told where the feverish hectic fed; and yet, each fatal token gave to the mild beauty of her face a newer and a dearer grace, unwarning of the grave. 'twas like the hue which autumn gives to yonder changed and dying leaves, breathed over by his frosty breath; scarce can the gazer feel that thi is but the spoiler's treacherous kiss, the mocking-smile of death ! * sweet were the tales she used to tell when summer's eve was dear to us, and, fading from the darkening dell, the glory of the sunset fell on wooded agamenticus, when, sitting by our cottage wall, the murmur of the saco's fall, and the south-wind's expiring sighs, came, softly blending, on my ear with the low tones i loved to hear: tales of the pure, the good, the wise, the holy men and maids of old, in the all-sacred pages told ; of rachel, stooped at iiaran's fountains, amid her father's thirsty flock, beautiful to her kinsman seeming as the bright angels of his dreaming, on padan-aran's holy rock; of gentle ruth, and her who kept her awful vigil on the mountains, by israel's virgin daughters wept ;. of miriam, with her maidens, singing the song for grateful israel meet, while every crimson wave was bringing the spoils of egypt at her feet; of her, samaria's humble daughter, who paused to hear, beside her well, lessons of love and truth, which fell softly as shiloh's flowing water; and saw, beneath his pilgrim guise, the promised one, so long foretold by holy seer and bard of old, revealed before her wondering eyes ! “ slowly she faded. day by day her step grew weaker in our hall, and fainter, at each even-fall, her sad voice died away. yet on her thin, pale lip, the while, sat resignation's holy smile : and even my father checked his tread, and hushed his voice, beside her bed : beneath the calm and sad rebuke of her meek eye's imploring look, the scowl of hate his brow forsook, and in his stern and gloomy eye, at times, a few unwonted tears wet the dark lashes, which for years hatred and pride had kept so dry. “calm as a child to slumber soothed, as if an angel's hand had smoothed the still, white features into rest, silent and cold, without a breath to stir the drapery on her breast, pain, with its keen and poisoned fang, the horror of the mortal pang, the suffering look her brow had vorn, the fear, the strife, the anguish gone, she slept at last in death! “oh, tell me, father, can the dead walk on the earth, and look on us, and lay upon the living's head their blessing or their curse ? for, oh, last night she stood by me, as i lay beneath the woodland tree !" the jesuit crosses himself in awe, "jesu ! what was it my daughter saw ? " " she came to me last night. the dried leaves did not feel her tread; she stood by me in the wan moonlight, in the white robes of the dead ! pale, and very mournfully she bent her light form over me. i heard no sound, i felt no breath breathe o'er me from that face of death : its blue eyes rested on my own, a 502 appendix rayless and cold as eyes of stone ; yet, in their fixed, unchanging gaze, something, which spoke of early days, a sadness in their quiet glare, as if love's smile were frozen there, came o'er me with an icy thrill; o god! i feel its presence still!” the jesuit makes the holy sign, how passed the vision, daughter mine?" "all dimly in the wan moonshine, as a wreath of mist will twist and twine, and scatter, and melt into the light; so scattering, melting on my sight, the pale, cold vision passed ; but those sad eyes were fixed on mine mournfully to the last." "god help thee, daughter, tell me why that spirit passed before thine eye!" * father, i know not, save it be that deeds of mine have summoned her from the unbreathing sepulchre, to leave her last rebuke with me. ah, woe for me! my mother died just at the moment when i stood close on the verge of womanhood, a child in everything beside; and when my wild heart needed most ller gentle counsels, they were lost. "my father lived a stormy life, of frequent change and daily strife; and god forgive him ! left his child to feel, like him, a freedom wild ; to love the red man's dwelling-place, the birch boat on his shaded tloods, the wild excitement of the chase sweeping the ancient woods, the camp-fire, blazing on the shore of the still lakes, the clear stream where the idle tisher sets his wrir, or angles in the shade, far more than that restraining awe i felt beneath my gentle mother's care, when nightly at her knee i knelt, with childhood's simple prayer. “there came a change. the wild, glad mood of unchecked freedom passed. amid the ancient solitude of unnhorn gris und waving wood and water klancing bright and fast, a softened voice wiis in my car, sweet as those lulling sounds and fine the hunter lift his head to hear, xow far and faint, now full and near the murmur of the wind-swept pine. a manly forin was ever nigh, a babad, free hunter, with an eve whose dark. keen glance bad power to wake both fear and love, to awe and charm; 't wils as the wizard rattlesnake, whome evil xhames lure to harm whose cold and small and glittering eye, and brilliant coil, and changing dye, draw, step by step, the gazer nrar, with drooping wing and cry of fear, yet powerless all w turn away, a conscious, but a willing prey! “fear, doubt, thought, life itself, errlag merved in one feeling deep and strung. faded the world which i had kibwn. a poor vain shadow, cold and waste : in the warm present bliss alone seemed i of actual life to taste, fond longings diinly understood, the glow of passion's quickening blod, aud cherished fantasies which pre the young lip with a dram's caress; the heart's forecast and prophexy tok form and life before my eye, seen in the glance which met my own, heard in the soft and pleading tone, felt in the arms arvund me cast, and warm heart-palses beating fast. ah! scarcely yet to god above with deeper trust, with stronger love has prayerful saint his me k heart lent, or cloistered nun at twilight kent, than i, before a human shrine, as mortal and as frail as mine, with heart, and soul, and mind, and fun knelt madly to a fellow-wormu. * full soon, upon that dream of sin. an awful light came bursting in. the shrine was cold at which i knelt, the idol of that shrine was one ; a humbled thing of shame and guilt. outcast, and spurned and lone, wrapt in the shadows of my crime, with withering heart and burning brain and tears that fell like tiery rain, i passed a fearful time. "there came a voice -it checked thr teur, in heart and soul it wrou, he a delange my father's voice was in my ears, it whispered of revenge! a new and fiercer ferling swept all lingering tenderness away; and tiger passions, which had slept in childhood's better day, unknowil, untelt, annar length in all their own demoniac strength. a youthful warrior of the wild, by word deceived, bs smile is guiled, of crime the cheated instrument, u pon our fatal errands went. through camp and town and wildern he tracked his victim ; and at les just when the tide at hate had some and milder thoughts came warm and fast, eunting, at my feet he cast the blooiy token of succ****. ** () god! with what an awful power iw the buried past uprise, and gather, in ia mule hour, ( early and uncollected verses 503 fall hoarsely on the maiden's ear, * the soul that sinneth shall surely die !" its ghost-like memories ! and then i felt, alas! too late, that underneath the mask of hate, that shame and guilt and wrong had thrown o'er feelings which they might not own, the heart's wild love had known no change ; and still that deep and hidden love, with its first fondness, wept above the victim of its own revenge! there lay the fearful scalp, and there the blood was on its pale brown hair ! i thought not of the victim's scorn, i thought not of his baleful guile, my deadly wrong, my outcast name, the characters of sin and shame on heart and forehead drawn; i only saw that victim's smile, the still green places where we met, the moonlit branches, dewy wet; i only felt, i only heard, the greeting and the parting word, the smile, the embrace, the tone, which made an eden of the forest shade. she stands, as stands the stricken deer, cheeked midway in the fearful chase, when bursts, upon his eye and ear, the gaunt, gray robber, baying near, between him and his hiding-place; while still behind, with yell and blow, sweeps, like a storm, the coming foe. save me, o holy man!” her cry fills all the void, as if a tongue unseen, from rib and rafter hung, thrilling with mortal agony; her hands are clasping the jesuit's knee, and her eye looks fearfully into his own; "off, woman of sin ! nay, touch not me with the fingers of blood ; begone!” with a gesture of horror, he spurns the form that writhes at his feet like a trodden worm. ever thus the spirit must, guilty in the sight of heaven, with a keener woe be riven, for its weak and sinful trust in the strength of human dust; and its anguish thrill afresh, for each vain reliance given to the failing arm of flesh. part iii and oh, with what a loathing eye, with what a deadly hate, and deep, i saw that indian murderer lie before me, in his drunken sleep! what though for me the deed was done, and words of mine had sped him on! yet when he murmured, as he slept, the horrors of that deed of blood, the tide of utter madness swept o'er brain and bosom, like a flood, and, father, with this hand of mine" ha! what didst thou ?” the jesuit cries, shuddering, as smitten with sudden pain, and shading, with one thin hand, his eyes, with the other he makes the holy sign. “i smote him as i would a worm ; with heart as steeled, with nerves as firm: he never woke again !! ** woman of sin and blood and shame, speak, i would know that victim's name." " father,” she gasped, a chieftain, known as saco's sachem, mogg megone!” pale priest! what proud and lofty dreams, what keen desires, what cherished schemes, what hopes, that time may not recall, are darkened by that chieftain's fall! was he not pledged, by cross and vow, to lift the hatchet of his sire, and, round his own, the church's foe, to light the avenging fire ? who now the tarrantine shall wake, for thine and for the church's sake ? who summon to the scene of conquest and unsparing strife, and vengeance dearer than his life, the fiery-souled castine? three backward steps the jesuit takes, his long, thin frame as ague shakes; and loathing hate is in his eye, as from his lips these words of fear ah, weary priest! with pale hands pressed on thy throbbing brow of pain, battled in thy life-long quest, overworn with toiling vain, how ill thy troubled musings fit the holy quiet of a breast with the dove of peace at rest, sweetly brooding over it. thoughts are thine which have no part with the meek and pure of heart, undisturbed by outward things, resting in the heavenly shade, by the overspreading wings of the blessed spirit made. thoughts of strife and hate and wrong sweep thy heated brain along, fading hopes for whose success it were sin to breathe a prayer ; schemes which heaven may never bless, – fears which darken to despair. hoary priest ! thy dream is done of a hundred red tribes won to the pale of holy church ; and the heretic o'erthrown, and his name no longer known, and thy weary brethren turning, joyful from their years of mourning 'twixt the altar and the porch. hark! what sudden sound is heard in the wood and in the sky, shriller than the scream of bird, than the trumpet's clang more high! every wolf-cave of the hills, forest arch and mountain gorge, 504 appendix rock and dell, and river verge, with an answering echo thrills. well does the jesuit know that cry, which summons the norridgewock to die, and tells that the foe of his flock is nigh. he listens, and hears the rangers come, with loud hurrah, and jar of drum, and hurrying feet (for the chase is hot), and the short, sharp sound of rifle shot, and taunt and menace, – answered well by the indians' mocking cry and yell, – the bark of dogs, – the squaw's mad scream, the dash of paddles along the stream, the whistle of shot as it cuts the leaves of the maples around the church's eaves, and the gride of hatchets fiercely thrown on wigwam-log and tree and stone. black with the grime of paint and dust, spotted and streaked with human gore, a grim and naked head is thrust within the chapel-door. “ha bomazeen! in god's name say, what mean these sounds of bloody fray ?” silent, the indian points his hand to where across the echoing glen sweep harmon's dreaded ranger-band, and moulton with his men. “where are thy warriors, bomazeen? where are de rouville and ('astine, and where the braves of sawga's queen ? " "let my father find the winter snow which the sun drank up long moons ago! l'nder the falls of tacconock, the wolves are eating the norridgewock; castine with his wives lies closely hid like a fox in the woods of pemaquid ! on sawga's banks the man of war sits in his wigwam like a squaw ; squando has fled, and mogg megone, struck by the knite of sagamore john, lies stiff and stark and cold as a stone.' fearfully over the jesuit's face. of a thousand thoughts, trace after trace, like swift cloud-shadows, each other chase. one instant, his fingers grasp his knife, for a last vain struggle for cherished life, – the next, he hurls the blade away, and kneels at his altar's foot to pray ; over his beads his fingers stray, and he kisses the cross, and calls aloud on the virgin and her son ; for terrible thoughts his memory crowd of evil seen and done, of scalps brought home by his savage flock from ('asco and sawga and sagadahock in the church's service won. no shrift the gloomy savage brooks, as scowling on the priest he lo ks: "cowes tawhich wessa seen? let my father look upon bomazeen, my father's heart is the heart of a squaw, but mine is so hard that it does not thaw; let my father ask his god to make dince and a feast for a great wagamore, when he paidles across the western lake, with his dogs and his squaws to the sperit shore. cowesass -cowesass – tawhich wessa seen! let my father die like bomazeen!" through the chapel's narrow doors, and through each window in the walls, round the priest and warrior pours the deadly shower of english balls. low on his cross the jesuit falls; while at his side the norridge wock, with failing breath, essays to mock and menace yet the hated foe, shakes his scalp-trophies to and fro exultingly before their eyes, till, cleft and torn by shot and blow, defiant still, he dies. " so fare all eaters of the frog! death to the babylonish dog! down with the beast of rome !" with shouts like these, around the dead. l'nconscious on his bloody bed, the rangers crowding come. brave men! the dead priest cannot hear the unfeeling taunt, — the brutal jeer; spurn – for he sees ye not -in wrath, the symbol of your saviour's death; tear from his death-grasp, in your real, and trample, as a thing accursed, the cross he cherished in the dust : the dead man cannot feel! brutal alike in deed and word, with callous heart and hand of strife, how like a fiend may man be made, plving the foul and monstrous traile whose harvest-field is human life, whose sickle is the reeking sword: quenching, with reckless hand in blood, sparks kindled by the breath of (rod ; l'rging the deathless soul, unshriven, of open guilt or secret sin, before the bar of that pure heaven the holy only enter in! oh, by the widow's sore distress, the orphan's wailing wretebedness, by virtue struggling in the accursed embraces of polluting lust, by the fell discord of the pit, and the pained souls that people it, and by the blessed peace which tills the paradise of god forever, resting on all its holy hills. and flowing with its crystal river, let christian hands no longer bear in triumph on his crimson car the foul and idol god of war; no more the purple wreaths prepare to bind amid his snaky hair; vor christian bands his glories tell, nor christian tongues his praises swell. throngh the gun-smoke wreathing white, glimpses on the soldier's sight a thing of human shape i ween, for a moment only seen, cow 18 early and uncollected verses 505 with its loose hair backward streaming, and its eyeballs madly gleaming, shrieking, like a soul in pain, from the world of light and breath, hurrying to its place again, spectre-like it vanisheth! a wretched girl! one eye alone notes the way which thou hast gone. that great eye, which slumbers never, watching o'er a lost world ever, tracks thee over vale and mountain, by the gushing forest-fountain, plucking from the vine its fruit, searching for the ground-nut's root, peering in the she-wolf's den, wading through the marshy fen, where the sluggish water-snake basks beside the sunny brake, coiling in his slimy bed, smooth and cold against thy tread; purposeless, thy mazy way threading through the lingering day, and at night securely sleeping where the dogwood's dews are weeping! still, though earth and man discard thee, doth thy heavenly father guard thee : he who spared the guilty cain, even when a brother's blood, crying in the ear of god, gave the earth its primal stain ; he whose mercy ever liveth, who repenting guilt forgiveth, and the broken heart receiveth; wanderer of the wilderness, haunted, guilty, crazed and wild, he regardeth thy distress, and careth for his sinful chiid ! in the harsh outlines of his face passion and sin have left their trace ; yet, save worn brow and thin gray hair, no signs of weary age are there. his step is firm, his eye is keen, nor years in broil and battle spent, nor toil, nor wounds, nor pain have bent the lordly frame of old castine. no purpose now of strife and blood urges the hoary veteran on: the tire of conquest and the mood of chivalry have gone. a mournful task is his, to lay within the earth the bones of those who perished in that fearful day, when norridgewock became the prey of all unsparing foes. sadly and still, dark thoughts between, of coming vengeance mused castine, of the fallen chieftain bomazeen, who bade for him the norridgewocks dig up their buried tomahawks for furm defence or swift attack; and him whose friendship formed the tie which held the stern self-exile back from lapsing into savagery ; whose garb and tone and kindly glance recalled a younger, happier day, and prompted memory's fond essay, to bridge the mighty waste which lay between his wild home and that gray, tall chateau of his native france : whose chapel bell, with far-heard din, ushered his birth-hour gayly in, and counted with its solemn toll the masses for his father's soul, 'tis springtime on the eastern hills ! like torrents gush the summer rills; through winter's moss and dry dead leaves the bladed grass revives and lives, pushes the mouldering waste away, for glimpses to the april day. in kindly shower and sunshine bud the branches of the dull gray wood ; out from its sunned and sheltered nooks the blue eye of the violet looks ; the southwest wind is warmly blowing, and odors from the springing grass, the pine-tree and the sassafras, are with it on its errands going, a band is marching throngh the wood where rolls the kennebec his flood; the warriors of the wilderness, painted, and in their battle dress ; and with them one whose bearded cheek, and white and wrinkled brow, bespeak a wanderer from the shores of france. a few long locks of scattering snow beneath a battered morion flow, and from the rivets of the vest which girds in steel his ample breast, the slanted sunbeams glance. hark! from the foremost of the band suddenly bursts the indian yell ; for now on the very spot they stand where the norridgewocks fighting fell. no wigwam smoke is curling there; the very earth is scorched and bare : and they pause and listen to catch a sound of breathing life, but there comes not one, save the fox's bark and the rabbit's boud ; but here and there, on the blackened ground, white bones are glistening in the sun. and where the house of prayer arose, and the holy hymn, at daylight's close, and the aged priest stood up to bless the children of the wilderness, there is naught save ashes sodden and dank ; and the birchen boats of the norridgewock, tethered to tree and stump and rock rotting along the river bank! blessed mary! who is she leaning against that maple-tree? the sun upon her face burns hot, but the fixed eyelid moveth not ; the squirrel's chirp is shrill and clear from the dry bough above her ear; dashing from rock and root its spray, close at her feet the river rushes; the black bird's wing against her brushes, 506 appendix and sweetly throngh the hazel-bushes the robin's mellow music gushes; god save her! will she sleep alway? castine hath bent him over the sleeper: “wake, daughter, — wake!” but she stirs no limb: the eye that looks on him is fixed and dim; and the sleep she is sleeping shall be no deeper, until the angel's oath is said, and the final blast of the trump goes forth to the graves of the sea and the graves of earth. ruth boniton is dead ! the past and coming year wave of an awful torrent, thronging down, with all the wealth of centuries, and the cold embraces of eternity, o'erstrown with the great wrecks of empire, and the old magnihcence of nations, who are gone; thy last, faint murmur—. thy departing sigh, along the shore of being, like a tone thrilling on broken harp-strings, or the swell of the chained winds' last whisper, hath gone by, and thou hast floated from the world of breath to the still guidance of o'ermastering death, thy pilot to eternity. farewell! go, swell the throngful past. go, blend with all the garnered things of death ; and bear with thee the treasures of thy pilgrimage, the tall and beautiful dreams of hope, the ministry of love and high ambition. man remains to dream again as idly; and the stains of passion will be visible once more. the winged spirit will not be contined by the experience of thy journey. mind will struggle in its prison-house, and still, with earth's strong fetters binding it to ill, unfurl the pinions titted but to soar in that pure atmosphere, where spirits range the home of high existences where change and blighting may not enter. love again will bloom, a fickle flower, upon the grave of old affections; and ambition wave his eagle-plume most proudly, for the rein of conscience will be loosiped from the soul to give his purpose freedom. the control of reason will be changeful, and the tins which gather hearts together, and make up the romance of existence, will be rent: yea, poison will be poured in friendship's cup; and for earth's low familiar eleinent, even love itself forsake its kindred skies. bnt not alone dark visions ! happier things will tloat above existence, like the wings of the starred bird of paradise ; and love will not be all a dream, or rather prove a dream a sweet forgetfulness that hath no wakeful changes, ending but in death yea, pure hearts shall be pledged beneath the eyes of the beholding heaven, and in the lgbt of the love-hallowed moon. 'the quir! shall hear that language underneath the which whispereth above them, as the por and the deep vow are spoken. pisin fur and gifted creatures, with the light of tranh and undebarred affection, as a crua, resting upon the beautiful bruw of youth, shall smile on stately manhood, kiin: 1 before them, as to idols. friend-kipsband shall clasp its brothers ; and affetton's te be sanctified with sympathy. the bar of stricken love shall luse the fuars vlub death giveth his awful work, and earnest faith shall look beyond the shadow of the clay. the pulseless sepulchre, the cold drcayi and to the quiet of the spirit-land follow the mourned and lovely. gifted lighting the heaven of intellect, hke sunx, shall wrestle well with circumstance, anu b the agony of scorn, the preying carr, wedded to burning bosoms; and go down in sorrow to the noteless sepulchre, with one lone hope embracing like a *** the cold and death-like forrhead of that after times shall treasure up their lalu even as a proud inheritance and link; and beautiful beings love to breathe their mus with the recorded things that never die. and thou, gray voyager to the breedela sa of infinite oblivion speed thou on; another gift of time suced th thre fresh from the hand of god; for two hast da the errand of thy destiny; and the may dream of thy returning. go and bear mortality's frail records to the eld. eternal prison-house; the midnikt prout of suttering busoms, and the friends are of worldly hearts; the mist's drama ambition's grasp at greatness; thir que tad light of broken spirits; the forgiven wrong and the abiding curse ay, bear ak ng these wrecks of thy own making. lathy gathers upon the windy brrath of natt, its last and faintest echo. fare the word the missionary " it is an awful, an arduous thing to move on every affection for earthly things suas l** only for another world. i aru sfat, ver* far, from you all; and as often as i low anamt and see the indian scenen, i woh to think of the distance which separates us* lim henry martyn, from india. "say, whose is this fnir picture, which helt from the unshutter'd wimi pune lana even as a lingering halo? beant.ikea! a early and uncollected verses 507 ave no the keen, fine eye of manhood, and a lip lovely as that of hylas, and impressed with the bright signet of some brilliant thought; that broad expanse of forehead, clear and high, marked visibly with the characters of mind, and the free locks around it, raven black, luxuriant and unsilver'd! — who was he ? " a friend, a more than brother. in the spring and glory of his being he went forth from the embraces of devoted friends, from ease and quiet happiness, from more from the warm heart that loved him with a love holier than earthly passion, and to whom the beauty of his spirit shone above the charms of perishing nature. he went forth strengthened to suffer, gifted to subdue the might of human passion, to pass on quietly to the sacrifice of all the lofty hopes of boyhood, and to turn the high ambition written on that brow, from its first dream of power and human fame, unto a task of seeming lowliness, yet god-like in its purpose. he went forth to bind the broken spirit, to pluck back the heathen from the wheel of juggernaut; to place the spiritual image of a god holy and just and true, before the eye of the dark-minded brahmin, and inseal the holy pages of the book of life, fraught with sublimer mysteries than all the sacred tomes of vedas, to unbind the widow from her sacrifice, and save the perishing infant from the worshipped river! ** and, lady, where is he?" he slumbers well beneath the shadow of an indian palm. there is no stone above his grave. the wind, hot from the desert, as it stirs the leaves heavy and long above him, sighs alone over his place of slumber. unfaltering ever, steadfast and secure, gone up the paths of greatness, bearing still a sister spirit with him, as some star, preëminent in heaven, leads steadily up a kindred watcher, with its fainter beams baptized in its great glory. was it well that all this promise of the heart and mind should perish from the earth, and trace, unfolding like the cereus of the clime which hath its sepulchre, but in the night of pagan desolation – was it well?" thy will be done, o father! it was well. what are the honors of a perishing world grasp'd by a palsied finger ? the applause of the unthoughtful multitude which greets the dull ear of decay ? the wealth that loads the bier with costly drapery, and shines in tinsel on the coffin, and builds up the cold substantial monument ? can these bear up the sinking spirit in that hour when heart and flesh are failing, and the grave is opening under us? oh, dearer then the memory of a kind deed done to him who was our enemy, one grateful tear in the meek eye of virtuous suffering, one smile call d up by unseen charity on the wan lips of hunger, or one prayer breathed from the bosom of the penitent the stain'd with crime and outcast, unto whom our mild rebuke and tenderness of love a merciful god hath bless'd. “but, lady, say, did he not sometimes almost sink beneath the burden of his toil, and turn aside to weep above his sacrifice, and cast a sorrowing glance upon his childhood's home, still green in memory ? clung not to his heart something of earthly hope uncrucified, of earthly thonght unchastened? did he bring life's warm affections to the sacrifice -its loves, hopes, sorrows — and become as one knowing no kindred but a perishing world, no love but of the sin-endangered soul, no hope but of the winning back to life of the dead nations, and no passing thought save of the errand wherewith he was sent as to a martyrdom?" nay, though the heart be consecrated to the holiest work vouchsafed to mortal effort, there will be ties of the earth around it, and, through all its perilous devotion, it must keep its own humanity. and it is well. else why wept he, who with our nature veiled the spirit of a god, o'er lost jerusalem, and the cold grave of lazarus ? and why in the dim garden rose his earnest prayer, that from his lips the cup of suffering might pass, if it were possible ? my friend was of a gentle nature, and his heart gushed like a river-fountain of the hills, “god forbid that he should die alone!” nay, not alone. his god was with him in that last dread hour; his great arm underneath him, and his smile melting into a spirit full of peace. and one kind friend, a human friend, was one whom his teachings and his earnest prayers had snatch'd as from the burning. he alone felt the last pressure of his failing hand, caught the last glimpse of his closing eye, and laid the green turf over him with tears, and left him with his god. near “and was it well, dear lady, that this noble mind should cast its rich gifts on the waters? that a heart full of all gentleness and truth and love should wither on the suicidal shrine of a mistaken duty? if i read aright the fine intelligence which fills that amplitude of brow, and gazes out like an indwelling spirit from that eye, he might have borne him loftily among the proudest of his land, and with a step a 508 appendix ceaseless and lavish, at a kindly smile, a word of welcome, or a tone of love. freely his letters to his friends disclosed flis yearnings for the quiet haunts of home, for love and its companionship, and all the blessings left behind him; yet above its sorrows and its clouds his spirit rose, tearful and yet triumphant, taking hold of the eternal promises of god, and steadfast in its faith. here are some lines penned in his lonely mission-house and sent to a dear friend at home who even now lingers above them with a mournful joy, holding them well-nigh sacred as a leaf plucked from the record of a breaking heart. evening in burmah a night of wonder! piled afar with ebon feet and crests of snow, like himalaya's peaks, which bar the sunset and the sunset's star from half the shadowed vale below, volumed and vast the dense clouds lie, and over them, and down the sky, paled in the moon, the lightnings go. and what a strength of light and shade is chequering all the earth below! and, through the jungle's verdant braid, of tangled vine and wild reed made, what blossoms in the moonlight glow! the indian rose's loveliness, the ceiba with its crimson dress, the twining myrtle dropped with snow. and fitting in the fragrant air, or nestling in the shadowy trees, a thousand bright-hued birds are there strange plumage, quivering wild and rare, with every faintly breathing breeze; and, wet with dew from roses shed, the bulbul droops her weary head, forgetful of her melodies. l'prising from the orange-leaves, the tall pagoda's turrets glow; o'er graceful shaft and frettei eaves, its verdant web the myrtle weaves, and hangs in flowering wreaths below; and where the clustered palms eclipse the mounbeams, from its marble lips the fountain's silver waters flow. strange beauty fills the earth and air, the fragrant grove and howering tree, and vet my thoughts are wandering where my native rocks lie bleak and bare, a wenry way beyond the sea. the yearning spirit is not here; it linzon a spot more dear than india's brightest bowers to me. m thinks i tread the well-known street the tree my childhood loved is there, its bare-worn roots are at my fet, and through its open boughs i meet white glimpses of the place of prayer ; and unforgotten eyes again are glancing through the cottage pane, than asia's lustrous eyes more fair. oh, holy hannts! oh, childhood's home! where, now, my wandering heart, stline here, where the dusky heathen come to bow before the deaf and dumb, dead idols of their own design; where in their worshipped river's tide the infant sinks, and on its side the widow's funeral altars shine! here, where, mid light and song and flower the priceless soul in ruin lies; lost, dead to all those better power which link this fallen world of ours to god's clear shining paradise ; and wrong and shame and hideous crime are like the foliage of their clime, the unshorn growth of centuries! turn, then, my heart; thy home is here ; no other now remains for the: the smile of love, and friendship's tear, the tones that melted on thine rar, the mutual thrill of sympathr, the welcome of the household band, the pressure of the lip and hand, thou mayst not hear, nor feel, nor see. god of my spirit! thou, alone, who watchest o'er my pillowed head, whose ear is open to the monn and sorrowing of thy child, hast know the grief which at my heart has led ; the struggle of my soul to rise above its earth-born sympathies; the tears of many a sleepless bed! oh! be thine arm, as it bath been, in every test of heart and faith, the tempter's doubt, the wiles of men. the heathen's scoff, the bosuim sin, a helper and a stay beneath: a strength in weakness, through the strife and anguish of my wasting lite my solace and my hope, in death! massachusetts written on hearing that the resolutid the legislature of massachusetts on tbe et of slavery, presented by hon. c.cushing be house of representatives of the l'uted.ar (in 1837] had been laid on the table unres and unreferred, under the infamous rule of " pa ton's resolution." and have they spurned thy word, thou of the old thirteen! poems printed in the “life of whittier” 509 ii. poems printed in the “life of whittier" a whose soil, where freedom's blood first poured, hath yet a darker green ? to outworn patience suffering long is insult added to the wrong? and have they closed thy mouth, and fixed the padlock fast ? dumb as the black slave of the south ! is this thy fate at last ? oh shame! thy honored seal and sign trod under hoofs so asinine ! call from the capitol thy chosen ones again, unmeet for them the base control of slavery's curbing rein! unmeet for men like them to feel the spurring of a rider's heel. when votes are things of trade and force is argument, call back to quincy's shade thy old man eloquent. why leave him longer striving thus with the wild beasts of ephesus ! back from the capitol — it is no place for thee! beneath the arch of heaven's blue wall, thy voice may still be free! what power shall chain thy utterance there, in god's free sun and freer air? a voice is calling thee, from all the martyr graves of those stern men, in death made free, who could not live as slaves. the slumberings of thy honored dead are for thy sake disquieted. so let thy fanenil hall by freemen's feet be trod, and give the echoes of its wall once more to freedom's god ! and in the midst unseen shall stand the mighty fathers of thy land. thy gathered sons shall feel the soul of adams near, and otis with his fiery zeal, and warren's onward cheer ; and heart to heart shall thrill as when they moved and spake as living men. not on potomac's side, with treason in thy rear, can freedom's holy cause be tried : not there, my state, but here. here must thy needed work be done, the battle at thy hearth-stone wou. proclaim a new crusade against the foes within ; from bar and pulpit, press and trade, cast out the shame and sin. then speak thy now-unheeded word, its lightest whisper shall be heard. the home-coming of the bride [the home of sarah greenleaf was upon the newbury shore of the merrimac, nearly opposite the home of the whittiers. the house was standing until a recent date. among mr. whittier's papers was found the following fragment of a ballad about the home-coning, as a bride, of his grandmother, sarah greenleaf, now first published.] sarah greenleaf, of eighteen years, stepped lightly her bridegroom's boat within, waving mid-river, through smiles and tears, a farewell back to her kith and kin. with her sweet blue eyes and her new gold gown, she sat by her stalwart lover's side oh, never was brought to haverhill town by land or water so fair a bride. glad as the glad autumnal weather, the indian summer so soft and warm, they walked through the golden woods together, his arm the girdle about her form. they passed the dam and the gray gristmill, whose walls with the jar of grinding shook, and crossed, for the moment awed and still, the haunted bridge of the country brook. the great oaks seemed on job's hill crown to wave in welcome their branches strong, and an upland streamlet came rippling down over root and rock, like a bridal song. and lo! in the midst of a clearing stood the rough-built farmhonse, low and lone, while all about it the unhewn wood seemed drawing closer to claim its own. but the red apples dropped from orchard trees, the red cock crowed on the low fence rail, from the garden hives came the sound of bees, on the barn floor pealed the smiting flail. the song of the vermonters, 1779 (written during school-days, and published anonymously in 1833. the secret of authorship was not discovered for sixty years.] ho-all to the borders! vermonters, come down, with your breeches of deerskin and jackets of brown; with your red woollen caps, and your moccasins, to the gathering summons of trumpet and drum. come, а come down with your rifles! let gray wolf and fox howl on in the shade of their primitive rocks; 510 appendix through rock-arched winooskithe salmon bare free, and the portly shad follows all fresh frm the sea. outs, ruves, let the bear feed secur. ecurely from pig-pen and stall; here's two-legged game for your powder and ball. on our south came the dutchmen, enveloped in grease ; and arming for battle while canting of peace ; on our east, crafty meshech has gathered his band to hang up our leaders and eat up our land. hloall to the rescue! for satan shall work no gain for his legions of hampshire and york! they claim our possessions – the pititul knaves the tribute we pay shall be prisons and graves ! let clinton and ten broek, with bribes in their hands, still seek to divide and parcel our lands; we've coats for our traitors, whoever they are ; the warp is of feathers the filling of tar: does the “old bay state" threaten? does congress complain? swarms llampshire in arms on our borders again? bark the wardogs of britain aloud on the lake let 'em come; what they can they are welcome to take. what seek they among us? the pride of our wealth is comfort, contentment, and labor, and health, and lands which, as freemen, we only have trod, independent of all, save the mercies of god. yet we owe no allegiance, we bow to no throne, our ruler is law, and the law is our own; our leaders themselves are our own fellow-men, who can handle the sword, or the scythe, or the pen. our wives are all true, and our daughters are fair, with their blue eyes of smiles and their light tlowing hair, all brisk at their wheels till the dark even-fall, then blithe at the sleigh-ride, the husking, and ball! we've sheep on the hillsides, we've cows on the plain. and gay-tasselled corn-fields and rank-growing grain : there are dear on the mountains, and woodpigeons fly from the crack of our muskets, like clouds on the sky, and there's fish in our streamlets and rivers which take their cours from the hills to our broad-bosomed lake; like a sunbeam the pickerel glides thrash the pool, and the spotted trout sleeps where the warm is cool, or darts from his shelter of rock an l of **** at the beaver's quick plunge, or the ama bers pursuit. and ours are the mountains, which awful.mp till they rest their green heads on the band the skies; and ours are the forests unwasted, tinah, save where the wild path of the terms with and though savage and wild be this cliersten and brief be our season of fruits and of them far dearer the blast round our mountains : than the sweet summer zephyr which breathe over slaves! hurrah for vermont! for the land binh ** till must have sons to defend her from valley and hill; leave the harvest to rot on the fields where grows, and the reaping of wheat for the reaping of foes. from far michiscom's wild valley, to where poosoonsuck steals down from his wuotoined lair, from shocticook river to lutterbeek town ho all to the rescue: vermuten, es down! come york or come hampshire, come tra! or knaves, if ye rule o'er our land, ye shall rule o'rta graves; our vow is recorded -our banner unfuria! in the name of vermont we dety all the w.pl 2 to a poetical trio in the citi gotham [this jeu d'esprit was written by whittar a 1832. the notes ar his own. the anthin was not discovered till after his death there wire men of (rtham weat to see in a bl bards of the island citr! what of d the dutchman smoked beneath bus farvet true, and the wild eyes of indian hunter med on hon plunging in the roparica scene of stay fesant's might and chivaly poems printed in the “life of whittier" 511 ܕܙ and knickerbocker's fame, i have made bold to come before ye, at the present time, and reason with ye in the way of rhyme. time was when poets kept the quiet tenor of their green pathway through th’ arcadian vale, chiming their music in the low sweet manner of song-birds warbling to the "soft south gale; wooing the muse where gentle zephyrs fan her, where all is peace and earth may not assail ; telling of lutes and flowers, of love and fear, of shepherds, sheep and lambs, and " such small deer." of coming foes in starry splendor sweeping, thy graphic tales of battle or of wreck, or lone night-watch in middle ocean keeping, have made thy “leisure hours more prized by far than those now spent in party's wordy war.4 and last, not least, thou! now nurtured in the land where thy bold-hearted fathers long ago rocked freedom's cradle, till its infant hand strangled the serpent fierceness of its foe, thou, whose clear brow in early time was fanned by the soft airs which from castalia flow ! 5 -where art thou now? feeding with hickory ladle the curs of faction with thy daily twaddle! men have looked up to thee, as one to be a portion of our glory; and the light and fairy hands of woman beckoned thee on to thy laurel guerdon; and those bright and gifted spirits, whom the broad blue sea hath shut from thy communion, bid thee, write," like john of patmos. is all this forgotten, for yankee brawls and carolina cotton ? are but ye! lost recreants straying from the green and pleasant vista of your early time, with broken lutes and crownless skulls seen spattering your neighbors with abhorrent slime of the low world's pollution !1 ye have been so long apostates from the heaven of rhyme, that of the muses, every mother's daughter blushes to own such graceless bards e'er sought her, ter, 2 mean " hurrah for jackson !" is the music now which your cracked lutes have learned alone to utter, as, crouching in corruption's shadow low, ye daily sweep them for your bread and butcheered by the applauses of the friends who show their heads above the offal of the gutter, and, like the trees which orpheus moved at will, reel, as in token of your matchless skill! thou son of scotia ! 3 — nursed beside the grave of the proud peasant-minstrel, and to whom the wild muse of thy mountain-dwelling gave a portion of its spirit, – if the tomb could burst its silence, o'er the atlantic's wave, to thee his voice of stern rebuke would come, who dared to waken with a master's hand the lyre of freedom in a fettered land. and thou ! once treading firmly the proud deck o'er which thy country's honored flag was sleeping, calmly in peace, or to the hostile beck 1 editors of the mercantile adrertiser and the eren. ing post in new york, the present organs of jacksoniam. 2 perhaps, after all, they get something better ; inasmuch as the heroites have for some time had exclusive possession of the hall of st. tammany, and we have the authority of halleck that " there's a barrel of porter in tammany hall and the bucktails are swigging it all the night long." à james lawson, esq., of the mercantile. a fine, are autumn's rainbow hues no longer seen? flows the green river" through its vale no more? steals not thy “rivulet" by its banks of green? wheels upward from its dark and sedgy shore thy “ water fowl” no longer ? — that the and vulgar strife, the ranting and the roar extempore, like bottom's should be thine, thou feeblest truck-horse in the hero's line! lost trio! -turn ye to the minstrel pride of classic britain. even effeminate moore has cast the wine-cup and the lute aside for erin and o'connell; and before his country's altar, bulwer breasts the tide of old oppression. sadly brooding o'er the fate of heroes struggling to be free, even campbell speaks for poland. where are ye? hirelings of traitors ! — know ye not that men are rousing up around ye to retrieve our country's honor, which too long has been debased by those for whom ye daily weave warm-hearted scotchman, who, having unfortunately blundered into jacksonisin, is wondering “ how i' the deil's name" he got there. he is the author of a vol. ume entitled tales and sketches, and of the tragedy of giordano. + william leggett, esq., of the post, a gentleman of good talents, favorably known as the editor of the new york critic, etc. 6 william c. bryant, esq., well known to the public at large as a poet of acknowledged excellence; and as a very dull editor to the people of new york. 512 appendix primar your web of fustian; that from tongue and pen of those who o'er our tarnished honor grieve, of the pure-hearted and the gifted, come hourly the tokens of your master's doom? turn from their ruin! dash your chains aside! stand up like men for liberty and law, and free opinion. check corruption's pride, soothe the loud storm of fratricidal war, and the bright honors of your eventide shall share the glory which your morning saw; the patriot's heart shall gladden at your name, ye shall be blessed with, and not · damned to fame"! album verses what state street said to si ti carolina, and what social lako lina said to state street (published in the national era, may 22, 1-1) muttering "fine upland staple," island finer,” with cotton bales pictured on either retin “ your pardon!" said state street to ** carolina ; "we feel and acknowledge your laws are d viner than any, promulgated by the thunder et sinai! sorely pricked in the sensitive conscience de business we own and repent of ons sins of remien our honor we've yielded, our words we bare swallowed ; and quenching the lights which our forefarben followed. and turning from graves by their membuat hallowed, with teeth on ball-cartridge, and finger on trs ger, reversed boston notions, and sent back a ne ger! "get away!” cried the chivalry, busy a dram ming, and fifing and drilling, and such quarule-bume ming; "with your april-fool slave hunt! just ut till december shall see your new senator stalk through the chamber, and puritan heresy prove neither dumb me blind in that pestilent anakim, sumber : [written in the album of may pillsbury of west newbury, in the fall of 1835, when whittier was at home on a visit from philadelphia, where he was engaged in editorial work) pardon a stranger hand that gives its impress to these gildled leaves. as one who graves in idle mood an idler's name on rock or wood, so in a careless hour i claim a page to leave my humble name. accept it; and when o'er my head a pennsylvanian sky is erread, and but in dreams my eye looks back on broad and lovely merrimac, and on my ear no longer breaks the murmuring music which it makes, when but in dreams i look again on salisbury beach -grasshopper plain – or powow stream or amesbury mills, or old (rane neck, or pipestave hills, think of me then as one who keeps, where delaware's broad current sweeps, and down its rugged limestone-bed the schuylkill's arrowy flight is sped, deep in his heart the scenes which grace and glorify his " native place;" loves every spot to childhood dear, and leaves his heart "untraveled " here; longs, midst the dutchman's kraut and greens, for pumpkin-pie and pork and beans, and sigly to think when, sweetly near, the soft piano grerte hin ear, that the fair hands which, small and white, glance on its ivory polished light, llave ne'er an indian pudding made, nor fashioned rye and indian bread. and oh! whene'er his footsteps turn, whatever stans above him burn, though dwelling where a yankee's name is coupled with reproach or shame, still true to his new england birth, suill faithful to his home and hearth, even 'n the scorind stranger ind his boast shall be of yankłe land. a frémont campaign song sornd now the trumpet warningly! the storm is rolling nearer, the hour is striking clearr. in the dusty dome of sky. if dark and wild the morning bre, a darker morn before us shall fling its shadows ofertas if we let the hour goby. sound we then the trump e chora! sound the onset wild and high! country and liberty! freedom and victory! those words shall be our cry. frémont and l'ictory! sonnd, sound the trumput fearlsly! each arın its vigor lendins. bravely with wrong contendim. and shouting freedom.cn! the kansas homes stanı ihrerinly. the sky with tlame is ruddy, the prairie turf is blowly. where the brave and geatle die. poems printed in the “life of whittier " 513 sound the trumpet stern and steady! sound the trumpet strong and high! country and liberty ! freedom and victory! these words shall be our cry, — frémont and victory! sound now the trumpet cheerily ! nor dream of heaven's forsaking the issue of its making, that right with wrong must try. the cloud that hung so drearily the northern winds are breaking ; the northern lights are shaking their fire-flags in the sky. sound the signal of awaking; sound the onset wild and high ! country and liberty! freedom and victory! these words shall be our cry, — frémont and victory! the quakers are out [a campaign song written to be sung at a republican mass meeting held in newburyport, mass., october 11, 1860.] not vainly we waited and counted the hours, the buds of our hope have all burst into flowers. no room for misgiving no loop hole of doubt, we've heard from the keystone! the quakers are out. should you go to centre harbor, as haply you some time may, sailing up the winnepesaukee from the hills of alton bay, into the heart of the highlands, into the north wind free, through the rising and vanishing islands, over the mountain sea, to the little hamlet lying white in its mountain fold, asleep by the lake and dreaming a dream that is never told, and in the red hill's shadow your pilgrim home you make, where the chambers open to sunrise, the mountains, and the lake, if the pleasant picture wearies, as the fairest sometimes will, and the weight of the hills lies on you and the water is all too still, if in vain the peaks of gunstock redden with sunrise fire, and the sky and the purple mountains and the sunset islands tire, if you turn from in-door thrumming and the clatter of bowls without, and the folly that goes on its travels, bearing the city about, and the cares you left behind you come hunting along your track, as blue-cap in german fable rode on the traveller's pack, let me tell you a tender story of one who is now no more, a tale to haunt like a spirit the winnepesaukee shore, – of one who was brave and gentle, and strong for manly strife, riding with cheering and music into the tourney of life. faltering and failing midway in the tempter's subtle snare, the chains of an evil habit he bowed himself to bear. over his fresh young manhood the bestial veil was flung, the curse of the wine of circe, the spell her weavers sung. yearly did hill and lakeside their summer idyls frame; alone in his darkened dwelling he hid his face for shame. the music of life's great marches sounded for him in vain ; the plot has exploded we've found out the trick; the bribe goes a-begging; the poison won't stick. when the wide-awake lanterns are shining about, the rogues stay at home, and the true men are out! the good state has broken the cords for her spun; her oil-springs and water won't fuse into one ; the dutchman has seasoned with freedom his krout, and slow, late, but certain, the quakers are out! give the flags to the winds ! set the hills all aflame! make way for the man with the patriarch's name! away with misgiving away with all doubt, for lincoln goes in, when the quakers are out! a legend of the lake [this poem, originally printed in the “ atlantic monthly,” was withheld from publication in his volumes by mr. whittier, in deference to living relatives of the hero of the poem. death finally removed the restriction.] 514 appendix o christ! by whom the loring, though erring, are tonisea, hast thou for him no refur, no quiet place in heaven? give palms to thy strong martire and crown thy saints with gold but let the mother welcome her lost one to thy fold! sorrow the voices of human duty smote on his ear like pain. in vain over island and water the curtains of sunset swung ; in vain on the beautiful mountains the pictures of god were hung. the wretched years crept onward, each sadder than the last ; all the bloom of life fell from him, all the freshness and greenness past. but deep in his heart forever and unprofaned he kept the love of his saintly mother, who in the graveyard slept. his house had no pleasant pictures ; its comfortless walls were bare : but the riches of earth and ocean could not purchase his mother's chair. the old chair, quaintly carven, with oaken arms outspread, whereby, in the long gone twilights, his childish prayers were said. for thence in his long night watches, by moon or starlight dim, a face full of love and pity and tenderness looked on him. and oft, as the grieving presence sat in his mother's chair, the groan of his self-upbraiding grew into wordless prayer. at last, in the moonless midnight, the summoning angel came, severe in his pity, touching the house with fingers of flame. the red light flashed from its windows and hared from its sinking roof; and battled and awed before it the villagers stood aloof. they shrank from the falling rafters, they turned from the furnace glare ; but its tenant cried, " god help me! i must save my mother's chair." i'nder the blazing portal, over the floor of fire, he seemed, in the terrible splendor, a martyr on his pyre. irr his face the mad flames smote him, and stung him on either side; but he clung to the sacred relic by bis mother's chair be died ! o mother, with human yearnings ! o saint, by the altar stairs ! shall not the dear god give thee the child of thy many prayers? letter to lucy larcom 5th 31mno. 14 believe me, lucy larcom, it gives me pa that i cannot take my carpet-bag and . town to-morrow: but i'm snow-bound," and cold wal like layers of an anion, have piled my back and wrighed me dess." with the pack of bunyan. the north-east wind is daiper and the *** west wind is colder, or else the matter simply is that i am tv older. and then i dare not trust a moon seen otet left shoulder, as i saw this with slender horns eaucht . west hill-pine, as on a stamboul minaret curtes the arek 2. postor's sign, so i must stay in amesbury, and bre per your way, and guess what colors greet your eyes, shapıs your steps delay; what pictured forms of heathen lure of and goddess please yon, what idol graven images you bep your knees to. but why should i of evil dream, web kn'." at your head goes that flower of christian womanhood, er good anna meadows. she 'll be discreet, i'm sure, although me a freak romantic, she fiung the doge's bridal ring, ani muut * the atlantic"! and spite of all appearances, like the eu a shoe, she's got so many young folks * pr. don't know what to do. but i must say i think it strange that she wound mrs. spaulding, whose lives with calvin's fire-railed copy been so tightly walled in, should quit your puritan bumes, and take the pains to go so far, with malice aforethought, to aks a vain show"! did emmons hunt for pictures. was j edwaris peeping into the chambers of imagery, with muda ir 'tammuz weeping: ah well! the times are sadly channel myself am feeling poems printed in the “life of whittier" 515 the wicked world my quaker coat from off my shoulders peeling. god grant that in the strange new sea of change wherein we swim, we still may keep the good old plank, of simple faith in him! lines on leaving appledore [sent in a letter to celia thaxter.] under the shadow of a cloud, the light died out upon the waters, like a smile chased from a face by grief. following the flight of a lone bird that, scudding with the breeze, dipped its crank wing in leaden-colored seas, i saw in sunshine lifted, clear and bright, on the horizon's rim the fortunate isle that claims thee as its fair inhabitant, and glad of heart i whispered, “be to her, bird of the summer sea, my messenger; tell her, if heaven a fervent prayer will grant, this light that falls her island home above making its slopes of rock and greenness gay, a partial glory midst surrounding gray, shall prove an earnest of our father's love, more and more shining to the perfect day.” the question of labor is solved by our neighbor, the old riddle guessed out: the wisdom sore needed, the truth long unheeded, her flat-iron 's pressed out! thanks, then, to kate choate! let the idle take note what their fingers were made for ; she, cheerful and jolly, worked on late and early, and bought — what she paid for! never vainly repining, nor begging, nor whining ; the morning-star twinkles on no heart that 's lighter as she makes the world whiter and smooths out its wrinkles. so, long life to kate! may her heirs have to wait till they ’re gray in attendance ; and her flat-iron press on, still teaching its lesson of brave independence ! a mrs. choate's house-warming ["his washerwoman, mrs. choate, by industry and thrift had been enabled to build for her family a comfortable house. when it was ready for occupancy, there was a house-warming, attended by all the neighbors, who brought substantial tokens of their good-will, including all the furniture needed in her new parlor. mr. whittier's hand was to be seen in the whole movement; he was present at the festivity, and made a little speech, congratulating mrs. choate upon her well-deserved success in life, and said he would read a piece of machine poetry which had been intrusted to him for the occasion. these are the lines, which were, of course, of his own composition.” -s. t. pickard, life and letters of john greenleaf whittier.) an autograph [written for an old friend, rev. s. h. emery, of quincy, ill., who revisited whittier in 1868.] the years that since we met have flown leave as they found me, still alone : no wife, nor child, nor grandchild dear, are mine the heart of age to cheer. more favored thou, with hair less gray than mine, canst let thy fancy stray to where thy little constance sees the prairie ripple in the breeze ; for one like her to lisp thy name is better than the voice of fame. to lucy larcom 3d mo., 1870. of rights and of wrongs let the feminine tongues talk on — none forbid it. our hostess best knew what her hands found to do, asked no questions, but did it. here the lesson of work, which so many folks shirk, is so plain all may learn it; each brick in this dwelling, each timber is telling, if you want a home, earn it. pray give the · atlantic ; a brief unpedantie review of miss phelps' book, which teaches and helps folk to deal with the offenders in love which surrenders all pride unforgiving, the lost one receiving with truthful believing that she like all others, our sisters and brothers, is only a sinner whom god's love within her can change to the whiteness of heaven's own brightness. for who shall see tarnish if he sweep and garnish ? 516 appendix when he is the cleanser shall we dare to censure ? say to fields, if he ask of it, i can't take the task of it. p.s. for myself, if i'm able, and half comfortable, i shall run for the seashore to some place as before, where blunt we at least find the teeth of the east wind, and spring does not tarry as it does at amesbury ; but where it will be to i cannot yet see to. like that ancestral judge who bore his ima. faithful to freedom and to truth, be a when all the air was hot with wrath anu le his youth and manhood to the triteret har and never woman in her suffering aw a helper tender, wise, and brave as be; lifting her burden of unrighteous law, he shamed the breast of ancient chivalry. noiseless as light that melts the darkness he wrought as duty led and honor bred. no trumpet heralds victories like his, -the unselfish worker in his work is hid. a farewell [written for mr. and mrs. claflin as they were about to sail to europe.] what shall i say, dear friends, to whom i owe the choicest blessings, dropping from the hands of trustful love and friendship, as you go forth on your journey to those older lands, by saint and sage and bard and hero trod ? scarcely the simple farewell of the friends sutliceth ; after you my full heart sends such benediction as the pilgrin hears where the greek faith its golden dome uprears, from crimea's roses to archangel snows, the fittest prayer of parting : "go with god!” lines written in an albin (the album belonged to the gran af whittier's life-long friend, theodore dl and the lines were written in april, 1.4 what shall i wish him? strength and brands may be abused, and so may wealth. even fame itself may come to be but wearying notoriety. what better can i ask than this? a life of brave unselfishness. wisdom for council, eloquence for freedom's need, for truth's defence, the championship of all that 's gond, the manliest faith in womanhood. the steadfast friendship changing not with change of time or place or lot, hatred of sin, but not the less a heart of pitying tenderness and charity, that, suffering long, shames the wrong-doer from his wrong: one wish expresses all – that he may even as his grandsire be! on a fly leaf of longfellows poems [written at the asquam house in the summer of 1882.) hushed now the sweet consoling tongue of him whose lyre the muses strung ; his last low swan-song has been sung! his last! and ours, dear friend, is near; as clouds that rake the mountains here, we too shall pass and disappear. yet howsoever changed or tost, not even a wreath of mist is lost, no atom can itself exhaust. so shall the soul's superior force live on and run its endless course in god's unlimited universe. and we, whose brief reflections serm to fade like clouds from lake and stream, shall brighten in a holier beam. a day's journey (written in 1888, for the tenth anniversaire of the wedding of bis niece.) after your pleasant morning travel you pause as at a wayside inn. and take with grateful hearts your breakfast though served in dishes all of tis. then go, while years as hours are counted. l'ntil the dial's hand at noon invites you to a dinner table garnished with silver fork and spoon and when the vesper bell to supper is calling, and the day is old, may love transmute the tin of merning and noonday's silver into gold. samu'el e. sewall (an inscription for a marble bust, modelled by anne whitney, and placed in the cary library, lexington, mass, may, 18.] a fragment [found among mr. whittier's papers in la handwriting, but undated.] notes 517 the dreadful burden of our sins we feel, the pain of wounds which thou alone canst heal, to whom our weakness is our strong appeal. from the black depths, the ashes, and the dross of our waste lives, we reach out to thy cross, and by its fullness nieasure all our loss ! that holy sign reveals thee : throned above no moloch sits, no false, vindictive jovethou art our father, and thy name is love! 1 iii. notes page 5. sole pythoness of ancient lynn. the pythoness of ancient lynn was the redoubtable moll pitcher, who lived under the shadow of high rock in that town, and was sought far and wide for her supposed powers of divination. she died about 1810. mr. upham, in his salem witchcraft, has given an account of her. page 12. st. john. [dr. francis parkman has given a detailed account of this episode in new england history in the feudal chiefs of acadia, published in the atlantic monthly, january, february, 1893. the same series of incidents forms the basis of the romance by mrs. mary hartwell catherwood, entitled the lady of fort st. john.] page 21. the new wife and the old. (general moulton's mansion may still be seen (1894) from the train, a hip-roofed house, standing on the right-hand side of the track, just before reaching the hampton station as one comes from boston. twenty-five years after writing the poem, mr. whittier received a letter from a lady who had been spending a summer in the moulton house, in which she said : “i remember my mother's repeating to me her recollections of the exorcising of the ghosts of general moulton and his wife by a parson milton or bodily (the rev. john boddily, who died in 1802, and is buried in a newburyport buryingground). my grandfather whipple being absent, the servants (several of them had been slaves in newport) insisted that general moulton and his wife disturbed the house so much at night, he thumping with his cane, and her dress *a-rustling up and down the stairs,' that nothing could allay their terror; and one mrs. williams, the housekeeper, persisted so strongly that she frequently saw them both, he in a snuff-colored suit and enormous wiy, holding a gold-headed cane, that nothing could induce them to remain in the house. many persons in the vicinity came to the exorcising, or laying the ghosts' as they termed it. my mother said the scene was very impressive to her as a child, and she could never forget the white and black servants and neighbors, standing in solemn awe, and the abjuring of the minister. the servants, i believe, never afterwards complained of being disturbed or of seeing the ghosts, after this ceremony.", in his work on the supernaturalism of new england, published in 1847, mr. whittier relates the legend of the ancient house. "general moulton's house was once burned in revenge, it is said, by the fiend, whom the former had outwitted. he had agreed, it seems, to furnish the general with a boot full of gold and silver, poured annually down the chimney. the shrewd yankee cut off on one occasion the foot of the boot, and the devil kept pouring down the coin from the chimney top, in a vain attempt to fill it, until the room was literally packed with the precious metal. when the general died, he was laid out, and put in a coffin as usual; but on the day of the funeral it was whispered about that his body was missing, and the neighbors came to the charitable conclusion that the enemy had got his own at last."'] page 26. here the mighty bashaba. bashaba was the name which the indians of new england gave to two or three of their principal chiefs, to whom all their inferior sagamores acknowledged allegiance. passaconaway seems to have been one of these chiefs. his residence was at pennacook. (mass, hist. coll., vol. ij. pp. 21, 22.) “he was regarded," says hubbard, as a great sorcerer, and his fame was widely spread. it was said of him that he could cause a green leaf to grow in winter, trees to dance, water to burn, etc. he was, undoubtedly, one of those shrewd and powerful men whose achievements are always regarded by a barbarous people as the result of supernatural aid. the indians gave to such the names of powahs or panisees." “ the panisees are men of great courage and wisdom, and to these the devill appeareth more familiarly than to others.”. winslow's relation. page 28. thus o'er the heart of weetamoo. “ the indians," says roger williams, “ have a god whom they call wetuomanit, who presides over the household." page 29. druwn from that great stone vase. there are rocks in the river at the falls of amoskeag, in the cavities of which, tradition says, the indians formerly stored and concealed their corn. page 31. aukeetamit. the spring god. see roger williams's key to the indian language. page :333. mat vonck kunna-monee. we shall see thee or her no more. see roger williams's key. page 33. souanna. “ the great south west god." see roger williams's observations, etc. page 31. is we charged on tilly's line. the barbarities of count de tilly after the siege of magdeburg made such an impression upon our forefathers that the phrase "like old 1 this is an alternative reading which has been cancelled :" no lawless terror dwells in light above, cruel as moloch, deaf and false as jove thou art our father, and thy name is love!" 518 appendix tilly " is still heard sometimes in new england of any piece of special ferocity. page 12. 1 fire-mount in a frozen zone. dr. hooker, who accompanied sir james ross in his expedition of 1841, thus describes the appearance of that unknown land of frost and fire which was seen in latitude 77° south, -a stupendous chain of mountains, the whole mass of which, froin its highest point to the ocean, was covered with everlasting snow and ice : “the water and the sky were both as blue, or rather more intensely blue, than i have ever seen them in the tropics, and all the coast was one mass of dazzlingly beautiful peaks of snow, which, when the sun approached the horizon, reflected the most brilliant tints of golden yellow and scarlet ; and then, to see the dark cloud of smoke, tinged with flame, rising from the volcano in a perfect unbroken column, one side jet-black, the other giving back the colors of the sun, sometimes turning off at a right angle by some current of wind, and stretching many miles to leeward! this was a sight so surpassing everything that can be imagined, and so heightened by the consciousness that we had penetrated, under the guidance of our commander, into regions far beyond what was ever deemed practicable, that it caused a feeling of awe to steal over us at the consideration of our own comparative insigniticance and helplessness, and at the same time an indescribable feeling of the greatness of the creator in the works of his hand." page 39. here is the place. (* the place whittier had in mind was his birthplace. there were bee-hives on the garden terrace near the well-sweep, occupied perhaps by the descendants of thomas whittier's bees. the approach to the house from over the northern shoulder of jub's hull by a path that was in constant use in his boyhood and still in existence, is accurately described in the poem. the gap in the old wall' is still to be seen, and the stepping stones in the shallow brook' are still in itse. his sister's garden was down by the brook-side in front of the house, and her datfodils are perpetuated and may now be found in their season each year in that place. the red-barred gate, the poplars, the cattle yard with the white horns tossing above the wall,' were all part of whittier's boy life on the old farmu. even the touch of the sundown's blaze on her window pane' is realistic. the only place from which the blaze of the setting sun could be seen riflected in the windous of the old mansion is from the path so perfectly described. ... all the story about mary and her lover is wholly imaginative. s. t. pickard in his life and letters of john greenie af whittier. page 67. of the fast which the good man lifelony kept. it was the enstom in sewall's time for churches and individuals to hold fasts whenever any public or private need suggested the fitness ; and as state and church were very closely connected, the general ('ourt sometim unte! a fast. out of this custom sprang the aiku fast in spring, now observed (ints, but it is comparatively recent date. such a fast was verything dered on the 14th of january, 106, when made his special confession of guilt in de voor ing innocent persons under the suppaat they were witches, he is said to have als the day privately on each annual return the after. page 68. iiis burilen of prophecy yet rem(in point of fact the old man w16 good," propped on his staff of a. forty-five years old wheu he uttered bras phrey.) page 69. the red rire l'oraxur. (the church of st. boniface was born in 1860, the year after the red rirve pas was printed. the bells were broken in ) 1 fall, and the fragments were sent to loved. recast by their original founder, and most v to their place in the new cathedral of st. burada face.) page 77. cobbler kezar's l'iston. [for a fuller account of (obbler har whittier's paper on the border war 1 a 23 his prose l'orks, volume ii. pp. 3. incl. (ed bler keezar was wont to pitch his trutenir hill and mend the foot-gear of the imry people. the old towns of amesbury and see bury, within a few years consolidated wits divided by the powow river. the falls scribed in the poem are concraled fruitu si. now by the factories and the arches which sa the river.) page 78. or the stone of dr. dre, dr. john dee was a man of eruditive had an extensive museum, library, and a fare tus; he claimed to be an astrologet. an ka 4 acquired the reputation of having : ! *** evil spirits, and a mob was raised while dhe stroyed the greater part of his pas professed to raise the dead and had a crystal. he died a pauper in 10k. page 1. the countr«$. (there is a slight inaccuracy in hi-*head note to the countess. accordin: '* we rebecca i. davis, gleanings from the 13 the merrimac, where she gives her i bone the marriage took place march 21. 1* countess died january , ini. count 1 * returned to guadaloupe whence he had to this country at the time of the instaly there he married again, and there he ti 2.8 way buried, but his remains were afr* removed to the family tamb in briei. france. mr. matthew whittir. best ! only brother, married abby, dauzhter seph rothemont de poyen. page 1015. the penrisurunia p. a. ('the following long bote onna's as an introduction to the pointhe four ning of gherman emigration to menterian traced to the pernal influenee of shannon penn, who in 1077 visited the continent made the acquaintance of an intali highly cultivated circle of betists, or lysnotes 519 57 who, reviving in the seventeenth century the spiritual faith and worship of tauler and the * friends of god” in the fourteenth, gathered about the pastor spener, and the young and beautiful eleonora johanna von merlau. in this circle originated the frankfort land conpany, which bought of william penn, the governor of pennsylvania, a tract of land near the new city of philadelphia. the company's agent in the new world was a rising young lawyer, francis daniel pastorius, son of judge pastorius, of windsheim, who, at the age of seventeen, entered the university of altort. he studied law at strasburg, basle, and jena, and at ratisbon, the seat of the imperial government, obtained a practical knowledge of international polity. successful in all his examinations and disputations, he received the degree of doctor of law at nuremberg in 1676. in 1679 he was a law-lecturer at frankfort, where he became deeply interested in the teachings of dr. spener. in 1680–81 he travelled in france, england, ireland, and italy with his friend herr von rodeck. “i was, of my christian friends, rather than be with von rodeck, feasting and dancing.' in 1683, in company with a small number of german friends, he emigrated to america, settling upon the frankfort company's tract between the schuylkill and the delaware rivers. the township was divided into four hamlets, namely, germantown, krisheim, crefield, and sommerhausen. soon after his arrival he united himself with the society of friends, and became one of its most able and devoted members, as well as the recognized head and lawgiver of the settlement. he married, two years after his arrival, anneke (anna), daughter of dr. klosterman, of muhlheim. in the year 16-8 he drew up a memorial against slaveholding, which was adopted by the germantown friends and sent up to the monthly meeting, and thence to the yearly meeting at philadelphia. it is noteworthy as the first protest made by a religious body against negro slavery. the original document was discovered in 1914 by the philadelphia antiquarian, nathan kite, and published in the friend (vol. xviii. no. 16). it is a bold and direct appeal to the best instincts of the heart. * have not, he asks, *these negroes as much right to fight for their freedom as you have to keep them slaves ? " under the wise direction of pastorius, the germantown settlement grew and prospered. the inhabitants planted orchards and vineyards, and surrounded themselves with souvenirs of their old bome. a large number of them were linen-weavers, as well as small farmers. the quakers were the principal sect, but men of all religions were tolerated, and lived together in harmony. in 1692 richard frame published, in what he called verse, a description of pennsylvania, in which he alludes to the settlement:“ the german town of which i spoke before, which is at least in length one mile or more, where lives high german people and low dutch, whose trade in weaving linen cloth is much, there grows the flax, as also you may know that from the same they do divide the tow. their trade suits well their habitation, we find convenience for their occupation." pastorius seems to have been on intimate terms with william penn, thomas lloyd, chief justice logan, thomas story, and other leading men in the province belonging to his own religious society, as also with kelpius, the learned mystic of the wissahickon, with the pastor of the swedes' church, and the leaders of the mennonites. he wrote a description of pennsylvania, which was published at frankfort and leipsic in 1700 and 1701. his lives of the saints, etc., written in german and dedicated to professor schurmberg, his old teacher, was published in 1690. he left behind him many unpublished manuscripts covering a very wide range of subjects, most of which are now lost. one huge manuscript folio, entitled hive beestock, melliotropheum alucar, or rusca apium, still remains, containing one thousand pages with about one hundred lines to a page. it is a medley of knowledge and fancy, history, philosophy, and poetry, written in seven languages. a large portion of his poetry is devoted to the pleasures of gardening, the description of flowers, and the care of bees. the following specimen of his punning latin is addressed to an orchard-pilferer: “quisquis in hæc furtim reptas viridaria nostra tangere fallaci poma caveto manu, si non obsequeris faxit deus omne quod opto, cum malis nostris ut mala cuucta feras." professor oswald seidensticker, to whose papers in der deutsche pioneer and that able periodical the penn monthly, of philadelphia, i am indebted for many of the foregoing facts in regard to the german pilgrims of the new world, thus closes his notice of pastorius : “no tombstone, not even a record of burial, indicates where his remains have found their last resting-place, and the pardonable desire to associate the homage due to this distinguished man with some visible memento cannot be gratified. there is no reason to suppose that he was interred in any other place than the friends' old burying-ground in germantown, though the fact is not attested by any definite source of information. after all, this obliteration of the last trace of his earthly existence is but typical of what has overtaken the times which he represents; that germantown which he founded, which saw him live and move, is at present but a quaint idyl of the past, almost a myth, barely remembered and little cared for by the keener race that has succeeded." the pilgrims of plymonth have not lacked historian and poet. justice has been done to their faith, courage, and self-sacrifice and to the mighty influence of their endeavors to establish righteousness on the earth. the quaker 520 appendix pilgrims of pennsylvania, seeking the same obent time, such a picture will find farur ...» ject by different means, have not been equally well be questioned. i only know that it is an fortunate. the power of their testimony for beguiled for me some hours of wrann truth and holiness, peace and freedom, enforced that, whatever may be its measure of your only by what milton calls “the unresistible appreciation, it has been to me its owurwar: might of meekness," has been felt through two page 104. ils once he heard in sem centuries in the amelioration of penal severimerlau's bouers. ties, the abolition of slavery, the reform of the eleonora johanna von merlan, of, 24 erring, the relief of the poor and suffering, the quaker historian gives it, von merlan felt, in brief, in every step of human progress. noble young lady of frankfurt, sers to but of the men themselves, with the single exheld among the mystics of that city ser en ception of william penn, scarcely anything is such a position as anna maria shuru: 4,4 known. contrasted, from the outset, with the among the labadists of holland. w stern, aggressive puritans of new england, penn appears to have shared the admira 116 they have come to be regarded as ' a feeble her own immediate circle for this accumplikad folk," with a personality as doubtful as their and gifted lady. unrecorded graves. they were not soldiers, page 106. or painful kelpius from ha hop like miles standish ; they had no figure so picmit den. turesque as vane, nó leader so rashly brave and magister johann kilpius, a graduate of haughty as endicott. no cotton mather wrote university of helmstadt, came to pransylv" their magnalia ; they had no awful drama of in 1694, with a company of german my supernaturalism in which satan and his angels they made their home in the sole is were actors; and the only witch mentioned in wissahickon, a little went of the q .shrs -*". their simple annals was a poor old swedish ment of germantown. kolping wis a km?.** woman, who, on complaint of her countryin the near approach of the millennium, ar women, was tried and acquitted of everything a devout student of the book of re. but imbecility and folly. nothing but commonand the morgen-rothe of jacob bahmre. he place ottices of civility came to pass between called his settlement " the wiman in them and the indians; indeed, their enemies wilderness" (dus weib in der wurstor. taunted them with the fact that the savages was only twenty-four year of reyes bem did not regard them as christians, but just came to america, but his gravity, lears," such men as themselves. yet it must be apparand devotion placed him at the bead esi ent to every careful observer of the progress settlement. ile disliked the quaken op. of american civilization that its two principal he thought they were too exclusive in the amo" currents had their sources in the entirely opter of ministers. he was like met ve posite directions of the puritan and quaker mystics, oppersed to the severe destinul 7. colonies. to use the words of a late writer: 1 of calvin and even luther, de larin: "lire ** the historical forces, with which no others could as little agree with the du numurs may be compared in their intinence on the peoaugsburg confession as with the ainutke su u ple. have been those of the puritan and the the council of trent." quaker. the strength of the one was in the he died in 1714, sitting in his little part, confession of an invisible presence, a righteous, surrounded by his grieving disciples. prs: 4 eternal will, which would establish righteousto his death it is said that he cast his far ness on earth; and thence arose the conviction * stone of wisdom" into the nves. of a direct personal responsibility, which could that mystic souvenir of the time of puli be tempted by no eternal splendor and could be mont, paracelsus, and agrippa has had ever shaken by no internal agitation, and could not since, undisturbed. be evaded or transferred. the strength of the page 106. or sluyter, saintly familie, other was the witness in the human spirit to an word. eternal word, an inner voice which spoke to peter sluyter, or schluter, a natisnif w. each alone, while yet it spoke to every man; a united himself with the sect of late 1 light which each was to follow, and which vet believed in the divine commission of an was the light of the world; and all other voices labadie, a roman catholic prest eater were silent before this, and the solitary path to protestantismu, enthusiastse, kuvut whither it led was more sucred than the worn | evidently sincere in his special calling and ways of cathedral-aisles." tion to separate the true and living in un it will be sufficiently apparent to the reader the church of christ from the forman that, in the porn which follows, i have athypocrisy of the ruling serts. gronkiti tempted nothing beyond a study of the life and robert barclay visited him at nummet af ..' times of the pennsylvania colonist, a simple afterward at the communitive of 11.7 picture of a note worthy man and his locality. winward; and, according to grind post the colors of my skrich are all very sober, him so near to them on some points 1 • toned down to the quiet and dreamy atmosoffered to take him into the smrton phere through which its subject is visible. this offer, if it was really made, whh so whether, in the glare and tumult of the prestainly doubtful, wax, happily for the trente least, declined. tuvited to hartado -mulford's the nation, pp. 267, 268. i phalia by elizabeth, daughter the better 1 & notes 521 palatine, de labadie and his followers preached incessantly, and succeeded in arousing a wild enthusiasm among the people, who neglected their business and gave way to excitements and strange practices. men and women, it was said, at the communion drank and danced together, and private marriages, or spiritual unions, were formed. labadie died in 1674 at altona, in denmark, maintaining his testimonies to the last. “nothing remains for me," he said, “except to go to my god. death is merely ascending from a lower and narrower chamber to one higher and holier." in 1679, peter sluyter and jasper dankers were sent to america by the community at the castle of wieward. their journal, translated from the dutch and edited by henry c. murphy, has been recently (1872) published by the long island historical society. they made some converts, and among them was the eldest son of hermanns, the proprietor of a rich tract of land at the head of chesapeake bay, known as bohemia manor. sluyter obtained a grant of this tract, and established upon it a community numbering at one time a hundred souls. very contradictory statements are on record regarding his headship of this spiritual family, the discipline of which seems to have been of more than monastic severity. certain it is that he bought and sold slaves, and manifested more interest in the world's goods than became a believer in the near millennium. he evinces in his journal an overweening spiritual pride, and speaks contemptuously of other professors, especially the quakers whom he met in his travels. the latter, on the contrary, seem to have looked favorably upon the labadists, and uniformly speak of them courteously and kindly. his journal shows him to have been destitute of common gratitude and christian charity. he threw himself upon the generous hospitality of the friends wherever he went, and repaid their kindness by the coarsest abuse and misrepresentation. page 107. his long-disused and half-forgotten lore. among the pioneer friends were many men of learning and broad and liberal views. penn was conversant with every department of literature and philosophy. thomas lloyd was a ripe and rare scholar. the great loganian library of philadelphia bears witness to the varied learning and classical taste of its donor, james logan. thomas story, member of the council of state, master of the rolls and commissioner of claims under william penn, and an able minister of his society, took a deep interest in scientific questions, and in a letter to his friend logan, written while on a religious visit to great britain, seems to have anticipated the conclusion of modern geologists. “i spent,” he says, “ some months, especially at scarborough, during the season attending meetings, at whose high cliffs and the variety of strata therein and their several positions i further learned and was confirmed in some things, – that the earth is of much older date as to the beginning of it than the time assigned in the holy scriptures as commonly understood, which is suited to the common capacities of mankind, as to six days of progressive work, by which i understand certain long and competent periods of time, and not natural days.". it was sometimes made a matter of reproach by the anabaptists and other sects, that the quakers read profane writings and philosophies, nd that they quoted heathen moralists in support of their views. sluyter and dankers, in their journal of american travels, visiting a quaker preacher's house at burlington, on the delaware, found "a volume of virgil lying on the window, as if it were a common hand-book ; also helmont's book on medicine (ortus media cine, id est initia physica inaudita progressus medicine novus in morborum ultionam ad vitam longam), whom, in an introduction they have made to it, they make to pass for one of their own sect, although in his lifetime he did not know anything about quakers.” it would appear from this that the half-mystical, halfscientific writings of the alchemist and philosopher of vilverde had not escaped the notice of friends, and that they had included him in their broad eclecticism. page 107. as still in hemskerck's quaker meeting. ** the quaker's meeting," a painting by e. hemskerck (supposed to be egbert hemskerck the younger, son of egbert hemskerck the old), in which william penn and others among them charles ii., or the duke of york are represented along with the rudest and most stolid class of the british rural population at that period. hemskerek to london from holland with king william in 1689. he delighted in wild, grotesque subjects, such as the nocturnal intercourse of witches and the temptation of st. anthony. whatever was strange and uncommon attracted his free pencil. judging from the portrait of penn, he must have drawn his faces, figures, and costumes from life, although there may be something of caricature in the convulsed attitudes of two or three of the figures. page 10.). the indian from his face washed all his war-paint off. in one of his letters addressed to german friends, pastorius says: “ these wild men, who never in their life heard christ's teachings about temperance and contentment, herein far surpass the christians. they live far more contented and unconcerned for the morrow. they do not overreach in trade. they know nothing of our everlasting pomp and stylishness. they neither curse nor swear, are temperate in food and drink, and if any of them get drunk, the month christians are at fault, who, for the sake of accursed lucre, sell them strong drink.' again he wrote in 1698 to his father that he finds the indians reasonable people, willing to accept good teaching and manners, evincing an inward piety toward god, and more eager, in fact, to understand things divine than many came 522 appendix . among those who in the pulpit teach christ in earth, or the devils in hell!'" life of r.br word, but by mngodly life deny him. pike, page 55. it is evident," says professor seidensticker, page 142. the hardy anglo-saron std. “ pastorius holds up the indian as nature's the celebrated captain smith, after tre unspoiled child to the eyes of the european ing the government of the colony in virtua. babel, somewhat after the same manner in in his capacity of “ admiral of sex i which tacitus used the barbarian germani to made a careful survey of the cost fru irun shame his degenerate countrymen.". scot to cape cod, in the summer of 1614. as believers in the universality of the saving page 14). the surelest nume in aikaisen light, the outlook of early friends upon the captain smith gave to the promon'ur. o. heathen was a very cheerful and hopeful one. called cape ann, the name of trazalean, god was as near to them as to jew or anglomemory of his young and beautiful mistni saxon; as accessible at timbuctoo as at rome or that name, who, while he was a captive at geneva. not the letter of scripture, but the stantinople, like desdemona, ** loved hun 1.0 spirit which dictated it, was of saving efficacy. the dangers he had passed.". robert barclay is nowhere more powerful than page 133. the old burying-ground. in his argument for the salvation of the hea(this poem was written with a thought of then, who live according to their light, withthe ancient cemetery at east llavest, var out knowing even the name of christ. wile rocks village. "the entire pirer," whitties liam penn thought socrates as good a chris. wrote to lowell, “ has now to me a de-para! tian as richard baxter. early fathers of the solemn significance. it was written church, as origen and justin martyr, held while watching at the sick-bud of my deur broader views on this point than modern evanther – now no longer with us. she prava gelicals. even augustine, from whom calvin a few days ago, in the beautiful spretty ent borrowed his theology, admits that he has no christian faith, a quiet and peaceful disease controversy with the admirable philosophers ! sal."'] plato and plotinus. nor do i think," he says page 155. the river path, in de civ. dei, lib. xviii., cap. 47, " that the [to a friend who inquired as to the origin of jews dare affirm that none belonged unto god this poem, whittier wrote: "the pa mu but the israelites.'' suggested by an evening on the merminar rires page 112. tomorrow shall bring another in company with my dear sister, who is su day. longer with me, having crosses the rief i a common saving of valdemar; hence his fervently hopel, to the gloritied hul of (d.] sobriquet iltering. page 157. the l'anisturs. page 117. the witch of wenham. [this was the first poem written by wh! [the house referred to in the head-note after the death of his sister elisabeth is that known as the old prince house, near letter to mr. fields he vis: * if the he oak knoll, on the estate now owned by the read schoolcraft thee will remember what to xaverian brothers, in sending the porm to says of the lackwud-jinnies or little and the atlantic, where it was first published, ers.'" the reference is tu llist ww. ( * * whittier wrote to the editor: "i do not know and prospects of the american i na aukrus, pp : how it may strike thee; to me (who am no 123.) good judge, it seems one of my best.''] pare 100. i see the gray fort's bruik van page 1:57. the llomestead. (the place that was in the move the post [in a letter written after the appearance of when he wrote this stanza ws on the pika the homestead, whittier wrote: "i saw in marblehead, where he had spant an early bir the country several of these melancholy specing more than forty years latered] tacles of abandoned homes. i think the farmpage 171. orr silmah's rine. ers of new england are better off as a class, on ** (vine of sibmah! i will werp for the their hard soil, than those who are on the rich with the weeping of jazer:" jerem. l. lands of the wst. they are not rich, but they are not por; they live comfortably, and as a page 172, rule own their farms clear of mortgage. if they ern as the great i musline were content to live and toil as the poorer farmquestioned earth and will tandsdy. ers in the west do, they would double their * interrogavi terram,"ete. dagust. & deposits in the savings bank.") (ap. xxxi. page 1.5. and led by iliin, nor man nor pago 17'5. to a friend. deriis ifrar. (the friend was elizabeth seall, afterward * ii. (macy) shook the dust from off his feet, mrs. sydney howard gay.) and departed with all his worldly goods and page 174. lucu ilemper. his family. he encountered a severe storm, [it was in the summer of 17, while and his wife, intluenced by some omens of disa in new york, that whitties marle the be aster, besought him to put back. he told her tance of lucy hooper. she was a nati: id not to fear. for his faith was perfect. but she fxxrx county, and was at that tir, for entreated him again. then the spirit that with her parents in brooklyn. whistore impelled him broke forth : woman, go below couraged her literary ambition, for she has and seek thy god. i fear not the witches on giveti promise of poetic excellence, and we . 1 notes 523 a mer sea. sidering the advisability of publishing a volume. when whittier shortly afterward was editing the pennsylvania freeman, he printed several of her poems. later in 1839 he was with her by the merrimac one august afternoon.) page 190. and the good man's voice, at strife with his shrill and tipsy wife. (when whittier first went to school with his sister mary, the school-house was undergoing repairs, and the school was held in a dwelling house, the other part of which was occupied by a tipsy and quarrelsome couple.) page 1992. homilies from oldbug hear. dr. withington, author of the puritan, under the name of jonathan oldbug. page 192. the holy monk of kempen spake. thomas à kempis in de imitatione christi. page 196. when, years ago, beside the sum(in the great political contest of 1850, in massachusetts, when the united states senatorship was in question, whittier took an active part in forming the coalition between the free soilers and the democrats. he went to phillips beach, swampscott, to see sumner and induce him to accept the nomination.] page 2:20. i thank you for sweet summer days. (at one of the laurel festivals the guests who had so often enjoyed the hospitality of mr. and mrs. ashby presented them with an album containing photographs and other tokens of their appreciation. upon the first page were written these lines by whittier :dear friends :accept this book whose pages hold the sun-traced shadows manifold of friends, who've known you long and well at city hearth, in sylvan dell, enjoying under roof and tree your liberal hospitality ; who grateful own that while you gave your life-long labor to the slave, (a labor crowned with more success than hope could dream, or wisdom guess) you kept warın hearts, and opened wide your windows on life's sunny side. take, then, the volume with our thanks, and long upon your river banks when in azalia-gladdened woods the june sum swells the laurel buds, may we still meet as we have met, and larger make to you our debt.] page 228. hymn for the house of worship at georgetown. [whittier published the following card in the boston transcript, january 30, 1868: “ in writing the hymn for the memorial church at georgetown, the author, as his verses indicate, has sole reference to the tribute of a brother and sister to the memory of a departed mother, a tribute which seemed, and still seems to him in itself considered, very beautiful and appropriate ; but he has since seen with surprise and sorrow a letter read at the dedication, imposing certain extraordinary restrictions upon the society which is to occupy the house. it is due to himself, as a simple act of justice, to say that had he known of the existence of that letter previously, the hymn would never have been written, nor his name in any way connected with the proceedings.” the restrictions imposed were designed to prevent the use of the building for any lecture or discussion on political subjects or other matters inconsistent with the reaching of the gospel.) page 215. fie on the witch ! goody cole was brought before the quarter sessions in 1650 to answer to the charge of being a witch. the court could not find satisfactory evidence of witchcraft, but so strong was the feeling against her that major waldron, the presiding magistrate, ordered her to be imprisoned, with a * lock kept on her leg," at the pleasure of the court. in such judicial action one can read the fear and vindictive spirit of the community at large., page 246. amen! said father bachiler. [recent evidence found in favor of the rev. stephen bachiler, an ancestor of the poet, makes it possible that whittier would have revised this poem if he had learned the true facts.) page 249. his crimean camp-song hints to us. the reference is to bayard taylor's poem, the song of the camp. page 238. the palatine. [the legend on which this ballad is founded was told to mr. whittier by his friend, joseph p. hazard, of newport, r. i., two years before the poem was written. about two years after it was published, he received a curious letter from mr. benjamin corydon, of napoli, n. y., then in the ninety-second year of his age, who wrote: * the palatine was a ship that was driven upon block island, in a storm, more than a hundred years ago. her people had just got ashore, and were on their knees thanking god for saving them from drowning, when the islanders rushed upon them and murdered them all. that was a little more than the almighty could stand, so he sent the fire or phantom ship, to let them know he had not forgotten their wickedness. she was seen once a year on the same night of the year on which the murders occurred, as long as any of the wreckers were living ; but never after all were dead. i must have seen her eight or ten times — perhaps more -early days. it is seventy years or more since she was last seen. my father lived right opposite block island, on the mainland, so we had a fair view of her as she passed down by the island, then she would disappear. she resembled a full-rigged ship, with her sails all set and all ablaze. it was the grandest sight i ever saw in all my life. i know of only two living who saw her, benjamin l. knowles, of rhode island, now ninety-four years old, and myself, now in my ninety-second year."'] page 262. toussaint l'ouverture. the reader may, perhaps, call to mind the beautiful sonnet of william wordsworth, addressed to toussaint l'ouverture, during his oonfinement in france: in my ever 524 appendix toussaint ! thou most unhappy man of men! whether the whistling rustic tends his plough within thy hearing, or thou liest now buried in some deep dungeon's earless den; o miserable chieftain ! where and when wilt thou find patience? – yet, die mot, do thou wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow; though fallen thyself, never to rise again, live and take comfort. thou hast leit behind powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies, there 's not a breathing of the common wind that will forget thee; thou hast great allies. thy friends are exultations, agonies, and love, and man's unconquerable mind. a page 282. and he, the basest of the base. the northern author of the congressional rule against receiving petitions of the people on the subject of slavery. page 289. so shalt thou diftly raise the market price of human flesh. there was at the time when this poem was written an association in liberty county, georgia, for the religious instruction of negroes. one of their annual reports contains an address by the rev. josiah spry law, in which the following passage oceurs : • there is a growing interest in this community in the religions instruction of vegroes. there is a conviction that religious instruction promotes the quiet and order of the people, and the pecuniary interest of the owners. page:13. the pine-tree. (whittier wrote this poem immediately upon rading the proceedings of the convention. he enclosed it in the following note to charles sumber: "i have just read the proceedings of your whig convention and the lines enclosed are a feeble expression of my feelings. i look upon the rejection of stephen ('. phillips's resolutions as an evidence that the end and aim of the managers of the convention was to go just far enough to scare the party and no further. all thanks for the free voices of thyself. phillips, allen, and adams. notwithstanding the result you have not spoken in vain. if thee thinks well enough of these verses, hand them to the whig or chronotype."] page. i hear the frer-wills singing. the book-stablishment of the frer-will baptists in dover was refused the act of incor poration by the new hampshire lagislature, for the reason that the newspaper organ of that sect and its leading preswhen favored abolition. page. our belknap brother huard with au the senatorial editor of the belknap gazette all along manifested a peculiar horror of “niggers" and " nigyes parties." puget. pittsfield, reuben larilt sar. the justice before whom elder storrs was brought for preaching abolition on a writ drawn by hon. m. v., jr., of pittsfield. the sheriff served the writ while the elder was praying. page the schoolhouse, out of canaan hantil. the academy at canaan, x. ii., received one or two colored scholars, and was in eene q**** dragged off into a swamp by dennom rald page 24m. what boots it that ur polted out the anti-slarry women, the female anti-slavery society, at its fir meeting in concord, was assailed with stron and brick bats. page 29. for this did shifty atherton make yay rules for the great ii" * papers and memorials touching the su'ya of slavery shall be laid on the wall wit reading, debate, or reference." soru *** gag-law, as it was called, introduced into the tlouse by mr. atherton. page 315. the first great triumph rron in freedom's name. the election of charles. sumner to the united states senate " followed hard upon the rotion of the fugitive sims by the l'oited stat othicials and the armed police of batan. page :332. to il'illiam ii. sewarid. tell mr. seward," whittier wrote to. w. thayer, february 1, vl." i have to 1 him to good behavior in my verse, and thu. ! he yields the ground upon which the plane was carried and consents to the further i*.1 sion of slavery he will compromise me, * was the country and himself."') page 70. garrison. (whittier's tribute to "garrison" es va in lished in the independent, june 17, was accompanied by the following letter twee editor : ** at the solemn and impressive funeralft! beloved and early friend, william luration rison, one of the spaker frad a part of t:. following poem, which i now send, b place for it in the paper, al:honch at, surpassingly beautiful tribute of well : " lips, and the perhaps still more touch 19.. quent words of theodore d. wald, it la seem almost supertluous. something part seems due to the intimate frenimi more than fifty years, unbroken nie turbed by any differences of opimion and during the long anti-slavery strunk.. page 357. ind brenndu is its own /**. for the idea of this line, i am intele emerson, in his inimitable sonnet tu thar la dora, if eves were made for sing. then beauty is its own exime for being page 400. vo sutal smoke curled orer wuis of sweden mi. so isolated was the whittier hattefr .: from the date of its erection to tkir ini time no neighbor's of has been in si. page 101. th. hrvather!i am. i matthew franklin whitres, ten ! 1512, died january 7, ima in media 11. ing his residence in portland, he torkade, terest in the anti-slavery movement, and or notes 525 a series of caustic letters under the signature ethan spike of hornby.] page 101. the african chief was the title of a poem by mrs. sarah wentworth morton, wife of the hon. perez morton, a former attorney-general of massachusetts. mrs. morton's nom de plume was philenia. the school book in which the african chief was printed was caleb bingham's the american preceptor, and the poem contained fifteen stanzas, of which the first four were as follows: see how the black ship cleaves the main high-bounding o'er the violet wave, remurmuring with the groans of pain, deep freighted with the princely slave. did all the gods of afric sleep, forgetful of their guardian love, when the white traitors of the deep betrayed him in the palmy grove ? a chief of gambia's golden shore, whose arm the band of warriors led, perhaps the lord of boundless power, by whom the foodless poor were fed. does not the voice of reason cry, * claim the first right which nature gave; from the red scourge of bondage fly, nor deign to live a burdened slave"? page 403. there, too, our elder sister plied. (mary whittier, born september 3, 1806, married jacob caldwell of haverhill, had two children, lewis henry and mary elizabeth, and died january 7, 1860.] page 403. our youngest and our dearest sat. [elizabeth hussey whittier, born december 7, 1815, was to her brother john what dorothy wordsworth was to william. it was her brother's opinion that “had her health, sense of duty, and almost morbid dread of spiritual and intellectual egotism permitted, she might have taken a high place among lyrical singers." some of her poems are given in this volume. she died september 3, 1861.] page 403. the master of the district school. (until near the end of his life, whittier was unable to recall the name of the schoolmaster who stood for this figure in snow-bound. at last he remembered his name as haskell, and from this clue the person was traced. he was george haskell from waterford, maine, a dartmouth student, who studied medicine, and died in vineland, new jersey, in 1876.) page 404. another guest that winter night. [in his introductory note, whittier adds somewhat to his characterization of harriet livermore. at the time when snow-bound was written he did not know that she was living, or he might not have introduced her. she died in 1867.) page 404. the crazy queen of lebanon. an interesting account of lady hester stanhope may be found in kinglake's eothen, chap. viii. page 406. these flemish pictures of old days. (in 1888 whittier wrote the following lines on the fly-leaf of a copy of the first edition of snow-bound : twenty years have taken flight since these pages saw the light. all home loves are gone, but not all with sadness, still, do the eyes of memory fill as i gaze thereon. page 402. or chalkley's journal old and quaint. chalkley's own narrative of this incident, as given in his journal, is as follows: "to stop their murmuring, i told them they should not need to cast lots, which was usual in such cases, which of us should die first, for i would freely offer up my life to do them good. one said, • god bless you! i will not eat any of you.' another said, “he would die before he would eat any of me,' and so said several. i can truly say, on that occasion, at that time, my life was not dear to me, and that i was serious and ingenuous in my proposition: and as i was leaning over the side of the vessel, thoughtfully considering my proposal to the company, and looking in my mind' to him that made me, a very large dolphin came up towards the top or surface of the water, and looked me in the face ; and i called the people to put a hook into the sea, and take him, for here is one come to redeem me (i said to them). and they put a hook into the sea, and the fish readily took it and they caught him. he was longer than myself. i think he was about six feet long, and the largest that ever i saw. this plainly showed us that we ought not to distrust the providence of the almighty. the people were quieted by this act of providence, and murmured no more. we caught enough to eat plentifully of, till we got into the capes of delaware. page 402. our uncle, innocent of books. (for further account of whittier's uncle moses, the reader is referred to whittier's prose works, volume i. p. 323.) lone and weary life seemed when first these pictures of the pen grew upon my page; but i still have loving friends and the peace our father sends cheers the heart of age. page 410. from the bay state's graceful daughter. [the late mrs. jettie morrill wason, daughter of the late hon. george morrill of amesbury. page 438. o beauty, old yet ever new. too late i loved thee, o beauty of ancient days, yet ever new! and lo! thou wert within, and i abroad searching for thee. thou wert with me, but i was not with thee." — august. soliloq., book x. page 438. who saw the darkness over flowed. “and i saw that there was an ocean of dark99 526 appendix keeping ness and death: but an infinite ocean of light their agent in the treaty signed in noretzter and love flowed over the ocean of darkness : 1676. and in that i saw the intinite love of god." page 495. 't was the gift of castine tu m.. george fox's journal. megone. page 1:38. the cry of a lost soul. baron de st. castine came to (anala in the story of the origin of this name, el alma leaving his civilized conipanions, he plan:perdida, is thus related by lieut. herndon. into the great wilderness, and settled at an indian and his wife went out from the vil| penobscot indians, near the mouth of their s lage to work their chacra, carrying their inble river. he here took for his wives the da 2 fant with them. the woman went to the spring 'ters of the great moducawando, the nega to get water, leaving the man in charge of the erful sachem of the east. his castle ** child, with many cautions to take good care of dered by governor andre, during his m*** it. when she arrived at the spring, she found administration; and the enraged baron 13 it dried up, and went further to look for anposed to have excited the indiana ini «** other. the husband, alarmed at her long abhostility to the english. sence, left the child and went in search. when page 495. gray jocelyn's eye in mersion on they returned the child was gone ; and to their the owner and commander of the part repeated cries, as they wandered through the black point, which mogy attacked and in woods in search, they could get no response sare dered. he was an old man at the primi the wailing cry of this little bird heard for the which the tale relates. first time, whose notes their anxious and excited page 4:35. where philip's men their anas imagination syllabled into pa-pa, ma-ma (the present quichua name of the bird. i suppose major phillips, one of the principalmente the spaniards heard this story, and with that colony. his garrison sustained a long ud ter religious poetic turn of thought which seems rible siege by the savages, sambistar. peculiar to this people, called the bird the a gentleman, he exacted of his platina lost soul.' erploration of the valley of the bors a remarkable degree of defertur. amazon made undit direction of the vary decourt records of the sttlemenintoriu qe **" partment. by william lewis herndon and an individual was fined for the heinous off lardner gibbon, part i. p. 154). of saying that “major phillips's mare * page toit. the light that is felt. lean as an indian dog." [the origin of this poem is explained in the page 447. steals harmon down from the ***** following letter from mrs. george a. palmer, of york. of elmira, xi. captain harmon, of georgeans, now york * when my oldest daughter was two and a was for many years the tertus vf the fame half years old she knew whittier's burefoot indians. in one of his expeditions up the h. boy hy heart, thus: when i would repeat it to nebec river, at the head of a parte a tak her the omission of a line would be instantly corhe discovered twenty of the sivas as', rected, as one day she said to me, mamma, a large fire. cautiously creeping towns.“ you skipted out" apples of ('usperides."'' once, until he was certain of his aim, hr orde wat in going ahead of me in a dark hall, she turned men to single out their objects. the two with sudden fear, and said, “mamma, take charge killed or mortally wounded the hold of my hand, so it will not be so dark.' number of the unconscious sleepmrs. this incident and the fact of her affection for page 495. for rengeance loft his riaren mr. whittier's poetry was reported to him by isle. a friend of the family. my surprise and delight wood island, near the mouth of the car it were great when, in april, 1851, i received a was visited by the sieur de monts antikind letter from the poet and a manuscript plain, in 1913. the following extrait inn copy of the purem, which was afterward pubjournal of the latter, relates to it: “llarsikate lished in the christmas number of st. nicho the kennebec, we ran along the cast & las. in his letter mr. whittier said. “i am westward, and cast anchor underma!! ni glad to have such a friend in thy little girl. near the mainland, where we saw tmir.** her good opinion of my verses is worth more more natives. i here visited an inland ** to me than that of a learned reviewer. i send fully clothed with a fine gruwth of fint & rhymed paruphrase of her own beautiful particularly of the oak and walnut: and thought.") spread with vines, that, in their arx-n, pre page 495. moog me gone. excellent grapes. we named it the unit mogy megone, or hegone, was a leader among bacchus." les l'oyages de sueur (1): the saco indians, in the bloody war of 1677. liv. 2. c. n. he attacked and captured the garrison at black page 493. the hunted outlar, best point, october 12th of that year; and cut off, john bonython was the son of ricdani bir at the same time, a party of englishmen near thon, gent., one of the most efficient in saco river. from a deed signed by this indian magistrates of the colont. john porod in 1054, and from other circumstances. it seems * a degenerate plant." in loni wa timu boce that, previous to the war, he had mingled much court records that, for some of nor, he with the colonists. on this account, he was fined 108. in 1610, he was fined for the probally selected by the principal sachems as ward r. gibson, the minister, and m. notes 527 p. 35. use a wife. soon after he was fined for disorderly conduct in the house of his father. in 1615, the * great and general court adjudged john bonython outlawed, and incapable of any of his majesty's laws, and proclaimed him a rebel.”. (court records of the province, 1615.) in 1651, he bade defiance to the laws of massachusetts, and was again outlawed. he acted independently of all law and authority; and hence, doubtless, his burlesque title of "the sagamore of saco, which has come down to the present generation in the following epitaph: here lies bonython, the sagamore of saco; he lived a rogue, and died a knave, and went to hobomoko. by some means or other, he obtained a large estate. in this poem, i have taken some liberties with him, not strictly warranted by historical facts, although the conduct imputed to him is in keeping with his general character. over the last years of his life lingers a deep obscurity. even the manner of his death is uncertain. he was supposed to have been killed by the indians ; but this is doubted by the able and indefatigable author of the history of saco and biddeford. – part i. p. 115. page 496. from the leaping brook to the saco river. foxwell's brook flows from a marsh or bog, called the “ heath,” in saco, containing thirteen hundred acres. in this brook, and surrounded by wild and romantic scenery, is a beautiful waterfall, of more than sixty feet. page 4:36. where zealous hiacoomes stood. hiacoomes, the first christian preacher on martha's vineyard ; for a biography of whom the reader is referred to increase mayhew's account of the praying indians, 1726. the following is related of him: “one lord's day, after meeting, where hiacoomes had been preaching, there came in a powwaw very angry, and said, i know all the meeting indians are liars. you say you don't care for the powwaws; then calling two or three of them by naine, he railed at them, and told them they were deceived, for the powwaws could kill ail the meeting indians, if they set about it. but hiacoomes told him that he would be in the midst of all the powwaws in the island, and they should do the utmost they could against him; and when they should do their worst by their witchcraft to kill him, he would without fear set himself against them, by remembering jehovah. he told them also he did put all the powwaws under his heel. such was the faith of this good man. nor were these powwaws ever able to do these christian indians any hurt, though others were frequently hurt and killed by them." mayhew, pp. 6, 7, c. 1. page 497. because she cries with an ache in her tooth, " the tooth-ache," says roger williams in his observations upon the language and customs of the new england tribes, “is the only paine which will force their stoute hearts to cry." he afterwards remarks that even the indian women never cry as he has heard * some of their men in this paine.' page 498. wuttamuttata, “let us drink.” weekan, " it is sweet."' l'ide roger williams's key to the indian language, in that parte of america called new england." -london, 1643, page 498. wetuomanit, a house god, or demon. “they — the indians have given me the names of thirty-seven gods which i have, all which in their solemne worships they invocate!” – r. williams's briefe observations of the customs, manners, worships, etc., of the natives, in peace and warre, in life and death: on all which is added spiritual observations, general and particular, of chiefe and special upon all occasions — to all the english inhabiting these parts; yet pleasant and profitable to the view of all mene: p. 110, c. 21. page 499. which marks afar the desert isle. mt. desert island, the bald mountain upon which overlooks frenchman's and penobscot bay. it was upon this island that the jesuits made their earliest settlement. page 300. half trembling, as he seeks to look. father hennepin, a missionary among the iroquois, mentions that the indians believed him to be a conjurer, and that they were particularly afraid of a bright silver chalice which he had in his possession. “ the indians," says père jerome lallamant, “fear us as the greatest sorcerers on earth." page 500. for bomazeen from tacconock. bomazeen is spoken of by penhallow as "the famous warrior and chieftain of norridgewock." he was killed in the attack of the english upon norridgewock, in 1724. page 500. like a shrouded ghost the jesuit stands. père ralle, or rasles, was one of the most zealous and indefatigable of that band of jesuit missionaries who at the beginning of the seventeenth century penetrated the forests of america, with the avowed object of converting the heathen. the first religious mission of the jesuits to the savages in north america was in 1611. the zeal of the fathers for the conversion of the indians to the catholic faith knew no bounds. for this they plunged into the depths of the wilderness; habituated themselves to all the hardships and privations of the natives; suffered cold, hunger, and some of them death itself, by the extremest tortures. père brebeuf, after laboring in the cause of his mission for twenty years, together with his companion, père lallamant, was burned alive. to these nuight be added the names of those jesuits who were put to death by the iroquois, daniel, garnier, buteaux, la riborerie, goupil, constantin, and liegeouis. * for bed," says father lallamant, in his relation de ce qui s'est dans le pays des hurons, 1670, c. 3, we have nothing but a miserable piece of bark of a tree; for nourishment, a handful or two of corn, either roasted or soaked in water, which seldom satisfies our hunger ; and after all, not venturing to perform even the ceremonies of > 66 528 appendix without the slightest appearance of hair or beard. page 504. couesass ! tawhich ***8233 are you afraid ? -why fear you ? iv. a list of mr. whittieks poems our religion without being considered as sorcerers." their success among the natives, however, by no means equalled their exertions. père lallamant says: with respect to adult persons, in good health, there is little apparent success; on the contrary, there have been nothing but storms aud whirlwinds from that quarter." sebastian ralle established himself, some time about the year 1670, at norridgewock, where he continued more than forty years. he was accused, and perhaps not without justice, of exciting his praying indians against the english, whom he looked upon as the enemies not only of his king, but also of the catholic religion. he was killed by the english in 1794, at the foot of the cross which his own hands had planted. this indian church was broken up, and its members either killed outright or dispersed. in a letter written by ralle to his nephew he gives the following account of his church and his own labors : “all my converts repair to the church regularly twice every day: first, very early in the morning, to attend mass, and again in the evening, to assist in the prayers at sunset. as it is necessary to fix the imagination of savages, whose attention is easily distracted, i have composed prayers, calculated to inspire them with just sentiments of the august sacritice of our altars: they chant, or at least recite them aloud, during mass. besides preaching to them on sundays and saints' days, i seldom let a working day pass without making a concise exhortation, for the purpose of inspiring them with horror at those vices to which they are most addicted, or to confirm them in the practice of some particular virtue." vide lettres edifiantes et cur., vol. vi. p. 127. page 503. pale priest! what proud and lofty dreams. the character of ralle has probably never been correctly delineated. by his brethren of the romish church, he has been nearly apo theosized. on the other hand, our puritan historians have represented him as a demon in human form. he was undoubtedly sincere in his devotion to the interests of his church, and not over-scrupulons as to the means of advancing those interests. * the french," says the author of the history of saco and biddeford, “after the peace of 1713, secretly promised to supply the indians with arms and amunition, if they would renew hostilities. their principal agent was the celebrated ralle, the french jesuit." p. 215. page 504. where are de rouville and castine. hertel de rouville was an active and unsparing enemy of the english. he was the leader of the combined french and indian forces which destroyed deerfield and massacred its inhabitanta, in 1703. he was afterwards killed in the attack npon haverhill. tradition says that, on examining his dead body, his head and face were found to be perfectly smooth, arranged chronologically this list follows the dates given with th. poems. in the few cases where the data have not been determined exactly the job ems are placed in the group with which they were published, when collected in volun the order is by years, and no atirtiput has here been made to preserve the exact ords of composition under the year. 1825. the exile's departure. the drity. the vale of the merrimac. benevolence. 1827. ocean. 1828. the sicilian vespers. the earthquake. the song of the vermonter. 1829. the spirit of the north. judith at the tent of holofernes. metacom. the drunkard to his bottle. the past and coming year. 1830. the fair quakerss. bolivar. the l'audois teacher, the star of bethlehem. the frost spirit. 1831. isabella of austria. the fratricide. the cities of the plain. 1832. isabel. stanzas: "bind up thr tresses" to william lloyd garrisa. to a poetical trio in the city of gotham. 1833. the female martyr. the missionary. the call of the christian. extract from "a new england gend." toussaint l'ouverture. 1834. mogg jegone. the ('rucitixion. hymn: “0 thou whose presence rot before." the slave-ships. to the memory of charles b. sama follen. a lament. 1835. the demon of the study. the yankee girl. the hunters of men. stanzas for the times the prisoner for i hebt. 1836. a day. chronological list of mr. whittier's poems 529 clerical oppressors. a summons. to the memory of thomas shipley. the moral warfare. 1837. massachusetts. the fountain. palestine. hymns from the french of lamartine. hymn: “o holy father, just and true. ritner. the pastoral letter. lines on the death of s. oliver torrey. 1838. pentucket. the familist's hymn. pennsylvania hail. album verses. the farewell of a virginia slave mother. the quaker of the olden time. 1839. the new year. the relic. the world's convention. 1840. to with a copy of woolman's journal. 1841. the cypress-tree of ceylon. st. john. the exiles. funeral tree of the sokokis. the norsemen. memories. the merrimac. lucy hooper. to a friend. leggett's monument. democracy. 1842. follen. the gallows. raphael. 1843. the knight of st. john. cassandra southwick. the new wife and the old. hampton beach. ego. to j. p. chalkley hall. massachusetts to virginia. the christian slave. seed-time and harvest. to the reformers of england. the human sacrifice, 1844. the pumpkin. the bridal of pennacook. ezekiel. channing. to massachusetts. the sentence of john l. brown. to faneuil hall. texas. 1845. new hampshire. at washington. to my friend on the death of his sister. gone. the shoemakers. the fishermen. the lumbermen, (1846. the ship-builders. the pine-tree. lines from a letter to a young clerical friend. to ronge. forgiveness. the branded hand. the reformer. to a southern statesman. daniel neall. a letter supposed to be written by the chairman of the central clique at concord, n. h. the freed islands. 1847. the lost statesman. the angels of buena vista. barclay of ury. yorktown. to delaware. song of slaves in the desert. the huskers, the drovers. daniel wheeler. my soul and i. to my sister. the wife of manoah to her husband. the angel of patience. what the voice said. a dream of summer. my thanks. randolph of roanoke. proem. 1848. the slaves of martinique. the curse of the charter-breakers. the wish of to-day. pæan. the poor voter on election day. the crisis. the reward. the holy land. worship the peace convention at brussels. 1849. calef in boston. to pius ix. on receiving an eagle's quill from lake superior. kathleen. our state. to fredrika bremer. the men of old. the christian tourists. the lakeside. autumn thoughts. the legend of st. mark. 1850. the well of loch maree. ichabod. in the evil day. elliott. the hill-top. to avis keene. a sabbath scene. derne. lines on the portrait of a celebrated publisher. all's well. 1851. remembrance. the chapel of the hermits. the prisoners of naples. 530 appendix to my old schoolmaster. invocation. wordsworth, in peace, kossuth. to : lines written after a summer day's excursion. what state street said. 1852. pictures. the cross. first day thoughts. questions of life. april. the disenthralled. the peace of europe. eva. astræa. 1833. tauler. summer by the lakeside. trust. my namesake. the dream of pio nono. the hero. rantoul. othcial piety. 1854. the voices. burns. william forster. charles sumner. the rendition. the haschish. the fruit gift. maud muller. the hermit of the thebaid. letter from a missionary of the methodist episcopal church, south. the kansas emigrants. a memory. 1855. the barefoot boy. my dream. flowers in winter. arisen at last. for righteousness' sake. inscription on a sun-dial. 1856. the ranger. the mayflower. the conquest of finland. the new exodus. a lay of old time. a song, inscribed to the frémont clubs. a frémont campaign song. what of the day. a song for the time. the press of the sierra. the panorama. burial of barber. to pennsylvania, mary garvin. 1857. moloch in state street. the first flowers. the sycamores. mabel martin, skipper treson's ride. the garrison of cape ann. 'the last walk in autumn. the gift of tritemius. 18%. to james t. fields. the palm-tree. from perugia. le marais du cygne. the eve of election. the old burying-ground. trinitas. the sisters, the pipes at lucknow. the swan song of parson avery, telling the bees. a song of harvest. george b. cheever. the cable hymn. 1859. kenoza lake. the preacher. the red river voyageur. the double-headed suke of newbury ** the rock" in el ghor. in remembrance of joseph sturge. the over-heart. my psalm. the memory of burns. brown of ossawatomie. on a prayer-book. the prophecy of samuel sewall. for an autumn festival. 1860. the truce of piscataqua, the shadow and the light. my playmate. the river path. italy. naples. the summons. the quaker alumni. the quakers are out. 1861. to william h. sewand. thy will be done. to john c. fremont, a word for the hour. " ein feste burg ist unser gott." cobbler keezar's vision. our river. a legend of the lake. 1862. amy wentworth. at port royal. the cry of a lost soul. mountain pictures, to englishmen. the watchers. the waiting. the battle autumn of 12. astrea at the capitol. 1863. the proclamation. the answer. to samuel e. sewall and larriet sewall. a memorial andrew rykman's prayer. the ('ountees. barbara frietchie. anniversary poem. hymn sung at christmas by the seben of st. helena island, sc. mithridates at chios. 1864. the l'anisher, what the birds snid. the brother of mercy. chronological list of mr. whittier's poems 531 the wreck of rivermouth. bryant on his birthday. thomas starr king. hymn for the opening of thomas starr king's house of worship. lines on leaving appledore. 1865, revisited. to the thirty-ninth congress. the changeling. the grave by the lake. kallundborg church. hymn for the celebration of emancipation at newburyport. laus deo. the mantle of st. john de matha. the peace autumn. the eternal goodness. 1866, snow-bound. the common question. our master. abraham davenport. lines on a fly-leaf. the maids of attitash, the dead ship of harpswell. letter to lucy larcom. 1867. george l. stearns. the worship of nature. freedom in brazil. the palatine. the tent on the beach. 1868. the hive at gettysburg. divine compassion. the clear vision. the meeting: the two rabbins. among the hills. the dole of jarl thorkell. hymn for the house of worship at georgetown. an autograph. 1869. howard at atlanta garibaldi. norumbega. the pageant. 1870. miriam, in school-days. to lydia maria child. my triumph. nauhaught, the deacon. the prayer-seeker. the laurels. a spiritual manifestation. to lucy larcom. 1871. the sisters. marguerite. the robin. the singer. disarmament. how mary grew. chicago. my birthday. 1872. the pressed gentian. a woman. the pennsylvania pilgrim. the three bells. king volmer and elsie. the brewing of soma. hymn for the opening of plymouth church. 1873. conductor bradley. john underhill. a mystery. in quest. the friend's burial. the prayer of agassiz. a christmas carmen. 1874. kinsman. the golden wedding of longwood. vesta. a sea dream. hazel blossoms. summer. 1875. "i was a stranger and ye took me in," the two angels. the healer. child songs. lexington. the library. a farewell. 1876. june on the merrimac. sunset on the bearcamp. centennial hymn. 1877. giving and taking. hymn of the dunkers. the henchman. in the "old south." red riding-hood. the witch of wenham. the problem. thiers. fitz-greene halleck. king solomon and the ants. in response. at school-close. 1878. the seeking ofthe waterfall, at eventide. oriental maxims. the vision of echard. william francis bartlett. hymn of the children. 1879. the khan's devil. the trailing arbutus. the dead feast of the kol-folk. inscription on a fountain. our autocrat. bayard taylor. the emancipation group. garrison. the landmarks. 1880. my trust. the lost occasion. voyage of the jettie. a name. the king's missive. st. martin's summer. valuation. the minister's danghter. the jubilee singers. 1881. within the gate. the book. rabbi ishmael. greeting. the rock tomb of bradore. help. 532 appendix requirement. utterance. by their works, the word. the memory: 1882. the bay of seven islands. garden. an autograph. an easter flower gift. godspeed. the wishing bridge storm on lake asuam. on a fly-leaf of longfellow's poems. at last. a greeting. the poet and the children. wilson. the mystic's christmas. 1883. our country. st. gregory's guest. how the women went from dover. what the traveller said at sunset. a summer pilgrimage. winter roses. 1884. the light that is felt. the two loves. the “story of ida." samuel e. sewall. sweet fern. abram morrison. birchbrook mill. lines written in an album. 1885. hymns of the brahmo somaj. the two elizabeths. requital. the wood giant. the reunion. adjustment. an artist of the beautiful. a welcome to lowell. 1886. how the robin cane. banished from massachusetts. the homestead. revelation. the bartholdi statue. norumbega llall. mulford. to a cape ann schooner. samuel j. tilden. a day's journey. 1887. on the big horn. a legacy. 1888. the brown dwarf of rügen. lydia h. sigourney, inscription on tab let. one of the signers. the christmas of 1888, 1889. the vow of washington. 0. w. holmes on his eightieth bub day. 1890. r. s. s., at deer island on the vert burning drift-wood. the captain's well. haverhill. to g. g. milton, on memorial window. the last eve of summer. to e. c. s. 1891. james russell lowell. preston puwers, inscription for best relief. the birthday wreath. between the gates. 1892. an outdoor rec*ption. the wind of march. to oliver wendell holmes. (date unknown.] the home coming of the bride. mrs. choate's house-warming. a fragruent. mac. index of first lines row, a beautiful and happy girl, 386. a bending staff i would not break, 432. a blush as of roses, 320. above, below, in sky and sod, 436. accept this book, whose pages hold, 523. a christian! going, gone, 289. a cloud, like that the old-time hebrew saw, 165. across the frozen marshes, 377. across the sea i heard the groans, 381. across the stony mountains, o'er the desert's drouth and sand, 308. a dirge is wailing from the gulf of stormvexed mexico, 491. a drear and desolate shore, 127. a few brief years have passed away, 298. after your pleasant morning travel, 516. against the sunset's glowing wall, 423. against the wooded hills it stands, 135. a gold fringe on the purpling hem, 161. all day the darkness and the cold, 114. all grim and soiled and brown with tan, 364. * all hail!” the bells of christmas rang, 462. all night above their rocky bed, 321. "all ready ? " cried the captain, 263. all things are thine: no gift have we, 232. along crane river's sunny slopes, 117. along the aisle where prayer was made, 148. along the roadside, like the flowers of gold, 84. amidst these glorious works of thine, 227. amidst thuringia's wooded hills she dwelt, 134. amidst thy sacred effigies, 349. among their graven shapes to whom, 211. among the legends sung or said, 130. among the thousands who with hail and cheer, 477. a moony breadth of virgin face, 310. and have they spurned thy word, 508. andrew rykman 's dead and gone, 439. “and where now, bayard, will thy footsteps tend, 212. a night of wonder! piled afar, 508. annie and rhoda, sisters twain, 100. a noble life is in thy care, 481. a noteless stream, the birchbrook runs, 133, another hand is beckoning us, 178. a picture memory brings to me, 411. a pious magistrate! sound his praise throughout, 315. around sebago's lonely lake, 11. as adam did in paradise, 219. as a guest who may not stay, 214. a score of years had come and gone, 115. a shallow stream, from fountains, 410, as islam's prophet, when his last day drew, 135. as o'er his furrowed fields which lie, 354. a sound as if from bells of silver, 158. a sound of tumult troubles all the air, 322. as they who, tossing midst the storm at night, 301. as they who watch by sick-beds find relief, 79. a strength thy service cannot tire, 300. a strong and mighty angel, 344. a tale for roman guides to tell, 132. a tender child of summers three, 464. at morn i prayed, " i fain would see, 434. a track of moonlight on a quiet lake, 188. bards of the island city! where of old, 510. beams of noon, like burning lances, through the tree-tops flash and glisten, 305. bearer of freedom's holy light, 351. bear him, comrades, to his grave, 319. before my drift-wood fire i sit, 471. before the ender comes, whose charioteer, 462. behind us at our evening meal, 413. believe me, lucy larcom, it gives me real sor514. beneath the low-hung night cloud, 114. beneath the moonlight and the snow, 408. beneath thy skies, november, 323. beside a stricken field i stood, 335, beside that milestone, where the level sun, 109. between the gates of birth and death, 476. bind up thy tresses, thou beautiful one, 494. bland as the morning breath of june, 143. blessings on thee, little man, 396. blest land of judæa! thrice hallowed of song, 419. blossom and greenness, making all, 475. * bring out your dead !” the midnight street, 1. “ build at kallundborg by the sea, 255. but what avail inadequate words to reach, 461. by fire and cloud, across the desert sand, 377. call him not heretic whose works attest, 460. calm on the breast of loch maree, 39. calmly the night came down, 487. champion of those who groan beneath, 262. climbing a path which leads back never more, 473. close beside the meeting waters, 483. conductor bradley, (always may his name, 117. dark the halls, and cold the feast, 21. dead petra in her hill-tomb sleeps, 435. dear anna, when i brought her veil, 483. dear friends, who read the world aright, 188. dear sister! while the wise and sage, 391. 533 534 index of first lines ho dream not, o soul, that easy is the task, 461. dry the tears for holy eva, 218. earthly arms no more uphold him, 479. ere down yon blue carpathian hills, 17. fair islands of the sunny sea! midst all rejoicing things, 480. fair nature's priestesses ! to whom, 188. far away in the twilight time, 61. far from his close and noisome cell, 355. fate summoned, in gray-bearded age, to act, 210. father! to thy suffering poor, 422. fold thy hands, thy work is over, 482. fond scenes, which delighted my youthful existence, 481, for ages on our river borders, 153. for the fairest maid in hampton, 251. for weeks the clouds had raked the hills, 85. friend of mine! whose lot was cast, 392. friend of my many years, 115. friend of my soul as with moist eye, 176. friend of the slave, and yet the friend of all, 300. from alton bay to sandwich dome, 167. from gold to gray, 378. from pain and peril, by land and main, 468. from purest wells of english undefiled, 473. from the green amesbury hill which bears the name, 127. from the heart of waumbek methna, from the lake that never fails, 19. from the hills of home forth looking, far beneath the tent-like span, 52. from these wild rocks i look to-day, 226. from the well-springs of hudson, the sea-cliffs of maine, 2:20). from yorktown's ruins, ranked and still, 302. gallery of sacred pictures manifold, 160. "get ye up from the wrath of god's terrible day, 417. gift from the cold and silent past, 9. god bless new hampshire! from her granite peaks, 293. god bless ye, brothers! in the fight, 354. god called the nearest angels who dwell with him above, 4.55, god's love and peace be with thee, where, 109. gone before us, ( our brother, 170, gone, gone. -gold and gone, 278. gone hath the spring, with all its flowers, 114. gone to thy heavenly father's rest, 274. graceful in name and in thyself, our river, 174. gray searcher of the upper air, 19). great peace in europe! order reigns, 373. hail, heavenly gift! within the human breast, hail to posterity, 103, hands off ! thou tithe-fat plunderer! play, 183. happy young friends, sit by me, 134. haunted of beauty, like the marvellous youth, 216. have i not voyaged, friend beloved, with thee, 431. have ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen, 270. heap high the farmer's wintry hoard. 364. he comes, he comes, the frostgurt comes, 141. heed how thou livest. do no act by day. 4° he had bowed down to drunkennees 57*. he has done the work of a true man, en here is the place; right over the hill, 2%. he rests with the immortals; his journey be been long, 481. here, while the loom of wintep weaves, 26. her fingers shame the ivory keye, n. her window opens to the bay, 2 ... he stood on the brow of the well-known hil 493, his laurels fresh from song and lay, 21.3. all to the borders! vermunten, and down, 509. ho! thou who seekest late and long, **), ho! workers of the old time styled, wi. hoot ! daur ye shaw ye're face pain, *** how bland and sweet the greeting of the breeze, 177. how has new england's romance fled, 5. how smiled the land of france, 173, how strange to greet, this frusty morn, 148 how sweetly come the holy psalms, 15**. how sweetly on the wood-girt town, hurrah ! the seaward breezes, 3i. ilushed now the sweet consoling tongue, 516.. i ask not now for gold to gild, 431. i call the old time back: i bring my lay, i did but dream. i never knew, hi. i do believe, and yet, in grief, 40. i do not love thee, label, and yet them art most fair, 4914, if i have seemed more prompt to ceresz wrong. 195. i give thee joy! i know to thee. 31. i have been thinking of the victims bound 372. i have not felt, o'er seas of sand, 41. i heard the train's shrill whistle call, $15. i know not, time and space so intervene, 1. i love the old melodious lays, 1. immortal love, forever full, h3 i mourn no more my vanished year, . in calm and cool and silence, once again, 4k i need not ask thee, for my make, in my dream, methought i trud, i. in sky and wave the white clouds swam, in that black forest, where, when day is due 135. in the fair land o'erwatched by luchia's mine tains, 199. in the minister's morning sermon, 4 in the old davy (a custom laid aside. in the old hebrew myth the lion's frame, in the outskirts of the village, 5. in the solemn days of old, 371. in trance and dream of old, god's prophet a 2015. in westminster's royal halls, 36. i said i stood upon thy stare, ilti . i shall not soon forget that sight, 7. index of first lines 535 i sing the pilgrim of a softer clime, 103. is it the palm, the cocoa-palm, 155. i spread a scanty board too late, 412. is this the land our fathers loved, 271. is this thy voice whose treble notes of fear, 294. it chanced that while the pious troops of france, 375. it is done, 345. its windows flashing to the sky, 69. it was late in mild october, and the long autumnal rain, 363. i wait and watch ; before my eyes, 398, i wandered lonely where the pine-trees made, 164. i would i were a painter, for the sake, 156. i would not sin, in this half-playful strain, 242. i would the gift i offer here, 357. i write my name as one, 413. john brown of ossawatomie spake on his dying day, 201. just god! and these are they, 272. know'st thou, oslave-cursed land, 337. last night, just as the tints of autumn's sky, 148, last week the lord be praised for all his mercies, 318. leagues north, as fly the gull and ank, 258. let there be light!” god spake of old, 233. lift again the stately emblem on the bay state's rusted shield, 293, light, warmth, and sprouting greenness, and o'er all, 146. like that ancestral judge who bore his name, 516. long since, a dream of heaven i had, 448. look on him! through his dungeon grate, 367. low in the east, against a white, cold dawn, 467. luck to the craft that bears this name of mine, 217. night on the city of the moor, 311. night was down among the mountains, 488. no aimless wanderers, by the fiend unrest, 368. no berserk thirst of blood had they, 232. no bird-song floated down the hill, 155. no more these simple flowers belong, 196. not always as the whirlwind's rush, 417. not as a poor requital of the joy, 177. not on penobscot's wooded bank the spires, 239. not unto us who did but seek, 346. not vainly did old poets tell, 180. not vainly we waited and counted the hours, 513. not without envy wealth at times must look, 382. not with the splendors of the days of old, 279. now, joy and thanks forevermore, 308. o ary scheffer! when beneath thine eye, 331. o christ of god! whose life and death, 454. o dearest bloom the seasons know, 462. o dearly loved, 182. o dwellers in the stately towns, 226. o'er the bare woods, whose outstretched hands, 150. of all that orient lands can vaunt, 316. of all the rides since the birth of time, 55. o friends ! with whom my feet have trod, 442. of rights and of wrongs, 515. oh, dwarfed and wronged, and stained with ill, 450. “oh, for a knight like bayard, 192. oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, 390. oh, none in all the world before, 340. o holy father ! just and true, 278. oh, praise an' tanks ! de lord he come, 338. oh, thicker, deeper, darker growing, 202. oh, well may essex sit forlorn, 211. o lady fair, these silks of mine are beautiful and rare, 3. old friend, kind' friend! lightly down, 190. olor iscanus queries: “why should we, 333. o lonely bay of trinity, 256. o mother earth! upon thy lap, 303. o mother state! the winds of march, 208. once more, dear friends, you meet beneath, 341. once more, o all-adjusting death, 217. once more, o mountains of the north, unveil, 156. once more on yonder laurelled height, 224. one day, along the electric wire, 193. one hymn more, o my lyre, 420. one morning of the first sad fall, 218. one sabbath day my friend and i, 94. o norah, lay your basket down, 37. on page of thine i cannot trace, 388. on the isle of penikese, 450. on these green banks, where falls too soon, 470. on the wide lawn the snow lay deep, 108. o painter of the fruits and flowers, 237. o people-chosen! are ye not, 317. o poet rare and old, 373, o river winding to the sea, 473. o state prayer-founded i never hung, 320. o storied vale of merrimac, 240. o strong, upwelling prayers of faith, 45. o thou, whose presence went before, 268. 66 6. 66 maddened by earth's wrong and evil, 424. maiden! with the fair brown tresses, 171. make, for he loved thee well, our merrimac, 471. maud muller on a summer's day, 47. men ! if manhood still ye claim, 292. men of the north-land! where's the manly spirit, 273. men said at vespers : all is well," 230. midst the men and things which will, 413, midst the paris bowers of hungary, imperial presburg's pride, 492, muttering fine upland staple," prime seaisland finer,” 512. my ear is full of summer sounds, 332. my garden roses long ago, 238. my heart was heavy, for its trust had been, 390. my lady walks her morning round, 122. my old welsh neighbor over the way, 102, my thoughts are all in yonder town, 452. nauhaught, the indian deacon, who of old, 99. 'neath skies that winter never knew, 23:3. never in tenderer quiet lapsed the day, 103. 536 index of first lines our fathers' god! from out whose hand, 231. our fellow-countrymen in chains, 267. our vales are sweet with fern and rose, 153, out and in the river is winding, 69. outbound, your bark awaits you. were i one, 2:38. out from jernsalem, 120. over the threshold of his pleasant home, 137. over the wooded northern ridge, 82. pardon a stranger hand that gives, 312. pardon, lord, the lips that dare, 439. piero luca, known of all the town, 250. pipes of the misty moorlands, 38. poet and friend of poets, if thy glass, 467. poor and inadequate the shadow-play, 409. pray give the "atlantic,'' 515. " put up the sword!” the voice of christ once more, 382. raze these long blocks of brick and stone, 74. red as the banner which enshrouds, 488. right in the track where sherman, 348. rivermouth rocks are fair to see, 245. robert rawlin! frosts were falling, 51. sad mayflower! watched by winter stars, 149. saint patrick, slave to milcho of the herds, 310. sarah greenleaf, of eighteen years, 509. say, whose is this fair picture, which the light, 5486. scarce had the solemn sabbath-bell, 312. seeress of the misty norland, 183, she came and stood in the old south church, 121. she sang alone, ere womanhood had known, 473. she sings by her wheel at that low cottagedoor, 379. she was a fair young girl, yet on her brow, 491. should you go to centre harbor, 513. silence o'er sea and earth, isti. smoothing soft the nestling head, 464. so fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn, 186. some die too late and some too soon, 187. so spake farias : so, in words of tiame, 198. so stood of old the holy christ, 154. so this is all, -the utmost reach, 276. sound now the trumpet warningly, 512. sound over all waters, reach out from all lands, 43. spare me, dread angel of reproof, 441. speak and tell us, our ximena, looking northward far away, 13. spirit of the frozen north, 487. stand still, my soul, in the silent dark, 428, statesman, i thank thee! and, if yet dissent, still, as of old, in beavor's vale, 160. still in thy streets, o paris! doth the stain, 366, still linger in our noon of time, 154. still sits the school-bouse by the road, 407. stranger and traveller, 179. stream of my father! sweetly still, 141. serike home, strong-hearted man! down to the root, 179. summer's last sun nigh unto setting shims 4 sunlight upon judua's hills, #1. sweetest of all childlike dreams, 157. take our hands, james russell lowell, 1*. talk not of sad november, when a day, itin tauler, the preacher, walked, one autunun das, 41. thank god for rest, where none molest, 14 thank god for the token! one lip is still tren 275. thanks for thy gift, 14. the age is dull and mean. men creep, 317. the autumin-time has come, tij. the beaver cut his timber, 17. the benedictine echard, 157. the birds against the april wind, 343 the blast from freedom's northern hills, upan its southern way, vi. the brownie sits in the scotchman's rowen, á the burly driver at my side, i . the cannon's brazen lips are cold, 370. the circle is broken, one seat is furkan 1.** the clouds, which rise with thunder, slik 1.1. the cross, if rightly borne, shall be, 1:7:. the day is closing dark and cold, die the day's sharp strife is ended ww. ? the dreadful burden of our sins we feel 3:6 the eagle, stooping from yon show-boken peaks, 175, the elder folks shook hands at last, 445. the end has come, as come it must, h. the evil days have come, the pwr. 13 the fagots blazed, the caldron s smoke, 4** the firmament breaks up. in black eclipse. 3:33. the flags of war like storm-binds flv, 1929 the fourteen centuries fall away. twi. the goodman sat beside his door, 13, the great work laid upon his two score yan 203. the gulf of seven and fifty yean, 20. the harp at nature's advent strunz, x1. the khan came from bokhara tuwa. 122 the land, that, from the rule of kings, 24 the land was pale with famine, . the lowliest born of all the land, 213. the mercy. o eternal one, 463. the moon has set: while yet the dawn, 314. the name the gallic exile bure, t12. the new world bonors him whom lufty pies 473) the old squire said, as he stood by his fat 120. the pagan's myths through marble lips ar spoken, 12 the persian's flowery gifte, the shrine i the pilgrim and stranger who through the day, 453, the pines were dark on ramoth hill, i the pleasant isle of rugen looks the balta water o'er, 1. the prophet stood, 4x4. the proudest now is but my peer, 374. the quaker of the olden time, wl. the rabbi ishmael, with the woe and dia, : the rabbi kathan twoscure years and ten. . index of first lines 537 to the god of all sure mercies let my blessing rise to-day, 18. “to the winds give our banner ! 12. to weary hearts, to mourning homes, 425. traveller! on thy journey toiling, 7. tritemius of herbipolis, one day, 54. 'twas night. the tranquil moonlight smile, 263. twenty years have taken flight, 525. type of two mighty continents ! – combining, 189. under the great hill sloping bare, 124. under the shadow of a cloud, the light, 515. unfathomed deep, unfetter'd waste, 486. unnoted as the setting of a star, 217. up and down the village streets, 67. up from the meadows rich with corn, 342. up from the sea the wild north wind is blowing, 476. up, laggards of freedom ! our free flag is cast, 322. up the hillside, down the glen, 291. up the streets of aberdeen, 33. there are streams which are famous in history's story, 485. the river hemmed with leaning trees, 159. the robins sang in the orchard, the buds into blossoms grew, 101. the roll of drums and the bugle's wailing, 225. the same old baffling questions ! o my friend, 434. the shade for me, but over thee, 435. the shadows grow and deepen round me, 463. the shadows round the inland sea, 14. the skipper sailed out of the harbor mouth, 128. the sky is ruddy in the east, 361. the sonl itself its awful witness is, 461. the south-land boasts its teeming cane, 371. the storm and peril overpast, 350. the storm-wind is howling, 482. the subtle power in perfume found, 166. the summer warmth has left the sky, 161. the sunlight glitters keen and bright, 142. the suns of eighteen centuries have shone, 352. the sun that brief december day, 399. the sweet spring day is glad with music, 205. the sword was sheathed: in april's sun, 467. the tall, sallow guardsmen their horsetails have spread, 379. the tent-lights glimmer on the land, 337. the threads our hands in blindness spin, 455. the time of gifts has come again, 159. the tossing spray of cocheco's fall, 131. the tree of faith its bare, dry boughs must shed, 464, the wave is breaking on the shore, 281. the winding way the serpent takes, 92. the years are but half a score, 384. the years are many since his hand, 195. the years are many since, in youth and hope, 93. the years that since we met have flown, 515. they hear thee not, o god! nor see, 423. they left their home of summer ease, 162. they sat in silent watchfulness, 14. they tell me, lucy, thou art dead, 174. thine are all the gifts, o god, 235. thine is a grief, the depth of which another, 181. this day, two hundred years ago, 219. thou dwellest not, () lord of all, 228. though flowers have perished at the touch, 164. thou hast fallen in thine armor, 170. thrice welcome from the land of flowers, 237. thrice welcome to thy sisters of the east, 301. through heat and cold, and shower and sun, 362. through the long hall the shuttered windows shed, 323. through the streets of marblehead, 236. through thy clear spaces, lord, of old, 431. thy error, frémont, simply was to act, 333. 'tis over, moses! all is lost, 298. 'tis said that in the holy land, 391. 'tis the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird, 145. today the plant by williams set, 229. token of friendship, true and tried, 283, to kneel before some saintly shrine, 165. voice of a people suffering long, 349. voice of the holy spirit, making known, 460. wake, sisters, wake! the day-star shines, 4.36. wave of an awful torrent, thronging down, 506. weary of jangling noises never stilled, 464. we cross the prairie as of old, 317. we give thy natal day to hope, 383. we had been wandering for many days, 23. we have opened the door, 122. welcome home again, brave seaman! with thy thoughtful brow and gray, 296. we live by faith; but faith is not the slave, 461. well speed thy mission, bold iconoclast, 369. well thought! who would not rather hear, 198. we praise not now the poet's art, 203. we sat together, last may day, and talked, 213. we saw the slow tides go and come, 160. we see not, know not; all our way, 333. we wait beneath the furnace-blast, 334. what flecks the outer gray beyond, 257. what shall i say, dear friends, to whom i owe, 516. what shall i wish him? strength and health, 516. what though around thee blazes, 292. when first i saw our banner wave, 338. when freedom, on her natal day, 275. when on my day of life the night is falling, 163. when the breath divine is flowing, 421. when the reaper's task was ended, and the summer wearing late, 60. where are we going? where are we going, 301. where ceaseless spring her garland twines, 231. where, over heathen doom rings and gray stones of the horg, 112. 538 index of first lines where the great lake's sunny smiles, 247. where time the measure of his hours, 416. white clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep, 117. who gives and hides the giving hand, 156. who, looking backward from his manhood's prime, 4:30. who stands on that cliff, like a figure of stone, 495. “why urge the long, unequal fight, 376. wildly round our woodland quarters, 359. with a cold and wintry noon-light, 295. with a glory of winter sunshine, 213. with clearer light, cross of the south, shise forth, 381. with fifty years between you and your well kept wedding vow, 231. with warning hand i mark time's rapid tingkat 439. with wisdom far beyond her years, 207. years since (but names to me beforel, . yes, let them gather! summon forth, 'n yes, pile the marble o'er him! it is well, 171 you flung your taunt across the wave, . you scarcely need my tardy thanks, x index of titles abraham davenport, 259. abram morrison, 413. adams, john quincy, 481. adjustment, 464. after election, 382. album verses, 512. all's well, 131. among the hills, 83. amy wentworth, 79. andrew rykman's prayer, 439. angel of patience, the, 425. angels of buena vista, the, 35. anniversary poem, 341. answer, the, 441. april, 145. arisen at last, 316. artist of the beautiful, an, 216. astræa, 373. astrea at the capitol, 338. at eventide, 409. at last, 463 at port royal, 337. at school-close, 231. at washington, 295. autograph, an, 413. autograph, an, 515. autumn thoughts, 144. banished from massachusetts, 137. barbara frietchie, 312. barclay of ury, 33. barefoot boy, the, 396. bartholdi statue, the, 240. bartlett, william francis, 211. battle autumn of 1862, the, 339. bay of seven islands, the, 127. benedicite, 189. benevolence, 485. between the gates, 476. birchbrook mill, 133. birthday wreath, the, 475. bolivar, 491. book, the, 460. branded hand, the, 296. brewing of soma, the, 449. bridal of pennacook, the, 23. brother of mercy, the, 250. brown dwarf of rügen, the, 138. brown of ossawatomie, 201. bryant on his birthday, 203. burial of barber, 319. burning drift-wood, 471. burns, 196. by their works, 460. chicago, 230. child-songs, 454. christian slave, the, 288. christian tourists, the, 308. christmas carmen, a, 453. christmas of 1888, the, 467. cities of the plain, the, 417. clear vision, the, 447. clerical oppressors, 272. cobbler keezar's vision, 77. common question, the, 443. conductor bradley, 117. conquest of finland, the, 377. countess, the, 81. crisis, the, 308. cross, the, 192 crucifixion, the, 418. cry of a lost soul, the, 438. curse of the charter-breakers, the, 306. cypress-tree of ceylon, the, 14. day, a, 168. day's journey, a, 516. dead feast of the kol-folk, the, 122. dead ship of harpswell, the, 257. dedication of a school-house. see our state. deity, the, 484. democracy, 351. demon of the study, the, 6. derne, 311. disarmament, 382. disenthralled, the, 374. divine compassion, 448. dr. kane in cuba, 481. dole of jarl thorkell, the, 89. double-headed snake of newbury, the, 61. dream of argyle, the, 479. dream of pio nono, the, 375. dream of summer, a, 143. drovers, the, 362. drunkard to his bottle, the, 490. earthquake, the, 487. easter flower gift, an, 462. ego, 388. “ ein feste burg ist unser gott," 334. eleanor. see my playmate. elliott, 185. emancipation group, the, 349. eternal goodness, the, 442. eva, 218. evening in burmah, 508. eve of election, the, 378. exile's departure, the, 484. exiles, the, 14. expostulation, 267. extract from “ a new england legend," 5. ezekiel, 423. cable hymn, the, 256. calef in boston, 371. call of the christian, the, 417. captain's well, the, 468. cassandra southwick, 18. centennial hymn, 234. chalkley hall, 177. changeling, the, 251. channing, 180. chapel of the hermits, the, 39. charity, 483. fair quakeress, the, 491. familist's hymn, the, 421. farewell, a, 516. farewell of a virginia slave mother, the, 278. female artyr, the, 4. first-day thoughts, 433. first flowers, the, 153. 539 510 index of titles fisherinen, the, 358. flowers in winter, 118. fllen. see expostulation. follen: on reading his essay on “ the future state," 175. for an autumn festival, 220. forgiveness, 39. for righteousness' sake, 317. forster, william, 195 fountain, the, 7. fragment, a, 616. fratricide, the, 433. freed islands, the, 298. freedoin in brazil, 341. fremont campaign song, a, 512. friend's burial, the, 432. from perugia, 379. frost spirit, the, 141. fruit-gift, the, 118. funeral tree of the sokokis, 11. gallows, the, 352. garden, 237. garibaldi, 205. garrison, 350. garrison of cape ann, the, 52. gift of tritemius, the, 5i. giving and taking, 450. gospeed, 236. golden wedding of longwood, the, 231. goue, 178. grave by the lake, the, 247. greeting, 412. greeting, a, 237. halleck, fitz-greene, 211. hampton beach, 142. haschish, the, 316. haverhill, 473. hazel blossoms, 161. healer, the, tot help, 461. henchman, the, 121. hermit of the thebaid, the, 45. hero, the, 192. hill-top, the, 181. hive at gettysburg, the, 348 holmes, 0. w., en his eightieth birthday, 473. holy land, the, 13). home-coming of the bride, the, 509. homestead, the, 135. hooper, lucy, 174. howard at atlanta, 348. how mary grew, 27 how the robin came, 136 how the women went from dorer, 130. human saritre, the, 32). hunters of men, the, 270, huskers, thr, 303, hymn for the celebration of emancipation at newburyport, 31. hinin for the house of worship at georgetown, 228. hymn for the opening of plymouth chur h. 132 hymn for the (purning of thomas starr king's house of worship, 7. hymn of the children, 235. hymn of the dunker, 154.. himan: "o holy father ! just and true,"78. hymn : " ( thou whose promene went before," 2018, hymns of the brahmo potaj. #3. hymns from the french of lamartine, 120. hymn mmg at christmas by the scholars of st. helena's island, 8. c., 340. ich in memory. 214. lu peace, 180. in quest, 451. in remembrance of joseph sturge, 150. in school-days, 107. inscriptions, 459. in the evil dayr, 313. in the ** old south," 121. invocation, 431. isabel, 434. isabella of austria, 492. italy, 301. "i was a stranger, and ye took me in," 3. john underhill, 115 jubilee singers, the, 319 judith at the tent of holofernes, 18% june on the merrimac, 220. kallundborg church, 255. kansas emigrants, the, 317. kathleen, 37. kenoza lake, 219. khan's devil, the, 123. king, thomas stirr, 13. king's missive, the, 124. king solomon and the arts, 120. king volmer and elsie, 112. kinsman, 231. knight of st. john, the, 17. kossuth, 189. lady franklin, 482. lakeside, the, 1h. lament, a, 149. landmarks, the, 236. last eve of summer, the, 477. last walk in autumn, the, 130. ** laurels, the,"ti. laus deo, 345. lay of old time, a, 218. legacy, a, 115. legend of st. mark, the, 36. legend of the lake, a, 513. leggett's monument, 173. letter from a misionary of the methodist erare church south, in kansas, to a dist. we ttician, 318. letter, a, supposed to be written by the chairs the central clique, at (emcord, x. h., letter to luy larcom, 314 lexington, 232 library, the, 233. light that is felt, the, 464. lines. sre arixon at laut. lines, see at washington. lines. see for rigl. teplanes' sake lines. ser freed liian is, tue lines, ser gallows. the. lines. ser lost statesman, the lines see my thunik lines. see offcial piety. lines. ser ritner. lines. ser sunumons, a. lines from a letter to a young clerical friend, se lines on a fly-leaf, 2013. lines on leasing apple dore, 515. lines on the death of s. oliver torte, im lines on the l'ortrait of a celebrated putrabot, pi lines written in an album, 516 lines written in the beuk of a priena! lines, written on the departure of jorper lt (pasion, the, 1*. last statesman, the, 304. larwell, james rimeii, 4731 lumbermen, the, 39. mabel martin : a harvest idyl, 2. maids of alutash, the, 3. index of titles 541 mantle of st. john de matha, the, 344. marais du cygne, le, 320. marguerite, 101. martha mason. see ranger, the. mary garvin, 49. massachusetts, 508. massachusetts to virginia, 286. maud muller, 47. mayflowers, the, 149. meeting, the, 445. meeting waters, the, 483. memorial, a, 202. memories, 386. memory, a, 395. memory of burns, the, 199. men of old, the, 369. merrimac, the, 141, metacom, 488. milton, on memorial window, 475. minister's daughter, the, 459. miriam, 93. missionary, the, 506. mithridates at chios, 337. mogg megone, 495. moloch in state street, 314. moral, warfare, the, 275. mount agiochook, 490. mountain pictures, 156. mrs. choate's house-warming, 515. mulford, 217. my birthday, 408. my dream, 395. my namesake, 393. my playmate, 76. my psalm, 397. my soul and i, 426. mystery, a, 159. mystic's christmas, the, 462 my thanks, 391. my triumph, 406. my trust, 411. name, a, 412. naples, 201. nauhaught, the deacon, 99. neall, daniel, 300. new exodus, the, 377. new hampshire, 293. new wife and the old, the, 21. new year, the, 281. night and death, 482. norseinen, the, 9. norembega, 92. norumbega hall, 239. ocean, 486. official piety, 315. old burying-ground, the, 153. on a fly-leaf of longfellow's poems, 516. on a prayer-book, 330. one of the signers, 210. on receiving an eagle's quill from lake superior, 144. on the big horn, 381. oriental maxims, 461. our autocrat, 213. our country, 383. our master, 443. our river, 224. our state, 371. outdoor reception, an, 470. over-heart, the, 436. overruled, 455. ouverture, toussaint l', 262. pæan, 308. pageant, the, 158. palatine, the, 258. palestine, 419. palm-tree, the, 155. panorama, the, 323. pass of the sierra, the, 321. past and coming year, the, 506. pastoral letter, the, 276. peace autumn, the, 316. peace convention at brussels, the, 366. peace of europe, the, 373. pennsylvania hall, 279. pennsylvania pilgrim, the, 103. pentucket, 8. pictures, 146. pine-tree, the, 293. pipes at lucknow, the, 58. playmate, the. see my playmate. poet and the children, the, 215. poetical trio in the city of gotham, to a, 510. poor voter on election day, the, 374. powers, preston, inscription for bass-relief, 475. prayer of agassiz, the, 450. prayer-seeker, the, 448. preacher, the, 69. prelude, the. see greeting. pressed gentian, the, 159. prisoner for debt, the, 367. prisoners of naples, the, 372. problem, the, 382. proclamation, the, 340. proem, 1. prophecy of samuel sewall, the, 69. pumpkin, the, 390. quaker alumni, the, 220. quaker of the olden tiine, the, 351. quakers are out, the, 513. questions of life, 432. rabbi ishmael, 126. randolph of roanoke, 303. ranger, the, 51. rantoul, 193. raphael, 387. red riding-hood, 408. red river voyageur, the, 69. reformer, the, 364. relic, the, 283. remembrance, 392. rendition, the, 315. requirement, 461. requital, 135. response, 409. reunion, the, 239. revelation, 465. revisited, 225. reward, the, 430. ritner, 275. river path, the, 155. robin, the, 102. “ rock, the," in el ghor, 435. rock-tomb of bradore, the, 127. r. s. s., at deer island on the merrimac, 471. sabbath scene, a, 312. st. gregory's guest, 132. st. john, 12. st. martin's summer, 164. sea dream, a, 160. seed-time and harvest, 354. seeking of the waterfall, the, 162. sentence of john l. brown, the, 289. sewall, samuel e., 516. shadow and the light, the, 437. ship-builders, the, 361. shoemakers, the, 357. sicilian vespers, the, 486. bigourney, lydia h., inscription on tablet, 475. 542 index of titles singer, the, 206. sisters, the, 100. sisters, the: a picture by barry, 135. skipper ireson's ride, 55. slave-ships, the, 265. slaves of martinique, the, 305. snow-bound, 398. song for the time, a, 322. song, a, inscribed to the frémont clubs, 323. song of harvest, a, 219. song of slaves in the desert, 301. soug of the vermonters, the, 509. spirit of the north, the, 487. spiritual manifestation, a, 228. stanzas. see expostulation. stanzas : “ bind up thy tresses, thou beautiful one," stanzas for the times, 271. stanzas for the times. see in the evil days. star of bethlehem, the, 416. stearns, george l., 204. storm on lake asquam, 165. ** story of ida,” the, 164. summer by the lakeside, 147. summer pilgrimage, a, 165. summons, a, 272. summons, the, 332. sumner, 208 sunset on the bearcamp, 161. swan song of parson avery, the, 60. sweet fern, 166. sycamores, the, 56. tauler, 44. taylor, bayard, 212. telling the bees, 59. tent on the beach, the, 242. texas, 291. thiers, 210. three bells, the, 114. thy will be done, 333. tilden, samuel j., 217. to lines written after a summer day's excursion, 188. to—, with a copy of john woolman's journal, 171. to a cape ann schooner, 217. to a friend, 173. to a poetical trio in the city of gotham, 510. to a southern statesman, 294. to avis keene, 184. to charles sumner, 196 to delaware, 301. to e c. 8., 467. to englishinen, 336. to faneuil hall, 22. to fredrika bremer, 183. to g. g., 471. to george b. cherver, 198 to james t. fields, 198. to john c. fremont, 334. to j. p. 177. to lucy larrom, 514. t. lydia maria chill, 206. to massachusetts, 22. to my friend on the death of his sister, 181. to my old schoolmaster, 190. to iny bister, 391. to oliver wendell holmea, 477. to pennsylvania, 320. to pius ix., 370. to ronge, 179. to samuel e. sewall and harriet w. sewan, 332. to the memory of charles b. surra, 170. to the memory of thomas shipley, 274. to the reformers of england, 3:54. to the thirty-ninth congress, 347. to william h. seward, 332. to william lloyd garrison, 262 trailing arbutus, the, 164. trinitas, 431. truce of piscataqua, the, 74. trust, 434. two angels, the, 455. two elizabeths, the, 134. two loves, the, 464. two rabbins, the, 91. utterance, 461. vale of the merrimac, the, 485. valuation, 126. vanishers, the, 157. vaudois teacher, the, 3. vermonters, song of the, 503. vesta, 451. vision of echard, the, 457. voices, the, 376. vow of washington, the, 467. voyage of the jettie, 110. waiting, the, 398 watchers, the, 335. wedding veil, the, 483, welcome to lowell, a, 216. well of loch maree, the, 39. what of the day, 3-2. what state street said, 512 what the birds raid, 313. what the traveller said at sunset, 163, what the voice said, 4. wheeler, daniel, 182. wife of manoah to her husband, the, 4* wife, the. see among the hilla. wilson, 215. wind of march, the, 476. winter roses, 238. wishing bridge, the, 130. wish of to-day, the, 131. witch of wenham, the, 117. witch's daughter, the see mabel martin. within the gate, 213. woman, a, 40). wood giant, the, 167. word, the, 407 word for the hour, a, 333 wordsworth, 188 world's convention, the, 284. worship, 4:29. worship of nature, the, 261. wreck of rivermouth, the, 15 yankee girl, the, 269. yorktown, 302. 1 3 2044 019 084 623 the borrower will be charged an overdue fee if this book is not returned to the library on or before the last date stamped below. non-receipt of overdue notices does not exempt the borrower from overdue fees. harvard college widener library cambridge, ma 02138 (617) 495-2413 widener v. jan 2 2 1999 dec 3 1 1998 book due widener $eb ? 8, 2008 cancelled widener may 3 0 2002 a book duel [illustration: blown to bits or the lonely man of rakata] [illustration: came unexpectedly on a cavern."--page 112.--(_frontispiece_.)] blown to bits or the lonely man of rakata. a tale of the malay archipelago. by r.m. ballantyne, author of "blue lights, or hot work in the soudan;" "the fugitives;" "red rooney;" "the rover of the andes;" "the wild man of the west;" "the red eric;" "freaks on the fells;" "the young trawler;" "dusty diamonds;" "the battery and the boiler;" "post haste;" "black ivory;" "the iron horse;" "fighting the flames;" "the lifeboat;" etc. etc. with illustrations by the author. _eighth thousand_. london: james nisbet & co., 21 berners street. 1894. [_all rights reserved_.] preface. the extremely violent nature of the volcanic eruption in krakatoa in 1883, the peculiar beauty of those parts of the eastern seas where the event occurred, the wide-spread influences of the accompanying phenomena, and the tremendous devastation which resulted, have all inspired me with a desire to bring the matter, in the garb of a tale, before that portion of the juvenile world which accords me a hearing. for most of the facts connected with the eruption which have been imported into my story, i have to acknowledge myself indebted to the recently published important and exhaustive "report" of the krakatoa committee, appointed by the royal society to make a thorough investigation of the whole matter in all its phases. i have also to acknowledge having obtained much interesting and useful information from the following among other works:--_the malay archipelago_, by a.r. wallace; _a naturalist's wanderings in the eastern archipelago_, by h.o. forbes; and darwin's _journal of researches_ round the world in h.m.s. "beagle." r.m. ballantyne. harrow-on-the hill, 1889. contents. page chap. i.--the play commences, 1 ii.--the haven in the coral ring, 9 iii.--interesting particulars of various kinds, 19 iv.--nigel undergoes some quite new and interesting experiences, 33 v.--captain roy surprises and gratifies his son, who surprises a negro, and suddenly forms an astonishing resolve, 47 vi.--the hermit of rakata introduced, 58 vii.--wonders of the hermit's cave and island, 72 viii.--perboewatan becomes moderately violent, 89 ix.--describes, among other things, a singular meeting under peculiar circumstances, 99 x.--a curious sea-going craft--the unknown voyage begun, 111 xi.--canoeing on the sea--a mysterious night-surprise and sudden flight, 123 xii.--weathering a storm in the open sea, 140 xiii.--friends are met with, also pirates, and a life-or-death paddle ensues, 153 xiv.--a new friend found--new dangers encountered and new hopes delayed, 173 xv.--hunting the great man-monkey, 189 xvi.--begins with a terrible fight and ends with a hasty flight, 204 xvii.--tells of the joys, etc., of the professor in the sumatran forests, also of a catastrophe averted, 217 xviii.--a trying ordeal--danger threatens and flight again resolved on, 230 xix.--a terrible murder and a strange revelation, 243 xx.--nigel makes a confidant of moses--undertakes a lonely watch and sees something wonderful, 259 xxi.--in which the professor distinguishes himself, 276 xxii.--a python discovered and a geyser interviewed, 297 xxiii.--tells of volcanic fires and a strange return "home," 307 xxiv.--an awful night and terrible morning, 324 xxv.--adventures of the "sunshine" and an unexpected reunion, 343 xxvi.--a climax, 361 xxvii.--"blown to bits," 371 xxviii.--the fate of the "sunshine," 377 xxix.--tells chiefly of the wonderful effects of this eruption on the world at large, 385 xxx.--coming events, etc.--wonderful changes among the islands, 401 xxxi.--ends with a struggle between inclination and duty, 414 xxxii.--the last, 425 list of illustrations. vignette title. "he came unexpectedly on a cavern."--page 112, _frontispiece_. art on the keeling islands, _facing page_ 36 they discover a pirates' bivouac, 164 "do you hear?" said verkimier, sternly, 187 blown to bits 342 blown to bits a tale of the malay archipelago. chapter i. the play commences. blown to bits; bits so inconceivably, so ineffably, so "microscopically" small that--but let us not anticipate. about the darkest hour of a very dark night, in the year 1883, a large brig lay becalmed on the indian ocean, not far from that region of the eastern world which is associated in some minds with spices, volcanoes, coffee, and piratical junks, namely, the malay archipelago. two men slowly paced the brig's quarter-deck for some time in silence, as if the elemental quietude which prevailed above and below had infected them. both men were broad, and apparently strong. one of them was tall; the other short. more than this the feeble light of the binnacle-lamp failed to reveal. "father," said the tall man to the short one, "i do like to hear the gentle pattering of the reef points on the sails; it is so suggestive of peace and rest. doesn't it strike you so?" "can't say it does, lad," replied the short man, in a voice which, naturally mellow and hearty, had been rendered nautically harsh and gruff by years of persistent roaring in the teeth of wind and weather. "more suggestive to me of lost time and lee-way." the son laughed lightly, a pleasant, kindly, soft laugh, in keeping with the scene and hour. "why, father," he resumed after a brief pause, "you are so sternly practical that you drive all the sentiment out of a fellow. i had almost risen to the regions of poetry just now, under the pleasant influences of nature." "glad i got hold of 'ee, lad, before you rose," growled the captain of the brig--for such the short man was. "when a young fellow like you gets up into the clouds o' poetry, he's like a man in a balloon--scarce knows how he got there; doesn't know very well how he's to get down, an' has no more idea where he's goin' to, or what he's drivin' at, than the man in the moon. take my advice, lad, an' get out o' poetical regions as fast as ye can. it don't suit a young fellow who has got to do duty as first mate of his father's brig and push his way in the world as a seaman. when i sent you to school an' made you a far better scholar than myself, i had no notion they was goin' to teach you poetry." the captain delivered the last word with an emphasis which was meant to convey the idea of profound but not ill-natured scorn. "why, father," returned the young man, in a tone which plainly told of a gleeful laugh within him, which was as yet restrained, "it was not school that put poetry into me--if indeed there be any in me at all." "what was it, then?" "it was mother," returned the youth, promptly, "and surely you don't object to poetry in _her_." "object!" cried the captain, as though speaking in the teeth of a nor'wester. "of course not. but then, nigel, poetry in your mother _is_ poetry, an' she can _do_ it, lad--screeds of it--equal to anything that dibdin, or, or,--that other fellow, you know, i forget his name--ever put pen to--why, your mother is herself a poem! neatly made up, rounded off at the corners, french-polished and all shipshape. ha! you needn't go an' shelter yourself under _her_ wings, wi' your inflated, up in the clouds, reef-point-patterin', balloon-like nonsense." "well, well, father, don't get so hot about it; i won't offend again. besides, i'm quite content to take a very low place so long as you give mother her right position. we won't disagree about that, but i suspect that we differ considerably about the other matter you mentioned." "what other matter?" demanded the sire. "my doing duty as first mate," answered the son. "it must be quite evident to you by this time, i should think, that i am not cut out for a sailor. after all your trouble, and my own efforts during this long voyage round the cape, i'm no better than an amateur. i told you that a youth taken fresh from college, without any previous experience of the sea except in boats, could not be licked into shape in so short a time. it is absurd to call me first mate of the _sunshine_. that is in reality mr. moor's position--" "no, it isn't, nigel, my son," interrupted the captain, firmly. "mr. moor is _second_ mate. _i_ say so, an' if i, the skipper and owner o' this brig, don't know it, i'd like to know who does! now, look here, lad. you've always had a bad habit of underratin' yourself an' contradictin' your father. i'm an old salt, you know, an' i tell 'ee that for the time you've bin at sea, an' the opportunities you've had, you're a sort o' walkin' miracle. you're no more an ammytoor than i am, and another voyage or two will make you quite fit to work your way all over the ocean, an' finally to take command o' this here brig, an' let your old father stay at home wi'--wi'--" "with the poetess," suggested nigel. "just so--wi' the equal o' dibdin, not to mention the other fellow. now it seems to me--. how's 'er head?" the captain suddenly changed the subject here. nigel, who chanced to be standing next the binnacle, stooped to examine the compass, and the flood of light from its lamp revealed a smooth but manly and handsome face which seemed quite to harmonise with the cheery voice that belonged to it. "nor'-east-and-by-east," he said. "are 'ee sure, lad?" "your doubting me, father, does not correspond with your lately expressed opinion of my seamanship; does it?" "let me see," returned the captain, taking no notice of the remark, and stooping to look at the compass with a critical eye. the flood of light, in this case, revealed a visage in which good-nature had evidently struggled for years against the virulent opposition of wind and weather, and had come off victorious, though not without evidences of the conflict. at the same time it revealed features similar to those of the son, though somewhat rugged and red, besides being smothered in hair. "vulcan must be concoctin' a new brew," he muttered, as he gazed inquiringly over the bow, "or he's stirring up an old one." "what d' you mean, father?" "i mean that there's somethin' goin' on there-away--in the neighbourhood o' sunda straits," answered the captain, directing attention to that point of the compass towards which the ship's head was turned. "darkness like this don't happen without a cause. i've had some experience o' them seas before now, an' depend upon it that vulcan is stirring up some o' the fires that are always blazin' away, more or less, around the straits settlements." "by which you mean, i suppose, that one of the numerous volcanoes in the malay archipelago has become active," said nigel; "but are we not some five or six hundred miles to the sou'-west of sunda? surely the influence of volcanic action could scarcely reach so far." "so far!" repeated the captain, with a sort of humph which was meant to indicate mild contempt; "that shows how little you know, with all your book-learnin', about volcanoes." "i don't profess to know much, father," retorted nigel in a tone of cheery defiance. "why, boy," continued the other, resuming his perambulation of the deck, "explosions have sometimes been heard for hundreds, ay _hundreds_, of miles. i thought i heard one just now, but no doubt the unusual darkness works up my imagination and makes me suspicious, for it's wonderful what fools the imag--. hallo! d'ee feel _that_?" he went smartly towards the binnacle-light, as he spoke, and, holding an arm close to it, found that his sleeve was sprinkled with a thin coating of fine dust. "didn't i say so?" he exclaimed in some excitement, as he ran to the cabin skylight and glanced earnestly at the barometer. that glance caused him to shout a sudden order to take in all sail. at the same moment a sigh of wind swept over the sleeping sea as if the storm-fiend were expressing regret at having been so promptly discovered and met. seamen are well used to sudden danger--especially in equatorial seas--and to prompt, unquestioning action. not many minutes elapsed before the _sunshine_ was under the smallest amount of sail she could carry. even before this had been well accomplished a stiff breeze was tearing up the surface of the sea into wild foam, which a furious gale soon raised into raging billows. the storm came from the sunda straits about which the captain and his son had just been talking, and was so violent that they could do nothing but scud before it under almost bare poles. all that night it raged. towards morning it increased to such a pitch that one of the back-stays of the foremast gave way. the result was that the additional strain thus thrown on the other stays was too much for them. they also parted, and the fore-top-mast, snapping short off with a report like a cannon-shot, went over the side, carrying the main-topgallant-mast and all its gear along with it. chapter ii. the haven in the coral ring. it seemed as if the storm-fiend were satisfied with the mischief he had accomplished, for immediately after the disaster just described, the gale began to moderate, and when the sun rose it had been reduced to a stiff but steady breeze. from the moment of the accident onward, the whole crew had been exerting themselves to the utmost with axe and knife to cut and clear away the wreck of the masts and repair damages. not the least energetic among them was our amateur first mate, nigel roy. when all had been made comparatively snug, he went aft to where his father stood beside the steersman, with his legs nautically wide apart, his sou'-wester pulled well down over his frowning brows, and his hands in their native pockets. "this is a bad ending to a prosperous voyage," said the youth, sadly; "but you don't seem to take it much to heart, father!" "how much or little i take it to heart you know nothin' whatever about, my boy, seein' that i don't wear my heart on my coat-sleeve, nor yet on the point of my nose, for the inspection of all and sundry. besides, you can't tell whether it's a bad or a good endin', for it has not ended yet one way or another. moreover, what appears bad is often found to be good, an' what seems good is pretty often uncommon bad." "you are a walking dictionary of truisms, father! i suppose you mean to take a philosophical view of the misfortune and make the best of it," said nigel, with what we may style one of his twinkling smiles, for on nearly all occasions that young man's dark, brown eyes twinkled, in spite of him, as vigorously as any "little star" that was ever told in prose or song to do so--and much more expressively, too, because of the eyebrows of which little stars appear to be destitute. "no, lad," retorted the captain; "i take a common-sense view--not a philosophical one; an' when you've bin as long at sea as i have, you'll call nothin' a misfortune until it's proved to be such. the only misfortune i have at present is a son who cannot see things in the same light as his father sees 'em." "well, then, according to your own principle that is the reverse of a misfortune, for if i saw everything in the same light that you do, you'd have no pleasure in talking to me, you'd have no occasion to reason me out of error, or convince me of truth. take the subject of poetry, now--" "luff," said captain roy, sternly, to the man at the wheel. when the man at the wheel had gone through the nautical evolution involved in "luff," the captain turned to his son and said abruptly-"we'll run for the cocos-keelin' islands, nigel, an' refit." "are the keeling islands far off?" "lift up your head and look straight along the bridge of your nose, lad, and you'll see them. they're an interesting group, are the keelin' islands. volcanic, they are, with a coral top-dressin', so to speak. sit down here an' i'll tell 'ee about 'em." nigel shut up the telescope through which he had been examining the thin, blue line on the horizon that indicated the islands in question, and sat down on the cabin skylight beside his father. "they've got a romantic history too, though a short one, an' are set like a gem on the bosom of the deep blue sea--" "come, father, you're drifting out of your true course--that's poetical!" "i know it, lad, but i'm only quotin' your mother. well, you must know that the keelin' islands--we call them keelin' for short--were uninhabited between fifty and sixty years ago, when a scotsman named ross, thinking them well situated as a port of call for the repair and provisioning of vessels on their way to australia and china, set his heart on them and quietly took possession in the name of england. then he went home to fetch his wife and family of six children, intendin' to settle on the islands for good. returning in 1827 with the family and fourteen adventurers, twelve of whom were english, one a portugee and one a javanee, he found to his disgust that an englishman named hare had stepped in before him and taken possession. this hare was a very bad fellow; a rich man who wanted to live like a rajah, with lots o' native wives and retainers, an' be a sort of independent prince. of course he was on bad terms at once with ross, who, finding that things were going badly, felt that it would be unfair to hold his people to the agreement which was made when he thought the whole group was his own, so he offered to release them. they all, except two men and one woman, accepted the release and went off in a gun-boat that chanced to touch there at the time. for a good while hare and his rival lived there--the one tryin' to get the dutch, the other to induce the english government to claim possession. neither dutch nor english would do so at first, but the english did it at long-last--in 1878--and annexed the islands to the government of ceylon. "long before that date, however--before 1836--hare left and went to singapore, where he died, leaving ross in possession--the 'king of the cocos islands' as he came to be called. in a few years--chiefly through the energy of ross's eldest son, to whom he soon gave up the management of affairs--the group became a prosperous settlement. its ships traded in cocoa-nuts (the chief produce of the islands) throughout all the straits settlements, and boat-buildin' became one of their most important industries. but there was one thing that prevented it from bein' a very happy though prosperous place, an' that was the coolies who had been hired in java, for the only men that could be got there at first were criminals who had served their time in the chain-gangs of batavia. as these men were fit for anything--from pitch-and-toss to murder--and soon outnumbered the colonists, the place was kept in constant alarm and watchfulness. for, as i dare say you know, the malays are sometimes liable to have the spirit of _amok_ on them, which leads them to care for and fear nothin', and to go in for a fight-to-death, from which we get our sayin'--_run amuck_. an' when a strong fellow is goin' about loose in this state o' mind, it's about as bad as havin' a tiger prowlin' in one's garden." "well, sometimes two or three o' these coolies would mutiny and hide in the woods o' one o' the smaller uninhabited islands. an' the colonists would have no rest till they hunted them down. so, to keep matters right, they had to be uncommon strict. it was made law that no one should spend the night on any but what was called the home island without permission. every man was bound to report himself at the guard-house at a fixed hour; every fire to be out at sunset, and every boat was numbered and had to be in its place before that time. so they went on till the year 1862, when a disaster befell them that made a considerable change--at first for the worse, but for the better in the long-run. provin' the truth, my lad, of what i was--well, no--i was goin' to draw a moral here, but i won't! "it was a cyclone that did the business. cyclones have got a free-an'-easy way of makin' a clean sweep of the work of years in a few hours. this cyclone completely wrecked the homes of the keelin' islanders, and ross--that's the second ross, the son of the first one--sent home for _his_ son, who was then a student of engineering in glasgow, to come out and help him to put things to rights. ross the third obeyed the call, like a good son,--observe that, nigel." "all right, father, fire away!" "like a good son," repeated the captain, "an' he turned out to be a first-rate man, which was lucky, for his poor father died soon after, leavin' him to do the work alone. an' well able was the young engineer to do it. he got rid o' the chain-gang men altogether, and hired none but men o' the best character in their place. he cleared off the forests and planted the ground with cocoa-nut palms. got out steam mills, circular saws, lathes, etc., and established a system of general education with a younger brother as head-master--an' tail-master too, for i believe there was only one. he also taught the men to work in brass, iron, and wood, and his wife--a cocos girl that he married after comin' out--taught all the women and girls to sew, cook, and manage the house. in short, everything went on in full swing of prosperity, till the year 1876, when the island-born inhabitants were about 500, as contented and happy as could be. "in january of that year another cyclone paid them a visit. the barometer gave them warning, and, remembering the visit of fourteen years before, they made ready to receive the new visitor. all the boats were hauled up to places of safety, and every other preparation was made. down it came, on the afternoon o' the 28th--worse than they had expected. many of the storehouses and mills had been lately renewed or built. they were all gutted and demolished. everything movable was swept away like bits of paper. lanes, hundreds of yards in length, were cleared among the palm trees by the whirling wind, which seemed to perform a demon-dance of revelry among them. in some cases it snapped trees off close to the ground. in others it seemed to swoop down from above, lick up a patch of trees bodily and carry them clean away, leaving the surrounding trees untouched. sometimes it would select a tree of thirty years growth, seize it, spin it round, and leave it a permanent spiral screw. i was in these regions about the time, and had the account from a native who had gone through it all and couldn't speak of it except with glaring eyeballs and gasping breath. "about midnight of the 28th the gale was at its worst. darkness that could be felt between the flashes of lightning. thunder that was nearly drowned by the roaring of the wind an' the crashing of everything all round. to save their lives the people had to fling themselves into ditches and hollows of the ground. mr. ross and some of his people were lying in the shelter of a wall near his house. there had been a schooner lying not far off. when mr. ross raised his head cautiously above the wall to have a look to wind'ard he saw the schooner comin' straight for him on the top of a big wave. 'hold on!' he shouted, fell flat down, and laid hold o' the nearest bush. next moment the wave burst right over the wall, roared on up to the garden, 150 yards above highwater mark, and swept his house clean away! by good fortune the wall stood the shock, and the schooner stuck fast just before reachin' it, but so near that the end of the jib-boom passed right over the place where the household lay holdin' on for dear life and half drowned. it was a tremendous night," concluded the captain, "an' nearly everything on the islands was wrecked, but they've survived it, as you'll see. though it's seven years since that cyclone swep' over them, they're all right and goin' ahead again, full swing, as if nothin' had happened." "and is ross iii. still king?" asked nigel with much interest. "ay--at least he was king a few years ago when i passed this way and had occasion to land to replace a tops'l yard that had been carried away." "then you won't arrive as a stranger?" "i should think not," returned the captain, getting up and gazing steadily at the _atoll_ or group of islets enclosed within a coral ring which they were gradually approaching. night had descended, however, and the gale had decreased almost to a calm, ere they steered through the narrow channel--or what we may call a broken part of the ring--which led to the calm lagoon inside. nigel roy leaned over the bow, watching with profound attention the numerous phosphorescent fish and eel-like creatures which darted hither and thither like streaks of silver from beneath their advancing keel. he had enough of the naturalist in him to arouse in his mind keen interest in the habits and action of the animal life around him, and these denizens of the coral-groves were as new to him as their appearance was unexpected. "you'll find 'em very kind and hospitable, lad," said the captain to his son. "what, the fish?" "no, the inhabitants. port--port--steady!" "steady it is!" responded the man at the wheel. "let go!" shouted the captain. a heavy plunge, followed by the rattling of chains and swinging round of the brig, told that they had come to an anchor in the lagoon of the cocos-keeling islands. chapter iii. interesting particulars of various kinds. by the first blush of dawn nigel roy hastened on deck, eager to see the place in regard to which his father's narrative had awakened in him considerable interest. it not only surpassed but differed from all his preconceived ideas. the brig floated on the bosom of a perfectly calm lake of several miles in width, the bottom of which, with its bright sand and brilliant coral-beds, could be distinctly seen through the pellucid water. this lake was encompassed by a reef of coral which swelled here and there into tree-clad islets, and against which the breakers of the indian ocean were dashed into snowy foam in their vain but ceaseless efforts to invade the calm serenity of the lagoon. smaller islands, rich with vegetation, were scattered here and there within the charmed circle, through which several channels of various depths and sizes connected the lagoon with the ocean. "we shall soon have the king himself off to welcome us," said captain roy as he came on deck and gave a sailor-like glance all round the horizon and then up at the sky from the mere force of habit. "visitors are not numerous here. a few scientific men have landed now and again; darwin the great naturalist among others in 1836, and forbes in 1878. no doubt they'll be very glad to welcome nigel roy in this year of grace 1883." "but i'm not a naturalist, father, more's the pity." "no matter, lad; you're an ammytoor first mate, an' pr'aps a poet may count for somethin' here. they lead poetical lives and are fond o' poetry." "perhaps that accounts for the fondness you say they have for you, father." "just so, lad. see!--there's a boat puttin' off already: the king, no doubt." he was right. mr. ross, the appointed governor, and "king of the cocos islands," was soon on deck, heartily shaking hands with and welcoming captain roy as an old friend. he carried him and his son off at once to breakfast in his island-home; introduced nigel to his family, and then showed them round the settlement, assuring them at the same time that all its resources were at their disposal for the repair of the _sunshine_. "thank 'ee kindly," said the captain in reply, "but i'll only ask for a stick to rig up a foretop-mast to carry us to batavia, where we'll give the old craft a regular overhaul--for it's just possible she may have received some damage below the water-line, wi' bumpin' on the mast and yards." the house of the "king" was a commodious, comfortable building in the midst of a garden, in which there were roses in great profusion, as well as fruit-trees and flowering shrubs. each keeling family possessed a neat well-furnished plank cottage enclosed in a little garden, besides a boat-house at the water-edge on the inner or lagoon side of the reef, and numerous boats were lying about on the white sand. the islanders, being almost born sailors, were naturally very skilful in everything connected with the sea. there was about them a good deal of that kindly innocence which one somehow expects to find associated with a mild paternal government and a limited intercourse with the surrounding world, and nigel was powerfully attracted by them from the first. after an extensive ramble, during which mr. ross plied the captain with eager questions as to the latest news from the busy centres of civilisation--especially with reference to new inventions connected with engineering--the island king left them to their own resources till dinner-time, saying that he had duties to attend to connected with the kingdom! "now, boy," said the captain when their host had gone, "what'll 'ee do? take a boat and have a pull over the lagoon, or go with me to visit a family i'm particularly fond of, an' who are uncommon fond o' _me!"_ "visit the family, of course," said nigel. "i can have a pull any day." "come along then." he led the way to one of the neatest of the plank cottages, which stood on the highest ridge of the island, so that from the front windows it commanded a view of the great blue ocean with its breakers that fringed the reef as with a ring of snow, while, on the opposite side, lay the peaceful waters and islets of the lagoon. a shout of joyful surprise was uttered by several boys and girls at sight of the captain, for during his former visit he had won their hearts by telling them wild stories of the sea, one half of each story being founded on fact and personal experience, the other half on a vivid imagination! "we are rejoiced to see you," said the mother of the juveniles, a stout woman of mixed nationality--that of dutch apparently predominating. she spoke english, however, remarkably well, as did many of the cocos people, though malay is the language of most of them. the boys and girls soon hauled the captain down on a seat and began to urge him to tell them stories, using a style of english that was by no means equal to that of the mother. "stop, stop, let me see sister kathy first. i can't begin without her. where is she?" "somewhere, i s'pose," said the eldest boy. "no doubt of that. go--fetch her," returned the captain. at that moment a back-door opened, and a girl of about seventeen years of age entered. she was pleasant-looking rather than pretty--tall, graceful, and with magnificent black eyes. "here she comes," cried the captain, rising and kissing her. "why, kathy, how you've grown since i saw you last! quite a woman, i declare!" kathy was not too much of a woman, however, to join her brothers and sisters in forcing the captain into a seat and demanding a story on the spot. "stop, stop!" cried the captain, grasping round their waists a small boy and girl who had already clambered on his knees. "let me inquire about my old friends first--and let me introduce my son to you--you've taken no notice of _him_ yet! that's not hospitable." all eyes were turned at once on nigel, some boldly, others with a shy inquiring look, as though to say, can _you_ tell stories? "come, now," said nigel, advancing, "since you are all so fond of my father, i must shake hands with you all round." the hearty way in which this was done at once put the children at their ease. they admitted him, as it were, into their circle, and then turning again to the captain continued their clamour for a story. "no, no--about old friends first. how--how's old mother morris?" "quite well," they shouted. "fatterer than ever," added an urchin, who in england would have been styled cheeky. "yes," lisped a very little girl; "one of 'e doors in 'e house too small for she." "why, gerchin, you've learned to speak english like the rest," said the captain. "yes, father make every one learn." "well, now," continued the captain, "what about black sam?" "gone to batavia," chorused the children. "and--and--what's-'is-name?--the man wi' the nose--" a burst of laughter and, "we's _all_ got noses here!" was the reply. "yes, but you know who i mean--the short man wi' the--" "oh! with the turned _up_ nose. _i_ know," cried the cheeky boy; "you means johnson? he goed away nobody know whar'." "and little nelly drew, what of her?" a sudden silence fell on the group, and solemn eyes were turned on sister kathy, who was evidently expected to answer. "not dead?" said the captain earnestly. "no, but very _very_ ill," replied the girl. "dear nelly have never git over the loss of her brother, who--" at this point they were interrupted by another group of the captain's little admirers, who, having heard of his arrival, ran forward to give him a noisy welcome. before stories could be commenced, however, the visitors were summoned to mr. ross's house to dinner, and then the captain had got into such an eager talk with the king that evening was upon them before they knew where they were, as nigel expressed it, and the stories had to be postponed until the following day. of course beds were offered, and accepted by captain roy and nigel. just before retiring to them, father and son went out to have a stroll on the margin of the lagoon. "ain't it a nice place, nigel?" asked the former, whose kindly spirit had been stirred up to quite a jovial pitch by the gushing welcome he had received alike from old and young. "it's charming, father. quite different from what you had led me to expect." "my boy," returned the captain, with that solemn deliberation which he was wont to assume when about to deliver a palpable truism. "w'en you've come to live as long as me you'll find that everything turns out different from what people have bin led to expect. leastways that's _my_ experience." "well, in the meantime, till i have come to your time of life, i'll take your word for that, and i do hope you intend to stay a long time here." "no, my son, i don't. why do ye ask?" "because i like the place and the people so much that i would like to study it and them, and to sketch the scenery." "business before pleasure, my lad," said the captain with a grave shake of the head. "you know we've bin blown out of our course, and have no business here at all. i'll only wait till the carpenter completes his repairs, and then be off for batavia. duty first; everything else afterwards." "but you being owner as well as commander, there is no one to insist on duty being done," objected nigel. "pardon me," returned the captain, "there is a certain owner named captain david roy, a very stern disciplinarian, who insists on the commander o' this here brig performin' his duty to the letter. you may depend upon it that if a man ain't true to himself he's not likely to be true to any one else. but it's likely that we may be here for a couple of days, so i release _you_ from duty that you may make the most o' your time and enjoy yourself. by the way, it will save you wastin' time if you ask that little girl, kathy holbein, to show you the best places to sketch, for she's a born genius with her pencil and brush." "no, thank you, father," returned nigel. "i want no little girl to bother me while i'm sketching--even though she be a born genius--for i think i possess genius enough my self to select the best points for sketching, and to get along fairly well without help. at least i'll try what i can do." "please yourself, lad. nevertheless, i think you wouldn't find poor kathy a bother; she's too modest for that--moreover, she could manage a boat and pull a good oar when i was here last, and no doubt she has improved since." "nevertheless, i'd rather be alone," persisted nigel. "but why do you call her _poor_ kathy? she seems to be quite as strong and as jolly as the rest of her brothers and sisters." "ah, poor thing, these are not her brothers and sisters," returned the captain in a gentler tone. "kathy is only an adopted child, and an orphan. her name, kathleen, is not a dutch one. she came to these islands in a somewhat curious way. sit down here and i'll tell 'ee the little i know about her." father and son sat down on a mass of coral rock that had been washed up on the beach during some heavy gale, and for a few minutes gazed in silence on the beautiful lagoon, in which not only the islets, but the brilliant moon and even the starry hosts were mirrored faithfully. "about thirteen years ago," said the captain, "two pirate junks in the sunda straits attacked a british barque, and, after a fight, captured her. some o' the crew were killed in action, some were taken on board the junks to be held to ransom i s'pose, and some, jumping into the sea to escape if possible by swimming, were probably drowned, for they were a considerable distance from land. it was one o' these fellows, however, who took to the water that managed to land on the java shore, more dead than alive. he gave information about the affair, and was the cause of a gun-boat, that was in these waters at the time, bein' sent off in chase o' the pirate junks. "this man who swam ashore was a lascar. he said that the chief o' the pirates, who seemed to own both junks, was a big ferocious malay with only one eye--he might have added with no heart at all, if what he said o' the scoundrel was true, for he behaved with horrible cruelty to the crew o' the barque. after takin' all he wanted out of his prize he scuttled her, and then divided the people that were saved alive between the two junks. there were several passengers in the vessel; among them a young man--a widower--with a little daughter, four year old or so. he was bound for calcutta. being a very powerful man he fought like a lion to beat the pirates off, but he was surrounded and at last knocked down by a blow from behind. then his arms were made fast and he was sent wi' the rest into the biggest junk. "this poor fellow recovered his senses about the time the pirates were dividin' the prisoners among them. he seemed dazed at first, so said the lascar, but as he must have bin in a considerable funk himself i suspect his observations couldn't have bin very correct. anyhow, he said he was sittin' near the side o' the junk beside this poor man, whose name he never knew, but who seemed to be an englishman from his language, when a wild scream was heard in the other junk. it was the little girl who had caught sight of her father and began to understand that she was going to be separated from him. at the sound o' her voice he started up, and, looking round like a wild bull, caught sight o' the little one on the deck o' the other junk, just as they were hoistin' sail to take advantage of a breeze that had sprung up. "whether it was that they had bound the man with a piece o' bad rope, or that the strength o' samson had been given to him, the lascar could not tell, but he saw the englishman snap the rope as if it had bin a bit o' pack-thread, and jump overboard. he swam for the junk where his little girl was. if he had possessed the strength of a dozen samsons it would have availed him nothin', for the big sail had caught the breeze and got way on her. at the same time the other junk lay over to the same breeze and the two separated. at first the one-eyed pirate jumped up with an oath and fired a pistol shot at the englishman, but missed him. then he seemed to change his mind and shouted in bad english, with a diabolical laugh--'swim away; swim hard, p'raps you kitch 'im up!' of course the two junks were soon out of sight o' the poor swimmer--and that was the end of _him,_ for, of course, he must have been drowned." "but what of the poor little girl?" asked nigel, whose feelings were easily touched by the sorrows of children, and who began to have a suspicion of what was coming. "i'm just comin' to that. well, the gun-boat that went to look for the pirates sighted one o' the junks out in the indian ocean after a long search and captured her, but not a single one o' the barque's crew was to be found in her, and it was supposed they had been all murdered and thrown overboard wi' shots tied to their feet to sink them. enough o' the cargo o' the british barque was found, however, to convict her, and on a more careful search bein' made, the little girl was discovered, hid away in the hold. bein' only about four year old, the poor little thing was too frightened to understand the questions put to her. all she could say was that she wanted 'to go to father,' and that her name was kathy, probably short for kathleen, but she could not tell." "then that is the girl who is now here?" exclaimed nigel. "the same, lad. the gun-boat ran in here, like as we did, to have some slight repairs done, and kathy was landed. she seemed to take at once to motherly mrs. holbein, who offered to adopt her, and as the captain of the gun-boat had no more notion than the man-in-the-moon who the child belonged to, or what to do with her, he gladly handed her over, so here she has been livin' ever since. of course attempts have been made to discover her friends, but without success, and now all hope has been given up. the poor girl herself never speaks on the subject, but old holbein and his wife tell me she is sure that kathy has never forgotten her father. it may be so; anyhow, she has forgotten his name--if she ever knew it." next day nigel made no objections to being guided to the most picturesque spots among the coral isles by the interesting orphan girl. if she had been older he might even have fallen in love with her, an event which would have necessitated an awkward modification of the ground-work of our tale. as it was, he pitied the poor child sincerely, and not only--recognising her genius--asked her advice a good deal on the subject of art, but--recognising also her extreme youth and ignorance--volunteered a good deal of advice in exchange, quite in a paternal way! chapter iv. nigel undergoes some quite new and interesting experiences. the arrangements made on the following day turned out to be quite in accordance with the wishes and tastes of the various parties concerned. the ship's carpenter having been duly set to work on the repairs, and being inspected in that serious piece of prosaic business by the second mate, our captain was set free to charm the very souls of the juveniles by wandering for miles along the coral strand inventing, narrating, exaggerating to his heart's content. pausing now and then to ask questions irrelevant to the story in hand, like a wily actor, for the purpose of intensifying the desire for more, he would mount a block of coral, and thence, sometimes as from a throne, or platform, or pulpit, impress some profound piece of wisdom, or some thrilling point, or some exceedingly obvious moral on his followers open-mouthed and open-eyed. these were by no means idlers, steeped in the too common business of having nothing to do. no, they had regularly sought and obtained a holiday from work or school; for all the activities of social and civilised life were going on full swing--fuller, indeed, than the average swing--in that remote, scarcely known, and beautiful little gem of the indian ocean. meanwhile nigel and kathy, with sketch-books under their arms, went down to where the clear waters of the lagoon rippled on the white sand, and, launching a cockleshell of a boat, rowed out toward the islets. "now, kathy, you must let me pull," said nigel, pushing out the sculls, "for although the captain tells me you are very good at rowing, it would never do for a man, you know, to sit lazily down and let himself be rowed by a girl." "very well," said kathy, with a quiet and most contented smile, for she had not yet reached the self-conscious age--at least, as ages go in the cocos-keeling islands! besides, kathy was gifted with that charming disposition which never _objects_ to anything--anything, of course, that does not involve principle! but it was soon found that, as the cockleshell had no rudder, and the intricacies they had to wind among were numerous, frequent directions and corrections were called for from the girl. "d' you know," said nigel at last, "as i don't know where you want me to go to, it may be as well, after all, that you should row!" "very well," said kathy, with another of her innocent smiles. "i thinked it will be better so at first." nigel could not help laughing at the way she said this as he handed her the sculls. she soon proved herself to be a splendid boatwoman, and although her delicate and shapely arms were as mere pipe-stems to the great brawny limbs of her companion, yet she had a deft, mysterious way of handling the sculls that sent the cockleshell faster over the lagoon than before. "now, we go ashore here," said kathy, turning the boat,--with a prompt back-water of the left scull, and a vigorous pull of the right one,--into a little cove just big enough to hold it. the keel went with such a plump on the sand, that nigel, who sat on a forward thwart with his back landward, reversed the natural order of things by putting his back on the bottom of the boat and his heels in the air. to this day it is an unsettled question whether this was done on purpose by kathy. certain it is that _she_ did not tumble, but burst into a hearty fit of laughter, while her large lustrous eyes half shut themselves up and twinkled. "why, you don't even apologise, you dreadful creature!" exclaimed nigel, joining in the laugh, as he picked himself up. "why should i 'pologise?" asked the girl, in the somewhat broken english acquired from her adopted family. "why you not look out?" "right, kathy, right; i'll keep a sharp lookout next time. meanwhile i will return good for evil by offering my hand to help you a--hallo!" while he spoke the girl had sprung past him like a grasshopper, and alighted on the sand like a butterfly. a few minutes later and this little jesting fit had vanished, and they were both engaged with pencil and book, eagerly--for both were enthusiastic--sketching one of the most enchanting scenes that can well be imagined. we will not attempt the impossible. description could not convey it. we can only refer the reader's imagination to the one old, hackneyed but expressive, word--fairyland! one peculiarly interesting point in the scene was, that on the opposite side of the lagoon the captain could be seen holding forth to his juvenile audience. [illustration: art on the keeling islands.--page 36.] when a pretty long time had elapsed in absolute silence, each sketcher being totally oblivious of the other, nigel looked up with a long sigh, and said:-"well, you _have_ chosen a most exquisite scene for me. the more i work at it, the more i find to admire. may i look now at what you have done?" "oh yes, but i have done not much. i am slow," said the girl, as nigel rose and looked over her shoulder. "why!--what--how beautiful!--but--but--what do you mean?" exclaimed the youth. "i don't understand you," said the girl, looking up in surprise. "why, kathy, i had supposed you were drawing that magnificent landscape all this time, and--and you've only been drawing a group of shells. splendidly done, i admit, but why----" he stopped at that moment, for her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "forgive me, dear child," said nigel, hurriedly; "i did not intend to hurt your feelings. i was only surprised at your preference." "you have not hurt me," returned kathy in a low voice, as she resumed her work, "but what you say calls back to me--my father was very fond of shells." she stopped, and nigel, blaming himself for having inadvertently touched some tender chord, hastened, somewhat clumsily, to change the subject. "you draw landscape also, i doubt not?" "oh yes--plenty. if you come home to me to-night, i will show you some." "i shall be only too happy," returned the youth, sitting down again to his sketch, "and perhaps i may be able to give you a hint or two--especially in reference to perspective--for i've had regular training, you know, kathy, and i dare say you have not had that here." "not what you will think much, perhaps, yet i have study a little in school, and _very_ much from nature." "well, you have been under the best of masters," returned nigel, "if you have studied much from nature. and who has been your other teacher?" "a brother of mr. ross. i think he must understand very much. he was an engineer, and has explained to me the rules of perspective, and many other things which were at first very hard to understand. but i do see them now." "perhaps then, kathleen," said nigel, in that drawling, absent tone in which artists are apt to indulge when busy at work--"perhaps you may be already too far advanced to require instruction from me." "perhaps--but i think no, for you seems to understand a great deal. but why you call me kathleen just now?" "because i suppose that is your real name--kathy being the short for it. is it not so?" "well, p'raps it is. i have hear mother holbein say so once. i like kathleen best." "then, may i call you kathleen?" "if you like." at this point both artists had become so engrossed in their occupation that they ceased to converse, and for a considerable time profound silence reigned--at least on their part, though not as regarded others, for every now and then the faint sound of laughter came floating over the tranquil lagoon from that part of the coral strand where captain roy was still tickling the fancies and expanding the imaginations and harrowing or soothing the feelings of the cocos-keeling juveniles. inferior animal life was also in ceaseless activity around the sketchers, filling the air with those indescribably quiet noises which are so suggestive of that general happiness which was originally in terrestial paradise and is ultimately to be the lot of redeemed creation. snipe and curlews were wading with jaunty step and absorbed inquiring gaze in the shallow pools. hermit crabs of several species and sizes were scuttling about searching for convenient shells in which to deposit their naturally homeless and tender tails. overhead there was a sort of sea-rookery, the trees being tenanted by numerous gannets, frigate birds, and terns--the first gazing with a stupid yet angry air; the last--one beautiful little snow-white species in particular--hovering only a few feet above the sketchers' heads, while their large black eyes scanned the drawings with the owlish look of wisdom peculiar to connoisseurs. noddies also were there, and, on the ground, lizards and spiders and innumerable ants engaged in all the varied activities connected with their several domestic arrangements. altogether it was a scene of bright peaceful felicity, which seemed to permeate nigel's frame right inward to the spinal marrow, and would have kept him entranced there at his work for several hours longer if the cravings of a healthy appetite had not warned him to desist. "now, kathleen," he said, rising and stretching himself as one is apt to do after sitting long in a constrained position, "it seems to me about time to--by the way, we've forgotten to bring something to eat!" his expression as he said this made his companion look up and laugh. "plenty cocoa-nuts," she said, pointing with her pencil to the overarching trees. "true, but i doubt my ability to climb these long straight stems; besides, i have got only a small clasp-knife, which would be but a poor weapon with which to attack the thick outer husk of the nuts." "but i have got a few without the husks in the boat," said the girl, rising and running to the place where the cockleshell had been left. she returned immediately with several nuts divested of their thick outer covering, and in the condition with which we are familiar in england. some of them were already broken, so that they had nothing to do but sit down to lunch. "here is one," said kathy, handing a nut to nigel, "that has got no meat yet in it--only milk. bore a hole in it and drink, but see you bore in the right hole." "the right hole?" echoed the youth, "are some of them wrong ones?" "oh yes, only one of the three will do. one of our crawbs knows that and has claws that can bore through the husk and shell. we calls him cocoa-nut crawb." "indeed! that is strange; i never heard before of a crab that fed on cocoa-nuts." "this one do. he is very big, and also climbs trees. it goes about most at night. perhaps you see one before you go away." the crab to which kathy referred is indeed a somewhat eccentric crustacean, besides being unusually large. it makes deep tunnels in the ground larger than rabbit burrows, which it lines with cocoa-nut fibre. one of its claws is developed into an organ of extraordinary power with which it can break a cocoa-nut shell, and even, it is said, a man's limb! it never takes all the husk off a cocoa-nut--that would be an unnecessary trouble, but only enough off the end where the three eyelets are, to enable it to get at the inside. having pierced the proper eye with one of its legs it rotates the nut round it until the hole is large enough to admit the point of its great claw, with which it continues the work. this remarkable creature also climbs the palm-trees, but not to gather nuts; that is certain, for its habits have been closely watched and it has been ascertained that it feeds only on fallen nuts. possibly it climbs for exercise, or to obtain a more extended view of its charming habitat, or simply "for fun." why not? all this and a great deal more was told to nigel by kathleen, who was a bit of a naturalist in her tendencies--as they sat there under the graceful fronds of the palm-trees admiring the exquisite view, eating and drinking cocoa-nuts. "i suppose you have plenty of other kinds of food besides this?" said nigel. "oh yes, plenty. most of the fish in our lagoon be good for eating, and so also the crawbs, and we have turtle too." "indeed! how _do_ you catch the turtle? another nut, please.--thank you." "the way we gets turtle is by the men diving for them and catching them in the water. we has pigs too--plenty, and the wild birds are some very nice."[1] when the artists had finished they proceeded to the shore, and to their surprise and amusement found the cockleshell in possession of a piratical urchin of about four years of age in a charmingly light state of clothing. he was well known to kathleen, and it turned out that, having seen the cockle start at too great a distance to be hailed, and having set his heart on joining in the excursion, he had watched their movements, observed their landing on the islet--which was not far from the main circlet of land--and, running round till he came opposite to it, swam off and got into the boat. being somewhat tired he had lain down to rest and fallen sound asleep. on the way home this urchin's sole delight was to lean over the bow and watch the fish and coral groves over which they skimmed. in this he was imitated by nigel who, ungallantly permitting his companion to row, also leaned over the side and gazed down into the clear crystal depths with unwearying delight. for the wonderful colours displayed in those depths must be seen to be believed. not only is the eye pleased with the ever-varying formations of the coral bowers, but almost dazzled with the glittering fish--blue, emerald, green, scarlet, orange, banded, spotted, and striped--that dart hither and thither among the rich-toned sea-weed and the variegated anemones which spread their tentacles upwards as if inviting the gazer to come down! among these, crabs could be seen crawling with undecided motion, as if unable to make up their minds, while in out of the way crevices clams of a gigantic size were gaping in deadly quietude ready to close with a snap on any unfortunate creature that should give them the slightest touch. nigel was sharply awakened from his dream by a sudden splash. looking up he observed that the small boy was gone. with a bound he stood erect, one foot on the gunwale and hands clasped ready to dive, when a glance revealed the fact that kathy was smiling broadly! "don't jump!" she said. "he is only after a fish." even while she spoke nigel saw the brown little fellow shooting about like a galvanised tadpole, with a small harpoon in his hand! next moment he appeared on the surface shouting and spluttering, with a splendid fish on the end of his harpoon! both were hauled into the boat, and very soon after they drew near to land. in the shallow water nigel observed some remarkable creatures which resembled hedgehogs, having jaws armed with formidable teeth to enable them to feed, kathy said, on coral insects. file-fishes also drew his attention particularly. these were magnificently striped and coloured, and apparently very fearless. "what convenient tails they have to lay hold of," remarked our hero, as they slowly glided past one; "i believe i could catch it with my hand!" stooping swiftly as he spoke, he dipped his arm into the water, and actually did grasp the fish by its tail, but dropped it again instantly--to the shrieking delight of the urchin and kathy,--for the tail was armed with a series of sharp spines which ran into his hand like lancets. this was an appropriate conclusion to a day that would have been otherwise too enjoyable. poor nigel's felicity was further diluted when he met his father. "we'll have to sleep a-board to-night," said the captain, "for there's a fair breeze outside which seems likely to hold, and the mast has been temporarily rigged up, so we'll have to up anchor, and away by break of day to-morrow." nigel's heart sank. "to-morrow! father?" "ay, to-morrow. business first, pleasure afterwards." "well, i suppose you are right, but it seems almost a shame to leave such a heaven upon earth as this in such a hurry. besides, is it not unkind to such hospitable people to bolt off after you've got all that you want out of them?" "can't help that, lad- "dooty first, an' fun to follow, that's what beats creation hollow." "come father, don't say that you quote _that_ from mother!" "no more i do, my boy. it's my own--homemade. i put it together last night when i couldn't sleep for your snorin'." "don't tell fibs, father. you know i never snore. but--really--are we to start at daylight?" "we are, if the wind holds. but you may stay as late as you choose on shore to-night." nigel availed himself of the opportunity to see as much of the place and people as was possible in the limited time. next morning the good though damaged brig was running in the direction of sunda straits before a stiff and steady breeze. footnotes: [footnote 1: we recommend those who desire more curious information on the fauna and flora of the keeling islands to apply to henry o. forbes' most interesting book, _a naturalist's wanderings in the eastern archipelago_.--(sampson low.)] chapter v. captain roy surprises and gratifies his son, who surprises a negro, and suddenly forms an astonishing resolve. arrived in batavia--the low-lying seaport and capital of the dutch island of java--captain roy had his brig examined, and found that the damage she had sustained was so serious that several months would probably elapse before she would be again ready for sea. "now, nigel, my lad," said the old gentleman, on the morning after the examination had been made, "come down below with me; i want to have a confabulation with 'ee." "why, father," said the youth, when seated at the small cabin table opposite his rugged parent, "you seem to be in an unusually solemn frame of mind this morning. has anything happened?" "nothin', boy--nothin'. leastwise nothin' in particular. you know all about the brig, an' what a deal o' repair she's got to undergo?" "of course i do. you know i was present when you talked the matter over with that fellow--what's-'is-name--that gave you his report." "just so. well now, nigel, you don't suppose, do you, that i'm goin' to keep you here for some months knockin' about with nothin' to do--eatin' your grub in idleness?" "certainly not," said the youth, regarding the stern countenance of his parent with an amused look. "i have no intention of acting such an ignoble part, and i'm surprised at you askin' the question, for you know i am not lazy--at least not more so than average active men--and there must be plenty of work for me to do in looking after the cargo, superintending repairs, taking care of the ship and men. i wonder at you, father. you must either have had a shock of dotage, or fallen into a poetical vein. what is a first mate fit for if--" "nigel," said captain roy, interrupting, "i'm the owner an' commander of the _sunshine_, besides bein' the paternal parent of an impertinent son, and i claim to have the right to do as i please--therefore, hold your tongue and listen to me." "all right, father," replied the young man, with a benignant grin; "proceed, but don't be hard upon me; spare my feelings." "well now, this is how the land lies," said the old seaman, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands before him. "as mr. moor and i, with the stooard and men, are quite sufficient to manage the affairs o' the brig, and as we shall certainly be here for a considerable time to come, i've made up my mind to give you a holiday. you're young, you see, an' foolish, and your mind needs improvin'. in short, you want a good deal o' the poetry knocked out o' you, for it's not like your mother's poetry by any means, so you needn't flatter yourself--not built on the same lines by a long way. well--where was i?" "only got the length of the holiday yet, father." "only, indeed. you ungrateful dog! it's a considerable length to get, that, isn't it? well, i also intend to give you some money, to enable you to move about in this curious archipelago--not much, but enough to keep you from starvation if used with economy, so i recommend you to go into the town, make general inquiries about everything and everywhere, an' settle in your mind what you'll do, for i give you a rovin' commission an' don't want to be bothered with you for some time to come." "are you in earnest, father?" asked nigel, who had become more interested while the captain unfolded his plan. "never more in earnest in my life--except, p'raps, when i inquired over twenty years ago whether you was a boy or a gurl." "well, now, that _is_ good of you, father. of course i need not say that i am charmed at the prospect you open up to me. and--and when may i start?" "at once. up anchor and away to-night if you choose." "but--where?" "anywhere--everywhere, java, sumatra, borneo--all malaysia before you where to choose. now be off, and think over it, for i've got too much to do to waste time on you at present," said the captain, rising, "and, stay--nigel." "well?" said the youth, looking back as he was about to leave the cabin. "whatever you do, don't grow poetical about it. you know it is said somewhere, that mischief is found for idle hands to do." "all right, father. i'll keep clear of poetry--leave all that sort o' nonsense to _you_. i'll- "i'll flee temptation's siren voice, throw poesy to the crows, and let my soul's ethereal fire gush out in sober prose." it need scarcely be said that our hero was not slow to take advantage of the opportunity thus thrown in his way. he went off immediately through the town, armed with the introduction of his father's well-known name, and made inquiries of all sorts of people as to the nature, the conditions, the facilities, and the prospects of travel in the malay archipelago. in this quest he found himself sorely perplexed for the very good reason that "all sorts" of people, having all sorts of ideas and tastes, gave amazingly conflicting accounts of the region and its attractions. wearied at last with his researches, he sauntered towards afternoon in the direction of the port, and began in a listless sort of way to watch the movements of a man who was busily engaged with a boat, as if he were making preparations to put to sea. now, whatever philosophers may say to the contrary, we hold strongly to the opinion that likings and dislikings among men and women and children are the result of some profound occult cause which has nothing whatever to do with experience. no doubt experience may afterwards come in to modify or intensify the feelings, but it is not the originating cause. if you say it is, how are we to account for love at first sight? beauty has nothing necessarily to do with it, for men fall in love at first sight with what the world calls plain women--happily! character is not the cause, for love assails the human breast, ofttimes, before the loved object has uttered a word, or perpetrated a smile, or even fulminated a glance to indicate character. so, in like manner, affection may arise between man and man. it was so on this occasion with nigel roy. as he stood abstractedly gazing at the boatman he fell in love with him--at least he took a powerful fancy to him, and this was all the more surprising that the man was a negro,--a woolly-headed, flat-nosed, thick-lipped nigger! we would not for a moment have it supposed that it is unnatural to love such a man. quite the reverse. but when such a man is a perfect stranger, has never uttered a word in one's presence, or vouchsafed so much as a glance, and is gravely, stolidly engaged in the unsavoury work of greasing some of the tackling of a boat, it does seem unaccountable that he should be unwittingly capable of stirring up in another man's bosom feelings of ardent goodwill, to put it mildly. after watching him for some time, nigel under an almost involuntary impulse shouted "hullo!" "hullo!" replied the negro, looking up with a somewhat stern frown and a pout of his thick lips, as much as to say--"who are _you_?" nigel smiled, and made that suggestive motion with his forefinger which signifies "come here." the frown fled and the pout became a smile as the negro approached, wiping his hands on a piece of cotton-waste. "what you want wi' _me_, sar?" he asked. "well, upon my word," said nigel, somewhat perplexed, "i can't very well say. i suppose something must have been in my mind, but--anyhow, i felt a desire to have a talk with you; that is, if you can spare the time." the first part of this reply induced a slight recurrence of the frown and pout, but at its conclusion the black brow cleared and the mouth expanded to such a gum-and-teeth-exposing extent that nigel fairly burst into a laugh. "you's bery good, sar," said the man, "an' i's hab much pleasure to make your acquaintance.--der an't no grease on 'em now." the last remark had reference to the enormous black paw which he held out. nigel at once grasped it and shook it heartily. "i's bery fond ob a talk, sar," continued the negro, "so as you wants one, heabe ahead." thus encouraged, our hero began by remarking that he seemed to be preparing for a trip. "dat's zackly what i's a-doin', sar." "a long one?" "well, dat depends on what you call short. goin' to sunda straits, which p'raps you know, sar, is nigh a hundred miles fro' here." "and what may you be going to do there?" asked nigel. "goin' home to krakatoa." "why, i thought that was an uninhabited island. i passed close to it on my way here, and saw no sign of inhabitants." "da's cause i was absint fro' home. an' massa he keeps indoors a good deal." "and pray who is massa?" asked nigel. "sar," said the negro, drawing up his square sturdy frame with a look of dignity; "fair-play is eberyt'ing wid me. you've ax me a heap o' questions. now's my--turn. whar you comes fro'?" "from england," replied nigel. "an' whar you go to?" "well, you've posed me now, for i really don't know where i'm going to. in fact that is the very thing i have been trying to find out all day, so if you'll help me i'll be much obliged." here nigel explained his position and difficulties, and it was quite obvious, judging from the glittering eyes and mobile mouth, that he poured his tale into peculiarly sympathetic ears. when he had finished, the negro stood for a considerable time gazing in meditative silence at the sky. "yes," he said at last, as if communing with himself, "i t'ink--i ain't quite sure, but i t'ink--i may ventur'." "whatever it is you are thinking about," remarked nigel, "you may venture to say anything you like to _me_." the negro, who, although comparatively short of stature, was herculean in build, looked at the youth with an amused expression. "you're bery good, sar, but da's not what i's t'inkin' ob. i's t'inkin' whedder i dar' ventur' to introdoce you to my massa. he's not fond o' company, an' it might make 'im angry, but he came by a heaby loss lately an' p'raps he may cond'send to receibe you. anyhow you 'd be quite safe, for he's sure to be civil to any friend ob mine." "is he then so fierce?" asked nigel, becoming interested as well as amused. "fierce! no, he's gentle as a lamb, but he's awrful when he's roused--tigers, crokindiles, 'noceroses is nuffin' to him!" "indeed! what's his name, and what does he do? how does he live?" the negro shook his head. "da's more'n i dar tell till i ax his leave, sar. i kin only say de peepil around calls 'im the hermit ob rakata, 'cause he libs by his self (wid me, ob course, but _i_ counts for nuffin), close under de ole volcano ob krakatoa. dey tink--some ob de foolish peepil--dat he hab sold his-self to de dibil, but i knows better. he's a good man, and you'd hab great fun if you stop wid him. now, what i's a-gwine to advise you is, come wid me an' see de hermit. if he lets you stop, good. if not, i fetch you ober to de main land--whar you please--an' you kin come back here or go whar you choose. its wort' your while to take your chance, anyhow." the negro said this with such an earnest look that nigel made up his mind on the spot to accept this curious invitation. "i'll go!" he exclaimed with sudden energy. "when do you start?" "to-morrer at daybreak, sar." "well, i shall have to talk it over first with my father, but i'm sure he won't object, so you may look out for me here at daybreak. shall i have to fetch any provisions with me for the voyage?" "no, nuffin'. boat's crammed wi' grub. but you'd better bring a gun o' some sort an' a 'volver, an' a big knife, an' a mortal big appetite, for a man's no good widout dat." "i always carry that about with me," said the youth, "whatever else i may leave behind; and i'll see to the other things.--by the way, what's your name?" "moses." "is that all?" "isn't dat enuff?" returned the negro with a look of dignity. "quite; but i have the advantage of you there, moses, for i have two names--nigel roy." "well, i don't see much use ob two, but which does you like to be called by--nadgel or roy?" "whichever you please, moses; i'll answer to either. so now, good-bye for the present, and look out for me to-morrow at daylight." "good-bye, massa nadgel, till to-morrer." the negro waved his hand and, sauntering slowly back to his boat, remarked in an undertone, "i lub dat young feller!" saying which, he resumed his greasing operations. of course captain roy made no objection to his son's proposal, though he freely gave his opinion that it was a wild-goose chase. "however, lad, please yourself and you'll please me," he added; "and now, be particular to bear in mind that you've got to write to me every time you get within hail of a post-office or a passing ship or steamer that may chance to be comin' this way, and in each letter be sure to tell me where you're goin' to next, so as i may send a letter there to you in case i want you to return sudden or otherwise. we mustn't lose touch, you see. you needn't write long screeds. i only want to know your whereabouts from time to time. for the rest--you can spin it out in yarns when you come back." chapter vi. the hermit of rakata introduced. nothing worthy of particular note occurred during the boat-voyage along the northern shore of java to sunda straits. a fair, steady breeze wafted them westward, and, on the morning of the third day, they came in sight of the comparatively small uninhabited island of krakatoa. the boat in which they voyaged, although a little one, had a small portion of the bow decked over, so that our hero and his sable friend could find shelter from the night air when disposed to sleep and from the fierce rays of the sun at noon. by the advice of his father, nigel had changed his sailor costume for the "shore-goin' toggery" in which he had landed on the keeling islands, as being more suitable to his new character as a traveller, namely, a white cloth cap with a peak in front and a curtain behind to protect his neck, a light-grey tunic belted at the waist, and a pair of strong canvas trousers. he had also purchased an old-fashioned double-barrelled fowling-piece, muzzle-loading and with percussion locks. "for you see, nigel," the captain had said, "it's all very well to use breech-loaders when you've got towns and railways and suchlike to supply you wi' cartridges, but when you've got to cruise in out-o'-the-way waters, there's nothin' like the old style. it's not difficult to carry a few thousand percussion-caps an' a bullet-mould about wi' you wherever you go. as to powder, why, you'll come across that 'most everywhere, an' lead too; and, for the matter o' that, if your life depended on it you could shove a handful of gravel or a pen-knife or tooth-pick into your gun an' blaze away, but with a breech-loader, if you run out o' cartridges, where are you?" so, as nigel could not say where he was, the percussion-gun had been purchased. the peak of rakata--the highest in the island--a little over 2600 feet, came in sight first; gradually the rest of the island rose out of the horizon, and ere long the rich tropical verdure became distinguishable. krakatoa--destined so soon to play a thrilling part in the world's history; to change the aspect of the heavens everywhere; to attract the wondering gaze of nearly all nations, and to devastate its immediate neighbourhood--is of volcanic origin, and, at the time we write of (1883) was beginning to awaken from a long, deep slumber of two hundred years. its last explosion occurred in the year 1680. since that date it had remained quiet. but now the tremendous subterranean forces which had originally called it into being were beginning to reassert their existence and their power. vulcan was rousing himself again and beginning once more to blow his bellows. so said some of the sailors who were constantly going close past the island and through sunda straits, which may be styled the narrows of the world's highway to the china seas. subterranean forces, however, are so constantly at work more or less violently in those regions that people took little notice of these indications in the comparatively small island of krakatoa, which was between five and six miles long by four broad. as we have said, it was uninhabited, and lying as it does between sumatra and java, about sixteen miles from the former and over twenty miles from the latter, it was occasionally visited by fishermen. the hermit whom nigel was about to visit might, in some sort, be counted an inhabitant, for he had dwelt there many years, but he lived in a cave which was difficult of access, and held communication with no one. how he spent his time was a mystery, for although his negro servant went to the neighbouring town of anjer in java for supplies, and sometimes to batavia, as we have seen, no piece of inanimate ebony from the forest could have been less communicative than he. indeed, our hero was the first to unlock the door of his lips, with that key of mysterious sympathy to which reference has already been made. some of the bolder of the young fishermen of the neighbouring coasts had several times made futile efforts to find out where and how the hermit lived, but the few who got a glimpse of him at a distance brought back such a report that a kind of superstitious fear of him was generated which kept them at a respectful distance. he was ten feet high, some romancers said, with shoulders four feet broad, a chest like a sugar-hogshead, and a countenance resembling a compound of orang-utan and tiger. of course our hero knew nothing of these rumours, and as moses declined to give any information regarding his master beyond that already given, he was left to the full play of his imagination. moses was quite candid about it. he made no pretence to shroud things in mystery. "you mus' know, massa nadgel," he said, as they slowly drew near to the island, "i's 'fraid ob 'im dough i lub 'im." "but why do you love him, moses?" "'cause he sabe my life an' set me free." "indeed? well, that is good reason. and why do you fear him?" "da's what i don' know, massa," replied the negro with a puzzled look. "is he harsh, then?" "no." "passionate?" "no. gentle as a lamb." "strong?" "yes--oh! mighty strong an' big." "surely you're not afraid of his giving you a licking, moses?" "oh no," returned the negro, with a smile of expansive benignity; "i's not 'fraid ob dat. i's bin a slabe once, got used to lickin's. don't care nuffin' at all for a lickin'!" "then it must be that you're afraid of hurting his feelings, moses, for i know of no other kind of fear." "pr'aps da's it!" said the negro with a bright look, "now i wouldn't wonder if you's right, massa nadgel. it neber come into my head in dat light before. i used to be t'ink, t'inkin' ob nights--when i's tired ob countin' my fingers an' toes--but i couldn't make nuffin' ob it. _now_ i knows! it's 'fraid i am ob hurtin' his feelin's." in the excess of his satisfaction at the solution of this long-standing puzzle, moses threw back his head, shut his eyes, opened his enormous mouth and chuckled. by the time he had reversed this process they were sufficiently near to krakatoa to distinguish all its features clearly, and the negro began to point out to nigel its various localities. there were three prominent peaks on it, he said, named respectively, perboewatan about 400 feet high, at the northern end of the island; danan, near the centre, 1500 feet; and rakata, at the southern end, over 2600 feet. it was high up on the sides of the last cone that the residence of the hermit was situated. "and you won't tell me your master's name?" said nigel. moses shook his woolly head. "no, sar, no. i's 'fraid ob him--he! he! 'fraid ob hurtin' his feelin's!" "well, never mind; i'll find it out from himself soon. by the way, what were you telling me about explosions yesterday when that little white gull came to admire your pretty face, and took off our attention?" "well, i dun know. not got much to tell, only dar's bin rumblin' an' grumblin's an' heavin's lately in de mountains as didn't use to be, an' cracks like somet'in' bustin' down blow, an' massa he shook 'is head two or free times an' look solemn. he don't often do dat--shook 'is head, i mean--for he mostly always looks solemn." a few minutes later the boat, running through a narrow opening among the rocks into a small circular harbour not more than fifty yards in diameter, rested its keel gently on a little bed of pure yellow sand. the shore there was so densely covered with bushes that the harbour might easily have been passed without being observed. jumping ashore, moses made the painter fast to a tree. "what a quiet, cosy place!" said nigel, as he sprang on the beach and looked admiringly round. "yes, an' not easy to find if you don't knows 'im. we will leabe de boat here,--no danger ob bein' tooked away--an' den go up to de cave." "is it far?" asked nigel. "a good bit--near de top ob de mountain,"--answered the negro, who looked at his companion somewhat uneasily. "why, what's the matter, moses?" "nuffin'--oh! nuffin'--but--but when massa axes you who you is, an' what you bin up to, an' whar your a-gwine to, an' what wages you want, jist you answer 'im in a sorter permiscuous way, an' don't be too partikler." "wages! man, what d' ye mean?" "well, you'll 'scuse me, sar," returned the negro with an air of profound humility, "but my massa lost a old sarvint--a nigger like myself--only last munt', an' he wants to go on one ob his usual expeditions jus' now, so he sends me to batavia to git anoder man--'a good one, you know,' says massa,--an' as you, sar, was good 'nuff to ax me what you should do, an' you looked a pritty smart man, i----" "you scoundrel!" cried nigel, interrupting him, "do you really mean to tell me that you've brought me here as a hired servant?" "well, not zackly," returned moses, with solemn simplicity, "you needn't ax no wages unless you like." "but what if i don't want to take service?" demanded our hero, with a savage frown. "you kin go home agin," answered moses, humbly. nigel could contain himself no longer. as he observed the man's deprecatory air, and thought of his own position, he burst into a fit of hearty laughter, whereupon the negro recovered himself and smiled the smile of the guiltless. "come," said nigel at last. "lead on, you rascal! when i see your master i shall know what to say." "all right, massa nadgel, but mind what you say, else i won't answer for de consikences. foller me an' look arter your feet, for de road is roughish." the negro's last remark was unquestionably true, for the road--if a mere footpath merits the name--was rugged in the extreme--here winding round the base of steep cliffs, there traversing portions of luxuriant forest, elsewhere skirting the margin of the sea. moses walked at such a pace that nigel, young and active though he was, found it no easy matter to keep up with him. pride, however, forbade him to show the slightest sign of difficulty, and made him even converse now and then in tones of simulated placidity. at last the path turned abruptly towards the face of a precipice and seemed to terminate in a small shallow cave. any one following the path out of mere curiosity would have naturally imagined that the cave was the termination of it; and a very poor termination too, seeing that it was a rather uninteresting cave, the whole of the interior of which could be seen at a single glance from its mouth. but this cave served in reality as a blind. climbing by one or two projecting points, the negro, closely followed by nigel, reached a narrow ledge and walked along it a short distance. on coming to the end of the ledge he jumped down into a mass of undergrowth, where the track again became visible--winding among great masses of weatherworn lava. here the ascent became very steep, and moses put on what sporting men call a spurt, which took him far ahead of nigel, despite the best efforts of the latter to keep up. still our hero scorned to run or call out to his guide to wait, and thereby admit himself beaten. he pushed steadily on, and managed to keep the active moses in view. presently the negro stepped upon a platform of rock high up on the cliffs, where his form could be distinctly seen against the bright sky. there nigel observed that he was joined by a man whose tall commanding figure seemed in such a position to be of gigantic proportions. the two stood engaged in earnest conversation while watching nigel. the latter immediately slackened his pace, in order at once to recover breath and approach with a leisurely aspect. "the wild man of the island, i suppose," he thought as he drew near; but on coming still nearer he saw that he must be mistaken, for the stranger who advanced to meet him with gracious ease and self-possession was obviously a gentleman, and dressed, not unlike himself, in a sort of mixed travelling and shooting costume. "i must apologise, mr. roy, for the presumption of my man, in bringing you here under something like false pretences," said the stranger, holding out his hand, which nigel shook heartily. "moses, i find, has failed to execute my commission, and has partially deceived you; but as you are now here, the least i can do is to bid you welcome, and offer you the hospitality of my roof." there was something so courteous and kindly in the tone and manner of the stranger, and something so winning in his soft gentle tones, which contrasted strangely with his grand towering figure and massive bearded countenance, that nigel felt drawn to him instantly. indeed there was a peculiar and mysterious something about him which quite fascinated our hero as he looked up at him, for, bordering on six feet though nigel was, the stranger stood several inches above him. "you are very kind," said the visitor, "and i don't think that moses can fairly be charged with deceiving me, although he has been somewhat unwise in his way of going about this business, for i had told him i wanted to see something of these regions, and perhaps it may be to my advantage to travel in your service--that is, if i can be of any use to you; but the time at my disposal may be too limited." "how much time have you to spare?" asked the stranger. "well, say perhaps three months." "that will do," returned his questioner, looking thoughtfully at the ground. "we will talk of this hereafter." "but--excuse me," said nigel, "your man spoke of you as a hermit--a sort of--of--forgive me--a wild-man-of-the-island, if i may--" "no, i didn't, massa nadgel," said the negro, the edge of whose flat contradiction was taken off by the extreme humility of his look. "well," returned nigel, with a laugh; "you at least gave me to understand that other people said something of that sort." "da's right, massa nadgel--kite right. you're k'rect _now_." "people have indeed got some strange ideas about me, i believe," interposed the hermit, with a grave almost sad expression and tone. "but come, let me introduce you to my hermitage and you shall judge for yourself." so saying, this singular being turned and led the way further up the rugged side of the peak of rakata. after about five minutes' walk in silence, the trio reached a spot where there was a clear view over the tree-tops, revealing the blue waters of the strait, with the java shores and mountains in the distance. behind them there yawned, dark and mysterious, a mighty cavern, so black and high that it might well suggest a portal leading to the regions below, where vulcan is supposed to stir those tremendous fires which have moulded much of the configuration of the world, and which are ever seething--an awful inferno--under the thin crust of the globe on which we stand. curiously formed and large-leaved trees of the tropics, with their pendent parasites, as well as rank grasses, sprouting from below and hanging from above, partially concealed this cavern from nigel when he first turned towards it, but a few steps further on he could see it in all its rugged grandeur. "my home," said the hermit, with a very slight smile and the air of a prince, as he turned towards his visitor and waved his hand towards it. "a magnificent entrance at all events," said nigel, returning the smile with something of dubiety, for he was not quite sure that his host was in earnest. "follow me," said the hermit, leading the way down a narrow well-worn path which seemed to lose itself in profound darkness. after being a few minutes within the cavern, however, nigel's eyes became accustomed to the dim light, and he perceived that the roof rapidly lowered, while its walls narrowed until they reached a spot which was not much wider than an ordinary corridor. here, however, it was so dark that it was barely possible to see a small door in the right-hand wall before which they halted. lifting a latch the hermit threw the door wide open, and a glare of dazzling light almost blinded the visitor. passing through the entrance, nigel followed his guide, and the negro let the heavy door shut behind him with a clang that was depressingly suggestive of a prison. "again i bid you welcome to my home," said the hermit, turning round and extending his hand, which nigel mechanically took and pressed, but without very well knowing what he did, for he was almost dumfounded by what he saw, and for some minutes gazed in silence around him. and, truly, there was ground for surprise. the visitor found himself in a small but immensely high and brilliantly lighted cavern or natural chamber, the walls of which were adorned with drawings of scenery and trees and specimens of plants, while on various shelves stood innumerable stuffed birds, and shells, and other specimens of natural history. a table and two chairs stood at one end of the cave, and, strangest of all, a small but well-filled book-case ornamented the other end. "arabian nights!" thought nigel. "i _must_ be dreaming." his wandering eyes travelled slowly round the cavern until they rested at last on the door by which they had entered, beside which stood the negro with a broad grin on his sable visage. chapter vii. wonders of the hermit's cave and island. the thing that perhaps surprised nigel most in this strange cavern was the blaze of light with which it was filled, for it came down direct through a funnel-shaped hole in the high roof and bore a marvellous resemblance to natural sunshine. he was well aware that unless the sun were shining absolutely in the zenith, the laws of light forbade the entrance of a _direct_ ray into such a place, yet there were the positive rays, although the sun was not yet high in the heavens, blinding him while he looked at them, and casting the shadows of himself and his new friends on the floor. there was the faintest semblance of a smile on the hermit's face as he quietly observed his visitor, and waited till he should recover self-possession. as for moses--words are wanting to describe the fields of teeth and gum which he displayed, but no sound was suffered to escape his magnificent lips, which closed like the slide of a dark lantern when the temptation to give way to feeling became too strong. "my cave interests you," said the hermit at last. "it amazes me," returned our hero, recovering himself and looking earnestly at his host, "for you seem not only to have all the necessaries of life around you in your strange abode, but many of the luxuries; among them the cheering presence of sunshine--though how you manage to get it is beyond my powers of conception." "it is simple enough, as you shall see," returned the hermit. "you have heard of the saying, no doubt, that 'all things are possible to well-directed labour'?" "yes, and that 'nothing can be achieved without it.'" "well, i have proved that to some extent," continued the hermit. "you see, by the various and miscellaneous implements on my shelves, that i am given to dabbling a little in science, and thus have made my lonely home as pleasant as such a home can be--but let us not talk of these matters just now. you must be hungry. have you had breakfast?" "no, we have not--unless, at least, you count a sea biscuit dipped in salt water a breakfast. after all, that may well be the case, for hermits are noted for the frugality of their fare." "i am not a genuine hermit," remarked his host gravely. "men do indeed call me the hermit of rakata, because i dwell alone here under the shadow of this particular cone of krakatoa, but i do not ape the austere life of the conventional hermit, as you see, either in my domestic arrangements or food. come, your breakfast is ready. from my outlook i saw your boat approaching some hours ago, and knew that it was mine, so i made ready for your arrival, though i did not guess that moses was bringing me a guest instead of a servant!" so saying, he led the way through a short natural passage to an inner cave, the entrance to which, like the outer one, was boarded. on opening a small door, nigel was again greeted as before with brilliant rays of sunshine, and, in addition, with a gush of odours that were exceedingly grateful to a hungry man. a low "ho! ho!" behind him told that his black companion was equally gratified. the inner cave or mess-room, as the host styled it, combined dining-room and kitchen, for while in one corner stood a deal table with plates, cups, etc., but no tablecloth, in another stood a small stove, heated by an oil lamp, from which issued puffing and sputtering sounds, and the savoury odours above referred to. nigel now perceived that although his strange host necessarily spoke a good deal while welcoming him and offering him the hospitalities of his abode, he was by no means communicative. on the contrary, it was evident that he was naturally reserved and reticent, and that although polite and gentle in the extreme, there was a quiet grave dignity about him which discouraged familiarity. it must not be supposed, however, that he was in any degree morosely silent. he was simply quiet and undemonstrative, said little except when asked questions, and spoke, alike to nigel and moses, in the soft, low, kindly tones with which one might address very young people. going to the stove he took a coffee-pot therefrom and set it on the table. at the same time, moses, without requiring to be told, opened the oven and brought forth fried fish, meat of some kind, and cakes of he knew not what, but cared little, for their excellence was unquestionable. during the meal that followed, nigel ventured as far as politeness permitted--indeed a little further, if truth must be told--to inquire into the circumstances and motives of his entertainer in taking up his abode in such a strange place, but he soon found that his eccentric friend was not one who could be "pumped." without a touch of rudeness, and in the sweetest of voices, he simply assumed an absent manner and changed the subject of discourse, when he did not choose to reply, by drawing attention to some irrelevant matter, or by putting a counter question which led away from the subject. nigel also found that his host never laughed and rarely smiled, though, when he did so the smile was so slight as merely to indicate a general feeling of urbanity and goodwill, and it was followed instantly by a look of gravity, if not sadness. altogether the guest was much perplexed about the host at first, and somewhat constrained in consequence, but gradually he began to feel at ease. another discovery that he soon made was, that the hermit treated moses not as a servant, but as if he were in all respects an equal and a comrade. after eating for some time in silence, and having tried to draw out his host without success, nigel changed his tactics and said-"you were so kind as to speak of me as your guest, mr.---mr.---i beg pardon, may i--" "my name is van der kemp," said the hermit quietly. "well, mr. van der kemp, i must tell you that i am quite willing to accept the position for which moses hired me--" "no, i didn't," contradicted the negro, flatly yet very gently, both in tone and manner, for long residence with the hermit had apparently imbued him with something of his spirit. "well, then," said nigel, "the position for which moses _should have_ hired some one else. ('k'rect _now_' whispered moses.) of course i do not intend to ask for or accept wages, and also, of course, i accept the position on the understanding that you think me fit for the service. may i ask what that service is to be, and where you think of going to?" "the service," returned the hermit slowly and with his eyes fixed on the floor as if pondering his reply, "is to accompany me as my attendant and companion, to take notes as occasion may serve, and to paddle a canoe." at this reply our hero almost laughed, but was prevented from doing so by his host asking abruptly if he understood canoeing. "well, yes. at least i can manage what in england is known as the rob roy canoe, having possessed one in my boyhood." "that will do," returned the hermit gravely. "can you write shorthand?" "i can. a friend of mine, a reporter on one of the london dailies, once gave me a few lessons, and, becoming fond of the subject, i followed it up." "that is well; you did well. it is of immense advantage to a man, whatever his position in life, that he should be able to write shorthand with facility. especially useful is it in commerce. i know that, having had some experience of commercial life." at this point in the conversation nigel was startled by what was to him an absolutely new sensation, namely a shaking or trembling of the whole cavern, accompanied by faint rumbling sounds as if in deeper caverns below him. he glanced quickly at his host and at the negro, but to his surprise these remarkable men seemed not to be aware of the shaking, although it was severe enough to cause some of the furniture to rattle. observing his look of surprise, moses remarked, with a benignant though capacious smile, "mountain's got de mulligrumps pritty bad jist now." "we are pretty well accustomed to that," said the host, observing that nigel turned to him for an explanation. "no doubt you are aware that this region is celebrated for earthquakes and volcanoes, so much so that the inhabitants pay little attention to them unless they become unusually violent. this island of krakatoa is itself the fragment of an extinct volcano; but the term 'extinct' is scarcely applicable to volcanoes, for it is well known that many which were for centuries supposed to be extinct have awakened to sudden and violent activity--'quiescent' might be a more appropriate term." "yes," said moses, ceasing to masticate for purposes of speech; "dem 'stinkt volcanoes hab got an okard habit ob unstinkin' dereselves hereabouts when you don' 'spect it of 'em. go on, massa. i ax yer pard'n for 'truptin'." the hermit's peculiar good-natured little smile played for a moment on his massive features, and then faded away as he continued-"perhaps you may have heard that this is the very heart of the district that has long been recognised as the greatest focus of volcanic activity on the globe?" "i have heard something of the sort," answered nigel, "but i confess that my knowledge is limited and my mind hazy on the subject." "i doubt it not," returned his friend, "for geographical and scientific training in primary schools anywhere is not what it might be. the island of java, with an area about equal to that of england, contains no fewer than forty-nine great volcanic mountains, some of which rise to 12,000 feet above the sea-level. many of these mountains are at the present time active ('yes, much _too_ active,' muttered the negro), and more than half of them have been seen in eruption since java was occupied by europeans. hot springs, mud-volcanoes, and vapour-vents abound all over the island, whilst earthquakes are by no means uncommon. there is a distinct line in the chain of these mountains which seems to point to a great fissure in the earth's crust, caused by the subterranean fires. this tremendous crack or fissure crosses the straits of sunda, and in consequence we find a number of these vents--as volcanic mountains may be styled--in the island of sumatra, which you saw to the nor'ard as you came along. but there is supposed to be another great crack in the earth's crust--indicated by several volcanic mountains--which crosses the other fissure almost at right angles, and at the exact point where these two lines intersect _stands this island of krakatoa_! "i emphasise the fact," continued the hermit after a pause, "first, because, although this has been a quiescent volcano since the year 1680, and people have come to regard it as extinct, there are indications now which lead me to believe that its energy is reviving; and, second, because this focus where fissures cross each other--this krakatoa island--is in reality part of the crater of an older and much larger volcanic mountain, which must have been literally blown away in prehistoric times, and of which krakatoa and the neighbouring islets of varlaten, polish hat, lang island, and the rest, are but the remnants of the great crater ring. if these rumblings and minor earthquakes, which i have noticed of late--and the latest of which you have just experienced--are the precursors of another explosion, my home here may be rendered untenable." "hi!" exclaimed moses, who had been listening with open mouth and eyes to this discourse, which was obviously news to him, "i hope, massa, he ain't a-gwine to 'splode to-day--anyhow, not till after breakfast!" "you must have studied the subject of volcanoes a good deal, i suppose, from what you say," observed nigel. "naturally; living as i do almost on the top of one. my library, which i will show you presently, contains many interesting works on the subject. but come, if you have finished we will ascend the peak of rakata and i will introduce you to my sunshine." he rose and led his guest back to the outer cavern, leaving moses still busy with knife and fork, apparently meditating on the pleasure of breakfasting with the prospect of a possible and immediate explosion. in passing through the first chamber, nigel observed, in a natural recess, the library just referred to. he also noted that, besides stuffed birds and other specimens and sea-shells, there were chisels, saws, hammers, and other tools, besides something like a forge and carpenter's bench in a side-chamber opening out of the large one, which he had not at first seen--from all which he concluded that the hermit was imbued with mechanical as well as scientific and literary tastes. at the further and darker end of the outer cave there was a staircase, partly natural, and partly improved by art, which led upward into profound darkness. "let me take your hand here," said the hermit, looking down upon his guest with his slight but winning smile; "it is a rough and dark staircase. you will be apt to stumble." nigel placed his hand in that of his host with perfect confidence, and with a curious feeling--aroused, probably, by the action--of having returned to the days of childhood. the stair was indeed rugged as well as winding, and so pitchy dark that the youth could not have advanced at all without stumbling, unless his host had held him all the way. at last a glimmer of light was seen in the distance. it seemed to increase suddenly, and in a few moments the two emerged from total darkness into dazzling sunshine. when nigel looked round him he saw that they had gained a plateau, high up on the very summit of the mountain, which appeared to be absolutely inaccessible by any means save that by which they had reached it. "this is what i call my observatory," said the hermit, turning to his guest. "we have passed right through the peak of rakata, and reached its northern side, which commands, as you see, a view of all the northern part of the island. i come here often in the night to study the face of the heavens, the moon, and stars, and meditate on their mysterious maker, whose ways are indeed wonderful and past finding out; but all which must, in the nature of things, be _right_." as this was the first mention that the hermit had made of the creator, and the reference was one requiring more thought than nigel had yet bestowed on it, he made no rejoinder. "have you studied astronomy, mr. roy?" "no--at least not more of it than was needful for navigation. but pray, sir, do not call me mr. roy," said the youth, with a somewhat embarrassed air. "if i am to be your assistant and familiar companion for two or three months, i hope that you will agree to call me nigel. your man has done so already without asking leave!" "i will, on one condition." "and that is--?" "that you also dispense with the 'mr.' and 'sir,' and call me van der kemp." "agreed," said nigel, "though it does not seem so appropriate in me as in you, considering the difference of our years." "look here," said the hermit, turning abruptly to a small wooden shed which had hitherto escaped the youth's observation, so covered was it with overhanging boughs and tropical creeping plants, "these are my astronomical instruments." he pointed to a table in the hut on which stood several telescopes--and microscopes as well--one of the former being a large instrument, certainly not less than six feet long, with a diameter of apparently six or eight inches. "here, you see, i have the means of investigating the wonders of nature in her grandest as well as her minutest scales. and there," he added, pointing to a couple of large reflecting mirrors in strong wooden frames, erected on joints in such a way that they could be turned in any direction,--"there you have the secret of my sunshine. one of these mirrors catches the sunshine direct and reflects it on the other, which, as you see, is so arranged that it transmits the rays down the natural funnel or chimney into the cave. by means of chains connected with the mechanism, and extending below, i can change the direction of the mirrors as the sun changes its place in the sky, without requiring to come up here." "very ingenious!" said nigel; "but how do you manage when the mountain comes between you and the sun, as i see it cannot fail to do during some part of the day?" "simply enough," returned the hermit, pointing to a distant projecting cliff or peak. "on yon summit i have fixed four mirrors similar to these. when the sun can no longer be reflected from this pair, the first of the distant mirrors takes it up and shoots a beam of light over here. when the sun passes from that, the second mirror is arranged to catch and transmit it, and so on to the fourth. after that i bid good-bye to the sun, and light my lamp!" nigel felt an almost irresistible tendency to smile at this, but the grave simplicity of the man forbade such familiarity. "look yonder," continued the hermit, sweeping one of his long arms towards sumatra, "in that direction runs the line of volcanic disturbance--the fissure of which i have already spoken. focus this telescope to suit your sight. now, do you see the little island away there to the nor'-west?" "yes." "well, that is _varlaten_. i mentioned it when at breakfast. sweep your glass round to the nor'ard, the little island there is _polish hat_, and you see _lang island_ in the nor'-east. these, with krakatoa, are merely the higher parts still remaining above water of the ring or lip of the ancient crater. this will give you some idea what an enormous mountain the original of this old volcano must have been. this island-mountain is estimated to have been twenty-five miles in circumference, and 10,000 to 12,000 feet high. it was blown into the air in 1680, and this island, with the few islets i have pointed out, is all that remains of it! now, cast your eye down the centre of the island on which we stand; you see several cones of various sizes. these are ancient vents, supposed to be extinct--" "but one of them, the one furthest away," interrupted nigel, steadying his telescope on the branch of a tree, "seems to be anything but extinct, for i see a thin column of white smoke or steam rising from it." "that is just what i was going to point out. they call that perboewatan. it is the lowest peak on the island, about 400 feet high, and stands, i should say, in the very centre of the ancient crater, where are the two fissures i have mentioned. for two hundred years perboewatan has not smoked like that, and, slight though it is at present, i cannot help thinking that it indicates an impending eruption, especially when i consider that earthquakes have become more numerous of late years, and there was one in 1880 which was so violent as to damage seriously the lighthouse on java's first point." "then you have resided here for some time?" said nigel. "yes, for many years," replied the hermit, in a low, sad tone. "but is it wise in you to stay if you think an explosion so likely? don't you needlessly run considerable risk?" "i do not fear to die." nigel looked at his new friend in surprise, but there was not a shadow of boastfulness or affectation either in his look or tone. "besides," he continued, "the explosion may be but slight, and perboewatan is, as you see, about four miles off. people in the neighbourhood of the straits and passing ships are so accustomed to volcanic explosions on a more or less grand scale that they will never notice this little cloud hanging over krakatoa. those who, like myself, know the ancient history of the island, regard it in a more serious light, but we may be wrong. come, now, we will descend again and have a ramble over part of the island. it will interest you. not many men have penetrated its luxuriant forests or know their secrets. i have wandered through them in all directions, and can guide you. indeed, moses could do that as well as i, for he has lived with me many years. come." returning to the cavern they found that the active negro had not only finished his breakfast, but had washed the dishes and cleared up the kitchen, so that he was quite ready to shoulder a wallet and a gun when his master bade him prepare for a day in the forest. it is not, however, our intention to follow the trio thither. matters of greater interest, if not importance, claim our attention at present. let it suffice to say, therefore, that after a most delightful day, spent in wandering amongst the luxuriant tropical vegetation with which the island was densely covered, visiting one of the extinct craters, bathing in one of the numerous hot springs, and collecting many objects of interest to the hermit, in the shape of botanical and geological specimens, they returned in the evening to their cavern-house not only ready but eager for sustenance and repose. chapter viii. perboewatan becomes moderately violent. the cave was enshrouded in almost total darkness when they entered it, but this was quickly dispelled, to nigel's no little surprise, by the rays of a magnificent oil lamp, which moses lighted and placed on the table in the larger cave. a smaller one of the same kind already illuminated the kitchen. not much conversation was indulged in during the progress of the supper that was soon spread upon the rude table. the three men, being uncommonly hungry and powerfully robust, found in food a sufficient occupation for their mouths for some time. after supper they became a little, but not much, more sociable, for, although nigel's active mind would gladly have found vent in conversation, he experienced some difficulty in making headway against the discouragement of van der kemp's very quiet disposition, and the cavernous yawns with which moses displayed at once his desire for slumber and his magnificent dental arrangements. "we always retire early to rest after a day of this sort," said the hermit at last, turning to his guest. "do you feel disposed for bed?" "indeed i do," said nigel, with a half-suppressed yawn, that was irresistibly dragged out of him by the sight of another earthquake on the negro's face. "come, then, i will show you your berth; we have no bedrooms here," said the hermit, with a sort of deprecatory smile, as he led the way to the darker end of the cavern, where he pointed to a little recess in which there was a pile of something that smelt fresh and looked like heather, spread on which there was a single blanket. "sailors are said to be indifferent to sheets. you won't miss them, i daresay?" "not in the least," returned nigel, with a laugh. "good-night," he added, shaking hands with his host and suppressing another yawn, for moses' face, even in the extreme distance, was irresistibly infectious! our hero was indifferent not only to sheets, but also, in certain circumstances, to the usual habiliments of night. indeed, while travelling in out-of-the-way regions he held it to be a duty to undress but partially before turning in, so that he might be ready for emergencies. on lying down he found his mattress, whatever it was, to be a springy, luxurious bed, and was about to resign himself to slumber when he observed that, from the position in which he lay, he could see the cavern in all its extent. opening his half-closed eyes, therefore, he watched the proceedings of his host, and in doing so, as well as in speculating on his strange character and surroundings, he became somewhat wakeful. he saw that van der kemp, returning to the other end of the cave, sat down beside the lamp, the blaze of which fell full on his fine calm countenance. a motion of his head brought moses to him, who sat down beside him and entered into earnest conversation, to judge from his gestures, for nothing could be heard where nigel lay save the monotonous murmur of their voices. the hermit did not move. except for an occasional inclination of the head he appeared to be a grand classic statue, but it was otherwise with the negro. his position in front of the lamp caused him to look if possible even blacker than ever, and the blackness was so uniform that his entire profile became strongly pronounced, thus rendering every motion distinct, and the varied pouting of his huge lips remarkably obvious. the extended left hand, too, with the frequent thrusting of the index finger of the other into the palm, was suggestive of argument, and of much reasoning effort--if not power. after about half-an-hour of conversation, moses arose, shook his master by the hand, appeared to say "good-night" very obviously, yawned, and retired to the kitchen, whence, in five minutes or so, there issued sounds which betokened felicitous repose. meanwhile his master sat motionless for some time, gazing at the floor as if in meditation. then he rose, went to his book-case and took down a large thick volume, which he proceeded to read. nigel had by that time dropped into a drowsy condition, yet his interest in the doings of his strange entertainer was so great that he struggled hard to keep awake, and partially succeeded. "i wonder," he muttered, in sleepy tones, "if that's a f--fam--'ly bible he's reading--or--or--a vol'm o' the en--encyclopida brit--" he dropped off at this point, but, feeling that he had given way to some sort of weakness, he struggled back again into wakefulness, and saw that the hermit was bending over the large book with his massive brow resting on the palms of both hands, and his fingers thrust into his iron-grey hair. it was evident, however, that he was not reading the book at that moment, for on its pages was lying what seemed to be a miniature or photograph case, at which he gazed intently. nigel roused himself to consider this, and in doing so again dropped off--not yet soundly, however, for curiosity induced one more violent struggle, and he became aware of the fact that the hermit was on his knees with his face buried in his hands. the youth's thoughts must have become inextricably confused at this point, yet their general drift was indicated by the muttered words: "i--i'm glad o' that--a good sign--an'--an' it's _not_ th' encyclop----." here morpheus finally conquered, and he sank into dreamless repose. how long this condition lasted he could not tell, but he was awakened violently by sensations and feelings of dread, which were entirely new to him. the bed on which he rested seemed to heave under him, and his ears were filled by sharp rattling sounds, something like--yet very different from--the continuous roll of musketry. starting up, he sprang into the large cavern where he found van der kemp quietly tightening his belt and moses hastily pulling on his boots. "sometin's bu'sted an' no mistake!" exclaimed the latter. "an eruption from one of the cones," said the hermit. "i have been for a long time expecting it. come with us." he went swiftly up the staircase and passages which led to the observatory as he spoke. the scene that met their eyes on reaching the ledge or plateau was sublime in the extreme, as well as terrific. "as i thought," said van der kemp, in a low tone. "it is perboewatan that has broken out." "the cone from which i observed smoke rising?" asked nigel. "the same. the one over the very centre of the old crater, showing that we were wrong in supposing it to be extinct: it was only slumbering. it is in what vulcanologists term moderate eruption now, and, perhaps, may prove a safety-valve which will prevent a more violent explosion." that the cone of perboewatan was indeed in a state of considerable activity, worthy of a stronger term than "moderate," was very obvious. although at a distance, as we have said, of four miles, the glare of its fires on the three figures perched near the top of rakata was very intense, while explosion after explosion sent molten lava and red-hot rocks, pumice, and dust, high into the thickening air--clouds of smoke and steam being vomited forth at the same time. the wind, of which there was very little, blew it all away from the position occupied by the three observers. "what if the wind were to change and blow it all this way?" asked nigel, with very pardonable feelings of discomfort. "we could return to the cavern," said the hermit. "but what if rakata itself should become active?" it was evident from the very solemn expression on the negro's face that he awaited the reply to nigel's question with some anxiety. "rakata," answered the hermit thoughtfully, "although the highest cone, is the one most distant from the great centre of activity. it is therefore not likely that the volcanic energy will seek a vent here while there are other cones between us and perboewatan. but we shall soon see whether the one vent is likely to suffice. there is undoubtedly no diminution in the explosions at present." there certainly was not, for the voice of the speaker was almost drowned by the horrible din caused, apparently, by the hurtling of innumerable fragments of rock and stones in the air, while a succession of fiery flashes, each followed by a loud explosion, lit up the dome-shaped mass of vapour that was mounting upwards and spreading over the sky. vivid flashes of lightning were also seen playing around the vapour-column. at the same time, there began a fall of fine white dust, resembling snow, which soon covered the foliage and the ground of all the lower part of the island. the sea around was also ere long covered with masses of pumice, which, being very light, floated away into the indian ocean, and these were afterwards encountered in large quantities by various vessels passing through sunda straits. the scientific committee, which ultimately wrote on the details of this eruption in krakatoa, mention this first outburst as being a phase of moderate activity, similar to that which is said to have been exhibited for some months during the years 1680 and 1681, and they added that "the outburst was one of considerable violence, especially at its commencement," that falls of dust were noticed at the distance of three hundred miles, and that "the commander of the german war-vessel _elizabeth_ estimated the height of the dust-column issuing from the volcano at 11 kilometres (36,000 feet or about 7 miles)."[2] to our hero, however, and to moses, the outburst seemed anything but "moderate," and that night as they two sat together in the cave after supper, listening with awe-struck faces to the cannonading and wild musketry going on as it seemed under their very feet, the negro solemnly imparted to nigel in a low whisper that he thought "de end ob de wurld hab come at last!" returning at that moment from his observatory, to which he had ascended for a few minutes to view the scene through one of his glasses, van der kemp relieved their anxieties somewhat by remarking, in his quiet manner, that there was a distinct diminution in the violence of the explosions, and that, from his knowledge and experience of other volcanoes in java, sumatra, and elsewhere, he thought it probable they had seen the worst of it at that time, and that none of the other cones would be likely to break out. "i'm glad to hear you say so," observed nigel, "for although the sight is extremely magnificent and very interesting, both from a scientific and artistic point of view, i cannot help thinking that we should be safer away from this island at present--at least while the volcano is active." the hermit smiled almost pitifully. "i do not apprehend danger," he said, "at least nothing unusual. but it happens that my business requires me to leave in the course of a few days at any rate, so, whether the eruption becomes fiercer or feebler, it will not matter to us. i have preparations to make, however, and i have no doubt you won't object to remain till all is ready for a start?" "oh, as to that," returned the youth, slightly hurt by the implied doubt as to his courage, "if _you_ are willing to risk going off the earth like a skyrocket, i am quite ready to take my chance of following you!" "an' moses am de man," said the negro, smiting his broad chest with his fist, "what's ready to serve as a rocket-stick to bof, an' go up along wid you!" the hermit made the nearest approach to a laugh which nigel had yet seen, as he left the cave to undertake some of the preparations above referred to. footnotes: [footnote 2: see _the eruption of krakatoa and subsequent phenomena_, p. 11. (truebner and co., london.)] chapter ix. describes, among other things, a singular meeting under peculiar circumstances. there is unquestionably a class of men--especially englishmen--who are deeply imbued with the idea that the universe in general, and our world in particular, has been created with a view to afford them what they call fun. "it would be great fun," said an english commercial man to a friend who sat beside him, "to go and have a look at this eruption. they say it is krakatoa which has broken out after a sleep of two centuries, and as it has been bursting away now for nearly a week, it is likely to hold on for some time longer. what would you say to charter a steamer and have a grand excursion to the volcano?" the friend said he thought it would indeed be "capital fun!" we have never been able to ascertain who these englishmen were, but they must have been men of influence, or able to move men of influence, for they at once set to work and organised an excursion. the place where this excursion was organised was batavia. although that city was situated in java, nearly a hundred miles distant from krakatoa, the inhabitants had not only heard distinctly the explosions of the volcano, but had felt some quakings of the earth and much rattling of doors and windows, besides a sprinkling of ashes, which indicated that the eruption, even in that eruptive region, was of unusual violence. they little imagined to what mighty throes the solid rocks of krakatoa were yet to be subjected before those volcanic fires could find a vent. meanwhile, as we have said, there was enough of the unusual in it to warrant our merchants in their anticipation of a considerable amount of fun. a steamer was got ready; a number of sightseeing enthusiasts were collected, and they set forth on the morning of the 26th of may. among these excursionists was our friend captain david roy--not that _he_ was addicted to running about in search of "fun," but, being unavoidably thrown idle at the time, and having a poetical turn of mind--derived from his wife--he thought he could not do better than take a run to the volcano and see how his son was getting along. the party reached the scene of the eruption on the morning of the 27th, having witnessed during the night several tolerably strong explosions, which were accompanied by earthquake shocks. it was found that krakatoa and all the adjoining islands were covered with a fine white dust, like snow, and that the trees on the northern part of the former island and varlaten had been to a great extent deprived of their leaves and branches by falling pumice, while those on lang island and polish hat, as well as those on the peak of rakata, had to a great extent escaped--no doubt owing to the prevailing direction of the wind. it was soon seen that perboewatan on krakatoa was the cone in active eruption, and the steamer made for its neighbourhood, landing her party within a short distance of its base. explosions were occurring at intervals of from five to ten minutes. each explosion being accompanied by an uncovering of the molten lava in the vent, the overhanging steam-cloud was lighted up with a grand glow for a few seconds. some of the party, who seemed to be authorities on such matters, estimated that the vapour-column rose to a height of nearly 10,000 feet, and that fragments of pumice were shot upwards to a height of 600 feet. "that's a sign that the violence of the eruption is diminished," remarked the young merchant, who was in search of fun, as he prepared to wade ankle-deep in the loose pumice up the slopes of the cone. "diminished!" repeated our captain, who had fraternised much with this merchant during their short voyage. "if that's what you call diminishin', i shouldn't like to be here when it's increasin'." "pooh!" exclaimed the merchant, "that's nothing. i've seen, at other volcanoes, pieces of pumice blown up so high that they've been caught by the upper currents of the atmosphere and carried away in an opposite direction to the wind that was blowing below at the time. ay, i believe that dust is sometimes blown _miles_ up into the air." as captain roy thought that the merchant was drawing the long bow he made no reply, but changed the subject by asking what was the height of perboewatan. "three hundred feet or thereabouts," replied his friend. "i hope my son will have the sense to clear out of the island if things look like gittin' worse," muttered the captain, as an unusually violent explosion shook the whole side of the cone. "no fear of him," returned the merchant. "if he is visiting the hermit of rakata, as you tell me, he'll be safe enough. although something of a dare-devil, the hermit knows how to take care of himself. i'm afraid, however, that you'll not find it so easy to 'look up' your son as you seem to think. just glance round at these almost impenetrable forests. you don't know what part of the island he may be in just now; and you might as well look for a needle in a bundle of hay as look for him there. he is probably at the other end of krakatoa--four or five miles off--on the south side of rakata, where the hermit's cave is supposed to be, for no one seems to be quite sure as to its whereabouts. besides, you'll have to stick by the excursionists if you wish to return to batavia." captain roy paused for a moment to recover breath, and looking down upon the dense tropical forest that stretched between him and the peak of rakata, he shook his head, and admitted that the merchant was right. turning round he addressed himself once more to the ascent of the cone, on the sides of which the whole excursion party now straggled and struggled, remarking, as he panted along, that hill-climbing among ashes and cinders didn't "come easy to a sea-farin' man." now, nothing was more natural than that van der kemp and his guest should be smitten with the same sort of desire which had brought these excursionists from batavia. the only thing that we do not pretend to account for is the strange coincidence that they should have been so smitten, and had so arranged their plans, that they arrived at perboewatan almost at the same time with the excursionists--only about half an hour before them! their preliminary walk, however, through the tangled, almost impassable, forest had been very slow and toilsome, and having been involved in its shadow from daybreak, they were, of course, quite unaware of the approach of the steamer or the landing of the excursion party. "if the volcano seems quieting down," said nigel to his host, "shall you start to-morrow?" "yes; by daybreak. even if the eruption does _not_ quiet down i must set out, for my business presses." nigel felt much inclined to ask what his business was, but there was a quiet something in the air of the hermit, when he did not choose to be questioned, which effectually silenced curiosity. falling behind a little, till the negro came up with him, nigel tried to obtain information from him, for he felt that he had a sort of right to know at least something about the expedition in which he was about to act a part. "do you know, moses, what business your master is going about?" he asked, in a low voice. "no more nor de man ob de moon, massa nadgel," said moses, with an air at once so truthful and so solemn that the young man gave it up with a laugh of resignation. on arriving at perboewatan, and ascending its sides, they at last became aware of the approach of the excursion steamer. "strange," muttered the hermit, "vessels don't often touch here." "perhaps they have run short of water," suggested nigel. "even if they had it would not be worth their while to stop here for that," returned the hermit, resuming the ascent of the cone after an intervening clump of trees had shut out the steamer from view. it was with feelings of profound interest and considerable excitement that our hero stood for the first time on the top of a volcanic cone and gazed down into its glowing vent. the crater might be described as a huge basin of 3000 feet in diameter. from the rim of this basin on which the visitors stood the sides sloped so gradually inward that the flat floor at the bottom was not more than half that diameter. this floor--which was about 150 feet below the upper edge--was covered with a black crust, and in the centre of it was the tremendous cavity--between one and two hundred feet in diameter--from which issued the great steam-cloud. the cloud was mixed with quantities of pumice and fragments of what appeared to be black glass. the roar of this huge vent was deafening and stupendous. if the reader will reflect on the wonderful hubbub that can be created even by a kitchen kettle when superheated, and on the exasperating shrieks of a steamboat's safety-valve in action, or the bellowing of a fog-horn, he may form some idea of the extent of his incapacity to conceive the thunderous roar of krakatoa when it began to boil over. when to this awful sound there were added the intermittent explosions, the horrid crackling of millions of rock-masses meeting in the air, and the bubbling up of molten lava--verily it did not require the imagination of a dante to see in all this the very vomiting of gehenna! so amazed and well-nigh stunned was nigel at the sights and sounds that he neither heard nor saw the arrival of the excursionists, until the equally awe-stricken moses touched him on the elbow and drew his attention to several men who suddenly appeared on the crater-brim not fifty yards off, but who, like themselves, were too much absorbed with the volcano itself to observe the other visitors. probably they took them for some of their own party who had reached the summit before them. nigel was yet looking at these visitors in some surprise, when an elderly nautical man suddenly stood not twenty yards off gazing in open-mouthed amazement, past our hero's very nose, at the volcanic fires. "hallo, father!" shouted the one. "zounds! nigel!" exclaimed the other. both men glared and were speechless for several seconds. then nigel rushed at the captain, and the captain met him half-way, and they shook hands with such hearty goodwill as to arrest in his operations for a few moments a photographer who was hastily setting up his camera! yes, science has done much to reveal the marvellous and arouse exalted thoughts in the human mind, but it has also done something to crush enthusiasts and shock the romantic. veracity constrains us to state that there he was, with his tripod, and his eager haste, and his hideous black cloth, preparing to "take" perboewatan on a "dry plate"! and he "took" it too! and you may see it, if you will, as a marvellous frontispiece to the volume by the "krakatoa committee"--a work which is apparently as exhaustive of the subject of krakatoa as was the great explosion itself of those internal fires which will probably keep that volcano quiet for the next two hundred years. but this was not the great eruption of krakatoa--only a rehearsal, as it were. "what brought you here, my son?" asked the captain, on recovering speech. "my legs, father." "don't be insolent, boy." "it's not insolence, father. it's only poetical licence, meant to assure you that i did not come by 'bus or rail though you did by steamer! but let me introduce you to my friend, mr.----" he stopped short on looking round, for van der kemp was not there. "he goed away wheneber he saw de peepil comin' up de hill," said moses, who had watched the meeting of father and son with huge delight. "but you kin interdooce _me_ instead," he added, with a crater-like smile. "true, true," exclaimed nigel, laughing. "this is moses, father, my host's servant, and my very good friend, and a remarkably free-and-easy friend, as you see. he will guide us back to the cave, since van der kemp seems to have left us." "who's van der kemp?" asked the captain. "the hermit of rakata, father--that's his name. his father was a dutchman and his mother an english or irish woman--i forget which. he's a splendid fellow; quite different from what one would expect; no more like a hermit than a hermit-crab, except that he lives in a cave under the peak of rakata, at the other end of the island. but you must come with us and pay him a visit. he will be delighted to see you." "what! steer through a green sea of leaves like that?" said the captain, stretching his arm towards the vast forest that lay stretched out below them, "and on my legs, too, that have been used all their lives to a ship's deck? no, my son. i will content myself with this lucky meetin'. but, i say, nigel, lad," continued the old man, somewhat more seriously, "what if the peak o' ra--ra, what's-'is-name, should take to spoutin' like this one, an' you, as you say, livin' under it?" "ha! das 'zackly what _i_ say," interposed moses. "das what i oftin says to massa, but he nebber answers. he only smile. massa's not always so purlite as he might be!" "there is no fear," said nigel, "not at present, anyhow, for van der kemp says that the force of this eruption is diminishing--" "it don't look much like it," muttered the captain, as the volcano at that moment gave vent to a burst which seemed like a sarcastic laugh at the hermit's opinion, and sent the more timid of the excursionists sprawling down the cinder-slope in great alarm. "there's reason in what you say, father," said nigel, when the diminution of noise rendered speech more easy; "and after all, as we start off on our travels to-morrow, your visit could not have been a long one." "where do you go first?" asked the captain. "not sure. do _you_ know, moses?" "no; no more 'n de man ob de moon. p'r'aps borneo. he go dar sometimes." at this point another roar from the volcano, and a shout from the leader of the excursionists to return on board, broke up the conference. "well, lad, i'm glad i've seen you. don't forget to write your whereabouts. they say there's a lot o' wild places as well as wild men and beasts among them islands, so keep your weather-eye open an' your powder dry. good-bye, nigel. take care of him, moses, and keep him out o' mischief if ye can--which is more than ever i could. good-bye, my boy." "good-bye, father." they shook hands vigorously. in another minute the old seaman was sailing down the cinder-cone at the rate of fourteen knots an hour, while his son, setting off under the guidance of moses towards a different point of the compass, was soon pushing his way through the tangled forest in the direction of the hermit's cave. chapter x. a curious sea-going craft--the unknown voyage begun. it was early next morning when van der kemp and his man left their couches and descended to the shore, leaving their visitor enjoying the benefit of that profound slumber which bids defiance to turmoil and noise, however stupendous, and which seems to be the peculiar privilege of healthy infants and youthful seamen. perboewatan had subsided considerably towards morning, and had taken to that internal rumbling, which in the feline species indicates mitigated indignation. the hermit had therefore come to the conclusion that the outburst was over, and went with moses to make arrangements for setting forth on his expedition after breakfast. they had scarcely left the cave when nigel awoke. feeling indisposed for further repose, he got up and went out in that vague state of mind which is usually defined as "having a look at the weather." whether or not he gathered much information from the look we cannot tell, but, taking up his short gun, which stood handy at the entrance of the cave, he sauntered down the path which his host had followed a short time before. arrived at the shore, he observed that a branch path diverged to the left, and appeared to run in the direction of a high precipice. he turned into it, and after proceeding through the bushes for a short way he came quite unexpectedly on a cavern, the mouth of which resembled, but was much higher and wider than that which led to the hermit's home. just as he approached it there issued from its gloomy depths a strange rumbling sound which induced him to stop and cock his gun. a curious feeling of serio-comic awe crept over him as the idea of a fiery dragon leaped into his mind! at the same time, the fancy that the immense abyss of darkness might be one of the volcanic vents diminished the comic and increased the serious feeling. ere long the sound assumed the definite tone of footsteps, and the dragon fancy seemed about to become a reality when he beheld a long narrow thing of uncertain form emerging from the darkness. "it must be coming out tail-foremost!" he muttered, with a short laugh at his semi-credulity. another instant and the hermit emerged into the blazing sunshine, and stood pictured against the intense darkness like a being of supernatural radiance, with the end of a long narrow canoe on his shoulder. as nigel passed round a bush to reach him he perceived the dark form of moses emerging from the depths and supporting the body of the canoe. "i see you are active and an early riser," said the hermit, with a nod of approval on seeing our hero. "i almost took you for a krakatoa monster!" said nigel, as they came out in front of the cavern and laid the canoe on the ground. "why, you've got here one of the craft which we in england call a rob roy canoe!" "it is fashioned on the same pattern," said the hermit, "but with one or two alterations of my own devising, and an improvement--as i think--founded on what i have myself seen, when travelling with the eskimos of greenland." van der kemp here pointed out that the canoe was not only somewhat broader than the kind used in england, but was considerably longer, and with three openings or manholes in the deck, so that it was capable of holding three persons. also, that there was a large rounded mass of wood fixed in front of the three manholes. "these saddles, as i call them," said the hermit, "have been suggested to me by the eskimos, who, instead of wearying their arms by supporting the double-bladed paddle continuously, rest it on the saddle and let it slide about thereon while being used. thus they are able to carry a much longer and heavier paddle than that used in the rob roy canoe, the weight of which, as it rests on the saddle, is not felt. moreover it does not require nearly so much dip to put it in the water. i have heard of a sort of upright with a universal joint being applied to the english canoe, but it seems to me a much more clumsy and much less effective, because rigid, contrivance than the eskimo saddle. inside, under the deck, as i will show you by and by, i have lighter and shorter paddles for use when in narrow rivers, but i prefer the long heavy paddle when traversing great stretches of ocean." "you don't mean to say you ever go to sea in an eggshell like that!" exclaimed nigel in surprise. "indeed we do," returned the hermit, "and we are fitted out for longish voyages and rough weather. besides, it is not so much of an eggshell as you suppose. i made it myself, and took care that it should be fit for the work required of it. the wood of which it is made, although light, is very tough, and it is lined with a skin of strong canvas which is fixed to the planks with tar. this makes the craft watertight as well as strong. the ribs also are very light and close together, and every sixth rib is larger and stronger than the others and made of tougher wood. all these ribs are bound together by longitudinal pieces, or laths, of very tough wood, yet so thin that the whole machine is elastic without being weak. besides this, there are two strong oiled-canvas partitions, which divide the canoe into three water-tight compartments, any two of which will float it if the third should get filled." "is this then the craft in which you intend to voyage?" asked nigel. "it is. we shall start in an hour or two. i keep it in this cave because it is near the landing-place. but come, you will understand things better when you see us making our arrangements. of course you understand how to manage sails of every kind?" "if i did not it would ill become me to call myself a sailor," returned our hero. "that is well, because you will sit in the middle, from which position the sail is partly managed. i usually sit in the bow to have free range for the use of my gun, if need be, and moses steers." van der kemp proceeded down the track as he said this, having, with the negro, again lifted the canoe on his shoulder. a few minutes' walk brought them to the beach at the spot where nigel had originally landed. here a quantity of cargo lay on the rocks ready to be placed in the canoe. there were several small bags of pemmican, which van der kemp had learned to make while travelling on the prairies of north america among the red indians,--for this singular being seemed to have visited most parts of the habitable globe during his not yet very long life. there were five small casks of fresh water, two or three canisters of gunpowder, a small box of tea and another of sugar, besides several bags of biscuits. there were also other bags and boxes which did not by their appearance reveal their contents, and all the articles were of a shape and size which seemed most suitable for passing through the manholes, and being conveniently distributed and stowed in the three compartments of the canoe. there was not very much of anything, however, so that when the canoe was laden and ready for its voyage, the hermit and his man were still able to raise and carry it on their shoulders without the assistance of nigel. there was one passenger whom we have not yet mentioned, namely, a small monkey which dwelt in the cave with the canoe, and which, although perfectly free to come and go when he pleased, seldom left the cave except for food, but seemed to have constituted himself the guardian of the little craft. spinkie, as moses had named him, was an intensely affectionate creature, with a countenance of pathetic melancholy which utterly belied his character, for mischief and fun were the dominating qualities of that monkey. he was seated on a water-cask when nigel first caught sight of him, holding the end of his long tail in one hand, and apparently wiping his nose with it. "is that what he is doing?" asked nigel of the negro. "oh no, massa nadgel," said moses. "spinkie nebber ketch cold an' hab no need ob a pocket-hangkitcher. he only tickles his nose wid 'is tail. but he's bery fond ob doin' dat." being extremely fond of monkeys, nigel went forward to fondle him, and spinkie being equally fond of fondling, resigned himself placidly--after one interrogative gaze of wide-eyed suspicion--into the stranger's hands. a lifelong friendship was cemented then and there. after stowing the cargo the party returned to the upper cavern, leaving the monkey to guard the canoe. "an' he's a good defender ob it," said moses, "for if man or beast happen to come near it when spinkie's in charge, dat monkey sets up a skriekin' fit to cause a 'splosion ob perboewatan!" breakfast over, the hermit put his cave in order for a pretty long absence, and they again descended to the shore, each man carrying his bed on his shoulder. each bed, however, was light and simple. it consisted merely of one blanket wrapped up in an oil-cloth sheet. besides, an old-fashioned powder-flask and shot belt. van der kemp and nigel had slung a bullet-pouch on their shoulders, and carried small hatchets and hunting-knives in their belts. moses was similarly armed, with this difference, that his _couteau de chasse_ bore stronger resemblance to an ancient roman sword than a knife, and his axe was of larger size than the hatchets of his companions. launching the canoe, the hermit and his man held it fast at either end while nigel was directed to take his place in the central of the three openings or manholes. he did so and found himself seated on a flat board on the bottom of the canoe, which was so shallow that the deck scarcely rose as high as his waist. round the manhole there was a ledge of thin wood, about three inches high, to which a circular apron of oiled canvas was attached. "yes, you'd better understand that thing before we start," said van der kemp, observing that nigel was examining the contrivance with some curiosity. "it's an apron to tie round you in bad weather to keep the water out. in fine weather it is rolled as you see it now round the ledge. undo the buckle before and behind and you will see how it is to be used." acting as directed, nigel unbuckled the roll and found that he was surrounded by a sort of petticoat of oil-skin which could be drawn up and buckled round his chest. in this position it could be kept by a loop attached to a button, or a wooden pin, thrust through the coat. "you see," explained the hermit, "the waves may wash all over our deck and round our bodies without being able to get into the canoe while we have these things on--there are similar protections round the other holes." "i understand," said nigel. "but how if water gets in through a leak below?" "do you see that brass thing in front of you?" returned the hermit. "that is a pump which is capable of keeping under a pretty extensive leak. the handle unships, so as to be out of the way when not wanted. i keep it here, under the deck in front of me, along with mast and sails and a good many other things." as he spoke he raised a plank of the deck in front of the foremost hole, and disclosed a sort of narrow box about six feet long by six inches broad. the plank was hinged at one end and fastened with a hook at the other so as to form a lid to the box. the hole thus disclosed was not an opening into the interior of the canoe, but was a veritable watertight box just under the deck, so that even if it were to get filled with water not a drop could enter the canoe itself. but the plank-lid was so beautifully fitted, besides shutting tightly down on indiarubber, that the chance of leakage through that source was very remote. although very narrow, this box was deep, and contained a variety of useful implements; among them a slender mast and tiny sail, which could be rendered still smaller by means of reef points. all these things were fitted into their respective places with so keen an eye to economy of space that the arrangement cannot be better described than by the familiar phrase--_multum, in parvo._ "we don't use the sails much; we depend chiefly on this," said the hermit, as he seated himself in the front hole and laid the long, heavy, double-bladed paddle on the saddle in front of him. moses uses a single blade, partly because it is handier for steering and partly because he has been accustomed to it in his own land. you are at liberty to use which you prefer." "thanks, i will follow the lead of moses, for i also have been accustomed to the single blade and prefer it--at least while i am one of three. if alone, i should prefer the double blade." "now, moses, are you ready?" asked the hermit. "all ready, massa." "get in then and shove off. come along, spinkie." the monkey, which all this time had been seated on a rock looking on with an expression of inconsolable sorrow, at once accepted the invitation, and with a lively bound alighted on the deck close to the little mast, which had been set up just in front of nigel, and to which it held on when the motions of the canoe became unsteady. "you need not give yourself any concern about spinkie," said the hermit, as they glided over the still water of the little cove in which the canoe and boat were harboured. "he is quite able to take care of himself." bounding the entrance to the cove and shooting out into the ocean under the influence of van der kemp's powerful strokes, they were soon clear of the land, and proceeded eastward at a rate which seemed unaccountable to our hero, for he had not sufficiently realised the fact that in addition to the unusual physical strength of van der kemp as well as that of moses, to say nothing of his own, the beautiful fish-like adaptation of the canoe to the water, the great length and leverage of the bow paddle, and the weight of themselves as well as the cargo, gave this canoe considerable advantage over other craft of the kind. about a quarter of an hour later the sun arose in cloudless splendour on a perfectly tranquil sea, lighted up the shores of java, glinted over the mountains of sumatra, and flooded, as with a golden haze, the forests of krakatoa--emulating the volcanic fires in gilding the volumes of smoke that could be seen rolling amid fitful mutterings from perboewatan, until the hermit's home sank from view in the western horizon. chapter xi. canoeing on the sea--a mysterious night-surprise and sudden flight. at first the voyagers paddled over the glassy sea in almost total silence. nigel was occupied with his own busy thoughts; speculating on the probable end and object of their voyage, and on the character, the mysterious life, and unknown history of the man who sat in front of him wielding so powerfully the great double-bladed paddle. van der kemp himself was, as we have said, naturally quiet and silent, save when roused by a subject that interested him. as for moses, although quite ready at any moment to indulge in friendly intercourse, he seldom initiated a conversation, and spinkie, grasping the mast and leaning against it with his head down, seemed to be either asleep or brooding over his sorrows. only a few words were uttered now and then when nigel asked the name of a point or peak which rose in the distance on either hand. it seemed as if the quiescence of sea and air had fallen like a soft mantle on the party and subdued them into an unusually sluggish frame of mind. they passed through the sunda straits between sumatra and java--not more at the narrowest part than about thirteen miles wide--and, in course of time, found themselves in the great island-studded archipelago beyond. about noon they all seemed to wake up from their lethargic state. van der kemp laid down his paddle, and, looking round, asked nigel if he felt tired. "not in the least," he replied, "but i feel uncommonly hungry, and i have just been wondering how you manage to feed when at sea in so small a craft." "ho! ho!" laughed moses, in guttural tones, "you soon see dat--i 'spose it time for me to get out de grub, massa?" "yes, moses--let's have it." the negro at once laid down his steering paddle and lifted a small square hatch or lid in the deck which was rendered watertight by the same means as the lid in front already described. from the depths thus revealed he extracted a bird of some sort that had been shot and baked the day before. tearing off a leg he retained it and handed the remainder to nigel. "help you'self, massa nadgel, an' pass 'im forid." without helping himself he passed it on to van der kemp, who drew his knife, sliced off a wing with a mass of breast, and returned the rest. "always help yourself _before_ passing the food in future," said the hermit; "we don't stand on ceremony here." nigel at once fell in with their custom, tore off the remaining drumstick and began. "biskit," said moses, with his mouth full, "an' look out for spinkie." he handed forward a deep tray of the sailor's familiar food, but nigel was too slow to profit by the warning given, for spinkie darted both hands into the tray and had stuffed his mouth and cheeks full almost before a man could wink! the negro would have laughed aloud, but the danger of choking was too great; he therefore laughed internally--an operation which could not be fully understood unless seen. "'splosions of perboewatan," may suggest the thing. sorrow, grief--whatever it was that habitually afflicted that monkey--disappeared for the time being, while it devoted itself heart and soul to dinner. feelings of a somewhat similar kind animated nigel as he sat leaning back with his mouth full, a biscuit in one hand, and a drumstick in the other, and his eyes resting dreamily on the horizon of the still tranquil sea, while the bright sun blazed upon his already bronzed face. to many men the fierce glare of the equatorial sun might have proved trying, but nigel belonged to the salamander type of humanity and enjoyed the great heat. van der kemp seemed to be similarly moulded, and as for moses, he was in his native element--so was spinkie. strange as it may seem, sea-birds appeared to divine what was going on, for several specimens came circling round the canoe with great outstretched and all but motionless wings, and with solemn sidelong glances of hope which van der kemp evidently could not resist, for he flung them scraps of his allowance from time to time. "if you have plenty of provisions on board, i should like to do that too," said nigel. "do it," returned the hermit. "we have plenty of food for some days, and our guns can at any time replenish the store. i like to feed these creatures," he added, "they give themselves over so thoroughly to the enjoyment of the moment, and _seem_ to be grateful. whether they are so or not, of course, is matter of dispute. cynics will tell us that they only come to us and fawn upon us because of the memory of past favours and the hope of more to come. i don't agree with them." "neither do i," said nigel, warmly. "any man who has ever had to do with dogs knows full well that gratitude is a strong element of their nature. and it seems to me that the speaking eyes of spinkie, to whom i have just given a bit of biscuit, tell of a similar spirit." as he spoke, nigel was conveying another piece of biscuit to his own mouth, when a small brown hand flashed before him, and the morsel, in the twinkling of an eye, was transferred to the monkey's already swollen cheek--whereat moses again became suddenly "'splosive" and red, as well as black in the face, for his capacious mouth was inordinately full as usual. clear water, from one of the casks, and poured into a tin mug, washed down their cold collation, and then, refreshed and reinvigorated, the trio resumed their paddles, which were not again laid down till the sun was descending towards the western horizon. by that time they were not far from a small wooded islet near the coast of java, on which van der kemp resolved to spend the night. during the day they had passed at some distance many boats and _praus_ and other native vessels, the crews of which ceased to row for a few moments, and gazed with curiosity at the strange craft which glided along so swiftly, and seemed to them little more than a long plank on the water, but these took no further notice of our voyagers. they also passed several ships--part of that constant stream of vessels which pass westward through those straits laden with the valuable teas and rich silks of china and japan. in some cases a cheer of recognition, as being an exceptional style of craft, was accorded them, to which the hermit replied with a wave of the hand--moses and nigel with an answering cheer. there is something very pleasant in the rest which follows a day of hard and healthful toil. our maker has so ordained it as well as stated it, for is it not written, "the sleep of the labouring man is sweet"? and our travellers experienced the truth of the statement that night in very romantic circumstances. the small rocky islet, not more than a few hundred yards in diameter, which they now approached had several sheltered sandy bays on its shore, which were convenient for landing. the centre was clothed with palm-trees and underwood, so that fuel could be procured, and cocoa-nuts. "sometimes," said the hermit, while he stooped to arrange the fire, after the canoe and cargo had been carried to their camping-place at the edge of the bushes,--"sometimes it is necessary to keep concealed while travelling in these regions, and i carry a little spirit-lamp which enables me to heat a cup of tea or coffee without making a dangerous blaze; but here there is little risk in kindling a fire." "i should not have thought there was any risk at all in these peaceful times," said nigel, as he unstrapped his blanket and spread it on the ground under an overhanging bush. "there are no peaceful times among pirates," returned the hermit; "and some of the traders in this archipelago are little better than pirates." "where i puts your bed, massa?" asked moses, turning his huge eyes on his master. "there--under the bush, beside nigel." "an' where would _you_ like to sleep, massa spinkie?" added the negro, with a low obeisance to the monkey, which sat on the top of what seemed to be its favourite seat--a watercask. spinkie treated the question with calm contempt, turned his head languidly to one side, and scratched himself. "unpurliteness is your k'racter from skin to marrow, you son of a insolent mother!" said moses, shaking his fist, whereat spinkie, promptly making an o of his mouth, looked fierce. the sagacious creature remained where he was till after supper, which consisted of another roast fowl--hot this time--and ship's-biscuit washed down with coffee. of course spinkie's portion consisted only of the biscuit with a few scraps of cocoa-nut. having received it he quietly retired to his native wilds, with the intention of sleeping there, according to custom, till morning; but his repose was destined to be broken, as we shall see. after supper, the hermit, stretching himself on his blanket, filled an enormous meerschaum, and began to smoke. the negro, rolling up a little tobacco in tissue paper, sat down, tailor-wise, and followed his master's example, while our hero--who did not smoke--lay between them, and gazed contemplatively over the fire at the calm dark sea beyond, enjoying the aroma of his coffee. "from what you have told me of your former trading expeditions," said nigel, looking at his friend, "you must have seen a good deal of this archipelago before you took--excuse me--to the hermit life." "ay--a good deal." "have you ever travelled in the interior of the larger islands?" asked nigel, in the hope of drawing from him some account of his experiences with wild beasts or wild men--he did not care which, so long as they were wild! "yes, in all of them," returned the hermit, curtly, for he was not fond of talking about himself. "i suppose the larger islands are densely wooded?" continued nigel interrogatively. "they are, very." "but the wood is not of much value, i fancy, in the way of trade," pursued our hero, adopting another line of attack which proved successful, for van der kemp turned his eyes on him with a look of surprise that almost forced him to laugh. "not of much value in the way of trade!" he repeated--"forgive me, if i express surprise that you seem to know so little about us--but, after all, the world is large, and one cannot become deeply versed in everything." having uttered this truism, the hermit resumed his meerschaum and continued to gaze thoughtfully at the embers of the fire. he remained so long silent that nigel began to despair, but thought he would try him once again on the same lines. "i suppose," he said in a careless way, "that none of the islands are big enough to contain many of the larger wild animals." "my friend," returned van der kemp, with a smile of urbanity, as he refilled his pipe, "it is evident that you do not know much about our archipelago. borneo, to the woods and wild animals of which i hope ere long to introduce you, is so large that if you were to put your british islands, including ireland, down on it they would be engulphed and surrounded by a sea of forests. new guinea is, perhaps, larger than borneo. sumatra is only a little smaller. france is not so large as some of our islands. java, luzon, and celebes are each about equal in size to ireland. eighteen more islands are, on the average, as large as jamaica, more than a hundred are as large as the isle of wight, and the smaller isles and islets are innumerable. in short, our archipelago is comparable with any of the primary divisions of the globe, being full 4000 miles in length from east to west and about 1,300 in breadth from north to south, and would in extent more than cover the whole of europe." it was evident to nigel that he had at length succeeded in opening the floodgates. the hermit paused for a few moments and puffed at the meerschaum, while moses glared at his master with absorbed interest, and pulled at the cigarette with such oblivious vigour that he drew it into his mouth at last, spat it out, and prepared another. nigel sat quite silent and waited for more. "as to trade," continued van der kemp, resuming his discourse in a lower tone, "why, of gold--the great representative of wealth--we export from sumatra alone over 26,000 ounces annually, and among other gold regions we have a mount ophir in the malay peninsula from which there is a considerable annual export." continuing his discourse, van der kemp told a great deal more about the products of these prolific islands with considerable enthusiasm--as one who somewhat resented the underrating of his native land. "were you born in this region, van der kemp?" asked nigel, during a brief pause. "i was--in java. my father, as my name tells, was of dutch descent. my mother was irish. both are dead." he stopped. the fire that had been aroused seemed to die down, and he continued to smoke with the sad absent look which was peculiar to him. "and what about large game?" asked nigel, anxious to stir up his friend's enthusiasm again, but the hermit had sunk back into his usual condition of gentle dreaminess, and made no answer till the question had been repeated. "pardon me," he said, "i was dreaming of the days that are gone. ah! nigel; you are yet too young to understand the feelings of the old--the sad memories of happy years that can never return: of voices that are hushed for ever. no one can _know_ till he has _felt_!" "but you are not old," said nigel, wishing to turn the hermit's mind from a subject on which it seemed to dwell too constantly. "not in years," he returned; "but old, _very_ old in experience, and--stay, what was it that you were asking about? ah, the big game. well, we have plenty of that in some of the larger of the islands; we have the elephant, the rhinoceros, the tiger, the puma, that great man-monkey the orang-utan, or, as it is called here, the mias, besides wild pigs, deer, and innumerable smaller animals and birds--" the hermit stopped abruptly and sat motionless, with his head bent on one side, like one who listens intently. such an action is always infectious. nigel and the negro also listened, but heard nothing. by that time the fire had died down, and, not being required for warmth, had not been replenished. the faint light of the coming moon, which, however, was not yet above the horizon, only seemed to render darkness visible, so that the figure of moses was quite lost in the shadow of the bush behind him, though the whites of his solemn eyes appeared like two glow-worms. "do you hear anything?" asked nigel in a low tone. "oars," answered the hermit. "i hear 'im, massa," whispered the negro, "but das not su'prisin'--plenty boats about." "this boat approaches the island, and i can tell by the sound that it is a large _prau_. if it touches here it will be for the purpose of spending the night, and malay boatmen are not always agreeable neighbours. however, it is not likely they will ramble far from where they land, so we may escape observation if we keep quiet." as he spoke he emptied the remains of the coffee on the dying fire and effectually put it out. meanwhile the sound of oars had become quite distinct, and, as had been anticipated, the crew ran their boat into one of the sandy bays and leaped ashore with a good deal of shouting and noise. fortunately they had landed on the opposite side of the islet, and as the bush on it was very dense there was not much probability of any one crossing over. our voyagers therefore lay close, resolving to be off in the morning before the unwelcome visitors were stirring. as the three lay there wrapped in their blankets and gazing contemplatively at the now risen moon, voices were heard as if of men approaching. it was soon found that two of the strangers had sauntered round by the beach and were slowly drawing near the encampment. nigel observed that the hermit had raised himself on one elbow and seemed to be again listening intently. the two men halted on reaching the top of the ridges of rock which formed one side of the little bay, and their voices became audible though too far distant to admit of words being distinguishable. at the same time their forms were clearly defined against the sky. nigel glanced at van der kemp and was startled by the change that had come over him. the moonbeams, which had by that time risen above some intervening shrubs, shone full on him and showed that his usually quiet gentle countenance was deadly pale and transformed by a frown of almost tiger-like ferocity. so strange and unaccountable did this seem to our hero that he lay quite still, as if spell-bound. nor did his companions move until the strangers, having finished their talk, turned to retrace their steps and finally disappeared. then van der kemp rose with a sigh of relief. the negro and nigel also sprang up. "what's wrong, massa?" asked moses, in much anxiety. "nothing, nothing," said the hermit hurriedly. "i must cross over to see these fellows." "all right, massa. i go wid you." "no, i go alone." "not widout arms?" exclaimed the negro, laying his hand on his master's shoulder. "yes, without arms!" as he spoke he drew the long knife that usually hung at his girdle and flung it down. "now attend, both of you," he added, with sudden and almost threatening earnestness. "do not on any account follow me. i am quite able to take care of myself." next moment he glided into the bushes and was gone. "can you guess what is the matter with him?" asked nigel, turning to his companion with a perplexed look. "not more nor de man ob de moon. i nebber saw'd 'im like dat before. i t'ink he's go mad! i tell you what--i'll foller him wid a rifle an' knife and two revolvers." "you'll do nothing of the sort," said nigel, laying hold of the negro's wrist with a grip of iron; "when a man like van der kemp gives an order it's the duty of inferior men like you and me strictly to obey." "well--p'raps you're right, nadgel," returned moses calmly. "if you wasn't, i'd knock you into de middle ob nixt week for takin' a grip o' me like dat." "you'll wish yourself into the middle of next fortnight if you disobey orders," returned our hero, tightening the grip. moses threw back his head, opened his cavern, and laughed silently; at the same time he twisted his arm free with a sudden wrench. "you's awrful strong, nadgel, but you don't quite come up to niggers! howse'ber, you's right. i'll obey orders; neberdeless i'll get ready for action." so saying, the negro extracted from the canoe several revolvers, two of which he handed to nigel, two he thrust into his own belt, and two he laid handy for "massa" when he should return. "now, if you're smart at arit'metic, you'll see dat six time six am t'irty-six, and two double guns das forty--forty dead men's more 'n enuff--besides de knives." moses had barely finished these deadly preparations when van der kemp returned as quietly as he had gone. his face was still fierce and haggard, and his manner hurried though quite decided. "i have seen him," he said, in a low voice. "seen who?" asked nigel. "him whom i had hoped and prayed never more to see. my enemy! come, quick, we must leave at once, and without attracting their notice." he gave his comrades no time to put further questions, but laid hold of one end of the canoe; moses took the other end and it was launched in a few seconds, while nigel carried down such part of the lading as had been taken out. five minutes sufficed to put all on board, and that space of time was also sufficient to enable spinkie to observe from his retreat in the bushes that a departure was about to take place; he therefore made for the shore with all speed and bounded to his accustomed place beside the mast. taking their places they pushed off so softly that they might well have been taken for phantoms. a cloud conveniently hid the moon at the time. each man plied his paddle with noiseless but powerful stroke, and long before the cloud uncovered the face of the queen of night they were shooting far away over the tranquil sea. chapter xii. weathering a storm in the open sea. in profound silence they continued to paddle until there was no chance of their being seen by the party on the islet. then van der kemp rested his paddle in front of him and looked slowly round the horizon and up at the sky as if studying the weather. nigel longed to ask him more about the men they had seen, and of this "enemy" whom he had mentioned, but there was that in the hermit's grave look which forbade questioning, and indeed nigel now knew from experience that it would be useless to press him to speak on any subject in regard to which he chose to be reticent. "i don't like the look of the sky," he said at last. "we are going to have a squall, i fear." "had we not better run for the nearest land?" said nigel, who, although not yet experienced in the signs of the weather in those equatorial regions, had quite enough of knowledge to perceive that bad weather of some sort was probably approaching. "the nearest island is a good way off," returned the hermit, "and we might miss it in the dark, for daylight won't help us yet awhile. no, we will continue our course and accept what god sends." this remark seemed to our hero to savour of unreasoning contempt of danger, for the facing of a tropical squall in such an eggshell appeared to him the height of folly. he ventured to reply, therefore, in a tone of remonstrance-"god sends us the capacity to appreciate danger, van der kemp, and the power to take precautions." "he does, nigel--therefore i intend to use both the capacity and the power." there was a tone of finality in this speech which effectually sealed nigel's lips, and, in truth, his ever-increasing trust in the wisdom, power, and resource of his friend indisposed him to further remark. the night had by this time become intensely dark, for a bank of black cloud had crept slowly over the sky and blotted out the moon. this cloud extended itself slowly, obliterating, ere long, most of the stars also, so that it was scarcely possible to distinguish any object more than a yard or two in advance of them. the dead calm, however, continued unbroken, and the few of heaven's lights which still glimmered through the obscurity above were clearly reflected in the great black mirror below. only the faint gleam of krakatoa's threatening fires was visible on the horizon, while the occasional boom of its artillery sounded in their ears. it was impossible for any inexperienced man, however courageous, to avoid feelings of awe, almost amounting to dread, in the circumstances, and nigel--as he tried to penetrate the darkness around him and glanced at the narrow craft in which he sat and over the sides of which he could dip both hands at once into the sea--might be excused for wishing, with all his heart, that he were safely on shore, or on the deck of his father's brig. his feelings were by no means relieved when van der kemp said, in a low soliloquising tone-"the steamers will constitute our chief danger to-night. they come on with such a rush that it is not easy to make out how they are steering, so as to get out of their way in time." "but should we not hear them coming a long way off?" asked nigel. "ay. it is not during a calm like this that we run risk, but when the gale begins to blow we cannot hear, and shall not, perhaps, see very well." as he spoke the hermit lifted the covering of the forehatch and took out a small sail which he asked nigel to pass aft to the negro. "close-reef it, moses; we shall make use of the wind as long as possible. after that we will lay-to." "all right, massa," said the negro, in the same cheerful free-and-easy tone in which he was wont to express his willingness to obey orders whether trifling or important. "don' forgit spinkie, massa." "you may be sure i won't do that," replied the hermit. "come along, monkey!" evidently van der kemp had trained his dumb companion as thoroughly to prompt obedience as his black follower, for the little creature instantly bounded from its place by the mast on to the shoulder of its master, who bade it go into the place from which he had just extracted the sail. nigel could not see this--not only because of the darkness, but because of the intervention of the hermit's bulky person, but he understood what had taken place by the remark--"that's a good little fellow. keep your head down, now, while i shut you in!" from the same place van der kemp had drawn a small triangular foresail, which he proceeded to attach to the bow of the canoe--running its point out by means of tackle laid along the deck--while moses was busy reefing the mainsail. from the same repository were extracted three waterproof coats, which, when put on by the canoe-men, the tails thrust below-deck, and the aprons drawn over them and belted round their waists, protected their persons almost completely from water. "now, nigel," said the hermit, "unship the mast, reeve the halyard of this foresail through the top and then re-ship it. moses will give you the mainsail when ready, and you can hook the halyards on to it. the thing is too simple to require explanation to a sailor. i attend to the foresail and moses manages the mainsheet, but you have to mind the halyards of both, which, as you would see if it were light enough, run down alongside the mast. all i ask you to remember is to be smart in obeying orders, for squalls are sometimes very sudden here--but i doubt not that such a caution is needless." "i'll do my best," said nigel. by this time a slight puff of air had ruffled the sea, thereby intensifying, if possible, the blackness which already prevailed. the tiny sails caught the puff, causing the canoe to lean slightly over, and glide with a rippling sound through the water, while moses steered by means of his paddle. "you have put spinkie down below, i think," said nigel, who had been struck more than once with the hermit's extreme tenderness and care of the little creature. "yes, to prevent it from being washed overboard. i nearly lost the poor little thing once or twice, and now when we are likely to be caught in bad weather i put him below." "is he not apt to be suffocated?" asked nigel. "with everything made so tight to prevent water getting into the canoe, you necessarily prevent air entering also." "i see you have a mechanical turn of mind," returned the hermit. "you are right. yet in so large a canoe the air would last a considerable time to satisfy a monkey. nevertheless, i have made provision for that. there is a short tube alongside the mast, and fixed to it, which runs a little below the deck and rises a foot above it so as to be well above the wash of most waves, and in the deck near the stern there is a small hole with a cap fitted so as to turn the water but admit the air. thus free circulation of air is established below deck." suddenly a hissing sound was heard to windward. "look out, moses," said van der kemp. "there it comes. let go the sheet. keep good hold of your paddle, nigel." the warning was by no means unnecessary, for as the canoe's head was turned to meet the blast, a hissing sheet of white water swept right over the tiny craft, completely submerging it, insomuch that the three men appeared to be sitting more than waist-deep in the water. "lower the mainsail!" shouted the hermit, for the noise of wind and sea had become deafening. nigel obeyed and held on to the flapping sheet. the hermit had at the same moment let go the foresail, the flapping of which he controlled by a rope-tackle arranged for the purpose. he then grasped his single-blade paddle and aided moses in keeping her head to wind and sea. for a few minutes this was all that could be done. then the first violence of the squall passed off, allowing the deck of the little craft to appear above the tormented water. soon the waves began to rise. the mere keeping of the canoe's head to wind required all the attention of both master and man, while nigel sat waiting for orders and looking on with mingled feelings of surprise and curiosity. of course they were all three wet to the skin, for the water had got up their sleeves and down their necks; but, being warm, that mattered little, and the oiled aprons before mentioned, being securely fastened round their waists, effectually prevented any of it from getting below save the little that passed through the thickness of their own garments. no word was spoken for at least a quarter of an hour, during which time, although they rose buoyantly on the water, the waves washed continually over the low-lying deck. as this deck was flush with the gunwale, or rather, had no gunwale at all, the water ran off it as it does off a whale's back. then there came a momentary lull. "now, moses--'bout ship!" shouted van der kemp. "stand by, nigel!" "ay, ay, sir." although the canoe was long--and therefore unfitted to turn quickly--the powerful strokes of the two paddles in what may be called counteracting-harmony brought the little craft right round with her stern to the waves. "hoist away, nigel! we must run right before it now." up went the mainsail, the tiny foresail bulged out at the same moment, and away they went like the driving foam, appearing almost to leap from wave to wave. all sense of danger was now overwhelmed in nigel's mind by that feeling of excitement and wild delight which accompanies some kinds of rapid motion. this was, if possible, intensified by the crashing thunder which now burst forth and the vivid lightning which began to play, revealing from time to time the tumultuous turmoil as if in clearest moonlight, only to plunge it again in still blacker night. by degrees the gale increased in fury, and it soon became evident that neither sails nor cordage could long withstand the strain to which they were subjected. "a'most too much, massa," said the negro in a suggestive shout. "right, moses," returned his master. "i was just thinking we must risk it." "risk what? i wonder," thought nigel. he had not long to wait for an answer to his thought. "down wi' the mainsail," was quickly followed by the lowering of the foresail until not more than a mere corner was shown, merely to keep the canoe end-on to the seas. soon even this was lowered, and van der kemp used his double-blade paddle to keep them in position, at the same time telling nigel to unship the mast. "and plug the hole with that," he added, handing him a bit of wood which exactly fitted the hole in the deck. watching for another lull in the blast, the hermit at last gave the order, and round they came as before, head to wind, but not quite so easily, and nigel felt that they had narrowly escaped overturning in the operation. "keep her so, moses. you can help with your paddle, nigel, while i get ready our anchor." "anchor!" exclaimed our hero in amazement--obeying orders, however, at the same moment. the hermit either did not hear the exclamation or did not care to notice it. he quickly collected the mast and sails, with a couple of boat-hooks and all the paddles excepting two single ones. these he bound together by means of the sheets and halyards, attached the whole to a hawser,--one end of which passed through an iron ring at the bow--and tossed it into the sea--paying out the hawser rapidly at the same time so as to put a few yards between them and their floating anchor--if it may be so called--in the lee of which they prepared to ride out the gale. it was well that they had taken the precaution to put on their waterproofs before the gale began, because, while turned head to wind every breaking wave swept right over their heads, and even now while under the lee of the floating anchor they were for some time almost continually overwhelmed by thick spray. being, however, set free from the necessity of keeping their tiny craft in position, they all bowed their heads on the deck, sheltered their faces in their hands and awaited the end! whilst in this attitude--so like to that of prayer--nigel almost naturally thought of him who holds the water in the hollow of his hand, and lifted his soul to god; for, amid the roaring of the gale, the flashes of lightning, the appalling thunder, the feeling that he was in reality all but under the waves and the knowledge that the proverbial plank between him and death was of the very thinnest description, a sensation of helplessness and of dependence on the almighty, such as he had never before experienced, crept over him. what the thoughts of the hermit were he could not tell, for that strange man seldom spoke about himself; but moses was not so reticent, for he afterwards remarked that he had often been caught by gales while in the canoe, and had been attached for hours to their floating anchor, but that "dat was out ob sight de wust bust ob wedder dey'd had since dey come to lib at krakatoa, an' he had bery nigh giben up in despair!" the use of the floating breakwater was to meet the full force of the seas and break them just before they reached the canoe. in spite of this some of them were so tremendous that, broken though they were, the swirling foam completely buried the craft for a second or two, but the sharp bow cut its way through, and the water poured off the deck and off the stooping figures like rain from a duck's back. of course a good deal got in at their necks, sleeves, and other small openings, and wet them considerably, but that, as moses remarked, "was not'ing to speak ob." thus they lay tossing in the midst of the raging foam for several hours. now and then each would raise his head a little to see that the rope held fast, but was glad to lower it again. they hardly knew when day broke. it was so slow in coming, and so gloomy and dark when it did come, that the glare of the lightning-flash seemed more cheerful. it may be easily believed that there was no conversation during those hours of elemental strife, though the thoughts of each were busy enough. at last the thunder ceased, or, rather, retired as if in growling defiance of the world which it had failed to destroy. then the sky began to lighten a little, and although the wind did not materially abate in force it became more steady and equal. before noon, however, it had subsided so much that moses suggested the propriety of continuing the voyage. to this van der kemp agreed, and the floating anchor was hauled in; the large paddle was resumed by the hermit, and the dangerous process of turning the canoe was successfully accomplished. when the mast was again set up and the close-reefed main and foresails were hoisted, the light craft bounded away once more before the wind like a fleck of foam. then a gleam of sunshine forced its way through the driving clouds, and painted a spot of emerald green on the heaving sea. soon after that van der kemp opened the lid, or hatch, of the forehold, and spinkie, jumping out with alacrity, took possession of his usual seat beside the mast, to which he clung with affectionate tenacity. gradually the wind went down. reef after reef of the two sails was shaken out, and for several hours thereafter our travellers sped merrily on, plunging into the troughs and cutting through the crests of the stormy sea. chapter xiii. friends are met with, also pirates, and a life-or-death paddle ensues. in physics, as in morals, a storm is frequently the precursor of a dead calm. much to the monkey's joy, to say nothing of the men, the sun erelong asserted its equatorial power, and, clearing away the clouds, allowed the celestial blue to smile on the turmoil below. the first result of that smile was that the wind retired to its secret chambers, leaving the ships of men to flap their idle sails. then the ocean ceased to fume, though its agitated bosom still continued for some time to heave. gradually the swell went down and soon the unruffled surface reflected a dimpling smile to the sky. when this happy stage had been reached our voyagers lowered and stowed the canoe-sails, and continued to advance under paddles. "we get along wonderfully fast, van der kemp," said nigel, while resting after a pretty long spell; "but it seems to me, nevertheless, that we shall take a considerable time to reach borneo at this rate, seeing that it must be over two hundred miles away, and if we have much bad weather or contrary wind, we shan't be able to reach it for weeks--if at all." "i have been thrown somewhat out of my reckoning," returned the hermit, "by having to fly from the party on the islet, where i meant to remain till a steamer, owned by a friend of mine, should pass and pick us up, canoe and all. the steamer is a short-voyage craft, and usually so punctual that i can count on it to a day. but it may have passed us in the gale. if so, i shall take advantage of the first vessel that will agree to lend us a hand." "how!--do you get them to tow you?" "nay, that were impossible. a jerk from the tow-rope of a steamer at full speed would tear us asunder. have you observed these two strong ropes running all round our gunwale, and the bridles across with ring-bolts in them?" "i have, and did not ask their use, as i thought they were merely meant to strengthen the canoe." "so they are," continued the hermit, "but they have other uses besides--" "massa," cried moses, at this point. "you'll 'scuse me for 'truptin' you, but it's my opinion dat spinkie's sufferin' jus' now from a empty stummik!" the hermit smiled and nigel laughed. laying down his paddle the former said-"i understand, moses. that speech means that you are suffering from the same complaint. well--get out the biscuit." "jus' de way oh de wurld," muttered the negro with a bland smile. "if a poor man obsarves an' feels for de sorrows ob anoder, he allers gits credit for t'inkin' ob hisself. neber mind, i's used to it!" evidently the unjust insinuation did not weigh heavily on the negro's spirit, for he soon began to eat with the appetite of a healthy alligator. while he was thus engaged, he chanced to raise his eyes towards the south-western horizon, and there saw something which caused him to splutter, for his mouth was too full to speak, but his speaking eyes and pointing finger caused his companions to turn their faces quickly to the quarter indicated. "a steamer!" exclaimed the hermit and nigel in the same breath. the vessel in question was coming straight towards them, and a very short time enabled van der kemp to recognise with satisfaction the steamer owned by his friend. "look here, run that to the mast-head," said van der kemp, handing a red flag to nigel. "we lie so low in the water that they might pass quite close without observing us if we showed no signal." an immediate though slight change in the course of the steamer showed that the signal had been seen. hereupon the hermit and moses performed an operation on the canoe which still further aroused nigel's surprise and curiosity. he resolved to ask no questions, however, but to await the issue of events. from the marvellous hold of the canoe, which seemed to be a magazine for the supply of every human need, moses drew a short but strong rope or cable, with a ring in the middle of it, and a hook at each end. he passed one end along to his master who hooked it to the bridle-rope at the bow before referred to. the other end was hooked to the bridle in the stern, so that the ring in the centre came close to nigel's elbow. this arrangement had barely been completed when the steamer was within hail, but no hail was given, for the captain knew what was expected of him. he reduced speed as the vessel approached the canoe, and finally came almost to a stop as he ranged alongside. "what cheer, van der kemp? d'ye want a lift to-day?" shouted the skipper, looking over the side. a nod and a wave of the hand was the hermit's reply. "heave a rope, boys--bow and stern--and lower away the tackle," was the skipper's order. a coil was flung to van der kemp, who deftly caught it and held on tight. another was flung to moses, who also caught it and held on--slack. at the same moment, nigel saw a large block with a hook attached descending towards his head. "catch it, nigel, and hook it to the ring at your elbow," said the hermit. our hero obeyed, still in surprise, though a glimmer of what was to follow began to dawn. "haul away!" shouted the skipper, and next moment the canoe was swinging in the air, kept in position by the lines in the hands of van der kemp and moses. at the same time another order was given, and the steamer went ahead full speed. it was all so suddenly done, and seemed such a reckless proceeding, that nigel found himself on the steamer's deck, with the canoe reposing beside him, before he had recovered from his surprise sufficiently to acknowledge in suitable terms the welcome greeting of the hospitable skipper. "you see, nigel," said van der kemp that night, as the two friends paced the deck together after supper, "i have other means, besides paddles and sails, of getting quickly about in the java seas. many of the traders and skippers here know me, and give me a lift in this way when i require it." "very kind of them, and very convenient," returned nigel. he felt inclined to add: "but why all this moving about?" for it was quite evident that trade was not the hermit's object, but the question, as usual, died on his lips, and he somewhat suddenly changed the subject. "d'ye know, van der kemp, that i feel as if i must have seen you somewhere or other before now, for your features seem strangely familiar to me. have you ever been in england?" "never. as i have told you, i was born in java, and was educated in hongkong at an english school. but a fancy of this sort is not very uncommon. i myself once met a perfect stranger who bore so strong a resemblance to an old friend, that i spoke to him as such, and only found out from his voice that i was mistaken." the captain of the steamer came on deck at that moment and cut short the conversation. "are you engaged, van der kemp?" he asked. "no--i am at your service." "come below then, i want to have a talk with you." thus left alone, and overhearing a loud burst of laughter at the fore part of the steamer, nigel went forward to see what was going on. he found a group of sailors round his comrade moses, apparently engaged in good-natured "chaff." "come, now, blackey," said one; "be a good fellow for once in your life an' tell us what makes your master live on a desert island like robinson crusoe, an' go about the ocean in a canoe." "look 'ere now, whitey," returned moses, "what you take me for?" "a nigger, of course." "ob course, an' you're right for once, which is sitch an unusual t'ing dat i 'dvise you go an' ax de cappen to make a note ob it in de log. i's a nigger, an' a nigger's so much more 'cute dan a white man dat you shouldn't ought to expect him to blab his massa's secrets." "right you are, moses. come, then, if you won't reweal secrets, give us a song." "couldn't t'ink ob such a t'ing," said the negro, with a solemn, remonstrant shake of the head. "why not?" "'cause i neber sing a song widout a moral, an' i don't like to hurt your feelin's by singin' a moral dat would be sure to waken up _some_ o' your consciences." "never mind that, darkey. our consciences are pretty tough. heave ahead." "but dere's a chorus," said moses, looking round doubtfully. "what o' that? we'll do our best with it--if it ain't too difficult." "oh, it's not diffikilt, but if de lazy fellers among you sings de chorus dey'll be singin' lies, an' i don't 'zackly like to help men to tell lies. howseber, here goes. it begins wid de chorus so's you may know it afore you has to sing it." so saying, moses struck two fingers on the capstan after the manner of a tuning-fork, and, holding them gravely to his ear as if to get the right pitch, began in a really fine manly voice to chant the following ditty:-"go to work." oh when de sun am shinin' bright, and eberyt'ing am fair, clap on de steam an' go to work, an' take your proper share. de wurld hab got to go ahead, an' dem what's young and strong mus' do deir best, wid all de rest, to roll de wurld along. de lazy man does all he can to stop its whirlin' round. if he was king he'd loaf an' sing--and guzzle, i'll be bound, he always shirk de hardest work, an' t'ink he's awful clebbar, but boder his head to earn his bread, oh! no, he'll nebber, nebber. _chorus_--oh when de sun, etc. de selfish man would rader dan put out his hand to work, let women toil, an' sweat and moil--as wicked as de turk. de cream ob eberyt'ing he wants, let oders hab de skim; in fact de wurld and all it holds was only made for him. _chorus_--oh when de sun, etc. so keep de ball a-rollin', boys, an' each one do his best to make de wurld a happy one--for dat's how man is blest. do unto oders all around de t'ing what's good and true, an' oders, 'turning tit for tat, will do de same to you. _chorus_--oh when de sun, etc. the sailors, who were evidently much pleased, took up the chorus moderately at the second verse, came out strong at the third, and sang with such genuine fervour at the last that it was quite evident, as moses remarked, there was not a lazy man amongst them--at least, if they all sang conscientiously! the weather improved every hour, and after a fine run of about twenty-four hours over that part of the malay sea, our three voyagers were lowered over the steamer's side in their canoe when within sight of the great island of borneo. "i'm sorry," said the captain at parting, "that our courses diverge here, for i would gladly have had your company a little longer. good-bye. i hope we'll come across you some other time when i'm in these parts." "thanks--thanks, my friend,'" replied van der kemp, with a warm grip of the hand, and a touch of pathos in his tones. "i trust that we shall meet again. you have done me good service by shortening my voyage considerably.--farewell." "i say, moses," shouted one of the seamen, as he looked down on the tiny canoe while they were pushing off. "hallo?" "keep your heart up, for--we'll try to 'do to oders all around de t'ing what's good an' true!'" "das de way, boy--'an' oders, 'turning tit for tat, will do de same to you!'" he yelled rather than sang this at the top of his tuneful voice, and waved his hand as the sharp craft shot away over the sea. fortunately the sea was calm, for it was growing dark when they reached the shores of borneo and entered the mouth of a small stream, up which they proceeded to paddle. the banks of the stream were clothed with mangrove trees. we have said the banks, but in truth the mouth of that river had no distinguishable banks at all, for it is the nature of the mangrove to grow in the water--using its roots as legs with which, as it were, to wade away from shore. when darkness fell suddenly on the landscape, as it is prone to do in tropical regions, the gnarled roots of those mangroves assumed the appearance of twining snakes in nigel's eyes. possessing a strongly imaginative mind he could with difficulty resist the belief that he saw them moving slimily about in the black water, and, in the dim mysterious light, tree stems and other objects assumed the appearance of hideous living forms, so that he was enabled to indulge the uncomfortable fancy that they were traversing some terrestrial styx into one of dante's regions of horror. in some respects this was not altogether a fancy, for they were unwittingly drawing near to a band of human beings whose purposes, if fully carried out, would render the earth little better than a hell to many of their countrymen. it is pretty well known that there is a class of men in borneo called head hunters. these men hold the extraordinary and gruesome opinion that a youth has not attained to respectable manhood until he has taken the life of some human being. there are two distinct classes of dyaks--those who inhabit the hills and those who dwell on the sea-coast. it is the latter who recruit the ranks of the pirates of those eastern seas, and it was to the camp of a band of such villains that our adventurers were, as already said, unwittingly drawing near. they came upon them at a bend of the dark river beyond which point the mangroves gave place to other trees--but what sort of trees they were it was scarcely light enough to make out very distinctly, except in the case of the particular tree in front of which the dyaks were encamped, the roots of which were strongly illuminated by their camp fire. we say _roots_ advisedly, for this singular and gigantic tree started its branches from a complexity of aerial roots which themselves formed a pyramid some sixty feet high, before the branches proper of the tree began. if our voyagers had used oars the sharp ears of the pirates would have instantly detected them. as it was, the softly moving paddles and the sharp cutwater of the canoe made no noise whatever. the instant that van der kemp, from his position in the bow, observed the camp, he dipped his paddle deep, and noiselessly backed water. there was no need to give any signal to his servant. such a thorough understanding existed between them that the mere action of the hermit was sufficient to induce the negro to support him by a similar movement on the opposite side, and the canoe glided as quickly backward as it had previously advanced. when under the deep shadow of the bank moses thrust the canoe close in, and his master, laying hold of the bushes, held fast and made a sign to him to land and reconnoitre. creeping forward to an opening in the bushes close at hand, moses peeped through. then he turned and made facial signals of a kind so complicated that he could not be understood, as nothing was visible save the flashing of his teeth and eyes. van der kemp therefore recalled him by a sign, and, stepping ashore, whispered nigel to land. [illustration: discover a pirates' bivouac.--page 164.] another minute and the three travellers stood on the bank with their heads close together. "wait here for me," said the hermit, in the lowest possible whisper. "i will go and see who they are." "strange," said nigel, when he was gone; "strange that in so short a time your master should twice have to stalk strangers in this way. history repeats itself, they say. it appears to do so rather fast in these regions! does he not run a very great risk of being discovered?" "not de smallest," replied the negro, with as much emphasis as was possible in a whisper. "massa hab ride wid de vaquieros ob ameriky an' hunt wid de injuns on de rockies. no more fear ob deir ketchin' him dan ob ketchin' a streak o' lightnin'. he come back bery soon wid all de news." moses was a true prophet. within half-an-hour van der kemp returned as noiselessly as he had gone. he did not keep them long in uncertainty. "i have heard enough," he whispered, "to assure me that a plot, of which i had already heard a rumour, has nearly been laid. we fell in with the chief plotters on the islet the other night; the band here is in connection with them and awaits their arrival before carrying out their dark designs. there is nothing very mysterious about it. one tribe plotting to attack another--that is all; but as a friend of mine dwells just now with the tribe to be secretly attacked, it behoves me to do what i can to save him. i am perplexed, however. it would seem sometimes as if we were left in perplexity for wise purposes which are beyond our knowledge." "perhaps to test our willingness to _do right_," suggested nigel. "i know not," returned the hermit, as if musing, but never raising his voice above the softest whisper. "my difficulty lies here; i _must_ go forward to save the life of my friend. i must _not_ leave you at the mouth of a mangrove river to die or be captured by pirates, and yet i have no right to ask you to risk your life on my account!" "you may dismiss your perplexities then," said nigel, promptly, "for i decline to be left to die here or to be caught by pirates, and i am particularly anxious to assist you in rescuing your friend. besides, am i not your hired servant?" "the risk we run is only at the beginning," said van der kemp. "if we succeed in passing the dyaks unseen all will be well. if they see us, they will give chase, and our lives, under god, will depend on the strength of our arms, for i am known to them and have thwarted their plans before now. if they catch us, death will be our certain doom. are you prepared?" "ready!" whispered nigel. without another word the hermit took his place in the bow of the canoe. moses stepped into the stern, and our hero sat down in the middle. before pushing off, the hermit drew a revolver and a cutlass from his store-room in the bow and handed them to nigel, who thrust the first into his belt and fastened the other to the deck by means of a strap fixed there on purpose to prevent its being rolled or swept off. this contrivance, as well as all the other appliances in the canoe, had previously been pointed out and explained to him. the hermit and negro having armed themselves in similar way, let go the bushes which held them close to the bank and floated out into the stream. they let the canoe drift down a short way so as to be well concealed by the bend in the river and a mass of bushes. then they slowly paddled over to the opposite side and commenced to creep up as close to the bank as possible, under the deep shadow of overhanging trees, and so noiselessly that they appeared in the darkness like a passing phantom. but the sharp eyes of the pirates were too much accustomed to phantoms of every kind to be easily deceived. just as the canoe was about to pass beyond the line of their vision a stir was heard in their camp. then a stern challenge rolled across the river and awoke the slumbering echoes of the forest--perchance to the surprise and scaring away of some prowling beast of prey. "no need for concealment now," said van der kemp, quietly; "we must paddle for life. if you have occasion to use your weapons, nigel, take no life needlessly. moses knows my mind on this point and needs no warning. any fool can take away life. only god can give it." "i will be careful," replied nigel, as he dipped his paddle with all the muscular power at his command. his comrades did the same, and the canoe shot up the river like an arrow. a yell from the dyaks, and the noise of jumping into and pushing off their boats told that there was no time to lose. "they are strong men, and plenty of them to relieve each other," said the hermit, who now spoke in his ordinary tones, "so they have some chance of overhauling us in the smooth water; but a few miles further up there is a rapid which will stop them and will only check us. if we can reach it we shall be safe." while he was speaking every muscle in his broad back and arms was strained to the uttermost; so also were the muscles of his companions, and the canoe seemed to advance by a series of rapid leaps and bounds. yet the sound of the pursuers' oars seemed to increase, and soon the proverb "it is the pace that kills" received illustration, for the speed of the canoe began to decrease a little--very little at first--while the pursuers, with fresh hands at the oars, gradually overhauled the fugitives. "put on a spurt!" said the hermit, setting the example. the pirates heard the words and understood either them or the action that followed, for they also "put on a spurt," and encouraged each other with a cheer. moses heard the cheer, and at the same time heard the sound of the rapid to which they were by that time drawing near. he glanced over his shoulder and could make out the dim form of the leading boat, with a tall figure standing up in the bow, not thirty yards behind. "shall we manage it, moses?" asked van der kemp, in that calm steady voice which seemed to be unchangeable either by anxiety or peril. "no, massa. unpossable--widout _dis_!" the negro drew the revolver from his belt, slewed round, took rapid aim and fired. the tall figure in the bow of the boat fell back with a crash and a hideous yell. great shouting and confusion followed, and the boat dropped behind. a few minutes later and the canoe was leaping over the surges of a shallow rapid. they dashed from eddy to eddy, taking advantage of every stone that formed a tail of backwater below it, and gradually worked the light craft upward in a way that the hermit and his man had learned in the nor'-western rivers of america. "we are not safe yet," said the former, resting and wiping his brow as they floated for a few seconds in a calm basin at the head of the rapid. "surely they cannot take a boat up such a place as that!" "nay, but they can follow up the banks on foot. however, we will soon baffle them, for the river winds like a serpent just above this, and by carrying our canoe across one, two, or three spits of land we will gain a distance in an hour or so that would cost them nearly a day to ascend in boats. they know that, and will certainly give up the chase. i think they have given it up already, but it is well to make sure." "i wonder why they did not fire at us," remarked nigel. "probably because they felt sure of catching us," returned the hermit, "and when they recovered from the confusion that moses threw them into we were lost to them in darkness, besides being pretty well beyond range. i hope, moses, that you aimed low." "yes, massa--but it's sca'cely fair when life an' def am in de balance to expect me to hit 'im on de legs on a dark night. legs is a bad targit. bullet's apt to pass between 'em. howseber, dat feller won't hop much for some time to come!" a couple of hours later, having carried the canoe and baggage across the spits of land above referred to, and thus put at least half-a-day's journey between themselves and their foes, they came to a halt for the night. "it won't be easy to find a suitable place to camp on," remarked nigel, glancing at the bank, where the bushes grew so thick that they overhung the water, brushing the faces of our travellers and rendering the darkness so intense that they had literally to feel their way as they glided along. "we will encamp where we are," returned the hermit. "i'll make fast to a bush and you may get out the victuals, moses." "das de bery best word you've said dis day, massa," remarked the negro with a profound sigh. "i's pritty well tired now, an' de bery t'ought ob grub comforts me!" "do you mean that we shall sleep in the canoe?" asked nigel. "ay, why not?" returned the hermit, who could be heard, though not seen, busying himself with the contents of the fore locker. "you'll find the canoe a pretty fair bed. you have only to slip down and pull your head and shoulders through the manhole and go to sleep. you won't want blankets in this weather, and, see--there is a pillow for you and another for moses." "i cannot _see_, but i can feel," said nigel, with a soft laugh, as he passed the pillow aft. "t'ank ee, nadgel," said moses; "here--feel behind you an' you'll find grub for yourself an' some to pass forid to massa. mind when you slip down for go to sleep dat you don't dig your heels into massa's skull. dere's no bulkhead to purtect it." "i'll be careful," said nigel, beginning his invisible supper with keen appetite. "but how about _my_ skull, moses? is there a bulkhead between it and _your_ heels?" "no, but you don't need to mind, for i allers sleeps doubled up, wid my knees agin my chin. it makes de arms an' legs feel more sociable like." with this remark moses ceased to encourage conversation--his mouth being otherwise engaged. thereafter they slipped down into their respective places, laid their heads on their pillows and fell instantly into sound repose, while the dark waters flowed sluggishly past, and the only sound that disturbed the universal stillness was the occasional cry of some creature of the night or the flap of an alligator's tail. chapter xiv. a new friend found--new dangers encountered and hew hopes delayed. when grey dawn began to dispel the gloom of night, nigel roy awoke with an uncomfortable sensation of having been buried alive. stretching himself as was his wont he inadvertently touched the head of van der kemp, an exclamation from whom aroused moses, who, uncoiling himself, awoke spinkie. it was usually the privilege of that affectionate creature to nestle in the negro's bosom. with the alacrity peculiar to his race, spinkie sprang through the manhole and sat down in his particular place to superintend, perhaps to admire, the work of his human friends, whose dishevelled heads emerged simultaneously from their respective burrows. dawn is a period of the day when the spirit of man is calmly reflective. speech seemed distasteful that morning, and as each knew what had to be done, it was needless. the silently conducted operations of the men appeared to arouse fellow-feeling in the monkey, for its careworn countenance became more and more expressive as it gazed earnestly and alternately into the faces of its comrades. to all appearance it seemed about to speak--but it didn't. pushing out from the shore they paddled swiftly up stream, and soon put such a distance between them and their late pursuers that all risk of being overtaken was at an end. all day they advanced inland without rest, save at the breakfast hour, and again at mid-day to dine. towards evening they observed that the country through which they were passing had changed much in character and aspect. the low and swampy region had given place to hillocks and undulating ground, all covered with the beautiful virgin forest with its palms and creepers and noble fruit-trees and rich vegetation, conspicuous among which magnificent ferns of many kinds covered the steep banks of the stream. on rounding a point of the river the travellers came suddenly upon an interesting group, in the midst of a most beautiful woodland scene. under the trees on a flat spot by the river-bank were seated round a fire a man and a boy and a monkey. the monkey was a tame orang-utan, youthful but large. the boy was a dyak in light cotton drawers, with the upper part of his body naked, brass rings on his arms, heavy ornaments in his ears, and a bright kerchief worn as a turban on his head. the man was a sort of nondescript in a semi-european shooting garb, with a wide-brimmed sombrero on his head, black hair, a deeply tanned face, a snub nose, huge beard and moustache, and immense blue spectacles. something not unlike a cheer burst from the usually undemonstrative van der kemp on coming in sight of the party, and he waved his hand as if in recognition. the nondescript replied by starting to his feet, throwing up both arms and giving vent to an absolute roar of joy. "he seems to know you," remarked nigel, as they made for a landing-place. "yes. he is the friend i have come to rescue," replied the hermit in a tone of quiet satisfaction. "he is a naturalist and lives with the rajah against whom the pirates are plotting." "he don't look z'if he needs much rescuin'," remarked moses with a chuckle, as they drew to land. the man looked in truth as if he were well able to take care of himself in most circumstances, being of colossal bulk although somewhat short of limb. "ah! mein frond! mine brodder!" he exclaimed, in fairly idiomatic english, but with a broken pronunciation that was a mixture of dutch, american, and malay. his language therefore, like himself, was nondescript. in fact he was an american-born dutchman, who had been transported early in life to the straits settlements, had received most of his education in hongkong, was an old school-fellow of van der kemp, became an enthusiastic naturalist, and, being possessed of independent means, spent most of his time in wandering about the various islands of the archipelago, making extensive collections of animal and vegetable specimens, which he distributed with liberal hand to whatever museums at home or abroad seemed most to need or desire them. owing to his tastes and habits he had been dubbed professor by his friends. "ach! van der kemp," he exclaimed, while his coal-black eyes glittered as they shook hands, "_vat_ a booterfly i saw to-day! it beat all creation! the vay it flew--oh! but, excuse me--v'ere did you come from, and vy do you come? an' who is your frond?" he turned to nigel as he spoke, and doffed his sombrero with a gracious bow. "an englishman--nigel roy--who has joined me for a few months," said the hermit. "let me introduce you, nigel, to my good friend, professor verkimier." nigel held out his hand and gave the naturalist's a shake so hearty, that a true friendship was begun on the spot--a friendship which was rapidly strengthened when the professor discovered that the english youth had a strong leaning towards his own favourite studies. "ve vill hont an' shot togezzer, mine frond," he said, on making this discovery, "ant i vill show you v'ere de best booterflies are to be fount--oh! sooch a von as i saw to---but, excuse me, van der kemp. vy you come here joost now?" "to save _you_" said the hermit, with a scintillation of his half-pitiful smile. "to safe _me_!" exclaimed verkimier, with a look of surprise which was greatly intensified by the rotundity of the blue spectacles. "vell, i don't feel to vant safing joost at present." "it is not that danger threatens _you_ so much as your friend the rajah," returned the hermit. "but if he falls, all under his protection fall along with him. i happen to have heard of a conspiracy against him, on so large a scale that certain destruction would follow if he were taken by surprise, so i have come on in advance of the conspirators to warn him in time. you know i have received much kindness from the rajah, so i could do no less than warn him of impending danger, and then the fact that you were with him made me doubly anxious to reach you in time." while the hermit was saying this, the naturalist removed his blue glasses, and slowly wiped them with a corner of his coat-tails. replacing them, he gazed intently into the grave countenance of his friend till he had finished speaking. "are zee raskils near?" he asked, sternly. "no. we have come on many days ahead of them. but we found a party at the river's mouth awaiting their arrival." "ant zey cannot arrife, you say, for several veeks?" "probably not--even though they had fair and steady winds." a sigh of satisfaction broke through the naturalist's moustache on hearing this. "zen i vill--_ve_ vill, you and i, mister roy,--go after ze booterflies to-morrow!" "but we must push on," remonstrated van der kemp, "for preparations to resist an attack cannot be commenced too soon." "_you_ may push on, mine frond; go ahead if you vill, but i vill not leave zee booterflies. you know veil zat i vill die--if need be--for zee rajah. ve must all die vonce, at least, and i should like to die--if i must die--in a goot cause. what cause better zan frondship? but you say joost now zere is no dancher. vell, i vill go ant see zee booterflies to-morrow. after zat, i will go ant die--if it must be--vith zee rajah." "i heartily applaud your sentiment," said nigel, with a laugh, as he helped himself to some of the food which the dyak youth and moses had prepared, "and if van der kemp will give me leave of absence i will gladly keep you company." "zank you. pass round zee victuals. my appetite is strong. it alvays vas more or less strong. vat say you, van der kemp?" "i have no objection. moses and i can easily take the canoe up the river. there are no rapids, and it is not far to the rajah's village; so you are welcome to go, nigel." "das de most 'straord'nary craze i eber know'd men inflicted wid!" said moses that night, as he sat smoking his pipe beside the dyak boy. "it passes my compr'ension what fun dey find runnin' like child'n arter butterflies, an' beetles, an' sitch like varmint. my massa am de wisest man on eart', yet _he_ go a little wild dat way too--sometimes!" moses looked at the dyak boy with a puzzled expression, but as the dyak boy did not understand english, he looked intently at the fire, and said nothing. next morning nigel entered the forest under the guidance of verkimier and the dyak youth, and the orang-utan, which followed like a dog, and sometimes even took hold of its master's arm and walked with him as if it had been a very small human being. it was a new experience to nigel to walk in the sombre shade beneath the tangled arches of the wilderness. in some respects it differed entirely from his expectations, and in others it surpassed them. the gloom was deeper than he had pictured it, but the shade was not displeasing in a land so close to the equator. then the trees were much taller than he had been led to suppose, and the creeping plants more numerous, while, to his surprise, the wild-flowers were comparatively few and small. but the scarcity of these was somewhat compensated by the rich and brilliant colouring of the foliage. the abundance and variety of the ferns also struck the youth particularly. "ah! zey are magnificent!" exclaimed verkimier with enthusiasm. "look at zat tree-fern. you have not'ing like zat in england--eh! i have found nearly von hoondred specimens of ferns. zen, look at zee fruit-trees. ve have here, you see, zee lansat, mangosteen, rambutan, jack, jambon, blimbing ant many ozers--but zee queen of fruits is zee durian. have you tasted zee durian?" "no, not yet." "ha! a new sensation is before you! stay, you vill eat von by ant by. look, zat is a durian tree before you." he pointed as he spoke to a large and lofty tree, which mr. a.r. wallace, the celebrated naturalist and traveller, describes as resembling an elm in general character but with a more smooth and scaly bark. the fruit is round, or slightly oval, about the size of a man's head, of a green colour, and covered all over with short spines which are very strong and so sharp that it is difficult to lift the fruit from the ground. only the experienced and expert can cut the tough outer rind. there are five faint lines extending from the base to the apex of the fruit, through which it may be divided with a heavy knife and a strong hand, so as to get to the delicious creamy pulp inside. there is something paradoxical in the descriptions of this fruit by various writers, but all agree that it is inexpressibly good! says one--writing of the sixteenth century--"it is of such an excellent taste that it surpasses in flavour all the other fruits of the world." another writes: "this fruit is of a hot and humid nature. to those not used to it, it seems at first to smell like rotten onions! but immediately they have tasted it they prefer it to all other food." wallace himself says of it: "when brought into the house, the smell is so offensive that some persons can never bear to taste it. this was my own case in malacca, but in borneo i found a ripe fruit on the ground, and, eating it out of doors, i at once became a confirmed durian-eater!" this was exactly the experience of nigel roy that day, and the way in which the fruit came to him was also an experience, but of a very different sort. it happened just as they were looking about for a suitable spot on which to rest and eat their mid-day meal. verkimier was in front with the orang-utan reaching up to his arm and hobbling affectionately by his side--for there was a strong mutual affection between them. the dyak youth brought up the rear, with a sort of game-bag on his shoulders. suddenly nigel felt something graze his arm, and heard a heavy thud at his side. it was a ripe durian which had fallen from an immense height and missed him by a hairbreadth. "zank got, you have escaped!" exclaimed the professor, looking back with a solemn countenance. "i have indeed escaped what might have been a severe blow," said nigel, stooping to examine the fruit, apparently forgetful that more might follow. "come--come avay. my boy vill bring it. men are sometimes killed by zis fruit. here now ve vill dine." they sat down on a bank which was canopied by ferns. while the boy was arranging their meal, verkimier drew a heavy hunting-knife from his belt and applying it with an unusually strong hand to the durian laid it open. nigel did not at all relish the smell, but he was not fastidious or apt to be prejudiced. he tasted--and, like mr. wallace, "became a confirmed durian eater" from that day. "ve draw near to zee region vere ve shall find zee booterflies," said the naturalist, during a pause in their luncheon. "i hope we shall be successful," said nigel, helping himself to some more of what may be styled durian cream. "to judge from the weight and hardness of this fruit, i should think a blow on one's head from it would be fatal." "sometimes, not alvays. i suppose zat dyak skulls are strong. but zee wound is terrible, for zee spikes tear zee flesh dreadfully. zee dyak chief, rajah, vith whom i dwell joost now, was floored once by one, and he expected to die--but he did not. he is alife ant vell, as you shall see." as he spoke a large butterfly fluttered across the scene of their festivities. with all the energy of his enthusiastic spirit and strong muscular frame the naturalist leaped up, overturned his dinner, rushed after the coveted _specimen_, tripped over a root, and measured his length on the ground. "zat comes of too much horry!" he remarked, as he picked up his glasses, and returned, humbly, to continue his dinner. "mine frond, learn a lesson from a foolish man!" "i shall learn two lessons," said nigel, laughing--"first, to avoid your too eager haste, and, second, to copy if i can your admirable enthusiasm." "you are very goot. some more cheekin' if you please. zanks. ve most make haste viz our meal ant go to vork." the grandeur and novelty of the scenery through which they passed when they did go to work was a source of constant delight and surprise to our hero, whose inherent tendency to take note of and admire the wonderful works of god was increased by the unflagging enthusiasm and interesting running commentary of his companion, whose flow of language and eager sympathy formed a striking contrast to the profound silence and gravity of the dyak youth, as well as to the pathetic and affectionate selfishness of the man-monkey. it must not, however, be supposed that the young orang-utan was unworthy of his victuals, for, besides being an amusing and harmless companion, he had been trained to use his natural capacity for climbing trees in the service of his master. thus he ascended the tall durian trees, when ordered, and sent down some of the fruit in a few minutes--an operation which his human companions could not have accomplished without tedious delay and the construction of an ingenious ladder having slender bamboos for one of its sides, and the tree to be ascended for its other side, with splinters of bamboo driven into it by way of rounds. "zat is zee pitcher-plant," said verkimier, as nigel stopped suddenly before a plant which he had often read of but never seen. he was told by his friend that pitcher-plants were very numerous in that region; that every mountain-top abounded with them; that they would be found trailing along the ground and climbing over shrubs and stunted trees, with their elegant pitchers hanging in every direction. some of these, he said, were long and slender, others broad and short. the plant at which they were looking was a broad green one, variously tinted and mottled with red, and was large enough to hold two quarts of water. resuming the march nigel observed that the group of orchids was abundant, but a large proportion of the species had small inconspicuous flowers. some, however, had large clusters of yellow flowers which had a very ornamental effect on the sombre forest. but, although the exceptions were striking, he found that in borneo, as elsewhere, flowers were scarcer than he had expected in an equatorial forest. there were, however, more than enough of striking and surprising things to engage the attention of our hero, and arouse his interest. one tree they came to which rendered him for some moments absolutely speechless! to the intense delight of the professor, who marched his new-found sympathiser from one object of interest to another with the secret intention of surprising him, and when he had got him to the point of open-mouthed amazement he was wont to turn his spectacles full on his face, like the mouths of a blue binocular, in order to witness and enjoy his emotions! nigel found this out at last and was rather embarrassed in consequence. "zat," exclaimed the naturalist, after gazing at his friend for some time in silence, "zat is a tree vitch planted itself in mid-air and zen sent its roots down to zee ground and its branches up to zee sky!" "it looks as if it had," returned nigel; "i have seen a tree of the same kind near the coast. how came it to grow in this way?" "i know not. it is zought zat zey spring from a seed dropped by a bird into zee fork of anozer tree. zee seed grows, sends his roots down ant his branches up. ven his roots reach zee ground he lays hold, ant, ven strong enough, kills his support--zus returning efil for good, like a zankless dependent. ah! zere is much resemblance between plants and animals! com', ve must feed here," said the professor, resting his gun against one of the roots, "i had expected to find zee booterflies sooner. it cannot be helped. let us make zis our banqueting-hall. ve vill have a durian to refresh us, ant here is a bandy tree which seems to have ripe vones on it.--go," he added, turning to the orang-utan, "and send down von or two." the creature looked helplessly incapable, pitifully unwilling, scratching its side the while. evidently it was a lazy monkey. "do you hear?" said verkimier, sternly. the orang moved uneasily, but still declined to go. turning sharply on it, the professor bent down, placed a hand on each of his knees and stared through the blue goggles into the animal's face. this was more than it could stand. with a very bad grace it hobbled off to the durian tree, ascended it with a sort of lazy, lumbering facility, and hurled down some of the fruit without warning those below to look out. "my little frond is obstinate sometimes," remarked the naturalist, picking up the fruit, "but ven i bring my glasses to bear on him he alvays gives in. i never found zem fail. come now; eat, an' ve vill go to vork again. ve must certainly find zee booterflies somevere before night." [illustration: "do you hear?" said verkimier, sternly.--page 187.] but verkimier was wrong. it was his destiny not to find the butterflies that night, or in that region at all, for he and his companion had not quite finished their meal when a dyak youth came running up to them saying that he had been sent by the rajah to order their immediate return to the village. "alas! ve most go. it is dancherous to disobey zee rajah--ant i am sorry--very sorry--zat i cannot show you zee booterflies to-day. no matter.--go" (to the dyak youth), "tell your chief ve vill come. better lock zee next time!" chapter xv. hunting the great man-monkey. although professor verkimier had promised to return at once, he was compelled to encamp in the forest, being overtaken by night before he could reach the river and procure a boat. next morning they started at daybreak. the country over which they passed had again changed its character and become more hilly. on the summits of many of the hills dyak villages could be seen, and rice fields were met with as they went along. several gullies and rivulets were crossed by means of native bamboo bridges, and the professor explained as he went along the immense value of the bamboo to the natives. with it they make their suspension bridges, build their houses, and procure narrow planking for their floors. if they want broader planks they split a large bamboo on one side and flatten it out to a plank of about eighteen inches wide. portions of hollow bamboo serve as receptacles for milk or water. if a precipice stops a path, the dyaks will not hesitate to construct a bamboo path along the face of it, using branches of trees wherever convenient from which to hang the path, and every crevice or notch in the rocks to receive the ends of the bamboos by which it is supported. honey-bees in borneo hang their combs, to be out of danger no doubt, under the branches of the tappan, which towers above all the other trees of the forest. but the dyaks love honey and value wax as an article of trade; they therefore erect their ingenious bamboo ladder--which can be prolonged to any height on the smooth branchless stem of the tappan--and storm the stronghold of the bees with much profit to themselves, for bees'-wax will purchase from the traders the brass wire, rings, gold-edged kerchiefs and various ornaments with which they decorate themselves. when travelling, the dyaks use bamboos as cooking vessels in which to boil rice and other vegetables; as jars in which to preserve honey, sugar, etc., or salted fish and fruit. split bamboos form aqueducts by which water is conveyed to the houses. a small neatly carved piece of bamboo serves as a case in which are carried the materials used in the disgusting practice of betel-nut chewing--which seems to be equivalent to the western tobacco-chewing. if a pipe is wanted the dyak will in a wonderfully short space of time make a huge hubble-bubble out of bamboos of different sizes, and if his long-bladed knife requires a sheath the same gigantic grass supplies one almost ready-made. but the uses to which this reed may be applied are almost endless, and the great outstanding advantage of it is that it needs no other tools than an axe and a knife to work it. at about mid-day the river was reached, and they found a native boat, or prau, which had been sent down to convey them to the rajah's village. here nigel was received with the hospitality due to a friend of van der kemp, who, somehow--probably by unselfish readiness, as well as ability, to oblige--had contrived to make devoted friends in whatever part of the malay archipelago he travelled. afterwards, in a conversation with nigel, the professor, referring to those qualities of the hermit which endeared him to men everywhere, said, with a burst of enthusiasm, which almost outdid himself-"you cannot oonderstant van der kemp. no man can oonderstant him. he is goot, right down to zee marrow--kind, amiable, oonselfish, obliging, nevair seems to zink of himself at all, ant, abof all zings, is capable. vat he vill do, he can do--vat he can do he vill do. but he is sad--very sad." "i have observed that, of course," said nigel. "do you know what makes him so sad?" the professor shook his head. "no, i do not know. nobody knows. i have tried to find out, but he vill not speak." the orang-kaya, or rich man, as this hill chief was styled, had provided lodgings for his visitors in the "head-house." this was a large circular building erected on poles. there is such a house in nearly all dyak villages. it serves as a trading-place, a strangers' room, a sleeping-room for unmarried youths, and a general council-chamber. here nigel found the hermit and moses enjoying a good meal when he arrived, to which he and the professor sat down after paying their respects to the chief. "the orang-kaya hopes that we will stay with him some time and help to defend the village," said van der kemp, when they were all seated. "of course you have agreed?" said nigel. "yes; i came for that purpose." "we's allers ready to fight in a good cause," remarked moses, just before filling his mouth with rice. "or to die in it!" added verkimier, engulfing the breast of a chicken at a bite. "but as zee pirates are not expected for some days, ve may as veil go after zee mias--zat is what zee natifs call zee orang-utan. it is a better word, being short." moses glanced at the professor out of the corners of his black eyes and seemed greatly tickled by his enthusiastic devotion to business. "i am also," continued the professor, "extremely anxious to go at zee booterflies before--" "you die," suggested nigel, venturing on a pleasantry, whereat moses opened his mouth in a soundless laugh, but, observing the professor's goggles levelled at him, he transformed the laugh into an astounding sneeze, and immediately gazed with pouting innocence and interest at his plate. "do you alvays sneeze like zat?" asked verkimier. "not allers," answered the negro simply, "sometimes i gibs way a good deal wuss. depends on de inside ob my nose an' de state ob de wedder." what the professor would have replied we cannot say, for just then a dyak youth rushed in to say that an unusually large and gorgeous butterfly had been seen just outside the village! no application of fire to gunpowder could have produced a more immediate effect. the professor's rice was scattered on the floor, and himself was outside the head-house before his comrades knew exactly what was the matter. "he's always like that," said the hermit, with a slight twinkle in his eyes. "nothing discourages--nothing subdues him. twice i pulled him out of deadly danger into which he had run in his eager pursuit of specimens. and he has returned the favour to me, for he rescued me once when a mias had got me down and would certainly have killed me, for my gun was empty at the moment, and i had dropped my knife." "is, then, the orang-utan so powerful and savage?" "truly, yes, when wounded and driven to bay," returned the hermit. "you must not judge of the creature by the baby that verkimier has tamed. a full-grown male is quite as large as a man, though very small in the legs in proportion, so that it does not stand high. it is also very much stronger than the most powerful man. you would be quite helpless in its grip, i assure you." "i hope, with the professor," returned nigel, "that we may have a hunt after them, either before or after the arrival of the pirates. i know he is very anxious to secure a good specimen for some museum in which he is interested--i forget which." as he spoke, the youth who had brought information about the butterfly returned and said a few words to moses in his native tongue. "what does he say?" asked nigel. "dat massa verkimier is in full chase, an' it's my opinion dat when he comes back he'll be wet all ober, and hab his shins and elbows barked." "why d'you think so?" "'cause dat's de way he goed on when we was huntin' wid him last year. he nebber larns fro' 'sperience." "that's a very fine-looking young fellow," remarked nigel, referring to the dyak youth who had just returned, and who, with a number of other natives, was watching the visitors with profound interest while they ate. as the young man referred to was a good sample of the youth of his tribe, we shall describe him. though not tall, he was well and strongly proportioned, and his skin was of a reddish-brown colour. like all his comrades, he wore little clothing. a gay handkerchief with a gold lace border encircled his head, from beneath which flowed a heavy mass of straight, jet-black hair. large crescent-shaped ornaments hung from his ears. his face was handsome and the expression pleasing, though the mouth was large and the lips rather thick. numerous brass rings encircled his arms above and below the elbows. his only other piece of costume was a waist-cloth of blue cotton, which hung down before and behind. it ended in three bands of red, blue, and white. there were also rows of brass rings on his legs, and armlets of white shells. at his side he wore a long slender knife and a little pouch containing the materials for betel-chewing. "yes, and he is as good as he looks," said the hermit. "his name is gurulam, and all the people of his tribe have benefited by the presence in borneo of that celebrated englishman sir james brooke,--rajah brooke as he was called,--who did so much to civilise the dyaks of borneo and to ameliorate their condition." the prophecy of moses about the professor was fulfilled. just as it was growing dark that genial scientist returned, drenched to the skin and covered with mud, having tumbled into a ditch. his knuckles also were skinned, his knees and shins damaged, and his face scratched, but he was perfectly happy in consequence of having secured a really splendid specimen of a "bootterfly" as big as his hand; the scientific name of which, for very sufficient reasons, we will not attempt to inflict on our readers, and the description of which may be shortly stated by the single word--gorgeous! being fond of verkimier, and knowing his desire to obtain a full-grown orang-utan, gurulam went off early next morning to search for one. half-a-dozen of his comrades accompanied him armed only with native spears, for their object was not to hunt the animal, but to discover one if possible, and let the professor know so that he might go after it with his rifle, for they knew that he was a keen sportsman as well as a man of science. they did not, indeed, find what they sought for, but they were told by natives with whom they fell in that a number of the animals had been seen among the tree-tops not more than a day's march into the forest. they hurried home therefore with this information, and that day--accompanied by the dyak youths, nigel, the hermit, and moses--verkimier started off in search of the mias; intending to camp out or to take advantage of a native hut if they should chance to be near one when night overtook them. descending the hill region, they soon came to more level ground, where there was a good deal of swamp, through which they passed on dyak roads. these roads consisted simply of tree-trunks laid end to end, along which the natives, being barefooted, walk with ease and certainty, but our booted hunters were obliged to proceed along them with extreme caution. the only one who came to misfortune was, as usual, the professor; and in the usual way! it occurred at the second of these tree-roads. "look, look at that remarkable insect!" exclaimed nigel, eagerly, in the innocence of his heart. the professor was in front of him; he obediently looked, saw the insect, made an eager step towards it, and next moment was flat on the swamp, while the woods rang with his companions' laughter. the remarkable insect, whatever it was, vanished from the scene, and the professor was dragged, smiling though confused, out of the bog. these things affected him little. his soul was large and rose superior to such trifles. the virgin forest into which they penetrated was of vast extent; spreading over plain, mountain, and morass in every direction for hundreds of miles, for we must remind the reader that the island of borneo is considerably larger than all the british islands put together, while its inhabitants are comparatively few. verkimier had been absolutely revelling in this forest for several months--ranging its glades, penetrating its thickets, bathing (inadvertently) in its quagmires, and maiming himself generally, with unwearied energy and unextinguishable enthusiasm; shooting, skinning, stuffing, preserving, and boiling the bones of all its inhabitants--except the human--to the great advantage of science and the immense interest and astonishment of the natives. yet with all his energy and perseverance the professor had failed, up to that time, to obtain a large specimen of a male orang-utan, though he had succeeded in shooting several small specimens and females, besides catching the young one which he had tamed. it was therefore with much excitement that he learned from a party of bees'-wax hunters, on the second morning of their expedition, that a large male mias had been seen that very day. towards the afternoon they found the spot that had been described to them, and a careful examination began. "you see," said verkimier, in a low voice, to nigel, as he went a step in advance peering up into the trees, with rifle at the "ready" and bending a little as if by that means he better avoided the chance of being seen. "you see, i came to borneo for zee express purpose of obtaining zee great man-monkey and vatching his habits.--hush! do i not hear somet'ing?" "nothing but your own voice, i think," said nigel, with a twinkle in his eye. "vell--hush! keep kviet, all of you." as the whole party marched in single file after the professor, and were at the moment absolutely silent, this order induced the display of a good many teeth. just then the man of science was seen to put his rifle quickly to the shoulder; the arches of the forest rang with a loud report; various horrified creatures were seen and heard to scamper away, and next moment a middle-sized orang-utan came crashing through the branches of a tall tree and fell dead with a heavy thud on the ground. the professor's rifle was a breechloader. he therefore lost no time in re-charging, and hurried forward as if he saw other game, while the rest of the party--except van der kemp, nigel, and gurulam--fell behind to look at and pick up the fallen animal. "look out!" whispered nigel, pointing to a bit of brown hair that he saw among the leaves high overhead. "vere? i cannot see him," whispered the naturalist, whose eyes blazed enough almost to melt his blue glasses. "do _you_ fire, mr. roy?" "my gun is charged only with small-shot, for birds. it is useless for such game," said nigel. "ach! i see!" up went the rifle and again the echoes were startled and the animal kingdom astounded, especially that portion at which the professor had fired, for there was immediately a tremendous commotion among the leaves overhead, and another orang of the largest size was seen to cross an open space and disappear among the thick foliage. evidently the creature had been hit, but not severely, for it travelled among the tree-tops at the rate of full five miles an hour, obliging the hunters to run at a rapid pace over the rough ground in order to keep up with it. in its passage from tree to tree the animal showed caution and foresight, selecting only those branches that interlaced with other boughs, so that it made uninterrupted progress, and also had a knack of always keeping masses of thick foliage underneath it so that for some time no opportunity was found of firing another shot. at last, however, it came to one of those dyak roads of which we have made mention, so that it could not easily swing from one tree to another, and the stoppage of rustling among the leaves told that the creature had halted. for some time they gazed up among the branches without seeing anything, but at last, in a place where the leaves seemed to have been thrust aside near the top of one of the highest trees, a great red hairy body was seen, and a huge black face gazed fiercely down at the hunters. verkimier fired instantly, the branches closed, and the monster moved off in another direction. in desperate anxiety nigel fired both barrels of his shot-gun. he might as well have fired at the moon. gurulam was armed only with a spear, and van der kemp, who was not much of a sportsman, carried a similar weapon. the rest of the party were still out of sight in rear looking after the dead mias. it was astonishing how little noise was made by so large an animal as it moved along. more than once the hunters had to halt and listen intently for the rustling of the leaves before they could make sure of being on the right track. at last they caught sight of him again on the top of a very high tree, and the professor got two more shots, but without bringing him down. then he was seen, quite exposed for a moment, walking in a stooping posture along the large limb of a tree, but the hunter was loading at the time and lost the chance. finally he got on to a tree whose top was covered with a dense mass of creepers which completely hid him from view. then he halted and the sound of snapping branches was heard. "you've not much chance of him now," remarked the hermit, as they all stood in a group gazing up into the tree-top. "i have often seen the mias act thus when severely wounded. he is making a nest to lie down and die in." "zen ve must shoot again," said the professor, moving round the tree and looking out for a sign of the animal. at last he seemed to have found what he wanted, for raising his rifle he took a steady aim and fired. a considerable commotion of leaves and fall of broken branches followed. then the huge red body of the mias appeared falling through, but it was not dead, for it caught hold of branches as it fell and hung on as long as it could; then it came crashing down, and alighted on its face with an awful thud. after firing the last shot verkimier had not reloaded, being too intent on watching the dying struggles of the creature, and when it fell with such violence he concluded that it was dead. for the same reason nigel had neglected to reload after firing. thus it happened that when the enormous brute suddenly rose and made for a tree with the evident intention of climbing it, no one was prepared to stop it except the dyak youth gurulam. he chanced to be standing between the mias and the tree. boldly he levelled his spear and made a thrust that would probably have killed the beast, if it had not caught the point of the spear and turned it aside. then with its left paw it caught the youth by the neck, seized his thigh with one of its hind paws, and fixed its teeth in his right shoulder. never was man rendered more suddenly and completely helpless, and death would have been his sure portion before the hunters had reloaded if van der kemp had not leaped forward, and, thrusting his spear completely through the animal's body, killed it on the spot. chapter xvi. begins with a terrible fight and ends with a hasty flight. the hunt, we need scarcely say, was abruptly terminated, and immediate preparations were made for conveying the wounded man and the two orangs to the dyak village. this was quickly arranged, for the convenient bamboo afforded ready-made poles wherewith to form a litter on which to carry them. the huge creature which had given them so much trouble, and so nearly cost them one human life, was found to be indeed of the largest size. it was not tall but very broad and large. the exact measurements, taken by the professor, who never travelled without his tape measure, were as follows:-height from heel to top of head, 4 feet 2 inches. outstretched arms across chest, 7 " 8 " width of face, 1 foot 2 " girth of arm, 1 " 3 " girth of wrist, 8 " the muscular power of such a creature is of course immense, as nigel and the professor had a rare chance of seeing that very evening--of which, more presently. on careful examination by nigel, who possessed some knowledge of surgery, it was found that none of gurulam's bones had been broken, and that although severely lacerated about the shoulders and right thigh, no very serious injury had been done--thanks to the promptitude and vigour of the hermit's spear-thrust. the poor youth, however, was utterly helpless for the time being, and had to be carried home. that afternoon the party reached a village in a remote part of the forest where they resolved to halt for the night, as no other resting-place could be reached before dark. while a supper of rice and fowl was being cooked by moses, van der kemp attended to the wounded man, and nigel accompanied the professor along the banks of the stream on which the village stood. having merely gone out for a stroll they carried no weapons except walking-sticks, intending to go only a short distance. interesting talk, however, on the character and habits of various animals, made them forget time until the diminution of daylight warned them to turn. they were about to do so when they observed, seated in an open place near the stream, the largest orang they had yet seen. it was feeding on succulent shoots by the water-side: a fact which surprised the professor, for his inquiries and experience had hitherto taught him that orangs never eat such food except when starving. the fat and vigorous condition in which this animal was forbade the idea of starvation. besides, it had brought a durian fruit to the banks of the stream and thrown it down, so that either taste or eccentricity must have induced it to prefer the shoots. perhaps its digestion was out of order and it required a tonic. anyhow, it continued to devour a good many young shoots while our travellers were peeping at it in mute surprise through the bushes. that they had approached so near without being observed was due to the fact that a brawling rapid flowed just there, and the mias was on the other side of the stream. by mutual consent the men crouched to watch its proceedings. they were not a little concerned, however, when the brute seized an overhanging bough, and, with what we may style sluggish agility, swung itself clumsily but lightly to their side of the stream. it picked up the durian which lay there and began to devour it. biting off some of the strong spikes with which that charming fruit is covered, it made a small hole in it, and then with its powerful fingers tore off the thick rind and began to enjoy a feast. now, with monkeys, no less than with men, there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip, for the mias had just begun its meal, or, rather, its dessert, when a crocodile, which the professor had not observed and nigel had mistaken for a log, suddenly opened its jaws and seized the big monkey's leg. the scene that ensued baffles description! grasping the crocodile with its other three hands by nose, throat, and eyes, the mias almost performed the american operation of gouging--digging its powerful thumbs and fingers into every crevice and tearing open its assailant's jaws. the crocodile, taken apparently by surprise, went into dire convulsions, and making for deep water, plunged his foe therein over head and ears. nothing daunted, the mias regained his footing, hauled his victim on to a mudbank, and, jumping on his back began to tear and pommel him. there was nothing of the prize-fighter in the mias. he never clenched his fist--never hit straight from the shoulder, but the buffeting and slapping which he gave resounded all over the place. at last he caught hold of a fold of his opponent's throat, which he began to tear open with fingers and teeth. wrenching himself free with a supreme effort the crocodile shot into the stream and disappeared with a sounding splash of its tail, while the mias waded lamely to the shore with an expression of sulky indignation on its great black face. slowly the creature betook itself to the shelter of the forest, and we need scarcely add that the excited observers of the combat made no attempt to hinder its retreat. it is said that the python is the only other creature that dares to attack the orang-utan, and that when it does so victory usually declares for the man-monkey, which bites and tears it to death. the people of the village in which the hunters rested that night were evidently not accustomed to white men--perhaps had never seen them before--for they crowded round them while at supper and gazed in silent wonder as if they were watching a group of white-faced baboons feeding! they were, however, very hospitable, and placed before their visitors abundance of their best food without expecting anything in return. brass rings were the great ornament in this village--as they are, indeed, among the dyaks generally. many of the women had their arms completely covered with them, as well as their legs from the ankle to the knee. their petticoats were fastened to a coil of rattan, stained red, round their bodies. they also wore coils of brass wire, girdles of small silver coins, and sometimes broad belts of brass ring-armour. it was break of dawn next morning when our hunters started, bearing their wounded comrade and the dead orangs with them. arrived at the village they found the people in great excitement preparing for defence, as news had been brought to the effect that the pirates had landed at the mouth of the river, joined the disaffected band which awaited them, and that an attack might be expected without delay, for they were under command of the celebrated malay pirate baderoon. nigel observed that the countenance of his friend van der kemp underwent a peculiar change on hearing this man's name mentioned. there was a combination of anxiety, which was unnatural to him, and of resolution, which was one of his chief characteristics. "is baderoon the enemy whom you saw on the islet on our first night out?" asked nigel, during a ramble with the hermit that evening. "yes, and i fear to meet him," replied his friend in a low voice. nigel was surprised. the impression made on his mind since their intercourse was that van der kemp was incapable of the sensation of fear. "is he so very bitter against you?" asked nigel. "very," was the curt reply. "have you reason to think he would take your life if he could?" "i am sure he would. as i told you before, i have thwarted his plans more than once. when he hears that it is i who have warned the orang-kaya against him he will pursue me to the death--and--and i _must not_ meet him." "indeed!" exclaimed nigel, with renewed surprise. but the hermit took no note of the exclamation. anxiety had given place to a frown, and his eyes were fixed on the ground. it seemed to nigel so evident that he did not wish to pursue the subject, that he slightly changed it. "i suppose," he said, "that there is no fear of the dyaks of the village being unable to beat off the pirates now that they have been warned?" "none whatever. indeed, this is so well known to baderoon that i think he will abandon the attempt. but he will not abandon his designs on me. however, we must wait and see how god will order events." next morning spies returned to the village with the information that the pirates had taken their departure from the mouth of the river. "do you think this is an attempt to deceive us?" asked the chief, turning to van der kemp, when he heard the news. "i think not. and even should it be so, and they should return, you are ready and well able to meet them." "yes, ready--and _well_ able to meet them," replied the orang-kaya, drawing himself up proudly. "did they _all_ go in one direction?" asked van der kemp of the youths who had brought the news. "yes, all went in a body to the north--except one boat which rowed southward." "hm! i thought so. my friends, listen to me. this is no pretence. they do not mean to attack you now you are on your guard; but that boat which went south contains baderoon, and i feel certain that he means to hang about here till he gets the chance of killing me." "that is well," returned the chief, calmly. "my young men will hunt till they find where he is. then they will bring us the information and van der kemp will go out with a band and slay his enemy." "no, my friend," said the hermit, firmly; "that shall not be. i must get out of his way, and in order to do so will leave you at once, for there will be no further need for my services here." the chief looked at his friend in surprise. "well," he said, "you have a good judgment, and understand your own affairs. but you have already rendered me good service, and i will help you to fly--though such is not the habit of the dyaks! there is a trader's vessel to start for sumatra by the first light of day. will my friend go by that?" "i am grateful," answered the hermit, "but i need no help--save some provisions, for i have my little canoe, which will suffice." as this colloquy was conducted in the native tongue it was unintelligible to nigel, but after the interview with the chief the hermit explained matters to him, and bade moses get ready for a start several hours before dawn. "you see we must do the first part of our trip in the dark, for baderoon has a keen eye and ear. then we will land and sleep all day where the sharpest eye will fail to find us--and, luckily, pirates have been denied the power of scenting out their foes. when night comes we will start again and get out of sight of land before the next dawn." "mine frond," said the professor, turning his moon-like goggles full on the hermit. "i vill go viz you." "i should be only too happy to have your company," returned the hermit, "but my canoe cannot by any contrivance be made to hold more than three." "zat is no matter to me," rejoined verkimier; "you forget zee trader's boat. i vill go in zat to sumatra. ve vill find out zee port he is going to, ant you vill meet me zere. vait for me if i have not arrived--or i vill vait for you. i have longed to visit sumatra, ant vat better fronds could i go viz zan yourselfs?" "but, my good friend," returned the hermit, "my movements may not exactly suit yours. here they are,--you can judge for yourself. first i will, god permitting, cross over to sumatra in my canoe." "but it is t'ree hoondert miles across, if not more!" "no matter--there are plenty of islands on the way. besides, some passing vessel will give me a lift, no doubt. then i will coast along to one of the eastern ports, where i know there is a steamboat loading up about this time. the captain is an old friend of mine. he brought me and my companions the greater part of the way here. if i find him i will ask him to carry my canoe on his return voyage through sunda straits, and leave it with another friend of mine at telok betong on the south coast of sumatra--not far, as you know, from my home in krakatoa. then i will proceed overland to the same place, so that my friend nigel roy may see a little of the country." "ant vat if you do _not_ find your frond zee captain of zee steamer?" "why, then i shall have to adopt some other plan. it is the uncertainty of my movements that makes me think you should not depend on them." "zat is not'ing to me, van der kemp; you joost go as you say. i vill follow ant take my chance. i am use' to ooncertainties ant difficoolties. zey can not influence me." after a good deal of consideration this plan was agreed to. the professor spent part of the night in giving directions about the preserving of his specimens, which he meant to leave at the village in charge of a man whom he had trained to assist him, while van der kemp with his companions lay down to snatch a little sleep before setting out on their voyage, or, as the dyak chief persisted in calling it, their flight! when nigel had slept about five minutes--as he thought--he was awakened by moses. "don't make a noise, massa nadgel! dere may be spies in de camp for all we knows, so we mus' git off like mice. canoe's ready an' massa waitin'; we gib you to de last momint." in a few minutes our hero was sleepily following the negro through the woods to the spot where the canoe was in waiting. the night was very dark. this was in their favour,--at least as regarded discovery. "but how shall we ever see to make our way down stream?" asked nigel of the hermit in a whisper on reaching the place of embarkation. "the current will guide us. besides, i have studied the river with a view to this flight. be careful in getting in. now, moses, are you ready?" "all right, massa." "shove off, then." there was something so eerie in the subdued tones, and stealthy motions, and profound darkness, that nigel could not help feeling as if they were proceeding to commit some black and criminal deed! floating with the current, with as little noise as possible, and having many a narrow escape of running against points of land and sandbanks, they flew swiftly towards the sea, so that dawn found them among the mud flats and the mangrove swamps. here they found a spot where mangrove roots and bushes formed an impenetrable screen, behind which they spent the day, chiefly in sleep, and in absolute security. when darkness set in they again put forth, and cautiously clearing the river's mouth, were soon far out on the open sea, which was fortunately calm at the time, the slight air that blew being in their favour. "we are safe from pursuit now," said van der kemp in a tone of satisfaction, as they paused for a breathing spell. "o massa!" exclaimed moses at that moment, in a voice of consternation; "we's forgotten spinkie!" "so we have!" returned the hermit in a voice of regret so profound that nigel could scarce restrain a laugh in spite of his sympathy. but spinkie had not forgotten himself. observing probably, that these night expeditions were a change in his master's habits, he had kept an unusually watchful eye on the canoe, so that when it was put in the water, he had jumped on board unseen in the darkness, and had retired to the place where he usually slept under hatches when the canoe travelled at night. awakened from refreshing sleep at the sound of his name, spinkie emerged suddenly from the stern-manhole, right under the negro's nose, and with a sleepy "oo, oo!" gazed up into his face. "ho! dare you is, you mis'rible hyperkrite!" exclaimed moses, kissing the animal in the depth of his satisfaction. "he's here, massa, all right. now, you go to bed agin, you small bundle ob hair." the creature retired obediently to its place, and laying its little cheek on one of its small hands, committed itself to repose. van der kemp was wrong when he said they were safe. a pirate scout had seen the canoe depart. being alone and distant from the rendezvous of his commander, some time elapsed before the news could be conveyed to him. when baderoon was at length informed and had sailed out to sea in pursuit, returning daylight showed him that his intended victim had escaped. chapter xvii. tells of the joys, etc., of the professor in the sumatran forests, also of a catastrophe averted. fortunately the weather continued fine at first, and the light wind fair, so that the canoe skimmed swiftly over the wide sea that separates borneo from sumatra. sometimes our travellers proceeded at night when the distance between islets compelled them to do so. at other times they landed on one of these isles when opportunity offered to rest and replenish the water-casks. we will not follow them step by step in this voyage, which occupied more than a week, and during which they encountered without damage several squalls in which a small open boat could not have lived. beaching at last the great island of sumatra--which, like its neighbour borneo, is larger in extent than the british islands--they coasted along southwards, without further delay than was absolutely necessary for rest and refreshment, until they reached a port where they found the steamer of which they were in search just about to start on its return voyage. van der kemp committed his little craft to the care of the captain, who, after vainly advising his friend to take a free passage with him to the straits of sunda, promised to leave the canoe in passing at telok betong. we may add that spinkie was most unwillingly obliged to accompany the canoe. "now, we must remain here till our friend verkimier arrives," said the hermit, turning to nigel after they had watched the steamer out of sight. "i suppose we must," said nigel, who did not at all relish the delay--"of course we must," he added with decision. "i sees no 'ob course' about it, massa nadgel," observed moses, who never refrained from offering his opinion from motives of humility, or of respect for his employer. "my 'dvice is to go on an' let de purfesser foller." "but i promised to wait for him," said the hermit, with one of his kindly, half-humorous glances, "and you know i _never_ break my promises." "das true, massa, but you di'n't promise to wait for him for eber an' eber!" "not quite; but of course i meant that i would wait a reasonable time." the negro appeared to meditate for some moments on the extent of a "reasonable" time, for his huge eyes became huger as he gazed frowningly at the ground. then he spoke. "a 'reasonable' time, massa, is such an oncertain time--wariable, so to speak, accordin' to the mind that t'inks upon it! hows'eber, if you's _promised,_ ob coorse dat's an end ob it; for w'en a man promises, he's bound to stick to it." such devotion to principle was appropriately rewarded the very next day by the arrival of the trading prau in which the professor had embarked. "we did not expect you nearly so soon," said nigel, as they heartily shook hands. "it vas because zee vind freshen soon after ve set sail--ant, zen, ve made a straight line for zis port, w'ereas you possibly crossed over, ant zen push down zee coast." "exactly so, and that accounts for your overtaking us," said the hermit. "is that the lad baso i see down there with the crew of the prau?" "it is. you must have some strainch power of attracting frondship, van der kemp, for zee poor yout' is so fond of you zat he beg ant entreat me to take him, ant he says he vill go on vit zee traders if you refuse to let him follow you." "well, he may come. indeed, we shall be the better for his services, for i had intended to hire a man here to help to carry our things. much of our journeying, you see, must be done on foot." baso, to his great joy, thus became one of the party. we pass over the next few days, which were spent in arranging and packing their provisions, etc., in such a way that each member of the party should carry on his shoulders a load proportioned to his strength. in this arrangement the professor, much against his will, was compelled to accept the lightest load in consideration of his liability to dart off in pursuit of creeping things and "bootterflies" at a moment's notice. the least damageable articles were also assigned to him in consideration of his tendency at all times to tumble into bogs and stumble over fallen trees, and lose himself, and otherwise get into difficulties. we also pass over part of the journey from the coast, and plunge with our travellers at once into the interior of sumatra. one evening towards sunset they reached the brow of an eminence which, being rocky, was free from much wood, and permitted of a wide view of the surrounding country. it was covered densely with virgin forest, and they ascended the eminence in order that the hermit, who had been there before, might discover a forest road which led to a village some miles off, where they intended to put up for the night. having ascertained his exact position, van der kemp led his followers down to this footpath, which led through the dense forest. the trees by which they were surrounded were varied and magnificent--some of them rising clear up seventy and eighty feet without a branch, many of them had superb leafy crowns, under any one of which hundreds of men might have found shelter. others had trunks and limbs warped and intertwined with a wild entanglement of huge creepers, which hung in festoons and loops as if doing their best to strangle their supports, themselves being also encumbered, or adorned, with ferns and orchids, and delicate twining epiphytes. a forest of smaller trees grew beneath this shade, and still lower down were thorny shrubs, rattan-palms, broad-leaved bushes, and a mass of tropical herbage which would have been absolutely impenetrable but for the native road or footpath along which they travelled. "a most suitable abode for tigers, i should think," remarked nigel to the hermit, who walked in front of him--for they marched in single file. "are there any in these parts?" "ay, plenty. indeed, it is because i don't like sleeping in their company that i am so anxious to reach a village." "are zey dangerows?" asked the professor, who followed close on nigel. "well, they are not safe!" replied the hermit. "i had an adventure with one on this very road only two years ago." "indeed! vat vas it?" asked the professor, whose appetite for anecdote was insatiable. "do tell us about it." "with pleasure. it was on a pitch-dark night that it occurred. i had occasion to go to a neighbouring village at a considerable distance, and borrowed a horse from a friend----" "anozer frond!" exclaimed the professor; "vy, van der kemp, zee country seems to be svarming vid your fronds." "i have travelled much in it and made many friends," returned the hermit. "the horse that i borrowed turned out to be a very poor one, and went lame soon after i set out. business kept me longer than i expected, and it was getting dark before i started to return. erelong the darkness became so intense that i could scarcely see beyond the horse's head, and could not distinguish the path. i therefore let the animal find his own way--knowing that he would be sure to do so, for he was going home. as we jogged along, i felt the horse tremble. then he snorted and came to a dead stop, with his feet planted firmly on the ground. i was quite unarmed, but arms would have been useless in the circumstances. suddenly, and fortunately, the horse reared, and next moment a huge dark object shot close past my face--so close that its fur brushed my cheek--as it went with a heavy thud into the jungle on the other side. i knew that it was a tiger and felt that my life, humanly speaking, was due to the rearing of the poor horse." "are ve near to zee spote?" asked the professor, glancing from side to side in some anxiety. "not far from it!" replied the hermit, "but there is not much fear of such an attack in broad daylight and with so large a party." "ve are not a very large party," returned the professor. "i do not zink i would fear much to face a tiger vid my goot rifle, but i do not relish his choomping on me unavares. push on, please." they pushed on and reached the village a little before nightfall. hospitality is a characteristic of the natives of sumatra. the travellers were received with open arms, so to speak, and escorted to the public building which corresponds in some measure to our western town-halls. it was a huge building composed largely of bamboo wooden-planks and wicker-work, with a high thatched roof, and it stood, like all the other houses, on posts formed of great tree-stems which rose eight or ten feet from the ground. "you have frunds here too, i zink," said verkimier to the hermit, as they ascended the ladder leading to the door of the hall. "well, yes--i believe i have two or three." there could be no doubt upon that point, unless the natives were consummate hypocrites, for they welcomed van der kemp and his party with effusive voice, look and gesture, and immediately spread before them part of a splendid supper which had just been prepared; for they had chanced to arrive on a festive occasion. "i do believe," said nigel in some surprise, "that they are lighting up the place with petroleum lamps!" "ay, and you will observe that they are lighting the lamps with congreve matches--at least with matches of the same sort, supplied by the dutch and chinese. many of their old customs have passed away (among others that of procuring fire by friction), and now we have the appliances of western civilisation to replace them." "no doubt steam is zee cause of zee change," remarked the professor. "that," said nigel, "has a good deal to do with most things--from the singing of a tea-kettle to the explosion of a volcano; though, doubtless, the commercial spirit which is now so strong among men is the proximate cause." "surely dese people mus' be reech," said the professor, looking round him with interest. "they are rich enough--and well off in every respect, save that they don't know very well how to make use of their riches. as you see, much of their wealth is lavished on their women in the shape of ornaments, most of which are of solid gold and silver." there could be little doubt about that, for, besides the ornaments proper, such as the bracelets and rings with which the arms of the young women were covered, and earrings, etc.,--all of solid gold and native-made--there were necklaces and collars composed of spanish and american dollars and british half-crowns and other coins. in short, these sumatran young girls carried much of the wealth of their parents on their persons, and were entitled to wear it until they should be relegated to the ranks of the married--the supposed-to-be unfrivolous, and the evidently unadorned! as this was a region full of birds, beasts, and insects of many kinds, it was resolved, for the professor's benefit, that a few days should be spent in it. accordingly, the village chief set apart a newly-built house for the visitors' accommodation, and a youth named grogo was appointed to wait on them and act as guide when they wished to traverse any part of the surrounding forest. the house was on the outskirts of the village, a matter of satisfaction to the professor, as it enabled him at once to plunge into his beloved work unobserved by the youngsters. it also afforded him a better opportunity of collecting moths, etc., by the simple method of opening his window at night. a mat or wicker-work screen divided the hut into two apartments, one of which was entirely given over to the naturalist and his _materiel_. "i vil begin at vonce," said the eager man, on taking possession. and he kept his word by placing his lamp on a table in a conspicuous position, so that it could be well seen from the outside. then he threw his window wide open, as a general invitation to the insect world to enter! moths, flying beetles, and other creatures were not slow to accept the invitation. they entered by twos, fours, sixes--at last by scores, insomuch that the room became uninhabitable except by the man himself, and his comrades soon retired to their own compartment, leaving him to carry on his work alone. "you enjoy this sort of thing?" said nigel, as he was about to retire. "enchoy it? yes--it is 'paradise regained'!" he pinned a giant moth at the moment and gazed triumphant through his blue glasses. "'paradise lost' to the moth, anyhow," said nigel with a nod, as he bade him good-night, and carefully closed the wicker door to check the incursions of uncaptured specimens. being rather tired with the day's journey, he lay down on a mat beside the hermit, who was already sound asleep. but our hero found that sleep was not easily attainable so close to an inexhaustible enthusiast, whose every step produced a rattling of the bamboo floor, and whose unwearied energy enabled him to hunt during the greater part of the night. at length slumber descended on nigel's spirit, and he lay for some time in peaceful oblivion, when a rattling crash awoke him. sitting up he listened, and came to the conclusion that the professor had upset some piece of furniture, for he could hear him distinctly moving about in a stealthy manner, as if on tip-toe, giving vent to a grumble of dissatisfaction every now and then. "what _can_ he be up to now, i wonder?" murmured the disturbed youth, sleepily. the hermit, who slept through all noises with infantine simplicity, made no answer, but a peculiar snort from the negro, who lay not far off on his other side, told that he was struggling with a laugh. "hallo, moses! are you awake?" asked nigel, in a low voice. "ho yes, massa nadgel. i's bin wakin' a good while, larfin fit to bu'st my sides. de purfesser's been agoin' on like a mad renoceros for more 'n an hour. he's arter suthin, which he can't ketch. listen! you hear 'im goin' round an' round on his tip-toes. dere goes anoder chair. i only hope he won't smash de lamp an' set de house a-fire." "veil, veil; i've missed him zee tence time. nevair mind. have at you vonce more, you aggravating leetle zing!" thus the unsuccessful man relieved his feelings, in a growling tone, as he continued to move about on tip-toe, rattling the bamboo flooring in spite of his careful efforts to move quietly. "why, verkimier, what are you after?" cried nigel at last, loud enough to be heard through the partition. "ah! i am sorry to vake you," he replied, without, however, suspending his hunt. "i have tried my best to make no noice, but zee bamboo floor is--hah! i have 'im at last!" "what is it?" asked nigel, becoming interested. "von leetle bat. he come in vis a moss----" "a what?" "a moss--a big, beautiful moss." "oh! a moth--well?" "vell, i shut zee window, capture zee moss, ant zen i hunt zee bat vith my bootterfly-net for an hour, but have only captured him zis moment. ant he is--sooch a--sooch a splendid specimen of a _very_ rar' species, zee _coelops frizii_--gootness! zere goes zee lamp!" the crash that followed told too eloquently of the catastrophe, and broke the slumbers even of the hermit. the whole party sprang up, and entered the naturalist's room with a light, for the danger from fire was great. fortunately the lamp had been extinguished in its fall, so that, beyond an overpowering smell of petroleum and the destruction of a good many specimens, no serious results ensued. after securing the _coelops frithii_, removing the shattered glass, wiping up the oil, and putting chairs and tables on their legs, the professor was urged to go to bed,--advice which, in his excitement, he refused to take until it was suggested that, if he did not, he would be totally unfit for exploring the forest next day. "vy, it is next day already!" he exclaimed, consulting his watch. "just so. now _do_ turn in." "i vill." and he did. chapter xviii. a trying ordeal--danger threatens and flight again resolved on. when the early birds are singing, and the early mists are scattering, and the early sun is rising to gladden, as with the smile of god, all things with life in earth and sea and sky--then it is that early-rising man goes forth to reap the blessings which his lazy fellow-man fails to appreciate or enjoy. among the early risers that morning was our friend moses. gifted with an inquiring mind, the negro had proceeded to gratify his propensities by making inquiries of a general nature, and thus had acquired, among other things, the particular information that the river on the banks of which the village stood was full of fish. now, moses was an ardent angler. "i lub fishing," he said one day to nigel when in a confidential mood; "i can't tell you how much i lub it. seems to me dat der's nuffin' like it for proggin' a man!" when nigel demanded an explanation of what proggin' meant, moses said he wasn't quite sure. he could "understand t'ings easy enough though he couldn't allers 'splain 'em." on the whole he thought that prog had a compound meaning--it was a combination of poke and pull "wid a flavour ob ticklin' about it," and was rather pleasant. "you see," he continued, "when a leetle fish plays wid your hook, it progs your intellec' an' tickles up your fancy a leetle. when he grabs you, dat progs your hopes a good deal. when a big fish do de same, dat progs you deeper. an' when a real walloper almost pulls you into de ribber, dat progs your heart up into your t'roat, where it stick till you land him." with surroundings and capacities such as we have attempted to describe, it is no wonder that moses sat down on the river-bank and enjoyed himself, in company with a little malay boy, who lent him his bamboo rod and volunteered to show him the pools. but there were no particular pools in that river it was a succession of pools, and fish swarmed in all of them. there were at least fifteen different species which nothing short of an ichthyologist could enumerate correctly. the line used by moses was a single fibre of bark almost as strong as gut; the hook was a white tinned weapon like a small anchor, supplied by traders, and meant originally for service in the deep sea. the bait was nothing in particular, but as the fish were not particular that was of no consequence. the reader will not be surprised, then, when we state that in an hour or so moses had had his heart progged considerably and had filled a large bag with superb fish, with which he returned, perspiring, beaming, and triumphant to breakfast. after breakfast the whole party went forth for what verkimier styled "zee business of zee day," armed with guns, spears, botanical boxes, bags, wallets, and butterfly nets. in the immediate neighbourhood of the village large clearings in the forest were planted as coffee gardens, each separated from the other for the purpose of isolation, for it seems that coffee, like the potato, is subject to disease. being covered with scarlet flowers these gardens had a fine effect on the landscape when seen from the heights behind the village. passing through the coffee grounds the party was soon in the tangled thickets of underwood through which many narrow paths had been cut. we do not intend to drag our readers through bog and brake during the whole of this day's expedition; suffice it to say that the collection of specimens made, of all kinds, far surpassed the professor's most sanguine expectations, and, as for the others, those who could more or less intelligently sympathise did so, while those who could not were content with the reflected joy of the man of science. at luncheon--which they partook of on the river-bank, under a magnificently umbrageous tree--plans for the afternoon were fixed. "we have kept together long enough, i think," said van der kemp. "those of us who have guns must shoot something to contribute to the national feast on our return." "vell, let us divide," assented the amiable naturalist. indeed he was so happy that he would have assented to anything--except giving up the hunt. "von party can go von vay, anoder can go anoder vay. i vill continue mine business. zee place is more of a paradise zan zee last. ve must remain two or tree veeks." the hermit glanced at nigel. "i fear it is impossible for me to do so," said the latter. "i am pledged to return to batavia within a specified time, and from the nature of the country i perceive it will take all the time at my disposal to reach that place so as to redeem my pledge." "ha! zat is a peety. vell, nevair mind. let us enchoy to-day. com', ve must not vaste more of it in zee mere gratification of our animal natures." acting on this broad hint they all rose and scattered in different groups--the professor going off ahead of his party in his eager haste, armed only with a butterfly net. now, as the party of natives,--including baso, who carried the professor's biggest box, and grogo, who bore his gun,--did not overtake their leader, they concluded that he must have joined one of the other parties, and, as it was impossible to ascertain which of them, they calmly went hunting on their own account! thus it came to pass that the man of science was soon lost in the depths of that primeval forest! but little cared the enthusiast for that--or, rather, little did he realise it. with perspiration streaming from every pore--except where the pores were stopped by mud--he dashed after "bootterflies" with the wisdom of solomon and the eagerness of a school-boy, and not until the shades of evening began to descend did his true position flash upon him. then, with all the vigour of a powerful intellect and an enlightened mind, he took it in at a glance--and came to a sudden halt. "vat _shall_ i do?" he asked. not even an echo answered, and the animal kingdom was indifferent. "lat me see. i have been vandering avay all dis time. now, i have not'ing to do but right-about-face and vander back." could reasoning be clearer or more conclusive? he acted on it at once, but, after wandering back a long time, he did not arrive at any place or object that he had recognised on the outward journey. meanwhile, as had been appointed, the rest of the party met a short time before dark at the rendezvous where they had lunched. "where is the professor, baso?" asked van der kemp as he came up. baso did not know, and looked at grogo, who also professed ignorance, but both said they thought the professor had gone with nigel. "i thought he was with _you_," said the latter, looking anxiously at the hermit. "he's goed an' lost hisself!" cried moses with a look of concern. van der kemp was a man of action. "not a moment to lose," he said, and organised the band into several smaller parties, each led by a native familiar with the jungle. "let this be our meeting-place," he said, as they were on the point of starting off together; "and let those of us who have fire-arms discharge them occasionally." meanwhile, the professor was walking at full speed in what he supposed to be--and in truth was--"back." he was not alone, however. in the jungle close beside him a tiger prowled along with the stealthy, lithe, sneaking activity of a cat. by that time it was not absolutely dark, but the forest had assumed a very sombre appearance. suddenly the tiger made a tremendous bound on to the track right in front of the man. whether it had miscalculated the position of its intended victim or not we cannot say, but it crouched for another spring. the professor, almost instinctively, crouched also, and, being a brave man, stared the animal straight in the face without winking! and so the two crouched there, absolutely motionless and with a fixed glare, such as we have often seen in a couple of tom-cats who were mutually afraid to attack each other. what the tiger thought at that critical and crucial moment we cannot tell, but the professor's thoughts were swift, varied, tremendous--almost sublime, and once or twice even ridiculous! "vat shall i do? deaf stares me in zee face! no veapons! only a net, ant he is _not_ a bootterfly! science, adieu! home of my chilthood, farevell! my moder--hah! zee fusees!" such were a few of the thoughts that burned but found no utterance. the last thought however led to action. verkimier, foolish man! was a smoker. he carried fusees. slowly, with no more apparent motion than the hour-hand on the face of a watch, he let his hand glide into his coat-pocket and took out the box of fusees. the tiger seemed uneasy, but the bold man never for one instant ceased to glare, and no disturbed expression or hasty movement gave the tiger the slightest excuse for a spring. bringing the box up by painfully slow degrees in front of his nose the man opened it, took out a fusee, struck it, and revealed the blue binoculars! the effect on the tiger was instantaneous and astounding. with a demi-volt or backward somersault it hurled itself into the jungle whence it had come with a terrific roar of alarm, and its tail--undoubtedly though not evidently--between its legs! heaving a deep, long-drawn sigh, the professor stood up and wiped his forehead. then he listened intently. "a shote, if mine ears deceive me not!" he said, and listened again. he was right. another shot, much nearer, was heard, and he replied with a shout to which joy as much as strength of lung gave fervour. hurrying along the track--not without occasional side-glances at the jungle--the hero was soon again in the midst of his friends; and it was not until his eyes refused to remain open any longer that he ceased to entertain an admiring circle that night with the details of his face-to-face meeting with a tiger. but verkimier's anticipations in regard to that paradise were not to be realised. the evil passions of a wicked man, with whom he had personally nothing whatever to do, interfered with his plans. in the middle of the night a native malay youth named babu arrived at the village and demanded an interview with the chief. that worthy, after the interview, conducted the youth to the hut where his visitors lived, and, rousing van der kemp without disturbing the others, bade him listen to what the young man had to say. an expression of great anxiety overspread the hermit's usually placid countenance while babu was speaking. "it is fate!" he murmured, as if communing with himself--then, after a pause--"no, there is no such thing as fate. it is, it must be, the will of god. go, young man, mention this to no one. i thank you for the kindness which made you take so long a journey for my sake." "it is not kindness, it is love that makes me serve you," returned the lad earnestly. "every one loves you, van der kemp, because that curse of mankind, _revenge_, has no place in your breast." "strange! how little man does know or guess the secret thoughts of his fellow!" said the hermit with one of his pitiful smiles. "_revenge_ no place in me!--but i thank you, boy, for the kind thought as well as the effort to save me. my life is not worth much to any one. it will not matter, i think, if my enemy should succeed. go now, babu, and god be with you!" "he will surely succeed if you do not leave this place at once," rejoined the youth, in a tone of decision. "baderoon is furious at all times. he is worse than ever just now, because you have thwarted his plans--so it is said--very often. if he knew that _i_ am now thwarting them also, he would hunt me to death. i will not leave you till you are safe beyond his reach." the hermit looked at the lad with kindly surprise. "how comes it," he said, "that you are so much interested in me? i remember seeing you two years ago, but have no recollection of having done you any service." "do you not remember that my mother was ill when you spent a night in our hut, and my little sister was dying? you nursed her, and tried your best to save her, and when you could not save her, and she died, you wept as if the child had been your own. i do not forget that, van der kemp. sympathy is of more value than service." "strangely mistaken again!" murmured the hermit. "who can know the workings of the human mind! self was mixed with my feelings--profoundly--yet my sympathy with you and your mother was sincere." "we never doubted that," returned babu with a touch of surprise in his tone. "well now, what do you propose to do, as you refuse to leave me?" asked the hermit with some curiosity. "i will go on with you to the next village. it is a large one. the chief man there is my uncle, who will aid me, i know, in any way i wish. i will tell him what i know and have heard of the pirate's intention, of which i have proof. he will order baderoon to be arrested on suspicion when he arrives. then we will detain him till you are beyond his reach. that is not unjust." "true--and i am glad to know by your last words that you are sensitive about the justice of what you propose to do. indifference to pure and simple justice is the great curse of mankind. it is not indeed the root, but it is the fruit of our sins. the suspicion that detains baderoon is more than justified, for i could bring many witnesses to prove that he has vowed to take my life, and i _know_ him to be a murderer." at breakfast-time van der kemp announced to his friends his intention of quitting the village at once, and gave an account of his interview with the malay lad during the night. this, of course, reconciled them to immediate departure,--though, in truth, the professor was the only one who required to be reconciled. "it is _very_ misfortunate," he remarked with a sigh, which had difficulty in escaping through a huge mass of fish and rice. "you see zee vonderful variety of ornizological specimens i could find here, ant zee herbareum, not to mention zee magnificent _amblypodia eumolpus_ ant ozer bootterflies--ach!-a leetle mor' feesh if you please. zanks. my frond, it is a great sacrifice, but i vill go avay viz you, for i could not joostify myself if i forzook you, ant i cannot ask you to remain vile your life is in dancher." "i appreciate your sentiments and sacrifice thoroughly," said the hermit. "so does i," said moses, helping himself to coffee; "but ob course if i didn't it would be all de same. pass de venison, massa nadgel, an' don't look as if you was goin' to gib in a'ready. it spoils my appetite." "you will have opportunities," continued van der kemp, addressing the professor, "to gather a good many specimens as we go along. besides, if you will consent to honour my cave in krakatoa with a visit, i promise you a hearty welcome and an interesting field of research. you have no idea what a variety of species in all the branches of natural history my little island contains." hereupon the hermit proceeded to enter into details of the flora, fauna, and geology of his island-home, and to expatiate in such glowing language on its arboreal and herbal wealth and beauty, that the professor became quite reconciled to immediate departure. "but how," he asked, "am i to get zere ven ve reach zee sea-coast? for your canoe holds only t'ree, as you have told me." "there are plenty of boats to be had. besides, i can send over my own boat for you to the mainland. the distance is not great." "goot. zat vill do. i am happay now." "so," remarked nigel as he went off with moses to pack up, "his 'paradise regained' is rather speedily to be changed into paradise forsaken! 'off wi' the old love and on wi' the new.' 'the expulsive power of a new affection!'" "das true, massa nadgel," observed moses, who entertained profound admiration for anything that sounded like proverbial philosophy. "de purfesser am an affectionit creeter. 'pears to me dat he lubs de whole creation. he kills an' tenderly stuffs 'most eberyt'ing he kin lay hands on. if he could only lay hold ob baderoon an' stuff an' stick him in a moozeum, he'd do good service to my massa an' also to de whole ob mankind." chapter xix. a terrible murder and a strange revelation. after letting the chief of the village know that the news just received rendered it necessary that they should proceed at once to the next town--but carefully refraining from going into particulars lest baderoon should by any means be led to suspect their intentions--the party started off about daybreak under the guidance of the malay youth babu. anxious as he was that no evil should befall his friend, nigel could not help wondering that a man of such a calm spirit, and such unquestionable courage, should be so anxious to escape from this pirate. "i can't understand it at all," he said to moses, as they walked through the forest together a little in rear of the party. "no more kin i, massa nadgel," answered the negro, with one of those shakes of the head and glares of solemn perplexity with which he was wont to regard matters that were too deep for him. "surely van der kemp is well able to take care of himself against any single foe." "das true, massa nadgel,--'gainst any half-dozen foes as well." "fear, therefore, cannot be the cause." the negro received this with a quiet chuckle. "no," said he. "massa nebber knowed fear, but ob dis you may be bery sure, massa's _allers_ got good reasons for what he does. one t'ing's sartin, i neber saw him do nuffin for fear, nor revenge, nor anger, no, nor yet for fun; allers for lub--and," added moses, after a moment's thought, "sometimes for money, when we goes on a tradin' 'spidition--but he don't make much account ob dat." "well, perhaps the mystery may be cleared up in time," said nigel, as they closed up with the rest of the party, who had halted for a short rest and some refreshment. this last consisted largely of fruit, which was abundant everywhere, and a little rice with water from sparkling springs to wash it down. in the afternoon they reached the town--a large one, with a sort of market-place in the centre, which at the time of their arrival was crowded with people. strangers, especially europeans, were not often seen in that region, so that van der kemp and his friends at once attracted a considerable number of followers. among these was one man who followed them about very unobtrusively, usually hanging well in rear of the knot of followers whose curiosity was stronger than their sense of propriety. this man wore a broad sun-hat and had a bandage round his head pulled well over one eye, as if he had recently met with an accident or been wounded. he was unarmed, with the exception of the kriss, or long knife, which every man in that region carries. this was no other than baderoon himself, who had outwitted his enemies, had somehow discovered at least part of their plans, and had hurried on in advance of them to the town, where, disguising himself as described, he awaited their arrival. babu conducted his friends to the presence of his kinsman the chief man of the town, and, having told his story, received a promise that the pirate should be taken up when he arrived and put in prison. meanwhile he appointed to the party a house in which to spend the night. baderoon boldly accompanied the crowd that followed them, saw the house, glanced between the heads of curious natives who watched the travellers while eating their supper, and noted the exact spot on the floor of the building where van der kemp threw down his mat and blanket, thus taking possession of his intended couch! he did not, however, see that the hermit afterwards shifted his position a little, and that babu, desiring to be near his friend, lay down on the vacated spot. in the darkest hour of the night, when even the owls and bats had sought repose, the pirate captain stole out of the brake in which he had concealed himself, and, kriss in hand, glided under the house in which his enemy lay. native houses, as we have elsewhere explained, are usually built on posts, so that there is an open space under the floors, which is available as a store or lumber-room. it is also unfortunately available for evil purposes. the bamboo flooring is not laid so closely but that sounds inside may be heard distinctly by any one listening below. voices were heard by the pirate as he approached, which arrested his steps. they were those of van der kemp and nigel engaged in conversation. baderoon knew that as long as his enemy was awake and conversing he might probably be sitting up and not in a position suitable to his fell purpose. he crouched therefore among some lumber like a tiger abiding its time. "why are you so anxious not to meet this man?" asked nigel, who was resolved, if possible without giving offence, to be at the bottom of the mystery. for some moments the hermit was silent, then in a constrained voice he said slowly-"because revenge burns fiercely in my breast. i have striven to crush it, but cannot. i fear to meet him lest i kill him." "has he, then, done you such foul wrong?" "ay, he has cruelly--fiendishly--done the worst he could. he robbed me of my only child--but i may not talk of it. the unholy desire for vengeance burns more fiercely when i talk. 'vengeance is mine, saith the lord.' my constant prayer is that i may not meet him. good-night." as the hermit thus put an abrupt end to the conversation he lay down and drew his blanket over him. nigel followed his example, wondering at what he had heard, and in a few minutes their steady regular breathing told that they were both asleep. then baderoon advanced and counted the bamboo planks from the side towards the centre of the house. when looking between the heads of the people he had counted the same planks above. standing under one he looked up, listened intently for a few seconds, and drew his kriss. the place was almost pitch dark, yet the blade caught a faint gleam from without, which it reflected on the pirate's face as he thrust the long keen weapon swiftly, yet deliberately, between the bamboos. a shriek, that filled those who heard it with a thrill of horror, rang out on the silent night. at the same moment a gush of warm blood poured over the murderer's face before he could leap aside. instant uproar and confusion burst out in the neighbourhood, and spread like wildfire until the whole town was aroused. when a light was procured and the people crowded into the hut where the strangers lay, van der kemp was found on his knees holding the hand of poor babu, who was at his last gasp. a faint smile, that yet seemed to have something of gladness in it, flitted across his pale face as he raised himself, grasped the hermit's hand and pressed it to his lips. then the fearful drain of blood took effect and he fell back--dead. one great convulsive sob burst from the hermit as he leaped up, drew his knife, and, with a fierce glare in his blue eyes, rushed out of the room. vengeance would indeed have been wreaked on baderoon at that moment if the hermit had caught him, but, as might have been expected, the murderer was nowhere to be found. he was hid in the impenetrable jungle, which it was useless to enter in the darkness of night. when daybreak enabled the townspeople to undertake an organised search, no trace of him could be discovered. flight, personal safety, formed no part of the pirate's plan. the guilty man had reached that state of depravity which, especially among the natives of that region, borders close on insanity. while the inhabitants of the village were hunting far a-field for him, baderoon lay concealed among some lumber in rear of a hut awaiting his opportunity. it was not very long of coming. towards afternoon the various searching parties began to return, and all assembled in the market-place, where the chief man, with the hermit and his party, were assembled discussing the situation. "i will not now proceed until we have buried poor babu," said van der kemp. "besides, baderoon will be sure to return. i will meet him now." "i do not agree viz you, mine frond," said the professor. "zee man is not a fool zough he is a villain. he knows vat avaits him if he comes." "he will not come openly," returned the hermit, "but he will not now rest till he has killed me." even as he spoke a loud shouting, mingled with shrieks and yells, was heard at the other end of the main street. the sounds of uproar appeared to approach, and soon a crowd of people was seen rushing towards the market-place, uttering cries of fear in which the word "a-mok" was heard. at the sound of that word numbers of people--specially women and children--turned and fled from the scene, but many of the men stood their ground, and all of them drew their krisses. among the latter of course were the white men and their native companions. we have already referred to that strange madness, to which the malays seem to be peculiarly liable, during the paroxysms of which those affected by it rush in blind fury among their fellows, slaying right and left. from the terrified appearance of some of the approaching crowd and the maniac shouts in rear, it was evident that a man thus possessed of the spirit of amok was venting his fury on them. another minute and he drew near, brandishing a kriss that dripped with the gore of those whom he had already stabbed. catching sight of the white men he made straight for them. he was possessed of only one eye, but that one seemed to concentrate and flash forth the fire of a dozen eyes, while his dishevelled hair and blood-stained face and person gave him an appalling aspect. "it is baderoon!" said van der kemp in a subdued but stern tone. nigel, who stood next to him, glanced at the hermit. his face was deadly pale; his eyes gleamed with a strange, almost unearthly light, and his lips were firmly compressed. with a sudden nervous motion, unlike his usually calm demeanour, he drew his long knife, and to nigel's surprise cast it away from him. at that moment a woman who came in the madman's way was stabbed by him to the heart and rent the air with her dying shriek as she fell. no one could have saved her, the act was so quickly done. van der kemp would have leaped to her rescue, but it was too late; besides, there was no need to do so now, for the maniac, recognising his enemy, rushed at him with a shout that sounded like a triumphant yell. seeing this, and that his friend stood unarmed, as well as unmoved, regarding baderoon with a fixed gaze, nigel stepped a pace in advance to protect him, but van der kemp seized his arm and thrust him violently aside. next moment the pirate was upon him with uplifted knife, but the hermit caught his wrist, and with a heave worthy of samson hurled him to the ground, where he lay for a moment quite stunned. before he could recover, the natives, who had up to this moment held back, sprang upon the fallen man with revengeful yells, and a dozen knives were about to be buried in his breast when the hermit sprang forward to protect his enemy from their fury. but the man whose wife had been the last victim came up at the moment, and led an irresistible rush which bore back the hermit as well as his comrades, who had crowded round him, and in another minute the maniac was almost hacked to pieces. "i did not kill him--thank god!" muttered van der kemp as he left the market-place, where the relatives of those who had been murdered were wailing over their dead. after this event even the professor was anxious to leave the place, so that early next morning the party resumed their journey, intending to make a short stay at the next village. failing to reach it that night, however, they were compelled to encamp in the woods. fortunately they came upon a hill which, although not very high, was sufficiently so, with the aid of watch-fires, to protect them from tigers. from the summit, which rose just above the tree-tops, they had a magnificent view of the forest. many of the trees were crowned with flowers among which the setting sun shone for a brief space with glorious effulgence. van der kemp and nigel stood together apart from the others, contemplating the wonderful scene. "what must be the dwelling-place of the creator himself when his footstool is so grand?" said the hermit in a low voice. "that is beyond mortal ken," said nigel. "true--true. eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor mind conceived it. yet, methinks, the glory of the terrestrial was meant to raise our souls to the contemplation of the celestial." "and yet how signally it has failed in the case of baderoon," returned nigel, with a furtive glance at the hermit, whose countenance had quite recovered its look of quiet simple dignity. "would it be presumptuous if i were to ask why it is that this pirate had such bitter enmity against you?" "it is no secret," answered the hermit, in a sad tone. "the truth is, i had discovered some of his nefarious plans, and more than once have been the means of preventing his intended deeds of violence--as in the case of the dyaks whom we have so lately visited. besides, the man had done me irreparable injury, and it is one of the curious facts of human experience that sometimes those who injure us hate us because they have done so." "may i venture to ask for a fuller account of the injury he did you?" said nigel with some hesitancy. for some moments the hermit did not answer. he was evidently struggling with some suppressed feeling. turning a look full upon his young friend, he at length spoke in a low sad voice-"i have never mentioned my grief to mortal man since that day when it pleased god to draw a cloud of thickest darkness over my life. but, nigel, there is that in you which encourages confidence. i confess that more than once i have been tempted to tell you of my grief--for human hearts crave intelligent sympathy. my faithful servant and friend moses is, no doubt, intensely sympathetic, but--but--well, i cannot understand, still less can i explain, why i shrink from making a confidant of him. certainly it is not because of his colour, for i hold that the _souls_ of men are colourless! "i need not trouble you with the story of my early life," continued the hermit. "i lost my dear wife a year after our marriage, and was left with a little girl whose lovely face became more and more like that of her mother every day she lived. my soul was wrapped up in the child. after three years i went with her as a passenger to batavia. on the way we were attacked by a couple of pirate junks. baderoon was the pirate captain. he killed many of our men, took some of us prisoners, sank the vessel, seized my child, and was about to separate us, putting my child into one junk while i was retained, bound, in the other." he paused, and gazed over the glowing tree-tops into the golden horizon, with a longing, wistful look. at the same time something like an electric shock passed through nigel's frame, for was not this narrative strangely similar in its main features to that which his own father had told him on the keeling islands about beautiful little kathleen holbein and her father? he was on the point of seizing the hermit by the hand and telling him what he knew, when the thought occurred that attacks by pirates were common enough in those seas, that other fathers might have lost daughters in this way, and that, perhaps, his suspicion might be wrong. it would be a terrible thing, he thought, to raise hope in his poor friend's breast unless he were pretty sure of the hope being well founded. he would wait and hear more. he had just come to this conclusion, and managed to subdue the feelings which had been aroused, when van der kemp turned to him again, and continued his narrative-"i know not how it was, unless the lord gave me strength for a purpose as he gave it to samson of old, but when i recovered from the stinging blow i had received, and saw the junk hoist her sails and heard my child scream, i felt the strength of a lion come over me; i burst the bonds that held me and leaped into the sea, intending to swim to her. but it was otherwise ordained. a breeze which had sprung up freshened, and the junk soon left me far behind. as for the other junk, i never saw it again, for i never looked back or thought of it--only, as i left it, i heard a mocking laugh from the one-eyed villain, who, i afterwards found out, owned and commanded both junks." nigel had no doubt now, but the agitation of his feelings still kept him silent. "need i say," continued the hermit, "that revenge burned fiercely in my breast from that day forward? if i had met the man soon after that, i should certainly have slain him. but god mercifully forbade it. since then he has opened my eyes to see the crucified one who prayed for his enemies. and up till now i have prayed most earnestly that baderoon and i might _not_ meet. my prayer has not been answered in the way i wished, but a _better_ answer has been granted, for the sin of revenge was overcome within me before we met." van der kemp paused again. "go on," said nigel, eagerly. "how did you escape?" "escape! where was i--oh! i remember," said the hermit, awaking as if out of a dream "well, i swam after the junk until it was out of sight, and then i swam on in silent despair until so completely exhausted that i felt consciousness leaving me. then i knew that the end must be near and i felt almost glad; but when i began to sink, the natural desire to prolong life revived, and i struggled on. just as my strength began a second time to fail, i struck against something. it was a dead cocoa-nut tree. i laid hold of it and clung to it all that night. next morning i was picked up by some fishermen who were going to telok betong by the outer passage round sebesi island, and were willing to land me there. but as my business connections had been chiefly with the town of anjer, i begged of them to land me on the island of krakatoa. this they did, and it has been my home ever since. i have been there many years." "have you never seen or heard of your daughter since?" asked nigel eagerly, and with deep sympathy. "never--i have travelled far and near, all over the archipelago; into the interior of the islands, great and small, but have failed to find her. i have long since felt that she must be dead--for--for she could not live with the monsters who stole her away." a certain contraction of the mouth, as he said this, and a gleam of the eyes, suggested to nigel that revenge was not yet dead within the hermit's breast, although it had been overcome. "what was her name?" asked nigel, willing to gain time to think how he ought to act, and being afraid of the effect that the sudden communication of the news might have on his friend. "winnie--darling winnie--after her mother," said the hermit with deep pathos in his tone. a feeling of disappointment came over our hero. winnie bore not the most distant resemblance to kathleen! "did you ever, during your search," asked nigel slowly, "visit the cocos-keeling islands?" "never. they are too far from where the attack on us was made." "and you never heard of a gun-boat having captured a pirate junk and----" "why do you ask, and why pause?" said the hermit, looking at his friend in some surprise. nigel felt that he had almost gone too far. "well, you know--" he replied in some confusion, "you--you are right when you expect me to sympathise with your great sorrow, which i do most profoundly, and--and--in short, i would give anything to be able to suggest hope to you, my friend. men should _never_ give way to despair." "thank you. it is kindly meant," returned the hermit, looking at the youth with his sad smile. "but it is vain. hope is dead now." they were interrupted at this point by the announcement that supper was ready. at the same time the sun sank, like the hermit's hope, and disappeared beyond the dark forest. chapter xx. nigel makes a confidant of moses--undertakes a lonely watch and sees something wonderful. it was not much supper that nigel roy ate that night. the excitement resulting from his supposed discovery reduced his appetite seriously, and the intense desire to open a safety-valve in the way of confidential talk with some one induced a nervously absent disposition which at last attracted attention. "you vant a goot dose of kvinine," remarked verkimier, when, having satiated himself, he found time to think of others--not that the professor was selfish by any means, only he was addicted to concentration of mind on all work in hand, inclusive of feeding. the hermit paid no attention to anything that was said. his recent conversation had given vent to a flood of memories and feelings that had been pent up for many years. after supper nigel resolved to make a confidant of moses. the negro's fidelity to and love for his master would ensure his sympathy at least, if not wise counsel. "moses," he said, when the professor had raised himself to the seventh heaven by means of tobacco fumes, "come with me. i want to have a talk." "das what i's allers wantin', massa nadgel; talkin's my strong point if i hab a strong point at all." they went together to the edge of a cliff on the hill-top, whence they could see an almost illimitable stretch of tropical wilderness bathed in a glorious flood of moonlight, and sat down. on a neighbouring cliff, which was crowned with a mass of grasses and shrubs, a small monkey also sat down, on a fallen branch, and watched them with pathetic interest, tempered, it would seem, by cutaneous irritation. "moses, i am sorely in need of advice," said nigel, turning suddenly to his companion with ill-suppressed excitement. "well, massa nadgel, you _does_ look like it, but i'm sorry i ain't a doctor. pra'ps de purfesser would help you better nor me." "you misunderstand me. can you keep a secret, moses?" "i kin try--if--if he's not too diffikilt to keep." "well, then; listen." the negro opened his eyes and his mouth as if these were the chief orifices for the entrance of sound, and advanced an ear. the distant monkey, observing, apparently, that some unusual communication was about to be made, also stretched out its little head, cocked an ear, and suspended its other operations. then, in low earnest tones, nigel told moses of his belief that van der kemp's daughter might yet be alive and well, and detailed the recent conversation he had had with his master. "now, moses; what d' ye think of all that?" profundity unfathomable sat on the negro's sable brow as he replied, "massa nadgel, i don't bery well know _what_ to t'ink." "but remember, moses, before we go further, that i tell you all this in strict confidence; not a word of it must pass your lips." the awful solemnity with which nigel sought to impress this on his companion was absolutely trifling compared with the expression of that companion's countenance, as, with a long-drawn argumentative and remonstrative _oh!_ he replied:--"massa--nadgel. does you really t'ink i would say or do any mortal t'ing w'atsumiver as would injure _my_ massa?" "i'm _sure_, you would not," returned nigel, quickly. "forgive me, moses, i merely meant that you would have to be very cautious--very careful--that you do not let a word slip--by accident, you know. i believe you'd sooner die than do an intentional injury to van der kemp. if i thought you capable of _that_, i think i would relieve my feelings by giving you a good thrashing." the listening monkey cocked its ear a little higher at this, and moses, who had at first raised his flat nose indignantly in the air, gradually lowered it, while a benignant smile supplanted indignation. "you're right dere, massa nadgel. i'd die a t'ousand times sooner dan injure massa. as to your last obserwation, it rouses two idees in my mind. first, i wonder how you'd manidge to gib me a t'rashin', an' second, i wonder if your own moder would rikognise you arter you'd tried it." at this the monkey turned its other ear as if to make quite sure that it heard aright. nigel laughed shortly. "but seriously, moses," he continued; "what do you think i should do? should i reveal my suspicions to van der kemp?" "cer'nly not!" answered the negro with prompt decision. "what! wake up all his old hopes to hab 'em all dashed to bits p'raps when you find dat you's wrong!" "but i feel absolutely certain that i'm _not_ wrong!" returned nigel, excitedly. "consider--there is, first, the one-eyed pirate; second, there is--" "'scuse me, massa nadgel, dere's no occasion to go all ober it again. i'll tell you what you do." "well?" exclaimed nigel, anxiously, while his companion frowned savagely under the force of the thoughts that surged through his brain. "here's what you'll do," said moses. "well?" (impatiently, as the negro paused.) "we're on our way home to krakatoa." "yes--well?" "one ob our men leabes us to-morrer--goes to 'is home on de coast. kitch one ob de steamers dat's allers due about dis time." "well, what of that?" "what ob dat! why, you'll write a letter to your fadder. it'll go by de steamer to batavia. he gits it long before we gits home, so dere's plenty time for 'im to take haction." "but what good will writing to my father do?" asked nigel in a somewhat disappointed tone. "_he_ can't help us." "ho yes, he can," said moses with a self-satisfied nod. "see here, i'll tell you what to write. you begin, 'dear fadder--or dearest fadder--i's not quite sure ob de strengt' ob your affection. p'raps de safest way--." "oh! get on, moses. never mind that." "ho! it's all bery well for you to say dat, but de ole gen'leman'll mind it. hows'ever, put it as you t'ink best--'dear fadder, victual your ship; up anchor; hois' de sails, an' steer for de cocos-keelin' islands. go ashore; git hold ob de young 'ooman called kat'leen hobbleben--'" "holbein, moses." "what! is she moses too?" "no, no! get on, man." "well, 'dearest fadder, git a hold ob her, whateber her name is, an' carry her off body and soul, an' whateber else b'longs to her. take her to de town ob anjer an' wait dere for furder orders.' ob course for de windin' up o' de letter you must appeal agin to de state ob your affections, for, as--" "not a bad idea," exclaimed nigel. "why, moses, you're a genius! of course i'll have to explain a little more fully." "'splain what you please," said moses. "my business is to gib you de bones ob de letter; yours--bein' a scholar--is to clove it wid flesh." "i'll do it, moses, at once." "i should like," rejoined moses, with a tooth-and-gum-disclosing smile, "to see your fadder when he gits dat letter!" the picture conjured up by his vivid imagination caused the negro to give way to an explosive laugh that sent the eavesdropping monkey like a brown thunderbolt into the recesses of its native jungle, while nigel went off to write and despatch the important letter. next day the party arrived at another village, where, the report of their approach having preceded them, they were received with much ceremony--all the more that the professor's power with the rifle had been made known, and that the neighbourhood was infested by tigers. there can be little doubt that at this part of the journey the travellers must have been dogged all the way by tigers, and it was matter for surprise that so small a party should not have been molested. possibly the reason was that these huge members of the feline race were afraid of white faces, being unaccustomed to them, or, perchance, the appearance and vigorous stride of even a few stalwart and fearless men had intimidated them. whatever the cause, the party reached the village without seeing a single tiger, though their footprints were observed in many places. the wild scenery became more and more beautiful as this village was neared. although flowers as a rule were small and inconspicuous in many parts of the great forest through which they passed, the rich pink and scarlet of many of the opening leaves, and the autumn-tinted foliage which lasts through all seasons of the year, fully made up for the want of them--at least as regards colour, while the whole vegetation was intermingled in a rich confusion that defies description. the professor went into perplexed raptures, his mind being distracted by the exuberant wealth of subjects which were presented to it all at the same time. "look zere!" he cried, at one turning in the path which opened up a new vista of exquisite beauty--"look at zat!" "ay, it is a siamang ape--next in size to the orang-utan," said van der kemp, who stood at his friend's elbow. the animal in question was a fine full-grown specimen, with long jet-black glancing hair. its height might probably have been a few inches over three feet, and the stretch of its arms over rather than under five feet, but at the great height at which it was seen--not less than eighty feet--it looked much like an ordinary monkey. it was hanging in the most easy nonchalant way by one hand from the branch of a tree, utterly indifferent to the fact that to drop was to die! the instant the siamang observed the travellers it set up a loud barking howl which made the woods resound, but it did not alter its position or seem to be alarmed in any degree. "vat a 'straordinary noise!" remarked the professor. "it is indeed," returned the hermit, "and it has an extraordinary appliance for producing it. there is a large bag under its throat extending to its lips and cheeks which it can fill with air by means of a valve in the windpipe. by expelling this air in sudden bursts it makes the varied sounds you hear." "mos' vonderful! a sort of natural air-gun! i vill shoot it," said the professor, raising his deadly rifle, and there is no doubt that the poor siamang would have dropped in another moment if van der kemp had not quietly and gravely touched his friend's elbow just as the explosion took place. "hah! you tooched me!" exclaimed the disappointed naturalist, looking fiercely round, while the amazed ape sent forth a bursting crack of its air-gun as it swung itself into the tree-top and made off. "yes, i touched you, and if you _will_ shoot when i am so close to you, you cannot wonder at it--especially when you intend to take life uselessly. the time now at the disposal of my friend nigel roy will not permit of our delaying long enough to kill and preserve large specimens. to say truth, my friend, we must press on now, as fast as we can, for we have a very long way to go." verkimier was not quite pleased with this explanation, but there was a sort of indescribable power about the hermit, when he was resolved to have his way, that those whom he led found it impossible to resist. on arriving at the village they were agreeably surprised to find a grand banquet, consisting chiefly of fruit, with fowl, rice, and indian corn, spread out for them in the balai or public hall, where also their sleeping quarters were appointed. an event had recently occurred, however, which somewhat damped the pleasure of their reception. a young man had been killed by a tiger. the brute had leaped upon him while he and a party of lads were traversing a narrow path through the jungle, and had killed him with one blow of its paw. the other youths courageously rushed at the beast with their spears and axes, and, driving it off, carried the body of their comrade away. "we have just buried the young man," said the chief of the village, "and have set a trap for the tiger, for he will be sure to visit the grave." "my friends would like to see this trap," said the hermit, who, of course, acted the part of interpreter wherever they went, being well acquainted with most of the languages and dialects of the archipelago. "there will yet be daylight after you have finished eating," said the chief. although anxious to go at once to see this trap, they felt the propriety of doing justice to what had been provided for them, and sat down to their meal, for which, to say truth, they were quite ready. then they went with a large band of armed natives to see this curious tiger-trap, the bait of which was the grave of a human being! the grave was close to the outskirts of the village, and, on one side, the jungle came up to within a few yards of it. the spot was surrounded by a strong and high bamboo fence, except at one point where a narrow but very conspicuous opening had been left. here a sharp spear was so arranged beside the opening that it could be shot across it at a point corresponding with the height of a tiger's heart from the ground--as well, at least, as that point could be estimated by men who were pretty familiar with tigers. the motive power to propel this spear was derived from a green bamboo, so strong that it required several powerful men to bend it in the form of a bow. a species of trigger was arranged to let the bent bow fly, and a piece of fine cord passed from this across the opening about breast-high for a tiger. the intention was that the animal, in entering the enclosure, should become its own executioner--should commit unintentional suicide, if we may so put it. "i have an ambition to shoot a tiger," said nigel to van der kemp that evening. "do you think the people would object to my getting up into a tree with my rifle and watching beside the grave part of the night?" "i am sure that they would not. but your watch will probably be in vain, for tigers are uncommonly sagacious creatures and seem to me to have exceptional powers for scenting danger." "no matter, i will try." accordingly, a little before dark that evening our hero borrowed the professor's double-barrelled rifle, being more suitable for large game than his own gun, and sauntered with moses down to the grave where he ensconced himself in the branches of a large tree about thirty feet from the ground. the form of the tree was such, that among its forks nigel could form a sort of nest in which he could sit, in full view of the poor youth's grave, without the risk of falling to the ground even if he should chance to drop asleep. "good-night, massa nadgel," said moses as he turned to leave his companion to his solitary vigil. "see you not go to sleep." "no fear of _that_!" said nigel. "an' whateber you do, don't miss." "i'll do my best--good-night." while there was yet a little daylight, our hunter looked well about him; took note of the exact position of the fence, the entrance to the enclosure, and the grave; judged the various distances of objects, and arranged the sights of the rifle, which was already loaded with a brace of hardened balls. then he looked up through the tree-tops and wished for darkness. it came sooner than he expected. night always descends more suddenly in tropical than in temperate regions. the sun had barely dipped below the horizon when night seemed to descend like a pall over the jungle, and an indescribable sensation of eerieness crept over nigel's spirit. objects became very indistinct, and he fancied that he saw something moving on the newly-made grave. with a startled feeling he grasped his weapon, supposing that the tiger must have entered the enclosure with cat-like stealth. on second thoughts, however, he discarded the idea, for the entrance was between him and the grave, and still seemed quite visible. do what he would, however, the thought of ghosts insisted on intruding upon him! he did not believe in ghosts--oh no!--had always scouted the idea of their existence. why, therefore, did he feel uncomfortable? he could not tell. it must simply be the excitement natural to such a very new and peculiar situation. he would think of something else. he would devote his mind to the contemplation of tigers! in a short time the moon would rise, he knew--then he would be able to see better. while he was in this very uncomfortable state of mind, with the jungle wrapped in profound silence as well as gloom, there broke on the night air a wail so indescribable that the very marrow in nigel's bones seemed to shrivel up. it ceased, but again broke forth louder than before, increasing in length and strength, until his ears seemed to tingle with the sound, and then it died away to a sigh of unutterable woe. "i have always," muttered nigel, "believed myself to be a man of ordinary courage, but _now_--i shall write myself a coward, if not an ass!" he attempted to laugh at this pleasantry, but the laugh was hollow and seemed to freeze in his gullet as the wail broke forth again, ten times more hideous than at first. after a time the wail became more continuous, and the watcher began to get used to it. then a happy thought flashed into his mind--this was, perhaps, some sort of mourning for the dead! he was right. the duty of the father of the poor youth who had been killed was, for several days after the funeral, to sit alone in his house and chant from sunset till daybreak a death-dirge, or, as it is called, the _tjerita bari_. it was not till next day that this was told to him, but meanwhile the surmise afforded him instantaneous relief. as if nature sympathised with his feelings, the moon arose at the same time and dispelled the thick darkness, though it was not till much later that, sailing across a clear sky, she poured her bright beams through the tree-tops and finally rested on the dead man's grave. by that time nigel had quite recovered his equanimity, and mentally blotted out the writing of "coward" and "ass" which he had written against himself. but another trouble now assailed him. he became sleepy! half-a-dozen times at least within half-an-hour he started wide awake under the impression that he was falling off the tree. "this will never do," he exclaimed, rising to his feet, resting his rifle in a position of safety, and then stretching himself to his utmost extent so that he became thoroughly awake. after this "rouser," as he called it, he sat down again, and almost immediately fell fast asleep. how long he sat in this condition it is impossible to say, but he opened his eyes at length with an indescribable sensation that _something_ required attention, and the first thing they rested on (for daylight was dawning) was an enormous tiger not forty yards away from him, gliding like a shadow and with cat-like stealth towards the opening of the enclosure. the sight was so sudden and so unexpected that, for the moment, he was paralysed. perhaps he thought it was a dream. before he could recover presence of mind to seize his rifle, the breast of the animal had touched the fatal line; the trigger was drawn; the stout bamboo straightened with a booming sound, and the spear--or, rather, the giant arrow--was shot straight through the tiger's side! then occurred a scene which might well have induced nigel to imagine that he dreamt, for the transfixed creature bounded into the enclosure with a terrific roar that rang fearfully through the arches of the hitherto silent forest. rushing across the grave, it sprang with one tremendous bound right over the high fence, carrying the spear along with it into the jungle beyond. by that time nigel was himself again, with rifle in hand, but too late to fire. the moment he heard the thud of the tiger's descent, he slid down the tree, and, forgetful or regardless of danger, went crashing into the jungle, while the yells and shouts of hundreds of aroused natives suggested the peopling of the region with an army of fiends. but our hero had not to go far. in his haste he almost tumbled over the tiger. it was lying stone dead on the spot where it had fallen! a few minutes more and the natives came pouring round him, wild with excitement and joy. soon he was joined by his own comrades. "well, you've managed to shoot him, i see," said van der kemp as he joined the group. "alas! no. i have not fired a shot," said nigel, with a half disappointed look. "you's got de better ob him anyhow," remarked moses as he pushed to the front. "the spear got the better of him, moses." "veil now, zat is a splendid animal. lat me see," said the professor, pulling out his tape-measure. it was with difficulty that the man of science made and noted his measurements, for the people were pressing eagerly round the carcase to gratify their revenge by running their spears into the still warm body. they dipped the points in the blood and passed their krisses broadside over the creature that they might absorb the courage and boldness which were supposed to emanate from it! then they skinned it, and pieces of the heart and brain were eaten raw by some of those whose relatives had been killed by tigers. finally the skull was hacked to pieces for the purpose of distributing the teeth, which are used by the natives as charms. chapter xxi. in which the professor distinguishes himself. leaving this village immediately after the slaying of the tiger, the party continued to journey almost by forced marches, for not only was nigel roy very anxious to keep tryst with his father, and to settle the question of kathleen's identity by bringing father and daughter together, but van der kemp himself, strange to say, was filled with intense and unaccountable anxiety to get back to his island home. "i don't know how it is," he said to nigel as they walked side by side through the forest, followed by moses and the professor, who had become very friendly on the strength of a certain amount of vacant curiosity displayed by the former in regard to scientific matters--"i don't know how it is, but i feel an unusually strong desire to get back to my cave. i have often been absent from home for long periods at a time, but have never before experienced these strange longings. i say strange, because there is no such thing as an effect without a cause." "may not the cause be presentiment?" suggested nigel, who, knowing what a tremendous possibility for the hermit lay in the future, felt a little inclined to be superstitious. it did not occur to him just then that an equally, if not more, tremendous possibility lay in the future for himself--touching his recent discovery or suspicion! "i do not believe in presentiments," returned the hermit. "they are probably the result of indigestion or a disordered intellect, from neither of which complaints do i suffer--at least not consciously!" "but you have never before left home in such peculiar circumstances," said nigel. "have you not told me that this is the first time for about two hundred years that krakatoa has broken out in active eruption?" "true, but that cannot be to me the cause of longings or anxieties, for i have seen many a long-dormant crater become active without any important result either to me or to any one else." "stop, stop!" cried professor verkimier in a hoarse whisper at that moment; "look! look at zee monkeys!" monkeys are very abundant in sumatra, but the nest of them which the travellers discovered at that time, and which had called forth the professor's admiration, was enough--as moses said--to make a "renocerus laugh." the trees around absolutely swarmed with monkeys; those of a slender form and with very long tails being most numerous. they were engaged in some sort of game, swinging by arms, legs, and tails from branches, holding on to or chasing each other, and taking the most astonishing leaps in circumstances where a slip would have no doubt resulted in broken limbs or in death. "stand still! oh! _do_ stand still--like you vas petrivied," said the professor in a low voice of entreaty. being quite willing to humour him, the whole party stood immovable, like statues, and thus avoided attracting the attention of the monkeys, who continued their game. it seemed to be a sort of "follow my leader," for one big strong fellow led off with a bound from one branch to another which evidently tried the nerves of his more timid and less agile companions. they all succeeded, however, from the largest even to the smallest--which last was a very tiny creature with a pink face, a sad expression, and a corkscrew tail. for a time they bounded actively among the branches, now high now low, till suddenly the big leader took a tremendous leap, as if for the express purpose of baffling or testing his companions. it was immensely amusing to see the degrees of trepidation with which the others followed. the last two seemed quite unable to make up their minds to the leap, until the others seemed about to disappear, when one of them took heart and bounded wildly across. thus little pink-face with the corkscrew tail was left alone! twice did that little monkey make a desperate resolution to jump, and twice did its little heart fail as it measured the distance between the branches and glanced at the abyss below. its companions seemed to entertain a feeling of pity for it. numbers of them came back, as if to watch the jump and encourage the little one. a third time it made an abortive effort to spring, and looked round pitifully, whereupon moses gave vent to an uncontrollable snort of suppressed laughter. "vat you mean by zat?" growled the professor angrily. the growl and snort together revealed the intruders, and all the monkeys, except pink-face, crowding the trees above the spot where they stood, gazed down upon them with expressions in which unparalleled indignation and inconceivable surprise struggled for the mastery. then, with a wild shriek, the whole troop fled into the forest. this was too much for poor, half-petrified pink-face with the twisted tail. seeing that its comrades were gone in earnest, it became desperate, flung itself frantically into the air with an agonising squeak, missed its mark, went crashing through the slender branches and fell to the ground. fortunately these branches broke its fall so that it arose unhurt, bounded into a bush, still squeaking with alarm, and made after its friends. "why did you not shoot it, professor?" asked nigel, laughing as much at verkimier's grave expression as at the little monkey's behaviour. "vy did i not shot it?" echoed the professor. "i vould as soon shot a baby. zee pluck of zat leetle creature is admirable. it vould be a horrible shame to take his life. no! i do love to see ploock vezer in man or beast! he could not shoomp zat. he _knew_ he could not shoomp it, but he _tried_ to shoomp it. he vould not be beat, an' i vould not kill him--zough i vant 'im very mooch for a specimen." it seemed as if the professor was to be specially rewarded for his generous self-denial on this occasion, for while he was yet speaking, a soft "hush!" from van der kemp caused the whole party to halt in dead silence and look at the hermit inquiringly. "you are in luck, professor," he murmured, in a soft, low voice--very different from that hissing whisper which so many people seem to imagine is an inaudible utterance. "i see a splendid argus pheasant over there making himself agreeable to his wife!" "vare? oh! vare?" exclaimed the enthusiast with blazing eyes, for although he had already seen and procured specimens of this most beautiful creature, he had not yet seen it engage in the strange love-dance--if we may so call it--which is peculiar to the bird. "you'll never get near enough to see it if you hiss like a serpent," said the hermit. "get out your binoculars, follow me, and hold your tongue, all of you--that will be the safest plan. tread lightly." it was a sight to behold the professor crouching almost double in order to render himself less conspicuous, with his hat pushed back, and the blue glasses giving him the appearance of a great-eyed seal. he carried his butterfly-net in one hand, and the unfailing rifle in the other. fortunately the hermit's sharp and practised eye had enabled him to distinguish the birds in the distance before their advance had alarmed them, so that they were able to reach a mound topped with low bushes over which they could easily watch the birds. "zat is very koorious an' most interesting," murmured the professor after a short silence. he was right. there were two argus pheasants, a male and female--the male alone being decorated superbly. the argus belongs to the same family as the peacock, but is not so gaudy in colouring, and therefore, perhaps, somewhat more pleasing. its tail is formed chiefly by an enormous elongation of the two tail quills, and of the secondary wing feathers, no two of which are exactly the same, and the closer they are examined the greater is seen to be the extreme beauty of their markings, and the rich varied harmony of their colouring. when a male argus wishes to show off his magnificence to his spouse--or when she asks him to show it off, we know not which--he makes a circle in the forest some ten or twelve feet in diameter, which he clears of every leaf, twig, and branch. on the margin of this circus there is invariably a projecting branch, or overarching root a few feet above the ground, on which the female takes her place to watch the exhibition. this consists of the male strutting about, pluming his feathers, and generally displaying his gorgeous beauty. "vat ineffable vanity!" exclaimed the professor, after gazing for some time in silence. his own folly in thus speaking was instantly proved by the two birds bringing the exhibition to an abrupt close and hastily taking wing. not long after seeing this they came to a small but deep and rapid river, which for a time checked their progress, for there was no ford, and the porters who carried verkimier's packages seemed to know nothing about a bridge, either natural or artificial. after wandering for an hour or so along its banks, however, they found a giant tree which had fallen across the stream and formed a natural bridge. on the other side of the stream the ground was more rugged and the forest so dense that they had to walk in a sort of twilight--only a glimpse of blue sky being visible here and there through the tree-tops. in some places, however, there occurred bright little openings which swarmed with species of metallic tiger-beetles and sand-bees, and where sulphur, swallow-tailed, and other butterflies sported their brief life away over the damp ground by the water's edge. the native forest path which they followed was little better than a tunnel cut through a grove of low rattan-palms, the delicate but exceedingly tough tendrils of which hung down in all directions. these were fringed with sharp hooks which caught their clothing and tore it, or held on unrelentingly, so that the only way of escape was to step quietly back and unhook themselves. this of itself would have rendered their progress slow as well as painful, but other things tended to increase the delay. at one place they came to a tree about seven feet in diameter which lay across the path and had to be scrambled over, and this was done with great difficulty. at another, a gigantic mud-bath--the wallowing hole of a herd of elephants--obstructed the way, and a yell from one of the porters told that in attempting to cross it he had fallen in up to the waist. a comrade in trying to pull him out also fell in and sank up to the armpits. but they got over it--as resolute men always do--somehow! "zis is horrible!" exclaimed the professor, panting from his exertions, and making a wild plunge with his insect-net at some living creature. "hah! zee brute! i have 'im." the man of science was flat on his stomach as he spoke, with arm outstretched and the net pressed close to the ground, while a smile of triumph beamed through the mud and scratches on his face. "what have you got?" asked nigel, doing his best to restrain a laugh. "a splendid _ornit'optera_ a day-flying moss'," said verkimier as he cautiously rose, "vich mimics zee _trepsichrois mulciber_. ant zis very morning i caught von _leptocircus virescens_, vich derives protection from mimicking zee habits ant appearance of a dragon-fly." "what rubbish dat purfesser do talk!" remarked moses in an undertone to the hermit as they moved on again. "not such rubbish as it sounds to you, moses. these are the scientific names of the creatures, and you know as well as he does that many creatures think they find it advantageous to pretend to be what they are not. man himself is not quite free from this characteristic. indeed, you have a little of it yourself," said the hermit with one of his twinkling glances. "when you are almost terrified of your wits don't you pretend that there's nothing the matter with you?" "nebber, massa, nebber!" answered the negro with remonstrative gravity. "when i's nigh out ob my wits, so's my innards feels like nuffin' but warmish water, i gits whitey-grey in de chops, so i's told, an' blue in de lips, an' i _pretends_ nuffin'--i don't care _who_ sees it!" the track for some distance beyond this point became worse and worse. then the nature of the ground changed somewhat--became more hilly, and the path, if such it could be styled, more rugged in some places, more swampy in others, while, to add to their discomfort, rain began to fall, and night set in dark and dismal without any sign of the village of which they were in search. by that time the porters who carried verkimier's boxes seemed so tired that the hermit thought it advisable to encamp, but the ground was so wet and the leeches were so numerous that they begged him to go on, assuring him that the village could not be far distant. in another half-hour the darkness became intense, so that a man could scarcely see his fellow even when within two paces of him. ominous mutterings and rumblings like distant thunder also were heard, which appeared to indicate an approaching storm. in these circumstances encamping became unavoidable, and the order was given to make a huge fire to scare away the tigers, which were known to be numerous, and the elephants whose fresh tracks had been crossed and followed during the greater part of the day. the track of a rhinoceros and a tapir had also been seen, but no danger was to be anticipated from those creatures. "shall we have a stormy night, think you?" asked nigel, as he assisted in striking a light. "it may be so," replied the hermit, flinging down one after another of his wet matches, which failed to kindle. "what we hear may be distant thunder, but i doubt it. the sounds seem to me more like the mutterings of a volcano. some new crater may have burst forth in the sumatran ranges. this thick darkness inclines me to think so--especially after the new activity of volcanic action we have seen so recently at krakatoa. let me try your matches, nigel, perhaps they have escaped--mine are useless." but nigel's matches were as wet as those of the hermit. so were those of the professor. luckily moses carried the old-fashioned flint and steel, with which, and a small piece of tinder, a spark was at last kindled, but as they were about to apply it to a handful of dry bamboo scrapings, an extra spirt of rain extinguished it. for an hour and more they made ineffectual attempts to strike a light. even the cessation of the rain was of no avail. "vat must ve do _now_?" asked the professor in tones that suggested a wo-begone countenance, though there was no light by which to distinguish it. "grin and bear it," said nigel, in a voice suggestive of a slight expansion of the mouth--though no one could see it. "dere's nuffin' else left to do," said moses, in a tone which betrayed such a very wide expansion that nigel laughed outright. "hah! you may laugh, my yoong frond, hot if zee tigers find us out or zee elephants trample on us, your laughter vill be turned to veeping. vat is zat? is not zat vonderful?" the question and exclamation were prompted by the sudden appearance of faint mysterious lights among the bushes. that the professor viewed them as unfriendly lights was clear from the click of his rifle-locks which followed. "it is only phosphoric light," explained van der kemp. "i have often seen it thus in electric states of the atmosphere. it will probably increase--meanwhile we must seat ourselves on our boxes and do the best we can till daylight. are you there, boys?" this question, addressed to the bearers in their native tongue, was not answered, and it was found, on a _feeling_ examination, that, in spite of leeches, tigers, elephants, and the whole animal creation, the exhausted porters had flung themselves on the wet ground and gone to sleep while their leaders were discussing the situation. dismal though the condition of the party was, the appearances in the forest soon changed the professor's woe into eager delight, for the phosphorescence became more and more pronounced, until every tree-stem blinked with a palish green light, and it trickled like moonlight over the ground, bringing out thick dumpy mushrooms like domes of light. glowing caterpillars and centipedes crawled about, leaving a trail of light behind them, and fireflies darting to and fro peopled the air and gave additional animation to the scene. in the midst of the darkness, thus made singularly visible, the white travellers sat dozing and nodding on their luggage, while the cries of metallic-toned horned frogs and other nocturnal sounds peculiar to that weird forest formed their appropriate lullaby. but moses neither dozed nor nodded. with a pertinacity peculiarly his own he continued to play a running accompaniment to the lullaby with his flint and steel, until his perseverance was rewarded with a spark which caught on a dry portion of the tinder and continued to burn. by that time the phosphoric lights had faded, and his spark was the only one which gleamed through intense darkness. how he cherished that spark! he wrapped it in swaddling clothes of dry bamboo scrapings with as much care as if it had been the essence of his life. he blew upon it tenderly as though to fan its delicate brow with the soft zephyrs of a father's affection. again he blew more vigorously, and his enormous pouting lips came dimly into view. another blow and his flat nose and fat cheeks emerged from darkness. still another--with growing confidence--and his huge eyes were revealed glowing with hope. at last the handful of combustible burst into a flame, and was thrust into a prepared nest of twigs. this, communicating with a heap of logs, kindled a sudden blaze which scattered darkness out of being, and converted thirty yards of the primeval forest into a chamber of glorious light, round which the human beings crowded with joy enhanced by the unexpectedness of the event, and before which the wild things of the wilderness fled away. when daylight came at last, they found that the village for which they had been searching was only two miles beyond the spot where they had encamped. here, being thoroughly exhausted, it was resolved that they should spend that day and night, and, we need scarcely add, they spent a considerable portion of both in sleep--at least such parts of both as were not devoted to food. and here the professor distinguished himself in a way that raised him greatly in the estimation of his companions and caused the natives of the place to regard him as something of a demi-god. of course we do not vouch for the truth of the details of the incident, for no one save himself was there to see, and although we entertained the utmost regard for himself, we were not sufficiently acquainted with his moral character to answer for his strict truthfulness. as to the main event, there was no denying that. the thing happened thus:-towards the afternoon of that same day the travellers began to wake up, stretch themselves, and think about supper. in the course of conversation it transpired that a tiger had been prowling about the village for some days, and had hitherto successfully eluded all attempts to trap or spear it. they had tethered a goat several times near a small pond and watched the spot from safe positions among the trees, with spears, bows and arrows, and blow-pipes ready, but when they watched, the tiger did not come, and when they failed to watch, the tiger did come and carried off the goat. thus they had been baffled. "mine frond," said the professor to the hermit on hearing this. "i vill shot zat tiger! i am resolved. vill you ask zee chief to show me zee place ant zen tell his people, on pain of def, not to go near it all night, for if zey do i vill certainly shot zem--by accident of course!" the hermit did as he was bid, but advised his sanguine friend against exposing himself recklessly. the chief willingly fell in with his wishes. "won't you tell us what you intend to do, professor?" asked nigel, "and let us help you." "no, i vill do it all by mineself--or die! i vill vant a shofel or a spade of some sort." the chief provided the required implement, conducted his visitor a little before sunset to the spot, just outside the village, and left him there armed with his rifle, a revolver, and a long knife or kriss, besides the spade. when alone, the bold man put off his glasses, made a careful inspection of the ground, came to a conclusion--founded on scientific data no doubt--as to the probable spot whence the tiger would issue from the jungle when about to seize the goat, and, just opposite that spot, on the face of a slope about ten yards from the goat, he dug a hole deep enough to contain his own person. the soil was sandy easy to dig, and quite dry. it was growing dusk when the professor crept into this rifle-pit, drew his weapons and the spade in after him, and closed the mouth of the pit with moist earth, leaving only a very small eye-hole through which he could see the goat standing innocently by the brink of the pool. "now," said he, as he lay resting on his elbows with the rifle laid ready to hand and the revolver beside it; "now, i know not vezer you can smell or not, but i have buried mineself in eart', vich is a non-conductor of smell. ve shall see!" it soon became very dark, for there was no moon, yet not so dark but that the form of the goat could be seen distinctly reflected in the pond. naturally the professor's mind reverted to the occasion when nigel had watched in the branches of a tree for another tiger. the conditions were different, and so, he thought, was the man! "mine yoong frond," he said mentally, "is brav', oondoubtedly, but his nerves have not been braced by experience like mine. it is vell, for zere is more dancher here zan in a tree. it matters not. i am resolf to shot zat tigre--or die!" in this resolute and heroic frame of mind he commenced his vigil. it is curious to note how frequently the calculations of men fail them--even those of scientific men! the tiger came indeed to the spot, but he came in precisely the opposite direction from that which the watcher expected, so that while verkimier was staring over the goat's head at an opening in the jungle beyond the pond, the tiger was advancing stealthily and slowly through the bushes exactly behind the hole in which he lay. suddenly the professor became aware of _something_! he saw nothing consciously, he heard nothing, but there stole over him, somehow, the feeling of a dread presence! was he asleep? was it nightmare? no, it was night-tiger! he knew it, somehow; he _felt_ it--but he could not see it. to face death is easy enough--according to some people--but to face nothing at all is at all times trying. verkimier felt it to be so at that moment. but he was a true hero and conquered himself. "come now," he said mentally, "don't be an ass! don't lose your shance by voomanly fears. keep kviet." another moment and there was a very slight sound right over his head. he glanced upwards--as far as the little hole would permit--and there, not a foot from him, was a tawny yellow throat! with a tremendous paw moving slowly forward--so slowly that it might have suggested the imperceptible movement of the hour-hand of a watch, or of a glacier. there was indeed motion, but it was not perceptible. the professor's perceptions were quick. he did not require to think. he knew that to use the rifle at such close quarters was absolutely impossible. he knew that the slightest motion would betray him. he could see that as yet he was undiscovered, for the animal's nose was straight for the goat, and he concluded that either his having buried himself was a safeguard against being smelt, or that the tiger had a cold in its head. he thought for one moment of bursting up with a yell that would scare the monster out of his seven senses--if he had seven--but dismissed the thought as cowardly, for it would be sacrificing success to safety. he knew not what to do, and the cold perspiration consequent upon indecision at a supreme moment broke out all over him. suddenly he thought of the revolver! like lightning he seized it, pointed it straight up and fired. the bullet--a large army revolver one--entered the throat of the animal, pierced the root of the tongue, crashed through the palate obliquely, and entered the brain. the tiger threw one indescribable somersault and fell--fell so promptly that it blocked the mouth of the pit, all the covering earth of which had been blown away by the shot, and verkimier could feel the hairy side of the creature, and hear the beating of its heart as it gasped its life away. but in his cramped position he could not push it aside. well aware of the tenacity of life in tigers, he thought that if the creature revived it would certainly grasp him even in its dying agonies, for the weight of its body and its struggles were already crushing in the upper part of the hole. to put an end to its sufferings and his own danger, he pointed the revolver at its side and again fired. the crash in the confined hole was tremendous--so awful that the professor thought the weapon must have burst. the struggles of the, tiger became more violent than ever, and its weight more oppressive as the earth crumbled away. again the cold perspiration broke out all over the man, and he became unconscious. it must not be supposed that the professor's friends were unwatchful. although they had promised not to disturb him in his operations, they had held themselves in readiness with rifle, revolver, and spear, and the instant the first shot was heard, they ran down to the scene of action. before reaching it the second shot quickened their pace as they ran down to the pond--a number of natives yelling and waving torches at their heels. "here he is," cried moses, who was first on the scene, "dead as mutton!" "what! the professor?" cried nigel in alarm. "no; de tiger." "where's verkimier?" asked the hermit as he came up. "i dun know, massa," said moses, looking round him vacantly. "search well, men, and be quick, he may have been injured," cried van der kemp, seizing a torch and setting the example. "let me out!" came at that moment from what appeared to be the bowels of the earth, causing every one to stand aghast gazing in wonder around and on each other. "zounds! vy don't you let me _out_?" shouted the voice again. there was an indication of a tendency to flight on the part of the natives, but nigel's asking "where _are_ you?" had the effect of inducing them to delay for the answer. "here--oonder zee tigre! kveek, i am suffocat!" instantly van der kemp seized the animal by the 'tail, and, avith a force worthy of hercules, heaved it aside as if it had been a dead cat, revealing the man of science underneath--alive and well, but dishevelled, scratched, and soiled--also, as deaf as a door-post! chapter xxii. a python discovered and a geyser interviewed. "it never rains but it pours" is a well-known proverb which finds, frequent illustration in the experience of almost every one. at all events verkimier had reason to believe in the truth of it at that time, for adventures came down on him, as it were, in a sort of deluge, more or less astounding, insomuch that his enthusiastic spirit, bathing, if we may say so, in an ocean of scientific delight, pronounced sumatra to be the very paradise of the student of nature. we have not room in this volume to follow him in the details of his wonderful experiences, but we must mention one adventure which he had on the very day after the tiger-incident, because it very nearly had the effect of separating him from his travelling companions. being deaf, as we have said--owing to the explosion of his revolver in the hole--but not necessarily dumb, the professor, after one or two futile attempts to hear and converse, deemed it wise to go to bed and spend the few conscious minutes that might precede sleep in watching van der kemp, who kindly undertook to skin his tiger for him. soon the self-satisfied man fell into a sweet infantine slumber, and dreamed of tigers, in which state he gave vent to sundry grunts, gasps, and half-suppressed cries, to the immense delight of moses, who sat watching him, indulging in a running commentary suggestive of the recent event, and giving utterance now and then to a few imitative growls by way of enhancing the effect of the dreams! "look! look! massa nadgel, he's twitchin' all ober. de tiger's comin' to him now." "looks like it, moses." "yes--an', see, he grip de 'volver--no, too soon, or de tiger's goed away, for he's stopped twichin'--dare; de tiger comes agin!" a gasp and clenching of the right hand seemed to warrant this assumption. then a yell rang through the hut; moses displayed all, and more than all his teeth, and the professor, springing up on one elbow, glared fearfully. "i'n't it awrful?" inquired moses in a low tone. the professor awoke mentally, recognised the situation, smiled an imbecile smile, and sank back again on his pillow with a sigh of relief. after that, when the skinning of the tiger was completed, the dreams appeared to leave him, and all his comrades joined him in the land of nod. he was first to awake when daylight entered their hut the following morning, and, feeling in a fresh, quiescent state of mind after the excitement of the preceding night, he lay on his back, his eyes fixed contentedly on the grand tiger-skin which hung on the opposite wall. by degrees his eyes grew wearied of that object, and he allowed them to travel languidly upwards and along the roof until they rested on the spot directly over his head, where they became fixed, and, at the same time, opened out to a glare, compared to which all his previous glaring was as nothing--for there, in the thatch, looking down upon him, was the angular head of a huge python. the snake was rolled up in a tight coil, and had evidently spent the night within a yard of the professor's head! being unable to make out what sort of snake it was, and fearing that it might be a poisonous one, he crept quietly from his couch, keeping his eyes fixed on the reptile as he did so. one result of this mode of action was that he did not see where he was going, and inadvertently thrust one finger into moses' right eye, and another into his open mouth. the negro naturally shut his mouth with a snap, while the professor opened his with a roar, and in another moment every man was on his feet blinking inquiringly. "look! zee snake!" cried the professor, when moses released him. "we must get him out of that," remarked van der kemp, as he quietly made a noose with a piece of rattan, and fastened it to the end of a long pole. with the latter he poked the creature up, and, when it had uncoiled sufficiently, he slipped the noose deftly over its head. "clear out, friends," he said, looking round. all obeyed with uncommon promptitude except the professor, who valiantly stood his ground. van der kemp pulled the python violently down to the floor, where it commenced a tremendous scuffle among the chairs and posts. the hermit kept its head off with the pole, and sought to catch its tail, but failed twice. seeing this the professor caught the tail as it whipped against his legs, and springing down the steps so violently that he snapped the cord by which the hermit held it, and drew the creature straight out--a thick monster full twelve feet long, and capable of swallowing a dog or a child. "out of zee way!" shouted the professor, making a wild effort to swing the python against a tree, but the tail slipped from his grasp, the professor fell, and the snake went crashing against a log, under which it took refuge. nigel, who was nearest to it, sprang forward, fortunately caught its tail, and, swinging it and himself round with such force that it could not coil up at all, dashed it against a tree. before it could recover from the shock, moses had caught up a hatchet and cut its head off with one blow. the tail wriggled for a few seconds, and the head gaped once or twice, as if in mild surprise at so sudden a finale. "zat is strainch--very strainch," slowly remarked the professor, as, still seated on the ground, he solemnly noted these facts. "not so _very_ strange, after all," said van der kemp; "i've seen the head of many a bigger snake cut off at one blow." "mine frond, you mistake me. it is zee vorking of physical law in zee spiritual vorld zat perplexes me. moses has cut zee brute in two--physical fact, substance can be divided. zee two parts are still alife, zerfore, zee life--zee spirit--has also been divided!" "it is indeed very strange," said nigel, with a laugh. "stranger still that you may cut a worm into several parts, and the life remains in each, but, strangest of all, that you should sit on the ground, professor, instead of rising up, while you philosophise. you are not hurt, i hope--are you?" "i razer zink i am," returned the philosopher with a faint smile; "mine onkle, i zink, is spraint." this was indeed true, and it seemed as if the poor man's wanderings were to be, for a time at least, brought to an abrupt close. fortunately it was found that a pony could be procured at that village, and, as they had entered the borders of the mountainous regions, and the roads were more open and passable than heretofore, it was resolved that the professor should ride until his ankle recovered. we must now pass over a considerable portion of time and space, and convey the reader, by a forced march, to the crater of an active volcano. by that time verkimier's ankle had recovered and the pony had been dismissed. the heavy luggage, with the porters, had been left in the low grounds, for the mountain they had scaled was over 10,000 feet above the sea-level. only one native from the plain below accompanied them as guide, and three of their porters whose inquiring minds tempted them to make the ascent. at about 10,000 feet the party reached what the natives called the dempo or edge of the volcano, whence they looked down into the sawah or ancient crater, which was a level space composed of brown soil surrounded by cliffs, and lying like the bottom of a cup 200 feet below them. it had a sulphurous odour, and was dotted here and there with clumps of heath and rhododendrons. in the centre of this was a cone which formed the true--or modern--crater. on scrambling up to the lip of the cone and looking down some 300 feet of precipitous rock they beheld what seemed to be a pure white lake set in a central basin of 200 feet in diameter. the surface of this lakelet smoked, and although it reflected every passing cloud as if it were a mirror, it was in reality a basin of hot mud, the surface of which was about thirty feet below its rim. "you will soon see a change come over it," said the hermit, as the party gazed in silent admiration at the weird scene. he had scarcely spoken, when the middle of the lake became intensely black and scored with dark streaks. this, though not quite obvious at first from the point where they stood, was caused by the slow formation of a great chasm in the centre of the seething lake of mud. the lake was sinking into its own throat. the blackness increased. then a dull sullen roar was heard, and next moment the entire lake upheaved, not violently, but in a slow, majestic manner some hundreds of feet into the air, whence it fell back into its basin with an awful roar which reverberated and echoed from the rocky walls of the caldron like the singing of an angry sea. an immense volume of steam--the motive power which had blown up the lake--was at the same time liberated and dissipated in the air. the wave-circles died away on the margin of the lake, and the placid, cloud-reflecting surface was restored until the geyser had gathered fresh force for another upheaval. "amazing!" exclaimed nigel, who had gazed with feelings of awe at this curious exhibition of the tremendous internal forces with which the creator has endowed the earth. "vonderful!" exclaimed the professor, whose astonishment was such, that his eyebrows rose high above the rim of his huge blue binoculars. moses, to whom such an exhibition of the powers of nature was familiar, was, we are sorry to say, not much impressed, if impressed at all! indeed he scarcely noticed it, but watched, with intense teeth-and-gum disclosing satisfaction, the faces of two of the native porters who had never seen anything of the kind before, and whose terrified expressions suggested the probability of a precipitate flight when their trembling limbs became fit to resume duty. "will it come again soon?" asked nigel, turning to van der kemp. "every fifteen or twenty minutes it goes through that process all day and every day," replied the hermit. "but, if i may joodge from zee stones ant scoriae around," said the professor, "zee volcano is not alvays so peaceful as it is joost now." "you are right. about once in every three years, and sometimes oftener, the crops of coffee, bananas, rice, etc., in this region are quite destroyed by sulphur-rain, which covers everything for miles around the crater." "hah! it vould be too hote a place zis for us, if zat vas to happin joost now," remarked verkimier with a smile. "it cannot be far off the time now, i should think," said yan der kemp. all this talk moses translated, and embellished, to the native porters with the solemn sincerity of a true and thorough-paced hypocrite. he had scarcely finished, and was watching with immense delight the changeful aspect of their whitey-green faces, when another volcanic fit came on, and the deep-toned roar of the coming explosion was heard. it was so awesome that the countenance even of van der kemp became graver than usual. as for the two native porters, they gazed and trembled. nigel and the professor also gazed with lively expectation. moses--we grieve to record it--hugged himself internally, and gloated over the two porters. another moment and there came a mighty roar. up went the mud-lake hundreds of feet into the air; out came the steam with the sound of a thousand trombones, and away went the two porters, head ever heels, down the outer slope of the cone and across the sawah as if the spirit of evil were after them. there was no cause, however, for alarm. the mud-lake, falling back into its native cup, resumed its placid aspect and awaited its next upheaval with as much tranquillity as if it had never known disturbance in the past, and were indifferent about the future. that evening our travellers encamped in close proximity to the crater, supped on fowls roasted in an open crevice whence issued steam and sulphurous smells, and slept with the geyser's intermittent roar sounding in their ears and re-echoing in their dreams. chapter xxiii. tells of volcanic fires and a strange return "home." this tremendous introduction to volcanic fires was but the prelude to a period of eruptive action which has not been paralleled in the world's history. for a short time after this, indeed, the genial nature of the weather tended to banish from the minds of our travellers all thoughts of violence either in terrestrial or human affairs, and as the professor devoted himself chiefly to the comparatively mild occupation of catching and transfixing butterflies and beetles during the march southward, there seemed to be nothing in the wide universe above or below save peace and tranquillity--except, perhaps, in the minds of beetles and butterflies! throughout all this period, nevertheless, there were ominous growlings, grumblings, and tremors--faint but frequent--which indicated a condition of mother earth that could not have been called easy. "some of the volcanoes of java must be at work, i think," said nigel one night, as the party sat in a small isolated wood-cutter's hut discussing a supper of rice and fowls with his friends, which they were washing down with home-grown coffee. "it may be so," said van der kemp in a dubious tone; "but the sounds, though faint, seem to me a good deal nearer. i can't help thinking that the craters which have so recently opened up in krakatoa are still active, and that it may be necessary for me to shift my quarters, for my cave is little more, i suspect, than the throat of an ancient volcano." "hah! say you so, mine frond? zen i vould advise you to make no delay," said the professor, critically examining a well-picked drumstick. "you see, it is not pleasant to be blown up eizer by the terrestrial eruptions of zee vorld or zee celestial explosions of your vife.--a leetle more rice, moses if you please. zanks." "now, mine fronds," he continued, after having disposed of a supper which it might have taxed a volcano's throat to swallow, "it is viz great sorrow zat i must part from you here." "part! why?" asked the hermit in surprise. "vy, because i find zis contrie is heaven upon eart'. zat is, of course, only in a scientific point of view. zee voods are svarming, zee air is teeming, ant zee vaters are vallo'ing vit life. i cannot tear myself avay. but ve shall meet again--at telok betong, or krakatoa, or anjer, or batavia." it was found that the man of science was also a man of decision. nothing would persuade him to go a step further. the wood-cutter's hut suited him, so did the wood-cutter himself, and so, as he said, did the region around him. with much regret, therefore, and an earnest invitation from the hermit to visit his cave, and range the almost unexplored woods of his island, the travellers parted from him; and our three adventurers, dismissing all attendants and hiring three ponies, continued their journey to the southern shores of sumatra. as they advanced it soon became evident that the scene of volcanic activity was not so far distant as the island of java, for the air was frequently darkened by the falling of volcanic dust which covered the land with a greyish powder. as, however, at least sixteen volcanoes have been registered in the island of sumatra, and there are probably many others, it was impossible to decide where the scene of eruption was that caused those signs. one afternoon the travellers witnessed a catastrophe which induced them to forego all idea of spending more time in examining the country. they had arrived at a village where they found a traveller who appeared to be going about without any special object in view. he spoke english, but with a foreign accent. nigel naturally felt a desire to become sociable with him, but he was very taciturn and evidently wished to avoid intercourse with chance acquaintances. hearing that there were curious hot-water and mud springs not far off, the stranger expressed a desire to visit them. nigel also felt anxious to see them, and as one guide was sufficient for the party the stranger joined the party and they went together. the spot they were led to was evidently a mere crust of earth covering fierce subterranean fires. in the centre of it a small pond of mud was boiling and bubbling furiously, and round this, on the indurated clay, were smaller wells and craters full of boiling mud. the ground near them was obviously unsafe, for it bent under pressure like thin ice, and at some of the cracks and fissures the sulphurous vapour was so hot that the hand could not be held to it without being scalded. nigel and the stranger walked close behind the native guide, both, apparently, being anxious to get as near as possible to the central pond. but the guide stopped suddenly, and, looking back, said to van der kemp that it was not safe to approach nearer. nigel at once stopped, and, looking at the stranger, was struck by the wild, incomprehensible expression of his face as he continued to advance. "stop! stop, sir!" cried the hermit on observing this, but the man paid no attention to the warning. another instant and the crust on which he stood gave way and he sank into a horrible gulf from which issued a gust of sulphurous vapour and steam. the horror which almost overwhelmed nigel did not prevent him bounding forward to the rescue. well was it for him at that time that a cooler head than his own was near. the strong hand of the hermit seized his collar on the instant, and he was dragged backward out of danger, while an appalling shriek from the stranger as he disappeared told that the attempt to succour him would have been too late. a terrible event of this kind has usually the effect of totally changing, at least for a time, the feelings of those who witness it, so as to almost incapacitate them from appreciating ordinary events or things. for some days after witnessing the sudden and awful fate of this unknown man, nigel travelled as if in a dream, taking little notice of, or interest in, anything, and replying to questions in mere monosyllables. his companions seemed to be similarly affected, for they spoke very little. even the volatile spirit of moses appeared to be subdued, and it was not till they had reached nearly the end of their journey that their usual flow of spirits returned. arriving one night at a village not very far from the southern shores of sumatra they learned that the hermit's presentiments were justified, and that the volcano which was causing so much disturbance in the islands of the archipelago was, indeed, the long extinct one of krakatoa. "i've heard a good deal about it from one of the chief men here," said the hermit as he returned to his friends that night about supper-time. "he tells me that it has been more or less in moderate eruption ever since we left the island, but adds that nobody takes much notice of it, as they don't expect it to increase much in violence. i don't agree with them in that," he added gravely. "why not?" asked nigel. "partly because of the length of time that has elapsed since its last eruption in 1680; partly from the fact that that eruption--judging from appearances--must have been a very tremendous one, and partly because my knowledge of volcanic action leads me to expect it; but i could not easily explain the reason for my conclusions on the latter point. i have just been to the brow of a ridge not far off whence i have seen the glow in the sky of the krakatoa fires. they do not, however, appear to be very fierce at the present moment." as he spoke there was felt by the travellers a blow, as if of an explosion under the house in which they sat. it was a strong vertical bump which nearly tossed them all off their chairs. van der kemp and his man, after an exclamation or two, continued supper like men who were used to such interruptions, merely remarking that it was an earthquake. but nigel, to whom it was not quite so familiar, stood up for a few seconds with a look of anxious uncertainty, as if undecided as to the path of duty and prudence in the circumstances. moses relieved him. "sot down, massa nadgel," said that sable worthy, as he stuffed his mouth full of rice; "it's easier to sot dan to stand w'en its eart'quakin'." nigel sat down with a tendency to laugh, for at that moment he chanced to glance at the rafters above, where he saw a small anxious-faced monkey gazing down at him. he was commenting on this creature when another prolonged shock of earthquake came. it was not a bump like the previous one, but a severe vibration which only served to shake the men in their chairs, but it shook the small monkey off the rafter, and the miserable little thing fell with a shriek and a flop into the rice-dish! "git out o' dat--you scoundril!" exclaimed moses, but the order was needless, for the monkey bounced out of it like indiarubber and sought to hide its confusion in the thatch, while moses helped himself to some more of the rice, which, he said; was none the worse for being monkeyfied! at last our travellers found themselves in the town of telok betong, where, being within forty-five miles of krakatoa, the hermit could both see and hear that his island-home was in violent agitation; tremendous explosions occurring frequently, while dense masses of smoke were ascending from its craters. "i'm happy to find," said the hermit, soon after their arrival in the town, "that the peak of rakata, on the southern part of the island where my cave lies, is still quiet and has shown no sign of breaking out. and now i shall go and see after my canoe." "do you think it safe to venture to visit your cave?" asked nigel. "well, not absolutely safe," returned the hermit with a peculiar smile, "but, of course, if you think it unwise to run the risk of--" "i asked a simple question, van der kemp, without any thought of myself," interrupted the youth, as he flushed deeply. "forgive me, nigel," returned the hermit quickly and gravely, "it is but my duty to point out that we cannot go there without running _some_ risk." "and it is _my_ duty to point out," retorted his hurt friend, "that when any man, worthy of the name, agrees to follow another, he agrees to accept all risks." to this the hermit vouchsafed no further reply than a slight smile and nod of intelligence. thereafter he went off alone to inquire about his canoe, which, it will be remembered, his friend, the captain of the steamer, had promised to leave for him at this place. telok betong, which was one of the severest sufferers by the eruption of 1883, is a small town at the head of lampong bay, opposite to the island of krakatoa, from which it is between forty and fifty miles distant. it is built on a narrow strip of land at the base of a steep mountain, but little above the sea, and is the chief town of the lampong residency, which forms the most southerly province of sumatra. at the time we write of, the only european residents of the place were connected with government. the rest of the population was composed of a heterogeneous mass of natives mingled with a number of chinese, a few arabs, and a large fluctuating population of traders from borneo, celebes, new guinea, siam, and the other innumerable isles of the archipelago. these were more or less connected with praus laden with the rich and varied merchandise of the eastern seas. as each man in the town had been permitted to build his house according to his own fancy, picturesque irregularity was the agreeable result. it may be added that, as each man spoke his own language in his own tones, babel and noise were the consequence. in a small hut by the waterside the hermit found the friend--a malay--to whom his canoe had been consigned, and, in a long low shed close by, he found the canoe itself with the faithful spinkie in charge. "don't go near the canoe till you've made friends with the monkey," said the malay in his own tongue, as he was about to put the key in the door. "why not?" asked the hermit. "because it is the savagest brute i ever came across," said the man. "it won't let a soul come near the canoe. i would have killed it long ago if the captain of the steamer had not told me you wished it to be taken great care of. there, look out! the vixen is not tied up." he flung open the shed-door and revealed spinkie seated in his old place, much deteriorated in appearance and scowling malevolently. the instant the poor creature heard its master's voice and saw his form--for his features must have been invisible against the strong light--the scowl vanished from its little visage. with a shriek of joy it sprang like an acrobat from a spring-board and plunged into the hermit's bosom--to the alarm of the malay, who thought this was a furious attack. we need not say that van der kemp received his faithful little servant kindly, and it was quite touching to observe the monkey's intense affection for him. it could not indeed wag its tail like a dog, but it put its arms round its master's neck with a wondrously human air, and rubbed its little head in his beard and whiskers, drawing itself back now and then, putting its black paws on his cheeks, turning his face round to the light and opening its round eyes wide--as well as its round little mouth--as if to make sure of his identity--then plunging into the whiskers again, and sometimes, when unable to contain its joy, finding a safety-valve in a little shriek. when the meeting and greeting were over, van der kemp explained that he would require his canoe by daybreak the following morning, ordered a few provisions to be got ready, and turned to leave. "you must get down, spinkie, and watch the canoe for one night more," said the hermit, quietly. but spinkie did not seem to perceive the necessity, for he clung closer to his master with a remonstrative croak. "get down, spinkie," said the hermit firmly, "and watch the canoe." the poor beast had apparently learned that medo-persic law was not more unchangeable than van der kemp's commands! at all events it crept down his arm and leg, waddled slowly over the floor of the shed with bent back and wrinkled brow, like a man of ninety, and took up its old position on the deck, the very personification of superannuated woe. the hermit patted its head gently, however, thus relieving its feelings, and probably introducing hope into its little heart before leaving. then he returned to his friends and bade them prepare for immediate departure. it was the night of the 24th of august, and as the eruptions of the volcano appeared to be getting more and more violent, van der kemp's anxiety to reach his cave became visibly greater. "i have been told," said the hermit to nigel, as they went down with moses to the place where the canoe had been left, "the history of krakatoa since we left. a friend informs me that a short time after our departure the eruptions subsided a little, and the people here had ceased to pay much attention to them, but about the middle of june the volcanic activity became more violent, and on the 19th, in particular, it was observed that the vapour column and the force of the explosions were decidedly on the increase." "at katimbang, from which place the island can be seen, it was noticed that a second column of vapour was ascending from the centre of the island, and that the appearance of perboewatan had entirely changed, its conspicuous summit having apparently been blown away. in july there were some explosions of exceptional violence, and i have now no doubt that it was these we heard in the interior of this island when we were travelling hither, quite lately. on the 11th of this month, i believe, the island was visited in a boat by a government officer, but he did not land, owing to the heavy masses of vapour and dust driven about by the wind, which also prevented him from making a careful examination, but he could see that the forests of nearly the whole island have been destroyed--only a few trunks of blighted trees being left standing above the thick covering of pumice and dust. he reported that the dust near the shore was found to be twenty inches thick." "if so," said nigel, "i fear that the island will be no longer fit to inhabit." "i know not," returned the hermit sadly, in a musing tone. "the officer reported that there is no sign of eruption at rakata, so that my house is yet safe, for no showers of pumice, however deep, can injure the cave." nigel was on the point of asking his friend why he was so anxious to revisit the island at such a time, but, recollecting his recent tiff on that subject, refrained. afterwards, however, when van der kemp was settling accounts with the malay, he put the question to moses. "i can't help wondering," he said, "that van der kemp should be so anxious to get back to his cave just now. if he were going in a big boat to save some of his goods and chattels i could understand it, but the canoe, you know, could carry little more than her ordinary lading." "well, massa nadgel," said moses, "it's my opinion dat he wants to go back 'cause he's got an uncommon affekshnit heart." "how? surely you don't mean that his love of the mere place is so strong that--" "no, no, massa nadgel--'s not dat. but he was awrful fond ob his wife an' darter, an' i know he's got a photogruff ob 'em bof togidder, an' i t'ink he'd sooner lose his head dan lose dat, for i've seed him look at 'em for hours, an' kiss 'em sometimes w'en he t'ought i was asleep." the return of the hermit here abruptly stopped the conversation. the canoe was carried down and put into the water, watched with profound interest by hundreds of natives and traders, who were all more or less acquainted with the hermit of rakata. it was still daylight when they paddled out into lampong bay, but the volumes of dust which rose from krakatoa--although nearly fifty miles off--did much to produce an unusually early twilight. "goin' to be bery dark, massa," remarked moses as they glided past the shipping. "shall i light de lamp?" "do, moses, but we shan't need it, for as we get nearer home the volcanic fires will light us on our way." "de volcanic dust is a-goin' to powder us on our way too, massa. keep your hands out o' the way, spinkie," said the negro as he fixed a small oil-lamp to the mast, and resumed his paddle. "after we get out a bit the wind will help us," said the hermit. "yes, massa, if he don't blow too strong," returned moses, as a squall came rushing down the mountains and swept over the bay, ruffling its now dark waters into foaming wavelets. altogether, what with the increasing darkness and the hissing squall, and the night-voyage before them, and the fires of krakatoa which were now clearly visible on the horizon, nigel boy felt a more eerie sensation in his breast than he ever remembered to have experienced in all his previous life, but he scorned to admit the fact--even to himself, and said, mentally, that it was rather romantic than otherwise! just then there burst upon their ears the yell of a steam-whistle, and a few moments later a steamer bore straight down on them, astern. "steamer ahoy!" shouted van der kemp. "will ye throw us a rope?" "ay! ay!--ease 'er!--stop 'er! where are 'ee bound for?" demanded an unmistakably english voice. "krakatoa!" replied the hermit. "where are you?" "anjer, on the java coast. do 'ee want to be smothered, roasted, and blown up?" asked the captain, looking down on the canoe as it ranged alongside the dark hull. "no, we want to get home." "home! well, you're queer fellows in a queer eggshell for such waters. every man to his taste. look out for the rope!" "all right, cappen," cried moses as he caught the coil. next moment the steamer went ahead, and the canoe ploughed over the sunda straits at the rate of thirteen miles an hour, with her sharp prow high out of the water, and the stern correspondingly low. the voyage, which would have otherwise cost our three travellers a long laborious night and part of next day, was by this means so greatly shortened that when daybreak arrived they were not more than thirteen miles to the east of krakatoa. nearer than this the steamboat could not take them without going out of her course, but as van der kemp and nigel gratefully acknowledged, it was quite near enough. "well, i should just think it was rather too near!" said the captain with a grin. and, truly, he was justified in making the remark, for the explosions from the volcano had by that time become not only very frequent, but tremendously loud, while the dense cloud which hung above it and spread far and wide over the sky covered the sea with a kind of twilight that struggled successfully against the full advent of day. lightning too was playing among the rolling black masses of smoke, and the roaring explosions every now and then seemed to shake the very heavens. casting off the tow-rope, they turned the bow of their canoe to the island. as a stiffish breeze was blowing, they set the sails, close-reefed, and steered for the southern shore at that part which lay under the shadow of rakata. chapter xxiv. an awful night and terrible morning. it was a matter of some satisfaction to find on drawing near to the shore that the peak of rakata was still intact, and that, although most other parts of the island which could be seen were blighted by fire and covered deeply with pumice dust, much of the forest in the immediate neighbourhood of the cave was still undestroyed though considerably damaged. "d'you think our old harbour will be available, moses?" asked van der kemp as they came close to the first headland. "pr'aps. bes' go an' see," was the negro's practical reply. "evidently rakata is not yet active," said nigel, looking up at the grey dust-covered crags as the canoe glided swiftly through the dark water. "that is more than can be said for the other craters," returned the hermit. "it seems to me that not only all the old ones are at work, but a number of new ones must have been opened." the constant roaring and explosions that filled their ears and the rain of fine ashes bore testimony to the truth of this, though the solid and towering mass of rakata rose between them and the part of krakatoa which was in eruption, preventing their seeing anything that was passing except the dense masses of smoke, steam, and dust which rose many miles into the heavens, obstructing the light of day, but forming cloud-masses from which the lurid flames of the volcano were reflected downward. on reaching the little bay or harbour it was found much as they had left it, save that the rocks and bushes around were thickly covered with dust, and their boat was gone. "strange! at such a time one would scarcely have expected thieves to come here," said the hermit, looking slowly round. "no t'ief bin here, massa," said moses, looking over the side of the canoe. "i see de boat!" he pointed downwards as he spoke, and on looking over the side they saw the wreck of the boat at the bottom, in about ten feet of water, and crushed beneath a ponderous mass of lava, which must have been ejected from the volcano and afterwards descended upon the boat. the destruction of the boat rendered it impossible to remove any of the property of the hermit, and nigel now saw, from his indifference, that this could not have been the cause of his friend's anxiety and determination to reach his island home in spite of the danger that such a course entailed. that there was considerable danger soon became very obvious, for, having passed to some extent at this point beyond the shelter of the cliffs of rakata, and come partly into view of the other parts of the island, the real extent of the volcanic violence burst upon nigel and moses as a new revelation. the awful sublimity of the scene at first almost paralysed them, and they failed to note that not only did a constant rain of pumice dust fall upon them, but that there was also a pretty regular dropping of small stones into the water around them. their attention was sharply aroused to this fact by the fall of a lump of semi-molten rock, about the size of a cannon shot, a short distance off, which was immediately followed by not less than a cubic yard of lava which fell close to the canoe and deluged them with spray. "we must go," said the hermit quietly. "no need to expose ourselves here, though the watching of the tremendous forces that our creator has at command does possess a wonderful kind of fascination. it seems to me the more we see of his power as exerted on our little earth, the more do we realise the paltriness of our conception of the stupendous might that upholds the universe." while he was speaking, van der kemp guided the canoe into its little haven, and in a few minutes he and moses had carried it into the shelter of the cave out of which nigel had first seen it emerge. then the lading was carried up, after which they turned into the track which led to the hermit's home. the whole operation may be said to have been performed under fire, for small masses of rock kept pattering continually on the dust-covered ground around them, causing cloudlets, like smoke, to spring up wherever they struck. nigel and moses could not resist glancing upward now and then as they moved quickly to and fro, and they experienced a shrinking sensation when a stone fell very near them, but each scorned to exhibit the smallest trace of anxiety, or to suggest that the sooner they got from under fire the better! as for van der kemp, he moved about deliberately as if there was nothing unusual going on, and with an absent look on his grave face as though the outbursts of smoke, and fire, and lava, which turned the face of day into lurid night, and caused the cliffs to reverberate with unwonted thunders, had no effect whatever on his mind. a short walk, however, along the track, which was more than ankle-deep in dust, brought them under the sheltering sides of rakata, up which they soon scrambled to the mouth of their cave. here all was found as they had left it, save that the entrance was knee-deep in pumice dust. and now a new and very strange sensation was felt by each of them, for the loud reports and crackling sounds which had assailed their ears outside were reduced by the thick walls of the cave to a continuous dull groan, as it were, like the soft but thunderous bass notes of a stupendous organ. to these sounds were added others which seemed to be peculiar to the cave itself. they appeared to rise from crevices in the floor, and were no doubt due to the action of those pent-up subterranean fires which were imprisoned directly, though it may be very far down, under their feet. every now and then there came a sudden increase of the united sounds as if the "swell" of the great organ had been opened, and such out-gushing was always accompanied with more or less of indescribable shocks followed by prolonged tremors of the entire mountain. if the three friends had been outside to observe what was taking place, they would have seen that these symptoms were simultaneous with occasional and extremely violent outbursts from the crater of perboewatan and his compeers. indeed they guessed as much, and two of them at least were not a little thankful that, awesome as their position was, they had the thick mountain between them and the fiery showers outside. of all this the hermit took no notice, but, hastening into the inner cavern, opened a small box, and took therefrom a bundle of papers and a little object which, at a first glance, nigel supposed to be a book, but which turned out to be a photograph case. these the hermit put carefully into the breastpocket of his coat and then turned to his companions with a sigh as if of relief. "i think there is no danger of anything occurring at this part of the island," he remarked, looking round the cave, "for there is no sign of smoke and no sulphurous smell issuing from any of the crevices in walls or floor. this, i think, shows that there is no direct communication with rakata and the active volcano--at least not at present." "do you then think there is a possibility of an outbreak at some future period?" asked nigel. "who can tell? people here, who don't study the nature of volcanoes much, though surrounded by them, will expect things ere long to resume their normal condition. i can never forget the fact that the greater part of krakatoa stands, as you know, exactly above the spot where the two great lines of volcanic action cross, and right over the mouth of the immense crater to which perboewatan and all the other craters serve as mere chimneys or safety-valves. we cannot tell whether a great eruption similar to that of 1680 may not be in store for us. the only reason that i can see for the quiescence of this peak of rakata is, as i said to you once before, that it stands not so much above the old crater as above and on the safe side of its lip." "i t'ink, massa, if i may ventur' to speak," said moses, "dat de sooner we git off his lip de better lest we tumble into his mout'." "you may be right, moses, and i have no objection to quit," returned the hermit, "now that i have secured the photograph and papers. at the same time i fear the rain of stones and lava is growing worse. it might be safer to stay till there is a lull in the violence of the eruption, and then make a dash for it. what say you, nigel?" "i say that you know best, van der kemp. i'm ready to abide by your decision, whatever it be." "well, then, we will go out and have a look at the state of matters." the view from the entrance was not calculated to tempt them to forsake the shelter of the cave, however uncertain that might be. the latest explosions had enshrouded the island in such a cloud of smoke and dust, that nothing whatever was visible beyond a few yards in front, and even that space was only seen by the faint rays of the lamp issuing from the outer cave. this lamp-light was sufficient, however, to show that within the semicircle of a few yards there was a continuous rain of grey ashes and dust mingled with occasional stones of various sizes--some larger than a man's fist. "to go out in that would be simply to court death," said nigel, whose voice was almost drowned by the noise of the explosions and fall of material. as it was manifest that nothing could be done at the moment except to wait patiently, they returned to the cave, where they lighted the oil-stove, and moses--who had taken the precaution to carry up some provisions in a bag from the canoe--proceeded to prepare a meal. "stummicks must be attended to," he murmured to himself as he moved about the cave-kitchen and shook his head gravely. "collapses in dat region is wuss, a long way, dan 'splosion of the eart'!" meanwhile, nigel and the hermit went to examine the passage leading to the observatory. the eruption had evidently done nothing to it, for, having passed upwards without difficulty, they finally emerged upon the narrow ledge. the scene that burst upon their astonished gaze here was awful in the extreme. it will be remembered that while the hermit's cave was on the southern side of krakatoa, facing java, the stair and passage leading to the observatory completely penetrated the peak of rakata, so that when standing on the ledge they faced northward and were thus in full view of all the craters between them and perboewatan. these were in full blast at the time, and, being so near, the heat, as well as the dust, molten lava, and other missiles, instantly drove them back under the protection of the passage from which they had emerged. here they found a small aperture which appeared to have been recently formed--probably by a blow from a mass of falling rock--through which they were able to obtain a glimpse of the pandemonium that lay seething below them. they could not see much, however, owing to the smoke which filled the air. the noise of the almost continuous explosions was so loud, that it was impossible to converse save by placing the mouth to the ear and shouting. fortunately soon after their ascent the wind shifted and blew smoke, fire, and dust away to the northward, enabling them to get out on the ledge, where for a time they remained in comparative safety. "look! look at your mirrors!" exclaimed nigel suddenly, as his wandering gaze happened to turn to the hermit's sun-guides. and he might well exclaim, for not only was the glass of these ingenious machines shivered and melted, but their iron frameworks were twisted up into fantastic shapes. "lightning has been at work here," said van der kemp. it did not at the moment occur to either of them that the position on which they stood was peculiarly liable to attack by the subtle and dangerous fluid which was darting and zig-zagging everywhere among the rolling clouds of smoke and steam. a louder report than usual here drew their attention again to the tremendous scene that was going on in front of them. the extreme summit of perboewatan had been blown into a thousand fragments, which were hurtling upwards and crackling loudly as the smaller masses were impelled against each other in their skyward progress. this crackling has been described by those who heard it from neighbouring shores as a "strange rustling sound." to our hermit and his friend, who were, so to speak, in the very midst of it, the sound rather resembled the continuous musketry of a battle-field, while the louder explosions might be compared to the booming of artillery, though they necessarily lose by the comparison, for no invention of man ever produced sounds equal to those which thundered at that time from the womb of krakatoa. immediately after this, a fountain of molten lava at white heat welled up in the great throat that had been so violently widened, and, overflowing the edges of the crater, rolled down its sides in fiery rivers. all the other craters in the island became active at the same moment and a number of new ones burst forth. indeed it seemed to those who watched them that if these had not opened up to give vent to the suppressed forces the whole island must have been blown away. as it was, the sudden generation of so much excessive heat set fire to what remained of trees and everything combustible, so that the island appeared to be one vast seething conflagration, and darkness was for a time banished by a red glare that seemed to nigel far more intense than that of noonday. it is indeed the partiality (if we may say so) of conflagration-light which gives to it the character of impressive power with which we are all so familiar--the intense lights being here cut sharply off by equally intense shadows, and then grading into dull reds and duller greys. the sun, on the other hand, bathes everything in its genial glow so completely that all nature is permeated with it, and there are no intense contrasts, no absolutely black and striking shadows, except in caverns and holes, to form startling contrasts. "these safety-valves," said the hermit, referring to the new craters, "have, under god, been the means of saving us from destruction." "it would seem so," said nigel, who was too overwhelmed by the sight to say much. even as he spoke the scene changed as if by magic, for from the cone of perboewatan there issued a spout of liquid fire, followed by a roar so tremendous that the awe-struck men shrank within themselves, feeling as though that time had really come when the earth is to melt with fervent heat! the entire lake of glowing lava was shot into the air, and lost in the clouds above, while mingled smoke and steam went bellowing after it, and dust fell so thickly that it seemed as if sufficient to extinguish the raging fires. whether it did so or not is uncertain. it may have been that the new pall of black vapour only obscured them. at all events, after the outburst the darkness of night fell suddenly on all around. just then the wind again changed, and the whole mass of vapour, smoke, and ashes came sweeping like the very besom of destruction towards the giddy ledge on which the observers stood. nigel was so entranced that it is probable he might have been caught in the horrible tempest and lost had not his cooler companion grasped his arm and dragged him violently into the passage--where they were safe, though half suffocated by the heat and sulphurous vapours that followed them. at the same time the thunderous roaring became so loud that conversation was impossible. van der kemp therefore took his friend's hand and led him down to the cave, where the sounds were so greatly subdued as to seem almost a calm by contrast. "we are no doubt in great danger," said the hermit, gravely, as he sat down in the outer cave, "but there is no possibility of taking action to-night. here we are, whether wisely or unwisely, and here we must remain--at least till there is a lull in the eruption. 'god is our refuge.' he ought to be so at _all_ times, but there are occasions when this great, and, i would add, glorious fact is pressed upon our understandings with unusual power. such a time is this. come--we will see what his word says to us just now." to nigel's surprise, and, he afterwards confessed, to his comfort and satisfaction, the hermit called the negro from his work, and, taking down the large bible from its shelf, read part of the 46th psalm, "god is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea." he stopped reading at the verse where it is written, "be still, and know that i am god." then, going down on his knees,--without even the familiar formula, "let us pray"--he uttered a brief but earnest prayer for guidance and deliverance "in the name of jesus." rising, he quietly put the bible away, and, with the calmness of a thoroughly practical man, who looks upon religion and ordinary matters as parts of one grand whole, ordered moses to serve the supper. thus they spent part of that memorable night of 26th august 1883 in earnest social intercourse, conversing chiefly and naturally about the character, causes, and philosophy of volcanoes, while perboewatan and his brethren played a rumbling, illustrative accompaniment to their discourse. the situation was a peculiar one. even the negro was alive to that fact. "ain't it koorious," he remarked solemnly in a moment of confidence after swallowing the last bite of his supper. "ain't it koorious, massa nadgel, dat we're a sottin' here comf'rably enjoyin' our wittles ober de mout' ob a v'licano as is quite fit to blow us all to bits an' hois' us into de bery middle ob next week--if not farder?" "it is strange indeed, moses," said nigel, who however added no commentary, feeling indisposed to pursue the subject. seeing this, moses turned to his master. "massa," he said. "you don' want nuffin' more to-night, i s'pose?" "no, moses, nothing." "an' is you _quite_ easy in your mind?" "quite," replied the hermit with his peculiar little smile. "den it would be wuss dan stoopid for me to be _on_easy, so i'll bid ye bof good-night, an' turn in." in this truly trustful as well as philosophical state of mind, the negro retired to his familiar couch in the inner cave, and went to sleep. nigel and the hermit sat up for some time longer. "van der kemp," said the former, after a pause, "i--i trust you won't think me actuated by impertinent curiosity if i venture to ask you about --the--photograph that i think you----" "my young friend!" interrupted the hermit, taking the case in question from his breast pocket; "i should rather apologise to you for having appeared to make any mystery of it--and yet," he added, pausing as he was about to open the case, "i have not shown it to a living soul since the day that--well, well,--why should i hesitate? it is all i have left of my dead wife and child." he placed the case in the hands of nigel, who almost sprang from his seat with excitement as he beheld the countenance of a little child of apparently three or four years of age, who so exactly resembled kathy holbein--allowing of course for the difference of age--that he had now no doubt whatever as to her being the hermit's lost daughter. he was on the point of uttering her name, when uncertainty as to the effect the sudden disclosure might have upon the father checked him. "you seem surprised, my friend," said van der kemp gently. "most beautiful!" said nigel, gazing intently at the portrait. "that dear child's face seems so familiar to me that i could almost fancy i had seen it." he looked earnestly into his friend's face as he spoke, but the hermit was quite unmoved, and there was not a shadow of change in the sad low tone of his voice as he said-"yes, she was indeed beautiful, like her mother. as to your fancy about having seen it--mankind is formed in groups and types. we see many faces that resemble others." the absent look that was so common to the solitary man here overspread his massive features, and nigel felt crushed, as it were, back into himself. thus, without having disclosed his belief, he retired to rest in a very anxious state of mind, while the hermit watched. "don't take off your clothes," he said. "if the sounds outside lead me to think things are quieting down, i will rouse you and we shall start at once." it was very early on the morning of the 27th when van der kemp roused our hero. "are things quieter?" asked nigel as he rose. "yes, a little, but not much--nevertheless we must venture to leave." "is it daylight yet?" "no. there will be no daylight to-day!" with which prophecy the hermit left him and went to rouse moses. "massa," said the faithful negro. "isn't you a goin' to take nuffin' wid you? none ob de books or t'ings?" "no--nothing except the old bible. all the rest i leave behind. the canoe could not carry much. besides, we may have little time. get ready; quick! and follow me." moses required no spur. the three men left the cave together. it was so intensely dark that the road could not be distinguished, but the hermit and his man were so familiar with it that they could have followed it blindfold. on reaching the cave at the harbour, some light was obtained from the fitful outbursts of the volcano, which enabled them to launch the canoe and push off in safety. then, without saying a word to each other, they coasted along the shore of the island, and, finally, leaving its dangers behind, them, made for the island of java--poor spinkie sitting in his accustomed place and looking uncommonly subdued! scarcely had they pushed off into sunda straits when the volcano burst out afresh. they had happily seized on the only quiet hour that the day offered, and had succeeded, by the aid of the sails, in getting several miles from the island without receiving serious injury, although showers of stones and masses of rock of all sizes were falling into the sea around them. van der kemp was so far right in his prophecy that there would be no daylight that day. by that time there should have been light, as it was nearly seven o'clock on the memorable morning of the 27th of august. but now, although the travellers were some miles distant from krakatoa, the gloom was so impervious that nigel, from his place in the centre of the canoe, could not see the form of poor spinkie--which sat clinging to the mast only two feet in front of him--save when a blaze from perboewatan or one of the other craters lighted up island and ocean with a vivid glare. at this time the sea began to run very high and the wind increased to a gale, so that the sails of the canoe, small though they were, had to be reduced. "lower the foresail, nigel," shouted the hermit. "i will close-reef it. do you the same to the mainsail." "ay, ay, sir," was the prompt reply. moses and nigel kept the little craft straight to the wind while the foresail was being reefed, van der kemp and the former performing the same duty while nigel reefed the mainsail. suddenly there came a brief but total cessation of the gale, though not of the tumultuous heaving of the waters. during that short interval there burst upon the world a crash and a roar so tremendous that for a few moments the voyagers were almost stunned! it is no figure of speech to say that the _world_ heard the crash. hundreds, ay, thousands of miles did the sound of that mighty upheaval pass over land and sea to startle, more or less, the nations of the earth. the effect of a stupendous shock on the nervous system is curiously various in different individuals. the three men who were so near to the volcano at that moment involuntarily looked round and saw by the lurid blaze that an enormous mass of krakatoa, rent from top to bottom, was falling headlong into the sea; while the entire heavens were alive with flame, lightning, steam, smoke, and the upward-shooting fragments of the hideous wreck! the hermit calmly rested his paddle on the deck and gazed around in silent wonder. nigel, not less smitten with awe, held his paddle with an iron grasp, every muscle quivering with tension in readiness for instant action when the need for action should appear. moses, on the other hand, turning round from the sight with glaring eyes, resumed paddling with unreasoning ferocity, and gave vent at once to his feelings and his opinion in the sharp exclamation--"blown to bits!" [illustration: blown to bits--page 342.] chapter xxv. adventures of the "sunshine" and an unexpected reunion. we must request the reader to turn back now for a brief period to a very different scene. a considerable time before the tremendous catastrophe described in the last chapter--which we claim to have recorded without the slightest exaggeration, inasmuch as exaggeration were impossible--captain david roy, of the good brig _sunshine_, received the letter which his son wrote to him while in the jungles of sumatra. the captain was seated in the back office of a batavian merchant at the time, smoking a long clay pipe--on the principle, no doubt, that moderate poisoning is conducive to moderate health! as he perused the letter, the captain's eyes slowly opened; so did his mouth, and the clay pipe, falling to the floor, was reduced to little pieces. but the captain evidently cared nothing for that. he gave forth a prolonged whistle, got up, smote upon his thigh, and exclaimed with deep-toned emphasis-"the _rascal_!" then he sat down again and re-perused the letter, with a variety of expression on his face that might have recalled the typical april day, minus the tears. "the rascal!" he repeated, as he finished the second reading of the letter and thrust it into his pocket. "i knew there was somethin' i' the wind wi' that little girl! the memory o' my own young days when i boarded and captured the poetess is strong upon me yet. i saw it in the rascal's eye the very first time they met--an' he thinks i'm as blind as a bat, i'll be bound, with his poetical reef-point-pattering sharpness. but it's a strange discovery he has made and must be looked into. the young dog! he gives me orders as if he were the owner." jumping up, captain roy hurried out into the street. in passing the outer office he left a message with one of the clerks for his friend the merchant. "tell him," he said, "that i'll attend to that little business about the bill when i come back. i'm going to sail for the keeling islands this afternoon." "the keeling islands?" exclaimed the clerk in surprise. "yes--i've got business to do there. i'll be back, all bein' well, in a week--more or less." the clerk's eyebrows remained in a raised position for a few moments, until he remembered that captain roy, being owner of his ship and cargo, was entitled to do what he pleased with his own and himself. then they descended, and he went on with his work, amusing himself with the thought that the most curious beings in the world were seafaring men. "mr. moor," said the captain somewhat excitedly, as he reached the deck of his vessel, "are all the men aboard?" "all except jim sloper, sir." "then send and hunt up jim sloper at once, for we sail this afternoon for the keeling islands." "very well, sir." mr. moor was a phlegmatic man; a self-contained and a reticent man. if captain roy had told him to get ready to sail to the moon that afternoon, he would probably have said "very well, sir," in the same tone and with the same expression. "may i ask, sir, what sort of cargo you expect there?" said mr. moor; for to his practical mind some re-arrangement of the cargo already on board might be necessary for the reception of that to be picked up at keeling. "the cargo we'll take on board will be a girl," said the captain. "a what, sir?". "a girl." "very well, sir." this ended the business part of the conversation. thereafter they went into details so highly nautical that we shrink from recording them. an amateur detective, in the form of a shipmate, having captured jim sloper, the _sunshine_ finally cleared out of the port of batavia that evening, shortly before its namesake took his departure from that part of the southern hemisphere. favouring gales carried the brig swiftly through sunda straits and out into the indian ocean. two days and a half brought her to the desired haven. on the way, captain roy took note of the condition of krakatoa, which at that time was quietly working up its subterranean forces with a view to the final catastrophe; opening a safety-valve now and then to prevent, as it were, premature explosion. "my son's friend, the hermit of rakata," said the captain to his second mate, "will find his cave too hot to hold him, i think, when he returns." "looks like it, sir," said mr. moor, glancing up at the vast clouds which were at that time spreading like a black pall over the re-awakened volcano. "do you expect 'em back soon, sir?" "yes--time's about up now. i shouldn't wonder if they reach batavia before us." arrived at the keeling islands, captain roy was received, as usual, with acclamations of joy, but he found that he was by no means as well fitted to act the part of a diplomatist as he was to sail a ship. it was, in truth, a somewhat delicate mission on which his son had sent him, for he could not assert definitely that the hermit actually was kathleen holbein's father, and her self-constituted parents did not relish the idea of letting slip, on a mere chance, one whom they loved as a daughter. "why not bring this man who claims to be her father _here_?" asked the perplexed holbein. "because--because, p'raps he won't come," answered the puzzled mariner, who did not like to say that he was simply and strictly obeying his son's orders. "besides," he continued, "the man does not claim to be anything at all. so far as i understand it, my boy has not spoken to him on the subject, for fear, i suppose, of raisin' hopes that ain't to be realised." "he is right in that," said mrs. holbein, "and we must be just as careful not to raise false hopes in dear little kathy. as your son says, it may be a mistake after all. we must not open our lips to her about it." "right you are, madam," returned the captain. "mum's the word; and we've only got to say she's goin' to visit one of your old friends in anjer--which'll be quite true, you know, for the landlady o' the chief hotel there is a great friend o' yours, and we'll take kathy to her straight. besides, the trip will do her health a power o' good, though i'm free to confess it don't need no good to be done to it, bein' a.1 at the present time. now, just you agree to give the girl a holiday, an' i'll pledge myself to bring her back safe and sound--with her father, if he's _him_; without him if he isn't." with such persuasive words captain roy at length overcame the holbein objections. with the girl herself he had less difficulty, his chief anxiety being, as he himself said, "to give her reasons for wishin' her to go without tellin' lies." "wouldn't you like a trip in my brig to anjer, my dear girl?" he had almost said daughter, but thought it best not to be too precipitate. "oh! i should like it _so_ much," said kathleen, clasping her little hands and raising her large eyes to the captain's face. "_dear_ child!" said the captain to himself. then aloud, "well, i'll take you." "but i--i fear that father and mother would not like me to go--perhaps." "no fear o' them, my girl," returned the captain, putting his huge rough hand on her pretty little head as if in an act of solemn appropriation, for, unlike too many fathers, this exemplary man considered only the sweetness, goodness, and personal worth of the girl, caring not a straw for other matters, and being strongly of opinion that a man should marry young if he possess the spirit of a man or the means to support a wife. as he was particularly fond of kathleen, and felt quite sure that his son had deeper reasons than he chose to express for his course of action, he entertained a strong hope, not to say conviction, that she would also become fond of nigel, and that all things would thus work together for a smooth course to this case of true love. it will be seen from all this that captain david roy was a sanguine man. whether his hopes were well grounded or not remains to be seen. meanwhile, having, as mr. moor said, shipped the cargo, the _sunshine_ set sail once more for sunda straits in a measure of outward gloom that formed a powerful contrast to the sunny hopes within her commander's bosom, for krakatoa was at that time progressing rapidly towards the consummation of its designs, as partly described in the last chapter. short though that voyage was, it embraced a period of action so thrilling that ever afterwards it seemed a large slice of life's little day to those who went through it. we have said that the culminating incidents of the drama began on the night of the 26th. before that time, however, the cloud-pall was fast spreading over land and sea, and the rain of pumice and ashes had begun to descend. the wind being contrary, it was several days before the brig reached the immediate neighbourhood of krakatoa, and by that time the volcano had begun to enter upon the stage which is styled by vulcanologists "paroxysmal," the explosions being extremely violent as well as frequent. "it is very awful," said kathleen in a low voice, as she clasped the captain's arm and leaned her slight figure on it. "i have often heard the thunder of distant volcanoes, but never been so near as to hear such terrible sounds." "don't be frightened, my ducky," said the captain in a soothing tone, for he felt from the appearance of things that there was indeed some ground for alarm. "volcanoes always look worse when you're near them." "i not frightened," she replied. "only i got strange, solemn feelings. besides, no danger can come till god allows." "that's right, lass. mrs. holbein has been a true mother if she taught you that." "no, she did not taught me that. my father taught me that." "what! old holbein?" "no--my father, who is dead," she said in a low voice. "oh! i see. my poor child, i should have understood you. forgive me." as the captain spoke, a tremendous outburst on krakatoa turned their minds to other subjects. they were by that time drawing near to the island, and the thunders of the eruption seemed to shake not only the heavens but even the great ocean itself. though the hour was not much past noon the darkness soon became so dense that it was difficult to perceive objects a few yards distant, and, as pieces of stone the size of walnuts, or even larger, began to fall on the deck, the captain sent kathleen below. "there's no saying where or when a big stone may fall, my girl," he said, "and it's not the habit of englishmen to let women come under fire, so you'll be safer below. besides, you'll be able to see something of what's goin' on out o' the cabin windows." with the obedience that was natural to her, kathleen went down at once, and the captain made everything as snug as possible, battening down the hatches and shortening sail so as to be ready for whatever might befall. "i don't like the look o' things, mr. moor," said the captain when the second mate came on deck to take his watch. "no more do i, sir," answered mr. moor calmly. the aspect of things was indeed very changeable. sometimes, as we have said, all nature seemed to be steeped in thick darkness, at other times the fires of the volcano blazed upward, spreading a red glare on the rolling clouds and over the heaving sea. lightning also played its part as well as thunder, but the latter was scarcely distinguishable from the volcano's roar. three days before sunday the 26th of august, captain roy--as well as the crews of several other vessels that were in sunda straits at the time--had observed a marked though gradual increase in the violence of the eruption. on that day, as we read in the _report of the krakatoa committee of the royal society_, about 1 p.m. the detonations caused by the explosive action attained such violence as to be heard at batavia, about 100 english miles away. at 2 p.m. of the same day, captain thompson of the _medea_, when about 76 miles e.n.e. of the island, saw a black mass rising like clouds of smoke to a height which has been estimated at no less than 17 miles! and the detonations were at that time taking place at intervals of ten minutes. but, terrible though these explosions must have been, they were but as the whisperings of the volcano. an hour later they had increased so much as to be heard at bandong and other places 150 miles away, and at 5 p.m. they had become so tremendous as to be heard over the whole island of java, the eastern portion of which is about 650 miles from krakatoa. and the sounds thus heard were not merely like distant thunder. in batavia--although, as we have said, 100 miles off--they were so violent during the whole of that terrible sunday night as to prevent the people from sleeping. they were compared to the "discharge of artillery close at hand," and caused a rattling of doors, windows, pictures, and chandeliers. captain watson of the _charles bal_, who chanced to be only 10 miles south of the volcano, also compared the sounds to discharges of artillery, but this only shows the feebleness of ordinary language in attempting to describe such extraordinary sounds, for if they were comparable to close artillery at batavia, the same comparison is inappropriate at only ten miles' distance. he also mentions the crackling noise, probably due to the impact of fragments in the atmosphere, which were noticed by the hermit and nigel while standing stunned and almost stupefied on the giddy ledge of rakata that same sunday. about five in the evening of that day, the brig _sunshine_ drew still nearer to the island, but the commotion at the time became so intense, and the intermittent darkness so profound, that captain roy was afraid to continue the voyage and shortened sail. not only was there a heavy rolling sea, but the water was seething, as if about to boil. "heave the lead, mr. moor," said the captain, who stood beside the wheel. "yes, sir," answered the imperturbable second mate, who thereupon gave the necessary order, and when the depth was ascertained, the report was "ten fathoms, sand, with a 'ot bottom." "a hot bottom! what do you mean?" "the lead's 'ot, sir," replied the sailor. this was true, as the captain found when he applied his hand to it. "i do believe the world's going on fire," he muttered; "but it's a comfort to know that it can't very well blaze up as long as the sea lasts!" just then a rain of pumice in large pieces, and quite warm, began to fall upon the deck. as most people know, pumice is extremely light, so that no absolute injury was done to any one, though such rain was excessively trying. soon, however, a change took place. the dense vapours and dust-clouds which had rendered it so excessively dark were entirely lighted up from time to time by fierce flashes of lightning which rent as well as painted them in all directions. at one time this great mass of clouds presented the appearance of an immense pine-tree with the stem and branches formed of volcanic lightning. captain roy, fearing that these tremendous sights and sounds would terrify the poor girl in the cabin, was about to look in and reassure her, when the words "oh! how splendid!" came through the slightly opened door. he peeped in and saw kathleen on her knees on the stern locker, with her hands clasped, gazing out of one of the stern windows. "hm! she's all right," he muttered, softly reclosing the door and returning on deck. "if she thinks it's splendid, she don't need no comfortin'! it's quite clear that she don't know what danger means--and why should she? humph! there go some more splendid sights for her," he added, as what appeared to be chains of fire ascended from the volcano to the sky. just then a soft rain began to fall. it was warm, and, on examination at the binnacle lamp, turned out to be mud. slight at first, it soon poured down in such quantities that in ten minutes it lay six inches thick on the deck, and the crew had to set to work with shovels to heave it overboard. at this time there was seen a continual roll of balls of white fire down the sides of the peak of rakata, caused, doubtless, by the ejection of white-hot fragments of lava. then showers of masses like iron cinders fell on the brig, and from that time onward till four o'clock of the morning of the 27th, explosions of indescribable grandeur continually took place, as if the mountains were in a continuous roar of terrestrial agony--the sky being at one moment of inky blackness, the next in a blaze of light, while hot, choking, and sulphurous smells almost stifled the voyagers. at this point the captain again became anxious about kathleen and went below. he found her in the same place and attitude--still fascinated! "my child," he said, taking her hand, "you must lie down and rest." "oh! no. do let me stay up," she begged, entreatingly. "but you must be tired--sleepy." "sleepy! who could sleep with such wonders going on around? pray _don't_ tell me to go to bed!" it was evident that poor kathy had the duty of obedience to authority still strong upon her. perhaps the memory of the holbein nursery had not yet been wiped out. "well, well," said the captain with a pathetic smile, "you are as safe--comfortable, i mean--here as in your berth or anywhere else." as there was a lull in the violence of the eruption just then, the captain left kathleen in the cabin and went on deck. it was not known at that time what caused this lull, but as it preceded the first of the four grand explosions which effectually eviscerated--emptied--the ancient crater of krakatoa, we will give, briefly, the explanation of it as conjectured by the men of science. lying as it did so close to the sea-level, the krakatoa volcano, having blown away all its cones, and vents, and safety-valves--from perboewatan southward, except the peak of rakata--let the sea rush in upon its infernal fires. this result, ordinary people think, produced a gush of steam which caused the grand terminal explosions. vulcanologists think otherwise, and with reason--which is more than can be said of ordinary people, who little know the power of the forces at work below the crust of our earth! the steam thus produced, although on so stupendous a scale, was free to expand and therefore went upwards, no doubt in a sufficiently effective gust and cloud. but nothing worthy of being named a blow-up was there. the effect of the in-rushing water was to cool the upper surface of the boiling lava and convert it into a thick hard solid crust at the mouth of the great vent. in this condition the volcano resembled a boiler with all points of egress closed and the safety-valve shut down! oceans of molten lava creating expansive gases below; no outlet possible underneath, and the neck of the bottle corked with tons of solid rock! one of two things must happen in such circumstances: the cork must go or the bottle must burst! both events happened on that terrible night. all night long the corks were going, and at last--krakatoa burst! in the hurly-burly of confusion, smoke, and noise, no eye could note the precise moment when the island was shattered, but there were on the morning of the 27th four supreme explosions, which rang loud and high above the horrible average din. these occurred--according to the careful investigations made, at the instance of the dutch indian government, by the eminent geologist, mr. r.d.m. verbeek--at the hours of 5.30, 6.44, 10.2, and 10.52 in the morning. of these the third, about 10, was by far the worst for violence and for the wide-spread devastation which it produced. at each of these explosions a tremendous sea-wave was created by the volcano, which swept like a watery ring from krakatoa as a centre to the surrounding shores. it was at the second of these explosions--that of 6.44--that the fall of the mighty cliff took place which was seen by the hermit and his friends as they fled from the island, and, on the crest of the resulting wave, were carried along they scarce knew whither. as the previous wave--that of 5.30--had given the brig a tremendous heave upwards, the captain, on hearing the second, ran down below for a moment to tell kathleen there would soon be another wave, but that she need fear no danger. "the brig is deep and has a good hold o' the water," he said, "so the wave is sure to slip under her without damage. i wish i could hope it would do as little damage when it reaches the shore." as he spoke a strange and violent crash was heard overhead, quite different from volcanic explosions, like the falling of some heavy body on the deck. "one o' the yards down!" muttered the captain as he ran to the cabin door. "hallo, what's that, mr. moor?" "canoe just come aboard, sir." "a canoe?" "yes, sir. crew, three men and a monkey. all insensible--hallo!" the "hallo!" with which the second mate finished his remark was so unlike his wonted tone, and so full of genuine surprise, that the captain ran forward with unusual haste, and found a canoe smashed to pieces against the foremast, and the mate held a lantern close to the face of one of the men while the crew were examining the others. a single glance told the captain that the mud-bespattered figure that lay before him as if dead was none other than his own son! the great wave had caught the frail craft on its crest, and, sweeping it along with lightning speed for a short distance, had hurled it on the deck of the _sunshine_ with such violence as to completely stun the whole crew. even spinkie lay in a melancholy little heap in the lee scuppers. you think this a far-fetched coincidence, good reader! well, all we can say is that we could tell you of another--a double--coincidence, which was far more extraordinary than this one, but as it has nothing to do with our tale we refrain from inflicting it on you. chapter xxvi. a climax. three of those who had tumbled thus unceremoniously on the deck of the _sunshine_ were soon sufficiently recovered to sit up and look around in dazed astonishment--namely nigel, moses, and the monkey--but the hermit still lay prone where he had been cast, with a pretty severe wound on his head, from which blood was flowing freely. "nigel, my boy!" "father!" exclaimed the youth. "where am i? what has happened?" "don't excite yourself, lad," said the mariner, stooping and whispering into his son's ear. "we've got _her_ aboard!" no treatment could have been more effectual in bringing nigel to his senses than this whisper. "is--is--van der kemp safe?" he asked anxiously. "all right--only stunned, i think. that's him they're just goin' to carry below. put 'im in my bunk, mr. moor." "ay ay, sir." nigel sprang up. "stay, father," he said in a low voice. "_she_ must not see him for the first time like this." "all right, boy. i understand. you leave that to me. my bunk has bin shifted for'id--more amidships--an' kathy's well aft. they shan't be let run foul of each other. you go an' rest on the main hatch till we get him down. why, here's a nigger! where did you pick him--oh! i remember. you're the man we met, i suppose, wi' the hermit on krakatoa that day o' the excursion from batavia." "yes, das me. but we'll meet on krakatoa no more, for dat place am blown to bits." "i'm pretty well convinced o' that by this time, my man. not hurt much, i hope?" "no, sar--not more 'n i can stan'. but i's 'fraid dat poor spinkie's a'most used up--hallo! what you gwine to do with massa?" demanded the negro, whose wandering faculties had only in part returned. "he's gone below. all right. now, you go and lie down beside my son on the hatch. i'll see to van der kemp." but captain david roy's intentions, like those of many men of greater note, were frustrated by the hermit himself, who recovered consciousness just as the four men who carried him reached the foot of the companion-ladder close to the cabin door. owing to the deeper than midnight darkness that prevailed a lamp was burning in the cabin--dimly, as if, infected by the universal chaos, it were unwilling to enlighten the surrounding gloom. on recovering consciousness van der kemp was, not unnaturally, under the impression that he had fallen into the hands of foes. with one effectual convulsion of his powerful limbs he scattered his bearers right and left, and turning--like all honest men--to the light, he sprang into the cabin, wrenched a chair from its fastenings, and, facing round, stood at bay. kathleen, seeing this blood-stained giant in such violent action, naturally fled to her cabin and shut the door. as no worse enemy than captain roy presented himself at the cabin door, unarmed, and with an anxious look on his rugged face, the hermit set down the chair, and feeling giddy sank down on it with a groan. "i fear you are badly hurt, sir. let me tie a handkerchief round your wounded head," said the captain soothingly. "thanks, thanks. your voice is not unfamiliar to me," returned the hermit with a sigh, as he submitted to the operation. "i thought i had fallen somehow into the hands of pirates. surely an accident must have happened. how did i get here? where are my comrades--nigel and the negro?" "my son nigel is all right, sir, and so is your man moses. make your mind easy--an' pray don't speak while i'm working at you. i'll explain it all in good time. stay, i'll be with you in a moment." the captain--fearing that kathleen might come out from curiosity to see what was going on, and remembering his son's injunction--went to the girl's berth with the intention of ordering her to keep close until he should give her leave to come out. opening the door softly and looking in, he was startled, almost horrified, to see kathleen standing motionless like a statue, with both hands pressed tightly over her heart. the colour had fled from her beautiful face; her long hair was flung back; her large lustrous eyes were wide open and her lips slightly parted, as if her whole being had been concentrated in eager expectancy. "what's wrong, my girl?" asked the captain anxiously. "you've no cause for fear. i just looked in to--." "that voice!" exclaimed kathleen, with something of awe in her tones--"oh! i've heard it _so_ often in my dreams." "hush! sh! my girl," said the captain in a low tone, looking anxiously round at the wounded man. but his precautions were unavailing,--van der kemp had also heard a voice which he thought had long been silent in death. the girl's expression was almost repeated in his face. before the well-meaning mariner could decide what to do, kathleen brushed lightly past him, and stood in the cabin gazing as if spell-bound at the hermit. "winnie!" he whispered, as if scarcely daring to utter the name. "father!" she extended both hands towards him as she spoke. then, with a piercing shriek, she staggered backward, and would have fallen had not the captain caught her and let her gently down. van der kemp vaulted the table, fell on his knees beside her, and, raising her light form, clasped her to his heart, just as nigel and moses, alarmed by the scream, sprang into the cabin. "come, come; away wi' you--you stoopid grampusses!" cried the captain, pushing the intruders out of the cabin, following them, and closing the door behind him. "this is no place for bunglers like you an' me. we might have known that natur' would have her way, an' didn't need no help from the like o' us. let's on deck. there's enough work there to look after that's better suited to us." truly there was enough--and more than enough--to claim the most anxious attention of all who were on board of the _sunshine_ that morning, for hot mud was still falling in showers on the deck, and the thunders of the great volcano were still shaking heaven, earth, and sea. to clear the decks and sails of mud occupied every one for some time so earnestly that they failed to notice at first that the hermit had come on deck, found a shovel, and was working away like the rest of them. the frequent and prolonged blazes of intense light that ever and anon banished the darkness showed that on his face there sat an expression of calm, settled, triumphant joy, which was strangely mingled with a look of quiet humility. "i thank god for this," said nigel, going forward when he observed him and grasping his hand. "you knew it?" exclaimed the hermit in surprise. "yes. i knew it--indeed, helped to bring you together, but did not dare to tell you till i was quite sure. i had hoped to have you meet in very different circumstances." "'it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps,'" returned the hermit reverently. "god bless you, nigel. if you have even aimed at bringing this about, i owe you _more_ than my life." "you must have lost a good deal of blood, van der kemp. are you much hurt?" asked nigel, as he observed the bandage round his friend's head. "somewhat. not much, i hope--but joy, as well as blood, gives strength, nigel." a report from a man who had just been ordered to take soundings induced the captain at this time to lay-to. "it seems to me," he said to nigel and the hermit who stood close beside him, "that we are getting too near shore. but in cases o' this kind the bottom o' the sea itself can't be depended on." "what part of the shore are we near, d' you think, father?" "stand by to let go the anchor!" roared the captain, instead of answering the question. "ay, ay, sir," replied the second mate, whose cool, sing-song, business-like tone at such a moment actually tended to inspire a measure of confidence in those around him. another moment, and the rattling chain caused a tremor through the vessel, which ceased when the anchor touched bottom, and they rode head to wind. coruscations of bluish light seemed to play about the masts, and balls of electric fire tipped the yards, throwing for a short time a ghastly sheen over the ship and crew, for the profound darkness had again settled down, owing, no doubt, to another choking of the krakatoa vent. before the light referred to went out, moses was struck violently on the chest by something soft, which caused him to stagger. it was spinkie! in the midst of the unusual horrors that surrounded him, while clinging to the unfamiliar mizzen shrouds on which in desperation the poor monkey had found a temporary refuge, the electric fire showed him the dark figure of his old familiar friend standing not far off. with a shriek of not quite hopeless despair, and an inconceivable bound, spinkie launched himself into space. his early training in the forest stood him in good stead at that crisis! as already said he hit the mark fairly, and clung to moses with a tenacity that was born of mingled love and desperation. finding that nothing short of cruelty would unfix his little friend, moses stuffed him inside the breast of his cotton shirt. in this haven of rest the monkey heaved a sigh of profound contentment, folded his hands on his bosom, and meekly went to sleep. two of the excessively violent paroxysms of the volcano, above referred to, had by that time taken place, but the third, and worst--that which occurred about 10 a.m.--was yet in store for them, though they knew it not, and a lull in the roar, accompanied by thicker darkness than ever, was its precursor. there was not, however, any lull in the violence of the wind. "i don't like these lulls," said captain roy to the hermit, as they stood close to the binnacle, in the feeble light of its lamp. "what is that striking against our sides, mr. moor?" "looks like floating pumice, sir," answered the second mate, "and i think i see palm-trees amongst it." "ay, i thought so, we must be close to land," said the captain. "we can't be far from anjer, and i fear the big waves that have already passed us have done some damage. lower a lantern over the side,--no, fetch an empty tar-barrel and let's have a flare. that will enable us to see things better." while the barrel was being fastened to a spar so as to be thrust well out beyond the side of the brig, van der kemp descended the companion and opened the cabin door. "come up now, winnie, darling." "yes, father," was the reply, as the poor girl, who had been anxiously awaiting the summons, glided out and clasped her father's arm with both hands. "are things quieting down?" "they are, a little. it may be temporary, but--our father directs it all." "true, father. i'm _so_ glad of that!" "mind the step, we shall have more light on deck. there is a friend there who has just told me he met you on the cocos-keeling island, nigel roy;--you start, winnie?" "y--yes, father. i am _so_ surprised, for it is _his_ father who sails this ship! and i cannot imagine how he or you came on board." "well, i was going to say that i believe it is partly through nigel that you and i have been brought together, but there is mystery about it that i don't yet understand; much has to be explained, and this assuredly is not the time or place. here, nigel, is your old keeling friend." "ay--friend! humph!" said old roy softly to himself. "my _dear_--child!" said young roy, paternally, to the girl as he grasped her hand. "i cannot tell you how thankful i am that this has been brought about, and--and that _i_ have had some little hand in it." "there's more than pumice floating about in the sea, sir," said mr. moor, coming aft at the moment and speaking to the captain in a low tone. "you'd better send the young lady below--or get some one to take up her attention just now." "here, nigel. sit down under the lee of the companion, an' tell kathy how this all came about," said the captain, promptly, as if issuing nautical orders. "i want you here, van der kemp." so saying, the captain, followed by the hermit, went with the second mate to the place where the flaming tar-barrel was casting a lurid glare upon the troubled sea. chapter xxvii. "blown to bits." the sight that met their eyes was well calculated to shock and sadden men of much less tender feeling than van der kemp and captain roy. the water had assumed an appearance of inky blackness, and large masses of pumice were floating past, among which were numerous dead bodies of men, women, and children, intermingled with riven trees, fences, and other wreckage from the land, showing that the two great waves which had already passed under the vessel had caused terrible devastation on some parts of the shore. to add to the horror of the scene large sea-snakes were seen swimming wildly about, as if seeking to escape from the novel dangers that surrounded them. the sailors looked on in awe-stricken silence for some time. "p'raps some of 'em may be alive yet!" whispered one. "couldn't we lower a boat?" "impossible in such a sea," said the captain, who overheard the remark. "besides, no life could exist there." "captain roy," said van der kemp earnestly, "let me advise you to get your foresail ready to hoist at a moment's notice, and let them stand by to cut the cable." "why so? there seems no need at present for such strong measures." "you don't understand volcanoes as i do," returned the hermit. "this lull will only last until the imprisoned fires overcome the block in the crater, and the longer it lasts the worse will be the explosion. from my knowledge of the coast i feel sure that we are close to the town of anjer. if another wave like the last comes while we are here, it will not slip under your brig like the last one. it will tear her from her anchor and hurl us all to destruction. you have but one chance; that is, to cut the cable and run in on the top of it--a poor chance at the best, but if god wills, we shall escape." "if we are indeed as near shore as you think," said the captain, "i know what you say must be true, for in shoal water such a wave will surely carry all before it. but are you certain there will be another explosion?" "no man can be sure of that. if the last explosion emptied the crater there will be no more. if it did not, another explosion is certain. all i advise is that you should be ready for whatever is coming, and ready to take your only chance." "right you are, sir. send men to be ready to cut the cable, mr. moor. and stand by the topsail halyards." "ay, ay, sir." during the anxious minutes that followed, the hermit rejoined winnie and nigel on the quarter-deck, and conversed with the latter in a low voice, while he drew the former to his side with his strong arm. captain roy himself grasped the wheel and the men stood at their various stations ready for action. "let no man act without orders, whatever happens," said the captain in a deep powerful voice which was heard over the whole ship, for the lull that we have mentioned extended in some degree to the gale as well as to the volcano. every one felt that some catastrophe was pending. "winnie, darling," said the hermit tenderly, as he bent down to see the sweet face that had been restored to him. "i greatly fear that there is sure to be another explosion, and it may be his will that we shall perish, but comfort yourself with the certainty that no hair of your dear head can fall without his permission--and in any event he will not fail us." "i know it, father. i have no fear--at least, only a little!" "nigel," said the hermit, "stick close to us if you can. it may be that, if anything should befall me, your strong arm may succour winnie; mine has lost somewhat of its vigour," he whispered. "trust me--nothing but death shall sunder us," said the anxious youth in a burst of enthusiasm. it seemed as if death were indeed to be the immediate portion of all on board the _sunshine_, for a few minutes later there came a crash, followed by a spout of smoke, fire, steam, and molten lava, compared to which all that had gone before seemed insignificant! the crash was indescribable! as we have said elsewhere, the sound of it was heard many hundreds of miles from the seat of the volcano, and its effects were seen and felt right round the world. the numerous vents which had previously been noticed on krakatoa must at that moment have been blown into one, and the original crater of the old volcano--said to have been about six miles in diameter--must have resumed its destructive work. all the eye-witnesses who were near the spot at the time, and sufficiently calm to take note of the terrific events of that morning, are agreed as to the splendour of the electrical phenomena displayed during this paroxysmal outburst. one who, at the time, was forty miles distant speaks of the great vapour-cloud looking "like an immense wall or blood-red curtain with edges of all shades of yellow, and bursts of forked lightning at times rushing like large serpents through the air." another says that "krakatoa appeared to be alight with flickering flames rising behind a dense black cloud." a third recorded that "the lightning struck the mainmast conductor five or six times," and that "the mud-rain which covered the decks was phosphorescent, while the rigging presented the appearance of st. elmo's fire." it may be remarked here, in passing, that giant steam-jets rushing through the orifices of the earth's crust constitute an enormous hydro-electric engine; and the friction of ejected materials striking against each other in ascending and descending also generates electricity, which accounts to some extent for the electrical condition of the atmosphere. in these final and stupendous outbursts the volcano was expending its remaining force in breaking up and ejecting the solid lava which constituted its framework, and not in merely vomiting forth the lava-froth, or pumice, which had characterised the earlier stages of the eruption. in point of fact--as was afterwards clearly ascertained by careful soundings and estimates, taking the average height of the missing portion at 700 feet above water, and the depth at 300 feet below it--two-thirds of the island were blown entirely off the face of the earth. the mass had covered an area of nearly six miles, and is estimated as being equal to 1-1/8 cubic miles of solid matter which, as moses expressed it, was blown to bits! if this had been all, it would have been enough to claim the attention and excite the wonder of the intelligent world--but this was not nearly all, as we shall see, for saddest of all the incidents connected with the eruption is the fact that upwards of thirty-six thousand human beings lost their lives. the manner in which that terrible loss occurred shall be shown by the future adventures of the _sunshine_. chapter xxviii. the fate of the "sunshine." stunned at first, for a few minutes, by the extreme violence of the explosion, no one on board the _sunshine_ spoke, though each man stood at his post ready to act. "strange," said the captain at last. "there seems to be no big wave this time." "that only shows that we are not as near the island as we thought. but it won't be long of----see! there it comes," said the hermit. "now, winnie, cling to my arm and put your trust in god." nigel, who had secured a life-buoy, moved close to the girl's side, and looking anxiously out ahead saw a faint line of foam in the thick darkness which had succeeded the explosion. already the distant roar of the billow was heard, proving that it had begun to break. "the wind comes with it," said van der kemp. "stand by!" cried the captain, gazing intently over the side. next moment came the sharp order to hoist the foretopsail and jib, soon followed by "cut the cable!" there was breeze enough to swing the vessel quickly round. in a few seconds her stern was presented to the coming wave, and her bow cleft the water as she rushed upon what every one now knew was her doom. to escape the great wave was no part of the captain's plan. to have reached the shore before the wave would have been fatal to all. their only hope lay in the possibility of riding in on the top of it, and the great danger was that they should be unable to rise to it stern first when it came up, or that they should turn broadside on and be rolled over. they had not long to wait. the size of the wave, before it came near enough to be seen, was indicated by its solemn, deep-toned, ever-increasing roar. the captain stood at the wheel himself, guiding the brig and glancing back from time to time uneasily. suddenly the volcano gave vent to its fourth and final explosion. it was not so violent as its predecessors had been, though more so than any that had occurred on the day before, and the light of it showed them the full terrors of their situation, for it revealed the mountains of java--apparently quite close in front, though in reality at a considerable distance--with a line of breakers beating white on the shore. but astern of them was the most appalling sight, for there, rushing on with awful speed and a sort of hissing roar, came the monstrous wave, emerging, as it were, out of thick darkness, like a mighty wall of water with a foaming white crest, not much less--according to an average of the most reliable estimates--than 100 feet high. well might the seamen blanch, for never before in all their varied experience had they seen the like of that. on it came with the unwavering force of fate. to the eye of captain roy it appeared that up its huge towering side no vessel made by mortal man could climb. but the captain had too often stared death in the face to be unmanned by the prospect now. steadily he steered the vessel straight on, and in a quiet voice said-"lay hold of something firm--every man!" the warning was well timed. in the amazement, if not fear, caused by the unwonted sight, some had neglected the needful precaution. as the billow came on, the bubbling, leaping, and seething of its crest was apparent both to eye and ear. then the roar became tremendous. "darling winnie," said nigel at that moment. "i will die for you or with you!" the poor girl heard, but no sign of appreciation moved her pale face as she gazed up at the approaching chaos of waters. next moment the brig seemed to stand on its bows. van der kemp had placed his daughter against the mast, and, throwing his long arms round both, held on. nigel, close to them, had grasped a handful of ropes, and every one else was holding on for life. another moment and the brig rose as if it were being tossed up to the heavens. immediately thereafter it resumed its natural position in a perfect wilderness of foam. they were on the summit of the great wave, which was so large that its crest seemed like a broad, rounded mass of tumbling snow with blackness before and behind, while the roar of the tumult was deafening. the brig rushed onward at a speed which she had never before equalled even in the fiercest gale--tossed hither and thither by the leaping foam, yet always kept going straight onward by the expert steering of her captain. "come aft--all of you!" he shouted, when it was evident that the vessel was being borne surely forward on the wave's crest. "the masts will go for certain when we strike." the danger of being entangled in the falling spars and cordage was so obvious that every one except the hermit and nigel obeyed. "here, nigel," gasped the former. "i--i've--lost blood--faint!----" our hero at once saw that van der kemp, fainting from previous loss of blood, coupled with exertion, was unable to do anything but hold on. indeed, he failed even in that, and would have fallen to the deck had nigel not caught him by the arm. "can you run aft, winnie?" said nigel anxiously. "yes!" said the girl, at once understanding the situation and darting to the wheel, of which and of captain roy she laid firm hold, while nigel lifted the hermit in his arms and staggered to the same spot. winnie knelt beside him immediately, and, forgetting for the moment all the horrors around her, busied herself in replacing the bandage which had been loosened from his head. "oh! mr. roy, save him!--save him!" cried the poor child, appealing in an agony to nigel, for she felt instinctively that when the crash came her father would be utterly helpless even to save himself. nigel had barely time to answer when a wild shout from the crew caused him to start up and look round. a flare from the volcano had cast a red light over the bewildering scene, and revealed the fact that the brig was no longer above the ocean's bed, but was passing in its wild career right through, or rather _over_, the demolished town of anjer. a few of the houses that had been left standing by the previous waves were being swept--hurled--away by this one, but the mass of rolling, rushing, spouting water was so deep, that the vessel had as yet struck nothing save the tops of some palm-trees which bent their heads like straws before the flood. even in the midst of the amazement, alarm, and anxiety caused by the situation, nigel could not help wondering that in this final and complete destruction of the town no sign of struggling human beings should be visible. he forgot at the moment, what was terribly proved afterwards, that the first waves had swallowed up men, women, and children by hundreds, and that the few who survived had fled to the hills, leaving nothing for the larger wave to do but complete the work of devastation on inanimate objects. ere the situation had been well realised the volcanic fires went down again, and left the world, for over a hundred surrounding miles, in opaque darkness. only the humble flicker of the binnacle light, like a trusty sentinel on duty, continued to shed its feeble rays on a few feet of the deck, and showed that the compass at least was still faithful to the pole! then another volcanic outburst revealed the fact that the wave which carried them was thundering on in the direction of a considerable cliff or precipice--not indeed quite straight towards it, but sufficiently so to render escape doubtful. at the same time a swarm of terror-stricken people were seen flying towards this cliff and clambering up its steep sides. they were probably some of the more courageous of the inhabitants who had summoned courage to return to their homes after the passage of the second wave. their shrieks and cries could be heard above even the roaring of the water and the detonations of the volcano. "god spare us!" exclaimed poor winnie, whose trembling form was now partially supported by nigel. as she spoke darkness again obscured everything, and they could do naught but listen to the terrible sounds--and pray. on--on went the _sunshine_, in the midst of wreck and ruin, on this strange voyage over land and water, until a check was felt. it was not a crash as had been anticipated, and as might have naturally been expected, neither was it an abrupt stoppage. there was first a hissing, scraping sound against the vessel's sides, then a steady checking--we might almost say a hindrance to progress--not violent, yet so very decided that the rigging could not bear the strain. one and another of the back-stays parted, the foretopsail burst with a cannon-like report, after which a terrible rending sound, followed by an indescribable crash, told that both masts had gone by the board. then all was comparatively still--comparatively we say, for water still hissed and leaped beneath them like a rushing river, though it no longer roared, and the wind blew in unfamiliar strains and laden with unwonted odours. at that moment another outburst of krakatoa revealed the fact that the great wave had borne the brig inland for upwards of a mile, and left her imbedded in a thick grove of cocoa-nut palms! chapter xxix. tells chiefly of the wonderful effects of this eruption on the would at large. the great explosions of that morning had done more damage and had achieved results more astounding than lies in the power of language adequately to describe, or of history to parallel. let us take a glance at this subject in passing. an inhabitant of anjer--owner of a hotel, a ship-chandler's store, two houses, and a dozen boats--went down to the beach about six on the morning of that fateful 27th of august. he had naturally been impressed by the night of the 26th, though, accustomed as he was to volcanic eruptions, he felt no apprehensions as to the safety of the town. he went to look to the moorings of his boats, leaving his family of seven behind him. while engaged in this work he observed a wave of immense size approaching. he leaped into one of his boats, which was caught up by the wave and swept inland, carrying its owner there in safety. but this was the wave that sealed the doom of the town and most of its inhabitants, including the hotel-keeper's family and all that he possessed. this is one only out of thousands of cases of bereavement and destruction. a lighthouse-keeper was seated in his solitary watch-tower, speculating, doubtless, on the probable continuance of such a violent outbreak, while his family and mates--accustomed to sleep in the midst of elemental war--were resting peacefully in the rooms below, when one of the mighty waves suddenly appeared, thundered past, and swept the lighthouse with all its inhabitants away. this shows but one of the many disasters to lighthouses in sunda straits. a dutch man-of-war--the _berouw_--was lying at anchor in lampong bay, fifty miles from krakatoa. the great wave came, tore it from its anchorage, and carried it--like the vessel of our friend david roy--nearly two miles inland! masses of coral of immense size and weight were carried four miles inland by the same wave. the river at anjer was choked up; the conduit which used to carry water into the place was destroyed, and the town itself was laid in ruins. but these are only a few of the incidents of the great catastrophe. who can conceive, much less tell of, those terrible details of sudden death and disaster to thousands of human beings, resulting from an eruption which destroyed towns like telok betong, anjer, tyringin, etc., besides numerous villages and hamlets on the shores of java and sumatra, and caused the destruction of more than 36,000 souls? but it is to results of a very different kind, and on a much more extended scale, that we must turn if we would properly estimate the magnitude, the wide-spreading and far-reaching influences, and the extraordinary character, of the krakatoa outburst of 1883. in the first place, it is a fact, testified to by some of the best-known men of science, that the shock of the explosion extended _appreciably_ right round the world, and seventeen miles (some say even higher!) up into the heavens. mr. verbeek, in his treatise on this subject, estimates that a cubic mile of krakatoa was propelled in the form of the finest dust into the higher regions of the atmosphere--probably about thirty miles! the dust thus sent into the sky was of "ultra-microscopic fineness," and it travelled round and round the world in a westerly direction, producing those extraordinary sunsets and gorgeous effects and afterglows which became visible in the british isles in the month of november following the eruption; and the mighty waves which caused such destruction in the vicinity of sunda straits travelled--not once, but at least--six times round the globe, as was proved by trustworthy and independent observations of tide-gauges and barometers made and recorded at the same time in nearly all lands--including our own. other volcanoes, it is said by those who have a right to speak in regard to such matters, have ejected more "stuff," but not one has equalled krakatoa in the intensity of its explosions, the appalling results of the sea-waves, the wonderful effects in the sky, and the almost miraculous nature of the sounds. seated on a log under a palm-tree in batavia, on that momentous morning of the 27th, was a sailor who had been left behind sick by captain roy when he went on his rather quixotic trip to the keeling islands. he was a somewhat delicate son of the sea. want of self-restraint was his complaint--leading to a surfeit of fruit and other things, which terminated in a severe fit of indigestion and indisposition to life in general. he was smoking--that being a sovereign and infallible cure for indigestion and all other ills that flesh is heir to, as every one knows! "i say, old man," he inquired, with that cheerful tone and air which usually accompanies incapacity for food. "do it always rain ashes here?" the old man whom he addressed was a veteran malay seaman. "no," replied the malay, "sometimes it rain mud--hot mud." "do it? oh! well--anything for variety, i s'pose," returned the sailor, with a growl which had reference to internal disarrangements. "is it often as dark as this in the daytime, an' is the sun usually green?" he asked carelessly, more for the sake of distracting the mind from other matters than for the desire of knowledge. "sometime it's more darker," replied the old man. "i've seed it so dark that you couldn't see how awful dark it was." as he spoke, a sound that has been described by ear-witnesses as "deafening" smote upon their tympanums, the log on which they sat quivered, the earth seemed to tremble, and several dishes in a neighbouring hut were thrown down and broken. "i say, old man, suthin' busted there," remarked the sailor, taking the pipe from his mouth and quietly ramming its contents down with the end of his blunt forefinger. the malay looked grave. "the gasometer?" suggested the sailor. "no, that _never_ busts." "a noo mountain come into action, p'raps, an' blow'd its top off?" "shouldn't wonder if that's it--close at hand too. we's used to that here. but them's bigger cracks than or'nar'." the old malay was right as to the cause, but wrong as to distance. instead of being a volcano "close at hand," it was krakatoa eviscerating itself a hundred miles off, and the sound of its last grand effort "extended over 50 degrees = about 3000 miles." on that day all the gas lights were extinguished in batavia, and the pictures rattled on the walls as though from the action of an earthquake. but there was no earthquake. it was the air-wave from krakatoa, and the noise produced by the air-waves that followed was described as "deafening." the effect of the sounds of the explosions on the straits settlements generally was not only striking, but to some extent amusing. at carimon, in java--355 miles distant from krakatoa--it was supposed that a vessel in distress was firing guns, and several native boats were sent off to render assistance, but no distressed vessel was to be found! at acheen, in sumatra--1073 miles distant--they supposed that a fort was being attacked and the troops were turned out under arms. at singapore--522 miles off--they fancied that the detonations came from a vessel in distress and two steamers were despatched to search for it. and here the effect on the telephone, extending to ishore, was remarkable. on raising the tubes a perfect roar as of a waterfall was heard. by shouting at the top of his voice, the clerk at one end could make the clerk at the other end hear, but he could not render a word intelligible. at perak--770 miles off--the sounds were thought to be distant salvos of artillery, and commander hon. f. vereker, r.n., of h.m.s. _magpie_, when 1227 miles distant (in lat. 5 deg. 52' n. long. 118 deg. 22' e.), states that the detonations of krakatoa were distinctly heard by those on board his ship, and by the inhabitants of the coast as far as banguey island, on august 27th. he adds that they resembled distant heavy cannonading. in a letter from st. lucia bay--1116 miles distant--it was stated that the eruption was plainly heard all over borneo. a government steamer was sent out from the island of timor--1351 miles off--to ascertain the cause of the disturbance! in south australia also, at places 2250 miles away, explosions were heard on the 26th and 27th which "awakened" people, and were thought worthy of being recorded and reported. from tavoy, in burmah--1478 miles away--the report came--"all day on august 27th unusual sounds were heard, resembling the boom of guns. thinking there might be a wreck or a ship in distress, the tavoy superintendent sent out the police launch, but they 'could see nothing.'" and so on, far and near, similar records were made, the most distant spot where the sounds were reported to have been heard being rodriguez, in the pacific, nearly 3000 miles distant! one peculiar feature of the records is that some ships in the immediate neighbourhood of krakatoa did not experience the shock in proportionate severity. probably this was owing to their being so near that a great part of the concussion and sound flew over them--somewhat in the same way that the pieces of a bomb-shell fly over men who, being too near to escape by running, escape by flinging themselves flat on the ground. each air-wave which conveyed these sounds, commencing at krakatoa as a centre, spread out in an ever-increasing circle till it reached a distance of 180 deg. from its origin and encircled the earth at its widest part, after which it continued to advance in a contracting form until it reached the antipodes of the volcano; whence it was reflected or reproduced and travelled back again to krakatoa. here it was turned right-about-face and again despatched on its long journey. in this way it oscillated backward and forward not fewer than six times before traces of it were lost. we say "traces," because these remarkable facts were ascertained, tracked, and corroborated by independent barometric observation in all parts of the earth. for instance, the passage of the great air-wave from krakatoa to its antipodes, and from its antipodes back to krakatoa, was registered six times by the automatic barometer at greenwich. the instrument at kew observatory confirmed the records of greenwich, and so did the barometers of other places in the kingdom. everywhere in europe also this fact was corroborated, and in some places even a seventh oscillation was recorded. the greenwich record shows that the air-waves took about thirty-six hours to travel from pole to pole, thus proving that they travelled at about the rate of ordinary sound-waves, which, roughly speaking, travel at the rate of between six and seven hundred miles an hour. the height of the sea-waves that devastated the neighbouring shores, being variously estimated at from 50 to 135 feet, is sufficiently accounted for by the intervention of islands and headlands, etc., which, of course, tended to diminish the force, height, and volume of waves in varying degrees. these, like the air-waves, were also registered--by self-acting tide-gauges and by personal observation--all over the world, and the observations _coincided as to date with the great eruptions of the 26th and 27th of august_. the influence of the sea-waves was observed and noted in the java sea--which is shallow and where there are innumerable obstructions--as far as 450 miles, but to the west they swept over the deep waters of the indian ocean on to cape horn, and even, it is said, to the english channel. the unusual disturbance of ocean in various places was sufficiently striking. at galle, in ceylon, where the usual rise and fall of the tide is 2 feet, the master-attendant reports that on the afternoon of the 27th four remarkable waves were noticed in the port. the last of these was preceded by an unusual recession of the sea to such an extent that small boats at their anchorage were left aground--a thing that had never been seen before. the period of recession was only one-and-a-half minutes; then the water paused, as it were, for a brief space, and, beginning to rise, reached the level of the highest high-water mark in less than two minutes, thus marking a difference of 8 feet 10 inches instead of the ordinary 2 feet. at one place there was an ebb and flood tide, of unusual extent, within half-an-hour. at another, a belt of land, including a burying-ground, was washed away, so that according to the observer "it appeared as if the dead had sought shelter with the living in a neighbouring cocoa-nut garden!" elsewhere the tides were seen to advance and recede ten or twelve times--in one case even twenty times--on the 27th. at trincomalee the sea receded three times and returned with singular force, at one period leaving part of the shore suddenly bare, with fish struggling in the mud. the utilitarian tendency of mankind was at once made manifest by some fishermen who, seizing the opportunity, dashed into the struggling mass and began to reap the accidental harvest, when--alas for the poor fishermen!--the sea rushed in again and drove them all away. in the mauritius, however, the fishers were more fortunate, for when their beach was exposed in a similar manner, they succeeded in capturing a good many fish before the water returned. even sharks were disturbed in their sinister and slimy habits of life by this outburst of krakatoa--and no wonder, when it is recorded that in some places "the sea looked like water boiling heavily in a pot," and that "the boats which were afloat were swinging in all directions." at one place several of these monsters were flung out of their native home into pools, where they were left struggling till their enemy man terminated their career. everywhere those great waves produced phenomena which were so striking as to attract the attention of all classes of people, to ensure record in most parts of the world, and to call for the earnest investigation of the scientific men of many lands--and the conclusion to which such men have almost universally come is, that the strange vagaries of the sea all over the earth, the mysterious sounds heard in so many widely distant places, and the wonderful effects in the skies of every quarter of the globe, were all due to the eruption of the krakatoa volcano in 1883. with reference to these last--the sky-effects-a few words may not be out of place here. the superfine "ultra-microscopic" dust, which was blown by the volcano in quantities so enormous to such unusual heights, was, after dropping its heavier particles back to earth, caught by the breezes which always blow in the higher regions from east to west, and carried by them for many months round and round the world. the dust was thickly and not widely spread at first, but as time went on it gradually extended itself on either side, becoming visible to more and more of earth's inhabitants, and at the same time becoming necessarily less dense. through this medium the sun's rays had to penetrate. in so far as the dust-particles were opaque they would obscure these rays; where they were transparent or polished they would refract and reflect them. that the material of which those dust-particles was composed was very various has been ascertained, proved, and recorded by the krakatoa committee. the attempt to expound this matter would probably overtax the endurance of the average reader, yet it may interest all to know that this dust-cloud travelled westward within the tropics at the rate of about double the speed of an express train--say 120 miles an hour; crossed the indian ocean and africa in three days, the atlantic in two, america in two, and, in short, put a girdle round the world in thirteen days. moreover, the cloud of dust was so big that it took two or three days to pass any given point. during its second circumnavigation it was considerably spread and thinned, and the third time still more so, having expanded enough to include europe and the greater part of north america. it had thinned away altogether and disappeared in the spring of 1884. who has not seen--at least read or heard of--the gorgeous skies of the autumn of 1883? not only in britain, but in all parts of the world, these same skies were seen, admired, and commented on as marvellous. and so they were. one of the chief peculiarities about them, besides their splendour, was the fact that they consisted chiefly of "afterglows"--that is, an increase of light and splendour _after_ the setting of the sun, when, in an ordinary state of things, the grey shadows of evening would have descended on the world. greenish-blue suns; pink clouds; bright yellow, orange, and crimson afterglows; gorgeous, magnificent, blood-red skies--the commentators seemed unable to find language adequately to describe them. listen to a german observer's remarks on the subject:-"the display of november 29th was the grandest and most manifold. i give a description as exactly; as possible, for its overwhelming magnificence still presents itself to me as if it had been yesterday. when the sun had set about a quarter of an hour, there was not much afterglow, but i had observed a remarkably yellow bow in the south, about 10 deg. above the horizon. in about ten minutes more this arc rose pretty quickly, extended itself all over the east and up to and beyond the zenith. the sailors declared, 'sir, that is the northern lights.' i thought i had never seen northern lights in greater splendour. after five minutes more the-light had faded, though not vanished, in the east and south, and the finest purple-red rose up in the south-west; one could imagine one's-self in fairyland." all this, and a great deal more, was caused by the dust of krakatoa! "but how--how--why?" exclaims an impatient and puzzled reader. "ay--there's the rub." rubbing, by the way, may have had something to do with it. at all events we are safe to say that whatever there was of electricity in the matter resulted from friction. here is what the men of science say--as far as we can gather and condense. the fine dust blown out of krakatoa was found, under the microscope, to consist of excessively thin, transparent plates or irregular specks of pumice--which inconceivably minute fragments were caused by enormous steam pressure in the interior and the sudden expansion of the masses blown out into the atmosphere. of this glassy dust, that which was blown into the regions beyond the clouds must have been much finer even than that which was examined. these glass fragments were said by dr. fluegel to contain either innumerable air-bubbles or minute needle-like crystals, or both. small though these vesicles were when ejected from the volcano, they would become still smaller by bursting when they suddenly reached a much lower pressure of atmosphere at a great height. some of them, however, owing to tenacity of material and other causes, might have failed to burst and would remain floating in the upper air as perfect microscopic glass balloons. thus the dust was a mass of particles of every conceivable shape, and so fine that no watches, boxes, or instruments were tight enough to exclude from their interior even that portion of the dust which was heavy enough to remain on earth! now, to the unscientific reader it is useless to say more than that the innumerable and varied positions of these glassy particles, some transparent, others semi-transparent or opaque, reflecting the sun's rays in different directions, with a complex modification of colour and effect resulting from the blueness of the sky, the condition of the atmosphere, and many other causes--all combined to produce the remarkable appearances of light and colour which aroused the admiration and wonder of the world in 1883. the more one thinks of these things, and the deeper one dives into the mysteries of nature, the more profoundly is one impressed at once with a humbling sense of the limited amount of one's knowledge, and an awe-inspiring appreciation of the illimitable fields suggested by that comprehensive expression: "the wonderful works of god." chapter xxx. coming events, etc.--wonderful changes among the islands. some days after the wreck of the _sunshine_, as described in a previous chapter, captain roy and his son stood on the coast of java not far from the ruins of anjer. a vessel was anchored in the offing, and a little boat lay on the shore. all sign of elemental strife had passed, though a cloud of smoke hanging over the remains of krakatoa told that the terrible giant below was not dead but only sleeping--to awake, perchance, after a nap of another 200 years. "well, father," said our hero with a modest look, "it may be, as you suggest, that winnie van der kemp does not care for me more than for a fathom of salt water----" "i did not say salt water, lad, i said bilge--a fathom o' _bilge_ water," interrupted the captain, who, although secretly rejoiced at the fact of his son having fallen over head and ears in love with the pretty little cocos-keeling islander, deemed it his duty, nevertheless, as a sternly upright parent, to, make quite sure that the love was mutual as well as deep before giving his consent to anything like courtship. "it matters not; salt or bilge water makes little difference," returned the son with a smile. "but all i can say is that i care for winnie so much that her love is to me of as much importance as sunshine to the world--and we have had some experience lately of what the want of _that_ means." "nonsense, nigel," returned the captain severely. "you're workin' yourself into them up-in-the-clouds, reef-point-patterin' regions again--which, by the way, should be pretty well choked wi' krakatoa dust by this time. come down out o' that if ye want to hold or'nary intercourse wi' your old father. she's far too young yet, my boy. you must just do as many a young fellow has done before you, attend to your dooties and forget her." "forget her!" returned the youth, with that amused, quiet expression which wise men sometimes assume when listening to foolish suggestions. "i could almost as easily forget my mother!" "a very proper sentiment, nigel, very--especially the 'almost' part of it." "besides," continued the son, "she is not so _very_ young--and that difficulty remedies itself every hour. moreover, i too am young. i can wait." "the selfishness of youth is only equalled by its presumption," said the captain. "how d'ee know _she_ will wait?" "i don't know, father, but i hope she will--i--i--_think_ she will." "nigel," said the captain, in a tone and with a look that were meant to imply intense solemnity, "have you ever spoken to her about love?" "no, father." "has she ever spoken to _you_?" "no--at least--not with her lips." "come, boy, you're humbuggin' your old father. her tongue couldn't well do it without the lips lendin' a hand." "well then--with neither," returned the son. "she spoke with her eyes--not intentionally, of course, for the eyes, unlike the lips, refuse to be under control." "hm! i see--reef-point-patterin' poetics again! an' what did she say with her eyes?" "really, father, you press me too hard; it is difficult to translate eye-language, but if you'll only let memory have free play and revert to that time, nigh quarter of a century ago, when you first met with a certain _real_ poetess, perhaps--" "ah! you dog! you have me there. but how dare you, sir, venture to think of marryin' on nothin'?" "i don't think of doing so. am i not a first mate with a handsome salary?" "no, lad, you're not. you're nothin' better than a seaman out o' work, with your late ship wrecked in a cocoa-nut grove!" "that's true," returned nigel with a laugh. "but is not the cargo of the said ship safe in batavia? has not its owner a good bank account in england? won't another ship be wanted, and another first mate, and would the owner dare to pass over his own son, who is such a competent seaman--according to your own showing? come, father, i turn the tables on you and ask you to aid rather than resist me in this matter." "well, i will, my boy, i will," said the captain heartily, as he laid his hand on his son's shoulder. "but, seriously, you must haul off this little craft and clap a stopper on your tongue--ay, and on your eyes too--till three points are considered an' made quite clear. first, you must find out whether the hermit would be agreeable. second, you must look the matter straight in the face and make quite sure that you mean it. for better or for worse. no undoin' _that_ knot, nigel, once it's fairly tied! and, third, you must make quite sure that winnie is sure of her own mind, an' that--that--" "we're all sure all round, father. quite right. i agree with you. 'all fair an' aboveboard' should be the sailing orders of every man in such matters, especially of every seaman. but, will you explain how i am to make sure of winnie's state of mind without asking her about it?" "well, i don't exactly see my way," replied the captain slowly. "what d'ee say to my soundin' her on the subject?" "couldn't think of it! you may be first-rate at deep-sea soundings, father, but you couldn't sound the depths of a young girl's heart. i must reserve that for myself, however long it may be delayed." "so be it, lad. the only embargo that i lay upon you is--haul off, and mind you don't let your figurehead go by the board. meanwhile, here comes the boat. now, nigel, none o' your courtin' till everything is settled and the wind fair--dead aft my lad, and blowin' stiff. you and the hermit are goin' off to krakatoa to-day, i suppose?" "yes. i am just now waiting for him and moses," returned nigel. "is winnie going?" "don't know. i hope so." "humph! well, if we have a fair wind i shall soon be in batavia," said the captain, descending to business matters, "and i expect without trouble to dispose of the cargo that we landed there, as well as that part o' the return cargo which i had bought before i left for keeling--at a loss, no doubt, but that don't matter much. then i'll come back here by the first craft that offers--arter which----. ay!--ay! shove her in here. plenty o' water." the last remark was made to the seaman who steered the boat sent from the vessel in the offing. a short time thereafter captain roy was sailing away for batavia, while his son, with van der kemp, moses, winnie, and spinkie, was making for krakatoa in a native boat. the hermit, in spite of his injuries, had recovered his wonted appearance, if not his wonted vigour. winnie seemed to have suddenly developed into a mature woman under her recent experiences, though she had lost none of her girlish grace and attractiveness. as for moses--time and tide seemed to have no effect whatever on his ebony frame, and still less, if possible, on his indomitable spirit. "now you keep still," he said in solemn tones and with warning looks to spinkie. "if you keep fidgitin' about you'll capsize de boat. you hear?" spinkie veiled his real affection for the negro under a look of supreme indifference, while winnie went off into a sudden giggle at the idea of such a small creature capsizing the boat. mindful of his father's warning, nigel did his best to "haul off" and to prevent his "figurehead" from going "by the board." but he found it uncommonly hard work, for winnie looked so innocent, so pretty, so unconscious, so sympathetic with everybody and everything, so very young, yet so wondrously wise and womanly, that he felt an irresistible desire to prostrate himself at her feet in abject slavery. "dear little thing," said winnie, putting her hand on spinkie's little head and smoothing him down from eyes to tail. spinkie looked as if half inclined to withdraw his allegiance from moses and bestow it on winnie, but evidently changed his mind after a moment's reflection. "o that i were a monkey!" thought nigel, paraphrasing shakespeare, "that i might----" but it is not fair to our hero to reveal him in his weaker moments! there was something exasperating, too, in being obliged, owing to the size of the boat, to sit so close to winnie without having a right to touch her hand! who has not experienced this, and felt himself to be a very hero of self-denial in the circumstances? "mos' awrful hot!" remarked moses, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. "_you_ hot!" said nigel in surprise. "i thought nothing on earth could be too hot for you." "dat's your ignerance," returned moses calmly. "us niggers, you see, ought to suffer more fro' heat dan you whites." "how so?" "why, don't your flossiphers say dat black am better dan white for 'tractin' heat, an' ain't our skins black? i wish we'd bin' born white as chalk. i say, massa nadgel, seems to me dat dere's not much left ob krakatoa." they had approached near enough to the island by that time to perceive that wonderful changes had indeed taken place, and van der kemp, who had been for some time silently absorbed in contemplation, at last turned to his daughter and said-"i had feared at first, winnie, that my old home had been blown entirely away, but i see now that the peak of rakata still stands, so perhaps i may yet show you the cave in which i have spent so many years." "but why did you go to live in such a strange place, dear father?" asked the girl, laying her hand lovingly on the hermit's arm. van der kemp did not reply at once. he gazed in his child's face with an increase of that absent air and far-away look which nigel, ever since he met him, had observed as one of his characteristics. at this time an anxious thought crossed him,--that perhaps the blows which his friend had received on his head when he was thrown on the deck of the _sunshine_ might have injured his brain. "it is not easy to answer your question, dear one," he said after a time, laying his strong hand on the girl's head, and smoothing her luxuriant hair which hung in the untrammelled freedom of nature over her shoulders. "i have felt sometimes, during the last few days, as if i were awaking out of a long long dream, or recovering from a severe illness in which delirium had played a prominent part. even now, though i see and touch you, i sometimes tremble lest i should really awake and find that it is all a dream. i have so often--so _very_ often--dreamed something like it in years gone by, but never so vividly as now! i cannot doubt--it is sin to doubt--that my prayers have been at last answered. god is good and wise. he knows what is best and does not fail in bringing the best to pass. yet i have doubted him--again and again." van der kemp paused here and drew his hand across his brow as if to clear away sad memories of the past, while winnie drew closer to him and looked up tenderly in his face. "when your mother died, dear one," he resumed, "it seemed to me as if the sun had left the heavens, and when _you_ were snatched from me, it was as though my soul had fled and nought but animal life remained. i lived as if in a terrible dream. i cannot recall exactly what i did or where i went for a long long time. i know i wandered through the archipelago looking for you, because i did not believe at first that you were dead. it was at this time i took up my abode in the cave of rakata, and fell in with my good faithful friend moses--" "your sarvint, massa," interrupted the negro humbly. "i's proud to be call your frind, but i's only your sarvint, massa." "truly you have been my faithful servant, moses," said van der kemp, "but not the less have you been my trusted friend. he nursed me through a long and severe illness, winnie. how long, i am not quite sure. after a time i nearly lost hope. then there came a very dark period, when i was forced to believe that you must be dead. yet, strange to say, even during this dark time i did not cease to pray and to wander about in search of you. i suppose it was the force of habit, for hope seemed to have died. then, at last, nigel found you. god used him as his instrument. and now, praise to his name, we are reunited--for ever!" "darling father!" were the only words that winnie could utter as she laid her head on the hermit's shoulder and wept for joy. two ideas, which had not occurred to him before, struck nigel with great force at that moment. the one was that whatever or wherever his future household should be established, if winnie was to be its chief ornament, her father must of necessity become a member of it. the other idea was that he was destined to possess a negro servant with a consequent and unavoidable monkey attendant! how strange the links of which the chain of human destiny is formed, and how wonderful the powers of thought by which that chain is occasionally forecast! how to convey all these possessions to england and get them comfortably settled there was a problem which he did not care to tackle just then. "see, winnie," said van der kemp, pointing with interest to a mark on the side of rakata, "yonder is the mouth of my cave. i never saw it so clearly before because of the trees and bushes, but everything seems now to have been burnt up." "das so, massa, an' what hasn't bin bu'nt up has bin blow'd up!" remarked the negro. "looks very like it, moses, unless that is a haze which enshrouds the rest of the island," rejoined the other, shading his eyes with his hands. it was no haze, however; for they found, on drawing nearer, that the greater part of krakatoa had, as we have already said, actually disappeared from the face of the earth. when the boat finally rounded the point which hid the northern part of the island from view, a sight was presented which it is not often given to human eyes to look upon. the whole mountain named the peak of rakata (2623 feet high) had been split from top to bottom, and about one-half of it, with all that part of the island lying to the northward, had been blown away, leaving a wall or almost sheer precipice which presented a grand section of the volcano. pushing their boat into a creek at the base of this precipice, the party landed and tried to reach a position from which a commanding view might be obtained. this was not an easy matter, for there was not a spot for a foot to rest on which was not covered deeply with pumice-dust and ashes. by dint of perseverance, however, they gained a ledge whence the surrounding district could be observed, and then it was clearly seen how wide-spread and stupendous the effects of the explosion had been. where the greater part of the richly wooded island had formerly flourished, the ocean now rippled in the sunshine, and of the smaller islands around it _lang_ island had been considerably increased in bulk as well as in height. _verlaten_ island had been enlarged to more than three times its former size and also much increased in height. the island named _polish hat_ had disappeared altogether, and two entirely new islets--afterwards named _steers_ and _calmeyer_ islands--had arisen to the northward. "now, friends," said van der kemp, after they had noted and commented on the vast and wonderful changes that had taken place, "we will pull round to our cave and see what has happened there." descending to the boat they rowed round the southern shores of rakata until they reached the little harbour where the boat and canoe had formerly been kept. chapter xxxi. ends with a struggle between inclination and duty. "de cave's blowed away too!" was the first remark of moses as they rowed into the little port. a shock of disappointment was experienced by winnie, for she fancied that the negro had referred to her father's old home, but he only meant the lower cave in which the canoe had formerly been kept. she was soon relieved as to this point, however, but, when a landing was effected, difficulties that seemed to her almost insurmountable presented themselves, for the ground was covered knee-deep with pumice-dust, and the road to the upper cave was blocked by rugged masses of lava and ashes, all heaped up in indescribable confusion. on careful investigation, however, it was found that after passing a certain point the footpath was almost unencumbered by volcanic debris. this was owing to the protection afforded to it by the cone of rakata, and the almost overhanging nature of some of the cliffs on that side of the mountain; still the track was bad enough, and in places so rugged, that winnie, vigorous and agile though she was, found it both difficult and fatiguing to advance. seeing this, her father proposed to carry her, but she laughingly declined the proposal. whereupon nigel offered to lend her a hand over the rougher places, but this she also declined. then moses, stepping forward, asserted his rights. "it's _my_ business," he said, "to carry t'ings w'en dey's got to be carried. m'r'over, as i's bin obleeged to leabe spinkie in charge ob de boat, i feels okard widout somet'ing to carry, an' you ain't much heavier dan spinkie, miss winnie--so, come along." he stooped with the intention of grasping winnie as if she were a little child, but with a light laugh the girl sprang away and left moses behind. "'s'my opinion," said moses, looking after her with a grin, "dat if de purfesser was here he 'd net her in mistook for a bufferfly. dar!--she's down!" he shouted, springing forward, but nigel was before him. winnie had tripped and fallen. "are you hurt, dear--child?" asked nigel, raising her gently. "oh no! only a little shaken," answered winnie, with a little laugh that was half hysterical. "i am strong enough to go on presently." "nay, my child, you _must_ suffer yourself to be carried at this part," said van der kemp. "take her up, nigel, you are stronger than i am _now_. i would not have asked you to do it before my accident!" our hero did not need a second bidding. grasping winnie in his strong arms he raised her as if she had been a feather, and strode away at a pace so rapid that he soon left van der kemp and moses far behind. "put me down, now," said winnie, after a little while, in a low voice. "i'm quite recovered now and can walk." "nay, winnie, you are mistaken. the path is very rough yet, and the dust gets deeper as we ascend. _do_ give me the pleasure of helping you a little longer." whatever winnie may have felt or thought she said nothing, and nigel, taking silence for consent, bore her swiftly onward and upward,--with an "excelsior" spirit that would have thrown the alpine youth with the banner and the strange device considerably into the shade,--until he placed her at the yawning black mouth of the hermit's cave. but what a change was there! the trees and flowering shrubs and ferns were all gone, lava, pumice, and ashes lay thick on everything around, and only a few blackened and twisted stumps of the larger trees remained to tell that an umbrageous forest had once flourished there. the whole scene might be fittingly described in the two words--grey desolation. "that is the entrance to your father's old home," said nigel, as he set his fair burden down and pointed to the entrance. "what a dreadful place!" said winnie, peering into the black depths of the cavern. "it was not dreadful when i first saw it, winnie, with rich verdure everywhere; and inside you will find it surprisingly comfortable. but we must not enter until your father arrives to do the honours of the place himself." they had not to wait long. first moses arrived, and, shrewdly suspecting from the appearance of the young couple that they were engaged in conversation that would not brook interruption, or, perhaps, judging from what might be his own wishes in similar circumstances, he turned his back suddenly on them, and, stooping down, addressed himself to an imaginary creature of the animal kingdom. "what a bootiful bufferfly you is, to be sure! up on sitch a place too, wid nuffin' to eat 'cept krakatoa dust. i wonder what your moder would say if she know'd you was here. you should be ashamed ob yourself!" "hallo! moses, what are you talking to over there?" "nuffin', massa nadgel. i was on'y habin' a brief conv'sation wid a member ob de insect wurld in commemoration ob de purfesser. leastwise, if it warn't a insect it must hab bin suffm' else. won't you go in, miss winnie?" "no, i'd rather wait for father," returned the girl, looking a little flushed, for some strange and totally unfamiliar ideas had recently floated into her brain and caused some incomprehensible flutterings of the heart to which hitherto she had been a stranger. mindful of his father's injunctions, however, nigel had been particularly careful to avoid increasing these flutterings. in a few minutes the hermit came up. "ah! winnie," he said, "there has been dire devastation here. perhaps inside things may look better. come, take my hand and don't be afraid. the floor is level and your eyes will soon get accustomed to the dim light." "i's afeared, massa," remarked moses, as they entered the cavern, "dat your sun-lights won't be wu'th much now." "you are right, lad. go on before us and light the lamps if they are not broken." it was found, as they had expected, that, the only light which penetrated the cavern was that which entered by the cave's mouth, which of course was very feeble. presently, to winnie's surprise, moses was seen issuing from the kitchen with a petroleum lamp in one hand, the brilliant light of which not only glittered on his expressive black visage but sent a ruddy glare all over the cavern. van der kemp seemed to watch his daughter intently as she gazed in a bewildered way around. there was a puzzled look as well as mere surprise in her pretty face. "father," she said earnestly, "you have spoken more than once of living as if in a dream. perhaps you will wonder when i tell you that i experience something of that sort now. strange though this place seems, i have an unaccountable feeling that it is not absolutely new to me--that i have seen it before." "i do not wonder, dear one," he replied, "for the drawings that surround this chamber were the handiwork of your dear mother, and they decorated the walls of your own nursery when you were a little child at your mother's knee. for over ten long years they have surrounded me and kept your faces fresh in my memory--though, truth to tell, it needed no such reminders to do that. come, let us examine them." it was pleasant to see the earnest face of winnie as she half-recognised and strove to recall the memories of early childhood in that singular cavern. it was also a sight worth seeing--the countenance of nigel, as well as that of the hermit, while they watched and admired her eager, puzzled play of feature, and it was the most amazing sight of all to see the all but superhuman joy of moses as he held the lamp and listened to facts regarding the past of his beloved master which were quite new to him--for the hermit spoke as openly about his past domestic affairs as if he and winnie had been quite alone. "he either forgets that we are present, or counts us as part of his family," thought nigel with a feeling of satisfaction. "what a dear comoonicative man!" thought moses, with unconcealed pleasure. "come now, let us ascend to the observatory," said the hermit, when all the things in the library had been examined. "there has been damage done there, i know; besides, there is a locket there which belonged to your mother. i left it by mistake one day when i went up to arrange the mirrors, and in the hurry of leaving forgot to return for it. indeed, one of my main objects in re-visiting my old home was to fetch that locket away. it contains a lock of hair and one of those miniatures which men used to paint before photography drove such work off the field." winnie was nothing loth to follow, for she had reached a romantic period of life, and it seemed to her that to be led through mysterious caves and dark galleries in the very heart of a still active volcano by her own father--the hermit of rakata--was the very embodiment of romance itself. but a disappointment awaited them, for they had not proceeded halfway through the dark passage when it was found that a large mass of rock had fallen from the roof and almost blocked it up. "there is a space big enough for us to creep through at the right-hand corner above, i think," said nigel, taking the lantern from moses and examining the spot. "jump up, moses, and try it," said the hermit. "if your bulky shoulders get through, we can all manage it." the negro was about to obey the order when nigel let the lantern fall and the shock extinguished it. "oh! massa nadgel; das a pritty business!" "never mind," said van der kemp. "i've got matches, i think, in my--no, i haven't. have you, moses?" "no, massa, i forgit to remember him." "no matter, run back--you know the road well enough to follow it in the dark. we will wait here till you return. be smart, now!" moses started off at once and for some moments the sound of clattering along the passage was heard. "i will try to clamber through in the dark. look after winnie, nigel--and don't leave the spot where you stand, dear one, for there are cracks and holes about that might sprain your little ankles." "very well, father." "all right. i've got through, nigel; i'll feel my way on for a little bit. remain where you are." "winnie," said nigel when they were alone, "doesn't it feel awesome and strange to be standing here in such intense darkness?" "it does--i don't quite like it." "whereabouts are you?" said nigel. he carefully stretched out his hand to feel, as he spoke, and laid a finger on her brow. "oh! take care of my eyes!" exclaimed winnie with a little laugh. "_i_ wish you would turn your eyes towards me for i'm convinced they would give some light--? to _me_ at least. here, do let me hold your hand it will make you feel more confident." to one who is at all familiar with the human frame, the way from the brow to the hand is comparatively simple. nigel soon possessed himself of the coveted article. like other things of great value the possession turned the poor youth's head! he forgot his father's warnings for the moment, forgot the hermit and moses and spinkie, and the thick darkness--forgot almost everything in the light of that touch! "winnie!" he exclaimed in a tone that quite alarmed her; "i--i--" he hesitated. the solemn embargo of his father recurred to him. "what is it! is there danger?" exclaimed the poor girl, clasping his hand tighter and drawing nearer to him. this was too much! nigel felt himself to be contemptible. he was taking unfair advantage of her. "winnie," he began again, in a voice of forced calmness, "there is no danger whatever. i'm an ass--a dolt--that's all! the fact is, i made my father a sort of half promise that i would not ask your opinion on a certain subject until--until i found out exactly what you thought about it. now the thing is ridiculous--impossible--for how can i know your opinion on any subject until i have asked you?" "quite true," returned winnie simply, "so you better ask me." "ha! _ha_!" laughed nigel, in a sort of desperate amusement, "i--i--yes, i _will_ ask you, winnie! but first i must explain----" "hallo! nigel!" came at that moment from the other side of the obstruction, "are you there--all right?" "yes, yes--i'm here--_not_ all right exactly, but i'll be all right _some day_, you may depend upon that!" shouted the youth, in a tone of indignant exasperation. "what said you?" asked van der kemp, putting his head through the hole. "hi! i's a-comin', look out, dar!" hallooed moses in the opposite direction. "just so," said nigel, resuming his quiet tone and demeanour, "we'll be all right when the light comes. here, give us your hand, van der kemp." the hermit accepted the proffered aid and leaped down amongst his friends just as moses arrived with the lantern. "it's of no use going further," he said. "the passage is completely blocked up--so we must go round to where the mountain has been split off and try to clamber up. there will be daylight enough yet if we are quick. come." chapter xxxii. the last. descending to the boat they rowed round to the face of the great cliff which had been so suddenly laid bare when the peak of rakata was cleft from its summit to its foundations in the sea. it was a wonderful sight--a magnificent section, affording a marvellous view of the internal mechanism of a volcano. but there was no time to spend in contemplation of this extraordinary sight, for evening approached and the hermit's purpose had to be accomplished. high up near the top of the mighty cliff could be seen a small hole in the rock, which was all that remained of the observatory. "it will be impossible, i fear, to reach that spot," said nigel; "there does not appear to be foothold for a goat." "i will reach it," said the hermit in a low voice, as he scanned the precipice carefully. "so will i," said the negro. "no, moses, i go alone. you will remain in the boat and watch. if i fall, you can pick me up." "pick you up!" echoed moses. "if you tumbles a t'ousand feet into de water how much t'ink you will be lef to pick up?" it was useless to attempt to dissuade van der kemp. being well aware of this, they all held their peace while he landed on a spur of the riven cliff. the first part of the ascent was easy enough, the ground having been irregularly broken, so that the climber disappeared behind masses of rock at times, while he kept as much as possible to the western edge of the mountain where the cleavage had occurred; but as he ascended he was forced to come out upon narrow ledges that had been left here and there on the face of the cliff, where he seemed, to those who were watching far below, like a mere black spot on the face of a gigantic wall. still upward he went, slowly but steadily, till he reached a spot nearly level with the observatory. here he had to go out on the sheer precipice, where his footholds were invisible from below. winnie sat in the boat with blanched face and tightly clasped hands, panting with anxiety as she gazed upwards. "it looks much more dangerous from here than it is in reality," said nigel to her in a reassuring tone. "das true, massa nadgel, das bery true," interposed moses, endeavouring to comfort himself as well as the others by the intense earnestness of his manner. "de only danger, miss winnie, lies in your fadder losin' his head at sitch a t'riffic height, an' dar's no fear at all ob dat, for massa neber loses his head--pooh! you might as well talk ob him losin' his heart. look! look! he git close to de hole now--he put his foot--yes--next step--dar! he've done it!" with the perspiration of anxiety streaming down his face the negro relieved his feelings by a wild prolonged cheer. nigel obtained the same relief by means of a deep long-drawn sigh, but winnie did not move; she seemed to realise her father's danger better than her companions, and remembered that the descent would be much more difficult than the ascent. they were not kept long in suspense. in a few minutes the hermit reappeared and began to retrace his steps--slowly but steadily--and the watchers breathed more freely. moses was right; there was in reality little danger in the climb, for the ledges which appeared to them like mere threads, and the footholds that were almost invisible, were in reality from a foot to three feet wide. the only danger lay in the hermit's head being unable to stand the trial, but, as moses had remarked, there was no fear of that. the watchers were therefore beginning to feel somewhat relieved from the tension of their anxiety, when a huge mass of rock was seen to slip from the face of the cliff and descend with the thunderous roar of an avalanche. the incident gave those in the boat a shock, for the landslip occurred not far from the spot which van der kemp had reached, but as he still stood there in apparent safety there seemed no cause for alarm till it was observed that the climber remained quite still for a long time and, seemed to have no intention of moving. "god help him!" cried nigel in sudden alarm, "the ledge has been carried away and he cannot advance! stay by the boat, moses, i will run to help him!" "no, massa nadgel," returned the negro, "i go to die wid 'im. boat kin look arter itself." he sprang on shore as he spoke, and dashed up the mountain-side like a hunted hare. our hero looked at winnie for an instant in hesitation. "go!" said the poor girl. "you know i can manage a boat--quick!" another moment and nigel was following in the track of the negro. they gained the broken ledge together, and then found that the space between the point which they had reached and the spot on which the hermit stood was a smooth face of perpendicular rock--an absolutely impassable gulf! van der kemp was standing with his back flat against the precipice and his feet resting on a little piece of projecting rock not more than three inches wide. this was all that lay between him and the hideous depth below, for nigel found on carefully drawing nearer that the avalanche had been more extensive than was apparent from below, and that the ledge beyond the hermit had been also carried away--thus cutting off his retreat as well as his advance. "i can make no effort to help myself," said van der kemp in a low but calm voice, when our hero's foot rested on the last projecting point that he could gain, and found that with the utmost reach of his arm he could not get within six inches of his friend's outstretched hand. besides, nigel himself stood on so narrow a ledge, and against so steep a cliff, that he could not have acted with his wonted power even if the hand could have been grasped. moses stood immediately behind nigel, where the ledge was broader and where a shallow recess in the rock enabled him to stand with comparative ease. the poor fellow seemed to realise the situation more fully than his companion, for despair was written on every feature of his expressive face. "what is to be done?" said nigel, looking back. "de boat-rope," suggested the negro. "useless," said van der kemp, in a voice as calm and steady as if he were in perfect safety, though the unusual pallor of his grave countenance showed that he was fully alive to the terrible situation. "i am resting on little more than my heels, and the strain is almost too much for me even now. i could not hold on till you went to the boat and returned. no, it seems to be god's will--and," added he humbly, "his will be done." "o god, send us help!" cried nigel in an agony of feeling that he could not master. "if i had better foothold i might spring towards you and catch hold of you," said the hermit, "but i cannot spring off my heels. besides, i doubt if you could bear my weight." "try, try!" cried nigel, eagerly extending his hand. "don't fear for my strength--i've got plenty of it, thank god! and see, i have my right arm wedged into a crevice so firmly that nothing could haul it out." but van der kemp shook his head. "i cannot even make the attempt," he said. "the slightest move would plunge me down. dear boy! i know that you and your father and moses will care for my winnie, and--" "massa!" gasped moses, who while the hermit was speaking had been working his body with mysterious and violent energy; "massa! couldn't you _fall_ dis way, an' nadgel could kitch your hand, an' i's got my leg shoved into a hole as nuffin' 'll haul it out ob. dere's a holler place here. if nadgel swings you into dat, an' i only once grab you by de hair--you're safe!" "it might be done--tried at least," said the hermit, looking anxiously at his young friend. "try it!" cried nigel, "i won't fail you." it is not possible for any except those who have gone through a somewhat similar ordeal to understand fully the test of cool courage which van der kemp had to undergo on that occasion. shutting his eyes for a moment in silent prayer, he deliberately worked with his shoulders upon the cliff against which he leaned until he felt himself to be on the point of falling towards his friend, and the two outstretched hands almost touched. "now, are you ready?" he asked. "ready," replied nigel, while moses wound both his powerful arms round his comrade's waist and held on. another moment and the hands clasped, nigel uttered an irrepressible shout as the hermit swung off, and, coming round with great violence to the spot where the negro had fixed himself, just succeeded in catching the edge of the cliff with his free hand. "let go, nigel," he shouted;--"safe!" the poor youth was only too glad to obey, for the tremendous pull had wrenched his arm out of the crevice in which he had fixed it, and for a moment he swayed helplessly over the awful abyss. "don't let me go, moses!" he yelled, as he made a frantic but futile effort to regain his hold,--for he felt that the negro had loosened one of his arms though the other was still round him like a hoop of iron. "no fear, nadgel," said moses, "i's got you tight--only don' wriggle. now, massa, up you come." moses had grasped his master's hair with a grip: that well-nigh scalped him, and he held on until the hermit had got a secure hold of the ledge with both hands. then he let the hair go, for he knew that to an athlete like his master the raising himself by his arms on to the ledge would be the work of a few seconds. van der kemp was thus able to assist in rescuing nigel from his position of danger. but the expressions of heartfelt thankfulness for this deliverance which naturally broke from them were abruptly checked when it was found that moses could by no means extract his leg out of the hole into which he had thrust it, and that he was suffering great pain. after some time, and a good deal of violent wrenching, during which our sable hero mingled a few groans in strange fashion with his congratulations, he was got free, and then it was found that the strain had been too much for even his powerful bones and sinews, for the leg was broken. "my poor fellow!" murmured van der kemp, as he went down on his knees to examine the limb. "don' care a buttin for dat, massa. you're safe, an' nadgel's safe--an' it only cost a broken leg! pooh! das nuffin'!" said moses, unable to repress a few tears in the excess of his joy and pain! with considerable difficulty they carried the poor negro down to the boat, where they found winnie, as might be supposed, in a half-fainting condition from the strain of prolonged anxiety and terror to which she had been subjected; but the necessity of attending to the case of the injured moses was an antidote which speedily restored her. do you think, good reader, that nigel and winnie had much difficulty in coming to an understanding after that, or that the hermit was disposed to throw any obstacles in the way of true love? if you do, let us assure you that you are mistaken. surely this is information enough for any intelligent reader. still, it may be interesting to add, difficulties did not all at once disappear. the perplexities that had already assailed nigel more than once assailed him again--perplexities about a negro man-servant, and a household monkey, and a hermit father-in-law, and a small income--to say nothing of a disconsolate mother-poetess in england and a father roving on the high seas! how to overcome these difficulties gave him much thought and trouble; but they were overcome at last. that which seemed impossible to man proved to be child's-play in the hands of woman. winnie solved the difficulty by suggesting that they should all return to the cocos-keeling islands and dwell together there for evermore! * * * * * let us drop in on them, good reader, at a later period, have a look at them, and bid them all good-bye. on a green knoll by the margin of the lagoon stands a beautiful cottage with a garden around it, and a pleasure-boat resting on the white coral sand in front. from the windows of that cottage there is a most magnificent view of the lagoon with its numerous islets and its picturesque palm-trees. within that cottage dwell nigel and winnie, and a brown-eyed, brown-haired, fair-skinned baby girl who is "the most extraordinary angel that ever was born." it has a nurse of its own, but is chiefly waited on and attended to by an antique poetess, who dwells in another cottage, a stone's-cast off, on the same green knoll. there she inspires an ancient mariner with poetical sentiments--not your up-in-the-clouds, reef-point-pattering nonsense, observe; but the real genuine article, superior to "that other fellow's," you know--when not actively engaged with _the_ baby. the first cottage is named rakata, in honour of our hermit, who is one of its inhabitants. the second is named krakatoa by its eccentric owner, captain roy. it must not be imagined, however, that our friends have settled down there to spend their lives in idleness. by no means. this probably would not be permitted by the "king of the cocos islands" even if they wished to do so. but they do not wish that. there is no such condition as idleness in the lives of good men and women. nigel has taken to general superintendence of the flourishing community in the midst of which he has cast his lot. he may be almost regarded as the prime minister of the islands, in addition to which he has started an extensive boat-building business and a considerable trade in cocoa-nuts, etc., with the numerous islands of the java sea; also a saw-mill, and a forge, and a sunday-school--in which last the pretty, humble-minded winnie lends most efficient aid. indeed it is said that she is the chief manager as well as the life and soul of that business, though nigel gets all the credit. captain roy sometimes sails his son's vessels, and sometimes looks after the secular education of the sunday-school children--the said education being conducted on the principle of unlimited story-telling with illimitable play of fancy. but his occupations are irregular--undertaken by fits and starts, and never to be counted on. his evenings he usually devotes to poetry and pipes--for the captain is obstinate, and sticks--like most of us--to his failings as well as his fancies. there is a certain eccentric individual with an enthusiastic temperament and blue binoculars who pays frequent and prolonged visits to the keeling islands. it need scarcely be said that his name is verkimier. there is no accounting for the tastes of human beings. notwithstanding all his escapes and experiences, that indomitable man of science still ranges, like a mad philosopher, far and wide over the archipelago in pursuit of "booterflies ant ozer specimens of zee insect vorld." it is observed, however, even by the most obtuse among his friends, that whereas in former times the professor's nights were centrifugal they have now become centripetal--the keeling islands being the great centre towards which he flies. verkimier is, and probably will always be, a subject of wonder and of profound speculation to the youthful inhabitants of the islands. they don't understand him and he does not understand them. if they were insects he would take deep and intelligent interest in them. as they are merely human beings, he regards them with that peculiar kind of interest with which men regard the unknown and unknowable. he is by no means indifferent to them. he is too kindly for that. he studies them deeply, though hopelessly, and when he enters the sunday-school with his binoculars--which he often does, to listen--a degree of awe settles down on the little ones which it is impossible to evoke by the most solemn appeals to their spiritual natures. nigel and winnie have a gardener, and that gardener is black--as black as the ace of spades or the king of ashantee. he dwells in a corner of the rakata cottage, but is addicted to spending much of his spare time in the krakatoa one. he is as strong and powerful as ever, but limps slightly on his right leg--his "game" leg, as he styles it. he is, of course, an _immense_ favourite with the young people--not less than with the old. he has been known to say, with a solemnity that might tickle the humorous and horrify the timid, that he wouldn't "hab dat game leg made straight agin! no, not for a hundred t'ousand pounds. 'cause why? --it was an eber-present visible reminder dat once upon a time he had de libes ob massa and nadgel in his arms ahangin' on to his game leg, an' dat, t'rough gracious goodness, he sabe dem bof!" ha! you may smile at moses if you will, but he can return the smile with kindly interest, for he is actuated by that grand principle which will sooner or later transform even the scoffers of earth, and which is embodied in the words--"love is the fulfilling of the law." even the lower animals testify to this fact when the dog licks the hand that smites it and accords instant forgiveness on the slightest encouragement. does not spinkie prove it also, when, issuing at call, from its own pagoda in the sunniest corner of the rakata garden, it forsakes cocoa-nuts, sugar-cane, fruits, and other delights, to lay its little head in joyful consecration on the black bosom of its benignant friend? and what of moses' opinion of the new home? it may be shortly expressed in his own words-"it's heaben upon eart', an' de most happiest time as eber occurred to me was dat time when sunda straits went into cumbusti'n an' krakatoa was blown to bits." the end printed by t. and a. constable, printers to her majesty, _at the edinburgh university press_. * * * * * +advertisements+ by mr. r.m. ballantyne. with illustrations. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. each. * * * * * 'the fathers, mothers, guardians, uncles, and aunts who wish to find an acceptable birthday present for a healthy-minded boy of normal tastes, cannot possibly go wrong if they buy a book with mr. ballantyne's name on the title-page.'--_academy_. * * * * * +the hot swamp+: a romance of old albion. +the buffalo runners+: a tale of the red river plains. +charlie to the rescue+: a tale of the sea and the rockies. +blown to bits+; or, the lonely man of rakata: a tale of the malay archipelago. +blue lights+; or, hot work in the soudan. a tale of soldier life. +the fugitives+; or, the tyrant queen of madagascar. +red rooney+; or, the last of the crew. +the rover of the andes+: a tale of adventure in south america. +the young trawler+: a story of life, death, and rescue in the north sea. +dusty diamonds, cut and polished+: a tale of city arab life. +the battery and the boiler+; or, adventures of a telegraph-cable layer. +the giant of the north+; or, pokings round the pole. +the lonely island+; or, the refuge of the mutineers. +post haste+: a tale of her majesty's mails. +in the track of the troops+: a tale of modern war. +the settler and the savage+: a tale of peace and war in south africa. +under the waves+; or, diving in deep waters. +the lifeboat+: a tale of our coast heroes. +the golden dream+: a tale of the diggings. +the red eric+; or, the whaler's last cruise. +freaks on the fells+, and +why i+ did not become a sailor. +the wild man of the west+. +gascoyne, the sandalwood+ trader: a tale of the pacific. +rivers of ice+: a tale illustrative of alpine adventure and glacier action. +the pirate city+: an algerine tale. +black ivory+: a tale of adventure among the slavers of east africa. +the norsemen in the west+; or, america before columbus. +the iron horse+; or, life on the line. a railway tale. +erling the bold+: a tale of the norse sea kings. +fighting the flames+: a tale of the london fire brigade. +deep down+: a tale of the cornish mines. +the floating light of the goodwin sands+. +shifting winds+: a tough yarn. +the lighthouse+: being the story of a great fight between man and the sea. +the big otter+: a tale of the far nor'west. extra crown 8vo, 5s. +the walrus hunters+: a romance of the realms of ice. by mr. r.m. ballantyne. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. each. hunted and harried. a coxswain's bride; or, the rising tide. and other tales. the garret and the garden; or, low life high up. and jeff benson; or, the young coastguardsman. the crew of the water-wagtail. a story of newfoundland. the middy and the moors: an algerine tale. the prairie chief. life in the red brigade: a fiery tale. and fort desolation; or, solitude in the wilderness. the island queen; or, dethroned by fire and water. a tale of the southern hemisphere. twice bought: a tale of the oregon gold-fields. the madman and the pirate. my doggie and i. philosopher jack: a tale of the southern seas. the red man's revenge. six months at the cape. letters to periwinkle from south africa. a record of personal experience and adventure. battles with the sea; or, heroes of the lifeboat and the rocket. price 3s. 6d. each. tales of adventure by flood, field, and mountain. tales of adventure; or, wild work in strange places. tales of adventure on the coast. with numerous illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. the kitten pilgrims; or, great battles and grand victories. london: james nisbet & co., 21 berners street. james nisbet & co.'s select list of books suitable for presents and prizes, by well-known and popular writers. profusely illustrated and handsomely bound in cloth. _a complete list will be forwarded post free on application to the publishers_. works by mrs. marshall. "readers who value culture and refinement, but, above all, seek for truth and unction, will recommend her tales, especially for young ladies."-_churchman_. with numerous illustrations. +price five shillings each. extra crown 8vo.+ the close of st. christopher's. new relations. a story for girls. those three; or, little wings. eastward ho! a story for girls. laurel crowns; or, griselda's aim. houses on wheels. a story for children. +price three shillings and sixpence each. crown 8vo.+ in the purple. daphne's decision; or, which shall it be? the roses of ringwood. a story for children. cassandra's casket. silver chimes; or, olive. stories of the cathedral cities of england. poppies and pansies. rex and regina; or, the song of the river. dewdrops and diamonds. heather and harebell. mistress matchett's mistake. a very old story. sir valentine's victory, and other stories. our own picture book. 151 illustrations. small 4to. +price two shillings and sixpence each.+ dulcibel's day-dreams; or, the grand, sweet song. with illustrations. crown 8vo. pictures illustrative of the lord's prayer. with appropriate stories for children. medium 4to. the life of our lord jesus christ for very young children. 12 illustrations. medium 4to. mrs. marshall's works--continued. +price two shillings each.+ with illustrations. crown 8vo. oliver's old pictures; or, the magic circle. ruby and pearl; or, the children at castle aylmer. a story for little girls. +price one shilling and sixpence each.+ with illustrations. small crown 8vo. nature's gentleman. the bride's home. my lady bountiful. stellafont abbey; or, nothing new. golden silence. when i was young. matthew frost, carrier; or, little snowdrop's mission. michael's treasures; or, choice silver. my grandmother's pictures. marjory; or, the gift of peace. grace buxton; or, the light of home. three little brothers. three little sisters. the birth of a century; or, eighty years ago. the story of john marbeck: a windsor organist of 300 years ago. his work and his reward. +price one shilling each.+ heathercliffe; or, it's no concern of mine. daisy bright. the little peat-cutters; or, the song of love. primrose; or, the bells of old effingham. to-day and yesterday: a story of summer and winter holidays. between the cliffs; or, hal forester's anchor. a violet in the shade. light on the lily; or, a flower's message. a rose without a thorn. a chip of the old block. +by r.m. ballantyne. with illustrations. extra crown 8vo. 5s.+ "the fathers, mothers, guardians, uncles, and aunts who wish to find an acceptable present for a healthy-minded boy cannot possibly go wrong if they buy a book with mr. ballantyne's name on the title-page."--_academy_. the walrus hunters: a tale of esquimaux land. +crown 8vo. with illustrations. 3s. 6d. each.+ the hot swamp: a romance of old albion. the buffalo runners: a tale of the red river plains. charlie to the rescue! a tale of the sea and the rockies. blown to bits; or, the lonely man of rakata. a tale of the malay archipelago. blue lights; or, hot work in the soudan. the fugitives; or, the tyrant queen of madagascar. red rooney; or, the last of the crew. the rover of the andes: a tale of adventure in south america. the young trawler: a story of life and death and rescue in the north sea. dusty diamonds, cut and polished: a tale of arab city life. the battery and the boiler; or, adventures in the laying of submarine electric cables. the giant of the north; or, pokings round the pole. the lonely island; or, the refuge of the mutineers. post haste: a tale of her majesty's mails. in the track of the troops: a tale of modern war. the settler and the savage: a tale of peace and war in south africa. under the waves; or, diving in deep waters. rivers of ice: a tale illustrative of alpine adventure and glacier action. the pirate city: an algerine tale. black ivory: a tale of adventure among the slavers of east africa. the norsemen in the west; or, america before columbus. the iron horse; or, life on the line. the floating light of the goodwin sands. erling the bold: a tale of the norse sea-kings. mr. r.m. ballantyne's books--continued. the golden dream: a tale of the diggings. deep down: a tale of the cornish mines. fighting the flames: a tale of the london fire-brigade. shifting winds: a tough yarn. the lighthouse; or, the story of a great fight between man and the sea. the lifeboat: a tale of our coast heroes. gascoyne, the sandalwood trader. the wild man of the west: a tale of the rocky mountains. the red eric; or, the whaler's last cruise. freaks on the fells: and why i did not become a sailor? * * * * * +with illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. each.+ hunted and harried. a coxswain's bride; or, the rising tide. and other tales. the garret and the garden; or, low life high up: and jeff benson; or, the young coastguardsman. the crew of the water-wagtail. the middy and the moors. life in the red brigade. a fiery tale. the prairie chief. a tale. the island queen; or, dethroned by fire and water. the madman and the pirate. twice bought: a tale of the oregon gold fields. my doggie and i. the red man's revenge. philosopher jack: a tale of the southern seas. six months at the cape. battles with the sea; or, heroes of the lifeboat and the rocket. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. the kitten pilgrims; or, great battles and grand victories. crown 8vo. 2s. +price 3s. 6d. each.+ tales of adventure by flood, field, and mountain. tales of adventure; or, wild work in strange places. tales of adventure on the coast. +mr. r.m. ballantyne's miscellany of entertaining and instructive tales+. +with illustrations. 1s. each+. _also in a handsome cloth case, price 20s_. the "athenaeum" says:--"there is no more practical way of communicating elementary information than that which has been adopted in this series. when we see contained in 124 small pages (as in _fast in the ice_) such information as a man of fair education should possess about icebergs, northern lights, esquimaux, musk-oxen, bears, walruses, &c., together with all the ordinary incidents of an arctic voyage woven into a clear connected narrative, we must admit that a good work has been done, and that the author deserves the gratitude of those for whom the books are especially designed, and also of young people of all classes." i. fighting the whales; or, doings and dangers on a fishing cruise. ii. away in the wilderness; or, life among the red indians and fur traders of north america. iii. fast in the ice; or, adventures in the polar regions. iv. chasing the sun; or, rambles in norway. v. sunk at sea; or, the adventures of wandering will in the pacific. vi. lost in the forest; or, wandering will's adventures in south america. mr. r.m. ballantyne's miscellany--continued. vii. over the rocky mountains; or, wandering will in the land of the red skin. viii. saved by the lifeboat; or, a tale of wreck and rescue on the coast. ix. the cannibal islands; or, captain cook's adventures in the south seas. x. hunting the lions; or, the land of the negro. xi. digging for gold; or, adventures in california. xii. up in the clouds; or, balloon voyages. xiii. the battle and the breeze; or, the fights and fancies of a british tar. xiv. the pioneers: a tale of the western wilderness. xv. the story of the rock. xvi. wrecked, but not ruined. xvii. the thorogood family. xviii. the lively poll: a tale of the north sea. +by agnes giberne+. "tales that bear miss giberne's name are 'the best of the best.' no writer excels her in this department of literature."--_fireside news_. "that the story is miss giberne's guarantees refinement and christian principle."--_churchman_. * * * * * the andersons. illustrated. extra crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. the dalrymples. with illustrations. third edition. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. with illustrations. crown 8vo. "least said, soonest mended." 3s. 6d. "a simple tale, well told."--_guardian_. "to say that it is by miss giberne is at once to recommend the story highly to girls."--_quiver_. "a well written and most interesting tale."--_glasgow herald_. "a well written story. the moral is conveyed in a most interesting way, and as a mere tale it will well repay perusal."--_church review_. number three winifred place. 3s. 6d. "a delightful story, and, we need hardly add--being miss giberne's--is full of the highest and most profitable religious teaching."--_record_. "a well constructed, thoroughly healthy tale."--_aberdeen free press_. "miss giberne's book is for gentler readers. it appeals very delicately to their softer sympathies, and introduces them to one young girl at least who may serve as a model or ideal to them. it is written in a pleasing sympathetic style."--_scotsman_. "the plot of the story is as ingenious as the treatment is effective, and it is told with great skill."--_yorkshire post_. ready, aye ready! 2s. 6d. "a thoroughly good and deeply interesting story."--_newcastle chronicle_. "a charming story, which displays all this well-known writer's knowledge of girls and their habits of mind."--_scotsman_. miss con; or, all those girls. 5s. "constance conway is a charming heroine. her diary is an admirable collection of character sketches."_--athenaeum_. agnes giberne's works--continued enid's silver bond. 5s. "enid's nature is essentially heroic.... the other characters are cleverly sketched."--_times_. five thousand pounds. 2s. "youthful readers have reason to thank miss giberne for having written this capital story."--_john bull_. st. austin's lodge; or, mr. berkeley and his nieces. 5s. "a very good example of the author's well-known style. it is carefully written, and is in all respects a conscientious performance."--_academy_. beryl and pearl. 5s. "characterised by unflagging vivacity and great dramatic power."-_christian leader_. "one of miss giberne's most delightful tales."--_record_. decima's promise. 3s. 6d. "one of the best and soundest books we have seen."--_public opinion_. "the result of a disaster, decima's distress, and the behaviour of the parents, are touchingly told, and the whole case of conscience is admirably, managed."--_guardian_. daisy of old meadow. 2s. "there are few boys or girls to whom this story will not prove interesting reading."--_court circular_. kathleen. 5s. "worthy of high praise, thoroughly good and very interesting."--_church bells_. "a fascinating tale."--_record_. old umbrellas; or, clarrie and her mother. 2s. "the book is bright and lively, and will be read with pleasure and profit."--_christian_. miles murchison. illustrated. small crown 8vo. 1s. 6d. by dr. macaulay. strange yet true. with many illustrations. extra crown 8vo. 5s. * * * * * by s.m.s. clarke (mrs. pereira). baron and squire. a story of the thirty years' war. from the german of n. noeldechen. with sixteen illustrations. extra crown 8vo. 5s. the duke's page; or, "in the days of luther." a story for boys. from the german. sixteen illustrations. extra crown 8vo. 5s. "a spirited and attractive narrative."--_literary churchman_. "a capital story for boys."--_guardian_. "this is one of the most fascinating historical tales we have ever read."--_british weekly_. "throughout incident succeeds incident, and the interest never flags until the end is reached."--_public opinion_. "a very good story.... of sterling value."--_spectator_. the trivial round; or, chapters of village life. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. "a book that will interest and refresh dwellers in cities with this glimpse of a life in many respects different from their own."--_academy_. "these scenes from village life will be a source of pleasure to very many readers. the story is ably worked out and pleasantly told."--_john bull_. * * * * * by rev. j. reid howatt. the children's pew. extra crown 8vo. 6s. the children's pulpit. a year's sermons and parables for the young. extra crown 8vo. 6s. "the subjects are well selected; the style is always simple and forcible; and the lessons which the preacher desires to impress upon the mind are such as every youthful reader may appreciate. the sermons have another merit--that of brevity."--_scotsman_. "simple, suggestive, and singularly happy in illustration and treatment."--_word and work_. ^ the children's angel. a volume of sermons to children. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. "fifty-three brief addresses to children. direct, as such things should be; clear, as they must always be; and interesting, as, if any good is to be done, they are bound to be--they contain a collection of truths which children ought to be taught, and the teacher is always bright and clear, which is saying a great deal."--_church bells_. "these sermonettes are eminently practical, while their homely style and freedom from cant are delightful."--_christian commonwealth_. by lady kennett-barrington. bible history for children. with a short history of christianity after the days of the apostles. with illustrations. small crown 8vo. 1s. 6d. "this book is eminently adapted for children's capabilities, and has the great advantage of keeping as nearly as possible to bible language. it is an excellent little book."--_christian commonwealth_. "a little work that will commend itself to all who have to do with the religious training of the young."--_church bells_. "the work is well and carefully done, the main current of the bible story being rendered with point and brevity in the very spirit of the scriptures."--_school board chronicle_. by william charles metcalfe. steady your helm; or, stowed away. with six illustrations. extra crown 8vo. 5s. aboveboard. a tale of adventure on the sea. with six illustrations. extra crown 8vo. 5s. "this is a delightfully exciting tale of the adventures of two sailor lads, with icebergs, pirates, and similar horrors of the sea. its chief defect is that it leaves off too soon, even at the end of more than 300 pages."--_pall mall gazette._ "this story of a cruise is about as full of adventures as it can well be. there is plenty of 'go' in the narrative, and the incidents succeed each other with a very plausible probability."--_spectator_. "it is a long time since we have read anything racier, breezier, more healthful and invigorating than mr. metcalfe's fine sea story."--_methodist recorder._ frank weatherall; or, life in the merchant marine. a sea story for youth. illustrated. small crown 8vo. 2s. by mrs. saxby. tom and his crows. illustrated. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. viking boys. with four illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. "wholesome and manly in tone, the book is thoroughly fresh and natural." --_morning post_. "we prophesy that the tale of the viking boys and their wild deeds will become as popular as 'the lads of lunda,' and all the other stories with which mrs. saxby has delighted us."--_athenaeum_. the lads of lunda. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. "a perfect book for boys--generous, wholesome, manly in tone, and withal thoroughly young, fresh, and natural. we recommend the book heartily, not only to all boys, but to everybody who knows and likes brave boys."-_guardian_. "a capital book. the tales are full of fun and pathos."--_athenaeum_. the yarl's yacht. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. "'the yarl's yacht' is even superior in interest to its predecessor."-_standard_. "mrs. saxby knows young people as few know them, and they will in return thoroughly appreciate her. as long as she writes such genuine, refreshing, happy family stories for them, they certainly will be most fortunate."--_spectator_. "'the yarl's yacht' is a delightful sequel to the 'lads of lunda.'"--_times_. the home of a naturalist. by jessie m.e. saxby and the rev. biot edmonston. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. "we would fain linger long over the scenes which this excellent volume brings up before us. the authors have put together a very refreshing set of memories."--_saturday review_. * * * * * by eva travers evered poole. lotta's life mistake. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 1s. golden links in a life chain. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. "good-night" thoughts about god; or, evening readings for the young. small crown 8vo. 1s. 6d. * * * * * by barley dale. a tale of oughts and crosses; or, mr. holland's conquest. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. spoilt guy. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 1s. 6d. "a pretty tale, and contains excellent religious teaching."--_church, sunday-school magazine._ cissy's troubles. with illustrations. small crown 8vo. 1s. 6d. "a very charming story."--_yorkshire post_. "the book will be a favourite with young people, especially with our girls."--_family churchman_. little bricks. with illustrations. small crown 8vo. 1s. 6d. "the story is fascinating from the interest which is excited and maintained it is written with power and insight."--_courant_. by ellen l. davis. high and lowly: a story of hearts and homes. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 1s. 6d. yoked together: a tale of three sisters. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. "a quiet domestic story of deep interest-, with several striking situations, described with considerable power."--_leeds mercury_. a boy's will. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 1s. 6d. "the book is full of life and character, and would be a fitting gift alike to the sunday-school teacher and the scholar."--_british messenger_. by the rev. george everard, m.a. your sundays: fifty-two short readings. especially intended for schoolboys. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. "your innings:" a book for schoolboys. sixth thousand. crown 8vo. 1s. 6d. edie's letter; or, talks with the little folks. 4to. 2s. 6d. by miss havergal. streamlets of song for the young. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. morning bells. being waking thoughts for the little ones. royal 32mo, 9d.; paper cover, 6d. little pillows. being good night thoughts for the little ones. 32mo, 9d.; paper cover, 6d. morning stars; or, names of christ for his little ones. 32mo. 9d. the four happy days. 16mo. 1s. ben brightboots, and other true stories. crown 8vo. 1s. bruey. a little worker for christ. crown 8vo. 1s. 6d.; paper cover, 1s. memorials of little nony. a biography of nony heywood, who was the first collector for the bruey branch of the irish society. by her mother. with preface by miss havergal, and a portrait. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. by the rev. j.b. macduff, d.d. parables of the lake; or, the seven stories of jesus by the lake of galilee. a sunday book for young readers. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. the story of a shell. a romance of the sea: with some sea teachings. a book for boys and girls. with coloured frontispiece and other illustrations. small 4to. 6s. cheaper edition, paper cover, 1s.; limp cloth, 2s. the story of bethlehem. a book for children. with illustrations by thomas. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. hosannas of the children. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 5s. the woodcutter of lebanon. a story illustrative of a jewish institution. 16mo. 2s. tales of the warrior judges. fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. the cities of refuge; or, the name of jesus. a sunday book for the young. 16mo. 1s. 6d. fergus morton. a tale of a scottish boy. 18mo. 9d. the exiles of lucerna; or, the sufferings of the waldenses during the persecution of 1686. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. the footsteps of st. paul. being a life of the apostle designed for youth. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 5s. brighter than the sun; or, christ the light of the world. a life of our lord for the young. with illustrations by a. rowan. post 4to. 3s. 6d.; in paper cover, 1s.; limp cloth, 2s. willows by the watercourses; or, god's promises to the young. 64mo. 6d.; paper cover, 3d. by rev. j. jackson wray. old crusty's niece. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. will it lift? a story of a london fog. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. jack horner the second. with illustrations. cr. 8vo. 2s; simon holmes, the carpenter if aspendale. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. the secret of the mere; or, under the surface. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. garton rowley; or, leaves from the log of a master mariner. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. honest john stallibrass. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. the chronicles of capstan cabin. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. matthew mellowdew. with frontispiece. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. nestleton magna. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. peter pengelly. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 1s. 6d. paul meggitt's delusion. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. a man every inch of him. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. _the "knapsack" series_. with frontispiece. small crown 8vo. 1s. each. 1. the man with the knapsack; or, the miller o burnham lee. 2. widow winpenny's watchword. 3. primrose garth. 4. "a song o' sixpence" for the bairns. 5. geoffrey hallam; or, the clerk of the parish. by mrs. barbour. the way home, and how the children reached it by a railway accident. with illustrations. eighteenth thousand. 16mo. 1s. 6d. limp; 2s. 6d. boards. the irish orphan in a scottish home. a sequel to "the way home." 16mo. 1s. limp; 2s. 6d. boards. the child of the kingdom. twenty-second thousand. with illustrations. 16mo. 1s. limp; 2s. 6d. boards. the soul-gatherer. seventeenth thousand. 16mo. 1s. limp; cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. * * * * * by mrs. haycraft. sunwood glory; or, through the refiner's fire. with four illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. * * * * * by esme stuart. a brave fight, and other stokies. with four illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. * * * * * by edith ralph. step by step through the bible. part i. a scripture history for little children. with a preface by cunningham geikie, d.d., ll.d., and twelve illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. part ii. from death of joshua to end of the old testament. a scripture history for little children. revised and recommended by cunningham geikie, d.d., ll.d. twelve illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. mrs. lester's girls and their service. by the author of "miss marston's girls and their confirmation." with frontispiece. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. "a good book for young servants, or for reading at a sewing-class attended by young women. its tone and teaching are all we could wish."--_record_.. "its evident truthfulness and fidelity to nature make us think that it is founded upon much experience of young girls in the working class. to such it would, no doubt, be exceedingly interesting."--_literary churchman_. miss marston's girls and their confirmation. with frontispiece. crown 8vo. 1s. * * * * * by the rev. david macewan, d.d. this year. anniversary addresses for the young. second edition. square 16mo. 1s. by the rev. james wells, m.a. bible object-lessons. addresses to children. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. bible echoes: addresses to the young. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. the parables of jesus. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 5s. bible children. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. bible images. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. "mr. wells has in these volumes been content to restrict himself to an endeavour to win and instruct the young. he has done this with admirable skill, with great transparency of meaning, vividness of treatment and nicety of discrimination, combined with a befitting freedom and an impressive earnestness."--_literary world_. "mr. wells contrives by a studied plainness of diction, by the simplicity and directness of his style, by his evident earnestness and kindliness, and a wealth of illustrative anecdotes, to minimise the difficulties which children have to encounter in grasping new and especially abstract ideas."--_scotsman_. by lady dunboyne. breaking of the clouds. crown 8vo. illustrated. 2s. charity. a tale. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. her life's work. a tale. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. "the story, which is pleasantly and touchingly told, is thoroughly suitable for a gift-book for girls of the upper classes."--_guardian_. * * * * * by the rev. j.h. wilson. the king's message. a book for the young. with illustrations. small crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. "the union of solid teaching and fervent appeal with a cheerful outlook on life we have seldom, if ever, seen more happily exemplified. dr. wilson's book is as winsome as it is wise, thoroughly human in its spirit and robust in its tone and teaching."--_christian leader_. "no better book than this very thoughtful, clearly and beautifully written and tastefully illustrated volume, could be put into the hands of the young."--_aberdeen free press_. the gospel and its fruits. a book for the young. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. "exceedingly plain, practical, and pointed, full of striking and ingenious illustrations."--_aberdeen journal_. our father in heaven: the lord's prayer familiarly explained and illustrated for the young. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. "dr. wilson graduated long since as a prophet of god who has a voice for the young. his explanation of the lord's prayer has made him a dear friend to many a parent as well as child."--_presbyterian churchman_. "dr. wilson's addresses are admirable specimens of what productions of the kind should be, pithy, pointed, and practical, and abounding in anecdotes and illustrations."--_congregational review_. by l.t. meade. a london baby: the story of king roy. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. "very touching and sad, though the end is happy."--_athenaeum_. the children's pilgrimage. with illustrations. small crown 8vo, 2s.; gilt edges, 2s. 6d. "displays vivid conception of character, and clear, graphic description. the story is full of incident and adventure."--_literary churchman_. * * * * * by mrs. winscom. dear old england. a description of our fatherland. dedicated to all english children. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. "english children will find much that is well worth knowing, and well told, in this copiously illustrated volume."--_christian world_. * * * * * by the rev. w.w. tulloch, b.d. the story of the life of the emperor william. told for boys and girls all over the world. with frontispiece. crown 8vo, 2s. 6d.; with gilt edges, 3s. 6d. revised by the queen. the story of the life of the prince consort. told for boys and girls. crown 8vo, 2s. 6d.; with gilt edges, 3s. 6d. the story of the life of queen victoria. told for boys and girls all over the world. with two portraits. crown 8vo, 2s. 6d.; with gilt edges, 3s. 6d. the "chimes" series. _crown 8vo. numerous illustrations. 3s. 6d. each._ by mrs. marshall. 1. silver chimes; or, olive. 2. daphne's decision; or, which shall it be. 3. cassandra's casket. 4. poppies and pansies. 5. rex and regina; or, the song of the river. 6. stories of the cathedral cities of england. 7. dewdrops and diamonds. 8. heather and harebell. 9. the roses of ringwood. a story for children. 10. in the purple. the "laurel" series. _crown 8vo. numerous illustrations. 2s. 6d. each_. 1. tom and his crows. by mrs. saxby, author of "viking boys," &c. 2. watch and watch. by w.c. metcalfe, author of "frank weatherall." 3. winning his laurels; or, the boys of st. raglan's. by f.m. holmes. 4. that aggravating schoolgirl. by grace stebbing. 5. what a man soweth. by grace stebbing. 6. dulcibel's day dreams; or, the grand, sweet song. by mrs. marshall. 7. the lads of lunda. by jessie m.e. saxby. 8. the yarl's yacht. by jessie m.e. saxby. 9. a new exodus; or, the exiles of the zillerthal. a story of the protestants of the tyrol. by catherine ray. 10. grace murray. a story. by ella stone. 11. mr. orde's grandchildren. by cecilia selby lowndes. 12. where the dew falls in london. by sarah doudney. the "sunshine" series. _crown 8vo. numerous illustrations. 2s. each_. 1. the breaking of the clouds. by lady dunboyne, author of "charity," &c. &c. 2. through shadow to sunshine. by mrs. hornibrook. 3. a summer in the life of two little children. by mrs. howard. 4. oliver's old pictures; or, the magic circle. by mrs. marshall. 5. ruby and pearl; or, the children at castle aylmer. by mrs. marshall. 6. lady temple's grandchildren. by miss everett green. 7. a london baby: the story of king roy. by l.t. meade. 8. hidden homes; or, the children's discoveries. by m.a. paull ripley. 9. an unwilling witness. by miss lyster. 10. our neighbour, widow yates. by grace stebbing. 11. bible plants and animals. containing illustrations of over 1000 passages of scripture from the works of travellers and other sources. by alfred e. knight. * * * * * the "marbeck" series. _crown 8vo. numerous illustrations. 1s. 6d. each_ 1. the story of john marbeck: a windsor organist of 300 years ago. by mrs. marshall. 2. my grandmother's pictures. by mrs. marshall. 3. the old violin; or, charity hope's own story. by edith c. kenyon. 4. a boy's will. by ellen l. davis. 5. spoilt guy. by darley dale. 6. high and lowly: a tale of hearts and homes. by ellen l. davis. 7. peter pengelly. by rev. jackson wray. 8. nellie graham; or, the story of a commonplace woman. by ella stone. the "sweetbriar" series. _a new series of volumes. with illustrations. extra crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. each._ work, wait, win. by ruth lamb. the andersons. by miss giberne, author of "the dalrymples," &c. sweetbriar; or, doings in priorsthorpe magna. by agnes giberne. coulying castle; or, a knight of the olden days. by agnes giberne. aimee: a tale of the days of james the second. by agnes giberne. lilla thorne's voyage; or, "that far remembrancer." by grace stebbing. * * * * * the "roundabout" series. _extra crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. each._ the right road. a manual for parents and teachers. by j. kramer. through bible lands. notes of travel in egypt, the desert, and palestine. profusely illustrated. by philip schaff, d.d., and an essay on egyptology and the bible, by edouard naville. * * * * * bible history for the young. +"the word" series.+ by susan and anna warner, authors of "the wide, wide world," "queechy," &c. _with illustrations, plain and coloured. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. each_. the aim of this series of volumes is so to set forth the bible incidents and course of history, with its train of actors, as to see them in the circumstances and colouring, the light and shade, of their actual existence. the volumes embody, as far as possible, all the known facts, natural, social, and historical, which are required for the illustration and elucidation of the bible narrative. 1. walks from eden: the scripture story from the creation to the death of abraham. 2. the house of israel: the scripture story from the birth of isaac to the death of jacob. 3. the kingdom of judah: the scripture story from the death of solomon to the captivity. 4. the broken walls of jerusalem and the rebuilding of them. in continuation of "the house of israel" and "the kingdom of judah," and completing the work. 5. the star out of jacob: the scripture story illustrating the earlier portion of the gospel narrative. "these five books form a most comprehensive and attractive commentary on the scriptures suited to the requirements of the young. more real knowledge in true child language, and within the understanding of children, it has never been our privilege to meet with before. we are disposed to envy those young friends who are fortunate enough to number them among their literary possessions, for although pre-eminently children's books, they are yet well able to impart instruction to children of a larger growth."--_rock_. "there is a pleasant freshness and reality conveyed to the old, well-worn stories, which will make children understand the details of eastern life and the manners and customs of the old pastoral times. 'the word' series will be a charming gift to young people."--_athenaeum_. "we doubt whether any one has ever told 'the old, old story' more attractively, for children at least, than the author of 'the wide, wide world.' whatever fame she may have won by her works of fiction will be greatly increased by her success in writing these marvellous stories."--_christian world_. the golden ladder series. _with illustrations. handsomely bound in cloth, gilt edges. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. each_. "children welcome with glee the volumes comprised in nisbet's 'golden ladder series,' for they are full of interest, even though they are stories with a moral, which is always a high-toned one."--_liverpool courier_. "'the golden ladder series' of story-books, so much appreciated for their excellence. they can be all safely recommended to the notice of teachers as being especially suitable as rewards, while no school library can be said to be complete without a selection from them."--_schoolmaster_. 1. the golden ladder: stories illustrative of the beatitudes. by susan and anna b. warner. 2. the wide, wide world. by susan warner. 3. queechy. by susan warner. 4. melbourne house. by susan warner. 5. daisy. by susan warner. 6. daisy in the field. by susan warner. 7. the old helmet. by susan warner. 8. nettie's mission: stories illustrative of the lord's prayer. by julia mathews. 9. glen luna; or, dollars and cents. by anna b. warner. 10. drayton hall. stories illustrative of the beatitudes. by julia mathews. 11. within and without: a new england story. 12. vinegar hill stories: illustrative of the parable of the sower. by anna b. warner. 13. little sunbeams. by joanna mathews. 14. what she could and opportunities. by susan warner. 15. trading and the house in town. 16. dare to do right. by julia mathews. the golden ladder series-continued. 17. holden with the cords. by the author of "within and without." 18. giving honour: containing "the little camp on eagle hill" and "willow brook." by susan warner. 19. giving service: containing "sceptres and crowns" and "the flag of truce." by susan warner. 20. giving trust: containing "bread and oranges" and "the rapids of niagara." by susan warner. *** _the tales in the last three volumes are illustrative of the_ lord's prayer. 21. wych hazel. a tale. by susan and anna warner. 22. the gold of chickaree. a sequel to "wych hazel." by susan and anna b. warner. 23. diana. by susan warner. 24. my desire. by susan warner. 25. the end of a coil. by susan warner. 26. the letter of credit. by susan warner. 27. nobody. by susan warner. 28. stephen, m.d. by susan warner. 29. a red wallflower. by susan warner. 30. daisy plains. by susan warner. 31. cross corners. by anna b. warner. 32. mistress matchett's mistake. by emma marshall. 33. yours and mine. by anna b. warner. 34. one little vein of dross. by mrs. ruth lamb. 35. oak bend; or, patience and her schooling. by anna b. warner. 36. a candle in the sea; or, winter at seal's head. a book about lighthouses. by rev. e.a. rand. the "golden silence" series of tales. _with illustrations. small crown 8vo. attractively bound in cloth. 1s. 6d. each_. golden silence; or, annals of the birkett family of crawford-under-wold. by mrs. marshall. the story of our english bible and what it cost. by mrs. bayly. stepping heavenward. by mrs. prentiss. what katy did. by susan coolidge. morag: a tale of highland life. by mrs. milne rae, author of "rinaultrie," "geordy's tryst," &c. aunt jane's hero; or, sorrow and sunshine. by mrs. prentiss. maggie and bessie, and their way to do good. by joanna h. mathews. bessie at school. by joanna h. mathews. bessie and her friends. by joanna h. mathews. bessie in the mountains. by joanna h. mathews. bessie at the seaside. by joanna h. mathews. bessie on her travels. by joanna h. mathews. the three little spades. by anna b. warner. when i was young. by mrs. marshall. the home at greylock. by mrs. prentiss. michael's treasures; or, choice silver. by mrs. marshall. cissy's troubles. by darley dale. little bricks. by darley dale. effie's friends; or, chronicles of the woods and shore. matthew frost, carrier; or, little snowdrop's mission. by mrs. marshall. my lady bountiful. by mrs. marshall. a tale of two old songs. by lady dunboyne. esther's journal. a tale of swiss pension life. by a resident. three paths in life. a tale for girls. stellafont abbey; or, "nothing new." by emma marshall. a sunbeam's influence; or, eight years after. by lady dunboyne. susy's sacrifice. kenneth forbes. the children of blackberry hollow. the safe compass, and how it points. by rev. r. newton, d.d. me. rutherford's children. theresa's journal. gran. by e.a.b.d. pat's inheritance. by mrs. marshall. in the mist. a tale. by ross porter. the other house. a tale. by mary r. higham. nature's gentleman. by mrs. marshall. the bride's home. by mrs. marshall. miles murchison. by miss giberne. house in town. by the author of "the wide, wide world." trading. by the author of "the wide, wide world." sequel to above. * * * * * _bound in paper covers. 1s._ aunt jane's hero. by mrs. prentiss. stepping heavenward. by mrs. prentiss. what katie did. by susan coolidge. morag. a tale of highland life. by mrs. milne rab. "dolly's charge" series. _with illustrations. small crown 8vo. 1s. each._. 1. dolly's charge. by miss marshall. 2. the little peat-cutters; or, the song of love. by mrs. marshall. 3. primrose; or, the bells of old effingham. by mrs. marshall. 4. the boy guardian. by c.e. bowen. 5. gentleman jim. by mrs. prentiss. 6. our laddie. by miss l.j. tomlinson. 7. violet in the shade. by mrs. marshall. 8. light on the lily. by mrs. marshall. 9. a rose without a thorn. by mrs. marshall. 10. alice's pupil. by miss m'clintock. 11. heathercliffe; or, it's no concern of mine. by mrs. marshall. 12. adventures of johnny pascoe. by g. norway. 13. miss brown's basket. by mrs. henry charles. 14. lotta's life mistake. by mrs. evered poole. 15. the princesses of penruth. by mary h. debenham. 16. see for yourself. by grace stebbing. 17. sunday occupations for children. by mrs. barclay. 18. parson's green. by g. norway. 19. helen; or, temper and its consequences. 20. the captain's story; or, the disobedient son. 21. china and its people. by a missionary's wife. 22. frank gordon, by f.r. goulding; and little jack, by anna warner. 23. to-day and yesterday. a story of summer and winter holidays. by mrs. marshall. 24. both sides. by jessie w. smith. 25. stephen gilmore's dream; or, coals of fire. by jessie w. smith. 26. judith the stranger. by the hon. gertrude boscawen. 27. the gate in park lane. by the hon. gertrude boscawen. 28. simple lessons from nature. by the hon. m.c. leigh. 29. the spoilt twins. by emily dibdin. 30. ben brightboots, and other true stories. havergal. 31. sam's mission. by beatrice marshall, author of "dolly's charge," &c. 32. katie: a daughter of the king. nisbet's juvenile library. _with illustrations. 16mo. 1s. 6d. each_. "capital books, well printed, tastefully bound, and containing a good deal of letterpress. we do not know a cheaper series at the price."--_sunday school chronicle_. lilies of the valley. herbert percy. passing clouds. warfare and work. evelyn grey. the christmas stocking. sowing in tears and reaping in joy. silver sands. the knots tom gillies tied and untied. * * * * * the select series of books suitable for presents and prizes. _with illustrations. small crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. each_. the mountains of the bible: their scenes and their lessons. by the rev. john macfarlane, ll.d. life: a series of illustrations of the divine wisdom in the forms, structures, and instincts of animals. by p.h. gosse, f.r.s. land and sea. by p.h. gosse, f.r.s. the romance of natural history. by p.h. gosse, f.r.s. two vols. tales from alsace; or, scenes and portraits from life in the days of the reformation. byeways in palestine. by james finn, m.r.a.s. the "pilgrim" series. popular editions of standard books. _small crown 8vo, numerous illustrations, 2s. each; with gilt edges, 2s. 6d. each_. * * * * * 1. bunyan's pilgrim's progress. 2. bunyan's holy war. 3. foxe's book of martyrs. 4. the throne of david: from the consecration of the shepherd of bethlehem to the rebellion of prince absalom. by the rev. j.h. ingraham, ll.d. 5. the prince of the house of david; or, three years in the holy city. by the rev. j.h. ingraham, ll.d. 6. the pillar of fire; or, israel in bondage. by the rev. j.h. ingraham, ll.d. 7. ben-hur; or, the days of the messiah. by lew wallace. 8. the lamplighter. by m. cumins. 9. uncle tom's cabin. by mrs. h. stowe. 10. robinson crusoe. 11. my desire. by susan warner. 12. nobody. by susan warner. 13. the fairchild family. by mrs. sherwood. 14. the swiss family robinson. 15. derry. a tale of the revolution. by charlotte elizabeth. 16. romance of natural history. by p.h. gosse. 17. great men: a series of lectures. by the late rev. frederic myers, m.a. 18. too late for the tide-mill. by rev. e.a. rand. 19. little women. by l.m. alcott. 20. drayton hall. by julia mathews. the "pilgrim" series-continued. 21. the end of a coil. by susan warner. 22. glen luna. by anna warner. 23. diana. by susan warner. 24. stephen, m.d. by susan warner. 25. melbourne house. by susan warner. 26. bible warnings. by rev. dr. newton. 27. the physician's daughter. 28. the wide, wide world. by susan warner. 29. daisy. by susan warner. 30. daisy in the field. by susan warner. 31. nor'ard of the dogger. by e.j. mather. 32. a dream of the north sea. by j. runciman. 33. scripture animals. by rev. dr. newton. 34. queechy. by susan warner. 35. dare to do right. by julia mathews. 36. nettie's mission. by julia mathews. 37. wandering homes and their influences. 38. frank weatherall. by w.c. metcalfe, author of "above board," &c. 39. short lives of men with a mission: charles kingsley, lord lawrence, henry m. stanley. with portraits. 40. expelled. by the author of "dorrincourt." 41. yoked together. by ellen davis. 42. bessie harrington's venture. by julia mathews. 43. opening of a chestnut burr. by e.p. roe. 44. st. elmo. by a.j.e. wilson. 45. the children's pilgrimage. by l.t. mead. 46. romance of natural history. second series. by p.h. gosse. london: james nisbet & co., 21 berners street, w. select list of books devotional and practical published by james nisbet & co. * * * * * +the christian under review+. a series of works on practical christian life small crown 8vo. the christian's influence. by the ven. william macdonald sinclair, d.d., archdeacon of london. 2s. the christian's start. by the very rev. the dean of norwich. 1s. the moral culture of the christian. by the rev. james mccann, d.d. 1s. the pathway of victory. by the rev. robert b. girdlestone, m.a., hon. canon of christ church, and late principal of wycliffe hall, oxford. 1s. the christian's recreations. by the rev. henry sutton, m.a., vicar of holy trinity, bordesley. 1s. the christian's progress. by the ven. g.r. wynne, d.d., archdeacon of aghadoe. 1s. the christian's duties and responsibilities. by the very rev. the dean of norwich. 1s. the christian's aims. by the rev. alfred pearson, m.a., incumbent of st. margaret's church, brighton. 1s. the intellectual culture of the christian. by the rev. james mccann, d.d. 1s. the christian's privileges. by the rev. w.j. deane, m.a. 1s. the christian's inheritance. by the rev. c.a. goodhart, m.a., incumbent of st. barnabas', highfield, sheffield. 1s. "simple and forcible as these books are in their teaching, and brief in extent, they deserve the attention of those who direct the religious teaching of the young."--_scotsman_. "we dipped into these pages alike with pleasure and profit. the writers, each on his own theme, seem steadfastly to keep in view scriptural teaching, sound doctrine, and the trials and temptations which beset the daily life and walk of the believer."--_word and work_. "how completely they cover the field of christian needs is sufficiently indicated by their titles. they are well fitted to stimulate the piety and clear the views of those holding the doctrines of the church of england."-_liverpool mercury._ by h. bonar, d.d. god's way of peace. a book for the anxious. 16mo, 1s. 6d. cheap edition, paper cover, 6d.; cloth, 9d. large type edition, crown 8vo, 2s. god's way of holiness. 16mo, 1s. 6d. cheap edition, paper cover, 6d.; cloth, 9d. large type edition, crown 8vo, 2s. by matthew henry. exposition of the old and new testaments; with practical remarks and observations--in nine volumes. imp. 8vo, l2, 2s. _net._ in six volumes. medium 8vo, l1, 11s. 6d. _net_. by lady catharine long. heavenly thoughts for morning and evening hours. selections in prose and verse, with passages from scripture. with a short introduction, 16mo., cloth, 2s. 6d.; silk, 4s. 6d, each. by harriet e. colvile. the way she trod. a study. just published. small crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. "'the way she trod' is a study of the development of religious sentiment and belief in a girl's character."--_scotsman._ "she is triplice, which, being interpreted, means threefold.... her life-history, under these various phases, is ingeniously set forth."--_glasgow herald._ "an admirably written book for young women, who will be attracted by the interesting story, telling how triplice was led by a way she knew not' until she finds rest and joy in god."--_the christian_. "a good book for distribution among girls of the upper classes."--_record_. flower voices. with illustrations. demy 16mo, 1s. "a dainty little booklet, giving many sweet and useful lessons from the flowers."--_the news_. "a choice little book, in which flowers are made to typify men and women, and to whisper important lessons regarding life and duty."-_christian_. "short stories, which will both please and profit. there is life and point about them, and their association with flowers is by no means strained. we place this little book in the first class as to the quality of the writing."-_sword and trowel_. wafted seeds. with illustrations. demy 16mo, 1s. by miss marsh. the rift in the clouds. small crown 8vo, 1s. crossing the river. small crown 8vo, 1s. shining light. small crown 8vo, 1s. what might have been. a true story. crown 8vo, 1s. by rev. j. reid howatt. the children's pew. sermons to children. after hours; or, the religion of our leisure time. with appendix on how to form a library for twenty shillings. small crown 8vo, 1s. the children's pulpit. a year's sermons and parables for the young. second edition. extra crown 8vo, 6s. "it will be heartily welcomed. the subjects are well selected; the style is always simple and forcible, and the lessons which the preacher desires to impress upon the mind are such as every youthful reader may appreciate. the sermons have another merit--that of brevity. a child may read them with a good deal of pleasure, and, it need hardly be said, with much profit."--_scotsman_. "the sermonettes are simple, suggestive, and singularly happy in illustration and treatment."--_word and work_. "all these fifty-three sermons and parables are worth reading, and would seem admirable either as models for addresses to children, or for reading in the home circle."--_church bells_. "full of nature and of life, and flashing with happy illustrations. "_--christian world._ the children's angel. being a volume of sermons to children. crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. "brief, fresh, and often original in thought. a preacher to children will find many suggestions and ideas in these discourses."--_literary churchman_. "fifty-three brief addresses to children. direct, as such things should be; clear, as they must always be; and interesting, as, if any good is to be done, they are bound to be--they contain a collection of truths which children ought to be taught, and the teacher is always bright and clear, which is saying a great deal."--_church bells_. "one of the most beautiful and helpful books we know of for ministers and others who are called upon to address the young."--_methodist new connexion magazine._ by miss nugent. the prince in the midst. jesus our centre. 16mo, 1s. by samuel gillespie prout. never say die: a talk with old friends. 16mo. 9d.; paper cover, 6d. by the rev. james wells, m.a. bible object lessons. addresses to children. with illustrations. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. bible echoes. addresses to the young. small crown. 8vo, 3s. 6d. the parables of jesus. with illustrations. small crown 8vo, 5s. bible children. studies for the young. with illustrations. small crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. bible images. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. by the rev. j.h. wilson, d.d. the king's message. a book for the young. with illustrations. small crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. the gospel and its fruits. a book for the young with illustrations. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. our father in heaven: the lord's prayer familiarly explained and illustrated for the young. with illustrations. crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. by edith ralph. step by step through the bible. part i from the creation to the death of joshua. a scripture history for little children. with a preface by cunningham geikie, d.d., ll.d., and twelve illustrations. crown. 8vo, 2s. 6d. from the preface. "miss edith ralph, in this little book, shows herself exceptionally skilful in her delicate task.... the tone and spirit of her pages seem to me admirably suited to her subject--simple, tender, gentle, wise, and full of sweet christian love, they point the little ones invitingly to heaven, and lead the way.... nor is the careful and well-informed intelligence wanting which is needed to make the first steps in bible knowledge a preparation for safe and healthy progress in it hereafter." part ii. from death of joshua to end of the old testament. a scripture history for little children. revised and recommended by cunningham geikie, d.d., ll.d. twelve illustrations. crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. "no sweeter, wiser, or more christian story of the scriptures could be given to a little child or read to it."--_christian commonwealth._ "just the thing for sunday afternoon,"--_word and work_. by frederick a. atkins, editor of "the young man," and hon. sec. of the national anti-gambling league. moral muscle: and how to use it. a brotherly chat with young men. with an introduction by rev. thain davidson, d.d. now ready. small crown 8vo, 1s. dr. clifford writes:--"it is full of life, throbs with energy, is rich in stimulus, and bright with hope." _the methodist times_ says:--"an excellent book for young men--manly, honest, straightforward, and full of christian earnestness." first battles, and how to fight them. just published. small crown 8vo, 1s. "an excellent book for young men. the addresses are vigorous and to the point. the work would certainly help to develop in a thoughtful reader a truer manliness than generally prevails among our young men."--_irish ecclesiastical gazette_. "another of mr. atkins' capital little books for young men."--_british weekly._ how to study the bible. by dr. clifford, m.a.; professor elmslie, d.d.; r.f. horton, m.a.; rev. f.b. meyee, b.a.; rev. c.h. waller, m.a.; rev. h.c.g. moule, m.a.; rev. c.a. berry; rev. w.j. dawson. third edition. small crown 8vo, 1s. "in this little book we have the choicest counsels of men who are themselves successful students of the word. we very earnestly commend this volume. all those who desire to know how to study the scriptures with the utmost profit should secure it at once."--_christian advocate_. "young bible students will find some very valuable hints in this little volume."--_nonconformist_. "the whole of these essays are well worthy of perusal, and are as instructive as they are interesting-."--_manchester courier_. "in this small book are comprised eight practical and, we may say, delightful essays from well-known divines and authors,"--_schoolmaster_. the question of questions: "what think ye of christ?" by samuel wainwright, d.d., incumbent of st. stephen's, clapham park. crown 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6d. by rev. theodore cuyler, d.d. stirring the eagle's nest, and other practical discourses. just published. extra crown 8vo, 6s. "a volume of earnest and able sermons, full of life and vigour."--_literary churchman._ "in this volume dr. cuyler is at his best.... his sermons are full of practical teaching, and cannot fail to profit the reader."--_rock_. "dr. cuyler has given us here some of his best work."--_church bells_. "this is a volume of short practical sermons, characterised by the simplicity and directness which we expect from dr. cuyler."--_christian leader_. "the discourses are vigorous expositions of simple texts."--_scotsman_ how to be a pastor. recently published. crown 8vo, 2s. "it is full of strong, cheery, sensible, hard-working christianity. it ought to have a very large circulation."--_british weekly_. "twelve chapters well worthy of the study of pastors, and calculated to stimulate all who have at heart the cause of christ."--_christian_. "in this handy little volume dr. cuyler gives wise guidance, couched in graphic and telling style."--_methodist recorder_. "we lay down this book, brimful of wholesome advice, with the earnest wish that some of our wealthy laymen would place a copy of it in the hands of each of our ministers."--_christian advocate_. by the rev. alfred pearson, m.a., incumbent of st. margaret's church, brighton. christus magister: some teachings from the sermon on the mount. just published. crown 8vo, 5s. _the bishop of bedford_ says:--"old truths are felicitously expressed and beautifully illustrated. there is much that is original and suggestive in exposition." _the dean of winchester_ says:--"a delightful volume: the chapter on 'non-resistance' pleases me especially." the christian's aims. small crown 8vo, 1s. "under mr. pearson's guidance the aims of life are considered with reference to god, to ourselves, and to our fellows. self-denial, as required of every christian, is sensibly considered in the chapter on cross-bearing. "--_guardian_. "many christians would derive benefit from reading the chapters 'on glorifying god,' 'on self-mastery,' 'on self-fulfilment,' 'on cross-bearing' and 'on tone.'"--_english churchman_. by the rev. andrew murray. small crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. each. the new life. words of god for disciples of christ. "this book stands out among many of its kind as distinguished by a new impulse and freshness of thought."--_scotsman_. abide in christ. thoughts on the blessed life of fellowship with the son of god. sixty-third thousand. "the varied aspects of this practical truth are treated with much freshness, power, and unction. it cannot fail to stimulate, to cheer, and to qualify for higher service."--mr. spurgeon in _the sword and trowel_. like christ. thoughts on the blessed life of conformity to the son of god. a sequel to "abide in christ." twenty-eighth thousand. "the author has written with such loving unction and spiritual insight that his pages may be read with comfort and edification by all."--_literary churchman_. with christ in the school of prayer. twenty-fifth thousand. "a volume of rare excellence, and one which is much needed."--_christian news._ holy in christ. thoughts on the calling of god's children to be holy as he is holy. tenth thousand. "this is one of the best books we have seen upon a subject which is happily attracting much attention nowadays. there is so much spurious sentimentalism abroad that we are glad to meet with a book in which this sacred theme--holiness--is dealt with so robustly and scripturally."--_methodist n.c. magazine._ the spirit of christ. thoughts on the indwelling of the holy spirit in the believer and the church. eighth thousand. "mr. murray's new work, like his former ones, will serve for the edification of those who are able to appreciate spirituality of thought, and inclined to give the attention needful to digest and profit by meditations presented in a manner more solid than lively."--_record_. small crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. the children for christ. thoughts for christian parents on the consecration of the home life. tenth thousand. "there is a tone of fervour and devotion pervading the book that contrasts pleasantly with the trivially inane tone some writers think fit to adopt in writing for and about children. all sunday-school teachers and parents would do well to lay its lessons to heart."--_methodist recorder_. by the rev. j. hamilton, d.d. the mount of olives, and other lectures on prayer. 16mo, 1s. a morning beside the lake of galilee, 16mo, 1s. the pearl of parables. notes on the parable of the prodigal son. 16mo, 1s. the light to the path; or, what the bible has been to others, and what it can do for ourselves. 16mo, 1s. emblems from eden. 16mo, 1s. the happy home. 16mo. with illustrations. 1s. the blessed life: how to find and live it. by n.j. hofmeyr, senior professor of the theological college of the dutch reformed church, stellenbosch, cape colony. small crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. "the teaching is sound throughout, and expressed in vigorous language."--_christian_. "we have seldom read a book which gives such a grasp of redemption in its purpose, as in its enjoyment by the individual, in so brief and compact a manner as the one before us. the treatment is suited only to an intelligent, if not educated, christian. to such it is calculated to give an intellectual, as well as spiritual, perception of the things which accompany salvation."--_rock_. by the rev. george matheson, d.d. moments on the mount. a series of devotional meditations. second edition. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. "this little volume is not one to be read through at a sitting, and then laid aside. rather each meditation is to be pondered over, and enjoyed singly and separately, and to be dwelt upon until it becomes a permanent possession. their suggestions can hardly fail to stimulate to biblical and theological research."--_scotsman_. voices of the spirit. small crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. "a choice little volume of devotional meditations. it is not only devout in spirit and tender in tone, but marked by freshness of thought, which volumes of this kind too often lack."--_methodist recorder_. wisdom's house and "her seven pillars." by lady beaujolois dent. small crown 8vo, 1s. 6d. "an excellent little work, sound in doctrine, and thoroughly practical in its application to the reader's conscience."_--record._ +by mrs. a. russell simpson.+ friends and friendship. with illustrations. demy 16mo, 1s. "twelve beautifully written chapters on friendship. very suitable to give to young people on life's threshold. fresh and charming as a sprig of heather or a morsel of thyme."--_christian treasury_. "mrs. simpson quotes many of the finest things that have ever been said or written on her subject; and some of her own remarks are quite as good, not less full of insight, expressed with equal felicity, and having in addition a searching spiritual power."--_christian leader_. building foe god; or, houses not made with hands. with illustrations. 16mo, 1s. "a beautiful little book, rich in anecdote, allusion, and illustration."-_pall mall gazette_. "mrs. simpson's prettily got-up books of devotional reading are always deservedly popular.... as usual, the writer has shown much ingenuity in the arrangement and choice of illustrations, and much fervent devotion in her meditations and comments thereon."--_record_. steps through the stream.. morning readings for a month. square 16mo, 1s. "a very sweet, quickening, stimulating volume. we trust that the work may secure an extended sale, and be of much spiritual blessing to god's believing people."--mr. spurgeon in _the sword and trowel_. beautiful upon the mountains. evening readings for a month. square 16mo, 1s. "a series of brief readings, thoroughly devotional, earnest and simple, full of true thought, and exceedingly interesting."--_guardian_. gates and doors. square 16mo, 1s. "full of anecdote and illustration. mrs. simpson's pleasant pages are well calculated to fulfil their author's design."--_churchman_. "original and stimulating in a high degree."--_liverpool post_. wells of water. a series of chapters descriptive and practical on the wells mentioned in scripture. square 16mo, 1s. "a series of short studies, meditations, and expositions on some among the many passages of scripture which refer to wells and springs. as in the preceding volumes of a similar kind from the same pen, there is here much earnest, unquestioning piety, and a felicity in illustration that many a minister may envy."--_scotsman_. +by frances ridley havergal.+ royal grace and loyal gifts. being the following seven volumes in neat cloth case, price 10s. my king; or, daily thoughts for the king's children. royal commandments; or, morning thoughts for the king's servants. royal bounty; or, evening thoughts for the king's guests. the royal invitation: daily thoughts on coming to christ. loyal responses; or, daily melodies for the king's minstrels. kept for the master's use. starlight through the shadows. _the volumes may be had separately, in limp cloth, 1s. each_. morning bells; or, waking thoughts for the little ones. 32mo, 9d.; paper cover, 6d. little pillows. being good night thoughts for the little ones. 32mo, 9d.; paper cover, 6d. treasure trove. a selection from some of miss havergal's unpublished writings. with coloured borders. 32mo, 6d. morning stars; or, names of christ for his little ones. 32mo, 9d. +by frances bevan,+ author of "three friends of god." the river of god. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. +by mrs. pearsall smith,+ author of "christian's secret of a happy life." every day religion. crown 8vo. the christian's secret of a happy life. by h.w.s. revised edition. small crown 8vo, paper cover, 1s. 6d.; cloth, 2s.; cloth, gilt edges, 3s. "full of bright and cheering thoughts."--_church bells._ "a book that is capable of doing untold good in the way of promoting a more entire surrender of the soul and consecration to the will of god."-_rock_. the threefold cords of the holy scriptures. an arrangement of upwards of twelve hundred precepts, prayers, and promises, as four hundred sacred triads. by the rev. william lee, formerly minister of holy trinity church, kennington, &c. small crown 8vo, 2s. the precious promises; or, light from beyond. by the rev. cunningham geikie, d.d. crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. lectures on ecclesiastical history delivered in norwich cathedral. _the following have already appeared_:-st. ignatius and st. polycarp. by f.w. farrar, d.d., f.r.s., archdeacon of westminster, chaplain to the queen and to the house of commons. the apology of aristides. by the rev. j. armitage robinson, b.d., fellow and assistant tutor of christ's college, cambridge. the life and times of justin martyr. by the rev. frederick meyrick, m.a., rector of blickling, norfolk; non-residentiary canon of lincoln. the life and times of irenaeus. by the rev. prebendary stanley leathes, d.d. other lectures will be delivered by the following:--the right rev. the lord bishop of ripon, and the rev. g.a. schneider, m.a., vice-principal of ridley hall, cambridge. by the rev. g.s. bowes, b.a. conversation: why don't we do more good by it? crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. scripture itself the illustrator. a manual of illustrations gathered from scriptural figures, phrases, types, derivations, chronology, texts, &c. crown 8vo, 3s, 6d. information and illustrations for preachers and teachers. helps gathered from facts, figures, anecdotes, and books, for sermons, lectures, and addresses. crown 8vo, 5s. illustrative gatherings for preachers and teachers. a manual of anecdotes, facts, figures, proverbs, quotations, &c. 2 vols. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. each. in prospect of sunday. a collection of analyses, arguments, applications, counsels, cautions, &c. crown 8vo, 5s. nearer heaven: a help to the deepening of the spiritual life. by the rev. john baird. crown 8vo, 1s. 6d. +by the rev. george everard, m.a.+ in secret. a manual of private prayer. 16mo, 1s. all through the day. a precept and meditation for every day in the month. 16mo, 1s. "in the morning." a scripture prayer and a meditation for each morning in the mouth. 16mo, 1s. "in the evening." thirty-one scripture promises, with a meditation for every evening in the month. 16mo, 1s. the shield, the sword, and the battle. crown 16mo, 1s. five stones from the brook. counsel and comfort for the people of god. small crown 8vo, 2s. links of loving kindness. words of hope and consolation for the flock of christ. small crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. your sundays. fifty-two short readings, especially intended for schoolboys. crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. the bells of st. peter's, and other papers on gospel truth. 16mo, 1s. your innings. a book for schoolboys. crown 8vo, 1s. 6d. his steps as traced in the great biography. crown 8vo, 1s. 6d. the river of life; or, salvation full and free. 16mo, 1s. strong and free. a book for young men. 16mo, 1s. bright and fair. a book for young ladies. 16mo, 1s. follow the leader. counsels on the christian life. 16mo, 1s. 6d. day by day; or, counsels to christians on the details of every-day life. cheap edition. 16mo, 1s. 6d. not your own, counsels to young christians. 16mo, 1s. little foxes: and how to catch them. 16mo, 1s. my spectacles: and what i saw with them. 16mo, 1s. beneath the cross. counsels, meditations, and prayers for communicants. 16mo, 1s. safe and happy. words of help and encouragement to young women. with prayers for daily use. 16mo, 1s. by the rev. canon bell, d.d., rector of cheltenham. the saintly calling. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. living truths for head and heart. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. by the rev. ernest boys, m.a. the sure foundation; or, thoughts on the believer's safety. 16mo, 1s. rest unto your souls; or, the enjoyment of peace. 16mo, 1s. filled with the spirit; or, scriptural studies about the holy ghost. 16mo, 1s. the consecrated life; or, thoughts on practical religion. 16mo, 1s. consecrated recreation; or, the christian's leisure time. 16mo, 1s. my lord's money; or, the consecration of talents. 16mo, 1s. by anna warner. the melody of the twenty-third psalm. 32mo, 8d. shoes of peace. 16mo, 1s. tired christians. 16mo, 1s. the other shore. 32mo, 1s. the fourth watch. 32mo, 10d. the light of the morning. 32mo, 10d. wayfaring hymns. original and translated. 32mo, 6d. up and down the house. royal 16mo, 2s. 6d. nisbet's miniature christian classics. red line editions. crown 16mo. uniformly bound in cloth, 1s. each; with gilt edges, 1s. 6d.; half bound, gilt top, 1s. 6d.; paste grain, 2s. 6d. each. 1. bogatzky's golden treasury. 2. keble's christian year. 3. the imitation of christ (thomas a kempis). 4. the poems of george herbert. 5. bunyan's pilgrim's progress. +by the rev. j.r. macduff, d.d.+ in christo; or, the monogram of st. paul. crown 8vo, 5s. clefts of the rock; or, the believer's grounds of confidence in christ. crown 8vo, 5s. palms of elim; or, rest and refreshment in the valley. crown 8vo, 5s. noontide at sychar; or, the story of jacob's well. with frontispiece and vignette. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. eventide at bethel; or, the night dream of the desert. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. the grapes of eshcol; or, gleanings from the land of promise. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. sunsets on the hebrew mountains. with frontispiece. post 8vo, 3s. 6d. the shepherd and his flock; or, the keeper of israel and the sheep of his pasture. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. memories of bethany. with frontispiece. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. memories of gennesaret. with frontispiece. extra crown 8vo, 5s. memories of olivet. with frontispiece. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. memories of patmos; or, some of the great words and visions of the apocalypse, with frontispiece. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. cast thy burden on the lord. a scripture text-book. 32mo, 1s.; paper cover, 6d. strength for the day. a daily book in the words of scripture for morning and evening. with an introduction. 16mo, 1s. 6d. voices of the good shepherd and shadows of the great rock. square 16mo, 1s. 6d. the gates of prayer. a book of private devotion for morning and evening. 16mo, 1s. 6d. the morning and night watches and faithful promiser. in one vol. 16mo, 2s. footsteps of st. paul. being a life of the apostle designed for youth. with illustrations, crown 8vo, 5s. +by the rev. prof. lewis f. stearns+, author of "evidence of christian experience." present day theology. extra crown 8vo, 10s. 6d. +by the rev. henry wage, d.d.+, principal of king's college, london. the authority of holy scripture, and other sermons. extra crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. +by the late rev. aubrey l. moore, m.a.+ a volume of sermons. * * * * * autobiography of the late rev. donald fraser, d.d., and a selection from his sermons. with a preface by j. oswald dykes, d.d. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. sunrise gleams. a series of daily readings for a month. by lady hope. 16mo, 1s. sunset rays. a companion volume to "sunrise gleams." by lady hope. 16mo, 1s. daily evening rest; or, thoughts of peace about the master. by agnes giberne. 16mo, 2s. 6d. the voice of jesus day by day. with original hymns. by f.m. macrae. and an introduction by hugh macmillan, d.d. small crown 8vo, 2s. abba, father. helps to prayer and meditation. by the rev. c.g. baskerville, m.a. crown 8vo, 1s. 6d. list of books of family prayers. by the right rev. the lord bishop of ripon. churchman's book of family prayers. printed in red and black. cloth plain, pott 4to, 3s. 6d. cloth gilt, burnished red edges, 5s. by the rev. gordon calthrop, m.a. family prayers for four weeks. imperial 16mo, 2s. 6d. by the rev. j. oswald dykes, d.d. daily prayers for the household for a month. crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. by the rev. george everard, m.a., vicar of christ church, dover. before his footstool. family prayers for one month. with prayers for special occasions, and introduction. ninth thousand. crown 8vo, 3s. by the rev. c.e. kennaway, m.a. family prayers for the mornings and evenings for a fortnight; to which are added, prayers on special occasions. 16mo, 1s. 6d. by the rev. j.r. macduff, d.d. morning family prayers. a volume of family worship for each morning of the year. founded on selected passages of scripture from the old and new testaments. small 4to. 6s. 6d. *** this volume is on a plan and arrangement of its own, in order to secure, as much as may be, variety and comprehension. family prayers. small crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. by m.l.m. dawson. family prayers for a month. demy 8vo, 1s. 6d. daily prayers for busy homes. 16mo, 6d. london: james nisbet & co., 21 berners street, w. +works by r.m. ballantyne+. * * * * * "in his tales of the sea, of the forest and the flames, and in all that he writes, there is a fidelity to nature and a knowledge of many paths of life which are not surpassed by any author in his special field of literature."--_morning post_. _with illustrations. crown 8vo. 5s. each_. new volume. +the buffalo runners+. a tale of the red river plains. +charlie to the rescue+. a tale or the sea and the rockies. "in 'charlie to the rescue' mr. ballantyne supplies his constituency --which is now a large and well-satisfied one--with a sufficiency of battles, sieges, and escapes; the troubles of ranchmen, whose lives are threatened both by white and by black scoundrels, are admirably reproduced. it is a capital story."--_spectator_. +blown to bits+; or, the lonely man of rakata. a tale of the malay archipelago. "a capital story, written in the author's old style, and full of life and action from beginning to end."--_standard_. "the book abounds in matter of exceptional interest, and should find its way into the hands of all young people who would properly estimate the wide-spreading and far-reaching influences and the extraordinary character of the krakatoa outburst."--_manchester courier_. +blue lights+; or, hot work in the soudan. a tale of soldier life in several of its phases. "an exciting story, full of excellent moral lessons."--_school board chronicle_. "we heartily recommend 'blue lights'."--_guardian_. "the soldier's career is graphically depicted, and the story is every way a good one."--_literary churchman_. _works by r.m. ballantyne-continued. with illustrations. crown 8vo. 5s. each_. the fugitives; or, the tyrant queen of madagascar. "there is plenty of adventure in the shape of imprisonment and combats with men and animals, and a negro and a sailor between them supply a comic element of the best quality. everything considered, this is one of the best stories even mr. ballantyne has published."--_academy_. red rooney; or, the last of the crew. the rover of the andes. a tale of adventure in south america. "we commend it to boys fond of adventure and of natural phenomena; a very fascinating book."--_british quarterly review._ "an admirable boy's story."--_scotsman_. the young trawler. a story of life and death and rescue in the north sea. "few men have laboured so steadfastly in their generation to provide sound wholesome fare for 'our boys' as mr. ballantyne, and the 'young trawler' is worthy of his reputation. it is not a whit less spirited than his former tales, and conveys a large amount of useful information on a highly important subject."--_academy_. dusty diamonds, cut and polished. a tale of city-arab life. _with illustrations, crown 8vo. 5s. each_. +the battery and the boiler+; or, the electrical adventures of a telegraph cable-layer. "there is not a dull page in it."--_scotsman_. "the interest never flags."--_academy_. +the giant of the north+; or, pokings round the pole. "of variety of perilous adventures and peril, ingeniously surmounted, there is no lack."--_daily news_. +the lonely island+; or, the refuge of the mutineers. "mr. ballantyne weaves the romantic episode of the mutiny of the 'bounty' into a most effective narrative."--_graphic_. +post haste+. a tale of her majesty's mails. "the book should find a place in every boy's library; it is full of interest."--_leeds mercury_. +in the track of the troops+. a tale of modern war. "mr. ballantyne has blended with the incidents of war on the danube a story of personal adventure spiritedly told."--_daily news_. +the settler and the savage+. a tale of peace and war in south africa. "a capital story of south african life. mr. ballantyne, through the medium of a thoroughly manly and healthy tale of sport and war, frolic and danger, full of stirring yet not exaggerated scenes, presents a sketch of a very important period of the early history of our colony at the cape of good hope."--_times_. _with illustrations. crown 8vo. 5s. each_. +under the waves+; or, diving in deep waters. "mr. ballantyne enlarges the already gigantic debt due to him by the young, by his 'under the waves,' a story meant to illustrate the practice and peril of diving in deep water, which it does in not only an interesting, but often in amusing manner."--_times_. +rivers of ice+. a tale illustrative of alpine adventure and glacier action. "a tale brimful of interest and stirring adventure."--_glasgow herald_. +the pirate city+. an algerine tale. "the story is told with mr. ballantyne's usual felicity, and, as it is plentifully sprinkled with horrors, no doubt it will be greatly enjoyed by some boys."--_athenaeum_. +black ivory+. a tale of adventure among the slavers of east africa. "a captivating story. we heartily recommend it."--_record_. "boys will find the book about as delightful a story of adventure as any of them could possibly desire."--_scotsman_. +the norsemen in the west+; or, america before columbus. "this thoroughly delightful book is an adaptation of the saga of iceland, and also of mr. laing's 'heimskingla; or chronicles of the kings of norway,' supplemented by mr. ballantyne's own experience and adventures in the wilderness of america. these ingredients are put together with the skill and spirit of an accomplished story-teller; and the result is a book that cannot possibly be laid down till the very last word of the last line has been read."--_athenaeum_. +the iron horse+; or, life on the line. a railway tale. "a captivating book for boys."--_guardian_. +erling the bold+. a tale of the norse sea kings. "a capital tale of the norse sea kings."--_times_. "the story is interesting and full of moving incidents by flood and field, and it will therefore scarcely fail to be popular among lads."--_scotsman_. "the story is clearly designed, and abounds with elements of romantic interest; and the author's illustrations are scarcely less vigorous than his text."--_athenaeum_. +fighting the flames+. a tale of the london fire brigade. "many a schoolboy will find keen enjoyment in the perusal of 'fighting the flames,' and assure his little sisters with suitable emphasis that mr. ballantyne is 'a stunning good story-teller.'"--_athenaeum_. +deep down+. a tale of the cornish mines. "mr. ballantyne's book will not fail to delight boys, for it is full of deeds of daring and of 'hairbreadth escapes.'"--_scotsman_. "by reading mr. ballantyne's admirable story a very large amount of knowledge concerning cornish mines may be acquired; whilst from the fact of the information being given in the form of a connected narrative, it is not likely very soon to be forgotten.... a book well worthy of being extensively read."--_mining journal._ +the floating light of the goodwin sands+. "the tale will be especially interesting to adventure-loving boys."--_record_. +shifting winds+. a tough yarn. "a hearty, vigorous, bracing story, fresh with the pure breezes, and sparkling with the bright waters of the everlasting seas.'"--_athenaeum_. +the lighthouse+. being the story of a great fight between man and the sea. _extract letter from the secretary of northern lighthouses_. " ... they (the commissioners of northern lighthouses) have been so much pleased with the way in which you have combined the fiction of a tale with the popular but correct account of the building of the bell rock lighthouse, that they think it would be an interesting work to transmit to their lightkeepers, and i have therefore to request that you will direct your publishers to transmit me--copies. (signed) alexr. cunningham." "thoroughly at home in subjects of adventure, the author has made this, like all his stories for boys, smart in style, thrilling in interest, and abounding in incidents of every kind."--_quiver_. +the lifeboat+. a tale of our coast heroes. "royal national lifeboat institution. "dear sir,--i am directed by the committee to request your acceptance of the accompanying photograph of a lifeboat proceeding off to a wreck, as a small permanent acknowledgment of the important service you have rendered to the lifeboat cause by your very interesting work entitled 'the lifeboat: a tale of our coast heroes." i remain, yours faithfully, (signed) "richard lewis, _secretary_." +the golden dream+. a tale of the diggings. +the red eric+; or, the whaler's last cruise. +gascoyne, the sandalwood trader+. a tale of the pacific. "full of cleverly and impressively drawn pictures of life and character in the pacific."--_caledonian mercury_. +freaks on the fells,+ and +why i did not become a sailor.+ * * * * * +the wild man of the west.+ _with illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d._ +battles with the sea;+ or, heroes of the lifeboat and the rocket. _with illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s._ +the kitten pilgrims;+ or, great battles and grand victories. "we have copied the title-page of this amusing and instructive quarto for little folks. nothing further is necessary. mr. ballantyne stands at the head of all our children's story-tellers _facile princeps_."--_churchman_. _with illustrations. crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. each_. new volume. +a coxswain's bride+; or, the rising tide: and other tales. +the garret and the garden+; or, low life high up: and +jeff benson+; or, the young coastguardsman. +the crew of the water-wagtail+. a story of newfoundland. +the middy and the moors+. an algerine tale. +the prairie chief+. +life in the red brigade+. a fiery tale. and fort desolation; or, solitude in the wilderness. +the island queen+; or, dethroned by fire and water. a tale of the southern hemisphere. +twice bought+. a tale of the oregon gold fields. +the madman and the pirate+. +philosopher jack+. a tale of the southern seas. +the red man's revenge+. +my doggie and i+. +six months at the cape+. letters to periwinkle from south africa. a record of personal experience and adventure. * * * * * _crown 8vo. price 3s. 6d. each_. +tales of adventure by flood, field, and mountain+. +tales of adventure+; or, wild work in strange places. +tales of adventure on the coast+. * * * * * london: james nisbet & co., 21 berners street, w. reet, w. the acts made in the second parliament of our most high and dread sovereign charles, by the grace of god king of scotland, england, france and ireland, defender of the faith, etc. holden at edinburgh in the several sessions thereof, according to the dates therein mentioned. acts past and done in this present session of parliament, the eleventh of june 1640. edinburgh, printed by robert young and evan tyler, printers to the kings most excellent majesty. anno 1641. cum privilegio regiae majestatis. acts past and done in this present session of parliament, the eleventh of june 1640. act i. act anent the choosing of robert lord burghlie to be precedent in this court and session of parliament, in respect of the absence of the king's commissioner. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering, that in respect of the absence of his majesty's commissioner, they are necessitate to make choice of one of their number to be precedent in this present session of parliament, and understanding the sufficiency of robert lord burghlie for that charge, they all in one voice, with one consent, did nominate, elect and choose the said robert lord burghlie, to be precedent, and to proceed in this present session and court of parliament, for discussing and handling of the matters to be determinat thereintill. act ii. act anent the constitution of the parliament, and all subsequent parliaments. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering that this present parliament was indicted by his majesty, for ratifying of such acts as should be concluded in the late assembly of the kirk, for determining all civil matters, and settling all such things as may conduce to the public good, and peace of this kirk and kingdom, and considering the several complaints of this kirk unto parliaments from time to time, proceeding from her continual experience of prejudice and ruin, through many persons, and specially of prelates their attempting to voice or do any thing in name of the kirk, without either bearing office in the kirk, or having commission from the kirk, and the acts of the late general assembly, condemning the office of bishops, archbishops, and other prelates, and the civil places and power of kirkmen, as their voicing and riding in parliament; and craving the abolishing of these acts of parliament, which grants to the kirk or kirkmen vote in parliament, to be abrogate, as prejudicial to her liberties, and incompatible with her spiritual nature; considering also that there are convened in this present parliament, by his majesty's special indiction, warrant, and authority, the nobility, barons, and burgesses, the estates of this kingdom, who have a full and undoubted power to proceed and determine in all matters concerning the public good of this kingdom, and that notwithstanding of the absence of the prelates, who by former laws were appointed to be members of parliament; and to the effect none presume to move any question there anent, the saids estates now convened, as said is, have declared, and by these presents declares this present parliament holden by the nobility, barons, and burgesses, and their commissioners; the true estates of this kingdom, to be a complete and perfect parliament, and to have the famine power, authority and jurisdiction, as absolutely and fully, as any parliament formerly hath had within this kingdom in time bygone; and ordains all parliaments hereafter, to be so constitute, and to consist only in all time coming, of the noblemen, barons, and burgesses, as the members and three estates of parliament: and rescindes and annuls all former laws & acts of parliament, made in favours of whatsoever bishops, archbishops, abbots, pryors, or other prelates or churchmen whatsoever, for their riding, sitting, or voicing in parliament, either as churchmen, or the clergy, or in name of the church, or as representing the church, as an state or member of parliament, by reason of their ecclesiastical offices, titles, dignities, or benefices, and namely, the 231. act, parl. 15. k. ja. 6.1597. anent the kirk, and specially parsons and prelate's, representing the third estate, and the 2. act parl. 18. k. ja. 6.1606. anent the restitution of the estate of bishops, and their representing the third estate, with all acts and constitutions of convention, council, or session, and all practices and customs whatsoever, in so far as the same or any clause thereof, tends or may be extended to the effect foresaid, as being found and declared prejudicial to the liberty of this kirk and kingdom, and to the purity of the true reformed religion therein established. and prohibits all persons whatsoever, to call in question the authority of this present parliament, upon whatsoever pretext, under the pain of treason. act iii. act anent the choosing of committees out of every estate. the estates of parliament presently convened, by virtue of his majesty's special authority, considering that there have divers questions arisen in this present parliament, anent the freedom of the parliament, either to choose, or not to choose committees for articles, & when they resolve to choose anent the manner of election of them, & anent their use and power: by reason the same is not yet determined nor set down by any acts of former parliaments; for removing whereof, & avoiding the great prejudice which by experience they find will hereby redound to this kingdom, and to the liberty, freedom & dignity of the supreme courts of parliament, they have thought it necessary that a solid order be set down, as well declaring the liberty of the parliament, in the manner of their proceed by themselves alone, or by committees for articles, as prescribing the form and manner of the election of these committees for articles, and defining their use, power, and manner of proceeding to be observed in all times coming. and therefore have statute and declared, that according to the liberty of all free judicatories, anent their own preparatory committees, all subsequent parliaments, may according to the importance of affairs for the time, either choose, or not choose several committees for articles, as they shall think expedient, and that any subsequent parliaments making election of committees for articles, to prepare matters for them, shall proceed in manner following, to wit, that these of the noblemen, shallbe named and chosen by the noblemen themselves, out of their number. and by the baron's commissioners of shires by themselves out of their number; and the burgesses, commissioners of burrowes by themselves out of their number. the names of the which persons so named and chosen out of every estate, (not exceeding for every committee, the number prescribed by the act of parliament, 1587.) being openly read and made known to the whole estates sitting in plain parliament, the said estates having received any propositions (which are ever first to be presented to themselves) by an act, shall authorise the said persons with power to treat, reason, and consult upon the expediency or inexpediency of such articles allanerlie as shallbe committed and recommended unto them by the estates, and to set down such reasons and motives, as they can devise, whereby to enforce either the passing or rejecting of the famine in parliament, to be reported, with the said articles, to the remanent of the said estates assembled in parliament, that they may deliberate and advise thereupon, and that after discussing of the reasons given in either for, or against the famine, the said estates may ordain such of the said's articles as they find to deserve consideration to be form the said's articles to be voiced in plain parliament. and in case it shall happen them to omit or forget to make report to the estates, as said is, of any of the said's articles, with their reasons for, or against the same, it shallbe lawful in that case to the in-givers of the said's articles, to propone the famine again in plain parliament, that they may there be determined and decided. and farther, to the effect that the said's estates may be in readiness to receive all articles which shallbe given in and presented to the parliament, and either to give answer thereunto themselves, if they shall think it expedient, or otherwise to recommend the same to the said committee, to be digested by them, and reported, as said is. it is thought fit and declared, that the rest of the estates, by and beside these of the several committees to the articles shallbe holden continually to sit for receiving, advising, and discussing of all articles, propositions, overtures, and matters shall be presented to them from the beginning of the parliament to the closure thereof. and such like, after all the said's articles are past and discussed by the saids estates in manner foresaid, that they shall take such a competent time as they shall think requisite, according to the number and importance of the affairs in hand, to revise and consider the famine again before the day of voicing, that they may be well and ripely advised thereanent. act iv act anent the ratification of the acts of the assembly. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, ratifies, approves and perpetually confirms the act of the general assembly holden at edinburgh in the month of august last bypast, made upon the seventeenth day of the said month, and in the eighth session of the said assembly, entitled, anent the six causes of our bygone evils; whereof the tenor follows. the king's majesty having graciously declared, that it is his royal will and pleasure, that all questions about religion, and matters ecclesiastical, be determined by assemblies of the kirk, having also by public proclamation indicted this free nationall assembly, for settling the present distractions of this kirk, and for establishing of a perfect peace against such divisions and disorders as have been sore displeasing to his majesty, and grievous to all his good subjects. and now his majesty's commissioner, john earl of traquaire, instructed and authorized with a full commission, being present and sitting in this assembly, now fully convened and orderly constitute in all the members thereof: according to the order of this kirk, having at large declared his majesty's zeal to the reformed religion, and his royal care and tender affection to this kirk, where his majesty had both his birth and baptism, his great displeasure at the manifold distractions and divisions of this kirk and kingdom, and his desires to have all our wounds perfectly cured with a fair and fatherly hand; and although in the way approven by this kirk, trial hath been taken in former assemblies before, from the kirk registers, to our full satisfaction, yet the commissioners grace making particular inquiry from the members of the assembly, now solemnly convened, concerning the real and true causes of so many and great evils, at this time past, had so sore troubled the peace of this kirk and kingdom, it was represented to his majesty's commissioner, by this assembly, that, beside many other, the main and most material causes were, first the pressing of this kirk by the prelate's, with a service book or book of common prayer, without warrant or direction from the kirk, and containing, beside the popish frame thereof, divers popish errors and ceremonies, and the seeds of manifold and gross superstitions and idolatry; with a book of canons, without warrant or direction from the general assembly, establishing a tyrannical power over the kirk, in the persons of the bishops, and overthrowing the whole discipline and government of the kirk by assemblies; with a book of consecration and ordination, without warrant of authority civil or ecclesiastical, appointing offices in the house of god, which are not warranted by the word of god, and repugnant to the discipline and acts of our kirk; and with the high commission, erected without the consent of this kirk, subverting the jurisdiction and ordinary judicatories of this kirk, and giving to persons merely ecclesiastical, the power of both swords, and to persons merely civil, the power of the keys and church censures. a second cause was the articles of perth, viz. the observation of festival days, kneeling at the communion, confirmation, administration of the sacraments in private places, which were brought in by a nats' assembly, and are contrary to the confession of faith, as it was meant and subscribed, anno 1580. and divers times since, and to the order and constitution of this kirk. thirdly, the change of the government of the kirk, from the assemblies of the kirk, to the persons of some kirkmen, usurping priority and power over their brethren, by the way, and under the name of episcopal government, against the confession of faith, 1580. against the order set down in the book of policy, and against the intention and constitutions of this kirk from the beginning. fourthly, the civil places and power of kirkmen, their sitting in session, council, and exchequer, their riding, sitting, and voicing in parliament, and their sitting in the bench as justices of peace, which according to the constitutions of this kirk, are incompatible with their spiritual function, lift them up above their brethren in worldly pomp, and do tend to the hindrance of the ministry. fiftly, the keeping and authorising corrupt assemblies at linlithgow 1606. 1608. at glasgow, 1610. at aberdene 1616. at s. andrew's 1617. at pearth 1618. which are null and unlawful as being called and constitute quite contrary to the order and constitutions of this kirk, received and practised ever since the reformation of religion, and withal labouring to introduce novations into this kirk, against the order and religion established. a sixth cause is, the want of lawful and free general assemblies, rightly constitute of pastors, doctors, and elders, yearly, or oftener, pro re nata, according to the liberty of this kirk, expressed in the book of policy, and acknowledged in the act of parliament 1592. after which, the whole assembly, in one heart and voice, did declare, that these and such other, proceeding from the neglect and breach of the nationall covenant of this kirk and kingdom, made anno 1580. have been indeed the true & main causes of all our evils and distractions, and therefore ordain, according to the constitutions of the general assemblies of this kirk, and upon the grounds respective above-specified, that the foresaid service-book, books of canons, and ordination, and the high commission, be still rejected, that the articles of pearth be no more practised, that episcopal government, the civil places and power of kirkmen, be holden still as unlawful in this kirk, that the pretended assemblies at linlithgow 1606. 1608. at glasgow 1610. at aberdene 1616. at s. andrew's 1617. at pearth 1618. be hereafter accounted as null, and of none effect; and that for preservation of religion, and preventing all such evils in time coming, general assemblies rightly constitute, as the proper and competent judge of all matters ecclesiastical, hereafter be keeped yearly, and oftener pro re nata, as occasion and necessity shall require (the necessity of these occasional assemblies being first remonstrate to his majesty by humble supplication) as also that kirk sessions, presbyteries, and synodal assemblies, be constitute and observed according to the order of this kirk; which act, with all and sundry the particular heads, clauses, and articles therein contained, the estates now convened by his majesty's indiction, warrant and authority foresaid, ratifies, approves, and confirms in all points, in manners as the same proports; and gives thereunto the strength of a law and act of parliament, and ordains execution to pass thereupon as effeirs; and rescindes, casses, and annuls all acts and decrees of parliament and council formerly made, contrair and in prejudice of the said act, or any part thereof. act v act anent the ratification of the covenant, and of the assemblies supplication. act of council, and act of assembly concerning the covenant. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering the supplication of the general assembly at edinburgh the 12. of august 1639. to his majesty's high commissioner, & the lords of his majesty's honourable privy council, and the act of the council the 30. of august 1639. containing the answer of the said supplication, & the act of the said general assembly, ordaining by their ecclesiastical constitution, the subscription of the confession of faith & covenant, mentioned in their supplication; and withal, having supplicated his majesty to ratify and enjoin the famine by his royal authority, under all civil pains, as tending to the glory of god, preservation of religion, the king's majesty's honour, and the perfect peace of this kirk and kingdom, do ratify and approve the said supplication, act of council, and act of assembly, and conform thereto, ordains and commands the said confession and covenant, to be subscribed by all his majesty's subjects, of what rank and quality soever, under all civil pains, and ordains the said supplication, act of council, and act of the assembly, with the whole confession and covenant itself, to be insert and registrate in the acts and books of parliament; and also ordains the famine to be presented at the entry of every parliament, & before they proceed to any other act, that the same be publicly read and sworn by the whole members of parliament, claiming voice therein, otherwise the refusers to subscribe and swear the same, shall have no place nor voice in parliament. and such like ordains all judges, magistrates, or other officers of whatsoever place, rank or quality, and ministers at their entry, to swear and subscribe the famine covenant, whereof, and of the said supplication, act of council, and act of the assembly, the tenor follows, etc. the supplication of the general assembly convened at edinburgh the 12. of august 1639. to his majesty's high commissioner, and the lords of his majesty's honourable privy council. we the general assembly, considering with all humble and thankful acknowledgement, the many recent favours bestowed upon us by his majesty, and that there resteth nothing for crowning of his majesty's incomparable goodness towards us, but that all the members of this kirk and kingdom be joined in one and the same confession and covenant with god, with the king's majesty, and amongst ourselves: and conceiving the main and impediment to this so good a work, and so much wished by all, to have been the informations made to his majesty, of our intentions to shake off civil and dutiful obedience due to sovereignty, and to diminish the king's greatness and authority, and being most willing and desirous to remove this and all such impediments which may hinder and impede so full and perfect an union, and for clearing of our loyalty, we in our own names, and in name of all the rest of the subjects and congregations whom we represent, do now in all humility represent to your grace, his majesty's commissioner, and the lords of his majesty's most honourable privy council, and declares before god and the world, that we never had, nor have any thought of withdrawing ourselves from that humble and dutiful obedience to his majesty, and to his government, which by the descent and under the reign of 107. kings, is most cheerfully acknowledged by us and our predecessors: and that we never had, nor have any intention nor desire to attempt any thing that may tend to the dishonour of god, or the diminution of the king's greatness and authority: but on the contrary, acknowledging our quietness, stability and happiness to depend upon the safety of the king's majesty's person, and maintenance of his greatness and royal authority who is god's vicegerent set over us, for the maintenance of religion and ministration of justice, we have solemnly sworn and do swear, not only our mutual concurrence and assistance for the cause of religion, and to the uttermost of our power, with our means and lives, to stand to the defence of our dread sovereign, his person and authority, in the preservation and defence of the true religion, liberties and laws of this kirk and kingdom, but also in every cause which may concern his majesty's honour, shall according to the laws of this kingdom, and the duties of good subjects, concur with our friends and followers in quiet manner, or in arms, as we shallbe required of his majesty, his council, or any having his authority. and therefore being most desirous to clear ourselves of all imputation of this kind, and following the laudable example of our predecessors, 1589. do most humbly supplicate your grace, his majesty's commissioner, and the lords of his majesty's most honourable privy council, to enjoin by act of council, that this confession and covenant, which, as a testimony of our fidelity to god, and loyalty to our king, we have subscribed, be subscribed by all his majesty's subjects, of what rank and quality soever. the act of his majesty's most honourable privy council at edinburgh, august 30. anno 1639. containing the answer of the supplication above-written. the which day in presence of the lord commissioner, and lords of privy council, compeired personally john earl of rothes, james earl of montrose, john lord lowdoun, sir george stirling of keir knight, sir william douglas of cavers knight, sir henry wood of bonytoun knight, john smyth burgess of edinburgh, mr. robert barclay provest of irwing, mr. alexander henderson minister at edinburgh, and master archbald johnstoun clerk to the general assembly, and in the name of the present sitting general assembly, gave in to the lord commissioner and lords of privy council, the petition above written; which being read, heard, and considered by the saids lords, they have ordained, and ordain the same to be insert and registrate in the books of privy council, and according to the desire thereof, ordains the said confession and covenant to be subscribed in time coming by all his majesty's subjects of this kingdom, of what rank and quality soever. the act of the general assembly, ordaining by ecclesiastical authority, the subscription of the confession of faith and covenant. the general assembly considering the great happiness which may flow from a full and perfect union of this kirk and kingdom, by joining of all in one and the same covenant with god, with the king's majesty, and amongst ourselves, having by our great oath declared the uprightness and loyalty of our intentions in all our proceed, and having withal supplicated his majesty's high commissioner, and the lords of his majesty's honourable privy council, to enjoin by act of council, all the liege's in time coming to subscribe the confession of faith and covenant, which as a testimony of our fidelity to god, and loyalty to our king, we have subscribed; and seeing his majesty's high commissioner, and the lords of his majesty's honourable privy council, have granted the desire of our supplication, ordaining by civil authority, all his majesty's liege's in time coming, to subscribe the foresaid covenant, that our union may be the more full and perfect, we by our act and constitution ecclesiastical, do approve the foresaid covenant, in all the heads and clauses thereof, and ordains of new, under all ecclesiastical censure, that all the masters of universities, colleges, and schools, all scholars at the passing of their degrees, all persons suspect of papistry, or any other error; and finally, all the members of this kirk and kingdom, subscribe the same, with these words prefixed to their subscription: the article of this covenant, which was at the first subscription referred to the determination of the general assembly, being determined. and thereby the five articles of perth, the government of the kirk by bishops, the civil places and power of kirkemen, upon the reasons and grounds contained in the acts of the general assembly, declared to be unlawful within this kirk, we subscribe according to the determination foresaid. and ordains the covenant, with this declaration, to be insert in the registers of the assemblies of this kirk, general, provincial, and presbyterial, ad perpetuam reimemoriam; and in all humility supplicates his majesty's high commissioner, and the honourable estates of parliament, by their authority, to ratify and enjoin the same, under all civil pains, which will tend to the glory of god, preservation of religion, the king's majesty's honour, and perfect peace of this kirk and kingdom. the confession of faith, subscribed at first by the king's majesty and his household, in the year of god 1580. thereafter by persons of all ranks, in the year 1581. by ordinance of the lords of the secret council, and acts of the general assembly. subscribed again by all sorts of persons in the year 1590. by a new ordinance of council, at the desire of the general assembly: with a general band for maintenance of the true religion, and the king's person. and subscribed in the year 1638. by us, noblemen, barons, gentlemen, burgesses, ministers, and commons, then under subscribing: together with our resolution and promises for the causes after specified, to maintain the said true religion, and the king's majesty, according to the confession foresaid, and acts of parliament. and now, upon the supplication of the general assembly to his majesty's high commissioner, and the lords of his majesty's honourable privy council, subscribed again in the year 1639. by ordinance of council, and act of the general assembly. we all, and every one of us under-written, protest, that after long and due examination of our own consciences, in matters of true and false religion, we are now throughly resolved of the truth, by the word and spirit of god; and therefore we believe with our hearts, confess with our mouths, subscribe with our hands, and constantly affirm before god, and the whole world, that this only is the true christian faith and religion, pleasing god, and bringing salvation to man, which now is by the mercy of god revealed to the world, by the preaching of the blessed evangel, and received, believed, and defended by many and sundry notable kirks and realms, but chief by the kirke of scotland, the king's majesty, and the three estates of this realm, as gods eternal truth, and only ground of our salvation, as more particularly is expressed in the confession of our faith, established, and publicly confirmed by sundry acts of parliaments, and now of a long time hath been openly professed by the king's majesty, and whole body of this realm both in burgh and land. to the which confession and form of religion, we willingly agree in our consciences in all points, as unto god's undoubted truth and verity, grounded only upon his written word. and therefore, we abhor and detest all contrary religion, and doctrine: but chief, all kind of papistry, in general and particular heads, even as they are now damned and confuted by the word of god, and kirk of scotland: but in special, we detest and refuse the usurped authority of that roman antichrist upon the scriptures of god, upon the kirk, the civil magistrate, and consciences of men, all his tyrannous laws made upon indifferent things against our christian liberty: his erroneous doctrine against the sufficiency of the written word, the perfection of the law, the office of christ, and his blessed evangel: his corrupted doctrine concerning original sin, our natural inability and rebellion to god's law, our justification by faith only, our imperfect sanctification and obedience to the law, the nature, number and use of the holy sacraments: his five bastard sacraments, with all his rites, ceremonies, and false doctrine, added to the ministration of the true sacraments without the word of god: his cruel judgement against infants, departing without the sacrament: his absolute necessity of baptism: his blasphemous opinion of transubstantiation, or real presence of christ's body in the elements, and receiving of the same by the wicked, or bodies of men: his dispensations with solemn oaths, perjuries, and degrees of marriage, forbidden in the word: his cruelty against the innocent divorced: his devilish mass: his blasphemous priesthood: his profane sacrifice for the sins of the dead and the quick: his canonization of men, calling upon angels or saints departed, worshipping of imagery, relics, and crosses, dedicating of kirks, altars, days, vows to creatures; his purgatory, prayers for the dead, praying or speaking in a strange language, with his processions, blasphemous litany, and multitude of advocates or mediators: his manifold orders, auricular confession: his desperate and uncertain repentance; his general and doubtsome faith; his satisfactions of men for their sins: his justification by works, opus operatum, works of supererogation, merits, pardons, peregrinations, and stations: his holy-water, baptising of bells, conjuring of spirits, crossing, saning, anointing, conjuring, hallowing of god's good creatures, with the superstitious opinion joined therewith; his worldly monarchy, and wicked hierarchy: his three solemn vows, with all his shavelings of sundry sorts: his erroneous and bloody decrees made at trent, with all the subscribers and approvers of that cruel and bloody band, conjured against the kirk of god: and finally, we detest all his vain allegories, rites, signs and traditions, brought in the kirk, without, or against the word of god, and doctrine of this true reformed kirk: to the which we join ourselves willingly in doctrine, faith, religion, discipline, and use of the holy sacraments, as lively members of the same in christ our head: promising and swearing by the great name of the lord our god, that we shall continue in the obedience of the doctrine and discipline of this kirk, and shall defend the same according to our vocation and power all the days of our lives, under the pains contained in the law, and danger both of body and soul, in the day of god's fearful judgement: and seeing that many are stirred up by satan, and that roman antichrist, to promise, swear, subscribe, and for a time use the holy sacraments in the kirk deceitfully, against their own consciences, minding thereby, first, under the external cloak of religion to corrupt and subvert secretly god's true religion within the kirk, and afterward, when time may serve, to become open enemies and persecutors of the same, under vain hope of the pope's dispensation, devised against the word of god, to his greater confusion, and their double condemnation in the day of the lord jesus: we, therefore, willing to take away all suspicion of hypocrisy, and of such double dealing with god and his kirk, protest, and call the searcher of all hearts for witness, that our minds and hearts do fully agree with this our confession, promise, oath, and subscription, so that we are not moved for any worldly respect, but are persuaded only in our consciences, through the knowledge and love of god's true religion, printed in our hearts by the holy spirit, as we shall answer to him in the day, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed: and because we perceive, that the quietness and stability of our religion and kirk, doth depend upon the safety and good behaviour of the king's majesty, as upon a comfortable instrument of god's mercy, granted to this country, for the maintaining of his kirk, and ministration of justice amongst us, we protest and promise with our hearts, under the same oath, hand-writ, and pains, that we shall defend his person and authority, with our goods, bodies, and lives, in the defence of christ his evangel, liberties of our country, ministration of justice, and punishment of iniquity against all enemies within this realm, or without, as we desire our god to be a strong and merciful defender to us, in the day of our death, and coming of our lord jesus christ; to whom with the father, and the holy spirit, be all honour and glory eternally. like as many acts of parliament not only in general do abrogat, annul, and rescind all laws, statutes, acts, constitutions, canons, civil or municipal, with all other ordinances and practic penalties whatsoever, made in prejudice of the true religion and professors thereof: or of the true kirk discipline, jurisdiction, and freedom thereof: or in favours of idolatry and superstition: or of the papistical kirk: as, act 3. act 31. parl. 1. act 23. parl. 11. act 114. parl. 12. of k. james the sixth, that papistry and superstition may be utterly suppressed according to the intention of the acts of parliament repeated in the 5. act, parl. 20. k. james 6. and to that end they ordain all papists and priests to be punished by manifold civil and ecclesiastical pains, as adversaries to gods true religion, preached, and by law established within this realm, act 24. parl. 11. k. james 6. as common enemies to all christian government, act 18. parl. 16. k. james 6. as rebellers and gainstanders of our sovereign lords authority, act 47. parl. 3. k. james 6. and as idolaters, act 104. parl. 7. k. james 6. but also in particular (by and attour the confession of faith) do abolish and condemn the pope's authority and jurisdiction out of this land, and ordain the maintainers thereof to be punished, act 2. parl. 1. act 51. parl. 3. act 106. parl. 7. act 114. parl. 12. k. james 6. do condemn the pope's erroneous doctrine, or any other erroneous doctrine repugnant to any of the articles of the true and christian religion publicly preached, and by law established in this realm: and ordain the spreaders and makers of books or libels, or letters, or writs of that nature to be punished, act 46. parl. 3. act 106. parl. 7. act 24. parl. 11. k. james. 6. do condemn all baptism conform to the popes kirk and the idolatry of the mass, and ordain all sayers, wilful hearers, and concealers of the mass, the maintainers and resetters of the priests, jesuits, traffiquing papists, to be punished without any exception or restriction, act 5. parl. 1. act 120 parl. 12. act 164. parl. 13. act 193. parl. 14. act 1. parl. 19 act 5. parl. 20. k. james 6. do condemn all erroneous books and writs containing erroneous doctrine against the religion presently professed, or containing superstitious rites and ceremonies papistical, whereby the people are greatly abused, and ordain the home-bringers of them to be punished; act 25. parl. 11. k. james 6. do condemn the monuments and dregs of bygone idolatry, as going to the crosses, observing the festival days of saints, and such other superstitious and papistical rites, to the dishonour of god, contempt of true religion, and fostering of great error among the people, and ordain the users of them to be punished for the second fault as idolaters, act 104. parl. 7. k. james 6. like as many acts of parliament are conceived for maintenance of god's true and christian religion, and the purity thereof in doctrine and sacraments of the true church of god, the liberty and freedom thereof, in her nationall and synodall assemblies, presbyteries, sessions, policy, discipline, and jurisdiction thereof, as that purity of religion and liberty of the church was used, professed, exercised, preached, and confessed according to the reformation of religion in this realm; as for instance, the 99 act parl. 7. act 23. parl. 11. act 114. p. 12. act. 160. parl. 13. of k. james 6. ratified by 4. act of king charles. so that the 6. act parl. 1. and 68 act parl. 6. of king james 6. in the year of god 1579. declare the ministers of the blessed evangel, whom god of his mercy had raised up, or hereafter should raise, agreeing with them that then lived in doctrine, and administration of the sacraments, and the people that professed christ, as he was then offered in the evangel, and doth communicate with the holy sacraments, (as in the reformed kirks of this realm they were publicly administrate) according to the confession of faith, to be the true and holy kirk of christ jesus within this realm, and discern and declare all and sundry, who either gainsay the word of the evangel, received and approved, as the heads of the confession of faith, professed in parliament, in the year of god 1560, specified also in the first parliament of king james 6. and ratified in this present parliament, more particularly do specify, or that refuses the administration of the holy sacraments, as they were then ministrated, to be no members of the said kirk within this realm, and true religion, presently professed, so long as they keep themselves so divided from the society of christ's body: and the subsequent act 69. parl. 6. of king james 6. declares, that there is none other face of kirk, nor other face of religion, than was presently at that time by the favour of god established within this realm, which therefore is ever styled, god's true religion, christ's true religion, the true and christian religion, and a perfect religion, which, by manifold acts of parliament, all within this realm, are bound to profess to subscribe the articles thereof, the confession of faith, to recant all doctrine and errors repugnant to any of the said articles, act 4. and 9 parl. 1. act 45.46.47. parl. 3. act 71. parl. 6. act 106. parl. 7. act 24. parl. 11. act 123. parl. 12. act 194. and 197 parl. 14. of king lame 6. and all magistrates, sheriffs, etc. on the one part are ordained to search, apprehend, and punish all contraveeners. for instance, act 5. parl. 1. act. 104. parl. 7. act 25. parl. 11. k. james 6. and that notwithstanding of the king's majesty's licences on the contrary, which are discharged and declared to be of no force, in so far as they tend in any ways to the prejudice and hinder of the execution of the acts of parliament against papists and adversaries of true religion, act 106. parl. 7. k. james 6. on the other part in the 47. act parl. 3. k. james 6. it is declared and ordained, seeing the cause of god's true religion, and his highness' authority are so joined, as the hurt of the one is common to both, and that none shall be reputed as loyal and faithful subjects to our sovereign lord, or his authority, but be punishable as rebellers and gainstanders of the same, who shall not give their confession, and make their profession of the said true religion, and that they who after defection shall give the confession of their faith of new, they shall promise to continue therein in time coming, to maintain our sovereign lords authority, and at the uttermost of their power to fortify, assist, and maintain the true preachers and professors of christ's evangel, against whatsoever enemies and gainstanders of the same: and namely, against all such (of whatsoever nation, estate, or degree they be of) that have joined, and bound themselves, or have assisted, or assist to set forward and execute the cruel decrees of the council of trent, contrary to the true preachers and professors of the word of god, which is repeated word by word in the articles of pacification at perth the 23 of february 1572. approved by parliament the last of april 1573. ratified in parliament 1587. and related, act 123. parl. 12. of k. james 6. with this addition, that they are bound to resist all treasonable uproars and hostilities raised against the true religion, the king's majesty, and the true professors. like as all liedges are bound to maintain the k. majesty's royal person, and authority, the authority of parliaments, without the which neither any laws or lawful judicatories can be established, act 130. and 131 parl. 8. k. james 6. and the subjects liberties, who ought only to live and be governed by the king's laws, the common laws of this realm allanerly. act 48. parl. 3. k. james the first. act 79. parl. 6. k. james 4. repeated in the act 131. parl. 8. k. james 6. which, if they be innovated or prejudged, the commission anent the union of the two kingdoms of scotland and england, which is the sole act of the 17. parl. of k. james 6. declares such confusion would ensue, as this realm could be no more a free monarchy, because by the fundamental laws, ancient privileges, offices, and liberties of this kingdom, not only the princely authority of his majesty's royal descent hath been these many ages maintained, but also the people's security of their lands, live, rights, offices, liberties, and dignities preserved. and therefore for the preservation of the said true religion, laws, and liberties of this kingdom, it is statute by the 8. act, parl. 1. repeated in the 99 act, parl. 7. ratified in the 23. act, parl. 11. and 114. act, parl. 12. of k. james 6. and 4. act of k. charles, that all kings and princes at their coronation and reception of their princely authority, shall make their faithful promise by their solemn oath in the presence of the eternal god, that, enduring the whole time of their lives, they shall serve the same eternal god to the uttermost of their power, according as he hath required in his most holy word, contained in the old and new testament: and according to the same word, shall maintain the true religion of christ jesus, the preaching of his holy word, the due and right ministration of the sacraments now received and preached within this realm (according to the confession of faith immediately preceding) and shall abolish and gain-stand all false religion contrary to the sme, and shall rule the people, committed to their charge, according to the will and command of god, revealed in his foresaid word, and according to the laudable laws and constitutions received in this realm, no ways repugnant to the said will of the eternal god, and shall procure, to the uttermost of their power, to the kirk of god, and whole christian people, true and perfect peace in all time coming: and that they shall be careful to root out of their empire all heretics, and enemies to the true worship of god, who shall be convicted by the true kirk of god, of the foresaid crimes, which was also observed by his majesty, at his coronation at edinburgh, 1633. as may be seen in the order of the coronation. in obedience to the commandment of god, conform to the practice of the godly in former times, and according to the laudable example of our worthy and religious progenitors, and of many yet living amongst us, which was warranted also by act of council, commanding a general band to be made and subscribed by his majesty's subjects, of all ranks, for two causes: one was, for defending the true religion, as it was then reform, and is expressed in the confession of faith, above-written, and a former large confession established by sundry acts of lawful general assemblies, and of parliament, unto which it hath relation set down in public catechisms, and which had been for many years with a blessing from heaven preached, and professed in this kirk and kingdom, as god's undoubted truth, grounded only upon his written word. the other cause was, for maintaining the king's majesty, his person, and estate, the true worship of god, and the king's authority being so straight joined, as that they had the same friends, and common enemies, and did stand and fall together. and finally, being convinced in our minds, and confessing with our mouths that the present and succeeding generations in this land, are bound to keep the foresaid nationall oath and subscription inviolable, we noblemen, barons, gentlemen, burgesses, ministers, and commons underscribing, considering divers times before, and especially at this time, the danger of the true reformed religion, of the king's honour, and of the public peace of the kingdom, by the manifold innovations and evils generally contained, and particularly mentioned in our late supplications, complaints, and protestations, do hereby profess, and before god, his angels, and the world, solemnly declare, that with our whole hearts we agree and resolve all the days of our life constantly to adhere unto, & to defend the foresaid true religion, and (forbearing the practice of all novations, already introduced in the matters of the worship of god, or approbation of the corruptions of the public government of the kirk or civil places and power of kirkmen, till they be tried and allowed in free assemblies, and in parliaments) to labour by all means lawful to recover the purity and liberty of the gospel, as it was established and professed before the foresaid novations: and because after due examination, we plainly perceive, and undoubtedly believe, that the innovations and evils contained in our supplications, complaints, and protestations have no warrant of the word of god, are contrary to the articles of the foresaid confessions, to the intention and meaning of the blessed reformers of religion in this land, to the above-written acts of parliament, and do sensibly tend to the re-establishing of the popish religion and tyranny, and to the subversion and ruin of the true reformed religion, and of our liberties, laws and estates, we also declare that the foresaid confessions are to be interpreted, and aught to be understood of the foresaid novations and evils no less than if every one of them had been expressed in the foresaid confessions, and that we are obliged to detest and abhor them amongst other particular heads of papistry abjured therein. and therefore from the knowledge and consciences of our duty to god, to our king and country, without any worldly respect or inducement, so fare as humane infirmity will suffer, wishing a further measure of the grace of god for this effect; we promise, and swear by the great name of the lord our god, to continue in the profession and obedience of the foresaid religion, that we shall defend the same and resist all these contrary errors and corruptions, according to our vocation, and to the uttermost of that power that god hath put in our hands, all the days of our life. and in like manner with the same heart, we declare before god and men, that we have no intention nor desire to attempt any thing that may turn to the dishonour of god, or to the diminution of the king's greatness and authority: but on the contrary, we promise and swear, that we shall, to the uttermost of our power, with our means and lives, stand to the defence of our dread sovereign the king's majesty, his person, and authority, in the defence and preservation of the foresaid true religion, liberties and laws of the kingdom: as also to the mutual defence and assistance, every one of us of another, in the same cause of maintaining the true religion, and his majesty's authority, with our best counsel, our bodies, means, and whole power against all sorts of persons whatsoever; so that whatsoever shall be done to the least of us for that cause, shall be taken as done to us all in general, and to every one of us in particular. and that we shall neither directly nor indirectly suffer ourselves to be divided or withdrawn by whatsoever suggestion, allurement, or terror from this blessed and loyal conjunction, nor shall cast in any let or impediment, that may stay or hinder any such resolution as by common consent shall be found to conduce for so good ends. but on the contrary, shall by all lawful means labour to further and promove the same. and if any such dangerous and divisive motion be made to us by word or writ, we, and every one of us, shall either suppress it, or, if need be, shall incontinent make the same known, that it may be timously obviated. neither do we fear the foul aspersions of rebellion, combination, or what else our adversaries from their craft and malice would put upon us, seeing what we do is so well warranted, and ariseth from an unfeigned desire to maintain the true worship of god, the majesty of our king, and peace of the kingdom, for the common happiness of ourselves, and the posterity. and because we cannot look for a blessing from god upon our proceed, except with our profession and subscription we join such a life and conversation as beseemeth christians, who have renewed their covenant with god; we therefore faithfully promise, for ourselves, our followers, and all others under us, both in public, in our particular families, and personal carriage, to endeavour to keep ourselves within the bounds of christian liberty, and to be good examples to others of all godliness, soberness, and righteousness, and of every duty we own to god and man. and that this our union and conjunction may be observed without violation, we call the living god, the searcher of our hearts, to witness, who knoweth this to be our sincere desire, and unfeigned resolution, as we shall answer to jesus christ, in the great day, and under the pain of god's everlasting wrath, and of infamy, and loss of all honour and respect in this world, most humbly beseeching the lord, to strengthen us by his holy spirit for this end, and to bless our desires and proceed with a happy success, that religion and righteousness may flourish in the land, to the glory of god, the honour of our king, and peace and comfort of us all. in witness whereof we have subscribed with our hands all the premises. the article of this covenant, which was at the first subscription referred to the determination of the general assembly being determined, and thereby the five articles of perth, the government of the kirk by bishops, the civil places and power of kirkmen upon the reasons and grounds contained in the acts of the general assembly declared to be unlawful within this kirk, we subscribe according to the determination foresaid. act vi act rescissory. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering that the office of bishops and archbishops, and all other prelate's, the civil places and power of kirkmen, as their voicing and riding in parliament, are condemned by the assemblies of this kirk, and considering the several acts and complaints of this kirk unto parliaments from time to time against any persons, especially of prelate's their attempting to vote or do any thing in name of the kirk, without either bearing office in the kirk, or having commission from the kirk, with her frequent supplications to the parliament, for dissolving of all prelacies; considering also the petition of the commissioners of the late general assembly, humbly craving the rescission of all acts of parliament, which grants to the kirk or kirkmen, of whatsoever sort allowed or disallowed, as representing her, or in her name, the privilege of riding & voting in parliament, as prejudicial to her liberties, and incompatible with her spiritual nature, declares that the sole & only power and jurisdiction within this kirk, stands in the kirk of god as it is now reform, and in the general, provincial, presbyterial assemblies, with the sessions of the kirk, established by act of parliament in june 1592. cap. 1140. which act the said's estates now convened by his majesty's special indiction, warrant and authority, revives and renews in the whole heads, points, and articles thereof (with this express declaration, that according to the last clause in the act of the late general assembly of the 17. of august, the necessity of occasional assemblies be first remonstrate to his majesty by humble supplication) to stand in full strength as a perpetual law in all time coming, notwithstanding of whatsoever acts & statutes made in the contrair thereof, in whole or in part, which the estates convened, as said is, casses and annuls in all time coming, and declares, that it is and shall be lawful to the presbyteries of this kirk, to exact and receive from subjects of all qualities, their oath of the confession of faith and covenant, with the subscription thereof, to examine pedagogues of the sons of noblemen, passing out of the country, to give them testimonials, according to former acts of parliament, to give and direct admonitions, private or public, to persons joined in marriage for adherence, to design manse and gleibs to ministers, to appoint stent-masters for reparation of kirks and kirk-yards, and for maintenance of the masters of schools, and to stint the parochioners, conform to the act of parliament, to admit ministers upon the presentations from the lawful patrons, or jure devoluto, which shall happen hereafter. or unto kirks which fall not under patronages suchlike and as freely as they did or might have done off before. and to do all and whatsoever things which before pertained to presbyteries, and were usurped by the prelate's, and that notwithstanding of whatsoever acts or statutes made in the contrair in favours of bishops, archbishops, or other prelate's, which the estates authorized in manner foresaid, casses and annuals. and specially the estates foresaids casses and annuls the 23. act 1597. anent the kirk and special persons and prelate's voicing in parliament, and representing the third estate, the 2. act 1606. anent the restitution of the state of bishops, and their representing the third estate, the 8. act 1607. anent the chapter of s. andrew's, the 6. act. 1609. anent the commissariats and jurisdiction given to bishops and archbishops, the first act 1612. anent the ratification of the acts of the pretended assembly of glasgow, 1610. the first and second acts 1617. anent the election of bishops and restitution of chapters, without prejudice always to the ministers, serving the cure of any emoluments allowed to them in part of their stipend, the first act 1621. anent the ratification of the articles of the pretended assemby holden at perth. and finally, the estates foresaid, convened by authority, rescindes and annuls all and whatsoever acts of parliament, laws, and constitutions, in so far as they derogate, and are prejudicial to the spiritual nature, jurisdiction, discipline, and privileges of this kirk, or of her general, provincial, presbyterial assemblies, and kirk-sessions, and so far as they are conceived in favours of archbishops, bishops, abbots, priors, and others, prelates or kirkmen whatsoever, their dignity, title, power, jurisdiction and estate in this kirk and kingdom, or in favours of the civil places and power of kirkmen, of whatsoever sort allowed or dis-allowed, for their riding, sitting, and voicing in parliament, either as kirkmen, or the clergy, or in name of the kirk, or as representing the kirk, either in regard of their ecclesiastic titles, offices, places, and dignities, or in regard of the temporality or spirituality of their ecclesiastic benefices, or other pretext whatsoever, with all acts and constitution of convention, counsel, or session, or other judicatory whatsoever, and all practices and customs whatsoever, introduced in favours of the said's offices, titles, benefices, or persons provided thereto; and declares all persons civil or ecclesiastical, censured, deprived, confined, or banished, by virtue of whatsoever acts, decreets, or sentences, given and pronounced by the saids archbishops and bishops, or others their colleagues and associates in their ecclesiastical courts, holden by virtue of the acts foresaids, or any of them, or by virtue of the pretended high commission, and all acts interponed thereto, against the persons foresaids, for not obedience of the foresaids acts, or any of them which are now repealed, as said is, or for not acknowledging their said's courts; or for their pretended contumacy, and not compearance to answer before them, to be null, and of none avail, force, nor effect, and the foresaids persons to be restored and reponed against the same, such like as if the 'samine had never been given nor pronounced. act vii act for planting of kirkes' unprovided with ministers through the patron's default. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering the lamentable condition of a great number of congregations, lying destitute of ministers, since the assembly at edinburgh, and before, by the negligence of patrons and others, having interest, to the great prejudice of the gospel, therefore do require the presbyteries, with consent of the parochins, with all diligence to plant these vacant kirks, which by the oversight of any patrons whatsoever, have lain six months unprovided. and ordain the lords of session to give forth sentences and letters in the ordinary form, for payment of the former stipends of these kirks, to such as the presbyteries shall admit, or have already admitted to the office and cure of the ministry in these kirks, with consent of the parochins, as said is, while the 'samine former stipends of these kirks be changed by the laws of the country. and it is always declared, that this admission, standing good for the present intrants their time, is and shallbe without prejudice to the right of patronage belonging to his majesty, or to any other kirk-patron whatsoever whensoever their kirks shall fall to vaike. act viii. act anent admission of ministers to kirks which belonged to bishoprics. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering that the right of patronage and power of presenting of ministers to divers kirks within this realm, have been acclaimed and possessed by the sometime pretended bishops and archbishops within this kingdom, by virtue of the 2. act of parliament 1606. anent the restitution of the estate of bishops, or by some other right, or pretence of right, to the very great grief and prejudice of this kirk, her just liberty and possession since the reformation, by superintendents, and the commissioners of the kirk before the erection of presbyteries. and since by presbyteries themselves, who have been respective in possession, for providing and planting of all kirks within this kingdom, belonging to the bishoprics, and that even since their annexation 1587. upon the suit and calling of the congregations and parochs, where the ministers were to serve in the function of the ministry, which is most evident by the 7. act of the 1. parliament of our dearest father, in the year 1567. and by the assignation to ministers of stipends, out of the thirds of benefices, and letters of horning constantly used to be direct by deliverance of the lords of session upon the provisions and admissions of ministers to the said's stipends out of the thirds of benefices by superintendents, commissioners of the kirk and presbyteries respectiu㨠without any presentation at all, both before and since the act of annexation 1587. whereby the ministers so provided and admitted did brook and enjoy the fruits and rents assigned, and their stipends during their life time, and many of them yet living do still brook and enjoy the same. and suchlike, the foresaid privilege and the right of the kirk is evident by divers acts of her general assemblies made thereanent, and by her frequent grievances against the usurpation of prelates and others, upon her said right and possession, and especially by her protestation against the foresaid two acts of parliament of king james the 6. his majesties umwhile dearest father, holden in the year 1606. whereby the prelates pretended right of patronages, and advocations of kirks, and defrauded the kirk thereof. and now seeing the said act of that parliament in the year 1606. is rescinded, cassed, and annulled in this present parliament, and it is most reasonable, that the kirk be restored now after the abolition of the estate of bishops, to the wont rights, privileges and liberties which she had, and was in possession of before the restitution of bishops; therefore the said's estates of parliament convened, as said is, decernes, statutes and ordains, that according to the said 7. act of the first parliament of the king's majesties umwhile dearest father, the full power of providing of all ministers to kirks, which the said's pretended bishops have been in use to provide, since the said act of their restitution 1606. shall hereafter belong and appertain to the kirk: and that in all time coming, presbyteries (who are now in place of superintendents and commissioners of the kirk) within their several jurisdictions, shall provide and admit ministers to all these vacand kirks, which before were acclaimed by the foresaids' bishops, by the said act of restitution 1606. to the fruits and stipends thereof, but prejudice always to any patronages of kirks, which belong either to the king's majesty, or to any laic patron, or to any nobleman, baron, or burgess right and possession before these late troubles, and but prejudice of the interest of the parochs, according to the acts and practice of the kirk since the reformation: and declares that the said provision and admission with collation and institution following thereupon, shall be a sufficient right and title for the intrant to possess and enjoy the whole fruits, rents and stipends whatsoever belonging to the kirk, and to the ministers serving the cure thereat. and ordains the lords of session, and all other judges competent, to give out decreets and sentences, letters conform, horning, and inhibition, and all other executorialls upon the said provision and admission of ministers by presbyteries, collation and institution following thereupon, suchlike as they are in use to do upon collation and institution, following upon presentations from lawful patrons. act ix. act discharging the going of salt-pans and mylnes upon the sabbath day. forsamekle as the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering that god's public worship upon the sabbath day is hindered, and the sabbath day profaned by the going of mylnes and salt-pans upon the sunday; for remeed hereof, the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, discharges and prohibits all salt-pans and mylnes within this kingdom, from all going, grinding, making of salt, or any ways working upon the sunday in any time hereafter: and ordains the salters, millers, and other servants in the saids mylnes and salt-pans, to attend god's public worship every sunday hereafter, under the pains and censures contained in the acts of the assembly, or other kirk-acts set down hereanent. to the which acts, the said's estates of parliament interpones the civil sanction and authority of parliament for the better execution thereof. act x. act discharging salmond-fishing on sunday. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering the great abuse and profanation of the sabbath day, occasioned by the fishing of salmond upon that day, whereby many people are withheld from divine exercise, & are employed in the ordinary works of their calling, or other ways have opportunity to misspend their time in unlawful actions, contrary to the law of god, and acts of this reformed kirk: therefore, for remeed thereof in all time coming, inhibites and discharges all manner of salmond-fishing upon the sabbath day, under the pain to the contraveeners, to be punished as breakers of the sabbath day, by the confiscation of the nets and fish to the behoof of the poor. act xi. act against papists. the estates of parliament now presently convened by his majesty's special authority, ratifies and approves all and whatsoever acts and statutes of parliament, convention, or secret council, made against papists, against sayers and hearers of mass, and against jesuits, seminary priests, and against excommunicate persons for papistry, or for resetting of jesuits and excommunicate papists, and against the resetters of the foresaids persons, or any of them, in the whole heads and articles thereof; and specially but prejudice of the generality foresaid, ratifies and approves the act of parliament made by his majesty's father of blessed memory, parl. 13. cap. 164. and parl. 14. cap. 193.194. and the act made parl. 20. cap. 5. in the whole heads and articles thereof; and declares, that witting and wilful resetting of the persons foresaids, shall be understood to be committed by these, who (after lawful intimation to be made at the head burgh of the shire where they dwell and make their residence for the most part, and at the market cross of edinburgh, of the names of the jesuits, seminary priests, and excommunicate persons for the causes foresaid) resets the persons foresaids by the space of three nights together, or three nights at several times (which is the manner of intimation prescribed by the said 13. parl. cap. 164. and by the said parl. 20. cap. 59 and that the persons resetters in manner foresaid, shall be liable to the pain and punishment contained in the said acts, without farther verifying of their notice and knowledge except the intimation foresaid. and also declares, that the said's acts of parliament ratified, as said is, shall comprehend not only men, but women of all quality, and that they and their resetters shall be liable to the pains therein contained. and such like, the estates ratifies and approves the act of parliament made by his majesty's father, parl. 16. cap. 17. entitled act anent non-communicants, and ordains every person non-communicant, to be liable to the pains therein contained. and wills and ordains all ministers within their parochins, and all presbyters within their presbyteries to take trial and cognition of the premises, and that as fully as the bishops or archbishops might have done by the foresaids' acts or any of them; and abrogates the saids acts in so far as any power is thereby granted to the said archbishops and bishops anent the premises. act xii. act discharging the zule vacance, and appointing the session to sit down the first of november, and rise the last of february; and thereafter to sit down the first of june, and rise the last of july yearly. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, understanding that the kirke within this kingdom, is now purged of all superstitious observation of days; and herewith also considering that the keeping of the zule vacance hath not only relation to that superstition, and may serve to keep the famine in memory, but also that the keeping of the said zule vacance, hath interrupted the course of justice in this kingdom, to the hindrance & heavy prejudice of the liege's thereof. therefore the said's estates have discharged, and simply discharges the foresaid zule vacance, and all observation thereof in time coming, and rescindes and annuls all acts, statutes, warrants and ordinances whatsoever, granted at any time heretofore, for keeping of the said zule vacance, with all custom of observation thereof, and finds and declares the famine to be extinct, void, and of no force nor effect in time coming. and ordains the court and session of the college of justice, and senators and members thereof, to convene and sit for the administration of justice, without any interruption by the foresaid zule vacance, from the first day of november to the last day of february thereafter inclusive yearly. and ordains the saids senators and remanent members of the college of justice, to rise the said last day of february, and to convene, and sit down again for administration of justice to the liege's, the first day of june yearly, and to rise the last day of july next thereafter inclusive. and also ordains the whole remanent judges of inferior courts within the kingdom, to proceed in the administration of justice within their several jurisdictions, without any respect to the said zule vacance, and without any interruption or vacation by the same zule vacance, notwithstanding of any bygone custom of observation of the said zule vacance, seeing the famine is now discharged in manner foresaid. act xiii. act discharging the monday market in edinburgh, jedburgh, drumfreis, brechin, and glasgow. forsameekle as the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, are informed and understand, that travelling upon the sunday, and the profanation of that day is greatly occasioned by the markets holden weekly upon the monday in edinburgh, jedburgh, drumfreis, brechin, and glasgow, and that the liege's resorting from the country to the said's markets upon the monday, are distracted from god's public worship and service upon the sunday, and are constrained to travel all the sunday, for keeping of the monday markets respective foresaids; for remeed whereof, the said's estates of parliament have discharged, and simply discharges all markets upon monday, to be any ways keeped in the burgh's of jedburgh, drumfreis, and brechin in time coming. and appoints, changes and ordains the famine markets which were in time bygone keeped and holden weekly upon the monday in the said's burgh's of jedburgh, drumfreis, and brechin, to be hereafter keeped and holden in jedburgh weekly upon tuesday, and in drumfreis and brechin weekly upon wednesday. and also the said's estates of parliament foresaids, discharges all markets within the burgh of glasgow, to be keeped or holden hereafter upon the monday, or selling, buying, and making market of horses, and other quick bestial, meal brought to glasgow market upon monday from burrows-townes, as stirling, falkirk, and other remote places, where men may not come from their own houses in the morning to the hour of the market with their said's commodities. item, the beere-market, and all craftsmen's work brought to be sold in market, aswel by free as unfree persons. item, all market for salt, brought from the salt-pans upon forth, the market for salt butter, keeping cheese, and timber of all sorts, which is brought up the river of clide to the town of glasgow, and ordains and appoints the market for the particular goods foresaids, to be keeped hereafter weekly within the burgh of glasgow upon the wednesday. and in like manner, the said's estates of parliament, discharges all market to be keeped and holden hereafter within the burgh of edinburgh upon the monday, for wool, butter, cheese, skins, hides, shoes. and generally discharges all markets in edinburgh upon monday of all unfree-mens' work, brought in to be sold in edinburgh upon the monday in any time hereafter, but ordains and appoints the market of these goods and merchandise particularly and generally before rehearsed, to be kept and holden weekly upon the wednesday within the said burgh of edinburgh in time coming, in the same manner, and as freely in all respects, as the market thereof hath been kept on the monday in times bygone. and therefore ordains the liege's to keep and attend the saids market days respective before rehearsed, as the 'samine are now appointed to be kept within the burgh's of edinburgh, glasgow, jedburgh, drumfreis, and brechin, and to resort and repair thereto weekly as they shall have occasion, suchlike and in the same manner as they were in use to repair to the monday markets within the said's burghes before the discharging thereof: and also ordains the magistrates of the said's burghes, to see the markets kept and holden in their said's burgh's, upon the days hereby appointed, and that no markets be kept upon the mondays for the goods hereby discharged in time coming. and last, the said's estates of parliament discharges and prohibits all markets and trysts to be kept hereafter upon sunday throughout all this kingdom, and discharges all the liege's from all keeping thereof upon sunday hereafter, and ordains this act to stand in full force as a law while the next assembly, that the inconveniences redounding hereby to the liege's, being represented to that assembly, the assembly may consider thereof, and as they find the same sufficient, they may supplicate the next ensuing parliament, to rescind this act in whole, or in part, as after trial it shall be found hurtful to the liege's. act xiv. act for taking order with the abuses committed on the sunday by the confluence of people for hiring of shearers on sunday. forsamekle as the profanation of the sunday is greatly occasioned in the time of harvest by the great confluence of people to public places; as ports, or streets of towns, and paroch kirkes' of landward every sunday, from morning to preaching time, for hiring shearers the week following, whereof there ariseth also sundry tumults, disorders, swearing, drinking, and often fight, on the sabbath day; for remeed hereof the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority refers and remits the 'samine to be taken order with, to the justices of peace, and kirk sessions, where the abuse shall be committed hereafter by the coufluence of the said people and hiring of the said's shearers upon the sunday, as said is, as the said's justices of peace and kirk sessions shall find the said's abuses then to be committed, to deserve. act xv. for directing letters of horning and caption by the lords of session against the excommunicate prelates, and all other excommunicate persons. the estates of parliament convened by his majesty's special authority, considering the necessity of reviving and putting in execution the 53. act of the third parliament of king james the sixth, anent letters of horning and caption to follow upon excommunication of the kirk after forty days, renews and revives the said act of parliament, and ordains the lords of session to grant letters and other executorials against the excommunicate prelates, and all other excommunicate persons. act xvi anent the large declaration, or, manifesto. the estates of parliament convened by his majesty's special authority, considering that the supplication of the late general assembly to his majesty's commissioner, against a book called, a large declaration, as followeth, was presented unto us by the commissioners of the kirk, and recommended to his majesty's commissioner, for obtaining from his majesty's justice and goodness the desire thereof: and as the said book was examined by the appointment of the assembly, and found to be dishonourable to god and his true religion, to this kirk and kingdom, to the king's majesty, and to the marquis of hammiltoun then his majesty's commissioner, and divers others persons therein, and to be full of lies, in averring known untruths, in wilful concealing and perverting many truths, in wresting of intentions, words, and actions, as is particularly contained in the censure of the book, registrate in the registers of assembly: so they having reexamined the same, declares their judgement to be the same there-anent: and therefore ordains the authors and spreaders thereof to be most severely punished according to the laws of this kingdom, against liesing-makers betwixt the king's majesty and his subjects, slanderers of the king and kingdom, and raisers of sedition and discord betwixt them, that all others may be deterred from such dangerous courses, god's honour may be vindicate, the innocence of this kirk and kingdom, and his majesty's justice and goodness may appear, not only in censuring such malefactors, but in discouraging all such underminers of his majesty's throne, and abusers of his royal name, by prefixing the same to such scandalous and dishonourable treatises. act xvii statutarie appointing parliaments to be holden once every three year. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority; considering that by reason of his majesty's ordinary residence forth of this his ancient and native kingdom, the grievances and complaints of his good subjects cannot have so free and easy access to his majesty's ears, as the same may be conveniently represented to his majesty's commissioners, and the estates of parliament from time to time, and how necessary it is that frequent parliaments be keeped within this kingdom for preservation of the purity of the true religion now by god's providence established within the same, and for the equal and impartial administration of justice to all his majesty's subjects, and maintaining of peace and concord amongst them, by applying of the true and lawful remedies to their grievances and complaints, and timous suppressing of all abuses and corruptions, which otherways from small beginnings will grow to great disorders, (which frequent parliaments were continually observed in this kingdom before his majesty's father, of happy memory, went into england;) have statute and ordained that every three year, once at least a full and free parliament shall be holden (and oftener as his majesty shall be pleased to call them) within the bounds of this kingdom, in the most commodious place and convenient time to be thought upon, appointed and affixed by his majesty or his commissioner for the time, and the estates of parliament, before the ending and closing of every parliament, and to be the last act thereof. and the whole estates wisheth, that as it was their happiness to have his majesty's presence at all parliaments, while the king had his residence in this kingdom, so that his majesty would be pleased to be present at each parliament, and they humbly supplicate his majesty for that effect. act xviii. anent the keepers of the castles of edinburgh, striveling, and dumbartane. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority; considering that the commandment of the castle of edinburgh, wherein the most part of the public registers and records, and the honours of the kingdom are keeped; and siclike the commandment of the castle of striviling and dumbartane, being a charge of great weight and importance, concerning as well the king's majesty's honour and safety, as the security and safety of this whole kingdom, ought not to be committed but to such persons, as are known and approved by the whole course of their life, to be true and faithful subjects to his majesty, and trusty and well affected countrymen, loving, and tendering the peace, prosperity, and good of this whole kingdom, and the preservation and advancement of the true reformed religion, now therein by god's providence established and professed, and entertaining of unity betwixt the king and his good subjects: have therefore statute and ordained, and hereby statutes and ordains that the custody and keeping of the said's castles shall be only entrusted to such persons as are natives, borne and bred within this kingdom, known and esteemed to be of the quality foresaid, without exception, and who before their entry and admission to whatsoever charge, place, or service within the said castles, or any of them, either as captains, constables, commanders, soldiers, or servants within the same, shall be bound and oblisht by a solemn oath to be given and made by them, and every one of them, to make faith that they shall faithfully employ whatsoever power, charge, or service committed, or that shall be committed to them within the said's castles, or any of them, so far as they can, or in them lies, to the king's majesty's honour and safety, to the peace, safety, good, and prosperity of this kingdom, and commonwealth, and to the preservation and advancement of the true reformed religion therein presently established and professed, as they will answer to god: like as incase it shall happen any of the persons foresaids, to do or attempt any thing contrary to the premises, or any part thereof; it is statute and declared that they shall be punished with all rigour, as traitors and common enemies to the king and country: and farther, that the captains and commanders of the said's castles, shall be chosen by his majesty from time to time by advice of the estates of parliament, and that such as shall happen to be placed therein betwixt parliaments, shall be first tried and found by his majesty's council to be of the quality above-exprest, and shall have the charge thereof only, to the next ensuing parliament, by the which they shall of new be tried and allowed, or otherwise his majesty shall place others therein by the advice of the estates, as said is: always without prejudice of the earl of mar his heritable right of the keeping of the castle of striviling. act xix. anent production of the registers and records of parliament to the first session of each parliament. the estates of parliament now presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering that for the better clearing and resolving of all doubts and difficulties, which may arise in parliaments, anent such matters as shall be brought in before them, it is very that they have inspection of the books, registers, and records of parliaments, as they shall have occasion to make use thereof; have statute and ordained that in all times coming the clerk of register and his deputes, and such others, who for the time shall happen to have the charge, keeping, or power of any of the said's registers or records, shall be holden to exhibit and produce the same, as they shall be required by the estates in time of parliament, that they may have the use and inspection thereof upon all occasions, as they shall think expedient for clearing of whatsoever difficulties: and siclike that the clerk of register, or some having power from him, and entrusted with the keeping of the registers, shall be present at all times, and shall be ready to give extracts to the liege's in their particular affairs, upon their reasonable charges, and expenses, and both these under the pain of deprivation of the party contraveening any of the said's members of the acts, or to be otherways more mildly or severely punished, as the parliament shall find the fault to demerit. act xx. discharging all proxies to be admitted in parliament, and that no foreign nobleman shall have place and voice in parliament, unless they have ten thousand merkes of landrent within the kingdom. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering how fare the dignity, honourâ�ª and authority of the high and supreme court of parliament, which is the great council of this kingdom, hath been and is yet likely to be farther diminished & weakened by two reasons, one is, the giving of power of voicing and reasoning to proxies and procurators in absence of such as are als much tied to give their personal judgement, as their personal presence, and hath all these honours, riding, sitting, reasoning, and voicing in parliament, only onferred on them and their successors personally; so that it is as absurd that they should give power to any, to reason or voice for them, as to give any power to ride and to sit in their place of honour, and dignity: and it might tend to the weakening and utter overthrow of parliaments: for thus the absence of the most part of the best qualified, and experienced might be supplied by proxies granted to a few, and of less abilities. the other is, the granting to strangers, having titles of honour conferred on them without any other interest in this kingdom, power of sitting, riding, reasoning, consulting, and voicing in this court of parliament, whereas none should be members of this court but such as have interest by birth, blood, or inheritance within this kingdom, and so may be sensible of the prejudice or advantage following the laws and constitutions thereof: therefore the said's estates statutes & ordains, that hereafter all noblemen, viz. dukes, marquesses, earls, viscount's, and lords, shall give their personal presence in all parliaments, & so being personally present, reason, and advise, & voice, and no ways by proxies or procurators: but dischargeth any such procurator and commissions in all time coming: and that no persons shall hereafter have any place or voice in parliament, as said is, but such noblemen before specified; and commissioners from shires and burrows, as have interest, either by birth, blood, or by inheritance within this kingdom, and that proportional to the honour and dignity they carry, which in the least proportion for every nobleman must be ten thousand marks by year of land rend. and that notwithstanding any gifts or patents granted, or to be granted to any person whatsoever. suchlike the estates foresaid, casses and annuls all acts and constitutions any ways derogatory to this present act or any part thereof. act xxi. act discharging the granting of protections by the lords of council and exchequer. forsameekle as the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering the great prejudice and hurt sustained by his majesty's highness liege's, by the frequent granting of protections and supersederes, and remembering herewithal, that his highness' umwhile dearest father of worthy memory, by the 47. act of his eleventh parliament, anno 1587. entitled, all supersederes, as contrair to the furtherance of justice, are forbidden: of the which act the tenor followeth. forsameekle as our sovereign lord, and the estates of this present parliament, understanding great contempt to be done to his highness' laws, and great hurt to his liege's, by passing of licences and supersederes, which daily uses to be granted to such as either by themselves, or other friends, have credit of his majesty, they being at his highness' horn, either for causes of treason, or not satisfying of their debts to their creditors, for not obtempering decreets and charges, therefore our sovereign lord with advice foresaid, statutes and ordains, that no such licences and supersederes be granted in any time coming. and in case any happens to be purchased, declares the same to be null of the law, and not admissable by any judge, nor effectual to the purchaser in any ways, and ordains all judges within this realm, to proceed and do justice to all parties, suchlike and in the same manner, as if the said's supersederes had never been purchased nor produced. and also by the 13. act of his 23. parliament, in anno 1621., entitled, anent the discharging of protections: of the which act also the tenor follows. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament understanding that there may sundry protections be sought by bankrupts and others, who are adebted in great sums of money, whereby the execution due unto the creditors by the laws of the country against the debtor may be frustrate, to the great damage of the creditor. for remeed whereof it is statute and ordained, that hereafter the lords of session shall grant no protection from any execution due and competent against any man of the law. and declares, that if any shall be hereafter granted, the granter of the same shall be subject and liable of the law for the sum from the which he hath granted protection. and the said's estates of parliament foresaid, being careful that the prejudices and evils incurred and sustained by his highness' liege's, by the granting of the said's protections, be helped and remeeded, have therefore renewed, ratified, and approven, and by these presents renews, ratifies and approves the foresaids two particular acts of parliament above mentioned, in the whole heads and clauses thereof before rehearsed, conform to the tenor of the 'samine, which are insert hereintill ad longum, ut supra. and ordains the saids acts, and every one of them to have the strength of a law, with full force and execution, conform to the tenor thereof in all time coming, with this addition, that the certification of the foresaid last act made in anno 1621. against the lords of session, shall also be extended against the lords of secret council and exchequer; and therefore of estates of this present parliament statutes and ordains, that hereafter the lords of privy council, session, or exchequer, shall grant no protection from any execution, due and competent against any man of the law, and declares, that if any shall be hereafter granted, the granter of the same shall be subject and liable of the law to the creditor for the sum, from the which he hath granted protection. and ordains all sheriffs, stewarts, bailiffs of regalities, provests and bailiffs of burrows, and other officiars of justice in all time coming, to proceed in discharge of their duty and execution of the command of our sovereign lords letters, notwithstanding of any protection or supersedere. act xxii. act anent the exchequer, declaring the famine to be only judges to matters concerning the managing of the king's rents and casualties. the estates of parliament now presently convened by his majesty's special authority, for the explanation of the 18. act of the late parliament holden at edinburgh, in the month of june 1633. year, entitled, anent the exchequer, finds, declares, statutes, and ordains, that the validity or invalidity of infeftments of his highness' property, or of any other infeftments, may not be discussed nor decided in exchequer, neither by way of action, exception, or reply, but that the discussing and decision thereof, is only proper to the lords of session. it is added, that the exchequer are only judges to matters concerning the managing of the king's rents and casualties. act xxiii. in favours of these who held their lands of archbishops, bishops, or of their chapters. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority; considering that the offices of archbishops, bishops, archdeanes, deans, and others the members of their chapters are now abolished out of this kirke and kingdom: and herewith also taking to their consideration that there is sundry noblemen; gentlemen, and others within this realm, who held their lands of the said's archbishops, bishops, archdeanes, deans, and others, members of chapters (who are now abolished forth of this kirke and kingdom, as said is) for payment of certain yearly few duties, and fulfilling of certain clauses irritant, and performing of other conditions contained in their infeftments, takes, and rights: and who not knowing to whom they shall now pay their said's duties, and fulfil the other conditions of their infeftments and rights, may be prejudged by incurring of the failyie, and danger of the clause irritant of their said's rights for not payment of their few and other duties therein specified: and by the incurring of the certification contained in the acts of parliament set down anent the payment by vassals of their few duties to their superiors: the said's estates for remeed hereof, and for eschewing of the prejudice and danger that may come hereby, finds and declares, that these noblemen, gentlemen, and others who by their infeftments, takes, and rights, are adebted in payment of few and take duties, or oblisht in fulfilling of any other conditions to the said's archbishops, bishops, archdeanes, deans, or other beneficed persons, members of their chapters now abolished, as said is, are not, and shall not be in mora, for not payment of their said's duties, and not fulfilling of the other conditions of their rights: and that the clause irritant of their infestments, takes, and other rights shall not run against them; nor yet the certification of the said's acts of parliament militat against them, for not payment of their said's duties, and not fulfilling of the other clause of the rights during the interval of time, betwixt the first day of april 1638. years, and sensyne, and in time coming, while order be taken by the estates of parliament, anent the way and manner of payment of the foresaids few and other duties for the says noblemen, gentlemen, and others foresaids, their security for the payment thereof, and while the same order so to be taken by the estates hereanent, be publicly notified to all the liege's, notwithstanding of any clause irritant, contained in the foresaids' infeftments and rights: and notwithstanding of the certification of the acts of parliament set down against these who pays not their few duties to their superiors. act xxiiii. anent vassals of erections, that they be not subject in double payment, nor the superiors defrauded of their few duties. the estates of parliament convened by his majesty's special authority: considering that whereas by the general surrender of kirke lands and erections, made by the superiors and titulars thereof, in favours of the king's majesty: it is specially provided, that the saids superiors and titulars notwithstanding their surrender foresaid, shall have right to the few-fermes, and duties of the vassals and fewars of the said kirk lands and erections, till the king's majesty make payment to them of the prices of the said few-firmes, and duties modified by the lords, and others of the commission for surrenders and teinds. and siclike the fewars and vassals of the said kirk lands and erections, are obliged by their new infeftments under the great seal, to pay the said's few-fermes and duties to the king's majesty and his successors: and so are liable to double payment thereof, without remeed be provided. it is therefore statute and ordained by the saids estates, that the said's fewars and vassals of kirke lands and erections, their heirs and successors, shall be obliged to make thankful payment of the said's few-fermes, and duties, and services used and wont, contained in their infeftments and whereof the said's superiors and titulars have been in possession preceding that surrender foresaid to the saids superiors and titulars, their heirs and successors, aye and while they get payment of the prices modified by the saids lords, and others of the commission foresaid: and that letters of horning and poinding shall be granted to that effect, without prejudice always to his majesty and his successors, of the superiority of the said's fewars and vassals surrendered in manner foresaid, and without prejudice to them of their infeftments, taken to be holden of his majesty and his successors: like as it is declared, that the said's fewars and vassals of kirke lands and erections, have been in bona fide in payment of the said's few-fermes and duties to the saids superiors and titulars of all terms bygone, according to the provision contained in the said general surrender. act xxv. appointing all grievances to be given in plain parliament. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering that the act of parliament made in anno 1594. in the 14. parliament of king james the 6. cap 218. whereby all matters and grievances to be given in to parliament, are appointed to be given to his majesty's clerk of register, and by him presented to the estates, hath bred great hurt, and prejudice to the liberties, and freedom of this kirke and kingdom, and subjects thereof in time bygone, as is evident by experience of the evils that hath flowed therefrom. therefore, the said's estates for remeed hereof, retreats, rescinds, casses, and annuls the foresaid act of parliament, and declares the same to be null and of none avail, force, nor effect in all time coming: and ordains and appoints all grievances, and other matters that are to be handled and treated of in parliament hereafter, to be given in, and presented in open and plain parliament in all time coming. act xxvi. for suppressing the distinction of spiritual and temporal lords of session. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, casses, annuls, and rescinds that article of the first act of the fifth parliament holden by king james of fifth, of worthy memory, anent the institution of the college of justice, bearing, that the lords of council and session shall be chosen half spiritual, half temporal: and decernes and ordains the whole number to be temporal and none of them spiritual: and the foresaid distinction of spiritual and temporal to be suppressed and forgotten in all time coming. act xxvii. act against liesing-makers of whatsoever quality, office, place, or dignity. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering the honour, dignity and authority of the supreme court of parliament, over the council and session, and all other civil judicatories of this kingdom, which have their original, their power and antiquity from the king's majesty and the estates of parliament, is subordinate thereunto, and aught to be countable and censurable by them, for their abusing of their power, to the prejudice of the country: for the weal whereof they were established, according to the twelfth act of the second parliament of king james 4. wherein the king's council was sworn in presence of the three estates, to give his highness a true and effauld counsel, in all matters, concerning his majesty, and his realm; and to be responsal and accusable to the king and his estates of their counsel, considering also, that during his majesty's absence forth of this kingdom, it is most for the public peace of this kingdom, and his majesty's honour, that all misinformers, raisers, and entertainers of jealousies, suspicions, and divisions betwixt the king, this kirke and kingdom, should be severely punished, and especially all bad counsellors, who in stead of giving his majesty a true and effauld counsel, hath given, or will give information and counsel to the evident prejudice and ruin of the liberties of this kirk and kingdom, should be exemplarly judged and censured by the king's majesty and the estates of parliament. therefore they renew and revive all acts of parliament made against liesing makers, raisers and entertainers of jealousies, contentions, and divisions betwixt the king's majesty and this kirk and kingdom. and declares that no dignity, quality, place, or office whatsoever shall exeme these or any person whatsoever from the censure of the said acts. act xxviii. annulling all unlawful and unjust proclamations made under the pain of treason, against the disobeyers. forsomuch as the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, having taken to their consideration, that there hath been divers unjust and unlawful proclamations made, commanding the obedience of things unjust and unlawful, (tending to the overthrow and prejudice of the laws and liberties of kirke and kingdom) under the pain of treason; as also declaring the disobeyers of these unlawful and unjust proclamations to be rebels and traitors, which is against law, equity, and reason, no trial nor declaratour of treason having proceeded against them of before: finds and declares all these proclamations, with the pretended acts and warrants for making and proclaiming thereof, to be null and of none avail, force, nor effect, with all that hath followed or may follow thereupon: and therefore the said's estates of parliament casses and annuls the foresaids pretended proclamations, with all the said acts and warrants whereupon the same proceeded: and finds and declares that no person nor persons can be declared traitors, but either by the parliament itself, and by act and sentence thereof, or then by the lawful ordinar judge, after trial, and finding that the said's persons hath contraveened, a law and act of parliament made under the pain of treason against the disobeyers and contraveenars thereof. act xxix. explaining the preceding acts of parliament made against bands and conventions amongst the subjects, as also declaring the bands and conventions made and kept since the beginning of the present troubles, to be legal and lawful. torsomuch as the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, considering that by the twelfth act of the tenth parliament of the king's majesties umwhile dearest father, of eternal memory, all leagues and bands amongst the subjects are discharged, and by the 131. act of the eighth parliament of the kings umwhile dearest father, all counsels, conventions or assemblies without the king's command or licence, are also discharged, under the pains ordained by the acts of parliament, against such as unlawfully convocates the king's liege's: and that also by sundry other preceding statutes and acts of parliament made by his majesty's most noble progenitors, the foresaid leagues, bands, counsels, conventions, and meetings, are likewise discharged. and herewith also the said estates, taking to their consideration what was the true end and meaning for making of the foresaid acts, & how fare the same in equity and reason can be extended, finds and declares that the foresaid acts and laws particularly and generally before expressed, is not, nor cannot be extended against any bands, leagues, counsels, conventions, assemblies, committees, or meetings, made, holden, and kept by the subjects, for maintenance and preservation of the king's majesty, the religion, laws, and liberties of the kingdom, or for the public good, either of kirk or state. but the said estates finds and declares, that all these bands, conventions, committees, and other meetings made and keeped by the estates and subjects of this kingdom, for the public good of king, kirke and state, and intended for the defence and preservation thereof since the beginning of these present troubles, are not prohibited nor discharged by the foresaids' laws and acts of parliament, particularly and generally before rehearsed, nor none of them. and can no ways be understood, nor interpret to fall within the compass of the discharge and prohibition of the foresaids acts, and doth no ways contraveene the same, nor none of them. and therefore the said's estates ratifies, approves, and allows all the said's bands, conventions, committees, and other meetings, which are, and have been made and keeped within this kingdom, for the defence and preservation of the king's majesty, the religion, laws, and liberties of this kirke, and kingdom, since the beginning of the present troubles thereof. and declares the same to be lawful and legal deeds, and that they do no ways contraveene the foresaids acts of parliament respective above mentioned, nor none of them, nor no other law, nor constitution of this kingdom. act xxx. anent the ward and marriage of these who shall happen to be killed in the defence of the religion and liberties of kirke and kingdom. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, taking to their consideration the prejudice that may come to these subjects, who holds their lands ward of the king's majesty, or of any other superior whatsoever, and shall happen to be killed in the defence and maintenance of the religion, and of the laws and liberties of this kingdom, during the time of the present troubles thereof, hath statute and ordained, and hereby statutes, ordains, and declares, that the profit and benefit of the ward marriage, none entresse, and relief falling by the decease of any of these who shall happen to be killed in manner and for the cause foresaid, with the whole commodity that can follow upon the same, shall only pertain, and freely be given and disponed to the heirs relic and bairnes, of these who shall happen so to be killed as follows, viz. where the relic and remanent bairnes (by the heir) shall be found provided by the defunct, then in that case the whole benefit of the ward marriage, none entresse and relief shall solely belong to the heir. but where the relic and remanent bairnes (by the heir) be's not found provided, in that case the benefit of the marriage shall only pertain to the heir, and the profit, commodity, and benefit of the ward, none entresse, and relief shall be employed and used for the entertainment and maintenance of the relic and bairnes unprovided: and also for the entertainment of the heir, if he have no other means for maintenance: and what is overplus by the relic and bairnes, their entertainment foresaid, ordains the same superplus to be employed for the provision of the said remanent bairnes, by the heir unprovided, as said is. providing always, that the said's heirs, and other persons foresaids, to whom the benefit of the saids ward, marriage, none entresse, and relief is appointed to pertain in manner respective before rehearsed, be's found not to have studden against the maintenance of religion, laws and liberties of kirke and kingdom, contrair to the late covenant, ratified in this present parliament: and also the said's estates finds and declares, that the king's majesty, and all other superiors whatsoever of the saids ward, holdings, shall be altogether secluded from the benefit of the foresaid ward, marriage, none entresse, and relief falling by decease of their vassals, in manner, and for the cause before rehearsed. act xxxi. ratifying the act of the lords of session, made for supplying of the absence of the signet, and discharging the transporting thereof, or any other seal in time coming the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, ratifies and approves the act of the lords of council and session made at edinburgh the penult day of march, 1639. years, whereof the tenor follows: the which day the lords of council and session, being petitioned by some of his majesty's liege's, to provide remeed against the prejudice sustained by them through the exportation of the signet out of this kingdom: and thereupon taking unto their consideration the many great inconveniences redounding to this realm, and whole liege's thereof: and manifestly ensuing by the transporting of the signet, not only from the place of residence of the said's lords, but out with the bounds of this kingdom into england without any reason or example: therefore after mature deliberation, they have statute and ordained, and for remeed of the said heavy prejudice, statutes and ordains, that all summons, letters, charges, suspensions, signators, or other writs whatsoever, which by the law and custom of this realm useth to pass the said signet, shall be presented to george hadden, writer to the signet, and the ordinary price due for the signet, consigned in his hands, to be made forth coming to the lord secretary, and his keepers of the signet in his name, whereupon the said george hadden shall mark the date of the said offer, beside the wax at the place customably, bearing the date of the signet, and write thereupon these words (marked by me according to act and warrant of the lords of session, and ordained to be a warrant for execution hereof, or passing through the seals, albeit it be not signetted) which words he shall subscribe with his sign and subscription manual: which summons, charges, letters, suspensions, signators, or writs whatsoever so dated, and subscribed by the said george hadden, shall have the same effect in all respects, as if the signet were affixed thereto: and the said's lords declares, that the same shall be a sufficient warrant to all keepers of seals and registers, messengers of arms, pursuivants, heralds, or others persons whatsoever for passing of the said's writs through the seals, execution of the saids summons, letters, charges, and suspensions, and doing all deeds incumbent to their office, such like and as amply and warrantably in all respects, as if the same had passed the signet, and that aye and while the said signet be returned again to edinburgh, and the same intimate to the liege's: the said george hadden, always keeping and retaining the warrants, and making a minute and note thereof: and making the same, together with the prices paid therefore, forthcoming to the lord secretary, or others in his name by his warrant: and ordains these presents to be intimate to all his majesty's liege's, by public proclamation at the market cross of edinburgh to be made hereupon: and these presents for the full warrant of the whole premises, to be enacted and recorded in their books of sederunt. which act, the said's estates not only ratifies in manner above specified: but also ordains the said act to stand in full force and strength, to the effect above-written, therein specified conform to the tenor thereof foresaid, while the _____ day of _____ 1600. and _____ year's. and strictly inhibits and discharges all keepers of the signet in any time hereafter, for any cause, or any pretended occasion whatsoever to transport or carry the signet, or any seal forth of this kingdom under the pain of death, and confiscation of their movable goods. act xxxii. act discharging all custom of ammunition brought home to the liege's to their own use for defence of religion and liberties of kirk and kingdom. the estates of parliament presently convened, by his majesty's special authority, considering the privilege and exemption bruiked by the nobility and barons of this kingdom, whereby they have been exemed from payment of all custom, for goods imported to this kingdom, for their own use: and therewithal, taking to their consideration that the said exemption ought more especially be enjoyed, for the arms brought home, at this time to the nobility, barons, and gentry of this kingdom, and all others his majesty's liege's whatsoever, for their own use, for defence of religion, liberties of this kirke, and kingdom, in their times of troubles, since the year of god 1637. therefore statutes and ordains, that all sort of ammunition whatsoever, brought into this kingdom, since the year of god 1637. or to be brought in hereafter, during the time of their troubles, shall be free of all customs and imposition whatsoever. and inhibites and discharges all customers, or whatsoever receivers thereof, of exacting any custom or imposition for any kind of arms or ammunition already imported, or to be imported, during the time foresaid: and of all arresting or detaining the said's arms and ammunition, or any goods belonging to the merchant's importers thereof, for any custom acclaimed for the same: which the estates finds no ways due, nor reasonable to be granted in the case foresaid. act xxxiii. act for the committees of estates. the three estates of parliament presently convened, having taken to their consideration the present estate of this country and kingdom, being environed and threatened with arms, by sea and land, and great hostile preparations hatched and prepared against the same, without any just ground or quarrel, whereby (as manifestly doth appear) there is nothing less intended against this church and kingdom, nor an utter exterminion and total destruction: so that the said's estates are necessitate, and forced to put themselves in readiness for a just and lawful defence of the religion, laws, lives, liberties, and country: and withal considering how it is for the good of the public, weal of the country, and maintenance of the armies lifted, and to be up-lifted, and outreiked both by sea and land, and for ordering, directing, and governing of the whole body of this country, and kingdom, that a settled, grave and committee from the estates be elected, nominate, constitute, and authorized by this present parliament: which committee from the estates shall consist of a competent number, of the most able, qualified, and trusty noblemen, barons, and burgesses of this kingdom. therefore the foresaids estates of parliament now convened, do hereby nominate, elect, choose, and appoint the persons after specified, viz. john earl of rothes, james earl of montros, john earl of cassils', john earl of wigtoun, charles earl of dumfermling, william earl of lothian, john lord lindesay, john lord balmerino, james lord couper, robert lord burghly, archbald lord napeir, john lord lower, sir alexander gibson of dury, sir john hope of craighall, sir john scot of scotstarvet, senators of the college of justice; sir thomas nicolsone of carnok, sir patrick hepburne of wauchton, sir david hume of wedderburne, sir george stirling of kier, sir patrick murray of elibank, sir patrick hamiltoun of littlepreston, sir william cunningham of caprintoun, sir william douglas of cavers, james chalmers of gadgirth, sir thomas hope of carse, _____ drummond of riccartoun, _____ lesly of forbes, master george dundasse of manner, john smyth, edward edgar, thomas paterson, richard maxwell, merchants, burgesses of edinburgh, william hamiltoun burges of lithgow, master alexander wedderburne clerk of dundie, george porterfield baliffe of glasgow, hue kennidie baliffe of air, john rutherfurd provest of jedburgh, master alexander jaffray, burges of aberdeene, or master william ore in his absence, james sword burges of s. androes, and james scot burges of montros, to be commissioners from the estate, to whom the estates and body of this present parliament, gives, and commits full power, warrant, and commission to do, order, direct, act, and put in execution every thing , expedient, and incumbent, alswell for the preservation and maintenance of the armies, both of horse, and foot, by sea and land, as for ordering the country, and whole body and inhabitants thereof, deciding of questions and debates, which shall happen to arise, or fall out in any business which shall occasion, or offer, in this kingdom concerning the peace and quiet thereof, but prejudice of the college of justice, or any other ordinary judicatory within this kingdom, lawfully established by act of parliament, which shall no ways be prejudged by this commission, and with full power to them, to borrow, up-take, and levy monies for the use the public: and to give, and prescribe orders, and directions for depursing thereof, and for any other thing requisite which may concern the good, quiet, and peace of the country, and with power to them, to call and convene such noblemen, barons, burgesses, and other country men, to repair to them for their counsel, and assistance in any business which shall occur, as they shall find and expedient, and with power to them, to give orders and directions to collectors, commissioners, and all other persons, who shall happen to be employed, or have charge or place either in the army or in the country in the public business, in every thing which concerns their place, and charge, and to call them to an account als oft as they please, and to appoint auditors for hearing, and receiving thereof, (whether of their own number or any other they please to nominate) and with power to them, to allow and disallow, as they shall find equitable, and expedient, for what ever the said's commissioners shall either uplift and borrow for the public use, or shall find due, by any counts, bands, bills of exchange, or other furnishing or debt already borrowed, and advanced for the use of the public, either in money, victual, or any other furnishing whatsoever, the same counts being fitted and found lawful by the saids commissioners and their auditor's foresaids. the said's estates declares that what shall be found due, or resting thereof shall be a lawful debt, and burden, which shall burden and affect the said's estates, who do hereby bind and oblish them and their successors, to pay, relieve, ramburse, and defray the same: like as the said's estates of parliament, do hereby give and grant full power and warrant to the said's commissioners from the estate, to prescribe, enjoin and set down rules, and ways, for the defrayment of the same burdens, and for payment and relief thereof to the creditors, and others who lie, and shall lie under the burden of the same, and that out of the readiest moneys, or other goods belonging to the public, and estate, or otherways by proportion, to impose the payment and relief thereof, upon the estate, and inhabitants of the country according to the rentals, rolls, and valuations of the rents of the kingdom: and for that effect to revise, control, fit and allow the whole counts of the common burdens, alswell already resting, owing by bands, contracts, bills of exchange, letters of credit, factory counts, or otherwise, as which shall happen to be borrowed and resting, or owing hereafter: and having drawn the same to a total sum, to cast a proportional part thereof upon every sherifdome, presbytery, parochin and burgh within this kingdom, conform to the said's valuations, and which sherifdomes, presbyteries, and burghs, shall divide the same among the particular persons, liable therein, and that letters be direct in the ordinar manner, alswell for ingathering thereof, as for relief thereof, with certification, if the same or any part thereof shall not be paid, at the terms appointed, by the saids commissioners auditors foresaids, the persons refusers, or delayers, shall not only pay anualrent for the same, conform to the act of parliament; but shall also pay ten marks for each hundreth marks failyie, with power likewise to them, as said is, to set down ways for exsyses to be laid on vivers for the weal of the country, and helping to relieve the burdens thereof, and maintenance of the army: and with power to them to give orders, instructions, and directions to all inferior committees, shires, burgh's, presbyteries, stewartries, regalities, and others whatsoever within this kingdom, in every thing which concerns the public, and for the maintenance of the armies, and other employments through the whole kingdom, in such form and manner as the said's commissioners, or so many of them as are a quorum, in manner after-specified, shall direct and appoint: and generally with full power to them to do all and sundry other things requisite, anent the ordering, directing, managing, prosecuting, and executing of all affairs, and business of this kingdom, which may or can conduce to the weal of this kingdom, or any part thereof: and which ought, and should, or shall be needful to be done by them, for maintenance and preservation of the religion, and liberties of this kingdom, anent the premises: without prejudice always of the ordinary judicatories, as said is. and further, with power to the said's commissioners of estate, to nominate and constitute commissioners, overseers, and all other officers, as well in the army as in the country, so oft as occasion and necessity shall require, for maintaining of the army in every thing , and for exercising and discharging of all other things needful for the public, through the whole kingdom, (without prejudice of the general commissars gift) and it is hereby ordained that the form and manner of the proceed of the said's commissioners of estate, and the places of their residence respective, shall be in manner after-specified, viz. there shall be two constant places of their residence, whereof the one shall be at edinburgh, or any other convenient place, where they may most conveniently and safely sit and reside, and the other shall be constantly at the army, who shall keep correspondence the one with the other, anent their proceed. and it is ordained, that there shall be twelve of every estate for both committees, making eighteen for every committee; and the quorum to be thus, viz. three of each estate, when the estates are full, or any seven promiscuously, when any of the estates keepeth not, and when any of the persons nominate upon this commission shall decease, it shall be leisome to the most part of the quorum of that estate in edinburgh, or at the camp respective, to appoint any other of their own estate in place of the person deceasing, viz, the quorum at edinburgh, or otherwhere else, to nominate the person in place of the party inlacking of the commission appointed to reside at edinburgh or otherwhere else: and the quorum of the committee at the camp to nominate the person in place of the party inlacking of the committee at the camp. and it is ordained that the forenamed commissioners divide their numbers proportionally, and with such equality, as neither the army nor the country at any time shall want a competent number, to sit and reside constantly for determining of all matters incumbent to them: and what ever the foresaid quorum of _____ persons at edinburgh, or in the country, or moe of them, and what ever the foresaid quorum of _____ persons, or moe of them being at the camp shall determine, decern, and ordain, in any cause, business, or debate incumbent to them, the same shall have the full strength of a valide and lawful decreet and sentence, or what ever business, or conveniency, shall be prescribed by the foresaids' quorums respective, or either of them, the same shall be as valide, as if it were done by the whole number; providing always, that none of the said's quorums, either these who shall reside at edinburgh, or these who shall be with the army severally by themselves, shall engage in war with any nation, or make capitulation of agreement, without mutual consent of the whole, at the least of both the quorums. and because it is expedient, that the said's commissioners of estate have a sufficient trusty and able clerk, for keeping of all the records, registers, acts, bands, warrants, and other papers whatsoever, which concern the public, or the saids judicatories: and the estates of parliament having real experience of the trust, qualification, and ability of master adam hepburne of humbie, for discharging of the same office and place, therefore the said's estates of parliament do hereby create, nominate, and constitute the said master adam hepburne to be clerk to the said's commissioners of estate, and other of them, with all privileges, liberties, casualties, fees, and immunities belonging thereto: with power to him to substitute deputes, one or moe, for whom he shall be answerable: to the effect, that either he, or his deputes, may be always present: so that none of the said's judicatories be interrupted for want of clerks. which clerk foresaid, and his deputes, shall have the trust, charge, and keeping of all the papers, registers, records, and others foresaids, which concern the premises, and the acts, and subscriptions of the said clerk and his substitutes, shall make as great faith as the acts and subscriptions, of any other clerk within this kingdom. the said's commissioners and clerks being countable to the estates of parliament: with power also to the said's commissioners, or the quorum residing at edinburgh, or other where else, to convene the whole body of the estates, when they shall find necessity: and this commission to endure aye and while the next meeting of estates, either in convention or parliament: and that the same be discharged by either of them. and it is hereby declared, that if any of these whose turn falls to be present, shall be absent, by whose neglect the business may be disappointed, the saids quorums, or any of them shall enjoin such pains and penalties, either upon their persons or goods, as they shall find the said's persons of the said committee to demerit for their absence from any of the said places respective. and because there will fall out in the camp a necessity either of treaties, consultations or public declarations, to show the reasons of the demands and proceed in the assembly and parliament, and the prejudices against either of them, the estates ordains master. archbald johnstoun procurator for the kirk, as best acquaint with these reasons, and prejudices, to attend his excellence, and to be present at all occasions with the said committee, for their further information and clearing thereanent, with power to any of the said's quorums to take the oaths of these who are presently absent for their faithful, dutiful, and diligent endeavours in the performance of their duty in the foresaid commission: like as it is hereby by declared, that the general his excellence, and other general officers are hereby privileged and warranted to be at the said committee, as occasion shall offer. act xxxiv. anent the common relief. forsomuch as at the convention of the estates, holden in januarie 1640. years, it was voluntarily offered, that for defraying of the common charges, and for other necessars and urgent expenses, every man should pay the tenth part of his yearly rent, as well to burgh as land-ward, for the cropped and year of god, 1639. conform to the valuations to be made within and without burgh respective: and for that effect did voluntarily oblige themselves thereunto, as the bands granted thereanent by the heritors within the several presbyteries and burgh's more fully proports: which band and whole tenor thereof, the said's estates now convened in parliament, ratifies and approves in all points as the same is conceived, as well anent the payment of the said tenth part, as anent the retention of the proportional part of the annual rent in manner therein expressed: and sicklike, in respect that the burdens of the common charges daily increaseth, and that the heritors to land-ward, and burgesses within burgh's bear the same, conform to their rents, trade, house-mails, and others, whereby yearly profit and commodity ariseth, without respect to their moneys: therefore it is ordained, that the moneys or annual rent, or life-rent shall bear an equal and proportional burden with the said rents, trade, and house-mails by way of retention, as well for the foresaid tenth part, as in all other burdens, the country is, or shall be put unto by general order, and the terms of retention to be conform to the terms of payment of the said tenth part, or of any other burden imposed, or to be imposed upon the said rents, trade, or others foresaid, after the proportion thereof shall be determined by the commissioners, auditors of the accounts of the common burdens, appointed for that effect, until which time no debtors shall have power to retain any part or portion of his annual rent or life-rent further than the said tenth part for the crop and year 1639. allanerly. and because the present expedition, or any other expedition hereafter requires advancement by the heritors and burgh's, of the two part of the footmen and horsemen their pay conform to the rents and valuations of each shire and burgh which will be only in some sherifdomes and burgh's: and to the effect that the burden may be equal through the whole kingdom: therefore it is ordained, that the said advancement and provision shall be put in count by the shire, burgh, regiment, or company, who shall send out their men in the said expedition, or in any other expedition or service , as the council of estate and general shall command, and the said's accounts, to be given in to the said's commissioners auditors thereof, who shall have power to control, fit, or allow the same: which counts being so fitted and allowed, shall be a part of the common burden to be rambursed and allowed to the advancers thereof: and because a great part of the presbyteries and burghs of this kingdom have not as yet reported their valuations perfectly and rightly, done conform to the general order: therefore it is ordained, that all the presbyteries and burghs within this kingdom, who have not as yet made report of their said's valuations in form and manner above-specified, shall report the same betwixt and the twenty day of june instant, be-south tay, and betwixt and the first day of july next to come be-north tay, and that either under the hands and subscriptions of the sworn men, appointed within each presbytery, testifying the same to be true upon their conscience and credit according to their knowledge after the most exact and true informations they could get, or otherways, under the hands of the heritors or magistrates, upon their consciences, and credit: or last, by the subscriptions of the heritors and magistrates their hands, but with this caveat, that what is concealed of land, rent, trade or other rent (whereby profit or commodity ariseth, or did arise the said year) the whole rent thereof, or the equivalent and avail of the same, shall be confiscate to the public use, and the general collector appointed to uplift and receive the same, and if need be, to pursue therefore. and (that no subterfuge and concealment be used in valuations) it is appointed, that all land, trade, shipping, salmond-fishing, and other yearly commodity whatsoever, whereby profit did arise the said year, shall be fully and truly given up without partiality, as the up-givers will either be answerable on their consciences, or the heritors upon the hazard of confiscation. and likewise it is ordained, that all money whatsoever, which pays annual rent to any person not liable in the foresaid contribution, shall pay a proportionable part of their said annual rent to the public use, as the same shall be imposed, aswell for the said tenth part as for the burdens hereafter to be imposed: and for that effect, the valuers to take particular notice of such sums, and in case any delay or refuse, to send in their said's valuations to the clerk of the same at edinburgh, betwixt and the said's days respective, in that case it is declared, that the delayers or refusers shall be esteemed and valued conform to their retoures or otherways, as the committee at edinburgh shall think fit, and a proportion laid on accordingly, which they shall be holden to pay without any deduction or favour in time coming: and such like for inbringing of the moneys, conform to the said's valuations, it is appointed, that there be collectors chosen in every presbytery (where there are none chosen as yet) by the gentlemen and heritors, and that the commissioners of shires see the same done, and cause the said's collectors (so to be chosen) subscribe bands for doing of their diligence, and making payment of the collection to the general collector, and send the same into edinburgh to him. and where the valuations are already brought in, and collectors already made, it is ordained, that the said's collectors shall, with all possible diligence, send all the money they have to the principal collector at edinburgh, and shall use all possible diligence for the rest, and give in their diligence to the said principal collector, with certification, if any, liable in payment of the said tenth part, shall not pay to the said's collectors the sums due by them, conform to the said's valuations, the said principal collector or his deputes shall use all lawful execution against them where the bands are subscribed, and where the bands are not subscribed, they shall be repute, and used as non-covenanters. and to take away all objections for not paying of the said tenth part, it is appointed, that every presbytery and burgh shall send in their moneys, due for the tenth part, without deduction of any part of it, except what is allowed for pay to their officers before the first of february last, and prices of victual delivered to commissars, for the public use, or by warrant from the committee: and if they have not ready money, they shall borrow the same, from any person or persons to burgh or land-ward, where it may be had upon their own security: and if any person or persons, of whatsoever rank, degree, or calling, shall refuse to lend the same (reserving always so much thereof, as may reasonably serve his own private use, and his family, according to his estate and quality) upon the said security, it shall be liesome to them, to convene them before any ordinary judge, or committee of the shire, or presbytery: which being lawfully proved, by writ, witness, or oath of party, that they have money, and refuse to lend the same, they shall be holden as opposites to the common cause, and the money to be confiscate, the one half to the apprehenders, and the other to the public use: and because there is a present necessity of moneys, by and attour the said tenth part, therefore it is apppointed, and ordained, that every presbytery within this kingdom shall lend to the public use, the twentieth part of the rent, contained in the valuations, and that by and attour the said tenth part, upon declaration and act to be made by the committee from the estates, that the same is given and lent by them for the public business, to be repaid, together with the annual rents thereof, when a common course is laid down, and prosecute for relief of the common burdens, to be ended with all possible diligence: and the furthest shirs to return their bands or money betwixt and the first day of july next; or otherways it shall be liesome to the said committee, from the estates, to find out the money in manner, and with certification foresaid, and to design to the havers of the said money any noblemen, gentlemen, burgesses, or substantious wealthy men, within each presbytery, one or moe, who shall be oblisht to give band or security to the said's lenners, for repayment thereof, and annual rents for the same, in the ordinary form, the sum not exceeding the said proportion of the said twentieth part of the valuation of the said presbytery. for relief of the which persons, one or more who shall give band or security foresaid, the whole heritors of the said presbytery, as well to burgh as landward, shall be bound, conform to the proportion of their rents and duties: and for that effect, shall have action of relief against them, in case of distresses: and such like, it is declared, that all the bands, contracts, and other oblishments for sums of money already borrowed for the public use, shall be relieved and paid by all the heritors within this kingdom, as well to burgh as land-ward, conform to the valuations proportionally: and that these who have subscribed the said's bands, contracts, and other oblishments foresaids, shall have their relief of the whole shires and burgh's, conform to the several proportions, as well these who have subscribed, as these who have not subscribed the said's bands and other foresaids: and where the valuers and collectors, chosen, or to be chosen, refuse to go on and perfect the said's valuations, or collect the tenth part in manner above specified, in that case they or any of them shall be holden and repute as enemies to the common cause: without prejudice always, in case after their said refusal to the heritors and magistrates, to do any of the other two alternatives, and in case the said heritors or magistrates delay after the saids days respective, the foresaid certification to be valide against them in manner foresaid: and it is hereby declared, that if any person or persons within or without burgh shall upon their oaths declare to the said's valuers or auditors, that they pay annual rent to strangers, dwelling without this kingdom, of whom they cannot have the retention of the proportional part of the contribution due out of the said annual rent, in that case the said's valuers or auditors shall defaulk proportionally to the saids person or persons contribution of their trade, craft, rent, and estate, as they shall find agreeable to equity and reason. and such like, it is hereby declared that this present act, nor no clause therein shall be any ground of suspension to any debtor for retention of the principal sums adebted by him, and byrun annual rents: but that every creditor may suit, crave, and charge for the same after the day of payment, as accords of the law: as also it is statute and ordained, that these debtors who shall not pay their annual rents termly at least within six months after each term of payment of the said annual rent, shall have no retention of the said proportional part of the said contribution. and such like, it is hereby declared, that this present manner of stenting for the said collection and contribution shall no ways prejudge any person whatsoever in succeeding taxations; but that every man's right and claim anent the prejudice may arise concerning the same and manner thereof, whereby any man can instruct, enorm lesioun, and that he was unequally stented, is hereby specially reserved hinc inde. and last, it is statute and ordained, that the lords of session shall be judges to all suspensions to be raised in the said collection and contribution in such form and manner as they are, and have been in matters of taxation. act xxxv. ordaining summons to be direct and execute against the persons, who are culpable of the crimes and faults, contained in the act, to compeare before the next session of parliament. the estates of parliament convened by his majesty's special authority, considering the present strait and exigency, menacing the ruin of this kingdom, and how necessary it is, for preventing thereof, that these who have been the authors, or are the maintainers and assisters of these courses that are destructive to the liberties of this kirk and kingdom, and that either by their false suggestions and calumnious relations of the estates of this kingdom, and their proceed to his majesty, or by their coming in arms against this their mother country, and contributing to further our adversaries in their intended and professed plots and violences, for the subduing and destroying this kingdom, or by their rising in arms within the country, fortifying and keeping of castles, and houses against the estates, who defend the country against all foreign invasions and subjection, or by deserting their native country in such an extreme necessity, and withdrawing from them all the assistance they can: that all these and others in the like condition be distinguished, and censured according to the several degrees of their transgression against the state and kingdom, therefore they grant full power and warrant to the committee, which is to sit at edinburgh, for to direct in their name precepts to the lion king of arms, and his brethren heralds and messengers, to pass, warn, and charge in name of the said's estates, the persons under-written: and all others whom the said committee upon like probable grounds can suspect to have been the liesing-makers, and tellers, and false accusers of the states of this kingdom, and their proceed to the king's majesty, as seditious, rebellious and treasonable, to have been the instigatours, framers, and up-drawers of the strange proclamations, and declarations made against his majesty's subjects and estates, as rebels and traitors, or to have risen, or rise in arms, and concur with the adversaries, for subduing of this their native country, or to fortify, keep, or detain strengths, or castles against the estates of this kingdom, who stand to their covenant, for defending their religion, crown, and country; or wittingly and willingly to withdraw their assistance from their mother country, in this extremity, and contribute their help and countenance to the adversaries, and all others who are either authors, abetters, maintainers, or suppliers, or art and part, or have any hand in countenancing and concurring with our adversaries, to the subduing and destroying of this kingdom; and especially these that have seemed to join with us, and have subscribed the covenant, for to compeare personally on _____ day at edinburgh before the parliament at the next session thereof, to answer unto these and all other crimes of that kind, which may be laid to their charge, and that under the pain of treason and forefaultrie for their contumacy, in case of not compearance: like as the estates declares that these precepts being subscribed by the praeses and quorum of the committee foresaid, shall be as sufficient, as if they were subscribed in parliament. act xxxvi. in favours of the king's vassals of ward-lands, recommending their prejudice by the act anno 1633. to the consideration of the next parliament, and in the mean time while then, suspending the force and execution of that act. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, taking to their consideration the bounty and benevolence of the king's majesties most noble progenitors, king james the second, and king james the fourth, giving their vassals liberty to set ward-lands few: and likewise considering how the king's vassals of ward-lands are secluded from that benefit by the act 1633. which seemeth to be done by misinformation of the king's majesty, and contrary to the intention of the parliament, to debar the subjects of the bounty and benevolence of the king's majesty towards them, which was formerly granted by his progenitors, recommendeth the serious consideration hereof, with the meaning and intention of the kings, and the estates, in setting down of the foresaids acts, and how fare the same acts can be extended to the prejudice of the vassals (the act anno 1633. being only a ratification of a former act made in favours of the subjects, and appointing the same to be extended to lands holden of the king and prince, and not a direct act for these lands) to the next meeting of the parliament: and in the mean time, while the determination thereof, the estates suppresses and suspends the force and execution of the act 1633. against the king's vassals of ward-lands, and exeemes them from that act during the said interim. act xxxvii appointing the fees for the procurator, the clerk, and agent for the kirk. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, taking to their consideration, the desire of the last assembly, and the supplication of the commissioners of the kirk, craving that the advocate for the kirk, the clerk of the assembly, and the agent for the kirk may be provided to fees and pensions, for their service in that charge out of the kirk rends belonging to the late bishoprics, as they have had their pensions paid to them out of the same, since the reformation. for the procurator of the kirk had assigned to him four last, half last cost, extending to six chalders twelve; bowls meal and malt out of the readiest duties of the bishopric of orknay yearly: in place whereof, after the restitution of bishop's anno 1606. there was five hundreth pounds ordained to be paid out of the king's chequer to the advocate for the kirk: like as the clerk of the general assembly, since the reformation, and before the restitution of bishops, and by the bishops themselves, conform to their band in janu. 1610. years, had five hundreth marks paid to him yearly, and the agent for the kirk had a continual pension paid to him out of the kirk rents for his charge. and herewith also, the said estates considering the necessity of the said's officers of advocate, clerk, and agent for the kirks business, with the weight of that charge, and continual attendance requisite thereto, ordains, and appoints the sum of a thousand marks of fee and pension to be paid yearly to master archbald johnstoun present advocate for the kirk, and to his successors, chosen and appointed by the assembly in that place for the fee of that charge, as procurator for the kirk, and the sum of five hundreth marks to be paid yearly to the said master archbald johnstoun as present clerk to the general assemblies of the kirk, for the fee and pension of that office, and to his successors chosen and appointed by the assembly in that place, for the discharge thereof and service thereintill: and the sum of other five hundreth marks of fee and pension yearly to be paid to master robert dalgleish present agent for the kirk, and to his successors chosen and appointed by the assembly in that charge. and in respect, that the advocate, clerk, and agent for the kirk, must have their continual residence at edinburgh, for attending the affairs of the kirk, and that the said's fees and pensions ought to be paid out of the bishop's rents, and that the said's officers, should be paid thereof, out of the nearest and most commodious rents, belonging to the said's bishoprics, therefore the said's estates, ordains the saids fees and pensions to be paid to the said's present officers, and to their successors respective, in that charge out of the readiest of the few duties, and out of the quotes of testaments of the diocese of s. andrews, glasgow, and edibburgh, according to the proportion and division to be determinate and set down, by the committee, from this present parliament appointed to remain at edinburgh: and ordains the foresaids' fees, to be paid conform to that division by the heritors, fewars, fermorers, and others adebted in payment of the few duties of the said's three bishoprics, and by the collectors, and intrometters with the said's quotes of testaments: and also ordains the lords of session to direct letters on this present act, and upon the determination and division of the said committee, at the instance of the advocate, clerk, and agent for the kirk, present and to come, for payment to them yearly, of their said's fees and pensions above-specified. and because that the present procurator, clerk, and agent, have been serving the kirk, in these places these two years bygone, without receiving their fees otherways due to them, and that the rents of the said's two years, are yet untaken up, by the pretended bishops of edinburgh, glasgow, and s. andrews, but are restand in the tenants and collectors hands, therefore they ordain their entry of payment, to be to the crop and year of god, 1638. years. act xxxviii ordaining the whole subjects and liege's of this kingdom to obey, maintain, and defend the conclusions, acts and constitutions of this present session of parliament, and to subscribe the band appointed for that effect. in the parliament holden at edinburgh, the eleventh day of june 1640. years, the estates of parliament presently convened, by his majesty's special authority, considering that whereas, after many petitions and supplications given in and presented to his majesty, and the lords of his secret council, by divers of the nobility, barons, and burgesses of this kingdom, for granting a free general assembly and parliament, for reforming of many great abuses and novations, tending to the overthrow of the true reformed religion, and undoing of this kirk and kingdom, devised and brought in by the late pretended bishops, who by their subtle practices, during his majesty's absence, these many years, had engrossed in their persons, all the ecclesiastic and civil power of this his majesty's ancient and native kingdom; it was granted by his majesty, out of his royal justice, and accorded by the articles of pacification, made at his majesty's camp in the month of june, 1639. years last bypast, that a free general assembly and parliament should be indicted by his majesty, and that all matters ecclesiastical should be determined by the assemblies of the kirk: and matters civil, by parliaments, and other inferior judicatories, established by law: and that according thereunto, his majesty did indict an assembly to be holden at edinburgh, the twelfth of august, and a parliament for ratifying the conclusions of the same assembly, and setting down such other things as might conduce to the peace and good of the kingdom, to be holden at edinburgh the twenty sixth of august last bypast. in the which assembly, the matters concerning the purity of the true reformed religion, and peace of this kirk, after great debate, delays, and protracting of time, made by john earl of traquaire, his majesty's commissioner, being at length concluded upon the _____ day of august, 1639. years; the parliament sitting down, immediately thereafter, upon the penult day of the said month of august, the ratifications of the conclusions of the same assembly, and many other matters of great importance, conducing necessarily to the settling of the peace of this kingdom, being proponed in parliament, were likewise shifted and delayed, and the closing of the parliament protracted from time to time, unto the _____ day of november last bypast: at the which time, the said john earl of traquaire did take upon him without the consent of the estates, to prorogate the foresaid parliament, to the second day of june instant, not only contrary to the articles of pacification, but also to the prejudice of the liberties of the parliament: for preservation whereof, the said's estates were forced to make a declaration in parliament against the same: and that albeit since the said _____ day of november, unto this time, the said's estates have used all possible means to give his majesty full satisfaction, both by their peaceable carriage at home, and by sending their commissioners to acquaint his majesty with all their just desires, and the reasons thereof, yet they have not only received no answer, but upon the contrary, their proceeding in the said parliament, being untruly related, by the said john earl of traquaire, have been condemned as rebellious without hearing, and our commissioners sent for clearing thereof, all restrained in private houses for a long time, and john lord lowdoun, being one of them committed to the tower, where he is still detained prisoner: the castles of edinburgh, and dumbartane have in the mean time been fortified and provided with all sort of ammunition, in great abundance, and garrisons of soldiers, (not being natives of this kingdom) put therein, the garrison in the castle of edinburgh, daily killing divers of the inhabitants of this city, and spoiling their houses with muskets and great ordnance: all ships belonging to this kingdom arrested in england, and ireland: and many of them coming from other places, laid wait for, and taken by the way: their owners and passengers spoilt of their goods and apparel, laid in the irons, and barbarously abused: a commission granted to the general of the english forces by sea and land, to kill, destroy, and subdue this whole nation, a printed declaration put forth, denouncing war against it, persuading, exhorting, and provoking the other two kingdoms to grant subsidies, and take arms against the inhabitants of this kingdom as traitors and rebels: and the parliament of ireland hath proceeded so fare as to declare them to be such: all which they have hitherto endured patiently, and thereby given an evident demonstration to the world of the loyalty of their affections to their sovereign, which no extremity shall ever make them to forget: and now being pressed by the present exigence of the estate of this kingdom, and bound by the necessity of that natural duty they own to themselves and their posterity, to provide for the safety of the commonwealth, and their own, and timously to prevent the utter ruin of this nation, which can no longer subsist under so great a burden, that time appointed being come, to the which the parliament was prorogate, and no advertisement come from his majesty to them anent any course to be taken, for remeeding of the great disorders, they being the great council of the kingdom, could not be altogether so forgetful of themselves, and deficient to their country, as to suffer this parliament which they had so often petitioned from his majesty, which was conditioned and accorded by the saids articles of pacification, and indicted by his majesty's authority, to be deserted and expired without any conclusion to the good of the commonwealth in so great extremity: but rather, thought themselves bound in conscience and duty to proceed to the determination of such matters as are necessary for the establishing of the peace of this kirk and kingdom, as being the express and special ends of all their supplications, and agreeable to the said's articles of pacification, without trenching any ways on sovereignty, or derogating in any sort from his majesty's royal authority: but on the contrary, only looking first upon the constitutions of the general assembly, passed in presence of his majesty's commissioner, and the necessary consequences thereof, and then providing remedies for the present evils of the kingdom, by removing the cause, and establishing necessary conclusions for preventing the like hereafter: in doing whereof, as they have proceeded uprightly in the way of justice, and with all due reverence, and regard to his majesty's authority, and thereby have stopped the calumnious mouths of their adversaries, so they rest assured, that his majesty after due examination of their proceed, finding the same agreeable to the fundamental laws and customs of this his ancient and native kingdom, and no ways repugnant to monarchical government, will out of his royal justice and goodness give his full consent thereunto; and thereby totally remove and extinguish all ground and occasion of controversy against his faithful and loyal subjects, restore this kingdom to a perfect and solid peace, which they pray the lord to put in his majesty's royal heart, that he may long and prosperously reign over them. and on the other part, considering from bygone experience how malicious and diligent their adversaries will be to calumniate these their proceed, and by their suggestions to the king's majesty, and to the liege's, to kindle and entertain factions and divisions thereanent, and how necessary it is for the safety and peace of this kirk and kingdom, that the members of both do unanimously with heart and hand testify by their subscription their resolution, and obligation to acknowledge this parliament so often desired by their petitions and supplications, and convened by his majesty's solemn indiction, according to the articles of pacification, to be a free, lawful, and necessary parliament, and to obey, observe, and maintain the same for themselves constantly and faithfully, and to the uttermost of their power, to join and concur, in their several stations and callings, with others to advance, further, and assist the execution, obedience, and observing of the acts and constitutions of this present parliament, as the most sit and necessary remedies of the bygone and present evils and distractions of this kirk and kingdom, and for preservation of the religion, laws and liberties thereof, and of his majesty's authority, and that in the first parliament which shall be holden hereafter within this kingdom, and at all other occasions, against any opposition whatsoever, except in so fare as shall hereafter be thought sit and expedient by the common advice and consent of the estates: they have ordained, and ordains the band under-written, to be subscribed by all the members of parliament present and absent, and by all noble men, barons, burgesses, and all other subjects and inhabitants of the kingdom, in their shires, and burgh's, as they shall be directed by the commissioners of parliament left at edinburgh, and to be reported to the clerk, betwixt and the first day of september next, with certification, that such as refuse, or post-pone, and delay to subscribe the same, shall be holden as enemies and opposites to the common cause, consisting in the maintenance of the true reformed religion, and of the laws, and liberties of this kingdom, and his majesty's authority. we noblemen, barons, burgesses, and others, under subscribers, considering how necessary it is to establish our union in the preservation and maintenance of the religion, laws, and liberties of this kingdom, and of his majesty's authority, and to prevent all factions, contentions, and divisions, which may arise in prejudice thereof, from malicious suggestions and misinformations of our adversaries, do all, and every one of us with our heart and hand testify and declare our resolution and obligation, (for the reasons and causes at length expressed in the act of parliament immediately preceding) to acknowledge the foresaid parliament to have been, and to be a free and lawful parliament. like as we bind and oblish us, and every one of us upon our honours and credit, and as we desire to be, and to be holden true lovers of our country, and of the religion, laws, and liberties thereof, effauldly and faithfully to the uttermost of our power, to join and concur with our persons and estates, every one of us according to our several stations and callings, in the maintenance of the freedom and lawfulness of the foresaid parliament, and in the advancement, furtherance, and assistance of the execution, obedience, and observation of the acts and constitutions thereof, as the most sit and necessary remedies of the bygone and present evils and distractions of this kirk and kingdom, and for the preservation of religion, laws, and liberties thereof, and of his majesty's authority, and that in the first parliament, which shall be holdeu hereafter within this kingdom, and at all other occasions, and against any opposition whatsoever, except in so far as shall be hereafter thought sit and expedient, by the common advice and consent of the estates. in witness whereof we have signed and subscribed these presents with our hands, at, etc. act xxxix. declaring the parliament current, and continuing the same while the nineteenth of november next. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, continues this present parliament, and all matters and actions belonging thereto, while the nineteenth day of november next to come: at the which day, ordains the whole estates to be present, and to attend at edinburgh, or where it shall happen the same to be appointed to be holden for the time: and in the mean time declares the same parliament to be current to the day foresaid: and ordains the whole acts and statutes concluded in this present session of the said parliament, to stand and have the force and strength of laws, such like as any acts and statutes of any preceding parliaments in any time bygone: and ordains the same to be published and printed, notwithstanding of the continuation thereof to the day foresaid. acts done and passed at edinburgh, november the nineteenth 1640. act anent the election of robert lord burghly to be prese of this meeting of estates in parliament. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, this nineteenth day of november 1640. years. to the which day the parliament was continued by the last act of the last session thereof, the 11. of june 1640. did unanimously elect and choose robert lord burghly to be precedent of this their meeting of estates in parliament. act i. act anent the continuation of the parliament, to the 14. of januarie 1641. years, with continuation of days. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, yet as of before, continueth this present parliament, and all summons and actions intended or depending, with all other matters belonging to the said parliament, to the fourteenth day of januarie next to come, with continuation of days. at the which day, or sooner, as the committee of estates and quorums thereof, both in the country and at the army, shall appoint, ordains the whole estates to be present, and to attend at edinburgh, or where it shall happen the famine to be appointed to be holden for the time. and in the mean time declares the said parliament to be current to the day foresaid. and ordains the whole acts and statutes made and concluded in plain parliament, in the last session thereof, in june last bypast, to stand and have the force and strength of laws and acts, conform to the tenours thereof, such like as any acts and statutes of any preceding parliaments in any time bygone: and namely (but prejudice of the generality foresaid) the act of committee of the estates, to stand in full force ay and while it be discharged by the estates. and ordains the foresaid acts, with the act of election of the said robert lord burghly to be prese at this meeting of estates, together with this present act of continuation, to be published and printed, conform to the last act of continuation, bearing date the eleventh of june last, notwithstanding of this present continuation of the parliament to the day above-written. acts done and passed at edinburgh, januarie 14. 1641. act anent the election of robert lord burghly to be prese of this meeting of estates in parliament. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, this fourteenth day of januarie 1641. years: to the which day the parliament was continued by the last act of continuation thereof, dated the 19 of november 1640. years, did unanimously elect and choose robert lord burghly to be precedent of this their meeting of estates in parliament. act ii. act anent the continuation of the parliament to the 13. day of april, 1641. years, with continuation of days. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, yet as of before, continueth this present parliament, and all summons and actions intended or depending, with all supplications, grievances, and other matters belonging to the said parliament, to the thirteenth day of april next to come, with continuation of days: and that for satisfaction of his majesty's gracious desire, signified by his majesty's letter directed to the estates to that effect, bearing date the last of december 1640. and also for sundry grave and weighty considerations, concerning the weal of the estate, kirk, and kingdom, known to the estates. at the which 13. day of april, ordains the whole estates to be present, and to attend at edinburgh, or where it shall happen the famine to be holden for the time, but prejudice always of the power granted to the committees of estate, contained in the act of this present parliament made thereanent, dated the 11. day of june last, and mentioned in the last act of continuation thereof, bearing date the 19 of november 1640. and in the mean time, the estates declares the said parliament to be current to the effect above-written unto the day foresaid, with continuation of days, and ordains the whole acts and statutes made and concluded in plain parliament in that session thereof in june last bypast, together with all former acts of continuation made by the said estates, to stand and have the force and strength of laws and acts, conform to the tenours thereof, such like as any acts and statutes of any preceding parliaments in any time bygone: and namely (but prejudice of the generality foresaid) the act of committee of the estates to stand in full force in all the clauses thereof, aye and while it be discharged by the estates, and ordains the foresaids' acts, with the act of election of robert lord burghlie, to be prese at this meeting of estates, together with this present act of continuation, to be published and printed, conform to the last act of continuation of the date foresaid, notwithstanding of this present continuation of the parliament to the day above-written. acts done and passed at edinburgh, april 13. 1641. act anent the election of robert lord burghly to be precedent of this meeting of estates in parliament. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, this 13. day of april, 1641. years: to the which day the parliament was continued by the last act of continuation thereof, of the date the 14. day of january 1641. years, did unanimously elect and choose robert lord burghly to be precedent of this their meeting of estates in parliament. act iii. act anent the continuation of the parliament to the 25. day of may 1641. years, with continuation of days. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, yet as of before, continueth this present parliament, and all summons and actions intended or depending, with all supplications, grievances, and other matters belonging to the foresaid parliament, to the twenty fifth day of may next to come, with continuation of days: and that for satisfaction of his majesty's gracious desire signified by his majesty's letter, direct to the estates to that effect, bearing date 23. march 1641. and also for sundry grave and weighty considerations, concerning the weal of the estate, kirk, and kingdom, known to the estates. at the which twenty fifth day of may next to come, ordains the whole estates to be present, and to attend at edinburgh, or where it shall happen the famine to be holden for the time, but prejudice always of the power granted to the committees of estate, contained in the act of this present parliament made thereanent, dated the eleventh day of june last, and mentioned in the two last acts of continuation thereof, the one bearing date the 19 of november 1640. and the other bearing date the 14. of january last bypast 1641. and in the mean time, the estates declares the said parliament to be current to the effect above-written unto the day foresaid, with continuation of days, and ordains the whole acts and statutes made and concluded in plain parliament in that session thereof in june last bypast, together with all former acts of continuation made by the said estates, to stand and have the force and strength of laws and acts, conform to the tenours thereof, such like as any acts and statutes of any preceding parliaments in any time bygone: and namely (but prejudice of the generality foresaid) the act of the committee of estates to stand in full force in all the clauses thereof, aye and while it be discharged by the estates, and ordains the foresaids' acts, with the act of election of robert lord burghlie, to be prese at this meeting of estates, together with this present act of continuation, to be published and printed, conform to the last act of continuation of the date foresaid, notwithstanding of this present continuation of the parliament to the day above-written. acts done and passed at edinburgh, may 25. 1641. act anent the election of robert lord burghly to be precedent of this meeting of estates in parliament. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, this 25. day of may, 1641. years: to the which day the parliament was continued by the last act of continuation thereof, of the date the 13. day of april 1641. year's foresaid, did unanimously with one uniform consent, elect and choose robert lord burghly to be precedent of this their meeting of estates in parliament. act four act anent the continuation of the parliament, to the 15. day of july 1641. years, with continuation of days. the estates of parliament presently convened by his majesty's special authority, yet as of before, continueth this present parliament, and all summons and actions intended or depending, with all supplications, grievances, and other matters belonging to the said parliament, against all parties cited or desired to be sent home to scotland as incendiaries, or cited for other crimes or causes, and the former citations and continuations thereof, and this present continuation, to continue in the same force, strength and effect, as they were at the several days of compearances respectiuã¨, whereunto they were cited, and as if they had been called, or were now called per expressum, upon the said's several days whereunto they were cited respective, as said is, or upon the several days of continuation whereunto this parliament was continued from time to time, notwithstanding of the not calling of them publicly in judgement at none of the said's days, which was no ways necessary to have been done, nor to be done, before insisting against them, in respect that they were both cited to several days of compearance, with continuation of days, & that the parliament was continued from time to time to certain other days also, with continuation of days, to the fifteenth day of july next to come, with continuation of days, and that for satisfying his majesty's gracious desire, signified by his majesty's letter direct to the estates for that effect, beating date the 18. of may, 1641. years, and also for sundry grave and weighty considerations: concerning the weal of the estate, kirk and kingdom, known to the estates, but prejudice always to the estates of parliament, of their undoubted liberty to sit without prorogation, except they consent to a prorogation: and that by reason that all acts of prorogation of parliament, are acts of parliament, and no acts of parliament can be made without consent of the estates convened and sitting in plain parliament: at the which fifteenth day of july next to come, ordains the whole estates to be present and to attend at edinburgh, or where it shall happen the famine to be holden for the time: and such, like ordains his majesty's advocate and procutors of estate, all and every one of them to compeare and attend, and to insist as they shall be commanded by the estates, against whatsoever persons indicted or to be indicted, and discharges the said advocate and procutors, & every one of them to consult with, or take upon hand, directly or indirectly, to defend any who shall seek their advice for pleading or maintaining them in any sort, against any pursuit moved, or to be moved against them in parliament, for any crime against the public, or to give any information for that effect: and that because it is incumbent to the king's majesty's advocate and procutors of estate to pursue all who happens from time to time to be cited to the parliament for any offence against the public, and no ways to take their patrociny: but prejudice likewise of the power granted to the cornmittees of estate, contained in the act of this present parliament, made thereanent, dated the 11 of june last, and mentioned in the three last acts of continuation thereof: the first dated the 19 november 1640. the second the 14. of january, 1641. and the third dated the 13. of april the same year, 1641. years; and in the mean time the estates declares the said parliament to be current, to the effect above-written, unto the day foresaid, with continuation of days, and ordains the whole acts and statutes made, and concluded in plain parliament in that session thereof in june last bypast, together with all the former acts of continuation made by the saids estates, to stand and have the force and strength of laws and acts, conform to the tenours thereof, such like as any acts and statutes of any preceding parliaments in any time bygone: and namely (but prejudice of the generality foresaid) the act of the committee of estates, to stand in full force in all the clauses thereof, ay and while it be discharged by the estates, and ordains the foresaids' acts with the act of election of robert lord burghlie to be prese of this meeting of estates, together with this present act of continuation, to be published and printed, conform to the last act of continuation of the date foresaid, notwithstanding of this present continuation of the parliament to the day above-written. acts done and passed in the last session of the second parliament of our sovereign lord, etc. beginning the 15. day of june 1641. and ending the 17. of november, the same year, according to the several dates respective after specified prefixed thereto. act v anent the oath to be given by every member of parliament. august 18. 1641. forsomuch as the honour, greatness and happiness of the king's royal majesty, and the welfare of the subjects depend on the purity of religion, as it is now established in this kingdom, the laws, liberties and peace thereof, which ought to be sought after by all good christians, loyal subjects, and true patriots, and to be furthered and maintained by them against all such, as by any means, endeavour to shake, or subvert the same. therefore we under-subscribers, and every one of us, do in the presence of almighty god promise and vow, that in this present parliament we shall faithfully and freely, speak, answer and express ourselves upon all, and every thing which is or shall be proponed, so fare as we think in our conscience may conduce to the glory of god, the good and peace of the church, and state of this kingdom, and employ our best endeavours to promove the same: and shall in no ways advise, voice nor consent to any thing, which to our best knowledge, we think not most expedient and conducible thereto: as also that we shall maintain and defend with our life, power, and estate, his majesty's royal person, honour and estate, as is expressed in our nationall covenant: and likewise the power and privileges of parliament, and the lawful rights and liberties of the subjects, and by all good means and ways, oppose, and endeavour to bring to exact trial, all such as either by force, practice, counsel, plots, conspiracies, or other ways, have done, or shall do any thing in prejudice of the purity of religion, the laws, liberties, and peace of the kingdom: and further, that we shall in all just and honourable ways endeavour to preserve union and peace betwixt the three kingdoms of scotland, england, and ireland, and neither for hope, fear, nor other respect shall relinguish this vow and promise. read in audience of the king's majesty and the estates of parliament, who approve the same, and appoint the said oath to be taken by all members of this parliament, and in all parliaments hereafter, before they proceed to any act, or determination. act vi act anent the ratification of the articles of the treaty, superscribed by the king, and subscribed by the precedent of the parliament. august 26. 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, ratifies and approves the articles of the large treaty concerning the establishing of the peace betwixt the king's majesty, and his people of scotland, and betwixt the two kingdoms of scotland and england: and for his majesty and his successors perpetually confirms the same, ordaining the same in all time coming to have the full force and strength of perfect security, laws, and acts of parliament: like as his majesty, for himself and his successors, promiseth, in verbo principis, never to come in the contrary thereof, for any thing therein contained: but to hold the same firm and stable, and shall cause it to be truly observed by all his majesty's liege's according to the tenor & intent thereof for now & ever. whereof the tenor follows: whereas by his majesty's royal wisdom, and princely care of the peace and happiness of his majesty's dominions, a treaty hath been appointed for removing of all differences raised betwixt the two kingdoms, and betwixt the king and his subjects of scotland, and for settling and assuring a firm and blessed peace for all time to come: and a commission hath been given under the great seal of england, with approbation of both houses of parliament, bearing date 23. of november in the 16. year of his majesty's reign, and in the words following: charles by the grace of god, king of scotland, england, france, and ireland, defender of the faith, etc. to our right trusty, and right well-beloved cousins, francis earl of bedford, william earl of hartford, robert earl of essex, and to our right trusty, and right well-beloved cousin and counsellor, william earl of salisbury, and to our right trusty, and right well-beloved cousin, robert earl of warwick, and to our right trusty, and right well-beloved cousin, john earl of bristol, and to our right trusty, and right well-beloved cousin and counsellor, henry earl of holland, and to our right trusty, and right well-beloved cousin and counsellor, thomas earl of berks, and to our right trusty, and well-beloved, philip lord wharton, william lord paget, edward lord kimbalton, robert lord brooke, john lord paulet, edward lord howard of estrick, thomas lord savil, and francis lord dunsmore, greeting. whereas divers of our subjects of scotland, have by their several petitions humbly besought us, that we would be graciously pleased to grant unto them certain demands, we reposing especial trust and confidence in your great wisdoms and fidelities, have named, assigned, and appointed you, and by these presents do name, assign, and appoint you to be our commissioners: and do hereby give, and grant unto you, or any ten, or more of you, full power, and authority to treat with john earl of rothes, charles earl of dumfermling, john lord loudoun, sir patrick hepburne of wauchton, sir william douglas of cavers, william drummond of riccarton, john smith baily of edinburgh, alexander wedderburne clerk of dundy, hugh kennedy burgess of air, alexander hendersone, and archibald johnstoun, or any of them, or any other deputed, or to be deputed by our said subjects of scotland, or nominated on their behalf; and to take into your serious consideration the said demands, and compose, conclude, and end all differences arising thereupon: or otherways, as you, or any ten, or more of you, in your wisdoms shall think fit: and whatsoever you our commissioners aforesaid, or any ten, or more of you shall do in the premises, we do by these presents ratify, and confirm the same. in witness whereof we have caused these our letters to be made patents. witness ourself at westminster the three and twentieth day of november, in the sixteenth year of our reign. per ipsum regem. and in like manner, a commission hath been granted by the committees of the parliament of scotland, bearing date the last of october, and the 4 day of november, 1640. and in the words following: we the commissioners of the parliament of scotland, being a full number of both the quorums thereof, under-subscribing: forsomuch as the king's majesty, our dread sovereign hath been graciously pleased, upon our humble supplications, to appoint a treaty, and conference at rippon betwixt our commssioners, chosen, and sent by us for that effect, and a number of the peers of england, who accordingly met, and have accorded upon certain articles, as well anent the maintenance of our army, as anent the cessation of arms during the treaty. and because the time for the ensuing parliament of england could not permit the treaty to come to the wished conclusion there, his majesty was therefore likewise pleased to transfer the said treaty to london, where the said parliament is to hold, that there these entrusted by his majesty, and estates of parliament, may have the better time and place to treat, and conclude thereanent. therefore we the said commissioners, being a full number of both quorums thereof under-subscribing, by virtue, and conform to the commission granted to us by the estates of parliament, do not only approve the said articles already agreed upon, and subscribed by our said commissioners at rippon, but also do by these presents give full power, warrant & commission to john earl of rothes, lord lesley, etc. charles earl of dumfermling, lord urquhart and fuby, etc. john lord londoun, sir patrick hepburne of wachtoun, sir william douglas of cavers, william drummond of riccarton, john smith of edinburgh, mr. alexander wedderburne of dundy, and hugh kennedy, of air, as members of the estates of parliament. and because many things may occur, concerning the church, and assemblies thereof: therefore besides these of the estates we nominate, and appoint mr. alexander hendersone, and mr. archibald johnstoun, whom we adjoin for that effect; with power to them, or any seven of them, there being always two of every estate, to pass to the said city of london, and there, or at any other place convenient (mutually to be agreed upon) to meet, and conveen with any who shall be appointed by his majesty, and estates of parliament of england for the foresaid treaty, giving, granting, and committing; like as we by these presents give, grant, and commit to them in manner foresaid, full power, warrant, and commission to treat, consult, advise, determine, and agree, as well anent the satisfying, and granting of our demands, as in obtaining, and securing a settled peace for all time coming, conform to the instructions given to them herewith, or which shall be sent to them hereafter by us, or any one of the said quorums at the camp of edinburgh thereanent. with power to them, as said is, to do everything which may conduce for the better and easier obtaining of our said demands, and establishing a settled peace, conform to the said particular instructions, in such like manner as we might do if we were all personally present ourselves in full number, promising to hold firm and stable all, and every thing our said commissioners in manner foresaid shall do in the premises, conform to the said instructions. and in case it shall be found expedient, or necessary to add any more commissioners to the foresaid persons, these who shall so be sent, authorized under our hands, or the full number of any of the said quorums, shall have a like power, and commission by virtue of these presents with the forenamed commissioners, in such like manner, as if their names were particularly expressed herein. in witness whereof these presents are subscribed at newcastle and edinburgh the last of october, and 4. of november, 1640. sic subscribitur. rothes. montrose. cassils'. lothian. lyndesay balmerino. naper. burghly. jo. cooper. thomas hope. ricccarton. caprinton. gaitgirth. dundas. edward edgar. rich. maxwell. james scot gorterfield. hume. hamilton. mr. will. more. ja. sword. hue kennedy. rutherfoord. and forasmuch as by virtue of the said commissions, the commissioners therein authorised, have treated, and by the assistance and blessing of god have agreed upon the heads, and articles following. articles of the large treaty concerning the establishing of the peace betwixt the king's majesty, and his people of scotland, and betwixt the two kingdoms, agreed upon by the scottish and english commissioners, at the city of westminster, the seventh day of august. 1641. the scottish commissioners (having given in the declaration following, viz. we do still in all loyalty, as becomes humble and dutiful subjects, acknowledge our dependency upon his majesty as our dread sovereign, whether his majesty live in scotland or england, and shall always, and in all things witness our high respects and best affections to the kingdom and parliament of england, according to the strong bonds of nature and religion, by which the two kingdoms are joined under one head and monarch: yet as we are fully assured that the kingdom and parliament of england, is for the present fare from any thought of usurpation over the kingdom and parliament of scotland, or their laws and liberties: so, for the preventing the misunderstanding of the posterity and of strangers, and for satisfying the scruples of others not acquainted with the nature of this treaty and the manner of our proceed, which may arise upon our coming into england, and our treating in time of parliament; we do by these declare and make known, that neither by our treaty with the english, nor by seeking our peace to be established in parliament, nor any other actions of ours, do we acknowledge any dependency upon them, or make them judges to us or our laws, or any thing that may import the smallest prejudice to our liberties, but that we come in a free and brotherly way by our informations to remove all doubts, that may arise concerning the proceed of our parliament, and to join our endeavours in what may conduce for the good and peace of both kingdoms, no otherwise then if by occasion of the king his residence in scotland commissioners in the like exigence should be sent thither from england) did demand, that his majesty would be graciously pleased to command that the acts of the late parliament may be published in his highness' name as our sovereign lord, with consent of the estates of parliament convened by his majesty's authority. whereunto it is answered and agreed, that for as much as the king's majesty, at the humble desire of his subjects, did call and conveen a parliament to be holden at edinburgh the 2. of june, 1640. wherein certain acts were made and agreed upon, which acts his majesty (for the peace and good of his kingdom) is pleased to publish in his own name with consent of the estates, and therefore commands that the said acts bearing date the 11. day of june, 1640. be published with the acts to be made in the next session of the same parliament: and that all the said acts, aswell of the precedent as of the next session, to be holden, have in all time coming the strength of laws, and to be universally received, and obeyed by all the subjects of the kingdom of scotland. his majesty doth in the word of a king promise the publishing of the said acts in such sort as is above specified. as for the manner of publishing the said acts, his majesty approves that the declaration of the estates in the beginning of the acts, and the conclusion at the end, may be passed in silence at the publishing of the acts, and left out in the printed copies: and if any thing shall further occur concerning the manner of publishing the said acts, his majesty's commissioner may then offer it to the estates to be considered of, his majesty being most assured that the estates of parliament will have a great care not to suffer his majesty's authority to be prejudiced in the managing of these great affairs. tertio decembris, 1640. the second demand, that the castle of edinburgh, and other strengths of the kingdom should, with the advice of the estates of parliament, according to their first foundation be furnished, and used for defence and security of the kingdom. is agreed unto. the third demand, that scottish men within his majesty's dominions of england and ireland, may be freed from censure for subscribing the covenant, and be no more pressed with oaths and subscriptions unwarranted by their laws, and contrary to their nationall oath and covenant approved by his majesty. it is thereto answered and agreed in his majesty's name, upon decemb. 8. 1640. that as his majesty hath granted your first and second demands, so do we in his majesty's name answer to the third: that all these who in his majesty's dominions of england or ireland have been imprisoned, forfeited, or censured any other way for subscribing of the covenant, or for refusing to take any other oath contrary to the same, shall be freed of these censures, and shall be fully restored to their liberties, estates, and possessions. and for time coming, that the subjects of scotland, as subjects of scotland, shall not be constrained to any oath contrary to the laws of that kingdom, and the religion there established: but such of the kingdom of scotland as shall transport themselves into the kingdom of england or ireland, and there be settled inhabitants, either by way of having inheritance or freehold, or by way of settled trades (by which the way of trading of the factors of merchants, nor of merchants themselves is not to be understood) shall be subject to the laws of england or ireland, and to the oaths established by the laws, and acts of parliament in the said kingdoms respectively, wherein they live, and have their ordinary and constant residence, and not otherways. and the english and irish shall have the like privilege in scotland, 8. decembris. 1640. to the fourth demand, craving that his majesty may be graciously pleased to declare, as an act of royal justice, serving much to his own honour, for the establishing of his throne, and for the good and peace of both kingdoms, that whosoever shall be found upon trial and examination by the estates of either of the two parliaments (they judging against the persons subject to their own authority) to have been the authors and causers of the late and present troubles and combustion, whether by labouring to make, and forment division betwixt the king and his people, or betwixt the two nations, or any other way, shall be liable to the censure and sentence of the said parliaments respectively, conform to the paper of decemb. 9 1640. it is answered, upon the 11. of decemb. 1640. that his majesty believeth he hath none such about him; and therefore concerning that point, he can make no other declaration, then that he is just, and that all his courts of justice are free and open to all men. his parliament in this kingdom is now sitting, and the current parliament of scotland near approaching the time of their meeting, to either of which, he doth not prohibit any of his subjects to present their just grievances, and complaints, of whatsoever nature, each meddling, and judging against the persons, subject to their own authority. 11. decembris 1640. it is further answered upon the said 11. of december, 1640. to your fourth demand, concerning incendiaries, that his majesty believeth, he hath none such about him: therefore, concerning that point, he can make no other declaration, then that he is just, and that all his courts of justice are to be free and open to all men. his parliament in this kingdom is now sitting, and the current parliament of scotland near approaching the time of their meeting; in either of which respective, he doth not prohibit the estates to proceed in trying and judging whatsoever of his subjects. and whereas it was further demanded, that as his majesty would not hinder any of his subjects to be tried and judged by the parliament: so that none after the sentence of the parliament should have access to his majesty, or be maintained, and enjoy places or offices, and have credit or authority to inform and advise his majesty, conform to the paper of december 23. 1640. it is declared in his majesty's name, upon december 30. 1640. besides his majesty's former answers, his majesty hath commanded us to declare in his name, that he will not employ any person or persons in office or place that shall be judged incapable by sentence of parliament: nor will he make use of their service without the consent of parliament, nor grant them access to his person, whereby they may interrupt, or disturb that firm peace, which he now so much desireth, he being confident that they will proceed in a fair & just way, and (according to their several professions) with that respect to his honour, which in reason he may expect from good and dutiful subjects: 30. of decemb. 1640. the fifth demand, that their ships and goods, and all damage thereof may be restored. is condescended unto, and to be reciprocal, that all ships and goods taken at sea or stayed in ports, with damage be restored on both sides. and that some summary course be agreed upon for the performance thereof upon the demands of the particulars on both sides, conform to the paper of december 30. 1640. and further it was agreed upon the 7. of januarie, 1641. stilo scotico. that all ships taken and stayed should be reciprocally restored on both sides, and that the scottish commissioners having informed that about fourscore ships of scotland are yet stayed in the ports, and are like to suffer much further loss and damage, if they shall not be delivered into some hands who may have care of them: it is agreed, for the more speedy expedition of the scottish ships, and that the owners thereof be not longer damnifyed by the want of them, that warrants shall be presently granted for delivery of all their ships, and that four thousand pounds be presently advanced for cauking, sails, cordage, and other necessaries for helping the present setting forth of the said ships: and for the rest of this article, when it shall come in the sixth demand, it shall be agreed unto, 7. of januarie, 1641. stilo scotico. to the sixth demand, concerning the losses which the kingdom of scotland hath sustained, and the vast charges they have been put unto by occasion of the late troubles, and the reparation desired from the justice, and kindness of the kingdom of england towards relief thereof, in manner, and upon the ground expressed in the paper of the 7. of januarie, 1641. stilo scotico. it is answered, that this house thinks fit that a friendly assistance, and relief shall be given, towards supply of the losses & necessities of the scots, & that in due time this house will take into consideration the measure & manner of it, conform to the paper 22. of jan. 1641. stilo scotico. and further, the parliament upon the 3. of february did declare, that they did conceive, that the sum of three hundred thousand pounds is a fit proportion for the friendly assistance, and relief formerly thought fit to be given towards supply of the losses, and necessities of their brethren of scotland, and that the house would in due time take into consideration the manner how, and the time when the same shall be raised, conform to the paper of the 3. of febr. 1641. stilo scotico, and given in to the treaty upon the 5. of the said month. and whereas it was desired by the scottish commissioners, that the english commissioners would let them know from the parliament, the security, manner, and terms of payment of the foresaid sum of three hundred thousand pounds, and of the arrears due for relief of the northern counties, it was agreed unto by warrant, and order of the parliament, that they should have fourscore thousand pounds, as a part of the foresaid sum of three hundreth thousand pounds, with the whole arrears due to the army, before the disbanding thereof, conform to the paper of the 26. of may, 1641. and given in to the treaty upon the 27. of the said month. and concerning the security for paying of the remnant of the said sum of three hundred thousand pounds, which is arreare, extending to 200 and 20000 pounds, it is resolved, and agreed unto by both houses of parliament, that an act of parliament of public faith shall pass for security thereof, and that one moiety, or equal half of the same, extending to one hundred and ten thousand pounds, shall be paid at midsummer, in anno 1642. and the other moiety, or equal half thereof to be paid at midsummer, in anno 1643. as the order of the houses of parliament, of the 19 & 25. days of june 1641. doth more fully purport. and in like manner, whereas it was desired by the scottish commissioners, that they might know to whom they should address themselves, for payment of the sums at the days appointed by the parliament, conform to the parliaments determination of the 19 of june: secondly, at what place the payment should be made: thirdly, that a safe conduct may be granted for the secure transporting of the moneys to scotland, at the times of the payment agreed upon. it is answered and resolved by the parliament, that these earls, lords and commissioners following, shall be the persons to whom the scots shall address themselves for the receiving of the sums at the days appointed by the parliament; earl of bedford, earl of essex, earl of warwick, earl of holland, earl of stanford, lord wharton, lord mandevill, lord brook, mr. martin, sir thomas barrington, mr. capell, sir ar. ingram, sir gilbert gerrard, sir robert pie, mr. h. bellasis, sir walter earl, sir william litton, sir henry mildmay, sir thomas cheek, sir john strangewayes, mr. arthur goodwin, mr. hampden, alderman soam, alderman pennington. resolved upon the question, that the place of payment shall be the chamber of london. resolved upon the question, that a safe conduct shall be granted for the secure transporting of the monies to scotland, at the terms of payment agreed upon at the charge of the scots, conform to the paper, june 22. 1641. years. to the seventh demand, desiring that as his majesty hath approved the acts of the late parliament, wherein all such declarations, proclamations, books, libels, & pamphlets as have been made, written, or published against his loyal and dutiful subjects of scotland, are re-called, and ordained to be suppressed, and destroyed, so his majesty may be pleased to give order that the same may be suppressed, recalled, & forbidden in england and ireland, and that the loyalty, integrity, and faithfulness of his majesty's subjects of scotland towards his majesty's royal person & government, may at the closing of this treaty of peace, and at the time of public thanksgiving for the same, be made known in all places, and all parish churches of his majesty's dominions. this was the more earnestly desired, & confidently expected from his majesty's justice & goodness, because no calamity or distress hath so sore vexed, or so deeply wounded the hearts of his majesty's subjects, as that their loyalty and love towards their native king should have been controverted, & by the malignancy of bad instruments brought into suspicion; and because they unfeignedly desire, & pray for his majesty's happiness, and are resolved by all means, and at all occasions to deny themselves, and what they have for his majesty's honour: as is more fully contained in the paper of the 8. of february 1641. stilo scotico. it is answered upon the 10. of february 1641. stilo scotico. we do agree, that all declarations, proclamations, acts, books, libels, and pamphlets that have been made, & published against the loyalty & dutifulness of his majesty's subjects of scotland, shall be recalled, suppressed, & forbidden in england & ireland. and that this be reciprocal in scotland, if any such have been made, or published there in prejudice of his majesty's honour: and this upon diligent inquiry to be done by the authority of the parliament next sitting in scotland, of which the commissioners of scotland do promise to have an especial care: and we do also agree, that when it shall please almighty god to grant a happy close of this treaty of peace, the loyalty of his majesties said subjects shall be made known at the time of public thanksgiving in all places, & particularly in the parish churches of his majesty's dominions. unto which we are the rather induced, for that you express how deeply it hath wounded the hearts of his majesties said subjects, that their loyalty & love to his ma.tie their native king should be brought in question, & suspicion: whereas they unfeignedly desire & pray for his majesty's happiness, & are resolved by all means, & at all occasions to deny themselves, & what they have, for his majesty's honour, 10. febr. 1641. stilo scotico. concerning the eighth demand, for an happy and durable peace, which is the chiefest of all our desires, and unto which all the former seven articles being now agreed upon, are as many preparations. we do first of all desire, that all monuments, tokens, & shows of hostility upon the borders of the two kingdoms may be taken away, & that upon the reasons & considerations particularly expressed in the paper, of the 10. of febr. 1641. stilo scotico. that not only the garrisons of barwick, and carlisle may be removed, but that the works may be slighted, and the places dismantled. it is answered, and agreed upon the 14. of june, that his majesty is desirous, that all things betwixt the kingdoms of scotland and england, be reduced into the same state they were in, before the beginning of the late troubles. and therefore he doth give his assent to the advice of the two houses of parliament, that the garrisons of berwick and carlisle, upon the disbanding of the scottish army now in england, and of all such forces as are gathered together in scotland, be likewise presently removed: and that the fortifications of barwick and carlisle be also reduced to the same condition they were before the late troubles. so that all fortifications in scotland be likewise put in the same condition they were before the said troubles; and that the works be not repaired, but suffered to decay, and that the ordinance, and ammunition be removed: and that it be without prejudice to his majesty's former grant of the second demand, concerning the keeping of the castles of the kingdom of scotland, 14. of june, 1641. to their desire concerning unity in religion, & uniformity of church-government, as a special means for conserving of peace betwixt the two kingdoms, upon the grounds and reasons contained in the paper of the 10. of march given into the treaty and parliament of england. it is answered, upon the 15. of june, that his majesty, with the advice of both houses of parliament, doth approve of the affection of his subjects of scotland, in their desire of having conformity of church-government between the two nations, and as the parliament hath already taken into consideration the reformation of church government, so they will proceed therein in due time, as shall best conduce to the glory of god, the peace of the church, & of both kingdoms; 11. of june 1641. to their desire of the king's majesty, and the prince their coming, and residing some times in scotland, upon the reasons given in, february 16. 1641. stilo scotico. it is answered upon the 9 of june, that his majesty doth take in good part the sense his subjects of scotland have of his absence, and the dutiful expression they make of their desire to have him, and the prince his son frequently among them; and assuring himself that they have no other intention in this demand, but merely to express their love to his person, and the welfare of his ancient kingdom, he declares unto them, that as he shall find the urgency of those affairs require his presence, and his other conveniences here permit, he will repair thither, and the prince his son, so fare as he may know and be acquainted with the people there, 9 of june 1641. to the desire concerning the manner of choosing and placing of the officers of state, counsellors, and sessioners, within the kingdom of scotland by advice of the parliament, upon the grounds and reasons given in, march 15. 1641. stilo scotico. it is answered the 9 of june, in his majesty's name; we intent nothing more hearty, and really then that our people shall be governed by the laws of the kingdom, and that all judges in their several judicatories should judge accordingly. therefore we will never allow nor permit, that either counsellors, officers of state, or judges be exemed from our, & our parliaments trial and censure, for the discharging of their duties in their several offices, and places; likewise we conceive that nothing will more conduce to the good of our service, and the peaceable and happy government of the kingdom, than that officers of state, places of council and session, and other judicatories be provided with honest, able, and qualified men. for which end, and because of our necessary absence from that kingdom, which maketh the qualification of persons fit for places less known to us, we shall so far give ear to the informations of our parliament, and when our parliament is not sitting, of our council, and college of justice, as that we shall make choice of some one of such, as they by common consent upon the vacancy of the place shall recommend unto us: or if we shall conceive another person to be fit than any of these recommended, we shall make the same known to the parliament, or in the time between parliament, to out council and session, that from them we may be informed of the qualification and abilities of the person named by us, to the effect, that if by their information it shall appear to us, that there is just exception against the life, and qualification of the said party, we may timely nominate some other, against whom there shall be no just exception. by which means we doubt not, but that we shall from time to time choose such honest men, as for their known integrities and abilities shall be fit to discharge their places, and offices, with that duty and sufficiency which we and our subjects may justly expect. which intention of ours being now so clearly and fully expressed, we doubt not, but will give good satisfaction to our ensuing parliament. and as we never intended to remove just and able men from their places in the college of justice: so do we now declare for our people's full satisfaction, that their places shall provided unto them, quam diu se bene gesserint. and if this our answer cannot content the scottish commissioners, we do then remit the whole answer to be considered by us, or our commissioner, and the parliament, at the next sitting thereof, 9 of june, 1641. to their desire of placing some scottish men of respect about the king; and queen's majesties, and the prince's highness, upon the grounds and reasons given in the 9 of april, 1641. it is answered, his majesty's goodness, and grace towards his subjects of scotland in placing them about his own person, in places of greatest nearness and trust, hath been such, as aught to give them full satisfaction of his royal affection towards his subjects of his native kingdom. therefore, for this point, his majesty needeth only to assure them that he shall continue the same care, which hitherto he hath done for their satisfaction in this particular: and not only so, but shall also recommend the same to the prince his son, that successively the kingdom of scotland shall so taste of the care of their sovereigns, that by the grace of god, they shall never want a sufficient number of honest, and sufficient persons of that nation about the king's person and princes, against whom there shall be no just exception, the 9 of june, 1641. to their desire that none may have place about his majesty, and the prince, but such as are of the reformed religion, in manner expressed in the paper. 1. april 1641. it is answered, his majesty doth conceive, that his subjects of scotland have no intention by this proposition, (especially by way of demand) to limit, or prescribe unto him the choice of his servants, but rather to show their zeal to religion, wherein his own piety will make him do therein that which may give just satisfaction to his people, 9 june 1641. to their desire given in the first of april, concerning the copper coin. it is answered, whereas the scottish commissioners have represented unto his majesty, the great prejudice sustained by the kingdom of scotland, through the coining of copper money, which hath passed there this long time bygone, for seven times and above as much as the true value and worth thereof, contrary to the continual custom of that kingdom, and therefore desiring that no copper money be coined hereafter, without consent of the estates convened in parliament, who may remedy the present prejudices the country sustains thereby: and who upon good consideration of the necessity thereof in time to come, may appoint such a competent proportion as is fit, and as the country shall require for the use of the poor, and for change in buying and selling of commodities, and that the same shall not pass, but according to the intrinsic value thereof, with the allowance of a tenth part or such a proportion as the parliament shall think fit to allow for the impression, and workmanship in coining. his majesty is graciously pleased to recommend to the ensuing parliament of scotland the whole matter of copper coin, and remits to their consideration to take such order therein as they shall think fitting, not only concerning the copper coin to be coined hereafter, but also the copper money already coined, how the same shall take vent, and pass in payment in time coming, conform to the paper of the ninth of june, 1641. concerning an act of pacification and oblivion. it is agreed unto, that in the approaching parliament of scotland there shall be an act of pacification, declaring that the late commotions, and troubles arising from the innovations of religion, and corruption of church government, by the mercy of god, and the king's royal wisdom, and fatherly care, are turned into a quiet calm and comfortable peace, lest either his majesty's love, or the constant loyalty of his subjects in their intentions and proceed be hereafter called in question, and that such things as have fall'n forth in these tumultuous times, while laws were silent, whether prejudicial to his majesty's honour and authority, or to the laws and liberties of the church and kingdom, or to the particular interest of the subject, (which to examine in a strict court of justice might prove an hindrance to a perfect peace) may be buried in perpetual oblivion: so it is expedient for making the peace and unity of his majesty's dominions the more firm and faithful, and that his majesty's countenance against all fears may shine upon them all the more comfortably, that an act of pacification and oblivion be made in the parliaments of all the three kingdoms, for burying in forgetfulness all acts of hostility, whether between the king and his subjects, or between subject and subject, or which may be conceived to arise upon the coming of any english army against scotland, or coming of the scottish army into england, or upon any action, attempt, assistance, counsel, or advise having relation thereunto, and falling out by the occasion of the late troubles preceding the conclusion of the treaty, and the return of the scottish army into scotland, that the same, and whatsoever hath ensued thereupon, whether trenching upon the laws and liberties of the church and kingdom, or upon his majesty's honour and authority, in no time hereafter may be called in question, nor resented as a wrong nationall, or personal, whatsoever be the quality of the person, or persons, or of whatsoever kind or degree, civil or criminal, the injury is supposed to be, and that no mention be made thereof in time coming, neither in judgement, nor out of judgement, but that it shall be held, and reputed, as though never any such thing had been thought, nor wrought. and this to be extended, not only to all his majesty's subjects now living, but to their heirs, executors, successors, and all others whom it may concern in any time to come. and for that end, that by the tenor of this statute, all judges, officers, and magistrates whatsoever, be prohibited and discharged of directing of warrants for citation, processing, or executing any sentence or judgement upon record, or any way molesting any of his majesty's liege's concerning the premises in all time coming. like as that his majesty for himself and his successors, promiseth in verbo principis, never to come in the contrary of this statute and sanction, nor any thing therein contained, but to hold the same in all points, firm, and stable, and shall cause it to be truly observed by all his majesty's liege's, according to the tenor and intent thereof for now and ever, and that in all time coming these presents shall have the full force and strength of a true and perfect security, as if they were extended in most ample and legal form. providing that the benefit of the said statute shall no ways be extended to any of the scottish prelates, or to john earl of traquair, sir robert spotswood, sir john hay, and master walter balcanqual, cited and pursued as incendiaries betwixt the kingdoms, and betwixt the king and his people, and for bribery, corruption, and many other gross crimes contained in their charges general and special, nor to any other persons, who are cited, and shall be found by the parliament of scotland, in his majesty or his commissioners their own hearing, to be so extraordinarily guilty of these and the like crimes, as they cannot in justice, and with the honour of the king, and country, pass from them. provided further that the benefit of this act shall not be understood to extend to the favour of thiefs, robbers, murderers, broken men, sorners, outlaws, nor their receptors, with reservation also of the legal pursuits and processes of the scots in ireland, for the reparation of their losses according to justice, against such who have illegally wronged and persecuted them, since by one of the articles of the treaty they are appointed to be restored to their means and estate. it is also to be understood, that nothing is meant hereby to be done in prejudice either of the payment of the debts owing upon promise or security, by the scottish army to any of the counties, or to any person there, (the same being instructed before the removal of the scottish army) or of the arrears due to the scottish army, or to that brotherly assistance granted them by the parliament of england. that the great blessing of a constant and friendly conjunction of the two kingdoms now united by allegiance, and loyal subjection to one sovereign and head, may be firmly observed, and continued to all posterity, it is agreed that an act be passed in the parliament of england that the kingdoms of england or ireland, shall not denounce, nor make war against the kingdom of scotland, without consent of the parliament of england, as on the other part it shall be enacted there, that the kingdom of scotland shall not denounce nor make war against the kingdoms of england or ireland, without consent of the parliament of scotland. no ships either of the kings or freebooters, or others, shall stop the trade of the kingdom, or hinder, or harm their neighbour kingdom without consent of parliament declaring a breach of peace, and if any armies shall be levied, or trade stopped and neighbours harmed, or wronged, the states of the country by which it is done to be obliged to pursue, take, and punish the offenders with all rigour, and if any of the kingdoms assist, receive, or harbour them, they are to be punished as breakers of the peace, and if after complaint and remonstrance to the commissioners after mentioned, and to the parliament, redress, and reparation be not made, then, and in that case, the same to be counted a breach of the peace by the whole kingdom, and in case any of the subjects of any of the kingdoms shall rise in arms, or make war against any other of the kingdoms, and subjects thereof, without consent of the parliament of that kingdom, whereof they are subjects, or upon which they do depend, that they shall be held, reputed, and demained as traitors to the states whereof they are subjects, and that both the kingdoms in the cases aforesaid be bound to concur in the repressing of these that shall happen to arise in arms, or make war without consent of their own parliament, and that the way of convening forces for suppressing such as levy war be as in case of invasion, provided that this be not extended to particular quarrels upon the borders, and that it be enacted that in such case, it shall be lawful for any of the subjects to convene to suppress such evil affected persons, and that each kingdom shall be bound by public faith punctually to perform this article: and if either parliament shall denounce war, they shall give three month's warning. that the peace to be now established may be inviolably observed in all time to come, it is agreed, that some shall be appointed by his majesty, and the parliaments of both kingdoms, who in the interim betwixt the sitting of the parliaments may be careful that the peace, now happily concluded, may be continued, and who shall endeavour by all means to prevent all trouble and division: and if any debate or difference shall happen to arise to the disturbance of the common peace, they shall labour to remove, or compose them according to their power, it being supposed, that for all their proceed of this kind they shall be answerable to the king's majesty, and the parliaments: and if any thing shall fall forth, which is above their power, and cannot be remedied by them, they shall inform themselves in the particulars, and represent the same to the king's majesty, and the ensuing parliaments, that by their wisdom and authority all occasions, and causes of troubles being removed, the peace of the kingdom may be perpetual to all posterity. and it is declared, that the power of the commission shall be restrained to the articles of peace in this treaty. whereas it is desired, that an act may be made in the parliament of england for ratifying of the treaty, and all the articles thereof, which is likewise to be ratified in the parliament of ireland (which in all the articles is comprehended under the name of england) and after the treaty is confirmed in the said english parliament, and all other necessary conditions performed, and armies on both sides shall at a certain day to be appointed for that effect, remove and disband: so that when the scottish army shall remove from newcastle, the english army shall likewise be disbanded, and repair home to their several countries, and places of their residence, and the irish army to disband before that time, that hereafter a quiet and durable peace may be kept according to the articles. and that this treaty and whole proceed thereof may be likewise ratified in the parliament of scotland, and a firm peace established, it is desired, that his majesty may be graciously pleased now to declare, that the ensuing parliament of scotland shall have full and free power, as the nature of a free parliament of that kingdom doth of itself import, to ratify and confirm the treaty, and whole articles thereof, and to receive account of all commissions granted by them, examine their proceed, and grant exonerations thereupon, and to treat, deliberate, conclude and enact whatsoever shall be found conducible to the settling of the good and peace of that kingdom. and that his majesty's commissioners shall be authorized with full power to approve whatsoever acts and statutes which upon mature deliberation shall happen to be accorded unto by the estates in that behalf, and shall sit and continue without interruption or prorogation, while all things necessary for that effect be determined, enacted and brought to a final conclusion, unless for better conveniency of affairs his majesty's commissioner, with the special advice and consent of the estates shall think fit to adjourn the same to any other time, which shall no ways derogate from the full and perfect concluding of the whole premises, before the said parliament be dissolved. this whole article is assented unto, but in so fare as concerns the days and circumstances of disbanding to be agreed upon. forasmuch as the several jurisdictions, and administrations of justice in either realm may be deluded or frustrated by delinquents for their own impunity, if they shall commit any offence in the one realm, and thereafter remove their persons, and make their abode in the other: therefore that no person sentenced by the parliament of either nation as incendiaries betwixt the nations, or betwixt the king and his people, shall enjoy any benefit, civil or ecclesiastical, or have any shelter, or protection in any other of his majesty's dominions, like as where malefactors, and criminals guilty of the crimes mentioned in the act of parliament 1612. cap. 2. and others of that nature, and committed by scottishmen within the kingdom of england or ireland, or any part thereof, are taken and apprehended in england or ireland, that it shall be lawful to the justiciars of england or ireland to remand them to scotland, as the act bears: and further, if any malefactors committing crimes in scotland, england, or ireland, being duly processed in the kingdom where the crimes are committed, and being fugitives, and remaining in any other of the kingdom's foresaid, that the judges of either kingdoms shall be holden at the instance, and suit of the party offended, to take and remand the criminals and malefactors to the kingdoms where the crimes were committed, and the like act to be made in scotland, and this act would be extended as well to debts as crimes: and what further is requisite concerning this and other particulars, for settling of peace in the middle shires, and accelerating justice upon delinquents, both civil and criminal, is to be considered by the committee to be appointed for that effect. it is answered, that such persons as shall be natives in either kingdom, and shall commit any offence in the realm whereof they shall be natives, and shall afterwards remove their persons into the other, and such persons as shall be inhabitants in either kingdom, and shall commit any offence in the realm, where they shall be inhabitants during the time of their habitation there, and shall afterwards remove their persons into the other, and shall be for that same censured by the parliament of that nation where the offence was committed, as incendiaries betwixt the nations, or betwixt the king and his people, shall not enjoy any benefit, civil or ecclesiastical, or have any protection in any other of his majesty's dominions, and that such scotish natives, incensing the king of england against the kingdom of scotland, shall be remanded at the desire of the scottish parliament into scotland to abide their trial and censurethere, so that the same be reciprocal to both nations, but other criminals and debts to be referred to the laws. the propositions and articles given in by the scots commissioners, after the lord loudoun his return from the parliament of scotland. that the treaty of peace may be brought to a speedy and happy close, we did offer to your lordship's consideration the particulars following: 1 that so soon as the scottish army shall remove out of england to scotland, the english garrisons of barwick and carlisle should remove, simul & semel. 2 lest malefactors, who have committed theft, murder, and the like crimes, crave the benefit of the act of pacification and oblivion, (for whom it is no ways intended) there would be an exception from the said act of all legal pursuit intended or to be intended within the space of an year after the date of the treaty. again, all thiefs, sorners; outlaws, fugitives, murderers, broken men, or their receptors for whatsoever theft, reifs, harships, oppressions, depredations, or murder done or committed by them, and all lawful decrees given, or to be given by the parliament, or any commissioners to be appointed by them for that effect, who shall have power to dignosce and take cognition, whether the same falls within the said act of pacification and oblivion, or not. 3 it is desired, that the demand concerning the not making or denouncing of war with foreigners, without consent of both parliaments, may be condescended unto by the king and parliament of england, which is ordinary and universally observed in all mutual leagues which are both defensive and offensive. and because the wars denounced by one of the kingdoms with foreigners, although made without consent of the other kingdom, will engage them by necessary consequence, or if the consideration of that proposition shall require longer time than the present condition of the important affairs of the parliament may permit, and lest the speedy close of the treaty be thereby impeded, it is desired, that this demand, with the two other articles of the same nature, the one concerning leagues and confederations, and the other concerning mutual supply in case of foreign invasion, may all three be remitted to commissioners, to be chosen by both parliaments, who shall have power to treat and advise there upon for the good of both kingdoms, and to report to the parliaments respectiuã¨. 4. it is desired, that the articles concerning trade and commerce, naturalisation, mutual privilege and capacity, and others of that nature already demanded, may be condescended unto by the king and parliament of england, and namely, that demand about the pressing of ships or men by sea or land: or if shortness of time and exigency of affairs may not permit the present determination of these demands, it is desired that the same (except so many of them as are already agreed unto by the commissioners for trade) may be remitted to the commissioners to be chosen by both parliaments, who shall have power to treat and advise thereof for the good of both kingdoms, and to make report to the parliaments respectively. and that the charters or warrants of the scottish nation for freedom of shipping in england or ireland, from all customs, imposts, duties, and fees, more than are paid by the natives of england and ireland, granted by king james under the broad seal of england, upon the eleventh of april, the thirteenth year of his reign, and confirmed by king charles, the nineteenth of april, the eighth year of his reign, may be ratified and enacted in the parliament of england. 5. that the extracts of bands and decreets put upon record and register in scotland, may have the like faith and execution as the french tabelliones have in england or ireland, seeing they are of alike nature, and deserve more credit: and if this cannot be done at this time, that it be remitted to the former commission from both parliaments. 6. the manner of safe conduct for transporting the money from england to scotland by sea, or land, would be condescended upon in such a way as the charges be not exorbitant. 7. the tenor of the commission for conserving of peace would be condescended unto, together with the times and places of meetings, and whole frame thereof: the draught whereof, when it is drawn up in england, is to be represented to the parliament of scotland, that they may make like commission, and name their commissioners for that effect. 8. the parliament of scotland do join their earnest & hearty desire, and crave the parliament of england's concurrence, that none be in place about the prince his highness, but such as are of the reformed religion. 9 that an act of parliament of public faith for payment of the 220000. pounds of the brotherly assistance which is arrear, may be presently framed, and expedited according to the terms agreed upon. 10. it is desired, that the quorum to whom the scots should address themselves for payment of 220000. pounds, be condescended upon. 11. that the order for recalling all proclamations etc. made against his majesty's subjects of scotland, be drawn up, and intimated in due form and time, with the public thanksgiving at all the parish churches of his majesty's dominions. 12. it is desired, that the articles concerning the castle of edinburgh, and other strengths of that kingdom may be understood to be, that the same shall be disposed of for the weal of the kingdom, as the king and parliament shall think expedient. the english lords commissioners answer. that upon the disbanding of the scottish army, the garrisons of barwick and carlisle shall be removed, according to the article of the treaty on that behalf. the second article is condescended unto, according to the provision added to the act of oblivion and pacification. 3.4.5.6. the third demand concerning the making of war with foreigners, with the other two articles concerning leagues and confederations, and concerning mutual supply and assistance against foreign invasion, is agreed to be referred to commissioners to be chosen by his majesty and the parliaments. as likewise the 4.5. and 6. articles, concerning trade, commerce, naturalisation, mutual privilege and capacity, and others of that nature, and the demands concerning the extracts of bands and decreets, and the manner of safe conduct for transporting of moneys from england to scotland, are all referred to be taken in consideration by the commissioners to be appointed by both parliaments, who shall have power to advise and treat thereupon, and report to the parliaments respectively. 7 it is just that the tenor of the commission for conserving of peace should be agreed upon by mutual consent, but the closing of the treaty not to stay hereupon, but to be left to the commissioners to be named. 8 to that desire concerning such as should be placed about the prince; the king hath already given a clear and satisfactory answer. 9 that there be an act of parliament of public faith, for securing the payment of 220000 pounds, which is arreare of the brotherly assistance, is just, and order is given for it accordingly. and it shall be communicated with the scottish commissioners that it may be a perfect security. 10 the tenth, for appointing a quorum for attending the payment of the money, is already moved to the parliament, & will be done as is desired. 11 the eleventh article is very just, and order shall be given accordingly for recalling all proclamations, etc. and for public thanksgiving. 12 this article for the castle of edinburgh and other strengths of scotland, is to be settled betwixt his majesty and the commissioners of scotland, or by his majesty and parliament of scotland. all which articles are assented unto, and approved by his majesty, with advice of the parliament of england, and by the committees of the parliament of scotland, and are necessary, for public declaration of mutual consent, and for firm observation, to be confirmed and ratified in the parliaments of both kingdoms. be it therefore enacted by his majesty, with the assent of the lords and the commons in this present parliament assembled, that the said treaty, and all the articles thereof, assented to, as aforesaid, be and stand for ever ratified, and established, and have the force, vigour, strength and authority of a law, statute, and act of parliament. like as this afore-written treaty, and whole articles thereof, are by his majesty and the states of the parliament of scotland, enacted and ordained to have in all time coming the full force and strength of a true and perfect security, and act of the said parliament. and his majesty for himself, and his successors doth promise, in verbo principis, never to come in the contrair of this statute & sanction, nor any thing therein contained, but to hold the same in all points firm & stable, and shall cause it to be truly observed by all his majesty's liege's, according to the tenor and intent thereof for now & ever. like as the parliament of both kingdoms give full assurance, and do make public faith in name of both kingdoms respectively, for the true and faithful observance of this treaty, and whole articles thereof inviolably, hinc inde, in all times to come. like as his majesty, with advice of the estates of parliament, commands the clerk of parliament, to insert and registate the same in the books of parliament, and to give the extract of this act under his hand to the director of the chancellary, whom they command to write the same to the great seal, and the keeper of the great seal to append the great seal thereto. and declares that the same being so sealed and returned to the parliament of england, is and shallbe unto them a full and perfect security, by this their act, given at edinburgh the 26. of august 1641. years. act. vii. act discharging james bannatine his patent of the pearling. ultimo augusti, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, having read and considered the reasons, grievances and prejudices given in, and complained upon in this present parliament against the gift and patent granted to james bannatine in leith anent the pearling, and finding the famine gift and patent hurtful and prejudicial to the country and liege's: have therefore rescinded, retreited, cassed, annulled and discharged, and by the tenor hereof, rescinds, retreits, casses, annuls and discharges simpliciter, the foresaid gift & patent granted to the said james bannatine anent pearling, and declares the famine gift and patent to be extinct, null and ineffectual in all time coming. and also our said sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the estates of parliament, prohibits and discharges all importation and inbringing of foreign pearling within this kingdom in any time coming, under the pain of confiscation thereof to his majesty's use. and siclike our said sovereign lord, with advice foresaid renews the act of parliament made, in anno, one thousand six hundred twenty one years, entitled anent banqueting and apparel, in the second head and article thereof, viz. that no person of whatsoever degree shall have pearling or ribbining upon their ruffs, bands, serkes, napkins and socks, except the persons privileged in that act: and the pearling and ribbining to be so wome by them (if any be) to be of these made within the kingdom of scotland, under the pain of an hundred pounds toties quoties, as the said act in that article thereof bears: and ordains the famine act in that head and article foresaid, to have full strength, force and execution, and to stand as a law, conform to the tenor thereof. act viii. act discharging unlawful marriages, 1. september, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of this present parliament, considering the great abuse and dangerous evil that hath followed, and may follow upon frequent marriages of the persons inhabitants within this kingdom, going to the neighbour kingdoms for getting themselves married there, which they could not obtain in this kingdom by the laws and constitutions thereof, therefore, and for remedy of that evil, and for preventing such in time coming, prohibites and discharges all men and women, having both their ordinary residence within this kingdom, to get marriage to themselves with others within the kingdom of england, or ireland, without proclamation of banes here in scotland, and against the order and constitutions of this church or kingdom, under the pays following: viz. for ilk nobleman so married, one thousand pounds, for ilk landed gentleman one thousand marks, for ilk burges five hundred pounds, and for ilk other substantious person five hundred marks, for a yeoman one hundred pounds, for ilk person of inferior quality one hundred marks: the one half of the which penalties shall belong to the king, the other to the parish or parishes where the married parties did reside: and ordains the king and kirks advocate to pursue before the civil judge therefore: and in case of the poor condition of any man married in manner foresaid, ordains him to be punished by stocks or irons: which pains corporal and pecunial shall no ways be prejudicial or derogate from the order and censures of the kirk, to be inflicted against the delinquents. act ix. act anent non-covenanting patrons, 2. september 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering, that all his majesty's subjects within this kingdom are by acts of parliament ordained to subscribe their nationall oath and covenant, therefore his majesty and estates ratify and approve the act of parliament made by his majesty's dearest father of blessed memory, parl. 1. c. 9 whereby it is ordained, that no person be judge; procurator, notar, or member of court, who professeth not the true religion, together with the act of ratification thereof, with the addition and declaration thereof therein contained, made by his majesties said umwhile father, parl. 20. cap. 3. and finds and declares, that the said's acts shall be extended to all persons whatsoever, who have not subscribed, or refuse to subscribe the said national oath and covenant. and such like finds and declares, that where any of the said's refusers to subscribe have right to presentation of kirks, that it shall not be lawful to them, to present any persons to the kirks vacand, but that the planting of the said's kirks and admitting of ministers thereto, and to the stipends and provisions thereof, upon sure and calling of the congregation, shall pertain pleno jure, to the presbyteries, within the which the said's kirks lie, ay and while the said's patrons subscribe the said's nationall oath and covenant. act x. act for freeing of viccarages, provided to ministers for their stipends, of taxations. 2. september, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering the distractions that ministers are brought into, and other prejudices and losses sustained by them, by taxations craved of viccarages, which are assigned and provided to them as a part of their stipends, in so far as they are assigned and provided: and that it is against all reason and equity, and former acts of parliament, that ministers stipends should be burdened with impositions and taxations: therefore statutes and ordains (for eschewing of these inconveniences and prejudices) that no viccarages teinds, nor rents thereof assigned and provided, or to be assigned and provided to ministers as a part of their stipends, be burdened or affected with any taxations of impositions bygone, resting, owing, unpayed, or in time coming, in so far as can be extended to the said's teinds, and rents of viccarages assigned, or to be assigned to them, and whereof they are, or shall be in possession by the saids assignations: but declares the same to be free thereof in all time coming. act xi. act anent raising of malicious suspensions, against ministers, colleges, schools and hospitals. 9 september 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering the great inconveniences that the ministers of this kirk are brought into, by malicious delays, or refusing of the payment of their stipends, by unreasonable suspensions, or by contempt of decreets obtained against persons oblished for payment of their stipends, and that the ministers charges are so exorbitant in the suit of law, that their stipends craved will not defray the â��ame, and that they are exceedingly distracted from their callings, to the great prejudice of their congregations, and that they do suffer many other prejudices and losses: therefore statutes and ordains, that no suspensions be hereafter granted against ministers charging for their stipends, without consignation of the sums of money charged for, if the stipend consist in money: or of an hundreth marks for ilk chalder of victual, and of the just proportion of an hundreth marks for ilk quantity of victual under a chalder, if the stipend consist in victual, where the same is not converted: and where the same is converted, upon the consignation of these sums whereunto the victual is liquidate and converted. which consignation of money for victual as abovesaid, is without prejudice to the judges, to decern the greater or lesser price for victual charged for, according to the probation: providing always, that if the person charged make real and timous offer to the minister at his dwelling house, or (at the least) at the place where he is obliged or accustomed to deliver the said victual, before a notar and two witnesses, at the least, of the whole victual adebted or charged for, in good and sufficient stuff at the terms of payment thereof, lawful requisition being first made to the minister to receive the same before a notar and witnesses, as said is, than the person charged for, shall not be astricted to consign money for victual in manner foresaid. and such like it is provided, that the judge shall discern twenty marks of expenses for ilk hundred marks (at the least) against the malicious charger or suspender. and in case any person charged for ministers stipends shall contemptuously go to the horn and lie thereat, our sovereign lord and estates foresaid, statutes and ordains, that the donators to the single or life-rent escheat of the rebel, having writ either from his majesty or any lords of regality, or any superiors whatsoever intrometters with the saids escheat, goods and geir, nails and duties of lands, or tithes falling within the compass of the said escheat, single or life-rent, and all and whatsoever intrometters shall be liable in payment of the ministers stipends, and of all charges, penalties and damage which the said rebel should have been liable to himself, and that actions shallbe competent therefore against them, providing the causes of the horning, whereupon the gift is taken, and the expenses of the passing thereof be first satisfied, and that the donator hath intrometted or might have intrometted with as much as might have paid the ministers stipend: and that no suspension shallbe granted of decreets obtained against the said donators and intrometters but in the manner foresaid. and our sovereign lord and estates foresaid declares, that this act shallbe extended to universities, colleges, schools and hospitals, masters and members thereof, for the more ready and thankful payment to them of their stipends, provisions, mortifications, revenues, and their duties whatsoever. act xii. act for abolishing of monuments of idolatry. 10. september. 1641. our sovereign lord with consent of the estates of parliament, understanding, that the general assembly of the kirk hath by their special act, made 30. july, 1640. sess. 3. ordained all idolatrous images, crucifixes, pictures of christ, & all other idolatrous pictures, to be demolished and removed forth, and from all kirks, colleges, chapels, and other public places. therefore ordains all presbyteries to take diligent trial of all idolatrous pictures and images, being within kirkes', colleges, chapels, and other public places, and after trial intimate the same, first to the owners and parties themselves, that they may remove the fame: and in case they do neither appeal presently from the presbytery in the ordinary way to the synod and general assembly, nor remove them within the space of three months, then to intimate the same to all sheriffs, stewards, bailiffs, magistrates of burgh's or regalities, within the which the same shall be found: and ordains them upon the requisition to be made to them by the saids presbyteries, moderator, or brethren thereof, to raze, demolish, abolish, cast down or deface all these idolatrous images, pictures, and other idolatrous monuments foresaids, according as they shall be enjoined and directed from the said's presbyteries from time to time, ilk one of them, within their own bounds and jurisdiction respectiuã¨, except in the case of appellation aforesaid: and if the presbyteries be negligent, that they be censured by the synods and general assemblies, and the sheriffs, and other officers foresaid (in case of their negligence,) to be censured by the secret council, as they shall think reasonable: and prohibites, and discharges all making of any such images or idols, and all up-putting of the same in all time coming under all highest pains, to be inflicted upon the contraveeners thereof. act xiii. act anent non-communicants and excommunicate persons. 10. september 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, ratifies the two acts of parliament anent the escheats of excommunicate persons made by his majesty's father of blessed memory, one thereof par. 14. cap. 197. and the other par. 20. cap. 3. with the addition and declaration following, that no gift of escheat past or to be passed upon excommunication, or horning upon excommunication shall be vallid, but the 'samine is declared to have been, and to be null in all time coming, by way of exception or reply: and declares the said's two acts ratified, as said is, with the addition foresaid made thereto, to be extended to all excommunication pronounced, or to be pronounced against whatsoever person or persons, and for whatsoever causes: and further, his majesty and estates foresaid, ratifies and approves the act made by his majesty's father, par. 16. cap. 17. anent non-communicants every year once, with this declaration and addition, that the penalties of the contraveeners, modified in the said act, be payable in all time coming to the several presbyteries within the jurisdiction, whereof the contraveeners dwell, to be applied by them ad pios usus: and that the said presbyteries, or any they appoint, shall have power to crave, receive and pursue for the same. and further, our sovereign lord and estates foresaids, for the greater terror and the more effectual reclaiming of all excommunicate persons, declares that all persons whatsoever, according to the degrees and qualities mentioned in the said act, lying under the sentence of excommunication, shall be liable to the pains and penalties therein contained, and that yearly after the sentence of excommunication, ay and while they be relaxed therefrom, and reconciled to the kirk: and also declares, that the said yearly penalties against excommunicate persons shall pertain to every paroch kirk, and kirk session, in burgh or land-ward, within their own bounds, to be applied ad pios usus: and that they, or any person they appoint, shall have power to crave, receive, and pursue the famine, to be applied to the pious uses of the several paroch kirk sessions, where the contraveeners dwell: and in case of the paroch church sessions their slackness, the presbytery to exact after the expiration of year and day after the contraveening. and further declares the donators to the excommunicate persons their simple escheat and life-rent, and all other intrometters with their goods and geir and live, shall be liable to the payment of the said's pains and penalties in the 'samine manner, as the excommunicate persons are liable themselves. and because in the said act there is no particular penalty modified against burgesses, therefore his majesty and estates foresaids, ordains every burges that bears, or hath borne office of magistracy, so oft as he shall contraveene the said act, to pay the sum of two hundred marks, and every other burges the sum of forty pounds: and such like ordains the said persons, to be liable in the saids penalties respective, not only for their own personal contraveening of the said act, but also so oft as the same shall be contraveened by their wives respective, and also so oft as the same shall be contraveened by their children, they shall incur the fift part of the said's pains, respective, for every bairne, not forisfamiliat, and of the age of fifteen years complete, and that toties quoties they shall contraveene the said act: and such like, that every servant so oft as he shall contraveene the said act, shall pay one year's fee, toties quoties, lawful requisition being always made to the said's wives, children and servants by their pastor or presbytery to give obedience to the said act. act xiiii. act anent the bullion. 10. september, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering that one of the chief ways for bringing in of money into this kingdom, hath been bullion, which now for lack of the true way of managing thereof, is become unprofitable. therefore our sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the said's estates, statutes and ordains that in time coming all and every merchant passing forth of this kingdom with any merchandise, or sending the same forth of this country, at the customing of the saids goods, shall find sufficient security to the customers, for importing and inbringing such quantity and proportion of bullion as by the laws of this kingdom is due for the saids goods transported by them, and shall accordingly deliver the same, and cause be delivered to the master of the coin house, and shall receive back again his majesty's coin of this kingdom: and shall make faith, that the same was brought by them from foreign parts, or by others in their name: and discharges all payment of bullion before the hand, and all pactions made anent bullion one with another, and paying of the same with his majesty's coin, or with any silver that is within the country already, under the pain of doubling of the said bullion: as also because the bullion is ordained to be paid to the master of his majesty's coin house, who hath his only residence in edinburgh, and that thereby many merchants who dwell not within the said burgh will be put to great and unnecessary charges, for a small matter of bulion, therefore it is declared, that it shall be lawful to the said's merchants to send the famine to the said master of the coin house, providing he send therewith an attestation under his oath and hand, if he can write, and under his mark if he cannot write, and both before two subscribing witnesses of magistrates, or council of the burgh's where they dwell, that the said bullion due by him was brought within this kingdom from foreign parts, and that the same was not acquired nor bought by him within the same. act xv. act anent the election of officers of estate, counselors, and sessioners. 16. september, 1641. our sovereign lord and the estates of parliament, considering, that whereas there was an article in the treaty anent the manner of choosing and placing of officers of state, counselors, and sessioners, whereof the answer was remitted to be determined by his majesty and this parliament: and his majesty being willing to give this his ancient and native kingdom all satisfaction possible, that fit and qualified persons shall ever fill these places, and considering that his majesty's residence (because of his great affairs) will be more ordinary in england then here, whereby the qualification of persons may not at all times be so well known to him: therefore his majesty, with advice and consent of the estates of parliament, declares for himself and his successors, that he will nominate and make choice of such able and qualified persons to fill these places, as shall be fittest for his service, and may give most contentment to the estates of parliament: which nomination and choice his majesty will make, with the advice and approbation of the said's estates of parliament, during their sitting: and if any of the said's places shall happen to vake, and must be provided in the interval betwixt parliaments, his majesty will choose and nominate officers of state and counselors, with the advice and approbation of the council, all that number being warned upon 15. days calling to meet thereanent, and most part of the whole consenting: and in like manner the sessioners, with the advice and approbation of the most part of that house. which elections, made in the interval, shall be allowed or disallowed in the next ensuing parliament, as the king's majesty and the parliament shall think expedient: and the officers of state, counselors, and lords of session, so nominated and chosen by his majesty and the parliament, or allowed by his majesty and them, shall be provided ad vitam vel culparn, and they all shall be liable to the censure of the king's majesty and parliament. act xvi. act anent the election of the lord lowdoun to be chancellor. ultimo septembris, 1641. the which day the king's majesty, with the advice and approbation of the estates of parliament, did nominate and elect john lord lowdoun to exerce and discharge the place and office of high chancellor of this his highness' ancient native kingdom, and gave and disponed to him, during all the days of his life time, the said office, with all honours, dignities, profits, liberties, and privileges, which have been possessed and bruiked by any preceding chancellors, and which may be now bruiked by the laws of this kingdom: like as his majesty, with advice and approbation foresaid, makes and constitutes the said john lord lowdoun, during all the days of his life time, high chancellor of this his said kingdom, to be bruiked and enjoyed by him, with all dignities, honours, commodities, liberties, and privileges, which have been possessed and bruiked by any preceding chancellors, and which may be now bruiked by the laws of this kingdom: and ordains a gift and patent to be passed under his highness' great seal to the said john lord lowdoun thereupon. act xvii. act anent the change of the terms. 29. october, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering the great prejudice his majesty's liege's do sustain by the inconveniency of the present usual terms of payment of their debts and annual rents at whitsunday and martinmas heretofore; where as if the 'samine were altered and changed to lammas and candlemas yearly, they might get in their own rents and duties to pay their lawful creditors therewith, more easily at the said terms of lammas and candlemas, then at the former terms of whitsunday and martinmas: therefore our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, have now altered and changed the foresaid former course of the terms of payment from whitsunday and martinmas, to the terms of lammas and candlemas, in all time hereafter, and ordains the same to be the usual terms of payment of all debts and annual, and for using of all order of redemption, & ordains all premonitions & requisitions to be made before the said terms of lammas and candlemas, in place of the terms of whitsunday and martinmas, in time coming: notwithstanding of any clauses of redemption, premonition, or requisition, contained in any bands or other writs, bearing the 'samine to be made or done, either before whitsunday or martinmas, in manner therein specified. whereanent our sovereign lord and estates of parliament dispenses for ever, beginning the first term's redemption, premonition, or requisition, at and before candlemas next, in place of the term of martinmas, and the next term at and before lammas next, for and in place of whitsunday, and so forth yearly and termly in all time coming, but prejudice to all creditors of all their just annual rents that shall be due to them from martinmas next to candlemas next to come, and from whitsunday to lammas, which is declared to be one quarters annual, and likewise but prejudice to them of all other bygone annual, resting, owing to them of whatsoever other years or terms preceding, which are and shall be paid at the term of candlemas next: and this act to be understood only for borrowing and lending of moneys, upon band or infeftment, and payment of annual rents, and the former terms of whitsunday and martinmas to stand for redemptions, proper woodsets, flitting and removing of tenants, both in burgh and land. act xviii. act anent the charges and expenses of the commissioners for the barons, 11. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament ratify and approve the acts made by his majesty's predecessors, king james the first of worthy memory, in his 7. parl. and 101. act thereof: and the act made by his majesties umwhile dearest father of worthy memory in his 22. parl. anent the commissioners of small barons in parliament, in the whole heads, clauses, and articles thereof: and specially that article of the said last act, bearing, that all freeholders' be taxed for the expenses of the commissioners of the shires, passing to parliaments or general counsels: and letters of horning and pounding to be direct for payment of the sums taxed for that effect, upon a simple charge of six days allanerly, with this addition for clearing of the quantity and manner of the said taxation, that there shall be allowed to every one of the said's commissioners, for their whole charges and expenses, five pounds every day for their expenses upon any parliaments, or general counsels, counting the first and last days, from the down sitting and rising of the said's parliaments: with such other days allowed for the commissiã²ners of every shire, for their coming to the said's parliaments or general counsels, and returning therefrom, from time to time as they shall sit or be adjourned, viz. for the commissioners of the sheriffdome of edinburgh for their coming and going, one day: of fife, two days: of linlithgow, two days: of clydesdail, four days: of nithisdail, four days: of dumbartane, four days: of sterling, two days: of hadingtoun, one day: of bervik, four days: of clakmannane, two days: of kinroshire, two days: of peiblis, two days: of bute, six days: of angus, four days: of pearth, four days: of mearnes, four days: of air, four days: of wigtoun, six days: of kirkcudbryght, four days: of roxburgh, four days: of aberdene, eight days: of renfrew, four days: of selkirk, two days: of bamff, eight days: of elgine, ten days: of narne, ten days: of argyle, eight days: of innernes, twelve days: of caithnes, sixteen days: of sutherland, fourteen days: of orkney, thirty days: the which daily allowance, after the rising of the said parliaments or general counsels, shall be calculate and put in a sum by the clerk of parliament under his hand, to be divided and imposed proportionally upon the whole freeholders, heritors and liferenters, holding of the king's majesty and the prince, according to the proportion of their lands and rents, lying within the shire, excepting always forth of this act, all the lands belonging to the noblemen or their immediate vassals: and therefore declares, that their lands holden of his majesty or prince, and their vassals, to be free of the said tax, notwithstanding of this present act, or any act preceding: and that letters be direct thereupon by the lords of session, to charge the freeholders', heritors and liferenters holding of his majesty and the prince, to convene at the head burgh of every shire, upon one special day, for dividing and setting down the proportion thereof in manner foresaid: with power also to stint the said's freeholders', heritors, and liferenters, for the tenth penny more of the said whole sum, so calculate for the expenses of the letters to be raised therefore, and others charges in the collection thereof, with certification that such as shall convene, shall have power to proceed, notwithstanding of the absence of the rest: and that letters of horning and pounding be direct thereupon, at the instance of the said commissioners, for payment thereof, in manner above-written: and if payment be not made within the days contained in the charge, so that the commissioners be forced to pound therefore, then and in that case, it shall be lawful to pound for the double of the sum charged for, by and attour the sheriff. and that no suspension pass thereupon, but upon consignation allanerlie, and if the suspension discuss against the suspender, in that case the suspender shall be ordained to make payment to the commissioners of the double of the sum charged for by and attour the commissioners others charges, and expenses in discussing the suspension, and this act to take effect, for the commissioners of this present parliament, and all parliaments hereafter. act xix. act in favours of the commissioners for the sherifdome of sutherland, 11. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering that by an act of the date of their presents made anent the expenses of commissioners of shires passing to parliaments, or general counsels and conventions, allowance shall be given to the said's commissioners for their whole charges and expenses, in manner specified in the said act: and that the daily allowance appointed for ilk commissioner, in manner mentioned and divided in the said act, after the rising of the said's parliaments, or general counsels, shall be calculate and put in a sum by the clerks of parliament, under their hand, to be divided and imposed proportionally upon the whole freeholders of the king's majesty and the prince, according to the stint of their lands lying within the shire: and that letters be direct thereupon by the lords of session to charge the said's freeholders of his majesty and prince, to conveen at the head burgh of every shire upon a special day, for dividing & setting down the proportion thereof, in manner foresaid, as the said act made in favours of the said whole commissioners of small barons and shires at more length bears. and his majesty and the said's estates, considering, that in the parliament in the year of god 1633. a particular act of parliament was made in favours of the free barons, and others inhabitants within the sherifdome of sutherland, giving power to them to elect and choose their own commissioners for the said sherifdome, to compeir at parliaments, meetings, and general conventions within this kingdom, at all occasions, and considering likewise, that by the said act, made in favours of the said's whole commissioners, the commissioner chosen and attending this present parliament for the sherifdome of sutherland, and the commissioners who shallbe chosen and sent from the said sherifdome of sutherland to attend their parliaments, general counsels, and other general meetings and conventions of estates hereafter in all time coming, shall have no allowance of their expenses and charges to be depurst by them in the said service, albeit the said shire be one of the remotest and farthest distance in the kingdom: because there is only two inhabitants within the said shire holding lands of the king's majesty, the whole remanent heritors being either vassals to the earl of sutherland, or holding their lands of some other superior: and so according to the said general act, the allowance of the commissioner of that shire cannot be divided, not imposed for payment and satisfaction of his charges and expenses, except the 'samine be extended against the heritors, fewars, and freeholders within the said sherifdome, holding lands of other superiors in manner under written. therefore his majesty, and estates of parliament, ordains the allowance appointed by the said general act, in favours of the commissioners of the said sherifdome of sutherland, to be extended, divided, and imposed proportionally upon all and sundry heritors, fewars, liferenters, and freeholders within the said shire, whether they be vassals to his majesty, or holding their lands of any other superiors whatsoever, according to the stint of their lands lying within the said shire: and that letters be direct thereupon by the lords of session, to charge all and sundry the heritors, fewars, liferenters, and freeholders' within the said shire, holding of any superior whatsoever, to convene at dornoch, being the head burgh of the said shire, upon a special day, for dividing and setting down the proportion thereof, in manner foresaid: with power also to stint all and sundry the said's heritors, fewars, liferenters, and freeholders', holding of whatsoever, superior within the said shire, for the tenth penny more of the said's whole sums so calculted for the expenses of the letters to be raised therefore, and others charges in collecting thereof: with certification that such as shall convene, shall have power to proceed, notwithstanding of the absence of the rest: and that letters of horning and pounding be direct thereupon at the instances of the said's commissioners for payment thereof, in manner above written: and if payment be not made within the days contained in the charge, so that the said commissioners shall be forced to pound therefore, then, and in that case it shall be lawful to pound for the double of the sum charged for by and attour the sheriff: and that no suspension pass thereupon, but upon consignation allanerly. and if the suspension shall discuss against the suspender, in that case the suspender shall be ordained to make payment to the commissioners of the double of the sum charged for, by and attour the commissioners others charges and expenses in discussing the suspension: and this act to take effect for the commissioners of this present parliament, and all parliaments hereafter. act xx. act anent the nomination and election of the officers of estate. 13. november, 1641. the which day the king's majesty, with advice and approbation of the estates of parliament, convened in parliament, nominated and elected the persons underwritten to the places and offices of estates of this kingdom respective after mentioned, formerly possessed by them: viz. robert earl of roxburgh, to the place and office of privy seal: william earl of lanerk, to the place and office of secretary: sir thomas hope of craighall, to the place and office of his highness' advocate: sir james carmichaell, to the place and office of treasurer depute: and sir john hamiltoun of orbestoun, to the place and office of justice clerk, and that ad vitam vel culpam, conform to the act of this present parliament made anent the election of officers of estate, counselors, and sessioners, upon the sixteenth day of september last bypast, like as his majesty, with advice and approbation foresaid, gives and dispones to the forenamed persons, and ilk one of them, ad vitam vel culpam, as said is, the foresaids offices respective above mentioned, whereunto they are nominate and elected in manner foresaid. together with all honours, dignities, profits, benefits, liberties, and privileges, which have been possessed and bruiked by any preceding officers of estate, of the foresaids offices above written, and which may be now bruiked by the laws of this kingdom: and ordains a gift to be past and exped under his highness' great seal to ilk one of the persons above named, of the foresaid offices respective above written, whereunto they are nominate and elected, in manner before rehearsed. act xxi. act anent the nomination and election of sir alexander gibson, to be clerk register. 13. november, 1641. the which day the king's majesty, with advice and approbation of the estates of parliament, nominated and elected mr. alexander gibson younger of durie, to the place and office of clerk of register of this his highness' ancient and native kingdom of scotland, and that ad vitam vel culpam, conform to the act of this present parliament, made anent the election of officers of estate, counsellors and sessioners, upon the sixteenth day of september last bypast: like as his majesty, with advice and approbation foresaid, gives and dispones to the said mr. alexander gibson younger of durie, ad vitam vel culpam, as said is, the foresaid office of clerk of register, with all honours, dignities, privileges, profits, casualties and liberties, pertaining to the said office, conform to the foresaid act, and to the gift to be granted to him of the 'samine office under his highness' great seal, to be bruiked and possessed by him as the 'samine hath been possessed and bruiked by any preceding clerk of register, and which may be now bruiked by the laws of this kingdom, and ordains a gift to be past and exped under his highness' great seal, to the said mr. alexander gibson, of the foresaid office of clerk of register, with all honours, dignities, profits, casualties, liberties and privileges, belonging thereto. act xxii. act anent the nomination and election of the councillors. 13. novem. 1641. the which day the king's majesty, with advice and approbation of the estates of parliament, convened in plain parliament, nominated and elected the persons under-written, viz. lord lowdoun chancellor, duke of lennox, marques of hammiltoun, earl of argyle, earl martial, earl of sutherland, earl of mar, earl of mortoun, earl of eglintoun, earl of cassils', earl of glencairne, earl of murray, earl of perth, earl of dumfermling, earl of wigtoun, earl of kinghorne, earl of roxburgh, earl of seaforth, earl of lauderdale, earl of lothian, earl of kynnowll, earl of southesk, earl of weymes, earl of dalhoussie, earl of findlater, earl of lanerk, earl of levin, lord angus, lord lindesay, lord yester, lord sinclare, lord elphingstoun, lord balmerino, lord burghlie, lord amont, lord balcarras, the clerk of register, advocate, justice clerk, thesaurer depute, master of requests, sir robert gordoun, sir william douglas of cavers, sir patrick hepburne of wauchetoun, laird of dundas, laird of fintrie, laird of cambo, laird of dun, laird of inns, laird of morphie, and the provest of edinburgh, for the time being, to be of the council ad vitam aut culpam, conform to the act made in this present parliament, upon the 16. day of september last bypast, anent the nomination and election of the officers of estate, counsellors and sessioners, and conform to the commission to be granted by the king's majesty, with the advice and approbation of the estates of parliament, to the said's lords and others of his majesty's secret council above named, for government of this kingdom in all affairs, concerning the peace, good and happiness thereof, which by the laws and custom of this kingdom, pertain to his majesty's secret council: like as his majesty, with advice and approbation foresaid, likewise nominated and elected the earl of arrundel, the earl of pembroke, the earl of salisbury, and the earl of holland, to be supernumerary counsellors of his majesty's privy council of this kingdom, and to be contained in the foresaid commission to be granted to the council, as supernumerary there-intill: and his majesty, with advice and approbation foresaid, gives and grants to the said's counsellors above named, and every one of them, all honours, dignities, liberties, immunities, and privileges whatsoever belonging to the lords and others of his highness' privy council of this his ancient and native kingdom, to be bruiked and possessed by them, siclike and with all respects, as the 'samine have been bruiked by any preceding counsellors of his majesty's privy council foresaid, and which may be now bruiked and enjoyed by them, by the laws of this kingdom, conform to the foresaid act of the sixteenth day of september last bypast, and to the commission to be granted to the said's lords, and others of his majesty's privy council, as said is. act xxiii. act anent the nomination and election of the lords of session ordinary and extraordinary. 13 november 1641. the which day the king's majesty, with advice and approbation of the estates of parliament, convened in plain parliament, nominated and elected, sir george erskene of innerteil, sir alexander gibson of durie, sir andro fletcher of innerpeffer, sir john hamiltoun of orbestoun, justice clerk, sir james carmichaell, of that ilk the saurer depute, sir james leirmonth of balcomie, sir james macgill of crastoun riddel, sir george halyburtoun of fodderance, sir john hope of craighall, sir john scot of scottistatbet, sir alexander falconer younger of hackertoun, sir john leslie of newtoun, and sir thomas hope of kerse, knights, mr. archibald johnstoun of warristoun, and mr. adam hepburne of humbie: to be the fifteen ordinair lords of session, and senators of the college of justice, and that ad vitam vel culpam, and judges for administration of justice, to the liege's, conform to the foundation and erection of that sovereign judicatory of the college of justice: like as his majesty, with advice and approbation of the said's estates of parliament, gave and disponed, and hereby gives and dispones to the said's fifteen ordinair lords of session above named, and to ilk one of them, ad vitam vel culpam, as said is, the fifteen ordinary places of the said ordinair lords and senators of the college of justice, with all fees, honours, dignities, profits, casualties, immunities, liberties, and privileges whatsoever, pertaining, and belonging to the ordinair lords and senators of the college of justice, and their places thereof to be bruiked, and possessed by the persons above named, now nominate and lected thereto, as said is: and ilk one of them siclike, and with all respects and privileges, fees, casualties, immunities, liberties, and profits whatsoever, as the 'samine hath been possessed and bruiked by any preceding lords and senators of the said college of justice, and which the said's lords and senators foresaids may now bruike and enjoy by the laws of this kingdom, and that ad vitam vel culpam, conform to the act of this present parliament made hereanent upon the sixteenth day of september last bypast. like as his majesty, with advice and approbation foresaid, likewise nominated and elected archibald earl of argyle, archibald lord angus, john lord lindsay, and john lord balmerino, to be the four extraordinair lords of session, and senators of the said college of justice, conform to the foresaid act made anent the nomination and election of the officers of estate, counselors, and sessioners, of the date the 16. day of september last bypast. and his majesty, with advice and approbation of the said's estates, gave and disponed, and hereby gives and dispones to the said's four extraordinair lords of session above named, and to ilk one of them, the four extraordinair places of the said's extraordinair lords and senators of the college of justice, with all honours, dignities, immunities, liberties, and privileges whatsoever, belonging to the extraordinair lords of session, and their places thereof, to be bruiked and possessed by the foresaids four lords above named, now nominated and elected thereto, siclike and with all respects as the famine have been possessed and bruiked by any preceding extraordinair lords of the session, and which may be now bruiked and enjoyed by them by the laws of this kingdom. act xxiv. commission for regulating the common burdens of the kingdom. 15. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering, that during the time of the late troubles of this kingdom, there were many great sums and burdens contracted, undertaken and advanced for the outreiking and maintenance of the armies, and for other public affairs: as likewise considering that the courts of the common burdens of the kingdom, and the accounts of the tenth penny, and of the other debts, resting due and payable to the public: together with the accounts and intromissions of all commissioners, collectors, & others persons, who have had any charge or intromission with any thing pertaining to the public, aswell in the country as at the army, and other parts abroad, are not yet fully closed, cleared, counted for, paid, nor reduced in order: and seeing it is absolutely necessary, that all the debts contracted and advanced for the public use, either within the kingdom or without the famine, be known, satisfied, paid, and relieved, as also that every thing resting to the public, be counted for, paid and brought in for relief of the common burdens, and that the whole counts of the armies, and other counts within and without the kingdom, together with the accounts of the monthly maintenance of the army, and brotherly assistance granted by the parliament of england, for relief of the common burdens of this kingdom, at least so much thereof, as is already paid, be all cleared, fitted and closed, and that the rest and superplus of the said brotherly assistance yet resting, may be craved, uplifted and received for the public use: and it being likewise necessary, that all and every person, who have had any trust and intromission with any thing pertaining to the public, either within the country, or at the army, or any other place, be called to an account, for their intromission: and that the general officers, and others, who have served in the public be satisfied and recompensed for their service, according to their demerits, as also that the losses sustained, by the particular persons whose ships and goods were taken at sea, either in england or ireland, be taken to consideration, to the effect, that the whole burdens and debts resting by the public being known, and all that is due to the public being counted for, paid and brought in for relief of the common burdens, the estate and condition of the public affairs may be the better known, and according lie such course taken thereanent, as may best conduce for the good and weal of the country: and seeing the clearing and settling of the premises will necessarily draw to such a length of time, as his majesty and the estates of parliament, cannot in this present parliament receive, call for, nor examine the said's accounts and common burdens of the kingdom, and settle and order every thing concerning the same; in respect whereof, our said sovereign lord and estates of parliament, have found it necessary and expedient, that a select number of the several estates of the kingdom, be nominated, authorised and appointed, for clearing and settling of the whole premises, and for directing, settling and ordering of every thing which may concern the same, or which may offer and come in consideration thereanent. therefore his majesty and estates of parliament presently convened, do by virtue of their presents, elect, nominate, choose, authorize and appoint the persons after specified, viz. john earl of lowdoun, high chancellor of scotland, archbald marquis of argyle, alexander earl of eglintoun, john earl of cassils', william earl of glencairne, john earl of lauderdaill, william earl of lothian, john earl of lindesay, david earl of southesk, james earl of findlater, john lord sinclair, john lord balmerino, robert lord burghlie, george lord forester, sir charles erskene of bandeth, sir david home of wedderburne, sir robert inns of that ilk, sir george dundas of that ilk, sir william cunyngham of capringtoun, sir john wauchope of nidrie, sir alexander erskene of dun, sir gilbert ramsey of balymayne, sir duncane campbel of auchinbrek, sir william forbes of craigievare, sir robert greirsone of lag, master george douglas of bonjedburt, william rig of ethernie, alexander gordoun of earlstoun, john binnie burges of edinburgh, thomas durham burges of pearth, patrick leslie burges of aberdene, george bell burges of linlithgow, patrick bell burges of glasgow, james sword burges of saint andrew's, john kennedye burges of air, john sempell burges of dumbartane, william glendoning burges of kirkcudbright, james scot burges of montrose, master robert barclay burges of irving, james anderson burges of couper, george garden burges of bruntiland, and master alexander dowglas burges of bamff, together with alexander earl of levin, and sir adam hepburne of humbie, one of the senators of the college of justice, whom his majesty and estates of parliament add to the foresaid number, as ordinair members with the rest, to be commissioners from his majesty and the parliament, to the effect above and after specified: of the which persons, any twelve of them shall be a quorum, there being always three of them of ilk estate: to whom our said sovereign lord and estates, and whole body of the present parliament, giveth, grants, and commits full power, warrant and commission, to meet and conveen within the burgh of edinburgh, or such other places as they shall think expedient, betwixt and the _____ day of _____ next to come at farthest: and there to call for, examine, consider, clear, fit, allow and count the whole debts and burdens contracted, and undertaken, advanced, furnished and applied for the public use, and siclike, with power to them, to reduce the whole debts, counts and burdens resting by the public, either within the kingdom or without the famine, to be a full and complete order: and for that effect, to call all persons interest and concerned therein before them, for the better trying, clearing and expeding of the famine, or of any difficulty which may offer and occur in the settling and clearing of the said's common burdens and debts: and with power to the said's commissioners or quorum foresaid of them, to fit, examine, close, settle, control and allow the whole counts and intromissions of all commissars, collectors and their deputes and substitutes, and of all other persons who have had any charge, trust, intromission or meddling with any thing pertaining to the public, or in any public trust and charge, either within the kingdom, or without the famine, not already approven and allowed by the late committees of estate, or either of them: and for that effect our said sovereign lord and estates of parliament, grants full power and warrant to the said's commissioners, to call before them or their quorum foresaid, all commissars, collectors and others, who have had any trust, intromission, or meddling, or who are resting any thing due, and pertaining to the public, at such diets and times, and in such manner as they shall prescribe and find expedient, and to call for, examine, control and allow the whole regiment counts, and other counts of the army, within and without the country, with the accounts of all victual, money, goods, or other commodities and furniture furnished, received, expended and given out for making up, outreiking and entertainment of the armies, and of all other public expeditions and employments, and to allow and disallow of the famine as they shall find them to be just and reasonable, and with power to the said's commissioners and their quorum foresaid, to nominate and appoint collectors, commissars, and all other public servants necessary for clearing, ingathering and recovering of the public deuce, debts and rests due, and payable to the public, and to prescribe orders to them, and to call all others, either authorized already, or to be appointed by them, and to prescribe, direct, and give forth such orders, letters, execution, and other dispatches for clearing of the whole premises, and for recovery of the debts and burdens resting to the public, as they shall think expedient, and with power to the said's commissioners or such as shall be authorized and warranted by them or their quorum foresaid, to crave, receive, uplift and intromet with that sum of two hundred and twenty thousand pounds sterling yet resting, unpayed by the parliament of england, of the foresaid brotherly assistance, promised and obliged to be paid by the kingdom of england, for relief and defrayment of the said's common burdens of this kingdom, and to grant discharges upon the receipt thereof, in whole, or in part, which shall be als sufficient as if the famine were granted by his majesty, and the whole body of the parliament of this kingdom, and with power to them to settle, accord and agree upon ways and means, how the said brotherly assistance may be most timously and commodiously paid and advanced for defrayment and relief of the said's common burdens, either by exchange, advancement, or any other manner of way, which may be most conducible for the relief and good of the public, and with power to the said's commissioners or their quorum foresaid, to take an exact count of the whole ammunition, artillery, arms, & other furniture, either brought home, made, or brought within this kingdom for the use, and upon the common expenses of the public, and for the reiking out of the armies and regiments of foot and horse, and to take course and prescribe orders for keeping and preserving thereof, for the use and defence of the kingdom, and to appoint and constitute such persons of trust and best experience for keeping and preserving of the famine, as they shall think expedient, and to appoint and allow to them convenient fees and maintenance for the same, as also with power to them to take consideration and course anent the saids losses sustained by particular persons in their ships and goods taken at sea, either in england or ireland, with power also to them to consider every man his losses, that they sustained for the public, and accordingly give them such satisfaction as they shall find just and reasonable, that they have sustained in spuilyes, robbery and hearships by the enemies of the country, and as monies and other commodities due to the public can be gotten in, with power to them, to give orders for distributing thereof for defraying of the said's common burdens: and where moneys cannot be gotten in timouslie for relief and payment foresaid, with power to the said's commissioners or their quorum, to borrow and lift moneys where ever the famine may be had, for relief and payment of such urgent debts and creditors of the public as cannot suffer delay. which sums so to be lifted and employed for the use and effect foresaid, his majesty and estates of parliament declares hereby to be the public debts and burdens of the country, and binds and obliges the estates and whole body of this kingdom, to pay and defray the same, and to relieve the said's commissioners or any other persons who shall give bands or securities for the same, of the foresaids sums and bands, and of all peril and danger that may follow thereupon: and siclike, with power to the said's commissioners and their quorum foresaid, to give orders, for valuing of all presbyteries, parochs, lands, and other rents and trade not already valued, conform to the preceding statutes, acts and orders made there anent, to the effect, that the tenth penny thereof may be known, and payment may be exacted accordingly. like as his majesty and estates declares, that such persons, presbyteries, burghs and others, who are yet resting their said tenth penny, are and shall be liable in payment of annual rents for the same, from the term of whitsunday, 1640. years, and in time coming, aye and while the complete payment of the famine: and in respect there was divers and sundry commissions, letters, and other execution and warrants, directed and given forth by the late committees of estates residing at edinburgh, and by the commissar principal, and collector general, and others having power and warrant for that effect, to collectors, commissars, and other public servants, for ingathering and recovering of payment of the debts and rests payable to the public: which letters and warrants are not yet fully execute, neither yet is there complete payment recovered, conform thereto. therefore our said sovereign lord and estates foresaids, ordains the famine commissions, letters, and other warrants, emitted and given forth thereanent, to stand in full force: and the persons entrusted with the managing and executing thereof, to do their exact and best diligence thereanent, aye and while their warrants be recalled and discharged by the saids commissioners, or their quorum foresaid, it is hereby declared that amongst the rest of the common and public deuce and debts due to the public, that the whole rents of all bishops and others beneficed persons, whether deposed, fugitives, or opposites to the common cause, for the full cropts and years of god 1639. and 1640. years, are and shallbe due to the public, together with all rests of the said's rends preceding the said two cropts not truly paid nor discharged, where there are not true creditors to affect the said's preceding rests: which creditors shall have preferance from the said's rests of the cropped 1638. and precedings allanerly. and farther, if there be any part of the said's rends uplifted by public order of the cropped 1641. years, his majesty and estates foresaids hereby dispenses therewith in favours of the public: and generally, our sovereign lord and estates of parliament do hereby grant full power, warrant, and commission to the said's commissioners, and their quorum foresaid, to do, act, exerce, prescribe, prosecute, and follow forth, all and every thing necessary and behooveful, as well for clearing, allowing, fitting, and closing of the whole common burdens and debts due by the country, and contracted and advanced for the public use foresaid, and for reducing them in order, and for relief, payment and defrayment of the famine, and for clearing the accounts of all others, who have had intromission or public charge either within or without the country, and for calling of them and all others a debted to the public in any sums, goods, victual, or other commodities whatsoever, to a full account, and to do, act, and prescribe all other courses, orders and ways , concerning the whole premises, or concerning any thing which may come in consideration thereanent, or which may fall under the counts of the famine: and what ever debts and burdens shall be approven and allowed by the saids commissioners or their quorum, his majesty and estates finds and declares the famine to be lawful debts and burdens, to affect and burden the estates of this kingdom, and oblige the said's estates, and whole body thereof, to pay, relieve and defray the same: like as whatsoever counts shall be approven and allowed, or disallowed by them, the famine shall be sufficient for the exoneration and clearing of the persons comptars and others contained thereintill: and what ever discharges be is granted by them, or any others collectors, commissars, or others, to be substitute, authorized and warranted by them, shall be sufficient exonerations and securities to the receivers of the famine: it is hereby declared, that such counts as are already approved and allowed by the late committees of estate, or either of them, shall stand good and vallid, and shall not be quarrelled by the saids commissioners, without prejudice to them, to call for, and peruse the famine accounts for the better ordering and clearing of the common counts and burdens of the kingdom: and with power likewise to the forenamed commissioners and their quorum foresaid, to prescribe ways and rules to the particular shires, presbyteries and divisions for relief, stenting and payment amongst themselves, of all public debursments, advancements and engagements, contracted, undertaken, furnished, or debursed by the saids shires, presbyteries and divisions, or by their committees of war, or any particular persons among them, for the common use and behoof of the said's shires, divisions, and presbyteries, either for arms, the twentieth penny, forty days, and officers pay, or for any public use within the said's shires or divisions, to the effect that all the heritors and inhabitants within the famine may be equally stented and burdened with the common burdens of their own shire and division where they dwell, and to cause put the said's orders for the said common relief to due execution. and our sovereign lord and estates of parliament finding it just and equitable that the said's commissioners, their charges and expenses in attending and exercing of the foresaid trust and commission put upon them, should be paid and defrayed by the public: therefore our said sovereign lord and estates foresaids do hereby modify and allow to the said's commissioners, and ilk one of them, in their several degrees, according to the time and space of their attendance respective, the like fees and allowance as were formerly allowed by the estates convened in january last, to the members of the late committee of estates, conform to an act made thereanent of the date the _____ day of the said month of january last, which fees and allowances shall be paid to them, and every one of them, according to the time and space of their exact attendance, to be cleared by the sederunt book of the diets of their meetings, testified or subscribed by the clerk of the said committee or his deputes, under their hands, testifying the time and space of ilk person their attendance, which shall be a sufficient warrant to the commissars or collectors of the public deuce, to pay the same allowance to the said's commissioners, ilk one of them for their own parts: and shall be allowed to the said's commissars, collectors, or their deputes in their accounts. and it being necessary that there be an able, qualified and trusty clerk nominated and appointed for the foresaid committee, and for keeping of all the papers, warrants, records, and registers concerning the whole premises, and his majesty and estates foresaids having the proof and experience of the trust and ability of robert hepburne advocate, for discharging of the foresaid office and place as clerk to the said committee: therefore our said sovereign lord and estates foresaids do hereby nominate and constitute the said robert hepburne to be clerk to the said committee, and ordains the former fee and allowance appointed for the said robert as clerk to the said late committee of estates residing at edinburgh, to continue and be paid to him during his service in the foresaid office: and with power to him to appoint substitutes and deputes, for whom he shall be answerable for serving in the foresaid place, granting to him and them, all privileges, fees, liberties, and immunities belonging to the foresaid office: which clerk and his foresaids shall have the charge, trust, keeping and ordering of all the papers, warrants, records, and others which concern the premises: and the acts, extracts, records, and warrants to be subscribed by the said clerk and his substitutes, shall bear als full faith as the acts or extracts of any other clerk within this kingdom. and in like manner, with power to the said's commissioners or their quorum, to appoint, allow, and modify competent fees, allowances, and recompenses, to the general officers and all others persons who have been employed in the public service, and whose fees and recompenses are not already allowed and appointed: and also with power to them to allow and appoint such fees and recompenses to all others who shall necessarily be employed and entrusted by them, as they shall find reasonable. and in case any of the above named commissioners shall happen to departed this life during the endurance thereof, it shallbe leasome to the rest of the said's commissioners of that estate, or most part thereof, to elect, nominate, and appoint others in the place of these who shall happen to departed, ilk estate choosing commissioners in place of these who shall happen to decease of their own estate. like as our said sovereign lord and estates of parliament do hereby require and command all and every person within this kingdom, and all others whom the famine may concern, as they will answer at their highest peril, that they give exact and ready obedience to such orders, warrants, letters and directions, as shall be given forth, ordered, and directed by the saids commissioners, or their quorum foresaid, anent the whole premises: requiring also all sheriffs of shires, magistrates of burroughs, stewards of stewartries, bailiffs of regalities, provosts and bailiffs of burgh's, and all others persons whatsoever, upon their highest peril, as they shall be required, to assist and concur to the executing and obeying of such orders, warrants, and other dispatches, as shall be directed and given forth by the saids commissioners to the effect above specified: with power likewise to the said's commissioners, and their quorum, to call for the assistance, advice, and information of any persons within this kingdom, of whatsoever quality, for clearing of whatsoever questions, doubts, or scruples which may arise & occur in any particular concerning the premises, as occasion shall offer, who are hereby required to assist the said's commissioners by their presence, counsel, information, and advice, as they shall be desired for that effect. and it is ordained, that horning, pounding, and caption, and all other manner of execution personal and real, shall be directed upon all warrants, acts, and orders of the said's commissioners, and their quorum, for the better obeying and executing of the famine: and for the more ready and timous payment of the said public deuce: which commissioners above named are and shall be liable and countable to his majesty and the parliament, for their exact diligence, and constant attendance, and for their carriage in the right discharging of this present commission entrusted to them, and every part and particular thereof, like as they shall be obliged to report and represent to the next parliament a full account of their proceed and deportments anent the premises, together with the true estate and condition of the burdens and affairs of the public, to the effect that his majesty and the parliament, after consideration of the premises, and of their proceed and carriage thereintill, may take such farther course thereanent, as shall be found expedient: and it is also hereby declared, that the nomination made by his majesty and the parliament of a clerk to this commission, is, and shall be but prejudice of the clerk of the registers right to depute clerks to all other commissions from the parliament, seeing the present clerk register consented to the parliaments choosing of a clerk to this commission, in respect the present clerk register being general commissar to the late army, is a principal party to count to this commission for his charge and discharge, and so could not depute a clerk to this judicatory, where he is to make his own counts. act xxv. act of approbation to the committee of estates. 15. november, 1641. our sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the estates of parliament, considering that forsameikle as the estates of parliament in june 1640. for the reasons and considerations at that time moving them, did nominate, elect, choose and appoint umwhile john earl of rothes, john earl of cassils', charles earl of dumfermling, john earl of wigtoun, william earl of lothian, john lord lindesay, john lord balmerino, robert lord burghlie, james lord couper, john lord louvre, sir alexander gibson of durie, sir john hope of craighall, sir john scot of scotistarbet, senators of the college of justice, sir patrick hepburne of wauchtoun, sir david home of wedderburne, sir patrick murray of elibank, sir patrick hamiltoun of little-prestoun, sir william cunyngham of capringtoun, sir william douglas of cavers, sir thomas nicholson of carnok, james chalmers of gadgerth, sir thomas hope of kerse,â�� drummond of riccartoun, john forbes of leslie, mr. george dundasse of manner, john smyth, edward edgar, thomas paterson, richard maxwell, burgesses of edinburgh, mr. alexander wedderburne clerk of dundie, mr. alexander jaffray, burgess of aberdene, or mr. william more, in his absence, william hamiltoun, bailiff of linlithgow, james sword, burgess of saint andrew's, george porterfield, bailiff of glasgow, hugh kennedy, bailiff of air, james scot, burgess of montrose, and john rutherfurd, provest of jedburgh, and certain other persons to be commissioners from the said's estates, to whom they gave and granted full power, warrant, and commission, to do, order, direct, act, and put in execution every thing necessary, expedient and incumbent, as well for the preservation and maintenance of the armies, both horse and foot, by sea and land, as for the ordering of the country, and whole body and inhabitants thereof, deciding of questions and debates, which should happen to arise, or fall out in any business, which should occasion or offer within the kingdom, concerning the peace and quiet thereof: but prejudice of the ordinary judicatories, established within this kingdom, by acts of parliament, and with power to them to borrow, up-take, and levy moneys for the use of the public, and to give, and prescribe order and directions for disbursing thereof: and generality, did give them full power, to do all and sundry other things, requisite anent the ordering, directing, managing, prosecuting, and executing of all affairs and business of this kingdom, which might or should conduce to the weal of the famine, or any part thereof, and which might, or could be needful to be done by them for maintenance, and preservation of the religion, and liberties of this kingdom, anent the premises, as the said commission, of the date the 11. day of june, 1640. in the same at more length bears: and siclike, the said's estates did nominate and constitute mr. adam hepburne of humbie, to be clerk to the said commission, and gave him power to substitute deputes, one or more: and his majesty, and the said's estates, now presently convened, having taken to consideration the pains taken by the saids noblemen, barons, burgess, and other particularly above rehearsed, als well these who remained at edinburgh, as these who went along with the army, and resided at the camp, or sent as commissioners to rippon and london, and of the said mr. adam hepburne, and robert hepburne his colleague, who served as clerks in the said commission: they find that they have walked uprightly, faithfully, diligently and carefully, in the discharge of the said commission, answerable to the trust imposed upon them, and therefore his majesty, with advice and consent of the said's estates, hath approven, and by their presents approves their proceed and carriage therein, and declares them, and every one of them, to have done good service to his majesty, and this kingdom, and that they have behaved themselves as good christians, loyal subjects, and well deserving patriots. act xxvi. act for relief of those who have given band for the use of the public. 15. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering that the members of the late committees from the said's estates of parliament, to whom the furnishing of the arms, and all other necessary expenses concerning the public was entrusted, conform to the power and commission given to them, as likewise others, who were not of the committee, and also the general commissar or his deputes, having borrowed and undertaken great sums of money for the necessair use and behoof of the public, for the which sums and debts, contracted by the saids committees, they have given security to the parties, partly by public acts, in name of the estates, and where many persons were difficile and scrupulous, to advance and lend moneys, and other necessairs upon the public security, these of the said's committees, and others foresaids, have given their own particular bands, and have moved divers others persons to give band and security to the lender's of the said's sums, bearing borrowed money without any relation to the public: likeas divers noblemen, barons and burrowes, and others, before the establishing of the said's committees of estates, did willingly, for advancement of the public service, give their particular bands for great sums of money for the public use, and which were given in to the commissars and collectors, and counted for by them in their accounts, whereby the forenamed persons who have granted such bands, may be distressed for payment of the said's sums, at the instance of the persons to whom they are bound, so as for their furtherance and affection to the advancement of the public service, their estates and credit may both be endangered, unless remeed be provided: and his majesty & estates foresaid, being careful that neither the members of the said's committees, nor any others persons may suffer prejudice in their estates or credit, by or through any bands granted by them to any persons for lent money, silver plate, or any other necessary commodity, furnished and advanced for the public use, but that they and every one of them, their heirs and executors, be freed and relieved by the saids estates of the famine, and of all damage, peril and danger which they may incur and sustain there through, it being made appear, that the sums of money, or other commodities, for the which they have given band, as said is, are counted for, or applied for the use of the public, and approven by public act, order and warrant: therefore our said sovereign lord and estates of parliament, by virtue of this present act, do hereby bind and oblige the estates of this kingdom, to warrant and relieve the said's members of the said committees of estate, and all others persons whatsoever, who have given band and security for any sums of money, or other commodities for the use of the public, and whereof count and reckoning is, or shall be made and approven, whereby it may appear, that the famine are employed for the use of the public, by public warrant, as said is: and for their better relief of the same, the saids estates of parliament, binds and obliges them and the whole body of this kingdom, to make payment to the persons creditors, to whom the said bands and securities are given of the same sums, and others commodities or prices thereof, and that at the terms of payment, appointed by the saids bands, with the interest thereof, conform thereto in all points, and to purchase and deliver to ilk person so bound, as said is, their said's bands given by them, or sufficient discharges of the famine, with all convenient diligence, and in the mean time to keep them harmless and skaithlesse of the famine bands, and of all execution, peril and danger which may follow thereupon: so being that the sums and goods contained in the saids bands have been applied to the public use, by public order and warrant, as said is, and are, or shall be counted for, & approven in the accounts of the common burdens of this kingdom: which bands so contracted and undertaken, are hereby declared to be public debts upon the estates, and shall affect and burden them, notwithstanding that the famine be given by particular persons, without relation to the public, in manner foresaid. act xxvii. commission for receiving of the brotherly assistance from the parliament of england, 15. november, 1641. our sovereign lord, and the estates of this present parliament, considering that of the brotherly assistance promised, and obliged to be paid by the parliament and kingdom of england, to this kingdom of scotland, for relief and defrayment of the common burdens and losses of the famine, there is yet resting the sum of two hundreth and twenty thousand pounds sterling money, conform to the articles of the late treaty, and an act of public faith, granted by the parliament of england, for payment thereof, at the terms therein contained: therefore our said's sovereign lord and estates of parliament, do hereby grant full power, warrant, and commission, and appoints, nominants, and authorises the persons particularly after nominated, viz. john earl of lowdoun, chancellor of scotland, archbald marquis of argyle, alexander earl of eglintoun, john earl of cassils', william earl of glencairne, john earl of lauderdail, william earl of lothian, john earl of lindesay, david earl of southesk, james earl of findlater, john lord sinclair, john lord balmerino, robert lord burghlie, george lord forester, sir charles erskene of bandeth, sir david home of wedderburne, sir robert inns of that ilk, sir george dundas of that ilk, sir william cunyngham of capringtoun, sir john wauchope of nidrie, sir alexander erskene of dun, sir gilbert ramsay of balymayne, sir duncane campbel of auchinbrek, sir william forbes of craigievare, sir robert griersone of lag, mr. george douglas of bonjedburgh, william rig of ethernie, alexander gordoun of earlstoun, john binnie burgess of edinburgh, thomas durham burgess of pearth, patrick leslie burgess of aberdene, george bell burgess of linlithgow, patrick bell burgess of glasgow, james sword burgess of saint andrew's, john kennedye burgess of air, john semple burgess of dumbartane, william glendoning burgess of kirkcudbright, james scot burgess of montrose, mr. robert barclay burgess of irving, james anderson burgess of couper, george garden burgess of bruntiland, and mr. alexander dowglas burgess of bamff, together with alexander earl of levin, and sir adam hepburne of humbie, one of the senators of the college of justice, whom his majesty and estates of parliament adds to the foresaid number as ordinair members with the rest, to be commissioners from his majesty and the parliament, to the effect after specified, granting and committing, like as his majesty and estates foresaids, do by virtue of their presents grant full power, warrant and commission to the forenamed persons, or to any twelve of them, who shall be a quorum, there being always three of them of ilk estate, either by themselves, or by such others persons, as shall be entrusted and authorised by them, or their quorum foresaid, for that effect, to crave, receive, uplift, and intromet with the foresaid sum of two hundreth and twenty thousand pounds sterling money foresaid, yet resting unpayed of the said brotherly assistance, promised and obliged to be paid by the said parliament of england, in manner foresaid: and with power to the said's commissioners, or such as shall be appointed by them, as said is, to give and grant discharges upon the receipt of the said sum in whole, or in part, which shall be als vallid and sufficient, as if the famine were granted by his majesty, and whole body of this present parliament, and with power to them, to settle, accord and agree upon the best ways and courses how the said brotherly assistance may be most timously & conveniently paid at the terms of payment appointed for that effect, or otherwise, how the famine may be advanced, either by exchange or otherwise, for defrayment and relief of the said's common burdens, as may be most conducible for the relief and good of the public. and whatever acquittances or discharges the forenamed persons, or such other persons as shall be authorized by them, shall grant & subscribe upon the receipt of the said sum, or any part thereof, or whatever other course they shall accord and agree upon concerning the famine, his majesty and the estates of parliament do by these presents approve and authorize the same, and if need be, shall ratify the famine in the next ensuing parliament: and generally, our said sovereign lord and estates foresaids, grants and commits full power and commission to the forenamed persons and their quorum foresaid, and to these who shall be authorised by them, as said is, to do, exerce, accord, and agree upon all, and every thing necessary, anent the payment and recovery of the foresaids sums, and every thing else, which may concern the 'samine, in all respects needful and expedient, whereanent our said sovereign lord and estates of parliament, declares that their presents shall be a good and sufficient warrant for them, and all others whom the 'samine may concern, the forenamed commissioners, and these to be authorised and appointed by them for the effect above specified, being always comptable and answerable for their carriage and proceed in the premises. act xxviii. act against going of salt-pans and mills on the lord's day, and other profanations of that day. 15. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering notwithstanding the acts of the general assembly, ratified in this present parliament, june 1640. against the profaning of the lords day, by going of salt-pans, salmond fishings, kills, mils, and hiring of shearers on the said day, yet the said's abuses are not left off, but rather increased: therefore our sovereign lord and estates foresaids, for the better restraint of the said's abuses and profanations, do again inhibit and discharge all going of salt-pans, or mils, and all working of works thereintill upon the lord's day, and all hiring and conditioning of shearers on the said day, and that under the pains and penalties following, to be paid to the particular sessions of every paroch wherein the abuses before specified are committed, to be employed to pious uses, viz. the sum of twenty pounds for ilk day foresaid, working in manner foresaid, of ilk salt pan; of ilk days fishing of salmond; and of ilk mill; to be paid by the heritors and possessors thereof, for the time, and the masters to be answerable for their servants, and the sum of ten pounds for ilk shearer and fisher of salmond on the lord's day; the one half to be paid by the hyrers and conducers, the other half by the persons hired, toties quoties: and ordains the magistrates of the town, to keep the transgressors in ward while they pay the said penalties, for the which the magistrates shall be answerable to their sessions. and further, our said sovereign lord and estates, do hereby inhibit and discharge all markets, using of merchandise, carrying of loads upon the lord's day, and all other profanations or abuses thereof whatsoever. and that under the same pain of ten pounds, to be paid by every transgressor to their sessions respective, for the uses foresaid toties quoties: and ordains the saids penalties respective above specified, to be exacted, by and attour the confiscation of the salt, corn, merchandise, loads, and other goods whatsoever, employed, used, gained, or made and wrought, in the profaning and a busing of the said lords day, which pain is also hereby ordained, and if the transgressors be not able to pay the penalties foresaids, ordains them to be punished exemplarly in their bodies, according to the merit of their fault, toties quoties. act xxix. act anent the nomination and election of sir james galloway to be master of requests. 15. november. 1641. the which day the king's majesty, with advice and approbation of the estates of parliament, nominated and elected, sir james galloway, to be master of requests, of this his highness' ancient and native kingdom of scotland, and that ad vitam vel culpam, conform to the act of this present parliament made anent the election of officers of estate, counsellors and sessioners, upon the sixteenth day of september, last by past: like as his majesty, with advice and approbation foresaid, gives and dispones to the said sir james galloway, ad vitam vel culpam, as said is, the foresaid office, to be master of requests of this his majesty's kingdom: with all honours, dignities, privileges, profits, casualties and liberties pertaining to the 'samine office, which have been possessed and bruiked by any preceding master of requests, and which may be now bruiked by the laws of this kingdom: and ordains a gift to be past and exped, under his highness' great seal, to the said sir james galloway, of the foresaid office: with all honours, dignities, profits, casualties, liberties and privileges pertaining and belonging thereto, as said is. act xxx. act anent the commission for plantation of kirks, and valuation of teinds. 15. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering the humble supplication of the general assembly, presented by the commissioners thereof, for planting of kirks, uniting or dis-uniting of parochs, and for other pious and good works mentioned thereintill: for the which, and other causes after specified, it is necessair, that power & commission be given from his majesty and estates to the effect under-written, and therefore his majesty and estates foresaid, have granted, and by these presents grant full power & commission to the persons after following, viz. john lord lowdoun chancellor, archbald earl of argyle, alexander earl of eglintoun, john earl of cassils', william earl of glencairn, john earl of lauderdail, william earl of lothian, david earl of southesk, james earl of findlater, john lord lindesay, john lord sinclair, john lord balmerino, robert lord burghly, george lord forester, sir george dundas of that ilk, sir john wauchope of nidrie, sir david home of wedderburn, sir william forbes of craigievare, sir gilbert ramsay of balymayn, sir william cunyngham of caprintoun, william rig of ethernie, sir duncan campbel of auchinbrek, sir alexander erskene of dun, sir charles erskene of bandeth, sir robert inns of that ilk, alexander gordoun of earlstoun, sir robert griersone of lag, master george douglas of bonjedburgh, john binnie for edinburgh, thomas durham for pearth, patrick leslie for aberdene, george bell for linlithgow, james sword for saint andrews, patrick bell for glasgow, john kennedy for air, john semple for dumbartan, william glandoning for kirkcudbright, james scot for montrose, master robert barclay for irving, james anderson for couper, george garden for bruntiland, master alexander douglas for bamff, robert earl of roxburgh lord privie-seal, sir alexander gibson younger of durie clerk register, sir thomas hope of craighall advocate, sir james carmichael, thesaurer depute, sir john hamiltoun justice clerk, & sir andrew fletcher of innerpeffer, sir thomas hope of kers, and sir adam hepburn of humbie, three of the senators of the college of justice, to meet and convene at halyrude-house, or edinburgh, or such other places as shall be appointed by them, at such times and diets as they shall appoint, and to value, and cause value whatsoever teinds, great or small, personage or viccarage of whatsoever lands, and others within this kingdom, liable to the payment of teinds, of whatsoever nature and quality the famine be of, which are yet unvalued: providing the ministers serving the cure, who do lead tithes, be secured of good and thankful payment of so much victual, or money, answerable to the worth of the said's tithes, as the tithes shall be valued to: and als to receive the reports from the sub-commissioners appointed within ilk presbytery of the valuations of whatsoever teinds of lands and others, liable to teind, as said is, led and deduced before them, according to the tenor of the sub-commissions direct to that effect, and to allow or disallow the famine, according as the same shall be found agreeable, or disagreeable from the tenor of their sub-commissions, and for the better expeding, and advancing of the said's valuations, with power to appoint committees or sub-committees of their own number, to receive the reports of the said's valuations made, or to be made, and to receive, admit and examine witnesses, and to take parties oath with their depositions, where the same is referred to oath, and to give such farther power to the said's committees or sub-committees of their own number, as they shall think fit for the good of the work and speedy finishing of the same: and siclike, with power to them, if need be, to appoint sub-commissioners who are not of their own number within any parochine, or presbytery of the country, for leading and deducing of the said's valuations, and to receive the reports thereof, allow, or disallow of the 'samine: and generally, with power to them, to set down whatsoever other order or course, which shall be thought fit and expedient for dispatch of the faids valuations rectifiying thereof, and for final closing of the same: and siclike with power to the said's commissioners, or any fifteen of them, there being four thereof for every estate, after closing and allowance of the valuations of ilke kirke and parish, or at least the exact diligence of the ministers done to that effect, to appoint, modify and set down a constant, and local stipend, and maintenance to ilke minister (his present stipend being allowed in the first end thereof) to be paid out of the teinds thereof: and to grant augmentations to ilke ministers of other kirks nor bishops kirkes', who got not the benefit of the former commission, and have not the full quantity of eight chalders victual, or eight hundred marks according to the tenor of the acts of parliament made, in anno 1633. wherein that is found to be the lowest proportion for the maintenance of the ministers, except such particular kirkes' occur, wherein there shall be just, reasonable, and expedient causes to go beneath the said quantity, which is hereby also referred to the conscionable consideration of the commissioners before expressed, and to grant augmentations to ministers of kirkes', which were provided by the former commission, but to a less quantity nor eight chalders victual or eight hundred marks in the cases after following allanerly, viz. where the teinds in whole or in part are fewed with the lands cum decimis inclusis, whereby the ministers were debarred of the full quantity foresaid, or where the valuations already led, the time of the provision of these kirkes' shall happen to be reduced as unjustly valued, or where it can be proved by writ or oath of party, that the less quantity foresaid proceeded from pactions betwixt the titular and the ministers, or titular and parochiners in prejudice of the ministers successors, or where the honest incumbents for the time were impeded by the prelates for their never practising conformity, to obtain the full quantity in the former commission, albeit there was sufficiency of teinds within the paroch: in the which cases, or any of them, it is hereby declared, that the ministers provided by the former commission, shall be supplied to the full quantity foresaid: like as hereby it is declared, that all bishops kirkes', whether or not provided at all, or provided by the former commission, but beneath the quantity foresaid, shall be supplied to the full quantity of eight chalders victual, or eight hundred marks, out of the tithes of their own parish, and where the same cannot be had, then out of the teinds of the other kirkes' of that bishopric: and that all kirks that had greater quantity of stipend before the restitution of bishops nor they now have (except they have been diminished by just valuations) shall be supplied, and brought to the same quantity whereof they were in possession before the said restitution, to be paid out of their own paroch, and where it is inlacking, to be paid out of the tithes of the bishops kirkes': for the which effect, the king's majesty and estates of parliament grants power to the commissioners foresaid or any quorum of them, and als gives power to the said's commissioners, to disjoin too large and spacious kirks, and plant them severally, and to cause build, and erect new kirks, and appoint competent provisions for the ministers to change kirks incommodiously situate, to a more commodious part of the paroche, to disjoin and dismember such parts and portions of parochins lying contigue, and whereof ane part is fare distant from the proper paroche kirke, and more near and ewest to the next adjacent and contiguous paroche kirke, from their own proper paroch kirke, from the which the parts and portions are farther distant, and to unite and adjoine them to the other paroch kirk, to the which they are more ewest: and als to unite kirks and parochines lying so near other, and being so little bounds, and small number of parochiners, that the union of them shall be found more useful and conducible for the good and ease of the parochiners of both the kirks, and their edification: providing that the dividing of large paroches, the dismembering of ane part of the said's parochines in case foresaid, and the uniting of kirks and parochines of the quality above specified, be done upon the special recommendation of the presbytery, synod, or general assembly, given-in in writ, and after the commissioners have cited and heard the parochiners of both kirks thereanent, and no otherwise: and to set down a solid order, and take course for furnishing the elements to the communion twice in the year, or oftener, where they are not provided at all, or not sufficiently provided: and als to take order for paying of the charges of the commissioners to the general assemblies, without burdening the ministers stipends therewith. and siclike, with power to them to advise, take course, and determine in all things referred to them by any particular act or reference from the general assembly to this parliament, or from the parliament to them: and because the king's majesty, considering that the names and titles of bishops and bishoprics by the acts and statutes of kirk and kingdom, are abolished and suppressed, and that thereby the tithes, parsonage and viccarage, and teind duties of whatsoever kirks or titles, pertaining to the said's bishoprics, are become in his majesty's hands, and at his majesty's disposing, and his majesty being graciously pleased, out of his pious and royal affection to the maintenance of the true religion, and purity thereof, presently established within this his majesty's ancient kingdom, to take such a course with the said's teinds and teind duties, pertaining to the said's bishoprics, and of all teinds and kirks annexed thereto, that the famine may be applied to the use and benefit of the ministers serving the cure of the said's kirks, and to the maintenance and supply of universities, colleges, and schools: like as his majesty before his coming to this his ancient kingdom, in his own royal person, sent and directed his letters to the general assembly of the kirk, convened at edinburgh in july last, whereby his majesty declared his constant purpose and resolution to employ the teinds of the said's bishoprics to the uses above specified: and therefore his majesty, according to his royal promise, and for performance thereof, hath declared, and by their presents declares, by advice and consent of the estate, that the teinds and teind duties of all and whatsoever kirkes', parsonage, and viccarage thereof, and teinds of whatsoever nature pertaining to the said's bishoprics, shall be applied to the maintenance of the ministry, and of the universities and colleges, and other pious uses, and to no othet use, and that according as the same shall be particularly distributed by the commissioners foresaid, to whom his majesty and estates grants power for this effect, and declares all gifts granted, or to be granted by his majesty, to whatsoever person or persons of the foresaid teinds and teind duties, or any part thereof, except to the uses foresaid, to be null in the self: excepting always all gifts already granted by his majesty to whatsoever person or persons of their own teinds, and to the maintenance of universities and colleges, they and every one of them always being liable to the plantation of the kirks to the full quantity contained in the acts made thereanent. likeas it is declared hereby, that all teinds and teind duties which belonged to chapters, deans, subdeans, and other dignities of the chapters, shall be liable to the like provisions of the kirks which were annexed thereto, according to the proportion of eight chalders victual, or eight hundred marks, forth of the teinds of their own parochins allanerly, according to the act of parliament. and sicklike, with power to the said's commissioners, as said is, to take order that every heritor and life-renter of land, having right thereto by infeftment of life-rent, right of terre, or by band for infeftment of life-rent, shall have the leading of their own teinds, personage, and viccarage thereof, they paying the price contained in the act above-specified, incase they be willing to buy the same from the titular, having power to sell, or otherwise, paying the rate of teind expressed in the acts made thereanent. and to that effect with power to the said's commissioners, to set down, the price of sellable teinds, according to the worth thereof in each part of the country, where the famine grow and are bred. and als with power to them, to set down such good and ample securities as may stand by law, both for the buyers of the teinds, to the effect the titulars may be fully denuded in their favours, and also for security to the titulars and sellers of the price due to be paid to them for the said's teinds, and also to set down the security in favours of the titulars and of the ministers, so far as concerns the maintenance assigned to them for good, thankful, and timous payment of the rate of teinds where the famine are not or cannot be sold: and siclike, with power to the said's commissioners, to discuss and determine all questions which may arise betwixt the titulars, and heritors, anent the price of teinds, according to the nature and quality of the rights to be sold, whether the same be heretable or temporal, and to proportionate the price accordingly: and also to divide the price of teind betwixt the heretors and liferenters thereof, & betwixt titulars and taksmen, and others who have several and distinct rights to the said's teinds, sellable according to the quality of the rights, and also with power to them to cause the titulars who sell their said's teinds, to exhibit their rights and titles, to the effect they may be lawfully denuded thereof, in favours of the said's heretors and liferenters respective, without prejudice always to his majesty's annuity to be paid forth of the said's teinds, by the saids titulars of teinds or heretors or liferenters of lands, according to the tenor of the act of annuity: and generally, with power to the said's commissioners to decide and determine in all other points which may concern the leiding and drawing of teinds, the selling and buying of the same, or payment of the rates thereof, contained in the acts of parliament made thereanent: and whereas it may fall out that some of the commissioners now appointed by his majesty and estates, may be unable to attend the service through death, sickness, or some other notar and known impediments, therefore his majesty and estates declares such other persons shall fill their places as his majesty shall think fit, by advice of the remanent commissioners who must receive and admit them upon the said commission, and take their oaths for faithful discharge of the same: and his majesty and estates ordains this present commission to endure unto the _____ ay and while the famine be expressly discharged by his majesty's warrant, with consent of the estates for that effect: and his majesty with consent of the estates foresaid, finds, declares, and ordains the acts, decreets and ordinances of the commissioners foresaid, and of the other persons who shallbe surrogate in their places by his majesty in manner foresaid, in the whole particulars above specified, and every one of them, to have the force, strength and effect of a decree, sentence, and act of parliament: and ordains the lords of session, to grant and direct letters of horning, pounding, and others thereupon, upon a simple charge of ten days, or otherways as shall be found necessary: attour for clearing of all doubts and difficulties, which may arise anent the rectifying of valuations, or other particular heads following, his majesty and estates have declared, and declares, that where valuations are lawfully led against all parties, having interest, and allowed by the former commissioners, according to the order reserved by them, that the famine shall not be drawn in question, nor rectified upon pretence of enorm lesioun, at the instance of the minister, not being titular, or at the instance of his majesty's advocate, for and in respect of his majesty's annuity, except it be proved, that collusion was used betwixt the titular and heretor, or betwixt the procutor fiscal, and heretors, and titular, which collusion is declared to be where the valuations are led, with diminution of the third of the just rent, presently paid: and which diminution shall be proved by the party's oaths: it is always declared, that the provisions of the former commission, so far as they are conceived in favours of the colleges, hospitals, and ministers, are herein renewed: as also that ministers serving the cure, who lead their teinds: and that colleges, schools, and hospitals, be not constrained to sell, set, nor dispone their teindes in prejudice of their successors, notwithstanding of the valuations thereof: like as the king's majesty and estates, grants power to the said's commissioners, to do every thing necessary, for settling and establishing the right of any teinds of the prelacies, appointed by them, in favours of the said's kirks, schools, universities, and colleges, according to their several divisions, as also to set down rules, and ways, how the same shall not thereafter be dilapidate, or made worse by the titulars for the time, and his majesty and estates declares, that all his majesty's subjects, who are willing to buy their teinds, shall be oblisht to pay the price thereof contained in the act made thereanent, within the space of two years after the famine beiss valued and approven before the saids commissioners: and that after the expiring of the said time, the titular shall not be compelled to sell the famine, except they do it of their own good will, with this declaration always, that in case the impediment enduring the space foresaid, flow from the titular, by reason of his minority, or other inability, in that case the heretor, who offereth himself ready to buy his own teind within the space foresaid, shall have place so soon as the impediment is removed, to buy his teinds notwithstanding of the expiring of the years, and space above expressed: and it is declared, that if the heretors be minor, and his tutors neglect the buying of his teinds within the space foresaid, the minor shall have action for two years after his minority to compel the titular for selling of the said's teinds. likeas his majesty and estates of parliament grants power to the said's commissioners to give recompense to parties for the augmentation of stipends to be imposed by this present commission in the same way as was done by some former commissions, as 1617. years: likeas it is hereby declared, that where by mistaking and wrong counting, there was a greater quantity assigned to the minister out of any man's teinds nor is due by proportion according to the valuation, that the commissioners may rectify the same without diminishing the ministers stipend, or wronging his possession, until it be given out of other teinds in the paroch: likeas it is declared, that where the assignations are made wrong in the quality that the same might be reduced to the just number of bols of meal, beire, and wheat, answerable to the valuation, with power also to the said's commissioners to assign the few duties of the parts of land; called parsons and viccars gleibes, to the ministers and others serving the cure. act xxxi. commission anent the articles referred to consideration by the treaty. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord, with consent of the estates of parliament, considering that there are sundry heads of the articles of the treaty of peace betwixt his majesty and his subjects, and betwixt his majesty's kingdoms of scotland and england, which are referred to be taken in consideration by the commissioners, to be apppointed by his majesty with consent of both parliaments, who shall have power to advise and treat thereupon, and to report their proceed therein to his majesty and to the parliament of both kingdom's respective, and specially the articles after specified: and his majesty with consent foresaid being willing, that a commission be exped on their part for advising and treating upon the saids articles, with the commissioners chosen, or to be chosen by his majesty with consent of the parliament of england, within which is included the kingdom of ireland: therefore his majesty, with advice and consent of the estates, gives and grants full power and commission to the persons after specified, william earl of lothiane, john earl of lindesay, lord parbrothe and struther, john lord balmerino, sir thomas myretoun of cambo, sir thomas hope of kerse, sir archbald johnstoun of wariestoun, sir john smyth of grottell burgess of edinburgh, patrick bell merchant burgess of glasgow, and mr. robert barclay burgess of irving, as also to john earl of lowdoun chancellor of scotland, and archbald marquis of argyle, earl of kintyre, lord lorne, or any of them two, who beiss at court, to be of the commission with the remanent commissioners above named: with power to the said's whole commissioners above named, or any five of them, there being one thereof at least of every estate, to convene with the commissioners chosen or to be chosen by his majesty with consent of the parliament of england (within which is included the parliament of ireland, as said is) at whatsoever places and times convenient to be accorded amongst them, and there to consult, advise, treat, and agree upon the special heads and articles following: viz. anent the demand concerning the making war with foreigners, and anent leagues and confederations to be made with foreign princes and estates, and concerning mutual supply in case of foreign invasion, and also concerning mutual trade and commerce betwixt the kingdom of scotland, england, and ireland, and anent the pressing of ships, and men, by sea or land, and als anent naturalisation and mutual capacity of the subjects of both kingdoms, who either of them, respective, of all dignities, liberties, privileges, and other benefits ecclesiastical or civil, and others of that nature, and concerning the lawfulness and solemnity of the extracts of bands or decreets in either of the said's kingdoms: and als concerning the manner of safe conduct for transporting from england to scotland by sea or land, in such a way as may be most secure and least chargeable to the estate of scotland, of the moneys given and promitted by way of brotherly supply, and assistance to the estate and kingdom of scotland by the parliament of england: and concerning what assistance scotland shall give to england for suppressing of the rebellion in ireland, or to the prince elector, conform to the instructions given, or to be given to them for that effect, by the lords of secret council, to whom his majesty and estates of parliament remits the same: and what the said's commissioners their treaties with the said's commissioners of england and ireland, resolves and concludes upon, that they may make timous and due report thereof to his majesty and the estates of this kingdom. act xxxii. commission for conserving of the articles of treaty. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord, considering, that by the late articles of treaty, concluded betwixt the commissioners of his majesty's kingdom of scotland and england, ratified by parliaments of both kingdoms: it is thought fit and necessary for observing the said's articles of treaty, made for establishing a firm and constant peace, that power and commission be granted by his majesty, by advice of the estates of parliament of both kingdoms, to the effect contained in the said articles of treaty, for performance whereof upon the part of his majesties said kingdom of scotland, his majesty with consent of the estates of the said kingdom by their presents, giveth and grants power and commission to the persons after-specified, viz. john lord lowdoun chancellor, james duke of lennox, james marquis of hammiltoun, archbald earl of argyle, william earl of mortoun, alexander earl of eglintoun, william earl of glencairne, charles earl of dumfermling, robert earl of roxburgh, william earl of lothian, john earl of lauderdaill, george earl of kynnowll, william earl of lanerk, alexander earl of levin, john lord lindesay, john lord balmerino, james lord almond, sir patrick hepburne of wauchtoun, sir george dundas of that ilk, sir thomas myretoun of cambo, sir patrick hammiltoun, sir thomas hope of kerse, sir robert inns of that ilk, sir archbald johnstoun, sir alexander erskene of dun, sir david home of wedderburne, sir robert griersone of lag, sir william scot of harden, sir john charters of amisfeild, _____ ruthven of frieland, _____ campbel of cessnok, sir david grahame of morphie, sir harry montgomrie of giffen, sir william forbes of craigievare, sir william douglas of cavers, edward edgar, patrick bell, william glendoning, john smith, master robert barclay, thomas durham, james fletcher, patrick leslie, thomas bruce, george bell, james sword, john rutherford, master john corser, hugh kennedye, john semple, master robert cunyngham, master alexander douglas, richard maxwell, or any twelve of them, with power to them, or any twelve of them, as said is, there being at least two of every estate at any time or times in the interim betwixt the sitting of the parliaments, to convene amongst themselves, or with the commissioners chosen, or to be chosen to the same effect by his majesty, with consent of the parliament of england, within which is included the kingdom of ireland, at whatsoever places and times convenient to be accorded unto amongst themselves, and to be careful, that the peace, now happily concluded, may be continued, and to endeavour by all lawful means, for preserving and keeping of the said's articles of peace concluded in the foresaid treaty allanerly, and therewith to use all their care to preveen all trouble and division which may arise by the breaking and violating of any of the said's articles, concluded in the said treaty, as said is: and if any debate or difference shall happen to arise, to the disturbance of the said common peace, that they labour to remove or compose the famine, according to their power granted to them in manner foresaid, and no other ways: it being always provided, that for all their proceed in this kind, they shall be answerable for the lawfulness thereof to the king's majesty and the parliament respective: and if any thing fall forth beyond their power, and which cannot be remedied by them, that they inform themselves of the particulars thereof, and represent the same to his majesty, and to the ensuing parliaments respective, that by his majesty's wisdom and authority, and theirs, all occasions and causes of troubles being removed, the peace of the kingdom may be perpetual to all posterity: and it is declared, that the power of this commission shall be restrained to the articles of peace, concluded in the said treaty, as said is, and shall endure for the interim betwixt parliaments allanerly, and shall expire at the next ensuing parliament, at the which the said commissioners shall be holden, to give an account of their diligence and proceeding in the premises. act xxxiii. act anent the five incendiaries and the plotters, and the king's declaration there-anent. 16 november, 1641. the estates of parliament, considering that whereas albeit john earl of traquhair, sir robert spottiswood of donipace knight, sir john hay of baro knight, late clerk register, doctor walter balcanquell, and mr. john maxwell sometime, pretended bishop of rosse, are cited before them, and accused as guilty of divers heinous and treasonable crimes perpetrated and committed by them against the common wealth, contained in their several ditties, which they have just reason to prosecute: nevertheless the said's estates of parliament, taking into their consideration his majesty's gracious goodness towards this his native kingdom, and his fatherly care and wisdom in composing of all past differences, and providing for the future, to the great joy and happiness of all his subjects, do in retribution thereof, with an unanimous consent to testify their high respect and thankfulness to his majesty, and that his majesty may joyfully return a contented prince from a contented people, to the settling of his royal affairs in his other dominions, believing that the famine will be acceptable to his majesty, and conducible to the good and peace of the kingdom, declare, that for acquitting themselves of their oath, they will only proceed to the exact trial of the said's parties by a committee to be appointed and authorized by the king and parliament, in respect of the present necessity of their other affairs, and after trial shall be taken of the said's persons, and of the crimes whereof they are accused, the parliament declares, that they will not proceed to a final sentence, nor insist upon the punishment of those persons, but that they do for the reasons foresaids freely remit them to his majesty. the estates of parliament considering, that whereas albeit james earl of montrose, archbald lord naper, sir george stirling of keir knight, sir archbald stewart of black hall _____ are cited before them, and accused as guilty of divers crimes & misdemeanours committed by them, to the just offence of the estates of parliament, and derogatory to the great trust & confidence had of them, and albeit the parliament have just reason to prosecute their processes, yet nevertheless the said's estates of parliament, taking into their consideration his majesty's gracious goodness towards this his native kingdom, and fatherly care and wisdom in composing all past differences, and providing for the future, to the great joy and happiness of all his subjects, do in retribution thereof, with an unanimous consent, to testify their high respect and thankfulness to his majesty, and that his majesty may joyfully return, a contented prince from a contented people, to the settling of his royal affairs in his other dominions, believing that the famine will be acceptable to his majesty, and conducible to the good and peace of the kingdom, declare, that for acquitting themselves of their oath, they will only proceed to the exact trial of the said's parties by a committee to be appointed and authorized by the king and parliament, in respect of the present necessity of their other affairs, and after trial shall be taken of the said's persons, and of the crimes whereof they are accused, the parliament declares, that they will not proceed to a final sentence, nor insist upon the punishment of the said's persons, but that they do for the reasons foresaids freely remit them to his majesty. at edinburgh the sixteenth day of november, the year of god 1641 years, the parliament having expressed their respect and thankfulness to his majesty, by remitting unto him these that are cited as incendiaries, and others, according to their above written declaration, he was graciously pleased (the better to testify his princely care, and to prevent any fears that may be conceived from the meddling of those persons in the affairs of state or court) to make this declaration following: i taking in good part the respect and thankfulness of this parliament, in remitting to me these who are cited as incendiaries, and others, according to their declarations, do declare, that i will not employ any of these persons in offices or places of court or state, without consent of parliament, nor grant them access to my person, whereby they may interrupt or disturb the firm peace which is now so happily concluded. act xxxiv. act and commission for trying the incendiaries and plotters. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, having taken to consideration, that in the session of parliament convened by his majesty's authority upon the eleventh day of june 1640. years, full power and warrant was given and granted to the prese and quorum of the committee of estates therein appointed for directing, in the king's majesty's name, and in name of the estates of parliament, summons and precepts to the lion king at arms, and his brethren heralds, pursuivants, and maissars, to warn and charge the persons under written, viz. john earl of traquaire, sir robert spottiswood of donipace knight, sir john hay of lands, late clerk register, doctor walter balcanquell, and master john maxwell, sometime pretended bishop of rosse, to compeir personally before the parliament at certain days and diets bygone: and that conform to the said warrant of parliament, summons were raised and intended at the instance of sir thomas hope of craighall knight baronet, his majesty's advocate; and at the instance of sir thomas nicolson of carnock, knight baronet; masters, roger mowat, alexander peirson, james baird, and thomas nicolson, procutors of the estate, to compeire before the king's majesty and estates of parliament at certain days and diets now bygone, to answer for the crimes of treason, and other crimes contained in the said summons and precepts, of the date the _____ day of _____ year's. and als our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering that summons and actions are depending before our said sovereign lord and the estates of this present parliament, against james earl of montrose, archbald lord naper, sir george stirling of keir, knight, sir archbald stuart of blakhall _____ as having been plotters, devisers, and machinators of courses against the public weal, and as having been the committers of other several crimes and forefaults, particularly specified and contained in the said summons, raised and depending against the saids earl of montrose, lord naper, lairds of keir, and blakhall _____ before the king's majesty and estates of this present parliament of the date the _____ day of _____ 1641. years, as the famine at more length bears, therefore our sovereign lord and the estates of this present parliament, for the further examination and trial of the persons above specified their guiltiness of the points and crimes above written, contained in the summons particularly and respectively above mentioned, gives and grants by their presents full power, authority and commission to the persons after mentioned, viz. john lord lowdoun chancellor, john earl of lauderdaill, _____ earl of weymes, robert lord burghly, james lord couper, george lord forester, sir john hammiltoun of preston, sir william cokburne lord langtoun, harry montgomrie of gifin, sir george dundas of that ilk, sir john wauchope of nidrie, william rig of ethernie, george bell for the town of linlithgow, thomas bruce for stirling, mr. george grace for hadingtoun, george garden for bruntiland, and robert cunnyngham for kinghorne, james sword for saint andrew's, and sir alexander gibson of durie, and sir adam hepburne of humbie, two of the ordinary senators of the college of justice, or to any quorum of the said number of the said's persons, being present for the time, which quorum shall consist of nine, two being for ilk estate, by the said's two judges above named, to proceed in all further examination of the points of the said's crimes consisting in facto: and that by examination of witnesses, and by writ, or other probation competent of the law against so many of the said's persons as are not compeiring, without all farther citation, in respect of their absence and contumacy: and als to call and convene before them the foresaids' persons above rehearsed in the said summons particularly and respectively above written, so many of them as are incarcerate, before them, at such days and diets as they most conveniently shall appoint at edinburgh the fourth day of january next to come, which is appointed to be the first diet of their meeting: and ordains these who are incarcerate to be cited personally, and these who are out of the country, at the mercat cross of edinburgh, peire and shore of leith, to answer before the saids persons commissioners, appointed by their presents, for the crimes particularly and respective contained in the said summons above written, to the effect they may be further examined by them, and may object against such witnesses as shall be cited to compeire to depone in the said matter, with full power and commission to the said's persons, or quorum foresaid, to proceed in the cognition and trial of the crimes particularly and respective above written, to the discussing of the relevancy of the summons particularly and respective above written, and to the receiving of all lawful probation in the saids crimes above written against the saids persons, particularly summoned, as is above written: and to that effect, to direct their precepts and summons for summoning of witnesses in the particular crimes respective above specified, under the pain of horning, and generally, all and sundry other things to do for the exact trial of the said's persons: providing always, that the said's persons commissioners, as is above specified, apppointed by their presents, shall not proceed, like as our sovereign lord and estates of parliament presently convened, by their presents discharges the saids commissioners and quorum foresaid, to proceed to any decision in the said points or crimes, or to pronounce any sentence convictive against the saids persons particularly above written, summoned to this present parliament particularly and respective, as said is, but only that the commissioners foresaids shall do their diligence in the points particularly above specified, committed to them, in discussing the relevancy of the said summons particularly and respective above written, and in receiving all legal probation thereupon, and the commissioners or quorum foresaid to proceed with all diligence, and make their report concerning the relevancy, and how fare they shall find the same proved, or not, without pronouncing any farther sentence against them, or any of them, and that they finish the process and trial before the first day of march next to come. act xxxv. act anent the passing from these who are cited to the parliament as unfriends. 16. november, 1641. the estates of parliament, considering that whereas there are divers and sundry persons indicted and accused before this parliament, as guilty of certain crimes committed by them, against the state, and to the prejudice of the peace of this kingdom, nevertheless the said's estates of parliament, considering that by god's mercy and providence, and by his majesty's great wisdom, all our tempests are turned into the calm of an happy peace, and that trial is taken anent the persuits and processes for which the said's persons are cited to the parliament, do hereby, out of their respect to his majesty, to whom they know the famine will be acceptable, declare that they have acquitted and discharged, and hereby acquits and discharges, all other persons, cited and called to appear before them, to answer for whatsoever crime or misdemeanour committed, during the late troubles: and declares the act of pacification and oblivion, and benefit thereof, to be extended to them, siclike as if they had not been cited before this present parliament: and but prejudice always of the restitution to private parties, conform to the said act of pacification contained in the treaty, and of all lawful sentences recovered against any of the said persons, before the committee of estates: and declares, that this act doth not extend to the incendiaries or plotters, but only to such others who are cited to the parliament as unfriends. act xxxvi act for selling of yarn by waight. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates presently assembled, understanding how and convenient it is, that all yarn be bought and sold by weight: therefore our sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the said's estates, ratifies and approves the acts of his majesty's council, ordaining the same to be sold by weight, in all the heads, clauses and articles thereof, dated at halyrude-house the 28. of july, 1631. years, and ordains the famine to stand as a law, and to take effect in all time coming. act xxxvii. act anent linen cloth and breadth thereof. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates presently assembled, finding that linen cloth is become one of the prime commodities of this kingdom, whereby many peoare put to work, and money is brought within the same, which partly through the deceit used by the bleitchers, in lyming thereof, and partly by the incertainty of the breadth, is likely to come in contempt abroad, to the great prejudice of this kingdom: therefore his majesty, with consent of the said's estates, statutes and ordains that no makers of linen cloth, nor no others whatsoever, present to market, or other ways, make or sell any linen cloth of the price of ten shillings the elne or above, of less breadth than an elne, and all under the said price, to be of no less breadth than three quarters of ane elne, under pain of confiscation of all such linen presented to marker, or other ways sold, which shallbe found not to be of the breadth , and ordains the magistrates, within whose bounds and jurisdictons the said linen cloth, made contrair to this statute, shall happen to come, to confiscate and escheat the same, and for this effect, to search all the markets within their bounds: as also discharges and inhibites all our sovereign lords liege's and subjects, that none of them presume nor take upon hand to bleitch any cloth with lime, under pain to be punished in their persons and goods at the will of the magistrate, within whose bounds they dwell: and last, it is stature and ordained, that all linen cloth shall be taken up by the selvedge and not by the rig, and so to be presented to the market, and ordains the sheriff of the shires and magistrates within burgh, to put this statute to execution within their several jurisdictions. act xxxviii. dis charging the importation of strong waters. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, understanding, that there is divers strong waters brought into this kingdom from foreign places, which might be more conveniently made within the kingdom, to the benefit of the natives thereof: therefore his majesty, which consent of the said's estates, discharges all inbringing of aquavitie or strong waters, within this kingdom, under the pain of escheat thereof. act xxxix. act anent the exsise of herring. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering that his majesty's assize of all herrings slain within the reid-head, and saint tobs-head, is a thousand herrings forth of ilk boat, ilk dreave that holds: and finding the collecting of these herrings to be very hard and difficile, have thought expedient to modify the price of these herrings, and convert the famine thousand herrings into money, and therefore our said sovereign lord, with the advice of the estates, modifies and converts the price of the said one thousand herrings, payable for assize, to the sum of six pounds' money of this realm, and declares that to be the constant price thereof in time coming, without respect of dear or cheap herrings: and because the fisher's residents in the east seas, and who dwell within the said's bounds, on the north and south side of forth and tay, bywest the reid-head, and saint tobs-head, in respect of the great hazard and danger they are in, in venturing to the north isles with their ships and barks, wherein they transport two boats or yolles, as pendicles of the said's ships and barks, and vehicles for their use and the better accommodating of their voyage, were in use to pay only the sum of five pound in satisfaction of the assize herrings, ilk tack that holds for ilk ship or bark, without having respect to ship-boats and yolles, which are only pendicles, and vehicles of the said's ships and barks: therefore his majesty, with advice of the estates, being certainly persuaded, that it is impossible to the said's fishers to accomplish their voyages, unless they have two ship-boats or yolles carried in the saids ships or barks, as pendicles and vehicles thereto: declares, that the said's fishers, are and shall only be liable in the said sum of six pounds, in full satisfaction of the assize in the north iles, for ilk ship or bark, ilk tack that holds, not having regard of the said's ship-boats or yolles, there being but two boats to ilk ship at the farthest, which they do hereby liberate and exeem from all payment of any duty: and discharges all our sovereign lords liege's for exacting or uplifting any other assize from the said's fishers, nor the particular duties above specified: and ordains the collectors thereof to uplift the same legally, after ilk dreave, and to desist from troubling the fishers during the time thereof. act xl. act anent loyal packing of salmond. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates presently assembled, understanding that the salmond fishings are one of the principal benefits whereby trade is maintained, and money brought in the kingdom, and that through the evil ordering thereof, both in the insufficiency of the barrels, & also in the disloyal packing of the same, not only is the merchant's estate damnified thereby, but also the nation is dishonoured abroad, and disappointed of what should return thereby: therefore our said sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the said's estates, ordains an act to be made, ratifying and approving all and sundry acts of parliament, laws and constitutions of this realm, made anent salmond fishing, and the sufficiency of the barrels, and loyal packing thereof, with this addition, that the whole coupers within this kingdom, make the said salmond barrels of good and sufficient new knappell, wherefore he shall be answerable, without worme-holes, and white wood of sufficient tichtnesse, for containing the pickle, and sufficient tichtnesse for enduring all kind of stress in the handling, and that the barrels contain no less than ten gallons of the stirling pint, conform to an act of his majesty's council, of the date at halyrude-house, the fifteenth day of july 1619. years, which his majesty with consent foresaid, ratifies and approves in all the heads, clauses and articles thereof, to be ratified in this present parliament, under the pain of five pounds to be paid by the couper for ilk unsufficient barrel, and escheat, of the famine barrel, and that the famine be well pined in the pickle before the packing thereof, and thereafter the said barrels, to be well tichted and double girted, before the transporting thereof to foreign nations. and that no barrel be sooner made and blown, but the coupers' birne be set thereon, on the tapone staff thereof, in testimony of the sufficiency of the tree, and that every couper be answerable and liable in payment of such losses as happen to be laid on the fish at the market, if it be found to be in the default of the couper, by the insufficiency of the tree, or packing, or any other means in the coupers' fault, and that they keep right jedge both in the length of the staves, the bilge girth, the wideness of the head, and deepness of the chin, the barrel being made, marked, and thrice gene in the packing, shall be marked with the marking iron, under a very particular merchands mark, as use is, and that no burgh, or any other trading with salmond, shall presume to counterfeit the mark or birne of aberdene, under the pain of confiscation of the salmond, by and attour the punishment of the parties counterfeiters, at the pleasure of the judge ordinar, the one half of the said pain to pertain to his majesty, and the other half to the burgh so wronged: and ordains the magistrates within burgh to put this act to execution. act xli. act anent the king's majesty's rents, uplifted by warrant of the committee of estates for the public use. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering that during the time of the late troubles of this kingdom, there were some of his majesty's rents, customs and impost, uplifted and intrometted with, for serving of the present necessities of the public affairs of this kingdom, by warrant of the late committee of estates, and by other public orders, and that there were sundry bygone pensions and fees due to divers of his majesty's pensioners and servants, satisfied and paid to them, conform to their rights and pensions by order of the late committee of estates, residing at edinburgh: and his majesty being graciously pleased to approve and allow of the foresaids intromissions had, and payment made in manner, and for the causes above-written, therefore our said sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the said's estates of parliament, ratifies, approves and dispenses with all such intromission with his majesty's rents, customs and impost, as have been uplifted, paid and intrometted with, preceding the twenty ninth day of june last bypast, for the uses and causes foresaid: together with the payment of the same made by public order, as said is: and declares that the famine payment made, and intromission had by warrant from the said committee of estates, or by other public orders, preceding the said twenty ninth day of june last bypast, are and shall be sufficient exoneration to the payers of the said's rents, customs and impost, and to the receivers of the famine, by virtue of the said's public orders, and to all others concerned therein, like as the discharges upon the payment thereof by public order foresaid, shall be allowed to the payers of the same, in the accounts of their intromission, with his majesty's rents, customs and impost foresaid, to be made in his majesty's exchequer, whereanent their presents shall be a sufficient warrant to all that are concerned therintill, and to the lords and commissioners of his majesty's exchequer, to allow and defray the famine in the saids accounts to be made in exchequer by the chalmerlands, intrometters with, and receivers of his majesty's rents, customs and impost foresaid, and ordains count to be made of the said intromission in exchequer. act xlii. act anent the discharging of advocations for sums within an hundred pounds. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates presently convened, considering the manifold prejudices and trouble arising to divers of his majesty's liege's, in pursuing of matters of small importance, by the too frequent granting of advocations from inferior judges: therefore our said sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the said's estates, discharges the lords of session from giving and granting letters of advocation of any actions intended or to be intended before whatsoever inferior judicatories, which may competently, by the laws of the kingdom, be decided by the said's inferior judges, before whom the said action is or shall be intended, for sums of money within an hundred pounds, or for any other causes, whereunto by the laws of the kingdom the said's inferior judges are appointed judges. act xliii. act anent the directing of cocquets within the regality of saint andrew's, in the king's majesty's name. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the three estates of parliament, statutes and ordains, that all cocquets to be given forth within the regality of saint andrew's, now holden of the king's majesty, through the abolition of bishops, be directed and granted by john lord lindsay, and his deputes, cocquet-keepers, within the regality foresaid, in all time coming, in the king's majesty's name, whereas the famine were before directed in name of the archbishop of saint andrew's. act xliv. act discharging the trans. portation of eggs. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament find that it is necessary and expedient, for the good of the public, that the transporting of eggs out of this kingdom be restrained, in respect it brings not any considerable monies into the country, no ways comparable to the loss, considering the diet of poor labouring servants, who eat only bread, and drink water, if eggs were restrained, might be bettered, by getting eggs to his meat at an easy rate, or of his own, the breed of chickens, hens, and capons, would be in fare greater abundance, so that they might sell at two pence, a groat, and six pence, where they are now two groats, twelve pence, and eighteen pence: and where the eggs sell now at forty pennies, sometimes a groat, might be sold for twelve pennies, or eighteen pennies: and where they give five shillings six pence where the salt is made, they might sell their dearest for a two pence: therefore to grant a restraint under the pain of confiscation of the eggs, and an hundred pound, toties quoties, to be incurred by the party transporter, to be proved by witnesses, or oath of party. act xlv. act against destroyer's of planting, and others. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord, and estates of parliament, considering that parks and planting are great decorements, and much profitable to the kingdom, and that the demolishing and down-casting of the dikes of either, and spoiling of the ground and planting enclosed within the famine, by these who are evil affected to policy, is a great discouragement to many who are virtuously disposed to parking and planting: therefore his majesty, with consent of the estates, discharges all hawkers, hunters, travellers, and others persons whatsoever, to whom the 'samine parking and planting do not belong, from demolishing, down-casting, climbing, or any ways wronging of any of the dikes foresaids, parks and planting within the famine, under the pain of five pounds toties quoties: which fines, his majesty and estates foresaids declares to appertain to the owners of the said's parks and planting, they or their servants deprehending the failers: and if any other deprehend them, the one half to appertain to the deprehender, the other to the heritor, with power to the deprehender to pursue the contraveener before the ordinar judge: and if it shall happen the heritors own tenant to contraveen the act foresaid, with power to the heritors to unlaw them at their own pleasure, the penalty and unlaw always not exceeding the pain foresaid. act xlvi. act ordaining the pursuer of the thief to be restored to his own goods. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, understanding, that when any thiefs were taken and executed for theft, or declared fugitives for not entering and under-lying the law, therefore their whole escheat fell to the king's majesty, and the goods stolen, pertaining to the pursuer of the said's thiefs, and so the said party wronged was prejudged of his own geir: therefore, and for remeed whereof, our said sovereign lord and estates of parliament statutes and ordains, that any person, having any goods or geir stolen from them, and having pursued the stealer thereof, shall have their own goods again wherever the famine can be apprehended, although the thief stealer thereof suffer: and where the said's stolen goods cannot be had, ordains the pursuers of the said thief to have the just value, price, and avail of the goods and geir stolen from him, out of the readiest of the thiefs goods: together with the expenses they shall wair in the said pursuit, the pursuers always pursuing the thief, usque ad sententiam, reserving to the taker and sheriff the expenses bestowed by them in the taking and execution of the thief. act xlvii. act anent coale-hewers. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of this present parliament, ratifies the eleventh act of the eighteenth parliament of king james the sixth of worthy memory, made anent coale-hewers and salters, with this addition, that because watermens who laves and draws water in the coale-heuch-head in this kingdom, and gaits-men who work the ways and passages in the saids heuches, are als to the owners and masters of the said coale-heuchs as the coale-hewers and bearers, it is therefore statute and ordained, that no person shall hire or seduce any watermens, and winds-men, and gaits-men without a testimonial of the master whom they serve, under the pains contained in the former acts in all points: and because it is found by experience, that the giving of great fees hath been a mean and way to seduce and bring coale-hewers from their masters, it is therefore statute and ordained, that it shall not be lawful to any coale-masters in this kingdom to give any greater fee nor the sum of twenty marks in fee, or bounteth, under any colour or pretext: and because the said's coale-hewers, and salters, and others workmen in coale-heuchs within this kingdom, do lie from their work at pasch, yule, whitsunday and certain other times in the year, which times they employ in drinking and deboishrie, to the great offence of god, and prejudice of their master, it is therefore statute and ordained, that the said's coale-hewers and salters, and others workmen of coale-heuchs in this kingdom, work all the six days of the week, under the pains following, that is to say, that every coale-hewer or salter who lies idle, shall pay twenty shillings for every day, by and attour the prejudice sustained by their master, and other punishment of their bodies. act xlviii. act discharging the mixing of tin with lead. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of this present parliament, considering the great hurt sustained by his majesty's liege's by the fraudulent dealing of pewterers, in mixing the finer sort of tin brought from england, france, flanders, and other parts beyond sea, with base and courser mettle of tin and lead, & their exacting greater prices betwixt the new cassin by them, and the old, which they receive from the liege's: for remeed whereof, it is statute and ordained, that the pewterer or founder of tin shall put the mark of the thrissle, and his own name upon every piece of work that he happens to cast, and that the same shall be of the finest of the pewter marked with the rose in england: and in case the same be under the finesse of the said pewter of england, that the same shall be confiscate, and he punished in his person at the discretion of the magistrates of the burgh where he dwells: and to that effect, that there be a visitor apppointed by the magistrates for trying of the famine: as likewise that he shall take betwixt the pound of old tin and pewter, marked with the rose foresaid which he receives from the liege's, and the pound of new cassin by him, eighteen pennies allanerly, under the pain foresaid. act xlix. anent docqueting and presenting of signators. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the estates of parliament, considering that by the twentieth act of his majesty's dearest father king james the sixth his tenth parliament, for avoiding the prejudice did then arise by the subscribing of sundry signators and letters at the importunate suit and desire of sundry persons, his highness not being informed or timely warned to the effect and contents thereof, therefore his majesty, with the advice of the estates convened in parliament, did statute and ordain, that no signator nor letter whatsoever shall be presented to his majesty in time coming, but by his ordinary officers, unto whom the famine properly belongeth, or who have power of docqueting and presenting by their patents, as the act at more length beareth: and his majesty, with advice and consent foresaid, also considering how prejudicial it is to his majesty's honour, and the peace and good of his majesty's subjects, that signators of one and the same thing without his majesty's certain knowledge, shall pass his majesty's hand in favours of several persons, or that letters of contrary tenours shall be signed by his majesty, and directed to officers and judges within this kingdom, the only occasion thereof is, that others than the said officers, or their deputes, or others foresaid, to whom the famine may belong, takes upon them to present signators and letters to his majesty for their friends and acquaintance, either not knowing the former signator or letters of contrary strain, or of set knowledge to reverse what hath been done before, without giving true information or reasons to move his majesty to sign these signators, or wrest contrary letters: for remeed whereof, his majesty, with advice and consent foresaid, ratifies and approves the foresaid act in all the points thereof, and declares that it shall not be leisome or permitted to any person or persons whatsoever, to present any signator, writ, letters, or warrant to be signed by his majesty, except by the said's ordinary officers, unto whose office the famine properly belongs, and by others foresaids, having power and warrant, as said is: and that his majesty may the better know what passeth his highness' hand, and upon what grounds and reasons he signs the famine, it is expedient, that any of the said's officers that shall present any signator, writ, letter, or warrant, to be signed by his majesty, shall cause register the docquet of the same in a register, and send the just and authentic double thereof, subscribed with their hand, to his majesty's secretary, who shall be obliged to give his majesty notice and timous warning of any prior deed, different or contrair to the posterior, that his majesty may either refuse the same, or specify his majesty's certain knowledge for passing and signing thereof. act l. act anent the election of the precedent of parliament. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering how necessary and expedient it is, that in every parliament to be holden within this kingdom, there be a precedent of parliament chosen by his majesty, or his commissioner, and estates of parliament, to proceed in all matters to be agitate in parliament, therefore his majesty, with advice and consent foresaid, statutes and ordains, that in all succeeding parliaments, after taking of the oath of parliament by all the members thereof, they shall make choice of the lord chancellor, or any other the king, or his commissioner, and the estates shall appoint, to be precedent of parliament, who shall remain and continue precedent als well in that parliament wherein he is chosen, as in the next parliament subsequent, until the said oath be taken, and another chosen to be precedent in his room. act li. act anent the superiority of lands, and others, which formerly held of bishops and their chapters, to be now holden of the king. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, for removing all doubts and questions that may arise anent the superiorities of these lands, milnes, fishings, heritable offices, and others which held of the late pretended bishops or of their chapters, by reason of the abolishing of bishops and chapters foresaid, forth of this kirke and kingdom, and to the effect the subjects and vassals of these holdings may be put in assurance here-anent, have statute, ordained, and declared, and by their presents statutes, ordains and declares, that all these superiorities which formerly pertained to the said's pretended bishops and their chapters, now abolished, as said is, do now pertain and belong, and shall hereafter pertain to our sovereign lord, & his highness' successors in all time coming: and that the vassals of these lands, mills, fishings, heritable offices, and others, which formerly held of the famine bishops and their chapters, do now, and shall in time coming hold the famine of our sovereign lord the king's majesty and his successors, in the same form and manner of holding, as they formerly held of the said's bishops and their chapters, conform to the said's vassals their infestments and rights, made and pertaining to them, which are hereby declared to be unprejudged by the abolishing of the said's bishops and their chapters, their former superiors: and siclike, our said sovereign lord and estates of parliament declare all these services of heirs to their defunct predecessors, to any of the lands and others, holden of the said's bishops (since the excommunication of bishops,) whereby these heirs are served to the said's lands to be holden of the king's majesty, to be vallid and lawful services and rights led and done: and ordains all such services as are to be led & deduced hereafter, for serving of the heirs of the vassals of the lands and others foresaids, as heirs in the famine lands, to be served heirs thereintill, to be holden of the king's majesty and his successors foresaids, as their superiors of the famine lands and others above mentioned, in all time coming, with this provision, that the few duties of these lands holden of the chapters now retained in titulo, shall pertain and be paid them, during the present titulars lifetimes: and it is declared, that this present act shall not be prejudicial to the infestment granted by his majesty to the duke of lennox of the superiority of the whole lands and baronies which pertained to the temporality of the archbishopric of glasgow, but that the said infestment shall stand vallid in the self, and the vassals to hold their lands of the said duke of lennox and his successors, as their superiors thereof in time coming: and also declares their presents, neither act nor reservation foresaid, shall not be extended to the deanery or sub-deanrie of glasgow, nor nothing holden of the dean or subdean: as also but prejudice to the earl of lauderdaill, of his infestments of stobo and ettilstoun, which is no ways prejudged by this act nor reservation foresaid, providing that this provision shall not better, nor strengthen the earl of lauderdails right and infestment foresaid, but the famine to be in that famine condition, as before the date of their presents. act lii. commission for revising of the registers. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering that this long time bygone the registers and records of parliament have not been visited, so that some of the ancient records might have been abstracted, vitiate, or disordered: therefore our sovereign lord and estates foresaids, gives full power and commission to the persons following, viz. the lord chancellor, the earl of argyle, earl of lauderdaill, and clerk register, to meet when the lord chancellor shall appoint to take inspection, and revise and look over all the whole registers and records of parliament, aswell these in the castle, as these in other men's custody, and to call for the old inventars' thereof, and compare them with the registers, and to make two new authentic inventars' thereof, without copying of the said's registers and records: which inventars' shall be subscribed by the most part of the visitors, the one whereof shall be delivered to the clerk register, to be kept by him, the other inventar shall be laid up, either with their honours, or some other lockfast place, whereof the lord chancellor for the time shall keep the key, and to cause make presses, boxes, buists, or other necessaries fitting for keeping of the said's registers and records, and also to consider of the place and house where the said's registers lie, and to advise and appoint the best ways and means for preserving and sure custody of the said's registers and records, with power also to them to mark and observe any defect or wants in the saids registers and records, and the vitiations thereof, if any be: and siclike, to mark, number, and put in perfect order, the said's registers and records, with power also to make a perfect index of all the unprinted acts of parliament which do not concern particularly private persons, but such as import and concern only generally the whole liege's: and siclike, gives full power to the persons foresaids to lay up the principal late treaty amongst the saids records and registers, and generally to do all and sundry other things, whereby the said's registers and records may be preserved, and their perfections or imperfections may be notified: and ordains them to make report of their faithful and exact diligence hereintill at the next parliament. and our sovereign lord and estates foresaid, declares their presents is no ways prejudicial to the clerk register of receiving, keeping, and using of the said's registers, and keys thereof, in the mean time conform to his right and place. act liii. act anent cocquets, and entries of ships, modifying the entry to 23. shillings 4. pennies, and the cocquet to 40. shillings. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates presently convened, understanding there are divers abuses committed by the customers and receivers of entries of ships, and by the keepers of the cocquet, in sometime exacting from masters of ships greater sums of money than is due to them, and sometimes absenting themselves, to the great prejudice of the merchant's estate, and to the hazard of the loss of their voyage: therefore our sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the estates, ordains, that there be no greater price exacted for entering their ships and goods, than the sum of twenty three shillings four pennies, and for the said cocquet, than the sum of forty shillings: and that the keepers of the said cocquet attend by themselves, or their servants, diligently and readily, to answer and give out cocquets to all merchants, and masters of ships, under pain of losing their place, whensoever they shall be found, either to exact more than the said sum above written, or shall occasion to the said's merchants and masters more delay nor is needful for writing of the same. act liv. act anent discharging the registration of comprisings, and appointing the recording and allowing of comprisings, and prices thereof. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, having taken to their consideration, that the registration of comprisings hath put the liege's to great, needless, and unnecessary charges and expenses, and that the famine doth neither add to the validity of the comprisings, nor to the benefit of the comprisers: and therefore have discharged, and by the tenor hereof discharges all registration of comprisings, together with all gifts, acts of council, and others warrants, consuetude or custom whatsoever, granted or observed thereanent: and declares, that the famine gifts, acts of council, and others warrants, consuetude or custom, to be null and of none avail, force nor effect, in all time coming. and siclike, our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering, that a short record of all comprisings of lands and rents, heritable bands, contracts, reversions, and others, and legals thereof, viz. of the comprisers names and designations, the defenders names, the debt for the which the comprising is used, the lands and others comprised, the maissers and clerks names, the times of the denunciations and executions, and witnesses thereto, and date of the comprisings, and of the superiors of the lands comprised, is very for the liege's their informations: therefore statutes and ordains, that all comprisers shall be obliged to bring their comprisings to the clerk of the bills, within threescore days after the date of the comprisings, to the effect that the famine may be allowed by the lords of council and session, at the which time, ordains the said clerk to the bills, to make a record of the said's comprisings in a book, wherein all comprisings shall be recorded in manner above written: for the which allowance and recording of the said comprising in manner above-written, the clerk shall have forty shillings for the whole record of ilk comprising and allowance: and siclike for the extract of ilk record of the said's comprisings that shall be extracted under the said clerk his hands, our sovereign lord and estates ordains the sum of twenty shillings for every extract, to be paid to the said clerk of the bills, as due price competent to him therefore, which sum, the said clerk shall not transcend, under the pains contained in the acts of parliament. act lv. act discharging the lords of session, to exact twelve pennies for the pound, and all other exactions. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the estates of parliament, considering that the senators of the college of justice, are sufficiently provided by his majesty and estates, for serving their places without further burden of the liege's: therefore his majesty and estates foresaids, discharges in all time coming, all sentence silver, twelve pennies of the pound, and other exactions imposed upon sentences and decreets to be pronounced by the saids judges: and discharges all acts, statutes and ordinances, made for payment thereof: with power always to the said's judges, to modify such charges to the parties in whose favours the said's decreets and sentences shall be pronounced, as in equity and conscience they shall think reasonable, and as the malicious and wilful pleyars, pursuers, or defenders shall deserve. act lvi. act anent pardon of penal statutes. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord considering, that the precise and rigorous exaction of the pain arbitrary and pecunial adjected to penal statutes heretofore made, would prove a burden to his majesty's liege's, heavy, and insupportable, if by his majesty's grace and favour they should not be eased and liberate of the same: in consideration whereof, his majesty being willing to give ease and relief to his subjects of the foresaid burden, hath therefore been graciously pleased, with consent of the estates of parliament, to discharge freely, pardon and remit, and by these presents discharges freely, pardons, and remitts all contraveeners of any of the said penal statutes, for all deeds done by them, contrary to the tenor of the same statutes in time bygone, except only the statutes concerning the unlawful taking of usury, transporting of money and gold, slaying of red and black fish, with the penalties incurred by the concealers of annual rents, and wrongous up-givers of the inventars of their money, which are no ways discharged by this present act nor comprehended under the same. act lvii. act in favours of orphans, fatherless, and others. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord, with the advice and consent of the estates of this present parliament, understanding many pitiful effects daily found and increasing, anent the misery and poverty of orphans and fatherless children, to have been occasioned in this manner, that many ignorant people, the time of the acquiring to them of bands, contracts, and other securities for payment of sums of money, takes the famine to them, their herres, executors, and assigns, with clause and condition of payment of annual rent therefore during the not payment of the said principal sum, meaning thereby, that the famine should no ways remain unprofitable during the not payment thereof, and no ways that the said clause or condition should make the said sums and securities thereof to pertain to the heir in prejudice of their bairnes and others nearest of kin by the heir, whereas by the contrary by the interpretation now observed, all such sums and securities bearing annual or profit, are exponed to be heretable after the term of payment, and to pertain to the heir, so that thereby the rest of the children nearest of kin, and others having interest, are altogether therefrom secluded, and left pitifully unprovided of any means to live on, as also the said's bands and contracts, are very oft fraudfully concealed and abstracted, and never known to the true owner thereof, that in due time they might make use of the same, which is against both equity and conscience, and the intention of the party acquirer of the said's securities, whereby great number of orphans, fatherless children and others that are so prejudged of that's due to them, eitherby their natural portion or otherways adebted, are brought to great poverty, and misery, and forced to become beggars, which is oft found by pitiful experience. for remeed whereof, our said sovereign lord, with advice of the said's estates, statutes and ordains, that all contracts, or bands, for sums of money payable to parties, with condition of payment of annuallrent or profit made at any time hereafter, shallbe holden, and estimate, to pertain to the bairnes and nearest of kin to the defunct, except seizing follow thereupon in the life time of the creditor acquirer thereof, or that by the tenor of the band or contract, the famine be conceived to be payable to the heirs and assigns, secluding the executors, or other ways that the said band or contract bear per expressum, oblishment to infest, in either of the which excepted cases ordains the saids sums to be heretable, and pertain to the heir, and out with the said's excepted cases, ordains the said sums to be confirmed by the executor without payment of any quote for the famine, and that to the end the nearest of kin and others having interest, as said is, be no ways frustrate of what may be due to them, nor yet the said bands or contracts fraudfully concealed and abstracted from them, every one of them for their own parts, providing always that by virtue of this present act, the bands or contracts hereby ordained to pertain to the nearest of kin to the defunct, and to be confirmed, shall not fall under the compass of escheat, nor yet any part thereof pertain to the relic jure relictae, but shall remain in the own nature quo ad siscum et relictam, as they were before the making of this act. act lviii act on favours of the vassals of ward lands, holding of the king and prince. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, taking to consideration the bounty and benevolence of his majesty's most noble progenitors, king james the 2. and king james the 4. in giving their vassals liberty to set their ward lands few, and herewith also remembering that by the 16. act of his majesty's first parliament, anno 1633. his majesty and the prince his highness their vassals of ward lands, are altogether secluded from that benefit of his majesty's bounty and benevolence foresaid, which prejudice is by the 37. act of the session of this present parliament holden in june, 1640. years, recommended to be considered at the next meeting thereafter of the said parliament, and during that interim the force and execution of the said act 1633. is suspended and suppressed, and now his majesty being graciously pleased of his royal favour and bounty that the vassals of ward lands holding of his sacred majesty and of the prince his highness, may enjoy their former liberty, with the benefit of his majesty and his most noble progenitors their bounty and benevolence foresaid, unprejudged or empared by foresaid act, 1633. therefore our said sovereign lord and estates of parliament rescinds and annuls the foresaid 16. act of his majesty's first parliament, in anno 1633. years, intitulate, anent vassals holding ward, and declares the famine act to be null, of none avail, force, strength, nor effect in all time coming, in so fare as the famine act is, or may be extended to the lands holden ward of the king or prince, as said is: and declares the vassals of the ward lands foresaids, and others his majesty's liege's and subjects, to be in that same estate and condition, and have the same liberty concerning ward lands, which they had before the making of the said act, and as if the famine had never been made, which our said sovereign lord & estates of parliament declares to be extinct, and of none avail, force, nor effect in all time hereafter. act lix. anent the breadth of plaiding. 16. november, 1641. whereas our sovereign lord and estates presently assembled, understanding that the plaiding of this kingdom is one of the most ancient & prime commodities thereof, which of late through the inconstancy of the breadth, is likely to become of no estimation abroad. therefore our sovereign lord, with advice of the said estates, ordains the makers thereof to make the same of no less breadth then of three quarters of an elne, under pain of confiscation of all that shallbe found of a lesser breadth, and farther, understanding that the lords of his majesty's council had, for eschewing of the deceit in making thereof, ordained the same to be presented in folds and not in rolls to the market, as it was used of before, therefore his majesty, with consent and advice foresaid, ratifies and approves the said act of council dated at edinburgh the twenty fourth day of march, 1635. years, in all the heads, clauses, and circumstances thereof, and ordains the same to takefull execution, and to stand as a law in all time coming. act lx. act in favours of laic patrons of provestries, prebandries, chaplandries and alterages. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, ratifies and approves the act of parliament made by king james the sixth his majesty's father of eternal memory, par. 1. cap. 12. anent provestries, prebandries, alterages, chaplandries and collegiall kirks, pertaining to laic patroness, together with the act of parliament 12. cap. 158. ratifying the famine, and ordains the said acts to have full force and effect in all time coming, with this declaration always, that in respect the vassals which held lands of the said's provests, prebanders, and others foresaids, are put to a great uncertainty of their superiors, it not being known to them, who are provided to the said's provestries, prebandries, chaplandries, alterages, and others foresaids, by reason there is no public register, to the which they may have recourse for knowledge and notice thereof, and that the farthest that they can know by any registers, is the infeftments and seasings made to these who are laic patrons holding of his majesty: therefore for securing of the vassals, who hold lands, mills, fishings, tenements, annual rents of others whatsoever of the said's provestries, prebandries of collegiall kirks, or of chaplandries, alterages and others of that nature, at any time of before: it is stature and ordained that the entry of the said's vassals by retour precept of clare constat, resignation, comprysing, or other ways whatsoever, shall pertain to the laic patroness and their successors, who stands infest in the said laic patronages holding immediately of his majesty, and that the entry of the vassals by them, shall be als vallid and sufficient to the said's vassals receivers thereof, as if they were entered by the titulars of the said's provestries, prebandries, alterages, chaplandries, and others foresaids, and that the said laic patrons shall be in all time coming in their places as superior to the said vassals, and to have the same power, to give infeftments to his majesty's subjects upon retour, or by precept of clare constat, or by resignation, comprising, or any other manner of way, with gifts de novo damus, and that without consent of persons, provided, or to be provided to the said's provestries and prebandries of collegiall kirks, alterages, chaplandries, or others titulars of collegiall kirks, and also without consent of the chapter or convent of the said prebandries thereof, or most part of the same, which of before was in use and custom, whereanent and anent all acts in the contrair his majesty with consent foresaid, dispenses for ever, reserving always to the titulars of the said's provestries, prebandries, alterages, chaplandries, and others foresaids, the fruits, rents, and emoluments of the said's provestries, prebandries and others foresaids, which are no ways prejudged by this present act. it is hereby father statute and ordained, where there is any prebandries, chaplandries, alterages, or others foundations of that nature above mentioned, founded and situate within any burgh royal of this kingdom, that the provest, bailiffs, and council of that burgh where the famine are founded, are and shall be in all time coming only indoubted superiors, by whom, and by no others, the vassals and tenants, enter in manner above specified, the provest and bailiffs being always patrons. act lxi. act discharging quotes of testaments. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the estates of parliament, taking to consideration the great burden, hurt, and prejudice his majesty's liege's have sustained their many years bygone, by exacting of great quote the time of the confirmation of the defuncts testaments, to the wasting and consuming of the means and estates of minors in special, and to the general grievance of persons of all sorts: therefore our sovereign lord, with consent foresaid, out of his highness' gracious care, and fatherly affection to the weal and ease of all his majesty's subjects, statutes and ordains, that no quote shall hereafter be paid by any of his majesty's subjects, for any testament of whatsoever quality, to be confirmed by them: and for that effect discharges all commissars, commissars clerks, fischals, and others whom it effeirs, not to exact nor uplift any quote, for whatsoever testament to be confirmed hereafter, the party confirmer paying allanerly the other ordinar deuce as appertain. act lxii. commission for regulating of commissariates. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the estates of parliament, hath given and granted, and by the tenor hereof gives and grants full power and commission to these persons, who shall be nominate by the lords of secret council, to whom his majesty and estates of parliament remits and refers the nomination of the commissioners to the effect after specified, or any five of the said's commissioners, to be nominate by the saids lords of secret council, as said is, for ordering the commissars jurisdiction, and clearing the bounds and limits thereof, that there be no occasion of question betwixt them and other inferior judges, with power to the said's commissioners to regulate their judicatories, and set down prices upon the seals, testaments, summons, acts, decreets, and all other writs concerning that office, to be taken by commissars, their clerk, or procutor fischall, all quotes of testaments being specially discharged to be exacted in any time coming, and to settle and establish the fees of the commissars of edinburgh: and for that effect to meet and conveen at edinburgh the _____ day of _____ with power to them to appoint diets as oft as they shall think fit, until the said commission take effect anent the particulars foresaid: and whatsoever the said's commissioners, or their quorum, shall determine and conclude thereanent, our sovereign lord, with advice foresaid, ratifies and approves, and ordains the same to have the strength, force, and authority of an act of parliament. act lxiii. act discharging monopolies. 16. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering the great hurt and prejudice sustained by sundry his majesty's liege's, by the monopolies used and exacted within this kingdom, and which have been conferred to the use of any particular person or persons, to the great hurt and prejudice of others his majesty's liege's, and specially the gift for selling tobacco, granted to sir james lesley, and thomas dalmahoy, the patent of the leather granted to the earl of marre, the patent of pearling granted to _____ bannatine, the patent of pearl granted to robert buchane, the patent of armoury granted to harrie mauld, therefore our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, by the tenor hereof annuls, rescinds, and simply discharges the particular gifts foresaids, granted to the persons above written, and all that may follow, or hath followed thereupon, and ordains the same and all other patents of that nature, purchased or to be purchased for the benefit of particular persons, in prejudice of the public, to cease and be ineffectual in all time coming. act lxiv. commission for manufactories. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering how necessary, expedient, and profitable the erecting and maintaining of manufactories will be for this kingdom, as well in keeping great quantities of money within the same, which is now daily exported for wrought commodities, as in setting poor ones on work, restraining of idle beggars, increase of virtue, and bringing of monies into the country: and this being a matter of so great goodness, wished by every man, and oft times aimed at, to be brought to some perfection, as witness many several acts of parliament, acts of convention and council, especially king james the sixth his seventh parliament, cap. 113. item king james 6. his 15. parliament, cap. 250. and 252. item the acts of council, may 1597. july 1600. november 1601. december 1601. may 1612. octob. 1614 august 1616. july 1620. feb. 1623. july 1623. item the acts of convention, june 1605. november 1625. august 1626. yet the famine hath not as yet made any considerable progress, for want of cherishing, entertainment, and right order for prosecution thereof: in consideration whereof, his majesty and estates of parliament, being resolved to use all ordinar means for erecting, cherishing, and maintaining of manufactories within this kingdom, and his majesty, with advice and consent foresaid, being graciously pleased to grant all liberties, privileges and immunities to the erectors thereof, therefore his majesty and estates foresaid, gives, grants and commits to these persons, or quorum thereof, who shall be nominate by the lords of secret council, (to whom the king's majesty and parliament hereby gives the nomination of the said's commissioners, and quorum thereof foresaid, to the effect after specified,) full power, warrant and commission, to meet and conveen at edinburgh, or any other place or places, at such days and times they or the said quorum shall think fitting, and there to consult, advise and determine upon the best rules, overtures and propositions, and ways for erecting and maintaining of the said's manufactories of all sorts: with power to them, or the said quorum to call and conveen before and with them, any person or persons who can give them information or assistance in the saids businesses: as also with power to them, or their said quorum to appoint correction-houses in such parts of the kingdom, as they shall think most conducible for the good of the said's manufactories, and restraint of idle and masterless beggars: as also with power to them to prescribe rules and ways for assisting, supplying, and maintaining of these who have already, or shall, during the time of this commission, erect and entertain any of the said's manufactories, and to direct letters against masterless people, and their receptars, as well to burgh as land-ward, commanding them to work at such reasonable rates, as the said commissioners, or quorum thereof, shall appoint: with power likewise to them to make corporations, and to grant them privileges, conform to the laws of the kingdom. and sicklike, his majesty, with advice foresaid, out of his gracious favour and bounty, doth hereby, for the better encouragement to all these who have undertaken, or shall undertake the erecting and maintaining of the said's manufactories, or any one thereof, gives and grants to them the privileges and immunities following, viz. all spanish and foreign fine wool, for making of fine cloth, shall be custom free: item, all litster ware, oil, and others necessaries for the use of the said's works allanerly, shall be free of all customs and impost: item, all parcels of cloth, seyes, and others, made by any who have erected, or shall erect any of the said's works, shall be custom and impost free for the space of fifteen years after the erecting thereof: item, the workers of the said's works erected, or to be erected, shall be free of any taxation or imposition to be imposed on the kingdom for any occasion bygone or to come: item, it shall not be leasome to any in the kingdom to hire, reset, or entertain any of the servants of the said works, without consent of the masters thereof. act lxv. commission by the king and parliament, to the lords of secret council. 16. november, 1641. our sovereign lord, with advice and consent of the estates of parliament, considering that his majesty being now actually present in his royal person in this his native and ancient kingdom, and willing before his return to england (where his majesties more ordinat residence hath been heretofore, and will apparently be in time coming) to leave behind him such a pledge and testimony of his tender respect, royal care, and fatherly affection for establishing the good and happy government of this his majesty's ancient kingdom, as in some measure may supply the want of his royal presence amongst them, hath to this effect, out of his native goodness, condescended to an act made in this present session of parliament with consent of the estates, whereby his majesty for himself and his successors, hath willed, enacted, and ordained, that now and in all time coming, the officers of state, lords of secret council, and lords of session, on whose care, wisdom, and fidelity in their several judicatories (which next unto the supreme court of parliament are the chief and principal judicatories) depends the weal and happiness of the government, shall be chosen now and in all time coming, by his majesty and his successors, with advice and approbation of the estates of parliament when they are sitting, and for the interim, with advice of the lords of secret council and session respective, as in the said act of parliament at more length is contained: therefore his majesty hath, with special advice and approbation of the said's estates, nominated, elected and chosen the persons after following, lord loudoun chancellor, duke of lennox, marquis of hammiltoun, earl of argyle, earl martial, earl of sutherland, earl of mar, earl of mortoun, earl of eglintoun, earl of cassils', earl of glencairn, earl of murray, earl of pearth, earl of dumfermling, earl of wigtoun, earl of kinghorne, earl of roxburgh, earl of sea-forth, earl of lauderdaill, earl of lothian, earl of kinnowl, earl of southesk, earl of weymes, earl of dalhoussie, earl of finlater, earl of lanerk, earl of levin, lord angus, lord lindesay, lord yester, lord sinclair, lord elphingstoun, lord balmerino, lord burghlie, lord almond, lord balcarras, clerk register, advocate, justice clerk, thesaurer depute, master of requests, sir robert gordoun, sir william douglas, sir patrick hepburne, lord dundas, lord fintrie, lord cambo, lord dun, lord inns, lord morphie, the provest of edinburgh for the time being, and their supernumerary councillors english, viz. _____ earl of arundall, _____ earl of pembroke, earl of salisbury, _____ earl of holland, to whom, or any nine of them, by these supernumerary above named, his majesty with advice and consent of the said estates hath committed, and commits the administration and government of this his majesty's native kingdom in all affairs concerning the peace, good, and happiness thereof, which by the laws and custom of this kingdom, pertains to the judgement, cognition, and determination of his majesty's privy council, with power to them, or any nine of them, as said is, to meet and conveen at the place apppointed for the ordinair residence of his majesty's privy council within the burgh of edinburgh, or at any other place or places, which by common consent in case of any necessity or urgent occasion thereof, shall be found most fit and convenient, and there to advice, consult, deliberate, conclude, decern, and determine upon all and sundry affairs, purposes, and actions, which may concern the good and peace of the kingdom, according to the laws and acts of parliament established, or to be established within the famine, and to hear, decide, and determine upon all causes and actions betwixt subject and subject proper to be decided by the lords of his majesty's privy council, and that none be present at their meetings but such as are of the privy council, with the clerk of the privy council, whom his majesty with advice foresaid continues in his place as of before: his majesty with advice and consent foresaid hath likewise given and granted, and by the tenor hereof gives and grants full power and commission to the said council and every one of them upon any interveening occasion of disorder or trouble in such parts of the country, where they shall remain for the time, to command and charge the person or persons committers of such disorders to observe and keep his majesty's peace, and to charge the contraveeners thereof to enter their persons in ward, in such part or places, or within such a short space, as the said counsellor shall think meet, there to remain till order be taken by a full number of the council in the matter wherein they have offended, providing always he be comptable to his majesty and the rest of the council, and that no just cause of complaint be heard against him: and if the person or persons so charged to ward, shall happen to disobey and contemn the charge, his majesty with advice and consent of the said's estates declares, that upon report thereof to the council, a pecunial sum shall be imposed upon the offender, according to the quality of his person and nature of his offence, and the council is to cause apprehend the offenders, and commit them to ward, with power likewise to the said council to make and set down acts and ordinances for government of the kingdom, and suppressing of disorders within the same, with power likewise to the said council, to give and appoint assessors to the justice general and his deputies in case of necessity, and to give warrant to the said justice, his deputes, and assessors, for continuing execution after conviction, or for mitigating the punishment of the law in criminal causes, if the nature and quality of the crimes shall require, & to grant commissions of justiciary in matters criminal, & other commissions in matters concerning the weal of the kingdom, and als with power to them to give warrant to the said justice general, his deputes and others commissioners foresaids, for imponing of fines or pecunial sums upon the crimes of adultery, bearing and wearing of hagbuts and pistolets, usury, and such other transgressors of the acts of parliament, where the punishment by the law is inflicted upon body or goods, or left to the arbitrament of the judge: and likewise with power to them, to grant exemptions from hosts, raids, assizes and licences, for departing out of the kingdom, according to the conditions contained in the act of parliament: and also with power to the said council, in case an open and avowed rebellion shall happen to be raised within the said kingdom, which cannot be redressed but by force, to give commission of lieutenantrie and justiciary for repressing of the said rebellion, and to direct charges to such parts of the country as they shall think fit for concurrence to be given in execution of the said commission, and to give order and direction to furnish and advance the sums of money that shall be requisite in such expeditions: with power likewise to the said council to raise the session upon any interveening occasion or necessity, and to appoint times and places of their down sitting: and generally, with power to the said council, to do, use and exerce all and every thing, which the council of the said kingdom did, or might have done the time of his majesty's late father: providing always, like as his majesty expressly provides, with advice and consent foresaid, that this commission shall no ways be prejudicial to the commission of exchequer: and it is declared that any nine of the said council shall be a sufficient number and make a session, providing the lord chancellor be one of the nine: and in case of the absence of the said lord chancellor, it is declared that it shall be lawful to any nine or moe of the council convened in the ordinar place, and at the indicted time of meeting, to choose one of the number convened, who shall preside at the meeting als oft as the lord chancellor shall be absent. and his majesty and estates, considering that the often absence of the most part of the council, and their not attendance upon the charge and trust concreded unto them, will be a great impediment and hindrance to his majesty's service, therefore his majesty, with advice foresaid, declares, that it is his special pleasure and command, that the lord chancellor, or precedent of the council, to be elected as said is, do see and provide that the council be frequent, specially in great and weighty matters of estate: and if upon occasion that requires the number of the council to be more full than the said quorum, the lord chancellor, or precedent to be elected in manner foresaid, shall write to such others of the council as they think fit to be present, and give their attendance: in which case, if any disobey, without a licence obtained from his majesty, or the quorum of the council, or without some reasonable cause (either of which shall excuse their absence) then and in that case his majesty, with advice foresaid, wills, that the absent shall be censured by the said council, as a neglecter of his majesty's service, and that his majesty be advertised thereof. and it is declared, that if any of the said's counsellors places vaiks by decease, dimission, or deprivation, that his majesty in the interim shall nominate another of the same degree and quality in the vacant place, with advice of the most part of the lords of privy council, they being all present at the said election, at the least lawfully warned to that effect, upon fifteen day's warning, conform to the act of parliament made thereanent: which election made in the interim, as said is, shall be allowed or disallowed by his majesty, with consent of the estates in the next ensuing parliament, as they shall think expedient. and als his majesty, with consent of the said's estates, gives power to the said's lords of secret council, or any nine of them, as said is, to set down such rules and orders for their meetings and attendance, and spaces and times thereof, as they shall resolve, appoint, and ordain amongst themselves: and wills and declares, that the said's lords of secret council, now nominate, as said is, and these who shall be surrogate in their places in the interim, in manner foresaid, shall have, bruik, and enjoy their places ad vitam vel ad culpam, and shall be liable to the censure of his majesty and the estates of parliament, anent their proceed therein, firm and stable, holding whatever by the saids lords, or any nine of them, as said is, shall be lawfully done in the premises: and decernes and ordains all his majesty's liege's and subjects to reverence, acknowledge and obey the said's lords of his majesty's council in all things concerning the charge and trust committed to them, as said is, under all highest pain and charge which after may follow: and this commission to endure to the next parliament and longer, ay and while the same be expressly discharged. act lxvi. act discharging the custom of two and an half of the hundred, and the impost of four pounds on the tun. 17. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering that the prices of all merchandise do daily rise to exceeding great dearths, which is alleged to be occasioned through extraordinary customs and impositions: for remeed whereof his majesty, with advice and consent of his said's estates, doth discharge all and sundry whatsoever customs and impositions exacted by the customers, which are not allowed and approved by the acts of parliament, and especially the late custom of two and an half per centum, and late new imposition of four pound upon the tun of wine, and all raising of his majesty's customs, directly or indirectly, without consent of parliament. and because that the too much troubling of merchant estate, and drawing of masters and mariners from their ordinary charges, doth much impede the trade: therefore his majesty, with advice and consent foresaid, discharges the taking of merchants, masters, and mariners oaths in the matter of customs: and to the end that the subject of trade may not be restrained with unnecessary customs, therefore his majesty, with consent foresaid, declares, that all goods and merchandise imported from foreign places to this kingdom and out, paying inward custom, shall be free of all outward custom, according as is used in england and ireland. like as his majesty declares, that he consented to the act above written upon this condition, that commission and warrant be granted to the exchequer to establish the book of rates according as the prices of merchandise now rules, and his majesty permitted the option to the burrowes: whereupon the burrowes having advised, they made choice to be ruled by the book of rates anent the customs, and consented that commission should be granted to the exchequer to establish the book of rates, according as the prices of merchandise now rules: in respect whereof, our sovereign lord and estates of parliament ordain a commission to be drawn up to the exchequer to the effect foresaid, and extracted thereupon, for establishing the book of rates, according as the prices of merchandise now rules. and therefore our said sovereign lord and estates of parliament, ordains the act above mentioned to stand as a law in manner, and to the effect before rehearsed. act lxvii. act in favours of minors anent the duties of the lands comprised from them. 17. november 1641. our sovereign lord, with advice of estates of parliament, ratifies and approves the act of parliament made in august 1621. cap. 6. in so fare as the famine concerns minors, and declares, that the true meaning thereof was and is, that minors, having right to the legal reversion, should be no further obliged, than during their minority of 21 years of age, but allanerly for the annual rent of the sums contained in the comprisings, and that they tyne not the right of the superplus of the nails and duties of the lands, so fare as the famine exceeds the said annual rents enduring their said minority. act lxviii. act ordaining the commissioners for the thesaurarie. 17. november 1641. our sovereign lord, considering that his majesty was lately pleased to condescend to the humble desire of his majesty's estates of parliament, to nominate by their advice and approbation, his officers of estate, of whom his majesty's high thesaurer is one, and that his majesty for the present is not resolved upon the nomination of any particular person, to enjoy the said place, but hath with advice of the said's estates, taken present course to supply the want of a principal thesaurer, by a committee, therefore his majesty with consent of the said's estates, makes, nominates and constitutes, john earl of loudoun, high chancellor of this kingdom, archbald earl of argyle, lord campbel and lorne, william earl of glencairne lord kilmars, john lord lindesay of struther, and sir james carmichael of that ilk knight, thesaurer depute, his majesty's commissioners to the effect under-written: and gives and grants to them or any three of them, the full place and power of his majesty's high thesaurer, controller, collector and thesaurer of his majesty's new augmentations, with all liberties, privileges, immunities, benefits and emoluments whatsoever pertaining to the said place of high treasurer, controller, collector and thesaurer of his majesty's new augmentations, and that in as ample manner and quality, as the famine was in the persons of any of his majesty's high thesaurers, in any time of before: with power to them, or any three of them, to uplift, gather, and intromet with all and sundry his majesty's rents, revenues, customs, imposts, casualties, commodities, duties, and others whatsoever, any ways belonging to his majesty within this kingdom, or to his majesty's dearest son the prince, and that of all years and terms bygone, and yearly in time coming, and with power to them, or any three of them, with advice of the remanent commissioners of exchequer, contained in his majesty's commission under the great seal, and according to the tenor thereof, to compone, pass and subscribe signators, gifts, confirmations, escheats, liferents, remissions, tutories, gifts by forfeiture, recognition, wards, marriages, relief, non-entresses, legittimations, presentations, takes, rentals, licences, dispensations and others dispositions, writs and securities whatsoever, pertaining to the said's offices, or any of them, or to the power and privileges thereof, but prejudice always to the said sir james carmichael thesaurer depute, of his gifts of the office of thesaurary depute, whole liberties, power and privileges therein contained, which are holden, as herein expressed, but adding or paring to him in the point of receiving, and without derogation in any sort to this present act and commission: and it is declared that the yearly fees and other casualties due to his majesty's principal thesaurer, and especially the sum of four thousand pounds scots money shall be divided equally amongst the said's first four of the said commissioners by the said thesaurer depute, who hath right to his own fee and casualties, by virtue of his gifts granted to him thereupon, and his majesty with consent foresaid, ordains the lords of his majesty's privy council, session or exchequer, to grant and direct letters at the instance of the said's commissioners, for answering and obeying them, their chalmerlands, under receivers and officers of all and sundry of his majesty's rents, casualties, customs, imposts and duties belonging to the said office, and that enduring the time of this present commission which shall endure to the next parliament. act lxix. act anent restitution of horse and arms, to the owners, out-putters thereof. 17. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering that divers soldiers, aswell foot as horse, who were employed, reiked out & sent forth with the armies and regiments levied during the time of the late troubles, having at their going forth and outreiking, received trouphorses, arms, ammunition, horses, and baggage horses from the heritors of lands and others who did reik and send them forth, and that the said's soldiers keepers up, and withholders, or have put away the said's horses and arms entrusted to them from the owners thereof: therefore our said sovereign lord and estates of parliament, do hereby grant full power and warrant to the committee appointed from the parliament for regulating and settling of the common burdens and debts of the kingdom, and to all other judges ordinair, aswell to burgh as land within this kingdom, within whose bounds any such persons dwell, or can be found, who have keeped or detained either horses or arms. that the said's judges do forthwith upon complaint of the party, owner of the said's horses and arms, call the receivers and detainers or out-putters of them, before them, and to discern and ordain them to deliver the said's horses and arms, to the said's owners or the prices of same, their receipt of them being lawfully proven: and with power to the said's judges, to do every thing as lawful and necessair, anent the premises agreeable to justice, and the laws of the country. act lxx. act salvo jure cuiuslibet. 17. november, 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering that in the present parliament there are many particular acts, and acts of ratifications made in favours of particular persons, which may be prejudicial to parties having interest, and not heard, albeit the meaning of the estates be at this time, as it was ever in all preceding parliaments, that by no particular act, or act of ratification granted to any particular person, any other parties should be hurt or prejudged of their lawful rights and defences, competent to them of the law: for remeed whereof, it is statute and ordained, that no ratification, nor other particular act whatsoever, made in favours of any particular person, in this present parliament, be prejudicial to any other parties rights or defences competent to them of the law: but that the said's particular acts, and acts of ratification made in favours of particular persons, be always understood salvo jure cujusâ��ibet. act lxxi. act appointing the next parliament to conveen the first tuesday of june 1644. 17. november 1641. our sovereign lord and estates of parliament, considering, that forsameikle as by the act of parliament made in the session of this present parliament holden at edinburgh in june 1640. anent triennial parliaments: it is statute and ordained, that before the closure of every parliament, the day of the next subsequent parliament shall be condescended upon. and because this present parliament is this day, by the assistance of god almighty, and his majesty's great wisdom, to be brought to an happy conclusion: therefore his majesty and estates foresaids, appoint and ordain the first tuesday of the month of june in anno 1644. years, to be the day of meeting and conveening of the next triennial parliament, but prejudice always to his majesty to appoint any diets of parliament betwixt and that day, as his majesty shall think fitting: and ordains all the members of parliament to meet and convene at edinburgh the said first tuesday of june 1644. and all other persons interessed, without any other or farther warning and premonition to be made for that effect: declaring hereby, that the publication of this act, with the rest of the acts of this present session, shall be als sufficient for meeting and conveening of the whole members of parliament, as if all former solemnities were used, whereanent his majesty and estates hereby dispenses. finis. a table of the printed acts done in the session of the second parliament of our sovereign lord king charles. etc. holden at edinburgh upon the eleventh day of june 1640. and in what leaf and page the same is to be found. 1act anent the choosing of robert lord burghly, to be precedent in this court and session of parliament, in respect of the absence of the king's commissioner. pag. 3. 2 act anent the constitution of the parliament, and all subsequent parliaments. pag. 4. 3 act anent the choosing of committees out of each estate. pag. 5. 4 act anent the ratification of the acts of the assembly. pag. 6. 5 act anent the ratification of the covenant, and of the assemblies supplication, act of council, and act of assembly concerning the covenant. pag. 9 6 act recissorie. pag. 20. 7 act for planting of kirks unprovided with ministers through the patron's default. pag. 22. 8 act anent admission of ministers to kirks which belonged to bishoprics. pag. ib. 9 act discharging the going of salt-pans and mills on the sunday. pag. 24. 10 act discharging salmond fishing on the sunday. pag. ibid. 11 act against papists. pag. 25. 12 act discharging zule vacance, and appointing the session to sit down the first day of november, and rise the last of february, and thercafter to sit down the first of june, and rise the last of july yearly. pag. 26. 13 act discharging the monday market in edinburgh, jedburgh, drumfreis, brechin, and glasgow. pag. 27. 14 act for taking order with the abuses committed on the sunday by the confluence of people for hiring of shearers. pag. 28. 15 act for directing letters of horning and caption by the lords of session against excommunicate prelates, and all other excommunicate persons. pag. 29. 16 act anent the large declaration or manifesto. pag. ibid. 17 act statutarie appointing parliaments to be holden once every three year. pag. 30. 18 act anent the keepers of the castles of edinburgh, striviling, and dumbartane. pag. ibid. 19 act anent the production of the registers, and records of parliament to the first session of each parliament. pag. 31. 20. act discharging all proxies to be admitted in parliament, and that no foreign noblemen shall have place and voice in parliament, unless they have ten thousand marks of land-rent within this kingdom. pag. 32. 21. act discharging the granting of protections by the lords of council and exchequer. pag. 33. 22. act anent the exchequer, declaring the same, to be only judges to matters concerning the managing of the king's rents and casualties. pag. 34. 23 act in favours of those who held their lands of archbishops, bishops, or of their chapters. pag. 35. 24. act anent vassals of erections, that they be not subject in double payment, nor the superiors defrauded of their few duties. pag. 36. 25. act appointing all grievances to be given in plain parliament. pag. 37. 26. act for suppressing the distinction of spiritual and temporal lords of session. pag. ibid. 27. act against liesing-makers, of whatsoever quality, office, place or dignity. pag. 38. 28. act anulling all unlawful and unjust proclamations made under the pain of treason, against the disobeyers. pag. 39 29 act explaining the preceding acts of parliament made against bands and conventions amongst the subjects: as also declaring the bands and conventions made and keeped since the beginning of the present troubles to be legal and lawful. pag. ibid. 30. act anent the ward and marriage of these who shall happen to be killed in the defence of the religion, and liberties of kirk and kingdom. pag. 40. 31 act ratifying the act of the lords of session, made for supplying of the absence of the signet, and discharging the transporting thereof, or any other seal in time coming. pag. 41. 32. act discharging all custom of ammunition brought home to the liege's, to their own use, for defence of religion, and liberties of kirk and kingdom. pag. 43. 33. act for the committees of estates. pag. ibid. 34. act anent the common relief. pag. 48. 35. act ordaining summons to be direct, and execute against the persons who are culpable of the crimes and faults, contained in the act, to compeare before the next session of parliament. pag. 52. 36. act in favours of the king's vassals of ward-lands, recommending their prejudice by the act anno 1633. to the consideration of the next parliament, and in the mean time, while then, suspending the force and execution of that act. pag. 53. 37. act appointing the fees for the procurator, the clerk and agent for the kirk. pag. 54. 38 act ordaining the whole subjects and liege's of this kingdom to obey, maintain and defend the conclusions, acts and constitutions of this present session of parliament, and to subscribe the band appointed for that effect. pag. 55. 39 act declaring the parliament current and continuing the same while the nineteenth day of november next. pag. 59 a table of the printed acts which were done in this session of the parliament which began the 15. of july 1641. and concluded the 17. of november 1641. with the acts of continuation of the said parliament interveening betwixt the last session thereof holden in june 1640. and the said 15. day of july 1641. 19 november 1640. 1act of continuation of the parliament from the 19 of november 1640. to the 14. of january 1641. 61 14. januarie 1641. 2 act of continuation of the parliament to the 13. of april, 1641. 62 13. april 1641. 3 act continuing the parliament to the 25. of may 1641. 64 25. may 1641. 4 act continuing the parliament to the 15. of july 1641. 65 18. august 1641. 5 act containing the oath ordained to be taken by every member of parliament before they proceed to any act or determination. 67 26. august 1641. 6 act ratifying the articles of the treaty. 68 ultimo augusti 1641. 7 act discharging james bannatines' patent of pearling, and wearing thereof. 87 1. september 1641. 8 act discharging unlawful marriages. 88 2 september 1641. 9 act anent non-covenanting patroness, appointing the right of presentation to their kirks to pertain to the presbytery ibid. 10 act for freeing of viccarages provided to ministers for their stipends of all payment of taxations. 89 9 september 1641. 11 act against suspensions for ministers stipends, duties of colleges, hospitals and schools. ibid. 10. september 1641. 12 act for abolishing the monuments of idolatry. 91 13 act anent non-communicants, and excommunicate persons. 92 14 act anent the bullion. 93 16. september 1641. 15 act anent the election of the officers of estate, counselors, and sessioners. 94 ultimo septembris 1641. 16 act anent the nomination and election of the lord lowdoun to be chancellor. 95 29 october 1641. 17 act anent the change of the terms from whitsunday and martinmas to candlemas and lammas. ibid. 11 november 1641. 18 act anent the charges of the commissioners for the barons. 96 19 act anent the charges of the commissioners for the sherifdome of sutherland. 98 13. november 1641. 20 act anent the nomination and election of these officers of estate retained in their places. 99 21 act anent the nomination and election of sir alexander gibson younger of durie to be clerk register. 100 22 act anent the nomination and election of the counselors. 101 23 act anent the nomination and election of the ordinair and extraordinair lords of the session. 102 15. november 1641. 24 act anent the commission for the common burdens of the kingdom. 103 25 act of approbation in favours of the committee of estates. 110 26 act for relief of these who have given band for the use of the public. 112 27 act for receiving of the remainder of the brotherly assistance from the parliament of england. 113 28 act discharging the ganging of salt-pans, mills, fishings, kills, and other profanations on the lord's day. 115 29. act anent the nomination and election of sir james galloway to be master of requests. 116 30 commission for plantation of kirks. 117 16. november 1641. 31 commission anent the articles of the treaty, referred to consideration by the treaty. 123 32 commission for conserving the articles of the treaty. 124 33 act anent the five incendiaries and plotters, with the king's declaration thereanent. 126 34 commission for trying the incendiaries and plotters. 127 35 act for passing from these who are cited to the parliament as unfriends. 130 36 act anent selling yarn by weight. ib. 37 act anent linen cloth and breadth thereof. 131 38 act discharging the importation of strong-waters. ib. 39 act anent the excise of herring. 132 40 act anent loyal packing of salmond. 133 41 act dispensing with the kings rends uplifted by warrant of the committee for the public use. 134 16. november 1641. 42 act discharging advocations for sums within a hundred pound. 135 43 act for directing of cocquets within the regality of saint andrew's in the king's name. ib. 44 act discharging transportation of eggs. 136 45 act against destroyers of planting, parks, and others. ibid. 46 act ordaining the pursuer of the thief to be restored to his own goods. 137 47 act anent coale-hewens. 138 48 act discharging the mixing of tin with lead. ibid. 49 act anent presenting and docquetting of signators, letters, and others. 139 50 act anent the election of the precedent of parliament. 140 51 act anent superiority of lands which held of bishops and their chapters. ibid. 52 commission for revising of the registers. 142 53 act anent cocquets and entries of ships. 143 54 act discharging the registration of comprisings, and appointing only recording and allowing thereof, and modifying 40. shillings for both. ib. 55 act discharging the lords of the session to exact twelve pennies for the pound, and all other exactions imposed upon sentences to be pronounced by them. 144 56 act anent the pardon of penal statutes. 145 57 act in favours of orphans, fatherless children, and others. ibid. 58 act in favours of the vassals of ward lands holding of the king and prince. 146 59 act anent the breadth of plaiding. 147 60 act in favours of the laicke patrons of provostries, prebendaries, chaplainries, and altarages. ibid. 61 act discharging the quotes of testaments. 149 62 commission for regulating the commissariats. ibid. 63 act discharging monopolies. 150 64 commission for the manufactories. ibid. 65 commission for the secret council. 152 17. november 1641. 66 act discharging the custom of two and an half on the hundred, and the impost of four pound on the tun. 155 67 act in favours of minors, anent the duties of the lands comprised from them. 156 68 commission for the thesaurarie. 157 69 act anent the restitution of the horse and arms to the owners out-putters thereof. 158 70 act salvo jure cujuslibet. 159 71 act appointing the next parliament to convene the first tuesday of june 1644. ibid. the table of the vnprinted acts and ratifications past in this parliament which began the last day of august 1639. and did conclude the 17. of november 1641. 1 declaration by the estates of parliament premitted by them to their acts and proceed made in that session of parliament holden 11. of june 1640. 2 act in favours of the lady loudoun and her children, 11. of june 1640. 3 act and declaration anent the closure of that session of parliament 11. of june 1640. 4 ratification of general lesleys commission to be general. 5 act approving his proceed as general, in anno 1639. 6 ratification of colonel hammiltouns commission to be general of the artillery. 7 ratification of general major baily his commission. 8 ratification of general major munros' gift. 9 ratification of the general commissars gift. 10 act against the keepers of the castle of dumbartan, 11 act against the keepers of the castle of thrave. 12 decreet of forfeiture against general ruthven, and others therein contained. 13 reference in favours of robert scot of dryhoip to the committee of estates. 14 reference laird of kinhilt to the committee of estates. 15 reference for james arnot to the committee of estates. 16 reference for master william cunnyngham to the committee of estates. 17 protestation by william dick provest of edinburgh anent the custom of ammunition. 18 reference in favours of sir john hammiltoun of reidhouse to the committee of estates. 19 instrument and protestation for the queenes-ferrie. 20 declaration of the estates anent the earl of glencairne his sitting and voicing in this session of parliament. 21 articles for ordering the house of parliament. 22 act to the king's advocate and procutors for the estate, for raising summons against the earl of montrose, lord naper, lairds of keir and blakhall. 23 commission for concluding and subscribing the treaty at london. 24 supplications constable of scotland and town of edinburgh, with the parliaments deliverance thereupon. 25 declaration of the assembly anent a band subscribed by some noblemen, which is now canceled. 26 warrant for the king's advocate his incoming to the parliament house. 27 ratification of the act of exchequer for relief of these who are bound for the 100000. marks therein contained. 28 act in favours of the laird of lochend, for entering of him to his lands gratis. 29 act in favours of sir william dik against laird aickin. 30 protestation by the king's advocate anent his place, liberties and privileges. 31 declaration by the paraliament anent the king's manifest concerning the prince elector palatine. 32 act and warrant for publishing and printing of the acts made in june 1640. 33 act and warrant for causing print his majesty's manifest anent the prince elector, with the parliaments approbation and remonstrance thereupon to the king, with the king's answer. 34 act in favours of the prince elector for restraint of levies and recrues of soldiers. 35 ratification of the profession of theology in the university of glasgow. 36 commission for the accounts of the three regiments, viz. lord sinclaire, munro and cochrane. 37 act of approbation and exoneration in favours of the lord loudun. 38 act of exoneration and approbation earl of rothes. 39 act of approbation and exoneration earl of dumfermling. 40 act of exoneration master robert barclay. 41 act of exoneration adam blair. 42 act of approbation and exoneration sir john smith. 43 act of approbation and exoneration sir archbald johnstoun. 44 act of approbation and exoneration laird of wauchtoun. 45 act of approbation and exoneration sheriff of teviotdail. 46 act of approbation and exoneration laird of riccardtoun drummond. 47 act of approbation and exoneration master alexander wedderburne. 48 act of approbation and exoneration hugh kennedye. 49 commission for trial of helen moses anent the murder of her bainn. 50 act of approbation and exoneration master alexander hendersone. 51 act anent master alexander pitcairne and the laird of ogill ramsay. 52 declaration by the lord ker concerning the marquis of hammiltoun. 53 act and declaration by the king and parliament in favours of the marquis of hamiltoun. 54 exoneration to the marquis of hammiltoun anent his keeping and delivering of the great seal. 55 act of exoneration and approbation in favours of the lord amont. 56 commission for hearing the general commissars accounts. 57 act in favours of bannatyne of kames, reponing him against the commissars decreet. 58 ratification and election of the new kirk of kilmarnock. 59 commission by the king and parliament to the committee for trial of the late incident concerning the marquis of hammiltoun, and the earl of argyle. 60 ratification and act in favours of the schoolmaster of megle. 61 commission to the lord almond and his bailiff anent the trial of john jervie. 62 act in favours of lieutenant general king. 63 act and ratification to the university of saint andrews of the rents of the priory and bishopric of saint andrews. 64 act in favours of the burgh of dornoch anent the change of their fair. 65 act rescinding general ruthvens' forfeiture. 66 orders of the parliament concerning the irish business, with a warrant to the secret council to give instructions to the commissioners for the remainder of the treaty. 67 act in favours of the prince elector palatine anent ten thousand men to be sent to germany. 68 act and warrant in favours of the earl of rothes and others, for letters of reprisal against the hamburgers. 69 commission for trial of the murder of isabel drymmie. 70 ratification, exoneration and approbation in favours of the marquis of argyle. 71 warrant for putting lieutenant colonel john munro to liberty. 72 warrant to the earl of crafford for his enlargement. 73 warrant for putting m. john guthrie to liberty. 74 warrant to sir robert spottiswood and sir john hay for their liberty. 75 commission for visitation of the college of saint andrews. 76 act in favours of the burrows, ratifying the act of the committee for the relief of the gilders therein mentioned. 77 act in favours of the burgh of glasgow anent their liberty to nominate and elect their magistrates. 78 act for recalling the marquis of hamiltoun and marquis of argyle to the parliament. 79 ratification in favours of the town of saint andrew's. 80 act in favours of alexander cunnyngham for four hundred and thirty pounds sterling. 81 act to the earl of montrose, lord naper, lairds of keir and blakhall for their liberation. 82 act in favours of captain william stewart. 83 act anent the keeping of the castle of edinburgh to the earl of levin. 84 act in favours of the earl of levin for 100000. marks. 85 act of approbation and exoneration to the earl of levin lord general, and sundry other general officers. 86 act anent the liberation of the earl of montrose, lord naper, l. keir, l. blakhall, sir robert spotiswood, sir john hay, and lieutenant colonel water stewart, with the act of caution found by them, containing also a warrant to the council to take the like caution of the incendiaries. 87 reference to the council anent the incarceration of poor people. 88 act in favours of the officers of fortune within the country, with a reference to the commission for the common burdens. 89 reference in favours of the lord forbes to the famine commission. 90 act in favours of the procutors for the estate, with a reference to the said commission. 91 reference in favours of george foules to the exchequer. 92 act anent the prices of writts, seals, and registers remitted to the council, with power to do therein as the king and parliament might, and their determination to have toe authority of an act of parliament. 93 reference in favours of master alexander colvil, and master james robertoune justice deputes to the exchequer. 94 reference master alexander pitcarne minister to the commission for the common burdens. 95 reference for these soldiers of fortune who were incarcerate at newcastle to the commission for the common burdens. 96 referene for the general of artillery to the said commission. 97 reference for the earl of home and countess of home to that commission. 98 supplication for the british subjects remitted to the king's majesty. 99 reference for the earl of nithisdaile to the council. 100 reference for the l. of edzell to the commission for the common burdens. 101 reference l. moynes contra glengarie to the council. 102 reference in favours of sir william dik to the exchequer. 103 reference for the lord sinclare to the commission for the common burdens. 104 reference for sir james ramsay to the commission for the common burdens. 105 act and reference in favours of the earls of mar and linlithgow to the council, for recompense of their charges and expenses anent the works contained in their patents for making powder and tanning leather. 106 supplication l. blair anent his ward and marriage granted. 107 supplication l. of cauldwell anent his ward and marriage granted. 108 supplication in favours of the lady stormonth granted. 109 supplication l. mynto turnble for his ward and marriage granted. 110 supplication l. of cromlix for his ward and marriage granted. 111 act and warrant for transporting of john and thomas blaks from drumfreis to the tolbuiths of edinburgh. 112 act discharging the confluence of people to edinburgh in this time of parliament not being members nor having attendance on parliament, and appointing strong guards to be kept. 113 ratification in favours of sir william scot of clarkintoun, of the lands, teinds, and kirke thereof. 114 ratification in favours of the burgh of forres of their infeftment. 115 ratification in favours of the laird of kilbirnie of his infeftments of the barronnie thereof, and others therein contained. 116 ratification in favours of john hammiltoun of boghall of the lands of boghall, and others therein specified. 117 ratification in favours of james melvil of hall hill for the lands of nether-grange of kinghorne, wester-mills, and castle of bruntiland. 118 ratification in favours of sir john prestoun of his gift of pension. 119 ratification in favours of the earl of lindsay of the signator granted by the king to him of the lands, offices, and others therein contained, with the precept and seizing to follow thereupon. 120 ratification in favours of the burgh of kirkcudbright. 121 ratification in favours of james sinclare of skallaway. 122 ratification in favours of william maxwell of kirkhouse. 123 ratification in favours of the laird of grenok. 124 act in favours of the burgh of lawder, appointing a fair therein yearly, 22. of july. 125 act in favours of the town of jedburgh for two fairs yearly. 126 ratification in favours of mart stewart of her letters of rehabilitation. 127 ratification in favours of thomas forbes of watertoun. 128 ratification in favours of the earl of home of his infeftment of the barony of dunce. 129 ratification in favours of the laird of tofts for the lands of easter and wester plew-lands. 130 ratification in favours of sir andrew skene for the barony of auchtertuill. 131 ratification in favours of sir thomas nicolson of the barony of carnok. 132 ratification in favours of master john skene of the barony of halyiars. 133 act in favours of the weavers freemen burgesses of edinburgh. 134 ratification in favours of the town of edinburgh anent the augmentation of their ministers stipends out of the house-meales thereof. 135 ratification in favours of heriots' hospital. 136 ratification in favours of the lord general leslie earl of levin for the barony of balgonie and others therein contained. 137 ratification in favours of master james baird for the lands of little fiddes. 138 ratification in favours of david carnagie of ethie of the barony of craig-ethie. 139 ratification in favours of robert pringle, and master john pringle his son for the lands of templehall, teinds thereof, and lands of woodheid. 140 ratification in favours of the masons and wright's of edinburgh. 141 ratification in favours of the burgh of dumbartane, anent their fairs and markets. 142 ratification in favours of the laird of swintoun anent the baronnies of swintoun and cranshaws, teinds thereof, and patronage of the kirk of cranshaws. 143 ratification in favours of the lord forester for torwoodheid. 144 ratification in favours of the laird of glenbervie for the lands and barony thereof. 145 ratification in favours of the burgh of renfrew. 146 ratification in favours of the burgh of montrose. 147 ratification in favours of the burgh of dundie. 148 two ratification in favours of the earl of lothian, of his rights and infeftments of the lands and others therein contained. 149 ratification in favours of the laird of colingtoun, anent the lands, teinds, and barony of colingtoun. 150 ratification in favours of john arnot of wodmylne, of his right thereof. 151 act in favours of the house and family of ruthven of bandeane to their surname of ruthven. 152 ratification in favours of the burgh of linlithgow. 153 ratification of the decreet arbitral given by the king's majesty betwixt the earl of buckleugh and francis stewart. 154 ratification in favours of john moodie of his right of some tenements in leith 155 ratification of the gift granted by the king's majesty to the ministers at halyrudehouse of the impost of all wines vented in the cannongate. 156 ratification in favours of john earl of traquhair of his right of the lands and others therein contained. 157 ratification in favours of master james lawson of a taken of the teinds of the parochins of badreule. 158 ratification in favours of the sheriff of teviotdaill for the kirk lands of cavers. 159 ratification in favours of the laird of frendrant of the two charters and infeftments therein contained, of the lands and barony of frendrant and others therein specified, containing a declaration by the king and parliament in his favours. 160 ratification in favours of sir john smith of his rights of his lands in crawmond. 161 ratification in favours of master james scot of his infeftments of the lands of bonytoun. 162 act anent the erection of the kirk of elie. 163 act for establishing a particular register of seasings for the shire of argyle at innerara. 164 ratification and act anent the erection of the kirk of anstruther wester. 165 act anent the dis-uniting of the kirk of dennie from falkirk. 166 ratification in favours of the burgh of glasgow, of their infeftment thereof. 167 ratification in favours of john dikson of his infeftments and rights of the lands of hartrie and kilbocho, with the patronage of the kirk and taken of the teinds thereof, and annuity of the 'samine. 168 ratification in favours of the earl martial of his taken of the customs of aberdene and bamff. 169 ratification in favours of the old and new colleges of aberdene, of the mortification to them, of the rents of the bishopric thereof. 170 ratification in favours of master peter ewat of the taken of the abbacy of croceragnell. 171 ratification in favours of the university of glasgow, of the rents of the bishopric of galloway. 172 ratification in favours of sir john seytoun of his pension of two hundred pound stirling. 173 ratification in favours of the schoolmaster at auchtertuill of the few duty thereof. 174 ratification in favours of the minister at the north kirk of leith, of the mortification to them of the victual therein mentioned. 175 act of erection of the kirk of carrestoun in favours of the laird of balnamoone. 176 ratification of the mortification of the teinds of over-carestoun and pitforkie, etc. 177 ratification to master thomas michael of his gift of the rents of the bishopric of rosse, unpayed cropts, 1638.1639.1640. and 1641. 178 ratification in favours of the earl of dumfermling of the patronage of the kirks of may and dyke. 179 ratification in favours of the earl of mortoun anent dalkeith, lugtoun, and sheriff-hall. 180 ratification in favours of the earl of dumfermling of his taken of the lordship thereof. 181 ratification to john semple of his infeftment of the corn milne therein mentioned. 182 commission to the earls of murray and dumfermling, and the laird of inns, etc. for keeping of the water of spey. 183 ratification in favours of the earl of kinghorne of the right of his lands within the territory of glames, and others therein contained. 184 ratification to the town of muscleburgh of their infeftment granted by the king's majesty. 185 ratification in favours of the burgh of glasgow, of the new gift and mortification granted to them by the king's majesty. 186 ratification in favours of patrick ruthven, brother to the sometime earl of gowrie, ratifying the signator and gift granted to him by the king's majesty. 187 ratification in favours of robert leslie of his taken of the bishopric of orkney. 188 ratification in favours of the minister of culros of his gift and mortification therein mentioned. 189 ratification and commission in favours of the burgh of pearth, anent the bridge thereof, and of his majesty's new gift granted to them thereanent. 190 ratification in favours of the burgh of whithorne. 191 ratification to the lord amont of his rights of the barony of falkirk and others. 192 ratification to master laurence scot of his rights of the lands of bavelaw. 193 ratification in favours of the earl of home of the contract and disposition to him of the living and estate of home. 194 ratification in favours of the burgh of dumbar. 195 ratification to the marquis of hammiltoun of his infeftment of the barony of monkland, and patronage of the kirks of calder and monkland. 196 ratification in favours of the town of dunkeld. 197 ratification in favours of james maxwell and the laird of barnes anent the light upon the may. 198 ratification to the earl of dalhoussie of his taken of the teind sheaves of abbotshall. 199 ratification in favours of alexander gordoun of earlestoun anent the right of his lands therein specified. 200 ratification to the earl of rothes of his pension of ten thousand pound scots yearly. 201 ratification to the surgeons and barbers of edinburgh of their liberties. 202 ratification in favours of the burgh of pebbles, 203 ratification to the l. of of the two takes set to him of the customs of montrose. 204 act in favours of the hat-makers of edinburgh, anent thâ��â��â��bertie of an overseer or quartermaster. 205 ratification to john forbes of leslie of his decreet against the laird of haddo. 206 ratification to the lord fraser of his decreet against the laird of haddo. 207 ratification of the sheriff-clerkship of stirling, in favours of john williamson, and master david forrester. 208 ratification in favours of the burgh of aberdene, of the gift granted to them of the kirk of saint nicolas teinds and patronage thereof. 209 ratification of the decreet dis-uniting kirkmabrek and kirkdail from anveth. 210 ratification to the laird of keir of his taken of the teinds therein specified. 211 ratification to master william wardlaw of the gift of chalmerlanrie therein contained. 212 ratification to william gordoun of kirkconnell of his right of the lands of drumconkrie. 213 ratification to the minister at donoone of the mortification of twelve hundred marks yearly. 214 ratification to the duke of lennox of his gift and right of the temporality of the bishopric of glasgow, barony and regality thereof. 215 ratification in favours of the minister of dornoch of the gift of eight hundred marks yearly out of the rents of the bishopric of caithnes. 216 ratification in favours of the earl of findlater of the signatour granted to him of the office of bayliarie of the barony of strathzlay. 217 ratification in favours of the burgh of aberdene, of their rights and infeftments. 218 ratification of the mortification of 1000 marks to the minister at glenluce, and 200 marks to the schoolmaster thereat. 219 ratification to john malcome of the gift of chalmerlanrie of the stewartrie of fife. 220 ratification in favours of colonel john leslie of his infeftment of the mires. 221 act anent the election of the hospital of the barony of barhalgardie. 222 ratification in favours of alexander maxwel of the lands of dechmont. 223 ratification to master harry chaip of his infeftment of the lands of ormestoun. 224 ratification in favours of the town of edinburgh of the gift granted to them of the patronage of the kirks of halyrudhouse and north leith. 225 ratification in favours of the laird of balfore of his infeftment of the teinds of kilrinnie and others therein contained. 226 ratification in favours of john inns of lenchars, of his gift of the bailliarie of spiny and constabularie of the castle thereof. 227 ratification to the minister of dunkell of the king's gift of a thousand marks yearly. 228 ratification in favours of james gordoun of his infeftment of the lands of seatoun. 229 ratification in favours of the parochioners of markinsche of a decreet before the commissioners for surrenders and teinds. 230 ratification in favours of the l. of kinhalt of the lands of drummoir, and patronage of kirkmadine. 231 ratification in favours of the burgh of rutherglen. 232 ratification to colonel hammiltoun of his gift to be general of the artillery and gift of pension. 233 ratification to the beidmen of the magdalene chapel of the mortification to them of an hundred and nine pounds sterling yearly out of the bishopric of dunkell. 234 ratification to the earl of tullibardine of his rights and infeftments of the lands therein contained. 235 ratification to master alexander wedderburne of his taken of the customs of dundie. 236 ratification in favours of sir william dik of his right and infeftment of the lands and teinds of the barony of northbervik. 237 ratification to sir william dik of his taken of the viccarage, teinds, salmond, herring, and other fish teind betwixt tyne and skaitraw. 238 ratification to the l. of wedderburne of his taken of the teind sheaves of kello, etc. 239 ratification of the contract betwixt the king's majesty and the earl martial, anent the woodset of the lordship of deire. 240. act anent the erection of the kirk of longsyd. 241 ratification in favours of the laird of panmure of his infeftment of the lordship of briechen and navarre, and others therein contained. 242 ratification in favours of the earl of kinnoull of his infeftment of the barony of duplin with a dissolution. 243 ratification in favours of the earl of kinnoull of his infeftment of the barony of kinfawms. 244 ratification to the earl of kinnoull of a taken set by the king's majesty to him of the teinds of consland. 245 ratification in favours of the earl of sea-forth, of his barony of the lewes, with a dissolution. 246 ratification in favours of james pierson of his infeftment of the lands of auchtermeggets. 247 ratification in favours of sir john hammiltoun of orbestoun knight justice clerk of the lands of orbestoun, and others therein contained. 248 ratification in favours of william grace of his infeftment of the baronnies of fouls and forgund, and of the patent of honour, in favours of william master of grace his son. 249 commission to the earl of montrose, and laird of panmure of the justiciary of the fishings of the waters of north and southesks. 250 ratification of an infeftment in favours of the town of cromarty. 251 ratification of an infeftment in favours of the town of innernes. 252 ratification of an infeftment in favours of the town of rosmarkie. 253 ratification in favours of the town of breichen of their infeftment with a novo damus. 254 ratification in favours of the town of lanerk of their infeftment. 255 reference in favours of the parishioners of bers to the commission for plantation of kirkes'. 256 ratification in favours of the lord couper of his lands of cassiltown and englishtown, and others therein contained. 257. act in favours of the burgh of selkirk, anent a fair to be holden therein yearly on the fourth of july. 258 ratification in favours of sir james balfoure of his infeftment of the barony of kinnaird. 259 ratification in favours of the laird of pluscardine of his infeftment of the lands of pluscardine, and others therein contained. 260 ratification of the infeftment of the erection of the lordship of cardrose. 261 ratification in favours of sir william stewart younger of gaimtullie of his infeftment of the lands of strabrand. 262 ratification in favours of the l. of nidrie, of his infeftment of the lands of nidrie, marshal and others therein contained. 263 ratification in favours of william seytoun of grange of his gift of general postmaster of scotland, containing an exception in favours of the burghes of bruntiland and kinghorne. 264 ratification in favours of the town of weik of their infeftment, with a declaration, declaring the said town to be the head burgh of the sheriffedome of caithnes. 265 commission to the earl of erroll anent the justiciary of the fishings upon the water of ithane. 266 ratification in favours of the town of bruntiland, of an act of exchequer, with a declaration that sir james melvill his assuming of the style of bruntiland shall no ways be prejudicial to their liberties. 267 ratification in favours of the earl of erroll of a pension granted to him by the king's majesty. 268 ratification in favours of the earl of kinoull, of his right of the lands of erroll. 269 ratification of the immutuall band amongst the heritors adjacent the pow of inchaiffray. 270 ratification in favours of william grace of pittindrum, and william master of grace his son, of a taken set by the king's majesty to them of the teinds of their lands, lying within the parochin of fowls, and others therein contained. 271 ratification in favours of the minister of brechin, 272 ratification in favours of the minister of navar. 273 ratification in favours of sir alexander gibson of durie, one of the senators of the college of justice. 274 ratification in favours of the master john cant. 275 ratification in favours of the fewars of kylismure. 276 ratification in favours of the james dumbar. 277 ratification in favours of the lord lorne. 278 two ratifications in favours of the laird ackine. 279 two ratifications in favours of sir james macgill, of cranstoun riddle knight, one of the senators of the college of justice. 280 two ratifications in favours of sir james scot of rossie. 281 ratification in favours of the earl of eglintoun. 282 ratification in favours of the earl of queensberry. 283 ratification in favours of the rights of the canongate. 284 ratification in favours of my lord advocate. 285 ratification in favours of somervell of drum. 286 ratification in favours of robert pringle of stichell. 287 ratification in favours of john carstair's. 288 ratification in favours of the laird of houstoun. 289 ratification in favours of doctor chalmers. 290 ratification in favours of james maxwell of innerweek. 291 ratification in favours of the earl of lawderdaill. 292 ratification in favours of master william cochrane of cowdoun. 293 ratification in favours of the town of irving. 294 ratification in favours of the laird of dalmahoy. 295 ratification in favours of the south queensferrie. 296 ratification in favours of sir richard grahame. 297 ratification in favours of william scot and his brethren. 298 protestation earl of sutherland anent his place. 299 protestation lord borthwik anent his place. 300 protestation l. of cambo, as commissioner for the sherifdome of fife. 301 protestation l. of cesnok in name of the whole barons. 302 protestation l. of wedderburne, as commissioner for the sherifdome of bervik. 303 commission and warrant by the king and parliament to the exchequer for regulating the book of rates. 304 warrant by the king and parliament to the council to dis-band the companies yet on foot, and to provide for moneys for that effect 305 protestation town of kinghorne and robert hepburne for the earl of dumfermling against halhils' ratification. 306 protestation for the king's veallers against james sinclars ratification. 307 protestation town of renfrew against the laird of grenocks ratification. 308 protestation wright's of the cannongate against the wright's of edinburgh their ratification. 309 protestation earl of argyle against the ratification for the town of dumbartan. 310 protestation town of glasgow against the same ratification. 311 protestation town of glasgow against the ratification for the burgh of renfrew. 312 protestation town of renfrew against the ratifications of the burgh of glasgow. 313 protestation town of dumbartan against the ratifications of the said burgh of glasgow. 314 protestation l. dun against the ratification of the town of montrose. 315 protestation l. of houstoun against the ratification of renfrew. 316 protestation l. of newwarke against the ratification of renfrew. 317 protestation marquis of hammiltoun against the ratification of the town of linlithgow. 318 protestations earls of buckleugh and hadingtoun, and bailiff of lochend, against the ratification in favours of francis stuart. 319 protestation town of pebbles against the ratification of the earl of traquair. 320 protestation lord amond against the act for the kirk of denny. 321 protestation l. of minto against the ratification of the town of glasgow. 322 protestation town of renfrew against the ratification in favours of the l. of houstoun. 323 protestation kirk of anster against the ratification of the kirk of kilrinnie. 324 protestation sir william dik, and the whole fishers against the ratification in favours of the l. aickine. 325 protestation town of edinburgh against the ratification in favours of the wright's of the canongate. 326 protestation town of edinburgh against robert lesleys ratification. 327 protestation earl of galloway against the ratification in favours of the university of glasgow. 328 protestation earl of pearth against the town of newburgh. 329 protestation and declaration earl of dumfermling against the ratification for the queenes-ferrie. 330 protestation town of air against the town of irving ratification. 331 protestation for _____ home against john carstair's ratification. 332 protestation town of brechin against the act of erection of the church of carrestoun. 333 protestation earl of lauderdail against the town of muscleburghs ratification. 334 protestation and declaration earl of kinnoull contra patrick ruthvens ratification. 335 protestation town of edinburgh against the act in favours of the hat-makers. 336 protestation l. of haddo against the ratifications in favours of the l. fraser, and l. lesley, and their protestation in the contrair. 337 protestation laird lesley for the shire against the town of aberdenes ratification of their infeftment. 338 protestation lord maitland against the earl of hooms ratification. 339 protestation lord yester against the ratification of the town of pebbles. 340 protestation and declaration by the king and parliament in favours of the procutor and agent for the kirk for their fees against the ratification in favours of the duke of lennox of his right to the bishopric of glasgow. 341 protestation marks of hammiltoun against the duke of lennox ratification. 342 protestation college of glasgow against the town of glasgows ratification. 343 protestation earl of lanerk for robert lesley against the ratification of the gifts of the bishop's rents of orknay, with his majesty's declaration abiding by the gift of robert lesley, as being first done, and preferring the 'samine to all other gifts. 344 protestation l. giffan against the ratification in favours of the town of glasgow, of the bishopric of galloway, & their gift thereof. 345 protestation earl of murray against inns of leuchars ratification. 346 protestation town of glasgow against the town of rutherglens' ratification. 347 protest. l. of balymayne against the l. of panmures ratification. 348 protestation earl of argyle against the earl of seaforths' ratification of the lewes. 349 protestation earl of sutherland against that ratification. 350 protestation marquis of hamiltoun against the town of lanerks ratification. 351 protestation and declaration town of dumbartan against renfrew their ratification. 352 protestation and declaration renfrew against the town of dumbartan their ratification. 353 protest. l. of lawyers against the earl of tullibardans' ratification 354 protestation earl of seaforth against the ratification of the town of weik. 355 protestation earl of southesk against the ratification in favours of the minister of brechin, with the commissioners of brechins protestation in the contrary. 356 protestation alexander urchart against the ratification in favours of the town of cromartie. 357 protestation marks of hammiltoun against the ratification in favours of the town of glasgow. 358 protestation lord yester against the ratification in favours of the earl of kinnoul. 359 protestation earl marshal against the ratification in favours of the earl of kinnoull. 360 protestation in favours of the earl of erroll. finis. 410 letters science arts agriculture knowledge disciplina-civitatem the ohio state university libraries the fathers of the church a new translation volume 46 the fathers of the church a new translation editorial board roy joseph deferrari the catholic university of america editorial director msgr. james a. magner the catholic university of america be nard m. peebles the catholic university of america martin r. p. mcguire the catholic university of america rev. thomas halton the catholic university of america robert p. russell, o.s.a. villanova university william r. tongue the catholic university of america hermingild dressler, o.f.m. the catholic university of america rev. peter j. rahill the catholic university of america sr. m. josephine brennan, i.h.m. marywood college saint basil exegetic homilies translated by sister agnes clare way, c.d.p. our lady of the lake college san antonio, texas press the un svojouicument 100 ca london of the catholic university of america press washington 17, d. c. nihil obstat: reverend harry a. echle censor librorum imprimatur: v. +patrick a. o'boyle archbishop of washington january 7, 1963 the nihil obstat and imprimatur are official declarations that a book or pamphlet is free of doctrinal or moral error. no implication is contained therein that those who have granted the nihil obstat and the imprimatur agree with the content, opinions, or statements expressed. library of congress catalog card number: 63-12483 © copyright 1963 by the catholic university of america press, inc. all rights reserved contents introduction vii 3 21 37 55 67 83 105 117 135 151 1 homilies 1 on the hexaemeron. 2 on the hexaemeron. 3 on the hexaemeron.. 4 on the hexaemeron. 5 on the hexaemeron. 6 on the hexaemeron. 7 on the hexaemeron. 8 on the hexaemeron. 9 on the hexaemeron. 10 on psalm 1..... 11 on psalm 7... 12 on psalm 14... 13 on psalm 28... 14 on psalm 29. 15 on psalm 32... 16 on psalm 33... 17 on psalm 44.... 18 on psalm 45... 19 on psalm 48... 20 on psalm 59. 21 on psalm 61... 22 on psalm 114. 165 181 193 213 227 247 275 297 311 main library lád 333 341 351 indices 361 | 1 1 1 1 introduction he exegetic writings usually attributed to st. basil include the nine homilies on the hexaemeron, seventeen on the psalms, and the commentary on isaia in sixteen chapters. these are all found in the 'opera sancti basilii' of the patrologia graeca, vols. 29-32. four of the homilies on the psalms, the first, on psalm 14, a second one on psalm 28, one on psalm 37, and that on psalm 115, as well as the commentary on isaia, are placed by the benedictine editors in the appendix of volume 1 of st. basil's works, patrologia graeca, vol. 30, as doubtful or clearly spurious works of st. basil. two other exegetic homilies, on the form of man, are included by the benedictine editors among st. basil's doubtful works and are also found in the works of st. gregory of nyssa,1 who says that at the request of his brother, peter, he had finished the hexaemeron of st. basil. since these two homilies are contained also in st. gregory's works and since we do not find the works which st. basil had promised at the end of homily nine on the hexaemeron on 'man as the image of god, it is quite possible that st. gregory added these two homilies to his brother's commentary in place of the two which st. basil had promised. they are usually attributed to st. gregory. in my translation i am including only those exegetic homilies generally acknowledged to be genuine. the high esteem with which the ancients regarded the homilies of st. basil, especially those on the hexaemeron, is well known. st. gregory of nazianzus says: 'when i take his hexaemeron in my hand and read it aloud, i am with my 1 cf. migne, pg 44 cols. 61 and 124. vii viii saint basil creator, i understand the reasons for creation, and i admire my creator more than i formerly did when i used sight alone as my teacher. ... when i read his other explanations of scripture, which he unfolds for those who understand but little, writing in a threefold manner on the solid tablets of my heart, i am prevailed upon not to stop at the letter, nor to view only the higher things, but to pass beyond and to advance from depth to depth, calling upon abyss through abyss, finding light through light, until i reach the loftiest heights.2 st. gregory of nyssa, an ardent admirer of his brother, st. basil, says: 'all who have read that divinely inspired exposition of our father on the same subject (the creation of the world as handed down by moses] admire it no less than the writings of moses, and, in my opinion, they do well and reasonably.'3 the high esteem in which st. ambrose held this work is evident from the fact that he not only imitated and borrowed from the hexaemeron of st. basil, but even inserted passages directly translated from the greek of st. basil in his own treatise on the hexaemeron. not so well known is the fact that he did the same in his expositions of several psalms.4 st. jerome and socrates also praise in their writings the hexaemeron of st. basil.5 eustathius afer translated the hexaemeron of st. basil into latin about the year 440.6 this translation is preserved among the works of st. basil in the patrologia graeca, vol. 30. rufinus of aquileia, a few years after st. basil's death, translated seven of his homilies, among which are the homilies on psalm 1 and on psalm 49, one letter, and extracts from the two monastic rules.8 according 2 2 gregory nazianzen, homily 43, p.l. 3 cf. migne, pg 44 col. 61. 4 cf. ibid. 29 cols. 209-210. 5 cf. ibid. cols. 1-2. 6 cf. barden hewer, patrology 285. 7 cf. migne, pg 31 cols. 1723-1794. 8 cf. bardenhewer, ibidem. introduction ix to his testimony, st. basil spoke these homilies extemporaneously, as was his custom to speak. this declaration of rufinus seems to be confirmed by st. basil's own statement in the homily on psalm 114. st. basil says: 'that we may not distress you by detaining you longer, after lecturing briefly on the psalm which we found you singing on our arrival and providing your souls, as far as we are able, with the word of consolation, we shall dismiss all of you for the care of your bodies.' again, in homily eight on the hexaemeron, st. basil suddenly interrupts his thought to say: 'perhaps, many wonder why, when my sermon was hurrying along without a break, i was silent for a long time. it is not, however, the more studious of my audience who are ignorant of the cause of my speechlessness. why should they be, who by their glances and nods to each other had turned my attention toward them and had led me on to the thought of things omitted? for, i had forgotten an entire class of creatures, and this by no means the least; moreover, my discourse was nearly finished, leaving that class almost entirely uninvestigated.' the time at which these homilies on the hexaemeron were delivered is not definitely known. maran10 believes that the nine homilies on the hexaemeron were delivered before the episcopate. fialon11 thinks that they date from the very time of his episcopate. both agree that the homilies on the psalms should be assigned to the time of his priesthood. fialon bases the reason for his decision on st. gregory of nazianzus' statement of st. basil's threefold method of presenting his explanations. he sees in the homilies on the psalms a moral and allegorical presentation with some sacrifice of the literal meaning, while in the homilies on the hexaemeron, he notes that st. basil, without neglecting the moral and allegorical meaning, gives an exact literal explanation. origen, who had sacri9 cf. rufinus of aquileia, liber 2 c.9. 10 cf. pr. maran, vita s. basilii in migne, pg 29. clxii. 11 cf. e. fialon, étude historique et littéraire sur s. basile 292. х saint basil ficed the literal meaning entirely for the mystic, and eusebius, who had accepted the literal meaning equally with the historic, were st. basil's masters and models. st. basil, following them in his earlier years, used the allegorical method of interpretation, but found under it a strong moral meaning and, at the same time, did not sacrifice completely the literal sense. in the homilies on the hexaemeron, st. basil became more independent, and held scrupulously to an exact literal interpretation, while still showing the allegorical meaning in which, however, with the maturity of age and of talent he tended to avoid the earlier exaggerations. 12 st. basil's audience was composed not only of the elite of caesarea, but also of the artisans, the workers 'who with difficulty provide a livelihood for themselves from their daily toil.'13 in homily eight on the hexaemeron, he mentions among those present the silk spinners. it was to such as these that he explained the theories of science as it was understood in his day and that he spoke the language of the schools; and these men and women of the people, for whose sake he abridged his lecture 'lest they be drawn away too long from their work,'14 understood and applauded his words. st. basil had received the best education of the time in caesarea, constantinople, and athens, and his works reflect the knowledge of the period in the various branches of learning. in one respect, namely, in geography, he may not have given the true picture of his time. the geography of europe, perhaps because he did not feel that europe merited much attention in comparison with asia minor, was presented almost entirely from aristotle's point of view, although certainly in that period more exact knowledge of the countries, rivers, and mountains was available. st. basil describes most vividly and with the greatest exact12 cf. ibid. 287-294. 13 homily 3, cf. infra p. 37. 14 ibid. introduction xi ness of detail all the different aspects of nature. nothing is too immense, nothing too insignificant to merit his attention. yet, he is not a mere lover of nature. he is the christian teacher who uses every creature of god to raise the minds and hearts of his hearers to an understanding and love of the god who created them. he knew thoroughly the works of the learned men of greece and he used the discoveries of their great minds to impress the truths of the power of god on his hearers. for his exposition of the universe and its plant and animal life, he drew upon the teachings of plato, plotinus, aratus, theophrastus, herodotus, aristotle, and others. in his accounts of animals, insects, birds, and fish, drawn especially from herodotus and aristotle, he made fables, in which he described the habits, tendencies, and dispositions of the various creatures, then he drew a moral lesson which he applied to his hearers. it was in this way that he attacked the vices of the people or showed the beauty of virtue. no class of persons and almost no vice was left without its fable, and the people listened and understood, for he was speaking of things with which they were familiar in their daily life. 'the majority of fish,' he says, 'eat one another, and the smaller among them are food for the larger. if it ever happens that the victor over a smaller becomes the prey of another, they are both carried into the one stomach of the last. now, what else do we men do in the oppression of our inferiors? how does he differ from that last fish, who with a greedy love of riches swallows up the weak in the folds of his insatiable avarice? that man held the possessions of the poor man; you, seizing him, made him a part of your abundance. you have clearly shown yourself more unjust than the unjust man and more grasping than the greedy man. beware, lest the same end as that of the fish awaits you-somewhere a fishhook, or a snare, or a net. surely, if we have committed many unjust deeds, we shall not escape the final retribution.'15 15 homily 7, cf. infra p. 109. xii saint basil a again he says: 'if at some time a camel has been struck, he saves up his wrath for a long time, but, when he finds a suitable opportunity, he repays the evil. hear, you sullen men who pursue vengeance as though it were a virtue, who it is that you resemble when you harbor for so long a time your resentment against your neighbor like a spark hidden in ashes, until, finding material, you kindle your wrath like a flame.'16 in his comments on the actions of the bees, st. basil says: 'some of the irrational creatures are like members of a state, if, indeed, it is characteristic of citizenship that the activities of the individuals tend to one common end. this may be seen in the case of bees. their dwelling is common, their flight is shared by all, and the activity of all is the same; but, the most significant point is that they engage in their work subject to a king and to a sort of commander, not taking it upon themselves to go to the meadows until they see that the king is leading the flight. in their case the king is not elected; in fact, the lack of judgment on the part of the people has frequently placed the worst man in office. their king does not hold a power acquired by lot; the chances of lot, which frequently confer the power on the basest of all, are absurd. nor is he placed on the throne through hereditary succession; for the most part, even such men through softness and flattery become rude and ignorant of all virtue. but, he holds the first place among all by nature, differing in size and appearance and in the gentleness of his disposition. the king has a sting, but he does not use it for vengeance. there is this positive unwritten law of nature, that they who are placed in the highest positions of power should be lenient in punishing. those bees, however, which do not follow the example of the king, quickly repent of the indiscretion, because they die after giving a prick with their sting. let the christians heed, who have received the command to "render to no man evil for 16 homily 8, cf. infra p. 119. introduction xiii 9 evil," but to "overcome evil with good." '17 again, he says: ‘they say that the turtledove, when once separated from her mate, no longer accepts union with another, but, in memory of her former spouse remains widowed, refusing marriage with another. let the women hear how the chastity of widowhood, even among irrational creatures, is preferred to the unseemly multiplicity of marriages.'18 the infinite wisdom and goodness of god are impressed upon the people with remarkable clarity in his descriptions and observations on the various animals. he urges them to observe carefully and to see that in the almost infinite variety of plants and animals god has made nothing superfluous and yet has omitted nothing that is necessary. 'carnivorous animals,' he says, 'he has fitted with sharp teeth; there was need of such for the nature of their food. those which are only half equipped with teeth, he provided with many varied receptacles for the food. because the food is not ground sufficiently the first time, he has given them the power to chew again what has already been swallowed. ... the camel's neck is long in order that it may be brought down to the level of his feet and he may reach the grass on which he lives. the bear's neck and also that of the lion, tiger, and the other animals of this family, is short and is buried in the shoulders, because their food does not come from the grass and they do not have to bend down to the ground. they are carnivorous and secure their food by preying upon animals. ... not only among the large animals is it possible to see his inscrutable wisdom, but even among the smallest it is possible to find no less marvels. ... i do not admire the huge elephant more than the mouse, which is formidable to the elephant, or than the very fine sting of the scorpion, which the craftsman hollowed out like a tube so that through it the poison is injected into those stung. 17 ibid., cf. infra p. 123f. 18 ibid., cf. infra p. 127. 19 homily 9, cf. infra p. 144-146. xiv saint basil from nature, too, st. basil draws examples to show the mighty power of god. he quotes the words of jeremia, 'will you not then fear me, saith the lord? i have set the sand a bound for the sea.' then he adds: 'with the weakest of all things, sand, the sea irresistible in its violence is bridled. and yet, what would have hindered the red sea from invading the whole of egypt, which was lower than it, and joining with the other sea adjacent to egypt, had it not been fettered by the command of the creator?"20 elsewhere he says: ““let the earth bring forth.” this brief command became immediately mighty nature and an elaborate system which brought to perfection more swiftly than our thought the countless properties of plants. that command, which even yet is inherent in the earth, impels it in the course of each year to exert all the power it has for the generation of herbs, seeds, and trees. for, just as tops, from the first impulse given to them, produce successive whirls when they are spun, so also the order of nature, having received its beginning from that first command, continues to all time thereafter, until it shall reach the common consummation of all thing not only in these commentaries did st. basil manifest his intense devotion to the holy scriptures but throughout his writings, in all of which he supported his statements by quotations from the bible. that he attempted to awaken in his people a similar reverence for it may be seen from his declaration in homily six on the hexaemeron, 'i have mentioned these things as a demonstration of the great size of the luminaries and as a proof that none of the divinely inspired words, even as much as a syllable, is an idle word.' the present translation was based on the garnier and maran edition of the opera omnia basilii, paris, 1839. there is an earlier english translation of the hexaemeron, that of b. jackson in volume 8 of the nicene and post-nicene fathers, '21 a 20 homily 4, cf. infra p. 58. 21 homily 5, cf. infra p. 82. introduction xv 1895, but no previous translation of the homilies on the psalms. the scriptural quotations are taken from the confraternity of christian doctrine editions of the book of genesis and the new testament, and from the douay-rheims edition of the old testament. in numerous places the wording of the english text had to be changed somewhat to a more literal translation of the greek so as to agree with st. basil's interpretations. often, too, his quotations, being directly from the septuagint, varied slightly from the vulgate and english translations. i wish to take this opportunity to express my indebtedness for many valuable suggestions to mother mary angelique, through whom this work was made possible for me and who graciously read the manuscript, and to sister james aloysius of the department of french and sister mary clare of the department of biology, who also read the manuscript. select bibliography texts and translations: garnier, and maran, basilii caesareae gappadociae archiepiscopi opera omnia (paris 1839). b. jackson, the nine homilies of the hexaemeron of st. basil the great (in select library of nicene and post-nicene fathers 8, new york 1895). j. p. migne, s.p.n. basilii opera omnia (patrologia graeca 29, paris 1886). secondary sources: aratus, phaenomena translated by g. g. mair (in loeb classical library, new york 1921). aristotle, works (in great books of the western world, vols. 8 and 9, chicago, 1955). otto bardenhewer, geschichte der altkirchlen literatur. freiburg im breisgau, 1913-1932 (5 vols., vol. 1 and 2 in 2nd edit., reprint of vol. 3 with additions). patrology translated by thomas shahan, (st. louis 1908). herodotus, history translated by a. d. godley (in loeb classical library, new york 1928). xvi saint basil hesiod, works and days translated by hugh g. evelyn-white (in loeb classical library, new york 1920). hippocrates, hippocratic writings translated by francis adams (in great books of the western world, vol. 6, chicago 1955). livy, history translated by b. o. foster (in loeb classical library, new york 1924). lucian, timon translated by a. m. harmon (in loeb classical library, new york 1915). plato, dialogues of plato in great books of the western world, vol. 7, chicago 1955). timaeus translated by r. g. bury (in loeb classical library, new york 1929). pliny, natural history, bk. 10, translated by h. rackham (in loeb classical library, new york, 1940). plotinus, the six enneads translated by stephen mckenna and b. s. page (in great books of the western world, vol. 17, chicago 1955). william smith, dictionary of greek and roman geography, (london 1870). strabo, geography of strabo translated by h. l. jones (in loeb classical library, new york 1917). theophrastus, enquiry into plants translated by a. hort (in loeb classical library, new york 1916). vergil, poems translated by james rhoades (in great books of the western world, vol. 13, chicago 1955). xenophon, symposium translated by o. j. todd (in loeb classical library, new york 1922). saint basil exegetic homilies homily 1 creation of the heavens and the earth (on the hexaemeron) n the beginning god created the heavens and the earth.1 an appropriate beginning for one who intends to speak about the formation of the world is to place first in the narration the source of the orderly arrangement of visible things. for, the creation of the heavens and earth must be handed down, not as having happened spontaneously, as some have imagined, but as having its origin from god. what ear is worthy of the sublimity of this narrative? how well prepared should that soul be for the hearing of such stupendous wonders? cleansed from the passions of the flesh, undarkened by the cares of life, devoted to labor, given to investigation, watchful on all sides to see if from some place or other it may receive a worthy concept of god. before weighing the accuracy of these expressions, however, and examining how much meaning there is in these few words, let us consider who is speaking to us. for, even if we do not attain to the profound thoughts of the writer because of the weakness of our intellect, nevertheless, having regard for the authority of the speaker we shall be led spontaneously to agree with his utterances. now, moses is the author of this narrative, that moses who while still a child at the breast was 1 gen. 1.1. 3 4 saint basil 3 acknowledged to be ‘acceptable to god'; he, whom the daughter of pharaoh adopted and royally reared,2 appointing as masters for his instruction the wise men of egypt. he, who, hating the pomp of royalty, returned to the lowly state of his own race and preferred to suffer affliction with the people of god rather than to have the ephemeral enjoyment of sin. he, who, possessing naturally a love for justice, on one occasion, even before the government of the people was entrusted to him, was seen inflicting on the wicked, punishment to the extent of death because of his natural hatred of villainy:3 he, who, banished by those to whom he had been a benefactor, gladly left the uproar of the egyptians and went to ethiopia and, spending there all his time apart from others, devoted himself for forty entire years to the contemplation of creation. he, who, having already reached the age of eighty years, saw god as far as it is possible for man to see him, or rather, as it has not been granted to anyone else according to the very testimony of god: 'if there be among you a prophet of the lord, i will appear to him in a vision, or i will speak to him in a dream. but it is not so with my servant moses, who is the most faithful in all my house: for i speak to him mouth to mouth: and plainly, and not by riddles.'s so then, this man, who is made equal to the angels, being considered worthy of the sight of god face to face, reports to us those things which he heard from god. let us hear, therefore, the words of truth expressed not in the persuasive language of human wisdom, 8 2 cf. acts 7.20-22: ‘at this time moses was born, and he was acceptable to god; he was nourished three months in his father's house, and when he was exposed, pharaoh's daughter adopted him and brought him up as her own son. and moses was instructed in all the wisdom of the egyptians.' 3 cf. ex. 2.12: ‘and when he had looked about this way and that way, and saw no one there, he slew the egyptian.' 4 cf. ex. 2.15: “but he fled from his sight, and abode in the land of madian.' 5 num. 12.6-8. 6 cf. 1 cor. 2.4: 'and my speech and my preaching, were not in the persuasive words of wisdom, but in the demonstration of the spirit.' homily 1 5 8 but in the teachings of the spirit, whose end is not praise from those hearing, but the salvation of those taught. (2) 'in the beginning god created the heavens and the earth.”? astonishment at the thought checks my utterance. what shall i say first? whence shall i begin my narration? shall i refute the vanity of the heathens? or shall i proclaim our truth? the wise men of the greeks wrote many works about nature, but not one account among them remained unaltered and firmly established, for the later account always overthrew the preceding one. as a consequence, there is no need for us to refute their words; they avail mutually for their own undoing. those, in fact, who could not recognize god, did not concede that a rational cause was the author of the creation of the universe, but they drew their successive conclusions in a manner in keeping with their initial ignorance. for this reason some had recourse to material origins, 8 referring the beginning of the universe to the elements of the world; and others imagined that the nature of visible things consisted of atoms and indivisible particles, of molecules and interstices; indeed, that, as the indivisible particles now united with each other and now separated, there were produced generations and deteriorations; and that the stronger union of the atoms of the more durable bodies was the cause of their permanence. truly, it is a spider's web that these writers weave, who suggest such weak and unsubstantial beginnings of the heavens and earth and sea. it is because they did not know how to say: 'in the beginning god created the heavens and the earth. they were deceived by the godlessness present within them into thinking that the universe was without guide 7 gen. 1.1. 8 cf. aristotle, metaphysics 1.3.983b: 'of the first philosophers, then, most thought the principles which were of the nature of matter were the only principles of all things.' 9 the founders of the atomist philosophy are leucippus and democritus who lived in the 5th century b.c. their views are presented by aristotle, on the soul 1.2.403b, and by cicero, on the nature of the gods 1.24-26. (the translation of on the nature of the gods is always that of c. d. yonge.) 6 saint basil and without rule, as if borne around by chance. in order that we might not suffer this error, he who described the creation of the world immediately, in the very first words, enlightened our mind with the name of god, saying: 'in the beginning god created.' how beautiful an arrangement! he placed first 'the beginning,' that no one might believe that it was without a beginning. then he added the word, 'created,' that it might be shown that what was made required a very small part of the power of the creator. in fact, as the potter, although he has formed innumerable vessels by the same art, has exhausted neither his art nor his power, so also the creator of the universe, possessing creative power not commensurate with one world, but infinitely greater, by the weight of his will alone brought the mighty creations of the visible world into existence. if, then, the world has a beginning and was created, inquire: 'who is he that gave it the beginning, and who is the creator?' rather, lest in seeking through human reasoning you might perhaps turn aside from the truth, moses has taught us beforehand, imprinting upon our hearts as a seal and a security, the highly honored name of god, saying: 'in the beginning god created.' the blessed nature, the bounteous goodness, the beloved of all who are endowed with reason, the much desired beauty, the origin of things created, the fount of life, the spiritual light, the inaccessible wisdom, he is the one who 'in the beginning created the heavens and the earth.' (3) do not, then, imagine, o man, that the things which you see are without a beginning, and do not think, because the bodies moving in the heavens travel around in a circle and because the beginning of the circle is not easily discerned by our ordinary means of perception, that the nature of bodies moving in a circle is without a beginning. indeed, this circle, i mean the plane figure circumscribed by one line, just because it escapes our perception and we are not able to find out whence it began or where it stops, we ought not, forthwith, to homily 1 7 assume is without a beginning. but, even if it does escape our observation, assuredly, he who drew it with a center and a certain radius truly began from some point. thus, indeed, because objects, moving in a circle close in upon themselves, and the evenness of their motion is interrupted by no intervening break, do not maintain the illusion of the existence of a world without beginning and without end. 'for this world as we see it is passing away.'10 'heaven and earth will pass away.'11 that which is now given in brief in the first statement of the divinely inspired teachings is the preliminary proclamation of the doctrine concerning the end and the changing of the world. ‘in the beginning god created.' it is absolutely necessary that things begun in time be also brought to an end in time. if they have a beginning in time, have no doubt about the end. really, to what end are geometry and arithmetical investigations, the diligent study of solids and the much-discussed astronomy-all very laborious vanity-directed, if those who pursue them have believed that this visible world is co-eternal with god, the creator of all things; if they attribute to a circumscribed world which possesses a material body the same glory as to the limitless and invisible nature; and if they are not able to understand even this much, that the whole of anything whatsoever, whose parts are subject to corruption and change, must also at some time submit to the same changes as its parts? but, to such an extent 'they have become vain in their reasonings, and their senseless minds have been darkened, and while professing to be wise, they have become fools,'12 that some have declared that heaven is co-existent with god from eternity;18 others, that it is god himself without 10 1 cor. 7.31. 11 matt. 24.35. 12 rom. 1.21,22. 13 cf. aristotle, on the heavens 2.1.283b: “that the heaven as a whole neither came into being nor admits of destruction, as some assert, but is one and eternal, with no end or beginning . . . we may convince ourselves.' 13 8 saint basil beginning and without end, and that it is responsible for the arrangement of every individual thing. 14 (4) doubtless, their superfluous worldly wisdom will one day make their condemnation more grave because, while they are so keenly aware of vain matters, they have been blinded to the comprehension of the truth. they who measure the distances of the stars and register both those in the north, which are always shining above the horizon, and those which lie about the south pole visible to the eye of man there, but unknown to us; who also divide the northern zone and the zodiac into numberless spaces; who carefully observe the rising of the stars, their fixed positions, their descent, their recurrence, and the length of time in which each of the wandering stars completes its orbit; these men have not found one means from all this either to understand that god is the creator of everything and the just judge who gives the deserved reward for the actions of our life, or to acknowledge the idea of a consummation of all things consequent upon the doctrine of judgment, namely that it is necessary for the world to be changed if truly the state of the souls is to change to another form of life. as the present life has a nature akin to this world, so also the future existence of our souls will receive a lot consistent with its state. they, however, are so far from holding to these truths that they laugh broadly at us when we explain about the end of this world and the regeneration of life. now, since the beginning naturally stands before that which proceeds from it, necessarily in talking about that which has its existence in time he placed this word before all others, saying: 'in the beginning he created.' (5) in fact, there did exist something, as it seems, even 14 cf. cicero, on the nature of the gods 1.14: 'cleanthes, ... a disciple of zeno at the same time with aristo, in one place says that the world is god.' cf. also origen, contra celsum 5.581: “the greeks say plainly that the whole world is god: the stoics, that it is the first god; the followers of plato, that it is the second; but some of them, that it is the third.' homily 1 9 before this world, which our mind can attain by contemplation, but which has been left uninvestigated because it is not adapted to those who are beginners and as yet infants in understanding. this was a certain condition older than the birth of the world and proper to the supramundane powers, one beyond time, everlasting, without beginning or end. in it the creator and producer of all things perfected the works of his art, a spiritual light befitting the blessedness of those who love the lord, rational and invisible natures, and the whole orderly arrangement of spiritual creatures which surpass our understanding and of which it is impossible even to discover the names. these fill completely the essence of the invisible world, as paul teaches us when he says: "for in him were created all things,' whether visible or invisible, 'whether thrones, or dominations, or principalities, or powers,'15 or forces, or hosts of angels, or sovereign archangels. when at length it was necessary for this world also to be added to what already existed, primarily as a place of training and a school for the souls of men, then was created a fit dwelling place for all things in general which are subject to birth and destruction. adapted by nature to the world and to the animals and plants in it, the passage of time began, always pressing on and flowing past, and nowhere checking its course. in truth, is this not the nature of time, whose past has vanished, whose future is not yet at hand, and whose present escapes perception before it is known? such also is the nature of all that has been made, either clearly growing or decaying, but possessing no evident settled state nor stability. therefore, it was proper for the bodies of animals and plants, bound, as it were, by force to a sort of current, and maintained in a motion which leads to birth and corruption, to be possessed of the nature of time, which has the peculiar character natural to things which change. here he who wisely taught us about the generation of the world fittingly added to the account con15 col. 1.16. 10 saint basil cerning it, these words: 'in the beginning he created'; that is, in this beginning according to time. not because he is testifying that according to seniority it was first of all that exists, does he say that in the beginning it was created, but he is describing the beginning of the existence of these visible and sensible creatures after that of the invisible and spiritual. a first movement also is called the beginning, as 'the beginning of a good way is to do justice.'16 for, by just actions we first advance toward the blessed life. again, that is also called the beginning from which something is produced but still remains inherent in it, as the foundation in a house and the keel in a ship, according to the saying: “the fear of the lord is the beginning of wisdom.'17 in fact, piety is, as it were, the groundwork and basis for perfection. art is also the beginning of works of art; thus, the skill of beseleel was the beginning of the adornment of the tabernacle.18 frequently too, the useful aim of the activity is the beginning of actions, for example, approval from god is the beginning of charity, and the end contained in the promises is the beginning of every virtuous action. (6) although 'beginning' is so varied in sense, see if the word in this place is not in agreement with all its meanings. in fact, it is even possible for you to learn when the formation of this world began, if only going back from the present to the past you would strive to discover the first day of the generation of the world. you will in this way find from what moment the first movement in time came; then, too, that the heavens and the earth were laid down, first, like foundation 16 prov. 16.5 (septuagint version prov. 16.7). 17 ibid. 1.7, 9.10. 18 st. basil here follows closely the explanation of aristotle, metaphysics 5.1.1012b and 1013a: 'beginning means (1) that part of a thing from which one would start first, (2) that from which each thing would best be originated, ... (3) that from which, as an immanent part, a thing first comes to be, e.g. as the keel of a ship and the foundation of a house, . (4) that, from which the movement or the change naturally first begins . (5) ... and so are the arts, and of these especially the archetectonic arts (called beginnings).' homily 1 11 stones and groundwork; and next, that there was some systematic reason directing the orderly arrangement of visible things, as the word 'the beginning' shows you. moreover, you will find that the world was not devised at random or to no purpose, but to contribute to some useful end and to the great advantage of all beings, if it is truly a training place for rational souls and a school for attaining the knowledge of god, because through visible and perceptible objects it provides guidance to the mind for the contemplation of the invisible, as the apostle says: 'since the creation of the world his invisible attributes are clearly seen ... being understood through the things that are made.'19 or, perhaps, the words 'in the beginning he created,' were used because of the instantaneous and timeless act of creation, since the beginning is something immeasurable and indivisible. as the beginning of the road is not yet the road, and the beginning of the house, not yet the house, so also, the beginning of time is not yet time, on the contrary, not even the least part of it. and, if anyone should say contentiously that the beginning is time, let him know that he will be dividing it into parts of time. and these parts are beginning and middle and end. but, it is entirely ridiculous to think of the beginning of a beginning. moreover, he who divides the beginning will make two instead of one, or rather, many and unlimited beginnings, since the part which is divided is always cut into other parts. in order, therefore, that we may be taught that the world came into existence instantaneously at the will of god, it is said: 'in the beginning he created.' other interpreters of this, giving the meaning more clearly, have said: 'god made summarily,' that is, immediately and in a moment. such, then, to mention a few from the many points, is the explanation concerning the begin. ning. (7) yet, of the arts some are said to be creative, others prac19 rom. 1.20. 12 saint basil tical, and others theoretical.20 the aim of the theoretical skills is the action of the mind; but that of the practical, the motion itself of the body, and, if that should cease, nothing would subsist or remain for those beholding it. in fact, there is no aim in dancing and flute playing; on the contrary, the very action ends with itself. however, in the case of the creative skills, even though the action ceases, the work remains, as that of architecture, carpentry, metal work, weaving, and of as many such arts as, even if the craftsman is not present, ably manifest in themselves the artistic processes of thoughts, and make possible for you to admire the architect from his work, as well as the metal worker and the weaver. that it might be shown, then, that the world is a work of art, set before all for contemplation, so that through it the wisdom of him who created it should be known, the wise moses used no other word concerning it, but he said: 'in the beginning he created.' he did not say: 'he produced,' nor 'he fashioned,' but 'he created.' inasmuch as many of those who have imagined that the world from eternity co-existed with god21 did not concede that it was made by him, but that, being, as it were, a shadow of his power, it existed of itself coordinately with him, and inasmuch as they admit that god is the cause of it, but involuntarily a cause, as the body is the cause of the shadow and the flashing light the cause of the brilliance, therefore, the prophet in correcting such an error used exactness in his words, saying: 'in the beginning god created. the thing itself did not provide the cause of its existence, but he created, as one good, something useful; as one wise, something beautiful; as one powerful, something mighty. indeed, moses showed you a craftsman all but pervading the substance of 20 cf. aristotle, metaphysics 6.1.1025b: 'therefore, if all thought is either practical or productive or theoretical, physics must be a theoretical science.' 21 cf. plotinus ennead 2.1.1: ‘we hold that the ordered universe, in its material mass, has existed for ever and will for ever endure: but simply to refer this perdurance to the will of god, however true an explanation, is utterly inadequate.' homily 1 13 the universe, harmonizing the individual parts with each other, and bringing to perfection a whole, consistent with itself, consonant, and harmonious. 'in the beginning god created the heavens and the earth.' from two extremes moses implied the existence of the whole, giving to the heavens precedence of generation and asserting that the earth was second in existence. assuredly, whatever intervenes between these was made at the same time as the extremities. therefore, even though he says nothing about the elements, fire, water, and air, nevertheless, by the judgment of your own intelligence, reflect, in the first place, that all things are compounded with all others, and that you will find water and air and fire in the earth, if really fire is struck from stones, and if from iron, which itself has its source from the earth, a plentiful fire is wont to shine forth when there is friction. this also is deserving of wonder, that the fire which exists in the bodies lies harmlessly hidden, but on being called forth to the outside consumes that which hitherto preserved it. that water exists in the earth is proved by the diggers of wells; and that air does is shown by the vapors which are sent up from the moistened earth when it is heated by the sun. moreover, since the heavens naturally occupy the place above, and the earth is lowest, because light objects are borne to the heavens but the heavy objects are wont to fall down to the earth, and since height and depth are the very opposite of each other, he who made mention of those things which stand farthest apart according to nature also indicated by way of synecdoche those which fill up the intervening space. therefore, do not look for a detailed account of each, but understand those passed over in silence through those which were set forth. (8) 'in the beginning god created the heavens and the earth.' an inquiry into the substance of each of the things which exist, whether they fall under our contemplation or lie open to our perception, brings into the explanation a long and 3 14 saint basil 23 disconnected account, so that in the examination of this problem more words would be used than in everything else that can be said about each of the objects investigated. besides, a concern about these things is not at all useful for the edification of the church. concerning the substance of the heavens we are satisfied with the sayings of isaia, who in simple words gave us a sufficient knowledge of its nature when he said: 'he established the heaven as if smoke, '22 that is, he gave the substance for the formation of the heavens a delicate nature and not a solid and dense one. and, as to their form, sufficient for us are the words which he spoke in the glorification of god: 'he that stretcheth out the heavens as a vaulted ceiling.' these same thoughts, let us also recommend to ourselves concerning the earth, not to be curious about what its substance is; nor to wear ourselves out by reasoning, seeking its very foundation; nor to search for some nature destitute of qualities, existing without quality of itself; but to realize well that all that is seen around it is related to the reason of its existence, forming an essential part of its substance. you will end with nothing if you attempt to eliminate by reason each of the qualities that exist in it. in fact, if you remove the black, the cold, the weight, the density, the qualities pertaining to taste, or any others which are perceptible, there will be no basic substance. therefore, i urge you to abandon these questions and not to inquire upon what foundation it stands. if you do that, the mind will become dizzy, with the reasoning going on to no definite end. if you say that air is spread under the surface of the earth,24 you will be at a loss as to how its soft and porous nature, pressed down under such a weight, endures and does 22 cf. isa. 51.6 (septuagint version). 23 isa. 40.22 (septuagint version). 24 cf. aristotle, on the heavens 2.13.294b: ‘anaximenes and anaxagoras and democritus give the flatness of the earth as the cause of its staying still. thus, they say, it does not cut, but covers like a lid, the air beneath it.' homily 1 15 not slip through in all directions in order to escape from under the sinking weight and flow continuously over that which compresses it. again, if you suppose that water is the substance placed under the earth,25 even so you will inquire how it is that the heavy and dense body does not pass through the water, but instead, although excelling in weight, is supported by the weaker nature. in regard to seeking the foundation for the water itself, you are again at a loss as to what watertight and firmly standing support its uppermost depth rests upon. (9) if you suggest that there is another body heavier than the earth to prevent the earth from going downward you will notice that, that too, needs some like support to keep it from falling down. and, if we are able to fashion some support and place it underneath, our mind will seek again the support for that, and thus we shall go on endlessly, always inventing other bases in turn for the bases found.26 moreover, the farther we advance in our reasoning, the greater is the supporting force we are compelled to bring in, that will be able to withstand the whole superimposed mass. set a limit, then, to your thoughts, lest the words of job should ever censure your curiosity as you scrutinize things incomprehensible, and you also should be asked by him: 'upon what are its bases grounded?"27 but, even if at some time in the psalms you hear: 'i have established the 25 cf. ibid. 294a: 'others say the earth rests upon water. this, indeed, is the oldest theory that has been preserved, and is attributed to thales of miletus. it was supposed to stay still because it floated like wood and other similar substances, which are so constituted as to rest upon water but not upon air. as if the same account had not to be given of the water which carries the earth as of the earth itself! . . . again, as air is lighter than water, so is water than earth: how then can they think that the naturally lighter substance lies below the heavier?' 26 cf. ibid.: 'some have been led to assert that the earth below us is infinite, saying, with xenophanes of colophon, that it has “pushed its roots to infinity,"-in order to save the trouble of seeking for the cause. hence the sharp rebuke of empedocles in the words “if the deeps of the earth are endless and endless the ample ether-such is the vain tale told by many a tongue, poured from the mouths of those who have seen but little of the whole." 27 job 38.6. a 16 saint basil 29 , 10 all 如​g. 自​即​日前​,域​迁​dub be a t pillars thereof,'28 believe that the sustaining force is called the pillars. as for the saying: 'he hath founded it upon the seas, what else does it signify than that the water is spread around the earth on all sides? now, how does water, which exists as a fluid and naturally tends to flow downward, remain hanging without support and never flow away? yet, you do not consider that the earth, suspended by its own power, provides the same or even a greater need for a reason, since it has a heavier nature. moreover, we must, even if we grant that the earth stands by its own power and if we say that it rides at anchor on the water, depart in no way from the thought of true religion, but admit that all things are kept under control by the power of the creator. therefore, we must say this to ourselves and to those asking us on what this immense and insupportable weight of the earth is propped up: 'in the hand of god are all the ends of the earth.'30 this is safest for our own understanding and is most profitable for our hearers. (10) already some of the inquirers into nature say with a great display of words that the earth remains immovable for the following reasons: that, because of its holding the middle place of the universe and because of the equal distance on all sides to the edge, not having place to incline farther on any side, necessarily then, it rests upon itself, since the equal space encircling it on all sides makes an inclination toward any one side entirely impossible for it.31 and they add that the earth did not obtain the middle place by chance, nor of itself, but that this is the natural and necessary situation for the p. 28 ps. 74.4. 29 ibid. 23.2. 30 ibid. 94.4. 31 cf. aristotle, ibid. 2.13.295b: “but there are some, anaximander, for instance, among the ancients, who say that the earth keeps its place because of its indifference. motion upward and downward and sideways were all, they thought, equally inappropriate to that which is set at the centre and indifferently related to every extreme point; and to move in contrary directions at the same time was impossible: so it must needs remain still.' cf. also plato, phaedo 108 and 109. homily 1 17 d the zas, ound sts as nging con es the avier earth chor reli . the elves portgod earth.32 for, since the heavenly body occupies the highest position, whatever heavy weights, they assert, we might assume to fall from above, will be brought together to the center from all sides. to whatever point the parts are borne, there the whole mass, of course, will be pressed together. if stones and wood and all earthy material are carried downward, this would be the proper and suitable situation for the whole earth; but, if one of the lighter objects is carried away from the center, clearly it will move toward the higher regions. therefore, the proper motion for the very heavy objects is downward; but reason has shown that downward is the center. do not, then, wonder that the earth never falls, since it holds naturally the middle place. it is positively obliged to remain in that place, or being moved, contrary to nature to be displaced from its proper location. and, should any of these things which have been said seem to you to be plausible, transfer your admiration to the wisdom of god which has ordered them so. in fact, our amazement at the greatest phenomena is not lessened because we have discovered the manner in which a certain one of the marvels occurred. but, if this is not so, still let the simplicity of faith be stronger than the deductions of own th a for ddle on on reason. qual ard the self, the (11) we might say this same thing also concerning the heavens, namely, that most verbose treatises have been written by the wise of the world on the nature of the heavens. some have said that it is composed of the four elements, as though it were tangible and visible, and that it shares in the nature of earth because of its solid surface, of fire because it is seen, for 32 cf. ibid. 295b, 296a: ‘the place to which any fragment of earth moves must necessarily be the place to which the whole moves; and in the place to which a thing naturally moves, it will naturally rest. the reason then is not in the fact that the earth is indifferently related to every extreme point: for this would apply to any body, whereas movement to the centre is peculiar to earth. thus for all the indifference theory shows to the contrary, earth also would have moved in this manner away from the centre, unless the centre had been its natural place.' lace ide 2 is int; ble: 18 saint basil and of the other elements because of their mingling together.33 others have rejected this reasoning as unlikely, and, acting at random and according to their own minds, have introduced a certain fifth elemental substance for the formation of the heavens. now, in their opinion there is a certain ethereal body which, they say, is neither fire, nor air, nor earth, nor water, nor any at all of the simple elements, because motion in a straight line is proper to simple objects, light objects being borne upward and heavy objects downward. but, upward and downward motion is not the same as circular motion; on the whole, straight motion differs very much from circular motion. and of those objects of which the natural motions happen to differ, the substances also, they say, necessarily must differ. it is not even possible, however, for us to assume that the heavens are formed of primary bodies which we call elements, because bodies which are compounded from unlike bodies cannot have an even and unforced motion, since each of the simple bodies inherent in the composite ones has a different impulse from nature. in the first place, then, it is with effort that the composite bodies are kept in continual motion, because one motion cannot be in harmony and agreement with all the contrary motions; but the motion peculiar to the light object is opposed to that of the heavy one. indeed, whenever we are borne downward, we use violence against the fiery part of our being, dragging it down contrary to its nature. this pulling of the elements in contrary directions is an occasion of their dissolution. for, that which is under compulsion and in opposition to nature, although it resists for a little while, violently and utterly, is quickly dissolved into the elements from which it was composed, since each of those which had come together returns to its own place. because of these 33 cf. plato, timaeus 31b: “thus it was that in the midst between fire and earth god set water and air, and having bestowed upon them so far as possible a like ratio one towards another-air being to water as fire to air, and water being to earth as air to water-he joined together and constructed a heaven visible and tangible.' homily 1 19 logical necessities, as they say, those who assume a fifth element for the generation of the heavens and the stars in it, having rejected the opinions of their predecessors, needed an hypothesis of their own. but, another, strong in persuasive argumentation, rising in his turn against them, refuted and dissolved these theories and introduced his own personal opinion. if we undertake now to talk about these theories, we shall fall into the same idle chatter as they. but, let us allow them to refute each other, and let us stop talking about the substance, since we have been persuaded by moses that 'god created the heavens and the earth. let us glorify the master craftsman for all that has been done wisely and skillfully; and from the beauty of the visible things let us form an idea of him who is more than beautiful; and from the greatness of these perceptible and circumscribed bodies let us conceive of him who is infinite and immense and who surpasses all understanding in the plenitude of his power. for, even if we are ignorant of things made, yet, at least, that which in general comes under our observation is so wonderful that even the most acute mind is shown to be at a loss as regards the least of the things in the world, either in the ability to explain it worthily or to render due praise to the creator, to whom be all glory, honor, and power forever. amen. 1 1 homily 2 invisible and unfinished state of the earth (on the hexaemeron) his morning when we dwelt upon a few words, we found such hidden depth of thought that we despair completely of what follows. if the court of the sanctuary is so beautiful, and the vestibule of the temple is so august and magnificent, dazzling the eyes of our soul with its surpassing beauty, what must be the holy of holies? and who is fit to venture within the innermost shrine? or who can look into its secrets? indeed, even a glimpse of them is unattainable, and to explain what the mind conceives of them is exceedingly difficult. since, however, rewards by no means contemptible are assigned by the just judge even for merely undertaking needful tasks, let us not hesitate to investigate. in fact, even if we err in our opinion, nevertheless, if by the assistance of the spirit we do not depart from the meaning of the scripture, we ourselves shall not be judged entirely deserving of rejection, and with the help of grace we shall furnish some edification to the church of god. 'but the earth was invisible and unfinished,' moses says.1 how is it, if both the heavens and the earth were of equal honor, that the heavens were brought to perfection and the earth is still imperfect and unfinished? or, in short, what was the lack of preparation of the earth? and for what reason was i gen. 1.2 (septuagint version). 21 22 saint basil it invisible? surely, the perfect condition of the earth consists in its state of abundance: the budding of all sorts of plants, the putting forth of the lofty trees both fruitful and barren, the freshness and fragrance of flowers, and whatever things appeared on earth a little later by the command of god to adorn their mother. since as yet there was nothing of this, the scripture reasonably spoke of it as incomplete. we might say the same also about the heavens; that they were not yet brought to perfection themselves, nor had they received their proper adornment, since they were not yet lighted around by the moon nor the sun, nor crowned by the choirs of the stars. for, these things had not yet been made. therefore, you will not err from the truth if you say that the heavens also were incomplete. scripture called the earth invisible for two reasons: because man, the spectator of it, did not yet exist, or because, being submerged under the water which overflowed its surface, it could not be seen. for, not yet had the waters, which later god gathered together and called seas, been collected into their own places. now, what is invisible? on the one hand, what cannot be seen by the eyes of the body, as our mind; and on the other, that which, really visible by nature, is hidden because of the interposition of a body lying upon it, like iron in the depths of the earth. in accordance with this interpretation we believe that 'invisible' means that the earth was concealed by the water. then, of course, since light had not yet been made, it is not to be wondered at that the earth, lying in darkness, because the air above it was not illumined, was for this reason also called by scripture 'invisible.' (2) but, the counterfeiters of truth, who do not teach their minds to follow the scripture, but distort the meaning of scripture according to their own will, say that matter is implied by these words. this, they say, is naturally invisible and unfinished, being without qualities because of its condition, and dissociated from all form and shape. having taken homily 2 23 it over, the craftsman formed it by his own intelligence, reduced it to order, and thus through it gave visible things existence. if matter itself is uncreated, it is, in the first place, of equal rank with god, worthy of the same honors. what could be more impious than this, that the most extreme unsightliness, without qualities, without form, unshapen ugliness (i have used, indeed, their own expressions) be considered worthy of the same superior ranking as the wise and powerful and allgood craftsman and creator of all things? in the next place, if matter is so great as to take in entirely the intelligence of god, on this supposition also, in a way, they compare its substance with the inscrutable power of god, since it would be capable of measuring by itself all the intelligence of god. but, if matter is inferior to the activity of god, then also their explanation will be turned into a more absurd blasphemy, since his own works would be keeping god unsuccessful and inefficacious because of the deficiency in matter. in truth, the poverty of their human nature deceived them. since among us each art is definitely occupied with a certain material, as the art of metalworking with iron, and of carpentry with wood; and in them the substance is one thing; the form, another; and that made from the form, another; furthermore, since the material is received from the outside, but the form is adapted to it by art, and the finished product is the combination of both, that is, of the form and the material; so they think also that in the divine creative activity the plan of the world was produced by the wisdom of the maker of all things, but matter was appropriated to the creator from the outside and a composite world came into existence, having its fundamental matter and substance from the outside, but receiving its plan and form from god. from this fact it is possible for them 2 cf. plato, timaeus 30 a: 'when he (god) took over all that was visible, seeing that it was not in a state of rest but in a state of discordant and disorderly motion, he brought it into order out of disorder, deeming that the former state is in all ways better than the latter.' 24 saint basil to say that the great god is not the author of the formation of all beings, but, somewhat as a member of a partnership, he has himself contributed a small portion for the generation of all that exists. they are unable because of the shallowness of their reasoning to perceive the sublimity of truth, since in this world the arts come into being later than the materials, introduced because of the need of employing them in living. wool existed first and the art of weaving came afterwards to fulfill of itself the deficiency of nature. again, there was wood, and the art of carpentry, taking up and shaping the material according to the required need on each occasion, showed us the usefulness of wood, providing the oar for sailors, the winnowing fan for farmers, and the shield for soldiers. god, however, before any of the objects now seen existed, having cast about in his mind and resolved to bring into being things that did not exist, at one and the same time devised what sort of a world it should be and created the appropriate matter together with its form. for the heavens he assigned a nature suitable for the heavens; and for the plan of the earth he produced a substance peculiar and destined for it. and fire and water and air he moulded variously as he wished, and he formed them into substance when the reason for the existence of each demanded. the whole world, which consists of diverse parts, he bound together by an unbroken bond of attraction into one fellowship and harmony, so that objects which are farthest apart from each other in position seem to have been made one through affinity. let those cease, therefore, from their mythical fictions, who attempt in the weakness of their own reasonings to measure power incomprehensible to their understanding and wholly inexpressible in human speech. (3) 'god created the heavens and the earth,'not each one by halves, but the entire heavens and the whole earth, includ3 gen. 1.1. homily 2 25 ing the substance itself with the form. he is not the inventor of the shapes, but the creator of the very nature of all that exists. otherwise, let them answer us as to how the active power of god and the passive nature of matter came in contact with each other, the one providing substance without form, and the other possessing an understanding of shapes but without matter, so that what was lacking to each might come from the other-to the creator, the possession of an opportunity to display his art; to matter, the ability to lay aside its unsightliness and absence of form. but so far concerning these matters. let us return to the original statement: 'the earth was invisible and unfinished.' when moses said: 'in the beginning god created the heavens and the earth,' he left unmentioned many things-water, air, fire, the conditions produced from these-all of which, as forming an essential part of the world, he assuredly called into existence at the same time as the universe. but, the narrative made omissions to accustom our mind to a ready understanding and to permit the rest to be deduced from slight resources. now, although mention has not been made concerning the fact that god created water, but it was stated that the earth was invisible, consider for yourself by what it was covered that it was not plainly seen. certainly, fire was not able to hide it. in fact, fire would provide illumination and clearness rather than obscurity for those things to which it would attach itself. nor again, was air at that time the cloak of the earth. for, the nature of air is rare and transparent, admitting all the forms of visible objects and transmitting them to the eyes of spectators. accordingly, it remains for us to believe that water abounded on the surface of the earth because the liquid substance had not yet been separated and spread in its allotted place. for this reason, not only was the earth invisible but it was also unfinished. excess of moisture, indeed, is even now a hindrance to productiveness for the earth. there is, therefore, the same cause both for its 26 saint basil 1 being unseen and for its being unfinished, if, indeed, the finishing of the earth is the adornment proper to it and according to its nature-corn fields waving in the hollows, meadows verdant and abounding with varied flowers, woodland vales in bloom, and mountain peaks shaded over with forest trees. it had none of these as yet, being in travail with the birth of all things through the power stored up in it by the creator, and waiting for the proper times that it might bring forth its offspring into the open at the divine command. (4) 'and darkness,' moses said, 'was on the face of the deep.'4 here, again, are other opportunities for myths and sources for more impious fabrications, since men pervert the words according to their own notions. they explain the darkness, not as some unlighted air, as is natural, or a place overshadowed by the interposition of a body, or, in short, a place deprived of light through any cause whatsoever, but, they explain the darkness as an evil power, or rather, as evil itself, aving its beginning from itself, resisting and opposing the goodness of god. if ‘god is light,'5 they say, assuredly in conformity with the meaning, the power warring against him would be darkness, a darkness not having its being from another, but a self-begotten evil. darkness, enemy of souls, producer of death, adversary of virtue. they falsely think that the very words of the prophet indicate that it subsisted and had not been made by god. from this beginning, then, what wicked or godless dogmas have not been invented! what fierce wolves, beginning with these insignificant words, have not preyed upon souls, scattering god's flock!® have not the 4 ibid. 1.2. 5 1 john 1.5. 6 cf. acts 20.29: 'i know that after my departure fierce wolves will get in among you, and will not spare the flock.' homily 2 27 marcionites?? and have not the valentinians come from the same source? has not the abominable heresy of the manichaeans?' and, if anyone calls that the putrefaction of the churches, he will not deviate from the truth. why do you flee far from the truth, o man, planning opportunities of destruction for yourself? the expression is simple and easily understood by all. he says: 'the earth was invisible.' what is the cause? because it had the 'deep' covering it. and what is the meaning of the 'deep?' fathomless water, with downward limits hard to reach. but, we know that many bodies frequently are seen through rather shallow and translucent water. how, then, did no part at all of the earth show through the waters? because the air flowing above it was still unlighted and in darkness. a ray of the sun penetrating through the waters does often reveal pebbles on the bottom, but, in the depth of night, in no way may anyone perceive objects under the water. thus, the statement that 'the deep overspread it and was itself in darkness' is capable of establishing the fact that the earth was invisible. the deep, then, is not a mass of opposing powers, as some have imagined, nor is darkness some sovereign and wicked force let loose against good. for, two equal powers in opposition to each other will be entirely and mutually destructive of their own nature, and they will continuously have and unceasingly provide troubles for each other 7 the marcionites were an heretical sect founded in rome in 144. they rejected the writings of the old testament and taught that christ was not the son of the god of the jews but of the good god. they anticipated the dualism of manichaeism by which they were later absorbed. they existed about 300 years in the west, but longer in the east. 8 the valentinians were an heretical sect founded in the middle of the second century. they attempted to amalgamate the most fantastic greek and oriental speculations with christian ideas. valentinus used freely some books of the new testament but interpreted them to correspond with his views. he was dominated by dualistic ideas. 9 the manichaeans practiced a form of religious dualism, holding the theory of two eternal principles, good and evil. it professes to be a true synthesis of all religious systems known in the latter half of the third century. it spread throughout the east and west, but especially in the land of its origin, mesopotamia, babylonia, and turkestan. 28 saint basil 1 1 when engaged in war. but, if one of the opponents excels the other in power, he altogether annihilates the conquered one. so, if they say that the opposition of evil against good is equally balanced, they introduce a ceaseless war and a continuous destruction, since in turn they conquer and are conquered. but, if the good exceeds in power, what reason is there that the nature of evil is not completely destroyed? if it is otherwise, however, which it is impious to say, i wonder how those falling into such unlawful blasphemy do not endeavor to flee from themselves. again, it is impious to say that evil has its origin from god, because naught contrary is produced by the contrary. life does not generate death, nor is darkness the beginning of light, nor is disease the maker of health, but in the changes of conditions there are transitions from one condition to the contrary. in genesis, however, each being comes forth not from its contrary, but from those of the same type. accordingly, they say, if it is not uncreated nor created by god, whence does it have its nature? no one who is in this world will deny that evils exist. what, then, do we say? that evil is not a living and animated substance, but a condition of the soul which is opposed to virtue and which springs up in the slothful because of their falling away from good. (5) do not, therefore, contemplate evil from without; and do not imagine some original nature of wickedness, but let each one recognize himself as the first author of the vice that is in him. always in the course of events, some things happen to us naturally, such as old age and infirmities, and others accidentally, as the unanticipated experiences of extraneous origin, of which some frequently are sad and others more cheerful, as the discovery of a treasure when digging a well or the meeting with a mad dog when hastening to the market. others, however, are in our own power, as mastering our desires or neglecting to bridle our pleasures, as controlling our anger or laying our hands upon one who has provoked us, telling the homily 2 29 truth or lying, being of a good and temperate disposition or swollen and exalted with false pretenses. so, you yourself are master of these actions; do not seek elsewhere their beginnings, but recognize that evil in its proper sense has taken its origin from our voluntary falls. if, indeed, it were involuntary and not in our own power, such great fear of the laws would not hang over the wrongdoers, and the penalties of the courts measuring out to the malefactors according to their deserts would not be so unmerciful. but, let this suffice concerning evil in its proper sense. now, as regards disease and poverty and ignominy and death and whatever else causes men sorrow, it is not right for them to be reckoned among evils, because we do not count among our greatest blessings what is opposed to them. and some of them are according to nature and others seem to be for the advantage of many. passing over in silence all figurative and allegorical explanation at the present time, let us accept the concept of darkness simply and without curiosity, following the meaning of scripture. reason asks whether darkness was made at the same time as was the world and whether it is anterior to light and why the older is inferior? therefore, we answer that this darkness did not subsist in substance but is a condition incident to the air because of the deprivation of light. of what light, then, was the region of the world suddenly found bereft, so that darkness was on the face of the water? we infer that, if there had been anything before the formation of this perceptible and destructible world, certainly it would have existed in light. for, neither the ranks of angels nor all the heavenly armies, nor, in short, any other of the rational natures, whether named or unnamed, or of the ministering spirits,10 lived in darkness; but in light and in all spiritual gladness enjoyed a condition proper to them. and no one will gainsay this, certainly not anyone who expects heavenly light among the promised blessings, concern10 cf. heb. 1.14: 'are they not all ministering spirits, sent for service?' 30 saint basil ing which solomon says: “the just have light eternal';11 and the apostle says: 'rendering thanks to god the father, who has made us worthy to share the lot of the saints in light.'12 if, indeed, the damned are sent 'into the darkness outside,'13 certainly, those who have performed acts deserving of approbation have their rest in the supramundane light. when, then, the heavens were made by the command of god, surrounding completely the space enclosed by their own circumference with an unbroken body capable of separating the parts within from those outside, necessarily they made the regions within dark, since they had cut off the rays of light from the outside. it is necessary for three things to concur in the case of a shadow, namely, the light, the body, and an unlighted place. accordingly, the earthly darkness existed in consequence of the shadow of the heavenly body. now, understand my explanation from a clear example of setting around yourself at midday a tent of thick and impenetrable material and shutting yourself up in its improvised darkness. suppose that darkness, then, to be such, not subsisting as the initial state but resulting from other causes. this darkness, indeed, is said to settle upon the face of the deep, since the limits of the air naturally make contact with the visible surfaces of bodies. at that time water was covering the surface of all things. therefore, necessarily, darkness was said to be upon the surface of the deep. (6) ‘and the spirit of god,' he says, 'was stirring above the waters.'14 if this spirit means the diffusion of the air, understand that the author is enumerating to you the parts of the world, saying that god created the heavens, the earth, water, and air; and this latter was spreading and flowing. or, what is truer and approved by those before us, the holy spirit is called the spirit of god, because it has been observed that it alone and specially was considered worthy by the scripture of such 11 prov. 13.9 (septuagint version). 12 col. 1.12. 13 matt. 22.13. 14 gen. 1.2. homily 2 31 mention, and there is named no other spirit of god than the holy spirit which forms an essential part of the divine and blessed trinity. admitting this meaning, you will find the advantage from it greater. how, then, was it stirring above the waters? i will tell you an explanation, not my own, but that of a syrian who was as far removed from worldly wisdom as he was near the knowledge of truth. now, he claimed that the language of the syrians was more expressive and because of its resemblance to the hebrew language approached somewhat more closely to the sense of scripture; therefore, the meaning of the statement was as follows. as regards the verb 'was stirring above, they interpret in preference to that, he says, 'warmed with fostering care,' and he endued the nature of the waters with life through his comparison with a bird brooding upon eggs and imparting some vital power to them as they are being warmed. some such meaning, they say, was implied by this word, as if the spirit were warming with fostering care, that is, was preparing the nature of water for the generation of living beings. therefore, from this there is sufficient proof for the inquiries of certain men that the holy spirit is not wanting in the creative power. ‘and god said, “let there be light.” '15 the first word of god created the nature of light, did away with the darkness, put an end to the gloom, brightened up the world, and bestowed upon all things in general a beautiful and pleasant appearance. the heavens, so long buried in darkness, appeared, and their beauty was such as even yet our eyes bear witness to. the air was illumined, or rather, it held the whole light completely permeating it, sending out dazzling rays in every direction to its uttermost bounds. it reached upward even to the ether itself and the heavens, and in extent it illuminated in a swift moment of time all parts of the world, north and south and east and west. for, such is the nature of ether, so rare and transparent, that the light passing through 15 ibid. 1.3. 32 saint basil it needs no interval of time. as it passes our glances along instantaneously to the objects at which we are looking, so also it receives the rays of light on all its boundaries in a moment of time, so that one could not conceive a shorter space of time. and the air is more pleasant after the light, and the waters brighter, since they not only admit but also return the brightness from themselves by the reflection of the light, the sparkling rays rebounding from all parts of the water. the divine word transformed all things into a most pleasing and excellent state. just as men who throw oil in deep water create a clear space, so the creator of all things, by his word instantly put the gracious gift of light in the world. (7) 'let there be light.' in truth, the command was itself the act, and a condition of nature was produced than which it is not possible for human reasonings to conceive anything more delightfully enjoyable. when we speak of a voice and a word and a command with reference to god, we mean the divine word, not a sound sent out through phonetic organs, nor air struck by the tongue, but we believe that the bent of his will is presented in the form of a command, because it is easily comprehended by those who are being instructed. 'and god saw that the light was good.'16 what could we say that would be worthy praise of light which beforehand possesses from the creator the testimony that it is good? among us speech reports the judgment made by the eyes; even so, it is unable to say anything at all as great as our senses previously have borne witness to. but, if beauty in the body has its being from the symmetry of its parts with each other and from the appearance of beautiful color, how, in the case of light, which is simple in nature and similar in parts, is the idea of beauty preserved? or, is it that the symmetry of light is not evinced in its individual parts but in the joy and pleasure at the visual impression? in this way even gold is beautiful, which holds an attraction and pleasure for the sight, not from 16 ibid. 1.4. > homily 2 33 the symmetry of its parts, but from the beauty of its color alone. and the evening star is the most beautiful of the stars, not because the parts of which it was formed are proportionate, but because from it there falls upon our eyes a certain joyous and delightful brightness. then, too, the judgment of god concerning the goodness of light has been made, and he looks not wholly at the pleasure in the sight but also looks forward to the future advantage. for, there were not yet eyes able to discern the beauty in light. 'and god separated the light from the darkness.'17 that is, god made their natures incapable of mixing and in opposition, one to the other. for, he divided and separated them with a very great distinction between them. (8) 'and god called the light day and the darkness night.'18 now, henceforth, after the creation of the sun, it is day when the air is illuminated by the sun shining on the hemisphere above the earth, and night is the darkness of the earth when the sun is hidden. yet, it was not at that time according to solar motion, but it was when that first created light was diffused and again drawn in according to the measure ordained by god, that day came and night succeeded. ‘and there was evening and morning, one day.'19 evening, then, is a common boundary line of day and night; and similarly, morning is the part of night bordering on day. in order, therefore, to give the prerogative of prior generation to the day, moses mentioned first the limit of the day and then that of the night, as night followed the day. the condition in the world before the creation of light was not night, but darkness; that which was opposed to the day was named night; wherefore it received its name later than the day did. so 'there was evening and morning. this means the space of a day and a night. no longer did he call them day and night 17 ibid. 18 gen. 1.5. 19 ibid. (septuagint version). 34 saint basil but assigned as the whole name that belonging to the important one. you may find this practice everywhere in the scripture, namely, that in the measuring of time days are counted and not nights with the days. 'the days of our years, the psalmist says.20 and again, jacob says: 'the days of my life are few and evil.'21 and again, 'all the days of my life.'22 therefore, the words now handed down in the form of history are the laws laid down for later usage. ‘and there was evening and morning, one day.' why did he say 'one' and not ‘first? and yet, it is more consistent for him who intends to introduce a second and a third and a fourth day, to call the one which begins the series 'first. but, he said 'one' because he was defining the measure of day and night and combining the time of a night and day, since the twenty-four hours fill up the interval of one day, if, of course, night is understood with day. therefore, even if at the time of the solstices of the sun it happens that one of them exceeds the other in length, still the durations of both are entirely included in the time defined. it is as if one would say that the measure of twenty-four hours is the length of one day, or that the return of the heavens from one point to the same point once more occurs in one day; so that, as often as through the revolution of the sun evening and morning traverse the world, the circle is completed, not in a longer period of time, but in the space of one day. or, is the reason handed down in the mysteries more authoritative, that god, having prepared the nature of time, set as measures and limits for it the intervals of the days, and measuring it out for a week, he orders the week, in counting the change of time, always to return again in a circle to itself? again, he orders that one day by recurring seven times complete a week; and this, beginning from itself and ending on itself, is the form of a circle. in fact, it 20 ps. 89.10. 21 gen. 47.9 (septuagint version). 22 ps. 22.6. homily 2 35 is also characteristic of eternity to turn back upon itself and never to be brought to an end. therefore, he called the beginning of time not a 'first day,' but 'one day,' in order that from the name it might have kinship with eternity. for, the day which shows a character of uniqueness and nonparticipation with the rest is properly and naturally called 'one.' if, however, the scripture presents to us many ages, saying in various places ‘age of age,' and 'ages of ages,'23 still in those places neither the first, nor the second, nor the third age is enumerated for us, so that, by this, differences of conditions and of various circumstances are shown to us but not limits and boundaries and successions of ages. 'the day of the lord is great and very terrible, '24 it is said. and again, 'to what end do you seek the day of the lord? and this is darkness, and not light.”25 but darkness, certainly, for those who are deserving of darkness. for, scripture knows as a day without evening, without succession, and without end, that day which the psalmist called the eighth, because it lies outside this week of time. therefore, whether you say 'day' or 'age' you will express the same idea. if, then, that condition should be called day, it is one and not many, or, if it should be named age, it would be unique and not manifold. in order, therefore, to lead our thoughts to a future life, he called that day ‘one,' which is an image of eternity, the beginning of days, the contemporary of light, the holy lord's day, the day honored by the resurrection of the lord. 'there was, then, evening and morning, one day,' he said. but, in truth, my words concerning that evening, being overtaken by the present evening, mark the end of my speech. may the father of the true light, however, who has decked the day with the heavenly light, who has brightened the night 23 ibid. 148.6; jude 25. 24 joel 2.11. 25 cf. amos 5.18: ‘to what end is it for you? the day of the lord is darkness, and not light.' 36 saint basil with gleams of fire, who has made ready the peace of the future age with a spiritual and never ending light, illumine your hearts in a knowledge of the truth, and preserve your life without offense, allowing you 'to walk becomingly as in the day, 28 in order that you may shine forth as the sun in the splendor of the saints for my exultation in the day of christ, to whom be glory and power forever. amen. '26 26 cf. rom. 13.13: 'let us walk becomingly as in the day.' homily 3 the firmament (on the hexaemeron) w e have spoken of the works of the first, or rather, of one day. let us not, indeed, deprive it of its dignity, which it naturally possesses, since it was produced separately by the creator and was not counted in the general arrangement with the others. but, since my discourse yesterday reviewed the occurrences of that day and divided the explanation for the hearers, providing their souls with both morning nourishment and evening joy, now we are passing on to the wonders of the second day. i say this, not referring to the power of the narrator, but to the grace of the written words, since it is naturally easy of acceptance and gentle and pleasant to the mind of all those who prefer truth to plausibility. wherefore, the psalmist, showing the charm of truth most emphatically says: 'how sweet are thy words to my palatel more than honey to my mouth.'1 yesterday, therefore, having gladdened your souls, as much as i was able, with a discourse on the eloquent words of god, today, the second day, we have met again to contemplate the wonders of the works of the second day. it has not escaped my notice, however, that many workers of handicrafts, who with difficulty provide a livelihood for themselves from their daily toil, are gathered around us. these compel us to cut short our discourse in order that they may not be drawn away too long from their work. and what do i say to them? that the portion of time lent to god is not 1 ps. 118.103. 37 38 saint basil a lost; he gives it back with a great increase. whatever circumstances there are, in fact, that cause you trouble, these the lord will remove, giving to those, who prefer the spiritual, strength of body, alacrity of spirit, skill in transactions, and prosperity for their whole life. even if at present our efforts do not succeed according to our hopes, still the teaching of the spirit is a goodly treasure for the future life. therefore, free your heart of all solicitude for your livelihood and give yourself wholly to me. for, there is no advantage from the presence of the body if the heart is busy about earthly treasure. (2) 'then god said, "let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters to divide the waters." '2 only yesterday we heard the words of god, ‘let there be light.' and today, 'let there be a firmament.' these words seem to involve something more because the utterance did not stop with a bare command but in addition it specified the reason which required the formation of the firmament. it says, 'to divide the waters.' resuming, therefore, let us first inquire how god speaks. is it in our manner? or, is the image of the objects first formed in his intellect, then, after they have been pictured in his mind, does he make them known by selecting from substances the distinguishing marks characteristic of each? finally, handing over the concepts to the vocal organs for their service, does he thus manifest his hidden thought by striking the air with the articulate movement of the voice? surely, it is fantastic to say that god needs such a roundabout way for the manifestation of his thoughts. or, is it not more in conformity with true religion to say that the divine will joined with the first impulse of his intelligence is the word of god? the scripture delineates him in detail in order that it may show that god wished the creation not only to be accomplished, but also to be brought to this birth through some co-worker. it could have related everything fully as it began, 'in the beginning god created the heavens and the earth,' then, 'he created 2 gen. 1.6. 3 ibid. 1.3. homily 3 39 light,' next, 'he created the firmament.' but, now, introducing god as commanding and speaking, it indicates silently him to whom he gives the command and to whom he speaks, not because it begrudges us the knowledge, but that it might inflame us to a desire by the very means by which it suggests some traces and indications of the mystery. that which has been acquired by labor is received with the greatest joy and guarded with the greatest diligence; however, the possession of those things whose attainment is easy is readily despised. by these means scripture leads us on to the idea of the onlybegotten in a certain orderly way. and surely, for an incorporeal nature there was no need for vocal speech, since the thoughts themselves could be communicated to his co-worker. so, what need was there of speech for those who are able by the thought itself to share their plans with others? in fact, voice was made for hearing, and hearing for voice. where there is no air nor tongue nor ear nor winding passage carrying the sounds to the perceptive faculty in the head, there no need of words exists, but the communication of the will comes from the very thoughts in the mind, as one might say. as i was saying, therefore, this way of speaking has been wisely and skillfully employed so as to rouse our mind to an inquiry of the person to whom these words are directed. (3) secondly, we must examine whether this firmament, which was also called the heavens, is different from the heavens created in the beginning, and whether, in short, there are two heavens. the philosophers who have been discussing the heavens would prefer to give up their tongues rather than to admit this as truth. they assume that there is one heaven4 4 cf. plato, timaeus 31 a: 'are we right, then, in describing the heaven as one, or would it be more correct to speak of heavens as many or infinite in number? one it must be termed, if it is to be framed after its pattern. for that which embraces all intelligible living creatures could never be second, with another beside it; but there is and will continue to be this one generated heaven, unique of its kind.' plato ends the timaeus with the statement: 'even this one heaven sole of its kind.' 40 saint basil and that it does not possess such a nature that a second or a third or a greater number can be added to it, since all the substance of the heavenly body was consumed in the formation of the one, as they think. for, they say that the body which moves in a circle is one and finite. if, then, this body was commensurate with the first heavens, nothing is left for the production of a second or third. this, indeed, is what those who introduce an uncreated substance in addition to the creator imagine, slipping from the first fabulous invention into the consequent fallacy. but, we ask the wise men of the greeks not to scoff at us before they come to an agreement with each other. for, there are among them men who say that there are infinite heavens and worlds;5 and, when those who employ more weighty proofs will have exposed their absurdity and will prove by the laws of geometry that nature does not support the fact that another heaven besides the one has been made, then we shall only laugh the more at their geometrical and artificial nonsense. for, although they see bubbles, not only one but many, produced by the same cause, they yet doubt as to whether the creative power is capable of bringing a greater number of heavens into existence. whenever we look upon the transcending power of god, we consider that the strength and greatness of the heavens differ not at all from that of the curved spray which spurts up in the fountains. and so, their explanation of the impossibility is laughable. we, however, are so far from doubting the second heavens that we even seek for the third, of the sight of which the blessed paulo was considered worthy. the psalm, too, speaking of the heavens of heavens,? gives us an idea of even more. certainly, this is not more incredible than the seven circles 5 cf. cicero, on the nature of the gods 1.10.25: 'it was anaximander's opinion that the gods were born; that after a great length of time they died; and that they are innumerable worlds.' 6 cf.' 2 cor. 12.2: 'i know a man in christ who fourteen years ago whether in the body i do not know, or out of the body i do not know, god knows-such a one was caught up to the third heaven.' 7 cf. ps. 148.4: 'praise him ye heavens of heavens.' homily 3 41 8 through which nearly all philosophers with one consent agree that the seven planets are borne, and which they say are fitted one into the other like jars inserted into each other. and these, carried around in the opposite direction to everything else, when they cleave through the ether, give out such a melodious and harmonious sound that it surpasses the sweetest of singing. then, when those who say these things are asked for sensible proofs, what do they say? that, having become accustomed to this sound from our birth, we fail to notice the sound through our early familiarity with it and because of habitually hearing it, like men in smithies who have their ears incessantly dinned. to refute their subtleties and unsoundness, made so clearly evident to all from their first word, is not the practice of a man who either knows how to use time sparingly or has regard for the intelligence of his hearers. but, leaving the accounts of outsiders to those outside, we are turning back to the explanation of the church. now, some of those before us have said that this is not the generation of a second heaven but a more detailed account of the first, because on the former occasion the creation of the heavens and the earth was presented to us in brief, but here the scripture teaches us in greater detail the manner in which each was made. we, however, say that, since both a second name and a function peculiar to the second heaven was recorded, this is 8 cf. plato, republic 10.615: "now the whorl is in form like the whorl used on earth; and the description of it implied that there is one large hollow whorl which is quite scooped out, and into this is fitted another lesser one, and another, and another, and four others, making eight in all, like vessels which fit into one another; the whorls show their edges on the upper side, and on their lower side all together form one continuous whorl; . . now the whole spindle has the same motion; but, as the whole revolves in one direction, the seven inner circles move slowly in the other, ... the spindle turns on the knees of necessity; and on the upper surface of each circle is a siren, who goes round with them, hymning a single tone or note. the eight together form one harmony; and round about, at equal intervals, there is another band, three in number, each sitting upon her throne: these are the fates, who accompany with their voices the harmony of the sirens. cf. also timaeus 36 d and 38 d; aristotle, on the heavens 2.9. 290b and 291a. 42 saint basil a different one from that created in the beginning, one of a more solid nature and furnishing a special service for the universe. (4) 'then god said, "let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters to divide the waters." and god made the firmament, dividing the waters that were below the firmament from those that were above it."! before we touch upon the meaning of the writings, however, let us attempt to solve the arguments brought against it from other sources. they ask us how, if the body of the firmament is spherical, as sight shows it to be, and if water flows and slips off high spots, it would be possible for the water to lie on the convex circumference of the firmament. what, then, shall we say to this? first of all, that, if some body appears circular to us because of an inner concavity, it is not necessary for the outer surface to be made completely spherical, and the whole to be perfectly rounded and smoothly finished. let us look, indeed, at the stone vaults of the baths and the structures of cavelike buildings which, rounded to a semicircular form according to their interior appearance, often have a flat surface on the upper sections of the roof. therefore, let them cease making trouble for themselves or for us, alleging that water cannot be kept in the upper regions. next, we should tell what the nature of the firmament is and why it was ordered to lie between the waters. it is customary in the scripture to assign the name of firmament to those things which excel in strength, as when it says: 'the lord is my firmament and my refuge,'10 and 'i have established the pillars thereof,'11 and 'praise ye him in the firmament of his power.'12 the heathens call a body solid which is firm and full, and it is so called in distinction from the mathematical body. the mathematical body is the one which has 9 gen. 1.6, 7. 10 ps. 17.3. 11 ibid. 74.4. 12 ibid. 150.1. homily 3 43 its existence only in dimensions, in width, i mean, and depth, and height; and the solid body is one which possesses resistance in addition to its dimensions. it is customary for the scripture to call the strong and unyielding substance a firmament, so that it frequently uses this word in the case of air that is condensed, as when it says, 'he who strengthens the thunder.'13 in fact, scripture called the force and resistance of the wind which is enclosed in the hollows of the massed clouds and produced the crashes of thunder by bursting out violently, the strength of thunder. here, therefore, we believe that this word has been assigned for a certain firm nature which is capable of supporting the fluid and unstable water. and, surely, we need not believe, because it seems to have had its origin, according to the general understanding, from water, that it is like either frozen water or some such material which takes its origin from the percolation of moisture, such as is the crystalline rock which men say is remade by the excessive coagulation of the water, or as is the element of mica which is formed in mines. this is a translucent stone, possessing a peculiar and most clear transparency, and if one is found perfect in nature, neither enclosing any decay nor split interiorly by germinations, it is almost like the air in transparency. now, we compare the firmament to none of these things. truly, it is peculiar to a childish and simple intellect to hold such notions about the heavens. not even if all elements are in all, fire in the earth, air in water, and likewise of the other elements, the one in the other; and not even if no one of the elements falling under our perception is pure and free from mixture, either with its medium element or with the contrary element, do we, on this account, dare to say that the firmament is made either from one of the simple elements or from a mixture of them, since we have been taught by the scripture to permit our mind to invent no fantasy beyond the knowledge that has been granted it. but, let not 13 amos 4.13 (septuagint version). a 44 saint basil this be forgotten, that, after god gave the command, 'let there be a firmament,' scripture did not say simply, and the firmament was made, but, 'and god made the firmament'; and again, 'god divided.' hear, ye deaf, and look up, ye blind. and who is deaf, except he who does not hear the spirit when he calls so loudly? and who is blind? he who does not discern such clear arguments concerning the only-begotten. 'let there be a firmament.' this is the utterance of the first and principal cause. 'god made the firmament.' this is the testimony of the efficient and creative power. (5) let us, however, return to our subject in order to continue the explanation. 'let it divide the waters,' he said. the flood of waters which were flowing over the earth in waves from all sides and were suspended over it, was infinite, as it seems, so that even the proportion of water compared to the other elements seemed to be beyond all measure. therefore, the deep, it was said previously, surrounded the earth on all sides. we shall give the reason for the great amount subsequently. no one of you, assuredly, not even of those who have trained their mind extensively and are sharp-sighted in respect to this perishable and ever flowing nature will denounce our opinion, as if we were assuming theories impossible and imaginary according to reason, nor will he demand an account from us of what it is upon which the element of water has been established. by the same reasoning by which they draw the earth, which is heavier than water, away from the extremities and suspend it in the center, they will, i presume, agree that that boundless water, both because of its natural motion downward and because of its equilibrium on all sides, remains motionless around the earth. therefore, the immense mass of water was poured around the earth, not in proportion to it, but exceeding it many times over, since the mighty craftsman from the beginning was looking toward the future and arranging the first things according to the consequent need. what need was there for the water to homily 3 45 abound to such an ineffable degree? because the substance of fire is necessary for the universe, not only for the plan of earthly things, but also for the completion of the universe; for, the whole would be incomplete if it fell short in the one greatest and most vital of all things. now, these, fire and water, are antagonistic to each other, and the one is destructive of the other, fire of water when it prevails over it by its strength, and water of fire when it surpasses it in quantity. it was necessary, then, that there should not be strife between them nor that an opportunity should be afforded to the universe for dissolution by the complete cessation of one or the other. the ruler of the universe ordained from the beginning such a nature for moisture that, although gradually consumed by the power of fire, it would hold out even to the limits prescribed for the existence of the world. he who disposes all things by weight and by measure (for, 'easily numbered by him are even the drops of rain,' according to job14) knew how long a time he had appointed to the world for its continuance, and how much had to be set aside from the first for consumption by the fire. this is the explanation for the superabundance of water in creation. but surely, no one is so absolutely unconcerned with the affairs of life that he requires to be taught by his reason the necessity of fire for the world, not only because the arts which support life all need labor with fire, the art of weaving, i mean, and of shoemaking, i and architecture, and farming, but also because neither the sprouting of trees nor the ripening of fruits nor the generation of land or water animals, nor the rearing of these, would have taken place in the beginning or have endured through time, if heat were not present. therefore, the creation of heat was necessary for the formation and continuance of things made; and the abundance of moisture is necessary because the consumption by fire is ceaseless and inevitable. (6) look around all creation and you will see the power 14 job 36.27 (septuagint version). 46 saint basil of heat exercising dominion over all things in their generation and destruction. because of it much water was poured over the earth and was carried away beyond visible things and besides, was spread through the whole depth of the earth, whence are the copious fountains and the flowing wells and flooding rivers, both torrents and ever flowing streams, for maintaining the moisture in the many and varied reservoirs. from the east, from the winter solstices the indus river flows, the largest of all rivers, as they who describe the courses of the earth record. from the central regions of the east are the bactrus15 and the choaspes16 and the araxes, 17 from which the tanais,18 separating, pours out into the palus maiotis. 19 besides these, there is the phasis20 flowing down from the caucasian mountains, while numberless others flow from the northern regions into the euxine sea.21 from the western summer haunts of the sun at the foot of the pyrenees mountains are the tartessus22 and the ister,23 of which the one empties itself into the sea beyond the pillars, but the ister, flowing through europe, pours out into the euxine sea. and what need is there to enumerate the others which the rhipean mountains24 call into existence, those mountains beyond innermost scythia? from them comes the rhone with numberless other rivers, all of them navigable, which, flowing past the western gauls and celts and the neighboring barbarians, all pour out into the western sea. others flow from the higher regions of the south through ethiopia. some enter the sea near us; others empty into the sea beyond the part traversed 15 modern balkh. 16 modern kerkhah. 17 probably the volga or rha, according to the situation, although there are several rivers of that name. 18 don. 19 sea of asov, 20 rion. 21 black sea. 22 guadalquivir. 23 danube. 24 a fabled mountain range extending across northern europe. homily 3 47 by ships, namely, the aegon25 and the nyses and the one called chremetes,26 and also the nile, which is not like rivers in its nature, when it floods egypt like a sea.27 thus the part of the world which is inhabited is surrounded by water, being both bounded by immense seas and watered by countless ever flowing rivers, through the ineffable wisdom of him who ordained that this rival power to fire should be hard to consume. yet, there will be a time when all things will be burnt up by fire, as isaia says when he addresses the god of the universe: [you] 'who say to the deep: be thou desolate, and i will dry up all thy rivers."28 casting aside, therefore, the wisdom that has been turned to foolishness,29 receive with us the teaching of truth, homely in speech, but infallible in doctrine. (7) therefore, 'let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters to divide the waters.'30 i have already said what the word 'firmament' in scripture signifies. not a firm and solid nature, which has weight and resistance, it is not this that the word 'firmament' means. in that case the earth would more legitimately be considered deserving of such a name. but, because the nature of superincumbent substances is light and rare and imperceptible, he called this firmament, in comparison with those very light substances which are incapable of perception by the senses. now, imagine some place which tends to separate the moisture, and lets the rare and filtered part pass through into the higher regions, but lets the coarse and earthy part drop below, so that, by the gradual reduction 25 according to aristotle the aegon and nyses rivers are in libya, flowing from the aethiopian mountains into the sea. cf. meteorology 1.13.350b: 'so, too, in libya there flow from the aethiopian mountains the aegon and the nyses.' 26 senegal. 27 st. basil seems to have taken this whole enumeration of rivers directly from aristotle, meteorology 1.13.350a and b. 28 isa. 44.27. 29 cf. 1 cor. 1.20: ‘has not god turned to foolishness the "wisdom" of this world?' 30 gen. 1.6. 48 saint basil of the liquids, from the beginning to the end the same mild temperature may be preserved. you do not believe in the vast amount of water, but you do not consider the great quantity of the heat, which, even if it is insignificant in magnitude, is able, because of its power, to consume much moisture. it attracts the moisture lying near it, as the gourd clearly shows, and then consumes what it has attracted, like the flame of a lamp, which, drawing the available fuel through its wick, by a quick transition, burns it to ashes. who doubts that the ether is firelike and exceedingly hot? and if it is not restrained within limits appointed by its creator, what would prevent it from setting on fire and burning up everything near it and consuming at the same time all the moisture in what exists? for this reason there is aerial water, when the upper region is clouded over by the rising vapors, which the rivers and fountains and pools and marshes and all the seas send forth, to prevent the ether from seizing upon and burning up the universe. indeed, we see this sun in the season of summer frequently leaving a wet and pool-covered land entirely dry and without moisture in a very brief moment of time. where, then, is that water? let the all-clever ones show us. is it not evident to all that it was evaporated and consumed by the heat of the sun? and yet, they say that the sun is not hot; such is the result of speaking to them. now, consider on what sort of proof they lean to resist the evidence. since it is white in color, they say, and not reddish nor yellow, therefore, it is not fiery in nature; moreover, they also say that its heat results from its rapid whirling around.31 what gain are they providing for themselves from that statement? that the sun seems to consume none of the moistures? but i, even though what is said is not true, nevertheless, do not reject it, because it assists me in establishing 31 cf. aristotle, op. cit. 1.3.34la: 'now the sun's motion alone is sufficent to account for the origin of terrestrial warmth and heat. besides, the sun, which most of all the stars is considered to be hot, is really white and not fiery in color.' homily 3 49 the explanation. the statement was made that, because of the loss due to the heat, the vast amount of waters was necess ssary. but, it makes no difference in producing the same condition in the same materials whether the heat is due to its nature or whether the heat results from its action. if, in fact, pieces of wood rubbed against each other enkindle a flaming fire, or if they are burnt up by a flame that has been enkindled, the result is exactly the same in both cases. and yet, we see the great wisdom of the universal ruler, which changes the sun from one side to the other, in order that it may not ruin the orderly arrangement with its excessive heat by remaining always in the same place. now he leads it to the southern part about the time of the winter solstice, now transfers it to the sign of the equinox, and from there brings it back to the northern parts during the summer solstice, so that by its gradual shifting a good temperature is preserved in the regions around the earth. let those consider whether they are not caught in their own snare, who say that the sea is not in flood from the rivers because the sun consumes the water, and besides, is left briny and bitter when the fine and drinkable part has been consumed by the heat, a thing which happens especially because of the sun's power of separating, which carries off what is light but leaves what is coarse and earthy, such as mud and sediment. and because of this there is present in the sea bitterness and brine and the power of drying up. they, who actually say this about the sea, again changing about, assert that there is no dimunition of moisture due to the sun. (8) 'and god called the firmament heaven.'32 although the name 'heavens' refers to the former, yet, in accordance with its likeness, this firmament also shares its name. we have observed in many places that the visible region is called the heavens due to the density and continuity of the air which 32 gen. 1.8. 50 saint basil clearly comes within our vision and which has a claim to the name of heaven from the word ‘seen,'33 namely, where the scripture says: 'the birds of the heavens, *34 and again, the flying creatures below the firmament of the heavens.'35 such also is the following: 'they mount up to the heavens.'36 and moses, blessing the tribe of joseph, bestows his benedictions ‘from the fruits of the heavens and from the dew, from the solstices of the sun and the conjunctions of the moons, and from the tops of the mountains and of the everlasting hills,"37 inasmuch as the region about the earth was flourishing because of the good condition in these. even in the maledictions upon israel he says: 'be the heaven, that is over thee, of brass.'38 what does this mean? absolute dryness and lack of aerial waters through which the earth produces its fruits. when, therefore, scripture says that the dew and the rain are brought from the heavens, we understand that they are from the waters which are appointed to occupy the region above. for, after the vapors are gathered about the higher region and the air is condensed by the pressure of the winds, whenever the particles of moisture, for a time scattered mistily and tenuously in the cloud, approach each other, they become drops which are carried downward by the weight of the combined particles; and this is the origin of rain. but, when the moisture, beaten by the violence of the winds, is reduced to foam, and afterwards the whole mass, chilled excessively, is frozen together, the cloud is shattered and comes down as 33 a wrong etymology. acc. to arist. mu. 400a.7, from oros and ano; acc. to plato, cra. 396c, from oran and ano; but true etymology is doubtful, cf. liddell and scott. 34 ps. 8.9 (septuagint version). 35 gen. 1.20 (septuagint version) 36 ps. 106.26. 37 cf. deut. 33.13-15 (septuagint version). 38 deut. 28.23. homily 3 51 snow.39 in short, by the same reasoning you can see that every form of moisture exists in the air above our heads. and let no one compare the simplicity and lack of artifice of spiritual discourse with the futile questioning of philosophers about the heavens. for, as the beauty in chaste women is far preferable to that of the prostitute, so is the excellence of our discourses above that of the heathens. they introduce in their explanations a forced persuasiveness; here the truth is set forth bare of artifices. but why trouble ourselves to refute their falsehood, since it suffices for us to set out their books in opposition to each other and sit in all silence as spectators of their war? not less in number, nor inferior in dignity, but even far superior in variety of speech, they oppose the reasoning which is contrary to theirs, and they say that the universe is being utterly consumed and again comes to life from the seminal principles which remain in what has been completely burnt up. from this assertion, also, they introduce infinite destructions and regenerations of the world.40 but, these men, severed from the truth on both sides, find for themselves, on this side and on that, bypaths toward error. (9) we have also some argument concerning the division of the waters with those writers of the church who, on a pretext of the spiritual sense and of more sublime concepts, have recourse to allegories, saying that spiritual and incorpo39 cf. aristotle, op. cit. 1.11.347a and b: 'so moisture is always raised by the heat and descends to the earth again when it gets cold. . there fall three bodies condensed by cold, namely rain, snow, hail. rain is due to the cooling of a great amount of vapour, for the region from which and the time during which the vapour is collected are considerable. .. when cloud freezes there is snow, when vapour freezes there is hoar-frost. hence snow is a sign of a cold season or country.' 40 cf. cicero, op. cit. 2.46: 'hence we stoics conclude-which paenitius is said to have doubted of-that the whole world at last would be consumed by a general conflagration, when, all moisture being exhausted, neither the earth could have any nourishment, nor the air return again, since water, of which it is formed, would then be all consumed; so that only fire would subsist; and from this fire, which is an animating power and a deity, a new world would arise and be re-established in the same beauty.' 52 saint basil real powers are signified figuratively by the waters, that the more excellent have remained up above the firmament, but the malignant remain below in the terrestrial and material regions. for this reason, they say, the waters above the heavens praise god; that is, the good powers, being worthy because of the purity of their reasoning, pay to the creator becoming praise. but, the waters under the heavens are the spirits of malice, which have fallen down from their natural height to the depth of wickedness. inasmuch as these are tumultuous and factious and agitated by the uproar of the passions, they are named 'sea' from the instability and inconstancy of their voluntary movements. dismissing such explanations as dream interpretations and old women's tales, let us consider water as water, and let us receive the separation that was made beneath the firmament according to the reason given us. and, even if the waters above the heavens are sometimes invited to praise the common master of the universe, yet we do not for this reason consider them to be an intellectual nature. the heavens are not endowed with life because they 'show forth the glory of god,'41 nor is the firmament a perceptive being because it 'declareth the work of his hands.' and, if someone says that the heavens are speculative powers, and the firmament, active powers productive of the good, we accept the expression as neatly said, but we will not concede that it is altogether true. for, in that case, dew, hoarfrost, cold, and heat, since they were ordered by daniel42 to praise in hymns the creator of the universe, will be intelligent and invisible natures. the meaning in these words, however, accepted by speculative minds, is a fulfillment of the praise of the creator. not only the water which is above the heavens, as if holding the first place in honor because of the pre-eminence added to it from its excellence, fulfills the praise of god, but, ‘praise a 41 ps. 18.2. 42 cf. dan. 3.64-70. homily 3 53 him,' the psalmist says, 'from the earth, ye dragons, and all ye deeps.'43 so that even the deep, which those who speak allegories relegated to the inferior portion, was not itself judged deserving of rejection by the psalmist, since it was admitted to the general chorus of creation; but even it harmoniously sings a hymn of praise to the creator through the language assigned to it. (10) 'and god saw that it was good.'44 it is not to the eyes of god that things made by him afford pleasure, nor is his approbation of beautiful objects such as it is with us; but, beauty is that which is brought to perfection according to the principle of art and which contributes to the usefulness of its end. he, therefore, who proposed to himself a clear aim for his works, having recourse to his own artistic principles, approved them individually as fulfilling his aim. in fact, a hand by itself or an eye alone or any of the members of a statue, lying about separately, would not appear beautiful to one chancing upon them; but, set in their proper place, they exhibit beauty of relationship, scarcely evident formerly, but now easily recognized by the uncultured man. yet, the artist, even before the combination of the parts knows the beauty of each and approves them individually, directing his judgment to the final aim. god is described on the present occasion as such an artistic commender of each of his works, but he will render becoming praise also to the whole completed world. let our explanations concerning the second day, however, be brought to a close here, so as to afford time to our industrious hearers for a review of what they have heard. thus, if there is anything useful in it, they may keep it in their memory, and by their diligent rehearsal, as if by a sort of ripening, they may expect an assimilation of the benefits. thus also, it may give to those busy about their livelihood opportunity to dispose of their business in the intervening 43 ps. 148.7. 44 gen. 1.8 (septuagint version). 54 saint basil time, so that they may present themselves for the evening banquet of words with a soul free from anxieties. may god, who created such mighty things and ordained that these petty words be spoken, grant to you an understanding of his truth in its entirety, in order that from visible objects you may comprehend the invisible being, and from the greatness and beauty of creatures you may conceive the proper idea concerning our creator. 'for since the creation of the world his invisible attributes are clearly seen-his everlasting power also and divinity.'45 therefore, in the earth, in the air, and in the heavens, in water, in night and in day, and in all things visible, clear reminders of the benefactor grip us. we shall not give any opportunity for sins, nor shall we leave any place in our hearts for the enemy, if we have god as a dweller in us by our constant remembrance of him, to whom be all glory and adoration, now and always, and for all ages of ages. . 45 rom. 1.20. homily 4 the gathering of the waters (on the hexaemeron) here are some communities that feast their eyes on the manifold spectacles of conjurors from the dim morning twilight until evening itself. nevertheless, they never have their fill of listening to soft and dissolute melodies, which undoubtedly engender in souls great impurity. many even pronounce such people happy, because, leaving behind their business in the market or their plans for a livelihood from the arts, they pass the time of life allotted to them in all laziness and pleasure. they do not know that a theatre, flourishing with impure sights, is a common and public school of licentiousness for those who sit there, and that the elaborate melodies of the flutes and the lewd songs, sinking into the souls of the listeners, do nothing else than move them all to unseemly behavior, as they imitate the notes of the lyre or flute players. for instance, some of those who are mad with love of horses, wrangle over their horses in their sleep, unyoking the chariots and transferring the drivers, and they do not at all leave off their daytime folly even in their dreams. and we, whom the lord, the great wonder-worker and craftsman, has called together for a manifestation of his works, shall we become weary in contemplating or reluctant to hear the eloquence of the spirit? rather, shall we not, standing around this vast and varied workshop of the divine creation, and going back in thought, each one, to the times 55 56 saint basil past, contemplate the orderly arrangement of the whole? the heavens standing, according to the word of prophecy, like a vaulted chamber;1 the earth, limitless in magnitude and weight, established upon itself; the diffused air, soft and fluid by nature, providing the proper and uninterrupted sustenance to all creatures that breathe, but yielding and parting around bodies in motion because of its softness, so that it presents no obstacle to moving bodies, since it always easily replaces itself, flowing around to the rear of the objects which cleave it, finally, the element of water, both that which sustains us and is provided for our other needs, and also that orderly gathering of it into the appointed places; all this you will clearly see from the words we have just read. (2) 'then god said, “let the waters below the heavens be gathered into one place and let the dry land appear.” and so it was, and the waters below the heavens were gathered into their places, and the dry land appeared. and god called the dry land earth and the assembled waters seas.'? how much trouble you caused me in my previous lectures, demanding the reason for the invisibility of the earth, since color is naturally present in every body, and every color is perceptible to the sense of sight! perhaps, my words did not seem to you to be sufficient, namely that the word 'invisible' was used in reference not to its nature, but to us, because it was concealed by the water which at that time covered the entire earth. behold! hear now the scripture explaining itself. 'let the waters be gathered and the dry land appear.' the covering was drawn aside in order that the hitherto invisible might become visible. someone may, perhaps, ask this also. first, why does the scripture reduce to a command of the creator that tendency to flow downward which belongs naturally to water? because, as long as the water happens to be lying on a level surface, it is stable, since it has no place to flow; but, when it finds some | cf. isa. 40.22 (septuagint version). 2 gen. 1.9, 10. homily 4 57 incline, immediately, as the forward part starts, that portion in contact with it, when it has moved, takes over its position and the water which follows takes over the latter's position. thus, the front is always swiftly flowing onward and the oncoming mass pressing forward; the motion, too, becomes so much more rapid in proportion to the weight of the downward moving water and the depression of the place to which it is flowing. if, then, water has this tendency by nature, the command ordering the waters to be gathered together into one place would be superfluous. it was destined, at any rate, because of its natural downward tendency to spread itself over the most hollow part of the earth and not to be brought to a stop until its surface was level. now, there is no place as flat as the surface of water. then, how, someone says, were the waters ordered to gather together into one place, since there appear to be many seas, situated very far from each other? to the first of the inquiries we say this, that you recognized very well the movements of the water after the command of the lord, both that it is unsteady and unstable and that it is borne naturally down slopes and into hollows; but, how it had any power previous to that, before the motion was engendered in it from this command, you yourself neither know nor have you heard it from one who knew. reflect that the voice of god makes nature, and the command given at that time to creation provided the future course of action for the creatures. day and night were created once for all, and from that time even to the present moment they have not ceased succeeding each other and dividing the time into equal parts. (3) 'let the waters be gathered.' the element of water was ordered to flow, and it never grows weary when urged on unceasingly by this command. this i say, having in view only the flowing property of the waters. for, some flow of their own accord, as the springs and the rivulets, but others are collected from diverse places and are stationary. at present, however, my discourse is about the moving waters. 'let the 58 saint basil waters be gathered into one place.' did the thought ever come to you as you stood beside a stream yielding plentiful water, who is he who causes this water to gush from the fissures of the earth? who is forcing it onward? what kind of reservoirs are there from which it comes forth? to what place is it hastening? how is it that these waters are never lacking, and those do not fill up? all these things depend upon that first word. it was the signal for the waters to flow. through all the story of waters be mindful of that first word, 'let the waters be gathered. it was necessary for them to flow that they might reach their own place; then, being in the places appointed, to remain by themselves and not to advance further. for this reason, according to the saying of ecclesiastes, 'all the rivers run into the sea, yet the sea doth not overflow.'3 it is through the divine command that waters flow, and it is due to that first legislation, 'let the waters be gathered into one place,' that the sea is enclosed within boundaries. lest the flowing water, spreading beyond the beds which hold it, always passing on and filling up one place after another, should continuously flood all the lands, it was ordered to be gathered into one place. therefore, the sea, frequently raging with the winds and rising up in waves to towering heights, whenever it merely touches the shores, breaks its onrush into foam and retires. “will you not then fear me, saith the lord? i have set the sand a bound for the sea.'4 with the weakest of all things, sand, the sea, irresistible in its violence, is bridled. and yet, what would have hindered the red sea from invading the whole of egypt, which was lower than it, and joining with the other sea adjacent to egypt, had it not been fettered by the command of the creator? that egypt lies lower than the red sea, those have persuaded us by their action, who have wished to join the seas to each other, 3 eccles. 1.7. 4 jer. 5.22. homily 4 59 the egyptian sea and the indian ocean, in which is the red sea. therefore, they ceased their attempt, both he who first initiated it, sesostris the egyptian, and he who afterwards intended to accomplish it, darius the median.6 i have told these facts in order that we may understand the force of the command, 'let the waters be gathered into one place. that is, let there be no other gathering apart from this, but let those once collected remain in the first gathering place. (4) he who commanded the waters to be gathered into one place showed you, then, that there had been many waters scattered throughout many regions. for, the valleys of the mountains, intersected by deep chasms, held accumulations of water, and besides, there were many smooth plains inferior in extent to none of the vast seas, and countless channels, and deep valleys, scooped out in varied shapes, all at that time filled with water, and all were drained by the command of god, when the water was drawn together from all sides into one place. and let no one say that, if water was upon the surface of the earth, absolutely all the hollows, which now have admitted the sea, had originally been full. indeed, where were the gatherings of waters to be, if the hollows had been filled beforehand? to this we say that the reservoirs were prepared at the time when it was necessary for the water to be separated and placed into one gathering. in fact, there was no sea beyond gadeira,? nor that vast ocean, intolerable to 5 the mediterranean sea. 6 cf. aristotle, meteorology 1.14.352b: the whole land of the egyptians, whom we take to be the most ancient of men, has evidently gradually come into existence and been produced by the river. this is clear from an observation of the country, and the facts about the red sea suffice to prove it too. one of their kings tried to make a canal to it (for it would have been of no little advantage to them for the whole region to have become navigable; sesostris is said to have been the first of the ancient kings to try), but he found that the sea was higher than the land. so he first, and darius afterwards, stopped making the canal, lest the sea should mix with the river water and spoil it. so it is clear that all this part was once unbroken sea.' 7 modern cadiz. 60 saint basil sailors, which surrounds the british isle and western spain, but, at that moment a vast open space was made by the command of god and the great quantities of waters were contributed to it. to the statement that our explanation of the creation of the world is contrary to experience, for all the water does not seem to have run together into one place, many answers can be given, which are immediately obvious to all. perhaps, it is even ridiculous to argue on such points. surely, they ought not to cite for us the waters of the marshes and those collected from thunderstorms, should they, and think that because of these they are refuting our explanation? but, he called the greatest and most complete concourse of the waters a 'gathering into one place.' in fact, the wells are gatherings of waters made by hand, since the scattered moisture flows to hollowed out parts of the earth. consequently, the name of gathering does not indicate any chance accumulation of waters, but the outstanding and greatest one, in which all the element was displayed in one mass. just as fire is broken up into small parts for use here, and also spreads itself in a mass in the ether, and air is distributed in small pockets and also encompasses the region near the earth in a mass, so, too, in the case of water, even if some small accumulations have been separated, yet there is one gathering which sets the whole element apart from the rest. the marshy lakes, both those in the northern parts and those that are around the regions of the greeks, spread over macedonia and the country of the bithynians and that of the palestinians, are, of course, gatherings; but at present my discourse is about the greatest of all, which is even comparable with the earth in extent. no one will deny that the former hold a great amount of water, but really, one would not reasonably apply to them the name 'seas,' not even if some have brine and soil as nearly as possible like the great sea, as the dead sea in judaea and the serbonian which extends along the arabian desert, between egypt and homily 4 61 palestine. these are lakes, but the sea, as those who have travelled around the earth record, is one. even if some believe that the hyrcanian and the caspian are enclosed within their own limits, still, if any attention must be paid to the geographers' accounts, they are connected with each other by a passage, and they open, both together, into the great sea. in the same way also, they say, the red sea is joined to that beyond gadeira. how, then, someone says, did god call the accumulations of waters 'seas'? because the waters ran together into one place, and the accumulations of the waters, that is, the gulfs, which were cut off in their own peculiar shape by the surrounding land, the lord named seas: north sea, south sea, east sea, and west sea, which is still another. and there are names peculiar to the seas: euxine sea, propontis, hellespont, aegaean and ionian, sardinian sea and sicilian, and the other, tyrrhenian. in truth, there are countless names of seas, and to give an exact enumeration of them would be at present a long and foolish task. for this reason, then, god named the collections of waters seas. now, really, the chain of our reasoning carried us on to this, but, let us return to the beginning. (5) ‘then god said, "let the waters be gathered into one place and let the dry land appear.” '9 he did not say: ‘and let the earth appear, in order that he might not show it again incomplete, muddy and mixed with water, and not yet invested with its proper form and power. at the same time, lest we attribute to the sun the cause of the drying of the earth, the creator contrived the drying of the earth before the generation of the sun. give your attention to the meaning of the scripture, that not only the excess water flowed away from the 8 the western part of the present caspian sea was called the caspian and the eastern part the hyrcanian. although aristotle, meteorology 2.1.354a, says that the hyrcanian and caspian seas are distinct from the ocean and people dwell all around them, both pliny and strabo believed that it was connected with the northern ocean. cf. smith, dict. of greek and roman geography. 9 gen. 1.9 62 saint basil earth, but also whatever was mixed with it throughout its depths, obedient to the inexorable command of the lord, also withdrew. ‘and so it was.'10 this introduction is sufficient to show that the voice of the creator passed into action. but, in many of the copies there is added, 'and the waters below the heavens were gathered into their places, and the dry land appeared,' words which, indeed, some of the rest of the interpreters have not given, and which the usage of the hebrews does not appear to retain. actually, after the testimony that 'so it was,' the additional statement of the same things again is superfluous. therefore, the more accurate copies are marked with an obelus; and the obelus is a symbol of rejection. ‘and god called the dry land earth, and the assembled waters seas.'11 why, also, in the previous words was the statement made, 'let the waters be gathered into one place, and let the dry land appear,' and it was not written, ‘and let the earth appear'? and then again, 'the dry land appeared, and god called the dry land earth'? because dryness is the specific property, the characteristic, as it were, of the nature of the substance, but earth is a mere name of the body. in fact, just as reason is characteristic of man, but the word 'man' is indicative of the creature to which the characteristic belongs, so also dryness is characteristic of the earth and is peculiar to it. therefore, that to which dryness properly belongs is called earth, just as the animal to which the faculty of neighing naturally belongs is called a horse. not only in the case of the earth is this so, but each of the other elements has an individualizing quality allotted to it through which it is distinguished from the others and through which the nature of each is recognized. water has as its peculiar quality, coldness; air, humidity; and fire, heat. these elements, however, in accordance with reason are 10 ibid. . 11 ibid. 1.10. homily 4 63 considered, in the manner already mentioned, as the primitive elements of compound matter; but those already incorporated in a body and subject to perception have the qualities closely united, and none of the visible and perceptible objects is absolutely unique and simple and pure. the earth is dry and cold, the water is cold and moist, the air is moist and warm, and fire is warm and dry. thus, through their combining qualities each receives the faculty of mixing with the other; and, in fact, each through a common quality mixes with its neighboring element, and through the union with that which is near, it combines with its opposite. for example, earth, which is both dry and cold, is united with air, since water, placed between the two, as if grasping with two hands, lays hold of the elements lying nearby with each of its qualities, to the coldness of earth and to the humidity of air. again, air in the middle position becomes mediator between the contending natures of water and fire, being joined with water by humidity and with fire by heat. and fire, being warm and dry in nature, closely combines with air by its warmth and, again, by its dryness returns to fellowship with the earth. thus it becomes a circle and a harmonious choir, since all are in unison and have mutually corresponding elements. therefore, the name of elements is properly applicable to them. i have said these things in presenting the reason for which god called the dry land earth, yet did not call the earth dry land. it is because dryness is not of the qualities later accruing to the earth, but of those making up its complete substance from the beginning. the things which provide a cause of existence are earlier by nature than those added afterwards and are more excellent. therefore, reasonably the characteristics from the previous and older qualities were noted for designating the earth. (6) 'and god saw that it was good.'12 the scripture does not point out exactly this, that a certain delightful vision of the sea presented itself to god. for, the creator of all creation 12 lbid. 64 saint basil does not look at beauty with eyes, but he contemplates in his ineffable wisdom the things made. a pleasant sight, indeed, is a whitened sea, when settled calm possesses it; and pleasant also when, ruffled on the surface by gentle breezes, it reflects a purple or bluish color to the spectators, when it does not beat violently the neighboring land, but, as it were, kisses it with peaceful embraces. surely, we must not think that the meaning of the scripture is that the sea appeared good and pleasant to god in this way, but here the goodness is determined by the purpose of the creative activity. in the first place, the water of the sea is the source of all the moisture of the earth. this water passing through unseen minute openings, as is proved by the spongy and cavernous parts of the mainland into which the swift sea flows in narrow channels, is received in the curved and sinuous paths and hurried on by the wind which sets it in motion. then, it breaks through the surface and is carried outside; and, having eliminated its bitterness by percolation, it becomes drinkable. if it has already taken in a warmer quality from metals in its passage, because of its motion it generally begins to seethe and becomes fiery hot. this can be observed in many places on the islands and on the seashores. even in places inland some regions neighboring on the river waters-to compare small things with great-experience very nearly the same things. now, for what purpose have i said this? to show that all the earth is full of underground passages and through unseen openings the water sinks down from the sources of the sea. consequently, the sea is good in god's sight because of the permeation of its moisture into the depths of the earth; and it is good because, being the receptacle of rivers, it receives the streams from all sides into itself but remains within its own limits. it is good also because it is a certain origin and source for aerial waters. warmed by the rays of the sun, it gives forth through vapors a refined form of water, which, drawn to the upper regions, then chilled because it is higher than the reflechomily 4 65 tion of the sun's rays from the ground and also because the shadow from the cloud increases the cooling, becomes rain and enriches the earth. and no one, i am sure, mistrusts these statements, who has noticed kettles being heated by a fire, which, although full of liquid, are frequently left empty when all is boiled and changed into vapor. moreover, it is possible to see the water of the sea boiled by sailors, who, catching the vapors in sponges, relieve their thirst fairly well in times of need. and it is good before god, above all, because it encircles the islands, providing them with both ornamentation and safety. then, too, it joins together through itself mainlands far distant from each other, affording unhindered intercourse to sailors, through whom it bestows also a knowledge of things unknown; it becomes a patron of wealth to merchants, and it easily supplies the needs of life, providing for the exportation of superfluous articles by the prosperous and granting to the needy the remedy for their wants. and why is it possible for me to see with minuteness all the beauty of the sea as it appeared to the eye of the creator? if the sea is good and an object of praise to god, surely, the gathering of such a church as this is more beautiful, from which there is sent out in our prayers to god the mingled voice of men and women and children, as of some wave beating upon the shore. a deep calm preserves it unshaken, since the spirits of evil are not able to disturb it with heretical teachings. may you be worthy of the approval of the lord, preserving this goodly condition most becomingly, in christ jesus our lord, to whom be glory and power forever. amen. 1 homily 5 the germination of the earth (on the hexaemeron) in hen god said, 'let the earth bring forth vegetation: the plant producing seed of its own kind, and the fruit tree that bears fruit containing seed of its own kind.'1 consequently, after the earth, rid of the weight of the water, had rested, the command had come to it to bring forth first the herb, then the trees. and this we see still happening even at the present time. for, the voice which was then heard and that first command became, as it were, a law of nature and remained in the earth, giving it the power to produce and bear fruit for all succeeding time. 'let the earth bring forth.' first in the generation of growing plants is the germination; then, when the shoots have emerged a little, it becomes a seedling; after it has grown, it is a grass, while little by little the growing plants are articulated and continue even to maturity with seed. the characteristic of being green and producing stalks is practically the same in the case of all plants. 'let the earth bring forth vegetation.' let the earth bud forth by itself, needing no assistance from the outside. since some think that the sun, drawing the productive power from the center of the earth to the surface with its rays of heat, is the cause of the plants growing from the earth, it is for this reason that the adornment of the earth is older than the sun, that those who have been misled may cease worshiping the sun as the origin of life. if they are 1 gen. 1.11. 67 68 saint basil persuaded that before the sun's generation all the earth had been adorned, they will retract their unbounded admiration for it, realizing that the sun is later than the grass and plants in generation. was food, then, prepared for the cattle beforehand, while our race appeared deserving of no forethought? well, most certainly, he who prepared pasturage for the cattle and horses provided wealth and pleasure for you. in fact, he who sustains your flocks increases your assets of life. and what else is the production of seeds except a preparation for your subsistence. moreover, many of the plants which still exist among grasses and vegetables really are the food of men. (2) 'let the earth bring forth vegetation: the plant producing seed,' he says, ‘of its own kind.' therefore, even if some kind of plant is useful for the other living creatures, not only the profit they receive passes over to us, but the use of the seeds also is allotted us. consequently, this is the meaning of the words: 'let the earth bring forth vegetation and the plant producing seed of its own kind.' the order of the words can be restored in this way, since the arrangement now seems to be unsuitable; and the appointed order of the dispensations of nature will be preserved. for, in the first place there is germination, then a green shoot, then a growth of grass, and then, when the plants are full grown, perfection in seed. how is it, then, they say, that scripture declares that all plants produced from the earth are seed-bearing, whereas neither the reed, nor dog's-tooth grass, nor mint, nor crocus, nor garlic, nor sedge, nor countless other kinds of plants seem to produce seed? to this we answer that many of the plants growing from the earth have the productive power of seeds in their stem and in their root.2 for example, the reed, after 2 cf. theophrastus, enquiry into plants 2.2.1: 'the ways in which trees and plants in general originate are these:-spontaneous growth, growth from seed, from a root, from a piece torn off, from a branch or twig, from the trunk itself; or again, from small pieces into which the wood is cut up.' homily 5 69 the yearly growth, sends out from its root a certain shoot which contains the principle of seed for the future plant. countless other plants also do this. these, spread all over the earth, possess in their roots their potential successors. therefore, there is nothing truer than this, that each plant either has seed or there exists in it some generative power. and this accounts for the expression ‘of its own kind.' for, the shoot of the reed is not productive of an olive tree, but from the reed comes another reed; and from seeds spring plants related to the seeds sown. thus, what was put forth by the earth in its first generation has been preserved until the present time, since the species persisted through constant reproduction. 'let the earth bring forth.' reflect, i beg you, that in consequence of this short word and a command so brief, the earth, chilled and barren, was incessantly in travail and stirred up to productiveness, as if it had thrown aside some dark and dismal covering, had put on a more brilliant one, and, glorying in its own adornment, was presenting an infinite variety of growing plants. i want the marvel of creation to gain such complete acceptance from you that, wherever you may be found and whatever kind of plants you may chance upon, you may receive a clear reminder of the creator. first, then, whenever you see a grassy plant or a flower, think of human nature, remembering the comparison of the wise isaia, that 'all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of the grass.'3 for, the short span of life and the briefly-enduring pleasure and joy of human happiness have found a most apt comparison in the words of the prophet. today he is vigorous in body, grown fleshy from delicacies, with a flowerlike complexion, in the prime of life, fresh and eager, and irresistible in attack; tomorrow that same one is piteous or wasted with age, or weakened by disease. this one is admired by all for his excessive wealth, and around him is a multitude of flatterers; a bodyguard of 3 isa. 40.6. 70 saint basil a false friends seeking his favor; a great number of kinsmen, and these, kinsmen only by pretense; a countless swarm of attendants, not only to provide for his food, but also for his other needs. with these trailing after him whenever he goes out or returns, he becomes an object of envy to those whom he meets. add to his wealth some political power also, or even honors from kings, or the government of people, or the command of armies, a herald crying out loudly before him, lictors on this side and on that throwing his subjects into the deepest consternation with blows, confiscations, exiles, imprisonments, by which means intolerable fear is increased among his subjects. and what after this? one night either a fever or pleurisy or pneumonia comes, snatches up the man from among men and leads him away, suddenly stripping bare all the stage about him; and his former glory is proved a mere dream. therefore, the prophet compared human glory to the frailest flower. (3) 'let the earth bring forth vegetation: the plant producing seed of its own kind and likeness.'4 even to the present day, the order in plants testifies to the first orderly arrangement. for, germination is the beginning of every herb and every plant. if something is produced from the root, coming out of the protuberance below, like the crocus or dog's-tooth grass, it must germinate and emerge; or, if it is produced from seed, even so it is necessary that there be first germination, then a seedling, then green foliage, and finally the fruit swelling on the stalk, which up to this time was dry and thick. 'let the earth bring forth vegetation. whenever the seed falls on ground which contains moisture and heat in moderation, becoming spongy and very porous, it grasps the surrounding soil and draws to itself all that is proper and suitable for it. the very light particles of earth falling in and slipping around it in the pores expand its bulk even more, so that it sends roots downward and also thrusts shoots upward, producing stalks 4 gen. 1.11 (septuagint version). a homily 5 71 equal in number to the roots; and, since the shoot is always being warmed, moisture, drawn through the roots by the attraction of the heat, brings from the earth the proper amount of nourishment, and distributes this to the stalk and the bark, to the husks and the grain itself, as well as to the beards. thus, as the gradual increase continues, each of the plants reaches its natural proportions, whether it happens to be one of the grains or legumes or vegetables or shrubs. one grass, even one blade of grass is sufficient to occupy all your intelligence completely in the consideration of the art which produced ithow it is that the stalk of wheat is encircled with nodes, so that they, like some bonds, may bear easily the weight of the ears, when, full of fruit, they bend down to the earth. for this very reason, the oat stalk is completely devoid of these, inasmuch as its head is not made heavy by any weight. but, nature has strengthened the wheat with these bonds, placing the grain in a sheath so as not to be easily snatched by grain-picking birds; and besides, it keeps off any harm from small insects by the projecting barrier of the needlelike beards. (4) what shall i say? what shall i pass over in silence? in the rich treasure of creation the finding of what is most precious is difficult, yet, if it is omitted, the loss is very hard to bear. 'let the earth bring forth vegetation.' and immediately with the nutritive are produced the poisonous; with the grain, the hemlock; with the other edible plants, the hellebore and leopard's bane and mandrake and poppy juice. what, then? shall we neglect to acknowledge our gratitude for the useful plants and blame our creator for those destructive of our life? shall we not consider this, that not everything has been created for our stomach? but, the nourishing plants, especially assigned to us, are readily accessible and familiar to all; and each plant produced realizes a certain peculiar reason in its creation. just because the blood of the bull is poison for you, should the animal, therefore, whose strength we need for so many things in life, not have been produced or, if pro72 saint basil duced, be bloodless? on the contrary, you have sufficient sense of your own to guard against destructive things. is it possible, tell me, that the sheep and goats know how to escape what is hurtful to their existence, although they discern the harmful by sense perception alone, yet you, who possess reason as well as the medical art, to provide what is useful, and the experience of predecessors to warn you to shun injurious objects, find it hard to avoid the poisons? there is not one plant without worth, not one without use. either it provides food for some animal, or it has been sought out for us by the medical profession for the relief of certain diseases. in fact, starlings eat hemlock, escaping harm from the poison because of the constitution of their bodies. since they have very tiny passageways in the heart, they digest the poison swallowed before its chilling effect has seized upon the vital organs. hellebore is food for quails, who escape harm because of their peculiar constitution. these same plants are sometimes useful to us also. for instance, with mandrake doctors induce sleeps and with opium they lull violent pains of the body. some also have already dulled even their mad appetites with hemlock, and with hellebore have banished many of the long continued sufferings. so, the charge which you thought you had against the creator has proved to be for you an additional cause for thankfulness. (5) 'let the earth bring forth vegetation.'how much spontaneous provision does he embrace in these words-in 5 cf. lucian, timon 2: ‘and why not, when you lie asleep as if you were drugged with mandrake?' cf. also xenophon, symposium 2.24: 'wine does of a truth moisten the soul and lull our griefs to sleep just as the mandrake does with men.' 6 cf. hippocrates, aphorisms 4.13-16: persons who are not easily purged upward by the hellebores, should have their bodies moistened by plenty of food and rest before taking the draught. when one takes a draught of hellebore, one should be made to move about, and indulge less in sleep and repose. ... when you wish the hellebore to act more, move the body, and when to stop, let the patient get sleep and rest. hellebore is dangerous to persons whose flesh is sound, for it induces convulsions.' 7 gen. 1.11. 7 homily 5 73 the roots, in the foliage, and in the fruits as well! and how much more is added by us through care and farming! god did not order the earth to yield immediately seed and fruit, but to germinate and to grow green, and then to reach maturity with seed, so that this first command might be nature's lesson for the order to be followed thereafter. how, then, they say, does the earth bring forth seeds of the particular kind, when, after sowing grain, we frequently gather this black wheat? this is not a change to another kind, but, as it were, some disease and defect of the seed. it has not ceased to be wheat, but has been made black by burning, as it is possible to learn from the name itself.8 for, since it was burnt up by the extreme cold, it has changed to another color and taste. yet, again, it is also said that, whenever it obtains suitable ground and mild weather, it returns to its original form. therefore, you would find that nothing contrary to the command takes place among growing plants. the so-called darnel and whatever other bastard seeds are mixed in with the nutritious, which it is customary for scripture to call tares, are not produced from a change of the grain, but have existence from their own origin, being a distinct kind. these plants may be compared with those who pervert the teachings of the lord and who, not being truly instructed in the scripture but corrupted by the teaching of the evil one, join themselves to the sound body of the church in order that they may secretly inflict their harm on the more guileless. now, the lord compares the perfection of those who have believed in him to the increase of the seeds, when he says: 'as though a man should cast seed into the earth, then sleep and rise, night and day, and the seed should sprout and grow without his knowing it. for, of itself the earth bears the crop, first the blade, then the 8 a wrong etymology. liddell and scott compare it with the lithuanian pūrai, 'wheat. 9 cf. aristotle, meteorology 4.5.382h: 'cold is sometimes actually said to burn and to warm, but not in the same way as heat does, but by collecting and concentrating heat.' cf. also vergil, georgics 1.93. 74 saint basil ear, then the full grain in the ear.'10 'let the earth bring forth herbs.' and in the briefest moment of time the earth, beginning with germination in order that it might keep the laws of the creator, passing through every form of increase, immediately brought the shoots to perfection. the meadows were deep with the abundant grass; the fertile plains, rippling with standing crops, presented the picture of a swelling sea with its moving heads of grain. and every herb and every kind of vegetable and whatever shrubs and legumes there were, rose from the earth at that time in all profusion. there was no failure among the plants brought forth then, since neither the inexperience of farmers nor the inclemency of the weather nor any other circumstance caused damage to what was produced. nor did the sentence of condemnation interfere with the fertility of the earth. in fact, these things were earlier than the sin for which we were condemned to eat our bread in the sweat of our brow.11 (6) 'and the fruit tree,' he said, 'that bears fruit containing seed of its own kind and of its own likeness on the earth.'12 at this saying all the dense woods appeared; all the trees shot up, those which are wont to rise to the greatest height, the firs, cedars, cypresses, and pines; likewise, all the shrubs were immediately thick with leaf and bushy; and the so-called garland plants-the rose bushes, myrtles, and laurels-all came into existence in a moment of time, although they were not previously upon the earth, each one with its own peculiar nature, separated from other varieties by most evident differences, and each one known by its own character. only at that time the rose bush was without thorns;13 later, the thorn was added 10 mark 4.26-28. 11 cf. gen. 3.19: ‘in the sweat of your brow you shall eat bread.' 12 gen. 1.11 (septaugint version). 13 the benedictine editors call attention to the fact that st. ambrose in lib. 3 in hexaem. cap. 11, and st. augustine in lib. 1 de genesi contra manichaeos cap. 13 agree with st. basil that the rose at first had no thorns. however, in lib. 3 de genesi ad litteram cap. 18 st. augustine has changed his opinion. homily 5 75 to the beauty of the flower so that we might keep pain closely associated with the enjoyment of pleasure and remind ourselves of the sin for which the earth was condemned to bring forth thorns and thistles for us.14 but, some one may say, the earth was ordered to yield 'the fruit tree that bears fruit containing its own seed upon earth,' yet, we see that many of the trees have neither fruit nor seed. what, then, shall we say? that the more important trees in nature have obtained the first mention; then, if we consider the matter carefully, that all trees will be seen either to have seed or to possess qualities equivalent to seeds. for instance, black poplars, willows, elms, white poplars, and all such trees, seem at sight to bear no fruit, but one would find on examing them carefully that each one has seed. the protuberance which lies below the leaf and which some of those who devote themselves to the inventing of names call 'mischos' has the productive power of seed. for, from it trees which are wont to reproduce by their branches generally send forth their roots. perhaps, also, the saplings growing from the roots, which the gardeners tear off to increase the species, contain the principle of seed. first, however, as we have said, the trees more essential to our life deserved mention, trees such as were to provide plentiful food for man by offering him their particular fruits, the grapevine which produces wine to rejoice the heart of man, the olive tree which provides fruit that is able to brighten his face with its oil. how many things produced by nature are combined in one plant! the root of the grapevine, the large thriving branches which hang down from all sides above the earth, the bud, the tendrils, the sour grapes, the bunches of ripe grapes! the vine, intelligently observed by your eyes, is sufficient to remind you of nature. you remember, of course, the parable of the lord, when he proclaims himself the vine and his father the vine-dresser, and calls each one of us, 14 cf. gen. 3.18: 'thorns and thistles shall it bring forth to you.' 76 saint basil engrafted by faith on the church, the branches. 15 moreover, he invites us to produce much fruit lest, convicted of sterility, we be delivered up to the fire; and he constantly compares the souls of men to vines. 'my beloved had a vineyard' he says, ‘on a hill in a fruitful place.'16 and, 'i planted a vineyard, and put a hedge about it.'17 evidently, he calls the human souls the vineyard, about which he has put as a hedge the security arising from his commandments and the custody of his angels. “the angel of the lord shall encamp round about them that fear him.'18 and then he drove in props, as it were, for us, 'placing in the church, first apostles, secondly prophets, thirdly teachers.'19 and leading our thoughts upward by the examples of the blessed men of old, he did not let them fall, tossing about on the ground to be trampled upon. he wishes us also to cling to our neighbors with embraces of charity like tendrils of a vine, and to rest upon them, so that, keeping our desires always heavenward, we may, like certain climbing vines, reach the upmost heights of the loftiest teachings. he asks us also to permit ourselves to be dug about.20 now, our soul ‘dug about when we put aside the cares of the world, which are a burden to our hearts. therefore, he who has laid aside carnal love and the desire of possessions, or who has considered the violent desire for this wretched little glory detestible and contemptible, has, so to say, been 'dug about' and, freed of the vain burden of the earthy spirit, has breathed again. we must not, according to the meaning of the proverb, run to wood, that is, live our lives ostentatiously, or eagerly seek praise from those outside, but we must be fruitful, preserving for the true farmer the proof of our works. 15 cf. john 15.1-5. 16 isa. 5.1. 17 cf. matt. 21.33. 18 ps. 33.8. 19 1 cor. 12.28. 20 cf. luke 13.8: ‘but he answered him and said, “sir, let it alone this year too, till i dig around it and manure it." homily 5 77 a but, you also, be ‘as a fruitful olive tree in the house of god,'21 never destitute of hope, but always having about you the rich assurance of safety through faith. thus, indeed, you will imitate the eternal verdure of this plant and emulate its fruitfulness, bestowing bounteous alms on every occasion. (7) let us now return to our examination of the artistic arrangements of creation. how many kinds of trees grew up at that time, some fruit-producing, others furnishing material for roofing, some suitable for shipbuilding, others for burning! among these, again, in each tree the arrangement of its various parts differs, and it is difficult both to discover the distinctive properties of each and to recognize the variations in each of the different kinds. how is it that some of them have deep roots and others roots near the surface, and some are straightgrowing and have one stem, and others low-growing and divide even from the root into many shoots? how is it that those whose long branches extend far up in the air also have deep roots, set for the most part in a large circumference, as if nature were placing foundations beneath proportionate to the weight above? how great are the differences in the barks! some of the plants have smooth bark, others rough bark; some of them have but one layer, others many layers. but, the marvel is that you may find in plants the characteristics closely resembling those of human youth and old age. around the young and thriving plants the bark is stretched smooth, but around the old it is as if wrinkled and rough. some plants, when cut, sprout again; others remain sterile, as if the stump were enduring a kind of death. certain men have already observed that, if pines are cut down or burned, they are changed into oak forests.22 we know also that some trees are 21 ps. 51.10. 22 not an extraordinary occurrence. it is due to the presence of an undergrowth of oak with huge roots and slender tops about one or two feet in height, whose further development upward is hindered by the pines. if the pine is removed by burning or cutting, the oak proceeds to grow rapidly and in ten or fifteen years produces a transfer from a pine to an oak forest. cf. b. c. tharp, structure of texas vegetation p. 89. 78 saint basil cured of their natural defects through the care given them by the farmers, for example, the sour pomegranate and the more bitter almond. the trunk of these trees is bored close to the root, and a rich wedge of pine is inserted in the center of the pith. this causes the bitter flavor of the juice to change to one pleasant to the taste. let no one, therefore, who is living in vice despair of himself, knowing that, as agriculture changes the properties of plants, so the diligence of the soul in the pursuit of virtue can triumph over all sorts of infirmities. (8) the difference in the productiveness of fruit-bearing trees is so great that one could never express it in words. not only are there varieties of fruits in the different families, but even in the very species of the tree the variety is great, where, for instance, one type has been distinguished by the gardeners as fruit of males and another as that of females. they divide even the palms into males and females. and at times, too, one may see the so-called female among them letting down its branches, as if with passionate desire, and longing for the embrace of the male, at which the caretakers of the plants throw upon the branches a certain kind of seeds of the males, called 'psenes.' then, as if it is consciously perceptive of fruition, it again raises its branches erect and restores the foliage of the plant to its proper form. the same is also said of the fig tree. therefore, some plant wild figs beside the cultivated ones, while others remedy the deficiency of the productive cultivated fig trees by binding on them the fruit of the wild figs, and so retaining with the psenes of the wild figs the fruit which was already dropping off and being strewn about.23 what does this puzzling example from nature mean to you? 23 cf. aristotle, history of animals 5.32.557b: “the fruit of the wild fig contains the psen, or fig-wasp. this creature is a grub at first; but in due time the husk peels off and the psen leaves the husk behind it and flics away, and enters into the fruit of the fig-tree through its orifice, and causes the fruit not to drop off; and with a view to this phenomenon, country folk are in the habit of tying wild figs on to fig trees, and of planting wild fig-trees near domesticated ones.' homily 5 79 that we must frequently borrow, even from those foreign to our faith, a certain vitality for a demonstration of our good works. if, indeed, you see one who lives the life of a pagan or who is cut off from the church by some perverse heresy cultivating a chaste manner of life and other moral behavior, intensify your zeal to a greater degree, in order that you may be like the productive fig tree, which gathers strength from the presence of the wild figs, checks its shedding, and nourishes its fruit more carefully. these, then, are differences in the manner of the generation of plants, to mention but a few from the many. but, who could ever describe in detail the diversity of the fruits themselves, their shapes, their colors, their peculiar flavors, and the use of each? how is it that some with no outer covering are ripened by the sun, and others are brought to maturity even though covered with shells? and those whose fruit is tender, like the fig, have a thick covering of foliage? and those whose fruits are more closely sheathed, like the nut, have a light screen of leaves? because the former on account of their frailness need more protection, but, for the latter a thicker covering would be harmful because of the shade from the leaves. how is it that the leaf of the vine is serrated? in order that the bunch of grapes may both withstand injuries from the air and may receive plentifully through the openings the rays of the sun. nothing happens without cause; nothing by chance; all things involve a certain ineffable wisdom. what discussion can extend to all things? how can the human mind review everything with accuracy, so as to discern the peculiar properties, to distinguish clearly the differences in each, and to present unerringly the hidden causes? the same water, sucked up through the root, nourishes in different ways the root itself, the bark of the trunk, the wood, and the pith. the same water also becomes a leaf, it is distributed into boughs and branches and produces the growth of fruits; and the gum of the plant, too, and the juice come from the same 80 saint basil a source. and, how much these differ from each other, no words could fully express. the gum of the mastic is of one kind and the juice of the balsam tree of another; while the giant fennels in egypt and libya exude still another kind of juice. then, there is a saying that amber is the juice of plants crystallized into a stonelike substance. the fragments of wood and very delicate little insects which remain visible in it, having been left behind when the juice was soft, confirm this saying:24 on the whole, he who has not learned by experience the differences of the qualities of the juices will find no word to describe the active forms of water. again, how is wine made in the vine and olive oil in the olive tree from the same moisture? furthermore, not only is there the astonishing fact that the liquid in the one case has been sweetened and in the other made oily, but also that in the sweet fruits the difference in quality is inexpressibly varied. the sweetness in the grapevine, for instance, is of one sort, but it is of another in the apple tree, and another in the fig tree, and yet another in the date palm. besides, i want you to employ skill in making this investigation as to how the same water is now soft to the palate when in certain plants it has been sweetened, and now it is pungent in taste when it has been made sour by passing through other plants. again, it irritates our sense of taste by changing to extreme bitterness when it is in wormwood or scammony. in the acorns, too, or in the fruit of the dogwood it adopts an astringent and bitter quality, but in the terebinth and nut-bearing trees it is converted to a soft and oleaginous substance. (9) why is it necessary to say more, since even in the same fig tree the water passes from one part to another with most opposite qualities? exceedingly bitter in the sap, it is very 24 pliny, natural history 37.11: 'one great proof that amber must have been originally in a liquid state is the fact that, owing to its transparency, certain objects are to be seen within, ants for example, gnats and lizards. these, no doubt, must have first adhered to it while liquid and then, upon its hardening, have remained enclosed within.' homily 5 81 sweet in the fruit itself. and in the case of the grapevines, it is most astringent in the branches, but very sweet in the bunches of grapes. and, how great is the variety in the colors! you might see in a meadow the same water become red in this flower, and in another, purple; dark blue in this one, and in that, white; and again, exhibit a difference in their odors greater than the variety in color. but, i see that in my insatiable desire for speculation my words are accumulating to excess, and unless i fetter and lead them back to the natural laws of creation, the day will fail me as i present to you great wisdom from most trifling things. 'let the earth bring forth the fruit tree, that bears fruit upon the earth.' immediately the summits of the mountains were covered with foliage; gardens were artistically laid out; and banks of rivers were made beautiful with innumerable plants. some plants were ready to adorn man's table, others furnished food for the cattle from the leaves and from the fruits. other plants procured for us medical aids, giving their juices, their saps, their stalks, their barks, their fruit. and, in general, whatever long experience, by collecting useful information from individual incidents, has discovered for us, this was brought into being by the keen foresight of the creator, which from the beginning provided for us. but, may you, whenever you see cultivated plants or wild ones, water plants or land plants, flowering or flowerless, recognize grandeur in the tiniest thing, continue always in your admiration, and increase, i pray you, your love for the creator. ponder how he made some trees evergreens and others deciduous, and of the evergreens, how he made some which lose their leaves and others which always keep them. olive trees and pines shed their leaves, even though they make the change imperceptibly, so that they never seem to be stripped of their foliage. but, the date palm is persistent, remaining always, from its first sprouting until its death, with the same foliage. then, consider this, how the tamarisk is, as it were, a plant of double 82 saint basil life, counted among the water plants, and also prevalent throughout the deserts. therefore, jeremia justly likens evil and double-dealing characters to such a tree.25 (10) 'let the earth bring forth.' this brief command was immediately mighty nature and an elaborate system which brought to perfection more swiftly than our thought the countless properties of plants. that command, which even yet is inherent in the earth, impels it in the course of each year to exert all the power it has for the generation of herbs, seeds, and trees. for, as tops, from the first impulse given to them, produce successive whirls when they are spun, so also the order of nature, having received its beginning from that first command continues to all time thereafter, until it shall reach the common consummation of all things. let all of us hasten, full of fruit and good works to this, in order that, planted in the house of the lord, we may flourish in the courts of our god,26 in christ jesus our lord, to whom be glory and power forever. amen. 25 cf. jer. 17.5.6: “thus saith the lord: cursed be the man that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his arm, and whose heart departeth from the lord. for he shall be like tamaric in the desert, and he shall not see when good shall come.' 26 cf. ps. 91.14: “they that are planted in the house of the lord shall flourish in the courts of the house of our god.' homily 6 creation of the lights of the heavens (on the hexaemeron) e who watches athletes ought to participate to some extent himself in the contest, a fact that may be realized from the laws for festivals, which prescribe that those who are present in the stadium shall sit with head uncovered. it seems to me that this is in order that he may not be a spectator only of the competitors but that each one may also, in a measure, be a competitor himself. in the same way, therefore, the reviewer of the great and marvelous spectacles and the listener to truly consummate and inexpressible wisdom, when present, should have from within himself certain incitements for the contemplation of the wonders proposed and should share with me in the struggle according to his power, standing beside me less as a judge than as a fellow combatant, lest at some time the discovery of the truth should escape us and my error should become the common loss of my audience. now, why do i say this? because, since we are proposing to examine the structure of the world and to contemplate the whole universe, beginning, not from the wisdom of the world, but from what god taught his servant when he spoke to him in person and without riddles, it is absolutely necessary that those who are fond of great shows and wonders should have a mind trained for the consideration of what we propose. 83 84 saint basil if, at any time in the clear cool air of the night, while gazing intently at the indescribable beauty of the stars, you conceived an idea of the creator of the universe-who he is who has dotted the heavens with such flowers, and why the usefulness is greater than the pleasure in visible things-or again, if at times you observed with sober reflection the wonders of the day and through visible things you inferred the invisible creator, you come as a prepared listener and one worthy to fill up this august and blessed assembly. come, then; for just as those unaccustomed to the cities are taken by the hand and led around, so also i myself shall guide you, as strangers, to the hidden wonders of this great city. in this city in which is our ancient home, and from which the man-slaying demon drove us, selling mankind into slavery by his allurements, here, i say, you will see the first origin of man and death, which immediately seized upon us and which had been begotten by sin, the first-born offspring of the demon, source of evil, you will recognize yourself as coming from the earth by nature, but the work of the divine hands, falling far short of the animals in strength, but an appointed ruler of the creatures without reason, inferior in physical constitution, but able by the benefit of reason to be lifted up to the very heavens. if we understand this, we shall learn to know ourselves, we shall know god, we shall worship the creator, we shall serve the lord, we shall extol the father, we shall love our provider, we shall revere our benefactor, we shall not cease adoring the authorl of our present and future life, who not only confirms his promises by the riches which he has already provided but also strengthens our expectations by the experience of present benefits. indeed, if transient things are thus, what will be the eternal? and, if visible things are so beautiful, what will be the invisible? if the grandeur of the heavens transcends the measure of the human intellect, what mind will be able to 1 cf. acts 3.15: 'but the author of life you killed, whom god has raised up from the dead.' homily 6 85 explore the nature of the everlasting? if the sun, subject to destruction, is so beautiful, so great, so swift in its motion, presenting such orderly cycles, possessing a magnitude so commensurate with the universe that it does not exceed its due proportions to the universe; if by the beauty of its nature it is as conspicuous in creation as a radiant eye; if the contemplation of it is incapable of satisfying us, what will be the beauty of the sun of justice?? if it is a loss to a blind man to be unable to look upon this, how great a loss is it to a sinner to be deprived of the true light? (2) 'and god said, “let there be lights in the firmament of the heavens for the illumination of the earth, to separate day from night." '3 the .” '3 the heavens and the earth had come first; " after them, light had been created, day and night separated, and in turn, the firmament and dry land revealed. water had been collected into a fixed and definite gathering. the earth had been filled with its proper fruits; for, it had brought forth countless kinds of herbs, and had been adorned with varied species of plants. however, the sun did not yet exist, nor the moon, lest men might call the sun the first cause and father of light, and lest they who are ignorant of god might deem it the producer of what grows from the earth. for this reason, there was a fourth day, and at that time 'god said, “let there be light,” ... and god made the two lights.'4 who spoke and who made? do you not notice in these words the double person? everywhere in history the teachings of theology are mystically interspersed. the need for the creation of the lights is added. 'for the illumination,' he says, 'of the earth.'5 if the creation of light had preceded, why, now, is the sun in turn said to have been made to give light? first, do not let the peculiar form of the 2 cf. mal. 4.2: ‘but unto you that fear my name, the sun of justice shall arise.' 3 gen. 1.14, 15 (septuagint version). 4 ibid. 1.14, 16. 5 ibid. 1.14 (septuagint version). 86 saint basil diction cause you to laugh, if indeed we do not follow your choice of words nor pursue rhythm in the arrangement of them. among us there are no embellishers of words, no melodiousness of sounds, but everywhere clarity of expression is more precious. see, therefore, whether he does not make sufficiently clear what he wished by the word 'illumination'; instead of 'light' (photismos) he said 'illumination (phausis). this does not conflict with what has been said about 'light' (phos). in fact, at that time the actual nature of light was introduced, but now this solar body has been made ready to be a vehicle for that first-created light. just as fire is different from a lamp, the one having the power to give light, and the other made to show that light to those who need it, so also in this case the lights have been prepared as a vehicle for that pure, clear, and immaterial light. and, just as the apostle says that there are certain lights in the world, but the true light of the world is something else, and by participation in it holy men become the lights of the souls whom they have taught, drawing them out from the darkness of ignorance, so also now, having prepared this sun for that most bright light, the creator of the universe has lighted it around the world. (3) do not let what has been said seem to anyone to be beyond belief, namely, that the brilliance of the light is one thing and the body subjected to the light another. in the first place, we divide all composite bodies into the recipient substance and the supervenient quality. just as, therefore, whiteness by nature is one thing, but a whitened body something else, so also the things just mentioned, although different by nature, are made one by the power of the creator. and do not tell me that it is impossible for these to be separated. i certainly do not say that the separation of light from the solar body is possible for you and me, but that that which we are able to separate in thought can also be separated in actuality by the creator of its nature. it is also inconceivable 6 cf. phil. 2.15: ‘for among these you shine like stars in the world.' homily 6 87 for you to separate the burning property of fire from its brilliancy; yet god, wishing to turn his servant back by an incredible spectacle, placed a fire in a bush, which was active only by its brilliance and had its power of burning inactive.? this, too, the psalmist testifies when he says: “the voice of the lord dividing the flame of fire.'8 whence also in the requital for the actions of our lives a certain obscure saying teaches us that the nature of fire will be divided, and the light will be assigned for the pleasure of the just, but for the painful burning of those punished. then, of course, it is also possible for us to find proof of our claims from the changes in the moon. for, although it wanes and decreases, it is not consumed in its entire body, but, putting aside and again assuming the surrounding light, it gives us the impression of diminishing and increasing. what is seen is a clear proof that the body itself of the waning moon is not consumed. in fact, if you observe it when the air is clear and free from all mist, especially when the moon happens to be crescent-shaped in appearance, it is possible for you to see its dark and unlit part circumscribed by such a circle as the whole moon itself fills out when it is full. consequently, a perfect circle is clearly perceived, if our vision adds the faint and misty segment to the illuminated part. and do not tell me that the light of the moon is brought in from the outside because it decreases when it approaches the sun but increases again when it moves away. that is not proposed to us for examination at the present time, but the fact that its body is something different from its light. consider, i beg you, something similar in the case of the sun; except that it, having received the light once for all and having it mixed with itself, does not put it aside; while the moon, as if continually stripping off and again putting on the light, confirms in itself what has been said about the sun. 7 ex. 3.25. 8 ps. 28.7. 88 saint basil these luminaries were ordered also 'to separate day from night.'' god had previously separated light from darkness; then, he set their natures in opposition so that they were unable to mix with each other and there was no common quality in light and darkness. that which is shadow in daytime must be considered to be the nature of darkness at night. if, when some light shines, every shadow falls from bodies on the side opposite to the light, and in the morning the shadow is spread out toward the west, but in the evening it turns back toward the east, while at midday it tends toward the north, night also withdraws to the part opposite the bright rays, since it is nothing else by nature than the shadow of the earth. as in the day the shadow is produced by that which blocks the light, so night naturally comes when the air about the earth is overshadowed. this, therefore, is the meaning of ‘god separated the light from the darkness,' since darkness fled the approach of light when in the first creative activity the antipathy natural to them was engendered against each other. but, now he has made the sun master of the length of the day; and the moon, whenever it runs its complete orbit, he has made mistress of the night. for, the lights are then almost diametrically opposed to each other. when the sun rises above the horizon, the full moon is borne down out of sight; and again, when the sun sets, the moon frequently rises up in its turn from the east. if in its other phases the moonlight does not correspond exactly with the night, that is of no importance as regards the preceding words. however, whenever it attains its own most perfect state, it rules the night, eclipsing the stars with its own superior light and splendor, and illuminating the earth; and it divides the intervals of time equally with the sun. (4) ‘let them serve as signs and for the fixing of seasons, days and years.'10 the signs given by the luminaries are neces9 gen. 1.15. 10 ibid. homily 6 89 sary for human life. if anyone will investigate with ordinary care their signs, he will find that the observations derived through long experience with them are useful. much information can be obtained about the heavy rains, much about droughts and the blowing of the winds, either of particular winds or winds in general, of violent or gentle ones. the lord has given us one of the signs indicated by the sun when he says, 'it will be stormy, for the sky is red and lowering.'11 in fact, whenever the sun rises in a mist, the rays are dimmed, and it looks like a burning coal and is blood red in color, the density of the air causing this illusion to our eyes. if the air, compressed to begin with, and dense, is not scattered by the rays of the sun, it evidently cannot be absorbed because of the flow of vapors from the earth, and because of the excessive moisture will bring on a storm in those places around which it is gathered. likewise, when the moon is surrounded with moisture and when the so-called haloes encircle the sun, these indicate either an abundance of rain or a violent windstorm;12 or also, when those which are called mock suns travel around with the motion of the sun, they are signs of certain aerial phenomena. so, too, those straight streaks which appear in the clouds of the color of the rainbow, point to heavy rains or violent storms or, in short, to a very great change of the weather.13 11 matt. 16.3. 12 cf. aristotle, meteorology 3.3.372b: “sight is reflected in this way [as a halo around the sun or moon) when air and vapor are condensed into a cloud and the condensed matter is uniform and consists of small parts. hence in itself it is a sign of rain. . . since it shows that a process of condensation is proceeding which must, when it is carried to an end, result in rain.' 13 cf. ibid. 3.6.377b: 'a mock sun is caused by the reflection of sight to the sun. rods are seen when there are clouds near the sun and sight is reflected from some liquid surface to the cloud. ... the mock sun is a surer sign of rain than the rods; it indicates, more than they do, that the air is ripe for the production of water. further a mock sun to the south is a surer sign of rain than one to the north, for the air in the south is readier to turn into water than that in the north.' 90 saint basil they also who have devoted themselves to these studies have observed many significant facts about the waxing and waning moon, as if the air about the earth necessarily changes with the moon's different phases. indeed, when about the third day after new moon it is fine and clear, there is a promise of calm, fair weather; but, if the horns appear thick and reddish, it threatens a furious rainstorm or a violent windstorm from the south.14 and, as to the significance of these things, who does not know how useful it is for our livelihood? it is possible for the sailor to keep his ship inside the harbors if he has foreseen dangers from the winds. it is possible for the traveler from afar to avoid injuries by awaiting a change in the sullen sky. and farmers, busy with seeds and the care of plants, find from the indications in the sky all the opportune times for their labors. the lord has already foretold that the signs of the dissolution of the universe will appear in the sun and moon and stars; ‘the sun shall be turned into blood, and the moon will not give her light.'15 these are the signs of the consummation of the world. (5) but some who go beyond bounds interpret the divine utterance as a defense of astrology and say that our life depends on the movement of the heavenly bodies and that, for this reason, the chaldeans16 take the signs of what happens to us from the stars. and they understand the simple words 14 cf. aratus, phenomena 778-787: 'scan first the horns on either side the moon. for with varying hue from time to time the evening paints her and of different shape are her horns at diſſerent times as the moon is waxing-one form on the third day and other on the fourth. from them thou canst learn touching the month that is begun. if she is slender and clear about the third day, she heralds calm: if slender and very ruddy, wind: but if thick and with blunted horns she show but a feeble light on the third and fourth night, her beams are blunted by the south wind or imminent rain.' 15 cf. joel 2.31: “the sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood,' and matt. 24.29: 'the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give her light.' st. basil seems to have confused the two, 16 the chaldeans were the assyro-babylonian priests, the professional astrologers of classic antiquity. the origin of astrology goes back to the worship of the stars. homily 6 91 of scripture, 'let them serve as signs,' not of the conditions of the air, nor of the changes in season, but, as it seems to them, in respect to our lot in life. indeed, what do they say? that the intermingling of these moving stars, when they come together with those lying in the zodiac in a certain form, forecasts certain fortunes, and another position of the same ones produces the opposite lot in life. it will not be useless, perhaps, for the sake of clearness, to say a little about these things, resuming from the above. i shall use none of my own words, but i shall avail myself of theirs in the proof against them, offering to those already infected a remedy for the harm, but to the rest a safeguard against falling into the same errors. the inventors of astrology, perceiving that in a broad extent of time many of the signs escaped them, enclosed the measurements of time within the narrowest limits, as if within even the smallest and briefest interval, 'in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,'17 as the apostle says, there is the greatest difference between birth and birth. the person born in this brief interval is an absolute monarch of cities and a ruler of peoples, very rich and powerful; but, he who was born at the next moment is a beggar and a vagabond, going from door to door for his daily sustenance. for this reason, after having divided the so-called zodiac into twelve parts, since in thirty days the sun travels through a twelfth part of the fixed sphere, as it is called, they divided each of the twelfths into thirty sections. then, dividing each of these into sixty, they cut each of the sixtieths sixty times. now, then, in determining the births of the infants, let us see if they will be able to preserve this accurate division of time. a child is born, and at once the midwife ascertains whether it is male or female; then she awaits the wail which is a sign of life in the infant. how many minutes, do you think, passed in this time? she announces the birth to the chaldean. how many minutes do you want us to suppose passed before the 17 1 cor. 15.52. a 92 saint basil announcement of the midwife, especially if he who sets down the hour happens to be standing outside the women's apartment? surely, he who is to observe the horoscope must register the hour with accuracy whether these things happen in the day or at night. again, what a swarm of seconds sped by at this time! for, the star which is in the ascendant must be found, and not only in which twelfth it is, but also in what portion of the twelfth, and in which sixtieth into which we have said the portion was divided, or, to secure absolute precision, in which sixtieth subdivided from the first sixtieths. further, this minute and unfathomable investigation of time, they say, must be made in the case of each of the planets, so that it may be ascertained what relation they had to the fixed stars and what figure they formed with each other at the moment of the birth of the child. consequently, if it is impossible to find the hour accurately, and the change of even the very briefest interval causes utter failure, both those who devote themselves to this imaginary art and those who are all agape at them as if they were able to know their destinies are ridiculous. (6) but, what are the results obtained? that one, they say, will have curly hair and bright eyes, for he has the sign of the ram, and that animal has in a certain way such an appearance; but he will also have noble feelings since the ram possesses leadership, and will be both bountiful in giving and capable in acquiring since this animal gives up its wool without pain and is again easily clothed by nature. but, he who is born under taurus, he says, is wretched and servile, since the bull is under the yoke. he who is born under scorpio is a striker because of his similarity to that poisonous creature. he who is born under the influence of libra is just, because of the justness of our balances. now, what could be more ridiculous than this? the ram from which you estimate the birth of a man, is a twelfth part of the sky, and the sun, when it is in it, touches the signs of spring. libra and taurus, likea a homily 6 93 wise, are each a twelfth of the circle called the zodiac. how, then, can you say that the principal causes for the lives of human beings start from here, and how can you fashion the characters of men, when they are being born, from the animals about us? he who is born under the ram is generous, not because that part of the heavens is productive of such a quality, but because such is the nature of sheep. why do you constrain us to believe by the plausibility of the stars and attempt to persuade us by these bleatings? if, indeed, the heavens receive and possess such peculiarities of characteristics from animals, it is itself also subject to external powers, since its causes depend on the beasts of the field. but, if to say this is ridiculous, it is much more ridiculous to attempt to introduce persuasive arguments in our speech from those things which have nothing in common. these wise sayings of theirs are like spider webs, in which, if a gnat or a fly or any similar weak creature is entangled, it is bound fast and is held; but, whenever any of the stronger insects approaches, it easily breaks through, tearing and carrying away the feeble webs. (7) they do not stop at these things only, but the causes of those acts which are subject to the will of each of us (i mean the practices of virtue and vice), they also attribute to the heavens. it would be ridiculous to refute these in some other case, but, since they are preoccupied with their error, it should, perhaps, not be passed by in silence. first, then, let us ask them this, whether the figures made by the stars do not change numberless times each day. the so-called planets, being in perpetual motion, since some overtake others more quickly, while others describe their circuit more slowly, both see and are hidden from each other many times in the same hour; and it is of the greatest importance in births, as they say, if one is seen by a beneficent star or by an evil one. frequently, not discovering the moment at which the beneficent star bore its testimony because they did not perceive one of the tiniest 94 saint basil spaces, they register the child as lying under the influence of the evil spirit. i am constrained to borrow their own expression. in such words, certainly, the folly is great, but the impiety many times greater. for, the maleficent stars transfer the responsibility for their own wickedness to him who made them. if their wickedness is from nature, the creator will be the author of evil, but, if they are evil by their own choice, first, they will be creatures endowed with a will and possessed of free and sovereign desires, a thing which it is more than madness to allege so falsely of inanimate creatures. next, how senseless it is not to assign good and evil to each star according to its worth, but, to take for granted that, because a star was in this particular place, it is beneficent, and that, because it is seen by another particular star, the same one becomes maleficent, again, that when it turns aside from that figure, it immediately forgets its evil. but, let this suffice for that . matter. now, if in each brief interval of time the stars are shifted to one figure after another, and in these numberless changes the patterns of royal birth are produced frequently during the day, why are not kings born every day? or, why are the successions of the kingly office hereditary among them? surely, each of the kings does not carefully fit the birth of his own son to the royal figure of the stars, does he? what man, indeed, has such a power? how, then, did 'ozias beget joatham, joatham beget achaz, achaz beget ezechias,'18 and none of them met with the hour of birth of a slave? then, if truly the origin of our vices and virtues is not within us, but is the unavoidable consequence of our birth, the lawgivers, who define what we must do and what we must avoid, are useless, and the judges, too, who honor virtue and punish crime, are useless. in fact, the wrong done is not attributable to the thief, nor to the murderer, for whom it was an impossibility to restrain his hand, even if he wished to, because of 18 matt. 1.9. homily 6 95 the unavoidable compulsion which urged him to the acts. persons who cultivate the arts are the most foolish of all. at least the farmer will thrive, although he has not scattered his seeds nor sharpened his sickle; and the merchant will be exceedingly rich, whether he wishes or not, since his destiny is gathering up wealth for him. but, the great hopes of us christians will vanish completely since neither justice will be honored nor sin condemned because nothing is done by men through their free will. where necessity and destiny prevail, merit, which is the special condition for just judgment, has no place. but, our arguments against them thus far are sufficient. you, being sound yourselves, do not need more words and time does not permit us to denounce them excessively. (8) let us return to the words which follow: 'let them serve,' he says, “as signs and for the fixing of seasons, days, and years.'19 we have already given the explanation about the ‘signs. we think that 'seasons' means the changes of the periods of time-winter, spring, summer, and autumn-which, due to the regularity of the movement of the luminaries, are made to pass by us periodically. it is winter when the sun tarries in the southern parts and produces much night shadow in the region about us, so that the air above the earth is chilled and all the damp exhalations, gathering around us, provide a source for rains and frosts and indescribably great snows. afterwards, returning again from the southern regions, it arrives in the center, so that it divides the time equally between night and day, and the longer it tarries in the places above the earth, so much milder a climate does it bring back in turn. then comes spring, which causes all plants to bud, brings returning life to most trees, and preserves the species for all land and water animals by a series of births. and now, the sun, moving thence toward the summer solstice in a northerly direction, offers us the longest days. and, because 19 gen. 1.14. 96 saint basil it travels through the air a very great distance, it parches the very air above our heads and dries up all the land, aiding in this way the seeds to mature and hurrying the fruits of the trees to ripeness. when the sun is most fiery hot, it causes very short shadows at midday because it shines upon our region directly from above. those days are longest in which the shadows are shortest, and again, the shortest days are those which have the longest shadows. this is so for us who are called heteroscians20 (shadowed-on-one-side), who inhabit the northern part of the earth. yet, there are some who for two days of every year are entirely shadowless at midday, upon whom the sun, shining from the zenith, pours equal light from all sides, so that it even lights up the water in the depth of the wells through narrow apertures. consequently, some call them ascians (shadowless). but, those beyond the spicebearing land have shadows that change from one side to the other. they are the only inhabitants in this world who cast shadows to the south at midday; whence some call them amphiscians21 (shadowed-on-both-sides). all these phenomena happen when the sun has already passed across to the northern regions. from them it is possible to conjecture the intensity of the burning heat which exists in the air from the solar beam, and what effects it produces. the season of autumn, welcoming us in turn from summer, breaks the excessive stifling heat and, gradually lessening it, by its moderate temperature leads us unharmed out of itself into winter, that is to say, while the sun again turns back from the northerly as 20 cf. strabo, geography 2.5.43: 'the people are thought of .. heteroscians, all whose shadows either always fall toward the north, as is the case with us, or always toward the south, as is the case with the inhabitants of the other temperate zone.' 21 cf. ibid.: “the people are thought of ... as amphisicians, all whose shadows at noon sometimes fall toward the north, namely, when the sun strikes from the south the index (which is perpendicular to the horizontal surface beneath), and, at other times, fall in the opposite direction, namely, when the sun revolves round to the opposite side (this is the result for only those who live between the tropics).' homily 6 97 regions to the southern. these changes of the seasons, which follow the movements of the sun, govern our lives. 'let them serve,' he says, 'for the fixing of days,' not for making days, but for ruling the days. for, day and night are earlier than the generation of the luminaries. this the psalm declares to us when it says: 'he placed the sun to rule the day, the moon and stars to rule the night.'22 how, then, does the sun rule the day? because, whenever the sun, carrying the light around with it, rises above our horizon, it puts an end to the darkness and brings us the day. therefore, one would not err if he would define the day as air, lighted by the sun, or as the measure of time in which the sun tarries in the hemisphere above the earth. but, the sun and the moon were appointed to be for the years. the moon, when it has completed its course twelve times, measures a year, except that it frequently needs an intercalary month for the accurate determination of the seasons, as the hebrews and the most ancient of the greeks formerly measured the year. the solar year is the return of the sun from a certain sign to that same sign in its regular revolution. (9) 'and god made the two great lights.'23 since 'great' holds an absolute meaning, as for instance, the heavens are great and the earth is great and the sea is great, but, for the most part, it is generally used with a relative meaning, as a great horse and a great ox, which take on an aspect of greatness not indeed because of the enormous size of the body, but in comparison with their like, how, then, shall we understand the meaning of 'great'? shall we call the ant or any other of the animals naturally small, great, testifying to its superiority because of the comparison with those of similar kind? or, in the present case, is the greatness such that magnitude is indicated by the very structure of the lights? personally, i think so. the sun and moon are great, not because they are 22 ps. 135.8, 9. 23 gen. 1.16. 98 saint basil greater than the smaller stars, but because they are so immense in circumference that the brightness poured forth from them suffices to light up the heavens and the air, and at the same time to extend to the earth and the sea. although they are in every part of the heavens, rising and setting and occupying the center, they appear equal to men from all sides, a fact which affords clear proof of their immense size, because the whole extent of the earth contributes nothing to their appearing to be larger or smaller. we see things which are situated afar off somehow rather small, but, as we approach nearer to them, we find out their actual size more and more. now, no one is nearer to the sun nor farther away, but it shines from an equal distance on those dwelling in every part of the earth. the proof is that the indians and the britons look upon a sun of equal size. neither when it sets does it decrease in size for those who dwell in the east, nor when it rises does it appear smaller to those who live in the west, nor when it is in mid-heaven does it vary in its appearance on either side. do not let the appearance deceive you and do not, because it seems to observers to be but span in size, consider that it is such. the size of objects seen at great distances is naturally reduced, since the power of sight is not able to cover the space between but, as it were, is exhausted in the middle and only a little part at a time reaches the visible objects. now, since our visual impression is small, by imposing its own quality on the visible objects, it causes that which is seen to be considered small. therefore, if the visual impression is false, its judgment is untrustworthy. remember your own experiences and you will have proof of yourself of these words. if ever from the ridge of a great mountain you saw a vast plain spread out below, how large did the yokes of oxen appear to you? and how large were the plowers themselves? did they not give you an impression of being ants? and, if from a hilltop, turning toward the vast open sea, you let your eyes fall upon the sea, how great did the greatest of the islands a homily 6 99 seem to you? and how large did one of the immense trading vessels appear as it was borne with its white sails over the dark blue sea? did it not look smaller to you than any dove? as i have said, therefore, our visual impression, being spent in the air, becomes faint and is not sufficient for the accurate perception of the objects viewed. and actually, our sight says that the greatest mountains, cut by deep chasms, are round and smooth, since it falls only upon the eminences and is unable through weakness to enter the hollows between. so, too, it does not preserve the shapes of the bodies such as they are, but thinks that the square towers are rounded. consequently, it is evident from every point that at very great distances it receives, not a distinct, but a confused image of the bodies. the light, then, is great, according to the testimony of scripture, and infinitely greater than it appears. (10) let this be for you a clear proof of its magnitude. though the stars in the heavens are countless in number, the light contributed by them is not sufficient to dispel the gloom of night. the sun alone, appearing above the horizon, or rather, while still expected, even before it was completely above the earth, caused the darkness to disappear, eclipsed the stars with its light, and dissolved and scattered the thick and compact air about the earth. from this source also the morning breezes and the dews flow around the earth in clear weather. since the earth is so immense, how would it be possible to illuminate the whole in one moment of time, unless it sent out its light from a huge circle? observe, then, i beg you, the wisdom of the artificer, how he has given it heat in proportion to this distance. for, the heat of the sun is of such a nature that it neither burns up the earth through excess nor leaves it cold and sterile from its deficiency. consider the facts concerning the moon as akin to what has already been said. its body, too, is immense and is the brightest after that of the sun. not always, however, does its full size remain visible; now it appears complete in a circle, and 100 saint basil now, when lessened and diminished, it shows a deficiency on one side. as it increases, it is shadowed on one side. but, its other side is obscured at the time of waning. and there is a certain hidden reason of the wise artificer for this varied interchange of shapes. in truth, it is so as to provide for us a clear example of our nature. for, nothing human is stable, but some things advance from non-being to perfection, and others, having attained to their proper strength and increased to their highest limit, again, through gradual deterioration, decline and perish, and, after having decreased, are completely destroyed. therefore, from the spectacle of the moon we are taught our own vicissitudes and that, taking thought of the swift change of things human, we should not be proud in the successes of life, nor glory in power, nor be lifted up by the uncertainty of wealth, but despise the flesh in which there is constant change, and care for the soul whose good is unchangeable. and, if the moon causes you grief by exhausting its splendor in gradual diminutions, a soul should distress you more, which, having possessed virtue, through neglect destroys its beauty and never remains in the same disposition but turns and changes constantly through fickleness of mind. truly, as scripture says: 'a fool is changed as the moon."24 i think that perfection in the constitution of animals and in the other things that grow from the earth depends not a little on the changes in the moon. in fact, their bodies are affected one way when it is waning and another when it is waxing. when it wanes, they become thin and exhausted, but then, when it waxes and approaches to fullness, they also fill themselves out again, because imperceptibly it imparts some moisture tempered by its heat, which reaches to their depths. moreover, persons who sleep under the moon prove this, since the open passages in their heads are filled with excessive moisture; also the freshly slaughtered meats are quickly spoilt by the moonlight falling upon them, as well as the brains of 24 ecclus. 27.12. homily 6 101 animals and the moistest parts of the sea animals and the piths of trees. all these things would not be able to change simultaneously with its transformation unless there was in it, in accordance with the testimony of scripture, some remarkable and extraordinary power. (11) the conditions of the air, too, are sympathetically affected by its variations, as is testified to us during the time of the new moon both by the sudden disturbances arising after a calm and tranquil stillness in the air when the clouds are driven tumultuously and meet violently together, and by the flux and reflux of the straits and the ebb and flow of the so-called ocean, which the inhabitants close by have found out follows regularly the course of the moon. for, the water of the straits flows from one side to the other during the different phases of the moon, but, at the time of its birth they do not remain quiet for the briefest instant, but they are constantly tossing and swaying backwards and forwards until the moon, again appearing, furnishes a certain order for their reflux. the western sea 25 too, is subject to the tides, now sinking, again flooding, as if drawn backward by the inhaling of the moon, and again pushed forward to its proper limits by its exhaling. i have mentioned these things as a demonstration of the great size of the luminaries and as a proof that none of the divinely inspired words, even as much as a syllable, is an idle word. and yet, our sermon has touched upon almost none of the principal points, for it is possible for one, if he considers carefully their operations and powers, to find out through reason many things about the magnitudes and distances of the sun and moon. therefore, reasonably, we must accuse ourselves of our weakness in order that the greatest of the works of the creator may not be measured by our speech. yet, from the few words which were said you should conjecture how many and how great are the marvels which were at my dis25 the atlantic ocean. 102 saint basil posal. do not, then, measure the moon with your eye, but with your reason, which is much more accurate than the eyes for the discovery of truth. certain ridiculous tales, told in their delirium by drunken old women, have been spread abroad on all sides; for instance, that the moon, moved from its proper place by certain magic tricks, is being brought down to the earth. now, how will an enchantment of magicians disturb what the most high himself has firmly founded? and what sort of a place could receive it when it was hauled down? do you wish to receive a proof of its immensity from mere trivial evidence? all the cities in the world, settled at the greatest distances from each other receive the moonlight equally in the streets which are turned toward the east. if it were not facing all these cities, it would light up completely the narrow streets directly opposite it, but those which went beyond its width, it would strike with oblique and diverted rays. it is possible to see this effect also in the case of lamps in the homes. when several persons stand around a lamp, the shadow of the one who stands directly opposite extends straightforward, but the other shadows incline to each side. therefore, unless the body of the moon was something immense, even stupendous in size, it would not spread out uniformly opposite to all. in fact, when it rises in the equinoctial regions, both those who dwell in the frigid zone and lie under the path of the bear, as well as those down along the valleys of the south in the neighborhood of the torrid zone share equally in its light. since it extends beyond all of these in width, it furnishes the clearest proof of its huge size. who, then, will deny that its body is immense, since it is equal in measurement to so many and at the same time such great distances? so far, then, concerning the magnitudes of the sun and moon. may he who has granted us intelligence to learn of the great wisdom of the artificer from the most insignificant objects of a homily 6 103 creation permit us to receive loftier concepts of the creator from the mighty objects of creation. and yet, in comparison with the creator, the sun and moon possess the reason of a gnat or an ant. truly, it is not possible to attain a worthy view of the god of the universe from these things, but to be led on by them, as also by each of the tiniest of plants and animals to some slight and faint impression of him. let us be satisfied with what has been said, i, indeed, returning thanks to him who has bestowed on me this small ministry of the word, and you to him who nourishes you with spiritual foods, who even now has sustained you with our weak words, as if with barley bread. and may he nourish you forever, bestowing upon you in proportion to your faith the manifestation of the spirit,26 in christ jesus our lord, to whom be glory and power forever. amen. 26 cf. 1 cor. 12.7: 'now the manifestation of the spirit is given to every. one for profit.' homily 7 creation of crawling creatures (on the hexaemeron) hen god said, 'let the waters bring forth crawling creatures' of different kinds 'that have life, and winged creatures of different kinds that fly below the firmament of the heavens.'1 after the creation of the lights, then the waters were filled with living creatures, so that this portion of the world also was adorned. the earth had received its ornamentation from its own plants; the heavens had received the flowers of stars and had been adorned with two great lights as if with the radiance of twin eyes. it remained for the waters, too, to be given their proper ornament. the command came. immediately rivers were productive and marshy lakes were fruitful of species proper and natural to each; the sea was in travail with all kinds of swimming creatures, and not even the water which remained in the slime and ponds was idle or without its contribution in creation. for, clearly, frogs and mosquitoes and gnats were generated from them. things still seen, even at the present time, are a proof of what is past. thus all water was in eager haste to fulfill the command of its creator, and the great and ineffable power of god immediately produced an efficacious and active life in creatures of which one would not even be able to enumerate the species, as soon as the capacity for propagating living creatures came to the waters through his command. 'let the waters bring forth crawling creatures that i gen, 1.20. 105 106 saint basil have life.' now, for the first time an animal was created which possessed life and sensation. plants and trees, even if they are said to live because they share the power of nourishing themselves and of growing, yet are not animals nor are they animate. for this reason, 'let the earth bring forth crawling creatures.' every creature able to swim, whether it swims at the surface of the water or cuts through its depths, is of the nature of crawling creatures, since it makes its way through a body of water. even though some of the aquatic animals have feet and are able to walk (especially the amphibians, which are many, for instance, seals, crocodiles, hippopotamuses, frogs, and crabs), yet the ability to swim is antecedent. therefore, ‘let the waters bring forth crawling creatures. in these few words what species has been omitted? what has not been embraced by the command of the creator? have not the vivipara, such as seals and dolphins and rays and those like them that are called cartilaginous? are not the ovipara included, which are, roughly speaking, all the different kinds of fishes? are not those which are scaly and those which are horny scaled, those which have fins and those which do not? the words of the command were few, rather, there was no word, but only the force and impetus of the will; yet, the variety of meaning in the command is as great as the various species and families of fishes. to mention all these accurately is like counting the waves of the sea or trying to measure the water of the sea in the hollow of the hand. ‘let the waters bring forth crawling creatures.' among them are animals of the open sea, those frequenting the shores, those of the deep sea, those which cling to rocks, those which travel in shoals, those which live solitary, the sea monsters, the enormous, and the tiniest fish. by the same power and by an equal command, in fact, both the large and the small were given existence. 'let the waters bring forth.' he showed you the natural kinship of the swimming creatures with water, and therefore, when the fish are removed from the water for a homily 7 107 short time, they perish. they do not even have organs for breathing, so as to draw in this air; but, water is for the swimming species what air is for land animals. and the cause is evident. we have lungs, internal organs of loose texture and many passages, which receive air by the dilation of the chest, fan away our inner heat, and refresh us; but, for them the dilation and folding of the gills, which receive the water and eject it, fulfill the purpose of breathing organs.2 fish have a peculiar state, a characteristic nature, a distinct nourishment, a specific mode of life. for this reason none of the water animals is able to be tamed, nor does it endure at all the touch of the human hand. (2) ‘let the waters bring forth crawling creatures of different kinds that have life.'3 god orders the firstlings of each kind to be brought forth, seeds, as it were, for nature; and their numbers are controlled by successive progeny, whenever they must increase and become numerous. of one kind are those which are called testaceans, such as mussels, scallops, sea snails, conchs, and numberless varieties of bivalves. again, another kind besides these are the fish named crustaceans: crayfish, crabs, and all similar to them. still another kind are the so-called soft fish, whose flesh is tender and loose: polyps, cuttlefish, and those like them. and among these, again, there are innumerable varieties. in fact, there are weevers, and lampreys, and eels, which are produced in the muddy rivers and swamps, and which resemble in their nature venomous animals more than fish. another class is that of ovipara, and another, that of vivipara. the sharks and the dogfish and, in general, the cartilaginous fish are vivipara. and of the cetaceans the majority are vivipara, as dolphins and seals; these are said to readmit and hide in their belly the cubs, while still young, whenever they have for some reason or other been 2 cf. aristotle, on the parts of animals 3.6.669a: 'the external cooling agent (of the body) must be either air or water. in fishes the agent is water. fishes therefore never have a lung, but have gills in its place.' 3 gen. 1.20. 108 saint basil startled.4 'let the waters bring forth the different kinds.' the cetacean is one kind, and the tiny fish is another. again, among the fish numberless varieties are distinguished according to species. since their peculiar names and different food and form and size and qualities of flesh, all differ with the greatest variations from each other, the fish are placed in various classes. now, what men who watch for tunneys are able to enumerate for us the varieties of its species? and yet, they say that they report even the number of fish in the great schools. who of those who have grown old around the shores and beaches is able to acquaint us accurately with the history of all fishes? the fishermen in the indian ocean know some kinds; those in the egyptian gulf, others; islanders, others; and mauretanians,5 still others. that first command and that ineffable power produced all things, both small and great alike. many are the differences of their modes of life; many also are the varieties in the method of perpetuation of the species. the majority of the fishes do not hatch out the young as the birds do, nor do they fix nests or nourish the young with their own labors; but the water, taking up the egg when it has been laid, brings forth the living creature. and the method of perpetuation for each species is invariable and is without mixture with any other nature. there are not such unions as produce mules on land or such as of some birds which debase their species. none of the fishes is halfway equipped with teeth, as among us the ox and the sheep are; indeed, none of them ruminates, except only, as some historians write, the parrot-wrasse. but, 9 4 aelian, on the nature of animals 1.16, tells this of the 'glaucus' a fish apparently unknown, according to b. jackson, nicene and post nicene fathers 8.91, n.l. 5 inhabitants of modern morocco. 6 cf. aristotle, history of animals 8.2.591b: 'of all fishes the so-called scarus, or parrot-wrasse, is the only one known to chew the cud like a quadruped.' cf. also pliny, op. cit. 9.29.1-3: 'at the present day, the first place is given to the scarus, the only fish that is said to ruminate, and io feed on grass and not on other fish.' homily 7 109 all the species are furnished with serried and very sharp pointed teeth, in order that the food may not slip through in the long-continued chewing; for, unless it is quickly cut up and swallowed, it is likely to be carried away by the water in the process of being ground. (3) different foods are assigned for different fish according to their species. some feed on slime, others on seaweeds, and others are content with the plants that grow in the water. the majority of fish eat one another, and the smaller among them are food for the larger. if it ever happens that the victor over a smaller becomes the prey of another, they are both carried into the one stomach of the last. now, what else do we men do in the oppression of our inferiors? how does he differ from that last fish, who with a greedy love of riches swallows up the weak in the folds of his insatiable avarice? that man held the possessions of the poor man; you, seizing him, made him a part of your abundance. you have clearly shown yourself more unjust than the unjust man and more grasping than the greedy man. beware, lest the same end as that of the fish awaits you-somewhere a fishhook, or a snare, or a net. surely, if we have committed many unjust deeds, we shall not escape the final retribution. since you have already perceived much wickedness and plotting in weak animals, i want you to avoid imitating the evildoers. the crab longs for the flesh of the oyster; but, because of the shell of the oyster, it is a prey hard for him to conquer. nature has fastened the tender flesh in an unbroken enclosure. therefore, the oyster is called 'sherd-hide.' since the two enveloping shells, fitted exactly to each other, enclose the oyster, the claws of the crab are necessarily of no avail. what does he do, then? when he sees it pleasantly warming itself in spots sheltered from the wind and opening its valves to the rays of the sun, then, stealthily inserting a small pebble, he prevents it from closing and is found to gain through inventiveness what he fell short of by strength. this is the wicked110 saint basil ness of the creatures endowed with neither reason nor voice. now, i want you, although emulating the crabs' acquisitiveness and their inventiveness, to abstain from injury to your neighbors. he who approaches his brother with deceit, who adds to the troubles of his neighbors, and who delights in others' misfortunes, is like the crab. avoid the imitation of those who by their conduct convict themselves. be satisfied with your own possessions. poverty with an honest sufficiency is preferred by the wise to all pleasure. let me pass over the deceitfulness and trickery of the octopus, which assumes on every occasion the color of the rock to which it fastens itself. as a result, many of the fish swimming unwarily fall upon the octopus as upon a rock, i suppose, and become an easy prey for the cunning fellow.? such in character are those men who always fawn upon the ruling powers and adapt themselves to the needs of every occasion, not continuing always in the same principles, but easily changing into different persons, who honor self-control with the chaste, but incontinence with the incontinent, and alter their opinions to please everyone. it is not easy to avcid nor to guard against harm from them because the evil they have fostered in themselves is hidden under a pretext of profound friendship. such characters the lord calls ravenous wolves which show themselves in sheep's clothing & avoid inconstancy and fickleness, pursue truth, sincerity, simplicity. the serpent is subtle, and for that reason has been condemned to crawl. the just man is without pretense, such as was jacob.9 therefore, ‘the lord maketh men of one manner to dwell in a house.'10 so in this great sea, which stretcheth wide its arms: “there are creeping things without number: creatures little and 7 cf. aristotle, ibid. 9.37.622a: 'it (the octopus) seeks its prey by so changing its colour as to render it like the colour of the stones adijacent to it; it does so also when alarmed.' 8 cf. mait. 7.15: 'beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly are ravenous wolves.' 9 cf. gen. 25.27: ‘jacob was a plain man who stayed among the tents.' 10 cf. ps. 67.7. 8 homily 7 111 great.'11 nevertheless, there is a certain wisdom among them and an orderly arrangement. not only are we able to bring charges against the fish, but there is also something worthy of imitation in them. how is it that all of the different species of fishes, having been allotted a place suitable for them, do not intrude upon one another, but stay within their own bounds? no surveyor apportioned the dwellings among them; they were not surrounded with walls nor divided by boundaries; but what was useful for each was definitely and spontaneously settled. this bay gives sustenance to certain kinds of fish and that one, to other kinds; and those that teem here are scarce elsewhere. no mountain extending upward with sharp peaks separates them; no river cuts off the means of crossing; but there is a certain law of nature which allots the habitat to each kind equally and justly according to its need. (4) we, however, are not such. why? because we pass beyond the ancient bounds which our fathers set.12 we cut off a part of the land amiss; we join house to house and field to field, so that we may take something of our neighbor's. the cetaceans know the habitats assigned them by nature. they have taken the sea beyond the inhabited regions, that part free from islands, in which there is no continent confronting them on the opposite side, because, since neither desire of inquiry nor any necessity persuades the sailors to venture on it, it is not navigated. the cetaceans which occupy that sea, in size like the mightiest mountains, as they who have seen them say, remain within their own boundaries and do not injure the islands nor the seaboard cities. so then, each kind abides in the parts of the sea assigned to it, as if in certain cities or villages or ancient countries. however, some of the fish also are migratory and, as if dispatched by a common council to foreign lands, set out all 11 cf. ibid. 103.25. 12 cf. prov. 22.28: “pass not beyond the ancient bounds which thy fathers have set.' 112 saint basil together at one preconcerted signal. when the appointed time for breeding arrives, being roused by the common law of nature, they migrate from the different bays, hastening toward the north sea. and at the time of the journey up you may see the fish united and flowing like a stream through the propontis into the euxine sea. who is it who sets them in motion? what is the command of the king? what lists, set up in the market place, show the appointed time? who are the guides? you see that the divine plan fulfills all things and extends even to the smallest. a fish does not oppose the law of god, but we men do not endure the precepts of salvation. do not despise the fish because they are absolutely unable to speak or to reason, but fear lest you may be even more unreasonable than they by resisting the command of the creator. listen to the fish, who through their actions all but utter this word: ‘we set out on this long journey for the perpetuation of our species.' they do not have reason of their own, but they have the law of nature strongly established and showing what must be done. let us proceed to the north sea, they say. that water is sweeter than that of the rest of the because the sun, tarrying there only a short time, does not draw out all the freshness from it with its rays. and the sea animals rejoice in the sweet waters. for this reason they frequently swim up the rivers and go far from the sea. therefore, they prefer the euxine sea to the rest of the bays as a suitable place for breeding and rearing the young. but, when their purpose has been satisfactorily accomplished, again, in a body they all turn back homeward.13 let us hear from these silent animals what the reason is. the north sea, they say, is very shallow and, lying exposed to the violence of the winds, 13 cf. aristotle, ibid. 8.13.598b: “furthermore, fish penetrate into this sea [euxine) for the purpose of breeding; for there are recesses there favorable for spawning, and the fresh and exceptionally sweet water has an invigorating effect upon the spawn. after spawning, when the young fishes have attained some size, the parent fish swim out of the euxine immediately after the rising of the pleiads.' homily 7 113 has few beaches and shelters. the winds, therefore, easily upturn it from the bottom so as to stir even the deep sand with the waves. moreover, it is also cold in the winter season since it is filled by many great rivers. for this reason, having taken advantage of it to a certain measure in the summer, in the winter they hasten again to the warmth in the depths and to the sunny regions and, fleeing the stormy arctic parts, they come for haven into less agitated bays.14 (5) i have seen these wonders myself and i have admired the wisdom of god in all things. if the unreasoning animals are able to contrive and look out for their own preservation, and if a fish knows what it should choose and what avoid, what shall we say who have been honored with reason, taught by the law, encouraged by the promises, made wise by the spirit, and who have then handled our own affairs more unreasonably than the fish? even though they know how to have some foresight for the future, yet we, through hopelessness for the future, waste our lives in brutish pleasure. a fish traverses so many seas to find some advantage; what do you say who pass your life in idleness? and idleness is the beginning of evildoing. let no one allege ignorance. natural reason which teaches us an attraction for the good and an aversion for the harmful is implanted in us. i do not reject examples drawn from the sea, since these lie before us for examination. i have heard from one of the dwellers along the seacoast that the sea urchin, a quite small and contemptible creature, often forecasts calm or rough waters to the sailors. whenever it foresees a disturbance from the winds, going under a strong pebble, it tosses about safely, clinging to this as to an anchor, prevented by the weight from being easily dragged away by the waves. when the sailors see this sign, they know that a violent windstorm is expected. no astrologer, no chaldean, 14 ibid. 8.12.597a: 'fishes also in a similar manner shift their habitat now out of the euxine and now into it. in winter they move from the outer sea in towards land in quest of heat; in summer they shift from shallow waters to the deep sea to escape the heat.' 114 saint basil estimating the disturbances of the air by the rising of the stars, taught these things to the sea urchin, but the lord of the sea and of the winds placed in the small animal a clear sign of his own wisdom. there is nothing unpremeditated, nothing neglected by god. his unsleeping eye beholds all things.15 he is present to all, providing means of preservation for each. if god has not put the sea urchin outside of his watchful care, does he not have regard for your affairs? ‘husbands, love your wives,'16 even though external to each other, you came together into the union of marriage. may the bond of nature, may the yoke imposed by the blessing make as one those who were divided. a viper, the cruelest of reptiles, comes for marriage with the sea lamprey and, having announced its presence by hissing, summons it forth from the depths for the nuptial embrace. and the lamprey hearkens and is united with the venomous animal. what do my words mean? that, even if the husband is rough, even if he is fierce in his manners, the wife must endure and for no cause whatsoever permit herself to break the union. is he a brawler? nevertheless, he is your husband. is he a drunkard? nevertheless, he is united to you by nature. is he savage and illtempered? nevertheless, he is your member and the most honored of your members. . (6) but, let the husband also listen to proper advice for himself. the viper, through respect for his marriage, disgorges his venom. will you not put aside the roughness and cruelty of your soul through reverence for the union? or, perhaps, the example of the viper will be useful for us in other ways also, because the union of the viper and the sea lamprey is an adulterous violation of nature. therefore, let those who are plotting against other men's marriages learn what sort of reptile they resemble. the edification of the church in every way is my one aim. let the passions of the 15 cf. prov. 15.3: “the eyes of the lord in every place behold the good and the evil.' 16 eph. 5.25. homily 7 115 incontinent be restrained and trained by these examples from the land and sea. the weakness of my body and the lateness of the hour compel me to stop here, although i would be able to add much deserving of admiration about the things produced in the sea for my attentive audience. about the sea itself; how the water crystallizes into salt; how the very precious stone, the coral, is a plant in the sea but, when it is exposed to the air, it is changed into a hard stone; how it is that nature encloses the costly pearl in the most insignificant animal, the oyster. these stones, which the treasuries of kings covet, are scattered around the shores and beaches and sharp rocks, enclosed in the shells of the oysters. how do the sea pens produce their golden byssus, which no dyer up to this time has imitated? how is it that the shellfish bestow on kings the purple robes which surpass even the flowers of the meadow in beauty of color? 'let the waters bring forth.' and what, that is necessary, has not been made? what precious object is there that has not been given for our life? some things for the service of men; others for their contemplation of the marvel of creation; and some terrible things, taking to task our idleness. 'god created the great sea monsters.'17 and not because they are larger than the shrimp and herring, are they called great, but, because with their immense bodies they are like huge mountains. indeed, they frequently look like islands when they swim upon the surface of the water. these sea monsters, because they are so large, do not stay around the coasts and beaches, but inhabit the sea called the atlantic. such are the animals which have been created for our fear and consternation. and, if you hear that the very small fish, the remora, stops the greatest boat as it is being borne along by a fair wind with sails spread, so that it keeps the ship immovable for a very long time, as if firmly rooted in the sea itself,18 17 gen. 1.21. 18 it receives its name, 'echenēís' or 'ship-holder,' from this supposed power. 116 saint basil would you not possess in this little fish also the same proof of the power of the creator? not only the swordfish, the sawfish, the dogfish, the whales, and the hammer-headed sharks are to be feared; but the spike of the sting ray, even when it is dead, and the sea hare, too, are not less fearful, since they bring swift and inevitable death. thus, the creator wants you to be kept awake by all things, in order that, through hope in god, you may escape the harm that comes from them. but, let us come up from the depths and take refuge on the land. for, somehow, the wonders of creation, coming upon us one after another in continuous and quick succession like waves, have submerged our discourse. and yet, i would not be surprised if our spirit, though meeting up with greater wonders on land, would again, like jona, slip away to the sea. it seems to me that my sermon, lighting upon the numberless marvels, has forgotten its proper measure and has had the same experience as sailors on the sea, who judging their progress from no fixed point, are ignorant frequently of the distance they have sailed. truly, this seems to have happened in our case, that, as our discourse moved quickly through creation, we did not perceive the great multitude of creatures mentioned. but, even though this august assembly is pleased to listen and the narration of the wonders of the master is sweet to the ears of his servants, let us bring our talk to anchor here and await the day for the explanation of the facts omitted. let us rise and give thanks for what has been said; let us ask for the completion of the omissions. while partaking of your food, may you discuss at table the stories which my words reviewed for you early in the morning and throughout the evening; and, falling asleep while engaged in thoughts of these things, may you enjoy the pleasure of the day, even while sleeping, so that it may be possible for you to say, 'i sleep and my heart watcheth,'19 since it has meditated night and day on the law of the lord, to whom be glory and power forever. amen. 19 cant. 5.2. homily 8 creation of winged creatures and those living in the waters (on the hexaemeron) nd ‘god said, “let the earth bring forth all kinds of living creatures: cattle, crawling creatures, and wild animals.” and so it was.'1 the command came, proceeding step by step, and the earth received its proper adornment. formerly he had said: 'let the waters bring forth crawling creatures that have life';2 here, 'let the earth bring forth living creatures.' is the earth, then, possessed of life? and do the mad-minded manichaeans hold the vantage point, since they put a soul in the earth? no, when he said: 'let it bring forth,' it did not produce what was stored up in it, but he who gave the command also bestowed upon it the power to bring forth. neither did the earth, when it heard, 'let it bring forth vegetation and the fruit trees,'produce plants which it had hidden in it; nor did it send up to the surface the palm or the oak or the cypress which had been hidden somewhere down below in its womb. on the contrary, it is the divine word that is the origin of things made. 'let the earth bring forth'; not, let it put forth what it has, but, let it acquire what it does not have, since god is enduing it with the power of active force. and now, in the same way, 'let the earth bring forth the living creature, not that stored up in it, but that given to it by god through his command. on the contrary, '3 1 gen. 1.24. 2 lbid. 1.20. 3 ibid. 1.11. 117 118 saint basil moreover, the teaching of the manichaeans will refute itself. for, if the earth brought forth life, it left itself destitute of life. but, their loathesome opinion is well known of itself. why, indeed, were the waters ordered to bring forth crawling creatures that have life, but the earth living creatures? well, we conclude that swimming animals seem to share in a life that is rather imperfect, because they live in the dense element of water. their sense of hearing is slow and, since they look through the water, they see but dimly; moreover, they have no memory, no imagination, no recognition of the familiar. therefore, scripture points out, as it were, that the carnal life is the guide for the animal movements in aquatic creatures; in the case of land animals, however, as if their life were more perfect, the spirit refers all leadership to itself. in fact, in the majority of quadrupeds the apprehension of things present is sharper, and the memory of the past is accurate. for this reason, as it seems, in the case of aquatic animals, bodies possessed of life were created ('crawling creatures that have life' were produced from the waters), but in the case of land animals a soul governing the bodies was ordered to be produced, as if the animals which dwell upon the earth participate in the vital power somewhat more. indeed, even land animals are irrational; nevertheless, each one through the voice of nature indicates many of the dispositions of its spirit. it manifests by a certain sound both joy and grief, the recognition of what is familiar, the separation from companions, the want of food, and numberless other emotions. the aquatic animals, however, are not only voiceless, but also incapable of being tamed or taught or trained for any participation in the life of men. 'the ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master's crib';4 but the fish could not recognize the one who feeds him. the ass knows the familiar voice. he knows the road which he has frequently walked, and what is more, he at times becomes the guide for the man who goes astray. 4 isa. 1.3. homily 8 119 a a no other of the land animals is said to possess the keen hearing of this animal. and which of the sea animals would be able to imitate the resentment of camels, their fierce wrath, and their persistence in anger? if some time previously a camel has been struck, he saves up his wrath for a long time, but, when he finds a suitable opportunity, he repays the evil. hear, you sullen men who pursue vengeance as though it were a virtue, who it is that you resemble when you harbor for so long a time your resentment against your neighbor like a spark hidden in ashes, until finding material, you kindle your wrath like a flame. (2) 'let the earth bring forth a living creature.' why does the earth bring forth a living creature? in order that you may learn the difference between the soul of a beast and that of a man. a little later you will come to know how the soul of man was formed; now, hear about the soul of the irrational animals. since, as it is written, the life of every creature is its blood,5 and the blood, when congealed, is wont to change into flesh, and the flesh, when corrupted, decomposes into earth, reasonably, the soul of animals is something earthy. therefore, 'let the earth bring forth a living creature.' see the relation of soul to blood, of blood to flesh, of flesh to earth; and again, after having resolved it into its elements, return through the same steps from earth to flesh, from flesh to blood, from blood to soul, and you will find that the soul of beasts is earth. do not think that it is antecedent to the essence of their bodies or that it remains after the dissolution of the flesh. shun the idle talk of the proud philosophers, who are not ashamed to regard their own soul and that of dogs as similar, who 5 say that they were at some time women, or bushes, or fish of the sea. i certainly would not say that they were 5 cf. lev. 17.11: 'because the life of the flesh is in the blood.' 6 cf. empedocles, fragments: 'once already have i as a youth been born, as a maiden, bush, and winged bird, and silent fish in the waters.' (translation of w. c. lawton in warner's library of the world's best literature). 120 saint basil ever fish, but that they were more irrational than fish when they were writing those things, and i would maintain it most vigorously. ‘let the earth bring forth living creatures.' perhaps, many wonder why, when my sermon was hurrying along without a break, i was silent for a long time. it is not, however, the more studious of my audience who are ignorant of the cause of my speechlessness. why should they be, who by their glances and nods to each other had turned my attention toward them and had led me on to the thought of things omitted? for, i had forgotten an entire class of creatures, and this by no means the least; moreover, my discourse was nearly finished, leaving that class almost entirely uninvestigated. 'let the waters bring forth crawling creatures of different kinds that have life and winged creatures that fly above the earth under the firmament of the heavens.'? we talked about the aquatic animals last evening as long as time permitted; today we have changed over to an examination of land animals. but, the winged creatures between the two escaped us. therefore, like forgetful travelers who, when they leave something important behind, even if they have gone forward a great distance on the journey, return again the same way, enduring the trouble of the journey as a penalty deserved for their carelessness, so we too, must, as it seems, go back again over the same road. in fact, the part omitted is not to be contemned, but seems to be the third part of the animal creation, if, indeed, there are three kinds of animals, the land, the winged, and the aquatic. 'let the waters bring forth,' he says, 'crawling creatures of different kinds that have life, and winged creatures of different kinds that fly above the earth under the firmament of the heavens.' why did he give winged creatures also their origin from the waters? because the flying animals have a certain relationship, as it were, with those that swim. for, just as the fish cut the water, going 7 gen. 1.20. homily 8 121 forward with the motion of their fins and guiding their turns and forward movements by the change of their tails, so also in the case of birds, they can be seen moving through the air on wings in the same manner. therefore, since one characteristic common to both is swimming, one certain relationship has been provided for them through their generation from the waters. but, none of the winged creatures is without feet, because food for all of them comes from the earth and all necessarily require the assistance of feet. to the birds of prey sharp pointed claws have been given for catching their prey; but for the rest the service of feet has been granted as an indispensable means for procuring their food as well as for the other needs of life. a few of the birds have poor feet, not suitable for walking nor for seizing the prey, like the swallows, which are able neither to walk nor to seize prey, and the so-called swifts, for whom food is provided from insects borne about in the air. however, the flight of the swallow, which is close to the ground, serves them as a substitute for feet. (3) there are also numberless varieties of species among the birds, and if one will go through these varieties in the same manner as we applied ourselves in part to the examination of the fish, he will find one name for the winged creatures but numberless variations among them in size and form and color; also an indescribably great difference among them in regard to their lives, their actions, and their customs. in fact, some have already tried to use coined names, so that the characteristic of each kind might be known through the unaccustomed and strange name as through a certain brand. some they called schizoptera, as the eagles; others, dermoptera, as the bats; others, ptilota, as the wasps; and others, coleoptera, 8 i.e. by aristotle; cf. history of animals 1.5.490a: 'of animals that can fly some are furnished with feathered wings (schizoptera), as the eagle and the hawk; some are furnished with membranous wings (ptilota), as the bee and cockchafer; others are furnished with leathern wings [dermoptera), as the flying fox and the bat.' 9 cf. ibid. 1.5.490a: 'of creatures that can fly and are bloodless some are coleopterous or sheath-winged.' 9 122 saint basil as the beetles and the insects which, generated in certain chests and clothes, split their shell and free themselves for flight. common usage, however, is a sufficient indication to us of the specific character of the species, as well as the distinctions made by the scripture concerning the clean and unclean creatures. for instance, the class of carnivora is of one kind and their constitution is of a type suitable to their manner of life, sharp claws, a curved beak, and a swift wing, so that the prey is easily seized and, being torn to pieces, becomes the food for its captor.10 different from this is the constitution of seedpicking birds; and different, that of those which are nourished by everything they find. even among these there are the greatest diversities. some of them are gregarious, except the birds of prey, which have no social relationship except the mating by pairs. numberless others, however, adopt the collective form of life, for example, pigeons, cranes, starlings, and jackdaws. again, among them some are without a commander and are, as it were, autonomous; but others, as the cranes, permit themselves to be ruled by a leader.11 there is still a certain other difference among them, by which some are nonmigratory and native to the country, and others are accustomed to fly very far away and for the most part to migrate as winter approaches. the majority of the birds that are reared become tame and domesticated, except the weak ones, which because of their excessive timidity and fear do not endure the continual annoyance of handling. some of the birds also like the companionship of man, accepting the same dwellings as we; others love the mountains and solitude. but, the greatest difference is 10 cf. ibid. 8.3.592a: 'of birds, such as have crooked talons are carnivorous without exception, and cannot swallow corn or bread-food, even if it be put in their bills in tit-bits.' 11 cf. ibid. 9.10.614b: “they (cranes), furthermore, have a leader in their flight, and patrols that scream on the confines of the flock so as to be heard by all.' homily 8 123 the peculiarity in the tones of each. some of the birds twitter and chatter; others are silent. some species have melodious and varied tones; others are quite inharmonious and without song. some are imitative, either being naturally able to imitate, or acquiring the ability by training; others utter one sole and unchangeable sound. the cock possesses an exulting tone; the peacock, one that seeks honor; the pigeons and domestic birds are amorous in tone, mating at every opportunity. the partridge has a treacherous and jealous voice, maliciously assisting the hunters to seize the prey. (4) innumerable, as we have said, are the differences in their actions and their lives. some of the irrational creatures are like members of a state, if, indeed, it is characteristic of citizenship that the activities of the individuals tend to one common end. this may be seen in the case of bees. their dwelling is common, their flight is shared by all, and the activity of all is the same; but, the most significant point is that they engage in their work subject to a king and to a sort of commander, not taking it upon themselves to go to the meadows until they see that the king is leading the flight.12 in their case, the king is not elected; in fact, the lack of judgment on the part of the people has frequently placed the worst man in office. their king does not hold a power acquired by lot; the chances of lot, which frequently confer the power on the worst of all, are absurd. nor is he placed on the throne through hereditary succession; for the most part, even such men through softness and flattery become rude and ignorant of all virtue. but, he holds the first place among all by nature, differing in size and appearance and in the gentleness of his disposition. the king has a sting, but he does not 12 cf. ibid. 9.40.624a: 'they say that, if a young swarm go astray, it will turn back upon its route and by the aid of scent seek out its leader. it is said that if he is unable to fly he is carried by the swarm, and that, if this swarm outlives the king for a while and constructs combs, no honey is produced and the bees soon die out.' 124 saint basil use it for vengeance.13 there is this positive unwritten law of nature, that they who are placed in the highest positions of power should be lenient in punishing. those bees, however, which do not follow the example of the king, quickly repent of the indiscretion, because they die after giving a prick with their sting 14 let the christians heed, who have received the command to ‘render to no man evil for evil,' but to 'overcome evil with good. '15 imitate the character of the bee, because it constructs its honeycomb without injuring anyone or destroying another's fruit. it gathers the wax openly from the flowers, then, sucking in with its mouth the honey, a dewlike moisture sprinkled in the flowers, it injects this into the hollows of the wax. at first, therefore, it is liquid, then in time being matured, it attains its proper consistency and sweetness. the bee itself has won honorable and becoming praise from the proverb, which calls it wise and industrious.16 it gathers its food so laboriously ('whose labors,' it is said, 'kings and private men set before them for their health.'17), and devises so wisely its storehouses for the honey (stretching the wax into a thin membrane, it builds numerous cells adjacent to each other), that the great number of the connecting walls of the very tiny cells supports the whole. each cell fastens upon the other, separated from and at the same time joined to it by a thin partition. then these compartments are built up on each other two and three stories. the bee avoids making one unbroken cavity lest the liquid, because of its weight, should break through and escape to the outside. notice how 13 cf. ibid. 9.40.626a: 'the kings are the least disposed to show anger or to inflict a sting.' 14 cf. ibid. 9.40.626a: 'bees that sting die from their inability to extract the sting without at the same time extracting their intestines. true, they often recover, if the person stung takes the trouble to press the sting out; but once it loses its sting the bee must die.' 15 rom. 12.17, 21. 16 cf. prov. 6.8a (septuagint version). 17 prov. 6.8b (septuagint version). homily 8 125 the discoveries of geometry are merely incidental to the very wise bee. the cells of the honeycombs are all hexagonal and equilateral, not resting upon each other in a straight line, lest the supports, coinciding with the empty cells, might meet with disaster; but, the corners of the hexagons below form a base and support for those resting upon them, so that they safely sustain the weights above them and hold the liquid separate in each cell. (5) how could i possibly make an accurate review of the peculiarities in the lives of birds? how the cranes18 in turn accept the responsibility of outposts at night, and while some sleep, others, making the rounds, provide every safety for those asleep; then, when the time of watching has been completed, the guard, having called out, goes to sleep and another, succeeding, provides in his turn the safety which he has enjoyed. you will see this discipline also in their flight, a different one takes up the task of guiding at different times and, after having led the flight for a certain appointed time, goes around to the rear, transferring the leadership of the journey to the one behind him. the conduct of the storks is not far from reasoning intelligence; thus they all reside in these regions at the same time, and likewise all depart at one signal. our crows attend them as bodyguards and escort them, as it seems to me, providing a certain auxiliary force against hostile birds. and a proof is, first, that the crows do not appear at all during that time; then, that, returning with wounds, they carry clear proofs of their protective and defensive alliance. who prescribed the laws of hospitality among them? who threatened them with an indictment for military desertion, so that no one deserts the escort? let the inhospitable listen, who close their doors 18 cf. aristotle, ibid. 9.10.614b: 'when they, the cranes, settle down, the main body go to sleep with their heads under their wing, standing first on one leg and then on the other, while their leader with his head uncovered, keeps a sharp look out, and when he sees anything of importance signals it with a cry.' 126 saint basil and do not share shelter in winter and at night with travelers. the solicitude of the storks for their old would suffice to make our children devoted to their fathers, if they were willing to heed it. for, surely, no one at all is so lacking in intelligence as not to judge it deserving of shame to be inferior in virtue to irrational birds. they, surrounding their father when from old age he has shed his feathers, warm him through with their own feathers; they also procure food in abundance for him 19 and furnish powerful aid on the flight, gently lifting him on each side upon their wings. this fact has been so commonly proclaimed among all that already some call the repayment of benefactions 'antipelárgõsis.' let no one bewail his poverty; let no one who possesses little at home despair of his life, when he looks at the inventiveness of the swallow. when building her nest, she carries the dry twigs in her beak, and not being able to raise the mud in her claws, she moistens the tips of her wings with water, then, rolling in the very fine dust, she thus contrives to secure the mud. after gradually fastening the twigs of wood to each other with mud as with some glue, she raises her young in this nest.20 if anyone stabs the eyes of these young, she possesses a natural remedy, through which she restores to soundness the sight of her children.21 let this warn you not to turn to evil-doing because of poverty, nor in the harshest suffering to cast aside all hope and remain idle and inactive, but to flee to god; for, if he bestows such things upon the 19 cf. ibid. 9.13.615b: 'it is a common story of the stork that the old birds are fed by their grateful progeny.' cf. also pliny, natural history 10.32. 20 cf. ibid. 9.7.612b: ‘preeminent intelligence will be seen more in small creatures than in large ones, as is exemplified in the case of birds by the nest building of the swallow. in the same way as men do, the bird mixes mud and chaff together; if it runs short of mud, it souses its body in water and rolls about in the dry dust with wet feathers.' 21 cf. ibid. 6.5.563a :'if you pick out the eyes of swallow chicks while they are yet young, the birds will get well again and will see by and by.' homily 8 127 swallow, how much more will he give to those who call upon him with their whole heart? the halcyon is a sea bird. it is accustomed to build its nest along the very shores, depositing its eggs in the sand itself; and it builds its nest almost in the middle of winter, a time when the sea is being dashed against the land by many violent windstorms. nevertheless, all the winds are calmed and the waves of the sea become quiet for seven days when the halcyon is sitting upon her eggs. in exactly that number of days it hatches its young. but, since there is need of food for the nestlings so that they may grow, the bountiful god provides for the tiny creatures seven more days. as all the sailors know this, they call these the halcyon days.22 these laws divine providence has ordained concerning the irrational creature to encourage you to ask from god what pertains to your salvation. what wonders could not be performed for you, who have been made according to the image of god, when, indeed, for the sake of a bird so small the great and fearful sea is held a in check, submitting to the command to be calm in the midst of winter? (6) they say that the turtledove, when once separated from her mate, no longer accepts union with another, but, in memory of her former spouse, remains widowed, refusing marriage with another.23 let the women hear how the chastity of widowhood, even among the irrational creatures, is preferred to the unseemly multiplicity of marriages. the eagle is most unjust in the rearing of her offspring. when she has brought forth two nestlings, she drops one of them to the ground, thrusting it out by blows from her wings; and, taking up the other one, she claims it alone as her own. 22 cf. ibid. 5.8.542b: "the halcyon breeds at the season of the winter solstice. accordingly, when this season is marked with calm weather. the name of "halcyon days" is given to the seven days preceding, and to as many following, the solstice.' 23 cf. ibid. 9.7.613a: 'the turtledove and the ringdove both have but one mate, and let no other come nigh.' 128 saint basil because of the labor of rearing it, she rejects one which she has hatched.24 the lammergeyer, however, as it is said, does not allow it to perish, but, taking it up, rears it along with her own nestlings.25 such are those parents who expose their children on a pretext of poverty, or who are unfair to their offspring in the distribution of the inheritance. for, just as they have given existence equally to each, so it is just also to provide them with opportunities for livelihood equally and impartially. do not imitate the cruelty of the birds with crooked talons, who, when they see their own nestlings already attempting flight, throw them out of the nest, striking and thrusting with their wings, and for the future take no care of them. the love of the crow for its offspring is laudable. she even accompanies them when they have begun to fly and feeds and nurtures them for a very long time. many kinds of birds do not need the union with the males for conception; but, in other kinds, eggs produced without copulation [wind eggs) are sterile. it is said that the vultures hatch without coition a very great number of young, and this, although they are especially long-lived; in fact, their life generally continues for a hundred years. consider this as my special observation from the history of the birds, in order that, if ever you see any persons laughing at our mystery, as though it were impossible and contrary to nature for a virgin to give birth while her virginity itself was preserved immaculate, you may consider that god, who is pleased to save the faithful by the foolishness of our preaching,26 first set forth innumerable reasons from nature for our beliefs in his wonders. 24 cf. ibid. 6.6.563a: 'the eagle lays three eggs and hatches two of them, as it is said in the verses ascribed to musaeus: "that lays three, hatches two, and cares for one." this is the case in most instances.' 25 cf. ibid. 9.34.619b: “the so-called phene or lammergeier, . . . rears its own young and those of the eagle as well; for when the eagle ejects its young from the nest, this bird catches them up as they fall and feeds them. for the eagle, by the way, ejects the young birds prematurely, before they are able to feed themselves, or to fly.' 26 cf. 1 cor. 1.21. homily 8 129 > (7) 'let the waters bring forth crawling creatures that have life and winged creatures that fly above the earth under the firmament of the heavens.' they were ordered to fly above the earth because the earth provides nourishment for all, but under the firmament of the heavens, because, as we previously defined, the air there is called 'ouranos,' the 'heavens,' derived from 'orāsthai,' 'to be seen, '27 and it is called 'firmament' because the air above our heads in comparison with the ether is somewhat denser and is made thicker by the vapors rising from below. you have, therefore, the heavens adorned, the earth beautified, the sea abounding in its proper offspring, and the air full of the birds which fly through it. everything, which by the command of god was brought forth from nonexistence into existence, and whatever my discourse has omitted at the present time so as to avoid a longer delay on these matters and so that it might not seem to extend beyond measure, may you who are studious review by yourselves, learning the wisdom of god in all things, and may you never cease from admiration nor from giving glory to the creator for every creature. you have species of birds which live their life in the darkness of night, and those which fly about in the light of day. of those which feed by night there are bats, owls, and night ravens. therefore, at any time when sleep does not come, a reflection on these birds and an examination of their indi. vidual qualities will suffice to cause you to give glory to the creator. how the nightingale keeps awake when she sits on her eggs, since she does not cease from singing the whole night through.28 how the bat is at the same time a quadruped and a fowl. how alone of the birds it makes use of teeth and produces offspring like the quadrupeds, yet travels through the air, raising itself not by wings, but by a kind of skin mem27 wrong etymology. cf. n. 33, homily 3. 28 cf. pliny, op. cit. 10.43: “the song of the nightingale is to be heard without intermission for fifteen days and nights continuously when the foliage is thickening, as it bursts from the bud.' 130 saint basil brane. how bats have by nature a mutual love, and like a chain cling to each other and hang one from the other, a thing which is not easily accomplished among us men; for, separation and solitude are preferred by the majority to community and union. how like to the eyes of the owl are they who devote themselves to vain wisdom. at night its vision is keen but, when the sun is shining, it grows dim. so the understanding of these men is very sharp for the contemplation of foolishness, but is absolutely blind in the consideration of the true light. in the daytime it is very much easire for you to admire the creator in all things. how our domestic fowl, calling out with his shrill voice and informing you that the sun is already approaching from afar off, wakens you for your labors, and rises early with the travelers and leads the farmers out to harvest. how vigilant are the geese and how very sharp in their perception of hidden dangers. at one time, in fact, they saved the imperial city by making known that some enemies were already about to seize the citadel of rome through secret underground passages.29 in what bird does nature not show some marvel peculiar to it? who announces beforehand to the vultures the death of men when they are marching against each other? you may see countless flocks of vultures attending the army, guessing at the result from the warlike preparation. now, this is not far from human reasoning. how shall i describe for you the terrible invasions of the locusts, which, rising in a mass at one signal and encamping along the whole width of a region, do not touch the fruits before the divine command is given them? and how the rose-colored starling, 29 cf. livy, 5.47.2 ff.: ‘the geese with their gabbling and clapping of their wings woke marcus manlius,-consul of three years before and a distinguished soldier,-who, catching up his weapons and at the same time calling the rest to arms, strode past his bewildered comrades to a gaul who had already got a foothold on the crest and dislodged him with a blow from the boss of his shield .. and presently the whole company lost their footing and were alung down headlong to destruction, homily 8 131 the remedy for the plague, follows, with its boundless capacity for devouring them, our benevolent god in his kindness to man having made its nature insatiable? and what method of singing the cicada has? how it is, that, though the sound is produced by air which they inhale in dilating the chest, they are more musical at midday? but, in truth, i seem to be left farther behind in my explanation of the wonders of the winged creatures than if i had attempted to attain to their speed on foot. whenever you see those winged creatures called insects, such as the bees and wasps (they have been called insects because they appear cut into segments all around), consider that they do not have respiration or lungs but are completely nourished in all parts of their bodies by the air. therefore, if they are drenched with oil, they perish, since their pores are stopped up;30 but, if vinegar is immediately poured on them, the passages are opened and life is restored again. our god has produced neither anything beyond need nor a deficiency of the necessities of life for any creature. again, if you observe those creatures which are fond of water, you will find that they are differently constituted. their feet are not divided like those of the crow nor hooked like those of the carnivora, but are broad and membranous so that they may easily swim upon the water, pushing through the water with the webs of their feet as if with oars. now, if you notice how the swan, putting its neck down into the deep water, brings up food for itself from below, then you will discover the wisdom of the creator, in that he gave it a neck longer than its feet for this reason, that it might, as if lowering a sort of fishing line, procure the food hidden in the deep water.31 30 cf. aristotle, ibid. 8.27.605b: ‘all insects, without exception, die if they be smeared over with oil.' 31 cf. aristotle, on the parts of animals 4.12.693a: 'in web-footed birds, the neck is elongated, so as to be suitable for collecting food from the water. for most birds of this kind . . . live by preying on some of the smaller animals that are to be found in water, and use these parts for their capture, the neck acting as a fishing rod, and the beak representing the line and hook.' a 182 saint basil (8) the words of scripture, if simply read, are a few short syllables: 'let the waters bring forth winged creatures that fly above the earth under the firmament of the heavens'; but, when the meaning in the words is explained, then the great marvel of the wisdom of the creator appears. how many varieties of winged creatures he has provided for! how different he has made them from each other in species! with what distinct properties he has marked each kind! the day is failing me while i relate to you the wonders in the air. the land, ready in turn to exhibit creatures rivaling the plants, the swimming species, and the winged creatures, calls us to present wild beasts and reptiles and herds. 'let the earth bring forth living creatures, cattle and wild animals and crawling creatures of different kinds.'32 what do you say, you who mistrust paul concerning the transformation made at the resurrection,33 when you see many creatures of the air changing their forms? what stories are told about the indian silkworm, the horned one! first, it changes into a caterpillar, then goes on to become a buzzing insect; however, it does not remain in this shape, but clothes itself with light, wide metallic wings. whenever, therefore, you women sit unwinding the product of these, the threads, i mean, which the chinese send to you for the preparation of soft garments,34 recall the metamorphoses in this creature, conceive a clear idea of the resurrection, and do not refuse to believe the change which paul announces for all men. but, i perceive that my speech is going beyond due limits. when, indeed, i look at the great number of matters discussed, i see that i am being borne beyond bounds; but, again, when i take into consideration the variety of the wisdom 32 gen. 1.24. 33 cf. col. 3.4: ‘when christ, your life, shall appear, then you too will appear with him in glory.' 34 cf. aristotle, history of animals 5.19.551b: 'a class of women unwind and reel off the cocoons of these creatures, and aftewards weave a fabric with the threads thus unwound.' homily 8 133 manifested in the works of creation, i acknowledge that i have not even begun my explanation. at the same time it was not useless to detain you so long. for, what could anyone do during this time until evening? guests are not pressing you; banquets are not awaiting you. therefore, if it seems good to you, let us avail ourselves of the bodily fast for the joy of our souls. since you have frequently served the flesh for pleasure, today persevere in the service of the soul. 'delight in the lord, and he will give thee the requests of thy heart. 35 if you are eager for riches, you have spiritual riches, 'the judgments of the lord are true, justified in themselves, more to be desired than gold and many precious stones.'36 if you are devoted to enjoyment and pleasure, you have the eloquent words of god, which are 'sweeter than honey and the honeycomb 37 to a man who is sound in his spiritual sense. if i shall dismiss you and put an end to the assembly, there are some who will run to the gaming tables. there oaths and cruel contentions and pangs of avarice are to be found. the demon stands by, inflaming the passions with dotted bones and changing the same money from one side of the table to the other, now leading this one on by victory and throwing that one into despair; again, causing the first to bear himself proudly and the latter to be covered with shame. what is the benefit of fasting in our body while filling our souls with innumerable evils? he who does not play at dice, but spends his leisure otherwise, what nonsense does he not utter? what absurdities does he not listen to? leisure without the fear of god is, for those who do not know how to use time, the teacher of wickedness. perhaps, some profit will be found in what i have said; but, if not, at least, because you have been kept occupied here, you have not sinned. therefore, to detain you longer is to withdraw you for a longer time from evils. 35 ps. 36.4. 36 ibid. 18.10. 37 ibid. 18.11. 134 saint basil what i have said will suffice for a reasonable judge, if he looks, not at the wealth of creation, but at the weakness of our power and at what is sufficient for the pleasure of those assembling. the earth welcomed you with its own plants, the sea with its fish, the air with its birds. the dry land in turn is ready to exhibit treasures equal to these. but, let this be the end of the morning feasting, lest satiety make you too dull for the enjoyment of the evening banquet. may he who has filled all things with his creation and has left us in all things clear memorials of his wondrous works fill your hearts with all spiritual joy, in christ jesus our lord, to whom be glory and power forever. amen. homily 9 creation of land animals (on the hexaemeron) ow did my morning repast of words appeal to you? indeed, it has occurred to me that i should compare my talk with the kindness of a certain povertystricken host, who was ambitious to be among those that offer a good table, but, lacking costly foods, annoyed his guests by laying his poor fare upon the table in such abundance that his ambition was changed in him into disgraceful lack of taste. well, such has been our method, unless you say differently. yet, however it was, you must not disregard it. elisha was by no means rejected as a poor host by his contemporaries, in spite of the fact that he feasted his friends on wild plants. i know the laws of allegory, although i did not invent them of myself, but have met them in the works of others. those who do not admit the common meaning of the scriptures say that water is not water, but some other nature, and they explain a plant and a fish according to their opinion. they describe also the production of reptiles and wild animals, changing it according to their own notions, just like the dream interpreters, who interpret for their own ends the appearances seen in their dreams. when i hear 'grass,' i think of grass, and in the same manner i understand everything as it is said, a plant, a fish, a wild animal, and an ox. 'indeed, i am not ashamed of the gospel.'1 and, although those who have written about the world have argued much about the shape of the earth, whether the earth is a sphere, or a cylinder, or 1 rom. 1.16. 185 136 saint basil is similar to a disk and is rounded off equally on all sides, or whether it is like a winnowing fan and hollowed out in the center? (the cosmographers have suggested all these notions, each one overthrowing the ideas of the other), i shall not be persuaded to say that our version of the creation is of less value because the servant of god, moses, gave no discussion concerning the shape and did not say that its circumference contains one hundred and eighty thousand stades, nor measured how far its shadow spreads in the air when the sun passes under the earth, nor explained how, when this shadow approaches the moon, it causes the eclipses. since he left unsaid, as useless for us, things in no way pertaining to us, shall we for this reason believe that the words of the spirit are of less value than their foolish wisdom? or shall i rather give glory to him who has not kept our mind occupied with vanities but has ordained that all things be written for the edification and guidance of our souls? this is a thing of which they seem to me to have been unaware, who have attempted by false arguments and allegorical interpretations to bestow on the scripture a dignity of their own imagining. but, theirs is the attitude of one who considers himself wiser than the revelations of the spirit and introduces his own ideas in pretense of an explanation. therefore, let it be understood as it has been written. (2) 'let the earth bring forth living creatures; cattle and wild beasts and crawling creatures.'3 consider the word of god moving through all creation, having begun at that time, active up to the present, and efficacious until the end, even to the consummation of the world. as a ball, when pushed by someone and then meeting with a slope, is borne downward 2 cf. aristotle, on the heavens 2.13.293b, and 294b: “some think that it is spherical, others that it is flat and drum-shaped. . . . anaximenes and anaxagoras and democritus give the flatness of the earth as the cause of its staying still.' 2.14.297a: 'its shape must necess essarily be spherical. 3 cf. gen. 1.24: 'let the earth bring forth all kinds of living creatures: cattle, crawling creatures and wild animals.' homily 9 137 by its own shape and the inclination of the ground and does not stop before some level surface receives it, so, too, the nature of existing objects, set in motion by one command, passes through creation, without change, by generation and destruction, preserving the succession of the species through resemblance, until it reaches the very end. it begets a horse as the successor of a horse, a lion of a lion, and an eagle of an eagle; and it continues to preserve each of the animals by uninterrupted successions until the consummation of the universe. no length of time causes the specific characteristics of the animals to be corrupted or extinct, but, as if established just recently, nature, ever fresh, moves along with time. ‘let the earth bring forth living creatures.' this command remains in the earth and the earth does not cease serving the creator. some things, in fact, are produced from the successors of those which existed previously, while others are shown to be engendered, even at present, from the earth itself, which not only causes the grasshoppers to spring forth in the abundant rains and other countless species of winged insects which are borne about in the air, of which the majority are nameless because of their ethereal nature, but also generates from itself mice and frogs. somewhere or other, around the egyptian thebes, when a furious rain beats down in the burning heat of the day, the country is filled with field mice. and as for the eels, we do not see that they come into existence otherwise than from the slime, since neither an egg nor any other method effects their reproduction, but their generation is from the earth. 4 cf. aristotle, history of animals 6.16.570a: “there is no doubt, then, that they (eels) proceed neither from pairing nor from an egg. some writers, however, are of opinion that they generate their kind, because in some eels little worms are found, from which they suppose that eels are derived. but this opinion is not founded on' fact. eels are derived from the so-called "earth's guts” that grow spontaneously in mud and in humid ground; in fact, eels have at times been seen to emerge out of such earthworms, and on other occasions have been rendered visible when the earthworms were laid open by either scraping or cutting.' 138 saint basil 'let the earth bring forth living creatures.' the herds are earthy and are bent toward the earth, but man is a heavenly creature who excels them as much by the excellence of his soul as by the character of his bodily structure. what is the figure of the quadrupeds? their head bends toward the earth and looks toward their belly and pursues its pleasure in every way. your head stands erect toward the heavens; your eyes look upward, so that, if ever you dishonor yourself by the passions of the flesh, serving your belly and your lowest parts, 'you are compared to senseless beasts, and are become like to them.'5 a different solicitude is becoming to you, namely, to 'seek the things that are above, where christ is,'o and with your mind to be above earthly things. as you have been molded, so dispose your own life. keep your citizenship in heaven. your true country is jerusalem above, your fellow citizens and fellow countrymen are the 'first-born who are enrolled in the heavens.'8 (3) 'let the earth bring forth living creatures. therefore, the soul of brute beasts did not emerge after having been hidden in the earth, but it was called into existence at the time of the command. but, there is only one soul of brute beasts, for, there is one thing that characterizes it, namely, lack of reason. each of the animals, however, is distinguished by different characteristics. the ox is steadfast, the ass sluggish; the horse burns with desire for the mare; the wolf is untamable and the fox crafty; the deer is timid, the ant industrious; the dog is grateful and constant in friendship. as each animal was created, he brought with him a distinctive characteristic of nature. courage was brought forth with the lion, also the tendency to a solitary life and an unsocial attitude toward 5 cf. ps. 48.13. st. basil changes the verb from the third person to the second. 6 col. 3.1. 7 cf. phil. 3.20: ‘but our citizenship is in heaven.' 8 cf. heb. 12.22, 23: ‘but you have come to ... the heavenly jerusalem, and to the church of the firstborn who are enrolled in the heavens.' homily 9 139 those of his kind. like a sort of tyrant of brute beasts, because of his natural arrogance, he does not admit an equal share of honor for the many. by no means does he accept yesterday's food or return to the remains of his prey. in him, also, nature has placed such powerful organs of voice that frequently many animals that surpass him in swiftness are overcome by his mere roaring. the leopard is violent and impetuous in attack. he has a body fitted for agility and lightness in accord with the movements of his spirit. the nature of the bear is sluggish and his ways peculiar to himself, treacherous and deeply secretive. he has been clothed with a body of the same type, heavy, compact, not distinctly articulated, truly fit for chilly hibernating in caves. if we consider how much care, natural and inborn, these brute beasts take of their lives, either we shall be roused to watch over ourselves and to have forethought for the salvation of our souls, or we shall be absolutely condemned, when we are found to be failing even in the imitation of irrational animals. frequently a bear, when suffering with very deep wounds, heals himself by packing the wounds through all sorts of devices with that mullein which has astringent properties. you might also see a fox healing himself with the sap of the pine. a tortoise, having taken his fill of the flesh of vipers, escapes injury from the venom through the antidote of marjoram;' and a serpent heals an injury in his eyes by feeding on fennel. but, what rational prudence do not their forecasts of the changes in the atmosphere conceal? everywhere the sheep, when winter approaches, ravenously devour the fodder, as if providing themselves with food against the coming scarcity. 9 cf. aristotle, ibid. 9.6.612a: ‘the tortoise, when it has partaken of a snake, eats marjoram; this action has been actually observed. a man saw a tortoise perform this operation over and over again, and every time it plucked up some marjoram go back to partake of its prey; he, thereupon pulled the marjoram up by the roots, and the consequence was the tortoise died.' 140 saint basil a and the cattle, long enclosed during the winter season, when finally spring approaches, recognizing the change by their natural sensation, look from within the stables toward the exits, all turning their heads as by one agreement. some alert persons have observed that the hedgehog has devised two vents for its hole and, when the north wind is about to blow, it blocks up the northern entrance, but, when the south wind again follows, it passes back to the northerly one.10 now, what are we men taught by these acts? not only that the solicitude of our creator extends through all things, but also that there is among brute beasts a certain sense perception of the future, so that we should not cling to our present life but should preserve all our zeal for future time. will you not be industrious for your own self, o man? will you not, after having observed the example of the ant, lay up in the present age rest to be enjoyed in the future? in the summertime the ant hoards up a supply of food for the winter and it does not, when the inconveniences of winter are not yet at hand, while away its time in idleness, but with a sort of relentless zeal it urges itself on to labor until it has stored up sufficient food in the storehouses. and it does not do even this indifferently but contrives by a certain wise inventiveness to cause the food to hold out as long as possible. it cuts through the middle of the grains with its claws so that they may not germinate and thereby become useless as food. moreover, if it perceives that they are wet, it dries them. it does not expose them in every kind of weather, but only whenever it foresees that the air will continue at a mild temperature. at any rate, you will not see rain falling from the clouds as long as the food has been set out by the ants. what words can express these marvels? what ear can 10 cf. ibid. 9.12.612b: 'in regard to the instinct of hedgehogs, it has been observed in many places that, when the wind is shifting from north to south, and from south to north, they shift the outlook of the earth-holes, and those that are kept in domestication shift over from one wall to the other.' homily 9 141 understand them? what time can suffice to say and to explain all the wonders of the creator? let us also say with the prophet: 'how great are thy works, o lord? thou hast made all things in wisdom.'11 the fact, then, that we were not taught by books what was useful is not a sufficient defense for us, who have understood how to choose what is advantageous by the untaught law of nature. do you know what good you should do for your neighbor? what you wish him to do for you. do you know what is evil? what you yourself would not choose to suffer from another. no skill in gathering roots or acquaintance with herbs procured for the irrational animals the knowledge of what was useful, but each of the animals is able naturally to make provisions for its own safety and it possesses a certain inexplainable attraction toward that which is according to its nature. we also possess natural virtues toward which there is an attraction of soul not from the teaching of men, but from nature itself. thus, no lesson teaches us to hate disease, but we have of ourselves an aversion to suffering; so, too, a certain untaught rejection of evil exists in our soul. every evil is a sickness of soul, but virtue offers the cause of its health. some have indeed rightly defined health as the good order of natural functions. if one uses this definition also in referring to a good condition in the soul, he will not err. therefore, the soul, without being taught, strives for what is proper to it and conformable to its nature. for this reason self-control is praised by all, justice is approved, courage is admired, and prudence is greatly desired. these virtues are more proper to the soul than health is to the body. children, love your parents.12 parents, do not provoke your children to anger.'13 does not nature itself say these things? paul recommends nothing new but he binds more tightly the bonds of nature. if the lioness loves her offspring and the wolf fights for her 11 ps. 103.24. 12 cf. eph. 6.1: 'children, obey your parents.' 13 eph. 6.4. 142 saint basil whelps, what can man say when he disregards the command and debases his nature, or when a son dishonors the old age of his father, or a father through a second marriage neglects the children of his first marriage? (4) among irrational animals the love of the offspring and of the parents for each other is extraordinary because god, who created them, compensated for the deficiency of reason by the superiority of their senses. really, how is it that among countless sheep a lamb, leaping out from the fold, knows the appearance and voice of its mother, hurries toward her, and seeks its own source of milk? even if it finds the maternal udder dry, it is satisfied with it, running past many that are heavy with milk. and how does the mother know her own among the countless lambs? they have one voice, the same appearance, a like odor among all, as much as reaches our sense of smell, but, nevertheless, they have a certain sense impression that is keener than our perception, through which the recognition of its own offspring is possible for each animal. the puppy does not yet have teeth, and nevertheless, he defends himself with his mouth against anyone that teases him. the calf has not yet horns, but he knows where nature has implanted his weapons. these facts support the evidence that the instincts of all animals are untaught, that nothing is without order or moderation in all that exists, but that all things bear traces of the wisdom of the creator, showing in them. selves that they were created prepared to assure their own preservation. the dog is without reason but, nevertheless, he has sense reactions equivalent to reason. in fact, the dog appears to have been taught by nature what the wise of the world, who occupy themselves during life with much study, have solved with difficulty, i mean the complexities of inference. in tracking down a wild beast, if he finds the tracks separated in many directions, he traverses the paths leading each way and all but utters the syllogistic statement through his actions: 'either homily 9 143 the wild beast went this way,' he says, 'or this, or in that direction; but, since it is neither here nor there, it remains that he set out in that direction.' thus, by the elimination of the false he finds the true way. what more do those do who settle down solemnly to their theories, draw lines in the dust, and then reject two of the three premises, finding the true way in the one that is left? does not the gratitude of the dog put to shame any man who is ungrateful to his benefactors? in fact, many dogs are said to have died beside their masters, murdered in a lonely place. in the case of recent murder some dogs have actually become guides for those seeking the murderer and have caused the evildoer to be brought to justice. what can they say who not only fail to love the lord who created and nourishes them, but even treat as friends men who use offensive language against god, share the same table with them, and even at the meal itself permit blasphemies against him who provides for them. (5) let us, however, return to the contemplation of creation. the more easily the animals are captured the more prolific they are. therefore, hares and also wild goats produce many offspring, while wild sheep bear twins, that the species, which is devoured by carnivorous animals, may not fail. but, the beasts of prey bring forth few offspring. whence the lioness with difficulty becomes the mother of only one lion.14 for, 14 cf. herodotus, 3.108: 'the lioness, a very strong and bold beast, bears offspring but once in her life, and then but one cub; for the uterus comes out with the cub in the act of birth. this is the reason of it:when the cub first begins to stir in the mother, its claws, much sharper than those of any other creature, tear the uterus, and as it grows, much more does it scratch and tear, so that when the hour of birth is near seldom is any of the uterus left whole.' aristotle denies this in his history of animals 6.31.579b: “the lioness brings forth in the spring, generally two cubs at a time, and six at the very most; but sometimes only one. the story about the lioness discharging her womb in the act of parturition is a pure fable, and was merely invented to account for the scarcity of the animal; ... the syrian lion bears cubs five times: five cubs at the first litter, then four, then three, then two, and lastly one; after this the lioness ceases to bear for the rest of her days.' 144 saint basil it comes forth, as it is said, by tearing the womb to pieces with its pointed claws. and serpents are born after having eaten through the womb, making a proper return to the one who bore them.15 thus, everything in existence is the work of providence, and nothing is bereft of the care owed to it. if you observe carefully the members even of the animals, you will find that the creator has added nothing superfluous, and that he has not omitted anything necessary. carnivorous animals he has fitted with sharp teeth; there was need of such for the nature of their food. those which are only half equipped with teeth, he provided with many varied receptacles for the food. because the food is not ground sufficiently fine the first time, he has given them the power to chew again what has already been swallowed. thus, having been finely ground by the chewing of the cud, it is assimilated by the animal that is feeding. the first, second, third, and fourth stomachs in the ruminants do not remain idle, but each fulfills a necessary function.16 the camel's neck is long in order that it may be brought to the level of his feet and he may reach the grass on which he lives. the bear's neck and also that of the lion, tiger, and the other animals of this family, is short and is buried in the shoulders, because their food does not come from the grass and they do not have to bend down to the ground. they are carnivorous and secure their food by preying upon animals. but what is the reason for the elephant's trunk? because 15 cf. herodotus, 3.109: 'when serpents pair, and the male is in the very act of generation, the female seizes him by the neck, nor lets go her grip till she have devoured him. thus the male dies; but the female is punished for his death; the young avenge their father, and eat their mother while they are yet within her; nor are they dropped from her till they have devoured her womb. other snakes that do no harm to men, lay eggs and hatch out a vast number of young.' 16 cf. aristotle, ibid. 2.17.507a: 'however, animals present diversities in the structure of their stomachs. in the first place, of the viviparous quadrupeds, such of the horned animals as are not equally furnished with teeth in both jaws are furnished with four such chambers. these animals, by the way, are those that are said to chew the cud.' cf. also on the parts of animals 3.14.674b. homily 9 145 a the huge creature, the largest of land animals, produced for the consternation of those encountering it, had to have a very fleshy and massive body. if an immense neck proportionate to his legs had been given to this animal, it would have been hard to manage, since it would always be falling down because of its excessive weight. as it is, however, his head is attached to his backbone by a few vertebrae of the neck and he has the trunk which fulfills the function of the neck and through which he procures nourishment for himself and draws up water. his legs, which are not jointed, support his weight like joined columns. if loose and flexible limbs supported him, the bending of his joints would be continuous, since they would not suffice to bear his weight whether he was attempting to kneel or rise. as a matter of fact, a short knucklebone is set under the foot of the elephant, but there is no joint for an ankle or for a knee. indeed, the sliding motion of joints could not support the enormous, swaying mass of flesh. hence, there was need of that trunk reaching down to the feet. have you not seen them in wars, leading the way for the phalanx like living towers? or cutting through the close shield formation of the opponents with an attack that is irresistible? unless his lower parts were in proportion, the animal would not endure these tasks for any length of time. at present, however, it is recorded that the elephant lives even three hundred years and more.17 for this reason, also, its legs are solid and unjointed. as we have said, the trunk, which is serpentlike and rather flexible by nature, carries the food up from the ground. thus the statement is true that nothing superfluous or lacking can be found in creation. yet, this animal, which is so immense in size, god has made subject to us so that, when taught, it understands, and when struck, it submits. by this he clearly teaches that he has placed all things under us because we have been made to the image of the creator. not 17 cf. ibid. 8.9.596a: 'the elephant is said by some to live for about two hundred years; by others, for three hundred.' 146 saint basil only among the large animals is it possible to see his inscrutable wisdom, but even among the smallest it is possible to find no less marvels. just as i do not have greater admiration for the great mountain peaks which, because they are near the clouds, preserve the wintry cold with its violent gusts, than for the deep depressions of the valleys, which not only escape the harsh windiness of the heights, but retain always the warm breezes, so too, in the constitution of the animals i do not admire the huge elephant more than the mouse, which is formidable to the elephant, or than the very fine sting of the scorpion, which the craftsman hollowed out like a tube so that through it the poison is injected into those stung. and, let no one bring a charge against the creator because he has produced venomous animals, destructive and hostile to our life; or one might with equal reason make charges against a teacher when he brings the levity of youth into order, chastening the undisciplined one with rods and whips. (6) wild animals are a proof of our faith. have you trusted in the lord? 'thou shalt walk upon the asp and the basilisk; and thou shalt trample under foot the lion and the dragon.'18 you have the power through faith to walk upon serpents and scorpions. or, do you not observe that the viper which fastened onto paul when he was gathering sticks inflicted no harm because the holy man was found to be full of faith?19 yet, if you are incredulous, fear not the wild beast more than your own lack of faith, through which you have made yourself an easy prey to every form of corruption. i notice, however, that i have long been asked explanations about the 18 ps. 90.13. 19 cf. acts 28.3-6: 'now paul gathered a bundle of sticks and laid them on the fire, when a viper came out because of the heat and fastened on his hand. when the natives saw the creature hanging from his hand, they said to one another, “surely this man is a murderer, for though he has escaped the sea, justice does not let him live.” but he shook off the creature into the fire and suffered no harm. now they were expecting that he would swell up and suddenly fall down and die; but after waiting a long time and seeing no harm come to him, they changed their minds and said that he was a god.' homily 9 147 creation of men, and i seem almost to hear my audience clamoring out, 'we are taught the nature of our possessions, but we are ignorant of ourselves.' therefore, we must put aside the hesitation which delays us and discuss it. in truth, to know oneself seems to be the hardest of all things. not only our eye, which observes external objects, does not use the sense of sight upon itself, but even our mind, which contemplates intently another's sin, is slow in the recognition of its own defects. therefore, even at present our speech, after eagerly investigating matters pertaining to others, is slow and hesitant in the examination of our own nature. yet, it is not possible for one, intelligently examining himself, to learn to know god better from the heavens and earth than from our own constitution, as the prophet says: “thy knowledge is become wonderful from myself';20 that is, having carefully observed myself, i have understood the superabundance of wisdom in you. 'and god said, "let us make mankind." '21 where, i pray, is the jew, who in times past, when the light of theology was shining as through windows, and the second person was being indicated mystically, but not yet clearly revealed, fought against the truth and said that god was speaking to himself? for, he himself spoke, it is said, and he himself made. 'let there be light,' and there was light.22 therefore, the wickedness in their words was obvious even at that time. what coppersmith or carpenter or shoemaker, sitting down alone among the tools of his craft, with no one helping him, says to himself: 'let us make a sword,' or 'let us construct a plow,' or 'let us make a shoe'? does he not rather accomplish the work undertaken in silence? truly, it is utter nonsense for anyone to sit down and command and watch over himself, and imperiously and vehemently urge himself on. since they do not shrink a a 20 ps. 138.6. 21 gen. 1.26. 22 ibid. 1.13. 148 saint basil . from calumniating the lord himself, what would they not say with a tongue so trained to falsehood? the present word, however, completely blocks their mouth. ‘and god said, “let us make mankind.” 23 tell me, is then the person only one? the command was not written, 'let mankind be made,' but ‘let us make mankind.' as long as the one to be taught had not yet appeared, the preaching of theology was deeply hidden; now, when the creation of mankind was expected, faith was revealed, and the doctrine of truth was more clearly disclosed. 'let us make mankind.' you, o enemy of christ, hear him addressing the companion of his creative activity, ‘by whom also he made the world; who ... upholds all things by the word of his power.24 not in silence, however, does mankind accept the word of true religion but, just as the wild beasts, which fiercely hate mankind, when they are enclosed in cages, roar about the enclosures, displaying the meanness and savagery of their nature without being able to satisfy their fury, so also the jews, a race hostile to truth, being straightened, say that there are many to whom the word of god is directed. he says to the angels standing beside him, 'let us make mankind.' it is jewish fiction, a frivolous fable derived from these words. that they may not admit one person, they introduce numberless persons. and denying the son, they attribute to the servants the honor of counsel and make our fellow slaves the lords of our creation. man, when perfected, is lifted up to the dignity of angels. but, what creature can be equal to the creator? consider the following words also: 'in our image.25 what do you say to this? surely, the image of god and of the angels is not the same. now, it is absolutely necessary for the form of the son and of the father to be the same, the form being 23 ibid. 1.26. 24 heb. 1.2, 3. 25 gen. 1.26. homily 9 149 understood, of course, as becomes the divine, not in a bodily shape, but in the special properties of the godhead. you also, who are of the recent mutilation,26 who, under a pretense of christianity, cultivate judaism, listen. to whom does he say: 'in our image'? to whom else, i say, than to the 'brightness of his glory and the image of his substance,'27 who is 'the image of the invisible god'p28 therefore, to his own living image who says: 'i and the father are one,'29 and 'he who sees me sees also the father, '30 to this image he says: 'let us make mankind in our own image.' where there is one image, where is the dissimilarity? 'and god created ‘ man.'31 not 'they created.' here he avoided the plurality of persons. teaching the jew by the former words and preventing error in the gentile by the latter, he returned safely to the singular form, in order that you might understand the son with the father and avoid the risk of polytheism. 'in the image of god he created him.'32 again, the person of the co-worker was introduced. for, he did not say, 'in his own image,' but ‘in the image of god.' we shall tell later, if god permits, in what respect man is in the image of god and how he shares in his likeness. at present, let us say this much: if there is one image, whence did it come to your mind to utter an intolerable blasphemy, saying that the son is unlike the father? o the ingratitudel do you refuse to share with the benefactor the likeness which you received? and do you think that the gifts of grace presented to you remain your own, and yet, do not permit the son to have a likeness from nature with his father? but now, evening, having long ago sent the sun to its setting, again imposes silence upon us. let us, therefore, at this 26 phil. 3.2. 27 heb. 1.3. 28 col. 1.15. 29 john 10.30. 30 lbid. 14.9. 31 gen. 1.27. 32 ibid. 150 saint basil point, be content with what has been said and lay our words to rest. we have at present employed our speech to arouse your zeal as much as possible, but, with the help of the spirit, we shall later add a more perfect examination of the facts lying before us. depart, i beg of you, rejoicing, o christloving assembly, and arrange your modest tables with a remembrance of what i have said, instead of with expensive foods and varied delicacies. let the anomoean be covered with confusion; let the jew feel shame; let the pious rejoice in the dogmas of truth; let the lord be glorified, to whom be glory and power forever. amen. homily 10 a psalm of the lot of the just man (on psalm 1) ll scripture is inspired by god and is useful,1 composed by the spirit for this reason, namely, that we men, each and all of us, as if in a general hospital for souls, may select the remedy for his own condition. for, it says, “care will make the greatest sin to cease.'? now, the prophets teach one thing, historians another, the law something else, and the form of advice found in the proverbs something different still. but, the book of psalms has taken over what is profitable from all. it foretells coming events; it recalls history; it frames laws for life; it suggests what must be done; and, in general, it is the common treasury of good doctrine, carefully finding what is suitable for each one. the old wounds of souls it cures completely, and to the recently wounded it brings speedy improvement; the diseased it treats, 1 2 tim. 3.16. st. basil begins here his prologue in praise of the psalms, which includes the first four paragraphs. this prologue is also found in many manuscripts and editions of st. augustine's commentaries on the psalms and was by many attributed to st. augustine. however, it has now been shown that the prologue as found in st. augustine's works is the prologue of st. basil's homilies as translated by rufinus. it is probably because of this prologue that st. basil omitted the superscription of the psalm 1, which reads: 'the happiness of the just and the evil state of the wicked.' the superscriptions of the psalms usually indicated both their literary type and their authorship, occasion of delivery, or musical accompaniment. cf. c. j. callan, the new psalter, pages 3-7. 2 eccles. 10.4. 151 152 saint basil and the unharmed it preserves. on the whole, it effaces, as far as is possible, the passions, which subtly exercise dominion over souls during the lifetime of man, and it does this with a certain orderly persuasion and sweetness which produces sound thoughts. when, indeed, the holy spirit saw that the human race was guided only with difficulty toward virtue, and that, because of our inclination toward pleasure, we were neglectful of an upright life, what did he do? the delight of melody he mingled with the doctrines so that by the pleasantness and softness of the sound heard we might receive without perceiving it the benefit of the words, just as wise physicians who, when giving the fastidious rather bitter drugs to drink, frequently smear the cup with honey. therefore, he devised for us these harmonious melodies of the psalms, that they who are children in age or, even those who are youthful in disposition might to all appearances chant but, in reality, become trained in soul. for, never has any one of the many indifferent persons gone away easily holding in mind either an apostolic or prophetic message, but they do chant the words of the psalms, even in the home, and they spread them around in the market place, and, if perchance, someone becomes exceedingly wrathful, when he begins to be soothed by the psalm, he departs with the wrath of his soul immediately lulled to sleep by means of the melody. (2) a psalm implies serenity of soul; it is the author of peace, which calms bewildering and seething thoughts. for, it softens the wrath of the soul, and what is unbridled it chastens. a psalm forms friendships, unites those separated, conciliates those at enmity. who, indeed, can still consider as an enemy him with whom he has uttered the same prayer to god? so that psalmody, bringing about choral singing, a bond, as it were, toward unity, and joining the people into a harmonious union of one choir, produces also the greatest of blessings, charity. a psalm is a city of refuge from the demons; a means homily 10 153 a of inducing help from the angels, a weapon in fears by night, a rest from toils by day, a safeguard for infants, an adornment for those at the height of their vigor, a consolation for the elders, a most fitting ornament for women. it peoples the solitudes; it rids the market place of excesses; it is the elementary exposition of beginners, the improvement of those advancing, the solid support of the perfect, the voice of the church. it brightens the feast days; it creates a sorrow which is in accordance with god. for, a psalm calls forth a tear even from a heart of stone. a psalm is the work of angels, a heavenly institution, the spiritual incense. oh! the wise invention of the teacher who contrived that while we were singing we should at the same time learn something useful; by this means, too, the teachings are in a certain way impressed more deeply on our minds. even a forceful lesson does not always endure, but what enters the mind with joy and pleasure somehow becomes more firmly impressed upon it. what, in fact, can you not learn from the psalms? can you not learn the grandeur of courage? the exactness of justice? the nobility of self-control? the perfection of prudence? a manner of penance? the measure of patience? and whatever other good things you might mention? therein is perfect theology, a prediction of the coming of christ in the flesh, a threat of judgment, a hope of resurrection, a fear of punishment, promises of glory, an unveiling of mysteries; all things, as if in some great public treasury, are stored up in the book of psalms. to it, although there are many musical instruments, the prophet adapted the so-called harp, showing, as it seems to me, that the gift from the spirit resounded in his ears from above. with the cithara and the lyre the bronze from beneath responds with sound to the plucking, but the harp has the source of its harmonic rhythms from above, in order that we may be careful to seek the things above and not be borne down by the sweetness of the melody to the passions of the flesh. and i believe this, namely, that 154 saint basil the words of prophecy are made clear to us in a profound and wise manner through the structure of the instrument, because those who are orderly and harmonious in soul possess an easy path to the things above. let us now see the beginning of the psalms. (3) ‘blessed is the man who hath not walked in the counsel of the ungodly.'3 when architects raise up immensely high structures, they put under them foundations proportionate to the height; and when shipbuilders are constructing a merchantman that carries 10,000 measures, they fix the ship's keel to correspond with the weight of the wares it is capable of carrying. even in the generation of living animals, since the heart is the first organ formed by nature, 4 it receives a structure from nature proportionate to the animal destined to be brought into existence. therefore, since the body is built around in proportion to its own beginnings, the differences in the sizes of animals are produced. like the foundation in a house, the keel in a ship, and the heart in the body of an animal, this brief introduction seems to me to possess that same force in regard to the whole structure of the psalms. when david intended to propose in the course of his speech to the combatants of true religion many painful tasks involving unmeasured sweats and toils, he showed first the happy end, that in the hope of the blessings reserved for us we might endure without grief the sufferings of this life. in the same way, too, the expectation of suitable lodging for them lightens the toil for travelers on a rough and difficult road, and the desire for wares makes mechants dare the sea, while the prom3 ps. 1.1. also, note the way a man grows hardened in sin--he walks in the ways of the ungodly, stands in the way of sinners, and sits among the wicked. cf. n.7 infra. 4 cf. aristotle, on the parts of animals 3.4.665a: 'for, in sanguineous animals both heart and liver are visible enough when the body is only just formed, and while it is still extremely small.' also 666a: 'for no sooner is the embryo formed, than its heart is seen in motion as though it were a living creature, and this before any of the other parts, it being, as thus shown, the starting point of their nature in all animals that have blood.' homily 10 155 ise of the crop steals away the drudgery from the labors of the farmers. therefore, the common director of our lives, the great teacher, the spirit of truth, wisely and cleverly set forth the rewards, in order that, rising above the present labors, we might press on in spirit to the enjoyment of eternal blessings. “blessed is the man who hath not walked in the counsel of the ungodly.' what is truly good, therefore, is principally and primarily the most blessed. and that is god. whence paul also, when about to make mention of christ, said: 'according to the manifestation of our blessed god and savior jesus christ.'5 for, truly blessed is goodness itself toward which all things look, which all things desire, an unchangeable nature, lordly dignity, calm existence; a happy way of life, in which there is no alteration, which no change touches; a flowing fount, abundant grace, inexhaustible treasure. but, stupid and worldly men, ignorant of the nature of good itself, frequently bless things worth nothing, riches, health, renown; not one of which is in its nature good, not only because they easily change to the opposite, but also because they are unable to make their possessors good. what man is just because of his possessions? what man is self-controlled because of his health? on the contrary, in fact, each of these possessions frequently becomes the servant of sin for those who use them badly. blessed is he, then, who possesses that which is esteemed of the greatest value, who shares in the goods that cannot be taken away. how shall we recognize him? 'he who hath not walked in the counsel of the ungodly.' but, before i explain what it is 'not to walk in the counsel of the ungodly,' i wish to settle the question asked at this point. why, you say, does the prophet single out only man and proclaim him happy? does he not exclude women from happiness? by no means. for, the virtue of man and woman is the same, since creation is equally honored in both; there5 cf. tit. 2:13: 'looking for the blessed hope and glorious coming of our great god and savior, jesus christ.' 156 saint basil fore, there is the same reward for both. listen to genesis. 'god created man,' it says, 'in the image of god he created him. male and female he created them. they whose nature is alike have the same reward. why, then, when scripture had made mention of man, did it leave woman unnoticed? because it believed that it was sufficient, since their nature is alike, to indicate the whole through the more authoritative part. 'blessed, therefore, is the man who hath not walked in the counsel of the ungodly.' notice the exactness of the wording, how each single word of the statement is fulfilled. it did not say, 'who does not walk in the counsel of the ungodly,' but 'who hath not walked.' he who happens to be in this life, is not yet blessed, because of the uncertainty of his departure. but, he who has fulfilled what has fallen to his share and has closed his life with an end that cannot be gainsaid, that one is already safely proclaimed blessed. why, then, are they who are walking in the law of the lord blessed? here scripture regards as blessed not those who have walked, but those who are still walking, because they who are doing good receive approval in the work itself; and they who are fleeing evil are to be praised, not if, perhaps, they shun the sin once or twice, but if they are able to escape the experience of evil entirely. from the train of my reasoning another difficulty has presented itself to us. why does scripture proclaim as blessed, not him who is successfully performing a good act, but him who did not commit sin? because in that case the horse and ox and stone will be considered blessed. for, what inanimate object has 'stood in the way of sinners'? or what irrational creature has 'sat in the chair of pestilence'& now, if you will wait a little, you will find the solution. it continues: ‘but his will 6 ps. 1.1. chair of pestilence in hebrew terminology implies a circle or assembly of those who scoff at religion. cf. m. britt, dictionary of the psalter, p. 201. st. basil translated the expression with the meaning of ‘pestilence' but gave it an allegorical interpretation. homily 10 157 is in the law of the lord.'? however, the practice of the divine law falls only upon him who possesses intelligence. and we say this, that the starting point in acquiring the good is the withdrawal from evil. 'decline from evil,' it says, “and do good.'8 (4) therefore, leading us on wisely and skilfully to virtue, david made the departure from evil the beginning of good. if he had put forth for you immediately the final perfections, you would have hesitated at the undertaking, but, as it is, he accustoms you to things more easily gained in order that you may have courage for those which follow. i would say that the exercise of piety resembles a ladder, that ladder which once the blessed jacob saw,9 of which one part was near the earth and reaching to the ground, the other extended above, even to the very heavens. therefore, those who are being introduced to a life of virtue must place their foot upon the first steps and from there always mount upon the next, until by gradual progress they have ascended to the height attainable by human nature. as withdrawal from the earth is the first step on the ladder, so in a manner of life in harmony with god the departure from evil is the first. actually, idleness is in every way easier than any action whatsoever, as for instance, 'thou shalt not kill; thou shalt not commit adultery; thou shalt not steal.'10 each of these demands idleness and inactivity. “thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.'11 and 'sell what thou hast, and give to the poor, '12 and 'if anyone forces ' thee to go for one mile, go with him two,'13 are activities worthy of athletes, and requiring for success a soul already vigorous. therefore, admire the wisdom of him who leads us a 7 ibid. 1.2. 8 ibid. 36.27. 9 cf. gen. 28.12: 'he dreamed that a ladder was set up on the ground with its top reaching to heaven.' 10 exod. 20.13-15. 11 matt, 19.19. 12 ibid. 19.21. 13 ibid. 5.41. 158 saint basil on to perfection through things that are rather easy and more readily gained. he put before us three acts which must be guarded against: walking in the counsel of the ungodly, standing in the way of sinners, sitting on the chair of pestilences. in accordance with the nature of things, he set up this order by his words. first, we take counsel with ourselves; next, we strengthen our resolution; then, we continue unchanged in what has been determined. primarily, therefore, the purity of our mind is to be deemed blessed, since the resolution in the heart is the root of the actions of the body. thus, adultery, first enkindled in the soul of the lover of pleasure, causes destruction through the body. whence, also, the lord says that the things that defile a man are from within.14 and, since impiety is properly called the sin against god, may it never happen that we admit doubts concerning god through want of faith. it is 'walking in the counsel of the ungodly,' if you should say in your heart, 'is it really god who governs all things? is god actually in the heavens, managing each individual thing? is there a judgment? is there a reward for each according to his work? why, then, are the just poor, and sinners rich? why are these sick, and those in good health? these dishonored, and those held in esteem? is not the world borne along without visible cause, and do not some unaccountable circumstances allot the lives for each without any order?' if you have had these thoughts, you have walked in the counsel of the ungodly. blessed, therefore, is he who has not admitted any doubt concerning god, who did not become weak in soul concerning the present, but awaits that which is promised, who did not hold any disloyal suspicion about him who created us. ‘and blessed is that man who has not stood in the way of sinners.' life, then, is called a way because each being that 14 cf. matt. 15.18: ‘but the things that proceed out of the mouth come from the heart, and it is they that defile a man.' homily 10 159 enters into life hastens toward its end. just as those who are sleeping in ships are carried by the wind through its own force to the harbors, even though they themselves do not perceive it but the course hurries them on to the end, so we also, as the time of our life flows on, are hurried along as if by some continuous and restless motion on the unheeded course of life, each one toward his proper end. for example, you sleep, and time runs past you; you are awake, and you are busily engaged in mind. all the same, life is spent, even though it has escaped our notice. we run a certain course, each and every man urged on to his proper end; for this reason we are all on the way. and thus you should understand the meaning of 'the way.' you are placed as a traveler in this life; you pass by all things, and everything is left behind you. you saw a plant or grass or water on the way, or any other worthwhile sight. you enjoyed it a little, then you passed on. again, you came upon stones, gullies, peaks, cliffs, and palisades, or perhaps, even wild beasts, reptiles, thorns, and other troublesome objects; you were a little distressed, then you left them behind. such is life, which holds neither lasting pleasures nor permanent afflictions. the way is not yours, neither are the present affairs yours. among travelers, as soon as the first moves his foot, immediately the one after him takes a step, and after that one, he who follows him. (5) consider also the circumstances of life, whether they are not very much the same. today you have cultivated the earth, tomorrow another will do so, and after him another. do you see these fields and these costly houses? how many times has each of them already changed its name since it came into existence? they were said to be this man's; then, the name was changed for another; then they passed on to that man; and now, finally, they are said to belong to still another. is not our life a way, receiving one man after another sucessively and keeping all following one another? ‘blessed, therefore, is he who has not stood in the way of sinners.' 160 saint basil now, what does the expression 'has not stood' mean? while we men were in our first age, we were neither in sin nor in virtue (for the age was unsusceptible of either condition); but, when reason was perfected in us, then that happened which was written: ‘but when the commandment came, sin revived, and i died.'15 wicked thoughts, which originate in our minds from the passions of the flesh, rise up. in truth, if, when the command came, that is, the power of discernment of the good, the mind did not prevail over the baser thoughts but permitted its reason to be enslaved by the passions, sin revived, but the mind died, suffering death because of its transgressions. blessed, therefore, is he who did not continue in the way of sinners but passed quickly by better reasoning to a pious way of life. for, there are two ways opposed to each other, the one wide and broad, the other narrow and close.16 and there are two guides, each attempting to turn the traveler to himself. now, the smooth and downward sloping way has a deceptive guide, a wicked demon, who drags his followers through pleasure to destruction, but the rough and steep way has a good angel, who leads his followers through the toils of virtue to a blessed end. as long as each of us is a child, pursuing the pleasure of the moment, he has no care for the future; but, when he has become a man, after his judgment is perfected, he seems, as it were, to see his life divided for him between virtue and evil, and frequently turning the eye of his soul upon each, he separates the analogous traits that belong to each. the life of the sinner shows all the pleasures of the present age; that of the just reveals in a slight measure the blessings of the future alone. and, insofar as the future promises beautiful rewards, to that extent does the way of those saved offer the present toilsome works; on the contrary, the pleasant and a 15 rom. 7.9. 16 cf. matt. 7.13: 'for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction.' homily 10 161 undisciplined life does not hold out the expectation of later delights, but those already present. so, every soul becomes dizzy and changes from one side to the other in its reasonings, choosing virtue when things eternal are in its thoughts, but, when it looks to the present, preferring pleasure. here it beholds the comforts of the flesh, there the enslavement of the flesh; here drunkenness, there fasting; here intemperate laughter, there abundant tears; in this life dancing, in that prayer; here flutes, there groans; here incontinence, there virginity. while, therefore, that which is truly good can be apprehended by the reason through faith it has been banished far and the eye did not see it nor the ear hear it), yet, the sweetness of sin has pleasure ready and flowing through every sense. blessed is he who is not turned aside to his destruction through its incitements to pleasure, but eagerly awaits the hope of salvation through patient endurance, and in his choice of one of the two ways, does not go upon the way leading to the lower things. (6) nor sat in the chair of pestilence.'17 does he mean these chairs upon which we rest our bodies? what is the association of wood with sin, so that i flee the chair occupied before by the sinner as being harmful? or, should we not think that a steady and lasting persistence in the choice of evil is called a chair? this we must guard against because the practice of assiduously occupying ourselves with sins engenders in our souls a certain condition that can scarcely be removed. an inveterate condition of the soul and the exercise of evil strengthened by time, are hard to heal, or even are entirely incurable, since, for the most part, custom is changed into nature. indeed, not to attach ourselves to evil is a request worth praying for. but there remains a second way: immediately after the temptation to flee it as if it were a venomous sting, according to words of solomon concerning the wicked woman: 'do not set your eye upon her, but leap back; do not 17 cf. ps. 1.1. also n. 6 above. 162 saint basil delay.'18 now, i know that some in their youth have sunk down into the passions of the flesh and have remained in their sins until their old age because of the habit of evil. as the swine rolling about in the mire always smear more mud on themselves, so these bring upon themselves more and more each day the shame of pleasure. blessed is it, therefore, not to have had evil in your mind; but, if through the deceit of the enemy, you have received in your soul the counsels of impiety, do not stay in your sin. and, if you have experienced this, do not become established in evil. so then, do not sit in the chair of pestilence.' if you have understood what scripture calls a chair, that it means lasting persistence in evil, examine now of what pestilences it speaks. those who are skilled in these matters say that the pestilence, when it touches one man or animal, is communicated to all those who are near at hand; for, the nature of the disease is such that all are infected with the sickness by one another. of some such kind are the workers of iniquity. since one gives the disease to one and another gives it to another, they are all sick together and perish at the same time. or, do you not see the licentious persons sitting in the market place, who laugh at the chaste, relate their shameful acts, the works of darkness, and recount their disgraceful passions as deeds of prowess or some other manly virtues? these are the pestilences who are striving to bring their own evil upon all, and who vie emulously that many be made to resemble them, in order that by fellowship through evils they may escape censure. in fact, neither can a fire, which has seized upon material that is easily enkindled, be prevented from passing through all of it, especially if it meets with a favorable breeze that carries the flame, nor can the sin which has fastened upon one be prevented from going through all, if the winds of wickedness have kindled it. for, the spirit of impurity does not allow the disgrace to remain in the one, but, 18 cf. prov. 9. 18a (only in septuagint version). homily 10 163 immediately, comrades of the same age are called in; carousels, strong drink, and shameful tales; a harlot drinking with them, smiling upon this one, goading that one on, and inflaming all to the same sin. is this pestilence, indeed, a small thing, or is the spreading of evil something small? but, surely, did not the emulator of the avaricious man or of one possessed of civil authority who is conspicuous for some other wickedness, or of him who holds the power among his people, or commands armies, and who then is contaminated with shameful passions, did not he, i say, admit the pestilence into his soul, making his own the evil of the person emulated? for, the distinctions acquired in life make the lives of those who are distinguished conspicuous; and soldiers strive, for the most part, to be like military commanders, and the common people in the cities emulate those in power. and in general, whenever the evil of the one has been considered deserving of imitation by the many, properly and fitly the pestilence of souls will be said to prevail in life. even renown won in the midst of evil draws many of the unsteady to the same ambition. since, therefore, one is filled with corruption by this man, and another by that one, let such be said to have the pestilence in their souls. do not, therefore, sit in the chair of pestilence, nor participate in the council of seducers and corrupters, nor persist in counsels badly given. my speech, however, is still in its introduction, yet, i see that its extent exceeds due proportions, so that it is not easy either for you to retain more, nor for me to continue my lecture because of the natural weakness of my voice which is failing me. although my words are incomplete, since flight from evil has been taught, but perfection through good works omitted, nevertheless, in commending the present matters to attentive hearers, we promise, if god permits, to complete the omissions, if only we do not experience complete silence henceforth. may the lord grant us the reward for our words, and you the fruit of what you have heard, by the grace of 164 saint basil christ himself, because to him is glory and power forever. amen. homily 11 a psalm of david which he sang to the lord, for the words of chusi, the son of jeminii (on psalm 7) he inscription of the seventh psalm seems in a way to be opposed to the history of the kingdoms where the facts about david are recorded.2 for in the history, chusi is mentioned as the chief companion of david and the son of arachi, but in the psalm, chusi is the son of jemini. neither he nor any other of those appearing in the history was the son of jemini. perhaps, he was called the son of jemini for this reason, because he displayed great valor and manliness through a mere pretense of friendship, going over, as he pretended, to absalom, but, in reality, thwarting the plans of achitophel, a very skilled man, well trained in military affairs, who was giving his counsel. 'the son of jemini' is interpreted 'the son of the right hand.' by his proposals he prevented the acceptance of the plan of achitophel-that no time should intervene in the affairs but that an attack should be made immediately on the father while he was unprepared-in order that,' as scripture says, 'the lord might bring all evils upon absalom.'3 at all events, he seemed to them to introduce more plausible reasons for postponement and delay, while his real purpose was to give time to david to gather his forces. because 1 ps. 7.1. 2 cf. 2 kings 15-18. 3 2 kings 17.14. 165 166 saint basil of his counsel he was acceptable to absalom, who said: 'the counsel of chusi the arachite is better than the counsel of achitophel.' however, chusi informed david through the priests sadoc and abiathar of the decision and bade him not to camp in araboth in the desert, but urged him to cross it.5 since, then, he was on the right hand of david through his good advice, he obtained the name from his brave deed. surely, it is because of this that he is called 'son of jemini,' that is, 'son of the right hand.' it is a custom of scripture not only to give those who are more wicked a name from their sin rather than from their fathers, but also to call the better sons from the virtue characterizing them. accordingly, the apostle calls the devil the son of perdition. 'unless the impious one is revealed, the son of perdition.' and in the gospel the lord called judas the son of perdition. 'and not one of them perished,' it says, 'except the son of perdition.'? but, he calls those formed in the knowledge of god children of wisdom, 'for, wisdom,' he says, 'is justified by her children.'8 he also says: 'if a son of peace be there.'! it should not, then, seem strange that the father of his body was not mentioned, and that the chief companion of david was called the son of his right hand, receiving a title belonging to him because of his deeds. (2) ‘o lord my god, in thee have i put my trust; save me.'10 although the saying, 'o lord my god, in thee have i put my trust; save me,' is thought to be a simple prayer and one that can be offered up rightly by anyone, perhaps such is not the case. for, he who puts his trust in man or is buoyed up by some other concerns of life, such as power, or possessions, or 4 ibid. 5 cf. 2 kings 17.15, 16. 6 cf. 2 thess. 2.3: ‘unless the man of sin is revealed, the son of perdition.' 7 john 17.12. 8 matt. 11.19. 9 luke 10.6. 10 ps. 7.2. homily 11 167 any of the things considered by the many to be glorious, is not able to say, 'o lord my god, in thee have i put my trust.' in fact, there is a command that we should not put our trust in rulers, and 'cursed be the man that trusteth in man.'11 as it is proper not to worship anything else besides god, so also is it proper not to trust in any other except god the lord of all things. 'the lord' it is said, 'is my hope and my praise.'12 how is it that at first david prays to be saved from his persecutors, and then, to be delivered? an explanation will make the statement clear. 'save me from all them that persecute me, and deliver me, lest at any time he seize upon my soul like a lion.'13 now, what is the difference between being saved and being delivered? properly speaking, those who are weak need safety, but those who are held in captivity need deliverance. therefore, he who has some weakness in himself, but possesses faith in himself, is disposed by his own faith to be saved. 'for, thy faith,' it is said, 'has saved thee';14 and 'so be it done to thee as thou hast believed.'15 but, he who must be delivered, awaits a price which must be paid in his name from the outside. accordingly, being under sentence of death, knowing that there is one who saves and one who delivers, 'in thee have i put my trust,' he says, 'save me' from weakness, and deliver me' from captivity. i think that the noble athletes of god, who have wrestled considerably with the invisible enemies during the whole of their lives, after they have escaped all of their persecutions and reached the end of life, are examined by the prince of the world in order that, if they are found to have wounds from the wrestling or any stains or effects of sin, they may be detained; but, if they are found unwounded and stainless, they may be brought by 11 jer. 17.5. 12 st. basil seems to have confused ps. 70.5: 'for thou art my patience, o lord: my hope, o lord, from my youth,' and ps. 117.14: “the lord is my strength and my praise.' 13 ps. 7.2, 3. 14 luke 7.50. 15 matt. 8.13. 168 saint basil christ into their rest as being unconquered and free. therefore, he prays for his life here and for his future life. for, he says: 'save me' here 'from them that persecute me; deliver me' there in the time of the scrutiny 'lest at any time he seize upon my soul like a lion. you may learn this from the lord himself who said concerning the time of his passion: 'now the prince of this world is coming, and in me he will have nothing. '16 he who had committed no sin said that he had nothing; but, for a man it will be sufficient, if he dares to say: ‘the prince of this world is coming, and in me he will have few and trivial penalties.' and there is a danger of experiencing these penalties, unless we have some one to deliver us or to save us. for, the two tribulations set forth, two petitions are introduced. 'save me from the multitude of them that persecute me, and deliver me, lest at any time i be seized as if there were no one to redeem me.'17 (3) 'o lord my god, if i have done this thing, if there be iniquity in my hands; if i have rendered to them that repaid me evils, let me deservedly fall empty before my enemies. let the enemy pursue my soul, and take it.'18 it is usual for scripture to use the word ‘repaying' not only in the case of customary acts, as when some good or evil is already in existence, but also in the case of acts beginning, as in the case of ‘repay thy servant.'19 instead of 'give,' it says 'repay.' a giving is the beginning of beneficence; but payment is the reciprocal measuring out of equal value on the part of him who has received benefits; repayment is a sort of second beginning and cycle of benefits or evils stored up for certain ones. in my opinion, since the expression, making, as it were, a re-petition in place of a petition, requests repayment, it presents some such meaning as this: the debt of care necessarily owed through nature to children by their parents, this provide for me. indeed, 16 john 14.30. 17 ps. 7.2, 3. 18 ibid. 7.4-6. 19 ps. 118.17. homily 11 169 care for their livelihood is owed to children by a father through natural love. for the parents,' it is said, 'should save up for the children,'20 in order that in addition to life, they may still provide for them the means for their livelihood. such is frequently the offering or repayment found in scripture in initial activities. but here, he who is speaking seems to have confidence because he has not rendered to those repaying evils, nor repaid the like. 'if i have done this thing, and if i have rendered to them that repaid me evils, let me deservedly fall empty before my enemies."21 he falls empty before his enemies who falls from grace, which is the fullness of christ. 'let the enemy pursue my soul, and take it, and tread down my life on the earth.'22 the soul of the just man, severing itself from affection for the body, has its life hidden with christ in god, so that it can say like the apostle: 'it is now no longer i that live, but christ lives in me. and the life that i now live in the flesh, i live in faith.'23 but, the soul of the sinner and of him who lives according to the flesh and is defiled by the pleasures of the body is wrapped up in the passions of the flesh as in mud; and the enemy, trampling upon this soul, strives to pollute it still more and, as it were, to bury it, treading upon him who has fallen, and with his feet trampling him into the ground, that is, trampling the life of him who has slipped into his body. 'and bring down my glory to the dust.”24 the glory of the saints who possess citizenship in heaven and who store up for themselves good things in the everlasting treasuries is in heaven; but the glory of earthly men and those living according to the flesh is said to settle in the dust. he who has gloried in earthly wealth and who pursues the short-lived honor of 20 cf. 2 cor. 12.14: 'for the children should not save up for the parents, but the parents for the children.' 21 ps. 7.5. 22 ibid. 7.6. 23 gal. 2.20. 24 ps. 7.6. 170 saint basil men and has put his trust in corporeal advantages possesses a glory for himself which does not look up to heaven but remains in the dust. (4) 'rise up, o lord, in thy anger: and be exalted in the borders of my enemy.'25 the prophet prays that the mystery of the resurrection be accomplished now, or the elevation on the cross, which was to take place after the wickedness of the enemies had mounted to its uttermost limits. or the expression, 'and be thou exalted in the borders of my enemy,' suggests some such meaning as this: to whatever peak the evil shall ascend, even if it shall go on, pouring out to an immeasurable and unlimited degree, you are able in the abundance of your power, like a good physician, anticipating the limits of its spreading, to stop the disease which is increasing as it creeps along, and to break off its course by corrective blows. and arise, o lord my god, in the precept which thou hast commanded.'26 this saying can also be referred to the mystery of the resurrection, since the prophet is exhorting the judge to arise in order to avenge every sin and to bring to fulfillment the commands previously laid on us. it can also be accepted in reference to the state at that time of the affairs of the prophet, who was exhorting god to rise in order to avenge the precept which he had enjoined. there was a command, 'honor thy father and thy mother,'27 given by god, which indeed his son had transgressed. therefore, he urges god, for the correction of that son himself and for the restraint of the many, not to be long-suffering, but to rise in anger and, having risen up, to avenge his own command. 'for you will not avenge me,' he says, 'but your own despised precept, which you yourself enjoined.' and a congregation of people shall surround thee.'28 it is evident that, if one unjust man is chastened, many will be 25 ibid. 7.7. 26 ibid. 27 exod. 20.12. 28 ps. 7.8. homily 11 171 converted. punish, therefore, the wickedness of this man, in order that a great congregation of people may surround you. ‘and for their sakes return thou on high.'29 for the sake of the congregation surrounding you, which you acquired by your condescension through grace and by your incarnation, return to the heights of glory, which you had before the world was made. 'the lord will judge the people.'30 words about judg. ment are scattered in many places in scripture, as most cogent and essential for the teaching of true religion to those who believe in god through jesus christ. since the words concerning the judgment are written with various meanings, they seem to hold some confusion for those who do not accurately distinguish the meanings. 'he who believes in me is not judged; but he who does not believe is already judged.”31 but, if he who does not believe, is the same as an ' , impious man, how has it been said that the impious will not rise up in judgment? and, if those who believe have been made sons of god through faith, and for this reason are worthy of being called gods themselves, how does god stand in a congregation of gods, and in the midst will judge gods? well, it seems that the word “judge' is at times employed by scripture in place of 'approve,' as in the expression, “judge me, o lord, for i have walked in my innocence,' for, it continues there, 'prove me, o lord, and try me';32 and for 'condemn' as in the expression, 'but if we judged ourselves, we should not thus be judged.'33 if we examine ourselves well, it says, we would not be subjected to condemnation. again, it says that the lord will enter into judgment with all flesh,34 that is, in the examination of the actions in the lives of each he sub29 ibid. 30 ps. 7.9. 31 cf. john 3.18: 'he who believes in him is not judged; but he who does not believe is already judged.' 32 ps. 25.12. 33 1 cor. 11.31. 34 cf. jer. 25.31: 'he entereth into judgment with all flesh.' 172 saint basil jected himself to judgment and compared his own precepts with the actions of sinners, defending himself with proofs that he has done all things depending upon him for the salvation of those judged, in order that the sinners, being persuaded that they are liable to punishment for sins and acknowledging the divine justice, may willingly accept the penalty falling to their lot. (5) there is still another meaning for the word 'judge, as when the lord says: 'the queen of the south will rise up in the judgment and will condemn this generation.'35 he says that those who refuse the divine teaching and are without love for the noble and good, and who abandon completely the doctrines which tend to teach wisdom, by comparison and contrast with those of their own generation who excel in zeal for the noble and good, receive a more severe condemnation in the matters which they neglected. but, i believe that all who have received this earthy body will not be judged in the same manner by the just judge since outside influences, which are far different for each of us, cause the judgment in the case of each to vary. for the combination of circumstances not in our power, but involuntary, either makes our sins more grievous, or even lightens them. suppose that the matter to be judged is fornication. but, one who was trained from the beginning in evil practices committed this sin. now, he was not only brought into life by licentious parents but also was reared with bad habits, with drunkenness and revelings and shameful tales. on the other hand, if another who had many challenges to the most excellent things, education, teachers, hearing of more divine words, salutary reading, advice of parents, tales which mold to seriousness and self-control, an ordered manner of life, if he, then, was carried away into a like sin as the other and gives an account of his life, how is it possible that such a one will not rightly be considered deserving of a heavier penalty in comparison with the former? 35 matt. 12.42. homily 11 173 the one will be accused only on the ground that he did not use rightly the salutary inclinations implanted among his thoughts, but the other, in addition to this, because, although he obtained much assistance for salvation, through want of self-control and of attention, in a very short time he betrayed himself. similarly also, he who has been trained from the beginning in piety and has escaped all perversion in the doctrines concerning god, and who has been brought up in the law of god which attacks every sin and invites to the opposite, will not have the same excuse for idolatry as he who was educated by lawless parents and by people taught from the beginning to worship idols. 'the lord will judge the people.' in one way the jew, and in another the scythian. the first, indeed, rests content in the law and glories in god and approves the better things. since he has been instructed by the law, and in addition to the general concepts has been taught the prophetic and legal writings by song and by training, if he is found to have made a false step contrary to the law, he will have far more grievous sins imputed to him. but, as for the scythian nomads, who have been brought up with wild and inhuman practices, accustomed to robbery and acts of violence against each other, with no control of their temper and easily roused to bitter wrath against each other, accustomed, moreover, to judge all rivalry by the sword, and taught to put an end to fights with blood, if ever they show any humanity or goodness toward each other, they procure a more severe penalty for us because of their own virtuous actions. (6) "judge me, o lord, according to my justice, and accord-ing to my innocence in me.'36 these words seem to contain some boastfulness and to be very much like the prayer of the pharisee who was exalting himself, but, if one considers them reasonably, the prophet will be seen to be far from such a disposition. “judge me, o lord,' he says, 'according to my 36 ps. 7.9. 174 saint basil justice.' 'there are many sayings about justice,' he says, 'and the limits of perfect justice are hard to reach.' for, there is a justice of the angels, which transcends that of men, and, if there is any power above the angels, it has also a supremacy of justice proportionate to its greatness; and there is the justice of god himself, which exceeds all understanding, which is inexpressible, and is incomprehensible to all created nature. “judge me, therefore, o lord, according to my justice,' that is, according to that attainable by men and possible for those living in the flesh. 'and according to my innocence in me.' thus especially, the disposition of the speaker proves to be very far from pharisaical arrogance; for, he names his innocence as if it were simplicity and ignorance of things useful to know according to the saying in the proverbs: 'the innocent believeth every word.'37 since, therefore, we men through ignorance fall unguardedly into many sins, he entreats god and asks to meet with pardon because of his innocence. from this it is evident that these words show the humility of the speaker rather than arrogance. “judge me,' he says, 'according to my justice, and judge me according to the innocence which is in me.' comparing my justice with human frailty, thus judge me, and understanding the simplicity of my character, do not, as though i were shrewd or circumspect in the affairs of the world, at once condemn me as a sinner. 'let the wickedness of sinners be brought to nought.'88 he who says this prayer is obviously a disciple of the evangelical precepts. he prays for those who treat him maliciously, asking that the wickedness of the sinners be circumscribed by a definite limit and boundary. just as if some one, when praying for those who are suffering in body, would say, 'let the disease of those who are suffering come to an end.' in order that the sin slowly creeping farther may not spread like cancer,39 since 37 prov. 14.15. 38 ps. 7.10. 39 cf. 2 tim. 2.17: 'and their speech spreads like a cancer.' a homily 11 175 he loves his enemy and wishes to do good to those who hate him, and for this reason prays for those who treat him maliciously, he begs of god that the further outpouring of sin may cease and have definite bounds. ‘and thou shalt direct the just.'40 the just man is called righteous, and the heart which has been set straight is righteous. what, then, does the prophet's prayer mean here? for, he prays that one who already possesses righteousness be set right. one certainly would not say that there is anything crooked in a just man nor distorted nor twisted. but, perhaps, the prayer is necessary for the just man in order that his rightness in purpose and integrity of will may be directed by the guiding hand of god, so that he shall never through weakness turn aside from the canon, as it were, of truth, nor be misled by the enemy of truth through perverted doctrines. 'the searcher of hearts and reins is god.'41 since scripture in many places accepts the heart for the principal part of the body, and the reins for the affective part of the soul, here also this same expression signifies: 'o god, judge me for the teachings concerning piety which i hold and for the movements of my affections; for, you are the one who searches the hearts and the reins. a search is properly an inquiry with all manner of tortures brought upon those who are examined by the judges, in order that persons who conceal on themselves things sought may by the force of their sufferings restore the hidden object to sight. in the undeceivable inquiries of the judge our thoughts are examined and our deeds are examined. let no one, therefore, anticipate the true judge, and let no one judge before time, ‘until the lord comes, who will both bring to light the things hidden in darkness and make manifest the counsels of hearts.'42 in searching the hearts and the reins god shows his justice. now, the heart of abraham was 40 ps. 7.10. 41 ibid. 42 1 cor. 4.5. 176 saint basil searched to see if he loved god with his whole soul and his whole heart, when he was commanded to offer isaac as a holocaust, in order that he might show that he did not love his son above god. and jacob, who was the object of the plots of his brother, was searched, in order that his brotherly love might shine forth undimmed amidst such great sins of esau. therefore, the hearts of these were searched; but, the reins of joseph were searched when, although the licentious mistress was madly in love with him, he preferred the honor of chastity to shameful pleasure. moreover, he was searched for this reason, that the witnesses of the judgment of god might agree that honor was justly bestowed on him, because his chastity shone so very brightly in great trials. (7) 'my help is from god.'43 in wars those who are fighting rightly seek aid against the attacks of their opponents. and so here he who is aware of invisible enemies and who sees the danger near him from enemies encamped around him says: ‘my help is not from wealth nor from corporal resources nor from my own power and strength nor from human ties of kinship, but “my help is from god." 'what assistance the lord sends to those who fear him, we have learned elsewhere in a psalm which says: 'the angel of the lord shall encamp round about them that fear him: and shall deliver them.'44 and in another place: 'the angel who has delivered me.'45 'who saveth the upright of heart.'46 he is upright in heart who does not have his mind inclined to excess nor to deficiency, but directs his endeavors toward the mean of virtue. he who has turned aside from valor to something less is perverted through cowardice; but, he who has strained on to greater things inclines toward temerity. therefore, the scripture calls those ‘crooked' who go astray from the mean by excess or by deficiency. for, as a line becomes crooked when its 43 ps. 7.11. 44 ibid. 33.8. 45 gen. 48.16. 46 ps. 7.11. homily 11 177 a straightforward direction is deflected, now convexly, now concavely, so also a heart becomes crooked when it is at one time exalted through boastfulness, at another dejected through afflictions and humiliations. wherefore ecclesiastes says: 'the perverted will not be kept straight.'47 "god is a just judge, strong and patient: he is not angry every day.'48 the prophet seems to say this, alluding to those who are always disturbed at what happens, as if calming the confusion of men, lest at any time they mistrust his providence concerning the universe, when they see a father unavenged at the rebellion of his son and the wickedness of absalom prospering in whatever he proposed. correcting, therefore, the foolishness in their thoughts, he testified to them: 'god is a just judge, strong and patient: he is not angry every day.' not indiscriminately does any of the things that happen take place, but god measures out in turn to each person with the measures with which he first measured out the actions of their life. when i have committed a sin, i receive in return according to my desert. 'speak not, then, iniquity against god,'49 for god is a just judge. do not be so poorly disposed toward god as to think that he is too weak to avenge, for he is also strong. what reason is there, then, that swift vengeance is not inflicted on the sinner? because he is patient, 'he is not angry every day.' 'except you will be converted, he will polish his sword.'50 it is a threatening saying, urging on to conversion those who are slow to repent. he does not immediately threaten wounds and blows and death, but, the polishing of arms and a certain preparation, as it were, for vengeance. just as men who are polishing up their arms indicate by this action the attack in war, so scripture, wishing to bespeak a movement of god toward vengeance, says that he polishes his sword. 'he hath 47 cf. eccles. 1.15: ‘the perverse are hard to be corrected.' 48 ps. 7.12 (septaugint version). 49 lbid. 74.6. 50 ibid. 7.13. a 178 saint basil bent his bow, and made it ready, and in it he hath prepared the instruments of death.'51 there is no bowstring which stretches the bow of god, but a punitive power, now strained tight, again loosened. scripture threatens the sinner that future punishments are prepared for him, if he remains in his sin. 'and in the bow he hath prepared the instruments of death.' the instruments of death are the powers which destroy the enemies of god. 'he hath made ready his arrows for them that burn.'52 as fire was produced by the creator for material that burns-it certainly was not created for steel which is not melted by fire, but for wood which burns up-so also arrows were made by god for souls which are easily enkindled, whose great amount of material, worldly and suitable for destruction, has been collected. those, then, who have accepted beforehand and hold in themselves the burning arrows of the devil, are the ones who receive the arrows of god. for this reason scripture says: 'he hath made ready his arrows for them that burn.' carnal loves burn the soul, and so do desires for money, fiery wraths, griefs which inflame and melt the soul, and fears which estrange from god. he who is unharmed by the arrows of the enemy and who has put on the armor of god53 remains untouched by the death-bringing arrows. (8) 'behold he hath been in labor with injustice; he hath conceived sorrow, and brought forth iniquity.'54 the passage seems to be confused in its order, since they who are pregnant first conceive, then are in labor, and finally bring forth. but here, first comes the travail, then the conception, and lastly the delivery. however, this is most vivid for the conception by the heart. indeed, the irrational impulses of the licentious, the insane and frenzied lusts have been called travails because they are engendered in the soul with suddenness and pain. 51 ibid. 7.13, 14, 52 ibid. 7.14. 53 cf. eph. 6.11: 'put on the armor of god.' 54 ps. 7.15. homily 11 179 . through such an impulse he who has not command over his wicked practices, has begotten iniquity. david seems ashamed to say this because he is the father of a lawless son. 'he is not my son,' he says, but he has become the son of the father to whom he gave himself in adoption through sin.' therefore, according to john, 'he who commits sin is of the devil.'55 behold then, the devil was in labor with him through injustice, and he conceived him, as if he drew him within his innermost parts beneath the vitals of his own passion and was pregnant of him, then brought him forth, having made manifest his iniquity because his rebellion against his father was proclaimed to all. 'he hath opened a pit and dug it.'56 we do not find the name of ‘pit' (lákkos) ever assigned in the divine scriptures in the case of something good, nor a 'well’of water (phréar) in the case of something bad. that into which joseph was thrown by his brothers is a pit (lákkos).57 and there is a slaughter 'from the firstborn of pharao unto the firstborn of the captive woman that was in the prison (lákkon).'58 and in the psalms: 'i am counted among them that go down to the pit (lákkon).'59 and in jeremia it is said: “they have forsaken me, the fountain of living water, and have digged to themselves cisterns (lákkous), broken cisterns, that can hold no water.'60 moreover, in danielei the lions' den (lákkos), into which daniel was thrown, is described. on the other hand, abraham62 digs a well (phréar); so do the sons of isaac;63 and moses,64 coming to a well (phréar), rested. we 55 1 john 3.8. 56 ps. 7.16. 57 gen. 37.24. 58 exod. 12.29. 59 ps. 87.5. 60 jer. 2.13. 61 cf. dan. 6. 62 cf. gen. 26.15: 'they stopped up at that time all the wells that the servants of his father abraham had digged.' 63 cf. gen. 26.17-22. 64 exod. 2.15. 180 saint basil also receive the order from solomon 65 to drink water from our own cisterns (angeion) and from the streams of our wells (phreáton). and beside the well (pēgé) the savior conversed with the samaritan woman concerning the divine mysteries. 66 as to the reason for the pits being assigned among the worse things and the wells among the better, we think it is this. the water in the pit is something acquired, having fallen from the sky; but, in the wells streams of water, buried before the places were dug out, are revealed when the heaps of earth covering them and the material of any sort whatsoever, lying upon them, which is also all earth, have been removed. now, it is as if there were a pit in souls in which the better things, changed and debased, fall down, when a person, having resolved to have nothing good and noble of his own, puts to flight the thoughts of the good and noble that have slipped into it, twisting them to evil-doing and to contradictions of truth. and again, there are wells, when a light and a stream of water unimpaired in word and in doctrines break forth after the baser materials which had been covering it are removed. therefore, it is necessary for each one to prepare a well for himself, in order that he may guard the command mentioned previously, which says, 'drink water out of thy own cistern, and the streams of thy own well.'87 thus we shall be called the sons of those who have dug the wells, abraham, isaac, and jacob. but, a pit must not be dug lest we fall into the hole, as it is said in this place, and so fail to hear the words written in jeremia in reproach of sinners, for, god says concerning them what we have briefly mentioned before: 'they have forsaken me, the fountain of living water, and have digged to themselves cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water.' '68 65 prov, 5.15. 66 cf. john 4.6: ‘now jacob's well was there. jesus, therefore, wearied as he was from the journey, was sitting at the well.' 67 prov. 5.15. 68 jer. 2.13. homily 12 a psalm of david against usurers (on psalm 14) y esterday, when we were discussing with you the fourteenth psalm, 1 the time did not permit us to reach the end of our talk. now, we have come as considerate debtors to pay the debt of our deficiency. there is a small part still to be heard, so it seems, and probably, it escaped the notice of most of you, so that you do not think that any of the psalm was omitted. since we understand the great power in the affairs of life that this brief text possesses, we did not think that we ought to neglect the advantage of a close scrutiny. the prophet, describing in the text the perfect man who is about to arrive at the unchangeable life, enumerated among his noble deeds, the fact that he did not put his money out at interest. this sin has been censured in many places in scripture. indeed, ezechiels places it among the greatest of evils to take interest or any profit, and the law expressly forbids it. 'thou shalt not lend at interest to thy brother, and to thy neighbor.'' again it says: 'deceit upon deceit, and interest upon interest.' and concerning a city which is 1 this is st. basil's second homily on psalm 14. 2 cf. ps. 14.5: 'he that hath not put out his money to usury' 3 cf. ezech. 22.12: “thou hast taken usury and increase, and hast covetously oppressed thy neighbor.' 4 cf. deut. 23.19: “thou shalt not lend to thy brother money to usury, nor corn, nor any other thing.' 5 jer. 9.6 (septuagint version). 181 182 saint basil '8 flourishing with a multitude of evils, what does the psalm say? 'usury and deceit have not departed from its streets.'8 now, the prophet also has taken over this same practice as characteristic of perfection in man when he says: 'he hath not put out his money to usury."? truly, the act involves the greatest inhumanity, that the one in need of necessities seeks a loan for the relief of his life, and the other, not satisfied with the capital, contrives revenues for himself from the misfortunes of the poor man and gathers wealth. the lord has laid a clear command on us, saying: ‘and from him who would borrow of thee, do not turn away. but, the avaricious person, seeing a man by necessity bent down before his knees as a suppliant, practicing all humility, and uttering every manner of petition, does not pity one who is suffering misfortune beyond his desert; he takes no account of his nature; he does not yield to his supplications; but, rigid and harsh he stands, yielding to no entreaties, touched by no tears, persevering in his refusal. calling down curses on himself and swearing that he is entirely without money, and is himself looking around to see if he can find someone who lends money out at interest, he is believed in his lie because of his oaths, and incurs the guilt of perjury as the evil gains of his inhumanity. but, when he who is seeking the loan makes mention of interest and names his securities, then, pulling down his eyebrows, he smiles and remembers somewhere or other a family friendship, and calling him associate and friend, he says, “we shall see if we have any money at all reserved. there is a deposit of a dear friend who entrusted it to us for matters of business. he has assigned a heavy interest for it, but we shall certainly remit some and give it at a lower rate of interest.' making such pretenses, and fawning upon and enticing the wretched man with such words, he binds him with a 6 ps. 54.12. the septuagint version here uses kopos' in place of 'tokos.' 7 ibid. 14.5. 8 matt. 5.42. homily 12 183 contracts; then, after having imposed on the man the loss of his liberty in addition to his oppressing poverty, he departs. as the borrower has made himself responsible for the interest, of whose full payment he has no idea, he accepts a voluntary servitude for life. tell me, do you seek money and means from a poor man? if he had been able to make you richer, why would he have sought at your doors? coming for assistance, he found hostility. when searching around for antidotes, he came upon poisons. it was your duty to relieve the destitution of the man, but you, seeking to drain the desert dry, increased his need. just as if some physician, visiting the sick, instead of restoring health to them would take away even their little remnant of bodily strength, so you also would make the misfortunes of the wretched an opportunity of revenue. and, just as farmers pray for rains for the increase of their crops, so you also ask for poverty and want among men in order that your money may be productive for you. do you not know that you are making an addition to your sins greater than the increase to your wealth, which you are planning from the interest? he who is seeking the loan stops in the midst of his difficulties and despairs of the payment whenever he considers his poverty, but makes a rash bid for the loan when he considers his present need. and so, the one is overcome, yielding to his need; and the other departs, having safeguarded himself with securities and contracts. (2) he who has received the money is at first bright and cheerful, gladdened by another's prosperity and showing it by the change in his life. his table is lavish, his clothing more costly, his servants changed in dress to something more brilliant; there are flatterers, boon companions, innumerable dining-hall drones. but, as the money slips away, and the advancing time increases the interest due, the nights bring him no rest, the day is not bright, nor is the sun pleasant, but he is disgusted with life, he hates the days which hasten 184 saint basil '9 on toward the appointed time, he fears the months, the parents, as it were, of his interest. if he sleeps, he sees in his sleep the money-lender standing at his head, an evil dream; if he is awake, his whole thought and care is the interest. ‘the poor man and the creditor,' it is said, “have met one another; the lord makes a visitation of both of them.'! the one, like a dog, is greedy for the quarry; the other, like a prey ready at hand, cowers at the encounter. poverty takes away from him his confidence in speaking. both have the reckoning on the tips of their fingers, since the one is rejoicing at his increased interest, and the other lamenting his added misfortune. ‘drink water out of thy own cistern.'10 that is, examine your own resources, do not go to the springs belonging to others, but from your own streams gather for yourself the consolations of life. do you have metal plates, clothing, beasts of burden, utensils of every kind? sell them; permit all things to go except your liberty. but i am ashamed,' he says, 'to put them out in public.' why, pray tell me, seeing that a little later another will bring them forth, and, selling your possessions at an auction, will dispose of them at a price too low in your eyes? do not go to another's doors. 'for truly another's well is narrow.'11 it is better to relieve the necessity gradually by various devices, than, after having been suddenly lifted up by others' resources, to be later deprived of all your belongings at once. if, therefore, you have anything by means of which you may pay, why do you not put an end to your present need from those resources? if you are without means for the payment, you are treating evil with evil. do not take on a creditor to pester you. do not endure, like a prey, to be hunted and tracked down. borrowing is the beginning of falsity; an opportunity for ingratitude, for senseless pride, for 9 prov. 29.13 (septuagint version). 10 ibid. 5.15. 11 ibid. 23.27 (septuagint version). homily 12 185 a a perjury. the words of a man when he is borrowing are of one kind, those when payment is being demanded are of another. 'would that i had not met you, i would have found opportunity to deliver myself from my necessity. did you not put the money into my hand, although i was unwilling? your gold was mixed with copper and your coin was counterfeit.' if, then, your creditor is a friend, do not suffer the loss of his friendship; if he is an enemy, do not come under the control of a hostile person. after you have gloried for a little while in another's possessions, you will later be giving up your patrimonial possessions. you are poor now, but free. when you have borrowed, you will not be rich, and you will be deprived of freedom. he who borrows is the slave of his creditor, a slave serving for pay, who endures unmerciful servitude. dogs, when they have received something, are pacified, but the money-lender, on receiving something, is further provoked. he does not stop railing, but demands more. if you swear, he does not trust; he examines your family affairs; he meddles with your transactions. if you go forth from your chamber, he drags you along with him and carries you off; if you hide yourself inside, he stands before your house and knocks at the door. in the presence of your wife he puts you to shame; he insults you before your friends; in the market place he strangles you; he makes the occurrence of a feast an evil; he renders life insupportable for you. 'but the necessity was great, you say, 'and there were no other means of revenue.' well, what advantage is there from deferring the day? poverty like a good runner12 will again overtake you, and the same necessity with an increase will be present. for, the loan does not provide complete deliverance, but a short delaying of your hardship. let us suffer the difficulties from want today and not put it off until tomorrow. if you do not borrow, you will be poor today and likewise for the future; but, if you borrow, you will be more cruelly 12 cf. prov. 24.34: 'and poverty shall come to thee as a runner.' 186 saint basil a a tormented, since the interest has increased your poverty still more. at present no one brings a charge against you because you are poor; for, this is an involuntary evil; but, if you are liable for interest, there is no one who will not blame your imprudence. (3) let us not in addition to our involuntary evils bring on through our folly a self-chosen evil. it is the act of a childish mind not to adapt oneself according to present circumstances, but, turning to uncertain hopes, to make trial boldly of a visible and undeniable evil. plan now how you will make the payment. is it from this money which you are receiving? and, if you reckon the interest, how will you multiply your money to such an extent, that on the one hand, it will take care of your need, and on the other, will make up the complete capital and produce besides the interest. but, you will not pay off the loan from what you receive. from elsewhere, then? let us not wait for those hopes and let us not go like fish after the bait. as they swallow down the hook with the food, so we also through the money are entangled in the interest. poverty is no cause of shame. why, then, do we bring upon ourselves the disgrace of being in debt? no one treats wounds with another wound, nor cures an ill with another ill, nor corrects poverty by means of interest. are you rich? do not borrow. are you poor? do not borrow. if you are prospering, you have no need of a loan; if you have nothing, you will not repay the loan. do not give your life over to regret, lest at some time you may esteem as happy the days before the loan. let us, the poor, surpass the rich in this one thing, namely, freedom from care. let us laugh at them lying awake while we sleep, and always engaged and anxious while we are free from care and at ease. yet, he who owes is both poor and full of care, sleepless by night, sleepless by day, anxious at all times; now he is putting a value on his own possessions, now on the costly houses, the fields of the rich, the clothing of chance comers, the tablehomily 12 187 furnishings of those entertaining. 'if these were mine,' he says, 'i would sell them for such and such a price, and i would be free from the interest.' these things settle in his heart by night, and by day they occupy his thoughts. if you knock at his door, the debtor hides under the couch. if some one ran in quickly, his heart pounded. does the dog bark? he drips with perspiration; he suffers anguish; he looks around to see where he can flee. when the appointed time draws near, he is anxious about what falsehood he shall tell, what pretext he shall invent so as to evade his creditor. do not think of yourself only as receiving, but also as being dunned. why do you yoke yourself with a prolific wild beast? they say that hares bring forth and at the same time both rear young and become doubly pregnant.18 so also with moneylenders, the money is lent out and, at the same time, it reproduces from itself and is in a process of growth. you have not yet received it in your hands and you have been required to pay out the interest for the present month. and this, lent out again, has nourished another evil, and that another, and so the evil is endless. therefore, this form of avarice is considered deserving of this name. for, it is called 'tókos' (parturition), as i think, because of the fecundity of the evil. in fact, from where else would it receive its name? or, perhaps, it is called 'tókos' (parturition) because of the anguish and distress which it is accustomed to produce in the souls of the borrowers. as travail comes to the one who is giving birth, so the appointed day comes to the debtor. there is interest upon interest, the wicked offspring of wicked parents. let these offspring of interest be called broods of vipers. they say that vipers are born by gnawing through the womb of the mother.14 13 cf. aristotle, history of animals 6.33.579b f.: 'hares breed and bear at all seasons, superfetate during pregnancy, and bear young, every month. they do not give birth to their young ones all together at one time, but bring them forth at intervals over as many days as the circumstances of each case may require. the female . . . is capable of conception while suckling her young.' 14 cf. hexaemeron, homily 9, n.15. 188 saint basil and the interests are produced by eating up the houses of the debtors. seeds spring up in time; and animals in time bring their offspring to perfection; but the interest is produced today, and today again begins its breeding. those of the animals which give birth early, early cease from bearing; but money, which speedily begins to bear interest, takes on an endless increase which becomes greater and greater. everything that increases, when it reaches its proper size, stops increasing; but the money of avaricious men always increases progressively with time. the animals, after transmitting to the offspring the power of bearing, desist from conception; both the money of the money-lenders and the accruing interest produce, and the capital is redoubled. do not, then, make trial of this unnatural beast. (4) you see that the sun is free. why do you begrudge freedom of life to yourself? no boxer avoids the blows of his antagonist as much as the debtor avoids a meeting with his creditor, hiding his head behind pillars and walls. 'well, how could i be fed?' he says. you have hands; you have skill; put yourself out for hire; do service; there are many devices for earning a livelihood, many opportunities. but, you are unable to do it? beg from those who have possessions. is begging a shameful act? it is certainly more disgraceful to refuse payment of borrowed money. and i say this, assuredly, not to enact a law, but to show that any methods are more endurable than borrowing. the ant is able, neither begging nor borrowing, to nourish itself; and the honey bee bestows upon kings the remains of its own nourishment; yet to these, nature has given neither hands nor arts. but, will you, a man, an inventive animal, not find one device for the guidance of your life? and yet, we see that it is not those in need of the necessities who come for a loan (for, they do not find any who trust them), but, that men who devote themselves to unrestrained expenses and fruitless extravagances and who are slaves to effeminate luxuries, are the borrowers. 'i need for myself," he homily 12 189 says, 'costly clothing and gold plate, for my sons decent garments as an ornament for them, also for my servants brightcolored and varied attire, and for my table abundance of food.' he who does such things for a woman goes to a money-changer and, before he has spent what he has received, he changes one master for another; and always fastening to himself one lender after another, he thus endeavors to escape the evidence of his need by the continuous succession of evils. as those who suffer from dropsy are thought to be fat, so also he lives with an appearance of wealth, always receiving and always giving, settling the first debts by those following, acquiring for himself the apparent trustworthiness required for getting money by the continuous succession of evil. then, just as those with cholera, who are always vomiting what was taken previously, and who, before they are entirely purged, are swallowing down another meal, again give it up with pain and convulsions; in the same way, these also, who substitute interest for interest and who, before they are cleared of the first, bring on another loan and glory for a little while in another's wealth, later bewail their own affairs. o, how many have been destroyed by the possessions of other men? how many men, after building castles in the air, have as their only benefit, a loss beyond measure? 'but many,' he says, 'grow rich from loans.' but more, i think, fasten themselves to halters. you see those who have become rich, but you do not count those who have been strangled, who, not enduring the shame incurred by their begging, preferred death through strangling to a shameful life. i have seen a piteous sight, free sons dragged to the market place to be sold because of the paternal debt. you are not able to leave money to your sons? do not deprive them as well of their dignity. preserve for them this one thing, the possession of their liberty, the sacred trust which you received from your parents. no one has ever been prosecuted for the poverty of his father, but a father's 190 saint basil debt leads into prison. do not leave a bond, a paternal curse, as it were, descending upon the sons and grandsons. (5) listen, you rich men, to what we advise the poor because of your inhumanity: rather to persevere in their terrible situations than to accept the misfortunes which come from the payment of interest. but, if you obey the lord, what need is there of these words? what is the counsel of the master? 'lend to those from whom you do not hope to receive in return.'15 ‘and what sort of a loan is this,' he says, 'to which there is no hope of a return attached?' consider the force of the statement, and you will admire the kindness of the lawmaker. whenever you have the intention of providing for a poor man for the lord's sake, the same thing is both a gift and a loan, a gift because of the expectation of no repayment, but a loan because of the great gift of the master who pays in his place, and who, receiving trifling things through a poor man, will give great things in return for them. 'he that hath mercy on the poor, lendeth to god.'16 do you not wish to have the lord of the universe answerable to you for payment? or, if one of the rich men in the city would promise you the payment for the others, would you accept his pledge? but, you do not accept god as the surety for the poor. give the money, since it is lying idle, without weighing it down with additional charges, and it will be good for both of you. there will be for you the assurance of its safety because of his custody; for him receiving it, the advantage from its use. and, if you are seeking additional payment, be satisfied with that from the lord. he himself will pay the interest for the poor. expect kindly acts from him who is truly kind. this interest, which you take, is full of extreme inhumanity. you make profit from misfortune, you collect money from tears, you strangle the naked, you beat the famished; nowhere is there mercy, no 15 cf. luke 6.35: ‘but love your enemies; and do good, and lend, not hoping for any return.' 16 prov. 19.17. homily 12 191 thought of relationship with the sufferer; and you call the profits from these things humane! woe to you who say that the bitter is sweet and the sweet bitter,17 and who call inhumanity by the name of humanity. the riddles of sampson, which he propounded to his fellow-drinkers, were not of such a kind: 'out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness,'18 and from inhumanity came forth humanity. men do not gather grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles,'19 nor humanity from interest. every 'bad tree bears bad fruit.'20 some are collectors of a hundredfold and some collectors of tenfold, names horrible indeed to hear; monthly exactors, they attack the poor according to the cycles of the moon, like those demons which cause epileptic fits. it is wicked lending for both, for the giver and for the receiver, bringing loss to the one in money and to the other in soul. the farmer, when he has taken his ear of corn, does not search for the seed again under the root; but, you have the fruits and you do not give up claim to the principal. without land you produce, without sowing you reap. it is not evident for whom you collect. it is indeed apparent who he is who weeps because of the interest, but it is doubtful who he is who is to enjoy the abundance that comes from it. in fact, it is uncertain whether you will not leave to others the gift of wealth, but the evil of injustice you have treasured up for yourself. 'and from ‘ him who would borrow of thee, do not turn away,'21 and do not give your money at interest, in order that, having been taught what is good from the old and the new testament, you may depart to the lord with good hope, receiving there the interest from your good deeds, in christ jesus our lord, to whom be glory and power forever. amen. 17 cf. isa. 5.20: 'woe to you that call evil good, and good evil: that put darkness for light, and light for darkness: that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter.' 18 judges 14.14. 19 matt. 7.16. 20 ibid. 7.17. 21 ibid. 5.42. homily 13 a psalm of david at the finishing of the tabernacle (on psalm 28) he twenty-eighth psalm has a general title, for it says, a psalm of david,' and it has something specific also, since it adds, 'at the finishing of the tabernacle.' but, what is this? let us consider what the finishing is and what the tabernacle is, in order that we may be able to meditate on the meaning of the psalm. now, as regards the history, it will seem that the order was given to the priests and levites who had acquitted themselves of the work to remember what they ought to prepare for the divine service. scripture, furthermore, solemnly declares to those going out and departing from the tabernacle what it is proper for them to prepare and to have for their assembly on the following day: namely, 'offspring of rams, glory and honor, glory to his name'; likewise it declares that nowhere else is it becoming to worship except in the court of the lord and in the place of holiness.1 but, according to our mind which contemplates the sublime and makes the law familiar to us through a meaning which is noble and fitted to the divine scripture, this occurs to us: the ram does not mean the male among the sheep; nor the tabernacle, the building constructed from this inanimate material; and 1 cf. ps. 28.1, 2: 'bring to the lord, o ye children of god: bring to the lord the offspring of rams. bring to the lord glory and honor: bring to the lord glory to his name: adore ye the lord in his holy court.' 193 194 saint basil 2 the going out from the tabernacle does not mean the departure from the temple; but, the tabernacle for us is this body, as the apostle taught us when he said: 'we who are in this tabernacle sigh." and again, the psalm: 'nor shall the scourge come near thy dwelling.'3 and the finishing of the tabernacle is the departure from this life, for which scripture bids us to be prepared, bringing this thing and that to the lord, since, indeed, our labor here is our provision for the future life. and that one who here bears glory and honor to the lord through his good works will treasure up for himself glory and honor according to the just requital of the judge. in many copies we find added the words, ‘bring to the lord, оye ildren of god.'4 and, since indeed not everyone's gift is acceptable to god, but only his who brings it with a pure heart, for scripture says: 'the vows of a hired courtesan are not pure';5 and again, jeremia says: 'shall not your vows and the holy flesh take away from you your crimes, or shall you be pure on account of these?’e therefore, the psalm first wants us to be the children of god, then to seek to carry our gifts to god, and not just any gifts, but whatever ones he himself has appointed. first, say 'father,' then ask for what follows from that. examine from what kind of life you have presented yourself; whether you are worthy to call the holy god your father. through holiness we have affection for the holy one. if you wish to be always the son of the holy one, let holiness adopt you as a son. therefore, 'bring to the lord,' not you who are just any persons nor who are sons of just any persons, but you who are children of god. you may be sure that he demands great gifts; therefore, he chooses great men to offer them. in order that he may not cast your thoughts down to earth, and make you seek a ram, that irrational beast and 2 2 cor. 5.4. 3 ps. 90.10. 4 ibid. 28.1. 5 prov. 19.13 (septuagint version). 6 jer. 11.15 (septuagint version). homily 13 195 bleating animal as if you expected to appease god by sacrificing it, he says: 'bring to the lord, o ye children of the lord.' there is no need of a son that you may offer the son himself, but, if a son is something great, it is proper for the offering to be something great and worthy of the affection of a son and of the dignity of the father. he says: 'bring the offspring of rams,' that, when they are offered by you, they may be changed from the state of offspring of rams into that of children of god. (2) the ram is an animal capable of leading, one which guides the sheep to nourishing pastures and refreshing waters, and back again to the pens and farmhouses. such are those who are set over the flock of christ, since they lead them forth to the flowery and fragrant nourishment of spiritual doctrine, water them with living water, the gift of the spirit, raise them up and nourish them to produce fruit, but guide them to rest and to safety from those who lay snares for them. scripture wishes, then, the children of these to be led forth to the lord by the children of god. if the leaders of the rest are the rams, their children would be those formed to a life of virtue through zeal for good works by the teaching of the leaders. therefore, ‘bring to the lord, o ye children of god; bring to the lord the offspring of rams.' have you learned to whom it was addressed? have you learned concerning whom he spoke? 'bring to the lord,' he says, 'glory and honor."? now, how do we, dust and ashes,& offer glory to the great lord? and how honor? glory, through our good works, when our works shine before men, so that men seeing our works give glory to our father in heaven. and through temperance and holiness which is incumbent upon those who profess piety it is possible 8 7 ps. 28.2. 8 cf. gen. 18.27: ‘abraham answered, “i have ventured to speak to the lord though i am but dust and ashes." 9 cf. matt. 5.16: ‘even so let your light shine before men, in order that they may see your good works and give glory to your father in heaven.' 196 saint basil to give glory to god, according to the admonition of paul, who said: 'glorify god in your members.'10 the lord also demands this glory from those who believe in him and who have been honored with the gift of the adoption of sons. “the son' it is said, 'honoreth the father, and, ‘if then i be a father, where is my honor?'11 he truly bears honor to god, who according to the proverb honors god by his just labors and offers to him the first fruits of his justice.12 everyone who discusses divine matters in an orderly way so as always to hold the correct opinion concerning the father, the godhead of the onlybegotten, and the glory of the holy spirit, brings glory and honor to the lord. and, because his providence penetrates even to the smallest things, he increases the glory who is able to give the reasons for which all things were created and for which they are preserved, and also for which, after this present stewardship, they will be brought to judgment. he who is able himself to contemplate each individual creature with clear and unconfused thoughts and, after having contemplated them himself, is able to present to others also the facts concerning the goodness of god and his just judgment, he is the one who brings glory and honor to the lord and who lives a life in harmony with this contemplation. for, the light of such a man shines before men,13 since by word and work and through manly deeds of every kind the father in heaven is glorified. he does not bring glory and honor to the lord who becomes passionately stirred over human glory, nor he who prizes money, nor he who sets great store on the pleasures of the body, nor he who regards with admiration strange religious beliefs. just as through good works we bring glory to the lord, so through wicked works we do the opposite. what, , indeed, does he say to sinners? 'my name is blasphemed 10 1 cor. 6.20 (septuagint version with ‘mélesin' substituted for ‘somati'). 11 mal. 1.6. 12 cf. prov. 3.9: 'honor the lord with thy substance, and give him of the first of all thy fruits.' 13 cf. matt. 5.16. homily 13 197 through you among the gentiles.'14 again, the apostle says: ‘dost thou dishonor god by transgressing the law?'15 for, contempt and disregard of the laws is an insult to the lawgiver. when a house is badly managed, and in it are found passion and screaming, insolence and mocking laughter, wantonness and profligacy, impurity and licentiousness, the disgrace and shame of what happens fall upon him who is its master. consequently, we believe that, as in good works god is honored, so in wicked works the enemy is honored. when 'i shall take the members of christ and make them members of a harlot,'16 i have transferred the glory from him who saved me to him who destroys me. the unbeliever ‘changes the glory of the incorruptible god for an image made like to corruptible man and to birds and four-footed beasts and creeping things' on earth.17 and he who worships and serves the creature more than the creator does not bring glory to god, but to the creatures. therefore, let him who says that a creature is some great thing and then worships it, know with what party he himself will be placed. let us fear lest, by bringing glory and occasions of exultation to the devil through our sins, we may be handed over to everlasting shame with him. that our sin becomes glory for him who effects it in us, understand by a similitude. when two generals make an attack upon each other, and one army wins, its commander receives the glory; but, when the opposing one is victorious, the honor is in turn transferred to him. thus, the lord is the one honored in your good deeds, but in your contrary acts his opponent is honored. do not, i pray, consider that the enemy is far from you, and do not look at the leaders from afar, but examine yourself and you will find all the truth of the similitude. for, when the mind . 14 cf. rom. 2.24: ““for the name of god," as it is written, "is blasphemed through you among the gentiles.' 15 rom. 2.23. 16 1 cor. 6.15. 17 rom. 1.23. 198 saint basil wrestles with passion, if, indeed, it prevails through vigor and attention, it wins the prize of victory over the passion and by its own means, as it were, it crowns god. but, when it becomes soft and stoops to pleasure, being made a slave and captive of sins, it gives to the enemy a cause of boasting and conceit and an opportunity for pride. (3) 'adore ye the lord in his holy court.'18 after the offerings requested have been brought, adoration is necessary, and an adoration which is not outside of the church, but is paid in the very court of god. 'do not,' he says, 'devise for me private courts or synagogues.' there is only one holy court of god. the synagogue of the jews was formerly a court, but, after the sin against christ, their habitation was made desolate.19 for this reason also the lord said: 'and other sheep i have that are not of this fold.'20 in saying that some from among the gentiles were predestined for salvation, he shows his own court in addition to that of the jews. accordingly, it is not proper to adore god outside of this holy court, but only within it, lest anyone who is outside of it and is attracted by those outside of it, might lose the right to be in the court of the lord. many assume an attitude of prayer, but they are not in the court because of the wandering of their mind and the distraction of their thoughts coming from vain solicitude. it is possible to consider the court in a still loftier sense as the heavenly way of life. therefore, 'they that are planted' here in the house of the lord,' which is the church of the living god, there 'shall flourish in the courts of our god.'21 but, he who makes his belly a god, or glory, or money, or anything else which he honors more than all things, neither adores the lord, nor is in the holy court, even though he seems to be worthy of the visible assemblies. 18 ps. 28.2. 19 cf. ps. 68.26: 'let their habitation be made desolate.' 20 john 10.16. 'aulês,'translated 'court' in ps. 28.2, is here translated 'fold.' 21 ps. 91.14. homily 13 199 'the voice of the lord is upon the waters.'22 in many places you might find the word 'voice' occurring. therefore, for the sake of understanding what the voice of the lord is, we should gather, as far as we are able, from the divine scripture what has been said about the voice; for instance, in the divine warning to abraham: 'and immediately the voice came to him: he shall not be your heir.'23 and in moses: 'and all the people saw the voice and the flames.'24 again, in isaia: 'the voice of one saying: cry.'25 with us, then, voice is either air which has been struck or some form which is in the air against which he who is crying out wishes to strike. now, what is the voice of the lord? would it be considered the impact on the air? or air, which has been struck reaching the hearing of him to whom the voice comes? or neither of these, but that this is a voice of another kind, namely, an image formed by the mind of men whom god wishes to hear his own voice, so that they have this representation corresponding to that which frequently occurs in their dreams? indeed, just as, although the air is not struck, we keep some recollection of certain words and sounds occurring in our dreams, not receiving the voice through our hearing, but through the impression on our heart itself, so also we must believe that some such voice from god appeared in the prophets. ‘the voice of the lord is upon the waters.' as, indeed, in regard to the sensible creation, since the clouds, when they are full of water, produce sound and noise, striking against each other, 'the voice' it is said, ‘of the lord is upon the waters.' then, too, if there should be the noise of waters breaking against some barrier, and if the sea, thrown into confusion by the winds, should seethe and send forth a mighty sound, these inanimate creatures have voice from the lord, 22 ibid. 28.3. 23 gen. 15.4. 24 exod. 20.18. 25 isa. 40.6. 200 saint basil since scripture shows that every creature all but cries out, proclaiming the creator. if the thunder crashes from the clouds, we need believe only that the god of majesty has thundered and that he who by himself preserves the moisture is the lord. 'the lord is upon many waters.'26 we have learned in the creation of the world that there is water above the heavens, again, water of the deep, and yet again, the gathered waters of the seas. who, then, is he who holds together these waters, not allowing them to be borne downward by their physical weight, except the lord who established himself upon all things, who holds sway over the waters? perhaps, even in a more mystic manner the voice of the lord was upon the waters, when a voice from above came to jesus as he was baptized, 'this is my beloved son."27 at that time, truly, the lord was upon many waters, making the waters holy through baptism; but, the god of majesty thundered from above with a mighty voice of testimony. and over those to be baptized a voice left behind by the lord is pronounced: 'go, therefore,' it says, 'baptize in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit.'28 therefore, 'the voice of the lord is upon the waters.' thunder is produced when a dry and violent wind, closed up in the hollows of a cloud and violently hurled around in the cavities of the clouds, seeks a passage to the outside. the clouds, offering resistance under the excessive pressure produce that harsh sound from the friction of the wind. but, when, like bubbles distended by the air, they are unable to resist and endure any longer, but are violently torn apart and give the air a passage to the outer breeze, they produce the noises of the thunder. and this is wont to cause the flash of 26 ps. 28.3. 27 matt. 3.17. 28 ibid. 28.19. homily 13 201 lightning 29 therefore, it is the lord who is upon the waters and who arouses the mighty noises of the thunder, causing such an exceedingly great noise in the delicate element of air. it is also possible for you, according to ecclesiastical diction to call by the name of thunder the doctrine which after baptism is in the souls of those already perfect by the eloquence of the gospel. that the gospel is thunder is made evident by the disciples who were given a new name by the lord and called sons of thunder.30 therefore, the voice of such thunder is not in any chance person, but only in one who is worthy to be called a wheel. 'the voice of thy thunder, it says, 'in a wheel.'31 that is, whoever is stretching forward, like a wheel, touching the earth with a small part of itself, and really such as that wheel was, about which ezechiel said: 'i saw and behold there was one wheel on the earth attached to the four living creatures, and their appearance and their form was as the appearance of tharsis.'32 (4) 'the god of majesty hath thundered, the lord is upon many waters.' the waters are also the saints, because rivers flow from within them,33 that is, spiritual teaching which refreshes the souls of the hearers. again, they receive water which springs up to eternal life, wherefore, it becomes in those who receive it rightly 'a fountain of water, springing up unto 29 cf. aristotle's theory in meteorology 2.9.369a and b: 'now the heat in the clouds that escapes disperses to the upper region. but if any of the dry exhalation is caught in the process as the air cools, it is squeezed out as the clouds contract, and collides in its rapid course with the neighboring clouds, and the sound of this collision is what we call thunder. ... the variety of the sound is due to the irregularity of the clouds and the hollows that intervene where their density is interrupted. it usually happens that the exhalation that is ejected is inflamed and burns with a thin and faint fire: this is what we call lightning.' 30 cf. mark 3.17: 'and james the son of zebedee, and john the brother of james (these he surnamed boanerges, that is, sons of thunder) :' 31 ps. 76.19. 32 cf. ezech. 1.15 (septuagint version). 33 cf. john 7.38: 'he who believes in me, as the scripture says, "from within him there shall flow rivers of living water.' 202 saint basil life everlasting.'34 upon such waters, then, is the lord. remember also the story of elias, when the heavens were closed three years and six months; when, although there was clear weather on the summit of carmel, he heard a voice of many waters; then there followed thunder coming from the clouds and water pouring down.35 the lord, therefore, is upon many waters. 'the voice of the lord is in power.'36 as there is a voice in a wheel, so the voice of the lord is in power. for, he who prevails over all things in christ who strengthens him,37 he it is who hears the commands of the lord and does them. therefore, the voice of the lord is not in the weak and dissolute soul, but in that which vigorously and powerfully achieves the good. 'the voice of the lord in magnificence.'38 magnificence is virtue extraordinarily great. he who performs great actions becomingly, such a one hears himself called magnificent. when the soul is not enslaved by the pride of the flesh, but assumes a greatness and dignity proper to it because of its awareness of its attributes received from god, in this soul is the voice of the lord. therefore, they who entertain noble thoughts of god, contemplating sublimely the reasons for creation, and being able to comprehend to a certain extent at least the goodness of god's providence, and who besides are unsparing in their expenditures and are munificent in supplying the needs of their brothers, these are the magnificent men in whom the voice of the lord dwells. in truth the magnificent man despises all bodily things, judging them deserving of no account in comparison with the unseen world. no difficult conditions will grieve the magnificent man; nor, 34 john 4.14. 35 cf. 3 kings 18.41-45. 36 ps. 28.4. 37 cf. 1 tim. 1.12: 'i give thanks to christ jesus our lord, who has strengthened me.' 38 ps. 28.4. homily 13 203 in short, will any suffering greatly trouble him, nor will the sins of paltry and contemptible little men move him, nor the impurity of the flesh humble him. he is difficult of access to the humiliating passions, which cannot even look upon him because of the loftiness of his mind. there is mentioned also a certain magnificence of god, according to the saying: 'thy magnificence is elevated above the heavens.'39 those, then, who give great glory to god, elevate his magnificence. (5) 'the voice of the lord breaketh the cedars.'40 the cedar is at times praised by scripture as a stable tree, free from decay, fragrant, and adequate for supplying shelter, but at times it is attacked as unfruitful and hard to bend, so that it offers a representation of impiety. 'i have seen the wicked highly exalted, and lifted up like the cedars of libanus.'41 in this sense it is now accepted. for 'the voice of the lord breaketh the cedars.' as this even happens in a magnificent soul, so he is said to break those vainly puffed up and magnifying themselves in the things of this world which are considered exalting, wealth, glory, power, beauty of body, influence, or strength. 'yea, the lord breaks the cedars of libanus.'42 they who trample upon others' affairs and from that gather false glory for themselves, they are cedars of libanus. just as the cedars, which are lofty in themselves, because they are produced on a high mountain become more conspicuous through the added height of the mountain, so also those leaning upon the perishable things of the world are cedars indeed through their false glory and vanity of mind; and they are called cedars of libanus because they are glorying in the elevation which belongs to another and are raised up to their false glory by the earth and earthly circumstances, as if by the summit of libanus. however, the lord does not break all the cedars, but those 39 ibid. 8.2. 40 ibid. 28.5. 41 ibid. 36.35. 42 ibid, 28.5. 204 saint basil 43 44 of libanus. since libanus is a place of idolatry, the souls which lift themselves up, opposing the means of knowing god, are called cedars of libanus and they deserve to be broken. there are also some cedars of god, which are covered by the branches of the vine transferred from egypt, as we have learned in psalms: 'the shadow of it covered the hills; and the branches thereof the cedars of god.' then, among other concepts of christ, our lord is said to be a vine: 'i am the vine,' he says, 'you are the branches.” the cedars are god's, which for a time were unfruitful and fit for burning, but, coming under the protection of christ and, as it were, clothed in him, by the grace coming from him they veil the unfruitfulness of their life. the fruitful branches, embracing, guard the cedars of god; but, the cedars of libanus the lord breaks: ‘and he shall reduce them to pieces, as a calf of libanus.'45 remember the calf in exodus, which they fashioned through idolatry, which moses beat to powder and gave to the people to drink.46 in a manner similar to that calf, he will utterly destroy all libanus and the practice of idolatry prevailing in it. “and as the beloved son of unicorns.'47 the onlybegotten son, he who gives his life for the world whenever he offers himself as a sacrifice and oblation to god for our sins, is called both lamb of god and a sheep. 'behold,' it is said, 'the lamb of god.'48 and again: 'he was led like a sheep to slaughter.'49 but, when it is necessary to take vengeance and to overthrow the power attacking the race of men, a certain wild and savage force, then he will be called the son 43 ibid. 79.11. 44 john 15.5. 45 ps. 28.6. 46 cf. exod. 32.20: “and laying hold of the calf which they had made, he burnt it, and beat it to powder, which he strowed into the water, and gave thereof to the children of israel to drink.' 47 ps. 28.6. 48 john 1.29. 49 acts 8.32; isa. 53.7. homily 13 205 of unicorns. for, as we have learned in job, the unicorn is a creature, irresistible in might and unsubjected to man. 'for, thou canst not bind him with a thong,' he says, 'nor will he stay at thy crib.'50 there is also much said in that part of the prophecy about the animal acting like a free man and not submitting to men. it has been observed that the scripture has used the comparison of the unicorn in both ways, at one time in praise, at another in censure. 'deliver,' he says, 'my soul from the sword ... and my lowness from the horns of the unicorns.'51 he said these words complaining of the warlike people who in the time of passion rose up in rebellion against him. again, he says, 'my horn shall be exalted like that of the unicorn.'52 it seems that on account of the promptness of the animal in repelling attacks it is frequently found representing the baser things, and because of its high horn and freedom it is assigned to represent the better. on the whole, since it is possible to find the 'horn' used by scripture in many places instead of 'glory,' as the saying: 'he will exalt the horn of his people,'63 and 'his horn shall be exalted in glory,'64 or also, since the ‘horn' is frequently used instead of 'power,' as the saying: 'my protector and the horn of my salvation,'55 christ is the power of god; therefore, he is called the unicorn on the ground that he has one horn, that is, one common power with the father. (6) 'the voice of the lord divideth the flame of fire.'56 according to the story of the three children in babylon57 the flame of fire was divided, when the furnace poured forth the fire forty-nine cubits high and burned up all those around; but, the flame, divided by the command of god, admitted the 50 job 39.10. 51 ps. 21.21, 22. 52 ibid. 91.11. 53 ibid. 148.14. 54 ibid. 111.9. 55 ibid. 17.3. 56 ibid. 28.7. 57 cf. dan. 3.47-50. 206 saint basil wind within itself, providing for the boys a most pleasant breeze and coolness as in the shade of plants in a tranquil spot. for, it was, it is said, 'like the blowing of a wind bringing dew.'58 and it is far more wonderful for the element of fire to be divided than for the red sea to be separated into parts. nevertheless, the voice of the lord divides the continuity and unity in the nature of fire. although fire seems to human intelligence to be incapable of being cut or divided, yet by the command of the lord it is cut through and divided. i believe that the fire prepared in punishment for the devil and his angels59 is divided by the voice of the lord, in order that, since there are two capacities in fire, the burning and the illuminating, the fierce and punitive part of the fire may wait for those who deserve to burn, while its illuminating and radiant part may be allotted for the enjoyment of those who are rejoicing. therefore, the voice of the lord divideth the fire and allots it, so that the fire of punishment is darksome, but the light of the state of rest remains incapable of burning. "the voice of the lord shaketh the desert.'80 the shaking of the desert is dispensed as a benefit to it from the lord, in order that, having changed from its desolate state, it may become an inhabited land and, having laid aside the reproach of barrenness, it may receive the praise of fecundity (*for many are the children of the desolate, more than of her that hath a husband.'61), and being filled with the spirit of the waters, that which before was desert may be made into pools of standing water. 'the lord shall shake the desert of cades.'62 now, the lord will not shake every desert, but that of cades, that is, sanctification. for, cades is interpreted 'sanctification.' ‘the voice of the lord prepareth the stags.'63 the words 58 dan. 3.50. 59 cf. matt. 25.41: ““depart from me, accursed ones, into the everlasting fire which was prepared for the devil and his angels." ' 60 ps. 28.8. 61 isa. 54.1. 62 ps. 28.8. 63 ibid. 28.9. homily 13 207 concerning the preparation of the stags, which was made by the voice of the lord, must be explained with the same esteem as those previously mentioned. accordingly, since the stag obtained such a preparation that it is unharmed by the bite of serpents;64 on the contrary, that the meat of the viper is even a purgative for it, as they say who have observed these things, and since all poisonous animals are accepted for the representation of the wicked and contrary powers (for, the lord says: 'i have given you power to tread upon serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy.'65 and again, the psalm promises to the prophet: 'thou shalt walk upon the asp and the basilisk, '66), it is necessary, whenever we hear the word 'stag' in the scripture, to take the word for the representation of the better power. “the high hills are for the harts,'67 and 'the hart panteth after the fountains of water.'68 since, then, every just man has his abode on the heights ‘pressing on toward the goal, to the prize of the heavenly call, '69 he returns to the fresh fountains, searching for the first sources of theology. but, the hart draws out with the breathing of his mouth the hidden venomous animals, and leads them out from their hiding places by the force of his breath. just as the holy man is called an eagle because he walks on high and because he is separated very far from the earth, and a sheep because of his gentleness and the free gift of what he possesses, and a ram because of his authority, and a dove because of his innocence, so also, he is called the hart because of his opposition to wickedness. therefore solomon says: ‘let thy dearest hind and most agreeable fawn consort with 64 aristotle, in history of animals 9.5.611b, says that, if a stag is stung by a venom-spider or similar insect, it gathers crabs and eats them; however, he does not mention the bite of the serpent. 65 luke 10.19. 66 ps. 90.13. 67 ibid. 103.18. 68 ibid. 41.2. 69 phil. 3.14. 208 saint basil thee,'70 showing us that the harts, as mentioned previously, are suitable in the teaching of theology. (7) 'the voice of the lord prepareth the stags.' when, then, we see some man of god perfect and prepared, we seek for profit from intercourse with him. wherever a stag is present, all the evil of serpents is banished. the venomous animals do not endure the odor of this animal and, in truth, when its horns are burnt for fumigation, they withdraw elsewhere. and he will discover the thick woods.'71 first, the voice of the lord prepares the stags, then it discovers the thick woods, natural spots made dense with wild and unfruitful material, to which, especially, the venomous animals are wont to flee. since, therefore, the stag has already been perfected by the preparation made by the lord, the just man, made like to it, discovers the thick woods, so that, uncovered and ready, the corruptors of our life may be delivered up. and because ‘every tree that is not bringing forth good fruit is to be cut down by the axe and thrown into the fire, '72 necessarily, the thick woods, the woody souls in which, like some wild beasts, the varied passions of sins lurk, are cleared out by that word, which is 'keener than any two-edged sword.'73 when many men, laden with the cares of life, keep their souls like some thorn-producing land and do not allow them to be trained to bear the fruit of the word, the lord discovers the thick woods, that is, the deformity and unseemliness and harmfulness of the cares of this life, in order that, when the place of good and evil has been made plain, men may not through ignorance hold perverse judgments concerning their affairs. many think that the good, when it is painful, is evil, and they pursue the bad, because of the pleasure attached to it, as good. the misconception about such things among men is unspeakably great. therefore, the fruitful woods and all cedars, which also receive 70 prov. 5.19 (septuagint version). 71 ps. 28.9. 72 matt. 3.10. 73 heb. 4.12. homily 13 209 praise, belong to the nature of the good; but, the thick woods, which the voice of god discovers and reveals in order that those who think that they will find some useful fruit in them may not be deceived, belong to the nature of the bad. ‘and in his temple all shall speak his glory.'74 let those who give themselves to long conversations hear the words of the psalm and take heed. what does the psalm say? he who is in the temple of god does not speak out abuse nor folly nor words full of shameful matters, but, ‘in his temple all shall speak his glory.' holy angels stand by, who write the words; the lord is present, who sees the affections of those entering. the prayer of each is manifested to god; one seeks heavenly things affectionately and one seeks them learnedly; one utters his words perfunctorily with the tips of his lips, but his heart is far from god.75 even though he prays, he seeks the health of his flesh, material wealth, and human glory. none of these should be sought, as scripture teaches, but, 'in his temple all shall speak his glory.' 'the heavens show forth the glory of god.'76 the praise of god is a duty belonging to angels. this one duty, referring glory to the creator, belongs to every army of heavenly creatures. every creature, whether silent or uttering sound, whether celestial or terrestrial, gives glory to the creator. but, wretched men, who leave their homes and run to the temple, as if to enrich themselves somewhat, do not lend their ears to the words of god; they do not possess a knowledge of their nature; they are not distressed, although they have previously committed sin; they do not grieve at remembering their sins, nor do they fear the judgment; but, smiling and shaking hands with one another, they make the house of prayer a place of lengthy conversations, pretending not to hear the psalm which solemnly protests and says: 'in the temple of god all shall speak his glory.' you not only do not speak 74 ps. 28.9. 75 cf. matt. 15.8 and isa. 29.13: “this people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me.' 76 ps. 18.2. 210 saint basil a his glory, but, you even become a hindrance to the other, turning his attention to yourself and drowning out the teaching of the spirit by your own clamor. see to it that you do not at some time leave condemned along with those blaspheming the name of god instead of receiving a reward for glorifying him. you have a psalm, you have a prophecy, the evangelical precepts, the preachings of the apostles. let the tongue sing, let the mind interpret the meaning of what has been said, that you may sing with your spirit, that you may sing likewise with your mind. not at all is god in need of glory, but he wishes you to be worthy of winning glory. therefore, 'what a man sows, he will also reap.'77 sow glorification, that you may reap crowns and honors and praises in the kingdom of heaven. this statement, 'in his temple all shall speak his glory,' was made not unfittingly in a digression, because some in the temple of god talk endlessly until their tongue aches; and these enter without profit. would that it might be only without profit and not with harm! (8) 'the lord maketh the flood to dwell.'78 a flood is an overflow of water which causes all lying below it to disappear and cleanses all that was previously filthy. therefore, he calls the grace of baptism a flood, so that the soul, being washed well of its sins and rid of the old man, is suitable henceforward as a dwelling place of god in the spirit. further, what is said in the thirty-first psalm agrees with this. for, after he has said: 'i have acknowledged my sin, and my injustice i have not concealed,' and also, 'for this shall every one that is holy pray to thee,' he brought in, 'and yet in a flood of many waters, they shall not come nigh unto him.'79 indeed, the sins shall not come nigh to him who received baptism for the remission of his transgressions through water and the spirit. something akin to this is found in the prophecy of michea: 77 gal. 6.7. 78 ps. 28.10. 79 ibid. 31.5, 6. homily 13 211 ‘because he delighteth in mercy, he will turn again and have mercy on us, he will put away our iniquities, and will cast them into the bottom of the sea. '80 ‘and the lord shall sit king forever.'81 god is sitting in the soul which shines from its washing, as if he were making it a throne for himself. “the lord will give strength to his people: the lord will bless his people with peace.'82 from his erring people the lord will take away the strong man and the strong woman,83 but to him who acts honestly he gives strength. therefore, 'to everyone who has shall be given.'84 he who is confirmed in the performance of good works becomes worthy of the blessing of god. peace, which is a certain stability of mind, seems to be the most perfect of blessings, so that the peaceful man is distinguished by the calmness of his character, but, he who is attacked by his passions has not yet participated in the peace from god, which the lord gave to his disciples, and which, surpassing all understanding, will keep the souls of the worthy.85 for this, the apostle also prays for the churches, saying: 'grace and peace be multiplied to you.'86 may it be granted to us, after we have struggled nobly and subdued the spirit of the flesh, which is an enemy to god, when our soul is in a calm and tranquil state, to be called the sons of peace, and to share the blessing of god in peace, in christ jesus our lord, to whom be glory and power, now and always, and forever. amen. 80 mich. 7.19. 81 ps. 28.10. 82 ibid. 28.11. 83 cf. isa. 3.1: 'for behold the sovereign the lord of hosts shall take away from jerusalem, and from juda the valiant and the strong.' 84 matt. 25.29. 85 cf. phil. 4.7: 'and may the peace of god which surpasses all understanding guard your hearts and your minds in christ jesus.' 86 1 peter 1.2. homily 14 a psalm of a canticle on the dedication of the house of david (on psalm 29) he physical structure of the body is, speaking figuratively, a harp and an instrument harmoniously adapted for the hymns of our god; and the actions of the body, which are referred to the glory of god are a psalm, whenever in an appropriate measure we perform nothing out of tune in our actions. whatever pertains to lofty contemplation and theology is a canticle. therefore, the psalm is a musical sermon when it is played rhythmically on the instrument with harmonic sounds. but the canticle is a melodious utterance expressed harmoniously without the accompaniment of the instrument. accordingly, since this was entitled, 'a psalm of a canticle.'1 we believe that the expression suggests action following contemplation. this psalm of a canticle, according to the title, embraces certain words of the dedication of the house. and the speech, in its material form, seems to have been delivered in the time of solomon, when the renowned temple was raised, and to have been adapted to the harp; but, in its spiritual meaning, the title seems to signify the incarnation of the word of god and to make known the dedication of a house, which same house had been constructed in a novel and incredible manner. we have found many 1 ps. 29.1. 213 214 saint basil things in this psalm announced by the lord in person. or, perhaps, it is proper to consider the house as the church built by christ; just as paul writes in his letter to timothy: 'in order that thou mayest know how to conduct thyself in the house of god, which is the church of the living god.' the dedication of the church must be understood as the renewal of the mind, which takes place through the holy spirit in each, individually, of those who make up the body of the church of christ. it is a divine and musical harmony, not which includes words that gladden the ear, but those that calm and soften the wicked spirits which trouble souls that are exposed to harm. 'i will extol thee, o lord, for thou hast upheld me: and hast not made my enemies to rejoice over me.'3 how is he who dwells on high extolled by those who have as their portion the lowly places? for, if god is in heaven above and you on the earth below, in what manner could you extol god? what, then, does this message mean to the prophet? or, is he, perhaps, said to be extolled by those who are able to have noble and holy thoughts about him and to live for the glory of god? therefore, he who with understanding is hastening toward bliss extols god, but, he who is turning the opposite way, which rightly should not even be mentioned, abases god as much as lies in his power. (2) we attribute to god, as it were, every state that corresponds to our circumstances. for this reason, when we are half asleep and behaving slothfully, god, since he judges us unworthy of his observant watchfulness over us, is said to be asleep. but, when, after noticing at some time the harm that comes from the sleep, we shall say, 'arise, why sleepest thou, o lord?'4 'behold he shall neither slumber nor sleep at that time, that keepeth israel.'5 some others, as it were, turn their 2 1 tim. 3.15. 3 ps. 29.2. 4 ibid. 43.23. 5 ibid. 120.4 (septuagint version). homily 14 215 eyes away from god because of their shameful deeds and their acts unworthy of the eyes of god; these, on repenting, say: 'why turnest thou thy face away?'e besides these, there are others who have cast out the memory of god and, as it were, are producing in him forgetfulness of themselves, and these say: 'why forgettest thou our want and our trouble?? in a word, men do the very things that are humanly spoken about god, making god in their own regard such as each has formerly made himself. therefore, 'i will extol thee, o lord, for thou hast upheld me: and hast not made my enemies to rejoice over me.' and i will suffer nothing low or abject in my life. why is the power of extolling present in me? because you have first upheld me. very clearly david said, 'thou hast upheld,' instead of, 'thou hast raised me up,' and you have made me superior to those rising up against me, just as if some one, taking by the hand a child who was inexperienced in swimming, would draw him up above the water. he, then, who by the help of god has raised himself up from a fall, through gratitude promises god glorification by his good works. or, as if someone, by supporting a certain weak wrestler from a possible fall and making him superior to his antagonist, provides for the one an opportunity of victory but deprives the other of the pleasure of his fall. it is not the afflictions, which are sent upon the saints for a trial, that procure happiness for our invisible enemies, but, when we refuse afflictions and our thoughts are anxious, because we have grown weary of our frequent sufferings, then they are made glad and they clap and rejoice. such it was in the case of job.8 he lost his possessions; he was bereft of his children; his flesh oozed forth putrid matter and worms. this was not yet, however, a pleasure to the antagonist. but, if, yielding to his 6 ibid. 43.24. 7 ibid. 8 cf. job 1 and 2. 216 saint basil sufferings, he had uttered any blasphemous word according to the advice of his wife, then the enemy would have rejoiced over him. it is the same in the case of paul, who was hungry and thirsty, naked, buffeted, wearied, and never at rest; the enemy did not rejoice. on the contrary, the enemy was crushed, seeing him enduring the conflicts, so that paul said with disdain: 'who shall separate us from the love of christ?'9 (3) 'o lord my god, i have cried to thee, and thou hast healed me.'10 blessed is he who knows his own interior wound so that he can approach the physician and say: 'heal me, o lord, for my bones are troubled,'11 and 'i said: o lord, be thou merciful to me: heal my soul, for i have sinned against thee.'12 here, however, there is thanksgiving for the healing that has been conferred; for he says, 'o lord my god.' god is not the god of all, but of those who are united with him through love. he is the god of abraham, and the god of isaac, and the god of jacob.'13 if he were the god of all, he would not have borne this witness to them as something special. again, jacob says: 'my god has helped you.'14 and thomas, embracing the lord with the fullest assurance, says: ‘my lord and my god.'15 the expression, then, 'o lord my god,' is spontaneous, and is proper to the state of the prophets. 'i have cried to thee, and thou hast healed me.' there was no interval between my voice and your grace, but at the same time that i cried out the healing came to me. while you are still calling, it is said, 'i shall say, “behold i am here.” '16 in praying to god, therefore, we should speak loudly, in order that a speedy healing may be sent forth to us. 'thou hast brought forth, o lord, my soul from hell.'17 9 rom. 8.35. 10 ps. 29.3. 11 ibid. 6.3. 12 ibid. 40.5. 13 exod. 3.6. 14 ibid. 49.25 (septuagint version). 15 john 20.28. 16 ísa. 58.9 (septuagint version). 17 ps. 29.4. homily 14 217 for this healing, he who was going down from illness into hell but was led up from hell through the power of him who overthrows for our sake the ruler of death, gives thanks to god. 'thou hast saved me from them that go down into the pit.'18 frequently, underground ditches which have been made into a prison for captives are called pits. thus, there is the expression in exodus: 'from the firstborn of pharao, unto the firstborn of the captive woman who was in the pit.'19 but, they even threw jeremia also into a pit;20 and his brothers through jealousy confined joseph in a pit without water.21 each act, therefore, either draws us downward by oppressing us with sin, or lifts us upward by raising us on wings toward god. therefore, you have saved me, who formerly lived a wicked life, and have separated me from those who go down to the dark and frigid region. this is the meaning of the words: 'thou hast upheld me.' that is to say, 'you have led me back from my downward course, so as not to give my enemies an occasion to rejoice over me.' now, this he said in another place: 'who hath made my feet like the feet of harts: and who setteth me upon high places."22 he calls the deliverance from ' the pit and the uplifting, the return to high places. 'sing to the lord, o ye his saints.'23 not if someone utters the words of the psalm with his mouth, does that one sing to the lord; but, all who send up the psalmody from a clean heart, and who are holy, maintaining righteousness toward god, these are able to sing to god, harmoniously guided by the spiritual rhythms. how many stand there, coming from fornication? how many from theft? how many concealing in their hearts deceit? how many lying? they think they are 18 ibid. 19 exod. 12.29. 20 cf. jer. 37.15: 'so jeremia went into the house of the prison, and into the dungeon: and jeremia remained there many days.' 21 cf. gen. 37.24: 'they seized him and threw him into the cistern, which was empty and dry.' 22 ps. 17.34. 23 ibid. 29.5. 218 saint basil singing, although in truth they are not singing. for, the scripture invites the saint to the singing of psalms. “a bad tree cannot bear good fruit, '24 nor a bad heart utter words of life. therefore, 'make the tree good and its fruits good."25 cleanse your hearts, in order that you may bear fruit in the spirit and may be able, after becoming saints, to sing psalms intelligently to the lord. (4) 'and give praise to the memory of his holiness.'20 david did not say: 'give praise to his holiness,' but, 'to the memory of his holiness'; that is, 'give thanks.' indeed, the singing of praises here is accepted in place of giving thanks. give thanks, therefore, that you were mindful of his holiness, since formerly, because you were sinking deep in evil and were polluted with the uncleanness of the flesh, you had become forgetful of the holiness of him who made you. for the atonement of your sins, confess your former actions which were not rightly performed. ‘for wrath is in his indignation; and life in his good will."27 first, he mentioned something depressing, wrath in the indignation of god; then, something brighter, life in his good will. this seems to be tautology to those who are not able to attain to an exact understanding of the meanings, since the prophet says that wrath is in the indignation of god, as if wrath and indignation were the same thing; but, there is a very great difference. indignation is the decision to inflict some particular sad punishments upon a man deserving of them; but wrath is the suffering and the punishment already being inflicted by the just judge according to the measure of the wrong done. what i say will become clearer from an example. the doctor, having diagnosed the swollen and festering part, judges that an incision is necessary for the sufferer. this, scripture calls indignation. but, after the decision of the 24 matt. 7.18. 25 ibid. 12.33. 26 ps. 29.5. 27 ibid. 29.6. homily 14 219 doctor on the remedy, the operation then follows, bringing the remedies decided upon to accomplishment; and the knife, cutting in, also causes pain for the one who is being cut. this is called the wrath of god. come, then, to the proposition, and you will find the consequence of this opinion. 'for wrath is in his indignation,' a penalty, according to the just judgment of god; but, 'life in his good will.' what, then, does he say? that what god wills is this, that all share his life; and misfortunes are not wrought by his will but are brought on by the just deserts of those who have sinned. therefore, god grants life to each one according to his own will, and each one stores up wrath for himself 'on the day of wrath and of the revelation and of the just judgment of god.'28 it is customary for scripture to place sad conditions before the more auspicious ones, because the pleasure is sweeter when grief has gone before it. 'i will kill,' it says, “and i will make to live.'29 he himself causes the suffering and again restores; he struck, and his hands healed.30 the afflictions precede, in order that the graces may be lasting, since we then exert ourselves exceedingly for the preservation of what has been given. 'in the evening weeping shall have place, and in the morning gladness.'31 recall the time of the passion of the lord, and you will find the meaning. for, in the evening, weeping overwhelmed the disciples of the lord when they saw him hanging on the cross; but, in the morning, gladness, when after the resurrection they ran about with joy, giving each other the good tidings of the appearance of the lord. or, perhaps, even in general this time is called evening in which those who have wept blessedly will be consoled when morning comes. ‘blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be com28 rom. 2.5. 29 deut. 32.39. 30 cf. ibid. 31 ps. 29.6. 220 saint basil forted.'32 'blessed are they who weep, for they shall laugh.'33 they, therefore, who spend the days of their life, which is already at its consummation and declining toward its setting, in weeping for their sins, these will be glad in that true morning which is approaching. 'they that sow in tears shall reap in joy, '34 of course, in the future. (5) 'and in my abundance i said: i shall never be moved.'35 as the prosperity of a city is dependent upon the supply of goods for sale in the market, and as we say that a country is prosperous which produces much fruit, so also there is a certain prosperity of the soul when it has been filled with works of every kind. it is necessary first for it to be laboriously cultivated, and then to be enriched by the plentiful streams of heavenly waters, so as to bear fruit thirtyfold, sixtyfold, and a hundredfold,36 and to obtain the blessing which says: ‘blessed shall be thy barns and blessed thy stores.'37 he, therefore, who is conscious of his own constancy, will say with sure confidence and will strongly maintain that he will not be turned away by any opponent, like a full field which the lord has blessed. 'o lord, in thy favor, thou gavest strength to my beauty.'38 they who are engaged in the examination of the reason for virtues, have said that some of the virtues spring from contemplation and some are noncontemplative; as for instance, prudence springs from contemplation in the sphere of things good and evil, but self-control from the contemplation of things to be chosen or avoided, justice, of things to be assigned or not to be assigned, and valor, of those that are dangerous or not dangerous; but beauty and strength are noncontemplative a 32 matt. 5.5. 33 luke 6.21. 34 ps. 125.5. 35 lbid. 29.7. 36 cf. matt. 13.23: 'he bears fruit and yields in one case a hundredfold, in another sixtyfold, and in another thirtyfold.' 37 deut. 28.5. 38 ps. 29.8. homily 14 221 > virtues, since they follow from the contemplative. from the fitness and harmony of the contemplations of the soul, some wise men have perceived beauty; and from the effectiveness of the suggestions from the contemplative virtues, they have become aware of strength. but, for this, namely, that beauty may exist in the soul, and also the power for the fulfillment of what is proper, we need divine grace. as, therefore, he said above: 'life is in his good will,' so, now, he extols god through his thanksgiving, saying: 'in thy favor, thou gavest strength to my beauty.' for, i was beautiful according to nature, but weak, because i was dead by sin through the treachery of the serpent. to my beauty, then, which i received from you at the beginning of my creation, you added a strength which is appropriate for what is proper. every soul is beautiful, which is considered by the standard of its own virtues. but beauty, true and most lovely, which can be contemplated by him alone who has purified his mind, is that of the divine and blessed nature. he who gazes steadfastly at the splendor and graces of it, receives some share from it, as if from an immersion, tingeing his own face with a sort of brilliant radiance. whence moses also was made resplendent in face by receiving some share of beauty when he held converse with god.39 therefore, he who is conscious of his own beauty utters this act of thanksgiving: 'o lord, in thy favor, thou gavest strength to my beauty. just as the noncontemplative virtues, both beauty and strength, follow from the contemplative virtues, so there are certain noncontemplative vices, shameful conduct and weakness. in fact, what is more unbecoming and uglier than a passionate soul? observe, i beg you, the wrathful man and his fierceness. look at the man who is distressed, his abasement and dejection of soul. who could endure to look at him who is sunk in sensuality and gluttony or who is alarmed by fears? for, the feelings of the soul affect even the extremities of the 39 cf. exod. 34.29 (septuagint version). 222 saint basil a body, just as also the traces of the beauty of the soul shine through in the state of the saint. accordingly, we must have regard for beauty, in order that the bridegroom, the word, receiving us, may say: 'thou art all fair, o my love, and there is not a spot in thee.'40 (6) 'thou turnedst away thy face from me, and i became troubled.'41 'as long as the rays of the sun of your watchfulness shone upon me,' he says, “i lived in a calm and untroubled state, but, when you turned your face away, the agitation and confusion of my soul was exposed.' god is said to turn away his face when in times of troubles he permits us to be delivered up to trials, in order that the strength of him who is struggling may be known. therefore, ‘if the peace which surpasses all understanding will guard our hearts,'42 we shall be able to escape the tumult and confusion of the passions. since perversion is opposed to the will of god, and disorder to beauty and grace and strength, the disorder would be a deformity and weakness of the soul, present in it because of its estrangement from god. we pray always for the face of god to shine upon us, in order that we may be in a state becoming to a holy person, gentle and untroubled in every way, because of our readiness for the good. 'i am ready,' he says, 'and am not troubled.' "to thee, o lord, will i cry: and i will make supplication to my god.'44 frequently, the statement is made in regard to crying out to the lord that it is the privilege of him alone who desires great and heavenly things to cry out. but, if anyone asks god for trilling and earthly things, he uses a small and low voice, which does not reach to the height nor come to the ears of the lord. 43 40 cant. 4.7. 41 ps. 29.8. 42 cf. phil. 4.7: 'and may the peace of god which surpasses all understanding guard your hearts and your minds in christ jesus.' 43 ps. 118.60. 44 ibid. 29.9. homily 14 223 "46 'what profit is there in my blood, whilst i go down to corruption?'45 'why,' he says, 'have i cried out? and for what have i prayed to you, my lord and my god? what need is there for me,' he says, 'of bodily comfort and much blood, since presently my body will be handed over to the general dissolution.''but i chastise my body and bring it into subjection,'40 lest at any time, because my blood is in good condition and overheated, my corpulence may become an occasion of sin. do not flatter your flesh with sleep and baths and soft coverings, but say always these words: 'what profit is there in my blood, whilst i go down to corruption?' why do you treat with honor that which a little later shall perish? why do you fatten and cover yourself with flesh? or, do you not know that the more massive you make your flesh, the deeper is the prison you are preparing for your soul? 'shall dust confess to thee, or declare thy truth?47 how, indeed, shall man, made of clay and flesh, confess to you, his god? and how will he declare the truth, who has never given time to learning and has buried his mind in such a mass of flesh? for this reason, therefore, i waste away my flesh and i am unsparing of my blood which, indeed, is wont to be converted into flesh, that there may be no obstacle to me for confession or for the knowledge of truth. (7) “the lord hath heard, and hath had mercy on me: the lord became my helper.'48 after relating what it was that he cried out to god, immediately sensible of the assistance of god, he encourages us to ask for the same things, saying: 'the lord hath heard, and hath had mercy on me: the lord became my helper.' let us also pray, therefore, and cry out with a spiritual cry, demanding great things, not seeking after the flesh ('for they who are carnal cannot please god'49), in order that the 45 lbid. 29.10. 46 1 cor. 9.27. 47 ps. 29.10. 48 ibid. 29.11. 49 rom. 8.8. 224 saint basil lord may hear us, having mercy on our weakness, and that we also, rejoicing in the divine assistance, may say, 'thou hast turned for me my mourning into joy.'50 the joy of god is not found in just any soul but, if some one has mourned much and deeply his own sin with loud lamentations and continual weepings, as if he were bewailing his own death, the mourning of such a one is turned into joy. that it is praiseworthy to mourn is evident from the boys who sit in the market place, saying: 'we have sung dirges, and you have not wept; we have piped to you, and you have not danced.'51 the flute is a musical instrument which needs wind for the melody. wherefore, i think that every holy prophet was called figuratively a flute because of the inspiration of the holy spirit. for this reason he says: 'we have piped to you, and you have not danced.' the prophetical words, indeed, urge us on to the rhythmic action of the holy prophecy, which is called dancing. but, the prophets make lamentation for us, summoning us to mourn, in order that, becoming aware from the prophetic words of our own sins, we may bewail our destruction, afflicting our flesh with hardships and toils. by such a person, the mourning garment, which he put on when bewailing his sin, is rent, and the tunic of joy is placed around him and the cloak of salvation, those bright wedding garments, with which, if one is adorned, he will not be cast out from the bridal chamber. 'thou hast cut my sackcloth, and hast compassed me with gladness.'52 the sackcloth is a help to penance, since it is a symbol of humility. 'they would have repented long ago,' it is said, 'sitting in sackcloth and ashes.'53 now, since the apostle 'with face unveiled is transformed into his very image 50 ps. 29.12. 51 luke 7.32. 52 ps. 29.12. 53 luke 10.13. homily 14 225 from glory to glory,'54 he calls the grace given to him by the lord his own glory. (8) 'to the end that my glory may sing to thee.'55 the glory of the just man is the spirit which is in him. therefore, let him who sings by the spirit say: 'to the end that my glory may sing to thee, and i may not regret.' he means, 'no longer shall i do things which deserve the pricking and piercing of my heart at the remembrance of my sins.' 'o lord my god, i will give praise to thee for ever.'56 this is instead of 'i will give thanks.' for, when you granted me pardon because of my repentance and led me back into glory, taking away the shame of my sins, for this i shall give praise to you for all eternity. in fact, what space of time could be so great, that it could produce in my soul forgetfulness of such mighty benefits? 54 cf. 2 cor. 3.18: 'but we all, with faces unveiled, reflecting as in a mirror the glory of the lord, are being transformed into his very image from glory to glory.' 55 ps. 29.13. 56 ibid. homily 15 a psalm in praise of the power and providence of god (on psalm 32) r ejoice in the lord, o ye just; praise becometh the upright.1 the voice of exultation is familar in the scripture, betokening a very bright and happy state of soul in those deserving of happiness. ‘rejoice, therefore, ‘in the lord, o ye just,' not when the interests of your home are flourishing, not when you are in good health of body, not when your fields are filled with all sorts of fruits, but, when you have the lord-such immeasurable beauty, goodness, wisdom. let the joy that is in him suffice for you. he who exults with joy and happiness in anything that is much desired, seems thus to rejoice in him. therefore, scripture urges the just to be aware of their dignity, because they have been considered worthy to be the servants of so great a master, and to glory in his service with inexpressible joy and exultation, since the heart is, as it were, bounding with ecstasy of love of the good. if at any time a light, for example, falling upon your heart, produced a continuous thought of god and illumined your soul, so that you loved god and despised the world and all things corporeal, understand from that faint and brief resemblance the whole state of the just, who are enjoying god 1 ps. 32.1. 227 228 saint basil steadily and uninterruptedly. at some rare times by the dispensation of god that transport of joy seizes you in order that through a little taste he may remind you of what you have been deprived. but, for the just man the divine and heavenly joy is lasting, since the holy spirit dwells in him once for all. but the firstfruit of the spirit is: charity, joy, peace." therefore, ‘rejoice in the lord, o ye just.' the lord is like a place capable of containing the just, and there is every reason for one who is in him to be delighted and to make merry. moreover, the just man becomes a place for the lord, when he receives him in himself. he who sins gives place to the devil, taking no heed of him who said: 'do not give place to the devil,'3 nor to ecclesiastes, 'if the spirit of him that hath power, ascend upon thee, leave not thy place.'4 let us, then, who are in the lord and who, as much as we are able, observe closely his wonders, so draw joy to our hearts from the contemplation of them. ‘praise becometh the upright.'5 as a crooked foot does not fit into a straight sandal, so neither is the praise of god suited to perverted hearts. for this reason, i think, since speech concerning the savior is not becoming in the mouth of the demons, he takes away their power, in order that they may not make him known. and paul rebuked the divining spirit in order that the holy one might not be praised by an unclean person. such also is this saying: 'but to the sinner god hath said: why dost thou declare my justices?'? let us earnestly endeavor, therefore, to flee every crooked and tortuous act, and let us keep our mind and the judgment of our soul as straight as a rule, in order that the praise of the lord may a 2 gal. 5.22. 3 eph. 4.27. 4 eccles. 10.4. 5 ps. 32.1. 6 cf. acts 16.18: “this she did for many days; until paul, being very much grieved, turned and said to the spirit, “i order thee in the name of jesus christ to go out of her.” 7 ps. 49.16. homily 15 229 be permitted to us since we are upright. in the same way the serpent, which is the author of sin, is called crooked, and the sword of god is drawn against the dragon, the crooked serpent,8 which makes many twists and turns in its progress. as the coiling movement of the serpent trails along, it is traced unevenly on the ground, since, if it were otherwise, the first parts would hasten along, the next follow transversely and the tail bend aside in the opposite direction. therefore, he who follows the serpent shows that his life is crooked, uneven, and filled with contrarieties; but, he who follows after the lord makes his paths straight and his footprints right. for, 'the lord our god is righteous, and his countenance hath beheld righteousness.'! if two rulers are compared with each other, their straightness is in agreement with each other, but, if a distorted piece of wood is compared with a ruler, the crooked one will be found at variance with the straight. since, therefore, the praise of god is righteous, there is need of a righteous heart, in order that the praise may be fitting and adapted to it. but, if ‘no one can say “jesus is lord,” except in the holy spirit,'10 how would you give praise, since you do not have the right spirit in your heart? (2) 'give praise to the lord on the harp; sing to him with the psaltery, the instrument of ten strings.'11 first, it is necessary to praise the lord on the harp; that is, to render harmoniously the actions of the body. since, indeed, we sinned in the body, 'when we yielded our members as slaves of sin, unto lawlessness,'12 let us give praise with our body, using the same instrument for the destruction of sin. have you reviled? 8 cf. isa. 27.1: 'in that day the lord with his hard, and great, and strong sword shall visit leviathan the bar serpent, and leviathan the crooked serpent.' 9 ps. 91.16; 10.8. 10 1 cor. 12.3. 11 ps. 32.2. 12 cf. rom. 6.19: 'for as you yielded your members as slaves of uncleanness and iniquity unto iniquity, so now yield your members as slaves of justice unto sanctification. 230 saint basil 9 bless. have you defrauded? make restitution. have you been intoxicated? fast. have you made false pretensions? be humble. have you been envious? console. have you murdered? bear witness, or afflict your body with the equivalent of martyrdom through confession. and then, after confession you are worthy to play for god on the ten-stringed psaltery. for, it is necessary, first, to correct the actions of our body, so that we perform them harmoniously with the divine word and thus mount up to the contemplation of things intellectual. perhaps, the mind, which seeks things above, is called a psaltery because the structure of this instrument has its resonance from above. the works of the body, therefore, give praise to god as if from below; but the mysteries, which are proclaimed through the mind, have their origin from above, as if the mind was resonant through the spirit. he, therefore, who observes all the precepts and makes, as it were, harmony and symphony from them, he, i say, plays for god on a tenstringed psaltery, because there are ten principal precepts, written according to the first teaching of the law. 'sing to the lord a new canticle.'13 that is, not in the antiquity of written word, but in the newness of the spirit serve god. he who understands the law not in a corporeal sense, but who becomes acquainted with its spiritual meaning is the one who sings the new canticle. for, the ancient aged testament has passed and the new renewed canticle of the teaching of the lord has succeeded, which revives our youth like an eagle, when we destroy the exterior man and are renewed day by day. but, he who 'strains forward to what is before,'14 always becomes newer than he was formerly. therefore, becoming always newer than he was, he sings a newer canticle to god. but according to custom, that is said to be newer which is admirable or which has recently come into existence. if, then, you relate the wondrous manner and the 13 ps. 32.3. 14 phil. 3.13. homily 15 231 whole surpassing nature of the incarnation of the lord, you will sing a newer and an unusual canticle; and, if you go on through the regeneration and renewal of the whole world which had grown old under its sin, and proclaim the mysteries of the resurrection, you thus sing a canticle both new and recent. (3) 'sing well unto him with a loud noise.'15 hear the command. 'sing well,' with unwavering mind, with sincere affection. 'sing with a loud noise.' like certain brave soldiers, after the victory against the enemy, pour forth hymns to the author of the victory. "take courage, it is said, 'i have overcome the world. '16 what man is capable of fighting against the evil one, unless, fleeing to the protection of the power of our commander in chief, by our faith in him we smite our enemy and shoot him with arrows? therefore, ‘sing well with a loud noise.' but, ihe loud noise is a certain inarticulate sound, when those who are fighting side by side in a war shout out in unison with each other. sing, then, in harmony and in agreement and in union through charity. now, what should those say who are singing? 'that the word of the lord is right.'17 therefore, he first summons the righteous to praise, since the word of the lord is righteous and is destined to be glorified, who 'was in the beginning with god and was god.'18 the father, then, is righteous; the son is righteous; the holy spirit is righteous. 'and all his works are done with faithfulness. '19 what does this mean? his work is the heavens, his work is the earth, his work is the sea, the air, all things inanimate, animate, rational, and irrational. how, then, are all things done with faithfulness? what sort of faith is there in inanimate objects? what is the faith of the brute beasts? what faith is there in 15 ps. 32.3. 16 john 16.33. 17 ps. 32.4. 18 john 1.1. 19 ps. 32.4. 232 saint basil a stone? what faith in a dog? neither the inanimate object nor the beast is in faith. nevertheless, the assertion excludes nothing, but includes all things when it says: 'all his works are done with faithfulness. what, then, does this mean? 'if you see the heavens,' he says 'and the order in them, they are a guide to faith, for through themselves they show the craftsman; and, if you see the orderly arrangement about the earth, again through these things also your faith in god is increased. in fact, it is not by acquiring knowledge of god with our carnal eyes that we believe in him, but by the power of the mind we have perceived the invisible god through visible things. therefore, 'all his works are done with faithfulness.' even if you consider the stone, it also possesses a certain proof of the power of its maker: likewise, if you consider the ant or the gnat or the bee. frequently in the smallest objects the wisdom of the creator shines forth. he who unfolded the heavens and poured out the boundless expanses of the seas, he it is who hollowed out the very delicate sting of the bee like a tube, so that through it the poison might be poured out. therefore ‘all his works are done with faithfulness. do not say: 'this happened by chance' and 'that occurred accidentally.' nothing is casual, nothing indeterminate, nothing happens at random, nothing among things that exist is caused by chance. and do not say 'it is a bad mishap,' or ‘it is an evil hour.' these are the words of the untaught. ‘are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and yet not one of them will fall'20 without the divine will. how many are the hairs of your head? not one of them will be forgotten.21 do you see the divine eye, how none of the least trifles escapes its glance? the lord 'loveth mercy and judgment; the earth is full of the mercy of the lord."22 if the judgment of god, who renders 20 matt. 10.29. 21 cf. matt. 10.30: 'but as for you, the very hairs of your head are all numbered,' 22 ps. 32.5. homily 15 233 precisely according to our deserts what is due to us for our deeds, should be by itself, what hope would there be? who of all mankind would be saved? but, as it is, 'he loveth mercy and judgment.' it is as if he had made mercy a coadjutor to himself, standing before the royal throne of his judgment, and thus he leads each one to judgment. 'if thou, o lord, wilt mark iniquities: lord, who shall stand it?'23 neither is mercy without judgment, nor judgment without mercy. he loves mercy, therefore, before judgment, and after mercy he comes to judgment. however, these qualities are joined to each other, mercy and judgment, lest either mercy alone should produce presumption, or judgment alone cause despair. the judge wishes to have mercy on you and to share his own compassion, but on condition that he finds you humble after sin, contrite, lamenting much for your evil deeds, announcing publicly without shame sins committed secretly, begging the brethren to labor with you in reparation; in short, if he sees that you are worthy of pity, he provides his mercy for you ungrudgingly. but, if he sees your heart unrepentant, your mind proud, your disbelief of the future life, and your fearlessness of the judgment, then he desires the judgment for you, just as a reasonable and kind doctor tries at first with hot applications and soft poultices to reduce a tumor, but, when he sees that the mass is rigidly and obstinately resisting, casting away the olive oil and the gentle method of treatment, he prefers henceforth the use of the knife. therefore, he loves mercy in the case of those repenting, but he also loves judgment in the case of the unyielding. isaia says some such thing, too, to god: “thy mercy in measure.” '24 for, he compares the mercy with the judgment of him who gives compensation by scale and number and weight according to the deserts of each. (4) 'the earth is full of the mercy of the lord.*25 here mercy is separated from judgment. the earth is full of only 23 ibid. 129.3. 24 isa. 28.17. 25 ps. 32.5. 284 saint basil the mercy of the lord, since his judgment is stored up for the appointed time. here, then, mercy is apart from judgment; indeed, he did not come 'in order that he might judge the world, but that he might save the world.'26 but there, judgment is not apart from mercy because man could not be found clean from stain, not even if he had lived for only one day.27 and so, if anyone sees the evil spreading daily and the mortal , race of man, so far as it merits for its sins, deserving of countless deaths, he will admire the riches of the goodness of god and of his forbearance and patience. of course, while we are on earth, we need mercy. those in heaven, indeed, merit to be called happy, not to be pitied. or, the explanation is, perhaps, that, because of the sentence laid upon us for sin, it is we who are called earth, since we hear from god, 'earth you are, and unto earth you shall return,'28 we, who are full of the mercies of god. for, 'when we were dead by reason of our' offenses and ‘sins,' god, having mercy, brought us to life together with christ. "29 'by the word of the lord the heavens were established; and all the power of them by the spirit of his mouth.'30 where are those who set at naught the spirit? where are those who separate it from the creative power? where are those who dissever it from union with the father and son? let them hear the psalm which says: 'by the word of the lord the heavens were established; and all the power of them by the spirit of his mouth. the term 'word,' will not be considered as this common form of diction which consists of names and expressions, nor will the spirit be considered as vapor poured out in the air; but as the word, which was in the beginning with god,31 and as the holy spirit, which has obtained this 26 cf. john 3.17: 'for god did not send his son into the world in order to judge the world, but that the world might be saved through him.' 27 cf. job 14.4,5 (septuagint version). 28 gen. 3.9. 29 eph. 2.5. 30 ps. 32.6. 31 john 1.1. homily 15 285 appellation as its own. as, then, the creator, the word, firmly established the heavens, so the spirit which is from god, which proceeds from the father, that is, which is from his mouth (that you may not judge that it is some external object or some creature, but may glorify it as having its substance from god) brings with it all the powers in him. therefore, all the heavenly power was established by the spirit; that is, it has from the assistance of the spirit the solidity and firmness and constancy in holiness and in every virtue that is becoming to the sacred powers. in this place, therefore, the spirit was described as from his mouth; we shall find elsewhere that the word also was said to be from his mouth, in order that it may be understood that the savior and his holy spirit are from the father. since, then, the savior is the word of the lord, and the holy spirit is the spirit from his mouth, both joined with him in the creation of the heavens and the powers in them, and for this reason the statement was made: "by the word of the lord the heavens were established; and all the power of them by the spirit of his mouth.' for, is made holy, except by the presence of the spirit. the word, the master craftsman and creator of the universe, gave entrance into existence to the angels; the holy spirit added holiness to them. the angels were not created infants, then perfected by gradual exercise and thus made worthy of the reception of the spirit; but, in their initial formation and in the material, as it were, of their substance they had holiness laid as a foundation. wherefore, they are turned toward evil with difficulty, for they were immediately steeled by sanctity, as by some tempering, and possessed steadfastness in virtue by the gift of the holy spirit. (5) 'gathering together the waters of the sea, as a vessel; laying up the depths in storehouses.'32 he did not say, 'gathering together the waters of the sea as in a vessel,' but, ‘as a vessel, thus 'gathering together the waters of the sea.' con32 ps. 32.7. nothing 236 saint basil a sider, i beg of you, the nature of a vessel, now inflated, when the skin is stretched tight by the enclosed air; now reduced, when that which is stretching it yields. in this way, therefore, the sea at times swells and, becoming wild and swollen with the winds, it seethes; again, at other times, in a calm, it is reduced to a lower level. as a vessel, then, the lord thus gathers together and reduces the water of the sea. however, we have found in certain copies, 'gathering together as in a vessel the waters of the sea,' where scripture refers us to ancient history, when the red sea, although no one was dividing it nor enclosing it, of itself stood firm, as if held in some vessel,33 because the divine command did not permit it to be poured forth. 'laying up the depths in storehouses.' it would be more consistent as regards the general notion to say: 'placing storehouses in the depths,' that is, enclosing its wealth in mystery. but, now he says that the depths are like certain treasures worthy of the divine storehouses. are, then, the words concerning the divine judgment, which are unutterable and incomprehensible to human understanding, never called depths, since the reasons according to which he dispenses all things individually are stored up only in the knowledge of god? in fact, we learned in another psalm, which said, 'thy judgments are a great deep, '34 that the judgments made about each one are called a deep. therefore, if you seek to know why the life of a sinner is continued, but the days of sojourning of the just man are cut short; why the unjust man thrives, but a just man is afflicted; why the young child is snatched away before coming to maturity; whence are wars; why there are shipwrecks, earthquakes, droughts, heavy rains; why things destructive of men are created; why one man is a slave, another, free, one is rich, another is poor and the difference in sins and in 33 cf. exod. 14.22: ‘and the children of israel went in through the midst of the sea dried up: for the water was as a wall on their right hand and on their left.' 34 ps. 35.7. a homily 15 237 virtuous actions is great; she who was sold to a brothelkeeper is in sin by force, but she who immediately obtained a good master grows up with virginity); why this one is treated with kindness, and that one condemned; and what is the reward in the case of each of these from the judge; taking all these questions into your mind, consider that the judgments of god are the depths and, because they are enclosed in the divine storehouses, are not easily grasped by those encountering them. to him who believes, a promise is given by god: 'i will give thee hidden treasures, unseen ones.'35 when we have been deemed worthy of knowledge face to face, we shall see also the depths in the storehouses of god. if you will gather together the sayings in scripture about vessels, you will better comprehend the prophetic meaning. those, then, who are renewed day by day and who take new wine from the true vine, are said in the gospel to be new vessels. but, they who have not yet put off the old man are old vessels, unable to be trusted for the reception of new wine. for, no one puts new wine into old wineskins, lest the wine be spilt, and those skins be entirely ruined, inasmuch as they are considered worthy of no excuse hereafter, if they spill the good new wine. new wine must be poured into fresh skins.36 the new and spiritual wine and that which is glowing with the holy spirit, the perception of truth which never becomes old, must be put in the new man, who, because 'he always bears about in his body the dying of jesus,'87 might justly be said to be a new vessel. (6) 'let all the earth fear the lord, and let all the inhabitants of the world be in awe of him.'38 since the fear of the lord is the beginning of knowledge, let those who are earthly minded be taught through fear. in fact, fear is necessarily 35 isa. 45.3. 36 cf. matt. 9.17: 'nor do people pour new wine into old wine-skins, else the skins burst, the wine is spilt, and the skins are ruined. but they put new wine into fresh skins.' 37 cf. 2 cor. 4.10: ‘always bearing about in our body the dying of jesus.' 38 ps. 32.8. 238 saint basil '39 employed as introductory to true religion, but love, now taking over, brings to perfection those who have been prepared by a fear that is capable of knowledge. to the whole earth, therefore, scripture advises fear. 'let all the inhabitants of the world,' it says, 'be in awe of him.' let them make every movement, as it were, whether effected by the mind or by bodily action, according to the will of god. at least i understand the words, 'let them be in awe of him,' in this way. for example, let neither the eye be moved without god, nor the hand be put in motion without god, nor the heart think on things not well pleasing to god. in short, let them be in awe of no one else, and let nothing move them except the fear of god. ‘for he spoke and they were made: he commanded and they were created.' to the two preceding statements: ‘let all the earth fear,' and 'let all the inhabitants of the world be in awe,” he added two more, 'he spoke and they were made; he commanded and they were created.' since man is composed of an earthy form and a soul indwelling in a body, that which was formed from earth is called earth; for the soul which obtains as its lot a life in the flesh is called the inhabitant of the world. appropriately, therefore, the saying, 'he spoke and they were made,' is assigned to the earth. in the case of our form which was made from the earth, 'they were made,' but, in the case of the part created according to the image of god, 'they were created,' since the creation is frequently understood in the transformation and improvement, as the expression, 'if any man is in christ, he is a new creature,'40 and also, 'that of the two he might create one new man.'41 perhaps also, 'they were made' is spoken in the case of the first begetting of man, and 'they were created in the case of the second regeneration through the grace of christ. as a com1 39 ibid. 32.9. 40 2 cor. 5.17. 41 eph. 2.15. homily 15 299 mand of god excels a mere word, to the same extent does creation excel generation. ‘the lord bringeth to nought the counsels of nations; and he rejecteth the devices of people.'42 this is an explanation of the preceding statement of how god created those who believe in him in consequence of his bringing to nought the foolish counsels which the people held about idolatry and all vanity, and in consequence of his rejection of the counsels of princes. and it is possible to refer these things to the time of his passion when they thought that they were crucifying the king of glory, but he through the economy of the cross was renewing humanity. for, in the resurrection the counsel of nations, of pilate and his soldiers, and of whoever was active in the matter of the cross, was brought to nought; the counsels of the princes were rejected, and also those of the high priests and scribes and kings of the people. in fact, the resurrection destroyed their every device. if you will read the things in each history which god did to the faithless nations, you will find that the statement has much force even according to our corporeal intelligence. when joram, son of achaab, was king in israel, then his son ader, king of syria, carrying on a war with a great force and a heavy hand, besieged samaria, so that even the necessaries of life were wanting to them, and the head of an ass was sold for fifty shekels of silver,43 and the fourth part of a cabe44 of pigeon's dung for five shekels of silver.45 at that time, therefore, in order that the promise of elisha might be fulfilled, the counsels of syria were brought to nought, and abandoning their tents and all their supplies, they fled, leaving such a great abundance in samaria that a 42 ps. 32.10. 43 the silver shekel had the same value as a stater, approximately seventy-two and a half cents. 44 a cabe was about four pints. 45 cf. 4 kings 6.25: ‘and there was a great famine in samaria; and so long did the siege continue, till the head of an ass was sold for fourscore pieces of silver, and the fourth part of a cabe of pigeon's dung, for five pieces of silver.' 240 saint basil measure of fine flour and two measures of barley were sold for one shekel.46 thus, then, the lord knew how to bring to nought the counsels of nations. we learned in the time of achitophel how he cast away the counsels of the princes, when david prayed, saying: 'infatuate the counsel of achitophel.:47 therefore, when you hear some one making great threats and announcing that he will bring upon you all sorts of illtreatment, losses, blows, or death, look up to the lord who brings to nought the counsels of nations and rejects the devices of the people. (7) ‘but the counsel of the lord standeth for ever: the thoughts of his heart to all generations.'48 do you not see the teachings of the nations, this empty philosophy, how subtle and farfetched they are concerning the inventions of their teachings, both in the rational speculations and in the moral injunctions, and in certain natural sciences and the other so-called esoteric teachings? how all things have been scattered and rendered useless, and the truths of the gospel alone now hold place in the world? for, many are the counsels in the hearts of men, but the counsel of the lord has prevailed. and it is necessary, at least if the counsel from god is to remain in our souls firm and steadfast, for the human thoughts which we formerly held, first to be rejected. just as he who intends to write on wax, first smooths it down and thus puts on whatever forms he wishes, so also the heart which is to admit clearly the divine words must be made clean of the opposite thoughts. “the thoughts of his heart to all generations.' since, then, there are two chosen peoples, and two testaments were given to them according to the saying, 'the thoughts of his heart to all generations (eis geneàn kai geneán),' since 'generation' is named twice, there can be understood also two thoughts, the one, according to which we 46 cf. 4 kings 7.16: 'and a bushel of fine flour was sold for a stater, and two bushels of barley for a stater, according to the word of the lord.' 47 2 kings 15.31. 48 ps. 32.11. homily 15 241 received the previous testament, but the second, bestowing upon us the new and saving teaching of christ. 'blessed is the nation whose god is the lord: the people whom he hath chosen for his inheritance.'49 no one considers the people of the jews blessed, but, as that people which was chosen according to merit from all the peoples. for, we are the nation of whom the lord is our god; we are also the people whom he chose 50 as an inheritance for himself; the nation, for we have been selected from many nations; the people, because we have been summoned in place of the rejected people. and, since 'many are called, but few are chosen,'51 he does not pronounce him blessed who is called, but him who is chosen. blessed is he whom he chose. what is the cause of the pronouncement of blessedness? the expected inheritance of everlasting blessings. or, does he, perhaps, according to the apostle, since, when the full number of nations will have entered, then all israel will be saved, first proclaim blessed, the full number of nations, then later, israel, which is saved? certainly, not just anyone will be saved, but only the remnant which is according to the election of grace. therefore, he says: "the people whom he hath chosen for his inheritance.' (8) 'the lord hath looked from heaven: he hath beheld all the sons of men from his habitation which he hath prepared.'52 the lord looks from above on those who stand fast in their proper dignity and perform the duties that belong to human nature. but, he regards differently those who fall into the utmost evils because he himself came down. 'because,' he said, 'the outcry against sodom and gomorrah is great, and their sin is very grave, i will go down to see whether they have done all that the outcry which has come 49 ibid. 32.12. 50 cf. 1 peter 2.9: 'you, however, are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a purchased people.' 51 matt. 20.16. 52 ps. 32.13, 14. 242 saint basil to me indicates.'53 and again, 'he came down to see the city and the tower which men had built.'54 but here it says, 'the lord hath looked from heaven: he hath beheld all the sons of men.' consider the lofty spectator; consider him who is bending down regarding the affairs of mankind. wherever you may go, whatever you may do, whether in the darkness or in the daytime, you have the eye of god watching. 'from his habitation which he hath prepared.' the gates are not being opened, the curtains are not being drawn together, the habitation of god is ready for viewing. he looks upon all the sons of men. no one escapes his sight; no darkness, no concealing walls, nothing is a hindrance to the eyes of god. he is so far from failing to look upon each individually, that he even looks into the hearts, which he himself formed without any admixture of evil. god, the creator of men, made the heart simple according to his own saving image; but later we made it, by union with passions of the flesh, a complicated and manifold heart, destroying its likeness to god, its simplicity, and its integrity. since he is the maker of hearts, therefore, he understands all our works. but, we call both words and thoughts and, in general, every movement of man, his works. with what feelings or for what purpose they are, whether to please men or to perform the duties of the commands given us by god, he alone knows, who understands all our works. therefore, for every idle word we give an account.55 even for a cup of cold water, we do not lose our reward, 56 because the lord understands all our works. (9) 'the king is not saved by a great army.'57 not the of the military force, not the walls of cities, not an infantry phalanx, not cavalry troops, not equipment of naval power, will procure safety for the king. for the lord estab53 gen. 18.20, 21. 54 ibid. 11.5. 55 matt. 12.36. 56 ibid. 10.42. 57 ps. 32.16. homily 15 243 lishes kings and removes them, and 'there exists no authority, except that appointed by god.'58 therefore, the king is saved, not through much power, but through divine grace. so that the saving is true for them also: ‘by grace you have been saved.'59 so also, a farmer does not obtain his portion of harvest as much through his agricultural diligence as through god, who causes the crops to grow. for ‘neither he who plants is anything, nor he who waters, but god who gives the growth.'60 and if the heart of the king is in the hand of god,'61 he will not be saved through power of arms, but through the divine guidance. now, not any random person is in the hand of god, but he who is worthy of the name of king. and some have defined the kingly office as lawful authority, or the universal control that is not liable to sin. 'nor shall the giant be saved by his own great strength.'62 he calls him a giant who uses physical power and bodily force. therefore, neither the king has aid enough from his soldiery, nor is the strong man able to suffice for himself against everything. all things that are at once human, when compared with the true power are weakness and infirmity. therefore, 'the weak things of the world has god chosen to put to shame the strong, '63 and 'out of the mouths of infants and of sucklings he has perfected praise, that he may destroy the enemy and the avenger.'84 divine grace operating in the infants and the unintelligent is especially conspicuous. 'useless is the horse for safety; neither shall he be saved by the abundance of his strength.'85 the horse has been excluded from the use of holy men. neither does israel, when 58 rom. 13.1. 59 eph. 2.5. 60 1 cor. 3.7. 61 prov. 21.1. 62 ps. 32.16. 63 1 cor. 1.27. 64 ps. 8.3. st. basil uses the verb in the third person in place of the second. 65 ps. 32.17. 244 saint basil she was successful in wars, seem to have used cavalry forces nor did any one of the holy men accept the private use of horses as proper for them. pharaoh used a cavalry, and the arrogant sennacherib took pride in the great number of his horses. wherefore, he cast into the sea pharaoh's cavalry and the riders; 66 and all the horsemen of sennacherib slept.67 whence, also, the law given by moses, which ordains the duties of kings, says: 'he shall not multiply horses to himself.'68 'neither shall he be saved by the abundance of his strength.' *for when i am weak, then i am strong.'89 for the abundance of bodily strength is a hindrance to the safety of the spirit. (10) ‘behold the eyes of the lord are on them that fear him.'70 elsewhere, it says, 'the eyes of the lord are upon the just,'71 but here, 'on those that fear him.' when we look upon the lord and our eyes are on him, so that we say, 'behold as the eyes of the servants are on the hands of their masters, so are our eyes unto the lord our god,'72 then, we, as it were, draw the eye of the lord to watch over us. ‘ *and on them who hope in his mercy.'73 the humility of those who serve the lord indicates how they hope in his mercy. he who does not trust in his own good deeds nor expects to be justified by his works has, as his only hope of salvation, the mercies of god. for, when he considers that the expression, 'behold the lord and his reward, '74 refers to each according to his work, and when he ponders his own evil deeds, he fears the punishment and cowers beneath the threats. 66 cf. exod. 14.28: 'and the waters returned, and covered the chariots and the horsemen of all the ariny of pharaoh, who had come into the sea after them.' 67 cf. 4 kings 19.35: 'and it came to pass that night that an angel of the lord came, and slew in the camp of the assyrians a hundred and eighty-five thousand.' cf. also isa. 37.36. 68 deut. 17.16. 69 2 cor. 12.10. 70 ps. 32.18. 71 ibid. 33.16. 72 ibid. 122.2. 73 ibid. 32.18, 74 isa. 40.10. homily 15 245 there is good hope which gazes steadfastly at the mercies and kindness of god lest it be swallowed up by grief. he hopes that his soul will be delivered from death and will be fed by him in famine. 75 ‘our soul waiteth for the lord: for he is our helper and protector.'76 this word contains an exhortation to endurance, so that, even if we are seized by one of those who are oppressing us, we do not depart from the love of god which is in christ jesus, but with our whole soul endure the sufferings, awaiting help from god. ‘for in him our heart shall rejoice; and in his holy name we have trusted.'77 this agrees with the words in the beginning of the psalm: 'rejoice in the lord, o ye just.' and 'for in him our heart shall rejoice.' and it seems to me that consistently with these words the apostle said: 'in all these things we overcome because of him who has loved us," '78 and 'not only this, but we exult in tribulations also.'79 for, the psalmist in saying: 'our soul waiteth for the lord,' in order that he might show that it was not through force nor because he was oppressed by afflictions that he displayed patience, but that with all joy he accepts the ill-treatment for the name of the lord, says, 'not only do we endure, but also "in him our heart shall rejoice, and in his holy name we have trusted." : it is sufficient for us to be named christians to escape all abuse from our adversaries. the name of god is said to be holy, not entirely because it has a certain sanctifying power in its syllables, but because the whole specific character of god and the thought contained in what is specially contemplated concerning him is holy and pure. ‘let thy mercy, o lord, be upon us, as we have hoped in 75 cf. ps. 32.19: 'to deliver their souls from death; and feed them in famine.' 76 ps. 32.20. 77 ibid. 32.21. 78 rom. 8.37. 79 ibid. 5.3. 246 saint basil thee.'80 do you see how wisely he prayed? he has made a proper disposition the measure of the number of god's mercies. 'to such an extent,' he says, 'let thy mercy be upon us, as we have previously hoped in thee.' all our hope is to return to eternal rest, in order that, after the body of our lowly condition has been changed, we may realize that this same body has been made like to the glorified body of christ. 80 ps. 32.22. homily 16 a psalm of david when he changed his countenance before abimelech and being dismissed by him went away1 (on psalm 33) he subject of the psalm draws us to two premises. both the actions of david in nobe, the city of the priests, and those in geth at the home of achis, the king of the foreign nations, seem to be in agreement with the inscription. for, he changed his countenance when he conversed with abimelech, the priest, concealing his flight and pretending to be zealous to perform the royal command and, then, took the loaves of proposition and the sword of goliath. moreover, he also changed his countenance when, seized in the midst of the enemy, he perceived that they were conversing with each other and preparing for vengeance. scripture says: "the servants of achis said to each other: is not this david the king of the land? did they not sing to him in their dances, saying: david has slain his tens of thousands, and saul his thousands? and david,' it says, 'was exceedingly afraid at the face of achis, and he changed his countenance before them.'? now, how is it that the inscription names abimelech, but history mentions achis, as king of the gethites? we have some such reason as this that comes to us from tradition, namely that the kings of the foreign peoples had the common 1 cf. 1 kings 21. 2 1 kings 21.11-13. 247 248 saint basil name abimelech, but besides that, each was called by his own name. it is possible to see this in the case of the roman empire, the augustuses were also commonly called caesars, but they still kept their own personal names. the name pharaoh is of the same kind among the egyptians. he appears to have been called pharaoh who ruled in the time of joseph;3 and there was a pharaoh who was established as king of egypt in the time of moses,4 four generations later; and a pharaoh, during the time of solomon: 'for, he took,' it says, 'the daughter of pharaoh.'5 moreover, he who ruled during the time of the prophecy of jeremia was called pharaoh. so, too, there was an abimelech during the time of abraham: 'and abimelech and hochozath, the leader of his bride, and philoch the general of his army, speaking, said to abraham."? and again, concerning isaac: 'and when very many days were passed, and he abode there, abimelech king of the philistines looking out through a window, saw isaac playing with rebecca.'8 in the same way, therefore, here also in the time of david the common title of the kingly office, abimelech, is used in the inscription. but, the name was handed down in history as achis, which was given to him personally from birth. in the presence of this man, therefore, he changed his countenance, carried along between the hands of the servants, knocking against the gates of the city and driveling his spittle upon his beard, so that achis said to his servants: 'why have you brought him to me? am i in need of madmen, that you have brought in this fellow to play the madman in my 3 cf. gen. 39.1: 'when joseph was taken down to egypt, phutiphar, an egyptian, one of pharao's officers, bought him.' 4 cf. exod. 2.5: ‘and behold the daughter of pharao came down to wash herself in the river.' 5 cf. 3 kings 3.1: 'and the kingdom was established in the hand of solomon, and he made affinity with pharao the king of egypt.' 6 cf. jer. 37.6: 'behold the army of pharao, which is come forth to help you.' 7 gen. 21.22 (septuagint version). st. basil uses 'philoch' for 'phichol.' 8 ibid. 26.8. homily 16 249 presence?! having caused himself to be dismissed from there by these means, he came safely through, scripture says, to the cave of odollam. then, because he had been delivered from great danger, he sent up this prayer of thanksgiving to god who had rescued him. 'i will bless the lord at all times.'10 having escaped death, as if he were setting up norms for his life, he molded his soul to an exact manner of living, so that he ceased at no time from praise, but referred the beginning of affairs, great and small, to god. 'i will not think,' he says, 'that anything was done through my own diligence nor happened through spontaneous chance but, “i will bless the lord at all times,” not only in prosperity of life, but also in precarious times.' the apostle, learning from this, says: 'rejoice always. pray without ceasing. in all things give thanks.'11 do you not see how great was the love of the man? he did not cease through impatience at the continuous succession of evils, when he was not only driven out of his country, away from his relatives, friends, and possessions, but also when he was handed over to the enemy by force and was on the point of being torn to pieces by them.12 he did not say: 'how long will these continuous evils last?' he did not cease through impatience at the long stretch of tribulations, knowing 'that tribulation works out endurance, and endurance tried virtue, and tried virtue hope.'13 in truth, tribulations are, for those well prepared, like certain foods and exercises for athletes which lead the contestant on to the hereditary glory, if, when we are reviled, we bless; maligned, we entreat; ill-treated, we give thanks; afflicted, we glory in our afflictions.14 it is indeed shameful 9 1 kings 21.14, 15. st. basil uses the first person singular instead of the plural. 10 ps. 33.2. 11 1 thess. 5.16-18. 12 cf. 1 kings 19-26. 13 rom. 5.3, 4. 14 cf. 1 cor. 4.12, 13: 'we are reviled and we bless, we are persecuted and we bear with it, we are maligned and we entreat.' 250 saint basil for us to bless on propitious occasions, but to be silent on dark and difficult ones. on the contrary, we must bless even more at that time, knowing that 'whom the lord loves, he chastises; and he scourges every son whom he receives.'15 ‘his praise shall be always in my mouth.'16 the prophet seems to promise something impossible. for, how can the praise of god be always in the mouth of man? when he engages in the ordinary conversations pertaining to daily life, he does not have the praise of god in his mouth. when he sleeps, he will keep absolute silence. and how will the mouth of one who is eating and drinking produce praise? we answer to this that there is a certain spiritual mouth of the interior man by which he is fed when he partakes of the word of life, which is the bread that comes down from heaven.17 concerning that mouth the prophet also says: 'i opened my mouth and panted.'18 the lord even urges us to have it open wide so as to receive plentifully the food of truth. 'open thy mouth wide,' he says, “and i will fill it.'19 the thought of god, therefore, having been once for all molded and, as it were, sealed in the authoritative part of the soul, can be called praise of god, since it is always present in the soul. moreover, according to the counsel of the apostle, the zealous man can do all things for the glory of god, so that every act and every word and every work has in it power of praise. whether the just man eats or drinks, he does all for the glory of god.20 the heart of such a one watches when he is sleeping, according to him who said in the canticle of canticles: 'i sleep, and my heart watcheth.'21 for, on many occasions the visions seen during sleep are images of our thoughts by day. 15 heb. 12.6. 16 ps. 33.2. 17 cf. john 6.33: 'for the bread of god is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.' 18 ps. 118.131. 19 ibid. 80.11. 20 1 cor. 10.31. 21 cant. 5.2. homily 16 251 (2) 'in the lord shall my soul be praised.'22 ‘let no one,' david says, 'praise my intelligence, through which i was preserved from dangers.' for, not in the power of man, nor in wisdom, but in the grace of god is salvation. 'let not,' it is said, 'the rich man glory in his riches, nor the wise man in his wisdom, nor the strong man in his strength, but let him that glorieth glory in this, that he understandeth and knoweth' the lord his god.23 do you see how the apostle praises the helpers of the gospel? he who is your fellow servant and minister in the lord.'24 if, however, someone is praised for beauty of body or renowned parentage, his soul is not praised in the lord, but each person of such a kind is occupied with vanity. the ordinary professions, in fact, those of governor, doctor, orator, or architect who constructs cities, pyramids, labyrinths, or any other expensive or ponderous masses of buildings, do not merit to be truly praised. they who are praised for these things do not keep their soul in the lord. it suffices us for every dignity to be called servants of such a great lord. certainly, one who ministers to the king will not be high-minded because he has been assigned to this particular rank of the ministry, and having been considered worthy to serve god, he will not contrive for himself praises from elsewhere, will he, as if the call of the lord did not suffice for all pre-eminence of glory and distinction? therefore, 'in the lord shall my soul be praised: let the meek hear and rejoice.'25 since with the help of god, by deceiving my enemies, he says, i have successfully obtained safety without war, by only the changing of my countenance, 'let the meek hear' that it is possible even for those at peace to erect a trophy, and for those not fighting to be named victors. 'and let them rejoice,' being strengthened to embrace 22 ps. 33.3. 23 jer. 9.23, 24. st. basil changed the order of the words somewhat. 24 cf. col. 4.7: 'our dearest brother and faithful minister and fellowservant in the lord.' 25 ps. 33.3. 252 saint basil meekness by my example. i received this gift from god because i completely realized meekness. ‘o lord, remember david, and all his meekness.'26 meekness is indeed the greatest of the virtues; therefore, it is counted among the beatitudes. 'blessed are the meek, it is said, 'for they shall possess the earth.'27 for, that earth, the heavenly jerusalem, does not become the booty of those who fight, but is appointed as the inheritance of the patient and meek. moreover, the expression, 'let the meek hear,' means the same as 'let the disciples of christ hear.' perhaps, the wonder of the beneficence of god toward him is meant prophetically to pass over to us. in fact, let those hear, who many generations later will become disciples of christ. for, he called those meek to whom the lord said: 'learn from me, for i am meek and humble of heart.'28 those of calm character and so free from all passion that they have no confusion present in their souls, they are the ones called meek. wherefore, moses is acknowledged to be meeker than all men on the earth. (3) 'o magnify the lord with me.'29 he adopts a refrain that is becoming to him for glorifying the lord. let no one who is confused, no one who is disturbed, no one who is provoking his soul with the passions of the flesh, be united with me; but you, the meek, who have successfully attained to stability and firmness of soul, and who shake off sluggishness and drowsiness in the performance of your duties, you ‘magnify the lord with me.' but, he magnifies the lord who endures trials for the sake of piety with keen understanding and an exulting and exalted spirit. then, he also does, who observes with keen understanding and most profound contemplation the greatness of creation, so that from the greatness and beauty of the creatures he may contemplate their creator. the deeper one penetrates into the reasons for which things 26 ibid. 131.1. 27 matt. 5.4. 28 ibid. 11.29. 29 ps. 33.4. homily 16 253 in existence were made and are governed, the more he contemplates the magnificence of the lord and, as far as lies in him, magnifies the lord. since, therefore, one mind and the attention of one man do not suffice even for a brief time for the comprehension of the splendors of god, he associates with himself all the meek for a participation in this activity. it is necessary, in fact, to achieve complete tranquility from outside confusions, and bringing about an entire silence in the hidden recesses of the heart, thus to devote oneself to the contemplation of the truth. do you hear what he says when he confesses his sin? ‘my eye is troubled through indignation.'30 yet, not only indignation, but also concupiscence and cowardice and envy trouble the eye of the soul; and, on the whole, all the passions are confounding and disturbing to the clearsightedness of the soul. as it is not possible for a disturbed eye to apprehend accurately visible objects, so neither is it possible for a disturbed heart to devote itself to a consideration of the truth. it is necessary, then, to withdraw from the affairs of the world and, neither through the eyes nor the ears nor through any other means of perception, to introduce alien thoughts into the soul. the wars which arise from the pride of the flesh fill the interior with noises that are never silent and with irreconcilable discords. 'i sought the lord, and he heard me.'31 let the meek hear these things, he says, that in that difficult time when all the wrath of the malicious was roused against me and every hand was armed against me, and i, stripped and unarmed, was exposed to the enemy, ready for every outrage, even at that time i was not confounded in my thoughts through fear; i was not distracted from the thought of god; i did not despair of my safety; but, i sought the lord. i not only asked with a kind of simple and temporal hope in the lord, but i sought. indeed, the meaning of the word 'sought' signifies something 30 ibid. 6.8. 31 ibid. 33.5. 254 saint basil more than the word 'ask, just as a search is more than an inquiry. 'for those searching have failed in their search.'82 therefore, these words suggest much leisure and calmness throughout the search. (4) 'and he delivered me from all my troubles.'83 the whole life of the just man is filled with affliction. 'how narrow and strait the road';84 and 'many are the afflictions of the just.'35 for this reason the apostle said: 'in all things we suffer tribulations';36 and 'that through many tribulations we must enter the kingdom of god.'87 but, god delivers his saints from their afflictions. though he does not leave them without trial, yet he bestows on them patient endurance. for, if 'tribulation works out endurance, and endurance tried virtue,"38 he who excludes tribulation from himself deprives himself of his tried virtue. as no one is crowned without an adversary, so also he cannot be declared tried except through tribulations. therefore, 'he delivered me from all my troubles,' not permitting me to be afflicted, but with the temptation giving me a way out that i might be able to bear it.39 'come ye to him and be enlightened: and your faces shall not be confounded.'40 he urges those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death to come to the lord and to approach the rays of his godhead, in order that, illuminated with the truth by this nearness, they may through grace take his light unto themselves. as the present sensible light does not appear equally to all, but to those who have eyes and are awake and able to enjoy the presence of the sun without any obstacle, 32 ibid. 63.7. 33 ibid. 33.5. 34 matt. 7.14. 35 ps. 33.2. 36 2 cor. 4.8. 37 acts 14.21. 38 rom. 5.3. 39 cf. 1 cor. 10.13: 'god is faithful and will not permit you to be tempted beyond your strength, but with the temptation will also give you a way out that you may be able to bear it.' 40 ps. 33.6. homily 16 255 so also the sun of justice, 41 'the true light that enlightens every man who comes into the world,'42 does not bestow his brightness on all, but on those who live in a manner worthy of him. 'light, it is said, 'is risen,' not to the sinner, but 'to the just.'43 for, as the sun is risen, but not for the bats nor for any other creatures that feed by night, so also the light is by its own nature bright and capable of brightening. however, all do not share in its brightness. thus also, ‘everyone who does evil hates the light and does not come to the light, that his deeds may not be exposed.'44 ‘come ye, therefore, to him and be enlightened: and your faces shall not be confounded.'45 blessed is he, who on the day of the righteous judgment of god, when the lord comes to bring to light the things hidden in darkness and to make manifest the counsels of hearts, has dared to be subjected to that light of scrutiny and has returned without cause for shame because of a conscience undefiled by evil deeds. they, indeed, who do evil deeds will rise to reproach and to shame, beholding in themselves the ugliness and the likenesses of their sins. and, perhaps, that shame with which the sinners are going to live forever will be more fearful than the darkness and the eternal fire, since they have always in their eyes the traces of sin in their flesh like certain indelible stains, which remain perpetually in the memory of their soul. yet, it is the privilege of few to approach to the true light and to reveal the things hidden and after the revelation to go away with face not confounded. (5) ‘this poor man cried, and the lord heard him.'46 poverty is not always praiseworthy, but only that which is practiced intentionally according to the evangelical aim. many 41 mal. 4.2. 42 john 1.9. 43 ps. 96.11. 44 john 3.20. 45 ps. 33.6. 46 ibid. 33.7. 256 saint basil are poor in their resources, but very grasping in their intention; poverty does not save these; on the contrary, their intention condemns them. accordingly, not he who is poor is by all means blessed, but he who has considered the command of christ better than the treasures of the world. these the lord also pronounces blessed, when he says: 'blessed are the poor in spirit,'47 not those poor in resources, but those who from their soul have chosen poverty. for, nothing that is not deliberate is to be pronounced blessed. therefore, every virtue, but this one especially before all others, is characterized by the action of the free will. so it is said: “this poor man cried.' by the demonstrative word for the man who was poor because of god, and hungry and thirsty and naked, he calls forth your understanding; ‘this poor man,' all but pointing with his finger; this disciple of christ. it is possible also to refer this expression to christ, who being rich by nature, because all things belonging to the father are his, became poor for our sakes in order that by his poverty we might become rich.48 nearly every work that leads to the blessing, the lord himself began, setting himself forth as an example to his disciples. return to the blessings and you will find on examining each that he anticipated the teaching contained in the words by his deeds. 'blessed are the meek.'49 how, then, shall we learn meekness? 'learn from me, for i am meek and humble of heart.'50 'blessed are the peacemakers. '51 who will teach us the beauty of peace? the peacemaker himself, who makes peace and reconciles two men into one new man;52 who made peaceful by the blood of his cross both things of heaven and 47 matt. 5.3. 48 cf. 2 cor. 8.9: ‘for you know the graciousness of our lord jesus christ-how, being rich, he became poor for your sakes, that by his poverty you might become rich.' 49 matt. 5.5. 50 ibid. 11.29. 51 ibid. 5.9. 52 cf. eph. 2.15: 'that of the two he might create in himself one new man. homily 16 257 those of earth. 'blessed are the poor.'53 he himself is the one who was poor and who emptied himself in the form of a slave54 in order that of his fullness we might all receive, grace for grace.'55 if anyone, then, led by the holy and benevolent spirit, not being presumptuous, but humbling himself in order that he may exalt the others, should call upon the spirit, offering great prayers, and should utter nothing base or lowly because he is seeking terrestrial and worldly things, the cry of such a man will be heard by the lord. what, therefore, is the aim of the prayer heard? to be delivered from all troubles, unwounded, unbent, and unenslaved by the pride of the flesh. now, what is the manner in which the poor man is delivered? 'the angel of the lord shall encamp round about them that fear him: and shall deliver them.'56 he explained whom he reckons as the poor man-him who fears the lord. therefore, he who fears is still in the rank of the slave. but, he who had been made perfect by love now mounted quickly to the dignity of son. hence the slave is said to be also poor, because he has nothing of his own; but the son is said to be already rich, because he is the heir of the paternal goods. 'the angel of the lord,' therefore, 'shall encamp round about them that fear him.' an angel attends everyone who believes in the lord if we never chase him away by our evil deeds. as smoke puts the bees to flight, 57 and a foul smell drives away the doves, so also the lamentable and foul sin keeps away the angel, the guardian of our life. if you have in your soul works worthy of angelic custody, and if a mind rich in the contemplation of truth dwells within you, because of the wealth of your 53 matt. 5.3. 54 cf. phil. 2.7: 'but he emptied himself, taking the nature of a slave and being made like unto men.' 55 john 1.16. 56 ps. 33.8. 57 cf. virgil, georgics iv. 227-230: 'if now their narrow home thou wouldst unseal, and broach the treasures of the honey-house, with draught of water first foment thy lips, and spread before thee fumes of trailing smoke.' (translation of james rhoades). 258 saint basil a esteemed works of virtue god necessarily establishes guards and custodians beside you and fortifies you with the guardianship of angels. consider what the nature of the angels is, that one angel is compared to a whole army and a crowded encampment. so, through the greatness of him who guards you the lord bestows upon you an encampment; and through the strength of the angel he surrounds you on all sides with his protection as with a wall. for, this is what the word 'round about' signifies. just as the encircling walls, put round about all the cities, keep off the attacks of the enemies on all sides, so also the angel shields from the front and guards the rear and does not leave the two sides unprotected. for this reason, a thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but the stroke of the enemy 'shall not come nigh thee, '58 because he will give commands to his angels concerning you. (6) 'o taste, and see that the lord is sweet.'59 frequently we have noticed that the faculties of the soul are called by the same name as the external members. since our lord is true bread and his flesh is true meat, it is necessary that the pleasure of the enjoyment of the bread be in us through a spiritual taste. as the nature of honey can be described to the inexperienced not so much by speech as by the perception of it through taste, so the goodness of the heavenly word cannot be clearly taught by doctrines, unless, examining to a greater extent the dogmas of truth, we are able to comprehend by our own experience the goodness of the lord. 'taste' he said, but not 'be filled,' because now we know in part and through a mirror and in an obscure manner we see the truth;60 but the time will come when the present pledge and this taste of grace will attain to the perfection of enjoyment for us. just 58 ps. 90.7. 59 ibid. 33.9. 60 cf. 1 cor. 13.12: ‘we see now through a mirror in an obscure manner, but then face to face. now i know in part, but then i shall know even as i have been known.' homily 16 259 as those who are suffering from a disordered stomach and from loss of appetite, and who turn away from food, are cured of this annoyance by the doctors, who stir up their appetites through special attention to the food, so that, when their taste is provoked by the savory cooking, their appetites will increase always more and more, so also in the case of the word of truth, experience itself will always, he says, excite in you an insatiable desire. therefore, he says, 'taste,' in order that you, hungering and thirsting after justice, may always be blessed. 'blessed is the man that hopeth in him.'61 he who always has a desire of the word will put his hope in nothing else than in the lord. 'fear the lord, all ye his saints: for there is no want to them that fear him.'62 unless fear disciplines our life, it is impossible successfully to attain holiness in body. 'pierce thou my flesh with thy fear.'63 as those who are pierced by nails have the members of their bodies immovable for any activity, so those who are possessed by the divine fear in their soul escape all annoyance from sinful passions. in him who fears there is not want, that is, he is failing with regard to no virtue who is prevented by fear from every absurd act, since he falls short of nothing good that belongs to human nature. as he is not perfect in body who is lacking in any necessary part, but is imperfect because of what he lacks, so also he who is disposed contemptuously about one of the commands, because he is wanting in it, is imperfect in that in which he lacks. but, he who has assumed perfect fear and through piety shrinks beneath all things will commit no sin because he despises nothing; he will not experience any want because he will possess fear sufficiently in all things. (7) 'the rich have wanted, and have suffered hunger; but they that seek the lord shall not be deprived of any good."64 61 ps. 33.9. 62 ibid. 33.10. 63 ibid. 118.120. 64 ibid. 33.11. 260 saint basil let this word, which teaches the unreliability of excessive wealth, edify us even to the contempt of corporal riches. for, wealth is unstable and like a wave accustomed to change hither and thither by the violence of the wind. perhaps he says that the people of israel are rich, who have the adoption of sons and divine worship, the promises, and the fathers. they, however, have been poor because of their sin against the lord. ‘but they that seek the lord shall not be deprived of any good.' they have wanted in a certain way and have suffered hunger. for, when they had put to death the bread of life, a hunger for the bread came upon them, and the chastisement from the thirst was imposed on them; but 'the hunger was not for sensible bread nor the thirst, for water, but a hunger to hear the word of god.'65 therefore, 'they have wanted and have suffered hunger.' they, however, who have learned from the gentiles to seek the lord have not suffered the loss of every good. god himself is absolute good, and they who seek him will not be without him. let no uninstructed person who considers the position concerning good and evil indistinguishable call him good who has a pleasure that is temporary and that departs with the death of the body. he who reduces bodily wealth and bodily advantages to the order of good draws down to matters cheap and not deserving of account a name that is holy and proper to god alone, and at the same time encounters the most serious contradiction. either he will say that the apostles did not obtain bodily goods because they did not seek the lord; or, if they did seek him and failed to obtain such goods, he will bring a charge against the scripture itself which says that they who seek the lord do not suffer the loss of good. but, the saints also sought the lord, and they did not fail in the knowledge of him who was sought, nor were they deprived of the blessings stored up in the eternal rest. con65 cf. amos 8.11: 'and i will send forth a famine into the land: not a famine of bread, nor a thirst of water, but of hearing the word of the lord.' homily 16 261 '66 cerning them one might say ‘of every good. for, bodily joys have more pain than pleasure; marriages involve childlessness, widowhood, corruption; agriculture, fruitlessness; trade, shipwrecks; wealth, plots; luxuries and satiety and continual pleasures, a variety of diseases, as well as sufferings of many kinds. paul also sought the lord and no blessing was wanting to him. and yet, who could enumerate the annoyances of the body, in which he lived during his whole life? 'thrice he was scourged, once he was stoned, thrice he suffered shipwreck, a night and a day he was adrift on the sea, in journeyings often ... in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in labor and hardships,' in distresses frequently. a man hungering and thirsting and being naked and buffeted even to his last hour, surely, was suffering the loss of bodily blessings. lift up your mind, i pray, to what is truly good in order that you may recognize the harmonious agreement of the scripture, and may not let yourself fall into uncertainty of thought. (8) 'come, children, hearken to me: i will teach you the fear of the lord. '67 it is the voice of the devoted teacher, encouraging you to learn through his paternal mercy. in fact, the disciple is the spiritual child of the teacher. that one who receives from another formation in piety is, as it were, molded by him and is brought into existence, just as the fetus formed within her is brought into existence by one who is pregnant. for this reason paul also taking up again the whole church of the galatians, which had fallen from its earlier teachings and which was abortive, as it were, and forming christ in them anew, called them little children; and, when with pain and affliction he corrected those who had erred, he said that he was in labor in soul because of his grief at those who had fallen away. 'my dear children, with whom i am in labor again, until christ is formed in you.'88 therefore, 'come, children, hearken to me.' 66 2 cor. 11.25, 27. st. basil substitutes the third person for the first. 67 ps. 33.12. 68 gal. 4.19. 262 saint basil what, really, does our spiritual father intend to teach? 'i will teach you the fear of the lord.' when he ordered us above to fear the lord, he also showed the profit that comes from fear, saying: 'there is no want to them that fear him.'69 at present also, they hand down to us a certain teaching of divine fear. now, it is in the power of every one, even of the private individual, to say that it is necessary to be healthy; but, to say how health must be obtained, that certainly belongs to him who understands the art of medicine. every fear is not a good and saving feeling, but there is also a hostile fear, which the prophet prays may not spring up in his soul, when he says: 'deliver my soul from the fear of the enemy.'70 fear of the enemy is that which produces in us a cowardliness with regard to death and misleads us to cower before distinguished persons. how, in fact, will he who fears these things be able in time of martyrdom to resist sin even to death and to pay his debt to the lord, who died and rose again for us? he also, who is easily scared by the demons, has the fear of the enemy in him. on the whole, such a fear seems to be a passion born of unbelief. for, no one who believes that he has at hand a strong helper is frightened by any of those who attempt to throw him into confusion. the fear, however, which is salutary and the fear which is productive of holiness, fear which springs up in the soul through devotion and not through passion, what kind would you have me say it is? whenever you are about to rush headlong into sin, consider that fearful and intolerable tribunal of christ, in which the judge is seated upon a certain high and sublime throne, and every creature stands trembling beside his glorious presence, 71 and we are about to be led forth, one , by one, for the examination of the actions of our life. and 69 ps. 93.10. 70 ibid. 63.2. 71 cf. matt. 25.31, 32: 'but when the son of man shall come in his majesty, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory; and before him will be gathered all the nations.' homily 16 263 beside him who has done many wicked deeds throughout his life certain horrible and dark angels stand, flashing fire from their eyes and breathing fire because of the bitterness of their wills, and with a countenance like the night because of their dejection and their hatred of man. then, there is the deep pit and the darkness72 that has no outlet and the light without brightness, which has the power of burning in the darkness but is deprived of its splendor. next is the poisonous and fleshdevouring class of worms,73 which eat greedily and are never satiated and cause unbearable pains by their voracity; and lastly, the severest punishment of all, that eternal reproach and shame. fear these things, and being taught by this fear, check your soul, as with a bit, from its desire for wickedness. the father promised to teach us this fear of the lord, and not to teach indiscriminately, but to teach those who wish to heed him; not those who have long fallen away, but those who run to him through a desire of being saved; not 'strangers to the covenants,'74 but those who are reconciled through baptism by the word of the adoption of sons. therefore, he says, ‘come,' that is, 'because of your good deeds approach me, children, since you are considered worthy because of your regeneration to become sons of light. you, who have the ears of your heart open, hear; i shall teach you fear of the lord, that fear which a little while ago our sermon described. (9) 'who is the man that desireth life: who loveth to see good days?'75 if anyone wishes life, he says, he does not live this common life, which brute beasts also live, but the true life which is not cut short by death. 'for, now,' it is said, 'you have died and your life is hidden with christ in god. when christ, your life, shall appear, then you too will appear with him in 72 cf. matt. 8.12: ‘but the children of the kingdom will be put forth into the darkness outside.' 73 cf. isa. 66.24: “their worm shall not die, and their fire shall not be quenched. 74 eph. 2.12. 75 ps. 83.13. 264 saint basil glory.'76 therefore, christ is, in truth, life; and our way of life in him is true life. in like manner, also, the other days are good, which the prophet set forth in the promise. “who is the man that desireth life: who loveth to see good days?' for, the days of this life are evil, since this life, being the measure of the world, concerning which there is the saying: “the whole world is in the power of the evil one,' '77 is made quite like the nature of the world which it measures. but, these days are parts of this time. therefore, the apostle says: ‘making the most of your time, because the days are evil.'78 likewise jacob says: 'the days of my pilgrimage are short and wretched.'79 we are not, then, in life, but in death. and so the apostle prayed, saying: 'who will deliver me from the body of this death??80 there is, however, a certain other life, to which these words call us; and, although at present our days are evil, yet some others are good, which night does not interrupt; for god will be their everlasting light, shining upon them with the light of his glory.81 consequently, when you hear of the good days, do not think that your life here is set forth in the promises. in fact, these are the destructible days, which the sensible sun produces; but, nothing destructible could suitably be a gift for the indestructible. now, if the soul is indestructible, its gifts are also indestructible. "this world as we see it is passing away.'82 if the law has some shadow of the good things to come, consider i pray, certain sabbaths pleasant, holy, brought from the eternal days, new 76 col. 3.3, 4. 77 1 john 5.19. 78 eph. 5.16. 79 cf. gen. 47.9: 'the length of my pilgrimage has been one hundred and thirty years; short and wretched has been my life.' 80 rom. 7.24. 81 cf. apoc. 22.5: 'and night shall be no more, and they shall have no need of light of lamp, or light of sun, for the lord god will shed light upon them; and they shall reign forever and ever.' 82 1 cor. 7.31. homily 16 265 moons, festivals; but, consider, i pray you, in a manner proper to the spiritual law.83 'keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips from speaking guile.’84 if you wish to live in the good days, if you love life, fulfill the precept of life. 'he who loves me,' he says, 'will keep my commands.'85 the first command is, ‘keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips from speaking guile.' the most common and varied sin is that committed through the tongue. were you provoked to anger? the tongue is already running on. are you possessed by concupiscence? before all things you have a tongue, a sort of pimp and promoter, as it were, assistant to the sin, subduing your neighbors by histrionic arts. your tongue is also a weapon for your injustice, not uttering the words from the heart, but bringing forth those inspired by deceit. but, what need is there to put in words all the sins committed through the tongue? our life is filled with faults due to the tongue. obscenity, scurrility, foolish talk, unbecoming words, slanders, idle conversation, perjuries, false testimony, all these evils, and even more than these, are the work of the tongue. but, they who open their mouth against the glory of god and talk of injustice on high, do they perform their act of impiety by some other instrument and not through the instrumentality of the tongue? since, then, 'by thy words thou wilt be justified, and by thy words thou wilt be condemned,'86 check your tongue from evil, and do not fabricate empty treasures with a deceitful tongue. stop also your lips from speaking guile; instead, let the whole organ, which was given to you for the service of speech, have nothing to do with wicked deeds. guile is hidden wrongdoing brought to bear against the neighbor under a pretense of better things. 83 cf. col. 2.16, 17: 'let no one, then, call you to account for what you eat or drink or in regard to a festival or a new moon or a sabbath. these are a shadow of things to come.' 84 ps. 33.14. 85 cf. john 14.23: 'if anyone love me, he will keep my word.' 86 matt. 12.37. 266 saint basil (10) 'turn away from evil and do good, seek after peace and pursue it."87 these counsels are elementary and are channels to piety; they describe accurately how to prevail over the tongue, how to refrain from deceitful schemes, how to turn away from evil. mere abstinence from evil is not a characteristic of a perfect man; but, for one recently instructed in basic principles it is fitting to turn aside from the impulse to evil and, being delivered from the habits of a depraved life as from a bad road, to pursue the performance of good. in fact, it is impossible to cleave to the good unless one has withdrawn entirely and turned away from the evil, just as it is impossible to repair one's health unless one rids himself of the disease, or for one who has not completely checked a chill to be in a state of warmth; for, these are inadmissible to each other. so also, it is proper for him who intends to live a good life to depart from all connection with evil. 'seek after peace and pursue it.' concerning this peace the lord has said: 'peace i leave with you, my peace i give to you; not as the world gives peace do i give to you.'88 seek, therefore, after the peace of the lord and pursue it. and you will pursue not otherwise than running toward the goal to the prize of the heavenly calling. 89 for, the true peace is above. yet, as long as we were bound to the flesh, we were yoked to many things which also troubled us. seek, then, after peace, a release from the troubles of this world; possess a calm mind, a tranquil and unconfused state of soul, which is neither agitated by the passions nor drawn aside by false doctrines that challenge by their persuasiveness to an assent, in order that you may obtain 'the peace of god which surpasses all understanding and guards your heart.'90 he who seeks after peace, seeks christ, because ‘he himself is our peace,' who has made two men into 87 ps. 33.15. 88 john 14.27. 89 phil. 3.14. 90 cf. phil. 4.7: 'and may the peace of god which surpasses all understanding guard your hearts.' homily 16 267 one new man,91 making peace, and 'making peace through the blood of his cross, whether on earth or in the heavens.'92 (11) 'the eyes of the lord are upon the just: and his ears unto their prayers.'93 just as the saints ‘are the body of christ, member for member, and god indeed has placed some in the church, '94 as eyes, some as tongues, others taking the place of hands, and still others that of feet; so also some of the holy spiritual powers and those which are about the heavenly places are called the eyes because they are entrusted with our guardianship, and others ears, because they receive our petitions. now, therefore, he said that the power which watches over us and that which is aware of our prayers are eyes and ears. so, 'the eyes of the lord are upon the just: and his ears unto their prayers.' since every act of the just man is worthy in the sight of god, and every word, because no just man speaks idly, is active and efficacious, for this reason these words say that the just man is always watched over and always heard. ‘but the countenance of the lord is against them that do evil things: to cut off the remembrance of them from the earth.'95 by the countenance i think is meant the open and manifest coming of the lord in the judgment. therefore, the eyes of the lord, as of one still observing us from afar, are said to look upon the just man; but, the countenance itself, it is said, will appear for the purpose of wiping out entirely from the earth all remembrance of wickedness. do not think, i beg of you, that the countenance of god is molded in bodily form, since in that case the words of scripture will seem to be unreasonable, and there will seem to be eyes by themselves which shine upon the just, and again the countenance by itself 91 cf. eph. 2.14: 'for he himself is our peace, he it is who has made both one.' 92 col. 1.20. 99 ps. 33.16. 94 1 cor. 12.27, 28. 95 ps. 33.17. 268 saint basil which threatens the wicked. and yet, the eyes are neither apart from the countenance, nor is the countenance bereft of eyes. now, 'no man shall see the face of the lord and live,'96 but, 'the angels' of the little ones in the church ‘always behold the face of our father in heaven.'97 wherefore, it is impossible for us now to be capable of the sight of the glorious appearance because of the weakness of the flesh which envelops us. the angels, however, since they do not have any such covering as our flesh, are prevented in no way from continually fastening their gaze upon the face of the glory of god. we also, after we have been made 'sons of the resurrection,'98 will be considered worthy of the knowledge face to face. at that time the just will be deemed worthy of the sight of his countenance in glory, but the sinners, of the sight in judgment, since all sin is going to be utterly destroyed by the just judgment of god. (12) ‘the just cried, and the lord heard them: and delivered them out of all their troubles.'99 the cry of the just is a spiritual one, having its loudness in the secret recess of the heart, able to reach even to the ears of god. indeed, he who makes great petitions and prays for heavenly favors, he cries out and sends up a prayer that is audible to god. therefore, 'the just cried.' they sought after nothing petty, nothing earthly, nothing lowly. for this reason the lord received their voice, and he delivered them from all their tribulations, not so much freeing them from their troubles as making them victorious over the circumstances. а 'the lord is nigh unto them that are of a contrite heart: and he will save the humble of spirit.'100 by his goodness he is near to all; but, we go far away through sin. 'for behold,' 96 cf. exod. 33.20: “thou canst not see my face: for man shall not see me and live.' 97 matt. 18.10. 98 luke 20.36. 99 ps. 33.18. 100 ibid. 33.19. homily 16 269 he says, 'they that go far from thee shall perish.'101 therefore, moses is said to approach to god;102 and, if anyone else is like him through manly deeds and good actions he comes near to god. these words hold openly the prophecy of the coming of the lord and are in agreement with the preceding. for, there it was said: “the countenance of the lord is against them that do evil things'; that is, his appearance in the judgment will be for the destruction of all evil. “the lord is nigh unto them that are of a contrite heart. he announces beforehand the coming of the lord in the flesh, which is already near at hand and not far distant. let this saying from the prophecy of isaia be trustworthy to you: 'the spirit of the lord is upon me, because the lord hath anointed me: he hath sent me to preach to the meek, to heal the contrite of heart, to preach release to the captives and sight to the blind.'103 since, indeed, as a doctor he was sent to the contrite of heart, he says, 'the lord is near,' i say to you, lowly and contrite in spirit, cheering you and leading you on to patience in the joy of what is expected. contrition of heart is the destruction of human reckonings. he who has despised present things and has given himself to the word of god, and is using his mind for thoughts which are above man and are more divine, he would be the one who has a contrite heart and has made it a sacrifice which is not despised by the lord. for, 'a contrite and humbled heart, o god, thou wilt not despise.'104 therefore, 'the lord is nigh unto them that are of a contrite heart: and he will save the humble of spirit.' he who has no vanity and is not proud of anything human, he is the one who is contrite in heart and humble of spirit. he is humble also, who is walking in sin, because sin is of all things most humiliating. wherefore, we say that she is humbled who is corrupted and has lost the holi101 ibid. 72.27. 102 cf. exod. 24.2: ‘and moses alone shall come up to the lord.' 103 isa. 61.1. 104 ps. 50.19. 270 saint basil ness of virginity. so, amnon, it is said, rising up against thamar 'humbled' her.105 those, then, who have destroyed the majesty and elevation of their soul, being cast down to the earth by sin and beaten flat, as it were, are bent over, crawling along like the serpent, absolutely unable to be restored; these, in truth, are humbled, but not in spirit; for, their humility is not praiseworthy. but, whoever, having the gift of the holy spirit, willingly humble themselves under their inferiors, saying according to the apostle that they are the servants of those in christ,106 and 'the offscouring of all, even until now,'107 and again, 'we have become as the refuse of this world, '108 these use humility in a spiritual way, making themselves the last of all, in order that they may be first in the kingdom of heaven. the lord also proclaims them blessed, saying: 'blessed are the poor in spirit. '109 ‘many are the afflictions of the just; but out of them all will the lord deliver them.'110 'in all things we suffer tribulation, but we are not distressed.'111 for this reason the lord also says to his disciples: 'in the world you have affliction. but take courage, i have overcome the world.'112 so that, whenever you see the just with diseases, with maimed bodies, suffering loss of possessions, enduring blows, disgraces, all defect and need of the necessities of life, remember that, 'many are the afflictions of the just; but out of them all will the lord deliver them.' and he who says the affliction is not proper to a just man says nothing else than that an adversary is not proper for the athlete. but, what occasions for crowns will the athlete have who does not struggle? four times already in this psalm it has 105 cf. 2 kings 13.22: 'for absalom hated amnon because he had ravished his sister thamar.' 106 cf. 2 cor. 4.5: 'for we preach not ourselves, but jesus christ as lord, and ourselves merely as your servants in jesus.' 107 1 cor. 4.13. 108 ibid. 109 matt. 5.3. 110 ps. 33.20. 111 2 cor. 4.8. 112 john 16.33. homily 16 271 been told in what manner the lord delivers from affliction whomever he wishes to deliver. first, 'i sought the lord, and he heard me; and he delivered me from all my troubles.' second, 'this poor man cried, and the lord heard him: and saved him out of all his troubles.' third, 'the just cried, and the lord heard them: and delivered them out of all their troubles.' and lastly, 'many are the afflictions of the just; but out of them all will the lord deliver them.' (13) 'the lord keepeth all their bones, not one of them shall be broken.'113 is it necessary to hold fast to the word and to be satisfied with the thought which readily falls upon our ears, that these bones of the just, the props of the flesh, will not be broken because of the protection given to them by the lord? or, will only the bones of the just man who is alive and engaged in life be guarded unbroken? or, when the bonds of the body have been loosened, will it happen that there will be no cause of breaking for the just man? and truly, we have learned by experience that many bones of the just have been broken, when some among them handed themselves over to all forms of punishment for the sake of giving testimony for christ. already the persecutors have broken the legs of some and have frequently pierced hands and heads with nails. and yet, who will deny that of all, it is the most just who were brought to perfection in the testimony? perhaps, just as the term man is used for the soul and the human mind, so also his members are similarly named in accordance with the members of the flesh; thus, frequently scripture names the members of the inner man, for example, 'the eyes of a wise man are in his head, '114 that is, the hidden part of the wise man is foreseeing and farseeing. and again, it means equally the eyes both of the soul and of the flesh, not only in that saying which we have set forth, but also in the statement that 'the commandment of the lord is light119 ps. 93.21. 114 eccles. 2.14. 272 saint basil some and enlightening the eyes.'116 but, what should we say concerning this: 'he who has ears to hear, let him hear'p116 it is evident, indeed, that some possess ears better able to hear the words of god. but, to those who do not have those ears, what does he say? 'hear, ye deaf, and, ye blind, behold.'117 also 'i opened my mouth, and panted,'118 and 'thou hast broken the teeth of sinners.'119 all these things were said in reference to the faculties which render service for spiritual food and spiritual doctrines. such also is this saying, 'my bowels, my bowels are in pain,'120 and this, 'and the foot of the wise man 'shall not stumble.'121 all such expressions are used in reference to the inner man. according to the same reasoning there should also be certain bones of the inner man in which the bond of union and harmony of spiritual powers is collected. just as the bones by their own firmness protect the tenderness of the flesh, so also in the church there are some who through their own constancy are able to carry the infirmities of the weak. and as the bones are joined to each other through articulations by sinews and fastenings which have grown upon them, so also would be the bond of charity and peace, which achieves a certain natural junction and union of the spiritual bones in the church of god. concerning those bones which have been loosened from the frame and have become, as it were, dislocated, the prophet says: 'our bones are scattered by the side of hell.'122 and, if at any time disturbance and agitation seizes upon them, he says in prayer: 'heal me, o lord, for my bones are troubled.'123 when, however, they preserve their 115 ps. 18.9. 116 luke 8.8. 117 isa. 42.18. 118 ps. 118.131. 119 ibid. 3.8. 120 jer. 4.19. 121 prov. 3.23. 122 ps. 140.7. 123 ibid. 6.3. homily 16 273 own systematic arrangement, protected by the lord, not one of them will be broken, but they will be worthy to offer glory to god. for, he says: ‘all my bones shall say: lord, lord, who is like to thee?'124 do you know the nature of intellectual bones? perhaps, in reference to the mystery of our resurrection, the church might use this expression, 'all my bones shall say.' indeed, it is said: 'thus saith the lord to these bones: behold, i will send spirit of life into you, and i will lay sinews upon you, and will cause flesh to grow over you, and you shall live, and you shall know that i am the lord.'125 so, these bones, having taken on life and giving thanks for their resurrection, will say, 'lord, lord, who is like to thee?' (14) accurately has the statement been added: "the death of the wicked is very evil,'126 because there is a certain death of the just, not evil by nature, but good. in fact, those who die together with christ have come into a good death; and those who have died to sin have died a good and salutary death. however, 'the death of the wicked is very evil.' punishment follows after them, as also after the rich man who 'clothed himself in purple and fine linen, and who feasted every day in splendid fashion.'127 ‘and they that hate the just shall be guilty.'128 they also, who, since they are living in sin, hate the just, are thus convicted by the ways of the just man because of their proximity to the better, as by the straightness of a rule. since they are living in sin, they conduct themselves hatefully toward the just man, being in fear of reproach; and because they hate, they again involve themselves in sins. many are the pretexts on which the just man might be hated, outspokenness, for instance, in his reproofs. they hate the man who reproves 124 ibid. 34.10. 125 ezech. 37.5, 6. 126 ps. 33.22. 127 luke 16.19. 128 ps. 33.22. 274 saint basil them in the gate, 129 and they loathe holy speech. also, love for the first place and love of power have roused many to hatred of the rulers; sometimes, even ignorance of the reputation of the just man and of who is a just man. 'the death of the wicked is very evil.' or, he even calls all life death, because the apostle called this filesh death, when he said: 'who will deliver me from the body of this death?'130 those who use this body wickedly and make it the servant of sin prepare an evil death for themselves. 'the lord will redeem the souls of his servants: and none of them that trust in him shall offend.'131 since those who were created to serve the lord were being held fast by the captivity of the enemy, he will redeem their souls by his precious blood. therefore, no one of those who hope in him will be found in sin. 129 cf. isa. 29.21: 'that made men sin by word, and supplanted him that reproved them in the gate, and declined in vain from the just.' 130 rom. 7.24. 131 ps. 33.23. homily 17 unto the endi for those who shall be changed, for the sons of core2 for understanding (on psalm 44) his psalm seems to be one that is adapted to perfecting human nature and that provides assistance for attaining the prescribed end for those who have elected to live in virtue. indeed, in order that those advancing may attain perfection, there is need of the teaching which is provided by this psalm with the inscription, 'unto the end, for those that shall be changed.' it really says in an obscure manner, 'for men.' for, we especially of all rational beings are subject to variations and changes day by day and almost hour by hour. neither in body nor in mind are we the same, but our body is in perpetual flux and disintegration; it is in motion and transition, either increasing from smaller to larger, or reducing from perfection to deficiency. the child now frequenting the school and fit to acquire the arts and sciences is not the same as the newly born infant; and again, the adolesi 'unto the end, or, as st. jerome renders it, "victori, to him that overcometh,” which some understand of the chief musician, to whom they suppose the psalms, which bear the title, were given to be sung; we rather understand the psalms thus inscribed to refer to christ, who is the "end of the law," and the "great conqueror" of death and hell, and to the new testament.' rheims-douay bible, ps. 4, n.l. 2 the sons of core did not perish with their father in his rebellion against moses (cf. num. 26.11), and later they and their descendants were appointed to sing before the tabernacle of the lord (cf. i par. 6.31, 37; also 2 par. 9.19). 275 276 saint basil cent is admittedly different from the child, since he is already able to join with the young men. and beyond the adolescent is another man, one with firmness and great stature of body and perfection of reasoning. having come to the peak of his vigor and attained the stability of manhood, he again begins little by little to reduce to a smaller man as the condition of his body imperceptibly declines and his bodily energies are lessened, until, bent down by age, he waits for the last withdrawal of strength. accordingly, we are the ones who are changing and the psalm wisely alludes to us men through these words. angels do not admit any change. no one among them is a child, nor a young man, nor an old man, but in whatever state they were created in the beginning, in that state they remain, their substance being preserved pure and inviolate for them. but, we change in our body, as has been shown, and in our soul and in the inner man, always shifting our thoughts with the circumstances. in fact, we are one sort of person when we are cheerful and when all things in our life are moving forward with the current; but, we are another sort in precarious times, when we stumble against something that is not according to our wishes. we are changed through anger, assuming a certain savage state. we are also changed through our concupiscences, becoming like beasts through a life of pleasure. 'they are become as amorous horses,' madly in love with their neighbors' wives.8 the deceitful man is compared to a fox, as herod was;4 the shameless man is called a dog, like nabel the carmelian. do you see the variety and diversity of our change? then, admire him who has fittingly adapted this title to us. 3 cf. jer. 5.8: 'they are become as amorous horses and stallions: every one neighed after his neighbor's wife.' 4 cf. luke 13.32: 'certain pharisees came up, saying to him, “depart and be on thy way, for herod wants to kill thee.” and he said to them, “go and say to that fox." ' 5 cf. 1 kings 25.3 (septuagint version). homily 17 277 (2) for this very reason, a certain one of the interpreterse seems to me to have handed over beautifully and accurately the same thought through another title, saying, 'for the lilies,' in place of, 'for them that shall be changed.' he thought that it was appropriate to compare the transitoriness of human nature with the early death of flowers. but, since this word has been inflected in the future tense, (it is said: 'for them that shall be changed,' as if at some time later this change will be shown to us), let us consider whether there is suggested to us the doctrine of the resurrection, in which a change will be granted to us, but a change for something better and something spiritual. 'what is sown in corruption,' he says, ‘rises in incorruption. do you see the change? 'what is sown in weakness rises in power; what is sown a natural body rises a spiritual body,'? when every corporeal creature will change together with us. also, 'the heavens shall grow old like a garment and as a vesture' god 'shall change them, and they shall be changed.'8 then, according to isaia, 'the sun will be sevenfold, and the moon like the present size of the sun.'' since the sayings of god have not been written for all, but for those who have ears according to the inner man, he wrote the inscription, 'for them that shall be changed,' as i think, for those who are careful of themselves and are always advancing through their exercises of piety toward something better. this is surely the best change which the right hand of the most high will bestow; of which the blessed david also had an understanding when, having tasted the blessings of 6 the benedictine editors believe that st. basil is speaking of the translator, aquila, who has this title in the hexapla for this psalm: “tôi nikopolỗi epi tôis knois tôn uiên korẻ, epistemonos aisma prosfillas.' 71 cor. 15.42-44. 8 ps. 101.27. 9 cf. isa. 30.26: 'and the light of the moon shall be as the light of the sun, and the light of the sun shall be sevenfold.' 278 saint basil a virtue, he strained forward to what was before.10 for, what does he say? 'and i said, now i have begun: this is the change of the right hand of the most high.'11 therefore, one who is advancing in virtue is never unchanged. "when i was a child,' it is said, 'i spoke as a child, i felt as a child, i thought as a child. now that i have become a man, i have put away the things of a child.'12 again, when he had become a man, he did not rest from his work, but 'forgetting what was behind, he strained forward to what was before, he pressed on towards the goal to the prize of the heavenly calling '13 there is a change, therefore, of the inner man who is renewed day by day. since he, the prophet, is about to announce to us what concerns the beloved, who for our sake took upon himself the dispensation of the incarnation, for those who are worthy of this grace he says that he has given this canticle for the sons of core. for it is a canticle and not a psalm; because it is sung with harmonious modulation by the unaccompanied voice and with no instrument sounding in accord with it. and it is a canticle for the beloved. shall i describe to you whom the scripture says the beloved is? or do you know, even before our words, recalling the voice in the gospel? 'this is my beloved son, in whom i am well pleased; hear him.'14 the beloved is to the father as the only-begotten one; and to every creature as a kind father and a good ruler. the same thing is by nature both beloved and good. wherefore, some have rightly given the definition, saying that 'good' is what all things desire. it is not the privilege of any chance person to go forward to the perfection of love and to learn to know him who is truly 10 cf. phil. 3.13, 14: ‘but one thing i do: forgetting what is behind, i strain forward to what is before, i press on towards the goal, to the prize of god's heavenly call.' 11 ps. 76.11. 12 1 cor. 13.11. 13 cf. phil. 3.13. cf. n. 10 supra. 14 matt. 17.5. homily 17 279 beloved, but of him who has already ‘put off the old man, which is being corrupted through its deceptive lusts, and has put on the new man,'15 which is being renewed that it may be recognized as an image of the creator. moreover, he who loves money and is aroused by the corruptible beauty of the body and esteems exceedingly this little glory here, since he has expended the power of loving on what is not proper, he is quite blind in regard to the contemplation of him who is truly beloved. therefore, it is said: 'thou shalt love the lord thy god with thy whole heart, and with thy whole soul, and with thy whole mind.'16 the expression, 'with thy whole,' admits of no division into parts. as much love as you shall have squandered on lower objects, that much will necessarily be lacking to you from the whole. because of this, of all people few have been called friends of god, as moses has been described as a friend;17 likewise, john: ‘but the friend he says, 'of the bridegroom, who stands, rejoices exceedingly,'18 that is to say, he who has a steadfast and immovable love for christ, he is worthy of his friendship. therefore, the lord said to his disciples who were already perfect: 'no longer do i call you servants,' but friends; 'because the servant does not know what his master does.'19 accordingly, it is the privilege of a perfect man truly to recognize the beloved. in reality, only holy men are the friends of god and friends to each other, but no one of the wicked or stupid is a friend. the beauty of friendship does not fall into a depraved state, since nothing shameful or incongruous can be capable of the harmonious union of friendship. evil is contrary not to the good only, but also to itself. but, now let us proceed to an examination of the words. 15 eph. 4.22, 24. 16 mark 12.30. 17 cf. exod. 33.11: 'and the lord spoke to moses face to face, as a man is wont to speak to his friend.' 18 john 3.29. 19 ibid. 15.15. 280 saint basil (3) 'my heart hath uttered a good word.'20 some have already thought that these words were spoken from the person of the father concerning the word who was with him from the beginning, whom he brought forth, they say, as it were, from his heart and his very vitals; and from a good heart there came forth a good word. but, it seems to me that these words refer to the person of the prophet, since what follows the saying no longer makes the explanation concerning the father equally smooth for us. the father would not say concerning his own tongue: 'my tongue is the pen of a scrivener that writeth swiftly. thou art beautiful above the sons of men.'21 not, indeed, by a comparison with men does he possess a superiority of beauty. and continuing, he says: 'therefore god, thy god hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness."22 he did not say: ‘i, god, anointed you,' but, 'he anointed you,' so that it is shown from this that the one speaking is another person. what else is this, therefore, than the prophet spreading the action of the holy spirit which has come upon him? ‘my heart hath uttered a good word,' he says. now, since belching is hidden breath which is blown upwards when the bubbles due to the effervescence of the food burst, he who is fed with the 'living bread which came down from heaven and gives life to the world'23 and who is filled by every word that comes forth from the mouth of god,"24 according to the customary allegorical interpretation of the scripture, this soul, i say, nourished with the divine learning, sends forth an utterance proper to its food. therefore, since the food was rational and good, the prophet uttered a good word. for the good man from the good treasure' of his heart brings forth the 20 ps. 44.2. 21 ibid. 44.2, 3. 22 ibid. 44.8. 23 cf. john 6.51, 52: 'i am the living bread that has come down from heaven. and the bread that i will give is my flesh for the life of the world.' 24 matt. 4.4. homily 17 281 good.25 let us ourselves, therefore, seek after the nourishment from the word for the filling of our souls ('the just,' it is said, 'eateth and filleth his soul'26), in order that, in correspondence with what we are fed, we may send up, not some vulgar word, but a good one. the wicked man, nourished by unsound doctrines, utters in his heart a wicked word. do you not see what sort of words the mouths of heretics pour forth? how harsh and foul, indicating some serious disease in the innermost part of the wretched ones? 'the evil man from the evil treasure' of his heart brings forth evil.27 'do not, therefore, having itching ears, heap up for yourself teachers'28 who are able to produce disease in your vitals and to procure for you the utterance of evil words for which you are going to be judged on the day of judgment. “for by thy words thou wilt be justified,' he said, “and by thy words thou wilt be condemned. "29 'i speak my works to the king: '30 these words also lead us . especially to understand the person of the prophet. 'i speak my works to the king,' that is, i will confess to the judge and get ahead of the accuser by reporting my own deeds. certainly, we have received the command which says: “tell first your transgressions that you may be justified.'31 ‘my tongue is the pen of a scrivener that writeth swiftly.'32 as the pen is an instrument for writing when the hand of an experienced person moves it to record what is being written, so also the tongue of the just man, when the holy spirit moves it, writes the words of eternal life in the hearts of the faithful, 25 cf. matt. 12.35: “the good man from his good treasure brings forth good things.' 26 prov. 13.25. 27 cf. matt. 12.35: ‘and the evil man from his evil treasure brings forth evil things.' 28 cf. 2 tim. 4.3: ‘but having itching ears, they will heap up to themselves teachers according to their own lusts.' 29 matt. 12.37. 30 ps. 44.2. 31 isa. 43.26 (septuagint version). 32 ps. 44.2. 282 saint basil dipped ‘not in ink, but in the spirit of the living god.'33 the scrivener, therefore, is the holy spirit, because he is wise and an apt teacher of all; and swiftly writing, because the movement of his mind is swift. the spirit writes thoughts in us, 'not on tablets of stone but on fleshy tablets of the heart.'34 in proportion to the size of the heart, the spirit writes in hearts more or less, either things evident to all or things more obscure, according to its previous preparation of purity. because of the speed with which the writings have been finished all the world now is filled with the gospel. it seemed best to us to interpret the next expression as beginning with itself and not to join it with the preceding, but to associate it with what follows. for the words, 'thou art ripe in beauty' we think are spoken to the lord by way of apostrophe. (4) 'thou art ripe in beauty, above the sons of men: grace is poured abroad in thy lips.'35 both aquila and symmachus36 introduce us to this thought; the first saying, “thou art adorned with beauty above the sons of men,' and symmachus, 'thou art eau ul with a beauty above the sons of men.' now, he [david) calls the lord ripe in beauty when he fixes his gaze on his divinity. he does not celebrate the beauty of the flesh. ‘and we have seen him, and he had no sightliness, nor beauty, but his appearance was without honor and lacking above the sons of men.'37 it is evident, then, that the prophet, looking upon his brilliancy and being filled with the splendor there, his soul smitten with this beauty, was moved to a divine love of the spiritual beauty, and when this appeared in the human soul all things hitherto loved seemed shameful and abominable. therefore, even paul, when he 33 2 cor. 3.3. 34 ibid. 35 ps. 44.3. 36 aquila and symmachus were two early translators of the old testament into greek. their versions were included by origen in the hexapla. 37 isa. 53.2, 3 (septuagint version). homily 17 283 saw his ripe beauty 'counted all things as dung that he might gain christ.'38 those outside the word of truth, despising the simplicity of expression in the scriptures, call the preaching of the gospel folly; but we, who glory in the cross of christ, 'to whom the gifts bestowed on us by god were manifested through the spirit, not in words taught by human wisdom, '39 know that the grace poured out by god in the teachings concerning christ is rich. therefore, in a short time the teaching passed through almost the whole world, since grace, rich and plentiful, was poured out upon the preachers of the gospel, whom scripture called even the lips of christ. moreover, the message of the gospel in its insignificant little words possesses great guidance and attraction toward salvation. and every soul is overcome by the unalterable doctrines, being strengthened by grace to an unshaken faith in christ. whence the apostle says: “through whom we have received grace and apostleship to bring about obedience to faith.'40 and again: 'i have labored more than any of them, yet not i, but the grace of god with me.'41 (5) 'grace is poured abroad in thy lips; therefore hath god blessed thee forever.'42 in the gospel it has been written: ‘they marvelled at the words of grace that came from his mouth.'43 the psalm, wishing to bring forward vividly the great amount of grace in the words spoken by our lord, says: 'grace is poured abroad in thy lips,' because of the abundance of grace in the words. 'god hath blessed thee forever,' it says. it is evident that these words refer to his human nature, as it advances 'in wisdom and age and grace.'44 according to this 38 phil. 3.8. 39 cf. 1 cor. 2.12, 13: 'now we have received not the spirit of the world, but the spirit that is from god, that we may know the things that have been given us by god. these things we also speak, not in words taught by human wisdom, but in the learning of the spirit.' 40 rom. 1.5. 41 1 cor. 15.10. 42 ps. 44.3. 43 luke 4.22. 44 ibid. 2.52. 284 saint basil we clearly perceive that grace has been given to him as the prize for his brave deeds. similar to this is the saying: 'thou hast loved justice and hated iniquity: therefore god, thy god, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy fellows.'45 the saying of paul to the philippians is also much like to this: 'he humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even to death on a cross. therefore god also has exalted him.'46 so that it is clear that these words were spoken concerning the savior as a man. or, there is this explanation. since the church is the body of the lord, and he himself is the head of the church, just as we have explained that those ministering to the heavenly word are the lips of christ (even as paul, or anyone else much like to him in virtue, had christ speaking in himself47), so also we, as many of us as are believers, are the other members of the body of christ. now, if anyone refers to the lord the praise given to the church, he will not sin. therefore, the saying: 'god hath blessed thee'; that is to say, he has filled thy members and thy body with blessings from himself for eternity, that is to say, for time without end. 'gird thy sword upon thy thigh, o thou most mighty. with thy ripeness and thy beauty.'48 we believe that this refers figuratively to the living word of god, so that he is joined with the flesh, who is ‘efficient and keener than any two-edged sword, and extending even to the division of soul and spirit, of joints also and of marrow, and a discerner of the thoughts and intentions of the heart.'49 for, the thigh is a symbol of efficiency in generation. 'for these,' he says, “are the souls that came out of jacob's thigh.'50 as, then, our lord jesus christ 45 ps. 44.8. 46 phil. 2.8. 47 cf. 2 cor. 13.3: 'do you seek a proof of the christ who speaks in me?' 48 ps. 44.4. 49 heb. 4.12. 50 cf. exod. 1.5: ‘and all the souls that came out of jacob's thigh were seventy' homily 17 285 52 is a life and a way,51 and bread,62 and a grapevine, 53 and a true light,54 and is also called numberless other names, so, too, he is a sword that cuts through the sensual part of the soul and mortifies the motions of concupiscence. then, since god the word was about to unite himself to the weakness of flesh, there is added beautifully the expression, 'thou most mighty,' because the fact that god was able to exist in the nature of man bears proof of the greatest power. in fact, the construction of heaven and earth, and the generation of sea and air and the greatest elements, and whatever is known above the earth and whatever beneath the earth, do not commend the power of the word of god as much as his dispensation concerning the incarnation and his condescension to the lowliness and weakness of humanity. 'with thy ripeness and thy beauty.' ripeness differs from beauty, because ripeness is said to be the attainment at a suitable time to its own flowering, as the grain is ripe which is already mature for the harvest; and the fruit of the vine is ripe which receives the proper maturing for its own perfection through the season of the year and is fit for enjoyment. on the other hand, beauty is the harmony in the composition of the members, and it possesses a grace that blooms in it. therefore, 'gird thy sword upon thy thigh, o thou most mighty. with thy ripeness and thy beauty. with thy ripeness,' that is to say, in the fullness of time; ‘and thy beauty,' the divinity which can be known through contemplation and reason. for, that is truly beautiful which exceeds all human apprehension and power and can be contemplated by the mind alone. the disciples to whom he privately explained the parables knew his beauty. peter and the sons of thunder saw his beauty on 51 cf. john 14.6: ‘jesus said to him, “i am the way, and the truth, and the life.”' 52 cf. ibid. 6.35: 'but jesus said to them, “i am the bread of life." ' 53 cf. ibid. 15.5: 'i am the vine, you are the branches.' 54 cf. ibid. 1.9: 'it was the true light that enlightens every man who comes into the world.' 286 saint easil the mountain,55 surpassing in splendor the brilliance of the sun, and they were considered worthy to perceive with their eyes the beginning of his glorious coming. 'set out, proceed prosperously, and reign.'56 that is to say, having begun your care of men through the flesh, make that care earnest and lasting and never weakening. this will provide a way and a course for the preaching, and will subject all to your power. let it not astonish us that the expression, ‘proceed prosperously,' is spoken in the imperative mood, because of the custom of scripture which always arranges its expressions of desire in this way. for example, 'thy will be done,'57 instead of, ‘may thy will be done.' and 'thy kingdom come,'58 instead of ‘may thy kingdom come.' (6) 'because of truth and meekness and justice: and thy right hand shall conduct thee wonderfully.'59 in the same way again, this saying is fashioned figuratively, just as if the lord were receiving as a reward these favors, namely, to proceed prosperously and to reign, because of his truth and meekness and justice. we must understand it in this way: since things human have been distorted by deceit, rule among men who are governed by sin in order that you may sow the truth again, for you are the truth. and, 'because of meekness,' in order that by your example all may be led forth to clemency and goodness. wherefore, the lord also said: ‘learn from me, for i am meek and humble of heart.'60 and he showed this meekness in his works themselves; 'when he was reviled, he was silent;'61 when he was scourged, he endured. and thy 55 cf. matt. 17.1, 2: 'now after six days jesus took peter, james and his brother john, and led them up a high mountain by themselves, and was transfigured before them. and his face shone as the sun, and his garments became white as snow.' 56 ps. 44.5. 57 matt. 6.10. 58 ibid. 59 ps. 44.5. 60 matt. 11.29. 61 1 peter 2.23. homily 17 287 right hand shall conduct thee wonderfully. not a pillar of cloud, nor the illumination of fire, but thy right hand itself. 'thy arrows are sharp, o thou most mighty.’62 the sharp arrows of the mighty one are the well-aimed words which touch the hearts of the hearers, striking and wounding their keenly perceptive souls. 'the words of the wise, it is said, ‘are as goads.'63 the psalmist, therefore, praying to be delivered at some time from the deceitful men of his time, seeks after the sharp arrows of the mighty one for the cure of the deceitful tongue. he wishes for 'coals that lay waste'64 to be at hand, so that punishment, which he called 'coals that lay waste,' may be ready for those upon whom through blindness of heart the rational arrows do not fasten. for those who have made themselves destitute of god the preparation of coals that lay waste is necessary. now, therefore, 'thy arrows are sharp.' the souls which have received the faith are wounded by these arrows, and those inflamed with the highest love of god say with the spouse, 'i languish with love.'65 indescribable and inexpressible are the beauty of the word and the ripeness of the wisdom and of the comeliness of god in his own image. blessed, therefore, are those who are fond of contemplating true beauty. as if bound to him through love, and loving the celestial and blessed love, they forget relatives and friends; they forget home and all their abundance; and forgetful even of the bodily necessity to eat and drink, they have clung only to the divine and pure love. you will understand the sharp arrows also as those sent out to sow the gospel in the whole world, who, because they had spurred themselves on, shone with works of justice, and they crept subtly into the souls of those who were being instructed; for, these arrows, sent out everywhere, were preparing the people to fall under christ. however, the phrase seems to me to be restored more con62 ps. 44.6 (septuagint version). 63 eccles. 12.11. 64 ps. 119.4. 65 cant. 2.5. 288 saint basil sistently by a transposition of words, so that the meaning is this: 'set out, proceed prosperously, and reign, and thy right hand shall conduct thee wonderfully, and under thee people shall fall; because thy arrows are sharp in the hearts of the king's enemies.' no one who is fighting against god and is boastful and arrogant falls under god, but they who accept subjection through faith. the arrows, falling in the hearts of those who were at some time enemies of the king, draw them to a love for the truth, draw them to the lord, so that they who were enemies to god are reconciled to him through its teachings. (7) 'thy throne, o god, is forever and ever; the sceptre of thy kingdom is a sceptre of uprightness. thou hast loved justice and hated iniquity; therefore god, thy god, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy fellows.'66 after he has directed his attention to mankind and discoursed much about it, he now elevates his sermon to the heights of the glory of the only-begotten. 'thy throne,' he says, 'o god, is forever and ever,' that is to say, thy kingdom is beyond the ages and older than all thought. and beautifully after the subjection of the people does he celebrate the magnificence of the kingdom of god. 'the sceptre of thy kingdom is a sceptre of uprightness. for this reason also he gave him his own name, clearly proclaiming him god: “thy throne, o god.' the sceptre of god is punitive, and while correcting, it brings forth upright and not perverse judgments. therefore, the sceptre of uprightness is called the sceptre of his kingdom. 'and if his children forsake my law, and walk not in my judgments, i will visit their iniquities with a rod.'67 do you see the just judgment of god? he does not make use of it in the case of chance persons, but of sinners. it is also called a rod of consolation: 'thy rod,' he says, “and thy staff, they have comforted me.'68 it is a rod of affliction, too: 'thou shalt rule 66 ps. 44.7, 67 ibid. 88.31, 33. 68 ibid. 22.4. homily 17 289 them with a rod of iron, and shalt break them in pieces like a potter's vessel.'69 things of earth and clay are broken in kindness toward those who are governed, as it is handed down, 'for the destruction of the flesh, that his spirit may be saved.'70 (8) 'therefore god, thy god, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy fellows.'71 since it was necessary to give form to the typical anointing, and the typical high priests and kings, the flesh of the lord was anointed with the true anointing, by the coming of the holy spirit into it, which was called 'the oil of gladness.' and he was anointed above his fellows; that is to say, all men who are members of christ. therefore, a certain partial sharing of the spirit was given to them, but the holy spirit descending upon the son of god, as john says, 'abode upon him.'72 rightly is the spirit called the 'oil of gladness,' inasmuch as one of the fruits produced by the holy spirit is joy. since the account concerning the savior is mixed because of the nature of the divinity and the dispensation of the incarnation, looking again at the humanity of god he says: 'thou hast loved justice and hated iniquity,' meaning : 'the rest of men frequently achieve by labor and practice and diligence a disposition toward virtue and a disinclination to vice; but you have a certain natural attraction to the good and an aversion for iniquity. yet, it is not hard for us, if we wish it, to take up a love for justice and a hatred for iniquity. god has advantageously given all power to the rational soul, as that of loving, so also that of hating, in order that, guided by reason, we may love virtue but hate vice. it is possible at times to use hatred even praiseworthily. 'have i not hated them, o lord, that hated thee: and pined away because of thy enemies? i have hated them with a perfect hatred.'73 (9) 'myrrh and aloes and cassia perfume thy garments, from 69 ibid. 2.9. 70 1 cor. 5.5. 71 ps. 44.8. 72 john 1.32. 73 ps. 138.21, 22. 290 saint basil the ivory houses: out of which the daughters of kings have delighted thee in thy glory.'74 the statement of the prophet, descending gradually and consistently and mentioning first all those things which pertain to the dispensation of the incarnation, by a strong breath of the spirit which reveals to him hidden things, came to the passion. 'myrrh,' he says, 'and aloes ‘ and cassia perfume thy garments. now, the fact that myrrh is a symbol of burial even the evangelist john taught us when he said that he was prepared for burial by joseph of arimathea with myrrh and aloes.75 aloes itself is also a very refined form of myrrh. when the aromatic herb is squeezed, whatever part of it is liquid is separated as aloes, but the denser part which is left is called myrrh. surely, then, the sweet odor of christ gives forth the fragrance of myrrh because of his passion and of aloes because he did not remain motionless and inactive for three days and three nights but descended to the lower world to distribute the graces of the resurrection, in order that he might fulfill all things which have reference to him. and it breathes forth the fragrance of cassia because cassia is a certain very delicate and fragrant bark which is tightly stretched around a woody stalk. perhaps, scripture profoundly and wisely intimated to us through the name of cassia the suffering of the cross undertaken in kindness to every creature. therefore, you have myrrh because of burial; aloes, because of the passage down to the lower world (since every drop is borne downward); and cassia, because of the dispensation of the flesh upon the wood. for this reason he says: 'the daughters of kings have delighted thee in thy glory.' but, who would be the daughters of kings except the generous and great and kingly souls? those which, after they had learned to know christ through his descent to a human state delighted him in his glory,' in true faith and perfect charity, 74 ibid. 44.9. 75 cf. john 19.38, 39: ‘joseph of arimathea, ... besought pilate that he might take away the body of jesus. and there also came nicodemus ... bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes.' homily 17 291 giving glory to his divinity. and these aromatic herbs, he says, are not sparingly present in the garments of christ (that is to say, the parable of the sermons and the preparation of the doctrines), but are brought from all the buildings. he says that the largest of the dwellings are houses, and that these are constructed of ivory, because the prophet is teaching, i think, the wealth of the love of christ for the world. 'the queen stood on thy right hand, arrayed in gilded clothing, embroidered with varied colors.'76 now he is speaking about the church, about which we have learned in the canticle that it is the one perfect dove of christ, 77 which admits those who are known for their good works to the right side of christ, separating them from the bad, just as the shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.78 therefore, the queen, that is, the soul which is joined with the word, its bridegroom, not subjected by sin but sharing the kingdom of christ, stands on the right hand of the savior in gilded clothing, that is to say, adorning herself charmingly and religiously with spiritual doctrines, interwoven and varied. since, however, the teachings are not simple, but varied and manifold, and embrace words, moral and natural and the so-called esoteric, therefore, the scripture says that the clothing of the bride is varied. (10) 'hearken, o daughter, and see, and incline thy ear: and forget thy people and thy father's house. and the king shall greatly desire thy beauty, for he is thy lord, and him they shall adore.'79 he summons the church to hear and observe the precepts and, addressing her as daughter, associates her with himself through this title, as if he had adopted her through love. 'hearken, o daughter, and see.' he teaches 76 ps. 44.10. 77 cf. cant. 6.8: 'one is my dove, my perfect one.' 78 cf. matt. 25.32: ‘and before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate them one from another, as the shepherd separates the sheep from the goats; and he will set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left.' 79 ps. 44.11, 12. 292 saint basil that she has a mind trained to contemplation through the word, 'see.' observe well, he says, the creation, and, aided by the order in it, thus ascend to the contemplation of the creator. then bending her lofty and proud neck, he says: 'incline thy ear.' do not run away to stories from the outside, but accept the humble voice in the evangelical account. 'incline thy ear' to this teaching in order that you may forget those depraved customs and the lessons of your fathers. therefore, 'forget thy people and thy father's house.' for, everyone 'who commits sin is of the devil.'80 cast out, i pray you, he says, the teachings of the evil spirits, forget sacrifices, nocturnal dances, tales which inflame to fornication and to every form of licentiousness. for this reason have i called you my own daughter, that you may hate the parent who previously begot you for destruction. if through such forgetfulness you erase the blemishes of your depraved learning, assuming your own proper beauty, you will appear desirable to your spouse and king. 'because he is thy lord, and him they shall adore.' he intimates the need of submission by the expression: 'he is thy lord. him they shall adore,' that is, every creature. therefore, ‘at the name of jesus christ every knee shall bend of those in heaven, on earth and under the earth.'81 ‘and the daughter of tyre with gifts, yea, all the rich among the people, shall entreat thy countenance.'82 idolatry seems to have been practiced excessively in the chanaanite country. the metropolis of chanaan is tyre. scripture, then, urging the church on to obedience, says: “and the daughter of tyre will come at some time with gifts. and the rich among the people will entreat thy countenance with gifts.' he did not say: 'they will entreat you with gifts,' but, 'thy countenance.' for, the church will not be adored, but christ, the head of the church, whom scripture called the 'countenance.' 80 1 john 3.8. 81 phil. 2.10. 82 ps. 44.13. homily 17 298 (11) ‘all the glory of the king's daughter is within, invested and adorned with golden borders. after her shall virgins be brought to the king.'88 after she had been cleansed of the former doctrines of wickedness, and was heeding the instruction and forgetting her people and her father's house, the holy spirit relates what pertains to her. and since he saw the cleanliness deeply hidden, he says: 'all the glory of the king's daughter,' that is to say, of christ's bride, who has become henceforth through adoption daughter of the king, ‘is within.' the assertion urges us to penetrate to the inmost mysteries of ecclesiastical glory, since the beauty of the bride is within. he who makes himself ready for the father who sees in secret, and who prays and does all things, not to be seen by men, but to be known to god alone,84 this man has all his glory within, even as the king's daughter. and the golden borders with which the whole is invested and adorned are within. seek nothing with exterior gold and bodily adornment; but consider the garment as one worthy to adorn him who is according to the image of his creator, as the apostle says: 'stripping off the old man, and putting on the new, one that is being renewed unto perfect knowledge "according to the image of his creator.” °85 and he who has put on the heart of mercy, kindness, humility, patience, and meekness,'86 is clothed within and has adorned the inner man. paul exhorts us to put on the lord jesus,87 not according to the exterior man, but in order that our remembrance of god may cover over our whole mind. but, i believe that the spiritual garment is woven when the attendant action is interwoven with the word of doctrine. in fact, just as a bodily garment is woven 83 ibid. 44.14, 15. 84 cf. matt. 6.1-6. 85 col. 3.9, 10. 86 ibid. 3.12. 87 cf. rom. 13.14: ‘but put on the lord jesus christ, and as for the flesh, take no thought for its lusts.' 294 saint basil when the woof is interwoven with the warp, so when the word is antecedent, if actions in accordance with the word should be produced, there would be made a certain most magnificent garment for the soul which possesses a life of virtue attained by word and action. but, the borders hang down from the garment, these also spiritual; therefore, they too are said to be golden. since, indeed, the word is greater than the deed, there is, as it were, a certain border which remains over from the woven robe according to the action. certain souls, since they have not accepted seeds of false doctrines, follow the spouse of the lord and because they are following his spouse they will be led to the king. let those also who have vowed virginity to the lord hear that virgins will be led to the king, but virgins who are close to the church, who follow after her, and who do not wander away from the ecclesiastical discipline. the virgins 'shall be brought with gladness and rejoicing: they shall be brought into the temple of the king.'88 not those who through constraint assume virginity, nor those who accept the chaste life through grief or necessity, but those who in gladness and rejoicing take delight in so virtuous an act, these will be brought to the king, and they will be brought not into some insignificant place, but into the temple of the king. for, the sacred vessels, which human use has not defiled, will be brought into the holy of holies and they will have the right of entrance into the innermost shrines, where unhallowed feet do not walk about. and how great a matter it is to be brought into the temple of the king, the prophet shows when he prays for himself and says: 'one thing i have asked of the lord, this will i seek after; that i may dwell in the house of the lord all the days of my life. that i may see the delight of the lord, and may visit his temple.'89 (12) 'instead of thy fathers, sons are born to thee: thou shalt make them princes over all the earth.'90 since she was 88 ps. 44.16. 89 ibid. 26.4. 90 ibid. 44.17. homily 17 295 ordered above to forget her people and her father's house, in exchange for her obedience she now receives instead of fathers, sons who are conspicuous for such great qualities that they are established as 'princes over all the earth.' who, then, are the sons of the church? surely, the sons of the gospel, who rule all the earth. 'their sound hath gone forth,' he says, 'into all the earth,'91 and 'they shall sit on twelve thrones, and they shall judge the twelve tribes of israel.'92 and if anyone accepts the patriarchs as the fathers of the bride, even thus the explanation of the apostles does not fail. for, instead of them there were born to her through christ sons, who do the works of abraham and, therefore, are deemed equal in honor with them, because they have done the same things for which the fathers were considered worthy of great honors. in truth, the saints are the princes of all the earth because of their attraction for the good, since the nature itself of good bestows upon them the first place, as it bestowed upon jacob the rights of esau. for, it is said: 'be master of your brother.'93 accordingly, they who have been made equal in honor with their fathers and have received in addition the pre-eminence in all things through the exercise of virtue, are both sons of the bride of christ and are established by their own mother as princes over all the earth. consider, i pray you, how great is the power of the queen, that she appoints princes over all the earth. 'i shall remember thy name throughout all generations. therefore shall people praise thee forever: yea forever and ever.'94 after all things else the scripture, as if in the person of the church, says: 'i shall remember thy name throughout all generations. and what is the remembrance of the church? the praise of the people. 91 ibid. 18.5. 92 matt. 19.28. 93 gen. 27.29. 94 ps. 44.18. st. basil substitutes the first person singular for the third person in the verbs. homily 18 a psalm for the sons of core (on psalm 45) u > into the end, for the sons of core, 'a psalm for the hidden.'1 this psalm seems to me to contain the prophecy concerning the end of time. paul, having knowledge of this end, says: 'then comes the end, when he delivers the kingdom to god the father.'2 or, since our actions lead us to the end, each one to the end proper to itself, the good leading toward happiness, and the base toward eternal condemnation, and since the counsels delivered by the spirit in this psalm lead those obeying them to the good end, therefore it has been entitled: 'unto the end,' inasmuch as it is the record of the teachings for the happy end of human life. 'for the sons of core.' this psalm is also said to be for the sons of core, whom the holy spirit does not separate, since, as with one soul and one voice, with complete harmony toward each other, they utter the words of prophecy, while no one of them prophesies anything at all contrary to the others, but the gift of prophecy is given to them equally because of the equality of their mutual affection for the good. moreover, the psalm is said to be 'for the hidden,' that is to say, for secret things, and those buried in mystery. having meditated on the expressions of the psalm 1 ps. 45.1. 2 1 cor. 15.24. 297 298 saint basil a in turn, you will learn the hidden meaning of the words, and that it is not the privilege of any chance person to gaze at the divine mysteries, but of him alone who is able to be a harmonious instrument of the promise, so that his soul is moved by the action of the holy spirit in it instead of by the psaltery. 'our god is our refuge and strength: a helper in troubles, which have found us exceedingly.'3 because of the weakness present in him from nature, every man has need of much assistance, if many troubles and labors befall him. seeking a refuge, therefore, from all precarious situations, like one fleeing to a place of sanctuary or having recourse to some sharp summit surrounded by a strong wall because of the attack of the enemy, so he flees to god, believing that a dwelling in him is his only rest. therefore, because flight to god was agreed upon by all, the enemy produced great illusion and confusion concerning the choice of the savior. plotting as an enemy, again he deceives the victims of his plots into thinking that they should flee to him as to a protector. consequently, a twofold evil surrounds them, since they are either seized by force or destroyed by deceit. therefore, the unbelievers flee to demons and idols, having the knowledge of the true god snatched away by the confusion which is produced in them by the devil. they who recognize god err in the judgment of their affairs, making demands for useful things foolishly, asking for some things as good, which frequently are not for their advantage, and fleeing others as evil, though at times they bring great assistance to them. for example, is someone sick? because he is fleeing the pain from the sickness, he prays for health. did he lose his money? he is exceedingly pained by the loss. yet, frequently the disease is useful when it will restrain the sinner, and health is harmful when it becomes the means for sin to one who possesses it. in the same manner, money also has already served some for licentiousness, while 3 ps. 45.2. homily 18 299 5 poverty has taught self-control to many who had begun badly. do not flee, then, what you do not need to flee, and do not have recourse to him to whom it is unnecessary. but, one thing you must flee, sin; and one refuge from evil must be sought, god. do not trust in princes; do not be exalted in the uncertainty of wealth; do not be proud of bodily strength; do not pursue the splendor of human glory. none of these things saves you; all are transient, all are deceptive. there is one refuge, god. ‘cursed be the man that trusteth in man,'4 or in any human thing. (2) therefore, 'god is our refuge and strength.' to him who is able to say: 'i can do all things in him,' christ, 'who strengthens me,'' god is strength. now, it is the privilege of many to say: 'god is our refuge,' and 'lord, thou hast been our refuge.’ó but, to say it with the same feelings as the prophet is the privilege of few. for, there are few who do not admire human interests but depend wholly upon god and breathe him and have all hope and trust in him. and our actions convict us whenever in our afflictions we run to everything else rather than to god. is a child sick? you look around for an enchanter or one who puts superstitious marks on the necks of the innocent children; or finally, you go to a doctor and to medicines, having neglected him who is able to save. if a dream troubles you, you run to the interpreter of dreams. and, if you fear an enemy, you cunningly secure some man as a patron. in short, in every need you contradict yourselfin word, naming god as your refuge; in act, drawing on aid from useless and vain things. god is the true aid for the righteous man. just as a certain general, equipped with a noble heavy-armed force, is always ready to give help to an oppressed district, so god is our helper and an ally to everyone who is waging war against the wiliness of the devil, and he sends out 4 jer. 17.5. 5 phil. 4.13. 6 ps. 89.1. 300 saint basil ministering spirits for the safety of those who are in need. moreover, affliction will find every just man because of the established way of life. he who avoids the wide and broad way and travels the narrow and close one? will be found by tribulations. the prophet formed the statement vividly when he said: 'in troubles which have found us exceedingly.' for, they overtake us like living creatures, 'working out endurance, and through endurance tried virtue, and through tried virtue hope.'8 whence also, the apostle said: 'through many tribulations we must enter the kingdom of god.'! and ‘many are the afflictions of the just.'10 but, he who generously and calmly endures the trial of affliction will say: 'in all these things we overcome because of him who has loved us.'11 and he is so far from refusing and shrinking from the afflictions that he makes the excessive evils an occasion of glory, saying: “and not only this, but we exult in tribulations also. '12 (3) 'therefore we will not fear, when the earth shall be troubled; and the mountains shall be removed into the heart of the sea.'13 the prophet shows the great strength of his confidence in christ, because, even if all things are turned upside down, and the earth, being troubled, is overturned, and if the mountains, leaving their proper sites, are removed to the middle of the sea, 'we will not fear,' seeing that we have ‘god as our refuge and strength and helper in troubles which have found us exceedingly.' whose heart is so undaunted, whose thoughts are so untroubled, as in such great confusion to direct 7 cf. matt. 7.13, 14: 'for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and many there are who enter that way. how narrow the gate and close the way that leads to life.' 8 cf. rom. 5.3, 4: ‘but we exult in tribulations also, knowing that tribulation works out endurance, and endurance tried virtue, and tried virtue hope.' 9 acts 14.22. 10 ps. 33.20. 11 rom. 8.37. 12 ibid. 5.3. 13 ps. 45.3. homily 18 801 his mind toward god, and through hope in him to be astounded at nothing that happens? we, however, do not endure the anger of man; if a dog runs at us, or some other animal, we do not look to god for help in our trouble, but, panicstricken we turn our attention toward ourselves. “their waters roared and were troubled.'14 he had said that there was a disturbance of the earth and a transposition of mountains. now he says that there is a tossing and an upheaval of the sea, since the mountains are falling into the midst of the seas. “their waters roared and were troubled,' the waters of the seas, of course. furthermore, the mountains themselves make a disturbance in the waters, since they are not established in the sea, but are producing a great turmoil in the waters by their own tossing. accordingly, when the earth is troubled, and the waters of seas roar and are boiled up from the depths, and the mountains are removed and endure much disturbance through the surpassing power of the lord, then, he says, our heart is undaunted because it has safe and firm hopes in god. ‘the mountains were troubled with his strength.'15 you are also able to understand the meaning of this statement figuratively, calling those persons mountains who are arrogant because of their own greatness but who are ignorant of the strength of god and exalt themselves exceedingly against the knowledge of god, and who then, conquered by men preaching the word of wisdom with virtue and wisdom, in the consciousness of their poverty fear the lord and humble themselves under his strength. or perhaps, even the rulers of this world and the fathers of wisdom that perishes, are themselves called mountains, being troubled at the strength of christ which he showed in the contest of the cross against him who had the power of death. just as if a certain noble contestant, ‘disarming the principalities and powers,' overthrew them, 14 ibid. 45.4. 15 ibid. 302 saint basil '16 and displayed them openly, leading them away in triumph by force of the cross. (4) 'the streams of the river make the city of god joyful.'17 the briny seawaters, being exceedingly disturbed by the winds, roar and are troubled, but the streams of the river, proceeding noiselessly and flowing in silence to those worthy of receiving them, make the city of god joyful. and now the just man drinks the living water and later will drink more plentifully, when he has been enrolled as a citizen in the city of god. now he drinks through a mirror and in an obscure manner18 because of his gradual perception of the divine objects of contemplation; but then he will welcome at once the flooded river, which is able to overwhelm all the city of god with joy. who could be the river of god except the holy spirit, who comes into those worthy because of the faith of the believers in christ? 'he who believes in me, as the scripture says, “from within him there shall flow rivers.” '19 and again, 'if anyone drinks of the water which i give, it will become in him a fountain of water, springing up unto life everlasting '20 this river, accordingly, makes all the city of god at once joyful, that is to say surely, the church of those who hold to a heavenly manner of life. or, every creature endowed with intelligence, from celestial powers even to human souls, must be understood as the city made joyful by the inflowing of the holy spirit. some give the definition that a city is an established community, administered according to law. and, the definition that has been handed down of the city is in harmony with the celestial city, jerusalem above. for, there it is a com16 col. 2.15. 17 ps. 45.5 18 1 cor. 13.12. 19 john 7.38. 20 ibid. 4.13, 14. homily 18 303 munity of the first-born who have been enrolled in heaven, 21 and this is established because of the unchanging manner of life of the saints, and it is administered according to the heavenly law. therefore, it is not the privilege of human nature to learn the arrangement of that city and all its adornment. those are the things 'eye hath not seen nor ear heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man, what things god has prepared for those who love him,"22 but there are myriads of angels there, and an assembly of saints, and a church of the first-born that are enrolled in heaven.23 concerning that david said: 'glorious things are said of thee, o city of god."24 to that city through isaia god has promised: 'i will make thee to be an everlasting glory, a joy unto generation and generation, and there shall not be wasting nor destruction in thy borders, and salvation shall possess thy walls.'25 therefore, having raised the eyes of your soul, seek, in a manner worthy of things above, what pertains to the city of god. what could anyone consider as deserving of the happiness in that city, which the river of god makes joyful, and of which god is the craftsman and creator? 'the most high hath sanctified his own tabernacle."26 perhaps, he is saying that the god-bearing flesh is sanctified through the union with god. from this you will understand that the tabernacle of the most high is the manifestation of god through the flesh. (5) 'god is in the midst thereof, it shall not be moved: god will help it in the morning early.'27 since god is in the midst of the city, he will give it stability, providing assistance for 21 cf. heb. 12.23: 'but you have come to mount sion, and to the city of the living god, the heavenly jerusalem, and to the company of many thousands of angels, and to the church of the firstborn who are enrolled in the heavens.' 22 1 cor. 2.9. 23 see note 21 above. 24 ps. 86.3. 25 isa. 60.15, 18. 26 ps. 45.5. 27 ibid. 45.6. 304 saint basil it at the first break of dawn. therefore, the word, ‘of the city,' will fit either jerusalem above or the church below, 'the most high hath sanctified his own tabernacle' in it. and through this tabernacle, in which god dwelt, he was in the midst of it, giving it stability. moreover, god is in the midst of the city, sending out equal rays of his providence from all sides to the limits of the world. thus, the justice of god is preserved, as he apportions the same measure of goodness to all. 'god will help it in the morning early.' now, the perceptible sun produces among us the early morning when it rises above the horizon opposite us, and the sun of justice28 produces the early morning in our soul by the rising of the spiritual light, making day in him who admits it. 'at night' means we men are in this time of ignorance. therefore, having opened wide our mind, let us receive the brightness of his glory,' and let us be brightly illumined by the everlasting light, 'god will help it in the morning early. when we have become children of light, and 'the night is far advanced for us, and the day is at hand,"29 then we shall become worthy of the help of god. therefore, god helps the city, producing in it early morning by his own rising and coming. 'behold a man,' it is said, 'the orient is his name.'30 for those upon whom the spiritual light will rise, when the darkness which comes from ignorance and wickedness is destroyed, early morning will be at hand. since, then, light has come into the world in order that he who walks about in it may not stumble, his help is able to cause the early morning. or perhaps, since the resurrection was in the dim morning twilight, god will help the city in the morning early, who on the third day, early on the morning of the resurrection gained the victory through death, (6) 'nations were troubled, and kingdoms were bowed 28 cf. mal. 4.2: 'but unto you that fear my name, the sun of justice shall arise.' 29 rom. 13.12. 30 zach. 6.12. st. basil uses 'anthropos' in place of ‘anér.' homily 18 305 down:' the most high ‘uttered his voice, the earth trembled.'31 consider, i pray you, that a certain city is the object of plots by the enemy who are making war on it, while in the meantime, many nations are settled around it and the kings are dividing by lot the sceptres of each nation; then, that a certain general, unconquerable in might, appears all at once to help this city; he breaks the siege, scatters the gathering of nations, forces the kings into flight simply by calling upon them with power, and he terrifies their hearts by the firmness of his voice. how much disturbance was probably aroused when the nations were being pursued and the kings were being turned into flight! is it not likely that some indistinct rumbling and incessant noise was sent up from their confused flight, and all the place was full of those driven out because of their cowardice, so that a commotion sprang up everywhere in the cities and villages that received them? now, he presents such succor for the city of god from the savior in his words: 'nations were troubled, and kingdoms were bowed down: the most high uttered his voice, the earth trembled.' 'the lord of armies is with us: the god of jacob is our protector.'32 he saw the incarnate god, he saw him who was born of the holy virgin, 'emmanuel, which is, interpreted, "god with us,' " '33 and for this reason he cries out in prophetic words: “the lord of armies is with us,' showing that it is he who was manifested by the holy prophets and patriarchs. our protector, he says, is not another god besides him who was handed down by the prophets; but the god of jacob, who spoke in an oracle to his servant, 'i am the god of abraham, the god of isaac, and the god of jacob.'34 (7) 'come and behold ye the works of god: what wonders he hath done upon earth, making wars to cease even to the 31 ps. 45.7. 32 ibid. 45.8. 33 matt. 1.23. 34 exod. 3.6. 306 saint basil end of the earth.'35 the scripture invites those who are far from the word of truth to nearness through knowledge, saying: 'come and behold.' just as in the case of bodily eyes great distances make the perception of visible objects dim, but the nearer approach of those viewing offers a clear knowledge of the objects seen, so also in the case of objects of contemplation in the mind, he who has not been made familiar with god through his works nor has drawn near to him is not able to see his works with the pure eyes of his mind. therefore, 'come,' first approach, then see the works of the lord which are prodigious and admirable, by which he struck down and converted to quiet peacefulness nations, formerly warlike and factious. 'come, children, hearken to me,'86 and 'come, all you who labor and are burdened.'37 it is the paternal voice of one with outstretched arms calling to himself those who until then were rebelling. he who has heard the call and has approached and cleaves to the one commanding, will see him who through the cross made all things peaceful 'whether on the earth or in the heavens.'38 'he shall destroy the bow, and break the weapons; and the shield he shall burn in the fire.'89 do you see the peaceful spirit of the lord of armies, that he has with him invisible forces of angelic hosts? do you see the courage and at the same time the kindliness of the commander in chief of the armies? though he is indeed the lord of armies and has all the companies of angelic hosts, nowhere does he slay any one of the enemies, he overthrows no one, he touches no one; but, he destroys the bows and the weapons, and the shields he burns in the fire. he destroys the bow so that no longer will the burnt missiles be thrown among them, and he will break the weapons, those with which they fight hand to hand, so that 35 ps. 45.9, 10. 36 ibid. 33.12. 37 matt. 11.28. 38 col. 1.20. 39 ps. 45.10. homily 18 307 those near at hand cannot be plotted against and wounded. and the shields he will burn in the fire, stripping the adversaries of their defenses and doing all things in kindness to the enemy. (8) 'be still and see that i am god.'40 as far as we are engaged in affairs outside of god, we are not able to make progress in the knowledge of god. who, anxious about the things of the world and sunk deep in the distractions of the flesh, can be intent on the words of god and be sufficiently accurate in such mighty objects of contemplation? do you not see that the word which fell among the thorns is choked by the thorns?41 the thorns are the pleasures of the flesh and wealth and glory and the cares of life. he who desires the knowledge of god will have to be outside of all these things, and being freed from his passions, thus to receive the knowledge of god. for, how could the thought of god enter into a soul choked by considerations which preoccupied it? even pharao knew that it was proper for one to seek god when he was unoccupied, and for this reason he reproached israel: 'you are unoccupied, you are idle, and you say, "we shall offer prayers to the lord, our god." '42 now, leisure itself is good and useful to him who is unoccupied, since it produces quiet for the acquisition of salutary doctrines. but, the leisure of the athenians was evil, 'who used to spend all their leisure telling or listening to something new."43 even at the present time some imitate this, misusing the leisure of life for the discovery of some newer teaching. such leisure is dear to unclean and wicked spirits. 'when the unclean spirit,' it is said, 'has gone out of a man, he says, “i will return to my 40 ibid. 45.11. 41 cf. matt. 13.7, 22: ‘and other seeds fell among thorns; and the thorns grew up and choked them. . . . and the one sown among the thorns, that is the man who listens to the word; but the care of this world and the deceitfulness of riches choke the word and it is made fruitless.' 42 cf. exod. 5.17: ‘and he said: you are idle, and therefore you say: let us go and sacrifice to the lord.' 43 acts 17.21. 308 saint basil house which i left." and when he has come, he finds the place unoccupied and swept.'44 may it not be that we make our leisure a time for the adversary to enter, but let us occupy our house within, causing christ to dwell in us beforehand through the spirit. at all events, after giving peace to those who were up to this time troubled by the enemies, then he says, 'have nothing to do with the enemies disturbing you, in order that in silence you may contemplate the words of truth.' for this reason also the lord says: 'everyone who does not renounce all that he possesses, cannot be my disciple.'45 it is necessary, then, to be free from the works of marriage, in order that we may have leisure for prayer; to be unoccupied with the pursuit of wealth, with the desire for this little glory, with the lust for pleasure, with envy and every form of wickedness against our neighbor, in order that, after our soul has found peace and is disturbed by no passion, the illumination of god, as if in a mirror, may become clear and unobscured. 'i will be exalted among the nations, and i will be exalted in the earth.'46 clearly the lord says these words concerning his own passion, just as it has been written in the gospel: 'and i, if i be lifted up, will draw all to myself.'47 'and as moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, even so must the son of man be lifted up'48 upon the earth. since, then, for the sake of the nations he was to be lifted up on the cross and for the sake of all the earth to accept that elevation, therefore, he says: 'i will be exalted among the nations, and i will be exalted in the earth.' “the lord of armies is with us: the god of jacob is our protector.'49 exulting in the help of god, twice he called out the same words: “the lord of armies is with us,' as if trampling 44 matt. 12.43, 44, with slight changes. 45 luke 14.33. 46 ps. 45.11. 47 john 12.32, with slight changes. 48 ibid. 3.14. 49 ps. 45.12. homily 18 309 and leaping upon the enemy, inasmuch as he would suffer nothing from him because of his perfect trust in the savior of our souls. 'if god is for us, who is against us.'50 he who gave the victory to jacob and after the contest designated him as israel,51 he it is who is our protector; he fights for us. but we are silent, because 'he himself is our peace, he it is who has made both one, that of the two he might create one new man.' '52 50 rom. 8.31. 51 cf. gen. 32.29: 'you shall no longer be called jacob, but israel, because you have contended with god and men, and have triumphed.' 52 eph. 2.14, 15. homily 19 unto the end, a psalm for the sons of core on the prosperity of the wicked1 (on psalm 48) ven among the gentiles certain men have formed ideas concerning the end of man and have arrived at various opinions about the end. some declared that the end was knowledge; others, practical activity; others, a different use of life and body; but the sensual men declared that the end was pleasure. for us, however, the end for which we do all things and toward which we hasten is the blessed life in the world to come. and this will be attained when we are ruled by god. up to this time nothing better than the latter idea has been found in rational nature, and to it the apostle stirs us when he says: “then comes the end, when he delivers the kingdom to god the father.' this same thing sophonia likewise set forth in prophecy, saying in the person of god: ‘for my judgment is to assemble the gentiles, to receive the kings, to pour out upon them my indignation. for in the fire of my jealousy shall all the earth be devoured; because then i will restore for many peoples a tongue for its generation, that all may call upon the name of the lord and may serve him under one yoke.'8 to this end, therefore, i think the advantages from the psalms refer, since they have 1 ps. 48.1. 2 1 cor. 15.24. soph. 3.8, 9 (septuagint version). 311 312 saint basil 4 5 6 this heading. those persons also are in accord with this idea, who have written, 'for a victory,' or 'a song of victory,' or ‘to the victor,' for, since 'death is swallowed up in victory,'4 and it has been utterly destroyed by him who says, 'i have overcome the world,'5 and since all things have been conquered by christ, and 'at his name every knee shall bend of those in heaven, on earth and under the earth,'& perhaps, the holy spirit is proclaiming beforehand in triumphal odes what things are reserved for us. ‘ 'hear these things, all ye nations; give ear, all ye inhabitants of the world. all you that are earthborn, and you sons of men: both rich and poor together.'? the place of assembly is very great since the psalm summons to the hearing all the nations as well as all who fill the world with their dwellings. with this lofty proclamation it attracts, i believe, not only the earthborn and the sons of men, but also the rich and the poor, and invites them to listen. what sort of a watchtower stands up so high over all the earth, as to see all the nations from afar off and to embrace all the world with the eyes? what herald is so loud-voiced as to shout out so as to be heard by so many ears at the same time? what place is able to hold those assembling? how great and how wise is the teacher, that he finds instructions worthy of so great an assembly? wait a little and you will learn that what follows is worthy of the promise. for, he who is assembling and summoning all by the proclamation is the paraclete, the spirit of truth, who brings together through prophets and apostles those who are saved; of whom, since 'their sound hath gone forth into all the earth; and their words unto the ends of the world,'8 therefore, it says: 'hear, all ye nations, and all ye inhabitants of the world.' wherefore, the church has been collected from all 4 1 cor. 15.54. 5 john 16.33. 6 phil. 2.10. 7 ps. 48.2, 3. 8 ibid. 18.5. homily 19 313 classes of life, in order that no one may be left without its aid. there are three pairs of groups called, in which every race of men is included-pagans and the inhabitants of the world, earthborn and the sons of men, rich and poor. whom, then, has it left out of the audience? those who are outsiders to the faith were called through the calling of the pagans. those who are inhabitants of the world are those who are in the church. the earthborn are they who are wise in earthly matters and cleave to the pleasures of the flesh. the sons of men are they who exercise some care for and who train their reason, for reasoning is characteristic of man. the rich and the poor have their identity known from themselves: the first, exceeding in the possession of the necessities of life; the second, standing in want of them. since the physician of souls did not come to call the just, but the sinners to repentance,' in his summons he placed first in each pair the group that was condemned. for, the pagans are worse than the inhabitants of the world, but nevertheless, they were preferred in the summons in order that those who were ill might first share the aid of the physician. again, the earthborn were placed before the sons of men, and the rich before the poor. the group which was despaired of and which held salvation difficult was summoned before the poor. such is the kindness of the physician; he gives a share of aid to the weaker first. at the same time the sharing of the summons is a uniting in peace, so that those who were, up to this time, opposed to each other because of customs might, through gathering together, become habituated to each other in love. let the rich man know that he has been summoned by the same proclamation as the poor man. 'both rich and poor together,' he says. leaving outside the superiority toward the more needy and the insolence of wealth, in this way enter into the church of god. let not the rich, then, treat the poor man disdainfully, nor 9 cf. matt. 9.13: 'for i have come to call sinners, not the just.' 314 saint basil the poor man cower beneath the power of the prosperous. and let not the sons of men despise the earthborn, nor again, the earthborn alienate themselves from them. let the pagans become accustomed to the inhabitants of the world, and let the inhabitants of the world through charity take them to themselves as guest friends by covenants. (2) ‘my mouth shall speak wisdom: and the meditation of my heart understanding. '10 since, according to the apostle, ‘with the heart a man believes unto justice, and with the mouth profession of faith is made unto salvation,'11 truly, the action of both in men suggests perfection; therefore, the sentence has brought the two together in the same place, the action of the mouth and the attention of the heart. if, indeed, goodness had not been stored up beforehand in the heart, how would he who did not possess it in secret bring forth the treasure through his mouth? and if, having good things in his heart, he would not make them public by speech, it will be said to him: 'wisdom that is hid, and treasure that is not seen: what profit is there in them both?'12 therefore, for the profit of others let my mouth speak wisdom, and for our own progress let my heart meditate prudence. 'i will incline my ear to a parable; i will open my proposition on the psaltery.'13 the prophet still introduces his own person, in order that his words may not be despicable as if brought forward from human invention. the things that i teach, he says, from the spirit, these i proclaim to you, saying nothing of my own, nothing human; but, since i have been hearkening to the propositions of the spirit, who hands down in mystery to us the wisdom of god, i am opening for you and am making manifest the proposition; moreover, i am opening not otherwise than through the psaltery. the psaltery is a musical instrument which gives out its sounds harmoniously 10 ps. 48.4. 11 rom. 10.10. 12 ecclus. 20.32. 13 ps. 48.5. homily 19 315 with the melody of the voice. accordingly, the rational psaltery is opened especially at that time when actions in harmony with the words are displayed. and he is a spiritual psaltery who has acted and has taught. he it is who opens the proposition in the psalms, setting forth the possibility of the teaching from his own example. as, therefore, he is conscious that there is nothing incongruous or out of tune in his life, so with confidence he utters the following words: 'why shall i fear in the evil day? the iniquity of my heel shall encompass me.'14 by the evil day he means the day of judgment, concerning which it is said: “the day of the lord, an incurable day, will come upon all the nations.'15 'in which,' says the prophet, ‘his own devices will beset each.'16 at that time, then, because i have done nothing lawless on the way of life, i shall not fear the evil day. for, the signs of sinners will not stand around me nor beset me, in silent accusation bringing the proof against me. no one else will stand as accuser except yourself, or your deeds themselves, each standing near in its own form-adultery, theft, fornication-with the night, with the manner, with the peculiar circumstances characterizing it, and in general, each sin with its own character will be at hand bearing a clear reminder. the signs of sinners, then, will not beset me, 'because i inclined my ear to a parable, i opened my proposition on the psaltery.' (3) 'they that trust in their own strength, and glory in the multitude of their riches.'17 this sentence is directed by the prophet to two types of persons: to the earthborn and to the rich. he speaks to the first to overthrow their false notions due to their power; to the second, their pride due to the abundance of their possessions. you, he says, who trust in your 14 ibid. 48.6. 15 cf. isa. 13.9: “behold, the day of the lord shall come, a cruel day, and full of indignation, and of wrath, and fury, to lay the land desolate, and to destroy the sinners thereof out of it.' 16 cf. osee 7.2: “their own devices now have beset them about, they have been done before my face.' 17 ps. 48.7. 316 saint basil > own strength. these are the earthborn, who put their trust in strength of body and believe that human nature is sufficient for ably accomplishing what they wish. and you, he says, who , trust in the uncertainty of riches, listen. you have need of ransoms that you may be transferred to the freedom of which you were deprived when conquered by the power of the devil, who taking you under his control, does not free you from his tyranny until, persuaded by some worthwhile ransom, he wishes to exchange you. and the ransom must not be of the same kind as the things which are held in his control, but must differ greatly, if he would willingly free the captives from slavery. therefore, a brother is not able to ransom you. for, no man can persuade the devil to remove from his power him who has once been subject to him, not he, at any rate, who is incapable of giving god a propitiatory offering even for his own sins. how, then, will he have power to do this for the other? and what could he possess so great in this world that he would have a sufficient exchange price for a soul which is precious by nature, since it was made according to the image of its creator? what labor of the present age is sufficient for the human soul as a means and provisions for the future life? so far we have considered these things rather simply. even if he seems to be one of the very powerful men in this life, even if he is surrounded with a great number of possessions, these words teach him to descend from such a notion and to humble himself under the mighty hand of god,18 not to trust to a reputed power, and not to glory in the multitude of his riches. nevertheless, it is possible to mount a little higher in thought, and for those who are trusting in their own power and those glorying in the multitude of their riches to take thought concerning the powers of the soul, inasmuch as not even the soul is complete in itself for salvation. for, if there should be anyone perfect among the sons of men, if the wisdom a 18 cf. 1 peter 5.6: 'humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of god, that he may exalt you in the time of visitation.' homily 19 317 of god is lacking, he will be reputed as nothing. even if he will have acquired for himself a multitude of theories from the wisdom of the world, and have obtained by lot some wealth of knowledge, let him hear the whole truth of the matter: that every human soul has bowed down under the evil yoke of slavery imposed by the common enemy of all and, being deprived of the very freedom which it received from the creator, has been led captive through sin. every captive has need of ransoms for his freedom. now, neither a brother can ransom his brother, nor can anyone ransom himself, because he who is ransoming must be much better than he who has been overcome and is now a slave. but, actually, no man has the power with respect to god to make atonement for a sinner, since he himself is liable for sin. 'all have sinned and have need of the glory of god. they are justified freely by his grace through the redemption which is in christ jesus’19 our lord. (4) 'he shall not give to god his ransom, nor the price of the redemption of his soul.'20 do not, then, seek your brother for your ransoming, but him who surpasses your nature, not a mere man, but the man god jesus christ, who alone is able to give ransom to god for all of us, because 'god has set him forth as a propitiation by his blood through faith.21 moses was the brother of israel, and yet he was not able to redeem him. how, then, will any ordinary man be ransomed? wherefore, the one sentence declares: 'no brother can redeem,' and the other with gravity adds interrogatively: 'will man redeem?"22 moses did not free his people from sin, but he begged from god the exemption of the punishment due to sin. however, he was not able to give his own ransom when he was in sin, because, after the many and great wonders and signs which he saw, he uttered those words expressive of doubt: 'hear me, ye rebellious and incredulous: can we bring you 19 rom. 3.23, 24. 20 ps. 48.8, 9. 21 rom. 3.25. 22 ps. 48.8 (septuagint version). 9 318 saint basil forth water out of this rock?'23 therefore, the lord, because of this word, said to moses and aaron: 'because you have not believed me to sanctify me before the children of israel, you shall not bring these people into the land which i have given them.'24 'he shall not, then, give to god his ransom.' in fact, what can man find great enough that he may give it for the ransom of his soul? but, one thing was found worth as much as all men together. this was given for the price of ransom for our souls, the holy and highly honored blood of our lord jesus christ, which he poured out for all of us; therefore, we were bought at a great price.25 if, then, a brother does not redeem, will man redeem? but, if man cannot redeem us, he who redeems us is not a man. now, do not assume, because he sojourned with us 'in the likeness of sinful flesh,'26 that our lord is only man, failing to discern the power of the divinity, who had no need to give god a ransom for himself nor to redeem his own soul because 'he did no sin, neither was deceit found in his mouth.'27 no one is sufficient to redeem himself, unless he comes who turns away the captivity of the people, not with ransoms nor with gifts, as it is written in isaia,28 but in his own blood. although we are not his brothers, but have become his enemies by our transgressions, he, who is not mere man, but god, after the freedom which he bestowed on us, also calls us his brothers. 'i will declare thy name,' he says, 'to my brethren.'29 now, he who has redeemed us, if you examine his nature, is neither brother nor man; but, if you examine his condescension to us through grace, he calls us brothers and descends to our human nature, who ‘shall not give to god 23 num. 20.10. 24 ibid. 20.12. 25 cf. 1 cor. 6.20: 'for you have been bought at a great price.' 26 rom. 8.3. 27 1 peter 2.22. 28 cf. isa. 52.3: ‘for thus saith the lord: you were sold gratis, and you shall be redeemed without money.' 29 ps. 21.23. st. basil uses ‘apangelo' in place of 'diēgésomai.' homily 19 319 his own ransom, but that of the whole world. he does not need a ransom, but he himself is the propitiation. 'for it was fitting that we should have such a high priest, holy, innocent, undefiled, set apart from sinners, and become higher than the heavens. he does not need to offer sacrifices daily (as the other priests did), first for his own sins, and then for the sins of the people.'30 then he says: ‘and he labored forever, and shall live unto the end.'31 his self-existence, his might, his untiring nature labored in this life, when 'wearied from the journey, he was sitting at the well.'32 (5) 'he shall not see destruction, when he shall see the wise dying 33 (for, the father will not permit his holy one to see corruption34), when they shall die who boast of their wisdom which is ceasing. but, if you wish to take the words in reference to just men, remember the saying of job: ‘man is born to labor,'35 and again, that of the apostle: 'i have labored more than any of them,'36 and also: 'in many more labors.'37 he, then, who has labored in this life will live unto the end; but he who spends his time in softness and all laxity because of his luxurious living, 'who is clothed in purple and fine linen, and feasting every day in splendid fashion,'38 and flees the labors imposed by virtue, has neither labored in this life nor will he live in the future, but he will see life afar off, while being racked in the fire of the furnace. but, he who has sweated in numberless contests for the sake of virtue, and who, to attain it, has been proved in many more labors, he is the 30 heb. 7.26, 27. 31 ps. 48.9, 10. 32 john 4.6. 33 ps. 48.11. 34 cf. ps. 15.10: 'nor wilt thou give thy holy one to see corruption.' cf. also acts 2.27. 35 job 5.7. 36 1 cor. 15.10. 37 2 cor. 11.23. 38 cf. luke 16.19: 'there was a certain rich man who used to clothe himself in purple and fine linen, and who feasted every day in splendid fashion.' 320 saint basil one who is going to live unto the end, just as lazarus,39 who labored much in afflictions, and just as job, who was very weary in the contests against the adversary. 'for, there,' he , says, 'the wearied are at rest.'40 therefore, the lord calls to rest those who labor and are burdened.41 now, how are those who are laboring in good works said to be burdened? because 'going they went and wept, casting their seeds. but coming they shall come with joyfulness, carrying their sheaves'42 full of fruits, which were rendered to them in the proportion in which they were sown. so they are said to be burdened, who, because 'they sow bountifully, also reap bountifully,'43 and with everlasting joy lay upon " their shoulders the sheaves of spiritual fruits. he, then, who has been redeemed by god who gave the ransom for him, labored for this life, but, after this he will live unto the end. he also 'shall not see destruction, when he will see the wise dying.'44 he who chose the narrow and wearisome road instead of the smooth and open one, at the time of the visitation of god, when those who did not believe in the words of god, but went after the desires of their vain hearts, will be led away to everlasting punishment, he, i say, will not see the everlasting destruction, the eternal misery. but he says, indeed, that the wise are skilled in knavery, and jeremia says concerning them: “they are wise to do evil, but to do good they have no knowledge.'45 or, he says also, that the wise are the disciples of the perishing princes of this world, who, 'while professing to be wise, have become fools.'46 for, ‘the wisdom of this 39 cf. luke 16.20, 21: ‘and there was a certain poor man, named lazarus, who lay at his gate, covered with sores.' 40 job 3.17. 41 cf. matt. 11.28: 'come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and i will give you rest.' 42 ps. 125.6, 7. 43 2 cor. 9.6. 44 ps. 48.11. 45 jer. 4.22. 46 rom. 1.22. homily 19 321 world is foolishness with god.'47 and because this wisdom makes men foolish, god says that he will destroy the wisdom of the wise and will set at naught the prudence of the prudent. therefore, these persuasions of falsely called knowledge provide a cause of death to those who receive them. but, this death he will not see who was redeemed by him who was well pleased to save those trusting in the foolishness of his proclamation. (6) 'the senseless and the fool shall perish together, and they shall leave their riches to strangers; and their sepulchres shall be their houses forever. their dwelling places to all generations; they have called their lands by their names.'48 above, he called the wise by one general name, whom now subdividing, he says are senseless and fools. openly he said that they are wise, borrowing the term from their own opinion. as he calls those gods, who are not so by nature, following the practice of those who are deceived, so also he calls the senseless and foolish, wise. therefore, it is possible to separate the senseless from the foolish in our thinking. the senseless is, in fact, one who lacks common sense and who is not clear-sighted as regards ordinary human affairs. in the same way, custom calls those prudent who in the affairs of life discern the useful and the harmful, as it is expressed in the gospel: 'for, the children of this world are in relation to their own generation more prudent than are the children of the light.'49 they are not absolutely more prudent, but in respect to the manner of their present life in the flesh. they are also called the ministers of injustice because of their prudence in the management of their life. according to this meaning, the prudent are also serpents, who prepare hiding places for themselves and who in dangers avoid in every manner blows on the head. 47 1 cor. 3.19. 48 ps. 48.11, 12. 49 luke 16.8. 322 saint basil a fool is said to be one who does not have the qualities characteristic of man. these are an understanding of god the father and the acceptance of the word, which was in the beginning with god';60 also the light which comes from the holy spirit. and those persons have this mind who are able to say with paul: ‘but we have the mind of christ.'51 nevertheless, the practice of scripture has used these words reversely, saying that the impious man is senseless, in the following words: “the fool hath said in his heart: “there is no god," '52 and again, he calls that which is harmful to life, foolish, as the apostle does in speaking about those who fall into foolish and harmful desires.53 thus the senseless and the fool are borne down to one common end, destruction. and one can say that he who lives as the heathens has been called senseless, but he who conducts his life as a jew according to the bare observance of the law is a fool. for, god said to this senseless man because of the godlessness present in him: “thou fool, this night do they demand thy soul of thee.'54 but israel which followed the flesh was called a fool according to the prophet, who says: 'and ephraim was like a foolish dove; they called upon egypt, and they went to the assyrians.'55 since these were completely destroyed by their own ignorance, we aliens become the heirs of their wealth. the commandments are ours, the prophets and patriarchs are ours, and so are the just in the world ours. they who perished in their own folly left us their wealth. however, the houses of these, of the senseless and of the fool, are their sepulchres forever. for, the sepulchres of those whose life is filled with works which are dead from every kind of sin, are their houses forever. he who is dead through 50 john 1.2. 51 1 cor. 2.16. 52 ps. 13.1. 53 cf. 1 tim 6.9: 'but those who seek to become rich fall into temptation and a snare and into many useless and harmful desires.' 54 luke 12.20. 55 osee 7.11. homily 19 323 sins does not dwell in a house, but a sepulchre, since his soul is dead. now, jacob, guileless in manner and simple, dwelt in a house. concerning him it has been written that he was 'a plain and good man dwelling in a house.'56 but, the thoroughly depraved man dwells in a sepulchre, and does not even lay down a foundation of penance because of his dead works, but is like a whited sepulchre, which outwardly is very conspicuous, but inwardly is full of dead men's bones and of all uncleanness.'57 therefore, when such a one speaks, he does not open his mouth in the word of god, but he has an open sepulchre as his throat. if, then, one who believes in christ does not make his actions consistent with his faith, he, because he has given his attention to depraved doctrines and because he has perverted the meaning of scripture, hews out in the rock a sepulchre for himself. (7) 'their dwelling places to all generations,' that is to say, the sepulchres are their houses forever. then, explaining what he means by sepulchres, in order that he might show that he was speaking about the bodies in which the souls, destroyed by their wickedness, dwell, he added these words: 'their dwelling places to all generations'; for, human bodies are always called dwelling places. these also have called their lands by their names. for, the name of an impious man is not written in the book of the living, nor is he counted with the church of the first-born which is numbered in heaven; but, their names remain on earth, because they have preferred this transient and briefly enduring life to the eternal dwellings. do you not see how those who are building markets and schools in the cities, raising walls, constructing aqueducts, have placed their names on these earthly buildings? already some, having stamped their names upon the herds of horses, have formed plans to 56 gen. 25.27. 57 cf. matt. 23.27: 'because you are like whited sepulchres, which outwardly appear to men beautiful, but within are full of dead men's bones and of all uncleanness.' 324 saint basil stretch out their memory for a long time in life; and having displayed magnificence in their sepulchres, they have put their names on their monuments. these are they who are wise in earthly things and who think that the present glory and remembrance by men are sufficient for them for happiness. even if you should see one of those who are exceedingly proud in their falsely named knowledge and who devote themselves to certain depraved doctrines to which they have assented, and instead of the name of christians, have named themselves from one of the heresiarchs, marcion, or valentinus, or one of those fashionable at present, understand that these have called their lands by their names, devoting themselves to destructible men and, in short, to earthly things. (8) ‘and man when he was in honor did not understand; he is compared to senseless beasts, and is become like to them. this way of theirs is a stumbling block to them: and afterwards they shall delight in their mouth.'58 ‘man is a great thing, and pitiful man is something honorable,'59 who has his honor in his natural constitution. for, what other things on earth have been made according to the image of the creator?60 to which of the animals that live on the land, or in the water, or in the air, has the rule and power over all things been given261 he has fallen a little below the dignity of the angels because of his union with the earthly body. 62 in fact, he made man from the earth,63 'and his ministers a flame of fire. '64 but still, the power of understanding and recognizing their own creator and maker also belongs to men. 'and he breathed into his nosa 58 ps. 48.13, 14. 59 prov. 20.6 (septuagint version). 60 cf. gen. 1.27: 'god created man in his image. in the image of god he created him.' 61 cf. gen. 1.28: 'fill the earth and subdue it. have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, the cattle and all the animals that crawl on the earth.' 62 cf. ps. 8.6: “thou hast made him a little less than the angels.' 63 cf. gen. 2.7: “then the lord god formed man out of the dust of the ground.' 64 heb. 1.7. . homily 19 325 trils, '65 that is to say, he placed in man some share of his own grace, in order that he might recognize likeness through likeness. nevertheless, being in such great honor because he was created in the image of the creator, he is honored above the heavens, above the sun, above the choirs of stars. for, which of the heavenly bodies was said to be an image of the most high god? what sort of an image of his creator does the sun preserve? what the moon? what the other stars? they possess only inanimate and material bodies that are clearly discernible, but in which nowhere there is a mind, no voluntary motions, no free will; on the contrary, they are servile through the necessity imposed upon them, through which they always behave precisely the same in the same circumstances. man, then, having been advanced above these things in honor, did not understand; and neglected to follow god and to become like his creator, and, becoming a slave of the passions of the flesh, 'he is compared to senseless beasts, and is become like to them': now he is like an amorous horse which neighs after his neighbor's wife,66 now like a ravenous wolf,67 lying in wait for strangers, but at another time, because of his deceit toward his brother, he makes himself like the villainous fox.88 truly, there is excessive folly and beastlike lack of reason, that he, made according to the image of the creator, neither perceives his own constitution from the beginning, nor even wishes to understand such great dispensations which were made for his sake, at least, to learn his own dignity from them, but that he is unmindful of the fact that, throwing aside the image of the heavenly, he has taken up the image of the earthly. in order that he might not remain in sin, for his 65 gen. 2.7. 66 cf. jer. 5.8: 'they are become as amorous horses and stallions: every one neighed after his neighbor's wife.' 67 cf. ezech. 22.27: 'her princes in the midst of her, are like wolves ravening the prey to shed blood.' 68 cf. ezech. 13.4: 'thy prophets, o israel, were like foxes in the deserts.' cf. also luke 13.32. 326 saint basil sake 'the word was made flesh, and dwelt among us,'69 and he humbled himself to such an extent as to become 'obedient to death, even to death on a cross.'70 if you are not mindful of your first origin, because of the price paid for you, accept at least some idea of your dignity; look at that which was given in exchange for you and realize your own worth. you were bought with the precious blood of christ; do not become a slave of sin. understand your own honor, in order that you may not be made like the senseless beasts. “this way of theirs is a stumbling block to them.'71 god, who manages our affairs, hinders us from walking through evil, placing obstacles and hindrances for us, in order that, , recoiling from an irrational life, 'afterwards we may delight in our mouth,' 'with the heart believing unto justice, and with the mouth making profession of faith unto salvation.'72 paul persecuted the church of christ, he plundered it, he pressed on his course toward evil;73 afterwards he delighted in his mouth, declaring in the synagogue that this is the christ.'74 (9) 'they are laid in hell like sheep: death shall feed upon them.'75 he, who carries away into captivity those who are beastlike and who are compared to senseless herds, like the sheep, which have neither the intelligence nor the ability to defend themselves, since he is an enemy, has already cast them down into his own prison and has handed them over to death to feed. for, death tended them from the time of adam until the administration of moses,76 until the true shepherd came, who laid down his own life for his sheep and who thus, 69 john 1.14. 70 phil. 2.8. 71 ps. 48.14. 72 cf. rom. 10.10. 73 cf. acts 8.3: ‘but saul was harassing the church; entering house after house, and dragging out men and women, he committed them to prison.' 74 acts 9.22. 75 ps. 48.15. 76 cf. rom. 5.14: 'yet death reigned from adam until moses.' homily 19 827 making them rise together and leading them out77 from the prison of hell to the early morning of the resurrection, handed them over to the righteous, that is to say, to his holy angels, to tend them. and the just shall have dominion over them in the morning.'78 with each of the faithful there is an angel associated, who is worthy to look upon the father in heaven. these righteous, then, shall have dominion over them when they have been freed from their most bitter slavery and 'shall have dominion over them' when they have come forth in the early morning,' that is to say, when they are advancing into the rising of the light. contemplate the whole series of the written words. 'man when he was in honor did not understand; he is compared to senseless beasts.' he who through his condition has dignity, but who does not know himself because of the sin which dwells in him, was compared to senseless beasts. then, because he estranged himself from the word of god, having become a brute beast, the enemy carried him away, like an untended sheep, and cast him into hell, handing him over to death to tend. therefore, having been ransomed from there and freed from the evil shepherd, he says, 'the lord ruleth me.'79 and no longer death, but life; no longer a fall, but a resurrection; no longer deceit, but truth. ‘and their help shall decay in hell.'80 it may be that he is speaking about death, since it had not been able with all its help to retain those who were being herded by it because of the one who destroyed him who holds the power over death;81 for all of their help is old and weak. at that time the help of those men who were deceived in mind and who were proud because of wealth and glory and power will be proved false. 77 cf. john 10.3-18. 78 ps. 48.15. 79 ibid. 22.1. the rheims-douay version of the bible has: “the lord ruleth me.' there is a note in the bible which says: 'ruleth me. in hebrew, is my shepherd, viz., to feed, guide, and govern me.' 80 ibid. 48.15. 81 heb. 2.14. 328 saint basil 'in hell it shall decay' since their weakness is proved. or, perhaps, the help of the just who have been redeemed by the lord will be delayed in hell. for, not yet had they received the promises, since god had something better in view for us, namely, that those who preceded ‘should not be perfected without us.'82 ‘but god will redeem my soul from the hand of hell, when he shall receive me.'83 clearly he predicts the descent of the lord into hell, who will redeem the soul of the prophet along with the others, so that he may not remain there. (10) 'be not thou afraid, when a man shall be made rich, and when the glory of his house shall be increased.'84 'be not thou afraid,' he says, 'when a man shall be made rich.' this proclamation is necessary to the inhabitants of the world, both to the earthborn and to the sons of men, to the rich and also to the poor. 'be not thou afraid, when a man shall be made rich.' when you see, he says, the unjust man becoming rich and the just man poor, do not fear for yourself; do not be dismayed in mind, as if the providence of god is nowhere looking upon human affairs, or perhaps, somewhere there is a divine watchfulness, but it does not reach to places near the earth, so as to watch over our affairs; for, if there were a providence, it would be apportioning to each man what is proper to him, so that the just, who understand how to use wealth, would be rich, but the wicked, who have wealth as the instrument of their wickedness, would be poor. now, since there are many in the nations and among the earthborn who have such notions and who, because of the apparent inconsistency of the distribution of the fortunes of life, assume that the world is not the work of providence, the scripture addresses these to calm their uninstructed emotion. in the very beginning it had also invited them to hear the doctrines. and surely, it alludes particularly to only the person 82 ibid. 11.40. 83 ps. 48.16. 84 ibid. 48.17. homily 19 329 of the poor when it says: 'be not thou afraid, when a man shall be made rich.' these, especially, need consolation, so as not to cower before the more powerful. for, it says, a rich man has no advantage when he is dying, since he is not able to take his wealth with him; at any rate, he gained only as much from the enjoyment of it as for his soul to be deemed happy in this life by flatterers. but, in dying he will not take all these possessions, it says; he will take only just the garment that covers his shame, and this, if it shall seem best to those of his household who are clothing him. he must be content to obtain a little earth; and, since this is given to him through pity by those who are burying him, they provide it for him out of reverence for our common human nature, not granting a favor to him, but honoring humanity. do not, then, be faint about present affairs, but await that blessed and everlasting life. then you will see that poverty and contempt and the lack of luxuries befall the just man for his good. and do not be troubled now about imagined good things, as though they were unjustly divided. you will hear how it will be said to a certain rich man: 'thou in thy lifetime hast received good things,'85 but to the poor man that he receives evils in his life. as a consequence, therefore, the latter is consoled, but the former suffers pain. and he will praise thee when thou shalt do well to him.'88 concerning the earthly man and him who thinks that the only good things are the advantages of this life-wealth and health and power-concerning him, indeed, he says that such a man will praise god when he has fared well, but in precarious circumstances he will utter a curse. leaving the poor man, he now addresses his words to god; in the charge against the rich man he takes up the fact that he gives thanks to god only in prosperity, but no longer remains the same when some of the circumstances are darker. such is also the accusation 85 luke 16.25. 86 ps. 48.19. 330 saint basil employed in the charge of the devil against job,87 that job did not reverence the lord gratuitously, but he had a reward for his piety-wealth and the rest of his possessions. therefore, for a proof of the virtue of the man, god stripped him of what he had in order that the gratitude of the man toward god might shine through all things. (11) 'you shall go in to the generations of your fathers.'88 i believe that he is saying about the sinner that he knows god as much as the practice of his fathers has handed down, but that he has acquired nothing more by his own power of thinking, nor has he added to his knowledge of the truth by himself. you, o god, he says, are as near and he has as great an idea about you as existed in the generation of his fathers. and here he displays the idle, wholly earthly and carnal spirit of a man who rolls in riches and luxury and who has his mind choked with the cares of life. therefore, ‘he shall never see light.'89 having entrusted their guidance to blind teachers, they have deprived themselves of the advantage of light. this saying: 'he shall go in to the generations of his fathers,' also has some such meaning. that is to say, as regards those who are overtaken in an evil life and in doctrines coming, indeed, from their fathers, but alien to piety, not only will you punish them but you will also seek out the authors of the depraved teachings. this is what is meant by: 'he shall go in to the generations of his fathers.' not only he who has evil thoughts about god is blameworthy, but also he who has led others to this destruction. such are they who have received this evil from their forefathers, and who, because it has been strengthened by long continued custom, have difficulty in washing it out. 'he shall never see light.' for, they are sent 'into the darkness outside, there will be the weeping, and the gnashing of teeth.'90 this they endure according to the just 87 job 1.9. 88 ps. 48.20. st. basil uses the second person in place of the third. 89 ibid. 48.20. 90 matt. 8.12. homily 19 331 judgment of god, since in this life they hated the light because they did evil. ‘man when he was in honor did not understand: he hath been compared to senseless beasts, and made like to them. '91 an abominable statement! man? he who is 'a little lower than the angels,'92 concerning whom solomon says: 'man is a great thing, and pitiful man is something honorable 293 he, because he did not perceive his own dignity but bowed down to the passions of the flesh, 'hath been compared to senseless beasts, and made like to them.' 91 ps. 48.21. 92 heb. 2.7. 93 prov. 20.6 (septuagint version). homily 20 a psalm of david on hope in defeat (on psalm 59) hen i compared the eagerness with which you listened and the inadequacy of my ability there came to my mind a certain similitude of a young child, already rather active but not yet weaned from its mother's milk, annoying the maternal breasts which were dry from weakness. the mother, even though she perceived that the sources of her milk were dry, being pulled and torn by him, offered him her breast, not in order that she might nourish the infant, but that she might make him stop crying. accordingly, even though our powers have been dried up by this long and varied bodily illness, nevertheless, there is set before you, not a pleasure deserving of mention, but some things which satisfy, because your extraordinary love is strong enough to appease your longing for us even by means of our voice alone. therefore, let the church of god be saluted and let it be taught to say what we were just saying: 'give us help from trouble: for vain is the salvation of man.'1 so, perhaps, the meaning of the psalm does not at all permit us to allege weakness, if indeed affliction is a patron of help and not an occasion of infirmity. to those, then, who were rejected through sin, but then received again through the kindness of god, it is appropriate to say: 'o god, thou hast cast us off, and hast destroyed 1 ps. 59.13. 333 334 saint basil us: thou hast been angry, and hast had mercy on us.' "2 or rather, since the homily on the meaning of the psalm has fallen within the series, let us apply ourselves within due limits to the explanation of it. (2) the history of the present psalm, in the very same words as the title,3 has not yet, even to this time, been found anywhere in the inspired narratives. however, accounts equivalent to it will be found by those who seek diligently for it in the second book of kings, in which it is written: 'david defeated also adarezer the son of rohob king of soba, when he went to extend his dominion over the river euphrates. and david took from him a thousand chariots and seven thousand horsemen, and twenty thousand footmen. and david destroyed all the chariots: and only reserved of them one hundred chariots.'4 and a little later it says: ‘and david reigned over all israel: and david did judgment and justice to all his people. and joab the son of sarvia was over the army.' and after a little while: 'and the children of ammon sent and hired the syrians of rohob, and the syrians of soba, twenty thousand men; then joab saw that the battle was prepared against him, and he chose from all the sons of israel, and put them in array against the syrians. and all the auxiliaries of adarezer saw that they were overcome by israel, and they fled to israel and served them.'8 we find that the title of the psalm agrees with this fragment of the history, except that the time of this inscription is that 2 ibid. 59.3. 3 the title of this psalm, comprising the first two verses of the psalm and, according to maran, omitted in the manuscripts possessed by the benedictines and in the early basel edition, is found only in the paris edition, to which it was probably added to make st. basil's explanations clearer. the title is as follows: 'unto the end, for them that shall be changed, for the inscription of a title, to david himself, for doctrine, when he set fire to mesopotamia of syria and to sobal; and joab returned and slew of edom, in the vale of the saltpits, twelve thousand men.' 4 2 kings 8.3, 4 (septuagint version). 5 ibid. 8.15, 16. 6 ibid. 10. 6, 9, 19 (septuagint version). homily 20 335 at which david was most magnificent and illustrious for his brave deeds in war. therefore, it is worth investigating how he begins with lamentations and dirges, when he ought to be very happy and cheerful because of his valorous deeds. some of the words are the words of those who are celebrating a festival; others, of those who are sad. an epinicia is a speech for a general festival, not only for the soldiers, but also for the farmers, the merchants, the artisans, and all who share in the blessings of peace. how, then, 'o god, hast thou cast us off, and hast destroyed us’?? truly, he has helped the victors. but, how did he destroy those whom he enriched so much, delivering to them arms and chariots, and horses, and subjects, and tributary lands, all arabia, phoenicia, and mesopotamia? it is worthwhile to notice whether the words contain some ingratitude. for, he had first destroyed adarezer the king of soba, and had taken from him a thousand chariots and seven thousand horsemen and twenty thousand infantrymen, and again, had subjected to himself the king of syria, who was giving aid to the fallen one, and he had made him a tributary, and in one instant of time had slaughtered his twenty-two thousand. when the sons of ammon were drawn up in battle line beside the gate of the city, he had conquered them in a third victory through joab the commander in chief, who separating the force into two parts, met some in front, and going around, overpowered those in the rear. how is it that amidst such valorous deeds he is making such gloomy and sad utterances, saying: 'o god, thou hast cast us off, and hast destroyed us. thou hast been angry, and hast had mercy on us'? certainly, the time of the writing of the inscription was this period of brave accomplishments, but the force of the writings has reference to the end of time); moreover, he says that the end is that which will pass away at the consummation of the world. therefore, he says that the psalm has been written for those who will be changed. 7 ps. 59.3. 336 saint basil it is possible to understand this in general in regard to the whole race of men, because the advantage from the psalm affects all. those who are changed and those who will be changed are they who neither preserve the same condition of body nor continue always in the same opinion, but, who, when they are changed in body through the modifications due to the time of life, change their mind in regard to the various occurrences. some of us, in fact, are children, and others, adolescents, while others have become men; and again, we are completely changed when we have grown old. some of us are in more cheerful states of affairs; some of the others of us have experienced the harsher conditions of the times; some are ill; and others are enjoying themselves; some are in the married state; others in the midst of sorrows. or, since the saying was not 'to those changed, but, 'to those who will be changed,' and the words contain an indication of prophecy, because the tense is changed to the future, it is more consistent to understand that those who will be changed are those who, having given up the foolish customs of their fathers, will regulate the conduct of their lives by the strictness of the gospel. accord. ingly, the psalm was not written to the jews of that time, but to us who will be changed, who are exchanging polytheism for piety, the error concerning idols for the knowledge of him who made us, who choose lawful self-control instead of lawless pleasure, who substitute a psalm and fasting and prayer for the flutes and choruses and drunkenness. if, then, someone would say that the psalm was written for us, he would not err from the truth. therefore also, the divine oracles are ours, and in the church of god they are read aloud at each assembly, like gifts sent by god, nourishment for the soul, as it were, furnished through the spirit. but, the psalm was also written for an inscription on a column; that is to say, the hearing of it should not be just casual and you should not engrave these things on your mind for the brief time of memory, then permit them to be con2 homily 20 337 9 fused and obliterated in the same way as things written on perishable wood meet with speedy destruction; but you should keep them recorded on your mind as on a column, that is, settled immovably and steadfastly in your memory for all time. and, if the jew rejects us as strangers to what has been written, from the very writings let us shame him, revealing the absence of discrimination in the general call; the manner in which it brings together things that are separated, calls together those which are far off, and makes the many into one through faith in christ. 'galaad is mine,' he says, 'and manasses is mine.'8 he mentioned ephraim, and he added juda, and also counted moab. he threatens to enter into idumea, and he proclaims the subjection of all at the same time: 'to me the foreigners are made subject." (3) therefore, ‘o god, thou hast cast us off.' you have cast off those who in proportion to their sins removed themselves to a distance from you. you have destroyed the accumulations of our wickedness, doing good to us because of our weakness. you were angry, since 'we were by nature children of wrath,'1 having no hope, and being without god in the world. you had mercy on us when 'you set forth your only-begotten son as a propitiation for our sins,'11 in order that in his blood we might find redemption. we would not know that we were having these kindnesses done to us, unless 'thou hast made us drink the wine of sorrow.'12 by wine he means the words which lead the hardened heart to conscious perception. 'thou hast given a sign to them that fear thee: that they may flee from before the bow.'13 moses caused the doorposts '10 8 ibid. 59.9. 9 ibid. 59.10. 10 eph. 2.3. 11 cf. rom. 3.25: 'in christ jesus, whom god has set forth as a propitiation by his blood through faith.' cf. also 1 john 4.10. 12 ps. 59.5. 13 ibid. 59.6. 338 saint basil of the israelites to be signed with the blood of a lamb;14 but you have given us a sign, the blood itself of a lamb without blemish, slain for the sin of the world. and ezechiel says that a sign was given on the foreheads of the persons. for he says: ‘go ye after him and strike; do not spare, nor be ye moved with pity. utterly destroy old and young, maidens, children, and women; but all on whom there is the sign do not approach.'15 'god hath spoken in his holy place: i will rejoice, and i will divide sichem.'16 sichem is a special place given by jacob to joseph, a type of the covenant which seems to have been presented to israel alone. accordingly, i shall bring this special covenant and inheritance of the people for apportionment, and i shall make it common to all the rest. therefore, after the covenant has been divided for all, and the advantage from it has been made common to all those who are having kindness done them by god, then, too, the deep valley of the tabernacles will be measured; that is to say, the whole world, as if by certain lots, will be divided by dioceses in each place. at that time also he will join together things that are far apart, he 'who makes peace whether on the earth or in the heavens,'17 ‘and he who has broken down the intervening wall of the enclosure will make both one.'18 (4) 'galaad is mine, and manasses is mine.'19 galaad is a grandson of manasses; this is said in order that he may show that the succession of the patriarchs, from whom is christ according to the flesh, comes down from god. 'and ephraim 14 cf. exod. 12.7: ‘and they shall take of the blood thereof (of the lamb], and put it upon both the side posts, and on the upper doorposts of the houses, wherein they shall eat it.' 15 ezech. 9.5, 6 (septuagint version). 16 ps. 59.8. 17 col. 1.20. 18 cf. eph. 2.14: 'for he himself is our peace, he it is who has made both one, and has broken down the intervening wall of the enclosure, the enmity, in his flesh.' 19 ps. 59.9. homily 20 339 is the support of my head. juda is my king.20 he will join together by agreement the parts that are severed. 'moab is the pot of my hope.'21 or 'a pot for washing,' another of the interpreters says; or 'a pot of security'; that is to say, the excommunicated man, who has been forbidden with threats to enter the church of the lord. for, the moabite and the ammonite will not enter until the third and until the tenth generation and until everlasting time.22 nevertheless, since baptism possesses remission for sins, and produces security for the debtors, he, showing the deliverance through baptism and the affection for god, says: 'moab is a pot for washing,' or ‘a pot of security.' therefore, all 'foreigners are made subject,"23 bowing down under the yoke of christ; for this reason he will set his shoe in edom.24 the shoe of the divinity is the god-bearing flesh, through which he approaches men. in this hope, pronouncing blessed, the time of the coming of the lord, the prophet says: 'who will bring me into the fortified city.'25 perhaps, he means the church, a city, indeed, because it is a community governed conformably to laws; and fortified, because of the faith encompassing it. whence one of the interpreters gave out a very clear translation: 'into a city fortified all around.' who, then, will permit me to see this great spectacle, god living among men? these are the words of the lord: 'many prophets and just men have longed to see what you see, and they have not seen it.'26 (5) 'give us help from trouble.'27 let us not seek help from strength, nor from a good condition of body; let us not ask to obtain succor from anyone of those among men who are con20 ibid. 21 ibid. 59.10. 22 cf. 2 esd. 13.1: ‘and therein it was found written, that the ammonites and the moabites should not come in to the church of god for ever.' 23 ps. 59.10. 24 cf. ibid. 25 ibid. 59.11. 26 matt. 13.17. 27 ps. 59.13. 340 saint basil sidered renowned. not in the amount of money, not in the pride of power, not in the height of glory is victory gained, but the lord freely gives his help to those who seek him through excessive affliction. such was paul,28 who made his afflictions his boast. therefore, he was able to say: 'when i am weak, then i am strong.'29 ‘give us, therefore, o lord, help from trouble, since 'tribulation works out endurance, and endurance tried virtue, and tried virtue, hope. and hope does not disappoint.'30 do you see where affliction leads you? to hope that does not disappoint. are you ill? be of good cheer, because 'whom the lord loves, he chastises.'31 are you poor? rejoice, because the blessings of lazarus will receive you in turn.32 are you held in dishonor because of the name of christ? you are blessed, because your shame will be changed into the glory of an angel. let us persuade ourselves, brothers, in the time of temptation not to run away to human hopes, nor to seek assistance for ourselves from them, but in tears and in groanings and in assiduous prayers and in strenuous watchfulness to make our petitions. for, that man receives help from troubles who despises human help as vain and stands firmly on the hope that is founded on him who is able to save us, in christ jesus our lord, to whom be glory and power forever. amen. 28 rom. 5.3. 29 2 cor. 12.10. 30 rom. 5.3-5. 31 heb. 12.6. 32 cf. luke 16.22: ‘and it came to pass that the poor man died and was borne away by the angels into abraham's bosom.' homily 21 a psalm of david for idithun and a body of singers (on psalm 61) w. e know two psalms with the title 'for idithun,' the thirty-eighth and this one that we have at hand. and we think that the composition of the work is owed to david; that it was given to idithun for his use that he might correct the passions of his soul, and also as a choral song to be sung in the presence of the people. through it, also, god was glorified, and those who heard it amended their habits. now, idithun was a singer in the temple, as the history of the paralipomenon testifies to us, saying: 'and after them heman and idithun sounded the trumpets and played on the cymbals and all kinds of musical instruments to sing praises to god.' and a little later it says: 'moreover david the king and the chief officers of the army separated for the ministry the sons of asaph, and of heman, and of idithun: to prophesy with harps, and with psalteries, and with tympana.' both psalms treat, for the most part, of patience, through which the passions of the soul are reduced to order, all arrogance is banished, and humility is acquired. for, it is impossible for anyone who has not accepted the lowest and last place with respect to all, ever to be able, when abused, to '2 1 1 par. 16.41, 42. 2 ibid. 25.1. 341 342 saint basil conquer his wrath, or when afflicted, to rise superior to his trials through patience. he who has acquired consummate humility, since he has condemned beforehand his greater vileness, will not be disturbed in soul in the midst of reproaches by words of disgrace; but, if he hears 'poor man,' he knows that he is a poor man and in want of all things, and that he has need of daily sustenance from the lord; and, if he hears ‘lowborn and obscure,' he has already accepted in his heart the fact that he was made from clay. therefore, in regard to that he says: 'i said: i will take heed to my ways,'and he explains the rebellion of the sinner and his own patience. 'when the sinner,' he says, 'stood against me, i was dumb, and was humbled, and kept silence from good things.'' then he continues, saying: 'and indeed all things are vanity: every man living,'5 then, 'he storeth up; and he knoweth not for whom he shall gather these things.'8 in the proposed psalm he begins in the form of a question, speaking, as it were, to his own soul, as if in consequence of the words previously spoken. in order that the soul, subjected to the pride of the flesh, may not be provoked to anger and sadness, 'why,' he says, 'do i make my soul, which was entrusted by its creator, god, with the rule over the body and its emotions, the slave of evil passions?' accordingly, there is need to rule the passions and to serve god. it is impossible for it to be ruled by sin and by god; but, it must prevail over the evil and be subjected to the lord of all things. therefore, the prophet, threatening him who brings on the temptations and stirs up a great throng of evils in him and who has a great desire to enslave the will of the spirit and subject it to the flesh, as if refuting his idea against him as vain, says this: 'why do you force me to serve those whom it is not right? i have a lord. i truly know my king.' 3 ps. 38.2. 4 ibid. 38.2, 3. 5 ibid. 38.6. 6 ibid. 38.7. a homily 21 343 (2) 'shall not my soul be subject to god? for from him is my salvation.'? he tells the reason for his desire for subjectionbecause his salvation is from god. it is characteristic of an artisan to take thought for the safety of his works of art. or, by the words, 'from him is salvation,' since he foresees prophetically that there will be the future grace of the incarnation of the lord, he says that it is necessary to serve god and to love him, who first directed such kindness toward the human race, as ‘not even to spare his own son, but to deliver him for us all.'8 now, it is a custom in scripture to call the christ of god, salvation, as somewhere simeon says: 'now thou dost dismiss thy servant, o lord, because my eyes have seen thy salvation.'9 therefore, let us subject ourselves to god, because from him is salvation. he explains what salvation is. it is not some mere active force, which provides us with a certain grace for deliverance from weakness and for the good health of our body. but, what is salvation? 'for he is my god and my savior: he is my protector, i shall be moved no more.'10 the son, who is from god, is our god. he himself is also savior of the human race, who supports our weakness, who corrects the disturbance that springs up in our souls from temptations. 'i shall be moved no more.' humanly he confesses his disturbance. ‘more.' for, it is impossible that there should not be some disturbance from temptations in the soul of man. while we are committing small and few sins, we are in a way mildly disturbed, being tossed about like the leaves by a gentle breeze; but, when our vices are more and greater, in proportion to the increase of our sins the disturbance is wont to be intensified. and some are moved more; but others, to the extent of being thrown down, even the selfrooted being overturned, whenever the spirits of evil, more 7 ibid. 61.2. 8 cf. rom. 8.32: 'he who has not spared even his own son but has delivered him for us all.' 9 luke 2.29, 30. 10 ps. 61.3. 344 saint basil violently than any hurricane, sever the roots, as it were, of the soul, by which it was supported through faith in god. i, accordingly, he says, was disturbed as a man; but, i shall not be disturbed more, because i am supported by the right hand of the savior. (3) 'how long do you rush in upon a man? you all kill, as if you were thrusting down a leaning wall, and a tottering fence.'11 again the homily fights against the depraved ministers of the devil, charging a lack of moderation in the snares laid by them. certainly, men are weak animals; but you rush on, not content with the first attack, but you bring on a second and a third, until you subdue to such an extent the soul which has fallen beside you that it is very similar to a leaning wall and a tottering fence. now, a wall, as long as it maintains an upright position, remains steadfast; but, when it leans, since it has been weakened, it needs must fall. for, heavy bodies, if united into one, stand erect after inclining, but those which are composed of several parts no longer admit of correction when they endure pressure on one part. the homily shows, therefore, that the nature of man, which is composite, was one inaccessible to plots for a second fall. 'you are god's tillage, god's building, '12 it is said. the enemy has shaken down this building; the craftsman has repaired the rents made in it. thus the fall was necessary because of sin, but the resurrection was great because of immortality. ‘but they have thought to cast away my price; they ran in thirst: they blessed with their mouth, but cursed with their heart.'13 the price of man is the blood of christ: 'you have been bought, it is said, 'with a price; do not become the slaves of men.'14 the soldiers of the evil one planned, there11 ibid. 61.4. 12 1 cor. 3.9. 13 ps. 61.5. st. basil interprets ‘édramon' in the third person plural. both the vulgate and the english translation consider it the first person singular. 14 i cor. 7.23. homily 21 345 fore, to render this price useless to us, leading again into slavery those who had been once freed. 'they ran in thirst.' he is speaking of the eager plots of the demons, because they run against us, thirsting for our destruction. 'they blessed with their mouth, but cursed with their heart.' there are many who approve evil deeds and say that the witty person is charming; the foulmouthed, statesmanlike; the bitter and irascible they name as one not to be despised; the niggardly and selfish they praise as thrifty; the spendthrift, as bountiful; the fornicator and lewd, as a man devoted to enjoyment and ease; and, in general, they gloss over every evil with the name of the proximate virtue. such men bless with their mouth, but curse with their heart. for, by the auspiciousness of the words, they bring every curse upon their life, making themselves liable to action at the eternal judgment because of those things which they approved. again, he speaks to his soul, urging its obedience to god. ‘but, be thou, o my soul,' he says, 'subject to god: for from him is my patience.'15 he shows the magnitude of the temptations, and he speaks the words of the apostle, that he will not permit us to be tempted beyond what we are able to bear. 16 'from him is my patience.' (4) 'in god is my salvation and my glory; he is the god of my help, and my hope is in god.'17 blessed is he who exults in none of the lofty things of life, but regards god as his glory; who holds christ as his boast; who is able to say, according to the apostle: 'but as for me, god forbid that i should glory save in the cross of christ.'18 many are glorified in body, who devote their time to gymnastic contests, or, on the whole, who are vigorous in the flower of their age; and many, because of their valor in the wars, who consider the murdering of those 15 ps. 61.6. 16 cf. 1 cor. 10.13: 'god is faithful and will not permit you to be tempted beyond your strength.' 17 ps. 61.8. 18 gal. 6.14. 346 saint basil of the same race bravery. in fact, rewards in wars, and the trophies raised by a general and by cities, are according to the magnitude of the slaughter. others are glorified because they put walls around cities; and others, because of the structures of the aqueducts and the buildings of the great gymnasia. that man who has spent his wealth in fighting wild beasts and who exults in vain words of the people, is puffed up with the praises and thinks himself something great, having his glory in his shame.19 he even shows his sin inscribed on tablets in conspicuous places of the city. another is extolled for his wealth; another, because he is a skillful and invincible orator, or he is acquainted with the wisdom of the world. it is proper to pity the glory of all these, and to deem happy those who make god their glory. for, if a certain one thinks he is something great because he is the servant of a king and is held in great honor by him, how much ought you to exalt yourself, because you are a servant of the great king and are called by him to the closest intimacy, having received the spirit of the promise, so that, sealed with his approval, you are shown to be a son of god? since he is conscious of the use of sincere hope in god, he invites the people to a zeal equal to his own, saying: 'trust in him, all ye congregation of people; pour out your hearts before him.'20 it is impossible for us to become capable of divine grace, unless we have driven out the evil passions which have preoccupied our souls. i know doctors who do not give the salutary medicines before they have drained out by means of an emetic the matter that was causing the sickness, which the intemperate had stored up in themselves through a bad diet. even a vessel which has been filled before with some ill. smelling liquid, unless it has been washed out will not admit an inpouring of perfume. therefore, it is necessary for that 19 cf. phil. 3.19: 'their glory is in their shame, they mind the things of earth.' 20 ps. 61.9. homily 21 347 which first had possession to be poured out, in order that it may be able to contain that which is being brought in. ‘but vain are the sons of men.'21 he knew that not all follow his instruction nor permit themselves to hope in god, but that they have their hope in the follies of life. therefore, he says: 'but vain are the sons of men, the sons of men are liars.'22 why vain? because they are liars. where, especially, is their deceit proved? 'in the balances used for defrauding, '23 he says. in what sort of balances does he mean? all men do not weigh in the balance, do they? all men are not wool sellers, or butchers, are they? or do not handle gold or silver, or in general exert themselves about these materials which the merchants are accustomed to exchange by means of scales and weights, do they? but there is a large class of artisans, which does not need scales at all for its work; and there are many sailors, and many who are always engaged about courts of justice and the duty of ruling, among whom there is deceit, but the deceit is not practiced through scales. what is it, then, that he means? that there is a certain balance constructed in the interior of each of us by our creator, on which it is possible to judge the nature of things. 'i have set before thee life and death, good and evil,'24 two natures contrary to each other; balance them against each other in your own tribunal; weigh accurately which is more profitable to you: to choose a temporary pleasure and through it to receive eternal death, or, having chosen suffering in the practice of virtue, to use it to attain everlasting delights. men, then, are liars, since they have destroyed the tribunals of their soul, and the prophet deems them unhappy, for he says: 'woe to you that call darkness light and light darkness; 21 ibid. 61.10. 22 ibid. 23 ibid. (septuagint version). 24 deut. 30.15 (septuagint version). 348 saint basil that call bitter sweet and sweet bitter.'25 for me, he says, the present; who, indeed, knows the future? you weigh badly, choosing evils instead of blessings, preferring empty things to the genuine, placing the temporary before the eternal, electing passing pleasure for unending and unbroken joy. therefore, 'the sons of men are liars in the balances used for defrauding.' they wrong, first, themselves, and then, their neighbors; for, since they are the wicked advisers to themselves in their action, they are a bad example to the others. it is not possible for you to say on the day of judgment, 'i did not know the good.' your own balances, which provide sufficiently the discrimination between good and bad, are presented to you. we test the weight of the body by the inclinations of the balance, but we determine the choices of our life by the free judgment of our soul. this we call the balance because it can incline equally both ways. (5) 'trust not in inquity, and covet not robberies.'26 above he said: 'trust in him, all ye congregation of people.' he saw the hesitation in their obedience, and he declared: ‘but vain are the sons of men.' again, he bids them not to trust in iniquity. he who judges that wealth, collected unjustly, is sufficient means for him to be strong and powerful is like a sick man who alleges good health in serious illness. 'trust not in iniquity.' this itself hinders you in every good work. and covet not robberies.' he exhorts us not to be covetous of other men's possessions. 'if riches flow around, set not your heart upon them.'27 if you see anyone exceedingly rich, do not deem his life happy. if from all sides and from plenteous sources money flows around you, do not accept a superabundance of it. 'if riches flow around.' admire the expression. the nature of riches is а 25 cf. isa. 5.20: 'woe to you that call evil good, and good evil: that put darkness for light, and light for darkness: that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter.' 26 ps. 61.11. 27 ibid. homily 21 349 a state of flux. they run past their possessors more swiftly than the torrent; they are wont at one time to pass by one, and again, another. as a river, swept down from a height, approaches those standing on the bank, it at the same time reaches and immediately withdraws, so also the satisfaction from riches has a very swift and slippery presence, being wont to change time and again from some to others. today the field belongs to this man, tomorrow, to another, and a little after, to still another. look at the houses in the city, how many names they have received in succession since they were constructed, being called at one time from the name of one possessor, at another, from that of another. and gold, always flowing through the hand of him who possesses it, passes to another, and from him to still another. you are more able, when you have caught some water, to hold it in your hand, than to preserve riches lastingly for yourself. so it has been well said: 'if riches flow around, set not your heart upon them.' do not be further affected in your soul, but accept the use of them, not as if loving exceedingly and admiring some good thing, but as if choosing its service as something practical, then he brings up a decision for all that was said, not now from his own words, but one which he heard from god himself. 'god hath spoken once, these two things have i heard, *28 he says. and let it not disturb anyone that what was said is, as it were, incredible, namely, that god spoke once and the prophet heard two things. for, it is possible for someone to speak once, but for the things spoken on the one occasion to be many. a certain man, in fact, when he met som one once, discussed many things, and he who heard his words is able to say: 'he talked with me once, but he spoke about many things.' this is what was meant on the present occasion, the manifestation of god occurred to me once, but, there are two matters of which he talked. he did not say: 'god spoke of one thing, but i heard these two'; for, thus the statement would seem to 28 ibid. 61.12. 350 saint basil have some discrepancy in it. what were the two things which he heard? 'that power belongeth to god, and mercy to thee, o lord."29 god is powerful, he says, in judgment, and likewise merciful. trust not, therefore, in iniquity, do not hand yourself over to riches; do not choose vanity; do not carry around the corrupt tribunal of your soul. knowing that our lord is mighty, fear his strength, and do not despair of his kindness. now, in order that we may not do wrong, fear is good; and in order that he who has once slipped into sin may not throw himself away through despair, the hope of mercy is good. for, power belongs to god, and mercy is from him. 'for thou wilt render to every man according to his works.'30 'for with what measure you measure, it shall be measured back to you.'31 have you afflicted your brother? expect the same. did you snatch away the means of your inferiors, maltreat the poor, cover with disgrace by reproaches, blackmail, make false accusations, tamper with other's marriages, swear falsely, change your ancestral boundaries, attack the possessions of orphans, oppress widows, prefer the present pleasure to the blessings in the promises? expect the reciprocal measure of these. in fact, what each one sows, such also shall he reap.32 and yet, if you have performed any good acts, expect also manifold compensations in return for these. for thou wilt ' render to every man according to his works. if you remember this sentence throughout all your life, you will be enabled to flee many sins, in christ jesus our lord, to whom be glory and power forever. amen. 29 ibid. 61.13. 30 ibid. 31 matt. 7.2. 32 cf. gal. 6.8: 'for what a man sows, that he will also reap.' homily 22 a psalm of thanksgiving for deliverance from death (on psalm 114) mi aving arrived so long in advance at these sacred precincts of the martyrs, you have persevered from midnight until this midday appeasing the god of the martyrs with hymns, while awaiting our arrival. the reward, therefore, is ready for you, who prefer honor for the martyrs and the worship of god to sleep and rest. but, if we must undertake a defense of ourselves because of our delay and, to a great extent, desertion of you, we shall tell the cause. it is, that, as we administer a church of god, equal in honor to this, which is separated by no short distance from you, we spent in it the earlier part of the day. since the lord has permitted me to perform the liturgy for them, while at the same time not altogether disappointing your love, return thanks with us to the benefactor, who guides by his invisible power this visibly weak body of ours. in order that we may not be distressed at detaining you further, after discoursing briefly on that psalm which we found you singing on our arrival, and feeding your souls with the word of consolation according to the power that is ours, we shall dismiss all of you for the care of your bodies. now, what was it that you were singing? 'i have loved,' he says, 'because the lord will hear the voice 351 352 saint basil 1 1 of my prayer.'' it is not in the power of everyone to say: 'i have loved,' but of him who is already perfect and beyond the fear of slavery, and who has been formed in the spirit of adoption as sons. he does not add to 'i have loved,' the word ‘someone, but we supply in thought 'the god of the universe.' for, that which is properly beloved is god, since they define 'beloved' as that at which all things aim. now, god is a good, and the first and most perfect of good things. therefore, i have loved god himself who is the highest of objects to be desired, and i have received with joy sufferings for his sake. what these things are, he goes through in detail a little laterthe pangs of death, the dangers of hell, the affliction, the pain, all things whatsoever that are desirable to him because of the love of god-and he shows forth the hope which was stored up for those who receive sufferings for the sake of piety. for, i did not endure the contests, he says, contrary to my will, nor by force or constraint, but, i accepted the sufferings with a certain love and affection, so that i was able to say: 'because for thy sake we are killed all the day long."? and these words seem to have equal weight with the words of the apostle and to be spoken by him with the same feeling, 'who shall separate us from the love of christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or hunger, or nakedness, or danger, or the sword?' therefore, i have loved all these things, knowing that i endure the dangers for the sake of piety under the hands of the lord of the universe who sees and bestows the reward. ‘because the lord will hear the voice of my prayer.'4 so, each one of us is able to perform the difficult tasks enjoined by the commandments whenever he displays his conduct of life to the god of the universe as if to a spectator. '2 'because he hath inclined his ear unto me.'5 'he inclined,' 1 ps. 114.1. 2 ibid. 43.22. 3 rom. 8.35. 4 ps. 114.1. 5 ibid. 114.2. homily 22 353 to 1 avond the sound the word universe.' er define a good celore , 1 s to be is sake. -latere pain . of the stored for, i, nor gith a he said, not that you might take some corporeal notion about god having ears and inclining them to a gentle voice, as we do, putting our ear close to those who speak low, so that by the nearness we may perceive what is said, but he said, 'he inclined,' in order that he might point out to us his own weakness. because through kindness he came down to me while i was lying on the ground, as if, when some sick man is not able to speak clearly because of his great weakness, a kind physician, bringing his ear close, should learn through the nearness what was necessary for the sick man. therefore, 'he hath inclined his ear unto me.' the divine ear, indeed, does not need a voice for perception; it knows how to recognize in the movements of the heart what is sought. or, do you not hear how moses, although he said nothing, but met the lord with his inexpressible groanings, was heard by the lord, who said: 'why criest thou to me?’e god knows how to hear even the blood of a just man, to which no tongue is attached and of which no voice pierces the air. the presence of good works is a loud voice before god. ‘and in my days i will call upon him.'' if we have prayed on one day, or if in one hour for a brief time we were saddened by our sins, we are carefree as if we had already made some compensation for our wickedness. however, the holy man says that he is disclosing his confession which is measured by the whole time of his life, for he says: 'in all my days i will call upon him.' then, in order that you may not think that he called upon god because he was fortunate in this life and because all his affairs were successful, he describes in detail the magnitude and difficulty of the circumstances in which, when he was involved, he did not forget the name of god. “the sorrows of death,' he says, ‘have compassed me; and the juk ords and pa esi, the ing ds d. ch de 0 6 exod. 14.15. 7 cf. gen. 4.10: 'the voice of your brother's blood cries to me from the ground.' 8 ps. 114.2. 354 saint basil perils of hell have found me.'' properly the sorrows of death have been agreed upon as the pains of childbirth, when the womb, distended with its burden, thrusts out the fetus; then, the generative parts, being compressed and stretched around the fetus by spasms and contractions of the muscles, produce in the mothers the sharpest pains and most bitter pangs. he transferred the name of these pains to those which besiege the animal in the division of soul and body at death. he says that he has suffered nothing moderately, but that he has been tried even to the sorrows of death and has arrived at the peril of the descent into hell. now, did he endure only these things for which he is exalted, or did he endure these things frequently and unwillingly? nothing that is forced is praiseworthy. but, look at the nobility of nature of the athlete. when the sorrows of death compassed me, and the perils of hell found me,' i was so far from succumbing to these trials that i willingly proposed to myself even much greater trials than these. trouble and sorrow, i, as it were, willingly devised for myself; i was not unwillingly seized by them. indeed, in the preceding words we read: "the perils of hell have found me,' but here, 'i met with trouble and sorrow.'10 for, since i was found to be unyielding there in regard to what was brought on by the tempter, in order that i might show the abundance of my love toward god, i added trouble to trouble, and sorrow to sorrow, and i did not rise up against these sufferings by my own power, but i called upon the name of the lord. such is also the declaration of the apostle, who says: 'but in all these things we overcome because of him who has loved us.'11 for he conquers who does not yield to those who lead on by force, but he is more than conqueror, who voluntarily invites sorrows for a demonstration of his endurance. let him who was in some sin to death12 say: 'the sor9 ibid. 114.3. 10 ibid. 11 rom. 8.37. 12 cf. 1 john 5.17: 'all lawlessness is sin, and there is a sin unto death.' homily 22 355 rows of death have compassed me.' 'for everyone,' he says, 'who commits sin has been born of the devil.'13 now, when i, he says, committed sin, and was pregnant by death, then also i was found by the perils of hell. how, then, did i cure myself? because i devised trouble and sorrow through penance. i contrived for myself a suffering of penance proportionate to the greatness of the sin, and thus i dared to call upon the name of the lord. but, what was it that i said? ‘o lord, deliver my soul.'14 i am held in this captivity, so you give ransom for me, and deliver my soul. 'the lord is merciful and just.'15 everywhere scripture joins justice with the mercy of god, teaching us, that neither the mercy of god is without judgment nor his judgment without mercy. even while he pities, he measures out his mercies judiciously to the worthy; and while judging, he brings forth the judgment, having regard to our weakness, repaying us with kindness rather than with equal reciprocal measurement. ' and our god showeth mercy.'16 mercy is an emotion experienced toward those who have been reduced beyond their desert, and which arises in those sympathetically disposed. we pity the man who has fallen from great riches into the uttermost poverty, him who has been overthrown from the peak of vigor of body to extreme weakness, him who gloried in the beauty and grace of body and who has been destroyed by most shameful passions. though we at one time were held in glory, living in paradise, yet, we have become inglorious and humble because of our banishment; 'our god showeth mercy,' seeing what sort of men we have become from what we were. for this reason he summoned adam with a voice of mercy, saying: 'adam, where are you?'17 he who knows all things was not 13 cf. 1 john 3.8: 'he who commits sin is of the devil.' 14 ps. 114.4. 15 ibid. 114.5. 16 ibid. 17 gen. 3.9. 856 saint basil seeking to be informed, but he wished to perceive what sort he had become from what he had been. 'where are you?' instead of 'to what sort of a ruin have you descended from so great a height?' 'the lord is the keeper of little ones; i was humbled, and he delivered me. .'18 according to natural reason human nature would not stand unless the little ones and those still infants were kept by the lord. for, unless it was preserved by the custody of god, how could the fetus in the mother be nourished or moved while it was in such narrow spaces, with no room for turning, and while it lived in dark and moist places, unable to take a breath or to live the life of men, but, on the contrary, was borne around in liquids like the fish? and how would it last even for a short time after it had come out into this unaccustomed place and, lacking the warmth within the mother, had become chilled all over by the air, unless it was preserved by god? therefore, the lord is the keeper of little ones; i was humbled, and he delivered me.' or, you may understand these words thus. when i was turned and became as a little child and received the kingdom of heaven as a child and through innocence brought myself down to the humility of children,19 'the lord, the keeper of little ones,' since i was humbled, 'delivered me.' 'turn, o my soul, into thy rest: for the lord hath been bountiful to thee.'20 the brave contestant applies to himself the consoling words, very much like to paul, when he says: 'i have fought the good fight, i have finished the course, i have kept the faith. for the rest, there is laid up for me a crown of justice.'21 these things the prophet also says to himself: since you have fulfilled sufficiently the course of this life, turn 18 ps. 114.6. 19 cf. matt. 18.3, 4: ‘amen i say to you, unless you turn and become like little children, you will not enter into the kingdom of heaven. whoever, therefore, humbles himself as this little child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.' 20 ps. 114.7. 21 2 tim. 4.7, 8. homily 22 857 henceforth into thy rest, 'for the lord has been bountiful to thee.' for, eternal rest lies before those who have struggled through the present life observant of the laws, a rest not given in payment for a debt owed for their works, but provided as a grace of the munificent god for those who have hoped in him. then, before he describes the good things there, telling in detail the escape from the troubles of the world, he gives thanks for them to the liberator of souls, who has delivered him from the varied and inexorable slavery of the passions. but, what are these good things? *for he hath delivered my soul from death: my eyes from tears, my feet from falling."22 he describes the future rest by a comparison with things here. here, he says, the sorrows of death have compassed me, but there he hath delivered my soul from death. here the eyes pour forth tears because of trouble, but there, no longer is there a tear to darken the eyes of those who are rejoicing in the contemplation of the beauty of the glory of god. 'for god has wiped away every tear from every face."23 here there is much danger of a fall; wherefore, even paul said: 'let him who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall."24 but, there the steps are firm; life is immutable. no longer is there the danger of slipping into sin. for, there is neither rebellion of the flesh, nor cooperation of a woman in sin. therefore, there is no male and female in the resurrection, but there is one certain life and it is of one kind, since those dwelling in the country of the living are pleasing to their lord. this world itself is mortal and is the place of mortals. since the substance of visible things is composite, and every composite thing is wont to be destroyed, we who are in the world, being part of the world, necessarily possess the nature of everything. therefore, even before the soul is separated from the body by death, we men frequently die. and let 22 ps. 114.8. 23 isa. 25.8 (septuagint version). 24 1 cor. 10.12. 358 saint basil not the saying appear incredible to you, but consider the truth of the matter. in twenty-one years man is wont to undergo three variations and vicissitudes of age and life, and in each week 25 its proper boundary circumscribes the past and displays a visible change. the age of infancy is limited by the loss of his teeth about the first week. the prescribed time for a child who is capable of learning is until youth. the youth, having attained to his twenty-first year, when he begins to cover his cheeks with the first growth of beard, imperceptibly disappears, since the adolescent has already changed into the man. accordingly, when you see a man who has laid aside the progressive increase according to age, who is already advanced in his reasoning, and who bears no trace of youth, will you not think that the past has died in him? again, the old man, transposed into another form and another disposition of soul, is evidently another man, as compared with the former. so that the life of men is wont to be fulfilled through many deaths, not only by the change in the passing from one age to another, but also by the lapses of the souls through sin. but, where there is no alteration either of body or soul (for there is no deviation of reasoning, nor change of opinion unless some difficult circumstances take away the constancy and tranquillity of the reason), that is truly the country of the living, since they are always like themselves. in this, especially, the prophet promises that he will be pleasing to the god of the universe, since he will be interrupted by nothing from the outside in his pursuit of a true servitude and of equal honor with the angels. 'we strive, it is said, ‘whether in the body, or out of it, to be pleasing to him. '26 that is the country of the living, in which there is no night, in which there is no sleep, the image of death, in which there is no eating, no drinking, the supports of our weakness; in 25 of years; i.e., each seven years. 26 2 cor. 5.9. homily 22 359 which there is no disease, no pains, no remedies, no courts of justice, no businesses, no arts, no money, the beginning of evil, the excuse for wars, the root of hatred; but a country of the living, who have not died through sin, but live the true life in christ jesus, to whom be glory and power forever. amen. indices general index aaron, 318 268, 276, 303, 323, 327, 331, abiathar, 166 358; dark, 263; guardianabimelech, 247 f. ship of, 258; hosts of, 9, 29; abraham, 175, 179, 180, 199, of the lord, 76, 176, 257 216, 248, 295, 305 anomoean, 150 absalom, 165, 166, 177 ant, 98, 138, 140, 188, 232 achaab, 239 antipelargosis, 126 achis, 247 f. apostle, 11, 30, 86, 91, 166, achitophel, 165, 166, 240 169, 194, 197, 211, 224, 241, acorns, 80 245, 250, 251, 254, 264, 268, adam, 326, 355 270, 274, 283, 294, 300, 311, adarezer, king of soba, 334, 314, 319, 322, 345, 352, 354; 335 apostles, 210, 260, 295, 312 ader, king of syria, 239 apple tree, 80 aegean sea, 61 aquila, 282 aegon, 47 arabia, 335 aelian, 108 n. arabian desert, 60 aethopian mountains, 47 n. araboth, 166 almond, 78 arachi, 165 aloes, 289 f. arachite, 166 amber, 80 aratus, xi, 90 n. ambrose, saint, viii, 74 n. araxes, 46 ammon, 334, 335 archangels, 9 ammonite, 339 aristotle, x, xi, 5 n., 7 n., amnon, 270 10 n., 12 n., 14 n., 15 n., amphiscians, 96 16 n., 17 n., 41 n., 47 n., angel, 176, 257, 327; angels, 4, 48 n., 50 n., 51 n., 59 n., 76, 148, 153, 209, 235, 258, 61 n., 73 n., 78 n., 89 n., 363 364 index 128 n., nos 132 n., 136 n., 107 n., 108 n., 110 n., 112 n., 113 n., 121 n., 122 n., 123 n., 124 n., 125 n., 126 n., 127 n., 131 137 n., 139 n., 140 n., 144 n., bats, 121, 129, 130, 255 bear, xiii, 139, 144; bear, 102 beauty, 220 f., 222 bees, xii, 123 ff., 131, 188, 232, 257 beetles, 122 beseleel, 10 black sea, 46 n. blessed life, 10 british isle, 60 britons, 98 bull, blood of, 71 bythinians, 60 145 n., 154 n., 187 n., 201 n. art, 23, 25, 45, 343; arts, 11 f., 45, 55, 95, 188, 359; imaginary, 92; medical, 72 asaph, 341 ascians, 96 asia minor, x asp, 146, 207 ass, 118, 138 assyrians, 322 astrology, 90 athenians, 307 athens, x athlete, 270, 354; 83, 157; of god, 167 atlantic ocean, 101 n., 115 atoms, 5 atomist philosophy, 5 n. augustine, saint, 74 n., 151 n. augustuses, 248 autumn, 95, 96 avarice, 109, 133 cades, desert of, 206 cadiz, 59 n. caesarea, x caesars, 248 calf, 142, 204 camels, xii, xiii, 119, 144 carmel, 202 caspian sea, 61 cassia, 289 f. caterpillar, 132 cattle, 132, 140 caucasian mountains, 46 cedars, 74, 203 f., 208; of god, 204; of libanus, 203, 204 celts, 56 cetaceans, 107, 108, 111 chaldean, 90, 91, 113 chanaan, 292 chanaanite, 292 charity, 10, 228, 290, 314 chinese, 132 choaspes, 46 chremetes, 47 christ, 36, 138, 148, 153, 155, babylon, 205 bactrus, 46 balkh, 46 n. balsam tree, 80 baptism, 200, 210, 263, 339 basil, saint, 74 n., 90 n., 151 n., 167 n., 181 n., 248 n., 249 n., 261 n., 277 n., 295 n., 304 n., 344 n. basilisk, 146, 207 index 865 . 164, 168, 169, 171, 195, 197, 326; son, 148, 149, 200, 204, 198, 202, 204, 205, 213, 216, 231, 234, 343; only begot238, 241, 256, 261, 262, 263, ten, 337; of god, 289; of 264, 267, 270, 271, 273, 279, man, 308; sun of justice, 283, 284, 287, 289, 290, 291, 85, 255, 304; unicorn, 205; 292, 293, 295, 299, 300, 302, son of, 204; word, 222, 234, 308, 312, 326, 337, 338, 339, 235, 259, 280, 281, 285, 287, 340, 343, 345, 352; christ 322, 326; divine, 117, 230; jesus, 245, 292, 317, 359; heavenly, 258, 284; of god, body of, 284; bride of, 295; 38, 213, 284, 285; of the cross of, 283, 345; disciples lord, 231, 234, 235 of, 252, 256; kingdom of, christianity, 149 291; lips of, 283, 284; mind christians, xii, 95, 245, 324 of, 322; author of victory, church, 14, 41, 51, 65, 76, 79, 231; bread, 260; of life, 260; 114, 153, 214, 261, 267, 272, true, 258; bridegroom, 222, 273, 284, 291, 292, 294, 295, 291; co-worker, 39; farmer, 302, 303, 304, 312, 313; of true, 76; god-bearing flesh, christ, 326; of the first339; godhead of the onlyborn, 323; of god, 21, 313, begotten, 196; jesus, 200, 333, 336; of the living god, 229, 237; lamb of god, 198; of the lord, 339; sons 204; lawmaker, 190; light, of the, 295 everlasting, 304; true, 85, chusi, 165, 166 86, 255; lord, passim; lord cicada, 131 jesus, 294; christ jesus our cicero, 5 n., 8 n., 40 n., 51 n. lord, 65, 82, 103, 134, 191, cock, 123 284, 340, 350; blood of our coleoptera, 121 lord jesus christ, 318; conchs, 107 body of the, 284; flesh of constantinople, x the, 289; man god jesus contrition of heart, 269 f. christ, 317; only-begotten, coral, 115 39, 44, 278, 288; orient, core, sons of, 275, 278, 297, 304; peacemaker, 256; sec311 ond person, 147; physician crabs, 106, 107, 109, 110 of souls, 313; ruler, 278; cranes, 122, 125 savior, 180, 228, 284, 289, crayfish, 107 291, 298, 305, 309, 343, 344; creation, 4, 10, 38, 63, 69, 71, sheep, 204; shepherd, true, 77, 81, 85, 103, 105, 116, , > 366 index 134, 136, 137, 143, 145, 148, david, 154, 157, 165, 166, 167, , 155, 202, 238 f., 252, 292; of 179, 193, 215, 240, 247 f., the heavens and the powers 248, 251, 252, 277, 282, 303, in them, 235; of the heavens 334, 335, 341 and earth, 3, 41; of heat, 45; dead sea, 60 of light, 33, 85; of the deceitfulness, 110 lights, 85, 105; of mankind, deer, 138 148; of men, 147; sensible, democritus, 5 n. 199 dermoptera, 121 creator, passim deteriorations, 5 creature, 62, 106, 119, 129, devil, 166, 179, 197, 206, 228, 132, 148, 197, 209, 262; 292, 298, 299, 316, 330, 355; creatures, xi, 10, 105, 110, ministers of, 344; the ad116, 120, 131, 132, 252, 255; versary, 308, 320; demon, crawling, 105, 106, 107, 117, 84, 133, 160; demons, 152, 118, 120, 129, 132, 136; 191, 228, 262, 298, 345; heavenly, 138, 209; inaniman-slaying, 84; the enemy, , mate, 199; irrational, xii, 54, 162, 168, 169, 178, 197, xiii, 84, 127; land animals, 216, 231, 243, 262, 274, 298, 135; living creatures, 105, 317, 327, 344; of truth, 175; 108, 117, 118, 119, 120, 132, invisible enemies, 167, 215; 136, 137, 138, 300; spiritual, evil one, 73, 231, 264, 344; 9, 10; swimming, 105, 106, prince of the world, 167, 118; winged, 105, 120, 121, 168; ruler of death, 217; 129, 131, 132 source of evil, 84; spirits of crocodiles, 106 evil, 343; the tempter, 354 crocus, 68, 70 doctrine, 7, 47, 151, 152, 173, crows, 125, 128, 131 180, 195, 201, 281, 283, 291, crustaceans, 107 293, 294, 307, 322, 328, 330; cuttlefish, 107 of judgment, 8 cypress, 74, 117 dog, 138, 142, 143, 185, 187, 232, 276, 301 danube, 46 n. dogfish, 107, 116 darius the median, 59 dog's-tooth grass, 68, 70 darkness, 26 ff., 31, 33, 35, 88, dogwood, 80 97, 99, 242, 254, 263, 304, dolphins, 106, 107 330, 347 dominations, 9 darnel, 73 don, 46 n. 9 > index 867 dove, 99, 207, 257, 291, 322 dragon, 146, 229 50, 52, 85, 105, 120, 129, 132 fus, 74 fly, 93 eagles, 121, 127, 137, 207, 230 forces, 9 east sea, 61 fox, 138, 139, 276, 325 edom, 339 frogs, 105, 106, 137 eels, 107, 137 egypt, xiv, 4, 47, 58, 60, 204, gadeira, 59, 61 322 galaad, 337, 338 egyptian gulf, 108 garlic, 68 egyptian sea, 59 gauls, 46 egyptians, 4 geese, 130 elements, 13, 17, 18, 19, 43, generation, 13, 24, 33, 46, 69, 44, 62, 63, 118, 201, 206, 285 137, 172, 239, 284, 303, 311; elephant, xiii, 144 f., 146 of the heavens, 19; of herbs, elias, 202 82; of land and water anielisha, 135, 239 mals, 45; of living beings, elms, 75 31, 154; of the luminaries, emmanuel, 305 97; of plants, 70; of sea and empedocles, 119 n. air, 285; of the sun, 61, 68; ephraim, 322, 337, 338 of the world, 9, 10; generaequinox, 49 tions, 5, 240, 295, 321, 323, esau, 176, 295 330 ether, 48, 129 gentiles, 149, 197, 198, 260, ethiopia, 4, 46 311 euphrates, 334 geth, 247 europe, x gethites, 247 eusebius, x gnat, 93, 105, 232 eustathius of afer, viii goats, 72, 291; wild, 143 euxine sea, 46, 61, 112 god, passim; godhead, 149, evil, 28 f., 265 f. 254; of majesty, 200, 2017 ezechias, 94 ally, 299; artificer, 99, 102; wise artificer, 100; author fear, 238 f., 259, 262 f.; of the of our present and future lord, 262, 263 life, 84; beauty, 6, 27; infigs, 191 visible being, 54; beloved, fig tree, 78 f., 80 6, 278, 279; benefactor, 54, firmament, 38 f., 42 ff., 47, 49, 84, 149, 351; first and 368 index 9 principal cause, 44; comand king, 292; divine and mander in chief, 306; blessed trinity, 31; inaccesartistic commender, 53; sible wisdom, 6, 227; woncraftsman, 12, 23, 44, 55, der-worker, 55 232, 303, 344; master craftsgoliath, sword of, 247 man, 19, 235; father, 84, gomorrah, 241 148, 149, 194, 195, 196, 200, gospel, 166, 201, 237, 240, 231, 234, 235, 268, 278, 280, 251, 278, 282, 283, 287, 295, 293, 297, 311, 319, 322, 327; 308, 321, 336 fount of life, 6; goodness, grapes, 75, 81, 191 6, 155, 227; helper, 299; grapevine, 75, 80, 81 most high, 102, 277, 278, grasshoppers, 137 303, 304, 305; holy one, greeks, 97; wise men of the, 194, 228, 319; inventor, 5; 5, 40; regions of the, 60 judge, 170, 175, 194, 233, gregory of nazianzus, saint, 237, 262; just judge, 8, 21, vii, ix 172, 177, 218; true judge, gregory of nyssa, saint, vii, 175; king, 251, 288, 294, viii 342, 346; king of glory, guadalquivir, 46 n. 239; lawgiver, 197; spiritual light, 6; lord passim; halcyon, 127 lord of armies, 305, 306, haloes, 89 308; lord of the universe, happiness, human, 69 190, 352; voice of the lord, hares, 143, 187 199, 200, 202, 203, 205, 206, harp, 153, 213, 229 207, 208; maker, 232, 324; harts, 207, 208, 217 maker of all things, 23; heathens, 5, 42 maker of hearts, 242; masheavens of heavens, 40 ter, 116, 190; master of the hebrews, 62, 97 universe, 52; mighty one, hedge, 76 287; most mighty, 285, 287; hedgehog, 140 nature, 6, 7; origin of hellebore, 71, 72 things created, 6; protechellespont, 61 tor, 309; providence, 127, heman, 341 144; provider, 84; efficient hemlock, 71, 72 and creative power, 44; herod, 276 ruler of the universe, 45; herodotus, xi, 143 n., 144 n. universal ruler, 49; spouse herring, 115 index 369 heteroscians, 96 241, 322, 336, 337 hippocrates, 72 n. joab, son of sarvia, 334 hippopotamuses, 106 joatham, 94 hochozath, 248 jona, 116 holiness, 194, 218, 235, 259 joram, son of achaab, 239 honey, 258 joseph, 50, 176, 179, 248, 338; horoscope, 92 of arimathea, 290 horse, 55, 62, 97, 137, 138, 156, joy, 224, 227, 228, 289 243, 244, 276, 323, 325, 335 juda, 337, 339 humility, 224, 270, 293, 341 f. judaism, 149 hyrcanian sea, 61 judea, 60 idithun, 341 judgment, 232 f., 233, 234, 236, 237, 269, 355 idleness, 113, 115, 140, 157 idolatry, 173, 204, 239, 292 just, the, 227, 228, 254, 267, idumea, 337 268, 270, 271, 273, 274, 281, incarnation, 171, 213, 231, 300, 302, 313, 322, 328, 329 justice, 174, 220, 228, 259, 285, 278, 285, 289, 290, 343 indian ocean, 59, 108 286, 287, 288, 289, 304, 314, indians, 98 326, 334, 356, 359 indus river, 46 ionian sea, 61 kerkhah, 46 n. isaac, 176, 179, 180, 216, 248, kingdom of god, 288, 300 305 israel, 50, 214, 239, 241, 243, lamb, 142 260, 295, 307, 309, 317, 318, lammergeyer, 128 322, 334, 338 lampreys, 107, 114 israelites, 338 laurels, 74 ister, 46 lazarus, 320, 340 leopard, 139 jackdaws, 122 leopard's bane, 71 jacob, 110, 157, 176, 180, 216, leucippus, 5 n. 264, 284, 295, 305, 308, 309, levites, 193 323, 338 libanus, 203, 204; calf of, 204 jemini, son of, 165, 166 libra, 92 jerome, saint, viii, 275 n. libya, 47 n. jerusalem above, 138, 302, lion, xiii, 137, 138, 143, 144, 304; heavenly, 252 146, 167, 168; lioness, 141, jew, 147, 149, 150, 173, 198, 143 > 370 index livy, 130 n. 199, 204, 221, 244, 248, 252, locusts, 130 269, 279, 308, 317, 318, 326, love, 128, 130, 142, 169, 176, 337, 353 216, 227, 238, 249, 257, 278, mosquitoes, 105 279, 287, 291, 313, 351, 352, mouse, xiii, 146 354 mules, 108 lucian, 72 n. mullein, 139 mussels, 107 macedonia, 60 myrrh, 289 f. magicians, 102 manasses, 337, 338 myrtles, 74 mandrake, 71, 72 manichaeans, 27, 117, 118 nabel the carmelian, 276 marcion, 324 nightingale, 129 marcionites, 27 night ravens, 129 marjoram, 139 nile, 47 mastic, 80 nobe, 247 mauretanians, 108 north sea, 61, 112 mediterranean sea, 59 n. nyses, 47 meek, the, 252, 253, 256, 269 meekness, 252, 256, 286, 293 oak, 117; oak forests, 77 melody, 152, 153, 224 oat stalk, 71 mercy, 211, 224, 232, f., 233, ocean, 101 234, 244, 245, 246, 261, 293, octopus, 110 334, 337, 350, 355 odollam, cave of, 249 olive tree, 69, 75, 77, 80 mesopotamia, 335 mica, 43 opium, 72 origen, ix, 8 n. mice, 137 ovipara, 106, 107 mint, 68 owls, 129, 130 mischos, 75 ox, 97, 108, 118, 135, 138, 156; moab, 337, 339 oxen, 98 moabite, 339 oyster, 109, 115 mock suns, 89 molecules, 5 pagan, 79 morocco, 108 n. palestine, 61 moses, viii, 3, 6, 12, 13, 19, palestinians, 60 21, 25, 26, 33, 50, 136, 179, palms, 78, 117; date, 80, 81 index 371 > 9 9 palus maiotis, 46 189, 255 f., 299, 301, 329, parrot-wrasse, 108 355 partridge, 123 powers, 9, 301 passion, 308 pride, 244, 315; of the flesh, patience, 341 f., 345 202, 253, 257, 342 paul, 9, 40, 132, 141, 146, 155, principalities, 9, 301 196, 214, 216, 228, 261, 282, prophet, 155, 170, 177, 181, 284, 293, 297, 322, 340, 356, 182, 214, 218, 224, 250, 264, 357 272, 278, 280, 281, 282, 290, peace, 152, 211, 222, 228, 251, 291, 294, 299, 300, 314, 315, 256, 266 f., 272, 308, 309, 328, 342, 347, 349, 356, 358; 313, 335, 338 prophets, 199, 305, 312, 322, peacock, 123 339 pearl, 115 propontis, 61, 112 pestilence, 156, 161, 162 f., 163 providence, 196, 304; of god, peter, 285; of sebaste, saint, 328 vii prudence, 220 pharaoh, 4, 179, 217, 244, 248, psalm, 152 ff., 176, 181, 182, 307 193, 194, 209, 210, 213, 214, pharisee, 173 217, 218, 234, 236, 245, 247, phasis, 46 270, 275, 276, 278, 283, 297, philoch, 248 311, 312, 315, 333, 334, 335, phoenicia, 335 336, 341, 342, 851 piety, 10, 157, 173, 175, 195, psenes, 78 261, 266, 277, 330, 336, 352 ptilota, 121 pigeons, 122, 123 pilate, 239 pyrenees mountains, 46 pillars, 46 pines, 74, 77, 78, 81, 139 quails, 72 plato, xi, 16 n., 18 n., 23 n., rain, 50, 65, 89, 95, 137 pliny, 108 n., 129 n. ram, 92, 93; ram, 193, 194, plotinus, xi, 12 n. 195, 207 polyps, 107 ransom, 316, 317, 318, 319, 320 pomegranate, 78 rays, 106; sting, 116 poplars, black, 75; white, 75 rebecca, 248 poppy juice, 71 red sea, xiv, 58, 59, 61, 206, poverty, 110, 126, 128, 185 f., 236 > puppy, 142 39 n., 41 n., 50 n. 372 index 151 n. reed, 68, 69 267, 271, 278, 280, 283, 286, remora, 115 290, 291, 292, 295, 302, 306, resurrection, 35, 170, 219, 322, 323, 328, 343, 355 231, 239, 290, 304, 327; docscythia, 46 trine of, 277; sons of, 268 scythian, 173 rha, 46 n. sea of asov, 46 n. rhipean mountains, 46 sea hare, 116 rhone, 46 sea pens, 115 rion, 46 n. sea snails, 107 rohob, king of soba, 334 sea urchin, 113 f. rome, 130 seals, 106, 107 rose bushes, 74 seaweeds, 109 rufinus of aquileia, viii, ix, sedge, 68 self-control, 220 senegal, 47 n. sadoc, 166 sennacherib, 244 samaria, 239 septuagint version, 10 n., 14 samaritan, 180 n., 21 n., 33 n., 34 n., 43 n., samson, 191 45 n., 50 n., 53 n., 56 n., sand, xiv, 58 70 n., 74 n., 85 n., 124 n., sardinian sea, 61 162 n., 177 n., 181 n., 182 n., saul, 247 194 196 sawfish, 116 221 n., 234 n., 248 n., 276 n., scallops, 107 281 n., 282 n., 287 n., scammony, 80 317 n., 324 n., 331 n., 347 n. schizoptera, 121 serbonian sea, 60 scorpio, 92 serpent, 110, 139, 144, 146, scorpion, xiii, 146 207, 208, 221, 229, 270, 308, scripture, 21, 22, 29, 30, 31, 321 34, 35, 38, 39, 41, 42, 43, 44, sesostris the egyptian, 59 47, 50, 56, 61, 63, 64, 68, 73, sharks, 107; hammer-headed, 91, 99, 100, 101, 118, 122, 116 132, 135, 136, 151, 156, 162, sheep, 72, 93, 108, 110, 139, 165, 166, 168, 169, 171, 175, 142, 193, 195, 198, 207, 291, 176, 177, 178, 179, 181, 193, 326, 327; wild, 143 194, 195, 199, 200, 203, 205, shellfish, 115 207, 208, 218, 219, 227, 236, shrimp, 115 237, 238, 247, 249, 260, 261, sichem, 338 184 n., ܕܝܐ n., 208 n., 311 n., > index 373 sicilian sea, 61 spirit, 30, 31, 152, 196, 200, silkworm, indian, 132 214, 224, 228, 229, 231, 234, simeon, 343 235, 237, 270, 280, 281, 282, sin, 84, 95, 147, 160, 167, 172 289, 293, 297, 298, 302, 312, f., 175, 221, 225, 229, 231, 322; spirit of his mouth, 233, 237, 241, 253, 255, 257, 234, 235; spirit of truth, 260, 262, 265, 268, 269, 270, 155, 312; common director, 273, 274, 286, 292, 298, 299, 155; paraclete, 312; great 315, 317, 318, 319, 322, 323, teacher, 155 325, 326, 327, 333, 342, 344, spring, 95, 140 346, 350, 354, 355, 357, 358, stags, 206 f., 208 359; sins, 162, 197, 209, 210, starlings, 72, 122, 130 224, 234, 236, 265, 316, 337, storks, 125 f. 339, 343, 353 strabo, 96 n. snow, 51, 95 strength, 220 f., 222 soba, 335 summer, 95, 96, 113 socrates, viii swallows, 121, 126 f. sodom, 241 swan, 131 solicitude, 126, 138, 140 swifts, 121 swine, 162 solomon, 30, 161, 180, 207, 213, 331 swordfish, 116 solstices of the sun, 34, 50; symmachus, 282 syria, 239, 335 summer solstice, 49, syrian, 31; syrians, 31, 334; of winter, 46, 49 rohob, 334; of soba, 334 son of perdition, 166 sons of thunder, 201, 285 tamarisk, 81 sophonia, 311 tanais, 46 south sea, 61 tares, 73 spain, 60 tartessus, 46 sparrows, 232 taurus, 92 spider's web, 5; spider webs, terebinth, 80 93 testaceans, 107 spirit, 5, 21, 30, 31, 38, 44, 55, thamar, 270 103, 113, 136, 150, 151, 153, tharsis, 201 195, 210, 225, 228, 230, 234, thebes, egyptian, 137 235, 257, 282, 283, 290, 297, theophrastus, xi, 68 n. 308, 314, 336, 346; holy thomas, 216 95; > 374 index vultures, 128, 130 > 9 thrones, 9 tiger, xiii, 144 tortoise, 139 truth, 4, 24, 27, 29, 37, 39, 47, 51, 54, 83, 102, 110, 147, 148, 150, 180, 197, 223, 237, 250, 253, 254, 257, 258, 259, 286, 288, 327, 330, 336, 358; word of truth, 283, 306, 308 tunneys, 108 turtledove, xiii, 127 tyre, 292 tyrrhenian sea, 61 wasps, 121, 131 weevers, 107 west sea, 61, 101 whales, 116 wheat, 71; black, 73 willows, 75 winter, 95, 96, 113, 127, 139, 140 wisdom, 17, 49, 64, 81, 83, 111, 114, 132, 141, 146, 147, 157, 172, 251, 287, 301, 314, 319; of the artificer, 99, 102; of the creator, 131, 132, 142, 232; of god, 113, 129, 314, 316; of the world, 317, 320; of the wise, 321; foolish, 136; human, 4, 283; vain, 130; worldly, 8, 83; children of, 166 wolf, 138, 141, 325; wolves, 110 wormwood, 80 unicorns, 204, 205 universe, 5, 12, 16, 25, 42, 45, 48, 51, 83, 84, 85, 137, 177, 235, 352, 358 valentinians, 27 valentinus, 324 valor, 220 vengeance, 177, 204 vergil, 73 n., 257 n. vineyard, 76 viper, 114, 139, 146, 187, 207 vivipara, 106, 107 volga, 46 n. xenophon, 72 n. zodiac, 91, 93 index of holy scripture (books of the old testament) genesis, 3 n., 5 n., 21 n., 24 n., 219 n., 220 n., 244 n., 347 n. 26 n., 30 n., 31 n., 32 n., 33 judges, 191 n. n., 34 n., 38 n., 42 n., 47 n., 1 kings, 247 n., 249 n., 276 n. 49 n., 50 n., 53 n., 56 n., 2 kings, 165 n., 166 n., 240 n., 61 n., 62 n., 63 n., 67 n., 270 n., 334 n. 70 n., 72 n., 74 n., 75 n., 3 kings, 202 n., 248 n. 85 n., 88 n., 95 n., 97 n., 4 kings, 239 n., 240 n., 244 n. 105 n., 107 n., 110 n., 115 n., 1 paralipomenon, 341 n. 117 n., 120 n., 132 n., 136 n., 2 esdras, 339 n. 147 n., 148 n., 149 n., 156, job, 15 n., 45 n., 205 n., 215 n., 157 n., 176 n., 179 n., 195 n., 234 n., 319 n., 320 n., 330 n. 199 n., 234 n., 242 n., 248 n., psalms, 16 n., 34 n., 35 n., 264 n., 295 n., 309 n., 323 n., 37 n., 40 n., 42 n., 50 n., 324 n., 325 n., 353 n., 355 n. 52 n., 53 n., 76 n., 77 n., exodus, 4 n., 87 n., 157 n., 82 n., 87 n., 97 n., 110 n., 170 n., 179 n., 199 n., 204 n., 111 n., 133 n., 138 n., 141 n., 217 n., 221 n., 236 n., 244 n., 146 n., 147 n., 151 n., 152 n., 248 n., 268 n., 269 n., 279 n., 153 n., 154 n., 156 n., 157 n., 284 n., 305 n., 307 n., 338 n., 161 n., 165 n., 166 n., 167 n., 168 n., 169 n., 170 n., 171 n., leviticus, 119 n. 173 n., 174 n., 175 n., 176 n., numbers, 4 n., 275 n., 318 n. 177 n., 178 n., 179 n., 181 n., deuteronomy, 50 n., 181 n., 182 n., 193 n., 194 n., 195 n., 353 n. 375 376 index 209 n., 9 9 198 n., 199 n., 200 n., 201 n., proverbs, 10 n., 30 n., 111 n., 202 n., 203 n., 204 n., 205 n., 114 n., 124 n., 162 n., 174 n., 206 n., 207 n., 208 n., 180 n., 184 n., 185 n., 190 n., 210 n., 211 n., 213 n., 214 n., 194 n., 196 n., 208 n., 243 n., 215 n., 216 n., 217 n., 218 n., 272 n., 281 n., 324 n., 331 n. 219 n., 220 n., 222 n., 223 n., ecclesiastes, 58 n., 151 n., 224 n., 225 n., 227 n., 228 n., 177 n., 228 n., 271 n., 287 n. 229 n., 230 n., 231 n., 232 n., canticle of canticles, 116 n., 233 n., 234 n., 235 n., 236 n., 222 n., 250 n., 287 n., 291 n. 237 n., 238 n., 239 n., 240 n., 69 n., 199 n., 318 n., ecclesiasticus, 100 n., 314 n. 241 n., 242 n., 243 n., 244 n., 245 n., 246 n., 247 n., 249 n., isaia, 14 n., 47 n., 56 n., 250 n., 251 n., 252 n., 253 n., 76 n., 118 n., 191 n., 254 n., 255 n., 257 n., 258 n., 206 n., 211 n., 229 n., 233 n., 259 n., 261 n., 262 n., 263 n., 237 n., 244 n., 263 n., 269 n., 265 n., 266 n., 267 n., 268 n., 272 n., 274 n., 277 n., 281 n., 269 n., 270 n., 271 n., 272 n., 282 n., 303 n., 315 n., 273 n., 274 n., 275 n., 277 n., 348 n., 357 n. 278 n., 280 n., 281 n., jeremia, 58 n., 82 n., 167 n., 283 n., 284 n., 286 n., 287 n., 171 n., 179 n., 180 n., 181 n., 288 n., 289 n., 290 n., 291 n., 194 n., 217 n., 248 n., 251 n., 292 n., 293 n., 294 n., 295 n., 272 n., 276 n., 299 n., 320 n., 297 n., 298 n., 299 n., 300 n., 301 n., 302 n., 303 n., 305 n., ezechiel, 181 n., 201 n., 273 n., 306 n., 307 n., 308 n., 311 n., 325 n., 338 n. 312 n., 314 n., 315 n., 317 n., daniel, 52 n., 179 n., 205 n., 318 n., 319 n., 320 n., 321 n., 206 n. 322 n., 324 n., 326 n., 327 n., osee, 315 n., 322 n. 328 n., 329 n., 330 n., 331 n., joel, 35 n., 90 n. 333 n., 334 n., 335 n., 337 n., amos, 35 n., 43 n., 260 n. 338 n., 339 n., 342 n., 343 n., michea, 211 n. . 346 n., 347 n., sophonia, 311 n. 348 n., 349 n., 350 n., 352 n., zacharia, 304 n. 353 n., 354 n., 355 n., 356 n., malachia, 85 n., 196 n., 255 n., 357 n. 304 n. 282 n., 325 n. 344 n., 345 n., index 377 (books of the new testament) 9 274 n., ) 249 n., the epistles st. paul to the romans, 7 n., 11 n., 36 n., 54 n., 124 n., 135 n., 160 n., 197 n., 219 n., 223 n., 229 n., 243 n., 245 n., 249 n., 254 n., 264 n., 283 n., 293 n., 300 n., 304 n., 309 n., 314 n., 317 n., 318 n., 320 n., 326 n., 337 n., 340 n., 343 n., 352 n., 354 n. 1 corinthians, 4 n., 7 n., 47 n., 76 n., 91 n., 103 n., 128 n., 171 n., 175 n., 196 n., 197 n., 223 n., 229 n., 243 n., 250 n., 254 n., 258 n., 264 n., 267 n., 270 n., 277 n., 278 n., 283 n., 289 n., 297 n., 302 n., 303 n., 311 n., 312 n., 318 n., 319 n., 321 n., 322 n., 344 n., 345 n., 357 n. 2 corinthians, 40 n., 169 n., 194 n., 225 n., 237 n., 238 n., 244 n., 254 n., 256 n., 261 n., 270 n., 282 n., 284 n., 319 n., 320 n., 340 n. galatians, 169 n., 210 n., 228 n., 261 n., 345 n., 350 n. ephesians, 114 n., 141 n., 178 n., 228 n., 234 n., 238 n., 243 n., 256 n., 263 n., 264 n., 267 n., 279 n., 309 n., 337 n., 338 n. philippians, 86 n., 138 n., 149 st. matthew, 7 n., 30 n., 76 n., 89 n., 90 n., 94 n., 110 n., 157 n., 158 n., 160 n., 166 n., 167 n., 172 n., 182 n., 191 n., 195 n., 196 n., 200 n., 206 n., 208 n., 209 n., 211 n., 218 n., 220 n., 232 n., 237 n., 241 n., 242 n., 252 n., 254 n., 256 n., 257 n., 262 n., 263 n., 265 n., 268 n., 270 n., 278 n., 280 n., 281 n., 286 n., 291 n., 293 n., 295 n., 300 n., 305 n., 306 n., 307 n., 308 n., 313 n., 323 n., 330 n., 339 n., 350 n., 320 n., 9 356 n. 9 n., 207 n., 211 n., 222 n., 230 n., 257 n., 266 n., 278 n., st. mark, 74 n., 201 n., 279 n. st. luke, 76 n., 166 n., 167 n., 190 n., 207 n., 220 n., 224 n, 268 n., 272 n., 273 n., 283 n., 308 n., 319 n., 320 n., 321 n., 322 n., 325 n., 329 n., 340 n., 343 n. st. john, 26 n., 76 n., 149 n., 166 n., 168 n., 171 n., 179 n., 180 n., 198 n., 201 n., 202 n., 204 n., 231 n., 234 n., 250 n., 255 n., 257 n., 264 n., 265 n., 266 n., 270 n., 279 n., 280 n., 285 n., 289 n., 302 n., 308 n., 312 n., 319 n., 322 n., 326 n., 327 n. the acts of the apostles, 4 n., 26 n., 84 n., 146 n., 204 n., 228 n., 254 n., 300 n., 307 n., 319 n., 326 n. 276 n., 290 n., 292 n., . 378 index 148 n., 283 n., 284 n., 292 n., 299 n., 312 n., 326 n., 346 n. colossians, 9 n., 30 n., 132 n., 138 n., 149 n., 251 n., 264 n., 265 n., 267 n., 293 n., 302 n., 306 n., 338 n. 1 thessalonians, 249 n. 1 timothy, 202 n., 214 n., 322 n. 2 timothy, 151 n., 174 n., 281 n., 356 n. titus, 155 n. to the hebrews, 29 n., 138 n., 149 n., 208 n., 250 n., 284 n., 303 n., 319 n., 324 n., 327 n., 328 n., 331 n., 340 n. 1 st. peter, 211 n., 241 n., 286 n., 316 n., 318 n. 1 st. john, 354 n., 355 n. st. jude, 35 n. apocalypse, 264 n. ) 1 | date due aug 1964 dec 15 64 x 31 1988 mar 17799 2 1088 nov 4 6 1988 nov 2 inte bli baa998 can service demco-293 the ohio state university 3 2435 020536025 fathers of the church, a new transl br60f33 001 146 the ohio state university book depository d aisle sect shlf side pos item c 8 07 31 23 7 15 008 4 the hermit and the wild woman and other stories by edith wharton new york mcmviii table of contents i _the hermit and the wild woman_ ii _the last asset_ iii _in trust_ iv _the pretext_ v _the verdict_ vi _the pot-boiler_ vii _the best man_ the hermit and the wild woman i the hermit lived in a cave in the hollow of a hill. below him was a glen, with a stream in a coppice of oaks and alders, and on the farther side of the valley, half a day's journey distant, another hill, steep and bristling, which raised aloft a little walled town with ghibelline swallow-tails notched against the sky. when the hermit was a lad, and lived in the town, the crenellations of the walls had been square-topped, and a guelf lord had flown his standard from the keep. then one day a steel-coloured line of men-at-arms rode across the valley, wound up the hill and battered in the gates. stones and greek fire rained from the ramparts, shields clashed in the streets, blade sprang at blade in passages and stairways, pikes and lances dripped above huddled flesh, and all the still familiar place was a stew of dying bodies. the boy fled from it in horror. he had seen his father go forth and not come back, his mother drop dead from an arquebuse shot as she leaned from the platform of the tower, his little sister fall with a slit throat across the altar steps of the chapel--and he ran, ran for his life, through the slippery streets, over warm twitching bodies, between legs of soldiers carousing, out of the gates, past burning farmsteads, trampled wheat-fields, orchards stripped and broken, till the still woods received him and he fell face down on the unmutilated earth. he had no wish to go back. his longing was to live hidden from life. up the hillside he found a hollow in the rock, and built before it a porch of boughs bound together with withies. he fed on nuts and roots, and on trout which he caught with his hands under the stones in the stream. he had always been a quiet boy, liking to sit at his mother's feet and watch the flowers grow on her embroidery frame, while the chaplain read aloud the histories of the desert fathers from a great silver-clasped volume. he would rather have been bred a clerk and scholar than a knight's son, and his happiest moments were when he served mass for the chaplain in the early morning, and felt his heart flutter up and up like a lark, up and up till it was lost in infinite space and brightness. almost as happy were the hours when he sat beside the foreign painter who came over the mountains to paint the chapel, and under whose brush celestial faces grew out of the rough wall as if he had sown some magic seed which flowered while you watched it. with the appearing of every gold-rimmed face the boy felt he had won another friend, a friend who would come and bend above him at night, keeping off the ugly visions which haunted his pillow--visions of the gnawing monsters about the church-porch, evil-faced bats and dragons, giant worms and winged bristling hogs, a devil's flock who crept down from the stone-work at night and hunted the souls of sinful children through the town. with the growth of the picture the bright mailed angels thronged so close about the boy's bed that between their interwoven wings not a snout or a claw could force itself; and he would turn over sighing on his pillow, which felt as soft and warm as if it had been lined with down from those sheltering pinions. all these thoughts came back to him now in his cave on the cliff-side. the stillness seemed to enclose him with wings, to fold him away from life and evil. he was never restless or discontented. he loved the long silent empty days, each one as like the other as pearls in a well-matched string. above all he liked to have time to save his soul. he had been greatly troubled about his soul since a band of flagellants had passed through the town, exhibiting their gaunt scourged bodies and exhorting the people to turn from soft raiment and delicate fare, from marriage and money-getting and dancing and games, and think only how they might escape the devil's talons and the great red blaze of hell. for days that red blaze hung on the edge of the boy's thoughts like the light of a burning city across a plain. there seemed to be so many pitfalls to avoid--so many things were wicked which one might have supposed to be harmless. how could a child of his age tell? he dared not for a moment think of anything else. and the scene of sack and slaughter from which he had fled gave shape and distinctness to that blood-red vision. hell was like that, only a million million times worse. now he knew how flesh looked when devils' pincers tore it, how the shrieks of the damned sounded, and how roasting bodies smelled. how could a christian spare one moment of his days and nights from the long long struggle to keep safe from the wrath to come? gradually the horror faded, leaving only a tranquil pleasure in the minute performance of his religious duties. his mind was not naturally given to the contemplation of evil, and in the blessed solitude of his new life his thoughts dwelt more and more on the beauty of holiness. his desire was to be perfectly good, and to live in love and charity with his fellow-men; and how could one do this without fleeing from them? at first his life was difficult, for in the winter season he was put to great straits to feed himself; and there were nights when the sky was like an iron vault, and a hoarse wind rattled the oakwood in the valley, and a great fear came on him that was worse than any cold. but in time it became known to his townsfolk and to the peasants in the neighbouring valleys that he had withdrawn to the wilderness to lead a godly life; and after that his worst hardships were over, for pious persons brought him gifts of oil and dried fruit, one good woman gave him seeds from her garden, another spun for him a hodden gown, and others would have brought him all manner of food and clothing, had he not refused to accept anything but for his bare needs. the good woman who had given him the seeds showed him also how to build a little garden on the southern ledge of his cliff, and all one summer the hermit carried up soil from the streamside, and the next he carried up water to keep his garden green. after that the fear of solitude quite passed from him, for he was so busy all day long that at night he had much ado to fight off the demon of sleep, which saint arsenius the abbot has denounced as the chief foe of the solitary. his memory kept good store of prayers and litanies, besides long passages from the mass and other offices, and he marked the hours of his day by different acts of devotion. on sundays and feast days, when the wind was set his way, he could hear the church bells from his native town, and these helped him to follow the worship of the faithful, and to bear in mind the seasons of the liturgical year; and what with carrying up water from the river, digging in the garden, gathering fagots for his fire, observing his religious duties, and keeping his thoughts continually upon the salvation of his soul, the hermit knew not a moment's idleness. at first, during his night vigils, he had felt a great fear of the stars, which seemed to set a cruel watch upon him, as though they spied out the frailty of his heart and took the measure of his littleness. but one day a wandering clerk, to whom he chanced to give a night's shelter, explained to him that, in the opinion of the most learned doctors of theology, the stars were inhabited by the spirits of the blessed, and this thought brought great consolation to the hermit. even on winter nights, when the eagle's wings clanged among the peaks, and he heard the long howl of wolves about the sheep-cotes in the valley, he no longer felt any fear, but thought of those sounds as representing the evil voices of the world, and hugged himself in the solitude of his cave. sometimes, to keep himself awake, he composed lauds in honour of christ and the saints, and they seemed to him so pleasant that he feared to forget them, so after much debate with himself he decided to ask a friendly priest from the valley, who sometimes visited him, to write down the lauds; and the priest wrote them down on comely sheepskin, which the hermit dried and prepared with his own hands. when the hermit saw them written down they appeared to him so beautiful that he feared to commit the sin of vanity if he looked at them too often, so he hid them between two smooth stones in his cave, and vowed that he would take them out only once in the year, at easter, when our lord has risen and it is meet that christians should rejoice. and this vow he faithfully kept; but, alas, when easter drew near, he found he was looking forward to the blessed festival less because of our lord's rising than because he should then be able to read his pleasant lauds written on fair sheepskin; and thereupon he took a vow that he would not look upon the lauds till he lay dying. so the hermit, for many years, lived to the glory of god and in great peace of mind. ii one day he resolved to set forth on a visit to the saint of the rock, who lived on the other side of the mountains. travellers had brought the hermit report of this solitary, how he lived in great holiness and austerity in a desert place among the hills, where snow lay all winter, and in summer the sun beat down cruelly. the saint, it appeared, had vowed that he would withdraw from the world to a spot where there was neither shade nor water, lest he should be tempted to take his ease and think less continually upon his maker; but wherever he went he found a spreading tree or a gushing spring, till at last he climbed up to the bare heights where nothing grows, and where the only water comes from the melting of the snow in spring. here he found a tall rock rising from the ground, and in it he scooped a hollow with his own hands, labouring for five years and wearing his fingers to the bone. then he seated himself in the hollow, which faced the west, so that in winter he should have small warmth of the sun and in summer be consumed by it; and there he had sat without moving for years beyond number. the hermit was greatly drawn by the tale of such austerities, which in his humility he did not dream of emulating, but desired, for his soul's good, to contemplate and praise; so one day he bound sandals to his feet, cut an alder staff from the stream, and set out to visit the saint of the rock. it was the pleasant spring season, when seeds are shooting and the bud is on the tree. the hermit was troubled at the thought of leaving his plants without water, but he could not travel in winter by reason of the snows, and in summer he feared the garden would suffer even more from his absence. so he set out, praying that rain might fall while he was away, and hoping to return again in five days. the peasants labouring in the fields left their work to ask his blessing; and they would even have followed him in great numbers had he not told them that he was bound on a pilgrimage to the saint of the rock, and that it behoved him to go alone, as one solitary seeking another. so they respected his wish, and he went on and entered the forest. in the forest he walked for two days and slept for two nights. he heard the wolves crying, and foxes rustling in the covert, and once, at twilight, a shaggy brown man peered at him through the leaves and galloped away with a soft padding of hoofs; but the hermit feared neither wild beasts nor evil-doers, nor even the fauns and satyrs who linger in unhallowed forest depths where the cross has not been raised; for he said: "if i die, i die to the glory of god, and if i live it must be to the same end." only he felt a secret pang at the thought that he might die without seeing his lauds again. but the third day, without misadventure, he came out on another valley. then he began to climb the mountain, first through brown woods of beech and oak, then through pine and broom, and then across red stony ledges where only a pinched growth of lentisk and briar spread in patches over the rock. by this time he thought to have reached his goal, but for two more days he fared on through the same scene, with the sky close over him and the green valleys of earth receding far below. sometimes for hours he saw only the red glistering slopes tufted with thin bushes, and the hard blue heaven so close that it seemed his hand could touch it; then at a turn of the path the rocks rolled apart, the eye plunged down a long pine-clad defile, and beyond it the forest flowed in mighty undulations to a plain shining with cities and another mountain-range many days' journey away. to some eyes this would have been a terrible spectacle, reminding the wayfarer of his remoteness from his kind, and of the perils which lurk in waste places and the weakness of man against them; but the hermit was so mated to solitude, and felt such love for all things created, that to him the bare rocks sang of their maker and the vast distance bore witness to his greatness. so his servant journeyed on unafraid. but one morning, after a long climb over steep and difficult slopes, the wayfarer halted suddenly at a bend of the way; for beyond the defile at his feet there was no plain shining with cities, but a bare expanse of shaken silver that reached away to the rim of the world; and the hermit knew it was the sea. fear seized him then, for it was terrible to see that great plain move like a heaving bosom, and, as he looked on it, the earth seemed also to heave beneath him. but presently he remembered how christ had walked the waves, and how even saint mary of egypt, who was a great sinner, had crossed the waters of jordan dry-shod to receive the sacrament from the abbot zosimus; and then the hermit's heart grew still, and he sang as he went down the mountain: "the sea shall praise thee, o lord." all day he kept seeing it and then losing it; but toward night he came to a cleft of the hills, and lay down in a pine-wood to sleep. he had now been six days gone, and once and again he thought anxiously of his herbs; but he said to himself: "what though my garden perish, if i see a holy man face to face and praise god in his company?" so he was never long cast down. before daylight he was afoot under the stars; and leaving the wood where he had slept, began climbing the face of a tall cliff, where he had to clutch the jutting ledges with his hands, and with every step he gained, a rock seemed thrust forth to hurl him back. so, footsore and bleeding, he reached a little stony plain as the sun dropped to the sea; and in the red light he saw a hollow rock, and the saint sitting in the hollow. the hermit fell on his knees, praising god; then he rose and ran across the plain to the rock. as he drew near he saw that the saint was a very old man, clad in goatskin, with a long white beard. he sat motionless, his hands on his knees, and two red eye-sockets turned to the sunset. near him was a young boy in skins who brushed the flies from his face; but they always came back, and settled on the rheum which ran from his eyes. he did not appear to hear or see the approach of the hermit, but sat quite still till the boy said: "father, here is a pilgrim." then he lifted up his voice and asked angrily who was there and what the stranger sought. the hermit answered: "father, the report of your holy practices came to me a long way off, and being myself a solitary, though not worthy to be named with you for godliness, it seemed fitting that i should cross the mountains to visit you, that we might sit together and speak in praise of solitude." the saint replied: "you fool, how can two sit together and praise solitude, since by so doing they put an end to the thing they pretend to honour?" the hermit, at that, was sorely abashed, for he had thought his speech out on the way, reciting it many times over; and now it appeared to him vainer than the crackling of thorns under a pot. nevertheless he took heart and said: "true, father; but may not two sinners sit together and praise christ, who has taught them the blessings of solitude?" but the other only answered: "if you had really learned the blessings of solitude you would not squander them in idle wandering." and, the hermit not knowing how to reply, he said again: "if two sinners meet they can best praise christ by going each his own way in silence." after that he shut his lips and continued motionless while the boy brushed the flies from his eye-sockets; but the hermit's heart sank, and for the first time he felt all the weariness of the way he had fared, and the great distance dividing him from home. he had meant to take counsel with the saint concerning his lauds, and whether he ought to destroy them; but now he had no heart to say another word, and turning away he began to descend the mountain. presently he heard steps running behind him, and the boy came up and pressed a honey-comb in his hand. "you have come a long way and must be hungry," he said; but before the hermit could thank him he had hastened back to his task. so the hermit crept down the mountain till he reached the wood where he had slept before; and there he made his bed again, but he had no mind to eat before sleeping, for his heart hungered more than his body; and his salt tears made the honey-comb bitter. iii on the fourteenth day he came to the valley below his cliff, and saw the walls of his native town against the sky. he was footsore and heavy of heart, for his long pilgrimage had brought him only weariness and humiliation, and as no drop of rain had fallen he knew that his garden must have perished. so he climbed the cliff heavily and reached his cave at the angelus. but there a great wonder awaited him. for though the scant earth of the hillside was parched and crumbling, his garden-soil reeked with moisture, and his plants had shot up, fresh and glistening, to a height they had never before attained. more wonderful still, the tendrils of the gourd had been trained about his door, and kneeling down he saw that the earth had been loosened between the rows of sprouting vegetables, and that every leaf sparkled with drops as though the rain had but newly ceased. then it appeared to the hermit that he beheld a miracle, but doubting his own deserts he refused to believe himself worthy of such grace, and went within doors to ponder on what had befallen him. and on his bed of rushes he saw a young woman sleeping, clad in an outlandish garment, with strange amulets about her neck. the sight was very terrifying to the hermit, for he recalled how often the demon, in tempting the desert fathers, had taken the form of a woman for their undoing; but he reflected that, since there was nothing pleasing to him in the sight of this female, who was brown as a nut and lean with wayfaring, he ran no great danger in looking at her. at first he took her for a wandering egyptian, but as he looked he perceived, among the heathen charms, an agnus dei in her bosom; and this so surprised him that he bent over and called on her to wake. she sprang up with a start, but seeing the hermit's gown and staff, and his face above her, lay quiet and said to him: "i have watered your garden daily in return for the beans and oil that i took from your store." "who are you, and how do you come here?" asked the hermit. she said: "i am a wild woman and live in the woods." and when he pressed her again to tell him why she had sought shelter in his cave, she said that the land to the south, whence she came, was full of armed companies and bands of marauders, and that great license and bloodshed prevailed there; and this the hermit knew to be true, for he had heard of it on his homeward journey. the wild woman went on to tell him that she had been hunted through the woods like an animal by a band of drunken men-at-arms, lansknechts from the north by their barbarous dress and speech, and at length, starving and spent, had come on his cave and hidden herself from her pursuers. "for," she said, "i fear neither wild beasts nor the woodland people, charcoal burners, egyptians, wandering minstrels or chapmen; even the highway robbers do not touch me, because i am poor and brown; but these armed men flown with blood and wine are more terrible than wolves and tigers." and the hermit's heart melted, for he thought of his little sister lying with her throat slit across the altar steps, and of the scenes of blood and rapine from which he had fled away into the wilderness. so he said to the stranger that it was not meet he should house her in his cave, but that he would send a messenger to the town across the valley, and beg a pious woman there to give her lodging and work in her household. "for," said he, "i perceive by the blessed image about your neck that you are not a heathen wilding, but a child of christ, though so far astray from him in the desert." "yes," she said, "i am a christian, and know as many prayers as you; but i will never set foot in city walls again, lest i be caught and put back into the convent." "what," cried the hermit with a start, "you are a runagate nun?" and he crossed himself, and again thought of the demon. she smiled and said: "it is true i was once a cloistered woman, but i will never willingly be one again. now drive me forth if you like; but i cannot go far, for i have a wounded foot, which i got in climbing the cliff with water for your garden." and she pointed to a deep cut in her foot. at that, for all his fear, the hermit was moved to pity, and washed the cut and bound it up; and as he did so he bethought him that perhaps his strange visitor had been sent to him not for his soul's undoing but for her own salvation. and from that hour he earnestly yearned to save her. but it was not fitting that she should remain in his cave; so, having given her water to drink and a handful of lentils, he raised her up and putting his staff in her hand guided her to a hollow not far off in the face of the cliff. and while he was doing this he heard the sunset bells ring across the valley, and set about reciting the _angelus domini nuntiavit mariae_; and she joined in very piously, with her hands folded, not missing a word. nevertheless the thought of her wickedness weighed on him, and the next day when he went to carry her food he asked her to tell him how it came about that she had fallen into such abominable sin. and this is the story she told. iv i was born (said she) in the north country, where the winters are long and cold, where snow sometimes falls in the valleys, and the high mountains for months are white with it. my father's castle is in a tall green wood, where the winds always rustle, and a cold river runs down from the ice-gorges. south of us was the wide plain, glowing with heat, but above us were stony passes where the eagle nests and the storms howl; in winter great fires roared in our chimneys, and even in summer there was always a cool air off the gorges. but when i was a child my mother went southward in the great empress's train and i went with her. we travelled many days, across plains and mountains, and saw rome, where the pope lives in a golden palace, and many other cities, till we came to the great emperor's court. there for two years or more we lived in pomp and merriment, for it was a wonderful court, full of mimes, magicians, philosophers and poets; and the empress's ladies spent their days in mirth and music, dressed in light silken garments, walking in gardens of roses, and bathing in a great cool marble tank, while the emperor's eunuchs guarded the approach to the gardens. oh, those baths in the marble tank, my father! i used to lie awake through the whole hot southern night, and think of that plunge at sunrise under the last stars. for we were in a burning country, and i pined for the tall green woods and the cold stream of my father's valley; and when i had cooled my limbs in the tank i lay all day in the scant cypress shade and dreamed of my next bath. my mother pined for the coolness till she died; then the empress put me in a convent and i was forgotten. the convent was on the side of a bare yellow hill, where bees made a hot buzzing in the thyme. below was the sea, blazing with a million shafts of light; and overhead a blinding sky, which reflected the sun's glitter like a huge baldric of steel. now the convent was built on the site of an old pleasure-house which a holy princess had given to our order; and a part of the house was left standing with its court and garden. the nuns had built all about the garden; but they left the cypresses in the middle, and the long marble tank where the princess and her ladies had bathed. the tank, however, as you may conceive, was no longer used as a bath; for the washing of the body is an indulgence forbidden to cloistered virgins; and our abbess, who was famed for her austerities, boasted that, like holy sylvia the nun, she never touched water save to bathe her finger-tips before receiving the sacrament. with such an example before them, the nuns were obliged to conform to the same pious rule, and many, having been bred in the convent from infancy, regarded all ablutions with horror, and felt no temptation to cleanse the filth from their flesh; but i, who had bathed daily, had the freshness of clear water in my veins, and perished slowly for want of it, like your garden herbs in a drought. my cell did not look on the garden, but on the steep mule-path leading up the cliff, where all day long the sun beat as if with flails of fire, and i saw the sweating peasants toil up and down behind their thirsty asses, and the beggars whining and scraping their sores in the heat. oh, how i hated to look out through the bars on that burning world! i used to turn away from it, sick with disgust, and lying on my hard bed, stare up by the hour at the ceiling of my cell. but flies crawled in hundreds on the ceiling, and the hot noise they made was worse than the glare. sometimes, at an hour when i knew myself unobserved, i tore off my stifling gown, and hung it over the grated window, that i might no longer see the shaft of hot sunlight lying across my cell, and the dust dancing in it like fat in the fire. but the darkness choked me, and i struggled for breath as though i lay at the bottom of a pit; so that at last i would spring up, and dragging down the dress, fling myself on my knees before the cross, and entreat our lord to give me the gift of holiness, that i might escape the everlasting fires of hell, of which this heat was like an awful foretaste. for if i could not endure the scorching of a summer's day, with what constancy could i meet the thought of the flame that dieth not? this longing to escape the heat of hell made me apply myself to a devouter way of living, and i reflected that if my bodily distress were somewhat eased i should be able to throw myself with greater zeal into the practice of vigils and austerities. and at length, having set forth to the abbess that the sultry air of my cell induced in me a grievous heaviness of sleep, i prevailed on her to lodge me in that part of the building which overlooked the garden. for a few days i was quite happy, for instead of the dusty mountainside, and the sight of the sweating peasants and their asses, i looked out on dark cypresses and rows of budding vegetables. but presently i found i had not bettered myself. for with the approach of midsummer the garden, being all enclosed with buildings, grew as stifling as my cell. all the green things in it withered and dried off, leaving trenches of bare red earth, across which the cypresses cast strips of shade too narrow to cool the aching heads of the nuns who sought shelter there; and i began to think sorrowfully of my former cell, where now and then there came a sea-breeze, hot and languid, yet alive, and where at least i could look out upon the sea. but this was not the worst; for when the dog-days came i found that the sun, at a certain hour, cast on the ceiling of my cell the reflection of the ripples on the garden-tank; and to say how i suffered from this sight is not within the power of speech. it was indeed agony to watch the clear water rippling and washing above my head, yet feel no solace of it on my limbs: as though i had been a senseless brazen image lying at the bottom of a well. but the image, if it felt no refreshment, would have suffered no torture; whereas every inch of my skin throbbed with thirst, and every vein was a mouth of dives praying for a drop of water. oh, father, how shall i tell you the grievous pains that i endured? sometimes i so feared the sight of the mocking ripples overhead that i hid my eyes from their approach, lying face down on my burning bed till i knew that they were gone; yet on cloudy days, when they did not come, the heat was even worse to bear. by day i hardly dared trust myself in the garden, for the nuns walked there, and one fiery noon they found me hanging so close above the tank that they snatched me away, crying out that i had tried to destroy myself. the scandal of this reaching the abbess, she sent for me to know what demon had beset me; and when i wept and said, the longing to bathe my burning body, she broke into great anger and cried out: "do you not know that this is a sin well-nigh as great as the other, and condemned by all the greatest saints? for a nun may be tempted to take her life through excess of self-scrutiny and despair of her own worthiness; but this desire to indulge the despicable body is one of the lusts of the flesh, to be classed with concupiscence and adultery." and she ordered me to sleep every night for a month in my heavy gown, with a veil upon my face. now, father, i believe it was this penance that drove me to sin. for we were in the dog-days, and it was more than flesh could bear. and on the third night, after the portress had passed, and the lights were out, i rose and flung off my veil and gown, and knelt in my window fainting. there was no moon, but the sky was full of stars. at first the garden was all blackness; but as i looked i saw a faint twinkle between the cypress-trunks, and i knew it was the starlight on the tank. the water! the water! it was there close to me--only a few bolts and bars were between us. the portress was a heavy sleeper, and i knew where her keys hung, on a nail just within the door of her cell. i stole thither, unlatched the door, seized the keys and crept barefoot down the corridor. the bolts of the cloister-door were stiff and heavy, and i dragged at them till the veins in my wrists were bursting. then i turned the key and it cried out in the ward. i stood still, my whole body beating with fear lest the hinges too should have a voice--but no one stirred, and i pushed open the door and slipped out. the garden was as airless as a pit, but at least i could stretch my arms in it; and, oh, my father, the sweetness of the stars! the stones in the path cut my feet as i ran, but i thought of the joy of bathing them in the tank, and that made the wounds sweet to me.... my father, i have heard of the temptations which in times past assailed the holy solitaries of the desert, flattering the reluctant flesh beyond resistance; but none, i think, could have surpassed in ecstasy that first touch of the water on my limbs. to prolong the joy i let myself slip in slowly, resting my hands on the edge of the tank, and smiling to see my body, as i lowered it, break up the shining black surface and shatter the starbeams into splinters. and the water, my father, seemed to crave me as i craved it. its ripples rose about me, first in furtive touches, then in a long embrace that clung and drew me down; till at length they lay like kisses on my lips. it was no frank comrade like the mountain pools of my childhood, but a secret playmate compassionating my pains and soothing them with noiseless hands. from the first i thought of it as an accomplice--its whisper seemed to promise me secrecy if i would promise it love. and i went back and back to it, my father; all day i lived in the thought of it; each night i stole to it with fresh thirst.... but at length the old portress died, and a young lay-sister took her place. she was a light sleeper, and keen-eared; and i knew the danger of venturing to her cell. i knew the danger, but when darkness came i felt the water drawing me. the first night i fought on my bed and held out; but the second i crept to her door. she made no motion when i entered, but rose up secretly and stole after me; and the second night she warned the abbess, and the two came on me as i stood by the tank. i was punished with terrible penances: fasting, scourging, imprisonment, and the privation of drinking water; for the abbess stood amazed at the obduracy of my sin, and was resolved to make me an example to my fellows. for a month i endured the pains of hell; then one night the saracen pirates fell on our convent. on a sudden the darkness was full of flames and blood; but while the other nuns ran hither and thither, clinging to the abbess's feet or shrieking on the steps of the altar, i slipped through an unwatched postern and made my way to the hills. the next day the emperor's soldiery descended on the carousing heathen, slew them and burned their vessels on the beach; the abbess and nuns were rescued, the convent walls rebuilt, and peace restored to the holy precincts. all this i heard from a shepherdess of the hills, who found me in my hiding, and brought me honeycomb and water. in her simplicity she offered to lead me home to the convent; but while she slept i laid off my wimple and scapular, and stealing her cloak fled away lest she should betray me. and since then i have wandered alone over the face of the world, living in woods and desert places, often hungry, often cold and sometimes fearful; yet resigned to any hardship, and with a front for any peril, if only i may sleep under the free heaven and wash the dust from my body in cool water. v the hermit, as may be supposed, was much perturbed by this story, and dismayed that such sinfulness should cross his path. his first motion was to drive the woman forth, for he knew the heinousness of the craving for water, and how saint jerome, saint augustine and other holy doctors have taught that they who would purify the soul must not be distraught by the vain cares of bodily cleanliness; yet, remembering the lust that drew him to his lauds, he dared not judge his sister's fault too harshly. moreover he was moved by the wild woman's story of the hardships she had suffered, and the godless company she had been driven to keep--egyptians, jugglers, outlaws and even sorcerers, who are masters of the pagan lore of the east, and still practice their dark rites among the simple folk of the hills. yet she would not have him think wholly ill of this vagrant people, from whom she had often received food and comfort; and her worst danger, as he learned with shame, had come from the _girovaghi_ or wandering monks, who are the scourge and dishonour of christendom; carrying their ribald idleness from one monastery to another, and leaving on their way a trail of thieving, revelry and worse. once or twice the wild woman had nearly fallen into their hands; but had been saved by her own quick wit and skill in woodcraft. once, so she assured the hermit, she had found refuge with a faun and his female, who fed and sheltered her in their cave, where she slept on a bed of leaves with their shaggy nurslings; and in this cave she had seen a stock or idol of wood, extremely seamed and ancient, before which the wood-creatures, when they thought she slept, laid garlands and the wild bees' honey-comb. she told him also of a hill-village of weavers, where she lived many weeks, and learned to ply their trade in return for her lodging; and where wayfaring men in the guise of cobblers, charcoal-burners or goatherds came and taught strange doctrines at midnight in the poor hovels. what they taught she could not clearly tell, save that they believed each soul could commune directly with its maker, without need of priest or intercessor; also she had heard from some of their disciples that there are two gods, one of good and one of evil, and that the god of evil has his throne in the pope's palace in rome. but in spite of these dark teachings they were a mild and merciful folk, full of loving-kindness toward poor persons and wayfarers; so that her heart grieved for them when one day a dominican monk appeared in the village with a company of soldiers, and some of the weavers were seized and dragged to prison, while others, with their wives and babes, fled to the winter woods. she fled with them, fearing to be charged with their heresy, and for months they lay hid in desert places, the older and weaker, who fell sick from want and exposure, being devoutly ministered to by their brethren, and dying in the sure faith of heaven. all this she related modestly and simply, not as one who joys in a godless life, but as having been drawn into it through misadventure; and she told the hermit that when she heard the sound of church bells she never failed to say an ave or a pater; and that often, as she lay in the midnight darkness of the forest, she had hushed her fears by reciting the versicles from the evening hour: keep us, o lord, as the apple of the eye, protect us under the shadow of thy wings. the wound in her foot healed slowly; and the hermit, while it was mending, repaired daily to her cave, reasoning with her in love and charity, and exhorting her to return to the cloister. but this she persistently refused to do; and fearing lest she attempt to fly before her foot was healed, and so expose herself to hunger and ill-usage, he promised not to betray her presence, or to take any measures toward restoring her to her order. he began indeed to doubt whether she had any calling to the life enclosed; yet her gentleness and innocency of mind made him feel that she might be won back to holy living, if only her freedom were assured. so after many inward struggles (since his promise forbade his taking counsel with any concerning her) he resolved to let her remain in the cave till some light should come to him. and one day, visiting her about the hour of nones (for it became his pious habit to say the evening office with her), he found her engaged with a little goatherd, who in a sudden seizure had fallen from a rock above her cave, and lay senseless and full of blood at her feet. and the hermit saw with wonder how skilfully she bound up his cuts and restored his senses, giving him to drink of a liquor she had distilled from the wild simples of the mountain; whereat the boy opened his eyes and praised god, as one restored by heaven. now it was known that this lad was subject to possessions, and had more than once dropped lifeless while he heeded his flock; and the hermit, knowing that only great saints or unclean necromancers can loosen devils, feared that the wild woman had exorcised the spirits by means of unholy spells. but she told him that the goatherd's sickness was caused only by the heat of the sun, and that, such seizures being common in the hot countries whence she came, she had learned from a wise woman how to stay them by a decoction of the _carduus benedictus_, made in the third night of the waxing moon, but without the aid of magic. "but," she continued, "you need not fear my bringing scandal on your holy retreat, for by the arts of the same wise woman my own wound is well-nigh healed, and tonight at sunset i set forth on my travels." the hermit's heart grew heavy as she spoke, and it seemed to him that her own look was sorrowful. and suddenly his perplexities were lifted from him, and he saw what was god's purpose with the wild woman. "why," said he, "do you fly from this place, where you are safe from molestation, and can look to the saving of your soul? is it that your feet weary for the road, and your spirits are heavy for lack of worldly discourse?" she replied that she had no wish to travel, and felt no repugnance to solitude. "but," said she, "i must go forth to beg my bread, since in this wilderness there is none but yourself to feed me; and moreover, when it is known that i have healed the goatherd, curious folk and scandal-mongers may seek me out, and, learning whence i come, drag me back to the cloister." then the hermit answered her and said: "in the early days, when the faith of christ was first preached, there were holy women who fled to the desert and lived there in solitude, to the glory of god and the edification of their sex. if you are minded to embrace so austere a life, contenting you with such sustenance as the wilderness yields, and wearing out your days in prayer and vigil, it may be that you shall make amends for the great sin you have committed, and live and die in the peace of the lord jesus." he spoke thus, knowing that if she left him and returned to her roaming, hunger and fear might drive her to fresh sin; whereas in a life of penance and reclusion her eyes might be opened to her iniquity, and her soul snatched back from ruin. he saw that his words moved her, and she seemed about to consent, and embrace a life of holiness; but suddenly she fell silent, and looked down on the valley at their feet. "a stream flows in the glen below us," she said. "do you forbid me to bathe in it in the heat of summer?" "it is not i that forbid you, my daughter, but the laws of god," said the hermit; "yet see how miraculously heaven protects you--for in the hot season, when your lust is upon you, our stream runs dry, and temptation will be removed from you. moreover on these heights there is no excess of heat to madden the body, but always, before dawn and at the angelus, a cool breeze which refreshes it like water." and after thinking long on this, and again receiving his promise not to betray her, the wild woman agreed to embrace a life of reclusion; and the hermit fell on his knees, worshipping god and rejoicing to think that, if he saved his sister from sin, his own term of probation would be shortened. vi thereafter for two years the hermit and the wild woman lived side by side, meeting together to pray on the great feast-days of the year, but on all other days dwelling apart, engaged in pious practices. at first the hermit, knowing the weakness of woman, and her little aptitude for the life apart, had feared that he might be disturbed by the nearness of his penitent; but she faithfully held to his commands, abstaining from all sight of him save on the days of obligation; and when they met, so modest and devout was her demeanour that she raised his soul to fresh fervency. and gradually it grew sweet to him to think that, near by though unseen, was one who performed the same tasks at the same hours; so that, whether he tended his garden, or recited his chaplet, or rose under the stars to repeat the midnight office, he had a companion in all his labours and devotions. meanwhile the report had spread abroad that a holy woman who cast out devils had made her dwelling in the hermit's cliff; and many sick persons from the valley sought her out, and went away restored by her. these poor pilgrims brought her oil and flour, and with her own hands she made a garden like the hermit's, and planted it with corn and lentils; but she would never take a trout from the brook, or receive the gift of a snared wild-fowl, for she said that in her vagrant life the wild creatures of the wood had befriended her, and as she had slept in peace among them, so now she would never suffer them to be molested. in the third year came a plague, and death walked the cities, and many poor peasants fled to the hills to escape it. these the hermit and his penitent faithfully tended, and so skilful were the wild woman's ministrations that the report of them reached the town across the valley, and a deputation of burgesses came with rich offerings, and besought her to descend and comfort their sick. the hermit, seeing her depart on so dangerous a mission, would have accompanied her, but she bade him remain and tend those who fled to the hills; and for many days his heart was consumed in prayer for her, and he feared lest every fugitive should bring him word of her death. but at length she returned, wearied-out but whole, and covered with the blessings of the townsfolk; and thereafter her name for holiness spread as wide as the hermit's. seeing how constant she remained in her chosen life, and what advance she had made in the way of perfection, the hermit now felt that it behoved him to exhort her again to return to the convent; and more than once he resolved to speak with her, but his heart hung back. at length he bethought him that by failing in this duty he imperilled his own soul, and thereupon, on the next feast-day, when they met, he reminded her that in spite of her good works she still lived in sin and excommunicate, and that, now she had once more tasted the sweets of godliness, it was her duty to confess her fault and give herself up to her superiors. she heard him meekly, but when he had spoken she was silent and her tears ran over; and looking at her he wept also, and said no more. and they prayed together, and returned each to his cave. it was not till late winter that the plague abated; and the spring and early summer following were heavy with rains and great heat. when the hermit visited his penitent at the feast of pentecost, she appeared to him so weak and wasted that, when they had recited the _veni, sancte spiritus_, and the proper psalms, he taxed her with too great rigour of penitential practices; but she replied that her weakness was not due to an excess of discipline, but that she had brought back from her labours among the sick a heaviness of body which the intemperance of the season no doubt increased. the evil rains continued, falling chiefly at night, while by day the land reeked with heat and vapours; so that lassitude fell on the hermit also, and he could hardly drag himself down to the spring whence he drew his drinking-water. thus he fell into the habit of going down to the glen before cockcrow, after he had recited matins; for at that hour the rain commonly ceased, and a faint air was stirring. now because of the wet season the stream had not gone dry, and instead of replenishing his flagon slowly at the trickling spring, the hermit went down to the waterside to fill it; and once, as he descended the steep slope of the glen, he heard the covert rustle, and saw the leaves stir as though something moved behind them. as he looked silence fell, and the leaves grew still; but his heart was shaken, for it seemed to him that what he had seen in the dusk had a human semblance, such as the wood-people wear. and he was loth to think that such unhallowed beings haunted the glen. a few days passed, and again, descending to the stream, he saw a figure flit by him through the covert; and this time a deeper fear entered into him; but he put away the thought, and prayed fervently for all souls in temptation. and when he spoke with the wild woman again, on the feast of the seven maccabees, which falls on the first day of august, he was smitten with fear to see her wasted looks, and besought her to cease from labouring and let him minister to her in her weakness. but she denied him gently, and replied that all she asked of him was to keep her steadfastly in his prayers. before the feast of the assumption the rains ceased, and the plague, which had begun to show itself, was stayed; but the ardency of the sun grew greater, and the hermit's cliff was a fiery furnace. never had such heat been known in those regions; but the people did not murmur, for with the cessation of the rain their crops were saved and the pestilence banished; and these mercies they ascribed in great part to the prayers and macerations of the two holy anchorets. therefore on the eve of the assumption they sent a messenger to the hermit, saying that at daylight on the morrow the townspeople and all the dwellers in the valley would come forth, led by their bishop, who bore the pope's blessing to the two solitaries, and who was mindful to celebrate the mass of the assumption in the hermit's cave in the cliffside. at the blessed word the hermit was well-nigh distraught with joy, for he felt this to be a sign from heaven that his prayers were heard, and that he had won the wild woman's grace as well as his own. and all night he prayed that on the morrow she might confess her fault and receive the sacrament with him. before dawn he recited the psalms of the proper nocturn; then he girded on his gown and sandals, and went forth to meet the bishop in the valley. as he went downward daylight stood on the mountains, and he thought he had never seen so fair a dawn. it filled the farthest heaven with brightness, and penetrated even to the woody crevices of the glen, as the grace of god had entered into the obscurest folds of his heart. the morning airs were hushed, and he heard only the sound of his own footfall, and the murmur of the stream which, though diminished, still poured a swift current between the rocks; but as he reached the bottom of the glen a sound of chanting came to him, and he knew that the pilgrims were at hand. his heart leapt up and his feet hastened forward; but at the streamside they were suddenly stayed, for in a pool where the water was still deep he saw the shining of a woman's body--and on a stone hard by lay the wild woman's gown and sandals. fear and rage possessed the hermit's heart, and he stood as one smitten speechless, covering his eyes from the shame. but the song of the approaching pilgrims swelled ever louder and nearer, and finding voice he cried to the wild woman to come forth and hide herself from the people. she made no answer, but in the dusk he saw her limbs sway with the swaying of the water, and her eyes were turned to him as if in mockery. at the sight blind fury filled him, and clambering over the rocks to the pool's edge he bent down and caught her by the shoulder. at that moment he could have strangled her with his hands, so abhorrent to him was the touch of her flesh; but as he cried out on her, heaping her with cruel names, he saw that her eyes returned his look without wavering; and suddenly it came to him that she was dead. then through all his anger and fear a great pang smote him; for here was his work undone, and one he had loved in christ laid low in her sin, in spite of all his labours. one moment pity possessed him; the next he bethought him how the people would find him bending above the body of a naked woman, whom he had held up to them as holy, but whom they might now well take for the secret instrument of his undoing; and beholding how at her touch all the slow edifice of his holiness was demolished, and his soul in mortal jeopardy, he felt the earth reel round him and his sight grew red. already the head of the procession had entered the glen, and the stillness shook with the great sound of the _salve regina_. when the hermit opened his eyes once more the air was quivering with thronged candle-flames, which glittered on the gold thread of priestly vestments, and on the blazing monstrance beneath its canopy; and close above him was bent the bishop's face. the hermit struggled to his knees. "my father in god," he cried, "behold, for my sins i have been visited by a demon--" but as he spoke he perceived that those about him no longer heeded him, and that the bishop and all his clergy had fallen on their knees about the pool. then the hermit, following their gaze, saw that the brown waters of the pool covered the wild woman's limbs as with a garment, and that about her floating head a great light floated; and to the utmost edges of the throng a cry of praise went up, for many were there whom the wild woman had healed and comforted, and who read god's mercy in this wonder. but fresh fear fell on the hermit, for he had cursed a dying saint, and denounced her aloud to all the people; and this new anguish, coming so close upon the other, smote down his weakened frame, so that his limbs failed him and he sank once more to the ground. again the earth reeled about him, and the bending faces grew remote; but as he forced his weak voice once more to proclaim his sins he felt the blessed touch of absolution, and the holy oils of the last voyage laid on his lips and eyes. peace returned to him then, and with it a great longing to look once more upon his lauds, as he had dreamed of doing at his last hour; but he was too far gone to make this longing known, and so tried to banish it from his mind. yet in his weakness the wish held him, and the tears ran down his face. then, as he lay there, feeling the earth slip from under him, and the everlasting arms replace it, he heard a great peal of voices that seemed to come down from the sky and mingle with the singing of the throng; and the words of the chant were the words of his own lauds, so long hidden in the secret of his breast, and now rejoicing above him through the spheres. and his soul rose on the chant, and soared with it to the seat of mercy. the last asset i "the devil!" paul garnett exclaimed as he re-read his note; and the dry old gentleman who was at the moment his only neighbour in the quiet restaurant they both frequented, remarked with a smile: "you don't seem particularly annoyed at meeting him." garnett returned the smile. "i don't know why i apostrophized him, for he's not in the least present--except inasmuch as he may prove to be at the bottom of anything unexpected." the old gentleman who, like garnett, was an american, and spoke in the thin rarefied voice which seems best fitted to emit sententious truths, twisted his lean neck toward the younger man and cackled out shrewdly: "ah, it's generally a woman who is at the bottom of the unexpected. not," he added, leaning forward with deliberation to select a tooth-pick, "that that precludes the devil's being there too." garnett uttered the requisite laugh, and his neighbour, pushing back his plate, called out with a perfectly unbending american intonation: "gassong! l'addition, silver play." his repast, as usual, had been a simple one, and he left only thirty centimes in the plate on which his account was presented; but the waiter, to whom he was evidently a familiar presence, received the tribute with latin affability, and hovered helpfully about the table while the old gentleman cut and lighted his cigar. "yes," the latter proceeded, revolving the cigar meditatively between his thin lips, "they're generally both in the same hole, like the owl and the prairie-dog in the natural history books of my youth. i believe it was all a mistake about the owl and the prairie-dog, but it isn't about the unexpected. the fact is, the unexpected _is_ the devil--the sooner you find that out, the happier you'll be." he leaned back, tilting his smooth bald head against the blotched mirror behind him, and rambling on with gentle garrulity while garnett attacked his omelet. "get your life down to routine--eliminate surprises. arrange things so that, when you get up in the morning, you'll know exactly what is going to happen to you during the day--and the next day and the next. i don't say it's funny--it ain't. but it's better than being hit on the head by a brick-bat. that's why i always take my meals at this restaurant. i know just how much onion they put in things--if i went to the next place i shouldn't. and i always take the same streets to come here--i've been doing it for ten years now. i know at which crossings to look out--i know what i'm going to see in the shop-windows. it saves a lot of wear and tear to know what's coming. for a good many years i never did know, from one minute to another, and now i like to think that everything's cut-and-dried, and nothing unexpected can jump out at me like a tramp from a ditch." he paused calmly to knock the ashes from his cigar, and garnett said with a smile: "doesn't such a plan of life cut off nearly all the possibilities?" the old gentleman made a contemptuous motion. "possibilities of what? of being multifariously miserable? there are lots of ways of being miserable, but there's only one way of being comfortable, and that is to stop running round after happiness. if you make up your mind not to be happy there's no reason why you shouldn't have a fairly good time." "that was schopenhauer's idea, i believe," the young man said, pouring his wine with the smile of youthful incredulity. "i guess he hadn't the monopoly," responded his friend. "lots of people have found out the secret--the trouble is that so few live up to it." he rose from his seat, pushing the table forward, and standing passive while the waiter advanced with his shabby overcoat and umbrella. then he nodded to garnett, lifted his hat politely to the broad-bosomed lady behind the desk, and passed out into the street. garnett looked after him with a musing smile. the two had exchanged views on life for two years without so much as knowing each other's names. garnett was a newspaper correspondent whose work kept him mainly in london, but on his periodic visits to paris he lodged in a dingy hotel of the latin quarter, the chief merit of which was its nearness to the cheap and excellent restaurant where the two americans had made acquaintance. but garnett's assiduity in frequenting the place arose, in the end, less from the excellence of the food than from the enjoyment of his old friend's conversation. amid the flashy sophistications of the parisian life to which garnett's trade introduced him, the american sage's conversation had the crisp and homely flavor of a native dish--one of the domestic compounds for which the exiled palate is supposed to yearn. it was a mark of the old man's impersonality that, in spite of the interest he inspired, garnett had never got beyond idly wondering who he might be, where he lived, and what his occupations were. he was presumably a bachelor--a man of family ties, however relaxed, though he might have been as often absent from home would not have been as regularly present in the same place--and there was about him a boundless desultoriness which renewed garnett's conviction that there is no one on earth as idle as an american who is not busy. from certain allusions it was plain that he had lived many years in paris, yet he had not taken the trouble to adapt his tongue to the local inflections, but spoke french with the accent of one who has formed his conception of the language from a phrase-book. the city itself seemed to have made as little impression on him as its speech. he appeared to have no artistic or intellectual curiosities, to remain untouched by the complex appeal of paris, while preserving, perhaps the more strikingly from his very detachment, that odd american astuteness which seems the fruit of innocence rather than of experience. his nationality revealed itself again in a mild interest in the political problems of his adopted country, though they appeared to preoccupy him only as illustrating the boundless perversity of mankind. the exhibition of human folly never ceased to divert him, and though his examples of it seemed mainly drawn from the columns of one exiguous daily paper, he found there matter for endless variations on his favorite theme. if this monotony of topic did not weary the younger man, it was because he fancied he could detect under it the tragic implication of the fixed idea--of some great moral upheaval which had flung his friend stripped and starving on the desert island of the little cafe where they met. he hardly knew wherein he read this revelation--whether in the resigned shabbiness of the sage's dress, the impartial courtesy of his manner, or the shade of apprehension which lurked, indescribably, in his guileless yet suspicious eye. there were moments when garnett could only define him by saying that he looked like a man who had seen a ghost. ii an apparition almost as startling had come to garnett himself in the shape of the mauve note received from his _concierge_ as he was leaving the hotel for luncheon. not that, on the face of it, a missive announcing mrs. sam newell's arrival at ritz's, and her need of his presence there that afternoon at five, carried any special mark of the portentous. it was not her being at ritz's that surprised him. the fact that she was chronically hard up, and had once or twice lately been so brutally confronted with the consequences as to accept--indeed solicit--a loan of five pounds from him: this circumstance, as garnett knew, would never be allowed to affect the general tenor of her existence. if one came to paris, where could one go but to ritz's? did he see her in some grubby hole across the river? or in a family _pension_ near the place de l'etoile? there was no affectation in her tendency to gravitate toward what was costliest and most conspicuous. in doing so she obeyed one of the profoundest instincts of her nature, and it was another instinct which taught her to gratify the first at any cost, even to that of dipping into the pocket of an impecunious newspaper correspondent. it was a part of her strength--and of her charm too--that she did such things naturally, openly, without any of the ugly grimaces of dissimulation or compunction. her recourse to garnett had of course marked a specially low ebb in her fortunes. save in moments of exceptional dearth she had richer sources of supply; and he was nearly sure that, by running over the "society column" of the paris _herald_, he should find an explanation, not perhaps of her presence at ritz's, but of her means of subsistence there. what really perplexed him was not the financial but the social aspect of the case. when mrs. newell had left london in july she had told him that, between cowes and scotland, she and hermy were provided for till the middle of october: after that, as she put it, they would have to look about. why, then, when she had in her hand the opportunity of living for three months at the expense of the british aristocracy, did she rush off to paris at heaven knew whose expense in the beginning of september? she was not a woman to act incoherently; if she made mistakes they were not of that kind. garnett felt sure she would never willingly relax her hold on her distinguished friends--was it possible that it was they who had somewhat violently let go of her? as garnett reviewed the situation he began to see that this possibility had for some time been latent in it. he had felt that something might happen at any moment--and was not this the something he had obscurely foreseen? mrs. newell really moved too fast: her position was as perilous as that of an invading army without a base of supplies. she used up everything too quickly--friends, credit, influence, forbearance. it was so easy for her to acquire all these--what a pity she had never learned to keep them! he himself, for instance--the most insignificant of her acquisitions--was beginning to feel like a squeezed sponge at the mere thought of her; and it was this sense of exhaustion, of the inability to provide more, either materially or morally, which had provoked his exclamation on opening her note. from the first days of their acquaintance her prodigality had amazed him, but he had believed it to be surpassed by the infinity of her resources. if she exhausted old supplies she always found new ones to replace them. when one set of people began to find her impossible, another was always beginning to find her indispensable. yes--but there were limits--there were only so many sets of people, at least in her social classification, and when she came to an end of them, what then? was this flight to paris a sign that she had come to an end--was she going to try paris because london had failed her? the time of year precluded such a conjecture. mrs. newell's paris was non-existent in september. the town was a desert of gaping trippers--he could as soon think of her seeking social restoration at margate. for a moment it occurred to him that she might have to come over to replenish her wardrobe; but he knew her dates too well to dwell long on this hope. it was in april and december that she visited the dress-makers: before december, he had heard her explain, one got nothing but "the american fashions." mrs. newell's scorn of all things american was somewhat illogically coupled with the determination to use her own americanism to the utmost as a means of social advance. she had found out long ago that, on certain lines, it paid in london to be american, and she had manufactured for herself a personality independent of geographical or social demarcations, and presenting that remarkable blend of plantation dialect, bowery slang and hyperbolic statement, which is the british nobility's favorite idea of an unadulterated americanism. mrs. newell, for all her talents, was not naturally either humorous or hyperbolic, and there were times when it would doubtless have been a relief to her to be as monumentally stolid as some of the persons whose dulness it was her fate to enliven. it was perhaps the need of relaxing which had drawn her into her odd intimacy with garnett, with whom she did not have to be either scrupulously english or artificially american, since the impression she made on him was of no more consequence than that which she produced on her footman. garnett was perfectly aware that he owed his success to his insignificance, but the fact affected him only as adding one more element to his knowledge of mrs. newell's character. he was as ready to sacrifice his personal vanity in such a cause as he had been, at the outset of their acquaintance, to sacrifice his professional pride to the opportunity of knowing her. when he had accepted the position of "london correspondent" (with an occasional side-glance at paris) to the new york _searchlight_, he had not understood that his work was to include the obligation of "interviewing"; indeed, had the possibility presented itself in advance, he would have met it by unpacking his valise and returning to the drudgery of his assistant-editorship in new york. but when, after three months in europe, he received a letter from his chief, suggesting that he should enliven the sunday _searchlight_ by a series of "talks with smart americans in london" (beginning, say, with mrs. sam newell), the change of focus already enabled him to view the proposal without passion. for his life on the edge of the great world-caldron of art, politics and pleasure--of that high-spiced brew which is nowhere else so subtly and variously compounded--had bred in him an eager appetite to taste of the heady mixture. he knew he should never have the full spoon at his lips, but he recalled the peasant-girl in one of browning's plays, who has once eaten polenta cut with a knife which has carved an ortolan. might not mrs. newell, who had so successfully cut a way into the dense and succulent mass of english society, serve as the knife to season his polenta? he had expected, as the result of the interview, to which she promptly, almost eagerly, assented, no more than the glimpse of brightly lit vistas which a waiting messenger may catch through open doors; but instead he had found himself drawn at once into the inner sanctuary, not of london society, but of mrs. newell's relation to it. she had been candidly charmed by the idea of the interview: it struck him that she was conscious of the need of being freshened up. her appearance was brilliantly fresh, with the inveterate freshness of the toilet-table; her paint was as impenetrable as armor. but her personality was a little tarnished: she was in want of social renovation. she had been doing and saying the same things for too long a time. london, cowes, homburg, scotland, monte carlo--that had been the round since hermy was a baby. hermy was her daughter, miss hermione newell, who was called in presently to be shown off to the interviewer and add a paragraph to the celebration of her mother's charms. miss newell's appearance was so full of an unassisted freshness that for a moment garnett made the mistake of fancying that she could fill a paragraph of her own. but he soon found that her vague personality was merely tributary to her parent's; that her youth and grace were, in some mysterious way, her mother's rather than her own. she smiled obediently on garnett, but could contribute little beyond her smile and the general sweetness of her presence, to the picture of mrs. newell's existence which it was the young man's business to draw. and presently he found that she had left the room without his noticing it. he learned in time that this unnoticeableness was the most conspicuous thing about her. burning at best with a mild light, she became invisible in the glare of her mother's personality. it was in fact only as a product of her environment that poor hermione struck the imagination. with the smartest woman in london as her guide and example she had never developed a taste for dress, and with opportunities for enlightenment from which garnett's fancy recoiled she remained simple, unsuspicious and tender, with an inclination to good works and afternoon church, a taste for the society of dull girls, and a clinging fidelity to old governesses and retired nurse-maids. mrs. newell, whose boast it was that she looked facts in the face, frankly owned that she had not been able to make anything of hermione. "if she has a role i haven't discovered it," she confessed to garnett. "i've tried everything, but she doesn't fit in anywhere." mrs. newell spoke as if her daughter were a piece of furniture acquired without due reflection, and for which no suitable place could be found. she got, of course, what she could out of hermione, who wrote her notes, ran her errands, saw tiresome people for her, and occupied an intermediate office between that of lady's maid and secretary; but such small returns on her investment were not what mrs. newell had counted on. what was the use of producing and educating a handsome daughter if she did not, in some more positive way, contribute to her parent's advancement? iii "it's about hermy," mrs. newell said, rising from the heap of embroidered cushions which formed the background of her afternoon repose. her sitting-room at ritz's was full of penetrating warmth and fragrance. long-stemmed roses filled the vases on the chimney-piece, in which a fire sparkled with that effect of luxury which fires produce when the weather is not cold enough to justify them. on the writing-table, among notes and cards, and signed photographs of celebrities, mrs. newell's gold inkstand, her jewelled penholder, her heavily-monogrammed despatch-box, gave back from their expensive surfaces the glint of the flame, which sought out and magnified the orient of the pearls among the lady's laces and found a mirror in the pinky polish of her finger-tips. it was just such a scene as a little september fire, lit for show and not for warmth, would delight to dwell on and pick out in all its opulent details; and even garnett, inured to mrs. newell's capacity for extracting manna from the desert, reflected that she must have found new fields to glean. "it's about hermy," she repeated, making room for him among the cushions. "i had to see you at once. we came over yesterday from london." garnett, seating himself, continued his leisurely survey of the room. in the glitter of mrs. newell's magnificence hermione, as usual, faded out of sight, and he hardly noticed her mother's allusion. "i have never seen you more resplendent," he remarked. she received the tribute with complacency. "the rooms are not bad, are they? we came over with the woolsey hubbards (you've heard of them, of course?--they're from detroit), and really they do things very decently. their motor-car met us at boulogne, and the courier always wires ahead to have the rooms filled with flowers. this _salon,_ is really a part of their suite. i simply couldn't have afforded it myself." she delivered these facts in a high decisive voice, which had a note akin to the clink of her many bracelets and the rattle of her ringed hands against the enamelled cigarette-case which she extended to garnett after helping herself from its contents. "you are always meeting such charming people," said garnett with mild irony; and, reverting to her first remark, he bethought himself to add: "i hope miss hermione is not ill?" "ill? she was never ill in her life," exclaimed mrs. newell, as though her daughter had been accused of an indelicacy. "it was only that you said you had come over on her account." "so i have. hermione is to be married." mrs. newell brought out the words impressively, drawing back to observe their effect on her visitor. it was such that he received them with a long silent stare, which finally passed into a cry of wonder. "married? for heaven's sake, to whom?" mrs. newell continued to regard him with a smile so serene and victorious that he saw she took his somewhat unseemly astonishment as a merited tribute to her genius. presently she extended a glittering hand and took a sheet of note paper from the blotter. "you can have that put in to-morrow's _herald_," she said. garnett, receiving the paper, read in hermione's own finished hand: "a marriage has been arranged, and will shortly take place, between the comte louis du trayas, son of the marquis du trayas de la baume, and miss hermione newell, daughter of samuel c. newell esqre. of elmira, n. y. comte louis du trayas belongs to one of the oldest and most distinguished families in france, and is equally well connected in england, being the nephew of lord saint priscoe and a cousin of the countess of morningfield, whom he frequently visits at adham and portlow." the perusal of this document filled garnett with such deepening wonder that he could not, for the moment, even do justice to the strangeness of its being written out for publication in the bride's own hand. hermione a bride! hermione a future countess! hermione on the brink of a marriage which would give her not only a great "situation" in the parisian world but a footing in some of the best houses in england! regardless of its unflattering implications, garnett prolonged his stare of mute amazement till mrs. newell somewhat sharply exclaimed--"well, didn't i always tell you that she would marry a frenchman?" garnett, in spite of himself, smiled at this revised version of his hostess's frequent assertion that hermione was too goody-goody to take in england, but that with her little dowdy air she might very well "go off" in the faubourg if only a _dot_ could be raked up for her--and the recollection flashed a new light on the versatility of mrs. newell's genius. "but how did you do it--?" was on the tip of his tongue; and he had barely time to give the query the more conventional turn of: "how did it happen?" "oh, we were up at glaish with the edmund fitzarthurs. lady edmund is a sort of cousin of the morningfields', who have a shooting-lodge near glaish--a place called portlow--and young trayas was there with them. lady edmund, who is a dear, drove hermy over to portlow, and the thing was done in no time. he simply fell over head and ears in love with her. you know hermy is really very handsome in her peculiar way. i don't think you have ever appreciated her," mrs. newell summed up with a note of exquisite reproach. "i've appreciated her, i assure you; but one somehow didn't think of her marrying--so soon." "soon? she's three-and-twenty; but you've no imagination," said mrs. newell; and garnett inwardly admitted that he had not enough to soar to the heights of her invention. for the marriage, of course, was an invention of her own, a superlative stroke of business, in which he was sure the principal parties had all been passive agents, in which everyone, from the bankrupt and disreputable fitzarthurs to the rich and immaculate morningfields, had by some mysterious sleight of hand been made to fit into mrs. newell's designs. but it was not enough for garnett to marvel at her work--he wanted to understand it, to take it apart, to find out how the trick had been done. it was true that mrs. newell had always said hermy might go off in the faubourg if she had a _dot_--but even mrs. newell's juggling could hardly conjure up a _dot:_ such feats as she was able to perform in this line were usually made to serve her own urgent necessities. and besides, who was likely to take sufficient interest in hermione to supply her with the means of marrying a french nobleman? the flowers ordered in advance by the woolsey hubbards' courier made garnett wonder if that accomplished functionary had also wired over to have miss newell's settlements drawn up. but of all the comments hovering on his lips the only one he could decently formulate was the remark that he supposed mrs. newell and her daughter had come over to see the young man's family and make the final arrangements. "oh, they're made--everything is settled," said mrs. newell, looking him squarely in the eye. "you're wondering, of course, about the _dot_--frenchmen never go off their heads to the extent of forgetting _that;_ or at least their parents don't allow them to." garnett murmured a vague assent, and she went on without the least appearance of resenting his curiosity: "it all came about so fortunately. only fancy, just the week they met i got a little legacy from an aunt in elmira--a good soul i hadn't seen or heard of for years. i suppose i ought to have put on mourning for her, by the way, but it would have eaten up a good bit of the legacy, and i really needed it all for poor hermy. oh, it's not a fortune, you understand--but the young man is madly in love, and has always had his own way, so after a lot of correspondence it's been arranged. they saw hermy this morning, and they're enchanted." "and the marriage takes place very soon?" "yes, in a few weeks, here. his mother is an invalid and couldn't have gone to england. besides, the french don't travel. and as hermy has become a catholic--" "already?" mrs. newell stared. "it doesn't take long. and it suits hermy exactly--she can go to church so much oftener. so i thought," mrs. newell concluded with dignity, "that a wedding at saint philippe du roule would be the most suitable thing at this season." "dear me," said garnett, "i am left breathless--i can't catch up with you. i suppose even the day is fixed, though miss hermione doesn't mention it," and he indicated the official announcement in his hand. mrs. newell laughed. "hermy had to write that herself, poor dear, because my scrawl's too hideous--but i dictated it. no, the day isn't fixed--that's why i sent for you." there was a splendid directness about mrs. newell. it would never have occurred to her to pretend to garnett that she had summoned him for the pleasure of his company. "you've sent for me--to fix the day?" he enquired humourously. "to remove the last obstacle to its being fixed." "i? what kind of an obstacle could i have the least effect on?" mrs. newell met his banter with a look which quelled it. "i want you to find her father." "her father? miss hermione's--?" "my husband, of course. i suppose you know he's living." garnett blushed at his own clumsiness. "i--yes--that is, i really knew nothing--" he stammered, feeling that each word added to it. if hermione was unnoticeable, mr. newell had always been invisible. the young man had never so much as given him a thought, and it was awkward to come on him so suddenly at a turn of the talk. "well, he is--living here in paris," said mrs. newell, with a note of asperity which seemed to imply that her friend might have taken the trouble to post himself on this point. "in paris? but in that case isn't it quite simple--?" "to find him? i daresay it won't be difficult, though he is rather mysterious. but the point is that i can't go to him--and that if i write to him he won't answer." "ah," said garnett thoughtfully. "and so you've got to find him for me, and tell him." "tell him what?" "that he must come to the wedding--that we must show ourselves together at church and at the breakfast." she delivered the behest in her sharp imperative key, the tone of the born commander. but for once garnett ventured to question her orders. "and supposing he won't come?" "he must if he cares for his daughter's happiness. she can't be married without him." "can't be married?" "the french are like that--especially the old families. i was given to understand at once that my husband must appear--if only to establish the fact that we're not divorced." "ah--you're _not_, then?" escaped from garnett. "mercy, no! divorce is stupid. they don't like it in europe. and in this case it would have been the end of hermy's marriage. they wouldn't think of letting their son marry the child of divorced parents." "how fortunate, then--" "yes; but i always think of such things beforehand. and of course i've told them that my husband will be present." "you think he will consent?" "no; not at first; but you must make him. you must tell him how sweet hermione is--and you must see louis, and be able to describe their happiness. you must dine here to-night--he is coming. we're all dining with the hubbards, and they expect you. they have given hermy some very good diamonds--though i should have preferred a cheque, as she'll be horribly poor. but i think kate hubbard means to do something about the trousseau--hermy is at paquin's with her now. you've no idea how delightful all our friends have been.--ah, here is one of them now," she broke off smiling, as the door opened to admit, without preliminary announcement, a gentleman so glossy and ancient, with such a fixed unnatural freshness of smile and eye, that he gave garnett the effect of having been embalmed and then enamelled. it needed not the exotic-looking ribbon in the visitor's button-hole, nor mrs. newell's introduction of him as her friend baron schenkelderff, to assure garnett of his connection with a race as ancient as his appearance. baron schenkelderff greeted his hostess with paternal playfulness, and the young man with an ease which might have been acquired on the stock exchange and in the dressing-rooms of "leading ladies." he spoke a faultless, colourless english, from which one felt he might pass with equal mastery to half a dozen other languages. he enquired patronizingly for the excellent hubbards, asked his hostess if she did not mean to give him a drop of tea and a cigarette, remarked that he need not ask if hermione was still closeted with the dress-maker, and, on the waiter's coming in answer to his ring, ordered the tea himself, and added a request for _fine champagne_. it was not the first time that garnett had seen such minor liberties taken in mrs. newell's drawing-room, but they had hitherto been taken by persons who had at least the superiority of knowing what they were permitting themselves, whereas the young man felt almost sure that baron schenkelderff's manner was the most distinguished he could achieve; and this deepened the disgust with which, as the minutes passed, he yielded to the conviction that the baron was mrs. newell's aunt. iv garnett had always foreseen that mrs. newell might some day ask him to do something he should greatly dislike. he had never gone so far as to conjecture what it might be, but had simply felt that if he allowed his acquaintance with her to pass from spectatorship to participation he must be prepared to find himself, at any moment, in a queer situation. the moment had come; and he was relieved to find that he could meet it by refusing her request. he had not always been sure that she would leave him this alternative. she had a way of involving people in her complications without their being aware of it, and garnett had pictured himself in holes so tight that there might not be room for a wriggle. happily in this case he could still move freely. nothing compelled him to act as an intermediary between mrs. newell and her husband, and it was preposterous to suppose that, even in a life of such perpetual upheaval as hers, there were no roots which struck deeper than her casual intimacy with himself. she had simply laid hands on him because he happened to be within reach, and he would put himself out of reach by leaving for london on the morrow. having thus inwardly asserted his independence, he felt free to let his fancy dwell on the strangeness of the situation. he had always supposed that mrs. newell, in her flight through life, must have thrown a good many victims to the wolves, and had assumed that mr. newell had been among the number. that he had been dropped overboard at an early stage in the lady's career seemed probable from the fact that neither his wife nor his daughter ever mentioned him. mrs. newell was incapable of reticence, and if her husband had still been an active element in her life he would certainly have figured in her conversation. garnett, if he thought of the matter at all, had concluded that divorce must long since have eliminated mr. newell; but he now saw how he had underrated his friend's faculty for using up the waste material of life. she had always struck him as the most extravagant of women, yet it turned out that by a miracle of thrift she had for years kept a superfluous husband on the chance that he might some day be useful to her. the day had come, and mr. newell was to be called from his obscurity. garnett wondered what had become of him in the interval, and in what shape he would respond to the evocation. the fact that his wife feared he might not respond to it at all, seemed to show that his exile was voluntary, or had at least come to appear preferable to other alternatives; but if that were the case it was curious that he should not have taken legal means to free himself. he could hardly have had his wife's motives for wishing to maintain the vague tie between them; but conjecture lost itself in trying to picture what his point of view was likely to be, and garnett, on his way to the hubbards' dinner that evening, could not help regretting that circumstances denied him the opportunity of meeting so enigmatic a person. the young man's knowledge of mrs. newell's methods made him feel that her husband might be an interesting study. this, however, did not affect his resolve to keep clear of the business. he entered the hubbards' dining-room with the firm intention of refusing to execute mrs. newell's commission, and if he changed his mind in the course of the evening it was not owing to that lady's persuasions. garnett's curiosity as to the hubbards' share in hermione's marriage was appeased before he had been seated five minutes at their table. mrs. woolsey hubbard was an expansive blonde, whose ample but disciplined outline seemed the result of a well-matched struggle between her cook and her corset-maker. she talked a great deal of what was appropriate in dress and conduct, and seemed to regard mrs. newell as a final arbiter on both points. to do or to wear anything inappropriate would have been extremely mortifying to mrs. hubbard, and she was evidently resolved, at the price of eternal vigilance, to prove her familiarity with what she frequently referred to as "the right thing." mr. hubbard appeared to have no such preoccupations. garnett, if called upon to describe him, would have done so by saying that he was the american who always pays. the young man, in the course of his foreign wanderings, had come across many fellow-citizens of mr. hubbard's type, in the most diverse company and surroundings; and wherever they were to be found, they always had their hands in their pockets. mr. hubbard's standard of gentility was the extent of a man's capacity to "foot the bill"; and as no one but an occasional compatriot cared to dispute the privilege with him, he seldom had reason to doubt his social superiority. garnett, nevertheless, did not believe that this lavish pair were, as mrs. newell would have phrased it, "putting up" hermione's _dot_. they would go very far in diamonds, but they would hang back from securities. their readiness to pay was indefinably mingled with a dread of being expected to, and their prodigalities would take flight at the first hint of coercion. mrs. newell, who had had a good deal of experience in managing this type of millionaire, could be trusted not to arouse their susceptibilities, and garnett was therefore certain that the chimerical legacy had been extracted from other pockets. there were none in view but those of baron schenkelderff, who, seated at mrs. hubbard's right, with a new order in his button-hole, and a fresh glaze upon his features, enchanted that lady by his careless references to crowned heads and his condescending approval of the champagne. garnett was more than ever certain that it was the baron who was paying; and it was this conviction which made him suddenly feel that, at any cost, hermione's marriage must take place. he had felt no special interest in the marriage except as one more proof of mrs. newell's extraordinary capacity; but now it appealed to him from the girl's own stand-point. for he saw, with a touch of compunction, that in the mephitic air of her surroundings a love-story of surprising freshness had miraculously flowered. he had only to intercept the glances which the young couple exchanged to find himself transported to the candid region of romance. it was evident that hermione adored and was adored; that the lovers believed in each other and in every one about them, and that even the legacy of the defunct aunt had not been too great a strain on their faith in human nature. his first glance at the comte louis du trayas showed garnett that, by some marvel of fitness, hermione had happened upon a kindred nature. if the young man's long mild features and short-sighted glance revealed no special force of character, they showed a benevolence and simplicity as incorruptible as her own, and declared that their possessor, whatever his failings, would never imperil the illusions she had so miraculously preserved. the fact that the girl took her good fortune naturally, and did not regard herself as suddenly snatched from the jaws of death, added poignancy to the situation; for if she missed this way of escape, and was thrown back on her former life, the day of discovery could not be long deferred. it made garnett shiver to think of her growing old between her mother and schenkelderff, or such successors of the baron's as might probably attend on mrs. newell's waning fortunes; for it was clear to him that the baron marked the first stage in his friend's decline. when garnett took leave that evening he had promised mrs. newell that he would try to find her husband. v if mr. newell read in the papers the announcement of his daughter's marriage it did not cause him to lift the veil of seclusion in which his wife represented him as shrouded. a round of the american banks in paris failed to give garnett his address, and it was only in chance talk with one of the young secretaries of the embassy that he was put on mr. newell's track. the secretary's father, it appeared, had known the newells some twenty years earlier. he had had business relations with mr. newell, who was then a man of property, with factories or something of the kind, the narrator thought, somewhere in western new york. there had been at this period, for mrs. newell, a phase of large hospitality and showy carriages in washington and at narragansett. then her husband had had reverses, had lost heavily in wall street, and had finally drifted abroad and been lost to sight. the young man did not know at what point in his financial decline mr. newell had parted company with his wife and daughter; "though you may bet your hat," he philosophically concluded, "that the old girl hung on as long as there were any pickings." he did not himself know mr. newell's address, but opined that it might be extracted from a certain official at the consulate, if garnett could give a sufficiently good reason for the request; and here in fact mrs. newell's emissary learned that her husband was to be found in an obscure street of the luxembourg quarter. in order to be near the scene of action, garnett went to breakfast at his usual haunt, determined to despatch his business as early in the day as politeness allowed. the head waiter welcomed him to a table near that of the transatlantic sage, who sat in his customary corner, his head tilted back against the blistered mirror at an angle suggesting that in a freer civilization his feet would have sought the same level. he greeted garnett affably and the two exchanged their usual generalizations on life till the sage rose to go; whereupon it occurred to garnett to accompany him. his friend took the offer in good part, merely remarking that he was going to the luxembourg gardens, where it was his invariable habit, on good days, to feed the sparrows with the remains of his breakfast roll; and garnett replied that, as it happened, his own business lay in the same direction. "perhaps, by the way," he added, "you can tell me how to find the rue panonceaux where i must go presently. i thought i knew this quarter fairly well, but i have never heard of it." his companion came to a sudden halt on the narrow sidewalk, to the confusion of the dense and desultory traffic which marks the old streets of the latin quarter. he fixed his mild eye on garnett and gave a twist to the cigar which lingered in the corner of his mouth. "the rue panonceaux? it _is_ an out of the way hole, but i can tell you how to find it," he answered. he made no motion to do so, however, but continued to bend on the young man the full force of his interrogative gaze; then he added abruptly: "would you mind telling me your object in going there?" garnett looked at him with surprise: a question so unblushingly personal was strangely out of keeping with his friend's usual attitude of detachment. before he could reply, however, the other had quietly continued: "do you happen to be in search of samuel c. newell?" "why, yes, i am," said garnett with a start of conjecture. his companion uttered a sigh. "i supposed so," he said resignedly; "and in that case," he added, "we may as well have the matter out in the luxembourg." garnett had halted before him with deepening astonishment. "but you don't mean to tell me--?" he stammered. the little man made a motion of assent. "i am samuel c. newell," he said drily; "and if you have no objection, i prefer not to break through my habit of feeding the sparrows. we are five minutes late as it is." he quickened his pace without awaiting any reply from garnett, who walked beside him in unsubdued wonder till they reached the luxembourg gardens, where mr. newell, making for one of the less frequented alleys, seated himself on a bench and drew the fragment of a roll from his pocket. his coming was evidently expected, for a shower of little dusky bodies at once descended on him, and the gravel fluttered with battling wings and beaks as he distributed his dole with impartial gestures. it was not till the ground was white with crumbs, and the first frenzy of his pensioners appeased, that he turned to garnett and said: "i presume, sir, that you come from my wife." garnett coloured with embarrassment: the more simply the old man took his mission the more complicated it appeared to himself. "from your wife--and from miss newell," he said at length. "you have perhaps heard that she is to be married." "oh, yes--i read the _herald_ pretty faithfully," said miss newell's parent, shaking out another handful of crumbs. garnett cleared his throat. "then you have no doubt thought it natural that, under the circumstances, they should wish to communicate with you." the sage continued to fix his attention on the sparrows. "my wife," he remarked, "might have written to me." "mrs. newell was afraid she might not hear from you in reply." "in reply? why should she? i suppose she merely wishes to announce the marriage. she knows i have no money left to buy wedding-presents," said mr. newell astonishingly. garnett felt his colour deepen: he had a vague sense of standing as the representative of something guilty and enormous, with which he had rashly identified himself. "i don't think you understand," he said. "mrs. newell and your daughter have asked me to see you because they are anxious that you should consent to appear at the wedding." mr. newell, at this, ceased to give his attention to the birds, and turned a compassionate gaze upon garnett. "my dear sir--i don't know your name--" he remarked, "would you mind telling me how long you have been acquainted with mrs. newell?" and without waiting for an answer he added judicially: "if you wait long enough she will ask you to do some very disagreeable things for her." this echo of his own thoughts gave garnett a sharp twinge of discomfort, but he made shift to answer good-humouredly: "if you refer to my present errand, i must tell you that i don't find it disagreeable to do anything which may be of service to miss hermione." mr. newell fumbled in his pocket, as though searching unavailingly for another morsel of bread; then he said: "from her point of view i shall not be the most important person at the ceremony." garnett smiled. "that is hardly a reason--" he began; but he was checked by the brevity of tone with which his companion replied: "i am not aware that i am called upon to give you my reasons." "you are certainly not," the young man rejoined, "except in so far as you are willing to consider me as the messenger of your wife and daughter." "oh, i accept your credentials," said the other with his dry smile; "what i don't recognize is their right to send a message." this reduced garnett to silence, and after a moment's pause mr. newell drew his watch from his pocket. "i am sorry to cut the conversation short, but my days are mapped out with a certain regularity, and this is the hour for my nap." he rose as he spoke and held out his hand with a glint of melancholy humour in his small clear eyes. "you dismiss me, then? i am to take back a refusal?" the young man exclaimed. "my dear sir, those ladies have got on very well without me for a number of years: i imagine they can put through this wedding without my help." "you are mistaken, then; if it were not for that i shouldn't have undertaken this errand." mr. newell paused as he was turning away. "not for what?" he enquired. "the fact that, as it happens, the wedding can't be put through without your help." mr. newell's thin lips formed a noiseless whistle. "they've got to have my consent, have they? well, is he a good young man?" "the bridegroom?" garnett echoed in surprise. "i hear the best accounts of him--and miss newell is very much in love." her parent met this with an odd smile. "well, then, i give my consent--it's all i've got left to give," he added philosophically. garnett hesitated. "but if you consent--if you approve--why do you refuse your daughter's request?" mr. newell looked at him a moment. "ask mrs. newell!" he said. and as garnett was again silent, he turned away with a slight gesture of leave-taking. but in an instant the young man was at his side. "i will not ask your reasons, sir," he said, "but i will give you mine for being here. miss newell cannot be married unless you are present at the ceremony. the young man's parents know that she has a father living, and they give their consent only on condition that he appears at her marriage. i believe it is customary in old french families--." "old french families be damned!" said mr. newell with sudden vigour. "she had better marry an american." and he made a more decided motion to free himself from garnett's importunities. but his resistance only strengthened the young man's. the more unpleasant the latter's task became, the more unwilling he grew to see his efforts end in failure. during the three days which had been consumed in his quest it had become clear to him that the bridegroom's parents, having been surprised into a reluctant consent, were but too ready to withdraw it on the plea of mr. newell's non-appearance. mrs. newell, on the last edge of tension, had confided to garnett that the morningfields were "being nasty"; and he could picture the whole powerful clan, on both sides of the channel, arrayed in a common resolve to exclude poor hermione from their ranks. the very inequality of the contest stirred his blood, and made him vow that in this case at least the sins of the parents should not be visited on the children. in his talk with the young secretary he had obtained some glimpses of baron schenkelderff's past which fortified this resolve. the baron, at one time a familiar figure in a much-observed london set, had been mixed up in an ugly money-lending business ending in suicide, which had excluded him from the society most accessible to his race. his alliance with mrs. newell was doubtless a desperate attempt at rehabilitation, a forlorn hope on both sides, but likely to be an enduring tie because it represented, to both partners, their last chance of escape from social extinction. that hermione's marriage was a mere stake in their game did not in the least affect garnett's view of its urgency. if on their part it was a sordid speculation, to her it had the freshness of the first wooing. if it made of her a mere pawn in their hands, it would put her, so garnett hoped, beyond farther risk of such base uses; and to achieve this had become a necessity to him. the sense that, if he lost sight of mr. newell, the latter might not easily be found again, nerved garnett to hold his ground in spite of the resistance he encountered; and he tried to put the full force of his plea into the tone with which he cried: "ah, you don't know your daughter!" vi mrs. newell, that afternoon, met him on the threshold of her sitting-room with a "well?" of pent-up anxiety. in the room itself, baron schenkelderff sat with crossed legs and head thrown back, in an attitude which he did not see fit to alter at the young man's approach. garnett hesitated; but it was not the summariness of the baron's greeting which he resented. "you've found him?" mrs. newell exclaimed. "yes; but--" she followed his glance and answered it with a slight shrug. "i can't take you into my room, because there's a dress-maker there, and she won't go because she is waiting to be paid. schenkelderff," she exclaimed, "you're not wanted; please go and look out of the window." the baron rose and, lighting a cigarette, laughingly retired to the embrasure. mrs. newell flung herself down and signed to garnett to take a seat at her side. "well--you've found him? you've talked with him?" "yes; i have talked with him--for an hour." she made an impatient movement. "that's too long! does he refuse?" "he doesn't consent." "then you mean--?" "he wants time to think it over." "time? there _is_ no time--did you tell him so?" "i told him so; but you must remember that he has plenty. he has taken twenty-four hours." mrs. newell groaned. "oh, that's too much. when he thinks things over he always refuses." "well, he would have refused at once if i had not agreed to the delay." she rose nervously from her seat and pressed her hands to her forehead. "it's too hard, after all i've done! the trousseau is ordered--think how disgraceful! you must have managed him badly; i'll go and see him myself." the baron, at this, turned abruptly from his study of the place vendome. "my dear creature, for heaven's sake don't spoil everything!" he exclaimed. mrs. newell coloured furiously. "what's the meaning of that brilliant speech?" "i was merely putting myself in the place of a man on whom you have ceased to smile." he picked up his hat and stick, nodded knowingly to garnett, and walked toward the door with an air of creaking jauntiness. but on the threshold mrs. newell waylaid him. "don't go--i must speak to you," she said, following him into the antechamber; and garnett remembered the dress-maker who was not to be dislodged from her bedroom. in a moment mrs. newell returned, with a small flat packet which she vainly sought to dissemble in an inaccessible pocket. "he makes everything too odious!" she exclaimed; but whether she referred to her husband or the baron it was left to garnett to decide. she sat silent, nervously twisting her cigarette-case between her fingers, while her visitor rehearsed the details of his conversation with mr. newell. he did not indeed tell her the arguments he had used to shake her husband's resolve, since in his eloquent sketch of hermione's situation there had perforce entered hints unflattering to her mother; but he gave the impression that his hearer had in the end been moved, and for that reason had consented to defer his refusal. "ah, it's not that--it's to prolong our misery!" mrs. newell exclaimed; and after a moment she added drearily: "he has been waiting for such an opportunity for years." it seemed needless for garnett to protract his visit, and he took leave with the promise to report at once the result of his final talk with mr. newell. but as he was passing through the ante-chamber a side-door opened and hermione stood before him. her face was flushed and shaken out of its usual repose of line, and he saw at once that she had been waiting for him. "mr. garnett!" she said in a whisper. he paused, considering her with surprise: he had never supposed her capable of such emotion as her voice and eyes revealed. "i want to speak to you; we are quite safe here. mamma is with the dress-maker," she explained, closing the door behind her, while garnett laid aside his hat and stick. "i am at your service," he said. "you have seen my father? mamma told me that you were to see him to-day," the girl went on, standing close to him in order that she might not have to raise her voice. "yes; i have seen him," garnett replied with increasing wonder. hermione had never before mentioned her father to him, and it was by a slight stretch of veracity that he had included her name in her mother's plea to mr. newell. he had supposed her to be either unconscious of the transaction, or else too much engrossed in her own happiness to give it a thought; and he had forgiven her the last alternative in consideration of the abnormal character of her filial relations. but now he saw that he must readjust his view of her. "you went to ask him to come to my wedding; i know about it," hermione continued. "of course it is the custom--people will think it odd if he does not come." she paused, and then asked: "does he consent?" "no; he has not yet consented." "ah, i thought so when i saw mamma just now!" "but he hasn't quite refused--he has promised to think it over." "but he hated it--he hated the idea?" garnett hesitated. "it seemed to arouse painful associations." "ah, it would--it would!" she exclaimed. he was astonished at the passion of her accent; astonished still more at the tone with which she went on, laying her hand on his arm: "mr. garnett, he must not be asked--he has been asked too often to do things that he hated!" garnett looked at the girl with a shock of awe. what abysses of knowledge did her purity hide? "but, my dear miss hermione--" he began. "i know what you are going to say," she interrupted him. "it is necessary that he should be present at the marriage or the du trayas will break it off. they don't want it very much, at any rate," she added with a strange candour, "and they will not be sorry, perhaps--for of course louis would have to obey them." "so i explained to your father," garnett assured her. "yes--yes; i knew you would put it to him. but that makes no difference, mr. garnett. he must not be forced to come unwillingly." "but if he sees the point--after all, no one can force him!" "no; but if it is painful to him--if it reminds him too much ... oh, mr. garnett, i was not a child when he left us.... i was old enough to see ... to see how it must hurt him even now to be reminded. peace was all he asked for, and i want him to be left in peace!" garnett paused in deep embarrassment. "my dear child, there is no need to remind you that your own future--" she had a gesture that recalled her mother. "my future must take care of itself; he must not be made to see us!" she said imperatively. and as garnett remained silent she went on: "i have always hoped he did not hate me, but he would hate me now if he were forced to see me." "not if he could see you at this moment!" he exclaimed. she lifted her face with swimming eyes. "well, go to him, then; tell him what i have said to you!" garnett continued to stand before her, deeply struck. "it might be the best thing," he reflected inwardly; but he did not give utterance to the thought. he merely put out his hand, holding hermione's in a long pressure. "i will do whatever you wish," he replied. "you understand that i am in earnest?" she urged tenaciously. "i am quite sure of it." "then i want you to repeat to him what i have said--i want him to be left undisturbed. i don't want him ever to hear of us again!" the next day, at the appointed hour, garnett resorted to the luxembourg gardens, which mr. newell had named as a meeting-place in preference to his own lodgings. it was clear that he did not wish to admit the young man any further into his privacy than the occasion required, and the extreme shabbiness of his dress hinted that pride might be the cause of his reluctance. garnett found him feeding the sparrows, but he desisted at the young man's approach, and said at once: "you will not thank me for bringing you all this distance." "if that means that you are going to send me away with a refusal, i have come to spare you the necessity," garnett answered. mr. newell turned on him a glance of undisguised wonder, in which an undertone of disappointment might almost have been detected. "ah--they've got no use for me, after all?" he said ironically. garnett, in reply, related without comment his conversation with hermione, and the message with which she had charged him. he remembered her words exactly and repeated them without modification, heedless of what they implied or revealed. mr. newell listened with an immovable face, occasionally casting a crumb to his flock. when garnett ended he asked: "does her mother know of this?" "assuredly not!" cried garnett with a movement of disgust. "you must pardon me; but mrs. newell is a very ingenious woman." mr. newell shook out his remaining crumbs and turned thoughtfully toward garnett. "you believe it's quite clear to hermione that these people will use my refusal as a pretext for backing out of the marriage?" "perfectly clear--she told me so herself." "doesn't she consider the young man rather chicken-hearted?" "no; he has already put up a big fight for her, and you know the french look at these things differently. he's only twenty-three and his marrying against his parents' approval is in itself an act of heroism." "yes; i believe they look at it that way," mr. newell assented. he rose and picked up the half-smoked cigar which he had laid on the bench beside him. "what do they wear at these french weddings, anyhow? a dress-suit, isn't it?" he asked. the question was such a surprise to garnett that for the moment he could only stammer out--"you consent then? i may go and tell her?" "you may tell my girl--yes." he gave a vague laugh and added: "one way or another, my wife always gets what she wants." vii mr. newell's consent brought with it no accompanying concessions. in the first flush of his success garnett had pictured himself as bringing together the father and daughter, and hovering in an attitude of benediction over a family group in which mrs. newell did not very distinctly figure. but mr. newell's conditions were inflexible. he would "see the thing through" for his daughter's sake; but he stipulated that in the meantime there should be no meetings or farther communications of any kind. he agreed to be ready when garnett called for him, at the appointed hour on the wedding-day; but until then he begged to be left alone. to this decision he adhered immovably, and when garnett conveyed it to hermione she accepted it with a deep look of understanding. as for mrs. newell she was too much engrossed in the nuptial preparations to give her husband another thought. she had gained her point, she had disarmed her foes, and in the first flush of success she had no time to remember by what means her victory had been won. even garnett's services received little recognition, unless he found them sufficiently compensated by the new look in hermione's eyes. the principal figures in mrs. newell's foreground were the woolsey hubbards and baron schenkelderff. with these she was in hourly consultation, and mrs. hubbard went about aureoled with the importance of her close connection with an "aristocratic marriage," and dazzled by the baron's familiarity with the intricacies of the almanach de gotha. in his society and mrs. newell's, mrs. hubbard evidently felt that she had penetrated to the sacred precincts where "the right thing" flourished in its native soil. as for hermione, her look of happiness had returned, but with an undertint of melancholy, visible perhaps only to garnett, but to him always hauntingly present. outwardly she sank back into her passive self, resigned to serve as the brilliant lay-figure on which mrs. newell hung the trophies of conquest. preparations for the wedding were zealously pressed. mrs. newell knew the danger of giving people time to think things over, and her fears about her husband being allayed, she began to dread a new attempt at evasion on the part of the bridegroom's family. "the sooner it's over the sounder i shall sleep!" she declared to garnett; and all the mitigations of art could not conceal the fact that she was desperately in need of that restorative. there were moments, indeed, when he was sorrier for her than for her husband or her daughter; so black and unfathomable appeared the abyss into which she must slip back if she lost her hold on this last spar of safety. but she did not lose her hold; his own experience, as well as her husband's declaration, might have told him that she always got what she wanted. how much she had wanted this particular thing was shown by the way in which, on the last day, when all peril was over, she bloomed out in renovated splendour. it gave garnett a shivering sense of the ugliness of the alternative which had confronted her. the day came; the showy coupe provided by mrs. newell presented itself punctually at garnett's door, and the young man entered it and drove to the rue panonceaus. it was a little melancholy back street, with lean old houses sweating rust and damp, and glimpses of pit-life gardens, black and sunless, between walls bristling with iron spikes. on the narrow pavement a blind man pottered along led by a red-eyed poodle: a little farther on a dishevelled woman sat grinding coffee on the threshold of a _buvette_. the bridal carriage stopped before one of the doorways, with a clatter of hoofs and harness which drew the neighbourhood to its windows, and garnett started to mount the ill-smelling stairs to the fourth floor, on which he learned from the _concierge_ that mr. newell lodged. but half-way up he met the latter descending, and they turned and went down together. hermione's parent wore his usual imperturbable look, and his eye seemed as full as ever of generalisations on human folly; but there was something oddly shrunken and submerged in his appearance, as though he had grown smaller or his clothes larger. and on the last hypothesis garnett paused--for it became evident to him that mr. newell had hired his dress-suit. seated at the young man's side on the satin cushions, he remained silent while the carriage rolled smoothly and rapidly through the net-work of streets leading to the boulevard saint-germain; only once he remarked, glancing at the elaborate fittings of the coupe: "is this mrs. newell's carriage?" "i believe so--yes," garnett assented, with the guilty sense that in defining that lady's possessions it was impossible not to trespass on those of her friends. mr. newell made no farther comment, but presently requested his companion to rehearse to him once more the exact duties which were to devolve on him during the coming ceremony. having mastered these he remained silent, fixing a dry speculative eye on the panorama of the brilliant streets, till the carriage drew up at the entrance of saint philippe du roule. with the same air of composure he followed his guide through the mob of spectators, and up the crimson velvet steps, at the head of which, but for a word from garnett, a formidable suisse, glittering with cocked hat and mace, would have checked the advance of the small crumpled figure so oddly out of keeping with the magnificence of the bridal party. the french fashion prescribing that the family _cortege_ shall follow the bride to the altar, the vestibule of the church was thronged with the participatore in the coming procession; but if mr. newell felt any nervousness at his sudden projection into this unfamiliar group, nothing in his look or manner betrayed it. he stood beside garnett till a white-favoured carriage, dashing up to the church with a superlative glitter of highly groomed horseflesh and silver-plated harness, deposited the snowy apparition of the bride, supported by her mother; then, as hermione entered the vestibule, he went forward quietly to meet her. the girl, wrapped in the haze of her bridal veil, and a little confused, perhaps, by the anticipation of the meeting, paused a moment, as if in doubt, before the small oddly-clad figure which blocked her path--a horrible moment to garnett, who felt a pang of misery at this satire on the infallibility of the filial instinct. he longed to make some sign, to break in some way the pause of uncertainty; but before he could move he saw mrs. newell give her daughter a sharp push, he saw a blush of compunction flood hermione's face, and the girl, throwing back her veil, bent her tall head and flung her arms about her father. mr. newell emerged unshaken from the embrace: it seemed to have no effect beyond giving an odder twist to his tie. he stood beside his daughter till the church doors were thrown open; then, at a sign from the verger, he gave her his arm, and the strange couple, with the long train of fashion and finery behind them, started on their march to the altar. garnett had already slipped into the church and secured a post of vantage which gave him a side-view over the assemblage. the building was thronged--mrs. newell had attained her ambition and given hermione a smart wedding. garnett's eye travelled curiously from one group to another--from the numerous representatives of the bridegroom's family, all stamped with the same air of somewhat dowdy distinction, the air of having had their thinking done for them for so long that they could no longer perform the act individually, and the heterogeneous company of mrs. newell's friends, who presented, on the opposite side of the nave, every variety of individual conviction in dress and conduct. of the two groups the latter was decidedly the more interesting to garnett, who observed that it comprised not only such recent acquisitions as the woolsey hubbards and the baron, but also sundry more important figures which of late had faded to the verse of mrs. newell's horizon. hermione's marriage had drawn them back, had once more made her mother a social entity, had in short already accomplished the object for which it had been planned and executed. and as he looked about him garnett saw that all the other actors in the show faded into insignificance beside the dominant figure of mrs. newell, became mere marionettes pulled hither and thither by the hidden wires of her intention. one and all they were there to serve her ends and accomplish her purpose: schenkelderff and the hubbards to pay for the show, the bride and bridegroom to seal and symbolize her social rehabilitation, garnett himself as the humble instrument adjusting the different parts of the complicated machinery, and her husband, finally, as the last stake in her game, the last asset on which she could draw to rebuild her fallen fortunes. at the thought garnett was filled with a deep disgust for what the scene signified, and for his own share in it. he had been her tool and dupe like the others; if he imagined that he was serving hermione, it was for her mother's ends that he had worked. what right had he to sentimentalise a marriage founded on such base connivances, and how could he have imagined that in so doing he was acting a disinterested part? while these thoughts were passing through his mind the ceremony had already begun, and the principal personages in the drama were ranged before him in the row of crimson velvet chairs which fills the foreground of a catholic marriage. through the glow of lights and the perfumed haze about the altar, garnett's eyes rested on the central figures of the group, and gradually the others disappeared from his view and his mind. after all, neither mrs. newell's schemes nor his own share in them could ever unsanctify hermione's marriage. it was one more testimony to life's indefatigable renewals, to nature's secret of drawing fragrance from corruption; and as his eyes turned from the girl's illuminated presence to the resigned and stoical figure sunk in the adjoining chair, it occured to him that he had perhaps worked better than he knew in placing them, if only for a moment, side by side. in trust in the good days, just after we all left college, ned halidon and i used to listen, laughing and smoking, while paul ambrose set forth his plans. they were immense, these plans, involving, as it sometimes seemed, the ultimate aesthetic redemption of the whole human race; and provisionally restoring the sense of beauty to those unhappy millions of our fellow country-men who, as ambrose movingly pointed out, now live and die in surroundings of unperceived and unmitigated ugliness. "i want to bring the poor starved wretches back to their lost inheritance, to the divine past they've thrown away--i want to make 'em hate ugliness so that they'll smash nearly everything in sight," he would passionately exclaim, stretching his arms across the shabby black-walnut writing-table and shaking his thin consumptive fist in the fact of all the accumulated ugliness in the world. "you might set the example by smashing that table," i once suggested with youthful brutality; and paul, pulling himself up, cast a surprised glance at me, and then looked slowly about the parental library, in which we sat. his parents were dead, and he had inherited the house in seventeenth street, where his grandfather ambrose had lived in a setting of black walnut and pier glasses, giving madeira dinners, and saying to his guests, as they rejoined the ladies across a florid waste of aubusson carpet: "this, sir, is dabney's first study for the niagara--the grecian slave in the bay window was executed for me in rome twenty years ago by my old friend ezra stimpson--" by token of which he passed for a maecenas in the new york of the 'forties,' and a poem had once been published in the keepsake or the book of beauty "on a picture in the possession of jonathan ambrose, esqre." since then the house had remained unchanged. paul's father, a frugal liver and hard-headed manipulator of investments, did not inherit old jonathan's artistic sensibilities, and was content to live and die in the unmodified black walnut and red rep of his predecessor. it was only in paul that the grandfather's aesthetic faculty revived, and mrs. ambrose used often to say to her husband, as they watched the little pale-browed boy poring over an old number of the _art journal:_ "paul will know how to appreciate your father's treasures." in recognition of these transmitted gifts paul, on leaving harvard, was sent to paris with a tutor, and established in a studio in which nothing was ever done. he could not paint, and recognized the fact early enough to save himself much wasted labor and his friends many painful efforts in dissimulation. but he brought back a touching enthusiasm for the forms of beauty which an old civilization had revealed to him and an apostolic ardour in the cause of their dissemination. he had paused in his harangue to take in my ill-timed parenthesis, and the color mounted slowly to his thin cheek-bones. "it _is_ an ugly room," he owned, as though he had noticed the library for the first time. the desk was carved at the angles with the heads of helmeted knights with long black-walnut moustaches. the red cloth top was worn thread-bare, and patterned like a map with islands and peninsulas of ink; and in its centre throned a massive bronze inkstand representing a syrian maiden slumbering by a well beneath a palm-tree. "the fact is," i said, walking home that evening with ned halidon, "old paul will never do anything, for the simple reason that he's too stingy." ned, who was an idealist, shook his handsome head. "it's not that, my dear fellow. he simply doesn't see things when they're too close to him. i'm glad you woke him up to that desk." the next time i dined with paul he said, when we entered the library, and i had gently rejected one of his cheap cigars in favour of a superior article of my own: "look here, i've been looking round for a decent writing-table. i don't care, as a rule, to turn out old things, especially when they've done good service, but i see now that this is too monstrous--" "for an apostle of beauty to write his evangel on," i agreed, "it _is_ a little inappropriate, except as an awful warning." paul colored. "well, but, my dear fellow, i'd no idea how much a table of this kind costs. i find i can't get anything decent--the plainest mahogany--under a hundred and fifty." he hung his head, and pretended not to notice that i was taking out my own cigar. "well, what's a hundred and fifty to you?" i rejoined. "you talk as if you had to live on a book-keeper's salary, with a large family to support." he smiled nervously and twirled the ring on his thin finger. "i know--i know--that's all very well. but for twenty tables that i _don't_ buy i can send some fellow abroad and unseal his eyes." "oh, hang it, do both!" i exclaimed impatiently; but the writing-table was never bought. the library remained as it was, and so did the contention between halidon and myself, as to whether this inconsistent acceptance of his surroundings was due, on our friend's part, to a congenital inability to put his hand in his pocket, or to a real unconsciousness of the ugliness that happened to fall inside his point of vision. "but he owned that the table was ugly," i agreed. "yes, but not till you'd called his attention to the fact; and i'll wager he became unconscious of it again as soon as your back was turned." "not before he'd had time to look at a lot of others, and make up his mind that he couldn't afford to buy one." "that was just his excuse. he'd rather be thought mean than insensible to ugliness. but the truth is that he doesn't mind the table and is used to it. he knows his way about the drawers." "but he could get another with the same number of drawers." "too much trouble," argued halidon. "too much money," i persisted. "oh, hang it, now, if he were mean would he have founded three travelling scholarships and be planning this big academy of arts?" "well, he's mean to himself, at any rate." "yes; and magnificently, royally generous to all the world besides!" halidon exclaimed with one of his great flushes of enthusiasm. but if, on the whole, the last word remained with halidon, and ambrose's personal chariness seemed a trifling foible compared to his altruistic breadth of intention, yet neither of us could help observing, as time went on, that the habit of thrift was beginning to impede the execution of his schemes of art-philanthropy. the three travelling scholarships had been founded in the first blaze of his ardour, and before the personal management of his property had awakened in him the sleeping instincts of parsimony. but as his capital accumulated, and problems of investment and considerations of interest began to encroach upon his visionary hours, we saw a gradual arrest in the practical development of his plan. "for every thousand dollars he talks of spending on his work, i believe he knocks off a cigar, or buys one less newspaper," halidon grumbled affectionately; "but after all," he went on, with one of the quick revivals of optimism that gave a perpetual freshness to his spirit, "after all, it makes one admire him all the more when one sees such a nature condemned to be at war with the petty inherited instinct of greed." still, i could see it was a disappointment to halidon that the great project of the academy of arts should languish on paper long after all its details had been discussed and settled to the satisfaction of the projector, and of the expert advisers he had called in council. "he's quite right to do nothing in a hurry--to take advice and compare ideas and points of view--to collect and classify his material in advance," halidon argued, in answer to a taunt of mine about paul's perpetually reiterated plea that he was still waiting for so-and-so's report; "but now that the plan's mature--and _such_ a plan! you'll grant it's magnificent?--i should think he'd burn to see it carried out, instead of pottering over it till his enthusiasm cools and the whole business turns stale on his hands." that summer ambrose went to europe, and spent his holiday in a frugal walking-tour through brittany. when he came back he seemed refreshed by his respite from business cares and from the interminable revision of his cherished scheme; while contact with the concrete manifestations of beauty had, as usual, renewed his flagging ardour. "by jove," he cried, "whenever i indulged my unworthy eyes in a long gaze at one of those big things--picture or church or statue--i kept saying to myself: 'you lucky devil, you, to be able to provide such a sight as that for eyes that can make some good use of it! isn't it better to give fifty fellows a chance to paint or carve or build, than to be able to daub canvas or punch clay in a corner all by yourself?'" "well," i said, when he had worked off his first ebullition, "when is the foundation stone to be laid?" his excitement dropped. "the foundation stone--?" "when are you going to touch the electric button that sets the thing going?" paul, with his hands in his sagging pockets, began to pace the library hearth-rug--i can see him now, setting his shabby red slippers between its ramified cabbages. "my dear fellow, there are one or two points to be considered still--one or two new suggestions i picked up over there--" i sat silent, and he paused before me, flushing to the roots of his thin hair. "you think i've had time enough--that i ought to have put the thing through before this? i suppose you're right; i can see that even ned halidon thinks so; and he has always understood my difficulties better than you have." this insinuation exasperated me. "ned would have put it through years ago!" i broke out. paul pulled at his straggling moustache. "you mean he has more executive capacity? more--no, it's not that; he's not afraid to spend money, and i am!" he suddenly exclaimed. he had never before alluded to this weakness to either of us, and i sat abashed, suffering from his evident distress. but he remained planted before me, his little legs wide apart, his eyes fixed on mine in an agony of voluntary self-exposure. "that's my trouble, and i know it. big sums frighten me--i can't look them in the face. by george, i wish ned had the carrying out of this scheme--i wish he could spend my money for me!" his face was lit by the reflection of a passing thought. "do you know, i shouldn't wonder if i dropped out of the running before either of you chaps, and in case i do i've half a mind to leave everything in trust to halidon, and let him put the job through for me." "much better have your own fun with it," i retorted; but he shook his head, saying with a sigh as he turned away: "it's _not_ fun to me--that's the worst of it." halidon, to whom i could not help repeating our talk, was amused and touched by his friend's thought. "heaven knows what will become of the scheme, if paul doesn't live to carry it out. there are a lot of hungry ambrose cousins who will make one gulp of his money, and never give a dollar to the work. jove, it _would_ be a fine thing to have the carrying out of such a plan--but he'll do it yet, you'll see he'll do it yet!" cried ned, his old faith in his friend flaming up again through the wet blanket of fact. ii paul ambrose did not die and leave his fortune to halidon, but the following summer he did something far more unexpected. he went abroad again, and came back married. now our busy fancy had never seen paul married. even ned recognized the vague unlikelihood of such a metamorphosis. "he'd stick at the parson's fee--not to mention the best man's scarf-pin. and i should hate," ned added sentimentally, "to see 'the touch of a woman's hand' desecrate the sublime ugliness of the ancestral home. think of such a house made 'cozy'!" but when the news came he would own neither to surprise nor to disappointment. "goodbye, poor academy!" i exclaimed, tossing over the bridegroom's eight-page rhapsody to halidon, who had received its duplicate by the same post. "now, why the deuce do you say that?" he growled. "i never saw such a beast as you are for imputing mean motives." to defend myself from this accusation i put out my hand and recovered paul's letter. "here: listen to this. 'studying art in paris when i met her--"the vision and the faculty divine, but lacking the accomplishment," etc.... a little ethereal profile, like one of piero della francesca's angels ... not rich, thank heaven, _but not afraid of money_, and already enamored of my project for fertilizing my sterile millions...'" "well, why the deuce--?" ned began again, as though i had convicted myself out of my friend's mouth; and i could only grumble obscurely: "it's all too pat." he brushed aside my misgivings. "thank heaven, she can't paint, anyhow. and now that i think of it, paul's just the kind of chap who ought to have a dozen children." "ah, then indeed: goodbye, poor academy!" i croaked. the lady was lovely, of that there could be no doubt; and if paul now for a time forgot the academy, his doing so was but a vindication of his sex. halidon had only a glimpse of the returning couple before he was himself snatched up in one of the chariots of adventure that seemed perpetually waiting at his door. this time he was going to the far east in the train of a "special mission," and his head was humming with new hopes and ardors; but he had time for a last word with me about ambrose. "you'll see--you'll see!" he summed up hopefully as we parted; and what i was to see was, of course, the crowning pinnacle of the academy lifting itself against the horizon of the immediate future. it was in the nature of things that i should, meanwhile, see less than formerly of the projector of that unrealized structure. paul had a personal dread of society, but he wished to show his wife to the world, and i was not often a spectator on these occasions. paul indeed, good fellow, tried to maintain the pretense of an unbroken intercourse, and to this end i was asked to dine now and then; but when i went i found guests of a new type, who, after dinner, talked of sport and stocks, while their host blinked at them silently through the smoke of his cheap cigars. the first innovation that struck me was a sudden improvement in the quality of the cigars. was this daisy's doing? (mrs. ambrose was daisy.) it was hard to tell--she produced her results so noiselessly. with her fair bent head and vague smile, she seemed to watch life flow by without, as yet, trusting anything of her own to its current. but she was watching, at any rate, and anything might come of that. such modifications as she produced were as yet almost imperceptible to any but the trained observer. i saw that paul wished her to be well dressed, but also that he suffered her to drive in a hired brougham, and to have her door opened by the raw-boned celt who had bumped down the dishes on his bachelor table. the drawing-room curtains were renewed, but this change served only to accentuate the enormities of the carpet, and perhaps discouraged mrs. ambrose from farther experiments. at any rate, the desecrating touch that halidon had affected to dread made no other inroads on the serried ugliness of the ambrose interior. in the early summer, when ned returned, the ambroses had flown to europe again--and the academy was still on paper. "well, what do you make of her?" the traveller asked, as we sat over our first dinner together. "too many things--and they don't hang together. perhaps she's still in the chrysalis stage." "has paul chucked the scheme altogether?" "no. he sent for me and we had a talk about it just before he sailed." "and what impression did you get?" "that he had waited to send for me _till_ just before he sailed." "oh, there you go again!" i offered no denial, and after a pause he asked: "did _she_ ever talk to you about it?" "yes. once or twice--in snatches." "well--?" "she thinks it all _too_ beautiful. she would like to see beauty put within the reach of everyone." "and the practical side--?" "she says she doesn't understand business." halidon rose with a shrug. "very likely you frightened her with your ugly sardonic grin." "it's not my fault if my smile doesn't add to the sum-total of beauty." "well," he said, ignoring me, "next winter we shall see." but the next winter did not bring ambrose back. a brief line, written in november from the italian lakes, told me that he had "a rotten cough," and that the doctors were packing him off to egypt. would i see the architects for him, and explain to the trustees? (the academy already had trustees, and all the rest of its official hierarchy.) and would they all excuse his not writing more than a word? he was really too groggy--but a little warm weather would set him up again, and he would certainly come home in the spring. he came home in the spring--in the hold of the ship, with his widow several decks above. the funeral services were attended by all the officers of the academy, and by two of the young fellows who had won the travelling scholarships, and who shed tears of genuine grief when their benefactor was committed to the grave. after that there was a pause of suspense--and then the newspapers announced that the late paul ambrose had left his entire estate to his widow. the board of the academy dissolved like a summer cloud, and the secretary lighted his pipe for a year with the official paper of the still-born institution. after a decent lapse of time i called at the house in seventeenth street, and found a man attaching a real-estate agent's sign to the window and a van-load of luggage backing away from the door. the care-taker told me that mrs. ambrose was sailing the next morning. not long afterward i saw the library table with the helmeted knights standing before an auctioneer's door in university place; and i looked with a pang at the familiar ink-stains, in which i had so often traced the geography of paul's visionary world. halidon, who had picked up another job in the orient, wrote me an elegiac letter on paul's death, ending with--"and what about the academy?" and for all answer i sent him a newspaper clipping recording the terms of the will, and another announcing the sale of the house and mrs. ambrose's departure for europe. though ned and i corresponded with tolerable regularity i received no direct answer to this communication till about eighteen months later, when he surprised me by a letter dated from florence. it began: "though she tells me you have never understood her--" and when i had reached that point i laid it down and stared out of my office window at the chimney-pots and the dirty snow on the roof. "ned halidon and paul's wife!" i murmured; and, incongruously enough, my next thought was: "i wish i'd bought the library table that day." the letter went on with waxing eloquence: "i could not stand the money if it were not that, to her as well as to me, it represents the sacred opportunity of at last giving speech to his inarticulateness ..." "oh, damn it, they're too glib!" i muttered, dashing the letter down; then, controlling my unreasoning resentment, i read on. "you remember, old man, those words of his that you repeated to me three or four years ago: 'i've half a mind to leave my money in trust to ned'? well, it _has_ come to me in trust--as if in mysterious fulfillment of his thought; and, oh, dear chap--" i dashed the letter down again, and plunged into my work. iii "won't you own yourself a beast, dear boy?" halidon asked me gently, one afternoon of the following spring. i had escaped for a six weeks' holiday, and was lying outstretched beside him in a willow chair on the terrace of their villa above florence. my eyes turned from the happy vale at our feet to the illuminated face beside me. a little way off, at the other end of the terrace, mrs. halidon was bending over a pot of carnations on the balustrade. "oh, cheerfully," i assented. "you see," he continued, glowing, "living here costs us next to nothing, and it was quite _her_ idea, our founding that fourth scholarship in memory of paul." i had already heard of the fourth scholarship, but i may have betrayed my surprise at the plural pronoun, for the blood rose under ned's sensitive skin, and he said with an embarrassed laugh: "ah, she so completely makes me forget that it's not mine too." "well, the great thing is that you both think of it chiefly as his." "oh, chiefly--altogether. i should be no more than a wretched parasite if i didn't live first of all for that!" mrs. halidon had turned and was advancing toward us with the slow step of leisurely enjoyment. the bud of her beauty had at last unfolded: her vague enigmatical gaze had given way to the clear look of the woman whose hand is on the clue of life. "_she's_ not living for anything but her own happiness," i mused, "and why in heaven's name should she? but ned--" "my wife," halidon continued, his eyes following mine, "my wife feels it too, even more strongly. you know a woman's sensitiveness. she's--there's nothing she wouldn't do for his memory--because--in other ways.... you understand," he added, lowering his tone as she drew nearer, "that as soon as the child is born we mean to go home for good, and take up his work--paul's work." mrs. halidon recovered slowly after the birth of her child: the return to america was deferred for six months, and then again for a whole year. i heard of the halidons as established first at biarritz, then in rome. the second summer ned wrote me a line from st. moritz. he said the place agreed so well with his wife--who was still delicate--that they were "thinking of building a house there: a mere cleft in the rocks, to hide our happiness in when it becomes too exuberant"--and the rest of the letter, very properly, was filled with a rhapsody upon his little daughter. he spoke of her as paula. the following year the halidons reappeared in new york, and i heard with surprise that they had taken the brereton house for the winter. "well, why not?" i argued with myself. "after all, the money is hers: as far as i know the will didn't even hint at a restriction. why should i expect a pretty woman with two children" (for now there was an heir) "to spend her fortune on a visionary scheme that its originator hadn't the heart to carry out?" "yes," cried the devil's advocate--"but ned?" my first impression of halidon was that he had thickened--thickened all through. he was heavier, physically, with the ruddiness of good living rather than of hard training; he spoke more deliberately, and had less frequent bursts of subversive enthusiasm. well, he was a father, a householder--yes, and a capitalist now. it was fitting that his manner should show a sense of these responsibilities. as for mrs. halidon, it was evident that the only responsibilities she was conscious of were those of the handsome woman and the accomplished hostess. she was handsomer than ever, with her two babies at her knee--perfect mother as she was perfect wife. poor paul! i wonder if he ever dreamed what a flower was hidden in the folded bud? not long after their arrival, i dined alone with the halidons, and lingered on to smoke with ned while his wife went alone to the opera. he seemed dull and out of sorts, and complained of a twinge of gout. "fact is, i don't get enough exercise--i must look about for a horse." he had gone afoot for a good many years, and kept his clear skin and quick eye on that homely regimen--but i had to remind myself that, after all, we were both older; and also that the halidons had champagne every evening. "how do you like these cigars? they're some i've just got out from london, but i'm not quite satisfied with them myself," he grumbled, pushing toward me the silver box and its attendant taper. i leaned to the flame, and our eyes met as i lit my cigar. ned flushed and laughed uneasily. "poor paul! were you thinking of those execrable weeds of his?--i wonder how i knew you were? probably because i have been wanting to talk to you of our plan--i sent daisy off alone so that we might have a quiet evening. not that she isn't interested, only the technical details bore her." i hesitated. "are there many technical details left to settle?" halidon pushed his armchair back from the fire-light, and twirled his cigar between his fingers. "i didn't suppose there were till i began to look into things a little more closely. you know i never had much of a head for business, and it was chiefly with you that paul used to go over the figures." "the figures--?" "there it is, you see." he paused. "have you any idea how much this thing is going to cost?" "approximately, yes." "and have you any idea how much we--how much daisy's fortune amounts to?" "none whatever," i hastened to assert. he looked relieved. "well, we simply can't do it--and live." "live?" "paul didn't _live_," he said impatiently. "i can't ask a woman with two children to think of--hang it, she's under no actual obligation--" he rose and began to walk the floor. presently he paused and halted in front of me, defensively, as paul had once done years before. "it's not that i've lost the sense of _my_ obligation--it grows keener with the growth of my happiness; but my position's a delicate one--" "ah, my dear fellow--" "you _do_ see it? i knew you would." (yes, he was duller!) "that's the point. i can't strip my wife and children to carry out a plan--a plan so nebulous that even its inventor.... the long and short of it is that the whole scheme must be re-studied, reorganized. paul lived in a world of dreams." i rose and tossed my cigar into the fire. "there were some things he never dreamed of," i said. halidon rose too, facing me uneasily. "you mean--?" "that _you_ would taunt him with not having spent that money." he pulled himself up with darkening brows; then the muscles of his forehead relaxed, a flush suffused it, and he held out his hand in boyish penitence. "i stand a good deal from you," he said. he kept up his idea of going over the academy question--threshing it out once for all, as he expressed it; but my suggestion that we should provisionally resuscitate the extinct board did not meet with his approval. "not till the whole business is settled. i shouldn't have the face-wait till i can go to them and say: 'we're laying the foundation-stone on such a day.'" we had one or two conferences, and ned speedily lost himself in a maze of figures. his nimble fancy was recalcitrant to mental discipline, and he excused his inattention with the plea that he had no head for business. "all i know is that it's a colossal undertaking, and that short of living on bread and water--" and then we turned anew to the hard problem of retrenchment. at the close of the second conference we fixed a date for a third, when ned's business adviser was to be called in; but before the day came, i learned casually that the halidons had gone south. some weeks later ned wrote me from florida, apologizing for his remissness. they had rushed off suddenly--his wife had a cough, he explained. when they returned in the spring, i heard that they had bought the brereton house, for what seemed to my inexperienced ears a very large sum. but ned, whom i met one day at the club, explained to me convincingly that it was really the most economical thing they could do. "you don't understand about such things, dear boy, living in your diogenes tub; but wait till there's a mrs. diogenes. i can assure you it's a lot cheaper than building, which is what daisy would have preferred, and of course," he added, his color rising as our eyes met, "of course, once the academy's going, i shall have to make my head-quarters here; and i suppose even you won't grudge me a roof over my head." the brereton roof was a vast one, with a marble balustrade about it; and i could quite understand, without ned's halting explanation, that "under the circumstances" it would be necessary to defer what he called "our work--" "of course, after we've rallied from this amputation, we shall grow fresh supplies--i mean my wife's investments will," he laughingly corrected, "and then we'll have no big outlays ahead and shall know exactly where we stand. after all, my dear fellow, charity begins at home!" iv the halidons floated off to europe for the summer. in due course their return was announced in the social chronicle, and walking up fifth avenue one afternoon i saw the back of the brereton house sheathed in scaffolding, and realized that they were adding a wing. i did not look up halidon, nor did i hear from him till the middle of the winter. once or twice, meanwhile, i had seen him in the back of his wife's opera box; but mrs. halidon had grown so resplendent that she reduced her handsome husband to a supernumerary. in january the papers began to talk of the halidon ball; and in due course i received a card for it. i was not a frequenter of balls, and had no intention of going to this one; but when the day came some obscure impulse moved me to set aside my rule, and toward midnight i presented myself at ned's illuminated portals. i shall never forget his look when i accosted him on the threshold of the big new ballroom. with celibate egoism i had rather fancied he would be gratified by my departure from custom; but one glance showed me my mistake. he smiled warmly, indeed, and threw into his hand-clasp an artificial energy of welcome--"you of all people--my dear fellow! have you seen daisy?"--but the look behind the smile made me feel cold in the crowded room. nor was mrs. halidon's greeting calculated to restore my circulation. "have you come to spy on us?" her frosty smile seemed to say; and i crept home early, wondering if she had not found me out. it was the following week that halidon turned up one day in my office. he looked pale and thinner, and for the first time i noticed a dash of gray in his hair. i was startled at the change in him, but i reflected that it was nearly a year since we had looked at each other by daylight, and that my shaving-glass had doubtless a similar tale to tell. he fidgeted about the office, told me a funny story about his little boy, and then dropped into a chair. "look here," he said, "i want to go into business." "business?" i stared. "well, why not? i suppose men have gone to work, even at my age, and not made a complete failure of it. the fact is, i want to make some money." he paused, and added: "i've heard of an opportunity to pick up for next to nothing a site for the academy, and if i could lay my hands on a little cash--" "do you want to speculate?" i interposed. "heaven forbid! but don't you see that, if i had a fixed job--so much a quarter--i could borrow the money and pay it off gradually?" i meditated upon this astounding proposition. "do you really think it's wise to buy a site before--" "before what?" "well--seeing ahead a little?" his face fell for a moment, but he rejoined cheerfully: "it's an exceptional chance, and after all, i _shall_ see ahead if i can get regular work. i can put by a little every month, and by and bye, when our living expenses diminish, my wife means to come forward--her idea would be to give the building--" he broke off and drummed on the table, waiting nervously for me to speak. he did not say on what grounds he still counted on a diminution of his household expenses, and i had not the cruelty to press this point; but i murmured, after a moment: "i think you're right--i should try to buy the land." we discussed his potentialities for work, which were obviously still an unknown quantity, and the conference ended in my sending him to a firm of real-estate brokers who were looking out for a partner with a little money to invest. halidon had a few thousands of his own, which he decided to embark in the venture; and thereafter, for the remaining months of the winter, he appeared punctually at a desk in the brokers' office, and sketched plans of the academy on the back of their business paper. the site for the future building had meanwhile been bought, and i rather deplored the publicity which ned gave to the fact; but, after all, since this publicity served to commit him more deeply, to pledge him conspicuously to the completion of his task, it was perhaps a wise instinct of self-coercion that had prompted him. it was a dull winter in realty, and toward spring, when the market began to revive, one of the halidon children showed symptoms of a delicate throat, and the fashionable doctor who humoured the family ailments counselled--nay, commanded--a prompt flight to the mediterranean. "he says a new york spring would be simply criminal--and as for those ghastly southern places, my wife won't hear of them; so we're off. but i shall be back in july, and i mean to stick to the office all summer." he was true to his word, and reappeared just as all his friends were deserting town. for two torrid months he sat at his desk, drawing fresh plans of the academy, and waiting for the wind-fall of a "big deal"; but in september he broke down from the effect of the unwonted confinement, and his indignant wife swept him off to the mountains. "why ned should work when we have the money--i wish he would sell that wretched piece of land!" and sell it he did one day: i chanced on a record of the transaction in the realty column of the morning paper. he afterward explained the sale to me at length. owing to some spasmodic effort at municipal improvement, there had been an unforeseen rise in the adjoining property, and it would have been foolish--yes, i agreed that it would have been foolish. he had made $10,000 on the sale, and that would go toward paying off what he had borrowed for the original purchase. meanwhile he could be looking about for another site. later in the winter he told me it was a bad time to look. his position in the real-estate business enabled him to follow the trend of the market, and that trend was obstinately upward. but of course there would be a reaction--and he was keeping his eyes open. as the resuscitated academy scheme once more fell into abeyance, i saw halidon less and less frequently; and we had not met for several months, when one day of june, my morning paper startled me with the announcement that the president had appointed edward halidon of new york to be civil commissioner of our newly acquired eastern possession, the manana islands. "the unhealthy climate of the islands, and the defective sanitation of the towns, make it necessary that vigorous measures should be taken to protect the health of the american citizens established there, and it is believed that mr. halidon's large experience of eastern life and well-known energy of character--" i read the paragraph twice; then i dropped the paper, and projected myself through the subway to halidon's office. but he was not there; he had not been there for a month. one of the clerks believed he was in washington. "it's true, then!" i said to myself. "but mrs. halidon in the mananas--?" a day or two later ned appeared in my office. he looked better than when we had last met, and there was a determined line about his lips. "my wife? heaven forbid! you don't suppose i should think of taking her? but the job is a tremendously interesting one, and it's the kind of work i believe i can do--the only kind," he added, smiling rather ruefully. "but my dear ned--" he faced me with a look of quiet resolution. "i think i've been through all the _buts_. it's an infernal climate, of course, but then i am used to the east--i know what precautions to take. and it would be a big thing to clean up that augean stable." "but consider your wife and children--" he met this with deliberation. "i _have_ considered my children--that's the point. i don't want them to be able to say, when they look back: 'he was content to go on living on that money--'" "my dear ned--" "that's the one thing they _shan't_ say of me," he pressed on vehemently. "i've tried other ways--but i'm no good at business. i see now that i shall never make money enough to carry out the scheme myself; but at least i can clear out, and not go on being _his_ pensioner--seeing his dreams turned into horses and carpets and clothes--" he broke off, and leaning on my desk hid his face in his hands. when he looked up again his flush of wrath had subsided. "just understand me--it's not _her_ fault. don't fancy i'm trying for an instant to shift the blame. a woman with children simply obeys the instinct of her sex; she puts them first--and i wouldn't have it otherwise. as far as she's concerned there were no conditions attached--there's no reason why she should make any sacrifice." he paused, and added painfully: "the trouble is, i can't make her see that i am differently situated." "but, ned, the climate--what are you going to gain by chucking yourself away?" he lifted his brows. "that's a queer argument from _you_. and, besides, i'm up to the tricks of all those ague-holes. and i've _got_ to live, you see: i've got something to put through." he saw my look of enquiry, and added with a shy, poignant laugh--how i hear it still!--: "i don't mean only the job in hand, though that's enough in itself; but paul's work--you understand.--it won't come in _my_ day, of course--i've got to accept that--but my boy's a splendid chap" (the boy was three), "and i tell you what it is, old man, i believe when he grows up _he'll put it through_." halidon went to the mananas, and for two years the journals brought me incidental reports of the work he was accomplishing. he certainly had found a job to his hand: official words of commendation rang through the country, and there were lengthy newspaper leaders on the efficiency with which our representative was prosecuting his task in that lost corner of our colonies. then one day a brief paragraph announced his death--"one of the last victims of the pestilence he had so successfully combated." that evening, at my club, i heard men talking of him. one said: "what's the use of a fellow wasting himself on a lot of savages?" and another wiseacre opined: "oh, he went off because there was friction at home. a fellow like that, who knew the east, would have got through all right if he'd taken the proper precautions. i saw him before he left, and i never saw a man look less as if he wanted to live." i turned on the last speaker, and my voice made him drop his lighted cigar on his complacent knuckles. "i never knew a man," i exclaimed, "who had better reasons for wanting to live!" a handsome youth mused: "yes, his wife is very beautiful--but it doesn't follow--" and then some one nudged him, for they knew i was halidon's friend. the pretext i mrs. ransom, when the front door had closed on her visitor, passed with a spring from the drawing-room to the narrow hall, and thence up the narrow stairs to her bedroom. though slender, and still light of foot, she did not always move so quickly: hitherto, in her life, there had not been much to hurry for, save the recurring domestic tasks that compel haste without fostering elasticity; but some impetus of youth revived, communicated to her by her talk with guy dawnish, now found expression in her girlish flight upstairs, her girlish impatience to bolt herself into her room with her throbs and her blushes. her blushes? was she really blushing? she approached the cramped eagle-topped mirror above her plain prim dressing-table: just such a meagre concession to the weakness of the flesh as every old-fashioned house in wentworth counted among its relics. the face reflected in this unflattering surface--for even the mirrors of wentworth erred on the side of depreciation--did not seem, at first sight, a suitable theatre for the display of the tenderer emotions, and its owner blushed more deeply as the fact was forced upon her. her fair hair had grown too thin--it no longer quite hid the blue veins in her candid forehead--a forehead that one seemed to see turned toward professorial desks, in large bare halls where a snowy winter light fell uncompromisingly on rows of "thoughtful women." her mouth was thin, too, and a little strained; her lips were too pale; and there were lines in the corners of her eyes. it was a face which had grown middle-aged while it waited for the joys of youth. well--but if she could still blush? instinctively she drew back a little, so that her scrutiny became less microscopic, and the pretty lingering pink threw a veil over her pallor, the hollows in her temples, the faint wrinkles of inexperience about her lips and eyes. how a little colour helped! it made her eyes so deep and shining. she saw now why bad women rouged.... her redness deepened at the thought. but suddenly she noticed for the first time that the collar of her dress was cut too low. it showed the shrunken lines of the throat. she rummaged feverishly in a tidy scentless drawer, and snatching out a bit of black velvet, bound it about her neck. yes--that was better. it gave her the relief she needed. relief--contrast--that was it! she had never had any, either in her appearance or in her setting. she was as flat as the pattern of the wall-paper--and so was her life. and all the people about her had the same look. wentworth was the kind of place where husbands and wives gradually grew to resemble each other--one or two of her friends, she remembered, had told her lately that she and ransom were beginning to look alike.... but why had she always, so tamely, allowed her aspect to conform to her situation? perhaps a gayer exterior would have provoked a brighter fate. even now--she turned back to the glass, loosened the tight strands of hair above her brow, ran the fine end of the comb under them with a rapid frizzing motion, and then disposed them, more lightly and amply, above her eager face. yes--it was really better; it made a difference. she smiled at herself with a timid coquetry, and her lips seemed rosier as she smiled. then she laid down the comb and the smile faded. it made a difference, certainly--but was it right to try to make one's hair look thicker and wavier than it really was? between that and rouging the ethical line seemed almost impalpable, and the spectre of her rigid new england ancestry rose reprovingly before her. she was sure that none of her grandmothers had ever simulated a curl or encouraged a blush. a blush, indeed! what had any of them ever had to blush for in all their frozen lives? and what, in heaven's name, had she? she sat down in the stiff mahogany rocking-chair beside her work-table and tried to collect herself. from childhood she had been taught to "collect herself"--but never before had her small sensations and aspirations been so widely scattered, diffused over so vague and uncharted an expanse. hitherto they had lain in neatly sorted and easily accessible bundles on the high shelves of a perfectly ordered moral consciousness. and now--now that for the first time they _needed_ collecting--now that the little winged and scattered bits of self were dancing madly down the vagrant winds of fancy, she knew no spell to call them to the fold again. the best way, no doubt--if only her bewilderment permitted--was to go back to the beginning--the beginning, at least, of to-day's visit--to recapitulate, word for word and look for look.... she clasped her hands on the arms of the chair, checked its swaying with a firm thrust of her foot, and fixed her eyes upon the inward vision.... to begin with, what had made to-day's visit so different from the others? it became suddenly vivid to her that there had been many, almost daily, others, since guy dawnish's coming to wentworth. even the previous winter--the winter of his arrival from england--his visits had been numerous enough to make wentworth aware that--very naturally--mrs. ransom was "looking after" the stray young englishman committed to her husband's care by an eminent q. c. whom the ransoms had known on one of their brief london visits, and with whom ransom had since maintained professional relations. all this was in the natural order of things, as sanctioned by the social code of wentworth. every one was kind to guy dawnish--some rather importunately so, as margaret ransom had smiled to observe--but it was recognized as fitting that she should be kindest, since he was in a sense her property, since his people in england, by profusely acknowledging her kindness, had given it the domestic sanction without which, to wentworth, any social relation between the sexes remained unhallowed and to be viewed askance. yes! and even this second winter, when the visits had become so much more frequent, so admitted a part of the day's routine, there had not been, from any one, a hint of surprise or of conjecture.... mrs. ransom smiled with a faint bitterness. she was protected by her age, no doubt--her age and her past, and the image her mirror gave back to her.... her door-handle turned suddenly, and the bolt's resistance was met by an impatient knock. "margaret!" she started up, her brightness fading, and unbolted the door to admit her husband. "why are you locked in? why, you're not dressed yet!" he exclaimed. it was possible for ransom to reach his dressing-room by a slight circuit through the passage; but it was characteristic of the relentless domesticity of their relation that he chose, as a matter of course, the directer way through his wife's bedroom. she had never before been disturbed by this practice, which she accepted as inevitable, but had merely adapted her own habits to it, delaying her hasty toilet till he was safely in his room, or completing it before she heard his step on the stair; since a scrupulous traditional prudery had miraculously survived this massacre of all the privacies. "oh, i shan't dress this evening--i shall just have some tea in the library after you've gone," she answered absently. "your things are laid out," she added, rousing herself. he looked surprised. "the dinner's at seven. i suppose the speeches will begin at nine. i thought you were coming to hear them." she wavered. "i don't know. i think not. mrs. sperry's ill, and i've no one else to go with." he glanced at his watch. "why not get hold of dawnish? wasn't he here just now? why didn't you ask him?" she turned toward her dressing-table, and straightened the comb and brush with a nervous hand. her husband had given her, that morning, two tickets for the ladies' gallery in hamblin hall, where the great public dinner of the evening was to take place--a banquet offered by the faculty of wentworth to visitors of academic eminence--and she had meant to ask dawnish to go with her: it had seemed the most natural thing to do, till the end of his visit came, and then, after all, she had not spoken.... "it's too late now," she murmured, bending over her pin cushion. "too late? not if you telephone him." her husband came toward her, and she turned quickly to face him, lest he should suspect her of trying to avoid his eye. to what duplicity was she already committed! ransom laid a friendly hand on her arm: "come along, margaret. you know i speak for the bar." she was aware, in his voice, of a little note of surprise at his having to remind her of this. "oh, yes. i meant to go, of course--" "well, then--" he opened his dressing-room door, and caught a glimpse of the retreating house-maid's skirt. "here's maria now. maria! call up mr. dawnish--at mrs. creswell's, you know. tell him mrs. ransom wants him to go with her to hear the speeches this evening--the _speeches_, you understand?--and he's to call for her at a quarter before nine." margaret heard the irish "yessir" on the stairs, and stood motionless, while her husband added loudly: "and bring me some towels when you come up." then he turned back into his wife's room. "why, it would be a thousand pities for guy to miss this. he's so interested in the way we do things over here--and i don't know that he's ever heard me speak in public." again the slight note of fatuity! was it possible that ransom was a fatuous man? he paused in front of her, his short-sighted unobservant glance concentrating itself unexpectedly on her face. "you're not going like that, are you?" he asked, with glaring eye-glasses. "like what?" she faltered, lifting a conscious hand to the velvet at her throat. "with your hair in such a fearful mess. have you been shampooing it? you look like the brant girl at the end of a tennis-match." the brant girl was their horror--the horror of all right-thinking wentworth; a laced, whale-boned, frizzle-headed, high-heeled daughter of iniquity, who came--from new york, of course--on long, disturbing, tumultuous visits to a wentworth aunt, working havoc among the freshmen, and leaving, when she departed, an angry wake of criticism that ruffled the social waters for weeks. _she_, too, had tried her hand at guy--with ludicrous unsuccess. and now, to be compared to her--to be accused of looking "new yorky!" ah, there are times when husbands are obtuse; and ransom, as he stood there, thick and yet juiceless, in his dry legal middle age, with his wiry dust-coloured beard, and his perpetual _pince-nez_, seemed to his wife a sudden embodiment of this traditional attribute. not that she had ever fancied herself, poor soul, a "_femme incomprise_." she had, on the contrary, prided herself on being understood by her husband, almost as much as on her own complete comprehension of him. wentworth laid a good deal of stress on "motives"; and margaret ransom and her husband had dwelt in a complete community of motive. it had been the proudest day of her life when, without consulting her, he had refused an offer of partnership in an eminent new york firm because he preferred the distinction of practising in wentworth, of being known as the legal representative of the university. wentworth, in fact, had always been the bond between the two; they were united in their veneration for that estimable seat of learning, and in their modest yet vivid consciousness of possessing its tone. the wentworth "tone" is unmistakable: it permeates every part of the social economy, from the _coiffure_ of the ladies to the preparation of the food. it has its sumptuary laws as well as its curriculum of learning. it sits in judgment not only on its own townsmen but on the rest of the world--enlightening, criticising, ostracizing a heedless universe--and non-conformity to wentworth standards involves obliteration from wentworth's consciousness. in a world without traditions, without reverence, without stability, such little expiring centres of prejudice and precedent make an irresistible appeal to those instincts for which a democracy has neglected to provide. wentworth, with its "tone," its backward references, its inflexible aversions and condemnations, its hard moral outline preserved intact against a whirling background of experiment, had been all the poetry and history of margaret ransom's life. yes, what she had really esteemed in her husband was the fact of his being so intense an embodiment of wentworth; so long and closely identified, for instance, with its legal affairs, that he was almost a part of its university existence, that of course, at a college banquet, he would inevitably speak for the bar! it was wonderful of how much consequence all this had seemed till now.... ii when, punctually at ten minutes to seven, her husband had emerged from the house, margaret ransom remained seated in her bedroom, addressing herself anew to the difficult process of self-collection. as an aid to this endeavour, she bent forward and looked out of the window, following ransom's figure as it receded down the elm-shaded street. he moved almost alone between the prim flowerless grass-plots, the white porches, the protrusion of irrelevant shingled gables, which stamped the empty street as part of an american college town. she had always been proud of living in hill street, where the university people congregated, proud to associate her husband's retreating back, as he walked daily to his office, with backs literary and pedagogic, backs of which it was whispered, for the edification of duly-impressed visitors: "wait till that old boy turns--that's so-and-so." this had been her world, a world destitute of personal experience, but filled with a rich sense of privilege and distinction, of being not as those millions were who, denied the inestimable advantage of living at wentworth, pursued elsewhere careers foredoomed to futility by that very fact. and now--! she rose and turned to her work-table where she had dropped, on entering, the handful of photographs that guy dawnish had left with her. while he sat so close, pointing out and explaining, she had hardly taken in the details; but now, on the full tones of his low young voice, they came back with redoubled distinctness. this was guise abbey, his uncle's place in wiltshire, where, under his grandfather's rule, guy's own boyhood had been spent: a long gabled jacobean facade, many-chimneyed, ivy-draped, overhung (she felt sure) by the boughs of a venerable rookery. and in this other picture--the walled garden at guise--that was his uncle, lord askern, a hale gouty-looking figure, planted robustly on the terrace, a gun on his shoulder and a couple of setters at his feet. and here was the river below the park, with guy "punting" a girl in a flapping hat--how margaret hated the flap that hid the girl's face! and here was the tennis-court, with guy among a jolly cross-legged group of youths in flannels, and pretty girls about the tea-table under the big lime: in the centre the curate handing bread and butter, and in the middle distance a footman approaching with more cups. margaret raised this picture closer to her eyes, puzzling, in the diminished light, over the face of the girl nearest to guy dawnish--bent above him in profile, while he laughingly lifted his head. no hat hid this profile, which stood out clearly against the foliage behind it. "and who is that handsome girl?" margaret had said, detaining the photograph as he pushed it aside, and struck by the fact that, of the whole group, he had left only this member unnamed. "oh, only gwendolen matcher--i've always known her--. look at this: the almshouses at guise. aren't they jolly?" and then--without her having had the courage to ask if the girl in the punt were also gwendolen matcher--they passed on to photographs of his rooms at oxford, of a cousin's studio in london--one of lord askern's grandsons was "artistic"--of the rose-hung cottage in wales to which, on the old earl's death, his daughter-in-law, guy's mother, had retired. every one of the photographs opened a window on the life margaret had been trying to picture since she had known him--a life so rich, so romantic, so packed--in the mere casual vocabulary of daily life--with historic reference and poetic allusion, that she felt almost oppressed by this distant whiff of its air. the very words he used fascinated and bewildered her. he seemed to have been born into all sorts of connections, political, historical, official, that made the ransom situation at wentworth as featureless as the top shelf of a dark closet. some one in the family had "asked for the chiltern hundreds"--one uncle was an elder brother of the trinity house--some one else was the master of a college--some one was in command at devonport--the army, the navy, the house of commons, the house of lords, the most venerable seats of learning, were all woven into the dense background of this young man's light unconscious talk. for the unconsciousness was unmistakable. margaret was not without experience of the transatlantic visitor who sounds loud names and evokes reverberating connections. the poetry of guy dawnish's situation lay in the fact that it was so completely a part of early associations and accepted facts. life was like that in england--in wentworth of course (where he had been sent, through his uncle's influence, for two years' training in the neighbouring electrical works at smedden)--in wentworth, though "immensely jolly," it was different. the fact that he was qualifying to be an electrical engineer--with the hope of a secretaryship at the london end of the great smedden company--that, at best, he was returning home to a life of industrial "grind," this fact, though avowedly a bore, did not disconnect him from that brilliant pinnacled past, that many-faceted life in which the brightest episodes of the whole body of english fiction seemed collectively reflected. of course he would have to work--younger sons' sons almost always had to--but his uncle askern (like wentworth) was "immensely jolly," and guise always open to him, and his other uncle, the master, a capital old boy too--and in town he could always put up with his clever aunt, lady caroline duckett, who had made a "beastly marriage" and was horribly poor, but who knew everybody jolly and amusing, and had always been particularly kind to him. it was not--and margaret had not, even in her own thoughts, to defend herself from the imputation--it was not what wentworth would have called the "material side" of her friend's situation that captivated her. she was austerely proof against such appeals: her enthusiasms were all of the imaginative order. what subjugated her was the unexampled prodigality with which he poured for her the same draught of tradition of which wentworth held out its little teacupful. he besieged her with a million wentworths in one--saying, as it were: "all these are mine for the asking--and i choose you instead!" for this, she told herself somewhat dizzily, was what it came to--the summing-up toward which her conscientious efforts at self-collection had been gradually pushing her: with all this in reach, guy dawnish was leaving wentworth reluctantly. "i _was_ a bit lonely here at first--but _now!_" and again: "it will be jolly, of course, to see them all again--but there are some things one doesn't easily give up...." if he had known only wentworth, it would have been wonderful enough that he should have chosen her out of all wentworth--but to have known that other life, and to set her in the balance against it--poor margaret ransom, in whom, at the moment, nothing seemed of weight but her years! ah, it might well produce, in nerves and brain, and poor unpractised pulses, a flushed tumult of sensation, the rush of a great wave of life, under which memory struggled in vain to reassert itself, to particularize again just what his last words--the very last--had been.... when consciousness emerged, quivering, from this retrospective assault, it pushed margaret ransom--feeling herself a mere leaf in the blast--toward the writing-table from which her innocent and voluminous correspondence habitually flowed. she had a letter to write now--much shorter but more difficult than any she had ever been called on to indite. "dear mr. dawnish," she began, "since telephoning you just now i have decided not--" maria's voice, at the door, announced that tea was in the library: "and i s'pose it's the brown silk you'll wear to the speaking?" in the usual order of the ransom existence, its mistress's toilet was performed unassisted; and the mere enquiry--at once friendly and deferential--projected, for margaret, a strong light on the importance of the occasion. that she should answer: "but i am not going," when the going was so manifestly part of a household solemnity about which the thoughts below stairs fluttered in proud participation; that in face of such participation she should utter a word implying indifference or hesitation--nay, revealing herself the transposed, uprooted thing she had been on the verge of becoming; to do this was--well! infinitely harder than to perform the alternative act of tearing up the sheet of note-paper under her reluctant pen. yes, she said, she would wear the brown silk.... iii all the heat and glare from the long illuminated table, about which the fumes of many courses still hung in a savoury fog, seemed to surge up to the ladies' gallery, and concentrate themselves in the burning cheeks of a slender figure withdrawn behind the projection of a pillar. it never occurred to margaret ransom that she was sitting in the shade. she supposed that the full light of the chandeliers was beating on her face--and there were moments when it seemed as though all the heads about the great horse-shoe below, bald, shaggy, sleek, close-thatched, or thinly latticed, were equipped with an additional pair of eyes, set at an angle which enabled them to rake her face as relentlessly as the electric burners. in the lull after a speech, the gallery was fluttering with the rustle of programmes consulted, and mrs. sheff (the brant girl's aunt) leaned forward to say enthusiastically: "and now we're to hear mr. ransom!" a louder buzz rose from the table, and the heads (without relaxing their upward vigilance) seemed to merge, and flow together, like an attentive flood, toward the upper end of the horse-shoe, where all the threads of margaret ransom's consciousness were suddenly drawn into what seemed a small speck, no more--a black speck that rose, hung in air, dissolved into gyrating gestures, became distended, enormous, preponderant--became her husband "speaking." "it's the heat--" margaret gasped, pressing her handkerchief to her whitening lips, and finding just strength enough left to push back farther into the shadow. she felt a touch on her arm. "it _is_ horrible--shall we go?" a voice suggested; and, "yes, yes, let us go," she whispered, feeling, with a great throb of relief, _that_ to be the only possible, the only conceivable, solution. to sit and listen to her husband _now_--how could she ever have thought she could survive it? luckily, under the lingering hubbub from below, his opening words were inaudible, and she had only to run the gauntlet of sympathetic feminine glances, shot after her between waving fans and programmes, as, guided by guy dawnish, she managed to reach the door. it was really so hot that even mrs. sheff was not much surprised--till long afterward.... the winding staircase was empty, half dark and blessedly silent. in a committee room below dawnish found the inevitable water jug, and filled a glass for her, while she leaned back, confronted only by a frowning college president in an emblazoned frame. the academic frown descended on her like an anathema when she rose and followed her companion out of the building. hamblin hall stands at the end of the long green "campus" with its sextuple line of elms--the boast and the singularity of wentworth. a pale spring moon, rising above the dome of the university library at the opposite end of the elm-walk, diffused a pearly mildness in the sky, melted to thin haze the shadows of the trees, and turned to golden yellow the lights of the college windows. against this soft suffusion of light the library cupola assumed a bramantesque grace, the white steeple of the congregational church became a campanile topped by a winged spirit, and the scant porticoes of the older halls the colonnades of classic temples. "this is better--" dawnish said, as they passed down the steps and under the shadow of the elms. they moved on a little way in silence before he began again: "you're too tired to walk. let us sit down a few minutes." her feet, in truth, were leaden, and not far off a group of park benches, encircling the pedestal of a patriot in bronze, invited them to rest. but dawnish was guiding her toward a lateral path which bent, through shrubberies, toward a strip of turf between two of the buildings. "it will be cooler by the river," he said, moving on without waiting for a possible protest. none came: it seemed easier, for the moment, to let herself be led without any conventional feint of resistance. and besides, there was nothing wrong about _this_--the wrong would have been in sitting up there in the glare, pretending to listen to her husband, a dutiful wife among her kind.... the path descended, as both knew, to the chosen, the inimitable spot of wentworth: that fugitive curve of the river, where, before hurrying on to glut the brutal industries of south wentworth and smedden, it simulated for a few hundred yards the leisurely pace of an ancient university stream, with willows on its banks and a stretch of turf extending from the grounds of hamblin hall to the boat houses at the farther bend. here too were benches, beneath the willows, and so close to the river that the voice of its gliding softened and filled out the reverberating silence between margaret and her companion, and made her feel that she knew why he had brought her there. "do you feel better?" he asked gently as he sat down beside her. "oh, yes. i only needed a little air." "i'm so glad you did. of course the speeches were tremendously interesting--but i prefer this. what a good night!" "yes." there was a pause, which now, after all, the soothing accompaniment of the river seemed hardly sufficient to fill. "i wonder what time it is. i ought to be going home," margaret began at length. "oh, it's not late. they'll be at it for hours in there--yet." she made a faint inarticulate sound. she wanted to say: "no--robert's speech was to be the last--" but she could not bring herself to pronounce ransom's name, and at the moment no other way of refuting her companion's statement occurred to her. the young man leaned back luxuriously, reassured by her silence. "you see it's my last chance--and i want to make the most of it." "your last chance?" how stupid of her to repeat his words on that cooing note of interrogation! it was just such a lead as the brant girl might have given him. "to be with you--like this. i haven't had so many. and there's less than a week left." she attempted to laugh. "perhaps it will sound longer if you call it five days." the flatness of that, again! and she knew there were people who called her intelligent. fortunately he did not seem to notice it; but her laugh continued to sound in her own ears--the coquettish chirp of middle age! she decided that if he spoke again--if he _said anything_--she would make no farther effort at evasion: she would take it directly, seriously, frankly--she would not be doubly disloyal. "besides," he continued, throwing his arm along the back of the bench, and turning toward her so that his face was like a dusky bas-relief with a silver rim--"besides, there's something i've been wanting to tell you." the sound of the river seemed to cease altogether: the whole world became silent. margaret had trusted her inspiration farther than it appeared likely to carry her. again she could think of nothing happier than to repeat, on the same witless note of interrogation: "to tell me?" "you only." the constraint, the difficulty, seemed to be on his side now: she divined it by the renewed shifting of his attitude--he was capable, usually, of such fine intervals of immobility--and by a confusion in his utterance that set her own voice throbbing in her throat. "you've been so perfect to me," he began again. "it's not my fault if you've made me feel that you would understand everything--make allowances for everything--see just how a man may have held out, and fought against a thing--as long as he had the strength.... this may be my only chance; and i can't go away without telling you." he had turned from her now, and was staring at the river, so that his profile was projected against the moonlight in all its beautiful young dejection. there was a slight pause, as though he waited for her to speak; then she leaned forward and laid her hand on his. "if i have really been--if i have done for you even the least part of what you say ... what you imagine ... will you do for me, now, just one thing in return?" he sat motionless, as if fearing to frighten away the shy touch on his hand, and she left it there, conscious of her gesture only as part of the high ritual of their farewell. "what do you want me to do?" he asked in a low tone. "_not_ to tell me!" she breathed on a deep note of entreaty. "_not_ to tell you--?" "anything--_anything_--just to leave our ... our friendship ... as it has been--as--as a painter, if a friend asked him, might leave a picture--not quite finished, perhaps ... but all the more exquisite...." she felt the hand under hers slip away, recover itself, and seek her own, which had flashed out of reach in the same instant--felt the start that swept him round on her as if he had been caught and turned about by the shoulders. "you--_you_--?" he stammered, in a strange voice full of fear and tenderness; but she held fast, so centred in her inexorable resolve that she was hardly conscious of the effect her words might be producing. "don't you see," she hurried on, "don't you _feel_ how much safer it is--yes, i'm willing to put it so!--how much safer to leave everything undisturbed ... just as ... as it has grown of itself ... without trying to say: 'it's this or that'...? it's what we each choose to call it to ourselves, after all, isn't it? don't let us try to find a name that ... that we should both agree upon ... we probably shouldn't succeed." she laughed abruptly. "and ghosts vanish when one names them!" she ended with a break in her voice. when she ceased her heart was beating so violently that there was a rush in her ears like the noise of the river after rain, and she did not immediately make out what he was answering. but as she recovered her lucidity she said to herself that, whatever he was saying, she must not hear it; and she began to speak again, half playfully, half appealingly, with an eloquence of entreaty, an ingenuity in argument, of which she had never dreamed herself capable. and then, suddenly, strangling hands seemed to reach up from her heart to her throat, and she had to stop. her companion remained motionless. he had not tried to regain her hand, and his eyes were away from her, on the river. but his nearness had become something formidable and exquisite--something she had never before imagined. a flush of guilt swept over her--vague reminiscences of french novels and of opera plots. this was what such women felt, then ... this was "shame." ... phrases of the newspaper and the pulpit danced before her.... she dared not speak, and his silence began to frighten her. had ever a heart beat so wildly before in wentworth? he turned at last, and taking her two hands, quite simply, kissed them one after the other. "i shall never forget--" he said in a confused voice, unlike his own. a return of strength enabled her to rise, and even to let her eyes meet his for a moment. "thank you," she said, simply also. she turned away from the bench, regaining the path that led back to the college buildings, and he walked beside her in silence. when they reached the elm walk it was dotted with dispersing groups. the "speaking" was over, and hamblin hall had poured its audience out into the moonlight. margaret felt a rush of relief, followed by a receding wave of regret. she had the distinct sensation that her hour--her one hour--was over. one of the groups just ahead broke up as they approached, and projected ransom's solid bulk against the moonlight. "my husband," she said, hastening forward; and she never afterward forgot the look of his back--heavy, round-shouldered, yet a little pompous--in a badly fitting overcoat that stood out at the neck and hid his collar. she had never before noticed how he dressed. iv they met again, inevitably, before dawnish left; but the thing she feared did not happen--he did not try to see her alone. it even became clear to her, in looking back, that he had deliberately avoided doing so; and this seemed merely an added proof of his "understanding," of that deep undefinable communion that set them alone in an empty world, as if on a peak above the clouds. the five days passed in a flash; and when the last one came, it brought to margaret ransom an hour of weakness, of profound disorganization, when old barriers fell, old convictions faded--when to be alone with him for a moment became, after all, the one craving of her heart. she knew he was coming that afternoon to say "good-by"--and she knew also that ransom was to be away at south wentworth. she waited alone in her pale little drawing-room, with its scant kakemonos, its one or two chilly reproductions from the antique, its slippery chippendale chairs. at length the bell rang, and her world became a rosy blur--through which she presently discerned the austere form of mrs. sperry, wife of the professor of palaeontology, who had come to talk over with her the next winter's programme for the higher thought club. they debated the question for an hour, and when mrs. sperry departed margaret had a confused impression that the course was to deal with the influence of the first crusade on the development of european architecture--but the sentient part of her knew only that dawnish had not come. he "bobbed in," as he would have put it, after dinner--having, it appeared, run across ransom early in the day, and learned that the latter would be absent till evening. margaret was in the study with her husband when the door opened and dawnish stood there. ransom--who had not had time to dress--was seated at his desk, a pile of shabby law books at his elbow, the light from a hanging lamp falling on his grayish stubble of hair, his sallow forehead and spectacled eyes. dawnish, towering higher than usual against the shadows of the room, and refined by his unusual pallor, hung a moment on the threshold, then came in, explaining himself profusely--laughing, accepting a cigar, letting ransom push an arm-chair forward--a dawnish she had never seen, ill at ease, ejaculatory, yet somehow more mature, more obscurely in command of himself. margaret drew back, seating herself in the shade, in such a way that she saw her husband's head first, and beyond it their visitor's, relieved against the dusk of the book shelves. her heart was still--she felt no throbbing in her throat or temples: all her life seemed concentrated in the hand that lay on her knee, the hand he would touch when they said good-by. afterward her heart rang all the changes, and there was a mood in which she reproached herself for cowardice--for having deliberately missed her one moment with him, the moment in which she might have sounded the depths of life, for joy or anguish. but that mood was fleeting and infrequent. in quieter hours she blushed for it--she even trembled to think that he might have guessed such a regret in her. it seemed to convict her of a lack of fineness that he should have had, in his youth and his power, a tenderer, surer sense of the peril of a rash touch--should have handled the case so much more delicately. at first her days were fire and the nights long solemn vigils. her thoughts were no longer vulgarized and defaced by any notion of "guilt," of mental disloyalty. she was ashamed now of her shame. what had happened was as much outside the sphere of her marriage as some transaction in a star. it had simply given her a secret life of incommunicable joys, as if all the wasted springs of her youth had been stored in some hidden pool, and she could return there now to bathe in them. after that there came a phase of loneliness, through which the life about her loomed phantasmal and remote. she thought the dead must feel thus, repeating the vain gestures of the living beside some stygian shore. she wondered if any other woman had lived to whom _nothing had ever happened?_ and then his first letter came.... it was a charming letter--a perfect letter. the little touch of awkwardness and constraint under its boyish spontaneity told her more than whole pages of eloquence. he spoke of their friendship--of their good days together.... ransom, chancing to come in while she read, noticed the foreign stamps; and she was able to hand him the letter, saying gaily: "there's a message for you," and knowing all the while that _her_ message was safe in her heart. on the days when the letters came the outlines of things grew indistinct, and she could never afterward remember what she had done or how the business of life had been carried on. it was always a surprise when she found dinner on the table as usual, and ransom seated opposite to her, running over the evening paper. but though dawnish continued to write, with all the english loyalty to the outward observances of friendship, his communications came only at intervals of several weeks, and between them she had time to repossess herself, to regain some sort of normal contact with life. and the customary, the recurring, gradually reclaimed her, the net of habit tightened again--her daily life became real, and her one momentary escape from it an exquisite illusion. not that she ceased to believe in the miracle that had befallen her: she still treasured the reality of her one moment beside the river. what reason was there for doubting it? she could hear the ring of truth in young dawnish's voice: "it's not my fault if you've made me feel that you would understand everything...." no! she believed in her miracle, and the belief sweetened and illumined her life; but she came to see that what was for her the transformation of her whole being might well have been, for her companion, a mere passing explosion of gratitude, of boyish good-fellowship touched with the pang of leave-taking. she even reached the point of telling herself that it was "better so": this view of the episode so defended it from the alternating extremes of self-reproach and derision, so enshrined it in a pale immortality to which she could make her secret pilgrimages without reproach. for a long time she had not been able to pass by the bench under the willows--she even avoided the elm walk till autumn had stripped its branches. but every day, now, she noted a step toward recovery; and at last a day came when, walking along the river, she said to herself, as she approached the bench: "i used not to be able to pass here without thinking of him; _and now i am not thinking of him at all!_" this seemed such convincing proof of her recovery that she began, as spring returned, to permit herself, now and then, a quiet session on the bench--a dedicated hour from which she went back fortified to her task. she had not heard from her friend for six weeks or more--the intervals between his letters were growing longer. but that was "best" too, and she was not anxious, for she knew he had obtained the post he had been preparing for, and that his active life in london had begun. the thought reminded her, one mild march day, that in leaving the house she had thrust in her reticule a letter from a wentworth friend who was abroad on a holiday. the envelope bore the london post mark, a fact showing that the lady's face was turned toward home. margaret seated herself on her bench, and drawing out the letter began to read it. the london described was that of shops and museums--as remote as possible from the setting of guy dawnish's existence. but suddenly margaret's eye fell on his name, and the page began to tremble in her hands. "i heard such a funny thing yesterday about your friend mr. dawnish. we went to a tea at professor bunce's (i do wish you knew the bunces--their atmosphere is so _uplifting_), and there i met that miss bruce-pringle who came out last year to take a course in histology at the annex. of course she asked about you and mr. ransom, and then she told me she had just seen mr. dawnish's aunt--the clever one he was always talking about, lady caroline something--and that they were all in a dreadful state about him. i wonder if you knew he was engaged when he went to america? he never mentioned it to _us_. she said it was not a positive engagement, but an understanding with a girl he has always been devoted to, who lives near their place in wiltshire; and both families expected the marriage to take place as soon as he got back. it seems the girl is an heiress (you know _how low_ the english ideals are compared with ours), and miss bruce-pringle said his relations were perfectly delighted at his 'being provided for,' as she called it. well, when he got back he asked the girl to release him; and she and her family were furious, and so were his people; but he holds out, and won't marry her, and won't give a reason, except that he has 'formed an unfortunate attachment.' did you ever hear anything so peculiar? his aunt, who is quite wild about it, says it must have happened at wentworth, because he didn't go anywhere else in america. do you suppose it _could_ have been the brant girl? but why 'unfortunate' when everybody knows she would have jumped at him?" margaret folded the letter and looked out across the river. it was not the same river, but a mystic current shot with moonlight. the bare willows wove a leafy veil above her head, and beside her she felt the nearness of youth and tempestuous tenderness. it had all happened just here, on this very seat by the river--it had come to her, and passed her by, and she had not held out a hand to detain it.... well! was it not, by that very abstention, made more deeply and ineffaceably hers? she could argue thus while she had thought the episode, on his side, a mere transient effect of propinquity; but now that she knew it had altered the whole course of his life, now that it took on substance and reality, asserted a separate existence outside of her own troubled consciousness--now it seemed almost cowardly to have missed her share in it. she walked home in a dream. now and then, when she passed an acquaintance, she wondered if the pain and glory were written on her face. but mrs. sperry, who stopped her at the corner of maverick street to say a word about the next meeting of the higher thought club, seemed to remark no change in her. when she reached home ransom had not yet returned from the office, and she went straight to the library to tidy his writing-table. it was part of her daily duty to bring order out of the chaos of his papers, and of late she had fastened on such small recurring tasks as some one falling over a precipice might snatch at the weak bushes in its clefts. when she had sorted the letters she took up some pamphlets and newspapers, glancing over them to see if they were to be kept. among the papers was a page torn from a london _times_ of the previous month. her eye ran down its columns and suddenly a paragraph flamed out. "we are requested to state that the marriage arranged between mr. guy dawnish, son of the late colonel the hon. roderick dawnish, of malby, wilts, and gwendolen, daughter of samuel matcher, esq. of armingham towers, wilts, will not take place." margaret dropped the paper and sat down, hiding her face against the stained baize of the desk. she remembered the photograph of the tennis-court at guise--she remembered the handsome girl at whom guy dawnish looked up, laughing. a gust of tears shook her, loosening the dry surface of conventional feeling, welling up from unsuspected depths. she was sorry--very sorry, yet so glad--so ineffably, impenitently glad. v there came a reaction in which she decided to write to him. she even sketched out a letter of sisterly, almost motherly, remonstrance, in which she reminded him that he "still had all his life before him." but she reflected that so, after all, had she; and that seemed to weaken the argument. in the end she decided not to send the letter. he had never spoken to her of his engagement to gwendolen matcher, and his letters had contained no allusion to any sentimental disturbance in his life. she had only his few broken words, that night by the river, on which to build her theory of the case. but illuminated by the phrase "an unfortunate attachment" the theory towered up, distinct and immovable, like some high landmark by which travellers shape their course. she had been loved--extraordinarily loved. but he had chosen that she should know of it by his silence rather than by his speech. he had understood that only on those terms could their transcendant communion continue--that he must lose her to keep her. to break that silence would be like spilling a cup of water in a waste of sand. there would be nothing left for her thirst. her life, thenceforward, was bathed in a tranquil beauty. the days flowed by like a river beneath the moon--each ripple caught the brightness and passed it on. she began to take a renewed interest in her familiar round of duties. the tasks which had once seemed colourless and irksome had now a kind of sacrificial sweetness, a symbolic meaning into which she alone was initiated. she had been restless--had longed to travel; now she felt that she should never again care to leave wentworth. but if her desire to wander had ceased, she travelled in spirit, performing invisible pilgrimages in the footsteps of her friend. she regretted that her one short visit to england had taken her so little out of london--that her acquaintance with the landscape had been formed chiefly through the windows of a railway carriage. she threw herself into the architectural studies of the higher thought club, and distinguished herself, at the spring meetings, by her fluency, her competence, her inexhaustible curiosity on the subject of the growth of english gothic. she ransacked the shelves of the college library, she borrowed photographs of the cathedrals, she pored over the folio pages of "the seats of noblemen and gentlemen." she was like some banished princess who learns that she has inherited a domain in her own country, who knows that she will never see it, yet feels, wherever she walks, its soil beneath her feet. may was half over, and the higher thought club was to hold its last meeting, previous to the college festivities which, in early june, agreeably disorganized the social routine of wentworth. the meeting was to take place in margaret ransom's drawing-room, and on the day before she sat upstairs preparing for her dual duties as hostess and orator--for she had been invited to read the final paper of the course. in order to sum up with precision her conclusions on the subject of english gothic she had been rereading an analysis of the structural features of the principal english cathedrals; and she was murmuring over to herself the phrase: "the longitudinal arches of lincoln have an approximately elliptical form," when there came a knock on the door, and maria's voice announced: "there's a lady down in the parlour." margaret's soul dropped from the heights of the shadowy vaulting to the dead level of an afternoon call at wentworth. "a lady? did she give no name?" maria became confused. "she only said she was a lady--" and in reply to her mistress's look of mild surprise: "well, ma'am, she told me so three or four times over." margaret laid her book down, leaving it open at the description of lincoln, and slowly descended the stairs. as she did so, she repeated to herself: "the longitudinal arches are elliptical." on the threshold below, she had the odd impression that her bare and inanimate drawing-room was brimming with life and noise--an impression produced, as she presently perceived, by the resolute forward dash--it was almost a pounce--of the one small figure restlessly measuring its length. the dash checked itself within a yard of margaret, and the lady--a stranger--held back long enough to stamp on her hostess a sharp impression of sallowness, leanness, keenness, before she said, in a voice that might have been addressing an unruly committee meeting: "i am lady caroline duckett--a fact i found it impossible to make clear to the young woman who let me in." a warm wave rushed up from margaret's heart to her throat and forehead. she held out both hands impulsively. "oh, i'm so glad--i'd no idea--" her voice sank under her visitor's impartial scrutiny. "i don't wonder," said the latter drily. "i suppose she didn't mention, either, that my object in calling here was to see mrs. ransom?" "oh, yes--won't you sit down?" margaret pushed a chair forward. she seated herself at a little distance, brain and heart humming with a confused interchange of signals. this dark sharp woman was his aunt--the "clever aunt" who had had such a hard life, but had always managed to keep her head above water. margaret remembered that guy had spoken of her kindness--perhaps she would seem kinder when they had talked together a little. meanwhile the first impression she produced was of an amplitude out of all proportion to her somewhat scant exterior. with her small flat figure, her shabby heterogeneous dress, she was as dowdy as any professor's wife at wentworth; but her dowdiness (margaret borrowed a literary analogy to define it), her dowdiness was somehow "of the centre." like the insignificant emissary of a great power, she was to be judged rather by her passports than her person. while margaret was receiving these impressions, lady caroline, with quick bird-like twists of her head, was gathering others from the pale void spaces of the drawing-room. her eyes, divided by a sharp nose like a bill, seemed to be set far enough apart to see at separate angles; but suddenly she bent both of them on margaret. "this _is_ mrs. ransom's house?" she asked, with an emphasis on the verb that gave a distinct hint of unfulfilled expectations. margaret assented. "because your american houses, especially in the provincial towns, all look so remarkably alike, that i thought i might have been mistaken; and as my time is extremely limited--in fact i'm sailing on wednesday--" she paused long enough to let margaret say: "i had no idea you were in this country." lady caroline made no attempt to take this up. "and so much of it," she carried on her sentence, "has been wasted in talking to people i really hadn't the slightest desire to see, that you must excuse me if i go straight to the point." margaret felt a sudden tension of the heart. "of course," she said while a voice within her cried: "he is dead--he has left me a message." there was another pause; then lady caroline went on, with increasing asperity: "so that--in short--if i _could_ see mrs. ransom at once--" margaret looked up in surprise. "i am mrs. ransom," she said. the other stared a moment, with much the same look of cautious incredulity that had marked her inspection of the drawing-room. then light came to her. "oh, i beg your pardon. i should have said that i wished to see mrs. _robert_ ransom, not mrs. ransom. but i understood that in the states you don't make those distinctions." she paused a moment, and then went on, before margaret could answer: "perhaps, after all, it's as well that i should see you instead, since you're evidently one of the household--your son and his wife live with you, i suppose? yes, on the whole, then, it's better--i shall be able to talk so much more frankly." she spoke as if, as a rule, circumstances prevented her giving rein to this propensity. "and frankness, of course, is the only way out of this--this extremely tiresome complication. you know, i suppose, that my nephew thinks he's in love with your daughter-in-law?" margaret made a slight movement, but her visitor pressed on without heeding it. "oh, don't fancy, please, that i'm pretending to take a high moral ground--though his mother does, poor dear! i can perfectly imagine that in a place like this--i've just been driving about it for two hours--a young man of guy's age would _have_ to provide himself with some sort of distraction, and he's not the kind to go in for anything objectionable. oh, we quite allow for that--we should allow for the whole affair, if it hadn't so preposterously ended in his throwing over the girl he was engaged to, and upsetting an arrangement that affected a number of people besides himself. i understand that in the states it's different--the young people have only themselves to consider. in england--in our class, i mean--a great deal may depend on a young man's making a good match; and in guy's case i may say that his mother and sisters (i won't include myself, though i might) have been simply stranded--thrown overboard--by his freak. you can understand how serious it is when i tell you that it's that and nothing else that has brought me all the way to america. and my first idea was to go straight to your daughter-in-law, since her influence is the only thing we can count on now, and put it to her fairly, as i'm putting it to you. but, on the whole, i dare say it's better to see you first--you might give me an idea of the line to take with her. i'm prepared to throw myself on her mercy!" margaret rose from her chair, outwardly rigid in proportion to her inward tremor. "you don't understand--" she began. lady caroline brushed the interruption aside. "oh, but i do--completely! i cast no reflection on your daughter-in-law. guy has made it quite clear to us that his attachment is--has, in short, not been rewarded. but don't you see that that's the worst part of it? there'd be much more hope of his recovering if mrs. robert ransom had--had--" margaret's voice broke from her in a cry. "i am mrs. robert ransom," she said. if lady caroline duckett had hitherto given her hostess the impression of a person not easily silenced, this fact added sensibly to the effect produced by the intense stillness which now fell on her. she sat quite motionless, her large bangled hands clasped about the meagre fur boa she had unwound from her neck on entering, her rusty black veil pushed up to the edge of a "fringe" of doubtful authenticity, her thin lips parted on a gasp that seemed to sharpen itself on the edges of her teeth. so overwhelming and helpless was her silence that margaret began to feel a motion of pity beneath her indignation--a desire at least to facilitate the excuses which must terminate their disastrous colloquy. but when lady caroline found voice she did not use it to excuse herself. "you _can't_ be," she said, quite simply. "can't be?" margaret stammered, with a flushing cheek. "i mean, it's some mistake. are there _two_ mrs. robert ransoms in the same town? your family arrangements are so extremely puzzling." she had a farther rush of enlightenment. "oh, i _see!_ i ought of course to have asked for mrs. robert ransom 'junior'!" the idea sent her to her feet with a haste which showed her impatience to make up for lost time. "there is no other mrs. robert ransom at wentworth," said margaret. "no other--no 'junior'? are you _sure?_" lady caroline fell back into her seat again. "then i simply don't see," she murmured helplessly. margaret's blush had fixed itself on her throbbing forehead. she remained standing, while her strange visitor continued to gaze at her with a perturbation in which the consciousness of indiscretion had evidently as yet no part. "i simply don't see," she repeated. suddenly she sprang up, and advancing to margaret laid an inspired hand on her arm. "but, my dear woman, you can help us out all the same; you can help us to find out _who it is_--and you will, won't you? because, as it's not you, you can't in the least mind what i've been saying--" margaret, freeing her arm from her visitor's hold, drew back a step; but lady caroline instantly rejoined her. "of course, i can see that if it _had_ been, you might have been annoyed: i dare say i put the case stupidly--but i'm so bewildered by this new development--by his using you all this time as a pretext--that i really don't know where to turn for light on the mystery--" she had margaret in her imperious grasp again, but the latter broke from her with a more resolute gesture. "i'm afraid i have no light to give you," she began; but once more lady caroline caught her up. "oh, but do please understand me! i condemn guy most strongly for using your name--when we all know you'd been so amazingly kind to him! i haven't a word to say in his defence--but of course the important thing now is: _who is the woman, since you're not?_" the question rang out loudly, as if all the pale puritan corners of the room flung it back with a shudder at the speaker. in the silence that ensued margaret felt the blood ebbing back to her heart; then she said, in a distinct and level voice: "i know nothing of the history of mr. dawnish." lady caroline gave a stare and a gasp. her distracted hand groped for her boa and she began to wind it mechanically about her long neck. "it would really be an enormous help to us--and to poor gwendolen matcher," she persisted pleadingly. "and you'd be doing guy himself a good turn." margaret remained silent and motionless while her visitor drew on one of the worn gloves she had pulled off to adjust her veil. lady caroline gave the veil a final twitch. "i've come a tremendously long way," she said, "and, since it isn't you, i can't think why you won't help me...." when the door had closed on her visitor margaret ransom went slowly up the stairs to her room. as she dragged her feet from one step to another, she remembered how she had sprung up the same steep flight after that visit of guy dawnish's when she had looked in the glass and seen on her face the blush of youth. when she reached her room she bolted the door as she had done that day, and again looked at herself in the narrow mirror above her dressing-table. it was just a year since then--the elms were budding again, the willows hanging their green veil above the bench by the river. but there was no trace of youth left in her face--she saw it now as others had doubtless always seen it. if it seemed as it did to lady caroline duckett, what look must it have worn to the fresh gaze of young guy dawnish? a pretext--she had been a pretext. he had used her name to screen some one else--or perhaps merely to escape from a situation of which he was weary. she did not care to conjecture what his motive had been--everything connected with him had grown so remote and alien. she felt no anger--only an unspeakable sadness, a sadness which she knew would never be appeased. she looked at herself long and steadily; she wished to clear her eyes of all illusions. then she turned away and took her usual seat beside her work-table. from where she sat she could look down the empty elm-shaded street, up which, at this hour every day, she was sure to see her husband's figure advancing. she would see it presently--she would see it for many years to come. she had a sudden aching sense of the length of the years that stretched before her. strange that one who was not young should still, in all likelihood, have so long to live! nothing was changed in the setting of her life, perhaps nothing would ever change in it. she would certainly live and die in wentworth. and meanwhile the days would go on as usual, bringing the usual obligations. as the word flitted through her brain she remembered that she had still to put the finishing touches to the paper she was to read the next afternoon at the meeting of the higher thought club. the book she had been reading lay face downward beside her, where she had left it an hour ago. she took it up, and slowly and painfully, like a child laboriously spelling out the syllables, she went on with the rest of the sentence: --"and they spring from a level not much above that of the springing of the transverse and diagonal ribs, which are so arranged as to give a convex curve to the surface of the vaulting conoid." the verdict i had always thought jack gisburn rather a cheap genius--though a good fellow enough--so it was no great surprise to me to hear that, in the height of his glory, he had dropped his painting, married a rich widow, and established himself in a villa on the riviera. (though i rather thought it would have been rome or florence.) "the height of his glory"--that was what the women called it. i can hear mrs. gideon thwing--his last chicago sitter--deploring his unaccountable abdication. "of course it's going to send the value of my picture 'way up; but i don't think of that, mr. rickham--the loss to arrt is all i think of." the word, on mrs. thwing's lips, multiplied its _rs_ as though they were reflected in an endless vista of mirrors. and it was not only the mrs. thwings who mourned. had not the exquisite hermia croft, at the last grafton gallery show, stopped me before gisburn's "moon-dancers" to say, with tears in her eyes: "we shall not look upon its like again"? well!--even through the prism of hermia's tears i felt able to face the fact with equanimity. poor jack gisburn! the women had made him--it was fitting that they should mourn him. among his own sex fewer regrets were heard, and in his own trade hardly a murmur. professional jealousy? perhaps. if it were, the honour of the craft was vindicated by little claude nutley, who, in all good faith, brought out in the burlington a very handsome "obituary" on jack--one of those showy articles stocked with random technicalities that i have heard (i won't say by whom) compared to gisburn's painting. and so--his resolve being apparently irrevocable--the discussion gradually died out, and, as mrs. thwing had predicted, the price of "gisburns" went up. it was not till three years later that, in the course of a few weeks' idling on the riviera, it suddenly occurred to me to wonder why gisburn had given up his painting. on reflection, it really was a tempting problem. to accuse his wife would have been too easy--his fair sitters had been denied the solace of saying that mrs. gisburn had "dragged him down." for mrs. gisburn--as such--had not existed till nearly a year after jack's resolve had been taken. it might be that he had married her--since he liked his ease--because he didn't want to go on painting; but it would have been hard to prove that he had given up his painting because he had married her. of course, if she had not dragged him down, she had equally, as miss croft contended, failed to "lift him up"--she had not led him back to the easel. to put the brush into his hand again--what a vocation for a wife! but mrs. gisburn appeared to have disdained it--and i felt it might be interesting to find out why. the desultory life of the riviera lends itself to such purely academic speculations; and having, on my way to monte carlo, caught a glimpse of jack's balustraded terraces between the pines, i had myself borne thither the next day. i found the couple at tea beneath their palm-trees; and mrs. gisburn's welcome was so genial that, in the ensuing weeks, i claimed it frequently. it was not that my hostess was "interesting": on that point i could have given miss croft the fullest reassurance. it was just because she was _not_ interesting--if i may be pardoned the bull--that i found her so. for jack, all his life, had been surrounded by interesting women: they had fostered his art, it had been reared in the hot-house of their adulation. and it was therefore instructive to note what effect the "deadening atmosphere of mediocrity" (i quote miss croft) was having on him. i have mentioned that mrs. gisburn was rich; and it was immediately perceptible that her husband was extracting from this circumstance a delicate but substantial satisfaction. it is, as a rule, the people who scorn money who get most out of it; and jack's elegant disdain of his wife's big balance enabled him, with an appearance of perfect good-breeding, to transmute it into objects of art and luxury. to the latter, i must add, he remained relatively indifferent; but he was buying renaissance bronzes and eighteenth-century pictures with a discrimination that bespoke the amplest resources. "money's only excuse is to put beauty into circulation," was one of the axioms he laid down across the sevres and silver of an exquisitely appointed luncheon-table, when, on a later day, i had again run over from monte carlo; and mrs. gisburn, beaming on him, added for my enlightenment: "jack is so morbidly sensitive to every form of beauty." poor jack! it had always been his fate to have women say such things of him: the fact should be set down in extenuation. what struck me now was that, for the first time, he resented the tone. i had seen him, so often, basking under similar tributes--was it the conjugal note that robbed them of their savour? no--for, oddly enough, it became apparent that he was fond of mrs. gisburn--fond enough not to see her absurdity. it was his own absurdity he seemed to be wincing under--his own attitude as an object for garlands and incense. "my dear, since i've chucked painting people don't say that stuff about me--they say it about victor grindle," was his only protest, as he rose from the table and strolled out onto the sunlit terrace. i glanced after him, struck by his last word. victor grindle was, in fact, becoming the man of the moment--as jack himself, one might put it, had been the man of the hour. the younger artist was said to have formed himself at my friend's feet, and i wondered if a tinge of jealousy underlay the latter's mysterious abdication. but no--for it was not till after that event that the _rose dubarry_ drawing-rooms had begun to display their "grindles." i turned to mrs. gisburn, who had lingered to give a lump of sugar to her spaniel in the dining-room. "why _has_ he chucked painting?" i asked abruptly. she raised her eyebrows with a hint of good-humoured surprise. "oh, he doesn't _have_ to now, you know; and i want him to enjoy himself," she said quite simply. i looked about the spacious white-panelled room, with its _famille-verte_ vases repeating the tones of the pale damask curtains, and its eighteenth-century pastels in delicate faded frames. "has he chucked his pictures too? i haven't seen a single one in the house." a slight shade of constraint crossed mrs. gisburn's open countenance. "it's his ridiculous modesty, you know. he says they're not fit to have about; he's sent them all away except one--my portrait--and that i have to keep upstairs." his ridiculous modesty--jack's modesty about his pictures? my curiosity was growing like the bean-stalk. i said persuasively to my hostess: "i must really see your portrait, you know." she glanced out almost timorously at the terrace where her husband, lounging in a hooded chair, had lit a cigar and drawn the russian deerhound's head between his knees. "well, come while he's not looking," she said, with a laugh that tried to hide her nervousness; and i followed her between the marble emperors of the hall, and up the wide stairs with terra-cotta nymphs poised among flowers at each landing. in the dimmest corner of her boudoir, amid a profusion of delicate and distinguished objects, hung one of the familiar oval canvases, in the inevitable garlanded frame. the mere outline of the frame called up all gisburn's past! mrs. gisburn drew back the window-curtains, moved aside a _jardiniere_ full of pink azaleas, pushed an arm-chair away, and said: "if you stand here you can just manage to see it. i had it over the mantel-piece, but he wouldn't let it stay." yes--i could just manage to see it--the first portrait of jack's i had ever had to strain my eyes over! usually they had the place of honour--say the central panel in a pale yellow or _rose dubarry_ drawing-room, or a monumental easel placed so that it took the light through curtains of old venetian point. the more modest place became the picture better; yet, as my eyes grew accustomed to the half-light, all the characteristic qualities came out--all the hesitations disguised as audacities, the tricks of prestidigitation by which, with such consummate skill, he managed to divert attention from the real business of the picture to some pretty irrelevance of detail. mrs. gisburn, presenting a neutral surface to work on--forming, as it were, so inevitably the background of her own picture--had lent herself in an unusual degree to the display of this false virtuosity. the picture was one of jack's "strongest," as his admirers would have put it--it represented, on his part, a swelling of muscles, a congesting of veins, a balancing, straddling and straining, that reminded one of the circus-clown's ironic efforts to lift a feather. it met, in short, at every point the demand of lovely woman to be painted "strongly" because she was tired of being painted "sweetly"--and yet not to lose an atom of the sweetness. "it's the last he painted, you know," mrs. gisburn said with pardonable pride. "the last but one," she corrected herself--"but the other doesn't count, because he destroyed it." "destroyed it?" i was about to follow up this clue when i heard a footstep and saw jack himself on the threshold. as he stood there, his hands in the pockets of his velveteen coat, the thin brown waves of hair pushed back from his white forehead, his lean sunburnt cheeks furrowed by a smile that lifted the tips of a self-confident moustache, i felt to what a degree he had the same quality as his pictures--the quality of looking cleverer than he was. his wife glanced at him deprecatingly, but his eyes travelled past her to the portrait. "mr. rickham wanted to see it," she began, as if excusing herself. he shrugged his shoulders, still smiling. "oh, rickham found me out long ago," he said lightly; then, passing his arm through mine: "come and see the rest of the house." he showed it to me with a kind of naive suburban pride: the bath-rooms, the speaking-tubes, the dress-closets, the trouser-presses--all the complex simplifications of the millionaire's domestic economy. and whenever my wonder paid the expected tribute he said, throwing out his chest a little: "yes, i really don't see how people manage to live without that." well--it was just the end one might have foreseen for him. only he was, through it all and in spite of it all--as he had been through, and in spite of, his pictures--so handsome, so charming, so disarming, that one longed to cry out: "be dissatisfied with your leisure!" as once one had longed to say: "be dissatisfied with your work!" but, with the cry on my lips, my diagnosis suffered an unexpected check. "this is my own lair," he said, leading me into a dark plain room at the end of the florid vista. it was square and brown and leathery: no "effects"; no bric-a-brac, none of the air of posing for reproduction in a picture weekly--above all, no least sign of ever having been used as a studio. the fact brought home to me the absolute finality of jack's break with his old life. "don't you ever dabble with paint any more?" i asked, still looking about for a trace of such activity. "never," he said briefly. "or water-colour--or etching?" his confident eyes grew dim, and his cheeks paled a little under their handsome sunburn. "never think of it, my dear fellow--any more than if i'd never touched a brush." and his tone told me in a flash that he never thought of anything else. i moved away, instinctively embarrassed by my unexpected discovery; and as i turned, my eye fell on a small picture above the mantel-piece--the only object breaking the plain oak panelling of the room. "oh, by jove!" i said. it was a sketch of a donkey--an old tired donkey, standing in the rain under a wall. "by jove--a stroud!" i cried. he was silent; but i felt him close behind me, breathing a little quickly. "what a wonder! made with a dozen lines--but on everlasting foundations. you lucky chap, where did you get it?" he answered slowly: "mrs. stroud gave it to me." "ah--i didn't know you even knew the strouds. he was such an inflexible hermit." "i didn't--till after.... she sent for me to paint him when he was dead." "when he was dead? you?" i must have let a little too much amazement escape through my surprise, for he answered with a deprecating laugh: "yes--she's an awful simpleton, you know, mrs. stroud. her only idea was to have him done by a fashionable painter--ah, poor stroud! she thought it the surest way of proclaiming his greatness--of forcing it on a purblind public. and at the moment i was _the_ fashionable painter." "ah, poor stroud--as you say. was _that_ his history?" "that was his history. she believed in him, gloried in him--or thought she did. but she couldn't bear not to have all the drawing-rooms with her. she couldn't bear the fact that, on varnishing days, one could always get near enough to see his pictures. poor woman! she's just a fragment groping for other fragments. stroud is the only whole i ever knew." "you ever knew? but you just said--" gisburn had a curious smile in his eyes. "oh, i knew him, and he knew me--only it happened after he was dead." i dropped my voice instinctively. "when she sent for you?" "yes--quite insensible to the irony. she wanted him vindicated--and by me!" he laughed again, and threw back his head to look up at the sketch of the donkey. "there were days when i couldn't look at that thing--couldn't face it. but i forced myself to put it here; and now it's cured me--cured me. that's the reason why i don't dabble any more, my dear rickham; or rather stroud himself is the reason." for the first time my idle curiosity about my companion turned into a serious desire to understand him better. "i wish you'd tell me how it happened," i said. he stood looking up at the sketch, and twirling between his fingers a cigarette he had forgotten to light. suddenly he turned toward me. "i'd rather like to tell you--because i've always suspected you of loathing my work." i made a deprecating gesture, which he negatived with a good-humoured shrug. "oh, i didn't care a straw when i believed in myself--and now it's an added tie between us!" he laughed slightly, without bitterness, and pushed one of the deep arm-chairs forward. "there: make yourself comfortable--and here are the cigars you like." he placed them at my elbow and continued to wander up and down the room, stopping now and then beneath the picture. "how it happened? i can tell you in five minutes--and it didn't take much longer to happen.... i can remember now how surprised and pleased i was when i got mrs. stroud's note. of course, deep down, i had always _felt_ there was no one like him--only i had gone with the stream, echoed the usual platitudes about him, till i half got to think he was a failure, one of the kind that are left behind. by jove, and he _was_ left behind--because he had come to stay! the rest of us had to let ourselves be swept along or go under, but he was high above the current--on everlasting foundations, as you say. "well, i went off to the house in my most egregious mood--rather moved, lord forgive me, at the pathos of poor stroud's career of failure being crowned by the glory of my painting him! of course i meant to do the picture for nothing--i told mrs. stroud so when she began to stammer something about her poverty. i remember getting off a prodigious phrase about the honour being _mine_--oh, i was princely, my dear rickham! i was posing to myself like one of my own sitters. "then i was taken up and left alone with him. i had sent all my traps in advance, and i had only to set up the easel and get to work. he had been dead only twenty-four hours, and he died suddenly, of heart disease, so that there had been no preliminary work of destruction--his face was clear and untouched. i had met him once or twice, years before, and thought him insignificant and dingy. now i saw that he was superb. "i was glad at first, with a merely aesthetic satisfaction: glad to have my hand on such a 'subject.' then his strange life-likeness began to affect me queerly--as i blocked the head in i felt as if he were watching me do it. the sensation was followed by the thought: if he _were_ watching me, what would he say to my way of working? my strokes began to go a little wild--i felt nervous and uncertain. "once, when i looked up, i seemed to see a smile behind his close grayish beard--as if he had the secret, and were amusing himself by holding it back from me. that exasperated me still more. the secret? why, i had a secret worth twenty of his! i dashed at the canvas furiously, and tried some of my bravura tricks. but they failed me, they crumbled. i saw that he wasn't watching the showy bits--i couldn't distract his attention; he just kept his eyes on the hard passages between. those were the ones i had always shirked, or covered up with some lying paint. and how he saw through my lies! "i looked up again, and caught sight of that sketch of the donkey hanging on the wall near his bed. his wife told me afterward it was the last thing he had done--just a note taken with a shaking hand, when he was down in devonshire recovering from a previous heart attack. just a note! but it tells his whole history. there are years of patient scornful persistence in every line. a man who had swum with the current could never have learned that mighty up-stream stroke.... "i turned back to my work, and went on groping and muddling; then i looked at the donkey again. i saw that, when stroud laid in the first stroke, he knew just what the end would be. he had possessed his subject, absorbed it, recreated it. when had i done that with any of my things? they hadn't been born of me--i had just adopted them.... "hang it, rickham, with that face watching me i couldn't do another stroke. the plain truth was, i didn't know where to put it--_i had never known_. only, with my sitters and my public, a showy splash of colour covered up the fact--i just threw paint into their faces.... well, paint was the one medium those dead eyes could see through--see straight to the tottering foundations underneath. don't you know how, in talking a foreign language, even fluently, one says half the time not what one wants to but what one can? well--that was the way i painted; and as he lay there and watched me, the thing they called my 'technique' collapsed like a house of cards. he didn't sneer, you understand, poor stroud--he just lay there quietly watching, and on his lips, through the gray beard, i seemed to hear the question: 'are you sure you know where you're coming out?' "if i could have painted that face, with that question on it, i should have done a great thing. the next greatest thing was to see that i couldn't--and that grace was given me. but, oh, at that minute, rickham, was there anything on earth i wouldn't have given to have stroud alive before me, and to hear him say: 'it's not too late--i'll show you how'? "it _was_ too late--it would have been, even if he'd been alive. i packed up my traps, and went down and told mrs. stroud. of course i didn't tell her _that_--it would have been greek to her. i simply said i couldn't paint him, that i was too moved. she rather liked the idea--she's so romantic! it was that that made her give me the donkey. but she was terribly upset at not getting the portrait--she did so want him 'done' by some one showy! at first i was afraid she wouldn't let me off--and at my wits' end i suggested grindle. yes, it was i who started grindle: i told mrs. stroud he was the 'coming' man, and she told somebody else, and so it got to be true.... and he painted stroud without wincing; and she hung the picture among her husband's things...." he flung himself down in the arm-chair near mine, laid back his head, and clasping his arms beneath it, looked up at the picture above the chimney-piece. "i like to fancy that stroud himself would have given it to me, if he'd been able to say what he thought that day." and, in answer to a question i put half-mechanically--"begin again?" he flashed out. "when the one thing that brings me anywhere near him is that i knew enough to leave off?" he stood up and laid his hand on my shoulder with a laugh. "only the irony of it is that i _am_ still painting--since grindle's doing it for me! the strouds stand alone, and happen once--but there's no exterminating our kind of art." the pot-boiler i the studio faced north, looking out over a dismal reach of roofs and chimneys, and rusty fire-escapes hung with heterogeneous garments. a crust of dirty snow covered the level surfaces, and a december sky with more snow in it lowered over them. the room was bare and gaunt, with blotched walls and a stained uneven floor. on a divan lay a pile of "properties"--limp draperies, an algerian scarf, a moth-eaten fan of peacock feathers. the janitor had forgotten to fill the coal-scuttle over-night, and the cast-iron stove projected its cold flanks into the room like a black iceberg. ned stanwell, who had just added his hat and great-coat to the miscellaneous heap on the divan, turned from the empty stove with a shiver. "by jove, this is a little too much like the last act of _boheme_," he said, slipping into his coat again after a vain glance at the coal-scuttle. much solitude, and a lively habit of mind, had bred in him the habit of audible soliloquy, and having flung a shout for the janitor down the seven flights dividing the studio from the basement, he turned back, picking up the thread of his monologue. "exactly like _boheme_, really--that crack in the wall is much more like a stage-crack than a real one--just the sort of crack mungold would paint if he were doing a humble interior." mungold, the fashionable portrait-painter of the hour, was the favourite object of the younger men's irony. "it only needs kate arran to be borne in dying," stanwell continued with a laugh. "much more likely to be poor little caspar, though," he concluded. his neighbour across the landing--the little sculptor, caspar arran, humorously called "gasper" on account of his bronchial asthma--had lately been joined by a sister, kate arran, a strapping girl, fresh from the country, who had installed herself in the little room off her brother's studio, keeping house for him with a chafing-dish and a coffee-machine, to the mirth and envy of the other young men in the building. poor little gasper had been very bad all the autumn, and it was surmised that his sister's presence, which he spoke of growlingly, as a troublesome necessity devolved on him by the inopportune death of an aunt, was really an indication of his failing ability to take care of himself. kate arran took his complaints with unfailing good-humour, darned his socks, brushed his clothes, fed him with steaming broths and foaming milk-punches, and listened with reverential assent to his interminable disquisitions on art. every one in the house was sorry for little gasper, and the other fellows liked him all the more because it was so impossible to like his sculpture; but his talk was a bore, and when his colleagues ran in to see him they were apt to keep a hand on the door-knob and to plead a pressing engagement. at least they had been till kate came; but now they began to show a disposition to enter and sit down. caspar, who was no fool, perceived the change, and perhaps detected its cause; at any rate, he showed no special gratification at the increased cordiality of his friends, and kate, who followed him in everything, took this as a sign that guests were to be discouraged. there was one exception, however: ned stanwell, who was deplorably good-natured, had always lent a patient ear to caspar, and he now reaped his reward by being taken into kate's favour. before she had been a month in the building they were on confidential terms as to caspar's health, and lately stanwell had penetrated farther, even to the inmost recesses of her anxiety about her brother's career. caspar had recently had a bad blow in the refusal of his _magnum opus_--a vast allegorical group--by the commissioners of the minneapolis exhibition. he took the rejection with promethean irony, proclaimed it as the clinching proof of his ability, and abounded in reasons why, even in an age of such crass artistic ignorance, a refusal so egregious must react to the advantage of its object. but his sister's indignation, if as glowing, was a shade less hopeful. of course caspar was going to succeed--she knew it was only a question of time--but she paled at the word and turned imploring eyes on stanwell. _was there time enough?_ it was the one element in the combination that she could not count on; and stanwell, reddening under her look of interrogation, and cursing his own glaring robustness, would affirm that of course, of course, of course, by everything that was holy there was time enough--with the mental reservation that there wouldn't be, even if poor caspar lived to be a hundred. "vos that you yelling for the shanitor, mr. sdanwell?" inquired an affable voice through the doorway; and stanwell, turning with a laugh, confronted the squat figure of a middle-aged man in an expensive fur coat, who looked as if his face secreted the oil which he used on his hair. "hullo, shepson--i should say i was yelling. did you ever feel such an atmosphere? that fool has forgotten to light the stove. come in, but for heaven's sake don't take off your coat." mr. shepson glanced about the studio with a look which seemed to say that, where so much else was lacking, the absence of a fire hardly added to the general sense of destitution. "vell, you ain't as vell fixed as mr. mungold--ever been to his studio, mr. sdanwell? de most ex_quis_ite blush hangings, and a gas-fire, choost as natural--" "oh, hang it, shepson, do you call _that_ a studio? it's like a manicure's parlour--or a beauty-doctor's. by george," broke off stanwell, "and that's just what he is!" "a peauty-doctor?" "yes--oh, well, you wouldn't see," murmured stanwell, mentally storing his epigram for more appreciative ears. "but you didn't come just to make me envious of mungold's studio, did you?" and he pushed forward a chair for his visitor. the latter, however, declined it with an affable motion. "of gourse not, of gourse not--but mr. mungold is a sensible man. he makes a lot of money, you know." "is that what you came to tell me?" said stanwell, still humorously. "my gootness, no--i was downstairs looking at holbrook's sdained class, and i shoost thought i'd sdep up a minute and take a beep at your vork." "much obliged, i'm sure--especially as i assume that you don't want any of it." try as he would, stanwell could not keep a note of eagerness from his voice. mr. shepson caught the note, and eyed him shrewdly through gold-rimmed glasses. "vell, vell, vell--i'm not prepared to commit myself. shoost let me take a look round, vill you?" "with the greatest pleasure--and i'll give another shout for the coal." stanwell went out on the landing, and mr. shepson, left to himself, began a meditative progress about the room. on an easel facing the improvised dais stood a canvas on which a young woman's head had been blocked in. it was just in that happy state of semi-evocation when a picture seems to detach itself from the grossness of its medium and live a wondrous moment in the actual; and the quality of the head in question--a vigorous dusky youthfulness, a kind of virgin majesty--lent itself to this illusion of vitality. stanwell, who had re-entered the studio, could not help drawing a sharp breath as he saw the picture-dealer pausing with tilted head before this portrait: it seemed, at one moment, so impossible that he should not be struck with it, at the next so incredible that he should be. shepson cocked his parrot-eye at the canvas with a desultory "vat's dat?" which sent a twinge through the young man. "that? oh--a sketch of a young lady," stammered stanwell, flushing at the imbecility of his reply. "it's miss arran, you know," he added, "the sister of my neighbour here, the sculptor." "sgulpture? there's no market for modern sgulpture except tombstones," said shepson disparagingly, passing on as if he included the sister's portrait in his condemnation of her brother's trade. stanwell smiled, but more at himself than shepson. how could he ever have supposed that the gross fool would see anything in his sketch of kate arran? he stood aside, straining after detachment, while the dealer continued his round of exploration, waddling up to the canvases on the walls, prodding with his stick at those stacked in corners, prying and peering sideways like a great bird rummaging for seed. he seemed to find little nutriment in the course of his search, for the sounds he emitted expressed a weary distaste for misdirected effort, and he completed his round without having thought it worth while to draw a single canvas from its obscurity. as his visits always had the same result, stanwell was reduced to wondering why he had come again; but shepson was not the man to indulge in vague roamings through the field of art, and it was safe to conclude that his purpose would in due course reveal itself. his tour brought him at length face to face with the painter, where he paused, clasping his plump gloved hands behind his back, and shaking an admonitory head. "gleffer--very gleffer, of course--i suppose you'll let me know when you want to sell anything?" "let you know?" gasped stanwell, to whom the room grew so glowingly hot that he thought for a moment the janitor must have made up the fire. shepson gave a dry laugh. "vell, it doesn't sdrike me that you want to now--doing this kind of thing, you know!" and he swept a comprehensive hand about the studio. "ah," said stanwell, who could not keep a note of flatness out of his laugh. "see here, mr. sdanwell, vot do you do it for? if you do it for yourself and the other fellows, vell and good--only don't ask me round. i sell pictures, i don't theorize about them. ven you vant to sell, gome to me with what my gustomers vant. you can do it--you're smart enough. you can do most anything. vere's dat bortrait of gladys glyde dat you showed at the fake club last autumn? dat little thing in de romney sdyle? dat vas a little shem, now," exclaimed mr. shepson, whose pronunciation became increasingly semitic in moments of excitement. stanwell stared. called upon a few months previously to contribute to an exhibition of skits on well-known artists, he had used the photograph of a favourite music-hall "star" as the basis of a picture in the pseudo-historical style affected by the popular portrait-painters of the day. "that thing?" he said contemptuously. "how on earth did you happen to see it?" "i see everything," returned the dealer with an oracular smile. "if you've got it here let me look at it, please." it cost stanwell a few minutes' search to unearth his skit--a clever blending of dash and sentimentality, in just the right proportion to create the impression of a powerful brush subdued to mildness by the charms of the sitter. stanwell had thrown it off in a burst of imitative frenzy, beginning for the mere joy of the satire, but gradually fascinated by the problem of producing the requisite mingling of attributes. he was surprised now to see how well he had caught the note, and shepson's face reflected his approval. "by george! dat's something like," the dealer ejaculated. "like what? like mungold?" stanwell laughed. "like business! like a big order for a bortrait, mr. sdanwell--dat's what it's like!" cried shepson, swinging round on him. stanwell's stare widened. "an order for me?" "vy not? accidents _vill_ happen," said shepson jocosely. "de fact is, mrs. archer millington wants to be bainted--you know her sdyle? well, she prides herself on her likeness to little gladys. and so ven she saw dat bicture of yours at de fake show she made a note of your name, and de udder day she sent for me and she says: 'mr. shepson, i'm tired of mungold--all my friends are done by mungold. i vant to break away and be orishinal--i vant to be done by the bainter that did gladys glyde." shepson waited to observe the result of this overwhelming announcement, and stanwell, after a momentary halt of surprise, brought out laughingly: "but this _is_ a mungold. is this what she calls being original?" "shoost exactly," said shepson, with unexpected acuteness. "that's vat dey all want--something different from what all deir friends have got, but shoost like it all de same. dat's de public all over! mrs. millington don't want a mungold, because everybody's got a mungold, but she wants a picture that's in the same sdyle, because dat's _de_ sdyle, and she's afraid of any oder!" stanwell was listening with real enjoyment. "ah, you know your public," he murmured. "vell, you do, too, or you couldn't have painted dat," the dealer retorted. "and i don't say dey're wrong--mind dat. i like a bretty picture myself. and i understand the way dey feel. dey're villing to let sargent take liberties vid them, because it's like being punched in de ribs by a king; but if anybody else baints them, they vant to look as sweet as an obituary." he turned earnestly to stanwell. "the thing is to attract their notice. vonce you got it they von't gif you dime to sleep. and dat's why i'm here to-day--you've attracted mrs. millington's notice, and vonce you're hung in dat new ball-room--dat's vere she vants you, in a big gold panel--vonce you're dere, vy, you'll be like the pianola--no home gompleat without you. and i ain't going to charge you any commission on the first job!" he stood before the painter, exuding a mixture of deference and patronage in which either element might predominate as events developed; but stanwell could see in the incident only the stuff for a good story. "my dear shepson," he said, "what are you talking about? this is no picture of mine. why don't you ask me to do you a corot at once? i hear there's a great demand for them still in the west. or an arthur schracker--i can do schracker as well as mungold," he added, turning around a small canvas at which a paint-pot seemed to have been hurled with violence from a considerable distance. shepson ignored the allusion to corot, but screwed his eyes at the picture. "ah, schracker--vell, the schracker sdyle would take first rate if you were a foreigner--but, for goodness sake, don't try it on mrs. millington!" stanwell pushed the two skits aside. "oh, you can trust me," he cried humorously. "the pearls and the eyes very large--the extremities very small. isn't that about the size of it?" "dat's it--dat's it. and the cheque as big as you vant to make it! mrs. millington vants the picture finished in time for her first barty in the new ball-room, and if you rush the job she won't sdickle at an extra thousand. vill you come along with me now and arrange for your first sitting?" he stood before the young man, urgent, paternal, and so imbued with the importance of his mission that his face stretched to a ludicrous length of dismay when stanwell, administering a good-humoured push to his shoulder, cried gaily: "my dear fellow, it will make my price rise still higher when the lady hears i'm too busy to take any orders at present--and that i'm actually obliged to turn you out now because i'm expecting a sitter!" it was part of shepson's business to have a quick ear for the note of finality, and he offered no resistance to stanwell's friendly impulsion; but on the threshold he paused to murmur, with a regretful glance at the denuded studio: "you could haf done it, mr. sdanwell--you could haf done it!" ii kate arran was stanwell's sitter; but the janitor had hardly filled the stove when she came in to say that she could not sit. caspar had had a bad night: he was depressed and feverish, and in spite of his protests she had resolved to fetch the doctor. care sat on her usually tranquil features, and stanwell, as he offered to go for the doctor, wished he could have caught in his picture the wide gloom of her brow. there was always a kind of biblical breadth in the expression of her emotions, and today she suggested a text from isaiah. "but you're not busy?" she hesitated; in the full voice which seemed tuned to a solemn rhetoric. "i meant to be--with you. but since that's off i'm quite unemployed." she smiled interrogatively. "i thought perhaps you had an order. i met mr. shepson rubbing his hands on the landing." "was he rubbing his hands? well, it was not over me. he says that from the style of my pictures he doesn't suppose i want to sell." she looked at him superbly. "well, do you?" he embraced his bleak walls in a circular gesture. "judge for yourself!" "ah, but it's splendidly furnished!" "with rejected pictures, you mean?" "with ideals!" she exclaimed in a tone caught from her brother, and which would have been irritating to stanwell if it had not been moving. he gave a slight shrug and took up his hat; but she interposed to say that if it didn't make any difference she would prefer to have him go and sit with poor caspar, while she ran for the doctor and did some household errands by the way. stanwell divined in her request the need for a brief respite from caspar, and though he shivered at the thought of her facing the cold in the scant jacket which had been her only wear since he had known her, he let her go without a protest, and betook himself to arran's studio. he found the little sculptor dressed and roaming fretfully about the melancholy room in which he and his plastic off-spring lodged together. in one corner, where kate's chair and work-table stood, a scrupulous order prevailed; but the rest of the apartment had the dreary untidiness, the damp grey look, which the worker in clay usually creates about him. in the centre of this desert stood the shrouded image of caspar's disappointment: the colossal rejected group as to which his friends could seldom remember whether it represented jove hurling a titan from olympus or science subjugating religion. caspar was the sworn foe of religion, which he appeared to regard as indirectly connected with his inability to sell his statues. the sculptor was too ill to work, and stanwell's appearance loosed the pent-up springs of his talk. "hullo! what are you doing here? i thought kate had gone over to sit to you. she wanted a little fresh air? i should say enough of it came in through these windows. how like a woman, when she's agreed to do a certain thing, to make up her mind at once that she's got to do another! they don't call it caprice--it's always duty: that's the humour of it. i'll be bound kate alleged a pressing engagement. sorry she should waste your time so, my dear fellow. here am i with plenty of it to burn--look at my hand shake; i can't do a thing! well, luckily nobody wants me to--posterity may suffer, but the present generation isn't worrying. the present generation wants to be carved in sugar-candy, or painted in maple syrup. it doesn't want to be told the truth about itself or about anything in the universe. the prophets have always lived in a garret, my dear fellow--only the ravens don't always find out their address! speaking of ravens, though, kate told me she saw old shepson coming out of your place--i say, old man, you're not meditating an apostasy? you're not doing the kind of thing that shepson would look at?" stanwell laughed. "oh, he looked at them--but only to confirm his reasons for rejecting them." "ha! ha! that's right--he wanted to refresh his memory with their badness. but how on earth did he happen to have any doubts on the subject? i should as soon have thought of his coming in here!" stanwell winced at the analogy, but replied in caspar's key: "oh, he's not as sure of any of us as he is of you!" the sculptor received this tribute with a joyous expletive. "by god, no, he's sure of me, as you say! he and his tribe know that i'll starve in my tracks sooner than make a concession--a single concession. a fellow came after me once to do an angel on a tombstone--an angel leaning against a broken column, and looking as if it was waiting for the elevator and wondering why in hell it didn't come. he said he wanted me to show that the deceased was pining to get to heaven. as she was his wife i didn't dispute the proposition, but when i asked him what he understood by _heaven_ he grabbed his hat and walked out of the studio. _he_ didn't wait for the elevator." stanwell listened with a practised smile. the story of the man who had come to order the angel was so familiar to arran's friends that its only interest consisted in waiting to see what variation he would give to the retort which had put the mourner to flight. it was generally supposed that this visit represented the sculptor's nearest approach to an order, and one of his fellow-craftsmen had been heard to remark that if caspar _had_ made the tombstone, the lady under it would have tried harder than ever to get to heaven. to stanwell's present mood, however, there was something more than usually irritating in the gratuitous assumption that arran had only to derogate from his altitude to have a press of purchasers at his door. "well--what did you gain by kicking your widower out?" he objected. "why can't a man do two kinds of work--one to please himself and the other to boil the pot?" caspar stopped in his jerky walk--the stride of a tall man attempted with short legs (it sometimes appeared to stanwell to symbolize his artistic endeavour). "why can't a man--why can't he? you ask me that, stanwell?" he blazed out. "yes; and what's more, i'll answer you: it isn't everybody who can adapt his art as he wants to!" caspar stood before him, gasping with incredulous scorn. "adapt his art? as he wants to? unhappy wretch, what lingo are you talking? if you mean that it isn't every honest man who can be a renegade--" "that's just what i do mean: he can't unless he's clever enough to see the other side." the deep groan with which caspar met this casuistry was cut short by a knock at the studio door, which thereupon opened to admit a small dapperly-dressed man with a silky moustache and mildly-bulging eyes. "ah, mungold," exclaimed stanwell, to cover the gloomy silence with which arran received the new-comer; whereat the latter, with the air of a man who does not easily believe himself unwelcome, bestowed a sympathetic pressure on the sculptor's hand. "my dear chap, i've just met miss arran, and she told me you were laid up with a bad cold, so i thought i'd pop in and cheer you up a little." he looked about him with a smile evidently intended as the first act in his beneficent programme. mr. mungold, freshly soaped and scented, with a neat glaze of gentility extending from his varnished boot-tips to his glossy hat, looked like the "flattered" portrait of a common man--just such an idealized presentment as his own brush might have produced. as a rule, however, he devoted himself to the portrayal of the other sex, painting ladies in syrup, as arran said, with marsh-mallow children leaning against their knees. he was as quick as a dressmaker at catching new ideas, and the style of his pictures changed as rapidly as that of the fashion-plates. one year all his sitters were done on oval canvases, with gauzy draperies and a background of clouds; the next they were seated under an immemorial elm, caressing enormous dogs obviously constructed out of door-mats. whatever their occupation they always looked straight out of the canvas, giving the impression that their eyes were fixed on an invisible camera. this gave rise to the rumour that mungold "did" his portraits from photographs; it was even said that he had invented a way of transferring an enlarged photograph to the canvas, so that all that remained was to fill in the colours. if he heard of this charge he took it calmly, but probably it had not reached the high spheres in which he moved, and in which he was esteemed for painting pearls better, and making unsuggestive children look lovelier, than any of his fellow-craftsmen. mr. mungold, in fact, deemed it a part of his professional duty to study his sitters in their home-life; and as this life was chiefly led in the homes of others, he was too busy dining out and going to the opera to mingle much with his colleagues. but as no one is wholly consistent, mr. mungold had lately belied his ambitions by falling in love with kate arran; and with that gentle persistency which made him so wonderful in managing obstreperous infantile sitters, he had contrived to establish a precarious footing in her brother's studio. part of his success was due to the fact that he could not easily think himself the object of a rebuff. if it seemed to hit him he regarded it as deflected from its aim, and brushed it aside with a discreet gesture. a touch of comedy was lent to the situation by the fact that, till kate arran's coming, mungold had always served as her brother's awful example. it was a mark of arran's lack of humour that he persisted in regarding the little man as a conscious apostate, instead of perceiving that he painted as he could, in a world which really looked to him like a vast confectioner's window. stanwell had never quite divined how mungold had won over the sister, to whom her brother's prejudices were a religion; but he suspected the painter of having united a deep belief in caspar's gifts with the occasional offer of opportune delicacies--the port-wine or game which kate had no other means of procuring for her patient. stanwell, persuaded that mungold would stick to his post till miss arran's return, felt himself freed from his promise to the latter and left the incongruous pair to themselves. there had been a time when it amused him to see caspar submerge the painter in a torrent of turbid eloquence, and to watch poor mungold sputtering under the rush of denunciation, yet emitting little bland phrases of assent, like a gentleman drowning correctly, in gloves and eye-glasses. but stanwell was beginning to find less food for gaiety than for envy in the contemplation of his colleague. after all, mungold held his ground, he did not go under. spite of his manifest absurdity he had succeeded in propitiating the sister, in making himself tolerated by the brother; and the fact that his success was due to the ability to purchase port-wine and game was not in this case a mitigating circumstance. stanwell knew that the arrans really preferred him to mungold, but the knowledge only sharpened his envy of the latter, whose friendship could command visible tokens of expression, while poor stanwell's remained gloomily inarticulate. as he returned to his over-populated studio and surveyed anew the pictures of which shepson had not offered to relieve him, he found himself wishing, not for mungold's lack of scruples, for he believed him to be the most scrupulous of men, but for that happy mean of talent which so completely satisfied the artistic requirements of the inartistic. mungold was not to be despised as an apostate--he was to be congratulated as a man whose aptitudes were exactly in line with the taste of the persons he liked to dine with. at this point in his meditations, stanwell's eye fell on the portrait of miss gladys glyde. it was really, as shepson said, as good as a mungold; yet it could never be made to serve the same purpose, because it was the work of a man who knew it was bad art. that at least would have been caspar arran's contention--poor caspar, who produced as bad art in the service of the loftiest convictions! the distinction began to look like mere casuistry to stanwell. he had never been very proud of his own adaptability. it had seemed to him to indicate the lack of an individual stand-point, and he had tried to counteract it by the cultivation of an aggressively personal style. but the cursed knack was in his fingers--he was always at the mercy of some other man's sensations, and there were moments when he blushed to remember that his grandfather had spent a laborious life-time in rome, copying the old masters for a generation which lacked the facile resource of the camera. now, however, it struck him that the ancestral versatility might be a useful inheritance. in art, after all, the greatest of them did what they could; and if a man could do several things instead of one, why should he not profit by the multiplicity of his gifts? if one had two talents why not serve two masters? iii stanwell, while seeing caspar through the attack which had been the cause of his sister's arrival, had struck up a friendship with the young doctor who climbed the patient's seven flights with unremitting fidelity. the two, since then, had continued to exchange confidences regarding the sculptor's health, and stanwell, anxious to waylay the doctor after his visit, left the studio door ajar, and went out when he heard a sound of leave-taking across the landing. but it appeared that the doctor had just come, and that it was mungold who was making his adieux. the latter at once assumed that stanwell had been on the alert for him, and met the supposed advance by affably inviting himself into the studio. "may i come and take a look around, my dear fellow? i have been meaning to drop in for an age--" mungold always spoke with a girlish emphasis and effusiveness--"but i have been so busy getting up mrs. van orley's tableaux--english eighteenth century portraits, you know--that really, what with that and my sittings, i've hardly had time to think. and then you know you owe me about a dozen visits! but you're a savage--you don't pay visits. you stay here and _piocher_--which is wiser, as the results prove. ah, you're very strong--immensely strong!" he paused in the middle of the studio, glancing about a little apprehensively, as though he thought the stored energy of the pictures might result in an explosion. "very original--very striking--ah, miss arran! a powerful head; but--excuse the suggestion--isn't there just the least little lack of sweetness? you don't think she has the sweet type? perhaps not--but could she be so lovely if she were not intensely feminine? just at present, though, she is not looking her best--she is horribly tired. i am afraid there is very little money left--and poor dear caspar is so impossible: he won't hear of a loan. otherwise i should be most happy--. but i came just now to propose a piece of work--in fact to give him an order. mrs. archer millington has built a new ball-room, as i daresay you may have seen in the papers, and she has been kind enough to ask me for some hints--oh, merely as a friend: i don't presume to do more than advise. but her decorator wants to do something with cupids--something light and playful, you understand. and so i ventured to say that i knew a very clever sculptor--well, i _do_ believe caspar has talent--latent talent, you know--and at any rate a job of that sort would be a big lift for him. at least i thought he would regard it so; but you should have heard him when i showed him the decorator's sketch. he asked me what the cupids were to be done in--lard? and if i thought he had had his training at a confectioner's? and i don't know what more besides--but he worked himself up to such a degree that he brought on a frightful fit of coughing, and miss arran, i'm afraid, was rather annoyed with me when she came in, though i'm sure an order from mrs. archer millington is not a thing that would annoy most people!" mr. mungold paused, breathless with the rehearsal of his wrongs, and stanwell said with a smile: "you know poor caspar is terribly stiff on the purity of the artist's aim." "the artist's aim?" mr. mungold stared. "what is the artist's aim but to please--isn't that the purpose of all true art? but his theories are so extravagant. i really don't know what i shall say to mrs. millington--she is not used to being refused. i suppose i had better put it on the ground of ill-health." the artist glanced at his handsome repeater. "dear me, i promised to be at mrs. van orley's before twelve o'clock. we are to settle about the curtain before luncheon. my dear fellow, it has been a privilege to see your work. by the way, you have never done any modelling, i suppose? you're so extraordinarily versatile--i didn't know whether you might care to undertake the cupids yourself." stanwell had to wait a long time for the doctor; and when the latter came out he looked grave. worse? no, he couldn't say that caspar was worse--but then he wasn't any better. there was nothing mortal the matter, but the question was how long he could hold out. it was the kind of case where there is no use in drugs--he had just scribbled a prescription to quiet miss arran. "it's the cold, i suppose," stanwell groaned. "he ought to be shipped off to florida." the doctor made a negative gesture. "florida be hanged! what he wants is to sell his group. that would set him up quicker than sitting on the equator." "sell his group?" stanwell echoed. "but he's so indifferent to recognition--he believes in himself so thoroughly. i thought at first he would be hard hit when the exhibition committee refused it, but he seems to regard that as another proof of its superiority." his visitor turned on him the penetrating eye of the confessor. "indifferent to recognition? he's eating his heart out for it. can't you see that all that talk is just so much whistling to keep his courage up? the name of his disease is failure--and i can't write the prescription that will cure that complaint. but if somebody would come along and take a fancy to those two naked parties who are breaking each other's heads, we'd have mr. caspar putting on a pound a day." the truth of this diagnosis became suddenly vivid to stanwell. how dull of him not to have seen before that it was not cold or privation which was killing caspar--not anxiety for his sister's future, nor the ache of watching her daily struggle--but simply the cankering thought that he might die before he had made himself known! it was his vanity that was starving to death, and all mungold's hampers could not appease that hunger. stanwell was not shocked by the discovery--he was only the more sorry for the little man, who was, after all, denied that solace of self-sufficiency which his talk so noisily proclaimed. his lot seemed hard enough when stanwell had pictured him as buoyed up by the scorn of public opinion--it became tragic if he was denied that support. the artist wondered if kate had guessed her brother's secret, or if she were still the dupe of his stoicism. stanwell was sure that the sculptor would take no one into his confidence, and least of all his sister, whose faith in his artistic independence was the chief prop of that tottering pose. kate's penetration was not great, and stanwell recalled the incredulous smile with which she had heard him defend poor mungold's "sincerity" against caspar's assaults; but she had the insight of the heart, and where her brother's happiness was concerned she might have seen deeper than any of them. it was this last consideration which took the strongest hold on stanwell--he felt caspar's sufferings chiefly through the thought of his sister's possible disillusionment. iv within three months two events had set the studio building talking. stanwell had painted a full-length portrait of mrs. archer millington, and caspar arran had received an order to execute his group in marble. the name of the sculptor's patron had not been divulged. the order came through shepson, who explained that an american customer living abroad, having seen a photograph of the group in one of the papers, had at once cabled home to secure it. he intended to bestow it on a public building in america, and not wishing to advertise his munificence, had preferred that even the sculptor should remain ignorant of his name. the group bought by an enlightened compatriot for the adornment of a civic building in his native land! there could hardly be a more complete vindication of unappreciated genius, and caspar made the most of the argument. he was not exultant, he was sublimely magnanimous. he had always said that he could afford to await the verdict of posterity, and his unknown patron's act clearly shadowed forth that impressive decision. happily it also found expression in a cheque which it would have taken more philosophy to await. the group was paid for in advance, and kate's joy in her brother's recognition was deliciously mingled with the thrill of ordering him some new clothes, and coaxing him out to dine succulently at a neighbouring restaurant. caspar flourished insufferably on this regime: he began to strike the attitude of the recognized great master, who gives advice and encouragement to the struggling neophyte. he held himself up as an example of the reward of disinterestedness, of the triumph of the artist who clings obstinately to his convictions. "a man must believe in his star--look at napoleon! it's the dogged trust in one's convictions that tells--it always ends by forcing the public into line. only be sure you make no concessions--don't give in to any of their humbug! an artist who listens to the critics is ruined--they never have any use for the poor devils who do what they tell them to. run after fame and she'll keep you running, but stay in your own corner and do your own work, and by george, sir, she'll come crawling up to you and ask to have her likeness done!" these exhortations were chiefly directed to stanwell, partly because the inmates of the other studios were apt to elude them, partly also because the rumours concerning stanwell's portrait of mrs. millington had begun to disquiet the sculptor. at first he had taken a condescending interest in the fact of his friend's receiving an order, and had admonished him not to lose the chance of "showing up" his sitter and her environment. it was a splendid opportunity for a fellow with a "message" to be introduced into the tents of the philistine, and stanwell was charged to drive a long sharp nail into the enemy's skull. but presently arran began to suspect that the portrait was not as comminatory as he could have wished. mungold, the most kindly of rivals, let drop a word of injudicious praise: the picture, he said, promised to be delightfully "in keeping" with the decorations of the ball-room, and the lady's gown harmonized exquisitely with the window-curtains. stanwell, called to account by his monitor, reminded the latter that he himself had been selected by mungold to do the cupids for mrs. millington's ball-room, and that the friendly artist's praise could, therefore, not be taken as positive evidence of incapacity. "ah, but i didn't do them--i kicked him out!" caspar rejoined; and stanwell could only plead that, even in the cause of art, one could hardly kick a lady. "ah, that's the worst of it. if the women get at you you're lost. you're young, you're impressionable, you won't mind my saying that you're not built for a stoic, and hang it, they'll coddle you, they'll enervate you, they'll sentimentalize you, they'll make a mungold of you!" "ah, poor mungold," stanwell laughed. "if he lived the life of an anchorite he couldn't help painting pictures that would please mrs. millington." "whereas you could," kate interjected, raising her head from the ironing-board where, sphinx-like, magnificent, she swung a splendid arm above her brother's shirts. "oh, well, perhaps i shan't please her; perhaps i shall elevate her taste." caspar directed a groan to his sister. "that's what they all think at first--childe roland to the dark tower came. but inside the dark tower there's the venusberg. oh, i don't mean that you'll be taken with truffles and plush footmen, like mungold. but praise, my poor ned--praise is a deadly drug! it's the absinthe of the artist--and they'll stupefy you with it. you'll wallow in the mire of success." stanwell raised a protesting hand. "really, for one order, you're a little lurid!" "one? haven't you already had a dozen others?" "only one other, so far--and i'm not sure i shall do that." "not sure--wavering already! that's the way the mischief begins. if the women get a fad for you they'll work you like a galley-slave. you'll have to do your round of 'copy' every morning. what becomes of inspiration then? how are you going to loaf and invite the soul? don't barter your birthright for a mess of pottage! oh, i understand the temptation--i know the taste of money and success. but look at me, stanwell. you know how long i had to wait for recognition. well, now it's come to me i don't mean to let it knock me off my feet. i don't mean to let myself be overworked; i have already made it known that i will not be bullied into taking more orders than i can do full justice to. and my sister is with me, god bless her; kate would rather go on ironing my shirts in a garret than see me prostitute my art!" kate's glance radiantly confirmed this declaration of independence, and stanwell, with his evasive laugh, asked her if, meanwhile, she should object to his investing a part of his ill-gotten gains in theatre tickets for the party that evening. it appeared that stanwell had also been paid in advance, and well paid; for he began to permit himself various mild distractions, in which he generally contrived to have the arrans share. it seemed perfectly natural to kate that caspar's friends should spend their money for his recreation, and by one of the most touching sophistries of her sex she thus reconciled herself to the anomaly of taking a little pleasure on her own account. mungold was less often in the way, for she had never been able to forgive him for proposing that caspar should do mrs. millington's cupids; and for a few radiant weeks stanwell had the undisputed enjoyment of her pride in her brother's achievement. stanwell had "rushed through" mrs. millington's portrait in time for the opening of her new ball-room; and it was perhaps in return for this favour that she consented to let the picture be exhibited at a big portrait show which was held in april for the benefit of a fashionable charity. in mrs. millington's ball-room the picture had been seen and approved only by the distinguished few who had access to that social sanctuary; but on the walls of the exhibition it became a centre of comment and discussion. one of the immediate results of this publicity was a visit from shepson, with two or three orders in his pocket, as he put it. he surveyed the studio with fresh disgust, asked stanwell why he did not move, and was impressed rather than downcast on learning that the painter had not decided whether he would take any more orders that spring. "you might haf a studio at newport," he suggested. "it would be rather new to do your sitters out of doors, with the sea behind them--showing they had a blace on the gliffs!" the picture produced a different and less flattering effect on the critics. they gave it, indeed, more space than they had ever before accorded to the artist's efforts, but their estimate seemed to confirm caspar arran's forebodings, and stanwell had perhaps never despised them so little as when he read their comments on his work. on the whole, however, neither praise nor blame disquieted him greatly. he was engrossed in the contemplation of kate arran's happiness, and basking in the refracted warmth it shed about her. the doctor's prognostications had come true. caspar was putting on a pound a week, and had plunged into a fresh "creation" more symbolic and encumbering than the monument of which he had been so opportunely relieved. if there was any cloud on stanwell's enjoyment of life, it was caused by the discovery that success had quadrupled caspar's artistic energies. meanwhile it was delightful to see kate's joy in her brother's recovered capacity for work, and to listen to the axioms which, for stanwell's guidance, she deduced from the example of caspar's heroic pursuit of the ideal. there was nothing repellent in kate's borrowed didacticism, and if it sometimes bored stanwell to hear her quote her brother, he was sure it would never bore him to be quoted by her himself; and there were moments when he felt he had nearly achieved that distinction. caspar was not addicted to the visiting of art exhibitions. he took little interest in any productions save his own, and was moreover disposed to believe that good pictures, like clever criminals, are apt to go unhung. stanwell therefore thought it unlikely that his portrait of mrs. millington would be seen by kate, who was not given to independent explorations in the field of art; but one day, on entering the exhibition--which he had hitherto rather nervously shunned--he saw the arrans at the end of the gallery in which the portrait hung. they were not looking at it, they were moving away from it, and to stanwell's quickened perceptions their attitude seemed almost that of flight. for a moment he thought of flying too; then a desperate resolve nerved him to meet them, and stemming the crowd, he made a circuit which brought him face to face with their retreat. the room in which they met was momentarily empty, and there was nothing to intervene between the shock of their inter-changed glances. caspar was flushed and bristling: his little body quivered like a machine from which the steam has just been turned off. kate lifted a stricken glance. stanwell read in it the reflexion of her brother's tirade, but she held out her hand in silence. for a moment caspar was silent too; then, with a terrible smile: "my dear fellow, i congratulate you; mungold will have to look to his laurels," he said. the shot delivered, he stalked away with his seven-league stride, and kate moved tragically through the room in his wake. v shepson took up his hat with a despairing gesture. "vell, i gif you up--i gif you up!" he said. "don't--yet," protested stanwell from the divan. it was winter again, and though the janitor had not forgotten the fire, the studio gave no other evidence of its master's increasing prosperity. if stanwell spent his money it was not upon himself. he leaned back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, a cigarette between his lips, while shepson paced the dirty floor or halted impatiently before an untouched canvas on the easel. "i tell you vat it is, mr. sdanwell, i can't make you out!" he lamented. "last vinter you got a sdart that vould have kept most men going for years. after making dat hit vith mrs. millington's picture you could have bainted half the town. and here you are sitting on your divan and saying you can't make up your mind to take another order. vell, i can only say that if you take much longer to make it up, you'll find some other chap has cut in and got your job. mrs. van orley has been waiting since last august, and she dells me you haven't even answered her letter." "how could i? i didn't know if i wanted to paint her." "my goodness! don't you know if you vant three thousand tollars?" stanwell surveyed his cigarette. "no, i'm not sure i do," he said. shepson flung out his hands. "ask more den--but do it quick!" he exclaimed. left to himself, stanwell stood in silent contemplation of the canvas on which the dealer had riveted his reproachful gaze. it had been destined to reflect the opulent image of mrs. alpheus van orley, but some secret reluctance of stanwell's had stayed the execution of the task. he had painted two of mrs. millington's friends in the spring, had been much praised and liberally paid for his work, and then, declining several recent orders to be executed at newport, had surprised his friends by remaining quietly in town. it was not till august that he hired a little cottage on the new jersey coast and invited the arrans to visit him. they accepted the invitation, and the three had spent together six weeks of seashore idleness, during which stanwell's modest rafters shook with caspar's denunciations of his host's venality, and the brightness of kate's gratitude was tempered by a tinge of reproach. but her grief over stanwell's apostasy could not efface the fact that he had offered her brother the means of escape from town, and stanwell himself was consoled by the reflection that but for mrs. millington's portrait he could not have performed even this trifling service for his friends. when the arrans left him in september he went to pay a few visits in the country, and on his return, a month later, to the studio building he found that things had not gone well with caspar. the little sculptor had caught cold, and the labour and expense of converting his gigantic offspring into marble seemed to hang heavily upon him. he and kate were living in a damp company of amorphous clay monsters, unfinished witnesses to the creative frenzy which had seized him after the sale of his group; and the doctor had urged that his patient should be removed to warmer and drier lodgings. but to uproot caspar was impossible, and his sister could only feed the stove, and swaddle him in mufflers and felt slippers. stanwell found that during his absence mungold had reappeared, fresh and rosy from a summer in europe, and as prodigal as ever of the only form of attention which kate could be counted on not to resent. the game and champagne reappeared with him, and he seemed as ready as stanwell to lend a patient ear to caspar's homilies. but stanwell could see that, even now, kate had not forgiven him for the cupids. stanwell himself had spent the early winter months in idleness. the sight of his tools filled him with a strange repugnance, and he absented himself as much as possible from the studio. but shepson's visit roused him to the fact that he must decide on some definite course of action. if he wished to follow up his success of the previous spring he must refuse no more orders: he must not let mrs. van orley slip away from him. he knew there were competitors enough ready to profit by his hesitations, and since his success was the result of a whim, a whim might undo it. with a sudden gesture of decision he caught up his hat and left the studio. on the landing he met kate arran. she too was going out, drawn forth by the sudden radiance of the january afternoon. she met him with a smile which seemed the answer to his uncertainties, and he asked abruptly if she had time to take a walk with him. yes; for once she had time, for mr. mungold was sitting with caspar, and had promised to remain till she came in. it mattered little to stanwell that mungold was with caspar as long as he himself was with kate; and he instantly soared to the suggestion that they should prolong the painter's vigil by taking the "elevated" to the park. in this too his companion acquiesced after a moment of surprise: she seemed in a consenting mood, and stanwell augured well from the fact. the park was clothed in the double glitter of snow and sunshine. they roamed the hard white alleys to a continuous tinkle of sleigh-bells, and kate brightened with the exhilaration of the scene. it was not often that she permitted herself such an escape from routine, and in this new environment, which seemed to detach her from her daily setting, stanwell had his first complete vision of her. to the girl also their unwonted isolation seemed to create a sense of fuller communion, for she began presently, as they reached the leafless solitude of the ramble, to speak with sudden freedom of her brother. it appeared that the orders against which caspar had so heroically steeled himself were slow in coming: he had received no commission since the sale of his group, and he was beginning to suffer from a reaction of discouragement. oh, it was not the craving for popularity--stanwell knew how far above that he stood. but it had been exquisite, yes, exquisite to him to find himself believed in, understood. he had fancied that the purchase of the group was the dawn of a tardy recognition--and now the darkness of indifference had set in again, no one spoke of him, no one wrote of him, no one cared. "if he were in good health it would not matter--he would throw off such weakness, he would live only for the joy of his work; but he is losing ground, his strength is failing, and he is so afraid there will not be time enough left--time enough for full recognition," she explained. the quiver in her voice silenced stanwell: he was afraid of echoing it with his own. at length he said: "oh, more orders will come. success is a gradual growth." "yes, _real_ success," she said, with a solemn note in which he caught--and forgave--a reflection on his own facile triumphs. "but when the orders do come," she continued, "will he have strength to carry them out? last winter the doctor thought he only needed work to set him up; now he talks of rest instead! he says we ought to go to a warm climate--but how can caspar leave the group?" "oh, hang the group--let him chuck the order!" cried stanwell. she looked at him tragically. "the money is spent," she said. he coloured to the roots of his hair. "but ill-health--ill-health excuses everything. if he goes away now he will come back good for twice the amount of work in the spring. a sculptor is not expected to deliver a statue on a given day, like a package of groceries! you must do as the doctor says--you must make him chuck everything and go." they had reached a windless nook above the lake, and, pausing in the stress of their talk, she let herself sink on a bench beside the path. the movement encouraged him, and he seated himself at her side. "you must take him away at once," he repeated urgently. "he must be made comfortable--you must both be free from worry. and i want you to let me manage it for you--" he broke off, silenced by her rising blush, her protesting murmur. "oh, stop, please; let me explain. i'm not talking of lending you money; i'm talking of giving you--myself. the offer may be just as unacceptable, but it's of a kind to which it's customary to accord it a hearing. i should have made it a year ago--the first day i saw you, i believe!--but that, then, it wasn't in my power to make things easier for you. but now, you know, i've had a little luck. since i painted mrs. millington things have changed. i believe i can get as many orders as i choose--there are two or three people waiting now. what's the use of it all, if it doesn't bring me a little happiness? and the only happiness i know is the kind that you can give me." he paused, suddenly losing the courage to look at her, so that her pained murmur was framed for him in a glittering vision of the frozen lake. he turned with a start and met the refusal in her eyes. "no--really no?" he repeated. she shook her head silently. "i could have helped you--i could have helped you!" he sighed. she flushed distressfully, but kept her eyes on his. "it's just that--don't you see?" she reproached him. "just that--the fact that i could be of use to you?" "the fact that, as you say, things have changed since you painted mrs. millington. i haven't seen the later portraits, but they tell me--" "oh, they're just as bad!" stanwell jeered. "you've sold your talent, and you know it: that's the dreadful part. you did it deliberately," she cried with passion. "oh, deliberately," he interjected. "and you're not ashamed--you talk of going on." "i'm not ashamed; i talk of going on." she received this with a long shuddering sigh, and turned her eyes away from him. "oh, why--why--why?" she lamented. it was on the tip of stanwell's tongue to answer, "that i might say to you what i am just saying now--" but he replied instead: "a man may paint bad pictures and be a decent fellow. look at mungold, after all!" the adjuration had an unexpected effect. kate's colour faded suddenly, and she sat motionless, with a stricken face. "there's a difference--" she began at length abruptly; "the difference you've always insisted on. mr. mungold paints as well as he can. he has no idea that his pictures are--less good than they might be." "well--?" "so he can't be accused of doing what he does for money--of sacrificing anything better." she turned on him with troubled eyes. "it was you who made me understand that, when caspar used to make fun of him." stanwell smiled. "i'm glad you still think me a better painter than mungold. but isn't it hard that for that very reason i should starve in a hole? if i painted badly enough you'd see no objection to my living at the waldorf!" "ah, don't joke about it," she murmured. "don't triumph in it." "i see no reason to at present," said stanwell drily. "but i won't pretend to be ashamed when i'm not. i think there are occasions when a man is justified in doing what i've done." she looked at him solemnly. "what occasions?" "why, when he wants money, hang it!" she drew a deep breath. "money--money? has caspar's example been nothing to you, then?" "it hasn't proved to me that i must starve while mungold lives on truffles!" again her face changed and she stirred uneasily, and then rose to her feet. "there is no occasion which can justify an artist's sacrificing his convictions!" she exclaimed. stanwell rose too, facing her with a mounting urgency which sent a flush to his cheek. "can't you conceive such an occasion in my case? the wish, i mean, to make things easier for caspar--to help you in any way you might let me?" her face reflected his blush, and she stood gazing at him with a wounded wonder. "caspar and i--you imagine we could live on money earned in _that_ way?" stanwell made an impatient gesture. "you've got to live on something--or he has, even if you don't include yourself!" her blush deepened miserably, but she held her head high. "that's just it--that's what i came here to say to you." she stood a moment gazing away from him at the lake. he looked at her in surprise. "you came here to say something to me?" "yes. that we've got to live on something, caspar and i, as you say; and since an artist cannot sacrifice his convictions, the sacrifice must--i mean--i wanted you to know that i have promised to marry mr. mungold." "mungold!" stanwell cried with a sharp note of irony; but her white look checked it on his lips. "i know all you are going to say," she murmured, with a kind of nobleness which moved him even through his sense of its grotesqueness. "but you must see the distinction, because you first made it clear to me. i can take money earned in good faith--i can let caspar live on it. i can marry mr. mungold; because, though his pictures are bad, he does not prostitute his art." she began to move away from him slowly, and he followed her in silence along the frozen path. when stanwell re-entered his studio the dusk had fallen. he lit his lamp and rummaged out some writing-materials. having found them, he wrote to shepson to say that he could not paint mrs. van orley, and did not care to accept any more orders for the present. he sealed and stamped the letter and flung it over the banisters for the janitor to post; then he dragged out his unfinished head of kate arran, replaced it on the easel, and sat down before it with a grim smile. the best man i dusk had fallen, and the circle of light shed by the lamp of governor mornway's writing-table just rescued from the surrounding dimness his own imposing bulk, thrown back in a deep chair in the lounging attitude habitual to him at that hour. when the governor of midsylvania rested he rested completely. five minutes earlier he had been bowed over his office desk, an atlas with the state on his shoulders; now, his working hours over, he had the air of a man who has spent his day in desultory pleasure, and means to end it in the enjoyment of a good dinner. this freedom from care threw into relief the hovering fidgetiness of his sister, mrs. nimick, who, just outside the circle of lamplight, haunted the warm gloom of the hearth, from which the wood fire now and then sent up an exploring flash into her face. mrs. nimick's presence did not usually minister to repose; but the governor's serenity was too deep to be easily disturbed, and he felt the calmness of a man who knows there is a mosquito in the room, but has drawn the netting close about his head. this calmness reflected itself in the accent with which he said, throwing himself back to smile up at his sister: "you know i am not going to make any appointments for a week." it was the day after the great reform victory which had put john mornway for the second time at the head of his state, a triumph compared with which even the mighty battle of his first election sank into insignificance, and he leaned back with the sense of unassailable placidity which follows upon successful effort. mrs. nimick murmured an apology. "i didn't understand--i saw in this morning's papers that the attorney-general was reappointed." "oh, fleetwood--his reappointment was involved in the campaign. he's one of the principles i represent!" mrs. nimick smiled a little tartly. "it seems odd to some people to think of mr. fleetwood in connection with principles." the governor's smile had no answering acerbity; the mention of his attorney-general's name had set his blood humming with the thrill of the fight, and he wondered how it was that fleetwood had not already been in to clasp hands with him over their triumph. "no," he said, good-humoredly, "two years ago fleetwood's name didn't stand for principles of any sort; but i believed in him, and look what he's done for me! i thought he was too big a man not to see in time that statesmanship is a finer thing than practical politics, and now that i've given him a chance to make the discovery, he's on the way to becoming just such a statesman as the country needs." "oh, it's a great deal easier and pleasanter to believe in people," replied mrs. nimick, in a tone full of occult allusion, "and, of course, we all knew that mr. fleetwood would have a hearing before any one else." the governor took this imperturbably. "well, at any rate, he isn't going to fill all the offices in the state; there will probably be one or two to spare after he has helped himself, and when the time comes i'll think over your man. i'll consider him." mrs. nimick brightened. "it would make _such_ a difference to jack--it might mean anything to the poor boy to have mr. ashford appointed!" the governor held up a warning hand. "oh, i know, one mustn't say that, or at least you mustn't listen. you're so dreadfully afraid of nepotism. but i'm not asking for anything for jack--i have never asked for a crust for any of us, thank heaven! no one can point to _me_--" mrs. nimick checked herself suddenly and continued in a more impersonal tone: "but there's no harm, surely, in my saying a word for mr. ashford, when i know that he's actually under consideration, and i don't see why the fact that jack is in his office should prevent my speaking." "on the contrary," said the governor, "it implies, on your part, a personal knowledge of mr. ashford's qualifications which may be of great help to me in reaching a decision." mrs. nimick never quite knew how to meet him when he took that tone, and the flickering fire made her face for a moment the picture of uncertainty; then at all hazards she launched out: "well, i have ella's promise, at any rate." the governor sat upright. "ella's promise?" "to back me up. she thoroughly approves of him!" the governor smiled. "you talk as if ella had a political _salon_ and distributed _lettres de cachet_! i'm glad she approves of ashford; but if you think my wife makes my appointments for me--" he broke off with a laugh at the superfluity of such a protest. mrs. nimick reddened. "one never knows how you will take the simplest thing. what harm is there in my saying that ella approves of mr. ashford? i thought you liked her to take an interest in your work." "i like it immensely. but i shouldn't care to have it take that form." "what form?" "that of promising to use her influence to get people appointed. but you always talk of politics in the vocabulary of european courts. thank heaven, ella has less imagination. she has her sympathies, of course, but she doesn't think they can affect the distribution of offices." mrs. nimick gathered up her furs with an air at once crestfallen and resentful. "i'm sorry--i always seem to say the wrong thing. i'm sure i came with the best intentions--it's natural that your sister should want to be with you at such a happy moment." "of course it is, my dear," exclaimed the governor genially, as he rose to grasp the hands with which she was nervously adjusting her wraps. mrs. nimick, who lived a little way out of town, and whose visits to her brother were apparently achieved at the cost of immense effort and mysterious complications, had come to congratulate him on his victory, and to sound him regarding the nomination to a coveted post of the lawyer in whose firm her eldest son was a clerk. in the urgency of the latter errand she had rather lost sight of the former, but her face softened as the governor, keeping both her hands in his, said in the voice which always seemed to put the most generous interpretation on her motives: "i was sure you would be one of the first to give me your blessing." "oh, your success--no one feels it more than i do!" sighed mrs. nimick, always at home in the emotional key. "i keep in the background. i make no noise, i claim no credit, but whatever happens, no one shall ever prevent my rejoicing in my brother's success!" mrs. nimick's felicitations were always couched in the conditional, with a side-glance at dark contingencies, and the governor, smiling at the familiar construction, returned cheerfully: "i don't see why any one should want to deprive you of that privilege." "they couldn't--they couldn't--" mrs. nimick heroically affirmed. "well, i'm in the saddle for another two years at any rate, so you had better put in all the rejoicing you can." "whatever happens--whatever happens!" cried mrs. nimick, melting on his bosom. "the only thing likely to happen at present is that you will miss your train if i let you go on saying nice things to me much longer." mrs. nimick at this dried her eyes, renewed her clutch on her draperies, and stood glancing sentimentally about the room while her brother rang for the carriage. "i take away a lovely picture of you," she murmured. "it's wonderful what you've made of this hideous house." "ah, not i, but ella--there she _does_ reign undisputed," he acknowledged, following her glance about the library, which wore an air of permanent habitation, of slowly formed intimacy with its inmates, in marked contrast to the gaudy impersonality of the usual executive apartment. "oh, she's wonderful, quite wonderful. i see she has got those imported damask curtains she was looking at the other day at fielding's. when i am asked how she does it all, i always say it's beyond me!" mrs. nimick murmured. "it's an art like another," smiled the governor. "ella has been used to living in tents and she has the knack of giving them a wonderful look of permanence." "she certainly makes the most extraordinary bargains--all the knack in the world won't take the place of such curtains and carpets." "are they good? i'm glad to hear it. but all the good curtains and carpets won't make a house comfortable to live in. there's where the knack comes in, you see." he recalled with a shudder the lean congressional years--the years before his marriage--when mrs. nimick had lived with him in washington, and the daily struggle in the house had been combined with domestic conflicts almost equally recurrent. the offer of a foreign mission, though disconnecting him from active politics, had the advantage of freeing him from his sister's tutelage, and in europe, where he remained for two years, he had met the lady who was to become his wife. mrs. renfield was the widow of one of the diplomatists who languish in perpetual first secretary-ship at our various embassies. her life had given her ease without triviality, and a sense of the importance of politics seldom found in ladies of her nationality. she regarded a public life as the noblest and most engrossing of careers, and combined with great social versatility an equal gift for reading blue-books and studying debates. so sincere was the latter taste that she passed without regret from the amenities of a european life well stocked with picturesque intimacies to the rawness of the midsylvanian capital. she helped mornway in his fight for the governorship as a man likes to be helped by a woman--by her tact, her good looks, her memory for faces, her knack of saying the right thing to the right person, and her capacity for obscure hard work in the background of his public activity. but, above all, she helped him by making his private life smooth and harmonious. for a man careless of personal ease, mornway was singularly alive to the domestic amenities. attentive service, well-ordered dinners, brightly burning fires, and a scent of flowers in the house--these material details, which had come to seem the extension of his wife's personality, the inevitable result of her nearness, were as agreeable to him after five years of marriage as in the first surprise of his introduction to them. mrs. nimick had kept house jerkily and vociferously; ella performed the same task silently and imperceptibly, and the results were all in favor of the latter method. though neither the governor nor his wife had large means, the household, under mrs. mornway's guidance, took on an air of sober luxury as agreeable to her husband as it was exasperating to her sister-in-law. the domestic machinery ran without a jar. there were no upheavals, no debts, no squalid cookless hiatuses between intervals of showy hospitality; the household moved along on lines of quiet elegance and comfort, behind which only the eye of the housekeeping sex could have detected a gradually increasing scale of expense. such an eye was now projected on the governor's surroundings, and its explorations were summed up in the tone in which mrs. nimick repeated from the threshold: "i always say i don't see how she does it!" the tone did not escape the governor, but it disturbed him no more than the buzz of a baffled insect. poor grace! it was not his fault if her husband was given to chimerical investments, if her sons were "unsatisfactory," and her cooks would not stay with her; but it was natural that these facts should throw into irritating contrast the ease and harmony of his own domestic life. it made him all the sorrier for his sister to know that her envy did not penetrate to the essence of his happiness, but lingered on those external signs of well-being which counted for so little in the sum total of his advantages. poor mrs. nimick's life seemed doubly thin and mean when one remembered that, beneath its shabby surface, there were no compensating riches of the spirit. ii it was the custodian of his own hidden treasure who at this moment broke in upon his musings. mrs. mornway, fresh from her afternoon walk, entered the room with that air of ease and lightness which seemed to diffuse a social warmth about her; fine, slender, pliant, so polished and modeled by an intelligent experience of life that youth seemed clumsy in her presence. she looked down at her husband and shook her head. "you promised to keep the afternoon to yourself, and i hear grace has been here." "poor grace--she didn't stay long, and i should have been a brute not to see her." he leaned back, filling his gaze to the brim with her charming image, which obliterated at a stroke the fretful ghost of mrs. nimick. "she came to congratulate you, i suppose?" "yes, and to ask me to do something for ashford." "ah--on account of jack. what does she want for him?" the governor laughed. "she said you were in her confidence--that you were backing her up. she seemed to think your support would ensure her success." mrs. mornway smiled; her smile, always full of delicate implications, seemed to caress her husband while it gently mocked his sister. "poor grace! i suppose you undeceived her." "as to your influence? i told her it was paramount where it ought to be." "and where is that?" "in the choice of carpets and curtains. it seems ours are almost too good." "thanks for the compliment! too good for what?" "our station in life, i suppose. at least they seemed to bother grace." "poor grace! i've always bothered her." she paused, removing her gloves reflectively and laying her long fine hands on his shoulders as she stood behind him. "then you don't believe in ashford?" feeling his slight start, she drew away her hands and raised them to detach her veil. "what makes you think i don't believe in ashford?" he asked. "i asked out of curiosity. i wondered whether you had decided anything." "no, and i don't mean to for a week. i'm dead beat, and i want to bring a fresh mind to the question. there is hardly one appointment i'm sure of except, of course, fleetwood's." she turned away from him, smoothing her hair in the mirror above the mantelpiece. "you're sure of that?" she asked after a moment. "of george fleetwood? and poor grace thinks you are deep in my counsels! i am as sure of re-appointing fleetwood as i am that i have just been re-elected myself. i've never made any secret of the fact that if they wanted me back they must have him, too." "you are tremendously generous!" she murmured. "generous? what a strange word to use! fleetwood is my trump card--the one man i can count on to carry out my ideas through thick and thin." she mused on this, smiling a little. "that's why i call you generous--when i remember how you disliked him two years ago!" "what of that? i was prejudiced against him, i own; or rather, i had a just distrust of a man with such a past. but how splendidly he's wiped it out! what a record he has written on the new leaf he promised to turn over if i gave him the chance! do you know," the governor interrupted himself with a pleasantly reminiscent laugh, "i was rather annoyed with grace when she hinted that you had promised to back up ashford--i told her you didn't aspire to distribute patronage. but she might have reminded me--if she'd known--that it _was_ you who persuaded me to give fleetwood that chance." mrs. mornway turned with a slight heightening of color. "grace--how could she possibly have known?" "she couldn't, of course, unless she'd read my weakness in my face. but why do you look so startled at my little joke?" "it's only that i so dislike grace's ineradicable idea that i am a wire-puller. why should she imagine i would help her about ashford?" "oh, grace has always been a mild and ineffectual conspirator, and she thinks every other woman is built on the same plan. but you _did_ get fleetwood's job for him, you know," he repeated with laughing insistence. "i had more faith than you in human nature, that's all." she paused a moment, and then added: "personally, you know, i have always rather disliked him." "oh, i never doubted your disinterestedness. but you are not going to turn against your candidate, are you?" she hesitated. "i am not sure; circumstances alter cases. when you made fleetwood attorney-general two years ago he was the inevitable man for the place." "well--is there a better one now?" "i don't say there is--it's not my business to look for him, at any rate. what i mean is that at that time fleetwood was worth risking anything for--now i don't know that he is." "but, even if he were not, what do i risk for him now? i don't see your point. since he didn't cost me my re-election, what can he possibly cost me now i'm in?" "he's immensely unpopular. he will cost you a great deal of popularity, and you have never pretended to despise that." "no, nor ever sacrificed anything essential to it. are you really asking me to offer up fleetwood to it now?" "i don't ask you to do anything--except to consider if he _is_ essential. you said you were over-tired and wanted to bring a fresh mind to bear on the other appointments. why not delay this one too?" mornway turned in his chair and looked at her searchingly. "this means something, ella. what have you heard?" "just what you have, probably, but with more attentive ears. the very record you are so proud of has made george fleetwood innumerable enemies in the last two years. the lead trust people are determined to ruin him, and if his reappointment is attacked you will not be spared." "attacked? in the papers, you mean?" she paused. "you know the 'spy' has always threatened a campaign. and he has a past, as you say." "which was public property long before i first appointed him. nothing could be gained by raking up his old political history. everybody knows he didn't come to me with clean hands, but to hurt him now the 'spy' would have to fasten a new scandal on him, and that would not be easy." "it would be easy to invent one!" "unproved accusations don't count much against a man of such proved capacity. the best answer is his record of the last two years. that is what the public looks at." "the public looks wherever the press points. and besides, you have your own future to consider. it would be a pity to sacrifice such a career as yours for the sake of backing up even as useful a man as george fleetwood." she paused, as if checked by his gathering frown, but went on with fresh decision: "oh, i'm not speaking of personal ambition; i'm thinking of the good you can do. will fleetwood's reappointment secure the greatest good of the greatest number, if his unpopularity reacts on you to the extent of hindering your career?" the governor's brow cleared and he rose with a smile. "my dear, your reasoning is admirable, but we must leave my career to take care of itself. whatever i may be to-morrow, i am governor of midsylvania to-day, and my business as governor is to appoint as attorney-general the best man i can find for the place--and that man is george fleetwood, unless you have a better one to propose." she met this with perfect good-humor. "no, i have told you already that that is not my business. but i _have_ a candidate of my own for another office, so grace was not quite wrong, after all." "well, who is your candidate, and for what office? i only hope you don't want to change cooks!" "oh, i do that without your authority, and you never even know it has been done." she hesitated, and then said with a bright directness: "i want you to do something for poor gregg." "gregg? rufus gregg?" he stared. "what an extraordinary request! what can i do for a man i've had to kick out for dishonesty?" "not much, perhaps; i know it's difficult. but, after all, it was your kicking him out that ruined him." "it was his dishonesty that ruined him. he was getting a good salary as my stenographer, and if he hadn't sold those letters to the 'spy' he would have been getting it still." she wavered. "after all, nothing was proved--he always denied it." "good heavens, ella! have you ever doubted his guilt?" "no--no; i don't mean that. but, of course, his wife and children believe in him, and think you were cruel, and he has been out of work so long that they are starving." "send them some money, then; i wonder you thought it necessary to ask." "i shouldn't have thought it so, but money is not what i want. mrs. gregg is proud, and it is hard to help her in that way. couldn't you give him work of some kind--just a little post in a corner?" "my dear child, the little posts in the corner are just the ones where honesty is essential. a footpad doesn't wait under a street-lamp! besides, how can i recommend a man whom i have dismissed for theft? i won't say a word to hinder his getting a place, but on my conscience i can't give him one." she paused and turned toward the door silently, though without any show of resentment; but on the threshold she lingered long enough to say: "yet you gave fleetwood his chance!" "fleetwood? you class fleetwood with gregg? the best man in the state with a little beggarly thieving nonentity? it's evident enough you're new at wire-pulling, or you would show more skill at it!" she met this with a laugh. "i'm not likely to have much practice if my first attempt is such a failure. well, i will see if mrs. gregg will let me help her a little--i suppose there is nothing else to be done." "nothing that we can do. if gregg wants a place he had better get one on the staff of the 'spy.' he served them better than he did me." iii the governor stared at the card with a frown. half an hour had elapsed since his wife had gone upstairs to dress for the big dinner from which official duties excused him, and he was still lingering over the fire before preparing for his own solitary meal. he expected no one that evening but his old friend hadley shackwell, with whom it was his long-established habit to talk over his defeats and victories in the first lull after the conflict; and shackwell was not likely to turn up till nine o'clock. the unwonted stillness of the room, and the knowledge that he had a quiet evening before him, filled the governor with a luxurious sense of repose. the world seemed to him a good place to be in, and his complacency was shadowed only by the fear that he had perhaps been a trifle over-harsh in refusing his wife's plea for the stenographer. there seemed, therefore, a certain fitness in the appearance of the man's card, and the governor with a sigh gave orders that gregg should be shown in. gregg was still the soft-stepping scoundrel who invited the toe of honesty, and mornway, as he entered, was conscious of a sharp revulsion of feeling. but it was impossible to evade the interview, and he sat silent while the man stated his case. mrs. mornway had represented the stenographer as being in desperate straits, and ready to accept any job that could be found, but though his appearance might have seemed to corroborate her account, he evidently took a less hopeless view of his case, and the governor found with surprise that he had fixed his eye on a clerkship in one of the government offices, a post which had been half promised him before the incident of the letters. his plea was that the governor's charge, though unproved, had so injured his reputation that he could only hope to clear himself by getting some sort of small job under the administration. after that, it would be easy for him to obtain any employment he wanted. he met mornway's refusal with civility, but remarked after a moment: "i hadn't expected this, governor. mrs. mornway led me to think that something might be arranged." the governor's tone was brief. "mrs. mornway is sorry for your wife and children, and for their sake would be glad to find work for you, but she could not have led you to think that there was any chance of your getting a clerkship." "well, that's just it; she said she thought she could manage it." "you have misinterpreted my wife's interest in your family. mrs. mornway has nothing to do with the distribution of government offices." the governor broke off, annoyed to find himself asseverating for the second time so obvious a fact. there was a moment's silence; then gregg said, still in a perfectly equable tone: "you've always been hard on me, governor, but i don't bear malice. you accused me of selling those letters to the 'spy'--" the governor made an impatient gesture. "you couldn't prove your case," gregg went on imperturbably, "but you were right in one respect. i _was_ on confidential terms with the 'spy.'" he paused and glanced at mornway, whose face remained immovable. "i'm on the same terms with them still, and i'm ready to let you have the benefit of it if you'll give _me_ the chance to retrieve my good name." in spite of his irritation the governor could not repress a smile. "in other words, you will do a dirty trick for me if i undertake to convince people that you are the soul of honor." gregg smiled also. "there are always two ways of putting a thing. why not call it a plain case of give and take? i want something and can pay for it." "not in any coin i have a use for," said mornway, pushing back his chair. gregg hesitated; then he said: "perhaps you don't mean to reappoint fleetwood." the governor was silent, and he continued: "if you do, don't kick me out a second time. i'm not threatening you--i'm speaking as a friend. mrs. mornway has been kind to my wife, and i'd like to help her." the governor rose, gripping his chair-back sternly. "you will be kind enough to leave my wife's name out of the discussion. i supposed you knew me well enough to know that i don't buy newspaper secrets at any price, least of all at that of the public money!" gregg, who had risen also, stood a few feet off, looking at him inscrutably. "is that final, governor?" "quite final." "well, good evening, then." iv shackwell and the governor sat over the evening embers. it was after ten o'clock, and the servant had carried away the coffee and liqueurs, leaving the two men to their cigars. mornway had once more lapsed into his arm-chair, and sat with out-stretched feet, gazing comfortably at his friend. shackwell was a small dry man of fifty, with a face as sallow and freckled as a winter pear, a limp mustache, and shrewd, melancholy eyes. "i am glad you have given yourself a day's rest," he said, looking at the governor. "well, i don't know that i needed it. there's such exhilaration in victory that i never felt fresher." "ah, but the fight's just beginning." "i know--but i'm ready for it. you mean the campaign against fleetwood. i understand there is to be a big row. well, he and i are used to rows." shackwell paused, surveying his cigar. "you knew the 'spy' meant to lead the attack?" "yes. i was offered a glimpse of the documents this afternoon." shackwell started up. "you didn't refuse?" mornway related the incident of gregg's visit. "i could hardly buy my information at that price," he said, "and, besides, it is really fleetwood's business this time. i suppose he has heard the report, but it doesn't seem to bother him. i rather thought he would have looked in to-day to talk things over, but i haven't seen him." shackwell continued to twist his cigar through his sallow fingers without remembering to light it. "you're determined to reappoint fleetwood?" he asked at length. the governor caught him up. "you're the fourth person who has asked me that to-day! you haven't lost faith in him, have you, hadley?" "not an atom!" said the other with emphasis. "well, then, what are you all thinking of, to suppose i can be frightened by a little newspaper talk? besides, if fleetwood is not afraid, why should i be?" "because you'll be involved in it with him." the governor laughed. "what have they got against me now?" shackwell, standing up, confronted his friend solemnly. "this--that fleetwood bought his appointment two years ago." "ah--bought it of me? why didn't it come out at the time?" "because it wasn't known then. it has only been found out lately." "known--found out? this is magnificent! what was my price, and what did i do with the money?" shackwell glanced about the room, and his eyes returned to mornway's face. "look here, john, fleetwood is not the only man in the world." "the only man?" "the only attorney-general. the 'spy' has the lead trust behind it and means to put up a savage fight. mud sticks, and--" "hadley, is this a conspiracy? you're saying to me just what ella said this afternoon." at the mention of mrs. mornway's name a silence fell between the two men and the governor moved uneasily in his chair. "you are not advising me to chuck fleetwood because the 'spy' is going to accuse me of having sold him his first appointment?" he said at length. shackwell drew a deep breath. "you say yourself that mrs. mornway gave you the same advice this afternoon." "well, what of that? do you imagine that my wife distrib--" the governor broke off with an exasperated laugh. shackwell, leaning against the mantelpiece, looked down into the embers. "i didn't say the 'spy' meant to accuse _you_ of having sold the office." mornway stood up slowly, his eyes on his friend's averted face. the ashes dropped from his cigar, scattering a white trail across the carpet which had excited mrs. nimick's envy. "the office is in my gift. if i didn't sell it, who did?" he demanded. shackwell laid a hand on his arm. "for heaven's sake, john--" "who did, who did?" the governor violently repeated. the two men faced each other in the closely curtained silence of the dim luxurious room. shackwell's eyes again wandered, as if summoning the walls to reply. then he said, "i have positive information that the 'spy' will say nothing if you don't appoint fleetwood." "and what will it say if i do appoint him?" "that he bought his first appointment from your wife." the governor stood silent, immovable, while the blood crept slowly from his strong neck to his lowering brows. once he laughed, then he set his lips and continued to gaze into the fire. after a while he looked at his cigar and shook the freshly formed cone of ashes carefully upon the hearth. he had just turned again to shackwell when the door opened and the butler announced: "mr. fleetwood." the room swam about shackwell, and when he recovered himself, mornway, with outstretched hand, was advancing quietly to meet his guest. fleetwood was a smaller man than the governor. he was erect and compact, with a face full of dry energy, which seemed to press forward with the spring of his prominent features, as though it were the weapon with which he cleared his way through the world. he was in evening dress, scrupulously appointed, but pale and nervous. of the two men, it was mornway who was the more composed. "i thought i should have seen you before this," he said. fleetwood returned his grasp and shook hands with shackwell. "i knew you needed to be let alone. i didn't mean to come to-night, but i wanted to say a word to you." at this, shackwell, who had fallen into the background, made a motion of leave-taking, but the governor arrested it. "we haven't any secrets from hadley, have we, fleetwood?" "certainly not. i am glad to have him stay. i have simply come to say that i have been thinking over my future arrangements, and that i find it will not be possible for me to continue in office." there was a long pause, during which shackwell kept his eyes on mornway. the governor had turned pale, but when he spoke his voice was full and firm. "this is sudden," he said. fleetwood stood leaning against a high chair-back, fretting its carved ornaments with restless fingers. "it is sudden--yes. i--there are a variety of reasons." "is one of them the fact that you are afraid of what the 'spy' is going to say?" the attorney-general flushed deeply and moved away a few steps. "i'm sick of mud-throwing," he muttered. "george fleetwood!" mornway exclaimed. he had advanced toward his friend, and the two stood confronting each other, already oblivious of shackwell's presence. "it's not only that, of course. i've been frightfully hard-worked. my health has given way--" "since yesterday?" fleetwood forced a smile. "my dear fellow, what a slave-driver you are! hasn't a man the right to take a rest?" "not a soldier on the eve of battle. you have never failed me before." "i don't want to fail you now. but it isn't the eve of battle--you're in, and that's the main thing." "the main thing at present is that you promised to stay in with me, and that i must have your real reason for breaking your word." fleetwood made a deprecatory movement. "my dear governor, if you only knew it, i'm doing you a service in backing out." "a service--why?" "because i'm hated--because the lead trust wants my blood, and will have yours too if you appoint me." "ah, that's the real reason, then--you're afraid of the 'spy'?" "afraid--?" the governor continued to speak with dry deliberation. "evidently, then, you know what they mean to say." fleetwood laughed. "one needn't do that to be sure it will be abominable!" "who cares how abominable it is if it isn't true?" fleetwood shrugged his shoulders and was silent. shackwell, from a distant seat, uttered a faint protesting sound, but no one heeded him. the governor stood squarely before fleetwood, his hands in his pockets. "it _is_ true, then?" he demanded. "what is true?" "what the 'spy' means to say--that you bought my wife's influence to get your first appointment." in the silence shackwell started suddenly to his feet. a sound of carriage-wheels had disturbed the quiet street. they paused and then rolled up the semicircle to the door of the executive mansion. "john!" shackwell warned him. the governor turned impatiently; there was the sound of a servant's steps in the hall, followed by the opening and closing of the outer door. "your wife--mrs. mornway!" shackwell cried. another step, accompanied by a soft rustle of skirts, was advancing toward the library. "my wife? let her come!" said the governor. v she stood before them in her bright evening dress, with an arrested brilliancy of aspect like the sparkle of a fountain suddenly caught in ice. her look moved rapidly from one to the other; then she came forward, while shackwell slipped behind her to close the door. "what has happened?" she said. shackwell began to speak, but the governor interposed calmly: "fleetwood has come to tell me that he does not wish to remain in office." "ah!" she murmured. there was another silence. fleetwood broke it by saying: "it is getting late. if you want to see me to-morrow--" the governor looked from his face to ella's. "yes; go now," he said. shackwell moved in fleetwood's wake to the door. mrs. mornway stood with her head high, smiling slightly. she shook hands with each of the men in turn; then she moved toward the sofa and laid aside her shining cloak. all her gestures were calm and noble, but as she raised her hand to unclasp the cloak her husband uttered a sudden exclamation. "where did you get that bracelet? i don't remember it." "this?" she looked at him with astonishment. "it belonged to my mother. i don't often wear it." "ah--i shall suspect everything now," he groaned. he turned away and flung himself with bowed head in the chair behind his writing-table. he wanted to collect himself, to question her, to get to the bottom of the hideous abyss over which his imagination hung. but what was the use? what did the facts matter? he had only to put his memories together--they led him straight to the truth. every incident of the day seemed to point a leering finger in the same direction, from mrs. nimick's allusion to the imported damask curtains to gregg's confident appeal for rehabilitation. "if you imagine that my wife distributes patronage--" he heard himself repeating inanely, and the walls seemed to reverberate with the laughter which his sister and gregg had suppressed. he heard ella rise from the sofa and lifted his head sharply. "sit still!" he commanded. she sank back without speaking, and he hid his face again. the past months, the past years, were dancing a witches' dance about him. he remembered a hundred significant things.... _oh, god_, he cried to himself, _if only she does not lie about it!_ suddenly he recalled having pitied mrs. nimick because she could not penetrate to the essence of his happiness. those were the very words he had used! he heard himself laugh aloud. the clock struck--it went on striking interminably. at length he heard his wife rise again and say with sudden authority: "john, you must speak." authority--she spoke to him with authority! he laughed again, and through his laugh he heard the senseless rattle of the words, "if you imagine that my wife distributes patronage ..." he looked up haggardly and saw her standing before him. if only she would not lie about it! he said: "you see what has happened." "i suppose some one has told you about the 'spy.'" "who told you? gregg?" he interposed. "yes," she said quietly. "that was why you wanted--?" "why i wanted you to help him? yes." "oh, god! ... he wouldn't take money?" "no, he wouldn't take money." he sat silent, looking at her, noting with a morbid minuteness the exquisite finish of her dress, that finish which seemed so much a part of herself that it had never before struck him as a merely purchasable accessory. he knew so little what a woman's dresses cost! for a moment he lost himself in vague calculations; finally, he said: "what did you do it for?" "do what?" "take money from fleetwood." she paused a moment and then said: "if you will let me explain--" and then he saw that, all along, he had thought she would be able to disprove it! a smothering blackness closed in on him, and he had a physical struggle for breath. then he forced himself to his feet and said: "he was your lover?" "oh, no, no, _no!_" she cried with conviction. he hardly knew whether the shadow lifted or deepened; the fact that he instantly believed her seemed only to increase his bewilderment. presently he found that she was still speaking, and he began to listen to her, catching a phrase now and then through the deafening clamor of his thoughts. it amounted to this--that just after her husband's first election, when fleetwood's claims for the attorney-generalship were being vainly pressed by a group of his political backers, mrs. mornway had chanced to sit next to him once or twice at dinner. one day, on the strength of these meetings, he had called and asked her frankly if she would not help him with her husband. he had made a clean breast of his past, but had said that, under a man like mornway, he felt he could wipe out his political sins and purify himself while he served the party. she knew the party needed his brains, and she believed in him--she was sure he would keep his word. she would have spoken in his favor in any case--she would have used all her influence to overcome her husband's prejudice--and it was by a mere accident that, in the course of one of their talks, he happened to give her a "tip" (his past connections were still useful for such purposes), a "tip" which, in the first invading pressure of debt after mornway's election, she had not had the courage to refuse. fleetwood had made some money for her--yes, about thirty thousand dollars. she had repaid what he had lent her, and there had been no further transactions of the kind between them. but it appeared that gregg, before his dismissal, had got hold of an old check-book which gave a hint of the story, and had pieced the rest together with the help of a clerk in fleetwood's office. the "spy" was in possession of the facts, but did not mean to use them if fleetwood was not reappointed, the lead trust having no personal grudge against mornway. her story ended there, and she sat silent while he continued to look at her. so much had perished in the wreck of his faith that he did not attach much value to what remained. it scarcely mattered that he believed her when the truth was so sordid. there had been, after all, nothing to envy him for but what mrs. nimick had seen; the core of his life was as mean and miserable as his sister's.... his wife rose at length, pale but still calm. she had a kind of external dignity which she wore like one of her rich dresses. it seemed as little a part of her now as the finery of which his gaze contemptuously reckoned the cost. "john--" she said, laying her hand on his shoulder. he looked up wearily. "you had better go to bed," he interjected. "don't look at me in that way. i am prepared for your being angry with me--i made a dreadful mistake and must bear my punishment: any punishment you choose to inflict. but you must think of yourself first--you must spare yourself. why should you be so horribly unhappy? don't you see that since mr. fleetwood has behaved so well we are quite safe? and i swear to you i have paid back every penny of the money." vi three days later shackwell was summoned by telephone to the governor's office in the capitol. there had been, in the interval, no communication between the two men, and the papers had been silent or non-committal. in the lobby shackwell met fleetwood leaving the building. for a moment the attorney-general seemed about to speak; then he nodded and passed on, leaving to shackwell the impression of a face more than ever thrust forward like a weapon. the governor sat behind his desk in the clear autumn sunlight. in contrast to fleetwood he seemed relaxed and unwieldy, and the face he turned to his friend had a gray look of convalescence. shackwell wondered, with a start of apprehension, if he and fleetwood had been together. he relieved himself of his overcoat without speaking, and when he turned again toward mornway he was surprised to find the latter watching him with a smile. "it's good to see you, hadley," the governor said. "i waited to be sent for; i knew you'd let me know when you wanted me," shackwell replied. "i didn't send for you on purpose. if i had, i might have asked your advice, and i didn't want to ask anybody's advice but my own." the governor spoke steadily, but in a voice a trifle too well disciplined to be natural. "i've had a three days' conference with myself," he continued, "and now that everything is settled i want you to do me a favor." "yes?" shackwell assented. the private issues of the affair were still wrapped in mystery to him, but he had never had a moment's doubt as to its public solution, and he had no difficulty in conjecturing the nature of the service he was to render. his heart ached for mornway, but he was glad the inevitable step was to be taken without further delay. "everything is settled," the governor repeated, "and i want you to notify the press that i have decided to reappoint fleetwood." shackwell bounded from his seat. "good heavens!" he ejaculated. "to reappoint fleetwood," the governor repeated, "because at the present juncture of affairs he is the only man for the place. the work we began together is not finished, and i can't finish it without him. remember the vistas opened by the lead trust investigation--he knows where they lead and no one else does. we must put that inquiry through, no matter what it costs us, and that is why i have sent for you to take this letter to the 'spy.'" shackwell's hand drew back from the proffered envelope. "you say you don't want my advice, but you can't expect me to go on such an errand with my eyes shut. what on earth are you driving at? of course fleetwood will persist in refusing." mornway smiled. "he did persist--for three hours. but when he left here just now he had given me his word to accept." shackwell groaned. "then i am dealing with two madmen instead of one." the governor laughed. "my poor hadley, you're worse than i expected. i thought you would understand me." "understand you? how can i, in heaven's name, when i don't understand the situation? "the situation--the situation?" mornway repeated slowly. "whose? his or mine? i don't either--i haven't had time to think of them." "what on earth have you been thinking of then?" the governor rose, with a gesture toward the window, through which, below the slope of the capitol grounds, the roofs and steeples of the city spread their smoky mass to the mild air. "of all that is left," he said. "of everything except fleetwood and myself." "ah--" shackwell murmured. mornway turned back and sank into his seat. "don't you see that was all i had to turn to? the state--the country--it's big enough, in all conscience, to fill a good deal of a void! my own walls had grown too cramped for me, so i just stepped outside. you have no idea how it simplified matters at once. all i had to do was to say to myself: 'go ahead, and do the best you can for the country.' the personal issue simply didn't exist." "yes--and then?" "then i turned over for three days this question of the attorney-generalship. i couldn't see that it was changed--how should _my_ feelings have affected it? fleetwood hasn't betrayed the state. there isn't a scar on his public record--he is still the best man for the place. my business is to appoint the best man i can find, and i can't find any one as good as fleetwood." "but--but--your wife?" shackwell stammered. the governor looked up with surprise. shackwell could almost have sworn that he had indeed forgotten the private issue. "my wife is ready to face the consequences," he said. shackwell returned to his former attitude of incredulity. "but fleetwood? fleetwood has no right to sacrifice--" "to sacrifice my wife to the state? oh, let us beware of big words. fleetwood was inclined to use them at first, but i managed to restore his sense of proportion. i showed him that our private lives are only a few feet square anyhow, and that really, to breathe freely, one must get out of them into the open." he paused and broke out with sudden violence, "my god, hadley, didn't you see that fleetwood had to obey me?" "yes--i see that," said shackwell, with reviving obstinacy. "but if you've reached such a height and pulled him up to your side it seems to me that from that standpoint you ought to get an even clearer view of the madness of your position. you say you have decided to sacrifice your own feelings and your wife's--though i'm not so sure of your right to dispose of _her_ voice in the matter; but what if you sacrifice the party and the state as well, in this transcendental attempt to distinguish between private and public honor? you'll have to answer that before you can get me to carry this letter." the governor did not blanch under the attack. "i think the letter will answer you," he said calmly. "the letter?" "yes. it's something more than a notification of fleetwood's reappointment." mornway paused and looked steadily at his friend. "you're afraid of an investigation--an impeachment? well, the letter anticipates that." "how, in heaven's name?" "by a plain statement of the facts. my wife has told me that she did borrow of fleetwood. he speculated for her and made a considerable sum, out of which she repaid his loan. the 'spy's' accusation is true. if it can be proved that my wife induced me to appoint fleetwood, it may be argued that she sold him the appointment. but it can't be proved, and the 'spy' won't waste its breath in trying to, because my statement will take the sting out of its innuendoes. i propose to anticipate its attack by setting forth the facts in its columns, and asking the public to decide between us. on one side is the private fact that my wife, without my knowledge, borrowed money from fleetwood just before i appointed him to an important post; on the other side is his public record and mine. i want people to see both sides and judge between them, not in the red glare of a newspaper denunciation, but in the plain daylight of common-sense. charges against the private morality of a public man are usually made in such a blare of headlines and cloud of mud-throwing that the voice he lifts up in his defence can not make itself heard. in this case i want the public to hear what i have to say before the yelping begins. my letter will take the wind out of the 'spy's' sails, and if the verdict goes against me, the case will have been decided on its own merits, and not at the dictation of the writers of scare heads. even if i don't gain my end, it will be a good thing, for once, for the public to consider dispassionately how far a private calamity should be allowed to affect a career of public usefulness, and the next man who goes through what i am undergoing may have cause to thank me if no one else does." shackwell sat silent for a moment, with the ring of the last words in his ears. suddenly he rose and held out his hand. "give me the letter," he said. the governor caught him up with a kindling eye. "it's all right, then? you see, and you'll take it?" shackwell met his glance with one of melancholy interrogation. "i think i see a magnificent suicide, but it's the kind of way i shouldn't mind dying myself." he pulled himself silently into his coat and put the letter into one of its pockets, but as he was turning to the door the governor called after him cheerfully: "by the way, hadley, aren't you and mrs. shackwell giving a big dinner to-morrow?" shackwell paused with a start. "i believe we are--why?" "because, if there is room for two more, my wife and i would like to be invited." shackwell nodded his assent and turned away without answering. as he came out of the lobby into the clear sunset radiance he saw a victoria drive up the long sweep to the capitol and pause before the central portion. he descended the steps, and mrs. mornway leaned from her furs to greet him. "i have called for my husband," she said, smiling. "he promised to get away in time for a little turn in the park before dinner." the motor girls on cedar lake or the hermit of fern island chapter i pushing off "oh, cora! isn't this perfectly splendid!" exclaimed bess robinson. "delightful!" chimed in her twin sister, belle. "i'm glad you like it," said cora kimball, the camp hostess. "i felt that you would, but one can never be sure--especially of belle. jack said she would fall a prey to that clump of white birches over there, and would want to paint pictures on the bark. but i fancied she would take more surely to the pines; they are so strong--and, like the big boys--always to be depended on. but not a word about camp now. something more important is on. my new motor boat has just arrived!" "has it really?" this as a duet. "and truly," finished cora with a smile. "yes, it has, and there is not a boy on the premises to show me how to run it. jack expected to be here, but he isn't. so now i'm going to try it alone. i never could wait until evening to start my new boat. and isn't it lovely that you have arrived in time to take the initial run? i remember you both took the first spin with me in my auto, the whirlwind, and now here you are all ready for the trial performance of the motor boat. now belle, don't refuse. there is absolutely no danger." "but the water," objected the timid belle. "we can all swim," put in her sister, "and you promised, belle, not to be nervous this trip. yes, cora, i'm all ready. i saw the craft as we came up. wasn't it the boat with the new light oak deck and mahogany gunwale? i am sure it was," "yes, isn't she a beauty? i should have been satisfied with any sort of a good boat, but mother wanted something really reliable, and she and jack did it all before i had a chance to interfere." "i wonder what your mother will next bestow upon you?" asked belle with a laugh. "she has such absolute confidence in you." "let us hope it will not be a man; we can't let cora get married, whatever else she may do," put in bess, as she shook the dust from her motor coat, and prepared to follow cora, who was already leaving the camp. belle, too, started, but one could see that she, though a motor girl, did not exactly fancy experimenting on the water. it was but a short distance to the lake's edge, for the camp had been chosen especially on account of the water advantage. "there she is! see how she stands out in the clear sunshiny water! i tell you it is the very prettiest boat on cedar lake, and that is saying something," exclaimed cora, the proud possessor of the new motor craft. "beautiful," reiterated the robinson twins. "but what do you know about running it?" queried belle. "why, i have been studying marine motors in general, and have been shown about this one in particular," replied cora. "the man who ran it up from the freight depot for me gave me a few 'pointers,' as he called them." she stepped into the trim craft and affectionately patted the shining engine. "'it is much simpler to run than a car, and besides, there isn't so much to get in your way on the water," cora went on. "my!" exclaimed bess as she stepped in after her hostess. "this is really--scrumptious!" "you take the seat in the stern, belle, and bess, you may sit here near me," said cora, "as i suppose you will be interested in seeing how it works. oh! there is the steamer from the train. hurry! perhaps there are folks aboard we know. let us act at home, and pretend we have been running motor boats all our lives." cora took her place at the engine and before bess or belle had really gotten seated she was turning on the gasoline. "you see this is the little pipe that feeds the 'gas' from the tank to the carburetor," she explained. "now, i just throw in the switch: that makes the electrical connection: then i have to give this fly wheel--it's stiff--but i have to swing it around so! there!" and the wheel "flew" around twice slowly and then began to revolve very rapidly. "now we are ready," and the engine started its regular chug chug. "how do you steer?" asked bess anxiously, for the big steamer with its cargo of summer folks seemed rather near. "i can steer here," and cora turned a wheel amidships, "or one may steer at the bow. suppose you take the forward wheel bess, as i may, have enough to do to look after the engine." "very well," acquiesced the girl, "but i hope i make no mistakes." "oh you won't. just turn the wheel the way you want to go. now we'll hurry. i want to show off my boat." bess took up her place at the steering wheel and turned it so that the boat started on a clear course. everything seemed to work beautifully, and presently bess was so interested in the gentle swerving of the craft, as the rudder responded to her slightest touch, that she, too, thought it very much simpler than motoring on land. "there are the blakes!" suddenly exclaimed belle. "see, they are waving to us." "yes," answered cora as she snatched off her cap and fluttered a response to the folks on the steamer. "bess, keep clear out. the landing is just over there! the steamer makes quite a swell." bess turned, but she did it too suddenly. a wave from the steamer caught them broadside, and drenched the girls before they knew what had happened. "oh!" screamed belle, "--we are running right into the steamer!" "bess! bess!" called cora. "turn! i can't connect--" shouts from the steamer added to their confusion. would they be run down on this, their very first attempt at navigation? "they are the motor girls!" cora heard some one on the steamer shout, and while this much has been told it may be well to acquaint the reader with further details of the situation. the motor girls were friends whom we have met in the four previous volumes of this series entitled respectively: "the motor girls," "the motor girls on a tour," "the motor girls at lookout beach," and "the motor girls through new england." in each of these volumes we have met cora kimball, the handsome, dashing girl who conquers everything within reason, but who, herself, is occasionally conquered, both in the field of sports and in the field of human endeavors. it was she who had the first automobile, her whirlwind and while out in it she had some very trying experiences. in the first volume she managed to unravel the mystery of the road. bess and bell, the robinson twins, were with her, as they were again in the second volume, the story of a strange promise. this promise, odd as it was, all three girls kept, to the delight and happiness of little wren, the crippled child. next the girls went to lookout beach, where they had plenty of good fun, as well as time enough to find the runaways, two very interesting young girls, who had decamped from the "strawberry patch." it was like a game of hide and seek, but in the end the motor girls did capture the runaways. then in the story "through new england," it was cora who was hidden away by the gypsies, and what she endured, and how she escaped were assuredly wonderful. there were brothers and friends of course, jack kimball being the most important person of the first variety, while walter pennington and ed foster were friends in need and friends indeed. and now we find these same girls undertaking a new role--that of running a motor boat, the gift of mrs. kimball to her daughter, for that mother, in her days of widowhood, had learned how safe it was to repose confidence in her two children, cora and jack. the camp at cedar lake had been taken by cora and her friends for a summer vacation on the water, and now, after a day's run from chelton, the home town, in their auto, the flyaway, the robinson girls had again joined cora who had come up the day previous, with a maid to get the camp to rights. the steamer was indeed too close! cora was frantically trying to turn the auxiliary steering wheel, but bess in her fright was turning the more powerful bow wheel in the very direction of danger! "oh! mercy!" shrieked belle. "we are lost!" another wave almost submerged them. the passengers on the steamer had all run to one side of their boat. "turn right!" shouted cora as she jumped up and fairly jerked from bess the forward wheel. "turn to the right!" chapter ii the haunted isle for some seconds no one seemed to know just what had happened. the steamer was clear, and the motor boat was running safely. three very wet girls were thanking their good fortune that the water was their only damage--and water in the shape of a shower of spray is not much of a matter to complain of, after you escape a collision. "what happened?" asked belle, when she had the courage to uncover her eyes. "bess turned wrong," said cora. "i couldn't tell which way to go," put in the frightened girl. "i was simply stage-struck. but what saved us?" "i jerked the wheel just enough to get a little to one side, and then the steamer had a chance to turn away," replied cora. "i tell you we had a close shave, but that makes our first trip all the more interesting. bess, can i trust you now to take my place while i look at that wheel? the rope may have slipped?" "oh, don't do anything," pleaded belle. "call to that boat over there, and let us have help. see, they are coming this way." "why, it's the boys--our boys!" exclaimed cora. "why have they gone out without telling me, when they knew i wanted to use my boat?" in a canoe that looked like a big eel as it slipped over the water could be seen jack, ed and walter. "well!" called jack. "i like that! where did you get the--ocean liner, cora?" "don't say anything about the accident," she had a chance to whisper to the girls before replying to her brother. "i found my boat tied up at the dock," she answered gaily. "isn't she a beauty?" "what are you going to call her?" asked walter. "the whirlpool, i guess," replied cora, "that would go nicely with my whirlwind, don't you think?" "oh, no, don't," objected belle. "i should always feel that we were going to be--" "whirlpooled?" finished jack. "better make her the petrel, cora, for two reasons. we bought it from mr. peters, and she can walk on the water like the old original sea-fowl. just see how she does saunter along." "all right. petrel will do, but it will be pet for short," said cora as now she allowed the boat to drift a little way from beside the boys' canoe. "what was the matter with the steamer folks?" asked ed. "thought i heard something as we passed." "yes, you might have heard them talking about us if your ears had on their long distance," replied cora quickly. "the blakes are aboard." "i saw their trunks at the station," said jack "and they were tagged to the burrow." "that's the hole in the hill, isn't it?" asked walter. "well, i'm glad they have come up--the benny blakeses. i like a lot of folks around here. it is apt to have a depressing effect upon me if company is scarce and fishing shy." "or weather wet," put in ed. "but say, cora, i'd like to try the pet." he remembered he was in a blue bathing suit, ever the most appropriate costume for a canoe. "but i'll wait until later, though i hate to. we have, as a matter of fact, an engagement at far island. have you heard?" "no, what?" asked the girls in chorus. "just a suspicion yet, but it may be true. we think--shall we give it away boys?" "no; sell it," suggested jack. "they sold us on this first trip, why should we give them anything?" "oh, jack! you know i expected you to take me out the first time," said cora reproachfully. "yes, and you know all about a boat, and start out without giving a fellow the slightest warning." "but why didn't you come up when you knew the boat had arrived?" questioned the sister. "because--but that was what ed was going to give away. it's a mysterious secret, and it is situated on far island. so long girls, i suppose you know how to land." "oh, yes indeed," said cora in spite of the protest that was trembling on belle's lips. "we started out, and we will get back all right. wish you luck in whatever you are after," and she winked at bess, who was now beside her at the engine, as cora had concluded to guide the boat by the auxiliary steering wheel. the boys veered off. "i wonder what they are up to?" asked cora. "as soon as we can do so, without being noticed, i think we will follow them. there must have been something important on, when jack did not wait to take me out." "oh, don't let us go farther out on the lake," begged belle. "i am nervous yet." "then suppose we take you in? nettie is at the camp, and then bess and i can go out to the island. there was really nothing the matter with the boat, the mistake was all due to our own nervousness." "well, i would feel better not to sail any farther," admitted the, pretty blond belle, as she tossed back some of her breeze stray curls. "i am subject toow." "on still water?" asked bess archly. "well, we will take you in, twiny. and we will then go out. i want to redeem myself." "good for you, bess," said cora. "there is nothing like courage, unless it be gasoline," and after starting the engine, she turned the boat toward the shore. "there are the boys heading for the other island!" she exclaimed a moment later. "they are trying to fool us. i wonder why?" asked bess. "see, belle. there are nettie and mary an shore--two of the best maids on the island. you will be all right with them, won't you, dear?" "of course," replied the twin, rather confusedly. "i don't need attention." "but you are tired," put in cora, "and those girls have not done a thing since lunch time. just command them." "'very well. but do be careful, you two girls. a bad beginning you know." "oh, don't you worry about us," replied cora confidently. "i feel as if this boat was a top in my hands. it is so much easier to handle than an auto. no gears, differentials or things like that. good bye, belle. have supper ready when we return," and she sounded the small whistle that told of the start again. "good bye. be careful," cautioned belle. then the two girls headed the craft for the little island around which they had just seen the boys disappear. "i thought the boys looked very serious," said bess, as she put her hand on the wheel beside cora's. "i wonder what is wrong?" "jack certainly had something very important on when he neglected me," said his sister. "i hope there is nothing really wrong. there are no people on that island, i believe." "then perhaps we had better not land?" suggested bess. "it might be horribly lonely and we might not be able to find the boys." "well, when we get there we will be able to judge of all that," replied cora. "doesn't the petrel motor beautifully?" "and this lake," added bess. "i never saw anything like it. why some of those islands are big enough to inhabit." "yes, there is one island over there," answered cora, pointing to the extreme eastern shore of the water, "and since i have seen it i am just dying to explore it. they call it fern island, and the store man tells the most wonderful tales about it. but we will have to wait until we all assemble. when did hazel say she would come?" "tomorrow or next day. she has to take some special 'exams.' i am sorry that girl is so ambitious. it always interferes with her vacation." "hazel will make her mark some day, if she does not spoil it all by having someone make it for her--on a flat stone. but honestly bess, i do hope she will come up before the others. next to you and belle i count more on hazel hastings than on anyone else in our party." "and not a little on her brother paul?" and bess laughed in her teasing way. "now cora, paul hastings is acknowledged to be the most useful boy in all the chelton set. he can fix an auto, fix an electric bell, fix an alarm clock--" "and no doubt could overhaul a motor boat," finished cora, as she turned the petrel toward land. "well, this is far island, and i am sure the boys headed this way. let's shout." putting her hands to her mouth, funnel fashion, cora sent out the shrill yodel known to all of the motor girls and motor boys. bess took up the refrain; but there was no answer. "if they were ashore wouldn't their boat be about?" asked bess. "we can see all this side of the island, but you said it was too rocky to land on the other shore." cora looked about. yes, one edge was all sandy and the other rocks. if the boys had come ashore they must have done so from the north side. "my, what a lot of boats!" exclaimed bess. "cora, just see that flock," and she pointed to a distant flotilla of various craft across the lake. "yes, and so many canoes, we could hardly tell the boys in that throng. do you suppose they are in that parade?" "oh, no. they had only bathing suits on, and that really looks like some fleet," replied bess. "yes, see there is their club banner. my! i had no idea that cedar lake boasted of such style." "we may expect water picnics every day now," said cora. "but just see that old man in the rowboat towing that pretty canoe. do you suppose he has it for hire?" "likely. but how would anyone hire it out here? why not from shore?" questioned bess. "well, perhaps he is taking it to the dock," and cora allowed her boat to touch the island shore. "at any rate if we are to find the boys we had better be at it, for i want to start back before that throng of boats gets in my way. i feel sure enough, but i like room." both girls stepped ashore as cora caught the boat hook in the strong root of a tree and pulled the craft in. then she shouted again. "jack! jack!" she called. "isn't it lonely here," she said suddenly, realizing that while she had expected the boys to be on the island, they might have gone to any of the other bits of land. "yes," said bess. "i never felt so far away from everything before. on an island it is so different from being on real shore!" "yes, it is farther out," and cora laughed at the description. "bess, i guess i was mistaken. the boys do not seem to be here." "then do let's go back," pleaded bess. "i am actually afraid." "of what? not those 'jug-er-umms.' just hear them. you would think the frogs were trying to drive us away from their territory." "i always did hate the noise they make," declared bess. "it sounds like a dead, dark night. why do they croak in the daytime?" "night is coming," cora explained, "and besides, it is so quiet here they do not have to wait for nightfall. but listen! didn't you hear those dry leaves rustle?" "oh cora, come!" and bess pulled at her friend's skirt. "it may be a great--snake." cora stood and listened. "no," she said, "that was no snake. it sounded like something running." "come on, cora dear," begged bess, so that cora was obliged to agree. "see, all the boats have gone the other way. and if anything happened we might just as well be on this desert island as on that desert water." they had not ventured far into the wood, so that it was but a few steps back to the boat. cora loosened the bow line and presently the engine was chugging away. "oh," sighed bess, "i felt as if something dreadful was going to happen. ever since those gypsies took you, cora, i am actually afraid of everything in the country. it did seem safe on the water, but in those woods--" "now, bess dear, you are to forget all about the gypsies. i have almost done so--that is, i have forgotten all the unpleasant part. of course, i occasionally hear from helka. do you want to steer, bess?" "i would rather not," confessed bess, "for i am actually trembling. where do you suppose the boys could have gone?" "haven't the least idea, and we have no more time to speculate. there! didn't you hear a strange noise on the island? i declare, that store man must be right. those islands are haunted!" "wasn't that a queer noise! oh! i am so glad we are safe in our boat," and bess breathed a sigh of relief. "i would have died if that noise happened while we were there." "but i should like to know what it is, and i will never be satisfied until i find out," declared cora. "that was neither bird nor beast--it was human." but the motor boat, girls headed straight for shore--the sun seemed falling into the lake as they reached the camp to be welcomed by belle. the story of the trip to the island and the disappearance of the boys was quickly told. chapter iii what happened to the boys "what can have happened to the boys?" murmured belle. "i am afraid they are drowned." "all of them?" and cora could not repress a smile. "it would take a very large sized whale to gobble them all at once, and surely they could not all have been seized with swimming cramps at the same moment. no, belle, i have no such fear. but i am going right out to investigate. i know jack would never stay away if he could get here, especially when he knew this would be your first evening at the lake. why, the boys were just wild to try my boat," and she threw her motor cape over her shoulders. "come on girls, down to the steamer landing. there may have been some accident." belle and bess were ready instantly. indeed the twins seemed more alarmed than did cora, but then they were not used to brothers, and did not realize how many things may happen and may not happen, to detain young men on a summer day or even a summer night. "oh dear!" sighed belle, "i have always dreaded the water. i did promise mamma and bess to conquer my nervousness and not make folks miserable, but now just see how things happen to upset me," and she was almost in tears. "nothing has happened yet, belle dear," said cora kindly, "and we hope nothing will happen. you see your great mistake comes from what jack calls the 'sympathy bug.' you worry about people before you know they are in trouble. i feel certain the boys will be found safe and sound, but at the same time i would not be so foolhardy as to trust to dumb luck." "you are a philosopher, cora," answered the nervous girl, her tone showing that she meant to compliment her chum. "no, merely logical," corrected cora, as they walked along. "you know what marks i always get in logic." "but it all comes from health," put in bess. "mother says belle would be just as sensible as i am if she were as strong." "sensible as you are?" and cora laughed. bess had such a candid way of acknowledging her own good points. "why, we have never noticed it, bess." "oh, you know what i mean. i simply mean that i do not fuss," and bess let her cheeks glow at least two shades deeper. "well it is sensible not to fuss, bess, so we will grant your point," finished cora as they stepped on the boardwalk that led to the boat landing. "why, i didn't suppose they would light up with that moon," she said. "that's the old watchman over there." a man was swinging a lantern from the landing. he held it above his head, then lowered it, and it was plain he was showing the light to signal someone on the water. cora's heart did give a quickened response to her nerves as she saw that something must be wrong. but she said not a word to her companions. "what are they after?" asked belle timidly. "probably some fishermen casting their nets for bait," cora answered evasively. "you stay here, while i speak with old ben." bess and belle complied, although bess felt she should have been the one to ask questions. what if anything had really happened to the boys! jack was cora's brother. "have you seen anything of some boys in a canoe?" cora asked of the man with the lantern. "they set out this afternoon, and have not yet returned." "boys in a canoe?" repeated ben, in that tantalizing way country folk have of delaying their answers. "yes, my brother and two of his friends went out toward far island--" "fern island?" interrupted the man. "no, when we last saw them they were going away from fern and toward far island," said cora. "well, if they're on fern island at night i pity them. there ain't never been anyone who put up there after dark who wasn't ready to die of fright, 'ceptin' jim peters. and the old boy hisself couldn't scare jim. guess he's too chununy with him," and the waterman chuckled at his joke. "but you have not heard of any accident?" pressed cora. "i saw them young fellers myself. they was in a green canoe; wasn't they?" "yes," answered cora eagerly. "well, i asked jim peters if he had sawed 'em, and he said--but then you can't never believe jim." "what did he say?" excitedly demanded cora, as bess and belle stepped up to where she was talking. "he said they had tied their boat up at the far dock, and had gone on the shore train to the merry-go-'round." "but they were in their bathing suits!" exclaimed cora. "there! didn't i tell you not to take any stock in jim's news! i knowed he was fibbin'. but--say miss. there's this about jim. he don't ever take the trouble to make up a yam unless he has a motive. now i'll bet jim knows something about them lads." "where does this man live?" asked cora. "he don't live no place in particular, but in general he stays at the shanty, when he ain't on the water. but he's a regular fish. the young 'uns calls him a fish hawk." "how could we get to his place? do you think he is at the shanty now?" went on cora, determined to find out something of the man, for she had reason to believe that the dock-hand knew what he was talking about. "bless you, child! it ain't no place for young girls like you to go to any time, much less at night. but i'll tell you what i'll do. i'll jest take a look around myself. i sort of like a girl who knows how to talk to old ben without being sassy." "thank you very much, ben, but i really must hurry to trace the boys. i suppose you have no police around the island?" "wall, there's constable hannon. he is all right to trace a thing when you tell him where it is, but tom hannon hates to think." ben raised the lantern above his head and then, as if satisfied that the signaling was all finished, he placed the lantern on a hook that hung over the edge of the dock. "oh, cora," put in bess, "it is almost eight o'clock. we must hurry along." "i know, bess dear, but i had to find out all this man knew. now i am satisfied to start for the other end of the lake." cora's voice betrayed the emotion she was feeling in spite of her outward calm. the matter was now assuming a very serious aspect. "one thing seems certain," she said to all who were listening, "they could not all have been drowned. they were all expert swimmers. nor would they go to any merry-go-'round and leave us waiting for them. the question now is, what could have detained them?" "well, here comes jim now," said ben. "just you keep quiet, and i'll pump him." a man came slouching along the dock. he had the way of seeming much younger than he pretended to be--that is he walked with his head down although his shoulders were straight and broad as those of any well trained athlete. the three girls instantly decided that this man had some strange motive in his manner. he was shamming, they thought. "hello there, ben," he called to the dock hand jokingly. "how's the tide?" "not much tide on this here lake," replied ben sharply. "never knowed much about them tides, as i've lived at this hole most all my born days. but how was business to-day? that was quite a fleet. how'd you make out?" "oh, same as usual," and jim peters looked from under his big hat at the girls. "got company?" "yes, a couple friends of the old lady's. they're camping here." "oh," half-growled the man understandingly as he made his way to the water's edge. "where're you goin' now?" asked ben. "up the lake," replied the man. "oh, say," spoke ben as if the thought had just occurred to him, "where did you say them young fellers went? the ones who started out in a canoe?" now cora saw that this was the man who had come down the lake with the canoe trailing behind his rowboat. he stepped into the lantern's light, and both bess and belle must also have recognized him, for they shot a meaning glance at cora. "what fellows?" drawled the man in answer to ben's question. "the ones i asked you about. you said they went to the merry-go-'round. did they?" "yep," replied the man sententiously. "where is that?" asked cora, unable to restrain herself longer. "at the peak," he said vaguely. then he stepped into his rowboat and before anyone could question him further he was pulling up the lake. "well, i'll be hung! excuse me ladies, but i am that surprised," said ben apologetically. "say, that fellow knows about the kids, and we've got to follow him. but how?" "in my motor boat," proposed cora quickly. "we could overtake him in that before he had any idea we were following him!" "have you a motor boat? good! where ismotor boat? good! where is it? here, i'll call dan. he kin run faster than a deer. dan! dan! dan!" shouted the old man, and from a nearby rowboat, where, evidently, some boys were having some sort of a harmless game, dan appeared. he was a tall youth, the sort that seems to grow near the water. "hey dan, i want you to go where this girl tells you, and fetch her boat," said ben. "quick now, we've got something to do." "it's up at the new camp," said cora. "it's the new boat you must have seen come up this afternoon." "oh, yes'm, i know it, and i know where it is," replied the lad, and then he was off, his bare feet making no sound. he called back through the darkness "got any oil or gas?" "yes," replied cora, and away he ran. "ain't he a regular dock rat," said ben with something like pride in his voice. "i hope we do not lose sight of that man," remarked cora. "oh jim can't pull as hard as he thinks, especially on a lazy day when he has been out some," affirmed ben. "now suppose you girls just sit on this plank while you wait? 'twon't cost you nothin'." he dusted off the big plank with his handkerchief, and upon the board, cora, bess and belle seated themselves. "i suppose dan will haul the boat down," said cora. "it isn't locked, but he may not want to start the motor." "oh, you can trust to dan to get her here. when he isn't a dock rat he's a canal mule. there! ain't that him? yep, there he comes and he's got her all right," said old ben proudly. the boy could now be seen walking along the water's edge, as he pulled the motor boat by the bow rope. the girls were quick to follow ben to the landing, and there all three, with ben, got aboard. the girls helped cora light the port, starboard and aft-lights; then they were ready to start. "better let me run her," said the man, "as i know all the spots in this here lake. besides," and he touched the engine almost fondly, "there ain't nothin' i like better than a boat, unless it's a fish line." "this is a very simple motor," explained cora, showing how readily the gas could be turned on and how promptly the engine responded to the spark. "it's a beauty," agreed ben, as the "chugchug" answered the first turn of the flywheel. belle and bess sat in the stem and cora went forward. it was a delightful evening and, but for the urgency of their quest, the first night sail of the petrel on cedar lake would have been a perfect success. "isn't that a light?" asked belle, loud enough for cora to hear. "yes. ben see, there is a light. do you suppose that is on jim's boat?" asked cora. "never," replied ben, "he's too stingy to light up on a moonlight night when the water's clear. of course the law says he must, but who's goin' to back up the law?" "which way are you going?" she questioned further. "see that track of foam over yonder? that's jim's course. we'll just pick his trail," said ben. "now there! watch him turn! he's headin' for far island!" at this ben throttled down, and, a few minutes later he turned off the gas and cut out the switch. "we'll just drift a little to give him a chance to settle," he said. "we don't want to get too close--it might spoil the game." belle and bess were both too nervous to talk. it seemed like some pirate story, that they should be following a strange fisherman to a wild island in the night, in hopes of finding the boys--possibly captured boys! cora listened eagerly. she, too, was losing courage--it was so slight a hope that this man would lead them to where the boys might be. "there! see that!" exclaimed ben. "he's talking to some one on land." "yes, i heard jack's voice," exclaimed cora. "oh, i am so glad they are safe!" "but how do we know?" asked belle, her voice trembling. "jack's voice told me," replied cora, "for if they were in distress he would not have shouted like that!" "but he was mad," said ben, and in this the old fisherman made no mistake, for the voices of the boys, in angry protest, could be heard, as they argued with some one, who succeeded in keeping his part of the conversation silent from the anxious listeners. chapter iv getting back a few minutes later the rowboat of jim peters came out from far island, and in it were the boys! "if we have to bale her out all the way" ed was saying, "i can't see why we should pay you a quarter a piece. seems to me we are earning our fare." they were now almost alongside the drifting motor boat. "jack! jack," called cora. "we are here, waiting for you. what ever happened to you?" "well," exclaimed the boys in great surprise. "glad to see you girls--never gladder to see anyone in my life. can you take us on?" "of course we can," replied cora. "my! we thought you were lost." "not us, but our boat," answered walter. "some one stole our canoe and left us on the island, high and dry." "there," said ben, "didn't i tell you?" "well, you fellows owe me just the same as if you went all the way," growled jim peters. "i've lost my night hire waitin' fer you." "how'd you know about them, jim?" asked ben, in a joking sort of tone. "wasn't it luck you happened up this way to-night?" the other man did not reply. cora had stepped down to the seat in front of the engine where ben sat. "do you think that man stole their canoe?" she asked. "hush! 'taint no use to fight with jim. he'd get the best of you sure, and besides, then he would be your enemy. just make a joke of it, and i'll tell you more later," and ben prepared to start as soon as the boys, who were climbing into the motor boat, were ready. "i'll pay you when we get to land," said jack to the boatman, "i have no money in my bathing suit." "well, see that you do," said the man in a rough voice. "i'm not goin' to leave my work to tow a couple of sports just for the fun of it." "oh you'll get paid all right," jack assured him, "and so will the fellow who stole our boat--when we catch him." "i'll chip in for that," said walter. "never saw such a trick. hello bess, also howdy belle. my, isn't it fine to be rescued from a desert island by three pretty girls?" "wallie! wallie. there's a stranger aboard," warned cora. "oh yes, this is ben--ben--" "just ben," interrupted the man at the wheel, with a chuckle. "but he has been so kind," added cora. "only for him we should never have found out where you were." "if you hadn't taken us off that old sieve," put in ed, "i think we would soon have had to swim back to the island. we never could have made the shore in that thing, neither could we swim that distance." "s'long jim!" called ben, as the old rowboat was sent off in the darkness. "see, he isn't balin' her now," he told the boys. "how's that?" all asked in chorus. "oh, that's a great boat--leaks to order," replied ben, as he turned over the fly wheel and cora's craft shot swiftly away from the island. the boys were too busy talking to the girls, and the latter were too busy asking questions, to go further into the matter of the leaking boat, but cora did not fail to notice that the craft must have "leaked to order." "what could that man have intended doing? did he want to sink the boat?" she was wondering. "well, if we haven't had a pretty time of it," said ed. "first, we had to go up trees to get out of the way of something--we are not yet sure whether it was man or beast. then when we crawled down, and made for the shore the canoe was gone clear out of sight." "haven't you any idea who took it?" cora asked. "wish we had--i'll wager he would have to sleep out of doors to-night," threatened jack. "it was the meanest trick." cora gave bess the signal to keep still about having seen a canoe at the back of jim peter's rowboat that afternoon. cora was convinced that ben knew what he was talking about when he warned her to be careful of jim peters. "but why did you go back to the island?" asked cora. "i thought you were going to spend the afternoon with us girls?" "we were, then again we couldn't," answered her brother. "we had a very important appointment at far island." "ben, don't you want one of us to run her?" asked ed. "we were to have had a try--" "nope. this here is the best fun i can have, and this boat is a beauty," replied the old man. "if i had one that could go like this and carry so many passengers i'd give up the dock." "yes, a boat like this would earn its own living," agreed jack. "run her as long as you like to, ben. it gives us a chance--ahem--" "to sit nearer your sisters," finished ben, with a sly laugh. "all's well that ends well," quoted belle to ed, for she was scarcely able yet to draw a free breath--her anxiety had been too keen. "i cannot believe that we are all here together again." "just pinch me," said ed laughing, "and if i don't give our war whoop you may be sure this is not me--i am still on the robinson ranch--there, that was an unpremeditated pun; i mean the old robinson crusoe and i forgot that he was great-grandfather to the present robinson twins." "say, ed," put in walter, "what do you say if we buy a houseboat? this has the camp beaten to a frazzle." "it's all right on such a night," replied ed, "but houseboats, i believe, cost money, and our camp is rented to us for the season. oh fickle wallie! to fall in love with a motor boat, just because her name is pet." walter was talking to cora before ed had finished speaking to him. that was walter's irresistible way with the girls. "no use talking, sis," said jack, "this sail was worth being stranded for. if you are in no hurry, ben, suppose we prolong it. take us some place where we haven't been. you know the rounds of cedar lake." this plan was agreed to, and, though the boys were not dressed as they would wish to have been, it was evening on the water, and their jersey suits were not altogether out of place. "but what i would like to get at," began ed, not being able to dismiss the subject, "is who stole our boat?" "it may have drifted away," suggested cora wisely. "there was a great fleet on the lake to-day, and any small boy might have let your boat go." "well, if i should lay hold of such a chap," declared jack grimly, "he will grow up quickly. he will never be a small boy again." "now i'll tell you," offered ben obligingly. "there's a lot of strange things likely to happen to you young 'uns while you're at this here lake. so take my advice an' go slow. every one here goes slow, and it's the best way. if you suspicion a feller don't go at him. just wait and he will walk right into your hands," and ben sounded a warning whistle as he turned a point. "he'll eat out of my hands if i get training him," prophesied jack. "but all the same, ben, i think that's first-rate advice. it saves us much trouble and that's the most important consideration. it takes time even to polish off such a specimen." "and when you're done, you've got dirty hands," went on ben in rough philosophy. "all the same, there is them that can't be otherwise dealt with, and when the time's ripe i'd--help myself. i know a man or two i'd like first-rate to get at, and stay at till i'd finished." "then, ben," spoke cora, "when you get your man we'll all help you, and when we get ours you can return the compliment." cora had a way of joking that invariably turned out prophetic--and this case was no exception. "well, if there ain't dan sailin' around!" ex, claimed ben suddenly. "he's lookin' fer me. hey there, dan! what's up?" he cried as he faced the boat with the brilliant lamp at the stern. "everything!" yelled back dan. "come up to the dock! there's trouble!" ben swung around the timer to gain more speed in a spurt of the motor. "it's that jim peters, i'll bet," he declared, as they headed for center landin he cut through the shallow channel." whether jim peters had taken leave of his senses or was simply unreasonably angry, folks were never able to say with certainty. at any rate, now, on this evening, the man seemed furious about something. no sooner had the motor boat come up to the dock to allow ben to land, than peters turned upon the young fellows he had been arguing with at the island, and in unmeasured terms spoke against all gasoline water craft. he said he couldn't see why the law allowed them to use the lake, for they made such a racket, filled the air with vile odors, and scared all the fish. "you all ought to be arrested and deported!" he stormed. "the idea of peaceful folks being bothered with such nuisances! i'm not going to stand it if there's a law in the land! why the idea! it's not right! i'll--" he stopped for breath. "now look here, jim, you just quit!" said ben quietly, as the fellow started off on another tirade, using still stronger language, and almost boiling over with rage. "go easy," advised ben. "there's that friend of yours, tony jones, comin'. take a jab at him for a change." as ben got out, jones sauntered along, and it was easy to see that, personally, he was quite a contrast to jim. the situation seemed somewhat relieved. "it's all right now," spoke cora in a low voice, and with an easier air. "let's go." with pleasant words for ben and dan she and her friends prepared to start off again. walter gave the flywheel a few vigorous turns, but there was only a sort of apologetic sigh from the motor. "prime it a bit," suggested ed. with gasoline from a small oil can, walter injected some of the fluid into the cylinder through the pet cock. "now for it!" he exclaimed. "cross your fingers everybody," and once more he did the street-piano act, as ed termed it. the engine only sighed gently. walter gave a quick glance over his shoulder toward the bow. "is that forward switch in?" he asked a bit sharply. "oh!" exclaimed cora, "i accidentally pulled it out when i removed the bulkhead to look at the battery connections. there," she added after a quick motion, "it's in, walter." "now for it! hold your breaths," ordered the engineer. there was a sudden motion to the wheel, a whizzing buzz, a churning of the water under the stern and the boat moved away. "we'll have to have a regular schedule--gasoline, switch, ground-wire, pet-cocks primed--oil cups up, and all that sort of thing," murmured cora as they glided swiftly onward. "i'll print it on a card and hang it near the engine." "thanks," whispered walter, as he took the wheel. "where to?" he asked. "the bath house," suggested ed. "our togs are there." gracefully the craft approached the group of bath houses, whence the boys had started in their canoe that afternoon. but no lights gleamed out to welcome the returning ones. "my word!" exclaimed walter a bit dubiously, "our togs are likely locked up in the safe, and here we are, forty miles from the pile of ready-to wear habiliments that hide behind jack's trunk! eh, what?" "sure thing!" agreed ed with a sigh. "oh, never mind," consoled cora. "come over with us for a while, anyhow, if only to report progress." chapter v a man in the shadow when the engine had been carefully covered, on arrival at the camp dock, and the boat securely tied up for the night, the party were all literally shaking hands in gratitude for the rescue. it was only a short distance along the shore path to where the lads "bunked," but the young men shivered during the trip. the girls thought of their own coats and promptly offered them, for walter, ed and jack were really suffering in their bathing suits. "but we have heavy dresses on," insisted cora, "and really jack it is cool. please take our coats," for her brother had objected. "well, if you insist," replied jack, "but it seems to me we have had more than our share of bad luck for one day. first our boat is stolen, then our clothes are locked up. who would think that that old boathouse man would go to bed so early." "i am sure you are perfectly welcome to our coats," insisted belle, as she and her sister divested themselves of their long automobile garments, "and they will look--" "lovely on us," put in walter. "let me have the blue one, please. it is so becoming." jack took cora's heavy linen, ed accepted the brown that bess had worn, while walter got the blue. "not so bad," said jack, thrusting his hands deep into the patch pockets. "don't know but what i'll get one like this, cora." "and i rather like the empire effect," said ed turning around so that all, might admire the short-waisted coat he wore. "this is the roman empire i believe, bess; is it not?" "no, the first empire," corrected the girl. "my but you do look nice! you have a wonderful--outline." "yes, my nurse always complimented me on my outline. but do behold wallie! isn't he a peach?" "he's a picture girl," declared cora laughing. "well, it is a good thing that we girls all wore coats when we went on the rescuing expedition. but say boys, what do you think was the trouble at the wharf? ben seemed quite excited." "i didn't like the looks of the fellow who offered us the boat ride," commented ed. "and the queer part of it was, how did he know we were on the island?" "and then his boat leaked and stopped. i'll bet his game was to make us fear drowning, and then save us at so much more per save. like the philosopher and the ferryman, don't you know?" "what philosopher?" asked bess innocently. "oh, that old friend of mine who went to sea with his knowledge. don't you remember?" "i never heard of him," declared bess falling into the trap. "then let me tell you," and ed slipped his arm within hers as they walked along toward cora's camp. "there was once a boatman and at the same time there was a philosopher. the former took the latter to sea, or to cross a small body of water, it doesn't really matter. all the way as they sailed the philosopher would say: 'did you ever study astronomy?' the ferryman had not. 'then half your life is gone,' said the philosopher. 'did you ever study philosophy? no? then another quarter of your life is gone.' and so on he went, belle dear," continued ed, "until suddenly the boatman interrupted him with: 'say, did you ever study swimming?' and the philosopher admitted that he had not. 'then,' said the boatman, 'the whole of your life is gone for this boat is sinking!' so you see, belle, our boatman might have given us that little fairy story and charged accordingly." "yes, indeed!" put in jack. "i think it was the luckiest thing that you girls came along. and ben! we must give ben a banquet or something fit." "ben is a great friend of mine," declared cora. "i feel we would all have gone astray but for him. we girls would never have known enough--" then she stopped. she had no idea of telling the boys that they had followed jim peters with the hope of finding the missing ones whither he would lead them. bess and belle also had taken pains not to betray their story to the boys, for, as cora said, jim peters was not a man to quarrel with, and the stolen boat was not a matter to joke about. "here comes nettie!" exclaimed belle. "i wonder what's her hurry." "you've got company, miss," the maid said as she came up to the party walking toward the camp. "miss hasting and her brother have been waiting all evening." "hazel and paul!" exclaimed cora, almost running to the bungalow. "oh, isn't that splendid!" "and us in these!" wailed walter. "do you think hazel will like me in baby blue?" the boys really did look funny in the girls' long coats, but it all added to the merry-making. paul hastings was waiting outside the bungalow. he stood where the porch light fell upon him, and the girls all secretly agreed that he had grown handsomer since they had last seen him. hazel, too, looked very attractive in her plain blue dress, with its turn-over collar and windsor tie. "what a pleasant surprise! we were afraid you would not come for some days hazel!" said cora in greeting. "oh, paul had to come up here. of course he has taken a position." "what did i tell you!" cried jack, folding the cloak about him in dramatic style. "paul hastings for the enterprise. cedar lake is the field; eh, paul?" "well, i had a fine offer," said paul modestly. "and i have been wanting to get out this way. they say there are all sorts of things to do in this locality." "looking for work! what do you think of that! why, paul dear, we are looking for a camp cook. wallie nearly poisoned us on pancakes today," said ed, "and if you would accept--" "come in doors," interrupted cora. "we have had rather a strenuous afternoon, and i am almost tired. how did you get up from the train? or did you come by boat?" she asked the new arrivals. "a fellow rowed us up--" "yes and charged us fifty cents each," interrupted hazel. "wasn't that outrageous!" "some one like jim peters, i'll bet," said ed. "but as cora advised, let's go in doors. we really haven't dined!" "oh! you poor boys," cried belle. "we almost forgot that you were stranded. let me help nettie fix up something." "yes, do. fix up a lot of something," urged jack. "that's the way i feel about it. but do we dine in these?" by this time hazel and paul saw the queer attire of the three young men. then a part of the situation was explained. the bungalow was one of those roomy affairs, built with a clear idea of affording every summer comfort. cora was to be the hostess, and with her was the trusted maid, nettie. there the girls were to visit as they chose, while the boys had taken a camp for themselves near the fishing grounds of the big lake. "now, make that coffee strong, girls," called jack as the odor of the beverage came from the kitchen. "we are almost, if not quite, frozen." he cuddled up on a big couch and threatened to do damage to cora's pretty cloak. "there's someone on the porch," suddenly whispered bess, for a step sounded, so soft and stealthy, that she imagined someone was trying to look in the window. "yes, i heard it," said ed, getting up and going to the door. a man stood in the shadow, stepping out quickly at the sight of the youth. "i came for my money," he muttered. "you fellers ain't got no right to try to do me that way." "who tried to do you?" answered ed, in no pleasant tones. "see here, peters! this is not our camp, and we don't carry money in our bathing suits as we told you before. if you can't wait until to-morrow for the seventy-five cents you know what you can do." "oh i'll give it to you, ed," said cora, fearful that the man might become abusive. "i have plenty of small change." she went into her room and got her purse. it was a pretty little affair, too frail to have been brought to camp, and too good to have left in the locked-up chelton house. as she went back to ed she held out the purse. "here," she said, "take it and help yourself. my coffee will boil over." ed and peters were standing near the edge of the porch. as ed put his hand out to take cora's purse it fell over the rail. "well," he exclaimed, "that's too bad. i must get a match." at this ed stepped to the door to ask for a box, while peters hurried down the steps to look for the missing trinket. when ed came back with a light peters was looking industriously for the purse, but declared he had not seen it. "now see here, peters," cried ed angrily. "you have picked up that purse, and i want you to hand it right over here," and ed dropped the cloak from his shoulders. "if you don't i'll teach you a lesson." "oh, you will, eh?" sneered the man. "well you'd better get at it, kid," and with that he struck ed a tantalizing blow on the cheek. ed clutched the man by the arm. by this time the confusion had been heard within doors, and the other boys hurried out. "what's up?" asked jack, just as ed, with all his strength, almost bent the older man over backward. jim peters was fairly roaring now. he was strong, but this young giant was a surprise to him, and after the way of the cowardly class, as soon as he found out he would be bested he "quit," and begged off. "hand me back that purse," demanded ed. "i know you've got it as well as if i had seen you take it." "what's that over there?" snarled peters, pointing to something bright in the grass. ed picked it up. it was the purse, but it was empty. ed's exclamation told them that. "my ring," cried cora. "i had my ring--oh no. i forgot--that was not the purse," and cora went in doors, presently returning with some small coins. "here, ed," she said, her voice trembling. "do pay that man, and let him go. i--i am so frightened!" "cora," whispered bess, "was your ring in that purse?" "hush," cautioned the other girl. "let us try to make things brighter. since that man sailed down the lake to-day with our boys' canoe we have had nothing but mishaps. now let him go. i'll manage to reckon with him without endangering the life of anyone. he's too desperate a character to deal with in the ordinary way. remember what ben told us." chapter vi cora exploiting there had been three delightful days at camp cozy. cora managed most of the delight, with the able assistance of belle and bess, while hazel did much toward discovering things that she declared all the girls ought to know, for hazel's happiness was ever in obtaining knowledge. the boys had almost lost hope of getting back their canoe. they had searched the lake from shore to shore, offered rewards and had gone through the rest of the lost formula, but the boat was not returned. cora kept to herself her suspicions about jim peters. she also said nothing of the ring that was in the purse when it left her hands, but not in it when the purse was returned to her. it was a splendid morning for a trip on cedar lake, and although belle and hazel had planned a trip to the woods, cora and bess were going out in the petrel. passing center landing, cora called a pleasant good morning to ben, who sat on the end string piece, his feet aiming at the water and his broad brimmed hat caught on halo fashion at the back of his neck. "oh, i must ask him something," said cora, suddenly turning her boat toward the wharf. she drew near enough to speak quietly. "ben," she said, "where is that shanty you told me about--jim peter's place?" "lands sake miss! you ain't goin' there?" asked the man in some alarm. "why not?" demanded cora. "can't i take care of myself in broad daylight?" "but you don't know how ugly that feller can be," insisted ben. "i tell you miss, i'd give him plenty of room, if i war you." "don't go," urged bess. "but, ben," argued cora, "i am afraid you have all let jim peters bully you. i am going to try him another way. where does he live?" "well a hour ago he went up the lake. he goes up there every mornin' regular. like as if he had some important business on the island. when i asked him about it he said there was a fellow who had some dangerous disease, and was campin' out there, and jim allowed that he had to fetch him things." "indeed!" exclaimed cora. "that's a queer story for a man like peters. but i'm going to his shack first, even if he is not at home. it would suit me just as well to find him out on my first visit." "but that young feller who lives with him? he's just as sassy as jim, when he's around the shack. of course he don't stay there always, as jim does." "who is he?" questioned cora. "i hadn't heard of such a person." "oh, he gives the name of jones but it don't fit him fer a cent. i wouldn't be surprised if his real name was macaroni or even noodles. he's foreign, sure." cora laughed. "and he's young, you say?" "a lot younger than jim, but he could be that and yet not be very young, fer i guess jim has lost track of time," replied ben. "yes, jones is a swell, all right." "but the shack? where is it? i must be off," insisted cora. "it's quite a trip down the lake. then you come to a point. go to the left of the point, and when you come to a place where the willows dip into the lake, get off there. the shack is straight back in the deepest clump of buttonball trees." "all right ben, and thank you," said cora as she started up the motor. "i feel like exploring this morning, and your directions sound interesting. i will come back this way to show you that i am safe and sound," and with that she sheered off. "i hope it will be all right," faltered bess. "cora, are you never afraid to risk such things?" "what is there to risk? the land is public, and we have as much right to follow that track as has jim peters or mr. jones. i wonder what mr. jones is like?" "maybe he would be very nice--a complete surprise," ventured bess, at which remark cora laughed merrily. "you little romancer! do you imagine that anyone very nice would chum in with jim peters? isn't there something in your book about birds of the same quills?" "it's aigrettes, in my book," retorted bess. "but it all applies to the same sort of birds. just the same, i am interested in mr. jones." "i fancy perhaps that we are," said cora. "but there is the point ben spoke of. we are to turn to the left." gracefully as a human thing, the boat curved around and made its path through the narrow part of the lake. "and there are the willows," announced bess, as she saw the great green giants dipped into the water's surface. "yes. i thought it would be much farther on. but this is an ideal spot for hiding. one could scarcely be found here without a megaphone." "hear our voices echo," remarked bess. "an echo always makes me feel desolate." "don't you like to hear your own voice?" asked cora lightly. "i rather fancy listening to mine. an echo was always a delight to me." "there's a man sitting under that tree!" almost gasped bess. "so there is, and i am glad of it. he will be able to direct us. i shouldn't be surprised if he were mr. jones," said cora turning the petrel to shore. under a big willow, in a sort of natural basket seat, formed by the uncovered roots of the big trees, a man sat, and as the boat grazed the shore, he looked up from some papers he held in his hands. cora could see that he was very dark, and had that almost uncomfortable manner of affecting extreme politeness peculiar to foreigners of certain classes, for, as she spoke to him, he arose, slid the paper into his pocket, and bowed most profusely. "i am looking for the cabin of mr. peters," said cora, stepping ashore toward the tree. "can you direct me to it?" "the cabin of mr. peters?" and when the man spoke the foreign suspicion was confirmed. "why, who might mr. peters be?" "jim peters; don't you know him?" asked cora determined not to be thrown off the track. "he lives just in here--i should think in that grove--" "oh, my dear miss no! you are mistaken. no one lives around here. i am simply a rustic, looking about. but jim peters?" "are you not mr. jones?" blurted out cora. in spite of himself the man started. "mr. jones?" he repeated. "well, that name will do as well as any other. but allow me to tie your boat. then i will take pleasure in showing you one of the prettiest strips of land this side of naples." "oh, thank you. i have secured it," said cora. "but i would like to explore this island." bess tugged at cora's elbow. "don't go too far. i am afraid of that man," she said in a whisper. "were you drawing as we came up?" cora asked the stranger. "this is an ideal spot for sketching." "yes, i was drawing," he replied. "couldn't we see your picture?" asked cora. "i do so love an outline." "oh, indeed it is not worth looking at. i must show you something when i have what will be worth while. this is only a bare idea." "well," said cora starting off through the wood, "i must look for a cabin, or something like it. i have particular business with jim peters." "but you will only hurt your feet miss," objected the man. "allow me to show you the island," and he bowed again. "such wild swamp flowers i have never seen. it is the everglades, and well worth the short journey." there was something about his insistent civility that betokened a set purpose, and since ben (what a wonder ben was) had told cora that a man named jones "hung out" with jim peters, cora instantly guessed that this was the man, and that he was determined to keep her away from the shack. the situation gave zest to her purpose. bess was fairly quaking as cora could see, but what danger could there be in insisting upon finding that shack? "i have only a short time to be out," objected cora, "and perhaps some other time i will come to see your everglade. come, bess, i see a path this way, and i fancy if we follow it we will find an end to the path," she concluded. "but may i not have the pleasure of your name?" the man called after her. "perhaps we might meet--" "don't," whispered bess. "pretend you did not hear him." "oh, just see those flag lilies!" cora called to bess, covering the man's question without answering it. "let us get some." "oh, aren't they beautiful!" replied bess, in a strained voice. "i certainly must secure some of those." they hurried away from the dark-browed man. he took his hand out of his pocket and upon the smallest finger his eyes rested. he sneered as he looked at a diamond ring that glittered on that slim brown finger. "foolish maid," he said aloud, and then the web of a strange force threw its invisible yet unbreakable chains over the summer life of cora kimball. chapter vii deep in the dark wood "cora, dear, please do not go any farther. somehow i am afraid that man will follow us." "why, bess! i thought you were going to be interested in mr. jones," and cora stooped to pick up a wonderful clump of flag lilies. "jones! how could he be a jones? he's a spaniard." "i thought so myself, bess. but we do not have to plant his family tree. now don't be a baby, girlie," and cora squeezed the plump hand that hung so close to her own. "let us get to the shack, and see if the boys' boat is about there. i am determined to run down jim peters." bess sighed. when cora was determined! but the man had left the water's edge. "cora, see!" said bess. "he is getting into a boat!" "yes and the boat belongs to peters. there! he is surely the one who helps jim out in all his affairs. now we may seek the shack in safety," said cora, as she watched the man at the water's edge push off. "i know the shack is over there, for i smell smoke in that direction. but we will turn the other way until he has cleared off," finished cora as she and bess stepped lightly over the dainty ferns that nestled in the damp earth. "he is quite a boatman," remarked bess, watching the man ply his oars, and make rapid progress up the lake. "yes, he must have been brought up near the water," replied cora. "they say such skill as that is not accomplished on dry land. jack always declared he could tell a fellow at college who had ever been near the water when a lad. they take to it like a duck." "you can easily see that he is a foreigner," went on bess with her speculations. "he must either be an italian or a spaniard." "now we may turn up the path. yes this is a path, for everything is trodden down on it," declared cora. "i hope the hut will not be too deep in the wood." "we won't go if it is," objected bess. "i don't fancy being taken captive by any wild woods clan." "there," exclaimed cora. "i just caught sight--of--it's a woman's skirt!" "yes, and there is a woman in it," added bess. "see, here she comes." "no, i don't think she does. i think she is standing still. we must have frightened her." "what a looking--woman!" "great proportions," described cora. "i guess wherever she lives they must feed her well." cora led the way, and bess timidly followed. "don't go too near," whispered the latter. "why, she cannot eat us," replied cora, smiling over her shoulder to the timid one. "well, what do you want?" roared the woman, as soon as she could be heard by the young ladies. "we are looking for jim peter's shack," replied cora bravely. "i have been sent here to speak with him." "have, eh? well go ahead. speak with me. i'm mrs. jim peters," said the woman with a sneer. "my business is with him," again spoke cora, not in the least frightened by the voice which she knew was made coarser just to scare her. "well, he don't have no business that ain't mine," said the woman, "'specially with young 'uns like you, so you kin just clear off here before i--" "come on cora," begged bess. "i am shaking from head to foot." "all right, dear," replied cora, in a voice for bess alone. "but, mrs. peters, can you tell me when your husband will be about here? i have some work to do on a boat and i understand he does that sort of thing." the woman's face changed. "if that's what you want i'll tell him. you see it is always best to let the woman know first, fer jim does do some foolish things. but just now he's got one boat to do?" "i wonder if he might have a canoe to sell?" interrupted cora, as the thought of thus trapping the woman occurred to her. "he will have one in a few days," the other 'answered. "but it has to be fixed up." "could i see it?" asked cora. "i may not be able to get over here again." "well, the shack is locked and i couldn't show it to you, but when jim comes i'll tell him. who will i say?" cora hesitated. "i hardly think it will be worth while really to order it," she said, "as i must have my brother look it over. i have a motor boat." "i heard it chuggin' and i thought that lazy tony had got a new way of wastin' his time. tony is all right at writin' letters but he's a lazy bones else ways." "who's tony?" asked cora as if indifferently. "he's jim's side partner. say, girl, i'll just tell you. i came up here a few weeks ago from a newspaper advertisement. i never knowed jim peters before, but if them two fellers think i'm goin' to cook in that hut and never go no place off this dock they're foolin' themselves. they don't know all about kate simpson." both girls were utterly surprised by her change of manner. cora was quick to take advantage of it. "you are quite right," she said. "this is no place for a lone woman, and some day when i have my brother along i will fetch my boat, and show you the big islands about here. it would do you good to get out in the clear--away from these dense woods." "that it would, and i'm obliged to you miss," said the woman while bess fairly gasped. "i want to go to one island--fern island they call it. have you ever been there?" "i know where it is," replied cora, wondering what the woman's interest in that place might be. "i have been all around it." "they say it's haunted," and the woman laughed. "it's a great game to put a haunt on a place to keep others off." "well, some day when you can leave your work, i'll take you over there," and cora meant it, for she had not the slightest fear, either of the woman or her rough ways. besides, she felt instinctively that the woman's help would be valuable in the possible recovery of her ring and of the lost canoe. "i'll be goin' back to the shackt fer if jim comes along held raise a row fer me talkin' to strangers. you'd think i was looney the way he watches me." "and is he a stranger to you?" "well, to tell the truth my mother and jim's was cousins, but i never knowed him to be such a poor character as he is, or i'd never have come up here. but i don't have to stay all summer,"' she finished significantly. "well, good-bye, and i'll see you soon again," said cora turning toward her boat. "good-bye, miss, but say," and she half whispered, "is that girl dumb?" cora burst out laughing. bess a mute! "no indeed, but she always lets me do the talking," answered cora with a sty look at the blushing bess. "she has good sense, fer you know how to do it," declared kate simpson. they could hear her bend the brush as she passed up the narrow way. "what a queer creature," remarked bess, when she felt that it was safe to try her voice. "she is queer, but i think she knows a lot about things of interest to us. what did you think of her remark about fern island? to that pretty little spot we will make our next voyage," declared cora, pulling on her thick gloves and taking her place in front of the motor. "turn out into the open lake," she told bess as they started off. "we will make a quick run and get back to the bungalow before the others have done the marketing. i am glad it is not our turn to get the lunch for i want to make a trip to fern island directly after we have had a bite. seems to me," and she increased the speed of the engine a little, "it takes more time to get a meal at camp than it does at home. the simple life certainly has its own peculiar complications." "oh, there comes that man back! i am so glad we are away from that place," exclaimed bess, as the boat of jim peters, with the smiling foreigner called "jones" floated by. chapter viii the haunt of fern island the four motor girls started out in the petrel. never had the lake seemed so beautiful, nor had the sky appeared a deeper, truer blue. the pretty placid lake was dotted all over with summer craft, the sound of the motor boat being almost constant in its echoing, "cut-a-cuta" against the wonderful green hills that banked shore and, island. hazel was steering, and of course cora was running the engine. the pennant waved gaily from the bow of the boat, and of the many colors afloat it seemed that those chosen by the motor girls shone out most brilliantly on the glistening, silvery waters. "i'm not a bit afraid now," admitted belle, "i do think it is all a matter of getting used to the water. i thought i should never breathe again after that first day we went out." "yes," said cora, "the water has a peculiar fascination when one is accustomed to it, and i am sure belle will want to live on a houseboat before we break camp. there go the boys! what a fine motor boat!" "yes," said hazel, "that's one from paul's garage. paul promised jack he would speak to mr. breslin, the owner, about letting it out for the summer, as the breslin family is not coming out here until later. it's the peter-pan, and the fastest boat on the lake." "see them go! i guess they don't see us,"' remarked belle. "i am glad they do not," cora said, "for i want to do some exploring, and if the boys came along they would be sure to have other plans for us. now, hazel, run in there. that is fern island." "oh, there's a canoe!" exclaimed belle. "see! and a girl is paddling. what a queer looking girl!" "isn't she!" agreed bess. "why she has on a man's hat!" "she sees that we are watching her. look how she is hurrying off," remarked cora. "i wonder how far this cove goes in?" "we had better not try to find out," cautioned belle. "i think we have had enough of happenings around here. this is where the boy's boat was stolen from; isn't it?" "no, it was over there, but i guess we will put in at the front of the island, as there is no telling how deep the cove is," said cora. "but see that girl go! why she's actually gone! where can she have disappeared to?" "this ought to be called the 'disappearing' land," suggested hazel. "i was sure that little canoe was directly in front of us, but now it is out of sight." "maybe that is the 'haunt girl of fern island,'" ventured cora with a laugh. "i got a pretty good look at her, and i am willing to say she looked neither like a summer girl nor a winter girl--that is, one who might live here the year around. but just what sort of girl she might be i shouldn't like to speculate. her hair got loose as she hurried, and she reminded me of some wild water bird." "be careful getting out," belle cautioned bess. "this new boat is new to slipperiness." "oh, i will get hold of a tree branch," bess replied. "then, if the boat drifts out, i can swing to safety." all were ashore but bess, and as such things often happen when they are looked for, the petrel did careen from the waves of a passing launch, and just as bess grasped an overhead willow branch, the boat swung out and she sprang in. everybody laughed, but bess lost her breath, a condition she disliked because it always added to the deep color of her plump cheeks. "there!" cried belle. "didn't i tell you?" "i wish that next time, twin, you would leave me to guess!" exclaimed the other twin, rather pettishly. "isn't this perfectly delightful!" exclaimed hazel, running over the soft earth where ferns were matted, and wild flowers grew tangled in their efforts for freedom. "i never saw such dainty little flowers! oh! they are sabatial i have seen them in massachusetts," and she fell to gathering the small pink blooms that rival the wild rose in shade and perfume. "here are the maiden hair ferns," called cora. "no wonder they call this fern island." "let us see how many varieties of fern we can gather," suggested belle. "i have ferns pressed since last year, and they look so pretty on picture mats." at this the girls became interested in the number of ferns gatherable. belle went one way, bess another, and so on, until each had to call to make another hear her. cora ran along fearlessly. she was diving very deep into the ferny woods, and she was intent on coming out first, if it were only in a race to get ferns. suddenly she stopped! what was that sound? surely it was some one running, and it was none of the girls! standing erect, listening with her nerves as well as with her ears, cora waited. that running or rustling through the leaves was very close by. should she call the girls? but before she could answer herself, she saw something dart across a big rock that was caressed by a great maple tree that grew over it. "oh!" she screamed involuntarily. then she saw what it was. a man, a wild looking man, with long hair and a bushy beard. he had stopped just long enough to look in the direction of cora. she saw him distinctly. oh! if he should run toward bess or belle! hazel would not be so easily alarmed but surely this was a wild man if ever there was such a creature. "that is the ghost of fern island," cora concluded. "i must get back to the girls." she turned and hurried in the direction from which she had heard voices. "if they have not seen him," she reflected, "i will not say anything until we get back to camp." "i have ten different kinds of ferns," suddenly called belle, in a voice which plainly said that no wild man had crossed her path. "i've got eight," said hazel. "how many have you, cora?" cora glanced at her empty hands. she had dropped her ferns. "i have tossed away mine. i was afraid of black spiders," she said evasively. "isn't that too bad," wailed bess, "and none of us picked any maiden hair because we thought you had it. let us go and get some." "oh, i think we had best not this time," said cora quickly. "i really want to get to the post office landing before the mail goes out. we can come another time when i have something to kill spiders with. i never saw such huge black fellows as there are around here." this was no shading of the truth, for indeed the spiders around cedar lake did grow like 'turtles', jack had declared. "oh, all right," agreed belle. "but this is the most delightful island and i am coming out here again. i hope the boys will come along, for there are such great bushes of huckleberries over there that we simply couldn't climb to them alone."' "we will invite them next time," said cora, and when she turned over the fly wheel of her boat her hands that had held the ferns were still trembling. she looked uneasily at the shore as they darted off. "what's the matter, cora?" asked hazel. "you look as if you had seen the ghost of fern island." "i have," said cora, but the girls thought she had only agreed with hazel to avoid disagreeing. "what boat is that?" asked bess a moment later, looking at a small rowing craft just leaving the other side of the island. "it's jim peters'" replied cora, "we were lucky to get back into ours before he saw it. i wouldn't wonder but what he might like to take a motor boat ride in the petrel." "do you suppose he really would steal a boat?" exclaimed belle. "he might like to try a motor, i said," replied cora. "they say that jim peters tries everything on cedar lake, even to running a shooting gallery. but see! he is reading a letter! where ever did he get a letter on this barren island?" "maybe he carries the mail for the ghost," said hazel, with a laugh. chapter ix jack and cora "cora, where is your ring?" the sister looked at her finger. "oh jack," she replied, "i will get it--but not just now. why?" "i thought you always wore that ring when you put on your frills, and i haven't seen you so dressed up since you came to camp. somehow, cora, i feared you might have lost it." "i did," she said simply. "your new diamond!" "yes, but i feel sure of finding it. now, jackie dear, please don't cross question me. i shouldn't have taken it off, but i did, so and that is how i came to lose it. but i want to tell you something while we are alone. i saw the ghost of fern island to-day." "nonsense! a ghost?" sneered jack. "why, cora, if the other girls said that i should laugh at them." "well i want to tell you. we were on the island-the girls and i--and i got a little away from them when suddenly the wildest looking man rushed across the path. he had a beard like rip van winkle and looked a lot like him too." "rip might be summering out this way, though i rather thought he had taken a trip in an airship," said jack. "but honestly, cora, what was the man like? paul had a story of that sort. he declares he, too, saw this famous ghost." "do you suppose he might have taken the canoe? the wild man i mean. we saw a strange looking girl in a canoe and somehow she vanished. we could see her boat and then we couldn't, although we could not make out where she went to. it was the queerest thing. there must be some strange curves on those islands." "oh there are, lots of them. they are as curvy as a ball-twirler's best pitch. but the ghost. that is what interests me, since--ahem--since he has a daughter. was she pretty?" "i should say she was rather pretty," replied cora, quite seriously, "but she did have a wild look too. i do believe she is a daughter to the wild man, whoever he may be." "well, everyone around here declares that is land is haunted, but fisher-folk are always so superstitious. yet we must hunt it up. i will go out with you the next time you go. did the other girls see him?" went on the brother. "no, and i decided not to tell them. you know how timid bess and belle are, and if they thought there was such a creature about the island i would never get them to put foot on shore there again, and i do so want to investigate that matter. i believe jim peters has something to do with it for i saw him coming away from there with a letter. now what would he be doing with a letter out on a barren island?" "oh jim is a foxy one. i wouldn't trust him as far as the end of my nose. but here come the others. will you go over to the casino this evening." "yes, we had planned to go. that is why i am dressed up. hazel may have to go to town to-morrow, and i want her to see something before she goes," replied cora, just as the girls, and walter, ed and paul strode up to the bungalow. "oh! we have had the greatest time," blurted out bess. "cora, you should have been with us. ben got angry with jim peters, and he and dan threatened to throw jim overboard, and--" "jim seems to have a hankering after fights," put in ed. "i haven't settled with him yet." "ed, you promised me you would call that off," cora reminded him. "you know it was all about me, and you have given me your promise not to take it up again. that jim peters is an ugly man." "all the same we heard that you were not afraid of him," said walter with a tug at cora's elbow. "didn't you beard the lion in his den?" "who said i did?" asked cora flushing. "i promised--crossed my heart not to tell," said walter. "but all the same the folks at the landing are talking about the pretty girl who went all the way up the cove, and stopped at the place where peters and his pal land. i would advise you to be careful. they say that tribe is not of the best social standing," went on walter quite seriously. "i won't go there again," put in bess. "what! were you along?" demanded jack. "then you must have been the pretty girl referred to at the landing." "i was a pretty scared girl," declared bess. "i tell you, i don't want to meet any more peters or joneses or kates," she finished. "but what was the trouble between jim and ben?" asked cora. "let me tell it," belle exclaimed. "we were just standing by the boathouse, watching some men fish, when jim peters, came along. he stopped and took a paper out of his pocket. the wind suddenly blew up--" "and took the paper out of his hand," interrupted hazel. "it blew across to where dan was standing, and what was more natural than that dan should pick it up?" "and did jim get angry at that?" inquired cora. "angry! he fairly fell upon poor dan," put in walter, "and when ben saw him--i tell you ben may stand a lot of trouble on his own account, but, when it comes to anyone trying to do dan, ben is right there to fight for him. didn't he almost put jim over the rail?" "there must have been quite a lively time," said jack. "sorry i missed it. there is so little excitement around here that we need all we can get. and what was the answer?" "jim took his old letter and slunk off," finished belle. "and dan said he couldn't have read even the name on the out side if he had tried. he said it must have been written in greek," and belle laughed at the idea of the classics getting mixed up in any such small affair. "seems to me," said cora thoughtfully, "that jim had some very important reason for fearing that one might see that letter." "yes," declared hazel, "that struck me right away. i shouldn't be surprised if it had been addressed to--the ghost!" "well, if you young ladies intend to see what is going on at the casino this evening," ed reminded them, "we had better make a start. this is amateur night, i believe." "and the blake girls are going to sing," announced jack. "then i shall have a chance to clap my hands at pretty mabel," and he went, through one of those inimitable boys' pranks, neither funny nor tragic, but just descriptive. "i think it is awfully nice of the blake girls to take part," said cora, "for in this little summer colony everyone ought to be agreeable." "but i notice you are not taking part," ed said with a laugh. "just fancy cora kimball on the casino platform." "don't fancy anything of the kind," objected bess. "we are willing to be sociable but we have no ambition to shine." "come along," called jack, who was on ahead with hazel, "and mind, if anything brushes up against you, it is apt to be a coon, not a cat, as belle thought the other night." they started off for the path that led to the public pavilion on the lake shore. cora was with ed, walter had belle on one side and bess on the other, because he declared that the twins should always go together to "balance" him. jack and hazel led the way. at the pavilion the seats were almost all occupied, for campers from all sides of the lake flocked there on the entertainment evenings. a band was dreaming over some tune, each musician evidently being his own leader. the elder miss blake, jeannette, who sat on an end seat, arose as they entered and made room for the chelton folks to sit beside her, meanwhile gushing over the prospect of the evening's good time, and the good luck of "meeting girls from home." walter allowed bess and belle to pass to the chairs beyond miss blake and thus placed himself beside the not any too desirable spinster. he made a wry face aside to jack. he liked girls but the elder miss blake! "mabel is going to sing 'dreams,'" she said sweetly. "i do love mabel's voice in 'dreams.'" "yes, i think i should too," said walter, but the joke was lost on jeannette. "who is that dark man over there?" he asked. "oh that's a foreigner. they call him jones, but that's because his name is so unpronounceable. isn't he handsome?" asked the lady. "rather odd looking i should say," returned walter, "but it seems to me he is attracted in this direction. why should he stare over this way so?" "he knows me," replied miss blake, bowing vigorously to "jones" who was almost turned around in his chair in his determination to see the chelton party. "he's mighty rude, i think," walter complained again, leaning over to speak to cora who was just beyond bess. "do you feel the draft from that window, cora?" he asked. "oh i--" then she stopped. something in walter's voice told her that it was not the window draft he was referring to. she glanced across the room, and her eyes fell upon the man she had met at jim peter's landing place. "i think those seats over there--up near the stage are much pleasanter," said jack, who also saw that something was wrong. "suppose we change?" "all right" assented cora, taking the cue. "there are just four." "i will stay here with hazel, while you and wallie go over there with the girls," suggested jack. "and say wallie," he whispered, "if i catch you fanning that young lady in the row ahead i'll--duck you on the way home." walter apologized profusely for leaving miss blake. she evidently was sorry that the window had been open for she was "so enjoying talking of dear old chelton." the place had only been thus mentioned by herself. "who is that dark man?" hazel inquired of jack, for, as if his eyes were magnets, every girl in the group felt they were riveted upon her. "i don't know," replied jack, "but he seems to be very much interested in someone here. there, he is watching cora. i wonder who the fellow is?" the curtain rising interrupted the speculation. a man cushioned like a cozy corner laughed at himself while waiting for his audience to do so. then he gave a yell and started to sing a ridiculous song about the milkmaid and the summer boarder. when he had finished one verse he took another "fit" of laughter, but somehow the audience did not see it his way, and when he tried it again, he broke off with an explanation. he felt sure that the people did not quite understand the joke, and he tried to tell them how very funny it was. to relieve the situation another person came on. one side of the figure was draped in the evening garb of a lady, while the other wore the full dress suit of a gentleman. the illusion was not at all bad, especially when the "person" waltzed with himself, with his arms around the other side of the evening dress the effect was really funny. "that's spencer," declared jack to hazel. "he did that at college. isn't it great?" "very funny," admitted hazel, while the man made in halves bowed on one side first, then on the other, to his applause. "mabel is going to sing now," announced miss blake getting a firmer hold on her chair. "i just love to hear mabel sing." jack said he did also, then outside the dropped curtain stepped mabel. she was pretty, a little thing with brown eyes and brown hair. she wore the most babyish dress made in empire, and it was evident she knew something about making up for good effect on the stage. applause instantly greeted mabel, and jack was not the one who first tired of clapping his hands. this pleased miss jeannette immensely, and she did not fail to express her pleasure to those about her. the dark man in the seat across the aisle glanced first at the stage and then at the seat where the elderly lady sat. jack was watching him, and noted his peculiar glances. presently mabel started to sing. her voice was sweet, and her stage manners attractive. "isn't she lovely!" exclaimed bess to ed. "i do believe she is studying for the stage." "shouldn't wonder," replied the young man under his breath. then the girl finished the song and bowed with such pretty piquancy that everybody demanded more of her talent. jack was still watching the dark man. as the girl left the platform the latter left his seat and went outside of the pavilion. presently a messenger tapped miss blake on the shoulder, "your niece wishes to speak to you," the boy said, and at that jeanette blake also left her seat and the room. "something mysterious about that," said jack to hazel, "and i propose seeing it out if i can. i will take you over to the others, and run outside." just as he said that, a boy appeared on the platform and announced that owing to an important message miss blake was obliged to leave the hall and could not accommodate with her second number, but that some one else would try to fill her place. a murmur of dissent arose from the audience. "how could she get an important message here," cora asked ed. "where in the world could it come from?" jack pushed a chair for hazel in line with the others. "i am going outside for a moment," he said. "take care of the girls until i come back." "all right," agreed the other young men. "but don't run after mabel," put in walter with a laugh. but that was exactly what jack kimball did. chapter x mystery upon mystery cora, healthy though she was, did not sleep well that night. jack did not return to the hall, and had left word with the doorkeeper that he could not get back in time to see his sister but would run up from his bungalow early the next morning. it was early now, and next morning, but jack had not kept his word. no one but cora and hazel had any idea that this might mean anything important. "it was so strange, the way that man acted," said hazel to cora, as the two made their way to the spring for fresh water. "first he watched you, then when mabel blake appeared he kept his eye on her. and such eyes! i believe he could hypnotize any one." "i hope he did not hypnotize mabel," replied cora. "or jack," added hazel. "no fear of the latter," declared the sister. "jack is too level-headed to take any cue in that direction." "that's just the way i feel about paul," spoke hazel. "isn't it lovely to have such splendid brothers?" "nothing could be more satisfactory," declared cora, "unless it would be having a sister besides. i have often wondered what i should have done if i had not had such splendid girl friends. do you feel as if a sister would have made your life more complete?" "i have never thought of it," said hazel. "but cora! look at that woman!" almost creeping through the tall grass the form of a woman could be distinguished. she had evidently come from a boat that was lying along shore--a rowboat. seeing the girls, the woman stood up. "it's kate simpson!" exclaimed cora, "and she seems to be looking for our camp!" "miss!" called the woman, her voice shaking. "wait, wait for poor kate! oh! i'm droppin' down!" "what is it, kate?" asked cora kindly. "you seem exhausted." "oh, indeed i am that," replied the woman, brushing the straggling hair from her forehead. "i am all but dead!" "what has happened?" asked cora further. "i can't tell you here. they might find me, and they'd know the boat." "we can hide the boat in the bushes, and you may come up to the camp," suggested cora. "that boat is not hard to lift." "if you only could, but i'm too done up to help," faltered the woman. cora and hazel easily shifted the light canoe up into the deep grass. kate got on her feet again, and, following the girls, all made their way to a spot entirely closed in with heavy hemlock trees. "we may talk here," suggested cora. "this is what we call our annex--the annex to our camp." "it's better than the shack i've been living in," murmured the woman. "i'm done with that. here," and she slipped her hand in her dress, carefully taking from a patched place in her skirt a small article. "this is yours--i know it!" "my ring!" cora's eyes sparkled akin to the gem at which she was gazing. hazel looked on dumbfounded. "yes, it's your ring, but don't ask me how i got it," said kate, "though i'm pretty sure you can guess." "i knew who had it, and i felt i would get it back," cora replied, "but i never dreamed how i might recover it. mother gave it to me on my last birthday." "well i'll tell you this much, miss," and kate simpson glanced furtively around her, to make sure that no one might be approaching. "if there ever was two bigger villains than jim peters and tony whatever-his-other-name-is-if-he's-got one, then i never heard tell of them. they're up to some new trick every day and another new one every night. but the worst--" she seemed afraid to go on. evidently even a woman so used to hardship as this one could be frightened. "the worst?" asked cora. "is the one that goes on at fern island," almost whispered the strange creature. "goes on?" exclaimed hazel, who had hitherto been silent, too interested to interrupt. "yes, miss, it goes on, and it will go on i'm afraid while them villains live." there was a shout from the camp. the others were looking for hazel and cora. the familiar yodel was sent back, then cora told hazel: "you run over, hazel, and do something to interest them, while i take kate up the back way. i want to get her some of those things the last maid left, and i want to refresh her a little." "but i couldn't wait, dear," sighed kate. "if i don't get a train or boat away from this place soon, they'll be sure to catch me." "but you have done nothing wrong! why shouldn't you go or come as you want to?" asked cora. "i can't tell you, miss, but them men seem to have some power and i want to get away from it. where might i find a train or a boat?" "if you have to go, i'll take you to the landing in my motor boat," replied cora. "it has a canopy and you will not be seen on the water." "if you could. i'd be very thankful. you see i'm not much used to the water, and rowing over from the shack nearly did me up." "but i want to give you something for getting me my ring," insisted cora. "it is quite valuable, you know." "i heard them say so, and now that the other girl is gone i'll tell you this much. never you go over to that shack again," and the woman raised a warning finger. "it was a good thing you met me instead of jim peters the day you did go over. they'll be like tigers when they find i've got the ring. it was last night that gave me the chance. they had been out very late, and tony didn't have any letters to copy so he fell asleep and--and i slipped away with it. i slept a bit under a tree, but indeed i was glad to see daylight." "and you have been out all night? you must not think of taking a journey without first having something to eat. if you are afraid to come up to camp i'll have something put in the boat for you," declared cora. "but let me ask you, did you overhear anything about a girl named miss blake? i saw jones leave a hall where she was singing last night, and i suspect he met her as she went out. my brother followed, but i have not seen him since. he stops at the boys' camp," cora explained. "blake? so that was the pretty girl who sang. well, she had better be careful that she doesn't join the ghosts at fern island," said the woman, mysteriously. "i know the girl. she's from my home place. and that is why my brother went to see that nothing happened to her," cora said. "well, you are good people, one can see that," declared kate. "but wait. i can't read much, but i picked this up to wrap the ring in." she handed cora a soiled and crumpled telegram blank. upon it was made out, in message form, these words: "can place your friend at twenty-five week. answer at once." benedict. cora pondered for a moment. "who could have sent jones such a message?" she asked. "sent it?" repeated kate. "he sends his own messages. he can copy any handwriting. i heard him say the trick worked," she finished. the truth flashed into cora's mind. that man somehow knew the blakes. he was pretending to place little vain mabel with some theatrical company. when he left the casino it was to show her the bogus message. and jack must have been somewhere around within hearing distance. surely things were getting complicated and mysterious in the summer colony. but cora had her ring back, and for the rest she felt certain that the "ghost" of fern island, also the wild looking girl of whom they had gotten a glimpse, were in some way being wronged by jim peters and his associate, the handwriting expert. chapter xi the races "of course we will enter," declared cora. "i know my boat and i think it is as good as any little motor craft on the water." "but suppose we should get stuck away out in the lake," objected bess. "then what would we do?" the girls and boys were talking together a few days after cora had helped mysterious kate to get away, and had entered the water contest. "there would be plenty of boats to give us a tow," replied cora, "but i have not the slightest idea of getting stuck. my engine works splendidly." she found an opportunity to whisper to her brother: "what about miss blake?" "i'll tell you later, sis," he whispered back. "it isn't very important. don't ask me now," and then he went on fussing over the engine and oil cups. "if we only had our canoe," wailed jack. "that was different from any boat i have seen here. it was built on racing lines. funny what became of it." "funny?" repeated ed. "tragic i think!" and he gave his sleeves another upward turn just to be doing something. "deplorable," added walter. "i think i looked just sweet in that canoe. don't you, hazel?" "well, when i saw you--you did," she admitted, "but three boys in a canoe are not quite as attractive--" "as one girl and one boy," he put in. "well, that is my own opinion, but jack and ed are so inartistic. i never can get them to see things my way." "we will race in the peter pan," ed announced. "of course she cannot be beaten. but it is not half as much fun to depend upon an engine as to rely upon muscle. the canoe for me." "but the glory!" exclaimed belle. "that boat is beautiful." "the boat is! look at us," and jack stood almost on his head. "boats are all right, but in the beauty class we come first." "what time do they start?" cora inquired. "i've forgotten." "motors at three, smaller craft earlier. i am going over to the point to see the hand-boats," said jack. "of course everybody is interested in them." "then girls," advised cora, "get ready. we will have an early lunch, and go out for the afternoon. perhaps we will bring the cup back." "lucky if you bring your boat back," jack cautioned. "don't you want me to look the engine over, cora?" "no, indeed. that would be a dangerous thing to do, for i now have every part clear. i have put on a bigger oil cup, have had the water circulation increased so the engine can not heat so, i have had a throttle control put up at the steering wheel so that i can slow down from there, and i tell you, jackie, i have worked out the secrets of that engine until there are no more." "i should say you had, sis. i never knew there were so many attachments. well, i know i can depend upon you to keep up the honor of the kimball family. come along fellows. let's see that the peter pan is not done by the 'peter petrel.' i noticed she was puffing out a lot of oil this morning as we came over." "then," said cora, "you want to be careful. your oil will run out and the best engine made will stop short if that happens." "whew!" exclaimed ed. "suppose we get cora to look over our boat? she seems to know." "better have paul do it," suggested cora. "that boat is worth three thousand dollars, and i wonder they ever allowed you boys to rent it." "they would not if paul had not vouched for them," hazel explained. "they have a great regard for paul's skill." "and is he not going in the races?" asked bess. "i haven't heard him say," replied the sister. "bet he'll be a dark horse," suggested ed. "well, we can't wish paul any too much good luck, but i do wish he would not stick so dose to his boats and tools. we scarcely see anything of him." "nor do i," agreed hazel with a sigh. "i miss him dreadfully." "poor child," and walter affected to put his big brown arm around the girl. "let me make up for paul. does he kiss you very often?" and he brushed her cheek. "walter pennington!" gasped the circumspect hazel, "do have sense!" "that's what cora taught me--to help the needy," he floundered. "come now, no more nonsense," ordered cora. "if we are to race we have to get ready." a few hours later cedar lake was alive with craft. the rowboats and canoes were lined up first and our friends from chelton, the girls in the petrel and the boys in the peter pan, kept a sharp look out for the lost canoe. of course they knew it would be repainted, but the lines being different from those of other boats they hoped to be able to distinguish it, should it appear for the races. the judges had taken their places. the platform at the point was gaily decorated for the occasion, and all sorts of banners were flying. the course was to cover one mile, and it ran clear out into the open lake so that the delightful view was unobstructed. of all the canoes a bright red craft with a girl in indian garb attracted most attention. the girl had her hair flying and was indeed a striking figure in the brilliant bark. there were many green boats, all having indian names, and there were those of wood in the natural color. girls vied with boys in point of numbers, and had it all their own way in point of attractiveness. "they are all ready," cora told her friends, as the man on the bench who held the pistol allowed it to glimmer in the sunlight. the next moment a crack rent the air and the boats shot off. for some moments no one spoke. all attention was riveted on the graceful canoes that so motionlessly covered the deep blue lake. the dip of the paddles was the only sign of movement although the dainty boats were making good time in covering the courses. suddenly when all others had left and were off a light canoe shot out from some place, and a girl with her hair flying, and dressed most peculiarly, started off after them all. "she gave them a handicap," said cora, then something occurred to her. the same thought came to the others for each held her breath. "the ghost girl!" whispered belle, finally. "however did she get in?" "it surely is! see her go! and there--there is that man from peters'," exclaimed bess to cora, "and he, too, is in the race." "they can beat anything on the lake," declared hazel. "see her go!" "see him go!" in a few seconds those who had so mysteriously entered, the race were far up in the line with those who had first started. the girl was wonderfully graceful, and the man showed marked skill at the paddle. he was trying to keep close to her, that was evident, but at a cheer from the shore and from the outlying boats the girl shot ahead and was soon out of hearing of the man, who evidently was her companion. "she will beat him--she will beat them all!" declared cora, and this was the opinion of most of the thousands of spectators. "but if she does," faltered belle, "do you suppose she will go to the stand dressed like that to receive the prize?" "we shall see," said cora. "at any rate this combination is far more interesting than the real race." a red canoe was alongside the girl in the light one. for a few moments it seemed she would be outdone. then, with a clever light dip of her paddle, that scarcely seemed to touch the water, the fern island girl was again ahead. the first course had been covered and the boats were turned back for the final run. "the man has dropped out," said belle, "see there he is just floating along." "he wouldn't be beaten, i suppose," cora surmised, "any one could see that the girl would come in first." "they are coming back and she has not started," said belle, who had the marine glasses. "but she will," declared cora. "yes, there she comes! oh isn't it exciting! to have the queer girl beat all those who pride themselves on their skill. i wonder who or what she can be?" queried hazel. "here come our boys," said belle, as the beautiful golden peter pan motored over to the smaller petrel. "what do you think of that?" called jack. "look at the wild duck!" "isn't she a--bird!" confirmed the voice of ed. "a sea gull," added the more polite walter. "i say, girls, do you happen to know her?" "yes," called back cora, "we have met her." then there was an exchange of words understandable only to those expressing them, and to those for whom they were expressed, but any one might have guessed that the boys in the peter pan were asking the girls in the petrel to let them "meet" the wild bird of the light canoe. "they are almost in," said bess, breathlessly. "oh i hope she does not back out." "no danger," said cora. "one can see that she is making for the finish line." "there are two boys who have been saving themselves," hazel remarked. "i shouldn't wonder if they could beat our friend." "oh, i hope not," exclaimed belle. "i should be so disappointed." "and it would be impolite of them," added the innocent bess, whereat every one laughed. the boys had been saving their strength. now they paddled off and their craft, one of brown and one green, seemed equal to any of the others. "hello there!" called jack. "did you notice?" "what?" asked cora. "the canoe--the gerkin?" "he means it has lines like the lost boat," said cora. "i have not seen it enough to know," she finished, but at the same time she took the glasses to look at the new rival of the wild girl. "yes it has, i remember," said bess. "i had a good look at it the afternoon that they lost it. i was waiting for you to fix up your boat cora, and i saw the boys' canoe." "well, i suppose they could never be certain, as there must be more than one boat built even on those lines," said cora. "my! see how close they are--the girl and the boys!" "she's ahead!" exclaimed belle, clapping her hands. "how i hope she wins!" "we all do!" declared hazel. then they were silent. the first canoe was almost in, and it was the one called the gerkin, paddled by the boys. "go it girl!" screamed the boys from the peter pan. "beat them, girlie!" called the girls from the petrel. for one brief second the wild-looking girl turned in the direction from which the voices had come. hats were waved to her, handkerchiefs flaunted and then she paddled--paddled straight ahead and came into the finish first! "hurrah! hurrah!" went up shout after shout. "i knew it!" cried cora joyously. "now let us watch her." "there's that dark man!" bess told them. "oh! i just wish he would keep away from her." but he did not. the girl in the light canoe turned from the spectators as if she had been deaf and dumb. and it was the dark man--the fellow called tony jones--who went up to the judges to get their verdict. chapter xii one way to win "we have no time now," jack told cora, "but as soon as the races are over i will ask what that fellow told the judges. certainly he must have said that he had a right to, the girl's prize, or they would not have given it to him." "but how the poor thing hurried off! why, she hardly had a chance to know that she won," replied the sister. "i think it a shame that the creature should be treated like something really wild," and she turned to watch the foamy wake that the little canoe was tracing, as the girl from fern island hurried to hide herself again where ever she might go. the signal precluded the possibility of further interest just then in the strange case, but indeed cora's mind was not so readily shifted. she wanted to know about that girl. the speed boats were next to be tried out. what a splendid showing! who would have dreamed that such handsome craft were on the waters of cedar lake? of course they were all private boats, and their flags flaunted proudly before the spellbound spectators. the peter pan was among the very finest. in this were our boy friends from chelton, and as they lined up the admiration expressed was unstinted. the sprint was another splendid speed boat, built with torpedo stern and a queer spray hood at the bow. this was being run by a girl--a young lady noted for her skill at any sort of motor. "oh, i hope our boys win," exclaimed bess, as if that hope needed to be made known. "they have a good chance," argued cora. "of course so many things may happen that there is absolutely no surety of any machinery on the water." she looked to see that the oil cup levers of the petrel were down to prevent the lubricant flowing before it was needed and also gave a critical survey of the little wire that connected on the cylinder. it emitted a clear "fat" spark as she touched it to the metal, and this seemed to satisfy her. "i guess ours is all right; isn't it?" asked hazel. "wouldn't it be fine if we won something!" "i fully intend to," declared cora. "that means that we will," responded belle. "if cora intends!" "they're off!" called out hazel, "look at jack!" he was standing over the engine evidently making sure that even at the start he should not loose a single atom of the power that twirled the propeller. ed was at the steering wheel. walter was at the side, and with him was paul hastings. "there's paul!" exclaimed bess, when they could make out that the fourth figure in the boat was that of the boy's friend. "i thought he would run another boat." "he wouldn't want any other to beat the peter pan," explained hazel, "and at the same time he would not take the glory of it from the boys who have it for the season. that's paul," she finished proudly. the first "leg" of the course had been covered, and the three best boats, the peter pan, the sprint, and the lady b. were all in line. a dozen others were trailing, and while they showed less speed it was not safe to say that they could not catch up with the three stars. from buoy to buoy over the triangular course the boats fairly shot, and a beautiful sight they made on the green-hilled basin of cedar lake. the course was covered once and then the second round was started by the boats that had qualified. these were only five in number, one of them being a very queer looking craft, built high on the sides like a huge box and showing at the bow a double point, like a pair of slippers. this of course attracted considerable attention, and it shot past the sprint, which was run by the young lady who had hoped to meet with no rival such as a home-made boat, to say the least. "can't that go? look at it!" the spectators were exclaiming. "see, paul is at the peter pan's engine!" said cora, as the color of that boy's cap made it plain that he had taken jack's place. "i hope jack has not strained his wrist, or done anything like that." "very likely paul is just seeing if everything is right," said hazel. "see, there, jack has his place again." during the second and third trials all interest was centered on the peter pan, the hague, (the home-made boat), and the sprint. now this would be ahead, and now that, until it seemed that there could be but little difference in the merits of any of the three. of course most of the sympathy was with the sprint, because a girl was striving to outdo the boys. at the same time, the hague, being such an oddity, and the lake folks knowing that this had been built by the boys who were running it, came in for its share of applause. "there is not a boat on the lake that can fairly beat the peter pan," hazel declared almost feverishly, for the others were threatening to do so. "i have heard paul say so." "he ought to know," said cora with a sly wink, "but that big tub, the hague, is something new. perhaps it has the power of a destroyer." "it is big and clumsy enough to have any sort of power," remarked belle. "i should just be sick if it did win." "all's fair, in a fair race," remarked cora. "see the hague is ahead!" one more course was to be made, and every eye and every mind was centered on this, the final test. the peter pan shot out bravely and safely. the sprint made a splendid second! then the hague! something seemed wrong. it was "missing." that could plainly be heard from the girl's boat. away they flew, yard after yard being made in wonderfully short time. the sprint was doing well with the peter pan. the hague suddenly shot forward, passed every thing--passed the sprint--passed the peter pan and won! "hurrah for the tub!" yelled the crowd. "hurrah for home talent!" shouted the throng. but the young lady in the sprint throttled down and her boat drifted over to the boys. "how was that?" she asked breathlessly. "i don't know," replied paul "but i'm going to find out. we were second and you made a splendid run--but i'm going to look into the glories of the tub!" so keen was the disappointment of the girls in the petrel that they seem to have lost heart for their own race, which came next. but when ed and jack called out to them, and paul waved his cap in his own quiet way, the encouragement dispelled their lost of interest. cora spun the flywheel, and the boat took its place. she looked every inch a girl to win, while hazel kept close to the steering wheel and the twins did their part in just looking pretty. the motor girls' boat was the cynosure of every eye, as it happened to be the only boat in that class run by girls. the signal was given and they started off. "steady!" jack called. "go it, sis!" he should hardly have done this, but his boyish love for the girls and their boat could not be restrained. then they waved, and the maroon and white flag stood out tense and defiant like some animate thing. not a word was spoken by the girls. it seemed so important to pay all attention to the machine upon which depended the loss or gain of a victory--if we may say that a victory can be lost. "look out!" called hazel suddenly and a boat crossed their path so closely that cora was obliged to throttle down, and hazel had to run straight for a buoy to avoid a collision, and the craft hit the course marker. then the petrel stopped short! it simply wouldn't move! "oh!" sighed belle and bess in one voice, but cora jumped up and tried for a spark. none came! she looked at the connections. they seemed all right. "maybe it's in the gas," she said nervously, while the other boats were passing them by. she yanked down the bulkhead board that hid the gasoline tank. then she saw the cause of the trouble. "short circuited!" she exclaimed. "that happened when we struck the buoy. it jarred the battery wires together," and the next instant she had adjusted the difficulty and the engine, glad to be off again, seemed to try to make up for the lost seconds. every one in the petrel breathed a sigh of relief. the anxiety had been intense. "i was certainly afraid we would have to row to shore," belle said, taking a more comfortable position. "we will make up for it," declared cora, throwing on full speed and directing hazel as to the best way to hold the wheel exactly straight and in doing so to get all possible distance out of each explosion of the engine. they finished in a tie over the first course. this was encouraging, for the little mischief, their closest opponent, was acknowledged a fine boat. two more courses were to finish the race, unless there was another tie. the girls scarcely noticed the frantic efforts of the boys in the peter pan who were encouraging and directing at the top of their lungs. the young men in the mischief were anxious. they could never stand it to be beaten by a couple of country girls! but, on the second trial cora's boat won, and then came the final test. up the lake they went again! now the petrel was ahead and now the mischief until the closeness of the two became absorbing. "the best race of the day!" the judges were declaring. "neither has it all her own way!" "plucky girls," said another of the men at the stand. "whatever happened when they stopped they must have been well able to handle, from the way they caught up again. i thought they were out of it that time!" "we all did," put in some one else, "but i have seen that little girl on the lake before. she knows something about a motor boat." "here they come!" jack yelled. "just look at cora! isn't she fine!" "and hazel!" put in paul with a smile. "how about bess and belle?" asked the fickle walter. "i think they look just sweet!" only two more "legs," and the petrel was still ahead! one was covered, with the mischief so close that only those in the best position could tell which one led. "steady, hazel!" cautioned cora. straight as an arrow she directed the wheel. then there was a splash from a nearby motor boat. a shout and screams! "overboard!" yelled the frantic onlookers. "a child overboard!" it was just at the side of the petrel! "hazel! the engine! bess, the wheel!" shouted cora, and before any one knew what she was about, she had jumped into the water and was making for the spot were the child had gone under. the boys in the mischief did not stop. hazel took the engine and bess the wheel, realizing that cora meant for them to finish. presently she came up with the child in her arms! "go it, girls!" she called, "win! win!" the mischief was close alongside. cora was clinging to the side of the boat from which the child had dropped, while the almost fainting mother was recovering her little one. the others assisted cora in, and forgot all about her race. but cora stood spellbound in the cockpit, dripping wet. she stood there ignoring the thanks poured out on her. "steady, hazel!" she called. "win--win for me!" that was enough. the motor girls, those in the petrel, realizing that their leader was safe, now determined to "win for her." the mischief had gained in the time that cora swung overboard, and now was just abreast of the petrel. the slight change of course also told in the last few yards, but now hazel and bess forgot everything but the call of cora to win, and their boat, like a flash, sprang up to its opponent and passed it by the closest record made in any of the races. "hurrah! hurrah!" rang out in their ears. "a double victory!" shouted one of the judges. then the petrel was turned back to get cora who was in the other motor boat. the boys in the peter pan had not seen cora dive over for the child, but as quickly as they heard the report, that was now being spread about, they made for the boat from which the accident occurred. back with them went the boat of the accident crew, and when cora finally returned to her own craft she had an escort of honor to the judges stand. "first prize for the petrel!" announced the head judge. "and the honor medal for life-saving to miss cora kimball, the leader of our brave little crew of motor girls." chapter xiii victors and spoils "wasn't it exciting!" belle was saying to the little party that had gathered around cora as she received their praise and congratulations after it was all over. "i never dreamed that boat races could furnish so many kinds of excitement." "i don't call it all delightful," objected bess putting her arms around the still wet form of the girl who had made the rescue, "and i don't want to see cora jump overboard that way again. i shall never forget it." "a good way to find out how much folks think of me" replied cora. "i really didn't mind it a bit, once i knew that i could get the child before she got under a boat. that was all that worried me." "your cup is a beauty though, sis," said jack, who was examining the trophy. "i think it's prettier than the one we lost. paul is not satisfied that we lost fairly though, and he's up there now disputing it." "what good can that do now?" asked belle. "no telling. paul knows what he is about," replied jack. "but say, did you know that the wild girl in the canoe is deaf and dumb?" "no!" exclaimed all the girls in one voice. "yes that's what the dark fellow who was trailing her told the judges, and that is why, i guess, she scampered off so. too bad! she is pretty too." "and did the man take her prize?" asked cora. "sure thing," replied the brother. "he said he was her guardian." cora thought for a moment. "seems to me," she said finally, "that she turned towards us when we shouted to her." "sometimes deaf people know such things by instinct," jack offered as an explanation. "i thought too, that she gave us a knowing glance." "pure conceit," said ed. "wallie claimed the glance, but i saw her hair float in my direction." "she's a star canoeist," declared jack, "and i should like to be better acquainted with her." "can you talk with your fingers?" asked belle. "i know a little of the sign language, but i would not be too sure that i could carry on a conversation." "but you could introduce one," insisted jack, "and once she knew i wanted to know her--i might depend upon--true love to make known all the rest." "here! here! jackie!" cautioned cora, "you are not to talk of love--until mother comes home. you have promised to look after me." "as if ed and walter couldn't do that ten times better than i can. but hello! here comes paul--the paul." "it's ours," called paul, before he was dose enough to talk in the regulation tones. "come on up! the judges want to see the crew of the peter pan!" "ours!" echoed jack, ed and walter. "it certainly is ours. those fellows had the gasoline doped?" "what's that?" asked ed. "they had camphor and some other stuff in their gas," went on paul, "and the engine nearly kicked out of the boat." "did they admit it?" inquired ed. "not until i charged them with it," replied paul. "i knew there was something up when they got ahead on that jump. then i asked if i might take a look at that freak engine, and they allowed me to do so. i smelled camphor the minute i stepped aboard. they even had not sense enough to hide the bottle, and it's against the present racing rules on this lake to doctor gas. so i taxed them with it, and they finally admitted it and we went together to the judges. they were pretty decent chaps and did not seem to mind, very much, relinquishing the prize. you know what it is, don't you?" "certainly, it's a dandy canoe," said jack, "and you really mean that it is to be ours?" "if you don't hurry along some one else may claim it," said paul. "it isn't mine, it's yours." "and to think that we and our boys both got prizes!" exclaimed hazel. "isn't it too good to be true?" "and too good to be false," answered paul. "now, boys, let's run along. i have something to do before evening." "and i had better make for camp," said cora. "these togs are wet." "of course," said belle with sympathy in her voice. "but when do you get your medal, cora?" "i believe it comes from philadelphia. some wealthy man has it stored there waiting to be claimed." "it's a wonder the mother of that little girl didn't want to adopt you, cora," said jack, as the boys started off with paul. "i thought from the way she hung on to you she had intentions. well, so long. we will give you first ride in our new canoe, and let us hope we will have better luck with this one than we had with the other," and then the boys went off for the prize. "i can't get over that girl being deaf and dumb," said hazel, as the girls made their way to the camp. "i can scarcely believe it." "well, now we have a double interest on fern island," cora answered. "if there is really such an unfortunate creature hid or hiding there she ought to be rescued. i cannot understand, either, how that foreigner can be her guardian." "that jones?" asked bess, as innocently as if she had not seen the girl race and heard about the man claiming her prize. "why, yes, of course," replied cora. "and he says she is deaf and dumb. who's calling? didn't you hear some one?" "yes, there's mabel blake hurrying after us," said belle. "she looks excited." the girl who was running along the path did indeed "look excited." the motor girls waited. "oh, i thought i would never catch up to you!" mabel panted. "you do walk at such a pace!" "why, how are you, mabel?" asked cora graciously. "i heard you had gone back to chelton." "we did intend to--but we haven't," she faltered. "jeannette has been ill." "ill!" exclaimed more than one voice. "yes, that's what i want to see you about. i don't know what to do," and mabel's pretty brown eyes filled to the lashes. "can we help you?" cora asked. "i would like to speak with you alone, cora," she said. "but i know what you did this afternoon, and i see you have still to change your clothing." "they are almost dry now," cora replied. "yet if you could wait five minutes i could easily change in that time. here we are. home again. and there! nettie has heard all about our victories; haven't you nettie?" "indeed yes, miss cora. but i was afraid for you," replied the maid. "the child's father sent a message up here to ask when he might see you?" "oh, they make too much fuss over a trifle," replied cora. "sit here on the porch with the girls, mabel. i will be out soon." finally mabel pressed her handkerchief to her eyes and murmuring some sort of unintelligible excuse she rushed indoors. she was met in the hall by cora. "why, what is it, mabel?" she asked, putting her arms about the sobbing one. "oh, i cannot stand it," wailed mabel. "the disgrace!" "what disgrace?" "the--that--man!" she stammered. "but i must go back to jeannette. i am afraid she is losing her mind. of course, you could not go with me, cora. it would be too much after your hard afternoon. but jeannette got your letter." "yes? i hope she understood it." mabel tried to dry her eyes. "i suppose she did if any one could understand such a thing," she replied. "but to think it is in the chelton paper!" "when was it in?" cora asked. "it will be out to-morrow!" replied the tearful one. "to-morrow," cora repeated thoughtfully. "perhaps jack could stop it. he is well acquainted with the editor." "oh, if he only could," and mabel brightened up. "that's what makes jeannette feel so dreadfully." "it was very unfortunate," cora said. "he is a dangerous man." "dangerous! i think he should be put in jail," declared mabel hotly. "but it is so difficult to catch such people," cora remarked. "you could scarcely name your charge against him?" "name it? never!" exclaimed the girl. "there you are. one woman who might put him in jail flies off to new york. you could at least accuse him of fraud and you refuse. i myself know of one wrong doing that affected me and i prefer to keep quiet--for the present at least. you see what cowards we all are where our pride is concerned. "you are not a coward, cora kimball," exclaimed mabel, "and i know perfectly well you would denounce him if you thought that safest." "at any rate, mabel, i think it will all come out right," cora assured her. "just wait until i have a glass of milk and i will go over and see jeannette." "i can never tell how it all happened," sighed mabel, "i really think he had me hypnotized." "he is a clever rogue," agreed cora, and she knew now more about his roguery than she cared to sum up even to herself. chapter xiv talking it over the interview with miss jeannette blake was not altogether satisfactory, but cora was too careful of the sick one's feelings to ask deliberate questions. she could not really find out how far the blakes had gone with tony jones in the matter of paying him for the alleged placement of mabel with a theatrical company, but she guessed they had either actually paid a large sum, or had given a note that might be equally compelling. also the notices that had been prepared for the press announcing her coming "debut" were very embarrassing. it was the day after the races, and cora sat with her brother on the porch of their bungalow. she had told him of mabel's plight and was asking him to help her clear up some of the shades and shadows. "tell me, jack," she asked, "what happened the night you followed mabel out of the pavilion--the night that man gave her the false message?" jack thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and looked very serious--for him. "to tell the truth, cora," he began, "i had to make love to mabel to get her out of his clutches." "make love to her, jack!" "nothing smaller would do but you know, sis, the love was only a sort of sample, the kind a fellow might safely give away to any girl." cora laughed. "you funny boy," she said, "to flatter a girl to save her from--flattery." "but didn't you ask me to? didn't you say to watch mabel that time you whispered as i was leaving? you are the funny one. it was you that put the wicked plot in my fair young head," and he sighed in mock sincerity. "but honestly, did you see that man give her the telegram? it seems to me you might be a witness should there be trouble." jack jumped up. "oh, no, you don't, sis!" he declared. "you don't get me in any further mischief. mabel is too fond of me now." "jack, don't be silly! i want you to wire the editor of the chelton paper that, owing to the sudden illness of miss jeannette blake, her niece, miss mabel blake, has been compelled to stop her musical studies, and postpone her debut as a singer. that is all true and if the other notice does appear you can arrange to have this given as the latest." "foxy!" declared jack. "'not a word of fib and not a grain of truth. well, you would beat jones if you went at his game, but i do think it a good idea to wire nat phillips. i'll go and do so at once," he added, feeling in his pocket to make sure he had with him change enough to pay for the message. "and jack," cora went on, "since you have been so good, don't you think it would be lovely for you to sort of keep track of mabel for a day or two? that man, i am afraid, has her under some sort of influence, and there is no telling what he might not try to do to get some blake money." "make more love to her? suppose she takes me up?" "i really cannot explain it all, jack," said cora gravely, "but the man has frightened more than mabel. the woman who kept house for him and peters was so afraid that he would find out she was leaving, that i could scarcely persuade her to wait while i changed the batteries in my boat. she kept saying she wanted to get out of his power. and now mabel declares he had her hypnotized. then that sort of queer girl who won the canoe race--surely he has her somehow in his power, as they express it." "powerful man," answered jack, "but how is it, cora, that you talked with him and he did not hoodoo you?" "oh i'm immune i suppose," and she smiled with her handsome face turning up in becoming hauteur. "guess ed thinks that, too," said the brother mischievously. "he has been growling to me about it." "ed is a dear, nice boy," she said simply. "that's the sort of compliment a girl always pays the fellow she is going to turn down," jack declared. "i think, brother, making love to mabel has gone to your head. but hurry along to the station and send off the message." cora sat there silent for a few moments. there was no one about the camp but herself, and she would soon go down to the lake for a run in her boat. she was thinking that of all the peculiar cases of other people's troubles in which she felt she had a right to interfere that of the girl who was said to be deaf and dumb and who was probably hidden somewhere on fern island was the case most urgent. if only she could really find her, and find that poor demented old man who had so strangely crossed her path. cora had not the least fear of either of them and suddenly she resolved to go alone to fern island and try to find them. ten minutes later, when she had left a note dangling from the hanging lamp in the dining room, saying to the girls that she would be back by supper time, cora was gliding up cedar lake in the petrel. she was glad that she did not meet any of her friends who would, of course, ask where she was going. and now she was too far away to meet any boats of summer fisher folks or pleasure seekers. "i am beginning to believe in the psychic," she mused, "for i have a feeling that a cry for help comes from that perfectly silent island." her heart beat quickly as she throttled down her engine, stopped it, and finally stepped ashore. her landing was made on a different side of the island than before and she saw instantly that feet had been treading down the ferns from shore to inland. this path served to guide her along. then she noticed particles of food. "hardly picnic folks along here," she thought. "perhaps the canoe girl is somewhere about--" but what was her terror when she faced the shore at a dear spot in the woods and against it saw the boat of the man peters. "oh!" she gasped. "he must be on the island!" then she listened. yes, there was a step! she sank down behind a clump of thick bushes and while hiding there she saw, not peters, but jones saunter down to the water's edge! how she trembled! a half-fainting sensation overcame her. from a crouching attitude she sank flat on the ground and felt too weak to attempt to raise herself. meanwhile the man had reached his rowboat and pushed off. he glanced along and saw the motor boat. "that girl!" he muttered. "she is interfering with my plans again. this would be an ideal place for a--" then he stopped. "bah! i'll just give her a chance to think over her courage." cora was still under the bush, and did not hear the gentle purr of her engine as the man started down cedar lake in her own precious motor boat, dragging his rowboat behind. chapter xv two girls on the isle "he's gone!" cora murmured, as creeping out from her hiding place, she could see that the rowboat had left the shore. "well, i am safe again, for i have not the slightest fear of any one who may be on this island--now." cora glanced about her in a dazed way. then she noticed that the bent grass and fern led toward a hill in a deep part of the wood. "strange," she was thinking. "i feel so absolutely certain that the young girl is about here, and that she needs help." the path was so faintly outlined that cora could scarcely trace it, but she knew if any one was in hiding the place of concealment must be at the end of the path. several times she looked back of her to make sure that the man jones was not following. then suddenly she thought she heard a faint moan! she listened. yes, that was a sob and in a girl's weak voice. cora quickened her steps, and forgetting now to watch the path she was covering, forgetting all except that a human creature must be in pain, and that she could probably help that person. cora kimball almost ran until she reached the hill, where she saw a sort of screen made from the broken branches of trees. another moan! it was behind that screen! quick as a flash cora jerked down the branches, thrust her head into a cave and there beheld the one who was sobbing and moaning. it was the canoe girl! she lay on a bed of pine needles her pretty face as pale as death, and her lovely hair tangled in the pine pallet. as cora pushed her way into the queer cave, the girl turned, and seeing her, screamed--such a scream as one might expect from the insane. at the same moment the brush was again pushed from the door and there stood the wild man! his white hair and his white beard showed cora that he was the same person who had so strangely crossed her path in the woods the day she was fern-gathering. "i want to help you," cora spoke timidly, while the girl on the ground moaned pitifully. "help?" whispered the man, and his voice was as gentle and soft as a woman's. "they have killed my girl," and he knelt down beside the prostrate figure. he kissed her passionately. then she opened her eyes. "father, dear," she murmured, "you must go--quick!" he kissed her again; then he turned to cora. "young woman," he said gravely, "you must not harm my darling. she is innocent." then he left the cave. what could she do? what should she do? this girl was neither deaf nor dumb, and for that cora was grateful, but if that dangerous man, who had said she was both, should return, and find cora with her! "dear," said cora gently, "try to trust me. tell me what i can do for you?" "oh, if i could but die!" the girl sobbed, "but there is father!" then cora saw that she was becoming unconscious. feeling about the half-dark cave place cora came upon a pail of water. beside it was a tin cup and this she filled and carried to the sick girl's lips. "try to drink," she whispered. "then if you can stand i will take you to my house in my boat." the girl did sip some of the water. again she opened those wonderful eyes and looked at cora. "you are kind," she said. "he did not send you?" "no one sent me, dear, and i promise never to betray you." "at last," she murmured, "a friend!" "yes, a friend," cora assured her, "and i am going to prove it to you. i saw you one day as we--some girls and myself came to this island. then i saw you win that splendid race, and since then i have been determined to find you." "'he made me do it, he made me go in the race," said the girl, "and now he brings this letter." "what has shocked you so?" cora asked. "was it the letter?" "yes, he says they are coming for father!" "who?" cora asked, but the girl's face went so white that again she pressed the tin cup to her lips. "there," cora went on, "we will talk of nothing now but of what we shall do to make you well again. could you walk ever so little a distance? to my motor boat?" "if i could, what then?" asked the girl. "then loving hands would bring back the color into your checks, and then the best boys in the world would come to help your father." "help father!" she repeated. "but that can never be done. father is--an outcast!" "but he has no disease," cora said, remembering what kate, had told her was tony's excuse for going to see a victim of some dreadful disease, who was on fern island. "no, thank god, his body is well, but his soul is sick--so very sick." "let me see if you can sit up?" asked cora. "it will soon be night and we must try to get away." "it will, be much better to leave him, and return, soon, well and strong enough to comfort him again," cora said, "than to stay here, and perhaps die." "you are right," said the stranger getting up on her elbow. "oh, what it means to speak with a girl again. heaven must have sent you." "there, you are up now," spoke cora quickly, realizing the importance of urging the girl to get up while she felt so inclined. "see, you can stand! there, now you can walk." "but i must say good-bye to father. oh! should i leave him?" she sobbed. "just for a little while, dear," cora again assured her. then the girl put her finger to her mouth and gave a queer whistle. "i will be outside so he will know that i am better," said the girl. "father has been so frightened." the next moment the man appeared again. "father," said the girl, "i am going with this friend some place to get well. should i go?" "friend? yes, she is all of that. daughter go!" and the man pressed her to his breast. "and you will be all right? no one will come for you?" a look of horror swept over his face. "they shall not find me," he faltered, releasing his daughter from the embrace. "let me tell you, sir," ventured cora, "that the man i just saw leave this island is a villain. don't believe one word he says." "villain? yes! he is that, for he would have carried off my laurel!" "hush father, you showed him that you had more strength than a coward can have. i feel so much better. i am almost cured since this girl has taken my hand." "my name is cora kimball," said our heroine, "and i have a camp at the lower end of the lake. it is there i am taking laurel." "and she may come to see me?" almost sobbed the aged man. "my little wild laurel." "yes, indeed, and some day i feel that we may take you, too, away from this island. there, i do not mean anything to harm you. come, dear, it is growing dark." "i will leave a branch of laurel to guide you back to me," the man said to his daughter. "when you come, look for it as i shall place it fresh every day." "go now, before i go," his daughter urged. "then i shall feel that you are safe." he turned, and the girls stood to watch the last of that queer form as it disappeared over the hill. he was going to one of his many woodland haunts. "now we may go," said the lonely one. "poor, dear father!" "be brave," urged cora, as she led her toward the shore. "i am so glad i found you." "if you had not i feel i should have gone insane. that man was always terrible, but today he wanted to take me away!" "once in my little boat and you will almost forget all those terrible things," said cora. "i left--it--here!" then she stopped in dismay, as she saw that the boat was gone! chapter xvi a terrible night "the boat is gone!" cora almost gasped. then the girl, the sick frail creature, did a remarkable thing--she came to the rescue of the stronger one. "no matter," she said calmly. "i feel so much better with a girl to speak to, that if you will put up with my strange life for a night, perhaps it will be all right in the morning. there," as cora showed by her change of color that she felt it would be a risk, "lots of people think sleeping, out of doors is the very best sort of life. don't you want to try it?"' and her arm stole around cora's waist. "why, of course we can only try, but i am afraid that you will suffer, laurel. you are very weak," said cora. "no, i was only frightened," and she made an effort to show that she did really feel better. "now, when we go back we must not let father know that we are still on the island." cora did not question this. that the girl had a good reason for keeping her presence a secret from her father she felt certain. but to turn back to those woods! and night so near! "i suppose there is absolutely no way of getting a boat?" cora questioned. "even my canoe is gone. that awful man is to blame," replied the girl. "did he take it?" asked cora. "when i refused to go with him, he said i might die here," replied laurel. "that was to get more money from father. oh, you cannot know how i have wished to speak with some one!" and her big, brown eyes filled with tears. "and i am so glad i did come," cora assured her, "even if our first night must be a lonely one. i am used to queer experiences." "then i will have no fear in showing you how i have lived here. of course, it was for father." they retraced their steps, and in spite of all the assurances that each pledged to the other it was surely lonely. "shall we go to your little pine cave?" cora asked. "i think it would be better not to," replied laurel, "for indeed, one never knows what that man might do. he might come back just to frighten me." "and he saw how ill you were?" "oh, most men think girls get ill to order. very likely he thought i was acting," and the strange girl almost laughed. "our folks will be frightened about me," cora said. "are there no means of getting away from here?" "there is not a person on this island that i know of," replied laurel. "of course, brentano took your boat." "brentano?" cora repeated. "yes. did you not know his name?" "he seems to have a collection of names. one calls him tony, another jones, and now it is brentano." "but we knew him abroad. that is his name." cora wondered, but did not feel inclined to ask further questions then. it was almost dark, and under the pine trees shadows fell in gloomy foreboding. "hark!" exclaimed cora. "i thought i heard an engine!" they listened. "yes it is an engine," replied laurel, "but i am afraid it is over at far island." "couldn't we shout?" "i would rather not. you see father wants to stay here," she said hesitatingly. "you mean if any one came for us they would know we were not alone here?" "they might suspect. or they might just happen to see father." cora was sorry. she wanted so much to call to the possible passerby, but she saw that the other girl had some very strong motive in wishing to leave the island secretly. "do you never go away from here?" she asked. "only when i am forced to, as i was the day of the race. he made me race, threatening to expose father if i did not." "and then he said that you were deaf and dumb," added cora indignantly. "i did not mind that at all. in fact it was the easiest way for me to get out of meeting people." laurel sighed heavily. "i do wonder when our lives will change," she said finally. "let us hope very soon," cora said. "i, of course, do not know your story, but i feel that in some way that man is wronging you." "yes, he has been our evil genius ever since he crossed our path. you see father's mind is not entirely clear, and i do not myself know what to believe." in the distance they could now see the lights of several boats, and behind the great hill that made far island look like some strange mountain place, the sun was all but lost in the forest blackness. "oh," sighed laurel suddenly. "i feel faint again." she sank down before cora could support her. and they were away from the little hut where the water was! away from every thing but the pitiless night! "oh, how dreadful," moaned cora. "what shall i do?" for a long time laurel lay there so still that cora feared she might really die. then at last, she managed to sit up and grasp cora's hand. "i have never been ill in my life," she said. "it was all from that shock the day he compelled me to go in the race." "then you have every chance of getting perfectly well again," cora assured her. "if that dreadful man had only left my boat." "perhaps in the morning we may be able to go," laurel said. "now that i have made up my mind i feel it will be better for father as well as for me, for if anything happened to me i fear he would die." a light in the distance for a time gave them hope that a boat might be coming to the island, but, like a number of others, it turned toward the pleasure end of the lake. "i guess we will have to make the best of it for to-night," cora sighed. "shall i try to find the hut and get you some food?" "and you have not eaten! in my misery i forgot you. of course--there now--i am better, and we will have to make our way to the pine hut. but if that man comes back!" and she shuddered. "why does he hold such power over you?" asked cora, as she put her arm protectingly around her companion. "does he supply you with your things out here?" "we supply him," replied the girl bitterly. "he is never satisfied but always demanding more, until father will soon have nothing left." cora was mystified but this was no time for the strange story. she must help the girl to the pine hut. "i believe you are more weak for want of food than from illness," cora said. "i hope we find something to eat." "oh, yes, he brought things, but he should have done so before. i am weak for food." it was difficult to find the way back now in the darkness, but the two lonely, frightened girls trudged on. at last laurel was able to feel the stone on the path that gave the clue to her little hut. "does brentano know you?" she asked cora suddenly. "i know him. i have been to his shack, and i have heard a lot about him from a housekeeper who left peters. do you know he is a handwriting expert?" "a hand-writing expert!" gasped the girl. "does that mean he could copy a signature?" "perfectly," replied cora, "but how you tremble? what is it now?" "girl! girl!" she gasped. "what that may mean to us! oh, i must find father! he will know. i must signal to him." "please do not to-night," begged cora, fearing a new collapse from the excitement. "wait until daylight. here, now we shall get our food." they were within the pine hut and had lighted a lantern. a loaf of bread and some salt meat were easy to find in the rudely-made box that served for a closet. "i am actually starved," cora remarked, with an effort to be pleasant. "i guess your pine trees make one hungry." "hark!" breathed laurel. "i heard a step!" the next moment cora stood at the entrance to the hut, and waited. the step was coming closer and closer! and it was plainly that of a man! "oh, what can it be?" gasped laurel. "or who is it?" "i--i don't know," whispered cora, her voice trembling in spite of herself. "but we must be brave, laurel, brave." "oh, yes, i will be! oh i how glad i am that some one is with me--that you are here!" cora felt the other's frail body trembling as she put her own strong arms around the shrinking girl. then cora peered from the door of the hut. still that stealthy footstep till the approach of that unknown. cora felt as if she must scream, yet she held her fears in check--not so much for her own sake as for the other. suddenly there was a crash in the underbrush, the crackling of brushes, the breaking of twigs. "he--he's fallen!" gasped laurel. "tripped over something," added cora. "oh, maybe he will turn back now." them was silence for a moment and then, to the relief of the girls, they heard footsteps in retreat. their unwelcome visitor was going away. "oh, he's gone! he's gone!" gasped laurel in delight. "maybe it wasn't a man at all," suggested the practical cora. "it might have been a bear--or--er some animal." "there are no bears on this island," replied her companion with a wan smile--"no animals bigger than coons, and they couldn't make so much a noise. besides, i heard him grunt, or moan, as he fell. so it must have been a man." "well, he's gone," rejoined cora, "and, now that he's left us alone i'm going to hope that he didn't hurt himself. he interrupted our supper and now it's time we finished it," and in the dim light of the lantern they ate the coarse food and waited--waited for what would happen next. chapter xvii the searching party "i know something has happened to cora," hazel was lamenting, "and i am afraid we have lost good time in not going with the boys. let us get ready at once. here bess and belle, you take these lanterns, nettie carry matches--and take a strong mountain stick, and--" "oh, mercy!" exclaimed belle, in terror, "why should we need a strong stick!" "to make our way with," replied the practical hazel. "it is not easy to get about in woods on a dark night like this," and she gave a look at the lights to make sure they were all right. "the boys were to send word here, or to leave word with ben if they found her. now let's hurry." it was a sad little party that started off from camp cozy. when, that evening, according to the note cora had left on the hanging lamp, she did not appear, for some little time, there was scarcely any anxiety. cora was so reliable, and of course they could conjecture a dozen things that might have detained her. but when an hour passed, and she then was not to be found, jack jumped up, ed and walter followed, and as they hurried off, left the word that through ben, or by message to camp, they would report to the girls. now another whole hour had passed, and there was no message. "which way shall we go--?" asked tenderhearted bess. "to the landing first," hazel replied. she was always leader in cora's absence. this was but a short way from the camp. at the landing stood ben with his faithful lantern. "they've got her boat," he blurted out. "where?" asked the girls in chorus. "just in the cove. but nothin' could hev hurt her there. she ain't drownded in that cove." "but how could her boat get there?" demanded hazel. "no way but to be run in there," answered ben. "i tell you, girls, this is some trick. 'taint her fault of course, but she's all right somewhere." the thought of the man jones flashed through hazel's mind. and he had threatened cora. she had interfered in taking away kate, the house keeper, she had found out about the man and girl on fern island, and she had saved little mabel blake! now all that-"trick!" repeated bess. "that could not be called a trick." "for want of a better word," said ben, with apology in his voice. "but when the boys found the boat they started off in her and left word you were not to follow." "but we must," insisted hazel. "we might find her and they might not. but how can we go?" "i could get you another boat if you're set on it," offered ben, "but i wouldn't like to displease the young men." "oh, we will answer for that," hazel assured him, "just get the boat. we will go up the lake." "yes, you've got it right. up the lake, fer i saw tony comin' down the lake." only hazel understood him. he, too, suspected the man of many names. it was not more than five minutes later that dan brought the small motor boat from the dock, and scarcely more than another five minutes passed before the girls were off. there were many small boats dotted about the water, and the girls looked keenly for the flag of the petrel which they could have distinguished even in the darkness for the white head-light always showed up its maroon and white, but old ben took no heed of the craft in the lower end of the cove. he headed straight for either far or fern island--the twin spots of land far away. out in the broadest part of the water they suddenly came upon a rowboat without a light. "look out there!" shouted ben. "where's your light?" there was no answer. ben turned as far out of his course as it was possible to do at the rate his own boat was running. "there is no one in that boat," declared hazel. "see, it is just drifting." "might be," said ben, throttling down his gasoline so that he might turn nearer the other craft for inspection. "there does not seem to, be any one in it," declared bess, who also looked over the edge of the smaller boat. ben did not reply. he had recognized the other craft as that belonging to jim peters, and guessed that the man might be up to some trick. when he had almost stopped his motor he jumped up and peered into the rowboat. "'low there!" he called "sleepin--?" there was no answer. "hum," he sniffed, "thought so. it's jim. say there jim, you're not over friendly." thus taunted the man in the other boat moved to the low seat. he growled rather than spoke, but ben was not the sort to take offence at a fellow like jim. "joy riding?" persisted ben. "say, you smart 'un," spoke peters, "when you want to be funny better try it on some 'un else. leave me alone," and he picked up the oars and sculled off. "what do you suppose he was hiding for?" asked belle. "oh he always has somethin' up his sleeve," replied ben with a light laugh, "and the best we can do is to follow him." "but then we cannot look farther for cora," objected hazel. "the best way to find her is to make sure that he does not find her first," said ben. "she's all right so long as we keep her away from her enemies," and he turned the boat down the lake toward the landing. chapter xviii found from the finding of cora's boat to the landing at fern island the boys lost little time. somehow jack felt the night's work had to do with the hermit and his daughter; also he feared that the man jones might know of it, so that he lost no time in hurrying to the far end of the lake in hope of there finding his sister. few words were spoken by the three boys as they landed, took the lanterns from the motor boat, and after detaching the batteries, to make sure no one would run off with the craft, they sought a path in the wilderness. good fortune, or kind fate, led them in the right direction. they could see that the way had been beaten down. they walked on, one ahead of the other, when jack, who was in the lead, stopped. "what's this?" he exclaimed, stooping to pick up a white thing from the ground. "a letter," he finished, holding out a square envelope. the other young men drew nearer to jack, to examine what might prove to be an unexpected clew. "what do you make of it?" asked ed. "it's--er--" jack paused suddenly. on the envelope he had caught, in the light of a slanting ray from a lantern a girl's name--"laurel." he had been on the point of taking the missive from its cover, but the glimpse of that name prevented him. somehow he felt that it might have to do with the disappearance of cora--she was always getting mixed up with girls, he reflected. and it might not be just the best thing to publish broadcast what this was jack dissimulated. "i guess it's some shooting license a hunter has dropped," he completed his half-finished sentence. "i'll just stick it in my pocket until we get to a place where i can look at it better. i might lose something from the envelope in the woods. come on, boys." "i think we're on the right trail," spoke walter. "but where in the world can cora be?" asked jack. he was beginning to be very much disturbed and was under a great mental strain. "let's yell!" suggested ed. "if cora is within hearing distance she'll hear us." "good!" cried jack. "all together now!" they raised their voices in a shrill cry that carried far. as the echoes died away there seemed to come, from a distance, an echo of an echo. they all started as they heard it. "hark!" commanded jack, standing at attention. "it's a voice all right--an answer," declared walter. "yes," agreed cora's brother. "it was over this way. come on, boys!" together they dashed through the bushes, trampling the underbrush beneath their feet. the lanterns they carried gave but poor light and more than once they crashed into trees. but they kept on, stopping now and then to call again and listen for the answer. "look! a light!" suddenly cried jack, pointing off to the left. "come on!" shouted ed, and they changed their course. five minutes more of difficult going, for they had gotten off the path, brought them to the pine hut. in the doorway stood two girls with their arms about each other. "cora!" gasped walter and ed in one voice. "and the other may be--laurel," murmured jack, and then he too cried: "cora!" the next instant he had his sister in his arms, and there arose a confused clamor of joyful voices, each person trying to talk above the others. "and--and you are really alive!" cried jack, holding his sister off at arm's length and gazing fondly at her. "yes, jack," was the glad response. "you see, jack dear, it takes a good deal to do away with me." "but--but something surely happened!" he insisted. "of course it did, but i'm not going to tell you about it now." "yes, make her, jack!" insisted walter and ed. "and your friend," added cora's brother in a low voice. "oh, i almost forgot," she replied. "boys, this is laurel--wild laurel if you like. laurel, these are the boys, including my brother. you can easily tell who he is," she added dryly. "more formal introductions can wait." "tell us what happened," demanded jack, and then cora briefly related what had taken place since she came to the island, how she had discovered the loss of her boat and had found laurel and the old hermit. she told of their parting from laurel's father and how she and her companion had returned to the hut. "and then--then some one came toward the hut after we got here," she finished. "and, oh, how frightened we were! but whoever it was went away again and didn't bother us. then we ate something and--and well, you know the rest." "it's all right," ed soothed, realizing that both girls had been terribly frightened. "we just came from the lake by your path. it's splendid to find you cora," and he went over to press her hand. "and i am sure you and your friend are glad to be found." cora looked up, and in the dim lantern light she could be seen to smile. "it was all because someone took my boat," she said in a braver voice. "laurel and i were just going to the main land." "as soon as you feel able we will take you to the boat," suggested jack. "it must have been very bad here for you, and with some one else loose in the woods." "oh, it was," said cora. "jack, i have been in many dreadful places, but on an island with an enemy prowling about seems to be the most fearful." "an enemy?" repeated walter. "yes, that man tony, or jones, took my boat," declared cora, indignantly, "and this time i will not try to make the laws myself. i am sure he took your canoe, and now my boat!" "well, we have you anyway," said jack giving his sister a great warm embrace, "and now we are going to take you both back to civilization. walter, can you care for miss laurel?" and then jack, seeing a good chance, slipped into laurel's hand the envelope he had picked up in the woods. the girl started, stared at him for a moment, and then hid the missive from sight. she did not speak, but looked her thanks to jack. so happy were the girls to get away and to be in such safe company, that the shock and exhaustion following it were almost forgotten. cora felt much stronger, and so did laurel. they looked like two very much tossed and tousled girls, but the boys were not thinking of their looks just then. "are we going in my own boat?" asked cora, showing how the ownership of that boat had been so dear to her. "in the pet!" replied ed, "jack, let me help cora; you take the light." walter, waited for laurel. she seemed to have things to take with her from the hut. "a queer camp, isn't it?" she asked, "but it's a great little place on a warm clay." "or a dark night," dared walter, whereat ed threatened to take both girls and so leave the wily walter alone--for punishment. the girls laughed. "walter is our champion," explained cora. "i shouldn't wonder if it were he who found us." "never," contradicted jack. "i--found you." "that's a good, dear, old jackie," replied cora assuming something of her old-time lightheartedness. "of course, jack, you knew!" laurel was fumbling in her blouse. the others noticed the movement. "just a picture i want to take," she explained. "you see, this is quite an old camp." they saw but they did not understand. then they started out in the darkness. "did you ever see such a black night?" asked cora, "i had no idea cedar lake was so--so threatening!" "never!" replied ed. "but the water is just as friendly as ever," declared jack. "now let us try it." he untied the boat, and the party stepped in. cora pressed laurel's hand in silent encouragement for she saw her turning her eyes toward fern island. "a lovely boat," laurel remarked too quietly for the young men to hear her. "shall i speed her?" asked jack opening the gas valve. "oh, yes, let us get home," begged cora. "the girls must be frightened to death." "they are," walter assured her. "belle was smelling kerosene to keep up, when we left," he went on superciliously. "and hazel was looking for a club," jack announced. "what about bess, ed?" asked cora. "bess--oh bess, she was puffing--for breath. bess had the puffs," he volunteered in a weak attempt at nonsense. they were running down the lake. it seemed as if the boat knew exactly where to go, and also that her own mistress was aboard. "why, there's the landing!" exclaimed cora, "how quickly we got here." "and there is a crowd around. i'll wager they are there to welcome us," said jack happily. for a few moments all waited to see how the crowd would take the news of the finding of cora. "there are a lot of lights," remarked ed in puzzled tones. "and boats," added walter. they were looking intently at the center of the crowd on the water. "what's going on over there?" asked jack, looking up from the engine which he was slowing down. "something must have happened," answered cora. "hark! there's a lot of excited talk." across the water floated the murmur of voices, some of them raised high in discussion. "what's going on?" called jack to a man who slipped past the side of the petrel in a rowboat. "fight!" was the quick answer. "jim peters and a fellow they call tony. they had a quarrel about some papers and a girl, and i don't know what not." "a girl?" gasped cora, wondering if she could be involved in the unpleasantness. "well, that's what some say. i don't rightly know. guess it didn't amount to much. anyhow they've got peters over there in his boat. they're bringing him to a doctor. it seems tony whacked him with a boat hook, and then, thinking he'd done serious damage, he leaped overboard and swam for it. they can't find him." "and i don't believe they ever will," put in another voice, and as a second boat came up cora recognized old ben. "ah, it's miss kimball and her friends," he added as he saw cora and those in the petrel. "now here's a chance for you to use your brains, miss cora. can't you find tony for us?" "no, why should i," she answered somewhat coolly. she did not quite like this familiarity. "oh, i didn't know," laughed ben genially. "i just thought you always like to be doing things." "not that kind," put in jack. "is peters much hurt?" asked ed. "it's hard to say," answered ben. "he's pretty tough and i guess it's hard to do him much damage. i'm going over to see about it." he rowed over toward where the other boats were congregated and the petrel with the slow progress of which he had been keeping pace, swung on to the dock. cora and the others could see the return of the little flotilla about the boat in which was jim peters. chapter xix in brighter mood it takes but a small happening to furnish excitement for a small place, and the fact that jim and tony had quarreled, and that near the landing, created quite a buzz. of course, much disliked as jim was, he was one of the regular fishermen, while tony was a comparative stranger. this caused the latter to disappear when he saw that he had knocked jim down and had perhaps seriously injured him. the landing of cora and the meeting with her friends was almost unnoticed. it was the fight, and the possible hope of more of it, that occupied the morbid crowd. "cora! cora!" the girls were exclaiming, each evidently trying to be the most exclamatory. "where have you been?" asked the ever-wise hazel. "why, just getting laurel," replied cora as belle loosed her hold on cora's neck. "belle dear, be careful," she begged, "my neck is awfully sunburned." "we were scared to death," declared bess, fanning herself with her handkerchief. "we thought you had been kidnapped." "no, it was the boat that was kidnapped," replied cora, "a boat is more useful than--" "now, cora," interrupted ed, "just be careful. didn't we go after you? and didn't we carry you off?" laurel had taken jack's advice and was resting on an old beam that lay alongside the dock. she was very pale, as one could see even in the uncertain light. yet her sudden restoration to something like strength might be accounted for by the fact that she had eaten some food in the hut, the previous fast having weakened her greatly. or was it the letter jack gave her? "it's wonderful to be back again," remarked cora. "you have no idea how far away fern island is at night." "oh, dreadful!" exclaimed belle. "i would have died." "poor place for dying," put in ed. "'twould be like the babes in the wood, and the birdies and the leaves and all that sort of thing. even to die, belle, one may do it up in style." "i don't think you should make a joke of death," objected belle, pouting. "oh, i didn't," declared ed. "i was only trying to make a joke out of the idea of you being able to die--any place. you never will, belle. you will go on being nice forever, like the brook." the crowd had now scattered, so that the girls might make their way along to camp without brushing through the throng. they had left their boat at the landing, in order to see the girls, who, jack declared, were waiting there. they could now go aboard again and finish the journey. "say folks," said ed in a merry voice, "i propose that we make for the camp. we are starved, every one of us. "and laurel must be actually weak," added cora, "for all sorts of adventures interfered with our supper." seeing the canoe girl, the others drew up to her. whispered remarks were politely passed, but jack kept winking and making queer signs toward walter. cora joined in the mirth as well as she could but was still nervous. as cora's boat was setting out, ben leaned over and whispered: "don't listen to word from any one, and what's more, if you know anything about the cause for this fight keep it close-to yourself. i told your brother the rest," and he covered her small white hand with his own brown rough palm. "thank you, ben, and yes, i will remember," said cora, with more stress in her voice than in her words. then the petrel puffed up to camp cozy. there all attention was bestowed upon laurel. the girl had gone from shock to shock until she was really in need of rest and nourishment. of course cora made light of her own predicament. she admitted she had been frightened when she found the boat gone, and laurel sick, but tried to laugh and call it just one more experience, that would add to her general knowledge. but her face was white, and even belle and bess who had risen from prostration to over-joy could not be deceived. "it's about that man peters," bess whispered to belle. "you know she had some interest in him because she felt he knew about the hermit and the girl. but the girl is here now," she finished, unable further to explain cora's agitation. it was jack who made the opportunity for cora to talk privately with him, and the sister was not averse to seizing it. jack called her to the side porch directly after she had had some refreshments. "what's worrying you, sis?" he asked kindly, putting his arm around her. "oh, jack, i don't know. if you hadn't come!" and she shivered as she thought of that dire possibility. "oh, but we did come. we found you much sooner than we thought we would, and i must say you weren't half so frightened as you had a right to be under the circumstances. you are one of the bravest girls i ever saw--that's right and so is that wild laurel." "oh, i just love her jack," said cora warmly, "and if only this other thing about her father comes right, i shall not in the least regret the experience that brought us together. it is a great story, jack. you know we have still to rescue her father." "the hermit?" he asked. "yes, an outcast, for some mysterious reason. but we shall soon clear that up when laurel is strong enough to be questioned. i feel so much better," and she kissed him as if he and she were just the babies they felt themselves to be on such occasions. "jack," she whispered, a little later, "i am just going to think it is all right. you can count on me. i am not going to have nervous prostration from so small a thing as to-night's happenings." "good, sis," and his second kiss was applause for her own. "of course, you are the brickiest kind of brick. and so is laurel, a russet brick. isn't she that?" "exactly that," and cora started toward the room. "she will be a perfectly dear girl when she gets back to civilized ways. hush, here she comes?" "cora," breathed laurel, who now had on a robe that belle insisted had been made for her, though her own mother had ordered it for belle, "cora, who was the man in the boat that was hurt?" wondering how the girl could have escaped overhearing the name peters, cora replied: "a fisherman i believe, but he may not have been much hurt. folks in such places as these cling to every sensation, and fix it up to suit themselves." "but how will they find his assailant?" asked the girl, interested for some unknown reason. cora glanced at jack. "they will look for him of course," jack replied for his sister. "where was he hurt?" laurel persisted. "we have no reason to think he was hurt at all," said jack decidedly. "it's only rumor, and if you don't mind my dictation, i should suggest that this be a forbidden subject. it is about the worst thing either of you can think of." "right brother, always right!" said cora. "now let us go in and try to make the girls happy with a little part of our story. you can trust me, laurel," she said aside. "i know just what they want to know." "oh," breathed bess, as cora and laurel entered the pretty, bright, little sitting room, "is it possible that our troubles are over for one night?" "no, i see more kinds of trouble ahead," and of course she looked at the irresistible and irrisisting walter. "don't they match?" aside to belle, whose ideas of color schemes and whose regard for the beautiful were blamed for the inflection of nerves. "they do," she agreed. "her hair is just russet-brown, and her eyes hazel. oh, i have always loved that sort of face when it goes with the olive skin." "how did you know that i had named her russet?" asked jack, touching with mock concern one stray yellow curl that threatened belle's sight. "i did not," she replied, "but i think it suits her exactly. and walter is all of a shade." "oh, belle. i am going to tell him? wallie shady!" "you know perfectly well, jack kimball, i said shade--in color." "oh, yes. color blind. poor, afflicted wallie. i have often wondered about his neckties. but doesn't laurel take to him? and isn't she a beaut in that bag?" "bag! my best kimono! look what teeth she has when she laughs." "and you not jealous? belle i think, after all, i shall have to return to my first love," and he slipped his arm all the way back of her steamer chair, for jack dearly loved to tease either bess or belle, declaring what happened to one twin would react on the other. "hazel cannot take her eyes off of cora. i might be jealous there," reported the blonde twin. "you may 'jell' all you like on that score," jack consented. "but hello! here's paul!" the tall, dark boy, paul hastings, hazel's brother, had just entered the door. instantly he was overcome with the welcome, for while the boys fell to kissing him and smoothing his hair in the most approved lover-like way, the girls crowded around and offered him empty plates and glasses of flowers, to say nothing of bess, with the japanese parasol, who stood over his chair while cora fanned him. laurel looked on like one who enjoys a play. there seemed in her eyes something to indicate that such a scene was not entirely new to her, but was for some time forgotten. presently cora remembered that laurel had not met paul before, and so introduced them. she merely said laurel in mentioning names, but the omission of anything so unimportant as a last title would never be noticed among these young folks. "say now, let a fellow breathe" begged paul, "and also let him puff out a little. there! i feel better! and i just want to remark that i have found the lost canoe!" at the words "lost canoe" laurel started. cora saw her, and slipped over to her side. "you need not worry, dear. everything is safe with us," whispered cora, pressing the other's hand. "our old original! you don't mean it?" exclaimed ed. "none other," declared paul. "and i wonder you did not find it before." "where was it?" asked walter. "tied up to your own dock. i just spied it as i landed." "oh, you go on," threatened jack. "do you think we are teething?" "no, jollying," vowed paul. "i just this minute guessed it." without more comment the entire party hurried out the door, and made for the dock. jack won first place and so held the lantern. "she's red," he declared. "while ours was green." "just a matter of time," said paul in his delightfully easy way. "most girls are green when they come up here, and--" ed's hand was over paul's mouth so he could not complete the joke. jack was looking for the tell-tale piece of wood that had been inserted in the end of the canoe to mend a slight break. "yep, sure it's her," he declared. "she!"' yelled the girls. "jack!" cora's voice came, "how can you so shock our english?" "pardon me, ladies," he murmured. "but this is it." "painted red," belle was trying to realize out loud. "yes, and it's right becoming," agreed ed, "but where did she get the sun-burn?" "the mystery of her complexion, or, the shade of her pretty nose," quoth jack. "well, i don't mind. but i would like to get hold of the silent artist of cedar lake," he finished, in crude eloquence. paul was looking carefully inside the canoe. presently he stood up straight, and held a note in his hand. "let's have the light jack?" he asked. "i have something." jack held the lantern so that it's gleam fell on the paper. "miss cora kimball," they both read, then they handed the paper to cora. it was enclosed in an envelope of very fine linen; cora saw this instantly, for she felt, as well as saw, the texture. just as she was about to tear open the missive a thought occurred to her. "i had best wait until i get indoors," she said. "i might drop something out of it here and break the charm." a murmur of disapproval followed this remark. but cora won out, and with much apprehension carried the strange letter inside. under the light she looked first at the signature. it was brentano! chapter xx laurel's flight "what is it? what is it?" demanded the girls in chorus. cora made light of her actions as she hid the note, but in reality she had no idea of reading it before any one. what might it not contain? "i get so few love letters," she remarked, "that i want a chance to enjoy them." "then as that's the case," said ed, "it's us for the bungle. come on, boys," and he pretended offence, "us is hurt." "now ed, i said letters--not lovers," corrected cora. "the pen and ink!" demanded ed. "i will to thee a letter indite," and he opened the small desk in the darkest corner of the room. this was a signal for every boy to pretend to write a love letter to every girl. jack could get nothing better than a feather from the indian headpiece that hung on the wall. this he dipped in belle's shoe dressing, and wrote a note on the back of cora's best piece of sheet music. walter sat on the floor poking his whittled stick into the dead embers in the fire-place, and managed to scratch something on a fan--it belonged to bess. paul did not much care for nonsense, but appropriately made indian characters on the wooden bowl with his pen knife. the whole turned out more fun than was expected. walter proffered his love letter to laurel, and she surprised them all by reading this: "my mountain laurel: meet me when the buds come and we will wait for the blossoms. your bending bough." the cue that laurel furnished was taken up by the others and when jack offered his "note" to hazel she read. "my dear burr: be patient and you will loose the green, hazelnuts are never soft! yours, the fellow who fell down hill with jill." cora read what ed did not write: "my reef: when stranded i know what to grab--your larder is ever my rock of refuge. yours, co-ed." belle and bess both partook of paul's note, and as paul was acknowledged the artist of them all the double missive was gladly accepted by the twins--as doubles. belle pretended to read: "two to one, or two in one, double the wish and double the fun." the merry making that followed this little farce was of too varied a character to describe. some of the boys insisted on standing on their heads while others took up a low mournful dirge that might have done credit to the days of the red men and wigwams. finally, cora insisted that it was late--disgracefully late--for campers to have lights burning, and the boys were obliged to leave for their own quarters. going out, jack whispered to cora: "ben told paul to say to you that under no circumstances were you to go down to the landing to-morrow. i know he has some good reason for the warning. the row between peters and brentano may not have ended there," and he kissed her good night. "we have had a jolly time and to-morrow when i come you must let me see the mysterious love letter." cora promised, and then the lights were turned out. making sure that all, even laurel, were sleeping cora slipped out into the sitting room, relighted the lamp and unfolded the note that had been found in the canoe. she felt her heart quicken. why did she fear and yet long to know what that man had to tell her? she read: "young lady: when you receive this i shall be too far away to further meet your daring, baffling challenge of my plans. what i intend to do i can not even tell myself, for everything seemed so easy of evil until you crossed my path. so easy was it that there was even no victory in the spoils. but first you came boldly to the den of poor peters. then you deliberately took from us that simple-minded, harmless old woman, kate; next you did not call out when she gave you back your ring--not call out against us. all this to me was incomprehensible. why should a young girl not fear us? why should she not denounce us? then you saved that little doll, mabel blake, until finally i began to wonder why i, a talented high-born italian, should pretend to love crime when a mere girl could be a noble defender? the difference made me feel like a coward, and i decided finally to go away. before i left i had trouble with peters. this hurried me and i have not time to write more now. i know you got back from the island--boys of your kin do not wait long to find their sisters. by to-morrow noon, if all goes well with me on the journey, i shall be able to write that to poor little laurel which will release her from her bondage. i will send the letter care of you. thank the boys for use of their canoe. brentano." for some moments cora sat looking blankly at that fine foreign paper. what a splendid hand! what direct diction! and her conduct had influenced him to turn away from his evil ways. she had done nothing more than others, except perhaps she had more courage, born of better and more complete experience. she sighed a sigh of satisfaction as she again hid the paper in her gown. then with one great heart-beat of prayerful thanksgiving, she, too, sought "tired nature's sweet restorer." it was the sound of dishes and the tinkle of pans that awoke cora next morning. day so soon! and all the others up! "now, we have fooled you," said belle with a light laugh. "you have slept longest!" cora had been dreaming very heavily, and her sleep seemed but a reflection of the previous day's troubles. now she was awake and instantly she remembered it all about ben telling her not to go near the landing; then about the letter. "is laurel up?" she asked. "no, we let her sleep to keep you company," said hazel, "and we are going to give you such a surprise for breakfast! don't tell, girls." cora slipped into a robe and stepped across the room to peer into the little corner where laurel had gone to her rest. "laurel is up," she declared. "she is not here!" "not there! not in bed! laurel--she has not gotten up yet," declared belle, who with frying pan in hand had hurried from the kitchen when cora spoke. "she certainly is not in bed," again declared cora. "you may see for yourselves." "laurel gone!" exclaimed more than one of the astonished girls. "she may have gone out," suggested hazel. "i thought i heard someone about very early." following this thought the girls looked around called, and again returned to the empty room. "what is this?" asked bess, seeing a piece of ribbon-tied paper floating from the night lamp. hazel was first to handle it. she saw that it was a note addressed to cora. "it's for you, cora," she said as she snapped the fragile ribbon from its fastening. cora read aloud: "forgive me for going this way but i could not wait longer to know about my father. i will return before dark and bring with me the canoe i have borrowed. you may, trust me and need not be anxious. gratefully, laurel starr." "gone in the canoe!" "i know why, girls," cora admitted, "and if you will all come in here together i will tell you as much, as i myself know. the real story i have not yet been able to learn, but must do so very soon." then she told of the first discovery of the man on fern island, following with the account of her second and third visits there, and finally of how she found poor laurel in such distress the night of her own exile. the loss of her boat they all knew about, and that part was a certain kind of clear mystery. "laurel has gone back to see about her father," she finished. "it is only natural, and i should have thought it strange had she not done so." "of course," added bess, brushing away a tear. "poor little wild laurel had to go back, it was almost as cruel to keep her as to pen up a brown bunny." in spite of the seriousness of the moment every one smiled. first laurel was russet, now compared to a little brown rabbit. "we had just gotten acquainted with her," murmured belle. "i thought her so romantic." "and i thought her so intelligent," put in the ever-studious hazel. "even paul took the trouble to notice her." "well, we will have her back again," promised cora. "i am positive she will keep her word. i think her a splendid girl. all she needs is the chance to get over the state of chronic fright she has been living in. then she will be just as normal as any of us." "then, that being the case," said hazel, with a jump, "i propose we keep normal by eating our breakfast. i am famished, and those boys almost emptied the ice-box." "nettie had to go away into town for eggs," bess orated, "and therefore we had to do all the cooking." "it smells all right," cora said, as they pulled the chairs to the table. "let us hope we will get through one meal without interruption. my appetite is positively canned." "and i took the trouble to gather those morning glories," belle announced. "i thought laurel would like them." "they are beautiful, belle," said cora, looking with admiration at the dainty green vines with their freshly-blown, colored bells that trailed from the glass bowl in the center of the table. "nothing could be more artistic, and we enjoy them even if laurel has missed them," cora finished. "but the food," demanded hazel. "it is of that we sing. food, food! isn't it good; a girl is a loon who can't eat what she could," sang hazel, with more mirth than english. "eggs, eggs, bacon and eggs." "she eats all she can, then sits up and begs," sang cora helping herself to that portion of the fare, and keeping time with the humming toast. bess was taking her third slice of bread. that inspired belle. "bread, bread, nettie's good bread--" "when bess took the loaf, we nearly fell dead," sang out belle, rescuing the much-worn loaf from which bess was trying to get a slice. "the toasts are very well as far as they go," commented cora, "but i notice that the food stuffs go farther." "and the boys are coming at ten," remarked hazel. "i'm glad i cooked. i don't have to wash the dishes." "but the boys were going out in the canoe and now it's gone," belle reminded them. "they were going to take the prize canoe, and the red one, and we would all then have a chance to float out together. now, of course, we won't be able to go." "we can go in our own boat," cora said, "and really the lake is quite rough for canoeing this morning. when laurel comes back she will likely bring her own boat and then we will have three in our fleet." "why couldn't you, and she come home in her canoe when you found your boat gone, cora?" asked bess suddenly. "hers was not at the dock--someone had borrowed it," cora explained without explaining. they had about finished their meal. belle was already snatching the dishes, in spite of protests that there was some perfectly good eating which had not yet been eaten. "there come the boys now," announced hazel. "they look sort of-gloomy." cora glanced out of the window and saw ed, jack and walter strolling along the path. she, too, thought they looked "gloomy," but it was not her practice to anticipate trouble. the "hellos" were exchanged before the young men had time to enter the camp. then belle asked: "aren't we going canoeing?" "guess not to-day," replied ed, his handsome black hair almost sparkling in the sunshine as he tossed his head in nonchalance. "we are still too cramped up. had to sleep on the roof last night." "why?" demanded cora. "choosin' that. my little joke," he replied, "girls, i'm cuttin' up," and he tried to hide a serious air with a ridiculous remark. "but we'll do something. we'll go fishin"' he declared. "we thought it best to keep out in the cove this morning," jack was explaining to cora. "there is so much going on around the landing." "what is going on?" she asked rather nervously. "oh, that peter's affair," replied her brother with assumed indifference. "they are looking him over to-day to see how much he's hurt." "oh!" said cora vaguely. then she went indoors from the porch to prepare for the fishing trip. chapter xxi motor troubles "it is strange laurel does not come back," remarked bess, as the girls sat on the porch after a most unsuccessful fishing trip (as far as fish were concerned), "somehow i feel she would if she could." "that's it exactly," cora corroborated. "if she could get back here this afternoon, we would have seen her. but then her father may have been too lonely without her, or any of many other things may have detained her." cora jumped up suddenly, and skipped down the path to where her motor boat was fastened. she would look over the engine. the wire connections had slipped, and she would tighten them, and make some other minor adjustments. cora found more to do on her boat than she had expected. the boys had had the craft out latest and had neglected to put down the oil cup levers. this caused the cylinder to be flooded with lubricant, and if there was one thing cora disliked more than another it was to run an oil puffing boat, and "inhale the fumes." she pulled on her heavy gloves and got to work to drain out the oil through the base cock. bending over her task she did not see, neither did she hear, an approaching person. it was ben. "busy, eh?" he said in his splendid, candid way. cora was so glad it was only ben. "oh yes," she replied, "the boys never seem to know how to leave a boat. this is thoroughly oil-soaked." "they're careless that way," admitted ben, stepping into the boat to see what the trouble was. "if i were you i would make some rules and tack 'em down by the license card." "they would never read them," cora declared. "there--just look at that oil," as she collected some in a funnel. "this would have made the muffler smoke like a locomotive." ben looked at the oil cups. "there isn't any thing meaner than running a boat that throws out soft coal smoke," he admitted. "those boys left the plungers up. but i say, girl, where's your new friend?" "laurel?" asked cora as she put the wrench in the tool box. "yes. i thought she had come down here to stay." "well, we thought so too, but then she could not be expected to leave the island--all at once," and cora wondered if she were saying too much. "it's queer to me," went on ben. "them fellows have something to do with that," and he nodded his head toward the landing. "you mean--peters and tony?" "yes. and what i want to say, miss, is this. you had best keep clear of them. the row at the landing isn't exactly fixed up. i think it had to do with something at fern island." "about laurel?" "yes. i have suspected for a long time that the little runs that peters makes up there must have paid him pretty well. now that he has fallen out with tony, likely it'll all come to jim. best thing we can do, miss, is to keep a sharp look out for the girl. if you can get her to come to camp with you i fancy all the rest will soon straighten itself." cora wondered just how much ben knew of the mystery of that island. she felt obliged to withhold laurel's secret, yet she felt, too, that ben would do everything to help her get the girl and the hermit away from their place of exile. "i'll tell you, ben," she said finally. "i'll come to you for advice just as soon as i find it is time to act. depend upon it we are not going to leave cedar lake until the mystery of fern island is cleared up." this seemed to satisfy ben, for beneath the deep brown of his cheeks there showed the glow of color that came with pleasure. "all right, little girl," he said, "if you want me before i come again, just let me know. ben will be only too glad to stick by you and all the rest of them," meaning the campers at camp cozy and those who bungalowed at the bungle. he went off, shambling along with his face turned toward the sky and his feet taking care of themselves. cora looked after him. "dear old ben," cora mused, "everything seems worth while when it takes 'everything' to make such a friend as you can be." then she went back to her engine. she must tighten the wires, and leave the craft in readiness for a quick run. "oh, cora!" came the voice of bess suddenly, "you've missed it. we have had the most glorious time." bess approached, her cheeks as red as the sumac she carried, and her eyes as bright as the very ragged sailors that hung rather dangerously from her belt. "hasn't laurel come yet?" "no, not yet," replied cora, intent upon her task at the wires. "i am afraid she will hardly come to-night." "then we have got to go after her," declared bess. "jack said so. he said she could not stay alone on that island all night." "oh, did he?" cora replied in an absent-minded way. "i have had such--a time--with this boat," and she pulled on the wires to make them taut, breaking one and necessitating a splice. "can't we take the boat to look for laurel?" persisted bess, with more concern than she usually showed. "why, of course, i suppose so," said cora. "there, i guess that will do," and she straightened up with a sigh, for the use of the pliers made her hands ache. "why, cora!" exclaimed bess, "you look actually pale. you must be awfully tired." "me pale," and she laughed. "now, bess, don't get romantic. just fancy me being pale!" "well, you are, and i insist that you come back to camp at once and get a drink of warm milk. cora kimball, you--look--scared!" "oh, i am. think what it would mean if the boys had knocked my engine out. and it did seem for a time that there was no 'if' in it." cora jumped lightly out of the boat and was ready to greet the other girls. soon a discussion of color and its causes was in progress, cora maintaining that her cause of anxiety had been that awful engine and its troubles. ed, walter and jack had joined the others. "i say," began ed, "where do we, go to look for the wild olive or was it the mountain laurel? jack is in a fit, and walter can't be held. what do you say if we all start out in a searching party? no one has been lost for twenty-four hours, and this state of affairs is getting monotonous." without waiting for an answer the girls and boys clambered into the petrel while bess went to the camp with cora who insisted upon washing her hands before making the trip. "did anything happen, cora, while we were away?" asked bess kindly. "not a thing, bess. i only wish something real would happen; we have so many imitations of excitement." chapter xxii the law and the lights "i want to find her this time," insisted jack. "cora, please let me? i promise not to frighten her, and not even to speak to her if you object, but i do so want to find her." "seems to me you found her last time," objected walter who was looking particularly well to-night, for his suit of khaki and his brown skin seemed all of a piece. "you nearly knocked me down in your haste to find the hut first." "but," cora said seriously, "laurel may not want you boys to find her. she may not even want me to do so. i am just taking chances. suppose you allow bess and me or hazel or any two of us to go up to the hut first? please do be reasonable, and not silly," cora finished in a voice she seldom assumed. "you may come along as dose as you like, until we are just up to the hut," bess consented, with marked good sense, "as the woods are so thick and black, but when we get to the hut--" "we can 'hut' it i suppose," snapped jack. "all right, girls; all i can say is i hope a couple of brownies, or a mountain lion pay their respects to you both for being so daring." the boat was running beautifully. the cleaning out that cora gave the base, and the regulating of the oil cups together with adjusting the wires, helped to make the mechanism run more smoothly, and she glided along without "missing," which means, of course that every explosion was in perfect rhythm to every other explosion. there was a "hot fat" spark as cora explained. "there's a big steamer," remarked hazel, as a large boat glided along. cora swung so that the red light of the petrel showed she was going to the right. the steamer gave two whistles indicating a left course. cora answered with one blast which meant right. the steamer insisted on left and gave one more signal. "what's the matter with them?" jack demanded, taking the steering wheel from cora. "they seem to own the lake." no sooner had he said this than the big boat came so close to the smaller craft that a huge wave swept over the small forward deck and instantly the colored lights went out, being drenched. for a moment every one seemed stunned! the shock to the petrel was as if she had been suddenly dipped into the depths of the lake. but as quickly as it happened just as quickly was it righted, and the offending boat steamed off majestically, as if it had merely bowed to an old acquaintance. "what do you think of that!" exclaimed walter, indignantly. "i think a lot of it," replied ed, "but the captain of that steamer would not likely want to see my thoughts." "small trick," declared jack, "even if he had the right to pass us so close, common lake manners obliged him to give in to the smaller boat." "the lights are both out," cora said anxiously. "well, we are almost to shore," jack replied, "and it won't be worth while to stop here. we can light up again when we get in." this seemed reasonable enough and so they sailed along. "hello!" exclaimed walter, "is this another boat trying the same trick?" a launch was steering very dose to the petrel. the lights were conspicuously bright, and the engine ran almost noiselessly. "what is it?" asked jack, seeing that the captain wanted to speak with some one. "i want you," replied a voice of authority. "you have no lights." "oh, you're the inspector," said jack candidly. "well, that steamer that just passed doused our lights, and we are going to land here to relight." "sorry, but that's against the law," replied the officer. "you fellows always have an excuse ready, and i can't accept it. you will have to come along with me." "arrested!" exclaimed belle aghast. "that's about what it amounts to," replied the man coolly. "can you get in here?" "who?" asked jack. "the captain," replied the officer grimly. "where does he go?" jack further questioned. "see here, young man," spoke the inspector rather sharply. "do you think i've got all night to bother with you?" "i don't know as i do," replied jack in the same voice, "but if you will just explain what you want us to do we will give you no further trouble." jack knew one thing--to refuse to comply with the request of an officer is about the last thing to do if one values either money or liberty. "that's the way to talk," replied the inspector. "so just suppose you take this rope and i'll tow, you along. i fancy the party would, rather come than let one go alone." "of course we would," declared cora. "in fact i am the captain of this boat." jack gave her a meaning bump on the arm--it meant, "let me do the talking," and cora understood perfectly. "but where are we going?" wailed belle, as the man threw the towline to ed. "not far," answered the man. "i just have to take you in, and then you have to do the rest." "what's the rest?" inquired walter. "oh, pay a fine," said the man carelessly. "how much?" inquired ed. "from five to twenty-five; as the judge sees fit. there, are you fast?" "guess so," growled jack, to whom the arrest seemed like a case of "captain kidding." "and we can't go to laurel?" hazel inquired with a sigh. "shame," commented walter under his breath, "but jack knows the best thing to do with the law is to jolly it." "law nothing," muttered ed, as he took the steering wheel, jack being busy with the towing line. "never mind," cora suggested. "it will give us a new experience. i had the fool-hardiness to wish for some real excitement this very afternoon." "but to be arrested!" gasped bess with a frightened look. "a distinctly new sensation," said hazel with an attempt to laugh. "just think of going before a real, live judge!" but evidently the other girls did not want to think of it. they would rather have thought of anything else just then. "which way are you going?" jack asked the man in the official boat. "i thought your judge lived on the east side?" "he does, but we may take some other fellows in yet to-night. this is only one catch," and the inspector laughed unpleasantly. "they are actually going to tour the lake with us," declared ed. "if that isn't nerve!" "don't complain," cautioned cora, "perhaps the longer the run the lighter the fine. and we are just waiting for our next allowance." "and, being a pretty motor-boat, they will make it a pretty fine," mused walter. "i would like to dip that fellow." "yes, they are going to let us tour the lake hitched on to the police boat! the situation is most unpleasant. but there is no way out of it," said ed, sullenly. "suppose they won't take a fine, and want to lock us up?" asked belle. "if it were only one night in jail, i'd take it just to fool the man who wants the money, but i am afraid it might be ten days and that would be inconvenient," jack remarked, as the police boat steamed off with the petrel trailing. "they call this law. it may be the law but not its intention. we were almost landed, and just about to light up. i tell you they just need the money." when they reached the bungalow, where judge brown held his court, the three young men entered with the inspector, and when the judge had satisfied himself that he could not ask more than five dollars and costs for this "first offence" the fine was paid and the matter settled. belle and bess were greatly relieved when the culprits came back to the petrel. they had a hidden fear that something else disgraceful might happen; perhaps the judge would detain the boys, or perhaps the girls would have to go in to testify. cora's mind was pre-occupied however, and when the petrel started off, and jack asked her where to, she said back to fern island. chapter xxiii a night on the isle it was too late now for cora to think of making her way to the pine hut without the boys, too dark, too late and too uncertain, so she agreed to allow ed and jack to go with her while walter and the girls followed at some distance. "there's a light," announced jack, when they had covered the first hill. "yes, that's in the hut," cora said. hurrying before her brother, cora reached the thatched doorway. she pushed back the screen and saw laurel leaning over the bed on the floor. as she entered laurel motioned her not to speak. then cora saw that the girl was bending over her father. "they shall not take me," he murmured. "i am innocent!" "hush, father dear," his daughter soothed. "'there is no one here, just your own laurel," and she bathed his head with her wet handkerchief. cora instantly withdrew. she whispered to jack, and he turned to meet the others, to prevent them coming nearer. laurel followed her to the open air. "father is so changed!" she said under her breath, "while he seems worse, his mind is clearer, and i almost hope he will soon remember everything of the past." "if his mind is clearer there is every hope for him," cora replied. "i do hope, laurel dear, that your exile and his will soon end." laurel put her hand to her head as if to check its throbbing. yes, if it only would soon end! "what happened?" asked cora. "he fell and struck his head on a rock," answered laurel. "it was that night we were in the hut. it was he who came walking along in the darkness, and we thought it was some one else. he came to look for me after i signaled that time. it was my father!" "he slipped and fell," she resumed in a moment. "we heard him, you remember, and then--then he went away--my poor father!" cora gasped in surprise. "is he badly hurt?" she managed to ask. "no, hardly at all. it was only a slight cut on his head, but the shock of it brought him to him self--restored his reason that was tottering. when he got up and staggered off his mind was nearly clear, but he did not dare come to the hut where we were for fear it might contain some of his enemies. he went looking for me, but i had gone with you. "since then he has talked of matters he has not mentioned in years and years. but he is not altogether better. oh, cora, if his mind would only become strong again, so he could clear up all the mystery!" 'the girls clung lovingly to each other. then a moan from the hut suddenly called laurel away, cora knew jack was waiting for her in the woods, and she hastened to him. one whispered sentence to her brother was enough to explain it all to him. "we must arrange to get him away from here--laurel's father," he said, as he put his arms about cora. "do you think he is strong enough to be moved?" "i'll ask laurel," replied cora joyfully. if only now both the hermit and his daughter could leave that awful island. the other girls stepped to the door in answer to cora's signal. "oh, i am afraid he is too weak for that now," laurel whispered. "but when he is able i will have him taken to a hospital. that man kept us in terror. now he is gone and i feel almost free." "you have heard that he is gone?" questioned cora. "i had a letter," replied the other simply, and this answer only served to make a new matter of query for cora. but she could not ask it now. "he is sleeping," said laurel. "look!" cora went over to the pallet and looked down at the man who lay there. yes, he was noble looking in spite of the growth of his hair and beard, and cora could see wherein his daughter resembled him. there seemed something like a benediction in that hut, and as the thought stole over her, cora breathed a prayer that it should not come in the shape of death. "he's lovely," cora said to laurel. "let us go out and not disturb him." jack and the others were waiting silently outside. cora spoke to her brother. he understood. "you girls had better go back," he said, "ed and i will stay here to help laurel." "oh, no, i must stay too. perhaps in the morning we can take him away," insisted cora. bess and belle clung together. they had a fear of "the wild man" and it had not yet been dispelled. hazel tried to induce laurel to go back to camp and allow her and cora to care for the father, but of course such an appeal was useless. laurel would not think of leaving the sick man. it was finally arranged that cora and jack should remain, and then reluctantly the others started off with the promise of returning very early the next morning. "i have some things to eat," laurel told them. "i thought poor father would like a change, and i got them when i was at the point." "oh, you save them," jack said. "we had a good supper, and will make out all right until morning. but now tell me where i can get you fresh water." cora knew, and she took the extra lantern and started off with her brother. they talked of many things as they stumbled on through the woods. "there's the spring. look out! don't fall in. my isn't that water clear even in the lantern light!" exclaimed cora suddenly. jack filled the pail easily and then they turned back. "but jack," cora began again, "you know there is some mystery about mr. starr. that must be his name, for laurel signed hers so in the note she left." "whatever the mystery is, i feet certain it is nothing disgraceful," jack assured her. "very likely it was some plot to injure them, concocted by that fellow jones." the unfailing reason of this astonished cora. how could jack have guessed so near the facts? "at any rate i think the poor man will be able to be moved in the morning," she finished, as they made their way up the hill. "it will be a wonderful thing if, after all, it comes out all right; that he is a free man, and that his slight injury may restore his scattered faculties." "let us hope so," said jack fervently. cora wanted to tell him about the letter from jones otherwise brentano, but there was not time to do so before they reached the hut, so she reasoned it would be best to postpone it. laurel was sitting, holding her father's injured head when they entered the hut. he was awake now, and looking with such great, hungry eyes into his daughter's face. "now we have fresh water, father," she said. "do you know my friends?" "the girl, yes," he said 'feebly. "but the boy?" "her brother," said laurel quickly, delight showing in her voice. "isn't it good to have friends, father?" "good, very good," he said. then he dosed his eyes again, and neither cora nor jack ventured to speak. "it does not seem possible that he can talk so rationally," laurel whispered. "oh, i have now such hopes that he will get well." "of course he will," jack assured her. "but you girls had better get some rest. i will sit up and watch." cora added her entreaties to those of her brother, and laurel finally agreed to throw herself down on the straw bed in the far corner of the hut. cora found room at the other end of the same bed, and presently their young natures gave in to the urgent demands of rest. jack sat alone watching the white faced man who tossed and turned, muttering incoherent words. "i did not do it," he would say. "i never saw the note." "there, you want a drink," said jack kindly, pressing the tin cup to the trembling lips. "but breslin knows! oh, if i could only find breslin!" "breslin," jack repeated, astonished. "yes, brendon breslin. he knows!" "brendon breslin!" jack said again. this was the name of the wealthy man for whom paul hastings ran the fast steam launch. "oh, my head!" moaned the man, closing his eyes in pain. jack realized that this remark about the millionaire might mean a sudden return of memory, and he resolved to test it further, even at the risk of giving the aching head more pain. for if the memory lapsed again it might never be awakened. "what does breslin know?" he asked, leaning very dose to the sick man. to his surprise the hermit sat bolt upright. "he knows that i never forged the note. it was that sneaking office boy." that was the story! this man had been made to believe he had forged a note. his exile on the island was because of the supposed crime! "of course he knows," jack soothed. "and to-morrow he will come to see you." but the sick man was either unconscious, or sleeping. he did not reply. chapter xxiv the unexpected "i heard a boat," cora whispered to jack, as on the following morning, he rubbed his eyes endeavoring to put sight into them. "well, what of it?" he asked. "it seemed to stop at this landing," replied the sister. "the girls most likely," and he got to his feet. "how is the old gentleman?" "much stronger, and his mind, laurel thinks, is clearing." "i think so too. it is an outrage that he has been allowed to suffer here without help. that scoundrel jones must have fixed this up." "did you sleep any, jack dear?" cora asked. "i'm afraid you had a lonely vigil." "oh, i got a wink or two, and my patient was no trouble. is that laurel talking to him?" "yes, she seems overjoyed that he can talk rationally to her. but listen jack! there are voices." brother and sister hurried to the door. strangers were approaching--two men. "is--er--miss cora kimball here?" asked one of them, in rather a hesitating voice. "yes, what is it?" asked jack, suspiciously for somehow he did not like the appearance of the strangers. "we'll do business with her," put in the taller of the two men. cora gave a gasp. somehow she felt as if something unpleasant was about to happen. "no, you won't do any business with her!" exclaimed jack, "that is, not until you tell me first. what is it? out with it!" "say, you're quite high and mighty for a young fellow," sneered the short man. "who be you, anyhow, a lawyer? because if you are you ought to have sense enough to know that we're detectives, after information, and if we can't get it peaceable we'll get it otherwise. how about that?" "it doesn't worry me a particle," declared jack easily. "now, cora, leave this to me," for he saw that his sister was much affected. "i'm her brother," he went on, turning to the men, "and not a lawyer, but i guess i can do just as well in this case. now, what do you want?" "well, it's this way," began the tall one. "we heard that miss kimball might know something about the quarrel between peters and tony, or whatever his name was, and she might be able to put us on his track. peters is hurt worse than we thought he was at first, and we want tony. does she know where he is?" "no, she doesn't!" exclaimed jack, before his sister could speak. "well, we have a tip about her and another girl being in a hut on fern island and being scared by a man," persisted the tall man. "no offense you know, only we thought she could help us out. the man who scared her and her friend may have been tony." "i--i didn't see any one--it was dark," explained cora, before jack could speak. "some one approached, fell down and went away again." "that may have been tom!" excitedly said the short detective. "'no, it was--" began cora. "wait a minute," cried jack. "before she answers i want to know if you really have a right to the information. how do i know but you may be some one seeking to get evidence for a civil suit for peters or tony, and will drag us in as witnesses?" "oh, we're not," said the tall man hastily. "here's my court-house badge," and he displayed it. "this has nothing to do with a lawsuit. we just want to find tony. if that wasn't him on the island who scared the girls, who was it? surely she can't object to telling; it can't hurt her. who was it?" before cora could answer there was a sound at the door of the hut and a voice exclaimed: "it was my father!" there stood laurel, and the officers shifted their gaze from cora to her. they started eagerly forward, hoping to get the information they sought from the new witness. "tell us about it," urged the short man. "no, let me, laurel dear," interrupted cora. "i can explain, jack, and have it all over with. really it's very simple." then, without at all going into the details of the mystery of the hermit, which information cora felt the detectives had no right to possess, she told how she and laurel had been in the hut and how the unknown man who so frightened, them had turned out to be laurel's father, and that even now he was under care because of the injury he received. "and he lived on fern island all this while?" asked one of the officers. "why did he do that?" "for his health i guess," said jack sharply. "that doesn't concern your case against tony, or whatever his name was, and this peters. you've found out that my sister doesn't know anything to help you in your hunt, and you might as well skip out. this is private ground, you know." "that doesn't make any difference to the law," growled the short man. "oh, yes it does," said jack sweetly. "you're trespassers as much as any one else if you haven't a warrant, and i don't believe you have." "no, i guess you're right," admitted the tall man, with as good grace as possible. "come on," this to his companion, "we can't learn anything here. let's go see old ben." cora and laurel had gone into the house. jack did not want them annoyed again, and he wondered how the men had come to think that cora might know something of the quarrel between peters and tony. "it was probably just a guess," decided jack. "there is certainly something like a mystery about the hermit, and--" he interrupted his thoughts as he saw one of the men coming back. "hang it all! i wonder what he wants now?" thought jack. the man soon informed him. "i say, do you think the hermit, as you call him, would be well enough to testify in court about this case?" the detective asked. "what case?" inquired jack, wondering if the man suspected the reason for the hermit's exile. "the peters case." "no, i don't think he would," was the young man's answer, and once more the man went to his boat. as he and his companion started off, jack saw the petrel containing bess, hazel, walter and ed swinging up to the small dock. the young, folks looked closely at the two detectives. "he may have to testify whether he wants to or not!" called the short officer back to jack who was still watching them. "the law gets what it wants you know. this isn't the only case against tony. he is an old offender." "all right, have your own way about it," responded jack easily, and he noted that the occupants of the petrel seemed rather alarmed. then they hastened to disembark as the police boat chugged away, and jack ran down to meet them. chapter xxv awakened memories "oh, where is cora!" gasped bess, as she landed at the island rock, and almost fell fainting into jack's arms. "why, she is with laurel--in the hut. what ever is the matter, bess?" "we thought--thought they had taken you all to jail! oh, those horrible men! those detectives!" "you silly," exclaimed jack, seeing that the poor girl was really exhausted from fright. "don't you know better than that?" "but they would not believe us! they made us tell them where you were, and belle is sick in bed. their boat passed ours as we were coming in. we had a delay. oh, we've been so alarmed!" "poor belle," jack murmured. "now, bess, just step up here and make sure for yourself that cora is just as intact as when you last saw her. i am here to speak for myself. if anything she is better for a night's rest in the open. we expect to start a camp on this plan. it can't be beat." ed motioned jack aside. "wasn't that the police boat?" he asked. "yes, and cora and i gave them all the clues they wanted. none at all in other words. they're after tony." "oh! and cora, is she all right?" ed questioned further. "splendid. did you hear the latest?" "which?" asked ed, significantly. "laurel's father is almost better. the hermit, you know." "you don't say! can he testify?" asked ed. "he may be able to if they require it. but the queer part is it seems to have been the shock that awakened his brain. i have read of such cases." ed was silent, for the girls were returning. hazel had her brown arms around cora while bess looked at laurel as if she expected every moment her chum might evaporate. walter towed on behind the little party. "i must go down to the landing, jack," cora said. "i expect a registered letter, and it is most important that i get it at once." now this was the very thing that jack did not want her to do--to get into the crowd of curious ones that would be sure to be congregated about the landing. "could i not fetch it? you don't want to leave the girls when they have just come up," jack interposed. "i am afraid this time i will have to get my own mail," said cora with a smile. "ed can run me down and we will come straight back." this was finally agreed upon, although jack did not like the arrangements. he called ed aside and warned him not to let cora leave the boat, not to let her speak to anyone, and not to let any one intercept her. "you can tell about those lawyer fellows," he finished. "they might think it their legal duty to interview her, for they know she has been let into the hermit's secret." ed readily promised all jack said, punctuating his remarks with a display of arm muscle which meant that anyone would have to pass pretty close to it to reach cora while she was in his company. then they left. jack sat down on the ledge near the water. he was not given to the "glooms" but surely he had had more than his share of serious business lately. how it would end was his cause for anxiety. so he was pondering when laurel touched his arm. "father would like to speak to you," she said in a faint voice. "he seems to think he knows you." jack jumped up suddenly. "he spoke to me very rationally last night," he said; "perhaps that is what he means." he followed laurel into the hut. the old man had gotten up and was as nicely washed and fixed as a sick person is usually when loving hands hover around. "good morning, sir," jack said pleasantly, taking the seat beneath the opening in the boughs that served as a window. "good morning, good morning, and a really good morning it is," said the older man. "i wanted to speak with you. laurel dear, is there not water to fetch?" laurel took the cue and hurried out, leaving jack alone with the hermit. "young man," he began, "something has happened to clear my brain. a shock some fifteen years ago, if i have not lost all track of time, almost, if not altogether, deprived me of my reason." he paused and put his hand to his brown forehead, in a motion that seemed more a matter of habit than of necessity. "then i came here, or he brought me here. i was all alone. little laurel must have been a baby, when one morning i found her at my side. dear, sweet little cherub. he told me since that her mother had died!" jack did not venture an interruption. it all seemed too sacred for the lips of strangers to break in upon. "then we lived here. that man--!" he clenched his fist and jack feared the excitement might be bad for his weakened head. "don't let us talk of him," jack advised. "let us consider what is best to do now." "my brave boy!" and the hermit put his arm on jack's shoulder. "that is always the mighty question for right; what is best to do now?" a flush had stolen into his sunken cheeks, but jack could see that it was not years, but trouble, that had marred his handsome face. "he said i would be convicted--of that... crime!" the words seemed to burn his throat, for he put, his hand up as if to, choke further utterance. "a crime you never committed," jack ventured, without having the slightest knowledge of what it might mean to his listener. "can you prove it? can you prove it!" gasped the man and for the moment jack was frightened. he felt he was again in the presence of the mad hermit of fern island. "of course we can prove it. my sister has gone now for the absolute proof!" jack was daring more and more each second. "but you spoke of breslin. you said you knew him." "i do! where is he! breslin always believed in me, and he could save me now," replied the man. "well, listen and try to be calm, or laurel will not let me talk further to you," jack cautioned. "last night you mentioned the name of a wealthy banker, for whom my best friend works. this friend is a mechanical genius and he runs a racer boat for brendon breslin, the banker!" "where? here? on these shores?" and the man was panting. "only a short distance off. but i tell you, mr.--?" "starr," volunteered the man. "mr. starr, if you will only get strong enough you can do a great deal for yourself and laurel. the night that you fell a man was on this island. did you know jim peters?" "jim peters!" repeated the hermit. "yes, he was here the night laurel went away with that nice young lady who looks like you." jack started at that. the night laurel went away was the night jim peters had quarreled with tony and been hurt. "did he come to the hunt?" asked jack. "no, but the other man did. brentano and he quarreled, and he drove jim peters down to his boat. i saw them for i was wandering about wishing for laurel, and i remember it all." "if that man, brentano, you call him, chased peters into the boat did he get in with him?" jack asked anxiously. "yes, i saw them shove off, but peters was ugly and wanted to come back." "did he?" "i had to hide then, as they might have injured me if they caught me. i did not see the boat go out or come back. i went to one of my many hiding places," finished the old man with evident effort. "well, mr. starr, you have relieved my mind greatly, and i hope i have not taxed your brain too strongly. but the fact is the detectives are trying to find out about those men and every bit of information helps. the police, you know, like to clear things up to suit themselves," jack said. at the word "police," the man winced. jack noticed the change of manner, and at once turned the subject to that of the health of his listener. he urged him to get up enough strength to leave the island, for laurel's sake, as well as for his own. "but i have lived here like a wild man," argued mr. starr, "in fact i fear i have grown to be one in ways and manners. solitude may be good for some, but for those in distress--" "exactly. but you are not going to have any more solitude. you see we have invaded your camp, and when my sister cora makes a discovery she always insists upon developing it. i never did see the beat of cora for finding things out," and the pride in jack's voice matched the toss of his handsome head. "and my little girl will have a friend," mused the elder man. "well, in moments when i could think, that torturing thought of my dragging her down with me was too much. it drove me back always to the old, old despair." the look of terror, that jack noticed before came back into the haggard face. it was as if he feared to hope. laurel was at the door. her face was a picture of happiness as she stood there gazing at her father. her skin was as dark as the leaves that outlined the entrance to the hut; her eyes lighted up the rude archway: and her lithe figure completed the bronze statuette. jack's eyes fell upon her in unstinted admiration. generations of culture are not easily undone even by the wild life of a forest. "you are better every minute, father," she said simply, "i think the cure you need comes from pleasant company." "none could be more pleasant than your own, my dear," he answered, "but now i want to go and see my birds. and i must feed that cripple rabbit. he was shot," to jack, "but the leg is mending nicely. i missed him so, for he knew us so well and would eat from our hands. you see we established a little kingdom here. laurel was queen and we, the birds and other life creatures, were all her subjects." laurel blushed through her tan. "yes, he had to do something," she said, "else the days would have been too long." the chug of a motor-boat interrupted them. "that's cora," said jack, and so it was. chapter xxvi in search of honor cora brought back with her the letter promised by brentano in his note of mystery. this time she confided in laurel her scheme for unraveling the tangled skein in the web of dishonor that had been woven about the strange girl's father. ben had spoken to cora at the landing. he seemed to think that cora might know more about the trouble between peters and tony than he had expected at first. "but i don't, ben," she insisted, while ed was absent getting mail. "you give me credit for being better able to solve mysteries than i am. is he worse hurt than they thought, ben?" "much worse, miss. of course, he's not dangerous, but the officers want tony the worst way. now if you could tell where to find him--" "but i can't," she explained. "they came to me--" and then she stopped suddenly. if ben did not know of the visit of the detectives she was not going to tell him. she had had a faint suspicion that ben might have sent them to her. but he evidently had not. "yes--yes," he said eagerly. "you were sayin', miss cora, that--" "oh, nothing, ben," she answered quickly. "i think i am really so happy at having helped laurel, that i don't know what i am saying." "yes, indeed you can well be, miss," and ben looked at her with what cora thought a strange gaze. still, she might be mistaken. then she made some excuse to stroll away. walter had rambled off with hazel and bess. the day was now one of those so wonderful in august, when nature seems tired of her anxieties, and rests in a perfect ocean of content. the haze had cleared from the water, the hills were shimmering in the rival honors of sunlight and shadows, and cedar lake from far and near was glorious. not a breeze broke the spell: "no brisk fairy feet, bend the air, strangely sweet, for nature is wedding her lover!" this line prompted cora. somehow the joy of relief was the one thing that had ever overcome her, and now, although nothing in all, the strange things that had happened around her, or had warped the life of laurel and her father seemed really cleared away, still there was that odd look on old ben's face, there was a new light in laurel's eyes, and something like vigor in the voice of mr. starr. oh, if he could and would only tell about that note! then everything else might await time for adjustment. cora took jack and laurel down under the broken chestnut tree to tell them about the letter. it was best, she concluded not to mention it yet to mr. starr. "you know," she began, "that brentano, that is the man of many names," she explained to jack, "promised to send me information that would clear mr. starr of his supposed crime." laurel drew a deep breath. the word crime made her almost shudder. "and this is to-day's letter." she opened the bulky envelope. "he says so much about a girl's power of influence," cora explained, as if not wanting to read that part of the letter. then he says this: "'i have some excuse for my folly. when i was a very little child my mother died. my farther was an expert mathematician employed by the mexican government. from a tiny lad i watched him make those fascinating rows of figures, and i always wanted to know what they meant. he told me money, riches, gold, and i got to believe that the way to acquire money was to make figures, and do wonderful things with pen and ink. when i was twelve years old my father died, and i was left, with considerable money, in the care of an old nurse who idolized me. poor old maximina! she meant no wrong, but who was to guide me? then the money was gone and the nurse was also gone. i had to follow some occupation, and a friend coming to america brought me with him. at fifteen i was a bank runner. it was there i met mr. starr, the respected first clerk of the bank. he liked me, talked to me and was my friend. then i got in with a set of so called scientific cranks. i knew something about the ways of hypnotism, and when i wanted money the temptation came." cora stopped, for laurel had clutched at jack's arm. her face was a faded yellow and her eyes were twitching. "shall we wait for the rest, laurel?" cora asked. "perhaps it is--too painful for you now!" "oh, no! it is not pain, it is agony. this boy whom my father befriended!" "but you see he was not born a scoundrel," jack interrupted. "he is now trying to make amends." "yes," sighed laurel, "please go on, cora." cora read: "i have kept proofs of everything, but if the authorities refuse to accept these proofs i am willing to come back to america and give myself up. you will find the papers marked 'bank records' in a chest in the back kitchen of peters shack. they are sealed in a big tin can marked 'red paint.' what are they saying about peters? that must be a hard nut for the lake people to crack, but since they know so much, or they think they know, it might be a good thing to let them find out how little they really do know. i am sorry for poor peters. he got ugly, however, and it was his own fault?" as cora read these last few words her, eyes left the paper. what did he mean? why did he not say more? he knew peters' shack held the needed proofs of that forgery case. it would take many days to write to and hear from mexico. all this was dashing before cora's confused mind. "the thing to do," spoke jack, "is to go to the shack at once. when we find those papers we may believe the man." "i believe him now," said laurel, "for all that he says of my father i have heard in his ravings. poor, dear father! and to think i was too young to help him!" "it was evidently not a question of age," said jack, "when one is hypnotized into the belief that he has committed a crime it would take scientific treatment to restore him to his correct view of the case. to remove you from the possibility of this, i suppose, is the very reason that brentano brought you here." "we cannot go for the papers to-day," cora said, "for we must, if possible, get mr. starr either to the boys' bungalow, or to our camp. which do you think, jack?" "we will take him to our bungalow, certainly. and it seems to me he is smart and bright enough for the trip now. if we wait later he might have some reaction," jack replied. laurel agreed with him, and presently they broached the matter to mr. starr. "but i cannot go just now," the hermit argued. "i have that little lame rabbit--" "why, father," and laurel folded her arms around him, "don't you think it would be dreadful to disappoint our friends when they have waited the whole night? and they must want to get back to their comfortable quarters." "looking at it that way," he faltered, "i suppose i ought to. but how can a man leave the woods when he has been in them for ten years?" "it must be hard," cora agreed, "and if you want to come back we could arrange to build you a real camp out here, one in which laurel might have some comforts. but first you must get strong. just think of beef tea-broth--can't you smell it?" "girl! girl!" he exclaimed with a real smile brightening his benevolent face, "you have a way! laurel, we have no trunks to pack," he said, half grimly, "have we?" "but we have things to take with us," 'and she jumped up so pleased, believing that he had almost, if not entirely, consented to go. "where's that rabbit?" asked jack. walter and the girls were coming the other way. "it's in a mossy bed just back of where bess stands," said laurel. "then he's the first thing to be packed," said jack, walking straight for the path where the others stood. from that time until the petrel landed at the lower end of cedar lake mr. starr, the hermit, felt that he was in a dream. at the same time he allowed himself to be guided and managed with the simplicity of a child, for his awakened memory seemed stunned by this new turn of affairs. he was weak, of course, but with all the hands that now crowded around him his every need was well looked after. "i'll get dr. rand," ed volunteered. "they say he is wonderful on mental cases." "but he needs rest first," insisted the busy cora, for she and laurel had gone directly to the boys' bungalow with mr. starr. between them all the illness seemed overwhelmed. in fact, the man's eyes, the safest signal of the brain, were as dear as those of the young persons who so eagerly watched his every move. dr. rand came at once. he diagnosed the case as one of mental shock, and called the patient convalescent. a nurse however was called in to hurry the recovery, and this necessitated the renting of another bungalow for the boys. there had never been more excitement around the wood camp. the boys ran this way and that, each anxious to outdo the other in the accomplishment of something important. finally cora suggested that they all go away to make sure that mr. starr would have real quiet. "can't we go for the papers? to the shack?" laurel ventured. "we might," jack replied. "i see no reason why we should not." "let us three go," proposed cora, "i mean you and laurel and i, jack. it might be best not to attract attention." once more the petrel sailed up the lake, this time toward the everglades. cora thought of that day when she and bess dared take the same journey, when the strange man sat at the willowed shore ostensibly making sketches. she thought now that his work then must have been the forging of a letter to hand the poor demented hermit of fern island. "the shack is just over there, jack," she said, pointing out the willows. "there's another boat anchored there," jack said. "it looks like an important craft too." he had seen it before. it was the very boat in which the detective and the police officer sailed up to the far island the morning they came searching for evidence in the jones' case. "the path is narrow," cora said, "but i happen to know it." she led the way. "there are men!" exclaimed laurel as they neared the shack. two men were trying to force open the low window. cora drew back, for one of the men was in uniform. "i suppose they have not finished the case," jack ventured, and at that very moment he would have given a great deal to have had his sister and laurel back at camp. the men had not yet seen them. they forced open the window, and were now inside. "let us turn back," jack suggested. "they may ask us questions--" "but the papers," begged laurel. "they mean so much to father. and what if those men should take them?" "they will likely take everything they can lay their hands on," jack answered, "and i suppose it will be best for us to go on." "certainly," cora said, knowing well that it was on her account that jack hesitated. "they cannot do more than ask questions." but scarcely had she uttered the words than they saw the two men walk out of the shack, and one of them had the can marked "red paint!" chapter xxvii a bold resolve seeing their precious papers, or the receptacle that was said to contain them, in the hands of the detective, cora and laurel both drew back. they could not now demand them, was the thought that flashed to the mind of each, and yet to leave them in possession of the officers, was the very worst thing that could have happened, for there was always the danger of the old story coming up and then the risk to mr. starr, after all his years of evading the law! "they have no right to them," jack said under his breath. "hush!" cora whispered, "they are going the other way!" the two men were talking. suddenly one of them said loudly enough for the listeners to hear: "it might be dynamite. not for me! here goes!" and he carefully set the can down under a bush. "yes," said the other man. "you are right. those two fellows were up to most anything. we will get mulligan. he could smell dynamite," and with that they turned, took a new path toward the shore, and were soon sailing off in their boat. for a few moments neither of the three, who were standing there watching, spoke. then cora's face brightened. "they are ours, laurel's," she said, "and we have a right to take them." "but the law is queer on such points," jack argued. "i have known men to be put in jail for what they call interfering with an officer when the officer could not do just what he wanted to with some spunky citizen. i should not like to touch the can of red paint." "but my father," said laurel, in the most pleading of tones. "think what it means! how we have suffered; and now, when this is at our very hands!" "but suppose it were something other than the papers," cautioned jack. "those men had a pretty bad reputation." "i will take all the risks," declared cora, and before jack could detain her she ran to the bush, pushed it aside, and grasped the can. jack hurried to take it from her. "let me have it, cora; if there is a risk it must be mine." "all right, jack dear," she replied, "i am sure there is nothing in it heavier than papers. wouldn't you think those men could have guessed that?" "perhaps they did not want to," said jack. "you can never tell what they want or mean. they have a system even the country fellows, and it covers a multitude of failures." he shook the can, put it to his ear, rolled it a few feet, picked it up again and laughed. "mr. mulligan won't find this can," he said, "somehow it is attractive, and i am anxious as you girls to see what is in it. if we get in trouble for taking it--well, we'll see," and he led the way down to the petrel. on the water they passed the police boat, but the can of "red paint," was snugly resting under laurel's skirts in the bottom of the boat. "will you tell your father at once, laurel?" cora asked. "if he is well enough. oh, i can scarcely wait. coral, what wonderful good luck you brought to us," and she reached out her hand to press cora's. "don't be too sure," cautioned the other, "it is not all cleared up yet." "but i feel sure," she insisted. "brentano was too clever to do anything half way." "he certainly was a star," jack admitted. "but i hope he will not insist upon keeping up the correspondence with cora. he might give us the hoo-doo." they were soon at their dock. the peter pan was tied, there, and that meant that paul hastings was at the bungalow. jack thought instantly of paul's employer, the banker, whose name mr. starr had mentioned. it did seem now that things were shaping themselves to tell all the story. "who is the stranger?" cora asked, noticing a man in a dressing robe sitting on the little rustic porch. "i--wonder--" jack said. "it's father," almost screamed laurel, "and he has had his hair cut and his beard taken off! doesn't he look lovely!" "it can't be," cora said hesitatingly. "that man is so young!" "he's my dear father, just the same," declared the delighted girl, hurrying from the boat up to the bungalow. the man did not turn his head to greet her, but she was not to be deceived by his little ruse. "what a surprise!" she exclaimed. "i scarcely knew you." "but you did know me," he replied, with a happy smile. "i feel years and years younger, my dear." "indeed you look it," cora said. "i wonder how you ever hid such good looks." the nurse was fetching the beef tea, paul took the cup from her hand. jack made a wry face at laurel, indicating that they would have to watch paul and the pretty new nurse. then he took the chair nearest mr. starr. the can of "red paint" had been safely hidden in a locker of the petrel. "your friend has been telling me the wonders of his fast boat," began mr. starr to jack, speaking of paul. "yes. this is the young man who is employed by brendon breslin," jack replied. "employed by brendon breslin!" exclaimed mr. starr. "is mr. breslin around here?" "gone to the city to-day," replied paul, "but i take him home every night in the peter pan. that's what he wants the best boat on the lake for." "he always believed me, and never wanted me to go away," mr. starr said. "and now if i could see him--" "i don't see why you cannot," put in jack. "he often rides by here, doesn't he paul?" "he thinks this the prettiest end of the lake," paul replied. "but if you ever knew him and he was your friend i am sure he would be only too glad to make a special trip to see you, for he boasts he never forgets an old friend," paul said. "that's him--that's brendon," exclaimed mr. starr, moving uneasily in his chair. "i feel i must be dreaming." there was a general pause--for realization. everyone felt indeed it was like a dream, and almost beyond human power to grasp. mr. starr swept his hand over his forehead. "laurel," he called, "i wonder if i couldn't take a ride in the peter pan. ask the nurse, please--?" "oh, no," objected that young lady. "it would not be wise for you to take another boat ride to-day. we will ask the doctor about it tomorrow." "don't be impatient, father," pleaded laurel. "you must not forget how weak your head has been." "all right, child. but i want it cleared up," he murmured. "i feel there is no safety for me until i'm vindicated." "come on, jack," whispered cora. "we must open that can." paul was leaving. cora and jack walked to the dock with him. he assured them both that mr. breslin would call very soon, and also promised to be on hand on the following wednesday evening when the girls and boys were planning to have a celebration. "they will never know but that it is really paint," cora remarked, as she and jack walked boldly up the path with the precious tin can. "just take it around to the back, and be careful opening it." "dynamite?" asked jack with a smile. "no, but you might damage something," she replied. "no worry about damaging myself?" he persisted. "well, cora, i hope it contains--some jewels. wouldn't that be nice?" there was no chance for further conversation. cora went to the porch while her brother carried out her instructions. presently she made some excuse, and left laurel alone, talking with her father. she found jack sitting on the wash bench with the can opened and in his hands. "didn't go off?" she asked, peering into the tin. "not a go," replied jack, "but look! what did i tell you! there's an envelope marked for laurel, and feel! are they not stones? diamonds or pearls?" "you romancer!" exclaimed cora, as she felt the bulky envelope. "i admit they do feel like stones, but they may be merely corals. but oh, jack! do let me see!" "lets call laurel," he suggested. "we cannot read any of those papers. they are for her, or her father, to open." "oh, of course," and cora looked rebuked. "i had no idea of reading anything, but i thought we should make sure of what was in the can before we got laurel excited over it," and she slipped around the side of the bungalow to beckon to laurel. the girl's face turned white when she saw why she was wanted. "i am so afraid of disappointment," she murmured with a sigh. "well, there's something in here," jack told her. "look at this," and he handed her the heavy envelope. she read her name--then she tore open the paper. a necklace fell out on her lap! "mother's!" she exclaimed, pressing the golden chain to her lips reverently. "darling mother's!" "and the stones are amethysts!" cora exclaimed as laurel held up the gems. "yes, it was father's wedding present to mother," laurel told them. "oh, i scarcely know how to tell him all this." "tony was a pretty decent robber after all," remarked jack. "he kept them for you, at any rate." "yes, poor man. perhaps, as he said, his one temptation was to do clever things with a pen. let us look over the papers." "perhaps your father had best see you do that," jack suggested. "oh no. i think i had better know first," laurel insisted. "let me open this," and she carefully broke a large red seal on a packet of documents yellow with age. paper after paper she took out. finally what she was looking for she found. it was a check that had been cashed and cancelled! it bore the marks also of "forgery!" "that's it," she exclaimed. "that is the ten thousand dollar check!" chapter xxviii all ends well-conclusion "i remember it all--it's like a book open before me!" laurel had insisted upon her father reclining in the hammock, and she was now fussing with his pillows, that he might nestle deeper in their softness. it was he who was speaking. on the porch sat brendon breslin, looking into peter starr's face like one enchanted. there was cora moving a big fan so that apparently without her doing it, the breeze reached the man in the hammock. jack was there and ed was inside the bungalow teasing walter who had "discovered" the new nurse. hazel, bess and belle were busy--there was to be "something doing." a day had passed since the opening of the can of "red paint." in fact it was the evening following that eventful performance. paul had only to say "peter starr"' to mr. breslin, and the latter was ready to be at the bungaloafers' camp. so the story was unwinding. "do you really feel able to talk?" asked the millionaire banker. "i will insist now--you got, the better of me once, peter." "yes, mr. starr," cora added to the request. "do be careful." "and she asks me to be careful!" he actually seized cora in his trembling arms. "she! why she risked her life for us. it was she who found my laurel! she who came to us at night to be sure we would not repel her! she who followed up that--" "oh, please, hush!" cora begged, "or it will be she who causes your relapse," she insisted. "indeed no," and the man held in his hands before him the flushed face of cora. "what you have done cannot be told of in this rude way." "father, i'll be jealous," said laurel, trying to relieve the tension. cora slipped away. it was mr. breslin who spoke next. "and you really remember?" he asked of mr. starr. "how was it that you ran away?" "the bank president's name had been forged to a check for ten thousand dollars!" "yes, i know that well," said mr. breslin. "and they traced the forgery to me!" "but you knew you were innocent!" "i knew it, but i was frightened by the accusation, and they had found trials of the signature in my desk!" "i have a letter that explains that," cora imparted, and then she told how brentano had confessed to the forgery, and to his almost hypnotic influence over mr. starr. "and then?" inquired mr. breslin. "brentano told me i must go. he fixed everything. i have been on the island ten years," and the hermit sighed heavily. "how did you live?" asked the banker. "he fixed that," and there was bitterness in his tone. "he brought me letters regularly. these were alleged to come from those who would prosecute me if i did not keep on paying money!" at this statement the banker dashed up from his seat. "the scoundrel!" he almost hissed. "he ought to be jailed! if i had him here i'd do it too. i'm mayor of this borough." "oh, mr. breslin!" exclaimed laurel. "he must not have been entirely bad. see how he saved the papers--the proofs--and how he kept for me my mother's jewels." "that's the sentimental mire that foreign criminals wallow in," he replied with irony. "i cannot see that it mitigates the crime." "and yet," interrupted mr. starr, "see how the influence of a mere girl turned him to right? i did like that boy!" cora and laurel had crept away to the far end of the porch. two men came up the path. "hello!" said mr. breslin. "officers!" there was surprise on the officers' faces when they saw mr. breslin, their superior officer, the mayor of cedar lake, sitting on the porch. greetings were exchanged and finally they ventured to make known their mission. they had heard that someone saw cora kimball take the state's evidence--the can of "red paint!" "but what was a can of paint?" asked the mayor. "as if a girl would want that," and his voice was almost mocking. "well, it might have been dynamite," and the man who wore brass buttons shook his head sagely. "a girl steal a can of dynamite," repeated mr. breslin mockingly. the officers were trying to see who was in the hammock. but the man therein sank back into the cushions, while jack carelessly slipped his chair directly in front of him. "why didn't you take it when you saw it?" asked the town's mayor. "well," explained the other man, "we didn't fancy the blow-up. we went for mulligan who knows about such things, and when we came back it was gone." "you had better tell that story before the jury," and the sarcasm in mr. breslin's tone was unmistakable. "suppose you tell them that a girl took what you were afraid to touch!" seeing that it was useless to argue with the mayor, they turned to leave. "wait," he said good naturedly, "i have my boat here. take a ride with me. it's better than walking the dusty roads. good evening," he said. "mr. fennelly," (to mr. starr,) "i hope you will regain your health by the time your son has to return to college!" "fennelly," said one officer to the other. "that's not the name, it was starr! we're on the wrong trail." and they hurried away. thus had mr. breslin saved the hermit from having to testify. "laurel," cora said wearily, "let us go for a little walk. my nerves are all snarled up, and only a walk will unravel them. we will have time to go as far as the hemlocks before those girls and boys make up their minds to disband." "but it is dark," objected laurel. "all the better; the quiet will be more effective. come on, laurel. surely you do not mind a dark evening." "oh, no indeed, cora," she replied, winding her arm, about her friend's waist, "but i was thinking it might shower." "oh, we could beat any shower," insisted, laurel, "come let us get away before they miss us." it was getting very dark indeed, but they heeded it not, so interested were they in their chat. they talked of many things, as girls will, and laurel told much of her half-wild life, on fern island, while cora related some of her own experiences. then they returned to the house, where they found the others assembled. "let's have some fun," suggested walter. "i vote for charades," said jack. "i'll be a fish." "all right!" exclaimed the nurse, entering into the spirit of the fun, "here's where you swim!" and she poured a glass of water down jack's back. he accepted the challenge and made exaggerated motions as if he were struggling in deep water. there was a gale of laughter, and that was the beginning of a gay time. the troubles of the past seemed all forgotten. the now happy party remained together for several days and in the meanwhile there were many developments. through the efforts of mr. breslin everything regarding the former hermit was cleared up, and his name was once more restored to its untarnished honor. there was absolutely no charge against him, and on learning this, his health took a big change for the better. as for laurel, she was happier than she had been in many years. the injury to jim peters did not amount to as much as had been feared at first and he gradually recovered. there was no trace of "tony," as everyone called brentano. the search for him was given up, but the officers who had been fooled by the can of "red paint" had a hard time living down the joke against them. cora destroyed all the correspondence she had received. it was like a bad dream, all but that part about helping laurel and her father, and she wanted to forget it. laurel also destroyed the letter jack had picked up the night of the search. it was one from brentano, and she, too, wanted no remembrance of him. this epistle had a slight connection with the mystery. old ben proved a good friend and cora was sorry for the momentary feeling she had had against him. he showed the boys many woodland haunts and took them to secret fishin' "holes" unknown to the general public. the lads voted him a "brick." it was a bright, beautiful day and every one was happy--happy because of the fine weather and because everything had turned out so well. "i feel just like doing something!" exclaimed cora, who, came in from a walk in the woods. "what, sis?" asked jack, making a grab for her which she adroitly avoided. "oh--almost anything. since so much of our summer was spoiled in exploring and in solving mysteries, suppose we dispel the gloom with a spell of reckless gaiety." "suppose," agreed hazel. "what shall it be? i vote for water fun. we can have parties and that sort of stuff all winter." "fishing! the very thing!" exclaimed cora, "and give prizes for fish, near fish, and no fish." "oh, the boys would be sure to win on the fish number," said hazel, "but let's try it. we have to have live bait, i suppose." "and we can haul the bait nets. did you ever see them cast one of those thirty feet ones?" asked cora. "never," replied hazel. "but when shall we start, and what do we start? i'll dig for worms." "to-night we will go for the bait, and you can go out with a lantern in the darkest parts of the woods to dig for worms," cora said, knowing, that this would put an end to hazel's offer. "in the woods? in our own back yard. i know how to turn stones over. i have often helped paul," hazel attested. but it was casting the big thirty foot net that really furnished the best sport. it was dropped from a rowboat by bess and cora while laurel and belle rowed. then when it was all spread out they had to row very quickly in a circle to close the bottom and to drag in the unsuspecting little fishes that were to make the live bait. the first trial resulted in belle resigning as oarsman. she had lost a gold-rimmed side-comb overboard, besides getting very wet when the boat turned suddenly and "took a wave." "i can row alone," insisted laurel. "cora and hazel must manage the net." this time they did bring up some fish--a whole drove of wiggling, frightened little minnies. "how do we get them out?" asked bess, more frightened than the fish. "pick them out and put them in the bait box," cora explained, while bess made a negative face. "it seems a shame to use them for bait," laurel said, as on the pier they opened the net carefully and saw the pretty silvery things slip around. "couldn't we put them some place to grow up?" "the fish-orphans' home," suggested cora. "but i must have a few. you know, girls, fish have no brains. that's the reason i suppose they go into the brain business when they get a chance at humans." the very next afternoon the girl's fishing party rowed out from center landing. walter went along to take the fish off the hooks of belle and bess who declared they would never be able to do that. the other boy's composed a rival party. ben was at the landing, and he wished them all sorts of luck besides telling them the secret spots where fish dwelt. they went deep into the cove, as ben said the pickerel loved to lay in the grasses there. bess and belle insisted upon following the directions on the box of a patent "plug" they had purchased and cast near a lily pond, reeling in so slowly that hazel and cora had both had "strikes" before the twins saw their white make believe fish come to the surface. this sort of casting was for bass of course. "i've got one! i've got one!" shouted cora, as she pulled in a handsome big, black bass. this won the first and last prize, for it was an exceptionally fine specimen. "we knew you would have the best luck, cora," hazel said without malice, as she dragged up a very small, scared sunny. "we knew it. you always do." "it isn't luck," added laurel, "it's skill. she knew that she must pull up as soon as the fish struck. i lost something. it might have been a snake but it got away because i was not quick enough." there was quite a laugh when jack, after a hard struggle, during which he protested that he must have the biggest pickerel in the lake, pulled in a large mud turtle. later, however, he redeemed himself by catching one of the long fish which gave him quite a battle of the line. the other boys did well, and the girls were not far behind them. "well," remarked cora, during a lull in the proceedings when they had gone ashore to eat the lunch they had brought along, "we really haven't had so much fun as this since we came to the lake. there was so much excitement." "there are other vacations coming," predicted ed. "there is no telling what may happen since she has learned to adjust a spark plug, and regulate a timer." ed was right; there were other adventures in store for the motor girls, and what they consisted of will be related in the next volume of this series to be entitled "the motor girls on the coast or the waif from the sea." the afternoon waned. no one felt like going fishing after lunch. besides, as cora said, they, had enough, and they were all cleaned up from the "mess" of baiting hooks. and now, for a time we will take leave of the girls, as they are sitting on the shady shores of cedar lake, talking--talking--and the boys listening, with occasional remarks. "and i'm so glad it all came out right," cora murmured. "you are to go to school with me, laurel--mother has planned about that." "and it was so good of mr. breslin to arrange to have father do clerical work for him," added the woodland maid. "oh, how lovely everything is!" and the sun, sinking to rest, cast a rosy glow over the peaceful waters of the lake. the end e lake. the end distributed proofreaders the history of richard raynal solitary by robert hugh benson patri.reverendissimo *. *****. ******. *.*.*. et cvidam.nescienti hvnc.librvm d. contents: introduction how sir john visited master hermit: and found him in contemplation of the word from god that came to master hermit: and of his setting out how master richard fared: how he heard mass in saint pancras' church: how he came to westminster: and of his colloquy with the ankret how master richard saw the king in westminster hall: and of the mass at saint edward's altar how master richard cried out in westminster hall: and of his coming to a privy parlour of master richard's speaking with the king's grace: and how he was taken for it of master richard's second speaking with his grace: and of his detention of the parson's disquisition on the whole matter how master richard took his meat: and of master lieutenant's whipping of him of the second temptation of master richard: and how he overcame it of the dark night of the soul how sir john went again to the cell: and of what he saw there how one came to master priest: how master priest came to the king's bedchamber: and of what he heard of the name of jesus of sir john's meditations in westminster palace how master richard went to god of his burying introduction in the winter of 1903-4 i had occasion to pass several months in rome. among other religious houses, lately bought back from the government by their proper owners, was one (whose order, for selfish reasons, i prefer not to specify), situated in the maze of narrow streets between the piazza navona and the piazza colonna; this, however, may be said of the order, that it is one which, although little known in italy, had several houses in england up to the reign of henry viii. like so many other orders at that time, its members moved first to france and then to italy, where it has survived in penurious dignity ever since. the religious were able to take with them at the time of exodus, three and a half centuries ago, a part of the small library that existed at the english mother-house, and some few of these mss. have survived to the present day; many others, however, have certainly perished; for in the list of books that i was looking over there one day in march, 1904, i observed several titles, of which, the priest-librarian told me, the corresponding volumes have disappeared. to some half-dozen of these titles, however, there was appended a star, and on enquiring the meaning of this symbol, i was informed that it denoted that a translation had been made into french and preserved in the library. one of these titles especially attracted my attention. it ran as follows: vita et obitus dni ricardi raynal heremitae. upon my asking to see this and its companions, i was conducted to a dusty shelf in the little upstairs book-room, and was informed that i might do as i pleased there for two hours, until the _ave maria_ rang, and the doors would be locked. when the librarian had gone with many nods and smiles, i took down these half dozen books and carried them to the table by the window, and until _ave maria_ rang i turned their pages. the volume whose title had especially attracted my attention was a quarto ms., written, i should suppose from the caligraphy, about the end of the sixteenth century; a later hand had appended a summary to each chapter with an appropriate quotation from a psalm. but the book was in a shocking condition, without binding, and contained no more than a fragment. the last page was numbered "341," and the first page+ "129." one hundred and twenty-eight pages, therefore, were certainly lost at the beginning, and i know not how many at the end; but what was left was sufficiently engrossing to hold me standing by the window, until the wrinkled face of the priest looked in again to inform me that unless i wished to sleep in the library, i must be gone at once. on the following morning by nine o'clock i was there again; and, after an interview with the superior, went up again with the keys in my own possession, a quantity of foolscap and a fountain-pen in my hand, and sandwiches in my pocket, to the dusty little room beneath the roof. i repeated this series of actions, with the exception of the interview, every day for a fortnight, and when i returned to england in april i took with me a complete re-translation into english of the "_vita et obitus dni ricardi raynal heremitae_," and it is this re-translation that is now given to the public, with the correction of many words and the addition of notes, carried out during the last eighteen months. * * * * * it is necessary to give some account of the book itself, but i will not trouble my readers with an exhaustive survey of the reasons that have led me to my opinions on the subject: it is enough to say that most of them are to be found in the text. it is the story of the life of one of that large body of english hermits who flourished from about the beginning of the fourteenth century to the middle of the sixteenth; and was written, apparently for the sake of the villagers, by his parish-priest, sir john chaldfield, who seems to have been an amiable, devout, and wordy man, who long outlived his spiritual son. of all the early part of master richard raynal's life we are entirely ignorant, except of the facts that his parents died in his youth, and that he himself was educated at cambridge. no doubt his early history was recorded in the one hundred and twenty-nine pages that are missing at the beginning. it is annoying also that the last pages are gone, for thereby we have lost what would probably have been a very full and exhaustive list of the funeral furniture of the sixteenth century, as well as an account of the procession into the country and the ceremonies observed at the burial. we might have heard, too, with some exactness (for sir john resembles a journalist in his love of detail) about the way in which his friend's fame began to spread, and the pilgrims to journey to his shrine. it would have been of interest to trace the first stages in the unauthorised cult of one as yet uncanonised. what is left of the book is the record of only the last week in master richard's life and of his death under peculiar circumstances at westminster in the bed-chamber of the king. it is impossible to know for certain who was this king, but i am inclined to believe that it was henry vi., the founder of eton college and king's college, cambridge, whose life ended in such tragedy towards the close of the fifteenth century. his queen is not mentioned from beginning to end, and for this and other reasons i am inclined to particularise still more, and conjecture that the period of which the book treats must be prior to the year 1445 a.d., when the king married at the age of twenty-three. supposing that these conjectures are right, the cardinal spoken of in the book would be cardinal beaufort, bishop of winchester, and cousin of the king. all this, however, must be doubtful, since the translator of the original english or latin appears to have omitted with scrupulous care the names of all personages occurring in the narrative, with one or two unimportant exceptions. we do not even know in what part of the country sir john chaldfield held his living, but it appears to have been within thirty or forty miles of london. we must excuse the foreign scribe, however; probably the english names were unintelligible and barbarous to his perceptions; and appeared unimportant, too, compared to the interest of the mystical and spiritual experiences recorded in the book. of these experiences it is difficult to write judiciously in this practical age. master richard raynal appears to have been a very curious young man, of great personal beauty, extreme simplicity, and a certain magnetic attractiveness. he believed himself, further, to be in direct and constant communication with supernatural things, and would be set down now as a religious fanatic, deeply tinged with superstition. his parson, too, in these days, would be thought little better, but at the time in which they lived both would probably be regarded with considerable veneration. we hear, in fact, that a chapel was finally erected over master raynal's body, and that pilgrimages were made there; and probably, if the rest of the work had been preserved to us, we should have found a record of miracles wrought at his shrine. all traces, however, of that shrine have now disappeared--most likely under the stern action of henry viii.--and richard's name is unknown to hagiology, in spite of his parson's confidence as regarded his future beatification. it is, however, interesting to notice that in master raynal's religion, as in richard rolle's, hermit of hampole, there appears to have been some of that inchoate quietism which was apt to tinge the faith of a few of the english solitaries. he was accustomed to attend mass devoutly and to receive the sacraments, and on his death-bed was speeded into the next world, at his own desire, by all the observances prescribed by the catholic church. his attitude, too, towards the priesthood, is somewhat uncharacteristic of his fellows, who were apt to boast with apparent complacency that they were neither "monk, friar, nor clerk." in other matters he is a good type of that strange race of solitaries who swarmed in england at that time, who were under no vows, but served god as it pleased them, not hesitating to go among their fellows from time to time if they thought themselves called to it, who were looked upon with veneration or contempt, according to the opinion formed of them by their observers, but who, at any rate, lived a simple and wholesome life, and were to some extent witnesses to the existence of a supernatural power at whose bidding (so they believed) they were summoned to celibacy, seclusion, labour, and prayer. it is curious also to trace through sir john's fanciful eyes the parallels between the sufferings of master richard and those of christ. of course, no irreverence is intended. i should imagine that, if sir john were put on his defence, he would say that the life of every true christian must approximate to the life of christ so far as his spirit is identified with the divine spirit, and that this is occasionally fulfilled even in minute details. it is unnecessary to add much more in this introduction--(for the story will tell its own tale)--beyond saying that the re-translation of the french fragment into english has been to me a source of considerable pleasure. i have done my best to render it into the english of its proper period, including even its alliterations, while avoiding needless archaisms and above all arbitrary spelling. but no doubt i am guilty of many solecisms. i have attempted also to elucidate the text by a number of footnotes, in which i have explained whatever seemed to call for it, and have appended translations to the numerous latin quotations in which sir john indulges after the manner of his time. i must apologise for these footnotes--(such are always tiresome)--but i could think of no other way by which the text could be made clear. they can always be omitted without much loss by the reader who has no taste for them. sir john's style is a little difficult sometimes, especially when he treats in detail of his friend's mystical experience, but he has a certain power of word-painting (unusual at his date) in matters both of nature and of grace, and it is only when he has been unduly trite or obscure that i have ventured, with a good deal of regret, to omit his observations. all such omissions, however, as well as peculiar difficulties of statement or allusion, have been dealt with in foot-notes. with regard to the function of the book, at any rate since its first translation into french, it is probably safe to conjecture that it may have been used at one time for reading aloud in the refectory. i am led to make this guess from observing its division into chapters, and the quasi-texts appended to each. these texts are of all sorts, though all are taken from the book of psalms; but their application to the matter that follows is sometimes fanciful, frequently mystical, and occasionally trite. if the book receives any sympathy from english readers--(an eventuality about which i have my doubts)--i shall hope, at some future date, to edit others of the mss. still reposing in the little room under the roof between the _piazza navona_ and the _piazza colonna_ in rome, to which i have been generously promised free access. i must express my gratitude to the superior of the order of ---(to whose genius, coupled with that of another, i dedicate this book), for giving me permission to edit his ms.; to dom robert maple, o.s.b., for much useful information and help in regard to the english mystics; and to mme. germain who has verified references, interpreted difficulties, and assisted me by her encouragement. robert benson. cambridge, feast of ss. peter and paul, 1905. how sir john visited master hermit: and found him in contemplation _protexit me in abscondito tabernaculi sui._ he hath protected me in the secret place of his tabernacle. --ps. xxvi. 5. i [the ms. begins abruptly at the top of the page.] ... it was at vespers on the fourth day afterwards, being corpus christi, that saint giles, as i suppose, moved me to visit master richard. so i put on my cap again, and took my furred gown, for i thought it would be cold before i came home; and set out through the wood. i was greatly encouraged by the beauty of the light as i went down; the sun shone through the hazels on my right, and the roof of leaves was a fair green over my head; and to right and left lay a carpet of flowers as blue as the flanders' glass above the altar. i had learnt from master richard, though he was thirty years my younger, many beautiful lessons, and one of them that god's majesty speaks to us by the works of his almighty hands. so when i saw the green light and the gold and the blue, and the little flies that made merry in the way, i took courage. at the lower end of the wood, as you know, the path falls down steeply towards the stream, and when it has left the wood there are meadows to right and left, that were bright with yellow flowers at this time. in front the stream runs across the road under hazels, and where the chapel is still a-building over his body, on the left side, with its back against the wood stood his little house. i will tell you of all this, as i saw it then; for the pilgrims have trampled it all about now, and the stream is all befouled and the banks broken, and the trees cut down by the masons that came to make the second chapel where master richard was wont to bathe himself, against the fiend's temptations at first, and afterwards for cleanness' sake, too--(for i never heard of a hermit as cleanly as was this young man, soon, and in spite of his washings, by the prayers of our lady and saint giles, to be declared among the blessed servants of god.) the meadow was a fair circle of grass; with trees on every side but on this where the gate stood. it sloped to the stream that ran shallow over the stones, and down across it from the cell to the pool lay the path trampled hard by master richard's feet; for he had lived there four years at this time since his coming from cambridge. besides this path there was another that circled the meadow, and it was on this that he walked with god. i have seen him there sometimes from the gate, with his hands clasped, fingers to fingers, and his eyes open but seeing nothing; and if it had not been for the sin in my soul (on which god have pity!) i might have seen, too, the heavenly company that often went with him and of which he told me. before the hut lay a long garden-bed, in which the holy youth grew beans in their season, and other vegetables at other times; for it was on these, with nuts from the hazelwood, and grasses of which i know not the names (though he has told me of them many times), with water from the stream, that he sustained his life. on either side of the hut stood a great may-tree; it was on account of these that he had built his little house here, for he knew the properties and divine significations of such things. the house itself was of wattles, plastered with mud from the brook, and thatched with straw. there was a door of wood that he leaned against the opening on this side when he prayed, but not when he slept, and a little square window high up upon the other side that looked into the green wood. it is of that same door that saint giles' new altar was made, for the house fell down after his going, and the wind blew about the mud and the sticks, and the pilgrims have now carried all away. i took the door myself, when i came back and had seen him go through the heavenly door to our lord. the house within was a circle, three strides across, with a domed roof like a bee-hive as high as a man at the sides and half as high again in the centre. on the left lay his straw for a bed, and above it on the wall the little square of linen that he took afterwards with him to london, worked with the five precious wounds of our saviour. on the right hand side was a wooden stool where he sat sometimes to pray and on the wall against it a little press that held some bottles within, and in another shelf some holy relics that are now in the church, and in another his six books; and above, upon the top, a little cross with our lord upon it, very rude; for he said that the eyes of the soul should not be hindered by the eyes of the body, and that our lord showed himself often to him more clearly and truly than a craftsman could make him. above the window was a little figure of the mother of god, set there, he told me, above the sight of the green wood, because she was the mother of all living, and had restored what eve had spoiled. i cannot tell you, my children, of the peace of this place. the little house, and indeed the whole circle of the meadow set about with trees, was always to me as a mansion in paradise. there were no sounds here but the song of the birds and the running of the water and the wind in the trees; and no sight of any other world but this, except in winter when the hill over against the hut showed itself through the branches not three hundred paces away. on all other sides the woods rose to the sky. i think that the beasts knew the peace of the place. i have seen often a stag unafraid watching master richard as he dug or walked on his path; the robins would follow him, and the little furry creatures sit round him with ears on end. and he told me, too, that never since he had come to the place had blood fallen on the ground except his own when he scourged himself. the hunting-weasel never came here, though the conies were abundant; the stags never fought here though there was a fair ground for a battlefield. it was a peace that passed understanding, and what that peace is the apostle tells us. here i came then on corpus christi evening, thirty years ago, as the sun was near its setting behind the gate through which i came, and my shadow lay half-across the meadow before me. * * * * * it appeared to me that somewhat was amiss, but i knew not what it was: i was a little afraid. master richard was not to be seen, but his door was wide, so i thought he would not be praying. as i came up the path i saw something that astonished me. there was a circle of beasts about the hut, little conies that sat in the sunlight and shadow, without feeding, though it was the time for it; and as i came nearer i saw other beasts. there was a wild cat crouched in the shadow of the hazels moving his tail from side to side; a stag with his two does stood beneath a beech-tree, and a boar looked over the bank against which stood the hut. they did not move as i came up and looked in at the door. this is what i saw within. the holy youth was seated on his stool with his hands gripping the sides and his eyes open, and he was looking towards the image of our saviour on the right-hand side. you have seen his holy and uncorrupt body, but in life he was different to that. he was not above twenty years old at this time, and of a beauty that drew men's eyes to him. [this is the exact phrase used of richard rolle, hermit of hampole.] his hair was as you know it; a straight, tawny, nut-brown head of hair that fell to his shoulders; and he had the cleanest line of face that ever i have seen. his hair came low upon his straight forehead; his nose was straight, with fine nostrils; he had a little upper lip on which grew no hair, a full lip beneath very short, and a round cleft chin; his eyebrows were dark and arched; his whole face smooth and thin, and of an extraordinary clean paleness; he had a curved throat turned to a pale brown by the sun, though the colour of his body, i have heard it said, was as white as milk. he was dressed always in a white kirtle beneath, and a brown sleeveless frock over it of the colour of his hair, that came to his ankles, and was girt with a leather band. he went barefoot, but carried a great hat on his shoulders when he walked. he moved slowly at such times, and bore himself upright. his hands were fine and slender, and were burned brown like his face and his throat. i tell you that i have never seen such a wonderful beauty in mortal man; and his soul was yet more lovely. it is no wonder that god's majesty delighted in him, and that the saints came to walk with him. he was like neither man nor woman. he had the grey eyes of a woman, the mouth and chin of a man, the hands of a matron, and the figure of a strong virgin. i was always a little man, as you know, and when i walked with him, as i did sometimes, the top of my cap came just beneath his ear. master richard, as i have said, was seated now on his stool, with his knees together, and his hands gripping the sides of his seat. his chin was a little thrust out, and he was as still as a stock. this i knew, was the manner in which sometimes he entered into strong contemplation; and i knew, too, that he would neither hear me nor see me till he moved. so i watched him a moment or two, and i grew yet more afraid as i watched; for this is what i saw: down from his temples across his cheeks ran little drops of sweat on to his brown frock, and that though it was a cool evening, and his spade was hung on its peg beneath the window. (it was the spade that you have seen in the church with a cross-handle polished by his holy hands.) i looked for a while, and i grew yet more afraid. it seemed to me that there was somewhat in the cell that i could not see. i looked up at the window but there was nothing there but the still green hazel leaves; i looked at his bed, at the smooth mud walls and floor, at the domed roof, and, through the hole in the centre, where the smoke escaped when he made a fire, i could see leaves again and the evening sky. yet the place was full of something; there was something of energy or conflict, i knew not which: some person was striving there. then i was suddenly so much afraid that i dared not stay, and i went back again along the path, and walked at the lower end of the meadow beside the stream. of the word from god that came to master hermit: and of his setting out _vias tuas, domine, demonstra mihi: et semitas tuas educe me._ shew, o lord, thy ways to me: and teach me thy paths.--_ps. xxiv. 4._ ii there are, as you have learned from me, and i from master richard raynal, a trinity of natures in man. there is that by which he has to do with the things of matter--his five wits; that by which he has to do with god almighty and the saints--his immortal soul and her powers; and, for the last, that by which he has to do with men--his lower understanding, his mind, his power of speech, and the like. each nature has its proper end, though each ministers to the other. with his ears he hears god's word, with his immortal soul he perceives god almighty in what is seen with the eyes; with his understanding he comprehends the nature of flowers and the proper time to sow or reap. this trinity may be devoted to god or the fiend.... it is not true, as some have said, that it is only with the soul that god is perceived or served, and that the other two are unclean. we may serve god by digging with the hands, by talking friendly with our neighbour, and by the highest of all which is contemplation. this is what master richard did, following the victorines but not altogether. he strove to serve god alike in all, and i count his life, therefore, the highest that i have ever known. he said that to dig, to talk over the gate with a neighbour, and to contemplate the divine essence, were all alike to serve god. he counted none wasted, for god almighty had made the trinity of natures in his own image, and intended, therefore, a proper occupation for each. to refuse to dig or to talk was not to honour contemplation; and this he said, though he said besides that some could not do this through reason of finding that one distracted the other. i count, however, that his own life was the hardest, for he did all three, and did not suffer one to distract another. the most difficulty of such a life is to know when to follow one and when the other, when to dig, when to speak, and when to contemplate; and he would tell me that for this there are two guides that god almighty sends--the one is that of exterior circumstance, and the other that of an interior knowledge, and he would follow that which cried the louder. if he desired to contemplate and a neighbour came to talk with him; if he perceived the neighbour clearly he would give over his contemplation; if not he would continue to contemplate. again, if the imagination of a spade came mightily before him, or if he remembered that the sun would soon be up and his beans not watered, again he would give over his contemplation and dig or carry water. for this there is needed one thing, and that a firm and quiet simplicity. he would do nothing till his mind was quiet. the friend of god must be as a little child, as the gospel tells us, and when the soul is quiet there is no difficulty in knowing what must be done. the first business then of a solitary's life is to preserve this quiet against the fiend's assaults and disquiet. and, i think, of all that i have ever known, master richard's soul was the most quiet, and most like to the soul of a little child. as i walked now beside the stream i knew very well that it was for this that he was striving in contemplation: the sweat that ran down his cheeks was the sign of the fiend's assault, and i knew that i had done well to come. i had followed, as master richard himself had taught me, that loud interior voice. so i strove to become quiet myself; i signed myself with the cross, and cried softly upon saint giles to pray for me to god's majesty that i might know what to say and do. then i placed myself, as i had learned, at the divine feet; i looked at the yellow flowers and the clear running water and the open sky, and presently i was aware that all was silence within and without me. so i waited and walked softly to and fro, until master richard came to the door of his hut. he stood there for a full minute, i suppose, with the sun on his face and his brown frock and broad white sleeves, before he saw me; for i was in the shadow of the hazels. then he waved his hands a little, and came slowly and very upright down the path in the middle, and as i went towards him i saw the beasts had gone. they were content, i suppose, now that their master was come out. he came down the path, very pale and grave, and knelt as usual for my blessing, which i gave; then he kissed my skirt as he always did with a priest, and stood up. now i will try to tell you all that he said as he said it. * * * * * we went together without speaking, to the hut, and he brought out the stool into the sunlight and made me sit upon it, and sat himself upon the ground beneath me, with his hands clasped about his knee, and his bare feet drawn beneath him. i could see no more of him but his brown hair and his throat, and his strong shoulders bent forward. then he began to speak. his voice was always grave and steady. "i am glad you are come, sir john; i have something to ask you. i do not know what to do. i will tell you all." i said nothing, for i knew what he wished; so i looked down across the meadow at the hazels and the pigeons that were coming down to the wood, and desired saint giles to tell me what to say. "it is this," he said. "four days ago i was in contemplation, down there by the stream. the sensible warmth of which i have told you was in my heart; as it has been for over one year now, ever since i passed from the way of illumination. i think that it had never been so clear and strong. it was our lord who was with me, and i perceived him within as he always shows himself to me; i cannot tell you what he is like, but there were roses on his hands and feet, and above his heart and about his head. i have not often perceived him so clearly. his mother, i knew, was a little distance away, behind me, and i wondered why it was so, and the divine john was with her. then i understood that he was lonely, but no more than that: i did not know why. i said what i could, and then i listened, but he said nothing to me, and then, after a while, i understood that it was under another aspect that he was there; that there was one in his place, crowned with gold instead of roses, and i could not understand it. i was astonished and troubled by that, and the warmth was not so strong at my heart. "then he was gone; and i saw the stream again beneath me, and the leaves overhead, and there was sweat on my forehead. "when i stood up there was a knowledge in my heart--i do not know whether from our lord or the fiend--that i must leave this place, and go to one whom i thought must be the king with some message; but i do not know the message." * * * * * my children, it was a dreadful thing to hear that. he had never spoken so since his coming four years before, except once when he was in the purgative way, and the fiend came to him under aspect of a woman. but he had been in agony then, and he was quiet now. before i could speak he spoke again. "i said that i could not go; that god almighty had brought me here and caused me to build my house and given me the meadow and the water and the beasts as my friends--that i was neither monk nor friar nor priest to be sent hither and thither--that i could not go. i cried on him to help me and shew me his will; and then i went to dinner. "since that time, sir john, the warmth has left me. i see the flowers, but there is nothing behind them; and the sunlight, but there is no heavenly colour in it. my mind is disquiet; i cannot rest nor contemplate as i should. i have been up the stairs that i have told you of a thousand times; i have set myself apart from the world, which is the first step, until all things visible have gone; then i have set myself apart from my body and my understanding so that i was conscious of neither hands nor heart nor head, nor of aught but my naked soul; then i have left that, which is the third step; but the gate is always shut, and our lord will not speak or answer. tell me what i must do, sir john. is it true that this is from our lord, and that i must go to see the king?" * * * * * i was sick at heart when i heard that, and i strove to silence what my soul told me must be my answer. "it has persevered ever since, my son richard," i said? he bowed his head. "there is no savour in anything to me until i go," he answered. "this morning as i looked from over the wall upon the sacrament, my eyes were blinded: i saw nothing but the species of bread. i was forced to rest upon the assent of my faith." again i attempted to silence what my soul told me. it was the very power that master richard had taught me to use that was turning against what i desired. i had not known until then how much i loved this quiet holy lad with grave eyes--not until i thought i should lose him. "there is no sin," i said, "that has darkened your eyes?" i saw him smile sideways at that, and he turned his head a little. "my sins are neither blacker nor whiter than they have always been," he said; "you know them all, my father." "and you wish to leave us?" i cried. he unclasped his hands and laid one on my knee. i was terrified at its purity, but his face was turned away, and he said nothing. i had never heard the wood at that time of the evening so silent as it was then. it was the time when, as the lax monks say, the birds say mattins (but the strict observants call it compline), but there was neither mattins nor compline then in the green wood. it was all in a great hush, and the shadows from the trees fifty paces away had crept up and were at our feet. then he spoke again. "tell me what your soul tells you," he said. i put my hand on his brown head; i could not speak. then he rose at once, and stood smiling and looking on me, and the sunlight made a splendour in his hair, as it were his heavenly crown. "thank you, my father," he said, though i had not spoken one word. then he turned and went into the hut, and left me to look upon the green woods through my tears, and to listen to a mavis that had begun to sing in one of the may-trees. i knew he was gone to make ready. * * * * * the sun had quite gone down before he came out again, and the shadows were like a veil over the land; only the yellow flowers burned hot like candle flames before me. he had four books in his hand and a little bottle, his hat on his shoulders, and the wooden sandals on his feet that he had worn to walk in four years before when he came to us. his little linen picture of the five wounds was fastened over his breast with thorns. he carried across his arm the second white-sleeved kirtle that he had, and his burse was on his girdle. he held out two of the books to me. "these are for you, my father," he said; "the book of hours and the _regula heremitarum_ i shall take with me, and all the rest of the mobills and the two other books i shall leave at our lord's disposal, except the bottle of quintessence." i took the two books and looked at them. there was master hoveden's _philomela_, and a little book he had made on quinte essence. "but you will need them!" i cried. "i carry _philomela_ in my heart," he said, "and as for the quinte essence i shall have enough if i need it, and here is the bottle that holds that that has been made of blood.--the fifth--being of gold and silver i have not. _argentum et aurum non est mihi_." ["silver and gold i have none." (acts iii. 6.)] (that was the little bottle that i have told you of before. it was distilled of his own blood, according to the method of hermes trismegistus.) "if i do not return," he said, "i bequeath all to you; and i wish six masses to be said; the first to be sung, of _requiem_; the second of the five wounds; the third of the assumption; the fourth of all martyrs with a special memory of saint christopher; the fifth of all confessors with a special memory of saint anthony, hermit, and saint giles, abbot; the sixth of all virgins with a special memory of saint agnes." you understand, my children, that he knew what would come to him, and that he had foreseen all; he spoke as simply as one who was going to another village only, looking away from me upon the ground. (i was glad of that.) i begged of him to bid good-bye to his meadow. "i will not;" he said, "i bear it with me wherever i go." then he took me by the arm, carrying his shod staff in his other hand, and led me to the gate, for i was so blinded that i stumbled as i went. once only did i speak as we passed upwards through the dark wood. "and what will be your message," i asked, "when you come to the king?" "our lord will tell it me when i come thither," he said. we went through the village that lay dark and fast asleep. i wished him to go to some of the houses, and bid the folks good-bye, but he would not. "i bear them, too, wherever i go," he said. after we had adored god almighty in the church, [that is, god present in the blessed sacrament.] and i had shriven the young man and blessed him, we went out and stood under the lychgate where his body afterwards rested. it was a clear night of stars and as silent as was once heaven for the space of half-an-hour. the philomels had given over their singing near a month before, and it was not the season for stags to bray; and those, as you know, are the principal sounds that we hear at night. we stood a long time listening to the silence. i knew well what was in my heart, and i knew presently what was in his. he was thinking on his soul. he turned to me after a while, and i could see the clear pallour of his face and the line of his lips and eyes all set in his heavy hair. "do you know the tale of the persian king, sir john?" i told him no; he had many of such tales. i do not know where he had read them. "there was once a king who had the open eyes, and he looked into heaven and hell. he saw there two friends whom he had known in the flesh; the one was a hermit, and the other another king. the hermit was in hell, and the king in heaven. when he asked the reason of this, one told him that the hermit was in hell because of his consorting with the king, and the king in heaven because of his consorting with the hermit." i understood him, but i said nothing. "pray for me then, sir john," said master richard. then we kissed one another, and he was gone without another word along the white road. how master richard fared: how he heard mass in saint pancras' church: how he came to westminster: and of his colloquy with the ankret _abyssus abyssum invocat: in voce cataractarum tuarum_. deep calleth on deep: at the noise of thy flood-gates.--_ps. xli. 8._ iii the tale of his journey and of his coming to london he told me when i saw him again at the end. he spoke to me for over an hour, and i think that i have remembered near every word, but i cannot write down the laughter and the tears that were in his voice as he told me. as he went along the road beneath the trees and the stars, carrying his kirtle, with his books and other things in his burse, and his hat on his shoulders, he was both happy and sorry. there are two kinds of happiness for mortal men: there is that which is carnal and imperfect and hangs on circumstances and the health of the body and such like things; and there is that which is spiritual and perfect, which hangs on nothing else than the doing of the will of god almighty so far as it is known, so that a man may have both at once, or either without the other. master richard had the one without the other. at first he could not bear to think of what he had left behind him--his little quiet house and meadow and the stream where he washed, and the beasts and men that loved him; and he threw himself upon the other happiness for strength. by the time that he had arrived at the ford he was so much penetrated by this better joy that he was able to look back, and tell himself, as he had told me, that he bore with him always wherever he went all that he had left behind him. it was ever his doctrine that we lose nothing of what is good and sweet in the past, and that we suck out of all things a kind of essence that abides with us always, and that every soul that loves is a treasure-house of all that she has ever loved. it is only the souls that do not love that go empty in this world and _in saecula saeculorum_. he thought much of this on his road, and by the time that he had come so far that he thought it best to sleep by the wayside, the warmth had come back that had left him for four days. he went aside then out of the road to find a hazel thicket, and by the special guidance of god found one with a may-tree beside it. there he groped together the dead leaves, took off his burse and his hat and his girdle and his brown habit, and laid the habit upon the leaves, unpinning the five wounds, and fastening them again upon his white kirtle. then he knelt down by the may-tree, and said his prayers, beginning as he always did: _"totiens glorior, quotiens nominis tui, jesu, recordor."_ ["i glory, so often as i remember thy name, jesu."] then he repeated the name an hundred times, and his heart grew so hot and the sweetness in his month so piercing that he could scarce go on. then he committed himself to the tuition of the glorious mother of christ, and to that of saint christopher, saint anthony, hermit, and saint agnes, virgin, and lastly to that of saint giles and saint denis, remembering me. then he said compline with _paternoster, avemaria_, and _credo_, signed himself with the cross, and lay down on his kirtle--_specialissimus_, darling of god--and drew the second kirtle over his body for fear of the dews and the night vapours; and so went to sleep, striving not to think of where he had slept last night. (he told me all this, as i have told you.) he awoke at dawn in an extraordinary sweetness within and without, and as he walked in his white habit beneath the solemn beech-trees, his soul opened wide to salute the light that rose little by little, pouring down on him through the green roof. the air was like clear water, he said, running over stories, brightening without concealing their colours; and he drank it like wine. he had that morning in his contemplation what came to him very seldom, and i do not know if i can describe it, but he said it was the sense that the air he breathed was the essence of god, that ran shivering through his veins, and dropped like sweet myrrh from his fingers. there was the savour of it on his lips, piercing and delicate, and in his nostrils. he set out a little later after he had washed, following the road, and came to a timber chapel standing by itself. i do not know which it is, but i think it must have been the church of saint pancras that was burned down six years after. the door was locked, but he sat to wait, and after an hour came a priest in his gown to say mass. the priest looked at him, but answered nothing to his good-day (there be so many of these idle solitaries about that feign to serve god, but their heart is in the belly). i do not blame the priest; it may be he had been deceived often before. there was a fellow who answered the mass, and master richard knelt by himself at the end of the church. when mass was over the two others went out without a word, leaving him there. he said _ad sextam_ then, and was setting out once more when the priest came back with a jug of ale and a piece of meat and bread which he offered him, telling him he would have given him nothing if he had begged. master richard refused the meat and the ale, and took the bread. the priest asked him his business, and he said he was for london to see the king. the priest asked him whether he would speak with the king, and he told him yes if our lord willed. "and what have you to say to him?" asked the priest. "i do not know," said master richard. the priest looked at him, and said something about a pair of fools, but master richard did not understand him then, for he had not heard yet the tale that the king was mad or near it. so he kissed the priest's skirt, and asked his blessing; then he went down the steps to the little holy well (which makes me think it to be saint pancras's church) and drank a little water after signing himself with it and commending himself to the saint, and went on his way. the sun was now high and hot, but he told me that when he looked back at the turn of the path the priest was at the gate in the full sun staring after him. of his journey that day there is not much to relate. he went by unfrequented ways, walking sedately as his manner was, with devotion in his heart. an hour before noon a woman gave him dinner as she came back from taking it to her husband who burned charcoal in the forest, and asked him a kiss for payment when he had done his meal, sitting on a tree, with her standing by and looking upon him all the while. but he told her that he was a solitary, and that he had kissed no woman but his mother, who had died ten years before, so she appeared content, though she still looked upon him. then as he stood up, thanking her for the dinner, she caught his hand and kissed that, and he reproved her gently and went on his way again. for many miles after that it was the same; he saw no man, but only the beasts now and then, walking beneath the high branches in the sylvan twilight, over the dead leaves and the fern, and seeing now and again, as he expressly told me, for it seemed he had some lesson from it, the hot light that danced in the open spaces to right and left. he saw one strange sight, which i should not have believed if he had not told me, and that was a ring of bulls in a clearing that tossed something this way and that, one to the other: he drove them off, and found that it was a hare, not yet dead, but it died in his hands. he told me that this verse came to his mind as he laid the poor beast down under a tree; _circumdederunt me vituli multi: tauri pingues obsederunt me_, ["many calves have surrounded me: fat bulls have besieged me" (ps. xxi. 13)] and there is no wonder in that, for it is from a psalm of the passion, and it was what befell him afterwards, as you shall hear. soon after that he bathed himself in a pool, for he was hot with walking, and desired to be at his ease when he saw folk again; and he dipped his sandals, too, to cool them. then he went in his white kirtle a little, until his hair was dried, and when the heat of the day began to turn he was aware that he was coming near to a village, for there was a herd of pigs that looked on him without fear. the village was a very little one, but it stood upon a road, and here he had his first sight of the town-folks, for as he rested by a gate a company of fellows went by from the wars. i suppose that they were lately come from france (maybe from arfleet [that is, harfleur]), for he told me that there were pavissors among them--the men with the great shields called pavices which are used only in sieges from the wooden castles that they push against the walls of the town. they were stained with travel, too, and were very silent and peevish. there were all sorts there besides the pavissors--the men-at-arms in their plate and mail-shirts, the archers in their body-armour and aprons, and the glaivemen [glaives were a kind of pike, but with long carved cutting-blades. bills had straight blades.] with the rest. he said that one company that rode in front had the sign of the ragged staff upon their breasts, by which he learned afterwards that they were my lord warwick's men. [the ragged staff was the emblem of lord warwick.] one cried out to him to know how far was it to london, but he shook his head and said that he was a stranger. the fellow jeered and named him bumpkin, but the rest said nothing, and looked on him as they passed, and two at the end doffed their caps. they were about two hundred, and one rode in front with a banner borne before him; but it was a still hot day, and master richard could not see the device, for the folds hung about the staff. he saw other folks after that here and there, although he avoided the villages where he could; but he got no supper, and an hour before sunset he came to the ferry over against westminster. the wherries were drawn up on the beach, and he came down to these past lambeth house, wondering how he was to get over. he besought one man for the love of jesu to take him over, but he would not; and another for the love of mary, and a third for the sake of the rood of bromholm, [a famous relic of the true cross.] and a fourth for the love of saint anthony. and at that they laughed at him, coming round him and looking on him curiously, and crying that they would have all the saints out of him before _avemaria_, and asking to know his business. when he told them in his simplicity that he was to see the king, they laughed the more, and said that the king was gone to be a monk at saint edmond's, and that he had best look for him there. then he asked yet another, a great fellow with a hairy face and chest, to take him over for the love of saint denis and saint giles, and the fellow swore a great oath, elbowed his way out of the press that were all staring and laughing, and bade him follow. so he got into the boat and sat there while the man carried down the oars, and all the rest crowded to look and question and mock. he told me that he supposed at the time that all the folks looked at him for that they were not used to see solitaries, but i do not think it was that. i tell you that one who looked a little on master richard would look long, and that one who looked long must either laugh or weep, so surprising was his beauty and his simplicity. * * * * * when they were half-way over the fellow told him which was the abbey church, and master richard said that he knew it, for that he had seen it four years before when he came under our lord's hand from cambridge, and that he would ask shelter from the monks. "and there is an ankret [an ankret was a solitary, confined to one cell with episcopal ceremonies.], is there not?" asked master richard. the man told him yes, looking upon him curiously, and he told him, too, where was his cell. then he put him on shore without a word, save asking for his prayers. i cannot tell you how master richard came to the ankret's cell, for i was only at westminster once when master richard went to his reward, but he found his way there, marvelling at the filth of the ways, and looked in through the little window, drawing himself up to it by the strength of his arms. it was all dark within, he told me, and a stench as of a kennel came up from the darkness. he called out to the holy man, holding his nostrils with one hand, and with the other gripping the bars and sitting sideways on the sill of the window. he got no answer at first, and cried again. then there came an answer. there rose out of the darkness a face hung all over with hair and near as black as the hair, with red-rimmed eyes that oozed salt rheum. the holy man asked him what he wished, and why did he hold his nostrils. "i wish to speak with your reverence," said master richard, "of high things. i hold my nostrils for that i cannot abide a stench." the red eyes winked at that. "i find no stench," said the holy man. "for that you are the origin of its propagation," said master richard, "and dwell in the midst of it." it was foolish, i think, of the sweet lad to speak like that, but he was an-angered that a man should live so. but the holy solitary was not an-angered. "and in god's majesty is the origin of my propagation," he said. "_ergo_." master richard could think of no seemly answer to that, and he desired, too, to speak of high matters; so he let it alone, and told the holy man his business, and where he lived. "tell me, my father," he said, "what is the message that i bear to the king. it may be that our lord has revealed it to you: he has not yet revealed it to me." "are you willing to go dumb before the king?" "i am willing if god will," said master richard. "are you willing that the king should be deaf and dumb to your message?" "if god will," said master richard again. "what is that which you bear on your breast?" "it is the five wounds, my father." "tell me of your life. are you yet in the way of perfection?" then the two solitaries talked together a long while; i could not understand all that master richard told to me; and i think there was much that he did not tell me, but it was of matters that i am scarce worthy to name, of open visions and desolations, and the darkness of the fourth word of our saviour on the rood; and again of scents and sounds and melodies such as those of which master rolle has written; and above all of charity and its degrees, for without charity all the rest is counted as dung. _avemaria_ rang at sunset, but they did not hear it, and at the end the holy man within crept nearer and raised himself. "i must see your face, brother," he said. "it may be then that i shall know the message that your soul bears to the king." master richard came out of his heavenly swoon then, and saw the face close to his own, and what he said of it to me i dare not tell you, but he bitterly reproached himself that he had ever doubted whether this were a man of god or no. as he turned his own face this way and that, that the failing light might fall upon it, he said that beneath him in the little street there was a crowd assembled, all silent and watching the heavenly colloquy. when he looked again, questioning, at the holy old man, he saw that the other's face was puckered with thought and that his lips pouted through the long-falling hair. then it disappeared, and a grunting voice came out of the dark, but the sound of it was as if the old man wept. "i do not know the message, brother. our lord has not shewed it to me, but he has shewed me this--that soon you will not need to wear his wounds. that i have to say. _oremus pro invicem._" ["let us pray for one another."] * * * * * the crowd pressed close upon master richard as he came down from the window, and, going in the midst of them in silence, he came to saint peter's gate where the black monks dwell, and was admitted by the porter. how master richard saw the king in westminster hall: and of the mass at saint edward's altar _revelabit condensa: et in templo ejus omnes dicent gloriam._ he will discover the thick woods: and in his temple all shall speak his glory.--_ps. xxviii. 9._ iv master richard did not tell me a great deal of his welcome in the monastery: i think that he was hardly treated and flouted, for the professed monks like not solitaries except those that be established in reputation; they call them self-willed and lawless and pretending to a sanctity that is none of theirs. such as be under obedience think that virtue the highest of all and essential to the way of perfection. and i think, perhaps, they were encouraged in this by what had been said of themselves by our holy lord ten years before, for he was ever a favourer of monks. [this may have been eugenius iv., called _gloriosus_. if so, it would fix the date of richard at about 1444.] but master richard did not blame them, so i will not, but i know that he was given no cell to be private in, but was sent to mix with the other guests in the common guest-house. i know not what happened there, but i think there was an uproar; there was a wound upon his head, the first wound that he received in the house of his friends, that i saw on him a little later, and he told me he had had it on his first coming to london. it was such a wound as a flung bone or billet of wood might make. he had now the _caput vulneratum_, as well as the _cor vulneratum_ [wounded head ... wounded heart.] of the true lover of jesus christ. * * * * * he desired, after his simplicity, on the following morning, to speak with my lord abbot, but that could not be, and he only saw my lord at terce before mass, afar off sitting in his stall, a great prelate with his chain, and with one who bore a silver wand to go before him and do him service. he prayed long in the church and at the shrine, and heard four or five masses, and saw the new grave of the queen in the midst of the lady-chapel [this may have been queen katharine, whose body was afterwards moved.], and did his devotions, hoping that our lord would show him what to speak to the king, and then went to dinner, and after dinner set out to westminster hall, where he was told that the king could be seen that day. he passed through the little streets that lay very nastily, no better than great gutters with all the filth of the houses poured out there, but he said that the folks there were yet more surprising, for these were they who had taken sanctuary here, and were dwelling round the monastery with their wives and children. there were all sorts there, slayers of men and deer, thieves, strikers of the clergy _suadente diabolo_ ["at the devil's persuasion"--a technical phrase], false-coiners, harlots, and rioters; all under the defence of religion, and not suffered to go out but on peril of being taken. he had a little company following him by the time that he came to the gate, some mocking and some silent, and all looking on him as he went. when he came to the door of the hall the men that stood there would not let him in until he entreated them. they told him that the king was now going to dinner, and that the time was past, so he knew that it was not yet his hour to give the message that he knew not. but they let him in at last, and he stood in the crowd to see the king go by. there was a great company there, and a vast deal of noise, for the audiences were done, and the bill-men were pushing the folks with their weapons to make room for the great men to go by, and the heralds were crying out. master richard stood as well as he could, but he was pushed and trampled about, and he could not see very well. they went by in great numbers; he saw their hats and caps and their furred shoulders between the crooked glaives that were gilded to do honour to the king, but there was such a crying out on all sides that he could not ask which was the king. at last the shouting grew loud and then quiet, and men bowed down on all sides; and he saw the man whom he knew must be the king. he had a long face (as i saw for myself afterwards), rather sallow, with a long straight nose and small, full mouth; his eyebrows were black and arched high, and beneath them his sorrowful eyes looked out on the people; he was bowing his head courteously as he came. on his head he wore a black peaked cap of velvet; there was ermine at his collar and a gold chain lay across his shoulders. now this is what master richard saw with the eyes of his body, but with the eyes of his soul he saw something so strange that i know not how to name or explain it. he told me that it was our saviour whom he saw go by between the gilded glaives, as he was when he went from herod's hall. i do not understand how this may be. the king wore no beard as did our saviour, he was full fourteen years younger at that time than was jesu christ when he suffered his bitter passion. they were of a height, i suppose, and perhaps the purple that the king wore was of the same colour as that which our lord had put on him, but that was all the likeness that ever i could see, for the king's hair was black and his complexion sallow, but our lord's was corn colour, and his face white and ruddy. [a reference, i suppose, to cant. cant. v. 10.] and, again, the one was but a holy man, and the other god almighty although made man for our salvation. yet perhaps i did not understand master richard aright, and that he meant something else and that it was only to the eyes of the soul that the resemblance lay. if this is so, then i think i understand what it was that he saw, though i cannot explain it to you, any more than could he to me. there be some matters so high that no mouth can tell them, heart only can speak to heart, but i can tell you this, that master richard did not mean that our lord was in the hall that day as he is in heaven and in the sacrament of the altar; it was something else that he meant.... [there follows a doctrinal disquisition.] * * * * * when master richard came out from the hall, he told me that he was in a kind of swoon, but having his eyes open, and that he knew not how he came back to the guest-house. it was not until he knocked upon the door that he saw that the crowd was about him again, staring on him silently. the porter was peevish as he pulled him in, and bade him go and cut wood in the wood-house for his keep, so all that afternoon he toiled in his white kirtle at the cutting with another fellow who cursed as he cut, but was silent after a while. yet, when supper and bed-time came and master richard had assisted at compline in the abbey-church, still he knew not what the message was to be on monday, when he would see the king and speak with him. on sunday he did no servile work, except that he waited upon the guests, girt with an apron, and washed the dishes afterwards. he heard four masses that day, as well as all the hours, and prayed by himself a long while at saint edward's shrine, hearing the folks go by to the tilting, and that night he went to bed with the servants, still ignorant of what he should say on the next day. i am sure that he was not at all disquieted by his treatment, for he did not speak of it to me, except what was necessary, and he blamed no one. when i saw the porter afterwards he told me nothing except that master richard had worked well and willingly, and had asked for other tasks when his were done. he had asked, too, for a plenty of water to bathe himself, which he did not get. but whether he were disquieted or no on that sunday, at least he was content next day, for it was on the next day at mass that our lord told him what was the message that he was to deliver to the king. there was a cluniac monk from france who had obtained leave to say mass at the shrine of the confessor, and master richard followed him and his fellow to the altar at five o'clock in the morning to hear mass there and see his maker. [this is the common mediaeval phrase. men did not then bow their heads at the elevation.] he knelt down against the wall behind the high altar, and began to address himself to devotion, but he was distracted at first by the splendour of the tomb, the porphyry and the glass-work below, that master peter the roman had made, and the precious shrine of gold above where the body lay, and the golden statues of the saints on either side. all about him, too, were such marvels that there is little wonder that he could not pray well for thinking on them--the kings that lay here and there and their effigies, and the paved steps on this side and that, and the fair painted glass and the high dark roof. near where he knelt, too, he could see the great relic-chest, and knew what lay therein--the girdle of our blessed lady herself, mirror of chastity; the piece of stone marked by christ's foot as he went up to heaven; a piece of the very rood on which he hanged; the precious blood that he shed there, in a crystal vase; the head of saint benet, father of monks. [surely not!] all these things have i seen, too, myself, so i know that they are truly there. behind him, as he kneeled on the stones, sounded the singing of the monks, and the noise of so much praise delighted him, but they ended soon, and at _sanctus_ his spirit began to be rapt into silence, and the holy things to make heaven about him. he told me that he did not know what befell him until it came to the elevation of the sacring: only he knew that his soul was filled with lightness and joyousness, as when he had walked in the wood at dawn three days before. but as he lifted up his hands to see his god and to beat upon his breast, it appeared to him, he said, as if his feet rested again on some higher place: until then he had been neither on earth nor in heaven. now there was no visible imagination that came to him then; he said expressly that it was not so. there was none to be seen there but the priest in the vestment with his hood on his shoulders, and the _frater conversus_ [that is, the lay brother.] who held the skirt and shook the bell. only it appeared to him that the priest held up the body for a great space, and in that long time master richard understood many things that had been dark to him before. of some of the things i have neither room nor wit to write; but they were such as these. he understood how it was that souls might go to hell, and yet that it was good that they should go; how it was that our saviour was born of his blessed mother without any breaking of her virginity; how it is that all things subsist in god; in what manner it is that god comes into the species of the bread. but he could not tell me how these things were so, nor what it was that was shewed him.... [there follow a few confused remarks on the relations of faith to spiritual sight.] there were two more things that were shewed him: the first, that he should not return home alive, but that his dead corpse should be carried there, and the second, what was the tidings that he should bear to the king. then he fell forward on his face, and so lay until the ending of the mass. how master richard cried out in westminster hall: and of his coming to a privy parlour _eructavit cor meum verbum bonum: dico ego opera mea regi._ my heart hath uttered a good word: i speak my works to the king.--_ps. xliv. 1._ v it would be about half an hour before the king's dinner-time, which was ten o'clock, that master richard came again to the hall. there was not so great a press that day, and the holy youth was able to make his way near to the barrier that held back the common folk, and to see the king plainly. he was upon his seat beneath the cloth-of-estate that was quartered with the leopards and lilies, and had his hat upon his head. about him, beneath the scaffold on which he sat were the great nobles, and my lord cardinal had a chair set for him upon the right-hand side, on the step below the king's. all was very fair and fine, said master richard, with pieces of rich stuff hanging upon the walls on this side and that beneath the windows, and, finest of all were the colours of the robes, and the steel and the gold and the white fur and the feathers, and the gilded glaives and trumpets, and coat-armour of the heralds. there was a matter about to be concluded, but master richard could not tell what it was, for there was a din of talking all about him, and he saw many clerks and religious very busy together in the crowd, shaking their fingers, lifting their brows, and clacking like rooks at sunset--so the young man related it. there were two fellows with their backs to him, standing in an open space before the scaffold with guards about them. one of the two was a clerk, and wore his square cap upon his head, and the other was not. the king looked sick; he was but a young man at that time, not two years older than master richard. he was listening with his head down, to a clerk who whispered in his ear, kneeling by his side with papers and a great quill in his hand, and the king's eyes roved as he listened, now up, now down, and his fingers with rings upon them were arched at his ear. my lord cardinal had a ruddy face and bright holy eyes, and sat in his sanguine robes with his cap on his head, looking out with his lips pursed at the clerks and monks that babbled together beyond the barrier. he was an old man at this time, but wondrous strong and hearty. at the end the king sat up, and there was a silence, but he spoke so low and quick, with his eyes cast down, and the shouting followed so hard upon his words, that master richard could not hear what was said. but it seemed to content the clerks and the religious [king henry vi. was a great favourer of ecclesiastics.], for they roared and clamoured and one flung up his cap so that it fell beyond the barrier and he could not come at it again. then the two prisoners louted to the king, and went away with their guards about them; and the king stood up, and the cardinal. now this was the time on which master richard had determined for himself, but for a moment he could not cry out: it seemed as if the fiend had gripped him by the throat and were hammering in his bowels. the king turned to the steps, and at that sight master richard was enabled to speak. he had not resolved what to say, but to leave that to what god should put in his mouth, and this is what he cried, in a voice that all could hear. "news from our lord! news from our lord, your grace." he said that when he cried that, that was first silence, and then such a clamour as he had never heard nor thought to hear. he was pushed this way and that; one tore at his shoulder from behind; one struck him on the head: he heard himself named madman, feeble-wit, knave, fond fellow. the guards in front turned themselves about, and made as though they would run at the crowd with their weapons, and at that the men left off heaving at master richard, and went back, babbling and crying out. then he cried out again with all his might. "i bring tidings from my lord god to my lord the king," and went forward to the barrier, still looking at the king who had turned and looked back at him with sick, troubled eyes, not knowing what to do. a fellow seized master richard by the throat and pulled him against the barrier, menacing him with his glaive, but the king said something, raising his hand, and there fell a silence. "what is your business, sir?" asked the king. the fellow released master richard and stood aside. "i bring tidings from our lord," said the young man. he was all out of breath, he told me, with the pushing and striking, and held on to the red-painted barrier with both hands. the king stooped and whispered with at cardinal, who was plucking him by the sleeve, for the space of a _paternoster_, and the murmuring began to break out again. then he turned, and lifted his hand once more for silence. "what are the tidings, sir?" "they are for your private ear, your grace." "nay," said the king, "we have no private ear but for god's word." "this is god's word," said master richard. there was laughter at that, and the crowd came nearer again, but the king did not laugh. he stood still, looking this way and that, now on master richard, and now on the cardinal, who was pulling again at sleeve. it seemed as if he could not determine what to do. then he spoke again. "who are you, sir?" "i am a solitary, named richard raynal," said the young man. "i come from the country, from ... [it is most annoying that the name of the village is wanting.] sir john chaldfield, the parson, will undertake for me, your grace." "is sir john here?" asked my lord cardinal, smiling at the clerks. "no, my lord," said master richard, "he has his sheep in the wilderness. he cannot run about to court." there was again a noise of laughter and dissent from the crowd of clerks, and my lord cardinal smiled more than ever, shewing his white teeth in the midst of his ruddy face. "this is a witty fellow, your grace," said my lord cardinal aloud to the king. "will your grace be pleased to hear him in private?" the king looked at master richard again, as if he knew not what to do. "will you not tell us here, sir?" he asked. "i will not, your grace." "have you weapons upon you?" said my lord cardinal, still smiling. master richard pointed to the linen upon his breast. "i bear wounds, not weapons," he answered; which was a brave and shrewd answer, and one that would please the king. his grace smiled a little at that, but the smile passed again like the sunshine between clouds on a dark and windy day, and the crowd crept up nearer, so that master richard could feel hot breath upon his bare neck behind. he committed his soul again to our lady's tuition, for he knew not what might be the end if he were not heard out. * * * * * well, the end of it was as you know, it was not possible for any man with a heart in his body to look long upon master richard and not love him, and the king's face grew softer as he looked upon that fair young man with his nut-brown hair and the clear pallour of his face and his pure simple eyes, and then at the coarse red faces behind him that crept up like devils after holy job. it was not hard to know which was in the right, and besides the brave words that had stung the clerks to anger had stung the king to pity and pleasure; so the end was that the guards were bidden to let master richard through, and that he was to follow on in the procession, and be gently treated, and admitted to see the king when dinner was done. * * * * * so that, my children, is the manner in which it came about that my name was cried aloud before the king's presence, and the cardinals and the nobles, in westminster hall on the monday after _deus qui nobis_. [so the collect of corpus christi begins. it was a common method, even among the laity, of defining dates.] of master richard's speaking with the king's grace: and how he was taken for it _et nunc reges intelligite: erudimini qui judicatis terram._ and now, o ye kings, understand: receive instruction, ye that judge the earth.--_ps. ii. 10._ vi they searched master richard for weapons, in spite of what he had said, when they had him alone in a little chamber off the king's closet, but not unkindly, after what had been ordered, but they found nothing beneath the white kirtle save the white skin, and nothing in the burse but the book of hours and a little pen-knife, and the bottle of quinte essence. one of them held that up, and demanded what it was. "that is the cordial called quinte essence," said master richard, smiling. they thought it to be a poison, so he was forced to explain that it was not. "it is made from man's blood," he said, "which is the most perfect part of our being, and does miracles if it is used aright." they would know more than that, so he told them how it was made, with salt, and set in the body of a horse, and afterwards distilled, and he told them what marvels it wrought by god's grace; how it would draw out the virtues and properties of things, and could be mixed with medicines, and the rest, as i have told to you before. that is the bottle you have seen at the parsonage. but they would not give it back to him at that time, and said that he should have it when the king had done talking with him. then they went out and left him alone, but one stood at the door to keep him until dinner was over. it was a little room, master richard said, and looked on to the river. it was hung with green saye, and was laid with rushes. there was a round table in the midst of the floor, and a chair on this side and that; and there was an image of christ upon the rood that stood upon the table. there was another door than that through which he had been brought from the hall. master richard, when he was left alone, tried to compose himself to devotion, but he was too much distracted by all that he had seen, until he had said _ad sextam_, and then he was quieter, and sat down before the table, looking upon the rood, and he did not know how long had passed before the king came in. * * * * * my children, i like to think of master richard then; it was his last peaceful hour that he spent until near the end when i came to him. but the peace of his heart did not leave him (except at one time), in spite of all that happened to him, for he told me so himself. yet, save for the little wound upon his head, he was clean of all injury at this time, and i like to think of him in his strength and loveliness as he was then, content to give his tidings from our lord to the king, and to abide what was to follow. as the clock beat eleven, the king came suddenly through from his parlour, but he was not alone: my lord cardinal was with him. as master richard knelt down on the floor to do them homage, he observed the king's dress: it was not as that of the other great men, for the king loved plain dress, and folks said that the clothing he would have liked best to wear was a monk's cowl or a friar's frock (and i doubt not that there be many a monk and friar, and clerk too, who would have been glad to change with him, for not every religious man has a religious heart!).... [there follows a little sermon on vocation.] the king's dress was a plain doublet with a collar of ermine, and over it a cloak of royal purple lined and trimmed with fur, but cut very plainly with a round cape such as priests wear. he had the collar of _sanctus spiritus_ over his shoulders, his cap on his head, with a peak to it, and little plain round shoes (not like those pointed follies that some wear, and that make a man's foot twice as long as god made it by his wisdom). my lord cardinal was in his proper dress, and bore himself very stately. the king bade master richard stand up, and himself and my lord sat down in the two chairs beside one another, so that half their faces were in shadow and half in light. master richard saw again that the king looked somewhat sick, and very melancholy. then the king addressed himself to master richard, speaking softly, but with an appearance of observing him very closely. my lord, too, watched him, folding his hands in his lap. "now tell me, sir," said the king, "what is this tidings that you bear?" master richard was a little dismayed at my lord's coming: he had thought it was to be in private. "it was to your ear alone, your grace, that i was bidden to deliver the message," he said. "my lord here is ears and eyes to me," said the king, a little stiffly, and my lord smiled to hear him, and laid his hand on the king's knee. that was answer enough for the holy youth, who was attendant only for god's will; so he began straightway, and told the king of his contemplation of eight days before, and of the dryness that fell on him when he strove to put away his thoughts, and of his words with me who was his priest, and his coming to london and an the rest. then he told him of how he heard mass at saint edward's altar, and how at the elevation of the sacring our lord had told him what tidings he was to take. the king observed him very closely, leaning his head on his hand and his elbow on the table, and my lord, who had begun by playing with his chain, ceased, and watched him too. master richard told me that there was a great silence everywhere when he had come to the matter of saint edward's altar; it was such an exterior silence as is the interior silence that came to him in contemplation. there appeared no movement anywhere, neither in the room, nor the palace, nor the world, nor in the three hearts that were beating there. there was only the great presence of god's majesty enfolding all. when he ceased speaking, the king stared on him for a full minute without any words, then he took his arm off the table and clasped his hands. "and what was it that our lord said to you, sir?" he asked softly, and leaned forward to listen. master richard looked on the sick eyes, and then at the ruddy prelate's face that seemed very stern beside it. but he dared not be silent now. "it is this, your grace, that our lord shewed to me," he began slowly, "that your grace is not as other men are, neither in soul nor in life. you walk apart from all, even as our saviour christ did, when he was upon earth. when you speak, men do not understand you; they take it amiss. they would have you make your kingdom to be of this world, and god will not have it so. _regnum dei intra te est._ ['the kingdom of god is within thee' (from luke xvii. 21.)] it is that kingdom which shall be yours. but to gain that kingdom you must suffer a passion, such as that which jesu suffered, and this is the tidings that he sends to you. he bids you make ready for it. it shall be a longer passion than his, but i know not how long. yet you must not go apart, as you desire. you must go this way and that at all men's will, ever within your _portans stigmata domini jesu_. ['bearing the marks of the lord jesu' (from gal. vi. 17.)] and the end of it shall be even as his, and as his apostles' was who now rules christendom. _cum senueris, extendes manus tuas, et alius te cinget, et ducet quo tu non vis._ ['when thou shalt be old thou shalt stretch forth thy hands; and another shall gird thee, and lead thee whither thou wouldst not' (john xxi. 18.)] and when you come before the heavenly glory, and the blessed saints shall ask you of your wounds, you shall answer them as our lord answered, '_his plagatus sum in domo eorum qui diligebant me._'" ["with these i was wounded in the house of them that loved me" (zach. xiii. 6.)] * * * * * when master richard had finished speaking, his head and body shook so much that he could scarce stand, or see the king plainly, and by this he perceived for a certainty that god was speaking by him. but he was aware that my lord cardinal was standing up with his hand outstretched and an appearance of great anger on his face. for indeed those were terrible things that master richard had said--that he should foretell the king's death in this manner, and all the sorrows that he should go through, for, as you know, all these words came about. yet it seemed that something restrained my lord from speaking till the other was done; but when master richard went back a step, shaking under the spirit of god, my lord burst out into words. master richard could not understand him; there was drumming in his ears, and the sweat poured from him, but when sight came back he observed my lord's face, red with passion, turning now to him, now to the king, who sat still in his place; his white eyebrows went up and down, and his scarlet cape and his rochet flapped this way and that as he shook his arms and cried out. when he had done there was silence again for a full minute. master richard could hear the breathing of one in the gallery without. then the king rose up without speaking, but looking intently upon the young man, and still without speaking, went out from the room, and my lord went after him. when master richard had stood a little while waiting, and there was no sound (for the door into the king's parlour was now shut again), he turned to the other door to go out; for he had delivered his message, and there was no more to be said. the man that kept the door, and whose breathing master richard had heard just now, barred the way, and asked him his business. "my business is done," said master richard, "i must go home again." "and the king?" asked the fellow. "the king and my lord are gone back into the parlour." there was no cause to keep master richard any longer, so the fellow let him past, and he went down the gallery and the stairs towards the court that opened upon the hall. but before he reached the door, there was a great tumult overhead, and a noise of men moving and crying, and master richard stayed to listen. (i had almost said that it had been better if he had not stayed, but made his way out quickly and escaped perhaps; but it is not so, as i now believe, for our lord had determined what should be the end.) two fellows came running presently down the stairs up which master richard was looking. one of them was a page of my lord's, a lad dressed all in purple with the pointed shoes of which i have written before, and the other the man-at-arms that had kept the door. the lad cried out shrilly when he saw him standing there, and came down the steps four at a leap, with his hands outstretched to either wall. master richard thought that he would fall, and stepped forward to catch him, but the lad recovered himself on the rushes, and then, screaming with anger, sprang at the young man's throat, seizing it with one hand, and striking him in the face again and again with the other. for an instant master richard stood amazed, then he caught the lad's hands without a word and held them so, looking at the man-at-arms who was now half-way down the stairs in his plate and mail, and at others who were following as swiftly as they could. in the court outside, too, there were footsteps and the sound of talking, and presently the door was darkened by half a dozen others, who ran up at the tumult, and all in a moment master richard found himself caught from behind and his hands pulled away, so that the lad was able to strike him again, which he did, three or four times. so he was taken by the men and held. master richard could not understand what the matter was, as he looked at the press that gathered every moment on the stairs and in the court. so he asked one that held him, and the page screamed out his answer above the tumult of voices and weapons. so master richard understood, and went upstairs under guard, with the blood staining his brown and white dress, and his face bruised and torn, to await when the king should come out of the fit into which he had fallen, and judge him for the message which he had brought. of master richard's second speaking with his grace: and of his detention _abscondes eos in abscondito faciei tuae: a conturbatione hominum._ thou shalt hide them in the secret of thy face: from the disturbance of men.--_ps. xxx. 21._ vii i scarcely have the heart to write down all that befell master richard; and yet what it pleased god's majesty that he should suffer, cannot displease him to write down nor to think upon.... [there follows a curiously modern discussion on what i may call the gospel of pleasure, which is a very different thing from the gospel of joy. the former, as sir john points out, disregards and avoids pain, the latter deals with it. he points out acutely that this difference is the characteristic difference between greek and christian philosophy.] master richard was taken back again by two of the men-at-arms into the parlour where he had lately seen the king, and was allowed to stand by the window, looking out upon the river, while one fellow kept one door, and one the other. he strove to keep quiet interiorly, keeping his eyes fixed upon the broad river in the sunshine and the trees on the other side, and his heart established on god's will. he did not know then what kind of a fit it was into which the king had fallen, nor why it was that himself should be blamed for it; and when he spoke to the men they gave him nothing but black looks, and one blessed himself repeatedly, with his lips moving. there came the sound of talking from the inner room, and once or twice the sound of glass on glass. without it was a fair day, very hot and with no clouds. master richard told me that he had no fear, neither now nor afterwards; it seemed to him as if all had been done before; he said it was as if he were one in a play, whose part and words are all assigned beforehand, as well as the parts and words of the others, by the will of the writer; so that when violence is done, or injustice, or hard words spoken, or death suffered, it is all part of the agreed plan and must not be resisted nor questioned, else all will be spoiled. it appeared to him too as if the ankret in the cell were privy to it all, and were standing, observing and approving; for master richard remembered what the holy man had said as to the five wounds marked upon the linen, and how he would not need to wear them much longer. * * * * * after about half-an-hour, as he supposed, the voices waxed louder in the other room; and presently one came out from it in the black dress of a physician. he was a pale man, shaven clean, a little bald, and very thin. it was that physician that died last year. he said nothing, though his face worked, and he beckoned sharply to master richard. master richard went immediately across the floor and through into the further room. there were a dozen persons gathered there, all staring upon the king, who sat in a great chair by the table. two or three of these were servants, and the rest of them, with my lord cardinal, the nobles that had been in the palace at the time of the king's seizure. my lord cardinal was standing by the chair, very stern and anxious-looking; and all turned their faces, and there was an angry whisper from their mouths, as the young man came forward and halted; and the physician shut to the door. but master richard did not observe them closely at that time; for he was looking upon the king. the king sat very upright in his chair; his hands rested on the carved arms; and his face and eyes were as if made of caen stone, chalky and hard. he was looking out from the room, master richard said; and master richard knew at once what it was that he was seeing. it was that of which the holy youth had spoken; and was nothing else than the passion and death that came upon him afterwards. the words that the king had heard had opened the eyes of his soul, and he was now seeing for himself. before that any could speak or hinder, master richard was on his knees by the king, and had laid his lips to the white right-hand, seeing as he did so the red ring on the first finger. my lord cardinal sprang forward to tear him off, but the king turned his stony eyes; and my lord fell back. then master richard knew that he had not given the whole message; and that our lord had not intended it at first. the message of the passion and death was to be first; and the second, second--first the wound, and then the balm. so he began to speak; and these were the words as he told them to me. "my lord king," he said, "our lord does not leave us comfortless when he sends us sorrow. this is a great honour, greater than the crown that you bear, to bear the crown of thorns. that bitter passion of christ that he bore for our salvation is wrought out in the body which is his church, and especially in those members, which, like his sacred hands and feet, receive the nails into themselves. happy are those members that receive the nails; they are the more honourable; it was on his feet that he went about to do good; and with his hands that he healed and blessed and gave his precious body; and with his burning heart that he loves us. "my lord king; men will name you fool and madman and crowned calf; it is to their shame that they do so, and to your honour. for so they named our saviour. all who set not their minds on this world are accounted fools; but who will be the merrier in the world that is to come? "and, last, our lord has bestowed on your highness an honour that he bestows upon few, but which himself suffered; and that, the knowledge of what is to be. in this manner the passion is borne a thousand times a day, by foreknowledge; and for every such pain there is a joy awarded. it is for this reason that you may bear yourself rightly, and that he may crown you more richly that our lord has sent me to you, and bidden me tell you this." * * * * * all this while master richard was looking upon the king's face, but there was no alteration in his aspect. it was as the colour of ashes, and his eyes like stone; and yet master richard knew very well that his grace heard what was said, but could not answer it. (it was so with him often afterwards: he would sit thus without speaking or answering what was said to him: he would go thus to mass and dinner and to bed, as pale as a spirit: he would even ride thus among his army, with his crown on his head, and his sword in his hand, dumb but not deaf; and looking upon what others could not see: and all, as those about him knew very well, began from the hearing of the message that master richard raynal brought to him from god's majesty). while master richard was speaking the rest kept silence: for i think that somewhat held them for pity of those two young men--for the one that sat in such stiff agony, and for the other near as pale, and red with his own blood, that spoke so eloquently. but when he had done and had kissed the white hand again, my lord cardinal came forward, pushed him aside, and himself began to speak in a voice that was at once pitiful and angry, crying upon the king to answer, telling him that he was bewitched and under the power of satan through the machinations of master richard, and blessing him again and again. master richard stood aside watching, and wondering that my lord could speak so, and not understand the truth; and he looked round at the others to see if any there understood. but they were all dumb, except for muttering, and gave him black looks, and blessed themselves as their eyes met his; so he committed himself to prayer. [sir john preaches a little sermon here on internal recollection, and the advantages of the practice.] it was of no avail; the king could not speak; and presently the physician, master blytchett, [this is an extraordinary name, and is obviously a corruption of some english name, but i do not know what it can be, nor why it was retained, when all others were erased.] came and whispered in my lord's ear as he knelt at the king's knees. my lord turned his head and nodded, and master richard was seized from behind and pulled through the door. the man who had pulled him was one of the servants. i saw him afterwards and spoke with him, when he was sorry for what he had done; but now he spat on master richard fiercely, for the door was shut; and blessed himself mightily meanwhile. then he spoke to the man that kept the door; and said that master richard was to be taken down and kept close, until there was need of him again; for that the king was no better. so master richard was brought downstairs, and through the guard-room into one of the little cells: and as he went he was thinking on the words of our saviour. _si male locutus sum, testimonium perhibe de malo: si autem bene, quid me caedis?_ ["if i have spoken ill, give testimony of the evil, but if well, why strikest thou me?" (john xviii. 23.)] of the parson's disquisition on the whole matter _in columna nubis loquebatur ad eos._ he spoke to them in the pillar of the cloud.--_ps. xcviii. 7._ viii {at this point of the narrative, in consideration of what has preceded and what is yet to follow, sir john chaldfield thinks it proper to enlarge at great length upon the threefold nature of man, and the various characters and functions that emerge from the development of each part. for the sake of those who are more interested in the adventures of master richard and the king than in a medieval priest's surmises as to their respective psychological states, i shall take leave to summarise a few of his remarks and omit the rest. the whole section, in fact, might be omitted without any detriment to the history; and may be ignored by those who have arrived as far as this point in the reading of the book. sir john is somewhat obscure; and i suspect that he does not fully understand the theory that he attempts to state, which i suppose was taught him originally by richard raynal himself, and subsequently illustrated by the priest's own studies. he instances several cases as examples of the classes of persons to which he refers; but his obscurity is further deepened by the action of the zealous and discreet scribe, who, as i have said in the preface, has been careful to omit nearly all the names in sir john's original manuscript. briefly, his theory is as follows--at least so far as i can understand him. * * * * * it is at once man's glory and penalty that he is a mixed being. by the possession of his complex nature he is capable of both height and depth. he can devote himself to god or satan; and there are two methods by which he can attain to proficiency in either of those services. he can issue forth through his highest or lowest self, according to his own will and predispositions. most men are predisposed to act through the lower or physical self; and by an interior intention direct their actions towards good or evil. those that serve god in this manner are often incapable of high mystical acts; but they refrain generally from sin; and when they sin return through penance. those who so serve satan sin freely, and make no efforts at reformation. a few of these, by a wholehearted devotion to evil, succeed in establishing a relation between themselves and physical nature, and gain a certain control over the lower powers inherent in it. to this class belong the less important magicians and witches; and even some good christians possess such powers (which we now call psychical) which, generally speaking, they are at a loss to understand. such persons can blast or wither by the eye; they have a strange authority over animals; [i append a form of words which sir john quotes, and which, he says, may be used sometimes lawfully even by christened men. it is to be addressed in necessity to a troublesome snake. "by him who created thee i adjure thee that thou remain in the spot where thou art, whether it be thy will to do so or otherwise. and i curse thee with the curse wherewith the lord hath cursed thee."] and are able to set up a connection between inanimate material objects and organic beings. [he instances the wasting of an enemy by melting a representation of him fashioned in wax.] but such magic, even when malevolent, need not be greatly feared by christian men living in grace: its physical or psychical influence can be counteracted by corresponding physical acts: such things as the sign of the cross, the use of sacramentals, the avoidance of notoriously injurious follies such as beginning work on friday, the observance of such matters as wearing principium evangelii secundum joannem on the person, and the paying of ocular deference to saint christopher on rising--these precautions and others like them are usually a sufficient safeguard. [i am afraid it is impossible to clear sir john wholly of the charge of superstition. the "beginning of the gospel according to john" was the fourteen verses read as the last gospel after mass. a copy of this passage was often carried, sewn into the clothes, to protect from various ills. the image of st. christopher usually stood near the door of the church to ensure against violent death all who looked on it in the morning.] but all this is a very different matter from the high mysticism of contemplatives, ascetics, and satanic adepts. these are persons endowed with extraordinary dispositions, who have resolved to deal with invisible things through the highest faculty of their nature. the satanic adepts are greatly to be feared, even in matters pertaining to salvation, for, although their power has been vastly restricted by the union of the divine and human natures in the incarnation of the son of god, yet they are capable by the exercise of their power, of obscuring spiritual faculties, and bringing to bear grievous temptations, as well as of afflicting by sickness, misfortune and death. these select souls are the great mages of all time; and their leader, since the year of redemption, simon magus himself, could be dealt with by none other than the vicar of christ and prince of apostles. it is not every man, even with the worst will in the world, who is capable of rising to this sinister position: for it is not enough to renounce the faith, to make a league with satan, to insult the cross and to commit other enormities: there must also be resident in the aspirant a peculiar faculty, corresponding to, if not identical with, the glorious endowment of the contemplative. if, however, all these and other conditions are fulfilled, the initiated person is severed finally from the body of christ and incorporated into that of satan, through which mysterious regeneration it receives supernatural powers corresponding to those of the baptised soul. finally sir john considers those whom he calls "god's adepts," and among those, though in different classes, he places richard raynal and the king. [a little later on he also mentions king solomon as an eminent pre-christian adept, and enoch.] these adepts, he says, are of every condition and character, but that which binds them together is the fact that they all alike deal directly with invisible things, and not, as others do, through veils and symbols. since the incarnation, however, all baptized persons who frequent the sacraments are in a certain degree adepts, for in those sacraments they may be truly said to see, handle, hear and taste the word of life. other powers, however, are still reserved to those who are the masters of the spiritual life;--for not all persons, however holy, are contemplatives, ecstatics, or seers. now contemplation is an arduous labour; it is not, as some ignorant persons think, a process of idle absorption; it is rather a state of strenuous endeavour, aided at any rate in its first stages by acts of steady detachment from the world of sense. richard raynal had passed through the first rigour of that purgative stage in the short period of one year, and although he still lived a detached life, and practised various austerities, he was so far free of danger that he was able, as has been already remarked, to dig and talk without interrupting the exercise of his higher faculties. he had then passed to the illuminative stage, and had remained, again for one year, in the process of being informed, taught and kindled in preparation for the third and last stage of union with the divine--elsewhere named the way of perfection. he had been rewarded by various sensible gifts, particularly by that of ecstasy, by which the soul passes, as fully as an embodied soul can pass, into the state of eternity. here mysteries are seen plainly, though they seldom can be declared in words, or at least only haltingly and under physical images that are not really adequate to that which they represent. [that which richard calls calor, or warmth, appears to be one of these.] with the king, however, it was different. by the exigencies of his vocation he was unable to live the properly contemplative life; solitude, an essential to that life, was impossible to him: but he had done what he could by asceticism and the habit of recollection; and, further, his soul had been naturally one of those which had the necessary endowments of the contemplative. the purgative, illuminative and unitive stages had therefore been confused, and had come upon him simultaneously, though gradually; and this as was to be expected, had resulted in intense suffering. there was for him no gradation by which he passed slowly upwards from detachment to union. richard raynal's words to him had coincided with the struggling emergence of his own soul on to the higher plane; and he had opened his spiritual eyes on to a terrible future for which he had had but little preparation. the result had been a kind of paralysis of his whole nature, and henceforward the rest of his life, sir john maintains, had been darkened by his first definite experience in the mystical region. if indeed this king was none other than henry the sixth, sir john's explanation is an interesting commentary on that melancholy personage. richard then, according to this hypothesis, found joy in his contemplation because he had been trained to look for it; and henry had found sorrow because he had been overwhelmed by the suddenness of the revelation and his men unpreparedness. sir john adds that it is difficult to know which of the two lives would be more pleasing to god almighty. as regards his whole statement i feel it is impossible to say more than to quote the opinion of a modern mystic to whom i submitted the original; which was to the effect that it contains a little nonsense, a good deal of truth, and a not intolerable admixture of superstition. he added further that sir john must not be judged hardly; for he was limited by an inadequate vocabulary and an ignorance of many of the terms that his scanty reading enabled him to employ.} how master richard took his meat: and of master lieutenant's whipping of him _domine, ante te omne desiderium meum; et gemitus meus a te non est absconditus._ lord, all my desire is before thee: and my groaning is not hidden from thee.--_ps. xxxvii. 10._ ix it was a little cell in which master richard found himself that afternoon, after he had passed through the guardroom and heard the anger and laughter of the men-at-arms, and sustained their blows, and when he had looked about it, at the little narrow window high up upon the wall, and the water that dripped here and there from the stones, and the strong door shut upon him, the first thing that he did was to go down upon his knees in the puddle, and thank god for solitude. (there be two kinds of men in the world, those that love solitude, and those that hate it; for there be two kinds of souls, the full and the empty. those that be full have enough to occupy them with, and those that be empty are for ever seeking somewhat wherewith to occupy them.) when he had done that he looked round again upon the walls and the ceiling and the floor, and sitting down upon the wood that was to be his pillow, first girding up his kirtle that it might not be fouled, he sought to unite himself with all that he saw, that it might be his friend and not his foe. so he told me when i asked him, but i do not know if i understood him aright. there he sat then a great while, communing with god, and the saints, with his cell and with his soul, and after a little time his interior quiet was again restored. then, as he knew he would have no light that night, and that the cell would grow dark early, for his window looked eastwards, and was a very little one, he made haste to say the rest of his office from the book that he had with him. but he said it slowly, as the carthusians use, sucking the sweetness out of every word, and saying _jesu_ or _mary_ at every star [the break in each verse of the psalter is marked with an asterisk], and after a while the sweetness was so piercing that he could scarcely refrain from crying out. when he had done he looked again at his window, and saw that the strip of sky was becoming green with evening light, and he thought upon his hazels at home. half an hour afterwards a fellow came with his bread and water for supper, on a wooden plate and in a great jug, set them down and went out without speaking. * * * * * now i will tell you all that master richard did; it was his custom when he was at home, and he observed it here too. he first poured water upon his hands, saying the psalm _lavabo_, and he dried them upon the sleeves of his habit, for he had no napkin; then he set the second stool before him, and broke the bread upon it into five parts, in memory of the five wounds, setting two portions here and two there, and the fifth in the middle. then he blessed the food, looking upon it a great while, and seeing with the eyes of his soul his saviour's body stretched upon the rood. then he began to eat, dipping each morsel into its proper wound, so that it tasted to him sweet as wine, and last of all he ate that which lay in the middle, thinking on the heart that was pierced for love of him. then he drank water, blessed himself, and gave thanks to god, and last of all poured water once more upon his hands. master richard has often told me that there is no such sweet food to be found anywhere--(save only the sacrament of the altar)--as that which is so blessed and so eaten, and indeed i have found it so myself, when i have had patience to do so with it. [sir john makes here a few rather trite remarks upon holy bread and ashes and upon various methods of devotion. his words are quite irrelevant, therefore i omit them. he is careful, however, to warn his flock that not every form of devotion is equally suitable for every soul.].... now god was preparing three trials for master richard, and the first came on the following morning very early. he had not slept very well; the noise from the guard-room without was too great, and when that was quiet there was still the foulness of the place to keep him awake, for all the floor was strewn with rotten rags and straw and bones, as it were a kennel. his wounds, besides, had not been tended, and he was very sick when he awoke, and for a while scarce knew where he was. i think, perhaps, he had taken the fever then. he heard presently steps in the way that led to his cell, and talking, and immediately his door was unlocked and opened. there came in a lieutenant of the king's guard, richly dressed, and in half-armour, with his sword at his side. he had a heavy, hairy face, and as master richard sat up on his blanket he perceived that the man was little better than an animal--gross-bodied and gross-souled. i saw the fellow later, though i did not speak with him, and i judge as master richard judged. there were four men behind him. master richard stood up immediately to salute the king's officer, and stood awaiting what should follow, but he swayed with sickness as he stood. the officer said a word to his men, and they haled master richard forth, pulling him roughly, although he went willingly, as well he was able for his sickness, through the passage and into the guard-room. there was a table set there on a step at the upper end with a chair behind it; and at the lower end was a couple of men cleaning their harness beneath a gallery that was held up by posts; the rest were out changing guard. the door into the court was wide at first, and the sweet air streamed in, refreshing master richard like wine after the stench that was in his nostrils, and making him think upon the country again and running water and birds, but master-lieutenant, when he had taken his seat, bade them close it, and to set master richard before him; all of which they did, and so held him. then he began to speak. "now, sir," he said roughly, "my lord king is at the point of death, and i am here to examine you. what is it that you have done to his grace?" now master richard knew that the king could not die, else where were the passion he was to undergo? and if the officer could lie in this matter, why should he not lie in other matters? "where is your authority," he said "to examine me?" "what sir! do you question that? you shall see my authority by and bye." "i am willing to answer you as one man to another" said master richard softly, "but not to plead, until i have seen your authority." "oh! you are willing to answer!" said the officer, smiling like an angry dog. "very well, then. what have you done to his grace?" "i have done nothing," said master richard, "save give the message that our lord bade me give." master-lieutenant laughed short and sharp at that, and the two men that held master richard laughed with him. (the other two men were gone to the other end of the hall, and master richard could not see what they were doing.) "oho!" said the officer, "that is all that you have done to his grace! i would advise you, sir, not to play the fool with me. we know very well what you have done; but we would know from you how and when you did it." master richard said nothing to that. he felt very light in the head, what with his wounds and the bad air, and the strangeness of the position. he knew that he was smiling, but he could not prevent it. his smiling angered the man. "you dare smile at me, sir!" he cried. "i will teach you to smile!"--and he struck the table with his hand, so that the ink-horn danced upon it. "i cannot help smiling," said master richard. "i think i am faint, sir." one of the men shook him by the arm, and master richard's sense came back a little. when he could see again clearly (for just now the face of the officer and the woodwork behind him swam like images seen in water), master-lieutenant had a little bottle in his hand. he bade master richard look upon it and asked him what it was. "i think it to be my quinte essence" said master richard. "you acknowledge that then!" cries the man. "and what is quinte essence?" "it is distilled of blood" said master richard. the officer set the bottle down again upon the table. "now sir" he said, "that is enough to cast you. none who was a christian man would have such a thing. say _paternoster_." [this seems to have been one of the tests in trials for witchcraft.] "_paternoster_ ..." began master richard. now, my children, i cannot explain what this signified, but master richard could get no further than that. i know that i myself cannot say any of the prayers of mass when i am away from the altar, and other priests have told me the same of themselves, but it seems to me very strange that a man should not at any time be able to say _paternoster_. whether it was that master richard was sick, or that the officer's face troubled him, or whether that god almighty desired to put him to a grievous test, i know not. but he could not say it. he repeated over and over again, _paternoster ... paternoster_, and swayed as he stood. the officer's face grew dark and a little afraid; he blessed himself three or four times, and breathed through his nostrils heavily. master richard felt himself smiling again, and presently fell to laughing, and as he laughed he perceived that the men who held him drew away from him a little, and blessed themselves too. "i cannot help it," sobbed master richard presently, "to think that i cannot say _paternoster_!" when he had recovered himself somewhat, he perceived that the two other men were come up behind him. then the officer bade him turn and look, and he did so, with the tears of that dreadful laughter still upon his cheeks. the two men were standing there; one had a great hangman's whip of leather in his hand, and the other a rope. "now, sir;" said the officer behind him, "here is enough authority for you and me. shall i bid them begin, or will you tell us what it is that you have done to the king?" now, master richard had nothing to tell, as you know; he could not have saved himself in any case from the torment, but our lord allowed him to have this trial, to see how he would bear himself. he might have cried out for mercy, or told a false tale as men so often have done, but he did neither of these things. the laughter again rose in his throat, but he drove it down, and after looking upon the men's faces and the arms of the man that held the whip, he turned once more to the officer. "i have scourged myself too often," he said, "to fear such pain; and our saviour bore stripes for me." then (for the men had released him that he might turn round) he undid the button at his throat, and threw back the kirtle, knotting the sleeves about his waist, and so stood, naked to his middle, awaiting the punishment. he told me afterwards that never had he felt such lightness and freedom as he felt at this time. his body yearned for the pain, as it yearned for the sting and thrill of cold water on a cold day. when he was telling me, i understood better how it was that the holy martyrs were so merry in the midst of their torments. [sir john relates at considerable length the acts of st. laurence and st. sebastian.].... when the officer had looked on him a moment, he bade him turn round, and so, i suppose, sat staring upon the youth's holy shoulders that were covered with the old stripes that he had given himself. at last master richard faced about again; and again, as he looked upon the solemn face of the man, he began to laugh. it seemed a marvellous jest, he thought, that so long a consideration should be given to so small a matter as a whipping. i am glad i was not there to bear that laughter; i think it would quite have broken my heart. * * * * * well, my children, i cannot write what followed, but the end of it was that the post to which master richard's hands were tied, and the face of master-lieutenant standing behind it, and the wall behind him with the weapons upon it, grew white and frosted to the young man's eyes, and began to toss up and down, and a great roaring sounded in his ears. he thought, he told me afterwards, that he was on calvary beneath the rood, and that the rocks were rending about him. so he swooned clean away, and was carried back again to his prison. * * * * * now i learned afterwards that the officer had no authority such as he pretended, but that he had sworn to his fellows that he could find out the truth by a pretence of it, thinking master richard to be a poor crazed fool who would cry out and confess at the touch of the whip. but master richard did not cry out for mercy. and i hold that he passed this first trial bravely. of the second temptation of master richard: and how he overcame it _exacuerunt ut gladium linguas suas: interderunt arcum rem amaram: ut sagittent in occultis immaculatum._ they have whetted their tongues like a sword: they have bent their bow a bitter thing, to shoot in secret the undefiled.--_ps. lxiii, 4, 5._ x as master richard had striven to serve god in the trinity of his nature, so was he to be tried in the trinity of his nature. it was first in his body that he was tempted, by pain and the fear of it; and his second trial came later in the same day--which was in his mind. he lay abed that morning till his dinner was brought to him, knowing sometimes what passed--how a rat came out and looked on him awhile, moving its whiskers; how the patch of sunlight upon the wall darkened and passed; and how a bee came in and hummed a great while in the room; and sometimes conscious of nothing but his own soul. he could make no effort, he told me, and he did not attempt it. he only lay still, committing himself to god almighty. he could not eat the meat, even had he wished it, but he drank a little broth and ate some bread, and then slept again. * * * * * he did not know what time it was when he awoke and found one by his bed, looking down on him, he thought, compassionately. it was growing towards evening, for it way darker, or else his eyes were heavy and confused with sickness, but he could not see very clearly the face of the man who stood by him. the man presently kneeled down by the bed, murmuring with pity as it seemed, and master richard felt himself raised a little, and then laid down again, and there was something soft at the nape of his neck over the wooden pillow and against his torn shoulders. there was something, too, laid across his body and legs, as if to keep him from chill. he said nothing for a while; he did not know what to say, but he looked steadily at the face that looked on him, and saw that it was that of a young man, not five years older than himself, shaven clean like a clerk, and the eyes of him seemed pitiful and loving. "_laudetur jesus christus!_" said master richard presently, as his custom was when he awoke. "_amen_," said the man beside the bed. that comforted master richard a little--that the man should say _amen_ to his praise of jesu christ, so he asked him who he was and what he did there. the young man said nothing to that, but asked him instead how he did, and his voice was so smooth and tender that master richard was further encouraged. "i do far better than our lord did," he answered. "he had none to minister to him." it seemed that the young man was moved at that, for he hid his face in his hands a moment. then he began to pity master richard, saying that it was a shame that he had been so evilly treated, and that master-lieutenant should smart for it if it ever came to his grace's ears. but he said this so strangely that master richard was astonished. "and how does the king do?" he asked. "the king is at the point of death," said the young man solemnly. "it is no more than the point then," said master richard confidently, "and a point that will not pierce him, else what of the passion that he must suffer?" the young man seemed to look on him very steadily and earnestly at that. "why do you look at me like that?" he asked him. "i have done nothing to his grace save give my tidings." "master hermit," said the young man very gravely, "i entreat you not to speak like that." "how should i speak then?" he asked. the young man did not answer immediately, but he moved on his knees a little closer to the bed, and took master richard's hand softly between his own, and so held it, caressing it. master richard told me that this action moved him more than all else; he felt the tears rise to his eyes, and he gave a sob or two. it is always so with noble natures after great pain. [sir john relates here the curious history of a girl who was nearly burned as a witch, and that when she was reprieved she yielded at once to the solicitations of marriage from a man whom she had always hated, but who was the first to congratulate her on her escape. but the story sadly interrupts the drama of the main narrative, and therefore i omit it.].... then the young man spoke very sweetly and kindly. "master hermit," he said, "you must bear with me for bringing sad tidings to you. but will you hear them now or to-morrow?" "i will hear them now," said master richard. so the young man proceeded. "one came back to-day from your home in the country. he was sent there yesterday night by my lord cardinal. he spoke with your parson, sir john, and what he heard from him he has told to my lord, and i heard it." (this was a lie, my children. no man from london had spoken with me. but you shall see what follows.) "and what did sir john tell him," asked master richard quietly. "did he say he knew nothing of me?" now he asked this, thinking that perhaps this was a method of tempting him. and so it was, but worse than he thought it. "no, poor lad," said the young man very pitifully, "sir john knew you well enough. the messenger saw your little house, too, and the hazels about it; and the stream, and the path that you have made; and there were beasts there, he said, a stag and pig that looked lamentably out from the thicket." now observe the satanic guile of this! for at the mention of all his little things, and his creatures that loved him, master richard could not hold back his tears, for he had thought so often upon them, and desired to see them again. so the young man stayed in his talk, and caressed his hand again, and murmured compassionately. presently master richard was quiet, and asked the young man to tell him what the parson had said. "to-morrow," said the young man, making as if to rise. "to-day," said master richard. so the young man went on. "he went to the parsonage with sir john, and talked with him there a long while--" "did he see my books?" said master richard in his simplicity. "yes, poor lad; he saw your books. and then sir john told him what he thought." "and what was that?" said master richard, faint with the thought of the answer. the young man caressed his hand again, and then pressed it as if to give him courage. "sir john told him that you were a good fellow; that you injured neither man nor beast; and that all spoke well of you." then the young man stayed again. "ah! tell me," cried master richard. "well, poor lad; as god sees us now, sir john told the messenger that he thought you to be deluded; that you deemed yourself holy when you were not, and that you talked with the saints and our lord, but that these appearances were no more than the creations of your own sick brain. he said that he humoured you; for that he feared you would be troublesome if he did not, and that all the folk of the village said the same thing to you, to please you and keep you quiet.--ah! poor child!" the young man cried out as if in sorrow, and lifted master richard's hand and kissed it. master richard told me that when he heard that it was as a blow in the face to him. he could not answer, nor even think clearly. it was as if a gross darkness, full of wings and eyes and mocking faces pressed upon him, and he believed that he cried out, and that he must have swooned, for when he came to himself again his face was all wet with water that the young man had thrown upon it. it was a minute or two more before he could speak, and during that time it appeared to him that he did not think himself, but that ideas moved before his eyes, manifesting themselves. at first there was a doubt as to whether the young man had spoken the truth, and whether any messenger had been to the village at all, but the mention of the hazels, the stag and the pig, and his books, dispelled that thought. again it did not seem possible that the young man should have lied as to what it was that i was said to have answered; if they had wished to lie, surely they would have lied more entirely, and related that i had denied all knowledge of him. but the falsehood was so subtle an one; it was so well interwoven with truth that i count it to have been impossible for master richard in his sickness and confusion to have disentangled the one from the other. i have heard a physician say, too, that the surest manner to perplex a man is to suggest to him that his brain is clouded; at such words he often loses all knowledge of self; he doubts his own thoughts, and even his senses. this, then, was master richard's temptation--that he should doubt himself, his friends, and even our lord who had manifested himself so often and so kindly to the eyes of his soul. yet he did not yield to it, although he could not repel it. he cried upon jesu in his heart, and then set the puzzle by. he looked at the young man once more. "and why do you tell me this?" he asked. the clerk (if he were a clerk) answered him first by another judas-caress or two, and then by judas-words. "master hermit," he said, "i am but a poor priest, but my words have some weight with two or three persons of the court; and these again have some weight with my lord cardinal. i asked leave to come and tell you this as kindly as i could, and to see what you would say. i observed you in the hall the other day, and i have a good report of your reasonableness from the monastery. i conceived, too, a great love for you when i saw you, and wish you well; and i think i can do you a great service, and get you forth from this place that you may go whither you will,--to your house by the stream or to some other place where none know you. would it not be pleasant to you to be in the country again, and to serve god with all your might in some sweet and secret place where men are not?" "i can serve god here as there," answered master richard. "well--let that be. but what if god almighty wishes you to be at peace? we must not rush foolishly upon death. that is forbidden to us." "i do not seek death," said master richard. the clerk leaned over him a little, and master richard saw his eyes bent upon him with great tenderness. "master hermit," he said, "i entreat you not to be your own enemy. you see that those that know you best love you, but they do not think you to be what you think you are---" "i am nothing but god's man, and a sinner," said the lad. "well, they think your visions and the rest to be but delusions. and if they be delusions, why should not other matters be delusions too?" "what matters?" asked master richard. "such matters as the tidings that you brought to the king." "and what is it you would have me to do?" asked master richard again after a silence. "it is only a little thing, poor lad--such a little thing! and then you will be able to go whither you will." "and what is that little thing?" "it is to tell me that you think them delusions too." "but i do not think them so," said master richard. "think as you will then, master hermit; but, you know, when folks are sick we may tell them anything without sin. and the king is sick to death. i do not believe that you have bewitched him: you have too good a face and air for that--and for the matter of the _paternoster_ i do not value it at a straw. the king is sick with agony at what he thinks will come upon him after your words. he will not listen to my lord cardinal: he sits silent and terrified, and has taken no food to-day. but if you will but tell him, master hermit, that you were mistaken in your tidings--that it was but a fancy, and that you know better now--all will be well with him and with you, and with us all who love you both." so the clerk spoke, tempting him, and leaned back again on his heels; and master richard lay a great while silent. * * * * * now, i do not know who was this young man, whether he were a clerk or whether he were not a devil in form of a man. i could hear nothing of him at court when i went there. it may be that he was one of those idle fellows that had come to master richard from time to time to ask him to make them hermits with him, else how did he know the matters of the stag and the pig and the stream and the rest? but it does not greatly matter whether his soul were a devil's or a man's, for in any case his words were satan's. if i had not heard what came after i should have believed this temptation to be the most subtle ever devised in hell and permitted from heaven. he spoke so tenderly and so sweetly; he commanded his features so perfectly; he seemed to speak with such love and reasonableness. yet i would have you know that master richard did not yield by a hair's breadth in thought. he examined the temptation carefully, setting aside altogether the question as to whether i had spoken as this young man had said that i had. whether i had spoken so or not made no difference. it was this that he was bidden to do, to say that he had erred in his tidings, to confess that they were not from god; to be a faithless messenger to our lord. he examined this, then, looking carefully at all parts of the temptation. [sir john appends at this point two or three paragraphs, distinguishing between the observing of a temptation of thought and the yielding to it. he instances christ's temptation in the garden of gethsemane.].... at the end master richard opened his eyes and looked steadily upon the young man's face. "take this answer," he said, "to those that sent you. i will neither hear nor consider such words any more. if i yield in this matter, and say one word to the king or to any other, by which any may understand that my message was a delusion, or that i spoke of myself and not from our lord, then i pray that our lord may blot my name out of the book of life." * * * * * so master richard answered and closed his eyes to commune with god. and the young man went away sighing but speaking no word. of the dark night of the soul _de profundis clamavi ad te, domine: domine exaudi vocem meam._ out of the depths i have cried to thee, o lord: lord, hear my voice.--_ps. cxxix. 1, 2._ xi the third temptation was so fierce and subtle, that i doubt whether i wholly understood it when master richard tried to tell it to me. he did not tell me all, and he could answer but few questions, and i fear that i am not able to tell even all that i heard from him. it was built up like a house, he said, stone by stone, till it fenced him in, but he did not know what was all its nature till he saw my lord cardinal. a soul such as was master richard's must have temptations that seem as nothing to coarser beings such as myself: as a bird that lives in the air has dangers that a crawling beast cannot have. there are perils in the height that are not perils on the earth. a bird may strike a tree or a tower; his wings may fail him; he may fly too near the sun till he faint in its heat; he cannot rest; if he is overtaken by darkness he cannot lie still. [sir john enumerates at some length other such dangers to bird life.].... * * * * * now master richard described the state into which he fell under a curious name that i cannot altogether understand. he said that there be three _nights_ through which the contemplative soul must pass or ever it come to the dawn. the first two he had gone through during his life in the country; the first is a kind of long-continued dryness, when spiritual things have no savour; the second is an affection of the mind, when not even meditation [this is an exercise distinct from contemplation apparently. i include this passage, in spite of its technicalities, for obvious reasons.] appears possible; the mind is like a restless fly that is at once weary and active. this second is not often attained to by ordinary souls, though all men who serve god have a shadow of it. it is a very terrible state. master richard told me that before he suffered it he had not conceived that such conflict was possible to man. it was during this time that the fiend came to him in form of a woman. the imagination that cannot fix itself upon the things of god is wide-awake to all other impressions of sense. [i do not think that sir john understands what he is writing about, though he does his best to appear as if he did. i have omitted a couple of incoherent paragraphs.].... now, these two first _nights_ i think i understand, for he told me that what he suffered during his whipping in the hall and the strife of his mind with the clerk were each a kind of symbol of them. but the third, which he called the _night of the soul_ i do not understand at all. [it is remarkable that this phrase frequently occurs in the writings of st. john of the cross, though he treats it differently. until i came across it in this ms. i had always thought that the spanish mystic was the first to use it.] this only can i say of the state itself: that master richard said that it was in a manner what our lord suffered upon the rood when he cried to his father _eloi, eloi, etc._ but i can tell you something of the signs of that affliction, as they shewed themselves to master richard. of the interior state of his soul i cannot even think without terror and confusion. compared with the darkness of it, the other _nights_, he said, are but as clouds across the sun on a summer's day compared with a moonless midnight in winter. he had suffered a shadow of it before, when he was entering the contemplative state, or the prefect way of union. now it fell upon him. before i tell you how it came, i must tell you that this _night_, as he explained it, takes its occasion from some particular thought, and the thought from which it sprang you shall hear presently. when the clerk had left him, sighing, as i said, as if with a kindly weariness (to encourage the other to call for him, i suppose), master richard committed himself again to god and lay still. a fellow came in soon with his supper (for it was now growing dark), set it by him and went out. master richard took a little food, and after a while, as his custom was after repeating the name of jesu, began to think on god, on the blessed and holy trinity, and on his attributes, numbering them one by one and giving thanks for each, and marking the colour and place of each in the glory of the throne. he was too weary to say vespers or compline, and presently he fell asleep, but whether it was common sleep or not i do not know. in his sleep it seemed to him that he was walking along a path beneath trees, as he had walked on his way to london; but it was twilight, and he could not see clearly. there was none with him, and he was afraid, and did not know what he feared. he was afraid of what lay behind, and on all sides, and he was yet more afraid of what lay before him, but he knew that he could not stay nor turn. he went swiftly, he thought, and with no sound, towards some appointed place, and the twilight darkened as he went; when he looked up there was no star nor moon to be seen, and what had been branches when he set out seemed now to be a roof, so thick they were. there was no bray of stag, nor rustle of breeze, nor cry of night-bird. he tried to pray, but he could remember no prayer, and not even the healthful name of _jesu_ came to his mind. he could do nought but look outwards with his straining eyes, and inwards at his soul; and the one was now as dark as the other. he thought of me then, my children, and longed to have me there, but he knew that i was asleep in my bed and far away. he thought of his mother whom he had loved so much, but he knew that she was gone to god and had left him alone. and still, through all, his feet bore him on swiftly without sound or fatigue, though the terror and the darkness were now black as ink. he felt his hair rising upon his head, and his skin prickle, and the warmth was altogether gone from his heart, but he could not stay. and at the last his feet ceased to move, and he stood still, knowing that he was come to the place. now, i do not understand what he said to me of that place. he told me that he could see nothing; it was as if his eyes were put out, yet he knew what it was like. it was a little round place in the forest, with trees standing about it, and it was trampled hard with the footsteps of those who had come there before him. but that was no comfort to him now; for he did not know how these persons had fared, nor where were their souls. so he stood in the black darkness, knowing that he could not turn, with the horror on him so heavy that he sweated as he told me of it, and with the knowledge that something was approaching under the trees without sound of step or breathing--he did not know whether it was man or beast or fiend, he only knew that it was approaching. yet he could not pray or cry out. then he was aware that it had entered the little space where he stood, and was even now within a hand's grasp. yet he could not lift his hands to ward it off, or to pray to god, or to bless himself. then he perceived that the thing--_negotium perambulans in tenebris_ ["the business that walketh about in the dark" (ps. xc. 6.)]--was formless, without hands to strike or mouth to bite him with, and that it was all about him now, closing upon him. if there had been aught to touch his body, wet lips to kiss his face, or fiery eyes to look into his own, he would not have feared it with a thousandth part of the fear that he had. it was that there was no shape or face, and that it sought not his body but his soul. and when he understood that he gave a loud cry and awoke, and knew, as in a mystery, that it was no dream, but that he was indeed come to the place that he had seen, and that this _negotium_ was at his soul's heart. [there is either an omission here in the translation of sir john's original ms., or else the transcriber has dashed his pen down in horror, or sought to produce an impression of it.].... i find it impossible, my children, to make you understand in what state he was; he could not make even me understand. i can only set down a little of what he said. first, he knew that he had lost god. it was not that there was no god, but that he had lost him of his own fault and sin. he was aware that in all other places there was god and that the blessed reigned with him, but not in the place where he was, nor in his heart. in all men that ever i have met there was a certain presence of god. as the apostle told the men of athens, _ipsius enim et genus suum_; ["for we are also his offspring" (acts xvii. 28.)] and, again, _non longe est ab unoquoque nostrum_; ["he is not far from every one of us" (acts xvii. 27.)] and again, _in ipso vivimus, et movemur, et sumus_. ["in him we live, and we move, and we are" (acts xvii. 28.)] i have not seen a man who had not this knowledge, though maybe some, such as turks and pagans, may call it by another name. but until death, i think, all men, whatever their sins or ignorance, live and move in god's majesty. hell, master richard told me, is nothing less than the withdrawal of that presence, with other torments superadded, but this is chief. master richard told me that that black fire of hell rages wherever god is not; and that the worm gnaws in all hearts that have lost him, and know it to be by their own fault--_maxima culpa_. ["the very great fault."] there be a few men in this world--the son of god derelict is their prince--who are called to this supreme torment while they yet live--if indeed that man may be said to live who is without god--and of this company master richard was now made one. it was with him now as he had dreamed. where god is not, there can be no communion with man, for the only reason by which one perceives another's soul, or understands that it is the soul of a man and has a likeness to his own, is that both are, in some measure, in god. if we were more holy and wise we should understand for ourselves that this is so, and see, too, why it is so, for he is eyes to the blind and ears to the deaf. [i do not understand this at all. i wonder whether sir john did as he wrote it; i am quite sure that his flock did not.] for master richard, then, there was no other person in the world. there was that that fenced him from all living. our saviour christ upon the rood spoke to his blessed mother before his dereliction, but not again afterwards. there was no more that he might say to her, or to his cousin, john. this, then, was the state in which master richard lay--that _specialissimus_ of god almighty, to whom the divine love and majesty was as breath to his nostrils, meat to his mouth, and water to his body. i an say no more on that point. as to the fault by which it seemed that he had come to that state, it was the most terrible of all sins, which is presumption. holy church sets before us humility as the chief of virtues, to shew us that presumption is the chief of vices. a man may be an adulterer or a murderer or a sacrilegious person, and yet by humility may find mercy. but a man may be chaste and stainless in all his works, and a worshipper of god, but without humility he cannot come to glory. [sir john proceeds in this strain for several pages, illustrating his point by the cases of lucifer, nabuchodonosor, judas iscariot, king herod, and others.].... now the matter in which it seemed to master richard that he had sinned the sin of presumption was the old matter of the tidings he had borne to the king. it was not that the tidings were false, for he knew them for true; but yet that he had been presumptuous in bearing them. it was as though a stander-by had overheard tidings given by a king to his servant, and had presumed to hear them himself, as it were achimaas the son of sadoc. [i supposed that this obscure reference is to 2 kings xviii. 19.] and more than that, that he had presumed in thinking that he could be such a man as our lord would call to such an office. he had set himself, it appeared, far above his fellows in even listening to our saviour's voice; he should rather have cried with saint peter, _exi a me quia homo peccator sum domine_. ["depart from me, for i am a sinful man, o lord" (luke v. 8.)] it was this sin that had driven him from god's presence. our lord had bestowed on him wonderful gifts of grace. he had visited him as he visits few others and had led him in the way of union, and he had followed, triumphing in this, giving god the glory in words only, until he had fallen as it seemed from the height of presumption to the depth of despair, and lay here now, excluded from the majesty that he desired. * * * * * now, here is a very wonderful thing, and i know not if i can make it clear. you understand, my children, a little of what i heard from master richard's lips--of what it was that he suffered. but although all this was upon him, he perceived afterwards, though not at the time, that there was something in him that had not yielded to the agony. his body was broken, and his mind amazed, and his soul obscured in this _night_, yet there was one power more, that we name the will (and that is the very essence of man, by which he shall be judged), that had not yet sunk or cried out that it was so as the fiend suggested. there was within him, he perceived afterwards, a conflict without movement. it was as when two men wrestle, their limbs are locked, they are motionless, they appear to be at rest, but in truth they are striving with might and main. so he remained all that night in this agony, not knowing that he did aught but suffer; he saw the light on the wall, and heard the cocks crow--at least he remembered these things afterwards. but his release did not come until the morning; and of that release, and its event, and how it came about, i will now tell you. how sir john went again to the cell: and of what he saw there _ecce audivimus eam in ephrata: invenimus eam in campis silvae._ behold we have heard of it in euphrata: we have found it in the fields of the wood.--_ps. cxxxi. 6._ xii it is strange to think that other men went about their business in the palace, and knew nothing of what was passing. it is more strange that that morning i said mass in the country and did not faint for fear or sorrow. but it is always so, by god's loving-kindness, for no man could bear to live if he knew all that was happening in the world at one time. [sir john adds some trite reflections of an obvious character.].... there was a little heaviness upon me that morning, but i think no more than there had been every day since master richard had left us. it was not until noon that a strange event happened to me. this day was wednesday after corpus christi, the sixth day since he was gone. there was only one man that knew aught of what was passing in the interior world, and that was the ankret in the cell against the abbey, but of that you shall hear in the proper place. of what fell on that day i heard from an old priest whom i saw afterwards, and who was in the palace at that time. he was chaplain to my lord cardinal and his name was.... he told me that very early in the morning my lord sent for him and told him that he would hold an examination of master richard that day after dinner, to see if he should be put on his trial for bewitching the king. there were none who doubted that he had bewitched the king, for his grace had sat in a stupor for two days, ever since he had heard the tidings from the holy youth. he heard his masses each morning with a fallen countenance, and took a little food in private, and slept in his clothes sitting in his chair; and spoke to none, and, it seemed, heard none. though he had been always of a serious and quiet mind, loving to pray and to hear preaching more than to talk, yet this was the first of those strange visitations of god that fell upon him so frequently in his later years. those then (and especially my lord cardinal) who now saw him in such a state, did not doubt that there was sorcery in the matter, and that master richard was the sorcerer; for the tale of the quinte essence--of which at that time men knew nothing--and how that he could not say _paternoster_ when it was put to him;--all this was run about the court like fire. but the tale of the clerk who went to him and sought to shake him, i heard nothing of, save from master richard's own lips. none knew of what had happened, and some afterwards thought that it was the fiend who went to master richard, but some others that it was indeed one of the clerks of the court who had perhaps stolen the keys, and gone in to get credit to himself by persuading master richard to confess that all was a delusion. for myself, i do not know what to think. [i suspect that sir john was inclined to think it was the devil, for at this point he discusses at some length various cases in which satan so acted. he seems to imply that it was a peculiar and cynical pleasure to the lord of evil to disguise himself as an ecclesiastic.].... now, old master ... said mass before my lord cardinal at seven o'clock, and then went to his own chamber, but he was immediately sent for again to my lord, who appeared to be in a great agitation. my lord told him that one had come from the ankret to bid him let master richard go, for that it was not the young man who was afflicting the king, but god almighty. "but he shall not play pilate's wife with me," said my lord in a great fury, "i shall go through with this matter. see that you be with me, master priest, at noon, and we will see justice done. i doubt not that the young man must go for his trial." he told the clerk, too, that master blytchett was greatly concerned about his grace, and that the court would be in an uproar if somewhat were not done at once. he had sat three hours last night with ... and ... and ... and ..., [it would be interesting to know who were these persons.] and they had all declared the same thing. but he said nothing of the whipping of master richard, and i truly believe that he knew nothing of it. so the hour for the questioning was fixed at noon, and the place to be in my lord cardinal's privy parlour. * * * * * now that morning, as i told you, i was no more than usually heavy. i remembered master richard's name before god upon the altar, and at ten o'clock i went to dinner in the parsonage. it was a very bright hot day, and i had the windows wide, and listened to the bees that were very busy in the garden. i remember that i wondered whether they knew aught of my dear lad, for i hold that they are very near to god, more so than perhaps any of his senseless creatures, and that is why holy church on easter eve says such wonderful things about them, and the work that they do. [this refers to the _exultet_ sung by the deacon in the roman rite on holy saturday.] for they fashion first wax and then honey. it is the wax that in the church gives light and honour to god, and it is to the honey-comb that god's word is compared by david. [sir john continues in this strain for a page or two.].... it is not strange then that i thought about the bees, and the knowledge that they have. after i had done dinner, i slept a little as my custom is, and the last sound that i heard, and the first upon awaking, was the drone of the bees. when i awakened i thought that i would walk down to master richard's house and see how all fared. so i took my staff and set out. it was very cool and dark in the wood, through which i had come up six days before walking in the summer night with the young man, and all was very quiet. i could hear only the hum of the flies, and, as i drew nearer, the running of the water over the stones of the road, where it crosses it beside the little bridge. then i came out beside the gate into the meadow, and my eyes were dazzled by the hot light of the sun after the darkness of the wood. i stood by the gate a good while, leaning my arms upon it (for i felt very heavy and weary), and looking across the meadow yellow with flowers to the green hazels beyond, and between me and the wood the air shook as if in terror or joy, i knew not which. i could see, too, the open door of the hut, and its domed roof of straw, and the wicket leaning against the wall as he had left it, and on either side the may-trees lifted their bright heads. my children, i am not ashamed to tell you that i could not see all this very clearly, for my eyes were dim at the thought that the master of it was not here, and that i knew not where he was nor how he fared. i prayed saint giles with all my might that i might see him here again, and walk with him as i had walked so often. and then at the end, a little after i had heard the _angelus_ ring from over the wood, and had saluted our lady and entreated her for master richard, i thought that i would go up and see the hut. as i went i perceived that here, too, the bees were busy in the noon of the day, going to and fro intently, but i was to see yet more of them, for i heard a great droning about me. at first i could not perceive whence it came, but presently i saw a great ball of them gathering on the doorway of the hut, as their custom is in summer-time. i was astonished at that, i do not know why, but it seemed to me that bees were all about me, _semitam meam et funiculum meum investigantes; omnes vias meas praevidentes._ ["searching out my path and my line; foreseeing all my ways" (from ps. cxxxviii. 3,4.)] well, i looked on them awhile, but they seemed as if they would do me no harm, yet i did not wish to go into the house while they hung there, so i was content with looking in from where i stood. i could not see very much, my eyes were too weary with the sunshine that beat on my head, and it was, perhaps, god's purpose that i should not go in to see what i was not worthy to see. i had, too, something of fear in my heart; it was like the fear that i had had when i looked on master richard six days before as he prayed. so i stood a little distance from the door and observed it and the bees. of the inside of the but i could see no more than the beaten mud floor for a little space within, and through the veil of bees that swung this way and that working their mysteries, the green light of the window looking upon the hazel wood, above which was the image of the mother of god. then on a sudden my fear came on me strongly, and i cried out what i think was master richard's name for i thought that he was near me, but there was no answer, and after i had looked a little more, i turned back by the way i had come. now, here, my children, happened a marvellous thing. when i reached the gate and had gone through it, i turned round again towards the hut, ashamed of the terror that had lain on me as i walked down, for i had walked like one in a nightmare, not daring to turn my head. and as i turned, for one instant i saw master richard himself, in his brown kirtle and white sleeves standing at the door of his hut, with his arms out as if to stretch himself, or else as our saviour stretched them on the rood. i could not observe his face, for in an instant he was gone, before i had time to see him clearly, but i am sure that his face was merry, for it was at this hour that he found his release before my lord cardinal, and cried out, as you shall hear in the proper place. i stood there a long while, stretching out my own hands and crying on him by name, but there was no more to be seen but the hut and its open door, and the may-trees on either side, and the wood behind, and the yellow-flowered meadow before me, and no sound but the drone of the bees and the running of the water. and i dared not go up again, or set foot in the meadow. * * * * * so i went home again, and told no man, for i thought that the vision was for myself alone, and as night fell the messenger came to bid me come to town, and to deliver to me the letter from the old priest of whom i have spoken. how one came to master priest: how master priest came to the king's bedchamber: and of what he heard of the name of jesus _dum anxiaretur cor meum: in petra exaltasti me._ when my heart was in anguish: thou hast exalted me on a rock. --_ps. lx. 3._ xiii this was the letter that i read in my parlour that night, as the man in his livery stood beside me, dusty with riding. i have it still (it is in the mass-book that stands beside my desk; you can find it there after i am gone to give my account.).... "reverend and right worshipful sir john chaldfield,-"there is a young man here named master richard raynal, who tells us that you are his friend. he desires to see you before his death, for he has been set upon and will not live many days. his grace has ordered that you shall be brought with speed, for he loves this young man and counts him a servant of god. he is with master raynal as i write. i fear this may be heavy news for you, sir john, so i will write no more, but i recommend myself to you, and pray that you may be comforted and speeded here by the grace of god, which ever have you in his keeping. "written at westminster, the wednesday after corpus xti. "yours, "......." i asked the fellow who brought the letter whether he could tell me any more, but all that he could say was that he was in the court outside my lord cardinal's privy stairs--where the people were assembled to see master richard come out, and that he had seen a confusion, and blows struck, and the glaivemen run in to help him. then he had seen no more, but he thought master richard had been taken back again to the palace, and heard that he had been sore wounded and beaten, and was not like to live. * * * * * i will not tell you, my children, of my ride to london that night, save that i do not think i ceased praying from the instant that i set out to the instant when i came up as the dawn began behind lambeth house, and we went over in the ferry. i cried in my heart with david, _fili mi, fili mi; quis mihi tribuat ut ego moriar pro te, fili mi, fili mi?_ ["my son, my son! who would grant that i might die for thee, my son, my son?"--2 kings xviii. 33.] and i prayed two things--that god might forgive me for having allowed the lad to go, and that i might find him alive. more than that i dared not pray, and i know not even now if i should have prayed the first. it was a wonderful dawn that i saw as i crossed over, with a mist coming up from the water as a promise of great heat, and above it the high roofs and towers like the lovely city of god, and over all the sky was of a golden colour with lines of pearl across it. it comforted me a little that i should come to master richard so. even at that hour there were many awake. there was one great fellow by the ferry, that was looking across towards the palace; and i think it must have been he who had taken master richard over for love of saint giles and saint denis, but i did not know that part of the tale at that time, and i never saw him again. in the court and passages, too, that we went along there were persons going to and fro. one told me afterwards that never had he seen such a movement at that hour since the night that the king's mother died. they were all waiting for tidings of the lad, and they eyed me very narrowly, and i heard my name run before me as i went. at the last we came to a great door, and we were let through, and i was in the king's bed-chamber. it was a quiet room, and i will describe it to you now, although i saw little of it at that time. * * * * * in the centre, with its head against the wall, stood a tall bed, with a canopy over it, and four posts of twisted wood, carved very cunningly with little shields that bore the instruments of our saviour's passion. on the tapestry beneath the canopy, above the pillow, were the arms of the king, wrought in blue and red and gold. the hangings on the walls were all of a dark blue, wrought with devices of all kinds, and they were hanged from a ledge of wood beneath the ceiling such as i have never seen before or since. the ceiling was of painted wood, divided into deep squares, and in the centre of each was a coat. the floor was all over rushes, the cleanest and the most fragrant that i have ever smelled. i think that there must have been herbs and bay leaves mixed with them. i saw all this afterwards, for when i came in the curtains were all drawn against the windows, save against one that let in the cool air from the river and a little pale light of morning, and two candles burned on a table beside the bed. the room was very dark, but i could see that a dozen persons stood against the walls, and one by every door. but i had no eyes for them, and went quickly across the rushes, and as i came round the foot of the bed, i heard my name whispered again, and the king stood up from where he had been kneeling. i have already described to you his appearance at that time, so i will say no more here than that he was in all his clothes which were a little disordered, and that his head was bare. he had been weeping, too, for his eyes were red and swollen, and his lips shook as he put out his hand. but he could not speak. i kneeled down and kissed his hand quickly and stood up immediately. master richard who was lying on his left side, turned away from me, so that i could not see his face, but i knew he was not yet dead, else he would have been laid upon his back, but he was as still as death. his head was all in a bandage, except on this side where his long hair hung across his cheek, and his bare arm lay across the rich coverlet, brown to the elbow with his digging, and white as milk at the shoulder. when i saw that i kneeled down too, and hid my face in my hands, and although i felt the king lay his fingers on my shoulder i could not look up. but it was not all for sorrow that i wept; i was thanking god almighty who permitted me to see master richard alive once more. i do not know how long it was before i looked up, but all the folks were gone from the room save the king, and master blytchett, the physician, who sat on the other side of the bed. i went round presently to the other side, the king going with me, and there i saw master richard's face. i cannot tell you all that i saw in it, for there are no words that can tell of its peace; his eyes were closed below the little healed scar that he had taken in the monastery, and his lips were open and smiling; they moved two or three times as i looked, as if he were talking with some man, and then they ceased and smiled again. but all was very little, as if the soul were far down in some secret chamber with company that it loved. i asked presently if he had received his maker, and the king told me yes, and shrift too, and anointing--all the night before when he had come to himself for a while and called for a priest. he had spoken my name, too, at that time and they had told him that one was gone to bring me and at that he seemed content. master blytchett told me soon that i could be gone for a while, to take some meat, and that he would send for me if master richard awoke. but i said no to that; until the king bade me go, saying that he, too, would remain, and pledging his word that i should be called. so i went away into a parlour, and washed myself, and took some food, and after a while the old clerk that had written the letter to me, came in and saluted me. i was desirous to know how all had come about, so we sat there a great while in the window seat, with the door a little open into the bed-chamber, and he told me the tale. i did not speak one word till he had done. this was how it came about. * * * * * master richard was sent for from his cell to the parlour of my lord cardinal, but my lord was not ready for him, and he had to stand a great while in the court to wait his pleasure. the rumour ran about as to who it was, and a great number of persons assembled from all parts, some from the palace, and some from the streets. these had so cried out against the young man, that the billmen were sent for from the guard-room to keep him from their violence. this priest had looked out from a window at the noise, and seeing the crowd, had entreated my lord to have the prisoner in without any more delay. so he was brought in, and one was left to keep the little door that led to the privy stairs up which he came. it was then that this priest had seen him face to face, and i will try to write down his words as he told them me. "i came into the parlour," he said, "through the door behind my lord's chair, as master raynal was brought in by the other door. "i have never seen such a sight, sir john, as i saw then. he was in his white kirtle only, with the five wounds upon his breast, and he had on his sandals. but his face was as that of a dead man: his eyelids were sunk upon his cheek, and his lips hung open so that i could see his bare teeth. "there were two men who led him by the arms, and he would have fallen but for their assistance, and i immediately whispered to my lord to let him sit down. but my lord was busy and anxious at that time, for he had but just come from the king, who was no better and would take no meat nor speak at all. so he paid no heed to me, and presently began to ask questions of master raynal, urging him to confess what it was that he had done, and threatening him with this and that if he would not speak. "but master raynal did not speak or lift his eyes; it seemed as if he did not hear one word. "my lord told him presently that if temporal pains did not move him, perhaps, it was that he desired spiritual--for my lord was very angry, and scarce knew what he was saying. but master richard made no answer. i will tell you, sir john, plainly, that i thought he was but a fool to anger my lord so by his silence, for it could not be that he did not hear: my lord bawled loud enough to awaken the dead, and i saw the folk behind, some laughing and some grave. "it would be full half an hour after noon before my lord had done his questions, and lay back in his chair wrathful at getting no answer, though the men that held master raynal shook him from side to side. "then it was that the end came. "i was observing master raynal very closely, wondering whether he were mad or deaf, and on a sudden he lifted his eyes, and his lips closed. he appeared to be looking at my lord, but it was another that he saw. "i cannot describe to you, sir john, what that change was that came to him, save by saying that i think lazarus must have looked like that, as he heard our saviour christ's voice calling to him as he lay in the tomb. it was no longer the face of a dead man, but of a living one, and as that change came, i perceived that my lord cardinal had raised himself in his chair, and was staring, i suppose, at the young man too. but i could not take my eyes off master raynal's face. "then on a sudden master raynal smiled and drew a great breath and cried out. it was but one word; it was the holy name of jesus. "i perceived immediately that my lord cardinal had stood up at that cry, but then he sat down again, and he made a motion with his hand, and the men that held master raynal wheeled him about, and they went through the crowd towards the door. "my lord cardinal turned to me, and i have never seen him so moved, but still he could not speak, and while we looked upon one another there was a great uproar everywhere--in the court and in the palace. "i stood there, not knowing what to do, and my lord pushed past to the window. he, too, cried out as he looked down, and then ran from the room, and as i was following there broke in one by the door behind the chair. "'where is my lord cardinal?' he cried; 'the king has sent for him.' "well, the end of the matter was that they brought master raynal back again, wounded and battered near to death. the crowd that had been attendant for him had set on him as he came out--they should have sent more bill-men before to keep the road, and the king met him in the way (for he had come to his senses again), and turned as white as ashes once more, crying out that his own craven heart had slain one more [if this king was henry vi, the reference may be to joan of arc. but henry was only a child at the time of her death. at the best this can be only conjecture.] servant of god, but i know not what he meant by that. master raynal was taken to the king's bed-chamber, and my lord came after. and the king has been with him, praying and moaning ever since." then i put one question to the priest. "my lord cardinal?" i said. "no man but the king has seen my lord cardinal since yesterday." * * * * * we sat a while longer in silence, and then master blytchett came in to see me. of sir john's meditations in westminster palace _et existimabam cognoscere hoc: labor est ante me_ and i desired that i might know this thing: labour in my sight.-_ps. lxxii. 16._ xiv master blytchett told me that master richard was still asleep. he had blooded him last night, and reduced the fever, but god only could save his life. for himself, he thought that the young man would die before night, and he did not know whether he would speak again. i was drawn towards master blytchett; he seemed a sour fellow with sweetness beneath; and i love such souls as that. i loved him more than i did the king either at that time or afterward. the king appeared to me at that time a foolish fellow--god forgive me!--for i had not then heard what master richard had to say of him; nor that such opinion was to be all part of his passion. i thanked master blytchett for what he had done for my lad; but he burst out upon me. "i was all against him," he said, "at the beginning. i thought him a crack-brained fool, and a meddler. but now--" and he would say no more. it seemed that many were like that at the court. they were near all against him at first; but when they knew that he was wounded to death; and had heard what the king had said of him; and seen my lord cardinal's rosy face running with tears of pity and anger as he tore the lad out of their hands; and gossipped a little with the porter of the monastery; and listened to the holy ankret roaring out in his cell against hierusalem that slew the prophets;--and, most of all, remembered, or told one another of master richard's face as he came out from the privy staircase before he was struck down--like the melitenses--_convertentes se dicebant eum esse deum_. ["changing their minds, they said he was a god" (acts xxviii. 6.)] * * * * * i talked with many that morning (for i could do nothing for my lad), who came in to see one who knew him so well, and had been his friend in the country. and after dinner my lord cardinal came in to see me, and i was brought back to the parlour. his ruddy face was all blotched and lined with sorrow or age, and for a while he could say nothing. he went up and down with his sanguine robes flying behind him, and stayed to look out of the window at the boats that went by until i thought that he had forgotten me. and at the last he spoke. "i do not know what to say to you, sir john, or what to say to god almighty on this matter. it appears to me that we have all been blind and deaf adders, and with the venom of adders, too, beneath our tongues--except one or two rude fellows, and my lord king who knew him for a prophet, and the ankret, who tells us we shall all be damned for what we have done, and yourself. there be so many of these wild asses that bray and kick, that when he came we did not distinguish him to be the colt on which our lord came to town--and now, as it was then, _dominus eum necessarium habet_." ["the lord hath need of him" (luke xix. 34.)] "but i know what i wish to be said to him, though i dare not say it myself, or set eyes on him--and that is that i pray him to forgive us, and to speak our names before the lord god when he comes before his majesty." "i will tell him that, my lord," i said softly, for i did not doubt that master richard would speak before he died. after a while longer my lord cardinal asked how he did, and i told him that he had lain very quiet all day without speaking or moving, and then, for i knew what my lord wanted, i bade him in jesu's name to come in and look on him. for a while he would not, and then he came, and knelt down beside the king. master richard was lying now upon his back, with his hands hidden and clasped upon his breast, and his lips were moving a little without sound. i think that he had never had so long and so heavenly a colloquy as he was enjoying then. i do not know whether it were the cardinal's presence that disturbed him, or whether in that secret place where his soul was retired he heard what had been said by us, but he spoke aloud for the first time that day, and this is what he said:-"_et dimitte nobis debita nostra; sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris._" ["and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us."] i saw my lord's face go down upon his hands, and the king's face rise and look at him. and presently my lord went out. * * * * * i cannot tell you, my children, how that day passed, for it was like no day that i have ever spent. it appeared to me that there was no time, but that all stood still. without, the palace was as still as death on the one side--for the king had ordered it so--and on the other there was the noise from the river, little and clear and distinct, of the water washing in the sedges and against the stones, and the cries of the boatmen on the further shore, and the rattle of their oars as they took men across. once, as i stood by the window saying my office, a boat went by with folk talking in it, and i heard enough of what they said to know that they were speaking of master richard, and i heard one telling the tale to another, and saw him point to the windows of the palace. but when they saw me look out they gave over talking. a little after the evening bell master blytchett took the king out to his supper, and i was left alone with master richard, but i knew that there were servants in the passage whom i might call if i needed them. so i sat down by the pillow and looked at him a great while. i will tell you, my children, something of what i thought at this time, for it is at such times when the eyes are washed clean by tears that the soul looks out upon truth and sees it as it is. [i have omitted a great number of sir john's reflections. many of them are too trite even for this work, and others are so much confused that it is useless to transcribe them. sir john seems to have been dearly fond of sermonizing. even these that i have retained and set within brackets can be omitted in reading by those who prefer to supply their own comment.].... * * * * * {i thought of the _ironia_ that marks our lord's dealings. master richard had come to bring tidings of another's passion, and he found his own in the bringing of it. it was as when children play at the hanging of a murderer or a thief, and one is set to play the part of prisoner and another to hang him, and then at the end when all is prepared they turn upon the hangman and bid him prepare himself for whipping and death instead of the other, or maybe both are to be hanged. but our lord is not cruel, like such children, but kind, and i think that he acts so to shew us that life is nothing but a play and a pretence, and that his will must be done, however much we rebel at it. he teaches us, too, that the blows we receive and even death itself are only seeming, though they hurt us at the time, but that we must play in a gallant and merry spirit, and be tender, too, and forgive one another easily, and that he will set all right and allot to each his reward at the end of the playing. and, since it is but a play, we are none of us kings or cardinals or poor men in reality; we are all of us mere children of our father, and upon one is set a crown for a jest, and another is robed in sanguine, and another in a brown kirtle or a white; and at the end the trinkets are all put back again in the press, ready for another day and other children, and we all go to bed as god made us. but you must not think, my children, that our life is a little thing because of this; i only mean that one thing is as little and as great as another, and that maids maying in the country are as much about god's business as kings and cardinals who strive in palaces, and who give to this man a collar of saint spirit, and to that man a collar of hemp. it was for this reason, maybe, that our lord did all things when he was upon earth. he rode upon his colt as a king; he reigned upon the rood; he sat at meat with sinners; he wrought tables and chairs at the carpenter's; he fashioned sparrows, as some relate, out of clay, and made them fly; and he said that not a sparrow falls without his love and intention; and he did all and said all in the same spirit and mind, and at the end he smiled and put on his crown again, and sat down for ever _ad dexteram dei_, that he might let us do the same, and help us by his grace, especially in the sacraments, to be merry and confident. [this is a very puzzling philosophy. it is surely either very profound or very shallow. but it certainly is not cynical. sir john is incapable of such a feeble emotion as that.].... * * * * * this then, too, i thought at that time. it is marvellous how our lord sets his seal upon all that we do, if we will but attend to his working, and not think too highly upon what we do ourselves. he had caused master richard to wear his five wounds until he loved them, and to set his meat, too, in their order, and then he had bidden his servant tell him that he did not need the piece of linen, for that he should bear the wounds upon his body. and this he fulfilled; for, as master blytchett told me, there were neither more nor less than five wounds upon the young man's body, which he had received from the crowd that set on him, besides the bruises and the stripes. he had caused master richard, too, to be haled from judge to judge, as himself was haled; to be deemed master by some, and named fool by others; to be borne in a boat by one who loved him; to be arrayed in a white robe to be judged without justice; to be dumb _sicut ovis ad occisionem ... et quasi agnus coram tondente se_ ["as a sheep to the slaughter ... as a lamb before his shearer" (is. liii. 7.)], with many other points and marks, besides that which fell afterwards, when a rich man, like him of arimathy, cared for his burying, and strewed herbs and bay leaves and myrtle upon his body. there was the matter, too, of the bees that i had seen. [sir john lays great stress upon the bees; i cannot understand why. he says that they betokened great wealth and happiness.].... * * * * * and again there was the matter of the seven days that master richard fulfilled from the time of his setting out from his house, to the time that he entered into his heavenly mansion. seven days are the time of perfection; it was in seven days that god almighty made the world and all that is in it; there were seven years of famine in egypt in which joseph gathered store, and seven years of plenty. [i cannot bring myself to follow sir john through the whole of the old and new testaments.].... and it was in seven days that master richard raynal completed his course, from the sowing of the wheat and wine on corpus xti, to his joyful harvest in heaven....} * * * * * i thought, too, at this time of many other things, such as you may suppose--of master richard's little cell in the country which would never see him again (for i did not know at this time what the king intended of his grace), and of the beasts that awaited him so lamentably, and then of this great room hung all over with royalty whither it had pleased god that his darling should come to die. i looked, too, very often upon master richard as he lay before me, upon his clean pallour, paler than i had ever seen it, and his slender fingers roughened by the spade, and his strong arm, and his smiling lips, and his closed eyes that looked within upon what i was not worthy to see, and i wondered often what it was that he was saying to our lord and the blessed, and what they were saying to him, and i prayed that my name might be mentioned amongst them, lest i should be a castaway after all that i had heard and seen. when it was dark (for i dared not kindle the candles) the king came in again, and as he came in master richard spoke my name, and moved his hand towards me on the coverlet. how master richard went to god _transivimus per ignem et aquam: et eduxisti nos in refrigerium._ we have passed through fire and water: and thou hast brought us out into a refreshment.--_ps. lxv. 12._ xv the king presently kissed master richard's hand and asked his pardon and his prayers, saying that he had known nothing of what went forward during those two days, until the crying of jesus' name by master richard before the cardinal, but blaming his own craven heart, as he called it. and when master richard had spoken awhile, he asked the king to go out, for that he had much to say to me in secret. so the king went out very softly, and set other guards at the doors, and we two sat there a long while. * * * * * i was astonished at master richard's strength and courage, for he had spoken aloud to the king, but when the king was gone out, he spoke in a lower voice, holding my hand. it was very dark, for he would have no lights, and i could see no more of him but a little of his hair, and the pallour of his face beneath it, until the morn came and the end came. * * * * * he told me first of what he had done, and what had been done to him since a week ago, when we had kissed one another at the lych-gate--all as i have told it to you. he talked quietly, as i have said, but he laughed a little now and again, and once or twice his voice trembled with tears as he related our lord's loving-kindness to him. (i have never known any man who loved jesu christ more than this man loved him.) i asked him a few questions, and he answered them, but the effect of all that he said was what i have written down here, and sometimes i have his very words as he spoke them. at last he came to the end of what he had to say, and began to tell me of the _night of the soul_, and here he talked in a very low voice so that i could scarcely hear what he said, and of what he said i did not understand one half, [i am thankful that sir john recognized his own limitations.] for it was full of mysteries such as other contemplative souls alone would recognise--for all contemplatives, as you know, relate the same things to one another which they have seen and heard, and the words that each uses the other understands, but other men do not; for they speak of things that they have seen indeed, but for which there are no proper human words, so that they have to do the best that they can. he told me that the state that i have described to you continued until he came before my lord cardinal, so that although he saw men's faces and heard their words they were no more to him than shadows and whisperings; for since (as it appeared to him) he had lost god by his own fault there was no longer anything by which he might communicate with man. yet all this while there was the conflict of which i have spoken. there was that in him, which we name the will, which continued tense and strong, striving against despair. neither his mind nor his heart could help him in that _night_; his mind informed him that he had sinned deadly by presumption, his heart found nowhere god to love; and all that, though he told himself that god was loveable, and adorable, and that he could not fall into hell save by his own purpose and intention. yet, in spite of all, and when all had failed him, his will strove against despair (which is the antichrist of humility [a curious phrase, and, i think, rather a good one. i suspect it was originally master richard's.]), though he did not recognise until afterwards that he was striving, for he thought himself lost, as i have said. then a little after noon, at the time when i saw his image at the door of his cell, stretching himself as if after labour or sleep, he had his release. now this is the one matter of which he did not tell me fully, nor would he answer when i asked him except by the words, "_secretum meum mihi_." ["my secret is mine."] but this i know, that he saw our lord. and this i know, too, that with that sight his understanding came back to him, and he perceived for himself that charity was all. he perceived, also, that he had been striving, and amiss. he had striven to bear his own sins, and for those few hours our lord had permitted him to bear the weight. he who bears heaven and earth upon his shoulders, and who bore the burden of the sins of the world in the garden and upon the rood, had allowed this sweet soul to feel the weight of his own few little sins for those few hours. when he saw that he made haste to cast them off again upon him who alone can carry them and live, and to cry upon his name; and he understood in that moment, he said, as never before, something of that passion and of the meaning of those five wounds that he had adored so long in ignorance. but what it was that he saw, and how it was that our lord shewed himself, whether on the rood, or as a child with the world in his hands, or as crowned with sharp-thorned roses, or who was with him, if any were; i do not know. it was then that he said "_secretum mihi._" and when master richard had said that, he added "_vere languores nostros ipse tulit; et dolores nostros ipse portavit._" ["surely he hath borne our infirmities, and carried our sorrows" (is. liii. 4.)] * * * * * he lay silent a good while after that, and i did not speak to him. when he spoke again, it was to bring to my mind the masses that were to be said, and then he spoke of the quinte essence, and said that it was to be mine if i wished for it; and all other things of his were to be mine to do as i pleased with them, for he had no kin in the world. and after he had spoken of these things the king came in timidly from the parlour, and stood by the door; i could see the pallour of his face against the hangings. "come in, my lord king," said master richard very faintly. "i have done what was to be done, and there now is nothing but to make an end." the king knelt down at the further side of the bed. "is it the priest you want, master hermit?" he asked. "sir john will read the prayers presently," said master richard. i heard the king swallow in his throat before he spoke again. "and you will remember us all," he said, "before god's majesty, and in particular my poor soul in its passion." "how could i forget that?" asked master richard, and by his voice i knew that he laughed merrily to himself. i asked him whether he would have lights. "no, my father," he said, "there will be light enough." * * * * * it would be an hour later, i should suppose, after master blytchett was come back, when he put out his hand again, and i knew that he wished for the prayers. now there was only starlight, for he would have no candles, and the moon was not yet risen. so i went across to the parlour door, and as i went through i could see that the chamber was full of persons all silent, but it was too dark to see who they were. i asked one for a candle, and presently one was brought, and i saw that my lord cardinal was there, and ... and ... [the names are omitted as usual. this discreet scribe is very tiresome.] and many others. it was such a death-bed as a king might have. so i read the appointed prayers, kneeling on my knees in the doorway, and i was answered by those behind me. when i had done that, i stood up to go back, and my lord cardinal caught me by the sleeve. "for the love of jesu," he said, "ask if we may come in." i went back and leaned over master richard, taking his hand in my own. "my lord and the rest desire to come in, my son," i said. "if they may come, press my hand." he pressed my hand, and i spoke in a low voice, bidding them to come in. so they came in noiselessly, one after another; i could see their faces moving, but no more--my lord cardinal and the great nobles and the grooms and the rest--till the room was half full of them. the door was put to behind them, but i could see the line of light that shewed it, where the candle burned in the parlour beyond; and i could hear the sound of their breathing and the rustle once and again of their feet upon the rushes. then i knelt down, when the others had knelt, and waited for the agony to begin, when i should begin the last commendation. my children, i have prayed by many death-beds, but i have never seen one like this. the curtains were wide, and the windows, behind me, that he might have breath to send out his spirit; and without, as i saw when i turned to kneel, the heavens were bright with stars. this was all the light that was in the room; it was no more than dark twilight, and i could see no more of him than what i saw before, the glimmer of his face upon the pillow and his long hair beside it. his fingers were in mine, but they were very cold by now. but he had said that there would be light enough, and so there was. it may have been half an hour afterwards that the room began to lighten softly, as the sky brightened at moonrise, and i could see a little more plainly. his eyes were closed, and he seemed to be breathing very softly through his lips. then the moon rose, and the light lay upon the floor at my side. then a little after it was upon the fringes of the coverlet, and it crept up moment by moment across the leopards and lilies that were broidered in gold and blue. at last it lay half across the bed, and i could see the king's face very pale and melancholy upon the other side, and master blytchett a little behind him. and presently it reached master richard's hand and my own that lay together, but my arm was so numbed that i could feel nothing in it; i could see only that his fingers were in mine. so the light crept up his arm to the shoulder, and when it reached his face we saw that he was gone to his reward. of his burying _quam dilecta tabernacula tua: domine virtutum._ how lovely are thy tabernacles: o lord of hosts.--_ps. lxxxiii. 1._ xvi it was upon the next day that we took master richard's body down again to the country, and there was such an attendant company as i should not have thought that all london held. the king had ordered a great plenty of tapers and hangings and a herse such as is used.... [the ms. ends abruptly at the foot of the page.] robert coverdaleâ��s struggle by horatio alger, jr. author of â��tom templeâ��s career,â�� â��tom thatcherâ��s fortune,â�� â��tom turnerâ��s legacy,â�� â��the train boy,â�� etc. a. l. burt company, publishers new york robert coverdaleâ��s struggle chapter i a fishermanâ��s cabin â��robert, have you seen anything of your uncle?â�� â��no, aunt.â�� â��i suppose heâ��s over at the tavern as usual,â�� said the woman despondently. â��he drinks up about all he earns, and thereâ��s little enough left for us. i hope you wonâ��t follow in his steps, robert.â�� â��you may be sure i wonâ��t, aunt jane,â�� said the boy, nodding emphatically. â��i wouldnâ��t drink a glass of rum for a hundred dollars.â�� â��god keep you in that resolution, my dear boy! i donâ��t want my sisterâ��s son to go to destruction as my husband is doing.â�� my story opens in a small fishing village on the coast of one of the new england states. robert coverdale, whom i have briefly introduced, is the young hero whose fortunes i propose to record. he is a strong, well-made boy, with a frank, honest face, embrowned by exposure to the sun and wind, with bright and fearless eyes and a manly look. i am afraid his dress would not qualify him to appear to advantage in a drawing-room. he wore a calico shirt and well-patched trousers of great antiquity and stockings and cowhide shoes sadly in need of repairs. some of my well-dressed boy readers, living in cities and large towns, may be disposed to turn up their noses at this ragged boy and wonder at my taste in choosing such a hero. but robert had manly traits, and, in spite of his poor clothes, possessed energy, talent, honesty and a resolute will, and a boy so endowed cannot be considered poor, though he does not own a dollar, which was precisely robertâ��s case. indeed, i may go further and say that never in the course of his life of fifteen years had he been able to boast the ownership of a hundred cents. john trafton, his uncle, was a fisherman. his small house, or cabin, was picturesquely situated on the summit of a cliff, at the foot of which rolled the ocean waves, and commanded a fine sea view. that was perhaps its only recommendation, for it was not only small, but furnished in the plainest and scantiest style. the entire furniture of the house would not have brought twenty-five dollars at auction, yet for twenty-five years it had been the home of john and jane trafton and for twelve years of their nephew, robert. my readers will naturally ask if the fisherman had no children of his own. there was a son who, if living, would be twenty-three years old, but years before he had left home, and whether ben trafton was living or dead, who could tell? nothing had been heard of him for five years. mrs. traftonâ��s affections had only robert for their object, and to her sisterâ��s son she was warmly attached--nearly as much so as if he had been her own son. her husbandâ��s love of drink had gradually alienated her from him, and she leaned upon robert, who was always ready to serve her with boyish devotion and to protect her, if need be, from the threats of her husband, made surly by drink. many days she would have gone to bed supperless but for robert. he would push out to sea in his uncleâ��s boat, catch a supply of fish, selling a part if he could or trade a portion for groceries. indeed he did more for the support of the family than john trafton did himself. â��itâ��s about time for supper, robert,â�� said his aunt; â��but iâ��ve only got a little boiled fish to offer you.â�� â��fish is good for the brains. aunt jane,â�� said robert, smiling. â��well, i suppose itâ��s no use waiting for your uncle. if heâ��s at the tavern, he will stay there until he is full of liquor and then he will reel home. come in and sit down to the table.â�� robert entered the cabin and sat down at a side table. his aunt brought him a plate of boiled fish and a potato. â��i found just one potato in the cupboard, robert,â�� she said. â��then eat it yourself, aunt. donâ��t give it to me.â�� â��no, robert; iâ��ve got a little toast for myself. there was a slice of bread too dry to eat as it was, so i toasted it and soaked it in hot water. that suits me better than the potato.â�� â��havenâ��t you any tea, aunt--for yourself, i mean?â�� robert added quickly. â��i donâ��t care for it, but i know you do.â�� â��i wish i had some. tea always goes to the right spot,â�� said mrs. trafton; â��but i couldnâ��t find a single leaf.â�� â��what a pity!â�� said robert regretfully. â��yes,â�� sighed mrs. trafton; â��we have to do without almost everything. it might be so different if mr. trafton wouldnâ��t drink.â�� â��did he always drink?â�� â��heâ��s drank, more or less, for ten years, but the habit seems to have grown upon him. till five years ago two-thirds of his earnings came to me to spend for the house, but now i donâ��t average a dollar a week.â�� â��itâ��s too bad, aunt jane!â�� said robert energetically. â��so it is, but it does no good to say so. it wonâ��t mend matters.â�� â��i wish i was a man.â�� â��i am glad you are not, robert.â�� â��why are you glad that i am a boy?â�� asked robert in surprise. â��because when you are a man you wonâ��t stay here. you will go out into the world to better yourself, and i shanâ��t blame you. then i shall be left alone with your uncle, and heaven only knows how i shall get along. i shall starve very likely.â�� robert pushed back his chair from the table and looked straight at his aunt. â��do you think, aunt jane,â�� he demanded indignantly, â��that i will desert you and leave you to shift for yourself?â�� â��i said, robert, that i shouldnâ��t blame you if you did. there isnâ��t much to stay here for.â�� â��i am sorry you have such a poor opinion of me, aunt jane,â�� said the boy gravely. â��i am not quite so selfish as all that. i certainly should like to go out into the world, but i wonâ��t go unless i can leave you comfortable.â�� â��i should miss you, robert, i canâ��t tell how much, but i donâ��t want to tie you down here when you can do better. there isnâ��t much for me to live for--iâ��m an old woman already--but better times may be in store for you.â�� â��you are not an old woman, aunt jane. you are not more than fifty.â�� â��i am just fifty, robert, but i feel sometimes as if i were seventy.â�� â��do you know, aunt jane, i sometimes think that brighter days are coming to both of us? sometimes, when i sit out there on the cliff and look out to sea, i almost fancy i can see a ship coming in laden with good things for us.â�� mrs. trafton smiled faintly. â��i have waited a long time for my ship to come in, robert,â�� she said. â��iâ��ve waited year after year, but it hasnâ��t come yet.â�� â��it may come for all that.â�� â��you are young and hopeful. yours may come in some day, but i donâ��t think mine ever will.â�� â��have you anything for me to do, aunt?â�� â��not at present, robert.â�� â��then iâ��ll study a little.â�� there was an unpainted wooden shelf which robert had made himself and on it were half a dozen books--his sole library. from this shelf he took down a tattered arithmetic and a slate and pencil, and, going out of doors, flung himself down on the cliff and opened the arithmetic well toward the end. â��iâ��ll try this sum in cube root,â�� he said to himself. â��i got it wrong the last time i tried.â�� he worked for fifteen minutes and a smile of triumph lit up his face. â��it comes right,â�� he said. â��i think i understand cube root pretty well now. it was a good idea working by myself. when i left school i had only got through fractions. thatâ��s seventy-five pages back and i understand all that i have tried since. i wonâ��t be satisfied till i have gone to the end of the very last page.â�� here his aunt came to the door of the cabin and called â��robert.â�� â��all right, aunt; iâ��m coming.â�� the boy rose to his feet and answered the summons. chapter ii robert and mrs. jones â��are you willing to go to the village for me, robert?â�� asked his aunt. â��to be sure i am, aunt,â�� answered the boy promptly. â��i hope you donâ��t doubt it?â�� â��i thought you might be tired, as you were out all the forenoon in the boat.â�� â��thatâ��s sport, aunt jane. that doesnâ��t tire me.â�� â��it would if you were not very strong for a boy.â�� â��yes, i am pretty strong,â�� said robert complacently, extending his muscular arms. â��i can row the boat when the tide is very strong. what errand have you got for me to the village, aunt?â�� â��i have been doing a little sewing for mrs. jones.â�� â��you mean the landlordâ��s wife?â�� questioned robert. â��yes; i donâ��t feel very friendly toward her husband, for itâ��s he that sells strong drink to my husband and keeps his earnings from me, but i couldnâ��t refuse work from her when she offered it to me.â�� mrs. trafton spoke half apologetically, for it had cost her a pang to work for her enemyâ��s family, but robert took a practical view of the matter. â��her money is as good as anybodyâ��s,â�� he said. â��i donâ��t see why you shouldnâ��t take it. she has enough of our money.â�� â��thatâ��s true, robert,â�� said his aunt, her doubts removed by her young nephewâ��s logic. â��is the bundle ready. aunt jane?â�� â��here it is, robert,â�� and the fishermanâ��s wife handed him a small parcel, wrapped in a fragment of newspaper. â��how much is she to pay for the work?â�� â��i hardly know what to ask. i guess twenty-five cents will be about right.â�� â��very well, aunt jane. any other errands?â�� â��if you get the money, robert, you may stop at the store and buy a quarter of a pound of their cheapest tea. i am afraid itâ��s extravagant in me to buy tea when thereâ��s so little coming in, but it cheers me up when i get low-spirited and helps me to bear what i have to bear.â�� â��of course you must have some tea, aunt jane,â�� said robert quickly. â��nobody can charge you with extravagance. anything more?â�� â��you may stop at the bakerâ��s and buy a loaf of bread. then to-morrow--please god--weâ��ll have a good breakfast.â�� â��all right, aunt!â�� and robert began to walk rapidly toward the village, about a mile inland. poor woman! her idea of a good breakfast was a cup of tea, without milk or sugar, and bread, without butter. it had not always been so, but her husbandâ��s intemperance had changed her ideas and made her accept thankfully what once she would have disdained. it must be said of robert that, though he had the hearty appetite of a growing boy, he never increased his auntâ��s sorrow by complaining of their meager fare, but always preserved a cheerful demeanor in the midst of their privations. i have said that the settlement, which was known as cookâ��s harbor, was a fishing village, but this is not wholly correct. a mile inland was a village of fair size, which included the houses of several summer residents from the city, and these were more or less pretentious. several comfortable houses belonged to sea captains who had retired from active duties and anchored in the village where they first saw the light. the cabins of the fishermen were nearer the sea, and of these there were some twenty, but they were not grouped together. i have said that the main village was a mile away. here was the tavern, the grocery store and the shops of the tailor and shoemaker. here was centered the social life of cookâ��s harbor. here, unfortunately, the steps of john trafton too often tended, for he always brought up at the tavern and seldom came home with a cent in his pocket. robert was no laggard, and it did not take him long to reach the village. just in the center stood the tavern, a rambling building of two stories, with an l, which had been added within a few years. during the summer there were generally boarders from the city, who considered that the invigorating sea air, with its healthful influences, counterbalanced the rather primitive accommodations and homely fare with which they must perforce be content. by hook or crook nahum jones--or nick jones as he was called--had managed to accumulate a snug competence, but much of it was gained by his profit on liquor. he was a thrifty man, whose thrift extended to meanness, and his wife was thoroughly selfish. they had but one child--a daughter--who bade fair to be an old maid. though robert had made no objection to carry the work to the tavern, he didnâ��t enjoy his visit in anticipation. he disliked both mr. and mrs. jones, but felt that this must not interfere with his auntâ��s business. he went round to a side door and knocked. the door was opened by the ell, robert,â�� she said abruptly, â��whatâ��s wanted?â�� â��is your mother at home?â�� â��i suppose she is.â�� â��can i see her?â�� â��i donâ��t know--i guess sheâ��s busy. wonâ��t i do as well?â�� â��i would rather see your mother.â�� upon this selina summoned her mother, not thinking it necessary to invite our hero into the house. â��oh, i see!â�� said mrs. jones as she glanced at the bundle in robertâ��s hand. â��youâ��ve brought back the work i gave your aunt.â�� â��yes, maâ��am.â�� â��let me look at it.â�� she took the bundle, opened it and ran her eye rapidly over it. â��itâ��ll do,â�� she said. â��might have been better done, but itâ��ll answer.â�� she was about to close the door, as if her business with robert was at an end, but this did not suit our hero. â��it will be twenty-five cents,â�� he said in a business-like tone. â��were you afraid i would forget to pay you?â�� asked mrs. jones rather sourly. â��no, maâ��am, but i supposed you would like to know how much it would be.â�� â��very well; now i know.â�� if robert had been easily abashed he would have dropped the matter there and suffered her to take her time about paying, but he knew that his auntâ��s intended purchasing must be made with ready money and he persisted. â��i would like the money now,â�� he said, â��for i am going to the store to buy something.â�� â��it seems to me you are in a great hurry,â�� said mrs. jones unpleasantly. â��so would you be, mrs. jones,â�� said robert bluntly, â��if you were as poor as my aunt.â�� â��folks neednâ��t be poor if they are smart,â�� said the landlordâ��s wife. â��i suppose you know where my uncleâ��s money goes?â�� said robert pointedly. mrs. jones did know, and, though she had not much of a conscience, she felt the thrust and it made her uncomfortable and therefore angry. but it also gave her an idea. â��wait a minute,â�� she said and left robert standing in the doorway. when she returned, which was in a short time, her thin lips were wreathed with satisfaction. â��you can tell your aunt there wonâ��t be any money coming to her,â�� she said. â��why not?â�� demanded robert in great surprise. â��mr. jones tells me that your uncle is indebted to him, and he will credit him with twenty-five cents on account.â�� â��what does my uncle owe him for?â�� demanded the boy with flashing eyes. â��for drink, i suppose,â�� said mrs. jones rather reluctantly. â��for drink!â�� repeated our hero. â��are you not satisfied with taking all my uncleâ��s earnings, but you must get my aunt to work her fingers to the bone and then keep back her money in payment for your rum?â�� â��upon my word, robert coverdale,â�� said mrs. jones sharply, â��you are very impudent! how dare you speak to me in that way?â�� â��how dare you treat my aunt so meanly?â�� retorted robert with righteous indignation. â��i wonâ��t stand your impudence--so there! your aunt neednâ��t expect any more sewing to do,â�� said the angry landlady. â��she wouldnâ��t take any more of your work if that is the way you mean to pay her.â�� â��i wonâ��t stand here talking with you. iâ��ll get mr. jones to give you a horsewhipping--see if i donâ��t!â�� â��heâ��d better not try it,â�� said robert with flashing eyes. the door was slammed in his face, and, angry and disappointed, he walked slowly out of the tavern yard. chapter iii the wind brought good luck john trafton was sitting out on the porch of the tavern when his nephew came out of the side gate. â��thereâ��s your nephew, trafton,â�� said old ben brandon, who, like john trafton, frequented the barroom too much for his good. â��hasnâ��t come here for his dram, has he?â�� added the old man, chuckling. john traftonâ��s curiosity was excited, for he had no idea of any errand that could bring robert to the tavern. a suspicion crossed his mind, the very thought of which kindled his indignation. his wife might have sent to request mr. jones not to sell him any more liquor. he did not think she would dare to do it, but she might. at any rate he determined to find out. he hastily left the porch and followed robert. presently the boy heard his uncle call him and he turned round. â��whatâ��s wanted, uncle?â�� he inquired. â��where have you been, robert?â�� â��i called to see mrs. jones.â�� â��what did you want of mrs. jones?â�� â��it was an errand for aunt jane.â�� â��will you answer my question?â�� said trafton angrily. â��what business has your aunt got with mrs. jones?â�� he still thought that his wife had sent a message to mr. jones through the wife of the latter. â��she had been doing a little sewing for mrs. jones and asked me to carry the work back.â�� â��oh, thatâ��s it, is it?â�� said john trafton, relieved. â��and how much did the work come to?â�� â��twenty-five cents.â�� â��you may give me the money, robert,â�� said the fisherman. â��you might lose it, you know.â�� could robert be blamed for regarding his uncle with contempt? his intention evidently was to appropriate his wifeâ��s scanty earnings to his own use, spending them, of course, for drink. certainly a man must be debased who will stoop to anything so mean, and robert felt deeply ashamed of the man he was forced to call uncle. â��i canâ��t give you the money, uncle,â�� said robert coldly. â��canâ��t, hey? what do you mean by that, i want to know?â�� demanded the fisherman suspiciously. â��my aunt wanted me to buy a little tea and a loaf of bread with the money.â�� â��what if she did? canâ��t i buy them just as well as you? hand over that money, robert coverdale, or it will be the worse for you.â�� â��i have no money to hand you.â�� â��why havenâ��t you? you havenâ��t had a chance to spend it yet. you neednâ��t lie about it or i will give you a flogging!â�� â��i never lie,â�� said robert proudly. â��i told you i havenâ��t got the money and i havenâ��t.â�� â��then what have you done with it--lost it, eh?â�� â��i have done nothing with it. mrs. jones wouldnâ��t pay me.â�� â��and why wouldnâ��t she pay you?â�� â��because she said that you were owing her husband money for drink and she would credit it on your account.â�� as robert said this he looked his uncle full in the eye and his uncle flushed a little with transient shame. â��so aunt must go without her tea and bread,â�� continued robert. john trafton had the grace to be ashamed and said: â��iâ��ll fix this with jones. you can go to the store and get the tea and tell sands to charge it to me.â�� â��he wonâ��t do it,â�� said robert. â��heâ��s refused more than once.â�� â��if he wonâ��t that isnâ��t my fault. iâ��ve done all i could.â�� trafton turned back and resumed his seat on the porch, where he remained till about ten oâ��clock. it was his usual evening resort, for he did not think it necessary to go home until it was time to go to bed. though robert had no money to spend, he kept on his way slowly toward the village store. he felt mortified and angry. â��poor aunt jane!â�� he said to himself. â��itâ��s a shame that she should have to go without her tea. she hasnâ��t much to cheer her up. mrs. jones is about the meanest woman i ever saw, and i hope aunt jane wonâ��t do any more work for her.â�� it occurred to robert to follow his uncleâ��s direction and ask for credit at the store. but he knew very well that there would be little prospect of paying the debt, and, though a boy, he had strict notions on the subject of debt and could not bring his mind, even for his auntâ��s sake, to buy what he could not pay for. when we are sad and discouraged relief often comes in some unexpected form and from an unexpected quarter. so it happened now to our young hero. walking before him was an elderly gentleman who had on his head a panama straw hat with a broad brim. he was a boston merchant who was spending a part of the season at cookâ��s harbor. as his custom was, he was indulging in an evening walk after supper. there was a brisk east wind blowing, which suddenly increased in force, and, being no respecter of persons, whisked off mr. lawrence tudorâ��s expensive panama and whirled it away. mr. tudor looked after his hat in dismay. he was an elderly gentleman, of ample proportions, who was accustomed to walk at a slow, dignified pace and who would have found it physically uncomfortable to run, even if he could be brought to think it comported with his personal dignity. â��bless my soul, how annoying!â�� exclaimed the merchant. he looked about him helplessly, as if to consider what course it would be best to pursue under the circumstances, and as he looked he was relieved to see a boy in energetic pursuit of the lost hat. this boy was robert, who grasped the situation at once, and, being fleet of foot, thought it very good fun to have a race with the wind. he had a good chase, for the wind in this case proved to be no mean competitor, but at last he succeeded and put his hand on the hat, which he carried in triumph to its owner. â��really, my boy, i am exceedingly indebted to you,â�� said mr. tudor, made happy by the recovery of his hat. â��you are quite welcome, sir,â�� said robert politely. â��you had a good run after it,â�� said mr. tudor. â��yes, sir; the wind is very strong.â�� â��i donâ��t know what i should have done without you. i am afraid i couldnâ��t have overtaken it myself.â�� â��i am afraid not,â�� said robert, smiling at the thought of a man of the merchantâ��s figure engaging in a race for a hat. â��i could run when i was a boy like you,â�� said mr. tudor pleasantly, â��but thereâ��s rather too much of me now. do you live in the village?â�� â��out on the cliff, sir. my uncle is a fisherman.â�� â��and do you ever fish?â�� â��sometimes--a little, sir.â�� â��but you donâ��t expect to be a fisherman when you grow up?â�� â��not if i can find anything better.â�� â��a bright-looking lad like you ought to find something better. please accept this.â�� he drew from his vest pocket a two-dollar bill, which he placed in robertâ��s hand. â��what!â�� exclaimed our young hero in astonishment. â��all this for saving your hat? it is quite too much, sir.â�� mr. tudor smiled. â��you will no doubt be surprised,â�� he said, â��when i tell you that my hat cost me fifty dollars. it is a very fine panama.â�� â��fifty dollars!â�� ejaculated robert. he had not supposed it worth two. â��so you see it is worth something to save it, and i should undoubtedly have lost it but for you.â�� â��i am very much obliged to you, sir,â�� said robert. â��i wouldnâ��t accept the money if it were for myself, but it will be very acceptable to my aunt.â�� â��i suppose your uncle does not find fishing very remunerative?â�� â��it isnâ��t that, sir; but he spends nearly all of his money at the tavern, and----â�� â��i understand, my boy. it is a very great pity. i, too, had an uncle who was intemperate, and i can understand your position. what is your name?â�� â��robert coverdale.â�� â��there is my business card. if you ever come to boston, come and see me.â�� robert took the card, from which he learned that his new acquaintance was lawrence tudor. chapter iv robertâ��s purchases when robert parted from mr. tudor he felt as if he had unexpectedly fallen heir to a fortune. two dollars is not a very large sum, but to robert, nurtured amid privation, it assumed large proportions. he began at once to consider what he could do with it, and it is to his credit that he thought rather of his aunt than himself. he would buy a whole pound of tea, he decided, and a pound of sugar to make it more palatable. this would last a considerable time and take less than half his money. as to the disposal of the remainder, he would consider how to expend that. in a long, low building, with brooms, brushes and a variety of nondescript articles displayed in the windows and outside, abner sands kept the village store. it was a dark, gloomy place, crowded with articles for family use. the proprietor enjoyed a monopoly of the village trade, and, in spite of occasional bad debts, did a snug business and was able every year to make an addition to his store of savings in the county savings bank. he was a cautious man, and, by being well acquainted with the circumstances and habits of every man in the village, knew whom to trust and to whom to refuse credit. john trafton belonged to the latter class. mr. sands knew, as everybody else knew, that all his money was invested in liquor and that the chance of paying a bill for articles needful for the household was very small indeed. when, therefore, robert entered the store he took it for granted that he meant to ask credit, and he was all ready for a refusal. â��what do you charge for your tea, mr. sands?â�� the boy asked. â��different prices, according to quality,â�� answered the storekeeper, not thinking it necessary to go into details. â��how much is the cheapest?â�� â��fifty cents a pound.â�� â��do you call it a pretty good article?â�� continued our hero. â��very fair; i use it in my own family,â�� answered abner, looking over his spectacles at his young customer. â��i guess iâ��ll take a pound,â�� said robert with the air of one who had plenty of money. â��a pound?â�� ejaculated abner sands in surprise. â��yes, sir.â�� a pound of tea for one in john traftonâ��s circumstances seemed to mr. sands an extraordinary order. considering that it was probably to be charged, it seemed to the cautious trader an impudent attempt to impose upon him, and he looked sternly at our young hero. â��we donâ��t trust,â�� he said coldly. â��i havenâ��t asked you to trust me, mr. sands,â�� said robert independently. â��you donâ��t mean to say youâ��re ready to pay for it cash down, do you?â�� asked abner, his countenance expressing amazement. â��yes, i do.â�� â��show me the money.â�� â��iâ��ll show you the money when i get my tea,â�� said robert, provoked at mr. sandsâ�� resolute incredulity. â��iâ��ve told you i will pay you before i leave the store. if you donâ��t want to sell your goods, say so!â�� â��come, come! there ainâ��t no use in gettinâ�� angry,â�� said the trader in a conciliatory tone. â��your tradeâ��s as good as anybodyâ��s if youâ��ve got money to pay for the goods.â�� â��iâ��ve already told you i have, mr. sands.â�� â��all right, robert. you shall have the tea.â�� he weighed out the tea and then asked: â��is there anything more?â�� â��yes, sir. how do you sell your sugar?â�� â��brown sugar--eight cents.â�� â��i guess that will do. i will take a pound of brown sugar.â�� â��your folks donâ��t generally buy sugar. i didnâ��t know you used it.â�� â��we are going to use a pound,â�� said robert, who did not fancy the traderâ��s interference. â��well, iâ��d jest as soon sell you a pound as anybody as long as youâ��ve got the money to pay for it.â�� robert said nothing, although this remark was made in an interrogative tone, as if mr. sands still doubted whether our hero would be able to pay for his purchases. there was nothing to do, therefore, but to weigh out the sugar. the two bundles lay on the counter, but mr. sands watched them as a cat watches a mouse, with a vague apprehension that our hero might seize them and carry them off without payment. but robert was better prepared than he supposed. from his vest pocket he drew the two-dollar bill, and, passing it across the counter, he said: â��you may take your pay out of this.â�� abner sands took the bill and stared at it as if some mystery attached to it. he scrutinized it carefully through his spectacles, as if there was a possibility that it might be bad, but it had an unmistakably genuine look. â��it seems to be good,â�� he remarked cautiously. â��of course itâ��s good!â�� said robert. â��you donâ��t take me for a counterfeiter, do you, mr. sands?â�� â��itâ��s a good deal of money for you to have, robert. where did you get it?â�� â��why do you ask that question?â�� asked our hero, provoked. â��i was a leetle surprised at your having so much money--thatâ��s all. did your uncle give it to you?â�� â��i donâ��t see what that is to you, mr. sands. if you donâ��t want to sell your tea and sugar, you can keep them.â�� if there had been another grocery store in the village robert would have gone thither, but it has already been said that abner sands had the monopoly of the village trade. â��youâ��re kind of touchy this eveninâ��, robert,â�� said abner placidly, for he was so given to interesting himself in the affairs of his neighbors that he did not realize that his curiosity was displayed in an impertinent manner. â��of course i want to sell all i can. youâ��ve got considerable money cominâ�� back to you. donâ��t you want to buy something else?â�� â��i guess not to-night.â�� â��as long as youâ��ve got the cash to pay, iâ��m perfectly ready to sell you goods. lemme see. fifty-eight from two dollars leaves a dollarâ��n thirty-two cents.â�� â��forty-two,â�� corrected robert. â��i declare, so it does! you are a good hand at subtraction.â�� robert felt that he could not truthfully return the compliment and prudently remained silent. â��there is your money,â�� continued the trader, putting in robertâ��s hand a dollar bill and forty-two cents in change. â��your uncle must have been quite lucky.â�� he looked questioningly at our hero, but robert did not choose to gratify his curiosity. â��is it so very lucky to make two dollars?â�� he asked, and with these words he left the store. â��thatâ��s a curâ��us boy!â�� soliloquized mr. sands, looking after him. â��i canâ��t get nothinâ�� out of him. looks as if john trafton must have turned over a new leaf to give him so much money to buy groceries. i hope he has. itâ��s better that i should get his money than the tavern keeper.â�� mr. sands did not have to wait long before his curiosity was partially gratified, for the very man of whom he was thinking just then entered the store. â��has my nephew been here?â�� he inquired. â��just went out.â�� â��i thought you might be willing to let him have what little he wanted on credit. iâ��ll see that itâ��s paid for.â�� â��why, he paid for the goods himself--fifty-eight cents.â�� _â��what!â��_ exclaimed the fisherman, astonished. â��he bought a pound of tea, at fifty cents, and a pound of sugar, at eight cents, and paid for â��em.â�� â��whereâ��d he get the money?â�� asked trafton. â��i am sure i donâ��t know. i supposed you gave it to him. heâ��s got more left. he paid for the articles with a two-dollar bill and heâ��s got a dollar and forty-two cents left!â�� â��the young hypocrite!â�� ejaculated john trafton indignantly. â��all the while he had this money he was worryinâ�� me for a quarter to buy some tea and a loaf of bread.â�� â��looks rather mysterious--doesnâ��t it?â�� said the grocer. â��mr. sands,â�� said the fisherman, â��iâ��ve took care of that boy ever since he was three year old, and thatâ��s the way he treats me. heâ��s a young viper!â�� â��jes so!â�� said mr. sands, who was a politic man and seldom contradicted his neighbors. â��the rest of that money belongs to me by rights,â�� continued the fisherman, â��and heâ��s got to give it to me. how much did you say it was?â�� â��a dollar and forty-two cents, john; but, seems to me, youâ��d better let him keep it to buy groceries with.â�� â��i must have the money!â�� muttered trafton, not heeding this advice, which was good, though selfish. â��i guess iâ��ll go home and make the boy give it to me!â�� and he staggered out of the store, and, as well as he could, steered for home. chapter v â��give me that moneyâ�� from the village store robert went to the bakerâ��s and bought a loaf of bread for six cents, making his entire expenditures sixty-four cents. he was now ready to go home. he walked rapidly and soon reached the humble cabin, where he found his aunt waiting for him. she looked with surprise at the three bundles he brought in and asked: â��what have you got there, robert?â�� â��first of all, here is a pound of tea,â�� said the boy, laying it down on the kitchen table. â��here is a pound of sugar and here is a loaf of bread.â�� â��but i didnâ��t order all those, robert,â�� said his aunt. â��i know you didnâ��t,â�� answered her nephew, â��but i thought youâ��d be able to make use of them.â�� â��no doubt i shall, but surely you did not buy them all for twenty-five cents?â�� â��i should say not. why, the tea alone cost fifty cents! then the sugar came to eight cents and the loaf cost six cents.â�� â��mrs. jones didnâ��t pay you enough to buy all those, did she?â�� â��mrs. jones is about as mean a woman as you can find anywhere,â�� robert said warmly. â��she didnâ��t pay me a cent.â�� â��why? didnâ��t she like the work?â�� â��she said uncle owed her husband money for drink and the work would part pay up the debt.â�� but for the presence of the groceries, this would have had a discouraging effect upon mrs. trafton, but her mind was diverted by her curiosity, and she said apprehensively: â��i hope you didnâ��t buy on credit, robert? i never can pay so much money!â�� â��mr. sands isnâ��t the man to sell on credit. aunt jane. no, i paid cash. and the best of it is,â�� continued our hero, â��i have some money left.â�� here he produced and spread on the table before his auntâ��s astonished eyes the balance of the money. mrs. trafton was startled. the possession of so much money seemed to her incomprehensible. â��i hope you came by the money honestly, robert?â�� â��what have i ever done, aunt jane, that you should think me a thief?â�� asked robert, half amused, half annoyed. â��nothing, my dear boy; but i canâ��t understand how you came to have so much money.â�� â��i see i must explain, aunt. a strong wind blew it to me.â�� â��then somebody must have lost it. you shouldnâ��t have spent it till you had tried to find the owner.â�� â��iâ��ll explain to you.â�� and he told her the story of the lost hat and the liberal reward he obtained for chasing and recovering it. â��think of a straw hat costing fifty dollars, aunt!â�� he said wonderingly. â��it does seem strange, but i am glad it was worth so much or you wouldnâ��t have been so well paid.â�� â��this mr. tudor is a gentleman, aunt. why, plenty of people would have given me only ten cents. i would have thought myself well paid if he had even given me that, but i couldnâ��t have brought you home so much tea. aunt jane, do me a favor.â�� â��what is it, robert?â�� â��make yourself a good strong cup of tea to-night. youâ��ll feel ever so much better, and thereâ��s plenty of it. a pound will last a long time, wonâ��t it?â�� â��oh, yes, a good while. i shall get a good deal of comfort out of that tea. but i donâ��t know about making any to-night. if you would like some----â�� â��if youâ��ll make some, iâ��ll drink a little, aunt jane.â�� robert said this because he feared otherwise his aunt would not make any till the next morning. â��very well, robert.â�� â��donâ��t let uncle know iâ��ve brought so much money home,â�� said robert with a sudden thought. â��why not?â�� â��because i donâ��t want him to know i have any money. if he knew, he would want me to give it to him.â�� â��i donâ��t think he would claim it. it was given to you.â�� â��iâ��ll tell you why i am sure he would.â�� and robert told how his uncle demanded the scanty pittance which he supposed mrs. jones had paid for the sewing. mrs. trafton blushed with shame for her husbandâ��s meanness. â��drink changes a manâ��s nature completely,â�� she said. â��the time was when john would have scorned such a thing.â�� â��that time has gone by, aunt. for fear he will find out that i have the money, i believe i will go and hide it somewhere.â�� â��shall i take care of it for you, robert?â�� asked mrs. trafton. â��no, aunt jane; he would find it out, and i donâ��t want to get you into any trouble. i know of a good place to put it--a place where he will never find it. i will put it there till we need to use it.â�� â��you must buy something for yourself with it. the money is yours.â�� robert shook his head decidedly. â��i donâ��t need anything--that is, i donâ��t need anything but what i can do without. we will keep it to buy bread and tea and anything else that we need. now, aunt, while you are steeping the tea, i will go out and dispose of the money.â�� here it is necessary to explain that though john trafton started for home when he heard from mr. sands about robertâ��s unexpected wealth, he changed his mind as he passed the tavern. he thought he must have one more drink. he entered and preferred his request. â��trafton,â�� said the landlord, â��donâ��t you think youâ��ve had enough?â�� â��not quite. i want one more glass and then iâ��ll go home.â�� â��but you are owing me several dollars. clear off that score and then you may have as much as you will.â�� â��iâ��ll pay you a dollar on account to-morrow.â�� â��do you mean it?â�� â��yes. bobâ��s got some money of mine--over a dollar. iâ��ll get it to-night and bring it round to-morrow.â�� â��of course, trafton, if youâ��ll keep your credit good, i wonâ��t mind trusting you. well, what shall it be?â�� john trafton gave his order and sat down again in the barroom. he felt so comfortable that he easily persuaded himself that there was no hurry about collecting the money in his nephewâ��s hands. robert was at home by this time and would have no way of spending the balance of his cash. â��itâ��s all right,â�� said the fisherman; â��iâ��ll wait till ten oâ��clock and then iâ��ll go home.â�� meanwhile robert went out on the cliff and looked about him. he looked down upon the waves as they rolled in on the beach and he enjoyed the sight, familiar as it was, for he had a love of the grand and beautiful in nature. â��i think if i were a rich man,â�� thought the poor fishermanâ��s boy, â��i would like to build a fine house on the cliff, with an observatory right here, where i could always see the ocean. itâ��s something to live here, if i do have to live in a poor cabin. but i must consider where i will hide my money.â�� at his feet was a small tin box, which had been thrown away by somebody, and it struck robert that this would make a good depository for his money. fortunately the cover of the box was attached to it. he took the money from his vest pocket and dropped it into the box. then he covered it, and, finding a good place, he scooped out the dirt and carefully deposited the box in the hole. he carefully covered it up, replacing the dirt, and took particular notice of the spot, so that there would be no difficulty in finding it again whenever he had occasion. having attended to this duty, he retraced his steps to the cabin and found that the tea had been steeped and the table was covered with a neat cloth and two cups and saucers were set upon it. â��teaâ��s all ready, robert,â�� said his aunt cheerfully. â��the smell of it does me good. itâ��s better than all the liquor in the world!â�� robert did not like tea as well as his aunt, but still he relished the warm drink, for the night was cool, and more than ever he rejoiced to see how much his aunt enjoyed what had latterly been rather a rare luxury. about nine oâ��clock robert went to bed and very soon fell asleep. he had not been asleep long before he was conscious of being rudely shaken. opening his eyes, he saw his uncle with inflamed face and thickened utterance. â��whatâ��s wanted, uncle?â�� he asked. â��whereâ��s that money, you young rascal? give me the dollar and forty-two cents youâ��re hiding from me!â�� chapter vi man against boy as robert, scarcely awake, looked into the threatening face of his uncle he felt that the crisis had come and that all his firmness and manliness were demanded. our hero was not disposed to rebel against just authority. he recognized that his uncle, poor as his guardianship was, had some claim to his obedience. in any ordinary matter he would have unhesitatingly obeyed him. but, in the present instance, he felt that his auntâ��s comfort depended, in a measure, upon his retention of the small amount of money which he was fortunate enough to possess. of course he had thought of all this before he went to sleep, and he had decided, in case his uncle heard of his good luck, to keep the money at all hazards. for a minute he remained silent, meeting calmly the angry and impatient glance of his uncle. â��give me that money, i tell you!â�� demanded the fisherman with thickened utterance. â��i havenâ��t got any money of yours, uncle john,â�� said robert, now forced to say something. â��you lie, boy! youâ��ve got a dollar and forty-two cents.â�� â��i havenâ��t got as much as that, but i have nearly as much.â�� â��have you been spending any more money?â�� â��i bought a loaf of bread for six cents.â�� â��then youâ��ve got a dollar and thirty-six cents left.â�� â��yes, i have.â�� â��give it to me!â�� â��you want to spend it for rum, i suppose, uncle.â�� â��curse your impudence! what difference does it make to you what i do with it?â�� robert rose to a sitting posture, and, carried away by just indignation, he said: â��i mean to keep that money and spend it for my aunt. there ought to be no need of it. you ought to support her yourself and supply her with all she needs; but, instead of that, you selfishly spend all your money on drink and leave her to get along the best way she can!â�� â��you young rascal!â�� exclaimed his uncle, half ashamed and wholly angry. â��is that the way you repay me for keeping you out of the poorhouse?â�� â��i can support myself, uncle john, and for the last two years iâ��ve done it and helped aunt jane besides. there isnâ��t any danger of my going to the poorhouse. i would leave cookâ��s harbor to-morrow if i thought aunt jane were sure of a comfortable support, but i am afraid you would let her starve.â�� robert had never spoken so plainly before and his uncle was almost struck dumb by the boyâ��s bold words. he knew they were deserved, but he was angry nevertheless and he was as firm as ever in his determination to have the money. â��boy,â�� he said, â��you are too young to lecture a grown man like me. i know whatâ��s best to do. where did you get the money?â�� he demanded with sudden curiosity. â��did you find it in any of my pockets?â�� â��there wouldnâ��t be much use in searching your pockets for money. you never leave any behind.â�� â��where did you get it then?â�� â��mr. tudor, who boards at the hotel, gave it to me.â�� â��thatâ��s a likely story.â�� â��he gave it to me because i ran after his hat, which was blown off by the wind, and brought it back to him. it was a very expensive hat, so he said.â�� â��i know; it is a panama hat.â�� â��thatâ��s what he called it.â�� â��did you have that money when i saw you coming out of the tavern yard?â�� â��no.â�� â��when you got it, why didnâ��t you come and bring it to me?â�� â��because it was my own money. you had no right to claim it,â�� said robert firmly. â��he is right, john,â�� said mrs. trafton, who had listened uneasily to the conversation, but had not yet seen an opportunity to put in a word in robertâ��s favor. â��shut up, old woman!â�� said the fisherman roughly. â��well,â�� said he, turning to robert, â��iâ��ve heard what youâ��ve got to say and it donâ��t make a bit of difference. i must have the money.â�� â��i refuse to give it to you,â�� robert said, pale but firm. â��then,â�� said john trafton with a curse, â��iâ��ll take it.â�� he snatched robertâ��s pants from the chair on which they were lying and thrust his hand into one pocket after the other, but he found nothing. he next searched the vest in the same manner, but the search was equally unavailing. â��you neednâ��t search, for i havenâ��t got the money,â�� said robert. â��then where is it?â�� â��it is safe.â�� â��did he give it to you, jane?â�� demanded the fisherman, turning to his wife. â��no.â�� â��do you know where it is?â�� â��no.â�� â��boy, where is that money?â�� demanded trafton, his face flushed. â��go and get it directly!â�� â��i canâ��t. it isnâ��t in the house.â�� â��where is it then?â�� â��i hid it.â�� â��where did you hide it?â�� â��i dug a hole and put it in.â�� â��what made you do that?â�� â��because i was afraid you would get hold of it.â�� â��you were right enough there,â�� said john trafton grimly, â��for i will get hold of it. get right up and find it and bring it to me.â�� here mrs. trafton again interposed. â��how can you ask such a thing, john?â�� she said. â��the night is as dark as a pocket. how do you expect robert is going to find the money in the dark?â�� though john trafton was a good deal under the influence of liquor, he was not wholly deaf to reason and he saw the force of his wifeâ��s remark. in fact, he had himself found sorry trouble in getting home from the tavern, familiar as the path was to him, on account of the intense darkness. â��well, i guess itâ��ll do to-morrow morning,â�� he said. â��i must have it then, for iâ��ve promised to pay jones a dollar on account. i said i would, and iâ��ve got to keep my promise. do you hear that, you young rascal?â�� â��yes, i hear it.â�� â��then mind you donâ��t forget it. thatâ��s all iâ��ve got to say.â�� and the fisherman staggered into the adjoining room, and, without taking the trouble of removing his garments, threw himself on the bed and in five minutes was breathing loud in a drunken stupor. mrs. trafton did not immediately go to bed. she was troubled in mind, for she foresaw that there was only a truce and not a cessation of hostilities. in the morning her husband would renew his demand upon robert, and, should the latter continue to refuse to comply, she was afraid there would be violence. when her husbandâ��s heavy breathing showed that he was insensible to anything that was said, she began. â��i donâ��t know but youâ��d better give up that money to your uncle,â�� she said. â��how can you advise me to do that, aunt?â�� asked robert in surprise. â��because iâ��m afraid youâ��ll make him angry if you refuse.â�� â��i canâ��t help it if he is angry,â�� answered robert. â��he has no right to be. donâ��t you know what he said--that he wanted to pay a dollar to the tavern keeper?â�� â��yes.â�� â��mr. jones shall never get a cent of that money,â�� said robert firmly. â��but, robert,â�� said his aunt nervously, â��your uncle may beat you.â�� â��then iâ��ll keep my distance from him.â�� â��i would rather he would have the money than that you should get hurt, robert.â�� â��aunt jane, i am going to take the risk of that. though he is my uncle and your husband, thereâ��s one thing i canâ��t help saying: it is a contemptibly mean thing not only to use all his own earnings for drink, but to try to get hold of what little i get for the same purpose.â�� â��i donâ��t deny it, robert. i donâ��t pretend to defend my husband. once he was different, but drink has changed his whole nature. i never had any reason to complain before he took to drink.â�� â��no doubt of it, aunt, but that donâ��t alter present circumstances. i have no respect for my uncle when he acts as he has to-night. come what may, thereâ��s one thing i am determined upon--he shanâ��t have the money.â�� â��youâ��ll be prudent, robert, for my sake?â�� entreated mrs. trafton. â��yes, iâ��ll be prudent. to-morrow morning i will get up early and be out of the way till after uncle is gone. there is no chance of his getting up early and going a-fishing.â�� the deep and noisy breathing made it probable that the fisherman would awaken at a late hour, as both robert and his aunt knew. she was reassured by his promise and prepared to go to bed. soon all three inmates of the little cabin were sleeping soundly. chapter vii the next morning robert rose at six the next morning and half an hour later took his breakfast. it consisted of fish, bread and a cup of tea, and though most of my young readers might not be satisfied with it--especially as there was no butter--robert thought himself lucky to be so well provided for. when his breakfast was finished he rose from the table. â��now iâ��m off, aunt jane,â�� he said. â��where are you going, robert?â�� â��iâ��ll earn some money if i can. weâ��ve got a little, but it wonâ��t last long.â�� â��it wonâ��t be very easy to find work, i am afraid.â�� â��i shall be ready for anything that turns up, aunt. something turned up yesterday when i didnâ��t expect it.â�� â��thatâ��s true.â�� just then the fisherman was heard to stir in the adjoining room, and robert, not wishing to be near when he awakened, hastily left the cabin to avoid a repetition of the scene of the previous night. mrs. trafton breathed a sigh of relief when her nephew was fairly out of the way. about an hour later her husband rose and without needing to dress--for he had thrown himself on the bed in his ordinary clothes--walked into the room where his wife was at work. â��whereâ��s robert?â�� he asked. â��he had his breakfast and went out.â�� â��how long ago?â�� â��about an hour ago.â�� john trafton scowled with disappointment. â��is he round about home?â�� â��i donâ��t think he is.â�� â��did he say where he was going?â�� â��he said he would try to find a job.â�� â��why didnâ��t you keep him? didnâ��t you know i wanted to see him?â�� â��you didnâ��t ask me to keep him,â�� said mrs. trafton nervously. â��i see how it is,â�� said the fisherman; â��youâ��re in league with him.â�� â��what do you mean by that, john?â�� â��you know well enough what i mean. you donâ��t want him to give me that money.â�� mrs. trafton plucked up courage enough to say: â��you ought not to ask for it, john.â�� â��why shouldnâ��t i ask for it?â�� he demanded, pounding forcibly on the table. â��because he means to spend it for things we need and you want it to spend at the tavern.â�� â��there you are again--always twitting me because, after exposing myself to storm and the dangers of the sea, i take a little something to warm me up and make me comfortable.â�� to hear john traftonâ��s tone one might think him a grievously injured man. â��for two years, john trafton, you have spent three-fourths of your earnings at the tavern,â�� said his wife quietly. â��you have left me to suffer want and privation that you might indulge your appetite for drink.â�� â��you seem to be alive still,â�� he said with an ugly sneer. â��you donâ��t seem to have starved.â�� â��i might have done so but for robert. he has brought me fish and bought groceries with what little money he could earn in various ways.â�� â��oh, itâ��s robert always!â�� sneered trafton. â��he is an angel, is he? heâ��s only done his duty. havenâ��t i given him the shelter of my roof?â�� â��you havenâ��t given him much else,â�� retorted his wife. â��iâ��ve heard enough of that; now shut up,â�� said the fisherman roughly. â��what have you got for breakfast?â�� mrs. trafton pointed to the table, on which, while her husband had been speaking, she had placed his breakfast. â��humph!â�� said he discontentedly, â��thatâ��s a pretty poor breakfast!â�� â��it is the best i can give you,â�� said his wife coldly. â��i donâ��t care for tea. iâ��d as soon drink slops.â�� â��what do you prefer?â�� â��i prefer coffee.â�� â��i have none in the house. if you will bring me home some from the store, i will make you a cup every morning, but i donâ��t think you would like it without milk.â�� â��do you think i am made of money? how do you expect me to buy coffee?â�� â��with the money you would otherwise spend for drink.â�� â��stop that, will you?â�� said trafton angrily. â��iâ��m tired of it.â�� a moment later he said in a milder tone: â��when i get that money of robertâ��s i will buy a pound of coffee.â�� mrs. trafton said nothing. â��do you know where he has hidden it?â�� asked her husband after drinking a cup of the tea which he had so decried. â��no.â�� â��didnâ��t he tell you where he was going to put it?â�� â��no.â�� â��you are sure he didnâ��t give it to you to keep?â�� â��i am very glad he didnâ��t.â�� â��why are you glad?â�� â��because you would have teased me till you got it.â�� â��and iâ��ll have it yet, mrs. trafton--do you hear that?â�� said the fisherman fiercely. â��yes, i hear you.â�� â��you may as well make up your mind that i am in earnest. what! am i to be defied by a weak woman and a half-grown boy? you donâ��t know me, mrs. t.â�� â��i do know you only too well, mr. trafton. it was an unlucky day when i married you.â�� â��humph! there may be two sides to that story. well, iâ��m going.â�� â��where are you going? shall you go out in the boat this morning?â�� â��oh, you expect me to spend all my time working for my support, do you? no, i am not going out in the boat. i am going to the village.â�� â��to the tavern, i suppose?â�� â��and suppose i am going to the tavern,â�� repeated the fisherman in a defiant tone, â��have you got anything to say against it?â�� â��i have a great deal to say, but it wonâ��t do any good.â�� â��thatâ��s where you are right.â�� john trafton left the cabin, but he did not immediately take the road to the village. first of all he thought he would look round a little and see if he could not discover the hiding place of the little sum which his nephew had concealed. he walked about the cabin in various directions, examining carefully to see if anywhere the ground had been disturbed. in one or two places he thought he detected signs of disturbance, and, bending over, scooped up the loose dirt, but, fortunately for our hero, he was on a false scent and discovered nothing. he was not a very patient man, and the fresh disappointment--for his hopes had been raised in each case--made him still more angry. â��the young rascal!â�� he muttered. â��he deserves to be flogged for giving me so much trouble.â�� from the window of the cabin mrs. trafton saw what her husband was about and she was very much afraid he would succeed. she could not help--painful as it was--regarding with contempt a man who would stoop to such pitiful means to obtain money to gratify his diseased appetite. â��if i thought my wife knew where this money is iâ��d have it out of her,â�� muttered the fisherman with a dark look at the cabin, â��but likely the boy didnâ��t tell her. iâ��ll have to have some dealings with him shortly. he shall learn that he cannot defy me.â�� john trafton, giving up the search, took his way to the village, and, as a matter of course, started directly for the tavern. he entered the barroom and called for a drink. mr. jones did not show his usual alacrity in waiting upon him. â��trafton,â�� said he, â��where is that dollar you promised to pay me this morning?â�� â��havenâ��t got it,â�� answered the fisherman, rather embarrassed. â��iâ��ll bring it to-morrow morning.â�� â��then to-morrow morning you may call for a drink.â�� â��you ainâ��t going back on me, mr. jones?â�� asked john trafton in alarm. â��you are going back on me, as i look at it. you promised to bring me a dollar and you havenâ��t done it.â�� â��iâ��ll tell you how it is, mr. jones. my nephew, robert, has the money, but he was gone when i woke up this morning. i shall see him to-night and give you the money.â�� â��you neednâ��t wait till then. i saw robert pass here only half an hour ago. heâ��s somewhere in the village. find him and get the money and then iâ��ll talk with you.â�� there was no appeal from this decision and trafton, angry and sullen, left the tavern to look for robert. chapter viii robert becomes a prisoner one of the most tasteful houses in cookâ��s harbor was occupied in summer by the family of theodore irving, a boston lawyer, who liked to have his wife and children in the country, though his business required him to spend a part of the hot season in the city. the oldest son, herbert, was about a year younger than robert, a lively boy, fond of manly sports and thoroughly democratic in his tastes. he had scraped acquaintance with our hero, making the first advances, for robert was not disposed to intrude his company where he was not sure it would be acceptable. when robert came to the village to avoid meeting his uncle, in passing by the house of mr. irving he attracted the attention of herbert, who was sitting on the edge of the piazza. with him was another boy of about his own age, a cousin named george randolph. he had come to cookâ��s harbor to spend a fortnight with his cousin, but the latter soon found that george was very hard to entertain. he was seldom willing to engage in any amusement selected by his cousin, but always had some plan of his own to propose. moreover, he was proud of his social position and always looked down upon boys whose dress indicated a humbler rank than his own. the two cousins were sitting on the piazza doing nothing. herbert had proposed croquet, but george pronounced it too warm. he also declined ball for a similar reason. â��it seems to me you are very much afraid of the sun,â�� said herbert. â��i donâ��t care to get tanned up. it looks vulgar,â�� said george. â��i like to have a good time, even if i do get browned up,â�� said his cousin. â��then i donâ��t agree with you,â�� said george in a superior tone. just then robert was seen approaching. â��thereâ��s a boy that will play with me,â�� said herbert, brightening up. â��what boy?â�� â��there--the one that is just coming along.â�� â��that boy? why, he isnâ��t dressed as well as our coachmanâ��s son!â�� â��i canâ��t help that; heâ��s a nice fellow. bob, come here; i want you.â�� â��you surely are not going to invite that common boy into the yard?â�� protested george hastily. â��why not? he has been here more than once.â�� by this time robert had reached the gate. herbert jumped up and ran to open it. â��i am glad to see you, robert,â�� said herbert cordially. â��are you in a hurry?â�� â��no, herbert.â�� â��then come in and have a game of croquet.â�� â��all right, but youâ��ll easily beat me.â�� â��never mind; youâ��ll learn fast. bob, this is my cousin, george randolph. george, this is my friend, robert coverdale.â�� george made the slightest possible inclination of the head and did not stir from where he was sitting. â��he doesnâ��t look very social,â�� thought robert, greeting his friendâ��s visitor politely. â��here, bob, select a mallet and ball. shall i start first?â�� â��if you please. wonâ��t your cousin play?â�� â��iâ��m very much obliged, iâ��m sure, for the invitation,â�� said george, â��but iâ��d rather not.â�� â��george is afraid of being tanned by exposure to the sun,â�� explained herbert. â��i hope you are not.â�� â��i donâ��t think the sun will make me any browner than i am already,â�� said robert, laughing. â��i agree with you,â�� said george in a sneering tone. robert looked at him quickly, struck by his tone, and decided that he had no particular desire to become any better acquainted. the game of croquet proceeded and herbert was an easy victor. â��i told you i should be beaten, herbert,â�� said robert. â��of course; i am much more used to the game than you. i will give you odds of half the game. you shall start from the other stake on the return course and i will try to overtake you.â�� he came near succeeding, but robert beat him by two wickets. after three games herbert proposed ball, and robert, who felt more at home in this game, agreed to it. â��youâ��d better join us, george,â�� said his cousin. â��no, i thank you. i have no inclination, i assure you.â�� â��i donâ��t see what fun there can be in sitting on the piazza.â�� â��you forget that i have an opportunity of witnessing your friendâ��s superior playing.â�� his tone made it clear to robert that this was a sneer, but he had too much self-respect and too much regard for herbert to take offense at it. â��you mean my awkwardness,â�� he said. â��you are quite welcome to the amusement it must afford you.â�� george arched his brows in surprise. â��really this ragged boy is talking to me as if he considered me his equal,â�� he thought. â��it is herbertâ��s fault. he should not treat him so familiarly. i really donâ��t care to be in such company.â�� â��you must excuse me, herbert,â�� said george, rising with suitable dignity. â��as you are provided with company, you can spare me. i will go into the house and read for a while.â�� â��very well, george.â�� â��i hope i havenâ��t driven your cousin away, herbert,â�� said robert. â��i donâ��t care whether you have or not, bob,â�� said herbert, â��iâ��m awfully disappointed in him. papa invited him to visit us, thinking he would be company for me, but, instead of that, he objects to everything i propose. i find it very hard to entertain him.â�� â��he doesnâ��t appear to fancy me,â�� said robert. â��donâ��t mind him, bob. heâ��s a mean, stuck-up fellow, if he is my cousin.â�� â��perhaps he is not to blame. i am only a poor boy, belonging to a fishermanâ��s family. i am afraid i am not a suitable associate for you or him,â�� said robert with proud humility. â��no more of that talk, bob,â�� said herbert. â��youâ��re suitable for me, anyhow, and i like you twice as much as my cousin. i donâ��t care how you are dressed, as long as you are a good fellow.â�� â��at any rate, you are a good fellow, herbert,â�� said robert warmly. â��i liked you the very first day i saw you.â�� â��and i can say the same for you. bob. well, never mind about george. leave him to his book. weâ��ll amuse ourselves better.â�� as robert was playing he caught sight of his uncle on his way to the tavern. he knew, therefore, that he could return home without danger of annoyance, and he excused himself to herbert. as it was doubtful whether he could get anything to do in the village and as the boat would not be in use, he concluded to go out and see if he could not catch a few fish for his auntâ��s dinner. â��well, come and play with me again very soon, bob,â�� said his friend. â��i will, herbert. thank you for inviting me.â�� â��oh, i do that on my own account! i like your company.â�� â��thank you!â�� robert went home and spent a short time with his aunt before setting out on his fishing trip. he only meant to go out a short distance and there was plenty of time before noon. he was just getting out the boat when, to his dismay, he heard a familiar but unwelcome voice hailing him. â��where are you going?â�� â��i am going a-fishing. i thought you were not going to use the boat.â�� â��well, i am,â�� said the fisherman shortly. â��are you ready to give me that money?â�� â��no, uncle,â�� said robert firmly. â��i have a right to it.â�� â��you donâ��t need it and aunt does,â�� answered our hero. â��well, never mind about that now. you can go out with me.â�� considerably surprised at getting off so easily, robert jumped into the boat with his uncle and they pushed off. â��pull for egg island,â�� said john trafton. egg island, so called from its oval shape, was situated about three miles from the cliff on which the fishermanâ��s cabin stood and probably did not comprise more than an acre of surface. it was rocky, partly covered with bushes and quite unoccupied. robert was puzzled, but did not venture to ask his uncle why they were going to this island. in due time they reached the rocky isle and the boat was rounded to shore. â��you may jump out and get me a good-sized stick,â�� said the fisherman. robert obeyed, though he feared the stick was to be used on his back. he had scarcely scrambled up the bank than he heard the sound of oars, and, looking back hastily, he saw his uncle pushing off from the island. â��iâ��m going to leave you here, you young rascal, till you agree to give me that money,â�� said john trafton triumphantly. â��iâ��ll let you know that i wonâ��t be defied by a boy.â�� already the boat was several rods distant. robert sat down on a rocky ledge and tried to realize his position. he was a prisoner on egg island and there he must stay till his uncle chose to release him. chapter ix alone on an island of course our heroâ��s position was not to be compared with that of one left on a lonely island in the pacific, but it was not agreeable. he was only three miles from the mainland, but there was no chance to cross this brief distance. he had no boat, and though he could swim a little, he would inevitably have been drowned had he undertaken to swim to shore. robert had read â��robinson crusoe,â�� and he naturally thought of that famous mariner on finding himself in a similar position. he had never been on egg island before and he knew it only as he had seen it from the mainland or from a boat. â��thatâ��s a mean trick of uncle john,â�� said robert to himself. â��if i had suspected what he was after i wouldnâ��t have got out of the boat.â�� just then he saw the boat turn, the fisherman pulling for the island. robert felt relieved. he was not to be left on the island after all. he sat still and waited for the boat to approach. â��well, how do you like it?â�� asked trafton when he was within a few rods. â��not very well,â�� answered our hero. â��you wouldnâ��t care to stay here, i suppose?â�� â��no.â�� â��i will take you back into the boat if you will promise to give me that money.â�� it was a tempting proposal, and robert was half inclined to yield. but, he reflected, his uncle had no claim to the money, and, if he secured it, would spend it for drink, while his aunt would lose the benefit of it. he summoned all his courage and answered: â��you have no right to the money, uncle. i canâ��t give it to you.â�� â��if you donâ��t, i will row away and leave you.â�� â��then you will be doing a very mean thing,â�� said robert with spirit. â��thatâ��s my lookout. just understand that i am in earnest. now, what do you say?â�� â��i say no,â�� answered our hero firmly. â��then you may take the consequences,â�� said his uncle, with a muttered curse, as he turned the head of the boat and rowed rapidly away. robert watched the receding boat, and for an instant he regretted his determination. but it was only for an instant. â��i have done what i thought to be right,â�� he said, â��and i donâ��t believe i shall have cause to repent it. i must see what is best to be done.â�� he got up and set about exploring his small island kingdom. it was very rocky, the only vegetation being some scant grass and some whortleberry bushes. luckily it was the height of the berry season and there was a good supply on the bushes. â��i shanâ��t starve just yet,â�� he said cheerfully. â��these berries will keep me alive for a day or two, if i am compelled to remain as long.â�� there was this advantage about the berries, that, in a measure, they satisfied his thirst as well as his hunger. robert did not immediately begin to gather berries, for it was yet early, and too short a time had elapsed since breakfast for him to have gained an appetite. he wandered at random over his small kingdom and from the highest portion looked out to sea. far away he saw several sails, but there was little chance of being rescued by any. if he were seen, it would not be supposed that he was confined a prisoner on an island so near the mainland. still robert did not feel that he was likely to be a prisoner for a long time. there were other fishermen, besides his uncle, at cookâ��s harbor, and by next morning, at the farthest, he would be able to attract the attention of some one of them as he cruised near the island. but it would not be very pleasant to pass a night alone in such an exposed spot. not long before a sloop had been wrecked upon the southwest corner of the island, and though no lives were lost, the vessel itself had been so injured that there had been no attempt to repair or remove it. in coasting near the island robert had often thought he would like to examine the wreck, but he never had done so. it struck him now that he had a capital opportunity to view it at his leisure. of leisure, unfortunately, he had too much on his hands. there was a patch of sand at the corner where the sloop had run ashore and the frame of the vessel had imbedded in it. a portion had been swept away, but a considerable part still remained. robert clambered down and began to make an examination of the stranded vessel. â��i suppose it belongs to me if i choose to claim it,â�� he said to himself. â��at any rate, no one else is likely to dispute my claim. wouldnâ��t it be jolly if i could find a keg of gold pieces hidden somewhere about the old wreck? that would keep aunt and me for years and we wouldnâ��t feel any anxiety about support.â�� this was very pleasant to think about certainly, but kegs of gold pieces are not often carried on sloops nowadays, as robert very well knew. the chief use the old wreck was likely to be to him was in affording materials for a raft by which he might find his way to the mainland. our hero made a critical survey of the wreck and tried to pull it apart. this was not easy, but finally he was enabled to detach a few planks. â��if i only had a saw, a hammer and some nails,â�� he thought, â��i could build a raft without much difficulty. but i donâ��t see how i am going to get along without these.â�� for the hammer he soon found a substitute in a hard rock of moderate size. there were nails, but they were not easy to extricate from the planks. as to a saw, there was no hope of getting one or anything that would answer the purpose of one. robert worked hard for a couple of hours and in that time he had accomplished something. he had extricated half a dozen planks of unequal length, secured a supply of nails, more or less rusty, and thus had already provided the materials of a raft. the grand difficulty remained--to fashion them into a raft which would convey him in safety to the shore of the mainland. i have said that he had no saw. he had a jackknife, however, and this was of some use to him, particularly in extricating the nails. it was slow work, but he had all day before him. when the two hours were over he began to feel hungry. it was not far from the time when he was accustomed to take dinner, and he set about satisfying his hunger. he went from bush to bush, plucking the ripe berries and eating them. they were very good, but not quite so hearty as a plate of meat and potatoes. however, he would have had no meat if he had been able to sit down at home. after dinner--if his repast of berries can be dignified by such a name--robert sat down to rest a while before resuming his labors on the raft. he finally lay down with his head in the shadow of an unusually large bush, and, before he was fully aware of the danger, he had fallen asleep. when he awoke he saw by the position of the sun that it must be about the middle of the afternoon. he jumped up hastily, and, first of all, took a hasty glance around to see if he could anywhere descry a boat. but none was to be seen. â��i must set about making my raft,â�� he decided. â��it is getting late and i donâ��t know how long it may take me.â�� it proved to be slow and rather difficult work. robert was pounding away with his stone hammer when, to his great joy, he descried a boat rounding the corner of the island. it was rowed by a single boy. when he came near robert recognized him as george randolph--the cousin of his friend herbert. it happened that george was very fond of rowing and had a boat of his own, which he rowed a good deal in boston harbor. he had long had an ambition to row to egg island and had selected this day for the trip. he had not asked herbert to accompany him, being desirous of saying that he had accomplished the entire trip alone. though george had not seemed very friendly, robert did not for a moment doubt that he would be willing to help him in his strait, and he was almost as delighted to see him as he would have been to see herbert himself. there would be no need now of the raft, and he gladly suspended work upon it. rising to his feet, he called out: â��hello, there!â�� george paused in his rowing and asked--for he had not yet caught sight of robert: â��who calls?â�� â��i--robert coverdale!â�� then george, turning his glance in the right direction, caught sight of the boy he had tried to snub in the morning. chapter x robert completes the raft â��what do you want of me?â�� asked george superciliously. â��will you come to shore and take me into your boat?â�� asked robert eagerly. â��why should i? you have no claims on me,â�� said george. â��indeed, i donâ��t know you.â�� â��i was at mr. irvingâ��s this morning, playing croquet with herbert.â�� â��i am aware of that, but that is no reason why i should take you into my boat. i prefer to be alone.â�� if robert had not been in such a strait he would not have pressed the request, but he was not sure when there would be another chance to leave the island, and he persisted. â��you donâ��t understand how i am situated,â�� he said. â��i wouldnâ��t ask such a favor if i were not obliged to, but i have no other way of getting back. if you donâ��t take me in, i shall probably be obliged to stay here all night.â�� â��how did you come here?â�� asked george, his curiosity aroused. â��i came in a boat with my uncle.â�� â��then you can go back with him.â�� â��he has gone back already. he is offended with me because i wonâ��t do something which he has no right to ask, and he has left me here purposely.â�� â��isnâ��t your uncle a fisherman?â�� â��yes.â�� â��i donâ��t care to associate with a fishermanâ��s boy,â�� said george. robert had never before met a boy so disagreeable as george, and his face flushed with anger and mortified pride. â��i donâ��t think you are any better than herbert,â�� he said, â��and he is willing to associate with me, though i am a fishermanâ��s boy.â�� â��i donâ��t think much of his taste, and so i told him,â�� said george. â��my father is richer than mr. irving,â�� he added proudly. â��do you refuse to take me in your boat then?â�� asked robert. â��i certainly do.â�� â��although i may be compelled to stay here all night?â�� â��thatâ��s nothing to me.â�� robert was silent a moment. he didnâ��t like to have any quarrel with herbertâ��s cousin, but he was a boy of spirit, and he could not let george leave without giving vent to his feeling. â��george randolph,â�� he broke out, â��i donâ��t care whether your father is worth a million; it doesnâ��t make you a gentleman. you are a mean, contemptible fellow!â�� â��how dare you talk to me in that way, you young fisherman?â�� gasped george in astonishment and wrath. â��because i think it will do you good to hear the truth,â�� said robert hotly. â��you are the meanest fellow i ever met, and if i were herbert irving iâ��d pack you back to the city by the first train.â�� â��you impudent rascal!â�� exclaimed george. â��iâ��ve a good mind to come on shore and give you a flogging!â�� â��i wish youâ��d try it,â�� said robert significantly. â��you might find yourself no match for a fishermanâ��s boy.â�� â��i suppose youâ��d like to get me on shore so that you might run off with my boat?â�� sneered george. â��i wouldnâ��t leave you on the island, at any rate, if i did secure the boat,â�� said robert. â��well, i wonâ��t gratify you,â�� returned george, â��i donâ��t care to have my boat soiled by such a passenger.â�� â��youâ��ll get paid for your meanness some time, george randolph.â�� â��iâ��ve taken too much notice of you already, you low fisherman,â�� said george. â��i hope youâ��ll have a good time staying here all night.â�� he began to row away, and as his boat receded robert saw departing with it the best chance he had yet had of escape from his irksome captivity. â��i didnâ��t suppose any boy could be so contemptibly mean,â�� he reflected as his glance followed the boat, which gradually grew smaller and smaller as it drew near the mainland. â��i donâ��t think iâ��m fond of quarreling, but i wish i could get hold of that boy for five minutes.â�� robertâ��s indignation was natural, but it was ineffective. he might breathe out threats, but while he was a prisoner his aristocratic foe was riding quickly over the waves. â��he rows well,â�� thought our hero, willing to do george justice in that respect. â��i didnâ��t think a city boy could row so well. i donâ��t believe i could row any better myself, though iâ��ve been used to a boat ever since i was six years old.â�� but it would not do to spend all the afternoon in watching george and his boat or he would lose all chance of getting away himself before nightfall. with a sigh he resumed work on the raft which he had hoped he could afford to dispense with and finally got it so far completed that he thought he might trust himself on it. robert was a little solicitous about the strength of his raft. it must be admitted that, though he had done the best he could, it was rather a rickety concern. if the nails had been all whole and new and he had had a good hammer and strong boards he could easily have made a satisfactory raft. but the materials at his command were by no means of the best. the nails were nearly all rusty, some were snapped off in the middle and his stone did not work with the precision of a regular hammer. â��if it will only hold together till i can get to shore,â�� he thought, â��i wonâ��t care if it goes to pieces the next minute. it seems a little shaky, though. i must try to find a few more nails. it may increase the strength of it.â�� there was an end of a beam projecting from the sand, just at his feet. robert expected that probably he might by unearthing it find somewhere about it a few nails, and he accordingly commenced operations. if he had had a shovel or a spade, he could have worked to better advantage, but as it was he was forced to content himself with a large shell which he picked up near the shore. soon he had excavated a considerable amount of sand and brought to the surface a considerable part of the buried beam. it was at this point that he felt the shell strike something hard. â��i suppose it is a stone,â�� thought robert. and he continued his work with the object of getting it out of the way. it was not long before the object was exposed to view. what was robertâ��s surprise and excitement to find it an ivory portemonnaie, very much soiled and discolored by sea water! now, i suppose no one can find a purse or pocketbook without feeling his pulse a little quickened, especially where, as in robertâ��s case, money is so much needed. he immediately opened the portemonnaie, and to his great delight found that it contained several gold pieces. as my readers will feel curious to know the extent of his good luck, i will state definitely the amount of his discovery. there were two gold ten-dollar pieces, two of five, one two-dollar-and-a-half piece and fifty cents in silver. in all there were thirty-three dollars in gold and silver. robertâ��s delight may be imagined. if he had felt in luck the day before, when he had been paid two dollars, how much more was he elated by a sum which to him seemed almost a fortune! â��i am glad george didnâ��t take me on board his boat,â�� he reflected. â��if he had, i should never have found this money. now, i donâ��t care if i do stay here all night. uncle had little idea what service he was doing me when he left me alone on egg island.â�� though robert expressed his willingness to spend the night on egg island, he soon became eager to get home so that he could exhibit to his aunt the evidence of his extraordinary luck. he anticipated the joy of the poor woman as she saw assured to her for weeks to come a degree of comfort to which for a long time she had been unaccustomed. robert examined his raft once more and resolved to proceed to make it ready for service. it took longer than he anticipated, and it was nearly two hours later before he ventured to launch it. he used a board for a paddle, and on his frail craft he embarked, with a bold heart, for the mainland. chapter xi a friend goes to the rescue leaving robert for a time, we will accompany george randolph on his homeward trip. george did not at all enjoy the plain speaking he had heard from robert. the more he thought of it the more his pride was outraged and the more deeply he was incensed. â��the low-lived fellow!â�� he exclaimed as he was rowing home. â��i never heard of such impudence before. he actually seemed to think that i would take as a passenger a common fishermanâ��s boy. i havenâ��t sunk as low as that.â�� george was brought up to have a high opinion of himself and his position. he really thought that he was made of a different sort of clay than the poor boys with whom he was brought in contact, and his foolish parents encouraged him in this foolish belief. probably he would have been very much shocked if it had become known that his own grandfather was an honest mechanic, who was compelled to live in a very humble way. george chose to forget this or to keep it out of sight, as it might have embarrassed him when he was making his high social pretensions. falsely trained as he had been, and with a strong tendency to selfishness, george had no difficulty in persuading himself that he had done exactly right in rebuking the forwardness of his humble acquaintance. â��he isnâ��t fit to associate with a gentleman,â�� he said to himself. â��what business is it of mine that he has to stay on the island all night? if his uncle left him there, i dare say he deserved it.â�� george did not immediately land when he reached the beach, but floated here and there at will, enjoying the delightful sea breeze which set in from seaward. at length, however, he became tired and landed. the boat did not belong to him, but was hired of a fisherman living near by, who had an extra boat. the owner of the boat was on hand when george landed. he was, though a fisherman, a man of good, sound common sense, who read a good deal in his leisure moments and was therefore well informed. like many other new england men of low position, he was superior to his humble station and was capable of acquitting himself creditably in a much higher sphere. it is from persons of his class that our prominent men are often recruited. it may be mentioned here that, though georgeâ��s father, as he liked to boast, was a rich man, the boy himself was very mean in money matters and seldom willing to pay a fair price for anything. he was not above driving a close bargain, and to save five cents would dispute for half an hour. â��so youâ��ve got back young man?â�� said ben bence, the fisherman. â��did you have a pleasant trip?â�� â��quite fair,â�� answered george in a patronizing tone. â��i rowed over to egg island and back.â�� â��thatâ��s doing very well for a city boy,â�� said the fisherman. â��i should think it was good for any boy or man either,â�� said george, annoyed at this depreciation of his great achievement. bence laughed. â��why,â�� said he, â��iâ��m out for four or five hours sometimes. i donâ��t think anything of rowing from fifteen to twenty miles, while you have rowed only six.â�� â��i donâ��t expect to row as far as a man,â�� said george, rather taken down. â��the best rower round here among the boys is bob coverdale,â�� said the fisherman. â��what can he do?â�� asked george with a sneer. â��he can row ten miles without feeling it,â�� said bence. â��does he say so?â�� asked george in a meaning tone. â��no, but i have seen him do it. heâ��s been out with me more than once. heâ��s a muscular boy, bob is. do you know him?â�� â��i have seen him,â�� answered george distantly. â��heâ��s a great chum of your cousin, herbert irving,â�� said bence, â��and so i thought you might have met him.â�� this subject was not to georgeâ��s taste, and he proceeded to change it. â��well, my good man,â�� he said patronizingly, â��how much do i owe you?â�� â��so i am your good man?â�� repeated ben bence with an amused smile. â��i am much obliged to you, i am sure. well, you were gone about two hours, i reckon.â�� â��i donâ��t think it was quite as much as that,â�� said george. â��i guess twenty-five cents will about pay me.â�� â��twenty-five cents!â�� repeated george, all his meanness asserting itself. â��i think that is a very high price!â�� â��did you expect to get the boat for nothing?â�� asked the fisherman, surprised. â��of course not. i wouldnâ��t be beholden to a fisherman,â�� george said haughtily. â��indeed! how much did you calculate to pay?â�� â��i think twenty cents is enough.â�� â��then the only difference between us is five cents?â�� â��yes.â�� â��then you can pay me twenty cents. i can live without the extra five cents.â�� george, pleased at gaining his point, put two ten-cent pieces in the hands of the owner of the boat, saying: â��i donâ��t care about the five cents, of course, but i donâ��t like to pay too much.â�� â��i understand, master randolph,â�� said the fisherman with a quizzical smile. â��in your position, of course, you need to be economical.â�� â��what do you mean?â�� asked george with a flushed face. â��oh, nothing!â�� answered ben bence, smiling. the smile made george uncomfortable. was it possible that this common fisherman was laughing at him? but, of course, that did not matter, and he had saved his five cents. george got home in time for supper, but it was not till after supper that he mentioned to herbert: â��i saw that young fisherman this afternoon.â�� â��what young fisherman?â�� â��the one you played croquet with this morning.â�� â��oh, bob coverdale! where did you see him?â�� asked herbert with interest. â��on egg island.â�� â��how came he there?â�� inquired herbert, rather surprised. â��he went there in a boat with his uncle. i expect heâ��s there now.â�� â��why should he stay over there so long?â�� â��itâ��s a rich joke,â�� said george, laughing. â��it seems his uncle was mad with him and landed him there as a punishment. heâ��s got to stay there all night.â�� â��i donâ��t see anything so very amusing in that,â�� said herbert, who was now thoroughly interested. â��he wanted me to take him off,â�� proceeded george. â��he was trying to build a raft. i told him heâ��d better keep at it.â�� if george had watched the countenance of his cousin he would have seen that herbert was very angry, but he was so amused by the thought of robertâ��s perplexity that he did not notice. â��do you mean to say that you refused to take him off?â�� demanded herbert in a quick, stern tone that arrested georgeâ��s attention. â��of course i did! what claim had he on me?â�� â��and you deliberately left him there, when it would have been no trouble to give him a passage back?â�� â��really, herbert, i donâ��t like your way of speaking. it was my boat--or, at least, i was paying for the use of it--and i didnâ��t choose to take him as a passenger.â�� â��george randolph, do you want to know my opinion of you?â�� asked herbert hotly. â��what do you mean?â�� stammered george. â��i mean this, that i am ashamed of you. you are the most contemptibly mean fellow i ever met, and i am heartily sorry there is any relationship between us.â�� â��i consider that an insult!â�� exclaimed george, pale with anger. â��i am glad you do. i mean it as such. just tell my mother i wonâ��t be back till late in the evening.â�� â��where are you going?â�� â��i am going to get a boat and row to egg island for bob coverdale,â�� and herbert dashed up the street in the direction of the beach. â��he must be crazy!â�� muttered george, looking after his cousin. herbert irving reached the beach and sought out ben bence. â��mr. bence,â�� he said, â��i want to go to egg island. if you can spare the time, come with me and iâ��ll pay you for your time.â�� â��what are you going for, master herbert?â�� upon this herbert explained the object of his trip. â��now, will you go?â�� he asked. â��yes,â�� answered the fisherman heartily, â��iâ��ll go and wonâ��t charge you a cent for the boat or my time. bob coverdaleâ��s a favorite of mine, and iâ��m sorry his uncle treats him so badly.â�� strong, sturdy strokes soon brought them to the island. â��bob! where are you. bob?â�� called herbert. there was no answer. the island was so small that he would have been seen if he had been there. â��he must have got off,â�� said herbert. â��george said he was building a raft.â�� â��then i mistrust somethingâ��s happened to the poor boy,â�� said bence gravely. â��he couldnâ��t build a raft here that would hold together till he reached the mainland.â�� herbert turned pale. â��i hope it isnâ��t so bad as that,â�� he said. â��let us row back as quick as we can!â�� chapter xii a mysterious disappearance as they were rowing back they scanned the sea in every direction, but nowhere did they discover any signs of robert or his raft. â��perhaps,â�� suggested herbert, breaking a long silence, â��bob is already at home.â�� he looked inquiringly in the face of his companion to see what he thought of the chances. â��mayhap he is,â�� said ben bence slowly, â��but i mistrust he found it too rough for the raft.â�� â��in that case----â�� said herbert anxiously and stopped without answering the question. â��in that case the poor boyâ��s at the bottom of the sea, itâ��s likely.â�� â��he could swim, mr. bence.â�� â��yes, but the tide would be too strong for him. just about now thereâ��s a fearful undertow. i couldnâ��t swim against it myself, let alone a boy.â�� â��if anything has happened to him itâ��s his uncleâ��s fault,â�� said herbert. â��john trafton will have to answer for it,â�� said the fisherman sternly. â��there ainâ��t one of us that donâ��t love bob. heâ��s a downright good boy, bob coverdale is, and a smart boy, too.â�� â��if heâ��s lost i will never have anything more to do with george randolph. i will ask mother to pack him back to boston to-morrow.â�� â��george ainâ��t a mite like you,â�� said ben bence. â��i hope not,â�� returned herbert hastily. â��heâ��s one of the meanest boys i ever met. he might just as well have taken poor bob off the island this afternoon, if he hadnâ��t been so spiteful and ugly.â�� â��it would serve him right to leave him there a while himself,â�� suggested bence. â��i agree with you.â�� there was another pause. each was troubled by anxious thoughts about the missing boy. when they reached the shore herbert said: â��iâ��m going to mr. traftonâ��s to see if bob has got home.â�� â��iâ��ll go with you,â�� said the fisherman briefly. they reached the humble cabin of the traftons and knocked at the door. mrs. trafton opened it. â��good evening, mr. bence,â�� she said. â��i believe this young gentleman is master herbert irving? i have often heard robert speak of him.â�� â��is robert at home?â�� asked herbert eagerly. â��no, he has been away all day,â�� answered his aunt. â��do you know where he is?â�� inquired ben bence soberly. â��mr. trafton wouldnâ��t tell me. he said he had sent him away on some errand, but i donâ��t see where he could have gone, to stay so long.â�� it was clear mrs. trafton knew nothing of the trick which had been played upon her nephew. â��tell her, mr. bence,â�� said herbert, turning to his companion. â��has anything happened to robert?â�� asked mrs. trafton, turning pale. they told her how her husband had conveyed robert to egg island and then treacherously left him there, to get off as he might. â��was there any difficulty between bob and his uncle?â�� asked ben bence. â��yes; the boy had a little money which had been given him and my husband ordered him to give it up to him. heâ��d have done it, if he hadnâ��t wanted to spend it for me. he was always a considerate boy, and i donâ��t know what i should have done without him. mr. bence, i know itâ��s a good deal to ask, but i canâ��t bear to think of robert staying on the island all night. would you mind rowing over and bringing him back?â�� as yet mrs. trafton did not understand that any greater peril menaced her nephew. â��mrs. trafton, we have just been over to egg island,â�� said the fisherman. â��and didnâ��t you find him?â�� â��no; he was not there.â�� â��but how could he get off?â�� â��he was seen this afternoon making a raft from the old timbers he found in the wreck. he must have put to sea on it.â�� â��then why is he not here?â�� â��the sea was rough, and----â�� mrs. trafton, who had been standing, sank into a chair with a startled look. â��you donâ��t think my boy is lost?â�� â��i hate to think so, mrs. trafton, but it may be.â�� from grief there was a quick transition to righteous indignation. â��if the poor boy is drowned, i charge john trafton with his death!â�� said the grief-stricken woman with an energy startling for one of her usually calm temperament. â��whatâ��s this about john trafton?â�� demanded a rough voice. it was john trafton himself, who, unobserved, had reached the door of the cabin. ben bence and herbert shrank from him with natural aversion. â��so youâ��re talking against me behind my back, are you?â�� asked trafton, looking from one to the other with a scowl. his wife rose to her feet and turned upon him a glance such as he had never met before. â��what have you done with robert, john trafton?â�� she demanded sternly. â��oh! thatâ��s it, is it?â�� he said, laughing shortly. â��iâ��ve served him as he deserved.â�� â��what have you done with him?â�� she continued in a slow, measured voice. â��you neednâ��t come any tragedy over me, old woman!â�� he answered with annoyance. â��i left him on egg island to punish him for disobeying me!â�� â��i charge you with his murder!â�� she continued, confronting him with a courage quite new to her. â��murder!â�� he repeated, starting. â��come, now, thatâ��s a little too strong! leaving him on egg island isnâ��t murdering him. you talk like a fool!â�� â��trafton,â�� said ben bence gravely, â��there is reason to think that your nephew put off from the island on a raft, which he made himself, and that the raft went to pieces.â�� for the first time john traftonâ��s brown face lost its color. â��you donâ��t mean to say bobâ��s drowned?â�� he ejaculated. â��there is reason to fear that he may be.â�� â��iâ��ll bet heâ��s on the island now.â�� â��we have just been there and he is not there.â�� at length trafton began to see that the situation was a grave one, and he began to exculpate himself. â��if he was such a fool as to put to sea on a crazy raft it ainâ��t my fault,â�� he said. â��i couldnâ��t help it, could i?â�� â��if you hadnâ��t left him there he would still be alive and well.â�� john trafton pulled out his red cotton handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe his forehead, on which the beads of perspiration were gathering. â��of course i wouldnâ��t have left him there if iâ��d known what he would do,â�� he muttered. â��did you mean to leave him there all night?â�� asked bence. â��yes, i meant it as a lesson to him,â�� said the fisherman. â��a lesson to him? you are a fine man to give a lesson to him! you, who spend all your earnings for drink and leave me to starve! john trafton, i charge you with the death of poor robert!â�� exclaimed mrs. trafton with startling emphasis. perhaps nothing more contributed to overwhelm john trafton than the wonderful change which had taken place in his usually gentle and submissive wife. he returned her accusing glance with a look of deprecation. â��come now, jane, be a little reasonable,â�� he said. â��youâ��re very much mistaken. it was only in fun i left him. i thought it would be a good joke to leave him on the island all night. say something for me, ben--thereâ��s a good fellow.â�� but ben bence was not disposed to waste any sympathy on john trafton. he was glad to see trafton brought to judgment and felt like deepening his sense of guilt rather than lightening it. â��your wife is right,â�� he said gravely. â��if poor bob is dead, you are guilty of his death in the sight of god.â�� â��but he isnâ��t dead! itâ��s all a false alarm. iâ��ll get my boat and row over to the island myself. very likely he had gone to sleep among the bushes and that prevented your seeing him.â�� there was a bare possibility of this, but ben bence had little faith in it. â��go, if you like,â�� he said. â��if you find him, it will lift a great weight from your conscience.â�� john trafton dashed to the shore, flung himself into his boat, and, with feverish haste, began to row toward the island. he bitterly repented now the act which had involved him in such grave responsibility. he was perfectly sober, for his credit at the tavern was temporarily exhausted. of course those who remained behind in the cabin had no hope of robert being found. they were forced to believe that the raft had gone to pieces and the poor boy, in his efforts to reach the shore, had been swept back into the ocean by the treacherous undertow and was now lying stiff and stark at the bottom of the sea. â��what shall i ever do without robert?â�� said mrs. trafton, her defiant mood changing, at her husbandâ��s departure, to an outburst of grief. â��he was all i had to live for.â�� â��you have your husband,â�� suggested ben bence doubtfully. â��my husband!â�� she repeated drearily. â��you know how little company he is for me and how little he does to make me comfortable and happy. i will never forgive him for this dayâ��s work.â�� ben bence, who was a just man, ventured to represent that trafton did not foresee the result of his action; but, in the sharpness of her bereavement, mrs. trafton would find no excuse for him. herbert, too, looked pale and distressed. he had a genuine attachment for robert, whose good qualities he was able to recognize and appreciate, even if he was a fishermanâ��s nephew. he, too, thought sorrowfully of his poor friend, snatched from life and swept by the cruel and remorseless sea to an ocean grave. he, too, had his object of resentment. but for george randolph, he reflected, robert would now be alive and well, and he resolved to visit george with his severest reproaches. while all were plunged in a similar grief a strange thing happened. the door of the cabin was closed by john trafton as he went out. suddenly there was heard a scratching at the door, and a sound was heard as of a dog trying to excite attention. â��it must be my dog dash,â�� said herbert. â��i wonder how he found me out?â�� he advanced to the door and opened it. before him stood a dog, but it was not dash. it was a large black dog, with an expression of intelligence almost human. he had in his mouth what appeared to be a scrap of writing paper. this he dropped on the ground when he saw that he had attracted herbertâ��s attention. â��what does this mean?â�� thought herbert in great surprise, â��and where does this dog come from?â�� he stooped and picked up the paper, greatly to the dogâ��s apparent satisfaction. it was folded in the middle and contained, written in pencil, the following message, which, not being directed to any one in particular, herbert felt at liberty to read: â��feel no anxiety about robert coverdale. he is safe!â�� herbert read the message, the dog uttered a quick bark of satisfaction, and, turning, ran down the cliff to the beach. herbert was so excited and delighted at the news of his friendâ��s safety that he gave no further attention to the strange messenger, but hurried into the cabin. â��mrs. trafton--mr. bence!â�� he exclaimed, â��bob is safe!â�� â��what do you mean? what have you heard?â�� they asked quickly. â��read this!â�� answered herbert, giving mrs. trafton the scrap of paper. â��who brought it?â�� she asked, bewildered. â��a dog.â�� ben bence quickly asked: â��what do you mean?â�� â��i know nothing more than that a large black dog came to the door with this in his mouth, which he dropped at my feet.â�� â��that is very strange,â�� said bence. he opened the door and looked out, but no dog was to be seen. â��do you believe this? can it be true?â�� asked mrs. trafton. â��i believe it is true, though i canâ��t explain it,â�� answered ben. â��some dogs are wonderfully trained. i donâ��t know whom this dog belongs to, but whoever it is he doubtless has robert under his care. let us be thankful that he has been saved.â�� â��but why donâ��t he come home?â�� asked mrs. trafton. â��where can he be?â�� â��he was probably rescued in an exhausted condition. cheer up, mrs. trafton. you will no doubt see your boy to-morrow.â�� â��i feel like giving three cheers, mr. bence,â�� said herbert. â��then give â��em, boy, and iâ��ll help you!â�� said old ben. the three cheers were given with a will, and herbert went home, his heart much lighter than it had been ten minutes before. chapter xiii the cruise of the raft it is time we carried the reader back to the time when robert, after launching his rude raft, set out from the island of his captivity. notwithstanding his rather critical situation, he was in excellent spirits. the treasure which he had unearthed from the wreck very much elated him. it meant comfort and independence for a time at least, and in his new joy he was even ready to forgive his uncle for leaving him on the island and randolph for not taking him off. â��iâ��ve heard of things turning out for the best,â�� was the thought that passed through his mind, â��but i never understood it so well before.â�� robert possessed a large measure of courage and he had been used to the sea from the age of six, or as far back as he could remember, but when he had rounded the island and paddled a few rods out to sea he began to feel serious. there was a strong wind blowing, and this had roughened the sea and made it difficult for him to guide his extemporized raft in the direction he desired. had it been his uncleâ��s fishing boat and had he but possessed a good pair of stout oars, he would have experienced no particular difficulty. he would perhaps have found it rather hard pulling, but he was unusually strong for his age, and, in the end, he would have reached the shore. but with a frail raft, loosely put together, and only a board to row or paddle with, his progress was very slow. he did make a little progress, however, but it was so little that, at the end of fifteen minutes, he seemed as far off from the little cabin on the cliff as ever. â��itâ��s hard work,â�� said robert to himself. â��i wish i had a boat. if it were smooth water, i could get along with a raft, but now----â�� he stopped short, as the raft was lifted on the crest of a wave, and he nearly slid off into the water. he looked back to the island and began to consider whether it would not be best, after all, to paddle back and trust to being taken off the next morning by some fishermanâ��s boat. no doubt that would have been the most sensible thing to do, but robert was very reluctant to relinquish his project. had he not devoted several hours to constructing the raft he was trying to navigate and should he allow this time to be thrown away? again, the prospect of passing a night upon egg island was not very inviting. there was nothing to fear, of course, for the island was too small to be infested by wild animals or even snakes. he could no doubt sleep some, even if his bed were not very comfortable. robert looked back. by this time he was half a mile, at a rough guess, from egg island, and between his raft and the mainland there intervened probably two miles and a half of rough sea. â��if i can get within half a mile of shore,â�� thought our young hero, â��i wonâ��t care for the raft any longer. i will plunge into the waves and swim to the shore.â�� he looked toward the shore. there, in plain view, was the humble cabin which he called home. inside doubtless was his aunt, worrying perhaps about his absence. â��how delighted she will be when i tell her of the money i have found!â�� thought robert joyfully. â��come, bob, brace up now and push out boldly for home.â�� with his eyes fixed on the cabin, our young hero used his paddle with such energy that, in the course of half an hour or thereabouts, he was about a mile farther on his way. he had gone half way, and though he was somewhat fatigued, he was strong and muscular, and the chances were that he would be able to hold out till he reached the boat landing. but now a new danger threatened itself. the assaults of the sea had strained heavily the raft, which he had not been able, for want of nails, to make strong and secure. robertâ��s heart beat with quiet alarm as he realized that there was small chance of his frail craft holding together till he reached shore. the danger was hardly realized before it came. a strong wave wrenched apart the timbers, and robert coverdale found himself, without warning, spilled into the sea, a mile and a half from land. instinctively he struck out and began to swim, but the distance was great and he was impeded by his clothes. looking neither to the right nor to the left, but only straight ahead, he swam with all the strength there was left to him, but he found himself weakening after a while and gave himself up for lost. chapter xiv the hermit of the cliff the last thing that robert could remember was the singing of the waters in his ears and a weight as of lead that bore him downward with a force which he felt unable to resist. but at the critical moment, when the doors of death seemed to be swinging open to admit him, he was firmly seized by a slender, muscular arm, extended from a boat shaped somewhat like an indian canoe and rowed by a tall, thin man with white hair and a long white beard. in the dusk our hero had not seen the boat nor known that help was so near at hand. but the occupant of the boat had, from a distance, seen the going to pieces of the raft, and appreciated the peril of the brave swimmer, and paddled his boat energetically toward him just in time to rescue him when already insensible. pale and with closed eyes lay robert in the bottom of the boat. the old man--for so he appeared--rather anxiously opened the boyâ��s shirt and placed his hand over his heart. an expression of relief appeared on his face. â��he will do,â�� he said sententiously and turned his attention to the boat. half a mile from the cliff on which stood the fishermanâ��s cabin was another, rising to a greater height. to this the stranger directed his boat. he fastened it and then, raising our hero in his arms, walked toward the cliff. there was a cavity as wide as a door, but less in height, through which he passed, lowering his head as he entered. inside the opening steadily widened and became higher. this cavity was about ten feet above the sandy beach and was reached by a ladder. on he passed, guided amid the darkness by a light from a lantern hanging from the roof. the front portion of the cavern seemed like a hall, through which a narrow doorway led into a larger room, which was furnished like the interior of a house. upon a walnut table stood a lamp, which the stranger lighted. he took the boy, already beginning to breathe more freely, and laid him on a lounge, covered with a buffalo skin, at the opposite side of the apartment. from a shelf he took a bottle and administered a cordial to robert, who, though not yet sensible, mechanically swallowed it. the effect was almost instantaneous. the boy opened his eyes and looked about him in bewilderment. â��where am i?â�� he inquired. â��what can you remember?â�� asked the old man. robert shuddered. â��i was struggling in the water,â�� he answered. â��i thought i was drowning.â�� then, gazing at the strange apartment and the majestic face of the venerable stranger, he said hesitatingly: â��am i still living or was i drowned?â�� he was not certain whether he had made the mysterious passage from this world to the next, so strange and unfamiliar seemed everything about him. â��you are still in life,â�� answered the stranger, smiling gravely. â��god has spared you, and a long life is yet before you if he wills.â�� â��and you saved me?â�� â��yes.â�� â��how can i thank you? i owe you my life,â�� said robert gratefully. â��i am indebted to you for the opportunity once more to be of use to one of my race.â�� â��i donâ��t understand how you could have saved me. when i went down i could see no one near.â�� â��on account of the dusk. i was not far away in my boat. i saw your peril and hastened to your assistance. fortunately i was not too late. do you know who it is that has saved you?â�� â��yes,â�� answered robert. â��you have seen me before?â�� â��yes, but not often.â�� â��how do people call me?â�� â��they call you â��the hermit of the cliff.â��â�� â��as well that as anything else,â�� said the old man. â��what more do they say of me?â�� robert seemed reluctant to tell, but there was something imperative in the old manâ��s tone. â��some say you are crazy,â�� he answered. â��i am not surprised to hear it. the world is apt to say that of one who behaves differently from his fellows. but i must not talk too much of myself. how do you feel?â�� â��i feel weak,â�� answered robert. â��doubtless. swimming against such a current was a severe strain upon your strength. let me feel your pulse.â�� he pressed his finger upon robertâ��s pulse and reported that the action was slow. â��it means exhaustion,â�� he said. â��you must sleep well, and to-morrow morning you will feel as well as usual.â�� â��but i ought to go home,â�� said robert, trying to rise. â��my aunt will feel anxious about me.â�� â��who is your aunt?â�� â��i am the nephew of john trafton, who has a small house on the cliff.â�� â��i know. he is a fisherman.â�� â��yes, sir.â�� â��donâ��t disturb yourself. word shall be sent to your aunt that you are safe. i will give you a sleeping draught, and to-morrow morning we will speak further.â�� somehow robert did not dream of resisting the will of his host. the old man had an air of command to which it seemed natural to submit. moreover, he knew that to this mysterious stranger--the hermit of the cliff, as the fishermen called him--he was indebted for his life, and such a man must necessarily be his friend. robert was, besides, in that condition of physical languor when, if he had felt disposed, he would have found it very difficult to make resistance to the will of another. â��first of all,â�� said the old man, â��you must take off your wet clothes. i will place them where they can dry, so that you may put them on in the morning.â�� with assistance robert divested himself of his wet garments. as we know, he had little to take off. the stranger brought out a nightgown and then placed our hero in his own bed, wrapping him up in blankets. â��now for the sleeping draught,â�� he said. from a bottle he poured out a few drops, which robert swallowed. in less than three minutes he had closed his eyes and was in a profound slumber. the old man regarded him with satisfaction as he lay breathing tranquilly upon the bed. â��he is young and strong. nature has been kind to him and given him an excellent constitution. sleep will repair the ill effects of exposure. i must remember my promise to the boy,â�� he said. turning to the table, he drew from a drawer writing materials and wrote the brief message which, as we have already seen, was duly delivered, and then walked to the entrance of the cavern. he placed a whistle to his lips, and in response to his summons a black dog came bounding to him from the recesses of the grotto and fawned upon him. â��come with me, carlo; i have work for you,â�� he said. the dog, as if he understood, followed his master out upon the beach. they walked far enough to bring into clear distinctness the cabin on the cliff. â��do you see that house. carlo?â�� asked his master, directing the dogâ��s attention with his outstretched finger. carlo answered by a short, quick bark, which apparently meant â��yes.â�� â��carry this note there. do you understand?â�� the dog opened his mouth to receive the missive and trotted contentedly away. the hermit turned and retraced his steps to the cavern. he stood beside the bed and saw, to his satisfaction, that robert was still sleeping peacefully. â��it is strange,â�� said he musingly, â��that i should feel such an interest in this boy. i had forsworn all intercourse with my kind, save to provide myself with the necessaries of life. for two years i have lived here alone with my dog and i fancied that i felt no further interest in the affairs of my fellow men. yet here is a poor boy thrown on my hands, and i feel positive pleasure in having him with me. yet he is nothing to me. he belongs to a poor fishermanâ��s family, and probably he is uneducated, and has no tastes in common with me. yet he is an attractive boy. he has a well-shaped head and a bright eye. there must be a capacity for something better and higher. i will speak with him in the morning.â�� he opened a volume from his bookcase, to which reference has not as yet been made, and for two hours he seemed to be absorbed by it. closing it at length, he threw himself upon the couch on which robert had at first been placed and finally fell asleep. chapter xv the home of the hermit when robert awoke the next morning he found himself alone. his strange host was absent, on some errand perhaps. after a brief glance of bewilderment, robert remembered where he was, and with the recovery of his strength, which had been repaired by sleep, he felt a natural curiosity about his host and his strange home. so far as he knew, he was the first inhabitant of the village who had been admitted to a sight of its mystery. for two years the hermit of the cliff had made his home there, but he had shunned all intercourse with his neighbors and had coldly repelled all advances and checked all curiosity by his persistent taciturnity. from time to time he went to the village for supplies, and when they were too bulky to admit of his carrying them, he had had them delivered on the beach in front of the entrance to his cave dwelling and at his leisure carried them in himself. he always attracted attention, as with his tall, slender, majestic figure he moved through the village, or paced the beach, or impelled his frail boat. but speculation as to who he was or what had induced him to become a recluse had about ceased from the despair of obtaining any light upon these points. no wonder then that robert, admitted by chance to his dwelling, looked about him in curious wonder. cavern as it was, the room was fitted up with due regard to comfort and even luxury. the bed on which our hero reposed was soft and inviting. the rough stone floor was not carpeted, but was spread with turkish rugs. there was a bookcase, containing perhaps two hundred books; there was a table and writing desk, an easy-chair and a rocking-chair, and the necessarily dark interior was lighted by an astral lamp, diffusing a soft and pleasant light. on a shelf ticked a french clock and underneath it was a bureau provided with toilet necessaries. no one in the village knew how these articles had been spirited into the cavern. no one of the villagers had assisted. indeed, no one, except robert, knew that the hermit was so well provided with comforts. our hero found his clothes on a chair at his bedside. they were drier and suitable for wearing. â��i may as well dress,â�� thought robert. â��i wonâ��t go away till iâ��ve seen the hermit. i want to thank him again for taking such good care of me.â�� he did not have to wait long, however. he had scarcely completed his toilet when the hermit appeared. â��so, my young friend, you arc quite recovered from your bath?â�� â��yes, sir.â�� â��that is well.â�� â��i think, sir, i had better go home now, for my aunt will be anxious about me.â�� â��i sent a message to your aunt last evening. she knew before she went to bed that you were safe.â�� â��thank you, sir!â�� â��i am not apt to be curious, but i wish, before you leave me, to ask you a few questions. sit down, if you please.â�� robert seated himself. he felt that the hermit had a right to ask some questions of one whom he had saved. â��how came you so far out at sea on a frail raft? if you had been shipwrecked, that would explain it, but as you have not been to sea, i cannot understand it.â�� â��i found myself on egg island, without any means of getting off. so i made a raft from the timbers of the wreck and launched it. i thought it would last long enough for me to reach land.â�� â��it was a hazardous enterprise. but how came you on the island? surely you did not swim there?â�� â��no, sir. my uncle carried me there in his boat. he refused to take me off unless i would give up some money which i wanted to spend for my aunt.â�� â��was the money yours?â�� â��yes, sir. it was given me by a gentleman living at the hotel.â�� â��your uncle--john trafton--is not a temperate man?â�� â��no, sir. he spends all the money he earns on drink, and my aunt and i have to live as we can.â�� â��what a fool is man!â�� said the hermit musingly. â��he alone of created beings allows himself to be controlled by his appetites, while professing to stand at the head of the universe!â�� robert felt that he was not expected to answer this speech and remained respectfully silent till his host resumed his questioning. â��and you,â�� said the old man abruptly, â��what do you do?â�� â��sometimes i go out with my uncleâ��s boat and catch fish for use at home. sometimes i find jobs to do in the village which bring in a little money. i am always glad of that, for we canâ��t buy groceries without money, and my uncle never gives us any. my aunt is very fond of tea, but once for three weeks she had to do without it.â�� â��that was a pity. there are some who find great comfort in tea.â�� â��it is so with aunt jane. she says it puts new life in her.â�� â��have you any money now?â�� â��oh, i forgot to tell you of my good luck!â�� said robert eagerly. â��just before i left the wreck i dug up this,â�� and he displayed the purse with the gold pieces in it. â��it would have been a pity if i had been drowned with all this in my pocket.â�� â��my poor boy, your young life would have outweighed a thousandfold the value of these paltry coins. still i do not depreciate them, for they may be exchanged for comforts. but will not your uncle seek to take them from you?â�� â��he will not know that i have this money. i shall not tell him.â�� â��it will be better.â�� for a brief time the hermit gazed at robert in thoughtful silence and then said: â��how old are you?â�� â��fifteen, sir.â�� â��have you ever thought of life and its uses--i mean of the uses of your own life? have you ever formed plans for the future?â�� â��no, sir. it did not seem of much use. i have had to consider how to get enough for my aunt and myself to live upon.â�� â��so your uncleâ��s burdens have been laid on your young shoulders? have you no aspirations? are you willing to follow in his steps and grow up a fisherman, like your neighbors?â�� â��no, sir. i should be very sorry if i thought i must always live here at cookâ��s harbor and go out fishing. i should like to see something of the world, as i suppose you have.â�� â��yes, i have seen much of the world--too much for my happiness--or i would not have come to this quiet spot to end my days. but for a young and guileless boy, whose life is but beginning, the world has its charms. do you care for books?â�� â��i have never looked into many, sir, but that is not my fault. i have half a dozen tattered books at home and i study in some of them every day. i have been nearly through the arithmetic and i know something of geography. sometimes i get hold of a paper, but not often, for my uncle takes none and does not care for reading.â�� â��look among my books. see if there is any one you would like to read.â�� robert had already cast wistful glances at the rows of books in the handsome bookcase. he had never before seen so many books together, for cookâ��s harbor was not noted for its literary men and book lovers. he gladly accepted the hermitâ��s invitation. his attention was quickly drawn to a set of the waverley novels. he had often heard of them, and an extract which he had seen in his school reader from â��rob royâ�� had given him a strong desire to read the story from which it was taken. â��i should like to borrow â��rob roy,â��â�� he said. â��you may take it. when you have read it, you may, upon returning it, have another.â�� â��then i may call to see you, sir?â�� â��i shall be glad to have you do so. it is an invitation i never expected to give, but you have interested me, and i may be able to serve you at some time.â�� â��thank you, sir. if you should ever want any one to run errands for you, i hope you will call upon me. i should like to make some return for your great kindness.â�� â��that is well thought of. you may come to me every tuesday and friday mornings, at nine oâ��clock, and carry my orders to the village. i do not care to go there, but have had no messenger i could trust. for this service i will pay you two dollars a week.â�� robert was astonished at the mention of such liberal payment. â��but, sir, that is rather too much,â�� he began. â��let it be so,â�� said the hermit. â��i have money in plenty and it does not bring me happiness. in your hands it may do good.â�� â��it will be a great help to me, sir.â�� â��it is understood then. i will not detain you longer. go home and gladden the heart of your aunt.â�� robert left the cavern, more than ever puzzled by his brief acquaintance with the mysterious recluse. chapter xvi the fishermanâ��s temptation it is needless to say that robert received a joyful welcome from his aunt. her joy was increased when her nephew showed her the gold which he had found upon the island. â��you see, aunt,â�� he said, â��it wasnâ��t such bad luck, after all, to be left on the island.â�� â��god has so shaped events as to bring good out of evil,â�� answered mrs. trafton, who was a religious woman and went regularly to church, though her husband never accompanied her. â��but i am afraid your uncle will try to get the money away from you.â�� â��i donâ��t want him to know it, aunt.â�� â��i shall not tell him, robert, but he may find out.â�� â��that is not all. i have got regular work to do which will bring me in two dollars a week.â�� then robert told his surprised aunt the story of his engagement by the hermit, who for two years had been the mystery of the village. â��it never rains but it pours, you see, aunt,â�� he said cheerfully. he wondered how his uncle would receive him and whether he would make a fresh demand for the small sum of money which had been the cause of the original trouble. but john trafton had been thoroughly alarmed by the consequences of his former act and he had, besides, such experience of robertâ��s firmness that he concluded it would not be worth while to carry the matter any further. he greeted robert sullenly. â��so you are back?â�� he said gruffly. â��yes,â�� answered the boy. â��who took you off?â�� â��i put off on a raft and should have been drowned but for the hermit. he saved me.â�� â��you deserved to be drowned for putting off on a raft.â�� â��did you think i was going to stay on the island?â�� asked robert with spirit. â��if i had been drowned it would have been your fault.â�� â��none of your impudence, boy!â�� said john trafton. and then he dropped the subject without referring to the money. during the day robert called on herbert irving to thank him for his interest in his behalf. george was in the yard, but his valise was in his hand and he seemed on the point of departure. he scowled at robert, but didnâ��t speak. â��iâ��m glad to see you back, bob,â�� said herbert warmly. â��what an old rascal your uncle is! now tell me all about how you escaped.â�� while robert was telling the story the stage drove up and george got on board. â��good-by, george!â�� said herbert. george did not deign a reply and rode sullenly away. â��he doesnâ��t find that the climate of cookâ��s harbor suits him,â�� said herbert significantly. â��he doesnâ��t seem very happy about going,â�� said robert. â��i didnâ��t expect he would notice me, but he did not bid you good-by.â�� â��the fact is george and i have had a flare-up,â�� said herbert. â��i was disgusted with his heartlessness in refusing to take you from egg island, and i told him so pretty plainly. he accused me of insulting him and threatened to lay a complaint before my mother. i requested him to do so. considerably to his surprise, she took my part and reproved him for his selfish and disagreeable pride. this was too much for the young gentleman, and he gave notice that he should return to the city. no one attempted to keep him, and he has felt compelled to carry out his threat, a good deal to his disappointment.â�� â��i am sorry you are losing your visitor on my account, herbert.â�� â��you neednâ��t. though he is my cousin, i am glad to have him go.â�� â��but you will feel lonely.â�� â��not if you come to see me every day, bob.â�� â��if we didnâ��t live in a poor cabin, i would ask you to visit me.â�� â��never mind about how you live; i will come. it isnâ��t the house i shall come to see, but you. some time when you are going out fishing i wish you would take me along.â�� â��with all my heart, if you will come.â�� to herbert alone robert confided his discovery of the purse of gold. it was about a week before robert had occasion to use any of his gold. by that time he had spent the balance of the money given him by mr. lawrence tudor and was forced to fall back upon his gold, having as yet received nothing from the hermit, who knew that he was not in immediate want of money. abner sands was standing behind the counter in his grocery when robert entered. â��what can i do for ye, robert?â�� asked the trader. â��you may give me two pounds of tea and six pounds of flour.â�� â��i sâ��pose yeâ��ve got the money,â�� said sands cautiously. â��of course i have.â�� â��youâ��re doinâ�� well now, robert, i take it?â�� said the trader. â��better than i used to,â�� answered robert. he did not choose to make a confidant of mr. sands, who was a man of great curiosity and an inveterate gossip. when the goods were done up in separate parcels robert took out the two-dollar-and-a-half gold piece and passed it to the grocer. â��why, i declare, itâ��s gold!â�� exclaimed mr. sands wonderingly. â��yes, it is gold.â�� â��of all things, i didnâ��t expect to get gold from you, robert coverdale. i reckon youâ��ve found a gold mine!â�� â��perhaps i have,â�� said robert, smiling. as he put his hand in his pocket another gold piece dropped to the floor and he picked it up hastily, provoked at his carelessness, not, however, before the astonished trader had seen it. he was sorely puzzled to know how a poor boy like robert could have so much money in his possession and put one or two questions, which our hero evaded. â��the tea and flour came to a dollar and a quarter,â�� said the shrewd trader, â��and that leaves a dollar and a quarter to come to you.â�� he tendered robert a one-dollar bill and twenty-five cents. after robert went home mr. sands searched his brain in trying to guess where he could have obtained his gold, but the more he thought the darker and more mysterious it seemed. while in this state of perplexity john trafton entered the store. he had seen robert going out with two large parcels, and he came in to learn what he could about them. â��how dâ��ye do, sands?â�� he said. â��has bob been in here?â�� â��yes.â�� â��did he buy anything?â�� â��two pounds of tea and half a dozen pounds of flour. seems to have considerable money.â�� â��does he?â�� inquired trafton eagerly. â��i thought you knew. why, he paid me in gold!â�� â��in gold?â�� ejaculated trafton. â��to be sure! he give me a two-and-a-half gold piece, and that wasnâ��t all. he dropped a ten-dollar gold piece by accident, but picked it right up.â�� â��you donâ��t mean it?â�� said the fisherman, astounded. â��yes, i do. but i sâ��posed you knew all about it.â�� â��i only know what youâ��ve told me. the fact is that boy hasnâ��t a spark of gratitude. it seems heâ��s rolling in wealth and leaves me to get along as i can.â�� â��nephews ainâ��t generally expected to provide for their uncles,â�� said abner sands dryly. but john trafton did not hear him. as he left the store an idea entered his mind. he knew that robert had found a friend in the hermit, and he decided that the gold came from him. if that was the case, the hermit must be rich. who knows but he might have thousands of dollars in the cave? the fishermanâ��s eyes sparkled with greed and he was assailed by a powerful temptation. his credit at the tavern was about exhausted. what a pity he could not get some of the gold, which appeared to do its possessor so little good! chapter xvii john traftonâ��s new plan with the new but unlawful purpose which he had begun to entertain john trafton resolved to find out all he could about the hermit, and he rightly judged that robert could give him more information than anybody else. he decided to go home early and question his nephew cautiously. if he could find out something about the hermitâ��s habits and peculiarities it would help him in his plan, for there was no beating about the bush now. he acknowledged to himself that he meant to enter the cave, and if he could only find the gold, which he was persuaded the occupant owned in large quantities, to enrich himself at his expense. his imagination was dazzled at the prospect. all his life he had been working for a bare living. probably, in his most prosperous year, not over three hundred dollars in money had come into his hands as the recompense of his toil. probably there are few people who do not, at some time, indulge in dreams of sudden wealth. this time had come to john trafton, and, unfortunately, the temptation which came with it was so powerful as to confuse his notions of right and wrong and almost to persuade him that there was nothing very much out of the way in robbing the recluse of his hoards. â��it donâ��t do him any good,â�� argued the fisherman, â��while it would make me comfortable for life. if i had ten thousand dollars, or even five, iâ��d go away from here and live like a gentleman. my wife should be rigged out from top to toe, and weâ��d jest settle down and take things easy.â�� john trafton was not very strict in his principles, and his conscience did not trouble him much. even if it had, the dazzling picture which his fancy painted of an easy and luxurious future would probably have carried the day. it was only eight oâ��clock in the evening when the fisherman lifted the latch of the outer door and entered the cabin. his wife and robert looked up in surprise, for it was about two hours earlier than he generally made his appearance. another surprise--his gait and general appearance showed that he was quite sober. this was gratifying, even if it was the result of his credit being exhausted. during the preceding week it may be mentioned that he had worked more steadily than usual, having made several trips in his boat, and had thus been enabled to pay something on his score at the tavern. john trafton sat down before the fire. his wife was mending stockings by the light of a candle which burned on the table at her side and robert was absorbed by the fascinating pages of scottâ��s â��rob roy.â�� a side glance showed the fisherman how his nephew was employed, and, rightly judging where the book came from, he seized upon it as likely to lead to the questions he wanted to ask. â��what book have you got there, bob?â�� he inquired. â��it is a story by sir walter scott, uncle.â�� â��never heard of him. does he live in boston?â�� asked trafton. â��no, he was a scotchman.â�� â��some scotchmen are pretty smart, iâ��ve heard tell.â�� â��scott was a wonderful genius,â�� said robert, glowing with enthusiasm. â��i dare say he was,â�� said the fisherman placidly. â��where did you get the book?â�� â��i borrowed it of the hermit.â�� this was the name which robert used, for even now he had no knowledge of his mysterious friendâ��s name. â��has he got many books?â�� â��a whole bookcase full.â�� â��he must be a rich man,â�� suggested john trafton with apparent carelessness. â��i think he is,â�� said robert, wondering a little at his uncleâ��s newborn interest in his new acquaintance, but suspecting nothing of his design in asking the question. â��it stands to reason he must be,â�� continued the fisherman. â��he doesnâ��t do anything for a living.â�� â��no.â�� â��then, of course, heâ��s got enough to live on.â�� â��besides, all his furniture is very nice,â�� cried robert, falling into the trap. â��he seems not to mind money and talks as if he was always used to it.â�� â��i sâ��pose he pays you for running of errands for him,â�� said trafton. â��yes,â�� answered robert reluctantly, for he feared that his uncle would ask to have the money transferred to him. but the next words of trafton reassured him. â��thatâ��s all right,â�� he said. â��you can spend the money as you please. i donâ��t ask you for any of it.â�� â��thank you, uncle,â�� said robert warmly. mrs. trafton regarded her husband in surprise. he was appearing in a character new to her. what could his sudden unselfishness mean? â��i only asked because i didnâ��t want you to work for nothing, bob,â�� said his uncle, not wishing it to appear that he had any other motive, as his plan must, of course, be kept secret from all. â��i wouldnâ��t mind working for nothing, uncle. it would be small pay for his saving my life,â�� robert said with perfect sincerity. â��he wouldnâ��t want you to do it--a rich man like him,â�� returned the fisherman complacently. â��itâ��s the only money he has to spend, except what he pays for victuals. iâ��m glad youâ��ve fallen in with him. you might as well get the benefit of his money as anybody.â�� â��uncle seems to think i only think of money,â�� robert said to himself with some annoyance. â��i begin to like the hermit. he is very kind to me.â�� he did not give utterance to this thought, rightly deeming that it would not be expedient, but suffered his uncle to think as he might. â��does the hermit always stay at home in the evening?â�� asked the fisherman after a pause. â��sometimes he goes out in his boat late at night and rows about half the night. i suppose he gets tired of being alone or else canâ��t sleep.â�� john trafton nodded with an expression of satisfaction. this would suit his plans exactly. if he could only enter the cave in one of these absences, he would find everything easy and might accomplish his purpose without running any risk. it was clear to him now that the gold of which the trader spoke was given to his nephew by the hermit. he was justified in thinking so, as there was no other conceivable way in which robert could have obtained it. he coveted the ten-dollar gold piece, but he was playing for a higher stake and could afford to let that go for the present at least. the fisherman lit his pipe and smoked thoughtfully. his wife was not partial to the odor of strong tobacco, but tobacco, she reflected, was much to be preferred to drink, and if her husband could be beguiled from the use of the latter by his pipe then she would gladly endure it. john trafton smoked about ten minutes in silence and then rose from his chair. â��i guess iâ��ll go out on the beach and have my smoke there,â�� he said as he took his hat from the peg on which he had hung it on entering the cabin. â��youâ��re not going back to the tavern, john?â�� said his wife in alarm. â��no, iâ��ve quit the tavern for to-night. iâ��ll just go out on the beach and have my smoke there. i wonâ��t be gone very long.â�� when trafton had descended from the cliff to the beach he took the direction of the hermitâ��s cave. of course he had been in that direction a good many times, but then there was nothing on his mind and he had not taken particular notice of the entrance or its surroundings. it was a calm, pleasant moonlight night and objects were visible for a considerable distance. trafton walked on till he stood at the foot of the cliff containing the cave. there was the rude ladder leading to the entrance. it was short. it could be scaled in a few seconds, and the box or chest of gold, in whose existence trafton had a thorough belief, could be found. but caution must be used. possibly the hermit might be at home, and if he were, he would, of course, be awake at that hour. besides, the cave was dark and he had no light. â��when i come i will bring matches and a candle,â�� thought the fisherman. â��i canâ��t find the gold unless i can see my way. what a fool this hermit must be to stay in such a place when with his money he could live handsomely in the city! but i donâ��t find fault with him for that. itâ��s so much the better for me.â�� he turned his eyes toward the sea, and by the light of the moon he saw the hermitâ��s slender skiff approaching. the old man was plainly visible, with his long gray hair floating over his shoulders as he bent to the oars. â��he mustnâ��t see me,â�� muttered the fisherman. â��i had better go home.â�� chapter xviii a desperate conflict about eight oâ��clock the next evening john trafton sat in the barroom at the tavern enjoying himself in the manner characteristic of the place. all day long his mind had been dwelling upon the plan which he had so recently formed, and he felt a feverish desire to carry it out. â��one bold stroke,â�� he said to himself, â��and i am a made man. no more hard work for me. i will live like a gentleman.â�� it was rather a strange idea the fisherman had--that he could live like a gentleman on the proceeds of a burglary--but there are many who, like him, consider that nothing is needed but money to make a gentleman. that very night john trafton decided to make the attempt, if circumstances seemed favorable. he shrank from it as the time approached and felt that he needed some artificial courage. for this reason he visited the tavern and patronized the bar more liberally than usual. trafton had prudently resolved to keep his design entirely secret and not to drop even a hint calculated to throw suspicion upon him after the event. but there is an old proverb that when the wine is in the wit is out, and, though the fisherman indulged in whisky rather than wine, the saying will apply just as well to the one as to the other. among the company present in the barroom was one man who had been in the village a day or two, but was a stranger to all present. he was a short, powerfully made man, roughly dressed, with a low brow and quick, furtive eyes that had a look of suspicion in them. he had naturally found his way to the tavern bar and proved himself a liberal patron of the establishment. therefore the landlord--though he did not fancy the looks of his new guest--treated him with politeness. somehow the conversation on that particular evening drifted to the probable wealth of city people who made their homes at cookâ��s harbor during the summer. it was afterward remembered that the roughly dressed stranger had introduced the subject in a casual way. â��itâ��s my opinion,â�� said ben barton, â��that mr. irving is our richest man.â�� â��what makes you think so, ben?â�� asked the landlord. â��the way he lives partly. heâ��s got everything that money can buy. besides, i heard his boy say that his fatherâ��s watch cost him five hundred dollars. now, it stands to reason that a man donâ��t wear a watch like that unless heâ��s got the money to back it.â�� â��thereâ��s something in that,â�� the landlord admitted. the stranger seemed interested. â��does this irving stay down here himself?â�� he asked. â��no, he only comes down saturday to stay over sunday.â�� â��does he have much silver in the house?â�� â��i donâ��t know. why?â�� inquired ben barton, turning a surprised look upon the stranger. â��because a real, tiptop rich man generally has plenty of plate,â�� answered the man after a pause. â��i guess he doesnâ��t keep it down here,â�� said barton. â��itâ��s likely heâ��s got plenty in the city.â�� the stranger shrugged his shoulders. â��does his wife wear diamonds?â�� he asked. â��not down here. there wouldnâ��t be any occasion.â�� â��does he get his groceries here or in the city?â�� â��he sends them down here by express.â�� the stranger seemed to lose all interest in the irving family. two or three summer residents were mentioned who were supposed to be rich, but it did not appear that any of them kept valuables at their summer homes. john trafton had not taken any part in the conversation hitherto, and if he had been prudent he would have continued to remain silent, but a man excited by drink is not likely to be discreet. he broke silence when there came a lull in the discussion. â��thereâ��s one man you havenâ��t mentioned,â�� he said, â��who keeps more money on hand than mr. irving or any one else you have spoken of.â�� â��a man in the village here?â�� asked the landlord. â��he means you, mr. jones,â�� said ben barton jocosely. â��ainâ��t we all of us bringing you money every day? you ought to have a pile by this time.â�� â��so i might if all that were owing me would pay up,â�� retorted the landlord. as ben was one of his debtors, this was felt to be a fair hit, and there was a laugh at his expense. â��pâ��râ��aps trafton means himself,â�� suggested ben by way of diversion. â��i wish i did,â�� said the fisherman. â��well, i may be rich some time; stranger things have happened.â�� â��i canâ��t think of any stranger thing than that,â�� said ben. and the laugh now was at traftonâ��s expense, but he didnâ��t seem to mind it. by this time the general curiosity was aroused. â��who is this rich man youâ��re talkinâ�� about, trafton?â�� asked sam cummings. â��the hermit of the cliff,â�� answered the fisherman. there was a general rustle of surprise. â��what reason have you for saying that?â�� asked mr. jones, the landlord. by this time, however, john trafton began to suspects that he had been imprudent and he answered with a mysterious shake of the head: â��iâ��ve no call to tell you that, but iâ��ve got my reasons.â�� â��canâ��t you tell us, john?â�� asked ben barton. â��i might, but i wonâ��t; but i stand by what iâ��ve said.â�� â��doesnâ��t your boy do errands for the hermit?â�� asked the landlord. â��suppose he does?â�� â��and he goes into the hermitâ��s cave?â�� â��perhaps he does and perhaps he doesnâ��t.â�� â��i know he does, for i was on the beach a day or two ago and i see him a-climbinâ�� the ladder and goinâ�� in,â�� said ben barton. â��youâ��ll have to ask him about that,â�� said the fisherman. â��whereabouts is his cave?â�� asked the stranger, who had listened intently to what had been said. one of the party described its location fully. â��then iâ��ve seen it,â�� said the other. â��i was walking on the beach this morning and i wondered what the ladder was for.â�� he asked various questions about the hermit and his mode of life, which excited no wonder, as the curiosity about the hermit was shared by all. john trafton allowed himself to say one thing more that increased this feeling. â��i wonâ��t tell all i know,â�� he said, â��but i can tell you this hermit lives like a prince. heâ��s got handsomer furniture than there is in any house in cookâ��s harbor.â�� no one had told the fisherman this, but he knew the statement would make a sensation and chose to embellish what he had heard from robert. â��thatâ��s a strange idea to furnish a cave that way,â�� said the stranger. â��it may be strange, but itâ��s true.â�� â��do you think he keeps a good deal of money by him?â�� asked the stranger with evident interest. john trafton nodded significantly. the conversation now drifted into other channels. the stranger ordered another glass of whisky and went out. â��where is that man staying?â�� asked cummings. â��not here,â�� answered the landlord. â��i donâ��t like his looks and donâ��t care where he stays as long as he donâ��t ask for a room here.â�� â��you donâ��t mind selling him drink, landlord?â�� â��not as long as heâ��s got money to pay. thatâ��s a different matter.â�� a few minutes later john trafton left the tavern. he had drunk considerable, but not enough to make him incapable of action. the drink excited him and nerved him for the task he had in view, for upon this very evening he had decided to force an entrance into the hermitâ��s mysterious residence, and he hoped to be well paid for his visit. he had to pass his own cabin on the way. he glanced toward it and saw a light shining through the window, but he took care to keep far enough away so that he might not be seen. half a mile farther and he stood opposite the cavern. there was the ladder making access to the cave easy. he looked for the hermitâ��s boat, which was usually kept fastened near the entrance to the cave, and to his joy he saw that it was missing. â��the old man must be out in his boat,â�� he said to himself. â��all the better for me! if i am quick, i may get through before he gets back.â�� with a confident step he ascended the ladder and entered what might be called the vestibule of the cave. he halted there to light the candle he had brought with him. he was bending over, striking the match against his foot, when he was attacked from behind and almost stunned by a very heavy blow. he recovered himself sufficiently to grasp his assailant, and in an instant the two were grappling in fierce conflict. â��i never thought the old man was so strong,â�� passed through the fishermanâ��s mind as he found himself compelled to use his utmost strength against his opponent. chapter xix a tragedy on the beach it is hardly necessary to say that the man with whom the fisherman was engaged in deadly conflict was not the hermit. it was the stranger who, in the tavern, had manifested so much curiosity on the subject of the rich residents of cookâ��s harbor. he was a desperado from new york, who, being too well known to the police of that city, had found it expedient to seek a new field, where he would not excite suspicion. he had arrived at the cave only a few minutes before the fisherman and had already explored the inner room in search of the large sum of money which trafton had given him to understand the hermit kept on hand. he had no candle, but he found a lamp and lighted it. he was in the midst of his search when he heard the entrance of the fisherman. he concluded, very naturally, that it was the hermit, and he prepared himself for an attack. he instantly extinguished the lamp and stole out into the vestibule. it was his first thought to glide by the supposed hermit and escape, but this would cut him off from securing the booty of which he was in quest. he resolved upon a bolder course. he grappled with the newcomer, confident of easily overcoming a feeble old man, but, to his disagreeable surprise, he encountered a vigorous resistance far beyond what he anticipated. neither of the two uttered a word, but silently the fierce conflict continued. â��i must be weak if i cannot handle an old man,â�� thought the professional burglar, and he increased his efforts. â��if he masters me and finds out who i am, i am lost!â�� thought john trafton; and he, too, put forth his utmost strength. the fisherman had the disadvantage in one respect. he was wholly unarmed and his opponent had a knife. when he found that trafton--who was of muscular build--was likely to gain the advantage, with a muttered oath he drew his knife and plunged it into his opponentâ��s breast. they were struggling just on the verge of the precipice, and trafton, when he felt the blow, tottered and fell, his antagonist with him. â��the old foolâ��s dead, and i must fly,â�� thought the burglar. with hasty step he fled along the sands till he came to a point where he could easily scale the cliff. reaching the top, he walked quickly away from cookâ��s harbor. half an hour later the hermit beached his boat, fastened it and proceeded to his quarters. he was plunged in thought and observed nothing till he stumbled against the fishermanâ��s body. â��some drunken fellow probably,â�� he said to himself. he lit a match, and, bending over, was horror-stricken to see the fixed features and the blood upon the garments of the unfortunate fisherman. â��there has been murder here! who can it be?â�� he exclaimed. he lit another match and took a closer look. â��as i live, it is trafton, robertâ��s uncle!â�� he cried. â��what mystery is here? how did the unhappy man come to his death?â�� he was not long left to wonder alone, for robert, as was not unusual with him, had been taking an evening stroll on the beach, and, seeing his employer, came up to speak to him. â��good evening, sir,â�� he said, as yet innocent of the sad knowledge which was soon to be his. â��is anything the matter?â�� â��robert,â�� said the hermit solemnly, â��prepare yourself for a terrible surprise. a man has been killed and that man is----â�� â��my uncle!â�� exclaimed our hero in dismay. â��yes, it is he!â�� â��how did it happen, sir?â�� asked robert, a frightful suspicion entering his mind. â��i know no better than you, my boy. i have just arrived from an evening trip on the water. i was about to enter my quarters when i stumbled over your uncleâ��s body.â�� â��what could have brought him here?â�� â��i cannot tell, nor can i conjecture who killed him.â�� â��it canâ��t be he,â�� thought robert, dismissing his fleeting suspicion. â��what shall i do, sir?â�� he asked, unprepared, with his boyish inexperience, to decide what to do under such terrible circumstances. â��go and summon some of your neighbors to carry the poor man to his home. meanwhile break the news to your aunt as you best can,â�� said the hermit in a tone of quiet decision. â��but should i not call the doctor?â�� â��it will be of no avail. your uncle is past the help of any physician. go, and i will stay here till you return.â�� the startling news which robert brought to the fishermen served to bring men, women and children to the spot where john trafton lay, ghastly with blood. well known as he was, the sight startled and agitated them, and, in their ignorance of the real murderer, suspicion fastened upon the hermit, who, tall and dignified, with his white hair falling upon his shoulders, stood among them like a being from another world. traftonâ��s habits were well known, but the manner of his death enlisted public sympathy. â��poor john!â�� said tom scott. â��iâ��ve known him, man and boy, for aâ��most fifty years, and i never thought to see him lying like this.â�� â��and what will you do with his murderer?â�� asked his wife in a shrill voice. mrs. scott was somewhat of a virago, but she voiced the popular thought, and all looked to scott for an expression of feeling. â��he ought to be strung up when heâ��s found,â�� said scott. â��you wonâ��t have to look far for him, iâ��m thinkinâ��,â�� said mrs. scott. â��what do you mean, wife?â�� asked scott, who was not of a suspicious turn. â��there he stands!â�� said the virago, pointing with her extended finger to the hermit. as this was a thought which had come to others, hostile eyes looked upon the hermit, and two or three moved forward as if to seize him. the old man regarded the fishermen with surprise and said with dignity: â��my friends, what manner of man do you think i am that you suspect me of such a deed?â�� â��thereâ��s no one could have done it but you,â�� said a young man doggedly. â��here lies trafton at the foot of your ladder, with no one near him but you. you was found with him. itâ��s a clear case.â�� â��to be sure!â�� exclaimed two or three of the women. â��didnâ��t robert find you here, standinâ�� by the dead body of his uncle?â�� the hermit turned to our hero, who stood a little in the background, and said quietly: â��robert, do you think i killed your uncle?â�� â��i am sure you didnâ��t,â�� said robert, manfully meeting the angry glances which were now cast upon him. â��i am glad to have one friend here,â�� said the hermit--â��one who judges me better than the rest of my neighbors.â�� â��he doesnâ��t know anything about you and heâ��s only a boy!â�� said mrs. scott, thrusting herself forward with arms akimbo. â��i allus said there was something wrong about you or you wouldnâ��t hide yourself away from the sight of men in a cave. like as not youâ��ve committed murder before!â�� â��my good woman,â�� said the hermit with a sad smile, â��i am sorry you have so poor an opinion of me.â�� â��donâ��t you call me good woman!â�� said mrs. scott, provoked. â��iâ��m no more a good woman than yourself! i tell you, friends and neighbors, youâ��ll do wrong if you let this man go. we may all be murdered in our beds!â�� she was interrupted by the arrival of mrs. trafton, who had not been apprised of the tragedy from considerations for her feelings, but hearing the stir and excitement, had followed her neighbors to the spot and just ascertain what had happened. â��where is my husband?â�� she cried. all made way for her, feeling that hers was the foremost place, and she stood with startled gaze before her dead husband. ill as he had provided for her and unworthy of her affections as he had proved, at that moment she forgot all but that the husband of her youth lay before her, bereft of life, and she kneeled, sobbing, at his side. the hermit took off his hat and stood reverently by her side. â��oh, john!â�� she sobbed, â��i never thought it would come to this! who could have had the heart to kill you?â�� â��thatâ��s the man! he murdered him!â�� said mrs. scott harshly, pointing to the hermit. the widow lifted her eyes to the man of whom she had heard so much from robert with a glance of incredulity. he was too proud to defend himself from the coarse accusation and returned her look with a glance of sympathy and compassion. â��i never can believe that!â�� said the widow in utter incredulity. â��he has been kind to my boy. he never would lift his hand against my husband!â�� the hermit looked deeply gratified. â��mrs. trafton,â�� he said, â��you are right. i had no cause to harm your husband, nor would i have killed him for robertâ��s sake, whatever wrong he might have done me. but, in truth, i know of no reason why i should seek to injure him.â�� â��if you are an innocent man,â�� persisted mrs. scott, â��tell us who you are and what brought you here.â�� â��yes, tell us who you are!â�� echoed two others who had always felt curious about the hermit. â��i do not choose to declare myself now,â�� said the hermit gravely. â��the time may come when i shall do so, but not now.â�� â��thatâ��s because youâ��re a thief or murderer!â�� exclaimed mrs. scott, exasperated. â��wife, youâ��re goinâ�� too far!â�� said her husband. â��mind your own business, tom scott!â�� retorted his wife in a tone with which he was only too familiar. â��you ought to be ashamed of yourself tryinâ�� to screen the murderer of your next-door neighbor.â�� â��i am doing nothing of the kind. thereâ��s no proof that the hermit of the cliff murdered john trafton.â�� â��you must be a fool if you canâ��t see it,â�� said mrs. scott. robert coverdale was shocked to hear his friend so abused and he said boldly: â��mrs. scott, i donâ��t know who murdered my poor uncle, but i know the hermit did not. he has been a good friend to me, and he is no murderer.â�� â��go home and go to bed, boy!â�� said mrs. scott violently. â��you take that manâ��s part against your poor uncle.â�� robert was provoked and answered with energy: â��i would sooner suspect you than him. i never heard the hermit say a word against my uncle, while only yesterday you called him a drunken vagabond.â�� this so turned the tables on mrs. scott that she was unable to return to the attack. â��well, if i ever!â�� she ejaculated. â��tom scott, are you goinâ�� to see your wife sassed by a boy?â�� â��it seems to me, wife, that the boy is in the right in this instance,â�� answered tom, who had a sense of justice. â��so you turn against your lawful wife, do you?â�� exclaimed mrs. scott violently. â��iâ��ll come up with you yet. see if i donâ��t.â�� tom scott shrugged his shoulders with resignation. â��iâ��ve no doubt you will,â�� he answered with a half smile. â��my friends,â�� said the hermit with calm dignity, â��as it appears that some of you suspect me of this dastardly deed, i am quite willing to submit to any restraint you may desire till the groundlessness of the charge appears. you may leave a guard here in the cave or i will accompany you to any of your own houses. i certainly have no desire to escape while such suspicions are entertained.â�� robert indignantly protested against such a step, but the hermit stayed his words. â��robert,â�� he said, â��it is better. it will do me no harm, and, under the circumstances, while the matter is involved in mystery, i admit that it is perfectly justifiable and proper. my friends, i am in your hands. what will you do with me?â�� mrs. scott expressed her opinion that he should be strung up immediately, but no one seconded her. it was decided that two of the fishermen should remain at the cave that night to prevent any attempt at escape on the part of the hermit. the body of the murdered fisherman was carried to his own cabin and properly cared for till the coroner, who must be brought from a neighboring town, should make his appearance. chapter xx mr. jones makes a call when morning dawned a new face was put upon the matter. steps were discovered leading from the scene of the murder along the beach and up the cliff. there were also discovered signs of a struggle in the cave, and it became clear that there had been a conflict and that one of the two concerned had escaped. of course it could not have been the hermit, for he was now in custody. moreover, a fisherman who had been out in his boat in the evening remembered meeting the hermit rowing at about the time the murder must have been committed. these discoveries cleared the hermit, but the question arose: â��who was this other man?â�� there was no difficulty in solving this question. there were plenty who remembered the stranger who had spent a part of the previous evening in the barroom of the tavern, and his evident curiosity as to the wealth of the hermit was also remembered. the real state of the case was now pretty well understood. this stranger had suddenly resolved to rob the hermit and had secretly found his way to the cavern. but how did he happen to find the fisherman there and what was the object of the latter? then it was remembered that trafton also had seemed much interested in the supposed hoards of the hermit, and, when his own want of money was considered, it was suspected that he, too, went on an errand similar to the burglar. but he was dead, and his neighbors, who knew that he must have yielded to the force of a sudden and new temptation, did not care to speculate upon his object. they were disposed to spare their old neighbor and charitably drop a veil over his attempted crime, which had brought upon him such fearful retribution. of course the hermit was released from custody, and there was not a person in the village who did not acquit him of all wrong except mrs. scott, who could not forgive him for proving her suspicions groundless. â��you may say what you will,â�� she said perversely, â��i know the manâ��s a burglar, or a murderer, or something else bad.â�� â��he couldnâ��t have murdered john trafton, for we traced the murdererâ��s steps on the beach. there is no doubt it was that stranger we saw in the barroom.â�� so said her husband. â��i donâ��t care whether he murdered john trafton or not,â�� said mrs. scott. â��iâ��m sure heâ��s murdered somebody, and iâ��m ready to take my bible oath of it.â�� â��what makes you so prejudiced against the poor man? he hasnâ��t done you any harm, mrs. scott.â�� â��i donâ��t like the airs he puts on. he looks at you jest as if you were dust beneath his feet. what right has he to look down upon honest people, i want to know?â�� but mrs. scott did not succeed in creating a prejudice against the hermit, whose courageous and dignified bearing had impressed all who observed his manner in this trying crisis. when the funeral was over the hermit called in the evening upon the widow of john trafton. it was the first he had ever made upon any of his neighbors and it excited surprise. robert brought forward the rocking-chair and invited the visitor cordially to sit down. â��mrs. trafton,â�� said the hermit, â��i want to thank you and robert for the confidence you showed in me at a time when all others suspected me of a terrible deed. you were the ones most affected, yet you acquitted me in your hearts.â�� â��just for a moment i suspected you when i saw you standing by the dead body of my uncle,â�� said robert, â��but it was only for a moment.â�� â��i respect you for your fearless candor, my boy. you were justified in your momentary suspicion.â�� â��i am ashamed of it. you had been such a kind friend.â�� â��it was only natural. and now, my friends, what are your plans? how will you be able to maintain yourselves?â�� â��i donâ��t think it will make much difference,â�� began robert hesitatingly. â��my husband did very little for our support,â�� said mrs. trafton. â��not more, certainly, than his own food amounted to. you know, sir, i think robert must have told you the unfortunate habits of my poor husband. he was enslaved by drink, and he spent nearly all he earned in the barroom.â�� â��yes, i knew what your husbandâ��s habits were,â�� said the hermit gently. â��it is a great pity he could not have lived to change them.â�� â��i am afraid he never would,â�� said the widow. â��they had grown upon him from year to year, and he seemed to get weaker and weaker in purpose.â�� â��i had a brother who was equally unfortunate,â�� said the hermit. â��there are few families who are wholly free from the evils of intemperance. but have you formed any plans?â�� â��i suppose we can get along as we have,â�� answered mrs. trafton. â��with what you kindly pay robert, and what he can pick up elsewhere, and the sewing i do, i think we can get along.â�� â��do you own this cottage?â�� inquired the hermit. â��yes, sir.â�� â��then you will have no rent to pay.â�� â��no, i donâ��t know how we could do that.â�� the hermit looked thoughtful. â��i will see you again,â�� he said as he rose to go. on the whole, mrs. trafton and robert were likely to get along as well as before john traftonâ��s death. robert could use his uncleâ��s boat for fishing, selling what they did not require, while regularly every week two dollars came in from the hermit. it was a great source of relief that no rent must be paid. the fishermanâ��s cabin and lot originally cost about five hundred dollars and the household furniture was of little value. the taxes were small and could easily be met. so there seemed nothing to prevent their living on in the same way as before. some time robert hoped and expected to leave cookâ��s harbor. he was a smart, enterprising, ambitious boy, and he felt that he would like a more stirring life in a larger place. he was not ashamed of the fishermanâ��s business, but he felt qualified for something better. it did not escape his notice that most of his neighbors were illiterate men, who had scarcely a thought beyond the success of their fishing trips, and he had already entered so far into the domain of study and books as to feel the charm of another world--the great world of knowledge--which lay spread out before him and beckoned him onward. but he was not impatient. â��my duty at present,â�� he reflected, â��is to stay in cookâ��s harbor and take care of my aunt. i am young and strong, and i donâ��t mean that she shall want for any comforts which i can get for her.â�� he soon learned, however, that there was one great mistake in his calculations. robert was sitting by the door reading, after his return from a fishing trip, about a week after his uncleâ��s funeral, when he heard the steps of some one approaching. looking up, he saw advancing toward their humble residence the stout, ponderous figure of nahum jones, the landlord of the village inn. it was not often that mr. jones found his way to the beach. usually he kept close to the tavern, unless he rode to some neighboring town. therefore robert was surprised to see him. nahum jones nodded slightly, and, taking off his straw hat, wiped the perspiration from his forehead. â��here, you, bob,â�� he said, â��is your aunt at home?â�� â��yes, sir!â�� answered robert, but not cordially, for he felt that mr. jones had been no friend of his uncle. â��well, tell her iâ��ve come to have a talk with her, do you hear?â�� â��yes, i hear,â�� answered the boy coolly. he rose from his chair and entered the house. â��aunt jane,â�� he said, â��here is mr. jones come to see you.â�� â��what? the tavern keeper?â�� asked his aunt in great surprise. â��yes, aunt.â�� â��what can that man want of me?â�� the question was answered, not by robert but by nahum jones himself. â��i want to have a little talk with you, maâ��am,â�� said the burly landlord, entering without an invitation and seating himself unceremoniously. â��i will listen to what you have to say, mr. jones,â�� said the widow, â��but i will not pretend that i am glad to see you. you were an enemy to my poor husband.â�� â��i donâ��t know what you mean, mrs. trafton. did he ever tell you that i was his enemy?â�� â��no, but it was you who sold him liquor and took the money which he should have spent on his own family.â�� â��all nonsense, maâ��am. you women are the most unreasonable creatures. i didnâ��t ask him to drink.â�� â��you tempted him to do it.â�� â��i deny it!â�� said the landlord warmly. â��i couldnâ��t refuse to sell him what he asked for, could i? you must be a fool to talk so!â�� said the landlord roughly. â��iâ��ll trouble you to speak respectfully to my aunt, mr. jones,â�� said robert with flashing eyes. â��mind your own business, you young rascal!â�� said nahum jones, whose temper was not of the best. â��i mean to,â�� retorted robert. â��my business is to protect my aunt from being insulted.â�� â��wait till youâ��re a little bigger, boy,â�� said jones with a sneer. robert involuntarily doubled up his fist and answered: â��i mean to protect her now.â�� â��mrs. trafton,â�� said nahum jones, highly irritated, â��youâ��d better silence that young cub or i may kick him out of doors!â�� â��you appear to forget that you are not in your own house, nahum jones,â�� said the widow with dignity. â��my nephew has acted perfectly right and only spoke as he should.â�� â��so you sustain him in his impudence, do you?â�� snarled jones, showing his teeth. â��if that is all you have come to say to me, mr. jones, you may as well go.â�� â��by george, maâ��am, you are mighty independent!â�� â��i am not dependent on the man who ruined my poor husband.â�� â��no, but youâ��re dependent on me!â�� exclaimed the landlord, pounding the floor forcibly with his cane. â��will you explain yourself, sir?â�� â��i will,â�� said mr. jones emphatically. â��you talk about my not being in my own house, but itâ��s just possible you are mistaken.â�� â��what do you mean?â�� asked mrs. trafton, startled. â��i mean this, that i hold a mortgage on this house for two hundred dollars, and thatâ��s as much as it will fetch at auction. what do you say to that?â�� robert looked and felt as much troubled as his aunt. on his young shoulders fell this new burden, and he was at an utter loss what could be done. â��i thought iâ��d shut you up, you young cub!â�� said the landlord, glancing maliciously at robert. â��you havenâ��t shut me up!â�� retorted robert with spirit. â��what have you got to say, hey?â�� â��that you ought to be ashamed to take all my uncleâ��s earnings and then steal his home. thatâ��s what iâ��ve got to say!â�� â��iâ��ve a great mind to give you a caning,â�� said mr. jones in a rage. â��youâ��d better not!â�� said robert. he was as tall as the landlord, and though not as strong, considerably more active, and he did not feel in the least frightened. nahum jones was of a choleric disposition, and his face was purple with rage, but he hadnâ��t yet said all he intended. â��i give you warning, mrs. trafton,â�� he said, shaking his cane at our hero, â��that iâ��m going to foreclose this mortgage and turn you into the street. youâ��ve got yourself to thank, you and this young rascal. i came here thinking iâ��d be easy with you, but i donâ��t mean to stand your insulting talk. iâ��ll give you four weeks to raise the money, and if you donâ��t do it, out you go, bag and baggage. perhaps when youâ��re in the poorhouse you may be sorry you didnâ��t treat me better.â�� â��oh, robert, what shall we do?â�� asked the poor woman, her courage failing as she reflected on the possibility that the landlordâ��s prediction might be fulfilled. â��donâ��t be alarmed, aunt jane; iâ��ll take care of you,â�� said robert more cheerfully than he felt. â��oh, you will, will you?â�� sneered mr. jones. â��anybodyâ��d think to hear you that you were worth a pile of money. if your aunt depends on you to keep her out of the poorhouse, i would not give much for her chance.â�� â��you wonâ��t have the satisfaction of seeing either of us there,â�� said robert defiantly. â��you neednâ��t expect my wife to give you any more sewing,â�� said mr. jones, scowling at the widow. â��i donâ��t think my aunt wants any, considering she hasnâ��t been paid for the last work she did,â�� said robert. â��what do you mean by that? i credited your uncle with twenty-five cents on his score.â�� â��without my auntâ��s consent.â�� mr. jones was so incensed at the defiant mien of the boy that he rocked violently to and fro--so violently that the chair, whose rockers were short, tipped over backward and the wrathful landlord rolled ignominiously on the floor. â��hereâ��s you hat, mr. jones,â�� said robert, smiling in spite of himself as he picked it up and restored it to the mortified visitor. â��youâ��ll hear from me!â�� roared the landlord furiously, aiming a blow at robert and leaving the room precipitately. â��youâ��ll repent this day, see if you donâ��t!â�� after he had left the room robert and his aunt looked at each other gravely. they had made an enemy out of a man who could turn them out of doors. the future looked far from bright. chapter xxi the hermitâ��s secret mr. jones, in his anger at robert, regretted that he must wait four weeks before he could turn him and his aunt out of the house. it would be a great satisfaction to him to see the boy without a roof to shelter him, reduced to becoming a tramp or to take refuge in the poorhouse. â��by george, iâ��ll humble the young beggarâ��s pride!â�� exclaimed mr. jones as he hastened homeward from his unsatisfactory interview. it must be admitted that robert had not been exactly respectful, but, on the other hand, it is quite certain that the landlord had been rude and rough in manner and speech. why, then, did not mr. jones foreclose the mortgage instantly and gratify his resentment? because in the instrument there was a proviso requiring a notice of four weeks. however, he felt that it would make little difference. â��they canâ��t raise the money in four weeks,â�� he reflected. â��thereâ��s nobody round here who will lend them the money, and they donâ��t know anybody anywhere else.â�� so, on the whole, he was satisfied. four weeks would soon pass, and then his thirst for revenge would be sated. â��what makes you so sober, my boy?â�� asked the hermit when robert made his regular call upon him the next day. â��i feel anxious,â�� answered the boy. â��but why need you? you told me your uncle did very little for the family. i think you will be able to take care of your aunt. if not, i will help you more.â�� â��thank you, sir; you are very kind. but we thought when you called the other day that we owned the house and would have no rent to pay.â�� â��were you mistaken about this?â�� asked the hermit quickly. â��it seems so. mr. jones, the tavern keeper, has a mortgage on the property and threatens to foreclose in four weeks unless the money is paid. of course, we canâ��t pay him, and i suppose we shall be turned out.â�� â��how large is this mortgage?â�� â��two hundred dollars.â�� â��that is not a very great sum.â�� â��it is very large to us. you know how poor we are.â�� â��but have you no friend who will lend you the money?â�� â��no, sir.â�� â��are you sure of that?â�� asked the hermit with a peculiar smile, which inspired new hope in robert. then, without waiting for a reply, the man continued: â��if you are willing, i will pay this mortgage when the time comes, and i will be your creditor instead of mr. jones.â�� â��how can i thank you?â�� exclaimed robert joyfully. â��my aunt will be delighted.â�� â��tell her then, but no one else. it will give mr. jones a surprise.â�� â��it wonâ��t be a pleasant one. he was very rude and impolite and said he hoped to see us in the poorhouse.â�� â��i donâ��t believe you will ever go there, robert,â�� said the hermit, looking earnestly at the strong, energetic face of the boy before him. â��no, sir, i donâ��t believe we will. but you are doing a great deal for us, sir. how can i ever repay you? if there was anything i could do for you i should be glad.â�� â��perhaps you can,â�� said the hermit in a musing tone. â��let me know what it is, sir, and iâ��ll be glad to do it.â�� â��have you ever wondered,â�� asked the hermit abruptly, â��why i have left the haunts of men and retired to this out-of-the-way spot?â�� â��yes, sir. i have thought of that often.â�� â��your curiosity is natural. i am not a poor man--in fact i should be called rich. poverty and pecuniary troubles, therefore, have nothing to do with my strange act--as the world considers it. in my life there have been two tragedies. i was married, at the age of thirty, to a very beautiful young lady, whom i tenderly loved. i made my home in a city of considerable size and lived as my means warranted. one evening, as my wife stood before the open grate, dressed for a party, her dress caught fire, and before help could arrive she was fatally injured. of course the blow was a terrible one. but i had a child--a boy of five--on whom my affections centered. a year later he mysteriously disappeared, and from that day i have never heard a word of him. when search proved unavailing, i became moody and a settled melancholy took possession of me. i could not endure the sight of other parents happy in the possession of children, and i doomed myself to a solitary life, wandering here and there till, two years since, i chanced to find this cave and made my home here.â�� â��how old would your son be now?â�� asked robert with interest. â��about your own age--perhaps a little older. it was this and a fancied resemblance which attracted me toward you.â�� â��had you any suspicion that your son was stolen?â�� asked robert. â��yes. in particular i suspected a cousin who would be my probable heir in case my boy died. but i could never prove anything, and the man expressed so much sympathy that i was ashamed to avow any suspicions. but charles waldo was a covetous man, insatiable in his greed of money and absolutely cold and unsympathetic, though his manner was plausible. he hoped that this second blow would kill me, but he has been disappointed.â�� â��if the boy is living, perhaps he knows where he is,â�� said robert. â��if he abducted him--yes. he would not kill him, for he is too cautious a man and has too great fear of the law.â�� â��where is mr. waldo now living?â�� â��in ohio. he has a large farm and a moderate amount of money invested--some twenty thousand dollars perhaps--so that he is able to live at ease. he was disappointed because i would not give him the charge of my property, but with the lingering suspicion in my mind i could not make up my mind to do it. he also sought a loan of ten thousand dollars, which i refused.â�� â��how then does he expect to be your heir?â�� asked robert. â��two-thirds of my property is entailed and must be left to him if my boy is dead.â�� â��if he really stole your son, he must be a wicked man,â�� said robert with boyish indignation at the thought. â��yes, for he has wrecked two lives--mine and my boyâ��s.â�� â��have you no hope of ever again seeing your son?â�� â��only a slight one. i have thought of a plan in which i need your help.â�� â��if i can help you, sir,â�� said robert heartily, â��i will do so gladly.â�� â��i do not doubt it, robert,â�� said the hermit kindly. â��i will explain my meaning. if charles waldo knows anything of my lost boy, he must, from time to time, hold communication with him, and if he is watched he may some day reveal his hiding place.â�� â��why do you not go out to where he lives and watch him?â�� â��it would do no good. it would only put him on his guard. i intend this office for you.â�� â��for me?â�� exclaimed robert in amazement. â��yes, you are young, but you have natural ability, and shrewdness. at any rate, you are the only one i have to send. it is a desperate chance, but i shall feel better satisfied when i have tried it.â�� â��i will follow your instructions whenever you wish,â�� said robert, his heart beating at the prospect of seeing something of that world of which he had seen so little and heard so much. â��my instructions will be few. i must trust much to your shrewdness. you will need to visit the town where my cousin lives to observe his habits and any unusual visitors he may have--in fact, try to arrive at the knowledge of the secret, if there is one, connected with my boyâ��s disappearance.â�� â��what was your sonâ��s name?â�� â��julian huet. my own name is gilbert huet, but this information is for your ear alone.â�� â��i will not mention it, sir.â�� â��you need not feel anxious about leaving your aunt. i will see that her wants are provided for during your absence.â�� â��thank you, sir.â�� â��and the mortgage shall be paid when it comes due.â�� â��i wish i could be here to see mr. jones disappointed.â�� â��you can hardly be back so soon. it may take you six months. the task is one that will require time. by the way, i do not wish you to mention to your aunt the nature of your errand. merely tell her that you are traveling on business for me.â�� â��very well, sir. how soon do you wish me to start?â�� â��at the beginning of next week.â�� â��i am afraid, sir, i have no clothes that are fit to wear,â�� said robert with hesitation. â��you will provide yourself in boston with a suitable outfit. you will be supplied with an ample sum of money, and i will instruct my bankers to honor any drafts you may make.â�� â��you will be spending a great deal of money for me, mr. huet.â�� â��i am rich, and living as i have each year this made me richer. i will not grudge ten, twenty, fifty thousand dollars if you find my boy or bring me a clew which will lead to his discovery.â�� robert was dazzled. it was evident that the hermit must be very rich. he walked home in high spirits. he was on the eve of an exciting journey and he enjoyed the prospect. chapter xxii two persons are surprised â��aunt,â�� said robert, his face aglow with excitement, â��i am going to make a journey. i hope you wonâ��t feel lonely while i am away.â�� â��a journey!â�� exclaimed mrs. trafton in astonishment. â��yes, i am going away on business for the hermit.â�� â��where are you going?â�� â��to boston first.â�� â��to boston? landâ��s sake! how can a boy like you find your way round in such a great city as boston?â�� â��a boy of my age ought to be able to take care of himself.â�� â��why, child, youâ��ll lose your way! thereâ��s ever so many streets and roads. i went to boston once, and i got so puzzled i didnâ��t know whether i stood on my head or my heels. if there was some older person going with you, now----â�� â��aunt, donâ��t make a baby of me. i guess i can get along as well as anybody.â�� â��well, you can try it. when will you be back?â�� â��when i get my business done.â�� â��you wonâ��t be gone over two days, i calculate.â�� â��i may be gone two months or more.â�� â��well, i never!â�� exclaimed the astonished woman, staring at robert as if she thought his mind was wandering. â��what sort of business is it thatâ��s going to take so long?â�� â��the hermit wants it kept secret, aunt jane.â�� â��but how am i going to get along without you?â�� asked his aunt in dismay. â��i canâ��t go out fishing, and the money i earn by sewing is almost nothing.â�� robert smiled, for he knew he could allay his auntâ��s fears. â��the hermit will pay you five dollars a week while i am gone, and here is the first weekâ��s pay,â�� he said, drawing from his pocket a bill. â��well, i must say your friend the hermit is a gentleman. five dollars a week is more than i can spend.â�� â��then save a part of it if you like, aunt.â�� â��but what shall i do, robert, if mr. jones comes upon me to pay the mortgage when you arc gone?â�� said his aunt, with new alarm. â��the hermit has agreed to pay off the mortgage and take one himself for the same amount.â�� â��he is very kind, robert. donâ��t you think that i ought to call and thank him?â�� â��what! call at the cave?â�� â��yes!â�� â��no, aunt,â�� said robert hastily. â��he would not like to have you. you can wait till you see him. but mind you donâ��t tell anybody--least of all, mr. jones--that you will be able to pay the mortgage. as he is so mean, we want to give him a surprise.â�� â��just as you say, robert. i am glad weâ��ll be able to disappoint him, for he is certainly a very mean man. now, when do you want to start for boston?â�� â��to-morrow.â�� â��but how am i going to get ready your shirts and socks so soon?â�� â��i shall not take any of them.â�� â��robert coverdale, you must be crazy. you canâ��t wear one shirt for two months if youâ��re going so long.â�� â��i donâ��t expect to, aunt,â�� said the boy, smiling. â��i am going to buy a whole outfit of new things when i get to boston. the hermit wants me to.â�� â��he must be awful rich!â�� said the good woman, whose ideas on the subject of wealth were limited. â��all the better for us, aunt jane, as he is willing to spend some of his money for us.â�� mrs. trafton was considerably excited by the prospect of robertâ��s journey, and, notwithstanding what he had said, occupied herself in washing his clothes and making a small bundle for him to carry, but robert declined taking them, with a smile. â��you see, aunt, my clothes wouldnâ��t be good enough to wear in boston,â�� he said. â��just keep them till i get back. perhaps i may need them then.â�� â��iâ��ll lay â��em away carefully, robert. when you get a little larger i guess youâ��ll be able to wear some of your uncleâ��s clothes. his best suit might be made over for you. he hadnâ��t had it but six years, and thereâ��s a good deal of wear in it yet. i might cut it over myself when youâ��re gone.â�� â��better wait till i come back, aunt,â�� said robert hastily. he knew the suit very well. it was snuff-colored and by no means a good fit, even for his uncle, while under his auntâ��s unpracticed hands it would probably look considerably worse when made over for him. it must be confessed that robertâ��s ideas were expanding and he was rapidly growing more fastidious. he instinctively felt that he was about to turn a new leaf in his book of life and to enter on new scenes, in which he was to play a less obscure part than had been his hitherto in the little village of cookâ��s harbor. but no such change had come to his aunt. she still regarded robert as the same boy that he always had been--born to the humble career of a fisherman--and she examined her husbandâ��s best suit with much complacency, mentally resolving that, in spite of robertâ��s objection, she would devote her leisure time to making it over for him. â��he can wear it for best for a year or two,â�� she thought, â��and then put it on every day. i am sure it will look well on him.â�� in the evening robert went to the cave to have a farewell interview with the hermit--or gilbert huet, to give him the name which was properly his. â��you may write to me about once a week if you have anything to say, robert,â�� said the hermit. â��how shall i direct you, sir? shall i use your name?â�� â��how am i known in the village?â�� â��they call you â��the hermit of the cliff.â��â�� â��then direct your letters to â��the hermit of the cliff.â�� they are not likely to go astray.â�� mr. huet gave robert his instructions and finally produced a roll of banknotes. â��you will find two hundred dollars in this roll, robert,â�� he said. â��you can buy a wallet to keep it in when you reach boston.â�� â��two hundred dollars!â�� exclaimed the boy in amazement. â��you wonâ��t find it so large a sum as you suppose when you are required to pay traveling expenses. you need not try to be over-economical. i prefer that you should stop at good hotels and put on a good appearance. but i warn you to keep your mouth shut and tell your business to no one. i depend upon your discretion not to fall into the hands of knaves or adventurers. i know that i am putting unusual confidence in a boy of your limited experience, but i have no one else to trust, and i feel that you may be relied upon.â�� â��i hope i shall not disappoint you, mr. huet.â�� â��well, robert, i will bid you good night and god bless you! we donâ��t know what lies before us, but if you succeed, i will take care that your career shall be a fortunate one.â�� robert walked slowly back to his humble home, almost wishing that the night were over and his journey actually begun. there was but one way out of cookâ��s harbor--that is, by land. a stage left the village every morning for kaneville, six miles distant, a small station on a road which terminated many miles away in boston. the stage started at seven oâ��clock, so robert was forced to get up betimes, take an early breakfast and walk up to the tavern. mr. jones, the landlord, was standing on the piazza when robert made his appearance. he had no proprietary right in the stage line, but the driver generally stopped overnight at the tavern and the horses were kept in his stable, so that he had come to assume a certain air of proprietorship. as robert was climbing up to take a seat by the driver mr. jones, with a frown, called out: â��look here, you young rascal, come right down!â�� â��why am i to come down, mr. jones?â�� said robert independently. â��because i tell you to. we canâ��t have any boys stealing rides.â�� â��is this stage yours?â�� asked robert, surveying the landlord with provoking coolness. â��no matter whether it is or not,â�� retorted jones, red in the face. â��i tell you to come down. do you hear?â�� â��yes, i hear.â�� â��then youâ��d better come down double quick or iâ��ll give you a taste of a horsewhip.â�� â��i advise you to mind your own business, mr. jones,â�� said robert hotly, â��and not interfere with the passengers by this stage.â�� â��youâ��re not a passenger, you young beggar!â�� â��i am a passenger--and now youâ��d better stop talking.â�� â��have you got money to pay your fare?â�� asked the landlord, beginning to suspect he had made a fool of himself. â��when the driver calls for the fare it will be time enough to tell.â�� â��luke,â�� said mr. jones to the driver, â��youâ��d better take that boyâ��s fare now. he wants to swindle you out of a ride.â�� â��you may take it out of this,â�� said robert, tendering a five-dollar bill. â��i guess weâ��ll let it stand till we get to kaneville,â�� said luke, gathering up the reins. robert darted a glance of triumph at the discomfited and bewildered landlord, and his journey was begun. the latter, on lukeâ��s return, learned to his further surprise that robert had gone to boston. on reflection, he concluded that mrs. trafton must have some relatives in the city from whom they hoped to borrow enough money to raise the mortgage. â��but he wonâ��t succeed, and in four weeks i shall turn him and his aunt out of doors,â�� mr. jones complacently reflected. chapter xxiii an unpleasant surprise when robert arrived in boston he was at first bewildered by the noise and bustle to which, in the quiet fishing village, he was quite unaccustomed. all that he knew about the city was the names of the principal streets. it was not necessary, however, that he should go in any particular direction. he decided, therefore, to walk along, keeping a good lookout, and, when he saw a clothing store, to go in and provide a new outfit. he was sensible that he was by no means dressed in city style. his clothes were coarse, and being cut and made by his aunt--who, though an excellent woman, was by no means an excellent tailor--looked countrified and outlandish. the first hint robert had of this was when two well-dressed boys, meeting him, simultaneously burst out laughing. robert was sensitive, but he was by no means bashful or timid. accordingly he stepped up to the boys and demanded with kindling eyes: â��are you laughing at me?â�� â��oh, no, of course not,â�� answered one of the boys, rolling his tongue in his cheek. â��certainly not, my dear fellow,â�� said the other, winking. â��i think you were,â�� said robert firmly. â��do you see anything to laugh at in me?â�� â��well, to tell the truth,â�� said the first boy, â��we were wondering whether you import your clothes from paris or london.â�� â��oh, thatâ��s it,â�� said robert good-humoredly, for he was aware that his clothes were of strange cut. â��my clothes were made in the country and i donâ��t think much of them myself. if youâ��d tell me where i can get some better ones i will buy a suit.â�� the boys were not bad-hearted and were won over by robertâ��s good humor. â��youâ��re a good fellow,â�� said the first speaker, â��and i am sorry i was rude enough to laugh at you. there is a store where i think you can find what you want.â�� he pointed to a clothing store. in front of which was a good display of ready-made clothing. â��thank you,â�� said robert. he entered and the boys walked on. if robert had been better dressed he would have received immediate attention. as it was, he looked like a poor boy in want of work and not at all like a customer. so, at all events, decided a dapper-looking clerk whose attention was drawn to the new arrival. â��well, boy, what do you want?â�� he demanded roughly, approaching robert. â��civil treatment to begin with,â�� answered robert with spirit. â��if youâ��ve come for a place, we donâ��t want any scarecrows here.â�� it appears that the firm had advertised for an errand boy that very morning, and it was naturally supposed that robert was an applicant. â��are you the owner of this shop?â�� asked robert coolly. â��no,â�� answered the clerk, lowering his tone a little. â��i thought so. iâ��ll tell my business to somebody else.â�� â��youâ��d better not put on airs!â�� said the clerk angrily. â��you are the one who is putting on airs,â�� retorted robert. â��whatâ��s the matter here?â�� asked a portly gentleman, walking up to the scene of the altercation. â��i was telling this boy that he would not do for the place,â�� answered the clerk. â��i believe, mr. turner, that you are not commissioned to make a selection,â�� said the gentleman. and turner retired, discomfited. â��so you want a place?â�� he said inquiringly to robert. â��no, sir, i donâ��t.â�� â��mr. turner said you did.â�� â��i never told him so.â�� â��here, turner,â�� said the gentleman. â��why did you tell me this boy wanted a place?â�� â��i supposed he did. he looked like it, sir.â�� â��i donâ��t want a place. i want to buy a suit of clothes,â�� said robert. â��if that young man hadnâ��t treated me so rudely, i should have asked him to show me some.â�� â��look here, mr. turner,â�� said the gentleman sternly, â��if you have no more sense than to insult our customers, we can dispense with your services. mr. conway, will you wait on this young man?â�� turner was mortified and slunk away, beginning to understand that it is not always safe to judge a man or boy by the clothes he wears. mr. conway was more of a gentleman and civilly asked robert to follow him. â��what kind of a suit would you like?â�� he added. â��a pretty good one,â�� answered robert. he was shown several suits and finally selected one of gray mixed cloth of excellent quality. â��that is one of our most expensive suits,â�� said conway doubtfully. â��will it wear well?â�� â��it will wear like iron.â�� â��then i will take it. how much will it cost?â�� conway named the price. robert would have hesitated about paying so much, but that he was acting under instructions from the hermit. â��shall we send it to you anywhere?â�� asked mr. conway, a little surprised at robertâ��s readiness to pay so high a price. â��no, i should like to put it on here.â�� â��you can do so--that is, after paying for it.â�� robert drew out a wallet and from his roll of bills took out sufficient to pay for the new suit. mr. conway went to the cashierâ��s desk. the two had a conversation together. then the stout gentleman was called to the desk. robert saw them open a copy of a morning paper and read a paragraph, looking at him after reading it. he wondered what it all meant. presently conway came back and asked him to walk up to the desk. robert did so, wonderingly. â��you seem to have a good deal of money with you,â�� commenced the stout gentleman. â��yes, sir,â�� answered robert composedly. â��a great deal of money for a boy dressed as you are,â�� continued the speaker pointedly. robert began to understand now, and he replied proudly: â��do you generally ask your customers how much money they have?â�� â��no, but yours is a peculiar case.â�� â��the money is mine--that is, i have a right to spend it. i am acting under orders from the gentleman who employs me.â�� â��who is that?â�� â��no one that you would know. he lives at cookâ��s harbor. but i didnâ��t come in here to answer questions. if you donâ��t want to sell me a suit of clothes, i will go somewhere else.â�� â��to be plain with you, my boy,â�� said the stout gentleman, not unkindly, â��we are afraid that you have no right to this money. the _herald_ of this morning gives an account of a boy who has run away from a town in new hampshire with three hundred dollars belonging to a farmer. you appear to be the age mentioned.â�� â��i never stole a dollar in my life,â�� said robert indignantly. â��it may be so, but i feel it a duty to put you in charge of the police, who will investigate the matter. james, call an officer.â�� robert realized that he was in an unpleasant situation. it would be hard to prove that the money in his hands was really at his disposal. help came from an unexpected quarter. a young man, fashionably dressed, had listened to the conversation of which robert was the subject. he came forward promptly, saying: â��there is no occasion to suspect this boy. he is all right.â�� â��do you know him?â�� asked the proprietor politely. â��yes, i know him well. he is in the employ of a gentleman at cookâ��s harbor, as he says. you can safely sell him the clothes.â�� the young man spoke so positively that all suspicion was removed. â��i am glad to learn that it is all right,â�� said the clothing merchant. â��my young friend, i am sorry to have suspected you. we shall be glad to sell you the suit, and to recompense you for the brief inconvenience we will take off two dollars from the price.â�� â��thank you, sir.â�� â��it would not do for us to receive stolen money, hence our caution.â�� robert did not bear malice, and he accepted the apology and dressed himself in the suit referred to, which very much changed his appearance for the better. in fact, but for his hat and shoes, he looked like a city boy of a well-to-do family. he felt fortunate in getting off so well, but he was puzzled to understand where he could have met the young man who professed to know him so well. he left the store, but almost immediately was tapped on the shoulder by the young man in question. â��i got you off well, didnâ��t i?â�� said the young man with a wink. â��i am much obliged to you, sir,â�� said robert. â��you donâ��t seem to remember me,â�� continued the young man, winking again. â��no, sir.â�� â��good reason why. i never saw you in my life before nor you me.â�� â��but i thought you said you had met me at cookâ��s harbor?â�� said robert in surprise. the young man laughed. â��only way to get you off. youâ��d have been marched off by a policeman if i hadnâ��t.â�� this seemed rather irregular to our hero. still he knew that he was innocent of any wrongdoing, and as the young man appeared to have acted from friendly motives he thanked him again. â��thatâ��s all very well,â�� said the young man, â��but, considering the scrape iâ��ve saved you from, i think you ought to give me at least twenty-five dollars.â�� â��but the money isnâ��t mine,â�� said robert, opening his eyes, for he could hardly have expected an application for money from a young man so fashionably dressed. â��of course it isnâ��t,â�� said the young man, winking again. â��it belongs to the man you took it from. iâ��m fairly entitled to a part. so just give me twenty-five and weâ��ll call it square.â�� â��if you mean that i stole the money, youâ��re quite mistaken,â�� said robert indignantly. â��it belongs to my employer.â�� â��just what i thought,â�� said the other. â��but i have a right to spend it. i am doing just as he told me to do.â�� â��come, young fellow, that wonâ��t go down! itâ��s too thin!â�� said the young man, his countenance changing. â��you donâ��t take me in so easily. just hand over twenty-five dollars or iâ��ll hand you over to the police! thereâ��s one coming!â�� robert certainly did not care to have the threat executed, but he did not choose to yield. â��if you do,â�� he said, â��iâ��ll tell him that you did it because i would not give you twenty-five dollars.â�� this did not strike his new acquaintance as desirable, since it would be, in effect, charging him with blackmail. moreover, he could bring nothing tangible against our young hero. he changed his tone therefore. â��i donâ��t want to harm you,â�� he said, â��but i deserve something for getting you out of a scrape. you might spare me five dollars.â�� â��i got my suit two dollars cheaper through what you said,â�� said robert. â��iâ��ll give you that sum.â�� â��well, that will do,â�� said the other, finding the country boy more unmanageable than he expected. â��i ought to have more, but i will call it square on that.â�� robert drew a two-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the stranger. â��that i can give,â�� he said, â��because it was part of the price of my suit.â�� â��all right. good morning!â�� said the young man, and, thrusting the bill into his vest pocket, he walked carelessly away. robert looked after him with a puzzled glance. â��i shouldnâ��t think a young man dressed like that could be in want of money,â�� he reflected. â��i am afraid he told a lie on my account, but i thought at the time he had really seen me, even if i couldnâ��t remember him.â�� soon robert came to a hat store, where he exchanged his battered old hat for one of fashionable shape, and a little later his cowhide shoes for a pair of neat calfskin. he surveyed himself now with natural satisfaction, for he was as well dressed as his friend herbert irving. he had by this time reached washington street and had just passed milk street when he met george randolph, who looked as consequential and conceited as ever. â��good morning, george,â�� said robert. george looked at him doubtfully. how could he suppose that the boy before him, dressed as well as himself, was the poor fisher boy of cookâ��s harbor? â��i donâ��t seem to remember you,â�� said george civilly. robert smiled. â��you met me at cookâ��s harbor,â�� he explained. â��i am robert coverdale.â�� â��what! not the young fisherman?â�� ejaculated george incredulously. â��the same.â�� â��you havenâ��t come into a fortune, have you? what brings you here?â�� demanded the city boy in great amazement. â��i am in the city on business. no, i havenâ��t come into a fortune, but i am better off than i was. can you recommend me a good hotel?â�� â��i donâ��t know about the cheap hotels.â�� â��i donâ��t care for a cheap hotel. i want a good one.â�� more and more surprised, george said: â��you might go to youngâ��s.â�� â��i will go there. thank you for telling me.â�� â��i donâ��t understand how a boy like you can afford to go to such a hotel as that,â�� said george, looking very much puzzled. â��no, i suppose not,â�� returned robert, smiling. â��if you donâ��t mind telling me----â�� â��i am sorry i canâ��t, but my errand is a secret one. â��did my uncle send you?â�� â��no, neither he nor herbert knows of my coming. i didnâ��t have time to see herbert before i came away.â�� â��are you going to stay long in boston?â�� â��no, i think not. i am going to new york or albany.â�� â��it seems queer to me.â�� â��very likely. good-by! thank you for directing me.â�� george had been remarkably civil, but in a boy like him that is easily explained. he was civil, not to robert, but to his new suit and his new prosperity. â��itâ��s the strangest thing i ever heard of,â�� he muttered as he walked away. â��why, the young fisherman is dressed as well as i am!â�� chapter xxiv on long island sound had he possessed plenty of leisure, robert would have been glad to remain in boston long enough to see the principal objects of interest in the city and its vicinity, but he never for a moment forgot that his time was not his own. he had entered the service of the hermit, and every dayâ��s delay was so much additional expense to his employer. true, gilbert huet was a rich man, as he had himself acknowledged, but robert was conscientious, and felt that this would not justify him in gratifying himself at the expense of the man who had so trusted him. robert felt proud of this trust--this very unusual proof of confidence in a boy so young and inexperienced as he was--and he was ambitious to justify it. i am sure, therefore, that he would have had little satisfaction in postponing it out of regard to his own pleasure. there were two ways of going to the west, which, it will be remembered, was his destination--by the way of albany or new york city. finding that it would not matter much how he went, robert decided upon the latter. it would enable him to see the great city of which he had heard so much, and who knows but, in this great metropolis, which swallows up so many, he might hear something of the lost boy? he decided, therefore, to go at once to new york, and, after some inquiry, he fixed upon the fall river route. this includes railroad travel to fall river, a distance of about fifty miles, where the traveler embarks on a great steamer and arrives in new york after a night on long island sound. guided by an advertisement in the daily papers, robert made his way to the old state house, at the head of state street, and, entering the office of the steamboat line, asked for a ticket. â��will you take a stateroom also?â�� asked the clerk. â��is that necessary?â�� asked robert, who was unused to traveling. â��no, itâ��s not necessary. your ticket will entitle you to a comfortable berth, but in a stateroom you have greater privacy.â�� â��what is a stateroom?â�� asked our hero. the clerk was rather surprised by this question, but decided that robert was not accustomed to traveling and answered politely enough: â��it is very much like a room in a hotel, only much smaller. there is a berth and a washstand, and you can lock yourself in. there is greater security against robbery, for you hold the key and no one can enter it without your knowledge.â�� as robert carried considerable money belonging to mr. huet, he felt that he ought to take this precaution, if it were not too expensive. â��how much must i pay for a stateroom?â�� he asked. â��you can get a good one for a dollar.â�� â��then i will take one.â�� â��number fifty-six,â�� said the clerk, handing him a card with the number penciled on it. â��whatâ��s your name?â�� â��robert coverdale.â�� so robert walked out of the office with his passage engaged. this was on the morning after his arrival, and as the steamboat train did not start till afternoon, this afforded him a chance to spend several hours in seeing the city. first he went to the common and walked across it, surveying with interest the large and noble trees which add so much beauty to a park which, in size, is insignificant compared with the great parks of new york and philadelphia, but appears older and more finished than either. he rode in various directions in the cars and enjoyed the varied sights that passed under his notice. at half-past four he paid his bill at the hotel and took a car which passed the depot from which the steamboat train for new york starts. the train was an express, and in little more than an hour he boarded the beautiful sound steamer. he was astonished at its magnificence as he went upstairs to the main saloon. as he was looking about him in rather a bewildered way a colored man employed on the boat inquired: â��what are you looking for, young man?â�� â��where shall i get a key to my stateroom?â�� he was told, and, opening the door, he found himself in a comfortable little room with two berths. â��i can pass the night here very pleasantly,â�� he thought. â��there is some difference between sleeping here and on a sailboat.â�� once, in company with his uncle, he had been compelled to pass the night on the ocean in a small sailboat used for fishing purposes. robert left his valise in the stateroom and went into the saloon. a gong was heard, which he found was the announcement of supper. it was now past seven oâ��clock and he felt hungry. he accordingly followed the crowd downstairs and ate a hearty meal. when he went upstairs again the band soon began to play and helped to while away the time. some of the passengers read papers, others read books and magazines, while others from the outer decks watched the progress of the large boat as it swiftly coursed over the waves. in this last company was robert. without being aware of it, our hero attracted the notice of one of his fellow passengers, a man possibly of thirty-five, tall and thin and dressed in black. finally he accosted robert. â��a fine evening!â�� he remarked. â��yes, sir, very fine.â�� â��you are going to new york, i suppose?â�� â��yes, sir.â�� â��do you tarry there?â�� â��not long. i am going to ohio.â�� â��you seem young to travel alone. perhaps, however, you have company?â�� â��no, sir,â�� robert answered. â��i am traveling alone.â�� there was a look of satisfaction on the manâ��s face, which robert did not see. even if he had he would not have known how to interpret it. â��it is pleasant to go to new york by boat,â�� said the stranger. â��i prefer it to the cars; that is, when i can get a stateroom. did you secure one?â�� â��yes, sir.â�� â��you are more fortunate than i. i found they had all been taken. i would not care so much if i were not suffering from fever and ague.â�� â��i suppose you have a berth?â�� said robert. â��yes, but the berths are exposed to draughts and are not as desirable as staterooms.â�� robert did not know that, so far from this being the case, the great fault of the ordinary berths was a lack of air. â��i suppose your stateroom contains two berths?â�� said the stranger. â��yes, i believe so.â�� â��i may be taking a liberty, but i have a proposal to make. if you will allow me to occupy one of them i will pay half the cost of your room. it would oblige me very much, but i would not ask if i were not sick.â�� robert did not entirely like this proposal. he preferred to be alone. still he was naturally obliging, and he hardly knew how to refuse this favor to a sick man. â��i see you hesitate,â�� said the stranger. â��pray think no more of my request. i would not mind paying the entire cost of the room, if you will take me in. it cost you a dollar, did it not?â�� â��yes, sir.â�� â��then,â�� said the man, drawing a dollar bill from his pocketbook, â��allow me to pay for it and share it with you.â�� â��i ought not to be selfish,â�� thought robert. â��i would rather be alone, but if this man is sick i think i will let him come in with me.â�� he so expressed himself, and the other thanked him warmly and pressed the dollar upon him. â��no,â�� said robert, â��i canâ��t take so much. you may pay for your share--fifty cents.â�� â��you are very kind,â�� murmured the other. and, replacing the bill in his pocketbook, he took out a half dollar and tendered it to our hero. half an hour later both repaired to stateroom no. 56. as they entered the room the stranger glanced at the two berths and said: â��it is only fair that you should occupy the best berth.â�� â��which is the best berth?â�� asked robert. â��the lower one is generally so considered,â�� said the other. â��it is a little wider and it is less trouble to get into it. i will take the upper one.â�� â��no,â�� said robert generously. â��you are sick and ought to have the best. i am perfectly well, and i shanâ��t mind climbing into the upper one.â�� â��but it seems so selfish in me,â�� protested the stranger, â��to step into your stateroom and take the best accommodations.â�� â��not if i am willing,â�� responded robert cheerfully. â��so it is all settled.â�� â��how kind you are!â�� murmured the invalid. â��though we have met so recently, i cannot help feeling toward you as if you were my younger brother.â�� robert thanked him, but could hardly reciprocate the feeling. in truth, he had taken no fancy to the man whom he had accepted as roommate and was only influenced by compassion for his reported sickness. they undressed and retired to their berths. as the stranger was about to step into his he said: â��it is only fair to tell you my name. i am called mortimer fairfax and i am a partner in a business firm in baltimore. are you in business?â�� â��not exactly,â�� answered robert, â��though i am traveling on business just now.â�� â��i believe you didnâ��t mention your name,â�� said fairfax. â��my name is robert coverdale.â�� â��an excellent name. i know a family in philadelphia by that name. are you sleepy?â�� â��a little.â�� â��then suppose we go to sleep?â�� â��all right. goodnight!â�� then there was silence in the stateroom. it was not long before robertâ��s eyes closed. he had gone about considerable during the day and was naturally fatigued. generally he had no difficulty in sleeping soundly, but to-night proved an exception. he tossed about in his narrow berth and he was troubled with disagreeable dreams. sometimes it happens that such dreams visit us to warn us of impending danger. robert finally dreamed that a pickpocket had drawn his pocketbook from his pocket and was running away with it, and he awoke with a sudden start, his face bathed in perspiration. it was midnight. the band had ceased playing for two hours and all who had staterooms had retired to them. only here and there in the main saloon a passenger lay asleep in an armchair. there was a scanty light, which entered the stateroom through a small window, and by this light robert, half rising in bed, saw a sight that startled him. mr. mortimer fairfax, his roommate, was out of his berth. he had taken down robertâ��s trousers from the nail on which he had hung them and was in the act of pulling out his wallet, which he had imprudently left in it. this sight fully aroused the lad, and he prepared for action. fairfax was half bent over, and robert, who was deeply incensed, threw himself from the upper berth, landing on the back of his roommate, who was borne to the floor, releasing the garment with a startled cry. â��what did you do that for?â�� he asked nervously. â��what business had you with my pocketbook, you thief?â�� demanded robert sternly. mortimer fairfax, who had supposed robert to be fast asleep, saw that he was in a scrape, but he was a man fertile in expedients, and he instantly decided upon his course. â��what do you mean?â�� he inquired in a tone of innocent bewilderment. â��what do i mean?â�� retorted our hero. â��i want to know what business you had with my pocketbook in your hand?â�� â��you donâ��t mean to say that i was meddling with your pocketbook?â�� said fairfax with an air of surprise. â��that is exactly what i do say, mr. fairfax. if i hadnâ��t waked up just as i did, you would have had all my money, and i should have been penniless. that is the sort of fever and ague that troubles you, i suppose.â�� â��my young friend,â�� said fairfax, â��i am shocked at what you tell me. i do not blame you for accusing me. if i were in your place and you in mine, i should no doubt act in the same way. yet i am entirely innocent, i can assure you.â�� â��it donâ��t look much like it,â�� robert said, rather astonished at the manâ��s effrontery. â��when i find you examining my pockets and taking out my pocketbook, it looks very much as if you were trying to rob me.â�� â��true, it does. i admit it all. but if you knew me, you would see how groundless, nay, how absurd such suspicions are. why, i am a rich man. i am worth fifty thousand dollars.â�� â��then why did you try to rob me?â�� â��i did not. it was only in appearance. did you ever hear of a somnambulist?â�� â��no.â�� â��it is one who gets up in his sleep and is entirely unconscious of what he does. from early youth--from the days of my innocent boyhood--i have been a victim of this unfortunate malady.â�� â��do you often steal in your sleep?â�� inquired robert sarcastically. â��not often, but i have done it before. once, when a boy, i got up and took a purse from the pocket of my uncle, who occupied the same room with me.â�� â��what did your uncle say?â�� robert asked with some curiosity. â��he was angry till my mother assured him that i was a somnambulist and not responsible for what i did at such a time. then we had a good laugh, over it.â�� â��do you mean to say, mr. fairfax, that when you had your hand in my pocket just now you were asleep?â�� â��sound asleep. i had no idea that i was out of my berth.â�� â��you seemed to wake up pretty quick afterward!â�� â��to be sure i did! i rather think you would wake up, too, if i should jump upon your back from the top berth! but i forgive you--donâ��t apologize, i beg. i should have been misled, as you were, if our situations had been changed.â�� certainly mr. mortimer fairfax was cool. in his limited acquaintance with the world robert had never dreamed of the existence of such a character, but he was gifted with shrewd common sense, and he did not for an instant believe the story which the other palmed off upon him. â��mr. fairfax,â�� he said, â��shall i tell you what i think of your story?â�� â��yes, if you please.â�� â��i donâ��t believe it.â�� â��what!â�� exclaimed fairfax sadly. â��is it possible you believe that i would rob you, my kind benefactor?â�� â��i donâ��t pretend to be your benefactor, but i havenâ��t a doubt about it.â�� â��my dear young friend,â�� said fairfax, putting his handkerchief to his eyes, â��you grieve me deeply--indeed you do! i had thought you would understand me better. you do not consider that i am a rich man and can have no object in depriving you of your little store of money. let us go to bed and forget this unpleasant little circumstance.â�� â��no, mr. fairfax, you cannot stay here any longer. i insist upon your dressing yourself and leaving the stateroom!â�� â��but, my young friend. it is the middle of the night!â�� â��i canâ��t help it!â�� said robert resolutely. â��and, in my delicate health, it would be dangerous.â�� â��i donâ��t believe you are in delicate health, but i canâ��t help it if you are. you must go!â�� â��you forget,â�� said fairfax in a different tone, â��that half of the stateroom is mine. i have paid for it.â�� â��then i will return the money. here it is.â�� â��i prefer to remain here.â�� â��if you donâ��t go,â�� said robert energetically, â��i will call for help and report that you tried to rob me!â�� â��you will repent this unkind treatment,â�� said fairfax sullenly, but he proceeded to dress nevertheless, and in a few minutes he left the stateroom. robert locked the door after him and then, returning to bed, he said with a sigh of relief: â��now i can sleep without fear. i am sure that fellow is a rascal, and i am glad to be rid of him.â�� chapter xxv a baggage smasherâ��s revenge when robert awoke in the morning it was eight oâ��clock and the steamer lay quietly at its pier. almost all the passengers had landed and he was nearly alone on the great steamer. of course mortimer fairfax had gone with the rest; in fact, fairfax was one of the first to land. he had passed the remainder of the night in the saloon, anxious, as long as he remained on board, lest robert should denounce him for his attempted theft. robert was a stranger in new york. he was instantly impressed by what he could see of the great city from the deck of the steamer. he took his valise in his hand and walked across the gangplank upon the pier. at the entrance he was accosted by a hackman. â��carriage, sir?â�� â��no,â�� answered robert. â��i will carry you cheap.â�� â��what do you call cheap?â�� â��where do you want to go?â�� â��astor house.â�� this hotel had been suggested by the hermit. â��all right! jump in!â�� and the hackman was about to take robertâ��s valise. â��wait a moment,â�� said the lad firmly. â��i havenâ��t agreed to ride. what do you charge?â�� â��two dollars.â�� â��two dollars! how far is it?â�� â��about five miles!â�� answered the hackman with unblushing falsehood. â��is there no stage that goes to that part of the city?â�� â��no; your only way is to take a carriage.â�� though robert had never before been in new york, he felt convinced that this was untrue and said quietly: â��then i will walk.â�� â��it is too far, young man. nobody walks up there.â�� â��then iâ��ll be the first one to try it!â�� said robert coolly. â��wait a minute, youngster! iâ��ll take you for a dollar and a half.â�� robert did not answer, but crossed the street. â��carry your bag, sir?â�� said a boy of about his own age, who seemed to be waiting for a job. â��do you know the way to the astor house?â�� asked robert. â��i ought to.â�� â��how far is it?â�� â��half a mile.â�� â��that hack driver told me it was five miles.â�� the boy grinned. â��he thought you were green,â�� he said. â��say, boss, shall i carry that vâ��lise?â�� â��how much do you charge?â�� â��iâ��ll take it to broadway for a quarter.â�� â��all right. iâ��ll pay it.â�� â��i see,â�� thought robert, â��i shall have to look out or i shall be cheated. it seems to cost a good deal of money to travel.â�� as robert walked along he asked various questions of his young partner as to the buildings which they passed. on reaching broadway he said: â��i donâ��t care about riding. if you will walk along with me and carry the valise i will pay you a quarter more.â�� â��all right. only pay me the first quarter now,â�� said the boy cautiously. â��just as you like. are you afraid i wonâ��t pay you.â�� â��i dunno. i was served that way once.â�� â��how was it?â�� â��i was carryinâ�� a bag--a thunderinâ�� big bag it was, too--for a man to this very hotel. iâ��d carried it about a mile; when we got there he took it and was goinâ�� in without payinâ�� me. â��â��look here, boss,â�� i says, â��you havenâ��t paid me.â�� â��â��yes, i did,â�� he says. â��i paid you when you took the bag.â�� â��then i knew he was a beat, and i made a fuss, i tell you, and follered him into the hotel. â��â��whatâ��s the matter?â�� asked one of the hotel men, cominâ�� forrard. â��â��this boy wants me to pay him twice,â�� he says. â��of course, the hotel people took up for the man and kicked me out of the hotel. i didnâ��t blame them so much, for whoâ��d think of a gentleman cheatinâ�� a poor boy?â�� â��that was pretty hard on you,â�� said robert in a tone of sympathy. â��he must have been a mean man.â�� â��mean? i guess he was. but i got even with him, and i didnâ��t wait long neither.â�� â��how was that?â�� â��i got an egg and i laid for him. toward night he come out, all dressed up like as if he was goinâ�� to the theayter. i follered him, and when i got a good chance i just hove it at him. i hit him just in his bosom, and the egg was spattered over his face and clothes. he gave a yell and then i dodged round the corner. oh, it was rich to see how he looked! i guess heâ��d better have paid me.â�� robert could not help laughing, and did not find it in his heart to blame the boy who had chosen this summary way to redress his grievances. â��i hope,â�� he said, â��you havenâ��t got any eggs with you now.â�� â��why, ainâ��t you goinâ�� to pay me?â�� â��oh, yes, i mean to pay you. i wouldnâ��t cheat a poor boy. iâ��m a poor boy myself.â�� his guide looked at him in surprise. â��you a poor boy, with them cloâ��es?â�� he repeated. â��if you was a poor boy you wouldnâ��t pay me for carryinâ�� your baggage.â�� â��but would carry it myself?â�� â��yes.â�� â��so i would, but i wanted somebody to guide me to the hotel. i am traveling for a gentleman that pays the bills.â�� â��oh, cricky! ainâ��t that jolly? wouldnâ��t he like me to travel for him?â�� â��i guess not,â�� said robert, laughing. â��if he should, just give a feller a chance.â�� â��i might, if i knew your name and where you live.â�� â��i left my cardcase at home on the pianner, along with my jewelry, but my nameâ��s michael burke. the boys call me mike. i live at the newsboysâ�� lodge, when iâ��m at home.â�� â��all right, mike; iâ��ll remember.â�� the remainder of the walk was enlivened by conversation of a similar kind. though mike was not much of a scholar, he was well informed on local matters, and it was upon such points that robert wished to be posted. when they reached the hotel mike uttered an exclamation of surprise. â��say, do you see that man in the doorway?â�� he asked eagerly. â��what of him?â�� â��heâ��s the very man that cheated me out of my pay--the man i hit wid an egg. here he is again.â�� robert surveyed the man with curious interest. he was a man of middle age, well dressed, but with a hard, stern look upon his face. he was by no means one likely to attract strangers. â��how do you know it is the same one?â�� asked robert in a low voice. â��heâ��s got the same look. iâ��d remember him if it was a dozen years, but itâ��s only six months.â�� â��but you might be mistaken.â�� â��iâ��ll show you whether i am. come along.â�� when they entered the vestibule of the hotel mike paused a moment and, in hearing of the stranger, said: â��last night, as i was walkinâ�� along, i seed a man hit wid a rotten egg. he looked mad enough to kill the one that throwed it.â�� the stranger wheeled round and regarded mike intently. â��boy,â�� said he, â��i think iâ��ve seen you before.â�� â��maybe you have,â�� answered mike coolly. â��lots of people has seen me.â�� â��did you ever carry a valise for me?â�� â��maybe i did. iâ��ve carried lots of â��em.â�� â��i think you once brought a valise for me to this very hotel.â�� â��how much did you pay me for doinâ�� it? maybe i could tell by that.â�� â��i donâ��t know. i presume i paid you liberally.â�� â��then i guess it was some other boy,â�� said mike, grinning. the gentleman looked puzzled, but just then a young man came up and spoke to him, addressing him as â��mr. waldo.â�� robert started at the sound of this name. he remembered that this was the name of his employerâ��s cousin, who was suspected of abducting the boy of whom he was in search. bidding good-by to his young guide, he registered his name and then turned over the pages back. in the list of arrivals for the day before he came upon this entry: â��charles waldo, sullivan, ohio.â�� â��itâ��s the very man!â�� he said to himself in excitement. chapter xxvi two important discoveries charles waldo was the name of the hermitâ��s cousin, who was suspected of kidnapping the boy who stood between him and the property. it was to find this very man that robert was sent out by gilbert huet. robert felt that he was fortunate in so soon running across this man and decided that as long as mr. waldo remained in the hotel it was his policy to remain also. he did not see how he was to find out anything about the missing boy, but resolved to watch and wait in the hope of obtaining a clew. he did not wish to attract mr. waldoâ��s suspicions, but took care to keep him in view. the next morning he observed mr. waldo in the reading room at the rear of the hotel talking with another person--rather a pretentious-looking man, with black whiskers and a jaunty air. at the news stand he bought a copy of a morning paper and took a seat sufficiently near to hear what was said. though waldo and his companion spoke in low tones, neither was apprehensive of being heard, as it was hardly to be presumed that any one within hearing distance would feel an interest in what they had to say. â��as i was sayingâ��--this was the first sentence which robert heard from mr. waldo--â��it is entirely uncertain when i shall derive any advantage from my cousinâ��s estate. during his life he holds it.â�� â��how is his health?â�� â��i suppose he is well. in fact, i donâ��t know but he is likely to live as long as i do. there canâ��t be more than five yearsâ�� difference in our ages.â�� â��that is a discouraging outlook.â�� â��i should say so! but there is one chance for me during his life.â�� â��what is that?â�� â��he may be declared insane. in that case the management of the estate would naturally be transferred to me as the direct heir.â�� â��but is there any ground for assumption that he is insane?â�� â��yes. ever since his sonâ��s death he has acted in an eccentric way--made a hermit of himself and withdrawn from society. you know grief brooded over often terminates in insanity. then there was his wifeâ��s terrible death, which had a strange effect upon him. â��i did not understand that the boy died.â�� â��well, he disappeared. he is undoubtedly dead.â�� â��it is his being out of the way that makes you the heir, is it not?â�� â��of course,â�� answered waldo. â��then all i can say is that it was mighty fortunate for you,â�� said his companion dryly. â��it hasnâ��t done me any good yet and may not. these hermits are likely to live long. their habits are regular and they are not tempted to violate the laws of health. i tell you, mr. thompson, itâ��s a tantalizing thing to be so near a large fortune and yet kept out of it.â�� â��i suppose you pray for your cousinâ��s death, then?â�� â��not so bad as that, but, as he donâ��t enjoy the property, it is a pity i canâ��t.â�� â��how much does the estate amount to probably?â�� asked the other with interest. â��well, it canâ��t be less than two hundred thousand dollars.â�� â��whew! thatâ��s a great fortune!â�� â��so it is. if i get it, or when i get it, i wonâ��t mind doing as you ask me, and setting you up in a snug business.â�� â��you could do it now, mr. waldo. you are a rich man,â�� said thompson. â��you are mistaken. i may have a competence, but nothing more.â�� â��youâ��ve got a fine farm.â�� â��that donâ��t support me. farming doesnâ��t pay.â�� â��and money in stock and bonds.â�� â��enough to make up the deficiency in my income. i assure you i donâ��t lay up a cent. i canâ��t do it.â�� â��may i ask what is your errand in new york?â�� â��i want to speak to you about that. i want to find my cousin.â�� â��donâ��t his bankers know where he is?â�� â��if they do, they wonâ��t tell. i suppose they are acting under orders from him?â�� â��suppose you find him?â�� â��then,â�� said charles waldo significantly, â��i shall raise the question of his sanity. it wonâ��t be a difficult matter to prove him insane. it only needs a certificate from a couple of doctors. i think i can find two parties who will oblige me.â�� â��i say, waldo, youâ��re a cool, calculating fellow!â�� thompson was about to use another word, but checked himself. â��i wouldnâ��t like to stand in your way.â�� â��nonsense! i only want to do what is right.â�� â��and it very conveniently happens that you consider right what is to your interest. i say, have you any idea how the boy came to disappear?â�� â��of course not! how should i?â�� answered waldo uneasily. â��i donâ��t know, but as he stood in your way, i thought----â�� â��you think too much,â�� said waldo. â��oh, i donâ��t mean to censure you. i suppose if i had been in your place i might have been tempted.â�� â��i know nothing about the boyâ��s disappearance,â�� said waldo hastily; â��but let us drop that. i sent for you because i saw that you could serve me.â�� â��go on; if thereâ��s money in it, i am your man.â�� â��i shall pay you, of course; that is, i will pay you fairly. we will speak of that hereafter.â�� â��what do you want me to do? is there anybody you want to disappear?â�� â��hush! you go too far, sir. i want to find out the whereabouts of gilbert huet. it is important for me to know where he is.â�� â��can you give me a clew?â�� â��if i could i should not need to employ you. come up to my room and i will communicate further with you.â�� the two left the reading room and robert was left to digest the important information he had received. â��what a rascal that man is!â�� he reflected. â��after stealing mr. huetâ��s boy, he wants to put him in a madhouse. i must let him know, so that he may be on his guard. i donâ��t believe they will think of looking for him at cookâ��s harbor.â�� by a curious coincidence the room assigned to robert was next to that occupied by mr. waldo, and when the boy was about entering it, some hours later, he saw the gentleman going in just ahead of him. as the latter placed one hand upon the door he drew his handkerchief from his coat pocket, and in so doing brought out a letter, which fell upon the floor, without his seeing it. passing into his room, he slammed the door, leaving the missive lying in the hall. â��it is a mean thing,â�� laughed robert as he stooped down and picked it up, â��to examine a letter not intended for me, but he is such a scamp that iâ��ll do it in this case, hoping to learn something that will help me find this poor boy.â�� and so, without any compunctions, robert took the letter--which had been opened--into his room and read, with feelings which may possibly be imagined, the following letter: â��dear sir: i feel oblidged to rite to you about the boy i took from you. you told me he would work enough to pay for his keep, and did not want to pay me anything for my trubble. now, mr. waldo, you are mistaken. the boy ainâ��t tuff nor strong, and i canâ��t got moreâ��n half as much work out of him as i ought. he donâ��t eat much, i kno, but the fact is i need a good strong boy, and i shall have to git another, and have two to feed, if things go on so. â��you told me i might be strict and harsh with him, and i am. he says he has the headache about half the time, but i donâ��t pay no attenshun to that. if i did, i wouldnâ��t git any work done. one day he fainted away in the feald, but itâ��s my opinyun he brought it on a-purpose by not eatinâ�� much breakfast. â��i tell you, mr. waldo, it is very aggravatinâ�� to have such a shifless boy. now, what i want to ask you is, if you canâ��t allow me a dollar, or a dollar and a half a week to make it square. iâ��m willinâ�� to take care of the boy, but i donâ��t want to lose money by it. i kno you give him his cloâ��es, but that donâ��t cost you much. he ainâ��t had a suit for a year, and he needs one bad. â��iâ��m sure you will see the thing the way i do, if you are a reasonable man, as i have no reason to doubt you are; and so i remain yours to command, nathan badger. â��to mr. charles waldo.â�� robert could hardly express his excitement and indignation when he was reading this letter. he felt sure that this poor boy, who was so cruelly treated, was the unfortunate son of his friend, the hermit, who ought to be enjoying the comforts of a luxurious home. as it was, he was the victim of a cruel and unscrupulous relative, influenced by the most mercenary motives. â��i will be his friend,â�� robert resolved, â��and if i can i will restore him to his father.â�� he looked for the date of the letter and found it. it had been written in the town of dexter, in ohio. where this town was robert did not know, but he could find out. â��i wonâ��t wait for mr. waldo,â�� he said to himself. â��i know all i need to. i will start for ohio to-morrow.â�� as for the letter, he resolved to keep it, as it might turn out to be important evidence in case of need. he could not understand how mr. waldo could be careless enough to mislay so important a document, but this did not concern him. it was his business to profit by it. chapter xxvii the bound boy the town of dexter was almost entirely agricultural. its population was small and scattered. there were no large shops or manufactories to draw people to the place. many of the farmers were well to do, carrying on agricultural operations on a considerable scale. among the smaller farmers was nathan badger. he was fond of money, but knew no better way to get it than to live meanly, drive hard bargains and spend as little as possible. in this way, though not a very good farmer, he was able to lay by a couple of hundred dollars a year, which he put away in the county savings bank. mrs. badger was a fitting wife for such a man. she was about as mean as he was, with scarcely any of the traits that make women attractive. she had one, however--an indulgent love of her only child, andrew jackson badger, who was about as disagreeable a cub as can well be imagined. yet i am not sure that andrew was wholly responsible for his ugliness, as most of his bad traits came to him by inheritance from the admirable pair whom he called father and mother. andrew jackson badger was by no means a youthful apollo. to speak more plainly, he was no beauty. a tow head and freckled face often belong to a prepossessing boy of popular manners, but in andrewâ��s case they were joined to insignificant features, small ferret eyes, a retreating chin and thin lips, set off by a repulsive expression. there was another member of the family--a bound boy--the same one referred to in mr. nathan badgerâ��s letter. this boy was, five years previous, placed in mr. badgerâ��s charge by charles waldo. i do not want my young readers to remain under any uncertainty as to this boy, and i state at once that he was the abducted son of gilbert huet, the hermit of cookâ��s harbor, and the rightful heir to a large estate. at the time of our introduction to bill benton--for this is the name by which he was known--he had a hoe in his hand and he was about starting for the field to hoe potatoes. he was a slender boy, with delicate features and a face which indicated a sensitive temperament. his hair was dark brown, his features were refined, his eyes were blue and he looked like a boy of affectionate temperament, who would feel injustice and harshness keenly. this was indeed the case. he lacked the strong, sturdy character, the energy and self-reliance which made robert coverdale successful. robert was not a boy to submit to injustice or wrong. he was not easily intimidated and could resist imposition with all his might. but bill--to call him by the name given him by mr. waldo--was of a more gentle, yielding disposition, and so he was doomed to suffer. he was certainly unfortunately situated. mr. badger required him to work beyond his strength and seldom, or never, gave him a kind word. the same may be said of mrs. badger. it was perhaps fortunate for him that he had a small appetite, for in the badger household he would have been unable to gratify the hearty appetite of an average boy. the table was very mean and the only one who lived well was andrew jackson, whom his mother petted and indulged. there was always something extra on the table for andrew, which it was well understood that no one else in the family was to eat. mr. badger did not interfere with his wifeâ��s petting. if he had a soft place in his heart, it was for andrew, who seemed to his partial parents a remarkably smart and interesting boy. to bill benton he was a cruel tyrant. he delighted in making the life of his fatherâ��s bound boy intolerable, and succeeded only too well. he was stronger than bill, and, backed by the authority of his father and mother, he dared do anything, while bill knew that it was useless to resist. still, gentle as he was, sometimes his spirit rose and made a feeble resistance. â��where are you going, bill?â�� asked andrew as the bound boy started off after breakfast. â��i am going to hoe potatoes, andrew.â�� â��no, youâ��re not; i want you to go and dig some worms for bait. i am going a-fishing.â�� â��but your father told me to go to the field at once.â�� â��i canâ��t help that. he didnâ��t know i wanted you.â�� â��he will scold me if i donâ��t go to work.â�� â��that is my business. i tell you to go and dig some worms.â�� poor bill! he knew very well that if andrew got him into a scrape, he would not help him out, but leave his father to suppose that bill disobeyed of his own accord--if necessary, stoutly asserting it, for andrew was by no means a boy of truth. â��i would rather not go, andrew,â�� said bill uneasily. â��then take that!â�� and andrew brutally struck him with a whip he had in his hand. the bound boy flushed at this indignity. gentle as he was, he resented a blow. â��donâ��t you do that again, andrew!â�� he said. â��i wonâ��t stand it!â�� â��you wonâ��t stand it?â�� repeated andrew tauntingly. â��what will you do about it, iâ��d like to know?â�� â��you have no right to hit me, and i wonâ��t submit to it,â�� said bill with a spirit which quite astonished the young tyrant. he laughed scornfully and repeated the blow, but with more emphasis. even the most gentle and long-suffering turn sometimes, and this was the case now. the bound boy lifted the hoe and with the handle struck andrew so forcibly that he dropped upon the ground, bellowing like a calf. like most bullies he was cowardly, and the unexpected resistance and the pain of the blow quite overcame his fortitude, and he cried like a baby. it must be confessed that the bound boy was frightened by what he had done. too well he knew that he would suffer for his temerity. besides, his compassion was aroused for andrew, whom he thought to be worse hurt than he was. he threw down the hoe and kneeled by the prostrate boy. â��oh, andrew, i hope i didnâ��t hurt you!â�� he cried. â��i ought not to have struck you.â�� â��youâ��ll catch it when father comes home!â�� screamed andrew furiously. â��you almost killed me!â�� â��oh, andrew, iâ��m so sorry. i hope youâ��ll forgive me.â�� by this time mrs. badger had come to the door, and andrew, catching a glimpse of her, gave a yell as if in extreme anguish. his mother came flying out of the house. â��whatâ��s the matter, my darling?â�� she cried in alarm. â��bill knocked me down with a hoe, and i think iâ��m going to die!â�� answered andrew with a fresh burst of anguish. mrs. badger was almost paralyzed with astonishment and wrath. she could hardly believe her ears. what! her andrew assaulted by a beggarly bound boy! â��bill knocked you down with a hoe?â�� she repeated. â��you donâ��t mean it?â�� â��yes, i do. ask him if he didnâ��t.â�� â��bill benton,â�� said mrs. badger in an awful voice, â��did you strike andrew with a hoe?â�� â��yes, maâ��am, and iâ��m sorry for it, but he struck me with a whip first.â�� â��no doubt he had a good reason for doing it. and so you tried to murder him, you young ruffian?â�� â��no, i didnâ��t, mrs. badger. he had no right to whip me, and i defended myself. but iâ��m sorry----â�� andrew set up another howl, though he no longer felt any pain, and his motherâ��s wrath increased. â��youâ��ll end your life on the gallows, you young brute!â�� she exclaimed, glaring wrathfully at the poor boy. â��some night youâ��ll try to murder us all in our beds. the only place for you is in jail! when mr. badger comes home, i will report the case to him. now, go to work.â�� poor bill was glad to get away from the infuriated woman. andrew was taken into the house and fed on preserves and sweetmeats by his doting mother, while the poor bound boy was toiling in the hot sun, dreading the return of his stern master. nathan badger was not far away. he had driven to the village in the buggy, not that he had any particular business there, but at present there was no farm work of a pressing nature except what the bound boy could do, and mr. badger did not love work for its own sake. in spite of his parsimony, he generally indulged himself in a glass of bitters, of which he was very fond, whenever he went to the village. his parsimony stood him in good stead in one respect, at least, for it prevented his becoming a drunkard. i have said that mr. badger had no particular business at the village, but this is not strictly true. he had business at the post office. some time since he had written to mr. waldo, asking for a money allowance for the care of bill benton. he knew very well that he was not entitled to it. he was at no expense for the boyâ��s clothes, and certainly bill richly earned the very frugal fare, of which he partook sparingly, and the privilege of a hard bed in the attic. but it had struck him as possible that mr. waldo, not knowing the falsehood of his representations, would comply with his request. â��if i can get a dollar or a dollar â��nâ�� a half for the boyâ��s keep,â�� mr. badger soliloquized, â��i can make a good thing outâ��n him. a dollar a week will come to fifty-two dollars a year, and i canâ��t put a cent into the savings bank. a dollar â��nâ�� a half will come to--lemme see--to seventy-eight dollars a year! that, in five years, would be three hundred and ninety dollars, without counting the interest.â�� mr. badgerâ��s eyes glistened and his heart was elated as he took in the magnificent idea. but, alas! he was counting chickens that were not likely to be hatched. when sufficient time had elapsed for an answer to be due, he went to the post office every day, but there had been unusual delay. at last an answer had been received that very morning. mr. badger tore open the envelope in eager haste, but there was no remittance, as he had fondly hoped. the contents of the letter also threw cold water on his aspiring hopes, as may be seen from the following transcript of it: â��mr. nathan badger: your letter is received asking me to pay you a weekly sum for the boy whom i bound out to you some years ago. i can hardly express the surprise i felt at this application. you certainly cannot forget that i furnish the boyâ��s clothes, and that all you are required to do is to provide him board and lodging in return for his work. this is certainly a very good bargain for you. i need not say that the work of a boy of fifteen or sixteen years will amply repay you for his board, especially if, as i infer from your letter, he is a small eater. generally farmers are willing to provide clothes also, and i think i am dealing very liberally with you in exempting you from this additional expense. â��you seem to forget one thing more: for three years, on account of the boyâ��s being young, and so unable to work much, i allowed you fifty dollars a year, though i could readily have found another man to take him without this allowance. under the circumstances i consider it very extraordinary that you should apply to me at this late day for an extra allowance. i am not made of money, and whatever i do for this boy is out of pure benevolence, for he has no claim upon me; but i assure you that i will not be imposed upon, therefore i say â��noâ�� most emphatically. â��one other thing. you say the boy doesnâ��t work as much as he ought to. i can only say this is no business of mine. you have full authority over him, and you can make him work. i donâ��t believe in pampering boys and indulging them in laziness. i recommend you to be strict with william--to let him understand that you are not to be trifled with. such would be my course. yours, etc., â��charles waldo.â�� nathan badger was deeply disappointed. he had made up his mind that mr. waldo would allow him at least a dollar a week and had complacently calculated how much this would enable him to lay aside. now this dream was over. of course he could have given up the boy, for he was not formally bound to him. but this he did not care to do. the fact was that bill earned his board twice over, and mr. badger knew it, though he would not have admitted it. it was for his interest to keep him. he went home deeply disappointed and angry and disposed to vent his spite on the poor victim of his tyranny, even had there been no plausible excuse for doing so. when he reached home he was met by mrs. badger with a frowning brow. â��well, mr. badger, thereâ��s been a pretty scene since you went away.â�� â��what do you mean, cornelia?â�� â��bill has nearly killed andrew jackson.â�� â��are you crazy, wife?â�� â��no, i am in earnest. the young rascal attacked poor andrew with a hoe and nearly killed him.â�� â��then he must be crazy!â�� ejaculated mr. badger. â��where is andrew? i want his account of it. if it is as you say, the boy shall suffer.â�� chapter xxviii the victim of tyranny andrew jackson made his appearance with a piece of brown paper over an imaginary bruise on his head and eye and the carefully assumed expression of a suffering victim. â��what is this i hear?â�� asked his father. â��have you had a difficulty with bill?â�� â��yes,â�� answered andrew in the tone of a martyr. â��he knocked me down with a hoe, and if mother had not come out just as she did i think he would have killed me.â�� â��what made him attack you?â�� asked mr. badger, exceedingly surprised. â��i asked him if he would dig some fish-worms for me.â�� â��couldnâ��t you dig some yourself?â�� â��i sâ��pose i could, but he knew better than i where to find them.â�� â��what next?â�� â��he said he wouldnâ��t. i told him that i would tell you about his impertinence. then he hit me with the hoe as hard as he could.â�� â��was that all that passed?â�� â��yes.â�� â��i donâ��t quite understand it. you are surely stronger than bill. how did it happen that you allowed him to strike you?â�� â��he had a hoe and i hadnâ��t anything,â�� answered andrew meekly. â��he was so furious that he wouldnâ��t have made anything of killing me.â�� â��i always thought he was rather mild and milk-and-watery,â�� said nathan badger thoughtfully. â��you wouldnâ��t have thought so if youâ��d seen him, mr. badger,â�� said his wife, drawing upon her imagination. â��he looked like a young fiend. dear andrew is right. the boy is positively dangerous! i donâ��t know but we shall be murdered in our beds some night if we let him go on this way.â�� mr. badger shrugged his shoulders, for he was not quite a fool, and answered dryly: â��that thought wonâ��t keep me awake. he isnâ��t that kind of a boy.â�� â��oh, well, mr. badger, if you are going to take his part against your own flesh and blood, iâ��ve got no more to say.â�� â��whoâ��s taking his part?â�� retorted mr. badger sharply. â��iâ��m not going to uphold him in attacking andrew, but iâ��m rather surprised at his mustering spunk enough to do it. as for his doing us any harm, thatâ��s all nonsense.â�� â��you may change your mind when itâ��s too late, mr. badger.â�� â��are you afraid of him?â�� asked her husband contemptuously as he regarded the tall, muscular figure of his wife, who probably would have been a match for himself in physical strength. â��i can defend myself if i am awake,â�� said mrs. badger. â��but whatâ��s to hinder his attacking me when iâ��m asleep?â�� â��you can fasten your door if you are afraid. but that isnâ��t my trouble with him. thereâ��s something more serious, mrs. b.â�� â��what is it? whatâ��s he been doinâ��?â�� â��it isnâ��t he. itâ��s charles waldo. iâ��m free to say that mr. waldo is the meanest man i ever had dealings with. you know i wrote to him to see if he wouldnâ��t allow me something extra toward the boyâ��s keep.â�� â��yes.â�� â��well, read that letter. or, stay, iâ��ll read it to you.â�� mr. badger took the letter from his pocket and read it aloud to his wife and son. mrs. badger was as much disappointed as her husband, for she was quite as fond of money as he. â��what are you goinâ�� to do?â�� she asked. â��i canâ��t do anything,â�� answered mr. badger in deep disgust. â��will you keep the boy?â�� â��of course i will. between ourselves, he more than earns his victuals; but, all the same, mr. waldo is perfectly able to allow us a little profit.â�� â��you must make him work harder,â�� suggested mrs. badger. â��i mean to. now, we will settle about this little affair. where is bill?â�� â��out in the field, digging potatoes,â�� said andrew glibly. â��go and call him.â�� â��all right, sir.â�� and the boy prepared to obey the command with uncommon alacrity. poor bill, nervous and unhappy, had been hard at work in the potato field through the long forenoon, meditating bitterly on his sad position. so far as he knew, there was no one that loved him, no one that cared for him. he was a friendless boy. from mr. and mrs. badger and andrew he never received a kind nor encouraging word, but, instead, taunts and reproaches, and the heart of the poor boy, hungering for kindness, found none. â��will it always be so?â�� he asked himself. â��if andrew would only be kind to me i would do anything for him, but he seems to hate me, and so does mrs. badger. mr. badger isnâ��t quite so bad, but he only cares for the work i do.â�� the poor boy sighed heavily as he leaned for a moment upon his hoe. â��he was roused by a sharp voice. â��shirking your work, are you?â�� said andrew. â��iâ��ve caught you this time. whatâ��ll my father say to that?â�� â��i have been working hard, andrew,â�� said bill. â��i can show you what i have done this forenoon.â�� â��thatâ��s too thin. youâ��re lazy, and thatâ��s all about it. well, my fatherâ��s got home, and now youâ��re going to catch it. maybe youâ��ll knock him down with a hoe,â�� said andrew tauntingly. â��iâ��m sorry i hit you, andrew, as i told you; but you shouldnâ��t have struck me with a whip.â�� â��i had a perfect right to do it. iâ��m your master.â�� â��no, youâ��re not!â�� returned bill with spirit. â��weâ��ll see whether i am or not. come right up to the house.â�� â��who says so?â�� â��my father told me to call you.â�� â��very well, i will come,â�� and the bound boy shouldered his hoe and followed andrew wearily to the farmhouse yard, where mr. and mrs. badger were standing. one look at the stern faces of the pair satisfied bill that trouble awaited him. he knew very well that he could not hope for justice and that one word from andrew in the mind of his parents would outweigh all he could say. â��here comes the young ruffian!â�� said mrs. badger as soon as he came within hearing distance. â��here comes the wicked boy who tried to kill my poor andrew.â�� â��that is not true, mrs. badger,â�� said bill earnestly. â��i was only defending myself.â�� â��you hear, mr. badger. he as much as tells me i lie! do you hear that?â�� demanded the incensed woman. â��bill benton,â�� said mr. badger sternly, â��i hear you have made a savage and brutal attack on andrew jackson. now, what have you to say for yourself, sir?â�� â��he struck me twice with a whip, mr. badger, and i got mad. i didnâ��t mean to hurt him.â�� â��you might have killed him!â�� broke in mrs. badger. â��no, i wouldnâ��t, maâ��am.â�� â��contradicting me again! if there was ever a boy looked like a young fiend, you did when i came out to save my boy from your brutal temper. oh, youâ��ll swing on the gallows some day, sir! iâ��m sure of that.â�� to an unprejudiced observer all this would have been very ridiculous. the delicate, refined-looking boy, whose face showed unmistakable gentleness and mildness, almost carried to an extreme, was about the last boy to whom such words could suitably have been addressed. â��andrew jackson, did you strike bill with a whip?â�� asked mr. badger, turning to his son. â��no, i didnâ��t,â�� answered andrew without a blush. â��how can you tell such a lie?â�� said bill indignantly. â��mr. badger, will you allow this young ruffian to accuse your own son of falsehood?â�� cried the mother. â��did you have a whip in your hand, andrew?â�� asked his father. andrew hesitated a moment, but finally thought it best to say he did. â��did you strike bill with it?â�� â��no.â�� â��you see how candid the poor boy is,â�� said his mother. â��he tells you that he had a whip in his hand, though many boys would have denied it. but my andrew was always truthful.â�� even andrew felt a little embarrassed at this undeserved tribute to a virtue in which he knew that he was very deficient. â��bill benton,â�� said mr. badger sternly, â��it appears that you have not only made an atrocious assault on my son, but lied deliberately about it. you shall have neither dinner nor supper, and to-night i will give you a flogging. now, go back to your work!â�� â��ho, ho! youâ��ll hit me again, will you?â�� said andrew triumphantly as the poor boy slowly retraced his way to the field. as the bound boy walked wearily back to the field he felt that he had little to live for. hard work--too hard for his slender strength-accompanied by poor fare and cruel treatment, constituted his only prospect. but there seemed no alternative. he must keep on working and suffering--so far he could foresee. he worked an hour and then he began to feel faint. he had eaten but little breakfast and he needed a fresh supply of food to restore his strength. how he could hold out till evening he could not tell. already his head began to ache and he felt weary and listless. he was left to work alone, for mr. badger usually indulged himself in the luxury of an after-dinner nap, lasting till at least three oâ��clock. as he was plodding along suddenly he heard his name called in a cheery voice: â��hello, bill!â�� looking up, he saw dick schmidt, the son of a neighbor, a good-natured boy, whom he looked upon as almost his only friend. â��hello, dick!â�� he responded. â��youâ��re looking pale. bill,â�� said his friend. â��whatâ��s the matter?â�� â��i donâ��t feel very well, dick.â�� â��you ought not to be at work. have you had dinner?â�� â��i am not to have any.â�� â��why not?â�� asked dick, opening his eyes. â��i knew old badger was mean, but i didnâ��t think he was mean enough for that!â�� â��itâ��s a punishment,â�� bill explained. â��what for?â�� â��for hitting andrew jackson with a hoe and knocking him down.â�� â��did you do that, bill?â�� exclaimed dick in great delight, for he disliked mr. badgerâ��s petted heir. â��i didnâ��t think it was in you! shake hands, old fellow, and tell me all about it.â�� â��i am afraid it was wicked, dick, but i couldnâ��t help it. i must have hurt him, for he screamed very loud.â�� â��better and better! i know how he treats you, bill, and i tell you itâ��ll do him good--the young tyrant! but you havenâ��t told me about it.â�� bill told the story, to which dick listened with earnest attention. he expressed hearty approval of billâ��s course and declared that he would have done the same. â��so you are in disgrace,â�� he said. â��never mind. bill. itâ��ll all come out right. it is worth something to have punished that young bully. but whatâ��s the matter, bill? what makes you so pale?â�� â��i think itâ��s going without my dinner. the hard work makes me hungry.â�� â��just wait a minute. iâ��ll be back in a jiffy!â�� dick was off like a shot. when he returned he brought with him two slices of bread and butter, a slice of cold meat and two apples. â��eat â��em, bill,â�� he said. â��theyâ��ll make you feel better.â�� â��oh, dick! i didnâ��t want to trouble you so much.â�� â��it was no trouble, old fellow.â�� â��what will your mother say to your taking all this?â�� â��sheâ��ll be glad of it. she isnâ��t so mean as mrs. badger. i say, bill, you must come over and take supper with us some time. thereâ��s plenty to eat at our house.â�� â��i should like to, dick, if mr. badger would let me.â�� â��donâ��t talk any more till you have eaten what i brought you.â�� bill obeyed his friendâ��s directions, and, to dickâ��s great satisfaction, ate all that had been brought him with evident appetite. â��i feel a good deal better,â�� he said as he took the hoe once more and set to work. â��i feel strong now.â�� â��itâ��s lucky i came along. i say. bill, is that your only punishment?â�� a shadow came over billâ��s face. â��i am to be flogged this evening,â�� he said. â��mr. badger told me so, and he always keeps his word.â�� dick set his teeth and clinched his fists. â��iâ��d like to flog old badger,â�� he said energetically. â��are you going to stand it?â�� â��i canâ��t help it, dick.â�� â��iâ��d help it!â�� said his friend, nodding emphatically. bill shook his head despondently. the whipping seemed to him inevitable, and there seemed to be no way of avoiding it. â��what time do you expect he will whip you--the old brute?â�� asked dick. â��he waits till nine oâ��clock, just after i have gone to bed.â�� â��then will you follow my advice?â�� â��what is it?â�� dick whispered in billâ��s ear the plan he had in view. there was no need to whisper, but he did it to show that the communication was confidential. this was the plan: bill was to go to bed as usual, but in about fifteen minutes he was to get out of the window, slide along the roof of the l and descend to the ground, when dick was to meet him, escort him to his house and allow him to share his room for the night. â��then,â�� said he, â��when the old man comes up to tackle you heâ��ll have to pound the bed and get his satisfaction out of that. wonâ��t that be a splendid joke?â�� bill smiled faintly. it seemed to him a daring defiance of mr. badger, but, after all, he wouldnâ��t fare any worse than he was sure of doing, and he finally acquiesced, though with serious doubts as to the propriety of the plan. â��donâ��t say a word to let â��em know what youâ��re going to do. bill--mind that!â�� â��no, i wonâ��t.â�� â��youâ��ll be sure to find me waiting for you outside the house, just at the back of the barn. iâ��ll give you some supper when you reach the house.â�� when the bound boy came from work in the evening he met stern, cold looks from mr. and mrs. badger, but andrew jackson wore a look of triumphant malice. he was gloating over the punishment in reserve for the boy whom he so groundlessly hated. â��ainâ��t you hungry?â�� he said tauntingly. bill looked at him, but did not answer. â��oh, you neednâ��t answer. i know you are,â�� said the young tyrant. â��you didnâ��t like it very much, going without your dinner. you ainâ��t going to have any supper, either. if youâ��re very hungry, though, and will go down on your knees and beg my pardon, iâ��ll get you something to eat. what do you say?â�� â��i wonâ��t do what you say,â�� said bill slowly. â��i donâ��t care enough for supper to do that.â�� â��you donâ��t?â�� exclaimed andrew angrily. â��so youâ��re stubborn, are you? anyhow, you canâ��t say i havenâ��t given you a chance.â�� â��youâ��re very kind!â�� said the bound boy sarcastically, in spite of his gentleness. â��of course i am,â�� blustered andrew jackson. â��most boys wouldnâ��t be, after the way you treated me.â�� â��you want the satisfaction of having me beg your pardon,â�� said bill, looking full in the face of the petty despot. â��yes, i do; and i mean to have it.â�� â��you can, upon one condition.â�� â��whatâ��s that?â�� asked andrew jackson, his curiosity overcoming his indignation. â��if youâ��ll beg my pardon for striking me with your whip, iâ��ll beg yours for hitting you with the hoe.â�� andrew fairly gasped for breath at this daring proposal, and he looked for a moment as if he were in danger of having a stroke of apoplexy. â��you saucy beggar!â�� he ejaculated. â��how dare you talk to me in that impertinent way? iâ��ll tell father to give you the worst flogging ever you had to-night--see if i donâ��t!â�� and the boy left to report billâ��s new insolence to his mother. bill crept up to bed a little earlier than usual. he knew that mr. badger would not ascend to his humble room to administer the threatened punishment till nine oâ��clock or later. through a refinement of cruelty that humane gentleman chose to let his intended victim lie in an anxious anticipation of the flogging, thus making it assume greater terror. in fact, he probably would not return from the village till nine oâ��clock or later, and this was an additional reason why he put it off. his absence made it easier for bill to carry out the plan which had been formed for him by his trusty friend, dick schmidt, and escape from the house. he accomplished his escape unnoticed about half-past eight oâ��clock. dick was waiting for him behind the barn. he had been a little afraid that bill would repent the promise he had made and back out. when he saw him he welcomed him gladly. â��i was afraid you wouldnâ��t dare to come, bill,â�� he said. â��i shanâ��t be any worse off,â�� said the bound boy. â��mr. badger was going to give me a flogging, anyway, and he canâ��t do any more than that as it is.â�� â��what an old brute he is!â�� exclaimed dick. â��he isnâ��t as bad as his wife or andrew jackson.â�� â��thatâ��s so! andrew is a mean boy. iâ��m glad you hit him.â�� â��i am sorry, dick.â�� â��donâ��t you think he deserved it?â�� â��yes, but i donâ��t like to be the one to do it.â�� â��i wouldnâ��t mind it,â�� said dick, â��but heâ��s precious careful not to get into any muss with me.â�� â��youâ��re not bound to mr. badger.â�� â��if i were, he wouldnâ��t dare to order me round. catch him bulldozing me!â�� â��youâ��re more plucky than i am, dick.â�� â��youâ��re too good-natured, bill--thatâ��s whatâ��s the matter with you.â�� â��i hate fighting, dick.â�� â��what did andrew say to you when you came home from work?â�� â��he wanted me to go down on my knees and beg his pardon for hitting him.â�� â��why didnâ��t you knock him down?â�� said dick quickly. â��i told him iâ��d do it----â�� _â��what!â��_ exclaimed dick schmidt in the deepest disgust. â��if heâ��d beg my pardon first for striking me with a whip.â�� â��thatâ��s better. i thought you wouldnâ��t be so much of a coward as to beg his pardon.â�� â��he didnâ��t accept the offer,â�� said bill, smiling. â��no, i suppose not. was he mad?â�� â��he looked as if he was. he called me a saucy beggar and threatened to tell his father.â�� â��iâ��ve no doubt he will. heâ��s just mean enough to do that. i say. bill, itâ��s a pity you donâ��t work for my father.â�� â��i wish i did, dick, but perhaps youâ��d boss me, too.â�� â��not much danger. weâ��d be like brothers.â�� while this conversation was going on the two boys were walking across the fields to mr. schmidtâ��s farm. the distance was not great, and by this time they were at the back door. as they went in billâ��s eyes glistened as he saw a nice supper laid on the kitchen table, waiting for him, for dick had told his mother of the guest he expected. he decided to say nothing of the circumstances that led to the invitation. he might safely have done so, however, for mrs. schmidt was a good, motherly woman, who pitied the boy and understood very well that his position in mr. badgerâ��s family must be a very disagreeable one. â��i am glad to see you, william,â�� she said. â��sit right down and eat supper. iâ��ve got a hot cup of tea for you.â�� â��iâ��ll sit down, too, mother. i only ate a little supper, for i wanted to keep bill company.â�� presently the boys went to bed and had a social chat before going to sleep. â��i wish,â�� said dick, â��i could be where i could look on when old badger goes up to your room and finds the bird flown.â�� if dick could have been there, he would have witnessed an extraordinary scene. chapter xxix the battle in the attic about ten minutes after bill benton left his little chamber an ill-looking man, whose garb and general appearance made it clear that he was a tramp, came strolling across the fields. he had made some inquiries about the farmers in the neighborhood, and his attention was drawn to nathan badger as a man who was likely to keep money in the house. some tramps are honest men, the victims of misfortune, not of vice, but tom tapley belonged to a less creditable class. he had served two terms in a state penitentiary without deriving any particular moral benefit from his retired life therein. his ideas on the subject of honesty were decidedly loose, and none who knew him well would have trusted him with the value of a dollar. such was the man who approached the badger homestead. now it happened that mrs. badger and andrew jackson had gone to make a call. both intended to be back by nine oâ��clock, as neither wished to lose the gratification of being near by when bill benton received his flogging. as for mr. badger, he was at the village as usual in the evening. thus it will be seen that as bill also had left the house, no one was left in charge. tom tapley made a careful examination of the house from the outside, and his experienced eyes discovered that it was unprotected. â��hereâ��s luck!â�� he said to himself. â��now whatâ��s to prevent my explorinâ�� this here shanty and makinâ�� off with any valuables i come across?â�� two objections, however, occurred to the enterprising tramp: first, it was not likely at that time in the evening that he would be left alone long enough to gather in his booty, and, secondly, the absent occupants of the house might have money and articles of value on their persons which at present it would be impossible to secure. the front door was not locked. mr. tapley opened it, and, finding the coast clear, went upstairs. continuing his explorations, he made his way to the little attic chamber usually occupied by the bound boy. â��nobody sleeps here, i expect, though the bed is rumpled,â�� he said to himself. â��thereâ��s two boys, iâ��ve heard, but itâ��s likely they sleep together downstairs. i guess iâ��ll slip into bed and get a little rest till itâ��s time to attend to business.â�� the tramp, with a sigh of enjoyment, for he had not lately slept in a bed, lay down on billâ��s hard couch. it was not long before drowsiness overcame him and he fell asleep. in the meantime the three absent members of the family came home. first mrs. badger and andrew jackson returned from their visit. â��your father isnâ��t home yet, andrew,â�� said his mother. â��i hope he will come soon, for iâ��m sleepy,â�� said andrew. â��then you had better go to bed, my darling.â�� â��no, i wonâ��t. i ainâ��t goinâ�� to lose seeinâ�� billâ��s flogging. i hope fatherâ��ll lay it on well.â�� â��no doubt the boy deserves it.â�� â��what do you think he had the impudence to say to me, mother?â�� asked andrew. â��i shall not be surprised at any impudence from the young reprobate.â�� â��he wanted me to beg his pardon for strikinâ�� him with a whip, as he said i did.â�� â��well, i never did!â�� ejaculated mrs. badger. â��to think of my boy apologizing to a low, hired boy like him!â�� â��oh, heâ��s gettinâ�� awful airy, ma! shouldnâ��t wonder if he thought he was my equal!â�� â��thereâ��s nothing but a flogging will subdue such a boy as that. i ainâ��t unmerciful, and if the boy showed a proper humility i wouldnâ��t mind doinâ�� all i could for him and overlookinâ�� his faults, but when he insults my andrew, i canâ��t excuse him. but thereâ��s one thing i canâ��t understand: he didnâ��t use to be so bold.â�� â��i know what has changed him, ma.â�� â��what is it, andrew?â�� â��itâ��s that dick schmidt. dick treats him as if he was his equal, and that makes him put on airs.â�� â��then dick lowers himself--though, to be sure, i donâ��t hold him to be equal to you! the badgers are a better family than the schmidts, and so are the coneys, which was my name before i was married.â�� â��i wonder whether billâ��s asleep?â�� said andrew. â��you might go to the foot of the stairs and listen,â�� said his mother. andrew followed his motherâ��s advice, and, opening the door at the foot of the attic stairs, was astonished to hear the deep breathing which issued from billâ��s chamber. â��ma,â�� he said, â��bill is snoring like a house afire.â�� â��reckless boy! does he make so light of the flogging which your father has promised him?â�� â��i donâ��t know. heâ��s gettinâ�� awful sassy lately. i do wish father would come home.â�� â��i think i hear him now,â�� said mrs. badger, listening intently. her ears did not deceive her. soon the steps of the master of the house, as he considered himself, were heard upon the doorstep, and mr. nathan badger entered. â��iâ��m glad youâ��ve come, pa. are you goinâ�� to flog bill now?â�� â��yes, my son. get me a stout stick from the woodshed.â�� andrew jackson obeyed with alacrity. armed with the stick, mr. badger crept upstairs, rather astonished by his bound boyâ��s noisy breathing, and, entering the darkened chamber, brought the stick down smartly on the astonished sleeper. in about two minutes mrs. badger and andrew, standing at the foot of the stairs, were astonished by the noise of a terrible conflict in the little attic chamber, as if two men were wrestling. there was the sound of a heavy body flung on the floor, and the voice of mr. badger was heard shouting: â��help! help! murder!â�� â��the young villainâ��s killing your father!â�� exclaimed the astonished mrs. badger. â��go up and help him!â�� â��i donâ��t dare to,â�� said andrew, pale as a sheet. â��then i will!â�� said his mother, and she hurried upstairs, only to be met by her husband, who was literally tumbled downstairs by the occupant of the attic chamber. husband and wife fell together in a heap, and andrew jackson uttered a yell of dismay. in all the confidence of assured victory, mr. nathan badger, seeing the dim outline of a figure upon the bed, had brought down his stick upon it with emphasis. â��iâ��ll lâ��arn you!â�� he muttered in audible accents. it was a rude awakening for tom tapley, the tramp, who was sleeping as peacefully as a child. the first blow aroused him, but left him in a state of bewilderment, so that he merely shrank from the descending stick without any particular idea of what had happened to him. â��didnâ��t feel it, did yer?â�� exclaimed mr. badger. â��well, iâ��ll see if i canâ��t make yer feel it!â�� and he brought down the stick for the second time with considerably increased vigor. by this time tom tapley was awake. by this time also he thoroughly understood the situation or thought he did. he had been found out, and the farmer had undertaken to give him a lesson. â��that depends on whether youâ��re stronger than i am,â�� thought tom, and he sprang from the bed and threw himself upon the astonished farmer. nathan badger was almost paralyzed by the thought that bill benton, his hired boy, was absolutely daring enough to resist his lawful master. he was even more astounded by billâ��s extraordinary strength. why, as the boy grappled with him, he actually felt powerless. he was crushed to the floor, and, with the boyâ��s knee upon his breast, struggled in vain to get up. it was so dark that he had not yet discovered that his antagonist was a man and not a boy. nathan badger had heard that insane persons are endowed with extraordinary strength, and it flashed upon him that the boy had become suddenly insane. the horror of being in conflict with a crazy boy so impressed him that he cried for help. then it was that tom tapley, gathering all his strength, lifted up the prostrate farmer and pitched him downstairs just as mrs. badger was mounting them, so that she and her husband fell in a breathless heap on the lower stairs, to the indescribable dismay of andrew jackson. mrs. badger was the first to pick herself up. â��what does all this mean, mr. badger?â�� she asked. â��thatâ��s what iâ��d like to know,â�� said mr. badger ruefully. â��you donâ��t mean to say you ainâ��t a match for a boy?â�� she demanded sarcastically. â��perhaps youâ��d like to try him yourself?â�� said her husband. â��this is very absurd, mr. badger. you know very well heâ��s weak for a boy of sixteen, and he hasnâ��t had anything to eat since morning.â�� â��if you think heâ��s weak, youâ��d better tackle him,â�� retorted nathan. â��i tell you, wife, heâ��s got the strength of a man and a strong man, too.â�� â��i donâ��t understand it. tell me exactly what happened.â�� â��well, you saw me go upstairs with the stick andrew jackson gave me,â�� said mr. badger, assuming a sitting position. â��i saw the boy lyinâ�� on the bed, snoring and i up with my stick and brought it down pretty hard. he quivered a little, but that was all. so i thought iâ��d try it again. he jumped out of bed and sprang on me like a tiger, grinding his teeth, but not saying a word. i tell you, wife, he seemed as strong as a horse. i couldnâ��t get up, and he sat and pounded me.â�� â��the idea of being pounded by a small boy!â�� ejaculated mrs. badger. â��just what iâ��d have said a quarter of an hour ago!â�� â��it seems impossible!â�� â��perhaps it does, but itâ��s so.â�� â��he never acted so before.â�� â��no, and he never hit andrew jackson before, but yesterday he did it. i tell you what, wife, i believe the boyâ��s gone crazy.â�� â��crazy!â�� ejaculated mrs. badger and andrew in a breath. â��just so! when folks are crazy theyâ��re a good deal stronger than itâ��s nateral for them to be, and thatâ��s the way with bill benton.â�� â��but what could possibly make him crazy?â�� demanded mrs. badger incredulously. â��it may be the want of vittles. i donâ��t know as weâ��d orter have kept him without his dinner and supper.â�� â��i donâ��t believe a bit in such rubbish,â�� said mrs. badger, whose courage had come back with the absolute silence in the attic chamber. â��i believe youâ��re a coward, nathan badger. iâ��ll go upstairs myself and see if i canâ��t succeed better than you did.â�� â��youâ��d better not, wife.â�� â��oh, donâ��t go, ma!â�� said andrew jackson, pale with terror. â��iâ��m going!â�� said the intrepid woman. â��it shanâ��t be said of me that iâ��m afraid of a little bound boy whoâ��s as weak as a rat.â�� â��youâ��ll find out how weak he is,â�� said mr. badger. â��i warn you not to go.â�� â��iâ��m goinâ��, all the same,â�� said mrs. badger. â��youâ��ll see how iâ��ll tame him down. give me the stick.â�� â��then go if youâ��re so plaguy obstinate,â�� said her husband, and it must be confessed that he rather hoped his wife, who had ventured to ridicule him, might herself meet with a reception that would make her change her tune somewhat. mrs. badger, stick in hand, marched up to the door of the attic and called out boldly: â��open the door, you young villain!â�� â��how does she know iâ��m young?â�� thought tom tapley, who was on guard in the room. â��well, now, if she wasnâ��t such an old woman i should feel flattered. i guess iâ��ll have to scare her a little. it wouldnâ��t be polite to tumble her downstairs as i did her husband.â�� â��have you gone crazy?â�� demanded mrs. badger behind the door. â��not that i know of,â�� muttered the tramp. â��perhaps you think you can manage me as well as mr. badger?â�� she continued. â��i should smile if i couldnâ��t,â�� commented tom tapley. â��that woman must think sheâ��s extra strong to be a match for me!â�� â��iâ��m coming in to whip you till you cry for mercy!â�� â��really, sheâ��s a pretty spunky old woman!â�� thought the tramp. â��if i canâ��t hold my own against her, iâ��ll sell myself for old rags!â�� mrs. badger pushed open the door, saw dimly the outline of the tramp and struck at it with the stick. but alas! the stick was wrenched from her hand, a pistol, loaded only with powder, was discharged, and the intrepid lady, in a panic, flew out of the room and downstairs, tumbling into her husbandâ��s arms. nathan badger was delighted at his wifeâ��s discomfiture. she couldnâ��t taunt him any longer. â��i told you so!â�� he chuckled. â��how do you like tacklinâ�� him yourself, my dear? wouldnâ��t you like to try it again? ho! ho!â�� â��mr. badger, youâ��re a fool!â�� exclaimed his wife sharply. â��it strikes me youâ��re a little in that way yourself, mrs. badger. did you give him a flogginâ��? ho, ho! you were in a great hurry to come away!â�� â��mr. badger, he fired at me with a pistol. i tell you heâ��s a dangerous boy to have in the house.â�� â��oh, no, mrs. badger, you can manage him just as easy!â�� â��shut up, mr. badger! how did i know he had a pistol? i tell you itâ��s a serious thing! before morning, you, and andrew jackson, and me may be dead corpses!â�� at this awful statement andrew jackson burst into a terrified howl. â��iâ��ll tell you what weâ��d better do, mr. badger. weâ��ll go into our room and lock ourselves in.â�� â��let me come in, too,â�� said andrew. â��heâ��ll kill me! he hates me!â�� â��yes, my darling, you may come, too!â�� said his mother. so the valiant three locked themselves up in a chamber and listened nervously. but tom tapley was already out of the house. he made his escape over the roof, fearing that the neighborhood would be roused and his safety endangered. so passed a night of unparalleled excitement in the badger homestead. chapter xxx attacked in the rear early the next morning the three badgers held a council of war. it was unanimously decided that something must be done, but what that something should be it was not easy to determine. mr. badger suggested that the town constable should be summoned. â��the boy has committed assault and battery upon our persons, mrs. badger,â�� he said, â��and it is proper that he should be arrested.â�� â��shall i go for the constable?â�� asked andrew jackson. â��i should like to have him put in jail. then we should be safe.â�� â��the constable would not be up so early, andrew.â�� â��besides,â�� said mrs. badger, â��we shall be laughed at for not being able to take care of a single small-sized boy.â�� â��you know what he is capable of, mrs. badger. at least you did when you came flyinâ�� down the attic stairs into my arms!â�� â��shut up, mr. badger,â�� said his wife, who was ashamed when she remembered her panic. â��youâ��d better not say anything. he got you on the floor and pounded you--you a full-grown man!â�� â��iâ��d like to pound him!â�� said badger, setting his teeth hard. â��itâ��s a pity if three of us canâ��t manage him without calling in a constable,â�� continued mrs. badger, who, on the whole, had more courage than her husband. â��what do you propose, wife?â�� asked nathan. â��i propose that we all go up and seize him. he is probably asleep and canâ��t give any trouble. we can tie him hand and foot before he wakes up.â�� â��capital!â�� said mr. badger, who was wonderfully assured by the thought that his young enemy might be asleep. â��weâ��ll go right up.â�� â��he may be awake!â�� suggested andrew jackson. â��true. we must go well armed. iâ��ll carry the gun. it will do to knock the pistol out of his hand before he gets a chance to use it.â�� â��perhaps so,â�� assented mrs. badger. â��and you, andrew jackson, what can you take?â�� â��iâ��ll take the poker,â�� said the heroic andrew. â��very good! we had better arm ourselves as soon as possible or he may wake up. by the way, mr. badger, where is the ball of twine? it will be useful to tie the boyâ��s hands.â�� â��if his hands are tied he canâ��t work.â�� â��no, but i will only keep them tied while i give him a thrashing. you can take possession of his pistol and hide it. when he is thoroughly subdued we will untie him and send him to work.â�� â��without his breakfast?â�� suggested andrew. â��no, he has already fasted since yesterday morning, and it may make him desperate. he shall have some breakfast, and that will give him strength to work.â�� andrew jackson was rather disappointed at the decision that bill was to have breakfast, but on this point he did not venture to oppose his father. the plan of campaign having been decided upon, it only remained to carry it out. mr. badger took the old musket and headed the procession. his wife slipped downstairs and returned with the kitchen broom and a poker. the last she put in the hands of her son. â��use it, andrew jackson, if occasion requires. you may be called upon to defend your father and mother. should such be the case, do not flinch, but behave like a hero.â�� â��i will, ma!â�� exclaimed andrew, fired perhaps by the example of the great general after whom he was named. â��but you and pa must tackle him first.â�� â��we will!â�� exclaimed the intrepid matron. â��the disgraceful scenes of last evening must not again be enacted. this time we march to certain victory. mr. badger, go on, and i will follow.â�� the three, in the order arranged, advanced to the foot of the stairs, and mr. badger slowly and cautiously mounted them, pausing before the door of the room that contained, as he supposed, the desperate boy. â��shall i speak to him before entering?â�� he asked in a tone of indecision, turning back to his wife. â��certainly not; it will put him on his guard. keep as still as you can. we want to surprise him.â�� to account for what followed it must be stated that dick schmidt awakened his visitor early and the two went down to breakfast. mr. schmidt was going to the market town and found it necessary to breakfast at five oâ��clock. this happened fortunately for bill, as he was able to obtain a much better breakfast there than at home. when breakfast was over he said soberly: â��dick, i must go back.â�� â��why do you go back at all?â�� said dick impulsively. â��i must. it is the only home i have.â�� â��i wish you could stay with me.â�� â��so do i, but mr. badger would come after me.â�� â��i suppose he would. do you think he will flog you?â�� â��i am sure he will.â�� â��iâ��d like to flog him--the brute! donâ��t take it too hard, bill. youâ��ll be a man some time, and then no one can punish you.â�� poor bill! as he took his lonely way back to the house of his tyrannical employer in the early morning he could not help wishing that he was already a man and his days of thraldom were over. he was barely sixteen. five long, weary years lay before him. â��iâ��ll try to stand it, though itâ��s hard,â�� murmured bill. â��i suppose heâ��s very mad because i wasnâ��t home last night. but iâ��m glad i went. i had two good meals and a quiet nightâ��s sleep.â�� it was not long before he came in sight of home. probably no one was up in the badger household. usually bill was the first to get up and mrs. badger next, for andrew jackson and his father were neither of them fond of early rising. the front and back doors were no doubt locked, but bill knew how to get in. he went to the shed, raised a window and clambered in. â��perhaps i can get up to my room without anybody hearing me,â�� he reflected. he passed softly through the front room into the entry and up the front stairs. all was quiet. bill concluded that no one was up. he came to the foot of the attic stairs, and his astonished gaze rested on the three badgers, armed respectively with a gun, a broom and a poker, all on their way to his room. â��were they going to murder me?â�� he thought. just then andrew jackson, who led the rear, and was therefore nearest to bill, looked back and saw the terrible foe within three feet of him. he uttered a loud yell, and, scarcely knowing what he was about, brought down the poker with force on his motherâ��s back, at the same time crying: â��there he is, ma!â�� mrs. badger, in her flurry, struck her husband with the broom, while her husband, equally panic-stricken, fired the musket. it was overloaded, and, as a natural result, â��kicked,â�� overthrowing mr. badger, who in his downward progress carried with him his wife and son. astonished and terrified, bill turned and fled, leaving the house in the same way he entered it. he struck across the fields and in that moment decided that he would never return to mr. badger unless he was dragged there. he felt sure that if he did he would be murdered. he had no plans except to get away. he saw dick schmidt, bade him a hurried good-by and took the road toward the next town. for three days he traveled, indebted to compassionate farmers for food. but excitement and fatigue finally overcame him, and he sank by the roadside, about fifty miles from the town of dexter, whence he had started on his pilgrimage. chapter xxxi bill benton finds a friend late one afternoon robert coverdale reached columbus on his western trip. the next day he was to push on to the town of dexter, where he had information that the boy of whom he was in search lived. the train, however, did not leave till eleven oâ��clock in the forenoon, and robert felt justified in devoting his leisure hours to seeing what he could of the city and its surroundings. he took an early breakfast and walked out into the suburbs. as he strolled along a little boy, about seven years old, ran to meet him. â��please, mister,â�� he said, â��wonâ��t you come quick? thereâ��s a boy layinâ�� by the road back there, and i guess heâ��s dead!â�� robert needed no second appeal. his heart was warm and he liked to help others when he could. â��show me where, bub,â�� he said. the little fellow turned and ran back, robert keeping pace with him. by the roadside, stretched out, pale and with closed eyes, lay the poor bound boy, known as bill benton. he was never very strong, and the scanty fare to which he had been confined had sapped his physical strength. robert, at first sight, thought he was dead. he bent down and put his hand upon the boyâ��s heart. it was beating, though faintly. â��is he dead, mister?â�� asked the boy. â��no, but he has fainted away. is there any water near by?â�� yes, there was a spring close at hand, the little boy said. robert ran to it, soaked his handkerchief in it, and, returning, laved the boyâ��s face. the result was encouraging. bill opened his eyes and asked in a wondering tone: â��where am i?â�� â��you are with a friend,â�� said robert soothingly. â��how do you feel?â�� â��i am very tired and weak,â�� murmured bill. â��are you traveling?â�� â��yes.â�� â��where?â�� â��i donâ��t know.â�� robert thought that the boyâ��s mind might be wandering, but continued: â��have you no friends in columbus?â�� â��no. i have no friends anywhere!â�� answered bill sorrowfully, â��except dick schmidt.â�� â��i suppose dick is a boy?â�� â��yes.â�� â��where have you been living?â�� â��you wonâ��t take me back there?â�� said bill uneasily. â��i wonâ��t take you anywhere where you donâ��t want to go. i want to be your friend, if you will let me.â�� â��i should like a friend,â�� answered bill slowly. then, examining the kind, boyish face that was bent over him, he said, â��i like you.â�� â��have you had anything to eat to-day?â�� asked robert. â��no.â�� â��will you go with me to my hotel?â�� â��i have no money.â�� â��poor boy!â�� thought robert, â��it is easy enough to see that.â�� billâ��s ragged clothes were assurance enough of the truth of what he said. â��i must take care of this poor boy,â�� thought robert. â��it will delay me, but i canâ��t leave him.â�� he heard the sound of approaching wheels, and, looking up, saw a man approaching in a wagon. robert signaled him to stop. â��i want to take this boy to the hotel,â�� he said, â��but he has not strength enough to walk. will you take us aboard? i will pay you a fair price.â�� â��poor little chap! he looks sick, thatâ��s a fact!â�� said the kind-hearted countryman. â��yes, iâ��ll give you both a lift, and i wonâ��t ask a cent.â�� there was some surprise felt at the hotel when robert appeared with his new-found friend. some of the servants looked askance at the ragged clothes, but robert said quietly: â��i will pay for him,â�� and no objection was made. when bill was undressed and put to bed and had partaken of a refreshing breakfast he looked a great deal brighter and seemed much more cheerful. â��you are very kind,â�� he said to robert. â��i hope somebody would do as much for me if i needed it,â�� answered robert. â��do you mind telling me about yourself?â�� â��i will tell anything you wish,â�� said bill, who now felt perfect confidence in his new friend. â��what is your name?â�� â��bill benton; at any rate, thatâ��s what they call me.â�� â��donâ��t you think itâ��s your real name, then?â�� â��no.â�� â��have you any remembrance of your real name?â�� asked robert, not dreaming of the answer he would receive. â��when i was a little boy they called me julian, but----â�� â��julian!â�� repeated robert eagerly. â��yes.â�� â��can you tell what was your last name?â�� asked robert quickly. bill shook his head. â��no, i donâ��t remember.â�� â��tell me,â�� said robert, â��did you live with a man named badger in the town of dexter?â�� the sick boy started and seemed extremely surprised. â��how did you find out?â�� he asked. â��did mr. badger send you for me?â�� â��i never saw mr. badger in my life.â�� bill--or perhaps i ought to say julian--looked less anxious. â��yes,â�� he said, â��but he treated me badly and i ran away.â�� â��did you ever hear of a man named charles waldo?â�� â��yes, he was the man that sent me to mr. badger.â�� â��itâ��s a clear case!â�� thought robert, overjoyed, â��i have no doubt now that i have found the hermitâ��s son. poor boy, how he must have suffered!â�� â��julian,â�� said he, â��do you know why i am traveling--what brought me here? but of course you donâ��t. i came to find you.â�� â��to find me? but you said----â�� â��no, it was not mr. badger nor mr. waldo that sent me. they are your enemies. the one that sent me is your friend. julian, how would you like to have a father?â�� â��my father is dead.â�� â��who told you so?â�� â��mr. waldo. he told mr. badger so.â�� â��he told a falsehood, then. you have a father, and as soon as you are well enough iâ��ll take you to him.â�� â��will he be kind to me?â�� â��do not fear. for years he has grieved for you, supposing you dead. once restored to him, you will have everything to make you happy. your father is a rich man, and you wonâ��t be overworked again.â�� â��what is my fatherâ��s name?â�� asked julian. â��his name is gilbert huet.â�� â��huet! yes, thatâ��s the name!â�� exclaimed julian eagerly. â��i remember it now. my name used to be julian huet, but mr. waldo was always angry whenever any one called me by that name, and so he changed it to bill benton.â�� â��he must be a great scoundrel,â�� said robert. â��now, julian, i will tell you my plan. i donâ��t believe there is anything the matter with you except the want of rest and good food. you shall have both. you also want some new clothes.â�� â��yes,â�� said julian, looking at the ragged suit which now hung over a chair. â��i should like some new clothes.â�� a doctor was called, who confirmed robertâ��s opinion. â��the youngster will be all right in a week or ten days,â�� he said. â��all he wants is rest and good living.â�� â��how soon will he be able to travel?â�� â��in a week, at the outside.â�� during this week robertâ��s attention was drawn to the following paragraph in a copy of the dexter times, a small weekly paper, which he found in the reading room of the hotel: â��a desperate young ruffian.--we understand that a young boy in the service of mr. nathan badger, one of our most respected citizens, has disappeared under very extraordinary circumstances. the evening previous to his departure he made an unprovoked attack upon mr. and mrs. badger, actually throwing mr. badger downstairs and firing a pistol at mrs. badger. he was a small, slight boy, but the strength he exhibited was remarkable in thus coping successfully with a strong man. mr. badger thinks the boy must have been suddenly attacked by insanity of a violent character.â�� â��what does this mean, julian?â�� asked robert, reading the paragraph to his young protege. â��i donâ��t know,â�� answered julian, astonished. â��i spent the last night before i came away with my friend dick schmidt.â�� in a few days julian looked quite another boy. his color began to return and his thin form to fill out, while his face wore a peaceful and happy expression. in a new and handsome suit of clothes he looked like a young gentleman and not at all like bill benton, the bound boy. he was devotedly attached to robert, the more so because he had never before--as far as his memory went--received so much kindness from any one as from him. â��now,â�� thought robert, â��i am ready to go back to cookâ��s harbor and restore julian to his father.â�� chapter xxxii once more in cookâ��s harbor various had been the conjectures in cookâ��s harbor as to what had become of robert coverdale. upon this point the hermit was the only person who could have given authentic information, but no one thought of applying to him. naturally questions were put to mrs. trafton, but she herself had a very vague idea of robertâ��s destination, and, moreover, she had been warned not to be communicative. mr. jones, the landlord, supposed he had gone to try to raise the amount of his mortgage among distant relatives, but on this point he felt no anxiety. â��he wonâ��t succeed,â�� said he to his wife; â��you may depend on that. i donâ��t believe heâ��s got any relations that have money, and, even if he has, theyâ��re goinâ�� to think twice before they give a boy two hundred dollars on the security of property they donâ��t know anything about.â�� â��what do you intend to do with the cottage, mr. jones?â�� â��itâ��s worth five hundred dollars, and i can get more than the interest of five hundred dollars in the way of rent.â�� â��is anybody likely to hire it?â�� â��john sheltonâ��s oldest son talks of getting married. heâ��ll be glad to hire it of me.â�� â��whatâ��s to become of mrs. trafton?â�� â��i donâ��t know and i donâ��t care,â�� answered the landlord carelessly. â��the last time i called she was impudent to me; came near ordering me out of the house till i made her understand that i had more right to the house than she had.â�� â��she puts on a good many airs for a poor woman,â�� said mrs. jones. â��itâ��s too ridiculous for a woman like her to be proud.â�� â��if anything, she isnâ��t as bad as that young whelp, bob coverdale. the boy actually told me i wasnâ��t respectful enough to his precious aunt. i wonder if theyâ��ll be respectful to her in the poorhouse--where itâ��s likely sheâ��ll fetch up?â�� â��i donâ��t see where the boy got money enough to go off,â�� said mrs. jones. â��he didnâ��t need much to get to boston or new york. heâ��s probably blackinâ�� boots or sellinâ�� papers in one of the two.â�� â��i hope he is. i wonder how that sort of work will suit the young gentleman?â�� â��to-morrow the timeâ��s up, and i shall foreclose the mortgage. iâ��ll fix up the place a little and then offer it to young shelton. i guess heâ��ll be willinâ�� to pay me fifty dollars a year rent, and thatâ��ll be pretty good interest on my two hundred dollars.â�� â��have you given mrs. trafton any warning?â�� â��no, why should i? she knows perfectly well when the time is out, and sheâ��s had time to get the money. if sheâ��s got it, well and good, but if she hasnâ��t, she canâ��t complain. oh, thereâ��s young shelton,â�� said the landlord, looking out of the window. â��iâ��ll call him and see if we can make a bargain about renting the cottage.â�� â��frank shelton!â�� called out mr. jones, raising the window. the young fisherman paused. â��come in; i want to speak to you.â�� frank shelton turned in from the street and the landlord commenced his attack. â��frank, folks say youâ��re thinkinâ�� of gettinâ�� married?â�� â��maybe i shall,â�� said the young man bashfully. â��whereabouts do you calâ��late to live?â�� â��well, i donâ��t know any place.â�� â��what do you say to the widder traftonâ��s house?â�� â��is she goinâ�� to leave?â�� â��i think sheâ��ll have to. fact is, frank, iâ��ve got a mortgage on the place which she canâ��t pay, and iâ��ll have to foreclose. you can have it as soon as you want it.â�� â��how much rent did you calâ��late to ask, mr. jones?â�� â��iâ��d ought to have five dollars a month, but, seeinâ�� itâ��s you,â�� said the politic landlord, â��you may have it for fifty dollars a year.â�� â��iâ��ll speak to nancy about it,â�� said the young fisherman. â��i donâ��t want to turn mrs. trafton out, but if sheâ��s got to go, i suppose i might as well hire the house as any one else.â�� â��just so. i tell you, frank, iâ��m offerinâ�� you a bargain.â�� just then frank shelton, who was looking out of the window, exclaimed in surprise: â��why, thereâ��s bob coverdale!â�� â��where?â�� â��he just walked by, with a smaller boy alongside.â�� â��you donâ��t say so!â�� uttered mr. jones, hardly knowing whether to be glad or sorry. â��well, heâ��s come in time to bid good-by to his old home. iâ��ll go up to-morrow, first thing, and settle this matter. i sâ��pose theyâ��ll try to beg off, but it wonâ��t be any use.â�� robert had written to the hermit from columbus a letter which conveyed the glad tidings of his success. it filled the heart of the recluse with a great and abounding joy. life seemed wholly changed for him. now he felt that he had something to live for, and he determined to change his course of life entirely. he would move to boston or new york and resume the social position which he had abandoned. there he would devote himself to the training and education of his boy. and robert--yes, he would richly reward the boy who had restored to him the son lost so long. he would not yet decide what he would do for him, but he felt that there was no reward too great for such a service. he knew on what day to expect the two boys, for robert had informed him by letter. restless, he waited for the moment which should restore his son to his arms. he took a position on the beach in front of the entrance to the cave and looked anxiously for the approach of the two boys. no longer was he clad in his hermit dress, but from a trunk he had drawn out a long-disused suit, made for him in other days by a fashionable tailor on broadway, and he had carefully trimmed and combed his neglected locks. â��my boy must not be ashamed of my appearance,â�� he said proudly. â��my hermit life is over. henceforth i will live as a man among men.â�� presently his waiting glance was rewarded. two boys, one of whom he recognized as robert, descended the cliff and walked briskly toward him on the firm sand beach. he did not wait now, but hurried toward them. he fixed his eyes eagerly upon the second boy. julian had much improved in appearance since we first made his acquaintance. it does not take long to restore strength and bloom into a boy of sixteen. he was slender still, but the hue of health mantled his cheeks; he was no longer sad, but hopeful, and in his delicate and refined features his father could see a strong resemblance to the wife he had lost. â��julian!â�� said robert coverdale, â��thatâ��s your father who is coming. let him see that you are glad to meet him. â��mr. huet,â�� he said, â��this is your son.â�� â��you do not need to tell me. he is too like his mother. julian, my boy, heaven be praised that has restored you to me!â�� it is hardly to be expected that julian should feel the rapture that swelled the fatherâ��s heart, for the thought of having a father at all was still new and strange, but it was not long before he learned to love him. the poor boy had received so little kindness that his fatherâ��s warm affection touched his heart, and he felt glad and happy to have such a protector. â��god bless and reward you, robert!â�� said mr. huet, taking the hand of our hero. â��you shall find that i am not ungrateful for this great service. i want to talk to my boy alone for a time, but i will come to your auntâ��s house to supper with julian. please tell her so, and ask her to let it be a good one.â�� â��i will, mr. huet.â�� from julian his father drew the story of his years of hardship and ill treatment, and his heart was stirred with indignation as he thought of the cruelty of the relative who had subjected him and his son to that long period of grief and suffering. â��your trials are over now, julian,â�� he said. â��you will be content to live with me, will you not?â�� â��will robert live with us?â�� asked the boy. â��do you like robert?â�� asked his father. â��i love him like a brother,â�� said julian impulsively. â��you donâ��t know how kind he has been to me, father!â�� â��yes, robert shall live with us, if he will,â�� said mr. huet. â��i will speak about it to him to-morrow.â�� â��will you live here, father?â�� â��oh, no! you must be educated. i shall take you to boston or new york, and there you shall have every advantage that money can procure. hitherto i have not cared to be rich. now, julian, i value money for your sake.â�� together they went to mrs. traftonâ��s cottage to supper. â��what makes you look so sober, robert?â�� asked mr. huet, observing that the boy looked grave. â��i have heard that mr. jones will foreclose his mortgage to-morrow.â�� â��not if you pay it,â�� said mr. huet quietly. â��come with me after supper, and i will hand you all the money you require.â�� robert was about to express his gratitude, but mr. huet stopped him. â��you owe me no thanks,â�� he said. â��it is only the first installment of a great debt which i can never wholly repay.â�� chapter xxxiii the landlordâ��s defeat about ten oâ��clock the next morning mr. nahum jones approached the trafton cottage. sitting on a bench outside was robert coverdale, whittling. he had put on his old clothes, intending it to be for the last time. he wanted to surprise mr. jones. â��thereâ��s bob coverdale,â�� said mr. jones to himself. â��he donâ��t look much as if he was able to pay the mortgage. i guess iâ��ve got the place fast enough.â�� â��is your aunt at home, young man?â�� he asked pompously. â��yes,â�� answered robert, continuing to whittle. â��you might say â��yes, sir.â��â�� â��all right. iâ��ll remember next time.â�� â��youâ��d better. tell your aunt i want to see her--on business,â�� emphasizing the last two words. â��come right in, sir.â�� mr. jones, with a patronizing air, entered the house of which he already considered himself the proprietor. mrs. trafton was engaged in making a pudding, for she had two boarders now, julian and his father, who were to take their meals in the fishermanâ��s cottage till they got ready to leave cookâ��s harbor. â��good morninâ��, maâ��am,â�� said mr. jones. â��good morning. will you take a seat?â�� she said quietly. â��i canâ��t stay long, mrs. trafton. i called on a little matter of business.â�� â��very well, sir.â�� â��i suppose you understand what it is?â�� â��perhaps i do, but you had better explain.â�� â��i have made up my mind to foreclose the mortgage i hold on this place, and i should like to have you move out within three days, as i am going to let it.â�� â��indeed! to whom do you intend to let it?â�� â��to frank shelton. heâ��s goinâ�� to be married, and this house will suit him.â�� â��and what am i to do, mr. jones? you surely do not mean to deprive robert and me of our home?â�� â��it isnâ��t yours any longer, or wonâ��t be. of course, you canâ��t expect to stay here. i havenâ��t forgotten how you talked to me when i was here before nor how impudent your boy was.â�� â��meaning me?â�� asked robert with a grave face. â��of course i mean you!â�� said mr. jones sharply. â��i havenâ��t said anything impudent to you to-day, have i?â�� â��no, but youâ��d ought to have thought of that before. itâ��s too late now!â�� â��you wonâ��t turn us out on the street, will you, mr. jones?â�� â��havenâ��t i given you three days to stay? if you want my advice, i should say that youâ��d find a good, comfortable home in the poorhouse. your boy there might be bound out to a farmer.â�� â��i donâ��t know any farmer that wants a boy,â�� said robert meekly. â��iâ��d take you myself,â�� said nahum jones, â��if you wasnâ��t so impudent. iâ��m afraid youâ��re a little too airy for me.â�� â��wouldnâ��t you let the house to me, mr. jones?â�� asked the widow. â��itâ��s worth a good deal more than the face of the mortgage.â�� â��you couldnâ��t get a dollar more, in my opinion,â�� said the landlord. â��as to takinâ�� you for a tenant, i havenâ��t any assurance that you could pay the rent.â�� â��what rent do you want for it, mr. jones?â�� â��five dollars a month.â�� â��five dollars a month, when you say itâ��s only worth two hundred dollars!â�� â��iâ��m goinâ�� to fix it up a little,â�� said mr. jones, rather nonplussed. â��i think, mr. jones, we wonâ��t move,â�� said robert. â��wonâ��t move?â�� ejaculated the landlord, getting red in the face. â��youâ��ve got to move.â�� â��who says so?â�� â��i say so, you young whelp!â�� â��no hard names, if you please, mr. jones. the fact is, my aunt doesnâ��t fancy going to the poorhouse. to be sure, if she could have your society there it might make a difference.â�� â��youâ��ll repent this impudence, bob coverdale!â�� â��how am i impudent?â�� â��to talk of my being in the poorhouse!â�� â��you spoke of aunt jane going to the poorhouse.â�� â��thatâ��s a different matter.â�� â��at any rate, she wonâ��t go!â�� said robert decidedly. â��wonâ��t? weâ��ll see about that. how are you going to help it?â�� â��by paying the mortgage,â�� answered robert quietly. â��you canâ��t do it,â�� said mr. jones, his jaw drooping. â��you are mistaken, mr. jones. if youâ��ll write a receipt, i am ready to pay it now--principal and interest.â�� robert drew out a roll of bills from the pocket of his ragged vest and began to count them. â��where did you get this money?â�� ejaculated the landlord. â��i must decline telling you, mr. jones. itâ��s good money, as you can see. i think youâ��ll have to tell frank shelton he canâ��t have the house unless he wants to hire of my aunt.â�� nahum jones hated to take the money that was offered him, but there was no loophole to escape. the good bargain was slipping from his grasp. the triumphant look faded from his face, and he looked exceedingly ill at ease. â��iâ��ll come up with you for this, bob coverdale!â�� he muttered angrily. â��for what? paying you money, mr. jones?â�� â��you know what i mean.â�� â��yes, i do know what you mean,â�� returned the boy gravely. â��this money is in payment for liquor furnished to my poor uncle--liquor which broke up the happiness of his home and finally led to his death. you laid a plot to deprive my aunt, whom you had so much injured, of her home, but you have been defeated. we donâ��t care to have anything more to do with you.â�� there is no need of recording the landlordâ��s ill-natured answer. he was angry and humiliated, and, when he got home, snapped up mrs. jones when she began to make inquiries about the new property. he felt the worse because he had been defeated by a boy. chapter xxxiv how it ended â��robert,â�� said gilbert huet later in the day, â��next week julian and i go to boston, where we shall try to make a home for ourselves.â�� robert looked sober. â��i shall feel very lonely without you,â�� he said. â��you are to go, too, robert,â�� said julian quickly. â��if you will. julian wants your society, and so do i.â�� robertâ��s face flushed with eager delight. â��but my aunt?â�� he said. â��i have been speaking to your aunt. in fact, i invited her to accompany us, but she says she is used to cookâ��s harbor and cannot leave it.â�� â��i donâ��t like to leave her alone.â�� â��then iâ��ll tell you what you can do. i understand that young frank shelton is seeking for a home where he can take his promised wife. i advise you to enlarge the cottage, putting on another story and perhaps an l also. this will give you plenty of room for your aunt and the young couple, who will be company for her.â�� â��yes,â�� said mrs. trafton, â��i always liked frank shelton and his wife that is to be. the arrangement will be very agreeable to me.â�� â��but,â�� objected robert, â��how can i build an addition to the house? i have no money.â�� â��i beg your pardon,â�� said mr. huet, smiling, â��but i donâ��t think a young gentleman worth ten thousand dollars can truthfully say he has no money. i hope, robert, you are not growing mean.â�� â��ten thousand dollars!â�� ejaculated robert, his eyes wide open with amazement. â��certainly.â�� â��i donâ��t understand you, mr. huet.â�� â��then perhaps you will understand this.â�� mr. huet handed robert a slip of paper, which proved to be a check on the merchantsâ�� bank, of boston, for the sum of ten thousand dollars, payable to robert coverdale or order. it was signed by gilbert huet. â��you see, you are rich, robert,â�� said julian, smiling with joy at his friendâ��s good fortune. â��oh, mr. huet, i donâ��t deserve this,â�� said robert, his heart full. â��you must let me judge of that, my dear boy. say no more or you will be depreciating julianâ��s value. you have restored him to me, and i consider him worth much more than ten thousand dollars.â�� of course, robert joyfully accepted the munificent gift so cordially offered. by mr. huetâ��s advice, he invested the money in good dividend-paying securities and monthly sent his aunt twenty-five dollars, which, with the rent, made her quite easy in her circumstances. the additions were made to the cottage, and frank shelton and his wife were glad to hire the house, thus providing mrs. trafton with society as well as adding to her income. as for robert, henceforth he shared in all the educational advantages which julian enjoyed. mr. huet took a house, engaged an excellent housekeeper and at length enjoyed a home. one letter he wrote to charles waldo--a scathing letter denouncing him for his infamous conduct and threatening severe punishment if he ever again conspired against his happiness. mr. waldo did not answer the letter for very shame. what excuse or apology could he possibly offer? three years later robert and julian made a vacation journey westward. â��i should like to call on my old friend nathan badger,â�� said julian. â��so should i,â�� said robert. â��i want to see how he looks.â�� the badgers could not at first be convinced that the elegant young gentleman, introduced as julian huet, was no other than the bound boy, bill benton; but he recalled so many incidents of his past life that they credited it at last. â��you were always a favorite of mine, bill--i mean mr. julian!â�� said the farmer, who had a wonderful respect for wealth. â��and of mine!â�� chimed in mrs. badger. â��and iâ��m sure my andrew jackson loved you like a brother.â�� andrew jackson, a gawky youth, no more prepossessing than his boyhood promised, winked hard and looked enviously at julian. when the latter drew from his pocket a silver watch and chain and asked andrew to accept it for old acquaintance sake he was quite overcome and said he liked julian â��better than any feller he knew!â�� â��then you forgive me for hitting you with a hoe, andrew?â�� said julian smilingly. â��i donâ��t care for that,â�� said andrew jackson stoutly, â��and i guess you moreâ��n got even with us that time you stayed with dick schmidt and father tried to thrash a tramp--thinking it was you--and got thrashed himself!â�� then andrew jackson fixed an admiring glance on the watch he had coveted so long. â��boys will be boys!â�� said mr. badger with a fatherly smile. â��andrew jackson donâ��t have no ill feelings.â�� it was the way of the world. julian was rich now and had plenty of friends. but he had one true friend whom money could not buy, and this was robert coverdale, the young fisherman of cookâ��s harbor, prosperous henceforth and happy, as he well deserved to be. the end a. l. burtâ��s catalogue of books for young people by popular writers, 52-58 duane street, new york books for boys. joeâ��s luck: a boyâ��s adventures in california, by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. the story is chock fall of stirring incidents, while the amusing situations are furnished by joshua bickford, from pumpkin hollow, and the fellow who modestly styles himself the â��rip-tail roarer, from pike co., missouri.â�� mr. alger never writes a poor book, and â��joeâ��s luckâ�� is certainly one of his best. tom the bootblack; or, the road to success. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. a bright, enterprising lad was tom the bootblack. he was not at all ashamed of his humble calling, though always on the lookout to better himself. the lad started for cincinnati to look up his heritage. mr. grey, the uncle, did not hesitate to employ a ruffian to kill the lad. the plan failed, and gilbert grey, once tom the bootblack, came into a comfortable fortune. this is one of mr. algerâ��s best stories. dan the newsboy. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. dan mordaunt and his mother live in a poor tenement, and the lad is pluckily trying to make ends meet by selling papers in the streets of new york. a little heiress of six years is confided to the care of the mordaunts. the child is kidnapped and dan tracks the child to the house where she is hidden, and rescues her. the wealthy aunt of the little heiress is so delighted with danâ��s courage and many good qualities that she adopts him as her heir. tony the hero: a brave boyâ��s adventure with a tramp. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. tony, a sturdy bright-eyed boy of fourteen, is under the control of rudolph rugg, a thorough rascal. after much abuse tony runs away and gets a job as stable boy in a country hotel. tony is heir to a large estate. rudolph for a consideration hunts up tony and throws him down a deep well. of course tony escapes from the fate provided for him, and by a brave act, a rich friend secures his rights and tony is prosperous. a very entertaining book. the errand boy; or. how phil brent won success. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth illustrated, price $1.00. the career of â��the errand boyâ�� embraces the city adventures of a smart country lad. philip was brought up by a kind-hearted innkeeper named brent. the death of mrs. brent paved the way for the heroâ��s subsequent troubles. a retired merchant in new york secures him the situation of errand boy, and thereafter stands as his friend. tom templeâ��s career. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. tom temple is a bright, self-reliant lad. he leaves plympton village to seek work in new york, whence he undertakes an important mission to california. some of his adventures in the far west are so startling that the reader will scarcely close the book until the last page shall have been reached. the tale is written in mr. algerâ��s most fascinating style. frank fowler, the cash boy. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. frank fowler, a poor boy, bravely determines to make a living for himself and his foster-sister grace. going to new york he obtains a situation as cash boy in a dry goods store. he renders a service to a wealthy old gentleman who takes a fancy to the lad, and thereafter helps the lad to gain success and fortune. tom thatcherâ��s fortune. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. tom thatcher is a brave, ambitious, unselfish boy. he supports his mother and sister on meagre wages earned as a shoe-pegger in john simpsonâ��s factory. tom is discharged from the factory and starts overland for california. he meets with many adventures. the story is told in a way which has made mr. algerâ��s name a household word in so many homes. the train boy. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. paul palmer was a wide-awake boy of sixteen who supported his mother and sister by selling books and papers on the chicago and milwaukee railroad. he detects a young man in the act of picking the pocket of a young lady. in a railway accident many passengers are killed, but paul is fortunate enough to assist a chicago merchant, who out of gratitude takes him into his employ. paul succeeds with tact and judgment and is well started on the road to business prominence. mark masonâ��s victory. the trials and triumphs of a telegraph boy. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. mark mason, the telegraph boy, was a sturdy, honest lad, who pluckily won his way to success by his honest manly efforts under many difficulties. this story will please the very large class of boys who regard mr. alger as a favorite author. a debt of honor. the story of gerald laneâ��s success in the far west. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. the story of gerald lane and the account of the many trials and disappointments which he passed through before he attained success, will interest all boys who have read the previous stories of this delightful author. ben bruce. scenes in the life of a bowery newsboy. by horatio alger, jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. ben bruce was a brave, manly, generous boy. the story of his efforts, and many seeming failures and disappointments, and his final success, are most interesting to all readers. the tale is written in mr. algerâ��s most fascinating style. the castaways; or, on the florida reefs. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this tale smacks of the salt sea. from the moment that the sea queen leaves lower new york bay till the breeze leaves her becalmed off the coast of florida, one can almost hear the whistle of the wind through her rigging, the creak of her straining cordage as she heels to the leeward. the adventures of ben clark, the hero of the story and jake the cook, cannot fail to charm the reader. as a writer for young people mr. otis is a prime favorite. wrecked on spider island; or, how ned rogers found the treasure. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. ned rogers, a â��down-eastâ�� plucky lad ships as cabin boy to earn a livelihood. ned is marooned on spider island, and while there discovers a wreck submerged in the sand, and finds a considerable amount of treasure. the capture of the treasure and the incidents of the voyage serve to make as entertaining a story of sea-life as the most captious boy could desire. the search for the silver city: a tale of adventure in yucatan. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. two lads, teddy wright and neal emery, embark on the steam yacht day dream for a cruise to the tropics. the yacht is destroyed by fire, and then the boat is cast upon the coast of yucatan. they hear of the wonderful silver city, of the chan santa cruz indians, and with the help of a faithful indian ally carry off a number of the golden images from the temples. pursued with relentless vigor at last their escape is effected in an astonishing manner. the story is so full of exciting incidents that the reader is quite carried away with the novelty and realism of the narrative. a runaway brig; or, an accidental cruise. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this is a sea tale, and the reader can look out upon the wide shimmering sea as it flashes back the sunlight, and imagine himself afloat with harry vandyne, walter morse, jim libby and that old shell-back, bob brace, on the brig bonita. the boys discover a mysterious document which enables them to find a buried treasure. they are stranded on an island and at last are rescued with the treasure. the boys are sure to be fascinated with this entertaining story. the treasure finders: a boyâ��s adventures in nicaragua. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. roy and dean coloney, with their guide tongla, leave their fatherâ��s indigo plantation to visit the wonderful ruins of an ancient city. the boys eagerly explore the temples of an extinct race and discover three golden images cunningly hidden away. they escape with the greatest difficulty. eventually they reach safety with their golden prizes. we doubt if there ever was written a more entertaining story than â��the treasure finders.â�� jack, the hunchback. a story of the coast of maine. by james otis. price $1.00. this is the story of a little hunchback who lived on cape elizabeth, on the coast of maine. his trials and successes are most interesting. from first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative. it bears us along as on a stream whose current varies in direction, but never loses its force. with washington at monmouth: a story of three philadelphia boys. by james otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50. three philadelphia lads assist the american spies and make regular and frequent visits to valley forge in the winter while the british occupied the city. the story abounds with pictures of colonial life skillfully drawn, and the glimpses of washingtonâ��s soldiers which are given shown that the work has not been hastily done, or without considerable study. the story is wholesome and patriotic in tone, as are all of mr. otisâ�� works. with lafayette at yorktown: a story of how two boys joined the continental army, by james otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50. two lads from portsmouth, n. h., attempt to enlist in the colonial army, and are given employment as spies. there is no lack of exciting incidents which the youthful reader craves, but it is healthful excitement brimming with facts which every boy should be familiar with, and while the reader is following the adventures of ben jaffrays and ned allen he is acquiring a fund of historical lore which will remain in his memory long after that which he has memorized from textbooks has been forgotten. the siege of havana. being the experiences of three boys serving under israel putnam in 1762. by james otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50. â��at the siege of havanaâ�� deals with that portion of the islandâ��s history when the english king captured the capital, thanks to the assistance given by the troops from new england, led in part by col. israel putnam. the principal characters are darius lunt, the lad who, represented as telling the story, and his comrades, robert clement and nicholas vallet. colonel putnam also figures to considerable extent, necessarily, in the tale, and the whole forms one of the most readable stories founded on historical facts. the defense of fort henry. a story of wheeling creek in 1777. by james otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50. nowhere in the history of our country can be found more heroic or thrilling incidents than in the story of those brave men and women who founded the settlement of wheeling in the colony of virginia. the recital of what elizabeth zane did is in itself as heroic a story as can be imagined. the wondrous bravery displayed by major mcculloch and his gallant comrades, the sufferings of the colonists and their sacrifice of blood and life, stir the blood of old as well as young readers. the capture of the laughing mary. a story of three new york boys in 1776. by james otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, price $1.50. â��during the british occupancy of new york, at the outbreak of the revolution, a yankee lad hears of the plot to take general washingtonâ��s person, and calls in two companions to assist the patriot cause. they do some astonishing things, and, incidentally, lay the way for an american navy later, by the exploit which gives its name to the work. mr. otisâ�� books are too well known to require any particular commendation to the young.â��--evening post. with warren at bunker hill. a story of the siege of boston. by james otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.00. â��this is a tale of the siege of boston, which opens on the day after the doings at lexington and concord, with a description of home life in boston, introduces the reader to the british camp at charlestown, shows gen. warren at home, describes what a boy thought of the battle of bunker hill, and closes with the raising of the siege. the three heroes, george wentworth, ben scarlett and an old ropemaker incur the enmity of a young tory, who causes them many adventures the boys will like to read.â��--detroit free press. with the swamp fox. the story of general marionâ��s spies. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this story deals with general francis marionâ��s heroic struggle in the carolinas. general marionâ��s arrival to take command of these brave men and rough riders is pictured as a boy might have seen it, and although the story is devoted to what the lads did, the swamp fox is ever present in the mind of the reader. on the kentucky frontier. a story of the fighting pioneers of the west. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1. in the history of our country there is no more thrilling story than that of the work done on the mississippi river by a handful of frontiersmen. mr. otis takes the reader on that famous expedition from the arrival of major clarkeâ��s force at corn island, until kaskaskia was captured. he relates that part of simon kentonâ��s life history which is not usually touched upon either by the historian or the story teller. this is one of the most entertaining books for young people which has been published. sarah dillardâ��s ride. a story of south carolina in 1780. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. â��this book deals with the carolinas in 1780, giving a wealth of detail of the mountain men who struggled so valiantly against the kingâ��s troops. major ferguson is the prominent british officer of the story, which is told as though coming from a youth who experienced these adventures. in this way the famous ride of sarah dillard is brought out as an incident of the plot.â��--boston journal. a tory plot. a story of the attempt to kill general washington. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. â��â��a tory plotâ�� is the story of two lads who overhear something of the plot originated during the revolution by gov. tryon to capture or murder washington. they communicate their knowledge to gen. putnam and are commissioned by him to play the role of detectives in the matter. they do so, and meet with many adventures and hairbreadth escapes. the boys are, of course, mythical, but they serve to enable the author to put into very attractive shape much valuable knowledge concerning one phase of the revolution.â��--pittsburgh times. a traitorâ��s escape. a story of the attempt to seize benedict arnold. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. â��this is a tale with stirring scenes depicted in each chapter, bringing clearly before the mind the glorious deeds of the early settlers in this country. in an historical work dealing with this countryâ��s past, no plot can hold the attention closer than this one, which describes the attempt and partial success of benedict arnoldâ��s escape to new york, where he remained as the guest of sir henry clinton. all those who actually figured in the arrest of the traitor, as well as gen. washington, are included as characters.â��--albany union. a cruise with paul jones. a story of naval warfare in 1776. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. â��this story takes up that portion of paul jonesâ�� adventurous life when he was hovering off the british coast, watching for an opportunity to strike the enemy a blow. it deals more particularly with his descent upon whitehaven, the seizure of lady selkirkâ��s plate, and the famous battle with the drake. the boy who figures in the tale is one who was taken from a derelict by paul jones shortly after this particular cruise was begun.â��--chicago inter-ocean. corporal ligeâ��s recruit. a story of crown point and ticonderoga. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1,00. â��in â��corporal ligeâ��s recruit,â�� mr. otis tells the amusing story of an old soldier, proud of his record, who had served the king in â��58, and who takes the lad, isaac rice, as his â��personal recruit.â�� the lad acquits himself superbly. col. ethan allen â��in the name of god and the continental congress,â�� infuses much martial spirit into the narrative, which will arouse the keenest interest as it proceeds. crown point, ticonderoga, benedict arnold and numerous other famous historical names appear in this dramatic tale.â��--boston globe. morgan, the jersey spy. a story of the siege of yorktown in 1781. by james otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. â��the two lads who are utilized by the author to emphasize the details of the work done during that memorable time were real boys who lived on the banks of the york river, and who aided the jersey spy in his dangerous occupation. in the guise of fishermen the lads visit yorktown, are suspected of being spies, and put under arrest. morgan risks his life to save them. the final escape, the thrilling encounter with a squad of red coats, when they are exposed equally to the bullets of friends and foes, told in a masterly fashion, makes of this volume one of the most entertaining books of the year.â��--inter-ocean. the young scout: the story of a west point lieutenant. by edward s. ellis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. the crafty apache chief geronimo but a few years ago was the most terrible scourge of the southwest border. the author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the incidents of geronimoâ��s last raid. the hero is lieutenant james decker, a recent graduate of west point. ambitious to distinguish himself the young man takes many a desperate chance against the enemy and on more than one occasion narrowly escapes with his life. in our opinion mr. ellis is the best writer of indian stories now before the public. adrift in the wilds: the adventures of two shipwrecked boys. by edward s. ellis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. elwood brandon and howard lawrence are en route for san francisco. off the coast of california the steamer takes fire. the two boys reach the shore with several of the passengers. young brandon becomes separated from his party and is captured by hostile indians, but is afterwards rescued. this is a very entertaining narrative of southern california. a young hero; or, fighting to win. by edward s. ellis. 12mo. cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this story tells how a valuable solid silver service was stolen from the misses perkiupine, two very old and simple minded ladies. fred sheldon, the hero of this story, undertakes to discover the thieves and have them arrested. after much time spent in detective work, he succeeds in discovering the silver plate and winning the reward. the story is told in mr. ellisâ�� most fascinating style. every boy will be glad to read this delightful book. lost in the rockies. a story of adventure in the rocky mountains. by edward s. ellis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1. incident succeeds incident, and adventure is piled upon adventure, and at the end the reader, be he boy or man, will have experienced breathless enjoyment in this romantic story describing many adventures in the rockies and among the indians. a jaunt through java: the story of a journey to the sacred mountain. by edward s. ellis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. the interest of this story is found in the thrilling adventures of two cousins, hermon and eustace hadley, on their trip across the island of java, from samarang to the sacred mountain. in a land where the royal bengal tiger, the rhinoceros, and other fierce beasts are to be met with, it is but natural that the heroes of this book should have a lively experience. there is not a dull page in the book. the boy patriot. a story of jack, the young friend of washington. by edward s. ellis. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50. â��there are adventures of ail kinds for the hero and his friends, whose pluck and ingenuity in extricating themselves from awkward fixes are always equal to the occasion. it is an excellent story full of honest, manly, patriotic efforts on the part of the hero. a very vivid description of the battle of trenton is also found in this story.â��--journal of education. a yankee ladâ��s pluck. how bert larkin saved his fatherâ��s ranch in porto rico. by wm. p. chipman. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. â��bert larkin, the hero of the story, early excites our admiration, and is altogether a fine character such as boys will delight in, whilst the story of his numerous adventures is very graphically told. this will, we think, prove one of the most popular boysâ�� books this season.â��--gazette. a brave defense. a story of the massacre at fort griswold in 1781. by william p. chipman. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00 perhaps no more gallant fight against fearful odds took place during the revolutionary war than that at fort griswold, groton heights, conn., in 1781. the boys are real boys who were actually on the muster rolls, either at fort trumbull on the new london side, or of fort griswold on the groton side of the thames. the youthful reader who follows halsey sanford and levi dart and tom malleson, and their equally brave comrades, through their thrilling adventures will be learning something more than historical facts; they will be imbibing lessons of fidelity, of bravery, of heroism, and of manliness, which must prove serviceable in the arena of life. the young minuteman. a story of the capture of general prescott in 1777. by william p. chipman. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this story is based upon actual events which occurred during the british occupation of the waters of narragansett bay. darius wale and william northrop belong to â��the coast patrol.â�� the story is a strong one, dealing only with actual events. there is, however, no lack of thrilling adventure, and every lad who is fortunate enough to obtain the book will find not only that his historical knowledge is increased, but that his own patriotism and love of country are deepened. for the temple: a tale of the fall of jerusalem. by g. a. henty. with illustrations byâ��s. j. solomon. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00 â��mr. hentyâ��s graphic prose picture of the hopeless jewish resistance to roman sway adds another leaf to his record of the famous wars of the world. the book is one of mr. hentyâ��s cleverest efforts.â��--graphic. roy gilbertâ��s search: a tale of the great lakes. by wm. p. chipman. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. a deep mystery hangs over the parentage of roy gilbert. he arranges with two schoolmates to make a tour of the great lakes on a steam launch. the three boys visit many points of interest on the lakes. afterwards the lads rescue an elderly gentleman and a lady from a sinking yacht. later on the boys narrowly escape with their lives. the hero is a manly, self-reliant boy, whose adventures will be followed with interest. the slate picker: the story of a boyâ��s life in the coal mines. by harry prentice. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this is a story of a boyâ��s life in the coal mines of pennsylvania. ben burton, the hero, had a hard road to travel, but by grit and energy he advanced step by step until he found himself called upon to fill the position of chief engineer of the kohinoor coal company. this is a book of extreme interest to every boy reader. the boy cruisers; or, paddling in florida. by st. george rathborne. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. andrew george and rowland carter start on a canoe trip along the gulf coast, from key west to tampa, florida. their first adventure is with a pair of rascals who steal their boats. next they run into a gale in the gulf. after that they have a lively time with alligators and andrew gets into trouble with a band of seminole indians. mr. rathborne knows just how to interest the boys, and lads who are in search of a rare treat will do well to read this entertaining story. captured by zulus: a story of trapping in africa. by harry prentice. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this story details the adventures of two lads, dick elsworth and bob harvey, in the wilds of south africa. by stratagem the zulus capture dick and bob and take them to their principal kraal or village. the lads escape death by digging their way out of the prison hut by night. they are pursued, but the zulus finally give up pursuit. mr. prentice tells exactly how wild-beast collectors secure specimens on their native stamping grounds, and these descriptions make very entertaining reading. tom the ready; or, up from the lowest. by randolph hill. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this is a dramatic narrative of the unaided rise of a fearless, ambitious boy from the lowest round of fortuneâ��s ladder to wealth and the governorship of his native state. tom seacomb begins life with a purpose, and eventually overcomes those who oppose him. how he manages to win the battle is told by mr. hill in a masterful way that thrills the reader and holds his attention and sympathy to the end. captain kiddâ��s gold: the true story of an adventurous sailor boy. by james franklin fitts. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. there is something fascinating to the average youth in the very idea of buried treasure. a vision arises before his eyes of swarthy portuguese and spanish rascals, with black beards and gleaming eyes. there were many famous sea rovers, but none more celebrated than capt. kidd. paul jones garry inherits a document which locates a considerable treasure buried by two of kiddâ��s crew. the hero of this book is an ambitious, persevering lad, of salt-water new england ancestry, and his efforts to reach the island and secure the money form one of the most absorbing tales for our youth that has come from the press. the boy explorers: the adventures of two boys in alaska. by harry prentice. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. two boys, raymond and spencer manning, travel to alaska to join their father in search of their uncle. on their arrival at sitka the boys with an indian guide set off across the mountains. the trip is fraught with perils that test the ladsâ�� courage to the utmost. all through their exciting adventures the lads demonstrate what can be accomplished by pluck and resolution, and their experience makes one of the most interesting tales ever written. the island treasure; or, harry darrelâ��s fortune. by frank k. converse. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. harry darrel, having received a nautical training on a school-ship, is bent on going to sea. a runaway horse changes his prospects. harry saves dr. gregg from drowning and afterward becomes sailing-master of a sloop yacht. mr. converseâ��s stories possess a charm of their own which is appreciated by lads who delight in good healthy tales that smack of salt water. guy harris: the runaway. by harry castlemon. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. guy harris lived in a small city on the shore of one of the great lakes. he is persuaded to go to sea, and gets a glimpse of the rough side of life in a sailorâ��s boarding house. he ships on a vessel and for five months leads a hard life. the book will interest boys generally on account of its graphic style. this is one of castlemonâ��s most attractive stories. julian mortimer: a brave boyâ��s struggle for home and fortune. by harry castlemon. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1. the scene of the story lies west of the mississippi river, in the days when emigrants made their perilous way across the great plains to the land of gold. there is an attack upon the wagon train by a large party of indians. our hero is a lad of uncommon nerve and pluck. befriended by a stalwart trapper, a real rough diamond, our hero achieves the most happy results. by pike and dyke: a tale of the rise of the dutch republic. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by maynard brown. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��boys with a turn for historical research will be enchanted with the book, while the rest who only care for adventure will be students in spite of themselves.â��--st. jamesâ��s gazette. st. george for england: a tale of cressy and poitiers. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��a story of very great interest for boys. in his own forcible style the author has endeavored to show that determination and enthusiasm can accomplish marvellous results; and that courage is generally accompanied by magnanimity and gentleness.â��--pall mall gazette. captain bayleyâ��s heir: a tale of the gold fields of california. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by h. m. paget. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��mr. henty is careful to mingle instruction with entertainment; and the humorous touches, especially in the sketch of john holl, the westminster dustman, dickens himself could hardly have excelled.â��--christian leader. budd boydâ��s triumph; or, the boy firm of fox island. by william p. chipman. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. the scene of this story is laid on the upper part of narragansett bay, and the leading incidents have a strong salt-water flavor. the two boys, budd boyd and judd floyd, being ambitious and clear sighted, form a partnership to catch and sell fish. buddâ��s pluck and good sense carry him through many troubles. in following the career of the boy firm of boyd & floyd, the youthful reader will find a useful lesson that industry and perseverance are bound to lead to ultimate success. lost in the canyon: sam willettâ��s adventures on the great colorado. by alfred r. calhoun, 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1. this story hinges on a fortune left to sam willett, the hero, and the fact that it will pass to a disreputable relative if the lad dies before he shall have reached his majority. the story of his fatherâ��s peril and of samâ��s desperate trip down the great canyon on a raft, and how the party finally escape from their perils is described in a graphic style that stamps mr. calhoun as a master of his art. captured by apes: the wonderful adventures of a young animal trainer. by harry prentice. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. philip garland, a young animal collector and trainer, sets sail for eastern seas in quest of a new stock of living curiosities. the vessel is wrecked off the coast of borneo, and young garland is cast ashore on a small island, and captured by the apes that overrun the place. very novel indeed is the way by which the young man escapes death. mr. prentice is a writer of undoubted skill. under drakeâ��s flag: a tale of the spanish main. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��there is not a dull chapter, nor, indeed, a dull page in the book; but the author has so carefully worked up his subject that the exciting deeds of his heroes are never incongruous nor absurd.â��--observer. by sheer pluck: a tale of the ashanti war. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. the author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the details of the ashanti campaign, of which he was himself a witness. â��mr. henty keeps up his reputation as a writer of boysâ�� stories. â��by sheer pluckâ�� will be eagerly read.â��--athenaeum. with lee in virginia: a story of the american civil war. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��one of the best stories for lads which mr. henty has yet written. the picture is full of life and color, and the stirring and romantic incidents are skillfully blended with the personal interest and charm of the story.â��--standard. by englandâ��s aid; or, the freeing of the netherlands (1585-1604). by g. a. henty. with illustrations by alfred pearse. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��it is an admirable book for youngsters. it overflows with stirring incident and exciting adventure, and the color of the era and of the scene are finely reproduced. the illustrations add to its attractiveness.â��--boston gazette. by right of conquest; or, with cortez in mexico. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by w. s. stacey. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.50. â��the conquest of mexico by a small band of resolute men under the magnificent leadership of cortez is always rightfully ranked among the most romantic and daring exploits in history. â��by right of conquestâ�� is the nearest approach to a perfectly successful historical tale that mr. henty has yet published.â��--academy. for name and fame; or, through afghan passes. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��not only a rousing story, replete with all the varied forms of excitement of a campaign, but, what is still more useful, an account of a territory and its inhabitants which must for a long time possess a supreme interest for englishmen, as being the key to our indian empire.â��--glasgow herald. the bravest of the brave; or, with peterborough in spain. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by h. m. paget. 12mo cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��mr. henty never loses sight of the moral purpose of his work--to enforce the doctrine of courage and truth, mercy and loving kindness, as indispensable to the making of a gentleman. boys will read â��the bravest of the braveâ�� with pleasure and profit; of that we are quite sure.â��--daily telegraph. the cat of bubastes: a story of ancient egypt. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��the story, from the critical moment of the killing of the sacred cat to the perilous exodus into asia with which it closes, is very skillfully constructed and full of exciting adventures. it is admirably illustrated.â��--saturday review. bonnie prince charlie: a tale of fontenoy and culloden. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��ronald, the hero, is very like the hero of â��quentin durward.â�� the ladâ��s journey across france, and his hairbreadth escapes, makes up as good a narrative of the kind as we have ever read. for freshness of treatment and variety of incident mr. henty has surpassed himself.â��--spectator. with clive in india; or, the beginnings of an empire. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��he has taken a period of indian history of the most vital importance, and he has embroidered on the historical facts a story which of itself is deeply interesting. young people assuredly will be delighted with the volume.â��--scotsman. in the reign of terror: the adventures of a westminster boy. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by j. schonberg. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��harry sandwith, the westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat mr. hentyâ��s record. his adventures will delight boys by the audacity and peril they depict. the story is one of mr. hentyâ��s best.â��--saturday review. the lion of the north: a tale of gustavus adolphus and the wars of religion. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by john schonberg. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��a praiseworthy attempt to interest british youth in the great deeds of the scotch brigade in the wars of gustavus adolphus. mackey, hepburn, and munro live again in mr. hentyâ��s pages, as those deserve to live whose disciplined bands formed really the germ of the modern british army.â��--athenaeum. the dragon and the raven; or, the days of king alfred. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by c. j. staniland. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��in this story the author gives an account of the fierce struggle between saxon and dane for supremacy in england, and presents a vivid picture of the misery and ruin to which the country was reduced by the ravages of the sea-wolves. the story is treated in a manner most attractive to the boyish reader.â��--athenaeum. the young carthaginian: a story of the times of hannibal. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by c. j. staniland. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��well constructed and vividly told. from first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative. it bears us along as on a stream whose current varies in direction, but never loses its force.â��--saturday review. in freedomâ��s cause: a story of wallace and brace. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��it is written in the authorâ��s best style. pull of the wildest and most remarkable achievements, it is a tale of great interest, which a boy, once he has begun it, will not willingly put one side.â��--the schoolmaster. with wolfe in canada; or, the winning of a continent. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��a model of what a boysâ�� story-book should be. mr. henty has a great power of infusing into the dead facts of history new life, and as no pains are spared by him to ensure accuracy in historic details, his books supply useful aids to study as well as amusement.â��--school guardian. true to the old flag: a tale of the american war of independence. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��does justice to the pluck and determination of the british soldiers during the unfortunate struggle against american emancipation. the son of an american loyalist, who remains true to our flag, falls among the hostile red-skins in that very huron country which has been endeared to us by the exploits of hawkeye and chingachgook.â��--the times. a final reckoning: a tale of bush life in australia. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by w. b. wollen. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00 â��all boys will read this story with eager and unflagging interest. the episodes are in mr. hentyâ��s very best vein--graphic, exciting, realistic; and, as in all mr. hentyâ��s books, the tendency is to the formation of an honorable, manly, and even heroic character.â�� --birmingham post. the lion of st. mark: a tale of venice in the fourteenth century. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��every boy should read â��the lion of st. mark.â�� mr. henty has never produced a story more delightful, more wholesome, or more vivacious.â��--saturday review. facing death; or, the hero of the vaughan pit. a tale of the coal mines. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��the tale is well written and well illustrated, and there is much reality in the characters. if any father, clergyman, or schoolmaster is on the lookout for a good book to give as a present to a boy who is worth his salt, this is the book we would recommend.â��--standard. maori and settler: a story of the new zealand war. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by alfred pearse. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��in the adventures among the maoris, there are many breathless moments in which the odds seem hopelessly against the party, but they succeed in establishing themselves happily in one of the pleasant new zealand valleys. it is brimful of adventure, of humorous and interesting conversation, and vivid pictures of colonial life.â��--schoolmaster. one of the 25th: a tale of waterloo. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by w. h. overend. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��written with homeric vigor and heroic inspiration. it is graphic, picturesque, and dramatically effective ... shows us mr. henty at his best and brightest. the adventures will hold a boy enthralled as he rushes through them with breathless interest â��from cover to cover.â��â��--observer. orange and green: a tale of the boyne and limerick. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by gordon browne, 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��the narrative is free from the vice of prejudice, and ripples with life as if what is being described were really passing before the eye.â��--belfast news-letter. through the fray: a story of the luddite riots. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by h. m. paget. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��mr. henty inspires a love and admiration for straightforwardness, truth and courage. this is one of the best of the many good books mr. henty has produced, and deserves to be classed with his â��facing death.â��â��--standard. the young midshipman: a story of the bombardment of alexandria. with illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. a coast fishing lad, by an act of heroism, secures the interest of a shipowner, who places him as an apprentice on board one of his ships. in company with two of his fellow-apprentices he is left behind, at alexandria, in the hands of the revolted egyptian troops, and is present through the bombardment and the scenes of riot and bloodshed which accompanied it. in times of peril. a tale of india. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��the hero of the story early excites our admiration, and is altogether a fine character such as boys will delight in, whilst the story of the campaign is very graphically told.â��--st. jamesâ��s gazette. the cornet of horse: a tale of marlboroughâ��s wars. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1. â��mr. henty not only concocts a thrilling tale, he weaves fact and fiction together with so skillful a hand that the reader cannot help acquiring a just and clear view of that fierce and terrible struggle known as the crimean war.â��--athenaeum. the young franc-tireurs: their adventures in the franco-prussian war. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��a capital hook for boys. it is bright and readable, and full of good sense and manliness. it teaches pluck and patience in adversity, and shows that right living leads to success.â��--observer. the young colonists: a story of life and war in south africa. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. no boy needs to have any story of hentyâ��s recommended to him, and parents who do not know and buy them for their boys should be ashamed of themselves. those to whom he is yet unknown could not make a better beginning than with this book. the young buglers. a tale of the peninsular war. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1. â��mr. henty is a giant among boysâ�� writers, and his books are sufficiently popular to be sure of a welcome anywhere. in stirring interest, this is quite up to the level of mr. hentyâ��s former historical tales.â��--saturday review. sturdy and strong; or, how george andrews made his way. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��the history of a hero of everyday life, whose love of truth, clothing of modesty, and innate pluck, carry him, naturally, from poverty to affluence. george andrews is an example of character with nothing to cavil at, and stands as a good instance of chivalry in domestic life.â��--the empire. among malay pirates. a story of adventure and peril. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��incident succeeds incident, and adventure is piled upon adventure, and at the end the reader, be he boy or man, will have experienced breathless enjoyment in a romantic story that must have taught him much at its close.â��--army and navy gazette. jack archer. a tale of the crimea. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��mr. henty not only concocts a thrilling tale, he weaves fact and fiction together with so skillful a hand that the reader cannot help acquiring a just and clear view of that fierce and terrible struggle.â��--athenaeum. friends, though divided. a tale of the civil war< by g. a. henty. with illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1. â��it has a good plot; it abounds in action; the scenes are equally spirited and realistic, and we can only say we have read it with much pleasure from first to last.â��--times. out on the pampas; or, the young settlers. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��a really noble story, which adult readers will find to the full as satisfying as the boys. lucky boys! to have such a caterer as mr. g. a. henty.â��--black and white. the boy knight: a tale of the crusades. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. â��of stirring episode there is no lack. the book, with its careful accuracy and its descriptions of all the chief battles, will give many a schoolboy his first real understanding of a very important period of history.â��--st. jamesâ��s gazette. the wreck of the golden fleece. the story of a north sea fisher boy. by robert leighton. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1. a description of life on the wild north sea,--the hero being a parsonâ��s son who is appreciated on board a lowestoft fishing lugger. the lad has to suffer many buffets from his shipmates, while the storms and dangers which he braved on board the â��north starâ�� are set forth with minute knowledge and intense power. the wreck of the â��golden fleeceâ�� forms the climax to a thrilling series of desperate mischances. olaf the glorious. a story of the viking age. by robert leighton. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this story of olaf the glorious, king of norway, opens with the incident of his being found by his uncle living as a bond-slave in esthonia; then come his adventures as a viking and his raids upon the coasts of scotland and england, his victorious battle against the english at maldon in essex, his being bought off by ethelred the unready, and his conversion to christianity. he then returns to pagan norway, is accepted as king, and converts his people to the christian faith. to greenland and the pole. a story of adventure in the arctic regions, by gordon stables. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1. the unfailing fascination of arctic venturing is presented in this story with new vividness. it deals with skilobning in the north of scotland, deer-hunting in norway, sealing in the arctic seas, bear-stalking on the ice-floes, the hardships of a journey across greenland, and a successful voyage to the back of the north pole. this is, indeed, a real sea-yarn by a real sailor, and the tone is as bright and wholesome as the adventures are numerous. yussuf the guide. a story of adventure in asia minor. by george manville fenn. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. this story deals with the stirring incidents in the career of a lad who has been almost given over by the doctors, but who rapidly recovers health and strength in a journey through asia minor. the adventures are many, and culminate in the travellers being snowed up for the winter in the mountains, from which they escape while their captors are waiting for the ransom that does not come. grettir the outlaw. a story of iceland. byâ��s. barring-gould. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. â��this is the boysâ�� book of the year. that is, of course, as much as to say that it will do for men grown as well as juniors. it is told in simple, straightforward english, as all stories should be, and it has a freshness and freedom which make it irresistible.â��--national observer. two thousand years ago. the adventures of a roman boy by a. j. church. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. â��prof. church has in this story sought to revivify that most interesting period, the last days of the roman republic. the book is extremely entertaining as well as useful; there is a wonderful freshness in the roman scenes and characters.â��--times. nat the naturalist. a boyâ��s adventure in the eastern seas. by george manville fenn. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1. nat and his uncle dick go on a voyage to the remoter islands of the eastern seas, and their adventures are told in a truthful and vastly interesting fashion. the descriptions of mr. ebony, their black comrade, and of the scenes of savage life, are full of genuine humor. the log of the flying fish. a story of peril and adventure. by harry collingwood. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1. â��this story is full of even more vividly recounted adventures than those which charmed so many boy readers in â��pirate islandâ�� and â��congo rovers.â��...there is a thrilling adventure on the precipices of mount everest, when the ship floats off and providentially returns by force of â��gravitation.â��â��--academy. the congo rovers. a story of the slave squadron. by harry collingwood. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. â��the scene of this tale is laid on the west coast of africa, and in the lower reaches of the congo; the characteristic scenery of the great river being delineated with wonderful accuracy. mr. collingwood carries us off for another cruise at sea, in â��the congo rovers,â�� and boys will need no pressing to join the daring crew, which seeks adventures and meets with any number of them.â��--the times. boris the bear hunter. a tale of peter the great and his times. by fred wishaw. 12mo. cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. â��this is a capital story. the characters are marked and lifelike, and it is full of incident and adventure.â��--standard. michael strogoff; or, the courier of the czar. by jules verne. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. â��the story is full of originality and vigor. the characters are lifelike, there is plenty of stirring incident, the interest is sustained throughout, and every boy will enjoy following the fortunes of the hero.â��--journal of education. mother careyâ��s chicken. her voyage to the unknown isle. by george manville fenn. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. â��undoubtedly one of the best mr. fenn has written. the incidents are of thrilling interest, while the characters are drawn with a care and completeness rarely found in a boyâ��s book.â��--literary world. for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publisher, a. l, burt, 52-58 duane street, new york. -58 duane street, new york. blown to bits, a tale of the krakatoa volcanic explosion, by r.m. ballantyne. ________________________________________________________________________ this book is a most enjoyable read. we can, however, detect that ballantyne had been reading up various works by w.h.g. kingston and by g. manville fenn. it's just the knowledge of forest life in java and sumatra that makes us think that. but that knowledge is good, for it makes those parts of the book that take place in these forests ring all the more true. as so often with victorian authors writing for teenagers there is a delightful coloured auxiliary hero. but there is another even more important auxiliary hero, van der kemp, and it is this man and his doings that form the real interest of this story. he had made himself a home in an island of the krakatoa group, and a very interesting home it is, too. he travels about, mostly, in a three-seater canoe of the rob roy type, that seems able to travel great distances over the sea, sailing some of the way, and to withstand heavy weather, in a most surprising manner. there is a good description of the eruption, or rather explosion, of krakatoa. this was one of the major geological events of the century, and might well have been taken for granted, with the author assuming that his youthful readers knew all about it, but, thank goodness, he does not. ________________________________________________________________________ blown to bits, a tale of the krakatoa volcanic explosion, by r.m. ballantyne. chapter one. the play commences. blown to bits; bits so inconceivably, so ineffably, so "microscopically" small that--but let us not anticipate. about the darkest hour of a very dark night, in the year 1883, a large brig lay becalmed on the indian ocean, not far from that region of the eastern world which is associated in some minds with spices, volcanoes, coffee, and piratical junks, namely, the malay archipelago. two men slowly paced the brig's quarterdeck for some time in silence, as if the elemental quietude which prevailed above and below had infected them. both men were broad, and apparently strong. one of them was tall; the other short. more than this the feeble light of the binnacle-lamp failed to reveal. "father," said the tall man to the short one, "i do like to hear the gentle pattering of the reef-points on the sails; it is so suggestive of peace and rest. doesn't it strike you so?" "can't say it does, lad," replied the short man, in a voice which, naturally mellow and hearty, had been rendered nautically harsh and gruff by years of persistent roaring in the teeth of wind and weather. "more suggestive to me of lost time and lee-way." the son laughed lightly, a pleasant, kindly, soft laugh, in keeping with the scene and hour. "why, father," he resumed after a brief pause, "you are so sternly practical that you drive all the sentiment out of a fellow. i had almost risen to the regions of poetry just now, under the pleasant influences of nature." "glad i got hold of 'ee, lad, before you rose," growled the captain of the brig--for such the short man was. "when a young fellow like you gets up into the clouds o' poetry, he's like a man in a balloon--scarce knows how he got there; doesn't know very well how he's to get down, an' has no more idea where he's goin' to, or what he's drivin' at, than the man in the moon. take my advice, lad, an' get out o' poetical regions as fast as ye can. it don't suit a young fellow who has got to do duty as first mate of his father's brig and push his way in the world as a seaman. when i sent you to school an' made you a far better scholar than myself, i had no notion they was goin' to teach you poetry." the captain delivered the last word with an emphasis which was meant to convey the idea of profound but not ill-natured scorn. "why, father," returned the young man, in a tone which plainly told of a gleeful laugh within him, which was as yet restrained, "it was not school that put poetry into me--if indeed there be any in me at all." "what was it, then?" "it was mother," returned the youth, promptly, "and surely you don't object to poetry in _her_." "object!" cried the captain, as though speaking in the teeth of a nor'wester. "of course not. but then, nigel, poetry in your mother _is_ poetry, an' she can _do_ it, lad--screeds of it--equal to anything that dibdin, or, or,--that other fellow, you know, i forget his name-ever put pen to--why, your mother is herself a poem! neatly made up, rounded off at the corners, french-polished and all shipshape. ha! you needn't go an' shelter yourself under _her_ wings, wi' your inflated, up in the clouds, reef-point patterin', balloon-like nonsense." "well, well, father, don't get so hot about it; i won't offend again. besides, i'm quite content to take a very low place so long as you give mother her right position. we won't disagree about that, but i suspect that we differ considerably about the other matter you mentioned." "what other matter?" demanded the sire. "my doing duty as first mate," answered the son. "it must be quite evident to you by this time, i should think, that i am not cut out for a sailor. after all your trouble, and my own efforts during this long voyage round the cape, i'm no better than an amateur. i told you that a youth taken fresh from college, without any previous experience of the sea except in boats, could not be licked into shape in so short a time. it is absurd to call me first mate of the _sunshine_. that is in reality mr moor's position--" "no, it isn't, nigel, my son," interrupted the captain, firmly. "mr moor is _second_ mate. _i_ say so, an' if i, the skipper and owner o' this brig, don't know it, i'd like to know who does! now, look here, lad. you've always had a bad habit of underratin' yourself an' contradictin' your father. i'm an old salt, you know, an' i tell 'ee that for the time you've bin at sea, an' the opportunities you've had, you're a sort o' walkin' miracle. you're no more an ammytoor than i am, and another voyage or two will make you quite fit to work your way all over the ocean, an' finally to take command o' this here brig, an' let your old father stay at home wi'--wi'--" "with the poetess," suggested nigel. "just so--wi' the equal o' dibdin, not to mention the other fellow. now it seems to me--. how's 'er head?" the captain suddenly changed the subject here. nigel, who chanced to be standing next the binnacle, stooped to examine the compass, and the flood of light from its lamp revealed a smooth but manly and handsome face which seemed quite to harmonise with the cheery voice that belonged to it. "nor'-east-and-by-east," he said. "are 'ee sure, lad?" "your doubting me, father, does not correspond with your lately expressed opinion of my seamanship; does it?" "let me see," returned the captain, taking no notice of the remark, and stooping to look at the compass with a critical eye. the flood of light, in this case, revealed a visage in which good-nature had evidently struggled for years against the virulent opposition of wind and weather, and had come off victorious, though not without evidences of the conflict. at the same time it revealed features similar to those of the son, though somewhat rugged and red, besides being smothered in hair. "vulcan must be concoctin' a new brew," he muttered, as he gazed inquiringly over the bow, "or he's stirring up an old one." "what d'you mean, father?" "i mean that there's somethin' goin' on there-away--in the neighbourhood o' sunda straits," answered the captain, directing attention to that point of the compass towards which the ship's head was turned. "darkness like this don't happen without a cause. i've had some experience o' them seas before now, an' depend upon it that vulcan is stirring up some o' the fires that are always blazin' away, more or less, around the straits settlements." "by which you mean, i suppose, that one of the numerous volcanoes in the malay archipelago has become active," said nigel; "but are we not some five or six hundred miles to the sou'-west of sunda? surely the influence of volcanic action could scarcely reach so far." "so far!" repeated the captain, with a sort of humph which was meant to indicate mild contempt; "that shows how little you know, with all your book-learnin', about volcanoes." "i don't profess to know much, father," retorted nigel in a tone of cheery defiance. "why, boy," continued the other, resuming his perambulation of the deck, "explosions have sometimes been heard for hundreds, ay _hundreds_, of miles. i thought i heard one just now, but no doubt the unusual darkness works up my imagination and makes me suspicious, for it's wonderful what fools the imag--. hallo! d'ee feel _that_?" he went smartly towards the binnacle-light, as he spoke, and, holding an arm close to it, found that his sleeve was sprinkled with a thin coating of fine dust. "didn't i say so?" he exclaimed in some excitement, as he ran to the cabin skylight and glanced earnestly at the barometer. that glance caused him to shout a sudden order to take in all sail. at the same moment a sigh of wind swept over the sleeping sea as if the storm-fiend were expressing regret at having been so promptly discovered and met. seamen are well used to sudden danger--especially in equatorial seas-and to prompt, unquestioning action. not many minutes elapsed before the _sunshine_ was under the smallest amount of sail she could carry. even before this had been well accomplished a stiff breeze was tearing up the surface of the sea into wild foam, which a furious gale soon raised into raging billows. the storm came from the sunda straits about which the captain and his son had just been talking, and was so violent that they could do nothing but scud before it under almost bare poles. all that night it raged. towards morning it increased to such a pitch that one of the backstays of the foremast gave way. the result was that the additional strain thus thrown on the other stays was too much for them. they also parted, and the foretop-mast, snapping short off with a report like a cannon-shot, went over the side, carrying the main-topgallant-mast and all its gear along with it. chapter two. the haven in the coral ring. it seemed as if the storm-fiend were satisfied with the mischief he had accomplished, for immediately after the disaster just described, the gale began to moderate, and when the sun rose it had been reduced to a stiff but steady breeze. from the moment of the accident onward, the whole crew had been exerting themselves to the utmost with axe and knife to cut and clear away the wreck of the masts, and repair damages. not the least energetic among them was our amateur first mate, nigel roy. when all had been made comparatively snug, he went aft to where his father stood beside the steersman, with his legs nautically wide apart, his sou'-wester pulled well down over his frowning brows, and his hands in their native pockets. "this is a bad ending to a prosperous voyage," said the youth, sadly; "but you don't seem to take it much to heart, father!" "how much or little i take it to heart you know nothin' whatever about, my boy, seein' that i don't wear my heart on my coat-sleeve, nor yet on the point of my nose, for the inspection of all and sundry. besides, you can't tell whether it's a bad or a good endin', for it has not ended yet one way or another. moreover, what appears bad is often found to be good, an' what seems good is pretty often uncommon bad." "you are a walking dictionary of truisms, father! i suppose you mean to take a philosophical view of the misfortune and make the best of it," said nigel, with what we may style one of his twinkling smiles, for on nearly all occasions that young man's dark, brown eyes twinkled, in spite of him, as vigorously as any "little star" that was ever told in prose or song to do so--and much more expressively, too, because of the eyebrows of which little stars appear to be destitute. "no, lad," retorted the captain; "i take a common-sense view--not a philosophical one; an' when you've bin as long at sea as i have, you'll call nothin' a misfortune until it's proved to be such. the only misfortune i have at present is a son who cannot see things in the same light as his father sees 'em." "well, then, according to your own principle that is the reverse of a misfortune, for if i saw everything in the same light that you do, you'd have no pleasure in talking to me, you'd have no occasion to reason me out of error, or convince me of truth. take the subject of poetry, now--" "luff;" said captain roy, sternly, to the man at the wheel. when the man at the wheel had gone through the nautical evolution involved in "luff," the captain turned to his son and said abruptly--"we'll run for the cocos-keelin' islands, nigel, an' refit." "are the keeling islands far off?" "lift up your head and look straight along the bridge of your nose, lad, and you'll see them. they're an interesting group, are the keelin' islands. volcanic, they are, with a coral top-dressin', so to speak. sit down here an' i'll tell 'ee about 'em." nigel shut up the telescope through which he had been examining the thin, blue line on the horizon that indicated the islands in question, and sat down on the cabin skylight beside his father. "they've got a romantic history too, though a short one, an' are set like a gem on the bosom of the deep blue sea." "come, father, you're drifting out of your true course--that's poetical!" "i know it, lad, but i'm only quotin' your mother. well, you must know that the keelin' islands--we call them keelin' for short--were uninhabited between fifty and sixty years ago, when a scotsman named ross, thinking them well situated as a port of call for the repair and provisioning of vessels on their way to australia and china, set his heart on them and quietly took possession in the name of england. then he went home to fetch his wife and family of six children, intendin' to settle on the islands for good. returning in 1827 with the family and fourteen adventurers, twelve of whom were english, one a portugee and one a javanee, he found to his disgust that an englishman named hare had stepped in before him and taken possession. this hare was a very bad fellow; a rich man who wanted to live like a rajah, with lots o' native wives and retainers, an' be a sort of independent prince. of course he was on bad terms at once with ross, who, finding that things were going badly, felt that it would be unfair to hold his people to the agreement which was made when he thought the whole group was his own, so he offered to release them. they all, except two men and one woman, accepted the release and went off in a gun-boat that chanced to touch there at the time. for a good while hare and his rival lived there--the one tryin' to get the dutch, the other to induce the english government to claim possession. neither dutch nor english would do so at first, but the english did it at long last--in 1878--and annexed the islands to the government of ceylon. "long before that date, however--before 1836--hare left and went to singapore, where he died, leaving ross in possession--the `king of the cocos islands' as he came to be called. in a few years--chiefly through the energy of ross's eldest son, to whom he soon gave up the management of affairs--the group became a prosperous settlement. its ships traded in cocoa-nuts, (the chief produce of the islands), throughout all the straits settlements, and boatbuildin' became one of their most important industries. but there was one thing that prevented it from bein' a very happy though prosperous place, an' that was the coolies who had been hired in java, for the only men that could be got there at first were criminals who had served their time in the chain-gangs of batavia. as these men were fit for anything--from pitch-and-toss to murder--and soon outnumbered the colonists, the place was kept in constant alarm and watchfulness. for, as i dare say you know, the malays are sometimes liable to have the spirit of _amok_ on them, which leads them to care for and fear nothin', and to go in for a fight-to-death, from which we get our sayin'--_run amuck_. an' when a strong fellow is goin' about loose in this state o' mind, it's about as bad as havin' a tiger prowlin' in one's garden. "well, sometimes two or three o' these coolies would mutiny and bide in the woods o' one o' the smaller uninhabited islands. an' the colonists would have no rest till they hunted them down. so, to keep matters right, they had to be uncommon strict. it was made law that no one should spend the night on any but what was called the home island without permission. every man was bound to report himself at the guard-house at a fixed hour; every fire to be out at sunset, and every boat was numbered and had to be in its place before that time. so they went on till the year 1862, when a disaster befell them that made a considerable change--at first for the worse, but for the better in the long-run. provin' the truth, my lad, of what i was--well, no--i was goin' to draw a moral here, but i won't! "it was a cyclone that did the business. cyclones have got a free-an'-easy way of makin' a clean sweep of the work of years in a few hours. this cyclone completely wrecked the homes of the keelin' islanders, and ross--that's the second ross, the son of the first one-sent home for _his_ son, who was then a student of engineering in glasgow, to come out and help him to put things to rights. ross the third obeyed the call, like a good son,--observe that, nigel." "all right, father, fire away!" "like a good son," repeated the captain, "an' he turned out to be a first-rate man, which was lucky, for his poor father died soon after, leavin' him to do the work alone. an' well able was the young engineer to do it. he got rid o' the chain-gang men altogether, and hired none but men o' the best character in their place. he cleared off the forests and planted the ground with cocoa-nut palms. got out steam mills, circular saws, lathes, etcetera, and established a system of general education with a younger brother as head-master--an' tail-master too, for i believe there was only one. he also taught the men to work in brass, iron, and wood, and his wife--a cocos girl that he married after comin' out--taught all the women and girls to sew, cook, and manage the house. in short, everything went on in full swing of prosperity, till the year 1876, when the island-born inhabitants were about 500, as contented and happy as could be. "in january of that year another cyclone paid them a visit. the barometer gave them warning, and, remembering the visit of fourteen years before, they made ready to receive the new visitor. all the boats were hauled up to places of safety, and every other preparation was made. down it came, on the afternoon o' the 28th--worse than they had expected. many of the storehouses and mills had been lately renewed or built. they were all gutted and demolished. everything movable was swept away like bits of paper. lanes, hundreds of yards in length, were cleared among the palm-trees by the whirling wind, which seemed to perform a demon-dance of revelry among them. in some cases it snapped trees off close to the ground. in others it seemed to swoop down from above, lick up a patch of trees bodily and carry them clean away, leaving the surrounding trees untouched. sometimes it would select a tree of thirty years growth, seize it, spin it round, and leave it a permanent spiral screw. i was in these regions about the time, and had the account from a native who had gone through it all and couldn't speak of it except with glaring eyeballs and gasping breath. "about midnight of the 28th the gale was at its worst. darkness that could be felt between the flashes of lightning. thunder that was nearly drowned by the roaring of the wind an' the crashing of everything all round. to save their lives the people had to fling themselves into ditches and hollows of the ground. mr ross and some of his people were lying in the shelter of a wall near his house. there had been a schooner lying not far off. when mr ross raised his head cautiously above the wall to have a look to wind'ard he saw the schooner comin' straight for him on the top of a big wave. `hold on!' he shouted, fell flat down, and laid hold o' the nearest bush. next moment the wave burst right over the wall, roared on up to the garden, 150 yards above high-water mark, and swept his house clean away! by good fortune the wall stood the shock, and the schooner stuck fast just before reachin' it, but so near that the end of the jib-boom passed right over the place where the household lay holdin' on for dear life and half drowned. it was a tremendous night," concluded the captain, "an' nearly everything on the islands was wrecked, but they've survived it, as you'll see. though it's seven years since that cyclone swep' over them, they're all right and goin' ahead again, full swing, as if nothin' had happened." "and is ross the third still king?" asked nigel with much interest. "ay--at least he was king a few years ago when i passed this way and had occasion to land to replace a tops'l yard that had been carried away." "then you won't arrive as a stranger?" "i should think not," returned the captain, getting up and gazing steadily at the _atoll_ or group of islets enclosed within a coral ring which they were gradually approaching. night had descended, however, and the gale had decreased almost to a calm, ere they steered through the narrow channel--or what we may call a broken part of the ring--which led to the calm lagoon inside. nigel roy leaned over the bow, watching with profound attention the numerous phosphorescent fish and eel-like creatures which darted hither and thither like streaks of silver from beneath their advancing keel. he had enough of the naturalist in him to arouse in his mind keen interest in the habits and action of the animal life around him, and these denizens of the coral-groves were as new to him as their appearance was unexpected. "you'll find 'em very kind and hospitable, lad," said the captain to his son. "what, the fish?" "no, the inhabitants. port--port--steady!" "steady it is!" responded the man at the wheel. "let go!" shouted the captain. a heavy plunge, followed by the rattling of chains and swinging round of the brig, told that they had come to an anchor in the lagoon of the cocos-keeling islands. chapter three. interesting particulars of various kinds. by the first blush of dawn nigel roy hastened on deck, eager to see the place in regard to which his father's narrative had awakened in him considerable interest. it not only surpassed but differed from all his preconceived ideas. the brig floated on the bosom of a perfectly calm lake of several miles in width, the bottom of which, with its bright sand and brilliant coral-beds, could be distinctly seen through the pellucid water. this lake was encompassed by a reef of coral which swelled here and there into tree-clad islets, and against which the breakers of the indian ocean were dashed into snowy foam in their vain but ceaseless efforts to invade the calm serenity of the lagoon. smaller islands, rich with vegetation, were scattered here and there within the charmed circle, through which several channels of various depths and sizes connected the lagoon with the ocean. "we shall soon have the king himself off to welcome us," said captain roy as he came on deck and gave a sailor-like glance all round the horizon and then up at the sky from the mere force of habit. "visitors are not numerous here. a few scientific men have landed now and again; darwin the great naturalist among others in 1836, and forbes in 1878. no doubt they'll be very glad to welcome nigel roy in this year of grace 1883." "but i'm not a naturalist, father, more's the pity." "no matter, lad; you're an ammytoor first mate, an' pr'aps a poet may count for somethin' here. they lead poetical lives and are fond o' poetry." "perhaps that accounts for the fondness you say they have for you, father." "just so, lad. see!--there's a boat puttin' off already: the king, no doubt." he was right. mr ross, the appointed governor, and "king of the cocos islands," was soon on deck, heartily shaking hands with and welcoming captain roy as an old friend. he carried him and his son off at once to breakfast in his island-home; introduced nigel to his family, and then showed them round the settlement, assuring them at the same time that all its resources were at their disposal for the repair of the _sunshine_. "thank 'ee kindly," said the captain in reply, "but i'll only ask for a stick to rig up a fore-topmast to carry us to batavia, where we'll give the old craft a regular overhaul--for it's just possible she may have received some damage below the water-line, wi' bumpin' on the mast and yards." the house of the "king" was a commodious, comfortable building in the midst of a garden, in which there were roses in great profusion, as well as fruit-trees and flowering shrubs. each keeling family possessed a neat well-furnished plank cottage enclosed in a little garden, besides a boat-house at the water-edge on the inner or lagoon side of the reef, and numerous boats were lying about on the white sand. the islanders, being almost born sailors, were naturally very skilful in everything connected with the sea. there was about them a good deal of that kindly innocence which one somehow expects to find associated with a mild paternal government and a limited intercourse with the surrounding world, and nigel was powerfully attracted by them from the first. after an extensive ramble, during which mr ross plied the captain with eager questions as to the latest news from the busy centres of civilisation--especially with reference to new inventions connected with engineering--the island king left them to their own resources till dinner-time, saying that he had duties to attend to connected with the kingdom! "now, boy," said the captain when their host had gone, "what'll 'ee do? take a boat and have a pull over the lagoon, or go with me to visit a family i'm particularly fond of, an' who are uncommon fond of _me_!" "visit the family, of course," said nigel. "i can have a pull any day." "come along then." he led the way to one of the neatest of the plank cottages, which stood on the highest ridge of the island, so that from the front windows it commanded a view of the great blue ocean with its breakers that fringed the reef as with a ring of snow, while, on the opposite side, lay the peaceful waters and islets of the lagoon. a shout of joyful surprise was uttered by several boys and girls at sight of the captain, for during his former visit he had won their hearts by telling them wild stories of the sea, one-half of each story being founded on fact and personal experience, the other half on a vivid imagination! "we are rejoiced to see you," said the mother of the juveniles, a stout woman of mixed nationality--that of dutch apparently predominating. she spoke english, however, remarkably well, as did many of the cocos people, though malay is the language of most of them. the boys and girls soon hauled the captain down on a seat and began to urge him to tell them stories, using a style of english that was by no means equal to that of the mother. "stop, stop, let me see sister kathy first. i can't begin without her. where is she?" "somewhere, i s'pose," said the eldest boy. "no doubt of that. go--fetch her," returned the captain. at that moment a back-door opened, and a girl of about seventeen years of age entered. she was pleasant-looking rather than pretty--tall, graceful, and with magnificent black eyes. "here she comes," cried the captain, rising and kissing her. "why, kathy, how you've grown since i saw you last! quite a woman, i declare!" kathy was not too much of a woman, however, to join her brothers and sisters in forcing the captain into a seat and demanding a story on the spot. "stop, stop!" cried the captain, grasping round their waists a small boy and girl who had already clambered on his knees. "let me inquire about my old friends first--and let me introduce my son to you--you've taken no notice of _him_ yet! that's not hospitable." all eyes were turned at once on nigel, some boldly, others with a shy inquiring look, as though to say, "can _you_ tell stories?" "come, now," said nigel, advancing, "since you are all so fond of my father, i must shake hands with you all round." the hearty way in which this was done at once put the children at their ease. they admitted him, as it were, into their circle, and then turning again to the captain continued their clamour for a story. "no, no--about old friends first. how--how's old mother morris?" "quite well," they shouted. "fatterer than ever," added an urchin, who ier," added an urchin, who in england would have been styled cheeky. "yes," lisped a very little girl; "one of 'e doors in 'e house too small for she." "why, gerchin, you've learned to speak english like the rest," said the captain. "yes, father make every one learn." "well, now," continued the captain, "what about black sam?" "gone to batavia," chorused the children. "and--and--what's-'is-name?--the man wi' the nose--" a burst of laughter and, "we's _all_ got noses here!" was the reply. "yes, but you know who i mean--the short man wi' the--" "oh! with the turned _up_ nose. _i_ know," cried the cheeky boy; "you means johnson? he hoed away nobody know whar'." "and little kelly drew, what of her?" a sudden silence fell on the group, and solemn eyes were turned on sister kathy, who was evidently expected to answer. "not dead?" said the captain earnestly. "no, but very _very_ ill," replied the girl. "dear kelly have nevbrother, who--." at this point they were interrupted by another group of the captain's little admirers, who, having heard of his arrival, ran forward to give him a noisy welcome. before stories could be commenced, however, the visitors were summoned to mr ross's house to dinner, and then the captain had got into such an eager talk with the king that evening was upon them before they knew where they were, as nigel expressed it, and the stories had to be postponed until the following day. of course beds were offered, and accepted by captain roy and nigel. just before retiring to them, father and son went out to have a stroll on the margin of the lagoon. "ain't it a nice place, nigel?" asked the former, whose kindly spirit had been stirred up to quite a jovial pitch by the gushing welcome he had received alike from old and young. "it's charming, father. quite different from what you had led me to expect." "my boy," returned the captain, with that solemn deliberation which he was wont to assume when about to deliver a palpable truism. "w'en you've come to live as long as me you'll find that everything turns out different from what people have bin led to expect. leastways that's _my_ experience." "well, in the meantime, till i have come to your time of life, i'll take your word for that, and i do hope you intend to stay a long time here." "no, my son, i don't. why do ye ask?" "because i like the place and the people so much that i would like to study it and them, and to sketch the scenery." "business before pleasure, my lad," said the captain with a grave shake of the head. "you know we've bin blown out of our course, and have no business here at all. i'll only wait till the carpenter completes his repairs, and then be off for batavia. duty first; everything else afterwards." "but you being owner as well as commander, there is no one to insist on duty being done," objected nigel. "pardon me," returned the captain, "there is a certain owner named captain david roy, a very stern disciplinarian, who insists on the commander o' this here brig performin' his duty to the letter. you may depend upon it that if a man ain't true to himself he's not likely to be true to any one else. but it's likely that we may be here for a couple of days, so i release _you_ from duty that you may make the most o' your time and enjoy yourself. by the way, it will save you wastin' time if you ask that little girl, kathy holbein, to show you the best places to sketch, for she's a born genius with her pencil and brush." "no, thank you, father," returned nigel. "i want no little girl to bother me while i'm sketching--even though she be a born genius--for i think i possess genius enough myself to select the best points for sketching, and to get along fairly well without help. at least i'll try what i can do." "please yourself, lad. nevertheless, i think you wouldn't find poor kathy a bother; she's too modest for that--moreover, she could manage a boat and pull a good oar when i was here last, and no doubt she has improved since." "nevertheless, i'd rather be alone," persisted nigel. "but why do you call her _poor_ kathy? she seems to be quite as strong and as jolly as the rest of her brothers and sisters." "ah, poor thing, these are not her brothers and sisters," returned the captain in a gentler tone. "kathy is only an adopted child, and an orphan. her name, kathleen, is not a dutch one. she came to these islands in a somewhat curious way. sit down here and i'll tell 'ee the little i know about her." father and son sat down on a mass of coral rock that had been washed up on the beach during some heavy gale, and for a few minutes gazed in silence on the beautiful lagoon, in which not only the islets, but the brilliant moon and even the starry hosts were mirrored faithfully. "about thirteen years ago," said the captain, "two pirate junks in the sunda straits attacked a british barque, and, after a fight, captured her. some o' the crew were killed in action, some were taken on board the junks to be held to ransom, i s'pose, and some, jumping into the sea to escape if possible by swimming, were probably drowned, for they were a considerable distance from land. it was one o' these fellows, however, who took to the water that managed to land on the java shore, more dead than alive. he gave information about the affair, and was the cause of a gun-boat, that was in these waters at the time, bein' sent off in chase o' the pirate junks. "this man who swam ashore was a lascar. he said that the chief o' the pirates, who seemed to own both junks, was a big ferocious malay with only one eye--he might have added with no heart at all, if what he said o' the scoundrel was true, for he behaved with horrible cruelty to the crew o' the barque. after takin' all he wanted out of his prize he scuttled her, and then divided the people that were saved alive between the two junks. there were several passengers in the vessel; among them a young man--a widower--with a little daughter, four year old or so. he was bound for calcutta. being a very powerful man he fought like a lion to beat the pirates off, but he was surrounded and at last knocked down by a blow from behind. then his arms were made fast and he was sent wi' the rest into the biggest junk. "this poor fellow recovered his senses about the time the pirates were dividin' the prisoners among them. he seemed dazed at first, so said the lascar, but as he must have bin in a considerable funk himself i suspect his observations couldn't have bin very correct. anyhow, he said he was sittin' near the side o' the junk beside this poor man, whose name he never knew, but who seemed to be an englishman from his language, when a wild scream was heard in the other junk. it was the little girl who had caught sight of her father and began to understand that she was going to be separated from him. at the sound o' her voice he started up, and, looking round like a wild bull, caught sight o' the little one on the deck o' the other junk, just as they were hoistin' sail to take advantage of a breeze that had sprung up. "whether it was that they had bound the man with a piece o' bad rope, or that the strength o' samson had been given to him, the lascar could not tell, but he saw the englishman snap the rope as if it had bin a bit o' pack-thread, and jump overboard. he swam for the junk where his little girl was. if he had possessed the strength of a dozen samsons it would have availed him nothin', for the big sail had caught the breeze and got way on her. at the same time the other junk lay over to the same breeze and the two separated. at first the one-eyed pirate jumped up with an oath and fired a pistol shot at the englishman, but missed him. then he seemed to change his mind and shouted in bad english, with a diabolical laugh--`swim away; swim hard, p'raps you kitch 'im up!' of course the two junks were soon out of sight o' the poor swimmer--and that was the end of _him_, for, of course, he must have been drowned." "but what of the poor little girl?" asked nigel, whose feelings were easily touched by the sorrows of children, and who began to have a suspicion of what was coming. "i'm just comin' to that. well, the gun-boat that went to look for the pirates sighted one o' the junks out in the indian ocean after a long search and captured her, but not a single one o' the barque's crew was to be found in her, and it was supposed they had been all murdered and thrown overboard wi' shots tied to their feet to sink them. enough o' the cargo o' the british barque was found, however, to convict her, and on a more careful search bein' made, the little girl was discovered, hid away in the hold. bein' only about four year old, the poor little thing was too frightened to understand the questions put to her. all she could say was that she wanted `to go to father,' and that her name was kathy, probably short for kathleen, but she could not tell." "then that is the girl who is now here?" exclaimed nigel. "the same, lad. the gun-boat ran in here, like as we did, to have some slight repairs done, and kathy was landed. she seemed to take at once to motherly mrs holbein, who offered to adopt her, and as the captain of the gun-boat had no more notion than the man-in-the-moon who the child belonged to, or what to do with her, he gladly handed her over, so here she has been livin' ever since. of coarse attempts have been made to discover her friends, but without success, and now all hope has been given up. the poor girl herself never speaks on the subject, but old holbein and his wife tell me she is sure that kathy has never forgotten her father. it may be so; anyhow, she has forgotten his name--if she ever knew it." next day nigel made no objections to being guided to the most picturesque spots among the coral isles by the interesting orphan girl. if she had been older he might even have fallen in love with her, an event which would have necessitated an awkward modification of the ground-work of our tale. as it was, he pitied the poor child sincerely, and not only--recognising her genius--asked her advice a good deal on the subject of art, but--recognising also her extreme youth and ignorance--volunteered a good deal of advice in exchange, quite in a paternal way! chapter four. nigel undergoes some quite new and interesting experiences. the arrangements made on the following day turned out to be quite in accordance with the wishes and tastes of the various parties concerned. the ship's carpenter having been duly set to work on the repairs, and being inspected in that serious piece of prosaic business by the second mate, our captain was set free to charm the very souls of the juveniles by wandering for miles along the coral strand inventing, narrating, exaggerating to his heart's content. pausing now and then to ask questions irrelevant to the story in hand, like a wily actor, for the purpose of intensifying the desire for more, he would mount a block of coral, and thence, sometimes as from a throne, or platform, or pulpit, impress some profound piece of wisdom, or some thrilling point, or some exceedingly obvious moral on his followers open-mouthed and open-eyed. these were by no means idlers, steeped in the too common business of having nothing to do. no, they had regularly sought and obtained a holiday from work or school; for all the activities of social and civilised life were going on full swing--fuller, indeed, than the average swing--in that remote, scarcely known, and beautiful little gem of the indian ocean. meanwhile nigel and kathy, with sketch-books under their arms, went down to where the clear waters of the lagoon rippled on the white sand, and, launching a cockleshell of a boat, rowed out toward the islets. "now, kathy, you must let me pull," said nigel, pushing out the sculls, "for although the captain tells me you are very good at rowing, it would never do for a man, you know, to sit lazily down and let himself be rowed by a girl." "very well," said kathy, with a quiet and most contented smile, for she had not yet reached the self-conscious age--at least, as ages go in the cocos-keeling islands! besides, kathy was gifted with that charming disposition which never _objects_ to anything--anything, of course, that does not involve principle! but it was soon found that, as the cockleshell had no rudder, and the intricacies they had to wind among were numerous, frequent directions and corrections were called for from the girl. "d'you know," said nigel at last, "as i don't know where you want me to go to, it may be as well, after all, that you should row!" "very well," said kathy, with another of her innocent smiles. "i thinked it will be better so at first." nigel could not help laughing at the way she said this as he handed her the sculls. she soon proved herself to be a splendid boat-woman, and although her delicate and shapely arms were as mere pipe-stems to the great brawny limbs of her companion, yet she had a deft, mysterious way of handling the sculls that sent the cockleshell faster over the lagoon than before. "now, we go ashore here," said kathy, turning the boat,--with a prompt backwater of the left scull, and a vigorous pull of the right one,--into a little cove just big enough to hold it. the keel went with such a plump on the sand, that nigel, who sat on a forward thwart with his back landward, reversed the natural order of things by putting his back on the bottom of the boat and his heels in the air. to this day it is an unsettled question whether this was done on purpose by kathy. certain it is that _she_ did not tumble, but burst into a hearty fit of laughter, while her large lustrous eyes half shut themselves up and twinkled. "why, you don't even apologise, you dreadful creature!" exclaimed nigel, joining in the laugh, as he picked himself up. "why should i 'pologise?" asked the girl, in the somewhat broken english acquired from her adopted family. "why you not look out?" "right, kathy, right; i'll keep a sharp lookout next time. meanwhile i will return good for evil by offering my hand to help you a--hallo!" while he spoke the girl had sprung past him like a grasshopper, and alighted on the sand like a butterfly. a few minutes later and this little jesting fit had vanished, and they were both engaged with pencil and book, eagerly--for both were enthusiastic--sketching one of the most enchanting scenes that can well be imagined. we will not attempt the impossible. description could not convey it. we can only refer the reader's imagination to the one old, hackneyed but expressive, word--fairyland! one peculiarly interesting point in the scene was, that on the opposite side of the lagoon the captain could be seen holding forth to his juvenile audience. when a pretty long time had elapsed in absolute silence, each sketcher being totally oblivious of the other, nigel looked up with a long sigh, and said:-"well, you _have_ chosen a most exquisite scene for me. the more i work at it, the more i find to admire. may i look now at what you have done?" "oh yes, but i have done not much. i am slow," said the girl, as nigel rose and looked over her shoulder. "why!--what--how beautiful!--but--but--what do you mean?" exclaimed the youth. "i don't understand you," said the girl, looking up in surprise. "why, kathy, i had supposed you were drawing that magnificent landscape all this time, and--and you've only been drawing a group of shells. splendidly done, i admit, but why--" he stopped at that moment, for her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "forgive me, dear child," said nigel, hurriedly "i did not intend to hurt your feelings. i was only surprised at your preference." "you have not hurt me," returned kathy in a low voice, as she resumed her work, "but what you say calls back to me--my father was very fond of shells." she stopped, and nigel, blaming himself for having inadvertently touched some tender chord, hastened, somewhat clumsily, to change the subject. "you draw landscape also, i doubt not?" "oh yes--plenty. if you come home to me to-night, i will show you some." "i shall be only too happy," returned the youth, sitting down again to his sketch, "and perhaps i may be able to give you a hint or two-especially in reference to perspective--for i've had regular training, you know, kathy, and i dare say you have not had that here." "not what you will think much, perhaps, yet i have study a little in school, and _very_ much from nature." "well, you have been under the best of masters," returned nigel, "if you have studied much from nature. and who has been your other teacher?" "a brother of mr ross. i think he must understand very much. he was an engineer, and has explained to me the rules of perspective, and many other things which were at first very hard to understand. but i do see them now." "perhaps then, kathleen," said nigel, in that drawling, absent tone in which artists are apt to indulge when busy at work--"perhaps you may be already too far advanced to require instruction from me." "perhaps--but i think no, for you seems to understand a great deal. but why you call me kathleen just now?" "because i suppose that is your real name--kathy being the short for it. is it not so?" "well, p'raps it is. i have hear mother holbein say so once. i like kathleen best." "then, may i call you kathleen?" "if you like." at this point both artists had become so engrossed in their occupation that they ceased to converse, and for a considerable time profound silence reigned--at least on their part, though not as regarded others, for every now and then the faint sound of laughter came floating over the tranquil lagoon from that part of the coral strand where captain roy was still tickling the fancies and expanding the imaginations and harrowing or soothing the feelings of the cocos-keeling juveniles. inferior animal life was also in ceaseless activity around the sketchers, filling the air with those indescribably quiet noises which are so suggestive of that general happiness which was originally in terrestrial paradise and is ultimately to be the lot of redeemed creation. snipe and curlews were wading with jaunty step and absorbed inquiring gaze in the shallow pools. hermit-crabs of several species and sizes were scuttling about searching for convenient shells in which to deposit their naturally homeless and tender tails. overhead there was a sort of sea-rookery, the trees being tenanted by numerous gannets, frigate birds, and terns--the first gazing with a stupid yet angry air; the last--one beautiful little snow-white species in particular--hovering only a few feet above the sketchers' heads, while their large black eyes scanned the drawings with the owlish look of wisdom peculiar to connoisseurs. noddies also were there, and, on the ground, lizards and spiders and innumerable ants engaged in all the varied activities connected with their several domestic arrangements. altogether it was a scene of bright peaceful felicity, which seemed to permeate nigel's frame right inward to the spinal marrow, and would have kept him entranced there at his work for several hours longer if the cravings of a healthy appetite had not warned him to desist. "now, kathleen," he said, rising and stretching himself as one is apt to do after sitting long in a constrained position, "it seems to me about time to--by the way, we've forgotten to bring something to eat!" his expression as he said this made his companion look up and laugh. "plenty cocoa-nuts," she said, pointing with her pencil to the overarching trees. "true, but i doubt my ability to climb these long straight stems; besides, i have got only a small clasp-knife, which would be but a poor weapon with which to attack the thick outer husk of the nuts." "but i have got a few without the husks in the boat," said the girl, rising and running to the place where the cockleshell had been left. she returned immediately with several nuts divested of their thick outer covering, and in the condition with which we are familiar in england. some of them were already broken, so that they had nothing to do but sit down to lunch. "here is one," said kathy, handing a nut to nigel, "that has got no meat yet in it--only milk. bore a hole in it and drink, but see you bore in the right hole." "the right hole?" echoed the youth, "are some of them wrong ones?" "oh yes, only one of the three will do. one of our crawbs knows that and has claws that can bore through the husk and shell. we calls him coconut crawb." "indeed! that is strange; i never heard before of a crab that fed on cocoa-nuts." "this one do. he is very big, and also climbs trees. it goes about most at night. perhaps you see one before you go away." the crab to which kathy referred is indeed a somewhat eccentric crustacean, besides being unusually large. it makes deep tunnels in the ground larger than rabbit burrows, which it lines with cocoa-nut fibre. one of its claws is developed into an organ of extraordinary power with which it can break a cocoa-nut shell, and even, it is said, a man's limb! it never takes all the husk off a cocoa-nut--that would be an unnecessary trouble--but only enough off the end where the three eyelets are, to enable it to get at the inside. having pierced the proper eye with one of its legs it rotates the nut round it until the hole is large enough to admit the point of its great claw, with which it continues the work. this remarkable creature also climbs the palm-trees, but not to gather nuts; that is certain, for its habits have been closely watched and it has been ascertained that it feeds only on fallen nuts. possibly it climbs for exercise, or to obtain a more extended view of its charming habitat, or simply "for fun." why not? all this and a great deal more was told to nigel by kathleen, who was a bit of a naturalist in her tendencies--as they sat there under the graceful fronds of the palm-trees admiring the exquisite view, eating and drinking cocoa-nuts. "i suppose you have plenty of other kinds of food besides this?" said nigel. "oh yes, plenty. most of the fish in our lagoon be good for eating, and so also the crawbs, and we have turtle too." "indeed! how do you catch the turtle? another nut, please.--thank you." "the way we gets turtle is by the men diving for them and catching them in the water. we has pigs too--plenty, and the wild birds are some very nice." [see note.] when the artists had finished they proceeded to the shore, and to their surprise and amusement found the cockleshell in possession of a piratical urchin of about four years of age in a charmingly light state of clothing. he was well-known to kathleen, and it turned out that, having seen the cockle start at too great a distance to be hailed, and having set his heart on joining in the excursion, he had watched their movements, observed their landing on the islet--which was not far from the main circlet of land--and, running round till he came opposite to it, swam off and got into the boat. being somewhat tired he had lain down to rest and fallen sound asleep. on the way home this urchin's sole delight was to lean over the bow and watch the fish and coral-groves over which they skimmed. in this he was imitated by nigel who, ungallantly permitting his companion to row, also leaned over the side and gazed down into the clear crystal depths with unwearying delight. for the wonderful colours displayed in those depths must be seen to be believed. not only is the eye pleased with the ever-varying formations of the coral bowers, but almost dazzled with the glittering fish--blue, emerald, green, scarlet, orange, banded, spotted, and striped--that dart hither and thither among the rich-toned sea-weed and the variegated anemones which spread their tentacles upwards as if inviting the gazer to come down. among these, crabs could be seen crawling with undecided motion, as if unable to make up their minds, while in out of the way crevices clams of a gigantic size were gaping in deadly quietude ready to close with a snap on any unfortunate creature that should give them the slightest touch. nigel was sharply awakened from his dream by a sudden splash. looking up he observed that the small boy was gone. with a bound he stood erect, one foot on the gunwale and hands clasped ready to dive, when a glance revealed the fact that kathy was smiling broadly! "don't jump!" she said. "he is only after a fish." even while she spoke nigel saw the brown little fellow shooting about like a galvanised tadpole, with a small harpoon in his hand. next moment he appeared on the surface shouting and spluttering, with a splendid fish on the end of his harpoon! both were hauled into the boat, and very soon after they drew near to land. in the shallow water nigel observed some remarkable creatures which resembled hedgehogs, having jaws armed with formidable teeth to enable them to feed, kathy said, on coral insects. file-fishes also drew his attention particularly. these were magnificently striped and coloured, and apparently very fearless. "what convenient tails they have to lay hold of," remarked our hero, as they slowly glided past one; "i believe i could catch it with my hand!" stooping swiftly as he spoke, he dipped his arm into the water, and actually did grasp the fish by its tail, but dropped it again instantly--to the shrieking delight of the urchin and kathy,--for the tail was armed with a series of sharp spines which ran into his hand like lancets. this was an appropriate conclusion to a day that would have been otherwise too enjoyable. poor nigel's felicity was further diluted when he met his father. "we'll have to sleep aboard to-night," said the captain, "for there's a fair breeze outside which seems likely to hold, and the mast has been temporarily rigged up, so we'll have to up anchor, and away by break of day to-morrow." nigel's heart sank. "to-morrow! father?" "ay, to-morrow. business first, pleasure afterwards." "well, i suppose you are right, but it seems almost a shame to leave such a heaven upon earth as this in such a hurry. besides, is it not unkind to such hospitable people to bolt off after you've got all that you want out of them?" "can't help that, lad- "dooty first, an' fun to follow, that's what beats creation hollow." "come father, don't say that you quote _that_ from mother!" "no more i do, my boy. it's my own--homemade. i put it together last night when i couldn't sleep for your snorin'." "don't tell fibs, father. you know i never snore. but--really--are we to start at daylight?" "we are, if the wind holds. but you may stay as late as you choose on shore to-night." nigel availed himself of the opportunity to see as much of the place and people as was possible in the limited time. next morning the good though damaged brig was running in the direction of sunda straits before a stiff and steady breeze. -----------------------------------------------------------------------note 1. we recommend those who desire more curious information on the fauna and flora of the keeling islands to apply to henry o. forbes most interesting book, _a naturalist's wanderings in the eastern archipelago_, published by sampson low. chapter five. captain roy surprises and gratifies his son, who surprises a negro, and suddenly forms an astonishing resolve. arrived in batavia--the low-lying seaport and capital of the dutch island of java--captain roy had his brig examined, and found that the damage she had sustained was so serious that several months would probably elapse before she would be again ready for sea. "now, nigel, my lad," said the old gentleman, on the morning after the examination had been made, "come down below with me; i want to have a confabulation with 'ee." "why, father," said the youth, when seated at the small cabin table opposite his rugged parent, "you seem to be in an unusually solemn frame of mind this morning. has anything happened?" "nothin', boy--nothin'. leastwise nothin' in particular. you know all about the brig, an' what a deal o' repair she's got to undergo?" "of course i do. you know i was present when you talked the matter over with that fellow--what's-'is-name--that gave you his report." "just so. well now, nigel, you don't suppose, do you, that i'm goin' to keep you here for some months knockin' about with nothin' to do--eatin' your grub in idleness?" "certainly not," said the youth, regarding the stern countenance of his parent with an amused look. "i have no intention of acting such an ignoble part, and i'm surprised at you askin' the question, for you know i am not lazy--at least not more so than average active men--and there must be plenty of work for me to do in looking after the cargo, superintending repairs, taking care of the ship and men. i wonder at you, father. you must either have had a shock of dotage, or fallen into a poetical vein. what is a first mate fit for if--" "nigel," said captain roy, interrupting, "i'm the owner an' commander of the _sunshine_, besides bein' the paternal parent of an impertinent son, and i claim to have the right to do as i please--therefore, hold your tongue and listen to me." "all right, father," replied the young man, with a benignant grin; "proceed, but don't be hard upon me; spare my feelings." "well now, this is how the land lies," said the old seaman, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands before him. "as mr moor and i, with the stooard and men, are quite sufficient to manage the affairs o' the brig, and as we shall certainly be here for a considerable time to come, i've made up my mind to give you a holiday. you're young, you see, an' foolish, and your mind needs improvin'. in short, you want a good deal o' the poetry knocked out o' you, for it's not like your mother's poetry by any means, so you needn't flatter yourself--not built on the same lines by a long way. well--where was i?" "only got the length of the holiday yet, father." "only, indeed. you ungrateful dog! it's a considerable length to get, that, isn't it? well, i also intend to give you some money, to enable you to move about in this curious archipelago--not much, but enough to keep you from starvation if used with economy, so i recommend you to go into the town, make general inquiries about everything and everywhere, an' settle in your mind what you'll do, for i give you a rovin' commission an' don't want to be bothered with you for some time to come." "are you in earnest, father?" asked nigel, who had become more interested while the captain unfolded his plan. "never more in earnest in my life--except, p'raps, when i inquired over twenty years ago whether you was a boy or a girl." "well, now, that _is_ good of you, father. of course i need not say that i am charmed at the prospect you open up to me. and--and when may i start?" "at once. up anchor and away to-night if you choose." "but--where?" "anywhere--everywhere, java, sumatra, borneo--all malaysia before you where to choose. now be off, and think over it, for i've got too much to do to waste time on you at present," said the captain, rising, "and, stay--nigel." "well?" said the youth, looking back as he was about to leave the cabin. "whatever you do, don't grow poetical about it. you know it is said somewhere, that mischief is found for idle hands to do." "all right, father. i'll keep clear of poetry--leave all that sort o' nonsense to _you_. i'll- "i'll flee temptation's siren voice, _throw_ poesy to the _crows_ and let my soul's ethereal fire gush out in sober prose." it need scarcely be said that our hero was not slow to take advantage of the opportunity thus thrown in his way. he went off immediately through the town, armed with the introduction of his father's well-known name, and made inquiries of all sorts of people as to the nature, the conditions, the facilities, and the prospects of travel in the malay archipelago. in this quest he found himself sorely perplexed for the very good reason that "all sorts" of people, having all sorts of ideas and tastes, gave amazingly conflicting accounts of the region and its attractions. wearied at last with his researches, he sauntered towards afternoon in the direction of the port, and began in a listless sort of way to watch the movements of a man who was busily engaged with a boat, as if he were making preparations to put to sea. now, whatever philosophers may say to the contrary, we hold strongly to the opinion that likings and dislikings among men and women and children are the result of some profound occult cause which has nothing whatever to do with experience. no doubt experience may afterwards come in to modify or intensify the feelings, but it is not the originating cause. if you say it is, how are we to account for love at first sight? beauty has nothing necessarily to do with it, for men fall in love at first sight with what the world calls plain women--happily! character is not the cause, for love assails the human breast, oft-times, before the loved object has uttered a word, or perpetrated a smile, or even fulminated a glance to indicate character. so, in like manner, affection may arise between man and man. it was so on this occasion with nigel roy. as he stood abstractedly gazing at the boatman he fell in love with him--at least he took a powerful fancy to him, and this was all the more surprising that the man was a negro,--a woolly-headed, flat-nosed, thick-lipped nigger! we would not for a moment have it supposed that it is unnatural to love such a man. quite the reverse. but when such a man is a perfect stranger, has never uttered a word in one's presence, or vouchsafed so much as a glance, and is gravely, stolidly engaged in the unsavoury work of greasing some of the tackling of a boat, it does seem unaccountable that he should be unwittingly capable of stirring up in another man's bosom feelings of ardent goodwill, to put it mildly. after watching him for some time, nigel, under an almost involuntary impulse, shouted "hullo!" "hullo!" replied the negro, looking up with a somewhat stern frown and a pout of his thick lips, as much as to say--"who are _you_?" nigel smiled, and made that suggestive motion with his forefinger which signifies "come here." the frown fled and the pout became a smile as the negro approached, wiping his hands on a piece of cotton-waste. "what you want wi' _me_, sar?" he asked. "well, upon my word," said nigel, somewhat perplexed, "i can't very well say. i suppose something must have been in my mind, but--anyhow, i felt a desire to have a talk with you; that is, if you can spare the time." the first part of this reply induced a slight recurrence of the frown and pout, but at its conclusion the black brow cleared and the mouth expanded to such a gum-and-teeth-exposing extent that nigel fairly burst into a laugh. "you's bery good, sar," said the man, "an' i's hab much pleasure to make your acquaintance.--der an't no grease on 'em now." the last remark had reference to the enormous black paw which he held out. nigel at once grasped it and shook it heartily. "i's bery fond ob a talk, sar," continued the negro, "so as you wants one, heabe ahead." thus encouraged, our hero began by remarking that he seemed to be preparing for a trip. "dat's zackly what i's a-doin', sar." "a long one?" "well, dat depends on what you call short. goin' to sunda straits, which p'raps you know, sar, is nigh a hundred miles fro' here." "and what may you be going to do there?" asked nigel. "goin' home to krakatoa." "why, i thought that was an uninhabited island. i passed close to it on my way here, and saw no sign of inhabitants." "dat's cause i was absint fro' home. an' massa he keeps indoors a good deal." "and pray who is massa?" asked nigel. "sar," said the negro, drawing up his square sturdy frame with a look of dignity; "fair-play is eberyt'ing wid me. you've ax me a heap o' questions. now's my turn. whar you comes fro'?" "from england," replied nigel. "an' whar you go to?" "well, you've posed me now, for i really don't know where i'm going to. in fact that is the very thing i have been trying to find out all day, so if you'll help me i'll be much obliged." here nigel explained his position and difficulties, and it was quite obvious, judging from the glittering eyes and mobile mouth, that he poured his tale into peculiarly sympathetic ears. when he had finished, the negro stood for a considerable time gazing in meditative silence at the sky. "yes," he said at last, as if communing with himself, "i t'ink--i ain't quite sure, but i t'ink--i may ventur'." "whatever it is you are thinking about," remarked nigel, "you may venture to say anything you like to _me_." the negro, who, although comparatively short of stature, was herculean in build, looked at the youth with an amused expression. "you're bery good, sar, but dat's not what i's t'inkin' ob. i's t'inkin' whedder i dar' ventur' to introdoce you to my massa. he's not fond o' company, an' it might make 'im angry, but he came by a heaby loss lately an' p'raps he may cond'send to receibe you. anyhow you'd be quite safe, for he's sure to be civil to any friend ob mine." "is he then so fierce?" asked nigel, becoming interested as well as amused. "fierce! no, he's gentle as a lamb, but he's awrful when he's roused-tigers, crokindiles, 'noceroses is nuffin' to him!" "indeed! what's his name, and what does he do? how does he live?" the negro shook his head. "da's more'n i dar tell till i ax his leave, sar. i kin only say de peepil around calls 'im the hermit ob rakata, 'cause he libs by his-self (wid me, ob course, but _i_ counts for nuffin'), close under de ole volcano ob krakatoa. dey tink--some ob de foolish peepil--dat he hab sold his-self to de dibil, but i knows better. he's a good man, and you'd hab great fun if you stop wid him. now, what i's a-gwine to advise you is, come wid me an' see de hermit. if he lets you stop, good. if not, i fetch you ober to de main land-whar you please--an' you kin come back here or go whar you choose. its wort' your while to take your chance, anyhow." the negro said this with such an earnest look that nigel made up his mind on the spot to accept this curious invitation. "i'll go!" he exclaimed with sudden energy. "when do you start?" "to-morrer at daybreak, sar." "well, i shall have to talk it over first with my father, but i'm sure he won't object, so you may look out for me here at daybreak. shall i have to fetch any provisions with me for the voyage?" "no, nuffin'. boat's crammed wi' grub. but you'd better bring a gun o' some sort an' a 'volver, an' a big knife, an' a mortal big appetite, for a man's no good widout dat." "i always carry that about with me," said the youth, "whatever else i may leave behind; and i'll see to the other things.--by the way, what's your name?" "moses." "is that all?" "isn't dat enuff?" returned the negro with a look of dignity. "quite; but i have the advantage of you there, moses, for i have two names--nigel roy." "well, i don't see much use ob two, but which does you like to be called by--nadgel or roy?" "whichever you please, moses; i'll answer to either. so now, good-bye for the present, and look out for me to-morrow at daylight." "good-bye, massa nadgel, till to-morrer." the negro waved his hand and, sauntering slowly back to his boat, remarked in an undertone, "i lub dat young feller!" saying which, he resumed his greasing operations. of course captain roy made no objection to his son's proposal, though he freely gave his opinion that it was a wild-goose chase. "however, lad, please yourself and you'll please me," he added; "and now, be particular to bear in mind that you've got to write to me every time you get within hail of a post-office or a passing ship or steamer that may chance to be comin' this way, and in each letter be sure to tell me where you're goin' to next, so as i may send a letter there to you in case i want you to return sudden or otherwise. we mustn't lose touch, you see. you needn't write long screeds. i only want to know your whereabouts from time to time. for the rest--you can spin it out in yarns when you come back." chapter six. the hermit of rakata introduced. nothing worthy of particular note occurred during the boat-voyage along the northern shore of java to sunda straits. a fair, steady breeze wafted them westward, and, on the morning of the third day, they came in sight of the comparatively small uninhabited island of krakatoa. the boat in which they voyaged, although a little one, had a small portion of the bow decked over, so that our hero and his sable friend could find shelter from the night air when disposed to sleep, and from the fierce rays of the sun at noon. by the advice of his father, nigel had changed his sailor costume for the "shore-goin' toggery" in which he had landed on the keeling islands, as being more suitable to his new character as a traveller, namely, a white cloth cap with a peak in front and a curtain behind to protect his neck, a light-grey tunic belted at the waist, and a pair of strong canvas trousers. he had also purchased an old-fashioned double-barrelled fowling-piece, muzzle-loading and with percussion locks. "for you see, nigel," the captain had said, "it's all very well to use breech-loaders when you've got towns and railways and suchlike to supply you wi' cartridges, but when you've got to cruise in out-o'-the-way waters, there's nothin' like the old style. it's not difficult to carry a few thousand percussion-caps an' a bullet-mould about wi' you wherever you go. as to powder, why, you'll come across that 'most everywhere, an' lead too; and, for the matter o' that, if your life depended on it you could shove a handful of gravel or a pen-knife or tooth-pick into your gun an' blaze away, but with a breech-loader, if you run out o' cartridges, where are you?" so, as nigel could not say where he was, the percussion-gun had been purchased. the peak of rakata--the highest in the island--a little over 2600 feet, came in sight first; gradually the rest of the island rose out of the horizon, and ere long the rich tropical verdure became distinguishable. krakatoa--destined so soon to play a thrilling part in the world's history; to change the aspect of the heavens everywhere; to attract the wondering gaze of nearly all nations, and to devastate its immediate neighbourhood--is of volcanic origin, and, at the time we write of (1883) was beginning to awaken from a long, deep slumber of two hundred years. its last explosion occurred in the year 1680. since that date it had remained quiet. but now the tremendous subterranean forces which had originally called it into being were beginning to reassert their existence and their power. vulcan was rousing himself again and beginning once more to blow his bellows. so said some of the sailors who were constantly going close past the island and through sunda straits, which may be styled the narrows of the world's highway to the china seas. subterranean forces, however, are so constantly at work more or less violently in those regions that people took little notice of these indications in the comparatively small island of krakatoa, which was between five and six miles long by four broad. as we have said, it was uninhabited, and lying as it does between sumatra and java, about sixteen miles from the former and over twenty miles from the latter, it was occasionally visited by fishermen. the hermit whom nigel was about to visit might, in some sort, be counted an inhabitant, for he had dwelt there many years, but he lived in a cave which was difficult of access, and held communication with no one. how he spent his time was a mystery, for although his negro servant went to the neighbouring town of anjer in java for supplies, and sometimes to batavia, as we have seen, no piece of inanimate ebony from the forest could have been less communicative than he. indeed, our hero was the first to unlock the door of his lips, with that key of mysterious sympathy to which reference has already been made. some of the bolder of the young fishermen of the neighbouring coasts had several times made futile efforts to find out where and how the hermit lived, but the few who got a glimpse of him at a distance brought back such a report that a kind of superstitious fear of him was generated which kept them at a respectful distance. he was ten feet high, some romancers said, with shoulders four feet broad, a chest like a sugar-hogs-head, and a countenance resembling a compound of orang-utan and tiger. of course our hero knew nothing of these rumours, and as moses declined to give any information regarding his master beyond that already given, he was left to the full play of his imagination. moses was quite candid about it. he made no pretence to shroud things in mystery. "you mus' know, massa nadgel," he said, as they slowly drew near to the island, "i's 'fraid ob 'im dough i lub 'im." "but why do you love him, moses?" "'cause he sabe my life an' set me free." "indeed? well, that is good reason. and why do you fear him?" "da's what i don' know, massa," replied the negro with a puzzled look. "is he harsh, then?" "no." "passionate?" "no. gentle as a lamb." "strong?" "yes--oh! mighty strong an' big." "surely you're not afraid of his giving you a licking, moses?" "oh no," returned the negro, with a smile of expansive benignity; "i's not 'fraid ob dat. i's bin a slabe once, got used to lickin's. don't care nuffin' at all for a lickin'!" "then it must be that you're afraid of hurting his feelings, moses, for i know of no other kind of fear." "pr'aps da's it!" said the negro with a bright look, "now i wouldn't wonder if you's right, massa nadgel. it neber come into my head in dat light before. i used to be t'ink, t'inkin' ob nights--when i's tired ob countin' my fingers an' toes. but i couldn't make nuffin' ob it. _now_ i knows! it's 'fraid i am ob hurtin' his feelin's." in the excess of his satisfaction at the solution of this long-standing puzzle, moses threw back his head, shut his eyes, opened his enormous mouth and chuckled. by the time he had reversed this process they were sufficiently near to krakatoa to distinguish all its features clearly, and the negro began to point out to nigel its various localities. there were three prominent peaks on it, he said, named respectively, perboewatan, about 400 feet high, at the northern end of the island; danan, near the centre, 1500 feet; and rakata, at the southern end, over 2600 feet. it was high up on the sides of the last cone that the residence of the hermit was situated. "and you won't tell me your master's name?" said nigel. moses shook his woolly head. "no, sar, no. i's 'fraid ob him--he! he! i 'fraid ob hurtin' his feelin's!" "well, never mind; i'll find it out from himself soon. by the way, what were you telling me about explosions yesterday when that little white gull came to admire your pretty face, and took off our attention?" "well, i dun know. not got much to tell, only dar's bin rumblin' an' grumblin's an' heavin's lately in de mountains as didn't use to be, an' cracks like somet'in' bustin' down b'low, an' massa he shook 'is head two or t'ree times an' look solemn. he don't often do dat--shook 'is head, i mean--for he mostly always looks solemn." a few minutes later the boat, running through a narrow opening among the rocks into a small circular harbour not more than fifty yards in diameter, rested its keel gently on a little bed of pure yellow sand. the shore there was so densely covered with bushes that the harbour might easily have been passed without being observed. jumping ashore, moses made the painter fast to a tree. "what a quiet, cosy place!" said nigel, as he sprung on the beach and looked admiringly round. "yes, an' not easy to find if you don't knows 'im. we will leabe de boat here,--no danger ob bein' tooked away--an' den go up to de cave." "is it far?" asked nigel. "a good bit--near de top ob de mountain," answered the negro, who looked at his companion somewhat uneasily. "why, what's the matter, moses?" "nuffin'--oh! nuffin'--but--but when massa axes you who you is, an' what you bin up to, an' whar you're a-gwine to, an' what wages you want, jist you answer 'im in a sorter permiscuous way, an' don't be too partikler." "wages! man, what d'ye mean?" "well, you'll 'scuse me, sar," returned the negro with an air of profound humility, "but my massa lost a old sarvint--a nigger like myself--only last munt', an' he wants to go on one ob his usual expeditions jus' now, so he sends me to batavia to git anoder man--`a good one, you know,' says massa,--an' as you, sar, was good 'nuff to ax me what you should do, an' you looked a pritty smart man, i--" "you scoundrel!" cried nigel, interrupting him, "do you really mean to tell me that you've brought me here as a hired servant?" "well, not zackly," returned moses, with solemn simplicity, "you needn't ax no wages unless you like." "but what if i don't want to take service?" demanded our hero, with a savage frown. "you kin go home agin," answered moses, humbly. nigel could contain himself no longer. as he observed the man's deprecatory air, and thought of his own position, he burst into a fit of hearty laughter, whereupon the negro recovered himself and smiled the smile of the guiltless. "come," said nigel at last. "lead on, you rascal! when i see your master i shall know what to say." "all right, massa nadgel, but mind what you say, else i won't answer for de consikences. foller me an' look arter your feet, for de road is roughish." the negro's last remark was unquestionably true, for the road--if a mere footpath merits the name--was rugged in the extreme--here winding round the base of steep cliffs, there traversing portions of luxuriant forest, elsewhere skirting the margin of the sea. moses walked at such a pace that nigel, young and active though he was, found it no easy matter to keep up with him. pride, however, forbade him to show the slightest sign of difficulty, and made him even converse now and then in tones of simulated placidity. at last the path turned abruptly towards the face of a precipice and seemed to terminate in a small shallow cave. any one following the path out of mere curiosity would have naturally imagined that the cave was the termination of it; and a very poor termination too, seeing that it was a rather uninteresting cave, the whole of the interior of which could be seen at a single glance from its mouth. but this cave served in reality as a blind. climbing by one or two projecting points, the negro, closely followed by nigel, reached a narrow ledge and walked along it a short distance. on coming to the end of the ledge he jumped down into a mass of undergrowth, where the track again became visible--winding among great masses of weatherworn lava. here the ascent became very steep, and moses put on what sporting men call a spurt, which took him far ahead of nigel, despite the best efforts of the latter to keep up. still our hero scorned to run or call out to his guide to wait, and thereby admit himself beaten. he pushed steadily on, and managed to keep the active moses in view. presently the negro stepped upon a platform of rock high up on the cliffs, where his form could be distinctly seen against the bright sky. there nigel observed that he was joined by a man whose tall commanding figure seemed in such a position to be of gigantic proportions. the two stood engaged in earnest conversation while watching nigel. the latter immediately slackened his pace, in order at once to recover breath and approach with a leisurely aspect. "the wild man of the island, i suppose," he thought as he drew near; but on coming still nearer he saw that he must be mistaken, for the stranger who advanced to meet him with gracious ease and self-possession was obviously a gentleman, and dressed, not unlike himself, in a sort of mixed travelling and shooting costume. "i must apologise, mr roy, for the presumption of my man, in bringing you here under something like false pretences," said the stranger, holding out his hand, which nigel shook heartily. "moses, i find, has failed to execute my commission, and has partially deceived you; but as you are now here, the least i can do is to bid you welcome, and offer you the hospitality of my roof." there was something so courteous and kindly in the tone and manner of the stranger, and something so winning in his soft gentle tones, which contrasted strangely with his grand towering figure and massive bearded countenance, that nigel felt drawn to him instantly. indeed there was a peculiar and mysterious something about him which quite fascinated our hero as he looked up at him, for, bordering on six feet though nigel was, the stranger stood several inches above him. "you are very kind," said the visitor, "and i don't think that moses can fairly be charged with deceiving me, although he has been somewhat unwise in his way of going about this business, for i had told him i wanted to see something of these regions, and perhaps it may be to my advantage to travel in your service--that is, if i can be of any use to you; but the time at my disposal may be too limited." "how much time have you to spare?" asked the stranger. "well, say perhaps three months." "that will do," returned his questioner, looking thoughtfully at the ground. "we will talk of this hereafter." "but--excuse me," said nigel, "your man spoke of you as a hermit--a sort of--of--forgive me--a wild-man-of-the-island, if i may--" "no, i didn't, massa nadgel," said the negro, the edge of whose flat contradiction was taken off by the extreme humility of his look. "well," returned nigel, with a laugh; "you at least gave me to understand that other people said something of that sort." "da's right, massa nadgel--kite right. you're k'rect _now_." "people have indeed got some strange ideas about me, i believe," interposed the hermit, with a grave almost sad expression and tone. "but come, let me introduce you to my hermitage and you shall judge for yourself." so saying, this singular being turned and led the way further up the rugged side of the peak of rakata. after about five minutes' walk in silence, the trio reached a spot where there was a clear view over the tree-tops, revealing the blue waters of the strait, with the java shores and mountains in the distance. behind them there yawned, dark and mysterious, a mighty cavern, so black and high that it might well suggest a portal leading to the regions below, where vulcan is supposed to stir those tremendous fires which have moulded much of the configuration of the world, and which are ever seething--an awful inferno--under the thin crust of the globe on which we stand. curiously-formed and large-leaved trees of the tropics, with their pendent parasites, as well as rank grasses, sprouting from below and hanging from above, partially concealed this cavern from nigel when he first turned towards it, but a few steps further on he could see it in all its rugged grandeur. "my home," said the hermit, with a very slight smile and the air of a prince, as he turned towards his visitor and waved his hand towards it. "a magnificent entrance at all events," said nigel, returning the smile with something of dubiety, for he was not quite sure that his host was in earnest. "follow me," said the hermit, leading the way down a narrow well-worn path which seemed to lose itself in profound darkness. after being a few minutes within the cavern, however, nigel's eyes became accustomed to the dim light, and he perceived that the roof rapidly lowered, while its walls narrowed until they reached a spot which was not much wider than an ordinary corridor. here, however, it was so dark that it was barely possible to see a small door in the right-hand wall before which they halted. lifting a latch the hermit threw the door wide open, and a glare of dazzling light almost blinded the visitor. passing through the entrance, nigel followed his guide, and the negro let the heavy door shut behind him with a clang that was depressingly suggestive of a prison. "again i bid you welcome to my home," said the hermit, turning round and extending his hand, which nigel mechanically took and pressed, but without very well knowing what he did, for he was almost dumfounded by what he saw, and for some minutes gazed in silence around him. and, truly, there was ground for surprise. the visitor found himself in a small but immensely high and brilliantly lighted cavern or natural chamber, the walls of which were adorned with drawings of scenery and trees and specimens of plants, while on various shelves stood innumerable stuffed birds, and shells, and other specimens of natural history. a table and two chairs stood at one end of the cave, and, strangest of all, a small but well-filled book-case ornamented the other end. "arabian nights!" thought nigel. "i _must_ be dreaming." his wandering eyes travelled slowly round the cavern until they rested at last on the door by which they had entered, beside which stood the negro with a broad grin on his sable visage. chapter seven. wonders of the hermit's cave and island. the thing that perhaps surprised nigel most in this strange cavern was the blaze of light with which it was filled, for it came down direct through a funnel-shaped hole in the high roof and bore a marvellous resemblance to natural sunshine. he was well aware that unless the sun were shining absolutely in the zenith, the laws of light forbade the entrance of a _direct_ ray into such a place, yet there were the positive rays, although the sun was not yet high in the heavens, blinding him while he looked at them, and casting the shadows of himself and his new friends on the floor. there was the faintest semblance of a smile on the hermit's face as he quietly observed his visitor, and waited till he should recover self-possession. as for moses--words are wanting to describe the fields of teeth and gum which he displayed, but no sound was suffered to escape his magnificent lips, which closed like the slide of a dark lantern when the temptation to give way to feeling became too strong. "my cave interests you," said the hermit at last. "it amazes me," returned our hero, recovering himself and looking earnestly at his host, "for you seem not only to have all the necessaries of life around you in your strange abode, but many of the luxuries; among them the cheering presence of sunshine--though how you manage to get it is beyond my powers of conception." "it is simple enough, as you shall see," returned the hermit. "you have heard of the saying, no doubt, that `all things are possible to well-directed labour?'" "yes, and that `nothing can be achieved without labour.'" "well, i have proved that to some extent," continued the hermit. "you see, by the various and miscellaneous implements on my shelves, that i am given to dabbling a little in science, and thus have made my lonely home as pleasant as such a home can be--but let us not talk of these matters just now. you must be hungry. have you had breakfast?" "no, we have not--unless, at least, you count a sea biscuit dipped in salt water a breakfast. after all, that may well be the case, for hermits are noted for the frugality of their fare." "i am not a genuine hermit," remarked his host gravely. "men do indeed call me the hermit of rakata, because i dwell alone here under the shadow of this particular cone of krakatoa, but i do not ape the austere life of the conventional hermit, as you see, either in my domestic arrangements or food. come, your breakfast is ready. from my outlook i saw your boat approaching some hours ago, and knew that it was mine, so i made ready for your arrival, though i did not guess that moses was bringing me a guest instead of a servant!" so saying, he led the way through a short natural passage to an inner cave, the entrance to which, like the outer one, was boarded. on opening a small door, nigel was again greeted as before with brilliant rays of sunshine, and, in addition, with a gush of odours that were exceedingly grateful to a hungry man. a low "ho! ho!" behind him told that his black companion was equally gratified. the inner cave or mess-room, as the host styled it, combined dining-room and kitchen, for while in one corner stood a deal table with plates, cups, etcetera, but no tablecloth, in another stood a small stove, heated by an oil-lamp, from which issued puffing and sputtering sounds, and the savoury odours above referred to. nigel now perceived that although his strange host necessarily spoke a good deal while welcoming him and offering him the hospitalities of his abode, he was by no means communicative. on the contrary, it was evident that he was naturally reserved and reticent, and that although polite and gentle in the extreme, there was a quiet grave dignity about him which discouraged familiarity. it must not be supposed, however, that he was in any degree morosely silent. he was simply quiet and undemonstrative, said little except when asked questions, and spoke, alike to nigel and moses, in the soft, low, kindly tones with which one might address very young people. going to the stove he took a coffee-pot therefrom and set it on the table. at the same time, moses, without requiring to be told, opened the oven and brought forth fried fish, meat of some kind, and cakes of he knew not what, but cared little, for their excellence was unquestionable. during the meal that followed, nigel ventured as far as politeness permitted--indeed a little further, if truth must be told--to inquire into the circumstances and motives of his entertainer in taking up his abode in such a strange place, but he soon found that his eccentric friend was not one who could be "pumped." without a touch of rudeness, and in the sweetest of voices, he simply assumed an absent manner and changed the subject of discourse, when he did not choose to reply, by drawing attention to some irrelevant matter, or by putting a counter question which led away from the subject. nigel also found that his host never laughed and rarely smiled, though, when he did so, the smile was so slight as merely to indicate aight as merely to indicate a general feeling of urbanity and goodwill, and it was followed instantly by a look of gravity, if not sadness. altogether the guest was much perplexed about the host at first, and somewhat constrained in consequence, but gradually he began to feel at ease. another discovery that he soon made was, that the hermit treated moses not as a servant, but as if he were in all respects an equal and a comrade. after eating for some time in silence, and having tried to draw out his host without success, nigel changed his tactics and said-"you were so kind as to speak of me as your guest, mr--mr--i beg pardon, may i--" "my name is van der kemp," said the hermit quietly. "well, mr van der kemp, i must tell you that i am quite willing to accept the position for which moses hired me--" "no, i didn't," contradicted the negro, flatly yet very gently, both in tone and manner, for long residence with the hermit had apparently imbued him with something of his spirit. "well, then," said nigel, "the position for which moses _should have_ hired some one else." ("k'rect _now_," whispered moses.) "of course i do not intend to ask for or accept wages, and also, of course, i accept the position on the understanding that you think me fit for the service. may i ask what that service is to be, and where you think of going to?" "the service," returned the hermit slowly and with his eyes fixed on the floor as if pondering his reply, "is to accompany me as my attendant and companion, to take notes as occasion may serve, and to paddle a canoe." at this reply our hero almost laughed, but was prevented from doing so by his host asking abruptly if he understood canoeing. "well, yes. at least i can manage what in england is known as the rob roy canoe, having possessed one in my boyhood." "that will do," returned the hermit gravely. "can you write shorthand?" "i can. a friend of mine, a reporter on one of the london dailies, once gave me a few lessons, and, becoming fond of the subject, i followed it up." "that is well; you did well. it is of immense advantage to a man, whatever his position in life, that he should be able to write shorthand with facility. especially useful is it in commerce. i know that, having had some experience of commercial life." at this point in the conversation nigel was startled by what was to him an absolutely new sensation, namely a shaking or trembling of the whole cavern, accompanied by faint rumbling sounds as if in deeper caverns below him. he glanced quickly at his host and at the negro, but to his surprise these remarkable men seemed not to be aware of the shaking, although it was severe enough to cause some of the furniture to rattle. observing his look of surprise, moses remarked, with a benignant though capacious smile, "mountain's got de mulligrumps pritty bad jist now." "we are pretty well accustomed to that," said the host, observing that nigel turned to him for an explanation. "no doubt you are aware that this region is celebrated for earthquakes and volcanoes, so much so that the inhabitants pay little attention to them unless they become unusually violent. this island of krakatoa is itself the fragment of an extinct volcano; but the term `extinct' is scarcely applicable to volcanoes, for it is well-known that many which were for centuries supposed to be extinct have awakened to sudden and violent activity--`quiescent' might be a more appropriate term." "yes," said moses, ceasing to masticate for purposes of speech; "dem 'stinkt volcanoes hab got an okard habit ob unstinkin' dereselves hereabouts when you don' 'spect it of 'em. go on, massa. i ax yer pard'n for 'truptin'." the hermit's peculiar good-natured little smile played for a moment on his massive features, and then faded away as he continued-"perhaps you may have heard that this is the very heart of the district that has long been recognised as the greatest focus of volcanic activity on the globe?" "i have heard something of the sort," answered nigel, "but i confess that my knowledge is limited and my mind hazy on the subject." "i doubt it not," returned his friend, "for geographical and scientific training in primary schools anywhere is not what it might be. the island of java, with an area about equal to that of england, contains no fewer than forty-nine great volcanic mountains, some of which rise to 12,000 feet above the sea-level. many of these mountains are at the present time active." ("yes, much _too_ active," muttered the negro), "and more than half of them have been seen in eruption since java was occupied by europeans. hot springs, mud-volcanoes, and vapour-vents abound all over the island, whilst earthquakes are by no means uncommon. there is a distinct line in the chain of these mountains which seems to point to a great fissure in the earth's crust, caused by the subterranean fires. this tremendous crack or fissure crosses the straits of sunda, and in consequence we find a number of these vents--as volcanic mountains may be styled--in the island of sumatra, which you saw to the nor'ard as you came along. but there is supposed to be another great crack in the earth's crust--indicated by several volcanic mountains--which crosses the other fissure almost at right angles, and at the exact point where these two lines intersect _stands this island of krakatoa_. "i emphasise the fact," continued the hermit after a pause, "first, because, although this has been a quiescent volcano since the year 1680, and people have come to regard it as extinct, there are indications now which lead me to believe that its energy is reviving; and, second, because this focus where fissures cross each other--this krakatoa island--is in reality part of the crater of an older and much larger volcanic mountain, which must have been literally blown away in prehistoric times, and of which krakatoa and the neighbouring islets of varlaten, polish hat, lang island, and the rest, agreat crater ring. if these rumblings and minor earthquakes, which i have noticed of late--and the latest of which you have just experienced--are the precursors of another explosion, my home here may be rendered untenable." "hi!" exclaimed moses, who had been listening with open mouth and eyes to this discourse, which was obviously news to him, "i hope, massa, he ain't a-gwine to 'splode to-day--anyhow, not till arter breakfast!" "you must have studied the subject of volcanoes a good deal, i suppose, from what you say," observed nigel. "naturally, living as i do almost on the top of one. my library, which i will show you presently, contains many interesting works on the subject. but come, if you have finished we will ascend the peak of rakata and i will introduce you to my sunshine." he rose and led his guest back to the outer cavern, leaving moses still busy with knife and fork, apparently meditating on the pleasure of breakfasting with the prospect of a possible and immediate explosion. in passing through the first chamber, nigel observed, in a natural recess, the library just referred to. he also noted that, besides stuffed birds and other specimens and sea-shells, there were chisels, saws, hammers, and other tools, besides something like a forge and carpenter's bench in a side-chamber opening out of the large one, which he had not at first seen--from all which he concluded that the hermit was imbued with mechanical as well as scientific and literary tastes. at the further and darker end of the outer cave there was a staircase, partly natural, and partly improved by art, which led upward into profound darkness. "let me take your hand here," said the hermit, looking down upon his guest with his slight but winning smile; "it is a rough and dark staircase. you will be apt to stumble." nigel placed his hand in that of his host with perfect confidence, and with a curious feeling--aroused, probably, by the action--of having returned to the days of childhood. the stair was indeed rugged as well as winding, and so pitchy dark that the youth could not have advanced at all without stumbling, unless his host had held him all the way. at last a glimmer of light was seen in the distance. it seemed to increase suddenly, and in a few moments the two emerged from total darkness into dazzling sunshine. when nigel looked round him he saw that they had gained a plateau, high up on the very summit of the mountain, which appeared to be absolutely inaccessible by any means save that by which they had reached it. "this is what i call my observatory," said the hermit, turning to his guest. "we have passed right through the peak of rakata, and reached its northern side, which commands, as you see, a view of all the northern part of the island. i come here often in the night to study the face of the heavens, the moon, and stars, and meditate on their mysterious maker, whose ways are indeed wonderful and past finding out; but all which must, in the nature of things, be _right_." as this was the first mention that the hermit had made of the creator, and the reference was one requiring more thought than nigel had yet bestowed on it, he made no rejoinder. "have you studied astronomy, mr roy?" "no--at least not more of it than was needful for navigation. but pray, sir, do not call me mr roy," said the youth, with a somewhat embarrassed air. "if i am to be your assistant and familiar companion for two or three months, i hope that you will agree to call me nigel. your man has done so already without asking leave!" "i will, on one condition." "and that is?" "that you also dispense with the `mr' and `sir,' and call me van der kemp." "agreed," said nigel, "though it does not seem so appropriate in me as in you, considering the difference of our years." "look here," said the hermit, turning abruptly to a small wooden shed which had hitherto escaped the youth's observation, so covered was it with overhanging boughs and tropical creeping plants, "these are my astronomical instruments." he pointed to a table in the hut on which stood several telescopes--and microscopes as well--one of the former being a large instrument, certainly not less than six feet long, with a diameter of apparently six or eight inches. "here, you see, i have the means of investigating the wonders of nature in her grandest as well as her minutest scales. and there," he added, pointing to a couple of large reflecting mirrors in strong wooden frames, erected on joints in such a way that they could be turned in any direction,--"there you have the secret of my sunshine. one of these mirrors catches the sunshine direct and reflects it on the other, which, as you see, is so arranged that it transmits the rays down the natural funnel or chimney into the cave. by means of chains connected with the mechanism, and extending below, i can change the direction of the mirrors as the sun changes its place in the sky, without requiring to come up here." "very ingenious!" said nigel; "but how do you manage when the mountain comes between you and the sun, as i see it cannot fail to do during some part of the day?" "simply enough," returned the hermit, pointing to a distant projecting cliff or peak. "on yon summit i have fixed four mirrors similar to these. when the sun can no longer be reflected from this pair, the first of the distant mirrors takes it up and shoots a beam of light over here. when the sun passes from that, the second mirror is arranged to catch and transmit it, and so on to the fourth. after that i bid good-bye to the sun, and light my lamp!" nigel felt an almost irresistible tendency to smile at this, but the grave simplicity of the man forbade such familiarity. "look yonder," continued the hermit, sweeping one of his long arms towards sumatra, "in that direction runs the line of volcanic disturbance--the fissure of which i have already spoken. focus this telescope to suit your sight. now, do you see the little island away there to the nor'-west?" "yes." "well, that is _varlaten_. i mentioned it when at breakfast. sweep your glass round to the nor'ard, the little island there is _polish hat_, and you see _lang island_ in the nor'-east. these, with krakatoa, are merely the higher parts still remaining above water of the ring or lip of the ancient crater. this will give you some idea what an enormous mountain the original of this old volcano must have been. this island-mountain is estimated to have been twenty-five miles in circumference, and 10,000 to 12,000 feet high. it was blown into the air in 1680, and this island, with the few islets i have pointed out, is all that remains of it. now, cast your eye down the centre of the island on which we stand; you see several cones of various sizes. these are ancient vents, supposed to be extinct--" "but one of them, the one furthest away," interrupted nigel, steadying his telescope on the branch of a tree, "seems to be anything but extinct, for i see a thin column of white smoke or steam rising from it." "that is just what i was going to point out. they call that perboewatan. it is the lowest peak on the island, about 400 feet high, and stands, i should say, in the very centre of the ancient crater, where are the two fissures i have mentioned. for two hundred years perboewatan has not smoked like that, and, slight though it is at present, i cannot help thinking that it indicates an impending eruption, especially when i consider that earthquakes have become more numerous of late years, and there was one in 1880 which was so violent as to damage seriously the lighthouse on java's first point." "then you have resided here for some time?" said nigel. "yes, for many years," replied the hermit, in a low, sad tone. "but is it wise in you to stay if you think an explosion so likely? don't you needlessly run considerable risk?" "i do not fear to die." nigel looked at his new friend in surprise, but there was not a shadow of boastfulness or affectation either in his look or tone. "besides," he continued, "the explosion may be but slight, and perboewatan is, as you see, about four miles off. people in the neighbourhood of the straits and passing ships are so accustomed to volcanic explosions on a more or less grand scale that they will never notice this little cloud hanging over krakatoa. those who, like myself, know the ancient history of the island, regard it in a more serious light, but we may be wrong. come, now, we will descend again and have a ramble over part of the island. it will interest you. not many men have penetrated its luxuriant forests or know their secrets. i have wandered through them in all directions, and can guide you. indeed, moses could do that as well as i, for he has lived with me many years. come." returning to the cavern they found that the active negro had not only finished his breakfast, but had washed the dishes and cleared up the kitchen, so that he was quite ready to shoulder a wallet and a gun when his master bade him prepare for a day in the forest. it is not, however, our intention to follow the trio thither. matters of greater interest, if not importance, claim our attention at present. let it suffice to say, therefore, that after a most delightful day, spent in wandering amongst the luxuriant tropical vegetation with which the island was densely covered, visiting one of the extinct craters, bathing in one of the numerous hot springs, and collecting many objects of interest to the hermit, in the shape of botanical and geological specimens, they returned in the evening to their cavern-house not only ready but eager for sustenance and repose. chapter eight. perboewatan becomes moderately violent. the cave was enshrouded in almost total darkness when they entered it, but this was quickly dispelled, to nigel's no little surprise, by the rays of a magnificent oil-lamp, which moses lighted and placed on the table in the larger cave. a smaller one of the same kind already illuminated the kitchen. not much conversation was indulged in during the progress of the supper that was soon spread upon the rude table. the three men, being uncommonly hungry and powerfully robust, found in food a sufficient occupation for their mouths for some time. after supper they became a little, but not much, more sociable, for, although nigel's active mind would gladly have found vent in conversation, he experienced some difficulty in making headway against the discouragement of van der kemp's very quiet disposition, and the cavernous yawns with which moses displayed at once his desire for slumber and his magnificent dental arrangements. "we always retire early to rest after a day of this sort," said the hermit at last, turning to his guest. "do you feel disposed for bed?" "indeed i do," said nigel, with a half-suppressed yawn, that was irresistibly dragged out of him by the sight of another earthquake on the negro's face. "come, then, i will show you your berth; we have no bedrooms here," said the hermit, with a sort of deprecatory smile, as he led the way to the darker end of the cavern, where he pointed to a little recess in which there was a pile of something that smelt fresh and looked like heather, spread on which there was a single blanket. "sailors are said to be indifferent to sheets. you won't miss them, i daresay?" "not in the least," returned nigel, with a laugh. "good-night," he added, shaking hands with his host and suppressing another yawn, for moses' face, even in the extreme distance, was irresistibly infectious! our hero was indifferent not only to sheets, but also, in certain circumstances, to the usual habiliments of night. indeed, while travelling in out-of-the-way regions he held it to be a duty to undress but partially before turning in, so that he might be ready for emergencies. on lying down he found his mattress, whatever it was, to be a springy, luxurious bed, and was about to resign himself to slumber when he observed that, from the position in which he lay, he could see the cavern in all its extent. opening his half-closed eyes, therefore, he watched the proceedings of his host, and in doing so, as well as in speculating on his strange character and surroundings, he became somewhat wakeful. he saw that van der kemp, returning to the other end of the cave, sat down beside the lamp, the blaze of which fell full on his fine calm countenance. a motion of his head brought moses to him, who sat down beside him and entered into earnest conversation, to judge from his gestures, for nothing could be heard where nigel lay save the monotonous murmur of their voices. the hermit did not move. except for an occasional inclination of the head he appeared to be a grand classic statue, but it was otherwise with the negro. his position in front of the lamp caused him to look if possible even blacker than ever, and the blackness was so uniform that his entire profile became strongly pronounced, thus rendering every motion distinct, and the varied pouting of his huge lips remarkably obvious. the extended left hand, too, with the frequent thrusting of the index finger of the other into the palm, was suggestive of argument, and of much reasoning effort--if not power. after about half-an-hour of conversation, moses arose, shook his master by the hand, appeared to say "good-night" very obviously, yawned, and retired to the kitchen, whence, in five minutes or so, there issued sounds which betokened felicitous repose. meanwhile his master sat motionless for some time, gazing at the floor as if in meditation. then he rose, went to his book-case and took down a large thick volume, which he proceeded to read. nigel had by that time dropped into a drowsy condition, yet his interest in the doings of his strange entertainer was so great that he struggled hard to keep awake, and partially succeeded. "i wonder," he muttered, in sleepy tones, "if that's a f-fam-'ly bible he's reading--or--or--a vol'm o' the en-encyclopida brit--" he dropped off at this point, but, feeling that he had given way to some sort of weakness, he struggled back again in to wakefulness, and saw that the hermit was bending over the large book with his massive brow resting on the palms of both hands, and his fingers thrust into his iron-grey hair. it was evident, however, that he was not reading the book at that moment, for on its pages was lying what seemed to be a miniature or photograph case, at which he gazed intently. nigel roused himself to consider this, and in doing so again dropped off--not yet soundly, however, for curiosity induced one more violent struggle, and he became aware of the fact that the hermit was on his knees with his face buried in his hands. the youth's thoughts must have become inextricably confused at this point, yet their general drift was indicated by the muttered words: "i--i'm glad o' that--a good sign--an'--an' it's _not_ th' encyclop." here morpheus finally conquered, and he sank into dreamless repose. how long this condition lasted he could not tell, but he was awakened violently by sensations and feelings of dread, which were entirely new to him. the bed on which he rested seemed to heave under him, and his ears were filled by sharp rattling sounds, something like--yet very different from--the continuous roll of musketry. starting up, he sprang into the large cavern where he found van der kemp quietly tightening his belt and moses hastily pulling on his boots. "sometin's bu'sted an' no mistake!" exclaimed the latter. "an eruption from one of the cones," said the hermit. "i have been for a long time expecting it. come with us." he went swiftly up the staircase and passages which led to the observatory as he spoke. the scene that met their eyes on reaching the ledge or plateau was sublime in the extreme, as well as terrific. "as i thought," said van der kemp, in a low tone. "it is perboewatan that has broken out." "the cone from which i observed smoke rising?" asked nigel. "the same. the one over the very centre of the old crater, showing that we were wrong in supposing it to be extinct: it was only slumbering. it is in what vulcanologists term moderate eruption now, and, perhaps, may prove a safety-valve which will prevent a more violent explosion." that the cone of perboewatan was indeed in a state of considerable activity, worthy of a stronger term than "moderate," was very obvious. although at a distance, as we have said, of four miles, the glare of its fires on the three figures perched near the top of rakata was very intense, while explosion after explosion sent molten lava and red-hot rocks, pumice, and dust, high into the thickening air--clouds of smoke and steam being vomited forth at the same time. the wind, of which there was very little, blew it all away from the position occupied by the three observers. "what if the wind were to change and blow it all this way?" asked nigel, with very pardonable feelings of discomfort. "we could return to the cavern," said the hermit. "but what if rakata itself should become active?" it was evident from the very solemn expression on the negro's face that he awaited the reply to nigel's question with some anxiety. "rakata," answered the hermit thoughtfully, "although the highest cone, is the one most distant from the great centre of activity. it is therefore not likely that the volcanic energy will seek a vent here while there are other cones between us and perboewatan. but we shall soon see whether the one vent is likely to suffice. there is undoubtedly no diminution in the explosions at present." there certainly was not, for the voice of the speaker was almost drowned by the horrible din caused, apparently, by the hurtling of innumerable fragments of rock and stones in the air, while a succession of fiery flashes, each followed by a loud explosion, lit up the dome-shaped mass of vapour that was mounting upwards and spreading over the sky. vivid flashes of lightning were also seen playing around the vapour-column. at the same time, there began a fall of fine white dust, resembling snow, which soon covered the foliage and the ground of all the lower part of the island. the sea around was also ere long covered with masses of pumice, which, being very light, floated away into the indian ocean, and these were afterwards encountered in large quantities by various vessels passing through sunda straits. the scientific committee, which ultimately wrote on the details of this eruption in krakatoa, mention this first outburst as being a phase of moderate activity, similar to that which is said to have been exhibited for some months during the years 1680 and 1681, and they added that "the outburst was one of considerable violence, especially at its commencement," that falls of dust were noticed at the distance of three hundred miles, and that "the commander of the german war-vessel _elizabeth_ estimated the height of the dust-column issuing from the volcano at 11 kilometres (36,000 feet or about 7 miles)." to our hero, however, and to moses, the outburst seemed anything but "moderate," and that night as they two sat together in the cave after supper, listening with awe-struck faces to the cannonading and wild musketry going on as it seemed under their very feet, the negro solemnly imparted to nigel in a low whisper that he thought "de end ob de wurld hab come at last!" returning at that moment from his observatory, to which he had ascended for a few minutes to view the scene through one of his glasses, van der kemp relieved their anxieties somewhat by remarking, in his quiet manner, that there was a distinct diminution in the violence of the explosions, and that, from his knowledge and experience of other volcanoes in java, sumatra, and elsewhere, he thought it probable they had seen the worst of it at that time, and that none of the other cones would be likely to break out. "i'm glad to hear you say so," observed nigel, "for although the sight is extremely magnificent and very interesting, both from a scientific and artistic point of view, i cannot help thinking that we should be safer away from this island at present--at least while the volcano is active." the hermit smiled almost pitifully. "i do not apprehend danger," he said, "at least nothing unusual. but it happens that my business requires me to leave in the course of a few days at any rate, so, whether the eruption becomes fiercer or feebler, it will not matter to us. i have preparations to make, however, and i have no doubt you won't object to remain till all is ready for a start?" "oh, as to that," returned the youth, slightly hurt by the implied doubt as to his courage, "if _you_ are willing to risk going off the earth like a skyrocket, i am quite ready to take my chance of following you!" "an' moses am de man," said the negro, smiting his broad chest with his fist, "what's ready to serve as a rocket-stick to bof, an' go up along wid you!" the hermit made the nearest approach to a laugh which nigel had yet seen, as he left the cave to undertake some of the preparations above referred to. -----------------------------------------------------------------------note 1. see _the eruption of krakatoa and subsequent phenomena_ page 11. (tribner and company, london.) chapter nine. describes, among other things, a singular meeting under peculiar circumstances. there is unquestionably a class of men--especially englishmen--who are deeply imbued with the idea that the universe in general, and our world in particular, has been created with a view to afford them what they call fun. "it would be great fun," said an english commercial man to a friend who sat beside him, "to go and have a look at this eruption. they say it is krakatoa which has broken out after a sleep of two centuries, and as it has been bursting away now for nearly a week, it is likely to hold on for some time longer. what would you say to charter a steamer and have a grand excursion to the volcano?" the friend said he thought it would indeed be "capital fun!" we have never been able to ascertain who these englishmen were, but they must have been men of influence, or able to move men of influence, for they at once set to work and organised an excursion. the place where this excursion was organised was batavia. although that city was situated in java, nearly a hundred miles distant from krakatoa, the inhabitants had not only heard distinctly the explosions of the volcano, but had felt some quakings of the earth and much rattling of doors and windows, besides a sprinkling of ashes, which indicated that the eruption, even in that eruptive region, was of unusual violence. they little imagined to what mighty throes the solid rocks of krakatoa were yet to be subjected before those volcanic fires could find a vent. meanwhile, as we have said, there was enough of the unusual in it to warrant our merchants in their anticipation of a considerable amount of fun. a steamer was got ready; a number of sightseeing enthusiasts were collected, and they set forth on the morning of the 26th of may. among these excursionists was our friend captain david roy--not that _he_ was addicted to running about in search of "fun," but, being unavoidably thrown idle at the time, and having a poetical turn of mind--derived from his wife--he thought he could not do better than take a run to the volcano and see how his son was getting along. the party reached the scene of the eruption on the morning of the 27th, having witnessed during the night several tolerably strong explosions, which were accompanied by earthquake shocks. it was found that krakatoa and all the adjoining islands were covered with a fine white dust, like snow, and that the trees on the northern part of the former island and varlaten had been to a great extent deprived of their leaves and branches by falling pumice, while those on lang island and polish hat, as well as those on the peak of rakata, had to a great extent escaped-no doubt owing to the prevailing direction of the wind. it was soon seen that perboewatan on krakatoa was the cone in active eruption, and the steamer made for its neighbourhood, landing her party within a short distance of its base. explosions were occurring at intervals of from five to ten minutes. each explosion being accompanied by an uncovering of the molten lava in the vent, the overhanging steam-cloud was lighted up with a grand glow for a few seconds. some of the party, who seemed to be authorities on such matters, estimated that the vapour-column rose to a height of nearly 10,000 feet, and that fragments of pumice were shot upwards to a height of 600 feet. "that's a sign that the violence of the eruption is diminished," remarked the young merchant, who was in search of fun, as he prepared to wade ankle-deep in the loose pumice up the slopes of the cone. "diminished!" repeated our captain, who had fraternised much with this merchant during their short voyage. "if that's what you call diminishin', i shouldn't like to be here when it's increasin'." "pooh!" exclaimed the merchant, "that's nothing. i've seen, at other volcanoes, pieces of pumice blown up so high that they've been caught by the upper currents of the atmosphere and carried away in an opposite direction to the wind that was blowing below at the time. ay, i believe that dust is sometimes blown _miles_ up into the air." as captain roy thought that the merchant was drawing the long bow he made no reply, but changed the subject by asking what was the height of perboewatan. "three hundred feet or thereabouts," replied his friend. "i hope my son will have the sense to clear out of the island if things look like gittin' worse," muttered the captain, as an unusually violent explosion shook the whole side of the cone. "no fear of him," returned the merchant. "if he is visiting the hermit of rakata, as you tell me, he'll be safe enough. although something of a dare-devil, the hermit knows how to take care of himself. i'm afraid, however, that you'll not find it so easy to `look up' your son as you seem to think. just glance round at these almost impenetrable forests. you don't know what part of the island he may be in just now; and you might as well look for a needle in a bundle of hay as look for him there. he is probably at the other end of krakatoa--four or five miles off--on the south side of rakata, where the hermit's cave is supposed to be, for no one seems to be quite sure as to its whereabouts. besides, you'll have to stick by the excursionists if you wish to return to batavia." captain roy paused for a moment to recover breath, and looking down upon the dense tropical forest that stretched between him and the peak of rakata, he shook his head, and admitted that the merchant was right. turning round he addressed himself once more to the ascent of the cone, on the sides of which the whole excursion party now straggled and struggled, remarking, as he panted along, that hill-climbing among ashes and cinders didn't "come easy to a sea-farin' man." now, nothing was more natural than that van der kemp and his guest should be smitten with the same sort of desire which had brought these excursionists from batavia. the only thing that we do not pretend to account for is the strange coincidence that they should have been so smitten, and had so arranged their plans, that they arrived at perboewatan almost at the same time with the excursionists--only about half an hour before them! their preliminary walk, however, through the tangled, almost impassable, forest had been very slow and toilsome, and having been involved in its shadow from daybreak, they were, of course, quite unaware of the approach of the steamer or the landing of the excursion party. "if the volcano seems quieting down," said nigel to his host, "shall you start to-morrow?" "yes; by daybreak. even if the eruption does _not_ quiet down i must set out, for my business presses." nigel felt much inclined to ask what his business was, but there was a quiet something in the air of the hermit, when he did not choose to be questioned, which effectually silenced curiosity. falling behind a little, till the negro came up with him, nigel tried to obtain information from him, for he felt that he had a sort of right to know at least something about the expedition in which he was about to act a part. "do you know, moses, what business your master is going about?" he asked, in a low voice. "no more nor de man ob de moon, massa nadgel," said moses, with an air at once so truthful and so solemn that the young man gave it up with a laugh of resignation. on arriving at perboewatan, and ascending its sides, they at last became aware of the approach of the excursion steamer. "strange," muttered the hermit, "vessels don't often touch here." "perhaps they have run short of water," suggested nigel. "even if they had it would not be worth their while to stop here for that," returned the hermit, resuming the ascent of the cone after an intervening clump of trees had shut out the steamer from view. it was with feelings of profound interest and considerable excitement that our hero stood for the first time on the top of a volcanic cone and gazed down into its glowing vent. the crater might be described as a huge basin of 3000 feet in diameter. from the rim of this basin on which the visitors stood the sides sloped so gradually inward that the flat floor at the bottom was not more than half that in diameter. this floor--which was about 150 feet below the upper edge--was covered with a black crust, and in the centre of it was the tremendous cavity--between one and two hundred feet in diameter-from which issued the great steam-cloud. the cloud was mixed with quantities of pumice and fragments of what appeared to be black glass. the roar of this huge vent was deafening and stupendous. if the reader will reflect on the wonderful hubbub that can be created even by a kitchen kettle when superheated, and on the exasperating shrieks of a steamboat's safety-valve in action, or the bellowing of a fog-horn, he may form some idea of the extent of his incapacity to conceive the thunderous roar of krakatoa when it began to boil over. when to this awful sound there were added the intermittent explosions, the horrid crackling of millions of rock-masses meeting in the air, and the bubbling up of molten lava--verily it did not require the imagination of a dante to see in all this the very vomiting of gehenna! so amazed and well-nigh stunned was nigel at the sights and sounds that he neither heard nor saw the arrival of the excursionists, until the equally awe-stricken moses touched him on the elbow and drew his attention to several men who suddenly appeared on the crater-brim not fifty yards off, but who, like themselves, were too much absorbed with the volcano itself to observe the other visitors. probably they took them for some of their own party who had reached the summit before them. nigel was yet looking at these visitors in some surprise, when an elderly nautical man suddenly stood not twenty yards off gazing in open-mouthed amazement, past our hero's very nose, at the volcanic fires. "hallo, father!" shouted the one. "zounds! nigel!" exclaimed the other. both men glared and were speechless for several seconds. then nigel rushed at the captain, and the captain met him halfway, and they shook hands with such hearty goodwill as to arrest in his operations for a few moments a photographer who was hastily setting up his camera! yes, science has done much to reveal the marvellous and arouse exalted thoughts in the human mind, but it has also done something to crush enthusiasts and shock the romantic. veracity constrains us to state that there he was, with his tripod, and his eager haste, and his hideous black cloth, preparing to "take" perboewatan on a "dry plate"! and he "took" it too! and you may see it, if you will, as a marvellous frontispiece to the volume by the "krakatoa committee"--a work which is apparently as exhaustive of the subject of krakatoa as was the great explosion itself of those internal fires which will probably keep that volcano quiet for the next two hundred years. but this was not the great eruption of krakatoa--only a rehearsal, as it were. "what brought you here, my son?" asked the captain, on recovering speech. "my legs, father." "don't be insolent, boy." "it's not insolence, father. it's only poetical licence, meant to assure you that i did not come by 'bus or rail, though you did by steamer! but let me introduce you to my friend, mr ---" he stopped short on looking round, for van der kemp was not there. "he hoed away wheneber he saw de peepil comin' up de hill," said moses, who had watched the meeting of father and son with huge delight. "but you kin interdooce _me_ instead," he added, with a crater-like smile. "true, true," exclaimed nigel, laughing. "this is moses, father, my host's servant, and my very good friend, and a remarkably free-and-easy friend, as you see. he will guide us back to the cave, since van der kemp seems to have left us." "who's van der kemp?" asked the captain. "the hermit of rakata, father--that's his name. his father was a dutchman and his mother an english or irish woman--i forget which. he's a splendid fellow; quite different from what one would expect; no more like a hermit than a hermit-crab, except that he lives in a cave under the peak of rakata, at the other end of the island. but you must come with us and pay him a visit. he will be delighted to see you." "what! steer through a green sea of leaves like that?" said the captain, stretching his arm towards the vast forest that lay stretched out below them, "and on my legs, too, that have been used all their lives to a ship's deck? no, my son. i will content myself with this lucky meetin'. but, i say, nigel, lad," continued the old man, somewhat more seriously, "what if the peak o' rakata, what's 'is name, should take to spoutin' like this one, an you, as you say, livin' under it?" "ha! das 'zackly what _i_ say," interposed moses. "das what i oftin says to massa, but he nebber answers. he only smile. massa's not always so purlite as he might be!" "there is no fear," said nigel, "not at present, anyhow, for van der kemp says that the force of this eruption is diminishing--" "it don't look much like it," muttered the captain, as the volcano at that moment gave vent to a burst which seemed like a sarcastic laugh at the hermit's opinion, and sent the more timid of the excursionists sprawling down the cinder-slope in great alarm. "there's reason in what you say, father," said nigel, when the diminution of noise rendered speech more easy; "and after all, as we start off on our travels to-morrow, your visit could not have been a long one." "where do you go first?" asked the captain. "not sure. do _you_ know, moses?" "no; no more'n de man ob de moon. p'r'aps borneo. he go dar sometimes." at this point another roar from the volcano, and a shout from the leader of the excursionists to return on board, broke up the conference. "well, lad, i'm glad i've seen you. don't forget to write your whereabouts. they say there's a lot o' wild places as well as wild men and beasts among them islands, so keep your weather-eye open an' your powder dry. good-bye, nigel. take care of him, moses, and keep him out o' mischief if ye can--which is more than ever i could. good-bye, my boy." "good-bye, father." they shook hands vigorously. in another minute the old seaman was sailing down the cinder-cone at the rate of fourteen knots an hour, while his son, setting off under the guidance of moses towards a different point of the compass, was soon pushing his way through the tangled forest in the direction of the hermit's cave. chapter ten. a curious sea-going craft--the unknown voyage begun. it was early next morning when van der kemp and his man left their couches and descended to the shore, leaving their visitor enjoying the benefit of that profound slumber which bids defiance to turmoil and noise, however stupendous, and which seems to be the peculiar privilege of healthy infants and youthful seamen. perboewatan had subsided considerably towards morning, and had taken to that internal rumbling, which in the feline species indicates mitigated indignation. the hermit had therefore come to the conclusion that the outburst was over, and went with moses to make arrangements for setting forth on his expedition after breakfast. they had scarcely left the cave when nigel awoke. feeling indisposed for further repose, he got up and went out in that vague state of mind which is usually defined as "having a look at the weather." whether or not he gathered much information from the look we cannot tell, but, taking up his short gun, which stood handy at the entrance of the cave, he sauntered down the path which his host had followed a short time before. arrived at the shore, he observed that a branch path diverged to the left, and appeared to run in the direction of a high precipice. he turned into it, and after proceeding through the bushes for a short way he came quite unexpectedly on a cavern, the mouth of which resembled, but was much higher and wider than that which led to the hermit's home. just as he approached it there issued from its gloomy depths a strange rumbling sound which induced him to stop and cock his gun. a curious feeling of serio-comic awe crept over him as the idea of a fiery dragon leaped into his mind! at the same time, the fancy that the immense abyss of darkness might be one of the volcanic vents diminished the comic and increased the serious feeling. ere long the sound assumed the definite tone of footsteps, and the dragon fancy seemed about to become a reality when he beheld a long narrow thing of uncertain form emerging from the darkness. "it must be coming out tail-foremost!" he muttered, with a short laugh at his semi-credulity. another instant and the hermit emerged into the blazing sunshine, and stood pictured against the intense darkness like a being of supernatural radiance, with the end of a long narrow canoe on his shoulder. as nigel passed round a bush to reach him he perceived the dark form of moses emerging from the depths and supporting the body of the canoe. "i see you are active and an early riser," said the hermit, with a nod of approval on seeing our hero. "i almost took you for a krakatoa monster!" said nigel, as they came out in front of the cavern and laid the canoe on the ground. "why, you've got here one of the craft which we in england call a rob roy canoe." "it is fashioned on the same pattern," said the hermit, "but with one or two alterations of my own devising, and an improvement--as i think-founded on what i have myself seen, when travelling with the eskimos of greenland." van der kemp here pointed out that the canoe was not only somewhat broader than the kind used in england, but was considerably longer, and with three openings or manholes in the deck, so that it was capable of holding three persons. also, that there was a large rounded mass of wood fixed in front of the three manholes. "these saddles, as i call them," said the hermit, "have been suggested to me by the eskimos, who, instead of wearying their arms by supporting the double-bladed paddle continuously, rest it on the saddle and let it slide about thereon while being used. thus they are able to carry a much longer and heavier paddle than that used in the rob roy canoe, the weight of which, as it rests on the saddle, is not felt. moreover it does not require nearly so much dip to put it in the water. i have heard of a sort of upright with a universal joint being applied to the english canoe, but it seems to me a much more clumsy and much less effective, because rigid, contrivance than the eskimo saddle. inside, under the deck, as i will show you by and by, i have lighter and shorter paddles for use when in narrow rivers, but i prefer the long heavy paddle when traversing great stretches of ocean." "you don't mean to say you ever go to sea in an eggshell like that!" exclaimed nigel in surprise. "indeed we do," returned the hermit, "and we are fitted out for longish voyages and rough weather. besides, it is not so much of an eggshell as you suppose. i made it myself, and took care that it should be fit for the work required of it. the wood of which it is made, although light, is very tough, and it is lined with a skin of strong canvas which is fixed to the planks with tar. this makes the craft watertight as well as strong. the ribs also are very light and close together, and every sixth rib is larger and longer than the others and made of tougher wood. all these ribs are bound together by longitudinal pieces, or laths, of very tough wood, yet so thin that the whole machine is elastic without being weak. besides this, there are two strong oiled-canvas partitions, which divide the canoe into three watertight compartments, any two of which will float it if the third should get filled." "is this then the craft in which you intend to voyage?" asked nigel. "it is. we shall start in an hour or two. i keep it in this cave because it is near the landing-place. but come, you will understand things better when you see us making our arrangements. of course you understand how to manage sails of every kind?" "if i did not it would ill become me to call myself a sailor," returned our hero. "that is well, because you will sit in the middle, from which position the sail is partly managed. i usually sit in the bow to have free range for the use of my gun, if need be, and moses steers." van der kemp proceeded down the track as he said this, having, with the negro, again lifted the canoe on his shoulder. a few minutes' walk brought them to the beach at the spot where nigel had originally landed. here a quantity of cargo lay on the rocks ready to be placed in the canoe. there were several small bags of pemmican, which van der kemp had learned to make while travelling on the prairies of north america among the red indians,--for this singular being seemed to have visited most parts of the habitable globe during his not yet very long life. there were five small casks of fresh water, two or three canisters of gunpowder, a small box of tea and another of sugar, besides several bags of biscuits. there were also other bags and boxes which did not by their appearance reveal their contents, and all the articles were of a shape and size which seemed most suitable for passing through the manholes, and being conveniently distributed and stowed in the three compartments of the canoe. there was not very much of anything, however, so that when the canoe was laden and ready for its voyage, the hermit and his man were still able to raise and carry it on their shoulders without the assistance of nigel. there was one passenger whom we have not yet mentioned, namely, a small monkey which dwelt in the cave with the canoe, and which, although perfectly free to come and go when he pleased, seldom left the cave except for food, but seemed to have constituted himself the guardian of the little craft. spinkie, as moses had named him, was an intensely affectionate creature, with a countenance of pathetic melancholy which utterly belied his character, for mischief and fun were the dominating qualities of that monkey. he was seated on a water-cask when nigel first caught sight of him, holding the end of his long tail in one hand, and apparently wiping his nose with it. "is that what he is doing?" asked nigel of the negro. "oh no, massa nadgel," said moses. "spinkie nebber ketch cold an' hab no need ob a pocket-hang-kitcher. he only tickles his nose wid 'is tail. but he's bery fond ob doin' dat." being extremely fond of monkeys, nigel went forward to fondle him, and spinkie being equally fond of fondling, resigned himself placidly--after one interrogative gaze of wide-eyed suspicion--into the stranger's hands. a lifelong friendship was cemented then and there. after stowing the cargo the party returned to the upper cavern, leaving the monkey to guard the canoe. "an' he's a good defender ob it," said moses, "for if man or beast happen to come near it when spinkie's in charge, dat monkey sets up a skriekin' fit to cause a 'splosion ob perboewatan!" breakfast over, the hermit put his cave in order for a pretty long absence, and they again descended to the shore, each man carrying his bed on his shoulder. each bed, however, was light and simple. it consisted merely of one blanket wrapped up in an oil-cloth sheet. besides, an old-fashioned powder-flask and shot belt. van der kemp and nigel had slung a bullet-pouch on their shoulders, and carried small hatchets and hunting-knives in their belts. moses was similarly armed, with this difference, that his _couteau de chasse_ bore stronger resemblance to an ancient roman sword than a knife, and his axe was of larger size than the hatchets of his companions. launching the canoe, the hermit and his man held it fast at either end while nigel was directed to take his place in the central of the three openings or manholes. he did so and found himself seated on a flat board on the bottom of the canoe, which was so shallow that the deck scarcely rose as high as his waist. round the manhole there was a ledge of thin wood, about three inches high, to which a circular apron of oiled-canvas was attached. "yes, you'd better understand that thing before we start," said van der kemp, observing that nigel was examining the contrivance with some curiosity. "it's an apron to tie round you in bad weather to keep the water out. in fine weather it is rolled as you see it now round the ledge. undo the buckle before and behind and you will see how it is to be used." acting as directed, nigel unbuckled the roll and found that he was surrounded by a sort of petticoat of oil-skin which could be drawn up and buckled round his chest. in this position it could be kept by a loop attached to a button, or a wooden pin, thrust through the coat. "you see," explained the hermit, "the waves may wash all over our deck and round our bodies without being able to get into the canoe while we have these things on--there are similar protections round the other holes." "i understand," said nigel. "but how if water gets in through a leak below?" "do you see that brass thing in front of you?" returned the hermit. "that is a pump which is capable of keeping under a pretty extensive leak. the handle unships, so as to be out of the way when not wanted. i keep it here, under the deck in front of me, along with mast and sails and a good many other things." as he spoke he raised a plank of the deck in front of the foremost hole, and disclosed a sort of narrow box about six feet long by six inches broad. the plank was hinged at one end and fastened with a hook at the other so as to form a lid to the box. the hole thus disclosed was not an opening into the interior of the canoe, but was a veritable watertight box just under the deck, so that even if it were to get filled with water not a drop could enter the canoe itself. but the plank-lid was so beautifully fitted, besides shutting tightly down on india-rubber, that the chance of leakage through that source was very remote. although very narrow, this box was deep, and contained a variety of useful implements; among them a slender mast and tiny sail, which could be rendered still smaller by means of reef-points. all these things were fitted into their respective places with so keen an eye to economy of space that the arrangement cannot be better described than by the familiar phrase--_multum in parvo_. "we don't use the sails much; we depend chiefly on this," said the hermit, as he seated himself in the front hole and laid the long, heavy, double-bladed paddle on the saddle in front of him. "moses uses a single-blade, partly because it is handier for steering and partly because he has been accustomed to it in his own land. you are at liberty to use which you prefer." "thanks, i will follow the lead of moses, for i also have been accustomed to the single-blade and prefer it--at least while i am one of three. if alone, i should prefer the double-blade." "now, moses, are you ready?" asked the hermit. "all ready, massa." "get in then and shove off. come along, spinkie." the monkey, which all this time had been seated on a rock looking on with an expression of inconsolable sorrow, at once accepted the invitation, and with a lively bound alighted on the deck close to the little mast, which had been set up just in front of nigel, and to which it held on when the motions of the canoe became unsteady. "you need not give yourself any concern about spinkie," said the hermit, as they glided over the still water of the little cove in which the canoe and boat were harboured. "he is quite able to take care of himself." rounding the entrance to the cove and shooting out into the ocean under the influence of van der kemp's powerful strokes, they were soon clear of the land, and proceeded eastward at a rate which seemed unaccountable to our hero, for he had not sufficiently realised the fact that in addition to the unusual physical strength of van der kemp as well as that of moses, to say nothing of his own, the beautiful fish-like adaptation of the canoe to the water, the great length and leverage of the bow-paddle, and the weight of themselves as well as the cargo, gave this canoe considerable advantage over other craft of the kind. about a quarter of an hour later the sun arose in cloudless splendour on a perfectly tranquil sea, lighted up the shores of java, glinted over the mountains of sumatra, and flooded, as with a golden haze, the forests of krakatoa--emulating the volcanic fires in gilding the volumes of smoke that could be seen rolling amid fitful mutterings from perboewatan, until the hermit's home sank from view in the western horizon. chapter eleven. canoeing on the sea--a mysterious night--surprise and sudden flight. at first the voyagers paddled over the glassy sea in almost total silence. nigel was occupied with his own busy thoughts; speculating on the probable end and object of their voyage, and on the character, the mysterious life, and unknown history of the man who sat in front of him wielding so powerfully the great double-bladed paddle. van der kemp himself was, as we have said, naturally quiet and silent, save when roused by a subject that interested him. as for moses, although quite ready at any moment to indulge in friendly intercourse, he seldom initiated a conversation, and spinkie, grasping the mast and leaning against it with his head down, seemed to be either asleep or brooding over his sorrows. only a few words were uttered now and then when nigel asked the name of a point or peak which rose in the distance on either hand. it seemed as if the quiescence of sea and air had fallen like a soft mantle on the party and subdued them into an unusually sluggish frame of mind. they passed through the sunda straits between sumatra and java--not more at the narrowest part than about thirteen miles wide--and, in course of time, found themselves in the great island-studded archipelago beyond. about noon they all seemed to wake up from their lethargic state. van der kemp laid down his paddle, and, looking round, asked nigel if he felt tired. "not in the least," he replied, "but i feel uncommonly hungry, and i have just been wondering how you manage to feed when at sea in so small a craft." "ho! ho!" laughed moses, in guttural tones, "you soon see dat--i 'spose it time for me to get out de grub, massa?" "yes, moses--let's have it." the negro at once laid down his steering paddle and lifted a small square hatch or lid in the deck which was rendered watertight by the same means as the lid in front already described. from the depths thus revealed he extracted a bird of some sort that had been shot and baked the day before. tearing off a leg he retained it, and handed the remainder to nigel. "help you'self, massa nadgel, an' pass 'im forward." without helping himself he passed it on to van der kemp, who drew his knife, sliced off a wing with a mass of breast, and returned the rest. "always help yourself _before_ passing the food in future," said the hermit; "we don't stand on ceremony here." nigel at once fell in with their custom, tore off the remaining drumstick and began. "biskit," said moses, with his mouth full, "an' look out for spinkie." he handed forward a deep tray of the sailor's familiar food, but nigel was too slow to profit by the warning given, for spinkie darted both hands into the tray and had stuffed his mouth and cheeks full almost before a man could wink! the negro would have laughed aloud, but the danger of choking was too great; he therefore laughed internally--an operation which could not be fully understood unless seen. "'splosions of perboewatan," may suggest the thing. sorrow, grief--whatever it was that habitually afflicted that monkey-disappeared for the time being, while it devoted itself heart and soul to dinner. feelings of a somewhat similar kind animated nigel as he sat leaning back with his mouth full, a biscuit in one hand, and a drumstick in the other, and his eyes resting dreamily on the horizon of the still tranquil sea, while the bright sun blazed upon his already bronzed face. to many men the fierce glare of the equatorial sun might have proved trying, but nigel belonged to the salamander type of humanity and enjoyed the great heat. van der kemp seemed to be similarly moulded, and as for moses, he was in his native element--so was spinkie. strange as it may seem, sea-birds appeared to divine what was going on, for several specimens came circling round the canoe with great outstretched and all but motionless wings, and with solemn sidelong glances of hope which van der kemp evidently could not resist, for he flung them scraps of his allowance from time to time. "if you have plenty of provisions on board, i should like to do that too," said nigel. "do it," returned the hermit. "we have plenty of food for some days, and our guns can at any time replenish the store. i like to feed these creatures," he added, "they give themselves over so thoroughly to the enjoyment of the moment, and _seem_ to be grateful. whether they are so or not, of course, is matter of dispute. cynics will tell us that they only come to us and fawn upon us because of the memory of past favours and the hope of more to come. i don't agree with them." "neither do i," said nigel, warmly. "any man who has ever had to do with dogs knows full well that gratitude is a strong element of their nature. and it seems to me that the speaking eyes of spinkie, to whom i have just given a bit of biscuit, tell of a similar spirit." as he spoke, nigel was conveying another piece of biscuit to his own mouth, when a small brown hand flashed before him, and the morsel, in the twinkling of an eye, was transferred to the monkey's already swollen cheek--whereat moses again became suddenly "'splosive" and red, as well as black in the face, for his capacious mouth was inordinately full as usual. clear water, from one of the casks, and poured into a tin mug, washed down their cold collation, and then, refreshed and reinvigorated, the trio resumed their paddles, which were not again laid down till the sun was descending towards the western horizon. by that time they were not far from a small wooded islet near the coast of java, on which van der kemp resolved to spend the night. during the day they had passed at some distance many boats and _prahus_ and other native vessels, the crews of which ceased to row for a few moments, and gazed with curiosity at the strange craft which glided along so swiftly, and seemed to them little more than a long plank on the water, but these took no further notice of our voyagers. they also passed several ships--part of that constant stream of vessels which pass westward through those straits laden with the valuable teas and rich silks of china and japan. in some cases a cheer of recognition, as being an exceptional style of craft, was accorded them, to which the hermit replied with a wave of the hand--moses and nigel with an answering cheer. there is something very pleasant in the rest which follows a day of hard and healthful toil. our maker has so ordained it as well as stated it, for is it not written, "the sleep of the labouring man is sweet"? and our travellers experienced the truth of the statement that night in very romantic circumstances. the small rocky islet, not more than a few hundred yards in diameter, which they now approached, had several sheltered sandy bays on its shore, which were convenient for landing. the centre was clothed with palm-trees and underwood, so that fuel could be procured, and cocoa-nuts. "sometimes," said the hermit, while he stooped to arrange the fire, after the canoe and cargo had been carried to their camping-place at the edge of the bushes,--"sometimes it is necessary to keep concealed while travelling in these regions, and i carry a little spirit-lamp which enables me to heat a cup of tea or coffee without making a dangerous blaze; but here there is little risk in kindling a fire." "i should not have thought there was any risk at all in these peaceful times," said nigel, as he unstrapped his blanket and spread it on the ground under an overhanging bush. "there are no peaceful times among pirates," returned the hermit; "and some of the traders in this archipelago are little better than pirates." "where i puts your bed, massa?" asked moses, turning his huge eyes on his master. "there--under the bush, beside nigel." "an' where would _you_ like to sleep, massa spinkie?" added the negro, with a low obeisance to the monkey, which sat on the top of what seemed to be its favourite seat--a water-cask. spinkie treated the question with calm contempt, turned his head languidly to one side, and scratched himself. "unpurliteness is your k'racter from skin to marrow, you son of a insolent mother!" said moses, shaking his fist, whereat spinkie, promptly making an o of his mouth, looked fierce. the sagacious creature remained where he was till after supper, which consisted of another roast fowl--hot this time--and ship's-biscuit washed down with coffee. of course spinkie's portion consisted only of the biscuit with a few scraps of cocoa-nut. having received it he quietly retired to his native wilds, with the intention of sleeping there, according to custom, till morning; but his repose was destined to be broken, as we shall see. after supper, the hermit, stretching himself on his blanket, filled an enormous meerschaum, and began to smoke. the negro, rolling up a little tobacco in tissue paper, sat down, tailor-wise, and followed his master's example, while our hero--who did not smoke--lay between them, and gazed contemplatively over the fire at the calm dark sea beyond, enjoying the aroma of his coffee. "from what you have told me of your former trading expeditions," said nigel, looking at his friend, "you must have seen a good deal of this archipelago before you took--excuse me--to the hermit life." "ay--a good deal." "have you ever travelled in the interior of the larger islands?" asked nigel, in the hope of drawing from him some account of his experiences with wild beasts or wild men--he did not care which, so long as they were wild! "yes, in all of them," returned the hermit, curtly, for he was not fond of talking about himself. "i suppose the larger islands are densely wooded?" continued nigel interrogatively. "they are, very." "but the wood is not of much value, i fancy, in the way of trade," pursued our hero, adopting another line of attack which proved successful, for van der kemp turned his eyes on him with a look of surprise that almost forced him to laugh. "not of much value in the way of trade!" he repeated--"forgive me, if i express surprise that you seem to know so little about us--but, after all, the world is large, and one cannot become deeply versed in everything." having uttered this truism, the hermit resumed his meerschaum and continued to gaze thoughtfully at the embers of the fire. he remained so long silent that nigel began to despair, but thought he would try him once again on the same lines. "i suppose," he said in a careless way, "that none of the islands are big enough to contain many of the larger wild animals." "my friend," returned van der kemp, with a smile of urbanity, as he refilled his pipe, "it is evident that you do not know much about our archipelago. borneo, to the woods and wild animals of which i hope ere long to introduce you, is so large that if you were to put your british islands, including ireland, down on it they would be engulfed and surrounded by a sea of forests. new guinea is, perhaps, larger than borneo. sumatra is only a little smaller. france is not so large as some of our islands. java, luzon, and celebes are each about equal in size to ireland. eighteen more islands are, on the average, as large as jamaica, more than a hundred are as large as the isle of wight, and the smaller isles and islets are innumerable. in short, our archipelago is comparable with any of the primary divisions of the globe, being full 4000 miles in length from east to west and about 1,300 in breadth from north to south, and would in extent more than cover the whole of europe." it was evident to nigel that he had at length succeeded in opening the flood-gates. the hermit paused for a few moments and puffed at the meerschaum, while moses glared at his master with absorbed interest, and pulled at the cigarette with such oblivious vigour that he drew it into his mouth at last, spat it out, and prepared another. nigel sat quite silent and waited for more. "as to trade," continued van der kemp, resuming his discourse in a lower tone, "why, of gold--the great representative of wealth--we export from sumatra alone over 26,000 ounces annually, and among other gold regions we have a mount ophir in the malay peninsula from which there is a considerable annual export." continuing his discourse, van der kemp told a great deal more about the products of these prolific islands with considerable enthusiasm--as one who somewhat resented the underrating of his native land. "were you born in this region, van der kemp?" asked nigel, during a brief pause. "i was--in java. my father, as my name tells, was of dutch descent. my mother was irish. both are dead." he stopped. the fire that had been aroused seemed to die down, and he continued to smoke with the sad absent look which was peculiar to him. "and what about large game?" asked nigel, anxious to stir up his friend's enthusiasm again, but the hermit had sunk back into his usual condition of gentle dreaminess, and made no answer till the question had been repeated. "pardon me," he said, "i was dreaming of the days that are gone. ah! nigel; you are yet too young to understand the feelings of the old--the sad memories of happy years that can never return: of voices that are hushed for ever. no one can _know_ till he has _felt_!" "but you are not old," said nigel, wishing to turn the hermit's mind from a subject on which it seemed to dwell too constantly. "not in years," he returned; "but old, _very_ old in experience, and-stay, what was it that you were asking about? ah, the big game. well, we have plenty of that in some of the larger of the islands; we have the elephant, the rhinoceros, the tiger, the puma, that great man-monkey the orang-utan, or, as it is called here, the mias, besides wild pigs, deer, and innumerable smaller animals and birds--" the hermit stopped abruptly and sat motionless, with his head bent on one side, like one who listens intently. such an action is always infectious. nigel and the negro also listened, but heard nothing. by that time the fire had died down, and, not being required for warmth, had not been replenished. the faint light of the coming moon, which, however, was not yet above the horizon, only seemed to render darkness visible, so that the figure of moses was quite lost in the shadow of the bush behind him, though the whites of his solemn eyes appeared like two glow-worms. "do you hear anything?" asked nigel in a low tone. "oars," answered the hermit. "i hear 'im, massa," whispered the negro, "but das not su'prisin'-plenty boats about." "this boat approaches the island, and i can tell by the sound that it is a large _prahu_. if it touches here it will be for the purpose of spending the night, and malay boatmen are not always agreeable neighbours. however, it is not likely they will ramble far from where they land, so we may escape observation if we keep quiet." as he spoke he emptied the remains of the coffee on the dying fire and effectually put it out. meanwhile the sound of oars had become quite distinct, and, as had been anticipated, the crew ran their boat into one of the sandy bays and leaped ashore with a good deal of shouting and noise. fortunately they had landed on the opposite side of the islet, and as the bush on it was very dense there was not much probability of any one crossing over. our voyagers therefore lay close, resolving to be off in the morning before the unwelcome visitors were stirring. as the three lay there wrapped in their blankets and gazing contemplatively at the now risen moon, voices were heard as if of men approaching. it was soon found that two of the strangers had sauntered round by the beach and were slowly drawing near the encampment. nigel observed that the hermit had raised himself on one elbow and seemed to be again listening intently. the two men halted on reaching the top of the ridges of rock which formed one side of the little bay, and their voices became audible though too far distant to admit of words being distinguishable. at the same time their forms were clearly defined against the sky. nigel glanced at van der kemp and was startled by the change that had come over him. the moonbeams, which had by that time risen above some intervening shrubs, shone full on him and showed that his usually quiet gentle countenance was deadly pale and transformed by a frown of almost tiger-like ferocity. so strange and unaccountable did this seem to our hero that he lay quite still, as if spell-bound. nor did his companions move until the strangers, having finished their talk, turned to retrace their steps and finally disappeared. then van der kemp rose with a sigh of relief. the negro and nigel also sprang up. "what's wrong, massa?" asked moses, in much anxiety. "nothing, nothing," said the hermit hurriedly. "i must cross over to see these fellows." "all right, massa. i go wid you." "no, i go alone." "not widout arms?" exclaimed the negro, laying his hand on his master's shoulder. "yes, without arms!" as he spoke he drew the long knife that usually hung at his girdle and flung it down. "now attend, both of you," he added, with sudden and almost threatening earnestness. "do not on any account follow me. i am quite able to take care of myself." next moment he glided into the bushes and was gone. "can you guess what is the matter with him?" asked nigel, turning to his companion with a perplexed look. "not more nor de man ob de moon. i nebber saw'd 'im like dat before. i t'ink he's go mad! i tell you what--i'll foller him wid a rifle an' knife and two revolvers." "you'll do nothing of the sort," said nigel, laying hold of the negro's wrist with a grip of iron; "when a man like van der kemp gives an order it's the duty of inferior men like you and me strictly to obey." "well--p'raps you're right, nadgel," returned moses calmly. "if you wasn't, i'd knock you into de middle ob nixt week for takin' a grip o' me like dat." "you'll wish yourself into the middle of next fortnight if you disobey orders," returned our hero, tightening the grip. moses threw back his head, opened his cavern, and laughed silently; at the same time he twisted his arm free with a sudden wrench. "you's awrful strong, nadgel, but you don't quite come up to niggers! howse'ber, you's right. i'll obey orders; neberdeless i'll get ready for action." so saying, the negro extracted from the canoe several revolvers, two of which he handed to nigel, two he thrust into his own belt, and two he laid handy for "massa" when he should return. "now, if you're smart at arit'metic, you'll see dat six time six am t'irty-six, and two double guns das forty-forty dead men's more'n enuff--besides de knives." moses had barely finished these deadly preparations when van der kemp returned as quietly as he had gone. his face was still fierce and haggard, and his manner hurried though quite decided. "i have seen him," he said, in a low voice. "seen who?" asked nigel. "him whom i had hoped and prayed never more to see. my enemy! come, quick, we must leave at once, and without attracting their notice." he gave his comrades no time to put further questions, but laid hold of one end of the canoe; moses took the other end and it was launched in a few seconds, while nigel carried down such part of the lading as had been taken out. five minutes sufficed to put all on board, and that space of time was also sufficient to enable spinkie to observe from his retreat in the bushes that a departure was about to take place; he therefore made for the shore with all speed and bounded to his accustomed place beside the mast. taking their places they pushed off so softly that they might well have been taken for phantoms. a cloud conveniently hid the moon at the time. each man plied his paddle with noiseless but powerful stroke, and long before the cloud uncovered the face of the queen of night they were shooting far away over the tranquil sea. chapter twelve. weathering a storm in the open sea. in profound silence they continued to paddle until there was no chance of their being seen by the party on the islet. then van der kemp rested his paddle in front of him and looked slowly round the horizon and up at the sky as if studying the weather. nigel longed to ask him more about the men they had seen, and of this "enemy" whom he had mentioned, but there was that in the hermit's grave look which forbade questioning, and indeed nigel now knew from experience that it would be useless to press him to speak on any subject in regard to which he chose to be reticent. "i don't like the look of the sky," he said at last. "we are going to have a squall, i fear." "had we not better run for the nearest land?" said nigel, who, although not yet experienced in the signs of the weather in those equatorial regions, had quite enough of knowledge to perceive that bad weather of some sort was probably approaching. "the nearest island is a good way off," returned the hermit, "and we might miss it in the dark, for daylight won't help us yet awhile. no, we will continue our course and accept what god sends." this remark seemed to our hero to savour of unreasoning contempt of danger, for the facing of a tropical squall in such an eggshell appeared to him the height of folly. he ventured to reply, therefore, in a tone of remonstrance-"god sends us the capacity to appreciate danger, van der kemp, and the power to take precautions." "he does, nigel--therefore i intend to use both the capacity and the power." there was a tone of finality in this speech which effectually sealed nigel's lips, and, in truth, his ever-increasing trust in the wisdom, power, and resource of his friend indisposed him to further remark. the night had by this time become intensely dark, for a bank of black cloud had crept slowly over the sky and blotted out the moon. this cloud extended itself slowly, obliterating, ere long, most of the stars also, so that it was scarcely possible to distinguish any object more than a yard or two in advance of them. the dead calm, however, continued unbroken, and the few of heaven's lights which still glimmered through the obscurity above were clearly reflected in the great black mirror below. only the faint gleam of krakatoa's threatening fires was visible on the horizon, while the occasional boom of its artillery sounded in their ears. it was impossible for any inexperienced man, however courageous, to avoid feelings of awe, almost amounting to dread, in the circumstances, and nigel--as he tried to penetrate the darkness around him and glanced at the narrow craft in which he sat and over the sides of which he could dip both hands at once into the sea--might be excused for wishing, with all his heart, that he were safely on shore, or on the deck of his father's brig. his feelings were by no means relieved when van der kemp said, in a low soliloquising tone-"the steamers will constitute our chief danger to-night. they come on with such a rush that it is not easy to make out how they are steering, so as to get out of their way in time." "but should we not hear them coming a long way off?" asked nigel. "ay. it is not during a calm like this that we run risk, but when the gale begins to blow we cannot hear, and shall not, perhaps, see very well." as he spoke the hermit lifted the covering of the fore-hatch and took out a small sail which he asked nigel to pass aft to the negro. "close-reef it, moses; we shall make use of the wind as long as possible. after that we will lay-to." "all right, massa," said the negro, in the same cheerful free-and-easy tone in which he was wont to express his willingness to obey orders whether trifling or important. "don' forgit spinkie, massa." "you may be sure i won't do that," replied the hermit. "come along, monkey!" evidently van der kemp had trained his dumb companion as thoroughly to prompt obedience as his black follower, for the little creature instantly bounded from its place by the mast on to the shoulder of its master, who bade it go into the place from which he had just extracted the sail. nigel could not see this--not only because of the darkness, but because of the intervention of the hermit's bulky person, but he understood what had taken place by the remark-"that's a good little fellow. keep your head down, now, while i shut you in!" from the same place van der kemp had drawn a small triangular foresail, which he proceeded to attach to the bow of the canoe--running its point out by means of tackle laid along the deck--while moses was busy reefing the mainsail. from the same repository were extracted three waterproof coats, which, when put on by the canoemen, the tails thrust below deck, and the aprons drawn over them and belted round their waists, protected their persons almost completely from water. "now, nigel," said the hermit, "unship the mast, reeve the halyard of this foresail through the top and then re-ship it. moses will give you the mainsail when ready, and you can hook the halyards on to it. the thing is too simple to require explanation to a sailor. i attend to the foresail and moses manages the mainsheet, but you have to mind the halyards of both, which, as you would see if it were light enough, run down alongside the mast. all i ask you to remember is to be smart in obeying orders, for squalls are sometimes very sudden here--but i doubt not that such a caution is needless." "i'll do my best," said nigel. by this time a slight puff of air had ruffled the sea, thereby intensifying, if possible, the blackness which already prevailed. the tiny sails caught the puff, causing the canoe to lean slightly over, and glide with a rippling sound through the water, while moses steered by means of his paddle. "you have put spinkie down below, i think," said nigel, who had been struck more than once with the hermit's extreme tenderness and care of the little creature. "yes, to prevent it from being washed overboard. i nearly lost the poor little thing once or twice, and now when we are likely to be caught in bad weather i put him below." "is he not apt to be suffocated?" asked nigel. "with everything made so tight to prevent water getting into the canoe, you necessarily prevent air entering also." "i see you have a mechanical turn of mind," returned the hermit. "you are right. yet in so large a canoe the air would last a considerable time to satisfy a monkey. nevertheless, i have made provision for that. there is a short tube alongside the mast, and fixed to it, which runs a little below the deck and rises a foot above it so as to be well above the wash of most waves, and in the deck near the stern there is a small hole with a cap fitted so as to turn the water but admit the air. thus free circulation of air is established below deck." suddenly a hissing sound was heard to windward. "look out, moses," said van der kemp. "there it comes. let go the sheet. keep good hold of your paddle, nigel." the warning was by no means unnecessary, for as the canoe's head was turned to meet the blast, a hissing sheet of white water swept right over the tiny craft, completely submerging it, insomuch that the three men appeared to be sitting more than waist-deep in the water. "lower the mainsail!" shouted the hermit, for the noise of wind and sea had become deafening. nigel obeyed and held on to the flapping sheet. the hermit had at the same moment let go the foresail, the flapping of which he controlled by a rope-tackle arranged for the purpose. he then grasped his single-blade paddle and aided moses in keeping her head to wind and sea. for a few minutes this was all that could be done. then the first violence of the squall passed off, allowing the deck of the little craft to appear above the tormented water. soon the waves began to rise. the mere keeping of the canoe's head to wind required all the attention of both master and man, while nigel sat waiting for orders and looking on with mingled feelings of surprise and curiosity. of course they were all three wet to the skin, for the water had got up their sleeves and down their necks; but, being warm, that mattered little, and the oiled aprons before mentioned, being securely fastened round their waists, effectually prevented any of it from getting below save the little that passed through the thickness of their own garments. no word was spoken for at least a quarter of an hour, during which time, although they rose buoyantly on the water, the waves washed continually over the low-lying deck. as this deck was flush with the gunwale, or rather, had no gunwale at all, the water ran off it as it does off a whale's back. then there came a momentary lull. "now, moses--'bout ship!" shouted van der kemp. "stand by, nigel!" "ay, ay, sir." although the canoe was long--and therefore unfitted to turn quickly--the powerful strokes of the two paddles in what may be called counteracting-harmony brought the little craft right round with her stern to the waves. "hoist away, nigel! we must run right before it now." up went the mainsail, the tiny foresail bulged out at the same moment, and away they went like the driving foam, appearing almost to leap from wave to wave. all sense of danger was now overwhelmed in nigel's mind by that feeling of excitement and wild delight which accompanies some kinds of rapid motion. this was, if possible, intensified by the crashing thunder which now burst forth and the vivid lightning which began to play, revealing from time to time the tumultuous turmoil as if in clearest moonlight, only to plunge it again in still blacker night. by degrees the gale increased in fury, and it soon became evident that neither sails nor cordage could long withstand the strain to which they were subjected. "a'most too much, massa," said the negro in a suggestive shout. "right, moses," returned his master. "i was just thinking we must risk it." "risk what? i wonder," thought nigel. he had not long to wait for an answer to his thought. "down wi' the mainsail," was quickly followed by the lowering of the foresail until not more than a mere corner was shown, merely to keep the canoe end-on to the seas. soon even this was lowered, and van der kemp used his double-blade paddle to keep them in position, at the same time telling nigel to unship the mast. "and plug the hole with that," he added, handing him a bit of wood which exactly fitted the hole in the deck. watching for another lull in the blast, the hermit at last gave the order, and round they came as before, head to wind, but not quite so easily, and nigel felt that they had narrowly escaped overturning in the operation. "keep her so, moses. you can help with your paddle, nigel, while i get ready our anchor." "anchor!" exclaimed our hero in amazement--obeying orders, however, at the same moment. the hermit either did not hear the exclamation or did not care to notice it. he quickly collected the mast and sails, with a couple of boat-hooks and all the paddles excepting two single ones. these he bound together by means of the sheets and halyards, attached the whole to a hawser,--one end of which passed through an iron ring at the bow-and tossed it into the sea--paying out the hawser rapidly at the same time so as to put a few yards between them and their floating anchor--if it may be so called--in the lee of which they prepared to ride out the gale. it was well that they had taken the precaution to put on their waterproofs before the gale began, because, while turned head to wind every breaking wave swept right over their heads, and even now while under the lee of the floating anchor they were for some time almost continually overwhelmed by thick spray. being, however, set free from the necessity of keeping their tiny craft in position, they all bowed their heads on the deck, sheltered their faces in their hands and awaited the end! whilst in this attitude--so like to that of prayer--nigel almost naturally thought of him who holds the water in the hollow of his hand, and lifted his soul to god; for, amid the roaring of the gale, the flashes of lightning, the appalling thunder, the feeling that he was in reality all but under the waves and the knowledge that the proverbial plank between him and death was of the very thinnest description, a sensation of helplessness and of dependence on the almighty, such as he had never before experienced, crept over him. what the thoughts of the hermit were he could not tell, for that strange man seldom spoke about himself; but moses was not so reticent, for he afterwards remarked that he had often been caught by gales while in the canoe, and had been attached for hours to their floating anchor, but that "dat was out ob sight de wust bust ob wedder dey'd had since dey come to lib at krakatoa, an' he had bery nigh giben up in despair!" the use of the floating breakwater was to meet the full force of the seas and break them just before they reached the canoe. in spite of this some of them were so tremendous that, broken though they were, the swirling foam completely buried the craft for a second or two, but the sharp bow cut its way through, and the water poured off the deck and off the stooping figures like rain from a duck's back. of course a good deal got in at their necks, sleeves, and other small openings, and wet them considerably, but that, as moses remarked, "was not'ing to speak ob." thus they lay tossing in the midst of the raging foam for several hours. now and then each would raise his head a little to see that the rope held fast, but was glad to lower it again. they hardly knew when day broke. it was so slow in coming, and so gloomy and dark when it did come, that the glare of the lightning-flash seemed more cheerful. it may be easily believed that there was no conversation during those hours of elemental strife, though the thoughts of each were busy enough. at last the thunder ceased, or, rather, retired as if in growling defiance of the world which it had failed to destroy. then the sky began to lighten a little, and although the wind did not materially abate in force it became more steady and equal. before noon, however, it had subsided so much that moses suggested the propriety of continuing the voyage. to this van der kemp agreed, and the floating anchor was hauled in; the large paddle was resumed by the hermit, and the dangerous process of turning the canoe was successfully accomplished. when the mast was again set up and the close-reefed main and foresails were hoisted, the light craft bounded away once more before the wind like a fleck of foam. then a gleam of sunshine forced its way through the driving clouds, and painted a spot of emerald green on the heaving sea. soon after that van der kemp opened the lid, or hatch, of the fore-hold, and spinkie, jumping out with alacrity, took possession of his usual seat beside the mast, to which he clung with affectionate tenacity. gradually the wind went down. reef after reef of the two sails was shaken out, and for several hours thereafter our travellers sped merrily on, plunging into the troughs and cutting through the crests of the stormy sea. chapter thirteen. friends are met with, also pirates, and a life-or-death paddle ensues. in physics, as in morals, a storm is frequently the precursor of a dead calm. much to the monkey's joy, to say nothing of the men, the sun ere long asserted its equatorial power, and, clearing away the clouds, allowed the celestial blue to smile on the turmoil below. the first result of that smile was that the wind retired to its secret chambers, leaving the ships of men to flap their idle sails. then the ocean ceased to fume, though its agitated bosom still continued for some time to heave. gradually the swell went down and soon the unruffled surface reflected a dimpling smile to the sky. when this happy stage had been reached our voyagers lowered and stowed the canoe-sails, and continued to advance under paddles. "we get along wonderfully fast, van der kemp," said nigel, while resting after a pretty long spell; "but it seems to me, nevertheless, that we shall take a considerable time to reach borneo at this rate, seeing that it must be over two hundred miles away, and if we have much bad weather or contrary wind, we shan't be able to reach it for weeks--if at all." "i have been thrown somewhat out of my reckoning," returned the hermit, "by having to fly from the party on the islet, where i meant to remain till a steamer, owned by a friend of mine, should pass and pick us up, canoe and all. the steamer is a short-voyage craft, and usually so punctual that i can count on it to a day. but it may have passed us in the gale. if so, i shall take advantage of the first vessel that will agree to lend us a hand." "how!--do you get them to tow you?" "nay, that were impossible. a jerk from the tow-rope of a steamer at full speed would tear us asunder. have you observed these two strong ropes running all round our gunwale, and the bridles across with ring-bolts in them?" "i have, and did not ask their use, as i thought they were merely meant to strengthen the canoe." "so they are," continued the hermit, "but they have other uses besides--" "massa," cried moses, at this point. "you'll 'scuse me for 'truptin' you, but it's my opinion dat spinkie's sufferin' jus' now from a empty stummik!" the hermit smiled and nigel laughed. laying down his paddle the former said-"i understand, moses. that speech means that you are suffering from the same complaint. well--get out the biscuit." "jus' de way ob de wurld," muttered the negro with a bland smile. "if a poor man obsarves an feels for de sorrows ob anoder, he allers gits credit for t'inkin' ob his-self. neber mind, i's used to it!" evidently the unjust insinuation did not weigh heavily on the negro's spirit, for he soon began to eat with the appetite of a healthy alligator. while he was thus engaged, he chanced to raise his eyes towards the south-western horizon, and there saw something which caused him to splutter, for his mouth was too full to speak, but his speaking eyes and pointing finger caused his companions to turn their faces quickly to the quarter indicated. "a steamer!" exclaimed the hermit and nigel in the same breath. the vessel in question was coming straight towards them, and a very short time enabled van der kemp to recognise with satisfaction the steamer owned by his friend. "look here, run that to the mast-head," said van der kemp, handing a red flag to nigel. "we lie so low in the water that they might pass quite close without observing us if we showed no signal." an immediate, though slight, change in the course of the steamer showed that the signal had been seen. hereupon the hermit and moses performed an operation on the canoe which still farther aroused nigel's surprise and curiosity. he resolved to ask no questions, however, but to await the issue of events. from the marvellous hold of the canoe, which seemed to be a magazine for the supply of every human need, moses drew a short but strong rope or cable, with a ring in the middle of it, and a hook at each end. he passed one end along to his master who hooked it to the bridle-rope at the bow before referred to. the other end was hooked to the bridle in the stern, so that the ring in the centre came close to nigel's elbow. this arrangement had barely been completed when the steamer was within hail, but no hail was given, for the captain knew what was expected of him. he reduced speed as the vessel approached the canoe, and finally came almost to a stop as he ranged alongside. "what cheer, van der kemp? d'ye want a lift to-day?" shouted the skipper, looking over the side. a nod and a wave of the hand was the hermit's reply. "heave a rope, boys--bow and stern--and lower away the tackle," was the skipper's order. a coil was flung to van der kemp, who deftly caught it and held on tight. another was flung to moses, who also caught it and held on-slack. at the same moment, nigel saw a large block with a hook attached descending towards his head. "catch it, nigel, and hook it to the ring at your elbow," said the hermit. our hero obeyed, still in surprise, though a glimmer of what was to follow began to dawn. "haul away!" shouted the skipper, and next moment the canoe was swinging in the air, kept in position by the lines in the hands of van der kemp and moses. at the same time another order was given, and the steamer went ahead full speed. it was all so suddenly done, and seemed such a reckless proceeding, that nigel found himself on the steamer's deck, with the canoe reposing beside him, before he had recovered from his surprise sufficiently to acknowledge in suitable terms the welcome greeting of the hospitable skipper. "you see, nigel," said van der kemp that night, as the two friends paced the deck together after supper, "i have other means, besides paddles and sails, of getting quickly about in the java seas. many of the traders and skippers here know me, and give me a lift in this way when i require it." "very kind of them, and very convenient," returned nigel. he felt inclined to add: "but why all this moving about?" for it was quite evident that trade was not the hermit's object, but the question, as usual, died on his lips, and he somewhat suddenly changed the subject. "d'ye know, van der kemp, that i feel as if i must have seen you somewhere or other before now, for your features seem strangely familiar to me. have you ever been in england?" "never. as i have told you, i was born in java, and was educated in hong kong at an english school. but a fancy of this sort is not very uncommon. i myself once met a perfect stranger who bore so strong a resemblance to an old friend, that i spoke to him as such, and only found out from his voice that i was mistaken." the captain of the steamer came on deck at that moment and cut short the conversation. "are you engaged, van der kemp?" he asked. "no--i am at your service." "come below then, i want to have a talk with you." thus left alone, and overhearing a loud burst of laughter at the fore part of the steamer, nigel went forward to see what was going on. he found a group of sailors round his comrade moses, apparently engaged in good-natured "chaff." "come, now, blackey," said one; "be a good fellow for once in your life an' tell us what makes your master live on a desert island like robinson crusoe, an' go about the ocean in a canoe." "look 'ere now, whitey," returned moses, "what you take me for?" "a nigger, of course." "ob course, an' you're right for once, which is such an unusual t'ing dat i 'dvise you go an' ax de cappen to make a note ob it in de log. i's a nigger, an a nigger's so much more 'cute dan a white man dat you shouldn't ought to expect him to blab his massa's secrets." "right you are, moses. come, then, if you won't reveal secrets, give us a song." "couldn't t'ink ob such a t'ing," said the negro, with a solemn, remonstrant shake of the head. "why not?" "'cause i neber sing a song widout a moral, an' i don't like to hurt your feelin's by singin' a moral dat would be sure to waken up _some_ o' your consciences." "never mind that, darkey. our consciences are pretty tough. heave ahead." "but dere's a chorus," said moses, looking round doubtfully. "what o' that? we'll do our best with it--if it ain't too difficult." "oh, it's not diffikilt, but if de lazy fellers among you sings de chorus dey'll be singin' lies, an' i don't 'zackly like to help men to tell lies. howseber, here goes. it begins wid de chorus so's you may know it afore you has to sing it." so saying, moses struck two fingers on the capstan after the manner of a tuning-fork, and, holding them gravely to his ear as if to get the right pitch, began in a really fine manly voice to chant the following ditty:- "go to work." oh when de sun am shinin' bright, and eberyt'ing am fair, clap on de steam an' go to work, an' take your proper share. de wurld hab got to go ahead, an' dem what's young and strong mus' do deir best, wid all de rest, to roll de wurld along. de lazy man does all he can to stop its whirlin' round. if he was king he'd loaf an' sing--and guzzle, i'll be bound, he always shirk de hardest work, an' t'ink he's awful clebbar, but boder his head to earn his bread, oh! no, he'll nebber, nebber. _chorus_--oh when de sun, etcetera. de selfish man would rader dan put out his hand to work, let women toil, an' sweat and moil--as wicked as de turk. de cream ob eberyt'ing he wants, let oders hab de skim; in fact de wurld and all it holds was only made for him. _chorus_--oh when de sun, etcetera. so keep de ball a-rollin', boys, an' each one do his best to make de wurld a happy one--for dat's how man is blest. do unto oders all around de t'ing what's good and true, an' oders, 'turning tit for tat, will do do same to you. _chorus_--oh when de sun, etcetera. the sailors, who were evidently much pleased, took up the chorus moderately at the second verse, came out strong at the third, and sang with such genuine fervour at the last that it was quite evident, as moses remarked, there was not a lazy man amongst them--at least, if they all sang conscientiously! the weather improved every hour, and after a fine run of about twenty-four hours over that part of the malay sea, our three voyagers were lowered over the steamer's side in their canoe when within sight of the great island of borneo. "i'm sorry," said the captain at parting, "that our courses diverge here, for i would gladly have had your company a little longer. good-bye. i hope we'll come across you some other time when i'm in these parts." "thanks--thanks, my friend," replied van der kemp, with a warm grip of the hand, and a touch of pathos in his tones. "i trust that we shall meet again. you have done me good service by shortening my voyage considerably.--farewell." "i say, moses," shouted one of the seamen, as he looked down on the tiny canoe while they were pushing off. "hallo?" "keep your heart up, for--we'll try to `do to oders all around de t'ing what's good an' true!'" "das de way, boy--`an' oders, 'turning tit for tat, will do de same to you!'" he yelled rather than sang this at the top of his tuneful voice, and waved his hand as the sharp craft shot away over the sea. fortunately the sea was calm, for it was growing dark when they reached the shores of borneo and entered the mouth of a small stream, up which they proceeded to paddle. the banks of the stream were clothed with mangrove trees. we have said the banks, but in truth the mouth of that river had no distinguishable banks at all, for it is the nature of the mangrove to grow in the water--using its roots as legs with which, as it were, to wade away from shore. when darkness fell suddenly on the landscape, as it is prone to do in tropical regions, the gnarled roots of those mangroves assumed the appearance of twining snakes in nigel's eyes. possessing a strongly imaginative mind he could with difficulty resist the belief that he saw them moving slimily about in the black water, and, in the dim mysterious light, tree-stems and other objects assumed the appearance of hideous living forms, so that he was enabled to indulge the uncomfortable fancy that they were traversing some terrestrial styx into one of dante's regions of horror. in some respects this was not altogether a fancy, for they were unwittingly drawing near to a band of human beings whose purposes, if fully carried out, would render the earth little better than a hell to many of their countrymen. it is pretty well-known that there is a class of men in borneo called head hunters. these men hold the extraordinary and gruesome opinion that a youth has not attained to respectable manhood until he has taken the life of some human being. there are two distinct classes of dyaks--those who inhabit the hills and those who dwell on the sea-coast. it is the latter who recruit the ranks of the pirates of those eastern seas, and it was to the camp of a band of such villains that our adventurers were, as already said, unwittingly drawing near. they came upon them at a bend of the dark river beyond which point the mangroves gave place to other trees--but what sort of trees they were it was scarcely light enough to make out very distinctly, except in the case of the particular tree in front of which the dyaks were encamped, the roots of which were strongly illuminated by their camp fire. we say _roots_ advisedly, for this singular and gigantic tree started its branches from a complexity of aerial roots which themselves formed a pyramid some sixty feet high, before the branches proper of the tree began. if our voyagers had used oars the sharp ears of the pirates would have instantly detected them. as it was, the softly moving paddles and the sharp cutwater of the canoe made no noise whatever. the instant that van der kemp, from his position in the bow, observed the camp, he dipped his paddle deep, and noiselessly backed water. there was no need to give any signal to his servant. such a thorough understanding existed between them that the mere action of the hermit was sufficient to induce the negro to support him by a similar movement on the opposite side, and the canoe glided as quickly backward as it had previously advanced. when under the deep shadow of the bank moses thrust the canoe close in, and his master, laying hold of the bushes, held fast and made a sign to him to land and reconnoitre. creeping forward to an opening in the bushes close at hand, moses peeped through. then he turned and made facial signals of a kind so complicated that he could not be understood, as nothing was visible save the flashing of his teeth and eyes. van der kemp therefore recalled him by a sign, and, stepping ashore, whispered nigel to land. another minute and the three travellers stood on the bank with their heads close together. "wait here for me," said the hermit, in the lowest possible whisper. "i will go and see who they are." "strange," said nigel, when he was gone; "strange that in so short a time your master should twice have to stalk strangers in this way. history repeats itself, they say. it appears to do so rather fast in these regions! does he not run a very great risk of being discovered?" "not de smallest," replied the negro, with as much emphasis as was possible in a whisper. "massa hab ride wid de vaquieros ob ameriky an' hunt wid de injuns on de rockies. no more fear ob deir ketchin' him dan ob ketchin' a streak o' lightnin'. he come back bery soon wid all de news." moses was a true prophet. within half-an-hour van der kemp returned as noiselessly as he had gone. he did not keep them long in uncertainty. "i have heard enough," he whispered, "to assure me that a plot, of which i had already heard a rumour, has nearly been laid. we fell in with the chief plotters on the islet the other night; the band here is in connection with them and awaits their arrival before carrying out their dark designs. there is nothing very mysterious about it. one tribe plotting to attack another--that is all; but as a friend of mine dwells just now with the tribe to be secretly attacked, it behoves me to do what i can to save him. i am perplexed, however. it would seem sometimes as if we were left in perplexity for wise purposes which are beyond our knowledge." "perhaps to test our willingness to _do right_," suggested nigel. "i know not," returned the hermit, as if musing, but never raising his voice above the softest whisper. "my difficulty lies here; i _must_ go forward to save the life of my friend. i must _not_ leave you at the mouth of a mangrove river to die or be captured by pirates, and yet i have no right to ask you to risk your life on my account!" "you may dismiss your perplexities then," said nigel, promptly, "for i decline to be left to die here or to be caught by pirates, and i am particularly anxious to assist you in rescuing your friend. besides, am i not your hired servant?" "the risk we run is only at the beginning," said van der kemp. "if we succeed in passing the dyaks unseen all will be well. if they see us, they will give chase, and our lives, under god, will depend on the strength of our arms, for i am known to them and have thwarted their plans before now. if they catch us, death will be our certain doom. are you prepared?" "ready!" whispered nigel. without another word the hermit took his place in the bow of the canoe. moses stepped into the stern, and our hero sat down in the middle. before pushing off, the hermit drew a revolver and a cutlass from his store-room in the bow and handed them to nigel, who thrust the first into his belt and fastened the other to the deck by means of a strap fixed there on purpose to prevent its being rolled or swept off. this contrivance, as well as all the other appliances in the canoe, had previously been pointed out and explained to him. the hermit and negro having armed themselves in similar way, let go the bushes which held them close to the bank and floated out into the stream. they let the canoe drift down a short way so as to be well concealed by the bend in the river and a mass of bushes. then they slowly paddled over to the opposite side, and commenced to creep up as close to the bank as possible, under the deep shadow of overhanging trees, and so noiselessly that they appeared in the darkness like a passing phantom. but the sharp eyes of the pirates were too much accustomed to phantoms of every kind to be easily deceived. just as the canoe was about to pass beyond the line of their vision a stir was heard in their camp. then a stern challenge rolled across the river and awoke the slumbering echoes of the forest--perchance to the surprise and scaring away of some prowling beast of prey. "no need for concealment now," said van der kemp, quietly; "we must paddle for life. if you have occasion to use your weapons, nigel, take no life needlessly. moses knows my mind on this point and needs no warning. any fool can take away life. only god can give it." "i will be careful," replied nigel, as he dipped his paddle with all the muscular power at his command. his comrades did the same, and the canoe shot up the river like an arrow. a yell from the dyaks, and the noise of jumping into and pushing off their boats told that there was no time to lose. "they are strong men, and plenty of them to relieve each other," said the hermit, who now spoke in his ordinary tones, "so they have some chance of overhauling us in the smooth water; but a few miles further up there is a rapid which will stop them and will only check us. if we can reach it we shall be safe." while he was speaking every muscle in his broad back and arms was strained to the uttermost; so also were the muscles of his companions, and the canoe seemed to advance by a series of rapid leaps and bounds. yet the sound of the pursuers' oars seemed to increase, and soon the proverb "it is the pace that kills" received illustration, for the speed of the canoe began to decrease a little--very little at first--while the pursuers, with fresh hands at the oars, gradually overhauled the fugitives. "put on a spurt!" said the hermit, setting the example. the pirates heard the words and understood either them or the action that followed, for they also "put on a spurt," and encouraged each other with a cheer. moses heard the cheer, and at the same time heard the sound of the rapid to which they were by that time drawing near. he glanced over his shoulder and could make out the dim form of the leading boat, with a tall figure standing up in the b figure standing up in the bow, not thirty yards behind. "shall we manage it, moses?" asked van der kemp, in that calm steady voice which seemed to be unchangeable either by anxiety or peril. "no, massa. unpossable--widout _dis_." the negro drew the revolver from his belt, slewed round, took rapid aim and fired. the tall figure in the bow of the boat fell back with a crash and a hideous yell. great shouting and confusion followed, and the boat dropped behind. a few minutes later and the canoe was leaping over the surges of a shallow rapid. they dashed from eddy to eddy, taking advantage of every stone that formed a tail of backwater below it, and gradually worked the light craft upward in a way that the hermit and his man had learned in the nor'-western rivers of america. "we are not safe yet," said the former, resting and wiping his brow as they floated for a few seconds in a calm basin at the head of the rapid. "surely they cannot take a boat up such a place as that!" "nay, but they can follow up the banks on foot. however, we will soon baffle them, for the river winds like a serpent just above this, and by carrying our canoe across one, two, or three spits of land we will gain a distance in an hour or so that would cost them nearly a day to ascend in boats. they know that, and will certainly give up the chase. i think they have given it up already, but it is well to make sure." "i wonder why they did not fire at us," remarked nigel. "probably because they felt sure of catching us," returned the hermit, "and when they recovered from the confusion that moses threw them into we were lost to them in darkness, besides being pretty well beyond range. i hope, moses, that you aimed low." "yes, massa--but it's sca'cely fair when life an' def am in de balance to expect me to hit 'im on de legs on a dark night. legs is a bad targit. bullet's apt to pass between 'em. howseber, dat feller won't hop much for some time to come!" a couple of hours later, having carried the canoe and baggage across the spits of land above referred to, and thus put at least half-a-day's journey between themselves and their foes, they came to a halt for the night. "it won't be easy to find a suitable place to camp on," remarked , where the bushes grew so thick that they overhung the water, brushing the faces of our travellers and rendering the darkness so intense that they had literally to feel their way as they glided along. "we will encamp where we are," returned the hermit. "i'll make fast to a bush and you may get out the victuals, moses." "das de bery best word you've said dis day, massa," remarked the negro with a profound sigh. "i's pritty well tired now, an' de bery t'ought ob grub comforts me!" "do you mean that we shall sleep in the canoe?" asked nigel. "ay, why not?" returned the hermit, who could be heard, though not seen, busying himself with the contents of the fore locker. "you'll find the canoe a pretty fair bed. you have only to slip down and pull your head and shoulders through the manhole and go to sleep. you won't want blankets in this weather, and, see--there is a pillow for you and another for moses." "i cannot _see_, but i can feel," said nigel, with a soft laugh, as he passed the pillow aft. "t'ank ee, nadgel," said moses; "here--feel behind you an' you'll find grub for yourself an' some to pass forid to massa. mind when you slip down for go to sleep dat you don't dig your heels into massa's skull. dere's no bulkhead to purtect it." "i'll be careful," said nigel, beginning his invisible supper with keen appetite. "but how about _my_ skull, moses? is there a bulkhead between it and _your_ heels?" "no, but you don't need to mind, for i allers sleeps doubled up, wid my knees agin my chin. it makes de arms an' legs feel more sociable like." with this remark moses ceased to encourage conversation--his mouth being otherwise engaged. thereafter they slipped down into their respective places, laid their heads on their pillows and fell instantly into sound repose, while the dark waters flowed sluggishly past, and the only sound that disturbed the universal stillness was the occasional cry of some creature of the night or the flap of an alligator's tail. chapter fourteen. a new friend found--new dangers encountered and new hopes delayed. when grey dawn began to dispel the gloom of night, nigel roy awoke with an uncomfortable sensation of having been buried alive. stretching himself as was his wont he inadvertently touched the head of van der kemp, an exclamation from whom aroused moses, who, uncoiling himself, awoke spinkie. it was usually the privilege of that affectionate creature to nestle in the negro's bosom. with the alacrity peculiar to his race, spinkie sprang through the manhole and sat down in his particular place to superintend, perhaps to admire, the work of his human friends, whose dishevelled heads emerged simultaneously from their respective burrows. dawn is a period of the day when the spirit of man is calmly reflective. speech seemed distasteful that morning, and as each knew what had to be done, it was needless. the silently conducted operations of the men appeared to arouse fellow-feeling in the monkey, for its careworn countenance became more and more expressive as it gazed earnestly and alternately into the faces of its comrades. to all appearance it seemed about to speak--but it didn't. pushing out from the shore they paddled swiftly up stream, and soon put such a distance between them and their late pursuers that all risk of being overtaken was at an end. all day they advanced inland without rest, save at the breakfast hour, and again at mid-day to dine. towards evening they observed that the country through which they were passing had changed much in character and aspect. the low and swampy region had given place to hillocks and undulating ground, all covered with the beautiful virgin forest with its palms and creepers and noble fruit-trees and rich vegetation, conspicuous among which magnificent ferns of many kinds covered the steep banks of the stream. on rounding a point of the river the travellers came suddenly upon an interesting group, in the midst of a most beautiful woodland scene. under the trees on a flat spot by the river-bank were seated round a fire a man and a boy and a monkey. the monkey was a tame orang-utan, youthful but large. the boy was a dyak in light cotton drawers, with the upper part of his body naked, brass rings on his arms, heavy ornaments in his ears, and a bright kerchief worn as a turban on his head. the man was a sort of nondescript in a semi-european shooting garb, with a wide-brimmed sombrero on his head, black hair, a deeply tanned face, a snub nose, huge beard and moustache, and immense blue spectacles. something not unlike a cheer burst from the usually undemonstrative van der kemp on coming in sight of the party, and he waved his hand as if in recognition. the nondescript replied by starting to his feet, throwing up both arms and giving vent to an absolute roar of joy. "he seems to know you," remarked nigel, as they made for a landing-place. "yes. he is the friend i have come to rescue," replied the hermit in a tone of quiet satisfaction. "he is a naturalist and lives with the rajah against whom the pirates are plotting." "he don't look z'if he needs much rescuin'," remarked moses with a chuckle, as they drew to land. the man looked in truth as if he were well able to take care of himself in most circumstances, being of colossal bulk although somewhat short of limb. "ah! mein frond! mine brodder!" he exclaimed, in fairly idiomatic english, but with a broken pronunciation that was a mixture of dutch, american, and malay. his language therefore, like himself, was nondescript. in fact he was an american-born dutchman, who had been transported early in life to the straits settlements, had received most of his education in hong kong, was an old school-fellow of van der kemp, became an enthusiastic naturalist, and, being possessed of independent means, spent most of his time in wandering about the various islands of the archipelago, making extensive collections of animal and vegetable specimens, which he distributed with liberal hand to whatever museums at home or abroad seemed most to need or desire them. owing to his tastes and habits he had been dubbed professor by his friends. "ach! van der kemp," he exclaimed, while his coal-black eyes glittered as they shook hands, "_vat_ a bootterfly i saw to-day! it beat all creation! the vay it flew--oh! but, excuse me--v'ere did you come from, and vy do you come? an' who is your frond?" he turned to nigel as he spoke, and doffed his sombrero with a gracious bow. "an englishman--nigel roy--who has joined me for a few months," said the hermit. "let me introduce you, nigel, to my good friend, professor verkimier." nigel held out his hand and gave the naturalist's a shake so hearty, that a true friendship was begun on the spot--a friendship which was rapidly strengthened when the professor discovered that the english youth had a strong leaning towards his own favourite studies. "ve vill hont an' shot togezzer, mine frond," he said, on making this discovery, "ant i vill show you v'ere de best bootterflies are to be fount--oh! sooch a von as i saw to--but, excuse me, van der kemp. vy you come here joost now?" "to save _you_," said the hermit, with a scintillation of his half-pitiful smile. "to safe _me_!" exclaimed verkimier, with a look of surprise which was greatly intensified by the rotundity of the blue spectacles. "vell, i don't feel to vant safing joost at present." "it is not that danger threatens _you_ so much as your friend the rajah," returned the hermit. "but if he falls, all under his protection fall along with him. i happen to have heard of a conspiracy against him, on so large a scale that certain destruction would follow if he were taken by surprise, so i have come on in advance of the conspirators to warn him in time. you know i have received much kindness from the rajah, so i could do no less than warn him of impending danger, and then the fact that you were with him made me doubly anxious to reach you in time." while the hermit was saying this, the naturalist removed his blue glasses, and slowly wiped them with a corner of his coat-tails. replacing them, he gazed intently into the grave countenance of his friend till he had finished speaking. "are zee raskils near?" he asked, sternly. "no. we have come on many days ahead of them. but we found a party at the river's mouth awaiting their arrival." "ant zey cannot arrife, you say, for several veeks?" "probably not--even though they had fair and steady winds." a sigh of satisfaction broke through the naturalist's moustache on hearing this. "zen i vill--_ve_ vill, you and i, mister roy,--go after ze bootterflies to-morrow!" "but we must push on," remonstrated van der kemp, "for preparations to resist an attack cannot be commenced too soon." "_you_ may push on, mine frond; go ahead if you vill, but i vill not leave zee bootterflies. you know vell zat i vill die--if need be--for zee rajah. ve must all die vonce, at least, and i should like to die-if i must die--in a goot cause. what cause better zan frondship? but you say joost now zere is no dancher. vell, i vill go ant see zee bootterflies to-morrow. after zat, i will go ant die--if it must be-with zee!" "i heartily applaud your sentiment," said nigel, with a laugh, as he helped himself to some of the food which the dyak youth and moses had prepared, "and if van der kemp will give me leave of absence i will gladly keep you company." "zank you. pass round zee victuals. my appetite is strong. it always vas more or less strong. vat say you, van der kemp?" "i have no objection. moses and i can easily take the canoe up the river. there are no rapids, and it is not far to the rajah's village; so you are welcome to go, nigel." "das de most 'straord'nary craze i eber know'd men inflicted wid!" said moses that night, as he sat smoking his pipe beside the dyak boy. "it passes my compr'ension what fun dey find runnin' like child'n arter butterflies, an' beetles, an' sitch like varmint. my massa am de wisest man on eart', yet _he_ go a little wild dat way too--sometimes!" moses looked at the dyak boy with a puzzled expression, but as the dyak boy did not understand english, he looked intently at the fire, and said nothing. next morning nigel entered the forest under the guidance of verkimier and the dyak youth, and the orang-utan, which followed like a dog, and sometimes even took hold of its master's arm and walked with him as if it had been a very small human being. it was a new experience to nigel to walk in the sombre shade beneath the tangled arches of the wilderness. in some respects it differed entirely from his expectations, and in others it surpassed them. the gloom was deeper than he had pictured it, but the shade was not displeasing in a land so close to the equator. then the trees were much taller than he had been led to suppose, and the creeping plants more numerous, while, to his surprise, the wild-flowers were comparatively few and small. but the scarcity of these was somewhat compensated by the rich and brilliant colouring of the foliage. the abundance and variety of the ferns also struck the youth particularly. "ah! zey are magnificent!" exclaimed verkimier with enthusiasm. "look at zat tree-fern. you have not'ing like zat in england--eh! i have found nearly von hoondred specimens of ferns. zen, look at zee fruit-trees. ve have here, you see, zee lansat, mangosteen, rambutan, jack, jambon, blimbing ant many ozers--but zee queen of fruits is zee durian. have you tasted zee durian?" "no, not yet." "ha! a new sensation is before you! stay, you vill eat von by ant by. look, zat is a durian tree before you." he pointed as he spoke to a large and lofty tree, which mr a.r. wallace, the celebrated naturalist and traveller, describes as resembling an elm in general character but with a more smooth and scaly bark. the fruit is round, or slightly oval, about the size of a man's head, of a green colour, and covered all over with short spines which are very strong and so sharp that it is difficult to lift the fruit from the ground. only the experienced and expert can cut the tough outer rind. there are five faint lines extending from the base to the apex of the fruit, through which it may be divided with a heavy knife and a strong hand, so as to get to the delicious creamy pulp inside. there is something paradoxical in the descriptions of this fruit by various writers, but all agree that it is inexpressibly good! says one--writing of the sixteenth century--"it is of such an excellent taste that it surpasses in flavour all the other fruits of the world." another writes: "this fruit is of a hot and humid nature. to those not used to it, it seems at first to smell like rotten onions! but immediately they have tasted it they prefer it to all other food." wallace himself says of it: "when brought into the house, the smell is so offensive that some persons can never bear to taste it. this was my own case in malacca, but in borneo i found a ripe fruit on the ground, and, eating it out of doors, i at once became a confirmed durian-eater!" this was exactly the experience of nigel roy that day, and the way in which the fruit came to him was also an experience, but of a very different sort. it happened just as they were looking about for a suitable spot on which to rest and eat their mid-day meal. verkimier was in front with the orang-utan reaching up to his arm and hobbling affectionately by his side--for there was a strong mutual affection between them. the dyak youth brought up the rear, with a sort of game-bag on his shoulders. suddenly nigel felt something graze his arm, and heard a heavy thud at his side. it was a ripe durian which had fallen from an immense height and missed him by a hairbreadth. "zank got, you have escaped!" exclaimed the professor, looking back with a solemn countenance. "i have indeed escaped what might have been a severe blow," said nigel, stooping to examine the fruit, apparently forgetful that more might follow. "come--come avay. my boy vill bring it. men are sometimes killed by zis fruit. here now ve vill dine." they sat down on a bank which was canopied by ferns. while the boy was arranging their meal, verkimier drew a heavy hunting-knife from his belt and, applying it with an unusually strong hand to the durian, laid it open. nigel did not at all relish the smell, but he was not fastidious or apt to be prejudiced. he tasted--and, like mr wallace, "became a confirmed durian-eater" from that day. "ve draw near to zee region vere ve shall find zee bootterflies," said the naturalist, during a pause in their luncheon. "i hope we shall be successful," said nigel, helping himself to some more of what may be styled durian cream. "to judge from the weight and hardness of this fruit, i should think a blow on one's head from it would be fatal." "sometimes, not always. i suppose zat dyak skulls are strong. but zee wound is terrible, for zee spikes tear zee flesh dreadfully. zee dyak chief, rajah, with whom i dwell joost now, was floored once by one, and he expected to die--but he did not. he is alife ant vell, as you shall see." as he spoke a large butterfly fluttered across the scene of their festivities. with all the energy of his enthusiastic spirit and strong muscular frame the naturalist leaped up, overturned his dinner, rushed after the coveted specimen, tripped over a root, and measured his length on the ground. "zat comes of too much horry!" he remarked, as he picked up his glasses and returned, humbly, to continue his dinner. "mine frond, learn a lesson from a foolish man!" "i shall learn two lessons," said nigel, laughing--"first, to avoid your too eager haste, and, second, to copy, if i can, your admirable enthusiasm." "you are very goot. some more cheekin' if you please. zanks. ve most make haste viz our meal ant go to vork." the grandeur and novelty of the scenery through which they passed when they did go to work was a source of constant delight and surprise to our hero, whose inherent tendency to take note of and admire the wonderful works of god was increased by the unflagging enthusiasm and interesting running commentary of his companion, whose flow of language and eager sympathy formed a striking contrast to the profound silence and gravity of the dyak youth, as well as to the pathetic and affectionate selfishness of the man-monkey. it must not, however, be supposed that the young orang-utan was unworthy of his victuals, for, besides being an amusing and harmless companion, he had been trained to use his natural capacity for climbing trees in the service of his master. thus he ascended the tall durian trees, when ordered, and sent down some of the fruit in a few minutes--an operation which his human companions could not have accomplished without tedious delay and the construction of an ingenious ladder having slender bamboos for one of its sides, and the tree to be ascended for its other side, with splinters of bamboo driven into it by way of rounds. "zat is zee pitcher-plant," said verkimier, as nigel stopped suddenly before a plant which he had often read of but never seen. he was told by his friend that pitcher-plants were very numerous in that region; that every mountain-top abounded with them; that they would be found trailing along the ground and climbing over shrubs and stunted trees, with their elegant pitchers hanging in every direction. some of these, he said, were long and slender, others broad and short. the plant at which they were looking was a broad green one, variously tinted and mottled with red, and was large enough to hold two quarts of water. resuming the march nigel observed that the group of orchids was abundant, but a large proportion of the species had small inconspicuous flowers. some, however, had large clusters of yellow flowers which had a very ornamental effect on the sombre forest. but, although the exceptions were striking, he found that in borneo, as elsewhere, flowers were scarcer than he had expected in an equatorial forest. there were, however, more than enough of striking and surprising things to engage the attention of our hero, and arouse his interest. one tree they came to which rendered him for some moments absolutely speechless! to the intense delight of the professor, who marched his new-found sympathiser from one object of interest to another with the secret intention of surprising him, and when he had got him to the point of open-mouthed amazement he was wont to turn his spectacles full on his face, like the mouths of a blue binocular, in order to witness and enjoy his emotions! nigel found this out at last and was rather embarrassed in consequence. "zat," exclaimed the naturalist, after gazing at his friend for some time in silence, "zat is a tree vitch planted itself in mid-air and zen sent its roots down to zee ground and its branches up to zee sky!" "it looks as if it had," returned nigel; "i have seen a tree of the same kind near the coast. how came it to grow in this way?" "i know not. it is zought zat zey spring from a seed dropped by a bird into zee fork of anozer tree. zee seed grows, sends his roots down ant his branches up. ven his roots reach zee ground he lays hold, ant, ven strong enough, kills his support--zus returning efil for good, like a zankless dependent. ah! zere is much resemblance between plants and animals! com', ve must feed here," said the professor, resting his gun against one of the roots, "i had expected to find zee bootterflies sooner. it cannot be helped. let us make zis our banqueting-hall. ve vill have a durian to refresh us, ant here is a handy tree which seems to have ripe vones on it.--go," he added, turning to the orang-utan, "and send down von or two." the creature looked helplessly incapable, pitifully unwilling, scratching its side the while. evidently it was a lazy monkey. "do you hear?" said verkimier, sternly. the orang moved uneasily, but still declined to go. turning sharply on it, the professor bent down, placed a hand on each of his knees and stared through the blue goggles into the animal's face. this was more than it could stand. with a very bad grace it hobbled off to the durian tree, ascended it with a sort of lazy, lumbering facility, and hurled down some of the fruit without warning those below to look out. "my little frond is obstinate sometimes," remarked the naturalist, picking up the fruit, "but ven i bring my glasses to bear on him he always gives in, i never found zem fail. come now; eat, an' ve vill go to vork again. ve must certainly find zee bootterflies somevere before night." but verkimier was wrong. it was his destiny not to find the butterflies that night, or in that region at all, for he and his companion had not quite finished their meal when a dyak youth came running up to them saying that he had been sent by the rajah to order their immediate return to the village. "alas! ve most go. it is dancherous to disobey zee rajah--ant i am sorry--very sorry--zat i cannot show you zee bootterflies to-day. no matter.--go," (to the dyak youth), "tell your chief ve vill come. better lock zee next time!" chapter fifteen. hunting the great man-monkey. although professor verkimier had promised to return at once, he was compelled to encamp in the forest, being overtaken by night before he could reach the river and procure a boat. next morning they started at daybreak. the country over which they passed had again changed its character and become more hilly. on the summits of many of the hills dyak villages could be seen, and rice fields were met with as they went along. several gullies and rivulets were crossed by means of native bamboo bridges, and the professor explained, as he went along, the immense value of the bamboo to the natives. with it they make their suspension bridges, build their houses, and procure narrow planking for their floors. if they want broader planks they split a large bamboo on one side and flatten it out to a plank of about eighteen inches wide. portions of hollow bamboo serve as receptacles for milk or water. if a precipice stops a path, the dyaks will not hesitate to construct a bamboo path along the face of it, using branches of trees wherever convenient from which to hang the path, and every crevice or notch in the rocks to receive the ends of the bamboos by which it is supported. honey-bees in borneo hang their combs, to be out of danger no doubt, under the branches of the tappan, which towers above all the other trees of the forest. but the dyaks love honey and value wax as an article of trade; they therefore erect their ingenious bamboo ladder--which can be prolonged to any height on the smooth branchless stem of the tappan--and storm the stronghold of the bees with much profit to themselves, for bees'-wax will purchase from the traders the brass wire, rings, gold-edged kerchiefs and various ornaments with which they decorate themselves. when travelling, the dyaks use bamboos as cooking vessels in which to boil rice and other vegetables; as jars in which to preserve honey, sugar, etcetera, or salted fish and fruit. split bamboos form aqueducts by which water is conveyed to the houses. a small neatly carved piece of bamboo serves as a case in which are carried the materials used in the disgusting practice of betel-nut chewing--which seems to be equivalent to the western tobacco-chewing. if a pipe is wanted the dyak will in a wonderfully short space of time make a huge hubble-bubble out of bamboos of different sizes, and if his long-bladed knife requires a sheath the same gigantic grass supplies one almost ready-made. but the uses to which this reed may be applied are almost endless, and the great outstanding advantage of it is that it needs no other tools than an axe and a knife to work it. at about mid-day the river was reached, and they found a native boat, or prahu, which had been sent down to convey them to the rajah's village. here nigel was received with the hospitality due to a friend of van der kemp, who, somehow--probably by unselfish readiness, as well as ability, to oblige--had contrived to make devoted friends in whatever part of the malay archipelago he travelled. afterwards, in a conversation with nigel, the professor, referring to those qualities of the hermit which endeared him to men everywhere, said, with a burst of enthusiasm, which almost outdid himself-"you cannot oonderstant van der kemp. no man can oonderstant him. he is goot, right down to zee marrow--kind, amiable, oonselfish, obliging, nevair seems to zink of himself at all, ant, abof all zings, is capable. vat he vill do, he can do--vat he can do he vill do. but he is sad-very sad." "i have observed that, of course," said nigel. "do you know what makes him so sad?" the professor shook his head. "no, i do not know. nobody knows. i have tried to find out, but he vill not speak." the orang-kaya, or rich man, as this hill chief was styled, had provided lodgings for his visitors in the "head-house." this was a large circular building erected on poles. there is such a house in nearly all dyak villages. it serves as a trading-place, a strangers' room, a sleeping-room for unmarried youths, and a general council-chamber. here nigel found the hermit and moses enjoying a good meal when he arrived, to which he and the professor sat down after paying their respects to the chief. "the orang-kaya hopes that we will stay with him some time and help to defend the village," said van der kemp, when they were all seated. "of course you have agreed?" said nigel. "yes; i came for that purpose." "we's allers ready to fight in a good cause," remarked moses, just before filling his mouth with rice. "or to die in it!" added verkimier, engulfing the breast of a chicken at a bite. "but as zee pirates are not expected for some days, ve may as vell go after zee mias--zat is what zee natifs call zee orang-utan. it is a better word, being short." moses glanced at the professor out of the corners of his black eyes and seemed greatly tickled by his enthusiastic devotion to business. "i am also," continued the professor, "extremely anxious to go at zee bootterflies before--" "you die," suggested nigel, venturing on a pleasantry, whereat moses opened his mouth in a soundless laugh, but, observing the professor's goggles levelled at him, he transformed the laugh into an astounding sneeze, and immediately gazed with pouting innocence and interest at his plate. "do you always sneeze like zat?" asked verkimier. "not allers," answered the negro simply, "sometimes i gibs way a good deal wuss. depends on de inside ob my nose an' de state ob de wedder." what the professor would have replied we cannot say, for just then a dyak youth rushed in to say that an unusually large and gorgeous butterfly had been seen just outside the village! no application of fire to gunpowder could have produced a more immediate effect. the professor's rice was scattered on the floor, and himself was outside the head-house before his comrades knew exactly what was the matter. "he's always like that," said the hermit, with a slight twinkle in his eyes. "nothing discourages--nothing subdues him. twice i pulled him out of deadly danger into which he had run in his eager pursuit of specimens. and he has returned the favour to me, for he rescued me once when a mias had got me down and would certainly have killed me, for my gun was empty at the moment, and i had dropped my knife." "is, then, the orang-utan so powerful and savage?" "truly, yes, when wounded and driven to bay," returned the hermit. "you must not judge of the creature by the baby that verkimier has tamed. a full-grown male is quite as large as a man, though very small in the legs in proportion, so that it does not stand high. it is also very much stronger than the most powerful man. you would be quite helpless in its grip, i assure you." "i hope, with the professor," returned nigel, "that we may have a hunt after them, either before or after the arrival of the pirates. i know he is very anxious to secure a good specimen for some museum in which he is interested--i forget which." as he spoke, the youth who had brought information about the butterfly returned and said a few words to moses in his native tongue. "what does he say?" asked niger. "dat massa verkimier is in full chase, an' it's my opinion dat when he comes back he'll be wet all ober, and hab his shins and elbows barked." "why d'you think so?" "'cause dat's de way he hoed on when we was huntin' wid him last year. he nebber larns fro' 'sperience." "that's a very fine-looking young fellow," remarked nigel, referring to the dyak youth who had just returned, and who, with a number of other natives, was watching the visitors with profound interest while they ate. as the young man referred to was a good sample of the youth of his tribe, we shall describe him. though not tall, he was well and strongly proportioned, and his skin was of a reddish-brown colour. like all his comrades, he wore little clothing. a gay handkerchief with a gold lace border encircled his head, from beneath which flowed a heavy mass of straight, jet-black hair. large crescent-shaped ornaments hung from his ears. his face was handsome and the expression pleasing, though the mouth was large and the lips rather thick. numerous brass rings encircled his arms above and below the elbows. his only other piece of costume was a waist-cloth of blue cotton, which hung down before and behind. it ended in three bands of red, blue, and white. there were also rows of brass rings on his legs, and armlets of white shells. at his side he wore a long slender knife and a little pouch containing the materials for betel-chewing. "yes, and he is as good as he looks," said the hermit. "his name is gurulam, and all the people of his tribe have benefited by the presence in borneo of that celebrated englishman sir james brooke,--rajah brooke as he was called,--who did so much to civilise the dyaks of borneo and to ameliorate their condition." the prophecy of moses about the professor was fulfilled. just as it was growing dark that genial scientist returned, drenched to the skin and covered with mud, having tumbled into a ditch. his knuckles also were skinned, his knees and shins damaged, and his face scratched, but he was perfectly happy in consequence of having secured a really splendid specimen of a "bootterfly" as big as his hand; the scientific name of which, for very sufficient reasons, we will not attempt to inflict on our readers, and the description of which may be shortly stated by the single word--gorgeous! being fond of verkimier, and knowing his desire to obtain a full-grown orang-utan, gurulam went off early next morning to search for one. half-a-dozen of his comrades accompanied him armed only with native spears, for their object was not to hunt the animal, but to discover one if possible, and let the professor know so that he might go after it with his rifle, for they knew that he was a keen sportsman as well as a man of science. they did not, indeed, find what they sought for, but they were told by natives with whom they fell in that a number of the animals had been seen among the tree-tops not more than a day's march into the forest. they hurried home therefore with this information, and that day-accompanied by the dyak youths, nigel, the hermit, and moses--verkimier started off in search of the mias; intending to camp out or to take advantage of a native hut if they should chance to be near one when night overtook them. descending the hill region, they soon came to more level ground, where there was a good deal of swamp, through which they passed on dyak roads. these roads consisted simply of tree-trunks laid end to end, along which the natives, being barefooted, walk with ease and certainty, but our booted hunters were obliged to proceed along them with extreme caution. the only one who came to misfortune was, as usual, the professor; and in the usual way! it occurred at the second of these tree-roads. "look, look at that remarkable insect!" exclaimed nigel, eagerly, in the innocence of his heart. the professor was in front of him; he obediently looked, saw the insect, made an eager step towards it, and next moment was flat on the swamp, while the woods rang with his companions laughter. the remarkable insect, whatever it was, vanished from the scene, and the professor was dragged, smiling though confused, out of the bog. these things affected him little. his soul was large and rose superior to such trifles. the virgin forest into which they penetrated was of vast extent; spreading over plain, mountain, and morass in every direction for hundreds of miles, for we must remind the reader that the island of borneo is considerably larger than all the british islands put together, while its inhabitants are comparatively few. verkimier had been absolutely revelling in this forest for several months--ranging its glades, penetrating its thickets, bathing, (inadvertently), in its quagmires, and maiming himself generally, with unwearied energy and unextinguishable enthusiasm; shooting, skinning, stuffing, preserving, and boiling the bones of all its inhabitants--except the human--to the great advantage of science and the immense interest and astonishment of the natives. yet with all his energy and perseverance the professor had failed, up to that time, to obtain a large specimen of a male orang-utan, though he had succeeded in shooting several small specimens and females, besides catching the young one which he had tamed. it was therefore with much excitement that he learned from a party of bees'-wax hunters, on the second morning of their expedition, that a large male mias had been seen that very day. towards the afternoon they found the spot that had been described to them, and a careful examination began. "you see," said verkimier, in a low voice, to nigel, as he went a step in advance peering up into the trees, with rifle at the "ready" and bending a little as if by that means he better avoided the chance of being seen. "you see, i came to borneo for zee express purpose of obtaining zee great man-monkey and vatching his habits.--hush! do i not hear somet'ing?" "nothing but your own voice, i think," said nigel, with a twinkle in his eye. "vell--hush! keep kviet, all of you." as the whole party marched in single file after the professor, and were at the moment absolutely silent, this order induced the display of a good many teeth. just then the man of science was seen to put his rifle quickly to the shoulder; the arches of the forest rang with a loud report; various horrified creatures were seen and heard to scamper away, and next moment a middle-sized orang-utan came crashing through the branches of a tall tree and fell dead with a heavy thud on the ground. the professor's rifle was a breech-loader. he therefore lost no time in re-charging, and hurried forward as if he saw other game, while the rest of the party--except van der kemp, nigel, and gurulam--fell behind to look at and pick up the fallen animal. "look out!" whispered nigel, pointing to a bit of brown hair that he saw among the leaves high overhead. "vere? i cannot see him," whispered the naturalist, whose eyes blazed enough almost to melt his blue glasses. "do _you_ fire, mr roy?" "my gun is charged only with small-shot, for birds. it is useless for such game," said nigel. "ach! i see!" up went the rifle and again the echoes were startled and the animal kingdom astounded, especially that portion at which the professor had fired, for there was immediately a tremendous commotion among the leaves overhead, and another orang of the largest size was seen to cross an open space and disappear among the thick foliage. evidently the creature had been hit, but not severely, for it travelled among the tree-tops at the rate of full five miles an hour, obliging the hunters to run at a rapid pace over the rough ground in order to keep up with it. in its passage from tree to tree the animal showed caution and foresight, selecting only those branches that interlaced with other boughs, so that it made uninterrupted progress, and also had a knack of always keeping masses of thick foliage underneath it so that for some time no opportunity was found of firing another shot. at last, however, it came to one of those dyak roads of which we have made mention, so that it could not easily swing from one tree to another, and the stoppage of rustling among the leaves told that the creature had halted. for some time they gazed up among the branches without seeing anything, but at last, in a place where the leaves seemed to have been thrust aside near the top of one of the highest trees, a great red hairy body was seen, and a huge black face gazed fiercely down at the hunters. verkimier fired instantly, the branches closed, and the monster moved off in another direction. in desperate anxiety nigel fired both barrels of his shot-gun. he might as well have fired at the moon. gurulam was armed only with a spear, and van der kemp, who was not much of a sportsman, carried a similar weapon. the rest of the party were still out of sight in rear looking after the dead mias. it was astonishing how little noise was made by so large an animal as it moved along. more than once the hunters had to halt and listen intently for the rustling of the leaves before they could make sure of being on the right track. at last they caught sight of him again on the top of a very high tree, and the professor got two more shots, but without bringing him down. then he was seen, quite exposed for a moment, walking in a stooping posture along the large limb of a tree, but the hunter was loading at the time and lost the chance. finally he got on to a tree whose top was covered with a dense mass of creepers which completely hid him from view. then he halted and the sound of snapping branches was heard. "you've not much chance of him now," remarked the hermit, as they all stood in a group gazing up into the tree-top. "i have often seen the mias act thus when severely wounded. he is making a nest to lie down and die in." "zen ve must shoot again," said the professor, moving round the tree and looking out for a sign of the animal. at last he seemed to have found what he wanted, for raising his rifle he took a steady aim and fired. a considerable commotion of leaves and fall of broken branches followed. then the huge red body of the mias appeared falling through, but it was not dead, for it caught hold of branches as it fell and hung on as long as it could; then it came crashing down, and alighted on its face with an awful thud. after firing the last shot verkimier had not reloaded, being too intent on watching the dying struggles of the creature, and when it fell with such violence he concluded that it was dead. for the same reason nigel had neglected to reload after firing. thus it happened that when the enormous brute suddenly rose and made for a tree with the evident intention of climbing it, no one was prepared to stop it except the dyak youth gurulam. he chanced to be standing between the mias and the tree. boldly he levelled his spear and made a thrust that would probably have killed the beast, if it had not caught the point of the spear and turned it aside. then with its left paw it caught the youth by the neck, seized his thigh with one of its hind paws, and fixed its teeth in his right shoulder. never was man rendered more suddenly and completely helpless, and death would have been his sure portion before the hunters had reloaded if van der kemp had not leaped forward, and, thrusting his spear completely through the animal's body, killed it on the spot. chapter sixteen. begins with a terrible fight and ends with a hasty flight. the hunt, we need scarcely say, was abruptly terminated, and immediate preparations were made for conveying the wounded man and the two orangs to the dyak village. this was quickly arranged, for the convenient bamboo afforded ready-made poles wherewith to form a litter on which to carry them. the huge creature which had given them so much trouble, and so nearly cost them one human life, was found to be indeed of the largest size. it was not tall but very broad and large. the exact measurements, taken by the professor, who never travelled without his tape-measure, were as follows:-height from heel to top of head, 4 feet 2 inches. outstretched arms across chest, 7 feet 8 inches. width of face, 1 foot 2 inches. girth of arm, 1 foot 3 inches. girth of wrist, 5 inches. the muscular power of such a creature is of course immense, as nigel and the professor had a rare chance of seeing that very evening--of which, more presently. on careful examination by nigel, who possessed some knowledge of surgery, it was found that none of gurulam's bones had been broken, and that although severely lacerated about the shoulders and right thigh, no very serious injury had been done--thanks to the promptitude and vigour of the hermit's spear-thrust. the poor youth, however, was utterly helpless for the time being, and had to be carried home. that afternoon the party reached a village in a remote part of the forest where they resolved to halt for the night, as no other resting-place could be reached before dark. while a supper of rice and fowl was being cooked by moses, van der kemp attended to the wounded man, and nigel accompanied the professor along the banks of the stream on which the village stood. having merely gone out for a stroll they carried no weapons except walking-sticks, intending to go only a short distance. interesting talk, however, on the character and habits of various animals, made them forget time until the diminution of daylight warned them to turn. they were about to do so when they observed, seated in an open place near the stream, the largest orang they had yet seen. it was feeding on succulent shoots by the waterside: a fact which surprised the professor, for his inquiries and experience had hitherto taught him that orangs never eat such food except when starving. the fat and vigorous condition in which this animal was, forbade the idea of starvation. besides, it had brought a durian fruit to the banks of the stream and thrown it down, so that either taste or eccentricity must have induced it to prefer the shoots. perhaps its digestion was out of order and it required a tonic. anyhow, it continued to devour a good many young shoots while our travellers were peeping at it in mute surprise through the bushes. that they had approached so near without being observed was due to the fact that a brawling rapid flowed just there, and the mias was on the other side of the stream. by mutual consent the men crouched to watch its proceedings. they were not a little concerned, however, when the brute seized an overhanging bough, and, with what we may style sluggish agility, swung itself clumsily but lightly to their side of the stream. it picked up the durian which lay there and began to devour it. biting off some of the strong spikes with which that charming fruit is covered, it made a small hole in it, and then with its powerful fingers tore off the thick rind and began to enjoy a feast. now, with monkeys, no less than with men, there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip, for the mias had just begun its meal, or, rather, its dessert, when a crocodile, which the professor had not observed and nigel had mistaken for a log, suddenly opened its jaws and seized the big monkey's leg. the scene that ensued baffles description! grasping the crocodile with its other three hands by nose, throat, and eyes, the mias almost performed the american operation of gouging--digging its powerful thumbs and fingers into every crevice and tearing open its assailant's jaws. the crocodile, taken apparently by surprise, went into dire convulsions, and making for deep water, plunged his foe therein over head and ears. nothing daunted, the mias regained his footing, hauled his victim on to a mudbank, and, jumping on his back began to tear and pommel him. there was nothing of the prize-fighter in the mias. he never clenched his fist--never hit straight from the shoulder, but the buffeting and slapping which he gave resounded all over the place. at last he caught hold of a fold of his opponent's throat, which he began to tear open with fingers and teeth. wrenching himself free with a supreme effort the crocodile shot into the stream and disappeared with a sounding splash of its tail, while the mias waded lamely to the shore with an expression of sulky indignation on its great black face. slowly the creature betook itself to the shelter of the forest, and we need scarcely add that the excited observers of the combat made no attempt to hinder its retreat. it is said that the python is the only other creature that dares to attack the orang-utan, and that when it does so victory usually declares for the man-monkey, which bites and tears it to death. the people of the village in which the hunters rested that night were evidently not accustomed to white men--perhaps had never seen them before--for they crowded round them while at supper and gazed in silent wonder as if they were watching a group of white-faced baboons feeding! they were, however, very hospitable, and placed before their visitors an abundance of their best food without expecting anything in return. brass rings were the great ornament in this village--as they are, indeed, among the dyaks generally. many of the women had their arms completely covered with them, as well as their legs from the ankle to the knee. their petticoats were fastened to a coil of rattan, stained red, round their bodies. they also wore coils of brass wire, girdles of small silver coins, and sometimes broad belts of brass ring-armour. it was break of dawn next morning when our hunters started, bearing their wounded comrade and the dead orangs with them. arrived at the village they found the people in great excitement preparing for defence, as news had been brought to the effect that the pirates had landed at the mouth of the river, joined the disaffected band which awaited them, and that an attack might be expected without delay, for they were under command of the celebrated malay pirate baderoon. nigel observed that the countenance of his friend van der kemp underwent a peculiar change on hearing this man's name mentioned. there was a combination of anxiety, which was unnatural to him, and of resolution, which was one of his chief characteristics. "is baderoon the enemy whom you saw on the islet on our first night out?" asked nigel, during a ramble with the hermit that evening. "yes, and i fear to meet him," replied his friend in a low voice. nigel was surprised. the impression made on his mind since their intercourse was that van der kemp was incapable of the sensation of fear. "is he so very bitter against you?" asked nigel. "very," was the curt reply. "have you reason to think he would take your life if he could?" "i am sure he would. as i told you before, i have thwarted his plans more than once. when he hears that it is i who have warned the orang kaya against him, he will pursue me to the death, and--and i _must not_ meet him." "indeed!" exclaimed nigel, with renewed surprise. but the hermit took no note of the exclamation. anxiety had given place to a frown, and his eyes were fixed on the ground. it seemed to nigel so evident that he did not wish to pursue the subject, that he slightly changed it. "i suppose," he said, "that there is no fear of the dyaks of the village being unable to beat off the pirates now that they have been warned?" "none whatever. indeed, this is so well-known to baderoon that i think he will abandon the attempt. but he will not abandon his designs on me. however, we must wait and see how god will order events." next morning spies returned to the village with the information that the pirates had taken their departure from the mouth of the river. "do you think this is an attempt to deceive us?" asked the chief, turning to van der kemp, when he heard the news. "i think not. and even should it be so, and they should return, you are ready and well able to meet them." "yes, ready--and _well_ able to meet them," replied the orang-kaya, drawing himself up proudly. "did they _all_ go in one direction?" asked van der kemp of the youths who had brought the news. "yes, all went in a body to the north--except one boat which rowed southward." "hmm! i thought so. my friends, listen to me. this is no pretence. they do not mean to attack you now you are on your guard; but that boat which went south contains baderoon, and i feel certain that he means to hang about here till he gets the chance of killing me." "that is well," returned the chief, calmly. "my young men will hunt till they find where he is. then they will bring us the information and van der kemp will go out with a band and slay his enemy." "no, my friend," said the hermit, firmly; "that shall not be. i must get out of his way, and in order to do so will leave you at once, for there will be no further need for my services here." the chief looked at his friend in surprise. "well," he said, "you have a good judgment, and understand your own affairs. but you have already rendered me good service, and i will help you to fly--though such is not the habit of the dyaks! there is a trader's vessel to start for sumatra by the first light of day. will my friend go by that?" "i am grateful," answered the hermit, "but i need no help--save some provisions, for i have my little canoe, which will suffice." as this colloquy was conducted in the native tongue it was unintelligible to nigel, but after the interview with the chief the hermit explained matters to him, and bade moses get ready for a start several hours before dawn. "you see we must do the first part of our trip in the dark, for baderoon has a keen eye and ear. then we will land and sleep all day where the sharpest eye will fail to find us--and, luckily, pirates have been denied the power of scenting out their foes. when night comes we will start again and get out of sight of land before the next dawn." "mine frond," said the professor, turning his moon-like goggles full on the hermit. "i vill go viz you." "i should be only too happy to have your company," returned the hermit, "but my canoe cannot by any contrivance be made to hold more than three." "zat is no matter to me," rejoined verkimier; "you forget zee trader's boat. i vill go in zat to sumatra. ve vill find out zee port he is going to, ant you vill meet me zere. vait for me if i have not arrived--or i vill vait for you. i have longed to visit sumatra, ant vat better fronds could i go viz zan yourselfs?" "but, my good friend," returned the hermit, "my movements may not exactly suit yours. here they are,--you can judge for yourself. first i will, god permitting, cross over to sumatra in my canoe." "but it is t'ree hoondert miles across, if not more!" "no matter--there are plenty of islands on the way. besides, some passing vessel will give me a lift, no doubt. then i will coast along to one of the eastern ports, where i know there is a steamboat loading up about this time. the captain is an old friend of mine. he brought me and my companions the greater part of the way here. if i find him i will ask him to carry my canoe on his return voyage through sunda straits, and leave it with another friend of mine at telok betong on the south coast of sumatra--not far, as you know, from my home in krakatoa. then i will proceed overland to the same place, so that my friend nigel roy may see a little of the country." "ant vat if you do _not_ find your frond zee captain of zee steamer?" "why, then i shall have to adopt some other plan. it is the uncertainty of my movements that makes me think you should not depend on them." "zat is not'ing to me, van der kemp; you joost go as you say. i vill follow ant take my chance. i am use' to ooncertainties ant difficoolties. zey can not influence me." after a good deal of consideration this plan was agreed to. the professor spent part of the night in giving directions about the preserving of his specimens, which he meant to leave at the village in charge of a man whom he had trained to assist him, while van der kemp with his companions lay down to snatch a little sleep before setting out on their voyage, or, as the dyak chief persisted in calling it, their flight! when nigel had slept about five minutes--as he thought--he was awakened by moses. "don't make a noise, massa nadgel! dere may be spies in de camp for all we knows, so we mus' git off like mice. canoe's ready an' massa waitin'; we gib you to de last momint." in a few minutes our hero was sleepily following the negro through the woods to the spot where the canoe was in waiting. the night was very dark. this was in their favour,--at least as regarded discovery. "but how shall we ever see to make our way down stream?" asked nigel of the hermit in a whisper on reaching the place of embarkation. "the current will guide us. besides, i have studied the river with a view to this flight. be careful in getting in. now, moses, are you ready?" "all right, massa." "shove off, then." there was something so eerie in the subdued tones, and stealthy motions, and profound darkness, that nigel could not help feeling as if they were proceeding to commit some black and criminal deed! floating with the current, with as little noise as possible, and having many a narrow escape of running against points of land and sandbanks, they flew swiftly towards the sea, so that dawn found them among the mud flats and the mangrove swamps. here they found a spot where mangrove roots and bushes formed an impenetrable screen, behind which they spent the day, chiefly in sleep, and in absolute security. when darkness set in they again put forth, and cautiously clearing the river's mouth, were soon far out on the open sea, which was fortunately calm at the time, the slight air that blew being in their favour. "we are safe from pursuit now," said van der kemp in a tone of satisfaction, as they paused for a breathing spell. "o massa!" exclaimed moses at that moment, in a voice of consternation; "we's forgotten spinkie!" "so we have!" returned the hermit in a voice of regret so profound that nigel could scarce restrain a laugh in spite of his sympathy. but spinkie had not forgotten himself. observing probably, that these night expeditions were a change in his master's habits, he had kept an unusually watchful eye on the canoe, so that when it was put in the water, he had jumped on board unseen in the darkness, and had retired to the place where he usually slept under hatches when the canoe travelled at night. awakened from refreshing sleep at the sound of his name, spinkie emerged suddenly from the stern-manhole, right under the negro's nose, and with a sleepy "oo, oo!" gazed up into his face. "ho! dare you is, you mis'rible hyperkrite!" exclaimed moses, kissing the animal in the depth of his satisfaction. "he's here, massa, all right. now, you go to bed agin, you small bundle ob hair." the creature retired obediently to its place, and laying its little cheek on one of its small hands, committed itself to repose. van der kemp was wrong when he said they were safe. a pirate scout had seen the canoe depart. being alone and distant from the rendezvous of his commander, some time elapsed before the news could be conveyed to him. when baderoon was at length informed and had sailed out to sea in pursuit, returning daylight showed him that his intended victim had escaped. chapter seventeen. tells of the joys, etcetera, of the professor in the sumatran forests, also of a catastrophe averted. fortunately the weather continued fine at first, and the light wind fair, so that the canoe skimmed swiftly over the wide sea that separates borneo from sumatra. sometimes our travellers proceeded at night when the distance between islets compelled them to do so. at other times they landed on one of these isles when opportunity offered to rest and replenish the water-casks. we will not follow them step by step in this voyage, which occupied more than a week, and during which they encountered without damage several squalls in which a small open boat could not have lived. reaching at last the great island of sumatra--which, like its neighbour borneo, is larger in extent than the british islands--they coasted along southwards, without further delay than was absolutely necessary for rest and refreshment, until they reached a port where they found the steamer of which they were in search just about to start on its return voyage. van der kemp committed his little craft to the care of the captain, who, after vainly advising his friend to take a free passage with him to the straits of sunda, promised to leave the canoe in passing at telok betong. we may add that spinkie was most unwillingly obliged to accompany the canoe. "now, we must remain here till our friend verkimier arrives," said the hermit, turning to nigel after they had watched the steamer out of sight. "i suppose we must," said nigel, who did not at all relish the delay--"of course we must," he added with decision. "i sees no `ob course' about it, massa nadgel," observed moses, who never refrained from offering his opinion from motives of humility, or of respect for his employer. "my 'dvice is to go on an' let de purfesser foller." "but i promised to wait for him," said the hermit, with one of his kindly, half-humorous glances, "and you know i _never_ break my promises." "das true, massa, but you di'n't promise to wait for him for eber an' eber!" "not quite; but of course i meant that i would wait a reasonable time." the negro appeared to meditate for some moments on the extent of a "reasonable" time, for his huge eyes became huger as he gazed frowningly at the ground. then he spoke. "a `reasonable' time, massa, is such an oncertain time--wariable, so to speak, accordin' to the mind that t'inks upon it! hows'eber, if you's _promised_, ob coorse dat's an end ob it; for w'en a man promises, he's bound to stick to it." such devotion to principle was appropriately rewarded the very next day by the arrival of the trading prahu in which the professor had embarked. "we did not expect you nearly so soon," said nigel, as they heartily shook hands. "it vas because zee vind freshen soon after ve set sail--ant, zen, ve made a straight line for zis port, w'ereas you possibly crossed over, ant zen push down zee coast." "exactly so, and that accounts for your overtaking us," said the hermit. "is that the lad baso i see down there with the crew of the prahu?" "it is. you must have some strainch power of attracting frondship, van der kemp, for zee poor yout' is so fond of you zat he began to entreat me to take him, ant he says he vill go on vit zee traders if you refuse to let him follow you." "well, he may come. indeed, we shall be the better for his services, for i had intended to hire a man here to help to carry our things. much of our journeying, you see, must be done on foot." baso, to his great joy, thus became one of the party. we pass over the next few days, which were spent in arranging and packing their provisions, etcetera, in such a way that each member of the party should carry on his shoulders a load proportioned to his strength. in this arrangement the professor, much against his will, was compelled to accept the lightest load in consideration of his liability to dart off in pursuit of creeping things and "bootterflies" at a moment's notice. the least damageable articles were also assigned to him in consideration of his tendency at all times to tumble into bogs and stumble over fallen trees, and lose himself, and otherwise get into difficulties. we also pass over part of the journey from the coast, and plunge with our travellers at once into the interior of sumatra. one evening towards sunset they reached the brow of an eminence which, being rocky, was free from much wood, and permitted of a wide view of the surrounding country. it was covered densely with virgin forest, and they ascended the eminence in order that the hermit, who had been there before, might discover a forest road which led to a village some miles off, where they intended to put up for the night. having ascertained his exact position, van der kemp led his followers down to this footpath, which led through the dense forest. the trees by which they were surrounded were varied and magnificent-some of them rising clear up seventy and eighty feet without a branch, many of them had superb leafy crowns, under any one of which hundreds of men might have found shelter. others had trunks and limbs warped and intertwined with a wild entanglement of huge creepers, which hung in festoons and loops as if doing their best to strangle their supports, themselves being also encumbered, or adorned, with ferns and orchids, and delicate twining epiphytes. a forest of smaller trees grew beneath this shade, and still lower down were thorny shrubs, rattan-palms, broad-leaved bushes, and a mass of tropical herbage which would have been absolutely impenetrable but for the native road or footpath along which they travelled. "a most suitable abode for tigers, i should think," remarked nigel to the hermit, who walked in front of him--for they marched in single file. "are there any in these parts?" "ay, plenty. indeed, it is because i don't like sleeping in their company that i am so anxious to reach a village." "are zey dangerows?" asked the professor, who followed close on nigel. "well, they are not safe!" replied the hermit. "i had an adventure with one on this very road only two years ago." "indeed! vat vas it?" asked the professor, whose appetite for anecdote was insatiable. "do tell us about it." "with pleasure. it was on a pitch-dark night that it occurred. i had occasion to go to a neighbouring village at a considerable distance, and borrowed a horse from a friend--" "anozer frond!" exclaimed the professor; "vy, van der kemp, zee country seems to be svarming vid your fronds." "i have travelled much in it and made many friends," returned the hermit. "the horse that i borrowed turned out to be a very poor one, and went lame soon after i set out. business kept me longer than i expected, and it was getting dark before i started to return. ere long the darkness became so intense that i could scarcely see beyond the horse's head, and could not distinguish the path. i therefore let the animal find his own way--knowing that he would be sure to do so, for he was going home. as we jogged along, i felt the horse tremble. then he snorted and came to a dead stop, with his feet planted firmly on the ground. i was quite unarmed, but arms would have been useless in the circumstances. suddenly, and fortunately, the horse reared, and next moment a huge dark object shot close past my face--so close that its fur brushed my cheek--as it went with a heavy thud into the jungle on the other side. i knew that it was a tiger and felt that my life, humanly speaking, was due to the rearing of the poor horse." "are ve near to zee spote?" asked the professor, glancing from side to side in some anxiety. "not far from it!" replied the hermit, "but there is not much fear of such an attack in broad daylight and with so large a party." "ve are not a very large party," returned the professor. "i do not zink i would fear much to face a tiger vid my goot rifle, but i do not relish his choomping on me unavares. push on, please." they pushed on and reached the village a little before nightfall. hospitality is a characteristic of the natives of sumatra. the travellers were received with open arms, so to speak, and escorted to the public building which corresponds in some measure to our western town-halls. it was a huge building composed largely of bamboo wooden-planks and wicker-work, with a high thatched roof, and it stood, like all the other houses, on posts formed of great tree-stems which rose eight or ten feet from the ground. "you have frunds here too, i zink," said verkimier to the hermit, as they ascended the ladder leading to the door of the hall. "well, yes--i believe i have two or three." there could be no doubt upon that point, unless the natives were consummate hypocrites, for they welcomed van der kemp and his party with effusive voice, look and gesture, and immediately spread before them part of a splendid supper which had just been prepared; for they had chanced to arrive on a festive occasion. "i do believe," said nigel in some surprise, "that they are lighting up the place with petroleum lamps!" "ay, and you will observe that they are lighting the lamps with congreve matches--at least with matches of the same sort, supplied by the dutch and chinese. many of their old customs have passed away, (among others that of procuring fire by friction), and now we have the appliances of western civilisation to replace them." "no doubt steam is zee cause of zee change," remarked the professor. "that," said nigel, "has a good deal to do with most things--from the singing of a tea-kettle to the explosion of a volcano; though, doubtless, the commercial spirit which is now so strong among men is the proximate cause." "surely dese people mus' be reech," said the professor, looking round him with interest. "they are rich enough--and well off in every respect, save that they don't know very well how to make use of their riches. as you see, much of their wealth is lavished on their women in the shape of ornaments, most of which are of solid gold and silver." there could be little doubt about that, for, besides the ornaments proper, such as the bracelets and rings with which the arms of the young women were covered, and earrings, etcetera,--all of solid gold and native-made--there were necklaces and collars composed of spanish and american dollars and british half-crowns and other coins. in short, these sumatran young girls carried much of the wealth of their parents on their persons, and were entitled to wear it until they should be relegated to the ranks of the married--the supposed-to-be unfrivolous, and the evidently unadorned! as this was a region full of birds, beasts, and insects of many kinds, it was resolved, for the professor's benefit, that a few days should be spent in it. accordingly, the village chief set apart a newly-built house for the visitors' accommodation, and a youth named grogo was appointed to wait on them and act as guide when they wished to traverse any part of the surrounding forest. the house was on the outskirts of the village, a matter of satisfaction to the professor, as it enabled him at once to plunge into his beloved work unobserved by the youngsters. it also afforded him a better opportunity of collecting moths, etcetera, by the simple method of opening his window at night. a mat or wicker-work screen divided the hut into two apartments, one of which was entirely given over to the naturalist and his _materiel_. "i vil begin at vonce," said the eager man, on taking possession. and he kept his word by placing his lamp on a table in a conspicuous position, so that it could be well seen from the outside. then he threw his window wide open, as a general invitation to the insect world to enter! moths, flying beetles, and other creatures were not slow to accept the invitation. they entered by twos, fours, sixes--at last by scores, insomuch that the room became uninhabitable except by the man himself, and his comrades soon retired to their own compartment, leaving him to carry on his work alone. "you enjoy this sort of thing?" said nigel, as he was about to retire. "enchoy it? yes--it is `paradise regained!'" he pinned a giant moth at the moment and gazed triumphant through his blue glasses. "`paradise lost' to the moth, anyhow," said nigel with a nod, as he bade him good-night, and carefully closed the wicker door to check the incursions of uncaptured specimens. being rather tired with the day's journey, he lay down on a mat beside the hermit, who was already sound asleep. but our hero found that sleep was not easily attainable so close to an inexhaustible enthusiast, whose every step produced a rattling of the bamboo floor, and whose unwearied energy enabled him to hunt during the greater part of the night. at length slumber descended on nigel's spirit, and he lay for some time in peaceful oblivion, when a rattling crash awoke him. sitting up he listened, and came to the conclusion that the professor had upset some piece of furniture, for he could hear him distinctly moving about in a stealthy manner, as if on tip-toe, giving vent to a grumble of dissatisfaction every now and then. "what _can_ he be up to now, i wonder?" murmured the disturbed youth, sleepily. the hermit, who slept through all noises with infantine simplicity, made no answer, but a peculiar snort from the negro, who lay not far off on his other side, told that he was struggling with a laugh. "hallo, moses! are you awake?" asked nigel, in a low voice. "ho yes, massa nadgel. i's bin wakin' a good while, larfin' fit to bu'st my sides. de purfesser's been a-goin' on like a mad renoceros for more'n an hour. he's arter suthin', which he can't ketch. listen! you hear 'im goin' round an' round on his tip-toes. dere goes anoder chair. i only hope he won't smash de lamp an' set de house a-fire." "vell, vell; i've missed him zee tence time. nevair mind. have at you vonce more, you aggravating leetle zing!" thus the unsuccessful man relieved his feelings, in a growling tone, as he continued to move about on tip-toe, rattling the bamboo flooring in spite of his careful efforts to move quietly. "why, verkimier, what are you after?" cried nigel at last, loud enough to be heard through the partition. "ah--i am sorry to vake you," he replied, without, however, suspending his hunt. "i have tried my best to make no noice, but zee bamboo floor is--hah! i have 'im at last!" "what is it?" asked nigel, becoming interested. "von leetle bat. he come in vis a moss--" "a what?" "a moss--a big, beautiful moss." "oh! a moth--well?" "vell, i shut zee window, capture zee moss, ant zen i hunt zee bat with my bootterfly-net for an hour, but have only captured him zis moment. ant he is--sooch a--sooch a splendid specimen of a _very_ rar' species, zee _caelops frizii_--gootness! zere goes zee lamp!" the crash that followed told too eloquently of the catastrophe, and broke the slumbers even of the hermit. the whole party sprang up, and entered the naturalist's room with a light, for the danger from fire was great. fortunately the lamp had been extinguished in its fall, so that, beyond an overpowering smell of petroleum and the destruction of a good many specimens, no serious results ensued. after securing the _caelops frithii_, removing the shattered glass, wiping up the oil, and putting chairs and tables on their legs, the professor was urged to go to bed,--advice which, in his excitement, he refused to take until it was suggested that, if he did not, he would be totally unfit for exploring the forest next day. "vy, it is next day already!" he exclaimed, consulting his watch. "just so. now _do_ turn in." "i vill." and he did. chapter eighteen. a trying ordeal--danger threatens and flight again resolved on. when the early birds are singing, and the early mists are scattering, and the early sun is rising to gladden, as with the smile of god, all things with life in earth and sea and sky--then it is that early-rising man goes forth to reap the blessings which his lazy fellow-man fails to appreciate or enjoy. among the early risers that morning was our friend moses. gifted with an inquiring mind, the negro had proceeded to gratify his propensities by making inquiries of a general nature, and thus had acquired, among other things, the particular information that the river on the banks of which the village stood was full of fish. now, moses was an ardent angler. "i lub fishing," he said one day to nigel when in a confidential mood; "i can't tell you how much i lub it. seems to me dat der's nuffin' like it for proggin' a man!" when nigel demanded an explanation of what proggin' meant, moses said he wasn't quite sure. he could "understand t'ings easy enough though he couldn't allers 'splain 'em." on the whole he thought that prog had a compound meaning--it was a combination of poke and pull "wid a flavour ob ticklin' about it," and was rather pleasant. "you see," he continued, "when a leetle fish plays wid your hook, it progs your intellec' an' tickles up your fancy a leetle. when he grabs you, dat progs your hopes a good deal. when a big fish do de same, dat progs you deeper. an' when a real walloper almost pulls you into de ribber, dat progs your heart up into your t'roat, where it stick till you land him." with surroundings and capacities such as we have attempted to describe, it is no wonder that moses sat down on the river-bank and enjoyed himself, in company with a little malay boy, who lent him his bamboo rod and volunteered to show him the pools. but there were no particular pools in that river. it was a succession of pools, and fish swarmed in all of them. there were at least fifteen different species which nothing short of an ichthyologist could enumerate correctly. the line used by moses was a single fibre of bark almost as strong as gut; the hook was a white tinned weapon like a small anchor, supplied by traders, and meant originally for service in the deep sea. the bait was nothing in particular, but, as the fish were not particular, that was of no consequence. the reader will not be surprised, then, when we state that in an hour or so moses had had his heart progged considerably and had filled a large bag with superb fish, with which he returned, perspiring, beaming, and triumphant to breakfast. after breakfast the whole party went forth for what verkimier styled "zee business of zee day," armed with guns, spears, botanical boxes, bags, wallets, and butterfly-nets. in the immediate neighbourhood of the village large clearings in the forest were planted as coffee gardens, each separated from the other for the purpose of isolation, for it seems that coffee, like the potato, is subject to disease. being covered with scarlet flowers these gardens had a fine effect on the landscape when seen from the heights behind the village. passing through the coffee grounds the party was soon in the tangled thickets of underwood through which many narrow paths had been cut. we do not intend to drag our readers through bog and brake during the whole of this day's expedition; suffice it to say that the collection of specimens made, of all kinds, far surpassed the professor's most sanguine expectations, and, as for the others, those who could more or less intelligently sympathise did so, while those who could not were content with the reflected joy of the man of science. at luncheon--which they partook of on the river-bank, under a magnificently umbrageous tree--plans for the afternoon were fixed. "we have kept together long enough, i think," said van der kemp. "those of us who have guns must shoot something to contribute to the national feast on our return." "vell, let us divide," assented the amiable naturalist. indeed he was so happy that he would have assented to anything--except giving up the hunt. "von party can go von vay, anoder can go anoder vay. i vill continue mine business. zee place is more of a paradise zan zee last. ve must remain two or tree veeks." the hermit glanced at nigel. "i fear it is impossible for me to do so," said the latter. "i am pledged to return to batavia within a specified time, and from the nature of the country i perceive it will take all the time at my disposal to reach that place so as to redeem my pledge." "ha! zat is a peety. vell, nevair mind. let us enchoy to-day. com', ve must not vaste more of it in zee mere gratification of our animal natures." acting on this broad hint they all rose and scattered in different groups--the professor going off ahead of his party in his eager haste, armed only with a butterfly-net. now, as the party of natives,--including baso, who carried the professor's biggest box, and grogo, who bore his gun,--did not overtake their leader, they concluded that he must have joined one of the other parties, and, as it was impossible to ascertain which of them, they calmly went hunting on their own account! thus it came to pass that the man of science was soon lost in the depths of that primeval forest! but little cared the enthusiast for that--or, rather, little did he realise it. with perspiration streaming from every pore--except where the pores were stopped by mud--he dashed after "bootterflies" with the wisdom of solomon and the eagerness of a school-boy, and not until the shades of evening began to descend did his true position flash upon him. then, with all the vigour of a powerful intellect and an enlightened mind, he took it in at a glance--and came to a sudden halt. "vat _shall_ i do?" he asked. not even an echo answered, and the animal kingdom was indifferent. "lat me see. i have been vandering avay all dis time. now, i have not'ing to do but right-about-face and vander back." could reasoning be clearer or more conclusive? he acted on it at once, but, after wandering back a long time, he did not arrive at any place or object that he had recognised on the outward journey. meanwhile, as had been appointed, the rest of the party met a short time before dark at the rendezvous where they had lunched. "where is the professor, baso?" asked van der kemp as he came up. baso did not know, and looked at grogo, who also professed ignorance, but both said they thought the professor had gone with nigel. "i thought he was with _you_," said the latter, looking anxiously at the hermit. "he's hoed an' lost his-self!" cried moses with a look of concern. van der kemp was a man of action. "not a moment to lose," he said, and organised the band into several smaller parties, each led by a native familiar with the jungle. "let this be our meeting-place," he said, as they were on the point of starting off together; "and let those of us who have fire-arms discharge them occasionally." meanwhile, the professor was walking at full speed in what he supposed to be--and in truth was--"back." he was not alone, however. in the jungle close beside him a tiger prowled along with the stealthy, lithe, sneaking activity of a cat. by that time it was not absolutely dark, but the forest had assumed a very sombre appearance. suddenly the tiger made a tremendous bound on to the track right in front of the man. whether it had miscalculated the position of its intended victim or not we cannot say, but it crouched for another spring. the professor, almost instinctively, crouched also, and, being a brave man, stared the animal straight in the face without winking! and so the two crouched there, absolutely motionless and with a fixed glare, such as we have often seen in a couple of tom-cats who were mutually afraid to attack each other. what the tiger thought at that critical and crucial moment we cannot tell, but the professor's thoughts were swift, varied, tremendous-almost sublime, and once or twice even ridiculous! "vat shall i do? deaf stares me in zee face! no veapons! only a net, ant he is _not_ a bootterfly! science, adieu! home of my chilthood, farevell! my moder--hah! zee fusees!" such were a few of the thoughts that burned but found no utterance. the last thought however led to action. verkimier, foolish man! was a smoker. he carried fusees. slowly, with no more apparent motion than the hour-hand on the face of a watch, he let his hand glide into his coat-pocket and took out the box of fusees. the tiger seemed uneasy, but the bold man never for one instant ceased to glare, and no disturbed expression or hasty movement gave the tiger the slightest excuse for a spring. bringing the box up by painfully slow degrees in front of his nose the man opened it, took out a fusee, struck it, and revealed the blue binoculars! the effect on the tiger was instantaneous and astounding. with a demi-volt or backward somersault it hurled itself into the jungle whence it had come with a terrific roar of alarm, and its tail--undoubtedly though not evidently--between its legs! heaving a deep, long-drawn sigh, the professor stood up and wiped his forehead. then he listened intently. "a shote, if mine ears deceive me not!" he said, and listened again. he was right. another shot, much nearer, was heard, and he replied with a shout to which joy as much as strength of lung gave fervour. hurrying along the track--not without occasional side-glances at the jungle--the hero was soon again in the midst of his friends; and it was not until his eyes refused to remain open any longer that he ceased to entertain an admiring circle that night with the details of his face-to-face meeting with a tiger. but verkimier's anticipations in regard to that paradise were not to be realised. the evil passions of a wicked man, with whom he had personally nothing whatever to do, interfered with his plans. in the middle of the night a native malay youth named babu arrived at the village and demanded an interview with the chief. that worthy, after the interview, conducted the youth to the hut where his visitors lived, and, rousing van der kemp without disturbing the others, bade him listen to what the young man had to say. an expression of great anxiety overspread the hermit's usually placid countenance while babu was speaking. "it is fate!" he murmured, as if communing with himself--then, after a pause--"no, there is no such thing as fate. it is, it must be, the will of god. go, young man, mention this to no one. i thank you for the kindness which made you take so long a journey for my sake." "it is not kindness, it is love that makes me serve you," returned the lad earnestly. "every one loves you, van der kemp, because that curse of mankind, _revenge_, has no place in your breast." "strange! how little man does know or guess the secret thoughts of his fellow!" said the hermit with one of his pitiful smiles. "_revenge_ no place in me!--but i thank you, boy, for the kind thought as well as the effort to save me. my life is not worth much to any one. it will not matter, i think, if my enemy should succeed. go now, babu, and god be with you!" "he will surely succeed if you do not leave this place at once," rejoined the youth, in a tone of decision. "baderoon is furious at all times. he is worse than ever just now, because you have thwarted his plans--so it is said--very often. if he knew that _i_ am now thwarting them also, he would hunt me to death. i will not leave you till you are safe beyond his reach." the hermit looked at the lad with kindly surprise. "how comes it," he said, "that you are so much interested in me? i remember seeing you two years ago, but have no recollection of having done you any service." "do you not remember that my mother was ill when you spent a night in our hut, and my little sister was dying? you nursed her, and tried your best to save her, and when you could not save her, and she died, you wept as if the child had been your own. i do not forget that, van der kemp. sympathy is of more value than service." "strangely mistaken again!" murmured the hermit. "who can know the workings of the human mind! self was mixed with my feelings-profoundly--yet my sympathy with you and your mother was sincere." "we never doubted that," returned babu with a touch of surprise in his tone. "well now, what do you propose to do, as you refuse to leave me?" asked the hermit with some curiosity. "i will go on with you to the next village. it is a large one. the chief man there is my uncle, who will aid me, i know, in any way i wish. i will tell him what i know and have heard of the pirate's intention, of which i have proof. he will order baderoon to be arrested on suspicion when he arrives. then we will detain him till you are beyond his reach. that is not unjust." "true--and i am glad to know by your last words that you are sensitive about the justice of what you propose to do. indifference to pure and simple justice is the great curse of mankind. it is not indeed the root, but it is the fruit of our sins. the suspicion that detains baderoon is more than justified, for i could bring many witnesses to prove that he has vowed to take my life, and i _know_ him to be a murderer." at breakfast-time van der kemp announced to his friends his intention of quitting the village at once, and gave an account of his interview with the malay lad during the night. this, of course, reconciled them to immediate departure,--though, in truth, the professor was the only one who required to be reconciled. "it is _very_ misfortunate," he remarked with a sigh, which had difficulty in escaping through a huge mass of fish and rice. "you see zee vonderful variety of ornizological specimens i could find here, ant zee herbareum, not to mention zee magnificent _amblypodia eumolpus_ ant ozer bootterflies--ach!--a leetle mor' feesh if you please. zanks. my frond, it is a great sacrifice, but i vill go avay viz you, for i could not joostify myself if i forzook you, ant i cannot ask you to remain vile your life is in dancher." "i appreciate your sentiments and sacrifice thoroughly," said the hermit. "so does i," said moses, helping himself to coffee; "but ob course if i didn't it would be all de same. pass de venison, massa nadgel, an' don't look as if you was goin' to gib in a'ready. it spoils my appetite." "you will have opportunities," continued van der kemp, addressing the professor, "to gather a good many specimens as we go along. besides, if you will consent to honour my cave in krakatoa with a visit, i promise you a hearty welcome and an interesting field of research. you have no idea what a variety of species in all the branches of natural history my little island contains." hereupon the hermit proceeded to enter into details of the flora, fauna, and geology of his island-home, and to expatiate in such glowing language on its arboreal and herbal wealth and beauty, that the professor became quite reconciled to immediate departure. "but how," he asked, "am i to get zere ven ve reach zee sea-coast? for your canoe holds only t'ree, as you have told me." "there are plenty of boats to be had. besides, i can send over my own boat for you to the mainland. the distance is not great." "goot. zat vill do. i am happay now." "so," remarked nigel as he went off with moses to pack up, "his `paradise regained' is rather speedily to be changed into paradise forsaken! `off wi' the old love and on wi' the new.' `the expulsive power of a new affection!'" "das true, massa nadgel," observed moses, who entertained profound admiration for anything that sounded like proverbial philosophy. "de purfesser am an affectionit creeter. 'pears to me dat he lubs de whole creation. he kills an' tenderly stuffs 'most eberyt'ing he kin lay hands on. if he could only lay hold ob baderoon an' stuff an' stick him in a moozeum, he'd do good service to my massa an' also to de whole ob mankind." chapter nineteen. a terrible murder and a strange revelation. after letting the chief of the village know that the news just received rendered it necessary that they should proceed at once to the next town--but carefully refraining from going into particulars lest baderoon should by any means be led to suspect their intentions--the party started off about daybreak under the guidance of the malay youth babu. anxious as he was that no evil should befall his friend, nigel could not help wondering that a man of such a calm spirit, and such unquestionable courage, should be so anxious to escape from this pirate. "i can't understand it at all," he said to moses, as they walked through the forest together a little in rear of the party. "no more kin i, massa nadgel," answered the negro, with one of those shakes of the head and glares of solemn perplexity with which he was wont to regard matters that were too deep for him. "surely van der kemp is well able to take care of himself against any single foe." "das true, massa nadgel,--'gainst any half-dozen foes as well." "fear, therefore, cannot be the cause." the negro received this with a quiet chuckle. "no," said he. "massa nebber knowed fear, but ob dis you may be bery sure, massa's _allers_ got good reasons for what he does. one t'ing's sartin, i neber saw him do nuffin' for fear, nor revenge, nor anger, no, nor yet for fun; allers for lub--and," added moses, after a moment's thought, "sometimes for money, when we goes on a tradin' 'spidition--but he don't make much account ob dat." "well, perhaps the mystery may be cleared up in time," said nigel, as they closed up with the rest of the party, who had halted for a short rest and some refreshment. this last consisted largely of fruit, which was abundant everywhere, and a little rice with water from sparkling springs to wash it down. in the afternoon they reached the town--a large one, with a sort of market-place in the centre, which at the time of their arrival was crowded with people. strangers, especially europeans, were not often seen in that region, so that van der kemp and his friends at once attracted a considerable number of followers. among these was one man who followed them about very unobtrusively, usually hanging well in rear of the knot of followers whose curiosity was stronger than their sense of propriety. this man wore a broad sun-hat and had a bandage round his head pulled well over one eye, as if he had recently met with an accident or been wounded. he was unarmed, with the exception of the kriss, or long knife, which every man in that region carries. this was no other than baderoon himself, who had outwitted his enemies, had somehow discovered at least part of their plans, and had hurried on in advance of them to the town, where, disguising himself as described, he awaited their arrival. babu conducted his friends to the presence of his kinsman the chief man of the town, and, having told his story, received a promise that the pirate should be taken up when he arrived and put in prison. meanwhile he appointed to the party a house in which to spend the night. baderoon boldly accompanied the crowd that followed them, saw the house, glanced between the heads of curious natives who watched the travellers while eating their supper, and noted the exact spot on the floor of the building where van der kemp threw down his mat and blanket, thus taking possession of his intended couch! he did not, however, see that the hermit afterwards shifted his position a little, and that babu, desiring to be near his friend, lay down on the vacated spot. in the darkest hour of the night, when even the owls and bats had sought repose, the pirate captain stole out of the brake in which he had concealed himself, and, kriss in hand, glided under the house in which his enemy lay. native houses, as we have elsewhere explained, are usually built on posts, so that there is an open space under the floors, which is available as a store or lumber-room. it is also unfortunately available for evil purposes. the bamboo flooring is not laid so closely but that sounds inside may be heard distinctly by any one listening below. voices were heard by the pirate as he approached, which arrested his steps. they were those of van der kemp and nigel engaged in conversation. baderoon knew that as long as his enemy was awake and conversing he might probably be sitting up and not in a position suitable to his fell purpose. he crouched therefore among some lumber like a tiger abiding its time. "why are you so anxious not to meet this man?" asked nigel, who was resolved, if possible without giving offence, to be at the bottom of the mystery. for some moments the hermit was silent, then in a constrained voice he said slowly--"because revenge burns fiercely in my breast. i have striven to crush it, but cannot. i fear to meet him lest i kill him." "has he, then, done you such foul wrong?" "ay, he has cruelly--fiendishly--done the worst he could. he robbed me of my only child--but i may not talk of it. the unholy desire for vengeance burns more fiercely when i talk. `vengeance is mine, saith the lord.' my constant prayer is that i may not meet him. good-night." as the hermit thus put an abrupt end to the conversation he lay down and drew his blanket over him. nigel followed his example, wondering at what he had heard, and in a few minutes their steady regular breathing told that they were both asleep. then baderoon advanced and counted the bamboo planks from the side towards the centre of the house. when looking between the heads of the people he had counted the same planks above. standing under one he looked up, listened intently for a few seconds, and drew his kriss. the place was almost pitch-dark, yet the blade caught a faint gleam from without, which it reflected on the pirate's face as he thrust the long keen weapon swiftly, yet deliberately, between the bamboos. a shriek, that filled those who heard it with a thrill of horror, rang out on the silent night. at the same moment a gush of warm blood poured over the murderer's face before he could leap aside. instant uproar and confusion burst out in the neighbourhood, and spread like wildfire until the whole town was aroused. when a light was procured and the people crowded into the hut where the strangers lay, van der kemp was found on his knees holding the hand of poor babu, who was at his last gasp. a faint smile, that yet seemed to have something of gladness in it, flitted across his pale face as he raised himself, grasped the hermit's hand and pressed it to his lips. then the fearful drain of blood took effect and he fell back--dead. one great convulsive sob burst from the hermit as he leaped up, drew his knife, and, with a fierce glare in his blue eyes, rushed out of the room. vengeance would indeed have been wreaked on baderoon at that moment if the hermit had caught him, but, as might have been expected, the murderer was nowhere to be found. he was hid in the impenetrable jungle, which it was useless to enter in the darkness of night. when daybreak enabled the towns-people to undertake an organised search, no trace of him could be discovered. flight, personal safety, formed no part of the pirate's plan. the guilty man had reached that state of depravity which, especially among the natives of that region, borders close on insanity. while the inhabitants of the village were hunting far a-field for him, baderoon lay concealed among some lumber in rear of a hut awaiting his opportunity. it was not very long of coming. towards afternoon the various searching parties began to return, and all assembled in the market-place, where the chief man, with the hermit and his party, were assembled discussing the situation. "i will not now proceed until we have buried poor babu," said van der kemp. "besides, baderoon will be sure to return. i will meet him now." "i do not agree viz you, mine frond," said the professor. "zee man is not a fool zough he is a villain. he knows vat avaits him if he comes." "he will not come openly," returned the hermit, "but he will not now rest till he has killed me." even as he spoke a loud shouting, mingled with shrieks and yells, was heard at the other end of the main street. the sounds of uproar appeared to approach, and soon a crowd of people was seen rushing towards the market-place, uttering cries of fear in which the word "amok" was heard. at the sound of that word numbers of people-specially women and children--turned and fled from the scene, but many of the men stood their ground, and all of them drew their krisses. among the latter of course were the white men and their native companions. we have already referred to that strange madness, to which the malays seem to be peculiarly liable, during the paroxysms of which those affected by it rush in blind fury among their fellows, slaying right and left. from the terrified appearance of some of the approaching crowd and the maniac shouts in rear, it was evident that a man thus possessed of the spirit of amok was venting his fury on them. another minute and he drew near, brandishing a kriss that dripped with the gore of those whom he had already stabbed. catching sight of the white men he made straight for them. he was possessed of only one eye, but that one seemed to concentrate and flash forth the fire of a dozen eyes, while his dishevelled hair and blood-stained face and person gave him an appalling aspect. "it is baderoon!" said van der kemp in a subdued but stern tone. nigel, who stood next to him, glanced at the hermit. his face was deadly pale; his eyes gleamed with a strange almost unearthly light, and his lips were firmly compressed. with a sudden nervous motion, unlike his usually calm demeanour, he drew his long knife, and to nigel's surprise cast it away from him. at that moment a woman who came in the madman's way was stabbed by him to the heart and rent the air with her dying shriek as she fell. no one could have saved her, the act was so quickly done. van der kemp would have leaped to her rescue, but it was too late; besides, there was no need to do so now, for the maniac, recognising his enemy, rushed at him with a shout that sounded like a triumphant yell. seeing this, and that his friend stood unarmed, as well as unmoved, regarding baderoon with a fixed gaze, nigel stepped a pace in advance to protect him, but van der kemp seized his arm and thrust him violently aside. next moment the pirate was upon him with uplifted knife, but the hermit caught his wrist, and with a heave worthy of samson hurled him to the ground, where he lay for a moment quite stunned. before he could recover, the natives, who had up to this moment held back, sprang upon the fallen man with revengeful yells, and a dozen knives were about to be buried in his breast when the hermit sprang forward to protect his enemy from their fury. but the man whose wife had been the last victim came up at the moment and led an irresistible rush which bore back the hermit as well as his comrades, who had crowded round him, and in another minute the maniac was almost hacked to pieces. "i did not kill him--thank god!" muttered van der kemp as he left the market-place, where the relatives of those who had been murdered were wailing over their dead. after this event even the professor was anxious to leave the place, so that early next morning the party resumed their journey, intending to make a short stay at the next village. failing to reach it that night, however, they were compelled to encamp in the woods. fortunately they came upon a hill which, although not very high, was sufficiently so, with the aid of watch-fires, to protect them from tigers. from the summit, which rose just above the tree-tops, they had a magnificent view of the forest. many of the trees were crowned with flowers among which the setting sun shone for a brief space with glorious effulgence. van der kemp and nigel stood together apart from the others, contemplating the wonderful scene. "what must be the dwelling-place of the creator himself when his footstool is so grand?" said the hermit in a low voice. "that is beyond mortal ken," said nigel. "true--true. eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor mind conceived it. yet, methinks, the glory of the terrestrial was meant to raise our souls to the contemplation of the celestial." "and yet how signally it has failed in the case of baderoon," returned nigel, with a furtive glance at the hermit, whose countenance had quite recovered its look of quiet simple dignity. "would it be presumptuous if i were to ask why it is that this pirate had such bitter enmity against you?" "it is no secret," answered the hermit, in a sad tone. "the truth is, i had discovered some of his nefarious plans, and more than once have been the means of preventing his intended deeds of violence--as in the case of the dyaks whom we have so lately visited. besides, the man had done me irreparable injury, and it is one of the curious facts of human experience that sometimes those who injure us hate us because they have done so." "may i venture to ask for a fuller account of the injury he did you?" said nigel with some hesitancy. for some moments the hermit did not answer. he was evidently struggling with some suppressed feeling. turning a look full upon his young friend, he at length spoke in a low sad voice--"i have never mentioned my grief to mortal man since that day when it pleased god to draw a cloud of thickest darkness over my life. but, nigel, there is that in you which encourages confidence. i confess that more than once i have been tempted to tell you of my grief--for human hearts crave intelligent sympathy. my faithful servant and friend moses is, no doubt, intensely sympathetic, but--but--well, i cannot understand, still less can i explain, why i shrink from making a confidant of him. certainly it is not because of his colour, for i hold that the _souls_ of men are colourless!" "i need not trouble you with the story of my early life," continued the hermit. "i lost my dear wife a year after our marriage, and was left with a little girl whose lovely face became more and more like that of her mother every day she lived. my soul was wrapped up in the child. after three years i went with her as a passenger to batavia. on the way we were attacked by a couple of pirate junks. baderoon was the pirate captain. he killed many of our men, took some of us prisoners, sank the vessel, seized my child, and was about to separate us, putting my child into one junk while i was retained, bound, in the other." he paused, and gazed over the glowing tree-tops into the golden horizon, with a longing, wistful look. at the same time something like an electric shock passed through nigel's frame, for was not this narrative strangely similar in its main features to that which his own father had told him on the keeling islands about beautiful little kathleen holbein and her father? he was on the point of seizing the hermit by the hand and telling him what he knew, when the thought occurred that attacks by pirates were common enough in those seas, that other fathers might have lost daughters in this way, and that, perhaps, his suspicion might be wrong. it would be a terrible thing, he thought, to raise hope in his poor friend's breast unless he were pretty sure of the hope being well founded. he would wait and hear more. he had just come to this conclusion, and managed to subdue the feelings which had been aroused, when van der kemp turned to him again, and continued his narrative--"i know not how it was, unless the lord gave me strength for a purpose as he gave it to samson of old, but when i recovered from the stinging blow i had received, and saw the junk hoist her sails and heard my child scream, i felt the strength of a lion come over me; i burst the bonds that held me and leaped into the sea, intending to swim to her. but it was otherwise ordained. a breeze which had sprung up freshened, and the junk soon left me far behind. as for the other junk, i never saw it again, for i never looked back or thought of it--only, as i left it, i heard a mocking laugh from the one-eyed villain, who, i afterwards found out, owned and commanded both junks." nigel had no doubt now, but the agitation of his feelings still kept him silent. "need i say," continued the hermit, "that revenge burned fiercely in my breast from that day forward? if i had met the man soon after that, i should certainly have slain him. but god mercifully forbade it. since then he has opened my eyes to see the crucified one who prayed for his enemies. and up till now i have prayed most earnestly that baderoon and i might _not_ meet. my prayer has not been answered in the way i wished, but a _better_ answer has been granted, for the sin of revenge was overcome within me before we met." van der kemp paused again. "go on," said nigel, eagerly. "how did you escape?" "escape! where was i--oh! i remember," said the hermit, awaking as if out of a dream; "well, i swam after the junk until it was out of sight, and then i swam on in silent despair until so completely exhausted that i felt consciousness leaving me. then i knew that the end must be near and i felt almost glad; but when i began to sink, the natural desire to prolong life revived, and i struggled on. just as my strength began a second time to fail, i struck against something. it was a dead cocoa-nut tree. i laid hold of it and clung to it all that night. next morning i was picked up by some fishermen who were going to telok betong by the outer passage round sebesi island, and were willing to land me there. but as my business connections had been chiefly with the town of anjer, i begged of them to land me on the island of krakatoa. this they did, and it has been my home ever since. i have been there many years." "have you never seen or heard of your daughter since?" asked nigel eagerly, and with deep sympathy. "never--i have travelled far and near, all over the archipelago; into the interior of the islands, great and small, but have failed to find her. i have long since felt that she must be dead--for--for she could not live with the monsters who stole her away." a certain contraction of the mouth, as he said this, and a gleam of the eyes, suggested to nigel that revenge was not yet dead within the hermit's breast, although it had been overcome. "what was her name?" asked nigel, willing to gain time to think how he ought to act, and being afraid of the effect that the sudden communication of the news might have on his friend. "winnie--darling winnie--after her mother," said the hermit with deep pathos in his tone. a feeling of disappointment came over our hero. winnie bore not the most distant resemblance to kathleen! "did you ever, during your search," asked nigel slowly, "visit the cocos-keeling islands?" "never. they are too far from where the attack on us was made." "and you never heard of a gun-boat having captured a pirate junk and--" "why do you ask, and why pause?" said the hermit, looking at his friend in some surprise. nigel felt that he had almost gone too far. "well, you know--" he replied in some confusion, "you--you are right when you expect me to sympathise with your great sorrow, which i do most profoundly, and--and--in short, i would give anything to be able to suggest hope to you, my friend. men should _never_ give way to despair." "thank you. it is kindly meant," returned the hermit, looking at the youth with his sad smile. "but it is vain. hope is dead now." they were interrupted at this point by the announcement that supper was ready. at the same time the sun sank, like the hermit's hope, and disappeared beyond the dark forest. chapter twenty. nigel makes a confidant of moses--undertakes a lonely watch and sees something wonderful. it was not much supper that nigel roy ate that night. the excitement resulting from his supposed discovery reduced his appetite seriously, and the intense desire to open a safety-valve in the way of confidential talk with some one induced a nervously absent disposition which at last attracted attention. "you vant a goot dose of kvinine," remarked verkimier, when, having satiated himself, he found time to think of others--not that the professor was selfish by any means, only he was addicted to concentration of mind on all work in hand, inclusive of feeding. the hermit paid no attention to anything that was said. his recent conversation had given vent to a flood of memories and feelings that had been pent-up for many years. after supper nigel resolved to make a confidant of moses. the negro's fidelity to and love for his master would ensure his sympathy at least, if not wise counsel. "moses," he said, when the professor had raised himself to the seventh heaven by means of tobacco fumes, "come with me. i want to have a talk." "das what i's allers wantin', massa nadgel; talkin's my strong point, if i hab a strong point at all." they went together to the edge of a cliff on the hill-top, whence they could see an almost illimitable stretch of tropical wilderness bathed in a glorious flood of moonlight, and sat down. on a neighbouring cliff, which was crowned with a mass of grasses and shrubs, a small monkey also sat down, on a fallen branch, and watched them with pathetic interest, tempered, it would seem, by cutaneous irritation. "moses, i am sorely in need of advice," said nigel, turning suddenly to his companion with ill-suppressed excitement. "well, massa nadgel, you _does_ look like it, but i'm sorry i ain't a doctor. p'r'aps de purfesser would help you better nor--" "you misunderstand me. can you keep a secret, moses?" "i kin try--if--if he's not too diffikilt to keep." "well, then; listen." the negro opened his eyes and his mouth as if these were the chief orifices for the entrance of sound, and advanced an ear. the distant monkey, observing, apparently, that some unusual communication was about to be made, also stretched out its little head, cocked an ear, and suspended its other operations. then, in low earnest tones, nigel told moses of his belief that van der kemp's daughter might yet be alive and well, and detailed the recent conversation he had had with his master. "now, moses; what d'ye think of all that?" profundity unfathomable sat on the negro's sable brow as he replied, "massa nadgel, i don't bery well know _what_ to t'ink." "but remember, moses, before we go further, that i tell you all this in strict confidence; not a word of it must pass your lips." the awful solemnity with which nigel sought to impress this on his companion was absolutely trifling compared with the expression of that companion's countenance, as, with a long-drawn argumentative and remonstrative _oh_! he replied:-"massa nadgel. does you really t'ink i would say or do any mortal t'ing w'atsumiver as would injure _my_ massa?" "i'm _sure_ you would not," returned nigel, quickly. "forgive me, moses, i merely meant that you would have to be very cautious--very careful--that you do not let a word slip--by accident, you know--i believe you'd sooner die than do an intentional injury to van der kemp. if i thought you capable of _that_, i think i would relieve my feelings by giving you a good thrashing." the listening monkey cocked its ear a little higher at this, and moses, who had at first raised his flat nose indignantly in the air, gradually lowered it, while a benignant smile supplanted indignation. "you're right dere, massa nadgel. i'd die a t'ousand times sooner dan injure massa. as to your last obserwation, it rouses two idees in my mind. first, i wonder how you'd manidge to gib me a t'rashin', an' second, i wonder if your own moder would rikognise you arter you'd tried it." at this the monkey turned its other ear as if to make quite sure that it heard aright. nigel laughed shortly. "but seriously, moses," he continued; "what do you think i should do? should i reveal my suspicions to van der kemp?" "cer'nly not!" answered the negro with prompt decision. "what! wake up all his old hopes to hab 'em all dashed to bits p'raps when you find dat you's wrong!" "but i feel absolutely certain that i'm _not_ wrong!" returned nigel, excitedly. "consider--there is, first, the one-eyed pirate; second, there is--" "'scuse me, massa nadgel, dere's no occasion to go all ober it again. i'll tell you what you do." "well?" exclaimed nigel, anxiously, while his companion frowned savagely under the force of the thoughts that surged through his brain. "here's what you'll do," said moses. "well?" (impatiently, as the negro paused.) "we're on our way home to krakatoa." "yes--well?" "one ob our men leabes us to-morrer--goes to 'is home on de coast. kitch one ob de steamers dat's allers due about dis time." "well, what of that?" "what ob dat! why, you'll write a letter to your fadder. it'll go by de steamer to batavia. he gits it long before we gits home, so dere's plenty time for 'im to take haction." "but what good will writing to my father do?" asked nigel in a somewhat disappointed tone. "_he_ can't help us." "ho yes, he can," said moses with a self-satisfied nod. "see here, i'll tell you what to write. you begin, `dear fadder--or dearest fadder'-i's not quite sure ob de strengt' ob your affection. p'raps de safest way." "oh! get on, moses. never mind that." "ho! it's all bery well for you to say dat, but de ole gen'leman'll mind it. hows'ever, put it as you t'ink best--`dear fadder, victual your ship; up anchor; hois' de sails, an' steer for de cocos-keelin' islands. go ashore; git hold ob do young 'ooman called kat'leen hobbleben.'" "holbein, moses." "_what_! is she moses too?" "no, no! get on, man." "well, `dearest fadder, git a hold ob her, whateber her name is, an' carry her off body and soul, an' whateber else b'longs to her. take her to de town ob anjer an' wait dere for furder orders.' ob course for de windin' up o' de letter you must appeal agin to de state ob your affections, for, as--" "not a bad idea," exclaimed nigel. "why, moses, you're a genius! of course i'll have to explain a little more fully." "'splain what you please," said moses. "my business is to gib you de bones ob de letter; yours--bein' a scholar--is to clove it wid flesh." "i'll do it, moses, at once." "i should like," rejoined moses, with a tooth-and-gum-disclosing smile, "to see your fadder when he gits dat letter!" the picture conjured up by his vivid imagination caused the negro to give way to an explosive laugh that sent the eavesdropping monkey like a brown thunderbolt into the recesses of its native jungle, while nigel went off to write and despatch the important letter. next day the party arrived at another village, where, the report of their approach having preceded them, they were received with much ceremony--all the more that the professor's power with the rifle had been made known, and that the neighbourhood was infested by tigers. there can be little doubt that at this part of the journey the travellers must have been dogged all the way by tigers, and it was matter for surprise that so small a party should not have been molested. possibly the reason was that these huge members of the feline race were afraid of white faces, being unaccustomed to them, or, perchance, the appearance and vigorous stride of even a few stalwart and fearless men had intimidated them. whatever the cause, the party reached the village without seeing a single tiger, though their footprints were observed in many places. the wild scenery became more and more beautiful as this village was neared. although flowers as a rule were small and inconspicuous in many parts of the great forest through which they passed, the rich pink and scarlet of many of the opening leaves, and the autumn-tinted foliage which lasts through all seasons of the year, fully made up for the want of them--at least as regards colour, while the whole vegetation was intermingled in a rich confusion that defies description. the professor went into perplexed raptures, his mind being distracted by the exuberant wealth of subjects which were presented to it all at the same time. "look zere!" he cried, at one turning in the path which opened up a new vista of exquisite beauty--"look at zat!" "ay, it is a siamang ape--next in size to the orang-utan," said van der kemp, who stood at his friend's elbow. the animal in question was a fine full-grown specimen, with long jet-black glancing hair. its height might probably have been a few inches over three feet, and the stretch of its arms over rather than under five feet, but at the great height at which it was seen--not less than eighty feet--it looked much like an ordinary monkey. it was hanging in the most easy nonchalant way by one hand from the branch of a tree, utterly indifferent to the fact that to drop was to die! the instant the siamang observed the travellers it set up a loud barking howl which made the woods resound, but it did not alter its position or seem to be alarmed in any degree. "vat a 'straordinary noise!" remarked the professor. "it is indeed," returned the hermit, "and it has an extraordinary appliance for producing it. there is a large bag under its throat extending to its lips and cheeks which it can fill with air by means of a valve in the windpipe. by expelling this air in sudden bursts it makes the varied sounds you hear." "mos' vonderful! a sort of natural air-gun! i vill shoot it," said the professor, raising his deadly rifle, and there is no doubt that the poor siamang would have dropped in another moment if van der kemp had not quietly and gravely touched his friend's elbow just as the explosion took place. "hah! you tooched me!" exclaimed the disappointed naturalist, looking fiercely round, while the amazed ape sent forth a bursting crack of its air-gun as it swung itself into the tree-top and made off. "yes, i touched you, and if you _will_ shoot when i am so close to you, you cannot wonder at it--especially when you intend to take life uselessly. the time now at the disposal of my friend nigel roy will not permit of our delaying long enough to kill and preserve large specimens. to say truth, my friend, we must press on now, as fast as we can, for we have a very long way to go." verkimier was not quite pleased with this explanation, but there was a sort of indescribable power about the hermit, when he was resolved to have his way, that those whom he led found it impossible to resist. on arriving at the village they were agreeably surprised to find a grand banquet, consisting chiefly of fruit, with fowl, rice, and indian corn, spread out for them in the balai or public hall, where also their sleeping quarters were appointed. an event had recently occurred, however, which somewhat damped the pleasure of their reception. a young man had been killed by a tiger. the brute had leaped upon him while he and a party of lads were traversing a narrow path through the jungle, and had killed him with one blow of its paw. the other youths courageously rushed at the beast with their spears and axes, and, driving it off, carried the body of their comrade away. "we have just buried the young man," said the chief of the village, "and have set a trap for the tiger, for he will be sure to visit the grave." "my friends would like to see this trap," said the hermit, who, of course, acted the part of interpreter wherever they went, being well acquainted with most of the languages and dialects of the archipelago. "there will yet be daylight after you have finished eating," said the chief. although anxious to go at once to see this trap, they felt the propriety of doing justice to what had been provided for them, and sat down to their meal, for which, to say truth, they were quite ready. then they went with a large band of armed natives to see this curious tiger-trap, the bait of which was the grave of a human being! the grave was close to the outskirts of the village, and, on one side, the jungle came up to within a few yards of it. the spot was surrounded by a strong and high bamboo fence, except at one point where a narrow but very conspicuous opening had been left. here a sharp spear was so arranged beside the opening that it could be shot across it at a point corresponding with the height of a tiger's heart from the ground--as well, at least, as that point could be estimated by men who were pretty familiar with tigers. the motive power to propel this spear was derived from a green bamboo, so strong that it required several powerful men to bend it in the form of a bow. a species of trigger was arranged to let the bent bow fly, and a piece of fine cord passed from this across the opening about breast-high for a tiger. the intention was that the animal, in entering the enclosure, should become its own executioner-should commit unintentional suicide, if we may so put it. "i have an ambition to shoot a tiger," said nigel to van der kemp that evening. "do you think the people would object to my getting up into a tree with my rifle and watching beside the grave, part of the night?" "i am sure that they would not. but your watch will probably be in vain, for tigers are uncommonly sagacious creatures and seem to me to have exceptional powers for scenting danger." "no matter, i will try." accordingly, a little before dark that evening our hero borrowed the professor's double-barrelled rifle, being more suitable for large game than his own gun, and sauntered with moses down to the grave where he ensconced himself in the branches of a large tree about thirty feet from the ground. the form of the tree was such, that among its forks nigel could form a sort of nest in which he could sit, in full view of the poor youth's grave, without the risk of falling to the ground even if he should chance to drop asleep. "good-night, massa nadgel," said moses as he turned to leave his companion to his solitary vigil. "see you not go to sleep." "no fear of _that_!" said nigel. "an' whateber you do, don't miss." "i'll do my best--good-night." while there was yet a little daylight, our hunter looked well about him; took note of the exact position of the fence, the entrance to the enclosure, and the grave; judged the various distances of objects, and arranged the sights of the rifle, which was already loaded with a brace of hardened balls. then he looked up through the tree-tops and wished for darkness. it came sooner than he expected. night always descends more suddenly in tropical than in temperate regions. the sun had barely dipped below the horizon when night seemed to descend like a pall over the jungle, and an indescribable sensation of eerieness crept over nigel's spirit. objects became very indistinct, and he fancied that he saw something moving on the newly-made grave. with a startled feeling he grasped his weapon, supposing that the tiger must have entered the enclosure with cat-like stealth. on second thoughts, however, he discarded the idea, for the entrance was between him and the grave, and still seemed quite visible. do what he would, however, the thought of ghosts insisted on intruding upon him! he did not believe in ghosts--oh no!--had always scouted the idea of their existence. why, therefore, did he feel uncomfortable? he could not tell. it must simply be the excitement natural to such a very new and peculiar situation. he would think of something else. he would devote his mind to the contemplation of tigers! in a short time the moon would rise, he knew--then he would be able to see better. while he was in this very uncomfortable state of mind, with the jungle wrapped in profound silence as well as gloom, there broke on the night air a wail so indescribable that the very marrow in nigel's bones seemed to shrivel up. it ceased, but again broke forth louder than before, increasing in length and strength, until his ears seemed to tingle with the sound, and then it died away to a sigh of unutterable woe. "i have always," muttered nigel, "believed myself to be a man of ordinary courage, but _now_--i shall write myself a coward, if not an ass!" he attempted to laugh at this pleasantry, but the laugh was hollow and seemed to freeze in his gullet as the wail broke forth again, ten times more hideous than at first. after a time the wail became more continuous, and the watcher began to get used to it. then a happy thought flashed into his mind--this was, perhaps, some sort of mourning for the dead! he was right. the duty of the father of the poor youth who had been killed was, for several days after the funeral, to sit alone in his house and chant from sunset till daybreak a death-dirge, or, as it is called, the _tjerita bari_. it was not till next day that this was told to him, but meanwhile the surmise afforded him instantaneous relief. as if nature sympathised with his feelings, the moon arose at the same time and dispelled the thick darkness, though it was not till much later that, sailing across a clear sky, she poured her bright beams through the tree-tops and finally rested on the dead man's grave. by that time nigel had quite recovered his equanimity, and mentally blotted out the writing of "coward" and "ass" which he had written against himself. but another trouble now assailed him. he became sleepy! half-a-dozen times at least within half-an-hour he started wide awake under the impression that he was falling off the tree. "this will never do," he exclaimed, rising to his feet, resting his rifle in a position of safety, and then stretching himself to his utmost extent so that he became thoroughly awake. after this "rouser," as he called it, he sat down again, and almost immediately fell fast asleep. how long he sat in this condition it is impossible to say, but he opened his eyes at length with an indescribable sensation that _something_ required attention, and the first thing they rested on, (for daylight was dawning), was an enormous tiger not forty yards away from him, gliding like a shadow and with cat-like stealth towards the opening of the enclosure. the sight was so sudden and so unexpected that, for the moment, he was paralysed. perhaps he thought it was a dream. before he could recover presence of mind to seize his rifle, the breast of the animal had touched the fatal line; the trigger was drawn; the stout bamboo straightened with a booming sound, and the spear--or, rather, the giant arrow--was shot straight through the tiger's side! then occurred a scene which might well have induced nigel to imagine that he dreamt, for the transfixed creature bounded into the enclosure with a terrific roar that rang fearfully through the arches of the hitherto silent forest. rushing across the grave, it sprang with one tremendous bound right over the high fence, carrying the spear along with it into the jungle beyond. by that time nigel was himself again, with rifle in hand, but too late to fire. the moment he heard the thud of the tiger's descent, he slid down the tree, and, forgetful or regardless of danger,--went crashing into the jungle, while the yells and shouts of hundreds of aroused natives suggested the peopling of the region with an army of fiends. but our hero had not to go far. in his haste he almost tumbled over the tiger. it was lying stone dead on the spot where it had fallen! a few minutes more and the natives came pouring round him, wild with excitement and joy. soon he was joined by his own comrades. "well, you've managed to shoot him, i see," said van der kemp as he joined the group. "alas! no. i have not fired a shot," said nigel, with a half disappointed look. "you's got de better ob him anyhow," remarked moses as he pushed to the front. "the spear got the better of him, moses." "vell now, zat is a splendid animal. lat me see," said the professor, pulling out his tape-measure. it was with difficulty that the man of science made and noted his measurements, for the people were pressing eagerly round the carcase to gratify their revenge by running their spears into the still warm body. they dipped the points in the blood and passed their krisses broadside over the creature that they might absorb the courage and boldness which were supposed to emanate from it! then they skinned it, and pieces of the heart and brain were eaten raw by some of those whose relatives had been killed by tigers. finally the skull was hacked to pieces for the purpose of distributing the teeth, which are used by the natives as charms. chapter twenty one. in which the professor distinguishes himself. leaving this village immediately after the slaying of the tiger, the party continued to journey almost by forced marches, for not only was nigel roy very anxious to keep tryst with his father, and to settle the question of kathleen's identity by bringing father and daughter together, but van der kemp himself, strange to say, was filled with intense and unaccountable anxiety to get back to his island-home. "i don't know how it is," he said to nigel as they walked side by side through the forest, followed by moses and the professor, who had become very friendly on the strength of a certain amount of vacant curiosity displayed by the former in regard to scientific matters--"i don't know how it is, but i feel an unusually strong desire to get back to my cave. i have often been absent from home for long periods at a time, but have never before experienced these strange longings. i say strange, because there is no such thing as an effect without a cause." "may not the cause be presentiment?" suggested nigel, who, knowing what a tremendous possibility for the hermit lay in the future, felt a little inclined to be superstitious. it did not occur to him just then that an equally, if not more, tremendous possibility lay in the future for himself--touching his recent discovery or suspicion! "i do not believe in presentiments," returned the hermit. "they are probably the result of indigestion or a disordered intellect, from neither of which complaints do i suffer--at least not consciously!" "but you have never before left home in such peculiar circumstances," said nigel. "have you not told me that this is the first time for about two hundred years that krakatoa has broken out in active eruption?" "true, but that cannot be to me the cause of longings or anxieties, for i have seen many a long-dormant crater become active without any important result either to me or to any one else." "stop, stop!" cried professor verkimier in a hoarse whisper at that moment; "look! look at zee monkeys!" monkeys are very abundant in sumatra, but the nest of them which the travellers discovered at that time, and which had called forth the professor's admiration, was enough--as moses said--to make a "renocerus laugh." the trees around absolutely swarmed with monkeys; those of a slender form and with very long tails being most numerous. they were engaged in some sort of game, swinging by arms, legs, and tails from branches, holding on to or chasing each other, and taking the most astonishing leaps in circumstances where a slip would have no doubt resulted in broken limbs or in death. "stand still! oh! _do_ stand still--like you vas petrivied," said the professor in a low voice of entreaty. being quite willing to humour him, the whole party stood immovable, like statues, and thus avoided attracting the attention of the monkeys, who continued their game. it seemed to be a sort of "follow my leader," for one big strong fellow led off with a bound from one branch to another which evidently tried the nerves of his more timid and less agile companions. they all succeeded, however, from the largest even to the smallest--which last was a very tiny creature with a pink face, a sad expression, and a corkscrew tail. for a time they bounded actively among the branches, now high, now low, till suddenly the big leader took a tremendous leap, as if for the express purpose of baffling or testing his companions. it was immensely amusing to see the degrees of trepidation with which the others followed. the last two seemed quite unable to make up their minds to the leap, until the others seemed about to disappear, when one of them took heart and bounded wildly across. thus little pink-face with the corkscrew tail was left alone! twice did that little monkey make a desperate resolution to jump, and twice did its little heart fail as it measured the distance between the branches and glanced at the abyss below. its companions seemed to entertain a feeling of pity for it. numbers of them came back, as if to watch the jump and encourage the little one. a third time it made an abortive effort to spring, and looked round pitifully, whereupon moses gave vent to an uncontrollable snort of suppressed laughter. "vat you mean by zat?" growled the professor angrily. the growl and snort together revealed the intruders, and all the monkeys, except pink-face, crowding the trees above the spot where they stood, gazed down upon them with expressions in which unparalleled indignation and inconceivable surprise struggled for the mastery. then, with a wild shriek, the whole troop fled into the forest. this was too much for poor, half-petrified pink-face with the twisted tail. seeing that its comrades were gone in earnest, it became desperate, flung itself frantically into the air with an agonising squeak, missed its mark, went crashing through the slender branches and fell to the ground. fortunately these branches broke its fall so that it arose unhurt, bounded into a bush, still squeaking with alarm, and made after its friends. "why did you not shoot it, professor?" asked nigel, laughing as much at verkimier's grave expression as at the little monkey's behaviour. "vy did i not shot it?" echoed the professor. "i vould as soon shot a baby. zee pluck of zat leetle creature is admirable. it vould be a horrible shame to take his life. no! i do love to see ploock vezer in man or beast! he could not shoomp zat. he _knew_ he could not shoomp it, but he _tried_ to shoomp it. he vould not be beat, an' i vould not kill him--zough i vant 'im very mooch for a specimen." it seemed as if the professor was to be specially rewarded for his self-denial on this occasion, for while he was yet speaking, a soft "hush!" from van der kemp caused the whole party to halt in dead silence and look at the hermit inquiringly. "you are in luck, professor," he murmured, in a soft, low voice--very different from that hissing whisper which so many people seem to imagine is an inaudible utterance. "i see a splendid argus pheasant over there making himself agreeable to his wife!" "vare? oh! vare?" exclaimed the enthusiast with blazing eyes, for although he had already seen and procured specimens of this most beautiful creature, he had not yet seen it engage in the strange love-dance--if we may so call it--which is peculiar to the bird. "you'll never get near enough to see it if you hiss like a serpent," said the hermit. "get out your binoculars, follow me, and hold your tongue, all of you--that will be the safest plan. tread lightly." it was a sight to behold the professor crouching almost double in order to render himself less conspicuous, with his hat pushed back, and the blue glasses giving him the appearance of a great-eyed seal. he carried his butterfly-net in one hand, and the unfailing rifle in the other. fortunately the hermit's sharp and practised eye had enabled him to distinguish the birds in the distance before their advance had alarmed them, so that they were able to reach a mound topped with low bushes over which they could easily watch the birds. "zat is very koorious an' most interesting," murmured the professor after a short silence. he was right. there were two argus pheasants, a male and female--the male alone being decorated superbly. the argus belongs to the same family as the peacock, but is not so gaudy in colouring, and therefore, perhaps, somewhat more pleasing. its tail is formed chiefly by an enormous elongation of the two tail quills, and of the secondary wing feathers, no two of which are exactly the same, and the closer they are examined the greater is seen to be the extreme beauty of their markings, and the rich varied harmony of their colouring. when a male argus wishes to show off his magnificence to his spouse--or when she asks him to show it off we know not which--he makes a circle in the forest some ten or twelve feet in diameter, which he clears of every leaf, twig, and branch. on the margin of this circus there is invariably a projecting branch, or overarching root a few feet above the ground, on which the female takes her place to watch the exhibition. this consists of the male strutting about, pluming his feathers, and generally displaying his gorgeous beauty. "vat ineffable vanity!" exclaimed the professor, after gazing for some time in silence. his own folly in thus speaking was instantly proved by the two birds bringing the exhibition to an abrupt close and hastily taking wing. not long after seeing this they came to a small but deep and rapid river, which for a time checked their progress, for there was no ford, and the porters who carried verkimier's packages seemed to know nothing about a bridge, either natural or artificial. after wandering for an hour or so along its banks, however, they found a giant tree which had fallen across the stream, and formed a natural bridge. on the other side of the stream the ground was more rugged and the forest so dense that they had to walk in a sort of twilight--only a glimpse of blue sky being visible here and there through the tree-tops. in some places, however, there occurred bright little openings which swarmed with species of metallic tiger-beetles and sand-bees, and where sulphur, swallow-tailed, and other butterflies sported their brief life away over the damp ground by the water's edge. the native forest path which they followed was little better than a tunnel cut through a grove of low rattan-palms, the delicate but exceedingly tough tendrils of which hung down in all directions. these were fringed with sharp hooks which caught their clothing and tore it, or held on unrelentingly, so that the only way of escape was to step quietly back and unhook themselves. this of itself would have rendered their progress slow as well as painful, but other things tended to increase the delay. at one place they came to a tree about seven feet in diameter which lay across the path and had to be scrambled over, and this was done with great difficulty. at another, a gigantic mud-bath-the wallowing hole of a herd of elephants--obstructed the way, and a yell from one of the porters told that in attempting to cross it he had fallen in up to the waist. a comrade in trying to pull him out also fell in and sank up to the armpits. but they got over it--as resolute men always do--somehow! "zis is horrible!" exclaimed the professor, panting from his exertions, and making a wild plunge with his insect-net at some living creature. "hah! zee brute! i have 'im." the man of science was flat on his stomach as he spoke, with arm outstretched and the net pressed close to the ground, while a smile of triumph beamed through the mud and scratches on his face. "what have you got?" asked nigel, doing his best to restrain a laugh. "a splendid _ornit'optera_ a day-flying moss," said verkimier as he cautiously rose, "vich mimics zee _trepsichrois mulciber_. ant zis very morning i caught von _leptocircus virescens_, vich derives protection from mimicking zee habits ant appearance of a dragon-fly." "what rubbish dat purfesser do talk!" remarked moses in an undertone to the hermit as they moved on again. "not such rubbish as it sounds to you, moses. these are the scientific names of the creatures, and you know as well as he does that many creatures think they find it advantageous to pretend to be what they are not. man himself is not quite free from this characteristic. indeed, you have a little of it yourself," said the hermit with one of his twinkling glances. "when you are almost terrified out of your wits don't you pretend that there's nothing the matter with you?" "nebber, massa, nebber!" answered the negro with remonstrative gravity. "when i's nigh out ob my wits, so's my innards feels like nuffin' but warmish water, i gits whitey-grey in de chops, so i's told, an' blue in de lips, an' i _pretends_ nuffin'--i don't care _who_ sees it!" the track for some distance beyond this point became worse and worse. then the nature of the ground changed somewhat--became more hilly, and the path, if such it could be styled, more rugged in some places, more swampy in others, while, to add to their discomfort, rain began to fall, and night set in dark and dismal without any sign of the village of which they were in search. by that time the porters who carried verkimier's boxes seemed so tired that the hermit thought it advisable to encamp, but the ground was so wet and the leeches were so numerous that they begged him to go on, assuring him that the village could not be far distant. in another half-hour the darkness became intense, so that a man could scarcely see his fellow, even when within two paces of him. ominous mutterings and rumblings like distant thunder also were heard, which appeared to indicate an approaching storm. in these circumstances encamping became unavoidable, and the order was given to make a huge fire to scare away the tigers, which were known to be numerous, and the elephants whose fresh tracks had been crossed and followed during the greater part of the day. the track of a rhinoceros and a tapir had also been seen, but no danger was to be anticipated from those creatures. "shall we have a stormy night, think you?" asked nigel, as he assisted in striking a light. "it may be so," replied the hermit, flinging down one after another of his wet matches, which failed to kindle. "what we hear may be distant thunder, but i doubt it. the sounds seem to me more like the mutterings of a volcano. some new crater may have burst forth in the sumatran ranges. this thick darkness inclines me to think so--especially after the new activity of volcanic action we have seen so recently at krakatoa. let me try your matches, nigel, perhaps they have escaped-mine are useless." but nigel's matches were as wet as those of the hermit. so were those of the professor. luckily moses carried the old-fashioned flint and steel, with which, and a small piece of tinder, spark was at last kindled, but as they were about to apply it to a handful of dry bamboo scrapings, an extra spurt of rain extinguished it. for an hour and more they made ineffectual attempts to strike a light. even the cessation of the rain was of no avail. "vat must ve do _now_?" asked the professor in tones that suggested a woe-begone countenance, though there was no light by which to distinguish. "grin and bear it," said nigel, in a voice suggestive of a slight expansion of the mouth--though no one could see it. "dere's nuffin' else left to do," said moses, in a tone which betrayed such a very wide expansion that nigel laughed outright. "hah! you may laugh, my yoong frond, bot if zee tigers find us out or zee elephants trample on us, your laughter vill be turned to veeping. vat is zat? is not zat vonderful?" the question and exclamation were prompted by the sudden appearance of faint mysterious lights among the bushes. that the professor viewed them as unfriendly lights was clear from the click of his rifle-locks which followed. "it is only phosphoric light," explained van der kemp. "i have often seen it thus in electric states of the atmosphere. it will probably increase--meanwhile we must seat ourselves on our boxes and do the best we can till daylight. are you there, boys?" this question, addressed to the bearers in their native tongue, was not answered, and it was found, on a _feeling_ examination, that, in spite of leeches, tigers, elephants, and the whole animal creation, the exhausted porters had flung themselves on the wet ground and gone to sleep while their leaders were discussing the situation. dismal though the condition of the party was, the appearances in the forest soon changed the professor's woe into eager delight, for the phosphorescence became more and more pronounced, until every tree-stem blinked with a palish green light, and it trickled like moonlight over the ground, bringing out thick dumpy mushrooms like domes of light. glowing caterpillars and centipedes crawled about, leaving a trail of light behind them, and fireflies, darting to and fro, peopled the air and gave additional animation to the scene. in the midst of the darkness, thus made singularly visible, the white travellers sat dozing and nodding on their luggage, while the cries of metallic-toned horned frogs and other nocturnal sounds peculiar to that weird forest formed their appropriate lullaby. but moses neither dozed nor nodded. with a pertinacity peculiarly his own he continued to play a running accompaniment to the lullaby with his flint and steel, until his perseverance was rewarded with a spark which caught on a dry portion of the tinder and continued to burn. by that time the phosphoric lights had faded, and his spark was the only one which gleamed through intense darkness. how he cherished that spark! he wrapped it in swaddling clothes of dry bamboo scrapings with as much care as if it had been the essence of his life. he blew upon it tenderly as though to fan its delicate brow with the soft zephyrs of a father's affection. again he blew more vigorously, and his enormous pouting lips came dimly into view. another blow and his flat nose and fat cheeks emerged from darkness. still another--with growing confidence--and his huge eyes were revealed glowing with hope. at last the handful of combustible burst into a flame, and was thrust into a prepared nest of twigs. this, communicating with a heap of logs, kindled a sudden blaze which scattered darkness out of being, and converted thirty yards of the primeval forest into a chamber of glorious light, round which the human beings crowded with joy enhanced by the unexpectedness of the event, and before which the wild things of the wilderness fled away. when daylight came at last, they found that the village for which they had been searching was only two miles beyond the spot where they had encamped. here, being thoroughly exhausted, it was resolved that they should spend that day and night, and, we need scarcely add, they spent a considerable portion of both in sleep--at least such parts of both as were not devoted to food. and here the professor distinguished himself in a way that raised him greatly in the estimation of his companions and caused the natives of the place to regard him as something of a demi-god. of course we do not vouch for the truth of the details of the incident, for no one save himself was there to see, and although we entertained the utmost regard for himself, we were not sufficiently acquainted with his moral character to answer for his strict truthfulness. as to the main event, there was no denying that. the thing happened thus:-towards the afternoon of that same day the travellers began to wake up, stretch themselves, and think about supper. in the course of conversation it transpired that a tiger had been prowling about the village for some days, and had hitherto successfully eluded all attempts to trap or spear it. they had tethered a goat several times near a small pond and watched the spot from safe positions among the trees, with spears, bows and arrows, and blow-pipes ready, but when they watched, the tiger did not come, and when they failed to watch, the tiger did come and carried off the goat. thus they had been baffled. "mine frond," said the professor to the hermit on hearing this. "i vill shot zat tiger! i am resolved. vill you ask zee chief to show me zee place ant zen tell his people, on pain of def, not to go near it all night, for if zey do i vill certainly shot zem--by accident of course!" the hermit did as he was bid, but advised his sanguine friend against exposing himself recklessly. the chief willingly fell in with his wishes. "won't you tell us what you intend to do, professor?" asked nigel, "and let us help you." "no, i vill do it all by mineself--or die! i vill vant a shofel or a spade of some sort." the chief provided the required implement, conducted his visitor a little before sunset to the spot, just outside the village, and left him there armed with his rifle, a revolver, and a long knife or kriss, besides the spade. when alone, the bold man put off his glasses, made a careful inspection of the ground, came to a conclusion--founded on scientific data no doubt--as to the probable spot whence the tiger would issue from the jungle when about to seize the goat, and, just opposite that spot, on the face of a slope about ten yards from the goat, he dug a hole deep enough to contain his own person. the soil was sandy easy to dig, and quite dry. it was growing dusk when the professor crept into this rifle-pit, drew his weapons and the spade in after him, and closed the mouth of the pit with moist earth, leaving only a very small eye-hole through which he could see the goat standing innocently by the brink of the pool. "now," said he, as he lay resting on his elbows with the rifle laid ready to hand and the revolver beside it; "now, i know not vezer you can smell or not, but i have buried mineself in eart', vich is a non-conductor of smell. ve shall see!" it soon became very dark, for there was no moon, yet not so dark but that the form of the goat could be seen distinctly reflected in the pond. naturally the professor's mind reverted to the occasion when nigel had watched in the branches of a tree for another tiger. the conditions were different, and so, he thought, was the man! "mine yoong frond," he said mentally, "is brav', oondoubtedly, but his nerves have not been braced by experience like mine. it is vell, for zere is more dancher here zan in a tree. it matters not. i am resolf to shot zat tigre--or die!" in this resolute and heroic frame of mind he commenced his vigil. it is curious to note how frequently the calculations of men fail them-even those of scientific men! the tiger came indeed to the spot, but he came in precisely the opposite direction from that which the watcher expected, so that while verkimier was staring over the goat's head at an opening in the jungle beyond the pond, the tiger was advancing stealthily and slowly through the bushes exactly behind the hole in which he lay. suddenly the professor became aware of _something_! he saw nothing consciously, he heard nothing, but there stole over him, somehow, the feeling of a dread presence! was he asleep? was it nightmare? no, it was night-tiger! he knew it, somehow; he _felt_ it--but he could not see it. to face death is easy enough--according to some people--but to face nothing at all is at all times trying. verkimier felt it to be so at that moment. but he was a true hero and conquered himself. "come now," he said mentally, "don't be an ass! don't lose your shance by voomanly fears. keep kviet." another moment and there was a very slight sound right over his head. he glanced upwards--as far as the little hole would permit--and there, not a foot from him, was a tawny yellow throat! with a tremendous paw moving slowly forward--so slowly that it might have suggested the imperceptible movement of the hour-hand of a watch, or of a glacier. there was indeed motion, but it was not perceptible. the professor's perceptions were quick. he did not require to think. he knew that to use the rifle at such close quarters was absolutely impossible. he knew that the slightest motion would betray him. he could see that as yet he was undiscovered, for the animal's nose was straight for the goat, and he concluded that either his having buried himself was a safeguard against being smelt, or that the tiger had a cold in its head. he thought for one moment of bursting up with a yell that would scare the monster out of his seven senses--if he had seven-but dismissed the thought as cowardly, for it would be sacrificing success to safety. he knew not what to do, and the cold perspiration consequent upon indecision at a supreme moment broke out all over him. suddenly he thought of the revolver! like lightning he seized it, pointed it straight up and fired. the bullet--a large army revolver one--entered the throat of the animal, pierced the root of the tongue, crashed through the palate obliquely, and entered the brain. the tiger threw one indescribable somersault and fell--fell so promptly that it blocked the mouth of the pit, all the covering earth of which had been blown away by the shot, and verkimier could feel the hairy side of the creature, and hear the beating of its heart as it gasped its life away. but in his cramped position he could not push it aside. well aware of the tenacity of life in tigers, he thought that if the creature revived it would certainly grasp him even in its dying agonies, for the weight of its body and its struggles were already crushing in the upper part of the hole. to put an end to its sufferings and his own danger, he pointed the revolver at its side and again fired. the crash in the confined hole was tremendous--so awful that the professor thought the weapon must have burst. the struggles of the tiger became more violent than ever, and its weight more oppressive as the earth crumbled away. again the cold perspiration broke out all over the man, and he became unconscious. it must not be supposed that the professor's friends were unwatchful. although they had promised not to disturb him in his operations, they had held themselves in readiness with rifle, revolver, and spear, and the instant the first shot was heard, they ran down to the scene of action. before reaching it the second shot quickened their pace as they ran down to the pond--a number of natives yelling and waving torches at their heels. "here he is," cried moses, who was first on the scene, "dead as mutton!" "what! the professor?" cried nigel in alarm. "no; de tiger." "where's verkimier?" asked the hermit as he came up. "i dun know, massa," said moses, looking round him vacantly. "search well, men, and be quick, he may have been injured," cried van der kemp, seizing a torch and setting the example. "let me out!" came at that moment from what appeared to be the bowels of the earth, causing every one to stand aghast gazing in wonder around and on each other. "zounds! vy don't you let me _out_?" shouted the voice again. there was an indication of a tendency to flight on the part of the natives, but nigel's asking "where _are_ you?" had the effect of inducing them to delay for the answer. "here--oonder zee tigre! kweek, i am suffocat!" instantly van der kemp seized the animal by the tail, and, with a force worthy of hercules, heaved it aside as if it had been a dead cat, revealing the man of science underneath--alive and well, but dishevelled, scratched, and soiled--also, as deaf as a door-post. chapter twenty two. a python discovered and a geyser interviewed. "it never rains but it pours" is a well-known proverb which finds frequent illustration in the experience of almost every one. at all events verkimier had reason to believe in the truth of it at that time, for adventures came down on him, as it were, in a sort of deluge, more or less astounding, insomuch that his enthusiastic spirit, bathing, if we may say so, in an ocean of scientific delight, pronounced sumatra to be the very paradise of the student of nature. we have not room in this volume to follow him in the details of his wonderful experiences, but we must mention one adventure which he had on the very day after the tiger-incident, because it very nearly had the effect of separating him from his travelling companions. being deaf, as we have said--owing to the explosion of his revolver in the hole--but not necessarily dumb, the professor, after one or two futile attempts to hear and converse, deemed it wise to go to bed and spend the few conscious minutes that might precede sleep in watching van der kemp, who kindly undertook to skin his tiger for him. soon the self-satisfied man fell into a sweet infantine slumber, and dreamed of tigers, in which state he gave vent to sundry grunts, gasps, and half-suppressed cries, to the immense delight of moses, who sat watching him, indulging in a running commentary suggestive of the recent event, and giving utterance now and then to a few imitative growls by way of enhancing the effect of the dreams! "look! look! massa nadgel, he's twitchin' all ober. de tiger's comin' to him now." "looks like it, moses." "yes--an', see, he grip de 'volver--no, too soon, or de tiger's hoed away, for he's stopped twitchin'!--dare; de tiger comes agin!" a gasp and clenching of the right hand seemed to warrant this assumption. then a yell rang through the hut; moses displayed all, and more than all his teeth, and the professor, springing up on one elbow, glared fearfully. "i'n't it awrful?" inquired moses in a low tone. the professor awoke mentally, recognised the situation, smiled an imbecile smile, and sank back again on his pillow with a sigh of relief. after that, when the skinning of the tiger was completed, the dreams appeared to leave him, and all his comrades joined him in the land of nod. he was first to awake when daylight entered their hut the following morning, and, feeling in a fresh, quiescent state of mind after the excitement of the preceding night, he lay on his back, his eyes fixed contentedly on the grand tiger-skin which hung on the opposite wall. by degrees his eyes grew wearied of that object, and he allowed them to travel languidly upwards and along the roof until they rested on the spot directly over his head, where they became fixed, and, at the same time, opened out to a glare, compared to which all his previous glaring was as nothing--for there, in the thatch, looking down upon him, was the angular head of a huge python. the snake was rolled up in a tight coil, and had evidently spent the night within a yard of the professor's head! being unable to make out what sort of snake it was, and fearing that it might be a poisonous one, he crept quietly from his couch, keeping his eyes fixed on the reptile as he did so. one result of this mode of action was that he did not see where he was going, and inadvertently thrust one finger into moses' right eye, and another into his open mouth. the negro naturally shut his mouth with a snap, while the professor opened his with a roar, and in another moment every man was on his feet blinking inquiringly. "look! zee snake!" cried the professor, when moses released him. "we must get him out of that," remarked van der kemp, as he quietly made a noose with a piece of rattan, and fastened it to the end of a long pole. with the latter he poked the creature up, and, when it had uncoiled sufficiently, he slipped the noose deftly over its head. "clear out, friends," he said, looking round. all obeyed with uncommon promptitude except the professor, who valiantly stood his ground. van der kemp pulled the python violently down to the floor, where it commenced a tremendous scuffle among the chairs and posts. the hermit kept its head off with the pole, and sought to catch its tail, but failed twice. seeing this the professor caught the tail as it whipped against his legs, and springing down the steps so violently that he snapped the cord by which the hermit held it, and drew the creature straight out--a thick monster full twelve feet long, and capable of swallowing a dog or a child. "out of zee way!" shouted the professor, making a wild effort to swing the python against a tree, but the tail slipped from his grasp, the professor fell, and the snake went crashing against a log, under which it took refuge. nigel, who was nearest to it, sprang forward, fortunately caught its tail, and, swinging it and himself round with such force that it could not coil up at all, dashed it against a tree. before it could recover from the shock, moses had caught up a hatchet and cut its head off with one blow. the tail wriggled for a few seconds, and the head gaped once or twice, as if in mild surprise at so sudden a finale. "zat is strainch--very strainch," slowly remarked the professor, as, still seated on the ground, he solemnly noted these facts. "not so _very_ strange, after all," said van der kemp; "i've seen the head of many a bigger snake cut off at one blow." "mine frond, you mistake me. it is zee vorking of physical law in zee spiritual vorld zat perplexes me. moses has cut zee brute in two-physical fact, substance can be divided. zee two parts are still alife, zerfore, zee life--zee spirit--has also been divided!" "it is indeed very strange," said nigel, with a laugh. "stranger still that you may cut a worm into several parts, and the life remains in each, but, strangest of all, that you should sit on the ground, professor, instead of rising up, while you philosophise. you are not hurt, i hope--are you?" "i razer zink i am," returned the philosopher with a faint smile; "mine onkle, i zink, is spraint." this was indeed true, and it seemed as if the poor man's wanderings were to be, for a time at least, brought to an abrupt close. fortunately it was found that a pony could be procured at that village, and, as they had entered the borders of the mountainous regions, and the roads were more open and passable than heretofore, it was resolved that the professor should ride until his ankle recovered. we must now pass over a considerable portion of time and space, and convey the reader, by a forced march, to the crater of an active volcano. by that time verkimier's ankle had recovered and the pony had been dismissed. the heavy luggage, with the porters, had been left in the low grounds, for the mountain they had scaled was over 10,000 feet above the sea-level. only one native from the plain below accompanied them as guide, and three of their porters whose inquiring minds tempted them to make the ascent. at about 10,000 feet the party reached what the natives called the dempo or edge of the volcano, whence they looked down into the sawah or ancient crater, which was a level space composed of brown soil surrounded by cliffs, and lying like the bottom of a cup 200 feet below them. it had a sulphurous odour, and was dotted here and there with clumps of heath and rhododendrons. in the centre of this was a cone which formed the true--or modern--crater. on scrambling up to the lip of the cone and looking down some 300 feet of precipitous rock they beheld what seemed to be a pure white lake set in a central basin of 200 feet in diameter. the surface of this lakelet smoked, and although it reflected every passing cloud as if it were a mirror, it was in reality a basin of hot mud, the surface of which was about thirty feet below its rim. "you will soon see a change come over it," said the hermit, as the party gazed in silent admiration at the weird scene. he had scarcely spoken, when the middle of the lake became intensely black and scored with dark streaks. this, though not quite obvious at first from the point where they stood, was caused by the slow formation of a great chasm in the centre of the seething lake of mud. the lake was sinking into its own throat. the blackness increased. then a dull sullen roar was heard, and next moment the entire lake upheaved, not violently, but in a slow, majestic manner some hundreds of feet into the air, whence it fell back into its basin with an awful roar which reverberated and echoed from the rocky walls of the caldron like the singing of an angry sea. an immense volume of steam--the motive power which had blown up the lake--was at the same time liberated and dissipated in the air. the wave-circles died away on the margin of the lake, and the placid, cloud-reflecting surface was restored until the geyser had gathered fresh force for another upheaval. "amazing!" exclaimed nigel, who had gazed with feelings of awe at this curious exhibition of the tremendous internal forces with which the creator has endowed the earth. "vonderful!" exclaimed the professor, whose astonishment was such, that his eyebrows rose high above the rim of his huge blue binoculars. moses, to whom such an exhibition of the powers of nature was familiar, was, we are sorry to say, not much impressed, if impressed at all! indeed he scarcely noticed it, but watched, with intense teeth-and-gum disclosing satisfaction, the faces of two of the native porters who had never seen anything of the kind before, and whose terrified expressions suggested the probability of a precipitate flight when their trembling limbs became fit to resume duty. "will it come again soon?" asked nigel, turning to van der kemp. "every fifteen or twenty minutes it goes through that process all day and every day," replied the hermit. "but, if i may joodge from zee stones ant scoriae around," said the professor, "zee volcano is not always so peaceful as it is joost now." "you are right. about once in every three years, and sometimes oftener, the crops of coffee, bananas, rice, etcetera, in this region are quite destroyed by sulphur-rain, which covers everything for miles around the crater." "hah! it vould be too hote a place zis for us, if zat vas to happin joost now," remarked verkimier with a smile. "it cannot be far off the time now, i should think," said van der kemp. all this talk moses translated, and embellished, to the native porters with the solemn sincerity of a true and thorough-paced hypocrite. he had scarcely finished, and was watching with immense delight the changeful aspect of their whitey-green faces, when another volcanic fit came on, and the deep-toned roar of the coming explosion was heard. it was so awesome that the countenance even of van der kemp became graver than usual. as for the two native porters, they gazed and trembled. nigel and the professor also gazed with lively expectation. moses--we grieve to record it--hugged himself internally, and gloated over the two porters. another moment and there came a mighty roar. up went the mud-lake hundreds of feet into the air; out came the steam with the sound of a thousand trombones, and away went the two porters, head over heels, down the outer slope of the cone and across the sawah as if the spirit of evil were after them. there was no cause, however, for alarm. the mud-lake, falling back into its native cup, resumed its placid aspect and awaited its next upheaval with as much tranquillity as if it had never known disturbance in the past, and were indifferent about the future. that evening our travellers encamped in close proximity to the crater, supped on fowls roasted in an open crevice whence issued steam and sulphurous smells, and slept with the geyser's intermittent roar sounding in their ears and re-echoing in their dreams. chapter twenty three. tells of volcanic fires and a strange return "home." this tremendous introduction to volcanic fires was but the prelude to a period of eruptive action which has not been paralleled in the world's history. for a short time after this, indeed, the genial nature of the weather tended to banish from the minds of our travellers all thoughts of violence either in terrestrial or human affairs, and as the professor devoted himself chiefly to the comparatively mild occupation of catching and transfixing butterflies and beetles during the march southward, there seemed to be nothing in the wide universe above or below save peace and tranquillity--except, perhaps, in the minds of beetles and butterflies! throughout all this period, nevertheless, there were ominous growlings, grumblings, and tremors--faint but frequent--which indicated a condition of mother earth that could not have been called easy. "some of the volcanoes of java must be at work, i think," said nigel one night, as the party sat in a small isolated wood-cutter's hut discussing a supper of rice and fowls with his friends, which they were washing down with home-grown coffee. "it may be so," said van der kemp in a dubious tone; "but the sounds, though faint, seem to me a good deal nearer. i can't help thinking that the craters which have so recently opened up in krakatoa are still active, and that it may be necessary for me to shift my quarters, for my cave is little more, i suspect, than the throat of an ancient volcano." "hah! say you so, mine frond? zen i vould advise you to make no delay," said the professor, critically examining a well-picked drumstick. "you see, it is not pleasant to be blown up eizer by the terrestrial eruptions of zee vorld or zee celestial explosions of your vife.--a leetle more rice, moses if you please. zanks." "now, mine fronds," he continued, after having disposed of a supper which it might have taxed a volcano's throat to swallow, "it is viz great sorrow zat i must part from you here." "part! why?" asked the hermit in surprise. "vy, because i find zis contrie is heaven upon eart'. zat is, of course, only in a scientific point of view. zee voods are svarming, zee air is teeming, ant zee vaters are vallo'ing vit life. i cannot tear myself avay. but ve shall meet again--at telok betong, or krakatoa, or anjer, or batavia." it was found that the man of science was also a man of decision. nothing would persuade him to go a step further. the wood-cutter's hut suited him, so did the wood-cutter himself, and so, as he said, did the region around him. with much regret, therefore, and an earnest invitation from the hermit to visit his cave, and range the almost unexplored woods of his island, the travellers parted from him; and our three adventurers, dismissing all attendants and hiring three ponies, continued their journey to the southern shores of sumatra. as they advanced it soon became evident that the scene of volcanic activity was not so far distant as the island of java, for the air was frequently darkened by the falling of volcanic dust which covered the land with a greyish powder. as, however, at least sixteen volcanoes have been registered in the island of sumatra, and there are probably many others, it was impossible to decide where the scene of eruption was, that caused those signs. one afternoon the travellers witnessed a catastrophe which induced them to forego all idea of spending more time in examining the country. they had arrived at a village where they found a traveller who appeared to be going about without any special object in view. he spoke english, but with a foreign accent. nigel naturally felt a desire to become sociable with him, but he was very taciturn and evidently wished to avoid intercourse with chance acquaintances. hearing that there were curious hot-water and mud springs not far off, the stranger expressed a desire to visit them. nigel also felt anxious to see them, and as one guide was sufficient for the party the stranger joined the party and they went together. the spot they were led to was evidently a mere crust of earth covering fierce subterranean fires. in the centre of it a small pond of mud was boiling and bubbling furiously, and round this, on the indurated clay, were smaller wells and craters full of boiling mud. the ground near them was obviously unsafe, for it bent under pressure like thin ice, and at some of the cracks and fissures the sulphurous vapour was so hot that the hand could not be held to it without being scalded. nigel and the stranger walked close behind the native guide, both, apparently, being anxious to get as near as possible to the central pond. but the guide stopped suddenly, and, looking back, said to van der kemp that it was not safe to approach nearer. nigel at once stopped, and, looking at the stranger, was struck by the wild, incomprehensible expression of his face as he continued to advance. "stop! stop, sir!" cried the hermit on observing this, but the man paid no attention to the warning. another instant and the crust on which he stood gave way and he sank into a horrible gulf from which issued a gust of sulphurous vapour and steam. the horror which almost overwhelmed nigel did not prevent him bounding forward to the rescue. well was it for him at that time that a cooler head than his own was near. the strong hand of the hermit seized his collar on the instant, and he was dragged backward out of danger, while an appalling shriek from the stranger as he disappeared told that the attempt to succour him would have been too late. a terrible event of this kind has usually the effect of totally changing, at least for a time, the feelings of those who witness it, so as to almost incapacitate them from appreciating ordinary events or things. for some days after witnessing the sudden and awful fate of this unknown man, nigel travelled as if in a dream, taking little notice of, or interest in, anything, and replying to questions in mere monosyllables. his companions seemed to be similarly affected, for they spoke very little. even the volatile spirit of moses appeared to be subdued, and it was not till they had reached nearly the end of their journey that their usual flow of spirits returned. arriving one night at a village not very far from the southern shores of sumatra they learned that the hermit's presentiments were justified, and that the volcano which was causing so much disturbance in the islands of the archipelago was, indeed, the long extinct one of krakatoa. "i've heard a good deal about it from one of the chief men here," said the hermit as he returned to his friends that night about supper-time. "he tells me that it has been more or less in moderate eruption ever since we left the island, but adds that nobody takes much notice of it, as they don't expect it to increase much in violence. i don't agree with them in that," he added gravely. "why not?" asked nigel. "partly because of the length of time that has elapsed since its last eruption in 1680; partly from the fact that that eruption--judging from appearances--must have been a very tremendous one, and partly because my knowledge of volcanic action leads me to expect it; but i could not easily explain the reason for my conclusions on the latter point. i have just been to the brow of a ridge not far off whence i have seen the glow in the sky of the krakatoa fires. they do not, however, appear to be very fierce at the present moment." as he spoke there was felt by the travellers a blow, as if of an explosion under the house in which they sat. it was a strong vertical bump which nearly tossed them all off their chairs. van der kemp and his man, after an exclamation or two, continued supper like men who were used to such interruptions, merely remarking that it was an earthquake. but nigel, to whom it was not quite so familiar, stood up for a few seconds with a look of anxious uncertainty, as if undecided as to the path of duty and prudence in the circumstances. moses relieved him. "sot down, massa nadgel," said that sable worthy, as he stuffed his mouth full of rice; "it's easier to sot dan to stand w'en its eart'quakin'." nigel sat down with a tendency to laugh, for at that moment he chanced to glance at the rafters above, where he saw a small anxious-faced monkey gazing down at him. he was commenting on this creature when another prolonged shock of earthquake came. it was not a bump like the previous one, but a severe vibration which only served to shake the men in their chairs, but it shook the small monkey off the rafter, and the miserable little thing fell with a shriek and a flop into the rice-dish! "git out o' dat--you scoundril!" exclaimed moses, but the order was needless, for the monkey bounced out of it like india-rubber and sought to hide its confusion in the thatch, while moses helped himself to some more of the rice, which, he said, was none the worse for being monkeyfied! at last our travellers found themselves in the town of telok betong, where, being within forty-five miles of krakatoa, the hermit could both see and hear that his island-home was in violent agitation; tremendous explosions occurring frequently, while dense masses of smoke were ascending from its craters. "i'm happy to find," said the hermit, soon after their arrival in the town, "that the peak of rakata, on the southern part of the island where my cave lies, is still quiet and has shown no sign of breaking out. and now i shall go and see after my canoe." "do you think it safe to venture to visit your cave?" asked nigel. "well, not absolutely safe," returned the hermit with a peculiar smile, "but, of course, if you think it unwise to run the risk of--" "i asked a simple question, van der kemp, without any thought of myself," interrupted the youth, as he flushed deeply. "forgive me, nigel," returned the hermit quickly and gravely, "it is but my duty to point out that we cannot go there without running _some_ risk." "and it is _my_ duty to point out," retorted his hurt friend, "that when any man, worthy of the name, agrees to follow another, he agrees to accept all risks." to this the hermit vouchsafed no further reply than a slight smile and nod of intelligence. thereafter he went off alone to inquire about his canoe, which, it will be remembered, his friend, the captain of the steamer, had promised to leave for him at this place. telok betong, which was one of the severest sufferers by the eruption of 1883, is a small town at the head of lampong bay, opposite to the island of krakatoa, from which it is between forty and fifty miles distant. it is built on a narrow strip of land at the base of a steep mountain, but little above the sea, and is the chief town of the lampong residency, which forms the most southerly province of sumatra. at the time we write of, the only european residents of the place were connected with government. the rest of the population was composed of a heterogeneous mass of natives mingled with a number of chinese, a few arabs, and a large fluctuating population of traders from borneo, celebes, new guinea, siam, and the other innumerable isles of the archipelago. these were more or less connected with prahus laden with the rich and varied merchandise of the eastern seas. as each man in the town had been permitted to build his house according to his own fancy, picturesque irregularity was the agreeable result. it may be added that, as each man spoke his own language in his own tones, babel and noise were the consequence. in a small hut by the waterside the hermit found the friend--a malay--to whom his canoe had been consigned, and, in a long low shed close by, he found the canoe itself, with the faithful spinkie in charge. "don't go near the canoe till you've made friends with the monkey," said the malay in his own tongue, as he was about to put the key in the door. "why not?" asked the hermit. "because it is the savagest brute i ever came across," said the man. "it won't let a soul come near the canoe. i would have killed it long ago if the captain of the steamer had not told me you wished it to be taken great care of. there, look out! the vixen is not tied up." he flung open the shed-door and revealed spinkie seated in his old place, much deteriorated in appearance and scowling malevolently. the instant the poor creature heard its master's voice and saw his form--for his features must have been invisible against the strong light--the scowl vanished from its little visage. with a shriek of joy it sprang like an acrobat from a spring-board and plunged into the hermit's bosom--to the alarm of the malay, who thought this was a furious attack. we need not say that van der kemp received his faithful little servant kindly, and it was quite touching to observe the monkey's intense affection for him. it could not indeed wag its tail like a dog, but it put its arms round its master's neck with a wondrously human air, and rubbed its little head in his beard and whiskers, drawing itself back now and then, putting its black paws on his cheeks, turning his face round to the light and opening its round eyes wide--as well as its round little mouth--as if to make sure of his identity--then plunging into the whiskers again, and sometimes, when unable to contain its joy, finding a safety-valve in a little shriek. when the meeting and greeting were over, van der kemp explained that he would require his canoe by daybreak the following morning, ordered a few provisions to be got ready, and turned to leave. "you must get down, spinkie, and watch the canoe for one night more," said the hermit, quietly. but spinkie did not seem to perceive the necessity, for he clung closer to his master with a remonstrative, croak. "get down, spinkie," said the hermit firmly, "and watch the canoe." the poor beast had apparently learned that medo-persic law was not more unchangeable than van der kemp's commands! at all events it crept down his arm and leg, waddled slowly over the floor of the shed with bent back and wrinkled brow, like a man of ninety, and took up its old position on the deck, the very personification of superannuated woe. the hermit patted its head gently, however, thus relieving its feelings, and probably introducing hope into its little heart before leaving. then he returned to his friends and bade them prepare for immediate departure. it was the night of the 24th of august, and as the eruptions of the volcano appeared to be getting more and more violent, van der kemp's anxiety to reach his cave became visibly greater. "i have been told," said the hermit to nigel, as they went down with moses to the place where the canoe had been left, "the history of krakatoa since we left. a friend informs me that a short time after our departure the eruptions subsided a little, and the people here had ceased to pay much attention to them, but about the middle of june the volcanic activity became more violent, and on the 19th, in particular, it was observed that the vapour-column and the force of the explosions were decidedly on the increase." "at katimbang, from which place the island can be seen, it was noticed that a second column of vapour was ascending from the centre of the island, and that the appearance of perboewatan had entirely changed, its conspicuous summit having apparently been blown away. in july there were some explosions of exceptional violence, and i have now no doubt that it was these we heard in the interior of this island when we were travelling hither, quite lately. on the 11th of this month, i believe, the island was visited in a boat by a government officer, but he did not land, owing to the heavy masses of vapour and dust driven about by the wind, which also prevented him from making a careful examination, but he could see that the forests of nearly the whole island have been destroyed--only a few trunks of blighted trees being left standing above the thick covering of pumice and dust. he reported that the dust near the shore was found to be twenty inches thick." "if so," said nigel, "i fear that the island will be no longer fit to inhabit." "i know not," returned the hermit sadly, in a musing tone. "the officer reported that there is no sign of eruption at rakata, so that my house is yet safe, for no showers of pumice, however deep, can injure the cave." nigel was on the point of asking his friend why he was so anxious to revisit the island at such a time, but, recollecting his recent tiff on that subject, refrained. afterwards, however, when van der kemp was settling accounts with the malay, he put the question to moses. "i can't help wondering," he said, "that van der kemp should be so anxious to get back to his cave just now. if he were going in a big boat to save some of his goods and chattels i could understand it, but the canoe, you know, could carry little more than her ordinary lading." "well, massa nadgel," said moses, "it's my opinion dat he wants to go back 'cause he's got an uncommon affekshnit heart." "how? surely you don't mean that his love of the mere place is so strong that--" "no, no, massa nadgel--'snot dat. but he was awrful fond ob his wife an' darter, an' i know he's got a photogruff ob 'em bof togidder, an' i t'ink he'd sooner lose his head dan lose dat, for i've seed him look at 'em for hours, an' kiss 'em sometimes w'en he t'ought i was asleep." the return of the hermit here abruptly stopped the conversation. the canoe was carried down and put into the water, watched with profound interest by hundreds of natives and traders, who were all more or less acquainted with the hermit of rakata. it was still daylight when they paddled out into lampong bay, but the volumes of dust which rose from krakatoa--although nearly fifty miles off--did much to produce an unusually early twilight. "goin' to be bery dark, massa," remarked moses as they glided past the shipping. "shall i light de lamp?" "do, moses, but we shan't need it, for as we get nearer home the volcanic fires will light us on our way." "de volcanic dust is a-goin' to powder us on our way too, massa. keep your hands out o' the way, spinkie," said the negro as he fixed a small oil-lamp to the mast, and resumed his paddle. "after we get out a bit the wind will help us," said the hermit. "yes, massa, if he don't blow too strong," returned moses, as a squall came rushing down the mountains and swept over the bay, ruffling its now dark waters into foaming wavelets. altogether, what with the increasing darkness and the hissing squall, and the night-voyage before them, and the fires of krakatoa which were now clearly visible on the horizon, nigel roy felt a more eerie sensation in his breast than he ever remembered to have experienced in all his previous life, but he scorned to admit the fact--even to himself, and said, mentally, that it was rather romantic than otherwise! just then there burst upon their ears the yell of a steam-whistle, and a few moments later a steamer bore straight down on them, astern. "steamer ahoy!" shouted van der kemp. "will ye throw us a rope?" "ay! ay!--ease 'er!--stop 'er! where are 'ee bound for?" demanded an unmistakably english voice. "krakatoa!" replied the hermit. "where are you?" "anjer, on the java coast. do 'ee want to be smothered, roasted, and blown up?" asked the captain, looking down on the canoe as it ranged alongside the dark hull. "no, we want to get home." "home! well, you're queer fellows in a queer eggshell for such waters. every man to his taste. look out for the rope!" "all right, cappen," cried moses as he caught the coil. next moment the steamer went ahead, and the canoe ploughed over the sunda straits at the rate of thirteen miles an hour, with her sharp prow high out of the water, and the stern correspondingly low. the voyage, which would have otherwise cost our three travellers a long laborious night and part of next day, was by this means so greatly shortened that when daybreak arrived they were not more than thirteen miles to the east of krakatoa. nearer than this the steamboat could not take them without going out of her course, but as van der kemp and nigel gratefully acknowledged, it was quite near enough. "well, i should just think it was rather too near!" said the captain with a grin. and, truly, he was justified in making the remark, for the explosions from the volcano had by that time become not only very frequent, but tremendously loud, while the dense cloud which hung above it and spread far and wide over the sky covered the sea with a kind of twilight that struggled successfully against the full advent of day. lightning too was playing among the rolling black masses of smoke, and the roaring explosions every now and then seemed to shake the very heavens. casting off the tow-rope, they turned the bow of their canoe to the island. as a stiffish breeze was blowing, they set the sails, close-reefed, and steered for the southern shore at that part which lay under the shadow of rakata. chapter twenty four. an awful night and terrible morning. it was a matter of some satisfaction to find on drawing near to the shore that the peak of rakata was still intact, and that, although most other parts of the island which could be seen were blighted by fire and covered deeply with pumice-dust, much of the forest in the immediate neighbourhood of the cave was still undestroyed though considerably damaged. "d'you think our old harbour will be available, moses?" asked van der kemp as they came close to the first headland. "pr'aps. bes' go an' see," was the negro's practical reply. "evidently rakata is not yet active," said nigel, looking up at the grey dust-covered crags as the canoe glided swiftly through the dark water. "that is more than can be said for the other craters," returned the hermit. "it seems to me that not only all the old ones are at work, but a number of new ones must have been opened." the constant roaring and explosions that filled their ears and the rain of fine ashes bore testimony to the truth of this, though the solid and towering mass of rakata rose between them and the part of krakatoa which was in eruption, preventing their seeing anything that was passing except the dense masses of smoke, steam, and dust which rose many miles into the heavens, obstructing the light of day, but forming cloud-masses from which the lurid flames of the volcano were reflected downward. on reaching the little bay or harbour it was found much as they had left it, save that the rocks and bushes around were thickly covered with dust, and their boat was gone. "strange! at such a time one would scarcely have expected thieves to come here," said the hermit, looking slowly round. "no t'ief bin here, massa," said moses, looking over the side of the canoe. "i see de boat!" he pointed downwards as he spoke, and on looking over the side they saw the wreck of the boat at the bottom, in about ten feet of water, and crushed beneath a ponderous mass of lava, which must have been ejected from the volcano and afterwards descended upon the boat. the destruction of the boat rendered it impossible to remove any of the property of the hermit, and nigel now saw, from his indifference, that this could not have been the cause of his friend's anxiety and determination to reach his island-home in spite of the danger that such a course entailed. that there was considerable danger soon became very obvious, for, having passed to some extent at this point beyond the shelter of the cliffs of rakata, and come partly into view of the other parts of the island, the real extent of the volcanic violence burst upon nigel and moses as a new revelation. the awful sublimity of the scene at first almost paralysed them, and they failed to note that not only did a constant rain of pumice-dust fall upon them, but that there was also a pretty regular dropping of small stones into the water around them. their attention was sharply aroused to this fact by the fall of a lump of semi-molten rock, about the size of a cannon-shot, a short distance off, which was immediately followed by not less than a cubic yard of lava which fell close to the canoe and deluged them with spray. "we must go," said the hermit quietly. "no need to expose ourselves here, though the watching of the tremendous forces that our creator has at command does possess a wonderful kind of fascination. it seems to me the more we see of his power as exerted on our little earth, the more do we realise the paltriness of our conception of the stupendous might that upholds the universe." while he was speaking, van der kemp guided the canoe into its little haven, and in a few minutes he and moses had carried it into the shelter of the cave out of which nigel had first seen it emerge. then the lading was carried up, after which they turned into the track which led to the hermit's home. the whole operation may be said to have been performed under fire, for small masses of rock kept pattering continually on the dust-covered ground around them, causing cloudlets, like smoke, to spring up wherever they struck. nigel and moses could not resist glancing upward now and then as they moved quickly to and fro, and they experienced a shrinking sensation when a stone fell very near them, but each scorned to exhibit the smallest trace of anxiety, or to suggest that the sooner they got from under fire the better! as for van der kemp, he moved about deliberately as if there was nothing unusual going on, and with an absent look on his grave face as though the outbursts of smoke, and fire, and lava, which turned the face of day into lurid night, and caused the cliffs to reverberate with unwonted thunders, had no effect whatever on his mind. a short walk, however, along the track, which was more than ankle-deep in dust, brought them under the sheltering sides of rakata, up which they soon scrambled to the mouth of their cave. here all was found as they had left it, save that the entrance was knee-deep in pumice-dust. and now a new and very strange sensation was felt by each of them, for the loud reports and crackling sounds which had assailed their ears outside were reduced by the thick walls of the cave to a continuous dull groan, as it were, like the soft but thunderous bass notes of a stupendous organ. to these sounds were added others which seemed to be peculiar to the cave itself. they appeared to rise from crevices in the floor, and were no doubt due to the action of those pent-up subterranean fires which were imprisoned directly, though it may be very far down, under their feet. every now and then there came a sudden increase of the united sounds as if the "swell" of the great organ had been opened, and such out-gushing was always accompanied with more or less of indescribable shocks followed by prolonged tremors of the entire mountain. if the three friends had been outside to observe what was taking place, they would have seen that these symptoms were simultaneous with occasional and extremely violent outbursts from the crater of perboewatan and his compeers. indeed they guessed as much, and two of them at least were not a little thankful that, awesome as their position was, they had the thick mountain between them and the fiery showers outside. of all this the hermit took no notice, but, hastening into the inner cavern, opened a small box, and took therefrom a bundle of papers and a little object which, at a first glance, nigel supposed to be a book, but which turned out to be a photograph case. these the hermit put carefully into the breast-pocket of his coat and then turned to his companions with a sigh as if of relief. "i think there is no danger of anything occurring at this part of the island," he remarked, looking round the cave, "for there is no sign of smoke and no sulphurous smell issuing from any of the crevices in walls or floor. this, i think, shows that there is no direct communication with rakata and the active volcano--at least not at present." "do you then think there is a possibility of an outbreak at some future period?" asked nigel. "who can tell? people here, who don't study the nature of volcanoes much, though surrounded by them, will expect things ere long to resume their normal condition. i can never forget the fact that the greater part of krakatoa stands, as you know, exactly above the spot where the two great lines of volcanic action cross, and right over the mouth of the immense crater to which perboewatan and all the other craters serve as mere chimneys or safety-valves. we cannot tell whether a great eruption similar to that of 1680 may not be in store for us. the only reason that i can see for the quiescence of this peak of rakata is, as i said to you once before, that it stands not so much above the old crater as above and on the safe side of its lip." "i t'ink, massa, if i may ventur' to speak," said moses, "dat de sooner we git off his lip de better lest we tumble into his mout'." "you may be right, moses, and i have no objection to quit," returned the hermit, "now that i have secured the photograph and papers. at the same time i fear the rain of stones and lava is growing worse. it might be safer to stay till there is a lull in the violence of the eruption, and then make a dash for it. what say you, nigel?" "i say that you know best, van der kemp. i'm ready to abide by your decision, whatever it be." "well, then, we will go out and have a look at the state of matters." the view from the entrance was not calculated to tempt them to forsake the shelter of the cave, however uncertain that might be. the latest explosions had enshrouded the island in such a cloud of smoke and dust, that nothing whatever was visible beyond a few yards in front, and even that space was only seen by the faint rays of the lamp issuing from the outer cave. this lamp-light was sufficient, however, to show that within the semi-circle of a few yards there was a continuous rain of grey ashes and dust mingled with occasional stones of various sizes-some larger than a man's fist. "to go out in that would be simply to court death," said nigel, whose voice was almost drowned by the noise of the explosions and fall of material. as it was manifest that nothing could be done at the moment except to wait patiently, they returned to the cave, where they lighted the oil-stove, and moses--who had taken the precaution to carry up some provisions in a bag from the canoe--proceeded to prepare a meal. "stummicks must be attended to," he murmured to himself as he moved about the cave-kitchen and shook his head gravely. "collapses in dat region is wuss, a long way, dan 'splosion of the eart'!" meanwhile, nigel and the hermit went to examine the passage leading to the observatory. the eruption had evidently done nothing to it, for, having passed upwards without difficulty, they finally emerged upon the narrow ledge. the scene that burst upon their astonished gaze here was awful in the extreme. it will be remembered that while the hermit's cave was on the southern side of krakatoa, facing java, the stair and passage leading to the observatory completely penetrated the peak of rakata, so that when standing on the ledge they faced northward and were thus in full view of all the craters between them and perboewatan. these were in full blast at the time, and, being so near, the heat, as well as the dust, molten lava, and other missiles, instantly drove them back under the protection of the passage from which they had emerged. here they found a small aperture which appeared to have been recently formed--probably by a blow from a mass of falling rock--through which they were able to obtain a glimpse of the pandemonium that lay seething below them. they could not see much, however, owing to the smoke which filled the air. the noise of the almost continuous explosions was so loud, that it was impossible to converse save by placing the mouth to the ear and shouting. fortunately soon after their ascent the wind shifted and blew smoke, fire, and dust away to the northward, enabling them to get out on the ledge, where for a time they remained in comparative safety. "look! look at your mirrors!" exclaimed nigel suddenly, as his wandering gaze happened to turn to the hermit's sun-guides. and he might well exclaim, for not only was the glass of these ingenious machines shivered and melted, but their iron frameworks were twisted up into fantastic shapes. "lightning has been at work here," said van der kemp. it did not at the moment occur to either of them that the position on which they stood was peculiarly liable to attack by the subtle and dangerous fluid which was darting and zigzagging everywhere among the rolling clouds of smoke and steam. a louder report than usual here drew their attention again to the tremendous scene that was going on in front of them. the extreme summit of perboewatan had been blown into a thousand fragments, which were hurtling upwards and crackling loudly as the smaller masses were impelled against each other in their skyward progress. this crackling has been described by those who heard it from neighbouring shores as a "strange rustling sound." to our hermit and his friend, who were, so to speak, in the very midst of it, the sound rather resembled the continuous musketry of a battle-field, while the louder explosions might be compared to the booming of artillery, though they necessarily lose by the comparison, for no invention of man ever produced sounds equal to those which thundered at that time from the womb of krakatoa. immediately after this, a fountain of molten lava at white heat welled up in the great throat that had been so violently widened, and, overflowing the edges of the crater, rolled down its sides in fiery rivers. all the other craters in the island became active at the same moment and a number of new ones burst forth. indeed it seemed to those who watched them that if these had not opened up to give vent to the suppressed forces the whole island must have been blown away. as it was, the sudden generation of so much excessive heat set fire to what remained of trees and everything combustible, so that the island appeared to be one vast seething conflagration, and darkness was for a time banished by a red glare that seemed to nigel far more intense than that of noonday. it is indeed the partiality, (if we may say so), of conflagration-light which gives to it the character of impressive power with which we are all so familiar--the intense lights being here cut sharply off by equally intense shadows, and then grading into dull reds and duller greys. the sun, on the other hand, bathes everything in its genial glow so completely that all nature is permeated with it, and there are no intense contrasts, no absolutely black and striking shadows, except in caverns and holes, to form startling contrasts. "these safety-valves," said the hermit, referring to the new craters, "have, under god, been the means of saving us from destruction." "it would seem so," said nigel, who was too overwhelmed by the sight to say much. even as he spoke the scene changed as if by magic, for from the cone of perboewatan there issued a spout of liquid fire, followed by a roar so tremendous that the awe-struck men shrank within themselves, feeling as though that time had really come when the earth is to melt with fervent heat! the entire lake of glowing lava was shot into the air, and lost in the clouds above, while mingled smoke and steam went bellowing after it, and dust fell so thickly that it seemed as if sufficient to extinguish the raging fires. whether it did so or not is uncertain. it may have been that the new pall of black vapour only obscured them. at all events, after the outburst the darkness of night fell suddenly on all around. just then the wind again changed, and the whole mass of vapour, smoke, and ashes came sweeping like the very besom of destruction towards the giddy ledge on which the observers stood. nigel was so entranced that it is probable he might have been caught in the horrible tempest and lost, had not his cooler companion grasped his arm and dragged him violently into the passage--where they were safe, though half suffocated by the heat and sulphurous vapours that followed them. at the same time the thunderous roaring became so loud that conversation was impossible. van der kemp therefore took his friend's hand and led him down to the cave, where the sounds were so greatly subdued as to seem almost a calm by contrast. "we are no doubt in great danger," said the hermit, gravely, as he sat down in the outer cave, "but there is no possibility of taking action to-night. here we are, whether wisely or unwisely, and here we must remain--at least till there is a lull in the eruption. `god is our refuge.' he ought to be so at _all_ times, but there are occasions when this great, and, i would add, glorious fact is pressed upon our understandings with unusual power. such a time is this. come--we will see what his word says to us just now." to nigel's surprise, and, he afterwards confessed, to his comfort and satisfaction, the hermit called the negro from his work, and, taking down the large bible from its shelf, read part of the 46th psalm, "god is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea." he stopped reading at the verse where it is written, "be still, and know that i am god." then, going down on his knees,--without even the familiar formula, "let us pray"--he uttered a brief but earnest prayer for guidance and deliverance "in the name of jesus." rising, he quietly put the bible away, and, with the calmness of a thoroughly practical man, who looks upon religion and ordinary matters as parts of one grand whole, ordered moses to serve the supper. thus they spent part of that memorable night of 26th august 1883 in earnest social intercourse, conversing chiefly and naturally about the character, causes, and philosophy of volcanoes, while perboewatan and his brethren played a rumbling, illustrative accompaniment to their discourse. the situation was a peculiar one. even the negro was alive to that fact. "ain't it koorious," he remarked solemnly ious," he remarked solemnly in a moment of confidence after swallowing the last bite of his supper. "ain't it koorious, massa nadgel, dat we're a sottin' here comf'rably enjoyin' our wittles ober de mout' ob a v'licano as is quite fit to blow us all to bits an' hois' us into de bery middle ob next week--if not farder?" "it is strange indeed, moses," said nigel, who however added no commentary, feeling indisposed to pursue the subject. seeing this, moses turned to his master. "massa," he said. "you don' want nuffin' more to-night, i s'pose?" "no, moses, nothing." "an' is you _quite_ easy in your mind?" "quite," replied the hermit with his peculiar little smile. "den it would be wuss dan stoopid for me to be oneasy, so i'll bid ye bof good-night, an' turn in." in this truly trustful as well as philosophical state of mind, the negro retired to his familiar couch in the inner cave, and went to sleep. nigel and the hermit sat up for some time longer. "van der kemp," said the former, after a pause, "i--i trust you won't think me actuated by impertinent curiosity if i venture to ask you about--the--photograph that i think you--" "my young friend!" interrupted the hermit, taking the case in question from his breast-pocket; "i should rather apologise to you for having appeared to make any mystery of it--and yet," he added, pausing as he was about to open the case, "i have not shown it to a living soul since the day that--well, well,--why should i hesitate? it is all i have left of my dead wife and child." he placed the case in the hands of nigel, who almost sprang from his seat with excitement as he beheld the countenance of a little child of apparently three or four years of age, who so exactly resembled kathy holbein--allowing of course for the difference of age--that he had now no doubt whatever as to her being the hermit's lost daughter. he was on the point of uttering her name, when uncertainty as to the effect the sudden disclosure might have upon the father checked him. "you seem surprised, my friend," said van der kemp gently. "most beautiful!" said nigel, gazing intently at the portrait. "that dear child's face seems so familiar to me that i could almost fancy i had seen it." he looked earnestly into his friend's face as he spoke, but the hermit was quite unmoved, and there was not a shadow of change in the sad low tone of his voice as he said-"yes, she was indeed beautiful, like her mother. as to your fancy about having seen it--mankind is formed in groups and types. we see many faces that resemble others." the absent look that was so common to the solitary man here overspread his massive features, and nigel felt crushed, as it were, back into himself. thus, without having disclosed his belief, he retired to rest in a very anxious state of mind, while the hermit watched. "don't take off your clothes," he said. "if the sounds outside lead me to think things are quieting down, i will rouse you and we shall start at once." it was very early on the morning of the 27th when van der kemp roused our hero. "are things quieter?" asked nigel as he rose. "yes, a little, but not much--nevertheless we must venture to leave." "is it daylight yet?" "no. there will be no daylight to-day!" with which prophecy the hermit left him and went to rouse moses. "massa," said the faithful negro. "isn't you a-goin' to take nuffin' wid you? none ob de books or t'ings!" "no--nothing except the old bible. all the rest i leave behind. the canoe could not carry much. besides, we may have little time. get ready; quick! and follow me." moses required no spur. the three men left the cave together. it was so intensely dark that the road could not be distinguished, but the hermit and his man were so familiar with it that they could have followed it blindfold. on reaching the cave at the harbour, some light was obtained from the fitful outbursts of the volcano, which enabled them to launch the canoe and push off in safety. then, without saying a word to each other, they coasted along the shore of the island, and, finally, leaving its dangers behind them, made for the island of java--poor spinkie sitting in his accustomed place and looking uncommonly subdued! scarcely had they pushed off into sunda straits when the volcano burst out afresh. they had happily seized on the only quiet hour that the day offered, and had succeeded, by the aid of the sails, in getting several miles from the island without receiving serious injury, although showers of stones and masses of rock of all sizes were falling into the sea around them. van der kemp was so far right in his prophecy that there would be no daylight that day. by that time there should have been light, as it was nearly seven o'clock on the memorable morning of the 27th of august. but now, although the travellers were some miles distant from krakatoa, the gloom was so impervious that nigel, from his place in the centre of the canoe, could not see the form of poor spinkie--which sat clinging to the mast only two feet in front of him--save when a blaze from perboewatan or one of the other craters lighted up island and ocean with a vivid glare. at this time the sea began to run very high and the wind increased to a gale, so that the sails of the canoe, small though they were, had to be reduced. "lower the foresail, nigel," shouted the hermit. "i will close-reef it. do you the same to the mainsail." "ay, ay, sir," was the prompt reply. moses and nigel kept the little craft straight to the wind while the foresail was being reefed, van der kemp and the former performing the same duty while nigel reefed the mainsail. suddenly there came a brief but total cessation of the gale, though not of the tumultuous heaving of the waters. during that short interval there burst upon the world a crash and a roar so tremendous that for a few moments the voyagers were almost stunned! it is no figure of speech to say that the _world_ heard the crash. hundreds, ay, thousands of miles did the sound of that mighty upheaval pass over land and sea to startle, more or less, the nations of the earth. the effect of a stupendous shock on the nervous system is curiously various in different individuals. the three men who were so near to the volcano at that moment involuntarily looked round and saw by the lurid blaze that an enormous mass of krakatoa, rent from top to bottom, was falling headlong into the sea; while the entire heavens were alive with flame, lightning, steam, smoke, and the upward-shooting fragments of the hideous wreck! the hermit calmly rested his paddle on the deck and gazed around in silent wonder. nigel, not less smitten with awe, held his paddle with an iron grasp, every muscle quivering with tension in readiness for instant action when the need for action should appear. moses, on the other hand, turning round from the sight with glaring eyes, resumed paddling with unreasoning ferocity, and gave vent at once to his feelings and his opinion in the sharp exclamation--"blown to bits!" chapter twenty five. adventures of the "sunshine" and an unexpected reunion. we must request the reader to turn back now for a brief period to a very different scene. a considerable time before the tremendous catastrophe described in the last chapter--which we claim to have recorded without the slightest exaggeration, inasmuch as exaggeration were impossible--captain david roy, of the good brig _sunshine_, received the letter which his son wrote to him while in the jungles of sumatra. the captain was seated in the back office of a batavian merchant at the time, smoking a long clay pipe--on the principle, no doubt, that moderate poisoning is conducive to moderate health! as he perused the letter, the captain's eyes slowly opened; so did his mouth, and the clay pipe, falling to the floor, was reduced to little pieces. but the captain evidently cared nothing for that. he gave forth a prolonged whistle, got up, smote upon his thigh, and exclaimed with deep-toned emphasis-"the rascal!" then he sat down again and re-perused the letter, with a variety of expression on his face that might have recalled the typical april day, minus the tears. "the rascal!" he repeated, as he finished the second reading of the letter and thrust it into his pocket. "i knew there was somethin' i' the wind wi' that little girl! the memory o' my own young days when i boarded and captured the poetess is strong upon me yet. i saw it in the rascal's eye the very first time they met--an' he thinks i'm as blind as a bat, i'll be bound, with his poetical reef-point-pattering sharpness. but it's a strange discovery he has made and must be looked into. the young dog! he gives me orders as if he were the owner." jumping up, captain roy hurried out into the street. in passing the outer office he left a message with one of the clerks for his friend the merchant. "tell him," he said, "that i'll attend to that little business about the bill when i come back. i'm going to sail for the keeling islands this afternoon." "the keeling islands?" exclaimed the clerk in surprise. "yes--i've got business to do there. i'll be back, all bein' well, in a week--more or less." the clerk's eyebrows remained in a raised position for a few moments, until he remembered that captain roy, being owner of his ship and cargo, was entitled to do what he pleased with his own and himself. then they descended, and he went on with his work, amusing himself with the thought that the most curious beings in the world were seafaring men. "mr moor," said the captain somewhat excitedly, as he reached the deck of his vessel, "are all the men aboard?" "all except jim sloper, sir." "then send and hunt up jim sloper at once, for we sail this afternoon for the keeling islands." "very well, sir." mr moor was a phlegmatic man; a self-contained and a reticent man. if captain roy had told him to get ready to sail to the moon that afternoon, he would probably have said "very well, sir," in the same tone and with the same expression. "may i ask, sir, what sort of cargo you expect there?" said mr moor; for to his practical mind some re-arrangement of the cargo already on board might be necessary for the reception of that to be picked up at keeling. "the cargo we'll take on board will be a girl," said the captain. "a what, sir?" "a girl." "very well, sir." this ended the business part of the conversation. thereafter they went into details so highly nautical that we shrink from recording them. an amateur detective, in the form of a shipmate, having captured jim sloper, the _sunshine_ finally cleared out of the port of batavia that evening, shortly before its namesake took his departure from that part of the southern hemisphere. favouring gales carried the brig swiftly through sunda straits and out into the indian ocean. two days and a half brought her to the desired haven. on the way, captain roy took note of the condition of krakatoa, which at that time was quietly working up its subterranean forces with a view to the final catastrophe; opening a safety-valve now and then to prevent, as it were, premature explosion. "my son's friend, the hermit of rakata," said the captain to his second mate, "will find his cave too hot to hold him, i think, when he returns." "looks like it, sir," said mr moor, glancing up at the vast clouds which were at that time spreading like a black pall over the re-awakened volcano. "do you expect 'em back soon, sir?" "yes--time's about up now. i shouldn't wonder if they reach batavia before us." arrived at the keeling islands, captain roy was received, as usual, with acclamations of joy, but he found that he was by no means as well fitted to act the part of a diplomatist as he was to sail a ship. it was, in truth, a somewhat delicate mission on which his son had sent him, for he could not assert definitely that the hermit actually was kathleen holbein's father, and her self-constituted parents did not relish the idea of letting slip, on a mere chance, one whom they loved as a daughter. "why not bring this man who claims to be her father _here_?" asked the perplexed holbein. "because--because, p'raps he won't come," answered the puzzled mariner, who did not like to say that he was simply and strictly obeying his son's orders. "besides," he continued, "the man does not claim to be anything at all. so far as i understand it, my boy has not spoken to him on the subject, for fear, i suppose, of raisin' hopes that ain't to be realised." "he is right in that," said mrs holbein, "and we must be just as careful not to raise false hopes in dear little kathy. as your son says, it may be a mistake after all. we must not open our lips to her about it." "right you are, madam," returned the captain. "mum's the word; and we've only got to say she's goin' to visit one of your old friends in anjer--which'll be quite true, you know, for the landlady o' the chief hotel there is a great friend o' yours, and we'll take kathy to her straight. besides, the trip will do her health a power o' good, though i'm free to confess it don't need no good to be done to it, bein' a1 at the present time. now, just you agree to give the girl a holiday, an' i'll pledge myself to bring her back safe and sound--with her father, if he's _him_; without him if he isn't." with such persuasive words captain roy at length overcame the holbein objections. with the girl herself he had less difficulty, his chief anxiety being, as he himself said, "to give her reasons for wishin' her to go without tellin' lies." "wouldn't you like a trip in my brig to anjer, my dear girl?" he had almost said daughter, but thought it best not to be too precipitate. "oh! i should like it _so_ much," said kathleen, clasping her little hands and raising her large eyes to the captain's face. "_dear_ child!" said the captain to himself. then aloud, "well, i'll take you." "but i--i fear that father and mother would not like me to go--perhaps." "no fear o' them, my girl," returned the captain, putting his huge rough hand on her pretty little head as if in an act of solemn appropriation, for, unlike too many fathers, this exemplary man considered only the sweetness, goodness, and personal worth of the girl, caring not a straw for other matters, and being strongly of opinion that a man should marry young if he possess the spirit of a man or the means to support a wife. as he was particularly fond of kathleen, and felt quite sure that his son had deeper reasons than he chose to express for his course of action, he entertained a strong hope, not to say conviction, that she would also become fond of nigel, and that all things would thus work together for a smooth course to this case of true love. it will be seen from all this that captain david roy was a sanguine man. whether his hopes were well grounded or not remains to be seen. meanwhile, having, as mr moor said, shipped the cargo, the _sunshine_ set sail once more for sunda straits in a measure of outward gloom that formed a powerful contrast to the sunny hopes within her commander's bosom, for krakatoa was at that time progressing rapidly towards the consummation of its designs, as partly described in the last chapter. short though that voyage was, it embraced a period of action so thrilling that ever afterwards it seemed a large slice of life's little day to those who went through it. we have said that the culminating incidents of the drama began on the night of the 26th. before that time, however, the cloud-pall was fast spreading over land and sea, and the rain of pumice and ashes had begun to descend. the wind being contrary, it was several days before the brig reached the immediate neighbourhood of krakatoa, and by that time the volcano had begun to enter upon the stage which is styled by vulcanologists "paroxysmal," the explosions being extremely violent as well as frequent. "it is very awful," said kathleen in a low voice, as she clasped the captain's arm and leaned her slight figure on it. "i have often heard the thunder of distant volcanoes, but never been so near as to hear such terrible sounds." "don't be frightened, my ducky," said the captain in a soothing tone, for he felt from the appearance of things that there was indeed some ground for alarm. "volcanoes always look worse when you're near them." "i not frightened," she replied. "only i got strange, solemn feelings. besides, no danger can come till god allows." "that's right, lass. mrs holbein has been a true mother if she taught you that." "no, she did not taught me that. my father taught me that." "what! old holbein?" "no--my father, who is dead," she said in a low voice. "oh! i see. my poor child, i should have understood you. forgive me." as the captain spoke, a tremendous outburst on krakatoa turned their minds to other subjects. they were by that time drawing near to the island, and the thunders of the eruption seemed to shake not only the heavens but even the great ocean itself. though the hour was not much past noon the darkness soon became so dense that it was difficult to perceive objects a few yards distant, and, as pieces of stone the size of walnuts, or even larger, began to fall on the deck, the captain sent kathleen below. "there's no saying where or when a big stone may fall, my girl," he said, "and it's not the habit of englishmen to let women come under fire, so you'll be safer below. besides, you'll be able to see something of what's goin' on out o' the cabin windows." with the obedience that was natural to her, kathleen went down at once, and the captain made everything as snug as possible, battening down the hatches and shortening sail so as to be ready for whatever might befall. "i don't like the look o' things, mr moor," said the captain when the second mate came on deck to take his watch. "no more do i, sir," answered mr moor calmly. the aspect of things was indeed very changeable. sometimes, as we have said, all nature seemed to be steeped in thick darkness, at other times the fires of the volcano blazed upward, spreading a red glare on the rolling clouds and over the heaving sea. lightninell as thunder, but the latter was scarcely distinguishable from the volcano's roar. three days before sunday the 26th of august, captain roy--as well as the crews of several other vessels that were in sunda straits at the time--had observed a marked though gradual increase in the violence of the eruption. on that day, as we read in the _report of the krakatoa committee of the royal society_, about 1 p.m. the detonations caused by the explosive action attained such violence as to be heard at batavia, about 100 english miles away. at 2 p.m. of the same day, captain thompson of the _medea_, when about 76 miles east-north-east of the island, saw a black mass rising like clouds of smoke to a height which has been estimated at no less than 17 miles! and the detonations were at that time taking place at intervals of ten minutes. but, terrible though these explosions must have been, they were but as the whisperings of the volcano. an hour later they had increased so much as to be heard at bandong and other places 150 miles away, and at 5 p.m. they had become so tremendous as to be heard over the whole island of java, the eastern portion of which is about 650 miles from krakatoa. and the sounds thus heard were not merely like distant thunder. in batavia--although, as we have said, 100 miles off--they were so violent during the whole of that terrible sunday night as to prevent the people from sleeping. they were compared to the "discharge of artillery close at hand," and caused a rattling of doors, windows, pictures, and chandeliers. captain watson of the _charles bal_, who chanced to be only 10 miles south of the volcano, also compared the sounds to discharges of artillery, but this only shows the feebleness of ordinary language in attempting to describe such extraordinary sounds, for if they were comparable to close artillery at batavia, the same comparison is inappropriate at only ten miles' distance. he also mentions the crackling noise, probably due to the impact of fragments in the atmosphere, which were noticed by the hermit and nigel while standing stunned and almost stupefied on the giddy ledge of rakata that same sunday. about five in the evening of that day, the brig _sunshine_ drew still nearer to the island, but the commotion at the time became so intense, and the intermittent darkness so profound, that captain roy was afraid to continue the voyage and shortened sail. not only was there a heavy rolling sea, but the water was seething, as if about to boil. "heave the lead, mr moor," said the captain, who stood beside the wheel. "yes, sir," answered the imperturbable second mate, who thereupon gave the necessary order, and when the depth was ascertained, the report was "ten fathoms, sand, with a hot bottom." "a hot bottom! what do you mean?" "the lead's 'ot, sir," replied the sailor. this was true, as the captain found when he applied his hand to it. "i do believe the world's going on fire," he muttered; "but it's a comfort to know that it can't very well blaze up as long as the sea lasts!" just then a rain of pumice in large pieces, and quite warm, began to fall upon the deck. as most people know, pumice is extremely light, so that no absolute injury was done to any one, though such rain was excessively trying. soon, however, a change took place. the dense vapours and dust-clouds which had rendered it so excessively dark were entirely lighted up from time to time by fierce flashes of lightning which rent as well as painted them in all directions. at one time this great mass of clouds presented the appearance of an immense pine-tree with the stem and branches formed of volcanic lightning. captain roy, fearing that these tremendous sights and sounds would terrify the poor girl in the cabin, was about to look in and reassure her, when the words "oh! how splendid!" came through the slightly opened door. he peeped in and saw kathleen on her knees on the stern locker, with her hands clasped, gazing out of one of the stern windows. "hm! she's all right," he muttered, softly re-closing the door and returning on deck. "if she thinks it's splendid, she don't need no comfortin'! it's quite clear that she don't know what danger means--and why should she? humph! there go some more splendid sights for her," he added, as what appeared to be chains of fire ascended from the volcano to the sky. just then a soft rain began to fall. it was warm, and, on examination at the binnacle-lamp, turned out to be mud. slight at first, it soon poured down in such quantities that in ten minutes it lay six inches thick on the deck, and the crew had to set to work with shovels to heave it overboard. at this time there was seen a continual roll of balls of white fire down the sides of the peak of rakata, caused, doubtless, by the ejection of white-hot fragments of lava. then showers of masses like iron cinders fell on the brig, and from that time onward till four o'clock of the morning of the 27th, explosions of indescribable grandeur continually took place, as if the mountains were in a continuous roar of terrestrial agony--the sky being at one moment of inky blackness, the next in a blaze of light, while hot, choking, and sulphurous smells almost stifled the voyagers. at this point the captain again became anxious about kathleen and went below. he found her in the same place and attitude--still fascinated! "my child," he said, taking her hand, "you must lie down and rest." "oh! no. do let me stay up," she begged, entreatingly. "but you must be tired--sleepy." "sleepy! who could sleep with such wonders going on around? pray _don't_ tell me to go to bed!" it was evident that poor kathy had the duty of obedience to authority still strong upon her. perhaps the memory of the holbein nursery had not yet been wiped out. "well, well," said the captain with a pathetic smile, "you are as safe-comfortable, i mean--here as in your berth or anywhere else." as there was a lull in the violence of the eruption just then, the captain left kathleen in the cabin and went on deck. it was not known at that time what caused this lull, but as it preceded the first of the four grand explosions which effectually eviscerated--emptied--the ancient crater of krakatoa, we will give, briefly, the explanation of it as conjectured by the men of science. lying as it did so close to the sea-level, the krakatoa volcano, having blown away all its cones, and vents, and safety-valves--from perboewatan southward, except the peak of rakata--let the sea rush in upon its infernal fires. this result, ordinary people think, produced a gush of steam which caused the grand terminal explosions. vulcanologists think otherwise, and with reason--which is more than can be said of ordinary people, who little know the power of the forces at work below the crust of our earth! the steam thus produced, although on so stupendous a scale, was free to expand and therefore went upwards, no doubt in a sufficiently effective gust and cloud. but nothing worthy of being named a blow-up was there. the effect of the in-rushing water was to cool the upper surface of the boiling lava and convert it into a thick hard solid crust at the mouth of the great vent. in this condition the volcano resembled a boiler with all points of egress closed and the safety-valve shut down! oceans of molten lava creating expansive gases below; no outlet possible underneath, and the neck of the bottle corked with tons of solid rock! one of two things must happen in such circumstances: the cork must go or the bottle must burst! both events happened on that terrible night. all night long the corks were going, and at last--krakatoa burst! in the hurly-burly of confusion, smoke, and noise, no eye could note the precise moment when the island was shattered, but there were on the morning of the 27th four supreme explosions, which rang loud and high above the horrible average din. these occurred--according to the careful investigations made, at the instance of the dutch indian government, by the eminent geologist, mr r.d.m. verbeek--at the hours of 5:30, 6:44, 10:02, and 10:52 in the morning. of these the third, about 10, was by far the worst for violence and for the widespread devastation which it produced. at each of these explosions a tremendous sea-wave was created by the volcano, which swept like a watery ring from krakatoa as a centre to the surrounding shores. it was at the second of these explosions--that of 6:44--that the fall of the mighty cliff took place which was seen by the hermit and his friends as they fled from the island, and, on the crest of the resulting wave, were carried along they scarce knew whither. as the previous wave--that of 5:30--had given the brig a tremendous heave upwards, the captain, on hearing the second, ran down below for a moment to tell kathleen there would soon be another wave, but that she need fear no danger. "the brig is deep and has a good hold o' the water," he said, "so the wave is sure to slip under her without damage. i wish i could hope it would do as little damage when it reaches the shore." as he spoke a strange and violent crash was heard overhead, quite different from volcanic explosions, like the falling of some heavy body on the deck. "one o' the yards down!" muttered the captain as he ran to the cabin door. "hallo, what's that, mr moor?" "canoe just come aboard, sir." "a canoe?" "yes, sir. crew, three men and a monkey. all insensible--hallo!" the "hallo!" with which the second mate finished his remark was so unlike his wonted tone, and so full of genuine surprise, that the captain ran forward with unusual haste, and found a canoe smashed to pieces against the foremast, and the mate held a lantern close to the face of one of the men while the crew were examining the others. a single glance told the captain that the mud-bespattered figure that lay before him as if dead was none other than his own son! the great wave had caught the frail craft on its crest, and, sweeping it along with lightning speed for a short distance, had hurled it on the deck of the _sunshine_ with such violence as to completely stun the whole crew. even spinkie lay in a melancholy little heap in the lee scuppers. you think this a far-fetched coincidence, good reader! well, all we can say is that we could tell you of another--a double-coincidence, which was far more extraordinary than this one, but as it has nothing to do with our tale we refrain from inflicting it on you. chapter twenty six. a climax. three of those who had tumbled thus unceremoniously on the deck of the _sunshine_ were soon sufficiently recovered to sit up and look around in dazed astonishment--namely nigel, moses, and the monkey--but the hermit still lay prone where he had been cast, with a pretty severe wound on his head, from which blood was flowing freely. "nigel, my boy!" "father!" exclaimed the youth. "where am i? what has happened?" "don't excite yourself, lad," said the mariner, stooping and whispering into his son's ear. "we've got _her_ aboard!" no treatment could have been more effectual in bringing nigel to his senses than this whisper. "is--is--van der kemp safe?" he asked anxiously. "all right--only stunned, i think. that's him they're just goin' to carry below. put 'im in my bunk, mr moor." "ay ay, sir." nigel sprang up. "stay, father," he said in a low voice. "_she_ must not see him for the first time like this." "all right, boy. i understand. you leave that to me. my bunk has bin shifted for'id--more amidships--an' kathy's well aft. they shan't be let run foul of each other. you go an' rest on the main hatch till we get him down. why, here's a nigger! where did you pick him? oh! i remember. you're the man we met, i suppose, wi' the hermit on krakatoa that day o' the excursion from batavia." "yes, das me. but we'll meet on krakatoa no more, for dat place am blown to bits." "i'm pretty well convinced o' that by this time, my man. not hurt much, i hope?" "no, sar--not more 'n i can stan'. but i's 'fraid dat poor spinkie's a'most used up--hallo! what you gwine to do with massa?" demanded the negro, whose wandering faculties had only in part returned. "he's gone below. all right. now, you go and lie down beside my son on the hatch. i'll--see to van der kemp." but captain david roy's intentions, like those of many men of greater note, were frustrated by the hermit himself, who recovered consciousness just as the four men who carried him reached the foot of the companion-ladder close to the cabin door. owing to the deeper than midnight darkness that prevailed a lamp was burning in the cabin--dimly, as if, infected by the universal chaos, it were unwilling to enlighten the surrounding gloom. on recovering consciousness van der kemp was, not unnaturally, under the impression that he had fallen into the hands of foes. with one effectual convulsion of his powerful limbs he scattered his bearers right and left, and turning--like all honest men--to the light, he sprang into the cabin, wrenched a chair from its fastenings, and, facing round, stood at bay. kathleen, seeing this blood-stained giant in such violent action, naturally fled to her cabin and shut the door. as no worse enemy than captain roy presented himself at the cabin door, unarmed, and with an anxious look on his rugged face, the hermit set down the chair, and feeling giddy sank down on it with a groan. "i fear you are badly hurt, sir. let me tie a handkerchief round your wounded head," said the captain soothingly. "thanks, thanks. your voice is not unfamiliar to me," returned the hermit with a sigh, as he submitted to the operation. "i thought i had fallen somehow into the hands of pirates. surely an accident must have happened. how did i get here? where are my comrades--nigel and the negro?" "my son nigel is all right, sir, and so is your man moses. make your mind easy--an' pray don't speak while i'm working at you. i'll explain it all in good time. stay, i'll be with you in a moment." the captain--fearing that kathleen might come out from curiosity to see what was going on, and remembering his son's injunction--went to the girl's berth with the intention of ordering her to keep close until he should give her leave to come out. opening the door softly and looking in, he was startled, almost horrified, to see kathleen standing motionless like a statue, with both hands pressed tightly over her heart. the colour had fled from her beautiful face; her long hair was flung back; her large lustrous eyes were wide open and her lips slightly parted, as if her whole being had been concentrated in eager expectancy. "what's wrong, my girl?" asked the captain anxiously. "you've no cause for fear. i just looked in to--." "that voice!" exclaimed kathleen, with something of awe in her tones--"oh! i've heard it so often in my dreams." "hush! shush! my girl," said the captain in a low tone, looking anxiously round at the wounded man. but his precautions were unavailing,--van der kemp had also heard a voice which he thought had long been silent in death. the girl's expression was almost repeated in his face. before the well-meaning mariner could decide what to do, kathleen brushed lightly past him, and stood in the cabin gazing as if spell-bound at the hermit. "winnie!" he whispered, as if scarcely daring to utter the name. "father!" she extended both hands towards him as she spoke. then, with a piercing shriek, she staggered backward, and would have fallen had not the captain caught her and let her gently down. van der kemp vaulted the table, fell on his knees beside her, and, raising her light form, clasped her to his heart, just as nigel and moses, alarmed by the scream, sprang into the cabin. "come, come; away wi' you--you stoopid grampusses!" cried the captain, pushing the intruders out of the cabin, following them, and closing the door behind him. "this is no place for bunglers like you an' me. we might have known that natur' would have her way, an' didn't need no help from the like o' us. let's on deck. there's enough work there to look after that's better suited to us." truly there was enough--and more than enough--to claim the most anxious attention of all who were on board of the _sunshine_ that morning, for hot mud was still falling in showers on the deck, and the thunders of the great volcano were still shaking heaven, earth, and sea. to clear the decks and sails of mud occupied every one for some time so earnestly that they failed to notice at first that the hermit had come on deck, found a shovel, and was working away like the rest of them. the frequent and prolonged blazes of intense light that ever and anon banished the darkness showed that on his face there sat an expression of calm, settled, triumphant joy, which was strangely mingled with a look of quiet humility. "i thank god for this," said nigel, going forward when he observed him and grasping his hand. "you knew it?" exclaimed the hermit in surprise. "yes. i knew it--indeed, helped to bring you together, but did not dare to tell you till i was quite sure. i had hoped to have you meet in very different circumstances." "`it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps,'" returned the hermit reverently. "god bless you, nigel. if you have even aimed at bringing this about, i owe you _more_ than my life." "you must have lost a good deal of blood, van der kemp. are you much hurt?" asked nigel, as he observed the bandage round his friend's head. "somewhat. not much, i hope--but joy, as well as blood, gives strength, nigel." a report from a man who had just been ordered to take soundings induced the captain at this time to lay-to. "it seems to me," he said to nigel and the hermit who stood close beside him, "that we are getting too near shore. but in cases o' this kind the bottom o' the sea itself can't be depended on." "what part of the shore are we near, d'you think, father?" "stand by to let go the anchor!" roared the captain, instead of answering the question. "ay, ay, sir," replied the second mate, whose cool, sing-song, business-like tone at such a moment actually tended to inspire a measure of confidence in those around him. another moment, and the rattling chain caused a tremor through the vessel, which ceased when the anchor touched bottom, and they rode head to wind. coruscations of bluish light seemed to play about the masts, and balls of electric fire tipped the yards, throwing for a short time a ghastly sheen over the ship and crew, for the profound darkness had again settled down, owing, no doubt, to another choking of the krakatoa vent. before the light referred to went out, moses was struck violently on the chest by, something soft, which caused him to stagger. it was spinkie! in the midst of the unusual horrors that surrounded him, while clinging to the unfamiliar mizzen shrouds on which in desperation the poor monkey had found a temporary refuge, the electric fire showed him the dark figure of his old familiar friend standing not far off. with a shriek of not quite hopeless despair, and an inconceivable bound, spinkie launched himself into space. his early training in the forest stood him in good stead at that crisis! as already said he hit the mark fairly, and clung to moses with a tenacity that was born of mingled love and desperation. finding that nothing short of cruelty would unfix his little friend, moses stuffed him inside the breast of his cotton shirt. in this haven of rest the monkey heaved a sigh of profound contentment, folded his hands on his bosom, and meekly went to sleep. two of the excessively violent paroxysms of the volcano, above referred to, had by that time taken place, but the third, and worst--that which occurred about 10 a.m.--was yet in store for them, though they knew it not, and a lull in the roar, accompanied by thicker darkness than ever, was its precursor. there was not, however, any lull in the violence of the wind. "i don't like these lulls," said captain roy to the hermit, as they stood close to the binnacle, in the feeble light of its lamp. "what is that striking against our sides, mr moor?" "looks like floating pumice, sir," answered the second mate, "and i think i see palm-trees amongst it." "ay, i thought so, we must be close to land," said the captain. "we can't be far from anjer, and i fear the big waves that have already passed us have done some damage. lower a lantern over the side,--no, fetch an empty tar-barrel and let's have a flare. that will enable us to see things better." while the barrel was being fastened to a spar so as to be thrust well out beyond the side of the brig, van der kemp descended the companion and opened the cabin door. "come up now, winnie, darling." "yes, father," was the reply, as the poor girl, who had been anxiously awaiting the summons, glided out and clasped her father's arm with both hands. "are things quieting down?" "they are, a little. it may be temporary, but--our father directs it all." "true, father. i'm _so_ glad of that!" "mind the step, we shall have more light on deck. there is a friend there who has just told me he met you on the cocos-keeling island, nigel roy;--you start, winnie?" "y-yes, father. i am _so_ surprised, for it is _his_ father who sails this ship! and i cannot imagine how he or you came on board." "well, i was going to say that i believe it is partly through nigel that you and i have been brought together, but there is mystery about it that i don't yet understand; much has to be explained, and this assuredly is not the time or place. here, nigel, is your old keeling friend." "ay--friend! humph!" said old roy softly to himself. "my dear--child!" said young roy, paternally, to the girl as he grasped her hand. "i cannot tell you how thankful i am that this has been brought about, and--and that _i_ have had some little hand in it." "there's more than pumice floating about in the sea, sir," said mr moor, coming aft at the moment and speaking to the captain in a low tone. "you'd better send the young lady below--or get some one to take up her attention just now." "here, nigel. sit down under the lee of the companion, an' tell kathy how this all came about," said the captain, promptly, as if issuing nautical orders. "i want you here, van der kemp." so saying, the captain, followed by the hermit, went with the second mate to the place where the flaming tar-barrel was casting a lurid glare upon the troubled sea. chapter twenty seven. "blown to bits." the sight that met their eyes was well calculated to shock and sadden men of much less tender feeling than van der kemp and captain roy. the water had assumed an appearance of inky blackness, and large masses of pumice were floating past, among which were numerous dead bodies of men, women, and children, intermingled with riven trees, fences, and other wreckage from the land, showing that the two great waves which had already passed under the vessel had caused terrible devastation on some parts of the shore. to add to the horror of the scene large sea-snakes were seen swimming wildly about, as if seeking to escape from the novel dangers that surrounded them. the sailors looked on in awe-stricken silence for some time. "p'raps some of 'em may be alive yet!" whispered one. "couldn't we lower a boat?" "impossible in such a sea," said the captain, who overheard the remark. "besides, no life could exist there." "captain roy," said van der kemp earnestly, "let me advise you to get your foresail ready to hoist at a moment's notice, and let them stand by to cut the cable." "why so? there seems no need at present for such strong measures." "you don't understand volcanoes as i do," returned the hermit. "this lull will only last until the imprisoned fires overcome the block in the crater, and the longer it lasts the worse will be the explosion. from my knowledge of the coast i feel sure that we are close to the town of anjer. if another wave like the last comes while we are here, it will not slip under your brig like the last one. it will tear her from her anchor and hurl us all to destruction. you have but one chance; that is, to cut the cable and run in on the top of it--a poor chance at the best, but if god wills, we shall escape." "if we are indeed as near shore as you think," said the captain, "i know what you say must be true, for in shoal water such a wave will surely carry all before it. but are you certain there will be another explosion?" "no man can be sure of that. if the last explosion emptied the crater there will be no more. if it did not, another explosion is certain. all i advise is that you should be ready for whatever is coming, and ready to take your only chance." "right you are, sir. send men to be ready to cut the cable, mr moor. and stand by the topsail halyards." "ay, ay, sir." during the anxious minutes that followed, the hermit rejoined winnie and nigel on the quarterdeck, and conversed with the latter in a low voice, while he drew the former to his side with his strong arm. captain roy himself grasped the wheel and the men stood at their various stations ready for action. "let no man act without orders, whatever happens," said the captain in a deep powerful voice which was heard over the whole ship, for the lull that we have mentioned extended in some degree to the gale as well as to the volcano. every one felt that some catastrophe was pending. "winnie, darling," said the hermit tenderly, as he bent down to see the sweet face that had been restored to him. "i greatly fear that there is soon to be another explosion, and it may be his will that we shall perish, but comfort yourself with the certainty that no hair of your dear head can fall without his permission--and in any event he will not fail us." "i know it, father. i have no fear--at least, only a little!" "nigel," said the hermit, "stick close to us if you can. it may be that, if anything should befall me, your strong arm may succour winnie; mine has lost somewhat of its vigour," he whispered. "trust me--nothing but death shall sunder us," said the anxious youth in a burst of enthusiasm. it seemed as if death were indeed to be the immediate portion of all on board the _sunshine_, for a few minutes later there came a crash, followed by a spout of smoke, fire, steam, and molten lava, compared to which all that had gone before seemed insignificant! the crash was indescribable! as we have said elsewhere, the sound of it was heard many hundreds of miles from the seat of the volcano, and its effects were seen and felt right round the world. the numerous vents which had previously been noticed on krakatoa must at that moment have been blown into one, and the original crater of the old volcano--said to have been about six miles in diameter--must have resumed its destructive work. all the eye-witnesses who were near the spot at the time, and sufficiently calm to take note of the terrific events of that morning, are agreed as to the splendour of the electrical phenomena displayed during this paroxysmal outburst. one who, at the time, was forty miles distant speaks of the great vapour-cloud looking "like an immense wall or blood-red curtain with edges of all shades of yellow, and bursts of forked lightning at times rushing like large serpents through the air." another says that "krakatoa appeared to be alight with flickering flames rising behind a dense black cloud." a third recorded that "the lightning struck the mainmast conductor five or six times," and that "the mud-rain which covered the decks was phosphorescent, while the rigging presented the appearance of saint elmo's fire." it may be remarked here, in passing, that giant steam-jets rushing through the orifices of the earth's crust constitute an enormous hydro-electric engine; and the friction of ejected materials striking against each other in ascending and descending also generates electricity, which accounts to some extent for the electrical condition of the atmosphere. in these final and stupendous outbursts the volcano was expending its remaining force in breaking up and ejecting the solid lava which constituted its framework, and not in merely vomiting forth the lava-froth, or pumice, which had characterised the earlier stages of the eruption. in point of fact--as was afterwards clearly ascertained by careful soundings and estimates, taking the average height of the missing portion at 700 feet above water, and the depth at 300 feet below it--two-thirds of the island were blown entirely off the face of the earth. the mass had covered an area of nearly six miles, and is estimated as being equal to one and one-eighth cubic miles of solid matter which, as moses expressed it, was blown to bits! if this had been all, it would have been enough to claim the attention and excite the wonder of the intelligent world--but this was not nearly all, as we shall see, for saddest of all the incidents connected with the eruption is the fact that upwards of thirty-six thousand human beings lost their lives. the manner in which that terrible loss occurred shall be shown by the future adventures of the _sunshine_. chapter twenty eight. the fate of the "sunshine." stunned at first, for a few minutes, by the extreme violence of the explosion, no one on board the _sunshine_ spoke, though each man stood at his post ready to act. "strange," said the captain at last. "there seems to be no big wave this time." "that only shows that we are not as near the island as we thought. but it won't be long of--see! there it comes," said the hermit. "now, winnie, cling to my arm and put your trust in god." nigel, who had secured a life-buoy, moved close to the girl's side, and looking anxiously out ahead saw a faint line of foam in the thick darkness which had succeeded the explosion. already the distant roar of the billow was heard, proving that it had begun to break. "the wind comes with it," said van der kemp. "stand by!" cried the captain, gazing intently over the side. next moment came the sharp order to hoist the foretopsail and jib, soon followed by "cut the cable!" there was breeze enough to swing the vessel quickly round. in a few seconds her stern was presented to the coming wave, and her bow cleft the water as she rushed upon what every one now knew was her doom. to escape the great wave was no part of the captain's plan. to have reached the shore before the wave would have been fatal to all. their only hope lay in the possibility of riding in on the top of it, and the great danger was that they should be unable to rise to it stern first when it came up, or that they should turn broadside on and be rolled over. they had not long to wait. the size of the wave, before it came near enough to be seen, was indicated by its solemn, deep-toned, ever-increasing roar. the captain stood at the wheel himself, guiding the brig and glancing back from time to time uneasily. suddenly the volcano gave vent to its fourth and final explosion. it was not so violent as its predecessors had been, though more so than any that had occurred on the day before, and the light of it showed them the full terrors of their situation, for it revealed the mountains of java-apparently quite close in front, though in reality at a considerable distance--with a line of breakers beating white on the shore. but astern of them was the most appalling sight, for there, rushing on with awful speed and a sort of hissing roar, came the monstrous wave, emerging, as it were, out of thick darkness, like a mighty wall of water with a foaming white crest, not much less--according to an average of the most reliable estimates--than 100 feet high. well might the seamen blanch, for never before in all their varied experience had they seen the like of that. on it came with the unwavering force of fate. to the eye of captain roy it appeared that up its huge towering side no vessel made by mortal man could climb. but the captain had too often stared death in the face to be unmanned by the prospect now. steadily he steered the vessel straight on, and in a quiet voice said-"lay hold of something firm--every man!" the warning was well timed. in the amazement, if not fear, caused by the unwonted sight, some had neglected the needful precaution. as the billow came on, the bubbling, leaping, and seething of its crest was apparent both to eye and ear. then the roar became tremendous. "darling winnie," said nigel at that moment. "i will die for you or with you!" the poor girl heard, but no sign of appreciation moved her pale face as she gazed up at the approaching chaos of waters. next moment the brig seemed to stand on its bows. van der kemp had placed his daughter against the mast, and, throwing his long arms round both, held on. nigel, close to them, had grasped a handful of ropes, and every one else was holding on for life. another moment and the brig rose as if it were being tossed up to the heavens. immediately thereafter it resumed its natural position in a perfect wilderness of foam. they were on the summit of the great wave, which was so large that its crest seemed like a broad, rounded mass of tumbling snow with blackness before and behind, while the roar of the tumult was deafening. the brig rushed onward at a speed which she had never before equalled even in the fiercest gale--tossed hither and thither by the leaping foam, yet always kept going straight onward by the expert steering of her captain. "come aft--all of you!" he shouted, when it was evident that the vessel was being borne surely forward on the wave's crest. "the masts will go for certain when we strike." the danger of being entangled in the falling spars and cordage was so obvious that every one except the hermit and nigel obeyed. "here, nigel," gasped the former. "i--i've--lost blood--faint!--" our hero at once saw that van der kemp, fainting from previous loss of blood, coupled with exertion, was unable to do anything but hold on. indeed, he failed even in that, and would have fallen to the deck had nigel not caught him by the arm. "can you run aft, winnie?" said nigel anxiously. "yes!" said the girl, at once understanding the situation and darting to the wheel, of which and of captain roy she laid firm hold, while nigel lifted the hermit in his arms and staggered to the same spot. winnie knelt beside him immediately, and, forgetting for the moment all the horrors around her, busied herself in replacing the bandage which had been loosened from his head. "oh! mr roy, save him!--save him!" cried the poor child, appealing in an agony to nigel, for she felt instinctively that when the crash came her father would be utterly helpless even to save himself. nigel had barely time to answer when a wild shout from the crew caused him to start up and look round. a flare from the volcano had cast a red light over the bewildering scene, and revealed the fact that the brig was no longer above the ocean's bed, but was passing in its wild career right through, or rather _over_, the demolished town of anjer. a few of the houses that had been left standing by the previous waves were being swept--hurled--away by this one, but the mass of rolling, rushing, spouting water was so deep, that the vessel had as yet struck nothing save the tops of some palm-trees which bent their heads like straws before the flood. even in the midst of the amazement, alarm, and anxiety caused by the situation, nigel could not help wondering that in this final and complete destruction of the town no sign of struggling human beings should be visible. he forgot at the moment, what was terribly proved afterwards, that the first waves had swallowed up men, women, and children by hundreds, and that the few who survived had fled to the hills, leaving nothing for the larger wave to do but complete the work of devastation on inanimate objects. ere the situation had been well realised the volcanic fires went down again, and left the world, for over a hundred surrounding miles, in opaque darkness. only the humble flicker of the binnacle-light, like a trusty sentinel on duty, continued to shed its feeble rays on a few feet of the deck, and showed that the compass at least was still faithful to the pole! then another volcanic outburst revealed the fact that the wave which carried them was thundering on in the direction of a considerable cliff or precipice--not indeed quite straight towards it, but sufficiently so to render escape doubtful. at the same time a swarm of terror-stricken people were seen flying towards this cliff and clambering up its steep sides. they were probably some of the more courageous of the inhabitants who had summoned courage to return to their homes after the passage of the second wave. their shrieks and cries could be heard above even the roaring of the water and the detonations of the volcano. "god spare us!" exclaimed poor winnie, whose trembling form was now partially supported by nigel. as she spoke darkness again obscured everything, and they could do naught but listen to the terrible sounds--and pray. on--on went the _sunshine_, in the midst of wreck and ruin, on this strange voyage over land and water, until a check was felt. it was not a crash as had been anticipated, and as might have naturally been expected, neither was it an abrupt stoppage. there was first a hissing, scraping sound against the vessel's sides, then a steady checking--we might almost say a hindrance to progress--not violent, yet so very decided that the rigging could not bear the strain. one and another of the backstays parted, the foretopsail burst with a cannon-like report, after which a terrible rending sound, followed by an indescribable crash, told that both masts had gone by the board. then all was comparatively still--comparatively we say, for water still hissed and leaped beneath them like a rushing river, though it no longer roared, and the wind blew in unfamiliar strains and laden with unwonted odours. at that moment another outburst of krakatoa revealed the fact that the great wave had borne the brig inland for upwards of a mile, and left her imbedded in a thick grove of cocoa-nut palms! chapter twenty nine. tells chiefly of the wonderful effects of this eruption on the world at large. the great explosions of that morning had done more damage and had achieved results more astounding than lies in the power of language adequately to describe, or of history to parallel. let us take a glance at this subject in passing. an inhabitant of anjer--owner of a hotel, a ship-chandler's store, two houses, and a dozen boats--went down to the beach about six on the morning of that fateful 27th of august. he had naturally been impressed by the night of the 26th, though, accustomed as he was to volcanic eruptions, he felt no apprehensions as to the safety of the town. he went to look to the moorings of his boats, leaving his family of seven behind him. while engaged in this work he observed a wave of immense size approaching. he leaped into one of his boats, which was caught up by the wave and swept inland, carrying its owner there in safety. but this was the wave that sealed the doom of the town and most of its inhabitants, including the hotel-keeper's family and all that he possessed. this is one only out of thousands of cases of bereavement and destruction. a lighthouse-keeper was seated in his solitary watch-tower, speculating, doubtless, on the probable continuance of such a violent outbreak, while his family and mates--accustomed to sleep in the midst of elemental war--were resting peacefully in the rooms below, when one of the mighty waves suddenly appeared, thundered past, and swept the lighthouse with all its inhabitants away. this shows but one of the many disasters to lighthouses in sunda straits. a dutch man-of-war--the _berouw_--was lying at anchor in lampong bay, fifty miles from krakatoa. the great wave came, tore it from its anchorage, and carried it--like the vessel of our friend david roy-nearly two miles inland! masses of coral of immense size and weight were carried four miles inland by the same wave. the river at anjer was choked up; the conduit which used to carry water into the place was destroyed, and the town itself was laid in ruins. but these are only a few of the incidents of the great catastrophe. who can conceive, much less tell of, those terrible details of sudden death and disaster to thousands of human beings, resulting from an eruption which destroyed towns like telok betong, anjer, tyringin, etcetera, besides numerous villages and hamlets on the shores of java and sumatra, and caused the destruction of more than 36,000 souls? but it is to results of a very different kind, and on a much more extended scale, that we must turn if we would properly estimate the magnitude, the wide-spreading and far-reaching influences, and the extraordinary character, of the krakatoa outburst of 1883. in the first place, it is a fact, testified to by some of the best-known men of science, that the shock of the explosion extended _appreciably_ right round the world, and seventeen miles, (some say even higher!) up into the heavens. mr verbeek, in his treatise on this subject, estimates that a cubic mile of krakatoa was propelled in the form of the finest dust into the higher regions of the atmosphere--probably about thirty miles! the dust thus sent into the sky was of "ultra-microscopic fineness," and it travelled round and round the world in a westerly direction, producing those extraordinary sunsets and gorgeous effects and afterglows which became visible in the british isles in the month of november following the eruption; and the mighty waves which caused such destruction in the vicinity of sunda straits travelled--not once, but at least--six times round the globe, as was proved by trustworthy and independent observations of tide-gauges and barometers made and recorded at the same time in nearly all lands--including our own. other volcanoes, it is said by those who have a right to speak in regard to such matters, have ejected more "stuff," but not one has equalled krakatoa in the intensity of its explosions, the appalling results of the sea-waves, the wonderful effects in the sky, and the almost miraculous nature of the sounds. seated on a log under a palm-tree in batavia, on that momentous morning of the 27th, was a sailor who had been left behind sick by captain roy when he went on his rather quixotic trip to the keeling islands. he was a somewhat delicate son of the sea. want of self-restraint was his complaint--leading to a surfeit of fruit and other things, which terminated in a severe fit of indigestion and indisposition to life in general. he was smoking--that being a sovereign and infallible cure for indigestion and all other ills that flesh is heir to, as every one knows! "i say, old man," he inquired, with that cheerful tone and air which usually accompanies incapacity for food. "do it always rain ashes here?" the old man whom he addressed was a veteran malay seaman. "no," replied the malay, "sometimes it rain mud--hot mud." "do it? oh! well--anything for variety, i s'pose," returned the sailor, with a growl which had reference to internal disarrangements. "is it often as dark as this in the daytime, an' is the sun usually green?" he asked carelessly, more for the sake of distracting the mind from other matters than for the desire of knowledge. "sometime it's more darker," replied the old man. "i've seed it so dark that you couldn't see how awful dark it was." as he spoke, a sound that has been described by ear-witnesses as "deafening," smote upon their tympanums, the log on which they sat quivered, the earth seemed to tremble, and several dishes in a neighbouring hut were thrown down and broken. "i say, old man, suthin' busted there," remarked the sailor, taking the pipe from his mouth and quietly ramming its contents down with the end of his blunt forefinger. the malay looked grave. "the gasometer?" suggested the sailor. "no, that _never_ busts." "a noo mountain come into action, p'raps, an blow'd its top _off_?" "shouldn't wonder if that's it--close at hand too. we's used to that here. but them's bigger cracks than or'nar'." the old malay was right as to the cause, but wrong as to distance. instead of being a volcano "close at hand," it was krakatoa eviscerating itself a hundred miles off, and the sound of its last grand effort "extended over 50 degrees, equal to about 3000 miles." on that day all the gas lights were extinguished in batavia, and the pictures rattled on the walls as though from the action of an earthquake. but there was no earthquake. it was the air-wave from krakatoa, and the noise produced by the air-waves that followed was described as "deafening." the effect of the sounds of the explosions on the straits settlements generally was not only striking but to some extent amusing. at carimon, in java--355 miles distant from krakatoa--it was supposed that a vessel in distress was firing guns, and several native boats were sent off to render assistance, but no distressed vessel was to be found! at acheen, in sumatra--1073 miles distant--they supposed that a fort was being attacked and the troops were turned out under arms. at singapore--522 miles off--they fancied that the detonations came from a vessel in distress and two steamers were despatched to search for it. and here the effect on the telephone, extending to ishore, was remarkable. on raising the tubes a perfect roar as of a waterfall was heard. by shouting at the top of his voice, the clerk at one end could make the clerk at the other end hear, but he could not render a word intelligible. at perak--770 miles off--the sounds were thought to be distant salvos of artillery, and commander the honourable f vereker, r.n., of h.m.s. _magpie_, when 1227 miles distant, (in latitude 5 degrees 52 minutes north, longitude 118 degrees 22 minutes east), states that the detonations of krakatoa were distinctly heard by those on board his ship, and by the inhabitants of the coast as far as banguey island, on august 27th. he adds that they resembled distant heavy cannonading. in a letter from saint lucia bay--1116 miles distant--it was stated that the eruption was plainly heard all over borneo. a government steamer was sent out from the island of timor--1351 miles off--to ascertain the cause of the disturbance! in south australia also, at places 2250 miles away, explosions were heard on the 26th and 27th which "awakened" people, and were thought worthy of being recorded and reported. from tavoy, in burmah--1478 miles away--the report came--"all day on august 27th unusual sounds were heard, resembling the boom of guns. thinking there might be a wreck or a ship in distress, the tavoy superintendent sent out the police launch, but they `could see nothing.'" and so on, far and near, similar records were made, the most distant spot where the sounds were reported to have been heard being rodriguez, in the pacific, nearly 3000 miles distant! one peculiar feature of the records is that some ships in the immediate neighbourhood of krakatoa did not experience the shock in proportionate severity. probably this was owing to their being so near that a great part of the concussion and sound flew over them--somewhat in the same way that the pieces of a bomb-shell fly over men who, being too near to escape by running, escape by flinging themselves flat on the ground. each air-wave which conveyed these sounds, commencing at krakatoa as a centre, spread out in an ever-increasing circle till it reached a distance of 180 degrees from its origin and encircled the earth at its widest part, after which it continued to advance in a contracting form until it reached the antipodes of the volcano; whence it was reflected or reproduced and travelled back again to krakatoa. here it was turned right-about-face and again despatched on its long journey. in this way it oscillated backward and forward not fewer than six times before traces of it were lost. we say "traces," because these remarkable facts were ascertained, tracked, and corroborated by independent barometric observation in all parts of the earth. for instance, the passage of the great air-wave from krakatoa to its antipodes, and from its antipodes back to krakatoa, was registered six times by the automatic barometer at greenwich. the instrument at kew observatory confirmed the records of greenwich, and so did the barometers of other places in the kingdom. everywhere in europe also this fact was corroborated, and in some places even a seventh oscillation was recorded. the greenwich record shows that the air-waves took about thirty-six hours to travel from pole to pole, thus proving that they travelled at about the rate of ordinary sound-waves, which, roughly speaking, travel at the rate of between six and seven hundred miles an hour. the height of the sea-waves that devastated the neighbouring shores, being variously estimated at from 50 to 135 feet, is sufficiently accounted for by the intervention of islands and headlands, etcetera, which, of course, tended to diminish the force, height, and volume of waves in varying degrees. these, like the air-waves, were also registered--by self-acting tide-gauges and by personal observation--all over the world, and the observations _coincided as to date with the great eruptions of the 26th and 27th of august_. the influence of the sea-waves was observed and noted in the java sea--which is shallow and where there are innumerable obstructions--as far as 450 miles, but to the west they swept over the deep waters of the indian ocean on to cape horn, and even, it is said, to the english channel. the unusual disturbance of ocean in various places was sufficiently striking. at galle, in ceylon, where the usual rise and fall of the tide is 2 feet, the master-attendant reports that on the afternoon of the 27th four remarkable waves were noticed in the port. the last of these was preceded by an unusual recession of the sea to such an extent that small boats at their anchorage were left aground--a thing that had never been seen before. the period of recession was only one-and-a-half minutes; then the water paused, as it were, for a brief space, and, beginning to rise, reached the level of the highest high-water mark in less than two minutes, thus marking a difference of 8 feet 10 inches instead of the ordinary 2 feet. at one place there was an ebb and flood tide, of unusual extent, within half-an-hour. at another, a belt of land, including a burying-ground, was washed away, so that, according to the observer, "it appeared as if the dead had sought shelter with the living in a neighbouring cocoa-nut garden!" elsewhere the tides were seen to advance and recede ten or twelve times--in one case even twenty times--on the 27th. at trincomalee the sea receded three times and returned with singular force, at one period leaving part of the shore suddenly bare, with fish struggling in the mud. the utilitarian tendency of mankind was at once made manifest by some fishermen who, seizing the opportunity, dashed into the struggling mass and began to reap the accidental harvest, when--alas for the poor fishermen!--the sea rushed in again and drove them all away. in the mauritius, however, the fishers were more fortunate, for when their beach was exposed in a similar manner, they succeeded in capturing a good many fish before the water returned. even sharks were disturbed in their sinister and slimy habits of life by this outburst of krakatoa--and no wonder, when it is recorded that in some places "the sea looked like water boiling heavily in a pot," and that "the boats which were afloat were swinging in all directions." at one place several of these monsters were flung out of their native home into pools, where they were left struggling till their enemy man terminated their career. everywhere those great waves produced phenomena which were so striking as to attract the attention of all classes of people, to ensure record in most parts of the world, and to call for the earnest investigation of the scientific men of many lands--and the conclusion to which such men have almost universally come is, that the strange vagaries of the sea all over the earth, the mysterious sounds heard in so many widely distant places, and the wonderful effects in the skies of every quarter of the globe, were all due to the eruption of the krakatoa volcano in 1883. with reference to these last--the sky-effects--a few words may not be out of place here. the superfine "ultra-microscopic" dust, which was blown by the volcano in quantities so enormous to such unusual heights, was, after dropping its heavier particles back to earth, caught by the breezes which always blow in the higher regions from east to west, and carried by them for many months round and round the world. the dust was thickly and not widely spread at first, but as time went on it gradually extended itself on either side, becoming visible to more and more of earth's inhabitants, and at the same time becoming necessarily less dense. through this medium the sun's rays had to penetrate. in so far as the dust-particles were opaque they would obscure these rays; where they were transparent or polished they would refract and reflect them. that the material of which those dust-particles was composed was very various has been ascertained, proved, and recorded by the krakatoa committee. the attempt to expound this matter would probably overtax the endurance of the average reader, yet it may interest all to know that this dust-cloud travelled westward within the tropics at the rate of about double the speed of an express train--say 120 miles an hour; crossed the indian ocean and africa in three days, the atlantic in two, america in two, and, in short, put a girdle round the world in thirteen days. moreover, the cloud of dust was so big that it took two or three days to pass any given point. during its second circumnavigation it was considerably spread and thinned, and the third time still more so, having expanded enough to include europe and the greater part of north america. it had thinned away altogether and disappeared in the spring of 1884. who has not seen--at least read or heard of--the gorgeous skies of the autumn of 1883? not only in britain, but in all parts of the world, these same skies were seen, admired, and commented on as marvellous. and so they were. one of the chief peculiarities about them, besides their splendour, was the fact that they consisted chiefly of "afterglows"--that is, an increase of light and splendour _after_ the setting of the sun, when, in an ordinary state of things, the grey shadows of evening would have descended on the world. greenish-blue suns; pink clouds; bright yellow, orange, and crimson afterglows; gorgeous, magnificent, blood-red skies--the commentators seemed unable to find language adequately to describe them. listen to a german observer's remarks on the subject:-"the display of november 29th was the grandest and most manifold. i give a description as exactly as possible, for its overwhelming magnificence still presents itself to me as if it had been yesterday. when the sun had set about a quarter of an hour there was not much afterglow, but i had observed a remarkably yellow bow in the south, about 10 degrees above the horizon. in about ten minutes more this arc rose pretty quickly, extended itself all over the east and up to and beyond the zenith. the sailors declared, `sir, that is the northern lights.' i thought i had never seen northern lights in greater splendour. after five minutes more the light had faded, though not vanished, in the east and south, and the finest purple-red rose up in the south-west; one could imagine one's-self in fairyland." all this, and a great deal more, was caused by the dust of krakatoa! "but how--how--why?" exclaims an impatient and puzzled reader. "ay--there's the rub." rubbing, by the way, may have had something to do with it. at all events we are safe to say that whatever there was of electricity in the matter resulted from friction. here is what the men of science say--as far as we can gather and condense. the fine dust blown out of krakatoa was found, under the microscope, to consist of excessively thin, transparent plates or irregular specks of pumice--which inconceivably minute fragments were caused by enormous steam pressure in the interior and the sudden expansion of the masses blown out into the atmosphere. of this glassy dust, that which was blown into the regions beyond the clouds must have been much finer even than that which was examined. these glass fragments were said by dr flugel to contain either innumerable air-bubbles or minute needle-like crystals, or both. small though these vesicles were when ejected from the volcano, they would become still smaller by bursting when they suddenly reached a much lower pressure of atmosphere at a great height. some of them, however, owing to tenacity of material and other causes, might have failed to burst and would remain floating in the upper air as perfect microscopic glass balloons. thus the dust was a mass of particles of every conceivable shape, and so fine that no watches, boxes, or instruments were tight enough to exclude from their interior even that portion of the dust which was heavy enough to remain on earth! now, to the unscientific reader it is useless to say more than that the innumerable and varied positions of these glassy particles, some transparent, others semi-transparent or opaque, reflecting the sun's rays in different directions, with a complex modification of colour and effect resulting from the blueness of the sky, the condition of the atmosphere, and many other causes--all combined to produce the remarkable appearances of light and colour which aroused the admiration and wonder of the world in 1883. the more one thinks of these things, and the deeper one dives into the mysteries of nature, the more profoundly is one impressed at once with a humbling sense of the limited amount of one's knowledge, and an awe-inspiring appreciation of the illimitable fields suggested by that comprehensive expression: "the wonderful works of god." chapter thirty. coming events, etcetera--wonderful changes among the islands. some days after the wreck of the _sunshine_, as described in a previous chapter, captain roy and his son stood on the coast of java not far from the ruins of anjer. a vessel was anchored in the offing, and a little boat lay on the shore. all sign of elemental strife had passed, though a cloud of smoke hanging over the remains of krakatoa told that the terrible giant below was not dead but only sleeping--to awake, perchance, after a nap of another 200 years. "well, father," said our hero with a modest look, "it may be, as you suggest, that winnie van der kemp does not care for me more than for a fathom of salt water--" "i did not say salt water, lad, i said bilge--a fathom o' _bilge_ water," interrupted the captain, who, although secretly rejoiced at the fact of his son having fallen over head and ears in love with the pretty little cocos-keeling islander, deemed it his duty, nevertheless, as a sternly upright parent, to make quite sure that the love was mutual as well as deep before giving his consent to anything like courtship. "it matters not; salt or bilge water makes little difference," returned the son with a smile. "but all i can say is that i care for winnie so much that her love is to me of as much importance as sunshine to the world--and we have had some experience lately of what the want of _that_ means." "nonsense, nigel," returned the captain severely. "you're workin' yourself into them up-in-the-clouds, reef-point-patterin' regions again--which, by the way, should be pretty well choked wi' krakatoa dust by this time. come down out o' that if ye want to hold or'nary intercourse wi' your old father. she's far too young yet, my boy. you must just do as many a young fellow has done before you, attend to your dooties and forget her." "forget her!" returned the youth, with that amused, quiet expression which wise men sometimes assume when listening to foolish suggestions. "i could almost as easily forget my mother!" "a very proper sentiment, nigel, very--especially the `almost' part of it." "besides," continued the son, "she is not so _very_ young--and that difficulty remedies itself every hour. moreover, i too am young. i can wait." "the selfishness of youth is only equalled by its presumption," said the captain. "how d'ee know _she_ will wait?" "i don't know, father, but i _hope_ she will--i--_think_ she will." "nigel," said the captain, in a tone and with a look that were meant to imply intense solemnity, "have you ever spoken to her about love?" "no, father." "has she ever spoken to _you_?" "no--at least--not with her lips." "come, boy, you're humbuggin' your old father. her tongue couldn't well do it without the lips lendin' a hand." "well then--with neither," returned the son. "she spoke with her eyes-not intentionally, of course, for the eyes, unlike the lips, refuse to be under control." "hm! i see--reef-point-patterin' poetics again! an' what did she say with her eyes!" "really, father, you press me too hard; it is difficult to translate eye-language, but if you'll only let memory have free play and revert to that time, nigh quarter of a century ago, when you first met with a certain _real_ poetess, perhaps--" "ah! you dog! you have me there. but how dare you, sir, venture to think of marryin' on nothin'?" "i don't think of doing so. am i not a first mate with a handsome salary?" "no, lad, you're not. you're nothin' better than a seaman out o' work, with your late ship wrecked in a cocoa-nut grove!" "that's true," returned nigel with a laugh. "but is not the cargo of the said ship safe in batavia? has not its owner a good bank account in england? won't another ship be wanted, and another first mate, and would the owner dare to pass over his own son, who is such a competent seaman--according to your own showing? come, father, i turn the tables on you and ask you to aid rather than resist me in this matter." "well, i will, my boy, i will," said the captain heartily, as he laid his hand on his son's shoulder. "but, seriously, you must haul off this little craft and clap a stopper on your tongue--ay, and on your eyes too--till three points are considered an' made quite clear. first, you must find out whether the hermit would be agreeable. second, you must look the matter straight in the face and make quite sure that you mean it. for better or for worse. no undoin' _that_ knot, nigel, once it's fairly tied! and, third, you must make quite sure that winnie is sure of her own mind, an' that--that--" "we're all sure all round, father. quite right. i agree with you. `all fair an' aboveboard' should be the sailing orders of every man in such matters, especially of every seaman. but, will you explain how i am to make sure of winnie's state of mind without asking her about it?" "well, i don't exactly see my way," replied the captain slowly. "what d'ee say to my soundin' her on the subject?" "couldn't think of it! you may be first-rate at deep-sea soundings, father, but you couldn't sound the depths of a young girl's heart. i must reserve that for myself, however long it may be delayed." "so be it, lad. the only embargo that i lay upon you is--haul off, and mind you don't let your figurehead go by the board. meanwhile, here comes the boat. now, nigel, none o' your courtin' till everything is settled and the wind fair--dead aft my lad, and blowin' stiff. you and the hermit are goin' off to krakatoa to-day, i suppose?" "yes. i am just now waiting for him and moses," returned nigel. "is winnie going?" "don't know. i hope so." "humph! well, if we have a fair wind i shall soon be in batavia," said the captain, descending to business matters, "and i expect without trouble to dispose of the cargo that we landed there, as _well_ as that part o' the return cargo which i had bought before i left for keeling-at a loss, no doubt, but that don't matter much. then i'll come back here by the first craft that offers--arter which. ay!--ay! shove her in here. plenty o' water." the last remark was made to the seaman who steered the boat sent from the vessel in the offing. a short time thereafter captain roy was sailing away for batavia, while his son, with van der kemp, moses, winnie, and spinkie, was making for krakatoa in a native boat. the hermit, in spite of his injuries, had recovered his wonted appearance, if not his wonted vigour. winnie seemed to have suddenly developed into a mature woman under her recent experiences, though she had lost none of her girlish grace and attractiveness. as for moses-time and tide seemed to have no effect whatever on his ebony frame, and still less, if possible, on his indomitable spirit. "now you keep still," he said in solemn tones and with warning looks to spinkie. "if you keep fidgitin' about you'll capsize de boat. you hear?" spinkie veiled his real affection for the negro under a look of supreme indifference, while winnie went off into a sudden giggle at the idea of such a small creature capsizing the boat. mindful of his father's warning, nigel did his best to "haul off" and to prevent his "figurehead" from going "by the board." but he found it uncommonly hard work, for winnie looked so innocent, so pretty, so unconscious, so sympathetic with everybody and everything, so very young, yet so wondrously wise and womanly, that he felt an irresistible desire to prostrate himself at her feet in abject slavery. "dear little thing," said winnie, putting her hand on spinkie's little head and smoothing him down from eyes to tail. spinkie looked as if half inclined to withdraw his allegiance from moses and bestow it on winnie, but evidently changed his mind after a moment's reflection. "o that i were a monkey!" thought nigel, paraphrasing shakespeare, "that i might--" but it is not fair to our hero to reveal him in his weaker moments! there was something exasperating, too, in being obliged, owing to the size of the boat, to sit so close to winnie without having a right to touch her hand! who has not experienced this, and felt himself to be a very hero of self-denial in the circumstances? "mos' awrful hot!" remarked moses, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. "_you_ hot!" said nigel in surprise. "i thought nothing on earth could be too hot for you." "dat's your ignerance," returned moses calmly. "us niggers, you see, ought to suffer more fro' heat dan you whites." "how so?" "why, don't your flossiphers say dat black am better dan white for 'tractin' heat, an' ain't our skins black? i wish we'd bin' born white as chalk. i say, massa nadgel, seems to me dat dere's not much left ob krakatoa." they had approached near enough to the island by that time to perceive that wonderful changes had indeed taken place, and van der kemp, who had been for some time silently absorbed in contemplation, at last turned to his daughter and said-"i had feared at first, winnie, that my old home had been blown entirely away, but i see now that the peak of rakata still stands, so perhaps i may yet show you the cave in which i have spent so many years." "but why did you go to live in such a strange place, dear father?" asked the girl, laying her hand lovingly on the hermit's arm. van der kemp did not reply at once. he gazed in his child's face with an increase of that absent air and far-away look which nigel, ever since he met him, had observed as one of his characteristics. at this time an anxious thought crossed him,--that perhaps the blows which his friend had received on his head when he was thrown on the deck of the _sunshine_ might have injured his brain. "it is not easy to answer your question, dear one," he said after a time, laying his strong hand on the girl's head, and smoothing her luxuriant hair which hung in the untrammelled freedom of nature over her shoulders. "i have felt sometimes, during the last few days, as if i were awaking out of a long long dream, or recovering from a severe illness in which delirium had played a prominent part. even now, though i see and touch you, i sometimes tremble lest i should really awake and find that it is all a dream. i have so often--so _very_ often--dreamed something like it in years gone by, but never so vividly as now! i cannot doubt--it is sin to doubt--that my prayers have been at last answered. god is good and wise. he knows what is best and does not fail in bringing the best to pass. yet i have doubted him--again and again." van der kemp paused here and drew his hand across his brow as if to clear away sad memories of the past, while winnie drew closer to him and looked up tenderly in his face. "when your mother died, dear one," he resumed, "it seemed to me as if the sun had left the heavens, and when _you_ were snatched from me, it was as though my soul had fled and nought but animal life remained. i lived as if in a terrible dream. i cannot recall exactly what i did or where i went for a long, long time. i know i wandered through the archipelago looking for you, because i did not believe at first that you were dead. it was at this time i took up my abode in the cave of rakata, and fell in with my good faithful friend moses." "your sarvint, massa," interrupted the negro humbly. "i's proud to be call your frind, but i's only your sarvint, massa." "truly you have been my faithful servant, moses," said van der kemp, "but not the less have you been my trusted friend. he nursed me through a long and severe illness, winnie. how long, i am not quite sure. after a time i nearly lost hope. then there came a very dark period, when i was forced to believe that you must be dead. yet, strange to say, even during this dark time i did not cease to pray and to wander about in search of you. i suppose it was the force of habit, for hope seemed to have died. then, at last, nigel found you. god used him as his instrument. and now, praise to his name, we are reunited--for ever!" "darling father!" were the only words that winnie could utter as she laid her head on the hermit's shoulder and wept for joy. two ideas, which had not occurred to him before, struck nigel with great force at that moment. the one was that whatever or wherever his future household should be established, if winnie was to be its chief ornament, her father must of necessity become a member of it. the other idea was that he was destined to possess a negro servant with a consequent and unavoidable monkey attendant! how strange the links of which the chain of human destiny is formed, and how wonderful the powers of thought by which that chain is occasionally forecast! how to convey all these possessions to england and get them comfortably settled there was a problem which he did not care to tackle just then. "see, winnie," said van der kemp, pointing with interest to a mark on the side of rakata, "yonder is the mouth of my cave. i never saw it so clearly before because of the trees and bushes, but everything seems now to have been burnt up." "das so, massa, an' what hasn't bin bu'nt up has bin blow'd up!" remarked the negro. "looks very like it, moses, unless that is a haze which enshrouds the rest of the island," rejoined the other, shading his eyes with his hands. it was no haze, however; for they found, on drawing nearer, that the greater part of krakatoa had, as we have already said, actually disappeared from the face of the earth. when the boat finally rounded the point which hid the northern part of the island from view, a sight was presented which it is not often given to human eyes to look upon. the whole mountain named the peak of rakata, (2623 feet high), had been split from top to bottom, and about one-half of it, with all that part of the island lying to the northward, had been blown away, leaving a wall or almost sheer precipice which presented a grand section of the volcano. pushing their boat into a creek at the base of this precipice, the party landed and tried to reach a position from which a commanding view might be obtained. this was not an easy matter, for there was not a spot for a foot to rest on which was not covered deeply with pumice-dust and ashes. by dint of perseverance, however, they gained a ledge whence the surrounding district could be observed, and then it was clearly seen how widespread and stupendous the effects of the explosion had been. where the greater part of the richly wooded island had formerly flourished, the ocean now rippled in the sunshine, and of the smaller islands around it _lang_ island had been considerably increased in bulk as well as in height. _verleden_ island had been enlarged to more than three times its former size and also much increased in height. the island named _polish hat_ had disappeared altogether, and two entirely new islets--afterwards named _steers_ and _calmeyer_ islands--had arisen to the northward. "now, friends," said van der kemp, after they had noted and commented on the vast and wonderful changes that had taken place, "we will pull round to our cave and see what has happened there." descending to the boat they rowed round the southern shores of rakata until they reached the little harbour where the boat and canoe had formerly been kept. chapter thirty one. ends with a struggle between inclination and duty. "cave's blowed away too!" was the first remark of moses as they rowed into the little port. a shock of disappointment was experienced by winnie, for she fancied that the negro had referred to her father's old home, but he only meant the lower cave in which the canoe had formerly been kept. she was soon relieved as to this point, however, but, when a landing was effected, difficulties that seemed to her almost insurmountable presented themselves, for the ground was covered knee-deep with pumice-dust, and the road to the upper cave was blocked by rugged masses of lava and ashes, all heaped up in indescribable confusion. on careful investigation, however, it was found that after passing a certain point the footpath was almost unencumbered by volcanic debris. this was owing to the protection afforded to it by the cone of rakata, and the almost overhanging nature of some of the cliffs on that side of the mountain; still the track was bad enough, and in places so rugged, that winnie, vigorous and agile though she was, found it both difficult and fatiguing to advance. seeing this, her father proposed to carry her, but she laughingly declined the proposal. whereupon nigel offered to lend her a hand over the rougher places, but this she also declined. then moses, stepping forward, asserted his rights. "it's _my_ business," he said, "to carry t'ings when dey's got to be carried. m'r'over, as i's bin obleeged to leabe spinkie in charge ob de boat, i feels okard widout somet'ing to carry, an' you ain't much heavier dan spinkie, miss winnie--so, come along." he stooped with the intention of grasping winnie as if she were a little child, but with a light laugh the girl sprang away and left moses behind. "'s'my opinion," said moses, looking after her with a grin, "dat if de purfesser was here he'd net her in mistook for a bufferfly. dar!--she's down!" he shouted, springing forward, but nigel was before him. winnie had tripped and fallen. "are you hurt, dear--child?" asked nigel, raising her gently. "oh no! only a little shaken," answered winnie, with a little laugh that was half hysterical. "i am strong enough to go on presently." "nay, my child, you _must_ suffer yourself to be carried at this part," said van der kemp. "take her up, nigel, you are stronger than i am _now_. i would not have asked you to do it before my accident!" our hero did not need a second bidding. grasping winnie in his strong arms he raised her as if she had been a feather, and strode away at a pace so rapid that he soon left van der kemp and moses far behind. "put me down, now," said winnie, after a little while, in a low voice. "i'm quite recovered now and can walk." "nay, winnie, you are mistaken. the path is very rough yet, and the dust gets deeper as we ascend. _do_ give me the pleasure of helping you a little longer." whatever winnie may have felt or thought she said nothing, and nigel, taking silence for consent, bore her swiftly onward and upward,--with an "excelsior" spirit that would have thrown the alpine youth with the banner and the strange device considerably into the shade,--until he placed her at the yawning black mouth of the hermit's cave. but what a change was there! the trees and flowering shrubs and ferns were all gone, lava, pumice, and ashes lay thick on everything around, and only a few blackened and twisted stumps of the larger trees remained to tell that an umbrageous forest had once flourished there. the whole scene might be fittingly described in the two words--grey desolation. "that is the entrance to your father's old home," said nigel, as he set his fair burden down and pointed to the entrance. "what a dreadful place!" said winnie, peering into the black depths of the cavern. "it was not dreadful when i first saw it, winnie, with rich verdure everywhere; and inside you will find it surprisingly comfortable. but we must not enter until your father arrives to do the honours of the place himself." they had not to wait long. first moses arrived, and, shrewdly suspecting from the appearance of the young couple that they were engaged in conversation that would not brook interruption, or, perhaps, judging from what might be his own wishes in similar circumstances, he turned his back suddenly on them, and, stooping down, addressed himself to an imaginary creature of the animal kingdom. "what a bootiful bufferfly you is, to be sure! up on sitch a place too, wid nuffin' to eat 'cept krakatoa dust. i wonder what your moder would say if she know'd you was here. you should be ashamed ob yourself!" "hallo! moses, what are you talking to over there?" "nuffin', massa nadgel. i was on'y habin' a brief conv'sation wid a member ob de insect wurld in commemoration ob de purfesser. leastwise, if it warn't a insect it must hab bin suffin' else. won't you go in, miss winnie?" "no, i'd rather wait for father," returned the girl, looking a little flushed, for some strange and totally unfamiliar ideas had recently floated into her brain and caused some incomprehensible flutterings of the heart to which hitherto she had been a stranger. mindful of his father's injunctions, however, nigel had been particularly careful to avoid increasing these flutterings. in a few minutes the hermit came up. "ah! winnie," he said, "there has been dire devastation here. perhaps inside things may look better. come, take my hand and don't be afraid. the floor is level and your eyes will soon get accustomed to the dim light." "i's afeared, massa," remarked moses, as they entered the cavern, "dat your sun-lights won't be wu'th much now." "you are right, lad. go on before us and light the lamps if they are not broken." it was found, as they had expected, that the only light which penetrated the cavern was that which entered by the cave's mouth, which of course was very feeble. presently, to winnie's surprise, moses was seen issuing from the kitchen with a petroleum lamp in one hand, the brilliant light of which not only glittered on his expressive black visage but sent a ruddy glare all over the cavern. van der kemp seemed to watch his daughter intently as she gazed in a bewildered way around. there was a puzzled look as well as mere surprise in her pretty face. "father," she said earnestly, "you have spoken more than once of living as if in a dream. perhaps you will wonder when i tell you that i experience something of that sort now. strange though this place seems, i have an unaccountable feeling that it is not absolutely new to me-that i have seen it before." "i do not wonder, dear one," he replied, "for the drawings that surround this chamber were the handiwork of your dear mother, and they decorated the walls of your own nursery when you were a little child at your mother's knee. for over ten long years they have surrounded me and kept your faces fresh in my memory--though, truth to tell, it needed no such reminders to do that. come, let us examine them." it was pleasant to see the earnest face of winnie as she half-recognised and strove to recall the memories of early childhood in that singular cavern. it was also a sight worth seeing--the countenance of nigel, as well as that of the hermit, while they watched and admired her eager, puzzled play of feature, and it was the most amazing sight of all to see the all but superhuman joy of moses as he held the lamp and listened to facts regarding the past of his beloved master which were quite new to him--for the hermit spoke as openly about his past domestic affairs as if he and winnie had been quite alone. "he either forgets that we are present, or counts us as part of his family," thought nigel with a feeling of satisfaction. "what a dear comoonicative man!" thought moses, with unconcealed pleasure. "come now, let us ascend to the observatory," said the hermit, when all the things in the library had been examined. "there has been damage done there, i know; besides, there is a locket there which belonged to your mother. i left it by mistake one day when i went up to arrange the mirrors, and in the hurry of leaving forgot to return for it. indeed, one of my main objects in re-visiting my old home was to fetch that locket away. it contains a lock of hair and one of those miniatures which men used to paint before photography drove such work off the field." winnie was nothing loth to follow, for she had reached a romantic period of life, and it seemed to her that to be led through mysterious caves and dark galleries in the very heart of a still active volcano by her own father--the hermit of rakata--was the very embodiment of romance itself. but a disappointment awaited them, for they had not proceeded halfway through the dark passage when it was found that a large mass of rock had fallen from the roof and almost blocked it up. "there is a space big enough for us to creep through at the right-hand corner above, i think," said nigel, taking the lantern from moses and examining the spot. "jump up, moses, and try it," said the hermit. "if your bulky shoulders get through, we can all manage it." the negro was about to obey the order when nigel let the lantern fall and the shock extinguished it. "oh! massa nadgel; das a pritty business!" "never mind," said van der kemp. "i've got matches, i think, in my--no, i haven't. have you, moses?" "no, massa, i forgit to remember him." "no matter, run back--you know the road well enough to follow it in the dark. we will wait here till you return. be smart, now!" moses started off at once and for some moments the sound of clattering along the passage was heard. "i will try to clamber through in the dark. look after winnie, nigel-and don't leave the spot where you stand, dear one, for there are cracks and holes about that might sprain your little ankles." "very well, father." "all right. i've got through, nigel; i'll feel my way on for a little bit. remain where you are." "winnie," said nigel when they were alone, "doesn't it feel awesome and strange to be standing here in such intense darkness?" "it does--i don't quite like it." "whereabouts are you?" said nigel. he carefully stretched out his hand to feel, as he spoke, and laid a finger on her brow. "oh! take care of my eyes!" exclaimed winnie with a little laugh. "i wish you would turn your eyes towards me for i'm convinced they would give some light--to _me_ at least. here, do let me hold your hand. it will make you feel more confident." to one who is at all familiar with the human frame, the way from the brow to the hand is comparatively simple. nigel soon possessed himself of the coveted article. like other things of great value the possession turned the poor youth's head! he forgot his father's warnings for the moment, forgot the hermit and moses and spinkie, and the thick darkness--forgot almost everything in the light of that touch! "winnie!" he exclaimed in a tone that quite alarmed her; "i--i--" he hesitated. the solemn embargo of his father recurred to him. "what is it! is there danger?" exclaimed the poor girl, clasping his hand tighter and drawing nearer to him. this was too much! nigel felt himself to be contemptible. he was taking unfair advantage of her. "winnie," he began again, in a voice of forced calmness, "there is no danger whatever. i'm an ass--a dolt--that's all! the fact is, i made my father a sort of half promise that i would not ask your opinion on a certain subject until--until i found out exactly what you thought about it. now the thing is ridiculous--impossible--for how can i know your opinion on any subject until i have asked you?" "quite true," returned winnie simply, "so you better ask me." "ha! _ha_!" laughed nigel, in a sort of desperate amusement, "i--i--yes, i _will_ ask you, winnie! but first i must explain--" "hallo! nigel!" came at that moment from the other side of the obstruction, "are you there--all right?" "yes, yes--i'm here--not all right exactly, but i'll be all right _some day_, you may depend upon that!" shouted the youth, in a tone of indignant exasperation. "what said you?" asked van der kemp, putting his head through the hole. "hi! i's a-comin', look out, dar!" hallooed moses in the opposite direction. "just so," said nigel, resuming his quiet tone and demeanour, "we'll be all right when the light comes. here, give us your hand, van der kemp." the hermit accepted the proffered aid and leaped down amongst his friends just as moses arrived with the lantern. "it's of no use going further," he said. "the passage is completely blocked up--so we must go round to where the mountain has been split off and try to clamber up. there will be daylight enough yet if we are quick. come." chapter thirty two. the last. descending to the boat they rowed round to the face of the great cliff which had been so suddenly laid bare when the peak of rakata was cleft from its summit to its foundations in the sea. it was a wonderful sight--a magnificent section, affording a marvellous view of the internal mechanism of a volcano. but there was no time to spend in contemplation of this extraordinary sight, for evening approached and the hermit's purpose had to be accomplished. high up near the top of the mighty cliff could be seen a small hole in the rock, which was all that remained of the observatory. "it will be impossible, i fear, to reach that spot," said nigel; "there does not appear to be foothold for a goat." "i will reach it," said the hermit in a low voice, as he scanned the precipice carefully. "so will i," said the negro. "no, moses, i go alone. you will remain in the boat and watch. if i fall, you can pick me up." "pick you up!" echoed moses. "if you tumbles a t'ousand feet into de water how much t'ink you will be lef' to pick up?" it was useless to attempt to dissuade van der kemp. being well aware of this, they all held their peace while he landed on a spur of the riven cliff. the first part of the ascent was easy enough, the ground having been irregularly broken, so that the climber disappeared behind masses of rock at times, while he kept as much as possible to the western edge of the mountain where the cleavage had occurred; but as he ascended he was forced to come out upon narrow ledges that had been left here and there on the face of the cliff, where he seemed, to those who were watching far below, like a mere black spot on the face of a gigantic wall. still upward he went, slowly but steadily, till he reached a spot nearly level with the observatory. here he had to go out on the sheer precipice, where his footholds were invisible from below. winnie sat in the boat with blanched face and tightly clasped hands, panting with anxiety as she gazed upwards. "it looks much more dangerous from here than it is in reality," said nigel to her in a reassuring tone. "das true, massa nadgel, das bery true," interposed moses, endeavouring to comfort himself as well as the others by the intense earnestness of his manner. "de only danger, miss winnie, lies in your fadder losin' his head at sitch a t'riffic height, an' dar's no fear at all ob dat, for massa neber loses his head--pooh! you might as well talk ob him losin' his heart. look! look! he git close to de hole now--he put his foot--yes--next step--dar! he've done it!" with the perspiration of anxiety streaming down his face the negro relieved his feelings by a wild prolonged cheer. nigel obtained the same relief by means of a deep long-drawn sigh, but winnie did not move; she seemed to realise her father's danger better than her companions, and remembered that the descent would be much more difficult than the ascent. they were not kept long in suspense. in a few minutes the hermit reappeared and began to retrace his steps--slowly but steadily-and the watchers breathed more freely. moses was right; there was in reality little danger in the climb, for the ledges which appeared to them like mere threads, and the footholds that were almost invisible, were in reality from a foot to three feet wide. the only danger lay in the hermit's head being unable to stand the trial, but, as moses had remarked, there was no fear of that. the watchers were therefore beginning to feel somewhat relieved from the tension of their anxiety, when a huge mass of rock was seen to slip from the face of the cliff and descend with the thunderous roar of an avalanche. the incident gave those in the boat a shock, for the landslip occurred not far from the spot which van der kemp had reached, but as he still stood there in apparent safety there seemed no cause for alarm till it was observed that the climber remained quite still for a long time and seemed to have no intention of moving. "god help him!" cried nigel in sudden alarm, "the ledge has been carried away and he cannot advance! stay by the boat, moses, i will run to help him!" "no, massa nadgel," returned the negro, "i go to die wid 'im. boat kin look arter itself." he sprang on shore as he spoke, and dashed up the mountain-side like a hunted hare. our hero looked at winnie for an instant in hesitation. "go!" said the poor girl. "you know i can manage a boat--quick!" another moment and nigel was following in the track of the negro. they gained the broken ledge together, and then found that the space between the point which they had reached and the spot on which the hermit stood was a smooth face of perpendicular rock--an absolutely impassable gulf! van der kemp was standing with his back flat against the precipice and his feet resting on a little piece of projecting rock not more than three inches wide. this was all that lay between him and the hideous depth below, for nigel found on carefully drawing nearer that the avalanche had been more extensive than was apparent from below, and that the ledge beyond the hermit had been also carried away--thus cutting off his retreat as well as his advance. "i can make no effort to help myself," said van der kemp in a low but calm voice, when our hero's foot rested on the last projecting point that he could gain, and found that with the utmost reach of his arm he could not get within six inches of his friend's outstretched hand. besides, nigel himself stood on so narrow a ledge, and against so steep a cliff, that he could not have acted with his wonted power even if the hand could have been grasped. moses stood immediately behind nigel, where the ledge was broader and where a shallow recess in the rock enabled him to stand with comparative ease. the poor fellow seemed to realise the situation more fully than his companion, for despair was written on every feature of his expressive face. "what is to be done?" said nigel, looking back. "de boat-rope," suggested the negro. "useless," said van der kemp, in a voice as calm and steady as if he were in perfect safety, though the unusual pallor of his grave countenance showed that he was fully alive to the terrible situation. "i am resting on little more than my heels, and the strain is almost too much for me even now. i could not hold on till you went to the boat and returned. no, it seems to be god's will--and," added he humbly, "his will be done." "o god, send us help!" cried nigel in an agony of feeling that he could not master. "if i had better foothold i might spring towards you and catch hold of you," said the hermit, "but i cannot spring off my heels. besides, i doubt if you could bear my weight." "try, try!" cried nigel, eagerly extending his hand. "don't fear for my strength--i've got plenty of it, thank god! and see, i have my right arm wedged into a crevice so firmly that nothing could haul it out." but van der kemp shook his head. "i cannot even make the attempt," he said. "the slightest move would plunge me down. dear boy! i know that you and your father and moses will care for my winnie, and--" "massa!" gasped moses, who while the hermit was speaking had been working his body with mysterious and violent energy; "massa! couldn't you _fall_ dis way, an' nadgel could kitch your hand, an' i's got my leg shoved into a hole as nuffin' 'll haul it out ob. dere's a holler place here. if nadgel swings you into dat, an' i only once grab you by de hair--you're safe!" "it might be done--tried at least," said the hermit, looking anxiously at his young friend. "try it!" cried nigel, "i won't fail you." it is not possible for any except those who have gone through a somewhat similar ordeal to understand fully the test of cool courage which van der kemp had to undergo on that occasion. shutting his eyes for a moment in silent prayer, he deliberately worked with his shoulders upon the cliff against which he leaned until he felt himself to be on the point of falling towards his friend, and the two outstretched hands almost touched. "now, are you ready?" he asked. "ready," replied nigel, while moses wound both his powerful arms round his comrade's waist and held on. another moment and the hands clasped, nigel uttered an irrepressible shout as the hermit swung off, and, coming round with great violence to the spot where the negro had fixed himself, just succeeded in catching the edge of the cliff with his free hand. "let go, nigel," he shouted;--"safe!" the poor youth was only too glad to obey, for the tremendous pull had wrenched his arm out of the crevice in which he had fixed it, and for a moment he swayed helplessly over the awful abyss. "don't let me go, moses!" he yelled, as he made a frantic but futile effort to regain his hold,--for he felt that the negro had loosened one of his arms though the other was still round him like a hoop of iron. "no fear, nadgel," said moses, "i's got you tight--only don' wriggle. now, massa, up you come." moses had grasped his master's hair with a grip that well-nigh scalped him, and he held on until the hermit had got a secure hold of the ledge with both hands. then he let the hair go, for he knew that to an athlete like his master the raising himself by his arms on to the ledge would be the work of a few seconds. van der kemp was thus able to assist in rescuing nigel from his position of danger. but the expressions of heartfelt thankfulness for this deliverance which naturally broke from them were abruptly checked when it was found that moses could by no means extract his leg out of the hole into which he had thrust it, and that he was suffering great pain. after some time, and a good deal of violent wrenching, during which our sable hero mingled a few groans in strange fashion with his congratulations, he was got free, and then it was found that the strain had been too much for even his powerful bones and sinews, for the leg was broken. "my poor fellow!" murmured van der kemp, as he went down on his knees to examine the limb. "don' care a buttin for dat, massa. you're safe, an' nadgel's safe--an' it only cost a broken leg! pooh! das nuffin'!" said moses, unable to repress a few tears in the excess of his joy and pain! with considerable difficulty they carried the poor negro down to the boat, where they found winnie, as might be supposed, in a half-fainting condition from the strain of prolonged anxiety and terror to which she had been subjected; but the necessity of attending to the case of the injured moses was an antidote which speedily restored her. do you think, good reader, that nigel and winnie had much difficulty in coming to an understanding after that, or that the hermit was disposed to throw any obstacles in the way of true love? if you do, let us assure you that you are mistaken. surely this is information enough for any intelligent reader. still, it may be interesting to add, difficulties did not all at once disappear. the perplexities that had already assailed nigel more than once assailed him again--perplexities about a negro man-servant, and a household monkey, and a hermit father-in-law, and a small income--to say nothing of a disconsolate mother-poetess in england and a father roving on the high seas! how to overcome these difficulties gave him much thought and trouble; but they were overcome at last. that which seemed impossible to man proved to be child's-play in the hands of woman. winnie solved the difficulty by suggesting that they should all return to the cocos-keeling islands and dwell together there for evermore! -----------------------------------------------------------------------let us drop in on them, good reader, at a later period, have a look at them, and bid them all good-bye. on a green knoll by the margin of the lagoon stands a beautiful cottage with a garden around it, and a pleasure-boat resting on the white coral sand in front. from the windows of that cottage there is a most magnificent view of the lagoon with its numerous islets and its picturesque palm-trees. within that cottage dwell nigel and winnie, and a brown-eyed, brown-haired, fair-skinned baby girl who is "the most extraordinary angel that ever was born." it has a nurse of its own, but is chiefly waited on and attended to by an antique poetess, who dwells in another cottage, a stone's-cast off, on the same green knoll. there she inspires an ancient mariner with poetical sentiments--not your up-in-the-clouds, reef-point-pattering nonsense, observe but the real genuine article, superior to "that other fellow's," you know--when not actively engaged with the baby. the first cottage is named rakata, in honour of our hermit, who is one of its inhabitants. the second is named krakatoa by its eccentric owner, captain roy. it must not be imagined, however, that our friends have settled down there to spend their lives in idleness. by no means. this probably would not be permitted by the "king of the cocos islands" even if they wished to do so. but they do not wish that. there is no such condition as idleness in the lives of good men and women. nigel has taken to general superintendence of the flourishing community in the midst of which he has cast his lot. he may be almost regarded as the prime minister of the islands, in addition to which he has started an extensive boat-building business and a considerable trade in cocoa-nuts, etcetera, with the numerous islands of the java sea; also a saw-mill, and a forge, and a sunday-school--in which last the pretty, humble-minded winnie lends most efficient aid. indeed it is said that she is the chief manager as well as the life and soul of that business, though nigel gets all the credit. captain roy sometimes sails his son's vessels, and sometimes looks after the secular education of the sunday-school children--the said education being conducted on the principle of unlimited story-telling with illimitable play of fancy. but his occupations are irregular-undertaken by fits and starts, and never to be counted on. his evenings he usually devotes to poetry and pipes--for the captain is obstinate, and sticks--like most of us--to his failings as well as his fancies. there is a certain eccentric individual with an enthusiastic temperament and blue binoculars who pays frequent and prolonged visits to the keeling islands. it need scarcely be said that his name is verkimier. there is no accounting for the tastes of human beings. notwithstanding all his escapes and experiences, that indomitable man of science still ranges, like a mad philosopher, far and wide over the archipelago in pursuit of "bootterflies ant ozer specimens of zee insect vorld." it is observed, however, even by the most obtuse among his friends, that whereas in former times the professor's flights were centrifugal they have now become centripetal--the keeling islands being the great centre towards which he flies. verkimier is, and probably will always be, a subject of wonder and of profound speculation to the youthful inhabitants of the islands. they don't understand him and he does not understand them. if they were insects he would take deep and intelligent interest in them. as they are merely human beings, he regards them with that peculiar kind of interest with which men regard the unknown and unknowable. he is by no means indifferent to them. he is too kindly for that. he studies them deeply, though hopelessly, and when he enters the sunday-school with his binoculars--which he often does, to listen--a degree of awe settles down on the little ones which it is impossible to evoke by the most solemn appeals to their spiritual natures. nigel and winnie have a gardener, and that gardener is black--as black as the ace of spades or the king of ashantee. he dwells in a corner of the rakata cottage, but is addicted to spending much of his spare time in the krakatoa one. he is as strong and powerful as ever, but limps slightly on his right leg--his "game" leg, as he styles it. he is, of course, an _immense_ favourite with the young people--not less than with the old. he has been known to say, with a solemnity that might tickle the humorous and horrify the timid, that he wouldn't "hab dat game leg made straight agin! no, not for a hundred t'ousand pounds. 'cause why?--it was an eber-present visible reminder dat once upon a time he had de libes ob massa and nadgel in his arms a-hangin' on to his game leg, an' dat, t'rough gracious goodness, he sabe dem bof!" ha! you may smile at moses if you will, but he can return the smile with kindly interest, for he is actuated by that grand principle which will sooner or later transform even the scoffers of earth, and which is embodied in the words--"love is the fulfilling of the law." even the lower animals testify to this fact when the dog licks the hand that smites it and accords instant forgiveness on the slightest encouragement. does not spinkie prove it also, when, issuing at call, from its own pagoda in the sunniest corner of the rakata garden, it forsakes cocoa-nuts, sugar-cane, fruits, and other delights, to lay its little head in joyful consecration on the black bosom of its benignant friend? and what of moses' opinion of the new home? it may be shortly expressed in his own words-"it's heaben upon eart', an' de most happiest time as eber occurred to me was dat time when sunda straits went into cumbusti'n an' krakatoa was blown to bits." the end. to bits." the end. 693 library of the ohio state university presented by united states government ces not circula , smithsonian institution. united states national museum. proceedings of the united states national museum. volume xv. 1892. published under the direction of the smithsonian institution. washington: government printing office. 1893:jelu slank all u 62 v. 15 advertisement. the extension of the scope of the national museum during the past few years, and the activity of the collectors employed in its interest, have caused a great increase in the amount of material in its possession. many of the objects gathered are of a novel and important character, and serve to throw a new light upon the study of nature and of man. the importance to science of prompt publication of descriptions of this material led to the establishment, in 1878, of the present series of publications, entitled “proceedings of the united states national museum,” the distinguishing peculiarity of which is that the articles are published in pamphlet form as fast as completed and in advance of the bound volume. the present volume constitutes the fifteenth of the series. the articles in this series consist: first, of papers prepared by the scientific corps of the national museum; secondly, of papers by others, founded upon the collections in the national museun; and, finally, of facts and memoranda from the correspondence of the smithsonian institution. the bulletin of the national museum, the publication of which was commenced in 1875, consists of elaborate papers based upon the collections of the museum, reports of expeditions, etc., while the proceedings facilitate the prompt publication of freshly-acquired facts relating to biology, anthropology and geology, descriptions of restricted groups of animals and plants, the discussion of particular questions relative to the synonymy of species, and the diaries of minor expeditious. other papers, of more general popular interest, are printed in the appendix to the annual report. papers intended for publication in the proceedings and bulletin of the national museum are referred to the advisory committee on publications, composed as follows: t. h. bean (chairman), a. howard clark, r. e. earll, otis t. mason, leonhard stejneger, frederick w. true, and lester f. ward. s. p. langley, secretary of the smithsonian institution. ii 13209 table of contents. page. allen, harrison, m. d. (1) on a new subfamily of phyllostome bats. (2) description of a new genus of phyllostome bats. (3) on temminck's bat, scotophilus temminckii... 437–444 new scbfamily: natalinæ. new genus: ectophylla. new species: ectophylla alba. bean, tarleton, h., m. d. description of a new species of star-gazer (cathetostoma albigutta) from the gulf of mexico..... 121-122 -notes on fishes collected in mexico by professor dugès, with descriptions of new species (with plate xliv). ... 283-287 new species: algansea dugėsi, fundulur robustus, acara bartoni, benedict, james e. preliminary descriptions of thirty-seven new species of hermit crabs of the genus eupagurus in the u.s. national museum.. 1-26 new species: eupajurus alaskensis, e. aleuticus, e. patagoniensis, e. smithi, e. im. pressus, e. floridanus, e. exilis, e. albus, e. gladius, e. defensus, e. capillatus, e. brandti, e. dalli, e. tanneri, e.confragosus, e. cornutus, e. townsendi, e. rathbuni, e. minutus, e. purpuratus, e. hemphilli, e. beringanus, e. newcombei, e. undosus, e. kennerlyi, e. setosus, e. munitus, e. gilli, e. curaçaonsis, e. californiensis, e. mexi. canus, e. roseus, e. corralinus, e. coronatus, e. varians, e. cervicornis. corystoid crabs of the genera telmessus and erimacrus (with plates xxv-xxvii). 223 230 new genus: erimačrus. bolles, t. dix, lieut. u. s. navy. chinese relics in alaska (with plate xxiv) 221-222 cherrie, geo. k. description of two apparently new flycatchers from costa rica.... 27-28 new species: vionectes semischistaceus. new subspecies: ornithion pusillum subftavum. eigenmann, carl h. the fishes of san diego (with plates x-xviii) 123-178 on the occurrence of the spiny boxfish (genus chilomycterus) on the coast of california (with plate lxxxi).... 485 fontaine, william m. description of some fossil plants from the great falls coal field of montana (with plates lxxxii-lxxxiv) 487-495 new species: aspiuium montanense, a. monocarpum, pecopteris montanensis, c'lado. phlebis heterophylla, zamites montanensis. new variety: aspiuium angustipinnatum var. montanense. hay, 0. p. on the ejectiou of blood from the eyes of horned toads. 375-378 some observations on the turtles of the genus malaclemys.. ... 379-384 on the breeding, habits, eggs, and young of certain spakes. 385-397 holm, theo. notes on the flowers of anthoxanthum odoratum l. (with plate xlviii)... 399-403 howard, l. 0. insects of the subfamily encyrting with branched antennw (with plates xlvi-xlvii) ... 361-369 new genera: pentacnemus, tetracladia, calocerinus. new species: pentacnemus bucculatricis, tetracladia texana, t. gracilis. jordan, david starr. a description of the golden trout of kern river, california, salmo mykiss agna-bonita 481-483 new subspecies: salmo mykiss agua-bonita. linton, edwin, ph. d. notes on avian entozoa (with plates iv-viii) 87-113 new gent's: epision. new species: filaria serrata, echinorhynchus rectus, distomum (?) verrucosum, d. flerum, dibothrium exile, epision plicatus, tænia macrocantha, t. compressa. rathbun, mary j. catalogue of the crabs of the family pericerida in the u. s. national museum (with plates xxviii-xl).... 231-277 new species: libinia macdonaldi, l. spinimana, l. mexicana, pericera triangulata, p. atlantica, p. contigua, macrocoeloma tenuirostra, othonia carolinensis, o. nicholsi, 0. rotunda, mithrax pilosus, m. hemphilli, m. sinensis, m. bahamensis, m. braziliensis. iii [v table of contents. page. ridgway, robert. descriptions of two new forms of basileuterus rufifrons, from mexico... 119 new subspecies: basileuterns rufifrons jouyi, b. rufifrons dugèsi. shufeldt, r. w., m. d. a maid of wolpai, (with plate i).. 29-31 the evolution of house building among the navajo indians (with plates xli-xliii)..... 279-282 simpson, charles t. notes on the unionida of florida and the southeastern sta es (with plates xlix-lxxiv) 405-436 new species: i'nio subluridus. smith, john b., sc. d. revision of the genus cucullia; revision of the dicopinæ; revision of xylomiges and morrisonia (with plates 11-111).... 33-86 new species: cucullia similaris, c. obscurior, c. dorsalis, c. bistriga, c. cinderella, eu. tolype bombyciformis, copipanolis borealis, c. fasciata, xylomiges peritalis, x. ochra. cea. stejneger, leonhard. preliminary description of new genus and species of blind cave salamander from north america (with plate ix).... 115-117 new genus: typhlotriton. new species: typhlotriton spelaus. notes on collection of birds made by harry v. henson in the island of yezo, japan (with plate xlv) .... 289-359 new species: parus hensoni. new subspecies: hypsipetes amaurotis hensoni. two additions of the japanese avifauna, inciuding description of a new species...... 371-373 new species : acanthopneuxte ijima. true, frederick w. an annotated catalogue of the mammals collected by dr. w. l. abbott in the kilima-njaro region, east africa (with plates lxxv-lxxx) 445-480 new species: yus aquilus, dendromys nigrifrons, sciurus undulatus. williamson, mrs. burton m. an annotated list of the shells of san pedro bay and vicinity (with plates xix-xxii) ...... 179-219 new species: vitrinella williamsoni, amphissa bicolor. list of illustrations. text figures. front view of an embryo of natalusstramineus. mus aquilus ... dendromys nigrifrons sciurus undulatus megaderma cor page. 438 461 463 465 468 plates. 32 52 86 114 178 178 178 178 178 178 178 178 178 178 220 222 i. a maid of wolpai... ii. genitalia of cucullia. iii, genitalia of xylomiges and morrisonia iv-viii. avian entozoa.... ix. typhlotriton spelæus... x. stolephorus compressus xi. clupea mirabilis xii. stolephorus ringens and delicatissimus. xiii. atherinopsis californiensis xiv. clevelandia and gillichthys xv. typhlogobius and gillichthys xvi. sebastodes and fierasfer xvii. oligocuttus analis and isesthes gilberti xviii. zyphlogobius .... xix-xxiii. shells of san pedro bay xxiv, alaskan mask with chinese medals. 230 230 xxv. telmessus cheiragonus xxvi. telmessus acutidens, t. cheiragonus, and erimacrus isenbeckii xxvii. erimacrus isenbeckii xxviii. libinia setosa xx libinia macdonaldi xxx. libinia spinimana xxxi. libipia dubia, l. emarginata, l. mexicana xxxii. pericera triangulata, p. contigua ... xxxiii. macrocoeloma tenuirostra, m. camptocera xxxiv. othonia aculeata, (. therminieri xxxt, othonia carolinensis, 0, nicholsi xxxvi, othonia rotunda, mithrax braziliensis... xxxvii. mithrax (nemausa) acuticornis, m. hemphilli xxxviii. mithrax bahamensis, m. sinensis xxxix. mithrax pilosua.... xl. tiarinia depressa, t. spinigera xli-xliii. navajo indian houses at fort wingate, n. mex.. xliv. algansea dugėsi, fundulus robustus, acara bartoni.. xlv. wing feathers of motacilla lugeng. xlvi, xlvii. encyrtina xlviii. anthoxanthum odoratum xlix-lxxiv. florida unios lxxv. tree danian. lxxvi. pencil-eared oryx lxxvii. thompson's gazelle lxxviii, lxxix. abbott's antelope.. lxxx. damara-land pygmy antelope lxxxi, spiny boxfish ... lxxxii-lxxxiv. fossil plants from montana... 230 278 278 278 278 278 278 278 278 278 278 278 278 278 282 288 360 370 404 436 480 480 480 480 480 486 496 v dates of publication of articles. no. 887, march 28, 1892; 888, march 25; 889, august 2; 890, 891, 892, 893, august 5; 894, august 2; 895, 896, july 18; 897, 898, 899, 900, 901, 902, 903, 904, august 2; 905, 900, 907, 908, 909, september 19; 910, october 5; 911, 912, 913, 914, 915, october 26; 910, 917, 918, july 21, 1893. proceedings of the united states national museum for the year 1892. volume xv. preliminary descriptions of thirty-seven new species of hermit crabs of the genus eupagurus in the u. s. national museum. by james e. benedict, department of marine invertebrates. 1. subgenus eupagurus. typical species eupagurus bernhardus (l.). eupagurus with the large surface of the left hand horizontal. species not inclined to be hairy. subgenus trigonochirus. typical species eupagurus trigonocheirus stimpson. eupagurus with the outer face of the left hand oblique and more or less triangular. in some cases it is flattened, in others concave, or very much swollen, as in hirsutiusculus. the species are frequently very hairy. 3. subgenus elassochirus. typical species eupagurus tenuimanus (dana), eupagurus with the left hand very small, in some cases almost rudi. mentary. the large hand is always wide or broadly ovate, excepting in munitus and gilli, where the carpus is exceedingly wide, and the hand moderately so. eye scale semnicylindrical, grading to triangular, sharp pointed. species not hairy; many of them very smooth and glabrous. proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 887. dn a 2 new species of hermit crabs-benedict. 4. subgenus labidochirus. typical species eupagurus splendescens (owen). eupagurus with the manus of the left cheliped cylindrical. under this section i have included but three species, the type, e. mertensi brandt, and e. parvus nov. subgenus eupagurus. eupagurus alaskensis. anterior portion of carapace a little broader than long. rostral tooth produced to the base of the eye scales ; lateral projections much less produced. eye-stalks short and stout, constricted in the middle. the eye scales taper from the base to a blunt apex; the subterminal spine is conspicuous from above. the acicles of the antennæ reach the proximal end of the flagella and are three-sided ; sides flat, iridescent. the inner margin is armed with from 12 to 16 short conical teeth, and is set with bunches of hair. the merus of the right cheliped is very stout and strong, and extends beyond the eye by about one-half its length. the carpus is armed on its inner margin with a line of stout spines; there are also two longitudinal rows of spines on its upper surface; elsewhere thickly set with spiny granules. the band is set with sping granules forming a border on the outer margin. on the fingers the surface is very coarsely granular. the left cheliped is much smaller than the right; its carpus has a row of strong spines on the inner margin, and a parallel row further down on the outer surface; otherwise it is set with spiny granules as in the large hand. the dactyl does not show from above any flattened surface, but from the prehensile edge to the outer margin it is evenly rounded. the ambulatory legs of the right side overreach the right cheliped but little; in very large specimens not at all. the upper surface of the merus joints are a little flattened. the upper margin of the carpus is armed with a single row of spines. upper surface of propodal joints flattened, armed with a row of short spines on the summit and elsewhere with spiny granules. the dactyls are very wide, compressed, and twisted. the upper surface is convex, its summit and margins each set with a row of granules. between these rows are long, smooth, surfaces. the inner surface of the dactyl is flat. the outer surface is very con. vex near the proximal end, but becomes much more flattened near the tip. in alcoholic specimens the general color above is a light purple with iridescent reflections ; below, light, tinged with reddish. a red streak runs around the prehensile edge of the thumbs and behind the dactyls to the inner margins of the bands. there is an oblong patch of red vol3 1852proceedings of the national museum. . , ] ?. xvon the outer distal margins and on the inner upper surface of the merus joints of the cheliped. the lower outer surface of the carpal joints of the ambulatory legs are pointed with red. the propodal joints and dactyls are longitudinally streaked with red. this species is very close to bernhardus, but is easily distinguished by its broader and shorter left hand, by the wide dactyls of the ambulatory legs, by the acicula, and by its pearly iridescence. alaska. eupagurus aleuticus. front with three teeth sharper and a little more prominent than in alaskensis. the middle or rostral tooth is not quite so much produced. eye-stalks much stouter and some longer than in alaskensis. the eye scales are larger and less acuminate. the subterminal spine does not show from above. the acicles are broader at the base than in alaskensis. the chelipeds are stout. the carpal joints are armed with numer. ous sharp spines. that of the left cheliped is three-sided, and not four, as in alaskensis. the dactyls of both hands show from above a smooth oblique surface, either flat or a trifle concave. in the small hand this surface is free from hair and granules; in the large hand it is bordered with short spiny granules, and the granules inclosed are very small. the spines of both hands are bifurcate, except those of the margin, which are simple. the dactyls of the ambulatory legs are very wide and thin. the upper surfaces are entirely occupied by a sulcus, deep at the base of the article, becoming shallow at the end. this character of the dactyls is sufficient to distinguish this species from any other species of the bernhardus type. the color is dark in most specimens. aleutian islands. eupagurus patagoniensis. anterior portion of carapace a little broader than long. front with three rounded lobes equally produced. lateral lobes armed with a single small sharp spine pointing directly forward. the eye-stalks are stout, smallest in the middle, dilated and flattened at the corneæ, and enlarged but cylindrical at the base. eye scales much as in alaskensis. the subterminal spine is black-tipped and shows from above. the acicles reach the base of the flagella. in form they are very closely like that of bernhardus, and not so much flattened as in the related alaskan species. the chelipeds are a little shorter than the ambulatory legs of their respective sides. carpus of large cheliped shaped like that of bernhardus, but it is evenly set with short sharp spines with black points. spines of upper surface of hand black pointed and arranged in about seven more or less distinct longitudinal rows. the hand is more than twice as long as broad. the outer margin is arcuate; the inner margin 4 new species of hermit crabs-benedict. is nearly straight. the prehensile edges of the fingers are armed with large tubercles slightly horny near the tips. the merus joints of both chelipeds are very smooth on their large surfaces, but bordered with spines below. the left cheliped reaches to the base of the dactyl of the large hand. it is similar in shape and armature, with the exception of the prehensile edges of the fingers, which are much more horny. the carpus has an evenly convex outer and upper surface armed with spines. the dactyls of the ambulatory legs are curved, bent and twisted as in bernhardwo and allied species, but are not compressed. although this species differs from the typical species of the genus, in the horny tips of the fingers of the large hand, yet in all other respects it so closely resembles the characteristic species that i cannot place it outside the limits of the genus under consideration. east coast of patagonia. eupagurus smithi. the three projections of the front are about equally advanced; all are angular but not sharp; the lateral are each armed with a short spine. the eye-stalks are short, stout, and much dilated at the corneæ. the eye scales are short and round. the small subterminal spine shows froin above. the second article of the antennal peduncle has its outer spine produced and spinulose on the inner edge. the terminal article extends beyond the eye one-half of its length. the terminal article of the antennular peduncle originates opposite the distal end of the eye-stalk. the merus of the large cheliped is compressed. its anterior upper margin and a flattened patch on the distal upper surface are spiny. the carpus is covered with small spines, and the inner margin is set with about eight large sharp spines curved slightly forward. the outer surface of the carpus is flattened, making a distinct surface, but there is no dividing line of spines or granules. the hand is broadest at the middle of the palm. the outer margin is fringed with short, sharp spines. the inner margin is unarmed except the distal half of the dactyl, which has a few short spines. the upper surface is paved with flattened plates or tubercles, each of which is surmounted by a small spine. the plates are raised above the true surface of the hand and, as in simi. lar cases, there are many irregular-shaped fissures between them. the plates themselves are not all circular, but many of them have a small deep sinus on one side. the left cheliped is strong and reaches the proximal end of the dactyl of the large cheliped. its merus is much compressed, making its upper margin thin. tbe distal end of this margin is armed with two strong spines, which project directly forward over the carpus. the carpus is broad; its inner edge is crested with sharp spines. the upper surface is covered with small spines, as in the other cheliped. the hand is envol5 1892proceedings of the national museum. . . ] . xvtirely bordered with spines, and its surface is horizontal and covered with plates, as in the large band. the ambulatory legs are moderately stout, with slender, curved, and twisted dactyls. the carpal and propodal joints are crested with spines. the spines on the propodal joints of the second pair are very small. the dactyls are broadest two-thirds of their length from the propodal joints and are bordered with hair above and with spines and nair below. the color in alcoholic specimens is pink. gulf of california. eupagurus impressus. anterior portion of carapace about as broad as long, flattened. rostral projection on a line with lateral projections, much rouuded. lateral projections angular. eye-stalks long, slender, dilated, and flattened at the corneæ. scales semioval. subterminal spine large. a ciculæ slender, very hairy, not extending beyond the eye-stalks. the chelipeds are stout and strong. the large hand is much wider than the carpas. its outer margin is arcuate, set with about twenty blant teeth. the inner margin is without marginal spines or granules except at the distal end of the dactyl, where the margin beyond the angle is spiny. the upper surface is covered with granular plates, making a nearly even surface above the true surface. there is a depression near the onter margin opposite the base of the dactyl, and another running from the carpus nearly to the gape of the fingers in each hand. the left hand is broader in proportion to its length than the right. its surface is about the same in character. the arcuate outer margin is set with teeth, with small angular projections near the base of each. the inner margin is nearly straight, behind the dactyl having a row of five or six teeth. the margin of the dactyl is tuberculate. the ambulatory legs extend but little beyond the cheliped. the dactyls are hairy and a little bent and twisted. this species is allied to pollicaris. florida. eupagurus floridanus. anterior portion of carapace wider than long. rostral projection rounded; lateral projections angular and a little in advance of the rostral. eye-stalks slender, much flattened and dilated at the corneæ, and dilated at the base. eye scales elongated, conical, with a large sub terminal spine. the aciculæ of the antennæ do not extend beyond the the eye. the ultimate joint of the antepnulæ is more than twice aslong as the penultimate. the chelipeds are very much as in pollicaris, but the hands are much narrower. the angle of the outer margin of the dactyl of the large . band is much nearer its base. the outer margin of the hand is not 80 much rounded and the bordering granules are not so prominent as: 6. new species of hermit crabs-benedict. in pollicaris. the upper margin of the carpal and propodal joints of the ambulatory legs are spinulose. the dactyls are slender, curved and twisted. florida. eupagurus exilis. carapace flattened, depressed, wider than long. front with a sharp triangular rostral tooth in line with the much rounder lateral lobes, which are armed with two short sharp spines directed forward and out. ward. the eye-stalks are short and stout, flattened at the corneæ. the scales are short, wide, and round at the end, the subterminal spine not showing ordinarily from above. aciculæ of the antennæ not quite reaching the extremity of the eyes. chelipeds long and slender. the carpus is about as in longicarpus. the hand is much more than twice as long as broad, about equally arcuate on both margins. the fingers are slightly hooked at the tips. the left cheliped is as in longicarpus with the exception of a raised row of granules on the outer margin of the pollex. the dactyls of the ambulatory legs are long, slender, curved, and twisted. the upper carpal margins are set with a row of small spines. these do not exist in longicarpus. this species, while very closely related, is sufficiently distinct from longicarpus. off the rio de la plata. eupa gurus albus. front with median projection angular, not produced much if at all beyond the lateral projections, which are also angular and are armed with a short spine which points outward. this spine or point does not arise below the margin, as is commonly the case with spines at this point, but is produced from the slightly raised margin. the eye-stalks are short, stout, and flattened; the corneæ are dilated. eye scales short, triangular, wide at the base; the subterminal spine very small, sometimes seen from above, often not. the peduncles of the antennula and antenna extend beyond the eyes. the acicles are about as long as the eyes. the right cheliped is long and slender. the upper anterior margin of the merus is armed with a few stout conical spines. the carpus is flattened on the inner surface and much rounded above and on the outer side. the upper surface is longit udinally divided into two parts by a median line of small spiny granules. the surface of the inner division is concave; the outer is convex. the hand is long, narrow, and is very slightly bent upward. the surface above and below is thickly set with rough, flattened granules. the inner border is conspicuously marked by a raised ridge. the fingers are slender and shorter than the palm. the small cheliped barely reaches the large hand in large specimens. vol7 1692] proceedings of the national museum. , . . iva the carpus is single crested; lower down is a parallel line of spiny granules which terminates with rather a large spine at the manus. the outline of the manus is slightly concave on its outer margin, while the inner outline is strongly convex. a sharp ridge runs along the outer margin of the hand and pollex. at the base of the pollex the depression is much deeper than farther along at either end of the ridge. the prehensile edge of the pollex is armed with small calcareous teeth, while the prehensile edge of the dactyl is armed with a comb of horny denticles. the meral, carpal, and propodal joints of the ambulatory legs are stout, while the dactyls are very slender, much curved, and twisted. on each side of each dactyl a deep groove originates at the articulation with the propodus and disappears towards the end of the dactyl. there is a line of hairs on the upper margin. this species is common in the gulf of california. eupagurus gladius. anterior portion of carapace much broader than long. rostral projection angular, pointed. angles of the lateral projection more obtase, pointed. eye-stalks very stout, flattened. scales short, wide. subterminal spine small, often not showing from above. the acicles of the antennæ extend well beyond the eyes. the right cheliped is very long. merus rugose, its lower external distal angle produced and armed with several small spiny teeth. car. pus long, convex, its inner margin marked with a row of small spines of unequal length. its upper surface is evenly set with spiny granules. the outer margin is marked by a dense row of these granules. the hand at its base is much narrower than the carpus. it attains its full width at the base of the dactyl, where it is not quite so wide as the car. pus. the length of the hand in a typical specimen is 16 mm.; width 5 mm. the inner margin is marked by a line of granules. the granules of the upper surface are sharp and have a tendency to stand in more or less transverse rows. the outer margin is thin and is bordered by a row of very small blunt teeth. the fingers are thin and their prehensile edges are armed with calcareous tubercles. the left cheliped scarcely reaches the base of the large hand. its carpus bas a double crest of spinules. the hand is bent outward. the fingers are thin and curved downward. the ambulatory legs are slender. the outer spines of the crest on the carpus often have two or three points. the crest of the propodus is composed of much smaller spines than that of the carpus. the dac. tyls are thin, wide, curved, and twisted. this species is closely allied to longicarpus and related species. gulf of california. eupagurus defensus. anterior portion of carapace broad and convex. median process rounded, the margin of the front between the lateral processes being an 8 new species of hermit crabs-benedict. . even curve. lateral processes slender, pointed, and armed with a short spine. the eye stalks are stout, much dilated, and flattened at the corneæ. the eye scales are broad, rounded, the anterior margin being a semicircle. the large, subterminal spine makes them appear at first sight very acute. the peduncle of the antenna extends beyond the eye by one-balf the length of the terminal segment. the peduncle of the antennula extends beyond the eye by two-thirds the length of its termi. nal article. the acicle is a little longer than the eye. the merus of the large cheliped is cylindrical at its base and swells out to the carpıs. it has no angular surfaces. the carpus has three lines of sharp, slender spines, one on the inper margin composed of much larger spines, one on the outer margin, and one part way between the two. the band is a little wider than the carpus at the base of the dactyl; its margin is set with a comb of long slender spines. a row of spines of about the same size and character runs from the gape of the finger to the wrist. between tbe marginal and central rows are two diagonal rows of spines. on the outer surface of the hand, near the base of the pollex, is a patch of seven or eight spines. on the ridge of the pollex there are several rows of plates irregularly placed, and a small spine arises from the center of each. the fingers are hooked and gape widely. the small cheliped reaches the base of the dactyl. its merus is compressed. the carpus carries a double crest of spines; inner margin straight and flat; outer convex. the hand is armed with spines, as in the large cheliped, with the exception of the spine-bearing plates, which it jacks altogether. the fingers gape as in the large band. in the small specimens the fingers do not gape in either hand. the description is made from two specimens from the albatross collection in the gulf of mexico. subgenus trigonochirus. eupagurus capillatus. anterior portion of carapace a little longer than broad. lateral areas with numerous tufts of hair. front with a broadly rounded, slightly produced, median projection. lateral projections or lobes each armed below the margin with a strong spine. eye-stalks long, slen. der, nearly straight. scales semioval, with a strong subterminal spine. acicle of the antenna not quite reaching the tip of the eye. ultimate article of the antennula as long as the eye-stalk and extending nearly its full length beyond. right cheliped large. the merus is convex on the outer surface, nearly smooth; inner surface flattened and very hairy; spiny below. carpus above convex, with small scattered spines; inner margin marked with a row of strong spines. hand ordinarily twice as long as broad, rather sparsely set with stout spines. vol9 1802 proceedings of the national museum. , *] . xvleft cheliped with merus compressed. carpus compressed, bicristate. hand narrow and slender. ambulatory legs stout. dactyls curved and slightly twisted. this species is much nearer its atlantic representative pubescens than is any other north pacific eupagurus to its atlantic analogue, and has long been coufounded with it. the two are however distinct, and can be separated by careful comparison. capillatus has the appearance of being much more bairy, the hairs often holding mud and dirt. under the microscope, the main shaft of each hair is crowded with long fine hairs. in pubescens, the hairs show occasional spinules along the main shaft. the oblique face of the left hand in capillatus is more angular at its base and is not quite so long in proportion to its width as in pubescens. the large hand is more rounded. the spines are larger and not so numerous. the propodal joints are a little more flattened and a little shorter. the eyes are a trifle longer. alaska. eupagurus brandti. median projection of the front very little produced beyond the lateral. lateral projections rounded and armed with a submarginal spine. eyestalks rather stont, a little dilated at the corneæ. scales triangular, bearing a bunch of coarse bristles. the acicle of the antenna extends a little beyond the eye. the chelipeds are stout. carpus armed above with small scattered spines. hand very much swollen; outer margin arcuate; inner mar. gin of palm and finger making nearly a straight line. prehensile edges of fingers armed with three or four stout tubercles; tips horny. left cheliped small. carpus compressed, bicristate. the oblique triangular face of the hand is markedly concave. ambulatory legs moderately slender, almost entirely unarmed. the dactyls are wide, curved, and slightly twisted. the color of alcoholic specimens is reddish, the middle of the joints light. spines everywhere red or red pointed. this species is closely related to kröyeri, trigonocheirus and dalli. the small chelipeds of all have the triangular outer face, and in general the species resemble each other very much. with a large series of all i find substantial specific characters. brandti and dalli are found together in a depth of from 15 to 85 fathoms in the aleutian island region. they grow to a length of three inches. they are separated at sight by a sharply defined band of white on the distal end of the merus joints of dalli, which is entirely wanting in brandti. eupagurus dalli. anterior portion of carapace very convex, about as broad as long. median projection of the front triangular, produced beyond the lateral projections. lateral projections rounded, each armed with a submar. 10 new species of hermit crabs-benedict. ginal spine. eye-stalks smaller than in brandti. eye scales triangular, with a large subterminal spine. the acicles reach but little beyond the eyes. the width of the carpus of the large cheliped is less than two-thirds of its length, while the hand is more than twice as long as broad. the outline of the hand is nearly the same on both margins. the fingers are a little hooked, and the points cross wlien the fingers are closed, giving the pollex the appearance of being a little longer than the dactyl. the spines of the carpus and hand are small, slender, and sharp. the small cheliped has a triangular outer face. the ambulatory legs are slender, the dactyls on the right side extending beyond the cheliped by about one-third their length. the dactyls are spinulose, a little curved, but not at all twisted. the chelipeds and ambulatory legs are hairy; the hair is very fine and not very conspicuous. alaska. eupagurus tanneri. front tridentate; teeth pointed, well defined. rostriform tooth much larger and more produced than the lateral teeth. ocular peduncles stout; corneæ dilated ; scales ovate, with subterminal spine prominent, pointed. second article of antenna short, stout; its outer angle produced to or beyond the middle of the penultimate article; inner angle armed with a slender spine. acicle thin and flattened at its base, slender and subcylindrical for the greater part of its length. it reaches beyond the middle of the last article. right cheliped long, its merus extending beyond the eye for twothirds of its length. upper and outer side of merus cylindrical, its distal surface rendered uneven by tubercles and hairy rugæ, the rugæ becoming shorter at the proximal end. carpus four-sided; upper side a little convex; much more so below; sides concave. hand elongate, about as wide as the carpus; from about the middle of the palm it tapers gradually each way. fingers thin and bent downward like curved scissors. a ridge beginning at the articulation of the carpus near the inner angle of the band, runs diagonally across the hand and along the inner portion of the immovable finger. another ridge beginning near the outer proximal angle of the hand runs across the hand and joins the first ridge a little behind the gape of the fingers. at this point the ridge is most elevated. the two ridges inclose a subtriangular area, in which there are five or six short spines. the ridges are spiny, the first one from its origin to the pollex, the second throughout its length. both margins of the hand are spiny. on the outer margin the spines are regularly placed in a single row, extending to near the tip of the pollex. on the inner margin they form a double row, irregularly placed. there is a single row of spines on the margin of the dactyl. a row higher up unites with the first near the tip. two marked depressions occupy the large part of the upper surface of 7 1892. ] 11 proceedings of the national museum. the hand. tbe one on the outer side begins on the pollex and runs backward, becoming deeper opposite the base of the dactyl and widest a little back of this. on the inner part of the hand the second depression begins along the articulation of the dactyl and runs back to the proximal margin. there are no granules or spines in this depression, and but few scattered spiny granules in the other. the surface of the hand is glabrous. the left cheliped is small, reaching to the middle of the large hand. merus compressed above, thickened below, and armed with sharp spines. carpus compressed; upper surface flattened, each margin armed with a row of prominent sharp spines; lower surface convex, set with small tubercles. outer face of the hand subtriangular, deeply concave. upper margin of this face armed with a single row of spines, and the lower margin with a double row irregularly placed and much smaller. a short row of spines from the carpal margin unites with the upper marginal row, making this row appear double for a part of its length in small specimens. fingers slender, bent downward ; prehen; . sile edges thin, even, and horny. ambulatory legs slender, in large specimens reaching but little beyond the cheliped on the right side, in small speoimens extending beyond by one-half the length of the dactyl. merus joints much compressed; upper surface flattened, rugose; rugæ hairy. carpal joints armed on the upper margin with a single row of sharp spines. propodal joints compressed above, irregularly set with short spines. dactyls long, slender, twisted. two lines of hair near the margins of the inner surface are very conspicuous. outer surface convex, glabrous. alaska. eupagurus confragosus. front tridentate; teeth pointed ; median tooth but little produced beyond the lateral. eye stalks stout, tapering gradually to the di. lated corneæ. scales acuminate; subterminal spine long, stout. second article of antenna stout, its outer angle produced to about the middle of the penultimate article. acicles reaching but little beyond the eyes. penultimate article subconical. the right cheliped is stout, falling short of the tips of the ambulatory legs. merus and carpus very much as in tanneri, but the merus is more spiny below and the spines of the inner upper margin of the carpus are larger in comparison with those of the outer margin than in that species. the hand is wider and stouter than in tanneri, but made up in much the same way. the outer margin is spiny while the inner margin is set with spiny granules. the raised triangle with its base on the articulation with the carpus is much broader. the ridge which runs from the inner angle to the immovable finger is granulate rather than spiny. the ridge on the inner side of the triangle is broken by a v-shaped notch, the broken parts changing direction at this point. the outer ridge of the triangle, a short line inside, and the apex are sparsely 12 new species of hermit crabs-benedict. set with spines. depressions occur on both sides of the hand, as in the last species, but do not reach the carpal margin, the inner depression being entirely cut off by the ridge. the whole upper surface of the hand is set with spiny granules, between which the surface is glabrous. the fingers are thin, but do not curve downward. the left cheliped is shorter and more slender than the right. car. pus compressed; upper surface flat; both margins armed with spines, those of the outer margin much the longer and a little hooked forward. the outer face of the hand is deeply concave; the surface is granulated ; both margins are spinous, the spines evenly placed. the fingers are slender, with even, thin, prehensile edges. the ambulatory legs on the right side reach but little beyond the large hand. merus joints much compressed; those of the anterior pair armed with spines below. upper margin of carpal and propodal joints armed with spines. smaller spines exist on the carpal joints of the second pair, but not upon the propodal. the dactyls are curved and a little twisted, fringed with hair as in tanneri. the two species are readily separated by the inner side of the raised triangle of the large hand. in this species it cuts off the inner depression of the upper surface from the proximal margin of the palm, while in tanneri this depression is allowed to reach the margin by a curvature of the ridge. alaska. eupagrirus cornutus. anterior portion of carapace a little wider than long. front tridentate; median tooth larger and a little more produced than the lateral. the eyes are stout and in length equal about one-half the width of the anterior portion of the carapace. acicles slender, subcylindrical, extending one-half their length beyond the eyes; external spine produced; its apex slender; the inner margin armed with three or four slender teeth. the right cheliped is long and stout. the distal end of the merus is armed with short spines above and below; its upper surface is sparsely. granulated posteriorly; anteriorly it is set with short transverse rugæ, from which lines of hair reach forward along the surface. the upper surface of the carpus is subrectangular; its linear margins sharply defined by rows of conical spines, those of the inner margin being much the larger; a third row of irregularly placed spines runs parallel to the inner ma.gin. the hand swells out at its articulation until it is a little wider than the carpus, when the margins of the hand are nearly parallel to a point a littie beyond the gape of the fingers. from this point to the tip of the immovable finger the outer margin is nearly straight, the dactyl gently curving to the tip. the outer margin is armed with a single row of spines and is fringed with fine hair. the margin of the dactyl is the same in character, but the spines are much smaller. a stroug, rounded, granulated ridge begins near the wrist on the inner side vol13 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xv> of the hand and runs diagonally to the end of the pollex; just behind the gape of the fingers it is elevated to a horn or tubercle. in all speci. mens the anterior outline of the horn is perpendicular to the hand. in small specimens the posterior outline is straight from the apex of the horn to the beginning of the ridge near the wrist. in large specimens the horn is much more elevated than the straight lines of the ridge. an auxiliary, spiny ridge, running from the outer middle of the wrist to the horn, cuts off an elevated subtriangular area on the posterior part of the hand. this area is somewhat spiny. the outer portion of the hand is deeply concave and its surface roughened by spiny granules. the inner side of the hand is deeply excavated, the cavity running in under the ridge and horn. the fingers are thin, granulate, the prehensile edges set with blunt teeth. the left cheliped is much smaller than the right, reaching beyond the articulation of the dactyl of the large hand. the merus is compressed above, flattened beneath; margin spiny. carpus compressed, flattened above, bicristate. the outer face of the hand is subtriangular, deeply concave or excavate; surface granulate; margins spiny, the ambulatory legs of the right side reach but little beyond the cheliped. merus joints of first pair much compressed, armed with small spines below; carpal joints armed with larger spines above. the second pair are without spines. dactyls flattened, curved, twisted, chan. neled on each side near the articulation of the propodus; inner surface with a line of hair near each margin. alaska. eupagurus townsendi. rostriform tooth sharp, produced slightly beyond the base on the eye scales. lateral projections of the front but little produced. eye peduncle constricted at the base, dilated at the cornea. scales small. acicles of antennæ slender, extending beyond the eyes for nearly half their length. the chelipeds are long, the merus joints extending beyond the eyes by about one-half their length; spiny below. the carpus of the right cheliped is five-eighths as wide as long, its inner margin with a row of spines about one-third larger than those scattered about the surface and about double the size of the spines of the outer margin. the upper avd lower surfaces are convex; outer and inner surfaces flat or slightly concave. the hand is more than twice as long as wide, thinly spinous. the spines of the outer margin are about the same size as those of the surface, and very much larger than those of the inner margin. there are two rows of spiny granules on the dactyl, with a flat surface between. the hand is evenly convex above and below. the fingers are slightly bent downward. the left cheliped reaches the base of the dactyl of the large hand; it is compressed. the carpus has a flat upper surface, with a row of small spines on each margin. the hand bas a subtriangular and slightly 14 new species of hermit crabs-benedict. concave outer face. the upper margin is armed with a row of slender spines. ambulatory legs slender; dactyls long, slender, much bent, twisted. those of the right side reach beyond the cheliped by about one-fourth their length. merus joints of first pair with six or seven spines below; carpal joints spiny above. carpal joints of the second pair spiny above, but the spines are very small. chelipeds and ambulatory legs sparsely hairy; hairs fine and short, not conspicuous. on the hand the hair arises in little bunches scattered among the spines. color in alcohol, orange-buff. alaska. eupagurus rathbuni. median projection of the front acute, produced much beyond the lat. eral projections. eye peduncles stout, very little constricted, dilated at the corneæ. scales rather broad, rounded. the acicles reach to the end of the eyes. chelipeds long. the merus joints overreach the eyes by about onehalf their length. the carpus of the large cheliped is seven-tenths as wide as long, convex on three sides, concave on the inner side, spinose; the spines small. spines of the inner margin but little if any larger than elsewhere. the distal inner angle of the upper surface is occupied by a small circular patch of very fine hair. the hand is about threesevenths as wide as long, evenly rounding at the palm, spiny above, with a scarcely distinguishable marginal row of spines. the merus and carpus have a few short spines below. the upper part of the car. pus of the left cheliped is flat, with marginal row of very small spines. the hand is small; fingers slender and strongly bent downward. the ambulatory legs of the right side overreach the cheliped but little; those of the left side, by about one-half the length of the dactyl. the anterior pair have the lower edges of the merus joints set with spiny granules. the carpal joints have a row of very small spines on the upper margin. the dactyls are wide, bent, and twisted. the margins of the inner surface are hairy. the distal upper margin of the meral and carpal joints is a light red. there is also a streak of red on the large hand at the base of the dactyl. the ambulatory legs are tinged with the same color near the joints and on the upper distal third of the meral joints. the general color is pale. this species is readily distinguished from any other north pacific form by the patch of hair on the carpus of the large cheliped. alaska. eupagurus minutus. anterior portion of carapace broadly rounded at the sides, much constricted behind. front nearly straigbt, faintly three-lobed. eye-stalks vol. xv, 1892. 15 proceedings of the national museum. long, stout. scales short, rounded, with a slender subterminal spine. acicle of antenna shorter than the eye. peduncle scarcely if any longer than the eye. merus of right cheliped short, compressed. upper surface of carpus triangular; inner margin armed with slender spines; a few scattered spines on the surface. the hand is much longer than wide. the inner margin of the manus is set with long slender spines, as also the outer edge of the dactyl. spines of the outer margin much smaller. two rows of slender spines beginning at the carpus run together at the base of the pollex. carpus of left cheliped single-crested with slender spines. the oblique subtriangular face of the hand is bordered by very sharp spines. the upper surface is about equal to the oblique surface in extent. the specimen is hairy. gulf of california. eupagurus purpuratus. the median projection of the front is rendered sharp by a rostral point wbich originates on the upper surface and extends beyond the margin. the triangular lateral projections are not armed with a spine. the eye stalks are stout and long. the eye scales are acute, concave, and bave a prominent, slender, subterminal spine. the lateral pro. jection of the second article of the antennal peduncle is long and is con. spicuously armed with spines on its inner margin. the peduncle is but little if any longer than the eye. the acicle is setose and much shorter than the eye. the peduncle of the antennula is much longer than the eye. the carpus of the large hand widens out evenly from the merus, making the outline straight; outer margin unmarked by special line of granules or spines; inner margin defined by a row of five or six spines which are very sharp and point forward; upper surface coarsely gran. ulated. the hand bas a symmetrical outline and is fringed from the tips of the fingers to the wrist with blunt spines. those on the outer margin originate on the lower surface and project above the upper surface. a strong ridge beginning at the tip of the dactyl runs backward and is continued on the manus and ends at the wrist. the whole opper surface of the hand is paved with large flattened compound granules. these granules seem to be hemispherical and a little elevated above the true surface, often showing irregular shaped fissures between them. the tubercles or spines on the inner margin of the hand are not so thickly set as on the outer. the carpus of the small cheliped has a single crest armed with three or four strong spines. the hand has a curved oblique face and also a horizontal face equally prominent. this hand is also paved with compound granules. the lower margin of the oblique face is sparsely set with tubercles, 16 new species of hermit crabs-benedict. the ambulatory legs are slender. the dactyls are curved and spi. nose. the propodus and dactyl of the second pair on the left side are very thickly fringed with hair above and below. these articles are also seen to be wider and much more prominently grooved than the similar members of the other legs. as i have nerer seen this character before, i conclude that it may be accidental. color in alcohol, dark purple. described from a single specimen from the galapagos islands. eupagurus hemphilli. anterior portion of carapace very much longer than broad. median projection of front sharp. from the projection the margin curves back, making a lobe between the eye and antenna, but no sharp angle. a sharp spine arms the lower margin at this point, making the front sharply tridentate in appearance. between the spine and the outer angle is another concave space behind the antenna. the eye stalks are long and slender, a little constricted in the middle. the eye scales are small and sharp, with well developed subterminal spines. the peduncle of the antenna overreaches the eye a little. the acicle is much shorter than the eye-stalk. the antennula extends but little beyond the eye. the right cheliped is long. the merus is much compressed, twice as long as broad. its outer surface is quadrilateral, smooth, almost glabrous, with a few fine hairs in very small bunches. there is a very small tubercle at its lower posterior angle. the carpus is more than twice as long as broad; deep; apper surface convex; inner and outer surfaces flattened. the hand is fully twice as long as its greatest breadth. it is not so wide as the carpus at its articulation, but widens out uniformly and is widest at the base of the dactyl. both fingers are much shorter than the palm. the carpus and hand are densely and evenly granulate. the granules are white. the small cheliped is much compressed and reaches but little beyond the carpus of the large cheliped. the carpus has a crest of about nine sharp spines and no trace of a rudimentary and second line. the hand is very much compressed, being no wider than the carpus. its broad outer face is parallel with its inner. on the upper margin behind the gape is a deep suture extending from the carpus nearly to the base of the finger. the sides of this groove are armed with spiny granules. both carpus and manus are very granular. the ambulatory legs are slender and much compressed. the carpus and propodus of the first one on the right side are armed on the upper border with small spines. the feet of the second pair are of almost even length and reach the middle of the large cheliped. the dactyls are short, curved, and spinulose. the color in alchohol is a bright red. there is a well marked light spot on the sides of the dactyls near the end, vol17 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvthis species is in appearance much like granosimanus, but is alto. gether distinct. it is readily separated by the front, by the much greater proportionate length of the outer portion of the carapace and by the very different left hand, and numerous other points. the young can be distinguished best by the length of the carapace. california. eupagurus beringanus. anterior portion of carapace longer than wide. median projection of the front very obtuse; lateral projections merely indicated. eyestalks very slender. eye scales small, triangular; subterminal spine slender. a line of hair runs along the eye-stalk from the scale to the cornea. the last article of the antennula overreaches the eye by about one-half its length. the acicle is small and much curved; hairy along the inner margin; reaching nearly to the base of the cornea. the right cheliped is stout. the upper margin of the merus is angu. lar, with a patch of small and very sharp spines near the anterior border, which is also spinose. there are two prominent tubercles underneath. the carpus is convex on the upper surface, and flattened and comparatively smooth on the sides. the granules of the upper surface are large and not at all crowded. there are two rows of tubercular granules, one on the inner margin and one nearly parallel with it higher up on the surface. the hand is the same width as the carpus. its granules are of widely different sizes and are not crowded. a row of tubercular granules defines the outer margin. the outer margin of the dactyl has a similar border. fingers with very slight horny tips. the small cheliped reaches a little way beyond the carpus of the large one. its carpus is compressed ; apper margin short, armed with from ten to twelve slender sharp spines. the oblique triangular face of the hand is convex and granular; a deep notch or groove occupies the posterior portion of the upper margin. the ambulatory legs extend but a trifle beyond the large cheliped. the upper margin of the carpal and propodal joints of the first pair and of the carpal joints of the second pair are armed with short sharp spines. the dactyls are flattened. the legs are hairy. the hair of the upper margin is long and arises in tufts or fascicles. the distal ends of the joints of the legs are a bright red. both proxi. mal and distal ends of the dactyls are red. the light portions of the legs are spotted with red. this and the following species from british columbia are much alike in color. the young are difficult to separate. our specimens come from bristol bay and north of the aleutian islands. eupagurus newcombei. anterior portion of carapace longer than wide. median projection of front very short, obtuse. lateral projections barely indicated. the proc. n. m. 92-2 18 new species of hermit crabs—benedict. eye-stalks are comparatively shorter and stouter than in beringanus, the scales are triangular; subterminal spines very large. the acicles reach nearly to the tip of the eye. the right cheliped is large, shaped as in the last species, but differently armed. on the lower anterior portion of the merus there are two prominent tubercles, one of which is spiny as in the large cheliped. the carpus is bordered on its inner margin by a prominent row of short spines; near this is a parallel row of spines; the remainder of the surface is sparsely covered with spiny granules. the hand is irregularly set with spines about the same size as those of the carpus. the fingers are horny tipped. the carpus of the small cheliped has a single crest of spines. a few much smaller spines are scattered about the outer surface. the outer surface of the hand is convex and set with spines. british columbia. eupagurus undosus. front tridentate; middle tooth but little produced. all are small and are not widely separated. eye-stalks slender, but little dilated at the cornea. scales pointed, subtriangular. the acicles of the antennæ are as long or a little longer than the eyes. the right cheliped is much larger than the left; in proportion to the body it is large and strong. outer surface of the merus smooth and glabrous, sprinkled with minute granules; lower margin armed with short conical spines tipped with red. carpus four-sided; upper surface subrectilinear, thickly set with short spines tipped with red; lateral surfaces slightly concave. the outer margin of the hand from its posterior third rounds forward to the end of the pollex. the upper surface is thickly set with spiny granules, those on the outer margin being a little larger. the triangular oblique surface of the small hand is covered with tubercles as in the large band. both hands are characterized by peculiar depressions. the one on the inner upper surface of the large hand has straight sides and runs back to the carpus. the depression on the outer upper surface is variable. in the small hand the depressions are irregular and extend along each margin, while the central portion is occupied by a raised ridge. the ambulatory legs of the right side are of equal length and reach to the end of the cheliped. the legs of the left side overreach the small cheliped by about one-half the length of the dactyl. the carpal joints of the first pair are armed on the upper margin ; those of the second pair are smooth. the dactyls of all are short, stout, and spinulose. in the chelipeds the color is a reddish orange. the extremities of the joints of the ambulatory legs are red, and the intermedial parts very light. the specimens are all more or less hairy. bering sea. vol19 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xveupagurus kennerlyi stimpson.* anterior portion of carapace a little longer than broad. median projection of the front short, triangular. the lateral projections are rounded, but have a sharp appearance from the submarginal spine. the eye-stalks are straight, slender. the scales are acute, with large subterminal spines. the acicle of the antenna is slender, hairy, and does not reach to the end of the eye-stalk. the merus of the large cheliped is nearly trihedral; outer surface smooth, without ornamentation of any kind; lower margin spiny. the carpus is set on the inner margin with seven or eight slender curred spines. the hand is a little wider than the carpus, and is traversed by seven rows, including the marginal rows, of slender light-colored spines. the prehensile edges of the fingers are armed with stout tubercles ; tips horny. merus of left cheliped compressed ; lower margins spiny. the carpus is a little compressed, bicristate. the hand reaches a little beyond the base of the dactyl of the large hand; it has an outer trigonal surface well set with large spines. fingers horny-tipped. ambulatory legs stout. color in alcohol reddish. alaska. eupagurus setosus. a the carapace is very convex, little longer than broad. median projection of front rounded, a little in advance of the lateral projections. the eye-stalks are much stouter and shorter than in kennerlyi. the scales are very small and acute, with large subterminal spines. the acicles of the antennæ reach beyond the eye one-fourth of their length. the chelipeds have very much the same form as in kennerlyi, but the spines throughout are much shorter. the fingers are armed on the prehensile edges with large tubercles; points horny. the merus of the small cheliped is compressed. the carpus is thick, bicristate; sides compressed. the hands of both chelipeds are thickly set with stiff bristles, which character will separate the species at sight from kennerlyi. color in alcohol light yellow. alaska. subgenus elassochirus. eupagurus munitus. anterior portion of carapace very smooth, with an occasional tuft of hair and a few pits or small, shallow depressions on the lateral regions. front tridentate; teeth of nearly equal prominence. eye scales long, sides subparallel, edges upturned, making the surface deeply concave; the ends round; subterminal spine not showing from above. the first article of the antenna is armed with a very small spine wbich points forward and outward. the inner angle of the second article is armed * this description is inserted to mark the relatiorship of seto8u8. 20 new species of hermit crabs-benedict. with a sharp, conical spine; the outer angle is produced to the proxi. mal end of the last article; the apex is ordinarily double pointed. acicle rounded, hairy on the inner margin, reaching to the tip of the eye. chelipeds very unequal. in medium and small specimens the merus of the right cheliped does not reach beyond the eye, while in large ones it reaches beyond by one-half its length. it is three-sided; upper side convex; lower side flat; outer distal angle, with one or two short spines; upper ridge armed with a few spiny tubercles. the length of the car. pus is only four-fifths of its width. both sides are thinned out in wing. like expansions which turn down in such a way as to make the under side deeply concave. the distal angles of the expansion extend for. ward beyond the articulation of the manus, the anterior and lateral margius forming rectangles. the outer margin is smooth, regularly curved; the inner margin is serrate; the margin at the articulation of the manus is spiny, the spines short, sharp, and conical. the middle portion of the carpus is elevated, rather more angular than rounded. the proximal two-thirils of the ridge is set with spiny tubercles. in small specimens these tubercles are perceptible near the articulation of the merus; in large specimens they are larger and much more extended. the hand is much narrower than the carpus, being more than twice as long as its greatest width. it is comparatively thin ; its outer margin concave; inner margin arcuate; upper surface rendered uneven by reticulate lines of small granules. both fingers are concave above and convex below; prehensile edges armed with large white tubercles; tips not horny. the carpus of the left cheliped is flattened, inner edge spiny. the hand is very much flattened ; viewed from above it is boat-shaped. the edges are upturned, making it evenly concave. the proximal margin overlaps the distal margin of the carpus, the reverse being the case in most species of the genus. the fingers are slightly bent downward. the ambulatory legs are slender, shorter than the cheliped, equal in length on both sides. the carpal joints are spiny above, and the pro. podal joints nearly smooth. the dactyls are short, flat, not twisted, spinulose on the margins of the inner surface. hair almost entirely wanting. color in alcohol: the meral and carpal joints of the chelipeds are a light purple. hands yellow. ambulatory legs dark reddish orange, with small circular light spots. alaska. eupagurus gilli. this species is very closely related to the preceding. the eye-stalk is much more slender. the acicle is shorter and does not reach the extremity of the eye. the chelipeds have about the same proportion. while in the last species the carpus of the large cheliped is somewhat angular and tubercular, in this it is rounding and smooth. the inner margin is slightly roughened; the outer margin is smooth; the anterior vol21 1892 . xv, proceedings of the national museum. margin is set with small tubercles. the outline of the large hand and the prehensile edges of the fingers are as in the preceding species. the ambulatory legs are relatively stouter. the dactyls are very mucb. wider, and the inner surfaces are concave and spinulose. color of alcoholic specimens light ochre. alaska. eupagurus curaçaoensis. anterior portion of carapace a little longer than wide. median projection produced, sharp; lateral projections rounded. eye-stalks stout, flattened, dilated at the corneæ. acicles much longer than the eyes. external spine of antennæ reaching the base of the cornea. flagella very slender, reaching the end of the large cheliped. merus of large cheliped trigonal, very convex; upper and outer face squamose; lower external angle spinulose. upper surface of carpus subtriangular, granular; inner portion with a few scattered minute spines; middle and outer portions with scattered tubercles in bunches of two or three arranged transversely; the outer margin is slightly raised and inconspicuously tuberculose; the inner margin is thin and serrate. the hand is thin and wide, evenly and minutely granulate; the edges are thin and slightly upturned and crenulate. the upper surface of the dactyl is divided by a ridge running from the tip to the articulating condyle. left cheliped much smaller than the right. carpus flattened on top; margins spiny. hand with a thin elevated ridge running from the end of the pollex to the wrist, making a deeply concave subtriangular outer face. ambulatory legs compressed. upper margins of carpal and propodal joints sharp and spiny. dactyls very thin, wide, bent and twisted. color of ambulatory legs in alcohol. meral, carpal and propodal joints light red with wide band of light in the center of each. distal half of the dactyl reddish; proximal half, light. this species is closely related to e. carneus pocock (ann, and mag. of nat. hist., vol. iv, no. 24, 1889). eupagurus californiensis. anterior portion of carapace about as broad as long. median projec. tion of the front sharp, in advance of the short angular lateral projections. eye-stalks moderately long and slender. scales long, pointed, concave. the acicles of the antennæ reach the ends of the eye-stalks. merus of large cheliped trihedral, smooth. surface of the carpus subtriangular; inner margin set with two or three spines on its distal portion; behind these are one or two tubercles; outer margin slightly raised and a little uneven. the hand is much broader than the carpus. the palm is slightly granulose under the lens. the pollex is rougbened by a few large granules. the outer margin of the dactyl is armed with comparatively large, blunt teeth. part way between this border and 22 new species of hermit crabs-benedict. the prehensile edge is a row of granules. between this row of granules and the margin the surface is deeply concave. ambulatory legs moderately stout. from the upper distal margin of the carpal joints there is a small spine extending forward over the propodus. the dactyls are long and thin, but little curved. color in alcohol white. california. eupagurus mexicanus. anterior portion of carapace much longer than broad. median projection of the front sharp and but little in advance of the lateral, which are angular and each armed with a very small spine below the margin. the eye-stalks are long and nearly straight. the cornea is a little dilated. the eye scales are long, pointed, and deeply concave. acicle does not reach the end of the eye. the large cheliped is as long or longer than the ambulatory legs; longer in small specimens, and about the same length in large. the merus is compressed and glabrous; a small spine occupies the lower anterior outer angle. the carpus is sparsely granulose, otherwise gla· brous. the inner border is raised, thin, and uneven. there is no ridge or marking of any kind separating the upper from the outer surface. the lateral surfaces are connected below by a straight ridge. the hand is thick and but little wider than the carpus. the proximal inner an. gle of the upper surface is mínutely granulous. the granules become gradually larger diagonally across the palm to the pollex. the lateral margins of the palm are not thinned out as in related species, but are marked by a row of oblong granules. two rows of coarse granules with a sulcus between mark the outer surface of the dactyl. the left cheliped is very weak and small, just reaching the margin of the large hand, and no stouter than the ambulatory legs. the carpus is much compressed and has a double crest. the hand is semicylindrical; its vertical face is not equal to its horizontal. the ambulatory legs are slender. the dactyls are thin, straight, but curve near the nail, and are spinulose below. the large cheliped is red in alcoholic specimens, becoming liguter or white towards the tips of the fingers. the ambulatory legs are a little lighter shade than the chelipeds, becoming lighter at the joints, and with a band of light color about the middle of the dactyl. gulf of california. eupagurus roseus. anterior portion of carapace a trifle longer than broad. median projection of front, an obtuse angle produced but little beyond the lateral projections, which are also angular. the eye-stalks are moderately stout, constricted in the middle. the eye scales, like others of the group, are long, narrow, and pointed, with a groove on the upper surface. the peduncles of both antennula and antenna are longer than the eye, while the acicle is a trifle shorter. 1892x . proceedings of the national museum. ] 23 the merus of the right cheliped is tribedral. the upper surface of the carpus is triangular and granulose; outer margin slightly upturned; inper margin armed with six or seven long slender spines, curved and projecting forward. the hand looks solid and smooth to the eye, but with a lens the surface is seen to be finely and beautifully granulated. the crest is not spiny, but is composed of oblong flattened tubercles, even in height and regular. the lower margin is finely bordered by granules. the dactyl is short and stout; surface evenly rounded at the margin, which is hardly appareut, but yet marked by an inconspicuous line of small granules. the lower surface is about as the upper. the ambulatory legs are moderately stout. the dactyls are straight and armed with spinules. there is a wide band of orange near the base of the eye-stalk and on the antennal peduncle at the base of the acicle. the hand is a light pink, while the carpus is a much darker shade of the same color. the ambulatory legs are banded with orange. the single alcoholic specimen from which the description was made was taken in the gulf of california by the steamer albatross. the left hand was lost. eupagurus corallinus. median projection of the front rounded, much produced beyond the lateral. lateral projections rounded, unarmed. eye-stalks largest on the distal end; corneæ dilated. the eye scales are sharp-pointed, with prominent subterminal spines. the antennular and antenval peduncles are much longer than the eye, and the acicle is a trifle shorter. the merus of the large cheliped is compressed, its lateral aspect quadrilateral. the carpus is a little longer than the palm; its upper surface is thickly set with very sharp spiny granules; the margins are defined by rows of spiny granules. the hand is fringed with spines alternately large and small, the spines becoming longer towards the apices of the fingers. the entire upper surface is thickly set with very small, slen. der, sharp spines. the spines along the fingers are very much enlarged in the center and constricted at the base. the merus of the left cheliped is much compressed. the carpus is compressed and surmounted by a double row of spines; in the outer row, large; in the inner, small. the hand is wide and thin; fingers gaping at the base; entire surface covered with very small sharp granules. the carpal joints of all and the propodal joints of the anterior pair of ambulatory legs are crested with spines, a little large in proportion to the size of the animal. the dactyls are wide, thin, curved, and spinulose. color.—the meral and carpal joints of the large cheliped are blotched with red and white, while the small cheliped and the ambulatory legs are banded with the same colors. off key west, florida. 24 new species of hermit crabs-benedict. eupagurus coronatus. anterior portion of the carapace very convex. median projection of the front very sharp, and produced beyond the line of the lateral pro. jections. lateral projections rounded and armed below the margin with a sharp spine. eye-stalks long, stout at the base, tapering forward to near the cornea, where it is slightly enlarged. eye scales short, rounded, with sharp subterminal spines. peduncles of antenmula and antenna longer than the eye. flagellum of antenna hairy; hairs long and fine. acicle much shorter than the eye. merus of the large cheliped compressed, short, with a thin subserrate crest on its upper margin. the carpus is also short, stout, and with a similar crest. there are two prominent spines near the inner angle, also one or more hooked spines on the inner surface. the hand is very short, suboval. it is bordered all around with sharp teeth, separated by rounded sinuses. in the larger specimens these teeth number about thirty. the surface of the hand is minutely granulose. the left chelipeil is very small, almost rudimentary. the hand does not widen out, nor are the fingers gaping as in the other species. the dactyls of the ambulatory legs are short, flattened, spinose. this species is widely separated from the preceding species of the same group by the very short and crested merus and carpus of the large cheliped, and by the eyes and other characters. gulf of california. eupagurus varians. median projection of the front pointed, produced much beyond the line of the lateral projections. lateral projections angular. the eye. stalks are stout, constricted in tbe middle. cornea much dilated, flattened. the eye scales are broad at the base, rapidly becoming narrower, and then drawn out to a fine point. the surface is much hol. lowed out in the distal half of its length. the subterininal spine is comparatively very long and stout, and is situated just inside of the point of the scale. the long terminal article of the antennula extends beyond the eye its entire length. the peduncle of the antenna is also much longer than the eye. the acicle is about the same length, or a little sinorter. the flagellum of the antenna is hairy. the hair is long and scattered. the merus of the right cheliped is compressed, slightly crested, and is produced down to an angle or tubercle. the carpus is long, narrow at the proximal end, widening slightly toward the manus; sides and lower surface rounded ; upper surface not well defined, covered with short conical spines. the hand is fringed all around with spines varying greatly in size. the upper surface is covered with sharp, pointed granules, which are much constricted at the base and readily detached. in many specimens the hand is suboval, but in large specimens the fingers are lengthened and crossed at the tips. vol 25 1892 xy, proceedings of the national museum. ] the left cheliped has its merus and carpus compressed, the latter bicristate. the hand is thin and wide. fingers gaping at the base. the ambulatory legs are long, much compressed. carpal and propodal joints crested with slender spines. the dactyls are thin, wide and spinulose. gulf of california. eupagurus cervicornis. > the anterior portion of the carapace is very convex, glabrous. the three projections of the front are angular, the median in advance of the lateral. eye-stalk moderately long and stout. the scales are sharp pointed, broad at the base, and concave. the subterminal spine is prominent. the ultimate joint of the antennula is long and hairy. the peduncle of the antenna is long. the flagellum is sparsely set with long hair. the acicle is rounded, slender, and reaches a little be. yond the tips of the eyes. the right cheliped is large in proportion to the size of the body. the merus is much compressed; its depth is about equal to its length; the lower margin is rounded. the carpus is very narrow at its proximal end and widens out to the manus. the inner margin is marked by a row of conical spines. some of these spines are red, others white. the points are sharp, and hook forward. the surface is thickly set with spines of the same shape and color but smaller. the outer mar. gin is marked by a row of still smaller spines of the same character. the carpus is deep, running down to a point or tubercle. the tip of this tubercle in the specimen in hand is a red spine, surrounded by a circle of six or seven white spines. outside of this circle are numerous granules. the upper surface of the hand is suboval, and is entirely fringed with spines. those of the outer side are to some extent alternately large and small, while those on the inner border are more uniform. the upper surface is set with sharp granules, interspersed with small spines. the lower surface is evenly granular. two protuberances on the lower surface of the hand hold the carpus firmly when the hand is drawn down. the prehensile edge of the dactyl is armed with numerous small sharp triangular teeth. the left cheliped is very small and weak. the merus is much compressed. the carpus is compressed and surmounted by a double crest of spines. the hand is thin and oval. ambulatory legs compressed. carpal joints crested with small spines. dactyls wide, thin, and spinulose. color pink in alcohol. this species is found in a coral which has grown up around the original shell, and usually has a number of branches not unlike a horn of a deer. when the animal is withdrawn, only the oval face of the large hand can be seen. gulf of california. 26 new species of hermit crabs-benedict. subgenus libidochirus. eupagurus parvus. anterior portion of carapace a little longer than wide. front with three lobes nearly equally advanced. eye-stalks long and straight. scales short, rounded. subterminal spine long, slender. acicle of the antenna shorter than the eye, inuch curved, hairy. peduncle of antenna reaching but little beyond the eye. flagellum short, reaching but little beyond the carpus of the right cheliped. merus of the right cheliped slightly compressed, rugose, hairy. carpus long and slender; inner border spiny; upper surface rugose and hairy. hand long, much swollen from the carpus to the base of the fingers, reminding one somewhat of the hand of splendescens. including the marginal rows there are six rows of short spines. spines of the intermediate rows thinly set. long silky hairs arise from their bases. left cheliped much smaller than the right. carpus slightly bicristate. the hand is much like the large hand. fingers gaping. ambulatory legs slender, hairy, unarmed. dactyls thin, curved. gulf of california. sul tus eupagurus. * eupagurus hispidus. median projection of the front pointed and slightly produced. eye. stalks long and stout. scales large, triangular. acicles of antennæ much shorter than the eye-stalks. large hand semicircular; the inner margin of manus and dactyl straight. behind the gape of the fingers . is a very large and inuch elevated tubercle. behind the tubercle are two deep depressions or pits. outside of the tubercle are three or four tubercles of smaller size, giving the hand a deeply eroded appearance. the left hand is small. a deep depression occupies a part of the space behind the gape. the outer margin is tuberculate. the upper surface of both hands is coarsely granulate ; granules elevated and much crowded. off havana, cuba. * this species did not come to hand in time for proper arrangement. description of two apparently new flycatchers from costa rica. by george k. cherrie. ornithologist, museo nacional de costa rica. a single specimen before me seems to be intermediate in many characters between the genera mionectes and leptopogon as defined by salvin and godman in their biologia centrali-americana. but from the rather close general resemblance (of the lower parts especially) to mionectes assimilis, and the very small feeble rictal bristles, it is probably best placed with mionectes.* the third, fourth, and fifth primaries are longest and nearly equal; second equal to the sixth; first shorter than the longest secondaries. for this apparently new flycatcher i propose the name mionectes semischistaceus sp. nov. type: adult female (no. 6432, museo nacional de costa rica, guayabal, costa rica, february 24, 1891; c. f. underwood). above, whole head, neck, and upper back, including scapulars and lesser wing.coverts, slate-gray, perhaps a little darker on the head; lower back, rump, and upper tail.coverts deep olive-green, the transition from the slate-gray to the olive-green rather abrupt. wings and tail blackish or dusky edged with olive-green, that on the wings having a slightly yellowish or ochraceous shade. below, chin, upper throat, and sides of head slate-gray, ligher than the back; breast olive-greenish, with a decided shading of orange-ochraceous, the latter color deepening and the former fading and disappearing posteriorly on the sides, belly, and crissum; the center of the abdomen is almost clear ocher-yellow. under wing-coverts orangeochraceous. length (skin), 5.06''; wing, 2.35''; tail, 2.13''; tarsus 0.60''; gonys, 0.26''; width of bill at nostrils, 0.20"; the maxilla is broken away close to the nostrils. the only species of leptopogon or mionectes with which i have had opportunity to compare directly are l. pileatus, m. assimilis and m. olivaceus. *without doubt correctly referred to mionectes, and a very distinct species.-r. r. + no. 124616, u. s. national museum, by the courtesy of the costa rica national museum. proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 888. 27 28 new species of flycatchers-cherrie. i have two specimens from the southwest coast of costa rica (pozo azul) that do not seem referable to any of the species of which i find descriptions, of either the genus ornithion or tyrannulus. i say of either genus, because the two genera seem to me very closely allied and the birds in hand might probably be referred as reasonably to the one genus as to the other. however, the bill in t. brunneicapillus (the only species which i have to compare with) is heavier, deeper, and not so broad at the base. the examples before me have the nostrils placed in the middle of a membrane and the rictal bristles only very feebly developed; wing rather short, somewhat rounded; tail square. ornithion pusillum subflavum subsp. nov. ? type: adult female (no. 5980,* museo nacional de costa rica, pozo azul, costa rica, may 8, 1891; c. f. underwood). above ashy or dusky olive-green, cap dusky blackish, loral region, line on upper and lower eyelids, malar region, and anterior part of auriculars ashy whitish; a blackish spot (same color as crown) behind the eye. wings and tail dusky; greater and middle wing-coverts tipped with olive-yellowish, forming two rather conspicuous bars, secondaries edged externally with pale yellowish. rectrices narrowly tipped with pale yellowish. below, chin and upper throat asby-whitish, darkening on the lower throat and breast into olive and yellowish. belly and crissum bright primrose yellow. under wing.coverts primrose yellow. inner edges of primaries and secondaries whitish, with a yellowish shade on tbe latter. length (skin ), 3.66; wing, 1.90; tail, 1.64; exposed culmen, 0.33 tarsus, 0.58. the second example (no. 5979, museo nacional de costa rica, pozo azul, costa rica, may 9, 1891), is a male in moulting plumage, the rectrices just appearing beyond their coverts. the wing and tail feathers are more blackish and the plumage as a whole fresher and brighter. museo nacional, san josé de costa rica, september 2, 1891. * no. 124617, u. s. national museum. this bird comes very close to 0. pusillum cab., from panama, but is much more distinctly yellow underneath, and should, i think, be separated as a local race or subspecies.-r. r. a maid of wolpai. by r. w. shufeldt, m. d. (with plate 1.) with the present paper is presented an excellent picture of a girl about 15 years of age, belonging to the pueblo of wolpai in northwestern arizona. she is in her everyday costume, and was photographed on one of the streets of her native city. at her hand are sev. eral pieces of their curious pottery. nowadays the life led by one of these girls is full of all that is most engaging to the ethnologist. prayed over at birth, she must have her delicate baby skin well rubbed with fine wood ashes, or else her bones might become loose as she grows older. very soon she is strapped in her portable cradle, and toted about upon her mother's back, but while in the house must, in the same apparatus, be either stood up against the wall, or even hung up, where for an hour or more together, in either situation, her sole amusement consists in peering about the living room." as soon as able to walk, this little child is permitted to toddle about everywhere or ascend and descend the house ladder before the second summer has passed over her head. she has no end of toys and other playthings to amuse her. from 3 on to 7, or perhaps a year or two more, her days are spent mostly in romping and playing with the numerous other children in the pueblo. innocent of all clothing and possessing a wholesome dread of water for any other purpose than to drink, she is at this age as wild as a mountain sheep, and can with almost equal celerity run up and down the steep, rocky crags that so abruptly slope down from the pueblo on all sides save one. becoming more sedate after her tenth year, she now assumes the garb of her elder sisters, or the companions of her own sex, and with a keen interest commences her early education in those accomplishments which soon render her a useful member of the tribe. very soon she is quite familiar with all the duties that pertain to the kitchen, and as capt. bourke pointed out, “is duly instructed at this tender age in the fabrication of pottery and basket work." as she grows stronger, the operation of carding and dyeing wool and the weaving of blankets, mantles, petticoats, garters, and sashes of cotton or wool. by the time she is 15, or even at an earlier age, she is considered nubile, and proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 889. 29 30 a maid of wolpai-shufeldt. fairly entered in the matrimonial market. she cau bake, sew, dye, card, weave, and spin ; her nimble fingers fashion the plastic clays into every shape needed for use or ornament; the tender shoots of the willows or the pliable roots of the grasses respond to her fairy touch and round themselves into beautiful baskets, vivid with coloring and repeating the sacred emblems of the butterfly, deer, or thunder-bird. in the number of stews, ragouts, and broths which she knows how to compound of the flesh of the kid or sheep, and such vegetables as the onion, bean, and aromatic chile; or in the endless diversity of hominy, mush, pop corn, and piki bread, she will hold her own with the most ingenious american housewife. the most striking feature about the girl in our plate is the manner in which she does up her hair. this is the custom of the young unmarried women, for the wolpai maiden considers herself a woman grown at 15. they accomplish this remarkable feat in the tcilet by wrapping their hair over some pliable switches of either willow or cottonwood, which latter have been previously wound round with blue yarn to keep them in place. then next her head, the base of the whorl is also wound around to keep the whorl in proper shape. she also parts her hair in the middle, and wears two heavy locks, one over each temple, which hang down and are cut square off below, on a level with the nostrils. this girl as will be seen bas quite a pretty face, and the great whorls of hair over her ears at the side of her head, are after all not so very unbecoming. the hair is done up with especial care on all gala days, and upon such occasions in moqui, bourke says, “the young maidens of the villages were out in full force, decked in the most gorgeous finery of native manufacture, their freshly cleaned tresses of raven black were done up in flat, circular coils one over each ear, the general effect being to make them resemble the chinese." * in another place of the same work just quoted (pp. 117, 118), bourke adds to the above statement that the “moquis call themselves hopii or opii, a term not now in the language of everyday life, but referring in some way to the pueblo custom of banging the hair at the level of the eyebrows. this mode of wearing the hair distinguishes them from the apaches, utes, and navajos, and, as lochi wished me to bear in mind, showed that they were once todos los mismos' with the mobaves, yumas, maricopas, and other bands of arizona, whose practice of banging the hair is in such curious contrast with the loose, unkempt manner of wearing it peculiar to the apaches. now among numerous photographs of girls of moqui and wolpai none of them have the hair banged across the level of the eyebrows, but it is invariably arranged » snake dance of the mokis, p. 114. that these coils are flat is an error quite commonly made, and that they are not always so may be seen from the plate in the present paper. all the published figures ever seen by the writer of the young unmarried moqni women have the coils too small, too flat, and altogether too much like circular disks of wood. vol. xv. 1892. 31 proceedings of the national museum. and cut as shown in the plate illustrating this article; moreover, the same remark applies to photographs of groups of these girls taken in the snake dance of august, 1889, the right is reserved to the girls of all the moqui pueblos to choose their own husbands and probably also to divorce themselves from the same, in case they discover they have made a mistake in any particular instance. daughters also inherit their mother's property. after marriage the wolpai matron ceases to wear her bair in side-whorls, but, parting it in the middle, clubs it behind into a queue much after the fashion of the men. she may or may not bang it in front at the level of the eyes, and as whim seizes her she may occasionally part it to the right or left side. during the snake dance and in full costume it is the business of these wolpai maids, as well as the matrons, to sprinkle the corn meal. this they do most effectually on the snakes, on the dancers, on the ground, and indeed in nearly all other directions. they are never allowed, however, to handle the snakes, a privilege enjoyed only by the men. monogamy is the rule among the pueblo indians, and they do not obtain their wives through purchase. indeed, in the household, the woman reigns supreme, and the man has but little to say. among the zuñis a purchase can not be made within doors unless it is by the con. sent of the wife, and the same holds true among the moquis. taking it all in all, then, the life of a wolpai woman is by no means an unbappy one; indeed, from her babyhood to maturity it is filled in with many pleasurable chapters, and no doubt a great deal of this is due to their contented dispositions, and their love of home life, and their untiring industry. 1 u. s. national museum pl. | proceedings, vol. xv 1 மொரா contributions toward a monograph of the noctuidæ of boreal america-revision of the genus cucullia. by john b. smith, sc. d. (with plate 11.) cucullia schrank. 1802. fauna boica, ii, 2, 157. eyes naked, fringed at the margins with rather short hairy lashes, quite variably distinct and sometimes feeble. tongue long and strong. head large, not prominent, somewhat retracted. front smooth, ves. titure even, woolly. palpi moderate, scarcely exceeding the front in the males, usually reaching the middle of front in the females. antennæ simple in both sexes, except in serraticornis, in which the joints are laterally produced and bristled in the male. thorax stout, quadrate, collar greatly developed, in perfect specimens forming a sharp keel and projecting hood-like over the head. vestiture consisting of long, flattened hair. patagiæ distinct. a variable, never prominent, posterior tuft. legs moderate, stout, well clothed with hair and scales, not spinose. abdomen long, conic, much exceeding secondaries, with a series of dorsal tufts very prominent and distinct in convexipennis, moderate only in all our other species. these tufts are easily dislodged, and specimens otherwise perfect may be deficient here. pri. maries comparatively small, narrow, with acute apices, lanceolate or nearly so. secondaries proportionate to primaries, small as compared with the body; a slight excavation in the outer margin opposite the cell. the species are comparatively few in number, and i am inclined to believe that most of them are known. the high western plateaus and the pacific coast inay yet yield a few additional species, but not many, i think. they are closely allied and yet not difficult to separate when care is taken, because there is little variation, and small characters prove constant in large series. the narrow, lanceolate primaries, hood-like collar, and long abdomen, combined with the lashed eyes and unarmed legs, make the genus an easily distinguished one. the species, except convcxipennis, are very similar in color, all of some shade of asben gray, sometimes with a brown suffusion. in all, the proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 890. proc. n. m, 92-3 33 34 revision of genus cucullia-smith. veins are more or less obviously black-lined, and there is a strigate appearance, varying in degree. the ordinary lines are never complete, and the t. a. is often wanting altogether except in the submedian interspace. no detailed reference is made in the descriptions to these common characters, more emphasis being put on those characters which really distinguish the species. a few only of the forms are really common; but some species, usually not represented in collections, are undoubtedly missing because their distinctness has not been recognized. postera and florea as distinct from asteroides are examples, and probably the three will be found to have the same distribution. the t. a. line is, in most of the species, traceable in the submedian interspace, where it forms a long outward projection or tooth, nearly reaching the middle of wing. quite usually, where this is discernible, there is also a fine, black longitudinal line from the base to the end of this tooth. at first sight this outline has a strong resemblance to a clavi. form; but in the few species in which that feature is found, it is attached at the end of the tooth and reaches the t. p. line. usually this same line is again marked on the inner margin by a black dash or line extending outwardly. it is quite potable that we have no species common to both sides of continent, but that, except convexipennis, every one of the eastern species has a close ally in colorado. thus asteroides, postera, and florea are represented by montana, similaris, and obscurior ; speyeri and intermedia by dorsalis and cinderella. serriaticornis is the only californian form known to me, though dr. behr has named a c. solidaginis which can not be recognized from the description. laetifica is from arizona and texas, and is the only south western form known to me. easily distinguished from all the other species known to me is serraticornis. the antennæ in the male are distinctly toothed, the lateral processes furnished with a bristly tuft. this character is a remarkable one for the genus, and is accompanied by an equally divergent sexual structure. should the species find strictly congeneric allies it may be eventually separated from cucullia. in color it is ash gray, quite strongly resembling a small speyeri, or yet more nearly a small lætifica. i have seen no female, and dr. lintner in his original description had only males before him. as already stated, it is the only californian species known to me. of the species with simple male antennæ, convexipennis differs in color from all the others. through the center of the primaries the shade is a peculiar yellow ash-gray; from the middle of the costa to the outer margin at vein 4, a leather-brown shade suffuses the wing and darkens decidedly toward costa. a similar shade extends from the middle of the inner margin to the outer margin at vein 3, cat by the pale s. t. line, which is elsewhere marked on the costa only, 1892. ] 35 proceedings of the national museum. the abdominal tufts are larger, more dense and more prominent than in any other of the species, and are of a rich brown with a carmine admixture. the balance of the species offer no unique characters, and are separ. able into two series, containing quite closely related species. in the first of these series the t. p. line is marked in the submedian interspace by a lunate pale line, preceded and followed by a dusky or black line or shade. in the second series the t. p. line is black or dusky, single, toothed in the submedian interspace, and without the pale lunule. in none of our species is it at all questionable to which series it is referable. the first series contains six species, all with the same type of maculation, and closely related. the sexual characters are practically alike, and offer little aid in separating species. the harpes are long, quite narrow beyond the middle, somewhat widening to the oblique tip, which is acute at the superior angle, and inwardly fringed with spinales. the clasper is single, stout, short, arising from a broad corneous base, extending obliquely outward and upward, and rarely exceeding the lateral margin of the harpe. the exceptions to this type are exceptional in other characters, and are aberrant as members of this genus. three of the species are western-colorado and montana—aud as a whole they differ from the three corresponding eastern species by the usually more distinct maculation, and by a peculiar roughness in vestiture, the eastern forms being quite smooth and even. there is a tendency in all the species to a dotted maculation of the ordinary spots, two round dots in the orbicular and four in the reniforın being normal. montanæ is the best marked of all the species. it is gray in color, the basal space yellow, a deeper sbade extending through the cell and beyond it to the outer margin. in the median space the costal region is very dark gray. beyond the lunule the submedian interspace is also yellow brown, with a darker, sometimes blackish, curved streak. the ordinary spots are large, well defined, paler in color, with the brown dots usually distinct. the secondaries are white at base, with a welldefined outer dark band, broader in the female. similaris has exactly the same maculation as montance, but lacks all the yellow shadings. the costal region is darker gray, and there is a blackish shade along the internal margin. beyond the lunule in submedian interspace there is a distinctly defined curved black streak. the ordinary spots are very distinct and the defiping lines are broken into dots, much as in the european absynthii. the secondaries are whitish at base, darkening outwardly to blackish, without having a defined band, as in montanæ. i consider the species a fairly distinct ope, and have both sexes. obscurior is another species of the same series; but it is very dark gray, even in color, with the markings ill defined. the ordinary spots are as in the preceding; but not at all distinct. the secondaries are fuscous, slightly paler only, toward base. i have females only. 36 revision of genus cucullia-smith. the three eastern species are as closely related as are the western; but diverge in a somewhat different way, so that they are less nearly allied to each other than to some of the western forms. asteroides is the eastern representative of montana without the distinct maculation, and without the yellow coloring at base of primaries. it has the same costal shading and the same markings beyond the lunule in submedian interspace. the ordinary spots are much less prominent, and the contained dots are vague. the secondaries are wbiter, the marginal shade better defined and narrower. postera is much more intensely colored, much darker bluish gray, and the brown shading is much deeper. all the markings are much more distinct. the secondaries are smoky fuscous, only a little paler basally. both sexes agree in these characters, and the species has no exact representative in the western series. it is nearest to obscurior, but is yet nearer in appearance to the european asteris. florea averages smaller in expanse than the preceding species, and is more gray without the brown shadings. the ordinary spots are fairly distinct, the orbicular smaller and more irregular than in any other of the series. the secondaries are whitish fuscous at base, darkening to smoky outwardly, intermediate in this character between asteroides and florea; but differing from both in the primaries. this species stands nearest to similaris in the western series. there is no apparent difference between the sexes. the second series also contains six species, as a whole as closely related as those of the first. they have a type of sexual structure which, except in bistriga does not differ essentially from that of the preceding. the harpes are perhaps somewhat more parallel and the tip is not so acute superiorly. the clasper is rather longer, more slender, acute, and in lætifica and speyeri, curved, hook-like. four of the species hare the secondaries white at base, with a fairly well. marked smoky or blackish outer margin. lætifica is the palest of the species, the dusky margin of secondaries very narrow in the male, much more distinct and broader in the female. the t. p. line sends a rather narrow loop-like tooth, rounded at tip, into the submedian interspace, the black streak beyond it reaching into the sinus to the line itself. preceding the sinus is an indefinite white patch (the claviform), always distinct in the males, but much less obvious and sometimes wanting in the females. the latter are also darker as a rule. these points are characteristic of the species and are found in none other known to me. cita grt. and hartmanni french, are synonyms. speyeri is a larger and somewhat darker species, much the same in general type of marking. it lacks the white patch preceding the sinus of the t. p. line, and the sinus itself is very different, being rather a broad tooth or angle, broken in its course by a small tooth in the line to the apex of the angle. the curved streak to outer margin does not extend vol37 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xvto the end of the angulation, which is acute at tip. the thoracic dor. sum is dusky. dorsalis is very like the preceding and is its western representative. it differs in the clearer gray color without fuscous admixture and the dorsum of thorax is concolorous and not darker. bistriga is an intruder here, and may eventually, if it finds allies, get another genus. it is smaller than any other of the species and the abdomen does not much exceed the secondaries. in other characters it does not differ essentially, and a new genus would be premature. it is a rather even gray, somewhat coarsely black-powdered along the costa. there is a distinct black streak along inner margin from base, and another broader streak from the t. a. line to outer margin through the submedian interspace. the secondaries have the dusky outer margin much less definite, and as a whole the species can not be mistaken. the remaining two species have the secondaries smoky fuscous, and the primaries deep bluish ash-gray. intermedia has the median lines indicated on the costa, and generally traceable, sometimes distinct, for the remainder of the course. it is an eastern species. cinderella is smaller, the forewings narrower, more pointed, and immaculate save for a series of terminal black lunules, preceded by short black lines. it is from colorarlo. this last species, at first sight, looks doubtful, and yet i would be sur. prised if even large material proved it a form of intermedia. in a genus in which the species are less closely related i would not have described it, nor would i have described it at all save in a revision like the present, where its position and rank can be compared and such differences as exist brought out. the genitalia closely resemble those of intermedia, but are noticeably different, and emphasize the probability of specific distinctness. the present revision is based very largely on material received from the u.s. national museum through the courtesy of dr. riley, the hon. orary curator, and all the old species are represented in that collection. i have added all the species described by myself, so that of the known species the museum contains a full series. the species described as luna by mr. morrison is an heliothid. i have seen the types of postera and florea in the british museum, so that i am certain of the correctness of the identification of these species. to dr. j. a. lintner i owe thanks for a copy of his entomological contributions, no. iii, containing two photographic plates of cucullia, european as well as american. the plates are among the finest of their kiud known to me, and the species are distinctly and clearly shown in all the details of maculation. dr. lintner there points out some of the relationships of our species to european forms, and his paper should be consulted on that point. to mr. bruce i owe a fine series of colorado 38 revision of genus cucullia-smith. montane similaris material, which has enabled me to describe the species of that regiou and compare them with the eastern forms. mr. neumoegen kindly loaned me such specimens as i needed for comparison from his fine collection. in tabular form the arrangement of the species would be as follows: 1. antennæ simple in both sexes... .2 antennæ of male serrate, brush-like.. .9 2. bright luteous gray; a yellow brown shade extends outward from middle of costa to outer margin at vein 4; a similar shade from inner margin near base to outer inargin at vein 3. ..convexipennis ash gray with a bluish tinge. t. p. line distinct in submediav interspace, where it forms a pale lunule, preceded and followed by a blackish line and shade; a curved streak or shade also extending to the outer margin..... ...3 ash gray, variable in shade. t. p. line variably distinct, single, black, never forming a pale lunule in submedian interspace. 3. western species : colorado, montana ...... 4 eastern species... .5 4. costal region much darker, suffused with a dull yellow shade ; base yellow; curved shade over anal angle diffuse, yellow-brown.... costal region scarcely darker, without yellow shade; base not yellow; curved marks over anal angle black, sharply defined..... costal and inner margin dusky; color darker blackish gray, maculation all obobscurior 5. secondaries white with a broad outer dusky band. costal region much darker, with a dull yeilowish tint..... asteroides secondaries dusky fuscous, basally somewhat paler. primaries dark slate gray, costal region darker, with a brown suffusion. postera primaries paler, ashen gray, costal region somewhat darker, but without a brown suffasion ... ..florea 6. secondaries white at base, with a fuscous outer margin, narrow in the , wider in the ..... .7 secondaries smoky fuscous, only a little paler at base. .8 7. paler ash gray; inward tooth of t. p. line in submedian interspace single, narrow, rounded at tip.... latifica darker gray ; inward tooth of t. p. line in submedian interspace double, broadly open outwardly, the tooth acute at tip. dorsum of thorax dusky; babitat eastern.... ...speyeri dorsum of thorax concolorous; habitat western. rather dark ash gray; a distinct black streak along inner margin to t. p. line, and a broader streak through submedian interspace from claviform to the vuter margin..... 8. size larger, median lines vaguely traceable; habitat eastern........ intermedia size smaller, all maculation wanting; habitat western (colorado)....cinderella 9. maculation vague, color gray; habitat california... scure... dorsalis bistriga .serraticornis cucullia convexipennis g. & r. 1968. grt. and rob., tr. am. ent. soc., ii, 201, pl. 3, fig. 76, cucullia. 1869. beth., can. ent., 1, 86, cucullia. 1874. lint., ent., cont., iii, 138, 170, cucullia. head brown with a carmine tinge, palpi paler in front, two little white-tipped tufts between the antennæ. collar with narrow black, 7 vol39 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvbroader white, and still wider brown transverse lines; a double set of each. thorax with patagiæ gray, with brown powderings and brown margins. the dorsal tufts are very distinct, thick, and brown, con. tinued without break on the dorsum of the abdomen. primaries gray, with a yellow-brown shading through the center of the wing. basal and t. a. lines marked as short brown dashes on the costa, the latter with the long median tooth traceable. the median shade line is marked by a distinct brown line from the middle of costa, outwardly oblique over reniform to the middle of the cross vein of cell. beyond that along costa, and to vein 4 on the outer margin, the wing is shaded with leather brown, darker at the margins. t. p. line marked by a geminate black line crossing costal region, the intervening line pale gray. from this gray line a gray streak extends outwardly to outer margin between veins 6 and 7, and curved upward to the apex of the wing. the veins through this darker brown shade are pale marked, and there are four more or less distinct gray costal dots. a double blackish line with brown interspace extends along inner margin from near base to t. p. line. the t. p. line becomes obvious in the submedian interspace as a narrow pale line with brown defining margins. it is slightly curved to the submedian vein, and thence makes a long in ward bend to the hind margin. from this point a leather-brown shade extends obliquely to the outer margin, which it reaches on vein 3. thence the shade extends narrowly along the margin, connecting with the costal shade, on veins 3 and 4 a white line cuts the frivges. fringes with a pale yellow line at base, a blackish central line, and broader, dull gray outer shade. orbicular reduced to two small black dots. reniform indicated by from two to four dots, indicating the upper margin. secondaries yellowish white at base, with a broad fuscous outer margin, narrower in the male. veins dark marked. fringes yello: at base, white tipped. beneath smoky, primaries darker, paler toward base along inner margin. sec. ondaries paler, whitish basally. expands 45 to 49 millimetres=1.70 to 1.95 inches. habitat: canada; new york, sharon springs (in july), long island; new jersey; pennsylvania; northern, middle, and eastern states. the species is a strongly marked one, and has been already suffi. ciently compared with others. it does not vary to any appreciable extent, so far as i know. the harpes of the male are elongate, narrow, widening at tip, which is oblique, the upper angle produced, margin inwardly fringed with spinules. the clasper is quite close to base, and is a single, nearly straight, corneous process, quite slender, and terminating acutely. it exceeds the lateral margin of the harpe by one-third its own length. both sexes are in the museum collection. dr. lintner has described the larva on solidago. 40 revision of genus cucullia-smith. cucullia montanæ grt. 1882 grt., can. ent. xiv, 175 cucullia. head blackish gray, front with black and pale transverse lines; palpi paler in front. collar inferiorly luteous shaded, else rather pale, ash gray, with several indistinctly marked transverse lines and a black a tip. patagiæ pale gray with a few prominent black scales intermixed. dorsum of thorax dark brown, as are also the distinct abdominal tufts. primaries bluish ash gray with a broad costal region washed with yellow-brown, darker in the median space. base yellow, shading into the ground color half way to the t. a. line. t. a. line in most cases distinct through the dark costal space, traceable over the long median tooth and distinct again on the hind margin along which also a blackish gray shade extends. t. p. line pale through the dark costal space, very faint or wanting through the center of the wing, distinct as a pale incurve margined by blackish, in the submedian interspace; thence from vein • 1 to internal margin, inwardly oblique. a dusky shade precedes the pale lunule, and a yellowish-brown shade extends beyond it to the outer margin, superiorly marked by a darker brown streak. a series of black, terminal lunules. a more or less obvious series of brown interspaceal streaks along the course of the s. t. liue. fringes gray, cut with pale, and with a pale line at base. ordinary spots large, well defined, usu. ally paler, more yellow. orbicular with two brown inner dots, one above the other, sometimes connected to form a central line. reniform with four brown dots, sometimes partly connected; but usually distinct. secondaries whitish, subhyaline at base, with a narrow dark outer margin, broader in the female. veins darker marked. beneath, primaries blackish, secondaries white, the margins broadly blackish. expands, 47 to 50 millimetres=1.88 to 2 inches. habitat: montana, colorado. ten specimens, all of them collected by mr. bruce, are before me, five of them from the collection of the u. s. national museum. they are practically all alike, varying only a little in relative distinctness of maculation. i have seen others, none offering distinctive features. it is the most distinctly marked of the species. the pale ordinary spots are prominent, and the yellow base of primaries is characteristic. the dark costal margin is powdery and the insect has a rough or “squammose" appearance. it is intermediate in some respects between postera and asteroides and, while most nearly related to the latter, is amply distinct from either. the harpes are only moderate in length, widening basally, the tip oblique, somewhat drawn out superiorly and inwardly spinulose. the clasper is short, stout, rather obtuse at tip, from a broad chitinous base along inner margin, extending obliquely upward and forward, and not reaching beyond the upper margin. it seems to be common and is attracted to the electric lights. ext41 ] proceedings of the national museum. vol xv 1892 cucullia similaris sp. nov. head dusky gray, with darker transverse lines. collar pale gray, with a distinct black line at base, a less evident double line at middle, and a blackish tip. patagiæ pale gray with a few black dots. dorsum nar. rowly blackish, as are the small basal tuft and the dorsal tuftings of the abdomen. primaries pale ash gray, somewhat darker, black powdered along the costa, but without any luteous shading or suffusion, and not yellow at base. a faint yellowish shade over the ordinary spots. a black streak along hind margin to the t. p. line. t. a. line sometimes evident through the dark costal region. the long median tooth very faintly indicated. t. p. line vaguely marked on costa, distinct through the submedian interspace as in montanæ, preceded and followed by a small blackish shade and followed also by a curved black streak below vein 2. a series of black terminal lunules. ordinary spots only slightly paler, yellowish tinged, the defining lines broken into distinct black dots and streaks, four in the orbicular, six in the reniform. the orbicular has two black inuer dots, the reniform four. in shape they are as in montanæ. secondaries in the male whitish at base, with a moderate smoky outer border, in the female darker, more yellowish fuscous, the marginal band broader. beneath, primaries blackish, secondaries wbitish with black powdery borders. expands 47 to 50 millimetres=1.88 to 2 inches. habitat: colorado, platte canion on flowers, 6,500 feet. this species is exactly like montanæ in ornamentation; but is much more even, paler gray without any of the yellow or brown sbadings. the ordinary spots and their marginal rings are distinctly black dotted, much as in the european absynthii and the markings are black, not brown. the secondaries have the outer border less defined than in its ally, and they are darker throughout. in sexual structure of the male there is very little difference from montanæ, and such as exists is better seen by a comparison of the figures herewith given. three specimens, 2 8 and 1, have been examined and no variation detected. cucullia obscurior sp. nov. head brownish gray, with pale and dark transverse lines. collar dark blue-gray, yet darker tipped, with a distinct basal and a vague median transverse line. patagiæ dark ash-gray; dorsum blackish, as are also the small dorsal tufts of the abdomen., primaries dark bluish gray, with none of the maculation distinct; costal region scarcely darker, and the blackish streak along internal margin incon. spicuous. t. a. line faintly indicated on costal space and on the median tooth. t. p. line indicated only in the submedian interspace, preceded by the usual blackish patch, but followed only by a curved black streak below vein 2. ordinary spots as in montane, but vague, only inferiorly ܕ ܐ 42 revision of genus cucullia-smith. outlined, the lines not distinct; a broken, slightly lunulate, terminal line; a pale line at base of fringes; the latter fuscous gray. secondaries smoky fuscous, paler at base, the veins marked. beneath blackish, powdery; secondaries a very little paler centrally. expands 46 to 47 millimetres=1.84 to 1.88 inches. habitat: colorado (bruce). two female specimens are before me. they are entirely alike, and differ from all the preceding in the deep blue-gray primaries, in which the maculation is very indistinct, and the dark, smoky-fuscous seconda. ries. so far as the markings are traceable, they are exactly as in the preceding species. at first sight, this form resembles intermedia more nearly; but the character of the t. p. line at once refers it here. i have no doubt the sexual characters will be found to be very like those already described. the species is not unlike postera without the reddish shades. cucullia asteroides gn. > 1852. gn., sp. gen., noct., ii, 133, cucullia. 1857. wlk., c. b. mus., lep. het., xi, 656, cucullia. 1874. lintn., ent. cont., iii, 139, 169, cucullia. head dark-brown, with pale and dark transverse lines. collar pale bluish gray, blackish tipped ; a distinct black line at base and two vague transverse lines at middle. patagiæ pale-gray, sometimes a little yellowish. dorsum blackish, as are also the small abdominal tufts. primaries a very even, smooth bluish gray; costal region with a luteous sbade extending through the cell, and intensified in the ordinary spots; the costa itself yet darker, sometimes blackisb. a blackish and yellowbrown shade along internal margin. t.a. line sometimes traceable across the costal space and in the submedian interspace; but more usually it is entirely wanting. t.p. line obvious only in the submedian interspace, where it forms a pale incurve, margined by blackish definivg lives. this is preceded by a small dusky or blackish patch, and followed by a yellow-brown shade to outer margin, emphasized above by a blackishbrown curved streak. a broken, black terminal line. fringes gray, with a yellowish line at base. a fine black longitudinal line extend ing from base of wing to the tip of the long tooth of t. a. line. sometimes both line and streaks are obsolete. ordinary spots large, pale, usually void, sometimes with two brownish spots in the orbicular; four in the reniform. there is no real defining line, the difference in shade between the macula and its surroundings being sharp enough for distinction; but sometimes this is intensified by brown dots. secondaries white, with a well-marked blackislı outer border, narrower in the male. beneath, primaries smoky, secondaries whitish, with powdery margins. expands 44 to 51 millimetres=1.64 to 2.05 inches. habitat: canada ; new york, kendall, long island, albany may 30 and june 6; new jersey, new brunswick, may 21; washington, vol. 189243 , . museum. proceedings of the national . xvd. c., august 10; nebraska, west point, in may; northern, eastern middle and central states. this is the most common of our eastern species, and it is either double brooded or the hibernating imago flies for a long period. dr. lintner reports the larva on solidago september 1 and 24. a long series of specimens, largely from the collection of the u.s. national museum, is before me, and shows little variation. the costa is sometimes a little darker, the yellow shading sometimes more intense, the ordinary spots occasionally a little more marked; but otherwise there are no noteworthy differences. the secondaries are whiter and more hyaline than in any others of the first series, montana, its nearest ally in this particular, being quite distinctively different in maculation of primaries. the harpes of the male are longer and narrower than in the preceding species, the tip more oblique and superiorly more produced. in type cbaracters it does not differ in the least. cucullia postera gn. 1852. gn., sp. gen. noct., ii, 133, cucullia. 1857. wlk., c. b. mus., ler. het., xi., 656, cucullia. 1874. lintn., ent. cont., iii, 169, cucullia. head dark brown, palpi paler in front, a black, followed by a pale line on vertex. collar deep, somewhat, carneous gray, with a black transverse line near base. patagiæ deep bluish ash gray. dorsum blackish, with a black-tipped, truncate, posterior tuft. dorsal tafts of abdomen small, but distinct, dark brown or blackish. primaries deep bluish gray, with a carneous tiuge, costal region from base to apex suffused with brown, extending inward to the median vein. median lives vaguely marked on costa; the median tootli of t. a. line fairly evi. dent. t. p. line pale through the submedian interspace, preceded by a distinct, followed by a less evident black line. it is incurved to vein one, thepce very oblique inwardly to the hind margin. a blackish streak extends inward along inner margin, nearly to base. preceding the s. t. line in the submedian interspace is a small blackish or brown shade, and following it to the outer margin is a brown shade which fills the interspace and extends to the outer margin, superiorly emphasized by a black streak. a broken series of vague interspaceal dashes along the course of the s. t. line. a series of black terminal lunules. fringes concolorous or fuscous. a fine black basal streak. ordinary spots variably distinct, always traceable, sometimes concolorous, more usually paler. they are defined by a very narrow black line, inside of which is sometimes a broad gray anpulus; in that case the center is brown. secondaries yellowish fuscous, smoky outwardly, darker in the female, veins dark marked. beneath, smoky or blackish, powdery, somewhat paler at the base of the secondaries. expands 45 to 50 millimetres=1.7 to 2 inches. 44 revision of genus cucullia-smith. habitat: new hampshire, july 21; new york, sharon, july 7; new jersey. the new hampshire specimen is in the collection of the u.s. national museum (collection of c. v. riley) and was taken by dr. thaxter. the sharon springs example is from dr. lintner's collection, taken by mr. meske. two other examples before me are from new jersey without date or exact locality. it is certain that the distribution covers the middle and eastern states, and probably it is coextensive with that of asteroides. with the latter species, postera is almost certainly confused in collections, though its deeper primaries and fuscous secondaries should readily distinguish it. there is some variation in the relative distinctness of the markings, but none otherwise. the ordinary spots are sometimes defined only by a slight difference in shade, and sometimes by a distinct continuous line, a pale annulus, and a brown center. the little series before me shows this range, the sharon springs example being the best marked, though not the most contrasting. the sexual characters are as in the western species rather than as in asteroides and somewhat intermediate. the differences are shown by the figures given on the plate. cucullia florea gn. 1852. gn., sp. gen. noct., ii, 133, cucullia. 1857. wlk., c. b. mus., lop. het., xi, 656, cucullia. 1874. lintn., ent. cont., iii, 169, cucullia. head gray to brown, with gray and black transverse lines. collar gray, with a distinct black line at base and a less evident dark line above middle. patagiæ rather pale gray, black powdered. dorsum blackish brown, contrasting, basal tufts small, as are also the dark dor. sal tufts of the abdomen. primaries rather pale ash gray, even in color, costal region only slightly darker beyond the middle, without red or brown shades. t. a. line vague, less distinct even than in postera. a blackish streak along the inner margin to the t. p. line. t. p. line pale marked through the dark costal region, then obsolete to the submedian interspace, where it is of the gray ground color, defined by blackish marginal lines and exactly as in asteroides and postera in course. the preceding dusky patch is sometimes wanting, but is usually fairly distinct. the following shade to outer margin is vague; but the black streak below vein 2 is distinct. the ordinary spots are distinct in all specimens, concolorous, sometimes with a dusky center, defining lines incomplete, very little marked. the orbicular is somewhat narrower and more irregular than in the other species. a series of vague interspaceal dashes indicate the course of the s. t. line. a series of small black terminal lumules, degenerating into a broken terminal line in some specimens. secondaries soiled whitish at base, smoky fuscous vol45 1892proceedings of the national museum, . , ] ". xvoutwardly, forming a broad, not defined outer marginal band. beneath blackish, powdery, pale at base of secondaries. expands 42 to 47 millimetres=1.68 to 1.88 inches. habitat: new york, sharon springs, july 6 and 8, newburg; pennsylvania. this is the smallest in average expanse of the three closely allied eastern species. three of the specimens before me are from the u.s. national museum (collection of o. meske and c. v. riley), one, from mr. neumoegen and the other from dr. lintner. this is also almost certainly confused with asteroides, from which it differs in the even gray color, the costa hardly darker and without reddish or brown shades. the secondaries are also much darker, with a broader outer border; but not so dark as in postera, from which the present species differs widely in maculation of primaries. the sexual characters are essentially as in asteroides, but there is considerable difference in detail, better shown by the figure. the clasper in the specimen from which the irawing was made was turned the wrong way, and bearing this in mind its resemblance to asteroides is marked. cucullia laetifica lintn. l. i a 1875. lintn., in grote's check list, 24, cucullia. 1878. lintu., ent. cont. iv, 89, cucullia. cita grt. 1883. grt., papilio iii, 75 cucullia. hartmanni french. 1888. french, can. ent., xx, 69 cucullia. head dusky gray, with pale gray and black transverse lines; palpi paler in front. collar ash-gray with a basal black, and a median dusky transverse line. patagiæ gray, dorsum dark brown, as are the very small dorsal tufts of the abdomen. primaries very pale whitish gray in the male, distinctly darker, ashen gray in the female. the costal region is very little darker, the median lines sometimes indicated by darker geminate dots. t. p. line marked in the submedian interspace by a narrow black line, sending inward a long narrow sinus, rounded at tip. a narrow black line runs centrally through this sinus, broadening to a curved black streak beyond it. this streak reaches the outer margin below vein 2, and in the interspaces between 2 and 3, and 3 and 4, are usually two black sagittate marks basing on the outer margin. preceding the end of the sinus in the submedian interspace is an indefinite white patch, representing the claviform spot. this is usually distinct in the male ; but very indefinite and sometimes wanting in the female. a more or less evident black streak along inner margin near base. a fine black longitudinal line at base reaching the end of the long tooth of t. a. line, which is rather feebly marked. ordinary spots obsolete, the inferior margin of reniform sometimes vaguely outlined. in the male there is usually all er jo ous 46 revision of genus cucullia-smith. a faint luteous shade indicating the location of the spots; but this is as usually wanting in the female. a broken, black terminal line. secondaries white, subhyaline, with a smoky outer margin, very narrow in the male, darker and a little broader in the female. beneath, whitish, powdery, the primaries darker. expands 43 to 45 millimetres=1.72 to 1.80 inches. habitat: arizona; texas, columbus, bastrop county april 3 to 30, harris county. the arizona specimen is the type of cita grt., from mr. neumoegen's collection. the type of lætifica from bastrop county, placed by its side, discovers absolutely no difference in any feature. the description of c. hartmanni french fits to these specimens perfectly, and fits nothing else known to me. seven other specimens are before me, , most of them from the belfrage material in the u. s. national museuin (collection of c. v. riley) and show a somewhat greater range of variation than usual in the genus. there is quite a decided difference in the ground color in the sexes, the males being quite pale, while the females are sometimes nearly as dark as in intermedia, and look like small speyeri. the essential character, which is marked in all the specimens, is in the sinus of the t. p. line in the submedian interspace, and this will enable the species to be recognized in all its forms. the sexual characters are much as in speyeri. the clasper is shorter and stouter, and the angles of the tip of harpes are more rounded. otherwise there is little difference. the figure given herewith shows the clasper turned the wrong way out. it is so on the slide and the figure was made from a camera drawing. normally it projects outward and a little upward. in mounting, the pressure applied turned the book the wrong way and it was not noticed until too late to rectify readily. cucullia speyeri lintn. 1874. lintu., ent. cont., iii, 168, cucullia. head fuscous brown with gray and black transverse lines. collar pale gray, a distinct black line at base, and a geminate brown transverse line at middle. patagiæ pale gray, dorsum brown, as are also the rather distinct abdominal tufts. primaries pale ash-gray, with a more or less obvious fuscous shading, most evident along the costa and internal margin. t. a. line vaguely indicated on costa, the long outward tooth in subinedian interspace fairly evident, a shorter, inore acute tooth fairly distinct between vein 1 and the margin. t. p. line vaguely indicated on costa, becoming evident on vein 2, oblique inwardly to the claviform which indents it a little before the end of the a tooth, then outwardly in an acute curve over vein 1. a narrow, broken, black terminal line, wanting altogether in the female. an oblique black streak below vein 2 from the t. p. line to outer margin. claviform vol47 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvfairly outlined in the specimens before me, somewhat paler, but not wbite as in lætifica. ordinary spots vague, only the inferior margiu of reniform at all distinct. secondaries white basally with a rather indefinite dark outer border, much broader in the female. beneath, primaries smoky in the 8, blackish in the 9. secondaries white, with a few marginal powderings in the male, with broad outer borders and dark powderings in disk in the female. expands 48 to 52 millimetres=1.92 to 2.08 inches. habitat: new york, albany june 6, sharon springs august 15; nebraska, west point in may; canada to pennsylvania, west to ne. braska. this species is easily separated from lætifica by the darker color of primaries as well as the course of the t. p. line, to which attention bas been already called. there is also a series of fairly distinct interspaceal pale streaks extending in from the terminal space, which is not found in lætifica. the harpes of the male are quite long, nearly parallel to tip; the latter is obliquely and acutely drawn out at upper angle, rounded at the inferior; its inner margin is spinulated as usual. the clasper is quite long, slender, acutely pointed, curved, and exceeds the margin of harpe. this species seems not common and there are not many in collections. the specimens before me are from the collection of the u.s. national museum. cucullia dorsalis sp. nov. head ash-gray, with darker and paler lines on front. collar bluishgray, with a black basal, and double brown median transverse lines. patagiæ and dorsum gray, concolorous, dorsal tufts of abdomen inconspicuous, gray. primaries a rather deep bluish-gray, without any fus. cous admixture or shade ; but with rather distinct black powdering. t. a. line much as in speyeri, but much more broken and less obvious. t. p. line evident only in submedian interspace, and there indistinct and broken, in course as in speyeri. the usual black streak below vein 2 is distinct, ard above it, in the two following interspaces, are small sagittate black dashes, all that remains of the terminal line. fringes gray, with a very narrow basal line. claviform quite distinctly outlined by black scales, concolorous. ordinary spots obsolete, save for a curved black line that may indicate the inferior margin of the reniform. secondaries white at base, with a narrow and rather well-defined dusky outer border. beneath primaries smoky, secondaries white, outer borders blackisb. expands 46 to 50 millimetres=1.84 to 2 inches. habitat: colorado (bruce). two females are before me, and compared with the same sex of speyeri they are purer blue-gray, lacking all trace of the fuscous shad. ing. the markings are more powdery, black, and yet less complete. 48 revision of genus cucullia-smith. the entirely concolorous dorsum of thorax gives the most obvious feature. the secondaries are like the 8 of speyeri or the 9 of lætifica, and, judging from these species, the male has a much narrower pale border to secondaries, the sexual structures of the male will probably differ little from those of speyeri. cucullia bistriga sp. nov. ground color bluish ash-gray. frontal vestiture with a considerable admixture of black scales. a black line at base of collar and a brownish line near its tip. patagiæ with a submarginal dusky line. a brown, quite prominent, discolorous, metathoracic tuft. primaries with all the veins narrowly black-marked, a dusky shade over the costa, and short, narrow interspaceal black lines in terminal space. t. a. line single, dusky, giving a long tooth into the median cell, a second into the submedian interspace, and a third to margin. t. p. line single, blackish, even, outcurved over cell and then parallel to outer margin. reniform vague, dusky, moderate in size. a distinct black streak along the , inner margin from base to t. p. line; another from the angulation of t. a. line in submedian space along the fold to s. t. space, then obliquely upward to outer margin between veins 2 and 3. a small subapical brown shade. secondaries whitish basally, with an indefinite outer dark border; fringes whitish. beneath grayish-white, powdery, pri. maries with a vague, dusky discal spot. expands 35 millimetres=1.40 inches. habitat: colorado (bruce). a very distinct species, differing from all the others at a glance. two males, both taken by mr. bruce, one of them from mr. neumoegen's collection, are before me. the sexual characters are unique. the harpes are parallel, the superior angle of tip slightly produced. a chitinous ridge extends from the superior margin, near base, diagonally along and across the harpe, reaching the inferior angle of tip and there somewhat elevated and produced. cucullia intermedia speyer. 1870. speyer, stett. ent. zeit. xxxi, 10-12, cucullia. 1872. lintn. ent. cont. 1, 81, 85, pl. viii, ff. 5, 7, cucullia. 1874. lintn. ent. cont. iii, 170, cucullia. 1878. lintn. ent. cont. iv, 125, cucullia, umbraticat go. 1852. gn., sp. gen. noct. ii, 147, cucullia. 1870. speyer, stett. ent. zeit. 31, pr. syn. head fuscous, brown or dark gray, with blackish and white lines. collar whitish inferiorly, dark gray superiorly, the difference less marked in the males. a black line through the white portion, and a double gray line separating the two shades. thorax dull gray, with a fuscous admixture, dorsum very slightly darker, abdominal tufts loose, vol49 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvdusky. primaries dark bluish ash-gray with a fuscous admixture, all the markings obscure. in some specimens the median lines are tracoable as follows: t. a. line as a broad, fuscous oblique shade over costa, outwardly toothed in the cell and there reduced to a fine black line, outwardly angulate again in the submedian interspace forming the usual long tooth, then again toothed below vein 1. the usual black basal line is evident in most specimens. the median shade is indicated by a broad, oblique fuscous streak across the reniform from costa. t. p. line single, fuscous, evenly outcurved over cell, then evenly oblique inward into the subinedian interspace, where it forms an acute angle and is outcurved over vein 1. the ordinary spots are obsolete, in one specimen only the outer and inferior margin blackish-lined. usually all the above-described maculation is incomplete and sometimes entirely wanting, save for the oblique dusky shades in costal region and the fragment of the t. p. line in the submedian interspace. a broken, black terminal line, sometimes sending in a small sagittate black dash in the second and third interspace, and often entirely wanting. sec. ondaries yellowish fuscous, somewhat paler at base, darker in the fe. male. beneath smoky on primaries, whitish powdery on secondaries; a more or less obvious discal lunule, sometimes a mere line, more usually a distinct ovate macula. expands 45 to 50 millimetres=1.80 to 2 inches. habitat: canada; new york, kendall, sharon, august 8 to 16; michigan; new hampshire, franconia; new jersey; illinois; washing. ton, d.c.; northern, eastern, middle, and central states. this is the most common eastern species of the second series, and seems as abundant as asteroides. it is very readily distinguishable from all others by the very dark gray primaries, in which usually all the markings save the oblique costal streaks are obscure, and by the yellow fuscous secondaries, which on the under side have a discal spot. there is little variation, only a relative distinctness or obscurity of maculation. the harpes of male are long, narrow, slightly constricted centrally, the tip oblique, somewhat carved, inwardly fringed with spinules, upper angle acute. the clasper is a slender, upright corneous process with acute tip. dr. lintner has described the larva on mulgedium leucophæum. cucullia cinderella sp. nov. head fuscuos gray with pale and darker transverse lines. collar deep ash gray, with an inferior black and a median double gray line. patagiæ and dorsum dark gray, concolorous. primaries deep bluish gray, immaculate save for a narrow linear basal streak and a broken black terminal line. secondaries smoky, basally paler. beneath, primaries smoky; secondaries white, powdery, and with a faint discal lunnale. proc. n. m. 92—4 50 revision of genus cucullia-smith. expands 41 millimetres =1.64 inches. habitat: colorado (bruce). this is a close ally of intermedia, than which it is smaller, all the maculation of primaries obsolete, the dorsum of thorax not dusky. the characters are obscure and would not be considered of specific value, were it not that none of the species thus far known inhabit both sides of the continent and that slight differences have proved permanent. the sexual characters are very much as in the preceding; but the clasper is decidedly shorter and there is some difference in the form of the harpe, better seen in the figure than described. i bave only a single male for examination. cucullia serraticornis lintn. 1874. lintn., ent. cont., iii, 174, cucullia. 1875. lintn., in grote's check list, pl. f. 10, cucullia. 1883. grt., pr. am. phil. soc., xxi, 161, cucullia. matricaria behr. 1874. behr., in strck., lep. rhop. et het., 94, cucullia. 1875. grt., buff. bull., ii, 218 pr. syn. "antennæ biserrated; the serratures, which are less conspicuous at the base and tip, as seen from above, consist apparently of a row on each side beneath of conical projections, bearing rows of curred whitish cilia on their lateral margins beneath, which increase in length from the base to the apex. palpi nearly horizontal, gray, with brown scales, third joint short and rounded. front gray, with some black scales. collar yellowish brown below the prominent black trausverse line; above gray, with the usual paler line bordered with darker scales, and still darker ones on the upper margin of the collar. tegulæ concolorous with the wings. thorax fuscous; an abdominal series of similar colored tufts on the first four segments. abdomen gray, paler basally. primaries straight costally or slightly concave from the fold. ing over of the marginal nervure, gently curving to the apex, which is obtuse; outer margin entire, sloping moderately to the inner margin, which is long and nearly straight. color pale ash-gray, darker on the inner margin. anterior median line blackish, teeth acute, preceded by a white shade, beyond which some blackish lines almost geminate it. posterior median line obsolete, except in cell 1 b, where it is biden. tate; the teeth preceded by an elongate oval, brown bordered, white spot on the submedian fold, extending to the anterior median line; followed by a white angulate line (the "tooth” of the internal angle), from the concavity of which a black streak (the usual interspaceal streak of the internal angle) runs obliquely to the first median nervule (vein 2). costal margin over the place of the orbicular, with a diffuse brown shade and two oblique brown streaks at the inception of the posterior median. basilar line black, fine; a slender black line on the internal margin. reniform indicated by a row of black dots anterior vol51 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xvtel to the discal cross-vein; orbicular only visible as a central pale shade and four outer brown dots. nerves and nervules clothed with black scales; on the interspaces intermediately are brown scales, with a w hitish streak centrally, beneath which, on the subterminal margin, are the usual black streaks in all the interspaces, the inost conspicuous of which is that in cell 4 (farther removed from the margin than the others). fringes white, cut with brown on each side of the nervules, opposite the interspaceal lines of brown scales; these brown ciliary scales of each interspace joined by a brown marginal line. secondaries acute, excavated opposite the cell, slightly dentate; white, hyaline. nerves and nervules heavily marked with black scales, especially toward the margin; no distinct marginal border, but in place thereof the extreme margin is brown, with some brown scales extending a sbort distance therefrom, and farther in cells 1 b and 4; some brown scales on the costal nervure apically. beneath, primaries pale brown, with an aeneous reflection; a conspicuous brown spot on the discal cross vein. secondaries, with brown scales on the nerves and nervules and marginally as above, though less abundantly; sprinkled with brown scales costally and in the cell above the fold; cellular fold and discal cross vein above it broadly covered with brown scales, diffuse on the latter, giving a conspicuous cellular spot; these features seen in transparency from above. "described from two & s, differing materially in size; the larger and better specimen, from which the features are mainly drawn, measures 2 inches expanse of wings, length of body 0.86 inch; the other, 1.70 inches expanse, length of body 0.72 inch. "in addition to disparity in size, the two examples differ somewhat in shape of wings, those of the smaller being narrower and more acute, to the degree that the male usually varies from the female in the several species of this genus; yet the two examples are undoubtedly maies, as is shown by their frenelum examination. in all other par. ticulars, so far as they are traceable, the two are identical. they are, unfortunately, in poor condition, and the description above given may require correction." habitat: california. i bave quoted dr. lintener's description of this species because i have only a single male, not in the best condition, before me. it is marked “sauz., mcb. 23, 1878," and belongs to the u. s. national museum. the sexual characters are as distinctive and aberrant as is the antenpal structure. the harpe narrows from a moderately broad base, very gradually, to an acute, corneous tip, which is a little curved and beak. like. the clasper is a stout, moderately long corneous process, with a spoon-sbaped tip. the insect seems rare, and it is rather strange that no females have been thus far received, ren idrati per la les of palet e told hich: large onl ecelet erinde ; bidet d, shin an line: i angle гурка" i herrial a diftis on of the de on the i anterid 52 revision of genus cucullia-smith. cucullia solidaginis behr. 1874. behr., in strck., lep. rhop. et het., 94, cucullia. "expands 13 to 2 inches. head and tegula ashen, thorax between the latter dark gray with a brown dorsal live. primaries gray, the median space suffused with darker color, which in one example tends to the base; it comes nearer in the markings to lactucæ esp., but is entirely distinct from that or any other species known of. secondaries smoky." “california." this description i can not apply. i have no material in the genus from california, and what little information is given excludes or includes any of our species, just as it happens to be interpreted. such characterizations as the above are positive stumbling blocks to knowledge and are inexcusable. they exhibit an absolute ignorance of the intent of a description and a deplorable want of consideration for those who may be compelled to try to apply it. explanation of plate. 1. harpe and clasper of cucullia convexipennis. 2. harpe and clasper of cucullia montanæ. 3. harpe and clasper of cucullia similaris. 4. harpe and clasper of cucullia asteroides. 5. harpe and clasper of cucullia postera. 6. harpe and clasper of cucullia florea. 7. harpe and clasper of cucullia lætifica. 8. harpe and clasper of cucullia speyeri. 9. harpe and clasper of cucullia bistriga. 10. harpe and clasper of cucullia intermedia. 11. harpe and clasper of cucullia cinderella. 12. harpe and clasper of cucullia serraticornis. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. ху pl. 11 5 h a 7 2 3 > 12 & g 71 10 genitalia of cucullia. contributions toward a monograph of the noctuidæ of boreal america. revision of the dicopinæ. by john b. smith, sc. d. 2 under the title dicopinæ mr. grote, in the proc. am. phil. soc., xxi, 154 (1883), separates a few species which seem to form a tolerably natural group, without being really entitled to subfamily rank. the species agree in having naked, more or less obviously lashed eyes, a robust, heavy thorax, but proportionately small, conic abdomen. the thoracic vestiture is dense, usually thick, sometimes coarse, never forming defined tufts, though there is usually a massing of the vestiture posteriorly. the head is somewhat retracted, sometimes quite obviously so, the tongue is weak and short, the palpi are small, not reaching or scarcely exceeding front, and the male antennæ are bipectinated. the tibiæ are not spinulose; but the anterior pair is armed ith a stout, curved, corneous claw at tip. the anterior femora are quite stout, thicker than usual. altogether the species have a bombyciform appearance, negatived principally by the short, narrow, pointed primaries of most of the forms. the venation is normally noctuidous except that in the secondaries the cell is unusually long and the furcation of the subcostal unusually near the outer margin. three genera are recognizable, two of them rather illy defined, the third babitally more than structurally different. dicopis, the type of the group, has coarse, scaly vestiture, projecting straight forward on the front, giving it a scrubby, brush-like appearance. the head is slightly retracted and the abdomen has a series of more or less obvious dorsal tufts. eutolype is rather narrower winged than the preceding, the abdominal tufts weak or entirely wanting. the thoracic restiture is finer and smoother, and the frontal vestiture is smooth, even, and more woolly in appearance. the head is somewhat more prominent, forming an even cope from the crown of the collar to tbe front. the shape of the head and the character of the vestiture are really the only distinctive features, and that they are not striking is shown by the fact that mr. grote kept the species together, separating only rolandi by the tuft of metallic scales at the base of thorax. copipanolis is a rather well-marked genus in which the wings are usually wider, more trigonate, the outer margin longer. the head is more strongly retracted and the thoracic vestiture fine, loose, and diproceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 891. 53 54 revision of the dicopinæ-smith. vergent, giving the insect a plump, more bombycid habitus, emphasized by the more broadly pectinated male antennæ. the wings are rusty red brown or carneous gray, and powdery, so as to make them appear thiuly scaled. although i know autoptically all save one of the species in this series (viridescens wlk.), i have not given the sexual characters, partly because i have not had sufficient material of some species, and partly also be. cause the characters in the forms examined are so simple as to be of little or no value in the separation of the species. in all there is a simple oblong harpe, near the center of which there is a small, corneous beak-like clasper. none of the species are really common, and of those of which i have dates of capture all make their appearance very early in the seasona fact that may explain their rarity because they have disappeared when collecting usually begins. mr. grote makes the statement that they hibernate in the chrysalis state. dicopis grt. 1874. grt., 6th rept. peab. ac. sci., app. 23. 1882. smith, bull. bkln. ent. soc., v, 20. copivaleria grt. 1883. grt. pr. am. phil. xxi, 168. in this genus the thorax is square, the patagiæ rather sharply de. fined, the primaries with the apices more marked. the character of the frontal vestiture bas been already noted. three species, grotei, muralis, and thaxterianus are referable here. grotei is a dark, blackish gray species, with squammose or roughly clothed wings, the markings indefinite, the reniform usually white and contrasting, the s. t. space concolorous in all the specimens i have seen. this species was first described as a valeria by mr. morrison, a genus of wbich i have seen no american species as yet. i called attention to the erroneous reference in my synopsis of noctuid genera, and mr. grote suggested the term copivaleria for the species, distinguishing it by the longer, more pointed, wings from dicopis. the difference however does not exist, and i can find no safe points for distinguishing the genus. muralis is smaller, varying from a rather light ash to dark blackish gray, never as deep as in the preceding. the maculation is always traceable, and sometimes sharply defined. the reniform is large, better defined, and not so contrasting as in grotei. the s. t. space is usually more or less white, prominently interrupted in the submedian interspace by a black streak, which is often connected through the median space with the prominent basal dash. thazterianus is the smallest of the species, in type of maculation like muralis, but quite evenly brown to the t. p. line, beyond which the ter1892. ] 55 proceedings of the national museum. minal space is whitish, powdery. there is not, in the specimens examined by me, any black dash opposite anal angle. electilis, if a dicopis at all, belongs to this series and stands next to muralis, to which mr. morrison makes it “distantly” related. viridescens wlk. is also probably a very near relative of muralis. in synoptic form the species known to me autopically, are as folows: a black dash in terminal space opposite anal angle. blackish, vestiture rough ; lines incomplete, not well marked, reniform contrasting, white .... .....grotei. gray, varying in tint; vestiture less rough ; lines complete, usually well marked, reniform not contrasting no black dash in terminal space opposite anal angle, brown to the t. p. line, termi. nal space whitish.... muralis. thaxterianus. dicopis grotei morr. 1874. morr. bull. buff: soc. nat. sci., i, 274, valeria. 1852. smith, bull. bkin. ent. soc., v, 44, an valeria ? 1883. grt., proc. am. phil. soc., xxi, 146, 167, copivaleria. head and thorax blackish or deep dark brown. a little tuft at base of antennæ whitish. disk of thorax quite densely, of patagiæ sparsely white powdered, the latter with a black submarginal line. primaries blackish or dark smoky gray, with mossy green shadings, unequally and somewhat inconstantly distributed over the surface. t. a. line geminate, black, outwardly oblique, irregular, variably distinct. a curved black basal dash looped beyond the t. a. line to form a broad claviform. over this streak and in the claviform the wing is sometimes more or less white powdered. t. p. line geminate, black, irregular, fairly distinct, widely ontcurved over the reniform, then deeply indrawn, touching the reniform inferiorly, reaching the ipper margin opposite the space between the ordinary spots. a blackish median shade between the ordinary spots reaching the inner margin at about its middle. beyond this sbado extends a white blotch along the inner margin becoming bluish beyond the t. p. line, which is here emphasized and brought out prominently. s. t. line broken, irregular, mossy green or yellowish, with a deep inward sinus on vein 2, below which it is prominent and on which it is crossed by a black dash. veips more or less evidently black marked. a broken terminal black line marked by blue powderings around the veins. orbicular round, moderate in size, concolorous, with a whitish central dot and a whitish anvulus which are sometimes indistinct. reniform large, diffuse, usually white, contrasting. secondaries wbite, black powdered on the veins and over the outer margin beyond a broken extra median line. discal spot of underside visible above. beneath soiled white with variably diffused black powderings, most obvious on the primaries. a more or less obvious outer line and distinct discal spot on all wings. expands 39 to 41 millimetres = 1.56 to 1.64 inches. habitat: eastern and middle states to the mississippi. cam. bridge, mass., april 26; newtonville, mass., may 12; illinois. six specimens are in the museum collection (acc. 20395 and collection of 0. meske), from which the above description was made. the antennæ are yellowish. the color varies considerably in intensity, and fresh specimens have the mossy green tint most distinct. the transverse lines are not usually all traceable, while the large indefinite discolorous-reniform is always evident and usually prominent, contrast56 revision of the dicopinæ-smith. ing. the white and blue patch on the inner margin beyond the median shade is also obvious in all specimens. the species seems not rare locally; but there are usually not many in collections. dicopis viridescens wlk. 1865. wlk., c. b. mus. suppl., 32, 601, cymatophora. 1868. grt. and rob., traps. am. evt. soc., ii, 86, hadena. 1882. grt., ill. essay, 40, dicopis. “male.—green, cinereons beneath. proboscis slender. palpi porrect, piloso, not extending beyond the head antendæ tawny, moderately pectinated. tegulæ of the thorax bordered with black and with wbitish. abdomen cinereous, extending rather beyond the hind wings. fore wings black speckled; orbicular and reniform marks large, whitish, partly black bordered; an exterior whitish band interrupted near the internal angle by a broad green streak, which contains two little black lines; two black lines, one extending from the base, the other angular and proceding from the costa, both joining a wbitish, black-bordered spot which is behind the orbicular; marginal points black. hind wings dingy, cinereous; veins blackish towards the exterior border; under side with a black spot in the disk and an exterior blackish denticulate line. length of the body 6 lines; of the wings 16 lines. this species has some resemblance to c. ridens, but is most allied to c. caniplaga, and with it may form a new genus." a. florida. presented by e. doubleday, esq. it is not impossible that this is a form of muralis. the description fits it fairiy well, but it would need floridan material more closely agreeing with walker's characterization to enable the reference to be definitely made. mr. grote's correction of the generic reference bas alone made this suggestion possible, and he himself says it is "close to d. muralis, while smaller." [since the above was sent to the printer i have seen the type in the british museum and find it to be muralis without a doubt.] dicopis muralis grt. 1874. grt., 6th rept. peab. acad., app., 23, dicopis. 1874. grt., bull. buff. soc. nat. sci., ii, pl, i, fig. 1. ash gray varying to dark, smoky, or even blackish gray, in pale specimens with faint greenish washes. t. a. line gemivate, black, with paler included spaces, quite usually subobsolete. a usually prominent black basal dash, looped beyond the t. a. line to form the claviform, which is broad and white powdered. below this dash the basal space is white powdered. t. p. line geminate, quite acutely projected outwardly below costa, inwardly oblique, irregular, forming an acute angle on vein 2, and there almost reaching the claviform. beyond this line the wing is usually white powdered, the s. t. line defined by the contrast between the dark terminal and paler subterminal spaces, cut in the submedian interspace by a prominent black dash. sometimes the color is more even, and the s. t. line is then a broad, irregular, indefinite wbite live, cut as before opposite the anal angle. a row of black terminal dots, fringes also tipped by a broken brown line. orbicular large, round, slightly paler, annulate, with whitish gray. reniform large, pale, whitish, with a fuscous inner lunule, usually fairly well defined. a vague, irregular median shade between ordinary spots and following the apgulations of the t. p. line. secondaries somewhat fuscous gray, powdery, with discal lunules, variably complete extra disvol 57 1892proceedings of the national museum. ex, . ] xvcal line and distinct series of terminal lunules blackish. beneath fuscous powdery over gray, primaries darker, secondaries with broad outer line and distinct discal spot. head and thorax concolorous with primaries, patagiã with black submarginal line. expands 35 to 39 millimeters = 1.40 to 1,56 inches. habitat: middie states to the mississippi and texas. new york, (brooklyn); pennsylvania (philadelphia); illinois (champaign); central missouri in april; texas march 21. four specimens are in the national collection (collection of c. v. r., and belfrage, and acc. 20395) from which the foregoing description was made. the species is wider winged and as a whole smaller than tbe preceding, with the same general style of maculation. it varies in ground color and in distinctness of maculation, but most prominently perhaps in the s. t. line, which sometimes becomes a broad whitish shade. the large reniform is always distinctly paler, but not, in my experience, contrasting. the species is not common. dicopis electilis morr. 1875. morr., proc. bost. soc. n. h., xviii, 114. dicopis. “expanse 37 millimetres. length of body, 14 millimetres. palpi short, scarcely exceeding the front. antenne of the male "pyramidal toothed, (this is a term used by lederer). anterior tibiæ with a long slender claw, otherwise unarnied. thorax heavy and with coarse villosity; a distinct white band on each side of the tegulæ, which are black next to the wings. abdomen short, dark and not untufted. anterior wings cinereous gray, with the markings well defined; a very heavy black basal streak, including and extending beyond the claviform spot to the exterior line; ordinary spots concolorous, obsoletely encircled with black; interior line obsolete; exterior line distinct, black and narrow, with an indentation opposite the reniform spot, below which it is drawn in; subterminal line blackish, subobsolete. posterior wings light gray; beneath gray, the posterior wings lighter, with discal dots. hab. easton, pennsylvania. from mr. w. h. stultz.” “distantly allied to dicopis muralis grt.; it differs in the shape of the wings, which are narrow and cucullia-like, the presence of the basal streak extending to the exterior line, and the absence of the dis. tinct sub-anal streak of muralis.” there is a badly rubbed specimen, i believe in the tepper collection, marked "type” by mr. morrison, in which the basal dash is broad and suffused; but i did not otherwise compare it with the description. the statement that the abdomen is “not untufted” excludes the species from eutolype to which the species commonly known as electilis is best referred. the character found in the longitudinal dash extending from base to the t. p. line is a strong one, and should render the spe. cies recognizable. the term "pyramidal toothed" is used by lederer for that form of antennæ in which the lateral processes are small, conic, and less than serrate. this does not agree with the character of the group, and morrison either did not have a male, or the species may 58 revision of the dicopinæ-smith. not belong to this series at all. mr. grote has also seen the type and suggests that it seemed to him close to muralis. dicopis thaxterianus grt. . 1874. grt. buff. bull. 11, 196, dicopis. 1881. grt., papilio 1, 48, dicopis. “g. the tibial claw is present, and the testaceous antennæ are bipectinater, somewhat less heavily so than in d, muralis. the colors are mainly those of d. muralis, but the wings are more uniformly fuscous to the subterminal line, and then the terminal space contrasts by its frosty, grayisli white. fringes distinctly checkered, fuscous and white; with the terminal line nearly obsolete, not resolved into black dots as in d. muralis. ordinary spots ill defined, whitish, the reniform inwardly sharply margined with black, smaller than in d, muralis ; orbicular rounded, black edged. claviform quite small, concolorous, black edged, removed from the orbicular, hence very different from that of d. muralis. a fine basal black ray. no black streak above internal angle, and no black shading across the median space opposite the claviform. the median lines are distinctly marked with black, in general shape resembling those of d. muralis, but differing in slight details. the primaries are more pointed than in d. muralis, narrower and with the external margin more oblique, straighter and a little depressed before internal angle. hind wings smaller, pale fuscous with traces of a double line on the veins, and with the faint terminal line not broken into points. beneath much as in d, muralis ; on the hind wings the discal mark is larger and tends to fuse with the median live, the latter exserted at this place, so that a fuscous o may be more or less completely outlined by the line and the discal lunate mark. thorax hoary gray, the tegulæ black lined. “expanse, 35 millimetres. taken april 8, 1874." habitat: massachusetts, texas. this species seems rare. i have seen but few specimens, and these showed little variation. it is smaller throughout than muralis and, as mr. grote says in the description quoted, the wings are narrower and lack the transverse line crossing the median space. eutolype grt. 1874. grt., pr. ac. n. sci., 1874, 198. 1882. smith, bull. bkln. ent. soc., v, 21. 1883. grt., pr. am. phil. soc., xxi, 154. four species seem referable to this genus-bombyciformis, rolandi, depilis, and damalis, all easily separated. bombyciformis is dark gray as a rule, with a black basal dash which meets the t. a. line from costa in an easy curve, and incloses a triangular space which in pale specimens is marked with rusty red brown. the 8. t. line is usually distinct, most prominent and whitish opposite the anal angle, where it is marked with a blackish brown patch. the disk of the patagiæ is discolorous, pale gray. depilis is an ashy gray species in which all the markings are lost, save that the s. t. line is traceable and forms a whitish lunule in the submedian interspace. the ordinary spots are more or less completely defined by a narrow black line, and the space between them is very slightly darker. vol59 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvin both of these species the costa is more convex than in any of the other species. damalis is a fine bluish gray species in which all the markings are written in narrow, slightly darker lines, and the s. t. line is not pale. rolandi is the smallest of the species of a dark, smoky, ash gray, the maculation barely traceable, but agreeing with damalis so far as it is visible. in fresh, perfect specimens the scales forming the loose, posterior thoracic tuft are chalybeus or metallic steel-blue, and from this character mr. grote derived his generic term, seeing in it a resem. blance to the bombycid genus tolype. in tabular form the species divide as follows: s. t. line pale, distinci at least in s. m. interspace. dark gray, patagiæ discolorons gray; basal dash and t. a. line united, distinct.. bombyciformis. pale, bluish gray, all the lines obsolete, ordinary spots traceable.......... s. t. line dusky, more or less broken. very bright bluish gray, all the markings well written, size larger.. dark smoky gray; all the markings subobsolete, size smaller..... depilis. damalis. rolandi. eutolype bombyciformis sp. nov. a head and thorax dark gray, varying to almost umber brown. front reddish in. feriorly. disc of patagiæ paler, somewhat contrasting, blackish margined. primaries varying from dark ash gray to blackish, the maculation almost obsolete in the dark forms. basal line indicated in pale specimens. t. a. line dusky, obsolete, geminate, distinct to the basal black dash, which is here curved, hook-shaped, indicating the claviform and united to the t. a. line, together inclosing the upper part of basal space. in pale specimens the basal dash is marked with rusty red, recalling certain species of notodonta. t. p. line faint, single, widely exserted over reniform, very irregular, and reaching the inner margin just within the s. t. lipe, where it is also best marked. s. t. line lunulate, black, followed by whitish or yellowish powderings, sometimes all obsolete, save a white lunule opposite anal angle, complete only in pale specimens. orbicular round, very little paler, narrowly black ringed. reniform large, upright, somewhat constricted centrally, with a broad vague pale anuulus, inwardly emphasized with black. secondaries whitish to smoky, darkest outwardly, with a faint outer line and discal lunule. beneath varyiog from gray to smoky brown on primaries; paler, with an outer line and discal lunule on secondaries. expands 37 to 40 millimetres = 1.48 to 1.60 inches. habitat: ohio; illinois; missouri. four specimens are in the museum collection (collection of c. v. r., j. b. s., and acc. 20395), one of them marked no. 490, march 11, 1874, from the riley collection. this is the species which i had seen marked electilis morr., in collections, and which i have so named on the faith of these determinations; but comparing the specimens at hand with the description, it is simply impossible that morrison could have had similar examples before him. where the original erroneous determination came from i do not know, nor do i know where morrison's type is to be found. the stall series before me shows quite a decided range of variation, 60 revision of the dicopinæ-smith. from the dark form in which the maculation is barely traceable to the bright bluish gray specimens in which every detail is evident, and the markings are additionally emphasized by rusty red brown scales. the illinois specimen (acc. 20395) came from the state laboratory of nat. ural history at champaign, and was named dicopis electilis for them. eutolype depilis grt. 1881, grt., papilio 1, 48, dicopis. “o smooth, dark gray in color, recalling eutolype rolandi, but without the metallic tuft of scales on the thorax behind which separates eutolype from dicopis. interior line fine, black, projected opposite the claviform spot. claviform with a tinge of yellowish, moderate, somewhat rounded and incompletely ringed with black. orbicular, spherical, concolorous gray, with a paler ring edging the faint annulus within. reniform similar, very large, medially constricted. onter line fine, irregular, waved, much removed outwardly. there is a flocking of yellowish outside of the fine subterminal line, which runs very close to the outer median line, at inner angle. hind wings whitish, with gray shaded edging and fringes; boneath, with dot and line. head and thorax dark gray. size of muralis, or perhaps a little larger and seemingly stouter. columbus, ohio. finally, i have a female specimen from texas, collected by belfrage, which comes vear to depilis, but may prove a distinct species; it is numbered 697.” the above is mr. grote's original characterization. two female specimens are before me, agreeing with the description save for a somewhat paler ground color, very indistinct markings and slightly darker shade between the ordinary spots. both are from texas, collected by bel. frage, dated march 21; one of them was given me by mr. grote himself, is labeled dicopis depilis in his own handwriting, and is probably the specimen referred to in his description. the other is from the bel. frage material in the riley collection, and is numbered 697 on a red label. the label would indicate that mr. grote concluded that the texan specimens were not distinct from the ohio type, and i have no doubt he is correct. i bave also seen the species from new york state. a eutolype rolandi grt. 1374. grt., proc. acad. nat. sci., xxvi, 198, eutolype. vernalis morr. 1874. morr. proc. bost. soc. n. h., xvii, 133, copipanolis. 1875. grt., can. ent., vii, 17, pr. syn. 1875. grt., bull. buff. soc. n. sci., ii, 210, pr. syn. dark ash gray, sometimes almost blackish. head and thorax usually a little darker, patagiæ indistinctly blackish margined, disc with a posterior tufting of me. tallic bronze brown scales, which lose their luster in old specimens. primaries with the maculation vague, indefinite, the median lines barely traceable, sometimes entirely obsolete. t. a. line geminate, rather evenly oblique outwardly. t. p. line apparently single, its course much as in muralis as far as traceable. a faint nearly upright median shade is perceivable in some specimens. s. t. line always marked as a series of blackish dots, sometimes becoming nearly connected, and often relieved by a sparse powdering of greenish wbite scales. the claviform is not traceable in any of my specimens. orbicular moderate, round, concolorous, imperfectly black ringed, usually marked by an annulus of pale yellowish scales, rarely almost obsolete. re:61 ] proceedings of the national museum. fol. xv, 1892. niform large, upright, slightly constricted in the middle, concolorous, incompletely marked with darker scales and often by paler yellowish white atoms. secondaries whitish, densely dark powdered, with a distinct blackish marginal line and a faint discal lunule. beneath gray, powdery, priinaries with disc darker, secondaries paler, with an outer line and discal lunule. expands 31 to 35 millimetres = 1.24 to 1.40 inches. habitat: massachusetts, april 8 to 15; missouri, april and may; texas, february 17 to 26, nine specimens, all males, and all save one from texas (belfrage in collection of c. v. r.), are before me. i have seen a pumber of other specimens and there is very little variation save in the distinctness of the maculation. as a rule the punctiform s. t. line is quite distinct and usually also the ordinary spots are evident. in fresh specimens the metallic shining scales at base of thorax constitute an unfailing index to the species; but in old specimens or when they show even a sligbt tendency to grease, the metallic luster disappears, and the genus as based on this character becomes irrecognizable. eutolype damalis grt. 1820. grt., bull. u. s. geol. surv., v, 208, dicopis. 1881. grt., papilio, 1, 49, dicopis. “ š. fore tibiæ each with a long black claw; eyes naked ; antennæ testaceous, bipectinate. clear, bluish gray. orvamentation of primaries feebly written. orbicular round, reniform narrow, curved, upright; the lines are double, and with the spots indicated by pale brown shade lines, all concolorous with the wings. thorax sbaggy, bluish gray. hind wings whitish, a little soiled, with discal dot, faint terminal lines, and whitish fringe. beneath white, with black discal spot and broken black mesial line. fore wings gray, with faiut broad exterior shade line. feet and abdomen gray. expanse 34 millimetres." habitat: havilah, cal.; alameda, cal.. this is a well-defined species most nearly related to rolandi, but larger, somewhat wider winged, a fine pale bluish gray in color, aud lacking all trace of the metallic scales. copipanolis grt. 9 1874. grt., 6th rept. peab. acad. sci., app., 25. 1882. smith, bkln. bull., v, 21. 1883. grt., proc. am. phil. soc., xxi, 154. this genus is distinguished from the others of the group by the thin long hairy vestiture of thorax, forming no obvious tufts, by the brownish red or gray colors, the wings powdered with darker brown atoms and appearing more thinly scaled, and by the generally more bombycid habitus of the species. only one species was known for sixteen years, but i have now recog. nized four very distinct forms, separable as follows: borealis, a new species, differs from all the others in color, the head, thorax and median space of primaries umber brown, the basal and 62 revision of the dicopinæ-smith. extra medial space of primaries pearl gray. the median lines are well defined, the ordinary spots obvious and secondaries black. all the other species are reddish brown in color, the secondaries paler than the primaries. cubilis, the type of the genus, has the median lines distinct, diffuse, the ordinary spots more or less obviously discolorous, the terminal space paler than the rest of the wing, s. t. space brownish. fasciata is the common texan species that usually does duty as cubilis in collections, but can not well be that species. the color is always uniform, the lines are broad and distinct, and the ordinary spots are vague, never discolorous in my experience, and i have seen many specimens. stigma is a floridian form differing from all the preceding in lacking almost entirely the median lines, the ordinary spots whitish, blotchy and contrasting. in color it is a different shade of red, more admixed with yellow, and distinguishable at a glance. these characters will serve to distinguish the forms, further details being given in the specific characterization. copipanolis borealis sp. nov. head, thorax, and mediaa space of primaries umber brown, the latter powdery; basal and extra medial space pearl gray, powdery. t. a. line darker brown, not sharply defined ; t. p. line broad, brown, distinct, evenly bisinuate. ordinary spots moderate in size, vague, rather indefinitely outlined and with sparse pearl gray powderings. secondaries blackish, apices gray powdered. beneath gray, powdery, primaries smoky on disc, secondaries with a broad outer line. expands 28 millimetres = 1.12 inches. : habitat: minnesota (st. anthony park), april 7, 1889. of this remarkable species, a single male specimen from mr. schoenborn's collection, taken by mr. o, lugger, is before me. in wing form, vestiture and pattern of ornamentation the resemblance to the described species is striking, wbile the entirely different coloratiou gives the insect a strangely unfamiliar appearance. copipanolis fasciata sp. nov. general color of the entire insect a rusty red brown, secondaries slightly paler. the wings are powdered with somewhat deeper brown atoms, less dense beyond the t. p. line. median lines single, broad, somewhat diffuse, deeper brown. t. a. line even, with a slight outcurve centrally. t. p. line rather evenly bisinuate, the curve a little broken opposite the cell. s. t. line wanting. a vague terminal line, sowetimes entirely wanting. ordinary spots vague, orbicular rarely traceable, never distinct, reniform vaguely marked, sometimes wanting entirely, usually noticeable as an indefinite dusky sbade, never prominent. beneath, the brown has a grayish tendency, the powdering more noticeable than above. expands 32 to 35 millimetres = 1.28 to 1.35 inches. habitat: missouri (c. v. r.), april; texas, belfrage, january and february. ten specimens are in the u.s. national museum, vol63 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] *. xvthis species is easily recognizable by its almost uniform coloration, the median lines forming the only obvious markings. it is the species usually marked cubilis in collections, but differs from that species by the broader, less pointed primaries and by lacking the differences in sbade, and all trace of the s. t. line. the species is perhaps the most common of all the forms belonging to the present series, the belfrage material containing quite a number of them. copipanolis cubilis grt. . 1874. grt., 6th rept. peab. ac. sci. app. 26, copipanolis. 1874. grt., buff. bull. 11, pl. 1, p. 6, copipanolis. the male has a stout bombyciform appearance, though of moderate size, rosembling in this respect as well as in the ornamentation of the primaries, the european panolis piniperda. rich ochrey honey-brown; ornamentation simple. the two median lines are distinct, continued, rather diffuse, darker than the wing, the t. a. line perpendicular, waved superiorly, the t. p. line followed by a pale shade, very oblique, much produced superiorly on the costal nervules, bending inwardly to vein 2, and parrowing the median space below this to internal margin, running inferiorly nearly parallel with the t. a. line. ordinary spots, more or less distinct, dirty whitish, or again hardly paler than the wing and yellowish, separate, ringed with reddish, the orbicular spherical, the reniform with a central stain, of the usual shape, well outwardly removed in position, subterminal space more brownish than the paler terminal space. hind wings pale fuscous, with a reddish tint. beneath pale, with an even reddish band and discal spot ou bind wings. thorax and head concolorous with primaries above; abdomen dark. expanse 36 millimetres. habitat: lansing, mich., march 26th; massachusetts. the above description is mr. grote's original characterization, and the figure given by him in buff. bull. ii, agrees with it very well. i have seen the type in the british museum and find that it agrees well with the figure and description; also that the texan form is spe. cifically distinct. copipanolis stigma smith. 1890. smith, ent. amer., vi, 220, copipanolis. head, thorax, and primaries deep brick red; palpi paler. primaries with a slight admixture of yellowish scales, most evident along costal region. median lines vaguely marked, scarcely defined; ordinary spots yellowish white; orbicular sinall, round; reniform moderate in size, rather irregular. secondaries whitish at base, with reddish powderings, becoming more deuse outwardly. beneath somewhat paler than above, more obviously yellow powdered. expands 29 millimetres=1.15 inches. habitat: florida. this species, of which i have seen a single male only, differs from the others in the almost total obsolescence of the median lines and the distinctness of the ordinary spots. the latter may, however, be unimportant and variable. there is a more decided yellow admixture in the ground color than is found in the common species. 1 64 revision of the dicopinæ-smith. list of the species. dicopis grt. copivaleria grt. grotei morr. viridescens wlk. muralis grt. electilis morr. thaxterianus grt. eutolype grt. bombyciformis smith. depilis grt. rolandi grt. vernalis morr. damalis grt. copipanolis grt. borealis smith. fasciata smitb. cubilis grt. stigma smith. contributions toward a monograph of the noctuidæ of boreal america.-revision of xylomiges and morrisonia. by john b. smith, sc. d. (with plate iii.) xylomiges gn. 1852, gn., sp. gen., noct., i, 147. eyes hairy, round, moderate. head small, retracted, with even, short, stiff, scaly vestiture, forming superposed flattened frontal tufts. palpi short, reaching to, but scarcely exceeding, the front. tongue long and strong. antennæ in the male pectinated, serrate and bristled, or ciliate merely. in the female they are simple, only sparsely ciliated. thorax robust, quadrate, convex, with a variably distinct anterior and posterior tuft. abdomen dorsally tufted. legs unarmed, save for the ordinary spurs of middle and hind tibiæ. primaries narrow, trigonate, elongate, with marked apices and obliquely rounded outer margin, or short, narrow, and stampy. from mamestra this genus differs by the shorter palpi, the more re. tracted head, the superposed frontal tufts, the wing form, and in some instances by the pectinated antennæ. from morrisonia it differs in not having the divided thoracic crest, the thorax itself stouter, the abdomen not so long proportionately, and the primaries not retracted at anal angle nor strigate in type of maculation. from stretchia (perigrapha) the species differ in the thoracic tuftings and somewhat also in wing form. strictly, only two of our speciescurialis and dolosa—are congeneric with the european conspicillaris ; but there is no safe line for the separation of any of the species, save possibly patalis, which differs by the habitus, the short stumpy wing, somewhat depressed body, and simple male antennæ. antennal characters are weak in the hairy eyed genera, and so indeed are most others. it is difficult to limit the genera in this series, and comparative characters and habitus inust serve largely as guides. the lines of demarcation between this genus and mamestra, morrisonia, or even tænio. campa are nowhere sharply defined and errors are easy, especially with imperfect or insufficient material. proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 892. proc. n. m. 92—5 66 revision of xylomiges and morrisonia-smith, a i place at the head of the series the species in which the male antennæ are pectinated, the primaries moderately wide, trigonate, the apices well marked. hiemalis is a small species in which the median lines are usually not well marked. the ordinary spots are distinct, the reniform is marked with reddish, aud there is a distinct curved basal dash, above which there is a somewhat prominent paler shade. the antennal pectinations are very long, and there is a series of black spots before the s. t. line. peritalis is larger, with much the same type of maculation. there are no shades or spots before the s. t. line, and the antenual pectinations are much shorter. crucialis is a much paler form than any of the preceding, somewhat smaller than peritalis, from which it differs in having the darker terminal space completely cut on veins 3 and 4, leaving two triangular blackish patches. to the second series, in which the male antennæ are serrate and ciliate, belong curialis, dolosa, perlubens, subapicalis, rubrica and ochracea. curialis and dolosa are narrow-winged forms, like the european species, the colors dark ash gray. in curialis the color is even, with a faint reddish suffusion and no white lines or patches. in dolosa the color is powdery, blackish, the orbicular white; below it a white band exteuds to the inner margin, giving the wing a charac. teristic appearance. the s. t. line is also white, or paler at least. perlubens i do not know. mr. grote says it is related to rubrica, and so it seems to be. it is not possible to specify exactly wherein it differs, from the description, except that the orbicular is said to be upright. in rubrica it is oblique, elongate, in all the specimens seen by me. rubrica and subapicalis are broader winged than curialis and dolosa, and the outer margins are obviously dentate, which is not the case with the latter. rubrica is a powdery, reddish gray form, sometimes almost even in color, sometimes quite strongly maculate, the ornamentation taking forin as a distinct preceding shade to s. t. line, sending in a black shade opposite the cell, so as to relieve and lighten the apical region. the orbicular is elongate, oblique, oblong, and gray in color. the insect looks like a taniocampa at first sight, and the generic characters are not strong subapicalis i once thought a form of rubrica, and so described it. it differs, however, not only in the sexual characters, but in the uniformly ash or blackish gray ground color, and in the form of the orbicular, which is upright and broadly oval. in other details of maculation it is like rubrica. this species looks as much like a mamestra as rubrica does like tæniocampa, and well illustrates the artificial character of the hairy eyed genera. ochracea is unlike any other of the species. it resembles patalis in wing form; but is of a dull, luteous, ground color, with the veins vol xv, 1892. 67 proceedings of the national museum. white marked. the median lines are also white marked. the ordinary spots large, discolorous, white, or at least white ringed. altogether it is unique in color and habitus, and therefore easily recognized. the head is more retracted, and has the frontal tufts less evident than in the other species. patalis is the only species in which the antennæ of the male are entirely simple, and it is also the smallest of the genus. it is a stout, rather stumpy winged form, contrasting quite strongly with some of the otber species, and yet with a certain habital resemblance to them. in color it is pale whitish or bluish gray, sometimes with a creamy tint, and more rarely with a yellowish suffusion. the median lines are somewbat indistinct, closely approaching at the hind margin, and giv. ing the median space, which is usually darker, a somewhat irregular v.shape. rarely a specimen will lack all maculation save a few black spots marking the s. t. line. the ordinary spots are large, pale, aud quite generally fused inferiorly. tabulata is known to me in the female only. it is a dark, blackish. gray species, with close, smooth scales. the maculation is evident, the s. t. line marked at anal angle with a black spot in a reddish suffu. a sion. it resembles a mamestra of the manguina type quite strongly. the genitalia of the species are separately described hereafter. there is no distinctive type, though the majority of the species resemble each other to some extent. the early stages of some of the forms are known to dr. riley; but, so far as i am a ware, have not been described. in tabular form the species separate as follows: 1. antennæ of male distinctly pectinated 2 antennæ of male serrated and bristled. 3 4 antennæ of male simple, finely ciliated. 2. primaries trigonate, narrower at base; 8. t. line complete : smaller; antennal pectinations long larger; antennal pectinations short.. primaries elongate, parallel, scarcely narrower at base; s. t. line obsolete; pale ash gray, two distinct black trigonate shades toward outer margin .crucialis. 3. narrower winged, fringes not or scarcely dentate; color not luteous : even ash gray, with a faint reddish tinge; s. t. line marked only by a series of blackish spots.... dark blackish gray; a whitish patch below orbicular to hind margin; s. t. line white, preceded by black spots broader winged; primaries trigonate, elongate; fringes distinctly dentate: variegated with reddish and gray, veins blackish, orbicular upright.perlubens. more even, reddish gray; a more or less evident black shasle from reniform to outer margin below apex; orbicular oblique, elongate....... dark ash gray; a reddish shade from reniform to apex; orbicular ovate, upright broad and stumpy winged; friuges not deptate. dull luteous; veins and median lines white; ordinary spots large, usually pale; 8. t. line yellow ... 4. primaries short and stumpy, fringes not dentate: pale whitish or creamy gray; mediau space darker, v-shaped, ordinary spots large, often fused hiemalis. peritalis. curialis. dolosa. rubrica. ..subapicalis. ..ochracea. ..patalis. 68 revision of xylomiges and morrisonia-smith. xylomiges hiemalis grt. 3 1874. grt., buff. bull., 11, 71, lylomiges. californica bebr. 1874. bebr. in strk. lep. rhop. et het., 94, dryobota. 1876. grt., can. ent., viii, 26, pr. syn. 1878. grt., bull. u. s. geol. surv. iv, 178, xylomiges. 1879. grt., can. eut. xi, 29, pr. syn. general color ash gray, with a slight reddish tinge. head fuscous on front, paler on vertex; collar with a black line near tip; thorax. with a small black central tuft, and a lateral line on patagize at the base of the wings. primaries, basal line marked only by a geminate costal spot; a curved black mark from base below median vein to the subcostal vein near the t. a. line; above this the color is pale, beneath much darker and tinged with fuscous. t. a. line very variably distinct, geminate, often only the somewhat paler included space obvious, inner line never distinct; in general course it is somewhat oblique outwardly, a little curved between veins. t. p. line more or less indefinite, always traceable, dusky, better marked in costal region, where it is geminate. it is rather distant from base, well outcurved over the reniform, but not much incurved below. between the ordinary spots a median shade darkens the intervening space, thence continues as a narrow and rather faint line, nearly upright in course, to the hind margin. s. t. line pale, marked on either side by a blackish shade which is broader in the terminal space, making a feeble w on veins 3 and 4, in some specimens much less marked and almost even. claviform small, black ringed, concolorous or somewhat darker; beyond it the submedian interspace is paler to the s. t. shade. orbicular large, pale, oval, superiorly open to the costa. reniform moderate, upright, with a median brownish-red shade, inferiorily darkened also by the median shade. beyond the middle a pale shade extends to the s. t. line. the s. t. shade consists rather of a series of closely connected interspaceal lanules, of which the central are in rare cases obsolete. secondaries whitish, with a distinct discal dot, a more or less obvious exterior line and with fringes cut with beneath, primaries smoky, secondaries white; both with an exterior line and discal dot. expands 27 to 31 millimetres=1.10 to 1.25 inches. habitat: california. several specimens are in the collection of the u.s. national museum, all from california (o. meske; alameda county, january, through c. v. riley). the species is easily recognizable by the small size, combined with the very long pectinations of the antennæ and large, distinct, ordinary spots. the genitalia have the harpes bent toward tip, and tapering to an ob. tuse point; the clasper is chitinous, stout, rather long, curved somewhat more than the angulation of the harpes. the species seems not uncommon, and is one of the most generally represented in collections. vol69 1892 . xv proceedings of the national museum. xylomiges peritalis sp. nov. ground color of head, thorax, and primaries bluish gray, powdery, the maculation blackish. palpi with a faint, pink tinge. front with a blackish band across base and another at middle. collar with a black transverse band. patagia black margined at base of wings. primaries with the transverse lines marked by geminate spots on costa, but very vaguely marked below. a black longitudinal line at base to t. a. line, and opposite is the large, concolorous claviform outlined in black. a black bar from the t. a. line to the large, pale orbicular, which is oval, black margined, but not defined superiorly, narrowly contluent with the large kidney-shaped reniform. a dusky oblique shade from costa between the ordinary spots crosses the reniforin in. feriorly and darkens it; outwardly the spot is incomplete, and from it a faint ocherous stain extends to the terminal space. the veins are all more or less evidently black marked, and beneath vein 1 is a dusky shade. t. p. line evenly bisinuate, concolorous, barely traceable by the faint fuscous defining lines. s. t. line evident, marked with a few yellow scales, but defined principally by the blackish terminal space, somewhat toothed on veins 3 and 4. fringes dentate, cut with blackish, gray at base. secondaries white, faintly reproducing the maculation of under side. beneath white, primaries black powdered, most evidently near outer margin, a faint discal spot, an incomplete extra discal line, and a row of terminal dots; secondaries powdered only along costal margin, with a large black discal spot, a punctiform extra discal line, and a subcontinuous marginal line. expands 40 millimetres=1.60 inches. habitat: colorado (bruce); oregon (strecker). a single specimen in good condition from mr. neuinoegen's collection; but i have seen others, also of mr. bruce's collecting. in wing form, general habitus, and type of maculation this species is the close ally of the califoruian hiemalis. it is, however, decidedly larger, and , the pectinations of the antennæ of the male are very short, in marked contrast to the long branches on hiemalis. the occurrence of such forms, closely allied in all habital and orna. mental details, with so evident a structural character, is interesting. the sexual characters again are very much like those of hiemalis, in the form of the harpes at least; the clasper is distinctly different, as may be seen by a comparison of the figures of each. xylomiges crucialis harvey. 1875. harv. buff. bull. 11, 277, xylomiges. ground color pale bluish gray. head with vertes slightly darker. collar with a black transverse line. thorax with a black crest line, patagia with a lateral line at base of wings. the primaries have all the veins black marked, the ordinary lines obsolete. a distinct black 70 revision of xylomiges and morrisonia-smith. basal dash extending into the long claviform, which is concolorous, black ringed and reaches to the middle of the wing. from the upper edge of this basal streak, another curved black line runs to the subcostal, and then curves downward to form the margin of the elongate, large orbicular, which is open to the costa. the costal region from the base to this point is usually paler, more whitish than the rest of the wing. a distinct median line starts at costa, outwardly oblique, forming the outer margin of the orbicular and separating it from the reni form, inwardly angulated on the median vein and thence, much less defined, to the middle of the hind margin. orbicular elongate, oval, oblique, open to costa. reniform upright, dilated inferiorly, incom pletely black, then white ringed, inferiorly dusky, centrally with a more or less intense clay-yellow shade, from which a tinge extends outwardly, nearly to the apex. the t. p. line is sometimes marked by a geminate black spot on costa above reniform, and beyond this the costal region is dusky to the apex. from the inferior margin of the reniform an oblique dusky shade extends to below the apex, marked in its course by black streaks extending through the interspaces, and reaching the outer margin at a black spot in the fringe. a second triangular dusky patch is above the anal angle marked by two interspaceal dashes. secondaries white, subtransparent, with black discal dot and broken median and terminal line. beneath white, powdery, primaries with veins black marked, both wings with variably obvious discal spots and broken exterior and terminal lines. expands 35 to 38 millimeters=1.40 to 1.52 inches. habitat: vancouver; california; colorado; oregon. of this species mr. dyar sent me a large number of specimens, all more or less broken, taken at the electric lights at manitou in may. the species has not been common in collections heretofore. i have also received it from mr. bruce, taken near denver. in the fifty or more specimens before me i note no variations, and the species is an easily recognizable one. the primaries are more parallel than in the other species with pectinated antenne and the pattern of maculation is ob. viously different. the curved, black basal markings, above which the wing is paler, the elongate oblique orbicular open to the costa, and the two triangular dark patches in the s. t. space, are characteristic. the harpes of the male narrow somewhat irregularly to a roundedly acute tip. a long, curved, corneous clasper arises a little basad the middle of the harpe and does not attain its tip. at the base of this large hook is a smaller, less curved and less acute process, which barely exceeds the lateral margin of harpe. the original description of this species is incomplete and differs in detail so much from the above that had i not seen the types in mr. edwards's collection, i might have hesitated to make the identification. vol71 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvxylomiges curialis grote. 1873. grt., buff. bull., i, 143, xylomiges. bluish ash gray, head and thorax concolorous, immaculate. prima ries with a faint reddish tinge. veins black marked, irregularly interrupted by white scales. all the lines vague, indistinct. basal line broad, diffuse, hardly darker than ground color, fairly distinct on costa only. t. a. line upright, geminate on costa only, irregularly dentate on the veins, a longer outward tooth in the submedian interspace, representing the claviform. an indistinct brown shade lino accompanies the darker defining line and becomes somewhat diffuse in the submedian interspace. t. p. line vague, indistinct, marked by more promi. nent venular points, and defined mostly by a dusky median shade which starts from the costa between the ordinary spots, darkens the outer half of the median space and obscures the reniform. the s. t. line consists of an oblique series of rusty, dark brown interspaceal dots, of which the lower and larger are emphasized by a few black scales. a series of black interspaceal terminal dots. fringes dusky. orbicular almost round, slightly irregular, not defined, somewhat paler than ground color. reniform rather large, upright, constricted medially, centrally darkened by the median shade, rather incompletely defined by a dull, rusty brown annulus or ring. secondaries white, subhyaline, with a small discal spot and a broken terminal line, black. beneath wings white, primaries with a somewhat smoky disc, a small black discal spot and a line of terminal dots on both wings black; secondaries with an extramedian, punctiform transverse line. expands 38 to 40 millimetres=1.52 to 1.60 inches. habitat: california, alameda county, in march. this species is readily recognized by the more than usually robust body, the narrow primaries, of which the hind angle is somewhat retreating, and the more xyliniform habitus. the thoracic tufts are small, the thorax itself plump and convex, the abdomen short and conic. the sexual characters are distinctive and unlike any other of the species. the harpes are broad, subequal to the tip where the lower angle is obtusely rounded, the upper produced into a long, trigonate point. a long curved corneous clasper closely follows the margin of the barpe, and is supplemented by a short, stout, obtuse process at base. xylomiges dolosa grote. 1880. grt., can. ent. xii, 88, xylomiges. ground color dull blackish, powdery, over a white ground, sometimes with a faint olivaceous tint. collar quite obviously gray shaded; tho. rax less distinctly so. abdomen blackish, powdered. the primaries are quite evenly colored, a paler shade visible in basal space and be. yond t. p. line, while a more obvious and often prominent whitish shade extends below the orbicular to the bind margin. the ordinary lines 72 revision of xylomiges and morrisonia-smith. are geminate, black, not well marked. basal line geminate, fairly distinct, a black, feebly marked basal dash. t. a. line upright, slightly lunulate. t. p. line evenly bisinuate, followed by a series of white, then of black, venular dots. a more or less evideut median shade line. s. t. line whitish, nearly eren, preceded by a series of lunate black marks. veins black marked tbrough terminal space. a fine black terminal line. fringes finely cut with white. claviform whitish, discolorous, triangular, acute. orbicular white marked, round or ovate, upright. reniform large, upright, more grayish, usually darker than orbicular. secondaries dirty white, outwardly black powdered, form. ing a variably distinct submarginal band and blackish terminal line. discal spot of under side faintly visible. beneath white, powdery, both wings with a more or less obvious dark outer line and discal spot. expands 37 millimetres=1.48 to 1.50 inches. habitat: orono, me.; plattsburg, n. y.; franconia, n. h.; colorado (bruce). this is a distinctly marked and easily recognizable form, differing by its dull, lusterless black appearance from all the other species. it was originally described by mr. grote from prof. fernald's collection, and with this i identified specimens sent me by mr. bruce from colo. rado. in the u.s. national museum is a specimen sent by mr. hudson, from plattsburg, n. y., and mrs. slosson has sent me the species from franconia, n. h., for determination. the distribution is therefore wide; but confined to high latitudes and mountainous regions. there is no apparent difference between the colorado and new hampshire specimens now before me. the sexual characters are somewhat like those of curialis in type. the harpes are narrowed beyond the middle, some what dilated again at tip which is inwardly fringed with spinules, and the superior angle of which is furnished with a thick, blunt, corneous spur. there are three corneous clasper processes. the first, at lower margin near base, short, broad, beak-like. the second at middle of upper margin, with a broad corneous base and a moderately slender, nearly straight process. the third arises from the middle of the harpe, nearer the tip, and is a long, curved hook extending nearly to the process at the upper angle of tip. the species seems by no means common, even where it occurs. i believe the specimens were all taken at light and, if i'mistake not, quite early in the season. xylomiges perlubens grt. 1881. grt. car. ent., xiii, 132, xylomiges. “7 allied to rubrica. fore wings variegated with reddish and gray. lines double, brownish, marked on costa by blackish dots. orbicular pale, with brown center and blackish annulus, upright; reni. form with an inferior stain, a curved reddish inver streak, indistinct outwardly. veins blackish. t. p. line followed by white venular vol73 1892proceedings of the national museum. . . ] '. xvpoints. s. t. line preceded by a deep reddish shade marked opposite the cell and again below vein 3. terminal space blackish, with a gray apical patch. external margin dentate; fringes cut with pale. hind wings and fringes pure white; a broken terminal line ; beneath with a dotted extra-mesial line and discal spot. primaries beneath with the terminal space whitish ; subterminal space stained with brownish; a discal mark very near the dotted extra-mesial line which hardly reaches the margin. eyes hairy ; tibiæ unarmed; antenna brush-like; 1 abdomen tufted at base. wings elongate. thorax and head reddish brown; collar edged with gray; abdomen pale reddish fuscous. expanse 39 millimetres. washington territory. collected by h. k. morrison." i have not satisfactorily identified this species, which may be one of the forms related to rubrica in the same way in which subapicalis is related to it. it can not be the latter species from the description. (an examination of the type in the british museum proves that it nevertheless is my subapicalis.] xylomiges rubrica harvey. a 1878. harv., can. ent., x, 58, graphiphora. 1882. grt., new check list, 31, xylomiges. 1887. smith, proc. u. s. nat. mus., x, 462, mamestra. ground color a rather pale reddish gray, powdery. head and thorax concolorous, collar very narrowly dark tipped, lateral margin of patagiæ narrowly black edged. primaries with the median and basal lines marked by geminate black spots on costa; but only feebly traceable for the remainder of their course. sometimes they are entirely obsolete, more rarely distinct and easily visible. t. a. line evenly outcurved, somewhat lunate between the veins. t. p. line rather even, defining lines only slightly irregular. in course it is outcurved over reniform and quite evenly oblique below. a vague median shade, marked at costa and hind margin, and sometimes darkening the cell between the ordinary spots. s. t. line distinct, wbitish, sharply de. fined, preceded by a variably broad, but always distinct, black shade. a prominent black streak at base, not reaching the t. a. line. terminal space blackish, except at apex, which is pale, creamy gray, variably prominent according as the specimen is light or dark; the veins crossing the darker portion white marked. claviform small, concolorous, more or less outlined in black. orbicular oblique, oblong, more gray than ground color, well or even prominently outlined in black. reniform moderate, upright, centrally constricted on the outer margin, narrowly outlined in white, which is basally preceded by black. in color it is reddish, darkened inferiorly, the red shade extending outward to the s. t. line, sometimes defined inferiorly by a blackish shade between veins 3 and 4. a lunulate, black terminal line, followed by a pale line at base of fringes. the latter are dark, cut with creamy gray. secon74 revision of xylomiges and morrisonia-smith. daries white, powdered with black, and with a narrow, dusky, terminal line. beneath white, more or less black powdered, both wings with a more or less distinct broken outer line and discal spot. expands 35–37 millimetres=1.40 to 1.50 inches. habitat: sierra nevada, nevada county, rafael county in may, california. a somewhat variable, but very distinct species. it is sometimes almost uniform in color, the black basal dash and distinct, pale s. t. line being the only prominent features. from this it varies to a form in wbich the ground color is paler, more gray, the ordinary spots sharply defined, the space between veins 3 and 4 black filled, margining the reddish shaile beyond reniform, which in turn extends to the creamy gray apical patch. the harpes of the male narrow abruptly to a long, curved tip. there are two claspers, one long and curved, extending parallel with the narrowed tip of the barpes, the other at the base of the first, small and stout, only slightly curved. the nevada county specimens are in the u. s. national museum (through c. v. riley) and have a red number 335. the paler specimens have the taniocampa habitus most strongly marked. xylomiges subapicalis smith, 1887. smith, proc. u. s. nat. mus., x, 462, mamestra. ground color rather dark ash gray, powdery. head and collar con. colorous. collar witli a narrow white line, surmounted by a fringe of black scales at tip. primaries sometimes with a reddish tinge in the basal space and beyond the reniform. ordinary lines distinct, not prominent, gemivate. t. a. line outwardly oblique, outcurved between the veins. t. p. line rather evenly bisinuate, the inner defining line luuulate, the outer even. basal line geminate, easily traceable, not prominent. a somewhat indistinct, even, median shade line. s. t. line pale, yellowish, prominent, somewhat sinuous, preceded by a rich, deep brown shade, emphasized with black above vein 4 and below vein 3. clavi. form wide, concolorous, incompletely outlined in black. orbicular upright, oval, white, narrowly black-ringed, and with dusky central powderings. reniform kidney-shapel, upright, large, inwardly blackringeal, inferiorly dusky, else with a pale, often reddish, shade which extends outwardly to the s. t. line. this paler shade is inferiorly margined by a black filling between veins 3 and 4. apical space more gray, terminal space else somewhat darker. a series of terminal lunules, fol. lowed by a pale line at base of fringes; the latter cut with yellowishi. secondaries white, somewhat black powdered, with a punctiform exte. rior and lunate terminal dark line. discal spot more or less obvious. beneath white, black powdered. all wings withi a distinct discal spot, a punctiform outer line and a series of terminal lunules. expands 36 to 41 millimetres=1.45 to 1.65 inches. 1892. ] proceedings of the national museum. 75 . habitat: sierra nevada, nevada county, lake county, placer county, in june, all in california; washington. this insect i described originally as a variety of rubrica and referred it to mamestra. it has a distinct habital resemblance to some species of that genus; but the balance of characters is in favor of xylomiges. the material now before me shows that we have a very distinct species, with constant characters, but with exactly the same general pattern of maculation. the ground color is always ash-gray and there is no gradation to the reddish tint of rubrica. the orbicular is broadly oval and upright in the present species, distinctively different from the elongate, oblique, oblong form in rubrica. the outer margin is also rather more dentate. the sexual characters are very similar to those of rubrica, the harpes in subapicalis terminating in a similar form, not so lengthily produced however at tip. the claspers are much alike and the differences are best shown by a comparison of the figures. several specimens are in the collection of the u.s. national museum (through c. v. riley), some of them with the red number 336. the principal variation is in the depth of the ground color and the consequent relative prominence of the darker maculation. (this is perlubens grote.) xylomiges ochracea riley sp. nov. ground color dull luteous, more or less white-powdered and variably dusted with ocherous. head varying from white to the darkest shade in the insect. the thorax varies in the same way. collar tipped with luteous, fuscous, or even blackish, patagiæ dark margined. pri. maries with veins white marked, the contrast greatest in the darkest specimens; costa also white in most specimens. basal line geminate, black, included space white, the black lines rarely complete, sometimes rednced to a few scales; but always traceable. t. a. line geminate, black, included space white, outwardly oblique in three even outcurves; the black defining lines are narrow and often interrupted, the interior line sometimes scarcely traceable. t. p. line geminate, included space white; preceding line a series of blackish lunules, outer line a series of black scales merely. in course it is quite widely outcurved and then inwardly oblique, only a little curved, to the inner margin. the line is unusually near the outer margin, and through the yellow space beyond it is an ocherous shade line, in which is sometimes a series of black lunules defining the s. t. line; more usually, perhaps, these lunules are wanting, and the yellow shade alone marks the line. a series of black terminal lunules, beyond which the fringes are cut with a dusky shade. claviform present, quite variable in size, usually paler than the ground color, but sometimes concolorous, margined by a pale line which is sometimes defined by an edging of black scales. orbicular large, round, or oval; reniform upright, constricted centrally. the 76 revision of xylomiges and morrisonia-smith. > spots are sometimes white, sometimes concolorous with a white annujus, sometimes yellow powdered, and more rarely with a blackish powdering. usually there is a dusky, rarely black, patch preceding the t. a. line on inner margin; but in some specimens this is entirely wanting. secondaries smoky with a dark discal lunule, a dusky fol. lowed by a pale median line, and a series of dusky preceded by paler terminal lunules. fringes long, white, with a smoky basal shade. beneath, primaries dusky to an extra median line, thence pale, whit. ish. secondaries white with an irregular outer dusky line. all wings with a distinct, rather small, black or smoky discal spot. expands 27 to 35 millimetres=1.08 to 1.40 inches. habitat: alameda county, california, october and november. a large series of specimens is in the u. s. national museum (through c. v. riley), many of them bred and in excellent condition. the species is unique in maculation and habitus, and is allied in wing form to patalis, in which the strongly retracted head, short thorax, and long abdomen also find the gieatest resemblance. within a limited range the species is quite variable and is yet so characteristic that it can scarcely be mistaken. the sexual characters differ from all the other species and are nearest to the patalis typo. the harpes are abruptly narrowed and bent toward the tip, which is somewhat dilated and has the margin inwardly fringed with spinules. the clasper is a single, moderately long, curved, acute look, arising from near the middle of the harpe. dr. riley has kindly allowed me to publish bis species here, to make the revision more nearly complete. xylomiges patalis grote. 1 1873. grt., buff, bull., 1. 144 pl. 4 fig. 11, tylomiges. fletcheri grote. 1888. grt., can. ent. xx, 130, xylomiges. head, thorax, and primaries pale, whitish or creamy gray, the median space of primaries more dusky, sometimes fuscous gray, more rarely with a yellowish tinge. collar with a variably distinct fuscous line near tip. patagiæ black at the base of the wings. primaries with a fine black basal streak, sometimes faint or entirely wanting. basal line marked by a dusky or blackish spot in the median space. t. a. line rather remote from base, outwardly very oblique and somewhat ontcurved, reaching the inner margin close to the middle. it is dusky, single except on costa, and quite usually marked only by the contrast between the basal and median spaces. t. p. line geminate on costa, pale between the dusky median space and a dusky costal patch in 8. t. space; below that single, marked by a series of costal dots or, quite usually, only by the dusky median, contrasting to the paler s. t. space. in course it is outcurved over reniform, then oblique and somewhat incurved to the hind margin very near the t. a. line. the median space 1892. ] 77 proceedings of the national museum. is thus very narrow at that point and, broadening to the costa, roughly v shaped. s. t. line punctiform, consisting of a series of interspaceal black spots. these spots are variably distinct, sometimes punctiform, and occasionally obsolete. in the latter case the terminal space is dusky. the spot opposite anal angle is often more or less yellow sbaded. a series of small terminal lunules. claviform small, black-ringed, concolorous with the median space, not prominent. orbicular large, pale, oval, oblique, incompletely black-ringed, often fused inferiorly with the large, pale, upright, kidney-shaped reniform, which is very narrowly black ringed. secondaries pale fuscous, whitish toward base. a vague discal spot and a more evident broken terminal line. beneath, primaries smoky, white powdered toward outer margin, with a faint exterior line and a series of terminal lunules. secondaries white, pow. dery, with large diseal spot, an even exterior, and a narrow marginal dusky line. expands 30 millimetres=1.20 inches. babitat: vancouver; california, los angeles county, april, june, november; alameda county, may, june, november. rather a common species, of which a large series is in the u.s. na. tional museum (collection of j. b. s. and through c. v. riley), many of them numbered 248 in red ink. the species varies but little. the ordinary spots are usually fused, and the median space is usually dusky. rarely the maculation will be almost entirely obsolete, and from this point all intergrades to the normal type are found. a typical specimen of x. fletcheri grt., is in the museum, received from mr. fletcher. it does not differ in the least from the normal patalis. in sexual characters the species is unique. the harpes are centrally narrowed, then the tip gradually enlarged, somewhat lappet-like and inwardly fringed with spivules. the clasper arises near base, is single, stout, slightly curved, moderate in length and obtusely terminated. sylomiges tabulata grt. 1878. grt., bull. u. s. geol. surv. iv, 181, xylomiges. “ 9 eyes hairy. head and thorax in front whitish.gray; collar with a black line; a black line between the antennæ; front fuscous. forewings gray, sbaded with blackish. ornamentation very like lithophane tepida, for which this species may be mistaken, but the yellowish white abdomen is rounded, not flattened. the transverse lines are double ; basal half-line dentate, consisting of a black inner line and pale outer shade. basal space gray; subbasal space wide, blackish. t. a. line with the outer component line most distinct, pale-centered, upright, waved, dentate on submedian vein, running close to orbicular. the claviform spot large, narrowly and incompletely margined with black, with the orbicular whitish gray; orbicular not closed on median vein, 78 revision of xylomiges and morrisonia-smith. rounded, upright, ringed with black. a square blackish mark connects the claviform with the t. a. line. reniform moderate, stained with red. dish or ocherous, annulate with white and with an outer incomplete black ring. t. p. line denticulate opposite cell, with a wider submedian inward lunulation, pale gray, with faint inner black line, followed by a narrow blackish shade, widening on costa in subterminal space. sub. terminal space whitish gray, with a squarish black dash on submedian fold before the line, which is near the margin, angulate, cut with black fine streaklets. the narrow terminal space is blackish, with a black interrupted terminal line; fringes blackish gray. outer margin retreating to internal angle below vein 2. secondaries whitish, with black discal dot, powdered with blackish or fuscous externally, and narrow, mesial, waved line, accentuated on veins. a distinct black terminal line; fringes white. beneath, whitish; forewings somewhat fuscous; discal dots and faint, common, accentuated extradiscal line. expansion, 36 millimetres; centre, n. y., june (w. w. hill, esq.)." i have seen the type of this species in mr. hill's collection, and it seemed to me a mamestra, allied to m. gnata. it will, however, require a male to settle the matter positively and i leave the species in its present position awaiting further light. morrisonia grt. 1874. grt., buff. bull., ii, 53. eyes hairy; front smooth, with short stiff vestiture forming more or less obvious superimposed frontal tufts; tongue long and strong; palpi moderate, reaching the front and sometimes to its middle; antennæ of male pectinated, serrate and bristled, or simply ciliated. the thorax is rather short, quadrate, the vestiture consisting of flattened hair and scales; the patagiæ are well defined; a central divided crest is usually prominent anteriorly, less defined posteriorly. abdomen with dorsal tufts, distinct in all save bisulca, and obvious even here. legs unarmed, normally constructed. primaries elongate, narrow with oblique outer margin and somewhat retreating hind angle, scarcely marked in bisulca but distinct in all the others. secondaries proportionate. the genitalia of the male in the majority of the species are after one type. the harpes are long, with an enlarged, trigonate tip, furnished with spinules inwardly, clasper simple, formed of one or two curved claw or hook-like processes. the differences between the species will be best explained by the figures. the species have a xyliniform babitus, and come, structurally, near to xylomiges, from which they differ in the divided thoracic crest, more evident dorsal abdominal tuftings and longer abdomen. the strigate confused maculation is characteristic of the species thus far known. as i regard this genus at present, it contains the species described vol79 1892proceedings of the national museum. 2. . . ] . xv::in it by messrs. grote and morrison, the species recently described by myself, and mamestra mucens, bisulca, and confusa. three distinct series are recognizable, based on the antennal structure of the male. the first, with pectinated antennæ, contains mucens, rileyi and bisulca. in all of them veins 3 and 4 are both pale marked to the margiu, least distinct in bisulca. mucens has the median lines all strongly dentate, the t. p. line becom. ing white and distinct through the submedian interspace, where it is usually preceded by a black or blackish spot. it varies from an even dull fuscous brown, very like confusa, to a much paler, dirty luteous ground color, rarely washed with fuscous brown, the s. t. space obvi. ously washed with bluish white, extending both to the apex and the anal angle. the black shade before the t. p. line in submedian space becomes much more contrasting in paler specimens. rileyi is a smaller species than the preceding, with the maculation much more confused and indefinite. there is a longitudinal black shade through the center of the wing, which obscures all the normal lives. in bisulca the median lines are marked only on the costa, the reni. form is somewhat contrastingly white marked, the claviform prominent. the pale rays are obvious on veins 3 and 4; but hardly as well marked as in the other species. the outer margin is more oblique, the hiud angle less retreating. the second series, with serrated and bristled antennæ contains vomer. ina with its variety evicta and (probably) infidelis, wbich are also distinguished by having vein 3 only pale marked. in vomerina and evicta, which mr. grote correctly refers as varieties of the same species, the ordinary spots are large and fused, discolorous. vomerina has the costal region gray, contrasting strongly with the blackish shade obtaining below the median vein. evicta has exactly the same maculation, but it is a more even bluish gray with a more or less obvious reddish brown and even ferruginous suffusion, the terminal space darker fuscous. infidelis is compared by mr. grote to vomerina, but the ordinary spots are not fused, and, inferentially, there is no such contrast between costal and submedian region, though it is said that a rich red brown shade extends outwardly, sutfusing the wing. the two remaining species have the antennæ of the male simple, merely ciliated, and veins 3 and 4 are both pale marked. peracuta is a rusty reddish gray form with whitish gray streaking, indenting veins 7 and 8, as well as 3 and 4. the ordinary spots are small, fused, flask-shaped, incompletely white ringed and with a rusty reddish shade through the center. confusa is dull fuscous brown, all the markings obscure. the ordi. pary spots are large, often confluent, sometimes scarcely traceable. the t. p. line is more or less white marked, and usually obvious through the submedian interspace. 80 revision of xylomiges and morrisonia-smith. mucens altogether the species are closely allied in some cases, yet not usually difficult of recognition. it is rather strange that mr. grote should never have recognized the strong bond between confusa, mucens, and his species of morrisonia. the genus is intermediate in character betweeu xylomiges and mamestra, bisulca being most aberrant here and more like mamestra in habitus. in sexual characters there is a general tendency toward mamestra, most marked in bisulca and peracuta. in tabular form the species separate as follows: antennæ in the male bipectinated, veins 3 and 4, pale marked to margin. dark fuscous brown to luteofuscous with lilac gray shading in s. t. space, reaching apex and anal angle. smaller, basal space to t. a. line inferiorly black, the black shade extending through center of wing dark fuscous, claviform well marked, reniform wbite marked, blotchy... bisulca antennæ in the male serrated and bristled, a pale mark to the margin on vein 3 only. ordinary spots fused, discolorous. upper half of wing strongly contrasting with inferior half; the former reddish gray, the latter blackish brown..... the contrast not evident, inferior portion of wing but little darker thau costal region... ordinary spots not fused, finely ringed, separate, brown centered....... infidelis. antenna of male simple, ciliate merely; veins 3 and 4, both pale to margin. primaries pale rusty brown with whitish streaks, secondaries dull fuscous, ordinary spots small, flask-shaped, fused, indistinctly white ringed...peracuta primaries dull fuscous brown, all the maculation vague; secondaries whitish with soiled outer margin; ordinary spots often fused, large, not flask-shaped, dark ringed.... rileyi vomerina ..evicta confusa morrisonia mucens hbn. 1816. hbn., verzeichniss, 243, septis. 1823. hbn., zutr. iii, 25 f., 415, 416, septis. 1832. gn., spec., gen., noct., i, 142, xylophasia. 1856. wlk., c. b. m., lep. het., ix, 177, xylophasia. 1861. h. sch., corr.-blatt, ii, 74, xylomiges. 1873. grt., buff. bull., 1, 110, hadena. 1874. grt., buff. bull., 11, 28, xylomiges. 1879. grt., can. ent., xi, 206, mamestra. 1880. grt., can. ent., xii, 117, mamestra. ground color varying from dull luteo-fuscous to a dark fuscous brown, a all the lines confused and very strongly dentate. collar with a black central line, the patagiæ with submarginal black lines. basal line geminate, black, interrupted, marked on costa. t. a. line geminate, fragmentary. t. p. line denticulate, widely curved over reniform, more or less evidently wbite marked, most obviously so in the submedian interspace. it is followed by a series of more or less evident, sometimes obsolete, interspaceal blackish dashes, which occasionally become fused into dusky shades above and below the pale cut veins 3 and 4. beyond the t. p. line a more or less obvious pale gray shade extends to the apex and to the anal angle, less marked or entirely wanting in the dark 1892 ] 81 proceedings of the national museum specimens. fringes dark, pale cut on the veins. a black longitudinal basal live and one along inner margin. claviform large, concolorous, faintly outlined; beyond it a blackish patch to the t. p. line, which in pale specimens is often the most prominent feature of the wing. orbicular large, oblong or oval, oblique, concolorous, variably outlined, closely approaching, but not in any specimen seen by me confluent with the large reniforın. this latter is also concolorous, kidney-shaped, more or less completely outlined. there is usually an obvious dusky shade between these spots. secondaries whitish to fuscous, with soiled or brownish outer margins, a darker line at base of fringes. beneath, whitish, powdery, with a blackislı outer line and distinct discal spot on all wings. expands 32 to 35 millimeters; 1.28 to 1.40 inches. habitat: middle, southern, and ceutral states ; texas (belfrage), march 10 to april 2; central missouri march 25, april 9 and 19. this insect varies quite strongly in ground color, dark specimens, lacking the pale extra linear shade, being sometimes mixed with confusa. the black patch beyond the claviform is quite characteristic and is obvious in all the specimens i have seen. in the male, of course, no mixture is possible if the autennæ are referred to. in the female, the fused ordinary spots will generally separate confusa. ten specimens (texas and central missouri, collection of c. v. r. and j. b. s.), are in the national museum collection, and from the dates given it is an “early bird.” the male characters are much as in confusa, but the tip of harpes is more rounded, the upper angle pointed, inferior obtuse, the margin set with spinules its full length. the clasper is double, consisting of a moderately long, curved hook, with an obtusely pointed tip, aud a very short, weak curved spur at the base of the longer process. the species seems not rare in texas, and the paler form is there most common. morrisonia rileyana smith. 1890. snith, ent. amer. vi, 212, vorrisonia. head, thorax, and primaries, in ground color, grayish white, with a ferruginous tiuge. palpi with a strong adınixture of brown scales in their clothing. a rusty red brown line crosses the front below the an. tennæ. collar tipped with powdery black. patagiæ black, powdery. thoracic tufts tipped with rusty. primaries with a broad, black, longi. tudinal shade, running beneath the median vein to t. p. line, then broadening to outer margin, which it reaches below the apex. along the inner margin an irregular, narrow, whitish border only is left. a ferruginous spot is in this black shade in the terminal space. above this black shade the cell is filled with a rusty wash, in which the reniform is very faintly outlined by a varrow ring of ground color. t. a. line geminate, vague, diffuse; traceable in costal region only. t. p. proc. n. m. 92—6 82 revision of xylomiges and morrisonia-smith. line geminate at inception, very oblique outwardly through costal region, becoming punctiform below and traceable through the black shade by pale venular dots. secondaries white basally, with a broad powdery black margin outwardly; a vague discal lunule, an outer line of venular dots and a black, interrupted terininal line. beneath white, with ferruginous, and a sparse black powdering; a common punctiform outer line, and a black discal spot, most distinct on secondaries. expands 31 millimetres ; 1.25 inches. habitat: florida ; texas, march 27, central missouri, april 21. two specimens are in the museum collection (c. v. r.), another from florida, is with mrs. slosson. the species is the smallest of those referred here, and has a casual resemblance to homohadena. in genital structure this species is like mucens, in the form of the harpes as well as of the claspers. morrisonia bisulca grt. > 1881. grt., can. ent. xiii, 230, mamestra. ground color fuscous brown. collar tipped by hoary scales. pri. maries with whitish gray powderings along the costal and inner margips, most distinct in each case between the median lines, which are here visible. the veins are black lined, less obviously so on the costal series. median lines obvious only on the costa and inner margiu as gem. inate marks. the t. a. line is traceable for part of its course, indicating that it is strongly angulated. t. p. line but vaguely indicated near inner margin, outwardly produced on the veins. s. t. line consisting of a series of black spots in the interspaces, those between 2 and 3, 4 and 5, and 5 and 6, sending a shade inwardly across the s. t. space. a series of whitish dots at base of fringes, sending out a pale ray across the otherwise dark fringes. veins 4 and 5, and less markedly 6 and 7, are accompanied by pale shades, extending through the terminal space. a prominent black basal dash through submedian interspace, having the claviform attached, and usually extending beyond it to the t. p. line. orbicular elongate, narrowed, concolorous, outlined in black, the black lines uniting beyond the spot, forming a shade and again separating in forming the inner margin of the small upright reniform. this latter is outwardly indefinite, and is marked with white spots, distinct in all specimens i bave seen. secondaries pale whitish fuscous, with pale tipped fringes. expands 34 to 36 millimetres=1.36 to 1.48 inches. habitat: arizona. a specimen of this species is among the unnamed material in the collection u.s. national museum. the sexual characters are unique for the genus. the harpes are very slightly curved, and taper quite regularly to a somewhat obtuse tip, which is not spined or armed in any way. the clasper is a single, long, curved, corneous hook, with its broad and flattened base quite close to the base of the harpe. vol83 1892. xv :] proceedings of the national museum. . the species is distinct from all the others by its comparatively broader, more trigonate primaries, the distinct, prominent basal streak, the small ordinary spots, the blotchy white reniform and by the series of subtermical black spots in the interspaces. morrisonia evicta grt. 1873. grt., buff. bull. 1, 81, pl. 2, f. 18, cloantha, 1874. grt., buff. bull. ii, 16, actinotia. 1874. grt., butt. bull. 11, 53, morrisonia. var, romerina grt. 1873. grt., buff. bull. 1, 81, pl. 2, f. 17, clountha. 1874. grt., buft. bull, ii, 16, aclinotia. 1874. grt., buff. bull. ii, 53, morrisonia. 1879. grt., can. ent. xi, 207, an var. pr. ? 1890. grt., revised check list, 24 pr. var. ground color a powdery bluish gray with an adınixture of brown. head with a brown frontal line. collar inferiorly pale, margined by a black transverse line. thorax rich reddish brown, patagize with submarginal primaries strigate, the median lines lost. a white spot at base of the wing. a longitudinal black basal line, surmounted with a yellowish shade, to which is attached the indefinite claviform, which is traceable as a rule to the location of the t. p. line. this line is usually indicated by venular dots and sometimes as a white line over the interval vein. a distinct brown terminal shade, starting at apex and regu larly widening to the anal angle, the inner margin rigidly oblique. this brown shade is cut on vein 3 by a white tooth which accompanies it. a series of black terminal lunules. ordinary spots large, fused, discolorous, more or less contrasting ocherous or even rusty brown, the lower defining line black. secondaries smoky fuscous, with a discal spot. beneath pale, powdery with reddish, with an outer line and discal spot on all wings. the evicta form is as above described; in the variety vomerina the costal region is usually of the ground color or even paler, while all below this is blackish or deep dark brown, lightening a little along the inner margin. expands 33 to 35 millimetres=1.32 to 1.40 inches. habitat: new york, new jersey to illinois; middle and central states. illinois, april and october; central new york, may 8 to 17. both forms are equally common in the same localities on the same dates. there has not been, in any specimen i have seen, any doubt as to which of the two forins it should be referred, but the difference in color below the costal region is absolutely all that offers, and i adopt mr. grote's suggestion as to their identity, the more readily as the sexual characters in the male are absolutely alike. the difference between the forms is parallel to that in mucens, where they are not distinguished by name. nine specimens of the two forms are in the national museum collections (collections of c. v. r., j. b. s., and o. meske). 84 revision of xylomiges and morrisonia-smith. the genital characters of the male are much as in mucens ; but the clasper is very decidedly longer, and the little supplemental hook at base is different in shape. this is the same as xylophasia sectilis gn. morrisonia infidelis grt. 1879. grt., can. ent. xi, 206, morrisonia. " } this name is based on a single male from michigan, which is in good condition. eyes hairy. color of vomerina but more reddish brown. collar pale and a pale spot at base of primaries; a black line edging the collar behind, thorax rich reddish brown. costa paler at base, below median vein a rich red brown stain extends outwardly, suffusing the wing. reniform l-shaped, the lower part open, brown filled, pointing to base of wing. this is surmounted by the upright part of the spot, which is small. orbicular small, oblique, lying over and touching the extension of the reniform. tbe usual pale shade bordering vein 3; terminally the wing is a little darker. hind wings pale fuscous with interlined white tipped fringes; beneath reddish gray, with common line marked by black scales on the veins. e.rpanse, 36 millimetres. differs by the stigmata not being fused and pale, but finely ringed, separate and brown centered." this species i have not seen. it is in none of the collections accessi. ble to me, and from the description is somewhat allied to peracuta. morrisonia peracuta morr. 1874. morr. buff. bull. 11, 114, morrisonia. ground color reddish gray, with paler and darker shadings. collar with a distinct black transverse line, above which is an equally distinct white line. patagiæ with a darker, submarginal line. primaries with a narrow longitudinal black line at base, continued to the vague suggestion of a claviform. a blackish line aloug inner margin, nearly to middle. t. p. line single, brown, very strongly dentate or rather jagged. beyond this the wing is darker except at apex and inner margin, cat by prominent gray streaks on veins 3 and 4, and 7 and 8. a brown shade through the cell, margined by a narrow superior black line, surmounted in turn by a whitish line which forms part of the defining marks of the small, confluent, flask shaped ordinary spots, which are incompletely outlined and with difficulty traceable. secondaries dark, even smoky brown. beneath dusky, primaries, dark on the disk, with a dusky margin. expands 38 millimetres=1,52 inches. habitat: “probably texas, perhaps california.” there are two female specimens in the national museum (collection of c. v. r.), evidently of the specimens before mr. morrison when de. scribing, and marked "type" by him. one of these has no locality label at all; the other is marked “california." 1892. ] proceedings of the national museum. 85 the male specimen from which the sexual characters were drawn came from the tepper collection, and i have no note as to its locality. the harpes in this species are suddenly constricted beyond the clasper, and a long tip, set obliquely, expands into a broad lappet, the inper surface set with spinules. the clasper is a straight, cylindrical, corneous process, with an abruptly pointed tip. morrisonia confusa hbn. > 1816, hbn., verzeichniss 243, auchmis. 1823. hbp., zutr., iii, ff, 495, 496, auchmis. 1852. gn., sp. gen., noct., 1, 142, xylophasia. 1856. wlk., c, b. mus., lep. het., ix, 178, xylophasia. 1873. grt., buff. bull., i, 110, hadena. 1874. grt., buff. bull., ii, 12, mamestra. 1880. grt., can. ent., xii, 118, mamestra. fuscous brown with black powderings, very obscurely marked. head with a dark frontal line, else somewhat paler. collar usually pale inferiorly, crossed by a black transverse line, above which it is of the grouud color. patagiæ submargined with black. primaries with the basal and mediau lines geminate, only partly defined, strongly dentate, the t. p. line sometimes white marked near internal margin. t. p. line well removed outwardly, consisting usually of a black, fol. lowed by a white line, both narrow and jagged, the white line often wanting or distinct only inferiorly, lightening the anal angle, and sending off spurs along veins 3 and 4. in the space beyond, there are two dusky shades, sometimes broken into spots or dashes. a series of black terminal dots. fringes cut with pale, in perfect specimens some. what scalloped. a black basal streak, to which is joined the rather small, black-ringed claviform, from which another line often extends to the t. p. line. a blackish streak along hind margin. a vague median shade, outwardly angulate over the reniform, reaching inner margin close to the t. p. line. ordinary spots large, confluent, concol. orous; orbicular sometimes paler, and reniform darker; pale ringed with a variably distinct and complete black margin. secondaries whitish basally, darker outwardly, with a series of marginal lunules. beneath pale, with reddish powderings and with a common outer line, discal spot distinct on all wings. expands 33 to 38 millimetres=1.32 to 1.52 inches. habitat: atlantic states; new york to georgia, to texas, to colorado, and california. kirkwood, mo., april 4 and 20; new bruns. wick, n. j., april 28. this obscurely marked species has a decided xyliniform habitus, es. pecially when a little rubbed. the females are somewhat narrower winged than the males, and in the material before me seem somewhat better marked. sometimes the entire wing will be of an obscure fus. cous brown, powdered with black, in which the maculation can be made out only with great difficulty. 86 revision of xylomiges and morrisonia-smith. a a good series is in the museum collection ; among them a bred specimen (collection of c. v. r.) marked 302 l., april 5. the harpes of the male hare the tip much broadened, its upper an. gie truncate, the lower produced into a short spur. the margin is spinulose only on the superior half. the clasper is a single, rather short, strongly curved, pointed hook. explanation of plate. 1. harpe ana clasper of xylomiges biemalis. 2. harpe and clasper of xylomiges peritalis. 3. harpe anı clasper of xylomiges crucialis. 4. harpe and clasper of xylomiges curialis. 5. harpe and clasper of xylomiges dolosa. 6. harpe and clasper of xylomiges rubrica. 7. harpo and clasper of xylomiges subapicalis. 8. harpe and clasper of xylomiges ochracea. 9. harpe and clasper of xylomiges patalis. 10. harpe and clasper of morrisonia mucens. 11. harpe and clasper of morrisonia rileyi. 12. harpe and clasper of morrisonia bisulca. 13. harpe and clasper ot morrisonia evicta. 14. harpe and clasper of morrisonia peracuta. 15. harpe and clasper of morrisonia confusa. u, s. national museum pl. iii proceedings, vol. xv f 15 13 7 724 14 ww q 10 4 3 5 2. bs genitalia of xylomiges and morrisonia. notes on avian entozoa. by edwin linton, ph. d. (with plates iv-viii.) the greater part of the material which is described in this paper was collected by the author in the summer of 1890 in the yellowstone national park, wyoming. a scientific expedition was sent ont in july and august of that year by the hon. marshall mcdonald, u. s. commissioner of fish and fisheries, for the purpose of making a natural-history survey of the lakes and streams of the national park. the author was instructed by the commissioner to investigate specially the question of the excessive parasitism in the trout of yellowstone lake, and to ascertain if possible the source of infection. the results of the study of that problem have been published in the bulletin of the u. s. fish commission, vol. ix, pp. 337–358, pls. cxvii-cxix, “a contribution to the life history of dibothrium cordiceps, a parasite infesting the trout of yellowstone lake.” in the search for the final host of the trout parasite several entozoa were found incidentally which were preserved for study. the following birds were examined, with the results appended : 1. ardea herodias, &, one bird examined. the stomach contained insect larvæ (hydrophyllus, gomphus and chironomus), with a little vegetable material. no parasites. 2. clangula albeola, f, one bird examined. the undigested food consisted mainly of ephemerid larvæ. no parasites. 3. larus californicus, th ree birds examined. the stomachs contained a few ribs and vertebræ of small fish. tbe entozoa were: dibothrium cordiceps, three immature specimens, d. exile sp. nov., one specimen; tænia porosa, one specimen, t. filum, several specimens; distomum (!) verrucosum sp. nov., two specimens. 4. fuligula vallisneria, 9, one bird examined. the entozoa consisted of numerous specimens of tania compressa sp. nov. 5. oedemia americana, four birds examined, one large and three smaller specimens; the entozoa found in the large bird consisted of two specimens of echinorhyncus striatus; the three smaller birds yielded the following entozoa : distomum flexum sp. nov., one specimen; epision proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 893. 87 88 notes on avian entozoa-linton. plicatus gen. et. sp. nov., four specimens; tænia macrocantha sp. nov., three specimens; t. compressa sp. nov., several specimens. 6. pelecanus erythrorhynchus, four birds examined. the stomachs contained good-sized fish in different stages of digestion. all of them contained very numerous specimens of ascaris spiculigera in the cesophagus and stomach. in the intestine of two of them the adult stage of dibothrium cordiceps was found, thus furnishing proof that the pelican is a final host of the trout parasite. the above specimens were collected from the 1st to the 10th of august, on the shores of yellowstone lake. the description of a few specimens collected by mr. p. l. jouy at guaymas, mexico, in february, 1891, is also included in this paper. these consist of specimens of ascaris spiculigera, numerous, from stomach and esophagus of pelecanus fuscus ; echinorhynchus rectus sp. nov., from a species of larus ; fragments of tænia, probably t. capitella, from colymbus sp.; fragments of tænia, probably t. fusus, from larus, sp.; fragments of tænia, probably t. larina, from another species of larus. i have not included in this paper any account of the adult stage of d. cordiceps of the pelican, having already described it in the article cited above. attention may be called here, however, to the occurrence of what i take to be immature specimens of d. cordiceps, in good con. dition, in the intestine of the california gull. it is probable, therefore, that this bird may occasionally become the final host of the trout parasite. one new genus was met with among the parasites of the duck, oe. demia americana. this genus, which i have named epision, is characterized by a singular modification of the anterior part of the body into an organ for absorption and adhesion. nematoda. filaria serrata sp. nov. (pl. iv, figs. 1-4.) the following description is based on a single specimen, a male, from the intestine of the hawk, circus cyaneus hudsonius, yellowstone lake, wyoming, august, 1890. it appears to be near f. leptoptera r.,* but differs from that species in some important particulars, especially in the character of the spicules. i, therefore, for the present, record it as a new species. the length of the specimen is about 8 millimeters, the diameter, 0.2 millimeter. it tapers gradually and uniformly toward the anterior end. the posterior end is coiled into a helix and is provided with broad, lateral and muscular alæ. the spicules are two and very unequal; the longer one is about .3 millimeter in length, the shorter only about onesee schneider, monogr. der nem. p. 97, pl. v, fig. 8, and von linstow, trosch. archiv., 1877, p. 10. 2189 ] proceedings of the national museum. vol. xv, 1892. tenth as long; the extremity of each is bent around into a short hook (fig. 4). lips, two, lateral, with three tooth-like processes on inner side of each. pharynx short, and with what appears to be a chitinous ring at the base. the body is crossed by transverse striæ, which give the cuticle a segmented appearance, being sharply serrate on the margins in optical section. the transverse striæ are 0.008 millimeter apart. the anal papillæ were not as satisfactorily made out as could be desired, but appear to have the arrangement shown in the diagram (fig. 3). the papillæ on the left side are fungiform, with comparatively broad disks. those on the left side and the four small post-anal papillæ near the caudal extremity were plainly seen, while those on the right side were made out by focussing down through the overlapping ala, and were not so satisfactorily seen. ascaris spiculigera rudolphi. (pl. iv, figs. 5–12.) diesing, syst. helm., ii, 157, revis. der nem., 658. leidy, proceed. acad. phila., 1858, p. 102; 1890, p. 411. schneider, monogr. der nem., p. 45; pl. 1, fig. 14. v. linstow, zoöl, of the voyage of h. m. s. challenger, part lxxi, pp. 3, 4, p). 1, figs. 5-7. this nematode was found in immense numbers in the white pelican (pelecanus erythrorhynchus), yellowstone lake, wyoming, august, 1890. two birds yielded 820 specimens. two lots of this parasite from p. fuscus collected by mr. p. l. jouy, at guaymas, mexico, february, 1891, (national museum acc. 24137, nos. 971,974), have also been submitted to me for examination. these lots contain 45 and 102 specimens respectively, being in each case the number found in a single bird. i make the following extract from mr. jouy's letter: the gular pouch and stomach were infested with worms. they were found sparingly in the throat and pouch of the birds, becoming more abundant in the stomach, at the bottom of which they were a mass with the partially digested fish. a few of them were slightly attached to the skin of the pouch or stomach and required a slight pull to release them. no parasites of any kind were found in the intestines of this bird. the largest females among the guaymas specimens measured 34 millimeters in length and 1.5 millimeters in diameter; the largest males 28 millimeters in length and 1.5 millimeters in diameter. the smallest specimens measured 7.5 millimeters in length and 0.35 millimeter in diameter. following are the dimensions of two of the largest specimens: 요 ​length.... greatest diameter. diameter of body, anterior eud. diameter of head. mm. 32.00 2. 10 55 30 mm. 20. 50 1. 50 40 25 90 notes on avian entozoa-linton. . in the adult worm the body is rather stout and dark colored, due to the contents of the intestine. those found in the æsophagus were smaller and lighter colored than those found in the stomach. moreover, they were attached to the mucous membrane of their host, leaving a small round pit when removed. the body is of nearly uniform size throughout, taperiug a little more at the anterior than at the posterior end. the head is characterized by having a triangular spinelike interlobe in the intervals between the three proper lobes of the head (fig. 6). papillæe were observed near the anterior end of soine (fig. 6). they appeared to be more common on the females than on the males, but are variable in number and frequently altogether absent. the oesophagus is slender and rather short. there is a short diver. ticulum beyond its union with the intestine; the latter also extends forward of the union with the esophagus for a short distance as blind sac. in both the guaymas and the yellowstone specimens the females considerably outnumbered the males. the sexes are readily distinguished. the posterior end of the males is usually curved sharply and is provided with two long filiform spicules which, when fully extended, may curve almost into a circle. the spicules are of unequal length. when the spicules are not visible for any reason the males may still usually be recognized by the flattened surface near the posterior end, which ordinarily presents a grooved appearance between the retractor muscles of the spicules. bodies of the females frequently swollen in the region of the reproductive aperture, which is placed about the anterior third. this aperture in one of the adult specimens measured 0.75 millimeter in length and 1.25 millimeters in a direction transverse to the axis of the body. the posterior end of the female is cylindrical, pointed, and not recurved, as in the male. the ova measured 0.06 millimeter in diameter, the shell of the same being 0.005 millimeter thick. some were observed in which segmentation had begun; both morulæ and gastrulæ were noticed. this was in the eggs from a guaymas specimen. my observations on the anal papillae were made on a single adult male. their disposition is shown in the diagram, in which the precise relative distances from each other are perhaps not exactly shown. there are, as is shown in the sketch (fig. 10) six pairs of post-anal papillæ, symmetrically arranged. the four anterior of these pairs are distinguished by having a common disk. the two posterior pairs are without disks and the papillæ in each pair slightly removed from each other. the latter are smaller than the other pairs, and of the others the anterior pairs are the larger. the pre-anal papillæ begin opposite the anal aperture and extend in symmetrical rows along each side. they are a little closer together near the posterior end of the rows for about eight papille. in the specimen examined there were about twenty-six pre anal papillæ in each row. vol91 1892. xv proceedings of the national museum. [] . acanthocephala. echinorhynchus rectus sp. nov. (pl. iv, figs. 13-17.) two specimens of echinorhynchus, & and 9, were found among some fragments of tania collected by mr. p.s. jouy, at guaymas, mexico, february, 1891. the specimens were obtained from the intestines of larus (chroicocephalus) sp. the body is smooth, fusiform, with its greatest diameter near the anterior end whence it tapers very gradually in both directions; proboscis nearly cylindrical, implanted obliquely or at right angles, armed with about twenty-four spiral series of hooks, about ten visible on one side in a single spiral, those on basal half straighter and more slender than those on distal half, base of proboscis for a short distance without hooks; sheath slender, a little longer than the proboscis; lemnisci slender, a little longer than the sheath. male, length 8.5 millimeters; testes two, oval, approximate, median; prostatic glands represented by a broad tubular organ into which ducts from the testes empty and which continues posteriorly in a large ejaculatory bulb, the genitalia ending posteriorly in an eversible copulatory bursa. female, length 9 millimeters, immature, no ova. following are the dimensions of the male: millimeters. length ..... 8. 80 anterior diameter.. 45 greatest diameter. posterior diameter... .45 length of proboscis, (estimated). 1. 80 diameter of proboscis, anterior. . 25 diameter of proboscis, base. .22 length of sheath... 1.80 length of lemnisci. 2.00 diameter of lemnisci. . 10 length of hooks length of testis. .60 breadth of testis.. the length of the proboscis was estimated; 1.4 millimeters was the length of the extended portion and 0.4 millimeter the length of the part still invaginated at the apex. in the female the length of the proboscis was 1.5 millimeters with 0.4 millimeter of apex invaginated ; length of sheath, 2.2 millimeters; diameter of sheath, 0.3 millimeter at its widest part, near anterior, and 0.12 millimeter at its posterior end. several nucleated cells were observed in the bursa of the male; these were 0.04 millimeter in diameter and each contained a conspicuous nucleus 0.01 millimeter in diameter. these speeimens possess several points of agreement with e. transversus rudolphi. according to dujardin the male of e. transversus has only one globular testis, while the testes of e. rectus are two in number. 80 es .09 .35 92 notes on avian entozoa-linton. echinorhynchus striatus goeze. (pl. v, figs. 18–25.) diesing, syst. helm. ii, 45, molin. sitzungsb, d. k. akad. xxx, 143; denkschr. d. k. akad. xix, 266, tab. viii, fig. 7. two small echinorhynchi (figs. 22-25) from the black scoter (edemia americana) have been referred to the species e. striatus, although they are considerably smaller than the recorded specimens of this species. the specimens are both females, one with embryos and the other with large ovarian masses with no embryos. they were found in the intestine near the cæca, one cream-colored, the other orange yellow. the bodies are conical, spherical in front with a constriction near the anterior end, echinate in front of constriction, behind the constriction the body is smooth, longitudinally striated and terminating in a blunt point. the proboscis is larger at the base than at the apex and is armed with hooks of nearly uniform size, so disposed that about eight may be counted in a transverse spiral on one side and twelve in a longitudinal row. the proboscis is partly withdrawn in each of these specimens, so that the neck can not be plainly seen. it appears, however, to be coni. cal and unarmed. the length of these specimens was about 3.3 millimeters. other dimensions as follows: millimeters. 0.60 .12 length of proboscis diameter of proboscis, apex. diameter of proboscis, base.. length of sheath... diameter of body, auterior... length of hooks..... .20 .60 .80 .05 at a distance of 0.4 millimeter from the posterior end the diameter was 0.3 millimeter; 1 millimeter from the posterior end the diameter was 0.6 millimeter. one of the eight specimens contained embryos 0.14 millimeter in length and 0.03 millimeter in diameter; the other contained ovarian masses, ellipsoidal in shape and 0.14 by 0.06 millimeter in their two principal diameters. these specimens agree with the following.described specimens in the shape and armature of the proboscis and in the spines on the anterior part of the body, but differ in their smaller size, conical shape, and the absence of spines at the posterior end. habitat: edemia americana, intestines. yellowstone lake, wyoming, august, 1891. a small lot of echinorhynchi consisting of six specimens, all males (figs. 18-21), from another duck which appears to be edemia americana, not fully grown, agree in several important particulars with the foregoing and have been referred to the same species. these specimens vary in length from 2.5 to 5.5 millimeters. the smaller ones have cyl. indrical bodies with one and in one case two constrictions. the larger :93 ] proceedings of the national museum. vol. xv, 1892. specimens are somewhat fusiform. the anterior region of the body is rounded and echinate. the proboscis, especially of the larger specimens, the spines of the anterior part of the body, and the shape, num. ber, and arrangement of the proboscis hooks agree closely with those of the first lot. there is, however, a slight difference between the larger and the smaller specimens in the shape of the proboscis and the number of hooks. in the smaller specimens the proboscis is less conical than it is in the larger and there appears to be a less number of vertical rows of hooks. the hooks toward the base of the proboscis are stouter than those near the apex. the testes are oval, and, when not displaced by constrictions in the body, lie close together, even slightly overlapping at their contiguous ends, near the base of the proboscis sheath. in some cases the anterior constriction of the body forced the anterior testis forward beside the sheath. the prostatic glands appear to be about four in number and are elongated and parallel. the most characteristic feature of these specimens is the echinate posterior end. this, indeed, appears to be an echinate armature of the bursa. these spines are numerous, forty or more having been counted in two of the specimens. they are terminal, and, like those on the anterior part of the body, appear to be sagittate in some aspects. two specimens from this lot yielded the following measurements: mm. mm. length ... diameter, anterior diameter, median diameter, posterior .. length of proboscis diameter of proboscis at base diameter of proboscis at apex. length of proboscis sheath. 5. 50 40 85 . 20 60 24 18 2. 50 . 35 .50 . 20 .60 . 15 . 15 . 70 .60 the anterior testis in one specimen was 0.3 millimeter in length and 0.17 millimeter in breadth; the posterior testis was 0.28 millimeter in length and 0.15 millimeter in breadth. trematoda. holostomum variabile nitzsch, (pls. v, vi, figs. 26–29, 30–32.) amphistoma macrocephalum rudolphi, entoz., 11, 340; synopsis, 88, 354. holostomum variabile nitzsch., diesing, syst. helm.1, pp. 312-313, revis. d. myzhelm., . p. 320; von livstow, trosch. archiv., p. 187, compend. helm., p. 103; wedl, sitzunigsb., xxvi, p. 252-253, pl. i, 18; molin, denkschrift. d. kais. akad., xix, pp. 194–195, pl. 1, 6, 7; brandes, monograph d. holostomidæ zool. jahrb., 1890, p. 590, pl. xli, figs. 1, 8, 9. holostoma macrocephalum creplin, dujardin, helm., pp. 368–369. holostoma macrocephalum (rud.), olsson, bitrag till skand. helm., p. 31, 94 notes on avian entozoa-linton body divided into a shorter anterior and a longer posterior part by a profound constriction. anterior part of body subglobose, variable, aperture transverse; posterior cylindrical, curved, slightly attenuate. reproductive aperture terminal, circular, surrounded by an ample mus. cular border and with a central, obconical, protractile part. length, 3.7 millimeters. the foregoing is a brief synopsis of the superficial characters of my specimens and differs in some particulars from the descriptions of h. varia. bile given by diesing and others. for example, the species is usually described as being bilabiate and gaping at the apex. my specimens are so much contracted that this character, while not contradicted, is not manifest. this peculiar entozoan has been found infesting a number of species of raptorial birds. von linstow has noted its occurrence in twenty. four species distributed among the following genera : nyctale, ulula, egolius, surnia, bubo, strix, circus, pernis, buteo, aquila, circaëtos, pandion, and falco. (compend. helminth.) the following account is based on four specimens from the intestines of circus cyaneus var. hudsonius collected near yellowstone lake, wy. oming, august, 1890. the specimens when studied were all alcoholic, no observations having been made on the living worms. two of the specimens furnished the following measurements: mm. mm). 3. 60 .80 .80 length length of anterior, subglobular part. diameter of anterior part. diameter of posierior part, median diameter of posterior end.. diameter of posterior aperture. 3. 70 .60 90 70 . 40 15 .80 . 45 .12 the ova measure 0.09 millimeter in length and 0.065 millimeter in breadth. the bodies of all the specimens are bent abruptly at the constriction and the posterior portion is also more or less carved. from the examination of a series of sections it was ascertained that the anterior portion is bent abruptly backwards so that its dorsal region approx. imates the dorsal region of the posterior part. this is effected by some strong fascicles of longitudinal muscles which have their principal de. velopment in the dorsal and dorso-lateral regions of the body. anatomy.—the following observations on the anatomy of this species are based on a series of longitudinal sections made parallel to a dorsoventral plane, and stained with borax carmine. in the anterior, subglobular division of the body there are three muscular organs placed near together (fig. 29, m. ph. s.) which represent the mouth, pharynx, and ventral sucker. the first and third of these appear, in the sections, to open into the interior of the mass, since that part of the body is much folded together and contracted. this part of the body appears to be capable of expanding into a comparatively large suctorial or, more properly, absorbing surface. vol95 1802proceedings of the national museum. in . . ] . xv"the anterior or oral sucker is 0.15 millimeter in its antero-posterior diameter and 0.12 millineter in its dorso-ventral diameter; the diam. eter of the passage between its muscular walls 0.02 millimeter. the walls of the pbarynx are almost contiguous with those of the oral sucker. its length is 0.12 and its depth 0.09 millimeter. the length of the ventral sucker is 0.12, and its depth 0.21, and the thickness of its walls 0.06 millimeter. the æsopbagus is short, at first deflected, ventrally, then divides in front of the ventral sucker. the two branches at first diverge, then turn back towards the constriction. in these sec. tions they could not be traced into the posterior region of the body. the walls of the pharynx, and particularly of the intestinal crura, are ciliated. the greater part of the anterior division of the body is filled with wbat i interpret to be the vitelline glands. the latter also occupy the anterior and ventral region of the posterior division of the body. a folded portion which occupies a central position (fig. 29, y) appears to answer to molin's 6 lembo roversato.” it contains many nucleated cells aud would appear from its position and structure to be an organ for absorption. a lobed body (fig. 28, .x) is situated in the anterior division near the constriction and towards the dorsal side. this is evidently the 'kugliger korper" of von linstow, mentioned in his anatomy of holostomum gracile. the lobes of this body are composed of minute cells which are about 0.004 millimeter in diameter. the irreg. ular cleft which in these sections marks the limits of the lateral borders extends almost to the constriction (figs. 28-29). the reproductive organs, with the exception of a part of the vitellaria, lie in the posterior division of the body. the extreme posterior end of the body consists of a muscular suctorial organ with thick walls. iu the middle of the base of this organ the uterus terminates in a prominent papilla (fig. 28, p). on the dorsal side of the body, immediately in front of the bursa, is the pyriform cirrus pouch, with a duct leading therefrom and emptying into the uterus about the base of the papilla (fig. 28, c). there does not appear to be any cirrus and the pouch probably functions as an ejaculatory organ. in front of the cirrus pouch, and occupying a position about on the median line, is the posterior seminal receptacle. the testes are large, extending from near the base of the bursa to near the middle of the posterior division of the body, and taking up three-fourths of the dorso ventral diameter. they reach the body-wall dorsally and laterally, but not ventrally. a vas deferens lies along the ventral side of the testes, between them and the uterus. the shell gland, together with a portion of the germ duct and the main vitelline duct and the beginning of the uterus, lies between the two testicular lobes (fig. 28). the ovary is single, lenticular, and lies in front of the testes, at about the middle point of the body. (fig. 28 o.) it is inclined forward at its ventral eud and backward at its dorsal end. laterally it reaches 96 notes on avian entozoa-linton. almost to the walls of the body, being separated from them by a thin layer of the vitellaria, and some strong muscle-fascicles from the anterior division of the body. the cells of the orary measure 0.02 millimeter in diameter. the nuclei measure 0.007 millimeter in diameter, and in some a nucleolus was observed. between the ovary and the anterior testis is a space which contains what i have called in the explanation of fig. 28, the anterior seminal receptacle, the vagina and the begin. ning of the oviduct. the sections showed the presence of a duct here which appears to communicate with the exterior dorsally and which i have interpreted as the vagina, or canal of laurer. (fig. 28 v.) the oviduct originates at the dorsal end of the ovary, passes along the dorsal region between the anterior testis and the body-wall, enters the space between the testes where, after receiving the main vitelline duct, it enters the shell-gland and emerges in the ventral region as the uterus. the uterus, from its origin about the ventral side of the anterior testis, pro. ceeds anteriorly where in the space in front of the ovary the ovules are for the most part collected. the uterus bere appears to consist of several voluminous folds, but the walls are thin and the ova appear in the section to lie in an illy-defined cavity. the posterior prolongation of the uterus was proved by tracing ova along the ventral region, where they were found in the posterior portion of tl'e uterus near where it terminates in the posterior bursa. the walls of the uterus near its posterior end are thick and muscular and lined with cilia. the vitelline glands are voluminous organs, occupying the anterior part of the body proper, where they fill the peripheral regions, having a further development in the anterior division of the body. a broad ventral branch extends backward almost to the posterior end. two vitelline ducts extend along the ventral side of the body above the ven. tral vitellaria. opposite the space between the two testicular lobes each gives off a duct which unite in a common duct between the two testes. this latter duct joins the oviduct behind the shell-gland. (fig. 28 yd.) a cross section of the common vitelline duct presents a curious reticulated appearance, due to aggregation of the food yolk into elon. gated spheroidal masses of minute fat globules. distomum (?) verrucosum sp. nov. (pl. vi, figs. 33–35.)) two singular specimens from the intestines of the california gull (larus californicus) possess so many characters peculiar to themselves that i do not hesitate to regard them as representatives of a hitherto undescribed species, although on account of the paucity of material i am able to give but few points in their anatomy. one of these specimens was coiled in a spiral as shown in fig. 33, the other, fig. 35, bad lost a part of the body. that the two belong to the same species admits of no doubt. the length of the fragment was 5.5 and of the entire specimen about 8 millimeters. 1892?proceedings of the national museum. , . 97 ] j "> the body, behind the ventral sucker, appears to be subcylindrical, but is characterized by a profound groove on the ventral side, the edges of which consist of ventro-marginal flaps, which separate anteriorly on either side of the ventral sucker, in front of wbich they disappear. neck flat on ventral side; mouth subterminal, large; ventral sucker near anterior end, short-pedicilled, circular, with thickish, prominent or reflected border; reproductive aperture in front of ventral sucker. surface of body, from and including ventral sucker, smooth ; remainder of body on back and sides more or less tuberculous; tubercules specially abundant on dorsal region just back of ventral sucker. the ventral surface is crossed by transverse rugæ, wbichi, together with the disk of the ventral sucker, are minutely tuberculated. it is probable that the ventral surface in life does not appear to be grooved, but rather fat. the fragmental specimen had the following dimensions in millimeters: length, 5.5; diameter of neck, 0.4; diameter behind ventral sucker, 0.7; ventral sucker, 1.4 back of head; diameter of inouth, 0.4; diameter of vetral sucker, 0.6. a central tubular organ containing a coiled duct, presumably the uterus, extended back from the posterior end of the fragment 1.4 millimeters. this tube was 0.27 millimeter in diameter and the contained duct 0.06 inillimeter in diameter. the thin walls of this tube were minutely roughened. the tubercles on the surface of the body are short and blunt and measure 0.025 millimeter in length. in most cases their breadth equals their length. the imperfect specimen was stained and cut into longitudinal sections. the specimen is immature and the sectious do not show much that can be made out definitely. the alimentary canal is bifurcate, but otherwise there is little resemblance to any distomum or even trematode with which i am familiar. the reproductive aperture lies in a groove on the ventral side of the neck in front of the ventral sucker, and a little forward of the bifurcation of the intestine. a series of oval masses, which lie along the dorsal region are probably the vitellaria. the exact nature of the cylindrical tube with its contained, convoluted duct, which protrudes from the center of the posterior end of the fragment was not determined. the neck of the entire specimen was much flatter than the body proper, which was subcylindrical, i. e., compressed so that its dorsoventral diameter was less than its lateral diameter. the diameter, lateral, of the head was 0.3 millimeter; the breadth of the neck midway between the mouth and ventral sucker was 0.7 millimeter; greatest diameter of the body, 0.8 millimeter; diameter of the posterior end, 0.3 millimeter; length of the spiral, 2.3 inillimeters; entire length of specimen, 8 millimeters. two sinuous dark-colored lines traverse the back along the posterior two-thirds of the body. these are probably the genitalia showing through the dermis. habitat: larus californicus, intestines, yellowstone lake, august, 1890. proc. n. m. 927 9 98 avian entozoa-linton. distomum flexum sp. nov. (pl. vi, figs. 36–44.) it has been found necessary to make a new specific name to accommodate a small distomum from the black scoter (oedemia americana), although its near relationship to at least two described forms is quite evident. it agrees very closely with diesing's d. baculus; indeed, if diesing's description alone were employed it could be readily referred to that species. von linstow, however, in his account of d. baculus (trosh. archiv. 1877, p. 183, pl. xiii, fig. 15), neither mentions nor fig. ures any cervical spines. it is not at all probable that such a careful observer as he would neglect to mention such an important character, especially as in his figure of d. spinulosum (1. c. fig. 14), the cervical spines are shown. the latter species must be excluded on account of the smaller number (twenty-two) of the oral spines. a distomum discovered and described by olsson from larus marinus, and called by him d. pseudoechinatum (bitrag till skandinaviens hel. minthfauna, p. 21, pl. iv, figs. 45–49) resembles my specimen in the spinous margins of the neck and in the general appearance of the head. it is much larger, however, being 8 millimeters in length, and has, moreover, only about twenty oral spines. the body of this specimen is subcylindrical and linear; the neck is attenuate anteriorly, concave on the ventral side, just back of the head, and armed with spines along the margins; the head is transversely reniform and provided with a crown of about forty-five spines; the mouth is terminal and prominent, its aperture circular; the ventral sucker is about twice the diameter of the mouth and sessile; pbarnyx elongated; genital aperture in front of ventral sucker ; testes two, oval, midway between ventral sucker and posterior end; ova few and large. length, 2.5 millimeters. other dimensions are: millimetere. diameter of head.... .30 diameter of neck. .19 diameter of the body at the ventral sucker.. .40 diameter of body near posterior end... .26 diameter of ventral sucker, internal.. .16 diameter of ventral sucker, external. .28 diameter of oral sucker, internal..... .09 diameter of oral sicker, external.. .13 length of testes.... .30 the oral hooks are flat and broad, and the larger ones 0.055 millimeter in length, and 0.01 to 0.015 millimeter in breadth. the cervical spines are triangular and 0.015 to 0.02 millimeter in length. these spines appeared to be only in the margins of the neck, although possibly they may extend dorsally for a short distance. the front edge of the ventral sucker was 0.5 millimeter from the and vol. xv 1892 99 ] proceedings of the national museum. terior end. the pharnyx was 0.1 millimeter in length, and 0.06 millimeter in breadth, its anterior end 0.03 millimeter back of the oral aperture. the ova were few, about nine were counted, and were relatively large, 0.09 millimeter in length. several of them were observed to be undergoing segmentation (figs. 39 and 10). the ovary is situated in front of the testes, and near the anterior one; the vitellaria are voluminous, occupying the posterior part of the body behind the testes and the margins of the body nearly as far forward as the ventral sucker. habitat: oedemia americana, intestines, yellowstone lake, august, 1890. cestoda. dibothrium cordiceps leidy. (pl. vi, fig. 45.) larval (encysted) stage in salmo mykiss. leidy, hayden's report on geol, of montana and adjacent territory, 1871, p. 381, 382. linton, bulletin u. s. fish commission, 1889, vol. ix, pp. 65–79. pl. xxiii-xxvii. adult stage, in pelecanus erythr orhynchus. lintou, bulletin u. s. fish commission, 1889, vol. ix, pp. 337–358. pl. cxvii-cxix. i have referred to this species a small lot of immature specimens, belonging to the genus dibothrium, obtained from the intestine of the california gull (larus californicus), yellowstone lake, august, 1890. five specimens were found in one gull and one in another. the specimens have the following characters: bothria lateral; body rather thick, subcylindrical in front, compressed elsewhere, tapering posteriorly, crossed by exceedingly fine striæ. the dimensions of an average specimen are as follows: millimeters. length ... .7.00 diameter of bead.. diameter of body, anterior lateral. diameter of body, anterior marginal.. diameter near posterior end.... there is no indication of reproductive organs. the species d. cordiceps is not excluded by any characters yet developed in these specimens. satisfactory identification, however, is always difficult in forms like these, which may assume such diverse shapes with different degrees of contraction. on account of the small size and immature condition of these specimens it may be inferred that they had not been in the intestine of the gull very long. it does not follow, therefore, that they would reach maturity in this host. so that even if the specimens have been correctly identified in this case it can not be said positively that the gull is a proper final host of d. cordiceps. .32 .65 • 40 .20 100 avian entozoa-linton. the adult stage of d. cordiceps was found in the intestine of pelecanus erythrorhynchus, yellowstone lake, august, 1890, an account of which was published by the author in a paper entitled “ a contribution to the life-history of dibothrium cordiceps leidy.” bulletin of the u.s. fish commission, 1890, vol. ix, pp. 337–358, pl. cxvii-cxix. dibothrium exile sp. nov. (pl. vi, figs. 46–48.) head oblong, tapering both anteriorly and posteriorly; bothria elongated, lateral with rather thin lips; neck long and slender; the first segments twice as broad as long, this proportion continuing without much change, except that the breadth increases rather faster than the length, until the median region is reached where the segments are squarish and even a little longer than broad; the posterior seg. ments are rectangular, the length being a little in excess of the breadth. the segments throughout are characterized by considerable regularity and distiuctness and the strobile by its nearly linear form throughout. the single specimen obtained had the following dimensions in alco. bol. millimeters. length .. 153,00 length of head 1.50 greatest breadth of head. .60 thickness of head.. . 20 distance from head to first segment. 10.00 breadth of neck. .30 thickness of neck.. . 16 length of first segments. . 28 breadth of first segments... .50 length of posterior segments. .85 breadth of posterior segments. .80 the length of the living specimen was 160 millimeters. the genitalia have not yet developed. careful search was made in several of the posterior segments which had been stained with borax carmine and made transparent in oil of cloves, without revealing any genitalia whatever. the interior of the segments is filled for the greater part with granular protoplasm. these granules were begin. ning to gather into denser masses along the median line rather towards the posterior part of the segments. it may be inferred therefore that the genital apertures are median in this species, although it can not be proved from this specimen. habitat: larus californicus, intestines, yellowstone lake wyoming, august, 1891. epision gen. nov. (' eroeiwy, a pennant). anterior end of body (head) lamellate, more or less crispate, deflected. body proper, tæniæform, segmented, segments not distinct. reproductive apertures lateral (?). vol xv, 1892. 101 proceedings of the national museum. epision plicatus sp. nov. (pl. vi, figs. 49–53.) anterior part of body (head) a lamellate unsymmetrical organ, which consists of an elongated auricular pointed flap, deflected marginally and forming an angle with the body proper, and a shorter rounded lobe at the opposite margin. this leaf-like organ is more or less crimped or folded, especially near the shorter lobe, and on the anterior edge; it is crossed by fine transverse lines, which upon enlargement appear due to a segmented condition of the organ; two pairs of vessels rise near its extreme tip and are continuous with the longitudinal vessels of the body proper. body nearly linear, flattened; segments beginning immediately behind the head, not distinct. reproductive organs rudimentary in specimens examined, but from their position along the median line of the strobile, and their resemblance to similar stages of development in the dibothriide, it is probable that the reproductive apertares are median, longest specimen, 23 millimeters in length and 1.5 millimeters in breadth. habitat: oedemia americana, intestines, yellowstone lake, wyoming, august, 1890. the foregoing description is based on four specimens from the black scoter, the largest 23 and the smallest 6 millimeters in length. the breadth of the head of the larger specimen was about 3.2 millimeters, breadth of the body pear the head 1 millimeter, and the length of the rather indistinct segments near the head 0.2 millimeter; greatest breadth of the body 1.5 millimeters; near the posterior end the breadth decreased to about 0.8 millimeter. following are the dimensions in millimeters of the smallest specimen: length, 6; breadth of bead, 1.8; length of bead, 0.7; breadth of body near head, 0.35; breadth of body, posterior, 0.55. the segments, which are rather indistinct, appear as if in pairs, or rather each is divided into two nearly equal parts by a faint transverse line. the head is finely serrate on its margins, and presents a minutely segmented appearance wben magnified. it is therefore not to be regarded as bomologous with a scoles, but rather as tbe anterior portion of the strobile modified into an absorbing and adherent organ. none of the specimens had reproductive organs developed sufficiently to fix the systematic position of these singular forms. sections made from a series of posterior segments of a medium sized specimen show that there is no distinct segmentation in the inner portions of the strobile. the genitalia are represented by small, oblong clusters of granules lying transverse to the axis of the body and crowded together along the median region of the body. there are no external apertures, but the arrangement of the incipient genitalia, and of the longitudinal muscle fibers and the longitudinal vessels, as seen in these sections, indicates relationship with the dibothriidæ. 102 avian entozoa-linton. tænia sp. fragments not certainly identified. (pl. vii, figs. 54-58.) several fragments of tenia from larus sp. and colymbus sp., collected at guaymas, mexico, by mr. p. l. jouy, february, 1891, have been referred to me for examination by the u. s. national museum. the fragments are without scolices, which makes the matter of identification uncertain. i append, however, the following descriptive notes on these frag. ments. i. fragments of tænia from colymbus sp., museum no. 4930 collector's no. 972 (figs. 54, 55). mr. jouy's notes on this lot are: 6972. parasitic worms from intes. tines of colymbus sp. & juv. the throat and stomach of this bird were empty and these specimens, apparently of a tapeworm, were found in the lower intestine." the fragments appear to belong to the same strobile; the longest. measures 115 millimeters, and the next longest 65 millimeters. the aggregate length of the fragments is about 200 millimeters. the largest proglottides are about 2 millimeters broad and 1 millimeter in length. the youngest segments are 0.75 millimeter in length, 1.2 millimeters in breadth, and 0.7 millimeter in thickness. color of the alcoholic specimens, pinkish yellow, or faint rose. the segments are rounded on their anterior corners, posterior corners blant and slightly projecting. reproductive apertures all on one margin about the middle of the seg. ments. cirri, not seen projecting, but appear to have rather large diameter. sometimes one margin of a segment projects about its middle point. this projection is on the margin opposite the one bearing the genital form. the ripe segments contained ova which were inclosed in an outer pellucid envelope measuring from 0.09 to 0.12 millimeter in diameter, and containing an einbryo 0.06 to 0.07 millimeter in diameter, the spives of which were about 0.02 millimeter in length. these fragments very probably belong to the species t. capitellata rudolphi or to an undescribed closely related species. ii. fragments of tania from larus sp. museum no. 4931. collec. tor's no. 973 (fig. 56). upon these mr. jouy makes the following note: “973. parasitic worms from intestines of black-backed gull, larus sp. there are ap. parently two kinds of worms from this specimen, but they are all taken from the intestires, the throat and stomach of the bird being clean and empty." the longest fragment measures 155 millimeters in length. the other fragments are 80, 30, and 18 millimeters, respectively. the 80 and 30. millimeter fragments belong to the same strobile, and the 18-millimeter piece belongs to the 155-millimeter strobile. vol 103 1892xv proceedings of the national museum. . in the longest specimen the last segments were 0.5 millimeter in length and 1.5 millimeters in breadth. the length of the first distinct segments was 0.5 and the breadth 0.2 millimeter. the anterior end for about 8 millimeters was attenuate and without evident segments. the first evident segments were a little more than twice as long as wide. the reproductive apertures are all on one margin, about the middle of the segments, somewhat prominent with thickened, protruding borders. the color of the alcoholic specimens is yellowish white. segments somewhat like those from colymbus in ontline but not so thick, and rather more regular; strobile in general more delicate. t. fusus krabbe is suggested by these fragments. iii. fragments of tænia from larus sp. museum no. 4932. col. lector's no. 975 (figs. 57, 58). mr. jouy's note on this lot is as follows: "975. parasitic worms (tapeworms) from the intestines of gull larus (chroicocephalus) sp. &. the throat and stomach of this specimen also clean and empty.” this lot consists of several fragments belonging to about three strobiles. the longest fragment measures 18 millimeters in length. the aggregate length of the fragments is about 140 millimeters. anterior segments funnel shape, succeeding segments much crowded, and much broader thau long; posterior segments squarislı or rounded, separating easily from the strobile, about 1 millimeter in length and 0.6 millimeter in breadth. reproductive apertures alternate and appar. ently regulariy so; apertures near anterior end of segment. ova spherical with thin walls, containing embryos. diameter of external shell, 0.05 millimeter; diameter of embryo, 0.03 millimeter; length of spines, 0.01 millimeter. some of the ova have thin, somewhat wrinkled shells; some also have what appear to be small curved hooks over the surface (fig. 58). the specific determination of these fragments is not certain. in some particulars it agrees closely with t. larina krabbe. all of these guaymas fragments contained numerous small granular bodies, the largest of which measured 0.025 millimeter in greatest diameter, although usually sinaller than that. in oil of cloves these particles frequently showed a coucentric structure. they dissolve in acetic acid, but with difficulty. brisk effervescence was not obtained even with heated hydrochloric acid. this character is in marked contrast with the behavior of the calcareous particles in the yellowstone lake specimens, where brisk effervescence followed treatment with acetic acid. tænia porosa rudolphi. (pl. vii, figs. 59–71.) rudolphi, entoz. hist. iii, 190, pl. x, 1; synopsis 168 and 529, pl. 111, 7, 8. dujardin, 1 hist. nat. des helm, 561. diesiog, syst. helm. 1, 546; sitzb. xul, 610; sitzb. xlix, 415; krabbe, bitrag til kund. orn fagl. bænd., 260, 261, pi. 1, 10-13. head subglobose, bothria somewhat circular with a thiek border; proboscis cylindrical, armed with from twelve to fifteen hooks, which are 104 avian entozoa-linton. .11 0.12 millimeter in length and straightish; neck sbort; first segmente very short, subsequently variously longer and narrower, often infundibuliform; posterior segments on longest strobiles, squarish and transversely wrinkled; genital apertures irregularly alternate, cirrus short, opening near anterior edge of margin and directed forward; ova with a double envelope; length of embryonic books, 0.35 millimeter. largest specimen measured while living, 120 millimeters in length and 2.5 millimeters in greatest breadth. greatest recorded length hitherto, 100 millimeters. habitat: larus californicus, intestine, yellowstone lake, on differ. ent dates in august, 1890. i refer to this species several tænia, wbich, while presenting some differences among themselves that are difficult to reconcile with each other, do not, at least with the material at land, appear to me to justify their separation into distinct species. but one specimen with ripe proglottides was found. this was associated with several specimens of t. filum collected on august 2, 1890, and had the following dimensions and characteristics : millimeters. length ...... 110,00 diameter of head. . 46 length ot head ... .30 length of proboscis... .33 diameter of proboscis diameter of crown of books. length of hooks diameter of neck length of anterior segments . breadth of anterior segments .25 length of posterior segments 2.00 breadth of posterior segments.. 2. 50 the above dimensions are from measurements of an alcoholic speci. meni, the living worm measured 120 millimeters in length. the diameter of the proboscis immediately behind the books and at base was 0.09 millimeter ; at apex and in middle, 0.11 inillimeter. the posterior segments became dilated in alcohol. they were subglobose, being swollen with the contained embryos. the hooks on the pro. boscis were in a single circle and were fourteen in number. the complete set is probably fifteen. these hooks are uniform in size and shape, and are exactly 0.12 millimeter in length. the anterior seg. ments are somewhat funnel shape, preceded, bowever, by very short beginning segments like transverse wrinkles; the median segments are somewhat rectangular, broader than long, and increasing in breadth toward the posterior end. toward the posterior end of the strobile the segments have one or two wrinkles at the margin. the reproductive apertures are marginal near the anterior end of the segments and irregularly alternate, although often for a series of a dozen or more segments i rregularly alternate. the cirri are short, smooth, and directed · 19 · 12 .35 . 20 a vol 105 1892] proceedings of the national museum. 22. forward. the embryos are well developed in the ripe segments, are enclosed in a double en velope, and their hooks are of three sorts (fig. 66). two of the books are broader than the other four, and two of the remaining four are more curved than the others. there is no material difference in length, bowever, each measuring about 0.035 millimeter. two specimens, 25 and 10 millimeters in length, respectively, and two fragments 6 and 8 millimeters in length, were obtained from another gull. the number of books in the larger was about fifteen, in the smaller twelve. the hooks agree in shape and size with those of the first specimen. no reproductire apertures were seen in the smaller specimen. in the other they appeared at first to be situated along one margin, but apon closer examination were found to be irregularly alternate, with a tendency for several successive segments to have the reproductive apertures on the same margin. cirrus short, conical, as seen, 0.17 milli. meter in length, 0.05 millimeter in diameter at base, and 0.02 millimeter in diameter at apex. in all of the foregoing there were numerous minute calcareous bodies, showing under proper optical conditions a concentric structure, and evolving carbon dioxide briskly when treated with acetic acid. these were particularly abundant in the two smaller specimens. they are more abundant in the median and posterior segments, few appearing in the anterior portion of the strobile. variety a. (figs. 67-71.)—three specimens from a gull captured angust 10, 1890, are referred to this species, but on account of certain constant characters of difference they are given a special place. the specimens measured 15, 17, and 21 millimeters in length respectively; breadth near posterior end 1 millimeter. head broad, compressed, 0.55 millimeter broad and 0.3 millimeter thick ; diameter of neck 0.3 millimeter, in one the diameter immediately behind the head was 0.4 millimeter, and one millimeter back of head 0.32 millimeter. the hooks are exactly twelve in number and measure 0.12 millimeter in length. they agree in shape and size with those of the other specimens. the strobiles are all young and complete—that is, they have not lost any segments. they are rather plump, increasing in breadth uni. formly from the neck to near the posterior end. the strobile thus bas somewhat the shape of a club, nearly cylindrical in middle portion, but compressed elsewhere. the reproductive apertures are irregularly alternate, with a tendency to be regularly alternate for several successive segments. the apertures are near the anterior edge of the segments at the margins. a series of sections was made of several of the posterior segments, from which it was ascertained that the cirri, which are all retracted, are smooth and agree with those of the others in shape. calcareous bodies are not so numerons as in the other specimens. the male reproductive orgaus were well developed, consisting of a voluminous vas deferens, large testicular lobes, containing sperm106 avian entozoa-linton. atozoa already developed and developing. ova had not yet made their appearance. sinuous marginal aquiferous vessels, as well as very . strong fascicles of longitudinal muscles were continuous from segment to segment. naturally krabbe's tænia dodecacantha from larus minutus is suggested by this variety, but that species must be excluded from consideration on account of the character of the spines, which in krabbe's species are from 0.72 to 0.74 millimeter in length instead of 0.12 millimeter. tænia filum goetze. (pl. viii, figs. 72–78.) diesing, syst. helm., p. 530 ; sitzb., xiii, p. 607, and xlix, p. 411. dujardin, hist. des helm., p. 605. krabbe, bitrag til kunds. om fugl. bænd., p. 312, 313, pl. viii, figs. 198–201. head subglobose, broader than long; bothria nearly circular; proboscis cylindrical, enlarging at the extremity, with a circle of small abruptly recurved and sharp-pointed hooks, the slender pointed part of the hook parallel with the basal portion and a little longer; neck long and slender; ripe segments subcuneate, posterior marginal edges usually prominent and acute; genital apertures near one of the margins, cirrus slender, tapering, smooth from a swollen spinous basal portion. longest specimens observed 52 millimeters in length. length of hooks 0,025 millimeter. habitat: larus californicus, intestines, yellowstone lake; obtained on two different occasions, august 2 and 10, 1890. the following dimensions are in millimeters. in one specimen, measuring 52 in length, the diameter of the head was 0.2, of the neck 0.1; length of the last segment 0.12, breadth 0.44. in another speci. men the diameter of the proboscis at the apex was 0.08, at the base 0.06; diameter of head 0.27, length 1).22; diameter of neck 0.13; length of first segments 0.02, breadth 0.12; diameter of bothrium 0.11. the diameter of the spinous basal portion of the cirrus was in one instance found to be from 0.012 to 0.015; diameter of filiform terminal portion, near the base, 0.006, tapering to 0.004 at the extremity; length of filiform portion 0.05, of spinous basal portion 0.08. the segments in some specimens were rather crowded with margins somewhat rounded making convex serrations on the margins. the re. productive apertures were in these cases not immediately at the margins, but at a distance from the nearest margins equal to one-third the entire breadth of the strobile (fig. 78). in the posterior segments the reproductive apertures are near the margin. one of the specimens with segments thus characterized had the following dimensions : length 33 millimeters; greatest breadth 0.7 millimeter, at which point the length of segments was 0.1 millimeter; length of posterior segments 1692. ] proceedings of tiie national museum. 107 0.08 millimeter, breadth 0.4 millimeter. in this specimen the first seg. ments began about three millimeters back of the head. some specimens with ripe segments contaiueil ova which were 0.025 to 0.03 millimeter in diameter, and which inclosed typical six-hooked embryos. tænia macrocantha sp. nov. (pl. viii, figs. 79–82.) head subglobose, somewhat pyramidal; bothria in lateral pairs and little prominent; proboscis subcylindrical, expanded at apex, contracted at base; hooks in a single circle, large, nine (?) to thirteen; body subcylindrical, segments very short and crowded together anteriorly, lengthening and narrowing posteriorly; strobile, in alcoholic specimens, slightly arcuate with crenate margins; reproductive apertures margi. nal, all on one margin; cirrus long, filiform, and armed with exceedingly minute spines; largest specimen 15 millimeters long and 1 millimeter broad. habitat: edemia americana, yellowstone lake, wyoming, august, 1890. following are detailed measurements of the largest specimen in the lot, dimensions given in millimeters: length 15, (liameter of head 0.75, diameter of neck 0.60, length of head 0,50, length of proboscis 0.42, diameter of proboscis at base 0.10, diameter of proboscis at apex exclusive of hooks 0.22, diameter of crown of hooks 0.35, length of looks 0.21, length of first distinct segment 0.025, breadth of first segment 0.65, length of last segment 0.28, breadth of last segment 0.50, greatest diameter of body 1, diameter of cirrus 0.015 to 0.019, length of spines on cirrus not exceding 0.001. the number of hooks in this specimen was made out to be nine. in order to ascertain the number of hooks accurately, a specimen in which the proboscis was retracted, and which had presumably not lost any of the looks after it had been put in alcoliol, was taken and the set of book's carefully dissected out. the number in this case was found to be exactly thirteen, and they were 0.22 millimeter in length. the hooks, when isolated, are seen to be of two sorts, as shown in fig. 80. in the set of hooks examined, nine of the thirteen were like fig. 80, a, the other four being like those of fig. 80, b. this difference would probably be overlooked except where the hooks are isolated. the hooks resemble those of t. megacantha rudolphi, as figured by krabbe (bitrag til kunds. om fugl. bænd., 80, pl. ix, fig. 251). there are, moreover, no characters which are absolutely contradicted in the published descriptions of that species. the descriptions of t. megacantha are, however, deficient in detail, and since the hosts are widely different, t. megacantha being a parasite of species of caprimulgus and nyctibius, it has appeared to me best to refer my specimens to a new species. 108 avian entozoa-linton. tænia compressa sp. nov. (pl. viii, figs. 83–92.) a large lot of tæniæ from fuligula rallisneria consists of a variety of forms which, however, upon examination do not afford differences that can be regarded safely as specific. i have therefore referred them to a single species. this species iesembles t. sinuosa in the number, size, and shape of the looks, but differs from it in the absence of the globular spinose sack near the genital orifice, described and figured by dujardin and others. trenia compressa, as represented by the individuals in this lot, may be briefly characterized thus: head variable, usually broader than long, often pyramidal, compressed laterally, botbria prominent; proboscis ob-conical with a simple crown of rather straight hooks, ten in number and usually about 0.055 millimeter in length; reproductive apertures along one margin, cirrus 0.008 to 0.01 inillimeter in diameter, spinose with a smooth conical tip; neck short; first segments usually crowded, much broader than long; median segments in longer strobiles also crowded, very short, ripe segments funnel-form with salient posterior margins. the specimens in this lot varied from 5 to 27 millimeters in length. in the preliminary examination of these specimens they were separated into three groups. the first group contained small club-shaped strobiles from 5 to 10 millimeters in length. the second group contained longer specimens, 20 to 30 millimeters in length. the third group was much like the second, but with thicker and broader strobiles. two or three fragments were found that appeared to belong to a different species. in them the segments were exceerlingly short and crowded and the breadth was about 2 millimeters, considerably greater than that of any of the complete strobiles. in the first group the neck, i. e., unjointed part of the body, is short, the segments soon become distinct, at first sometimes funnel-form, then much crowded together, becoming funnel-form again towards the posterior end. the segments increase in breadth to near the posterior end, so that the whole strobile becomes somewhat club-shaped. the reproductive apertures are all on one margin of the strobile, each a little in front of the middle of its segment. the elongated bulb of the cirrus (figs. 89, 91) lies on an elliptical body, which is yellowish and opaque. the bulb is at first nearly transverse to the longitudinal axis, becoming inclined posteriorly at the marginal end in the posterior seg. ments. the cirrus is about 0.01 millimeter in diameter, thickly beset fol109 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . ivwith minute bristle-like spines, and when fully everted with a short couical tip devoid of spines. in one specimen measuring 8 millimeters in length the posterior seg. ments contained ova, with embryos, measuring about 0.025 millimeter iu diameter. the proboscis when fully extended is at least as long as the head, expauds at the apex, where it bears a circle of ten hooks. these are bent somewhat abruptly near the end, but on the whole are rather straight. one specimen was observed which agreed with the others in the number and shape of the hooks, but the hooks measured only 0.04 millimeter instead of from 0.05 to 0.055 in the others. the proboscis in this specimen was elongated, cylindrical and 0.4 millimeter in length, or over two and a balf times the length of the head. an average specimen 7 millimeters in length had the following dimensions, in inil. limeters : diameter of head, 0.18; length of bothrium, 0.15; length of proboscis, 0.16; diameter of proboscis at apex, not including hooks, 0 08; diameter of crown of books, 0.12; diameter of proboscis at base, 0.04; diameter of neck, 0.08; length of first distinct segments, 0.025; breadth of first segments, 0.14; length of last segments, 0.37; breadth of last seg. ments, 0.7. in another specimen the diameter of the head was 0.24 millimeter and the diameter of the proboscis at base 0.025 millimeter, while the other dimensious were nearly as in the detailed measurements given. the specimens of the second group do not present any constant dif. ferences, other than size, of sufficient importance to justify their reference to a distinct species or even variety. the head appears to be broader, in some cases at least, in proportion to the length, and the middle segments are much more closely crowded together; the cirrus is also possibly a little more slender. embryos were observed, 0.04 by 0.03 millineter in the two principal diameters, with spines measuring 0.01 millimeter in length. detailed measurements of a specimen 27 millimeters in length yielded the same results for books, proboscis, and segments as were obtained from small specimens of the first group. those referred to the third group were characterized by having thick strobiles in which the segments were relatively short and crowded to. gether. in one specimen 15 millimeters in length the last segments were much crowded, measuring 1.1 millimeters in breadth, and 0.13 millimeter in length, otherwise as in the first two groups. the cirrus pouches in some of these larger specimens are inclined at an angle of nearly 45 degrees with the margin; the elliptical body beside the cirrus pouch is not distinct as it is in the smaller specimens. several specimens of this species were found in the intestines of edemia americana. in these the head was compressed laterally, appearing rectangular in outline when viewed from the front. in cases 110 avian entozoa-linton. where the proboscis was completely retracted the bothria were directed forward. the average breadth of the head of three specimens was 0.26 millimeter; length of hooks, 0.055 millimeter; length of the proboscis, 0.14; diameter at base, 0.04; diameterat apex, 0.08; and diameter of crown of hooks, 0.13 millimeter. the specimens were for the most part small, measuring from 8 to 13 millimeters in length. one fragment (figs. 91, 92) was 20 millimeters in length, its posterior segments 0.4 millimeter long and 1.4 millimeters broad. in these specimens calcareous bodies were exceedingly numerous. reproductive organs as in those from fuligula vallisneria. habitat: fuligula vallisneria and (edemia americana, intestine, yellowstone lake, wyoming, august, 1890. washington and jefferson college, washington, pa., august 1, 1891. . explanation of figures. [figs. 64 and 65 from life; all others from alcoholic specimens and drawings by the the author. ] plate iv. filaria serrata, sp. nov., from circus cyaneus var. hudsonius. fig. 1. optical section of head, lateral view, x 350. fig. 2. superficial view of same. fig. 3. diagram of posterior end, ventral view, showing arrangement of anal papillæ of male. the small post-anal pair on the right side were not clearly shown in the specimen. fig. 4. copulatory spines, lateral view, x 225. ascaris spiculigera rudolphi, from pelecanus erythrorhynchus and p. fuscus. fig. 5. adult female from stomach of bost, x 10. v, reproductive aperture. fig. 6. head of male, x 36. fig. 7. another view of same, x 36. fig. 8. posterior end of female, x 36. fig. 9. ova in which segmentation has begun, x 225. a, morula; b, gastruta stage. fig. 10. diagram of posterior end, ventral view, showing arrangement of anal papillit in male. fig. 11. lateral view showing copulatory spines, x 36. fig. 12. anterior portion of alimentary canal, x 14. m, mouth; o, æsophagus; i, intestine. echinorhynchus rectus, sp. nov., from larus sp. fig. 13. male, slightly compressed, * 6. this and the three following sketched from specimen in oil of cloves. fig. 14. female, slightly compressed, x 6. fig. 15. hooks near base of proboscis, x 225. fig. 16. hooks near apex of proboscis, x 225. fig. 17. bursa of male, showing nucleated cells in walls, x 27. vol111 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvplate v. echinorhynchus striatus goetze, from edemia americana. fig. 18. optical outline of male, x 45. fig. 19. outline of another from same lot, x 24. fig. 20. caudal spines, x 225. fig. 21. hooks of proboscis, x 225. a, apical and b, basal of one specimen ; o, apical and d, basal of another. fig. 22. feinale with embryos, x 15. fig. 23. apex of proboscis of same, x 225. fig. 24. dermal spines of same, x 225. fig. 25. marginal view of dermal spines, x 225. holostomum variabile nitzsch, from circus cyaneus var. hudsonius. fig. 26. lateral view, x 21. a, anterior aperture, b, posterior aperture. the specimen is concave on the dorsal side. fig. 27. view of anterior end, x 27. the dorsal side is uppermost in the sketch. fig. 28. longitudinal vertical section, x 42. a, anterior aperture; b, posterior aperture, into a muscular, suctorial organ; c, ejaculatory duct; there does not appear to be a true cirrus; p, papilla at the summit of which the ejaculatory duct and the uterus lie as a common duct. the papilla and muscular sncker probably constituto a copulatory organ. op, seminal vescicle, corresponding to a bursa penis; vsa. and vsp. anterior and posterior seminal receptacle; t, testes; v, aperture of vagina; 0, germ gland or ovary; gd, germ duct; cd, common duct, which passes around the anterior testis, and between the two testes receives the vitolline duct yd'; 89, shell gland; u, origin of uterus ; u', uterus near posterior end; yd, ono of tbe two longitudinal vitellino ducts; vg, vitelline or yolk gland; or, ova in anterior nterine spaces; o', ova in posterior portion of uterus; 8, ventral sucker, see fig. 29, 8; x, glandular organ, the kügliger korper of von liostow. sketch from a single section, but the ducts represented by v, cd, and yd' sonjewhat diagrammatic. transverse sections of the convoluted common germ duct are shown between the testes. fig. 29. longitudinal vertical section of the anterior division of the body, several sections removed from that shown in fig. 28, x 52. m, mouth surrounded by a muscular suctorial organ and communicating by a short passage with the muscular pbarnyx ph; i, intestine which is bifurcate in front of the ventral sucker 8, a lateral branch passing on either side of that organ; dm, dorsal longitudinal muscles; lm, lateral longitudinal muscles; vm, ventral longitudinal muscles; vg, vitellino glands; y, section of invaginated fold, apparently an organ of absorption; a, anterior aperturo. a plate vi. holostomum variabile nitzsch. fig. 30. cells of germ gland or ovary, x 360. fig. 31. section of segmenting ovan, x 375. fig. 32. transverse section of vitellino duct near its union with the common germ duct, showing the peculiar arrangement of yoik globules, x 360. distomum (?) verrucosum, sp. nov., from larus californicu8. fig. 33. specimen coiled in a spiral, x 15. fig. 34. anterior end of same specimen, x 24. fig. 35. fragment, x 15. the tubercles are somewhat more enlarged. 112 avian entozoa-linton. distomum flexum, sp. nov., from (edemia americana. fig. 36. lateral view, x 15. fig. 37. ventral view of head of saine, x 38. fig. 38. dorsal view of body, ventral of lead, compressed, x 30. fig. 38a. oral books, x 225. fig. 39. segmenting ovum, x 225. fig. 40. another showing more advanced stage of segmentation, x 225. fig. 41. oral hooks, dorsal view, x 180. fig. 42. cirrus and bursa, x 60. fig. 43, pharnyx, x 180. fig. 44. cervical spines, x 225. dibothrium cordiceps leidy., from larus californicus. fig. 45. lateral view of head of immature specimen, x 27. dibothrium exile, sp. nov., from larus californicus. fig. 46. marginal view of head, x 30. fig. 47. anterior segments, lateral view, x 14. fig. 48. posterior segments, lateral view, x 14. epision plicatus gen. et sp. nov., from (edemia americana. fig. 49. lateral view of head and anterior part of body of smallest specimen, x 12. fig. 50. lateral view of head of largest specimen, x 15. fig. 51. portion of head near apex, x 54. fig. 52. lateral view of margin of head, x 225. fig. 53. posterior end of largest specimon, lateral viow, x 12. plate vii. fragments of tænia from columbus sp. and larus sp., t. capilella rud. (?) colymbus sp. fig. 54. posterior segments, lateral view, x 12. fig. 55. marginal view of saine, x 12. t. fusus krabbe (?) from larus sp. fig. 56. posterior segments, lateral view, x 12 t. larina krabbe ? from larus sp. fig. 57. fragments, x 12: a, anterior; b, postmedian, and c, posterior segments. fig. 58. ovuin of name, x 345. tænia porosa rudolphi, from larus californicu8. fig. 59. head with proboscis extended, lateral view, x 56. fig. 60. auterior segments of same, x 12. fig. 61. antero-median segments, x 12. the genital apertures are not quite uuiforuly alternate. fig. 62. posterior segments, x 12. fig. 63. hooks, x 360. fig. 64. ovum with embryo, from life, x 180: a, external pellicle; b, finely granu. lar food-stuff with a few globular masses of varying size; d, finely grandlar and homogeneons material assuming a flowing appearance at e; f, granulo-nuclear patch; 9, vacuolar granular area ; h, granular area with large vacuolar spaces; c, embryo with four of the six looks showing. fig. 65. external pellicle of ovum, highly magnified, from life. fig. 66. hooks of a single embryo, in position, x 345. 11)113 ] l. xv proceedings of the national museum. var. a. fig. 67. head with rostellum retracted, x 60. fig. 68. rostellum of same, x 2,25. fig. 69. hooks of same, x 360. fig. 70. anterior segments, x 22. fig. 71. posterior segments, x 12. plate viii. tænia filum goetze, from larus californicus. fig. 72. head with restellum retracted, x 225. fig. 73. head and neck, proboscis exserted, x 52. fig. 74. proboscis and hooks of same, x 360. fig. 75. hooks of no. 72, x 315. fig. 76. posterior segments of no. 7:3, x 52. fig. 77. cirrus of sane, x 345. fig. 78. postero-median segments of no. 72, x 56. tania macrocantha, sp. nov., from edemia americanus. fig. 79. head with proboscis exserted, x 30. fig. 80. hooks of same, x 360. fig. 81. posterior segments of same, x 16. fig 82. last tivo segments of same, x 45. tænia compressa, sp. nov., from fuligula rallisneria and (edemia americana. fig. 83. head and neck of specimeu from fuligula, x 54. fig. 84. proboscis aud rostelluin of another from same bost, x 225. fig. 85. hooks of same, x 345. fig. 86. hooks from another specimen, same host, x 345. fig. 87. postero-median segmeuts, saine host, x 27. fig. 88. posterior segments, same, x 27. fig. 49. posterior segments of another, diffurent individual host, x 30. fig. 90, cirrus of no. oh, x 360. fig. 91. postero-median segments, from edemia, x 15. fig. 92. hooks of same, x 360. proc. n. m. 92-8 1 | u.s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl tv 2 6 5 لللللللللل rrrrrrrrr? 3 7 १९ 4 ق 0 0 0 10 0 १२ ہ وو 8 09 @ 0 11 9 00 oo 2... 05 وه 12 1313 14 6 17 avian entozoa. u.s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. vii or 37 cars 59 o gullllls iii 68 mind 크 ​63 6 64 in d. d 66 avian entozoa. preliminary description of a new genus and species of blind cave salamander from north america. by leonhard stejneger. curator of the department of reptiles and batrachians. (with plate ix.) the discovery of a blind cave salamander on our continent is one of the most important and interesting herpetological events of recent years. a new genus and species of salamander may not be such a startling novelty even at this late date, but the interest is considerably heightened when we have to do with the first and only blind form among the true salamanders. the discovery is primarily due to mr. f. a. sampson who, in july last year, found the adult animal as well as a larva in the rock house cave, missouri, and kindly forwarded both to our museum. i have also to thank mr. george e. harris, who afterwards went to great trouble in order to procure me additional specimens. unfortunately, he has only succeeded so far in obtaining larve, but we hope to be able during the present year to secure more adults. a more detailed anatomical description of this interesting animal will have to be postponed until then, as i have not felt justified in mutilating the type specimen beyond what was necessary in order to ascertain the character of the vertebræ. the present preliminary description is, therefore, only prepared in order to call attention to the discovery and to supply the diagnosis by which the animal may be identified. typhlotriton, gen. nov. (tüphós, blind; tpirov, ó, salamander.) of the family desmognathidæ : vertebræ opistoccelous; parasphenoid teeth; vomerine teeth. eyes concealed under the continuous skin of the head; tongue attached in front and along median line, free laterally and posteriorly; maxillar and mandibular teeth small and numerous; vomerine teeth in two strongly curved series; parasphenoid patches separate; nostrils very small; toes five. type: typhlotriton spelæus stejn. proceedings national museum, vol. xv–no. 894. 115 116 new cenus of salamander-stejneger. typhlotriton spelæus, sr. nov. diagnosis: sixteen costal grooves; tail slightly compressed, not finnerl; toes nearly half webbed; vomerine teeth in two v-shaped series with the curvatures directed forward; gular fold strong, very concave anteriorly; color uniform pale. habitat: rock house cave, missouri. type: u. s. national museum, no. 17903, july 24, 1891, f. a. sampson coll. description of type specimen.-( 9 ad).-head wide, much wider than neck, very depressed and flat ou top, with no canthus rostralis; snout rather swollen, truncate; nostrils very small; eyes small, only slightly raised, and covered by the continuous skin of the head with only a shallow groove to indicate the opening between the lids, the underlying eyes only visible as two ill-defined dusky spots; body somewhat depressed, measuring thrice and a third the distance from snout to gular fold; limbs short, about five costal interspaces apart when laid against the body; fingers rather short, especially the first, nearly free; length, beginning with the shortest, 1-4-2-3; number of phalanges 1-2-3-2; toes rather short, first almost rudimentary, nearly half-webbed; length, beginning with the shortest, 1-2-5-4-3, second and fifth, and fourth and third being nearly equal; number of phalanges 1–2–3–3–2; tail considerably shorter than head and body, subcylindrical at base and somewhat squarish, more compressed toward the tip, rounded above, faintly keeled below; skin minutely granulate; gular fold strong, very concave anteriorly and uniting on the sides of neck with a horizontal groove running from eye backwards; sixteen costal grooves, or eighteen, if counting the axillar and groin grooves, crossed on the sides by a strong horizontal groove between axilla and groin. maxillar and mandibular teeth small, numerous, normal; vomerine teeth not extending outside of the choanze, forming two v-shaped, strongly curved series with the points directed forward, the external branches straight, the internal ones curved inward and well separated; parasphenoid patches, long, rather narrow, well separated, their distance being nearly equal to their width, and well separated from the vomerines; teeth small, in numerous rows. tongue rather large, attached anteriorly and along the median line for a trifle more than the anterior half, extensively free laterally and posteriorly. color (in alcohol) uniform creamy yellow; in life, "pale." dimensions. total length... from snont to guilar fold. from snout to anus width of head.. fore limb.. hinil liml). tail ... millimeters. 93.0 12.0 52.0) 8.5 11.0 13.0 41,0 1892 :] 117 proceedings of the national museum. mr. sampson informs me that the animal was caught on the rocky walls of the cave about 600 feet from the entrance. the rock house cave is “an erosion of rocks of the chouteau and burlington formations, in places not more than 2 feet wide, and in others several times that, and extending into the hill about a quarter of a mile." although many of our salamanders are known to inhabit caves, this seems to be the only one, so far discovered, which, like some of the other animals exclusively living in caves, has become blind, or nearly so. i am at present unable to indicate the forms with functional eyes to which the present genus is most nearly allied, or from which it may have descended. the unique character of the vomerine teeth at once removes it from all the species with which i am acquainted, and this, combined with several other characters, gives this genus quite an isolated position. but a further discussion of this may safely be postponed until the arrival of additional material shall enable us to study the anatomical structure of this remarkable animal. 5 descriptions of two new forms of basileuterus rufifrons, from mexico. by robert ridgway. curator of the department of biru's. 1. basileuterus rufifrons jouyi, subsp. nov. subsp. char.: differing from true b. rufifrons in grayish-brown instead of olive-green color of the upper parts, only the edges of the remiges and rectrices inclining to olive-green; whiter under parts, the median portion of breast and belly being quite white, the yellow sharply restricted to throat and chest, the sides of the breast nearly pure ashgray; bill smaller, but other dimensions not appreciably different. habitat.-northeastern mexico (type, no. 124912, u. s. national museum, & ad., hacienda angostura, san luis potosi, december 8, 1891; p. l. jony. an adult female (no. 124913), collected at the same time and place, is essentially identical with the male. 2. basileuterus rufifrons dugesi, subsp. nov. subsp. char.: similar to b. rufifrons jouyi, but browner above, with pileum and ear-coverts decidedly lighter chestnut or rufous. habitat.-western mexico (type, no. 105263, c.s. national museum, & ad., guanajuato, mexico; prof. a. dugès). the six adult examples of true b. rufifrons with which the abovementioned supposedly new forms have been compared, are all from southeastern mexico (mirador and xalapa, state of vera cruz, and guichicovi, state of oaxaca). they all agree in the distinctly olive-green colorof the upper parts (only the hind neck having a slight grayish tinge), and in having the median under parts more or less tinged with yellow on a pale buff or buffy white ground, the sides of the breast being olive or grayish brown instead of nearly clear ash-gray. an example from the sierra madre near mazatlan (no. 34018, december, 1861, a. grayson), agrees closely in coloration with the type of b. rufifrons dugesi, but, owing probably to fresh plumage, is a little browner above. proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no.895. 119 description of a new species of star-gazer (cathetostoma albigutta), from the gulf of mexico, by tarleton h. bean, ichthyologist of the united states fish commission. the steamer albatross has taken some specimens of a species of cathetostoma, apparently the first of the genus known from the atlan. tic, at station 2403, where two specimens were obtained. this station is in north latitude 280 42' 30", west longitude 85° 29' 004; depth 88 fathoms. at station 2404 two specimens were also taken; north latitude 28° 44', west longitude 85° 16'; depth 60 fathoms. these two stations are in the gulf of mexico. at station 2410, iu north latitude 260 47' 30'', west longitude 83° 25' 15", from 28 fathoms, one specimen was trawled. at station 2411, north latitude 26° 33' 30'', west lougitude 83° 15' 30", in 27 fathoms, a young example, 40 millimeters long, was taken. the last two stations are between tampa bay and dry tortugas, fla. the largest examples are those taken at station 2403. these specimens are referred to in the description which follows: they are nearly equal in size, the largest one being 160 millimeters long. the length to the base of the caudal is 123 millimeters. the greatest height of the body. (35 millimeters) is contained three and a half times in the standard length, and its greatest width is about the same. the length of the head (14 millimeters), not including the preopercular spine, is a little more than one-third of the standard length. the greatest width of the head (42 millimeters) is one-third of the standard length. the width of the interorbital space (11 millimeters) is one-fourth of the length of the head. it contains a deep groove, the length of which is slightly greater than its width and nearly equals the length of the eye. the mouth is nearly vertical when closed. the intermaxillary is slightly protractile. the length of its tooth-bearing surface (13 inillimeters) is two-sevenths the length of the head. the maxilla is very broadly expanded behind. its greatest width (8 millimeters) is about equal to one-third of its length (21 millimeters). the inaxilla extends almost to the vertical from the middle of the eye, and the end of the mandible is not much farther back. the length of the mandible (26 millimeters) is contained four and two-thirds times in the standard length. the mandible has two blunt prominences at its proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 896. 121 122 new species of stargazer-bean. posterior end. the exposed portion of the maxilla is traversed by radiating striæ. the lower limb of the preoperculum has three stout spines along its lower border. the length of the humeral spine (15 millimeters) is one-third the length of the head. the humerus is very strongly rugose on its upper border. three short spines on the anterior edge of the preorbital. teeth in villiform bands in the intermaxillary and mandible and on the vomer. palatines in a very short band. a cavity between the head of the vomer and the processes of the intermaxillary ending in a semicircular canal behind, which is separated from the anterior cavity by a flap of skin. gill openings very wide and only narrowly attached to the isthmus, leaving a free posterior border. pseudobranchiæ present, small. a small narrow slit behind the last gill; its length about two-thirds that of the eye. gill rakers tubercular, nine on the anterior arch. a pair of short but stout spines in front of the ventrals. the origin of the dorsal is a little nearer to the root of the caudal than to the tip of the snout; it is midway between the base of the caudal and the middle of the eye. the length of the dorsal base (43 millimeters) is about one-third of the standard length. the third ray is the longest, its length (20 millimeters) being nearly one-half the length of the base of the fin. the last ray is about as long as the eye, and the first is scarcely longer than this. the anal origin is directly under that of the dorsal, and the base of the fin is slightly longer than that of the dorsal. the seventh, eighth, and ninth anal rays are about the longest, their length (17 millimeters) equalling about one-half that of the middle caudal rays. the first ray is not much more than one-half as long as the longest and the rays gradually increase in size to the ninth. the length of the pectoral (35 millimeters) is contained three and one-half times in the standard length. the length of the lowermost ray is less than one-fourth the length of the head. only the first ray is simple; the rest are divided. the ventral origin is under the eye. the longest ray of the ventral (24 millimeters) is slightly shorter than the mandible. caudal slightly rounded when expanded; the middle rays as long as the head without the snout. the lateral line begins near the root of the humeral spine, curves upward slightly and runs along the back to the end of the dorsal, then curves downward to near the middle of the caudal base. skin naked. colors: upper parts light brown, the upper surface of the head minutely dotted with white; the back with numerous roundish spots and oblong blotches of whitish; lower parts pale. the dorsal with two or three dark blotches near the margin, in some cases not much larger than the eye, in others fully twice as long. caudal with nine black blotches, those on the outer rays largest, differing in size in different specimens. these blotches are distributed over the greater portion of the fin. anal pale, with the exception of a brownish blotch on the membrane of the last three rays. pectoral with a brownish submarginal band on its outer half; this band sometimes broken up on the membrane. ventrals pale. the fishes of san diego, california. by carl h. eigenmann, professor of zoology, indiana university. (with plates x-xviii). the present paper contains an account of the observations made by me on the fishes of san diego and vicinity from december 11, 1888, to march 4, 1890. especial attention was paid to the spawning habits and seasons, the embryology, and migration of the fishes of southern california. a diary was kept of the occurrence of each species throughout the year 1889 and part of 1890. my knowledge of the occurrence of each species is largely based on observations of the fish brought into the markets, which i visited twice or thrice daily, and of those caught with hook and line by the numerous habitual fishermen found on each of the wharves, and of those caught by the seiners whom i accompanied on several occasions. during the early part of 1888 each individual fisherman sold his catch as best he could and the data for this part of the year are not as full as for the latter part of 1888, when practically the whole catch was brought to two markets, where i could see the fish as they were unloaded. the knowledge of the ocean fishes is largely derived from frequent visits to ocean tide-pools, from the fish brought to the markets, and from a twoweeks' stay on the cortes banks. as a matter of course, hundreds of specimens of most species have been observed to every one preserved, and the present paper is to be looked upon as a contribution to the economic history of the fishes, rather than to the anatomy of the various species. with two exceptions the types of the new species discovered and otherwise interesting specimens have been deposited in the u.s. national museum. a nearly complete series of types has been placed in the british museum and minor series in the museum of comparative zoology and the california academy of sciences. the fishing grounds about san diego are: (1) san diego bay; (2) false bay; (3) the shoal water (down to 100 fathoms) skirting the coast; (4) the coronado islands; and (5) the cortes banks. there are shallows off coronado beach which have not been examined. proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 897. 123 124 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. the faunæ of nos. 1 and 2 are essentially alike and quite different from those of 3 to 5. the former are characterized by the presence of sciænida, embiotocidæ, atherinidæ; the latter, by the scorpænidæ, sphyrænidæ, scombridae, etc. san diego bay is about 18 miles long by 1 to several miles wide. its shores are sandy or muddy. there being no streams emptying into it it contains pure sea water. false bay is much smaller and shallower and in winter receives the water of the san diego river. only two methods of taking fish are employed in these two bays, viz, by seine and by gill net. the latter is only occasionally used, but so effective is the seining that unless it is stopped (all of it is illegal) the fisheries of the bay will soon be worth nothing. only two methods of fishing are employed off shore, trolling and hand-line fishing. the trawl and gill nets are not used. the trolling is employed to catch spanish mackerel and barracuda, the hand line to catch white-fish and rock-cod. the gill net and troll could prob. ably be successfully used in the shoal water off' coronada beach. the young of many of the species the adult of which are always found outside often enter the bay. for instance, tinkers abound in the bay, while adult mackerel are never found, except outside. young barracuda are sometimes found in abundance, half-grown spanish mackerel enter the bay, and the young paralebrax clathratus are common while the adult is usually taken outside. those specimens of outside species living in deeper water are always larger than those coming from shallower water. on the cortes banks the young of the species of the genus sebastodes abound on the elevated ridge, while the adult are always found in deeper water. those representatives of species abundant farther north are frequently much larger than the average size of the northern individuals. for instance, sebastodes proriger reaches on an average 10 inches near san francisco, while one found here measured about 24 inches. this may be partly explained by the fact that these specimens usually come from deep water. the color of the same species of bottom fishes inhabiting the bay and the outside varies greatly, and even the same species at different depths or on different bottom, show remarkable changes. sebastodes vexillaris varies from flesh color to the brightest scarlet and olive color. a local fisherman explains the color of this fish by the fact that fishes in shallow water are likely to be blacker, those in deep water lighter, and those on hard, rocky bottom of moderate depth bright red. scorpaena guttata deserves special mention. it is found both in the bay and outside, on the rock-cod banks. those found in the bay are dull colored, chiefly brown, variously mottled, while those from the outside have the brown replaced by the brightest scarlet. the color is so strikingly different that i have repeatedly thought the two tishes to be distinct. vol125 192proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xvfour lists of the fishes of san diego have been published. jordan and gilbert in their first list, referred to as j. and g., '80 (proc. u.s. nat. mus., 1880, 23) gave notes on fifty-seven species collected by them. rosa smith, in her first list, referred to as r. smith, '80 (nov., 1880), enumerated eighty-two species. in their second list jordan and gilbert, '80a (l. c. 452) enumerated eighty three. the fourth, or rosa smith's second list, '85 (west american scientist, june, july, and august, 1885), contained the names of one hundred and nine species. in the proceedings of the u.s. national museum for 1881, jordan and gilbert give notes on the fishes of the pacific coast in general. this paper is quoted as j.and g., 81; their synopsis of the fishes of north america as j. and g., '82. our three papers, notes from the san diego biological laboratory, i, ii, and 111, are referred to as '89, '89a, and '90. the other papers are quoted in full. the present list enumerates one hundred and seventy species and varieties. of these i have observed all but the following during my stay at san diego. (1) carcharinus lamiella; (2) manta birostris; (3) hippocampus ingens; (4) siphostoma punctipinne; (5) s. californiense; (6) gasterosteus microcephalus; (7) caranx caballus; (8) chatodipterus faber; (9) neoclinus blanchardi; (10) spharoides politus; (11) diodon hystrix. i am not certain whether numbers 3, 7, 8, 10, and 11 of the foregoing should not be discarded. they have not been taken here within the last ten years. the others have been taken either by rosa smith prior to 1887 or they have been authoritatively recorded from here by others. the species (60) added to the san diego fauna during the period covered by this paper have already been enumerated: in the proceedings of the u. s. national museum, 1888, 463: the west american scientist for october and november, 1889: the proceedings of the california academy of sciences, second series., vol. iii, p. 1, 1890, and in the american naturalist february, june, and december, 1891, and january 92. of the sixty species added over twenty were new to science, most of the others being forms already well known from the northern part of california. comparatively few southern species have been added. i have found surprisingly few species of pelagic fish eggs. this is probably due to the limited means of collecting them and to the fact that at least 30 per cent of the teleosts inhabiting the region are viviparous, the following synoptical key will perhaps assist future investigators to identify some of the species of fish eggs found at san diego. > > a key to the species of ora obserred. • the egg is largo and has a leathery covering; the young leaves it in an advanced stage possessing most of the characters of the adult.. selachians. d. egg case flat, purse shaped . scylliorhinu's. aa. egg case spirally twisted, subconical. heterodontus. + only two of the many genera of selachians found here are oviparous, 126 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. the egg is small, with a zona radiata for covering; the young leaves it as a larva. a. the egg is hatched in the mother. b. all the intraovarian food is supplied by the large yolk, which always contains one or more oil-globules. young leaving mother in larval stages.... sebastodes. bb. intraovarian food mostly supplied by secretions of the ovary. eggs small, owing to the nonformation of food deutoplasm. development characterized by the hypertrophy of the hind gut and later by the hypertrophy of the fins and their capillaries. young leaving mother in a mature stage. ... embiotocidæ. aa. the egg is hatchell in water. c. nonpelagic eggs. d. eggs very large, 5 millimeters or more in diameter... porichthys. dd. eggs much less than 5 millimeters in diameter. e. zona radiata without filaments or projections. f. eggs cohesive (pelagic?); several oil globules..oligocottus analis. (leptocottis. ?) sf. eggs adhesive, protoplasm yellow, no oil globules. clupea mirabilis. ee, zona radiata with filaments scattered over its whole surface. 9. filaments numerous, placed directly on the zona. fundulus parvipinnis. gg. filaments few, very long, tapering, set in sheaths of the zona. (gobiesocidæ.) h. eggs large 2.4 millimeters in diameter, amber colored. tylosurus exilis. v 999. filaments few, their disk-like basal expansions hollow, fitting into projections of the zona. (atiierinidæ.) i. about ten filaments; several oil-globules during the early stages.... ..atherinopsis. eee. zona radiata with filaments or other processes on restricted regions. j. mushroom-shaped processes near micropyle. gasterosteus. jj. a mesh work of filaments attached in a circle about the microthe zona much elongate, clubshaped, attached to lower surface of rocks. ziphlogobius californiensis. jij. numerous fine filaments forming a cushion over nearly half the zona; yolk salmon pink; white and deep purple oil-globules. isesties. k. spawning in march in rocky tide pools of the ocean beach. i. gilberti. hit. spawning in may in the bay. i. gentilis. pyle. we have not seen the developing eggs of this species. they are probably fastened to objects in some way or other. the male is provided with a large (nidamental?) gland. the eggs of the other members of this family occurring here have not been examined. vol proceedings of the national museum. 1892, "] 127 cc. pelagic eggs. 1. a large number of ova embedded in a transparent matrix; no oil globule. fierasfer. ii. ova separate. m. no oil globule. n. yolk in large segments, clear. 0. round ova... .stolephorus compressus, 00. oval ova.. stolephoru's delicatissimus and ringens. mm. one or more oil globules. p. embryo developing black pigment in the ovun. q. oil globule at the time of hatching situated at the anterior end of the yolk. paralabrax nebulifer. pp. embryo developing black and brownish pigment in the ovum. r. oil globulo at the time of hatching situated at the anterior end of the yolk. 8. yellowish pigment at the time of hatching in definite regions, viz:-at the mouth, at the middle of the body, over the anus and at some distance behind the anus.. paralabrax maculofasciatus. rr. oil globiile at the time of hatching at or near the posterior end of tho yolk. t. chromatophores appearing when gastrula covers about one-third of the yolk, proliferated from the embryonic shield and the entire embryonic ring; fewer chromatophores on the tail at the time of hatching.. sciena saturna (and other species of sciaenidae ?) tt. chromatophores appearing when the gastrula covers about two-thirds of the yolk, proliferated from the embryo only; more chromatophores ou tail at the time of hatching.. hypsopsetta guttulata. aaa. the eggs are hatched in a brood-pouch along the ventral surface of the male. .syngnathidae, unidentified eggs. species no. 1. plate x, figs. 6-9. one egg of this species was dredged august 14, at 9:15 a. m., in the stage represented by fig. 6, pl. 1. the egg is transparent, the globule amber-colored. the egg measures 0.80 millimeter, the oil globule 0.12 millimeter. the pigment cells were minute and the difference between yellow and black not well marked. four hours later the tail is just beginning to develop. the oil glob. ule is very sparingly pigmented; the yolk sack in the neighborhood of the globule is covered with many yellow and one or two black cells. the color cells on the embryo are very small and numerous, the black ones as usual are on the dorsal, the yellow ones on the ventral surface of the embryo. 128 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. another egg was found august 28, and is represented in fig. 8. the tail is much developed and the pigment more conspicuous. on hatching the yolk sack is 0.80 millimeter long, and the total length of the larva (fig. 9) is 1.4 millimeters. the globule is well pig. mented and there are a number of chromatophores on the yolk sack below, in front of the globule. the chromatophores are pretty evenly distributed over the fish. species no. 2. pleuronichthys cænosus ? plate x, figs. 10–13. a single egg of this species was found april 26, at 12:30 p. m. the marginal infolding of the gastrula was well begun. the egg was smaller than that of hypsopsetta and was supposed to be that of pleuronichthys cænosus. it measured 0.71 millimeter in diameter and the single small globule was scarcely more than 0.08 millimeter in diameter. the blastopore closed somewhat over seven hours after the stage represented in fig. 10. nineteen hours after fig. 10 pigment has been formed, the embryo is comparatively narrow. in place of kupffer's , vesicle there was a double vesicle, one behind the other, as represented in figs. 11 and 12. this was in all probability a pathological specimen. in the figures only black-pigment cells are drawn; in later stages numerous greenish-yellow cells become prominent wherever there are black ones. they are especially abundant about the head and on the body near the end of the yolk sack. summary of the daily observations. the following lists are an abridgment of the detailed records kept for the species. the following abbreviations have been used: b. found in san diego bay. & or 8. ripe female or male, or female with young if a viviparous species. e. eggs were procured (usually by skimming). y. young were taken. a. abundant. f. few. c. common. numbers ordinarily indicate the date of the month when specimens were seen. thus, after no. 11, august 20, 28, indicates that specimens were taken on august 20 and 28. if a number is followed by an it indicates the number of specimens taken. thus, under no.59, october 31, 1* indicates that one specimen was taken on october 31, etc, 2 vol129 1892 . xv. proceedings of the national museum. ] species. jan. feb. mar. apr. may june july. aug. sept. oct. nov. dec. a. 27 pb. 20 y 28 ! 27 e. 1. branchiostoma elon. gatim 2. heterodontus fran. cisci. 3. sqnalus acanthias. 4. seylliorhinus ven. triosus 5. galers californicus.. 0. triacis semifasciatus 7. rhinotriacis henlei.. 8. galeorhinus z yop. tarus.. 9 carcharhinus glan. cus 10. carcharhinus lami. 149 b. 77b. 60 b. 79 b. 70 b. 30 b. 14 b. ella ....... 20, 28 7, 24 2 15 11 20 22 22 22 22 22 25 10 요 ​a. 19 11 a. a. 29 y. 21 y. 10 a. a. a. 20, 1* 18 e. e. e. 5 a... a.-e. 11. sphyrna zygæna.. 12. alopias vulpes. 13. squatina squatina... 14. rhinobatus pro. ductus .... 15. rhinobatus exasperatus 16. rhinobatus triseri. atus. 17. c'rolophus halleri 18. pteroplatea mar. morata 19. dasybatis dipterura. 20. myliobatis californi. cus.. 21. manta birostris 22. phoxinus orcuttii. 23. albula vulpes. 24. clupea mirabilis 25. clupea sagax.. 26. perkinsia otbonops.. 37. stolephorus ringens. 28. stolephorus delica. tissimus... 29. stolephorus com/ pressus. 30. synodus lucioceps... 31. tarletonbeania tenua 32. diaphus theta.. 33. stenobrachius leu. copsarum 34. myctophum town. sendi.. 35. myctophum calitor. niense 36. catablemella brachy. chir 37. salmo irideus 38. cyprinodon macu. larius 39. fundulus parvipin. nis 40. sidera mordax 41. tylosurus exilis 42. scomberesox brevi. rostris 43. hemirhamphus rosa 44. exocetus californi. 5 2 e. $24 e. 126 e. a. 15 e. 25 e. 14 f. f. f. f. 31, 1 28 a. 29 a. 14 4,27 28 a. 28 a. 28 a. a. a. a. a. a. a. a. a. a. 13 a. 1 a. a. 15 a. 2 f. 1 15 a. a. a a. a. cus.... 14 22 2:2 f. f. y. y. 20 45. siphostoma puncti. pinne 46. siphostoma auliscis. 47. siphostoma lepto. hynchum 48. hippocampus ingens 49. gasterosteus microcephalus 50. mugil cep balus. 51. menidia tenius. 52. atherinopsis cali. forniensis 53. athernjops aftinis. 54. sphyraena argentea. 55. reinora remora 56. xiphias gladius. 57. scomber colias.. 58. scomberom or 118 maculatus.... مین 10 21. a. ? a. a. p a. f. a. a, 9 ao&b a. 9! a. 28 19 a. a. f. a. 7 a. a. a. a. 9 a. a. f. y. f.y. b. 27 a. a. 9 1 a. 12* a. a. a. 9 d. mt 130 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. species. jan. feb. mar. apr. may. june. july. aug. sept. oct. nov. dec. f. f. 13 a. a. 2. a. a. a. a. a. 31.1" 15. 1 3 f. c. c. c. 30 25 a. a. a. c. f. 16. 2* 10 a. 2. c. a.y.b. 27 29 & a. а. 2. > a. 27 29 a. 9 a. a. 2. a. a. 21 29 9 7 c. a. y 1 a. f. a, f. 15 29.1% a. a. 9.1* 20 28 f. a f. 170 a. 30 19 a. 10 a f. c. e. c. 24 270 a. a. e. f. 27 a. 25 а. f. f. 11.1 f. f. f. f. f. 20 a. f. f. 21 25 7 1 y. а. 9 10 f. a. f. a. 1* f. a. a. 오​. 29 오 ​요 ​q 요 ​59. sarda chilensis. f. 60. orcynus alalonga 61. euthynnus pelamys. 62. trachurus picturatus... 4 fyb 63. caranx chrysus ca. ballus. 64. seriola dorsalis. 65. stromateus simil. limus. f.y. b. 66. paralabrax clathratus... c. 67. paralabrax maculofasciatus a. 68. paralabrax nebuli. fer ... 69. stereolepis gigas. 70. xenistius californi. ensis .... 71. anisotremus davidsoui 72. girella nigricans.. 73. caesiosoma califoruiense 74. roncador stearnsi.. 75. sciana saturna f. 76. genyonemus lineatus. a. 77. umbrina roncador.. 78. menticirrhus undulatus. 9.1* 79. cynoscion nobile. 80. cynoscion parvi. pinne 81. seriplus politus 82. gerres cinereus. 83. abeona minima. ? 81. brachyistius ire. natus 85. cymatogaster aggre. gatus. q 86. hyperprosopon argenteus. q 87. holconotus rho. doterus 10.1* 88. amphistichus argenteus 오 ​89. hypsurus caryi... 90. embiotoca jacksoni. 91. phanerodon laterale. 92. phanerodon atripes 93. phanerodon orthonotus. 94. phanerodon furcatum a. 95. rhacochilus toxotes. 96. damalichthys argy. rosomus. f. 97. trochocopus pul. cher. a. 98. platyglossus semi. cinctus.. 99. pseudojulis modes. tus... 100. pomacentrus rubicundus. 101. chromis punctipin. nis 102. chætodipterus faber zonatus 103. caulolatilus prin. ceps.. f. 104. gobius nicholsi 105. lepidogobius gil. berti c. 106. lepidogobiu8 y. cauda c. 107. clevelandia longipinnis... a. 108. gillichthys pira. bilis a. 109. typhlogobius caii. forniensis a. 110. ophiodon clongatus. 9.30 f. 111. zaniolepisfrenatus. 요 ​a. &. &. a. 요 ​a. a. a.12 a. 79 28 1 a. & a. a. 3 a. 3.1* f. f. a. a. a. a. a. it. 1.4 9 a. 29 21 3 28.1* f. a. a. a. a. a. f. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. 1 a. 2. a. a. a. a. a. a. a. 2. a. a. 2. å. a. a. a. a. a. a. a. a. a. e. a. e. a. a. а. f. 28 a. f. a. f. a. f. &. f. f. vol131 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ) . xvspecies. jan., feb. mar. apr. may. june. july. aug. sept. oct. nov. dec. c. 9 c. نت e. c. c. ان نے c: c. c. c. c. c. ? c. c. c. c. c. c. c. r ن : نن 14 10 a. f. f. c. c. c. c. c. c. 7 f. 21 26 12 c. a. 14. 6* 2. 1 23 14.1" a. a. a. f. 7 f. a. a. f. a. f. f. a. ? f. f. 3* a. ? 5 f. a. c. c. c. 2 7.2* a. a. 2. a. a. a. a. a. a. 14 3* c. c. c. c. c. c. 9 c. c. 11 1* 1 3* f. f. f. f. ? f. 7 2* f. f. f. f. 7 f. f. 3 23. 1 a. a. a. 24 a. a. a. 1. f. f. 9 c. f. 14 f. f. a. a. a. a. a. a. a. a. a. a. a. a. a.279 a. a. 2. a. a. a. a. a. 112. sebastodes pauci. spinis... c. ? 113. sebastodes flavidus. c. 114. sebastodes serraniodes.. c. 9 115. sebastodes goodei.. c. 116. sebasto les rufus. 117. sebastodes ovalis. 118. sebastodes mys. tinus. f. 119. sebastodes proriger. 120. sebastodes atrovi rens 121. sebastodes melanostomus. 122. sebastodes pinniger. 2* 123. sebastodes mimatus a. 9 124. sebastodes ruber.... 125. sebastodes rosaceus. f. 126. sebastodes constel. latus.. c. 127. sebastodes æreits 2 128. sebastodes chloro. stictus a. 129. sebastodes cos 130. sebastodes gilli. 131. sebastodes elongatus 132. sebastodes levis c. 9 133. sebastodes rubrovinctus .... 2 134. sebastodes auricula. tus... f. 135. sebastodes rastreli. ger. 136. sebastodes vexillaris a. 9 137. sebastocles chry80melas ..... 138. sebastodes serriceps 139. scorpaena guttata .. 110. leptocottus armatus a. 141. leiocottus hirundo.. 31.1* 142. oligocottns analis. a. ? 143. icelinus australis. 144. paricelinus hopliti. cus... 145. scorpaenichthys marmoratus. 1 146. brachiopsis sp. 147. gobiesox rhessodon 148. gobiesox eigen. manni. 149. porichthys margari. tatus.. 150. isesthes gentilis 151. isesthes gilberti 152. heterostichuus rostratus. 153. heterostichus rostratus. f. 154. auchebopterus integripinnis. 155. neoclinus blanch ardi 156. fierasfer dubius ? 157. otophidium taylori. 158. merlucius productus 9. 2 159. citharichthys sordidus 160. eopsetta jordani. 10.1*! 161. paralichthys cali. fornicus. f. 162. hippoglossina stomata. 163. xystrenrys liolepis. 164. pleuronichthys conosus.... a. 165. hypsopsetta guttu. lata a 166. symphurus atri. cauda 167. sphæroides politus. 168. diodon hystrix.. 169. chilomycterus californiensis.. 170. mola mola a. 1. 2 1.1* 1 1* f. a. 14 30 270 15 c. c. c. c. c. c. c. c. f. 27 f. f. f. f. a. a. 6.1* c. f. 7. c. c. c. f. f. f. c. c. c. 7.2 f. 3 a. a. a. a. a. a. a. e. a. a. 28 a. a. a. 5 132 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. general remarks on the individual species. i have endeavored to collate references to san diego fishes. branchiostomidæ. branchiostoma elongatum sundevall. cooper, in cronise, natural wealth of california. 498, 1868. jordan & gilbert, '81. 29 (not seen). as b. lanceolatum. gill, proc. u. s. nat. mus., v. 1882, 515; rosa smith, july, '85, 55. e. am. nat. 1892, 70. before 1891 three specimens of this species were known from san diego bay. they were taken by dr. cooper in 10 fathoms of water near roseville. during july, 1891, i took a large number near ballast point, where a dredge was deepening the channel. heterodontidæ. heterodontus francisci (girard). jordan & gilbert, '80, 34; rosa smith, july, '80a., 458., id., '82, 30. r. smith, '85. this species is very abundant at san diego both in the bay and outside. the eggs are often driven ashore and lodged between rocks in tide pools or are thrown on the beach. several eggs ready to hatch have in previous years been found during january. a female about 1 meter long opened march 27, 1889, by some fishermen, contained an egg inclosed in its twisted shell. spinacidæ. squalus acanthias linnæus. e. & e., '89,1; '89a, 12. this species is very abundant at the cortes banks. one specimen, taken in july was with young, 22 millimeters long. one individual caught a short distance off point loma, january 9, 1890, was with young, 11 millimeters long. in these the external gills had already disappeared and the characteristic color of the adult was developed. it has not been seen in the bay. scyllidæ. scylliorhinus ventriosus garman. rosa smith, '85. e. & e., '89, 13. we have not seen the adult of this species at san diego. the empty dried egg cases are frequently thrown up on the beach and occasionally live ones are found. they are extruded during december (february at santa barbara, j. & g.). the young have been described by us l. c. it has not been taken in the bay. vol133 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvgaleorhinidæ. galeus oalifornicus (gill). j. & g. '80, 34, as mustelus californicus; r. smith,'80, mustelus hinnulus. j. & g. '80a, 458; id. '8la, 31. r. smith, july, '85. this species is quite common in san diego bay. a specimen caught with hook and line, february 14, 1890, was with young. there were fourteen and the yolk was all or nearly all absorbed. the specimen was mutilated and the young had been taken from it when it was examined. they were evidently nearly ready to be freed. triacis semifasciatus girard. j. & g. '80, 34; r. smith, '80; j. & g. '80a, 458; id. '81, 31; r. smith, '85, july. e. & e. '89a, 13. the females of this species are abundant in the bay during summer and are frequently taken with hook and line. a few are also found in wirter. embryos in advanced stages were taken from the mother in september and october. the young have been described i. c. rhinotriacis henlei gill. e. & e., '89a, 13. a single specimen of this species was taken with hook and line september 7, 1889. it contained but three embryos in either uterus, each 115 millimeters long. galeorhinus zyopterus jordan & gilbert. r. smith '80, as g. galeus; j. & g. '80a, 458; id. '81, 32; id. ’82, 871; r. smith '85, july; e. & e. ?89a, 13. common in the bay in summer or during the early part of gestation. two females taken august 30, 1890, had young 50 millimeters and 80 millimeters long respectively. one specimen was taken off point loma, february 14, 1890. carcharhinus glaucus (l.). e. & e. '89, 1. three large specimens, nearly 3 meters long, were taken in san diego bay may 14, 1889. it was found to be quite abundant on the cortes banks during july and august. carcharhinus lamiella jordan & gilbert. r. smith '80; j. & g. '80a, 458. j. & g. '81, 32 all as eulamia lamia. j. & g. proc. u. s. nat. mus. v. 110, 1882, as carcharias lamiella; id. '82, 60 as eulamia lamia, and 873 as c. lamiella. r. smith, '85, july. only two specimens of this shark have been taken as yet. they were procured by jordan & gilbert in 1880. 134 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. sphyrnidæ. sphyrna zygæna (l.). e. & e. '89a, 10 and 11. this species is not uncommon during summer. a large specimen was taken on the cortes banks in august. one was caught in the bay on september 6 and others were taken off point loma august 28 and september 24. it seems to be always accompanied by echeneis remora, alopida. alopias vulpes (gmelin). two specimens of this species were taken in the fall of 1890. squatinidæ. squatina squatina (l.). r. smith '80; j. & g. '80a, 458; id. '81, 33; r. smith '85, july. this species is probably found in the bay throughout the year. it is not infrequently caught off the wharves. specimens were seen on april 20, 1889, and january 15 and february 11, 1890. rhinobatida. rhinobatus productus ayres. j. & g. '80, 34; r. smith ’80; j. & g. '80a, 458; id. '81, 34; id. '82, 876; r. smith '85, july. caught off the wharves in spring. rhinobatus exasperatus jordan & gilbert. j. & g. '80, 32; r. smith '80; j. & g. '80a, 458; id. '81; id. '83, 63 and 876; r. smith '85, july. common in the bay. rhinobatus triseriatus jordan & gilbert. r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 458; id., '81, 34; id., '82, 64; r. smith, '85, july. not uncommon in the bay. dasybatidæ. urolophus halleri cooper. j. & g., '80, 31; r. smith, '80; j. & g.,'80a, 457; id.,'81, 35; id., '82, 46; r. smith, '85, july. very common. pteroplatea marmorata cooper. j. & g., '80, 31; k. smith, '80; j. & g., *80:1, 457; id., '81, 35; id., '82, 47; r. smith, '85, july. common. 1892. ] 135 proceedings of the national museum. dasybatis dipterura jordan & gilbert. j. & g., '80, 31; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 457; id., '81, 35; id., '83, 48; r. smith, '85, july. one specimen taken with hook and line in october, 1889; another in a seine november, 1890. myliobatidæ. mybliobatis californicus gill. j. & g., '80, 31; r. smith, '80. common. mantidæ. manta birostris (walbaum). no authentic specimens have been recorded from here. jordan & gilbert credit it to san diego on the authority of whalers. mr. medina claims to have seen one about five years ago. none of the other fishermen know anything about it. cyprinidæ. phoxinus orcuttii eigenmann & eigenmann. e. & e., 90, 2. this species is very abundant in the temecula river, at the temecula station, and in its tributaries. some specimens were also found at san bernardino. albuli̇dæ. albula vulpes (linnæus). j. & g., '80, 30; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 457; id., '81, 37; id., '82, 258; r. smith, '85, july. this species has not, at any time during the past year, been abundant at san diego. it is occasionally caught during the summer and early spring. a few specimens were taken september 10 and it was not seen again till december 19, when a single small individual was taken. i have not seen it with ripe sexual elements. clupeidæ. clupea mirabilis girard. (plate xi.) j. & g., '80, 30; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 457; id., '81, 37; id., '82, 265; r. smith, '85, july. eigenmann, am. nat., 1, march, 1889. this species entered san diego bay september 11, 1889, and no more were seen after february 15, 1890. it spawns probably during the whole time of its stay here, as ripe females were seen the first and last days it was taken. the young have not been observed in the bay during summer. the whole of the catch is sold fresh. on january 3, 1888, a ripe male and a ripe female were procured, and although the fish had been dead some time fertilization was success136 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. fully attempted. the eggs are very adhesive, and come from the ovary in long strings. shortly after they have been deposited they lose their adhesive power, and if they are then freed from the objects to which they have become attached they do not adhere again. the membrane at the time of deposition is greatly shriveled and does not become distended till some time afterwards. the yolk is collected in small spheres; it is grayish while the protoplasm is yellow and collects at the side of the egg. this fact enables one to trace the formation of the germinal disk quite readily. in an hour the protoplasm is well collected at the ectodermal pole, while processes extend from it over the yolk and others probably in between the yolk spheres. frequently there is also a slight thickening of protoplasm over the entodermal pole. the fate of this has not been determined. fig. 4. one hour and fifty minutes after fertilization one of the eggs began to segment. the segmentation furrow descends slowly, producing slight folds on the surface of the blastomeres on either side of the furrow. with the descent of the furrow the blastomeres become more and more separated. when the furrow has reached the base of the germinal disk it slowly closes up again, the blastomeres becoming closely appressed. at one hour and fifteen minutes from the beginning of the first segmentation the second furrow appears. at one hour and fortyfive minutes the third cleavage has been completed in several eggs. (fig. 15.) it is now seen that the segmentation is not quite symmetrical, and the third cleavage, which invariably leaves eight cells in pelagic eggs in this case, produces five or six or seven as well as eight, and these are not very regularly arranged. this fact is undoubtedly due to the hastening of the segmentation in some cells and the retardation in others. the development of this species does not differ greatly from that of the shad, and the accompanying figures probably sufficiently illustrate the different stages. the meridian of the embryo comes to lie in a horizontal plane. two days after fertilization the embryo begins to move and the heart beats. six days and a half after fertilization one of the membranes was empty, but the fish could not be found. the remaining embryos remained active in the shells five days longer when all of them died. the larvæ or young of this species i have never found. clupea sagax jenyns. j. & g., '80, 30; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 457; id., '81, 37; id., '82, 265; r. smith, '85, july. this species enters san diego bay about the first of september (large ones were first seen the past season on september 10) and remains till some time in march. large schools of them found about the wharves. few are caught in seines, and many of these are are vol137 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xvnot utilized. some are caught with grab hooks off the wharves, and are sold at 5 cents per dozen. they reach a length of 0.30 m.; but few specimens of such size are caught. at times they are in such abundance that bushels of them are left at low tide in the small puddles about piles. young ones remain in the bay during the summer. the spawning season has not been ascertained. * perkinsia * othonops r. s. eigeninam. american naturalist, february, 1891. one specimen was obtained with hook and line among mackerel in november, 1890. stolephoridæ. the members of this family are probably found here throughout the year, but they are certainly much more abundant in spring and summer than in winter (if they are here in winter at all). during spring and summer they furnish a large per cent of the food of all the larger fishes. the species inhabiting san diego waters may be distinguished by the following key: a. spindle-shaped, form of clupea sagax, no silvery lateral band, bluish above, not translucent. a. 22; head 3. ova oval. young more compressed, sides silvery but without well-defined band, not translucent.... ...ringens. aa. strongly compressed, a silvery lateral band, translucent in life. head 41. b. a. 23; depth 44. ova oval... ..delicatissimus. bb. a. 31; depth 31. ova round.. .compressi8. the pelagic eggs of these species are the most striking feature of the surface fauna in april, may, and june. the oval eggs were first obtained on april 18, and on account of their bizarre appearance were at first set aside as not fish eggs, but the gastrulation soon convinced me that they were. they are so abundant during may that quantities have been obtained simply by several times throwing the skimming net over the water and drawing it in while standing on the float of a boat. house. the oval eggs of delicatissimus, ringens were the first to appear, the round eggs of compressus appear later. the yolk is collected in clear transparent spheres. stolephorus ringens (jenyns). (plate xii). girard, pacific r. r. survey x. 334, 1859 (as engraulis mordar) j. and g., '80, 30; r. smith '80; j. and g. '80a 457; id. '81, 36; id. '82, 272. r. smith '87, july; e. and e. contrib. san diego biol., lab. i, west am. scient., june, '89. this is the largest anchovy found at san diego. it is found in the bay in summer and ranges from the surface to a depth of about 100 fathoms in the ocean off point loma. it is found in the stomachs of * this genus is dedicated to the hon. george c. perkins, of san francisco, ex-governor of california, who has for many years materially aided scientific research in the state of california. 138 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. pelagic species like the albicore and in that of the bottom fishes like the species of sebastodes. specimens of this species are even more numerous in the summer in the bay than clupea sagar in wmter. they swim in large schools and frequently when frightened by large fishes below them or for other reasons the heads of a whole school of them will be thrust out of water. the pelicans at this time dive in among them and catch large numbers. schools of tylosurus e.rilis flank them and by sudden darts catch many. they are thus beset on all sides by enemies. they feed on crustacea and larval fishes. i have not definitely decided which of the oval eggs belong to this species and which to delicatissmus. stolephorus delicatissimus (girard). (plate xii.) girard, proc. acad. nat. sci. philail. vii, 1851, 151 and pacific r. r. survoy x, 325, 1859; j. and g. '80, 30; r. smith '80, j. and g. '800, 457; id. '81, 38; id. '82, 276; r. smith, '85, july; e. and e. contrib). san diego biol. lab., i, west am. scient., june, 1889. this species is very abundant in san diego bay. i have not determined whether it remains throughout the year or not. it certainly is very common during summer or from march to september. jordan and gilbert have found it abundant here in january. development of stolephorus delicatissimus and ringens. (plate xii.) the eggs of these two species differ from most other pelagic eggs in their elongate shape. the eggs are transparent. the yolk is totally segmented. the eggs vary greatly in size and shape, and at first i supposed them to be three distinct species. the measurements are 0.81 by 0,57 millimeters, 0.89 by 0.49, and 0.70 by 0.50. oval eggs which may be referred to this genus have been described by m. kowalewski,* wenckebach,t and raffaele 1 (who correctly identifies them). agassiz & whitman & lave described a species of stolephorus as an osmerus. the eggs of osmerus are provided with a peculiar double zona, the outer layer of which is reflexed at the time of spawning, and remains attached to the inner part around the micropyle. these are the most abundant of the pelagic eggs found at san diego. during their season a number could be procured at any time by throw* veber die ersten entwickelungsprocesse der knochenfische. zeitscbr. f. wissensch. zoöl., 1883. + beiträge zur entwickelungsgeschichte der knochenfische. arch. mikr. anat. xxviii, 1886. i le nova galleggianti e le larve dei teleostei nel golfo di napoli. mitth. zoöi. stat. neaple, viii, 1888. ♡ the development of osseus fishes, i. mem. mus. comp. zool. 1885. 1892. ] 139 proceedings of the national museum. ing the net from the wharf as far as it would reach and drawing it in again. they were first noticed april 18, 1889, when eight eggs were found. they soon became very abundant and remained so until july. there is but a small water space in the egg membrane, and the germ lies at the end of the longer axis of the egg just beneath the micropyle. the physiological axis of the egg, therefore, corresponds to its longer structural axis. the fertilization and the earliest stages in the segmentation were not observed in any of the pelagic eggs. all the eggs found had evidently been deposited in the evening. the segmentation progresses rapidly, being completed in about eleven hours. at this time the blastoderm rests on the periblast only on its outer margins. the periblast dips deeply into the yolk, leaving a large, concavo-convex-shaped seg. mentation cavity, to the bottom of which cells from the blastoderm sometimes fall (fig. 1). this is probably the stage termed the “blastula" by ryder. some time after the infolding of the margin of the blastoderm the segmentation cavity is almost entirely obliterated by the ingrowing cells. the inner margin of the embryonic shield reaches beyond the middle of the blastoderm, and by the time the blastoderm covers half the yolk the embryo extends entirely across the ectodermic end of the yolk (figs 2 and 3). the anterior and posterior margins of the embryonic ring extend evenly over the yolk and the blastopore closes at the entodermic pole. m. kowalewski concluded, from several preserved oval eggs, that the posterior margin advanced but little, while the anterior edge moves over the greater portion of the egg, the blastopore closing near the ectodermic pole. it would seeem that such a closing of the blastopore would be somewhat precipitous after the embryonic ring had passed the entodermic pole of the egg. he has superimposed the stages in his possession in a single figure. the latest stage-one about corresponding to a stage intermediate between my figs. 9 and 10-le las drawn upside down, which would bring the closing of the blastopore about where the auditory capsule of my fig. 10 comes to lie. his first two stages are either pathological (which would account for the eccentric positions of the blastoderm), or the blastodisc in the species studied by him is normally placed to one side of the exact mechanical pole of the egg in the eggs observed by me the tip of the head soon comes to a state of rest while the posterior growing end of the embryo advances over the yolk. the blastopore closes in about eighteen hours. kupffer's vesicle disappears in about twenty-four hours. at the closing of the blastopore the embryo extends somewhat more than half way around the yolk. the embryo hatches in about forty-eight hours and measures 1.79 millimeters. the tail is sharply bent down over the yolk, making almost a right angle with the axis of the body, so that the vigorous 140 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. motion of the tail causes the embryo to revolve around its snout as a pivot. at this time the lateral organs show as four or five hyaline projections on either side of the body. on treating the eggs with perenyi's fluid just before hatching, the contents of these cells become granular. the embryo contracts and a slender thread, the nervus laterale, can be seen connecting them. slender roots are also seen extending from these cells to the embryo. the yolk is rapidly reduced in size and the embryo doubles its length in about twenty-four hours. the oldest larva examined is represented in fig. 14, forty-eight hours after hatching. pigment does not appear in these eggs or larvæ during the time that they were examined. in the segmented yolk these eggs agree with those of the shad and other physoclistic fishes. stolephorus compressus (girard). girard, pacific r. r. survey, x, 336, 1859. r. smith '80; j. and g. '80a., 457; id. '81, 37; id. '82, 276; r. smith '85, july; e. and e., i. c., june, 1889. quite common, but not so abundant as ringens or delicatissimus. development of stolephorus compressus. (plate x, figs. 1-5). the eggs of this species can readily be distinguished from other pelagic eggs. they are spherical, transparent, without oil globules, and with a totally segmental yolk. they measure 0.76 millimeter. a single egg of this species was found april 24 and is represented in fig. 1. the next appearance of these eggs was on april 26, when two eggs were found, the one represented in fig. 2 the other in fig. 4. the one represented in fig. 2 hatched in about sixty hours. the time required for hatching was considerably reduced in eggs found later, doubtless owing to the rise in temperature. more eggs were found on june 2, and from june 15 to 25 they were very abundant. on hatching these fishes resemble the other species of stolephorus, and but little difference can be made out between the species during the first twenty-eight hours after hatching. up to this time no sign of pigment has appeared. synodontidæ. synodus lucioceps (ayres). this species is never very abundant at san diego and has not been recorded from here until the present year. it was first observed by me on september 14, 1889, and it was caught with hook and line and with seines at an average of about one a day till the 17th of december. none were observed after that until february 11, 1890, when a single specimen was taken. it was most abundant during november. vol141 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvscopelidæ. three species of this family were taken at the cortes banks and three in the neighborhood of san diego. all were taken from the mouths of rock cod. they are not found in the regions inhabited by rock cod except on stormy days, and it is only during rough weather, therefore, that they can be procured. the explorations of the albatross would seem to show that in deep water there lives still another series of this family. the littoral species of this family, known from the pacific coast of america, may be distinguished by the following key: a. lat. i. none. greatly compressed. scales crenulate... tarletonbeania e. & e. b. origin of dorsal equidistant from tip of snout and base of caudal peduncle; ventrals reaching half way to 7th anal ray; no spines on caudal peduncle; dorsal and ventral profiles equally arched. tenua e. & e. bb. origin of dorsal nearer snout than base of caudal; ventrals not reaching half way to vent; caudal peduncle with three spines above and below; ventral profile more strongly arched than dorsal profile. crenulare j. & g. aa. lat. l. present. c. phosphorescent spots thetaform..... diaphus e. & e. d. pectorals small, not reaching ventrals, inserted low. d. 11. a. 12. lat. 1. 34. head 31; depth 4. snout blunt. orbit 3 in head, & in interorbital. scales entire. a conspicuous phosphorescent spot before each eye... theta e. & e. cc. phosphorescent spots normal. e. scales of lat. i. enlarged.. stenobrachius e. & e. f. a. 14. . lat. 1. 36. eye 4 in head, 1 in interorbital. head 31. d. 13. light gray, finely dotted with black. deep forward, decreasing evenly to caudal peduncle, which is 2 in the greatest depth..... lucopsarum e. & e. ee. scales of lat. 1. not enlarged. g. pectoral inserted high. dorsal not longer than anal.myctophum raf. h. a phosphorescent spot at base of middle caudal rays. pectoral narrow, reaching origin of anal. ventrals to the vent. townsendi e. & e. hh. no phosphorescent spot at base of middle caudal rays. i. pectoral not reaching second third of ventral. ventrals to vent. lat. l. 42...... californiense e. & e. ii. pectoral large, broad, reaching vent. ventrals not to vent. lat. 1. 38..... boops rich. gg. pectoral small, inserted low, the upper margin scarcely higher than origin of ventrals. dorsal longer than anal. eye 4 in head.. catablemeli a brachychir e. & e. tarletonbeania tenua eigenmann and eigenmann. e. & e., '90, 7. this species is at present known from a single well-preserved specimen taken off point loma. u. s. nat. mus. no. 41882. diaphus theta e. & e. e. & e., '90, 4. this species is quite abundant. a single specimen was obtained off point loma, december 2, 1889, and a number of specimens on the 28th 142 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. and 29th of january, 1890. it is known from the types only. u. s. nat. mus. nos, 41914 and 41922. in the structure of its phosphorescent spots it stands unique among the north american scopeloids. stenobrachius leucopsarum e. & e. e. & e., '00, 4. mycophon va nochi gilbert. this is the most abundant species found near point loma. speci. mens can be procured almost any rough day from the mouths of rock cod. it has been procured on december a and 27, 1889, and on jamary 28 and 29, 1890. during the last two dates it was quite abundant. u. s. nat. mus. no. 41916. myctophum townsendi e. & e. e. & e., '89, 2. this appears to be the most abundant scopeloid on the cortes banks, where a number were obtained from the mouths of rock cod in july, 1889, just after a heavy "nor'wester.” it is known from the types only. u. s. nat. mus. no. 41921. myctophum californiense e. & e. e. & e., '89. this species was procured with ii. toronsendi on the cortes banks. it is known from the types only. u. s. nat. mus. no. 41920. catablemella brachychir e. & e. e. & e., '89, 3; id, '90. this species is known from the specimens taken with the preceding two on the cortes banks. in general appearance it does not differ muchi from lyctophum. the position of the pectoral warrants, however, a generic separation. u. s. nat. mus. no. 41915. salmonidæ. salmo irideus gibbons. r. smith, '80 (pala); j. & g., '81, 38; id., '82, 312; r. smith, '85, july. this is one of the three or four species of fresh-water fishes known from the western slope of san diego county. it is abundant in the streams rising in smith mountain and emptying into the san luis rey river. it also occurs in the mountain streams east of san quentin, lower california. cyprinodontidæ. fundulus parvipinnis girard. girard, proc. acad. nat. sci., philad., 1851., 151, and pacific r. r. survey, x, 303, 1859; giinther, cat. fish., vi, 319, 1866; steind., ichthyol. beitr., v, 153, 1875; j. & g., '80, 30; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a. 357; id., '81, 12; id. '82, 333; r. smith, '85, july. very abundant in the bay of san diego and elsinore (fresh) lake. 1 > cyrinodon macularins girard. specimens of this species were collected by mr. c. r. orcutt on the colorado desert. others were collected by mr. f. stephens. vol143 1892. xv proceedings of the national museum. . murænidæ. sidera mordax (ayres). j. & g., '80, 30; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 357; id. '81, 36; id, '82, 356. r. smith, '85, july. not common. very rare in the bay. i have not collected this species in tide pools. it seems to be common on rocky places of the ocean beach. it was taken in the bay on may 1 and october 15, 1889. belonidæ. tylosurus exilis (girard). girard, proc. acad. nat. sci., philad., 1854, 149, and pacific r. r. survey x 158, 1859; günther cat. fish vi, 238; j. & g., '80, 30; r. smith '80; j. & g. '80a, 357; id. 81, 43; id., '82, 374; r. smith, '85, july. this species is very common in san diego bay during april and may, when it swims in schools on the surface. schools are frequently seen aanking schools of anchovies. ripe or nearly ripe eggs were obtained in the middle of april, and in may they flow quite freely. (j. & g. give the spawning season as august.) i have not been able to artificially fertilize the eggs nor have i found them developing naturally. the species is very rare in winter, i did not notice it later than october. jordan & gilbert procured a specimen in january. on account of its “green backbone” it is not used as food. the egg is large, amber colored, 2.1 mm. in diameter. the zona radiata is provided with long tapering filaments set in basal sheaths. scomberesox brevirostris peters. r. e., am. nat. 1891, 59. one specimen of this species was procured for me by mr. medina during the summer of 1890. hemirhamphus rosæ jordan & gilbert. swordfish. j. & g. '80, 29; id., proc. v. s. nat. mus., iii, 1880, 335; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 357; id., '81, 13; id., 82, 376; e. am. nat., feb. '91. this species is common in the bay throughout the year. like its relative, tylosurus erilis, it swims in schools of about a dozen on the surface during the early portion of the year and during summer. dur. ing the latter part of summer and during fall it is not seen, living in deeper water. we have seen schools as early as january 17. it probably spawns early in the year. young were procured with the surface net during april and may. exocetus californicus cooper. r. smith, '80; j. & g., 80a, 357; id., 's1, 12; id., '82, 379; r. smithı, 85, july, e. & e., notes from san diego biol. lab , i, 1, 1889. this species is not uncommon off point loma and on the cortes banks during summer. it does not enter the bay and is not caught for the market. 144 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. syngnathidæ. i have little to say concerning the members of this family. they are always very abundant, but i have observed them only once or twice while with the seiners, and while skimming for pelagic eggs. siphosotma punctipinne (gill). gill, proc. acad. nat. sci., philad., 1862, 283; j. & g., '81, 69; id., '82, 385; r. smith, '85, june. only the types known. > siphostoma auliscus swain. r. smith, '85, june. common. siphostoma leptorhynchum girard. 0 girard, pacific r. r. survey, x, 345, 1859. j. & g., '80, 23; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 453; july, '81, 69; id., '82, 381; r. smith, '85, june. this is by far the commonest species of pipefish in the bay. several are always taken in summer with the dredge, while the seine always brings them. hippocampus ingens girard. girard, pacific r. r. survey, x, 343, 1859. j. & g., '80, 23; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 453; id., '81, 69; id., '82, 386; r. smith, '85, june. we have never taken this species and have seen no specimens which certainly came from san diego. it is said to occur about the coronado islands. gasterosteidæ.* gasterosteus microcephalus girard. r. smith, '85, june. this species has not been observed by us during the year. it was taken by rosa smith in wildcat cañon, a tributary of the tia juana river. mugilida. mugil cephalus l. steipd., ichthyol britr. iii, 58, 1875; j. & g., '80, 29; r. smith, ’80; j. & g., 80a, 457; id., '81, 76; id., '82, 403; r. smith, '85, july. this species becomes abundant about the middle of february. it then enters the bay and ascends the swollen coast streams. the exact time of spawning has not been determined. one ripe female was reported to us on december 10 by a fisherman, who had never noticed it with eggs at other times. the young remain in the bay throughout the year, and are found chiefly in the sloughs of mud flats. aulorhynchus flavidus (gill) has been described to be by fishermen. i have not seen it. vol145 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xatherinidæ. menidia tenuis (ayres). j. & g., '80, 29; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 456; id., '81, 13; id., '82, 403; r. smith, '85, july; e. & e. '89a. this species was observed from august to december. jordan & gilbert procured it in january. we have not seen it during spring and suinmer. it is not frequently brought into the markets. atherinopsis californiensis girard. (plate xiii.) girard, pacific r. r. survey, x, 103, 1859. j. & g., '80, 29; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 456; id., '81, 44; id., '82, 409; r. smith, '85, july; eigenmann, am. nat., march, 1889. during its season this is one of the important food fishes of san diego. it reaches san diego the latter part of august, although but few enter the bay before november. it becomes abundant in october and remains so through january. the exact date of its disappearance has not been determined; large individuals have been seen as late as february 24. some females are with ripe spawn as early as the beginning of november and others do not spawn till the middle of february, and farther north the spawning season is still later. ripe females have been observed by us at san pedro in march, and others in the san francisco markets as late as may. during january and february the young of this species occur in enormous numbers along the muddy beaches of the bay, and a pail of water dipped at random frequently contains a dozen or more of them. i have succeeded in artificially fertilizing this species, but have not succeeded in hatching the eggs. i have not found the eggs in their natural position. the stages reached by the eggs artificially fertilized and the larvæ dredged enable me to give a tolerably complete outline of the embryonic and larval stages of this species. the eggs and milt of this species were taken from living fish and artificially fertilized at 4 p. m., december 31, 1889. the zona radiata of this, as in all other species of the atherinidze, is provided with long filaments which taper slightly toward the tip; at the base they are expanded into a broad hollow disk, a projection of the zona a fitting into the hollow of the filament. (pl. xiii.) there are about ten of these filaments, and they are scattered evenly over the whole surface of the zona. in the green eggs they are closely coiled as parallels of latitude, being less regularly coiled at the poles. in the ripe eggs they are uncoiled, and the green ones can therefore be readily separated. at the time the eggs are deposited a large number of globules are scattered over the yolk; these, however, soon collect in two groups, one at the top of the egg and one at or near the entodermic poles. very frequently the eggs assume such a position that their axes are proc. n. m, 92-10 146 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. horizontal. the micropyle can, in these cases, most usually be found and the formation of the blastodisk observed. in pelagic eggs, in which the blastodisk invariably forms on the lower surface of the yolk, its formation might in part be explained by gravi. tation; not so in atherinopsis and ciupea, where it forms at the side of the yolk. in later stages it is seen that this is the normal position of the germ, for even if one succeeds in bringing it to the top of the egg, the egg slowly rotates, the oil globules changing position until the germ lies again at the margin. the process of the formation of the germ differs considerably from that in clupea. after the water space is formed a contraction begins near the ectodermal pole and travels to that pole. this is repeated rythmically. one series or one of the waves is repre. sented in figs. 2–7. in fig. 2 the contraction has begun; in fig. 5 it has reached its culmination, and in fig. 7 it has ended and another is about to begin. the first cleavage is completed after about three hours and twentyfive minutes from fertilization; twenty minutes afterward four cells are formed. the sixteen-cell stage is reached in four hours forty-five minutes; thirty-two cells are formed five hours and ten minutes afterward. the first horizontal furrow was noticed after six hours, and the “blastula" (fig. 12) after twenty-eight hours. this figure is seen but a very short time; it is apparently formed by the sinking of the yolk below the center of the blastoderm. cells from the overlying blastoderm frequently fall to the bottom of this segmentation cavity. the cavity is apparently obliterated by the settling down of the cells overlying it; immediately after its disappearance the blastoderm spreads and its margins begin to be infolded. at this stage periblast nuclei are very abundant and extend over half the yolk; twelve hours afterward they have apparently decreased in number and are much larger in size. the blastopore closes after about eighty hours. kupffer's vesicle appears on the fourth day, the heart on the seventh; on the twelfth the embryos move vigorously; on the sixteenth day pigment spots appear on the top of the head and along the median line of the back. at this stage the embryos died, but the further developement may be gathered from the accompanying figures of larvae procured by skimming with the surface net. atherinops affinis (ayres). top smelt. j. & g. '80, 29; r. smith '80; j. & g. '80a, 156; id. '81, 13; id., 82, 109. this species is found in san diego bay throughout the year. it is abundant through winter and spring, but is not esteemed as highly as the smelt. large numbers are taken with seines. they spawn in may and june. the larvae are abundant in the bay, but its development has not been traced. from their habit of keeping near the surface, especially surrounding offal, they are termed top smelt. vol147 1892proceedings of the national museum, xv 94 :] . . sphyrænidæ. sphyræna argentea girard. barracuda. girard, pacific r. r. survey, x 39, 1859; steind. ichthyol., beitr., vii, 1, 1878. j. & g., '80, 29; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 456; id. '81, 44; id. '82, 41; r. smith, '85. e. zoe, april, '90. this is one of the most important food fishes of the whole of southern california. in summer it is abundant on the whole coast of california from monterey south warıl, but it is probably more abundant southward than in the neighborhood of monterey. during the winter it disappears from the coast of california, but is taken on the coast of lower california. it probably migrates bodily southward, but stray individuals undoubtedly remain in the waters of southern california throughout the year, for two or three days of exceptionally fine weather invariably brings them into the market. it is likely that these stray individuals live in deep water during the winter, and come to the surface on bright days. it is quite possible, though not probable, that a great part of those disappearing descend to deeper water. the fact that they are taken only by the troll or by gill nets sufficiently explains why they should not be caught in deep water. their movements have been watched through an entire season at san diego, and as these observations may be valuable to serve as a basis for comparison, they may be stated here. during january, 1890, none were seen. during february, 1890, four were taken on the 7th, one on the 11th, and two on the 28th. all these dates were at the end of a succession of days of exceptionally fine weather. on march 1, 1890, two were taken. on march 26, 1889, a few were caught, and on the following day they were abundant and remained so, with occasional lapses, throughout the summer. beginning of july they were with ripe spawn. during september few were taken, but on the 29th, 30th, and 31st of october they were again abundant. on november 6 one was taken, on the 7th another, on the 15th one young one was caught with a hook in the bay, and on the 18th another young one was brought from off point loma. on the 16th of december, one young individual, evidently of the preceding summer's spawning, was taken in the bay, and on the 30th a large one was caught off point loma. the adult never or very rarely enter the bay, but in spring the young, those not yet a year old and measuring about a foot in length, enter the bay in large schools, and are then destroyed in quantities with seines or chinese bag nets. about san diego the troll is the only means used in catching them. it is simply a piece of white rag, or, more commonly, a fragment of bone, to which a hook is lashed. one or more of these is dragged behind a boat made usually after the pattern of the columbia river salmon boats. the amount of the catch depends largely on the wind. a 148 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. slack wind, even when barracuda are abundant, briags but few fish. the largest catch reported for a single day is 1,100 by one boat with two men. rarely more than 40 are taken. they average from 6 to 12 pounds, and from 24 to 4 feet in length, and retail at 10 cents apiece. large numbers are salted and dried. about monterey they are taken with the gill net. in 1890 the first individuals reached monterey on march 10. like most of the surface and shore food fishes the barracuda feeds chiefly on the anchovy (stolephorus ringens). among mrs. eigenmann's notes is the following: s. argentea 8 to 12 inches long, abundant about san diego steamship wharf, where they were taken by trolling, may 17, 1885, echeneididæ, remora remora (linnæus). e, & e. '89a. this species is common in summer when sharks abound. it is usually attached to sphyrna zygana. on other sharks it has not been observed. xiphiidæ. (xiphias gladius linnæus). e, & e. '89a. this species has never, to my knowledge, been brought into the mar. kets of san diego. i have observed it on the cortes banks, as well as farther north ward. scombridæ. scomber colias gmelin. steind. ichthyol. beitr. iii, 53, 1875; scomber pneumatophorus, j. & g., '81, 45; id. '82, 424; r. smith, '85; e. & e. '89. this species is quite abundant at san diego. during august several fishermen reported large schools off point loma, and the bay was literally full of tinkers. they are caught in seines and with hook and line. one boy caught, in the latter way, one hundred and eighty tinkers in one hour. the tinkers enter the bay in august and become very abundant in september and october. they decrease in number during december. during february, 1890, none were seen, but stragglers were taken in march and may, 1889. at present this fish is of little importance at san diego.* very few large ones are taken and those are usually caught while fishing for other fish. the tinkers afford sport to many idlers on the wharves, but otherwise little use is made of them. at monterey they are abundant during june, and at times bring a high price. they are taken with the gill net at monterey, a mode of fishing scarcely in use at san diego. *since this was written a cannery was established and many fishermen make it a business to catch mackerel with hook and line off ballast point. vol149 1892proceedings of the national museum. my, . ] . xvgreen eggs of august 16 measure 0,66 mm. they have an ambercolored oil globule 0.24 mm. in diameter. sarda chilensis (cuvier & valenciennes). j. & g. '80, 27; r. smith '80; j. & g., '804, 456, id. 81, 45; id. '82, 428; r. smith '85; e. &. e. '89. girard, pacific r. r. survey, x. 106, 1859 (as pelamys lineolata). this species is very common off point loma. many more are taken than can be disposed of fresh. it is usually found in schools and apparently migrates with the barracuda. it is probably found here throughout the year, but none were recorded in april or june. it was very abundant from july to december, 1889. toward the latter and early part of the year the young occasionally enter the bay. on january 4, 1890, a few were taken and one young one on the 30th. on february 28, six were taken; during march of 1890, four small ones were taken on the 1st, while they were abundant and with free flowing milt on the 27th of march, 1889. orycnus alalonga (gmelin). e. & e., '89. this species is abundant off the coast in summer. into the market. it is never brought gymnosarda pelamys (linnæus). e. & e., '90, 8. this is said to be common off point loma, but only on two occasions were any brought into the san diego market, i. e., on october 31 and december 15, 1889. trachurus picturatus (bowdich). r. smith, '85; e. & e., '89. this species is never abundant at san diego. the first ones of 1889 arrived on july 3, and while it was sometimes quite common, especially among the catch with hook and line on the wharf, it never reached any economic importance. on january 4, 1890, a few young ones were taken in the bay; later it was not observed. it is found in san francisco in may, and large ones are sold in september. caranx chrysus caballus giinther. trachurus boops girard, pacific r. r. survey, x, 108, 1859. this species is recorded from san diego by girard. we have not seen it. seriola dorsalis gill. yellow tail. r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 456; j. & g., '81, 46. this large species is quite abundant off point loma, but it rarely enters the bay. it is taken by the barracuda boats. it is not very highly esteemed and never brings over 25 cents apiece. it arrived 150 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. use in 1889, on april 30, and was found throughout the rest of the year. it was quite abundant on cortes banks in august, but no was made of it except as bait. it migrates southward towards winter and decreases in abundance during november. stragglers like those of the spanish mackerel enter the bay late in the season. during december, 1889, it was taken on the following dates: 11th, 16th, 19th, 30th. on the 11th, one was taken in the bay; on the 19th, one was taken off point loma, and on the 30th, three were taken. during january and february of 1890 none were seen. jordan & gilbert (1881) state that it spawns in july and august. stromateidæ. stromateus simillimus (ayres). pompano. r. smith, '80; j. & g. '80a, 456; id., '81, 46; id., '82, 451; r. smith, '85, july. though common at times this fish is not of such importance here as at san francisco. in san francisco it brings from 25 cents to $1.25 per pound. in san diego it sells at 3 cents. it arrives at san diego in may, the first ones observed being on may 16. another one was taken on june 1. this was a male with ripe milt. during august and september it was quite abundant, being chietly taken with hook and line off wharves. it is not caught outside. during december only a few young ones were caught. during january of 1890 a few more and on february 21 one more young one was taken. serranidæ. paralabrax clathratus (girard). kelp bass; sand bass. girard. pacific r. r. survey, vol. x, 35, 1859; steind., ichthyol. beitr., iii, 1, 1875; j. & g., '80, 27; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 456; id., '81, 47; id., '82, 535; r. smith, '85, july; e. & e., '89. the young of this species are abundant in the bay. the old are rarely, if ever, seen in the bay. they are taken in 15 to 50 fathoms of water with rock cod. it is not so frequently brought into the markets as the other species of the genus. paralabrax maculofasciatus (steindachner). rock bass. steindachner, ichthyol. beitr., iii, 1, 1875; j. & g.,'80, 27; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 156; id., '81, 416; id., '82, 536; r. smith, '85, july; am. nat., feb. 1891, tigures. this species is a permanent resident in the bay. it was especially abundant during fall and early winter. the eggs of this species, like those of the next, are pelagic, colorless, transparent, 0.75 to 0.81 millimeter in diameter. there is in each case a single colorless globule. the eggs of paralabrax maculofasciatus were first observed on june 25. they were next observed on august 10, and were occasionally 1892. ] proceedings of tiie national museum. 151 found throughout the remainder of august. the blastopore closes in about eighteen hours, and the embryo is freed in about thirty-eight hours. on hatching the embryo measures 1.7 millimeters, the yolk sack 0.65 millimeter. at the time of the closing of the blastopore a few color cells are scattered over the yolk near the oil globule; a yellow pigment is pretty evenly distributed along the sides of the embryo. this yellow pigment shortly becomes collected in well-defined areas along either side of the embryo, and at the time of hatching there is a mass of cells at the snout, one behind cach eye, one behind cach auditory capsule, four just behind the yolk sac, and two or three on the anterior half of the tail. a few black cells are scattered along the back. these cells soon become dendritic to such an extent that there is little similarity between the larva at hatching and twelve hours afterward. at the time of hatching the larva measures 1.7 millimeters, the yolk sac 0.65 millimeter. the oil globule, as in nebulifer and atrarius, is embedded in the anterior end of the yolk. the color cells in the case of p. maculofasciatus do not, as in the cases of sciæna and hypsopsetta, all become free. sketches of this species were made a few moments apart (see am. nat., february, 1891). the color cells are first noted when the gastrula covers about two-thirds of the yolk. at this time no pigment is deposited in them and only those which are freed from the embryonic shield can be distinguished. very few of the cells ever become freed from the shield and all those that are freed are destined for the oil globule. the great majority of color cells remain attached to the margins of the shield. they migrate, however, as is seen in their shortly aggregating in definite regions of the body. paralabrax nebulifer (girard). rock bass. steindachner, ichthyol. beitr., iii, 1, 1875; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 456; id., '81, 47; id., '83, 536; r. smith, '85, july; e. am. nat., feb. 1891, figures. this species is found in the bay with the preceding. but two eggs of this species were observed, one on june 25 and the other on august 26. in this species only black pigment cells are formed. the embryo is freed from the membrane in thirty-six hours and measures 22 millimeters; the yolk sack measures 1.3 millimeters. on the boily the black cells are confined to the dorsal surface, while on the tail they are more uniformly distributed. the oil globule is situated at the anterior end of the yolk. stereolepis gigas ayres. black sea bass. j. & g., '80, 27; r. sunith, '80; j. & g., '80, 456; id., ?81, 47;id., '82,531; r. smith, '85, july; e. & e., '89. i am not certain whether this species is migratory or not, but am inclined to believe it is. it is not very abundant, but a number can always be taken, at least in certain seasons, by using the proper gear 152 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. and bait. they seem always to accompany the white fish and these fish are consequently used as bait. several were brought into the market, but the dates were not kept. in july several were taken on cortes banks while others were taken near point loma in october and november, 1889. sparidæ. xenistius californiensis (steindachner). raspers. steind. ichthyol. beitr, 111, 3, 1875; e. & e. '89a. until recently this fish was very rare. on may 20 one was taken in a seine, and the fishermen stated that it was occasionally found. during august and september large numbers were caught with hook and line. the last one was taken november 9. anisotremus davidsoni (steindachner). steind. icthyol. beitr. iii, 6, 1875; r. smith '80; j. & g. '80a, 456; id. '81, 47; id., '82, 531; r. smith '85, june. this species is found in the bay from april to november. none were observed between november 9, 1889, and march, 1890. the first one of 1889 arrived april 20. it is quite common during its season, although few records were made of it. it is a food fish of some value and is caught in seines and with hook and line. girella nigricans (ayres). j. & g. '80, 28; r. smith ’80: j. & g. '80a, 456; id., '81, 47; id., '82, 560; r. smith '85, june; e. & e. '89. this is a permanent resident among the rocks of the ocean shore, and just within the entrance of the bay. it is rarely taken by the seiners on account of the impossibility to draw the net where they reside. on april 17 a number of ripe males were taken. cæsiosoma californiense (steindachner). steind. ichthyol. beitr. iii, 19, 1875; r. smith '80; j. & g. '80, 456; id., '81, 47; id. '82, 562; r. smith, '85, june. this species is very probably a permanent resident. it is very rare. . those seen were taken among the piles of the ferryslips and wharves, and if this should be their habitual abiding place the fact that they are not more frequently taken would be explained. it is of no economic importance. on may 3d a male with ripe milt was procured. scianidæ. roncador stearnsi (steindachner). steind. ichthyol. beitr. iii, 22, 1875; j. & g. '80, 28; r. smith '80; j. & g. '80a, 456; id., '81, 49; id., '82, 572; r. smith '85, june. this is an important food fish which is only occasionally absent from the bay. during january, 1889, none were taken in the bay, vol 153 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . xvwhile on december 18th, 1889, 400 pounds were caught with one hanl of the seine, and on january 10, 1890, they were again abundant. during the summer they do not go in schools. those caught on december 18, 1890, were said to have been burrowing with their blunt snouts for a small mollusk (empidonax) on which they largely subsist. sciæna saturna (girard). the croaker. girard, pacific r. r. survey x, 98, 1859; j. & g. '80, 28; r. smith '80; j. & g. '80a, 456; id., '81, 49; id., '82, 572; r. smith, june, '85. this is an important food fish. it is migratory. the males, which are then quite black, enter the bay as early as january (28 and 29, 1890), and by the middle of february and march it is common. the last one was observed september 24. ripe males were seen march 27 and ripe females the two months following. eggs were skimmed from may 2. evenings while skimming over the breeding grounds their frog-like croaking could be heard on all sides. the eggs of this species are remarkably like those of a founder (hypsopsetta) and it is only after a time that they can certainly be told apart. it is not unlikely that several species of pelagic eggs have been confounded with this one, as eggs supposed to be these were taken from may to the middle of august. if this should be the case they probably belong to the other species of this family, the eggs of which have not yet been described. the eggs are transparent, 0.78 millimeter in diameter, and have from two to eight oil.globules, which, in late stages, are united into one. the eggs can best be distinguished from those of hypsopsetta by the method of the formation of the chromatophores. these are formed along the entire embryonic ring in this species and appear quite early. the time required for hatching, if indeed all the eggs referred to this species belong to it, varies greatly with the temperature, the longest time being forty-eight hours, the shortest eighteen. in those hatching earlier the yolk is not as much reduced as in the others, and the tail is not quite as long. the young of this species were figured in the american naturalist for february, 1891, genyonemus lineatus (ayres). e. & e., '89a. this species entered the bay in large numbers in december (27), 1890. during the latter part of january ripe females were obtained. none were seen after february 3. the eggs are pelagic 0.71 millimeters in diameter and have an oil globule 0.18 millimeters in diameter. it is caught with the seine and with hook and line. 154 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. umbrina roncador jordan & gilbert. r. sinith, '80 (as u. xanti); j. and g., '80a, 456; ill., '81, 48; id., '82, 576; r. smith, '85, june. this species was abundant in the bay at various times between may (25) and january. it is taken with the seine. menticirrhus undulatus (girard). girard pacific r. r. survey x, 101, 1859; steind, ichthyol. beitr. iii, 21, 1875; j. & g., '80, 28 as (m. elongatus); r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 456; ill., '81, 48; id., '82, 578; r. smith, '85, june. migratory. this species was, with the preceding, abundant at times between july and january. on january 9, 1890, one was taken in the bay; on february 11 another. on february 19, 1890, a boatloaıl of this species and of cynoscion parripinne was brought by chinese fishermen from lower california. cynoscion nobile (ayres). r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 456; ii., '81, 48; id., '82, 579; r. smith, *85, june. migratory. this species entered san diego bay in april (26) and remained till november. those in the bay are all young specimens less than 600 millimeters long. they are taken with the seine and with hook and line. larger ones, reaching 1.2 meters, are occasionally (no. vember 7, 1889,) taken off point loma. either this species or the next were reported to have ascended a stream produced by the waste water of the sweetwater dam. it was brought to the san francisco market may 2, 1890. cynoscion parvipinne ayres. j. & g., '80, 28 as (c. magdalena); r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 456; id., '81, 48; id., '82, 580; r. smith, '85, june. this species probably enters the bay with the preceding species, being also migratory. the first individual was seen march 21, 1889, the last december 30. seriphus politus ayres. r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80:1, 456; ill., '81, 48; id., '82, 582; r. smith, '85, june. migratory. this species is said by jordan to be abundant during summer about santa cruz. it does not reach san diego till september (10, 1889), and is abundant at least till march. the time of its disappearance has not been determined, as it was not seen in the spring of 1889. gerridæ. gerres cinereus walbaum. r. s. e., am. nat., 1891, 156. one specimen of this species was taken by mr. medina during the summer of 1890. mr. medina preserved the specimen for me, but the exact date was not kept. vol155 1892proceedings of tiie national museum. . . . xvembiotocidæ. the members of this family are probably all permanent residents, from their abundance they are important fishes. those taken outside are, as a rule, of much better flavor than those taken in the bay. some of the species habitually live in the surf of the ocean beaches, while others habitually live in the bay. since their discovery these fishes have been of great interest on account of their most pronounced viviparity. several papers have dealt especially with the embryology, but no one has hitherto been able to study the early stages. the early stages of all of them occur in december or thereabout. the older individuals are with ripe eggs earlier in the season than the younger, so that in species like amphistichus argenteus where there are three distinct sizes of individuals, there are three distinct periods when the eggs mature, with an interval of about a month between two of these periods. the embryology of the members of this family will be treated in a separate paper. owing to the fact that these fishes are permanent residents, few notes on their occurrence were made. some are always found in the market, and many are thrown away when caught. abeona minima (gibbons.) j. & g., '80, 28; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 456; id., '81, 51; id., '82, 587; r. smith, '85, june. this species is very abundant in the cel grass near tide marks in the bay. the females are much larger than the males but none reach a size to warrant bringing them to the market. the eggs of this species can be procured in december, january, and february. with those of cymatogaster they are the smallest fish eggs known, the yolk being scarcely developed. brachyistius frenatus gill. r. smith, '85, june. very rare, only a single specimen seen (may 29, 1890). cymatogaster aggregatus gibbons. shiner. j. & g., '80, 28; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 456; id., '81, 51; id., '82, 590; r. smith, '85, june; eigenmann, am. nat. mch. 89, 107; e. & e., west am. scientist, june, 1889. this is even more abundant than abeona minima. it is found with it, but also along the beaches of the bay and about the piles of wharves, especially during the breeding season. it is rarely brought into the market, and then only when mixed with other species. 156 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. hyperprosopon argenteum gibbons. wall-eyed perch. j. & g., '80, 28 (as hyperprosopon arcuatum); r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 456; id., '81, 50; id., '82, 591; r. smith, '85, june. very abundant in the bay; it is caught with seines and frequently brought to the market; but little esteemed, and is of little economic importance. holconotus rhodoterus agassiz. girard, pacific r. r. survey, x, 195, 1859; e. & e., 90, 9. only a single specimen taken. it was found with a. argenteus in the ocean surf, january 10, 1890. > amphistichus argenteus agassiz. surf perch. j. & g., '80, 28; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 456; id., '81, 50; id., '82, 593; r. smith, '85, june. this species is one of the most abundant. it never enters the bay, being always found in the surf of the ocean beaches. it is the best flavored of the perches but is rarely caught for its own sake. when the smelt (atherinopsis californiensis) arrives and before it enters the bay the fishermen seine for it on the ocean beaches and frequently catch quantities of this species. at other times of the year it is not found in the markets. those caught could readily be divided into three grades, according to their size. the largest ones contained developing eggs the middle of november, the next in size the middle of december and the third were not yet mature when they stopped coming into the market the 7th of january. this species is frequently caught with hook and line in the surf; the great bulk of those so caught are males. they feed on the crustaceans which burrow in the sandy beaches and follow the breakers to procure their food. this is the most prolific of the species found at san diego. it contains as many as fifty young, while the other species would scarcely average more than twelve. hypsurus caryi (agassiz). r. smith, '80. this species has not been observed by me. embiotoca jacksoni agassiz. black or blue perch. girard, pacific r. r. survey, x, 171 and 173, 1859 (as e. cassidii and e. webbi); j. & g., '80, 28; r. smith, '80; j. & g., ’80a, 456; id., '81, 50; id., '82, 595; r. smith, '85, june. very common in the bay. not very highly esteemed, and of no great economic importance. phanerodon laterale agassiz. girard, pacitic r. r. survey, x, 176, 1859 (as e. ornata); r. smith, '85, june. very rare. vol157 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvphanerodon atripes jordan & gilbert. e. & e., 89a. only one specimen known; from the cortes banks. it is the commonest species of monterey bay but does not reappear on the coast to the south, between monterey and the cortes banks, phanerodon orthonotus e. & e. e, & e., '89. only one specimen known; from the cortes banks. phanerodon furcatum girard." j. & g., '80, 28; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 156; id., '81, 50; id., '82, 596; r. smith, '85, june. one of the commonest species in the bay and not rare on rocky places of the ocean coast. on account of its exterior appearance it is more highly prized than e. jacksoni, though scarcely a better fish. it is almost daily brought into the market, especially when flounders, the various bass and the various croakers are scarce. rhacochilus toxotes agassiz. e. & e., '89a. rare, or else living in places where little fishing is done. it was noticed once during february. damalichthys argyrosomus girard. e. & e. '90, 9. this species was moderately abundant between november and march. it was not seen during summer. labridæ. trochocopus pulcher (ayres). j. & g., '80, 29; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 455; id., '81, 51; id., '82, 602; r. smith, '85, june; e. & e., '89. this species is very abundant in all rocky places of moderate depth outside the bay. it never enters the bay. large quantities are sometimes dried by the chinese but otherwise it is of little importance. it is a rather coarse fish and on account of its uncouth appearance it is not in general favor. it is abundant on cortes banks, and a quantity was salted by the azalene. platyglossus semicinctus (ayres). steind. ichthyol. beitr., v., 151, 1876; r. smith, '85, june; e. & e., '89. not common, and but rarely entering the bay. it was noticed but once or twice in the market. ripe eggs were obtained in mid august. they measure .66–70 millimeters. they are transparent, and possess a single oil globule .14-16 millimeters in diameter. * this species is in all probability identical with p. atripes. 158 fisies of san diego-eigenmann, pseudojulis modestus (girard). girard, pacific r. r. survey, x, 161, 1859; r. smith, '85, june; e. & e., '89. common in the kelp and generally outside. it rarely, if ever, enters the bay, and is rarely brought to the market. it is quite abundant at . cortes banks, and is not an unimportant item of the food of larger fishes. pomacentridæ. pomacentrus rubicundus (girard). girard, pacific r. r. survey, x, 161, 1859; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80 a, 455; id., '81, 52; r. smith, proc., u. s. nat. mus., 1882, 652; j. & g., '82, 610; r. smith, '85, june. common at rocky ocean beaches. the adult of this species has never been seen in the bay. a few young, in which the bright blue had alınost all given place to the bright red of the adult, were taken in the bay and held at fabulous prices. it is not used as food, the only place where they abound being reserved, so visitors may enjoy seeing them. rosa smith records it (unpublished notes) as being caught in lobster pots. chromis punctipinnis cooper. > r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80, 455; id., '81, 52; id., '82, 611; r. smith, '85, june, e. & e., '89a. seen but once, the single specimen taken from the stomach of a rock cod caught on cortes banks. ephippidæ. chætodipterus faber zonatus (girard). not seen by us nor at any time by rosa smith. latilidæ. caulolatilus princeps (jenyns). the whitefish. 3 j. & g., '80, 27; r. smith, '80 (as c. anomalus); j. & g., 80a, 455; id., '81, 53; id., '82, 625; r. smith, '85, june; e & e., '89. this is probably a permanent resident. the fishermen say that winter is their principal season, though the catch during the past winter was light. it was common on cortes banks during july and august, and during the first half of october off point loma. but few were taken in september and december, but during november and january it was again abundant. during april, may, and june i did not notice it, a fact which does not prove its absence, however. the majority of those caught are sold fresh. the azalene salted many. for some reason the flesh of this fish is frequently bitter and disagreeable and possesses a peculiar smell when quite fresh. the fishermen attribute it to the breaking of the gall-bladder in cleaning. i have proved that this is not the case. vol159 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvgobiide. the members of this family are all small and not at present used for food by man in the san diego region. they play a most important role in fish economy, since, next to the species of stolephorus, they probably furnish the largest share of food for the fishes of the bay. the species have been discussed in zoe for may, 1890. gobius nicholsi bean. i have not taken this species. dr. gilbert informs me that it is quite abundant in deep water off point loma. lepidogobius gilberti e. & e. e. & e., proc. u. s. nat. mus., 1888, 461; eigenmann, zoe, may, 1890. this species is less abundant than the preceding, with which it is sometimes associated. most of the specimens known were dug out of the sand near la playa. it spawns early in may. lepidogobius y-cauda (j. & e.). (plate xiv, fig. 6.) e. & e., '90, 11; eigenmann, zoe, may, 1890. this species is found in tide pools nearer low-water mark than clevelandia. it is not very abundant. clevelandia longipinnis (steindachner). (plate xiv, fig. 5.) e. & e., ’90, 10; eigenmann, zoe, may, 1890. this is the most abundant fish in the bay. it is found in great abundance in all the little pools left on mud flats by the receding tide. like most other species of this family found about san diego it hides in holes in the mud or sand as soon as disturbed. gillichthys mirabilis cooper. (plato xv, fig. 12.) gilbert, proc. l. s. nat. mus. j. & g., '80, 25; r. smith, ’80; j. & g., ?80a, 455; id., '81, 53; id., '82, 636; r. smith, '85, juve; e. & e., proc. u. s. nat. mus., 1888, 463 (as g. toucnsendi); zoe, may, 1890. very abundant in the sloughs of mud flats. during summer they bite voraciously at all bait offered, especially during the incoming tide. toward their spawning season they retire to their respective crab holes, and no morsel, be it ever so tempting, will lure them forth. they first spawn at san diego about the end of march. the young are very active, jumping several times their own length if left dry in a watch crystal. it is the largest of the gobies found about san diego. typhlogobius californiensis steindachner. (plates xv and xviii.) steind. ichthyol. beitr., viii, 23, 1879; r. smith, proc. u. s. nat. mus., 1881, 19, as othonops eos; j. & g., '81, 53; id., ’82, 639; r. smith, '85, june; e. & e., west. am. scientist, june, 1889; eigenmann, zoe, may, 1890. abundant at point loma under rocks between tide marks. the most remarkable of the gobies is undoubtedly the blind one inhab. 160 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. a iting the crab holes under rocks at point loma. it has been found nowhere else about san diego, but has been taken at ensenada. its habitat is, as far as known, quite limited. in its piuk color and general appearance it much resembles the blind fishes inhabiting the caves of southern indiana. its peculiarities are doubtless due to its habits. the entire bay region is inhabited by a carideoid crustacean which burrows in the mud. it, like the blind fish, is pink in color. its holes in the bay are frequented by clevelandia, etc., while at the base of point loma, where the waves sometimes dash with great force, the blind fish is its associate. on rough days few fish are seen, though ever so many stones are overturned, a task rendered somewhat laborious and bad for the fingers by the numerous worn tubes, etc., attached to the rocks. on mild days, on the contrary, with very low tides, quantities are found, and almost invariably in company with one of the crustaceans mentioned above. sometimes the fishes live quite out of water on the damp gravel and sand under a rock, but more frequently small pools of water fill all the depressions under the rocks, and the fishes swim rapidly away in their attempt to hide in the crab holes, several of which always brauch from the cavity in which the rock has lain. in the bay the gobies habitually live out of the holes, into which they descend only when they are frightened, while at point loma this species never leaves its subterranean abode, and to this fact we must attribute its present condition.. how long these fishes have lived after their present fashion it would be hard to conjecture. the period which would produce such decided structural changes can not be a brief one. the scales have entirely disa appeared, the color has been reduced, the spinous dorsal has been greatly reduced; not only have the eyes become stunted, but the whole frontal region of the skull, and the optic nerves have been profoundly changed. the skin, and especially that of the head, has become highly sensitized. the skin of the snout is variously folded and puckered, and well supplied with nerves; the nares are situated at the end of a fleshy protuberance which projects well forward, just over the mouth. at the chin are various short tentacles and a row of papillæ, which very probably bear sensory bairs similar to those represented in figs. 15 and 16 (plate viii), extends along each ramus of the lower jaw, and along the margin of the lower limb of the preopercle. the eye is, however, the part most seriously affected. in the young, fig. 7, it is quite evident, and is apparently functional. objects thrust in front of them are always perceived, but the field of vision is quite limited. with age the skin over the eyes thickens, and the eyes are scarcely evident externally. as far as i could determine they do not see at this time, and certainly detect their food chiefly, if not altogether, by the sense of touch. a hungry individual will swim over meats, fish or a mussel, ܙ vo1892. 161 ] proceedings of the national museum. etc., intended for its food without perceiving it by sight or smell, but as soon as the food comes in contact with any portion of the skin, especially of the head region, the sluggish movements are instantly transformed, and a stroke of the fins brings the mouth immediately in position a for operations. i have not been able to raise the fishes from the egg. the youngest individual ever seen is represented in fig. 7.* in this specimen the membranes of the fins were thin, the color cells were well formed and arranged not unlike those of the young gillichthys, fig. 12. its movements were similar to those of the other gobies, and not at all sluggish like those of the adult. the favorite position is a standing or sitting one with the broad pectorals extending out at right angles to the body. in this position the fish can, with a sudden stroke of its pectorals, move quickly and rapidly. in the old the fins are thick and smaller in proportion, and all the vivacity seems to have disappeared. the color has degenerated, or at least not developed in proportion to the growth of the fish. the minute structure of the eye was not examined. it will be described in another paper. the eye and optic nerve have been isolated by treatment with 20 per cent nitric acid, and by simple dissection of alcoholic specimens. the lens is large in proportion to the size of the eye, which does not materially differ in size in the smallest and largest specimens examined. the optic nerve is very slender and long as compared with that of any of the other gobies. all the gobies are tenacious of life, especially the blind one. several of the latter have been kept in a half-gallon jar for several weeks without change of water, and others have been kept several months in confinement in my laboratory. when the water becomes somewhat stale they frequently rise to the surface and use the surface of the water as a plane to which they attach themselves by means of their ventrals. it was my intention to study the development of the eyes, etc., of this fish, and with this end in view i kept many specimens alive and made frequent trips to point loma to procure fresh individuals in order that too long confinement might not have impaired the reproductive function. they spawn in the latter part of may and june, but i have not found the eggs in nature. those deposited in confinement would not develop, and attempts at artificial fertilization of freshly-caught individuals were not successful. an absence from san diego prevented * during the summer of 1891 mr. l. c. bragg, of coronado, found the eggs attached to the lower surfaces of the rocks under which the fish live. he kindly gave me several specimens from which the drawings of plate a, xviii were made. the zona is seen in nature to expand enormously and become club-shaped. in this chamber the young are able to live long beyond the ordinary hatching period of fishes. the eggs are attached to the rocks in a single layer by the network of threads surrounding the inicropyle. the eyes develop normally, and those of fiy. 4 differ in no way from the eyes of other fish embryos. this offers a most striking example of degeneration. the minute structure of these larval eyes will be described by one of my students. proc. n. m. 92—11 162 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. me from visiting their habitat during july, and in august the tides were not favorable. the earliest date at which i procured young was october 25; the smallest caught at that time is represented in fig. 7. though i did not secure developing eggs, those procured enable me to describe the remarkable membranes of the egg, which are probably similar in many other gobies. the covering of the ovarian egg consists first of a finely striate membrane, the zona radiata of all telostean eggs. exterior to this is a network of threads with the meshes coarsest at the entodermie pole, and forming almost a continuous membrane at the ectodermic pole, figs. 4 and 5. the eggs were examined from the surface only, and i am not able to say how intimate the connection between the threads and the zona is in the ovary. when the eggs are deposited the meshwork of threads is stripped off the egg and remains attached to the zona radiata around the micropyle, figs. 1, 2, 3, and 5. in the eggs deposited naturally by the females in confinement the threads had been wound together to form a cord at the micropylar end of the egg, fig. 1. the cords of many of these eggs were attached to each other, and the eggs thus came to be laid in bunches like those of grapes. the bunches of eggs resemble so closely those of the crustacean with which this fish is associated, and which spawns at the same time, that the idea of a highly specialized mimicry at once suggests itself. the similarity between the eggs is heightened by the fact that they are both bright yellow. in females with ripe eggs they can frequently be seen forming a yellow band along the flanks. the yellow of the blind-fish egg is entirely confined to the yolk which contains many oil globules. the granular protoplasm is opaque. chiridæ. ophiodon elongatus girard. e. & e., proc. u. s. nat. mus., 1888, 465; e. & e. '89a. not very abundant, but probably a permanent resident. it is found in deep water outside the bay only. the young, so abundant in san francisco bay, were not seen. zaniolepis frenatus e, & e. e. & e. '89a. one specimen about 160 millimeters long was taken from the stomach of a rock cod on cortes banks, scorpænidæ, we have been able to largely increase the number of species of this family, previously recorded from san diego, and to make pretty extensive observations on the seasons of maturity of the various species, vol163 1892proceedings of the national museum. exy, . ] . xvsebastodes pancispinis (ayres). e, & e. '89. moderately abundant throughout the year, reaching a large size. it is one of the more important of the species. with young during december, january, and february. sebastodes flavidus ayres. j. & g. '80a, 455; id. '81, 53; id. '82, 657; r. smith '85, 46; e. & e. '89. we have evidently confounded two species under this head. not very abundant. with young in january. sebastodes serranoides e. & e. e. & e. '89 (in part as s. flavidus); e. & e., proc. cal. acad. sci., ser. 11, vol. ii, 36, 1890. this species was erroneously recorded by us from cortes banks as s. flavidus. it is occasionally brought into the market. sebastodes goodei e. & e. e. & e. '90, 12. this species seems to be abundant in deep water (about 100 fathoms). the largest specimens observed were 550 millimeters. it was taken in january (9 and 29), february (14), and march (4). it is one of the most important of the rock cods in the san francisco market. sebastodes rufus e. & e. e. & e. '90, 13. this species was observed in november (14, 1889) and december (2 and 10, 1889). sebastodes ovalis ayres. e. & e. '89; e. & e. '89a. frequently brought to the market, but not in large numbers. it was taken on cortes banks. among many specimens brought into the market october 15 two were gravid. the eggs in both were in nearly the same stage of development. some of the embryos were still alive, the heart beating. the eggs are more spherical than in rubrovinctus of the same stage and there is as yet no pigment formed anywhere, there is usually but a single large oil sphere, but not rarely there are two or three. sebastodes mystinus jordan & gilbert. j. & g. '80a, 455; id. '81, 56; id. '82, 659; r. smith, '85, june; e. & e. '89 (as 8. melanops); e. & e. '89a. abundant on cortes banks and not infrequently brought into the market. 164 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. sebastodes proriger jordan & gilbert. e. & e. '90, 15. not very abundant, but much larger in size than farther north. jordan & gilbert state that it reaches a length of 250 millimeters. the largest observed by us measured 600 millimeters. sebastodes atrovirens jordan & gilbert. j. & g. '80, 27; r. smith '80; j. & g. '80a, 455; id. '81, 56; id. '82, 661; r. smith '85, june. only a single specimen noticed (august 23). sebastodes melanostomus e. & e. e. & e. '90, 17. a single specimen, about 55 millimeters long, taken november 14, 1889. sebastodes pinniger (gill). e. & e. '90, 16. much less abundant than farther north. it is found in deep water (100 fathoms). it was brought to the market on the following dates: december 3, 5, and 11; january 13 and 21; february 14; march 1. sebastodes miniatus jordan & gilbert. r. smith, '85, june; e. & e., '89. this is the most abundant and by far the most important of the rock cods. it surpasses in abundance all the rest combined and large numbers are daily brought into the market. the half-grown, those about 10 inches long, abound in the kelp in november. these have black margined fins. the old ones live in deeper water. they are with young in december and january and during that time the bottoms of the rock cod boats are covered with the eggs and young pressed out by the superimposed fish. it is abundant on cortes banks. sebastodes ruber (ayres). (plate xvi, figs. 4-7.) e. & e., '89; e. & e.. '89a. not abundant, but frequently brought to market. with young on cortes banks in july and august. the oil globule is small and the larva quite long at the time of hatching. there is a series of pigment spots along the lower part of the tail and over the abdomen. sebastodes rosaceus (girard). girard, pacific r. r. survey x. 78, 1859. e. & e., '89; e. & e., '89a. quite abundant, but usually either used for bait or thrown overboard on account of its small size. for the same reason that it is least prized in san diego it is most preferred in san francisco, where small rock cod always have a readier market than large. vol 165 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . xvsebastodes constellatus jordan & gilbert. r. smith, '85, june; e. & e., '89. abundant, reaching a larger size than rosaceus. the ovaries of some were empty on november 12. sebastodes æreus e. & e. e. & e., '90, 20. rare. this species was observed on november 7 and january 9 ai. . 24. type u.s. nat. mus., no. (41868.) sebastodes chlorostictus jordan & gilbert. e. & e., proc. u. s. nat. mus., 1888, 465; e. & e., '89. abundant. in the markets almost daily with s. miniatus. this species is with young in february or march. abundant on cortes banks. sebastodes eos e. & e. e. & e., '90, 18. very similar to chlorostictus, but less abundant. it was observed november 14, december 4 and 10, abundant on the latter date, and on february 21. sebastodes gilli r. eigenmann. r. s. e., am. nat. three specimens of this species were taken within a few days of each other about the middle of november, 1890. the types of these species are in the british museum. sebastodes elongatus jordan & gilbert. e. & e., '89; e. & e., '89a. quite abundant, but, with rosaceus usually discarded. it is usually present in all catches of rock cod made in shallow (50 fathoms or less) water. at san francisco it has a ready market. sebastodes levis e. & e. e. & e., '89; e. & e., '89a. this is the largest of the rock cod, reaching a weight of 29 pounds. it is almost daily brought into the market. seventeen individuals is the largest catch reported by a single boat in a day. it is common on cortes banks. tyres u. s. nat. mus., no. (41904.) with young in january and february. this species is so closely related to s. rubrovinctus that at one time i supposed the two species identical. i have been able to compare specimens of the two species of the same size (about 490 mm. long) with the following results: a. eye very large, orbit # in snout, 31 in head; interorbital equal to snout, concave; preocular spines short, bulging outward; supraocular short, heavy, blunt; the two upper preopercular spines directed backward, the three lower downward; preorpital spines sharp, tho posterior tricuspid; gill rakers long, nearly equal to maxillary width, 9+21; membranes of first five dorsal spines meeting the succeeding spine below its middle. head broad and short, its width between npper angle of preoperele 24 in its length, 2; in the length, depth about equal to the length of the head; bases and anterior portion of spinous dorsal membranes scaleti, peritoneum gray. axil red rubrorinctus. 166 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. ua. eye small, orbit 1} in snout, 44 in head; interorbital ij in snout, convex or flattish; preopercular spine slender; supraocular slender, sometimes continued to the postocular without spine; the four upper preopercular spines directed backward, the lowest one downward; preorpital crenulate, without spines; gill rakers short, less than one-third of maxillary width, 8+21; membranes of first seven dorsal spines meeting the succeedling spine below the middle; the membranes much more deeply incised than in rubrovinctus. head compressed, its width between upper angles of preopercles 2} to 3 in its length, which is about 2; in the length; depth; membranes of spinous dorsal naked; peritoneum white. pink; axil and region above it dusky; four indistinct dusky vertical bars less than half as wide as eye; one below first dorsal spine, one below the sixth, one between tenth and eleventh, and one below middle of soft dorsal; a few indistinct dark spots on upper part of opercular membrane ..levis sebastodes rubrovinctus jordan & gilbert. e. & e., '89; e. & e., '89a. most nearly related to s. levis. not frequently brought into the market and never more than two seen on any one day. it is one of the rarer species and has not. previous to this year, been recorded from san diego. it has proved an excellent object for determining the probable duration of gestation. from the individuals brought to my notice it would seem that the eggs are ripe in all individuals at nearly the same time. one individual of september 14 had ripe eggs which were free or only mechanically inclosed in the follicle. on september 16 the first developing eggs were observed, the gastrula covering about one. third of the yolk. no more individuals were seen till october 9, when there were two females, one of which had given birth to all its young, in the other the embryos were nearly ready to hatch. on october 11 another female was observed with young of about the same size as those of october 9. the time required to hatch eggs of rubrovinctus is, therefore, not far from a month. the ripe egg is spherical, about 0.9 millimeter in diameter, with one large and several smaller bright, greenish-yellow oil globules the largest measuring 0.32 millimeter in diameter. it is surrounded by a thin membrane. as the embryo nears hatching its tail is brought forward below and curled over the head. the ovum thus assumes a compressed ovate shape, the two larger diameters measuring 1 and 1.3 millimeters, respectively. the eyes are slightly pigmented and there are a few minute pigment cells along the posterior intestinal tract. the tail is entirely free from pigment. the oil globules have united into one, which lies near the middle of the lower surface of the yolk. it was noticed that those eggs most nearly associated with the follicles were slightly further along in their development. the larvæ are retained some time after hatching. an individual of october 28 contained larvæ 5 millimeters long. the striking feature at this stage is the prolonged lower jaw, which resembles that of the adult sebastodes paucispinis ayres. a series of black pigment spots along the lower edge of the tail; a few pigment spots on dorsal surface of 1892. ] proceedings of the national museum. 167 head. sides of abdomen more densely pigmented; pectorals with many black pigment cells. the ovaries are two large sacs, from the dorsal walls of which the oviferous tissues are suspended. shortly after giving birth to its young the oviducts shrink and the ovaries occupy but a small space. it was stated above that the eggs are freed from the follicle before they are fertilized. it must be borne in mind, however, that this species lives at a considerable depth of water and that many of the tissues are dis-, torted when the fish is brought to the surface and the great pressure of water is removed. to this cause is perhaps to be ascribed the fact that the eggs readily flow from the body with slight pressure at any time during gestation. sebastodes auriculatus (girard). (plate xvi, figs. 1-3.) r. smith, '85, june, this species is common in shoal water with the young of s. miniatus. it does not enter the bay as it does at san francisco, and little use is made of it, on account of its small size. it is a yaluable fish and will doubtless be utilized in the near future. the egg possesses a very large yellow oil sphere and the larvæ are not pigmented at hatching. sebastodes rastrelliger jordan & gilbert. only a single individual observed, on august 23. sebastodes vexillaris jordan & gilbert. j. & g., '80a, 455; id., '81, 58; id., '82, 672; r. smith, '85, june; e. & e., pmc. u. s. nat. mus., 1888, 465; e. & e., '89 (as s. carnatus). next to s. miniatus this is probably the most abundant of the rock cods. it is highly prized, being considered especially fine flavored and fat. it is hardier than the other species and is frequently brought into the market alive. while all the other species caught on cortes banks ejected the stomach when brought to the surface, this species retained it. it equals s. miniatus in size and its infinite variations from bright scarlet to flesh color and dark olive render it sometimes difficult of determination. we soon found that if there was anything "curious in the markets which in any way resembled this species it was pretty safe to call it vexillaris. it is with young in february; the embryos are sometimes still alive when brought to market. sebastodes chrysomelas jordan & gilbert. r. smith, '85, june; e. & e., '89 (as s. chrysomelas purpureus). abundant in shallow water and usually discarded on account of its small size. it varies greatly in color and the variety named by us is scarcely worthy of a name. it does not frequently come into the mar. kets, since the regular rock-cod boats usually go beyond its haunts to fish in deeper water. 168 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. s. carnatus jordan & gilbert. r. smith, '85, june. sebastodes serriceps jordan & gilbert. j. & g., '80a, 453; id., '81, 59; id., '82, 676; r. smith, '85, june; e. & e. '89. common, but not frequently brought to market. scorpæna guttata girard. sculpin. j. & g., '80, 27; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 455; id., '81, 59; id., '82, 679; r. smith, ’85, june; e. & e., '89. very abundant both in and outside the bay. it is not frequently brought from beyond ballast point, and is only occasionally taken in seines. it abounds especially about the piles of the various wharves and is caught with hook and line. the various spines about the head, which are said to be poisonous, do not make it a desirable fish to handle and its general appearance precludes it from coming into favor generally. it is said to be one of the best fishes of the bay. those caught in the bay are usually of a dull color, while those from outside are bright scarlet intermixed with other brilliant colors. it was taken on cortes banks. cottidæ. leptocottus armatus girard. girard, pacific r. r. survey, x, 60, 1859; j. & g., '80, 25; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 455; id., '81, 60; id., '82, 713; r. smith, '85, june. common in the bay. of no economic importance. leiocottus hirundo girard. e. & e., '90, 21. only a single individual seen from the bay. taken january 31, 1890. oligocottus analis girard. (plate xvii, figs. 1-15.) j. & g., '80, 25; r. smith, ’80; j. & g., '80a, 455; id., '81, 59; id., '82, 717 ; r. smith, '85, june; e. & e., west. am. scientist, june, 1889. very abundant in all rocky ocean tide pools; never seen in the bay. the spawning period probably extends over considerable time. small specimens procured in the latter part of january have apparently ripe eggs. of a large number of individuals collected on march 27, a single one was with ripe eggs, and the presence in tide pools of minute but fully developed individuals would indicate that the time of spawning extends back two or three months. the eggs of the individual caught march 27 were artificially fertilized at 8 p. m. of that date. the eggs measure 1.2 millimeters in diameter, are of a brownish-yellow color, and have one large and from five to vine smaller oil globules. the larger globule measures about 150j. vol169 1892proceedings of the national museum. 2 , . ] . xvthey are surrounded by a thick zona which appears to be perforated by two sets of canals, the usual fine canals and fewer much larger canals. in optical section these coarser canals appear as dark lines. the eggs readily adhere to each other, though they do not seem to possess the power of fastening themselves to foreign objects. when once fixed to each other they can scarcely be separated without injuring the zona. ten hours after fertilization, eggs with one, two, four, and eight cells, respectively, were observed (figs. 1-7). thirteen hours after fertilization the most advanced eggs showed the sixteen-cell stage. the cells in this stage do not seem to be definitely arranged as in the eight-cell stage. sixteen hours after fertilization the two layers of cells have been formed (fig. 8). the blastoderm is completely segmented in thirty-five hours. at this time free nuclei are abundant. stages immediately following are somewhat obscured by the opacity of the yolk. a well-advanced stage is represented by fig. 9. tho oil globulés do not seem to have any definite relation to the blastoderm though they assume a more definite relation as soon as the embryo is outlined. at this stage they lie opposite the middle of the embryo; as the embryo grows over the yolk they come to lie just in front of the snout. by the further reduction of the yolk the oil globules finally lie beneath and slightly behind the auditory capsule. the posterior end of the embryos figured (in figs. 9 and 10) terminates in a mass of large cells or rather small vesicles, the larger of which is situated below and may represent kupffer's vesicle, while after sixty hours the gastrula covers half the yolk, the blastopore is closed in some of the eggs after eighty-six hours. in the stage represented in fig. 9 the yolk is covered by a network of fine lines which converge toward the tail of the embryo. on the fifth day the auditory capsule and the heart make their appearance (fig. 10). the heart lies somewhat to the left of the middle of the body. the body of the embryo at this time surrounds about half the yolk and the tail extends free one-third farther. the tail now lengthens rapidly, the pectoral fins being formed at the same time. the circulatory system is next outlined; it is from the beginning decidedly sinistral. the liver is at this time represented by a vascular network overlying the yolk to the left of the embryo. the many vessels coming from the liver are collected in a large vein which at first is entirely on the left half of the yolk; at the time of hatching, however, it has been carried to the right side; with the reduction of the yolk this vein is greatly shortened in proportion to the veins emptying into it. the pigmented regions are outlined by the eleventh day. they are at this time distributed as they are when the yolk is almost absorbed. round orange dots are also present at this time along the pigmented area. peculiar granular cells or patches are formed about the head by the fourteenth day. these patches persist until the embryo is hatched 170 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. when they disappear within a very short time. similar patches were seen in the smelt. the first embryo hatched on the eighteenth day, the last on the 24th day. they measure from 3.7 to 4.2 millimeters. the eyes at the time of hatching are well pigmented; in some of the embryos there is a pigment cell above the left eye, in some a cell over each eye, but in the latter case the one over the left eye is always the larger. a group of pigment spots lies on the nape, the upper two being somewhat removed from the rest. there is a broad black disk of pigment cells overlying the body cavity. seen from the side it appears as a curved black bar; as seen from above it is shield-shaped. the individual cells forming this disk are contractile and the disk as a whole can be contracted to less than one half its normal size. this is usually done just before the larva moves. about thirty-four pigment cells lie along the base of the anal fin fold. shortly after hatching the pigment cells near the tip of the tail send out pseudopods into the fin fold and a few days after hatching several pigment cells are seen in the fin fold at this point. a series of round orange cells margin the dark disk and are variously distributed over the head. these cells can be enormously expanded, giving the fish a bright yellow appearance. at this time the mouth opens frequently, the intestines are well developed, and seem to contain foreign substance. the branchial filaments are just beginning to bud. the oil globules, two in number, are fixed on the right side in the yolk just behind the head. the liver covers the upper left half of the yolk. as the yolk is reduced and the posterior intestines are more developed the liver is crowded forward and the green bile sack can be seen near its posterior border (fig. 15). the dorsal aorta is bent down near the tip of the tail and the larger vein is returned above to the place where the aorta is bent down, where it crosses it and returns to its normal position. the median tin fold is continuous from the nape to the vent and did not undergo any marked changes before the yolk was absorbed except the formation of primitive rays in the tail. there are no marked changes in the embryo from the time of hatching to the time the yolk is absorbed. beyond that stage it was impossible to keep the young. icelinus australis e. & e. e. & e., '89 known from two specimens taken from the mouth of a sebastodes on cortes banks. paricelinus hopliticus e. & e. e. & e., '89. known from a single specimen taken from the mouth of a sebastodes on cortes banks. vol171 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvscorpænichthys marmoratus (ayres). j. & g., '80, 27; r. smith, '80; j. &. g., '80a, 454; id., '81, 60; r. smith, '85, june. probably common near the kelp. it is seldom brought into the market and does not have a ready sale on account of its slimy appearance and its sometimes green tint. agonidæ. brachyopsis species? e. & e., '89. fragments of a species of this genus were obtained from the stomachs of rock-cod on cortes banks. gobiesocidæ. gobiesox rhessodon r. smith. r. smith, proc. u. s. nat. mus., 1881, 140; j. & g., '81, 63; id., '82, 749; r. smith, '85, june. common under rocks and among ulva and zostera on ocean beaches. gobiesox eigenmanni gilbert. gilbert, proc. u. s. nat. mus., xiii, 1890. one specimen from among zostera at point loma. batrachidæ. 2 porichthys margaritatus richardson. girard, pacific r. r. survey, x, 134, 1859; j. & g., '80, 27; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 454; id., '81, 65; id., '82, 751; r. smith, '85, june; e. & e., west am. scientist, may, 1889; e. & e., '89. very common everywhere, forming an important item in the food of rock-cod on cortes banks. blenniidæ. isesthes gentilis girard. steind. ichthyol. beitr. 149, 1876; j. & g., '82, 959; r. smith, '85, june. very abundant in the bay in april and may. ripe males and females were abundant may 29. they sometimes inhabit tin cans near low-tide mark. their presence can be detected by the fact that the can and the space surrounding it are kept free from all visible organisms. isesthes gilberti jordan. (plate xvii, figs. 16–20.) j. & g., '80, 25 (as h. gentilis); r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 454; id. '81, 63; id., 82, 757; r. smith, '85, june; e. & e., west am. scientist, june, 1889. this species is found associated with oligocottus analis, clinus evides, auchenopterus integripinnis and heterostichus rostratus in the rocky tide pools of the ocean beaches. 172 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. a ripe females were found march 27. the majority of the females were not ripe and the spawning time may be placed as april. the eggs are quite remarkable in their structure and coloration. to the unaided eye they appear opaque, of a purplish pink color inside of which is a spot of brownish red and upon it a dot of opaque white. the greater portion of the egg is covered by a thin transparent membrane but at one portion there is a large opaque cushion by which the egg fastens itself to foreign bodies. when fastened the egg becomes depressed. the longer axis measures 825 u, the shorter 562 u. the diameter of the cushiony cap is 975u. this cap on sections of the ovary and of the ripe eggs is seen to be composed of innumerable very fine filaments, the tips of which are swollen and club-shaped. their small size, the great number and their aggregation at one pole of the egg render their filaments different from all the other appendages of fish eggs yet described. the yolk is composed of rather large spheres. on its upper surface are imbedded several pale yellow oil globules and about an equal number of bright purple oil globules (black in fig. 16, pl. x.) in the middle of these is a larger white body the function of which is not known. younger ovarian eggs 0.625 millimeters in diameter are entirely composed of purple spheres while still younger ones are colorless. the germinal disk is always formed beneath the cap of filaments regardless of the position of the cap whether at the side, above, or below. this fact renders the early stages in the development obscure. the germinal disk is seen in fig. 16. the first segmentation is completed in about ten hours after fertilization and results in two elongate cells whose longer axes lie parallel, fig. 17. after fifteen and a half hours eight cells were observed. in this egg in which the cap was placed above, the oil globules and white disk appeared to lie below the germinal cells, a fact which would indicate that the oil globules were mobile in the yolk and tended to lie at the top. the oil globules therefore have, in this case, no influence on the position of the germ. further stages in the seg. mentation of the germinal disk could not be observed. the next stage which could be satisfactorily observed was one hundred and thirty-two hours old. it is represented in fig. 19. the eyes at this time are well along in their development. the embryo embraces about half of the yolk and seems to be composed of large cells perfectly transparent. the purple oil globules (not figured) occupy the center of the field while the white body lies directly beneath the tail. several black pigment cells have been found and lie on the yolk. the yellow oil globules still remain arranged about the white body. on the seventh day the heart beats slowly. the pigment spots on the surface of the egg have greatly increased in number. it was now observed that the position of the embryos at this stage are independent of the opaque cap. vol 173 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . xvclinus evides jordan & gilbert. steind. beitr. v, 149, 1876 (as blakea elegang); j. & g., '80, 27 (as gibbonsia elegan8); r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 454; id., '81, 63; id., '82, 763; r. smith, '85, june. abundant on rocky ocean beaches and tide pools; never brought to market. heterostichus rostratus girard. kelpfish; bandfish. girard, pacific r. r. survey x, 37, 1859; j. & g., '80, 25; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 451; id., 81, 63; id., '82, 764; r. smith, '85, june. common both in the bay and outside. it is rarely brought into the market, and is of no economic importance. auchenopterus integripinnis r. smith. r. smith, proc. u. s. nat. mus., iii, 147, 1883; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 454; id., '81, 63; id., '82, 761; r. smith, '85, june. rare; in tide pools near la jolla. neoclinus blanchardi girard. girard, pacific r. r. survey x, 114, 1859. not seen by us. fierasferidæ. fierasfer dubius putnam. (pl. xvi, figs. 8-10.) e. & e., '89a. some eggs were collected which probably belong to this species. these eggs were incidentally procured with a dip net on cortes banks while fishing for other things. they are imbedded in a perfectly transparent jelly of the consistency of white of egg. the nature of the mass of eggs thus dipped up was not understood, as the eggs are quite as transparent as their matrix. there were through the whole mass sets of two black dots and a black streak, and on placing a portion in perenyi's fluid the contour of the eggs was immediately made evident. the whole mass measured about half a pint. the eggs measured 0.8 millimeters and are arranged in one layer and separated from each other by a small space. some of the eggs had hatched, and one of these larvæ is shown in fig. 1. the pectorals are well developed. the eyes are black and the intestinal canal as far as developed is covered with dendritic pigment cells, a few of which extend on the yolk sack. otherwise no pigment is developed. ophidiida. otophidium taylori (girard). e. & e., '88. this species is occasionally taken in the bay. it was abundant among the spewing of the rock-cod taken on cortes banks, 174 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. gadidæ. merlucius productus (ayres). e. & e., '90, 21. only three specimens of this species have been observed. the first was taken november 6, the other two january 9. pleuronectidæ. . citharichthys sordidus (girard). j. & g., '80, 23; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 453; id., '81, 67; id., '82, 817; r. smith, '85, june; e. & e., '89 (as p. californicus). in deep water with rock cod. the first of the season were independently brought by several boats on october 7, 1889. it became quite abundant by the end of the month, but was never taken in quantity. it was seen as late as february 24. whether it is not also founul later, as is probable, i am unable to say. it has a ready market, , but as only a few are caught it is of no great economic importance. eopsetta jordani (lockington). e. & e., '90, 23. only a single specimen has so far been recorded from san diego waters. it was taken in about 100 fathoms outside the bay. paralichthys californicus (ayres). girard, pacific r. r. survey, x, 147, 1859 (as p. maculosu8); j. & g., '80, 27; r. sinith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 454; id., '81, 66; id., '82, 821; r. smith, '85, june. the young of this species are abundant in san diego bay throughout the year. the adult, or rather half grown, enter the bay in feb. ruary. the species is taken with hook and line off wharves and in seines. those caught in seines are mostly too small for capture. near san pedro large quantities of this species are taken with trawls about 5 miles off shore, in shallow water (5 fathoms) with sandy bottom. similar methods have not been attempted at san diego. hippoglossina stomata e. & e. e. & e., '90, 22. known from two specimens taken in deep water november 7, 1889. the eggs measure 1.2 millimeters in diameter; the singleoil globule, 0.16. xystreurys liolepis j. & g. e. & e., ?89a. this species entered the bay during october and november. it was never in great abundance. pleuronichthys coenosus girard, r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 453; id.,'81, 68; id., '82, 830; r. smith, '85, june. abundant with the next. it is taken with seines in the bay. we found it with ripe eggs the latter part of april, and mrs. eigenmann procured it with ripe spawn august 22, 1882. vol175 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xvhyspopsetta guttulata (girard). j. & g., '80, 27; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 453; id., '81, 68; id., '82, 830; r. smith, '85, june. this species enters the bay in large numbers during february and march. many are then caught with seines and with hand lines. though the bulk of those entering the bay may not remain it is always more or less abundant. ripe individuals of both sexes were abundant in april and the eggs were procured with surface nets. as stated under the head of sciæna saturna, the eggs and larvæ of these two species resemble one another greatly. the color cells in this species do not appear till the gastrula covers two-thirds of the yolk, and on hatching there are a few more color cells on the tail than in sciana. symphurus atricauda jordan and gilbert. j. & g., '80, 23; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 453; id., '81, 69; id., '82, 842; r. smith, '85, june. only one specimen of this species was brought to market (november 5). it is said to be abundant on muddy bottoms somewhat deeper than that reached by the ordinary seines. tetraodontidæ. sphæroides politus (girard.) girard, pacific r. r. survey, x, 340, 1859; r. smith, '80; j. & g., '80a, 453; id., '81, 70; id., '82, 860; r. smith, '85, june. not seen by us. diodontidæ. > diodon hystrix l. j. & g. '80a, 453; id. '81, 70. chilomycterus californiensis eigenmann. am. nat., 1891. proc. u. s. nat. mus., 1892. one specimen of this species was discovered at san pedro. molidæ. mola mola (linnæus.) r. smith, '80; j. & g., '82, 866; r. smith, '85, june. this species is occasionally gaffed off point loma and stray individuals are at times drifted into the bay. it is probably migratory, explanation of plates. the numbers and letters refer to ziess objectives and oculars. all the sketches were made with an abbe camera unless otherwise stated. 176 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. plate x. figs. 1-5. slolephorus compres818. fig. 1. first egg found april 24. a & 4. 2. ovum procured april 26 and hatched in 60 hours. a & 4. 3. the same 10 hours after, fig. 2. a & 4. 4. another, older embryo. a & 4. 5. a larva some time after hatching. a & 4. figs. 6–9. species no. 1. fig. 6. an undetermined egg, found aufig. 8. another egg found august 28. gust 14. a & 4. a & 2. 7. the same four hours later. a & 4. 9. the larva on hatching. a & 4. figs. 10–13. species no. 2. fig. 10. an egg procured april 26. | figs. 11-13. later stages of the same. plate xi. clupea mirabilis. these figures were made with a coverslip camera and a bausch & lomb l-inch objective and b ocular. figs. 14. forming blastodisk about one figs. 20. after eight hours and a half. hour after fertilization. 21. after twelve hours. 5-14. the ingrowth and receding of 22, 23. after twenty-three hours. the first cleavage furrow. 24. after thirty-six hours. 15. beginning of second furrow. 25. after forty-tive hours. 16, 17. at completion of second seg26. after forty-nine hours. mentation. 27. after fifty-four hours. 18. at completion of third seg28. after fifty-five hours. mentation. 29. after seventy-eight hours. 19. after 4 hours and a half. plate xii. stolephorus ringens and delicatissimus. all figures drawn with an abbe camera and a. and 2 of zeiss. fig. 1. the blastoderm well segmented, bridging over the depression in the yolk forming the segmentation cavity. optical section. the periblast lining the base of the cavity. probably thirteen hours old. 2. gastrula covering about half the yolk, the anterior and posterior lips equally advanced. showing the segments of the yolk, which, for convenience, are omitted from the other figures. 3. about eighteen hours old. 4. between nineteen and twenty hours old, showing that the blastopore closes at or very near the entodermic pole of the egg. 12:30 p. m., april 18. 5–10. illustrate the different stages between fig. 4 and the time of hatching. 5 sketched at 2:30 p. m.; 6 at 2:59 p. m.; 7 at 3:40; 8 at 1:45; 9 at 8:30; 10 at 4 p. m., april 19. 11. sometime after hatching; 1:30 p. m., april 20; 1.47 millimeters long. 12. sketched at 8 a. m., april 21, 1.79 millimeters long. 13. sketched at 4 p. m., april 21, 2.12 millimeters long. 14. the oldest larva seen (forty-eight hours after hatching). plate xiii. atherinopsis californiensis. all the figures are made from living eggs. figs. 2–12 abbe camera, d and 2; figs. 1 and 13–23 bausch and lomb 1 inch and b, coverslip camera. fig. 1. base of one of the filaments of the zona. the zona somewhat shriveled, the yolk having been removed. 2-9. a series of sketches showing one of the waves of contraction approaching the ectodermic pole, and the stage (fig. 9) just preceding another of these waves. vol177 1892proceedings of the national museum, x, . ] . xvfig. 10. a late stage in the formation of the blastodisk. 11. preparing to segment. 12. an early stage in the first segmentation. 13. optical section at the completion of the first segmentation. 14. surface view of the four blastomeres. 15. surface view of the third segmentation furrows. 16. optical section of sixteen cells. 17. optical section after fourteen hours. 18. optical section after twenty-four hours. 19. optical section after thirty-two hours. 20. diagram of embryo after sixty-four hours. 21. diagram of embryo after seventy-five hours. 22. embryo of six and a half days. 23. embryo in later stage showing yolk circulation. 24. this is probably an atherinops having been procured as late as april 22. it measured 55 millimeters. 25. an atherinopsis 9 millimeters long. 26. an atherinopsis 12 millimeters long. 27. an atherinopsis 14 millimeters long. plate xiv. a fig. 1. (destroyed). young clevelandia or lepidogobius taken with a surface net. 2. an older lava of the same. 3. tail of a larvæ intermediate between figs. 1 and 2. 4. tail of an older larva. 5, 5a. clevelandia longipinnis. 6, 6a. gillichthys y-cauda. plate xv. fig. 1. egg of typhlogobius californiensis undergoing the first cleavage. 2. micropylar region of an egg of the same species under pressure, showing the margin of the attachment of the outer membrane. 3. an egg forced from the ovary. a very large breathing chamber has been formed. abnormal (?). 4. a portion of the network of the outer meinbrane remote from the micropyle of the egg represented in fig. 3. 5. micropylar region of the egg represented in fig. 3. 6. adult typhlogobius, natural size, in the position usually assumed in the aquarium. 7. young typhlogobius. x4%, showing color markings and the eye. 8. dorsal view of skull of typhlogobius. xj. 9. lateral view of same. xg. 10. ventral view of same. x13. 11. eye, optic nerves and portion of brain of same, showing the very much elongate slender optic nerves and the comparatively large lens as compared with the cup of the eye. x 24, from nitric acid maceration of a specimen 13 mm. long, january 29, 1888. 12. gillichthys mirabilis. 21 millimeters long. 13. a single scale of same more enlarged. 14. several scales with color cells from the tail of same. 15. sense organs of the lateral line of a younger specimen of gillichthys, from about the middle of the body. 16. solitary sense organ of the same from the base of the caudal. proc. n. m. 92-12 178 fishes of san diego-eigenmann. plate xvi. all the figures were drawn with an abbe camera from dead or preserved specimens. figs. 1-3. sebastodes auriculatus. fig. 1. an embryo some time before hatching, showing the large yellow oil sphere. 2. a larva shortly before hatching. 3. a larva just hatched. figs. 4-7. sebastodes ruber. fig. 4. a larva shortly after hatching. 5–7. a larva shortly before hatching in different positions from the same ovary as fig. 4. figs. 8–10. fierasfer dubius, 8. a larva just hatched and still inclosed in the viscid mass; the vesicle surrounding the head may be an artiticial condition caused by imperfect preservation. 9-10. an embryo in two different positions. fig. 11. sebastodes oralis. 11. an einbryo of october 15. plate xvii. figs. 1-15. oligocottus analis. fig. 1. the germinal disk ten hours after fertilization. x 50. probably an unsegmenting egg, since the germ is well constricted off from the yolk. 2. the same, seen from above. 3. the two cells of another egg at the same time. x 50. 4. the egg represented in fig. 3 seen in profile. x 50. 5. the four cells of another egg at the same time. x 50. 6. another egg with eight cells after ten hours. x 50. 7. the same egy seen in profile. 8. the beginning of two-cell layers after sixteen hours x 50. 9. an embryo after eighty-four hours. x 50; showing how the zona-radiata is appressed by contact with another egg. 10. an embryo after five days. 11. an embryo eight days old, 12. front view of an embryo seventeen days old. 13. dorsal view of an embryo on the eighteenth day. 14. dorsal view of a larva twelve hours after hatching. 15. a larva two days after hatching. figs. 16–20. isesthes gilberti. 16. an egg shortly after extrusion, the shaded portion representing the salmoncolored yolk “y”; the black bodies represent the purple oil-spheres; the white bodies the yellow oil-spheres and the central shaded circle the opaque white globule. the germinal disk “g” is almost completely hidden by the cushion of filaments “f.” 17. two cells. 18. eight cells seen through the cushion. 19. a larva one hundred and thirty-two hours old, the outline of a few of the yolk spheres in the center. 20. an embryo of the eighth day showing the circulation of the left side. plate xviii. fig. 1. the youngest typhlogobius seen. zeiss a and 2. 2. the head of an older one from the side. 3. the head of one similar to fig. 3. seen from below. 4. another larva forty-eight hours older than fig. 1. the oldest one seen. it is still inclosed in its club-shaped zona. u. s. national museum pl. ix proceedings, vol. xv min 2 3 typhlotriton spelæus stejn. | u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. x 9 10. 13. stolephorus compressus. u. s. national museum pl. xi proceedings, vol. xv c 5 3 6 ib i7 19 20 (ට 21 22 23 24 10 48.0 ද විව , 25 26 27 14 15 28 29 clupea mirabilis. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl xii 00000 c bubno " stolephorus ringens and delicatissimus. u.s. national museum pl. xiii proceedings vol. xv so & & 0 2 *** atherinopsis californiensis. u. s. national museum pl. xiv proceedings, vol. xv 2 do @ @ 6 clevelandia and gillichthys. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xv وہ:0 در مایا در . ال typhlogobius and gillichthys. u. s. national museum pl. xvi proceedings, vol. xv 3 موت 10. 1 sebastodes and fierasfer. u. s. national museum pl. xvii proceedings, vol. xv 8 man 10 b 8 19 20 oligocottus analis and isesthes gilberti. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xviii 1 kel typhlogobius. an annotated list of the shells of san pedro bay and vicinity. by mrs. m. burton williamson. with a description of two new species by w. h. dall. (with plates xix-xxiii.) i have often thought if the fauna and flora of every inhabited county in the united states were studied and reported by careful, conscientious lovers of nature, the contributions to the natural history of our country would be of no small value, not only as a record of the riches of nature but, at a future time, as a history of the life that at a certain period was identified with a particular locality. for there is nothing permanent in nature. her activity begets change, and change daily makes history. with these thoughts in my mind i have undertaken to give a list of the marine shell fauna of los angeles county found, for the most part, within a period of two years. i am indebted to mrs. l. h. trowbridge and miss i. m. shepard for lists of shells found by them. some of their shells have been identified, through me, by dr. j. g. cooper, but the greater part, especially the rarer forms, have been determined at the smithsonian institution, washington, d. c. miss s. p. monks, teacher of drawing and zoology in the state normal school, in los angeles, has kindly allowed me to examine the shells found by her as well as those in the museum of the normal school. there are still some shells that have not been identified. the nudibranchiata are not included in this list. doris and polis have been found in san pedro bay and at catalina island, but not specifically determined. introductory. the coast of los angeles county is diversified by two large bays, santa monica and san pedro, with their long sandy beaches separated by high, rocky cliffs. on the northwestern coast of the county the sierra de santa monica range of mountains rises abruptly from the ocean. the extreme western point in this range is known as point dume, noted for its diatomaceous earth. running back from this point the coast curves in until it reaches the sandy beach of santa monica bay. in this bay tivela crassatelloides and tapes staminea proceeding national museum, vol. xv-xo. 898. 179 180 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. are most abundant. a laguna, known as ballona harbor, lies between santa monica and redondo beach. the latter is noted more for its pebbles than shells. south of redondo is a long line of mountainous foothills that rise abruptly from the ocean. these foothills, with their mesas, are known as the palos verdes hills. the rocky cliffs of the hills are called "points” where a trail down their sides makes it possible to descend to the beach below. one of these points, about seven miles south of redondo, is called point vincente, where at low tide the haliotis cracherodii with other rock shells are found. portuguese bend, with its cave in the solid rock running nearly 100 feet under the cliff, lies about two miles south of point vincente. out from this cave, whose stone floor is daily and almost hourly mopped by old ocean, the rocks at low tide lie uncovered for some distance on the beach. this is especially so at low tides in the winter, when our beautiful haliotis fulgens (or splendens) is collected. the lottia gigantea is most abundant at this point. from portuguese bend, whites point and point fermin (the light-house) are distinctly visible as they extend out into the ocean. whites point was at one time noted for its haliotis cracherodii, but continuous collecting has almost despoiled it of these shells. point fermin lies almost two miles south of whites point. here as well as at the latter point chlorostoma and acmea are plentiful. between point fermin and san pedro bay is the pier known as the “ old landing.” timms point, in the bay, is a small, flat sand bar that lies below the western part of the city of san pedro, which is built on the cliffs above the bay. bulla nebulosa and liocardium substriatum are found at timms point, near the oyster bed. across from the town of san pedro, in the bay, are two little islands that are connected by a long wall of stones known as the “breakwater." this breakwater is 17 miles long. dead man's island (and any one who has read dana's “two years before the mast” can conjecture why the island is so named) is little more than a miniature promontory of stone, with sandy soil on the summit. around the top of this island, in the loose, sandy soil is a bed of quaternary (or postpliocene) fossil sh ells.* these shells are continually being washed out, and, falling below, they lie in the rock pools in company with the living shells. the breakwater that connects dead man's island with rattlesnake island is the home of the domaa and chlorostoma. rattlesnake island is one long, sinuous sand bar, destitute of vegetation, and in its widest part hardly more than a quarter of a mile across. some of our rarest shells are found washed ashore in the drift on this island. here on the bay side are chione and cerithidea as well as in the slough that lies between the towns of san pedro and wilmington. between the latter and the town of long beach the san gabriel river empties into the bay. * at the base of this island are rocks that belong to the pliocene and possibly miocene strata, and many fossils of these oliler formations are washed ont of the rocks by the ocean, and are collected with recent shells on the beach. vol181 1892proceedings of the national museum. ex, . ] . xva » long beach supplies donax californicus, a favorite clam for soup. at low tide the long, sandy drive on the strand between long beach and new river, a fork of the san gabriel, is diversified by a small pile of soft rock, known as devil's gate, where a few rock pholads are found. at the extreme south of san pedro bay is alamitos, at the mouth of new river. here are crepidula, cerithidea, melampus, and pecten. laguna beach, the home of trivia, is 30 or 40 miles south, but in the recent division of los angeles county this beach was apportioned to the new county of orange. about 25 miles out in the pacific ocean is a little island, one of the santa barbara islands, known as santa catalina. this mountainous stretch of land is included in los angeles county. this island is almost 27 miles long, and from 4 to 8 miles wide save at the isthmus. it is “chiefly metamorphic rock," and the beach is composed wholly of pebbles; many of these are a pure white. collecting is confined to the small beaches that border the narrow valleys between the precipitous hills. haliotis and lucapina crenulata are found in the winter. in summer collecting is poor. mr. dall says, “the gravelly shores of catalina harbor on the south side are rich in small species.” in the following list, where the name of the bay is not given, san pedro is intended. the author gratefully acknowledges the assistance she has received through the kindness of mr. william healey dall, dr. robert e. c. stearns, and mr. chas. t. simpson, of the smithsonian institution, and j. g. cooper, m. d., of the california academy of sciences, in the determination, with notes, of a number of shells. the species so identified are, in each instance, noted by the initials in brackets of the gentleman to whom the species was referred. 'mr. dall has also kindly advised her relative to many changes in nomenclature. (w. h. d.)-mr. william healey dall, national museum. (r. e. c. s.)—dr. robert e. c. stearns, national museum. (c. t. s.)-mr. charles torrey simpson, national museum. (j. g. c.)–j. g. cooper, m. d., california academy of sciences. the shells on the list identified at the smithsonian institution by mr. simpson were for the most part collected by miss shepard. the number of southern shells lately added to the fauna of this vicinity is so great that some suspicion has been aroused as to the possibility of some of them being adventitious, but they are included in order that the question as to their provenance may be kept in view, and in time definitely settled by the collection of living specimens. university, p. o., los angeles county, cal., december, 1890. note.-in advance of a general revision of the classification of the californian mollusk-fauna it has been thought most convenient in this list to retain the familiar arrangement of the late dr. carpenter.-w. h. dall.] 182 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. list of species. brachiopoda. family lingulidæ. genus glottidia dall. glottidia albida hinds. (lingula albida, of authors.) found in the drift on the beach. family terebratulidæ. genus terebratella orb. terebratella transversa sby. seldom found alive. “this is the light-colored southern variety; the northern ones are much larger and duller. t. occidentalis is very like this, but has the fold in the middle line of the shell convex, while in transversa it is concave in the smaller valve.” (w. h. d.) mollusca. family pholadidæ. genus zirphæa leach. zirphæa crispata linn. seldom collected alive; separated valves common. at bolinas bay, near san francisco, mr. w. j. raymond obtained the zirphou by digging in soft sandstone with a pick. the burrows are from 12 to 15 inches or more, in depth, and the shells are very fragile. one has to dig a large hole around each specimen before venturing to break into the burrow.” genus pholadidea turton. pholadidea parva tryon. with p. penita, dead. pholadidea penita conl. a few in the soft rock at devil's gate. genus nettastomella cpr. nettastomella darwinii sby. a few in soft rocks. genus parapholas conrad. parapholas californica conr. two or three; with the soft parts gone. vol183 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvgenus pholas linné. pholas pacifica stearns. three or four washed ashore with the tide. single valves not plentiful. family saxicavidæ. genus saxicava f. de bellevue. saxicava arctica linn. in algæ; also, with barnacles, at redondo beach, saxicava arctica, var. pholadis linn. one example. genus glycimeris lamarck. glycimeris generosa gld. rare; as single valves. family myacidæ. genus platyodon conrad. platyodon cancellatus conr. not plentiful alive. genus cryptomya conrad. cryptomya californica conr. live ones at point fermin. sometimes washed ashore in the bay. genus schizotharus conrad. schizothærus nuttallii conr. a few young shells. single valves only of adults. family corbulidæ. genus corbula bruguière. corbula luteola cpr. a few live ones. pink ones found on actinia. 66 varies in color to different shades of red, blue, brown and yellow.” (j. g. c.) ( family pandoridæ. genus clidiophora cpr. clidiophora punctata cpr. single valves, in the beach drift. one live specimen reported by miss eleanor b. green. 1 184 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. family anatinidæ. genus periploma schmacher. periploma planiuscula sb y. (p. argentaria conr., of authors.) eight or ten living shells. single valves common. for notes on the specific name of this species, see stearns's “west american shells." proc. u. s. nat. mus., xiii, no. 813, page 223. periploma discus stearns. this new shell, found in san pedro bay, is described by dr. stearns, as above mentioned, p. 222, pl. xvi, figs. 1, 2. the first specimen was found by mrs. d. garlick, and soon after miss shepard and mrs. trowbridge found others in the bay. since that time seven or eight shells have been collected. > genus thracia leach. thracia curta conr. rare; in the bay; dead. genus lyonsia turton. lyonsia californica conr. three or four dead shells. one live example in the drift at rattle. snake island, found by mrs. emma king. family solenidæ. genus solen linné. solen ensis linné, var. minor conr. several collected at long beach. (w. h. d.) solen rosaceus cpr. washed ashore after storms. solen sicarius gld. four or five. genus tagelus gray. tagelus californianus conr. (solecurtu8 californianus conr.) not uncommon in the bay. “the generic name of the solecurtus californianus and n. subteres, of carpenter's list, is tagelus. the true solecurtus is a different shell.” see bulletin u. s. nat. mus. no, 37, p. 38; also, dall, report on albatross mollusca in proc. c'. s. nat. mus., vol. xii, p. 243. tagelus californianus var. subteres cour. found with the former. epidermis, when present, very dark. vo185 1892. ] proceedings of the national museum. genus siliqua megerle. siliqua patula dixon (machara patula of authors). three young shells reported from long beach. family tellinidæ. genus sanguinolaria lamarck. sanguinolaria nuttallii conr. occasionally found alive. genus psammobia lamarck. psammobia rubroradiata nutt. rare, empty shells only. genus macoma leach. macoma indentata cpr when full grown, this species is as graceful as a tellina. usually found in the immature condition and in this state is very similar to a young m. secta. macoma nasuta conr. plen tiful with the preceding. macoma secta conr. shells of this large species are commonly empty when collected. genus tellina linné. tellina bodegensis hds. fossil valves at dead man's island. one young shell was found at redondo beach, by miss virgie burton williamson. tellina idæ dall. three shells. one tine one, collected by mrs. trowbridge has been figured, with description, by mr. dall in the proceedings of the u.s. national museum, vol. xiv, no. 849, p. 183, pl. vi, fig. 3, pl. vii, figs. 1, 4, 1891. this species is named in honor of miss ida m. shepard, of long beach, who was the first to bring the recent shell to the attention of students. it is found fossil in the miocene of san diego county (w. h. d.) and has been dredged off catalina island. tellina gouldii hanl. rarely found. 186 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. tellina obtusa cpr. rare; soft parts gone. tellina variegata cpr. a few found by two collectors. (c. t. s.) genus @dalina cpr. @dalina subdiaphana cpr. a few living. subgenus cooperella cpr. @dalina (cooperella) scintillæformis cpr. one broken shell. (c. t. s.) genus lutricola blainville. lutricola alta conr. a few live shells washed ashore in the spring; single valves common. genus semele schumacher. semele californica adams. (s. flavescens gld.) one young example. (c. t. s.) semele decisa conr. not plentiful. semele pulchra sby. mrs. trowbridge reports a live shell washed ashore, after a heavy storm, in san pedro bay. (w. h. d.) semele rupium sby. two or three; dead. genus cumingia sowerby. cumingia californica conr. alive at point fermin, between the ledges of rock, in company with chitons. genus donax linné. donax californicus conr. this little shell, rich in color variations, is one of our economic mollusca;" for it makes a palatable soup. plentiful at long beach. donax flexuosus gld. not often found living. vol187 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvgenus heterodonax mörch. heterodonax bimaculatus d'orb. plentiful at san pedro. heterodonax bimaculatus, var. purpureus. this purple variety is common with the type. heterodonax bimaculatus, var. salmoneus. this variety is salmon-pink, and is rare. some shells have also been found that are canary colored. family mactridæ. genus mactra linné. mactra (standella) californica conr. two single valves. these valves are each nearly 5 inches long. mactra (standella) planulata, var. falcata gld. often washed ashore in the spring. (w. h. d.) mactra (standella) nasuta gld. not plentiful. this shell is of a blue-white color, with a dingy gray, epidermis, and is thinner than the former species. of the mactridæ, mr. dall says, “names at present must be provisional.” genus labiosa schmidt. labiosa undulata gld. (raeta undulata gray). single valves washed ashore in winter. pairs not separated are very rare. family veneridæ. genus callista poli. callista (amiantis) callosa conr. (dione nobilis reeve). this graceful bivalve is found at low tide in winter, in the bay; occasionally washed ashore. callista (lioconcha) newcombiana gablı. pl. xxiii, fig. 4. two shells and three or four valves; catalina. genys tivela link. tivela crassatelloides conr. (pachydesma crassatelloides conr.). one of our "economic mollusca,” but not as plentiful as the chione, the largest shells are often used by local artists as plaques, on which miniature pictures of "old missions,” etc., are painted. these shells 188 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. are from 5 to 54 inches in length, but i have one that measures 6 inches, and weighs 22 ounces. the large shells soon lose their epidermis, so smaller ones are preferred for cabinet specimens. genus psephis cpr. psephis tantilla gld. rare. arnold. genus venus linné. venus toreuma gld. (j'enus fordii yates). valves not rare at catalina island. two perfect examples found on the island. two or three valves reported from san pedro bay. dr. yates's figure agrees perfectly with gould's type. (w. h. d.) genus chione megerle. chione fluctifraga sby. this and the two following species belong to our "economic mollusca," although this is the least abundant of the three. chione simillima sby. our most plentiful chione. this species shows some variation. chione succincta val. in mud flats, with the two former species. chione undatella sby. (=c. excavata cpr. of california). worn valves comparatively plentiful at catalina harbor, in 1890. “ the extreme limit north for it.” (w. h. d.) genus tapes megerle. tapes grata say. i'wo shells found by two collectors. (w.h. d.) tapes laciniata cpr. seldom found alive. tapes staminea conr. this “economic mollusk” of our coast is smaller than the other forms of this genus. tapes staminea, var. diversa sby. a few with the type. tapes tenerrima cpr. rare; dead. 1892. ] 189 proceedings of the national museum. genus saxidomus conrad. saxidomus aratus gld. (s. gracilis gld.). often washed ashore in the spring. this shell, like others of the family, varies in form. saxidomus nuttallii conr. ? beach-worn valves; may be specimens of the preceding species. genus rupellaria f. de bellevue. rupellaria lamellifera conr. two dead shells reported. family petricolidæ. genus petricola lamarck. petricola carditoides conr. only dead ones collected. petricola cognata ads. one broken valve. (w. h. d.) mrs. trowbridge. petricola tenuis ads.? one, young, dead. (c. t. s.) if not a form of carditoides this has hitherto been known only from the southern fauna. family chamidæ. genus chama brug. chama exogyra conr. common on rocks, from which they are hard to remove, even with a hatchet, as one valve usually adheres firmly. both sinistral and dextral shells occur in the same colony. chama pellucida sby. this species is more pellucid and frilled, and often of a bright rosy tint in some places. it is usually washed ashore from deep water. chama spinosa sby. very rarely washed ashore. these three forms are sometimes difficult to distinguish; one species appears to run into another. family cardiidæ. genus cardium. cardium centifilosum cpr. one valve; mrs. trowbridge. abundant in 16 fathoms at catalina harbor. (w. h. d.) 190 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. cardium quadragenarium conr. found at very low tide in the spring. deep water examples are sometimes 64 inches from the umbo to the basal margin of the valves. also found fossil at dead man's island. subgenus hemicardium cuvier. cardium (hemicardium) biangulatum sby. fresh valves, and two or three complete shells collected at catalina. “alive in twenty to thirty fathoms near catalina island.” (j. g. c.) subgenus liocardium (sw.) mörch. cardium (liocardium) elatum sby. one or two juvenile valves reported. cardium (liocardium) substriatum conr. plentiful at times. family carditidæ. genus venericardia lamarck. venericardia ventricosa gld. two shells; san pedro bay. arnold. dredged off catalina island in 30 fathoms. genus lazaria gray. lazaria subquadrata cpr. single valves occasionally found. complete shells very rare. family lucinide. genus lucina brug. lucina californica conr. a few found alive at the points. lucina æquizonata stearns. dredged in 276 fathoms off the santa barbara islands by the u. s. fish commission. lucina nuttallii conr. washed ashore in the bay. family diplodontidæ. genus diplodonta bronn. diplodonta orbella gld. living examples are very rare. col191 1892proceedings of the national museum, , . ] . xvfamily kelliidæ. genus kellia turton. kellia laperousii deshayes. at san pedro, and also with barnacles on the pier at redondo. kellia rotundata cpr. one "nearly like k. suborbicularis." (c. t. s.) kellia suborbicularis mont. rare. (c. t. s.) genus lasea leach. lasea rubra mont. not rare on kelp. genus tellimya brown. tellimya tumida cpr. one specimen found. (c. t. s.) family mytilidæ. genus mytilus linné. mytilus bifurcatus conr. a few on the pier at santa monica. mytilus californianus conr. one of our economic mollusks" though not often on sale. mytilus edulis linné. rare on the shore; brought in by fishermen, and occasionally on sale in the fish market. genus septifer recluz. septifer bifurcatus rve. plentiful with litorina plana.ris between rocks. genus modiola lam. modiola oapax conr. living shells rare; dead valves not uncommon. modiola fornicata cpr. shells, fasciculated by their byssus, often washed ashore. 192 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. modiola modiolus linne. two or three young specimens found in san pedro bay. modiola recta conr. not many found. none exceeding three inches in length. subgenus adula h. & a. ad. modiola (adula) falcata gld. two or three, in soft rock; none large. genus lithophagus megerle. lithophagus plumula hanl. a few; living. family arcide. genus arca linné. arca mutabilis sby. one badly sea-worn valve. “probably adventitious, as we do not know of it from north of the gulf.” (w. h. d.) arca multicostata sby. single valve; catalina island. "commonly found along the coast of lower california." (r. e. c. s.) genus axinæa poli. axinæa intermedia brod. one found in the bay. “very fine, highly colored specimen.” (w. h. d.) miss monks. family nuculidæ, genus nucula lam. subgenus acila h. & a. ads. nucula (acila) castrensis hinds. single valves (all fossil ?) dead man's island. family ledidæ. genus leda schumacher, leda cælata hds. odd valves reported. genus yoldia mörch. yoldia cooperi gabb. valves washed ashore in the beach drift. "may be identical with the fossil y. impressa," conr. (j. g. c.) 66 vol193 1892. xv proceedings of the national museum. . family limidæ. genus lima brug. lima orientalis (adams?) cpr. (l. dehiscens, conr., of cal, authors). valves washed ashore in the spring. family aviculiæ. genus avicula lamarck. avicula peruviana rve. one valve washed ashore on rattlesnake island and collected by mrs. opar. this is one of the shells from the southern fauna referred to in the introduction as possibly adventitious. family pectinidæ. genus pecten linné. pecten æquisulatus cpr. at san pedro and alamitos. pecten caurinus gld. single valves are not rare at dead man's island. all fossil? two live examples found by mrs. d. garlick. pecten latiаuritus conr. this shell has been labeled p. monotimeris conr. by many collectors on this coast, but mr. w. h. dall, to whom i recently submitted a series of shells collected at redondo beach, san pedro bay and san diego, pronounced them all p. latiаuritus. not plentiful. fossil at dead man's island. section janira schumacher. pecten (janira) floridus hds. several valves; all fossil? "evidently fossil and belonging in the recent state to the lower californian fauna.” (w. ii. d.) a living specimen referred by carpenter to j. dentata and perhaps conspecific was dredged by dr. cooper at monterey. living specimens of p.. floridus have been obtained at san pedro. (w. h. d.) genus hinnites defrance. hinnites giganteus gray. occasionally found living. family ostreidæ. genus ostrea linné. ostrea lurida cpr. plentiful in a small oyster bed near timms point. . ostrea lurida var. expansa cpr. three or four found at catalina island and the bay. proc. n. m. 92—13 194 shells of san pedro bay williamson. family anomiidæ. genus placunanomia brod. subgenus vonia gray. placunanomia (monia) macroschisma desh. single valves rare. one fine example, measuring 3} by 3 inches, has been reported by miss eleanor b. green, of minnesota, who informs me that this shell, found alive at long beach, varies considerably from the type. “ the shell varies much like an oyster.” (j. g. c.) genus anomia linné. anomia lampe gray. odd valves and two young shells reported. scaphopoda. genus dentalium linné, dentalium hexagonum sby. empty shells in the sand at rattlesnake island. dentalium pretiosum nuttall. with the last, but more plentiful. pteropoda. family cavoliniida. genus cavolinia abild. cavolinia tridentata forsk. = hyalea tridentata, of authors. three or four of these little pteropods have been washed ashore at long beach. (j. g. c.) family cymbuliidæ. genus corolla dall. corolla spectabilis dall. this pteropod has been taken alive on the surface of the sea off the coast north of catalina island. (w. h. d.) cymbuliopsis of pelseneer is synonymous. family pneumodermatidæ. genus pneumodermon cuvier. pneumodermon pacificum dall. this pteropod has been taken alive near sau pedro. (w. h. d.) vol 195 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] xvgastropoda. family umbraculidæ. genus tylodina rafinesque. tylodina fungina gabb. one shell, san pedro bay, and two found at laguna beach, by two collectors. (c. t. s.) family bullidæ. genus bulla linné. bulla nebulosa gld. plentiful on mud flats. usually of a dark reddish-brown color. genus haminea leach. haminea vesicula gld. very rarely washed ashore. haminea virescens sby. in moss at catalina. empty shells not rare in the bay; live ones very rare. family actaeonidæ. genus actaeon montfort. section rictaxis dall. actæon (rictaxis) punctocælatus cpr. three or four dead examples. family tornatinidæ, genus tornatina a. adams. tornatina carinata cpr. a few examples. (j. g. c.) tornatina culcitella gld. empty shells; not plentiful. tornatina inculta gld. one example. genus volvula a. adams. volvula cylindrica cpr. one example in coarse sand in a rock-pool. (w. h. d.) 196 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. family auriculid.e. genus melampus montfort. melampus olivaceus cpr. plentiful in mud-flats. genus pedipes blainville. pedipes unisulcatus j. g. ('p. washed ashore in the drift. family siphonariidæ. genus siphonaria shy. subgenne williamia monterosato. siphonaria (williamia) peltoides cpr. one worn shell found in the bay. (c. t. s.) family gadiniidæ. genus gadinia gray. gadinia reticulata sby. a single dead shell reported. family mopaliide, genus mopalia gray. mopalia ciliata sby. not rare on rocks. mopalia lignosa gld. rarer than m. ciliata. family acanthopleurida. genus nuttallina cpr. nuttallina scabra rve. the most plentiful form of chiton. family ischnochitonida. genns chætopleura shuttleworth. chætopleura (maugerella) conspicua cpr. between ledges of rock at point fermin, also at white's point. lately identified by dr. r. e. c. stearns. this species has been distributed under the name of stenoradsia magdalenensis. chætopleura hartwegii cpr. on rocks; not plentiful. vol197 1892. xv proceedings of the national museum. ] . family acmæidæ. genus acmæa eschscholtz. acmæa asmi midd. a few at point vincent. acmæa insessa hds. (nacella incessa hds, of some california authors). dead examples occasionally found in good condition in san pedro bay, and at the points. acmæa mitra esch. dearl shells; very rare. acmæa paleacea gould. (nacella paleacea, gld., of some california authors). found on kelp. acmæa patina esch. abundant on the rocks at san pedro and point fermin. acmæa patina var. scutum esch. very few found with a. patina. acmæa pelta esch. very few found. acmæa persona esch. not plentiful. acmæa scabra nutt. with a. patina, but not so plentiful as the latter. acmæa spectrum nutt. plentiful; on the rocks. (ienus lottia gray. lottia gigantea gray. plentiful at portuguese bend. family fissurellidæ. genus fissurella brug. fissurella volcano rve. most plentiful at portuguese bend. genus fissuridea swainson, 1840 (=glyphis carpenter, 1856, non agassiz 1843). fissuridea aspera esch. rare; not found living., fissuridea murina (cpr.) dall. proc. u. s. nat. mus., 1885, p. 543. two found dead, one at catalina. this is the glyphis densiclathrata of californian conchologists, but not of reeve; g. saturnalis of pilsbry 198 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. (nautilus, v., p. 105) not of carpenter, and g. densiclathrata var. murina of carpenter. w. h. d. fissuridea rugosa sby: two found at white's point. this is one of the southern species of shells referred to in the introduction as possibly adventitious. arnold. (ienis lucapina gray. lucapina crenulata sby. plentiful at catalina, in the winter. three or four live examples found, by as many persons, at the points, and dead man's island. genus megatebennus pilsbry. megatebennus bimaculatus dall. (fissurellidea and clypidella of authors). two found in the bay. genus lucapinella pilsbry. lucapinella callomarginata cpr. (clypidella of cpr.). three dead shells. one live example found by m. estella williamson. family haliotidæ. genus haliotis linné. haliotis corrugata gray. dead shells not often found. live ones occasionally brought in by fishermen. haliotis cracherodii leach. plentiful in winter, at low tide, on the rocks. this is the “ white” abalone (pronounced " ab'-a-lo-ně”) of california, and a favorite edible shellfish of the mexicans. although the mother-of-pearl of these shells is usually white when decorticated, one shell picked up in san pedro bay, by mrs. emma king, when decorticated, presented a beautiful play of colors, unlike either the type or h. fulgens. the muscular scar . was also finely colored. the spire rising higher than usual in shells of this type made the specimen more cup-shaped. haliotis cracherodii var. splendidula. a number of shells, found at one time, at point vincent, have bril. liant blotches of color in their interior somewhat like h. fulgens. some have spots of brown color. haliotis fulgens phil. (h. splendens rve.). as the former name has precedence, according to mr. h. a. pilsbry, he substitutes it for h. splendens. this splendid shell is sometimes found very large at portuguese bend, at low tide, in the winter. vol199 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvfamily phasianellidæ. genus phasianella lam. phasianella compta gld. usually empty shells; not plentiful. family turbinidæ. genus pomaulax gray. pomaulax undosus wood. plentiful in the early spring at dead man's island. these shells lie close together in shallow water, many with a growth of alge on their apical whorls; when the algae are highly colored they present a beautiful sight under the water. genus pachypoma gray. pachypoma inæquale martyn. pl. xix, figs. 4 and 5; pl. xxiii, figs. 1, 3 and 5. a half dozen; all fossil ? not uncommon, living, on the shore of catalina island. this is the p. gibberosum of chemnitz, according to carpenter, but martyn's name is four years older. (w. h. d.) genns leptothyra carpenter. leptothyra bacula cpr. not many shells found. plentiful under stones in one of the valleys on catalina island. leptothyra carpenteri pilsbry (l. sanguinea of carpenter, not of linn.). very rare. in the nautilus for july, 1890, mr. h. a. pilsbry says: “to our californian shells we give the name of l. carpenteri.” the true l. sanguinea is mediterranean. family delphinulidæ. genne liotia gray. liotia acuticostata cpr. on actinias or sea anemones sticking to the adhesive surface; rare. liotia fenestrata cpr. empty shells; rare. family trochidæ. genus ethalia h. & a. adams. ethalia sp. san pedro. “close to multistriata ver.” found at cape st. lucas. (w. h. d.) arnold. 200 shells of san pedro bay--williamson. genus norrisia bayle. norrisia norrisii shy. ( trochiscus norrisii, of anthorn). plentiful on kelp at dead man's island. “the name trochiscus is preoccupied." (w. h. d.) genus chlorostoma swainson. chlorostoma aureotinctum fbs. most plentiful at white's point. chlorostoma brunneum phil. pl. xxi, fig. 8. very few, none large. chlorostoma funebrale a. ad. pl. xxi, fig. 7. a few at the points. chlorostoma funebrale var. suba pertum cpr. pl. xxi, fig. 6. u.s. national museum, no. 123496. this infigured variety is here illustrated for comparison. (w. h. d.) chlorostoma gallina fbs. our most abundant species. some vary from the type by the ab. sence of the numerous spots or speckles. chlorostoma gallina var. pyriformis cpr. a balf dozen of this variety have been found. one very tine example on rattlesnake island, by mrs. charles burton woodhead. (j.g. c.) chlorostoma gallina var. tincta hmp. one shell found at portuguese bend. this variety has rounded whorls and is not speckled. chlorostoma montereyensis kien. (c. pfeifferi phil. of cal. lists). rare; dead. section omphalius phil. chlorostoma (omphalius) viridulum var, ligulatum mke. (omphalius fuscescens. phil. of california authors). not rare; sometimes inhabited by crabs. chlorostoma (omphalius) globulus cpr. one shell (c. t. s.). this form was described by carpenter from mazatlan (maz. cat., 235), but is not mentioned by mr. pilsbry in his monograph of the group. (w. h. d.) volproceedings of the national museum. 1892201 , . . xvgenus calliostoma swainson. calliostoma annulatum mart. pl. xxii, fig. 2. one beach-worn shell reported. (trowbridge.) calliostoma canaliculatum mart. pl. xxii, fig. 6. rare; only empty shells found. calliostoma gemmulatum cpr. pl. xxii, fig. 3. very good specimens are found in the bay; not plentiful. calliostoma gloriosum dall. pl. xxii, fig. 5. four or five good shells, all dark spotted, found at san pedro bay. at soquel, monterey bay, this species is mostly of a pale salmon color; the southern ones are darker. (w. h. d.) calliostoma splendens cpr. pl. xxi, fig. 5. one found; dead. (c. t. s.) calliostoma supragranosum cpr. one obtained; not found living. (c. t. s.) calliostoma tricolor gabb. pl. xix, fig. 8. examples are usually faded. calliostoma versicolor mke. one young specimen found. (c. t. s.) calliostoma costatum mart. pl. xxii, fig. 1. rare on san miguel island. (w. h. d.) genus thalotia adams. thalotia caffea gabb. (ptychostylis caffea gabb.). three recent, also fossil sheils, at dead man's island. genus gibbula risso, gibbula canfieldii dall.? var. one dead shell. “possibly an extreme form of the very variable lirulata. whether gibbula or margarita will depend upon the anatomy. the shell has the habit of gibbula." (w. h. d.) trowbridge. genus margarita leach. margarita lirulata cpr. rare living. of margarita lirulata cpr., m. acuticostata cpr., gibbula optabilis cpr., g. parcipicta cpr., g. succincta cpr., funiculata cpr., and lacunosa cpr., mr. dall says: “after a careful study of the types of a 202 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. the above and hundreds of specimens, i am compelled to the belief that they are simply forms of one protean species." margarita pupilla gld. a dead one reported. genus solariella s. wood. solariella cidaris a. ad. pl. xxii, fig. 4. dredged in deep water off the islands by the u.s. fish commission. solariella peramabilis cpr. one or two specimens found. dredged off catalina living in 30 fathoms. also found fossil. genus cantharidus montfort. subgenus halistylus dall. cantharidus (halistylus) pupoideus dall. pl. xix, fig. 2. (fenella pupoidea cpr., not of a. adams.) four found in rocky pools at dead man's island. for an account of this genus see these proceedings, xii, p. 341. the original fenella is a rissoid. family cyclostrematidæ. genus vitrinella adams, em. vitrinella williamsoni dall. pl. xxi, figs. 2 and 3. shell small, white, depressed, with two and a half whorls; spire flattened; suture appressed with a shallow channel or excavation outside of the appressed margin of the whorl, outside of which the convexity of the whorl rises higher than the suture. base slightly more rounded than the upper side, with a wide and flaring umbilicus; periphery rounded; aperture rounded, oblique; surface polished, finely striate here and there by the incremental lines which are most prominent above. maximum diameter of shell, 5,5; minimum diameter, 4.5; altitude, 1.25 millimeters. beach at san pedro; u. s. national museum, registered number 106,856. this species, which is rather large for a vitrinella, is respectfully dedicated to mrs. m. burton williamson, to whose researches this paper is due. the name being inherently masculine, the usual geni. tive ending is preserved. vol203 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvfamily calyptraeidæ. genus crucibulum schumacher. crucibulum imbricatum brod. (c. scutellatum gray, of cooper geographical catalogue). one in a collection of shells found on santa catalina island, and two found in san pedro bay. from southern fauna. crucibulum spinosum sby. washed ashore in the drift. young ones found alive on pecten æquisulcatus. plentiful alive, at very low tide in the oyster bed at san pedro. genus crepidula lam. crepidula aculeata gmel. one or two reported. crepidula adunca sby. a few found living. crepidula dorsata brod. not rare; these shells vary much in color and habit. crepidula excavata brod. shells with the soft parts gone are sometimes found in the drift. “does not exactly agree with any of our shells, but is probably this." (c. t. s.) crepidula explanata gld. (c. eruriata nutt.). three or four, found by two or three collectors. crepidula navicelloides nutt. plentiful in dead gastropods. crepidula onyx sby. var. rugosa nutt. plentiful, often in clusters, one on another, and variable in shape. 1 have one old beach-worn example, of which the outline on one side describes a semicircle. shells found on norrisia are of a light magenta-pink in the interior. the form of the septum, or deck, of the pink, shells that i have seen varies from that of the var. rugosa. genus galerus (humphr.) gray. galerus mammillaris brod. (g. fastigiatus gld., perhaps g. contortus cpr.). two found dead at long beach. (c. t. s.) 204 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. family amaltheidæ. genus amalthea schum., 1817 (hipponyx defrance, 1819.). amalthea antiquata linn. empty shells are washed ashore at the bay. a few found living with a. tumens, nestled close to some big chitons (maugerella conspicua) in a cleft of rock at point fermin. amalthea cranioides cpr. this shell is flat and has the apex near rare; with a. antiquata. the center. amalthea serrata cpr. two or three found at san pedro. these shells have a brown epi. dermis, in irregular patches. amalthea tumens cpr. with a. antiquata, but not so plentiful. family vermetidæ. genus serpulorbis sassi. serpulorbis squamigerus cpr. less plentiful than the variety below. serpulorbis squamigerus cpr., var. pennatus mörch. usually found in colonies on the rocks. genus bivonia gray. bivonia compacta cpr. only dead shells found; rare. (j.g.c.) genus spiroglyphus daudin. spiroglyphus lituella mörch. on kelp; catalina island and portuguese bend. (r. e. c. s.) family cæcidæ. genus cæcum fleming. cæcum crebricinctum cpr. ten or twelve found at san pedro; dead. (c. t. s. vol205 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvfamily turritellidæ. genus turritella lam. turritella cooperi cpr. dead shells are not uncommon; living ones very rare. turritella (mesalia) lacteola cpr. three found. (c. t. s.) family cerithiida. genus cerithidea swainson. cerithidea californica held. (1840 + c. sucraia, gila. 1849, + c. pullata gld.). plentiful on mud fats. “several variations are caused by the amount of freshness in the water; sometimes marked by yellow bands." (j. g. c.) genus bittium leach. bittium asperum cpr. dead man's island. fossil in san pedro city. (j. g. c.) ( pl. xxi, fig. 4 bittium quadrifilatum cpr. a few found living. family littorinidæ. genus littorina fér. littorina planaxis nutt. abundant on rocks. littorina scutulata gld. less abundant than the former. littorina scutulata var. plena gld. a few with the type. littorina scutulata var. six or eight. this variety is small and almost black. genus assiminea leach. assiminea californica cooper. one living and one dead example at san pedro. (c. t. s.) genus lacuna turton. lacuna unifasciata cpr. three dead. lacuna solidula lovèn. rare living; san pedro. (c. t. s.) 206 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. family fossaride. genus isapis cpr. isapis fenestratus (pr. rare; rock pools. also fossil in san pedro city. (j. g. c.) family rissoid.e. genus rissoa freminville. rissoa (alvania) reticulata cpr. one example. (c. t. s.) rissoina purpurea of cooper. family truncatellide. genus truncatella risso. truncatella californica pfr. on sea weed, not many found. (c. t. s.) truncatella stimpsoni stearns. one. (c. t. s.) family jeffreysiid.e. genus jeffreysia alder, jeffreysia sp. one worn specimen found near dead man's island. (w. h. d.) jeffreysia translucens cpr. three or four. (c. t. s.) family ovulid. genus ovula bruguiére. ovula (simnia) deflexa sby. var, barbarense dall. pl. xxi, fig. 1. one example, one inch in length, found in san pedro bay, by miss mouks. 10. deflexa is a southern form, but was reported by col. jewett from santa barbara. his specimen was probably the same as the form here figured, which is of a whitish color and does not seem to agree perfectly with sowerby's figures. i therefore separate it varietally until more is known. if it prove distinct from deflexa the varietal name may take specific rank. w. h. d. vol207 1892proceedings of the national museum. x, . ] . xvfamily cypreide. genus cypræa linné. cypræa spadicea gray. living, at the points. also laguna beach. not plentiful in los angeles county. genus trivia gray. trivia californica gray. in the coarse sand at the points, dead man's island, and santa cat. alina island. three live ones washed ashore at san pedro; also living at laguna beach. trivia solandri gray. with the preceding and more plentiful. genus erato risso. erato columbella mke. not often found, and not reported living. erato vitellina hds. good examples are rare. family terebridæ. genus terebra brug. section acus adams, terebra (acus) simplex cpr. (myurella simplex cpr.). dead shells not rare. ten or twelve live ones in the sand on timm's point. terebra (acus) specillata hinds. white, with irregular brown markings. three or four of these pretty forms bave been found in the bay. “they will probably be found to grade into t. simplex.” (w. h. d.) family pleurotomide. genus pleurotoma lam. pleurotoma tuberculata gray. one shell found by mrs. purdy, of los angeles. subgenus genota adams. section dolichotoma bellardi. pleurotoma (dolichotoma) carpenteriana gabb. (surcula carpenteriana gabb.) rare, dead. one splendid example, four and one-eighth inches long, 208 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. was found alive at ballona harbor by mrs. spar. for notes ou genota -section dolichotoma--see report on albatross mollusca, dall, proc. u.s. nat. mus., vol. xii, no. 773, p. 303. genus drillia (ray. drillia inermis hd. found with cerithidea californica, at alamitos, by m. estella williamson. also fossil; in san pedro city bluffs. drillia penicillata cpr. living shells seldom found; usually inhabited by crabs. a beauti. ful species with wavy hair lines across the whorls. drillia torosa cpr. var. three shells, all broken. this variety is spotted. point fermin. (j. g. c.) genus mangilia risso. mangilia striosa c. b. ad. rare; dead. the generic name is taken from an italian conchologist who was called mangili. subgenus cythara schumacher. mangilia (cythara) variegata, cpr. (vangilia rariegata cpr., var. nitens, of west coast lists). three or four live examples. (w. h. d.) genus mitromorpha adams. mitromorpha aspera cpr. pl. xix, fig. 3. one. (c. t. s.) mitromorpha filosa cpr. pl. xix, fig. 1. one (young) broken. (c. t. s.) family conidæ. genus conus limné. conus californicus hils. plentiful in moss at point fermin, washed ashore in the bay with live crepidulæ on them. family pyramidellidæ. genus pyramidella lam. pyramidella conica ads. var. variegatu (pr. (obeliscus). three or four dead shells. (w. h. d.) vol209 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xvgenus odostomia fleming. odostomia gravida cpr. a few living. (j. g.c.) odostomia inflata cpr. alive on the back of a haliotis corrugata brought in by a fisherman, odostomia nuciformis, cpr. a few dead shells. genus turbonilla leach, turbonilla chocolata cpr. (chemnitzia). one young specimen, lead, found at san pedro. (c. t. s.) turbonilla stylina cpr. one young specimen. (c. t. s.) turbonilla aurantia, cpr. (chemnitzia var. aurantia cpr.). three faded ones. (c. t. s.) turbonilla tenuicula gould. one specimen. (c. t. s.) turbonilla tenuilirata cpr. two examples. (c. t. s.) turbonilla torquata gld. var. three dead specimens. (c. t. s.) family eulimidæ. genus eulima risso. eulima micans cpr. dead specimens, rarely found. family scalida. genus scala humphrey. scala bellastriata cpr. (scalaria bellastriata cpr.). good examples found in the beach drift. one found alive by mrs. trowbridge. scala hindsii cpr. with the former species, not rare. a southern form first collected at santa barbara by col. jewett. proc. n. m. 92-14 210 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. scala indianorum cpr. rare; dead; also fossil. scala occidentalis nyst. san pedro (w. h. d.) arnold. new to the fauna. scala retiporosa cpr. one dead shell. (c. t. s.) subgenus opalia adams. scala (opalia) borealis gld. three or four examples; all fossil ? scala (opalia) crenata linn, var. crenatoides cpr. a few dead shells. one live shell, portuguese bend, found by m. estella williamson. alive at laguna beach. “abundant off catalina island, in mud at 16 fathoms." (w. h. d.) family cerithiopside. genus cerithiopsis f. & h. cerithiopsis fortior cpr. “shells too much broken to be sure of identity." (j. g. c.) cerithiopsis munita cpr. one, dead. “slender form." (j.g. c.) cerithiopsis purpurea cpr. three. (c. t. s.) cerithiopsis tuberculata mont. very few; dead. family janthinidæ. genus janthina lam. janthina exigua lamk. (janthina bifida totten; j. trifida, of california authors). one day in march, last year (1889), a number of these ocean snails were washed ashore at long beach. this year (1890) not one has been found in the bay that i have heard of, but in the early spring months some were washed ashore at catalina island. vol211 1892proceedings of the national museum. 29. . ] . xvfamily cancellariidæ. genus cancellaria lam. cancellaria cooperi gabb. pl. xxii, fig. 2. three sea-worn 'examples of this rare and splendid species were found by two collectors. family lamellariidæ. genus lamellaria montagu. lamellaria stearnsii dall. one shell; soft parts gone. monks. family naticidæ. genus sigaretus lam. sigaretus debilis gld. occasionally washed ashore in the winter with the soft-parts gone. one fine shell, with part of the epidermis remaining, was collected by miss monks, on rattlesnake island. genus natica lam. subgenus lunatia gray, natica (lunatia) lewisii gld. not often found with the animal in them. largest ones washed ashore in the bay and at catalina island. subgenus neverita risso. natica (neverita) recluziana petit. plentiful in the sand, at santa monica with tivela. family tritoniidæ. genus ranella lam. ranella californica hds. occasionally washed ashore. often brought in by fishermen. family mitride, genus mitra lam. mitra maura swains. not plentiful, dead. two or three have been found alive. 212 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. family marginellida. genus marginella lam, marginella jewettii cpr. pl. xix, fig. 6. san pedro, jewett in u. s. nat. museum. marginella pyriformis cpr. pl. xx, fig. 5. one or two. (c. t. s.) marginella regularis cpr. one empty shell. (c. t. s.) section volvarina hinds. marginella (volvarina) varia sby. under stones; rare. common at catalina. family olivida. genus olivella swainson. olivella biplicata sby. in the sand near dead man's island. dead shells not uncominon in the bay. olivella biplicata var. alba. seldom found. olivella biplicata var. brunnea. this brown variety is rare, and not found living. dr. cooper says 0. biplicata “varies in color from black through brown, purple, gray and pink to white." 2 olivella intorta cpr. pl. xix, fig. 9. santa cruz to lower california, u. s. nat. museum. olivella bætica cpr. pl. xix, fig. 7. in the sand in both bays, although not plentiful. family nassidæ. genus nassa lam. nassa fossata gld. adults seldom collected. nagsa insculpta cpr. pl. xxiii, fig. 6. three; catalina island. (j. g. c.) not uncommon at 16 fathoms depth. fossil in pleistocene. vol213 1892proceedings of the national museum. x, . ] . xvnassa mendica gld. three; catalina island. rare, and not found alive at san pedro. (r. e. c. s.) nassa mendica var. cooperi fbs. alive at catalina fossil at san pedro. (r. e. c. s.) nassa mendica var. elongata. this variety is unusually long. (r. e. c. s.) nassa perpinguis hds. empty shells plentiful in the drift on the beach. nassa tegula rve. on mud flats. (“close to n. vibex of the atlantic.” w. h. d.) family columbellidæ. genus columbella lam. columbella baccata gask. a young dead one. (c. t. s.) southern fauna. columbella (astyris) carinata hds. not rare; often dead. columbella (astyris) gausapata gld. rarer than c. carinata. columbella (astyris) tuberosa cpr. pl. xx, fig. 6. two or three dead shells. amycla of carpenter. columbella (anachis) penicillata cpr. two. (w. h. d.) southern fauna. columbella (anachis) tincta cpr. one dead. “gulf of california shell.” (c. t. s.) columbella (æsopus) chrysalloidea cpr. one on san pedro beach, cooper) u.s. nat. museum. genus amphissa adams. amphissa versicolor dall. pl. xx, fig. 9. a few living specimens found. one here figured is rather shorter proportionately than the majority of specimens. (w. h. d.) amphissa bicolor dall. pl. xx, fig. 4. shell small, solid, pale with brown bands and six convex whorls; nucleus eroded in the specimens; suture distinct, not appressed, whorls 214 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. full, with 11 to 13 narrow rounded ribs extending nearly from suture to suture; spiral sculpture of numerous flattened strap-like cinguli separated by subequal channeled shallow interspaces; epidermis thin and yellowish; color of shell pale straw color with a brownish base and a brown band extending from the periphery half-way back to the suture; aperture about equal to the spire, the penultimate rib behind it a little swollen; pillar slender, polished white with little callus; canal wide, short, recurved; outer lip simple, slightly retlected; not lirate inside. longitude of shell, 14.0; of aperture, 7.7; maximum diameter of shell, 8,0 millimeters. habitat : dredged by the u. s. fish commission at various places off the coast from point sur to san diego, and in the santa barbara channel in depths varying from 124 fathoms at the south to 298 fathoms at the north, over a sandy or muddy bottom. the operculum is brownish and resembles that of a. versicolor dall. the brown coloration, though generally disposed in bands as described, is variable, and occasionally appears in a zigzag pattern on the pale .ground, or generally suffused over the surface, or even maculated, as in nitidella. the apex when perfect is probably moderately acute, but is more or less eroded on all the specimens. (w. h. d.) amphissa undata cpr. pl. xx, fig. 8. plentiful in 16 fathoms mud, off catalina island. this was described by carpenter as amycla undata and for some time confounded by him with a. versicolor. the fine series of a. corrugata rve., undata, versicolor, etc., now in the national museum, enable the species to be distinctly differentiated. (w. h. d.) family muricidæ. genus purpura brug. purpura lima mart. var. emarginata desh. this shell, and two or three varieties of p. lima, have been reported from laguna beach, orange county. i have not seen, nor heard of, a recent purpura in los angeles county. that it should be found liv. ing in the county south of us and in ventura county north of us, yet not collected here, is certainly noticeable. genns monoceros lam. ( acanthina f. de waldheim). monoceros engonatum conr. plentiful on the rocks at rattlesnake island. monoceros engonatum var, spiratum blainv. a few with the type. vol215 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . ivgenus ocinebra leach. ocinebra circumtexta stearns. pl. xx, fig. 2. not rare under stones at portuguese bend. ocinebra circumtexta var. three or four, without bands. (r. e. c. s.) ocinebra foveolata hds. one. (w. h. d.) trowbridge. southern fauna. ocinebra foveolata var. ? two. “a variety, probably.” (w. h. d.) trowbridge. ocinebra gracillima stearns. a few at point fermin. (r. e. c. s.) ocinebra interfossa cpr. three or four sea-worn examples. ocinebra subangulata stearns. two or three shells found. (j. g. c.) ocinebra poulsoni nutt. often inhabited by crabs. ocinebra lurida cpr. pl. xx, fig. 7. san pedro, u. s. nat. museum. ocinebra lurida var. munda cpr. pl. xx, fig. 3. catalina island. (w. h. d.) genus pteroraytis conrad. pterorhytis nuttalli conr. (cerostoma nuttalli, of authors). a not rare in rock pools; often inhabited by crabs. soine shells are dingy. white, others a reddish-brown color. the name cerostoma is pre. occupied. the name pterorhytis was substituted for it by conrad afterwards. (w. h. d.) pterorhytis trialatus sby. (murer trialatus sby.). have seen three good examples, one found by a mexican. shells rare, and usually badly sea-worn. 216 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. genus pteronotus swainson. pteronotus festivus hds. in tide pools, often inhabited by crabs. genus muricidea swainson. muricidea barbarensis gabb. one dead example. mrs. emma king. muricidea incisa brod. dead shells common at catalina; live ones not often collected. rare in the bay. alive at laguna beach, orange county. genus chorus gray. chorus belcheri hds. occasionally found alive in the spring. often brought in by fishermen. three young specimens collected at catalina island were very thick for their size. genus trophon montfort. subgenus boreotrophon fischer. trophon (boreotrophon) triangulatus cpr. two or three dead shells. one splendid specimen, found at san pedro by miss hale, and now in the national museum, is figured in proc. u. s. nat. mus., vol. xiv, pl. v, figs. 1, 3, and 6, 1891. family buccinidæ. genns chrysodomus swainson. section kellettia bayle. chrysodomus (kellettia) kelletti, fbs. (siphonalia of carpenter, not of adams). dead shells rare. live ones brought in by fishermen. dredged alive in catalina harbor. (w. h. d.) the original siphonalia is identical with the much earlier strepsidura of swainson, but there is no reason to suppose that kellettia belongs to that group. (w. h. d.) genus macron adams. macron lividus a. adams. living at low water on catalina island and laguna beach. vol217 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvfamily fasciolariidæ. genus fusus lam. fusus barbarensis trask. some fine fossil shells have been found in soft rock at dead man's island. "two living specimens from catalina island are now in the national museum. probably the adult of the san pedro fossil described in 1855, by dr. trask, as f. barbarensis. similar to, though not identical with, f. burnsii dall, from the virginia miocene." (w. h. d.) one fossil shell found in san pedro bay, by mr. george gil. lette, measured 44 inches in length. fusus kobelti dall. live shells not often washed ashore at catalina. dead examples . frequently found on the island. rare at san pedro. fusus luteopictus dall. pl. xx, fig. 1. four, all dead, but three in good condition. (w. h. d.) cephalopoda. family argonautidæ. genus argonauta linn. argonauta pacifica dall. several shells were washed ashore at catalina island this year. family octopodidæ. genus octopus lam. octopus punctatus gabb. two or three have been noted. one animal measured over 39 inches across. supplementary list of recent mollusca, not lately found. twenty-five years ago, dr. j. g. cooper collected shells at san pedro and vicinity, dredging especially about catalina island. he afterwards, in 1867, published his “geographical catalogue of the mollusks found west of the rocky mountains," in which this information was embodied. dr. cooper has kindly furnished me with a list of shells found in and near san pedro bay at that time. in 1873, mr. w. h. dall dredged extensively in and near catalina harbor, adding a number of species to the fauna. not wishing to duplicate any names already on my list, i only add a list of such marine forms as have not 218 shells of san pedro bay— williamson. been collected during the past two years, many of which being native to catalina are likely to be found in the bay. for convenience of reference these are arranged alphabetically. those marked with an asterisk were obtained at san pedro, the others are from catalina island. astarte fluctuata, cpr. acanthochiton aricula, cpr. * amphithalamus lacunatus, cpr. barbatia gradata sby. barlecia haliotiophila, cpr. barleeia subtenuis, cpr. bittium armillatum, cpr. cæcum californicum, dall. * cerithiopsis assimilata, c. b. ad. * cerithiopsis columna, cpr. 1 chlorostoma pulligo mart. *chrysallida pumila cpr. clathurella constricta, gabb. clathurella crystallina, gabb. crenella decussata, mont. cryptodon flexuosus, mont. cyathodonta undulata, conr. cythna albida, cpr. daphnella clathrata, gabb. * diala acuta, pr. * diala marmorea, cpr. dunkeria laminata, cpr. entodesma inflata, conr. * eulima compacta cpr. gibbula optabilis cpr. isapis obtusa cpr. kennerlyia bicarinata, cpr. lepidopleurus scabricostatus, cpr. lepidopleurus pectinatus, cpr. limatula subauriculata, mont. laqueus californicu8, koch. lucina tenuisculpta, cpr. macoma inquinata desh. martesia intercalata, cpr. mytilimeria nuttallii, conr. opalia retiporosa, cpr. plectodon scaber, cpr. prephis lordi, baird. psephis salmonea, cpr. puncturella cooperi, cpr. rissoina interfossa, cpr. * scala crebricostata cpr. semele incongrua, cpr. * styliferina turrita cpr. terebratella occidentalis dall, * xylotrya setacea tryon, supplementary note. since the time when this list was finished and submitted for publication, the collectors of los angeles county have not been idle and their work has borne abundant fruit. the species added have been incorporated in the proofs, but a few words seem appropriate in regard to a some of the finds. miss shepard, to whose successful energy in collecting i am greatly indebted for the completeness of this list, has continued her work with exceptionally good results; miss monks has also been remarkably successful, especially in obtaining a fine series of the fossil forms of fusus from the blue clay of dead man's island and of the recent scala bellastriata and other interesting forms. the living specimen of pecten floridus, referred to in the text, was obtained by mrs. garlick at timms point and is now in the possession of mr. orcutt, of san diego. mrs. redding, of long beach, has obtained sev. eral additional specimens of the periploma discus. pleurotoma (dolichotoma) carpenteriana var. tryoniana gabb has been collected at san pedro by miss monks; who has also found specimens of trophon triangulatus, of which fine specimens exist in the state collection at berkeley, where they had till recently been confounded with chorus belcheri junior. it appears that the number of varices in this species is some+ san pedro. perhaps c. montereyensis worn. vol219 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvtimes larger than in the figured type. among the shells collected by mr. arnold is a very young specimen of avicula, which goes to confirm the nativity of the questionable specimen of a. peruviana before enumerated. a remarkable find of several hundred nassa fossata, and another of especially fine cardium substriatum, both at san pedro, are among the interesting data of our later conchological notes. los angeles, may, 1892. explanation of plates. note.—the figures being enlarged or reduced from the actual size of the specimens, the actual largest diameter of the specimen, as seer in the figure, is mentioned in millimeters, of which 1 is equal to z's of an inch. the museum registration number of the specimen is also added. plate xix. page. 208 202 208 fig. 1. mitromorpha filosa cpr., 46418, 8 millimeters... 2. halistylus pupoideus cpr., 14824, 6 millimeters 3. mitromorpha aspera cpr., 46416, 5 millimeters. 4. operculum of pachypoma inæquale martyn (=p. gibberosum cpr.), outside view, 25.5 millimeters... 5. the same, inside view, 25.5 millimeters 6. marginella jewettii cpr., 56224, 5.6 millimeters. 7. olivella baetica cpr., 47198, 18 millimeters 8. calliostoma tricolor gabb, 59800, basal diameter 15 millimeters ... 9. olirella intorta cpr., 47202, 15 millimeters. in this figure, as well as in figure 7, the color pattern is ignored.. 199 199 212 212 201 212 plate xx. 217 215 215 213 fig. 1. fusus luteopictus dall, 32350, 17.5 millimeters; the color pattern is ignored... 2. ocinebra circum texta stearns, short variety, 46694, 22 millimeters...... 3. ocinebra lurida midd. var, munda cpr., 46708, 16 millimeters 4. amphissa bicolor dall, 106877, 14 millimeters ..., 5. marginella (volutella) ppriformis cpr., type specimen; 14950, 2.3 milliipeters... 6. astyris tuberosa cpr., type specimen; 11833, 9 millimeters; color ignored. 7. ocinebra lurida middendorf, typical form; 28473, 25 millimeters.... 8. amphissa undata cpr., typical; 56749, 12 millimeters; the color is ignored in this and the next figure ... 9. amphissa versicolor dall, short variety, 12277, 18 millimeters.. 212 213 215 214 213 plate xxi. 206 fig. 1. ovula (deflexa sby. var.) barbarenxis dall, from miss monk's specimen; 25 millimeters. 2. vitrinella? (adeorbis ?) williamsoni dall, 106856, front view; lat. 5.5 millimeters ... 3. the same, from below; 5,5 millimeters.... 4. bittium quadrifilatum cpr., 32218, 12 millimeters.. 5. calliostoma splendens cpr., 60671, basal diameter 5 millimeters . 6. chlorostoma funebrale a. adams, variety subapertum cpr., basal view of type specimen showing umbilical pit; 30 millimeters, 123496..... 7. chlorostoma funebrale a. adams, ordinary form; 30 millimeters, 59758.. 8. chlorostoma brunneum phil., 60056, 28 millimeters... 202 202 205 201 200 200 200 220 shells of san pedro bay-williamson. plate xxii. page. 201 201 fig. 1. calliostoma costatum martyn, 102147, 27 millimeters, the color pattern ignored. 2. calliostoma annulatum martyn, 32481, alt. 30 millimeters, color pattern ignored ... 3. calliostoma gemmulatum cpr., 32501, alt. 17.5 millimeters, color pattern indicated 4. solariella cidaris a. adams, 122574, alt. 28 millimeters 5. calliostoma gloriosum dall, 59963; alt. 22 millimeters; color pattern ignored.. 6. calliostoma canaliculatum martyn, 32495; basal diameter 36 milli201 202 201 201 meters.. plate xxiii. 199 211 fig. 1. pachypoma inæquale martyn, 13580, 47 millimeters 2. cancellaria cooperi gabb, 106860, 57 millimeters.. 3. pachypoma inæquale martyn, depressed variety, 13580, basal diam. 43 millimeters. 4. lioconcha newcombiana gabb), 25 millimeters 5. pachypoma inæquale martyn, elevated form, basal diameter 47 millimeters.. 6. nassa insculpta cpr., type specimen, 46625; 18 millimeters 199 87 199 212 u. s. national museum pl. xix proceedings vol. xv 1 2 3 4 5 6 8 shells of san pedro bay. u.s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xx 3 1 6 着 ​8 shells of san pedro bay. 9 u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxi 3 4 1 5 6 7 shells of san pedro bay. u.s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxi 1 2 3 5 shells of san pedro bay. 6 u. s. national museum pl. xxiii proceedings, vol. xv 1 4 3 1 shells of san pedro bay. 5 6 chinese relics in alaska by lieutenant t. dix bolles, u. s. n. (with plate xxiv.) in a collection of ethnological objects from southeastern alaska, donated to the national museum in 1883–85, there is a wooden mask which has for its eyes two large bronze chinese temple coins; so iden. tified by dr. d. b. mccartee. the grave from which it was taken is located near the chilcat village at the mouth of the chilcat river, alaska, where stand a row of six grave. houses on a narrow strip of land close to the river, with a swamp back of them. four of these graves were almost in ruins, but had evidently not been touched when we opened them. from the one in which the mask was found we got very little, its contents having nearly all rotted completely away, the mask in question being better preserved than the rest by a loose cedar board which protected it from the rain which leaked through in other places. the mask is skillfully carved from cedar wood and painted in the usual grotesque manner, but with strictly native colors. a sparse fringe of human hair partly rotted is inserted above the forehead. the wide gaping mouth is set with a double row of opercula, for teeth. upon a casual inspection this mask does not show age, but, examined more closely, the wood is seen to be affected with dry rot, while the surface seems to have been protected by the paint which was probably mixed with fish oil. the grave in which this mask was found was pointed out to me as being old, and that of a medicine man who had flourished more than two hundred years ago, six successors having filled this office; each one living to a good old age. careful questioning failed to bring any other answer. when the coins were shown to the native chilcats they could not remember having ever seen such objects before. knowing that at the date i made my collections the indians themselves never entered or took anything out of graves, i am free to confess that i see no other possible conclusion to draw than that these coins were obtained two hundred years ago, and the natural surmise is that they came from a junk driven on the coast, chinese most likely, as the japanese would probably not have two such coins. to those who doubt the advent of junks on the west coast at this early date, these facts will probably not be satisfactory, but it will be necessary for them to break down by direct evidence such a strong plea. proceedings national museum, vol. xv, no. 899. 221 u. s. national museum pl. xxiv proceedings, vol. xv alaskan mask with chinese medals. corystoid crabs of the genera telmessus and erimacrus. by james e. benedict, assistant curator of the department of marine invertebrates. (with plates xxv-xxvii.) this article is based on specimens from mr. william h. dall's alaskan collection obtained from 1871 to 1874, and on the recent large collections made by the u. s. fish commission steamer albatross. the list of localities will show that the museum is indebted to others for additional specimens. one of the objects of this paper is to call attention to these peculiar crabs, and to invite interest in their habits and life history, of which i believe little is known. the figures were drawn by mr. a. e. mcconnell. the following key sufficiently indicates the species of the two genera: a. carapace broader than long.. telmessus. 1. lateral teeth triangular. cheiragonus. 2. lateral teeth spiniform. .acutidens. b. carapace longer than broad. erimacrus isenbeckii, telmessus white. cancer tilesius, mém. de l'acad. de st. pétersbourg, vol. v, p. 347, 1815. telmessus white, ann. & mag. of nat. hist., vol. xvii, p. 497, 1846. platycorysles brandt, bulletin physico-mathématique de l'académie de st. pétersbourg, vol. vii, p. 179, 1818; also middendorff's sibirische reise, band 11, theil 1, p. 85, 1851. cheiragonus brandt, middendorff's sibirische reise, band 11, theil i, p. 147, 1851. telmessus dana, u. s. exploring expedition, crustacea, vol. 1, p. 303, 1852. carapace broader than long, pentagonal. front divided into three lobes; median lobe cut into four teeth or denticles; lateral lobes forming the inner angles of the eyes. epistome with triangular point extending upwards on the median line between the antennulæ. basal article of the antenna wide, short, flattened; a wing-like projection fills the hiatus of the eye. sternum of the female thickened and sculptured around the genital openings. abdomen of the female dleeply concave between the genital openings, leaving them fully exposed. chelipeds short; ambulatory legs moderately long. this genus contains, as far as known, but two species; one, t. acutidens (stimpson), is common in northern japan; another and closely related species, t. cheiragonus (tilesius), ranges from oregon to st. proceedings national museum, vol. xv, no. 900. 223 221 corystoid crabs-benedict. michaels island, alaska, and perhaps much farther north; westward along the aleutian islands, the commander islands, and formerly and probably yet along the coast of siberia. telmessus cheiragonus (tilesius). plates xxv and xxvi; figs. 2, 3, and 4. “cancer adsperso setosus vel hippocarcinoides stelleri mscrpt. no. ii. alio loco stellero cancer pilosus et cancer auritus dictus (1741. awatschæ)" teste tilerius. cancer cheiragonus tilesius, mém. de l'acad. de st. pétersbourg, vol. v, p. 347, 1815. (tab. vii, fig. 1, is referred to in the text. there are no plates in the smithsonian copy of the work.) telmessus serratus white, ann. & mag. of nat. hist., vol. xvii, p. 497, 1846; also voyage of samarang, crustacea, p. 14, 1848. platycorystes ambiguus brandt, bulletin physico-mathématique de l'académie de st. pétersbourg, vol. vii, p. 179, 1818. platycorystes cheiragonus brandt, middendorff's sibirische reise, band 11, theil 1, p. 85, 1851. cheiragonus hippocarcinoides brandt, middendorffºs sibirische reise, band 11, theil i, p. 147, 1851. telmes8u8 serratus dana, u. s. exploring expedition, crustacea, vol. 1, p. 303, pl. 18, fig. 8, 1852. cheiragonus hippocarcinoides stimpson, crustacea and echinodermata of the pacific shores of north america, boston journal of nat. hist., vol. vi, p. 465, 1857. telmes8118 serratus and t. cheiragonus miers, proc. zoöl. soc. of london for 1879, p. 36. telmessus serratus s. i. smith, geological survey of canada, report for 1878 and 1879, p. 208 b, 1880. teeth or denticles of the median lobe of the front often wanting in old worn specimens; lateral lobes triangular, forming the inner angles of the eyes. carapace deeply areolated. lateral teeth six in number including the angles of the eyes the anterior three with two denticles on the anterior margin of each. the points of tbe teeth are bent forward and are on a line with the denticles. the fourth tooth forms the lateral angle of the carapace, and has four denticles on the anterior margin, one close to the point of the tooth; then a space, followed by three denticles evenly placed. the posterior teeth are without denticles. the surface of the carapace is set with large granules, in the posterior region forming lines. from these granules arise numerous bristles of even length, which bend forward and are enlarged at the points. (see fig. 4.) the merus of the chelipeds has three nearly equal surfaces. the inner margin of the carpus is produced into a large, triangular, sharppointed tooth; a deep groove runs along its outer distal margin; the outer surface is spiny. the outer surface of the palın is traversed by four rows of tubercles; on the upper surface there are two or three spines on the inner margin, and a row of tubercles on the outer margin. the fingers are deeply grooved; the prehensile edges are heavily armed with tubercular teeth. on the ambulatory legs are lines of granules bearing coarse bristles. all of the joints are much compressed. the dactyls have short horny tips; on each side is a wide groove, and also a narrow one. the upper margin is grooved; on each 1692. ] 225 proceedings of the national museum. > side of this groove are double rows of sharp spiny granules; the space between is filled with short, stout, curved bristles. the lower margin of the dactyls has one double row of these granules; the space between is also set with sharp bristles. the numerous specimens of this species in the collection are without doubt identical with t. serratus of white. white's figure represents an imperfect male, the front is not well defined, and the greater part of the hair is gone, yet it is a graphic picture of some individual specimens. dana's figures are not characteristic, representing as they do an immature female. a female in the collection, with an undeveloped abdomen, might almost have served for the original of the figures, except that the inner angle of the eye is much straighter than in his figure. the identification of this species with the cancer cheiragonus of tilesius is not quite so satisfactory, but, all things considered, the evidence seems to be, if not conclusive, at least strong. brandt described platycorystes ambiguus in 1848, and in 1851 determined this to be identical with cancer cheiragonus of tilesius; afterwards, with white's description and figures before him, identified white's species with his. the peculiar short, coarse hair of even length with which this crab is ordinarily well covered, not unlikely suggested the name hippocarcinoides to steller at one time and cancer pilosus at another, while the arched and produced inner angle of the eye as seen from above suggested the name of cancer auritus. the specimens in the collection, over one hundred and fifty in number, came from oregon and north along the alaskan coast, from several of the aleutian islands, and one from bering island, near the coast of siberia. if a species liable to be confounded with cheiragonus existed in this locality, it would probably be represented by one or more specisteller's and brandt's specimens were obtained in the same region. the finest lot from one locality were collected by dr. t. h. streets, u.s. navy, at kasa-an bay, prince of wales island, southeastern alaska; ten specimens in all; five males, of which the smallest is 49 millimeters in length by 65 in breadth, the largest 63 millimeters in length by 82 in breadth; five females, of which the smallest is 45 by 58, millimeters; the largest, 57 by 74, millimeters. the reproductive openings in the females of this genus are placed outside of, or rather out from under, the abdomen. at these openings the sternum is thickened and very solid. the opening itself is funnel-shaped, spreading out into an ear-like depression, the sides of which are thickened and elevated above the surrounding surface of the sternum. in the immature female the sixth segment of the abdomen has slightly concave edges. in the mature female the abdomen has expanded greatly, except the seventh segment and two-thirds of the sixth, which in an individual case measures 16 millimeters near the articulation with the proc. n, m, 92-15 mens. . 226 corystoid crabs-benedict. mass. fifth segment, in the middle 10 millimeters, and across the distal end 10,5 millimeters. this leaves the genital opening nearly on the axis of a semicircle, and fully exposed. the females in the lot collected by dr. streets have these genital openings stopped up with a ragged looking plug, which more or less completely fills up the ear-like external part of these organs and even bulges out from them quite prominently. in most cases a tough, flat membrane, ragged and worn at the end, projects a little beyond the dissection shows that the plug extends to the point where the duct widens out into the seminal receptacle, where it terminates in a thin membranous funnel. what are these plugs, and what purpose do they serve? are questions which naturally arise. are they the male organs? from underneath the head of the plug to the funnel-shaped ending the duct is exactly the same shape and size as the male organ. a section shows it to have the same structure. if the male organ is pushed in as far as it will go and detached, the flattened basal portion must project considerably on the outside. this portion would soon become broken and frayed out at the end; this could easily happen, as the strong armature of the genital openings would hold them without injury to the animal. the agitation necessary to accomplish this may aid the secretion of the substance of the head of the plug which so perfectly couforms to the parts by which it is held. a section of this enlarged part shows a continuation of the tougher frayed-out portion through the secretion. the male organ would not only stand out from the sternum beyond the plug, but it would extend beyond the inner end unless broken off or dissolved. the terminal portion of this organ is thin and flexible and of a different color from the posterior four-fifths. the organ itself is easily detached from the animal. its loss would not necessarily be of great importance, as it would probably be quickly reproduced. opposed to the supposition that this is the male organ is the fact that all of the males in the collection are perfect. there are no females with eggs in the collection, and but one besides those collected by dr. streets in the above condition. this species is said to be used as an article of food by the natives of the aleutian islands. wosnesenski (sibirische reise) says, however, that the species was not highly regarded as food, as its flesh was very soft. mr. william palmer opened the stomachs of from eight to ten fur seals on the killing grounds of st. paul island, and though their stomachs were nearly empty, both he and mr. h. w. elliott were satisfied that the contents remaining in one were shells of crabs of this species. the natives believe it to be eaten by this seal. length of the carapace of a large specimen, 83 millimeters; width, 102 millimeters; extent of ambulatory legs, 330 millimeters, vol227 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvrecord of specimens. the u. s. fish commission steamer albatross obtained this species at the following localities: station. depth. lat. n. long. w. mus. no. o 1 11 o 1 fath. 74 11 3233 3242 3243 3244 3245 3247 58 23 45 58 44 30 58 45 10 58 37 20 58 31 20 58 40 45 157 42 45 160 08 45 160 28 00 161 05 00 161 13 00 162 08 30 15997 15998 15999 16000 16001 16002 112 17 > unalaska, july 23, 1888 (15576;. unalaska, may 24, 1890 (16004). herendeen bay, july 5, 1890 (16003). old harbor, kadiak, august 11, 1888 (15574). beaver harbor, b. c. (15575). mr. william h. dall obtained specimens as follows: hagemeister strait, 8 to 15 fathoms (13117). hagemeister island, beach (14819). chichagoff harbor, attu, 5 to 7 fathoms (14818). nazan bay, atka island, 10 to 15 fathoms (14817). iliuliuk, unalaska, 5 to 15 fathoms (13115). ilinliuk, unalaska, near beach (12493). popoff strait, 6 fathoms (14813). coal harbor, unga island, 3 to 9 fathoms (14812). chiniak bay, kadiak (12533). chajafka cove, 12 to 14 fathoms (14814). chugachik bay, cook's inlet, 20 fathoms (12509). refuge cove, port chatham (14815). at the following localities, specimens were obtained by various collectors: st. michaels island; l. m. turner, 1874 (3258). “this specimen was found on the beach after a hard south wind.” mr. turner was informed by a malemut woman that “the natives catch them on their fishing lines.” st. michaels island; e. w. nelson, 1878 (2002, 14820). iliuliuk; w. g. harford (2136). sitka; l. a. beardslee, commander, u. s. navy (3168). kasa-an bay; prince of wales island; dr. t. h. streets, c. s. navy (14824). bering island, commander islands, siberia; dr. leonhard stejneger, february 1883 (14821). st. paul island, bering sea; h. w. elliott, 1874 (14835). st. paul island, bering sea; wm. palmer, 1890 (*5342, 15343). puget sound; d. s. jordan, 1880 (3110). straits of fuca (3065). port orchard, puget sound; prof. o. b. johnson, 1889 (14965). victoria, british columbia; dr. c. f. newcombe, 1891, (15790). north island, british columbia ; j. g. swan, august, 1883 (6603). port townsend, oregon; dr. suckley (2058). 228 corystoid crabs-benedict. telmessus acutidens (stimpson). plate xxvi, fig. 1. cheiragonus acutidens stimpson, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., p. 40, 1858. telmessus acutidens miers, proc. zoöl. soc. of london, for 1879, p. 36. telmessus acutidens s. i. smith, geol. survey of canada, report for 1878–79, p. 208 b, 1880. the collection contains one male specimen from 8 fathoms, mud bottom, yokohama, taken by the u. s. s. tuscarora (3388); and 14 males, 8 females, from japan, h. loomis (16275). this species can easily be distinguished from t. cheiragonus by the much more slender lateral spines, and by the spine at the posterior base of the long spine, making three postero-lateral spines, while cheiragonus has but two. its outline is not so angular, and it is much more convex than the preceding species. the point of the long lateral spine curves forward but little, while that of cheiragonus curves so much that it is naturally counted with the denticles on its anterior edge and base. not counting the terminal point these denticles number four in cheir. agonus and five in acutidens. the following description of telmessus acutidens is from dr. stimpson's unpublished report upon the crustacea of the north pacific exploring expedition: (the latin description was printed under the name cheiragonus acutidens stimpson in proc. nat. sci. phila., p. 40, 1858.) “carapax rather narrow; proportion of length to distance between tips of lateral teeth, 1:1.26. surface covered with setiferous tubercles, mostly transverse, as in other species of the genus. lateral teeth slender, sharp, the principal or middle one very long; a small intermediate tooth at the base of the principal one behind. between the teeth and sometimes on their edges there are a few small spiniform denticles. interantennal front or rostrum with a deep median sinus, and a smaller sinus or excavation at the tip of each fork, as in c. hippocarcinoides. antenna more than one-third as long as the carapax. feet all squamose or scabrous and setose. chelopoda somewhat spinous above; hand costate externally, the costa sharply tuberculated. “color in life light brick-red above; paler, inclining to yellowish below. some specimens are of an orange color, but always dusky. pincers dark brown. dimensions of a male: length of carapax, 1.45; breadth between tips of lateral teeth, 1.83 inch. it grows to a length of 3 . inches, but the larger specimens, of which several were collected, were accidentally lost. "it may be distinguished from c. hippocarcinoides as found on the west coast of america, as well as from telmessus serratus, white, by the greater length and acuteness of the lateral teeth, particularly the larger one; also by the existence of a small intermediate tooth behind the large one." this crab is very common in the bay of hakodadi, in northern > vol229 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvjapan. it is commonly taken with the seine on sandy shores, but often occurs on gravelly beaches above low-water mark. in june the young, of half an inch to an inch in length, were much more abundant than adults, and were taken with the dredge in 4 fathoms weedy sand. in the time of steller a species of cheiragonus was so abundant in avatcha bay (kamschatka ) that it formed a common article of food among the inhabitants. at the present time, however, it has entirely or nearly disappeared, as we did not succeed in obtaining a specimen; nor do the naturalists of beechey's voyage mention having found it. erimacrus, gen. nov. carapace longer than broad, suboval; median lobe of the front cut into four teeth. lateral margins arcuate, armed with seven teeth. the genital openings of the female occupy the posterior wall of a deep depression in the sternum, and are not covered by the abdomen, which is not concave on its margins between these openings. epistome with a straight upper margin. basal article of antenna stout; a short winglike extension fills the hiatus of the eye. chelipeds long; ambulatory legs moderately long, spiny. brandt considered this genus, or the species for which it is constructed, to be generically or subgenerically distinct from platycorystes, but unfortunately gave it a name (podacanthus) which had been used by gray for a genus of orthoptera. his other name, platycorystes, was based on telmessus cheiragonus as the type; therefore the name is not available. erimacrus isenbeckii (brandt). plate xxvi, figs. 5, 6, and 7; plate xxvii. platycorystes ( podacanthus) isenbeckii brandt, bulletin physico-mathématique de l'acad. de st. pétersbourg, vol. vii, p. 179, 1848. also in middendorft's sibirische reise, band ii, theil 1, p. 83, 1851. cheiragonus isenbeckii brandt, in postscript of the last work, p. 147. brandt described this species under the heading “genus vel sub. genus platycorystes sect. b (num subgenus proprium podacanthus?)." the collection contains over forty specimens, all from the aleutian and seal islands, the habitat given by brandt, who says that it is much rarer than cheiragonus. “mertens obtained but one, and wosnesenski only five, in eight years collecting.” brandt described the front as having four teeth, no doubt counting the spines of the inner angles of the eyes, as in cheiragonus, and says the middle pair are conspicuous. a large specimen before me has this appearance; the front is worn or broken until it shows but two central teeth. the young, however, have four small sharp teeth at this place, very closely like those of cheiragonus; the central pair are separated by the median sulcus; they are very brittle and in most specimens are broken off, leaving a straight margin between the outer pair broken only by the median sulcus. afterwards when these latter are broken off, as is the case with the large specimen, the median sulcus divides the pro230 corystoid crabs-benedict. duced front into two large, prominent, blunt teeth. 66 the lateral margins are armed with seven teeth, of which the four anterior are subequal or a little larger than the first of those remaining." the carapace is thickly set with spiny tubercles. the merus joints of the four pairs of ambulatory legs have their distal upper margin set with six or seven sharp procurved spines; the lower margins have a double row; the posterior sides of the last pair are tuberculous or spiny; the anterior side of the last pair and the sides of the others are hairy. the carpal, propodal, and dactyl joints have three rows of sharp spines. the hands are nearly equal; a row of spines extends along the upper margin and part way down the movable finger; the outer lower margin has another row; on the outside of the hand there are four rows. the spines of the row which extends from the gape of the fingers to the carpal joint are conspicuously smaller than the others. the fingers are long and pointed and armed with large teeth. the mature female abdomen is altogether different from that of cheiragonus, the sixth article being but slightly concave. the reproductive openings are placed outside of the abdomen, and differ much in shape and a little in position from those of cheiragonus. in the latter they are opposite the middle line of the second pair of ambulatory legs; in this species they are on the line between the first and second pairs. the legs and lower parts of the body are thinly covered with long hair, the carapace with short bristles (see pl. xxvi, fig. 7). length of carapace of a large specimen, 110 millimeters; width, 106 millimeters; extent of ambulatory legs, 460 millimeters. record of specimens. albatross dredgings, 1890. station. depth. lat. n. long. w. mus. no. o 1 3292 fath. 50 26 54 20 00 55 29 00 55 19 00 165 30 00 163 13 00 3268 3269 16 163 04 30 3271 25 55 29 15 162 58 00 3272 3275 3277 3281 3289 3294 3311 31 22 18 36 16 30 85 55 31 40 55 44 20 1 53 58 45 1 56 14 00 56 44 30 57 16 45 53 59 36 163 07 00 162 17 30 161 46 30 161 41 15 159 16 00 159 03 30 166 29 43 16006 16007 16008 16015 16009 16016 16017 16010 16011 16018 16012 16013 16014 mr. william h. dall obtained specimens as follows: kyska harbor, 6–12 fathoms (14831). nazan bay, atka, 10-16 fathoms (14828). off rocky point, niuliuk, unalaska, 10 fathoms (13141). captain's bay, unalaska (14832). off round islanıl, coal harbor, unga island, 6–8 fathoms (14830). port levasheff (14833). additional specimens were collected at st. paul island, h. w. elliott, 1872 (14834); and at st. paul island, william palmer, 1890 (15344, 15345). u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxv telmessus cheiragonus (reducell). u.s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxvi um 2 1 3 4 7 6 fig. 1. telmessus acutidens. fig. 2. telmessus cheiragonus, epistome. fig. 3. telmessus cheiragonus, female abdomen and sternum. fig. 4. telmessus cheiragonus, bristle from carapace (enlarged). fig. 5. erinacrus isenbeckii, epistome. fig. 6. erimacrus isenbeckii, female abdomen and sternum. fig. 7. erimacrus isenbeckii, bristle from carapace (enlarged). u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxvii erimacrus isenbecki (recincea). catalogue of the crabs of the family periceridæ in the u. s. national museum. by mary j. rathbun, department of marine invertebrates. (with plates xxviii-xl.) the classification adopted in the following catalogue is that established by mr. e. j. miers, in the journal of the linnæan society of london, vol. xiv, pp. 662 to 667, 1879, and modified by him in the challenger report, zoölogy, vol. xvii, 1886. his descriptions of libinia and pericera have been amended to receive new species which do not appear to be generically distinct. in the key are included all the genera supposed to belong to the family. the characters distinguishing those genera which have not been seen by the writer are inclosed in parentheses. in the key to species only those represented in the national museum are enumerated. at the end of the catalogue a list is given of the species of periceridæ not in the museum, for the benefit of future students of the group, and also to call attention to the deficiencies of the collection in the hope that it may be enriched in this direction through gifts and exchange. of the forty-eight species of periceridæ contained in the national museum, one is european, two are east indian, and the remainder american. of the latter, eleven are found on the pacific coast, from the gulf of california to the galapagos islands, and thirty-four on the atlantic coast. of the atlantic forms, two only range from massachusetts southward. the remainder inhabit the southern atlantic states and the west indies, in many cases extending to brazil. fif. teen species are described as new, of which six are from the gulf of california, and, with two exceptions, represented by a single specimen each. in addition to the specimens in the national museum, the writer was enabled to examine also the periceridæ in the museum of union college, schenectady, n. y., and those contained in a collection made in the bahama islands by mr. frederick stearns, of detroit, mich., in 1888, and kindly lent by him for study. the latter collection yielded an . additional species, which is here described. the writer is indebted proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no.901. 231 232 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. to mr. james e. benedict for valuable aid in the preparation of this paper. in the synonymy, quotations not verified are inclosed in parentheses. numbers in parentheses after localities are taken from the catalogue books of the museum. the drawings were made by mr. a. h. baldwin, excepting those of libinia emarginata and dubia, which are republished from “the fisheries and fishery industries of the united states," through the courtesy of the u. s. fish commissioner. in an appendix are given descriptions of periceridæ collected by the north pacific exploring expedition, preliminary notices of which were published by dr. william stimpson, in the proceedings of the philadelphia academy of natural sciences, 1857. the specimens were destroyed in the chicago fire. the figures have been copied and enlarged by mr. baldwin from the drawings accompanying the original manuscript. pericerida. maioid brachyurans with eyes retractile in complete and well-defined orbits. basal antennal joint well developed and forming the greater portion of the inferior wall of the orbit. key to subfamilies. a' carapace more or less subtriangular. rostrum well developed. second joint of antennæ not dilated. fingers acute at tips. .... pericerinæ. a" carapace suboblong; interorbital space very broad. rostrum very small. second joint of antennæ enlarged. fingers excavated at tips....... othoniina. a' carapace broadly triangular, sometimes transverse. rostrum usually short. second joint of antennae not dilated. fingers excavated at tips.. mithracinæ. key to genera. pericerince. a rostrum not divided to the base. b' præocular spine distinct.... libinia. b'' præocular spine absent.. prionorhynchus. a" rostrum composed of two distinct spines. b' basal joint of antennæ without spine at distal extremity. c' (horns of rostrum lamellate) pyria.* c' horns of rostrum flattened, contiguous, produced at their extremities in a lateral lobe...... lissa. c'" horns of rostrum slender and divergent... picroceroides. c'' (horns of rostrum very slender and contiguous) ... leptopisa. c'' (horns of rostrum small, parallel to each other). . sisyphus.* b" basal joint of antennæ with one or more spines at distal extremity. c' carapace narrow and elongated, suboval. d' (nearly vertically deflexed in front of gastric region).. cyphocarcinus. d" (not deflexed in front of gastric region).. podohuenia. * may belong to the maiida. vol233 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvc” carapace subtriangular. d' carapace with a series of lateral spines or teeth. e' lateral margins with sharp spines.. ..pericera. e“ (lateral margins laminate and dentate)... . anaptychus. d' carapace without a series of lateral spines or teeth. e spines of rostrum very slender and contiguous.. . tiarinia. e" spines of rostrum slender and more or less divergent. f' (spine at antero-external angle of antennal joint very short and not visible from above). ... tylocarcinus. f" spine at antero-external angle of antennal joint very long and visible from above.... vicrophrys. e' spines of rostrum parallel or nearly so. orbits tubular.. macrocæloma. e" (spines of rostrum short, divergent, obliquely deflexed).. entomonyx. othoniina. a' carapace with margins regularly dentated.... a" (carapace with margins not dentated).... ...othonia. cyclocæloma. mithracina, thoe. parathoe. a' ambulatory legs dilated and compressed. rostrum minute.. a" ambulatory legs not dilated and compressed. b' (basal antennal joint without spines at distal end). b“ basal antennal joint with one or more spines at distal end. c' lateral margins with tubercles or spines.. c" (lateral margins withont tubercles or spines). mithrax. ра maya. * key to species examined. libinia. ..mericana. a' carapace with margiu evenly rounded behind the front. b' orbital fissures open; carapace narrowly pyriform... b" orbital fissures closed; carapace broadly ovate. c' rostruin deflexed. d' median spines six.. d" median spines nine.. c" rostrum pointing obliquely upward. a" carapace distended at the hepatic regions. b' legs spinous... b'' legs unarmed.. ......dubia. emarginata. setosa. .spinimana. macdonaldi. prionorhynchus. præocular spine absent. edwardsii. lissa. gastric region divided by deep grooves from the cardiac and branchial regions.chiragra. picroceroides. horns of rostrum slender and divergent ... tubularis. * this genus is doubtfully referred to the pericerida'. 234 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. pericora. ...atlantica. triangulata. a' carapace with strong median spines. b' carapace oblong-ovate b'' carapace triangulate a" carapace without strong median spines. b' rostral horns divergent from the base. b“ rostral horns divergent at tips only.. .cornuta. .contigua. tiarinia carapace covered with prominent warty tubercles .... ...cornigera. microphrys. a rostral horns short, flattened. a“ rostral horns long, thickened. microphry8, sp. bicornutus. macrocoloma. a' carapace with dorsal spines besides the epibranchial and posterior spines. b' carapace subtriangular. c' carapace with four spines at summit. d' rostrum strongly deflexed. . septemspinosa. d' rostrum almost horizontal... ..camptocera. c" carapace with spiny ridge between epibranchial spines subparallela. c carapace with two spines on the intestinal region... .. tenuirostra. b” carapace subtrapezoidal.... eutheca. a" carapace without dorsal spines except the epibranchial and posterior spines. b' epibranchial spine two-lobed.. ..diplacantha. b“ epibranchial spine not lobed. ... trispinosa othonia. ..aculeata. / a' antero-lateral teeth rounded.. a" antero-lateral teeth acute. b' carapace smooth, pubescent. b" carapace densely granulous.. b" carapace tuberculous. c' carapace broadest at fourth pair of teeth. c" carapace broadest at third pair of teeth.. therminieri. rotunda. .nicholsi. .carolinensis. thoe. antero-lateral margin straight or a little concave ..... --puella. ..cinctimanus. .forceps. mithras. a' carapace with dorsal sulci. b' antero-lateral margins with spines only. c carapace longer than broad c" carapace broader than long... b'' antero-lateral margins with lobes, or lobes and spines. c' carapace much broader than long; lateral margins angular. d' lateral angle formed by a spine hooked forward . d' lateral angle forined by a lobe. (" carapace slightly broader than long; lateral margin rounded. d' lateral margin with three large lobes followed by a spine... d' lateral margin with four small lobes .denticulatus. coronatus. .nodosus. ..sculptus. vol235 1892proceedings of the national museum. 2, . ] . xv* a" carapace without dorsal sulci. b' manus with spines. * cº carapace with much flattened, setigerous granules... .. aculeatus. c'' carapace punctate and spiny. 8pinosissimus. c'' carapace densely hairy --pilosus. b" manus without spines. c rostrum tuberculiform. d' ambulatory legs with a thin lamellate crest . mithrar, sp., miers. d' ambulatory legs without a thin lamellate crest. e' carpus with inner margin armed with two or three blunt spines.rerrucosus. e" carpus with surface tuberculous. f' basal antennal joint with a spine at its antero-lateral angle....sinensis. f" basal antennal joint with a lobe at its antero-lateral angle ...cristulipes. f“ basal antennal joint with a truncate tooth at its antero-lateral angle ... .... braziliensis. e' carpus with surface uneven. .hispidus. c" rostrum short and sharp. d' carapace strongly tuberculous. lateral margins heavily armed..hemphilli. d'' carapace pubescent. lateral margins almost unarmed........ bahamensis. c' rostrum long and sharp. d' carapace strongly tuberculous acuticornis. d' carapace with scattered tubercles ... spinipes. a subfamily pericerinæ. libinia leach (amended.) leach, zoöl. misc., ii, p. 129, 1815. say, jour. acad. nat. sci. phila., i, p. 76, 1817. latreille, kègne anim., iii, p. 21, 1817 (2nd. ed., iv, p. 61); translation, iii, p. 46, 1831. (desmarest, consid. sur les crust., p. 161, 1825.) milne edwards, hist. nat. des crust., i, p. 298, 1834. de haan, fauna japonica, crust., p. 86. de kay, crust. of n. y., p. 1, 1844. dana, crust. u. s. ex. ex., i, p. 80, 1852. a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 127, 1875. miers, jour. linn. soc. london, xiv, p. 662, 1879; challenger rept., zoöl., xvii, p. 72, 1886. carapace convex; tuberculous or spinous; triangular-orbiculate and evenly rounded behind the frontal region, or oblong-orbiculate and constricted behind the hepatic regions which are dilated laterally. præocular spine usually distinct. rostrum emarginate or bifid at the apex. orbits small, nearly circular, sometimes with an open fissure in the upper and lower margins. · basal antennal joint moderately enlarged. merus of exterior maxillipeds truncated at the distal end. chelipeds well developed; palm elongated; fingers evenly denticulated on inner margins. ambulatory legs well developed, sometimes elongated; joints subcylindrical, usually unarmed. libinia emarginata leach. plate xxxi, fig. 2. libinia emarginata leach, op. cit., p. 130, pl. 108. (desmarest, op. cit., p. 162.) white, cat. brit. mus. crust., p. 4, 1847. smith, trans. conn. acad., v, p. 45, 1879; verrill's check list of n. amer. invert., p. 1, 1879; rept. u. s. commr. of fisheries for 1885 (1887), p. 627. kingsley, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., xxxi, p. 386, 1879. miery, jour. linn. soc. london, xiv, p. 662, 1879; challenger * in young specimens and females, the spines are not always evident. 236 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. rept., zoöl., xvii, p. 72, 1886. andrews, trans. conn. acad., vi, pp. 99-121, pls. xxv-xxvii, 1883 (anatomy). r. rathbnn, fishery industries of united states, sec. 1, p. 778, pl. 269, fig. 4, 1884. kendall, bull. u. s. fish comm., ix, p. 303, 1889 (1891). libinia canaliculata. say, op. cit., p. 77, pl. iv, fig. 1. milne edwards, op. cit., p. 300; (atlas règne anim. de cuvier, crust., pl. xxiii, fig. 1). gould, invert. of mass., p. 327, 1841. de kay, op. cit., p. 2 (partim). white, loc. cit. gibbes, proc. amer. assoc. adv. sci., 3, p. 169, 1850. streets, proc. acad. nat. sei. phila., xxii, p. 105, 1870. coues, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., p. 120, 1871. smith, rept. u. s. commr. of fisheries for 1871 and 1872 (1874), p. 548. a. milne edwards, op. cit., p. 128. kingsley, op. cit., p. 316, 1878. libinia affinis. randall, jour. acad. nat. sci. phila., viii, p. 106, 1839. gibbes, op. cit., p. 170. stimpson, boston jour. nat. hist., vi, p. 455, 1857. streets, loc. cit. a variety from charlotte harbor, florida, collected by the u.s. fish commission schooner grampus, approaches somewhat the dubia type. it has the rostrum of emarginata, as well as the hepatic, the two intestinal, and the four median gastric spines; but the three branchial spines and those of the lateral margin, as well as some of the median spines, are long and strong as in dubia. one specimen from st. augustine, florida, has a rostrum with three spines instead of two, one median, the others regularly diverging on either side. occasionally this species occurs in such numbers on the oyster grounds of long island sound, and so interferes with the operations of the steam oyster dredgers that work is abandoned until the crabs (which are known to the oystermen as “spiders”) have passed over. record of specimens examined. massachusetts; u. s. fish commission: wellfleet and provincetown (2978); provincetown (3898, 5875); cape cod (2025); sonth of cape cod, 27 fathoms (12852); east of martha's vineyard, 3 to 7 fathoms (9376); vineyard sound, shore to 9 fathoms; wood's holl (6704); menemsha bight (6710); buzzards bay, 57 fathoms (4054); mattapoisett harbor (5825). rhode island; u. s. fish commission: narragansett bay, shore to 15 fathoms. connecticut; u. s. fish commission: noank (5874); new haven (3843); savin rock (4102); oyster beds of h. c. rowe, mouth of new haven harbor (3042); oyster grounds off milford, stratford, bridgeport, and norwalk (16023). long island: fort pond bay, u. s. fish commission (14582); fire island beach, dr. t. h. bean (8916). virginia; u. s. fish commission : chesapeake bay (5870); hampton roads, 11 to 12 fathoms (12452). north carolina: beaufort (union college coll.); middle sound, near wilmington, u. s. fish commission (3375). south carolina; u. s. fish commission : bull creek (16074); charleston harbor (3911); west end of skull creek (16075); calibogne sound (16073). 18921. xv] , 237 proceedings of the national museum. "florida: st. augustine, j. g. hewitt (2018); southern florida, silas stearns (3147); florida reefs, lieut. j. f. moser, u. s. navy, u. s. c. s. s. bache (14998); 4 miles east of cape romano, 18 feet, lieut. j. f. moser (13059); marco, h. hemphill (15122); charlotte harbor, u. s. fish commission (15203); w. h. dall (15125); sarasota bay, h. hemphill (15124), (union college coll.). this species is found as far north as casco bay. libinia dubia milne edwards. plate xxxi, fig. 1. > libinia dubia milne edwards, hist. nat. des crust., 1, p. 300, pl. 14 bis, fig. 2, 1834. gibbes, op. cit., p. 169. streets, op. cit., p. 104. smith, loc. cit. a. milne edwards, op. cit., p. 129, pl. xviii, fig. 5. kingsley, op. cit., p. 316, 1878; xxxi, p. 386, 1879. r. rathbun, op. cit., p. 778, pl. 269, fig. 5, 1884. miers, loc. cit. kendall, loc. cit. ives, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., p. 178, 1891. aurivillius, k. sv. vet.-akad. hand., bd. 23, 1, p. 53, 1889. libinia canaliculata de kay, loc. cit. (partim). libinia distincta guérin, la sagra's hist. of cuba, vii, p. xii, 1856. capello, jor. sci. lisbon, iii, p. 263, pl. 3, fig. 2, 1871. martens, archiv. für natur., xxxviii, p. 79, pl. iv, figs. 1a, 1b, 1872. libinia rhomboidea streets, op. cit., p. 106. a. milne edwards, op. cit., p. 131. miers, loc. cit. * libinia inflata streets, loc. cit. among five specimens from near cedar keys, fla., there is one in which the upper orbital fissures are open as in the species of the second section of libinia enumerated by miers, op. cit., p. 73. the lower margin of one orbit has a very narrow open fissure; in the other orbit, however, the fissure is closed, as in typical specimens. a specimen from merida, yucatan, presents most of the characters of streets's rhomboidea. a. milne edwards is probably right in considering this a variety of dubia. the specimen has the depressed median spines; the irregular transverse row on the gastric region; the strong spine on the hepatic region, forming with the lateral spines almost a semicircle; and the four strong spines arranged in a rhomboid on the branchial region, a character possessed by many of our specimens of dubia. on one side there is an additional smaller spine placed a little in front of the posterior spine of the rhomboid and nearer the median line. the præocular spine is prominent. the rostral spines are slightly divergent as in the typical dubia, from which this specimen does not differ essentially except in the strong hepatic spine. this species is not uncommonly covered with foreign matter, such as worm tubes, oysters, hydroids, and algæ. a female from barnegat, n. j., about 3 inches long, is encrusted with tubes of serpula, which conceal the carapace with the exception of the posterior margin, the intestinal spine, and the orbits, rendering the identification doubtful. the rostrum is broken. the mass of tubes is about 3 inches high and of greater width. another female from great south bay, long islaud, has an oyster growing vertically on the frontal region, the hinge being 238 crabs of the family periceridæ rathbun. attached to the hepatic region. still another female, from barnegat, has an oyster attached to the subhepatic region and extending horizontally forward. record of specimens examined. massachusetts; u. s. fish commission : woods holl (4905, 5839); buzzards bay, 7 fathoms (4551); mattapoisett harbor (15121). long island; dr. t. h. bean: fire island (8920); patchogue (8915). new jersey : barnegat, william calverly (5491, 5497); ocean city, dr. t. h. bean (13012); great egg harbor, dr. william stimpson (2066); beesleys point (2149). maryland: crisfield, u. s. fish commission (3261). virginia: willoughby point, u. s. fish commission (5877); hungers wharf, dr. j. f. wilkins (4152); hampton roads, 12 fathoms (15158); norfolk (15824); cape henry, william evans (2278). north carolina: beaufort (union college coll.). south carolina: charleston, c. c. leslie (3141); east end of sullivans island, whiteside and leslie (3186); oyster grounds, u. s. fish comunission, 1891 (16076). florida: cards sound (15201), little gasparilla pass (15202); u. s. fish commission, 1889. four miles northeast of key west; dr. e. palmer (9252). key west; d. s. jordan (5845); h. hemphill (8962); u. s. fish commission (16155). off cape sable (13756), near cedar keys :12471); lieut. j. f. moser, u. s. navy, u. s. c. s. s. bache. marco (15118), punta rassa (6436), charlotte harbor (15119); sarasota bay (6422), goodland point (15120), pass a grille reef (6441), boca ceiga bay, inner shore of pine key (6145), cedar keys (6411); h. hemphill. charlotte harbor; w. h. dall (12446). tampa bay; james newman (13109). clearwater (3259). pensacola; silas stearns (4506). yucatan: merida; a schott (2169). libinia setosa lockington. plate xxviii. libinia setosa lockington, proc. cal. acad. sci., p. 68, 1876. streets and kingsley, bull. essex inst., 9, p. 108, 1877. miers, challenger rept. zoöl., xvii, p. 73, 1886. libinia semizonale streets, bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. 7, p. 103, 1877. lower california (2300). type of streets's semizonale. libinia macdonaldi, sp. nov. plate xxix. entire surface, except the fingers and the tips of the ambulatory legs, densely covered with short, soft hairs, which in alcohol are brown, the surface being much lighter when the hairs are removed. carapace broadly ovate, somewhat contracted behind the hepatic region, which is distended outwardly, a character not common to any of the species vol239 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xvdescribed hitherto. a conspicuous groove defining the inner angle of the branchial region ends anteriorly in a round pit and is interrupted posteriorly at the widest part of the cardiac region, behind which point it is continued almost to the posterior margin and unites with a broad irregular depression occupying the posterior portion of the branchial region; another short groove on the branchial region near the inner angle. there is a pit at the inner angle of the hepatic region, and another further back, between the gastric and branchial regions. the spines of the carapace are stout and blunt pointed. there are nine on the median line: four on the gastric, one on the genital, two on the cardiac, and two on the intestinal region. there is a spine on the frontal region on either side of the median line from which a ridge extends forward to the rostrum, which is either tuberculous or armed with a small spine. between these ridges there is a broad, shallow depression. on each gastric region there is a spine which forms a t with those on the median line. there is a line of seven spines beginning at the summit of the hepatic region and terminating with the last antero-lateral spine. there two other strong antero-lateral spines, one at the prominent angle of the hepatic region, and one on the branchial region midway between the other two. there are four additional spines on the branchial region: one between the first and second lateral spines, but a little higher up and smaller; one, small, near the anterior border; two larger, of which one is near the inner angle, and one at some distance posterior, and nearer the margin; a fifth, near the cardiac region, is sometimes wanting, and in one specimen is accompanied by another at a little distance. on the anterior margin of the hepatic region at the base of the lateral spine are one or two small irregular spines directed forward. in some specimens there is a small spine on the postero-lateral margin just back of the last antero-lateral spine. rostrum depressed, flattened vertically, composed of two broad spines coalesced for from one-third to more than one-half their length, their outer margins slightly converging. orbits with a single closed fissure above and below and prominent præocular and postocular spines. orbital opening very small in proportion to the size of the carapace. basal antennal joint broad, with a spine at the base of the second joint, directed downward and forward, and a little smaller spine on the anterior margin near the outer angle. merus of external maxilliped strongly notched at its antero-internal angle, slightly rounded at its antero-external angle. tooth near the distal extremity of the inner margin of the exognath large, acute. there are several tubercles on the pterygostomian region, and sometimes a small spine on the subbranchial above the base of the first ambulatory leg. abdomen with a longitudinal carina which is broader in the female than in the male; a spine or spiny tubercle on the first segment, and a tubercle on the second. 240 crabs of the family periceridæ-rathbun. chelipeds slender, not so long as the first pair of ambulatory legs. merus subcylindrical, with a row above of four spines and a few tubercles; inner, outer, and inferior surfaces, each with a longitudinal row of tubercles. carpus obscurely tuberculate, with a crest of four tubercles above. hands compressed, upper and lower margins parallel in the male, tapering in the female. fingers meeting along their inner edges, evenly dentate. ambulatory legs slender, decreasing successively in length. dactyls slightly arched, shorter than the penultimate joints. dimensions of a male in millimeters: length, including rostrum, 88; width, without spines, 70; length of cheliped, 122; length of first ambulatory leg, 144; length of fourth ambulatory leg, 81. record of specimens examined. gulf of california; v. s. fish commission, 1889: cat. no. statien. lat. n. long. w. fathoms. o nature of bottom. o 16069 16070 16071 11. m. 3016 3015 3011 o 112 57 00 112 50 00 111 39 45 29 40 29 19 28 07 76 145 71 59 54.9 57.9 br. m. fne. gy. s. brk. sh. this species is named after the hon. marshall mcdonald, u. s. commissioner of fish and fisheries. libinia spinimana, sp. nov. plate xxx. carapace the same general shape as the preceding, studded with numerous sharp spines and covered, excepting on the distal half of the spines, with a dense pubescence, the hairs being lighter and shorter than in macdonaldi. the depressions and grooves are placed similarly to those of macdonaldi, but are more shallow. there are about twelve prominentspines on the median line; five on the gastric region, twoon the genital, two on the cardiac, two on the intestinal, and one on the posterior margin. on the frontal region there are two or threesmall spines placed longitudinally on either side of a broad shallow groove. on each gastric region there is a spine which forms a transverse line with the second median spine. there is no continuous line of lateral spines, but near the margin there are prominent spines arranged as follows: three on the hepatic region, the longest at the external angle, the other two on the anterior border and directed forward; two near the anterior portion of the branchial region, and two farther back. there is an irregular row of small spines near the posterior margin. the entire carapace is covered with spines of different sizes, varying with the specimen. rostrum but slightly deflexed, flattened vertically, composed of two sharp divergent spines coalesced for about one-third their length. orbits as in macdonaldi; praocular and postocular spines more prominent than in that species, basal antennal joint shaped as in macdonvol241 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvalili, and bearing besides the two spines of that species a third on the outer margin behind the anterior angle. maxillipeds much as in macdonaldi. pterygostomian region armed with a few spines. abdomen carinated, with a median spine on the first two segments in both sexes. on each side of the second, third, and fourth segments in the female, there is one prominent tubercle, and in some cases one or two smaller ones. in the male there are inconspicuous tubercles on either side of the first three segments. chelipeds shorter than the first pair of ambulatory legs; pubescent, except the fingers and distal half of the hand, which are smooth. ischium with a few short spines. merus with four longitudinal, equidistant rows of irregular spines, those of the upper margin being the longer. between these rows are scattered a few small spines. carpus spiny. hands and fingers shaped as in maclonaldi. hand with small spines on the proximal half of the upper margin, more prominent in the male than in the female, and sometimes arranged in two rows, which become more divergent toward the distal end, the spines decreasing to small tubercles; inner and lower surfaces finely tuberculate or granulate, with a few stout tubercles in the male at the proximal end of the lower margin. ambulatory legs resembling those of macdonaldi; pubescent, except the distal two-thirds of the dactyls. merus of the first pair with a longitudinal row of four or five sharp spines on the upper surface, two on the outer side of the anterior margin, and six or eight smaller scattered spines. meral joints of the remaining legs with a sharp spine on the outer side of the anterior margin, and one or more minute spines on the anterior portion. carpal joints of first pair with a few small spines; of remaining pairs sometimes with faint tubercles. other joints unarmed. dimensions of male in millimeters, as follows: length, including rostrum, 86; width, without spines, 69; length of cheliped, 114; length of first ambulatory leg, 147; length of fourth ambulatory leg, 98. there is a small male from the gulf of mexico, measuring 52 millimeters long and 36 wide, which differs from the three large specimens collected off cape lookout, north carolina, in the following particulars: the dorsal spines are fewer and longer; there is only one spine on the genital region, and one on the anterior margin of the hepatic. the rostral spines are proportionally longer and more divergent. in other respects, however, this specimen agrees with the types. record of specimens examined. cat. no. station. lat. n. long. w. fathoms. nature of bottom. 1 0 1 14029 16053 s. r. 2002 2103 34 38 30 28 42 30 75 33 x5 29 30 00 124 88 gy. m. proc, n. m. 92-16 242 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. this species and the preceding differ from all other species of libinia in the prominent hepatic regions, and in the sharp postocular spine directed outward, characters which hardly seem to justify the formation of a new genus. excepting l. rostrata bell, they are the only species having long rostral horns in connection with closed orbital fissures. l. spinimana is peculiar in having spines on the hands. libinia mexicana, sp. nov. plate xxxi, fig. 3. carapace pyriform, covered with a short pubescence and bearing twelve long spines besides the præocular. median spines four: two on the gastric region (the posterior the longer), one on the cardiac, and one on the intestinal. there is a small spine on each side of the anterior median gastric spine, a tubercle on the genital, and one on the cardiac behind the spine. there are two long spines on each branchial region, one on each side of the genital region, pointing outward and a little forward, the others further from the median line and nearly in line with the cardiac spine, but pointing backward and outward. lateral spines two: one on the hepatic region, one on the anterior part of each branchial; further back on the margin there is an inconspicuous spiny tubercle. rostrum rather long, nearly straight, the distal half bifurcated. horns tapering; outer margins sliglıtly divergent; interspace v-shaped. orbits with an open fissure above and below; praocular spine prominent; postocular well developed, obtuse. basal antennal joint rather narrow, with a triangular acute spine at its distal extremity, pointing downward and forward. second and third joints rather stout. remaining portion wanting. there is a short spine and two or three tubercles on the pterygostomian region. legs short, covered with a close pubescence; joints unarmed. chelipeds, in a young male, weak, almost as long as the first pair of ambulatory legs. palms compressed, not dilated. fingers narrowly gaping, their distal half finely toothed. length, without rostrum, 10mm; breaslth, 7.5mm; length of rostrum about 3.5mm; length of cheliped about 8.5mm. collected in the gulf of california, off shoal point, mexico, near the mouth of the colorado river, lat. 31° 33' n., long. 114° 20'30" w., 104 fath., fine gray sand, broken shells, station 3029, u. s. fish commission, 1889 (16072). this species is nearest to l. smithii miers, but differs in the narrower carapace, the less divergent rostral horns, the shorter ambulatory legs, the lateral branchial spine is also farther forward in mericana, and the twelve long spines are nearly equal in length, while in smithii the eardiac, intestinal, and second lateral spines are longer than the others, the marginal spine of the basal antennal joint is wanting in mericana, vol243 1892] proceedings of the national museum. w. . . xvlibina mericana belongs to that section of the genus having open orbital fissures, a section which should perhaps form a new genus and be transferred to the maiida. prionorhynchus edwardsii jacquinot and lucas. voy, au pole sud, zool., iii, crust., p. 8, pl. 1, fig. 1, 1853. (filhol, rec. vénus, 111, abth. 2, p. 367, 1886.) miers, jour. linn. soc. london, xiv, p. 662, 1879. upper surface coarsely and densely granulous and closely set with short, coarse hairs. dimensions in millimeters: length, 107; width, including teeth, 97. auckland island; otago university museum, dunedin, new zealand; one male (16297). lissa chiragra (fabricius). cancer chiragra (fabricius, ent. syst. 409, 47). herbst, natur, der krabben und krebse, i, p. 243, pl. 17, fig. 96, 1790. inachus chiragra (fabricius, sup. ent. syst., p. 357, 1798). lissa chiragra leach, zool. misc., ii, p. 70, pl. 83, 1815. (desmarest, consiil. sur les crust., p. 117, 1825.) (risso, hist. nat. de l'europe mérid., v, p. 23). (costa, fauna napoli, p. 17.) milne elwards, hist. nat. des crust., 1, p. 310, 1831. (latreille, nl. ed. règ. anim., pl. 29, fig. 1.) (heller, crust. s. europe, p. 47, pl. 1, fig. 26, 1863.) miers, jour. linn. soc. london, xiv, p. 663, 1879. aurivillius, k. sv. vet.-akad. hand., bd. 23, 1, p. 53, pl. 3, fig. 5, 1889. pisa chiragra (latreille, encyc., t. 10, p. 143). vaia chiragra (risso, (rust. nice, p. 47, 1816). an adult male from naples (14508) was presented to the national museum by the rev. a. m. norman, tiarinia cornigera (latreille?) dana. pisa cornigera? latreille (encycl. meth., x, p. 141, 1825). pericera cornigera? milne edwards, hist. nat. des crust., 1, p. 335, 1834. adams and white, voy. samarang, p. 18, 1818. tiarinia cornigera dana, crust. u. s. expl. exped., i, p. 110, pl. 3, fig. 5, 1852. stimpson, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., ix, p. 217, 1857. miers, jour. linn. soc. london, xiv, p. 664, 1879; ann. mag. nat. hist. (5), v, p. 228, 1880. haswell, ('at. austral. crust., p. 28, 1882. japan; h. loomis; one female (16271). this species is distributed throughout the east indies and the indian ocean. pericera latreille (amended). latreille, règne anim. (2d ed., iv, p. 58, 1829); translation iii, p. 43, 1831. milne edwards, hist. nat. des crust., i, p. 331, 1834. dana, crust u. s. ex. ex., 1, p. 83, 1852. saussure, mém soc. phys. de genève, xiv, p. 426, 1857 (partim). a. milne edwards, miss. sci., au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 49, 1873. miers, jour. linn. soc. london, xiv, p. 664, 1879; challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 76, 1886. carapace subpyriform, tuberculated or spinose, with a series of lateral spines. preocular spine well developed. spines of rostrun long and more or less divergent. interorbital space broad. basal joint of antennae very much enlargedl, usually with two small distant spines at its distal end, not visible from above; sometimes, however, . 244 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. the spine at the antero-external angle is long and visible from above. anterior legs long, palm slender and elongated, fingers slightly or not at all gaping pericera cornuta (herbst). cancer cornudo herbst, natur. der krabben 1. krebse, iii, pt. 1, p. 6, pl. lix, fig. 6, 1804. maia taurus lamarck, hist des anim, sans vert, v, p. 242, 1818. pericera cornuta latrèille, rigne animal (2d ed., iv, p. 58); translation, iii, p. 44, 1831. milne edwards, hist. nat. des crust., 1, p. 335, pl. 14 bis, figs. 4, 5, 1834; (atlas du règne animal de (uvier, crnstacés, ed. 3, pl. xxx, fig. 1). gibbes, proc. amer. assoc. adv. sci., p. 172, 1850. guérin, in la sagra's hist. of cuba, p. 11, 1856. saussure, mém. soc. phys. de genève, xiv, p. 426, 1857. stimpson, ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vii, p. 183, 1860; bull. mus. comp. zool., ii, p. 113, 1870. (desbonne and schramm, crust. de la guadeloupe, p. 12, 1867). streets, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., p. 131, 1872. martens, arch. für natur., xxxviii, p. 84, 1872. a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 51, 1873. miers, jour. linn. soc. london, xiv, 1). 664, pl. xiii, figs. 4, 5, 1879; challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 76, 1886. aurivillius, k. sv. vet.-akad hand., bd. 23, 1, p. 54, pl. 2, fig. 3, 1889. chorinus armatus randall, jour. acad. nat. sci. phila., viii, p. 108, 1839. dimensions of largest specimen in millimeters: length, from tip of rostrum to tip of posterior spine, 146.5; width, including spines, 93; length of rostrum, about 53; length of cheliped, 215. record of specimens examined. savannah, georgia (buffalo soc. nat. sci.). ? gulf of mexico (5813). jamaica (buffalo soc. nat. sci.); v. s. fish comm. (7670); t. h. morgan, 1891. st. thomas; a. h. riise (2458); u. s. fish comm. (16177). a. milne edwards records this species as far south as bahia. pericera cornuta cælata (a. milne edwards). pericera calata a. milne edwards (bull. soc. philom., june, 1878, p. 5); miss. sci. an mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 200, pl. xv a, fig. 3, 1879; bull. mus. comp. zool., viii, p. 1, 1880. miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 76, 1886. pericera cornuta (?) and pericera, sp., kendall, bull. u. s. fish commission, ix, p. 303, 1889 (1891). a comparison of a series of specimens from different localities seems to indicate that pericera cælata a. milne edwards is only a variety of p. cornuta (herbst), as miers has suggested (loc. cit.). a. milne edwards says of cornuta that the rostral horns are shorter, the interorbital space narrower and the carapace smoother than in cælata. in this collection there are specimens of typical cornuta, and a large series of specimens with prominent tubercles on the carapace, in many cases more spiny than in a. milne edwards's cælata. in a specimen from the gulf of mexico (?), the carapace is smooth, and the rostral horns longer than in any specimen with tuberculous carapace; distally the horns are somewhat convergent. in another smooth specimen, from st. thomas, the rostral horns are shorter than in many tuberculous specimens, vol245 1892] proceedings of the national museum. xm, . . xvand do not converge. the comparative length of the rostrum in the two forms is, therefore, not constant. most of the tuberculous forms lave more divergent horns and greater interorbital breadth, but a specimen from pensacola offers an exception to this rule, having horns no more divergent and a frontal breadth no greater than in the typical cornuta. there is then no additional character by which the tuberculous forms can be separated from the smooth. a. milne edwards's specimen was 36 millimeters long, including the rostrum. we have specimens of the same size which agree well with his description and figure; but larger specimens differ in having a number of the tubercles spiny; in all cases, however, the tubercles are disposed as in the typical cornuta. in the collection of the museum, p. cornuta cælata ranges from 21 to 30 fathoms in the gulf of mexico and caribbean sea (a. milne edwards records it from 175 fathoms); while cornuta is found in shallower water. the young specimens of both varieties it is almost impossible to separate, and under the supposition that the variation in the adults is the result of the different range in depth, i propose to make the deep water form a subspecies of cornuta as the best arrangement that can be made with our present knowledge. length of largest specimen, from tip of rostrum to tip of posterior spine, 91; width, including spines, about 65; width, without spines, 47.5; length of rostrum, about 30; length of cheliped, 87 millimeters, record of specimens examined. pensacola, florida, from stomach of fish; silas stearns (4505, 9373). gulf of mexico; u. s. fish commission, 1885, 1889: cat. no. station. lat. n. long. w. fathoms. nature of bottom. o 25 25 26 30 26 24 16045 15144 151 45 15147 15146 9803 15148 15205 15150 15149 16008 15276 9847 2370 2373 2374 2105 2406 2407 2409 5110 2412 2413 5070 5063 2414 29 18 15 29 14 00 29 11 30 28 45 00 28 46 00 28 47 30 27 04 00 26 19 00 26 18 30 26 00 00 25 23 00 25 17 00 25 04 30 85 32 00 85 29 15 85 29 00 85 02 00 84 49 00 84 37 00 83 21 15 82 50 00 83 08 43 82 57 30 82 54 30 82 54 30 82 59 15 26 crs.gy. s. brk. sh. co. s. g. brk, sh. gy. s. brk. co. crs. s. co. co. brk. sh. ers.g: s.brk, sh. sh. s. bk. sp. ine. gy. s. bk. sp. brk. sh. fne. s. bk. sp. brk. sh. sh. s. sh.s. fne. wh. s. brk. sh. 21 27 24 26% 27 26 off cape catoche, yucatan; v. s. fish commision, 1885 : cat. no. station. lat. n. long. w. fathoms. nature of bottom. 27 9592 16051 9567 15143 2366 2365 2360 2363 22 28 00 22 18 00 22 08 30 22 07 30 87 02 87 04 86 49 87 06 00 fne wb. co. wh. r. co. wh. co. wh. r. co. 26 21 246 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. pericera triangulata, sp. nov, plate xxxii, fig. 1. carapace triangular-ovate, covered with a short, close pubescence. median spines nine; four on the gastric region, of which the one next the posterior is the longest; one, tuberculous, on the genital region; two on the cardiac, the anterior one the longest of the median spines; and two on the intestinal, the last one projecting almost horizontally over the posterior margin. there are two long spines arranged lengthwise through the center of each branchial region, the anterior one being much nearer the median line. a little farther forward on the branchial region, and in a transverse line with the posterior gastric spine, there is a tubercle. on the branchial there is also a tubercle just above the margin midway between the first and second lateral spines; and a line of three faint tubercles, almost parallel with the antero-lateral margin and between the margin and the dorsal branchial spines. there is a small tubercle on the hepatic region, and a spiny tubercle on the anterior part of each gastric region, almost in line with the first median spine. rostral horns straight, widely divergent, with fine hairs on the margins. præocular spine long, acuminate, strongly upturned; postocular sharp; sinus wide. antero-lateral margin slightly convex, armed with three triangular acute spines: one on the hepatic region; one at the lateral angle of the carapace pointing outward and backward; the other half way between, almost parallel with the hepatic spine. from the last lateral spine to the last median spine the margin is marked by an almost straight ridge. basal joint of the external antenna with a short tooth at its anteroexternal angle, and a tubercle at the insertion of the next joint. remaining joints with a few long marginal ciliæ. antenna a little longer than the rostrum and inserted underneath it. abdomen of immature female with an uneven carina through the center, caused by a tubercle on each segment. chelipeds no longer than first pair of ambulatory legs, slender. merus tuberculous above; hand long, slender, somewhat compressed, slightly tapering. the chelipeds, with the exception of the hands and fingers, and the ambulatory legs, are clothed with a soft, thick pubescence. entire length, 18.7; width, including second lateral spines, 13.2; width without spines, 10.2; width between tips of postocular spines, 8.3. millimeters. a single specimen was dredged in the gulf of california, lat. 280 28' n., long. 1120 04' 30'' w., 29 fathoms, gray sand, temperature 62.9°, station 3014, 1889 (16066). vol247 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvpericera atlantica, sp. nov. pericera, sp., smith, rept. u. s. commr. of fisheries for 1885 (1887), p. 627. carapace oblong-ovate; spines of the dorsal surface and margin in number and position corresponding to those of triangulata; but the spines are shorter and weaker, the two dorsal branchial spines are arranged more longitudinally, and there is no tubercle on the hepatic region and none on the branchial region above the margin. width of front greater than in triangulata. in addition to the close pubescence of the surface, the carapace is covered with long curved hairs. color in alcohol very light, while triangulata is a reddish brown. in other respects this species agrees with triangulata, of which it appears to be the atlantic analogue. it resembles in forin specimens of p. cornuta of equal size, but the series of dorsal spines, the wider orbital fissures and shorter rostrum separate it from that species. entire length, 17; width, including second lateral spines, 12.3; width without spines, 10.3; width between tips of postocular spines, 9 millimeters. the above description is made from a young female collected off key west, florida, lat. 24° 25' 45'' n., long. 81° 46' w., 45 fath., coral, temperature 750, station 2318, by the u. s. fish commission in 1885 (15142). a smaller female was collected in lat. 35° 10'40" n., long. 750 06' 10" w., 68 fath., gray mud, temperature 71.30, station 2268, 1884 (7220). two very small specimens from the gulf of mexico, lat. 290 27' 30" n., long. 87° 48' 30" w., 30 fath., coarse sand, black specks, shells, station 2390, u. s. fish commission, 1885 (16044) have been doubtfully referred to this species. they have the form and orbits of atlantica, but are too small for exact determination. pericera contigua, sp. nov. plate xxxii, fig. 2. carapace oblong-ovate, narrower at the orbits than posteriorly; pubescent; armed with three lateral spines: one on the hepatic, one a little above the margin at the postero-lateral angle of the carapace, and the other, the longest, situated halfway between the two. protuberances of the dorsal surface arranged as follows: three spiny tubercles in a triangle on the gastric, the posterior one on the median line most prominent. on each branchial region a spine in a transverse line with the posterior border of the gastric; another spine midway between this and the lateral epibranchial spine; a spiny tubercle close to the posterior-lateral border of the cardiac region; behind the last a rounded tubercle near the posterior margin; and a spiny tubercle on the anterior portion. on the intestinal region, a spiny tubercle, and 248 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. behind it another directed upward just over the posterior margin. the cardiac region has a spine at its summit. rostrum slightly deflexed, about one-fifth of the entire length of the carapace. horns somewhat scythe-shaped, thick, regularly tapering, acuminate; convex to each other, separated at base by a slight cavity, then curving inward and in contact for about two-fifths of their length, finally diverging. præocular spine prominent, long pointed; postocular acute. basal joint of antenna broad, armed with one long triangular spine, parallel with the præocular spine and visible in a dorsal view. pterygostomian regions pubescent, with a few tubercles. abdomen carinated. chelipeds slender, pubescent, a little longer than the first pair of ambulatory legs; merus with an irregular spiny ridge above; hands tapering; fingers slender, in contact for nearly their whole length. ambulatory legs stout, very pubescent. in spite of the long spine of the basal antennal joint, i have placed this species in the genus pericera, because it has the orbits of pericera and the lateral row of spines. the prominence of the antennal spine can hardly be said to be a character sufficient to distinguish pericera and macrocæloma, as there is at least one species of macrocæloma in which it is not visible from above, j. diplacantha stimpson. besides this character, contigua can readily be separated from the other known species of pericera by the peculiar rostrum. length including rostrum, 28; width without spines, 16.3; width with spines, 21; width between tips of postocular spines, 14 millimeters. one female from the gulf of california, lat. 25° 02' 45' n., long. 1100 43' 30" w., 21 fathoms, sand, shells, coralline, station 3005, u. s. fish comm., 1889 (16067), and two males from lat. 31° 21' n., long. 113° 49' w., 11 fathoms, sand, broken shells, gravel, temperature 670, station 3024 (16975). picroceroides tubularis miers. challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 77, pl. x, fig. 1, 1886. in one male the rostral horns and præocular spines are longer than in the specimen figured by miers. the largest specimen, a female, measures 20.5 millimeters in length from the base of the horns and 13.5 millimeters in width at the branchial regions. collected off havana, cuba, lat. 23° 10' 25'' n., long. 89° 20' 24" w., 33 fathoms, station 2324, coral, temperature 79.1°; by the u. s. fish commission steamer albatross, 1885 (9495); also at station 2138, 1884, lat. 17° 44' 05" n., long. 75° 39' w., 23 fathoms, coral, broken shells (6928). this species was collected on the coast of brazil by the challenger. vol249 1892proceedings of thể national museum. x, . ] . xvmacrocoeloma trispinosa (latreille). • pisa trispinosa (latreille, encycl. méth. hist. nat., x, p. 142, 1825). pericera trispinosa guérin, icon. des crust., pl. 8, fig. 3. milne edwards, hist. nat. des crust., 1, p. 336, 1831. saussure, mém. soc. phys. de genève, xiv, p. 426, 1857. martens, archiv. für natur., xxxviii, p. 84, pl. iv, figs. 4a, 4b, 1872. a. m. edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 52, pl. xv, fig. 2, 1873, and synonymy; bull. mus. comp. zool., viii, p. 1, 1880. aurivillins, k. sv. vet.-akad. hand., bd. 23, 1, p. 55, pl. 2, fig. 2, 1889. ives, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., p. 178, 1891. macrocæloma trispinosa miers, jour. linn. soc. london, xiv, p. 665, 1879; challenger rept., zool., xvii, pp. 79, 80, 1886. in most of our specimens of this variable species the rostral horns are parallel and deflexed for two-thirds of their length, and then become divergent and upturned. in an individual from fernando de noronha, the four lobes at the summit of the carapace are very distinct and defined by deep depressions. record of specimens examined. / off north carolina, u. s. fish comm., 1885 : lat 33° 42' 45'' n., long. 77° 31' w., 17 fath., sand, pebbles, sta. 2616 (16178). lat. 33° 37' 15'' n., long. 77° 35' 30" w., 17 fath., coarse yellow sand, broken shells, sta. 2618 (16179). florida: key west, on rocks, low tide; h. hemphill, 1885 (9279), (union college coll.). eastern dry rocks; dr. e. palmer, 1884 (9280). dry tortugas; dr. e. palmer, 1884 (14001). cedar keys; lieut. j. f. moser, u.s. n., u.s. c. s. s. bache, 1887 (15137). pensacola; silas stearns (4497). gulf of mexico; u. s. fish comm., 1885: lat. 26° n., long. 82° 57' 30" w., 24 fath., fine sand, black specks, broken shells, station 2413 (15136). lat. 27° 04' n., long. 83° 21' 15'' w., 26 fath., coarse gray sand, broken shells, station 2409 (16055). jamaica, t. h. morgan, 1891. st. thomas; u. s. fish comm., 1884 (16180). curaçao; u. s. fish comm., 1884 (16181). brazil; r. rathbun, hartt explorations, 1875–1877: fernando de noronha. bay of bahia, 3 to 4 fathoms. found also in the bermudas. ܕ macrocoeloma camptocera (stimpson). plate xxxiii, fig. 2. pericera camptocera stimpson, bull. mus. comp. zool., ii, p. 112, 1870. a. m. edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 57, 1873. macrocæloma camptocera miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, pp. 79, 80, 1886. this species is distinct from trispinosa, as in a series from eight localities most of the differences pointed out by stimpson hold good. the rostrum, however, though usually longer than in the specimens of trispinosa examined, varies in length, being from more than one-half to less than one-third the length of the post-frontal portion of the carapace. 250 crabs of the family periceride-rath bun. the difference in the size of the antennæ, noted by stimpson, is not constant, but varies with the specimen. the four spines of the dorsal surface are situated on the cardiac, gastric, and at the inner angle of the branchial region. in addition to the close pubescence of the carapace, the front, the gastric region and the lateral portions of the branchial region are clothed with long hairs curved at the extremities. the lateral and posterior spines are longer, more slender and upturned than in trispinosa. total length of large male, 37 millimeters; total width, 29.5 milli. meters. record of specimens examined. florida: indian key, among rocks, near low tide; h. hemphill (15140). key west; u. s. fish commission, 1885 (15141). off cape sable; lient. j. f. moser, u.s. navy, u. s. c. s. s. bache, 1887 (13757). marco; h. hemphill (15139). lat. 28° 43' n., long. 82° 56' w., 17 feet (13055), lat. 28° 50' n., long. 830 w'. (13013), lat. 28° 56' n., long. 82° 55' w., 19 feet (13061), cedar keys (15138); lieut. moser. macrocæloma diplacantha (stimpson). pericera diplacantha stimpson, ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vii, p. 183, 1860. (desbonne and schramm, crust. de la guadeloupe, p. 16, pl. v, figs. 16–18, 1867.) a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 55, pl. xiii, fig. 2, 1873. macrocæloma diplacantha miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 79, 1886. record of specimens examined. key west, florida; h. hemphill, 1885; one female (9365). st. thomas; u. s. fish comm., 1881; one male (16182). old providence; u. s. fish comm., 1884 (9136). recorded from guadaloupe. macroceeloma subparallela (stimpson). pericera subparallela stimpson, ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vii, p. 182, 1860. a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 54, pl. xiii, fig. 3, 1873. pericera vilpini (desbonne and schramm, crust. de la guadeloupe, p. 12, pl. v, figs. 14, 15, 1867). vacrocaloma subparallela miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 79, 1886. a male from florida (?) (16054), 26 millimeters long, has on the posterior portion of the carapace, back of the transverse row of spines and tubercles, the short, tough pubescence arranged in irregular ridges separated by a network of grooves. this character is less strongly marked in the two females from st. thomas (16183) and old providence (16184), u.s. fish commission, 1884. recorded from guadaloupe. macrocoeloma septemspinosa stimpson. pericera septem spinosa stimpson, bull. mus. comp. zool., ii, p. 113, 1870. a. m. edwards, miss. sci. au mexiqne, pt. 5, 1, pp. 59, 200, pl. xv a, fig. 2, 1873. macrocæloma septem spinosa miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, pp. 79, 80, 1886. vol251 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvrecord of specimens examined. the specimens were all collected by the c. s. fish commission steamer albatross in 1885. off sonth carolina. cat. no. station. 1 lat. n. long. w. fathonis. temp. nature of bottom. 1 11 15127 2311 32 53 00 77 54 00 79 59. 1 ers. s. bk. sp. off key west, florida. cat. no. station. lat. n. long. w. fath oms. temp. nature of bottom. 7 1 15129 15128 2318 2317 24 25 45 24 25 45 81 46 00 81 46 45 45 45 73 co. 75 i co. gulf of mexico. 1 cat. no. station. lat. y. long. w. fath oms. nature of bottom. 1 15135 15134 15133 15132 15131 15130 2407 2406 2405 2373 2372 2370 28 47 30 23 46 00 28 45 00 29 14 00 29 15 30 29 18 15 84 37 00 84 49 00 83 02 00 8.3 29 15 8.3 29 30 85 32 00 24 26 30 25 27 25 co. brk. sh. crs. s. co. gy. s. brk. co. co. g. crs. gy. s. brk. sh. found as far south as bahia. macrocoeloma eutheca (stimpson). . pericera eutheca stimpson, bull. mus. comp. zool., ii, p. 112, 1870. a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, pp. 58, 200, pl. xv a, fig. 1, 1873. aurivillius, k. sv. vet.-akad. hand., bd. 23, 1, p. 55, pl. 2, fig. 1, 1889. macrocaloma eutheca miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, pp. 80, 82, 1886. to this species i have referred an adult male from off havana, lat. 230 10' 51" n., long. 82° 19'03" w., 163 fath., white and brown coral, station 2323, u. s. fish commission, 1885 (9192); also a young male from near aspinwall, lat. 9° 32' x., long. 790 51' 30" w., 34 fath., broken shells, station 2146, 1884 (7780); and a young female from lat. 23° 10' 36" n., long. 820 20'20" w., 122 fath., coral, station 2168 (7756). the adult male differs from stimpson's description in its slightly narrower carapace, longer rostrum with divergent horns, and in the presence of tubercles instead of spines on the gastric region. a. milne edwards figures, without remark, a specimen which he calls eutheca, although it is much narrower than the one in question, the posterior half of the carapace is much rounded, and the rostral horns are separated by a triangular interspace. the specimen under examination has the carapace very much narrower posteriorly than in m. concara miers (op.cit., p. 81, pl. x, fig. 2), 252 crabs of the family periceridæ-rathbu'n. from which it differs also in the protuberances of the carapace. in its proportion it approaches nearer the figure given by aurivillius (loc. cit.). a detailed description of the individual is given below, as a series may in the future connect these two species. the two small specimens in the collection offer no essential differences. carapace with a scattered pubescence, subtrapezoidal, concave at the hepatic region; outline of branchial region rounded. the protuberances of the carapace are as follows: three tubercles forming a triangle on the gastric region, the posterior one large and on the median line, the other two inconspicuous; a spiny tubercle on the cardiac region; another longer on the intestinal; on the branchial region, a prominent slender spine just above the margin and behind the broadest part of the carapace; above this spine another very small; on the lateral margin an irregular row of small spines and spiny tubercles, one on the hepatic and about five on the branchial, the one next to the last being the longest, but only two-thirds as long as the epibranchial spine; a branch of this marginal row is continued on the pterygostomian region, which is covered with small tubercles. rostrum thin, almost straight; horns separated by a triangulate space; their distal half slender, acuminate; proximal half broad, subtriangular, with convex outer margin. orbital sheaths long, prominent. distance between the tips of the postocular spines a little greater than the width of the carapace at the branchial regions exclusive of spines. on the upper orbital margin there is a tooth above the postocular; and a small spine on the lower margin. basal joint of external antennae armed with two sharp spines. chelipeds moderate. merus tuberculous, with a row of four small spines above. hands long, compressed, finely pubescent. fingers arched, partially gaping; distal third brown. first pair of ambulatory legs barely reaching the manus. entire length, 25; length of rostrum, 6; width at the branchial regions, without spines, 15.6; length of cheliped, 28; length of first ambulatory leg, 20 millimeters. ii. eutheca has been collected at the tortugas, florida straits, 12 to 115 fathoms, santa cruz, besides other localities. > macrocoloma tenuirostra, sp. nov. plate xxxiii, fig. 1. carapace much lorger than broad, subrectangular, slightly convex; finely pubescent. epibranchial spine short, slender; posterior margin with a slender upturned spine. dorsal surface with a blunt median spine above the posterior margin; a tubercle occupying the cardiac re. gion; another far back on the gastric region; remainder of the surface with small depressed tubercles, which on the antero-lateral margin form an indistinct row. 1892. ] 253 proceedings of the national museum. rostrum very slender, more than half as long as the remainder of the carapace. horns subcylindrical, tapering to a fine point; outer margin spinulose for its posterior half; a narrow interspace at base; horns contiguous for the iniddle third; slightly divergent at tips. orbits slightly projecting. preocular and postocular teeth distinct, acute. basal antennal joint with a short spine at the antero-external angle, visible from above. there is a tooth at the insertion of the second joint, pointing downward; and an obtuse tooth on the outer margin. remaining joints very slender. chelipeds long, slender, pubescent except on the fingers. merus and carpus tuberculate. hand long, compressed, not dilated, granulate. fingers in male gaping at base; tips brown; a short broad tooth on the dactyl. ambulatory legs very slender, pubescent. first pair much longer than the others. dactyls spinulose beneath. length of carapace, including rostrum and posterior spine, 22; length of rostrum, 7.5; branchial width, including spines, 10; without spines, 8.5; width between tips of præocular teeth, 6 millimeters. one individual, a male, was taken in the tangles, between jamaica and hayti, lat. 17° 44' 05" n., long. 75° 39' w., 23 fathoms, coral, broken shells, station 2138, 1884, u. s. fish commission (6929). this species can not be confounded with any other described species of the genus, on account of its narrow, elongated carapace and slender rostrum. microphrys bicornutus (latreille). pisa bicornuta (latreille, encyc. méth., x, p. 141, 1825). pericera bicorna milne edwards, hist. nat. des crust., i, p. 337, 1831. pisa bicorna gibbes, proc. amer. assoc. adv. sci., 3, p. 170, 1850. pericera bicornuta guérin, in la sagra's hist. of cuba, p. xii, 1856. martens, arch. für natur., xxxviii, p. 85, pl. iv, fig. 5, 1872. pericera bicornis saussure, rev. et mag. de zool., (2), ix, p. 501, 1857; mém. soc. phys. genève, xiv, p. 428, pl. 1, fig. 3, 1857. milnia bicornuta stimpson, ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vii, p. 180, 1860; bull. mus. comp. zool., ii, p. 111, 1870. smith, trans. conn. acad., ii, pp. 1, 33, 1869; amer. jour. sci., xlviii, p. 389, 1869. pisa galibica (des bonne and schramm, crust. de la guadeloupe, p. 18. 1867). pisa purpurea (desbonne and schramm, loc. cit.). omalacantha hirsuta streets, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., (3), 1, p. 238, 1871. a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. :), i, p. 65, 1873. microphrys bicornutus a. milne edwards, nouv. archiv. mus. hist. nat., viii, p. 247, 1872; miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 61, pl. xiv, figs. 2-4, 1873. miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 83, 1886. heilprin, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., p. 318, 1888. aurivillius, k. sv. vet.-akad. hand., bd. 23, 1, p. 55, pl. 2, fig. 4, 1889. pocock, jour. linn. soc. london, xx, p. 507, 1890. ives, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., p. 178, 1891. kendall, bull. u. s. fish comm., ix, p. 303, 1889 (1891). microphrys bicornuta kingsley, proc. acai. nat. sci. phila., x.xxi, p. 386, 1879. record of specimens examined. florida: cape florida; dr. e. palmer, 1884 (9360). key largo; ii. llemphill (15116). lower matacumba key, among grass, below low tide; h. hemphill (15114). indian key; h. hemphill (15117). florida bay (union college coll.), 254 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. key vaccas (11070), nights key (15112), no name key (15111), big pine key (15113); h. hemphill. harbor key (union college coll.). key west harbor; dr. e. palmer, 1884 (15115). key west; d. s. jordan, 1883 (5749); h. hemphill (9351); l'. s. fish commission (11390), (union college coll.). plantation key (union college coll.). dry tortugas reefs, from corals and sponges; dr. e. palmer, 1884 (9362). garden key, tortugas (15825). marco; h. hemphill (16056). bird key; u. s. fish commission, 1889 (15207). bermudas: tuckers island; dr. george hawes (13796). dr. f. v. hamlin, wesleyan university (4024). bahamas: andros island (stearns coll.); new providence, u. s. fish commission, 1886 (11369). jamaica; t. h. morgan, 1891. west indies, u. s. fish commission: jamaica (16057); st. thomas (16186); curaçao (7580); old providence (16185); near aspin wall, lat. 9° 32' n., long. 79° 51' 30'' w., 34 fathoms, broken shells, sta, 2146 (16187). barbados; u. s. eclipse expedition to west africa, 1890 (14883). sabanilla, u. s. of colombia; u. s. fish commission, 1884 (16058). brazil; r. rathbun, hartt explorations, 1875–1877; pernambuco; rio formoso, pernambuco; plataforma, bahia, in tide pools; fernando de noronha. microphrys, sp. carapace broadly triangulate. regions well defined, tuberculous. there is one sharp spine at the lateral angle of the carapace; a little nearer the median line are two spiny tubercles. anterior portion of brancbial region much swollen in an oblong tuberculous lobe. there are small tubercles on the margin of the hepatic region and on the subbranchial region. rostrum depressed, short, reaching to the middle of the third joint of antennæ. horns narrowly triangular, acute, separated by a narrow v-shaped notch. præocular angle distinct. basal antennal joint with two marginal teeth separated by a narrow sinus; the anterior tooth long, flat, procurved, subacute. chelipeds in young female weak, not much longer than first pair of ambulatory legs. merus with four tubercles on upper margin; carpus tuberculous on outer surface; margins of hand subparallel; fingers evenly dentate, gaping at base. ambulatory legs with meral joints spinous above and tuberculous on outer face; carpal joints with one spine above; propodal joints with a broad, rounded, lamelliform process for the articulation of the dactyl, as in platysoma. length, including rostrum, 12 millimeters; width, without spines, 9 millimeters. gulf of california, lat. 28° 16' n., long. 111° 54' w., 22 fathoms, fine gray sand, temperature 630, station 3012, u. s. fish commission, 1889 (16774). this species appears to be nearest to bicornutus. the species de scribed from the pacific coast are so numerous and the literature so inadvol255 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvequate that the writer, with only one immature specimen at hand, hesitates to give a name to a species perhaps already overburdened. subfamily othoniinæ. othonia aculeata (gibbes). plate xxxiv, figs. 1 and 2. hyas aculeata gibbes, proc. amer. assoc. adv. sci., 3, p. 171, 1850. othonia aculeata stimpson, ann. lyc. nat. hist., n. y., vii, p. 49, 1859; bull. mus. comp. zool., ii, p. 116, 1870 (partim). a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 115, pl. xxiv, fig. 4, 1875. kingsley, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., xxxi, p. 388, 1879 (partim). aurivillius, k. sv. vet.-akad. hand., bd. 23, i, p. 56, 1889. see remarks under othonia lherminieri schramm. record of specimens examined. florida: key largo (14049), lower matacumba key (15809), indian key (14054), key vaccas (14072), nights key (15089); h. hemphill. key west; h. hemphill (9283); d. s. jordan (5751), u. s. fish commission (7518). dry tortugas; dr. e. palmer (13896). sarasota bay, one young specimen (union college coll.). bahamas; u. s. fish commission, 1886: nassau (11401); new providence (16309). found also at st. thomas. othonia lherminieri schramm. plate xxxiv, figs. 3 and 4. othonia lherminieri (schramm, crust. de la guadeloupe, p. 20, 1867). a. milne edwards, miss sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 116, pl. xxiv, fig. 5, 1875. othonia aculeata stimpson, bull. mus. comp. zool., ii, p. 116, 1870 (partim). kingsley, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., xxxi, p. 388, 1879 (partim). othonia anisodon martens, archiv. für natur., p. 83, pl. iv, fig. 3, 1872. an examination of numerous lots of this species proves it to be very distinct from 0. aculeata (gibbes), with which it has been confounded by some authors. the front is much narrower than in aculeata, rostrum more advanced and less deflexed. in aculeata a groove runs from the tip of the inner upper angle of the orbit along the margin of the front to the base of the rostrum. this groove is very slight in therminieri. orbital angles less produced and less conspicuous in therminieri. in both species the basal article of the external antenna has the anterior margin more or less dentate. second article, in therminieri, with an external lobe which is shorter than in aculeata and directed forward rather than outward. antero-lateral teeth sharp, while in aculeata they are obtuse. appendages of the male abdomen with the distal third of a light brown color, and gradually tapering; and arranged in the form of a lyre, widely spreading at the tips (pl. xxxiv, fig. 4). in aculeata, the appendages are brown for about the distal half, the brown parts in con256 'crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. tact for one-half their length, diverging at the extremities in slight curves convex to each other, each appendage terminating in a rightangled hook, the point of which is directed toward the median line of the carapace (pl. xxxiv, fig. 2). the chelipeds are variable, in full grown males usually slender, shorter than the first pair of ambulatory legs and not much stronger than in the female; but in five out of fifteen large males the chelipeds are from one and a half times to nearly twice as long as the carapace, and are of the same character as in aculeata. the palms are, however, longer and narrower, and the merus more cylindrical and less angled than in aculeata, in which species the merus has three depressed tubercles on the upper margin. the two species agree in the widely gaping fingers of the male, with a tooth near the base of the dactyl, and in the short, weak chelipeds of the female, with fingers evenly dentate and in contact. the carpal joints of the ambulatory legs are longer and more slender than in aculeata, and have a shallow groove on the outer surface which in aculeata is broad and deep, leaving a conspicuous ridge on either side. the carapace of therminieri is smoother and more pubescent; that of aculeata more tuberculous; a character most noticeable in very young specimens. record of specimens examined. florida: key largo (15090), lower matacumba key (14085), no name key (14077); h. hemphill. harbor key (union college coll.). key west; h. hemphill (9286); d. s. jordan (15093), u.s. fish commission (15092). south florida ; s. stearns (3463). marco (15091), punta rassa (13837), charlotte harbor (15096); h. hemphill. charlotte harbor, young (union college coll.). sarasota bay; h. hemphill (6124, 6131); (union college coll.). boca ceiga bay; 9. hemphill (15094). off northwest end st. martins reef; lieut. j. f. moser, u. s. n. (15097). cedar keys; h. hemphill (15095). jamaica; t. h. morgan, 1891. west indies; u. s. fish commission, 1884: jamaica (16188); st. thomas (16189); curaçao (16190); old providence (9133). sabanilla, united states of colombia; v. s. fish commission, 1884 (15820). on the west coast of florida where therminieri is abundant, aculeata rarely occurs, but one small specimen in the union college collection representing that region. 0. lherminieri has been recorded from guadaloupe and cuba. othonia carolinensis, sp. nov. plate xxxv, figs. 1 and 2. the following description is based on two imperfect male specimens collected off charleston, s. c., by mr. r. e. earll, u. s. fish commission, 1880: carapace nearly as broad as long, tapering posteriorly, broadest at the third antero-lateral tooth; regions well definedl. width of front intermediate between that of aculeata and therminieri. carapace with vol257 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] ::. xvscattered tubercles, six or eight on the branchial region, four or five on the mesogastric, two or three on the gastric, and a row near the posterior margin. the rostrum and the inner and outer orbital angles are about equally advanced. orbital angles acute. antero-lateral teeth five, the first three prominent, acute, the fourth sinaller, the fifth almost obsolete. sinus between the second and third not so deep as between the first and second, making a partial coalescence of the second and third teeth, which, however, is very slight as compared with the coalescence of the same teeth in aculeata and therminieri, where the second tooth is much more feebie than the first and third. basal article of the antenna with a shallow emargination on its anterior border outside the insertion of the second article, which is narrower than in lherminieri, the outer lobe produced forward but little beyond the inner lobe. remaining articles wanting in our specimens. appendages of the male abdomen in contact at about three-fifths of the distance from the distal end, then separating slightly in faint curves concave to each other, and again converging before they finally spread out at the tips. distal three-fifths yellow, very slender, tapering grad. ually to a fine point (pl. xxxv, fig. 2). chelipeds small, longer than the first pair of ambulatory legs. merus somewhat angled, unarmed. palms about one and a half times as long as broad, tapering slightly toward the distal end. fingers with distal half minutely dentate and in contact; proximal ends gaping, a slight tooth at the base of the dactyl. ambulatory legs short, sparsely hairy, a longitudinal depression on the carpal joints as in aculeata. length, 14.2 millimeters; width, 14 millimeters; width of front, 8.7 millimeters. record of specimens examined, near charleston harbor, 1 to 12 fathoms (3158). blackfish bank, off charleston, 12 fathoms, from stomach of fish (5755). an egg-bearing female from jamaica, t. h. morgan, 1891, has been doubtfully referred to this species. the carapace is wider posteriorly and narrower in the center, sparsely pubescent. the basal antennal joint is dentate on its anterior margin. othonia nicholsi, sp. nov plate xxxv, fig. 3. carapace oblong, outline of anterior portion much as in aculeata, broader posteriorly. carapace with strongly marked tubercles of which the larger are arranged as follows: two on the median line of the mesogastric, the anterior one the smaller; two transversely on the anterior part of the cardiac region; three or four on each branchial region, where they have a tendency to become spiny. of smaller tubercles, there is one on each gastric lobe, two transversely at the proc. n. m. 92—17 258 crabs of the family pericerida-ratubun. posterior end of the mesogastric, one on the anterior edge of the cardiac. there is a long line of stout granules a little above the posterior margin; a shorter line of granules behind this; a curved line of four granules just back of the middle of the cardiac region, arranged concave to the posterior margin; and two lines of granules on the posterior half of the branchial region, one following the general direction of the posterior margin, the other shorter, along the inner boundary of the branchial region and meeting the first line at an acute angle. there are other granules scattered on the carapace, but no conspicuous protuberances on the hepatic region. lobes of the rostrum acute, emarginate on their inner margins near the tips. orbital angles sharp, the inner one produced in a line with the tip of the rostrum, the outer angle less produced. antero-lateral teeth five, irregular, the second small and somewhat coalesced with the third at its base. carapace broadest at the fourth tooth. fifth tooth small. basal joint of antenna with its anterior margin cut into three irregular teeth. second joint with the lobe at its outer angle projecting laterally, but not so long as in aculeata. meral joint of outer maxillipeds longer than broad; antero-external angle produced; no perceptible notch at internal angle. chelipeds in the young female slender, no longer than the first pair of ambulatory legs. merus somewhat angled; carpus compressed; upper and lower margins of hand subparallel; fingers finely dentate, with a narrow hiatus at their base. ambulatory legs with a fine scattered pubescence. carpal joints distended as in aculeata with an uneven ridge above and a longitudinal depression on the outer face. length from tip of rostrum, 9 millimeters; greatest width, 8.5 millimeters. collected in the gulf of california, lat. 29° 30' n., long. 112° 40' w., 45 fath., by lieut. commander ii. e. nichols, u. s. navy, 1880–1882 (15822); specimen imperfect, dried. this species can hardly be identical with 0. picteti saussure (rev. et mag. de zool. (2), v, p.357, pl. 13, fig. 2, 1853) as the carapace is broader posteriorly, the tubercles are differently disposed, the front is broader, and the orbital angles more produced than in saussure's figure. othonia rotunda, sp. nov. plate xxxvi, fig. 1. carapace as broad as long, widest at the fourth antero-lateral teeth, much swollen in both directions, transversely rising abruptly from the bases of the antero-lateral teeth, longitudinally rising in almost an equal curve from behind the front and from the posterior margin. regions faintly indicated. carapace covered with granules which are more thickly set on the posterior half. long fine hairs proceed from vol259 1892proceedings of the national museum, , . . xvthe top of the granules. along the outer margins of the gastric lobes, bunches of granules beset with coarse hairs form a broad line which is continued to the rostrum. rostral teeth sharp, produced beyond the orbital angles. præorbital angle obtuse, less produced than the postorbital, which is subacute. antero-lateral teeth usually five in number (in one specimen four), acute, separated to their bases, the first the largest, the others as a rule decreasing regularly in size to the posterior, the tips of the five teeth making a single curve. in the largest specimen, however, the third tooth on one side is much smaller than the fourth; the third tooth on the other side is broken, but, judging from the base, it was intermediate in size between the second and fourth. anterior margins of teeth thickened. antero-lateral margin marked by inconspicuous granules irregularly placed, giving the teeth the appearance of being themselves minutely dentate. basal article of the antenna with a sharp longitudinal groove through the middle. tooth at distal extremity slightly more produced than the superior inner angle of the orbit, and visible in a dorsal view. second article broad, with the outer lobe directed forward, and slightly thickened on the outer and anterior margins. third article as broad as long. surface of the abdomen and the sternum minutely pubescent. appendages of male abdomen diverging slightly at the distal ends, hooked at the tips. chelipeds in both sexes, slender, longer than the ambulatory legs, covered with fine punctures, upper margin with thinly scattered hairs. merus angled, a few small tubercles on the upper margin. manus very slightly tapering toward the distal end. fingers in the male gaping for the proximal third, with a tooth on the dactyl; in the female, evenly dentate and in contact for nearly their whole length, a slight gape at the proximal end. ambulatory legs very hairy above, first pair reaching to about the middle of the manus. length and width of large female, 17.5 millimeters; width of front, 9.8 millimeters. length and width of largest male, 14 millimeters; width of front, 8,5 millimeters. ten specimens were collected at key west, fla., by henry hemphill, 1885 (15807), and one female at the same locality, by the u. s. fish commission in 1884 (16298). subfamily mithracin æ. mithrax (nemausa) spinipes (bell). pisa spinipes bell, trans. zool. soc., london, ii, p. 50, pl. ix, fig. 6, 1836. nemausa spinipes a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 82, 1875. miers, jour. linn. soc., london, xiv, p. 666, 1879. mithras (nemausa) spinipes miers, challenger rept. zoöl., xvii, p. 85, 1886. a single male from the gulf of california, has been referred to this species. it is a smaller specimen than the one figured by bell (loc. cit.) 260 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. and differs in some respects. the original description says that there are seven or eight lateral spines (a. milne edwards says six or seven), and in the figure there are six besides the postorbital. in our speci. men there are five besides the postorbital, the fourth being the longest and defining the lateral angle of the carapace, the fifth shorter than the others and elevated a little on the branchial region. the granules of the anterior two-thirds of the carapace are very inconspicuous. there are two large granules on the median line of the cardiac region, five or six granules on the posterior half of the branchial region, and a conspicuous row of four spiny granules on the intestinal region, making a curve concave to the posterior margin. the two teeth on the upper margin of the orbit are minutely serrate. the orbital sinuses are deeper than in other species of mithrax. spine at antero-external angle of basal antennal joint about half as long as the rostrum; remaining tooth spiniform. chelipeds in our specimens shorter than the first pair of ambulatory legs. merus spiny, bearing on the anterior part of its upper margin one or two spines longer and more slender than the rest. carpus tuberculous, some of the tubercles spiny. hands slender, smooth. fingers spoon-shaped, finely dentate, when closed showing but a faint hiatus. ambulatory legs pubescent, third and fourth joints with long spines above, third joint with small spines below. length from base of rostral horns, 11 millimeters; width, without spines, 8.2 millimeters. lat. 24° 55' 15" n., long. 110° 39' w., 33 fathoms, fine gray sand, broken shells, temperature 64,5°, station 3001, u. s. fish commission, 1889 (16064). bell records this species from the galapagos islands, 16 fathoms, and st. elena, 6 fathoms. mithrax (nemausa) acuticornis (stimpson). plate xxxvii, fig. 1. mithrax acuticornis stimpson, bull. mus. comp. zoöl., ii, p. 116, 1870. a. milne edwards, miss. sci. an mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 98, 1875. miers, challenger rept., zoöl., xvii, pp, 86, 88, 1886. mithrax (?) sp., kendall, bull. u. s. fish commission, ix, p. 303, 1889 (1891). stimpson' says, “the margin of the orbit is armed with six spiniform teeth, not including those of the antennal joint.” in some of the specimens examined the tooth on the inferior margin of the orbit next to the basal antennal joint is obliterated, leaving only five orbital teeth; three on the superior margin, one at the external angle, and one on the inferior margin. the following are the dimensions of three specimens, the length measured from the base of the rostrum, and the width, not including thespines. no. 1. length 13; width 10 millimeters; ratio 1:.77. no. 2. 1892. ] proceedings of the national museum. 261 length 11; width 9 millimeters; ratio 1:.82. no. 3. length 10.5; width 9 millimeters; ratio 1:.86. the color in alcohol is a cinnamon brown; fingers of a pinkish tinge. i think this species is not the young form of li. cornutus saussure. in large specimens of cornutus, according to a. milne edwards, the length is only a trifle greater than the width; while in our series of acuticornis, the larger the specimen the narrower the carapace. in acuticornis the præocular spine is proportionally shorter and the antennal spine longer than in milne edwards's figure of cornutus. in the twenty-two specimens examined there is no trace of spines on the manus. the young mithrar enumerated by mr. w.c. kendall (loc. cit.) in his list of brachyura collected by the schooner grampus on the fishing grounds off the west coast of florida, undoubtedly belongs to this species. record of specimens examixed. gulf of mexico; u. s. fish commission, 1885 and 1889: cat. no. station. ! lat. n. long. w. fatb. temper omn. ature. nature of bottom. 0 o 1 26 26 15811 15819 15817 15206 15812 15813 2406 2409 2411 5108 2413 2414 28 46 00 27 04 00 26 33 30 26 19 00 26 00 00 25 04 30 84 49 00 83 21 15 83 15 30 83 11 00 82 57 30 82 59 15 cre. s. co. (18.gy. s. brk. sh. fne. wh. s. bk. sp. s. alga. fno s. bk. sp. brk. sh. fne. wh. s. brk. sh. 68 26 caribbean sea; u. s. fish commission, 1885 : cat. no. station. lat. n. fathlong. w. nature of bottom. oms. 0 o 17 9502 15818 16307 15814 7760 2330 2365 2362 2303 2136 23 10 48 22 18 00 22 08 30 22 07 30 17 43 30 82 19 15 87 04 00 86 53 30 87 00 00 75 38 25 121 fue. sy. co. 24 | wh. r. co. (o. s. 21 wh. r. co. co. brk. sh. 25 mithrax spinosissimus (lamarck). maia spinosissima lamarck, hist. nat. des anim. sans vert., v, p. 241, 1818; 2d ed., p. 435, 1838. mithrax spinosissimus milne edwards, mag. zoöl., ii, pols. 2 and 3, 1832; hist. nat. des crust., 1, p. 321, 1831. white, cat. brit. mus. crust., p. 6, 1847. gibbes, proc. amer. assoc. adv. sci., iii, p. 172, 1850. guérin, la sagra's hist. of cuba, p. x, 1856. stimpson, amer. jour. sci., xxix, p. 132, 1860; am. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vii, p. 188, 1860. (desbonne and schramm, crust. de la guadeloupe, p. 4, pl. viii, fig. 21, 1867.) martens, arch. für natur., xxxvii, p. 81, 1872. a. milue edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 100, 1875. kingsley, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., xxxi, p. 390, 1879 (partim).* miers, challenger rept. zoöl., xvii, p. 86, 1886. anrivillius, k. sv. vet.-akad. han.l., bd. 23, 1, p. 57, 1889. *the specimens here recorded by mr. kingsley as spinosissimus prove to be aculeatus. 262 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. record of specimens examined. florida: g. wurdemann (2093, 15816). carysfort reef; dr. e. palmer (9257). harbor key (union college coll.). key west; d. s. jordan (5758); l. s. fish commission (7339); h. hemphill (9258). garden key, tortugas (15081). off havana, cuba, lat. 23 10' 48'' x., long. 82° 19' 15'' w., 121 fathoms, fine gray coral, station 2330, l'. s. fish ('ommission, 1885 (9502). havana, cuba; d. s. jordan (7854). guadaloupe; l. guesde (4095). mithrax pilosus, sp. nov. plate xxxis. 1 carapace ovate-orbicular; width, without spines, less than the length. postero-lateral margin rather long for the genus. entire upper surface of the crab except the fingers, the proximal half of the manus, and the horny tips of the dactyls of the ambulatory legs closely covered with velvety hairs, which are present also on all the spines. carapace furnished with spinose tubercles as follows: three, small, arranged longitudinally each side of the median line just behind the rostrum; four transversely on the gastric region in two distant pairs; one further back on the median line of the gastric; three forming a triangle on the cardiac; nine or ten scattered on each branchial region; four in an arcuate row above the posterior margin. rostrum composed of two spines strongly incurved at the tips; interspace u-shaped. præocular spine distinct, upturned. lateral spines five, stout, triangular, tips hooked forward. the fifth of the series is on the postero-lateral margin. farther back is a very small spine. there is also a small spine between the first and second lateral and the second and third lateral. there are three small tuber. cles on the posterior margin. basal antennal joint broad. spine at the antero-external angle about as long as the rostrum, but not so much advanced, directed outward; tip turned inward. farther back on the outer margin there is a sharp triangular tooth, and another at the insertion of the second joint. flagellum rather long. there is a triangular tooth on the lower orbital border next the postocular tooth. lower surface of the crab covered with a short pubescence. chelipeds a little shorter than the next pair of legs, not enlarged. merus and carpus spiny above, the merus widening at the proximal end, the spines forming a crest on the distal half. hand compressed, tapering slightly towards the fingers, spinose on the upper surface near the base, a character present in both sexes. fingers slightly gaping at base. ambulatory legs very stout. meral and carpal joints with two rows of spines above; carpal joints with one or two additional spines. propodal joints short, broadly cylindrical; those of the first three pairs of legs with one or more spinose tubercles. dactyls broad at the articulation, tapering abruptly to the curved horny tip. vol263 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvwhen the hairs are removed, the surface is speckled with small purple spots. length of carapace, with rostrum, 28; width, with spines, 30; without spines. 24; length of cheliped, about 26 millimeters. three males and one young female were collected at abaco, bahamas, by the u.s. fish commission steamer albatross, 1886 (16299). this species is very distinct from any hitherto described. like spinosissimus, aculeatus, and cornutus, it has spines on the manus, but it is readily distinguished from those species by the stout lateral spines, the dense pubescence, and the short legs. mithrax hemphilli, sp. nov. plate xxxvii, fig. 2. carapace oblong-triangular, covered with strong tubercles and gran. ules. regions distinct. the largest tubercles are arranged as follows: one on either side of the median line on the frontal region; a transverse row of four on the gastric; two on the median line of the mesogastric, the posterior one being the larger; one on the genital region; a line of three across the cardiac forming a transverse curve concave to the front; behind these, one on the median line; about seven strong tubercles on the branchial region, those most posterior being spinous; four spinous tubercles on the intestinal region forming a transverse curve concave to the posterior margin. the two tubercles at the extremities of this curve are continuous with a line of granules which border the posterior margin. the two central protuberances of the marginal line are small tubercles. besides the strong tubercles of the carapace, there are numerous smaller tubercles and granules, scattered or clustered about the larger tubercles. there is a row of granules just within and parallel to the posterior margin of the mesogastric region. rostrum rather long for the genus, but not so long as in acuticornis, divided by a u-shaped sinus, each horn bearing two or three minute denticles on its outer margin near the tip. præpocular tooth long, acuminate. the two sinuses of the upper orbital margin small, v-shaped. antero-lateral teeth four, stout, conical, pointed, and so embossed with granules about their sides that their margins have more or less the appearance of being denticulate. there is a spiny tubercle in the sinus between the second and third teeth, also a spine near the margin of the branchial region just back of the last antero-lateral tooth, which forms the angle of the carapace. the basal joint of the antenna is armed with four spines and teeth. there is a long slender spine at the anterior outer angle, and farther back a broad triangular tooth which forms part of the orbital margin. at the base of the movable joint is a prominent spiniform tooth, visible in a dorsal view. just below the sinus between the two marginal teeth is another small tooth, which, with the one at the base of the 264 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. movable joint, forms part of a row of six teeth ending at the subhepatic region. there are several irregular rows of tubercles beneath the lateral teeth of the carapace. chelipeds slightly longer than the first pair of ambulatory legs. merus with spinous margins, a ridge of strong spines above, and tubercles on the inner and outer faces. carpus covered with tubercles, some of which are spiny. hands smooth, upper and lower margins nearly parallel. fingers finely dentate, showing when closed only a slight hiatus at the base. ambulatory legs pubescent, with the meral and carpal joints flattened above, both margins of the upper faces with strong spines. lower margins with a few small spines. propodal joints with a few weak spines above. length, from base of horns, 15.5 millimeters; width, exclusive of spines, 13.5 millimeters; proportion, 1: .871. indian key, fla.; ii. hemphill, 1885 (15823); one immature female. a somewhat worn specimen of a male not differing essentially from the above description was collected at rio formoso, pernambuco, brazil, by r. rathbun, 1875-1877. mithrax aculeatus (herbst). cancer aculeatus herbst, natur. der krabben und krebse, 1, p. 248, pl. xix, fig. 101, 1782. mithrax aculeatus milne edwards, mag. de zool., ii, 1832; hist. nat. des crust., 1, p. 321, 1834; (atlas du règne animal de cuvier, pl. 27, fig. 1). white, cat. brit. mus. crust., p. 6, 1847. stimpson, amer. jour. sci., xxix, p. 132, 1860; ann. lye. nat. hist. n. y., vii, p. 188, 1860. (desbonne and schramm, crust. de la guadeloupe, p. 5, 1867.) martens, arch. fiir natur., xxxviii, p. 81, 1872. a. milne edwards, miss. sci, au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 102, 1875. miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 86, 1886. aurivillius, k. sv. vet.-akad. hand., bd. 23, 1, p. 56, 1889. there are no specimens of large size in the collection. in individuals one and a half inches long the rostrum is no longer than in specimens of verrucosus of the same size. 2 record of specimens examined, florida: indian key (14081), nights key (14073), big pine key (14030); h. hemphill. key west; h. hemphill (13820), (union college coll.). key west harbor; dr. e. palmer (15810). bahamas: andros island, young, fragmentary (stearns coll.); abaco, v. s. fish commission, 1886 (16301). jamaica; t. h. morgan, 1891. st. thomas, u. s. fish comunission, 1884 (16191). san domingo; w. m. gabb, 1878 (4171). fernando de noronha, brazil; r. rathbun, 1875–77. this species has also been recorded from vera cruz. vol265 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvmithrax verrucosus milne edwards, milne edwards, mag. de zool., ii, pl. iv, 1832; hist. nat. des crust., 1, p. 321, 1834. white, cat. brit. mus. crust., p. 6, 1817. gibbes, proc. amer. assoc. adv. sci., iii, p. 172, 1850. guérin, in la sagra's hist. of cuba, p. 10, 1856. stimpson, amer. jour. sci., xxix, p. 132, 1860; ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vii, p. 187, 1860. (desbonne and schramm, crust. de la guadeloupe, p. 6, 1867.) martens, arch. fiir natur., xxxviii, p. 82, 1872. a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 102, 1875. miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 86, 1886. aurivillius, k. sv. vet.-akad. hand., bd. 23, 1, p. 57, 1889. pocock, jour. linn. soc. london, xx, p. 507, 1890. record of specimens examined. big pine key, florida, h. hemphill (15075). swan island, caribbean sea; c. h. townsend, 1887 (15074). previously recorded from the islands of fernando de noronha and “st. barthelemy." mithrax hispidus (herbst). 1. cancerhispidus herbst, natur. der krabben und krebse, 1, p. 247, pl. xviii, fig. 100, 1782. maia spini-cincta lamarck, hist. nat. des anim, sans vert., v, p. 241, 1818; 2d ed., p. 431, 1838. say, jour. acad. nat. sci. phila., 1, p. 158, 1818. mithrax spinicinctus (desmarest, cousid. sur les crust., p. 150, pl. xxiii, figs. 1,2). guérin, iconographie du règne animal, crust., pl. vii, fig. 5, 1828. white, cat. brit. mus. crust., p. 7, 1817. mithrar nispidus milne edwards, mag. de zool., ii, 1832; hist. nat. des crust., 1, p. 322, 1834. de kay, crust. of new york, p. 4, 1814. white, op. cit., p. 6. gibbes, proc. amer. assoc. adv. sci., iii, p. 172, 1850. saussure, mém. soc. phys. de genève, xiv, p. 423, 1857. stimpson, amer. jour. sci., xxix, p. 132, 1860; ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vii, p. 188, 1860; bull. mus. comp. zool., 11, p. 116, 1870. (desbonne and schramm, crust. de la guadeloupe, p. 7, 1867.) smith, trans. conn. acad., ii, pp. 2, 32, 1869; amer. jour. sci., xlviii, p. 389, 1869. martens, arch. für natur., xxxviii, p. 82, 1872. (schramm, rev, et mag. de zool., (3), ii, p. 342, 1874.) a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 39, pl. xxi, fig. 1, 1875. kingsley, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., xxxi, p. 390, 1879. miers, jour. linn. soc. london, xiv, p. 667, pl. xiii, figs. 7, 8, 1879; challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 86, 1886. mithrax pleuracanthus stimpson, loc. cit. a. milne edwards, op. cit., p. 95, pl. xx, fig. 3. kingsley, loc. cit. aurivillius, k. sv. vet.-akad. hand., bd. 23, 1, p. 58, 1889. mithrax hispidus var. pleuracanthus miers, op. cit., p. 88. a comparison of a number of small specimens from many different localities leads me to believe that the pleuracanthus of stimpson is not even a variety, but merely the young form of hispidus. as a rule, the smaller the specimen the more tuberculous the carapace, the sharper the teeth or spines of the orbit and basal joint of the antenna, and the less evident are the punctures of the carapace. the specimens of medium size show characters intermediate between these and the large or typical hispidus, so that there seems to be no line where a separation can be made into two distinct varieties. in many young specimens all the antero-lateral teeth except the last have a tendency to 266 crabs of the family periceride-rathbun. become blunt, and each tooth consists of a central spine or tooth with a cluster of tubercles surrounding it. one female, however, measuring 20 millimeters wide between the tips of the spines, has teeth even more slender than in large specimens. the carpus in small specimens is more or less tuberculous. length of largest specimen from tip of rostrum, 86.5 millimeters; width, including spines, 114 millimeters. record of specimens examined. off cape fear, north carolina, 14 to 17 fathoms, stations 2616 to 2619; u. s. fish commission, 1885. blackfish banks, off charleston, south carolina; r. e. earll, u.s. fish commission, 1880 (5760). florida: lower matacumba key; h. hemphill (15077). indian key; h. hemphill (15076). florida bay (union college coll.). key vaccas; h. hemphill (15806). between salt pond key and stock island; dr. e. palmer (9282). four miles northeast of key west; dr. e. palmer (9253). key west (union college coll.). eastern dry rocks; dr. e. palmer (13853). marco; h. hemphill (6983). oyster bay; h. hemphill (15079). sar:isota islands; walker and stearns (16050). sarasota bay (union college coll.). off northwest end st. martins reef; lieut. j. f. moser, u. s. navy, u. s. s. c. s. bache, 1887 (13011). lat. 28° 56' n., long. 82° 55' w., 19 feet; lieut. j. f. moser (13063). cedar keys; lient. j. f. moser (12174). pensacola; s. stearns, 1882 (1501), from stomach of fish (9372). coast of southern united states; u.s. fish commission, 1880 (5780). gulf of mexico; u.s. fish commission, 1885: lat. 26° n., long. 82° 57' 30'' w., 24 fathoms, station 2413 (15080). lat. 28° 47' 30'' n., long. 81° 37' w., 24 fathoms, station 2407 (15805). bermudas; g. brown goode, 1876-1877. bahamas: andros island (stearns coll.); abaco, u. s. f'ish commission, 1886 (16302). jamaica; t. h. morgan, 1891. west indies; u. s. fish commission, 1881: st. thomas (7651); curaçao (16192); old prov (16193). brazil; r. rathbun, hartt explorations, 1875–1877. (all the branchial spines long and sharp): bom fim, bahia, on stone reef. plataforma, bahia. mithrax sinensis, sp. nov. plate xxxviii, fig. 2. carapace ovate, a little longer than broad, covered with tubercles. a deep sulcus divides the hepatic and branchial from the gastric and cardiac regions. front shaped much as in hispidus; rostrum consisting of two tuber. culiform and granulate teeth separated by a rounded sinus. præocular angle obtuse; margin denticulate. orbit with six teeth besides those of the antennal joint: three on the superior margin, one at the external angle, and two on the inferior margin. vol267 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvantero-lateral spines four, tuberculiform, irregular in shape; the first most distinct and surrounded by the tubercles of the hepatio region; the second and third each having on its anterior margin a spiny tubercle almost as large as the tooth itself. last tooth single. basal joint of the antenna with a spiniform tooth at the antero-external angle visible from above, and another farther back almost as large; also a smaller tooth at the insertion of the movable joint. chelipeds moderate. merus tuberculous, armed with six spines on the outer margin, a row of smaller spines on either side of the outer margin, and three spines on the inner margin. carpus strongly tuberculous. hand slightly compressed, smooth, unarmed, showing scat. tered punctures under the lens. fingers stout, prehensile edges crenulate, with a slight hiatus at the base. ambulatory legs with fine scattered hairs; meral joints having two longitudinal rows of spines above; carpal and propodal joints with short spines above; dactyls spiny below. color in alcohol reddish; hands of a deeper hue. entire length, 9.2 millimeters; width, including tubercles, 8.9 millimeters, gulf of california, lat. 25° 02' 15'' n., long. 1100 43' 30" w., 17 fathoms, sand, shells, station 3002, u. s. fish commission, 1889 (16065). in general appearance this species most nearly resembles hispidus; the prominences of the dorsal surface, the shape of the front and præorbital tooth, are very much as in specimens of hispidus of the same size. in sinensis, however, the last antero-lateral tooth is not long and conspicuous as in hispidus, and the lateral angle of the carapace is nct well defined. mithrax bahamensis, sp. nov. plate xxxviii, fig. 1. carapace longer than broad, oblong-ovate, covered with a close, tough pubescence. there is a tuft of hair near the inner angle of the branchial region; another behind each gastric lobe; and a line of hair extending from the rostrum back upon the gastric. gastric region elevated. tubercles of the surface not prominent. there are two on the frontal region, one on each gastric lobe, five or six on each branchial region besides the marginal tubercles, and four in a curve concave to the posterior margin. front deflexed, composed of two sharp incurved horns; interspace broadly u-shaped. antero-lateral margin with four protuberances: one on the hepatic region, a spiny tubercle; three on the branchial region of which the first two are tubercles, the last a small spine. præocular spine acute, conspicuous; postocular subacute; two intervening teeth, small. there is a small suborbital tooth besides those of the basal joint. 268 (rabs of the family periceride-rathibun. merus joint of exterior maxillipeds deeply out at the antero-internal angle. basal joint of antenna with a small tooth at the base of the movable joint. spine at external angle, long, more advanced than the præocular spine, incurved. there is a smaller spine farther back on the margin. remaining joints long with long hairs on the margins. there are two subhepatic tubercles, and an irregular longitudinal line of four granules on the vertical face of the subbranchial region. chelipeds a little longer than the first pair of ambulatory legs, pubescent like the carapace. upper margin of merus tuberculous. carpus with one or two faint tubercles on the posterior end of the upper surface. manus in the male with upper and lower margins almost parallel, slightly contracted near the fingers. there is a small tooth at the base of the dactyl. fingers gaping at base. ambulatory legs with the joints flattened above; margins beset with long hairs. color in alcohol, reddish brown; chelipeds lighter. fingers pinkish red for their proximal half; tips white. length of largest specimen 18.8; greatest width, 16.5; width at postocular teeth, 11.2 millimeters. found with mithrax cinctimanus in sponges at andros island, bahamas, by mr. frederick stearns, 1888. this species in its shape and antero-lateral teeth most nearly resemles cinctimanus, but it is more oblong, more convex, and is also readily distinguished by the absence of sulci on the branchial regions, and by the flattened joints of the ambulatory legs. mithrax cinctimanus (stimpson). mithraculus cinctimanus stimpson, amer. jour sci., xxix, p. 132, 1860; ann. lye. nat. hist. n. y., vii, 1). 186, 1860. a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, i, p. 112, pl. xxii, fig. 3, 1875. kingsley, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., xxxi, p. 389, 1879. aurivillins, k. sv. vet.-akad. hand., bd. 23, 1, p. 59, 1889. mithrax affinis (desbonne and scramm, crust. de la guadeloupe, p. 10, 1867). mithrax cinctimanus miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 87, 1886. record of specimens examined: florida: cape florida (15084), carysport reef (13897), rodriguez creek (14429), salt pond key (14439), eastern dry rocks (14437); dr. e. palmer. harbor key and plantation key (union college coll.). key west; h. hemphill (13830), (union college coll.), u. s. fish comm. (16194). andros island, bahamas (siearns coll.). jamaica; t. h. morgan, 1891. st. thomas and curaçao; u. s. fish comm., 1884 (16195, 16196). found also in the gulf mexico. mithrax braziliensis, sp. nov. plate xxxvi, fig. 2. carapace a little broader than long, ovate, slightly convex, without sulci. regions faintly defined. there is a short line of indistinct flattened tubercles extending back from each rostral lobe, and two or three vol269 1892. xv proceedings of the national museum. ] . tubercles and a few granules near the lateral border of each branchial region. the surface above the posterior margin is covered with scattered granules. rostral lobes very short, truncate, minutely crenulate; interspace broadly v-shaped. upper orbital border with two small teeth. antero-lateral spines four; the hepatic spine is subacute, with tubercles on its anterior border; branchial spines sharp, procurved, with a small spine anterior to the first and second. on the postero-lateral border just back of the lateral angle is a minute depressed spine. basal antennal joint with three teeth visible from above; the tooth at the insertion of the next joint subacute; the one at the external angle, truncate; posterior tooth acute. two additional teeth on the suborbital border; that next the postocular tooth acute; the other rounded, serrulate. subhepatic and subbranchial regions tuberculate. chelipeds longer and larger than the next pair of legs. merus with a row of five sharp spines above, two tubercles on the lower inner border, a triangle of three spines on the inner face, two spines on the upper anterior margin, and two on the outer surface near the anterior border. carpus with two or three tubercles near the merus and two on the inner margin. hand smooth, unarmed, with scattered punctures. fingers slightly gaping at base with a tooth on the dactyl in both sexes. ambulatory legs with meral and carpal joints spinose above; propodal joints and dactyls unarmed. carapace and ambulatory legs finely pubescent. in the largest specimen from pernambuco the carapace is denuded, probably accidentally, and the surface under the lens presents a cellular structure with scattered punctures. alcoholic specimens show traces of crimson. length of carapace, 15 millimeters; width without spines, 15.5 millimeters. mar grande, bay of bahia, one specimen; rio formoso, pernambuco, five specimens; collected by r. rathbun, 1875–1877. this species, in the characters of the front, lateral spines, and legs, is very much like forceps, from which it is at once separated by the comparative smoothness of the carapace. the sharp tooth on the basal antennal joint, forming part of the suborbital border, is conspicuous in this species. the præorbital angle is not advanced as in forceps, and the legs are less hairy. mithrax forceps (a. milne edwards). mithraculus forceps a. milne edwards, miss. sci. an mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 109, pl. xxiii, fig. 1, 1875. mithraculus hirsutipes kingsley, proc. boston soc. nat. hist., xx, p. 147, 1879; proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., xxxi, p. 389, pl. xiv, fig. 1, 1879. heilprin, op. cit., p. 318, 1888. mithrar forceps miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, pp. 87, 88, 1886. mithrax hirsutipes miers, op. cit., p. 87. a large series of specimens from nineteen different localities shows this species to be extremely variable. the small specimens show marked 270 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. variations from those described by a. milne edwards, and some of them are identical with kingsley's mithraculus hirsutipes. the specimens intermediate in size present every gradation in character between the large and small and prove the two extremes to be variations of one species. carapace subtriangular, comparatively smootlı, the large specimens with scattered punctures, the small ones deeply sculptured. in large specimens three grooves run diagonally backward from near the first, second, and fourth sinuses of the antero-lateral margin to the cardiac region. there are six or seven depressed tubercles along the margin and on the posterior part of the branchial region, two or three along the outer margin of the hepatic region, and two pairs on the frontal region directly behind the lobes of the rostrum. in small specimens the grooves are deeper and the tubercles more prominent; the outline of the mesogastric region is well defined; and there are depressed tubercles on the anterior part of the gastric region. lobes of rostrum short, broad; median notch broadly v-shaped. orbital angles acute, internal angle prominent. antero-lateral teeth four, acute, slender, separated by broad rounded sinuses, the first the shortest and in large specimens subacute, the remainder sharp and directed forward, the second one usually the longest and largest. in some specimens there is a small tifth tooth on the postero-lateral margin just back of the fourth tooth. in large specimens, chelipeds proportionately larger, strong and smooth. merus with five spines or spiniform tubercles on the upper margin, two on the inner face just below the margin. on the inner margin are two prominent teeth, the anterior one often more or less flattened, broad and obtuse, the posterior one sometimes with a lobe on its posterior margin. carpus rounded, smooth, sometimes unarmed, often with a short spine or tubercle on the inner margin, anterior to the inner angle, which is often produced in a less conspicuous prominence, giving the carpus the appearance of being double-toothed. hands from the articulation to the tips of the fingers much longer than the carapace, broad, compressed; upper and lower margins nearly parallel. dactyl long, arched, with a tooth one-third the distance from the proximal end. fingers widely gaping when closed. the fingers are exceedingly variable. sometimes there are from one to three small irregular teeth or tubercles on the pollex half way to the end. sometimes there are a few minute teeth on the dactyl instead of one large one. in some of the females and smaller males the dactyl is little arched and the gape is slight. ambulatory legs spiny and hairy above, propodal joints slightly hairy below, dactyls equally hairy above and below. it is the rule that the smaller the specimen the more prominent the protuberances, the sharper the teeth and spines. small specimens have the meral spines acuminate and occasionally two tubercles on the carpus near its posterior margin. vol271 1892] proceedings of the national museum. 2., . . xvthis species approaches most nearly to sculptus, but the anterolateral teeth are sharp instead of tuberculous, the carapace is invariably wider, the ambulatory legs are less hairy, the color is cinnamon, while in sculptus it is sage green or bluish green. while the configuration of the carapace is very variable, in no case is the posterior half deeply sculptured and the anterior half smooth, as is often the case in sculptus. of the three ridges running from the antero-lateral margin to the cardiac region, the two anterior ones are continuous and not broken up by transverse grooves as in sculptus. length of largest specimen, measuring between the rostral lobes, 30.5; width, without spines, 35 millimeters. length of three large males, 25; width, 29 millimeters. record of specimens examined. off cape fear, north carolina, 15 to 17 fathoms, stations 2616, 2618, 2623; u. s. fish commission, 1885. south carolina; r. e. earll, u. s. fish commission, 1880: near charleston harbor, 1 to 12 fathoms (3159). fifteen miles southeast of charleston (5062, 5823). florida : cape florida (13928), rodriguez creek (16048), eastern dry rocks (16019); dr. e. palmer. indian key (16046), key west (16047); h. hemphill. sarasota bay (union college coll.). coast of southern states; u. s. fish commission, 1880 (16061). bermudas; g. brown goode, 1876–77. nassau, bahamas; u. s. fish commission, 1886; one, young (11412). west indies; u. s. fish commission, 1884: st. thomas (16197); curaçao (16198); old providence (9130). brazil; r. rathbun, hartt explorations, 1875-'77: rio formoso, pernambuco; plataforma, bahia. this species is found also in guiana. mithrax sculptus (lamarck). maia sculpta lamarck, hist. anim, sans vert., v, p. 242, 1818; 2d ed., p. 436, 1838. mithrax sculptur milne edwards, mag. de zool., 11, pl. v, 1832; hist. nat. des crust., 1, p. 322, 1831. gibbes, proc. amer. assoc. adv. sci., iii, p. 172, 1850. guérin, la sagra's hist. of cuba, p. 11, 1856. martens, archiv für natur., xxxviii, p. 83, 1872. miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 87, 1886. mithraculus coronatus white, cat. brit. mus. crust., p. 7, 1847 (partim). mithrax minutus saussure, mém. soc. phys. de genève, xiv, p. 425, pl. 1, fig. 1, 1857. (desbonne and schramm, crust. de la guadeloupe, p. 10, 1867.) mithraculus sculptus stimpson, amer. jour. sci., xxix, p. 132, 1860; ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vii, p. 186, 1860; bull. mus. comp. zool., ii, p. 117, 1870. a. milne edwards, miss. sci, au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 105, pl. xx, fig. 2, 1875. miers, jour. linn. soc. london, xiv, p. 667, 1879. kingsley, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., xxxi, p. 389, 1879. aurivillius, k. sv. vet.-akad. hand., bd. 23, 1, p. 58, 1889. kendall, bull. u. s. fish commission, ix, p. 303, 1889 (1891). record of specimens examined. florida: cape florida (13892), cipsar's creek (12411), rodriguez creek (13900), dry tortugas (13891); dr. e. palmer, 1884. key largo (14050), indian key 272 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. (14058), key vaccas (15087), nights key (15085), big pine key (15086); h. hemphill. key west; h. hemphill (13816), (union college coll.), u.s. fish commission, 1884 (16303). bird key; u. s. fish commission, 1889 (15208). bahamas: andros island (stearns coll.); new providence (16310), abaco (16304); u.s. fish commission, 1886. jamaica; u. s. fish commission, 1884 (15821); t. h. morgan, 1891. swan island; c. h. townsend, 1887 (13981). barbados; u. s. eclipse expedition, 1890 (14885). st. thomas (7650), old providence (16199); u. s. fish commission, 1884. previously recorded from fernando noronha, 7 to 20 fathoms. mithrax coronatus (herbst). > cancer coronatus herbst, natur. der krabben und krebse, 1, p. 184, pl. xi, fig. 63, 1782. cancer coryphe herbst, op. cit., iii , p. 8, 1801. mithraculus coronatus white, cat. brit. mus. crust., p. 7, 1817 (partim). stimpson, amer. jour. sci., xxix, p. 132, 1860; ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vii, p. 186, 1860; bull. mus. comp. zool., ii, p. 118, 1870. smith, trans. conn. acad., ii, pp. 1, 32, 1869; amer. jour. sci., xlviii, p. 389, 1869. a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 106, pl. xx, fig. 1, 1875. kingsley, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., xxxi, p. 388, 1879. aurivillius, k. sv. vet.-akad. hand., bd. 23, 1, p. 58, pl. iii, fig. 8, 1889. mithrax sculptu8 (desbonne and schramm, crust. de la guadeloupe, p. 9, 1867). mithrax coronatus miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, pp. 87, 89, 1886. pocock, jour. linn. soc. london, xx, p. 510, 1890 record of specimens examined. florida: indian key, h. hemphill (15083); key west, h. hemphill (15082), (union college coll.). abaco, bahamas; u. s. fish commission, 1886 (11374). jamaica; t. h. morgan, 1891. st. thomas; u. s. fish commission, 1884 (16200); hartt explorations, 1870. brazil; r. rathbun, hartt explorations, 1875–77: pernambuco; rio formoso, pernambuco; mar grande, bahia; fernando de noronha. found also in central america and in the west indies to 30 fathoms. mithrax denticulatus bell. mithrax denticulatus bell, trans. zool. soc. london, ii, p. 54, pl. xi, fig. 2, 1836. miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 87, 1886. mithraculus denticulatus white, cat. brit. mus. crust., p. 7, 1847. stimpson, amer. jour. sci., xxix, p. 132, 1860; ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vii, p. 187, 1860. a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 109, pl. xxiii, fig. 4, 1875. entire length of carapace in largest male, 13; width, including spines, 19 millimeters; in another male, length, 12; width, 16.8 millimeters. panama; capt. john dow (3209). this species ranges from california to ecuador, vol273 1892proceedings of the national museum. 2. . ] . xvmithrax nodosus bell. mithras nodosus bell, trans. zool. soc. london, 11, p. 53, pl. xi, fig. 1, 1836. miers, (hallenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 87, 1886. mithraculus nodosus white, cat. brit. mus. crust., p. 7, 1847. stimpson, amer. jour. sci., xxix, p. 132, 1860. a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 108, pl. xxiii, fig. 5, 1875. a single soft-shell specimen of a male without chelipeds was collected at the chatham island, galapagos archij elago, by dr. w. h. jones, u.s. navy (13873). previously recorded from chili. mithrax cristulipes (stimpson). teleophrys cristulipes stimpson, ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vii, p. 190, pl. 11, fig. 2, 1860; amer. jour. sci., xxix, p. 133, 1860. a. milne edwards, miss. sci.itu mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 113, pl. xix, fig. 2, 1875. mithrax (teleophrys) cristulipes miers, jour. lim. soc. london, xiv, 1". 667, 1879. pocock, op. cit., xx, p. 508, 1890. ? mithrax cristulipes miers, challenger rept., zool., xvii, p. 87, 1886. two specimens, i ale and female, were collected at rio formoso, pernambuco, brazil, by r. rathbun during the hartt explorations of 1875–77. the types from cape st. lucas, said to be in the smithsonian institution, are not extant. california and the bay of panama are also given as localities for this species. mr. r. i. pocock, loc. cit., gives a detailed description of a specimen found at fernando de noronha, which he doubtfully refers to this species. the male from pernumbuco agrees with his specimen in nearly every detail. the tubercles of the antero-lateral margin are very small. the merus of the cheliped is furnished below with three small teeth. there is one minute tooth on the middle of the pollex. the teeth of all the legs are much smaller and less conspicuous than in the figures of cristulipes. the female has smaller chelipeds, fingers less gaping, two small teeth on the pollex in the gape, and no teeth on the lower margin of the merus. as this museum possesses no specimens from the west coast of america, and as the individuals at hand are more or less imperfect, the writer is unwilling to designate them as a distinct species. mithrax sp., miers. op. cit., p. 89, pl. x, fig. 3. an immature female collected off cape catoche, yucatan, lat. 22° 18' n., long. 870 04' w., 24 fathoms, station 2365, by the u. s. fish c'ommission, 1885 (16052), apparently belongs to the same species as the young specimens described by miers from fernando noronha, 7 to 20 fathoms. as our specimen is no larger than those collected by the challenger, and has only one cheliped and one of the first pair of ambulatory legs, i prefer not to give it a name, hoping that at some future time more perfect specimens may be obtained. proc. n. m. 92—-18 274 crabs of the family pericerida-rathbun. it agrees with the specimens described in all essential particulars. the tubercles of the frontal region are, however, not apparent. the tooth at the antero-external angle of the basal joint is sharp and curved. the ambulatory leg is bordered above and below by a thin lamellate crest cut into teeth, which are arranged almost as in the figure cited. this (rest is most noticeable on the meral joint. the teeth of the meruis of the cheliped are also thin, and partake of the same character. thoe puella stimpson. thoe puella stimpson, ann. lyc. nat. hist. n. y., vii, p. 178, 1860. a. milne edwards, miss. sci. au mexique, pt. 5, 1, p. 122, pl. xix, fig. 3, 1873. pisa latipes (desbonne anıl schramm, crust. de la guadeloupe, p. 19, 1867.) the length of the largest specimen, a female, is 11.7 millimeters; width, 10 millimeters. the merus of the last pair of ambulatory legs is dilated outwardly, but to a less extent than in the first three pairs. record of specimens examined. key west, florida; h. hempbill, 1885 (14142), (l'nion college ('oll.). jamaica; t. h. morgan, 1891. st. thomas; u. s. fish commission, 1881 (16201). other localities for this species are tortugas and guadaloupe. list of species of periceridæ not represented in the collection of the u. s. national museum. west indian region. lissa bicarinata aurivillius .st. barthelemy leptopisa setirostris stimpson tortugas sisyphus compressus desbonne and schramm. ..guadaloupe pericera spinosissima saussure west indies macrocoloma diacantha (a. m. edwaris). majores, 12 fathonis larigata (stimpson).... st. thomas; guadaloupe othonia quadridentala miers (=! quinquedentata aurivillius; st. thomas). west indies larigata a. m. edwards west indies mithrar cornutus saussure .. west indies; florida straits to 589 fathoms; also bahia depres8u8 a. m. edwards guadaloupe; woman key laprimanus desbonne and schramm .guadaloupo leucomelas desbonne and schramm . ..guadaloupe nudus a. m. edwards.. guadaloupe (nemausa) rostrata a. m. edwarıls..gulf of mexico; caribbean sea to 163 fathoms. holderi stimpson. tortugas ruber (stimpson). .cuba east coast of south america, libinia brasiliensis (heller) coccinea dana... gibbosa a. m. edwards spinosa m. edwards ferreira capello macrocoloma concara miers. brazil east coast of patagonia, 30 fathoms brazil brazil; patagonia; also chili ? brazil bahia; fernando noronha, 7 to 20 fathous vol275 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvwest coast of north america. anaptychus cornutus stimpson... .gulf of california microphrys depressa (lockington). lower california error kingsley .lower california platysoma (stimpson) lower california tumidus (lockington). san diego, cal.; lower california (=perinea) tumidus (dana) sandwich islands macrocæloma heptacantha (bell).. puerto portrero, central america rillosa (bell)... california; cape st. lucas; also ecuador othonia picteti saussure mazatlan the sulcata stimpson.... .cape st. lucas; mazatlan; gulf of california mithrax areolatus lockington. gulf of california armatus saussure mazatlan pygmæus bell.... panama, 10 fathoms triangulatus lockington. .gulf of california trigonopus cano. panama tuberculatus stimpson... cape st. lucas; california; mazatlan; also st. barthelemy (aurivillius). west coast of south america. libinia gracilipes miers... coast of chiloe, 45 fathoms smithii miers coast of chiloe, 245 fathons rostrata bell peru subspinosa streets. ..chili pericera orata bell..... galapagos islands microphrys aculeatus (bell). .galapagos islands weddellii m. edwards.. peru; also west indies othonia quinquedentata bell..... .galapagos islands; panama serdentata bell.... galapagos islands; also cape st. lucas thoe erosa bell.... .galapagos islands; panama mithrax rostratus bell.. .? west coast of south america ursus bell. galapagos islands; chili tumidus cano .payta, peru east indian region. pyria pubescens dana.. .fiji or tongatabu cyphocarcinus minutus a. milne edwards.. .madagascar podohuenia erythraa cano .red sea tiarinia elegans haswell... australia mammillata haswell australia spinosirostris haswell. cape grenville; torres straits angusta dana... sooloo harbor gracilis dana sooloo sea terrucosa heller... nicobar island depressa stimpson .ousima spinigera stimpson. ousima; tanegasima tiarata (adams and white) philippine islands setigera (adams and white) philippine islands tylocarcinus styx (herbst) fiji; mauritius; jedda; etc. gracilis miers. eastern seas macrocæloma trigona (dana) fiji entomonyx spinosus miers. western indian ocean, 19 to 24 fathoms cyclocæloma tuberculatum miers ... amboina parathoe rotundata miers... fiji; port curtis; suez gulf locality unknown. paramaya dehaanii white. 276 crabs of the family periceride-rathbun. extract from the inpublished report of dr. william stimpson, on the crustacea of the north pacific exploring expedition, 1853 to 1856. tiarinia cornigera (latreille). our specimens differ from those describeul and figured by dana in having, at the summit of the intestinal region, one very large and two inconspicuous tubercles, instead of three of equal size. they are also much larger, some being nearly 2 inches in length. they are found on the reefs at low-water mark, and were collected at the amakirrima islands by the officers of the steamer john hancock, and by myself at loo choo and ousima. tiarinia depressa stimpson. (plate xl, fig. 1.) carapax in shape much like that of t. cornigera; proportion of breadth to length, 1:1.5; form depressed; upper surface with tubercles less numerous and more flattened than in the cornigerai. there is a small marginal spine on each side at the branchial region, above which an are of four depressed warts extends around the side; the first (posterior) one largest and placed a little behind the level of the trituberculated cardiac protuberance; the fourth and smallest is near the anterior extremity of the branchial region, with a still smaller one before it. a submarginal channel of some depth passes around behind, above the intestinal region. posteriorly, at the upper or intestinal margin, there is a subtriangular median tubercle, with a smaller trilobate one on either side of it; on the lower margin there are four small tubercles. on the stomachal region there are three warts in the median line, the anterior one smallest and placell some little distance before the others, with a wart on either side of it; behind the posterior one there are two warts placed close together. the ambulatory feet are depressed, smooth above, their edges not spinulose, but sparsely fringed with stout clavate seta. only one specimen of this species was taken, a sterile female, the dimensions of which are: length, 0.77; breadth, 0.52; length of a foot of second pair, 0.67 inch. in the characters of the rostrum, orbits, etc., our species much resembles t. cornigera. the tooth at the external angle of the basal joint of the external antenne is, however, less prominent than in that species, and the rostrum curves upward at its slender tip, where the horns are slightly divergent. it is more depressed than t. tiarata; the forks of the rostrum are less divergent; the præorbital spine less prominent, and is wanting in the wooly hairs characteristic of that species. the specimen was taken at the island of ousima, which forms one of the chain connecting southern japan with loo choo, vol277 1892proceedings of the national museum. 19. . ] . xvtiarinia spinigera stimpson. (plate xi., fig. 2.) carapax somewhat elongated, the greatest breadth, excluding spines, being considerably less than the postorbital length. upper surface not very convex except at the well-developed gastric region; cardiac region, with three tubercles at the summit, placed as usual in the genus; on either side of this on the branchial regions there are three sharp, erect spines, the outer one being lateral a little larger than the others, and somewhat inclined ontward. there is a single longislı clavate seta at the summit of each spine. upper posterior margin with seven small spines, the middle one largest at the summit of the intestinal region; lower posterior margin also with seven spines, but of much smaller size. the sides of the carapax, including the hepatic regions, and the posterior half of the upper surface are covered with small, sharp tubercles occupying the interspaces between the spines and larger warts; while the gastric region and parts adjacent on either side, although irregularly protuberant, are nearly smooth. rostrum sharp and very slender, in length equaling two-thirds of the interorbital width; horns contiguous throughout their length. præorbital tooth prominently salient, very slender and sharp, curved upward; a single closed fissure separates it from the somewhat prominent postorbital tooth. the basal article of the external antennäe is broader than long; its antero-exterior tooth lies close beneath the præorbital tooth and helps to form the deep tubular orbit, which incloses the eye as in a sheath. the edges of the rostrum and of the external antennæ are, as usual, ciliated; and there are some few crispate setä on the prominent parts of the carapax anteriorly and at the sides. in the feet of the anterior pair the carpus and meros are sparingly spinulose above. the ambulatory feet are almost smooth; those of the first pair in the female are scarcely as long as the carapax. the abdomen in the female is tomentose. two specimens only of this species were found, both females. the dimensions of the largest are: length of the carapax, 0.79; breadth, including spines, 0.57 inch. this species occurred at the islands ousima and tanegasima, of the southern japanese chain. perinea tumida * dana. crust. u. s. expl. exped., 1, p. 114, pl. iv, fig. 1, 1852. our specimens agree well with those of dana, except that in the male the pincers are much smaller and less gaping, while the size of the carapax is the same; this may, however, result from a difference of age and development. taken from branches of madrepora found below low-water mark near hila, island of hawaii. * now included in the genus microphrys. 1 1 u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxviii libinia setosa lockington, o, * about u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxix ماده libinia macdonaldi, sp. nov., d. about it u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxx libinia spinimana, sp. nov., o, x about 1. u: s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxxi xx no. 432. 1 x no. 431. 2 3 3 fig. 1. libinia dubia milnė edwards, * of small male. fig. 2. libinia emarginata leach, x of small male. fig. 3. libinia mexicana, sp. nov., young , 31. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxxii itibitzua 1 1 2 fig. 1. pericera triangulata, sp. nov., young 4, x 29. fig. 2. pericera contigua, sp. nov., young f, x 14. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxxii girin 1 2 fig. 1. macrocoloma tenuirostra, sp. nov., d, x 24. fig. 2. macrocæloma camptocera (stimpson), d', x about 19. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxxiv 1 2 ) 3 fig. 1. othonia aculeata (gibbes), o, 11. fig. 2. othonia aculeata, appendages of male abdomen, * 4. fig. 3. othonia lherminieri schramm u, s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl xxxv 1 3 fig. 1. othoniu carolinensis sp. nov., o'. x 27. fig. 2. othonia carolinensis, appendages of male abdomen, x about 5. fig. 3. othonia nicholsi, sp. nov., young 6, +4}. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxxvi 1 fig. 1. othonia rotunda, sp. nov., , about 2. fig. 2. mithrax braziliensis, sp. nov., d, x 14. u.s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxxvii 1 7達 ​red 2 fig. 1. mithrax (nemausa) acuticornis (stimpson). ď, x 23. fig. 2. mithrax hemphilli, sp. nov., young f, * 24. 1 u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxxviii c 1 «... amphibetler בילוייל ויין موتور 2 fig. 1. mithrax bahamensis, sp. nov., , x 14. fig. 2. mithrax sinensis, sp. nov., young , x 4. u.s. national museum 17 proceedings, vol. xv pl. xxxix mithrax pilosus, sp. nov., o, x 14. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xl and katalonheiten 1 fig. 1. tiarinia depressa stimpson, ?, x 21. fig. 2. tiarinia spinigera stimpson, ?, x 24. ( the evolution of house-building among the navajo indians. by r. w. shufeldt, m. d. (with plates xli-xliii.) from november, 1884, until the early spring of 1889 the writer lived at fort wingate, a military station in northwestern new mexico. during the earlier part of this period there was always to be found a floating population of navajos living on the outskirts of the fort. including men, women, and children, these varied in number from twenty to a hundred or more, depending upon the time of the year. a few of them, however, remained the year round, and these, as well as the others, furnished ample material for the ethnological study of this interesting tribe. accounts of many of their simple industries, of their arts and craniology have already been published by the writer, and it is now intended to give the result of my studies concerning their methods of architecture, and the influence which civilization has had upon the mind of these indians-a contact which has led them to improve their plans of house-building, and has had the effect of bringing about an evolution of the same. during the early part of the summer of 1885 the indians who remained all the year round in the neighborhood of fort wingate took up their abode on the summit of a barren, rounded hill, situated near the officers' quarters. here i watched them with increasing interest, as they constructed their first permanent dwellings in this part of the country. men and women entered upon this labor, though the men did the heavier part of the work. having selected a site, more or less circular with a diameter something like 15 to 20 feet, they would clear it of all stone and rubbish, and often to some extent excavate it, or else improve a natural excavation which existed. next some twenty or thirty logs, usually of pine, are brought, which vary in size from one as big as a bean pole to a piece of timber averaging 8 or 9 inches in diameter. often these are gathered in the forest, but occasionally the indians cut them dowo, using some old condemned ax they have found in the refuse of the post. branches are also brought, and a thick, clayishi mud is mixed close by the nearest running stream or spring of water. all being ready, several of the builders erect a tripod, composed of some of the stouter pieces of timber, proceedings national museum, vol. xv --no. 902. 279 280 navajo house-building--shufeldt. 1 1 and slightly bury their heavier ends in the periphery of the excavation. this primary framework is now strengthened by adding to it other pieces, care being taken to leave a proper aperture for a door on the side least exposed to the prevailing winds, and an opening at the apex to allow the escape of smoke. soon there is but little left to do, as far as the wood work is concerned, except to fill in the interstices between the larger pieces of timber with the lighter poles. to give the frame additional strength, pieces of rock are now placed here and there, both inside and out, at the lower ends of those pieces of timber which, from some cause or other, are the least secure, or are likely to slip. plastering with mud is next in order, and this is thickly laid on the outside, filling in as much as possible all the spaces between the logs and poles, and piling it up all the way around the base, externally. this operation is performed with the naked lands, though occasionally a smooth piece of bark may be used in lieu of a trowel, but this is an exception. the top of the doorway is squared off with a stout stick as a crosspiere, and sometimes the chimney is finished up a little with flat stones, as may be seen in the hut in the distance in pl. xli, and a blanket is invariably hung as a door. a few branches are now laid all over the outside, as a simple means of protection against dogs and children, who might otherwise run over the fresh mud. these are eventually blown away, or burned inside. often an old condemned piece of canvas comes into play, being laid over the exterior as far as it will go, and admirably protecting the plaster against the elements. this finishes the construction of the primitive navajo house, and in the spring of 1885 these indians had advanced no further in the construction of their dwellings. in pl. xli a navajo and his sister are seen in the doorway of one of the huts heretofore described, and it will be seen that the woman is dressed in a somewhat civilized costume. she is the only navajo squaw in that part of the country that ever did so, and she both received and courted the attention of the soldiers of the garrison, and was withal a remarkable character. during the following year some of these navajos commenced building in a little more sheltered situation, close to but to the westward of the fort. although they used similar materials to those mentioned in my previous description, the form of the house was by no means the same. its sides upon the east and south were vertical; the roof was horizontal, while its side to the west was slanting. moreover, they had gotten hold of some old pieces of stove joints and passed them to the rear outside where their free end was again turned upwards, and there plastered and stoned up as a chimney (see pl. xlii). in many particulars this house was far more comfortable and roomy, and as a study it was exceedingly interesting, for it not only showed improvement, but was remarkable, inasmuch as it combined that improvement with their pristine notions of house-building, which we see in the slanting west side of the structure. in fact it would be difficult to conceive of a vol] 18927, 281 proceedings of tiie national museum. . xv"structure standing so inmediately betwixt what these indians first erected as a house and that which still remains to be described. there are some interesting figures standing about the doorway of the house shown in the second plate. the man with his hand resting upon his left hip is “ navajo jake,” the celebrated silversmith of the tribe, whose work has formed the basis of one of the reports of the united states bureau of ethnology. charlie stands with his carbine in the hollow of his arm; he is a well-known government navajo scout. the man with the blanket over his shoulders is an old chief, long since retired; the others are also navajos. the woman with the baby in the cradle is the subject of one of the illustrations to a paper which has recently been accepted for publication by the popular science monthly, of new york. near the house we have just described the navajos built another some time during the spring of 1888, and it showed in its every detail a marked advance in house-building. it had but one room, to be sure, but it would accommodate a family comfortably, living as these people are accustomed to do indoors. all its sides were vertical and built regularly of heavy pieces of fine timber, the interstices among them being carefully sealed with a generous supply of mud plaster. the roof had a moderate pitch to it, and was built of boards nailed on to cross rafters, the whole being heavily covered over with mud. (pl. xliii.) small strips of board were used in other parts, as over the door and elsewhere, while some heavy pieces of timber supported the structure on the outside as struts, then the door itself was a real door on hinges which they had obtained somewhere and hung with no little ingenuity. they had also secured an old condemned stove with its joints of pipe from the fort, and had set it up quite comfortable inside. the floor was of earth, but level, hard, and dry, and here and there about the interior were evidences of a growing notion of comfort. in this picture we have the family fully represented. the man is standing with his hand resting upon the door, his wife is seated outside weaving a belt, and at her side is her baby boy, seated upon a blanket of her own manufacture. the whole is a scene of marked naturalness and great interest, and one that rarely rewards the labors of the photographer among these people, who are very averse to hav. ing their pictures thus taken, and one must know them well and be liked by them before he can hope to succeed. it was months before they became in any way accustomed to my camera. a group of gamblers never would permit the exposure to be made; they invariably rolleil themselves up in their blankets, and lay as quiet as so many armadillos until the enemy had departed. by tact and perseverance, however, a great many valuable negatives were procured by the writer, which depict all manner of scenes from the daily life of these indians. nearly all the government and other buildings at wingate are built of adobe bricks, and these bricks are made in the immediate vicinity of the post by the navajos, who are hired for the purpose. 282 navajo house-building-shufeldt. often groups of these indians have watched the erection of a large two-storied house built with these bricks, and yet i have never heard any of them say that it was their intention to use the same kind of materials in building their own houses. there are two things which probably deter them from doing this, and from following the example of the white man, one of which is the dread of criticism, and the other a fear, perhaps, of exciting his jealousy and being prohibited the use of such inaterial. were they to attempt to erect houses of brick, i think they would doubtless succeed. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xli he authon primitive navajo indian house at fort wingate. new mexico, 1885, with a second one in the distance, from a photograph by u.s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xlii navajo indian house, showing improvement in building, 1886, near fort wingate, new mexico. from a photograph by the author. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xlii navajo house at fort wingate na t notes on fishes collected in mexico by prof. alfredo dugès, with descriptions of new species. by tarleton h. bean, m. d., ichthyologist of the united states fish commission. (with plate xliv.) the u.s. national museum received from prof. a. dugès, august 24, 1891, a small but very interesting collection of fishes, including three species which appear to be new to science, and which are described in the following paper. among these fishes are two examples of lampetra spadicea of much larger size than any previously obtained, and which show some very interesting variations from the types. the species of acara from the region huazteca potosina, in the province of san luis potosi, mexico, is interesting because it appears to be the first one of its group from the locality. it is rather curions that the name mojarra should be held in common by this fish and the species of gerres. lampetra spadicea bean. two examples, 101 and 104 inches long, catalogue no. 43766, collector's no. 177; from tanganzicuaro. the length of the head is one-eighth of the total, and the diameter of the eye is contained four and two-third times in the length of the snout. in the longer individual the maxillary tooth has two minute cusps between the large ones, but neither of these is median. the mandibulary plate has nine cusps, of which five are larger than the intervening ones. the teeth around the margin of the disk are reduced to two rows posteriorly. in the shorter example, which has more of a bluish tint overlying the chestnut of the upper parts, the maxillary tooth has one minute supplementary cusp, not median in position. the mandibulary plate has nine cusps, as in the larger individual. algansea dugèsi, new species. (plate xliv, fig. 1.) this species is related to a. australe jordan, from which it differs in its much smaller scales. the types of the species are catalogue nos. 41818 and 43764, u. s. national museum. they were collected by prof. a. dugès, of guanaproceedings national musenm, vol. xv-no. 903. 283 284 notes on mexican fishes-bean. 1 of the eye. juato, mexico. the first is no. 169 of his series, and the other is 174. no. 169 was taken at guanajuato and no. 174 in lake yuriria. the length of no. 41818 is 7 inches to the base of the caudal, the total length 83 inches. the smaller example is 54 inches to the caudal base; total length, 64 inches. the height of the body in the larger specimen equals the length of the head, and one-quarter of the total without caudal. in the smaller example the height is contained four and onehalf times in the same lengtlı. the least depth of the tail is from onehall to two fifths that of the greatest depth. the eye is placed near the top of the head; its diameter is contained one and one-half times in the length of the snout and from five to five and a half times in the length of the head. the lower jaw is slightly included; it has a small knob at the sympiysis. the maxilla reaches to below the front the dorsal origin is midway between the tip of the snout and the base of the caudal (over the twenty-eighth scale of the lateral line). its base equals two-ninths of its distance from the tip of the snout. the longest ray is two-thirds as long as the head and more than twice as long as the last ray. the scales are very small and much crowded anteriorly, larger behind. the ventral origin is under the middle of the dorsal base; the fin does not reach to the vent, its length equal to that of the postorbital part of the head. the pectoral is as long as the head without the snout. the anal origin is distant from the ventral origin a space nearly equal to the length of the head. the length of the anal base is about equal to that of the snout. the longest anal ray equals the length of the ventral, and fully twice the length of the last ray. d. ii, 7; a. ii, 6; v. 9; p. 16. scales 18, 69 to 72, 13. the lateral line is sharply decurved over the pectoral, and, in the straight portion, is below the median line of the body. the caudal is large and well forked, its middle rays three-fifths as long as the outer. the color is dusky brown, the cheeks and opercles silvery, and the belly whitish. a very indistinct dark spot at the caudal base, deeper than long, its depth about equal to the diameter of the eye. the dorsal, caudal, and pectoral fins dusky; the pectorals, ventrals, and anal mingled with silvery. teeth 4-4. the three largest with a broad grinding surface, and the second, third and fourth with a slight hook. on the other side of the same example all of the teeth have a well developed grinding surface. gill-rakers, four above the angle and fifteen below; the longest about one-third as long as the eye. the species is named in honor of its discoverer, prof. a. dugès. hudsonius altus jordan. a single example of this species, catalogue no. 43763, "ollector's no. 175, obtained at lake yuriria, mexico, is 0.4 inches long. the eye is nearly as long as the snout and two-ninths as long as the lead, which vol285 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvis one-fourth of the total without caudal. the depth is two-sevenths of the same length. the dorsal origin is over the seventeenth scale of the lateral line and immediately over the ventral origin. the ventral reaches to the vent. d. iii, 7; a. iii, 7. scales, 9.-15—5. teeth 4-t, scarcely hooked; a narrow grinding surface developed on three of them. fundulus robustus, new species. (plate xliv, fig. 2.) the types of the species are numbers 43760, u. s. national museum, collector's no. 173, and 43762, the first being a female and the other a male. the length of the female to the base of the caudal is 107 millimeters; total length, 126 millimeters. the greatest height of the body at the origin of the ventral (37 millimeters) is slightly more than one-third of the length without caudal. the length of the head is a little less than one-third of the total without caudal. the least depth of the caudal peduncle is one-half of the greatest depth of the body. the head is broad, the distance between the eyes equal to the length of the eye and the snout combined. the top of the head is nearly flat, and the nape is moderately elevated. the eye is as long as the snout, its length contained from four and one-half to five times in that of the head. the inouth is very obliquely placed, and the lower jaw is longer than the upper. the end of the maxilla reaches to below the front of the eye. the intermaxillary is very protractile; the width of the mouth is onethird the length of the head. teeth in the jaws in narrow bands or biserial, all conical, the outer series somewhat enlarged. gill-rakers short, stout, about nineteen on the first arch. there are thirteen scales between the upper angle of the gill opening and the origin of the dorsal. the dorsal commences nearly midway between the tip of the snout and the end of the tail. the dorsal base is one-half as long as the head and a little longer than the longest dorsal ray. the ventral origin, is midway between the tip of the snout and the base of the canal. in the male the fin reaches to the vent and nearly as far in the female. the anal origin is under the middle of the dorsal base, and the last ray is under the last dorsal ray. in the female the first six rays are short and stiff, and the genital opening is immediately in front of, but disconnecter from, the anal fin. the anal base is nearly as long as the longest anal ray and one-third as long as the head. in the male the middle caudal rays are one-half its long as the lead; slightly shorter in the female. the longest dorsal ray (fifth) in the female is considerably more than one-half the length of the head, while in the male it is considerably less than one-half length of head. b. 5); 1. 14; a. 16; v. 6; p. 16. scales, 16–38. the color at present is uniform pale brown; fins unspotted and the opercle with a golden tint. 286 notes on mexican fishes--bean. in radial formula and number of scales this species is apparently nearest to f. labialis gthr., but in labialis the height of the body at the base of the pectoral is contained four and one-half times in the length without caudal, while in the species here described it is contained three times. in f. labialis the head forms one-fourth or less than onefourth of the total without caudal, while in this species it is fully onethird of this lengtlı. additional examples of this species were obtained by prof. dugès, being number 37834 u.s. national museum, a single specimen 5 inches long; and number 41973, five examples, the largest 4 inches long and the smallest 24 inches. in these five specimens the differences separat. . ing f. robustus from f. labialis gthr. are found to be constant. characodon variatus bean. a single specimen, no. 43761 u. s. national museum, collector's no. 184, 22 inches long, was collected by prof. dugès in the state of guanajuato. with the aid of the numerous additional specimens collected by this gentleman since my description of characodon variatus and ferrugineus was published (proc. u. s. nat. mus., 1887, pp. 370–372), i am led to believe that these two species are identical. the sexual differences are very striking. on plate xx of the volume just mentioned is a female, and fig. 4 the male. in a large series of this species, no. 41813, containing many females, this sex is found to have a narrow dark baud along the side usually well developed, and a very distinct broad dark band occupying the middle of the caudal fin, the base and the tip being pale. the dorsal in this sex is bluish, except that there is a narrow pale margin along the top. it should be stated, also, that my previus opinion as to the identity of goodeu aud characodon is erroneous, the characters assigned to goodea justifying its separation as a distinct genus. acara bartoni, new species. (plate xliv, fig. 3.) the description is based upon four specimens, catalogue number 43765, u.s. national museum, which were collected in hauzteca potosina, a region situated north of the state of guanajuato, in the state of san luis potosi, mexico. prof. dugès thinks this region probably extends eastward to the hauzteca grande, in the states of tamaulipas and vera cruz. the common name in the region is mojarra. all of the specimens have been eviscerated and have had their gills removed, but as no better individuals are available they must serve for the purposes of this description. the largest example is 7 inches long and the smallest 34 inches. the greatest height of the body is contained two and a third times in the length without the caudal. the two larger examples have the nape strongly arched. the diameter of the eye is contained from four and a half to five and a half times in the length of the head or twice in vol287 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvthe length of the snout. the width of the space between the eyes equals two-thirds the length of the snout. the mouth is very oblique; the lower jaw projects, and the maxilla does not reach to the vertical from the front of the eye. the length of the upper jaw equals twofifths that of the head. the teeth in the jaws are in bands, the outer series much enlarged and brown at their tips. head of the vomer much enlarged, but toothless. palate without teeth. scales on the cheek in about six series. the dorsal begins over the gill opening, the first spine very short, the second somewhat longer, the length of the spines gradually increasing backward, so that the last and longest spine is nearly one-third as long as the head. the longest soft rays (third and fourth) are nearly one-half as long as the head. the spines of the dorsal are rather slender. the anal origin is nearly under the beginning of the soft dorsal. the fin contains four spines, of which the first is abuut three-fourths as long as the eye, and the fourth nearly one-third as long as the head. the longest anal ray (fourth) is more than one-half as long as the head. the least depth of the tail equals the length of the snout. the middle caudal rays are slightly longer than the longest anal ray. the pectoral nearly reaches to above the origin of the anal and the ventral reaches to the vent. there are five or six rows of scales between the origin of the dorsal and the lateral line; eleven between the anal origin and the lateral line, counting obliquely upward and forward. scales in l. lat. 34. the line is interrupted under the fourth soft ray of the dorsal and begins on the median line of the tail at a distance below the upper line a little greater than the diameter of the eye. d, xiv, 11; a. iv, 9. the color is purplish brown; from the head to the tail there is a broad dark band, which is more or less broken up into separate blotches, the last of which is very distinct at the base of the tail. fins dusky. in a specimen about 5 inches long the cheeks and snout are profusely covered with minute rouudish browu dots. a u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xliv 1 van . citer ... 0 > 3 fig. 1. algansea dugesi, new species. fig. 2. fundulus robustus, new species. fig. 3. acara bartoni, new species. notes on a collection of birds made by mr. harry v. henson in the island of yezo, japan. by leonhard stejneger, curator of the department of reptiles and batrachians. (with plate xlv.) in response to my request for the loan of material for my proposed manual of japanese ornithology, several years ago, mr. harry v. henson, then of hakodate, yezo, most generously placed in my hands for examination a large and interesting collection made by him in the neighborhood of that town. since then the u.s. national museum has acquired this collection by purchase. my original intention was to enumerate every specimen in the collection, but as it now has become part of our museum, this plan was given up, especially since press of other work threatened to entirely prevent me from finishing this paper. consequently, only the more interesting species have been treated of, and, as will be noticed, in a somewhat uneven manner. the various species were written up in a sequence dictated more by the accessibility of the material than with reference to a natural and systematic arrangement, and as several years have lapsed between the working up of species here closely associated, uniformity was unattainable except by rewriting the whole, an undertaking entirely beyond my powers at present. i have thought, however, that it would be better to publish the paper in the present form than to leave it unpublished. great credit is due to mr. henson for his successful exploits in a locality which has been better worked ornithologically than any other in japan, and it is to be hoped that this success will encourage him and others to continue the good work. it demonstrates how much is still to be done even in localities which have been considered nearly exhausted we are as yet only laying the foundations of a solid knowledge of the japanese avifauna. a large amount of material has yet to be collected and discussed, and the sooner it is done the better. the members in parentheses following the specific names refer to blakiston and pryer's birds of japan." > colymbus holbællii (reinh.). (151) a young female was shot near hakodate, march 3, 1884 (u. s. nat. mus. no. 120709, h. v. henson (oll. no. 98). being only the second record of this species in yezo, it deserves special mention. proceedings of national museum, vol. xv, no. 904. proc. n, m. 92—19 . 289 290 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. p. 77. > podiceps nigricans (scop.). (16+161) little grebe. kaitsuniuri. 1766.---colymbus auritus y linx., s. n., 12th ed., 1, p. 223. 1769.-colymbus nigricans scopoli, ann. i hist. nat., 1771.-colymbus fluriatilis tunstall, ornith. brit., p. 3 (nomen nudum). 1782.? colymbus pyrenaicus lapetrouse, k. vet. akad. nya handl., iii, p. 111. 1787.-podiceps minutus latham, gen. synops., suppl., 1, p. 294.-seebohm, ibis, 1882, p. 369.-blakist, & pryer, tr. as. soc. jar., x, 1882, p. 93. --blakist., chrysanth., nov., 1882, p. 524.-id., ibid., jan., 1883, p. 25.id., amend. list b. jap., p. 32 (1884). 1787.podiceps hebridalis latilam, gen. synops., suppl., 1, p. 294. 1788.--colymbur minor (melin, s. n., i, p. 591.--podiceps m. schlegel, mus. p. bas., urinat., p. 43 (1867). -seeboilm, b. jap. emp., p. 367 (1890). 1788.-('olymbus hebridicus gmelin, s. n., 1, p. 594. 1790.-?colymbus philippensis bonnaterre, enc. méth., 1, p. 58.--l'odiceps ph. swinhoe, ibis, 1875, p. 456.-blakist. & pryer, ibis, 1878, p. 211.-/id., tr. as. soc. jap., viii, 1880, p. 181. 1804.--colymbus erythrocephalus hermann, observ. zool., 1, p. 151. 1831.podiceps pygmans brehm, handb. vög. deutschl., p. 966. 1842.-sylbeocyclus europæus macgillivray, man. brit. ornith., ii, p. 205. 1855.podiceps pallidus brehm, vogelf., p. 403. 1877.—?podiceps albescens "mandelli”, blanford, stray feath., v, p. 486. colymbus nigricans of scopoli is very often quoted as a synonym of c. auritus lin. (for instance, by dresser and by seebohm) but, i think, quite erroneously. scopoli's diagnosis, “ duplo minor priore (c.auritus) remiges secundæ interno latere semialba," undoubtedly belongs to the present species, and fits no other. the name is evidently derived from brisson, whose colymbus fluviatilis nigricans by the same authors is correctly referred to the little grebe. the confusion las originated with latham, whose podiceps nigricans (synops., suppl., 1, p. 294,1787) is entirely different from brisson's and scopoli's nigricans, being in fact the winter plumage of c. auritus. the name given by scopoli (1769) is the oldest binominal bestowed upon this species, and should be given precedence over all the other names, even over that of tunstall, c. fluviatilis (1771), which, moreover, is it nomen nudum, and, quently, untenable. the status of the present species and its subspecies is far from settled yet, and several names have therefore been left out ofthe above synonymy. mr. seebolun (cf. chrysanth., 1882, nov., p. 524) indicates several possible subspecies, a black-bellied (not "black-billed," as printed there) race from the moluccas, another with white wing-speculum from madagascar and india, and a third one from asia minor, remarkable for its short bill. schlegel (mus. p. b., urinat., p. 43) aılmits that this species in certain localities exhibits light modifications in the colorations of the adults, but regards them as but little constant. his view, that they are "de nulle application générale, puisqu'ils ne sont sensibles que dans les adultes" is considerably at variance with ours and would lead to very curious consequences, conse. 66 vol291 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xvas to the japanese birds, the general verdict seems to be that they are identical with europera specimens, and the material at my command does not contradict it, so that although none of my japanese specimens are in absolutely full plumage, i feel but little doubt that the above conclusion is correct. the slight differences in the dimensions, as seen in the tables given below, seem to be fully within the limits of individual variation, while in the extent of the black on cheeks and chin, and in that of the white on the wing, i can discover no difference. 1. japanese specimen8.measurements. ex museum and no. collector and no. sex and age. locality. date. wing posed tarcul mid. dle toe with claw. si18. men. 47 38 :36 37 c.s. nat. 109172 tad c.s. nat. 91509. jony, 758. dad. t'.s. nat. 91611... jony, 1035. p ad. stejn. 700 christiania, norway petersen. 60. o ad u.s. nat. 120713. henson, 1381 y ad u.s. nat. 120712. henson, 95. jun. u.s. nat. 120711.. henson, 96 ... jun. tokio, hondo... apr. 5, 188.3 .do jan. 27. 1883 kanagawa, hondo mar. 29. 1883 "japan nagasaki, kiusiu oct., isr6 hakodate, yezo.. nov. 1, 1881 nov, 2.183 ..do oct. 29, 1883 101 101 96 96 104 95 105 100 19 21 21 19 20 18 21 21 48 15 11 ...do 36 38 18 18 petersen's nagasaki specimen differs from all the rest in having the inner web of the secondaries dusky except at base of the inner ones. ii. european specimens.--measurements. middlo u.s. nat. mus. no. collector. sex and age. locality. date. wing exposed tar. cul 8018. men. with claw. 35 47 19056 lazar. 57313 schlüter 74316 pearce 105962 pluche. 105961 99587 23143 lazar ad. hungary.. dad. pomerania sweet waters, turkey. havre, france 34 95 96 91 90 91 103 93 18 19 16.5 16.5 18 20 18 dec. 8. 1877 aug. 25, 1876 oct. 30, 1875 1871 1860 47 46 47 ...do ...do 35 "europe hungary urinator pacificus (lawr.). a fine adult male of this interesting species opens the series of additions to the japanese avifauna. it was shot near hakodate on july 13, 1883, and is, of course, in full summer plumage, in which it can never be confounded with the nearly allied but quite distinct v. arcticus, its small size and nearly white occiput and upper hind neck being conspicuous enough. the lateness of the occurrence of this specimen near hakodate siggests the possibility of its breeding not far off, and the question then arises whether u. pacificus may not be the breeding bird and u.arcticus, which also occurs in japan, the transmigrating species. a male speri. men of the latter was also collected by mr. henson at hakodate, may 12, 1883 (no. 120707). 292 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. the measurements of this specimen are as follows: u.s. nat. mus. no. 120708; & adl.; hakodate, july 13, 1883; h. v. henson coll. no. 8; wing, 280mm; tail feathers, 19mm; exposed culmen, 51mm; tarsus, 79mm; middle toe with nail, 90mm. eurynorhynchus pygmæus (l.). (114) five specimens obtained near hakodate during the fall migration of 1884, 1885, and 1886 show the pretty regular occurrence of this species on the coast of yezo. the dates cover a considerable range, and are therefore noteworthy. i. s. nat. mus. no. henson no. sex. date. 120589 120.590 120591 120592 120393 45 576. 887 972. oct. 8,185 sept. 14, ian aug. 3, 1825 oct. 7. 18 oct. 15, 1886 tringa canutus l. (1041) u. s. nat. mus. no. 120607 (8 ; hakorlate, may 6, 1886; henson coll. ; no. 1010) establishes the first record of this species in yezo. pavoncella pugnax (l.). (111) a second specimen from yezo is of sufficient interest to deserve special mention. it was collected september 1, 1884, near hakodate (u.s. nat. mus. no. 120608; henson coll. no. 1129). terekia cinerea (güld.). (1004) the first record of this species in yezo is made by the four birds in henson's collection, two males and two females, and the dates of their captures show that this species must be a rather regular visitor during both migrations. the four specimens (nos. 120618–120621) were collected near hakodate august 30, 1883; august 24, 1884; september 6, 1883; and may 16, 1884. on the whole, this species seems to be more common in japan than would appear from the published records. nettion formosa (georgi). (10) two specimens, making the first record of this species from yezo, collected respectively april 28, 1886 (c.s. vat. mus. no. 120673, & ad., henson, no. 18), amil october 11, 1883 (no. 120674, 9, henson, no. 35), show that it occurs during both migrations, > falco rusticolus lin. 9 with the exception of the more or less uncertain references to a “falco candicans" or falco gyrfalco," based upon japanese drawings, mr. henson's specimen is the first record of a gyrfalcon in japan. it was shot near hakodate march 15, 1884, and is nearly, if not fully, vol293 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvadult, that is, the under side is rather heavily streaked with dusky but with the new feathers of uie adult plumage protruding on the rump, consequently in a plumage corresponding to my no. 92721, from bering island, may 5, which had the ovaries in such a condition that she was probably going to breed that spring. henson's bird agrees in the minutest details with my bering island and kamchatkan birds (res. orn. expl. kamtsch., etc., pp. 203, 204; proc. u. s. nat. mus., x, 1887, pp. 139–141). the specimen measures as follows: (u. s. nat. mus. no. 120720), adol.; hakodate, march 15, 1984; ii. v. henson coll. no. 9): wing, 400mm; tail feathers, 237""; chorol of culmen from cere, 26mm; tarsus, mm; middle toe, without claw, 55mm. 6.5in; cuculus kelungensis swinii. (165) the three specimens of cuckoos in the collection represent three different stages of this species. the series is very interesting, inasmuch as it shows that the broadly-barred species is quite as polymorphic as the common european cuckoo. we have in fact here to deal with a curious kind of dichromatism, the character of which is still wrapped in nystery u. s. nat. mus. no. 120566, henson no. 146, hakodate, august 30, 1884, is a female in the rufous stage or phase, apparently adult. i say "stage or phase," because it is not yet certain whether this peculiar plumage represents a transient stage only or a permanent phase. the facts indicate, indeed, that it is a permanent phase in some individuals, and an intermediate stage in others, for naumann (naturg. vög. deutschl., v, pl. 128, fig. 1) figures a female, in transition from the rufous plumage to the typical adult gray garb, wliile in the text (p. 203) he asserts that he opee shot a female cuckoo in the genuine rutous plumage, which was molting into a still brighter rufous one. the observation ly naunann (loc. cit., 1). 203) on the european cuckoo, that the central pairs of the tail-feathers are of more uniforin length and jess graduated in the rufous birds, seems also to apply to those of c. kelungensis. no. 120368, henson no. 1194 (hakodate, september 19, 1884), is a young male of the year in the liepatic stage (back, remiges, and rectrices liaving numerons distinct rufous bars), molting directly into the typical gray plumage of the adult; while no. 120567, henson no. 115 (hakodate, september 29, 1883), is a young male in the purely gray phase, not yet molting. caprimulgus jotaka temm. & scul. (188) three specimens included in the table below. in the young bird the upper and lower tail-coverts, as well as a number of feathers on the hind neck, belong to the first plumage. in general coloration mr. hensou's yezo birds agree with others in the national museum from hondo, and with a specimen collected by petersen in kiusiu. 294 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. (primulgus indicus, with which c, kelaartii seems to be synonymous, is sometimes quoted as belonging to the present species, but a comparison of indian specimens of the former with the table of dimensions below will show them to be a much smaller specics. veasurements. museum and no. collector and no. locality. date. sex and age. tail-feathers. exposed calmen. middle toe with claw. wing. tarsus. total length 10 15 11 15 16 10 15 23 *22 u.s. nat., 120563. henson, 33 dad hakolate, yezo sept. 27, 1885 222 140 u.s. nat., 96118.., pryer, bl., 2015 (d) adl yokohama. 213 132 hondo. u.s. nat., 88702.. jony, 602 cad.. fuji, hondo ... july 26, 1882 213 130 u.s. nat., 91388.. jony, 730 pad.. tate y a ma, , oct. 28. 1882 221 132 hondo. u.s. nat., 120561.' henson, 131.. pad.. hakodate, vezo sept. 10, 1884 205 132 christiania, n... petersen, 67... (9) ad nagasaki, kin. nov., 1886 214 128 siu. u.s. nat., 120565. henson, 130.. e jun. hakodate. yezo. aug. 22. 1885 212 135 u.s. xat., 96117.. blak., 2079. ejus sept. 20, 1876 213 1:30 u.s. nat., 96116.. blak., 1181. juin sept. 1874 209 129 na is 23 10 16 10 9 15 10 22 22 275 ....do ....do average measurements of six adults 215 132 10 15.5 22.5 ceryle lugubris (temm.). (176) we retain the name given to this bird by temminck for two reasons, first because we regard it as distinct from the himalayan bird, and, in the second place, because alcedo guttata of vigors (1831) is preoccupied by alcedo guttata of boddaert (1783) (a. 0. u. code, p. 47, canon xxxii). considering the continental bird as distinct, we propose to call it ceryle guttulata, in order not to deviate too much from the name by which it has been universally known. the chief difference between the japanese and the continental birds consists in the white coloration being much more extensive in the former than in the latter. the white bands crossing each feather of the upper parts are much broader in c. lugubris, being generally of the same width as the dark interspiaces, while in the form which we have designated as c. guttulata the white cross bands are considerably narrower. this is not only very striking on the upper side of the folded wings, but on closer examination we find that the white cross-bands on the inner side of the primaries are more numerous in the japanese form, there being at least one more, this one being about midway be. tween the tips and the next band, while in the mainland species, the entire tip is inspotted for twice the ordinary distance between the white bars. the gray ground color of the back, moreover, is considerably lighter in c. lugubris. c. lugubris is usually stated to be larger than the himalayan birds, but the size of the two forms is practically identical, as will be seen from the appended tables. the alleged distinction in the shape of the vol295 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvbill will hardly liold, for in the nine specimens before me i can detect no tangible difference. mr. sharpe, in the introduction to his “ monograpli of the alcedi. nidæ” (p. xxv), says that “ should a large pied kingfisher be discovered in china, interinediate forms will doubtless be found to connect the two races." since then swinhoe found the spotted kingfisher at ningpo, and a beautiful specimen from the same locality is in the national museum. so far from being interinediate in character, however, the chinese specimen agrees most minutely with the darkest himalayan birds. we have, therefore, no hesitation in referring all the continental birds to c. guttulata. in view of the very pronounced characters of the ningpo bird we are not willing to accept a trinominal for the continental bird, which should not rank as c. lugubris guttulata until intergradation be satisfactorily proven. the bill of the ningpo specimen is absolutely perfect; it is very pointed, and the upper tomium near the point is distinctly and regularly serrate for a distance of about 15mm, showing that this character is not peculiar to the genus syma. males and females differ considerably, the former having the under wing-coverts and the axillaries pure white, while in the latter the mid dle portion of the lining of the wing, as well as the axillaries, are of a bright vinaceous cinnamon. in henson's collection is one specimen, u. s. nat. mus. no. 120571, 9 ad., hakodate, february 1, 1885. h. v. henson coll. no. 251. measurements of ceryle lugubris. u.s. nat. mus. no. collector and no. locality. date. ses and age. tail-feathers. exposed cnlmen. middle toe with claw. wing: tarsus. 114695 | ringer, 26.. dad. kiusiu 109403 (0)ad. chichibu, musashi 91576 jouy, 1053 dad.. kawasaki river, hondo 91577 jony, 1054 qad.. do 110484 jouy, 1054 1)ad. .do 120571 henson, 251. pad.. hakodate, yezo.. jan. 3, 1887 dec. 18, 1881 apr. 11, 1883 apr. 12, 1883 185 186 187 191 183 190 107 111 111 112 57*i 13 64 13 61 13 61* 1 60 13 61 ಪಪಪಪ ಪಪ 28 28 28 28 28 30 112 feb. 1, 1885 112 * bill much worn from digging the vest hole. measurements of ceryle guttulala stejn. u.s. nat. mus. no. collector. locality. date. sex and age. tail-feathers. exposed culmen. middle toe with claw. wing. tarsus. 65 101987 101988 101989 85709 pad may 18, 1871 may 31, 1875 brooks dad.. chungus, india anderson kup kate, india 180 183 185 191 104 109 110 107 13 13 13 29 29 30 (p) ad. darjeeling, india. h.b. meyer. pad.. ningpo, china 66 71 feb. 16, 1881 296 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. jynx torquilla lin. (174) when writing my “review” of the japanese woodpeckers (proc. u. s. nat. mus., ix, 1886, pp. 102-104) i had to regret my inability to examine japanese specimens of the common wryneck, as well as the insuficiency of my material to solve the question whether there are two climatic varieties of this bird separable by the deeper coloration of the alleged southern form. the tive japanese birds which i have now before me (see table below) prove conclusively to my mind that the difference in coloration is not due either to sex, age, season, or locality, for mr. henson has both the pale and the deeply colored form from yezo. owston's specimen, from hlondo, is pale, and petersen's, from kiusiu, is dark. i am fully convinced that we have only to do with a dichromatism similar to that of the owls, though, as in some of the dichromatic owls, the one or the other phase may predominate in certain localities. a comparison of the measurements below with those of the western examples previously given (tom. cit., p. 104) shows that bonaparte was right in saying that the japanese wryneck is smaller than european specimens, though not much smaller as he alleges. in point of fact the difference in size between the examples from the two extremities of the eurasian continent is so trifling that it would hardly do to basea separation of two forms upon that character, the more so as i have specimens of the same sex before me from both localities which are absolutely identical both in size and coloration. i would call attention, however, to the curious wiformity in the size of the japanese specimens as shown in the table below, with which capt. blakiston's experience completely agrees, as in all the five japanese wrynecks measured by him the length of the wing was exactly 80mm. an individual variation of only 1mm in ten specimens is certainly extraordinarily small. measurements. museum and no. collector and no. locality. date. sex and age. ant. ext. toe withont claw. tail-feathers. exposed culmen. wing. tarsus. remarks. u. s. nat., 120560. henson, 30..dad. hakodate, yezo.. may 17, 1886 u.s. nat., 120561. henson, 24.. pad.....do. may 11, 1886 u.s. nat., 120502. henson, 106. g ad. ....do. may 9, 1884 u.s. nat., 110208. ownton, 2895 gad. hondo. u.s. nat., 110183., petersen, 13. & ad. urakami, kiuriu.! jau. 7, 1886 17 16 80 80 79 79 80 65 65 63 63 64 15 11 13 20 20 20 20 19 pale. do. dark, pale, dark. 13 17 vol297 1892proceedings of the national museum. 2., . ] . xv> yungipicus kizuki seebohmi (hargitt). (1701) ad.; henson no. 186; hakodate, september 10, 1881. in my review” of the japanese woodpeckers (proc. u. s. nat. mus., ix, 1886, pp. 120–123) i stated that i had found that the hondo breeding birds of this species agree completely with typical y, kizuki from nagasaki, and that only my birds from yezo were properly referable to y. seebohmi. this was quite opposed to the view of the original describer, who referred all his specimens from the middle island to the northern form. since the publication of my paper mr. seebohm has taken the question up again (ibis, 1887, p. 178), remarking as follows: "in a series of sixteen examples in mr. hargitt's collection and my own, those from the north island of japan are indistinguishable from those from the middle island, whilst those from the southern island are conspicuously darker. on the other hand, dr. stejneger (proc. u. s. nat. . mus., 1886, p. 121) regards a series, apparently of nine skins, from the middle and southern islands as practically the same, while those from the north island are treated as specifically distinct. it is, of course, possible that dr. stejneger is right, and all our skins from the middle island are those of winter migrants from yesso." since then i have had the opportunity of examining additional speci. mens from all three islands, so that the series now before me comprises fourteen skins, all sexes and all but one properly dated. i am there. fore in the position to throw more light upon the question. mr. seebohm in the article alluded to characterizes three races of y. kizuki. the form from liukiu which he calls y. nigrescens is distinguished by having only four very small white spots on the outer webs of each of the three longest primaries” (loc. cit.); in y. kizuki proper these "primaries have five small white spots on each;" while in y. seebohmi "the white spots are larger and are six in number.” the result of an examination of my material may be tabulated as follows: locality. number of spots on three longest primaries. musenm and numlength of largest ber. third fourth fifth spot. primary. primary. primary, north island (yezo). 6 6 6 6 6 6 5 6 6 6 6 middle island (hondo). u.s. nat., 96004 u.s. nat., 96005 u.s. nat., 96003 u.s. nat.. 120559 u.s. nat., 91333 u.s. nat., 91427 u.s. nat., 91334 u.s. nat., 91426 . u.s. nat., 109398 u.s. nat., 109399 u.s. nat., 88705 u.s. nat., 111659 u.s. nat., 96002 . petersen, 49 77 crorerererererer 6 0 6 5 4 4 4 4 1 south island (kiusiu) it will be seen that there is a regular gradation from north to south, and that the number of spots, or their size, gives no absolute reliable 2.98 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. character by which to separate these subspecies. and, as in the case of the wing spots, so also with the other characters distinguishing y. seebohmi from y, kisuki proper; they intergrade; they are only to be designated by trinominals! many specimens can only be referred to their proper subspecies by the totality of their characters, and these can only be properly appreciated by placing series of both forms together, carefully comparing them. specimens from yezo and kiusiu are easily distinguishable, and look quite different. those from the eastern side of the middle island (the last four species of the hondo series in the above table) agree very closely with the typical y. kizuki from the south. but the remaining four of the same series come from the high mountain chain near the western shore of the middle island (tate-yama), and, as already indicated in my former paper, these are somewhat intermediate, though by a careful comparison with yezo birds they are found to differ sufficiently from them in the direction of the southern form to be referable to the latter. what the birds of the northern portion of the middle island are like nobody knows, but it would not be surprising if those inhabiting the high mountain districts of this portion of the island were indistinguishable from the yezo birds. in winter they would naturally come down into the lower districts, where only the true y, kizuki breeds, and it would not be necessary to presume a crossing of the tsugaru strait in order to explain the presence of typical y. seebohmi in hondo. the instance of this bird shows plainly how necessary it is to have every portion of the islands thoroughly explored and the specimens from all parts of the empire most carefully compared by competent investigators. mr. seebohm also says that the bird in the “central and north island” is larger. from the tables of dimensions below, it will be seen that the south island birds are not appreciably smaller than those from the central island, and that although one of the smallest specimens is from tate-yama the others from this locality are quite as large as the yezo birds. but whatever be the opinions as to the occurrence of y. sebohmi in hondo, this name should be abandoned by those ornithologists who require “hard and fast lines” between their species." measurements of yungipicus kizuki seebohmi. t.s. nat. mus. no. collector and no. -locality. date. sex and age. tail.feathers. exposed culmen. ext. ant.toe without claw. wing. tarsus. 48 50 120559 96004 96005 96003 henson, 186 blak., 3213 blak., 3214. blak., 2766. ad hakodate, yezo (0)al sapporo, yezo. lorad do (7)ad ..do sept. 10, 1884 oct 26. 1882 do nov. 9, 1881 85 85 83 88 13 13 13 13 15 15 15 16 10 10 10 11 52 vol299 192proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvmeasurements of lungipicus kizuhi. museum and no. collector and no. locality. date. sex and age. tail-feathers. exposed culmen. est. aut.toe without claw. wing. tarsus. 47 53 13 15 13 13 14 15 14 15 12 10 10 10 10 10 u.s. nat., 91333 u.s. nat., 91427 !'.s. nat., 91334 u.s. nat., 91426. u.s. nat., 109398 u.s. nat., 109399 u.s. nat., 88705. c.s. nat., 11165 u.s. nat., 96002. christiania. norw jony, 698. jony, 82.23 jouy, 780. jouy,801. namiye do jouy, 314. naniye, 15. ringer.. petersen, 49 ďad.: tate-yama, hondo oct. 17, 1882 80 ad do. nov. 30, 1882 83 pad ..do nov. 23, 1882 87 pad. ..do nov. 20, 1882 90 ad subashi, hondo nov. 22, 1884 82 ? ad do 82 dad. fuji-yama, hondo june 28, 1882 82 ad miyakeshima, idzu. may 3, 1887 83 9 ad nagasaki, kiusiu 82 y ad tokitsu, kiusin apr. 19, 1886 80 .do. 52 48 48 45 46 14 1 16 14 13 12 15 13 14 10 10.5 10 10 46 dryobates subcirris stejn. (169) & ad., > 8 aud., c. s. nat. mus., no. 120557; henson no. 212; hakodate, oct. 30, 1881. no. 120558; henson no. 213; hakodate, nov. 10, 1881. these birds are typical d, subcirris both in size and color, and conform in every detail to the diagnosis which i gave six years ago (proc. u.s. nat. mus., ix, 1886, p. 113). the under side, lower back and greater upper wing-coverts are strongly suffused with buff, and the rump is black. the question as to the occurrence of true d. leucotos in yezo is still an open one. dryobates japonicus (seeb.). (167) in henson's collection there are two specimens undoubtedly referable to this species, though the under surface is rather dark butly, but the white shoulder patch is comparatively large. one of them, a bird in male plumage (u.s. nat. mus. no. 120555, henson no. 200), collected at hakodate, november 10, 1884, is molting the first two primaries. the other (no. 120556, henson no. 167), a female, from the same locality, september 11, 1881, is a comparatively young bird, as testified by two red feathers on the crown, and by the large size of the first (tenth) primary, which measures 3.5mm in length. since writing my “review" of the japanese woodpeckers, i have receivell quite a number of additional specimens, but as they are all winter birds and none from farther south than tokio, they throw but little light on the question of the occurrence and validity of the so-called d). gouldii gray from japan. it still seems as if the birds from the eastern and southern central portion of hondo (tokaido and southern tosando) have less white* on » * in reply to a footnote by mr. hargitt (cat. b. br. mus., xviii, p. 219), in which he says that i have “stated that in the main island of japan a species is found which has black scapulars and the underparts uniforni," i may remark that in the paper quoted (pr. v. s. nat. mus., 1886, review of the japanese woodpeckers) i gave the characters of the supposeul species as “under surface brownish; scapulars mostly black." it is but just to an author to quote him correctly, 300 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. the scapulars than the yezo and western hondo specimens, and that their under surface is more deeply colored, but the tate-yama birds are intermediate to such an extent that i am now inclined to think that the percentage of distinguishable birds will not be found sufficiently large to warrant the separation of the typical d. japonicus and the 6 so-called d. gouldii gray.” hargitt has proven conclusively that the true 1). youldii malh. is not a japanese bird, a thing i hardly doubted myself, but he has failed to show what the bird from japan in the british museum is, which gray called d. gouldii! should it ever be found necessary to designate this bird by a separate name, it will have to be rebaptized, of course. picus canus jessoensis stejn. (172) henson's two specimens (u. s. nat. mus., no. 120553; henson, no. 214; [ 3 ] ad., hakodate, november 13, 1884; and no. 120554; henson, no. 215; [ 9 ] ad., ibid., november 2, 1884) agree in every particular with the specimen upon which i originally based the present subspecies. they are strongly tinged with green on the head, and hind neck; their entire coloration is lighter and brighter than in north and central european specimens before me; and the black stripes on the occiputs of the males are large and better defined. mr. edward hargitt in a recent revision of the genus gecinus (ibis, 1888, pp. 1-42), drawn up in the thorough and excellent manner of this gentleman, takes some pain to show that the present subspecies can not be distinguished from true p. canus because (1) his two japanese female specimens are indistinguishable from specimens from the vosges, france, and (2) because another yezo female is gray, like my p. canus perpallidus, from the opposite coast of the asiatic mainland. but it seems to me that this way of reasoning is very much the same as if he were going to prove that egithalos trivirgatus belongs to e. caudatus proper if it should be found not to differ from e. curopaus (= roseus, ragans, etc.). in the first place, i would remark that the green color on the head is much more pronounced in the male japanese birds, and that the difference between these and the european ones which i have seen is greater than in the females. in the second place, i regard the dark norwegian birds as the types of the name p. canus; and as the japanese ones to my mind are quite sufficiently different to form a subspecies, it makes but little difference so far as their nomenclature is concerned whether the french birds are identical with them or not, a proposition which i can neither deny nor affirm, as i have seen none of the latter. nor have i any reason to doubt that the differences which i pointed out between the japanese and the central european (german) examples hold good, which i have designated as p. canus viridi-canus (m. & w.). mr. hargitt has treated but lightly the question whether there exist any races or subspecies of the gray-lieaded green woodpecker in europe or not. he only says (loc. cit., p. 20): “it seems to me vol301 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xtthat if every slight variation of color necessitates the creation of subspecies, then there would be no limit to such in both gecinus viridis and g. canus." if the subspecies really exist, we should recognize them, and it would facilitate our researches if we name them, but whether the number of them be great or small is only a secondary matter. many ornithologists would willingly recognize two or even three subspecies by names, but they would be scared were it found that a species had split up into a dozen subspecies, or more. their ruling principle is like that of mr. seebohm, who regards a genus as highly objectionable" because only containing one or two species, though the result is quite different. mr. hargitt, moreover, seems to require that it shall always be possible to “ draw a line” between the forms which he honors with a name (see loc. cit., p. 14), but from the nomenclature which i adopted in describing the present subspecies under the heading of a trinominal he might have known that i did not claim that any 66 line" can be drawn. it is the essential difference between binominals and trinominals that a line can be drawn between the forms designated by binominals, but not between those for which it has been found necessary to apply three names. yor do i think that a very gray female collected at sapporo in may proves anything either in regard to the status of p. canus jessoensis or to that of p. canus perpallidus. perhaps it may belong to the latter; ; it would not be surprising; but perhaps it is only a faded and abraded specimen of the typical yezo bird. however, even if none of these suppositions should hold, it is now well understood by american trinominalists, at least, that isolated cases of this kind do not affect the general status of the subspecies. in fact, in order to justify the use of a trinominal such cases are required. dryocopus martius lin. (171) a fine pair of this woodpecker is in henson's collection, the first jap. anese specimens i have seen. they are of a very intense black, and the bill is somewhat larger than in a european specimen before me. u. s. nat. mus. no. 120551 & ad., henson, no. 216; hakodate, december 2, 1881. u. s. nat. mus. no. 120552 | ad., henson, no. 254; ibid., december, 15, 1881. otocoris alpestris (lin.). (267) u. s. nat. mus. no. 120550 adl., henson, no. 1972; southeastern shore of volcano bay, yezo, february 12, 1887. the common horned lark, or shore lark, has only been admitted into the japanese avifauna with a query on the strength of a japanese drawing so identified by the authors of fauna japonica (aves, p. 138). mr. henson, therefore, has made a real addition to the fauna, since his specimen is the first, and as yet the only example, of this species from japan, which has come into the hands of ornithologists. it belongs to the normal form, which is quite alike in both hemispheres, 302 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. a somewhat full description of this specimen may prove useful and interesting to japanese ornithologists. forehead, supercilary stripe, a crescent across the middle of the earcoverts, upper half of sides of neck, chin, and throat, delicate strawyellow, the forehead, chin, and throat brighter, nearly naples-yellow; upper portion of forehead spotted with black; fore part of crown and a live above the superciliary stripe black, forming, with the latter, a somewhat pointed horizontal feather tuft above the ears; nasal feathers, lores, anterior portion of auriculars, and malar region, black; jugulum similarly colored, forming a large black crescent on the foreneck, not connected with the black cheek patch; auriculars apically drab-gray, forming a well-marked crescent which posteriorly circumscribes the auricular region; posterior half of crown and occiput vinaceous drab, each feather obscurely striped with cinnamon-rufous; hindneck, as well as lower portion of sides of neck, pinkish vinaceous cinnamon, obscurely striped with dull cinnamon-rufous; back grayish wood-brown, more or less distinctly streaked with dusky brown; rump and some of upper tail-coverts strongly suffused with vinaceous cinnamon; under side of body from breast backwards white, flanks suffused with vinaceous cinnamon and streaked with dusky; wings above like the back, outer lesser and median coverts more or less vinaceous cinnamon medially striped with cinnamon-rufous and margined at the tip with whitish; greater wing-coverts, as well as most of the quills, similarly margined in the apical half; under wing-coverts white, the outer ones with gray or dusky centers; middle pair of tail-feathers and longest upper coverts like the back, outer pair blackish brown with the outer webb whitish in the apical half, next pair with a corresponding very narrow white edge, otherwise like the rest of the rectrices, uniform brownish black. bill pale, horny plumbeous; feet blackish brown. first (ninth) primary scarcely longer than third, but somewhat shorter than second, these three forming the tip of the wing; second, third, and fourth distinctly sinuated in outer web. wing, 110mm; tail-feathers, 69mm; exposed culmen, 10.5mm; tarsus, 22; middle toe, with claw, 17mm. 2 alauda japonica temm. and schl. (266) u.s. nat. mus. no. 120548 & ad., henson no. 149; hakodate, may 30, 1885; u'. s. nat. mus. no. 120519 % aul., henson no. 150; hakodate, april 3, 1884. mr. henson's birds agree perfectly with numerous others from yezo and liondo. this is apparently the only lark breeding in japan proper (excluding the kurils), and from the description and the figure in fauna japonica (aves, p. 87, pl. xlvii) it is to this smaller form that temminck and schlegel gave the name alauda japonica, and not to the large one, as mr. seebohm suggests (ibis, 1884, p. 41); for not only do their measurements agree (wing 3 inches 9 lines, pied du roi= 101, slightly less than the average male as given in the table below), 1892. ] 303 proceedings of the national museum. but in the plate the peculiar shortness of the tip of the wing is rendered very exactly. in 1885 (orn. expl. kamtsch., p. 236) i gave the measurements, including averages, of six japanese specimens. they are included in the following table, and it is very interesting and gratifying to observe how close the averages of the two series run, as the results indicate that their figures are worthy of confidence. blakiston (chrystanth., 1883, p. 35) informs us that the larks do not winter in yezo. the present species passes the cold season in londo. measurements. u.s. nat. mus. no. collector and number. locality. date. sex and age. tail-feathers. exposed culmen. middle toe with anpa tarsus. wing total length. 66 65 64 66 20 19 20 2:2 178 171 o ad 20 67 64 ó ad. 69 21 20 21 20 120548 henson, 149... all. hakodate, yezo. may 30, 1885 120549 henson, 150... pad. .do apr. 3, 1884 96303 blak., 1168 ad. ..do apr. 1, 1873 96305 blak., 2097 oad. .do oct. 1, 1876 91551 blak., 2938 dad. sapporo, yezo june 23, 1882 96312 blak., 29:39 .do do 91550 blak., 2984 dad. yubutz, yezo. sept. 15, 1882 96316 blak., 2989 .do do 96314 blak., 2982 ďad. tomakomai, yezo.. sept. 16, 1882 96309 blak., 2844 dad. sarubuto, yezo may 24, 1884 96306 pryer, pl., 2184 oad. tokio, hondo mar. 27. 1877 109389 namiye. dad. do. mar. 15, 1883 91464 jouy, 911. o ad. yokohama, hondo. jan. 3, 1883 96321 jouy.. ail. .do jan. 91465 jouy, 912. ad. do jan. 3, 1883 91466 jouy, 913. ad. do do 91467 jouy, 914. ad. .do .do 96322 jouy. ad. do jap. 109:98 namiye ad. tokio, hondo mar. 8, 1881 96310 blak., 2845 ad. sarubuto, yezo. may 24, 1882 96318 blak., 2990 ad. yubutz, yezo. sept. 13, 1882 36320 blak., 2992 adl. .do sept. 14, 1882 96307 blak., 2369 ind. sapporo, yezo may 28, 1877 96311 blak., 2903 qad.....do june 9, 1882 average measurements of 13 males average measurements of 11 females 102 99 101 100 104 * 101 99 (1) 102 101 101 101 106 100 92 98 93 91 99 91 97 (1) 64 01 12 25 11 25 12 11.5 25 12 12. 5 25 12 11 11 24 12 25 11 21 12 11 11.5 21 13 12 11 11.5 23 11 12 11 12 11.5 24 12 25 21 65 58 58 02 20 : : : : :ីពីរ គឺ 60 19 20 2:2 22 19 53 61 94 102 95 65 61 11.6 24.7 20.4 11.6 24.3 20,1 much worn. molting. the u.s. national museum possesses three more adult specimens of alauda japonica (nos. 96302, 96308, 96319) whichi, in view of the above series, it is unnecessary to mcasure, as they are not sexed loy the collectors. three young ones also belong to the museum, viz: no. 88657, collected by mr. jouy, at fuji, july 22, 1882; no. 96304, hakodate, june, and no. 96317, ynbutz, september, both collected by capt. blakiston. alauda blakistoni stejn. (2661) u. s. nat. mus. nos. 120546-7, two ad. 8 8, henson, nos. 148, 722; hakodate, november 5, 1885; april 2, 1886. as contended by capt. blakiston long ago, there is no difficulty in keeping separate the two forms of larks wluichí inhabit japan, for the measurements alone are sufficient to distinguish them, as shown by the appended tables of climensions. a. blakistoni is very nearly allied to a. intermedia swish. of the opposite mainland and to a, arrensis lin. of europe, being, in fact, 304 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. only a subspecies of the latter. these belong to a northern type of a migratory habits, characterized by having the tip of the wing much elongated, that is, the first four primaries which form the tip of the wing are lengthened so as to reach farther beyond the others than in the birds of the southern type. this latter is represented in japan by a. japonica, which in turn is only subspecifically distinct from a. carli vo.r swina, from china. these forms i believe in the main to be resi. dent birds. the difference in the construction of the wing above alluded to is well pronounced in the japanese species and may be expressed as follows: (1) alauda blakistoni, distance of fifth primary from tip of wing greater than middle toe, without claw; (2) alauda japonica, distance of fifth primary from tip of wing less than middle toe, without claw. these characters, of course, are only well pronounced in specimens the quills of which are fully grown and not much abraded. mr. seebohm adinits (ibis, 1884, p. 11) the existence in japan of two races distinguished by their difference in size. the larger one, with “the wing varying in length from 4.9 to 3.9 inches," he says "might be called var. japonica by ornithologists anxious to split hairs." this name i consider referable to the smaller form. alauda blakistoni was based by me on kamtchatkan specimens before i had seen any skins from japan. a comparison of the figures of the table below with those given by me in my orn. explor. kamtsch., p. 235, shows a remarkable uniformity; the averages of wing and tail being identical to the millimeter. alauda blakistoni has as yet been reported in japan only from yezo and the kurils. it breels apparently on the latter, and passes through yezo only during the migrations, which do not seem to extend to hondo. as we have no yezo winter specimens, this form probably winters somewhere on the inainland. measurements. u.s. nat. mus. no. collector and piumber. locality: date. sex and age. exposed culmen. middle toe with claw. winy tarsus. (ول.. 76 *68 60 d'ail 26 1205-46 120547 996313 96315 96298 06:300 96301 96299 henson, 148 henson, 722. blak., 2981 blak.. 2985 blak., 1569 blak., 2770 blak., 2771 snow, blak., 27:35. dad hakodate, yezo.... o all tomakomai, yezo. ad do cad. nemoro, yezo dail! iturup, kurils. o ad do kuril islands nov. 5, 1885 124 apr. 2, 1886 *112 sept. 7109 sept. oct. 6, 1874 115 sept. 1116 sept. 1121 117 13 13 12.5 12.5 12 12.5 12 12 71 71 20 196 205 74 26 load average measurements of 7 males 116 72 12.6 26 2.9 * much worn, | partly inolting. vol305 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvmotacilla lugens kittl. (2294) it is just as well to state at the outset that this is not the motacilla lugens of fauna japonica, which is the next species; or, perhaps, it may be better to give the full synonymy of both species, in order not to be misunderstood. 1784.motacilla alba pennant, in cook's voy. pacif., iii, p. 355 (nec lin.). 1826.motacilla albeola var. pallas, zoogr. ross. as., 1, p. 507. 1833.motacilla lugens kittlitz, kupfertaf., p. 16, pl. xxi, fig. 1 (nec temm. & schl.)cassin, perry's exp. jap., ii, p. 221 (1856).-id., proc. acad. philada., 1858, p. 193.--seebohm, ibis, 1878, p. 347 (in part only).-id., b. jap. emp., p. 111 (1890).-stejneger, orn. expl. kamtsch., p. 287 (1885). – sharpe, cat. b. brit. mus., x, p. 474, pl. iv, figs. 1-4 (1885). 1833.motacilla lugubris gloger, abänd. vög., p. 148 (nec temm., 1820).—temm., man. d'orn., 2d ed., iii, p. 175 (part) (1835).-cabanis, mus. hein., 1, p. 12 (1850). 1839.motacilla leucoptera vigors, voy. blossom, p. 18 (nec selys, 1856).—zander, naumannia, 1851, iv, p. 14. 1844.—“motacilla albeola var, camtschatce pall.," schlegel, rev. crit., p. 68. 1850.—“motacilla albeola var. camtschatica pall.,” bonaparte, consp. av., 1, p. 250. 1851.motacilla alba lugens zander, naumanuia, 1851, iv, p. 13. 1863.motacilla ocularis swinhoe, p. z. s., 1863, p. 275 (part). 1863.motacilla japonica swinhoe, ibis, 1869, p. 306,-1d., ibid., 1874, p. 156 (part). whitely, ibis, 1867, p. 198.—blakist. pryer, ibis, 1878, p. 236 (part).iid., tr. as. soc. jap., viii, 1880, p. 220 (part). 1878.motacilla amurensis seebohm, ibis, 1878, p. 345, pl. ix.-id., ibid., 1883, p. 91.id., ibid., 1884, p. 39.--blakist. & pryer, tr. as. soc. jap., x, 1882, p. 155.—blakiston, chrysanth., 1882, p. 522.-id., ibid., 1883, p. 174.-id., amend. list b. jap., p. 53 (1884). 1882.-motacilla kamtschatica stejneger, naturen, 1882, p. 182. 1882.motacilla camtschatica taczanowski, bull. soc. zool. france, 1882, p. 388. 1883.motacilla ? blakiston, chrysanth., 1883, p. 31. 1883.motacilla blakistoni seebohm, ibis, 1883, p. 91.-1d., ibid., 1881, p. 38.-ringway, pr. u. s. nat. mus., vi, 1883, p. 147. motacilla mutabilis blakiston, mss. and labels. it is only during the last few years, and due to the late capt. blakiston's indefatigable efforts, that the two japanese species of wagtails have become thoroughly understood, for not only has the nomenclature been in a inost deplorable state of confusion, but the fact that both species occur in the same locality, at certain seasons at least, coupled with the great variation of the plumages, according to age and season, presented some of the most perplexing knots in japanese ornithology; in order to untie them it was necessary for capt. blakiston to bring together about seventy specimens collected at all seasons. in an interesting article in the “chrysanthemum" (1883, p. 31), and in the "amended list of the birds of japan," pp. 52–55 (1884), he ably disentangled the skein, and recently mr. r. bowdler sharpe (cat. b. brit. mus., x, 1885), has added inaterially to the clearness of the case by giving the blackeared species a new name, and hy systematically describing and illustrating the different plumages of m. lugens. it appears, however, that the differences have not been contrasted in such a way as to enable the field ornithologists to distinguish the two proc. n. m, 92-20 306 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. species in all plumages, for mr. henson, who has correctly named nearly all the other species of his large collection, has sent me the entire lot of white wagtails without an attempt to identify them, simply labeling them “ motacilla -!" it may, therefore, not be out of place to give a brief tabular synopsis of the chief differences by which the various plumages are most easily distinguished. plumage. motacilla lugens. motacilla grandis. young in first plumage (june, upper surface "smoke gray 'pper surface, ear-coverts, and enjuly, august; plumage (ridgw., nomencl. col., pl. ii, n. tire fore-neck, uniform dark easily recognized' by the 12); ear-coverts and entire fore. " drab-gray" (ridgw.. nomen. loose and open texture of neck white faintly washed with cl. col., pl. ii, n. 13); greater the contour feathers). "cream color,'' each feather nar. upper wing-coverts white to the rowly edged at tip with dusky, base; middle coverts likewise more broadly on lower jugulum, entirely white. forming an indistinct dusky col. lar across the latter: greater np. per wing coverts dark brownish gray broadly margined with white; middle coverts lusky at base, grayislı white at tip with a dusky shaft streak. young after the first molt, upper surface smoke-gray more. upper surface, sides of head, in (which usually is finisher or less strongly washed with cluding ear-coverts, sides of before the middle of octostraw.yellow, the males usually nerk throat, and jugulum, dead ber: texture of contour less black on hind black; feathers on upper surtace feathers tirin; remiges and crown; supraloral region, supermore or less broadly margined rectrices pot molting). cilia, ear-coverts, malar region, at tip with grayish; forehead, sides of neck, chin, and throat superciliary streak, and chin white tinged with straw yelpure white; wings as above. low: upper jugulum similar, but feathers subapically margiued with blackish, lower jugnum with a black, semilunar collar, each feather apically margined with whitish; through the eyes a dusky line; wings as above. adult bird (i.e., birds ready cheeks (malar region, suborbital cheeks and sides of neck black. for propagation) after the region, auriculars) and sides of tarsus longer, 25min to 27mm. first spring (no matter what neck white. tarsis shorter, the coloration of the wing), 23inm to 250m summer, and winter. more or notwithstanding the great superficial similarity in the two species, to the close observer they are very different indeed. their general size is about the same, but the proportions differ materially, j. grandis having a longer and at the base comparatvely narrower bill anti considerably longer tarsus than m. lugens. the changes of plumages, moreover, are radically dissimilar, in fact so much so, that this case ought to be a warning to ornithologists not to be too hasty in conclud. ing that, while he knows the change of plumages is one form to be of a certain nature, that of the nearest allied species is essentially alike. capt. blakiston, i think, was the first ornithologist to announce (chry. santh., jan. 1883, p. 31), the interesting observation that in m. grandis the young birds during the first autumn pass at once into the black plumage, while the young m. lugens are gray during the first winter, and that subsequently the former remains black during all seasons, while the latter is black in summer only and gray in winter. it is quite evident from capt. blakiston's manuscript notes, as well as from the labels attached to the specimens in his collection, that he considered the differences in the wmg pattern found in the various in). vol307 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvdividuals of m. lugens to be due to successive molts of the quills. mr. r. bowdler sharpe (loc.cit.), on the other hand, seems to maintain that the changes between the different patterns of wings take place during the time between the molts. and he too bases his conclusions upon a study of the series in blakiston's collection. it would therefore seem as if this series were not quite sufficient to settle the question, and so is in fact the case, for, although very complete in autumnal specimens, spring birds are comparatively not so well represented. the large series of the present species, which i myself collected in kamchatka, on the other hand, contains mostly specimens killed cluring the month of may (cf. “ list of specimens collected,” res. ornith. explor. kamtschatka, p. 291), supplementing capt. blakiston's collection to a great degree. i am therefore in the position to throw considerable light on the subject, and hope to be able to settle a part of this vexed question. before attempting this, however, a few general remarks in regard to points which must not be lost sight of during the following discussion may not be out of place. it is then to be noted that while the color of the small plumage is changed twice a year, the quills and tail-feathers are only shed once, viz, in autumn. the last (proximal) three secondaries or "tertiaries") form an exception to this rule, inasmuch as they are molted twice a year. in speaking of the changes which take place at the annual (autumnal) molt of the quills, we do not include any ref: erence to the last three, in order not to create any confusion. i will also mention that i shall designate the three figures of the wing of m. lugens, presented by mr. sharpe in the tenth volume of the “catalogue of the birds in the british museum," on pp. 475, 476, and 477, as fig. 475, fig. 476, and fig. 477, respectively. of m. lugens ten specimens in the first plumage are before me, seven belonging to mr. henson's collection (henson's nos. 28, 29, 31, 40, 41, 42, 65) and three to capt. blakiston's (blak., nos. 1389, 1390, 1561; u.s. nat. mus.. nos. 96206, 96207, 96208), the former collected during august, the latter during september and july; some are marked as male and some as female, but all are essentially alike in regard to the distribution of whitish and brownish gray, agreeing minutely with sharpe's fig. 475. as this figure does not exhibit the inner webs of the quills, i append a sketch of the secondary next to the longest “tertiary” (pl. xlv, fig. 1). birds which have finished their molt have exactly the same quill pattern, as testified by twelve specimens collected in september and october (henson's no. 328; u.s. nat. mus., nos. 96210, 96212, 96220, 96227, 96228, 96229, blak. coll. ; 92689, stejn. coll., all september birds, and henson's no.335; u.s. nat. mus., nos. 96223, 96224, 107107, blak. coll., october). i have, furtherinore, four november specimens (henson's no. 735, hakodate; u.s. nat. mus., no. 96214, yokohama, owston coll. ; 96213, nagasaki, ringer coll.; petersen's no. 74, nagasaki) which differ in no particular from the figures quoted above. from december and january i have no examples, but from the fact that a 308 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. male killed in february (u. s. nat. mus. no. 96218, nagasaki, ringer coll.) and two males in march (91531, 91559, tokio, jouy coll.*) offer no differences from the early winter birds it is safe to conclude that specimens from the intervening months are equally alike. early april specimens are wanting; however, a bird obtained by mr. grebnitzki on bering island, april 30 (u. s. nat. mus. no. 106609)t and one by blakiston in yezo during may (u. s. nat. mus., no. 96192), as well as ten others from kamtchatka and bering island, collected during the latter month (nos. 92682, 88985, 88986, 92683, 92686, 92681, 96606, 96607, and stejneger nos. 1035, 2031), show no trace of change in the quill pattern; at least not in the direction supposed by mr. sharpe, for the northern birds appear to have the dark color on the outer web of the last secondary (the one figured as above) more extended towards the base. this series is concluded by two birds in full breeding plumage, one ( 8 ) shot by myself in petropaulski, kamtchatka, june 27, 1882 (u. s. nat. mus., no. 89146), the other ( 9 ) collected by blakiston at cape blanco, yezo, june 23, 1873 (no. 96194), the latter in a very abraded plumage, both of which in every essential particular have the quills colored in the same manner as the birds in the first plumage killed the year previous in july, august, and september. we have thus examined a series of forty-three specimens, illustrating the pattern of the quills, from the birds leaving the nest until they have become a year old and are rearing their own young. this material proves most conclusively that the quills undergo no change whatsoever in regard to the relative distribution of white and dusky (except, of course, the grailual wearing away of the whitish edges during the second summer). it is also to be noted, that in this enormous series the individual variation is but very slight. i the yearly inolt of the quills does not take place until about two months later than the latest specimen enumerated above, and from these months i have no specimen to show. i should therefore have expressed myself much more giardedly in regard to a possible change in the coloration of the quills during the last period before the molt, had it not been that our collection contains a most interesting specimen which, * these two specimens are molting their "tertiaries," and the new black feathers on the back make their appearance; throat already black in no. 91559. i make this statement well aware of the fact that dr. h. gätke (journ. of orn., 1854, p. 323) flatly denies a prenuptial molt in the british white wagtail. he says: “von beiden arten [ motacilla lugubris (yarrellii) an inthus littoralis] habe ich hunderte von exemplaren in allen stufen des leberganges vom winterzum sommerkleide in händen gehabt, nie aber neu herrorkeimende, halboder weiter ausgewachsene federn finden können.” however this may be in the european bird, the fact remains that in the specimens referred to, most of the black feathers on the back are still in their sheaths. + from this time on all the specimens are in full summer plumage; throat black; males with back black, females gray. # the greater amount of lusky on the proximal secondaries in the kamchatkan spring specimens is possibly a peculiarity of the breeding birds of that country. vol309 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvin connection with the above series, most satisfactorily completes the proof and makes it incontrovertible. this specimen, a female, was collected by capt. blakiston at yubutz, yezo, september 15, 1882 (u.s. nat. mus., no.96211; blak., no. 2958), and is in full molt all over. the black feathers on top of the head are giving way to gray ones tinged with yellow; the anterior portion of the back has already assumed the latter color; new white feathers delicately suffused with straw-yellow appear on the throat; several new black marginal (smaller) upper wing.coverts have taken the place of the gray ones; the tail feathers also are molting, and in the left wing the longest “ tertiary” has fallen out. most interesting is the molt of the other quills, inasmuch as all the primaries and all but two of the secondaries are new and still partly in the sheaths; the two secondaries left from the old plumage are the two ones next to the “tertiaries,” quite brown and faded and with the whitish margins nearly entirely worn off, but the extent of terminal dusky and basal white is exactly as in the july bird just out of the nest, which we have already figured (pl. xlv, fig. 1). in a day or two these feathers would have fallen out, and we have thus proof that the first quill pattern remains absolutely unchanged until the molt in the second autumn. this demonstrated, we will now take a look at the new quills in this bird. only the six inner primaries are nearly fully grown, and of the secondaries only the three next to the primaries are so far grown that this pattern can be made out. in a general way they do not differ greatly from the wing pattern of the first plumage, except that the dusky portion is blacker and less extensive, while the light bases and margins have increased in extent and whiteness; the black in the outer web of the primaries descends along the shafts nearly to the base. so far as i can make out, this pattern is the one which mr. sharpe represents in fig. 476. in order to give an illustration of the secondary next to the longest "tertiary” for comparison with my previous figure of the corresponding quill in the young bird, i select another specimen, with which the molting bird alluded to agrees in every respect as far as the quills already grown out are concerned. this specimen is u. s. mus. no. 96205 (9, tomakoma, yezo, september 17, 1882, blak. coll., no. 2959), shot only two days later than the above female, but probably of an earlier brood, inasmuch as the entire molt is finished. pl. xlv, fig. 2, gives a fair idea of the distribution of black and white on the inner secondaries in this stage of plumage, while fig. 3 illustrates the same on the fifth primary. quite a series of specimens agree closely with this type, which we regard as representative of the birds in the second winter and third summer, viz: u.s. nat. mus., nos. 96226 (yezo, september), 107016 (nagasaki, december 25), and 96195 (yezo, april); henson, no. 138 (yezo, april 19); u.s. nat mus., nos. 96196 (yezo, may 16), 107014 (yezo, june 22); 96212 (yokohama), and 107108 (nagasaki), the latter two, however, without date and sex on the collector's labels. all these 310 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. are designated as females by the collectors, except the last two, of which the yokohama specimen is widoubtedly a female, while the nagasaki biro may possibly be a male. as the series covers the time from the autumnal molt until the middle of jwe next year, and as there is no perceptible increase of the white color to be observed, it seems fair to conclude that the quill pattern of the females of the second year remains nearly unchanged until the molt in the third autumn; consequently that the black does not "gradually disappear," at least not in the females, during the second year. we headed the foregoing series with a september female just molting and another one having just finished the molt of her second autumn. no. 96209 (u. s. nat. mus.) is also a september male, collected by blakiston at yubutz, yezo, september 13, 1882 (blak., no. 2957), which has just passed the molt, traces of the "sheaths" still adhering to the basis of several of the quills, while the first primary and the innermost secondary is not yet fully grown out. that it is not a bird of the year is plain from the fact that some of the feathers on the back are blackish, while nearly all the lesser wing coverts are black; that it is not much more than a year old, i think, will be plain from the pattern of the quills, the secondary and primary corresponding to those of the female already figured, being figs. 4 and 5, pl. xlv. it will be seen by a comparison with figs. 2 and 3 that the difference in male and female in the quill pattern during this stage is slight, although the latter is evi. dently “ more backward," as mr. sharpe remarks. like the female, , this specimen has the white of the head and the back suffused with yellowish. another male in precisely the same stage of molt was shot by capt. blakiston on the following day (u. s. nat. mus., no. 107015; yubutz, yezo, september 14, 1882; blak., no. 2955), has the wing pattern essentially similar, the fifth primary having only a little more white in the inner web along the shaft, but on the proximal secondary the black is reduced to a slight dusky trace in both webs. a third male, shot by the same gentleman on the last day of the same month (u. s. nat. mus., no. 96227; blak., no. 3031), is absolutely similar, but there is hardly a trace of dusky left on the proximal secondary. in all three the black on the outer webs of the outer primaries extends consider. ably towards the base, but is especially pronounced and extensive in the last-mentioned specimen. these three examples being shot nearly at the same time show plainly the range of individual variation in regard to the quill pattern, and demonstrate the necessity of dispensing: with the theory of a gradual change taking place during the following winter, a conclusion furthermore strengthened by an inspection of the following specimens: u. s. nat. mus., no.96222 ( 8 , yezo, oct. 10, 1882; blak., no. 3101), very much like the bird figured (figs. 4 and 5), but the outer web of the proximal secondary nearly entirely white, and black on outer webs of outer primaries very heavy; no. 96201 ( 8 , yokohama, nov. 20, 1882), nearly identical with no. 96225, but black on vol . 1892311 , proceedings of the national museum. ] xvouter webs of outer primaries more like no. 96209; no. 96202 ( 8 , nagasaki, dec. 25, 1882), quite similar. henson's no. 157 ( 8, hakodate, april 16, 1884) and stejneger's no. 2035 ( 8 , petropaulski, may 17, 1883), both in full summer plumage, are also identical with the foregoing specimens. finally i have to mention a male which i shot at petropaulski, kamtchatka, on may 17, 1883 (u. s. nat. mus., no. 92685); it is in full suminer plumage, black-backed, and i dissected it myself; it is also the latest as to date in the series of males, yet it has more black on the quills than any of the foregoing ones, the proximal secondary and the fifth primary being in fact absolutely identical with those of the female, figs. 2 and 3. so far our material has been ample and our conclusions, i think, safe. there remain only seven specimens, the quill pattern of six of which differ considerably from that of the foregoing series (figs. 2-5). although taken from the most extreme specimen, pl. xlv, fig. 6 represents very well the fifth primary of this group, as compared with figs. 3 and 5, while the proximal secondary is pure white, or nearly so (all or most of the secondaries being in fact similar). the first bird of this series to attract our attention is no. 96203, collected by mr. ringer at nagasaki, december, 1879, and by him designated as a female. nearly all the secondaries are pure white; the black on the outer web of the four outer primaries does not extend further down than on the inner web, and the fifth primary is colored very much like the one figured (fig. 6). should the determination of the sex be correct, i should think it most probable that this pattern had been assumed after the molt in the third autumn, since the difference seems to be too great to be only an individual variation of quill pattern (fig. 3). a september male (yezo, blakiston, no. 2956; u. s. nat. mus., no. 96200) and it summer bird, male, collected in the kurils by mr. snow (u. s. nat. mus., no. 96198), on the other hand, are quite similar, leaving the black apical patch on the fifth primary somewhat larger than in fig. 6, the latter being collected at hakodate in march by capt. blakiston (u. s. nat. mus., no. 96197). it will be observed that the difference between these males and the lighter ones already referred to the type represented by figs. 4 and 5 is not so great as to preclude the possibility of their being only individual variations of the same stage of plumage, and it must be admitted that the three last specimens of our collection, which we have not yet mentioned, seem to point in this direction. the first of these is a ở collected by mr. henson at hakodate, may 16, 1883 (u. s. nat. mus., no. 96199), the left wing of which is quite normal, with a fifth primary like fig. 6, but with some dusky marks on the proximal secondary. in the right wing, however, fourth and fifth primaries, although apparently fully grown, are considerably shorter than normally, and the greater pureness of the white color at once indicates that they are of more recent origin than the rest, in other words, that they have recently grown out in the place of the old ones which had been lost 312 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. accidentally; of these new feathers the fifth primary las quite as much black as fig. 5, while the fourth one in the inner shows even more than the average female after the molt in the second autumn, though the outer web is pure white, except at the tip, a feature only visible in a few of the most extreme specimens. the other bird is an unsexed specimen in the middle of the autumnal molt (henson's no. 39, hakodate, aug. 14, 1882) contour feathers as well as remiges and rectrices being shed; in the wing, which even in the old plumage belongs to the extreme white type, the five proximal primaries are fully grown; the third and fourth are still small, while the two outer ones as well as all the secondaries belong to the old plumage. so much can be said from this specimen that the new feathers have just as much black as the old ones, and that in this bird, at least, the new molt wculd not have brought on an increased amount of white. to this may be successfully replied, however, that this bird had already at some previous molt obtained its maximum of white, and that it consequently does not prove that at the molt in the third autumn the quill pattern of figs. 2-5 is not exchanged for that of the extreme white type. nor does the last specimen before me, a female which i collected in kamtchatka, may 24, 1883 (u.s. nat. mus., no. 92688), prove much either way. although being surely a female it has a fifth primary like fig. 5 ( 8 ) aud a proximal secondary nearly white. it is consequently whiter in the quill pattern than any female in the series, the sex of which is ascertained beyond a doubt. as i have pointed out above, the kamtchatkan birds seem to have a somewhat darker wing than the birds breeding in the south. is the present specimen, therefore, a bird in the fourth year, or is the unusual amount of white simply due to individual variation? after having thus examined a series of about seventy examples, we are reluctantly forced to admit that still more examples are needed in order to get at the bottom of the question. about twenty more whitewinged m. lugens, collected in the north of japan between the beginning of august and the middle of september, in the different stages of molt, and accurately sexed by dissection, will be necessary to end the dispute. will our friends in that country help us to complete the series and end the dispute? but no more young birds with “brown" wings need be slaughtered. mr. henson's thirteen specimens having been mentioned during the above already too lengthy discussion, i consider it unnecessary to refer to them more particularly. motacilla grandis sharpe. (229) as with the foregoing, it will be most instructive to begin with the synonymy as follows: 1835.motacilla lugubris t'emminck, man. d'orn., 2d ed., iii, pp. li, 175 (part., nec 1820). vol313 1992proceedings of the national museum. , 1 . . xv* * * 1817. motacilla lugens temminck & schlegel, fauna japon., aves, 60, pl. xxv (nec kittlitz, 1833).? blakiston, ibis, 1862, p. 319.-id., chrysanth., 1882, p. 522.-id., ibid., 1883, p. 31.-id., ibid., 1883, feb., p. ia., ibid., 1883, p. 174.-seeboum, ibis, 1879, p. 31.—blakist. & pryer, tr. as. soc. jap., x, 1882, p. 155.-jouy, pr. u. s. nat. mus., vi, 1883, p. 290. 1866.motacilla japonica tristram, ibis, 1866, p. 291 (nec swinh., 1863).-swinhoe, ibis, 1874, p. 156 (part.).—blakist. & pryer, ibis, 1878, p. 236 (part.).lid., tr. as. soc. jap., vii, 1880, p. 220 (part.).—blakist., amend. list b. jap., p. 52 (1881).-stejneger, orn. expl. kamtsch., p. 289 (1885). seebohm, b. jap. emp., p. 112 (1890). 1885.—motacilla grandis sharpe, cat. b. br. mus., x, p. 492. motacilla immutabilis blakiston, mss. and labels. mr. sharpe was undoubtedly correct in giving this species a new name, since swinhoe (who afterwards, however, confounded the two species) bestowed the name m. japonica upon the black-backed race (of m. ocularis) , peculiar to the japanese islands” (ibis, 1863, p. 309, footnote), which, of course, is the true m. lugens. it has already been remarked under the head of m. lugens that the changes of plumage in the two japanese species of wagtails are quite different, and this statement does not apply to the contour feathers alone, but to the quills as well, for it is evident that m. grandis does not pass through the brown" stage of m. lugens, as the young birds upon leaving the nest have the white and black of the quills as strongly contrasted as the adults, while the white color in this stage of the wings, which lasts until the molt in the autumu of the next year, is somewhat more extended than in the corresponding stage of m. lugens. how. ever, all the quills are marked with dusky, except occasionally one or two of the inner secondaries. the male, as a rule, seems to be a trifle more white than the female. the series of thirteen specimens before me seems to prove that no change takes place in the quills between the molts. after the autumnal molt the next year all the secondaries become pure white, and the black on the inner primaries is greatly reduced, so that these parts now exactly resemble the corresponding quills in the most extremely white m. lugens. on the outer primaries the black is also somewhat restricted, but not so much so as in m. lugens; the black tips are much longer, and the black on the first primary reaches nearly always to the base, thus presenting a very marked difference from the adult m. lugens in the corresponding plumage. of this species mr. henson's collection only contains a single specimen (no. 821), a female, in the first year, collected at hakodate, december 5, 1885; u. s. nat. mus. no. 120527. motacilla melanope pall. (230) š, no. 139, hakodate, september 17, 1884; 4, no. 163, ibid., september 10, 1881. u. s. nat. mus. no. 120541-2. 314 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. anthus maculatus hodgs. (225) two $ $ , nos. 698, 154; hakodate, november 25 and 27, 1883; , no. 28, ibid., july 19, 1886. v. s. nat. mus. nos. 120544, 120543, 120515. turdus cardis temm. (260) a four specimens, of which one just out of the nest, all in the olive plumage. two of them are marked & , but this must be a mistake, for, as i shall slow, the sexual difference in coloration is very pronounced in all plumages. when seebohm treated of the thrushes in the fifth volume of the “catalogue of the birds in the british museum” (1881), the young in the first plumage were unknown. since then nestlings and young ones just out of the nest have been collected by mr. jouy and mr. henson. i have also a full series of the other plumages, so that a few remarks on the different plumages and their changes may not be out of place. 8 in nestling plumage is of a blackish slate color above with but a very slight suffusion of fulvous, and with very distinct pale buffy shaft streaks; tail and wings similarly colored, though more fulvous towards the outer margins of the feathers; the terminal spots of ochraceous buff on the upper wing-coverts are rather large on the middle row, but nearly obsolete on the larger ones; the dusky spot on the under side are large, and the buffy tinge suffusing the white ground color rather pale (u. s. nat. mus., nos. 88607, 88612). the nestling differs considerably, being of a dark, dull, tawny olive above, with dusky margins to the tips of the feathers and narrow, buffy shaft streaks more or less pronounced; tail and wings more fulvous than in the male, without any slaty cast, and the ochraceous tip to the greater upper wing-coverts rather larger and well defined; sides, breast, and foreneck more strongly suffused with ochraceous (u. s. nat. mus., no. 88608, and henson, no. 5). 8 jun., after the first autumnal molt differs very much from the female in corresponding plumage. the entire upper surface is of a dull plumbeous or bluish slate gray, nearly pure on lower back and wing, and but slightly suffused with fulvous on head and interscapulars, but more strongly so on the secondaries, and especially the greater upper wingcoverts which have the tips narrowly margined with pale ochraceous buff'; sides of head dusky, with but faint fulvous suffusion; fore-neck and breast very thickly spotted with large blackish, fan-shaped terminal spots, the visible ground color between them being pale plumbeous on the chest and lower neck, whitish on throat and chin, but suffused with ochraceous; rest of under surface pure white, tinged with plumbeous on the flanks and with ochraceous on the sides of the breast, these parts, besides, spotted with blackish like the breast; under wing-coverts ochraceous rufous. (this description is taken from a specimen collected by mr. p. l. jouy, in fusan, corea, april 26, 1886. jouy, no. 1585.) vol315 1892. x. proceedings of the national museum. :] . & after the following (second) autumnal molt resembles the above in the color of the back, but the head and face are blackish and the foreneck and chest are of a uniform dul, brownish slate, only the chin being whitish; secondaries and greater upper wing-coverts are still strongly washed with fulvous, but the ochraceous wash on the under side has disappeared, and the under wing-coverts are slate-gray in the middle, being only broadly margined with ochraceous (u.s. nat. mus., no. 96289). in the fully adult & all traces of fulvous disappear; the black of the head, fore-neck, and chest becomes darker and pervades the back, and even the under wing-coverts are blackish (u. s. nat. mus., nos. 88606, 96288). the adult & is olive above; fore neck, chest, and flanks strongly suffused with ochraceous spotted with black; under wing coverts bright ochraceous. in summer slightly gray above, in winter more fulvous. (numerous specimens.) measurements. collector and museum and no. no. locality. date. sex and age. tail-feathers. exposed culmen. middle toe with claw. wing. tarsus. 73 73 72 27 28 29 dad. u.s. nat., 120326. henson, 1235.. 9 ad... hakodate, yezo u.s. nat., 120327 henson, 1241.. (p) ad .do u.s. nat., 120328 henson, 1233..(p) ad .do. c.s. nat., 120329 henson, 5 (8) ad do christiania, n... petersen, 70... 9 a.. nagasaki, kiusiu u.s. nat., 96288. ringer, 18 ilo u.s. nat., 88606.. jouy, 495. load fuji, hondo. u.s. nat., 88611.. jouy, 454. pad. .do.. u.s. nat., 88608.. jouy, 591. juv. u.s. nat., 88612.. jouy, 526. o juv. u.s. nat., 88607.. jouy, 381. djuv. ..do u.s. nat., 96289.. blak., 758 cad hakodate, yezo u.s. nat., 96287.. blak., 2356 (p) ad . sapporo, yezo. oct. 6, 1884 ..do (et. 4, 1884 july 20, 1883 nov. --, 1886 dec. 13, 1876 july 13, 1882 july 8, 1882 july 24, 1882 july 16, 1882 july 2, 1882 oct. 21, 1861 oct. 12, 1877 110 109 111 108 110 114 118 111 106 85 71 112 111 仍​仍​=numm似​%b85 17 18 18 18 19 19 19 18 18 15 14 30 30 30 30 30 30 29 29 29 28 29 30 29 71 76 80 70 62 30 18 76 75 28 28 27 27 ....do ..do. 27 26 18 28 turdus eunomus temm. (264) > a normally colored pair of this species is in henson's collection: o ad., no. 81; hakodate, march 15, 1884; 9, no. 658, same locality and date; u.s. nat. mus., nos. 120330-1. the latter specimen agrees very closely with naumann's, fig 1, pl. lxviii, naturg. vög. deutschl., vol. ii, and his excellent description of the same specimen on p. 291, which, however, he erroneously refers to t. naumanni. two females collected by jouy in tate.yama, hondo, october 27, 1882 (u. s. nat. mus., nos. 91311, 91312), agree even better with the figure in question, as they have the spots on the flanks still browner than henson's bird. turdus naumanni temm. (261) a pair of this comparatively rare thrush in henson's collection, and a female collected by blakiston in yezo, resemble in all essential points 316 birds from yezo, japan--stejneger. specimens from shanghai, china, and from ('orea. none of them show any inclination toward t. ruficollis pall., being in every respect quite typical. measurements. u.s. nat. mus. no. collector ard no. locality. date. sex and age. 120332 120333 96291 henson, 77. henson. 78. blak., 3212. dad. hakodate, yezo. ad do ad. sapporo, yezo. mar. 15, 1884 .do oct. 23, 1882 135 125 130 90 89 93 17 18 18 33 33 31 27 230 turdus pallidus gm. (259.) mr. iienson sends two specimens, no. 744, hakodate, november 23, 1885, apparently an old male, and no. 807, november 7, 1885, a younger bird of the same sex. (u. s. nat. mus. nos. 120334–5.) this species appears to be very rare in yezo, for it seems that capt. blakiston did not obtain it in that island, though he was able to compare a specimen, apparently in the hakodate museun, with his chinese examples. whitely only collected one specimen. these two specimens, with those of mr. henson, appear to be the only ones obtained so far in the north island. in hondo the species occurs more frequently, as well as in kiusiu, and in the liukiu islands, though by no means a common bird. all the specimens which i have seen were winter birds, and i do not think there is any valid record of the species breeding in the country. i can discover no differences beyond individual variation in a series of eighteen examples from the various japanese islands, corea, china, liukiu, and formosa. turdus chrysolaus temm. (263) two specimens from ilakodate ( 8 ad., no. 234, may 20, 1885; and a younger unsexed specimen, no. 721, october 4, 1884, u. s. nat. mus. nos. 120336–7) agree with others of the same species from hondo, kiusiu, liukiu, and corea. the male is perfectly adult, with uniformly dusky throat and without light tips to the greater upper wing coverts; but there are a few dusky spots on the sides of the breast. these are only “recollections,” not“ remnants,” of the first plumage. this specimen is also interesting as being taken later in spring than any of the others examined by me. compared with the breeding male of t. jouyi (july 2) it bears out the difference in the coloration of the throat in the two species, as pointed out in the original description of the latter (proc. u.s. nat. mus., x, 1887, p. 5). i can throw no further light upon this form, and additional specimens of these birds from various parts of japan, and collected at all seasons of the year, are very desirable. vol317 1892. ] proceedings of the national museum. .turdus obscurus gm. (262) according to the account given by blakiston and pryer, this species, although of regular occurrence, must be comparatively rare in japan. it has hitherto not been found in yezo (blakist., amend. list b. jap., p. 26), and mr. henson's specimen (no. 1274, juv.; hakodate, octo. ber 10, 1882) is therefore of particular interest as extending the range of this species into the northern island. (u. s. nat. mus. no. 120338.) the scarcity of the eyebrowed thrush in the northern portions of japan is very remarkable, when we consider that it is common in kamtchatka. cichloselys* sibiricus (pall.). (258) the siberian thrush is comparatively rare in japan, but is found sparingly breeding at least in hondo. its occurrence in yezo has not been recorded with certainty, and blakiston (amend. list b. jap., p. 26) enumerated it among the “species not found in yezo or the kurils." mr. henson, however, has been so fortunate as to secure specimens at hakodate in june, both in 1884 and 1885 (no. 83, š , june 3, 1884; no. 159, 9, june 22, 1885). (u. s. nat. mus. nos. 120339–40.) the male has not quite obtained its final plumage, for the wing is still more or less tinged with fulvous, and the chin is white, in fact closely resembling a breeding male collected by mr. jouy at fuji, july 14, 1882 (u. s. nat. mus., no. 88609). the female is a fully adult bird characterized by the very pronounced plumbeous cast of the back, and by the median upper wing-coverts being uniform and not marked with the buffy deltoid spots characteristic of the bird of the year. mr. seebohm, in the fifth volume of the british museum catalogue, gives turdus auroreus pallas as the female of the present species, followiny gloger, brehm, and gray. looking apart from the locality, kadiak, as indicated by pallas, the following points of his description can not be reconciled with sibericus : “subtus tota ferrugineo-lutea, * the “siberian thrush” has the wing constructed somewhat differently from that of the other japanese thrushes. the second primary, as a rule, is very long, nearly, or quite, as long as the fourth; second, third, and fourth thus forming the tip of of the wing. furthermore, it has only the third and fourth primaries sinuated in the outer webs toward the tips, while in the other thrushes the fifth is also usually sinuated. the tail in the present species is conspicuously rounded, against square, or nearly so, in the others. with these structural differences there is also associated a peculiar patteru of coloration, especially of the under surface of the wing, which induced mr. seebohm to include it in the genus geocichla, in which he also puts oreocincla. to the latter c. sibiricus has undoubtedly nearer relationship than to turdus, though there seems to be enough structural characters to warrant the separation of cichle selys and oreocincla. the name cichloselys was originally applied by bonaparte to a heterogeneous assemblage of turdine birds belonging to different groups at that time already named. since he has not indicated any particnlar species as type, i feel justified (a. 0. u. ('ode, canons xxi, xxiv) in restricting the name to the only species of the group requiring a separate name. 318 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. 类 ​* versus anum pallidior remiges nigricantes, inargine exteriore luteæe, 2 ad 4 exteriore vexillo angustata tectrices se cundariarum et incumbentes apice exterius late lutex cauda æqualis in all these points pallas's description agrees with hesperocichla næria (gm.) which breeds in kadiak, alaska. * ** monticola manilla (bodd.). (256) blue and red rock-thrush. iso hio-dori. 2 1776.— turdus solitarius müller, natursyst., suppl., p. 142 (nec lix., 1758).petrocossyphus s. dresser & sharpe, b. of eur., ii, pp. 150, 161 (1872).monticola s. swinhoe, ibis, 1874, p. 157.-m. solitaria blakist. & pryer, ibis, 1878, p. 240.—iid., trans. as. soc. jap., viii, 1880, p. 225.iid., ibid., x, 1882, p. 163.-seebohm, cat. b. brit. mus., v, p. 319 (1881).-id., ibis. 1887, p. 174.-blakist., chrysanth., 1882, p. 521.-id., ibid., 1883, p. 33.– id., amend. list b. jap., p. 58 (1881).-stejneger, proc. u. s. nat. mus., ix, 1886, p. 616.-id., ibid., x, 1887, pp. 405, 415, 485.--id., zeitschr. ges. ornith., iv, p. 174 (1888). 1776. — ? turdus philippensis müller, natursyst., suppl., p. 145. 1783.turdus manilla boddaert, tabl. pl. enl., p. 39. 1788.—? turdus eremita gmelin, s. y., i, p. 833. 1788.— turdus manillensis gmelin, s. x.,1, p.833.—kurtitz, mém. sav. étr. st.-pétersb., i, p. 246 (1831).-id., denkw., ii, p. 186 (1858).--temm. & schlegel, fauna jap., aves, p. 67 (1847).petrocossyphus m., hartlacb, journ. orn., 1854, p. 167.—cassin, proc. acad. philatla., 1862, p. 314.—petrocincla m. blakiston, ibis, 1862, p. 319. --whitely, ibis, 1867, p. 199.-copsychus manilensis martens, prenss. exp. ost-as., zool., 1, p. 368 (1877). 1858.petrocincla violacea swiniiof, zoologist, 1858 (p. 6228). 1881.-monticola cyanus solitaria seebohm, cat. b. brit. mus., 1, p. 318 (part). 1890.—monticola cyanus seeboim, b. jap. emp., p. 53. there has of late been written a great deal in regard to the changes of plumage which take place in the present species, and many.theories have been advanced, but no satisfactory solution has been arrived at as yet. in an elaborate memoir (b. of eur., ii, pp. 149-163, 1872) messrs. sharpe and dresser attempted to demonstrate that the male blue-and-red rock-thrush is only “ blue and red” during a comparatively short transitional period of its life, and that the old birds are entirely blue, like the european blue rock-thruslı, basing their conclusion upon the fact that wholly blue birds are found also in the east, in china and indochina. mr. seebohm, on the other hand, rejects this theory (cat. b. brit. mus., v, pp. 319-320, 1881), and in doing so i think he is absolutely correct. but he solves the mystery of the eastern blue birds by extending the range of m. solitaria (lin.) (10 ed.=m. cyanus lin., 12 ed.), the european bird, eastward into china, and in this i think he is wrong. the eastern bird is smaller, with a comparatively smaller bill; its wing formula is different, and the blue color is deeper and darker. i have no doubt as to its distinctness, but whether a binominal or only a trinominal should be used to designate it i am at 2 vol319 1892proceedings of the national museum. my, . ] . xvpresent unable to say. it seems as if the name monticola pandoo (sykes) is available for this form. sharpe and dresser (tom. cit., p. 161) indicate the possibility that the rock thrush from japan may turn out to be a different species-characterized by a greater brilliancy of coloration and longer tarsus. without specimens from the philippine islands it is difficult for me to form an opinion. all i can say is that i find no essential difference in proportion or coloration between japanese, liukiuan, formosan, chinese, and corean examples. eleven specimens from china, corea, and formosa vary in the wing between 115mm and 128mm (average 122mm) and in the tarsus between 28mm and 31mm (average 30mm), while fourteen specimens from japan and liukiu measure in the wing 116mm to 128mm (average 122mm) and in the tarsus 29mm to 32mm (average 30mm). mr. seebohm (cat. b. brit. mus., v, p. 320) asserts that “males of the year scarcely differ from adult females, except in having the groundcolor of the under parts, especially on the breast and belly, tinged with blue.” in this i think he is wrong, for the material before me clearly indicates that the young male in the first autumn is essentially like the adult male at the corresponding season. to substantiate this assertion i select from my series four males collected in september and november, viz: ô ; jouy coll., no. 1177; chemulpo, corea, september 7, 1883. 8 8 ; u.s. nat. mus., no. 86141; hongkong, china, november 12, 1881; jouy coll. u.s. nat. mus., no. 85830; kowloon, china, september 28, 1881; jouy coll. ; u. s. nat. mus., no. 85831; amoy, china, september 18, 1881; jouy coll. the first two specimens at once proclaim themselves as young birds by the comparatively abraded condition of wings and tails. in the young birds the remiges and rectrices remain from the first plum. age, and are not shed in autumn, as in the old birds; hence the fresher condition of these feathers in the latter. i need hardly add that the comparatively abraded quills here spoken of are not those of old birds with these feathers yet unmolted, for in that case they would have been uniform blackish with dark bluish edges and no white, while those i refer to have very broad and light edges, white at the tips. the condition of the quills at this season is a certain indication of the age of the bird when no trace of the first plumage is left. such a trace, however, is still visible in the corean example enumerated above, for this specimen has on each tail-feather (central pair absent) a rufous, somewhat heart-shaped, but ill-defined spot near the tip, separated from the broad terminal margin of similar color by a blackish line. in the hongkong specimen traces of the same are still visible, but the tail is more abraded. the very fresh condition of the corresponding quills in the two other specimens testifies to their having been but recently acquired; the birds are consequently more than a year old. 320 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. the two specimens of each group mentioned above agree in every point. the differences between the two groups, which reveal themselves upon closer examination, may be tabulated as follows: adult do. din first autumr. bill blackish throughout. bill horny brown, basal half of lower mandible particularly pale. the drab-colored portion of the upper parts ex. the drab color of the upper parts extends tends only to the miadle of the back, and the nearly to the rump, and the snbapical dusky subapical dusky band to the feathers on head, band to the feathers is very pronounced, causing neck, and interscapulars is very indistinct. a distinct scaly appearance. blue of lower back, rump, upper tail-coverts, and blue of rump, npper tail-coverts, and under parts under parts deeper and parer, with fewer and paler and dingier, with the markings more narrower terminal markings of blackish and pale numerous, broader, and more distinct. drab-gray. brown of under parts with fewer and narrower brown of under parts with more numerous and terminal markings. broader markings. a distinct bluish supraloral streak, and a ring of a distinct whitish supraloral streak, and a ring similarly colored feathers round the eye. of similarly colored feathers round the eye. wing feathers black with blue edgings of same wing feathers blackish brown with pale smoke. tint as rump, and narrow white margins to the gray edgings and broad white margins to the tips. tips, these white tips being particnlarly broad on primary and greater coverts. tail without any particular mark near tip. tail with marks as described above. there is no doubt that mr. seebohm (op. cit., p. 320) is correct in the main in asserting that the males during (february and) march cast off the terminal and subterminal bars to the feathers, which they assumed at the autumnal molt, leaving the bird in full breeding plumage. but his material must have been deficient when he states that “in the chest. nut feathers (of the autumnal plumage] traces only of the subterminal dark bars are observable.” he can have had no fully molted male, for in such a one he would have found not only the pale terminal bar but also a bluish one preceding the dusky bar. measurements. museum and no. collector and no. sex and age. locality date. tail-feathers. exposed culmen. middle toe with claw. wing. tarsus, 65 20 23 20 30 30 31 32 29 31 31 31 29 22 tokio educat.... tasaki.. (9) north part of lin. kin' christiania, n petersen, 1. . urakami, kiusiu. u.s. nat., 120341 henson, 23. (p)ad. hakodate, yezo. u.s.nat., 114663. jouy, 1522 dad tsushima u.s. nat. 111664. namiye, 3b dad. miyakeshima, idzu u.s. nat., 21148 stimpson, y183 (9) oshima.. u.s. nat., 21146 stimpson, 7169 ()ad. liukiu.. u.s. nat., 21147 stimpson, y165 (9). liukiu. u.s. nat., 109473. namiye.. 9 napa, liukiu. u.s. nat., 96277 ringer, 6 juv . nagasaki, kiusiu. u.s. nat., 96276 blak., 1320i. dad hakodate, yezo. u.s. nat., 96278 blak., 1329. pad 117 79 dec. 11, 1885 121 80 july 18, 1885 | 123 811 may 26, 1885 129 84 may 3. 1887. 128 85 jan., 1855 120 81 123 116 mar. 5, 1886 120 oct. 39 1876 122 may 128 may 30 30 31 30 hakodate.. u.s. nat., 114727 ringer, 14.. kiusiu u.s. nat., 114728. ringer.. 오 ​kiusiu 121 jan. or feb 122 78 jan. 21, 1887 122 o ad »2 20 . 321 1892xv . proceedings of the national museum. phænicurus auroreus (pall.). (253) & ad., no. 105, hakodate, nov. 8, 1883; ? ad., no. 337, ibid., sept. 17, 1883. '. s. nat. mus., nos. 12345-6. identical with birds from the southern islands and from china. young japanese birds in the first plumage are among the desiderata of the u. s. national museum. ianthia cyanura (pall.). (251) ďad., no. 161, hakodate, nov. 5, 1883. 9 d., no. 162, may 5, 1881; no. 967, april 29, 1881. v. s. nat. mus., nos. 120344, 120359-60. u.s. national museum would like to get young birds in the first plumage. melodes calliope (pall.). (252) two ad. 8 8, no. 219, hakodate, oct. 8, 1884; no. 793, ibid., sept. 12, 1886. u. s. nat. mus., nos. 120312-3. quite similar to the scarlet-throated males from kamtchatka, china, nagasaki, and the yayeyama islands. these are all characterized by having the lower fore-neck and upper breast more or less olive-gray (ridgw., nomencl. col., pl. ii, no. 14), and the first one or two rows of feathers back of the scarlet throat pure white with a blackish band across the tips. two scarlet-throated birds collected by capt. blakiston in yezo (8, u.s. nat. mus., no. 96269, yubutz, may 18, 1882; blak., no. 2858. 9, mus. no. 26271, mukawa, may 26, 1882; blak., no. 2862) differ considerably from all the other specimens before me. the whole under parts are lighter and whiter medially; the gray is entirely absent on lower fore-neck and breast, these parts being of a very pale clay color (ridgw., nomencl. col., pl. v, no. 8); and there are only a few grayish spots to indicate the blackish band noted above. both of blakiston's birds are collected in may, but some of the other specimens are obtained during the same month, or even later in the summer, so that season does not seem to have anything to do with this difference, but it may be that it is due to age. at all events, here is an interesting question well worth the attention of the japanese field ornithologists. does the ruby-throated nightingale breed in yezo or in the kurils, and, in such a case, how are the breeding birds colored with reference to the above differences! the young in the first plumage of this common bird are apparently yet unknown and would be a great prize. not being on the mainland of kamtchatka at the proper time, i myself was unable to secure any in that plumage. larvivora cyane (pall.). (250) of this species capt. blakiston says (chrysanth., february, 1383): this is by no means an abundant species in japan, and i know of only one female specimen, which is in the education museum;" and during his many years of collecting in japan he only obtained one speciproc. n. m. 92-21 322 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. a men. mr. jouy secured a breeding male not yet in full plumage on fujiyama, and he and mr. smith collected two young males at chiusenji lake. mr. henson has been more fortunate, for he has placed before me not less than twelve specimens from hakodate, viz, four fully adult males, one male in the second spring, one male in the first autumn, and six females. the dates and numbers of these specimens will be found in the subjoined table of dimensions. the specimen which i take to be a young female of the previous year (no. 1405), because it has quite distinct tawny terminal edges to the greater wing-coverts, is similar to the young males in the first autumn, except that there is hardly any blue on the upper parts, which, besides, are more tawny. the tail also is dull russet olive above, but a few of the upper tail coverts are strongly suffused with dull indigo. these feathers are only scattered and placed asymmetrically, and as they do not seem to have been molted very recently, i suppose that they have i grown out to replace feathers accidentally lost. it may therefore be that in the first spring the females assume the blue rump by actual molt. it is possible, however, that the blue is assumed without a inolt, and i may mention that in the other female specimens before me there is a great amount of individual variation in regard to the extent and intensity of the blue color. all these i take to be fully adult birds which have passed the molt of the second autumn, as the wing coverts are quite uniform without any trace of tawny tips. in no. 1401 the blue mark is rather strong, but confined to the lower rump, upper tailcoverts, and upper side of tail, contrasting strongly with the olive of the back. no. 1392 is quite similar, but on upper tail-coverts and tail the olive is much more pronounced. in nos. 1482 and 1490 the blue is much paler, and it contrasts much less with the back, which is also slightly suffused with a faint tinge of indigo, which in the latter is quite pronounced on some of the wing-coverts. finally, no. 1488 has no distinct blue in its plumage, the upper tail-coverts being, in fact, strongly marked with tawny. yet its perfectly black bill and the uniformly colored wing-coverts, as well as the absence of well-marked dusky scaling on the lower parts, prove it to be an old bird. generally speaking, these adult females may be said to resemble the young males as described by capt. blakiston, but with the blue color more restricted and less extensive, with the buffy mark on the lower parts less bright, and with the dusky margins to the jugular feathers less distinct. it appears that in the first spring, that is, when a little less than a year old, the young inales assume the blue plumage of the old male. the quills not being shed at this molt remain as in the young plumage until the following antumn, the tawny marginal tips of the great coverts being very couspicuous by contrast. in this transition plumage they undoubtedly breer!, for the breeding bird which mr. jouy collected at fuji, july 14, 1852 (u.s. nat. mus., no. 91457), is in this stage. the wings are very much abraded and the tawny tips to the great wingvol323 1892proceedings of the national museum, , . ] . xvcoverts nearly worn oft; but henson's bird (no. 1576), which was taken earlier in the season, is perfect in this respect, even more so than the bird from idzu (u. s. nat. mus., no. 109337). the two latter birds exhibit another trace of youth, viz, a strong mark of buff on the sides of the abdomen. of this color there is hardly a trace in jouy's bird. measurements. u.s. nat. mus. no. collector and no. sex and age. locality. date. tail-feathers. exposed culmen. middle toe with claw. tarsus. wing. total length. 19 19 137 d'ad. 109337 namive. dhorn amagisan, idzu, hondo. may 3, 1885 75 91457 jouy, 513. d'horu fuji, hondo july 14, 1882 73 91377 jouy, 660.. o juv., chiusepji lake, hondo sept. 3, 1882 74 96264 jony, 662. jur 7 .do. .do 96263 blak., 1267 dad... hakodate, yezo.. may 9, 1873 | 77 120317 henson, 160. dad. ..do may 15, 1884 74 120348 henson, 1500..! dad.. do may 19, 1825 75 120349 henson, 1577. do june 7, 1885 74 120350 henson, 1603.. dal. do june 30,1886 77 120351 henson, 1576. ohorn .do june 7, 1885 74 120352 henson, 1144. ejuv.. to sept. 9, 1884 76 120353 henson, 1392.. pad... .do may 20, 1885 75 120354 henson, 1401. .do .do 74 120355 henson, 1482. pad .do may 30, 1885 77 120356 henson, 1488.. pad. do may 26, 1885 120357 : henson, 1490. dlo may 30, 1885 72 120358 , henson, 1105. horn ......do may 23, 1885 average measurements of u males. 75 average measurements of 6 females.. 48 17 46 51 51 17 50 47 51 47 50 47 50 50 47 46 47 11 27 12 25 12 12 12 11 11.5 27 12 12 26 12 11 26 11 11 12 11.5 25 11 23 12 26 二​二​二​二​二​: 21 20 18 19 19 19 20 20 19 qad efef24 20 19 19 19 pad 49 48 11.7 26.3 19.5 11. 4. 25. 2 19.3 は ​pratincola maura (pall.). (254) eastern stonechat. nobitaki. 1773. — votacilla maura pallas, reise russ. reich., 11, (p. 728).pratincola m. sharpe, cat. b. brit. mus., iv, 1879, p. 188.--seeboh, siberia in europe, (p. 117) (1880). id., b. jap. emp., p. 57 (1890).—blakiston, chrysanth., 1882, p. 473.--id., ibid., jan., 1883, 1). 33. id., ibid., feb., 1883, p. —-.--id., amend. list b. jap., p. 16 (1884).-jou'y, proc. l. s. nat. mus., vi, 1883, p. 280. 1835.saricola rubicola temminck, man. d'orn., 2d ed., iii, pp. li, 170 (nee lix.).temm. & schl., fauna jap., aves, p. 58 (1817).--pralincola 1. blakiston, ibis, 1862, p. 318. 1863.pratincola rubicola var. indica swinhoe, p. z. s., 1863, p. 291 (nec blyth?). 1863. – pratincola indica swinioe, p. z. s., 1863, p. 335 (nec blyth?).-id., ibis, 1874, p. 155. —whitely, ibis, 1867, p. 197.—blakist, & pryer, ibis, 1878, p. 240.-iid., trans. as. soc. jap., viii, 1880, p. 225.-iid., ibid., x, 1882, p. 162. notwithstanding all that has been written in regard to the eastern stonechats, there is still considerable doubt both in regard to the distinctness of the several forms and their characters and to the names to be applied, if they be considered distinct. the question whether the eastern birds are different from the european pratincola rubicola (lin.) is easily disposed of. the latter 324 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. (i. e., the adult male) has generally the rump striped with blackish, and on the lining of the wing the white predominates. in eastern birds the rump is in most cases unspotted, and black predominates on the under wing-coverts. these characters are now generally admitted. it may be added that the brown margins to the feathers on the upper surface in british examples are much darker than in indian, chinese, korean, and japanese specimens, and that the under surface is also deeper colored. but there is a character, hitherto apparently overlooked, which, so far as my experience goes (thirty-eight specimens), trenchantly separates the two species. on comparison it will be found that the european birds have the bill much narrower at the base than the birds from the east. even the young in the first plumage can be easily told apart by this character. considering this fact and the many points in which the two forms disagree, i refuse to adopt a trinominal appellation for the eastern birds, the more since it seems as if the breeding habitats of the two species are separated by a belt of country about 600 miles wide. (cf. severzow, journ. f. orn., 1873, p. 360, footnote.) now, concerning the latter, it may be said that maj. biddulph (ibis, 1882, pp. 272-276; stray feath., x, 1882, pp. 263–266) has made out a pretty strong case for those gentlemen, headed by mr. w. e. brooks, who insist upon the existence in india of two forms of stonechats, both with unspotted rumps. he states that he was able to separate his birds in two series. in series a the males are characterized by absence of white on the nape concomitant with larger size (wing 2.70 inches to 3 inches = 68.0m to 76m), the females by brighter colors ") and larger size (wing 2.55 to 2.70 inches = 64.8mm to 68.6mm); the males of series b have the white patch on the sides of the neck extending “round to the back, meeting the white from the other side, so as to form a complete demicollar when viewed from above," their wings varying between 2.52 and 2.75 inches (= 64m and 69,8mm); the females of the latter form are “ altogether of a much darker tone,” with the length of the wing 2.35 to 2.60 inches (= 59.9mm to 66mm). five specimens of somewhat intermediate size he was “unable to separate by differences of color." then he concludes as follows: “now, it can not be denied that these measurements overlap considerably, especially among the females; but the fact remains that, after separating fortythree specimens solely by color and markings (omitting the last five undetermined), those of one form average considerably larger than those of the other, and that the greatest divergence in color is shown between those which differ most in size. it may be that the specimens that . overlap in measurement are to be acconnted for by hybridism-an explanation that no ornithologist can affect totally to ignore when treating of two very closely allied species found in the same locality; or it may be that some of those classeil as females would have been found by more careful examination to be inales that had not got rid of female ? vol325 1892:] proceedings of the national museum. , . . xyplumage. whatever may be the explanation of this, i believe that we have here two species. the smaller species of chat, which i have called form b, is evidently p. indica of blyth.” in view of maj. biddulph's statements, we are, therefore, obliged to recognize two indian forms of stonechats, although not without some doubt, for it appears from his own words that the sex of the specimens has not been determined beyond doubt, and the two forms appear to occur in the same localities at the same season. in regard to the latter point, however, i may recall the case of cettia cantans and c. cantillans, while, on the other hand, it is not absolutely clear from his notes whether the two forms breed in the same locality. unfortunately, i have no authentie malespecimens from india proper by which to test his conclusions, for three specimens collected by bingham in tenasserim appear to agree with chinese examples to be mentioned later on. i may remark, however, that i am unable to distinguish a female said to be from nepal (u. s. nat. mus., no. 95613) from other small eastern specimens. a comparison of my japanese, chinese, and tenasserim specimens (to be called series c) with biddulph's exposition leads to the conclusiou that they agree with the smaller form (b) in size (see table of dimensions below), while in color they conform to the larger form (a), that is to say, the males have no white on the nape, and the females are brightly colored. it thus appears that we have three different forms of eastern stonechats, viz: form a, size large. no white on nape; bright. form ] white on nape; f dull.. form csize small. we may now proceed to determine the names of these three forms. mr. brooks and maj. biddulph have identified “form b" with p, indica blyth, and as this seems to be the general opinion, and as nothing is known to the contrary, we have to accept this name.* he seems uncertain. gmelin (s. n., 1, p. 997) describes motacilla tschecantschia as nucha albicante, torque et macula alarum oblonga albis,” but the original description and plate by lepechin, upon which gmelin's diagnosis is founded, being inaccessible to me, i am unable to ascertain the true status of this name whether belonging to the smaller or the larger form. i have no access to the original description in pallas's “ reise," but from his “ zoographia” it is evident that he imposed the name m. maura, by a mistake, and that he really regarded the european and asiatic birds as belonging to the same species. since the length of the wing, however, as given by him, equals 66.6mm, or about the average * pratincola indica blyti, journ. as. soc. bengal, xvi, 1847, p. 129. it is difficult to see why hodgson's saricola saturatior (gray's zool. miscell., 1814, p. 83) should not be used, unless it is a nomen nudum. 326 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. . of the males of " form ('," and since the description only speaks of white on the sides of the neck and not on the nape, we conclude that m. maura belongs to the smaller forin without white on the nape, consequently to “ form ('.” there remains now only to determine the name of the large “form a." by some indian ornithologists it has been designated as "p.robusta tristram," but, as shown by mr. hume (stray feath., ix, 1880, pp. 133, 136), this name belongs only in part to our bird. rev. tristram originally (ibis, 1870, p. 497) gave this name to two alleged indian specimens of stonechats, one of which belonged to the present large form of p. maura, while the other represents an entirely different species, which oates now shows to be the larger form of p. sibylla from madagascar (fauna, brit. iud., birds, ii, 1891, p. 58). mr. w. e. brooks seems to have intended to name it, for mr. hume says (op. cit., p. 136): “mr. brooks persistently urges me to assign a separate specific name to this form, and he declares that if i do not, he will,” but i am unaware that mr. brooks has done so. since the above was written and set in type i find that dr. th. pleske has discussed the same question and come to similar results (wiss. res. przewalski, zool., vög,, pp. 46, seqs.), but too late for any other notice than the adoption of his name for “ form a,” the names of the three then being as follows: 1. pratincola maura (“form c'"); 2. pratincola maura indica ("form b"); 3. pratincola maura przewalski ("form a"). in japan only the small form, without white on the hind neck, occurs. this is very fortunate, as the name of the japanese birds will remain unaffected, whatever be the fate of the indian races. as to mr. henson's specimens, i would call attention to the fact that the two adult males collected on august 30, are molting both quills and contour feathers, no. 194 having already finished the molt of the former. their coloration is considerably brighter and redder than that of the october specimen in the national museum (no. 96274); the broad light margins to the feathers of the throat are particularly bright, being of a rich vinaceous cinnamon in no. 193, and but slightly paler in no. 194. i have above already indicated the chief color differences between the european p. rubicolu and the asiatic p. maura, at least so far as the old males are concerned. the material before me suggests another and very striking difference in the coloration of the females and the young males, on the 5th of july, 1882, mr. p. l. jouy collected at fuji a breeding female (u. s. nat. mus, no. s8637) in very abraded plumage. the whole upper side is nearly uniform dull sepia-brown; the light edges to the wing feathers are nearly worn away, and the under surface is a dirty dull buff'strongly marked with tawny on the breast;chin, throat, and upper jugulum is of the same dirty buff as the abdomen, though somewhat more whitish without trace of dusky or dark brownish. identical with this volx 327 1892. proceedings of the national museum. :] 2 specimen is llenson's no. 90, collected near lakodate, june 20, 1881, and deterinined by him to be a female. the only difference is, that the throat is slightly suffused with the tawny of the breast, but there is no trace of dusky or dark brownish on chin, throat, or jugulum. nor have i found it otherwise in any of the eastern specimens before me desigpated as females. on the other hand, the only european female p. rubicola before me (u. s. nat. mus., no. 18751) has the chin, throat, and upper jugulum brownish black with narrow pale margins to the feathers. naumann, moreover, on plate xc (naturg. vög. deutschl., iii), and dresser, on plate xl (birds of eur., 11), likewise figure the adult females as having the parts named more or less blackish brown, and so describe them. in yarrell's "british birds” (4th ed., newton, 1, p. 343) the adult female is described as having the 6 chin buff, throat blackish.” these descriptions and figures refer to the breeling plumage, for after the autumnal molt the light margins to the feathers of the throat are so broad as to totally or nearly totally conceal the blackish base; and feinales in this plumage (november) are described by macgillivray (hist. brit. birds, 11, p. 281) as having the throat light grayish brown.” “ the blackish on the throat, therefore, only appears in spring, when the margins become worn towards the breeding season. but it will be observed that the females of p. maura, which i have referred to, are in the most possibly abraded plumage, their throat feathers being light colored down to the plumbeous bases. and as with the adult females, so with the young males. several specimens so marked by the collectors (u.s. nat. mus., no. 86123; and jouy's corean examples) have the throat uniform buffy in the first autumnal plumage, with no black at the base, and henson's no. 782, col. lected in june, and in a wretchedly worn plumage, has the throat quite as whitish as the females quoted above, being in every respect a counterpart of them. the young p. rubicola, on the contrary, appears to assume at once a plumage which is but slightly different from the old males (naumann, tom. cit., p. 888), with the throat more or less blackish. measurements. u.s. nat. collector and mus. no no. sex and age. locality. date, tail-feathers. exposed culmen. middle toe with claw. wing. tarsus. total length. hakodate, yezo. ..do ..do ..do juflܐ .do 120361 henson, 89. d'ad 120362 henson, 194 dad 120363 henson, 193. dad 120364 henson, 125. 120365 henson, 702 d'horu 96275 blak., 3209.. d'ad. 88636 jouy. 312. june 20, 1884 64 464 ang. 30,1886 68 52 aug.30, 1886 (t) aug. 23, 1885 67 49 june 3. 1885 64* i 48 oct. 23, 1882 68 19 june 27, 1882 68 51 july 5, 1882 64° 48* june 20, 1884 63 47* 10 22 18 10 22 18 10 21 19 10 22 20 22 19.5 10 21 10 22 18 10 21 19 10.51 21.5 18.5 132 sapporo, yezo fuji, hondo cad 88637 jony, 430.. 120366 henson, 90 pad very worn. † molting. ..do hakodate, hondo. ad! * 328 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. measurements-('ontinued. u. s. nat. mus. no. ('ollector and i no. sex and age. locality. date. tail-feathers. exposed culmen. middle toe with claw. wing. tarsus total length. dad canton, china 52 ...lo 145 96490 blak., t, 51. 96191 blak., t, 52.. 86123 jony, 186. 86153 jouy, 216. 86124 jony, 187 dad d... hongkong, china .do.. dlo.. april october oct. 23, 1881 dec. 11, 1881 oct. 23, 1881 69 68 68 68 67 52 49 49 10 1 21.5 19 9 9.5 22 19 21.5 18 10 21 19.5 오 ​95299 bingh., 483. ..., dad 95298 bingh., 483.. 95300 bingbam. tenasserim ..do clo dad pad dec. 27, 1879 63 jan. 14, 1880 66 nov. 13, 1879 65 47 48 49 10 10 10 21 22 21.5 18 20 140 135 a pr. 20, 1884 68 apr. 24, 1885 67 a pr. 11, 1886 66 48 47 47 10 21.5 19 9.5 22 18 9.5 21.5 19 114378 | jony, 1390. dad fusan, corea 114382 jouy, 1497 fad do 114381 jouy, 1574 ad average measurements of 14 males. average measurements of 6 females. ..do 67 65 49.5 10 | 21.6 18.8 48 10 21.4 18. & cyanoptila bella (hay). (207) blue-and-black flycatcher. oruri. 1829. — muscicapa cyanomelana temminck, pl. color., ii, livr. 79, pl. 470 (nec u. cyanomelas vieill., 1818). — temm. & schl., fauna japon., aves, p. 47 (1847).-blakist., ibis, 1862, p. 317.-hypothymis c. martens, preuss. exp. ost-as., zool., 1, pp. 94, 368 (1866-1876).—cyanoptila c. blakist. & pryer, trans. as. soc. jap., viii, 1880, p. 215.iid., ibid., x, 1882, p. 147.vanthopygia (cyanoptila) c. blakist., chrysanth., 1882, p. 523 (scr. xanthrop. err. typ.).-id., ibid., 1883, p. 29.—xanthopygia c. blakist., chrysanth., feb., 1883, p. 1845. ---muscicapa gularis temminck & schlegel, fauna japon., aves, p. 43, pl. xvi (nec stephens, 1824). 1845.muscicapa bella hay, madr. journ. lit. sc., xui, p. 158 (fide reprint in tweeddale's orn. works, p. 10 (1881), where, by misprint, “p. 162"). 1817.-cyanoptila cyanomelanura blyth, journ. as. soc. bengal, xvi (p. 125).-id., ibis, 1870, p. 164. 1847.muscicapa melanoleuca temminck & schlegel, fauna japon., aves, pl. xvii, d. 1860.niltara cyanomelana swinhoe, ibis, 1860, p. 58.—seebohm, b. jap. emp., p. 59 (1890). — muscicapa c. whitely, ibis, 1867, p. 199.-cyanoptila e. blakist. & pryer, ibis, 1878, p. 231.—blakist, amend. list b. jap., p. 49 (1881).xanthopygia c. sharpe, cat. b. brit. mus., iv, p. 251 (1879).jouy, proc. u. s. nat. mus., vi, 1883, p. 306.-seebohm, ibis, 1884, p. 180. 1879.-cyanoptila cyanothorax “leiden museum” sharpe, cat. b. brit. mus., iv, p. 252. muscicapa cyanomelana and m. gularis both being untenable according to the a. o. u. code, canon xxxiii (p. 47), lord arthur hay's (i. e. lord walden=marquis of tweeddale) muscicapa bella seems to be the first available name for this species. mr. henson's series of this species, consisting of one old male, one young male, and two adult females, is very interesting as bearing vol329 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvdirectly upon the somewhat vexed question of the different plumages of this species. the two females are both old birds, as they show no trace of light terminal margins to any of the upper wing-coverts, but, although shot on the same day (may 20, 1885), one (no. 1381) is considerably more ashy than the other (no. 1402). i have observed a similar difference in other specimens; the grayer birds are, perhaps, older than the more fulvous specimens. these old females are without any blue in the plumage, but an adult female in the u. s. national museum collection (no. 109339, may 5, 1885), which is fully as ashy as henson's no. 1381, has the feathers on the crown and forehead narrowly tipped with sky-blue, with no trace, however, of this color on rump, wings, and tail. henson's no. 1381, moreover, shows a trace of albinism, one of the primary coverts in the right wing being nearly pure white. the old male (henson, no. 102) is a magnificent bird in the fullest height of plumage; the blue edgings to the wing feathers are rich and perfect; the under wing-coverts are blue tipped with white; the sides of the breast blue, and the flanks white, heavily spotted with dusky spots washed with blue. the young male (henson, no. 1243) shot october 7, 1884, is perhaps the most interesting specimen of the lot. on head, interscapulars, and under parts it is very much like those of the adult female, though slightly more tawny; lower back, rump, wings, and tail, on the other hand, are much more like those of the adult male, being colored with different tiuts of blue, but the tips of the greater upper wing coverts are margined with pale ochraceous buff. however, a few feathers of the nestling plumage, with pale buffy spots at the tips remain on occi. put and upper tail-coverts to prove that the young male molts directly from the spotted first plumage into the one with the blue lower back and rump. the greater upper wing coverts, as well as a few of the lesser ones, are margined at tip with pale ochraceous buff. with the aid of specimens in the u.s. national museum we are then able to trace the different change of plumages as follows: first plumage at leaving the west.-feathers on head, interscapilium, and breast, with a subapical ochraceous-buffy spot followed by a terminal dusky margin. this plumage is already described by mr. jouy (loc. cit.), from whose remarks we note that the sexes are strongly marked already in this plumage, the males having the wings blue, the females brown. he does not say anything of the color of the tail in the nestling male, and we have no specimen at hand, but it is safe to assume that it is blue with white bases, as in the next plumage, since no molt of the rectrices takes place when the nestling plumage is changed. (u. s. nat. mus., no. 88616.) young males in the first autumn (cf. what is said above) have the upper parts of head, neck, and interscapulars nearly a pure raw umber, gradually changing into a tawny olive on the under parts, the middle portions 330 birds from tezo, japan-steineger. of which (except across the breast) are white, or whitish; scapulars, lower back, rump, outer webs of tertiaries, and edges of quills and primary coverts glaucutons to veriliter blue; upper tail-coverts narrowly tipped with white and marked with a black cuneate shaft streak near the tip; tail-feathers white at base; under wing-coverts gray. (this is the plumage described by sharpe, tom. cit., p. 252, as "adult female.") u.s. nat. mus., no. 91379; henson, no. 1213. young females in the first autumn.no japanese specimen being at hand, i describe this plumage from a young female collected by blakiston at canton, china, during november (u. s. nat. mus., no. 9645; blakist., no. t, 116). very similar to the adult female, but more brownish above, the rump being quite russet, and more tawny beneath; tips of greater upper wing coverts and shorter tertiaries margined with pale ochraceous buft. (in the rump of the specimen here described there still remains a feather of the nestling plumage, which clearly proves the age of the bird.) this plumage is retained during the winter months, which the birds spend in the islands of the malayan archipelago, in spring and autumn “passing up and down the coast of china” (they being apparently absent on the philippine islands). shortly before their passage northwards the color of the contour feathers is changed (whether by molt or independent of a molt i do not know), so that the young birds reach japan in spring in a plumage but slightly different from that of the old ones. the young male before finishing the spring change appears to be described by mr. sharpe (loc. cit.) as “ young male." young males in the first spring differ from the old males chiefly in the following points: the onter (clistal) greater upper wing.coverts have still the ochraceous-buti terminal margins; the edges of quills and primary coverts are still verditer blue; under wing-coverts gray, more or less tinged with fulvous; sides of breast and flanks fulvous gray. (the birds breed in this plumage. u.s. nat. mus., nos. 91813, 88614.) young females in the first spring are probably not very different from the old ones. i have no specimen that can safely be referred to this category, but i am much inclined to think that the more fulvous females alluded to above (iienson's no. 1402) are really the younger ones, and that the light tip margins to the greater wing-coverts disappear earlier in the females than in the males. the breeding season over, the second autumnal molt, which includes both quills and contour feathers takes place, during which the birds assume the full plumage of the old ones, the color of which is never materially altered. the old males then in the second autumn and winter of their life (llenson, no. 102) differ from young spring specimens in having all the upper wing-coverts margined with hyacinth-blue to smalt blue, the quills edged with "marine" blue; the under wing-coverts blue tipped with white, sides of breast black tinged with blue, and flanks white heavily streaked with bluish dusky. vol331 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xv66 before leaving this theme i will call attention to the fact that in some of the males the fore neck and breast are pure black, while in others the black is more or less suffised with blue. i am inclined to think that this blue wash is due to the freshness of the plumage, and as it is found both in fall and spring specimens, it may indicate that these feathers are shed twice a year. it does not seem to be due to age. this explanation has no bearing upon the question in regard to the curious specimen in the leiden museum figured in fauna japonica plate xvii d, lower figure, which has received the name cyanoptila cyanothorax. in the latter work (p. 47) it is described as being des teintes beaucoup moins pures. le noir de la queue s'avance jusque vers la base de cet organe, et le noir des parties inférieures est remplacé par une teinte d'un bleuâtre sale.” blyth describes the same specimen (ibis, 1870, p. 165) as having the throat, breast, and ear coverts of a dull whitish color, while the back is strongly tinged with verditer.” this hardly represents a regular plumage, much less a distinct species, and blyth's surmise that it is "probably a female in quasimasculine attire" is most likely the correct explanation. the absence of black on the fore neck and of white on the tail feathers clearly indicates the female sex; that the females are apt to assume a more or less bluish plumage is illustrated by the specimen alluded to above, which has the feathers on the crown tipped with sky-blue. 6 measurements. u.s. nat. collector and mus. no, no. sex and nge. locality. date. tail-feather. exposed culmen. middle toe with claw. wing tarsus. 18 16 17 17 fad do. 120367 henson, 102.. dad hakodate, yezo 120368 henson, 1243.. o jun ..do... 120369 henson 1381.. ..do. 120370 henson, 1402.. qad 91813 jony, 1064.. horn yokohama, hondo. 88614 jouy, 453. horu fuji, hondo... 91379 jouy, 638. djun. chiusepji lake, hondo. 88615 jouy, 364. pad fuji, hondo. 109339 namiye. qad 88616 jouy, 614. juv. fuji, hondo nov. 12, 1882 92 oct. 7, 1884 89 may 20, 1885 90 may 20, 1885 88 apr. 29, 1883 90 july 8, 1882 89 aug. 30, 1882 94 june 30, 1882 90 may 5, 1885 87 july 28, 1882 89 61 10 18 58 9.5 16 59 12 17 58 11 17 60 11 17 59 (11 16 63 11 16 60 11 16 57 11 16.5 59 17 18 16 17 poliomyias ferruginea (gmel.). (210) this is the same as pallas's m. luteola and temminck's m. mugimaki, as evidenced, among other things, by pallas's own synonymy (zoogr., i, p. 470). henson's collection contains not less than five specimens of this bird so rare in japan, and throws considerable light on the question of sexual differences and seasonal changes in this species. it would have been impossible for me to gain a full and correct idea of these facts, had i not been permitted to examine an unparalleled series of thirty-five specimens collected in corea by my friend p. l. jouy. the conclusions 332 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. > drawn from this collection are particularly valuable, as the preparation is excellent, the labeling full and exact, and the sex ascertained in every instance by dissection. an examination of all the material before me gives some general results: (1) the amount of white at the base of the tail-feathers is not entirely due to age, and is subject to an endless individual variation, hardly two individuals being alike. jouy's no. 1592, fusan, may 2, 1886, has , very little white on the inner webs and scarcely any on the outer web of the outer pair, and yet it is a full-plumaged male with the whole upper surface black; and among the males with olive back there are many with the white in the inner web developed ap to the maximum of black-backed ones. (2) in mr. jouy's series twenty-one specimens are marked as males, some are black-backed, others olive-backed, but all have white at base of tail-feathers; fourteen specimens are females, all of which are olivebacked, and all without trace of white at base of tail feathers. the females have also the color on fore neck and breast considerably paler and duller. the great number shows that this coincidence is not due to an accident, but that we have here expressed the true sexual difference in this species, viz, males have white on tail, and throat rich orangetawny; females have no trace of white on tail, and throat dull orangeochraceous. against the above series it counts very little that henson's no. 240 is marked "?," though having white on the outer webs of the tail feathers and a rich orange-tawny breast and throat; it is a young bird, as evidenced by the two broad light cross bands on the wings, and there is every probability of a mistake in sexing. the same remark applies to swinhoe's description of a young bird as male, but without white on the tail (ibis, 1862, p. 305, as 11. hylocharis!). as far as the coloration of the tail is concerned the sexual difference in this species seems to be the same as in cyanoptila bella (= cyanomelana). (3) this sexual difference in the coloration of the tail holds apparently good even in the first plumage, when the bird is leaving the nest, for von schrenck describes and figures a young bird in this plumage (reis. amur-l., 1, p. 375, pl.xiii, figs. 1, 2), which has the rectrices white in basal third of outer webs, while a young bird in mr. henson's collection (no. 1322), labeled female, and still showing traces of the nestling plumage, has no white at all on tail. (4) there is a considerable difference in the color of the spring and fall plumages of the adult males. after the autumnal molt they are of a bluish slate gray above, somewhat darker on the middle of the back, and the feathers more or less distinctly tipped with olivaceous. when they return in spring, however, the whole upper surface is glossy black, the young males are olive backed, and swinhoe was consequently in error when considering this stage to represent the winter plumage of the adults. vol333 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xv(5) mr. jouy's fourteen females may be divided into two series: (a) those with narrow light outer edges to the tertiaries and narrow ochraceous tips to the greater upper coverts; and (b) those in which the light edges to the tertiaries are broader and surround the tip; which have very broad whitish tips to the greater coverts and light tips to the median coverts. the latter (0) i take to be birds of the year; the former (a) i consider adult birds. the sequence of the different plumages would then be, according to the above: nestling plumage spotted; males with white at base of tail, females without; contour feathers molting in september and october. young after autumnal molt: olive above; males bright orange-tawny underneath and with white on tail; females dull orange-ochraceous underneath, without white on tail, broad whitish tips, to greater upper wing coverts. contour feathers change before the birds leave the winterquarters (malayan peninsula and borneo). whether the black plumage is assumed in spring by an actual molt or by a change of color in the individual feather i can not say without specimens, but the probability is for the latter. adult in breeding plumage: males black above, orange tawny beneath, white on tail; females like young females, but with greater wing.coverts but narrowly margined at tip; by abrasion the plumage of the female turns gray above and buffy beneath. at the next autumnal molt both quills and contour feathers are shed; the males assume a somewhat lighter, more bluish slate color with a wash of olive. it will be seen that my conclusions differ considerably from those arrived at by mr. r. b. sharpe (cat. b. brit. mus., iv, pp. 201, 202), but i can not help thinking that he has been led into error by specimens wrongly sexed by the collectors, and that in reality the bird which he describes as "adult female” is but a young male. henson's collection containstwo fine adult males in black spring plumage; one in the slaty-blue fall plumage; one in olive plumage (marked female); and one young female with traces of the nestling plumage still on shoulders and upper tail-coverts. measurements. museum and no. collector and no. sex and age. locality date. tail feathers. esposed culmen. middle toe with claw. wing. tarsus. 15 u.s. nat., 120371 henson, 239 u.s. nat., 120372 henson, 1.352 u.s. nat.. 120373 henson, 1297 u.s. nat., 120374 henson, 210. u.s. nat., 120375 henson, 1322 u.s. nat., 91373 jouy, 731..... hakodate, yezo.. .do. may 20, 1887 : 76 may 20, 1820 73 52 (1.12, 1884 8 17 8.5 17 8 dad 8(?) 9.juv o jun dlo ...lo. ..do matsumoto, hondo 76 oct. 8, 1881 75 32 oct. 20, 1884 70 51 oct. 29, 1882 74 i 52 16 8 16 8 15 8 15 14 14 334 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. zanthopygia narcissina (temm.). (209) twenty-seven specimens, the particulars of which will be found below, this series is the most interesting and most convincing one i have ever seen demonstrating the curious and still but little understood change of color in the old plumage without abrasion of the feathers or shedding of their margins, as it takes place in some birds in spring. at the meeting of the german ornithologists in altenburg, july, 1852, mr. leopold martin demonstrated the fact that the young black and white flycatchers of europe exchange their juvenile gray plumage for the adult black one without a molt, and without shedding the margins of the feathers (printed in journ. f. orn., 1853, pp. 16–19). curiously enough, dr. hermam schlegel on the same occasion laid a similar discovery before the same society (printed in naumannia, ii, ii, 1852, pp. 19–40), but unfortunately both gentlemen overestimated the frequency of the phenomenon. schlegel tried to prove that such a change of color without a molt or marginal shedding takes place in all birds, while the feathers are only molted once a year, viz, in spring; and mr. martin, without committing himself positively, expressed a somewhat similar opinion. an animated discussion sprang up in the journals mentioned, in which especially gloger, brehm, and gätke participated, and it was finally conceded on almost all sides that such a change of color takes place in certain birds, but that so far from it being the usual process, the change of color independent of molt or marginal shedding must be regarded as the exception. schlegel's unwarranted generalization, however, had brought the whole theory into disrepute; the subject was soon dropped, and but few later ornithologists bave paid any attention to it, in spite of the fact that it is one of the most interesting questions in ornithology. the great difficulty is in giving a satisfactory physiologic explanation of the process, which to-day is nearly as much of a mystery as it was thirty years ago. people were willing enough to admit the possibility of a change of the color, but it was found that this was accompanied by an apparent renewed growth of the feathers, a process by which the worn and broken plumes seemed to undergo a complete mending or renewal. this phase of the question is admirably illustrated in henson's series, and i must confess that i am not prepared to accept any of the theories which have been proposed. but although unable to offer a satisfactory explanation of the phenomenon, it will not do to deny the facts, and we must leave the solution of the question to some painstaking physiologist, who shall take up the subject in a careful and empirical manner. of henson's birds eight are males in full plumage, and two adult females; six are young birds after the first autumnal molt, and eleven are spring males in all possible gradations between the young and the aulult plumage; one similar bird is in the u.s. national museum, and one in petersen's collection from nagasaki. vol335 1892proceedings of the national museum , . . ivit appears from this series that the yellow on the fore-neck appears before any of the other parts change color, for in all tlie specimens, even in those quite gray on the back and yet without yellow on the rump, the chin, throat, and chest (præpectus), are of a rich orange, paler and more gamboge behind. the yellow superciliary streak is also present in all. the change of the gray feathers to black seems to start on the forehead and the part adjoining the yellow on the fore-neck, for even in the specimens which have undergone the least change (henson's nos. 685 and 690) the anterior half of the crown, cheeks, and a narrow band down the sides of the neck bordering the yellow throat are black; the white spot formed by some of the upper wing-coverts has also appeared, and a few of the latter have also turned black; the upper tail-coverts are just changing to black, no. 690 being particularly interesting in showing some of the latter black at the base and russet, as in the young plumage, towards the tips; in these specimens the yellow is just making its first appearance on the rump; both have the remiges still brownish gray, as is also the tail in no. 683; but in no. 690 the tailfeathers are already pure black. it is worthy of remark that the change is not equilateral, nor does it take place regularly or on one side in pref. erence to the other. it is also a noteworthy fact that, while in the european black-and-white flycatchers the change is only one from gray to black or white, the recolorescens in zanthopygia also embraces the yellow of an exceedingly bright and rich tint. no. 680 is like the foregoing ones, but black commences on the left scapulars; the rump is nearly entirely yellow, and the tail black. no. 688 similar; back clouded with black; but tail brownish gray. no. 689 is but slightly more ahead: rump intensely yellow, nearly (admium; tail black; and the second tertiary in left wing deep black; yellow on breast in this and foregoing three specunens somewhat farther back. no. 677 is black on scapulars and interscapulars, and the tertiaries are just changing; but there is less black in the upper wing-coverts than in any of the foregoing; tail black. no. 691 similar, but blacker on hind neck and wing.coverts, and more yellow on lower breast and abdomen; longer tertiaries brownish gray; tail black. no. 684 differs only in having the tail brownish gray. no. 683 again has the tail and two shorter tertiaries black; otherwise no difference. no. 692 identical. in all the foregoing specimens, as well as in the one in the national mulseum and in petersen's collection, the occiput is still gray. they agree therefore closely with the upper figure in the plate (xvii c) in fauna japonica, which gives an excellent idea of these birds in the last stage of transition. it seems, therefore, as if the occiput regularly is the last part of the smaller plumage to assume the black color. no. 693 has fivished the change on the body, but the remiges are still brownishi gray, except the three tertiaries in the left wing and the two shorter ones in the right; the black on back and upper head, moreover, has a strong wash of olive. 336 japan-stejneger. birds from yezo, mr. henson's specimens are from hakodate, yezo, and the dates on which they were collected run as follows in the order in which the speci. mens have been mentioned above, viz: may 20, june 17, may 17, 23, 6, 27, 18, 18, 17, 30. for comparison it is interesting to note, that petersen's bird, which has nearly finished the change, was collected in kiusiu april 29. the change, therefore, seems to take place during may and first half of june. in the above specimens in which the tertiaries have become black, this color contrasts strongly with the faded brownish gray of the other remiges, and there is no indication of the latter becoming black by a gradual change. in the series of 8 specimens which i have designated as males in "full plumage" there are several in which all the remiges are intermediate blackish brown, paler towards the tip. it would there. fore appear as if all the primaries and secondaries change to black simultaneously and that this change takes place very suddenly. the process seems to be the same in the tail-feathers, though i may mention, that mr. jouy has a changing male from korea in which all the rectrices are black or nearly so, with the exception of the middle pair, which is still brownish. in regard to the young males collected by mr. henson i have only to remark that no. 1161 has still a few feathers on the nape belonging to the first plumage, with a buffy spot and dusky margin to the tips. 4 measurements. museum and no, collector and no. sex and age. locality. date. tail-feathers. exposed cnlmen. middle toe with claw. wing. targus. total length. ....do o ad. 498 :49578 :4945 u.s. nat. 120376.. henson, 687. ad... hakodate, yezo. may 23, 1885 78 50 u.s. nat. 120377.. henson, 680. dad. may 17, 1885 76 49 u.s. nat. 120378.. henson, 681 dad. ...do may 18, 1885 79 52 u.s. nat. 120379.. henson, 682. .do .do 50 u.s. nat. 120380.. henson, 676. dad. do may 20, 1885 50 u.s. nat. 120381.. henson. 694. o ad do may 23, 1885 76 50 u.s. nat. 120382.. henson, 679. oad. do june 9, 1886 77 49 u.s. nat. 120383.. henson, 678 om ad. .do june 6, 1885 77 50 u.s. nat. 120384.. henson, 690 d'trans.....do june 17, 1886 76 49 u.s. nat. 120385.. henson, 680 otrans. ..do june 8, 1886 52 u.s. nat. 120386.. henson. 685 otrans. .do may 20, 1885 74 49 u.s. nat. 120387. henson. 688. trans. .do may 17, 1886 76 53 u.s. nat. 120.388.. henson, 677.! 'trans.....do may 6, 1884 79 52 u.s. nat. 120389.. henson, 691 d'trans. may 27, 1885 75 49 u.s. nat. 120390.. henson), 683 otrans. .do may 18, 1885 49 u.s. vat. 0391.. henson. 684. otrans. .do 74 49 u.s. nat. 120392.. henson), 692 otrans. 10 17 17 10 16 16 10 16.5 16.5 10 16.5 10 16.5 16.5 10 ! 16 16 10 17 17 10 17 17 10 16.5 16 9.5 16 16 10 16.5 17 10 17 17 10 17.5 17 10 17.5 17 9.5 16 16 10 16 16 ..do ...do. may 17, 1885 75 50 u.s. nat. 120393. henson. 689. otrais. ..do may 23, 1885 51 u.s. nat. 120394.. henson. 693 otrans. do. may 30, 1685 49 christiana n petersen, 54. trans. shimbon, kin. apr. 29, 1886 75 siu. u.s. nat. 26140.. blak. 2914... trans. sapporo, yezo.. june 50 '.s. nat. 88021.. jouy, 338. o d... fuji, hondo. june 29, 1882 77 51 u.s. nat. 88620.. jony, 449.. o ad... .do. u.s. nat. 91380.. jouy, 719.. july 6, 1882 77 50 o jun.. tate yama, oct. 26, 1882 77 50 hondo. u.s. nat. 120395.. henson, 1161 jun.. hakodate, yezo. sept. 11, 1884 76 50 t'.s. nat. 120336. henson, 1177 o jun.. sept. 15, 1884 72 47 u.s. nat. 120397.. henson, 1186 jun.. .do sept. 17, 1884 76 48 9 17 16 10 16.5 16.5 9.5 16 15 9,5 ...do 10 16.5 16 10 16.5 16.3 9.5 10 1 17 17 ....do 10 10 10 | 17 | 16 17 16 vol.xv337 1892. , proceedings of the national museum. measurements—continued. collector and museum and no. no. sex and age. locality, date. tail-feathers. exposed culmen. middle tow with claw.' tarsus. wing. total length. 49 51 49 47 10 16 16 10 17 9.5' 16.5 16 9.5 16.5 16.5 9,5 17 10 16.5 17 10 16 15. 5 10 16 16 10 16 16 u.s. nat. 120398.. henson, 1189 * * jun.. hakodate yezo sept. 17, 1884 u.s. nat. 120399.. henson, 1219 o jun .do sept. 23, 1886 78 u.s. nat. 120400.. henson, 1223 jun. .do sept. 30, 1884 76 u.s. nat. 120401.. henson, 1351' 7 ad. .do may 20, 1885 72 u.s. nat. 120402.. henson, 1283 ad. do may 30, 1885 75 u.s. nat. 96139 blak, 2284.. ad. mori, yezo may 13, 1877 74 u.s. nat. 109343. namive. $ ad amagi, hondo. may 12, 1885 73 u.s. nat. 88622 jouy, 518. fuji, hondo. july 14, 1882 74 u.s. nat. 88623 jony, 625. ad. july 30, 1882 73 average measurements of 23 males 76 average measurements of 6 females 74 120 50 51 48 47 ad. do... 50 48 9.8 16.6 16.4 9.8 16.3 16.2 hemichelidon griseisticta swinh. henson coll., no. 238; & jun., hakodate, yezo; september 1, 1885; u. s. nat. mus., no. 120403. this is a very interesting addition to the japanese avifauna. quite natural that mr. henson should mistake this specimen for h. sibirica (gm.), when he found that it differed from the common japanese gray flycatcher (a. latirostris). it occurred to me that the alleged occurrence of the former species in japan might also rest on specimens belonging to h. griseisticta, but an examination of the skin, upon the identification of which h. sibirica has been introduced into the fauna of japan (blak., no. 2730, u. s. nat. mus., no. 96138; seebohm, ibis, 1884, p. 37) proves that it was correctly referred to this species. to which species, however, the two specimens in the tokio educational museum mentioned by messrs. blakiston and pryer (trans. as. soc. jap., x, 1882, p. 148) belong must, of course, remain doubtful until they be carefully examined and compared.* as henson's specimen has still a few feathers of the first plumage left, it is reasonable to suppose, that h.griseisticta, although rather rare, may breed in yezo. we have consequently three gray flycatchers in japan, which in general appearance are very much alike, and therefore difficult to distinguish unless close attention be paid to their essential characters. the following “key” may assist in identifying the three species. al first (tenth) primary, very short, much shorter than the primary coverts; second primary longer than fifth; wing more than 75 mm .... (hemichelidon). bi inner edges of remiges (as seen from below) vinaceous-cinnamon; longer under tail-coverts brownish gray with white tips; breast and aanks clonded with drab-gray-. h. sibirica. * it is even possible that they may belong to a fourth species, the b. manillensis of tweeddale, which seems to have a longer and narrower bill and to be somewhat larger (see farther on). proc. n. m. 92-22 338 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. b? inner edges of remiges (as seen from below) pale drab-gray; longer under tail-coverts entirely white; breast and flanks white with well-defined longitudinal streaks of dark drab-gray... .h. griseisticta. a’ first (tenth) primary equal to, or longer than, longest primary coverts; second primary shorter than fifth; wing less than 75mm (alseonax)... a. latirostris. in proportions, size, and shape of bill my specimens of h. griseisticta (as well as my h. pallens) agree very closely with h. sibirica, so that it is entirely out of question to keep them in two different genera or even subgenera. in fact almost the only structural difference which i can detect is the slightly longer gonys in h. griseisticta. i am, therefore, i considerably perplexed at seeing mr. sharpe referring the latter to the genus muscicapa, next to m. grisola, while separating m. sibirica as the type of hemichelidon. it seems therefore probable to me that his m. griseisticta (sharpe, cat. b. brit. mus., iv, p. 153) differs from mine, being probably bonaparte's (or at least tweeddale's) butalis manillensis, a name which sharpe quotes in his synonymy, but rejects on account of there being a muscicapa manillensis previously employed.* judging from tweeddale's remarks (p. z. s., 1877, p. 694) there occurs in the philippine islands a gray flycatcher in coloration very much like h. griseisticta, but with a bill more like m. grisola. whether mr. sharpe or i are wrong in the identification of swinhoe's name, i cannot ι say, but i have had for guidance two chinese examples, one collected by mr. swinhoe himself, in march 1861, at amoy, and marked " muscicapa griseisticta” in his own handwriting, and until the opposite be proven i shall regard this specimen as perfectly typical, and with this the japanese bird agrees in all the essential particulars. the measurements of the latter are as follows: wing, 82mm; tailfeathers, 50 mm; exposed culmen, 8.5 mm; tarsus, 14 mm; middle toe, with ' claw, 15.5 mm hirundo dasypus (bonap.). (185) šad., henson no. 153; hakodate, may 16, 1884; u. s. nat. mus. no. 120480. breast pale, intermediate between “smoke-gray” and “drab-gray” (ridgway, nomencl. col., pl. ii, pp. 12, 13), exactly like adult and young specimens collected by mr. p. l. jouy at fuji, hondo, july 20, 1880. phyllopseustes borealis (blas.). phyllopseustes borealis xanthodryas (swinu.). material which has come to hand since i wrote my “results of ornithological explorations in kamtschatka, etc.," and especially the five specimens in mr. henson's collection, as well as the example obtained by mr. petersen at nagasaki, have considerably shaken my confidence in phyllopseustes ranthodryas as a good species. three characters are * mr. sharpe seems now to have adopted bonaparte's name notwithstanding the earlier m. manillensis (cf. ibis, 1888, p. 200) and from a recent examination of philippine examples he still considers b. manillensis and b. griseis ticta identical. volont1892 proceedings of the national museum ] 339 given as distinctive of this form, viz, (1) general large size; (2) longer first (rudimentary) primary; and (3) more vivid yellow color of the underparts. several of the thirty-one specimens before me can be thus distinguished (for instance, u. s. nat. mus., no. 92557, kamtchatka; nos. 88624, 91374, hondo, japan; jouy, no. 1445, corea; henson, nos. 2, aa, yezo, japan) as true ph. xanthodryas, and u. s. nat. mus., nos. 92551, 92554, 92556 (bering island), 88504, 88505 (amoy, china) henson, no. x (hakodate, japan), and all the alaskan specimens* as ph. borealis, but other specimens will only show one or two of these characters in all possible combinations. thus u. s. nat. mus., nos. 89158, 106607 (bering island), and petersen's no. 28 (kiusiu, japan), are ph. xanthodryas as far as the first primary is concerned, but ph. borealis according to color, while the first mentioned has the size of the former and the two others are not larger than ordinary ph. borealis. henson's no. 1 (hakodate, japan), on the other hand, belongs to the last mentioned form by its general size and the first primary, while it is colored like ph. ranthodryas. henson's no. y (hakodate) is a ph. xanthodryas by its size, a ph. borealis by its color, with the first primary intermediate. u.s. nat. mus., no. 96254 (blakist., no. 1879; hakodate) is also a ph, santhodryas by size, and partly by its color, but its first primary does not reach beyond the longest primary coverts. the result is that if you arrange your birds in two groups according to either one of the three diagnostic characters, the two groups will contain different specimens every time. it cannot be denied, however, that there is a general tendency in the larger birds to have a proportionally larger first primary and a yellower tint, and it may be that this tendency would be more striking were all the specimens properly sexed. it is also somewhat significant that we * three additional specimens from alaska bear out my suggestion (res. orn. expl. kamtsch., pp. 303–304) that the alaskan colony consists of birds of smaller dimensions than those from kamtchatka and japan, and that their migration route does not touch these countries. i feel quite confident that the two forms are subspecifically distinct. in evidence i offer the following measurements. u.s. nat. mus. no. collector and no. sex and age. locality. date. tail-feathers. exposed culmen, first primary. wing 9.5 45 48 106650 townsend, 1165 101217 johnson, 4 101216 johnson, 12. 45909 pease, 178. 75416 nelson, 438 75415 | nelson, 462. 10 ad. ad. ad ad ad d'ail kowak r. alaska.. alaska do.. st. michaels, alaska. do .do. ang. 1, 1885 june 19, 1884 do. aug. 16,1886 aug. 24,1877 aug.31,1877 60 65 62 60 60 65 8 9 10 9 43 42 46 9 average dimensions of 6 specimens.. 62 45 8.7 340 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. find none of the ph. xanthodryas style in the alaskan series. it is, furthermore, clear from the dates of the different birds, that season has nothing to do with the intensity of the yellow color. i am therefore not prepared to give up ph. xanthodryas entirely, but as intermediate specimens undeniably occur, i shall, at least provisionally, adopt the course already indicated by me on a former occasion (res. orn. expl. kamtsch., p. 306) calling the yellow bird ph. borealis xanthodryas, in spite of the fact that it is difficult at present to assign a definite habitat to the two forms, as both seem to occur in the same countries.* it is possible, however, that ph. xanthodryas is the breeding bird of japan, and that ph. borealis only occurs there on the migrations, this is a question for the resident ornithologists there to investigate and solve. the japanese specimens of the two forms, as i have provisionally separated them, measure as follows: phyllopseustes borealis. museum and no. collector and no. locality. dato. ad. u.s. nat. 96255.. blakist., 2972 tomakomai, yezo . sept. 16, 1882 68 47 christiania, n petersen, 28 ..dad.' urakami, kiusire feb. 15. 1886 64 46 u.s. nat. 120409. henson, w.. ad. hakodate, yezo 64 48 u.s. nat. 120410. henson, 20 ad. 60 48 u.s. nat. 120411. henson, y ad. .do 72 51 10 11 19.5 10 13.5 20 10 11 18.5 10 (10 120 10 11.5 20 15 15 14 14 14 ......do phyllopseustes borealis xanthodryas. museum and no. collector and no. locality. date. sex and age. tail-feathers. exposed culmen. first primary. middle toe with claw. wing. tarsus. 52 10 11 15 12 21 20 15 15 17 u.s. nat. 88624.. jouy, 537 dad.! fuji, hondo july 20, 1882 71 u.s. nat. 91374.. jouy, 682 dad. chiusenji lake, oct. 3, 1882 65 hondo. u.s. nat. 96254.. blakist., 1879. ad. hakodate, yezo oct. 3, 1875 73 u.s. nat. 120412. henson, z. ad. | 70 u.s. nat. 120413. henson, aa ... ad. ......do ...... 69 51 50 48 11 11 ......do 11 13 14 21 21 20 15 16 pleske (ornith. ross., ii, ii, 1889, p. 155) has shown, however, that ph. xanthodryas has only been found in kamtchatka, the kuriles, japan, and amoy, china, while all the specimens from siberia are typical ph. borealis, and i have called attention to the fact that the ph. canthodryax style is not found in alaska. but the fact remains that ph. borcalis also occurs in the countries whence comes the yellow form. vol341 1892proceedings of tiie national museum. , . . xvphyllopseustes tenellipes (swinx.). (244) so far only two specimens of this species have been taken in japan, both at lakodate. it is, therefore, very interesting to find in mr. henson's collection no less than fourteen specimens of this rare bird (u.s. nat. mus., nos. 120411-120427). they were not collected by mr. henson · himself, but by a native, and are therefore neither dated nor sexed, but "they were all netted on the hill behind hakodate.” so far as i can judge they are all in spring plumage. the question now naturally arises: where is the real habitat of this species? mr. seebohm (cat. b. br. mus., v, p. 47) supposes it to breed in japan, evidently upon the strength of whitely's specimen having been collected in may. but if it breeds in yezo, is it probable that it , could have so entirely escaped both capt. blakiston and mr. henson? pleske, on the other hand, asserts that ph. tenellipes breeds in sakhalin (orn. ross., ii, pt. 2, p. 191). in view of these facts it seems proba, ble that ph. tenellipes only passes yezo during the spring migration, and not even then regularly. 2 urophlexis* ussuriana (seeb.). (231) four specimens in antumnal plumage, from hakodate. i am somewhat doubtful as to the correctness of this identification. seebohm, in 1881 (cat. b. brit. mus., v, p. 143), separated a specimen collected in ussuri from u. squameiceps (swinh.) as "cettia ussurianus” on account of the more olive cast of the plumage of the latter (squameiceps being described as "chocolate brown,” by which term he probably intends to designate a more rufescent cast). since then he has examined many japanese specimens, and in 1890 (b. jap. emp., p. 74) he still maintains this distinction, referring, as he does, the japanese birds to typical u. squameiceps. if we compare swinhoe's description in ibis, 1877, p. 205, and figure on pl. iv, seebohm's measurements (cat. b. br. mus., v, p. 113) and oates's statement (b. ind., 1, p. 112) in regard to the graduation of the tail, with the results of our own measurements of eleven japanese and korean specimens, as given below, we shall soon gain the conviction that the latter differ from the formosan and the tenasserim birds. the average graduation of the tails of the former is 2mm (maximum 3mm), while seebohm's formosa skin has the tail graduated gum. in other words, while the tail in u. squamciceps is nearly wedge-shaped, those of the japanese and korean birds are barely rounded. now, seebohm's measurements of cettia ussuriana show that this bird has the tail rounded like the japanese and korean specimens. leaving coloration out of consideration it would therefore seem as if we had at least two forins, one with a very rounded tail and another with the tail nearly even. as to the alleged difference in color, it may * urosphena swinhoe is preoccupied. the above substitute is derived from oupa, tail, and paesis, the name of an unknown bird. 卷 ​ 342 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. be observed that only one specimen of typical u. ussuriana has been critically compared, so far as i know. furthermore, the korean examples differ in no way from japanese specimens; and finally, some specimens in my series are slightly less rufescent than others. until it be proven that there is an appreciable difference in the coloration of the even-tailed birds i shall regard them as all entitled to the name l'. ussuriana, measurements. museum and no. collector and no. sex and age. locality. date. 52 52 53 28 28 1 2 july 12 september sc.coll.tokyo 1374 ota ad. fuji, hondo.. u.s. nat. 91456 jouy, 490.. dad. .do. u.s. nat. 96243 blak. 1555. ad. sonth yezo u. s. nat. 120441 henson ad hakodate u.s. nat. 120442 . henson ad. u.s. nat. 120443 henson ad. .do u.s. nat. 120444.. henson ad ...do 11 20 16 20 17 10 10.5 20 10 19.5, 16 10 19 10 19 17 ..do.. 54 53 51 29 28 95 29 30 u.s. nat. 114377... jouy, 1581. ad. fusan, korea. apr. 25, 1886 53 u.s. nat. 114376. jouy, 1505. ad ..do may 3, 1886 54 u.s. nat. 114374. jouy, 1594. ad. ..do may 2, 1886 54 u.s. nat. 114375... jouy, 1595. ad. ..do may 2, 1886 53 10 19 10.5 20 10 10 19 29 20 2 1.5 16 1.5 16,5 3 93 93 30 1374. 1 primary much larger than primary coverts; 2 about = 9; 3 slightly shorter than 4 and 5 which are equal and longest. tail.feathers subequal. 114376. "iris very dark brown." zosterops japonica temm. & schl. (180) and , nos. 91, 92; hakodate, march 11, 1883, and january 12, 1885. normal both in color and size (bills 10.5mm and 11mm). u. s. nat. mus. nos. 120479–80. it is interesting to note that this delicately looking bird which belongs to a tropical family winters even in yezo. parus hensoni, sp. nov. i ad. henson, no. 230; hakodate, november 7, 1884; & ad., no. 231, ibid., october 12, 1884. u. s. nat. mus. nos. 114093 and 120475. henson's collection reveals the rather surprising fact that we have at least three forms of marsh-tits in japan. when a short time ago i reviewed the japanese paridæ (proc. u. s. nat. mus., ix, 1886, pp. 378-381) i argued simply from the supposition that there were only two forms to account for, little dreaming that a third one would turn up to complicate this complicated question still further. the two specimens from ilenson agree closely with the hondo specimens (for which we deem it best at present to retain the name p. borealis) in regard to size and proportions, but differ considerably in color, having the top of the head glossy bluish black, like the other yezo form, which is at once distinguishable by its long and strongly rounded tail. in the review above referred to, i called the latter p. brevirostris with a query, as i had considerable doubt as to the correctness of this identification. this doubt has grown into certainty since 1 1892. ] 343 proceedings of the national museum. > i recently received a specimen from southern central siberia (the habitat of typical p. brevirostris) which in every particular agrees with taczanowski's original description of p. brevirostris (journ. f. orn., 1872, p. 444), but differs from the yezo long-tailed birds as much as any two forms of this perplexing group. both of them have long tails and glossy bluish black caps, but the former is considerably darker, especially below, and has hardly any of the whitish edges to the remiges and outer rectrices so conspicuous in the yezo birds, and while in these the tail-feathers are regularly graduated, in the siberian bird all the tail-feathers are nearly equal except the lateral pair, which is much shorter than the rest. there are reasons for believing that had not the name p. japonicus, bestowed by mr. seebohm upon specimens from hondo, been preoccupied, it would have been available for the present form. as the case stands now, i shall designate it as parus seebohmi (type, u. s. nat. mus., no. 96144), leaving to the future to determine to which other form, if any, it should be linked as a subspecies. though differing but slightly from other forms, there is no species or subspecies known to me, which combines the characters as i find them in henson's two specimens. i will designate it as parus hensoni. diagn.: similar to typical parus palustris (lin.), but with whitish margins to the tertiaries, and two outer pair of tail-feathers externally edged with white; flanks paler; top of head glossy bluish black; tail doubly rounded, less than 57mm. habitat: yezo, japan. type: u.s. nat. mus., no. 114093, henson, no. 230; & ad. hakodate, november 7, 1884. . the three japanese forms of marsh tits (subgenus pæcile) may be distinguished as follows: (cf. “synopsis” in pr. u. s. nat. mus., ix, 1886, p. 375).* .p. borealis. al top of head and bind neck dull brownish black... atop of head and hind neck glossy bluish black. bi tail doubly rounded, less than 57mm b2 tail regularly and strongly rounded, more than 57mm .p. hensoni. .p. seebohmi. it should always be remembered that this “key” does not apply to young specimens before their first autumnal molt, for even the glossy. capped forms have a dull brownish head in the first plumage. the molt takes place in july or august, and in p. hensoni and p. seebohmi the new feathers on the top of the head are distinctly bluish. abra*i seize the opportunity to correct a lapsus in the “synopsis” referred to. in a-b', giving the characters of parus minor, the last sentence should read thus: “the inner edge being black from the base.” 341 birds from yezo, japan---stejneger. sion, of course, affects the gloss somewhat, but adult birds in corresponding plumage, when compared, are not easily confounded. measurements. collector and no. sex and age. locality. date. tail-feath wing. ers. exposed culmen. remarks middle toe with claw. tarsus. henson, 230 henson, 231. o ad. hakodate, yezo... ..do noy, 7, 1884 oct. 12, 1884 60 61 54 54 8 8.5 15 16 14.5 type. 14 fad. parus ater lin. (215) m and 9, hakodate, october 20, 1884; numbers 236, 237. u.s. nat. mus. nos. 120473-4. although some additional material has accumulated since i wrote my previous article on the japanese coal tit (proc. u. s. nat. mus., ix, 1886, pp. 377, 378), i am unable to throw much new light on the subject. henson's specimens agree in every respect with those previously at hand from japan. they have no crest; that is, they have not the feathers on top of the head any longer than european examples (for instance u. s. nat. mus., no. 111118, ô ad., christiania, norway, february 27, 1887, r. collett, coll.). the tawny tint on the under parts is just a shade deeper in the japanese birds than in continental european specimens in corresponding plumage before me, but nearly all my japanese birds are killed in autumn, while most of those from europe are spring birds. the upper surface is colored identically with specimens from france, germany, hungary, and scandinavia. i stated before (1. c.) that japanese specimens differ from european ones in the black on the hind neck entirely encircling the white nuchal spot and distinctly separating it from the gray of the back. i must confess, however, that this character hardly holds, for in the specimens recently received from central europe there are several in which the white is similarly encircled (for instance, u. s. nat. mus., nos. 111394, 111395, 111118), while in henson's no. 237 the white spot immmediately joins the gray of the back. i have also remarked that japanese specimens are smaller than those from the continent of europe, agreeing in size closely with p. britannicus. the additional material bears out this slight difference, inasmuch as in ten continental european examples the measures of the wing ranges between 59mm (smallest ! ) and 65mm (largest ở ), average 62.3mm, those of the tail between 44mand 51mm, average 47mm, while six japanese birds in a similar way vary between 55mm and 59mm (wing), average 58mm, and between 43mm and 46mm (tail), average 44,5mm. six p. britannicus average respectively 58mm and 43,3mm. vol315 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvmeasurements. --collector and no. sex and age. locality. date. tail-feath ers. wing. exposed culmen. tarsus. middle toe with claw.! 46 henson, 236 henson, 237 o ad. hakolate, yezo. ad.l......do oct. 20, 1884 .do 59 55 16 16.5 43 8 sitta amurensis swinii. (222) sad., henson, no. 170; hakodate, october 20, 1881. u.s. nat. mus. no. 120178. wing, 76mm; tail-feathers, 39mm; exposed culmen, 16mm; tarsus, 19rum; middle toe, with claw, 21mm. it will be remembered that i established sitta amurensis clara upon some pale flanked female birds from yezo (proc. u. s. nat. mus., ix 1886, p. 392). at the same time i remarked that “probably the males will show more of the chestnut color, but judging from analogy i think it safe to say that the amount will be perceptibly less than in the hondo birds.” this will not hold good, and the whole subspecies will have to be dropped, if the male sent by mr. henson represents the typical yezo nuthatch, for this specimen agrees in every respect with the birds from hondo. whether this is really the style of the form breeding on yezo) is another question which can not be solvedl until we receive additional material collected at the various seasons. having obtained no more typical specimens from amur i am yet ignorant whether the possible differences of the japanese birds pointed out by me (op. cit., p. 391) have any significance or not.* ægithalos caudatus (lin.). (220) henson's two specimens fully substantiate what i have said on a previous occasion (pr. u. s. nat. mus., ix., 1886, p. 386) in regard to japanese examples as compared with typical european birds. the measurements are practically identical, and so is the coloration. the bills of the japanese specimens are the merest trifle longer than in the others. an adult male from amur agrees closely with the japan birds, but the vinous of the flanks is a little more vivid, hardly to be distinguished from a scandinavian specimen (no. 111120). seebohm's . macrurus seems to me very doubtful. i have only seen a single siberian specimen (mus. c. hart merriam, krasnoyarsk, december 31, 1881). it has a tail somewhat in excess of the maximum of e. caudatus as given in the table below, and the dusky central portion of the tertiaries is very restricted, but the specimen from pomerania (see table) has even more white on the tertiaries than the siberian bird. * i may add that since writing my review of the japanese parida (1. c.) i have received four typical specimens of sitta albifrons from kamtchatka, thereby verifying my determination of the kuril specimen (p. 393) as belonging to this form, 316 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. the latter measures as follows: wing, 66wm; tail-feathers, 99mm; bill from nostrils, 4mm. measurements. museum no. ('ollector and no. sex and age. locality. date. wing tail-feath ers. bill from nostril. tarsus. middle toe | with claw. 65 13 13 u.s. nat. 56550... schlüt., 536 u.s. nat. 95259.. ..do u.s. nat. 111413.. ray. u.s. nat. 111120.. collett u.s. nat. 96147... blakist., 3205 u.s. nat. 91549. blakist., 3207 u.s. nat. 120476 . henson, 220 u.s. nat. 120477 henson, 221 u.s. nat. 111412 load. germany dad. pomerania apr. 10, 1876 64 82 dad saxony... dec. 15, 1880 92 ail. soler, norway, dec. 8, 1886'64 89 dad. sapporo, yezo, japan. oct. 23, 1882 61 81 ad ..do 62 85 dad. hakodate, yezo, japan nov. 3, 1884 65 91 ad .do. .do. 63 86 dad. amur, eastern siberia. mar. 9, 1882 61 88 ..do... 4.5 4.5 4.7 4.5 4 17 17 17 18 17 17 17 13 13 14 12 regulus japonensis blakist. ad., no. 171; hakodate, october 25, 1881. u.s. nat. mus. no. 120469. the name r. japonicus seems to have been instituted by bonaparte in 1856 (compt. rend. ac. sc., xlii, p. 767), but being unaccompanied by even a trace of a description, or reference to a specimen, description, or plate, it is entirely inadmissible under the existing codes of zoological nomenclature. bonaparte only says: “outre le r. japonicus, si difficile à distinguer du r. cristatus d'europe," and unless a prior description be found, or a later one, but antedating 1862, blakiston's reg. ulus japonensis will stand as the first name accompanied by an indication of a distinguishing character. the japan kinglet is easily separable from the european regulus regulus notwithstanding the fact that it is included in the synonymy of the latter, both by dresser (b. eur., ii, p. 453 (1874)) and dr. gadow (cat. b. br. mus., viii, p. 80 (1883)); dresser, however, has apparently receded from his former position (tom. cit., p. 451 (1880). the differences between the two forms mentioned have been so well pointed out by mr. r. ridgway (pr. u. s. nat. mus., vi, 1883, p. 369), that i need not enlarge upon this subject in the present connection. i may add that their dimensions are nearly identical. as will be seen from the subjoined table of measurements i have before me specimens from all three islands. there seems to be not the slightest difference between them, neither in size, nor in coloration. * mr. oates, in his birds of india (1, p. 341), gets over the difficulty in disposing of the genus regulus by making it an inclopendent family, regulide. he says: “these birds possess a character which suttices to separate them from all the other passeres, viz, a stiff, small, and perfect feather over each nostril. this character is sufficiently important, in my opinion, to render it desirable to elevate the goldcrests to the rank of a family.” mr. oats is evidently not aware that r. calendula and r. obscurus, which most authors do not even separate generically, have the nostrils hidden by a tuft of small bristle-like feathers. the family character thus fails, but i think the genus corthylio cab, should stand. 1 vol347 1892proceedings of the national museum, , . ] . xvmeasurements. museum no. collector and no. sex and age. locality date. wing. tail-feath. ers. exposed culmen. tarsus. middle toe with claw. 40 12 39 12 christiania n.... pətersen, 42 ..dad. amaknsa, kiusin .. mar. 30, 1786 56 u.s. nat. 96260 ringer, 34 *dad nagasaki, kiusiu nov. 26, 1876 54 u.s. nat. 109489 namiye.. dad. tokio, hondo. jan. 9, 1883 53 u.s. nat. 91359 .. jouy, 680 load. tate yama, hondo. oct. 3, 1882 55 u.s. nat. 91360.. jouy, 695 dad.......do.. oct. 15, 1882 u.s. nat. 91362 jouy, 862 dad ....do. dec. 9, 1882 55 u.s. nat. 91361 jouy, 844 yad. .do.. dec. 5, 1882 53 u.s. nat. 110486 jouy $ad. nikko, hondo 53 u.s. nat. 96261 blak., 2560. dad. saporo, yezo apr. 19, 1878 55 u.s. nat. 120469 henson, 71. ďad. hakodato, yezo. oct. 25, 1884 54 average measurements of 8 males 54 average measurements of 2 females. 53 42 42 40 38 39 41 41 8 8 7 7.5 7 7.5 8 8 18 17 18 17 18 17 16 go 11 18 12 7 8 18 16.5 12 11 38 * coll. blakist. no. 2147. cinclus pallasii temm. (247) it is extremely doubtful whether the name here employed is the correct one, but inasmuch as it seems impossible at the present time to find out just to which form temminck originally applied it, we may accept the name in common use, as the original description contains nothing which could seriously affect the identification. temminck based the name upon a specimen which he received from pallas at the time when the latter was in the crimea. for that reason temminck conjectured that the species occurred in that country. the variety which pallas received from baical (zoogr. ross.-as., i, p. 426) is usually quoted as belonging to c. pallasii, but taczanowski insists (bull. soc. zool. france, 1876, p. 58) that only 0. leucogaster occurs in that locality. pallas also states that he received specimens essentially similar from kamtchatka and the aleutian islands through billing's expedition, but the dipper does probably not inhabit kamtchatka, and the species occurring in the aleutian islands is c. mericanus. i regard it as very probable that pallas had no specimens at all of the present species. swinhoe's c. marila (ibis, 1860, p. 187) seems to be a smaller race of the present species occurring in formosa, and a large and more richly colored form is indicated by mr. sharpe (loc.cit.) as occurring in china. there is a single specimen in henson's collection, no. 245, collected at hakodate, december 12, 1885. it is a female, and, like other specimens from yezo, it does not differ in ny way from birds collected in ilondo. u. s. nat. mus. no. 120466. hypsipetes amaurotis hensoni, subsp. nov. diagnosis: differs from typical hypsipetes amaurotis (temm.) in being paler, the color of the flanks particularly so. habitat: yezo, japan, migrating south in winter to hondo. type: u.s. nat. mus., no. 96280; blakiston coll. 318 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. ou a previous occasion (proc. u. s. nat. mus., 1886, p. 612) i made the following observation : in addition, i should remark that it may later on be expedient to recognize the individuals breeding in yezo as a distinct race, characterized by the paleness of the hanks and the general lighter tone of the under parts, but at present, with only two specimens from that island, i refrain from naming it. i may also mention that a specimen from tate-yama, collected by jouy october 28, agrees with the yezo birds. this would not invalidate the status of the latter as a distinct race, since it may be presumed that in winter or during the migrations it may occur in hondo, especially on the western siile. additional specimens from yezo are therefore very desirable in order to have the question settled. henson's two specimens are consequently of great interest, the more so since i have before me three southern specimens in addition to those enumerated (tom. cit., p. 613). i find the differences indicated above substantiated in the five additional specimens, and have no hesitation in pronouncing the yezo birds a good local race, which i take great pleasure in naming after mr. harry v. henson, whose courteous liberality has enabled me to make the present observations. i append the following measurements: i.-iiypsipetes amaurotis. museum and no. collector and no. sex and age. locality. date. christiania n petersen, 22 u.s. nat., 96279 ringer, 21 u.s. nat., 111662. namiye. u.s. nat., 88661 jouy, 592 u.s. nat.: 109316. namiye. u.s. nat., 109347. nive. tokio educat namiye.. and urakami, kinsin fel. 9, 1886 120 108 o al nagasaki, kiusiu.. jan. 1, 1877 128 115 nail niishima apr. 22, 1887 137 120 all fuji, ilondo july 13, 1842 130 119 :sagami, hondo. nov. 15. 1884 133 120 nov. 15, 1884 123 112 $ au napa, liukiu mar. 8, 1886 118 108 22 24 21 20 21 23 24 22 2:2 23 21 22 ....do 24 22 22 ii.--hypsipetes amaurotis hensoni. 22 23 23 u.s. nat., 96280 blakist., 2154.. rail ilakodate, yezo feb. 12, 1877 136 120 u.s. nat. 120181. llenson, 79 car! ..do may 17, 1884 128 120 u.s. nat. 120182. henson, 589 do dec. 9, 1885 130 115 u.s. nat., 96281.. blakist., 2873.. paul mororan, yezo... may 16, 1882 127 112 u.s. nat., 91325 .. jouy, 729. pad tate-vama, honilo. oct. 281882 127 111 ad 21 23 22 24 lanius superciliosus latii, (205) s ad., no. 26, hakodate, may 16, 1885; ad., no. 217, august 13, 1883; 9 hornot. no.31, may 25, 1885. u. s. nat. mus. nos. 120483-5. identical with specimens from hondo, except that the white frontal band of the adult male is much broader than in an adult male collectel by mr. jouy on fuji-yama, hondo, july 14, 1882 (u. s. nat. mus., no. 88672). this specimen is also considerably more tawny on the flanks. another adult male from ilakodate (blakiston, no. 2023; u.s. nat. mus., no. 96135), collected in june, agrees with henson's example both in regard to the width of the frontal band and the palevol349 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xvness of the flanks. with only three specimens, however, it is impossible to say whether there is a constant difference between the northern and southern birds or not. sturnia violacea (bond.). (203) this is the same as temminck and schlegel's sturnia pyrrhogenys, of which henson's collection contains six specimens. details in table below. already cassin pointed out the great individual variation in the coloration of the adult males (perry's jap. exp., ii, 1). 220). capt. blakiston (chrysanth., 1882, p. 475) las further enlarged upon this subject as follows: i secured a good series of examples, showing the variation in the amount of brown, chestnut, or chocolate on the head and neck of the male, from its almost entire absence in the youngest-none, of course, younger than birds born last year the colored ear coverts, and a few specks on the throat of those of medium age, to the entire side of head, lower part of throat, and slightly round the back of the neck of the most aged specimens. i also noticed that the testicles of all the male birds i opened were nearly black. wilh. blasius (zeitschr. ges. orn., 1886, pp. 123–124) has also some important remarks to the same effect, and the series now before me, consisting of birds collected by the perry expedition, by blakiston, jouy, and henson, fully substantiates the above statements, though i can not see upon what evidence the above gentlemen consider the birds with but little chestnut for younger individuals and those with very much for very old ones. it may be so, but there is no positive evidence.* this point could be easily settlerd, however, on young birds far advanced in the molt. field ornithologists, therefore, should be on the lookout for male birds in august and september with a few feathers of the young plumage left-just sufficient to clearly prove the age-and should be particularly careful in determining the sex with absolute certainty by dissection. i urge particular care in this instance, as there seems to be some doubt still in regard to the sexual difference in this species and its nearest allies. mr. a. hume (stray featlı., vii, 1878, p. 393) says of the closely allied sturnia sturnina (pall.) (=damurica) that " in the perfect adult the plumage of the two sexes is quite alike," and in regard to the present species dr. w. blasius (zeitschr. ges. ornith., iii, 1886, pp. 121, 123, and 124) clearly indicates as his belief that the dull brown birds are all young, and that both males and females are essentially alike, the only difference between the sexes being, * there is, however, one instance on record which, to a certain degree, seems to corroborate the above opinion. dr. blasius (tom.cit., pp. 121, 122) deseribes a winter bird from celebes (specimen c) which is evidently a male in the glossy plumage with only a few brownish feathers of the young dress left. the chestnut ear patel is mixed with white, but judging from the description it has more chestnut color than u. s. nat. mus. no. 96124, killed in may. 2 350 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. according to his opinion, the somewhat smaller size and the greater intensity of the rusty suffusion on the white portions of the plumage of the female.* oates (b. of india, 1, 1889, p. 525) also states that “in sturnia the sexes are alike.” from an inspection of the material before me i am led to believe, however, that these gentlemen are mistaken, especially dr. blasins (for, though it is highly probable that sturnina and violacea show no difference in this respect, it is somewhat risky to draw conclusions by analogies in such cases as this), and that sharpe is correct when describing the two sexes as different (cat. b. orn. mus., xiii, 1890, pp. 70-71). all the specimens which, in the table below, have the sex mark indicated and not included in parenthesis are thus sexed by the collectors; and all the glossy ones are marked as males, while those which are marked & are all dull brownish. this may be a coincidence, though not very likely, in view of some of the facts to be brought out below; it may also be that some of the collectors have not determined the sex by actual dissection, but then the material tends to show, at least, that the collectors (in this case ornithologists of considerable experience), who were familiar with the birds in their native haunts, regard the glossy individuals as males and the plain ones as females. three of the brown birds marked as females were collected in may, one as late as the 29th. these differ in several essential points from the young autumnal bird in a somewhat similar plumage. their bill is quite black, while in the young ones it is horny brown above and quite pale at base of lower mandible. the black bill i take to be an unfailing sign of maturity, and these birds i therefore regard as adult females. their legs are also darker colored, and in regard to plumage these females differ from the young birds in having the fore neck and breast uniformly grayish white and not streaked with brownislı, as in the latter. somebody might remark that even this is not convincing, and that there is a possibility that the full adult plumage may not be assumed until the molt in the second autumn. but such a supposition is directly disproved by henson's no. 52. this bird is unquestionably a young bird of the year, which has just commenced its first autumnal molt. the new feathers are just appearing on the lower back, and as they are of a brilliant glossy purple black they prove beyond a shadow of doubt that the young birds molt into the fully adult plumage already in the first autumn. it is therefore hardly possible that the brownish winter birds from celebes which dr. blasius examined could be young birds of the * in justice to dr. blasius it should be remarked, however, that he has expressed himself somewhat guardedly. he says (tom. cit., p. 121): “beide bälge zeigen in der färbung und grösse in die augen fallende verschiedenheiten, die wahrscheinlich als geschlechtsunterschied aufzufassen sein werden, da von einer verschiedenheit nach der jahreszeit hier füglich nicht die rede sein kann" (as both specimens were killed on december 13]. i regard it as well established, however, that the variation in the rusty tinge is partly individual and partly seasonal, and that it has nothing to do with the sex of the bird. vol351 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xva > year, and, in fact, the only young bird in the lot seems to be the male in full glossy plumage with but a few feathers left of the brown plumage (specimen c; tom. cit., p. 120). henson's no. 113 is perhaps even more convincing and interesting. the former specimen (no. 52) is marked &, the present one !, and both are, beyond a doubt, young birds of exactly the same age. the female is less brown on the back, the head is grayer, and the streaks on the latter less distinct. new feathers are protruding on the back, as in the male, but these are of a dull drab, while those of the male are metallic purplish black; new whitish feathers also appear on the whole fore neck. it is then plain that the females molt into a dull plumage essentially like that which i take to be that of the adult females (see above) at the same time when the young males molt into the glossy garb of the old males. so far we have only mentioned the change in the contour feathers of these two specimens. the molt which takes place in the wings is not less instructive, however. as in the true starling of europe and in acridotheres cineraceus, the young sturnia violacea also molts its remiges during the first autumn of its life. if we compare the wings of the glossy old males with those of the supposed adult females mentioned above, we shall find that in the males the outer edges of the inner primaries and of the secondaries, as well as the tertiaries, primary and greater coverts are of a lustrous metallic green, while in the females the metallic gloss is quite subdued and green only on secondaries, primaries, and primary coverts, while greater coverts and tertiaries are brown with a silky shine slightly purplish and hoary in a certain light. the new wing-feathers of the two molting young birds above referred to represent this same difference. the inner primaries and the greater coverts are about half out of their sheaths in the male and are lustrous green; in the female the former and a few primary coverts are also but half out and faintly glossed with green, while the greater coverts are fully out and with a color and gloss as described above in the supp adult females. there is consequently strong evidence in favor of a very marked sexual difference both in the adults and in the young birds. but we should be very pleased to receive information from our friends in the field whether they are able to positively confirm or disprove our opinion. in regard to the specific name here adopted i would remark that pl. enlum., no. 185, fig. 2, upon which boddaert (1783) founded his motacilla violacea, is a rather good representation of the adult male of the bird afterwards described by wagler as pastor ruficollis and by temminck and schlegel as lamprotornis pyrrhogenys. the figure in question is rather extreme in the amount of chestnut on the sides and front of neck, and of gray across the breast, but it is closely approached by no. 96123, u. s. nat. mus., which also agrees with buffon's figure in 352 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. having the entire rump glossy purplish black. the same peculiarity is observed in no. 96124, which, however, possesses the minimum of chestnut on the ears. measurements. museum and no. collector and no. ex and age. locality. date. wing: tail-feath exposed culmen. ers. tarsus. middle toe with claw. tokio educat.... nishi 51 15 26 ďad 50 21 راه 16 26 14 15.5 26 14 25 u.s. nat., 88693.. jony, 590 u.s. nat., 96123. blakist., 2819 u.s. nat., 96121.. blakist., 285) t.s. nat., 96125 blakist..2013 u.s. nat., 15863. heine, 19 u.s. nat., 15402. heine, 56 u.s. nat., 96126. blakist., 2856. t'.s. nat., 120491 henson, 23. u.s. nat., 120192. henson, 32. u.s. wat , 120493. henson, 84. u.s. nat., 120194. henson, 255 u.s. sat., 120495. henson, 113. u.s. nat., 120196.' henson, 19. 1 5 ad. yayayama isl., .-107 liukiu. fiji, londo. july 24, 1882 103 ad south yezo may 21, 1882 113 ad. ....do... do o ad do may 24, 1882 107 ad ilakodate, yezo. may 1834 109 ad ...do. .do 106 south yezo may 24, 1832 105 djur hakolate, yezo. a. 6, 1483 101 djuv ....do... aug. 14, 1883 107 all ..do. may 30, 1857 108 9 ad ..do may 29, 1885 105 ju (10. ang. 21, 1683 99 juy....do.. aug. 6, 1883 100 ܐ»i: ; 51 52 49 48 48 52 51 14.5 25 14.5 26 13 26 15 23 25 14 11.5 24 49 49 47 acridotheres cineraceus (temm.). (201) three 99. no. 111, ad., hakodate, november 10, 1883; no. 32, ad., hakodate, june 2, 1883; no. 176, juv., ilakodate, september 11, 1884. 1. s. nat. mus. nos. 12018-90. it is strange that most anthors, even those who recognize pastor, sturnia, temen uchus, acridotheres, etc., as distinct genera, or subgenera, should persist in placing the present species in the genus sturnus alongside its type, the european starling, with which, in fact, it has nothing in common that is not shared also by the members of the groups mentioned above. in style of coloration it is as strikingly different from the starling as any, wearing, as it does, the plumage of a typical hill myna; its bill is essentially that of acridotheres (though slightly longer than in the typical species), the gently curved culmen, the lateral compression, and the very pronounced notch at the tip of the upper mandible being characters which at once separate it from sturnus, with its straight, flattened, and unnotched beak, while the complete feathering of the nasal groove and the comparatively narrow opening of the nostrils in the former is identical with the corresponding parts in acridothercs as contrasted with the open nostrils and naked operculum of the starling. the tail is not so rounded as in true acridotheres, but this seems to be the chief difference. i am therefore not prepared to go so far as mr. sharpe, who separates this species generically under the name of spodiopsar. one of mr. iienson's specimens is of particular interest, viz, no. 176, being a young female in transition from the first plumage to that of the first winter. this specimen is in full molt all over. the new feathers have already supplanted the old ones on lower back and rump; the upper lesser wing-coverts, as wel as the greater ones, are also new and fully out, besides a few of the inner primary coverts, but most inter1892. ] 353 proceedings of the national museum. , esting is the fact that the five inner primaries also are inolting, and that the central pair of the new tail-feathers are just emerging from the sheaths, thus proving that the regular molt of the rectrices and remiges in the first autumn is not confined to the european starling. nor are these two species unique in this respect, for, as has been shown under sturnia violacea, this unusual molt is quite as normal in the latter species. i have always believed that the old world sturnina are closely related to the american icterinae, notwithstanding the difference in the number of primaries. mr. ridgway and i at once set to work examining the large material in the national collection, and found that the young of the american icterinæ molt their quills and tail-feathers during the first autumnal molt exactly as do the true starlings. of course, the material was not sufficient to prove it in every species and genus, but we found it in all cases in the genera quiscalus, scolecophagus, agelaius, sturnella, molothrus, dolichonyx. this fact seems to add evidence of great importance in support of the opinion that icterinæ and sturnina are next kin. garrulus brandtii eversm. (198) two specimens, 8 and 9 ad. ; henson coll., nos. 185, 132, hakodate, september 18 and october 11, 1884; u.s. nat. mus., nos. 120186–7. english ornithologists assert that they can discover no difference between japanese specimens and those from altai, siberia, whence came the type. it is curious to note that many authors recognize the present form as a distinct species while treating of g. japonicus as a mere geographical variety of g. glandarius. true, the latter are quite similar in the general coloration, but the loral region, the primaries, and the tertiaries are quite differently colored without any trace of intergradation or variation. in all these points g. brandtii agrees with g. glandarius, the chief difference between them consisting in the strong wash of cinnamon-rufous, which suffuses the head in g. brandtii. in castern russia, moreover, there seems to exist a somewhat intermediate form, g. severzowi bogdan. pyrrhula griseiventris lafr. (296) nos. 242, § ad., hakodate, november 25, 1883; no. 243, 9 all., hakodate, november 20, 1884; u.s. nat. mus., nos. 120497-8. being winter specimens, this pair does not add much towards finally settling the status of p. rosacea. the male is quite typical of the latter phase, being nearly identical with no. 3 of my list (u.s. nat. mus., 1887, p. 107), from kiusiu. * sharpe, in his cat. b. brit. mus., xii, p. 832, enumerates three p. rosacea, two males and one female, as collected by c. mcvean in “yezo.” this is evidently a mistake which is repeated in all the birds enumerated as coming from the same source. the locality in each case should be “yedo," the former name of tokio, and the birds consequently came from the middle island and not from yezo. proc. n. m. 92 -23 354 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. the female is the first yezo specimen of that sex which i have had an opportunity to examine. it differs in no way from specimens from the other two islands. uragus sanguinolentus (temm. and schl.). (289) a female collected at hakodate, november 9, 1883, and a male collected six days later are in the collection (nos. 115 and 114; u.s. nat. mus., nos. 120.500 and 120499). they agree with other specimens before me in every particular. acanthis linaria holboellii (breim). (286-7) i have stated on several occasions (auk, 1887, pp. 33–35, and proc. u. s. nat. mus., xiv, 1891, p. 187) that the only subspecies of red-poll belonging to the japanese fawia is the long-billed coast form, named as above.* henson's specimen (no. 241; u.s. nat. mus., no. 120501), which was collected at hakodate, march 27, 1883, belongs eminently to this form. it is a male, without red on throat and breast, meas. uring as follows: wing, 75mm; bill, from nostril, 9mm. all the tail-feathers are molting and still in their sheaths. leucosticte brunneonucha (brandt). (288) a pair was collected by henson near hakodate in november, 1885 (henson, nos. 87, 88; u.s. nat. mus., yos. 120501-2), agreeing in every respect with other winter birds from yezo and from hondo, fourteen specimens of which are now before me. a comparison of these with five from kamtchatka, and four from ussuri, on the mainland, show no perceptible differences. there is no record of this species having been observed in japan proper during the breeding season, all the specimens hitherto obtained having been collected during the winter months, if we except a single specimen & (no. 1951), shot by capt. blakiston at ilakodate, on may 5, 1876. on the other hand, it has repeatedly been found in summer on the kurile islands. however, it may confidently be looked for during the breeding season along the seashore of yezo, where there must be plenty of wild and precipitous rocks to suit the taste of these birds. during the summer the brown on the nape wears off and this part becomes a silvery white, more or less shaded with buff. the light *at the saine time i was careful to remark that "it is reasonable to expect that both . linaria and ecilipes in winter may visit the northern island.” since that was written mr. sharpe, in his cat. b, brit. mus., xii, p. 249, refers two specimens from “japan” to typical 1. linaria, with a wing 2.75 inches long, and in the synonymy he refers blak. and pryer's no. 287 to this form. the identification of the specimens in question is probably correct, but the quotation certainly refers to a. holboellii, as i have alreally shown. this remark refers also to sharpe's quotation of blak. & pryer's 286 under a. erilipes. vol355 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvedges to the dorsal feathers also wear off and the whole upper surface consequently looks darker than in winter, features nicely illustrated by a fine &, with black bill, collected in ussuri, march 27, 1881 (u. s. nat. mus., no. 111358). the gray nape of this bird explains the corresponding portion of pallas's description of the variety b 1.” from the kurile islands, “ vertice nigricante; cervice cano-albido.” the absence of rosy color, which in pallas's bird seems to be replaced by cinnamon, is not so easily accounted for, though i have before ine a specimen from kamtchatka (u. s. nat. mus., no. 21126, wm. stimpson's coll.) which, in every respect, agrees with pallas's description, but this bird has apparently originally been preserved in alcohol, which seems to have extracted the rosy color. the fact that the nape of l. brunneonucha becomes gray in summer may possibly have misled prof. lichtenstein to determine two birds in the berlin museum said to have come from the kurile islands as l. griseonucha (nomencl. av. mus. berol., 1854, p. 47), though " kurile islands" may be a lapsus for "aleu. tian islands.” at any rate, l. grisconucha does not occur in the former. chloris kawarahiba (temm.). (283) two specimens of the larger japanese green finch, viz, nos. 224 and 225, 8 and 9, hakodate, november 11 and october 18, 1883 (u. s. nat. mus., nos. 120506-7). for dimensions, etc., see the following species. chloris kawarahiba minor (temm. and scileg.). (281) the eastern green finches are still in a state of confusion, and though having quite a number of specimens before me i have not been able to solve all the questions or clear all the doubts. i have satisfied myself as to the correctness of a few conclusions, which differ somewhat from the opinion generally accepted. in the first place the smaller japanese green finch is not identical with the chinese chloris sinica (lin.). they agree in size, but differ considerably in coloration. in the last-mentioned bird there is very little, if any green in the yellow that spreads over the iuder surface from the chest backward. on the contrary, the yellow is strongly suffused with a tawny brown. in ch. sinica, furthermore, the great upper wingcoverts are brown, while in ch. kawaruhiba minor they are olive-green, more or less suffused with yellow; and, finally, in the chinese bird the pale margins to the inner secondaries and the tertiaries are considerably wider than in the smaller japanese form. whether specitically or only subspecifically distinct is impossible for me to say at present, but this question is comparatively unimportant. the essential thing at the present stage is the fact that the two forms are separable. strange to say, although the smaller japanese form is almost universally called ch. sinica, and nearly all authors aclmit the distinctness of a smaller and a larger species in japan proper, the two latter forms are much more difficult to separate and are inuch more closely allied. 356 birds from yezo, japan-stejneger. > in fact, i was long in doubt whether they could be separated at all, and i still more so as to where to draw the line. the two japanese forms were originally separated by schlegel in fauna japonica, the characters ascribed to them being the smaller size and the deeper and brighter colors of ch, kawarahiba minor. sharpe (cat. b. br. mus., xii, pp. 26–28), who accepts swinhoe's identification of the latter with ch. sinica, gives the same characteristic of the two forms which he regards as species. schlegel gives the following dimensions of the wing: kawarahiba major, 90mm; k. minor, 77mm to 81mm. sharpe's measurements are respectively: 86mm to 89mm and 76mm to 85mm, the larger dimensions being in every instance that of the male, the smaller that of the female. whitely (ibis, 1867, p. 202) gives also some measurements, viz, 82.5mm and 89mm, the latter being, however, that of a female bird only. thus these authors allow a gap of about 10mm between the males of the two forms. capt. blakiston, however, has already shown that there is no such gap (chrysanth., 1882, p. 474), and a glance at the tables below shows conclusively that they run into each other as far as size expressed by length of wing is concerned. according to the authors quoted above, the smaller size is accompanied by deeper and brighter colors. a glance at my series would convince any one that this does not hold good. my kamtchatkan* male, one of the largest, is quite as brightly colored as any one in the whole collection. capt. blakiston (loc. cit.) has called attention to the greater size of the bill of ch. kawarahiba as a more reliable character than the length of body or wing; but even in this respect no hard and fast line can be drawn. there is a regular gradation between the heaviest and longest bills to the shortest and most slender, and it will be seen that generally the bigger bill is associated with the longest wing. size of bill, therefore, is no more absolute character than length of wing. an inspection of my series, however, convinces me that there is a character which, taken in conjunction with those of size, makes it possible to distinguish in most cases between the two forms, for i find that the larger birds have the secondaries and tertiaries, particularly the former, much more broadly edged with light than the smaller specimens, in which, moreover, the edges are grayer, while in the former they are nearly pure white. this character is most beautifully illustrated in the two breeding temales, no. 88680, from fiji, hondo, and no. 92626, from petropaulski, kamtchatka, for although the latter is in a more abraded plumage than the former, the pure white edges to the secondaries form a very conspicuous white longitudinal bar on the folded wing; in the former there is hardly a trace of light edges. this, fortunately, gives us a fixed basis for determining the range of the two forms. defining, as i do, chloris kauarahiba as the larger form * the kamtchatkan habitat of ch. kawarahiba and the reference to this species in my “results of ornithol. explorations in kamtschatka, etc.,” have been entirely overlooked by sharpe (loc. cit.). vol357 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xv* with the broader white edges to the secondaries, we have now ascertained that it breeds in kamtchatka; and as the smaller form has not at all been found in that country, it is safe to assume that this peninsula is its home par excellence. on the other hand, it is certain that the smaller form, with the edges to the secondaries narrower and grayer, chloris kawarahiba minor,* breeds in the middle island of japan. that it also breeds in yezo is probable from the fact that henson's speci. men no. 226 was taken at hakodate on may 10, and seems also to be indicated by whitely. the larger form is migratory in kamtchatka. it has never been taken on the mainland of asia. consequently, it is pretty safe to conclude that its only way of migration is to japan in winter, where it is found numerous all through the cold season as far south as nagasaki. it may breed in yezo and in the mountains of northern hondo, but we have no evidence of it, and, on the whole, i think it rather improbable. the results of this investigation consequently indicate that there are two separable forms, ch. kawarahiba, inhabiting kamtchatka in summer, migrating south to southern japan in winter, though occasionally wintering as far north as hakodate, and ch. k. minor, a resi. dent of japan, which is stationary at least in the southern provinces of that empire. ch. sinica does not occur in japan at all. i.--measurements of chloris kawarahiba. museum and no. collector and no. sex and age. locality. date. tail-feathers. exposed culmen. middle toe with claw. wing. tarsus. 53 12 55 50 :55 17 18 20 u.s. nat., 89017.. stejn., 1205.... ad. between bering i. june 13, 1882 88 and kamtchatka. u.s. nat., 92626.. stejn., 2302 ( 9 ) ad. petropaulski, kam... jnly–, 1883 88 u.s. nat., 96360.. | blak., 1587.. ďad. hakodate, yezo. apr. 82 u.s. nat. 96365. blak., 2842. ďad. nikap. yezo may 86 u.s. nat., 91512.. blak., 3210. (d) sapporo, yezo oct. 84 u.s. nat., 96369.. blak., 3202. (0) .do oct. 85 u.s. nat., 96368.. blak., 3073. juv. ..do oct. 81 u.s. nat., 96366.. blak., 2813. nikap, yezo.. may 84 u.s. nat., 96362. owst., 390 (0) yokohama, hondo.. 83 christiania peters., 41 sad. tokitsu, kiusiu. mar.29, 1886 85 christiania peters., 29. urakami. kiusin feb. 15, 1886 85 christiania peters., 98 ad. nagasaki, kiusiu. dec. 1886 84 u.s. nat., 120506. henson, 224. o hakodate, yezo nov.11, 1883 88 u.s. nat., 120.507. henson, 225. 오 ​1....do ... oct. 18, 1883 84 57 50 52 53 52 55 51 55 53 12 12 12 11 11 11.5 12 12 11.5 11.5 12 13 12 o ad. 19 20 average measurements of 14 specimens 85 53 11.8 * i should state here that the distinction between the two forms here pointed out is very well shown in the beautiful plates of these birds in fauna japonica (aves, pls. xlviii and xlix), though not mentioned in the text. ---358 birds from yezo, japan-steineger. ii.jeasurements of chloris k. minor. u.s. nat. mus. no. collector and no. sex and age. locality. date. exposed culmen. tail-feathers. remarks middle toe with claw. wing tarsus. molting. 11.5 52 52 83 80 78 79 79 16.5 96367 blak., 3070 .. 963.9 blak., 1158 96364 blak., 1264. 88080 jouy, 506 91429 jony: 938 85784 jouy, 10 85785 jous: 12 96.363 owst., 408. 96361 ringer, 38 111738 ringer, 30 120504 henson, 220 120505 | henson, 227 sapporo, yezo oct. 5) hakodate, yezo.. mar. 9 d. dlo may vad. fuji, londo july 13, 1883 yokohama, hlondo jan. 10, 1883 ad. yokoska, hlondo. may 10, 1881 ail. ...clo may () yokohama, hondo.nagasaki, kiusiu dec. 17, 1876 asoyama, kinsiu jan. 1887 1 hakolate, yezo. may 10.1886 .co oct. 22. 1884 nm32222mm 49 51 19 53 10 11 u 10.3 73 82 79 79 80 80 51 51 50 10,5 11 11 11 17.5 18 average measurements of 12 specimens. 80 31 10.9. coccothraustes coccothraustes japonica (temm. and schl.). (292) a pair. for particulars see “measurements” given below. the hawtinch is one of the few birds which do not follow the rule that the representative forms in japan are brighter and purer colored than the corresponding forms in europe, for in the series of twenty-four birds before me it is easy enough to pick out the european specimens from those of eastern asia by their brighter general coloration, with the exception of one (8, u.s. nat. mus., no. 102932, vosges, france, january, 1877, mougel coll.), which can hardly be told apart from some japanese specimens by color alone. true, mr. r. b. sharpe (cat. b. br. mus., xii, p. 40) gives as a distinguishing character between the two forms, that in c. japonica the wing coverts are ashy whitish or pale drab at the ends instead of whitish” in the typical western form, but this character does not hold at all, as two european males, the one referred to above and no. 114695 (talamone, italy, april, 1880), have these light tips quite as dingy as in the average japanese bird, while one of the latter ( 6 , u.s. nat. mus., no. 109372, suruga, hondo, november 21, 1884, namiye coll.) has them purer white than any of the european examples at hand. and as with the males so with the females, some are indistinguishable by color alone, while in these also the european birds are, on the whole, somewhat brighter colored. there is one character, howerer, which seems to bold when others fail, viz, the greater height and bulk of the bill of typical c. cocco. thraustes. as will be seen from the tables of measurements given below, the two forms are identical in general size,* but the bills of the european birds are considerably larger. the lower mandible is particularly strong, as shown by the measurements which are taken on the side of the mandible at the base where the feathers join the horny sheath. * the males are slightly larger than the females. the measurements of the japanese form given by sharpe (loc. cit.) are therefore misleading. vol359 1892proceedings of the national museum. :, . ] . xvon the whole the two forms are fairly separable, and as the eastern subspecies was originally described under a trinominal appellation, i see no reason for changing it into a binominal. a male specimen collected by mr. jouy at matsumoto, hondo (no. 91437, november 5, 1882), is very remarkable for its unusually dark and saturated coloration. the back is a dark blackish broy still blacker on the scapulars, while the tertials are wholly black with a delicate green silky gloss; the longest of the upper tail-coverts are of a deep burnt umber. it looks so different from all the other specimens, eastern and western, that at first i was tempted to regard it as a special form, but i am now convinced that it is only a case of excessive individual variation. 1.measurements of coccothraustes coccothraustes japonica. museum and no. collector and no. sex and age. locality. date tail.feathers. exposed culmen. height of bill at base. middle toe with claw. total length. height of lower man. dible at base. wing. tarsus. 15 4.8 14 92 24 1.5 dad 13 22 23 4.8 13 )) 7 iu.' 4.5 u.s. nat., 1205e8 . henson, 222.'s ad. next moniato, nov. 22, '84.. : : 15 4.8 t'. s. nat., 109372. namiye.....dad. suruga, hon. nov. 21. 81.. 100 35 19 dlo. u.s. nat., 91568.. jouy, 1023 dad yokolia ma. mar. 26, 83.. 100 54 19 ilondo. u.s. nat., 91437..' jouy, 769 matsumoto, nov, 5, 682.. 10.; 52 18 hondo. u.s. nat., 96382.. blak., 1046.. o ad.' hakodate, jan. 5. 73.. 103 54 19 yezo. 99 51 19 yezo. christiania petersen, 48.'dad. tokitni. kiapr. 16, '86.. 104 10 20 usin. do... petersen, 118 (d)ad kiusinl.... 100 53 10 u.s. nat., 96383. blak., 3148.. djuv. sapporo. yezo. oct. 14. '82.. 99 34 17 c.s. nat , 91527.. jouy, 976 pad.! yokoh a ma. 1 ilono. mar. 1, 83.. 101 31 17 u.s. nat., 91438.. jouy. 837 pad! tate yama. hondo. dec. 9, 82.. 100 .... 19 u.s. nat., 96381.. blak., 3199... $ ad sapporo, yezo oct. 19. 82.. 102 53 18 u.s. nat., 120509 henson, 223. f and hakodate yezo, nov. 20, 84.. 102 53 · 18 13 4.5 13 22 22 180 14 2:2 4.0 2:2 21 4.8 14 22 21 174 4.0 19 average measurements of 7 adult males.. average measurements of 4 uult females. 102 51 101 32 13 14 4. 6 1.3 ii.measurements of coccothrausies coccothraustes. 1 u.s. nat. mus. no. collector and no. sex and age. locality. date. tail-feathers, exposed culmen. height of bill at base. middle toe with claws. height of lower mandible at base. wing. tarsus. 20 56657 schlüter. 776. u. germany 18597 mus. cop.enh. ad. denmark feb. 24, 113771 gätke caul. heligoland.. may. 1887 102932 mongel dad. vosges, france jan., 1887 114695 2770. dad. talamone, italy., april, 1880 69970 soph. burch. qad. rostock, germ y 13031 drexler 0 ad. gerinany 17007 drouet gaul. france ? ***" 102931 | mougel qad. vosges, france . mar., 1877 average measurements of 5 adult inales. average measurements of 4 adult females 106 105 100 103 103 100 102 102 100 36 20 17 56 17 22 5419 16 35 20 i 17 57 21 16 53 19 15.5 21 22 53 15 19 15 21.5 22 33 20 17 5.5 6.0 6.0 5.8 6.0 5. 0 5.0 5.0 5.0 : : 3 53 10: 101 56 20 16.6 54 19.3 15.6 5, 9 5.0 u. s. national museum pl. xlv proceedings, vol. xv 3 1 5 6n 66 wing-feathers of motacilla lugens; natural size. fig. 1. secondary next to longest tertiary (juv., u. s. national museum, no. 9620* ; yezo ; july; blakiston collection, no. 1561). fig. 2. secondary next to longest tertiary ( after molt, second autumn ; u.s. national museum, no. 96205 ; yezo ; september ; blakiston collection, no. 2959). fig. 3. fifth primary of same. fig. 4. secondary next to longest tertiary (s after molt, second autumn ; u. s. national museum, no. 96209 ; yezo ; september; blakiston collection, no. 2957). fig. 5. fifth primary of same. fig. 6. a, left wing ; b, right wing ; fifth primary (u. s. national museum, no. 96197; yezo; march ; blakiston collection, no. 1154.) .. -insects of the subfamily encyrtinæ with branched antennæ. by l. o. howard. (with plates xlvi-xlvii.) in a paper entitled “a new and remarkable encyrtid,” published in 1890 (insect life, vol. iii, pp. 145–148), i showed that up to 1889 westwood's single specimen of tetraonemus diversicornis, captured in 1835, was the only acknowledged encyrtine with branched antenne ever found. it is true that in 1885 mr. ashmead had described his tetracnemus floridanus, but he had placed it in the subfamily eulophinae, not recognizing its encyrtine affinities. in 1889, however (proc. entom. soc., washington, 1, 503), mr. ashmead announced that his species was a true encyrtine, and since that recent date five additional species, belonging to four new genera, have been found, while tetracnemus flori. danus has been shown to belong to still another new genus, making five in all. it is the purpose of this paper to describe the new forms and to bring the groups together to facilitate the characterization of additional genera and species which i feel sure will be discovered in the near future. although the forms to be described in this paper agree in the abnormal branching of the antennæ of the male sex, they can not be said to form a natural group. tetracladia, calocerinus and probably tetracnemus seem closely allied, and, were tribal divisions necessary in the subfamily, these three genera would be grouped together. hexacladia, tanaostigma, and pentacnemus, however, all of which we fortunately know in both sexes, differ widely from the other three genera. pentacnemus would plainly belong near copidosoma in any natural arrangement of the known genera, but heracladia and tanaostigma introduce new features into the encyrtine system and would form tribes by themselves. there exists, however, in the national museum collection a new genus, reared in large series by messrs. coquillett and koebele in california from a gall on mesquit, which plainly possesses strong affinities with tanaostigma, but of which unfortunately we know only the female sex. the male may prove to have branched antenna. with this understanding of the diversity of the forms, the use of a purely provisional tribal name, tetracnemini, may not be objected to. for the presentit may include all encyrtinæ whose males have branched proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 905. 361 362 insects of subfamily encyrtin.e-howard. antennae, but may later be restricted to tetracnemus, tetracladia, calocerinus, and allied forms. the host relations of these insects may prove as variable as their structure. as yet we know with certainty the habits of but one-pentacnemus bucculatricis—which was reared in large numbers from the overwintered cocoons of bucculatrix thujella pack., which had been sent to dr. riley from cadet, washington county, mo., by mr. j. g. barlow. all of the specimens of tanaostigma coursetiæ were extracted from the swollen ovaries of dry herbarium specimens of willardia mericana, a rare legimunous plant, which was supposed to belong to the genus coursetia at the time the description was drawn up, but which was subsequently made the type of the new genus willardia. the most careful dissection shows no trace of any insect other than the tanaostigma, but as we can not but suppose that this insect is parasitic, the swollen ovaries must have originally been damaged by some other insect, perhaps by some small rhyncophorus beetle. the other five species were all captured, tetracnemus diversicornis ou oak, tetracladia texana by sweeping grass, and calocerinus floridanus upon oak. concerning hexacladia smithii and tetracladia gracilis we have no further information than that they were collected, the former at chapada, brazil, by mr. h. h. smith, and the latter at jacksonville, fla., by mr. ashmead. the genera may be separated by the following artificial key: provisional tribe tetracnemini. males. antennæ with four branches. mesoscutum with a transverse oblique impressed line.... tanaostigma how. mesoscutum normal. scapulae widely separated at tips; antennæ 10-jointed... tetracnemus westw. scapula meeting at tips; antenne 11-jointed. sixth funicle-joint of the antenna more than twice as long as the other five together ... calocerinus n. g. sixth funicle-joint shorter than fifth. . tetracladia n. g. antennæ with five branches pentacnemus 1. g. antenna with six branches.. heracladia aslim. females. tanaostigma how. antennal scape with a leaf-like expansion below.... antennal scape subcylindrical. antenne arising at clypeal margin antenne arising from above clypeus.. pentacnemu8 n. g. hexacladia ashm. tetracnemus westwood. westwood's original description of this genus and its single species was published in magazine of natural history, 1837, vol. 1, new series, pp. 257-259, under the title "a new genus of british parasitic hymenoptera,” and is here copied : “genus quasi intermedium inter encyrtum et eulophum. corpus vol 363 1892xv proceedings of the national museum. . oblongum, minutuin. caput thorace paullo angustius. ocelli distantes antenne capite cum thorace longiores; 8-articulatæ; articulo imo, elongato; 2do, parvo, obconico; 3tio, 4to, et 5to, minimis, singulo ramum elongatum supra emittenti; 6to longo, tenui, apice supra ramum emittenti; 7mo, paullo breviori; ultimo, magno, oblongo-ovato. thorax ut in encyrtis formatus, scutello magno subrotundato. anticæ nervo subcostali, cum costa spatio parvo conjuncto, et ad apicem ramum parvum clavatum et curvatum emittente. pedes sat longi atque graciles, intermedii ut in encyrto formati. tarsi 5-articulati pulvillo magno. abdomen parvum, ovatum, subdepressum; apice subacuminatum. mas. . "species unica mihi adhuc cognita. “ tetrachemus diversicornis westw. “ caput nigro-eneum, vertico tenuissime et transverse rugosum. antenna nigræ, pilosa. thorax æneus, scabriculus; tegula piceæ. abdomen nigricans. pedes nigricantes, geniculis rufescentibus, tarsis piceis, calcaribus et articulo basali pedum intermediorum, luteis. long corp. 4 lin.; expans, alar. 1 lin. habitat in quercetis apud sylvam coombe, die 3tio julii, 1835, captus." tanaostigma howard. the following description of this genus and its sole species is copied from insect life, vol. iii, no. 4, november, 1890, pp. 147-149: “vale.-resembles somewhat closely tetracnemus westwood. antennæ 11.jointed+2 ring-joints; scape with a slight expansion below, the expansion faintly serrate; pedicel one-third as long as scape, narrowed at base; joints 1, 2, 3, and 4 of the funicle (not counting ringjoints) each with a single long hairy dorsal apical ramus, each ramus bent forward and reaching to base of club; joints 1 and 2 short, subequal in length, and considerably broader than long; joint 3 one-third longer than 2; joint 4 rather more thun tuice as long as 3; joint 5 rather more than three times as long as 1, gradually widening towards tip; joint 6 a little longer than 4, gradually widening from 5; club oval, somewhat flattened, twice as long as joint 6 of the funicle and slightly wider, joints plain. face sunken in and shriveled in death; ocelli forming a straight line. mesocutum with a faint transverse, slightly oblique impressed line just anterior to and almost parallel with the scuto-scapular furrow, and connected with this by a faint median longitudinal impressed line; scapulce just meeting at tip,the mesoscutellum therefore pointed anteriorly, rounded posteriorly. wings hyaline, not ciliate; marginal vein long; postmarginal less than one-third as long as marginal; stigmal a trifle more than tucice as long as postmarginal and descending almost vertically into the wing, the club bending abruptly outwards. abdomen very short, almost truncate behind. middle tarsi short, tico-thirds the length of the short tibir; mesotibial spur rather slender for this group, but longer than the first tarsal joint and acutely pointed. 364 insects of subfamily encyrtinæ-howard. : 1 “ female.--antennæ with the same number of joints as in the male; scape with a rather broad, leaf-like expansion below; pedicel short and rounded; flagellum broad, flattened, slightly clavate, the joints of the funicle all broader than long, convex basally, concave apically, gradually increasing in length and width from 1 to 6; club as long as the first four funicle joints together. face short; cheeks scarcely rounded; antennal grooves very sharp; ocelli in a straight line or the middle one is very slightly anterior to the lateral ones. thoracic and wing characters as in male. abdomen punctate, turned upward at tip; ovipositor slightly extruded and pointed upward. tanaostigma coursetiæ howard. “female.—length 1.8mm; expanse 4mm; greatest width of fore wing 0.64mm. head, face, thorax, and abilomen finely, closely, and evenly punctured. general color blue-black; palpi white; a narrow black band above mouth; just above this a broad yellow-white band extending across the face around the base of the eyes to a short distance behind the genæ; above this a narrow black transverse band from eye to eye at base of antennæ; above this a yellow-white band of about the same width, from eye to eye; antennal groove yellow-white; a lightyellowish spot behind the eyes and above the first-mentioned yellow band, and a narrow line of the same color across occipital margin between the eyes; propleura and mesopleura edged above and in front by a narrow yellowish band; antennæ black; front coxæ edged with yellowish-white; other coxæ and all femora and tibiæ black, lighter at joints; front tarsi dusky; middle tarsi yellow-white; hind tarsi yellowwhite; last joint black, first joint dusky at base. thorax and abdomen with sparse silvery scale-like pubescence, easily rubbed off. “male.—length 1.4mm; expanse 3.2mm; greatest width of fore wing 0.62mm. general color uniform metallic blue black. head, thorax, and abdomen very faintly shagreened, shining, almost smooth. coloration of legs as in female. “described from 39,98 specimens, all more or less mutilated, taken from ovaries of coursetia (?) mexicana collected in the alamos mountains, mexico, by dr. edward palmer." hexacladia ashmead. the following descriptions of this genus and its sole species are copied from insect life, vol. iii, nos. 11 and 12, august, 1891, pp. 456-457: “ head very broadly transverse, including the eyes, much wider than the thorax, the face full convex, the space between the eyes and the mandibles longer than the length of the eye. eye broadly oval, bare. ocelli three, rather close together and subtriangularly arranged. labrum very small, transverse, twice as wide as long. mandibles very small, oblong, truncate at tips, bidentate. maxillary palpi rather long, five-jointed; labiales short, three-jointed. antennæ in both sexes vol365 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xveleven-jointed, inserted on the middle of the face, the scape long, cylindrical, projected far above the vertex; in the male the six funicle joints each furnished with a long hairy ramus, the basal one being the longest, the others gradually diminishing in length to the last; the first funicle joint is very short, the following all long, at least thrice longer than the first; club long, fusiform, three-jointed. in the female the flagellum is subclavate, the first funicle joint being remarkably long, almost as long as the five following joints together; the last five funicles are short and very gradually increase in length and width to the club, the latter composed of three joints. the thorax in the male is strongly developed, highly convex, resembling somewhat an eucharid; in the female less strongly developed. mesonotum transverse, smooth, polished, without trace of furrows. scutellum longer than wide, rounded behind and highly convex. axillæ transverse, convex. metathorax short, smooth, the spiracles very large, rounded. middle legs slightly the longest, their tibiæ long, slender, cylindric, about one-third longer than the tarsi, the spur more than half the length of the basal tarsal joint, the tarsi stouter than the posterior tarsi, the joints after the first very short. the posterior femora and tibiæ are slightly dilated, the tarsi slender, cylindrical, and almost as long as the tibiæ. “abdomen, in both sexes, is small in proportion to the thorax; in the male it is long, oval, composed of seven segments, the first much the longest, the others short, all of about an equal length; in the female it is subcompressed, composed of six segments, the hypopygium being plowshare shaped, the ovipositor slightly exserted; as in the male, the first segment is the longest. “wings banded; the submarginal attains to the middle of the wing before jointing the costa, the costal cell being somewhat wide; the marginal vein is thickened and a little longer than the stigmal; the stigmal clavate curved upwards; the postmarginal is longer in the male than in the female." hexacladia smithii ashmead. “male.—length, 1.8mm; wing expanse, 4mm. head brownish-yellow, smooth, polished, the vertex fuscous; face very convex, with a few scattered, shallow punctures. eyes broadly oval, brown. antenna black, the scape pale rufous, with a dusky streak above, the six funiclar joints each furnished with a long hairy branch. thorax black, impunctured, highly polished; collar brownish-yellow; scutellum shining, but microscopically shagreened. anterior legs, including coxæ, brownish-yellow; middle and posterior legs black; in the middle pair the knees, tips of tibiæ, tibial spur, and tarsi are brownishyellow. abdomen black, the dorsum concave, probably unnaturally so in the dry specimen. wings hyaline, with two transverse brown bands that do not extend entirely across the wing, terminating at about its center; the first and narrower is situated at about two-thirds the length 366 insects of subfamily encyrtina-howard. of the subcostal vein, the second and broader one just beneath the marginal. “female.-length, 2. head much wider than in the male, and except a streak on the face below the base of the antennæ, entirely black. antennæ subclavate, brown, the scape and pedicel rufous. thorax above black, highly polished; the basal half of the scutelluin is bright red; collar, mesopleura, anterior legs, middle coxe, tips of middle and posterior tibiie, and their tarsi, rufous; the rest of the legs dark fuscous. abdomen short, rather strongly compressed, black, shining. the apical halt of the anterior wings, except the margins, is wholly brown, the basal half hyaline, with the narrow subcostal band as in the male. “described from one & and two ở specimens, taken by mr. herbert h. smith, at chapada, south america, during the month of april, and in honor of whom this beautiful chalcid is named." pentacnemus gen. nov. 2 male.--antennae inserted at margin of clypeus; scape subcylindrical, not quite reaching to anterior ocellus; pedicel short, stout, as broad as long; joint 1 of funicle as long as pedicel; joints 2 to 6 increasing in length; joints 1 to 5 each emitting a long hairy branch from apical end, the second and third branches longest, the first and fifth subequal, the third joint nearly equal in length to joints 4, 5, and 6 of the funicle combined; club elongate ovate, nearly equal in length to joints 5 and 6 of the funicle. ocelli at the angles of an obtuse-angle triangle. occipital margin very sharp. mesoscutum without grooves. scapulæ meeting at tips. mesoscutellum as long as mesoscutum, well arched laterally. submarginal vein gives off stigma at a little less than half the length of fore wing. marginal vein wanting. stigmal vein short, oblique; postmarginal shorter than stigmal. middle tibial spur long, slender, as long as first tarsal joint. female.-resembles in some respects copidosoma, particularly in antennal structure. the scape is long and cylindrical; pedicel short, obconical, stout; joint 1 of funicle narrower than pedicel; joints 1 to 6 of funicle subequal in length and width; club large, laterally somewhat flattened, and very obliquely truncate, nearly equaling in length the five preceding fiuicle joints. face differs from copidosoma in being closely and shallowly punctuate instead of with sparse deep punctures. in other respects resembles the male. pentacnemus bucculatricis sp. nov. male.—length, 1mm; expanse, 2.5mm; greatest width of fore wing 0.5mm. head and mesonotum very closely punctuate; abdomen smooth, shining. color: head and mesoscutum brilliant metallic green, mesoscu. tellum dark metallic bronze; other parts of trunk shining black, except that the abdomen has a variable brown spot below at base; antenna 1892. ] 367 proceedings of the national museum. uniform dark brown; all coxie black, all femora and tibiae dark brown, light at tips; middle tibial spur nearly white; all tarsi light honey. yellow, black at tips; wings perfectly hyaline; wing veins rather light, except the short post marginal, which is brown. female.—length, 1.16mm; expanse, 2.4mm; greatest width of fore wing, 0.46mm. in punctation and coloration closely resembles the male, except that the tips of antennal scape and pedicel are lighter in color than the rest of antenna. described from thirteen 8, twenty & specimens reared may 16 to 20, 1891, from over-wintered cocoons of bucculatrix thujella pack., received april 25, from j. g. barlow, cadet, mo. tetracladia gen. nov. male.-in its four-ramose antennæ resembles tetracnemus westwood and tanaostigma how. from the former it is at once distinguished by the scapulve meeting at tip, and from the latter by its rounded occipital ridge and the absence of ring joints to the antennæ. antennæ elevenjointed; scape inserted half way between middle of face and mouth, slightly broadened below; pedicel conical, its breadth at tip equaling its length; joint 1 of funicle very short, broader than long; funicle joints 2, 3, and 4 very short, each giving out a long branch, of which that from joint 1 is longest and stoutest; joint 5 of funicle nearly as long as scape, giving off a short branch at tip; joint 6 somewhat shorter than joint 4; club as long as joint 5, large, ovate. antennal grooves converge towards front, leaving a regularly rounded ridge; ocelli at corners of a somewhat obtuse-angled triangle; eyes very far apart; occipital ridge rounded. dorsum of thorax rather flat; scapulæ meeting at tips. submarginal vein reaches costa at half the wing length; marginal vein short, about one-sixth the length of the submarginal; postmarginal somewhat shorter than marginal; stigmal slender and very short, shorter than postmarginal, descending at a wide angle from postmarginal and bearing a large and well-marked club. hind femora of unusual thickness. tetracladia texana sp. nov. male.—length, 1.4mm; expanse, 2.5mm; greatest width of fore wing, 0.46". iiead, proand mesonotum very closely and finely shagreened and with small sparse punctures; a close row of small punctures around border of eyes; genal sulcus absent; entire tergal surface of abdomen also delicately shagreened, but without punctures. color: head, pronotum, and inesoscutum metallic green; mesoscutellum greenish bronze; abdomen and venter of thorax black; scape of antennæ brown; flagellum black; all coxãe, femora, and tibiae, black, with faint greenish reflections on coxæ and femora, and the tips of tibiæ yellowish; middle tibial spur light honey yellow; wings nearly hyaline; wing veins dark brown, a dark shade or brownish patch just below marginal, 368 insects of subfamily encyrtinæ-howard. and a faint infuscation spreading from this and broadening towards anal margin of wing. described from 2 / specimens collected by nathan banks at college station texas. tetracladia gracilis sp. nov. male.—length, 1.44mm; expanse, 2.9mm. longer and slenderer than t. texana; antennæ longer and slenderer, except joints 1, 2, 3, and 4 of the funicle, resembling closely the antenna which westwood has figured for tetracnemus dirersicornis, except that the four branches are borne on funicle joints 2, 3, 4, and 5 instead of 1, 2, 3, and 4. head and mesoscutum closely and finely reticulate, the reticulation becoming transverse on face; no sparse punctures; genal sulcus sharp and complete; mesoscutellum and scapulæ nearly smooth, very faintly reticulate; dorsum of abdomen faintly shagreened. color: antennæ black; head and thorax metallic green, mesoscutellum somewhat bronzy, and scapulæ with a faint purplish reflection; mesopleura brilliant purple, greenish at base; abdomen black, shining, with greenish or bluish re. flections; all coxæ and femora metallic green; all tibiæ black, yellowish at tips; all tarsi honey-yellow with dark terminal joints; middle tibial spur honey.yellow; wings perfectly hyaline. described from 2 8 specimens collected in east florida by mr. ashmead. calocerinus gen. nov. male.—resembles tetracladia, from which it differs mainly in the extraordinary length of joint 6 of the funicle, and of the branch of joint 5. stape inserted slightly below middle of face, subcylindrical, not broadened below, long, curved slightly backwards, reaching to lateral ocellus; pedicel as broad as long; joints 1 to 4 of the funicle as in tetracladia, joint 5 a trifle longer than 1 to 4 together; joint 6 about four times as long as 5, growing gradually stouter towards tip; club, long oval, slightly broader than tip of preceding joint, and nearly onehalf as long. face broad, well rounded; occipital ridge rounded, but more acute than in tetracladia; ocelli forming an obtuse-angled triangle; head broader than thorax and with a very short occipito-frontal diameter; mesonotum well rounded, scutellum rounded at tip, scapulae meeting at tip. wing venation same as in tetracladia; fore wings partially infuscated. legs rather long; hind femora not so much enlarged as in tetracladia. the abdomen is broken off at second joint with the only specimen, and therefore its shape and other characters are unknown. calocerinus floridanus (ashm.). tetracnemus floridanus ashm. proc. entom. sec., acad. nat. sci., phil., 1885, vol. 12. p. xviii. vol369 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ) . xvmale.—length, 2.1 mm (estimating abdomen as one-third length of body); expanse, 4.1mm; greatest width of fore wing 0.58m. face with sparse whitish pubescence, finely shagreened, with sparse shallow punctures; cheeks shagreened, but without the pubescence or the punctures which end abruptly at the faintly indicated genal sulcus; mesonotum finely and closely shagreened, without punctures. general color metallic green, with slight purplish luster at vertex; mesopleura brilliant purple, metallic green at base; antennal scape honey-yellow, pedicel and flagellum black; front and middle femora brown, tibiæ lighter, tarsi very light, middle tibial spur concolorous with tarsi; hind femora black with metallic reflections, tibiæ very dark brown, lighter at ends, tarsi light brown; fore wings fuscous, with brown pubescence, but with two irregular, wedge-shaped, white patches, the one with its base upon the costa immediately beyond the stigmal vein, and the other with its base upon the anal margin immediately opposite, their apices nearly meeting in the middle of the wing; basal one-fifth of the wing hairless, with a small distal patch of white pubescence, to whiclı comes obliquely a hairless streak from the marginal vein; veins dark brown, the origin of the stigmal almost obscured by the brown pubescence, which is denser here than at any other point of the wing. described from one 8 specimen collected by mr. ashmead near jacksonville, fla. explanation to plates. plate xlvi. fig. 1. tetracladia texana howard, male greatly enlargell (original). 2. tetracnemus dirersicornis westwood; greatly enlarged (redrawn from westwood). 3. tanaostigma coursetia howard: a, ovary of willardia mericana with the tanaostigma just issuing; b, alult male, enlarged; c, malo antenna; d, ſemale antenna; c, viens of fore wing; f, tip of middle tibia and tarsus, still more enlarged (after howard). plate xlvii. fig. 1. pentacnemus bucculatricis howard: a, adult male, enlarged; b, tip of middle tibia and tarsus; c, veins of fore wing; d, tip of front tibia and tarsus; e, male antenna; ſ, female antenna, still more enlarged (original). 2. heracladia smithii ashmeal, adult male with outline of female antenna above, enlarged (after asbmea«). proc. n. m. 92—24 9. s. national museum pl. xlvi proceedings, vol. xv 十 ​1 d e 7 a 3 encyrtinæ. u.s. national museum pl. xlvii proceedings, vol. xv bahan utama a a 1 1 2 encyrtinæ. 1 two additions to the japanese avifauna, including description of a new species. by leonhard stejneger, curator of the department of reptiles and batrachians. a few specimens belonging to the science college museum in tokyo have been received by mail from dr. ijima in advance of a more extensive collection, but as they are quite interesting in themselves, and as a considerable time may lapse before i shall be able to report upon the larger collection, i have thought it best to embody my remarks upon the present specimens in a separate paper, tringa temminckii (leisl.). a young bird (sc. coll. mus., no. 2193; & ?) collected in the neighbor. hood of tokyo, during the autumn of 1891, is an interesting addition to the japanese avifauna. synonymy and east asiatic references to this species may be found in my results of ornithological explorations in kamtschatka, etc., p. 119, and the distinctive characters are indicated op. cit., p. 117. tringa temminckii has already figured among the japanese birds (blakiston, ibis, 1862, p. 330), but the record rested upon an erroneous identification, as the birds collected were t. ruficollis, the correction being made by blakiston himself (trans. as. soc. jap., viii, 1880, p. 195), and palmén's reference (vega exp. vet. arb., v, 1887, p. 320) to it as occurring in northern japan during the migrations must be corrected accordingly. t. temminckii, thus for the first time correctly attributed to japan, is apparently only an occasional visitor during the migrations, although it occurs and breeds in the countries to the north of it. palmén (l. c.) shows that it is not uncommon on the tchuktchi peninsula; kittlitz has recorded it from kamtchatka (denkw., ii, 1858, p. 196), and i have collected it on bering island.* # * seebohm in his “distribution of the charadriidæ,” p. 435 (1887), says that it “has not been recorded from kamtschatka” in spite of the fact that two years previously i had recorded four specimens from bering island (res. orn. expl., kamtsch., 1885, p. 119), and in spite of kittlitz's record. the latter i have doubted somewhat, as kittlitz only gives the name without adding anything that will aid us in ascertaining the correctness of his identification. proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 906, 371 372 new japanese birds-stejneger. the russian ornithologists have it from the west coast of the okhotsk sea. it has, therefore, a migration route similar to tringa ferruginea. the migrations of these birds in eastern asia are referred to more fully in my above-mentioned book (pp. 346–347). acanthopneuste ijimæ sp. nov. diagnosis: similar to a. coronatus, but top of head uniform with the back, and no coronal band; under tail-coverts yellow; second pri. mary longer than seventh, shorter than sixth. habitat: seven islands (of idzu), japan. type: u.s. national museum, no. 111663; idzumura, miyakeshima, may 3, 1887; m. namije coll. synonym: phyllopseustes coronatus stejneger, pr. u. s. nat. mus., 1887, p. 486 (nec temm. & schl.). when first reporting upon the birds of the idzu islands i had only one specimen of this species before me and a pretty poor series of a. coronatus for comparison. as the specimen in question in other particulars, viz: in the intensity and pureness of the green of the back, the whiteness of the under parts contrasting strongly with the yellow under tail-coverts, in wing-formula, and in size agreed with a. coronatus, it was assumed, rather hastily, i admit, that the absence of the characteristic head pattern was due in some way, or another, to seasonal or indi. vidual variation. i never got over my suspicion, however, which almost amounted to a conviction when recently i came to reëxamine our now quite respectable series of a. coronatus with the result that the dark top of head and light crown patch is present even in the bird in the first plumage, in both sexes, and at all seasons. i wrote to mr. ijima kindly to forward me the other specimens collected by mr. namije in the idzu islands. he sends a pair (sc. coll. mus., nos. 187 and 188) which clearly show that we have to do with a different species. the whole top of the head is of the same greenish colar as the back, and there is not the slightest trace of a median palo stripe, the plumage is in very good condition. the green of the lower back is even purer and richer than in a. coronatus. there is no other species with which the present needs comparison i except perhaps a. plumbeitarsus from the fact that the latter has sometimes been confounded with a. coronatus (for instance, by middendorff), but they differ both in coloration, wing formula, and size, as will be plain from the statements made in this paper. there is nothing startling in receiving a new phyllospeustine bird from these islands, which, it should be remembered, are the home of the well-differentiated turdus celænops, and i can do nothing better than to name it for dr. i. ijima, who so successfully has taken up the study of the ornithology of his native country, 1 vol373 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvmeasurements (in millimeters). museum and no. collector and no. locality. date. sex and age. total length. tail-feathers. exposed culmen. middle toe with claw. wing. tarsus. 125 64 47 10 19 14 120 61 9 18 14 u.s. nat., 111663. namiye, 8a d'ad* miyake, idzu isls. may 3, 1887 japan. sc. coll. mus. namiye, 12.. ad. miyake, idzu isls., may 1, 1887 tokyo, 188. japan. se. coll. mus. namiye, 8. cad. niishima, idzu apr. 22, 1887 tokyo, 187. 120 64 46 10 19 15 isls., japan. * type. | on the ejection of blood from the eyes of horned toads. by 0. p. hay. some years ago there moved into my neighborhood, from texas, a family which included among its members two boys. these boys had brought along with them a few lizards belonging to the genus phry. nosoma, and popularly called horned toads. the boys told me that these little animals would sometimes, when teased, squirt blood out of their eyes. i did not handle them much and saw no evidences of such a sanguinary disposition as was imputed to them. i did not believe that the lizards could really squirt blood, nor did i wholly disbelieve the boys' story. i thought it possible that some gland about the head might secrete a red fluid, which might:be ejected by the animal when there was occasion for its use. during a part of the past summer i was, through the kindness of mr. leonhard stejneger, curator, permitted to work in the department of reptiles of the national museum. near my desk there was a specimen of phrynosoma coronatum which had been sent from california by a member of dr. merriam's exploring party. about the 1st of august it was shedding its outer skin, and the process appeared to be a difficult one, since the skin was dried and adhered closely. one day it occurred to me that it might facilitate matters if i should give the animal a wetting; so, taking it up, i carried it to a wash-basin of water near by and suddenly tossed the lizard into the water. the first surprise was probably experienced by the phrynosoma, but the next surprise was my own, for on one side of the basin there suddenly appeared a number of spots of red fluid, which resembled blood. i immediately recalled what the boys had told me of the ability of horned toads to squirt blood, and i concluded that this was a good time to settle the question whether this fluid was blood or not. a microscope was soon procured and an examination was made, which immediately showed that the matter ejected was really blood. the affair now became very interesting. just where the blood came from i could not determine with certainty, the whole thing having happened so suddenly and unexpectedly; yet the appearance seemed to indicate that the blood came from the region about one of the eyes. there appeared to be a considerable quantity of the blood, since on the sides of the vessel and on the wall near it i counted ninety of the little splotches. a consultation was had with mr. stejneger the next proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 907. 375 376 ejection of blood by horned toads-hay. day with regard to the propriety of dashing the animal into the water again to discover, if possible, where the blood came from. it was thought, however, that such blood-lettings must be somewhat exhausting, and that it would be better to allow the animal a day to recuperate. while talking i picked up the lizard and was holding it between my thumb and middle finger, and stroking its horns with my fore-finger. all at once a quantity of blood was thrown out against my fingers, and a portion of it ran down on the animal's neck; and this blood came directly out of the right eye. it was shot backward and appeared to issue from the outer canthus. it was impossible to determine just how much there was of the blood, but it seemed that there must have been a quarter of a teaspoonful. i went so far as to taste a small quantity of it, but all that i could detect was a slight musky flavor. all that i was able at that time to find in print concerning this strange habit of these animals is contained in prof. s. f. baird's “annual record of science and industry" for 1872, p. 256. it appears to be merely a clipping from a newspaper, and reads as follows: we published not long ago a notice of a peculiarity of the horned toad of california in the expulsion of a blood-like fluid from the eye, and a reader of the weekly writes to give his own testimony to the fact. he states that he has caught numbers of these in texas, and frequently noticed the ojection of the bloody fluid from the inper canthus of the eye, once receiving the discharge in his own eye, while holding the animal at a distance of at least a foot. the sensation experienced was quite painful for a few ininutes. some very interesting questions arise regarding this strange habit. what is the purpose of the horned toad in thus besprinkling an enemy with its own blood? what is the source of the blood, and how is it expelled with such force! is the habit practiced at all times of the year or only during certain conditions of the animal! i may state here that i was able to get the lizard to discharge blood only twice. afterwards no amount of teasing sufficed to provoke it to a repetition of the act. this makes it appear probable that, as suggested by mr. stejneger, the habit is practiced only during the time of shedding the skin. as to the purpose of the habit, it appears to me quite likely that it is done in order to defend itself from the attacks of its enemies, although it would not seem likely that blood would hurt the eyes much, notwithstanding the statement of the newspaper correspondent referred to above. nevertheless, a discharge of blood into the eyes of some pursuing bird or snake might so seriously interfere with its clearness of vision that the lizard might make its escape while the enemy was wiping its eyes. in order to determine, if possible, the source of the blood, an alcoholic specimen of the same species was dissected, but the investigation was fruitless. it appears to me useless to expect to find anything of the nature of a gland. glands secrete materials from the blood, not blood itself. the most probable theory regarding the matter seems to be . that there is lodged in the headl, on each side, a blood sinus, a portion voi377 1892proceedings of tiie national museum. , . ] . xvof whose wall lies in the inner surface of the eyelid. this sinus is probably surrounded with muscular tissue of sufficient force to cause the thin wall in the lid to be ruptured and the blood to be ejected to a considerable distance. if this is the actual structure of the apparatus the rupture would soon heal and all things be ready for the next time of peril. now, on turning up the upper lid of the eye of the living specimen the inner lining is seen to be very dark, not with pigment, apparently, but as if there were a quantity of blood there contained in a thin-walled vessel. however, if such an explanation is the correct one, the sinus, in order to contain sufficieut blood, must be continued back into the head some distance. i hope ere long to secure materials sufficient to enable me to settle this interesting question. conversation with friends has elicited the fact that others have noted the remarkable habit referred to above. prof. l.-m, underwood, of de pauw university, has kindly sent me the following: in answer to a request from prof. 0. p. hay i give herewith my experience with a phrynosoma. in 1885 a studeut of mine received a specimen of horned toad from california. in examining the animal i took occasion to turn him on his back, using a leail pencil for the purpose. the animal resented this treatment and showed considerable anger, opening his mouth and putting up his body. irritating the animal still more, he grew more and more enraged, until finally blooil spurted from just above his eye, which was fired at least a foot from the animal, as several spots struck my arm considerably above my wrist. after spurting the blood the animal became limp and collapsed, and remained in a stupor for some time, and, when handled, behaved as if dead. after a time, possibly not over five or six minutes, certainly not over ten, the animal revived and commenced to run about the table. wishing to know if he would repeat the operation, i commenced to irritate him again in the same manner. after becoming enraged again the animal soon went through the same process, ejecting blood from the same eye as before. he then fell into a similar stupor and remained about the same length of time, after which he revived. no amount of irritation could produce a third discharge, although the animal showed some anger. mr. s. f. denton, of washington, d. c., has communicated to me his experience with the horned toad. about seventeen years ago he was at sonora, cal. he caught one day a very large horned toad. he had been told by the proprietor of the hotel that these animals were called by the mexicans “sacred toads” “because they wept tears of blood.” mr. denton scouted the idea, but it was not long before he had reason to confess his mistake. he was gently stroking the animal on the back, when it appeared to look at him as if taking aim, and then, all at once, a stream of blood was shot into his eye. there was so much of it that it ran down on his shirt bosom. he thought there was between a tablespoonful and a teaspoonful. the blood was shot out with so much force that some pain was produced, and there was pain felt for some little time, though this ceased as soon as the blood was wiped out. the next morning the eye was somewhat inflamed, but this condition soon passed away. not long afterwards, perhaps the next morning, the animal squirted blood out of the other eye. mr. denton 378 ejection of blood by horned toads-hay. states that he did not see that the lizard showed any signs of exhaustion or collapse after the operation. neither did i observe anything of the kind in the case of the animal experimented with at washington. nevertheless, a brief period of stupor might have escaped the notice of both mr. denton and myself.* * while preparing this paper, mr. leonhard stejneger has kindly called my attention to the fact that a notice of this remarkable habit of the phrynosomas was published in 1871, in the proceedings of the zoological society of london, pp. 1-2. at one of the meetings mr. a. r. wallace read extracts from letters of mr. john wallace, of stockton, cal. after describing the animal, which he says is there called the “horned toad,” he proceeds as follows: "under certain circumstances, apparently as a means of defense, this creature squirts out from one of its eyes a jet of bright red liquid very much like blood. this i have observed three times from three different individuals, although i have caught many that did not do it. they do not generally use this defense when first captured, although i caught one a few days ago which squirted the liquid a distance of 6 inches over the back of my hand, and another ejected it when i flourished a bright knife before its eyes." dr. günther (biologia centrali americana, zool., pt. lxxxiii, feb., 1890, reptiles, p. 77, footnote) refers to this notice and states that he had not been able by dissections of fresh specimens to find the source of what he calls “the secretion.” some observations on the turtles of the genus malaclemys. by o. p. hay. of the turtles belonging to the genus valaclemys there are now recognized five species, two new ones having been described within recent years by dr. g. baur. the genus is a very distinct one, and is distinguished from chrysemys especially by the extremely broad and flat crushing surfaces of both upper and lower jaws. as a result of the provision made for the support of these wide, horny, masticatory plates, the internal nares are thrown far back, so as to lie behind the level of the eyes. in the catalogue of the chelonians in the british museum, 1889, dr. g. a. boulenger says that “the plastron is extensively united to the carapace by suture, with feeble axillary and inguinal peduncles, the latter ankylosed to the fifth costal plate.” sometime ago i macerated a large specimen, m. geographica, until the whole plastron fell away from the carapace, thus showing that there was no ankylosis of the parts. the map tortoise, m. geographica, was described by the naturalist le sueur, in the journal of the philadelphia academy for 1817. in the mémoires du muséum de paris for 1827, le sueur presented the description of another species of this genus from specimens which he had taken in the wabash river, at new harmony, ind. neither figure nor systematic name accompanied the description, although he appears to have had a name in manuscript, pseudogeographica. it is evident that le sueur had in mind the terrapin, which has for the most part gone by that name since then, although the description is in some respects erroneous. the first mention that i find of this manuscript name of le sueur is found in connection with the emys lesueurii, described by dr j. e. gray in his synopsis reptilium, 1831. it is also given by duméril and bibron in erpétologie générale, vol. ii, p. 256, as a synonym of emys geographica, with the remark, "jeune age." in his work, herpetology of north ”. america, published in 1842, dr. holbrook recognized the fact that this terrapin is distinct from the earlier described geographica, and gave to it the name that le sueur had bestowed on it in his manuscripts. he also accompanied the description with a colored plate. it is from this date, 1842, that we must reckon in deterinining the tenability of the name pseudogeographica. proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 908. 379 380 turtles of genus malaclemys—iiay. in 1831 dr. j. e. gray, in bis synopsis reptilium, p. 31, published a description of a species which he called emys lesueurii. this supposed new species was founded on either a specimen of geographica or on one of what holbrook afterwards called pseudogeographica. dr. gray himself, in all his subsequent publications, wrote down the name lesueurii as a synonym of geographica, although previously to the publication of his catalogue of the shield reptiles he did not recognize le sueur's pseudogeographica as being distinct from the earlier described geographica. in 1857 louis agassiz, in his natural history of the united states, arranged both the species referred to under the genus graptemys. of his graptemys lesueurii le says: “ this species is commonly called emys pseudogeographica, but the specific name le sueurii is older. it is evident from his reference that gray at first applied the name of emys le sueurii to this species, and not to gr. geographica; now gray calls it also emys pseudo-geographica.” since that time prof. e. d. cope, in his check list of 1875, employed the name used by holbrook, but mr. f. w. true, in dr. yarrow's check list oi 1882, adopted agassiz's suggestion and called the species malacoclemys lesueurii. since now the name by which we are to know the species called by le sueur and holbrook pseudogeographica depends on what gray had before him when he described his emys lesueurii, it becomes necessary, if possible, to determine that matter. more certainly depends on that than on gray's references to any previous writings. among other differences existing between the two species of malaclemys referred to here, is one which enables us in all cases to distinguish them. this is found in the form of the yellow spot which lies on the side of the head just behind the eye. in m. geographica this spot is broad, rather triangular, and elongated in the direction of the head. in the other species the spot is a transverse streak, running behind the eye and sometimes curving forward below it. now, in his description of emys lesueurii, gray has this language: “temporibus macula trian-. gulari notatis.” at the end of his description he further says: “ emys geographica of le sueur agrees with the museum specimen, except in that the first vertebral plate is not urn-shaped, and le sueur does not notice the triangular temporal spot.” in that remark we have evidence that gray had before him but a single specimen and that that specimen had the "ear-mark" of geographica. we further learn why he described it as different from le sueur's species. that gray was at this time aware of the existence of le sueur's manuscript name appears from the following words at the end of the description: “ß. seutello vertebrali primo urceolato." emys geographica, lesueur, jour. acad. n. s. phil. t. emys pseudogeographica, lesueur mss. (mus. paris.). this is probably the reference that agassiz alludes to, and it is hard to see why gray introduces it here; but it no more proves that lie had le sueur's pseudographica in mind than the other species. indeed, he 1892. ] 381 proceedings of the national museum. regarded them as both the same thing. furthermore, in his catalogue of the shield reptiles, he refers this ß to pseudogeographica, while his lesucurii is referred to geographica. it is evident that he regarded what he placed under b as different from the species he was describing. i make the suggestion that the quotation marks were put in front of the b through an error of writing or printing. as to the characters assigned to lesueurii, i submit that they apply much better to m. gcographica than to pseudogeographica. the subsequent history of these two species, so far as dr. gray is concerned, is as follows: in the catalogue of tortoises, published in 1844, he regards both pseudogeographica and lesueurii as synonyms of geographica. he does not appear at this time to have seen dr. holbrook's work of 1842. in his description of the geographica of the catalogue of tortoises, dr. gray says of the head-spot only that it is "a yellow streak on the temple.” in making this description he had before him two specimens, which, according to his plan, he designates as a and b. was either of these the one on which he had in 1831 based the species lesueurii? this is of some importance and will presently be considered. by the time of the publication of the catalogue of shield reptiles, in 1855, dr. gray had undergone another change of mind. he now recognized the existence of two entirely distinct species, and these he des. ignates as emys geographica and e. pseudogeographica. of the latter species there were then in the british museum seven specimens, five of which had certainly been received since 1814. the other two are distinctly stated to be the ones which had been recorded as a and b under emys geographica in the work of 1814. of emys geographica, on the other hand, there was in 1855 only a single speciinen in the museum and that is expressly said to be the one which furnished the description of e. lesueurii in 1831. even then gray seemed to be little doubtful about its being the same as le sueur's geographica, but his description of it removes all doubt. he contrasts it sharply with the specimens of pseudogeographica. all these facts indicate that in 1844, when gray wrote the catalogue of tortoises, the type of e. lesucurii was not in his hands. it had probably been misplaced aud for the time being lost. the descriptions of that work had been drawn from two specimens of pseudogeographica. when the catalogue of shield reptiles was written, the specimen had been recovered, and gray was enabled to compare it with specimens of the other species and with holbrook's descriptions and figures. it is spoken of as “animal dry, from spirits," the museum specimen is in a , 6 bad state." something concerning its history may be inferred from these remarks. dr. boulenger, in his catalogue of chelonians, 1889, accepts the specific name lesueuri, instead of pseudogeographica. no mention is made of the specimen which served dr. gray as the type of lesucurii. > 382 turtles of genus malaclemys-hay. with the evidence before us, we must, it seems to me, accept the name pseudogeographica for the species under consideration. to reject it will be to ignore gray's statements, repeatedly made, that his lesueurii is a synonym of geographica, as well as the plain language of his de. scriptions. it may be a very objectionable name, but the laws of priority must be rigidly observed. the masticatory surfaces of m. geographica are much broader than those of m. pseudogeographica, and we might infer therefrom that the food of the two species is not the same. in volume xxii of the bulletins of the essex institute, prof. harry garman has made the observation that the broad surfaces of m. geographica are employed in crushing the shells of mollusks, the remains of which he found in their stomachs. in the stomachs of m. pseudogeographica, on the other hand, he found the remains of a species of sedge, as well as some animal matter. during the last spring, at a meeting of the indiana academy of sciences at lake maxinkuckee, in northern indiana, three or four of us, within a few hours, captured about thirty specimens of m. geographica. these specimens were almost invariably taken in the water near the shores of the lake where the bottom was covered with the shells, living and dead, of vivipara contectoides. seven of the terrapins were taken home and kept some days in a washtub partially filled with water. when they were taken out, there were found on the bottom of the tub large numbers of the opercula of that water saail. in the alimentary canal of one terrapin were found these opercula, as well as the remains of crayfishes, and what appeared to be the cases of some species of caddis-worm. the masticatory surfaces of the older specimens were found to be much worn. the crushing surfaces of dr. baur's recently described m. oculifera are rather narrow, while the cutting edges of the jaw are very sharp. the indications are that the food does not consist of mollusks, but rather of some soft vegetable and animal substances. most, if not all, the species of this genus are extremely variable in the size of the head. in the paper referred to above, prof. garman attempts to give us the characters that distinguish geographica from pseudogeographica, and among such differential characters is the size of the head relative to the length of the carapace. geographica is stated to have a large head; pseudogeographica a much smaller head. he also presents measurements that appear to prove his position. dr. holbrook long ago described a specimen of geographica under the name of emys megacephala, the name being suggested by the massive head. some years ago dr. gray suggested that the large head might be a sexual character, but he did not state which have the big heads, the males or the females. through the kindness of mr. stejneger, i have been permitted to examine all the specimens of both species that are in the national museum, and i have also examined a number of speci. mens of both the species in my own collection. i find that the size of the head is not a specific, but a sexual, character, and that it is the 1 vol383 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ) . xvfemales which have the large heads. the heads of the males are much smaller and also more pointed. i believe that the same statements are true regarding the salt-water terrapin, malaclemys terrapin, although i have not been able to examine a sufficient number of specimens to be certain about it. with regard to the other two species referred to i am quite certain that 110 appreciable differences will be found between them, when we compare specimens of the same size and sex. another interesting matter pertaining to most, if not all, the species of this genus is the size of the male as compared with that of the female. le conte is the only author who has, so far as i am aware, inade the observation that the male of the salt-water terrapin is small. of the seven specimens of m. geographica taken by myself at lake maxinkuckee, three had the carapace 3 inches long, while the other four had a length of carapace ranging from 67 to 9 inches. dissections proved that all the small specimens were males and the lar, females. the same statements are true of such specimens of m. pseudogeographica as i have examined. * all the specimens of m. oculifera baur in the national museum are, judging from the form of the shell, females; and they are all large specimens. both agassiz and baur have observed that the males of trionya spiniferus are smaller than the females. on the other hand, the largest specimen of chelydra serpentina that i have ever seen was a male, and i believe that the males of the various species of the genus chrysemys, as defined by boulenger, exceed the females in size. it is quite characteristic of the species of the genus malaclemys to have a prominent keel along the middle of the carapace, and this is often nodose. in m. pseudogeographica the keel is nodose all through life. however, all the species, so far as we know, have these elevations along the keel when young. in some of the young of the saltwater terrapin i found that the nodosities were especially large and globular. they resembled greatly a row of medium-sized peas, four or tive in number, lying along the back. the species m. geographica, having such a nodose keel while young, but losing it as age advances, must be regarded as attaining a higher stage of development than pseudogeographica, which retains this embryonic character throughout life. the young of m. oculifera will undoubtedly be found to have a distinct and nodose keel. agassiz (loc. cit. p. 260) discusses the various ways in which the dif: ferent kinds of turtles get rid of the older layers of the epidermis. he mentions certain species of fresh-water turtles, among them m. pseudogeographica, in which he observed in the spring the uppermost layer of the dermal plates to be cast off at once as one continuous, thin, mica-like scale all over the plate. in a number of very young specimens of m. geographica taken at lake maxinkuckee, the outer layer of the epidermis was lifted up from the underlying layers by a quantity of auid. this was preparatory, no doubt, to the casting off of the epidermal layer, on the breeding habits, eggs, and young of certain snakes. by o. p. hay. notwithstanding the deep impression which serpents have made on the human mind, as shown in literature and in popular conversation, it is surprising how little accurate information has been accumulated concerning some of their habits. the densest ignorance, the result of inattention and general lack of interest, prevails with regard to some of the most interesting matters connected with the life-history of snakes; while, on the other hand, many of the popular notions about the powers of these animals are either wholly false or are gross exaggerations of the truth. the breeding habits of our snakes, even of the most common species, belong among the things about which little is known. even our biologists have given but little attention to this subject, while unscientific people simply recognize the fact that nests of snake eggs are occasionally met with. for instance, who would not suppose that all the essential facts are known concerning the reproduction of the common black-racer, buscanion constrictor? nevertheless, where have we been told when it lays its eggs, how many there are of them, how they are concealed, and when they hatch? some snakes are known to lay eggs which after a period produce young. other snakes are known to retain the eggs within the body until the young have attained sufficient size and strength to care for themselves after birth. still other species are supposed sometimes to lay eggs; at other times to bring forth living young, * or to produce some eggs and some living young at the same time. there are, indeed, oviparous snakes and snakes which are ovoviviparous, and there is a conspicuous difference in their eggs. the eggs of the oviparous species are furnished with a thick, tough, flexible covering, or “shell,” while the eggs of the species which produce living young have coverings which are very thin and delicate. now, should such eggs as the latter be laid any considerable period before the young are ready to be excluded, the thin envelopes would surely be torn during the writhings of the embryo. that some of the eggs may be only partially developed at the time wben the embryos of other eggs are ready to be ushered * proc. a. a. a. s., 1873, p. 185. † proc. phil. acad. sci., 1887, p. 12.1 proceedings national museum, vol. xv, no. 909. proc. n. m. 92-25 385 386 breeding habits of snakes-hay. into the world, and that all may be expelled together, is possible; but this is not the normal course of things and may not be well for the immature young. normally the coverings of such eggs are ruptured before birth or immediately afterwards. on the other hand, it is quite probable that the eggs of the oviparous species are laid a considerable period before they are hatched. the tough coverings of such eggs protect them from attacks and injuries from without, and at the same time resist the movements of the young snake within. so far as we know, these eggs are deposited in the earth, in piles of decaying vegetable matter, and similar places. a very curious structure deserves mention here. this is the egg tootlı,” a small tooth fixed to the united premaxillary boles and pro jecting forward slightly beyond the edge of the upper lip. it is present only in the embryo, and is shed very shortly after the escape of the yomg snake from the egg. in the ovoviviparous species, the tooth may apparently be shed before the young are born. the tooth is employed by the little snake in ripping open the tough egg-covering in its efforts to escape from its prison. it would appear to be of little service to the young which are mature when born, since the egg-coverings are so very tender; nevertheless, i have found the tooth present in all the ovoviviparous species whose young i have had opportunity to study. this tootlı, as found in the black-racer, was described as long ago as 1857 by dr. weinland;* but müller had observed it even earlier. the crotalida, including the rattlesnake, the copperhead, and the water-moccasin, all, so far as i am able to discover, bring forth living young. the number procluced at each birth is small as compared with the number of young sent into the world by some other species. as to the breeding habits of the copperhead, agkistrodon contortrir, we have the statement of dr. j. a. allent that in massachusetts tive out of seven females caught in the latter part of juy contained slightly developed embryos, while of six killed in september, the oviducts of each contained from seven to nine young, each of which had a length of 6 inches. as to the time of the pairing of the sexes, i have knowl edge of only one observation. my frieud, rev. a. m. ilall, brought me from western pennsylvania two specimens of this species, which he took while pairing, ou the 28th of august. unfortunately, the female was disposed of before my investigation of this subject was begun. this observation and those of dr. allen, when considered together, seem to indicate a period of gestation of nearly a year. the breeding habits of the water-moccasin, agkistrodon piscirorus, are no doubt much like those of the copperhead. a female 26 inches long (l'. s. nat. mus., no. 17968), which was taken on the arkansas bank of the mississippi river, just opposite memphis, in the latter days * l'roc. essex institute, vol. ii, p. 28, pl. i. proc. bost. soc. nat. hist., 1868, vol. xii, p. 179, vol387 1892proceedings of the national museum. *, . ] . xvof june, contains seven eggs, four of which are in the left oviduct. usually the larger number of eggs in snakes is found in the right oviduct. the eggs of this specimen are about the size of the yolk of a hen's egg. in each is an embryo not larger than a common pea. the breeding habits of crotalus do not appear to be well known. prof. putnam * dissected a female which he says contained in the oviduets eight fully formed eggs, besides a number of smaller ones, which he supposed belonged to a later brood. it is more probable that all the eggs were really in the ovaries. a female rattlesnake, 39 inches long (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17959), was brought to me from western pennsylvania by mr. hall. in this i find nine eggs, four of which are in the left oviduct. the eggs will average nearly an inch and a half in long, and an inch in short, diameter. in one of them i find an embryo about 3 inches long. the egg-coverings are extremely thin. the mother snake was captured some time in august, probably before the 15th. at what time of year the sexes unite i find nothing on record. prof. s. w. williston, who has had abundant opportunities for inaking observations on c. confluentus, states that the sexes pair in may. nor do i know how large the young are at the time of their birth. m. palisot beauvois, as quoted by dr. goode, t says that he saw five young run into the mouth of a mother snake, and that these young were about the size of a goose quill. the young are undoubtedly much larger than this statement makes them. there is apparently as strong a tendency in observers to minify the size of the young of snakes as there is to magnify the size of the adults. i have been enabled to make some observations on crotalophorus catenatus raf. (crotalus tergeminus say.). in the american naturalist for march, 1887, pp. 211-218, i published some notes on the breeding habits and young of this species. about september 1 two females, which had been kept in confinement, brought forth young, one six, the other seven. the young were not seen by myself at the time of birth, but on the 1st of jamary they were at least 10 inches long. from a female sent me from paris, iii., i have taken an almost fully developed embryo (u.s. nat. mus., no. 17947). it measures 74 inches in length, and this is probably nearly the length which it would have been when born. a considerable amount of the yolk wasstill spread over and among the coils of the little snake; but, when its body was opened, a large mass of the yolk was seen to have been received within its walls. this would be sufficient to maintain life and growth until the little reptile could provide for its own necessities. the fang is developed, and the egg-tooth is present, although it does not seem to be directed so much forward as in other species. in the oviduct, lying alongside of the embryo just described, was another egg which contained an embryo only about four inches in length. it was so deeply immersed in the yolk that its pres* amer nat., vol. ii., p. 133. amer. nat., vol. xii, p. 207. proc. a. a. a. s., 1873, p. 183. 388 breeding habits of snakes-hay, ence was not suspected until the yolk was cut partially away. nevertheless this immature little snake exhibits quite distinctly the pattern of coloration found in the adults. in contact with this egg was another in which no indications of an embryo were to be found. the more immature young were probably lying farther forward in the animal, but of this i am not now certain. should all these eggs be expelled from the mother's body at the same time, it would seem that the least developed young must perish. a female (u.s. nat. mus., no. 17950) of , of this species taken in hamilton county, ind., contained eight eggs, and these had not yet left the ovaries. three of the eggs were in the left ovary. the eggs were an inch long by half an inch in the short diame ter. prof. putnam mentions* a specimen of crotalophorus miliarius which contained fourteen eggs. this appears to be a larger number than is usually found in the crotalidæ. the species of the genus eutainia are probably all ovoviviparous. dr. goode, as already cited, says that there is some reason to believe that some of them are in some instances oviparous, in others ovoviviparous. dr. c. c. abbottt says that the eggs of the garter-snake, e. sirtalis, and of the ribbon-snake, e. saurita, are deposited in the loose sandy soil of the recently plowed fields. he has found none earlier than may 9; and once he found a complement of seventeen within a day or two of hatching he farther states that he has never come across a young snake less than 4 inches in length, except in the case of the hog-nosed snake heterodon platirhinos. i am convinced that there is some error of observation here. i shall present evidence that the species of eutainia bring forth living young, and that too rather late in the summer and in autumn. it seems improbable that a snake should usually be ovoviviparous, and again, at rare times, should lay eggs furnished with coverings suitable for protecting the developing embryos. if notwithstanding all this, the eutainias do lay spring eggs, i shall be extremely glad to receive a batch of them. dr. h. c. bumpus, in his interesting account of the snakes, $ says that the eggs of eutainia sirtalis and of e. saurita are sometimes found about outbuildings, and in hatching give birth to little fellows having enormous eyes and a spotted body, the longitudinal bands of the adults only being gained after several sloughings of the skin. the source of the information here detailed is not given; but almost certainly the eggs of some other species have been mistaken for those of eutainia. young of both the species, especially those of saurita, taken by myself from the oviducts of the female and with a considerable portion of the yolk still unabsorbed, have the stripes perfectly distinct. as to e. sirtalis, prof. f. w. putnamg states that a female taken july 22 contained forty-two nearly developed young. each of these * amer. nat., vol. ii, p. 134. + rambles, &c., p. 295. riverside natural history, vol. ii, p. 371, $ amer. nat., vol. ii, p. 134, vol389 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] . xywas 5.4 inches long. the mother snake was 35 inches long. dr. j. schneck, of mount carmel, ill., writes* that seventy-eight were taken from a female. he implies that he saw this done. c. few seiss sayst that the sexes of this species copulate in early spring and produce from thirteen to eighty young. that he has seen the latter number from a single snake he does not say. drs. coues and yarrow refert to the habits of eutainia sirtalis parietalis, as observed by them in montana during the month of august. “at this season all the female individ. . 66 . uals observed were gravid with nearly matured embryos. like others of the genus, this species is ovoviviparous, the young being some 6 inches in length when born.” in a specimen of e. sirtalis (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17960) captured near the city of indianopolis by dr. alex. jameson about august 1, i find thirty-nine partially developed young. of these twentyfive are in the right uterus. the young measure 6 inches in length. there is a considerable amount of yolk still remaining attached to these young, a fact which indicates that they will increase in size before birth. an examination of the mouth of some of these little snakes shows that the egg-tooth is present. the membrane which surrounds each egg is quite thin. the female bearing this lot of young is 33 inches in length. another female (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17961), from paris, i11., of nearly the same size, contained about thirtyfive young snakes, these being packed together sodensely in the mother's body that it was difficult to determine the number accurately without removing them. they are each 7 inches long, and are evidently just ready to be expelled. an examination of about half a dozen of them failed to reveal the presence of the egg tooth, which has therefore been shed. nor could i determine with certainty that any egg-covering was present. the yolk of the egg, also, is wholly consumed. on opening these young snakes i find little or none of the yolk within the body. in this respect they contrast strongly with the young of the rattlesnakes. the young garter-snakes must from the first depend on their own activities for support. this accords well with the report of mr. c. few seiss,t that the young of a female kept in confinement began to feed shortly after birth, struggling vigorously with one another for the earthworms thrown them. at what time during the summer the paris, ii., specimen was captured i do not know. seiss' statement that the sexes of e. sirtalis pair in the early spring has already been mentioned. drs. coues and yarrow (op. cit., p. 278) tell us that the females of the closely related species, e.radir, are pregnant in july and august, bringing forth as many as thirty to forty young; and that they are found in coitu in september and october. can it be that snakes copulate twice in the year, as agassiz sayss some turtles do, and as gage has recently found || to be the habit of the newt, diemyctylus? observations on this point are to be desired. * amer. nat., vol. xvi, p. 1008. + scientific amer., vol. lxiii, p. 105. bulletins u. s. geol. & geo. survey, vol. iv, p. 277. ý contributions, vol. ii, p. 491. || amer. nat., vol. xxv, p. 1091. 2 390 breeding habits of snakes-hay. the ribbon snake, e. saurita, appears to be wholly similar in its breeding habits to its relative just considered, although it probably does not bring forth so many young at each birth. prof. putnam informs* us that a female, taken in massachusetts on july 13, had uine eggs, each three-fourths inch long and containing an embryo 24 inches in length. another, taken july 31, contained but four eggs, and these are ready to be burst by the young. the eggs containing the coiled embryos were then an inch and a quarter long, while the extended young had a length of 54 inches. dr. goode has quotedt a note from herman strecker, of reading, pa., who states that some years previously he had found and caged a female of this species which soon produced thirty or more young ones. he supposed that the little snakes had been hidden in the mother's stomach. there is possibly some con fusion here with e. sirtalis, judging merely from the number of the young. prof. s. i. smith, of the sheffield scientific school, is quoted by dr. goode as having seen two young snakes, each 3 or 4 inches long, run down the mother's throat. the statement is no doubt incorrect, so far as regards the size of the young. in a female (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17965) of the variety faireyi, taken probably in mississippi, i find nine eggs, the lindermost three of which are in the left oviduct. the eggs are about three-quarters of an inch long and a third of an inch in the short diameter. the development of the embryo had just begun. in a female (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17952) of faireyi, 28 inches long, taken at veedersburg, ind., are twelve ovarian eggs of the same size as those just mentioned. the linder four are in the left ovary. at what time of the year the two specimens last described were killed, i do not know. in a specimen of faireyi, 40 inches long (u.s. nat. mus., no. 17958), captured at vicksburg, miss., about the 4th of july, there are twenty young snakes, each close to 9 inches in length. the hindermost nine of these are in the left oviduct. all were evidently ready to be expelled. they did not appear to be contained in any egg-covering, and the egg-tooth was not found in any of the three which were examined. while this date is not quite so late as that given by dr. abbott for the finding of the eggs of this species in new jersey, we must take into account the difference in the climate, and especially the difference in the size of the young snakes, the species of the related genus tropidonotus are also ovoviviparous. t. sipedlon, our water-snake, is the commonest species of the genus in the eastern united states. it is extremely variable and reaches a large size. prof. putnam has a note regarding the breeding habits of this species.* lle states that twenty-two of the young belonging to one family were found. each of them was 8 inches long. dr. heilprin mentious; a large specimen from which thirty-three young were taken. 9 * amer. nat. vol. 11, p. 131. + proc. a. a. a. s., 1873, p. 18. proc. phil. acad. sci., 1887, p. 121. vol391 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvthese were in different stages of development. some of the larger ones had absorbed all the yolk, while to others a considerable mass of this was attached. in a specimen (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17962) from some point in northern indiana i find sixteen eggs, eight in each oviduct. the young are 7}inches long, and each is provided with a well-developed egg-tooth. this is curved upward like a short horn, and tapers gradually to near the point, where it rounds off rapidly. the egg-membranes are thin. i have some reasons for believing that the larger specimens of this species will be found to produce a considerably larger number of young than the above observations indicate. i have met with no statements regarding the breeding habits of either tropidonotus grahamii or t. leberis, except that made by miss topley, * to the effect that a specimen of the last-mentioned species in the zoological gardens produced in august five young and at the same time some eggs. what the state of development of these eggs was, and what became of them, we are not informed. i have a female specimen (no. 26) taken somewhere in indiana, and in this i find eight eggs, of which three are in the left oviduct. there are no signs of beginning developmenta gravid female (u.s. nat. mus., no. 17970), captured on july 15, and sent me by mr. w. 0. wallace, of wabash, ind., is 24 inches long. there are eight eggs, two of which are in the left oviduct. the eggs are of different shapes, on account of pressure. a considerable amount of yolk is still present, an indication that the embryos are not yet completely developed. a measurement of one of these shows it to be 64 inches long. the longitudinal bands of the upper surface are sufticiently well-displayed to enable one easily to determine the species, but the longitudinal brown ventral bands are not seen. i find no indications of the presence of the egg-tooth, although it is probably present. some years ago i killed a specimen of a female of t. grahamii in blireau county, ill. of the specimen the skin and a few eggs (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17954) were preserved. the time of capture was about the middle of july or later. the mother snake was of such a rusty color that the species to which she belonged could not then be determined. one of the eggs measures an inch and a half in the long diameter by three-quarters transversely. a considerable mass of yolk is present, into one side of which an embryo snake is sunken. this embryo is 7 inches long; and, although thus immature, has its scales and its colors so perfect that there is no difficulty in assigning it to the proper species. the embryo is surrounded by a very thin egy-covering. no indications of the presence of the egg-tooth were seen until a series of sections through the snout were examined, when it appeared. tropidonotus kirtlandi is a rather common snake in central indiana. one specimen (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17957) taken at irvington contains three eggs in each ovary. each egg is a little less than half an inch in length. another specimen (u.s. nat. mus., no. 17953) from winchester, *snakes, etc., miss c. c. hopley, p. 437. 392 breeding habits of snakes-hay. ܙ randolph county, has eight eggs in the ovaries. each egg is seven-sixteenths of an inch in length. this species is in all probability ovovivi. parous. the species of storeria are stated by dr. goode* to be oviparous; but prof. copet regards them as ovoviviparous, and he is quite certainly correct in his conclusion. one female (no. 27) of s. dekayi sent me from winchester, ind., contains thirteen eggs, five of which are in the left ovary, the remainder in the right. the eggs have apparently not attained their full ovarian size. another specimen (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17966) of this species, taken by dr. d. s. jordan, at cumberland gap, tenn., about midsummer, is a foot long, and has in it eleven eggs, the hindermost three of which are in the left oviduct. each egg is about threeeighths of an inch in length by one-quarter in short diameter. another speciinen (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17967), which was taken at irvington, contains eight eggs in the oviducts, each including a very immature embryo an inch and a half in length. the eggs are about half an inch long. the membranes are extremely thin. i tind a few notes on the breeding habits of heterodon platirhinos, the hog-nosed snake, viper, or spreading adder, as it is popularly known. some of these contain statements which, to me, appear exaggerated. dr. j. schneck, of mount carmel, ill., reports that eighty-seven young spotted spreading adders" were taken from the body of a woundeil female. the author of the note did not see this done, but got his information from persons who did see it. i am strongly inclined to believe that the reptile was a tropidonotus sipedon. another writers in pennsylvania gives an account of over one hundred young snakes issuing from a wound in the side of a female spreading adder. these young were each from 6 to 8 inches in length, and all were active and blowing vigorously. neither did the author of this note see the escape of the snake, although he did see sixty-three of the young in alcohol. there may easily have been an error in the determination of the species to which these young snakes belonged. one who has examined the eggs of this species can not easily believe that so many young snakes could, with such readiness, escape from a wound in the mother's side. more. over, these snakes deposit their eggs in the earth some time before the young are ready to lead an independent existence. dr. bumpus (op. cit., p. 361) states that a female heterodon in the national museum brought forth one hundred and eleven young; but dr. bumpus kindly informs me that he did not himself observe this. prof. f. w.cragin reports || the finding, on september 10, oftwenty-two eggs of this species. they were buried in the sand at east hampton, long island. two of the eggs, which he had in his possession, hatched four days afterwards. troost appears to have dissected a black specimen, in which he found twenty-five eggs. dr. c. c. abbott says that he * proc, a. a. a. s., 1873, p. 181. proc. phil. acad. sci., 1874, p. 116. amer. nat., vol. xvi, p. 1008. amer. nat., vol. iii, p. 555. || amer. nat., vol. xiii, p.71 0. | rambles, etc., p. 289. vot 393 1892] proceedings of the national museum, . , :xvhas frequently in may found the eggs of the hog-nosel snake in considerable numbers, a few inches below the surface of the ground; and in early july he once found a family of 17 very small, and apparently juist hatcheil, young. these resented all interference, snapped, hissed, and flattened their heails precisely as an older snake would do. the size of the young is not given, but in another place (op. cit. p. 295) he implies that they were less than 4 inches in length. i think that this species, like most other species, produce their young rather later in the season; but i see no reason for not believing that some individuals may bear their eggs over the winter and lay them in the spring. a female (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17951), sent me from veedersburg, fountain county, ind., contained fifteen eggs, the posterior four of which lay in the left oviduct. i could discover no signs of embryos. each egg was covered by a thick, tough, yellowish coat, inside of whichi was a thinner and more delicate membrane. through the kindness of mr. l. stejneger, curator of the department of reptiles in the national museum, i have been enabled to make some observations on the eggs and living young of this heterodon. on the 31st day of last august, there were brought into the laboratory of the department, for some point in maryland not far from washington, a lot of twenty-seven eggs, wbich the finder said were the eggs of the copperhead. it was reported that the eggs were thrown up out of the ground by the plow, and that the mother snake was near by and had resented the disturbing of her treasures. she had been killed, but had not been sent along with the eggs. since it was supposed that the copperhead produces living young, the occupants of the laboratory were anxious to learn it this opinion were erroneous. accordingly one of the eggs was opened, and in it was found a young log-nosed snake, fully developed, and ready to assist himself on the stage of action. this heterodon quite closely resembles the copperhead, and most people are not accustomed to make nice distinctions among snakes. this close resemblance may account for some of the statements of the large number of young produced by the copperheads.* the eggs referred to were between an inch and a quarter and an inch and a half long, and about seven-eighths inch in short diameter. the egg-covering was thick, tough, and flexible, resembling a piece of parchment. there is little if any deposit of lime in it. of these eggs, some were found to have hatched during the night of september 6. others, which were buriel somewhat deeper in some clay, escaped from the eggs later; but all were out by the afternoon of the 8th. the length of such as were measured varied between 7 and 8 inches. from the moment of escape from the egg all were quite active, and manifested many of the characteristics of the adults. some of the little fellows were quite saucy, and would make a pretense of striking at the approaching finger; but their efforts in that line were rather feeble. a amer. nat., vol. xvii, p. 1235. 394 breeding habits of snakes-hay. faint hiss was sometimes uttered, but that may not have been yoluntary. one would sometimes flatten its head and body and rear up with the anterior third of its length free from the ground. if one did not know well their inoffensive natures, one would be excused for fearing to handle them. an extremely singular habit possessed by the adults is that of feigning leath. on being struck or teased they will roll over and over, as it in the iniensest agony, and then throw themselves on the back anıl lie there as if dead. out of some fifteen of the young experimented with, i succeeded in getting only two or three to go through with this performance, but these did it to perfection. on being lightly struck a few times, they would turn over on the back, writhe about awhile, and then lie perfectly still. if turned right side up, they would again turn on the back. if left uudisturbed for a little while they would turn over and creep slyly a way. the others of the young would not act in this way, however much they were teased. it would be interesting to know whether all the adults possess this odd habit. or only a portion of them. the cuticle of the young teterodons is shed very shortly after their escape from the egg-coverings. within a few minutes after oue bad left its prison the skin was observed to be broken about the head. it had left the egg at half past 1 and by 4 o'clock the skin was pushed back half the length of the body. the next morning the skin was wholly shed, revealing the brighter colors of the new skin. while getting rid of the cuticle the little reptile kept crawling over the clay and among the roots of grass. the opportunity was embraced to observe the use which is made of the egg.tooth. the tooth itself is easily seen in the just-hatched snake. its lateral borders are more nearly parallel than those of the tooth of bascanion, as figwed by weinland. seen from the side, the anterior or upper outline is concave, the posterior outline convex. thus, the tooth projects forward and is turned slightly up. the anterior face is also concave from side to side, so that there is, on each side, a distinct cutting edge. the tip is cut off square. the tooth appears to have a ligamentous attachment, and may be liſted a little, but not much depressed. it seems quite evident that the tooth is first engaged in the egg-covering and then made to do its work by a forward push of the head. an examination of the covering, after the snake has left it, gives ample proof that it has been out and not merely torn. the edges are as smooth as if they had been slashed with a razor. a long slit is sometimes made as if by a single effort. in other cases, several at. tempts appear to have been made before the covering has been open enough for the snake to get out. in one or two cases, a tooth has not been inserted deeply enough, and the only result was a scratch on the inside of the covering. the egg tooth having, performed its office becomes loose and drops out. this occurs usually within twenty-four hours. vol395 1892proceedings of the national museum, . , ] ". xvwhen the slit has been successfully made, the little snake may sometimes be seen pushing its heaul carefully out as if to survey the surroundings. shoulil there be any movement, the head will be quickly withdrawn. i have been able to collect some facts concerning the pairing of the sexes of heteroclon platirhinos. prof. u. 0. cox, of mankato, minn., informs me that he found two individuals uniting some time in may. a second male was entwined with the two other snakes. the latter were separated with difficulty. the male intromittent organs are described as being of an oval form, an inch long and over a half inch thick. two observers have seen the black specimens, formerly called h. niger, pairing with the spotted individuals. prof. w. s. blatchley* found a black and a spotted one copulating on april 19. he speaks in a letter to me of the intromittent organs as being as large as a walnut, and covered with spines. mr. e. r. quick, of brookville, ind., an accurate observer of nature, writes me that he once found a black viper pairing with a spotted one. the time, he thinks, was late in june. the time of gestation of this species is not known. it may continue from spring until autumn. possibly the late-pairing individuals may retain their eggs until the next spring. nor do we know how long the eggs are laid before they are ready to hatch. these matters are known concerning very few of our snakes, and a wide field is offered for work and observation. of the colubers, i have been able to make observations on c. obsoletus alone. it is likely that others have observed and written on the subject, but i have not met with their statements. dr. g. b. goode reckonst this species among those which are ovoviviparous, but i am inclined to question this. my son, w. p. hay, captured two of these snakes, near indianapolis, while they were in sexual union. this was on june 19. the male (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17948) was 5 feet 5 inches long, the female (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17949) 6 feet 3 inches. when they were separated, the intromittent organs of the male were everted some 3 inches. a dissection shows that the hollow portion of the organ extends behind the vent 3 inches, while the retractor muscles form a cord which extends back nearly to the tip of the tail. at the base of the evertible portion, near the vent, the inner surface, which when the organ is everted becomes the outer surface, is furnished with numerous plications. near the middle of the organ are found many hooked papillae, some of them large and horny. the remainder of the organ has the surface raised up into numerous anastomozing folds, so that under the microscope it reminds one of the reticulum of the ox's stomach. on opening the female i find in her sixteen eggs. of these eggs, four lie about the middle of the animal's body, while the other twelve occupy a much more anterior position; the one farthest forward being within 8 inches of the tip of the snake's snout, the hindermost one only * jour. cincinnati soc. nat. hist., 1891, p. 33. + proc. a. a. a. s. 1873, p. 185. 396 breeding jiabits of snakes-hay. 9 inches farther back. several of these eggs are lying apparently loose in the body cavity. it might be supposed that they had just left the ovary and were about to enter the oviduct; but they are surrounded each with a covering nearly as thick and tough as that of the egg of the heterodon. could these eggs have been in the oviducts and then squeezed ont into the body cavity during the time of being entwined with the male! the thickness of the egg covering makes it appear to me highly probable that the eggs are destined to be laid before the young will be mature enough for independent existence. * some years ago, in midsummer, i found a number of the eggs of the house snake which had been deposited in a pile of stable manure. this was in bureau county, ill. no record was kept of the number of the eggs, but a few of them (u.s. nat. mus., no. 17955) were preserved in alcohol. when found, the eggs were glued together into one mass. each egg is 2 inches long and nearly an inch and a quarter in the short diameter. on the outside is found a thick, leathery, yellow covering, beneath which is a much thinner coat. from one of these eggs i have taken a young snake which measures 104 inches in length. attached to this embryo is a considerable mass of yolk, a condition which indicates that the embryo is not ready for latching. nevertheless, all the generic and specific characters are well shown. there is a well-developed egg tooth. the intromittent organs are everted in the specimen examined. each consists of a rather slender and twisted basal stalk, at the end of which is the swollen glans. this is acorn-shaped at the base, but termi. nates, at the distal end, in two blunt lobes. the base of the glans is densely spinose, the remainder reticulately papillose. the seminal groove winds around the basal stalk and terminates at the tip of one of the terminal lobes, the larger one.t concerning the breeding habits of the black-racer, bascanion constrictor, i find little in print. it is well known that the young differ markedly from the adults, being decidedly spotted. dr. weinland, as already stated, described the egg-tooth. in one female, taken near 1 * since the above has gone to press, i have had the opportunity, april 29, of dissecting a recently captured female, the length of which was 4 feet 4 inches. the ovaries lie in the region situated about two-thirds the distance from the head to the vent. each oviduct ends close to the corresponding ovary. it seems evident, therefore, that at least some of the eggs of the specimen described above are really lying loose in the body cavity. in the specimen dissected, the ovarian eggs are very immature, none of them exceeding about a quarter of an inch in length. it may be of some interest to adel that female had the anterior three-fourths of the body ornamented with blotches of a decided red color, the red occupying both the surfaces of the scales and the skin between them. the blotches were separated by scales which were partly yellow. soon after death a great part of the red disappeared. the stomach contained eight wild mice, six of them young. + i am able to state that coluber obsoletus is oviparous. mr. thomas marron, of the national museum, early in april, 1889, collected a number of snake eggs in a hollow stump near the potomac river. they were opened and found to contain fully developed young of this species, (u. s. nat. mus., no. 15334).leonhard stejneger. vol397 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvindianapolis, i find nineteen eggs, seven of which lie in the left ovary. these eggs are quite immature. some alcoholic eggs (u. s. nat. mus., no.17956) of this species from an unknown locality furnish some points. they are of the usual elongated oval form, an inch and a half long and close to an inch in short diameter. the outer covering is thick and tough, and it is furnished with numerous hard points, as if of deposits of lime salts. within the egg is a young racer 104 inches long and evidently nearly ready to come forth. the intromittent organs of this specimen are somewhat flattened, broad at the extremity, and with prominent terminal angles. the organ begins to expand from its base. it is furnished plentifully with spines. when the sexes unite, when the eggs are laid, how concealed, and when they hatch, are some of the things which we need to learn. i have examined a specimen (u. s. nat. mus., no. 17969) of haldea striatula from some point in arkansas. it is 94 inches long and contains five eggs, each with a young haldea in it. only the hindermost egg is in the left oviduct. this is a little over an inch long, but the others are only a little more than three-quarters. the short diameter of the egg is about a quarter of an inch. the embryos are far from mature, being only 23 inches long when extended. they have a considerable mass of yolk still attached to them. the egg-coverings are this circumstance causes me to conclude that the young are brought forth alive. a series of sections through the snout of an embryo reveals the presence of the usual egg-tooth. very thin. f 1 notes on the flowers of anthoxanthum odoratum l by theo. holm. (with plate xlviii.) it is a very interesting and highly instructive task to study the morphology of the grass-flower. the numerous variations, which occur here are well fitted to confuse our ideas as to the identity of the constituents of the flower, and a mere look into the considerable literature upon this subject is sufficient to prove the difficulty of the study. while some authors have considered the development of the flower as the only reliable guide, others have thought to find the best explanation in the fully but abnormally developed flowers, of which several forms have been recorded in the grained. it may not be denied that these aberrant forms, in many cases, are really worthless; but there are, on the other hand, not a few which seem to be of some use to morphological studies. but it would not be necessary to study, for instance, the nature of the glumes of viviparous specimens to find out that they are identical with bracts, because we are able to see that in the development of these organs; and in a similar instance has goebel* taught us that the history of the development of the inflorescence in ('enchrus is suficient to show that the so-called involucre is an abundantly ramified, but rudimentary system of axes, in which each axis aborts and merely shows a spine in the mature flower. now, in regard to anthorunthum the true position of the floral organs and at the same time the mor. phological identity of these are so much disputed, having been studied from normal flowers, we propose to study the same, but from abnormally developed specimens. the explanations which have been given by different authors as to the correct understanding of the flower, or rather the spikelet of antho.eanthum, show a great divergency of opinion. most commonly the spikelet is described as consisting of one pair of empty glumes, two neutral flowers, represented by two flowering glumes with distinct awns, and finally one perfect flower, of which the flowering glume and the palet are nearly uniform. we have, then, three flowering glumes in the same spikelet which do not resemble each other, a fact that has led to a *k. goebel: vergleichende entwicklungsgeschichte der pflanzenorgane (a schenk's handbuch der botanik, vol. iii, p. 126, 1884.) i'roceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 910. 399 400 flowers of anthoxanthum-holm. * disagreement as to their true morphological identity. while several authors, as, for instance, kunth, nees. von esenbeck, torrey, roeper, blytt, hartman, garcke, lange, and others have adopted the same explanation as given above, and so strikingly characterized by roeper* as “ eine hierochloë, deren männliche blumen auf die blossen deckblätter reducirt sind,” other authors have come to an entirely different conclusion. döllt was unable to content himself and to believe that these three glumes, called flowering glumes by the other authors, should represent organs of the same morphological degree, when so different in shape; while otherwise, as for instance in bromus, all the glumes show nearly the same structure. he therefore came to the conclusion that the fifth and sixth glume (the flowering glume and the palet of the perfect flower) represent the exterior wreath of a perigon, and that all the glumes are then situated on the same axis. this same explauation is also given by eichler, † thus agreeing with döll, who asserts that the flower is terminal on the rhachis, although he admits it to be contrary to the definition of most other authors. finally, hackel has described anthoranthum as having four empty glumes, but does not mention whether the second pair, the inner ones, represents neutral flowers or not. it would be a very singular case, indeed, if the flower should really be terminal, although doll's couclusion is very attractive. schumann,|| however, has not hesitated to give the same statement: “ein contaktkörper ist auch im auch im abor nicht anzunehmen, die oberste blüthe ist echt terminal (anthoranthun, hierochloa).” but the same author seems not quite unwilling to change his idea, if only some “missbildunzen” (1.c., p. 131) might be produced, of which even döll seems to have observed two cases. in offering now a contribution to the explanation of the flowers of anthoranthum, the aim will be to show that the two awned glumes inside the proper empty ones really belong to two neutral flowers," and “that the perfect flower has both a flowering glume and a palet, thereby not being terminal, but lateral.” the material, which has served as a base for the present investigation, was collected in the smithsonian park in this city. in regard to the locality where the specimens were collected the ground had lately been overflowed, so that in this fact the cause of the malformation might be found, especially since no other factors were observed, neither parasitic fungi nor insects. the general appearance of the plants was quite remarkable; the culms were much taller than usual, the inflorescence very long, loose, 66 3 * joh. roeper: zur flora mecklenburgs, 1844. + döll: beiträge zur pflanzenkunde. mannheimer jahresbericht, 1868. ia. w. eichler: bliithendiagramme, 1875. ø e. hackel: 'the true grasses, translated from “die natijrlichen pflanzenfamilieu" by f. lamson scribner and elie southworth, 1890. || karl schumann: neue untersuchungen iiber den blüthenanschluss, leipzig, 1890, p. 128, etc, vol401 1892 . xv, proceedings of the national museum. ] and nodding, while from the apical spikelets slender branches issued, terminatel by a few,(1 to ) small spikelets (tab. xlviii, fig. 1). in some specimens the spikelets were transformed into leafy shoots, thus rep. resenting the well-known variety “vivipara," as described for many species of graminere (tab. xlviii, fig. 12).* now, concerning the first question, whether the two awned glumes represent two neutral flowers or not, let us examine figure 8 on the accompanying plate. this spikelet, of which the proper empty glumes have been removed, shows altogether three awned glumes, but of which only the two basal ones are now in question. they are both situated on the same rhachis, but at different heights, and we see farther that the uppermost one, that on the right side in the figure, partly encloses another smaller and awnless glume, which is a normal palet. judging from the position and the shape of these two glumes in connection with the fact that one of them has been found enclosing a palet and flower, may we then not suggest that they both are true flowering glumes? there is no doubt that they correspond to the two similar glumes of the normal spikelet, because their position is exactly the same, and there is no essential clifference in regard to their appearance; they were, it is true, merely hairy along the midrib, but this character is of but small importance. several other variations were observed even in the same inflorescence, a circumstance probably due to the unusual moist locality where the plants were found growing. in some other spikelets, (figs. 2, 9 and 10) only one of these glumes was developed, but it was easily recognized. we have now another case (fig. 4) in which we see the same glumes again, but widely separated from each other on the silme rhachis. their forin is here very different from the normal one, since they are distinctly acuminate and but shortly awned. we meet here a fact which shows that their form may not be constant, and also that they may resemble the proper empty glumes. this very abnormal case would have been a good support to döll's theory that these glumes should not be equal to the fifth glume in the normal spikelet, since they are not only very different from this in regard to their shape, but in this case, they even resemble the empty glumes. we venture, however, to oppose this supposition of döll by referring to the spikelet in fig. 8. there are here three awned glumes, the uppermost one being a true flowering glume which has here simulated the shape of the others, and which really corresponds to the same glume of the normal perfect flower. it is situated upon the same rhachis as all the other glumes, the empty and the flowering ones of the neutral flowers, and encloses a palet and a rudimentary pistil, but no stamens. this was observed in several other spikelets, and we see it illustrated again in fig. 6, where the upperinost flowering glume is easily distinguished by its long awn, although the glume itself is much smaller than the others. * compare e. h. hunger: ueber einige vivipare pflanzen und die erscheinung der apogamie. inanc. dissertation, bantzen, 1887. proc. n. m, 92_26 402 flowers of anthoxanthum-holm. it may not be unreasonable to suppose now, that the spikelet of anthor. anthum has three flowering glumes, although we have been unable so far to observe any trace of a palet or rhachilla in the axil of the lowest situated of these glumes. we now want to reply to the next question and show whether the perfect flower, the uppermost one in the spikelet, is terminal, as stated by döll, eichler, and schumann, or lateral. it is hardly necessary to offer any further discussion concerning this point, since it is a simple consequence of what has been shown in the two spikelets-figs. 6 and 8; because we have seen in fig. 8 that a palet is present, and thereby a rhachilla indicated, besides that in both figures the rhachis is distinctly elongated above the base of the flowering glume (fig. 7), and shows here a pointed processus, as usual in the spikelets of the graminere. although, as stated above, abnormally developed specimens have been used to demonstrate the morphological identity of the organs in the normal spikelet of anthoxanthum, it may not be denied that the comparison seems to favor the generally adopted idea that the spikelet really contains three flowers, but of which only one is perfect, and that this same flower is not terminal but lateral. before leaving the subject we will call attention to a very peculiar malformation observeil in some of the examined specimens. an abnormally developed flowering glume of one of the neutral flowers (fig. 11), the apex of which showel not only a long and strongly bent awn, but also on each side of this awn was an appendage, the structure and shape of which reminds one very much about the glume itself. we have then in this glume the same kind of prolification, of which similar cases have been recorded by masters. * the large number of truly viviparous spikelets examined did not show anything of particular interest; it might be noted that in these, as in all the other malformed spikelets, the empty glumes had constantly preserved their usual and normal appearance. u. s. national museum, washington, d. c., march 21, 1892. explanation of plate xlviii. anthoranthum odoratum l. fig. 1. inflorescence with proliferous spikelets, natural size. fig. 2. proliferous spikelet from the apex of the inflorescence, magnified about four times. the empty glumes are normally developed, while the flowering glumes of the neutral flowers are reduced to one; the rhachis is strongly elongated and bears at its apex three spikelets, the median nearly sessile, the two lateral ones distinctly pediceled, all surrounded by normal empty glumes. fig. 3. spikelet a of the preceding, showing a normally developed spikelet with one pair of empty glumes, two awned flowering glumes of the neutral flowers, and a perfect flower with the flowering glume and palet of the same shape. c. 4 x natural size. maxwell masters: vegetable teratology, london, 1869. vol403 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . :] . xvfig. 4. proliferous spikelet from the base of the inflorescence, showing the two empty glumes, the two flowering glumes of the neutral flowers, which are here separated from each other and situated on an elongated rhachis. the apex of the rhachis bears a very rudimentary spikelet; the perfect flower is here represented by two small scales (flowering glume and palet) and a very rudimentary pistil with two stigmas. c. 4 x natural size. fig. 5. branch with four spikelets from another inflorescence. c.4 x natural size. fig. 6. spikelet b of the preceding figure, showing the empty glumes, tire flowering glumes of two neutral flowers, and a strongly elongated rhachis, which bears, a little below its apex, a rudimentary flower. c. 4 x natural size. fig. 7. the upper part of the rhachis of the preceding spikelot, showing the distinct, pointed apex of the rhachis, and a lateral flower, consisting of one stamen and one stigma; the palet is absent, but the flower is supported by a flowering glume with long awn. c. 15 x natural size. fig. 8. spikelet e from the inflorescence, shown in fig. 5. the empty glumes have been removed to show the other parts more distinctly. there are here three distinct lowering glumes of about the same size and shape; the two lowest belong to the two neutral flowers, but of which the one at the rigbt side in the figure encloses a palet. the rhachis is slightly elongated, and bears a third flowering glume, which also includes a palet and a rudimentary pistil, but no stamens. the rhachis is extended a little above the base of the uppermost flowering glume and is sharply pointed. this figure shows the lateral position of the perfect flower. c.4 x natural size. fig. 9. spikelet d of the inflorescence in fig. 5. there is here, besides the two empty glumes, only one flowering glume of the neutral flowers; the other one is entirely wanting. the perfect flower has the flowering glume and the palet of the saine shape as in normal spikelots, but only one stamen and no pistil. €.4 x natural size. fig. 10. spikelet from another inflorescence with but one flowering glume inside the pair of empty glumes. c.4 x natural size. fig. 11. an abnormally developed flowering glume of a neutral flower, showing at its apex a long, bent awn and two glumaceous, a wned appendages. c.4 x natural size. fig. 12. a truly viviparons spikelet with normal empty glumes, while the other gluues have been transformed into green leaves. c. 4 x natural size. ! . u. s. national museum pl. xlviii proceedings, vol. xv 3. 10. a 6 8 9. z. 12. a 5. 4. 7 2. autor ad nat.del. anthoxanthum odoratum. notes on the unionidæ of florida and the southeastern states. by charles t. simpson, aid in the department of mollusks, u. s. national museum. (with plates xlix-lxxiv.) introduction. for some yeur's past i have made a special study of the unionidæ of florida and the southeastern states, their variation and distribution, and i have been led to prepare the following catalogue and notes principally for two reasons: first. there are undoubtedly very many so-called species of unios from this region that are merely tritling variations of valid forms or actual synonyms, and which only serve to cumber our literature and embarass the student. dr. lea, our great authority, seemed in many instances to fully understand this wide variation, and he has often grouped together under a single name shells which at first sight seem to be distinct, but which, when carefully studied with other material, are seen to be but varieties of one thing. but in other cases he has founded species on trifling and inconstant characters, and has repeatedly given different names to what are evidently identical forms. more recently the wrights (messrs. s. h. and b. h.) have collected in the lake region of florida, they have made a study of the unionidae of the state, and have published quite a number of new species; but they do not appear to have worked u;) their material with sufficient thoroughness, as a number of their new unios are certainly varieties of well-known forms or actual synonyms of hitherto named species from georgia, florida, and the carolinas. secondly. much confusion exists among collectors and students regarding the material in their collections, a considerable proportion of the shells from this region having been sent out under wrong numes. fully one-half these species are not understood, and the cabinets of conchologists in general exhibit the most deplorable confusion in this matter. it is my desire in this list to considerably reduce the number of socalled species by showing that they vary into each other, or that many of them have without proper study simply been assumed to be new and renamed, and to give such descriptions and notes as will materially assist in properly determining material. proceedings national museum, vol. xt, no 911. 405 406 notes on florida unionidæ-simpson. little is known regarding the variation and distribution of the mol. lusks of this region, as but a very small part of it has been explored. no doubt many allied forms, which from want of sufficient material i have not felt justified in reducing to synonymy, will have to be united when we have thoroughly worked up the mollusks of all the southeastern states, and there are probably some valid species as yet undescribed. perhaps my opportunities for studying the unionide of this region are as good as can be had at the present time. i resided four years in southwest florida, and the collection i made at that time is very nearly complete as to species. i have had for study all the material belonging to my friend the rev. a. dean, of muncy, pa.; the magnificent set of southeastern unios belonging to mrs. george andrews, of knoxville, tenn., including the shells collected by f. rugel; the equally complete lot of material in the cabinet of mr. william a. marsh, of aledo, ill., who owns the finest private collection of these shells in existence, and who has greatly aided me in my work with numerous valuable notes and suggestions. in the national museum i have had constant access to our general collection, most of which has been studied and named by dr. lewis and mr. r. e. call. this includes a large and nearly complete series of mr. wright's new species, donated to the museum by that gentleman. besides this there is the unequaled collection of dr. lea, which includes most of the types from this region and a large number of valuable duplicates, as well as most of dr. gould's species, which were sent by their author to dr. lea. a few words may not be out of place concerning the distribution of the unionidee in the united states. there are two tolerably well de. fined areas of distribution in northern north america which contain very distinct assemblages of species, and each of these has a subregion peopled to some extent with different but allied forms. first. the mississippi drainage area, embracing a territory of 1,250,000 square miles. within this region the unionida attain a finer develop ment than in any other part of the world, not only in the number of speries, but in the magnificence of their forms and the perfection of individual specimens. it is here, where the streams flow over vast beds of limestone and where food is abundant, that the conditions for unio life are most favorable and nature has fairly reveled in the creation of the beantiful, the ponderous, and the grotesque. here the genera unio and murgaritana assume a variety of forms that are odd and strange; here are developed species with winged hinges, strong corrugations, knobs, and sinuses. south and west of this, in the streams running mostly through texas and the eastern slope of mexico into the gulf, is found a small assemblage of forms not met with in the mississippi valley, though closely related to the species found in that region. they have for the most part linely developed shells, and their relationship to those of the area just mentioned and the fact that many of the species of the great aol407 1892proceedings of the national museum. ext, . ] . xvvalley are found in texas and mexico lead me to consider this merely a subregion. second. from the mouth of the mississippi, extending to the southern extremity of florida, northward into the british possessions, and again westward to include all the st. lawrence drainage, and embracing all the streams in this territory that fall into the atlantic and the gulf of mexico, there is found a set of unionidee possessing very different characters from those of the area first mentioned. here the species, as a rule, are moderate in size and neutral in color, and but few odd or striking forms are found; though unio spinosus and u. collinus, the only shells known bearing true spines, belong here. the change in forms from nova scotia to florida is very slight; in fact some groups, such as that of unio complanatus, extend throughout the whole region, and if they can be said to break into good species, the variation is certainly very gradual and specific lines are very difficult to determine. quite a number of forms seem to be contined to the state of florida, though, perhaps, when we liave a thorough knowledge of their distribution, we shall find their range much extended. it is probable that the state was peopled with unionidee from the region just north and west of it; that here has been a migration as the land arose from the appalachian chain southward and eastward. the fact that the florida species differ from those of southern georgia, alabama, and the lowlands of the carolinas is due, perhaps, to a milder climate, and to some extent, no doubt, to the existence of a remarkable system of small clear lakes in the former state, in which the unionidæ have attained a high state of development. in the vicinity of the mouth of the mississippi and for some distance along the territory just north of the gulf there is a uningling of forms of the two areas, and the same thing is again seen in the region of the great lakes, while in the middle ground the appalachian chain has acted as a much more effective barrier between the species. there is but a very limited developinent of the unionida throughout the rocky mountain region and the pacific slope; a couple of species of unios, margaritama margaritifera, and three or four anodontas. sereral so-called species of west coast anodons of the group of a. californiensis are considered by dr. stearns (who perhaps has a better knowledge of the mollusk fauna of western america than any other man living) mere local races of a. cygnen, of europe, a form which he believes to be circimboreal. (see paper on history and distribution of the fresh water mussels, and the identity of certain alleged species, proc. cal. acad. nat. sci., nov. 20, 1882.) in this opinion i am inclined to concur. ano, angulata, so different normally, is shown by photographs from specimens made by that indefatigable collector, mr. henry hemphill, as well as by material in the national museum, to be very closely related to the speries i have mentionell. the two unios are not strongly characterized, but show evident relationship to the species of the atlantic drainage. i believe the unionide of this region а 408 notes on florida unionidæ-simpson. to be much more intimately connected with those of the atlantic system than the mississippi valley, and i consider this a subregion of the former, perhaps in the whole united states not over one hundred valid species will be found to be extra limital. it is worthy of note that while these areas seem to confine the unionidæ within giren bounds, they present no perceptible barriers to the corbiculider or the fresh-water univalves which are everywhere found with them. lea's arrangement of the unionidæ in two great divisions-symphynote and non-symphynote; the former including those species in which the dorsal margin is more or less produced into a wing, the latter those without it—and the subdivision of these groups into smaller ones, first on peculiarities of sculpture, and secondly according to form, is a simple, comprehensive one, but it is an arrangement which is certainly artificial and not in accordance with all the facts of nature. we often find shells which are entirely destitute of the dorsal wing, which by sculpture, form, texture, and general characters are evidently closely related to those which are symphynote, and there is even the greatest possible variation in this character in the individuals of the same species. lea himself acknowledged that this character was of little value in classification. the same species may be either absolutely smooth or strongly pustulate, as in unio infucatus, or u. pustulosus, which, in the variety schoolcrafti, is often entirely destitute of nodules; it may be strongly sulcate or entirely plain, as u. negatus, a shell with well marked concentric ridges, which graduates imperceptably into t.ru biginosus, a perfectly plain form; and v. estabrookianus, stromincus and others exhibit precisely the same variations. so far as form goes as a character by which to classify, mr. lea has, in order to conform to it, been obliged to widely separate members of such well-characterized groups as those of u. buckleyi, u. complanatus, and i'. luteolus. in arranging i have attempted to place the species in natural groups, putting those together as far as possible which seem to have a more intimate relationship, and which have probably spring from a common ancestry at a recent date, and yet doing as little violence as possible to mr. lea's general arrangement. i am aware that these groups are not as a rule of great importance, that they often imperceptibly merge int others, and that any lineal arrangement of them must be artificial, is many of them show about equal relationship to several others. in grouping, sculpture, form, color of epidermis and nacre, the teeth, general facies, and texture, as well as locality, have all been taken into consideration. i have for the most part given a set of outlines drawn from the valves of the shells, to illustrate the form and variation and to assist in the determination of the species. in a paper like this the cost of figuring so large a number of forms would be too great, and it is believes that these outlines, often drawn from the type-shells, which i have found very useful when sent to students, will prove a great aid in comparing with specimens, giving an accurate idea of dimensions and form. i a vol409 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvhave attempted to indicate in the text the degree of inflation, sculpture, character of epidermis, and color pattern, character of teeth, nacre, and other points of interest. i have followed mr. lea in the terms used in measurement and designation of parts of the shell, calling that part of it which is in the advance when the animal is traveling the anterior, and the opposite end, which bears the ligament, the posterior. the distance from the anterior to the posterior margins mr. lea calls the breadth or width; that from the base or ventral region to the beaks the length. i prefer the arrangement of broderip and sowerby, which is followed by conrad and other american conchologists, of terming the distance from the forward to the linder part of the shell the length, and that from the unbones to the base the height or width, but have thought it perhaps best to use the terms of our great authority on the unionida. i have only described such species as to my knowledge have been collected in the state of florida, as it was necessary to fix some limit to the list. many other species, however, are noticed in outlining the groups to which the florida shells belong. there are no doubt errors in the work i have undertaken, since much of this is a matter of judgment, and human judgment is liable to error in the determination and arrangement of many of these exceedingly close and puzzling forms. my aim has been to reduce to order the chaos in which i found our southeastern unionide, and throw some light on the limits of the species, their relationships, and distribution. genus unio. group of unio infucatus. the species which typifies this group seems to stand alone among american unios. u. corrugatus of india resembles it somewhat in sculpture and general form, but is more inflated and has a less solid hinge. u. infucatus in general form is very close to u. ienticularis and u. chickasauchensis, but is characterized by peculiar chevron-shaped and inore or less nodulous corrugations, in some cases covering the entire shell. the former species varies greatly in the amount of sculpture, even to specimens which are nearly smooth, much as u. pustulosus varies into the smooth forms of schoolcrafti, and it is possible that the present group should be merged with that of u.chickasauhensis.* the general form is lenticular, the color dark brown to black, the teeth and hinge plate rather solid, with nacre varying from white to lurid purplish. unio infucatus con. unio infucatus con. (plate xlix. figs. 1, 2, 5.) new f. w. shells, pl. iii, fig. 2. unio kleinianus lea. (plate xlix. fig. 6.) obs. v, p. 21, pl. xvii, fig. 18, mar. 5, 18.52. type, suwanee r., fla., collected by maj. le conte, west florida; coll. of wm. a. marsh. since writing the above the examination of a large amount of additional material has convinced me that this species groups with u. chickasawhensis. 410 notes on florida unionidæ-simpson. lea attempts to separate his species from conrad's on the ground that the latter is not figured as a folded shell; that his differs in having larger plications, which are more interrupted, and in the color of the epidermis, which in infucatus when old is quite black. yet in his own collection some of the specimens of kleinianus are nearly without sculpture, and others are almost jet black, while those of infucatus vary from almost absolutely smooth to strongly corrugated throughout. among hundreds of duplicates in the lea collection from many localities i find every gradation, from inflated forms having a well-marked posterior ridge to those which are lenticular; the sculpture varying from absolutely smooth to completely corrugated, and a range of color from shining black to fulvous, and even green on young specimens. so far as i know the species is confined to the waters of georgia and northern florida. group of unio crassidens. mostly solid triangular shells, with heavy epidermis, and a prominent ridge running from the beaks to the posterior ventral region, the posterior slope of which is usually slightly folded, with nacre varying from white to salmon and purple. u. crassidens, an abundant species in the mississippi drainage basin, is one of the largest and most ponderous of unios. the other species are distributed through the southeastern states, unio forbesianus lea. (plates xlix, fig. 3, plate l, figs. 2, 3.) 9 unio forbesianus lea. obs. v, p. 20, pl. xvi, fig. 17, mar. 5, 1852. type, savannah r. unio moussonianus lea. (plate l, fig. 4.) obs. v, p. 24, pl. xviii, fig. 22, mar. 5, 1852. type, georgia; barrett. unio restitus lea. (plate xlix, fig. 3; pl. l, fig. 1.) obs. ix, p. 11, pl. xxv, fig. 259, dec. 24, 1861. ogeechee r., ga.; le ('onte and anthony. u. forbesianus and vestitus were described from young specimens, and in a careful examination of the types in lea's collection, as well as that of u. moussonianus, i can not see any difference worthy of even varietal names. these shells bear considerable resemblance to the well known and abundant u. crassidens, but are less solid and do not attain the size of that species. u. forbesianus has been collected by f. rugel in lake monroe and black creek, florida; these specimens, which now belong to mrs. george andrews, laving been compared by the writer with lea's types. unio monroensis lea, (plate li, fig. 1.) unio monroensis lea. obs. iv, p. 37, pl. xli, fig. 8, aug. 18, 1813. type, lake monroe, fla., collected by dr. budd. l'. monroensis is very close to the last species, differing from it only in being slightly less solid, in having more compressed teeth, and in 1892. ] 411 proceedings of the national museum. being rather higher colored. i think it quite probable that when large series of this are compared with u. forbesianus they will be found to be mere variations of one species. unio pusillus lea. (plate li, figs. 2, 6.) unio pusillus lea. obs. ix, p. 19, pl. xxvii, fig. 36, oct. 2, 1810. ogeechee r., ga.; maj. le conte. unio bureus lea. (plate li, fig. 3.; obs. v, p. 17, pl. xv, fig. 13, mar. 5, 1852. abbeville dist., s. c.; j. p. barrett. unio anthonyi lea. (plate li, figs. t, 5.) obs. ix, 1. 19, pl. xxvii, fig. 266, feb. 5, 1861, fla.; anthony. dr. lea described u. pusillus from specimens he had long thought the young of some other known species. u. bureus was described from three shells, only one of which he considered adult. i do not see how it is possible to separate these from the types of pusillus, as they agree in size, form, color of epidermis and nacre, and in the teetli, and all appear to me to be young shells. his type of u. anthonyi, a single specimen, probably adult, had been varnished and otherwise injured. it is a tawny yellowish green, with very faint rays, and is hardly as solid a shell as some of the young of buceus and pusillus. a young specimen of u. anthonyi which mr. lea afterwards obtained of maj. le conte, from the ogeechee river, is quite conspicuously rayed, and is almost precisely like some of the specimens of the above named species. unio dorsatus lea. (plate li, fig. 7, plate lu, figs. 1, 2.) unio dorsatus lea. obs. xii, p. 60, pl. xlv, fig. 112, june 2, 1868. type, catawba r., n. c.; c. m. wheatley. a very variable and puzzling species. there is much difference in the solidity, width, and form of individuals. a specimen is before me from the cabinet of wm. a. marsh, labeled “u. anthonyi lea, florida,” and another from mrs. andrews, collected in florida, by rugel, without locality, which are, i believe, u. dorsatus. in all the examples i i have seen, the epidermis is dull tawny brownish and squamose, the substance of the shell rather thin, and the nacre shaded purple. the form of the shell, its dorsal ridge, and the slight plications of the posterior slope probably place it here, but it has affinities with the com. planatus group. group of unio complanatus. unio complanatus, which is one of the most abundant species in the united states, may be taken as the type of an extensive group which is distributed from canada to northern florida, and from the appalachian chain to the atlantic. mr. lea recognized the immense varia412 notes on florida unionidæ-simpson. tion of this species, as is shown in his collection, where the most diverse forms from canada, new england and the middle states are placed by him under the name of l. complanatus. but he seems to have fixed its southern limit with some rare exceptions somewhere about the state of virginia, and has applied specific names to every variation found south of that. one can almost exactly duplicate in his immense series of complanatus such forms as roanoakensis, sarannahensis, postellii, neusensis, hallenbeckii, napeanenssi, hopetonensis, and a dozen others, and the conviction becomes strong with any one who attempts to study or name the members of this puzzling group that if the diversified forms in the more northern states are mere variations of one species, most of those in the south are nothing more. there is an immense amount of this material, numbering thousands of specimens, in dr. lea's collection and among his duplicates, contributed largely by dr. emmons, c. m. wheatley, girard hallenbeck, dr. lewis, j. postell, bishop elliott, and dr. barrett. the accompanying notes, the names written on the shells and erased, and the controversies among these earnest students of a past generation concerning their proper identification, show how hopeless was the task of attempting to satisfactorily determine these varying and puzzling forms. it may be said in general terms that the species of the group are wide and rhomboidal, with usually a well developed posterior ridge, are somewhat compressed, with an epidermis varying from smooth and shining to squamose, and in color range from tawny yellow through greenisli to black, either with or without rays. the nacre is not often iridescent, and varies from white or yellowish to deep purple. unio hopetonensis lea. (plate lii, fig. 3, plate lini, fig. 1.) unio hopetonensis lea. obs. ii, p. 29, pl. ix., fig. 24, feb. 15, 1836. hopeton, ga.; prof. shepard. dr. lea described this species from a young individual (diameter, 9; length, 1.7; breadth, 3.4 inches), which but imperfectly showed the characters of the adult shell. i have been strongly tempted to place unio duriensis in the synonomy, for though selected specimens of the latter differ in a markedl degree from the former, yet among the large amount of material that has passed under my hands there are examples which may as well be placed with the one as the other. the species is one of the largest found in the southeastern states, often attaining a length of 3 inches, a width of 5), and a diameter of 2 inches. as a rule it is a smoother shell than the allied species, is less inflated, and has not so decided a posterior ridge. vol 413 1892 tv proceedings of the national museum. ] unio dariensis lea. (plate lili, fig. 2, plate liv, fig. 1.) unio dariensis lea, obs. iii, p. 81, pl. xxvi, fig. 61, oct. 21, 1812. darien, ga.; j. h. couper. some of the specimens of this species are so greatly inflated and possess such a strong posterior ridge that they would seem to belong to the crassidens group, and from these there is every gradation to forms which would undoubtedly be placed with u. complanatus. the nacre varies from silvery to dark purple, and the cardinals from compressed to transverse. a young shell which i refer to this species, labeled “florida," and belonging to mrs. andrews, is before me. this and the allied spe. cies, so far as i know, have only been reported from georgia. group of unio spissus. in form the shells which i have placed in this small group are related to u. ochraceus and the species which belong with it, but they differ in being wider, and in having the epidermis and nacre more like that of obesus. u. splendidus has the form of downiei, spissus, geminus, and the rest of the group, but in coloring approaches ochraceus. this asseinblage seems to naturally include a few species ranging from north carolina to florida, among which u. douniei has been obtained at several localities in the latter state. u borealis gray, of canada, though per: haps a small form of luteolus, closely resembles in shape some of the species which belong here. unio downiei lea, (plate iv, figs. 1-3, plate lvi, fig. 5.) unio downiei lea, obs. vii, p. 28, pl. xxv, fig. 91, july 6, 1858. buck lake, satilla river, ga.; t. c. downie and j. postell. a fine species, of which the lea collection contains numerous examples from various localities. the georgia specimens are quite solid and inhlated, with a peculiar lurid nacre, having a tint of purple something like that of unio jewettii. eight specimens of a unio from several localities in florida are before me, which have been a veritable stumbling block to students and over which i have been greatly puzzled. some of them have been received as u. anthonyi, but they are not at all like that species in any respect. others have been labeled u. hinkleyi by collectors, and there is some resemblance in all of them to u. monroensis. one of these, belonging to mrs. andrews and collected by f. rugel, in florida, is as large as any of lea's specimens of downiei, but is thinner and wider and has a more purplish nacre. from this there is an unbroken series down to what seem to be adult shells not quite 1.1 inches in length and 21 in width, which are rather thin, are not greatly inflated, and have the nacre strongly violet tinted. i had thought some of these must be 414 notes on florida unionid.e-simpson. an undescribed species, but as the form throughout is more like l. downici than any shell i know of, and as there is a complete series connecting with that species, i believe them to be but a southern form of the georgia shell. in all of them the ventral outline is considerably inflated, though sometimes slightly constricted nearly opposite the beaks; there is more or less of a posterior ridge; the dorsal region is full; the anterior cicatrices deep, and the nacre is rather dull colored. three of these specimens, which are among the smallest and farthest removed from the type, were sent from lake woodruff, florida, by berlin h. wright, and labeled by him u. anthonyi, another from the same lake, in mrs. andrews' collection, though of small size, approaches nearer to dr. lea's shells from georgia and south carolina. group of unio modioliformis. this assemblage of unios, which contains quite a number of nominal species, ranges from north carolina to tennessee, west, perhaps, to mississippi, and south to middle florida. the group consists of oblong shells, rather thin in structure, more or less inflated, and rounded before and behind; varying from tawny yellow or brown to greenish, and always more or less rayed, often beautifully so. they approach the parvus group in some characters, but are larger, rather wider, and usually thinner in structure, but often have the same brilliantly iridescent nacre. the line is not very distinct between these species and the group of nashvillensis. the latter are usually solider shells, have often reddish or lurid and rarely iridescent nacre, and are more pointed at the posterior end, which is usually somewhat angulated in outline. individuals are very numerous, and as a consequence the species are quite variable. unio modioliformis lea. (plate lvi, figs. 2, 3, 6.) unio modioliformis lea, obs. i, p. 209, pl. xii, fig. 40, fel). 7, 1834. santee ('anal, south carolina; ravene). unio criguis lea (plate lvi, fig. 1), obs. iii, p. 29, pl. vii, fig. 1. dec. 1, 1838. chattahoochee river, columbus, ga; dr. boykin. unio nigrinus lea (plate lvi, fig. 4), obs. v, p. 40, pl. xxiv, fig. 44. march 5, 1852. west florida ; maj. le conte. tnio rutilans lea (plate lvii, figs. 2-5), obs. vi, p. 59, pl. 1x, fig. 41. nov. 4, 1856. othcalooga creek and columbus, ga; bishop elliott. unio subellipsis lea (plate lvii, fig. 1), obs. vi, p. 62, pl. x, fig. 44. nov, d, 1856. creeks near ('oluwbus, ga.; bishop elliott. unio irerillii b 11. wright (plate lvii, fig 6), proc. acad. nat. sci., phila., 1888, p. 115, pl. vi, fig. 2. lake ashby, volusia county, fla. a handsome, widely-clistributed, abundant, and very variable species. it ranges north to north carolina, south to central florida, and i found it among lea's duplicates, with shells sent by spillman, said to be from columbus, miss. lea described u. molioliformis from a fully adult female specimen, which accounts for the spreading out of the posterior vol415 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] ] . xvpart of the shell of which he speaks. a fine male example belonging with the type exhibits almost nothing of this expansion. four of his specimens are rather more inflated than anything i have seen of the other species i have placed in the synonomy, though scarcely more so than some subellipsis, while other examples which mr. lea bas placed with this species can not be listinguished from rutilans or crigums. as a rule, eriguus, which was describerl from a young specimen, is not quite so wide as rutilans, but there is in the material i have examined every possible variation in width. l'. subellipsis is generally somewhat solider than the other forms, but there is every grade in lea's suite, to shells of the most fragile character. in florida the species seems to become smaller, the epidermis is often a tawny or brownish color, slightly rayed, and the shells are hardly so wide as the typical rutilans or modioliformis. one such a specimen, which is unusually dark, dr. lea named u. nigrinus, but on holding it up to the light it is seen to be distinctly rayed with green and yellow. u. averilli is the same thing, but more brilliant in color. the florida form is quite commonly sent out as u. floridensis lea, the latter being the thin southern form of u. anodontoides, and an entirely different thing. i have examined many hundreds of specimens of these shells from various localities in the carolinas, georgia, florida, alabama, and mississippi, and i feel certain that i am right in uniting all these under one species. i have before me examples from lake ashby, florida, collected by b. h. wright, and sent by him to the national museum as v. averillii; lea's type of nigrinus from west florida; shells from. st. augustine, collected by c. w. johnson, and from numerous other localities in the state, and they are certainly all forms of the more northern species. roup of unio subangulatus. unio subangulatus is a peculiar shell, rather wide-oval in outline, and brilliantly rayed with blackish green on a yellow or straw-colored ground. the posterior portion in adults is often much produced and quite pointed; the ventral region is very full, and the shell usually considerably inflated. it is placed with u. sparus and scitulus by dr. lea and probably groups with them; though they have the peculiarities i have noticed much less developed. they inhabit tennessee, alabama, georgia, and florida, unio subangulatus lea. (plate lvi, fig. 1.) unio subungulatus lea, obs. iii, p. 47, pl. xii, fig. 23, oct. 2, 1810. chattahoochee river columbus, ga.; dr. boykin. lea's types were young shells, as the one he figures is but 1 inch in length and 1.7 inches in width, and do not show the great ventralintation nor the development of the posterior point as older specimens do. the 416 notes on florida unionil-simpson. cardinal teeth are rather compressed, the laterals straight, and suddenly truncated at the posterior end; the nacre varies from silvery white to salmon red, and when colored shows through the epidermis, and is often beautifully iridescent. one of lea's specimens measures nearly 3 inches in width by 13 in length. a magnificent specimen is before me from the cabinet of mrs. andrews, collected by f. rugel, and by him labeled u.radians, lea, othcalooga river, florida," which nearly equals lea's largest specimen in dimensions, and is elegantly and listinctly rayed. group of unio nashvillensis. a widespread group represented by many species, ranging from north carolina to iowa, and south to texas and florida. the species vary from oblong to wide, are usually rather thin in structure, the posterior end is generally pointed, and more or less angulated in outline, and the posterior ventral region is always well developed in the females, sometimes greatly so. the general outline of the shells is much like that of the luteolus group, but they are smaller, less solid, and often have dark nacre, varying from lurid reddish to deep purple. with few exceptions the epidermis is rayed. unio concestator lea. (plate lviii, figs. 2, 3, 4.) unio concestator lea, obs. vi, p. 66, pl. xii, fig. 48, feb. 17, 1857. creeks near ('ol. umbus, ga., bishop elliott. i have only seen a single specimen of this species from florida, which belongs to the rev. a. dean, of muncy, pa., and was collected in lake harris by mr. wright. it is a female, strongly developed in the posterior ventral region, with silvery iridescent nacre, and dark ash-colored epidermis varying to yellowish and greenish and slightly rayed. it does not ac ve in color with any specimen of concestator i have seen, but does in general form, and is probably an extreme variety. at any rate i do not care to found a species on a single specimen possessing no stronger distinctions than mere color markings. it is not very different from some of the specimens i have seen of nashvillensis, but the distribution of concestator is southeastern, while the former is found in the central southern states. it is probable that a number of the species of this group, such as fallar, nashrillensis, licnosus, and the one under consideration, as well as some others, are merely varying forms of one and the same thing. unio tenerus rav. (plate lviii, figs. 5, 8.) unio tenerus rav., ravenel's catalogue, p. 1831. several specimens of this species are in the collection of mrs. george andrews, labeled “florida,” without locality. it is close to nashvol417 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvvillensis in form, but differs in being quite thin and having a yellowish ground quite strongly rayed with dark green. it is found in georgia. group of unio buckleyi. unio buckleyi may be taken as the type of a very extensive group, distributed along that part of the atlantic slope from north carolina to south florida. the shells are oval to oblong in outline, generally rounded before and behind, with rarely a conspicuous posterior ridge, and usually shining epidermis, varying from yellowish to chestnut or black, often greenish and beautifully rayed, especially in young specimens, but sometimes becoming squamose or lamellated and dull-colored when old. the teeth vary from thin and compressed to quite solid; the nacre is generally brilliant, and varies from silvery white to coppery or deep purple. in a number of species of this group, as in that of obesus, the old shells become greatly developed at the posterior ventral point, so that the ventral outline is either straight or arcuate. there is a tendency in some of the more compressed forms to biangulation in the posterior region. unio buckleyi, lea. (plate lviii, figs. 6, 7; plate lix, figs. 1, 2; plate lx, fig. 2.) unio buckleyi lea, obs. iv, p. 34, pl. xxxix, fig. 2, aug. 18, 1813. lakes monroe and george; s. b. buckley. unio buddianus lea (plate lx, figs. 3, 4), obs. iv, p. 35, pl. xl, fig. 5, aug. 18, 1843. lakes monroe and george; s. b. buckley. unio dorei b. h. wright (plate lxi, fig. 3), proc. acad. nat. sci., phila., 1888, p. 115, pl. iii, fig. 1. lake monroe; b. h. wright, unio simpsoni b. h. wright (plate lix, fig. 3; plate 1x, fig. 1), proc. acad. nat. sci., phila., 1888, p. 117, pl. v, fig. 1. lake woodruff, volusia county. unio dalli b. h. wright (plate lxi, fig. 2), proc. acad. nat: sci., phila., 1888, p. 119, pl. vi, fig. 1. lake beresford, volusia county. unio orcuttii s. hart wright (plate lxi, fig. 1), west am. scientist, vol. iv, no. 36, p. 60. a protean species, very abundant throughout the greater portion of the state of florida. lea's figured type represents a fully adult shell, and one that may be considered a fair average of the form under consideration. mr. lea says in his description: a number of specimens are before me, and they present many different forms, differing in many respects, as the varieties of the u. complanatus do from each other. the prevailing color of the nacre, which is very brilliant, is salmon, but many are purple; two only are white. the epidermis of all the older specimens is dark-brown, some are nearly black and without rays; the younger are smooth and polished on the outside, with numerons obscure green rays, larger on the postorior slope. the general outline of most specimens is like that of u. batavus (lam.), but some individuals approximate to that of unio oralis (flem.). there can be no doubt on examining the lea series that he had a very good knowledge of the wonderful variation of this species. it proc. n. m. 92-27 418 notes on florida unionidæ—simpson. ranges from oval to arcuate, and there is a considerable amount of difference in the degree of inflation. some individuals, which are apparently adult, are thin, and consequently have compressed teeth; others are quite ponderous with transverse cardinals. the epidermis is not always dark in adult specimens, as has been stated by dr. lea, for i have before me a tray containing four examples belonging to mrs. andrews, collected by f. rugel in black creek, the largest of which is 2 inches in length by 3 in width, and is quite smooth, a tauny yellow faintly rayed, and having a brilliant coppery violet nacre. one of these shells, fully adult, is a bright green, with yellowish rays; the others are bronzy green. these specimens passed under the inspection of mr. s. h. wright, and were labeled by him unio websteri, but i believe that species to be merely a form of u. obesus. throughout the lake region unio buckleyi seems to attain its highest development, and is often highly colored externally with yellow, salmon, coppery, bronze, or green, and the nacre is sometimes dazzlingly bright. u. simpsoni, from mr. wright's figure and description, appears to be one of these forms. i can tell but little about it from the specimens sent out. four shells in mrs. andrews' collection from lake monroe, to which he has given this name, are young jayanus, and another lot of three adults to which he has given the same name are adults of the last-named species, and are exactly typical. three other simpsoni (according to mr. wright) in this collection from the same lake are u. aheneus, and specimens he has sent to mr. marsh, and others to the writer, are certainly buckleyi. u. buddianus differs in no character from the species under consideration, and i can not understand why mr. lea should have named it, as he described the two at the same time. part of his buddianus are placeci in his collection with buckleyi and occultus, the remainder near orphaensis and symmetricus, several hundred numbers farther on. dorei seems to be only a synonym, by mr. wright's figure and description, and three specimens before me belonging to mrs. andrews, which he has so labeled, are simon-pure buckleyi. u. orcuttii, of which the writer sent mr. wright examples from myakka lakes, manatee county, is exactly like some of lea's typical shells. u. dalli, from description, figure, and specimens which mr. wright has sent the museum (museum no. 91126) and others he has labeled in mrs. andrews' collection, appears to be a depauperate buckleyi. all the shells i have seen of the last-named species are eroded, or have very dirty black epidermis; the nacre is dull, lurid, purplish, and blotched, and they are evidently diseased. u. whiteianus lea, from the savannah river, is doubtfully distinct. u. vol] 18027, proceedings of the national museum. 419 . "unio jayanus lea. (plate lxi, fig. 4). unio jayanus lea, obs. ii., p. 28, pl. ix. fig. 23, feb. 5, 1836, florida; dr. jay. unio murshi, b. h. wright (plate lxii, fig. 2), proc. acad. nat. sci., phila., 1888, p. 118, pl. v, fig. 2; lake woodruff, volusia co. unio tryoni, b. h. wright (plate lxii, fig. 1), proc. acad. nat. sci., phila. 1888, p. 120, pl. vi, fig. 2, lako woodruff. lea described this species from single opposed valves of two individuals. at the present time there are in this collection a single normal pair about half grown, and an adult right valve, neither of which is the specimen he has figured. this species is very closely related to u. buckleyi, so much so that it is often difficult to separate it, especially the young, yet mr. lea has placed it with aheneus, and emmonsi, in the fisherianus group, a long way from the former. in general terms it may be said to be wider, thinner, more attenuated at the posterior point, and more inflated at the ventral region, than that species. the form which mr. wright has called unio marshi is no doubt a synonym. i have examined a specimen in the possession of mr. marsh, who received it from mr. wright, and by whom it was so labeled, and it is certainly jayanus. u. tryoni is only a rather wide, large form of the species under consideration, having usually a blackish, rough epidermis. five specimens are in the museum collection (museum no. 91129), received from mr. b. ii. wright, and collected in lake woodruff, labeled by him unio woodruffensis wright, and afterwards changed to unio tryoni wright, which are typical jayanus and are identical with two specimens he has sent the museum (museum no. 91144) from lake beresford, to which he has given the latter name. nor do they differ materially from eight specimens he has sent the museum (museum no. 91141) labeled unio leonensis wright, lake woodruff, near de leon springs. (plate lxii, figs. 3, 4). unio coruscus gould. (plate lxiii, figs. 1, 7.) unio coruscus gould, proc. bost. nat. hist. soc., vol. vi, p. 15. unio fryanus. b. h. wright. (plate lxiii, fig. 3.) proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., 1888, p. 113, pl. 11, fig. 1. lake ashby, volusia county, fla. a single specimen of this species is in mr. lea's collection, presented to him by dr. gould, and collected in the st. johns river by the donor. it is a small shell about 1 inch in height and 1.3 inches in width; oval in outline, rather solid, and apparently adult, or nearly so, and quite inflated. the epidermis is shining and varies from yellowish chestnut at the posterior end to greenish brown, and is slightly rayed. the posterior end has a manifest ridge, and shows slight traces of biangulation; the nacre is bright purplish salmon, varying to brilliantly iridescent posteriorly. the shell is peculiar in being somewhat truncated or squarely built at the anterior end, and this 420 notes on florida unionidæ-simpson. character is constant in all the specimens i have seen of this very varia. ble species. i have before me six shells sent by mr. b. h. wright to the museum (museum no. 91133) from lake ashby, labeled by him u. fryanus, that agree essentially with his figure and description of that species, which i am sure are only a variety of coruscus. they are larger than lea's specimen, somewhat less inflated, and not quite so solid. yet in general outline, color of epidermis, nacre, and teeth there is no essential difference, and they have the remarkable truncation of which i have spoken. mr. wright sent nine unios to the museum (museum no. 91135) from lake dias, which he labeled unio diasia, five of which are no doubt u. tetricus and the remainder a form of coruscus with a dark epidermis. he also sent five shells, which he labeled unio waltoni, from lake ashby (museum no. 91132), which are not that species, but a form of coruscus slightly drawn out at the posterior end and having a rough epidermis. another shell is before me collected by dr. stimpson, and labeled by him " unio tetricus lea, tampa bay" (museum no. 73182), which is very much like the last, but is rather narrower across the anterior end, and is no doubt the species under consideration. specimens in mrs. andrews' collection, which mr. wright labeled “unio coruscus gld.," are almost exactly like those he has called u. waltoni, to which i have referred. i have no less than fifteen different lots of unios before me, sent under various names, collected in numerous localities from the st. johns to tampa, which i am satisfied are all forms of the present species, as i find no characters among them on which to base a separation. unio occultus lea. (plate lxm, figs. 5, 6.) unio occultus lea. obs. iv, p. 37, pl. xli, fig. 7, august 18, 1843. black creek and lake monroe; s. b. buckley. this species approaches very close to some specimens of tetricus, but is usually larger, not so wide, is not so much disposed to be biangulate behind, and is rather more lenticular than that shell. some of the young are very close to young fuscatus, but are hardly so wide and, as far as i have seen, are darker and solider. it is hard to separate, when young, from half-grown specimens of denigratus, but the latter is in general more rhomboid in form. the epidermis is usually rather dark and feebly rayed, the nacre bronzy or coppery, and not very bright. unio fuscatus lea. (plate lxiii, figs. 2, 4.) unio fuscatus lea. obs. iv, p. 31, pl. xl, fig. 4, august 18, 1813. black creek; s. b. buckley. much confusion exists concerning this species as well as the preceding and following. certain forms of tetricus approach very close to the vol 421 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] m :xvyoung or nearly adult fuscatus, and are generally sent out under the latter name, and for years i have been perplexed as to the two. this seems to be a somewhat rare shell, while the former is very abundant it is a rather wide thin species, slightly biangulate posteriorly, gener. ally light chestnut colored, slightly rayed, and having a pale chocolate non-iridescent nacre. old specimens sometimes become produced at the posterior ventral region until the outline of the shell is arcuate. unio tortivus lea. > (plate lxii, fig. 8; plate lxiv, figs. 1, 3, 4.) unio tortivus lea. obs. iii, p. 42, pl. xii, oct. 2, 1840. chattahoochee river, georgia; dr. boykin. unio tetricus lea. (plate lxiv, fig. 2.) obs. vii, p. 13, pl. xxii, fig. 78, june 23, 1857. flint river, near albany, ga.; bishop elliott. this small species is abundant in the atlantic drainage of georgia, extending into eastern alabama, and throughout the greater part of the state of florida. i found thousands of specimens in horse creek, manatee county, of the latter state, in about latitude 270. it is as variable a species as u. buckleyi ; specimens often being found in georgia greatly compressed, extremely wide and arcuate; or it may be oblong, oval, and considerably inflated. * the wide flat forms are exceedingly close to u. arctatus, or even u. lazarus, and it is doubtful whether they are really distinct; while the more rounded specimens approach fuscatus and occultus. the adult shells of this species so far as i have seen are invariably dark; the epidermis ranging from chestnut brown to black; sometimes feebly rayed when young; the nacre is chocolate or dark coppery, and usually dull. the species is better known as u. tetricus, but tortivus is the older name, and an examination of hundreds of specimens from lea's collection and elsewhere convinces me that there is no dividing line between them. as a rule, tortivus is more compressed in general form, and tetricus more inclined to posterior biangulation, but this does not always hold good. i have before me in one tray four specimens received from mr. b. h. wright (museum no. 91134), collected in lake beresford, and labeled by him u. coruscus, which i have been much puzzled over. they are considerably inflated, wide, black, rather solid shells, with a single posterior ridge, slightly inclined to biangulation, and bluish chocolate nacre. in the lot sent to the museum under the name of u. diasia, by mr. wright, from lake dias (museum no.91135), are five more, which are evidently the same. they seem to stand between u. tortivus and the form which mr. marsh has named u. ferrissii, and are, i think, a variety of the former. since the above was written the writer has received a very large and enormously swollen specimen of the above species, collected at cowan swamp, near st. augustine, fla., by mr. chas. w. johnson, of the wagner iustitute, of philadelphia, and of which two natural sized outlines are given. 422 notes on florida unionidæ-simpson. unio denigratus lea. (plate lxv, fig. 1.) unio denigratur, lea. obs. vii, p. 18, pl. xxiii, fig. 83, june 23, 1857. streams near columbus, ga.; bishop elliott. this species is close to u. tortivus, and the young can hardly be separated at times, but it seems to differ constantly in being more rhom. boid when adult, approaching the form of margaritana calceola. i have it before me from lake monroe and st. augustine, collected by f. rugel, and now in the collection of mrs. andrews. unio insulsus lea. (plate lxv, figs. 1, 5.) unio insulsus lea. obs. viii, p. 57, pl. i, fig. 199. roanoake r., n. c.; prof. emmons. a small, inflated species, greenish brown, and obscurely rayed, and, as dr. lea remarks, very closely related to u. confertus. i am inclined to believe it but the young or a small form of the latter, as the differences seem to be that u. confertus is larger, and with age becomes black, and is in some examples not greatly inflated. lea has a speci men of the species under consideration from savannah. in mrs. an. drews's collection there is a shell collected by rugel, and labeled “florida,” which is evidently this. unio cunninghami b. h. wright. (plate lxv, fig. 6.) unio cunninghami b. h. wright. proc. acad. nat. sci., philadelphia, 1883, p. 58, pl. 1, figs. 1, 2, 3, and 4. sumter county, fla. this species is very commonly sent out as unio buddianus or buckleyi, but is really one of the most distinct in florida. it is a solid, greatly inflated, triangular shell, wide at the anterior end, and rapidly tapering from just behind the beaks to the posterior ventral region; the dorsal line being curved, the ventral straight or even arcuate. the color varies from greenish or yellowish ash to chestnut black, generally shining, and rery rarely faintly rayed; the teeth are strong and ragged; nacre brilliant, and varying from silvery to purple. one specimen before me labelled “florida," and belonging to mr. marsh, is almost jet black, 1.25 inches in length and 1.80 inches wide, and is as ponderons as any adult crassidens. young shells are sometimes very much like unio micans, but are generally solider. so far as i know the species is confined to the lake region. 1892. ] 423 proceedings of the national museum. unio micans lea. a (plate lxv, fig. 3.) unio micans lea. obs. viii, p. 63, pl. ui, fig. 207. catawba r., n. c.,c. m. wheatley and dr. genth. it is also in mr. lea's collection, sent by dr. barrett from south carolina. an elegant little species, something like a miniature buckleyi, but wider. the epidermis in the dozen specimens before me varies from tawny yellow or greenish to fulvous brown. all are rayed, and the young are particularly bright colored. the nacre in the anterior of most of the shells is dull and sometimes lurid; that of the posterior is iridescent. one small shell and a larger right valve belonging to the museum (museum no. 25146), from the kidder collection, labeled “unio trossulus lea, sumter county, florida;” though less wide than lea's specimens, i refer to this species. it is very close to u. perlucens, lea. 66 unio hinkleyi b. h. wright. (plate lxv, fig. 4.) unio hinkleyi b. h. wright. proc. acad. nat. sei, phila., 1888, p. 117, pl. iv, fig.2. lake monroe, fla. a puzzling and doubtful species. three specimens before me from lake monroe, sent by mr. b. h. wright to the museum (museum no. 91127) as u. hinkleyi, are probably what he has described as that species. two agree very well with his figure and description except that the nacre is coppery; the third approaches the form he has called dalli, and has a lurid, blotched nacre. i have examined several other shells, some of which approached buckleyi and others monroensis. i let the species stand because i can not refer it to any known form. it seems to reach out in several directions, and to connect more or less with buckleyi, monroensis, and downiei, and to strongly hint that a large number of so-called species of the southeastern waters are but variations of an unbroken chain. unio ferrissii marsh. (plate lxvi, figs. 1, 2.) unio ferrissii marsh. joliet weekly news (a newspaper), may 1, 1891. the nautilus, vol. v, no. 3, p. 30. shell oblong, inflated, smooth before, slightly plicate posteriorly, rather thick and solid; epidermis dark green or black and shining, with capillary rays, sometimes rayless; squarish before, pointed behind; umbonial slope raised, obtusely rounded. cardinal teeth compressed, thick and solid, oblique, single in the right valve, double in the left, striate. lateral teeth short and slightly curved; anterior cicatrices not confluent, very deep, posterior cicatrices distinct; nacre pink and iri. descent. a small creek near palatka. the above is the original description. a puzzling form allied to u. buckleyi on the one hand and the crassidens group on the other. the specimens i have seen have 424 notes on florida unionidæ-simpson. quite a strong posterior ridge, and are subplicate on the posterior-dorsal slope. i can not connect it with any described species. > unio obnubilus lea. (plate lxvi, fig. 3.) unio obnubilus lea. obs. vi. p. 84, pl. xvii, fig. 64, june 23, 1857. buckhead creek, burke county, ga.; bishop elliott. unio nolani b. h. wright. proc. acad. nat. sci., phila., 1888, p. 116, pl. iv, fig. 1. lea's figure is that of a male which is not so produced in the posterior ventral region as the females. mr. wright's figure of u. nolani is that of a female, and excellently represents dozens of female specimens of u. obnubilus before me, most of which have been labelled by dr. lea. although he described his species as uniform in color, several specimens received by him later are rayed. three are before me be. longing to mrs. andrews, collected by f. rugel in black creek, florida, and labelled unio nolani by mr. s. h. wright, which agree in every respect with lea's types of obnubilus. another shell from the same locality and collection, which is identical with this, mr. wright has labelled u. tuomeyi. the color of the epidermis and nacre is much like occultus, but the form is more quadrate, and it is a larger species, yet the young are very like those of the latter. unio lugubris lea. (plate lxvi, fig. 4; plate lxvii, fig. 1.) > unio lugubris lea. obs. ii, p. 30, pl. ix, fig. 25, feb. 25, 1836. hopeton, near darien, ga.; prof. shepard. a species allied to ocumulgeensis, geddingsianus, whiteanus, and to some forms of u. buckleyi, and which does not possess any very decided characters. the young shells are often blackish green and rayed; the adults become brownish black; they lose their luster, and are sometimes arcuate when old. lea's figure poorly represents the species. several young shells from black creek, collected by rugel and now in mrs. andrews's collection, are undoubtedly this species. unio ocmulgeensis lea. (plate lxvii, fig. 5.) unio oemulgeensis lea. obs. viii, p. 89, pl. xiv, fig. 243, feb. 5, 1861. little ocmulgee r., ga.; s. m. wilson. lea's figure is from a badly eroded specimen, though the form is characteristic. some of the young shells are green, or blackish green and chestnut, elegantly rayed and polished, and resemble u. buckleyi, but many are a dull uniform blackish, and in outline are much like u. jayanus. in most of the specimens the nacre is not brilliant save at the posterior end, where it is richly iridescent. one shell belonging to mr. marsh, and collected by mr. upson, of rockford, 111., is before me, and another, collected by rugel, among mrs. andrews's shells, both labeled florida, are undoubtedly this species. 1892. ] 425 proceedings of the national museum. group of unio parvus. a group of small and usually well characterized shells, distributed throughout the entire mississippi basin, the gulf drainage, and in that portion of the atlantic slope from south florida to north carolina. in form they are oval, or obovate to oblong, usually rounded before and behind, rather inflated, with generally dark and lusterless epidermis, though it is sometimes smooth, shining, and rayed. the beaks are undulate; the teeth usually compressed and often curved; the nacre is almost always brilliant, silvery, bluish, and iridescent, though a few of the species have dark and lurid interiors. unio minor lea.* (plate lxvii, fig 2.) unio minor lea, obs. iv, p. 31, pl. xxxix, fig. 3. aug. 18, 1813, lakes monroe and george; s. b. buckley. an interesting species and one of the very smallest, an adult before me from lake monroe, one of lea's types, being 0.9 inch in width and 0.6 inch in length, while others from the same locality, in mrs. an. drews's collection, are 1.50 inches in width by 0.80 inch in length. the species is regularly obovate in form, inflated and wedge-shaped when viewed from the base; being of greatest diameter in the neighborhood of the beaks and tapering to the posterior end. the epidermis is rough and black; the nacre bluish and iridescent behind; the teeth are rather strong, as the substance of the shell is quite solid. this shell is sometimes mistaken for u. marginis, but is darker colored, solider, more inflated, and rather wider. dr. lea did not know whether the beaks were undulate or not, and all the numerous speci. mens i have seen are so eroded i can not tell certainly, but it is probably like the rest of the group in this respect. three shells before me, belonging to mrs. andrews, are from the edisto river, south carolina, and i found it in horse creek, manatee county, in latitude 270. unio vesicularis lea. (plate lxvii, fig. 4.) unio vesicularis lea, obs. xiii, p. 41, pl. xii, fig. 34. sept. 15, 1873, okechobee; dr. budd and c. m. wheatley. lea described this species from very poor material, two worn, badly eroded opposing valves and a smaller pair in poor condition. these vary from light to dark olive green and are slightly rayed. a worn specimen in lea's collection from lake george, labeled by him unio amygdalum, scarcely differs from the opposing valves which are his type of vesicularis. it is a trifle less wide and not quite so inflated. i * there are two unios in the museum collection (no. 91130) from blue springs landing, fla., received from mr. b. hi. wright and labeled by him unio stearnsiana wright, which are typical examples of unio minor lea. 426 notes on florida unionidæ-simpson. found this species rather abundant in horse creek, manatee county, and these specimens had a rough, dark epidermis, and were wedgeshaped when viewed from the base. five shells from the st. johns, donated to the museum by mr. b. h. wright (museum no. 91137) are much like those from horse creek, but show a dark-greenish ground with feeble rays when wetted or held up to the light. the species is larger, not quite so obovate, less inflated, and thinner than u. minor. a specimen in mrs. andrews's collection from f. rugel, and labeled by him "alabama," i regard as this species. unio amygdalum lea. (plate lxvii, fig. 3.) unio amygdalum lea, obs. iv, p. 33, pl. xxxix, fig. 1. aug. 18, 1843, lake george; s. b. buckley. it is quite probable that this species and the one preceding and the one following it are forms of the same thing, yet with the limited material i have i hardly feel justified in uniting them. several of lea's specimens of this are very thin, yellowish ash, quite strongly rayed, and are fringed at the posterior end by the frayed outgrowth of the epidermis. another in his collection, from lake george (mus. no. 86128), is wider, darker, and solider; closely approaching vesicularis. it inhabits from dooly county, ga., to central florida. unio lepidus gould. (plate lxviii, fig. 1; plate lxix, fig. 3.) unio lepidus gould, proc. bost. soc. nat. hist., vol. vi, p. 15. creek near lake monroe. from gould's description this is very close to the last two species, as he says it is nearly allied to u. trossulus, but is larger, more fragile, and the cardinal teeth are more compressed. (otia conchologica, p. 222.) the species is not in lea's collection, but there are among the museum shells three fine examples from the st. johns, donated by mr. b. h. wright (museum no. 91140), and by him labeled lepidus, which are, no doubt, that species. they are a little wider than vesicularis or most of the examples of amygdalum i have seen; are more oblique; are yellowish, shading to dark green on the posterior portion, and more or less rayed throughout. the nacre is shaded salmon and bluish, and is iridescent posteriorily. i have other examples before me which are evidently the same. unio singleyanus marsh. (plate lxviii, figs. 4,5.) unio singleyanus marsh, joliet weekly news (a newspaper), may 1, 1891. the nautilus, vol. v, no. 3, p. 29. shell smooth, oval, slightly depressed; inequilateral; valves rather thick, squarish before, rounded behind; beaks small and flat; epidermis vol427 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xyellowish brown, shining, with or without rays; usually rayless. cardinal teeth crenulate, oblique, single in the right valve, double in the left. lateral teeth short and straight; anterior cicatrices small, deer, not confluent; posterior cicatrices confluent, slightly impressed; nacre white, iridescent. a small creek near palatka. the above is the original description. this seems to be perfectly distinct from u. marginis, its nearest ally. its smooth epidermis which, in all the speci. mens i have seen, is very light colored, even to yellowish, and the peculiar truncation of the anterior end, like u. coruscus, are its strongest characters. it is an undoubted member of the parvus group. unio papyraceus gould. (plate lxviii, fig. 2.) unio papyraceur gould, proc. bost. soc. nat. hist., vol. ii, p. 53• aug. 20, 1:45. everglades. there are in the museum collection two trays containing seven speci. mens of this species given to mr. lea by dr. gould, labeled “everglades, cape florida.” part of them have been stained a brownish tint by coloring matter in the water; the others are olive to ash, with greenish rays. they are as fragile as anodonta imbecillis, and gould compares them to a. couperiana, but the form and external coloring, as well as the bluish nacre becoming richly iridescent posteriorly, are almost exactly like u. amygdalum, from which they seem to differ only in being more fragile. unio trossulus lea. (plate lxviii, fig. 3.) unio trossulus lea, obs. iv, p. 36, pl. xi, fig. 6. aug. 18, 1843, lake monroe. this species is quite different from u. parvus, the type of the group, but is related by amygdalum and vesicularis to minor, which is near to parvus. i have seen but one specimen of the present species, lea's type, which is a somewhat peculiar shell, resembling in some respects the smaller, brighter forms of amygdalum, but it is more oblique and is quite small, being only 1.4 inches in width by 0.7 inch in length. it has the undulate beaks common to the group, as well as the silvery and irides. cent nacre, but is remarkably solid, with rather strong, subcompressed, ragged cardinals and heavy roughened laterals. group of unio camptodon. wide, large, somewhat quadrate or rhomboid shells, of rather light structure; without well-defined posterior ridge; with epidermis vary. ing from smooth, shining, and yellowish, to squamose, rough, and black. the nacre in the type is white, but it is often lurid or purplish in some of the species. the members of the group range from virginia to south florida, and west to kansas and texas. 428 notes on florida unionidæ-simpson. unio obesus lea. (plate lxviii, fig. 6; plate lxix, figs. 1, 2, 4; plate lxxi, fig. 3.) unio obesus lea, obs. i, p. 106, pl. xiii, fig. 26. may 7, 1830. york river, va.; wm. cooper. unio blandingianus lea (plate lxx, figs. 1, 2), obs. i, p. 213, pl. xv. fig. 44. feb. 7, 1834. unio paludicolus gould (plate lxxi, fig. 2), proc. bost. soc. nat. hist., aug. 15, 1815 everglades. unio jewettii lea (plate lxxi, fig. 1), obs. xii, p. 36, pl. xxxvii, fig. 89, june 2, 180i8, sink of noonans lake; col. jewett. unio rivicolus conrad., am. jour. conch. iv, p. 280, 1868. brook near tampa, fla. unio websteri b. h. wright (plate lxx, fig. 3), proc. acad. nat. sci. phila, 1888, p. 113, pl. 11, fig. 2. lake woodruff, volusia county, this species, though varying less than many others, has unfortunately received a great number of names. the form is that described with the group; in the type it is somewhat inflated and rounded ventrally; the epidermis is never smooth, varying from ashy and greenish olive to jet black; the scaly or laminated covering of the very dark examples is often glossy. in lea's collection of obesus some of the specimens have a reddish epidermis, and it is this variety, i think, that mr. wright has described as u. websteri. a shell collected in lake woodruff, so labeled by him, and donated to the museum (museum no. 91128), is undoubtedly u. obesus. u. rivicolus con., judging by his figures and description, is identical with the form lea described as u. blandingianus; the variety with rough, glossy epidermis, often becoming some. what arcuate with age. u. jewettii, though sometimes shaded with green and partially rayed, connects these forms with the type. u. paludicolus, judging from gould's description and shells that he sent lea from the typical lot, appears to be the young or perhaps a dwarf form of the species under consideration. such a form, somewhat widened posteriorly, was found abundantly by the writer in manatee county, and i have the same before me from several localities. some of these from spring creek, belonging to mrs. andrews, have reddish chestnut epidermis and salmon coppery nacre, yet they are, no doubt, a variety of the above.* it is very doubtful whether u. declivis and columbensis are anything more than forms of this species. both generally have a couple of shallow furrows running from near the beaks down the dorsal slope, but this feature is sometimes seen in the varieties i have noticed. the former is occasionally nearly smooth, suggesting u. camptodon and manubius. the latter is generally a wider shell than the type. it may be said that the obesus form is found along the atlantic slope, from * i have recently received from mr. charles w. johnson four specimens of what are undoubtedly unio obesus, two of them from pemberton's ferry, on the withlacoochee river, florida, the others from a tributary of the st. johns, the largest of which measures 14 inches in width by seven-eighths inch in length; yet they are all quite solid shells and evidently adults. they are almost perfect representatives in miniature of some of lea's very largest specimens of the species. i give a figure of one of them. 1892. ] 429 proceedings of the national museum. virginia to florida, blandingianus and jewettii in florida, columbensis in the georgia streams that drain into the gulf, and declivis from the latter state west to texas, though these limits do not always hold good. i found thousands of the blandingianus form in a little drain in the piney woods near braiden town, which was always dry except during the rainy season, and its banks of slightly damp sand were full of dormant specimens. a number of these survived after lying out in the sun for months. unio squalidus lea. (plate lxxi, fig. 4.) unio squalidus lea, obs. xii, p. 26, pl. vii, fig. 20, june 16, 1863, neuse river, raleigh, etc.; e. emmons. lea's description of this shell seems somewhat contradictory, as he says it is smooth, and in his remarks that "it bas that rough squamose epidermis which is generally found in the (obesus) group." his speci mens, though rough, are somewhat glossy. it is a stunted-looking species, less wide than most of the obesus, and rather rhomboid in outline. in mrs. andrews' collection, shells labeled “ florida," by rugel, are, i think, of this species. one of lea's shells is faintly rayed. group of unio rotundatus. a small assemblage of more or less orbicular shells, which are often inflated and sometimes triangular. unio beadleianus on the one hand is nearly globose, while u. lenticularis is considerably compressed. most of the species have a slight posterior ridge, though it is not con stant; the epidermis varies from brown to chestnut; the hinge line is curved; cardinals somewhat ragged and compressed, and the nacre ranges from a silvery white to purple. the species are confined, for the most part, to the streams emptying into the gulf, being found from the suwanee to the brazos, and to the tellico river, tennessee. unio succissus lea. (plate lxxi, fig. 5.) unio succissus lea, obs. v, p. 31, pl. xxi, fig. 32, mar. 55, 1852. w. florida; maj. le conte. unio cacao lea (plate lxxi, fig. 6), obs. viii, p. 26, pl. lvi, fig. 169, mar. 10, 1859, chocktahatchie r., fla.; maj. le conte. lea has singularly confused this and allied species. he described it from a single specimen, a somewhat obovate, compressed shell, with an ill-defined posterior ridge, a chestnut epidermis and chocolate purple iridescent nacre. it is rather solid in structure, and has quite a heavy hinge plate, with strong irregular cardinals and nearly straight laterals, slightly curved posteriorly. subsequently he received another specimen from new orleans, presented by mr. wheatley, which 430 notes on florida unionida-simpson. is more inflated, has compressed cardinals, and a narrow hinge plate, a shell i should refer to chickasavhensis. another, a right valve, was entered with this species in the museum collection (museum no. 84574), and credited to west florida; maj. le conte, in the record book; but lea does not mention this valve in his description, and states that but a single specimen was sent by le conte. sometime ago, in working over the lea duplicates, i found a left valve that recalled succissus, and, on comparing, saw that it belonged with the one said to come from west florida. dr. lea had labeled it and the shells with it “unio rubiginosus lea, cerinus con., alexandria, la., dr. hale.” it is not rubiginosus or succissus, in my opinion, but agrees pretty well with the description and figure of conrad's species, which is probably a valid one. unio cacao, described from a single shell froin west florida seven years later, is merely a younger specimen of succissus, and agrees with the type of that species in every respect. lea has placed the latter in his collection with chickasavhensis, rotundatus, and lenticularis, and the former with amabilis, tellicoensis, and glandaceus, more than a thousand numbers distant. group of unio anodontoides a striking assemblage of species typified in america by a common mississippi valley form, with a very wide and extra limital distribution, but which is quite constant in its characters throughout its entire range. the well-known u. pictorum and several european and west asiatic species probably group with it. unio anodontoides lea. (plate lxxi, fig. 7; plate lxxii, figs. 1, 2, 4.) unio anodontoides lea, obs. i, p. 91, pl. viii, fig. 11, may 7, 1830. unio floridensis lea (plate lxxii, fig. 3), obs. v, p. 30, pl. xxi, fig. 31, mar. 5, 1852. chácktábatchi river, west florida; maj. le conte this species is so well known that it is scarcely necessary to comment on it. it is abundant throughout the mississippi area, and over most, if not all, that part of the united states which is drained into the gulf, as such localities as “colorado river, texas;” “withlacoochee river, florida;” ;” “marietta, ohio;” and lodge pole creek, colorado, where it was collected by the writer, will show. in the ohio river, texas, and some of the other southern states it attains large dimensions; in south georgia and florida it becomes more fragile, is of moderate size, and is often more rounded on the posterior margin, and this form is evi. dently what dr. lea has described as u. floridensis. specimens collected by mr. c. w. johnson from the withlacoochee river, now in the museum (museum no. 104037) agree exactly in outline with the figure and description of that shell in the fifth volume of the observations. lea speaks of this species as having remarkably small teeth, a character always found in anodontoides, and of its resemblance to the latter vol431 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvin color and peculiar texture. the single specimen from which he described the species was badly eroded and in poor condition, and is not in his collection, nor do i know where it is. i have specimens of u. anodontoides before me from various localities in southern mississippi, alabama, and georgia, and the withlacoochee river in florida, col. lected by johnson and rugel, and by the latter from simpson creek, florida. group of unio nasutus. wide shells, of rather light structure; undulate beaks, and usually dark greenish, somewhat rayed, epidermis, with lurid purple, silvery, or bluish, often iridescent nacre. the posterior end is usually drawn out to a point; is sometimes more or less ridged and biangulate. u. nasutus, the type, is abundant on the atlantic slope from canada to southern virginia, and is also found west to illinois, unio aheneus lea. (plate lxxiii, fig. 6.) unio aheneus lea, obs. iv, p. 38, pl. xli, fig. 9, aug. 18, 1813. black cr., fla.; s. b. buckley. lea's type is a young specimen not over half grown. the epidermis is green and yellow, neatly rayed; the shell is compressed, very wide, rather narrow posteriorly, and somewhat widened behind, either biangulate or, in some specimens, ending in a single produced point. the nacre is usually lurid and coppery shaded, but specimens belonging to rev. a. dean, of muncy, pa., from lake ashby, are blackish almost without rays, and have dark purple nacre. unio waltoni b. h. wright. (plate lxxiii, fig. 7.) unio waltoni b. h. wright, proc. acad. nat. sci. phila., 1888, p. 144, pl. 11, fig. 3. lake woodruff, volusia co. this species is close to the last, as it is to several other members of the group. it is, however, a wider, larger species than u. aheneus; is , more produced in the ventral region; has a rougher, darker epidermis; is slightly less solid, and has commonly a rather sharp point just in front of the beaks. it is probable that it may be found to connect with aheneus. group of unio gibbosus. > wide, solid shells, with usually rough epidermis, varying from yellowish and green-in some species rayed or tesselated—to dark brown. hinge plate heavy; teeth strong, the laterals well elevated and ending abruptly behind. nacre varying from white, through salmon, to deep purple, variable in color often in the same species. there are in almost all the examples of the group one or more shallow furrows or depressions within, running from near the cardinals in a direction more or less a 432 notes on florida unionidæsimpson. parallel with the dorsal line toward the posterior ventral region. seyeral of the species are strongly humped, especially in old specimens, and by the thickening of the substance of the shell and its growth at the ventral posterior point, become very ponderous and somewhat triangular in outline. unio subgibbosus lea. (plate lxxiii, fig. 5.) unio subgibbosus lea. obs. vi, p. 53, pl. vi, fig. 36, june 23, 1857. oostanaula and etowali rivers, ga. rev. g. white. a single undoubted specimen, a female of this species, is before me, belonging to mrs. george andrews, collected by rugel in lake monroe. the species is close to gibbosus on the one hand and luridus on the other. it is less wide and smaller than the former and not so pointed posteriorly, and more inflated than the latter. i think it probable that it is only a small southern race of gibbosus, as the latter has a wide distribution and has been found at columbus, miss., claiborne, ala., and other points in the gulf drainage. unio subluridus, n. s. (plate lxxiii, figs. 3, 4.) shell small, elliptical, somewhat narrow and rounded before, with a slight tendency to biangulation behind; valves somewhat thin, slightly inflated; epidermis striated, rather roughened and shining, yellowish chestnut, lighter at the beaks, without rays; cardinal teeth not large, subcompressed, double in the left valve, single in the right; laterals slightly curved, roughened, not heavy or greatly elevated; anterior cicatrices well impressed; nacre coppery and slightly iridescent. di. ameter .55, length .85, breadth 1.50 inches. locality, orange springs, volusia county. c. w. johnson. three shells of this little form are before me, and while they do not possess any very striking characters, yet i find it absolutely impossible to refer them to any described species, and, in fact, i hardly know in what group to place them. i had considered this a rather thin form of u. luridus, but it differs from that species in having much less solid teeth and more elevated cardinals, in the color of the epidermis and nacre, and in being a less solid shell. it bears some resemblance to forms of u. tetricus, but is not so wide, and is a much more evenly elliptical shell. there are traces of the furrows in the nacre which i have mentioned in connection with this group, and these with the rather heavy isolated laterals, as well as a slight resemblance to u. luridus (plate lxxiii, figs. 1, 2), incline me to place it here.* * since writing the above further study induces me to believe that this species groups with unio camptodon. vol433 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvgenus anodonta. group of anodonta imbecillis. very thin, inflated, smooth, shining anodons, with undulate beaks, and having the epidermis brightly painted with shades of yellowish and green. the ventral region is well developed, the posterior end is rather pointed, the umbonal area is in most cases peculiarly flattened, and over it the delicate radiating lines of color are often beautifully undulated. the group is widely distributed, the type species being found from rideau canal, canada, to darien, ga., and from minnesota to matamoras, mexico. * the distinctions between the north american forms of anodons are very poor and ill defined. the northern specimens of a. imbecillis are wider and morecompressed at the beaks; in the south they are more inflated, of greater proportional length, with the umbonal region less depressed, until they seem to almost shade into a. henryana, a. dunlapiana, and a. couperiana. anodonta couperiana lea. (plate lxxiv, fig. 1.) anodonta couperiana lea. obs. iii, p. 65, pl. xx, fig. 46, oct. 2, 1840. hopeton, near darien, ga., j. h. couper. anodonta dunlapiana lea. (plate lxxiv, figs. 2, 3.) obs. iii, p. 86, pl. xxvii, fig. 65, oct. 21, 1842. s. carolina; mrs. dunlap. dr. lea claims that a. dunlapiana is less oblique and more cylindrical than a. couperiana, but his series of the former shows a gradual variation from one to the other. i doubt if a. henryana from mexico is more than a mere variety. in the younger shells the beaks are much compressed; in old specimens they become somewhat intiated. explanation of plates. note.the figures are all the natural size of the specimens. plate xlix. fig. 1. unio infucatus cour. (u. s. nat. mus. register no. 81037); georgia; light brown; p. 409. 2. the same (84034); georgia; nearly smooth, black; p. 409. 3. unii forbesianus lea; georgia; type (84542); p. 410. 4. unio restitus lea; georgia; type (85333); p. 410. 5. unio infucatus cour. (84034); georgia; smooth, black, intlated; p. 409. 6. unio kleinianus lea (84081); florida; brown; p. 409. plate l. fig. 1. unio vestitus lea (85333); georgia; p. 410. 2. unio forbesianus lea (84542); georgia; p. 410. 3. the same; lake monroe, florida; p. 410. 4. unio moussonianus lea; type (85168); georgia; p. 410. a. cygnea lam., of europe, is no doubt a member of this group. proc. n, m, 92-28 434 notes on florida unionide-simpson. plate li. fig. 1. unio monroensis lea; type (85169); florida; p. 410. 2. unio pusillus lea; type (85241); georgia; p. 411. 3. unio buzens lea; type (85153); abbeville, s. c.; p. 411. 4. unio anthonyi lea; type (84986); florida; p. 411. 5. the same; young (84985); edisto river, south carolina; p. 411. 6. vnio pusillus lea; young (85241); oguchee river; p. 411. 7. unio dorsatus lea (81494); catawba river, north carolina; p. 411. plate lii. fig. 1. unio dorsatus lea (84496); abbeville, s. c.; p. 411. 2. the same; florida; p. 411. 3. unio hopetonensis lea (85390); darien, ga.; p. 412. plate liii. fig. 1. unio hopetonensis lea (85392); georgia; p. 412. 2. unio dariensis lea (85690); georgia; p. 413. plate liv. fig. 1. unio dariensis lea (85690), georgia; compressed form, slightly folded; p. 413. plate lv. fig. 1. unio downiei lea (84854); georgia; p. 413. 2. the same; buck lake, georgia; solid eroded specimen; p. 413. 3. the same; florida; p. 413. plate lvi. fig. 1. unio exiguus lea (84974); georgia; p. 414. 2. unio modioliformis lea (85029); south carolina; p. 414. 3. the same; south carolina; p. 414. 4. unio nigrinus lea; type (86132); western florida; p. 414. 5. unio downiei lea (84854); florida; p. 413. 6. unio modioliformis lea (85029); male; south carolina; p. 414. plate lvii. fig. 1. unio subellipsis lea (85095); georgia; p. 414. 2. unio rutilans lea (85090); georgia; like fig. 3, pl. lvi, p. 414. 3. the same; mississippi; like nigrinus and averillii; p. 414. 4. the same; georgia; male; somewhat solid, like subellipsis; p. 414. 5. the same; georgia; p. 414. 6. unio averillii wriget (91142); lake ashby; florida; p. 414. plate lviii. fig. 1. unio subangulatus lea; florida; p. 415. 2. l'nio concestator lea (85102); georgia; female; p. 416. 3. the same; florida; female; p. 416. 4. the same; columbus, ga.; male; p. 416. 5. unio tenerus lea (85030); south carolina; male; grows larger; p. 416. 6. vnio buckleyi lea (85234); lake monroe; florida; p. 417. 7. the same; enterprise, fla.; p. 417. 8. unio tenerus rav. (85032); georgia; female; p. 416. 1892. ] proceedings of the national museum. 435 plate lix. fig. 1. unio buckleyi lea (85235); florida; like dalliana; p. 417. 2. the same; black creek, florida; very large and highly colored; p. 417. 3. unio simpsoni b. h. wright. author's collection, p. 417. plate lx. fig. 1. unio simpsoni wright; p. 417. 2. unio buckleyi lea (85237); florida; young buddianus; p. 417. 3. unio buddianu8 lea (85606); florida; very large and old; p. 417. 4. the same; type (85607); st. johns river; p. 417. plate lxi. fig. 1. unio orcuttii s. h. wright; florida; p. 417. 2. unio dalli b. h. wright (91126); florida; p. 417. 3. unio dorei b. h. wright; black creek, florida; p. 417. 4. unio jayanus lea (86031); florida; p. 419. plate lxii. fig. 1. unio tryoni b. h. wright (91129); florida; p. 419. 2. unio marshi b. h. wright; florida; p. 419. 3. unio leonensis b. h. wright; (91141); florida; male; p. 419. 4. the same; florida; p. 419. plate lxiii. fig. 1. l’nio coruscus gould, (85239); florida; p. 419. 2. unio fuscatus lea (85244); florida; old specimens; p. 420. 3. l'nio fryanus b. h. wright; florida; p. 419. 4. unio fuscatus lea (85245); florida; p. 420. 5. unio occultus lea (85249); florida; male; p. 420. 6. the same; type (85247); florida; p. 420. 7. unio coruscus gould.; florida; p. 419. 8. unio tortivus lea (85674); georgia; p. 421. plate lxiv. fig. 1. unio tortivus lea; georgia; extremely close to fig. 4, pl. lxiii; p. 421. 2. unio tetricus lea (83655); georgia; p. 421. 3. unio tortivus lea; florida; remarkably inflated; p. 421. 4. the same; dorsal view; p. 421. plate lxv. fig. 1. unio denigratus lea; type (85568); georgia; p. 422. 2. unio insulsus lea (85644); north carolina; p. 422. 3. unio micans lea (85077); north carolina; p. 423. 4. unio hinkleyi b. h. wright (91127); florida; p. 423. 5. unio confertus lea (85633); south carolina; young; p. 422. 6. unio cunninghami b. h. wright; florida; p. 422. plate lxvi. fig. 1. unio ferrissii marsh; type; florida; p. 423. 2. the same; dorsal view of type; p. 423. 3. unio obnubilus lea (85646); georgia; female; p. 424. 4. unio lugubris lea; type (85638); georgia; p. 424. 436 notes on florida unionidæ-simpson. plate lxvii. fig. 1. unio lugubris lea (85631); old specimen; p. 424. 2. unio minor lea; type (85310); florida; femalo; p. 425. 3. unio amygdalum lea; typical (86128); florida; p. 426. 4. unio vesicularis lea; type (85292); florida; p. 425. 5. unio ocmulgeensis lea; type (85901); georgia; p. 424. plate lxviii. fig. 1. unio lepidus gould (91140); florida; female; p. 426. 2. unio papyraceur gould; typical (86125); florida; p. 427. 3. unio tro88ulus lea; type (84705); florida; p. 427. 4. unio singleyanus marsh; type, florida; p. 426. 5. the same; dorsal view; p. 426. 6. unio obesus lea (85370); south carolina; p. 428. plate lxix. fig. 1. unio obesus lea (85368); georgia; p. 428. 2. the same; (85366); georgia; p. 428. 3. unio lepidus gould (91140); florida; male; p. 426. 4. unio obesus lea (85366); georgia; p. 428. . plate lxx. fig. 1. unio blandingianus lea (85714); florida; p. 428. 2. the same; sarasota, fla.; depauperate; p. 428. 3. unio websteri, b. h. wright (91128); florida; p. 428. plate lxxi. fig. 1. unio jeuettii lea; type (85374); florida; p. 428. 2. unio paludicolus gould; typical (85713); florida; p. 428. 3. unio obesus lea; florida; adult; p. 428. 4. unio squalidus lea; type (85375); north carolina; p. 429. 5. unio succis8u8 lea; type (84574); florida; p. 429. 6. unio cacao lea; type (85724); florida; p. 429. 7. c'nio anodontoides lea (40718); georgia; male; p. 430. plate lxxii. fig. 1. unio anodontoides lea (104037); florida; p. 430. 2. the same; female; p. 430. 3. unio floridensis lea; female drawn from lea's type figure; p. 430. 4. unio anodontoides lea (25925); georgia; female; p. 430. plate lxxiii. fig. 1. unio luridus lea (85253); georgia; p. 432. 2. the same; type; georgia; female; p. 432. 3. unio subluridus 11. 8. (101002); florida; female; p. 432. 4. the same; type; dorsal view; p. 432. 5. unio subgibbosus lea (86099); alabama; female; p. 432, 6. unio aheneus lea; type (86030); florida; p. 431. 7. unio waltoni b. h. wright (91145); florida; p. 431. plate lxxiv. fig. 1. anodonta couperiana lea (86671); florida; p. 433. 2. anodonta dunlapiana lea; type (86561); south carolina; female; p. 433, 3. the same; south carolina; male; p. 433. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. xlix 1 2 :)}}} *') 3 101 u le 5 6 florida unios. 1 1 u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. l 1 14:30 3 florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. li 1 3 5 4 6 7 florida unios. u. s. national museum pl. lii proceedings, vol. xv д o (۱۱۱۱ 3 florida unios. 1 u. s. national museum pl. liii proceedings, vol. xv !!! 1 9 florida unios. 1 1 u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. liv 빠 ​1 florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lv 1 2 ۱۱۲ ۱۱ ۱۰:\ my 3 florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lvi 2 3 4 1 . 5 florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lvii 3 ili 6 florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lviii ぶー ​links iee f 빠 ​1 3 5 8 florida unios. u.s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl, lix liri 2 3 florida unios. ! u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lx. ) 3 ipe florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxi 1 2 11! 3 4 florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxii ies ۱۱۱۱ d 1 2 3 의 ​4 florida unios. ) u.s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxiii :)!') ܓܠܐ "w) 3 4 lij 5 1 1) 7 8 florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxiv 35 2 co 3 c 4 florida unios. 3 u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxv 1 2 20 d 3 1 } 4 5 6 florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxvi 1 2 3 florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxvii 0 ۱۱۰ ۱۱۱۰۱۲ 1 2 saya om 3 4 117:1! 5 florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxviii a 1 3 5 vi slllll \ !!! 6 florida unios. > u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxix in ils ! 1 3 4 florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxx 1 //// 2 గూట్ డ 3 florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxxi ar 3 4 5 florida unios. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxxii 1 2 9\า13) 2 3 0 ใน 0 4 florida unios. / u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxxiii 2 3. hill lll ۱۱۱۱ه co 0 b de 5 6 florida unios. 1 u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxxiv 1 ३ 3 florida unios. 7 on a new subfamily of phyllostome bats. by harrison allen, m. d. i have concluded that natalus should be removed from the vespertilionidae and should constitute a subfamily of the phyllostomidæ. the characters of the natalinæ are as follows: the nose-leaf absent in the adult, but rudimental in the late stage of the embryo. it forins an ovate elevation placed with long axis between the nostrils and reaches from the lip-margin to a short distance above the upper edge of the muzzle. a well-marked vertical line is seen in the third and fourth interdigital spaces, extending nearly their entire lengths. the vomer is produced and continuous with the crest of the basisphenoid bone; the sides of the mesopterygoid fossa are deeply concave. the ectoturbinal is a mere rudiment. three premolars are present, both above and below, and six incisors below and four above, a wide interval separating the centrals. the cuboid bone projects plantarly; two phalanges are present in the third manal digit. the prosternum, first pair of ribs, and intercostal cartilages are co-ossified, much the same manner as in the remote hipposideros. there is no terminal cartilage to the third manal digit. the claim here made that the natalina are related to the vampyrigroup of the phyllostomidae rests on the following statements: a rudiment of a nose-leaf, the median ridge of which persists, is seen in the late stage of the embryo. the premaxillæ are united on the palate; the premolars are large, displayed from within outward; the upper molars possess a well developed hypocone. the interdigital spaces are sharply defined proximally, and are without skin-folds on the ventral surfaces; the tragus is thickened on the inner border, and the external basal lobe lies within the conch. the sternum is keeled throughout. the ulna is provided with a shaft. the first metacarpal bone is flexed. these characters sharply separate natalus from the vespertilionidae (plecoti occasionally excepted). some of the characters, such as the keeled sternum and fixed ulna, are found in other groups. the long bones bear a close resemblance to those of lobostomidæ (genera mormops and chilonycteris), and macrotus among the vampyri. the femur is quite similar, as seen in the flange on the inner side of the shaft near the head (best seen in mormops) and in the backward posiproceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 912. 437 438 new subfamily of bats-h. allen. tion of the trochanters. the bones of the first row of phalanges of the foot gradually increase in length from the second to the fifth as in lobostomidae. the loop of the superior semicircular canal of the auditory apparatus, as is the rule with the phyllostomidæ, is not occupied with bone. the astragalus is slightly sigmoid, as in chilonycteris. the characters which natalina enjoy in common with vespertilion. idæ are the presence of two phalanges in the third manal digit; three premolars in each jaw, and incisors in two pairs in the upper jaw. in the arrangement of the nerve lines in the fourth interdigital and in the shape of the second phalanx of the third manal digit the natalina resemble the emballonurida. from noctilio and lobostomidæ the natalinæ differ in the absence of an internal basal ridge to the auricle. the arrangement of the nerves in the fourth interdigital space is exactly as in chilonycteris. the proportions of the phalanges of the fourth and fifth fingers are almost ex. actly the same as in the genus last named. the natalinæ resemble the genus plecotus of the vespertilionidæ in the flexion of the pollical metacarpal bone; in the wide second interdig. ital interspace; in the absence of a skin-fold at the proximal end of the fig. 1. front view of an embryo of natalus stramineus, showing rudimentary nose-leaf. metacarpal bones, as well as in the absence of the accessory cartilage to the terminal cartilage of the fifth manal digit. two embryos were available for examination, both obtained from material in the museum of the academy of natural sciences of philadel. phia, collected by the late mr. william m. gabb in santo domingo. one of these specimens was oval, measured 25 millimeters in length and 15 in breadth. length of head, 16 millimeters; foot, 9; thumb, 5. sex apparently female. there was no trace of nose-leaf, the parts being quite the same as in the adult. the tragus was carried forward and laid on the cheek. it was simple and without the peculiarities of the adult. 1892. ] 439 proceedings of tiie national museum. the second specimen was larger than the first, and measured (the limbs being displayed), from crown to rump, 24 millimeters; length of head, 17 millimeters; foot, 9; thumb, 7. the tragus was erect and the peculiarities of the adult structures were beginning to announce themselves, though no hairs were present. if the results obtained from the examination of the embryos be confirmed, natalus presents a disposition for the integument at the muzzle to take on a different expression in the late form of the embryo or in the recently born, which is not found in an earlier stages of development or in the adult. such a disposition is, so far as i know, unique, and it may be a temperate deduction to make that natalus at no time bears a nose-leaf, but that the parts as seen in fig. 1 in the late embryo are effects of shrinkage of the tissues under alcohol. yet since n. micropus possesses an elevation at the top of the muzzle which is much the same in character as the form of n. stramineus, i have concluded to name the parts as they stand in the above diagnosis. i have had an opportunity of examining both natalus stramineus and natalus micropus. 3 1 1 1 description of a new genus of phyllostome bats. by harrison allen, m. đ. mr. frederick w. true, curator of the department of mammals, national museum, has placed in my hands a skin in spirits of a small leafnose bat, believed to be from the vicinity of the segovia river, eastern honduras. the specimen had been eviscerated and the skull removed. the lower lip was badly mutilated. from the characters furnished by the nose-leaf and the peculiar coloration of the fur, i believe the form to be a new genus allied to stenoderma, and describe it as follows: ectophylla, new genus. nose-leaf erect, basal part notched in middle of free margin. nostrils entire (but grooved continuous to outer margin of nose-leaf) separated by a small rounded nodule which apparently represents the lower part of the median leaf-crest, which otherwise is absent. lateral glandclumps rudimental, borne on the surface of a flat, scalloped skin-fold. auricle as in hemiderma, simple, erect, ovate; as measured from the crown it is shorter than the head. the single scallop begins abruptly at the middle of the moderately convex outer border. the external basal lobe convex and slightly thickened; basal ridge, or lappet, none. the internal basal lobe is rounded and free. tragus almost one-half the height of the auricle, moderately convex on the inner margin, irregularly convex on outer, and furnished with two coarse serrations near the base. lower lip mutilated. the mentum shows signs of having borne a row of eight (?) marginal rounded warts, and a small median one placed behind them. the liy apparently not cleft. wings as in subfamily. interfemoral membrane consists of a broad hem to the inferior extremity and pubis. tail absent; tip of calcar projecting. the wing inembrane reaches a point nearly midway between the ankle and the base of the metatarsi. the first phalanges shorter than the second. the first phalanx of the third finger about one-third the length of the corresponding metacarpal bone. the fifth metacarpal bone as long as the forearm. the phalanx of the second digit 34 millimeters long, and equals about one-fourth the length of the corresponding metacarpal bone. proceedings national museum, vol. xv--no. 913. 441 442 new genus of piiyllostome bats-h. allen. ectophylla alba, new species. characters of the single species that of the genus. above, the hair is of a dull whitish hue, and unicoloreil to the level of the shoulder. through the rest of the back the hair is of a duller shade of white, except the tip, which is fawn. below, the coloration is much the same as above, but the sides of the trunk, from the shoulders to the rump, are unicolored dark fawn, while the median part is whiter. owing to the humeri being broken and the wing membranes distorted, it is fig. 1. front view of head of ectophylla alba; 14 times natural size. fig. 2. dorsal view of the inferior ex. tremities and interfemoral membrane of ectophylla alba; 1ļ times natural size. difficult to determine the exact distribution of the hair on the membrane. below, unicolored dark fawn hair appears to extend outward as far as the elbow. the interfemoral membrane is naked. measurements. millimeters. millimeters. head and body (from crown of head fourth digit: to base of tail).. 36 length of fourth metacarpal bone 25 length of arm 17 length of first phalanx.. length of forearm 25 length of second phalanx 8 first digit: fifth digit: length of first metacarpal bone. 3 length of fifth metacarpal bone. 25 length of first phalanx.... 3 length of first phalanx 6 second digit: length of second phalanx 7 length of second metacarpal length of head 14 bone ..... 21 height of ear 10 length of first phalanx 34 | height of tragus. 5 third digit: length of thigh. 84 length of third metacarpal bone. 25 length of tibia 10 length of first phalanx.... 9 length of foot 8 length of second phalanx 12 width of interfemoral membrane length of third phalanx 6 from middle of rump on temminck's bat, scotophilus temminckii. by harrison allen, m. d. i have recently examined this form with some care and find it in close alliance with the genera atalapha and dasypterus. the number of the teeth is the same as in the genus last named. scotophilus possesses but two upper incisors, placed at the sides of the canines. the upper molars possess a rudimentary hypocone. the shape and proportions of the last upper molar are almost precisely the same as in the atalaphines, viz., the tooth is composed of the anterior limb of the first v. a rudimental hypoconid characterizes the lower molars, and all cusps are blunted, i. e., nonaciculate. the bicuspidate type of the much-crowded lower incisors is obscure in the first and second while absent in the third tooth. the transverse ridge of the outer surface of the tragus, the shape of the external basal lobe of the auricle, and the proportions of the digits are similar in scotophilus and the american genera, and the markings on the wiug membranes are of the same character, although more simple in the former. the ulna, in being confined to a fixed proximal rudiment without shaft, is also identical. the distal ulnar rudiment is of the quadrate-perforate type instead of being uncinate, as in the atalaphines (occasional examples in a. noveboracensis excepted). the pisiform is elongate and lies alongside of the proximal end of the fifth metacarpal bone. among the distinctive characters of scotophilus, as compared with the atalaphines, may be mentioned the following: the mastoid process is trenchant and bold, almost as much so as in noctilio, where this disposition attains its highest development. the temporal crest is high posteriorly. the nostril is circular and without disseptiment. the lower lip is provided with a triangular naked space, which is divided by a longitudinal groove. the thickened upper lip is separated from the muzzle by a faintly marked transverse groove. as compared with nycticejus, there may be said to be a general resemblance only. in scotophilus the anterior palatal notch reaches a line which intersects the posterior margin of the premolar. the palate extends back beyond the middle of the zygoma. in nycticejus the anterior palatal notch reaches barely to the hinder border of the canine. the palate extends to the anterior third of the zygoma. in addition to these characters, and as contrasted to scotophilus and the atalaphines, proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 914. 443 444 on temminck's bat-h. allen. nycticejus possesses a third upper molar which is almost a complete w, lacking indeed only the outer part of the hind limb of the second v. the lower molars have large hypoconids (in the first molar subequal to the proconid) and all cusps are markedly aciculate. the scarcely crowded lower incisors are tricuspidate throughout. now, these characters in nycticejus are much the same as in the vesperugo group of vesperti. lionines, with which i incline to place it. it is to the northern fauna what rhogessa is to the southern. the coloration of s. temminckii is as follows: above, the crown is of a dull-buff or dark-olive color. in one individual a buff spot was found back of the ears, but in these localities the buff is a pical, the base of hair being dark brown. elsewhere on the dorsum the base of the hair is of the color of the crown but occasionally darker, while the apical half is a rich olive brown. toward the rump the basal and apical colors are not so well defined. beneath, the fur is everywhere white or ash (in some individuals verging to fawn) and is uncolored. it is likely that the olive-brown shades are best marked in the immature individuals and the buff shades in the fully adult. five specimens were examined in all. a an annotated catalogue of the mammals collected by dr. w. l. abbott in the kilima-njaro region, east africa. by frederick w. true, curator of the department of mammals. (with plates lxxv-lxxx.) among the many african collections which dr. abbott has, with a generosity and an enlightened patriotism worthy of the emulation of other american travelers, presented to the national museum, none are of more interest than the collection of mammals. this is the first collection of african mammals of any magnitude with which the museum has been enriched, and it is greatly valued on that account; but it has in addition a high scientific value. the specimens have been prepared with much care, the skins being almost invariably accompanied by the skulls and furnished with labels giving the locality and date of capture, sex, and other data. in determining the species i have found it necessary to depend almost exclusively on the literature, on account of the lack of speci. mens for comparison, but the identifications have been made with much care and may, i think, on the whole, be relied upon. several species apparently new are represented in the collection: dendrohyrax validus, mus aquilus, dendromys nigrifrons, sciurus undulatus, cephalophus spadix. on one who has studied the north american mammalian fauna in detail, the thought impresses itself that the condition of species, as regards variation, is different in the ethiopian and nearctic regions. in north america individual variation seems far less extensive than in africa, while geographical variation appears to be more extensive and constant. in dr. abbott's collection great individual variation is especially apparent in the genera galago, genetta, and canis. it is true that the species of the last-named genus everywhere present much individual variation, but in north america its chief variations appear to be geographical in character. the known range of several species is considerably extended by dr. abbott's labors. among the species whose range extends farther north than has apparently hitherto been suspected, may be mentioned the following: mellirora capensis, canis mesomelas, otocyon megalotis, eliomys murinus, otomys irrorata, aulacodus swinderianus, megaderma proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 915. 415 446 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. cor. the discovery of a new species of dendromys, d. nigrifrons, extends the range of that genus from south africa to east africa. the mammalian fauna of the kilima-njaro region, as indicated by dr. abbott's collection, and the lists published by mr. thomas and capt. willoughby, includes the following species, seventy-one to seventy-three in number: colobus caudatus. cercopithecus albogularis. cercopithecus pygerythrus (t.-j.). cercopithecus sabæns. galago crassicaudatus. felis leo (t.-j.; w.). felis pardus (t.-j.; w.). felis serval (w.). cynalurus jubatu8 (w.). helogale undulata. herpestes gracilis. herpestes caffer. herpestes galera robustus. crossarchus mungo. genetta pardina. genetta tigrina (t.-j.; w.). viverra civetta (w.). mellivora capensis. ilyana crocuta (w.). hyena striata (w.). canis mesomelas. canis lateralis (t.-j.; w.). canis sp.? (w.). otocyon megalotis. dendrohyrax validus. procavia brucei. eliomys murinus. mus arborarius. mus barbarus. mus aquilus. mus ? minimus. mus sp. ? dendromys nigrifrons. otomys irroratus. rhizomys splendens, sciurus undulatus. sciurus poensis. xerus rutilus. aulacodus swinderianus. lepus capensis. megaderma frons. megaderma cor. l'esperugo nanus (t.-j.). nycteris thebaica. erinaceus albiventris. crocidura sp. ? connochætes taurinus albojubatus. oryx callotis. alcelaphus cokii. kobus ellipsiprymnus. strepsiceros kudu (t.-j.; w). strepsiceros imberbis (w.). tragelaphus scriptus roualeynii. æpyceros melampus. eleotragus ? arundinaceus. gazella grantii. gazella thomsonii. gazella wallerii (w.). cephalophus spadix. cephalophus mergens (w.). cephalophus nigrifrons. damalis hunterii (w.). neotragus damarensis.' neotragus kirkii (w.).' nanotragus moschatus. 2 nanotragus tragulus (w.). ? oreas canna (w.). giraffa camelopardalis (w.). bubalis cafter. potamochærus africanus. phacocherus alianii. equus burchellii (t.-j.). hippopotamus amphibius (w.). rhinoceros bicornis. elephas african us (t.-j.; w.). mr. thomas's list of the mammals obtained or observed by mr. h. h. johnston is in the proceedings of the zoölogical society of london, 1885, pp. 219–222. capt. willoughby's list is in his work on east africa and its big game. the species mentioned in these lists, but not included in dr. abbott's collection, are in italics. "perhaps only one species is really found here. 2 as in the preceding genus, i suspect that only one of these species belongs to the fauna. vol447 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvcatalogue of species collected by dr. abbott. colobus caudatus thomas. this remarkably handsome monkey is regarded by mr. thomas as a subspecies of colobus guereza. so far as i know, however, no specimens showing external characters intermediate between those of the two forms have been found, and the skulls which dr. abbott brought home are different from that of c. guereza. on present evidence it may be affirmed that colobus caudatus is a distinct species, peculiar to the region of mount kilima-njaro. the species would appear to be somewhat larger than c. guereza. the chief distinguishing character externally is the hairiness of the tail. the tail is clothed with long white hair from base to extremity, and resembles that of a horse, as is well shown in mr. thomas's figure.* the differences between the skulls of the two species are many. the most striking relates to the form of the nasal bones, which are flat or even concave transversely in c. caudatus, so that they appear to lie in the same plane with the margin of the anterior nares when the skull is viewed in profile. in c. guereza, on the contrary, the nasals project strongly in the distal half. the interocular portion of the frontal is much narrower in c. caudatus than in c. guereza, the superior margin of the orbits is more arched and the forehead above them much more depressed. the facial portion of the skull in front of the eyes is broader and more convex in c. caudatus than in the allied species, and the external rim of the orbits narrower. the tympanic bones are much the largest in c. caudatus, and their form as well as the relative positions of the various foramina are different. the mandible is less deep and more shelving at the symphysis in c. caudatus. many of these differences are indicated in the accompanying table of measurements. they are sufficient, i am satisfied, to warrant the separation of c. caudatus from c. guereza as a distinct species, though the two forms are closely related.t the largest skull of c. caudatus in the collection (no. 31680), which has a basilar length of 91.4 millimeters, has the suture between the occipital and sphenoid still open and the teeth very little worn. * proc. zoöl. soc., london, 1885, pl. 12. + i may say, in confirmation of this opinion, that when a skull of c. guereza was placed in the midst of five or six skulls of c. caudatus it was immediately selected from the others by three persons to whom the question at issue was unknown, 448 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. dimensions of four skulls of colobus caudatus compared with those of me skull of colobus guereza. measurements. c. caudatus. c.guereza, 34789* 34788* 347911 21729 34790 34680 34679 34676 34678 34677 o quite o cad. d ad. ad. ? jr. adult. young young kahé. kahe. kahe. kahé. kahé. kabé. kahé. kahé. young kahé. ? ad. mm. 86.4 mm. 78.4 mm. 78.0 55. 2 mm. 91.4 mm. 87.0 mm. 81.5 74.5 48. 2 45. 2 42.8 30.0 49.0 48.0 43.5 39.5 39.9 mm. basilar length (hensel) 82.0 length from posterior edge of palate to posterior edge of incisive alveolæ 47.5 greatest breadth across zygomatic arches.. 80,0 least width between the orbits 14.4 longest axis of orbits... 26.2 length of nasals in the median line. 15.6 vertical diameter of anterior nares 21.2 transverse diameter of anterior nares 13.6 length of upper molars and premo. lars taken together... 33.0 length of lower molars and premolars 39. 6 length of crown of superior canine. 21. 4 length from posterior edge of lower incisive alveolæ to posterior mar. gin of condyle of jaw.. 77.8 depth of jaw below the coronoid process 46.8 78.9 74.2 10.0 9.8 27.4 27.6 12.8 11.0 25. 0 | 23.2 15. 8 13.4 74.6 9.6 27.8 12.4 22.8 14.2 58. 2 7.4 22.6 11.7 15.6 9.4 83.0 11.0 26.5 12.5 25. 0 16.5 78.0 10.0 26.5 14.0 24.0 14.7 73. 3 9.0 20.5 12.0 22.0 12.6 70.0 8.0 25. 0 10,5 22.7 11.3 71.0 8.0 26.0 11.0 20.3 12.0 35.6 40.0 33.8 39.4 12.6 32. 4 37.6 18. 6 19.4 34.5 42.0 21.5 34.0 41.0 23.3 33.8 39. 5 12,5 31.5 35.0 13.01 33. @ 3 1.. 79.4 70.8 73. 6 53.0 85,5 8) 76.0 69.3 69.5 48.0 43.0 45, 8 31. 0 52.3 50.0 49.0 44,5 46.5 * suture between basi.occipital and basi-sphenoid open; permanent dentition. 1 milk dentition. cercopithecus albogularis sykes. the three specimens collected by dr. abbott correspond to sykes's and fraser's description of c. albogularis, between which and the c. monoides of is. st, hilaire there seems to be no essential difference. st. hilaire states that according to the english zoologists the breast of c. albogularis is white. i do not find it so stated, however; the words in the original description are: “chin and throat pure white.". further, the quotation of the original description of the color of the species is not strictly accurate, and although st. hilaire intimates that the thumb is longer in his c. monoides, his figure does not indicate that such is the case. the largest specimen collected by dr. abbott is almost exactly of the same size as the type, if sykes's measurements may be relied upon. the only discrepancy in color which i find relates to the hind legs (ex. cluding the feet). sykes states that they are “black, with a little of the dorsal color." in dr. abbott's specimens they are clear gray throughout, except at the knee, where there is a black area. this gray color arises from the fact that the hairs are black in the upper half, with two rings of white. the young specimen (no. 18929, differs somewhat in coloration from the adults, which difference is doubtless due to immaturity. the white area on the throat is prolonged into a silvery gray area on the breast, and the general color of the belly is dusky gray rather than blackish, and the hairs are but little annulated with white. there is much whitish * sykes, proc. comm. sci.. zool. soc. london, 1831, p. 106. vol449 1802proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvcolor and brownish silvery gray between the hind legs. the exterior of the hind legs is blackish, but the annulations of white, though not prominent, are perceptible. in a small area on the under side of the base of the tail and about the anus the hair is cinnamon red. there is a tinge of this color in the same region in the adults, but it is not conspicuous. the skull of the largest specimen, compared with a skull of c. mona, shows many differences. the nasal region is much higher and more prominent. the anterior nares are much larger. the nasal bones themselves are longer and broader. the orbits are higher than broad, , which is not the case in c. mona. the palate is longer and narrower, and the posterior palatine foramina, in this specimen at least, are situated opposite the posterior margin of the last molar, and not that of the penultumate molar, as in c. mona. the dimensions of this skull are as follows: dimensions of skull no. :984, male. mni. basi-cranial length (hensel).. greatest length..... zygomatic breadth.. length of nasal bones... breadth of nasal bones taken together anteriorly.. height of anterior nares. breadth of anterior nares. length of palate from alveolus of incisor to posterior emargination... height of orbit.. breadth of orbit... length of upper molar and premolar series... length of lower molar and premolar series.. length of mandible, from right condylo to posterior margin of alveolus of incisor .. depth at the angle.. 71,5 104.0 68.0 20.0 10.0 19.5 10.5 36.5 22.0 20.0 24.0 30.0 69.0 37.0 this skull indicates that the individual to which it belongs is not young. the occipito-sphenoidal suture is closed and that between the squamosal and parietal bones is partially obliterated. the teeth are worn nearly to the roots in an irregular manner. 14831. male, adult. taveta, march, 1888. 1989. female, nearly adult. taveta. 18929. male, young. taveta. in cercopithecus sabæus (linn.). the collection contains one young specimen from taveta. it is apparently a male. it presents no peculiarities of coloration, except that the tail is dusky at the end rather than whitish, but it appears to have been injured during life, and has not its full length. the ears are clothed within with long whitish hairs, which extend beyond the margin of the ear. the skull shows the milk dentition. all the sutures are open, except proc. n. m. 92-29 450 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. the left half of the fronto-parietal, which, unlike its fellow, is nearly obliterated. the dimensions of the skull are as follows: dimensions of skull no. 11953, jr. ) mm. 44 80 49 13 basi-cranial length (honsel). greatest length.... zygomatic breadth.. length of nasal bones.... breadth of nasal bones taken together, anteriorly.. height of anterior nares. breadth of anterior nares. length of palate.... height of orbit.. breadth of orbit... length of mandible. 38833. male (?), young. taveta, march 8, 1888. 11 6 22.5 19 18 43.5 galago crassicaudatus (blainville). the three specimens collected are nearly of equal size. the dimensions of two of them are as follows: measurements. 18931. o 18932. mir. head anıl body tail, with the hairs mm. 286 305 345 the skins differ considerably in color. in no. 18931 the upper surface of the head and body, the tail, and the limbs are strongly tinged with rusty brown, while in no. 18932 these parts are gray, only lightly tinged with pale yellowish brown. the extremity of the tail of the former specimen is chocolate brown, and of the latter yellowish white. as these two individuals were taken in the same locality at the same date, and are both of one sex, it would appear that the difference in color is merely an individual character. the third skin, no. 18933, represents the gray phase. dimensions of three skulls of galago crassicaudatus. measurements. 35091 18931* male. 35092 18932 male. 33093 1x9:33 female, mm. mm. 53,5 68 44,5 51.5 67 : 22 basi-cranial length (hensel). greatest length zygomatic breadth. length of pasal bones. length of palate height of orbit. breadth of orbit... length of upper molar and premolar series. length of lower molar and premolar series length of mandible. 25 19 17.5 21 21.5 42,5 19.5 25 18.5 18 20,5 21 42 * skull broken, vol451 1892proceedings of the national museum, , . . xvdr. abbott remarks on one of the labels that the species is common in the forest, and that the natives state that there are three other kinds in the same region, one larger and two smaller. 35337. male. taveta, july, 1888. 1983;. male. taveta, july 20, 1888. $833. female. arusha wa-cini, october 22, 1888. 35092 helogale undulata (peters). the two skins collected agree perfectly with peters's description and figure, though the latter is too highly colored. the dimensions of the younger skin (no. 18934), which is the only complete one, are as follows: nim. 215 125 length of head and body. length of tail, with hairs.. the hairs of the under surface of the tail in the older skin are nearly uniform red throughout, but in the younger skin they are annulated throughout with black, except at the base of the tail. the dimensions of the skulls are as follows: measurements. 18934, 18935, 8 4, jr. adult. length*. breadth palate length palate breadth .. incisors to cross line || . basi-cranial axis | mm. 46.5 26 23 16.5 16 mm. 47 31 24 16.5 15.5 * for convenience of comparison i use here and in herpestes the measurements given by mr. oldfield thomas in his paper on the african mongooses. (proc. zool. soc., london, 1882, p. 65.) “length "=distance from front of premaxillæ to most posterior point of either occipital condyle. greatest breadth across zygomata. from front of premaxillæ to end of bony palate. between the points at which the last premolar and first molar touch each other at the outer edges. # from front of premaxillæ to a point midway between those mentioned under last heading. | from central point of post. edge of basi-occipital to anterior edge of lower surface of præsphenoid. the ratio between the breadth of the last premolar and last molar teeth, measured according to mr. thomas's system, is 72 per cent. for the adult skull (no. 35095), and 66 per cent. for the young skull (no. 35094). the difference is due to the wearing away of the last premolar in the older skull, which is here absolutely smaller than in the younger skull. dr. abbott remarks that this species is common, living in holes in ant-hills. 38:31. female, young. plains east of mount kilima-njaro, july, 1889. 635. female, adult. taveta. 35 1843 35093 herpestes gracilis rüppell. the single specimen collected by dr. abbott appears unquestionably to belong to this species, although it agrees exactly with neither the descriptions nor the figures of the typical and other varieties. this is due probably to the indefiniteness of the terms used in the several 452 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. descriptions. the skin before me can scarcely be called gray, because the two colors apparent in the hairs do not mingle to form a tint. it is rather to be called grizzled. the grizzling is produced by the annulations of the longer hairs, which are alternately black and cream. colored, or pale buff. the hairs of the back have two or three lightcolored rings, but about the base of the tail they have as many as five or six light rings. besides these long hairs there is an underfur which is buff-colored in the upper half and dusky at the base. the tail is col. ored on both sides like the back, except in the terminal 3 inches, where it is black. the under surfaces of the body are buff-colored, with inconspicuous dusky annulations. the feet are like the back, but with more buff and less black. the dimensions of the skull are as follows: dimensions of skull no.11986 & ad. length breadth palate, length. palate, breadth incisors to cross-line. basi-cranial axis... ni. 64.5 31.5 34.5 19.0 23.0 25.0 the ratio of the breadth of the last premolar to that of the last molar is 47.2 per cent. 38824. female, adult. plains east of mount kilima-njaro, june, 1889. (the mammæ contained milk.) herpestes caffer (gmelin), one adult specimen was obtained on mount kilima-njaro, at an elevation of 5,000 feet. it agrees with normal specimens, except that the subterminal light rings of the hairs are yellowish rather than pure white, which gives the general color a yellowish tinge. 3:16. adult female. mount kilima-njaro, september, 1889; 5,000 feet. herpestes galera (erxl.); var. robustus. two specimens were collected by dr. abbott on mount kilima-njaro, an adult and a young individual. they are almost identical in color, except that the younger specimen has rather lighter underfur. the hairs are annulated throughout. there is no white to be seen on any part of the body, the annulations being light brown, of the same shade as the underfur, or paler, and the mark at the mouth also light brown. the younger individual, which has the milk premolars in position, and the first true inolar just appearing in the lower jaw, has a total length of 30 inches (752 millimeters), of which the tail is 10 inches (254 millimeters). * these measurements are defined on p. 451, footnote to table. vol453 1092 . xv, proceedings of the national museum. dimensions of the skulls, measurements. 35251. dad. 35252. jr. mm. length.. breadth. palate-length palate-breadth. incisors to cross-line. mm. 104.9 56.2 00.8 34.41 37.8 48.0 26.8 26.2 38771. male, adult. mount kilima-njaro; november 8, 1889; 4,000 feet. $2754. female, young. mount kilima-njaro; october, 1839; 5,000 feet. crossarchus mungo (gmelin). dr. abbott obtained a very large specimen of this striped mongoose. it is larger than any specimen thus far recorded, so far as i am aware. the head and body measure 18.5 inches (470 millimeters) along the curves, and the tail, with the hairs, 11.1 inches (282 millimeters.) these measurements are in the same proportion as those of the smaller speci. mens recorded by mr. thomas,* and probably, therefore, the greater size of the individual under consideration does not indicate specific distinctness. it is true that the relative size of superior premolar 4 and of molar 2 is not the same as in the specimens cited by mr. thomas, but the great range of variation in other species of crossarchus in this particular, as shown by mr. thomas's measurements, t renders the character unreliable. the teeth are very considerably worn in our specimen, which would appear to be past maturity. the coloration agrees with mr. thomas's description, except that the under surfaces of the body are tinged with yellow. the dimensions of the skull is as follows: dimensions of skull no. 14955. qad. length 1. breadth. palate, length. palate, breadth incisors to cross-line.. basi-cranial axis... length of premolar 4 length of molar 2 1933. female, adult. taveta. mm. 74.5 40.0 41.0 23.0 24.5 27.5 7.7 5.9 * proc. zoöl. soc., london, 1882, p. 90. + l. c., p. 91. * these measurements are defined on p. 451, footnote to table. > 454 abbott's kilima-njaro mammalstrue. genetta pardina i. geoff. dr. abbott collected the skins of six genets, which appear to belong to this species. taken together they agree in nearly every particular with st. hilaire's original description of this species and with f. cuvier's figure.* they present, however, certain extraordinary differences in coloration among themselves. no. 18939, from taveta, and no. 19736, female, from mount kilima-njaro (september, 1889, 5,000 feet), represent the two extremes. in the former the markings of the body and the dark rings of the tail are chestnut colored, and there is a tinge of this color over all the upper surfaces. the under surfaces of tbe body and of the light rings of the tail are nearly pure white. the lower legs and feet are isabelline, or pale buff, fading to white on the toes and the inside of the hind feet. ten white rings can be counted on the lower side of the tail, the last being within half an inch of the tip. in no. 19736 only the larger spots have chestnut centers, the rest being entirely black. the dark rings of the tail are also entirely black, and are joined together by narrow black lines, which extend across the light rings. the general color of the body is pale tawny, of about the same shade above and below. the outside of the lower legs and the feet, except the toes, are dusky brown, approaching black. only seven light rings can be counted on the lower side of the tail and its terminal third is entirely black. the remaining four skins present different intermediate conditions. although the light-colored specimen described above is younger than the dark one, there is another light one quite as old as the latter, so that the difference does not appear to depend upon age. it is apparently a matter of individual variation. the length of the six skins in their present dry condition is as fol. lows: measurements. 18938, jr 2 18939.1 taveta. taveta. 18940.' taveta. 19737 19736 197359 mt. mt. mt. kilima kilimakilima njaro. njaro. $ njaro. length of head and body length of tail mm. 475 405 mm. 505 435 mm. 580 450 mm. 535 465 mm. 580 430 min. 350 453 "light colored. * third upper premolar and last molar not completely cut. *st. hilaire et f. cuvier, hist. nat. des mammifères. plate: “genette panthérine.” this great work is extremely defective from a bibliographical point of view. the plates are unnumbered and the pagination begins anew with every article. vol455 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvthe dimensions of three skulls, all from taveta, are as follows: 35096 measurements. 35097 우 ​18939 18939 r. 35098 18940 mm. total length from front of premaxilla to occipital condyle .. basi cranial length (hensel). zygomatic breadth length of the palate from its post. margin to post, margin of incisors. length of nasal bones in median line.. least breadth bebind post-orbital processes length of superior molar and prenolar series. length of inferior molar and premolar series.. length of mandible from condylar extremity of ramus. depth of mandible at coronoid processs. in m. 82. 5 75.5 42.0 38.0 17.0 13.0 28.0 310 56.0 21.0 mm. 88.0 82.0 44.0 38: 0 17.0 11.5 28.0 30.5 57,5 22.0 88.0 81.0 45.5 39.0 17.0 12.0 28.0 30.5 59.5 22.3 18939 097 38838. male, young. taveta. $8837. female. taveta. 38849. male. taveta. 19735. female. mount kilima-njaro, september, 1889, 6,000 feet. 19736. female. mount kilima-njaro, september, 1889, 6,000 feet. 19737. female. mount kilima-njaro, september, 1889, 6,000 feet. mellivora capensis (schreber). dr. abbott collected a single specimen of this species, on mount kilima-njaro, and remarks that "it is rare upon the mountain.” 19000. male: mount kilima-njaro, september, 1889, 5,000 feet. canis mesomelas schreber. the two specimens of this species agree well with schreber's original description and wagner's additions to the same, except in the following particulars as regards no. 18941: the black-tipped hairs of the dorsal mantle are continued down in front of the shoulders and across the under surface of the neck, giving this region a somewhat grizzled appearance which, however, is not so strong as on the shoulders. all the hairs of the tail are conspicuously black tipped, except those of a small area at the base of the tail underneath. the tawny color of the legs and flanks, which is very bright, is partially due to earth-staining 18941. male (!). taveta. 19723. mt. kilima-njaro. otocyon megalotis (desmarest). dr. abbott obtained three specimens of this animal–one from taveta, and two from arusha wa-cini, south of the mountain. they differ from each other in color to a marked degree. the principal differences are as follows: female: arusha wa-cini, october, 1889, 2,500 feet. underfur of the middle of the back dusky at the base, cream-colored above. outer side of the legs and the feet chestnut brown. backs of ears (except at the tip), extremity and dorsum of tail light brown. the pelage appears worn and faded. 456 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. > male: arusha wa-cini, december 2, 1889, 2,500 feet. general color pale. backs of ears dusky, with white hairs intermingled. outer side of legs and feet, dusky brown. dorsuin of tail black, which color extends to the extremity, but does not surround it, leaving the under side of the tail uniform creamy white. pelage fresh and glossy. 18942. taveta. extremities of the underfur in the middle of the back with a strong, rusty tinge; tail similar. backs of ears and outside of limbs, dusky brown. dorsum of tail black, which color completely surrounds the extremity. pelage rather harsh. these differences appear to be partly seasonal and partly individual. in all the specimens the forehead and cheeks are nearly pure white and the muzzle dusky brown, making a much stronger contrast than is represented in the figure recently published by mr. mivart.* the following measurements of the skull are the same as those employed by prof. huxley in his essay upon the cranial and dental characters of the canida: t dimensions of a skull of otocyon megalotis, no. 3483%. total length.... length of palate.. breadth of palate.. length of pin, 1 breadth of pm. 4 in front.. length of m. 1 breadth of m. 1 length of m. 2 breadth of m. 2 length of m. 3 breadth of m. 3 length of length of length of length of mů basi-cranial length (hensel). zygomatic breadth ..... length of nasal bones in the median line.... length of superior molar and premolar series length of lower molar and premolar series... depth of mandible at coronoid process (at right angles with axis of ramus).. n. 112.0 56.0 27.5 5.4 5.4 6.0 7.0 5.2 7.2 4.6 6.6 6.8 ວ້, 8 5.0 3.0 101.0 63.0 40.0 35.0 40.0 38.0 m, 1 m. 2 i. 3 the fourth superior molar is absent in this skull. in the proportions, shape, and position of the coronoid process, angle, and lobule of the mandible it differs from that figured by prof. huxley, and resembles more closely the skull figured by deblainville. these differences may be due to disparity in age. the occurrence of this species in the kilima-njaro region is a matter * monogr. of the canidar, pl. 45. + proc. zool. soc., london, 1880, p. 259. vol457 1092proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xv35094 of considerable interest, since, so far as i am aware, it has hitherto been found only in south africa. dr. abbott states that the native kichaga name is kipara. 19725. female. arusha wa-cini, october, 1889, 2,500 feet. 19724. male. arusha wa-cini, december, 1889, 2,500 fect. taveta. dendrohyrax validus true. plate lxxv. fight specimens appear to represent a distinct species of dendrohyrax, which i have described for the first time in the place cited above. dr. abbott states that the native name of this animal is mha. the following is a repetition of the description: size large, form robust, muzzle hairy as far as the upper angle of the nostrils. the space between the nostrils, a narrow border external to them, and a line from them to the margin of the lip, are naked. the ears are of moderate size, rounded, and nearly concealed by the fur in the dry skins. fır dense, soft, and crenulate. color of the upper surfaces cinnamon-brown, strongly shaded with dusky brown or black, especially on the head. feet dusky brown. uuder surfaces pale, clear cinnamon. dorsal spot russet-brown. the majority of the hairs of the back are grayish chocolate-brown at the base, with a subterminal ring of bright cinnamon color, and tips dusky brown or black. mingled with these are numerous longer, straight, shining hairs of a dusky brown or black color throughout. the subterminal rings of the hairs of the forehead and cheeks are paler than on the back, and these parts have therefore a grayish tint. around the nostrils and eye and on the feet the hairs are dusky brown. the ears are dusky brown externally, and have a tuft of yellowish white hairs on the upper part of the conch internally. hairs of the under surfaces grayish chocolate-brown in the basal half; terminal portion clear cinnamon-brown, varying to yellowishwhite iu some specimens, especially between the hind legs. skull depressed, muzzle elongate, nasal boues rectangular, slightly expanded posteriorly. orbit completed behind by the union of the processes of the malar and frontal bones. coronoid process of the mandible rectangular, inclined forward, forming an angle of 45 degrees with the molars; its upper margin nearly in a line with the margin of the ramus posterior to the condyle. its nearest ally is denirohyrar arboreus, from which it differs in the color of the dorsal spot and of the under surfaces of the body. the skull appears to differ in many respects. compared with the skull of d. arborcus figured by gray,t that of * proc. u. s. nat. muis., xiii, 1890, pp. 227–229. gray. hand-list of edentate, thick-skinned and ruminant mammals, 1873, pl. 13, fig. 2. 458 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. d. validus has the orbit more elongate. the postorbital processes, completing the orbit, are inclined forward rather than backward. the postero-external projection of the nasal nearly or quite separates the frontal from the maxillary, and thus usually touches the lachrymal. the portion of the malar forming the anterior rim of the orbit does not reach the lachrymal. the exoccipital process projects vertically down ward and is hollowed out externally. in the younger skulls a large irregularly pentagonal interparietal bone is apparent. the skins present almost no differences of color among themselves, except that some are a little paler throughout. the young individual has very soft wavy fur, of the appearance of underfur, pale yellowish brown except at the ends. a small number of long black hairs are intermingled. the dorsal spot is very pale yellow-brown, not very different from the general color of the fur. dimensions of the body. * * cat. no. locality. sex. head and body. fore foot. hind foot. ear from the occiput. mm. mm. 513 189861 18987 18989 18988 18990 mount kilima-njaro. taveta. taveta. taveta. taveta. mm. 45 46 42 48 42 588 470 520 500 59 38 mm. 14.5 12.5 15. 3 13.5 13,0 6+ 1 59 *taken from the dry skins, and therefore only approximately correct. t collected june 17, 1888. dimensions of skulls. 34972 measurenents. 34721 18986 mt. k. 18987 taveta. 34969. 18988 taveta. 34971 18990 taveta. greatest length from premaxilla to occipital crest basilar length, from premaxilla to occipital condyle premaxilla to posterior end of palate. greatest breadth of skull... greatest length of nasals breadth of nasals (taken together) at distal end. breath of nasals at proximal end.. distance between extremities of postorbital processes of frontal... length of molars. mm. 95. 0 89.5 49.0 51.0 25.0 12.0 19.0 mm. 95.0 87.0 47.5 48. o 25, 5 10.6 20.5 mm. 95, 5 90.0 50.0 52.0 26.5 13.0 20.0 min. 98. 0 93, 5 50.5 52. 3 28.0 12.5 19.5 42.0 34.0 39. 2 33.0 44.7 34.0 42.0 34.0 3472t ir * last molar just in position. last molar below the gum. last molar in position and considerably worn. 38921. male adult. mount kilima-njaro, june 17, 1888. (type.) 38877. adult. taveta. 1888. adult. taveta. 18989. adult. taveta. $78%. adult. taveta. 19726. male, adult. mount kilima-njaro, december 7, 1889. 6,000 feet. 19722. female, adult. mount kilima-njaro, december 7, 1889. 6,000 feet. 19727. male, young. mount kilima-njaro, december 23, 1889. 5,000 feet. 3497 vol459 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvprocavia brucei gray. (?) 2 a single skin of a true procavia, collected by dr. abbott, appears to belong to this species. in the skull the elements of the occipital bone have not coalesced, but dr. abbott notes on the label that the uterus contains one nearly mature fætus. the upper surfaces of the body are rather pale yellowish gray, and the under surfaces white. the hairs of the back are black at tip, below which is pale yellow ring, succeeded in turn by a second black ring. the remaining portion of the hairs is pale brownish gray. the bairs of the under surfaces are pure white to the roots. the feet are pale silvery brown. the ears are similar, but grayer, and have a tuft of yellowish white hairs near the upper margin within. there is a similar light area over the eye. the skull, as already stated, indicates that the individual is young. the last molar, both above and below, has not pierced the gum. “ the uterus contained one fetus nearly at term. placenta zonary. stomach contained chewed leaves and bark, and had thick, muscular walls. “ the specimen was shot among the lava blocks of an ancient lava stream. several others were seen.”—abbott. 39735. female. foot of kyalu mountains, near mount kilima-njaro, june 24, 1889. eliomys murinus (desmarest). of this species three skins and four specimens in alcohol (nos. 1976164) were obtained. dr. abbott remarks on one of the labels: 6 male and female taken from a nest containing four young ones. nest globular, about 5 inches in diameter, with a hole in the inside. it was situated in a bush five feet from the ground. the nest was made of grass and strips of banana fronds, and lined with fine grass.” the following measurements are given by dr. abbott: inches. .חומר 33 4 37 length of body* length of tail to end of hairs* length of bodyt length of tail to end of hairst.. length of body ...... length of tail to end of hairst. 98.40 101.60 98.40 104.80 95.25 95.25 38 38 mus arborarius peters. three skins and a number of alcoholics from kilima-njaro appear to represent this species. the under surfaces are entirely white, the upper surfaces tawny, and the ears rust-colored. the tawny-tipped hairs of the back are of two kinds, the one soft and fine, the other coarse and pre* 19730. male. mount kilima-njaro, nov. 16, 1889, 5,000 feet. + }3274. female. mount kilima-njaro, no. 16, 1889, 5,000 feet. | 19731. male. mount kilima-njaro, nov. 16, 1889, 5,000 feet. 460 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. a senting the appearance of grooved bristles when examined with a lens. mingled with these hairs are numerous longer on of a black color. the extremity of the tail is sufficiently covered with hairs to hide the scales. the skins agree in every respect with peters's description,* except that the feet appear to be somewhat shorter, measuring about 21 millimeters. 19718. female. mount kilima-njaro, december 26, 1889, 5,000 feet. 38749. female. mount kilima-njaro, november 14, 1889, 4,000 feet. 19717. male. mount kilima-njaro, november 7, 1889, 5,000 feet. 19756. female mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (alcoholic.) 19757. male. mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (alcoholic.) 19758. male, young. mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (alcoholic.) 19759. male, young. mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (alcoholic.) mus barbarus linné. these specimens present a singular general resemblance to those of m. arborarius. the tail, feet, and ears are of the same color as in that species, and the fur is partly made up of fine channeled bristles. they are conspicuously different in the color of the back, which has the rows of light spots characteristic of m. barbarus. the median dark line is nearly or quite without the rusty-tipped hairs by which the color of the lateral dark bands is varied. the thumb and fifth tinger are rudimentary. dr. abbott notes on one of the labels that the species is common. dimensions of a specimen preserred in alcohol. no. 18996. 오 ​inm. 82.0 94.5 27.0 12.0 length of lead and body length of tail..... length of hind foot (with claw) height of ear from crown of head 1871. male. mount kilima-njaro, november 7, 1889, 5,000 feet. 19712. male, young. mount kilima-njaro, november 14, 1889, 5,000 feet. 18996. female. taveta. (alcoholic). 19738. female. mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (alcoholic.) 19739. male. momt kilima-njaro, 1889. (alcoholic.) 19740. male, young. mount kilima-njaro. (alcoholic.) mus aquilus sp. nov. the collection contains a single apparently adult specimen of a medium-sized mouse, with the dentition of the typica subgenus mus, but of rather peculiar general appearance. according to the label, the mouse was procured on mount kilima-njaro at an elevation of 8,000 feet. it had been killed by a bawk. i have been unable to associate it with any recognized species, and will therefore describe it under the name of mus aquilus, * reise nach mossambique, 1852, p. 152, i'l. 36, fig. 2; pl. 35, fig. 7. vol461 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvdescription. size intermediate between mus musculus and mus decumanus. ears moderate, broad; toes 5-5. fore feet with long, slender, little-curved claws. the thumb is armed with a short, stout claw-not with a nail, as is usual in this genus, palms with five large tubercles. hind feet moderate, with rather large, stout claws. soles naked. second, third, and fourth toes subequal and longest; first and fifth much shorter. tail shorter than the body,* not sufficiently well clothed with hairs to conceal the scales. naked portion of the muzzle confined to a small area between the nostrils; the two halves of the same divided by a line of hairs. fur of the throat and chin directed forward; in all other parts, backward. the fur is inoderately harsh. when examined with a lens it is seen to be composed almost exclusively of coarse, flat hairs, with a few fine ones interiringled. general color above dusky brown and below cinnamon. feet and tail dusky. all the hairs are pale sepia brown at the base. those of the upper surfaces are dusky at the tip, with a single subterminal ring of cinnamon, except on the rump and muzzle, where the subterminal ring is wanting, fig. 1.-mus aquilus true. skull, enlargeil; feet, ears, and tail dusky brown. u.s. nat. mus. no. 31723. type. hairs of the under surfaces through out tipped with clear, pale cinnamon. there is a tinge of this color on the inner side of the hind feet proximally. skull slender (fig. 1); muzzle depressed, elongate; zygomatic arch straight, not curved downward in the center. infraorbital foramen large; the anterior margin of the root of the malar inclined outward. incisive foramina long, expanded in the center. palate ending in a projection, or tubercle, below the general level. coronoid process of mandible moderate. angle short and directed obliquely downward. dimensions of the dry skin. + mm. length of head and body.. 102.0 length of tail ...... 55.0 length of hind foot and claw 23. 0 length of ear from the occiput.. 13.0 length of longest fore claw .. 4.6 length of longest hairs of the back 13.5 * from the uneven appearance of the extremity of the tail it is possible that a small portion is missing. + these dimensions must, of course, be considered only approximately correct. 462 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. # dimensions of the skull, no. 34723 %. zygomatic breadth . length from post. margin of alveolus of incisor to end of palate..... length of incisive foramina ... greatest breadth of incisive foramina taken together length of nasals..... breadth of nasals distally. length of upper molars . length of lower molars . depth of mandible at coronoid process 39993. young. mount kilima-njaro, april 11, 1888, 8,000 feet. (type.) mm. 15.0 12.6 6.6 2.6 11.9 2.6 4.8 4.4 7.8 18997 34723 ? mus minimus peters. a single alcoholic specimen belonging to the subgenus nannomys is in the collection. it appears to represent this species, although the dimensions of the body are not exactly the same. it is not in a good state of preservation. i have made the following measurements: mm. length of head and body 55.6 length of tail vertebræ . 45.4 length of hind foot (with claw) 12.6 length of ear from the occiput.... 7.0 19750. male, adult. mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (alcoholic.) mus sp. there are specimens of two additional species of true rats in the collection which i have been unable to identity. one species resembles an overgrown house mouse, m. musculus. the other is smaller and is of a clear-gray color, with a pale yellow lateral line, and the tips of the hairs below pure white. the feet are also white and the tail dark and almost without hairs. the dimensions of an alcoholic specimen of his latter species are as follows: measurements, š, no. 19760. mm. length of head and body 82.8 length of tail (with hairs). 103.s. length of hind foot (with claw) 24.0 length of ear from the occiput..... 16. 1 38714. female. mount kilima-njaro, november 24, 1889, 5,000 feet. (skin.) 19714. male. mount kilima-njaro, november 24, 1889, 5,000 feet. (skin.) 19715. male. mount kilima-njaro, november 10, 1889, 5,000 feet. (skin.) 19760. male. mount kilima-njaro. (alcoholic.) dendromys nigrifrons sp. nov. the collection contains several specimens of a very small dendromys, which does not appear to have been described hitherto. the most striking difference between this ánimal and the species described by smith and heuglin consists in the presence of a large black spot on the forehead, and i have therefore chosen for it the name of dendromys nigrifrons. * the skull is defective below and the total length cannot, therefore, be given. vol463 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . ] . xvdescription. form stout. muzzle broad. ears broad and rounded; more than half as long as the head. tail longer than the head and body,* slender, scaly; sparsely clothed with short hairs, which are not sufficiently numerous to conceal the scales. legs slender. fore feet moderate; second, third, and fourth toes subequal, the third being the longest. thumb and fifth finger rudimentary, reduced to mere tubercles and furnished with nails; the other toes furnished with moderate claws. hind feet long and slender. third and fourth toes equal and longest; second slightly shorter; first very short, reaching only to the base of the second; fifth reaching to the proximal end of the terminal phalange of the fourth; first and fifth toes furnished with nails, the others with moderate claws. soles naked and smooth, except at the base of the toes, where they are granular. the under surface of the toes is also granular, especially that of the hallux. mamma: two pairs inguinal; one pair pectoral. color above rusty brown, strongly shaded with black. a broad black spinal band from the nape to the root of the tail. a large black area on the forehead, not continuous with the spinal band. under surfaces white, tinged with yellowish brown. hairs of the back dark plumbeous at the base, with a broad subterminal ring of yellowish brown, and black tips. those of the spinal band and dark area of the forehead without the subterminal brown ring. hairs of the under surfaces light plumbeous at the base, with long yellowfig. 2. dendromys nigrifrons ish-white tips. those of the throat and chin true. skull, enlarged. typical specimen. entirely white. a white spot is situated at the base of the ears. a dusky ring encircles the eyes, and from thence a broad dusky band extends to the nose on each side. ears black, with a narrow fringe of white. feet white. tail dusky brown, unicolor, sparsely clothed with dusky brown hairs. dimensions of two alcoholic specimens. measure ats. 19783.4 19782. length of head and body. length of tail. length of hind foot and claw length of ear from the occiput. mm. 63. 2 69. 0 16.8 10.7 mm. 58.4 v9.0 17.1 11.6 * it is a little shorter in one specimen. see measurements, p. 464. 464 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. dr. abbott gives measurements of two of the skins on the labels, as follows: measurements. 19778. o mt. kilima хјаго. 19779.9 mt. kilima njaru. length of boily. length of tail. in. im. 23 70 67 in. mm. 21 3 76 3 5 2 6 3 19783 the dimensions of the skull of one of the alcoholic specimens, no. are as follows: am. basi-cranial length (hensel). 14.6 greatest zygomatic breadth 10.3 length of nasals... 7.4 length of superior molars.... 3.2 19777. male. mt. kilima-njaro, november 15, 1889, 5,000 feet. (skin.) 19778. male. mt. kilima-njaro, november 15, 1889, 5,000 feet. (skin.) 19779. female. mt. kilima-njaro, november 16, 1889, 5,000 feet. (skin.) 19782. male. mt. kilima-njaro, 1889 (?). (alcoholic.) 3:383. female. mt. kilima-njaro, 1889 (?). (alcoholic.) otomys irroratus (brants). a young specimen of this species, which has the teeth but very little worn, differs from the adults only in being a little browner and having more numerous long hairs. the posterior upper molar has 7 lamine, including the posterior small triangular one. dimensions of two skulls. 263 measurements. adult. young mm. 29. 2 23. 6 greatest length. basi-cranial length (hensel). zygomatic breadth length of nasals greatest breadth of nasals.. length of upper molars (alveoli) length of lower molars mm. 40.0 32. 2 20. 2 18.0 8. 4 9. 4 8. 2 10.0 5.4 8. 6 8.0 382430 38971. young. mount kilima-njaro, june 8, 1888, 5,000 feet. 19773. male. mount kilima-njaro, november 7, 1889, 5,000 feet. 19774. male. mount kilima-njaro, november 14, 1889, 4,000 feet. 33335. female. mount kilima-njaro, november 7, 1889, 5,000 fiet. rhizomys splendens rippell. six specimens, taken at the same time in one locality, exhibit great differences in color due to age. the young male, no. 19001, in the skull of which the last molar is barely in position and all the sutures are open, is black throughout, except for a slight tinge of pale cinnamon on the hinder part of the back. in the females, nos. 19002 and 19003, which are adult but apparently not old, the head is entirely black, and there is a broad black band on the back reaching nearly to the tail. the adult males, nos. 18999 and 19000, lave dark heads, but not strongly 1892. 465 ] proceedings of the national museum pronounced spinal stripe; while in no. 19004, which is the largest and apparently the oldest of the series, the head is dusky only between the eyes and nose, the rest of the head and the back and sides being bright cinnamon color. dimensions of six skulls. measurements. 34730 34729 34728 male. female. female. 34725 male. 34726 male. 34729 dji. mm. basi-cranial length (hensel) length of palate. breadth across zygomata length of nasals length of upper molars (alveoli) length of lower molars (alveoli) distance from end of coronoid process to posterior point of angle mm. 41.4 25. 6 33. 4 18. 2 9. 1 10.6 24.8 31.7 16.4 9.0 11.0 mm. 39.4 24.8 32.4 15.8 9.0 10.0 mm. 39. 1 24. 2 31.1 17.0 9. 2 10.6 mem. 38. 0 2.1 30.0 15.2 8.8 10.0 mm. 32.0 19,3 25. 9 13. 2 8.6 9.9 16.6 16.0 16.4 15.5 13.4 1990+ 34730 19000 34726 19002 472 19003 19001 34 roma the face of each of the upper and lower incisors in this species is divided in the median line by a thread-like longitudinal ridge. male. mount kilima-njaro, june 3, 1888. 38:25. male. mount kilima-njaro, june 1, 1888. male. mount kilima-njaro, june 1, 1888. 39933. female. mount kilima-njaro, june 3, 1888. 34933. female. mount kilima-njaro, june 3, 1888. 14994. male, young. mount kilima-njaro, june 1, 1888. 19720. female. mount kilima-njaro, september, 1889, 5,000 feet. sciurus undulatus, sp. nov. size moderate. tail longer than the head and body. feet large. thumb with narrow, convex, pointed nail. posterior third of soles of hind feet hairy; otherwise naked. ears small, rounded; without tufts. general color rusty gray above; bright rust color below and on the feet. tail with alternate bars of black and pale rusty yellow, and broadly edged with pure white. color of male taken june 12: fur of the back of two kinds, a fine, wavy underfur, and a long fur of straight hairs. the underfur has five rings. the basal ring is black, the next tawny, the third black, the fourth tawny, and the fifth or terminal ring black. the long fur has usually six rings, three narrow pale tawny rings, the first of which is at base of the hair, alternating with three wide black ones, the last of which is at the tip of the hair. on the head, fig.3.-sciurus undulatus true. sides of the neck, flanks, and upper portion skull, natural size; u. s. nat. mus. no. 34731 d type. of the legs the subterminal light ring is much paler yellow, approaching white, so that these parts are considerably lighter in color than the back. proc. n. m. 92-30 alho 466 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. the feet are rust-colored, the hairs being black at the base. all the under surfaces, including the inside of the legs, are bright rust-color. the hairs are gray at the extreme base, and many of them have a subterminal ring of black. between the hind legs, however, the majority of the hairs are pale rust-color throughout. about the anus they are tipped with white. the tail is alike on both sides and presents the appearance of alternate bars of pale yellow and black, and is bordered with pure white. the hairs have nine rings, of which four narrow ones, beginning at the base, are pale yellow. these alternate with four broader rings of black. the ninth, or terminal ring, is pure white. the hairs at the extremity of the tail are black nearly throughout, but have two narrow rings of light yellow at the base and a terminal white ring. the latter is wanting in many instances. the whiskers are black. the ears are clothed with short hairs of the same color as the surrounding parts. a tawny ring encircles the eye. the female taken in september scarcely differs in any respect from the male, except that the fur is less dense. measurements. * measurements. 0, 19005. 9. 1906. 171 . 253 0 248 0 315. 6. 3 length of head and body length of tail vertebrae length of tail with terminal hairs height of ear from the occiput length of fore foot and claw from the posterior tubercle length of hind foot and claw length of hairs of the tail length of longest hairs of the back. mm. 203. 0 248.0 292.0 6.5 27.5 52.0 50.0 28.0 : 47.0 dimensions of skull no. 117318. greatest length... basilar length (hensel). length from posterior margin of alveolus of incisor to end of palate.. greatest zygomatic breadth.... length of upper molar series. length of lower molar series depth of mandible at coronoid process length of nasals... breadth of nasals at the distal extremity taken together. mm. 53. 4. 40.6 21.5 30.8 10.8 10.8 18.9 15,4 7.8 this skull has only the second superior premolar on one side, but on the other side there is a very slender, rudimentary first premolar. this tooth is not present in the skull of the female, and it may be considered that the species has normally but one premolar. *as these are taken from the dry skins they are, of course, only approximately correct. the body has been somewhat elongated in no. 19006, and is crushed together in the type, so that the proper length is probably between the two measurements given. vol467 1892proceedings of the national museum. x, . ] . xv来 ​this species appears to resemble s. annulatus and s. punctatus, as described in dr. jentinck's monograph of the african squirrels,* but i am unable to associate it with either. 31:31. male. mount kilima-njaro, june 12, 1888. 6,000 feet. (type.) 19006. female. kahé, south of mount kilima-njaro, september 6, 1888. (type.) sciurus poensis a. smith. there are five specimens of a small squirrel in the collection which appear to represent this species. the greenish color of the back is not strongly marked, however, and all the under surfaces are clear fawn color, the hairs here being uniform from base to extremity. the feet are ocher-yellow. one specimen (no. 19008) is much clearer gray than the others, the ocher-yellow rings of the hairs being replaced by dull white. the long hairs at the extremity of the tail in this specimen are for the most part white, not blaik and ocher, as in the others. a young specimen (no. 19009) is intermediate in color between this gray individual and the normal adults. the dimensions of four dry skins of adults are as follows: measurements. 19008. | 19719. 19772. o 19007. length of head and body. length of tail with bairs. 165 182 167 191 169 185 141 187 the skulls are of the following dimensions: measurements. 34733 190087 34732 19007 35244 19719 35232 35234 197720 | 19009 jr. mm. 40. 7 39.0 30. 2 mm. 37.2 28.8 mm. 39.3 29. 2 22.8 11.0 5.5 14. 6 greatest length basilar length (hensel) zygomatic breadth. length of nasals breadth of nasals distally length from post. margin of alveolus of incisor to end of palate. length of upper molar series length of lower molar series. depth of mandible at coronoid process. 22.0 11.6 5.0 mm. 39.9 30.6 22. 4 11.4 5. 0 15.6 11.2 5. 2 15. 6 10.2 5. 2 14.7 7.2 7.2 13. 6 7. 2 7. 2 13.8 7. 2 7.2 14. 4 7.0 7.0 13. 2 14.8 19008 34733 3 female. taveta. 18997. taveta. march, 1888. 33991. young. taveta. 19010. taveta. female. mount kilima-njaro, november 7, 1889. male. taveta. 19719 5,000 feet. 1977 3 5 252 xerus rutilus cretzschmar. the collection contains a single female specimen of this species, from taveta. 38946. female. taveta. * notes from the leydeu museum, iv, 1882, pp. 21 and 23. 468 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. aulacodus swinderianus temminck. a single specimen (no. 17:13) from taveta is included in the collection.* ? lepus capensis linn. the collection contains two rabbits which i assign to this species with some hesitation. . they agree very closely with wagner's description of lepus ochropus,t but this species is considered synonymous with l. capensis by waterhouse, trouessart, and other authors. they agree also with waterhouse'st description of l. capensis, except in the following particulars: the sides of the body and the lower portions of the legs and the feet are bright ocher-yellow. the light area on the nape is of exactly the same color. it appears probable that these specimens represent a geographical race of l. capensis, but as i have not material with which to compare them i am unable to decide this point. 19014. female. plains east of mount kilima-njaro. september 20, 1888. }{9}}. male. usari river, kilima-njaro plains. august 27, 1888 34735 ta baby sara fig. 4.--megaderma cor. head; natural size. u.s. nat. mus., no. 18994, $. fig.5.--megaderma cor. skull; 11 times natural size. u.s. nat. mus., no. 35276. megaderma cor peters. the collection contains two male specimens of this rare species. they agree in every particular with peters's description. the dimensions of the body of one of these specimens are as follows: this skin, after being immersed in water, shows extremely brilliant iridescent colors in reflected light. + wagner. schreber's säugethiere, supplementband, 4te abth., 1844, p. 96. waterhouse. natural history of mammalia; vol. 11, 1848, p. 95. vol469 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xvmegaderma cor, , 18994. length of head and body.. length of head length of ear from occiput. length of ear from base of outer margin.. length of tragus. length of thumb and claw. length of second finger. length of third finger length of fourth finger. length of fifth finger length of tibia length of hind foot and claw 3824. male. taveta. (alcoholic.) 19755. male. mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (alcoholic.) inm. 71.5 28.4 30.0 39.4 18.4 15.6 48.0 94.0 73.6 75.8 32.6 21.0 18994 megaderma frons geoffroy st.hilaire. the color of the fur in the dry skin is plumbeous, washed with dull yellow. the latter color is especially strong on the breast, head, and ears, giving the fur a soiled appearance. the minor division of the tragus is not shaped as represented in dr. dobson's monograph of the chiroptera,* but is broadest opposite the point of its attachment to the major division, and has an irregularly but conspicuously serrated anterior margin. this form of the tragus is represented geoffroy st. hilaire's figure of the species. a specimen from sierra leone, presented to the museum by dr. dobson, has the linear form of minor division without conspicuous serrations. the differences in this particular may be due to age. 18992. taveta. (skin.) 18993. male. taveta. (alcoholic.) nycteris thebaica geoffroy st. hilaire. the collection contains four specimens of this species, as follows: 19751. male. mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (alcoholic.) 19752. female. mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (alcoholic.) 19753. young. mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (alcoholic.) 19754. female. mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (alcoholic.) erinaceus albiventris wagner. the hedgehogs are represented by a single immature individual, 75 millimeters long, from taveta. it appears to belong to this species. the hallux is absent. the face and feet are brown. a broad frontal band, all the under surfaces, the legs, and the tail are pure white. 14:44. yomg. taveta. ir995 34772 * plate x, fig. 3 ann. du museum, xx, pl. i. 470 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. 376 crocidura sp. ? the collection contains several specimens of a small crocidura, which i am unable to identify. in the present state of the literature, the determination of any but the commonest species in this genus is impos. sible without actual comparison with the types. connochætes taurinus albojubatus thomas. brindled gnu. dr. abbott collected one young individual. it is of a dull gray color, with a narrow black mane reaching to the middle of the back, where it stops abruptly and is succeeded by a dark line which reaches to the base of the tail. the mane of the neck is whitish and the tufts at the angles of the jaw entirely white. the long hairs of the tail are entirely black; the legs dirty brownish gray. no transverse dorsal stripes are visible. the backs of the ears are black. the horns are 94 inches long, measured in a straight line; 123 inches around the longest curve. they are lyrate and straight at the points. the superior milk premolars and the first molar are in position. 348-3. young. taveta. oryx callotis thomas. pencil-eared oryx. plate lxxvi. two skins which i believe to belong to this species are in the collection—that of an adult female and that of a very young individual. these i regarded at first as representing 0. beisa, though my attention was attracted to the long pencils at the tips of the ears, which i could not find mentioned in any description of that species. i have recently received, through the kindness of dr. sclater, an imperfect skin of oryx beisa from berbera, somali, collected by capt. swayne. compared with this the adult female of 0. callotis is less tawny. the color is almost uniform, being only somewhat lighter (not white) on the belly and inside of the legs. the muzzle and the base and internal fringe of the ears, however, are soiled white. the mane begins a little behind the middle of the back (not near the tail as in 0. beisa) and is of the same gray color as the back, though the hairs are black at the roots. there is no dark marking below the knee, but the false hoofs are surrounded by a narrow ring of black. the dark markings of the head and chest are well shown in the accompanying plate. the tip of the ear, the pencil, and the external margins half way to the base, are black. the young specimen resembles the figure of a young 0. beisa published by dr. selater,* but is a little paler in color. the horns of the adult are 293 inches long, and 84 inches apart at the tips. those of the young individual are but 31 inches long. the skull of this specimen has only the three milk premolars in position in the upper jaw. 14894. adult female. taveta. 1934. young. taveta. proc. zool. soc. london, 1881, pl. 54. 346xx * vol471 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xvalcelaphus cokii gunther. coke's hartebeest. four skins of this singular antelope were preserved. they are entirely of a dull tawny brown color. the tail is crested; pale brown in the proximal third and black distally, with some brown hairs intermingled. the ears are brown without, white within. the horns of the female are smaller than those of the male, and differ in having the points directed backward exactly in the plane of the forehead, and slightly approximated. in the male the extremities of the horns are directed downward as well as backward and are parallel or slightly divergent. the horns of four individuals are of the following dimensions: measurements. 34689 d'ad. 34690 dad. 34691 djv. 34692 pad. length in a straight line length around the curves in front distance between the extremities inches. inches. inches. inches. 103 103 91 143 133 12 14 121 17 103 161 18946 all have the permanent dentition, except the young male (34691), which has the superior milk premolars and the three molars. 4339. taveta. (skin and skull.) 34690. taveta. (skull.) 34691. taveta. (skull.) 34692. taveta. (skull.) 18947. taveta. (skin.) 18948. taveta. (skin.) 19706. mount kilima-njaro, 1889. kobus ellipsiprymnus (ogilby). water buck. three males—an adult, a half-grown and a young individual-make up the series of this species. the largest male has horns 194 inches long in a straight line, 224 inches around the posterior curve, and the tips are 8 inches apart. this individual has the entire permanent dentition, with the last molar unworn. the second male has horns 10 inches long, measured in a straight line; 11 inches, if measured around the posterior curve. the tips are 8} inches apart. in this case the last true molar has not appeared, and the premolars are those of the milkdentition. the third specimen has only the milk premolars in position. the youngish male is more dusky throughout than the adult. 33. male, adult. taveta. 38894. male, young. taveta. 1883. male, very young. taveta. tragelaphus scriptus roualeynii (gordon-cumming). bosch-bok. skins of a male and a female of this subspecies, according to mr. thomas's revision of the genus, were preserved. the male is much darker than the female. no transverse white lateral bands are visible 18951 34695 472 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. and the spots are about 25 in number on each side, irregularly placed. the horns of the male are 114 inches long, measured in a straight line, and have the tips 43 inches apart. 19852. male, adult. taveta. 39834. female, adult. taveta 370 æpyceros melampus (lichtenstein). pallah antelope. five skins and five skulls of this graceful antelope, together with skins of two heads, are included in the collection. the upper third of the backs of the ears is black in all these specimens, a disposition of color which i have not noted in the figures that i have examined. the mammæ are four in number—not two, as stated by harris and gray. in the largest male the horns are 18 inches (457 millimeters) long in a straight line, and the tips are 104 inches (260 millimeters) apart; in a smaller male they are 154 inches (394 millimeters) long, with tips 7 inches (178 millimeters) apart. both are thoroughly adult animals. 1875). male. taveta. (skin and skull.) 18841. female. taveta. (skin and skull.) 18957. male. taveta. (skin.) 18956. (?) taveta. (skin.) 19707. (?) mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (?) mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (skin of head.) 18718. (8) mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (skin of head.) 34777. male. taveta. (skull.; 3 46 98 19709 3 5 239 ? eleotragus arundinaceus gray. reedbuck. dr. abbott collected two young male antelopes belonging to this genus, but whether they represent this or some other species i am unable to determine. an examination and comparison of the various nominal species would be necessary before a decision could be reached. the general color of the back (in no. 18958) is ocher-yellow. the hairs are pale chocolate-brown at the base, with a subterminal ring of ocher-yellow and short, black tip. on the sides, the base of the hairs is paler and the black tips are less conspicuous. the upper surface of the tail and the legs externally are like the back. the front of the fore legs is dusky, owing to an increased amount of black at the extremity of the hairs. the face is like the back, but somewhat darker in the median line and paler on the cheeks. there is a white spot in front of the eye, and the hair between the eye and ear is short and of a yellowish-white color. there is a naked spot beneath the ear. the ears are white within, ocher-yellow without. the chin and throat, the inside of the legs, and the belly are white. the naked muffle scarcely extends backward to a line joining the posterior angle of the nostrils. the greatest length of the skull in this individual is 9 inches. the horns measured around the curve, posteriorly, 7.25 incbes. the ears vol473 1892proceedings of the national museum. ex, . ] . xv"are 5.4 inches long, and the tail, with the hairs, 8.5 inches. the first and second permanent premolars and the third milk premolar are in position in the upper jaw. 38968. male, young. taveta 34951. male, young. taveta. 1825 gazella grantii. grant's gazelle. this fine antelope is represented by the skins of three adult females and two adult males, together with the skin of the head of a male. the horns are as follows: 18960 34702 o 18961 34703 measurements. 18962 34704 9 18963 34705 오 ​length of horns in straight line.. length of horns around the curves distance between tips inches. inches. inches. inches. 194 19, 12 137 211 14 103 81 5 57 203 121 38993. male, adult. taveta. 34463. male, adult. taveta. 38983. female, adult. taveta. 31793. female, adult. taveta. 33333. female. mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (?) 8798. male. mount kilima-njaro, 1889. (skin of head.) 34 1970 197or 362 38 gazella thomsonii günther. thomsou's gazelle. plate lxxvii. a single adult male of this small but handsome species is in the collection. as the species is imperfectly known, a description of the skin may not be without value. back bright tawny brown. sides abruptly paler. a broad black lateral band. belly pure white. face brown, with a broad white band on each side of the median line, which extends back to and encircles the eye. front of upper lip and all the under parts pure white. legs brown externally, white within. the tail is hairy and is dusky throughout, with some brown hairs intermingled. the ears are pale brown without and white within. the knees are conspicuously tufted. the horns are 12 inches long, measured in a straight line, and the tips are 4 inches apart. male, adult. taveta. 34706 cephalophus spadix true. abbott's antelope. plates lxxviii and lxxix. this singular antelope is the central figure in dr. abbott's extensive collection. he obtained the unique type specimen high up in mount kilima-njaro. no other specimens have been obtained before or since, unless the species described by gray under the name of cephalophus 474 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. 1 niger is to be regarded as identical. to this question i shall refer again presently. i have already described abbott's antelope in an earlier part of this journal,* but, for convenience of reference, will repeat the description in this place: (adult male, no. 18965.)—size large. naked rhinarium broadly triangular, rugose, completely encircling the nostrils. the portion external to the nostrils is broadest at their inferior external angle. a narrow band bordering the lip is sparsely covered with hairs, which are not sufficiently numerous to conceal the rugose integument. ears moderate, broad, obtuse; naked within, except on the margin and along two or three narrow lines. hoofs of the fore and hind feet equal. each moiety less than twice as long as broad at the base. false hoofs moderate, slightly less than one-third as long as the true hoofs. tail short, well haired on both sides, except a small triangular area at the base, which is naked. hair short, dense, appressed, and shining. color throughout dusky chestnut-brown, without spots or bands, and not lighter on the belly. face, chin, and throat pale grayish brown. hairs of the frontal crest bright chestnut at the base and tipped with black. mingled with them are some hairs which are dusky throughout and others pure white. anterior surfaces of the legs somewhat lighter than the posterior surfaces. a few white hairs above the hoofs and also on the rump. tail dusky, except at the tip, where the hairs are nearly pure white throughout. skull elongate. muzzle slender. muzzle slender. premaxillæ directed backward, touching the nasals by their superior rather than their posterior mar: gin. nasals very long, much produced anteriorly. frontal region strongly convex. suborbital pit nearly circular, as large as the orbit. horns 44 inches (114.3 millimeters) long; slender, straight, not thickened at the base in front. they are directed backward and lie below the plane of the upper surface of the skull. lower incisors separated by a wide space in the median line. crowns long, inclined outward. outer incisor more than half as broad as the middle incisor. habitat: high altitudes on mount kilima-njaro, frequenting the highest points.-abbott.) dimensions. head and body tail, with hairs. fore leg, hoof to knee hind leg, hoof to hock height of ear from occiput. inches. 38 41 61 91 41 mm. 965. 2 114.3 158.7 241.3 107.9 * proc. u. s. nat. mus., xiii, 1890, p. 227. † from the dry skin. vol475 1892proceedings of the national museum. m, . ] . xv.skull mm. greatest length 235.0 basilar length, from occipital condyle to end of intermaxillæ.. 216.0 length of nasals. 95.0 length of molar teeth 67.0 greatest breadth of skull 104.0 length of orbit.... 40.0 greatest length of mandible... 181.0 breadth of left lower incisors and canine. 13.0 length of horns ..... 114.3 circumference of horn at base. 75.0 the specimen has been mounted since this description was first published, and is in a much better condition for study than it then was. i find no necessity, however, to materially alter the description. the hairs of the frontal crest should be described as chestnut red, rather than bright chestnut. the forehead is dusky brown, like the body, rather than pale grey brown, like the face. the mounted skin was examined by dr. abbott while it was in the taxidermist's shop, and several corrections of the shape were made at his suggestion. he pronounced it when finished as conveying a good idea of the species in life. the only species to which abbott's antelope appears to be closely related is, as already stated, the cephalophus niger of gray. this was originally described in the annals and magazine of natural history (18, 1846, pp. 165, 166). the description is as follows: black bush buck, cephalophus niger. antelope niger, mus. leyden. sooty black, grayer in the front half of the body; chin, throat, abdomen, and inside of thighs, gray; forehead, crown dark bay and black mixed; cheeks pale brown and black varied; tail end whitish. inhab. guinea. in the british museum there is a male from the leyden museum nearly as large as the former. there is at knowsley, a bush buck which is now shiny black with a reddish brown crest; when young it was red on the sides; it is perhaps the same as the above. * in a general way this description is applicable to our specimen, but the latter cannot be called black: it is a dark brown. the abdomen and inside of thighs are also dark brown, not gray, as stated in gray's description. there is a spirited drawing of gray's c. niger in the “gleanings from the knowsley menagerie.” it probably represents the individual mentioned in the second paragraph of the description quoted above. there is much more light color on the posterior part of the fore leg *in the proceedings of the zoological society of london for 1871 (p. 598), the description is varied, as follows: “hair of cheeks and neck very short, sooty black.” 476 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals – true. than in abbott's antelope. the tail is represented as slender, with a large white tuft at the end, and apparently as being white underneath. in abbott's antelope the tail is equally broad throughout and is dark brown on both sides, with only a few white hairs at the tip. considering the common inaccuracy of descriptions, it is possible, i presume, that the two species may be identical, but until a detailed description of c. niger, with measurements of the exterior and skulls, has been published, the question must remain open. 38383. male, adult. mount kilima-njaro. type. 18965 34707 cephalophus nigrifrons gray. black-fronted antelope. the collection contains a single male from taveta. gray's figure* of the species is in some respects inadequate, and in others does not agree exactly with the specimen under consideration. the size is not indicated. compared with the figure, our specimen has shorter and thicker compressed horns. the horns are stout at the base and diminish abruptly from about the middle toward the tip. the muzzle is entirely dusky brown, not rufous, with a median dark band, as represented in the figure. the broad black frontal band continues with undiminished breadth to the base of the horns, and the slight crest between the horns, as well as the median line of the nape, are black. the fore legs, within and without, are entirely dusky, not rufous above the knee, as represented in the figure. the specimen, as mounted, gives the following dimensions: dimensions of body. mm. length from tip of nose to base of tail (along the curves). length of head length of tail, with hairs height at shoulder.... length of ears (from behind) length of horns girth of horns at base. 856.0 197.0 127.0 442.0 65. 0 85.0 70.0 skull. mm. greatest length..... basi-cranial length, from tip of premaxillæ to front of foramen magnum. length of palate.... length of nasals... breadth between orbits. depth (vertical) of orbits length of orbits ... length of superior molars.. length of horn-cores (from behind). 18789. male adult. taveta. 182.0 160.0 95.0 57.0 50,0 31. 0 32. o 50.0 56. 0 * proc. zoöl. soc., london, 1871, pl. 46. vol477 1892proceedings of the national museum. , . . xvneotragus damarensis günther. damara-land pygmy antelope. plate lxxx. this beautiful little antelope is represented by four specimens, two males and two females. dr. günther's description of the species is very brief, but the most important statement is that it is almost identical in external appearance with n. saltiana, which is the case with these specimens*. the older male and female have a strong tinge of rusty yellow on the back, which is less apparent in the younger specimens. in one of the adult females the rust-red hairs of the crest are tipped with black, but in the others this does not occur. the rump is clear gray. the tail is extremely short and is of the same color as the adjacent parts. an examination of the skulls of the two males indicates that n. kirkii, described by dr. gunther with n. damarensis, may be the young of the latter. the comparisons of cranial characters are unfortunately made between n. kirkii and n. saltianus, which are much less closely allied than n. kirkii and n. damarensis, of the five characters brought forward the first, second, and fifth are common to n. kirkii and n. damarensis. the third relates to the shape and size of the pasal bones. in n. kirkii, “their posterior margins form an almost straight transverse line," while in n. damarensis they form an acute angle as in n. saltianus. i find that in our younger skull the posterior angle is very obtuse, approximating, therefore, to the condition of n. kirkii, while in the older skull the angle is very acute, as much so as represented in dr. günther's figure of n. saltianus. in this older skull the nasals extend backward to the line of the anterior margin of the orbits, while the younger skull represents an intermediate condition between this and that of n. kirkii. it would appear that the size and shape of the nasals are not to be relied upon, since they are so largely affected by age. one character only remains. the angle of the mandible is represented as very prominent in n. kirkii. it is much more so than in either of our skulls, which should not be the case if the skull figured by dr. günther were merely a younger individual of the same species as our specimens. it is possible that this character is of some value in distinguishing n. kirkii from n. damarensis. an examination of the subjoined measurements of the skulls will bring out the differences in the size and position of nasal bones and other characters dependent upon age: * a skin of n. saltiana from somali, which dr. sclater has recently sent to the museum, confirms this fact. the only differences which i can detect are that in n. saltiana the cheeks and back of the neck are clear gray instead of tawny, while the tawny color of the flanks is darker and stronger than in n. damarensis. 478 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals—true. dimensions. measurements. 34709 8. 34780. greatest length.. basicranial length from end of premaxilla to front of foramen magnum. extremity of premaxillæ to first premolar. extremity to end of palate in median line. length of nasals in median line. greatest breadth of nasals. posterior extremity of nasals to fronto-parietal suture.. breadth of premaxillæ at the extremity length of orbit.. depth of orbit (vertical). length of molar series. length of coronoid process of mandible from base of posterior margin. length of horn cores. length of horns greatest diameter of horns at base. mm. 105.0 91.0 22. 6 51.0 20.3 19.0 32. 2 7.5 25.5 22.0 36,5 18.5 46.0 64.5 14.6 110.6 97.0 25. 7 57.0 24. 2 20.0 33.0 7.7 23.6 23.0 37.5 17.6 60.5 15.0 1897 34709 male. taveta. 18968. male. taveta. 18969. female. taveta. 18970. female. taveta. nanotragus moschatus (sundevall). zanzibar pygmy antelope, the collection includes the skin of a young male antelope of very small size, which may be this species. it agrees well with sundevall's description. the length of the flat skin (head and body) is 20 inches. . the individual is quite young, as is indicated by the entire absence of horns and by the condition of the teeth. only four molars and premolars are in position in each side the mouth, above and below; the premolars belong to the milk dentition, dr. abbott remarks on the label: “brought alive by natives, who say that the adult male is a little larger and has small horns." the native kichaga name of the species is suni. 33233. male, young. mount kilima-njaro, december 9, 1889, about 6,000 feet. bubalis caffer (sparrm.). cape buffalo. the heads of two males and two females of this species were brought home by dr. abbott. the larger male is a remarkably fine specimen, with very large horns. the dimensions of the skulls and horns are as follows: measurements. 34710, – 34711, 0,34712, 9.34713, 9. cm. cm. cm. cm. basilar length of skull, from surface of occipital condyle to end of premaxilla length of horn around the outer curve greatest breadth of born at the base least distance between bases of horns distance between tips of borps. * 48,0 63.5 23.0 3.5 62.5 50.0 61.5 21.0 3.5 63. 0 45. 2 63,5 11.5 16,0 33.5 49.5 62.3 10.5 18.0 47.0 * the condyles are wanting; about 3 centimeters should be added to the length. 34:16. male, adult. taveta. (skull and skin of head.) 14711. male, adult. taveta. (skull and skin of head.) 14773. female, adult. taveta. (skull and skin of head.) 1897}. female, adult. taveta. (skull and skin of head.) vol479 1892proceedings of the national museum. x , . ] . xv:potamocherus africanus (schreber). a single river-hog is included among the skins. it is from mount kilima-njaro. 19704. mount kilima-njaro, 1889 (1). phacochorus ælianii (riippell). dr. abbott collected three wart-hogs at taveta, one of which is a fine male with very large tusks. 18975. taveta. 18979. taveta. 18980. taveta. rhinoceros bicornis (linné). the two-horned rhinoceros is represented by four heads from taveta in different stages of growth. 18981. fatal. taveta. 18982. young. taveta. 18985. female, young. tavetit. 18983. female. taveta. 18984. female. taveta. the following list comprises all the species included in dr. abbott's collection: colobus caudatus. kahé. cercopithecus albogularis. taveta. cercopithecus sabæu8. taveta. galago crassicaudat18. taveta; arusha wacini. helogale undulata. plaius east of mount kilima-njaro; taveta. herpestes gracilis. plains east of mount kilima-njaro. herpestes caffer. mount kilima-njaro, 5,000 feet. herpestes galera robustus. mount kilima-njaro, 4,000 and 5,000 feet. crossarchus mungo. taveta. genetta pardina. taveta; mount kilima-njaro, 6,000 feet. mellivora capensis. mount kilima-njaro, 5,000 feet. canis mesomelas. taveta. otocyon megalotis. arusha wacini, 2,500 feet; taveta. dendrohyrax ralidu8. mount kilima-njaro, 5,000-6,000 feet; taveta. procavia brucei. foot of kyalu mountains, near mount kilima-njaro. eliomyo murinus. mount kilima-njaro, 5,000 feet. mu8 arborarius. mount kilima-njaro, 4,000-5,000 feet. mus barbarus. mount kilima-njaro, 5,000 feet; taveta. mus aquilus. mount kilima-njaro, 8,000 feet (killed by a hawk). mus? minimu8. mount kilima-njaro. m118 sp.! mount kilima-njaro, 5,000 feet. dendromys nigrifrons. mount kilima-njaro, 5,000 feet; taveta. otomys irroratur. mount kilima-njaro, 4,000–5,000 feet. rhizomys splendens. mount kilima-njaro, 5,000 feet. sciurus undulatur. mount kiliina-njaro, 6,000 feet; kahé. sciurus poensis. mount kilima-njaro, 5,000 feet; taveta. xerus rutilu8. taveta. dulacodus suinderianus. taveta. 480 abbott's kilima-njaro mammals.—true. lepus? capensis. plains east of mount kilima-njaro; usari river. megaderma fron8. taveta. megaderma cor. taveta. nycteris thebaica. mount kilima-njaro. erinaceus albiventris. taveta. crocidura sp. connochætes taurinus albojubatur. taveta. oryx callotis. taveta. alcelaphus cokii. taveta. kobus ellipsiprymnus. taveta. tragelaphus scriptus roualeynii. taveta. pycero8 melampus. taveta. eleotragus? arundinaceus. taveta. gazella grantii. taveta. gazella thomsonii. taveta. cephalophus spadix. mount kilima-njaro; high altitudes, 8,000 feet. cephalophus nigrifron8. taveta. neotragus damarcnsis. taveta. nanotragus moschatus. mount kilima-njaro, about 6,000 feet. bubalus caffer. taveta. potamochærus africanus. mount kilima-njars. phacocharus ælianii. taveta. rhinoceros bicornis. taveta. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxxv tree daman, dendrohyrax validus true. skull; a little larger than life. u. s. national museum, no. 34972. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxxvi f butclic pencil-eared oryx, oryx callotis thomas. u. s. national museum, no. 18944. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxxvii thomson's gazo u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxxvii abbott's antelope, cephalophus spadix true. u. s. national museum, no. 18965. male. type. u.s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxxi> abbott's antelope, cephalophus spadix true. skull; a little less than one-half natural size. u. s. national museum, no. 34707. type. u. s. national museum pl. lxxx proceedings, vol. xv damara-land pygmy antelope, neotragus damarensis günther. skull ; slightly smaller than natural size. u. s. national museum, no. 34709. male. a description of the golden trout of kern river, california, salmo mykiss agua-bonita. by david starr jordan. i have lately received from mr. w. h. shockley, of san francisco, *hree specimens, each about 7 inches in length, of the golden trout of hern river. these specimens were taken by mr. harvey, of lone pine, cal., in a stream called by him whitney creek (more correctly volcano creek), on the west side of the sierra nevada, near mount whitney. the specimens were sent in ice to mr. george t. mills, fish commissioner of the state of nevada, who forwarded them to mr. shockley. the following is a detailed description : salmo mykiss agua-bonita, new subspecies. head, 3 in length; depth, 44. d.2, 12. a. 1, 10. scales, 180 to 200 rows; 121 to 124 pores. length, 7 inches. body formed about the same as usual in salmo mykiss and its varieties. head rather long, bluntish at tip; mouth moderate, the maxillary extending a little beyond the eye, 14 in head; hyoid teeth not evident; opercle moderate, its greatest length 44 in head, its posterior margin moderately convex; eye, 43 in head; snout, 4}; gill rakers not very short, x + 11 or 12 in number. scales extremely small, smaller than in any other species of salmo. fins moderate; the anal high; the caudal moderately emarginate. pectoral, 14 in head; ventral, 2; caudal, 13. olive above; sides and belly light golden. about twelve dark crossbars on middle of sides; these the usual parr-marks. middle of sides along lateral line with a deep scarlet lateral stripe, broadest under the dorsal, where it is about as wide as the eye; thence narrowing to either end and not reaching either head or caudal. middle line of belly with a broad scarlet band, extending from chin to anal fin, equally bright all the way; a fainter shade along lower side from anal fin to tip of caudal. no crimson dash at throat between branches of lower jaw; the whole region uniform bright orange. opercle largely orange. dark spots chiefly posterior as in s.spilurus and pleuriticus; large and well marked, some on tail and posterior part of body as large as pupil; smaller and well marked on dorsal; a few small ones scattered along forward to the head in two specimens; none on body before adipose fin in the other. upper anterior angle of dorsal abruptly yellowish white; this color edged by a dark oblique streak, made by coalescent spots; the rest of proceedings of the national museum, vol. xv-no. 916. 481 proc. n. m. 92-31 482 golden trout of california-jordan. the fin light olive with four or five rows of small black spots; pectorals light orange; ventrals deep orange, with a faint blackish tip; the anterior edge of the fin conspicuously and abruptly whitish, as in salrelinus fontinalis. anal dusky orange, the tips of the last rays black ish, the outer anterior corner abruptly white, the white stripe wider than the pupil and separated from the color of the fin by a dusky shade. caudal olive, tinged with orange on its lower edge, and profusely spotted with black. inside of mouth pink; of gill cavity, light orange. of the three typical specimens two have been sent to the u.s. national museum and one remains in the museum of the leland stanford junior university. this trout is evidently an off-shoot or descendant of the widely distributed cut-throat trout, salmo mykiss, which is found in all the rivers suitable for trout between the sierra nevada and the rocky mountains. it differs, however, from any known specimens of any of the many varieties of salmo mykiss in its pattern of coloration and the absence of the deep red patch between the branches of the lower jaw, from which salmo mykiss receives its common name—the cut-throat trout—and in the small size of its scales, which are more numerous than in any of the forms of salmo mykiss. matters of less importance, which are, however, comparatively distinct, are the presence of white and black edges to the fins, and in the absence of teeth on the hyoid bone. the name agua-bonita, suggested for the species, is that of agua bonita falls, the cataract in volcano creek, near which these specimens were found. the earliest record of this trout is that of jordan and henshaw in appendix nn of the annual report of the chief of engineers for 1878, p. 199. the specimen collected by mr. h. w. henshaw, in 1875, from the south fork of the kern river, and no. 17107 in the national mu. seum collection, are referred to salmo pleuriticus cope. with this reference is the remark that “the extension of its range west of the sierra nevada is rather unexpected. the prevalent theory that most of the species of trout have a narrow local range is hardly supported by a study of our western forms." this trout, mr. henshaw says, was 6abundant in the south fork of the kern river, beyond which statement nothing can be said of its distribution on the western coast, or of its abundance as compared witn s. irideus, the distinctness of the forms not having been recognized at the time of the collection.” on page 195 of the same paper is a reference by mr. henshaw to the * golden trout” which apparently belongs to the species here described, although mr. henshaw identifies his specimens taken from near mount whitney with the salmo irideus. mr. henshaw says: this is the common “brook trout” of the small mountain streams of the pacific slope, and up to an altitude of 9,000 feet it is the rare exception to find a suitable stream that is not well stocked with it. upon many of them, as the tributaries of the south fork of the kern river, these trout are found in very great abundance, each pool and rapid numbering its finny denizens by the score. they may be taken in any sort of weather, at any hour of the day, by alınost any kind of bait. during »2 vol483 1992proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xvthe heat of the day they frequent almost entirely the deeper pools, lying under overshadowing rocks or in the shade of some convenient log. in early morning or late afternoon they come out and run more into the shallows and rapiils, under which circumstances they bite best and furnish the finest sport. like the average brook tront, the species rarely attains any considerable size, ranging from 1 to 8 or more inches in length. their colors are usually very bright, and for beauty this species takes rank among the for nost of its kind, and has been well called the “golden trout.” in this respect, however, it is subject to the usual variations obtaining in the family, the change of color not only accompanying a difference in locality, but being plainly discernible in individuals taken in ditterent parts of the same stream not far distant. in fact, as a specific character, color in this family seems to be at its lowest value. the character of the bottom and water itself has much to do with this, and i remember to have fished in a small rivulet on one of the subalpine meadows not far from mount whitney, whose sluggish waters flowed over a bottom of dark mud, in which the color of the trout simulated very closely its hue; they had lost nearly all the flashing iridescent tints characterizing the same species caught but a few hours before in another stream, and had become dull and somber hued. accompanying this change of color was a corr orrespondingly noticeable difference in habits and motions, and the several dozen trout caught that evening for supper were taken out with the hook with the display of very little more gameness than would be noticed in so many horned pout. on the contrary, in the clear rapid current of the mountain stream, a flash of sunlight is scarcely quicker than the gleam of gold and silver seen for a single instant as the whirling waters are cut by one of these trout as he makes a rush from his lurking place for some chance morsel which is being borne past him. the western trout are rarely as shy as their relatives of eastern waters, and because of their numbers and the consequent scarcity of food are apt to be less fastidious; yet, even when most abundant, due caution must be used if one would be successful, and not every one can catch trout, even in the west. with the proper care in concealing one's self, a pool may be almost decimated ere the alarm will be taken, and i have seen fifteen fair-sized trout taken from a single small pool in quick succession. during the present year other specimens have been sent to the museum of the leland stanford junior university, but in such very bad condition that nothing could be made of them, except that they were evidently small-scaled trout of the mykiss type, nearest to the subspecies pleuriticus of the colorado river, and not in any way related to the rainbow trout, which inhabits most of the streams of the basin of california. the question of the relation of this trout to others in kern river must be settled by further investigations, as also the question whether the salmo agua-bonita itself is confined, as has been asserted, to the space in volcano creek between the two waterfalls, or whether in that part of the stream is found a variety different from the ordinary form, i 1 4 . l on the occurrence of the spiny boxfish (genus chilomycterus) on the coast of california. by carl h. eigenmann, professor of zoology, indiana university. 1, (with plate lxxxi.) during the summer of 1891 a fisherman captured a specimen of a chilomycterus near san pedro, cal. he preserved it in alcohol and offered it for sale. the price asked was so unreasonably high that i merely took some notes of it. since then it has been procured by the national museum, and i am able to redescribe it. this is apparently the first notice of a chilomycterus on the pacific coast of north america. the specimen is in good condition, and is but slightly shorter than when first seen. chilomycterus californiensis eigenmann. american naturalist, 1891, p. 1133. type, no. 43860, one specimen 260mm long, san pedro, cal., july, 1891. much inflatable. face narrow, distance between eyes in front 35mm; mouth narrow, 23mm (33mm in c. schoepfi of same size), protruding; margins of upper jaw making a decided angle in front; eye small, 12mm in diameter (17mm in schoepfi), superciliary edge not raised, but projecting out over the eye; interorbital very little concave. spines of back all low, highest between pectoral and dorsal; their anterior roots strong and raised; the spines forming the termination of these roots, giving the spines the appearance of being depressed. spines of the belly much larger than those of back, the roots differing but little in size. spines lowest on head, one above the upper anterior angle of the eye, another above the posterior angle. two spines on head between those above the posterior margins of the eyes. a small spine midway between dorsal and caudal. pectoral small, its base 22mm high (30mm in schoepfi of same size). pectorals, dorsal and caudal, with numerous dark spots except at their margins; anal with a few spots at its base. back steel-blue merging into the white of the belly; front and sides of head with many small black spots, caudal peduncle with somewhat larger spots. back densely covered with short streaks or bars. sides with round spots, some as large as the eye. a black spot in center of belly, a series of three spots along the sides of the belly and a few about the anus; breast white. bloomington, ind., april 25, 1892. proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 917. 485 1 u.s. national museum pl. lxxxi. proceedings, vol. xv ay chilomycterus californiensis. description of some fossil plants from the great falls coal field of montana. by william m. fontaine. (with plates lxxxii—lxxxiv.) in july, 1890, mr. f.h. knowlton and dr. a. c. peale made a small collection of fossil plants from the kootanie group of great falls, mont. in july, 1891, mr. w. h. weed maile an additional small collection from the same locality. these plants have been placed in my hands for determination and description. the object of this paper is to give an account of them. both collections can be contained in a box of moderate size, so that they can not pretend to be exhaustive. the specimens show nothing but ferns, conifers, and one equisetum. the conifers have but few species, and the specimens illustrating each species are few and poorly preserved. they indicate considerable maceration, as if they had been floated in water a long while before they were covered with sediment. the ferns predominate in the number of species, while the specimens illustrating the species are in several cases very numerous. they are usually well preserved and appear to have been speedily entombed in sediment. both mr. knowlton and mr. weed seem to have failed to find cycads, the other constituent of a typical mesozoic flora. they, however, exist at the great falls locality, for dr. newberry, in his excellent paper on the flora of this group, * has mentioned and described several. besides these a beautiful impression of a cycad, obtained by mr. r. s. williams from this field, is figured and described in this paper. the cycads, however, so far as i can learn, are rare in this flora. perhaps this is accounted for by the localities in which they grow and by the accidents of preservation. the condition of the fossil conifers found in this field, and their small proportion in the sum total of the great falls plants, indicate that the inhabitants of the higher and drier regions were not favored in preservation so much as the ferns, which presumably lived in the marshes and near to the water receiving sediment. then, too, it is quite possible that additional discoveries may add largely to both the conifers and cycads. negative conclusions, 类 ​*“flora of the great falls coal field, montana.” amer. jour. sci., vol. xli, march, 1891, p. 191. proceedings national museum, vol. xv-no. 918. 487 488 fossil plants from montana-fontaine. based on the presumed absence of groups of plants, can not be fairly drawn until it is made certain that no further discoveries can be looked for. with regard to the age and affinities of this flora, my investigations add nothing to the conclusions arrived at by dr. newberry in the paper before cited. these conclusions, which i fully indorse, are that the potomac group, the great falls group, the kootanie group of canada, and the kome group of greenland are all of the same general age. dr. newberry expresses the opinion that the great falls strata are somewhat older than those of the potomac, this being indicated by the absence of angiosperms in the former. this opinion is justified if we take into consideration only the plants found in the great falls strata up to this time. but it is possible that, if these beds have not been exhaustively explored, angiosperms may yet be found in them. the strata seem to some extent to show an isolation of forms, and a confinement of them to particular horizons. this would seem to be the case with the cycads. as stated before they do exist in the strata at a particular horizon, or at a particular locality, while in the two collections before me not a single imprint is found. in my collecting from the potomac bed , i did not discover the angiosperms of modern type that they yield until towards the close of my explorations, long after large collections of plants of older types had been made. the more modern angiosperms of the potomac are found in the upper beds of the formation, which have been in most places carried away by erosion there are localities in the potomac of virginia which show good expo sures of thick beds, that abound in impressions of ferns and conifers, but contain no angiosperms. the two near potomac run described in monograph xv of the u. s. geological survey, as “roadside” and “hillside," have this character. it is noteworthy that osmunda dicksonioides, a plant that seems to be abundant at a certain horizon in the great falls field, is found at one of these localities and nowhere else in the potomac beds. if the age of the potomac strata had been determined from the fossils of these localities, it would, from the absence of angiosperms, appear older than it is. with regard to the age of the potomac itself perhaps a word may be allowed here. it is to be understood that by potomac is meant the lower member of that formation, as shown chiefly in virginia. i do not regard this member as all of wealden age. the period of its deposition seems, if we are to judge by the progress made by the plants, to have extended through the wealden into the urgonian, and perhaps to a somewhat later time. it was probably extended throughout the neocomian. th:e very remarkable isolation and grouping of the plants of the virginia potomac, which seems in a measure to exist in the great falls field, and the great (lifferences in the relative abundance of the different types, appear to indicate unstable conditions in the different elements of the flora, and also rapid changes. it is quite possible, then, 6 vol489 1892proceedings of the national museum. . , ] :. xva that higher types of plants were reached in these strata than in any synchronous with them in europe. returning to the consideration of the constituent groups of plants in the great falls flora, we find the ferns decidedly dominant, but different species are by no means equally represented. at the head of the list in number of specimens stands aspidium montanense, a new species. next to this, and in about the order of naming, come aspidium monocarpum, also a new species, thyrsopteris rarinervis font., and osmunda dicksonioides font. these were all apparently abundant. to judge from the character of the rock which bears the imprints, these did not all occur on the same horizon. osmunda dicksonioides, for example, occurs in a material very different from that which shows the imprints of aspidium montanense. in this connection i will repeat an opinion expressed before. in determining the age of an unknown group of fossil plants, greater weight as evidence of age ought to be assigned to some plants than to others. these are the plants whose fossils have marked and salient features that permit them to be identified without danger of error. an example of this kind of plant is frenelopsis, especially f. parceramosa, of the potomac flora. when these are fully established and at home in a formation, as would be shown by their general distribution and the abundance of the fossil specimens that they afford, they ought not to be counted simply as units in a sum total to establish a percentage. their evidence would thus be neutralized by that of other units which are newcomers or belated survivors. this is especially true of floras in a critical stage of evolution, and which contain considerable numbers of newcomers and survivors. the potomac flora was one of this character, in which jurassic types were being cast out and cretaceous ones introduced. if the era of deposition of the great falls beds was nearly that of the potomac, as is most probable, then the flora of the time must have been likewise in an unstable condition. so far as yet made out, the ferns seem to be the most common plants in the great falls flora. the above remarks, owing to the character of this type of vegetation, and to its long persistence with but little change, do not apply to them so well as to many of the forms found in the potomac flora. thyrsopteris rarinervis, however, is a fern that has a well-marked facies, which is not possessed by many ferns. its abundance in the great falls strata gives it great weight in establishing a resemblance between the potomac and great falls floras. equiseta appear to have been very rare in the flora now in question. the few imprints that are found are very poorly preserved, and seem to have been made by fragments that had floated a long time in water. the two collections yield the following species: equisetum lyelli? mantell. only one imprint was seen that was clearly that of an equisetum. it occurs in a ferruginous, sandy shale. it is too poorly preserved to 490 fossil plants from montana-fontaine. permit positive determination. in size and general character it is so close to equisetum lyelli that the identification with that species is quite probable. two or three other imprints of stems occur that may be those of equisetum, but they are too obscure to be determined even generically. aspidium montanense, nov, sp. pl. lxxxii, figs. 1-3; pl. lxxxiii, figs. 2, 33, 3a. plano probably arborescent. fronds large, probably attaining the dimensions of several feet, tripinnatifid or tripinnate. pinnæ alternate, sometimes nearly opposite. rachises of all orders strong and rigid. leaf substance thick and durable. normal pinnules, or those of the middle portion of the fronds and pinna, oblong, slightly falcate, obtuse to subacute, attached by a somewhat widened base, united at the base, inserted under an angle of 450 to 500. mid nerves of the pinnules distinct, continued to near their tip, and forking at the summit. lateral nerves slender, single, arching towards the summit of the pinnales with the basal ones sometimes once forked. the pinnules of the lower part of the frond are lobed or toothed, with lobes and teeth similar in shape to the normal pinnules. towards the upper or terminal portion of the frond the ultimate pinnæ pass, by continued diminution, through lobed and toothed pinnules into entire ones. sori in two rows, one on each side of the midrib of the pinnules, obovate in form, attached to the summit of lateral nerve and placed midway in the lamina of the pinnule. this fern is represented in the collections by numerous well-preserved specimens, which show all parts of the frond. pl. lxxxiii, fig. 2, represents the normal pinnules. pl. lxxxii, fig. 1, gives the pinnules from the lower part of the frond. fig. 3 shows dentate pinnæ, passing into pinnules, from the upper part of the frond. pl. lxxxiii, fig. 3, shows lobed pinnæ from the upper part of the frond, and pl. lxxxii, fig. 2, gives fragments of a fructified compound pinna. this plant shows considerable variation in the ultimate pinna and pinnules taken from different parts of the frond. in the general character of its pinnules it stands midway between two ferns from the potomac of virginia. these are aspidium fredericksburgense font., and pecopteris strictinervis font. some of the specimens, taken by themselves, might easily be mistaken for the one or the other of these species. i think that the fern that i reported to dr. newberry as aspidium fredericksburgense (see p. 193 of his paper) is a form of the species now de. scribed. the fructification is much like that of aspidium pinnatifidum.* aspidium monocarpum, sp. nov. pl. lxxxiii, figs. 4-6, 6a; pl. lxxxiv, fig. 3, 3a. frond tripinnate. pinnæ alternate. pinnules of the lower part of the frond attached by a much widened base, inclined strongly forward, > *u. s. geol. survey, monograph xv, pl. xxi, fig. 15a. vol 491 1892xv proceedings of the national museum. ] . very slightly falcate, united to a considerable distance from the base, acute to subacute. mid nerve slender but distinct, splitting into branches at the summit. lateral nerves single. the ultimate pinna, in ascending toward the summit of the frond, pass through pinnæ with ovate acute lobes into those with serrate toothing, and finally into entire pinnules. sori, seen only on serrately toothed pinnæ, are very large, single in each segment or tooth, globose or subreniform in shape, attached to a club-shaped receptacle that is borne on the summit of a basal lateral nerve, which is directed obliquely upwards. they occupy the greater portion of the upper half of each segment or tooth. nerves of the fertile pinnäe in a bundle in each segment or tooth, and splitting up flabellately into branches. this fern, as shown in the fructification, is a new species. there are numerous good imprints of it, so that its character can be made out pretty well. it occurs in the same yellowish gray sandy shale that carries aspidium montanense. some of the sterile forms approach so near to some of aspidium montanense that they can with difficulty be distinguished. the fructification, however, is entirely different. the pinnules and segments of this fern have more of the aspect of cladophlebis than any form of a. montanense. they are more acute, more inclined forward, and have a broader base than those of the last-named fossil. pl. lxxxiii, fig. 6, shows a fragment of a compound pinna from the lower part of the frond, and fig. 6* a portion of the same enlarged. fig. 4 gives the ovately and serrately toothed pinnæ or pinnules from the upper part of the frond. fig. 5 gives the termination of a compound pinna. pl. lxxxiv, fig. 3, gives a portion of a fertile compound pinna, and fig. 34 a fertile fragment enlarged to show sori and nerves. different portions of this fern, if taken alone, could be with difficulty distinguished from several potomac plants. some of the serrate toothed forms are exactly like some of the forms of pecopteris virginiensis; some of the ovately lobed pinnæ much resemble some of the forms of aspidium heterophyllum. in size and structure the sori are like those of polypodium fadyenioides of the potomac strata. the mode of attachment of the sori and the nervation of the fructified forms of polypodium dentatum of the potomac resemble those features in this fern, but the sori of the potomac plant are smaller and of different shape. a aspidium angustipinnatum font., var. montanense, var. nov. pl. lxxxiv, figs. 1, la. this fern is represented by six imprints, some of which are well preserved and well characterized. although somewhat different, it agrees in all essentials so well with aspidium angustipinnatum font., of the virginia formation, that i do not think that they should be considered 492 fossil plants from montana-fontaine. a as distinct species. fig. 1 shows the normal forms of the specimens. these differ from the virginia plant perhaps enough to make the great falls forms a variety. they do not, however, show any fructification. most of the specimens are in a ferruginous rock, which is the material carrying the imprints of osmunda dicksonioides. this appears to come from a different horizon from that yielding axpidium montanense. some of the forms approach pretty closely to some of those of the last-named plant, but the toothing of the pinnules is different. the normal pinnules are long and slender, rather remote, somewhat constricted at base, with the lower side decurrent by a narrow wing, which, in most of the pinnules, unites with the base of the next lower one. the margins show a shallow crenate toothing. the nerves are in the main like those of the potomac plant. they are single in each crenate lobe, forking about midway their length, and diverging widely in the lobes. pecopteris montanensis, sp. nov. pl. lxxxiii, fig. 1, la. frond bipinnate to bipinnatifid. leaf substance thick, ultimate pinnæ alternate and subopposite. rachises of different orders strong. lower pinnules small, united at base for some distance up, spatulate to broadly elliptical in form, subacute, strongly convex in outline on the upper outer margin, pinnules of the upper part of the frond and terminal portions of the ultimate pinnæ still more united, narrowly elliptical in form, nerves single in each pinnule and lobe, strong, once forking, with branches widely diverging, the anterior branch ending in the tip of the pinnule or lobe and the posterior one in the upper outer margin. this small fern is well characterized and seems to be new. as it shows only two specimens its full character can not be made out. this reason i place the plant provisionally in the genus pecopteris, as in foliage it is most nearly connected with it. in the form of its pinnules it is much like pachypteris ovata brongn., but the leaf substance is much thinner and the nerves are different. fig. 1 gives pinnæ from the lower part of the frond and la gives several pinnules enlarged to show nervation. pecopteris browniana ? dunker. five imprints of small fragments of a fern very near to pecopteris browniana, and most probably identical with it, occur in the collections. most of them are in a ferruginous sandy shale of reddish color, which is the material that carries the impressions of osmunda dicksonioides. these differ slightly from those that occur in grayish shale, which are nearer the typical forms. they are, however, imprints of the terminal portions of compound pinnæ, a part of the frond that usually shows much variation in the shape of the pinnules. the pinnules of these are vol493 1892proceedings of the national museum. 92.. , " ] . xbroader and proportionally somewhat shorter than the normal ones of this fern. all the forms, however, are near enough to pecopteris browniana to permit their assignment to that species with a high degree of probability. cladophlebis heterophylla sp. nov. pl. lxxxiv, fig. 2. a fronds bipinnate. rachises stout and rigid. pinnæ alternate, the basal ones much reduced in size, forming pinnules with a few broad, rounded and shallow lobes. pinnules united at base, the lower ones of the pinnæ orbicular in shape, the others subquadrilateral, attached by a much broadened base, united at base, falcate, usually very obtuse and remote. basal inferior pinnule of each pinna larger than the rest, showing three shallow rounded lobes, the lobation becoming less distinct in the upper part of the frond. nerves not seen distinctly, but apparently forming a bundle that splits up flabellately into branches. fig. 2 gives the largest specimen of this fern. the basal inferior pinnules of the pinnæ are quite different from the rest. they are much larger and approximate in form the basal pinnæ, although much smaller than these. the general plan of the nervation, so far as it could be made out, is similar to that of the acrostichides of the older mesozoic of virginia. the shape and size of the pinnules are like those of acrostichides microphyllum of that formation. in the general character of the pinnules it may be compared also with cladophlebis parva of the potomac formation. i think that this is the plant reported by me to dr. newberry as cladophlebis parva, but the additional specimens show differences enough to separate them. in the absence of fructification, it would go more naturally into the genus cladophlebis. in size and the form of its pinnules, it resembles some of the small gleichenias given by heer from the kome beds, and it is quite possible that fructification may be found that will show it to belong to that genus. only two specimens were found, and its full character, even for the sterile forms, can not be regarded as made out. osmunda dicksonioides font. numerous specimens of this fern occur. the imprints are in a ferruginous, indurated shale. they coincide exactly with the potomac plant. this fossil, to judge from the character of the rock which contains it, occurs at a different horizon from aspidium montanense. it must have been abundant in the great falls flora. the fructified form was not seen. thyrsopteris microloba? var. alata font. two small specimens of a fern closely resembling the potomac plant, thyrsopteris microloba, var, alata, were seen in the collections. the 494 fossil plants from montana-fontaine. amount of material is not sufficient to permit positive identification, but in any case this fern is very near the potomac plant and is of the same type. thyrsopteris rarinervis font. this fern shows numerous imprints. some of them are very fine, being much better than any from the potomac beds. some of the forms approach more nearly heer's asplenium dicksonianum than do those of the potomac fossils. the resemblance was seen in the latter fossils but, as stated, it was not so marked as in some of the great falls imprints. sequoia ambigua? heer. the collections contain three small and poorly preserved fragments of a conifer which is most probably sequoia ambigua. some of the leaves are preserved and are identical with those of that species. the amount of material does not permit a positive determination. sequoia rigida heer. there are in the collections four pretty well preserved impressions of a conifer that can not be distinguished from sequoia rigida. sphenolepidium virginicum, font. eight impressions of a conifer identical with sphenolepidium virginicum of the potomac formation were obtained. most of them are poorly preserved and show a good deal of maceration, as if they had been floated long in water. to judge from the number of impressions of this plant that were found it must have been somewhat common in the great falls flora, standing next to taxodium ramosum. taxodium (glyptostrobus) ramosum font. this conifer shows twelve specimens. they are the best preserved of the coniferous fossils, giving in most cases the character of the plant quite distinctly. the specimens of it are more numerous than those of any other conifer of the great falls flora. it occurs along with the two preceding conifers and with thyrsopteris rarinervis and aspid. ium montanense, in a sandy shale. zamites montanensis sp. nov. pl. lxxxiv, fig. 4. mr. r. s. williams, of great falls, loaned mr. knowlton a beautiful imprint of a cycad which seems to be new. a drawing of it was made and is given in pl. lxxxiv, fig. 4, of this paper. i have not seen the original, but the drawing gives the character so distinctly that a description can be given from it. the description is as follows: the leaf (compound) is narrowly elliptical in outline and small. it is abruptly pinnate, with a stout rigid midrib. the lower leatlets are lancet-shaped, short, remote, and stand at right angles with 1892. ] 495 proceedings of the national museum. the midrib. in ascending towards the tip of the compound leaf, the leaflets become linear in shape and are more closely approximate, until they touch. they are also nonfalcate, and toward the end of the leaf are obliquely attached to the midrib. the leaflets of the central part of the leaf are longest, giving the elliptical outline. nerves, three in number, strong, parallel with each other and the margins of the leaflets. the imprint shows the under side of the leaf uppermost, so that the midrib conceals the insertions of the leaflets. taking as correct heer's distinction between zamites and pterophyllum,* this imprint does not show positively which of the two it is. it seems, however, to agree best with zamites and may provisionally be put in that genus. in the form of its leaflets it is quite near zamites speciosus heer,t agreeing pretty well with some of the features of the smaller forms of that species, but the leaflets are proportionately broader. the basal leaflets also are quite different, and the gradation from these into those higher up is not seen in heer's plant. as stated before, it is somewhat singular that neither mr. knowlton nor mr. weed seems to have discovered cycads. this certainly indi.. cates that they are not generally distributed in the great falls strata, but are limited to particular horizons. university of virginia, february 10, 1892. plate lxxxii. fig. 1. aspidium montanense, n. sp. pinnules from the lower part of the frond. fig. 2. aspidium montanense, n. sp. fragments of a fructified compound pinna. fig. 3. aspidium montanense, n. sp. detached pinnæ from the upper part of the frond. plate lxxxiii. fig. 1. pecopteris montanensis, n. sp. fig. la. magnified portion of fig. 1. fig. 2. aspidium montanense, n. sp. normal pinnules. fig. 3. aspidium montanense, n. sp. lobed pinnäe from the upper part of the frond. fig. 3a. aspidium montanense, n. sp. enlarged portion of fig. 3. fig. 4. aspidium monocarpum, n. sp. serrate toothed pinnæ or pinnules from the upper part of the frond. fig. 5. aspidium monocarpum, n. sp. the termination of a compound pinna. fig. 6. aspidium monocarpum, n. sp. pinnules from lower part of the frond. fig. 6a. aspidium monocarpum, n. sp. enlarged portion of fig. 6. plate lxxxiv. fig. 1. aspidium angustipinnatum font., var. montanense, n. var. fig. la. enlarged portion of fig. 1. fig. 2. cladophlebis heterophylla, 1. sp. fig. 3. aspidium monocarpum, n. sp. showing fertile portion of frond. fig. 3a. enlarged portion of fig. 3. fig. 4. zamites montanensis, n. sp. * flor. foss, arct., vol. ii, p. 62. + flor. foss. arct., vol. 111 die kreideflora de arctischen zone, pl. xiv, fig. 11. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxxxii 2002 } co 717) historie 2 aspidium montanense, new species. 3 $ ! u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxxxiu mm nov with im 0 10 man while 2 3 за. ce 1 sta na 62 6 5 1. pecopteris montanense, new species. 2, 3. aspidium montanense, new species. 4, 5, 6. aspidium monocarpum, new species. u. s. national museum proceedings, vol. xv pl. lxxxiv my 2 1 1a $3 3 за 4 1. aspidium angustipinnatum, var. montanense, new variety. 2. cladophlebis heterophylla, new species. 3. aspidium monocarpum, new species. 4. zamites montanensis, new species. 1 1 ! 1 1 2 alphabetical index. 433 a. page. anisotremus daridsoni... 152 anodonta couporiana 433 imbecillis anomia lampe 194 anomiida, california species of 194 antelope, abbott's 473 black-fronted 476 damara-land pygmy. 477 new species of... 473 pallah... 472 zanzibar pygmy 477 anthoxanthum odoratum, holm on. 399 figure of. 402 anthus maculatns.... 314 arca, california species of. 192 arcida, california species of.. 192 ardea herod ias, parasites of. 87 argonauta pacifica 217 argonautida, california species of. 217 arizona, wolpai maiden of 29 ascaria spiculigera... 89 ascaris serrata, figure of 110 ashmead, w. h., on encyrtinæ........ 361 aspidium angustipinnatum montanense, new variety 491 montanense, new species 490 monocarpum, new species 490 assiminea californica.... 205 atherinidæ, california species of. 145 atherinops aflinis... 146 atherinopsis californiensis. 145 anchenopterus integripinnis . 173 auckland island, crabs from.. 243 aulacodus swinderianus.... 468 auriculidæ, california species of 196 avian entozoa, linton on... 87 avicula peruviana. 193 aviculida, california species of 193 axinæa intermedia 192 b. page, abalone shells...... 198 abbott, dr. c. c., on eggs of garter snake. 388 cited. 392 abbott, dr. w. l., african mammals col. lected by. 415 abbott's antelope from east africa. 473 abeona minima.. 155 acanthis linaria holbællii.. 354 acanthopleuridæ, california species of .... 196 acanthopnenste ijimæ, new species of..... 372 acara bartoni, new species 286 figure of.... 287 acmeidæ, california species of 197 acm@a, california species of. 197 acila, subgenus 192 acridotheres cineraceus ...... 352 actaeonidæ, california species 195 actaeon (rictaxis) punctocælatus. 195 adula, subgenus.... 192 ægithalos caudatus 345 æpyceros melampus. 472 africa, collection of mammals from.... 445 agassiz, louis, cited. 380 agkistrodon piscivorus, breeding habits of 386 a gonidæ, california species of 171 alaska, chinese relics from... 221 corystoid crabs from.. 223 hermit crabs from.... 1 alauda blakistoni, measurements of....... 304 japonica, measurements of.... 302 albatross, steamer, explorations by..8, 23, 121, 223 albula vulpes..... 135 albulidæ, california species of 135 alcelaphus cokii... 471 aleutian islands, hermit crabs from.. 3 algangea dugèni, new species..... 283, 287 allen, dr. harrison, on ner genus of bats... new subfamily of bats 437 temminck's bat..... 443 allen, j. a., cited... 386 alopias vulpes... 134 alopidae, california species of..... 134 amalthea, california species of. 204 amaltheidæ, california species of 204 amphissa, california species of 213 amphissa bicolor, new species 213 amphistichus argenteus... 156 anatinidæ, california species of.. 184 andrews, mrs. george, unios collected by.406, 410 bahama islands, crabs from baldwin, a. h., drawings by. bandfish in california barlow, j. g., insects collected by barracuda in california.. barrett, j.p. bascanion constrictor, breeding habits of.. 231 232 173 367 147 411 396 proc. n. m. 92-32 497 498 alphabetical index. 133 page. basileuterus rufifrons new species.... 119 dugėsi, new subspecies.. 119 jouyi, new subspecies. 119 bass, black.sea, in california 151 kelp, in california... 150 rock, in california.. 150 bat, temminck's 443 batrachida, california species of. 171 batrachians and reptiles, new species of... 115 bats, now genus of....... new subfamily of phyllostome 437 baur, dr. g., turtles described by. 379 bean, tarleton h., on new species of stargazer 121 on new species of fishes from mexico.. 283 beauvois, m. palisot, cited 387 belonidae, california species of ... 143 benedict, james e., on new species of hermit crabs 1 corystoid crabs... 223-230 bering sea, crabs from.. 18 bermuda islands, crabs from.. 249 birds, collection of, from japan........... 289 new japanese species of ...........342, 371 species of. .27, 119 subspecies of. 347 parasites of ...... 87 bittium, california species of.. 205 bivonia compacta.. 204 blasius, dr. wilh., quoted 349 blatchley, prof. w. s.... 395 blenniida, california species of. 171 blind fishes of california .. 160 blood ejected from eyes of toad. 375 bok, bosch, of east africa 471 bolles, lieut. t. dix, on chinese relics in alaska... 221 boreal america, noctuidæ of.. 33 boreotrophon, subgenus.. 216 boulenger, dr. g. a., cited. 379 bourke, capt., quoted . 29 brachiopoda, california species of. 182 brachyistius frenatus 155 bragg, l. c..... 161 branchiostoma elongatum... 132 branchiostomida, california species of. 132 brazil, crabs from.. 205 bristol bay, hermit crabs from 16 british columbia, crabs from 18 museum 37 brook tront of california 482 bruce, mr., colorado insects from 38 bubalis caffir. 478 buccinida, california species of.. 216 buckley, s. b., vnios collected by. 417 buffalo, cape.. 478 bulla nebulosa. 195 bullidæ, california species of.. 195 bumpus, dr. h. c., cited. .389, 392 c. page. california, fishes of 123 golden trout of 481 gulf of, crabs from. 5 lower, crabs from. 238 marine shells of.. 179 new herniit crabs from 22 spiny boxfish of. 485 cacidæ, california species of.. 204 call, r. e., unio collection of.. 406 calliostoma, california species of. 201 callista, california species of.. 187 calocerinus floridanus. 368 new insect genus. 368 calyptraeidæ, california species of 203 cancellaria cooperi ...... 211 cancellariidae, california species of.. 211 canis mesomelas.. 455 cantharidus pupoideas 202 caprimulgus jotaka, measurements of. 293 caranx chrysus caballus. 149 carcharhinus glaucus... lamiella 133 cardiida, california species of.. 189 carditidæ, california species of. 190 cardium, california species of.. 189 catablemella brachychir.... 142 cathetostoma albigutta, new species.. 121 caulolatilus princeps 158 cavolinia tridentata 194 cavoiiniidæ, california species of 194 central america, birds from 27 cephalophus niger...... 475 nigrifrons, dimensions of ... 476 spadix, new species.... 473 cephalopoda, california species of 217 cercopithecus albogulabris 448 sabaus cerithidea californica... 205 cerithiidæ, california species of 205 cerithiopsidæ, california species of... 210 cerithiopsis, california species of... 210 ceryle guttulata, measurements of.. 295 lugubris, measurements of.. 294 cestoda from yellowstono park. 99 chætodipterus faber zonatus ....... 158 chætopleura, california species of 196 challenger expolition, crabs collected by... 248 chama, california species of. 189 chamida, california species of. 189 characodon variatus... 286 cherrie, george k., on new species of fly. catchers.. 27 chilomycterus californiensis. .175, 485 chinese relics from alaska 221 chione, california species of 188 chirida, california species of 162 chloris kawarahiba minor 355 chlorostoma, california species of.. 200 chorus belcheri.. 216 chromis punctipinnis... 158 chrysodomus (kellettia) kelletti 216 cichloselyg sibiricus, 317 cinclus pallasii ..... 347 circus cyaneus hudsonius, parasito of.. 88 citharichthye sordidus. 174 cacum crebricinctum... casiosoma californiense. 204 152 alphabetical index. 499 33 . page. page. clailophlebis heterophylla, new species .... 193 cucullia montana. 40 clangula albeola, parasites of 87 obscurior, new species. 41 clevelandia longipinnis.. 159 postera 43 clidiophora punctata 183 rovision of the genus. clinus evides 173 serraticornis. 50 clupea mirabilis. 135 similaris, new species. 41 sagax 136 solidaginis.. 52 cupeida, california species of 135 speyeri 46 coccothraustes japonica, measurements of. 358 cuculus kelungensis 293 cod, rock, of california... 165 cumingia californica 186 colobus caudatus...... 447 cyanoptila bella 328 guereza, measurements of skuli of 418 cyclostrematida, california species of 202 coluber, breeding habits of..... 395 cynoscion parvipinne...! 154 columbella, california species of 213 cypræa spadica.... 207 columbellidæ, california species of. 213 cypræida, california species of 207 colymbus holbellii. 289 cyprinidæ, california species of. 135 conida, california species of. 208 cymatogaster aggregatus.... 155 connecticut, crabs from 236-275 cymbuliidae, california species of. 194 connochætes taurinus albojubatus.. 470 cynoscion nobile 154 conus, california species of.. 208 cyprinodontidæ, california species of 142 cooper, dr. j. g.. .179, 217 cythara, subgenus.... 208 cooperella, subgenus.. 186 d. cope, e. d., cited. 380 copipanolis, characteristics of.. 61 dall, williau, h., alaskan crabs collected copperhead snakes, breeding habits of.. 386 by 223 copipanolis borealis, now species.... 62 on new species of shells cubilis 63 from san pedro bay.. 179 fasciata, new species.. 62 damalichthys argyrosomus.. 157 stigma 63 dasy batidæ, california species of. 134 corbula luteola 183 dasy batis dipterura 135 corbnlidæ, california species of. 183 dead man's island, shells at. 180 corolla spectabilis..... 194 dean, rev. a., unios collected by .406, 416 coronado islands, fishes of... 123 delphinulidæ, california species of. 199 cortes banks, fishes of... 123 dendrohyrax validus, dimensions of. .457, 458 corystoid crabs, benedict on... 223 figure of shell of 480 costa rica, new species of birds from. 37 dendromys nigrifrons, new species.. 462 cottidæ, california species of. 168 dentalium, california species of 194 coues, dr., cited... 389 denton, s. f., on horned toads. 377 couper, j. h., unios collected by.. desmognathidæ, new genus of.. 115 cox, prof. u.o., cited..... 395 diaphng theta 140 crabs collected by north pacific exploring dibothrium cordiceps.. .99, 112 expellition 232 exile, new species. 100 corystoid, benedict on.. 223 dicopinæ, revision of . 53 new species of 1, 231 dicopis, characteristics of 54 of the family periceridæ, miss rathdicopis electilis... 57 bun on 231 grotei.. 55 cragin, prof. f. w., cited.. 392 thaxterianus. 58 crepidula, california species of. 203 viridescens 56 crocidura from east africa..... 470 diodon hystrix 175 crossarchus mungo, dimensions of skull of. 453 diodontidæ, california species of 175 crotalidæ, breeding habits of.. 386 diplodonta orbella . 190 crotalophorus miliarius, eggs of.. 388 diplodontidæ, california species of........ 190 crucibulum, california species of.. 203 distomum flexum, new species..... 98, 112 cryptomya californica. 183 verrucosum, new species.. 96, 111 asteroides... 42 dobson, dr., megaderma collected by 413 469 bistriga, new species.. 48 dolichotoma, section..... 207 characteristics of 33 donax, california species 180 cinderella, new species . 49 doubleday, e., insect from 56 convexipennis 38 dow, capt. john, crabs collected by 272 dorsalis, new species. 47 downie, t. c., unios collected by 413 florea drillia, california species of 208 geographical distribution of 33 dryobates japonicus 299 illustrations of genitalia of 52 subcirris. 299 intermedia.. 48 dryocopus inartius 301 lætifica 45 duges, prof. alfredo, tishes collected by... 283 ..... 500 alphabetical index. page 19 22 14 19 17 26 3 15 19 4 eupagarus, kennerlyi, new species mexicanus, new species.. minutus, new species. munitns, new species. newcombei, new species.. parvus, new species .... patagoniensis, new species.. purpuratus, new species rathbuni, new species roseus, new species..... setosus, new species.. smithi, new species.. splendescens tanneri, new species. tenuimanus..... townsendi, new species.. trigonocheirus.. unidosus, new species.. varians, new species eurynorhynchus pygmæus.. eutaivia, breeding habits of. eutolype, characteristics of .. bombyciformis, new species.. damalis depilis rolandi exocætus californicus.. 2 10 1 13 1 18 24 292 385 58 61 60 go 143 f. e. page. east africa, mammals from... 445 echeneididæ, california specios of. 148 echinorhynchus rectus, new species.. .91, 110 striatus.. .92, 111 ectophylla, new genus of bats 441 alba, new species of bats 442 eggs of california fishes. 127 snakes, hay qu.. 385 egg-tooth of snakes. 386 eichler, a. w., cited. 400 eigenmann, carl h., on fishes of san diego, cal .123-178 spiny boxfish 485 elassochirus, sabgenug.. 1, 19 eleotragus arundinaceus 472 eliomys murinus, measurements of . 459 elliott, bishop, unio collection of... 412 embryology of california fishes 123 fishes, illustrations of. 178 embiotoca jacksoni.. 156 embiotocidæ, california species of 155 emmons, e., unios collected by. 429 emys geographica 381 pseudo-geographica 380 encyrtinæ with branched antenna, l. 0. howard on. 361 entozoa, avian, linton on.. 187 eopsetta jordani........ 174 ephippidæ, california species of 158 epision, new genus...... 100 plicatus, new species. 101, 112 equisetum lyelli.. 489 erato, california species of 207 erimacrus, benedict on. 223 now genus of crabs 229 isenbockii .. 229 erinaceus albiventris. 469 ethalia in california. 199 eulima micans.... 209 eulimide, california species of. 209 eupagurus, new species of. 1 alaskensis, new species. 2 albus, new species 6 aleuticus, new species... 2 beringanus, new species 17 bernhardus.... 1 brandti, new species.... 9 californiensis, new species 21 capillatus, new species. 8 cervicornis, new species.... 25 confragosus, new species... 11 corallinus, new species.. 23 cornutus, new species. 12 coronatus, new species 24 curacaoensis, new species... 21 dalli, new species 9 defensus, new species. 7 exilis, new specios 6 thoridanus, new species. 5 gilli, now species.... 20 gladius, new species 7 hemphilli, new species.. 16 hispidus, new species... 26 impressus, new species........ 6 falco rusticolus..... 292 false bay, california, fishes of.. 124 fasciolariidæ, california species of 217 fernald, prof., insect collection of . 72 fierasfer dubius 173 fierasferidze, california species of .. 173 filaria serrata, new species ... .8., 110 fish commission, crabs collocted by ......223, 231 expeditions by..8, 23, 87, 121, 223 fishes, blind, in california and indiana 160 embryology of 178 of san diego, cal., eigenmann on.. 123 new species of .12, 283 fissurella volcano... 197 fissurellida, california species of 197 fissuridea, california species of 197 flora of great falls coal field. 489 florida, crabs from. 236-275 new species of crabs from 5 simpson on unionidæ of .. 405 flycatchers, new species of 27 fontaine, william m., on fossil plants from montana... 487 food of wolpai indians.. 30 fossaridæ, california species of.. 206 fossil shells in california.. 180 fuligula vallisneria, parasites of.. .87, 108 fundulus parvipinnis . 142 robustus, new species... 205 fusus, california species of... 217 g. gabb, william m., collected bats.... gadidæ, california species of...... 438 174 alphabetical index. 501 page gadinia reticulata...... 196 gadiniidæ, california species of.. 196 galago crassicaudatus 450 galapagos islands, new crabs from... 16 crabs from. 273 galeus californians.. 133 galerus mammillaris. 203 galeorhinidæ, california species of. 133 galeorhinus zyopterus... 133 gorman, prof. harry, on malaclemys. 382 garrulus brandtii. 353 garter snake, eggs of....... 388 gasterosteidæ, california species of... 144 gastropoda, california species of... 195 gasterosteus microcephalus. 144 gätke, dr. h., cited.. 308 gazella grantii 473 thomsonii. 473 gazelle, grant's, of east africa... 473 thomson's, of east africa.. 473 thomson's figure of.. 480 genetta pardina, measurements of. 454 genota, subgenus... 207 genyonemus lineatus.. 153 geographical distribution of cucullia.. 33 unionidae 406 georgia, crabs from.... 244 unionida of... 406 gerres cinereus..... 154 gerridæ, california species of. 154 gibbula canfieldii. 201 gillichthys mirabilis 159 girella nigricans... 152 glottidia albida. 182 glycimeris generosa 183 gobiidæ, california species of. 159 gobius nicholsi 159 gobiesocida, california species of. 171 gobiesox eigenmanni 171 rhessodon.... 171 goode, dr. g. brown, cited....387, 388, 390, 392, 395 grampus, schooner, crabs collected by 236 graptemys lesnererii 380 grass flower, morphology of . 399 gray, dr., antelope described by. 475 gray, dr. j. e., cited .. 379 grayson, a., mexican birds from 119 great falls coal field, fossils from 488 green, miss eleanor 183 grote, mr., on dicopinæ.... 53 guaymas, mexico, parasites from 89, 90 gulf of mexico, hermit crabs from. 8 new species of fish from... 121 gunther, dr., cited .378, 477 gymnosarda pelamys 149 paga harris, george e., salamanders collected by 115 hartt explorations, collection of. 273 harvey, mr., collects golden trout.. 481 hay, 0. p., on breeding habits of snakes... 385 ejection of blood from eyes of toad...... 375 turtles of genus malaclemys. 379 hay, w. p., cited.. 395 hedgehogs from east africa.. 469 heilprin, dr., cited 390 helogale undulata, measurements of.. 151 iiemichelidon griseisticta. 337 hemicardium, subgenus 190 hemirhamphus rosa... 143 hemphill, henry, crabs collected by 259 henshaw, mr., quoted...... 482 henson, harry v., japanese birds collected by 289 hermit crabs, new species of.. 1 herpestes caffer 452 galera, dimensions of skulls of .. 453 gracilis, dimensions of skull of.. 452 heterodon platirhinos.... 392 heterodonax, california species of. 187 heterodontus francisci. 132 heterodontidæ, california species of 132 heterostichu8 rostratus ... 173 hexacladia smithii, figure of 369 description of. 365 hinnites giganteus 193 hippoglossina stomata. 174 hippocampus ingens 144 hirundo dasypus 338 holbrook, dr., cited 379 holconotus rhodoterus. 156 holm, theo., on morphology of grass-flower. 399 holostomum variabilo 93 holostomum variabilo, figure of. 111 hopley, miss c.c., cited 391 houses of navajo indians, dr. shufeldt on. 279 howard, l. o., on encyrtin. 361 hudson, mr., insects from 72 hudsonius altus. 284 hume, a., quoted 349 hyperprosopon argenteum... 156 hypsipetes amaurotis hensoni, new subspecies..... 347 hyspopsetta guttulata.. 175 hypsurus caryi... 156 i. h. hackel, e., cited. haldea striatula, breeding babits of haliotida, california species of haliotis, california species of.. hallenbeck, girard hall, rev. a, m., snakes collected by haminea, california species.... hargitt, edward, cited 400 397 198 198 412 ..386, 387 195 299 ianthia cyanura 321 icelinus australis 170 ijima, dr. i., japanese birds from 371 indiana, map tortoise from 379 indian maiden of arizona... 30 inilians, marriage customs of 31 navajo, house-building by 279 insects, new species of... 33 genera anıl species of ...366, 367, 368 invertebrates, marine, new species of. 1 isapis fenestratus 206 ischinochitonida, california species of..... 196 igesthes gilberti .. 171 gentilis 171 502 alphabetical index. 346 j. page. page. lima orientalis ... 19.3 jameson, dr. alexander 389 limidæ, california species of. 193 janira, section of...... 193 lingulidæ, california species of 182 janthinida, california species of 210 lintner, dr. j. s.... 37 janthina exigua 210 linton, edwin, on avian entozoa 87 japan, collection of birds from 289 liocardium, subgenus, 190 corystoid crabs from.. 228 liotia, california species of. 19 jeffreysia, california species of. 206 little grebe from japan jeffreysiida, california species of. 208 littorina, california species of johnson, c. w., unios collected by. ......415, 421 littorinida, california species of. 203 johnston, h. h., on east african mammals 446 lithophagus plumula.... 192 jones, dr. w. h., crabs collected by.. 273 long island, crabs from. .236-275 jordan and gilbert on california fishes.... 125 lottia gigantea .... 197 jordan, david starr, on golden trout of lucapinella callomarginate.. 198 kern river 481 lucapina crenulata.. 193 cited... 392 lucina, california species of. 190 jouy, p. l., birds collected by... 326 lucinidæ, california species of. 190 mexican birds collected by.... 119 lutricola alta.... 186 parasites collected by ......89, 91, 102 lyonsia californica . 184 jynx torquilla, measurements of. 296 m. k. macoma, california species of 185 kilima-njaro, mammals from.... 415 mcconnell, a. e.. 223 king, miss emma. 184, 198 mcdonald, hon. marshall. 87 kinglet, japanese new species in kellia, california species of.. 191 honor of. 210 kellida, california species of 191 macrocoeloma camptocera 249, 277 kelpfish in california.... 173 diplacantha 250 kendall, w.c., crabs collected by.. 261 entheca 251 knowlton, f. h., fossil plants collected by.. 487 septemspinosa 25) kobus elli siprymnus.. 471 subparallela.. 250 l. tenuirostra, new species....252, 277 trispinosa. 219 labiosa undulata 187 macron lividus 216 labridæ, california species of.... 157 mactra, california species of 187 lacuna, california species of.. 205 mactridæ, california species of.. 187 lako maxinkuckee, turtles from. 383 | malaclemys, (). p. hay on genus 379 lamellaria stearnsii.. 211 malacoclemys lesuerii. 380 lamellariida, california species of. 211 mammals, true on african. 445 lampetra spadicea..... 283 mangilia, california species of.. 208 lanius superciliosus.... 348 manta birostris.... 135 larus californicus, parasites of. .87, 97 mantidæ, california species of. 135 larvivora cyane, measurements of. 321 map tortoise.... 379 lasea rubra 191 margarita, california species of. 201 latilidæ, california species of 158 marginella, california species of. 212 lazaria subquadrata... 190 marginellida, california species of. 212 le conte, major 409 marine invertebrates, new species of. 1 le conte, cited. 383 marron, thomas, cited 396 leda cælata.... 192 maryland, crabs from.. 238 ledida, california species of 192 marsh tits, japanese.. 343 leiocottus hiruudo... 168 marsh, william a., unio collection of 46 leland stanford junior university. 183 mask, alaskan 221 lopidogobius gilberti.. 159 massachusetts, crabs from... 236-275 y cauda 159 medal, chinese, found in alaska. 221 leptocottus armatus.. 168 megatebennus bimaculatus. 198 leptothyra, california species of 199 megaderma cor, figure of. 468 lepus capensis 468 frons. 469 le seur, on map tortoise 379 melampus olivaceus 196 leucosticte brunneonucha. 354 mellivora capensis. 455 libidochirus, subgenus.. 26 melodes calliope. 321 libinia dubia.... 237, 277 menidia tenuis 145 omarginata 235, 277 menticirrhus undulatus. 151 macdonaldi, new species. 238, 277 merlucius productus.. 174 mexicana, new species .242, 277 meske, 0... 45 setosa, figure of.... 277 mexico, new species of crabs from 242 spinimana, new species... .240, 2771 new species of birds from 119 ..... alphabetical index. 503 murænidæ, california species of... mus aquilus, new species of monse... arborarius. barbarus minimus. myacidæ, california specics of myctophum townsendi californiense myliobatis californicus myliobatida, california species of... mytilidæ, california species of. mytilus, california species of. page. 143 460 459 160 102 183 142 142 135 135 191 191 212 477 page. mexico, notes on fishes from 283 parasites from 89 microphrys bicornutus 252 miers, e.j., classification of crabs by. 231 mionectes senischistaceus, new species.. 27 mills, georgo t ...... 481 mississippi, drainage area of river.. 406 snakes from..... 390 missouri, blind care salamander from... 115 new species of insects from. 367 mithrax aculeatus 264 (nemausa) acuticornis, 260 bahamensis, new species 267 braziliensis, new species 268 cinctimanus 268 coronatus 272 cristulipes 273 denticulatus 272 forceps..... 269 figures of species of 277 hemphilli, new species 262 hispidus 265 nodosus..... 273 pilosus, new species.. 262 sinensis, new species. 266 sculptus 271 (nemausa) spinipes.. 259 spinosissimus 261 verrucosus. 265 mithracinæ, subfamily. 259 mitra maura 211 mitridæ, california species of. 211 mitromorpha, california species of. 208 modiola, california species of 191 mola mola 175 molidae, california species of. 175 mollusca of san pedro bay 182 mollusks of florida... 405 monkeys, east african 448 monks, miss s. p 179 monoceros, california species of. 214 montana, fossil plants from. 487 monticola manilla.... 318 mopalia, california species of.. 196 mopaliidæ, california species of.. 196 morphology of grass-tower, holmon 399 moqui, indian maidens in.. 30 morrisonia, characteristics of. 78 bisulca. 82 confusa 85 evicta.. 83 mucens 80 revision of genus.. 65 rileyana..... 81 illustrations of genitalia of.... 86 infidelis. 84 peracuta 84 morrison, h. k., insects collected by 7:3 motacilla grandis... 312 lugens.. .305, 358 motacilla melanope 313 mugil cephalus . 144 mugilidæ, california species of muricida, california species of. 214 muricidea, california specios of 216 n. nanotragus moschatus... 478 nassa, california species of.. 212 nasside, california species of natalina, new subfamily of bats 437 natalus stramineus... 438 natica (lunatia)!lewisii 211 naticidae, california species of 211 navajo indians, costumes of. 280 house-building by 279 nematoda in yellowstone park 88 neoclinus blanchardi 173 neotragus damarensis nettastomella darwinii 182 nettion formosa 292 nenmoegen, mr., insects from. 46 new genera of bats 441 insects ..41, 53, 65, 366, 367, 368 species of antelope. 473 bats. 442 birds. 119, 312, 371 crabs. 1, 231 dedromys.. 462 fishes from mexico. 283 fossil plants. .490, 492, 493, 194 mouse. 460 sciurus 465 subfamily of bats. 437 subspecies of birds. 347 newberry, dr., cited.. 487 new jersey, crabs from... 238 new mexico, new species of birds from.... 119 navajo indian houses in.. 279 new zealand, crabs from 243 noctuidæ, john b. smith on 33-86 genus xyloiniges of. 05 norman, rev. a. m., crabs collected by.. 243 norrisia norrisii.. 200 north carolina, crabs from.. 236-275 north pacific exploring expedition. 232 nueula (acila) castrensis.... 192 nuculidae, california species of. 192 nuttallina scabra.. 196 nycteris thebaica.. 469 0. oates, mr., on birds of india, quoted... ocinebra, california species of.. octopodidae, california species of.. octopus punctatus ... odostomia, california species of. (edalina, california species of 346 216 217 217 209 186 504 alphabetical index. page. 87,92 page. oedemia americana, parasites of.. oligocottus analis....... 168 olivella, california species of... 212 olividæ, california species of. 212 omphalus, section 200 opalia, subgenus 210 ophidiida, california species of 173 ophiodon elongatus.... 162 oreynus alalonga. 149 ornithion pusillum subflavum, new subspecies.. 28 oryx callotis from east africa 470 pencil-eareil. 470 osmunda dichsenioides... 493 ostrea, california species of 193 ostreida, california, species of 193 otago l'niversity musenm. 213 othonia aculeata.... 255 carolinensis, new species. 256 figures of species of. 277 therminieri....... 255 nicholsi, new species...... 257 rotunda, new species.. 258 othoniine, subfamily.... 255 otocyon megalotis, dimensions of skull of. 456 otocoris alpestris 301 otomys irroratus 464 otopbidium taylori 173 ova of california fishes... 125 ovula (simnia) deflexa.... 206 ovulidae, california species of 206 pericerina, subfamily. 235 periploma discus 184 planiscula.. 184 perkinsia othonops 137 perkins, hon. george c 137 petricola, california species of. 189 petricolidæ, california species of. 18) phacochorus alianii 479 phanerodon atripes. 137 furcatum. 157 laterale 136 orthonotus 157 phasianella compta 199 phasianellida, california species of. 199 phænicurus auroreus..... 321 pholadida, california species of.. 182 pholadidea, california species of.. 182 pholas pacifica.. 183 phoxinus orcuttii. 135 phyllostomo bats, new subfamily of.. 437 phyllopseustes borealis xanthodryas 338 tenellipos.. 341 picroceroides tubularis. 218 picus canus jossoensis 300 pilsbry, mr. h. a..... 198 placunanomia (monia) macroschisma. 191 platyglossus semicinctus.. 157 platyodon cancellatus. 183 pleuronichthys coenosus 174 pleuronectida, california species of... 174 pleurotoma, california species of.. 207 pleurotomidæ, california species of.. 207 pneumodermatidæ, california species of... 194 pneumodermon pacificum.. 191 podiceps nigricans .... 290 poliomyias ferruginea ....... 331 pomacentride, california species of 158 pomacentrus rubicundus 158 pomaulax undosnis 199 pompano in california. 150 porichthys margaritatus 171 postell, j., unio collection of 412 potamocharus africanus 479 pratincola maura ..... prionorhynchus edwardsii 243 procavia brucei.... 459 psammobia rubroradiata. 185 psephis tantilla.... 188 pseudojulis modestus.. 158 pteronotus festivus... 216 pteroplatea marmorata 134 pteropoda, california species of 194 pterorhytis, california species of. 215 purpura lima. 214 putnam, prof., cited 387, 388 pyramidella, california species of... 208 pyramidellidæ, california species of. 208 pyrrhula griseiventris... 353 p. 323 199 150 150 151 174 182 87 170 344 342 183 pachypoma inæquale. paralabrax clathratus. maculofasciatus. nebulifer... paralichthys californicus parapholas californica parasites of birds.... paricelinus hopliticus parus ater.. hensoni, new species... pandorida, california species of patagonia, hermit crabs from pavoncella pugnax peale, dr. a.c., fossil plants collected by . pecopteris montanensis, new species.. browniana.... pecten, california species of pectinida, california species of. pedipes unisuleatus. pelecanus erythorhynchus, parasites of.. pentacnemus bucculatricis, new species... new insect genus perch, california species of pericera, species of, in national museum.. atlantica, new species . contigua, new species cornuta... calata. triangulata, new species. tumida periceridar, catalogue of, by miss rathbun. key to families and genera of.. list of, in national museum.... 4 292 487 492 492 193 193 196 88 366 366 156 243 247 247 244 244 246 277 231 232 274 r. ranella californica 211 rathbun, miss mary, on crabs of family periceridac 231 rathgun, r., crabs collected by. .264, 269, 273 rattlesnako island, shells on.... 180 alphabetical index. 505 page. rattlesnake, breeding habits of.. 386 raymond, w.j., collected shells, 183 reedbuck of east africa.... 472 regulus japonensis. 316 remora remora 148 reptiles, shield... 380 rhacochilus toxotes 157 rhinobatidæ, california species of. 134 rhinobatus exasperatus.. 134 productus 134 triseriatus 134 rhinoceros bicornis... 479 rhinotriacis henlei... 133 rhizomys splendens, dimensions of skulls of 465 rhode island, crabs from ... .236-275 ribbon-snake, breeding habits of. 390 rictaxis, section ... 195 ridgway, robert, on new forms of basileuterus rufifrons 119 riley, dr. c. v 37 ringer, mr., birds collected by. 311 rissoa (alvania) reticulato.. 206 rissoidæ, california species of. 206 rock house cave, salamander from. 116 roeper, joh., cited........ 400 roncador stearnsi. 152 rugel, f., unio collection of .406, 413 rupellaria lamellifera.... 189 s. salmo iridens 142 mykiss agua-bonita, dr. jordan on.. 481 salamander, new genus and species of blind 115 salmonidæ, california species of........... 142 sampson, f. a., new blind salamander discovered by.... 115 san diego, cal., fishes of. 123-178 san pedro bay, shells of. 179 sanguinolaria nuttallii 185 sarda chilensis.... 149 saxicava, california species of.. 183 saxicavidæ, california species of 183 saxidomus, california species of. 189 scala, california species of.. 209 scalidæ, california species of 209 scaphopoda, california species of 194 schizothærus nuttallii.. 183 schneck, dr. j., cited .389, 392 schumann, karl, cited. 400 sciaena saturna. 153 scianida, california species of 152 sciurus poensis, measurements of 467 undulatus, new specios.. 465 sclater, dr., antelope collected by. 477 cited. 470 scomber colias..... 148 scomberesox brevirostris 143 scombridæ, california species of 148 scopelidae, california species of 141 scorpæna guttata . 168 scorpænichthys marmoratus. 171 scorpaenidæ, california species of.. 162 scotophilus temminckii .... 413 scyllidæ, california species of 132 page. scylliorhinus ventriosus 132 sebastodes æreus 165 atrovirens. 164 auriculatus. 167 carnatus 168 chlorostictus 105 chrysomelas. 167 constellatus 105 eos 165 llavidus 163 gilli 165 goodei... 163 levis ... 165 melanostomus. 164 miniatus 164 mystinus. 163 elongatus 165 ovalis 163 pancispinis. 103 proriger. 164 pinniger. 164 rosaceus 164 ruber 161 rufus 163 rubrovinctus. 166 rastrelliger 167 serranoides 163 serriceps.. 168 vexillaris 167 seebohm, mr., cited 301 seiss, c. few, cited... 389 somele, california species of 186 seriola dorsalis 149 septifer bifurcatus. 191 seriphus politus. 154 serpulorbis, california species of. 204 sequoia ambigua. 494 rigida.. 494 serranidæ, california species of. 150 shells, illustrations of california. 219 of san pedro bay .... 179 species used for plaques 187 shepard, miss i. m.... .179, 185 shepard, prof., unios collected by 412 shockley, w. h., collects trout... 481 shufeldt, dr.r.w., .,on navajo indian houses 279 wolpai maiden...... 29 sidera mordax 143 sigaretus debilis. 211 siliqua patula.. 185 simpson, charles t., on unionidæ of florida.. 405-436 simpson, charles torrey. 181 siphonaria (williamia) peltoides... 196 siphonariidæ, california species of.. 196 siphostoma auliscus 144 leptorhynchum. 144 punctipinde 144 sitta amurensis... 345 slosson, mrs., insects from. 72 smelt, top.. 146 smith, herbert h., insects collected by.. 366 smith, john b., revision of dicopinæ... 53 genus cucullia. 33-52 on xylomiges and morrisonia 65 506 alphabetical index. 1 page. page. smith, rosa, on california fishes 125 telmessus, alaskan species of 223 smith, prof. s. i., cited... 390 cheiragonus, figure of snakes, hay on breeding habits of. 385 and erimacrus, benedict on.. 23 solariella, california species of. 202 tellina, california species of. solen, species of, in san pedro bay 18+ tellimya tumida...... 121 solenidæ, california species of .. 184 tellinidæ, california species of ir south carolina, crabs from.. 236-275 temminck's bat, allen on. sparidæ, california species of. 152 terebra, california species of sphæroides politus 175 terebratella transversa 192 spinacidæ, california species of 132 terebridæ, california species of 2017 spiny boxfish of california. 485 terekia cinerea 292 spiroglyphus lituella ... 204 terrapin, called map tortoise 379 sphenolepidium virginicum. 494 food habits of. 382 sphyræna argentea 147 tetracnemus, insect genus.. 302 sphyrna zygæna... 134 tetracnemus diversicornis, figure of. sphyrænidæ, california species of 147 tetracladia, new insect genus... 307 sphyrnidæ, california species of.. 134 1 gracilis, new species.... 368 squalus acanthias.. 132 texana, new species. 307 squatina squatina 134 tetracnemini, insect tribe 361 squatinidæ, california species of 134 tetraodontidæ, california species of 175 star-gazer, new species of. 121 thalotia caffea. 201 stearns, dr. robert e. c. 181 thaxter, dr. cited. 407 thoe puella. 274 stearns, frederick, crabs collected by .231, 268 thomas, m., on east african mammals stejneger, leonhard .378, 393 thracia curta...... 181 on new blind cave sala. thrush, blue and red rock. 318 mander.... 115 thyrsopteris microloba. 493 on birds from yezo, rarinervis. 401 japan 239 tjarinia cornigera 243, 276 on new species of japadepressa. 276 nese birds 371 spinigera 277 stenobrachius leucopsarum 142 tivela, california species of ... 187 stimpson, dr. william.... 232 toads, ejection of blood from eyes of 373 on crustacea. 276 sacred 377 stolophoridae, california species of. 137 tokio, science college museum in . 371 stolephorus, development of eggs of. 138 tooth, egg, of snakes 391 compressus. 140 tornatina, california species of.. 193 delicatissimus. 138 tornatinidæ, california species of.. 195 rigens. 137 tortoise, map. 379 stonechat, eastern .. 323 tortoises, gray's catalogue of, cited. 381 strecker, herman, cited 390 trachurus picturatus 149 streets, dr. t. h., crabs collected by 225 tragelaphus scriptus roualeynii.... 471 stereolepis gigas... 151 tree daman, figure of skull of. 480) stromateidæ, california species of 150 trematoda froin yellowstone park 93 stromateus simillimus.. 150 triacis semifasciatus.. 133 stultz, w. h., insects from 57 tringa canutus.. 292 sturnia violacea... 349 temminckii 371 swordfish in california 143 triogonochirus, subgenus. 8 symphurus atricanda... 175 tritoniidae, california species of.. 211 syngnathidae, california species of. 144 trivia, california species of 207 synodontidæ, california species of. 140 trochidæ, california species of.. 199 synodus lucioceps 140 trochocopus pulcher ..... 157 trophon (boreotrophon) triangulatus... 216 t. tropidonotus, breeding habits of.. 390 taenia compressa, new species.. 108, 113 trout, cut-throat.. 482 filum .... 106, 113 golden, of kern river 481 fusus, figure of.. 112 trowbridge, mrs. l. h ... 179 macrocantha, new species. 107, 113 true, frederick w 441 porosa........ 103, 112 on mammals from east tagelus, california species of.. 184 africa. 443 tanaostigma coursetie, description of... 364 truncatella, california species of... 206 figure of 369 truncatellida, california species of, 206 tapes, california species of 188 turbinida, california species of... 199 tarleton beania tenua ..... 141 turbonilla, california species of.... 209 taxodium (glyptostrobus) ramuosm 494 turdus cardis, measurements of... 314 alpiiabetical index. 507 page. unio vesicularis 425 waltoni. 431 umbraculidæ, california species of.. 195 umbrina roncador 154 underwood, c. f 27 underwood, prof. l. m., on horned toads.. 377 unionidæ, classification of.. 408 of florida, simpson on 403 geographical distribution of.. 406 union college museum, crabs in 231 uragus sanguinolentus. 354 urinator pacificus . 231 urolophus halleri urophlexis ussuriana. 341 134 158 page. turdus, chrysolaus 316 eunomus 315 naumanni, measurements of.. 315 bscurus 317 pallidus 316 turritella, california species of. 205 turritellida, california species of 205 turtles of genus malaclemy's, 0. p. hay on 379 tylodina fungina 195 tylosurus exilis 143 typhlogobius californiensis 159 typhlotriton, new genus of salamander 115 spelæus, new species..... 116 u. unio aheneus. amygdalum anodontoides buckleyi.. camptodon. complanatus concestator coruscus crassidens cunninghami dariensis. denigratus dorsatus downiei ferrissii fuscatus forbesianus gibbosus. hinkleyi. hopetonensis. infucatus illustrations of species of... insulsus jayanus lepidus... lugubris micans minor modioliformis monroensis nasutus.. nashvillensis. obesus obnubilus. occultus ocmulgeensis papyraceus parvis. pusillus. rotundatus.. singleyanus spissus squalidus... subangulatus succissus subgibbosus subluridus, new species.. tenerus tortivus. troggulus v. 431 426 į venericardia ventricosa 190 430 venerida, california species of. 187 417 venus toreuma 188 .427, 432 vermetidæ, california species of 204 411 viper, breeding habits of 392 416 virginia, crabs from.. 236-275 419 vitrinella williamsoni 202 410 volvula, california species of. 195 422 413 w. 422 411 wallace, a. r., cited 378 413 wallace, john, on blood ejection by toads. 378 423 wallace, w.0., snakes collected by. 391 420 water back of east africa .. 471 410 water-moccasin, breeding habits of. 386 431 water-snakes, breeding habits of. 390 423 weinland, dr., cited.... 386 412 wheatley, c. m. 411 409 white pelican, parasites of 89 433 white, rev. g., unios collected by 432 4:2 whitefish of san diego bay.. 419 williamia, subgenus of mollusks. 196 426 williams, r. s., fossils from.... 494 424 williamson, mrs. m. burton, on shells of 423 san pedro bay. 179 425 williamson, miss virgie burton. 185 414 williston, prof. s. w., cited. 387 410 willoughby, capt., on east african mam431 mals .... 446 416 woodpeckers, japanese.. 300 428 wolpai, a maid of, dr. shufeldt on.. 29 421 wright, b. h., collected unionida. 405, 414 420 wryneck, jap:rese.. 296 424 wyoming, avian entozoa in.. 107 427 x. 425 xenistius californiensis 152 411 xerus rutilus 467 429 xiphias gladius.. 148 426 xiphiida, california species of. 148 413 xylomiges characteristics of 65 429 crucialis 69 415 curialis 71 429 dolosa... 71 432 genus, revision of. 65 432 hiemalis 68 416 illustrations of genitalia of 421 patalis ... 76 427 ocbracea, new species..... 75 86 508 alphabetical index. page. 72 69 73 74 77 174 xylomiges perlubens... peritalis, new species. rubrica... suba picalis.. tabulata. xystreurys liolepis page. yucatan, crabs from 237 yungipicus kizuki, measurements of...... 200 seebohmi.... 297 2. y yarrow, dr., cited yellowstone park, parasitism of trout at... yellow tail... yezo, collection of birds from. yoldia cooperi ... 389 87 149 289 192 zamites montanensis, now species..... zaniolepis frenatus ... zanthopygia narcissina. zanzibar pygmy antelope.. zırphæa crispata.... zosterops japonica..... zuni indians, marriage custonis of......... 4994 162 334 478 182 342 31 یل py: !!! 1 1. soy 1 { 1 1 to renew call date due 422-3900 hanget2471 cancelled doan ncancelle24 nov 4 1974 library 10/8/91 demco no. 38-298 does hot girculati the ohio state university 3 2435 029579141 proceedings q11062 001 v15 the ohio state university book depository d aisle sect shlf side pos item c 8 08 08 28 09 7 15 010 3 493 british monachism thomas dudley fosbroke 1 zmt fos broke lii the new york public library astor. lenox and tilden foundations b l p. d. postroke at. 46 m.a. f.s.a. rai & f305. hillm bril mm t.d. fuck !! t.tovey sculp british monachism; or, manners and customs of the monks and nuns of england. to which are added, 1. peregrinatorium religiosum; or, manners and customs of ancient pilgrims. ii. the consuetudinal of anchorets and hermits. iii. some account of the continentes, or persons who had made vows of chastity. iv. select poems in various styles. by thomas dudley fosbroke, m.a. f.a.s. hon. assoc. r.s.l. &c. late vicar of walford, herefordshire. third edition. dedicated to the lord bishop of gloucester and bristol, &c. london: printed by and for john bowyer nichols and son. 1843. | 12553tr 1 4 1 x 4 0 4 to the right reverend the lord bishop of gloucester and bristol, &c. &c. my lord, the kind and courteous manner in which your lordship has been pleased to accede to my request for permission to inscribe the third edition of my late father's work on british monachism to your lordship, adds to the many favours already conferred upon my family. i feel assured i could do no greater honour to the memory of the author, nor one more congenial to the sentiments of respect which i ever heard him express for your lordship's public and private worth, than by the dedication of his favourite work to so eminent a scholar and distinguished a prelate. i have the honour to remain, my lord, with every respect, your lordship's most obliged and humble servant, vicarage house, st. ives, jan. 23, 1843. yate fosbroke. advertisement to the third edition. the favourable reception of the original edition of this work in two thin 8vo. volumes, 1802, induced the author to revise and enlarge his composition, (to form the quarto edition of 1817,) under the circumstances, and the manner, described in his own preface, of which a copy is annexed. it was very gratifying to its author that this enlarged and improved edition was respectfully quoted by sir walter scott, in his novel of the "monastery ;" and it was also favourably noticed in the "quarterly review," and in the other literary journals. the public generally having justified this favourable opinion by the work again becoming scarce, mr. fosbroke was induced shortly before his lamented death, to prepare for the press the present edition, which was one of the latest acts of his laborious literary life. this present edition has been printed in a compressed manner, as a companion to the new and improved edition of mr. fosbroke's encyclopedia of antiquities." 66 j. b. n. vi preface to the second edition. the first edition of this work having been so honoured by the public approbation as to be advertised in sale-catalogues at twice the original price, mr. nichols has much gratified the author by a re-publication very considerably enlarged, enlivened by reflections, and elegantly embellished. the original work was from various powerful motives almost wholly limited to manuscript authorities. but this re-print incorporates the important and copious information to be found in the admirable glossary of du cange, various chroniclers, and other works as unknown as mss. except to some profound literati. some dissertations upon collateral recondite subjects are added. as a new edition of the saxon chronicle has been announced, by a competent person, the emendations of bishop gibson's version, which accompanied the first issue of this work, are here omitted. an accurate estimation of probabilities being a chief ingredient in the acquisition of judgment, one intention of the work was to give a check to the morose and superstitious, to morbid propensities. without liberal and enlarged ideas, virtuous zeal will generate much useless pain. the author however has been misunderstood. mr. aikin, in compliment to the few original reflections, in the first edition, regrets, that this archæological dissertation did not appear in a philosophical form, and that a subject, apparently so ample, has been thus compressed. the humble domestic nature of the materials could not, the author thinks, be generalized according to the dignified march of the historical style, without either diminution of interest by suppression, or an enormous waste of room by a vague periphrastic text, overloaded with long details in notes, and extracts and translations of manuscripts, or by a concentration of the whole, which, in the style proposed, the motley form of the " 1 + a annual review for 1802. preface. vii matter would render turgid and ridiculous. nor could it be eligible to convert the work into a homily, by superannuated confutations of popery; or to swell it by stale philosophical discussions already familiarized.ª as to the compression of it, the general habits and duties of all monks are so analogous, that the distinctions of each order consist only in trifling peculiarities, which do not extend information. the hint, however, of mr. aikin is gratefully adopted in two new ways, at least suitable to a divine and an antiquary. philosophy, so far as concerns history, is only a superior knowledge of the laws of providence, in the disposition of those events which do not originate in mere physical causes. he professes to illustrate mediæval customs upon mediæval principles, from a persuasion, that contemporary ideas are requisite to the accurate elucidation of history. in the chapter of love-pilgrims, a construction is given of speaking low, which no penetration could possibly divine. caution, therefore, in the use of reflections, is proper in a work, not professedly didactic. it has been said, that the monks have been too unfavourably represented but here again the author is misconstrued. although he is sufficiently vindicated by dr. mosheim's ecclesiastical history, he begs to observe, that he treats monks, according to that character, not simply as men; and that he gives his materials, as he finds them. as those which refer to the morals of the religious are the charges of contemporaries, and appear in the solemn statutes of general chapters, he cannot violate the fidelity of an historian, or the integrity of a protestant clergyman, by unnecessary, perhaps dangerous, and silly palliations of gross inconsistency in religionists, professedly most rigid. it is undoubtedly an original error in all censure, that, while mankind are influenced by various causes, it condemns from pure abstract reason. if intention be regarded, no one is foolish; and monachism is wise, if the rationale of it could be admitted; but there is an imbecility as much the effect of æra, or circumstances, as of organization and ignorance. although many monks were truly good monks, men of high spiritual abstraction, a in mosheim, zimmerman on solitude, edinburgh review for 1813, p. 186, and for 1815, p. 302, &c. viii preface. a yet their virtue was negative, except in acts of charity; although many things were only culpable, as deviations from the order, still it ought not to be dogmatized, that the austere monastic system is possible, in an universal view, to be correctly exhibited, in union with riches. the liberal ideas of modern society are not of course included in this question. the monks were wealthy, consequently luxurious, and frequently debauched. the strange means adopted (and in the middle age forsooth) for creating models of ascetic severity were independence, celibacy, and luxury; but luxury and independence have never had so corrective an operation upon the batchelors of any age; nor will they ever be deemed by political economists, the measures suited to produce that bigoted superstition, or morbid feeling, which, except tuition from infancy, can alone effect the result proposed. the complaint is grounded upon the good characters which occasionally appear in the monastic annals; and the liberalized, amiable, and benevolent habits of modern monks, who, influenced by a better state of society, substitute these pleasing qualities for ancient asperities. this is all in their power. modern thinking only could have emboldened the learned benedictines of st. maur, to have tried the experiment of commuting certain tiresome duties of the rule, as unworthy the reason of the age in which they lived, for learned pursuits, which would enable them to issue frequently some valuable publication. the dispensation was refused, for popery, afraid of innovation, must of necessity be a consistent whole, although it manifestly implies tenacity of obsolete barbarism. these are objections to be treated with respect by the author. the book is merely professed to be a work, filled to the utmost of its dimensions with information, upon the subject of which it treats. the public having also kindly received the poems, they are annexed for the sake of preservation. walford, on the banks of the wye, july 17, 1817. a see the chapter of modern monachism, p. 298. b this anecdote is taken from d'israeli's "curiosities of literature." contents. page page • chap. i. principles of monachism chap. ii. asceticks-glastonbury chap. iii. monachism among the britons, scots, irish, and anglo-saxons, till the reign of edgar appendix to chap. iii.-the egyptian rule of pachomius followed by the britons chap. iv. benedictine monachism, from the reign of edgar to the norman conquest 28 appendix to chap. iv.-the rule of fulgentius 1 · • 9. bon hommes (augustinians) 82 • 10 10. brothers of the sack ib. • chap. vii. monastic officers: abbot, abbess 83 13 chap. viii. obedientiares 110 · chap. ix. prior 112 • chap. x. cellarer 118 23 • chap. xi. precentor, or chantor chap. xii. kitchener 120 • 123 chap. xiii. seneschall 124 • · 37 . chap. v. benedictine monachism, from the norman conquest to the dissolution . appendix to chap v.-decrees of the council of lateran, anno 1215 constitutions of benedict the twelfth, anno 1336 chap. xiv. treasurer or bursar chap. xv. sacrist or secretarius chap. xvi. lecturer 125 • 126 · 128 39 chap. xvii. almoner 130 • chap. xviii. master of the novices 132 · 59 chap. xix. infirmarer 135 · chap. xx. porter 136 60 chap. xxi. refectioner 138 • extracts from barclay's ship of fooles chap. vi.-rules of the orders which ob62 · chap. xxii. hospitaler 140 chap. xxiii. chamberlain 141 tained in england • i. benedictine rule 1. clugniacs 65 chap. xxiv. other officers of the house 143 66 • chap. xxv. officers among the friars 145 • 68 chap. xxvi. nuns' confessor · 147 2. cistercians. 3. grandmontines 4. carthusians ii. three augustinian rules: 1. præmonstratensians 2. trinitarians 69 chap. xxvii. monks-nuns, &c. • 148 70 order of st. victor at paris 164 · 71 chap. xxviii. friars 168 • chap. xxix. novices 175 · • 72 chap. xxx. lay brothers · 191 73 chap. xxxi. servants • 195 3. dominicans · 74 chap. xxxii. monastic buildings • 197 75 4. knights' hospitallers rules blended, or unconnected with the benedictine and augustinian : 1. knights' templars. 2. gilbertines. 3. carmelites . 4. franciscans chap. xxxiii. church-architecture, &c. 198 classification of churches and castles : 76 · british castles-anglo-saxon castles 198 77 · norman castles 199 78 castellated mansions • 201 ib. british churches 198 anglo-saxon churches 199 79 norman churches 201 • • 80 various peculiarities in antient churches ib. 82 . altars-the pix-pall-corporal-perticæ 202 ib. lecterns-candlesticks 203 5. franciscan nuns, minoresses, or nuns of st. clare • 6. brigettine nuns 7. augustinian eremites 8. nuns of fontevraud x contents. tables-roodlofts, &c. confessionals--gallilees-lady chapels, or retro-choirs-cripts • tapers-saints' bells-towers-triforia-pulpits painted glass • page organ piscina lockers pensile 204 page • 205 chap. lix. sacristy-vestiary-costumes 282 articles of clothing belonging to the various orders . augustinian canons augustinian eremite nun 286 • ib. ib. 206 benedictines • ib. ib. brigettine nuns and friers • 287 attributes of the various saints • 207 carmelites ib. • encaustic pavements bells • the nuns' church music singing sermons chap. xxxiv. churchyard chap. xxxv. refectory 208 carmelite nun. ib. • · 209 carthusians ib. • ib. cistercians ib. 210 cistercian nuns ib. 211 clugniacks ib. 213 dominicans ib. • 214 dominican nuns 288 chap. xxxvi. chapter 222 franciscans or grey friers ib. chap. xxxvii. dormitory chap. xxxviii. cloister. chap. xxxix. infirmary. 227 franciscan nun, or minoress or poor 229 clare · ib. 233 friars of the sacks ib. • chap. xl. guest-hall 238 capuchin nun. • ib. • chap. xli. locutory, or parlour. . 243 nun of the order of penance ib. · chap. xlii. almonry • 244 gilbertines ib. chap. xliii. library-museum 245 gilbertine nuns 289 remarks on monastic literature-divipræmonstratensians · ib. nity-philosophy, arts, &c. . 247 trinitarians ib. natural history-medicine-geography knight templars ib. -history gothic architecture-latin language classics and versification 248 249 . 250 knight hospitallers ib. works of humour-bulls-acrosticspoetry 251 museum 253 chap. xliv. scriptorium-domus antiquariorum • 254 • chap. xlv. studies of the monks 260 chap. xlvi. prison 261 • chap. xlvii. monastic courts 262 chap xlviii. misericord 264 chap. lx. specimens of english ecclesiastical costume, from the earliest period down to the sixteenth century, selected from sculptures, paintings, and brasses remaining in this kingdom. drawn and designed by john carter, f.s.a. chap. lxi. hospitals chap. lxii. modern monachism. protestant nunnery at gedding parva, huntingdonshire • projected colleges for the education of • 290 • 297 298 ib. · chap. xlix. sanctuary 268 young women chap. l. dependant churches . 269 lady mary astell's college chap. li. cells-granges. 271 chap. lii. song school 273 modern monks in england monastery of la trappe in lulworth. chap. liii. common house 274 nuns of spettisbury chap. liv. mints-exchequer benedictine nuns 275 · ib. · ib. 299 ib. · 306 • ib. chap. lv. kitchen 276 appendix. remarks on the dissolution of chap. lvi. bakehouse • 278 monasteries 307 chap. lvii. garden · 279 the benedictine ceremonial of the chap. lviii. abbey gate-dovecote, &c. 281 nuns of st. cyr 3419 contents. xi page page · 315 • . 319 322 · 325 326 • 330 • 333 · . 337 peregrinatorium religiosum; or manners and customs of ancient pilgrims 313 introduction-costumes of pilgrims costumes of crusaders chap. i. antiquity of pilgrimage-british pilgrims • chap. ii. pilgrimages of the scots, irish, and anglo-saxons • chap. iii. consecration of pilgrims chap. iv. preparatory steps to the journey 328 chap. v. manners and customs on shipboard chap. vi. manners and customs on the journey by land chap. vii. the arrival at jerusalemconsequences of the crusades-and miscellaneous observations on crusaders nito pilgrimages-political pilgrimagespilgrims adventurers pilgrims against heretics • • · continentes-vows of chastity select poems (in various styles) by mr. fosbroke: 361 chap. xiv. love pilgrims 363 • chap. xv. the office of pilgrims in the church of rouen · 369 consuetudinal of anchorets and hermits 370 • hermits 379 hermitages 381 383 1. economy of monastic life, in the manner of spenser 389 sir richard torkington's account of a pilgrimage to jerusalem, in 1517 chap. viii. return home-palmiferi, or palmers 2. triumph of vengeance; an ode, in the manner of gray. • 410 ib. 344 3. the red man; or, the address of buonaparte's familiar damon ;en ode, in the manner of gray and collins 414 chap. ix. pilgrimages of punishment and penance 346 4. the last fifty years; a parody on collins's ode to the passions 417 · chap. x. pilgrimages to rome 350 chap. xi. pilgrimages to compostella chap. xii. provincial pilgrimages to shrines, 352 5. on a lady bathing, in the manner of the italian concetto 420 wells, &c. 355 • · 6. epitaph on charles hayward, esq. in the german manner chap. xiii. mourning pilgrimages-incoggeneral index · 421 423 xl.a list of plates. portrait of the author engraved title-page. forms of british and anglo-saxon churches costumes of monks and nuns page frontispiece. veil and wimple, and hermit's dress (on the letter press) habits of religious, drawn from existing specimens, by john carter, f.s.a.: · 198 282 • 281 class i. . class ii. class iii. 291 • ib. 292 · class iv. ib. • class v: 293 class vi. class vii. 294 • 295 . habits of the monks of la trappe, at lulworth pilgrims 306 · 321 · x1:3 memoir of the author. the rev. thomas dudley fosbroke, m. a., f.s.a., honorary associate of the royal society of literature, honorary member of the bristol philosophical institution, &c. was descended from a respectable family first settled at fosbroke, in staffordshire. of his more immediate ancestors many were clergymen, it having been a custom of the family for several generations to have one of the sons educated for the church. the great-grandfather of the late mr. fosbroke was the rev. william fosbroke, vicar of diddlebury and rector of aston scott, both in shropshire. he was imprisoned in hereford gaol for praying for the king, during the commonwealth ascendancy, and otherwise injured in estate. his grandfather, thomas, seems to have squandered the family estates at diddlebury, which had been in the family at least 200 years. his father, william, was, agreeably to the family custom, educated for holy orders, but migrated to london. by his second wife, hester, daughter of thomas lashbroke, of southwark, he had an only son, the subject of this memoir. he was born may 27, 1770; and was named dudley, after a cousin, a squire of lebotwood hall, shropshire. he lost his father in 1775, and his mother married a second husband, james holmes, esq. ensign in the coldstream guards, and afterwards adjutant of the west essex militia. his mother lived to an extreme old age, and died at walford, in 1831. her great-grandmother, mrs. dodgson, was cousin to thomas guy, esq. the founder of the hospital in southwark. mr. fosbroke was educated under the rev. mr. milward, of billericay, in essex, and at petersfield, in hampshire, until he was nine years old, and was then removed to st. paul's school, london, under the care of dr. roberts, from whence he was elected, in 1785, to a teasdale scholarship at pembroke college, oxford, where he proceeded b.a. 178-, m.a. 1792. it had been suggested, that he was to be a special pleader, but it was his father's dying wish that he should be placed in the church. ⚫ mr. fosbroke has given accounts of his own family, in his " history of gloucestershire," i. 407; in "ariconensia," p. 168; and in his autobiographical sketch, prefixed to the quarto edition of his "encyclopædia of antiquities." a more enlarged and elaborate history of the early branches of the fosbroke family, is appended to the present pages, from an original ms. which he left in the hands of a friend. b 10 memoir of the author. in 1792 he was ordained deacon, upon the title of his scholarship; and settled in the curacy of horsley, co. gloucester, for which he was ordained priest in 1794, and he held that curacy till 1810. in 1796 mr. fosbroke published the "economy of monastic life,” a poem in spenserian measure and style, written upon the doctrine of darwin, of using only precise ideas of picturesque effect, chiefly founded upon the sense of vision. the poem is again reprinted in this volume. in 1799 he was elected f.s.a. he then devoted himself to archæology (including the saxon language), and studied eight or nine hours a day. determined to publish only records, mss. or other matters new to the public, he compiled his " british monachism," from the rich stores of the british museum and the bodleian library, in two vols. 8vo. all the reviewers were flattering; and, the work soon becoming scarce, the author published a second edition in 1817, in a handsome quarto volume, much enlarged, and enlivened by reflections. the original work was almost wholly limited to ms. authorities; but the reprint incorporated the important information in the glossary of du cange, various chronicles, and other authorities. this work was respectfully quoted by sir walter scott, in his novel of the "monastery," and was favourably noticed in the "quarterly review." a third edition of this valuable work is now presented to the public. he next engaged in an original history of the county of gloucester. being possessed of a copy of the inquisitiones post mortem completed to the reign of richard iii. he was enabled sooner to perfect his collections from the public offices and libraries; and the work was published by subscription, under the title of "abstracts of records and manuscripts respecting the county of gloucester; formed into a history, correcting the very erroneous accounts, and supplying the numerous deficiencies, in sir robert atkins and subsequent writers," 2 vols. 4to. 1807. on finishing his county history, he engaged with sir richard phillips in an encyclopædia of antiquities; but the work was never published, owing to the failure of that bookseller in 1810. at this time mr. fosbroke removed from horsley to walford on the banks of the wye. soon afterwards he had the honour of illustrating the unpublished statues in mr. hope's collection. in 1814 he published an "abridgment of whitby's commentary on the new testament," for which he received the unrestricted praise of dr. napleton, chancellor of hereford, and other dignitaries. in 1819 he published "an original history of the city of gloucester, almost wholly compiled from new materials; supplying the numerous deficiencies, and correcting the errors, of preceding accounts; including the original papers of the late ralph bigland, esq. garter principal king at arms." on this work memoir of the author. 11 mr. fosbroke was engaged by messrs. nichols, as a continuation of mr. bigland's work; but, by compressing mr. bigland's numerous but uninteresting lists of epitaphs, and supplying a large mass of the latent materials concerning the city, and by a judicious arrangement of the whole, he produced a work highly creditable to his taste, and, what used to be unfrequent in topographies, of a readable nature throughout. mr. fosbroke published at least three editions of a pleasing little work, under the title of "the wye tour; or, gilpin on the wye, with picturesque additions from wheateley, price, &c. and archæological illustrations." as a companion to this tour, in 1821 he produced "ariconensia; or, archæological sketches of ross and archenfield: illustrative of the campaigns of caractacus; the station ariconium, &c. and other matters never before published." in 1821 mr. fosbroke edited the "berkeley manuscripts: abstracts and extracts of smyth's lives of the berkeleys, illustrative of ancient manners and the constitution, including all the pedigrees in that ancient manuscript. to which are annexed, a copious history of the castle and parish of berkeley, consisting of matter never before published; and biographical anecdotes of dr. jenner, his interviews with the emperor of russia," &c. 4to. much use of smyth's mss. had been made by mr. fosbroke in his "history of gloucestershire," where that collector's accounts of property were incorporated. in the present work, the principle upon which the selections were formed are, that of preserving every thing of a constitutional, topographical, archæological, or genealogical bearing. the biography of dr. jenner was at the time novel, and written with a friendly and judicious hand. mr. fosbroke's "grammar of rhetorick" was surreptitiously published, without acknowledgment, in pinnock and maunder's catechisms. in 1824 mr. fosbroke published his largest and most important work, the "encyclopædia of antiquities, and elements of archæology," in two vols. 4to. this work was most favourably received by his subscribers, and the public in general, as it supplied a deficiency then much wanted by all aspirants in the study of archæology. a second edition, with improvements, appeared in one very large volume in 1840. it was followed, in 1828, by a uniform volume, entitled "foreign topography; or, an encyclopediack account, alphabetically arranged, of the ancient remains in africa, asia, and europe; forming a sequel to the encyclopædia of antiquities," 4to. and abounding with a large mass of latent, curious, and instructive information. in 1826 he published, "a picturesque and topographical account of cheltenham and its vicinity. to which is added, contributions towards the medical b 2 12 memoir of the author. topography, including the medical history of the waters, by [his son dr.] john fosbroke." the object of this work was to give some literary character to the account of cheltenham, by treating the subject according to the rules of great authorities in scenery and archæology. in the same year he produced, "the tourist's grammar; or rules relating to the scenery and antiquities incident to travellers; compiled from the first authorities, and including an epitome of gilpin's principles of the picturesque,” 12mo, in which the knowledge requisite to form a correct taste upon the subject is brought into a cheap and accessible form. at this time, also, he was solicited by the duke of newcastle, to give his assistance in elucidating some difficulties in the saxon line of his grace's pedigree; and with extraordinary perseverance he collected sufficient matter from various sources to supply a continuous biography of the very ancient noble family of the clintons, filling three large folio volumes of ms. which are now in the possession of his grace, and highly valued by him. in 1827 mr. fosbroke had the gratification of being elected an honorary associate of the royal society of literature. he contributed to their transactions, "extracts from mss. relative to english history," (vol. i. p. 36,) and "illustrations of the constitution of our ancient parliaments." (vol. ii. 268.) a similar acknowledgment of the literary merits of this distinguished author was paid him by the bristol literary and philosophical society, who elected him an honorary member of their institution, and communicated the honour conferred upon him in terms expressive of their admiration of his talents and services in the cause of literature. in 1830 mr. fosbroke was presented to the vicarage of walford (where he had been twenty years curate) by the rev. thomas huntingford, precentor of hereford cathedral, and nephew of the late very learned and amiable bishop of hereford. to this vicarage is annexed the parochial chapelry of ruardean, co. gloucester, of which place mr. fosbroke communicated an account to the gentleman's magazine in june 1831, p. 488. mr. fosbroke was for several years intimately connected with the gentleman's magazine, and contributed largely to its review department; in which office he always acted towards authors with a fair and liberal spirit. his notices were full of original observations. the connection terminated a few years before the commencement of the present series of that miscellany in 1834. he had latterly with great labour prepared for the press a new work, as a companion to his encyclopædia of antiquities, under the title of a "new and original synopsis of ancient english manners, customs, and opinions, derived from old chronicles, local histories, and other authentic documents." this may hereafter be published. mr. fosbroke was highly distinguished as a freemason, and had the honour memoir of the author. 13 of being appointed in three successive years chaplain of the provincial grand lodges of hereford, monmouth, and gloucester. the mss. of several sermons, illustrative of the ancient history, arcana, and objects of freemasonry, preached before these lodges, are now in the possession of his widow, and will probably be published at some future period. in 1796 he was married to miss howell, of horsley, and had issue by her four sons and six daughters, of whom seven are now living. his eldest son, john, is a doctor of medicine, and author of several works and essays on professional subjects. his second son, yate, is a clergyman, and vicar of st. ive's, in the county of huntingdon. his third son, thomas dudley, is first lieut. in the royal marine corps, whose commission was presented to him by sir james graham, (at that time first lord of the admiralty,) through the recommendation of the duke of newcastle, as a mark of his grace's favour and esteem for his father. his fourth son, wm. michael malbon, is now a doctor of medicine of the university of edinburgh. of his three surviving daughters one only is married, hester elizabeth, to charles ransford court, esq. of wrington, in the county of somerset. a portrait of mr. fosbroke, " ætat. 46," was prefixed to the encyclopædia of antiquities, and is also given in this volume. this distinguished antiquary and archeologist died at his vicarage at walford, herefordshire, on the 1st of january, 1842, in the 72d year of his age. j. b. n. 14 memoir of the family of fosbroke. by the rev. t. d. fosbroke. fortunately for me, i am able to vindicate the pretensions of my family (for whom i entertain all the pieties of nature) upon the best legal evidence, and in so doing to add some illustrations of archæological interest, which may be deducible from even dry records and pedigrees. camden says,b of local surnames, that the bearers of them " may assure themselves that they originally came from [such places] or were born at them." there is a place still called fosbrooke in staffordshire, and, so recently at least as the year of the treaty of amiens, there were persons resident at it, and named from it. of the place and them no more is known to me, nor is it to my purpose. it is sufficient to say, that in the roll of the chancery, or antigraph of the piperoll of the 3d of john (anno 1201), under " staffordsh."§ de placitis foreste is an item, "de viii s. de rad de dulŷne et ostão de focebroc." the general opinion is, that the severity of the forest laws originated in preservation of the game; and, under that presumption, the above fine might have been levied for poaching. but antiquaries know that forests were existent among the britons upon military principles; and that so indifferent were the people to conscientious ideas about the game, that this indifference founded the archaism, still prevalent, that, as the animals were feræ naturæ, poaching violated no law of property; nor was the game the first object of the norman king, and his successors, further than as prevention of poaching impeded trespass. the intention of william the conqueror was to make the new forest a convenience for landing troops from normandy; and, besides the amusement of hunting, such a large income was derived from the royal woods, that they were objects of the first moment to the then chancellors of the exchequer. so minute were the regulations, that mere "coppices were reserved for the fencinge and incloseinge of newe woods to be raised, that the number of trees sould might be trebled by plantinge." for what kind of offence, therefore, the said osbert was fined, is not apparent; nor are all similar delinquents in the pipe rolls to be deemed offenders against the vert and venison. it is presumptive that he was of angloticall brightnesse, or light of the family," occurs in asser menevensis ;f and the remaines, 125, ed. 6th. rot. canc. 3 joh. p. 49, published by the record commission, 8vo. 1833. lodge's life of sir jul. cæsar, 23–25. e remaines, 82. camd. scriptor. p. 5. memoir of the family of fosbroke. 15 name of walter de focebroc, brother of osbert, is also a derivative from the german waldher. who and what they were does not appear, further than that they were members of the establishment of william basset; for, in a benefaction charter of his to the priory of roucester, occur among the attestators, "osberto de fotesbroc, johanne fratre ejus, waltero fratre ejus." this charter, as published by dugdale, shows, among other instances, the inaccuracy of his scribes; for wodeford, the benefaction, is labelled wolleford; nor can there be a doubt but that the focebroc of the pipe roll was the fotesbroc of the charter. john being the favourite christian name of my ancestors, it seems most probable that we are descended from this john, brother of osbert, and the continuation of that name in his issue implies that the parents wished him to be imitated by his posterity.h the basset northamptonshire estates descended to the staffords, and when our pedigree commences regularly in 1392, the family are found to be feudatories of those hereditary representatives of the bassets. as all such feudatories or connectives did, they bore, of course, when occasion required, the badge or cognizance of the chief lord. with us it was the stafford knot, and accordingly i have placed it above the shield of our arms, or used it singly. how many generations passed with the prænomen john from the first mentioned john i do not know, and it is evident that, whatever may have been their private worth, they could not have had any historical or biographical consequence. in an inquisition taken upon the decease of thomas earl of stafford in 1392 (16 ric. ii.) richard clowne and john fossebrok are found to hold of him two knights' fees in barton segrave, raundes, and cranford, co. northampton. of course the tenure shows, that this richard and john were subject to military service, as esquires. this john presented to the living of cranford in 1391, as did margaret his widow in 1403. a clause-rollk which records a quitclaim from john towers of the purchase made from richard clowne and agnes his mother, shows a curious instance of the caution used in identifying persons. it is made to john fossebroke, who succeeded another john, and the son and father are thus distinguished: "jones fossebroke, pater pdĉi joħis fil' johis." this john the son was presumptively an able man of businesscharacter, for in 1399, as a trustee of the holt family, he presented with others a john depyng to the living of whilton, co. northampton. if, as edmondson says, in his dictionary of arms, the name of fosbroke was aliased folbroke, there is in the agincourt roll, among the retinue of sir de harington, a john folbroke, lance, as one of those who were present at the battle, and, as m monast. ii. 269, ed. 1st. i bridges's northamptonshire, ii. 227. baker's northamptonshire, i. 234. camd. remaines, 53, 14 hen. iv. m. 10 dors. (feb. 20, 1412.) sir harris nicolas's agincourt, p. 21. 16 memoir of the family of fosbroke. the same arms were borne by both names, the mere variation of the letter l for s cannot destroy the identity of family. such was the unsettled state of surnames, that a testator, in his will, dated nov. 6, 1336, says, that he was sometimes called russel from his complexion, or de la clive from the place of his birth." this john fosbroke died oct. 7th, 1418, and his effigies, from a brass plate in the chancel of cranford church, is engraved in the "encyclopedia of antiquities," sect. monumental effigies, fig. 11. he married matilda, a lady of the noble house of stafford; she survived her husband many years, and when a widow was dry-nurse to king henry the sixth, it being the strict etiquette antiently for royal infants to have a nobly descended nurse. her stipend was £10 per annum, "for decent support of herself about the royal person" [pro ipsâ circa personam nostram honeste sustentandâ.] of this sum she complained as insufficient, and it was accordingly doubled 6 hen. vi.p seventeen years [anno 1444] afterwards, when she is styled in the writ "quondam siccæ nutrici nostræ," a she had a grant for life of a dolium of red wine of gascony per annum. the same formula of wine (commuted for money) was recently, perhaps now, usual in the royal household; and mr. george ellis says of this kind of donation, "in the reign of edward the third the value of the mark in our present money may be estimated at £10, and chaucer's original annuity at £200. the grant of wine was of the same value, because it was afterwards exchanged for an annuity of 20 marks."s her will, dated dec. 21, 1447, and proved 27 feb. following, is still preserved at doctors' commons. some things are noticeable. she leaves to ann, wife of her son gerard, among other articles, "unam zonam de serico stripat' argent' et deaurat', et unum primarium" [i. e. a girdle of silk striped with silver gilt, and a primer]. it is singular, that this word primarium does not occur in ducange, charpentier, or lyndwood, nor primer in tyrwhitt, cotgrave, or any english glossary known to me. but as ladies, in subsequent ages, carried prayer-books pendant from their girdles," i think that some liturgical book, perhaps a collection of psalms, was here meant, not a school primer in the modern sense. in the legacies to her grandchildren john and elizabeth, she limits the benefit of survivorship to below the age of eighteen. then follows this clause, " item, lego et volo qd pdča alic' filia pac' gerardi habeat unum par lintheam' et pro nutricione sua qualibet septimana per unum annum ixd. et post illum annum n owen, &c. shrewsb. i. 540. • percy anecdotes, part iv. p. 8. p pat. 6 hen. vi. pars i. m. 15. in rymer's unpublished collections, entitled, "capitula actorum," ms. b. mus. (ayscough's catal.) 4605, fol. 6. a claus. 23 hen. vi. m. 17. * in charpentier dolium is rendered by cupa major, lacus vinarius. in seyer's bristol, ii. 152, the word was applied to shipping, as of 100 tons, in latin rendered dolia. • ellis's old poets, i. 204. in libr. vocat. llufnam, f. 34. * see cowel, v. age, and ducange, v. etas, et auctor. ibi citat, "see prayer-book, c. ix. memoir of the family of fosbroke. 17 habeat qualibet septimana p unum quarterium anni vid. item, lego eið alic ad inveniend sibi vestimenta et alia necesaria sibi opportuna xxs." the said alice was to have for board and nursing 9d. a week for one year, and 6d. a week for the next quarter. the testatrix died in 1447, and was buried at cranford with her husband. a brass plate with the figures of both was placed over the slab, and had the following inscription: "hic jacet joħes fossebrok, armig, qui obiit vii die mensis octobris, anno dãi mittmo ccccxviii. et matilda uxor ejus, quæ fuit sicca nutrix dño regi henric (sic) sexti. quorum aĩabus propitietur deus. amen." y the figure of ankaret, wife of thomas talbot, esq. who died in 1436, is ir. similar costume. malliot makes it a frequent practice for females to be represented on their tombs attired as religieuses, possibly from some superstition, like as the interment of men in monks' cowls, and it seems likely that widows, who, as was common, had taken a`vow of chastity, never to marry again, were designated by this surplice-formed robe. [see figure of matilda, in plate of english costume, in "encyclopedia of antiquities," fig. 13.] 8 she left a son named gerard in her will, whereas, in certain old pedigrees he is styled edward or gerrard. how this prænomen occurs once, and once only in our family, may be thus explained. it was not unprecedented, for the feudal commanders of military companies, or their ladies, to become sponsors for the children of their retainers, and this name of gerard seems to have been derived from sir gerard ufflete. in the chapter house, westminster, is preserved a presumed muster roll of the agincourt army, previous to embarkation. that able antiquary and genealogist mr. stacey grimaldi, f.a.s. has kindly communicated the following extract: "under the command of sir gerard ufflete, chr, are lionell frať ejus, nich'us fossebroke, jokes harford, and sixteen others, all lances, i. e. esquires." what relative this nicholas was to john, father of gerrard, i know not, only that mr. stacey grimaldi says, "that in the roll the companies of troops are arranged under the leaders' names, such leader being presumed to be the great man of the district whence these young knights, squires, and men, came." "this gerrard married anne • • · by whom he had issue john, of cranford, whose wife was dorothy daughter of robert drewell, of little gedding, co. huntingdon.e this was an ancient family, for a john druell was sheriff of northamptonshire, 18 ed. i. [a° 1290.]" bridges's northamptonshire, ii. 228. 2 engraved in owen and blakeway's shrewsbury, ii. 287. ■ visitat. of northamptonshire for 1566, in the coll. of arms, p. 39. ms. harl. 1467, fol. 27 b. and 1553, f. 38. b see rot. parl. ii. 292. e visitat. of northamptonshire, in the coll. of arms, for 1566, p. 39. d will of matilda fosbroke, ubi supr. ms. harl. 5171, f. 22. • mss. harl. 1467, f. 27 b.; 1553, fol. 38. 18 memoir of the family of fosbroke. as if some superstitious charm, or rather an advertisement of good descent, attached to the christian name of john in the family, a practice which still subsists in the perpetual prænomina annexed to members of certain high families, robert the son of the last john was aliased with a john by the harleian pedigrees and bridges. there happens to be in the records a pedigree from this robert down to john his grandson, and it states that a marriage settlement was made upon an elena doveton [not boveton, as the pedigrees] upon her-marriage with robert. this robert died in 1518, having had issue by elena a john, who died s. p.; a robert, brother and heir; a richard, and others. elena survived her husband, as she did a second one named ashton, and was living when her daughter-in-law juliana, the wife of her son richard (who died 7th aug. 1541) became a widow also. this appears by the will of richard, which is to be found in the inquisition taken at his decease, 33 hen. viii. (1541). juliana, the widow of richard (and misnomered judith in an harleian ms.), was the daughter of william kynnesman of lodington, co. northampton, by joyce, daughter of thomas stokes of stoke,¹ co. warwick, her grandmother being isabella daughter of fasakerley of warrington, co. northampton. her son and heir john, who was 16 years old at the time of his father richard's decease,m married two wives, and by dorothy the first wife had a second son richard," who settled at diddlebury, co. salop, in 1584, his father john being then alive. in their time a circumstance happened, which evinces the oppressive operation of extents of the crown. the proceedings in chancery in the tower of london [ff. 8, n° 27], show that 4th january, 1583, william fosbroke of cranford, co. northampton, complains, that he bought of richard gray, son of peter gray, receiver general of her majesty's revenues, sundry cattle, which after he had so done were seized by the crown, the said peter gray having been greatly in her majesty's debt. with this richard, the son, liberat. dom. cap. westm. v. iii. p. 158. h inq. p. m. 10 h. viii. i id. 33 hen. viii. ¹ of which very ancient family, see dugd. warw. p. 130, ed. 1st. index hered. nobil famil. ms. cott. claud. c. viii. no. 1187, f. 53. " mss. harl. 1467, 1553. this john fosbroke died in 1602, about the age of 80, and upon a brass plate in the church of cranford, embellished with his figure between his two wives, is the following epitaph : "here lyeth john fosbroke, esq. who departed this life the 12th of march anno 1602, about the age of 80, who buried before him two wives; by the first he had issue 4 sonnes and 4 daughters; and the last, whos name was awdre, [daughter of robert lenton, of woodford, co. northampton. harl. mss. ubi supra.] died in anno 1589, having issue by him four sonnes [john, parson of cranford, inter alios. harl. mss.] and 12 daughters, being in her life-time bountiful to the poore, and esteminge no time well spent, wherein she did not some good either to poore or rich. he saw issue of his children by both his wives above 70 grand-children; to 18 of his children he gave portions, and relieved his grand-children. yet he was zealous of god's glorye, loved the saints, relieved the poore, and defended the helples, and hath laid up in store a sure foundation in heaven."-copy made by the rev. b. hutchinson, rector of cranford, may 1820. memoir of the family of fosbroke. 19 terminated our connection with the parent northamptonshire line, which is now represented by the fosbrookes of ravenstone hall, co. derby." "stemmata quid faciunt?" one answer is the law of primogeniture, entails, and a soubriquet. a nobleman of the sister island having had many poor relations, it has become proverbial to designate generically these mourners by that peer's title, so that if poor relations have no legacies in a will, it is said that lord ***** gets nothing. money however among our ancestors was not so omnipotent as now; and the law of hereditary succession did not always supersede superior qualifications in younger brothers. instances are known in our early reigns [as that of edw. i. see trans. r. soc. literat. v. i. p. ii. art. iv.] where the king has transferred the descent of a peerage from a senior to a junior son, upon the account allegated; and a lady, writing about a proposed marriage, says, " remembring the wisdome of my seid lady, and the good wise stok of the grenes, whereof she is comen, and also of the wise stok of the parrs of kendal." the married couples were also expected to be sized like soldiers; for sir william cecil says. in a letter (ellis, ii. 299, 2d ser.), "here is an unhappy chance and monstruous. the serjeant porter, being the biggest gentleman in this court, hath married secretly the lady mary grey, the lest of all the court," and they were imprisoned in consequence. blumenbach says, that the qualities of the mind are hereditary: so too our ancestors thought, and there is reason for it; because if the mere bodily constitution of our parents decided our characters, then, old parr with his longevity would be superior to alfred with his wisdom, and duration be superior to construction. i therefore hope that i do not philosophically err, if i think well of the intellect of these northamptonshire fosbrokes, because two authors are found among them of meritorious pretensions.9 the aforesaid john fosbroke, esq. had by his first wife "four sons and four daughters; and by his second wife four sons and twelve daughters, making in the whole twenty-four children. he lived till about 80, buried both his wives, and saw issue by their children above seventy grandchildren. to eighteen of his children he gave portions, and relieved his grandchildren." how john fosbroke, esquire, the last of my ancestors bearing that title, contrived to portion seventeen children, and relieve above seventy grandchildren, without depriving the eldest of the manor, advowson, and estate, is a subject o burke's commoners, ii. 626, where is an account of them. p whitaker's richmondshire, i. 387. sermons by john fosbroke, b.d. late of sidney college, cambridge, rector of cranford, co. northamp. 4to. cambr. 1633. a nathaniel fosbrooke published, in 1605," falshood in friendship, or union's vizard, or wolves in lambskins, &c. &c." see harleian miscellany, x. 445. see more of his books in moule's bibliotheca heraldica, p. 70. 20 memoir of the family of fosbroke. which presents an opportunity of elucidating the habits of our forefathers in regard to their younger children. shakspere, in his "as you like it," has, under the character of orlando, made actual representations of the painful situations of such post-opulent members of a family; and mr. douce has produced instances where they were made menials, and wore the livery of the elder brother. any other mode of provision for them was in fact promotion above a servile condition. the clown in king lear (a. iii. sc. 3), among some prophecies in doggrels, has "no squire in debt, and no poor knight;" and, to show the needy state of country gentlemen, there is a book, "the mystery and misery of lending and borrowing," which contains an illustratration of the fool's sarcasm." s sir robert naunton says, that the ancient mode of providing for younger children was to send them to the city to learn trade; and this was done with my ancestor, who migrated into shropshire, where others of his family were also settled ; and, so far from professions being preferred to trades, lord shaftesbury" mentions a lady who was going over to holland, "to settle her son at some school, where he may be best taught the languages and rudiments of a trade; for, though as the eldest child he will be entitled to a moderate estate, yet it being not such as to maintain him properly in the rank of gentry, she prudently resolves to bring him to business, for, if he gains little by it, he may at least learn industry, avoid idleness, acquire a good habit of frugality, and learn to improve what he has of his own." i omit fortescue's well-known account of sons being sent to the inns of court. thus does it appear that, in conformity to the passage quoted from whitaker, our ancestors took great pains to make their children wise. as to daughters, sir william dugdale sent one of his to be a lady's maid, and yet he was a country gentleman of independent fortune. my greatgrandfather portioned his girls off in the following manner. being an incumf reprinted in the gentleman's magazine, june 1829, p. 595. fragm. p. 104. in two liberationes in the chapter house (pars xiii. 463, 3 jac i. and pars xviii. 18 jac. i. p. 411) are two writs of livery of an estate belonging to the fosbrookes at ticklarton in eaton, co. salop, to the last of which is annexed the following pedigree: william fosbrooke.anne, ob. may 12, 3 jac. i. [1605]. thomas fosbrooke, ob. 7 sept. 16 jac. i. anne, dau. of edward blackwey; mar. [anno 1618], æt. 30 3 jac. i. june, 39 eliz. [1596]. francis, aged 20 16 jac. i. [anno 1618]. q? if from this family of blakeway the late learned and ingenious historian of shrewsbury was descended. " letters of locke, &c. 256. x hamper's life of dugdale, 226, 228. i memoir of the family of fosbroke. 21 bent of two livings, he says in his will, "as to my whole parsonage of acton scott, together with all the goods and cattle thereupon, i have long since bestowed them upon mr. richard baldwyn, as a portion with my said daughter sarah, upon which parsonage (paying taxes, curate, and repairs), he is to continue until such time as a portion equivalent to what he deserves be raised out of it."z the pedigree in burke's commoners, concerning the fosbrokes of cranford, being very meagre, i shall give the remainder so far as it appears in the harleian mss.a dorothy, dau. of robert john fosbroke, esq.audrey, dau. of robert lenton of drewell, of little gedob. mar. 12, 1602. woodford, co. northampton, ob. ding, co. huntingdon ; 1589; 2d wife. 1st wife. william,agnes, dau. richard, of of market edw. topsell, or taphall, curate margaret. eliza eldest and coh. didlebridget, beth. 1st w. su-john, san, dau. par2d w. jane, dau. of sarah. ann, mar. son and of rob. bury; mar.john osith. of geo. son rev. wm. heir. wolston, of of whom paget, of lynn, of of pelshant, burton, co. northamp. postea. ralph, mar. waldesouthcrangrave. wike, co. ford. bosworth, ton. .... dau. catharine. westmorof benjaland. min cowdry. margaret, one of the nine william, robert, john, of cranford, son and heir; he presented to the living in 1641. daughters of geo. lynne, s. p. of southwicke, by isabel, dau. of miles frost. margaret, mar. to rob. monk, of thatcham, s. p. thomas, co. sussex.b mary. ob. at london. co. leic. lydia, ob. inf. margaret,mar. to francis barret, of spatwicke, co. northampton. ר of st. botolph's, aldersgate, both bur. there. william. john. eusebius. ann. john. francis, henry, 15 years maud. catharine. martha. mary. lucy. sarah. old in 1618. s. p. of the fossebrokes this manor of cranford was purchased by the family of maidwell, from whom it came to the walcots, and was sold to the present possessor, sir james robinson, bart. by captain bernard walcot, of oundle.c a mr. william mansell was his curate at one time, whose stipend was 137. 138. per annum, payable quarterly. tithe-book, pen. t. d. f. z from his will in the registrar's office, hereford, proved sept. 13, 1726. a nos. 1467 and 1553. b it is a law of heraldry, that where only the same arms, or mere variations of branches, are borne by persons of the same name, they had one common ancestor. thus, according to edmondson, heraldry, vol. ii.: monke bore, argent, three leopard's heads sable; to which a branch made alterations thus, gules, a chevron between three lion's heads erased argent. according, therefore, to the heraldic law, the monks of orchard and okehampton, co. devon (esc. 22 edw. iv. n. 8), the celebrated duke of albemarle, the present lord bishop of gloucester and bristol, and others of the name, are descended from the same common ancestor. • bridges. 22 memoir of the family of fosbroke. line of richard of diddlebury. this richard settled at diddlebury, co. salop; and married there elizabeth street, june 16, 1584, by whom he had issue juliana, bapt. at diddlebury april 3, 1585; michael, baptized there february 27, 1587, s. p.; and john, bapt. april 11, 1591. this john declined a baronetcy, when james i. offered for sale his ulster patents, observing that he had rather be a wealthy yeoman than a poor knight; and the yeomen of those days are described as men of opulence by shakspere and hollinshed. the latter says, "our ancient yeomen were wealthy, and sent their sons to the university." to this family system of one member being aiways a clergyman my ancestors have scrupulously adhered; and, by a singular concurrence of circumstances, i had no opening in life left for my second son, but in the church; and he is now the family representative in that profession of a long line of good men, clerks also, for centuries past. this john had issue william, matriculated at st. mary hall, oxon, march 31, 1671, and graduated m.a. july 3, 1677. he was vicar of diddlebury, and rector of acton scott, co. salop; and dying july 10, 1726, aged 75, is commemorated by the following epitaph, still existing. "in memory of the rev. and learned william fosbrooke, m.a. vicar of diddlebury, and rector of acton scott, who departed this life the 10th of july 1726, aged 75." he married two wives, one of whom was a sister of admiral caldwell (a name well known in the navy), and had issue three sons, viz. i. william, incumbent of cold weston, co. salop, who married frances, daughter of baldwin of diddlebury, was executor of his father's will, proved 13th september 1726, and died without issue. ii. edward, vicar of stirchley and dawley, co. salop, who had issue john, vicar of childerditch, essex, and others, all s. p. iii. thomas, who was, by the partiality of his father, endowed with a good estate at diddlebury, part freehold, part leasehold for lives, which had been in the family for at least two hundred years. this estate he squandered. the eldest son became tenant of the father's estate; the second, educated for orders, who migrated to london, was my father: and the only attestation of former note in the native village of my more recent ancestors, is the communion plate of the church, which was the joint benefaction of the baldwins (a very ancient family, see collins's baronetage, v. 43) and fosbrokes, who had more than once been connected by intermarriages. the arms of the family are-azure, a saltier between four cinquefoils argent ; and seem to have been granted or taken up in consequence of the alliance with the stafford family through the lady mentioned; for a branch of the staffords bore a saltier between four pears. the tinctures of blue and white were probably derived from the livery of the house of lancaster, the above maud memoir of the family of fosbroke. 23 fossebrok having been nurse to king henry vi. the name is and ought to have been spelt fosbroke, for such is the orthography in glover's ordinary of arms, the cranford brass, and the early diddlebury register; and the error of amplifying the anglo-saxon broc, as putting pembrooke for pembroke, alters the accent, from pembroke to pembrooke, whereas the english always lay the emphasis on the first syllable if possible. "vixi, et cursum quem dederat fortuna peregi.' 99 t. d. fosbroke. british monachism. chapter i. principles of monachism. real christianity consists in purity, justice, contentment, self-command, philanthropy, and a faith which produces a sublime disregard of human events. its virtues and its benefits are only exhibited with justice to its exquisite philosophy, when they are exemplified in the social duties of the parent, the conjugal character, the friend, the neighbour, and the citizen. prudence and virtue, "the wisdom of the serpent with the innocence of the dove," are the real methods of enjoying sublunary happiness; and the hope of a superior state of existence is the best medicine against the numerous evils and imperfections attached to material animal existence, under the stimulation of wants and passions. unfortunately, there exists a perversion, resulting from inevitable states of society, which, on one side, sacrifices the virtues to pleasure or convenience, on the other to superstition. illustrations of this evident truth, by an ecclesiastick, will plainly be of less avail than the cool philosophy of adam smith. it would be injurious not to give at length a passage which elucidates the great principle of monastick success. "in every civilized society, in every society where the distinction of ranks has once been established, there have been always two different schemes, or systems of morality, current at the same time; of which, the one may be called the strict or austere, the other, the liberal, or, if you will, the loose system. the former is generally admired and revered by the common people, the latter is commonly more esteemed and adopted by what are called people of fashion. the degree of disapprobation with which we ought to mark the vices of levity, the vices which are apt to arise from great property, and from the excess of gaiety and good humour, seems to constitute the principal distinction between these two opposite schemes, or systems. in the liberal, or loose system, luxury, wanton and even disorderly mirth, the pursuit of pleasure to some degree of intemperance, the breach of chastity, at least in one of the two sexes, &c. provided they are not accompanied with gross indecency, and do not lead to falsehood and injustice, are generally treated with a good deal of indulgence, and are easily either excused or pardoned altogether. in the austere system, on the contrary, these excesses are regarded with the utmost abhorrence and detestation. the vices of levity are always ruinous to the common people; and a single week's thoughtlessness and dissipation is often sufficient to undo a poor workman for ever, and drive him, through despair, upon committing the most enormous crimes. the wiser and better sort of the common people, therefore, have always the utmost abhorrence and detestation of such excesses, which their experience tells them are so immediately fatal to people of their condition. b 2 principles of monachism. the disorder and extravagance of several years, on the contrary, will not always ruin a man of fashion and people of this rank are ever apt to consider the power of indulging in some. degree of excess, as one of the advantages of their fortune; and the liberty of doing so without censure or reproach, as one of the privileges which belong to their station. in people of their own station, therefore, they regard such excesses, either very slightly, or not at all. "almost all religious sects have begun among the common people, from whom they have generally drawn their earliest, as well as their most numerous proselytes. the austere system of morality has accordingly been adopted by these sects, almost constantly; or with very few exceptions, for there have been some. it was the system by which they could best recommend themselves to that order of people, to whom they first proposed their plan of reformation, upon what had been before established. many, perhaps the greater part of them, have even endeavoured to gain credit, by refining upon this austere system, and by carrying it to some degree of folly and extravagance and this excessive rigour has frequently recommended them, more than any thing else, to the respect and veneration of the common people."a : history has ever confuted the pretensions of fanaticism to produce the golden age; that is, a race of men without vice or misery. the approbation of the vulgar can be no standard; for they believe in quackery and fortune-telling. indeed, who can judge correctly of what he does not know? but fanaticism will ever have success. it treats upon a subject where there is a general feeling and interest; and acts by operating upon passion, which is always contagious and intelligible; because the sensations of all mankind are similar, though their understandings may differ. without a common interest, unani• smith's wealth of nations, iii. p. 202, & seq. mity is impossible; and this common interest extends only to religion at large; particular modes of professing it are questions unconnected with the feelings; which, therefore, do not attract the ignorant, who expect the senses to be roused, by the inebriating pleasures of what may be called the spiritous liquors of divinity. providence, however, favours the liberal system (if it be not abused by vice or intemperance); for wealth of every kind must inevitably be dispersed among the population: interest of money not existing without a profitable channel of expenditure; and vegetable or animal products being insusceptible of accumulation without decay. "luxury," says gibbon,b "though it may proceed from vice or folly, is, as the world is formed, the only means of correcting unequal distribution of property, by diffusing comforts and pleasures among artisans," &c. the monks practically, though not scientifically, understood the certain success of the austere system. the sæcular clerks were men of family, and worldly consequence. therefore, the only method of ousting them was by the reputation of a superior sanctity, which the monks made to consist in the mechanical offices of religion, and personal privations. this they therefore established by means of rules upon a military principle of automatical`action; and thus abstracted the people from their rivals of the day. the laity was then, by admiration, attached to ascetic severities.d pleasure was destruction,e because mortification was deemed the sole means of acquiring the favour of god, and avoiding temporal misfortunes.f aldhelm, in an epistle to his pupil adelwold, desires him to avoid conviviality, the culpable exercise of riding, or any "accursed pleasures of bodily indulgence." even the first affection of nature, parental love, if extended to the induld b gibbon, i. pp. 65, 66, edit. 4to. • eadmer (vita dunstani) angl. sacr. ii. 213. angl. sacr. i. 797. e id. i. 213. anglia sacr. ii. 133. id. ii. p. 6. " principles of monachism. 3 gence of children, though only in the natural appendages of station, called for the vengeance of providence in the infliction of future misery upon such children.a power and benevolence are the most perfect and conspicuous attributes of deity; and maxims, which represent man as a criminal, and god as a tyrant, as in truth nonsense, if not blasphemy, would in vain be addressed to an enlightened mind. (the gay plumage of birds was pronounced contrary to god's commandment.)b but the ignorance which renders barbarians incapable of conceiving or embracing the useful restraints of laws, exposes them naked and unarmed to the blind terrors of superstition. it has been affirmed that these superstitions were necessary in the early ages of the church, on account of the ignorance of the people; at least, under such circumstances, they were natural, and therefore excusable; but when the world became wiser, these mummeries should have been abolished.d as human means, because we are not to do evil that good may come, such palliations are not tenable; but they have a different aspect, when considered with relation to providence. the ferocity of a barbarous age, inclined to war, is only to be controlled by superstition; and, in the earlier middle age, christianity was very considerably extended by means of the sword, by baptism exempting the prisoner of war from slavery or death.e in such an age pure reason would have been unavailing. it was the policy of the papal religion, to force itself into every ramification of existence; and the superstition, which prompted these daring innovations upon reason, does not disgust the philosopher, who takes human nature as it exists in various states of society, and conditions of life. whenever the spirit of fanaticism, at once credulous and crafty, has insinuated a angl. sacr. ii. 696, 697. b see golden legend, cited in chap. iii. gibbon, i. 279, ch. 37, v. vi. p. 239, ed. 8vo. viii. 320. d warton, diss. gesta roman. xvii. • solorzanus de indiarum jure, l. ii. chap. xvi. p. 263. itself, even into a noble mind, it inevitably corrodes the vital principles of virtue and veracity.f pious frauds continued to the days of the wellmeaning fox, the celebrated historian of the english martyrs, who published the murders of persons who were long after living. that historical reasoning can never be correct which is not founded upon contemporary ideas. the superstitions of all nations were incorporated in the religion of the middle ages; to which were added the temporal judgments which formed the theocratick government of the old testament, and the heretical perversions of the new covenant. this shall be shown in detail. the progress is curious. the barbarians, after the conquest of the roman empire, were admitted to a share of the estates possessed by the romans; and barbarian and roman were classed together. afterwards those were called barbarians who did not speak or understand the latin or roman tongue; as all the nations beyond the rhine, especially the teutonick. lastly, the word signified those who did not profess popery.g sæcular misfortunes. the misfortunes of arthur were attributed to his loss of the patronage of saint dubricius.h if a man died a sudden death, it was thought that he was a bad man, and taken off in judgment.i robert duke of normandy is said to have been unfortunate from the time of his rejection of the kingdom of jerusalem, to which he was miraculously elected by the spontaneous illumination of a taper which he held in his hand.j a tower was thought to have fallen down in winchester cathedral, because william rufus was buried near it.k the scotch took the plague which raged in england, for a judgment, and, invading the country, caught it themselves.1 barrenness, famine, and other evils, f gibbon, ii. ch. 22, p. 14, ed. 8vo. cange, v. barbarus. angl. sacr. ii. 659. i. 212, 213. i angl. sacr. i. 270. 270, 271. 1 decem scriptores, 2600. & du i id. * id. i. b 2 4 principles of monachism. were supposed to proceed from disfiguring an image of the virgin mary.a the appearance of a comet foretold pestilence or famine, or war, or change of the kingdom.b temporal good, or evil, was respectively connected with good or evil conduct towards religious persons. whoever shall enrich monks shall cause his progeny to prosper, both in this world and the other.c robert fitzharding is supposed to have established the foundation of his castle at berkeley, and continuance of his family, by building an abbey at bristol.d gerard try, a priest, sent henry lord berkeley a letter of five texts of scripture, respecting retention of an estate which gerard claimed, “lest it should consume the rest of his substance."e william rufus says, i am certain that i shall go to hell, if i die while i retain the see of canterbury in my own hands.f ill usage of religious persons was thought to bring down divine hatred.g pope paschal adduces the prosperity of henry the first, and his having a male child by his wife, as a reason why he ought to be quite favourable to the privileges of the church.h it was believed that henry the first obtained a victory over his brother robert in normandy because he was reconciled to anselm.i anselm says, that money extorted from priests by lay authority, not to mention injury of the soul, would not, upon expenditure, be of such worldly service as would recompense the harm which it would effect.j if kings oppressed the monks, deposition and loss of life were presumed to be the providentialk punishments. founders or benefactors were to a b dec. e dunst. conscript. p. bed. 382, b, ed. 1596. script. 961. scr. p. bed. 512. cord. regul. proem. spicil. eadm. 156. d smythe's lives of the berkeleys, ms. penès w. veel, esq. p. • ib. p 760. f eadmer (hist. novor.) 62. p. 17. i id. 85. * id. 42. b id. 74. eadmer 90. eadgari constit.-eadmer 157. expect tranquillity, plenty, prosperity, and longevity here; and future happiness hereafter. spoliators the converse evils.1 tithes were paid with the hope of increased crops.m the ordinances of religion were made to supersede the moral duties; and its influence supported by the most visionary terrors, and curious frauds. la tour, who wrote a book (upon education, for the benefit of his daughters!) in the 15th century, tells the following story in that very book: a knight, who had been three times a widower, took it into his head to enquire of a holy hermit, what was the fate in the other world of his three wives? the latter after various prayers and revelations, informs him, that, out of the three, two were damned; one for using rouge, the other for having loved dress. the third only was in paradise. this last, it was true, was in the constant habit of committing adultery; but, not having done so with a married man, or a priest, or monk, or had a child, she was, through confession upon her death-bed, let off for a few years of purgatory." death without confession and the sacrament, was deemed disgraceful. a person who was going to commit a deliberate murder, thought fit to take the sacrament first.p when prince edward, son of henry the third, took the castle of gloucester, and imprisoned the burgesses, who expected to be hanged, robert of gloucester thus describes their distress, lest they should die without confession: prestles' hom was wel wo, that hii? nere issrive³. robert of caumpedene, that hosebond was on, vor he was a lute³ clerc, he shrof hom ech on. 1 without priests. they. 3 confess. 4 housekeeper. 5 little. 6 confessed. clemency and mercy to enemies was alledged as a reason for the assassination of a king." eadgari constit.-eadmer 158. m xv script. 379. notices des mss. dans la biblioth. nationale, paris. t. v. p. 163. matt. paris, 279, 511. dec. scriptor. 2485, b. 9 vol. ii. 544. ed. hearne. scriptor. p. bed. 191, a. principles of monachism. 5 edgar says of almsgiving, "oh, excellent almsgiving! oh, worthy reward of the soul! oh, salutary remedy of our sins !"'a it was usual to recommend this, as a means of liberation from guilt.b the sick were taught to expect cures by the same mode. it was a general opinion, that persons who had no issue should give alms and found charitable institutions. the papal bulls often prevented alms, at last, by dependence upon pardons for the remission of sins. thus we see that the rich had no necessity for repentance. they, as well as their inferiors, used to put a written schedule of their sins under the cloth which covered the altar of a favourite saint, accompanied by a donation; and a day or two after, re-examined the schedule, which the virtues of the saint converted to a blank.f the decorum attached to the proper exercise of the ecclesiastical profession, was not suitably regarded by the great. there was a jester who used to pelt the king (henry iii.), geffrey his brother, and other lords, with turf, stone, and green apples, as well as squeeze sour grapes upon their eyes; yet to this man the king gave a church-living, and he was by profession a clergyman.g the devil and evil spirits were actively introduced to prevent the operation of reason, lest the universality of religion should be invalidated. the delay of anselm's return to england, though evidently arising from opposition to the king, was believed to be a contrivance of the devil to destroy all christianity in that nation. aymeric du peyrat, abbot of moissac, in the 14th century, pretends that pope sylvester was given to the devil for becoming pope; and that his bones made a great noise in the tomb every time a pope was at the point of death.i a spicileg. in eadmer. 163. 1018, 1263, 2383. lives, ms. 93. gend, fol. cxvi. clviii. hist. nov. 80. 83, 84. in b dec. scriptor. m. paris, 61. d smythe's id. ms. 429. golden lem. paris, 733. eadm. chronique ms.-notices, vi. mischief and riots the devil was supposed to be an active personal agent.k epidemical complaints, if they affected the senses, were attributed to the influence of evil spirits. the patients were bound, and brought to the churches, by ten or twelve at a time, and left there till cured.¹ saying the lord's prayer backward, was deemed a part of magick.m william bishop of lichfield and coventry was publickly defamed, for having done homage to the devil, kissed him on the back, and spoken to him." if prayers to god and the saints were not granted, the devil was invoked. in the romance of robert the devil, the duke and duchess had long prayed for issue; but, having often been disappointed of a child, "" p. 6.p "the ladye saide, the devyll now send us one, for god will not oure petycion heare, therefore i trowe power hath he none." the result was, that his birth was attended with dreadful tempests, and his early life very wicked. it was always understood, that when a man was on his death-bed, the devil or his agents attended, in the hope of getting possession of the soul, if it should happen that the party died without receiving the sacrament of the eucharist, or without confessing his sins. in various wood-cuts these fiends personally appear, and with great anxiety besiege the dying man; but, on the approach of the priest and his attendants, they betray symptoms of horrible despair at their impending discomfiture. in the prints, the soul is represented as issuing with a stream of breath from the mouth of the dying person, and caught by the devil in his arms;r and in other old cuts of christ expelling a devil, a fiend issues from the mouth of the dæmoniac.s it was an old superstition; for both greeks and jews 1 * decem scriptores, 2636. id. 2609. m script. bed. 161. b. n bulla bonif. viii. rymer ii. 932. script. p. bed. 358, b. p. p parents consecrating their children to the devil was no novelty. see golden legend, fol. clix. douce on shakspeare, ii. 19. • notices ut sup. vol. vi. p. 63. postilla erasmi sarcerii, 12mo. 1561, p. 146. 1 em. principles of miya to the walvis covered anal rendence by spinna the works also manamed the dieof guardian angels and varmed her popose at and de fa under produced astresting m and if is happened – november. ce the water, it was that to fre cecity, or some treatm taions were a pretended mode of colteriig information to the great the best coarse and durim tions were practised in this firm at the college of st. omer's in the 17th cent. #as placed as a pop a m. henry fairefax, sonne to sir thomas fairefax, who not velling to their inchanting allurements, one night being asleepe in his bed, two jesuites cad in gorgeous white, as they had beene angels, appreching his bedside with two good disciplines in their handes. the ends of some stucke with tey pricks; having uncovered him, they did after so savage a manner rate his skinne, that hee became for a while sericelesse, speaking unto him in latine, that they were angels sent from the virgin to chastise him for some offences by him committed, riz. for resisting the power and reviling the proceedings of his superiors." this they did in imitation of the two angels who whipped st. jerome.f if a person lay in a trance, an idea was always entertained that it was for some supernatural communication, as of heaven or hell.g great attention was paid to dreams, as the means of learning future events; a superstition probably much assisted by a book on the subject, falsely, ascribed to the prophet daniel.i nor was this the only means adopted for ascertaining these. independent of judicial astrology, and brazen heads formed under planetary signs, the study l • pist. dial, p 287, ed. 2, 8vo. p881, 899. e whitby, vol. angl. sacr. ii. 195, 205. ⚫script, p. bed. 372, b. m. paris, 329. * deeem meriptores, 2395, 2410. wadsworth's english apanish pilgrime, p. 20. m. paris, 186. dec. meript. 2424. dec. script. 2426, 2530. cange, v, somnialia. du if cutlet was supposed to be rewardet by god with theft of prophecy.k a was deed in enormous rge and the most respectful attenfun was paid to some prophecies were usted en stone tables, and the force of omens was not insenor. in 152, the city of norwich was land oder an interdict: and at the paborative of it. it is noted that a very the day was almost turned into night, and a bell in the belfry fell down and is broken? erea at the consecradie of bishops the text of the gospel was held over the elect by the assisting prelates, and the top of the page examined afterwards, as by divine interference, applicable to the person's future character, or actions, or mission.p extraordinary coincidences were deemed worthy the gravest notice of history. in the year 1240, while the bishop of lincoln was persecuting his canons, one of them in a querulous sermon on the subject said (possibly is acid our tongue, the very stones would made to have said, "if ice were to cry out for us." the stone-work of the new tower happening to fall at the same time, it was deemed a sad presage. astrology met with a regard which acts of st. sebastian is mentioned a has been often well exposed. in the chamber entirely of glass, in which the whole of the celestial globe was constructed by art indeed orreries were not rare. predictions were reduced to and circulated.s writing in the form of solemn epistles, particular duties. when the moon was in conjunction with venus, it was every day had its good "to seek the love of women, for sextile to “take a wife, for women be now they be tractable;" and on the fond." on other days it was eligible * xv. script. 515. 2541. scr. p. bed. 160, 191, 340. 1 dec. script. 2393, 2394, 219. script. p. bed. 386, 387. rous, 215, i. 399. 1 • angl. sacr. p m. par. 15. de foe makes robinson crusoe always practise this divination. he both knew the manners of early anchorets, and was possibly indebted to this source for some of his materials. m. paris, 468. m. paris, 1173. ' du cange, v. holovitreum. principles of monachism. 7 "to sow, plant, and take phisicke," but "bad to journey and marry a widow." two days after we are recommended "to buy beasts, and seek to widows."a with astrology was connected magick. robert grosseteste, bishop of lincoln, when at oxford, invented charms for expelling diseases, words for exorcising fiends, and mysterious characters of wonderful power, which were inscribed on valuable gems. pierre de boniface, a great alchemist, and much versed in magick, who died in 1323, is the reputed author of a manuscript poem on the virtues of gems, of which the celebrated nostradamus gives the following pretended extract: "the diamond renders a man invincible; the agate of india, or r crete, eloquent and prudent, amiable and agreeable; the amethyst resists intoxication; the cornelian appeases anger; the hyacinth provokes sleep; and various properties are in similar manner ascribed to other kinds. gems were valuable presents,d and much esteemed by the anglo-saxons.e king john was a great admirer and collector of them, and with good reason, for they were supposed to cure diseases, to render a person invincible,f even invisible; and, with the properties of animal life only, to detect poison by change of colour. the imaginarii were sorcerers, who made images, which they were said to transmit to governing spirits, that they might be instructed by them in doubtful matters.i the speaking brazen-head was the united effort of alchemy, astrology, and pretended magick; is said to have been actually made by gerbert, afterwards pope sylvester ii. and traced by selden to an imitation of orpheus's head in lesbos. conceding that the lesbians did consult this head as an oracle,k it rather appears to be of hopton's concordancie of years, b. 1. 75, 77. angl. sacr. ii. 332, 333. c notices ut supr. v. 704. xv. script. 262. e id. 302. 1 m. paris, 187, 318, 1010. j. rous, 206, 207. decem i du cange. scriptores, 2435. j malmsb. de gest. reg. l. ii. encycl. des antiquités, v. orphée. oriental origin, introduced through the arabians in spain. naudeus thinks that there may be a head or statue so ingeniously contrived that the air which is blown into it may receive the modifications requisite to form a human voice.¹ in 1287, at a place called bilebury, near wroxeter (the famous roman town), the devil, compelled by a certain enchanter, appeared to a boy, and showed him urns, a ship, and a house with immense towers.in here we see a property of the devil, evidently borrowed from the arabian genie. there were persons accused of keeping devils in the form of cats ; but this is of northern origin, and refers to witchcraft, or direct communication with fiends, chiefly confined to jews and women, and very different from scientific magick, mostly brought from seville, says john rous, who adds, " that nothing made by necromancy can deceive the sight of those who behold it in water," a perversion of specific gravity. cups, basons, swords, glasses, mirrors, and other smooth substances, were used for divination; and this superstition was fathered upon the patriarch joseph, as dreams were upon daniel. the ancient augury was also studied.r medicine was mostly professed by clerks, because they alone were capable of reading the latin works on the art of healing; and physicians were not, till 1451, allowed to marry, the age seeming to think that a father of a family could not heal so well as a priest. from the nature of some of their prescriptions, there appears an evident intention of confining this art, as well as others, to the dogmas of the existing religion, for which reason relicks were introduced into the materia medica. the hairs of a saint's beard dipped in holy water were taken inwardly. a ring taken from the body of saint remigius, and dipped in water, m angl. sacr. i. 509. 。 m. paris, 128. specula. r decem notices ut supr. v. 492, 507. 1 hawkins's music, ii. 40. " decem scriptores, 2535. p p. 146. 9 du cange, v. scriptores, 940. m. paris, 554. 8 principles of monachism. is said to have produced a drink, very good in fevers, and different diseases. relicks were also hawked about, and money given to the bearers for access of the sick to them. this pretended property of miraculous healing, no doubt conciliated the vulgar to the superstition in a remarkable degree, especially as there was one very convenient rule upon the subject. limbs, it seems, were as valuable as whole bodies, because the saint, knowing that he was not entire without the limb, would of course attend to that as much as to the rest of the body.c saints were not estimated, unless their lives were read by the inhabitants, or miracles recorded of them.d with these, and a legend, the monks of course invested almost every religious man upon his decease. publicity was easily given to miracles, for they were cried and proclaimed by archiepiscopal authority.e canonization was equally easy. the holy see granted to the bishop or simple prelates the faculty of consecrating, jointly with a synod of their priests, altars over the bodies of persons who died in the odour of sanctity, and of celebrating mass there on certain days; and thus they were in fact canonized.f some of these miracles were merely natural phænomena. mandubnauc, an irish monk of rose valley, carried off the bees of that place to ireland, on board the ship in which he embarked. this miracle, as it was purposely called, was no doubt effected by secreting the queen bee.g hugh bishop of lincoln used to feed birds out of his hand; and this was a celestial attestation of the sacredness of his character. sometimes miracles were real absurdities, originating only in the mere propensity and duty, as conceived, of creating them for the good of the church. peyrat says, there was a miraculous fountain at moissac, where lepers came in crowds to bathe, 8 b angl. sacr. ii. 416. script. p. bed. 23, b. d eadm. hist. novor. p. 78. script. p. bed. du cange, v. præconizare, præconinotices ut sup. vii. 61. angl. sacr. decem scriptores, 2417. 168. b. zatio. ii. 636. and were healed by the merits of a saint, whose relicks were deposited in the abbey; but the lepers communicated their disease to the monks, of whom a great part died; which induced the others to shut up the fountain, for their repose and health. now is it not ridiculous that the saint should not screen the monks, while he saved the lepers, or that the former should not have the same easy method of cure? the most common use of miracles was to whitewash the reputation of popular criminals, by pretending that these wonders ensued at their tombs after death; and to this the women were very prone.k legislative notice was taken of the practice, which is of classical ancientry. with better ideas miracles were presumed to happen in proof of innocence, and revelation of murder.m it is to be doubted, however, whether miracles did not sometimes ensue from methods by which the apotheosis of romulus was established. i shall close this detail by observing that baptism was delayed by the anglo-saxon kings and nobles, in order to indulge in rapine and plunder of other countries, until monastic retirement was resolved on.º nonsense should be treated with the contempt which nonsense deserves; but when a popular character said, in the event of a contested election, that he should take the nonsense of the people, and leave the sense of it to his adversary, he spoke truth, so far as concerned the influence of certain ideas. dreams, ghosts, fortune-telling, and empiricism, are not yet expelled; and the monks were determined to propagate religion by means which could alone prevail in the ages of their existence. knowledge is of no general avail where polytheism exists; and the roman catholic religion has perpetuated the customs of the heathens, at first in1 chronique-notices ut supr. vii. 12. j de* id. 2552. cem scriptores, 1591, 2402, 2437. pat. 16 edw. ii. in fosbroke's gloucestershire, i. 289. script. p. bed. 166, 167. b. 513. b. n see malmsb. in id. 138. b. script. p. bed. 192, 193. 221 principles of monachism. 9 evitably adopted. existence could alone be retained by such compliances; and providence, which does not deem it necessary to act by miracles, knew, that where christianity exists, civilization and useful knowledge would follow of course. without miracles, it could never have been effective by means unsuited to the ideas which it had to influence. it seems too to be a method of providence, that temporary evils shall produce ultimate good. the state of ideas at the first propagation of christianity was evidently to undergo a change; and the roman power would not have fallen for the civilization of the north and west, if the diversion of the public mind to christianity and controversy, the natural result of a public interest on any subject, had not destroyed the military spirit, which has a tendency to violence, luxury, and pleasure. this pacific, lowering principle, continued to operate upon the fever, rapine, and debauchery of the rude successors of the romans, with great comparative success; for in certain states of disease, alterative and opposite medicines are indispensable. purity of mind and body was presumed to result through insulation from the world; and through humility and abstinence, self-command and cheerfulness were deemed easy acquisitions.b in a vicious and rude age, it was justly conceived impossible for any one who mingled with the world, to lead a life sufficiently conformable to the character and duties of a minister of religion. now who could think otherwise, if he were to reside among such a people? rude as were the methods for preserving purity, they were indubitably efficient where they were practised. much reading, prayers, scanty food, confinement to the monastery, and immersion in water up to the shoulders, even in the most rigorous seasons, till the whole psalter had been sung through, were, as methods to preserve subjugation of appetite, though rude, eadmer, 156. b ibid. yet effectual substitutes, for the happier and more noble methods of principle and honour.c inducements to lust were less efficaciously removed, in conversing with women, by singing or at least conning the psalter.d the independence of the monks in point of property, was founded on the principle, that otherwise, for the greater good of the souls in purgatory, they could not serve god night and day incessantly.e and as man is the creature of education; as they did not invent, but received their system of religion, which dictated deletion of the vices of others in this form, they were rather passive agents in its promotion, than knaves. if they limited the propagation of virtue to mechanical, rather than intellectual processes, they only adopted methods best fitted to the mind of the subjects upon which they were to act. corporeal punishments have ever been indispensable where grossness of character prevails. as providence undoubtedly permitted barbarism to exist (whether monks had ever been or not), luther's reply to melancthon should be considered. the latter was complaining of the times. "do," says he, "brother melancthon, let god govern the world as he thinks best." unless providence chose to act by miraculous visible interference, the argument is undeniable, that religion can exist in no other than a superstitious form among barbarians. the clergy of all nations has ever fewer vices than the other classes of people; and their faults exist more in the prevalent states of society, and bad institutions, than in themselves, for no body of men is so amenable to the public for their well-being and happiness. in some parts of spain, abraham is represented as armed with a pistol, with which he is going to shoot isaac. is such an absurdity founded in fraud? rude ideas, barbarous society, egyptian superstitions, and the roman catholic religion, solve all the errors of monachism. angl. sacr. ii. 13. 'bourgoanne, i. 183. d ibid. e id. 198, 199. 10 asceticks-glastonbury. chapter ii. asceticks glastonbury. in the controversy concerning the antiquity of the two universities, anaximander and anaxagoras are affirmed to have studied at cambridge, and bellerophon to have been an oxford-man. of the first extraordinary assertion john lidgate was the author; and he only acted in conformity to a mediæval fashion of endowing favourite places and persons with the most remote possible ancientry, as essential to their dignity. it was a received opinion that st. martial did not come into france but under the empire of decius in the third century: this was too recent a date for the limousins, and there appeared towards the end of the tenth century some false acts of st. martial, fabricated on purpose to establish the position, that this saint, had been one of the seventy-two disciples who had been ordained by christ; himself, and received the holy ghost, and the gift of languages, with the twelve apostles. the arrival of joseph of arimathea at glastonbury is supposed by archbishop usher to have been a similar fiction, invented after the conquest; and the preceding instances corroborate his opinion. eusebius, tertullian, arnobius, and theodoret, however, confirm the affirmation of gildas, that christianity was introduced into this island, with partial success, at a very early period; but by whom, is not now to be ascertained upon authentic evidence. ammonius saccas, who taught with the highest applause in the alexandrian school, about the conclusion of the second century, laid the foundation of that sect which was distinguished by the name of the new platonists. to selden's encomium, prefixed to hopton's concordancie of years. b notices ut supr. vii. 400. antiq. eccles. brit. c. ii. p. 7, seq. c ! a monstrous coalition of heterogeneous doctrines, its fanatical author added a sublime rule of life and manners for the wise: it was to raise the divine and celestial soul above this world, by the towering efforts of holy contemplation, and the extenuation of the sluggish body by hunger, thirst, and other mortifications. to this doctrine, under the specious pretext of the necessity of contemplation, was owing the slothful and indolent course of life subsequently practised by the monks.d in the same century certain christian doctors, either through a desire of imitating the nations among whom they lived, or in consequence of a natural propensity to a life of austerity, a disease common in egypt, syria, and other eastern nations,e were induced to maintain that christ had established a double rule of sanctity and virtue for two different orders of christians; the one ordinary for persons in the ac| tive scenes of life; the other for those, who, in a sacred retreat, aspired after the glory of a celestial state. this double doctrine produced a new order of men, who considered themselves prohibited from wine, meat, matrimony, and commerce, and obliged to observe solitude, vigils, abstinence, labour, and hunger. these persons were called asceticks, and wore a peculiar garb. at this time (the second century) they submitted to all these mortifications in private, without withdrawing from the concourse of men. but in process of time they retired into deserts; and after the example of the essenes and therapeutæ, inhabitants of egypt long before the coming of christ, formed p. 83-86. d mosheim's eccles. hist. 1765. i. ed. 4to. 1763. * winckelman, hist. de l'art. i. c. 2. s. i. § 2. p. 54, ed. amstelod. 1 σπουδαίοι, εκλεκτοι, and philosophers, besides. asceticks-glastonbury. 11 themselves into societies. the obvious reason of the origin of this sect was the ill-judged ambition of imitating the heathen philosophers, whose maxims, habits, and indeed whole plan of life and manners, procured them high reverence, especially the platonists and pythagoreans. the heat of the climate caused a natural love of solitude and repose; the distracted state of the roman empire produced numerous fugitives, to avoid military conscription; and the ancient philosophers set the example, in the intellectual luxury which they cultivated by elegant retirement.d the escape from a state of slavery was a further powerful means of filling the deserts with these devotees.e by the early canons, the asceticks are forbidden to enter a public house, or to bathe with women, because it occasioned scandal among the heathens.f upon these canons, it is fit to note, that baths of the two sexes, at first separate, were latterly mingled together. the custom does not appear to have obtained in this country, though the britons and anglo-saxons had baths, and the monks styled them poisoned hot-beds.h the gangran canons observe that the asceticks used a particular garment, called peribolæum, probably from investing the whole body; that females, under pretence of being asceticks, put mosheim, i. 95, 96. b id. p. 141. c historiæ augustæ, script. t. iii. p. 630, ed. sylburgii. d menagiana, i. 338. chalced. canon. 4. f laod. canons, 24, 30. pownall's provincia romana, 185. we hear of double baths of this kind in the middle age.— du cange, v. geminarium. h seminaria venenata, dugd. monast. i. p. 88. we do indeed find in their later æras (ms. harl. 913, fol. 2.) "whan the somer is dai is hote the zung nunnes takith a bote whan bi beth fur from the abbei hi maketh hem naked for to plei and lepeth dune into the brimme and doth ham sleilich for to swimme the zung monks that hi seeth, &c. a cometh to the nunnes anon and each monke him taketh one." warton, i believe, has printed this extract; but i copied the ms. on male habits, and utterly deserted their husbands and families; that children did the same with parents; and that it was the custom to feast upon sunday, and contemptuously neglect the prescribed fasts of the church.i the legend of st. margaret says, that "soon after marriage, she kept her from the companye of her husbonde, and at midnight she commended her to god, and cutte of her hayre, and cladde her in the habyte of a man, and fledde fro thens to a monastery of monkes."j theodora and eugenia also assumed masculine habiliments for the same purpose. the abstinence from meat and wine on festival days, was founded upon an opinion that the creation was evil, and that the world was not made by the father of christ.¹ these passages, indispensable to the elucidation of the habits introductory to monachism, properly so called, shew the heresy of some asceticks; and such must have been the first religious of glastonbury, if william of malmesbury was correctly quoted, as to their following the egyptian rule. but william only says," that st. philip, after the martyrdom of stephen, travelled into europe, for the purpose of converting the franks, from whence he sent twelve of his brethren, whom he previously ordained (asceticks and monks being in those ages held as laymen) with joseph of arimathea at their head, to communicate christianity to the britons; but the barbarous king of the country withholding permission, only allowed them, from the sacred ideas of hospitality, the uncultivated tract of glastonbury, or inis-witrin, for their residence and support. here they erected a thatched chapel, wattled instead of walls, according to the known method of the gauls and britons, subsequently practised by the welsh.p n xv i can. 12 to 19. j golden legend, fol. clxxx. * id. fol. xxxvi. cx. 'johnson's canons, p. ii. p. 27. 31. m eadm. spicileg. 200. script. 292. • see the gaulish houses on the antonine column in montfauc. suppl. v. iii. b. ii. c. 8. p girald. cambrens. inter camd. scriptor. p. 890. c. 17. 12 asceticks-glastonbury. a pretended representation of this church, with gothic windows, is given by sammesa and staveley. the authority quoted by william is freculphus, an abbot and bishop of the ninth century, who again copied isidore, also a transcriber, in this respect, of the hieronymian martyrology. it is there affirmed, that philip was the apostle of the french, and both isidore and freculphus join in asserting the conversion, by means of this apostle, of the neighbouring countries, connected by the ocean, but do not mention glastonbury or joseph's mission; for archbishop usher has copied the very words of these authors, and thus proved the mis-quotation of william. no genuine writer has ever brought philip or joseph into these parts of the globe. the charter of patrick, in which he mentions the names of the second religious of glastonbury, is known to be forged, and some are saxon appellations.e the age of joseph is anterior to the ascetical; and, if the fact were conceded, the glastonbury missionaries must have assimilated other itinerant priests, who, under apostolical authority, propagated the gospel. eddius, who wrote in the beginning of the eighth century, observes, that many of the donations to abbeys were of holy places, deserted by the british clergy on account of the wars with the anglo-saxons.f this passage elucidates the foundation by ina, whose charter refers to traditions, certainly not of coæval invention; and all the early evidence, concerning glastonbury, a britannia, p. 213. b churches, p. 42. d usfuller's church e fabricii bibl. med. ævi. t. ii. p. 603. serii antiq. eccl. brit. p. 8. hist. cent. 5. p. 34. xv scriptor. p. 60. leads to the opinion, that it was used successively as a place of refuge by various religious persons, on account of local situation (it being the custom of the britons to seek retreats in marshes), which colonization produced its traditional sanctity. alfred sought similar security in the neighbouring isle of athelney; and the tor is cut into terraces, exactly resembling the fortress ascribed to him; both being adapted to the british and succeeding methods of defence. from the lives of the saints in these early periods, and innumerable authorities, it also appears, that it was customary with devotees to migrate from country to country, until a situation for settlement was found, suitable to inclination and convenience and the site desired was to be solitary, and yet pleasant. : the druids are affirmed to have been divested of all authority by king lucius about the year 177,5 by whose means glastonbury is said to have been re-occupied by twelve new religious, who resided, as anchorets, in the identical situation of their predecessors.h this early abbey of glastonbury was probably a laura, i. e. a kind of monastery, of which the name is derived from the separate habitations forming xavpot, i. e. alleys between the cells, as in towns. these religious led an eremitical life; lived for five days upon bread, water, and in the east dates, and remained silent in their cells. on saturdays and sundays they took the sacrament at church, and then drank a little wine.i strutt's horda, i. 12. i du cange, v. laura. h xv. script. 295. monachism among the britons. 13 chapter iii. monachism among the britons, scots, irish, and anglo-saxons, till the reign of edgar. the mystick theology, which sprung from the platonic school in the third century, held that the divine nature was diffused through all human souls; and that its latent virtues, and power of instructing men in the knowledge of divine things, were to be elicited by silence, tranquillity, repose, solitude, and mortification. this probably induced paul the hermit to fly into the deserts of thebais; such a manner of life being common in many parts of the east long before the coming of christ. from the oriental superstition concerning demons, and the powers and operations of invisible beings, adopted by the platonists, and borrowed from them by the christian doctors, originated in the third century the use of exorcisms in baptism, spells, frequent fasting, aversion from wedlock, discipline, penance, and nonintercourse with unbaptized or excommunicated persons, because supposed to be under the influence of a malignant spirit. in the next century platonism, and the fictions which it occasioned, introduced extravagant veneration for departed saints, purgatory, celibacy of priests, and the worship of images and relicks. at the same time, from the preposterous commixture of paganism, arose processions, worship of the martyrs, modelled upon that paid to the gods before christ, pious frauds, and sham miracles (tricks practised by the heathens), lustral water, and decoration of churches with images. these professors of mysticism, so numerous in the deserts of egypt, from an opinion that to elevate the soul to a communion with god it was necessary to macerate the body here below, anthony and his disciples formed into societies. governed by rules, who took the name of cœnobites. there still continued, however, anchorets, hermits, and sarabaites, or wandering fanaticks, who gained a subsistence by fictitious miracles and the sale of relicks. from the east all the classes travelled to the west, where the ability of the orientals to bear a rigorous and abstemious mode of living, through climate, did not exist; and accordingly differences ensued in point of austerity. the three orders of coenobites, anchorets, and hermits, obtained in britain from the earliest periods; and we find imitators of the sarabaites (besides various notices in early national councils) in the itinerant monks, who travelled about with an ass to carry the books for service.b collegiate institutions existed among the druids; but with these history has not presumed to connect the monachism of the britons, the introduction of which is ascribed to the fourth century. it would be irrational to think that the british forms of the monastick profession varied from those of contemporary date in other countries; and we find that the egyptian rule, according to the institutes of pachomius,e apparently introduced by the simultaneous coincidence of frequent pilgrimages to jerusalem and the east, was that professed by the first british monks. the monks of the age of augustine and jerom professed obedience to a superior, and division by tens and centuries, each officer of the last having the nine deans under him. they had separate cells, but no property; and performed a daily proportion of work, which, when finished, they gave to the dean, who carried it to the storec a mosheim, cent. 3 and 4. b s. dunelm (x script.), 43. henry's history of great brit. i. 142-7. d id. i. 227. fifth pref. monast. &c. e reyneri apostolatus benedict. p. 119. f usserii antiq. eccles. brit. pp. 109, 110. 14 monachism among the britons. house. at three p. m. they assembled at church, to the number of 3000 at least; and, after singing psalms and reading scripture, and praying, they seated themselves, and a lecture was begun by the abbot. when this was finished, every decury put themselves at table with their deans, and took their meal of bread, pulse, and herbs. they never drank wine. after grace, they withdrew to their cells, and conversed till evening. what remained was given to the poor. martin, the celebrated bishop of tours, introduced the monastic system into gaul, and was imitated by his relative patrick, the hibernian ápostle.a martin (whose rule is pronounced by reyner to be egyptian) resided in a cell made of twigs interwoven. many of his disciples occupied caverns. no one had any property, or bought and sold; but all things were common. no art was exercised but writing, in which the juniors alone were occupied; the seniors devoting their time to prayer. they rarely left their cells, unless to assemble at the place of prayer. they took their refection together, after the hour of fasting. none but the sick drank wine. many were clothed with the bristles of camels, and a softer habit was esteemed criminal. among them were several of marriageable age, who, though far otherwise educated, had compelled themselves to humility and patience. some even of these afterwards became bishops.b the dress of camel's hair in gaul is singular; but sulpitius is clear and precise in his words (de setis camelorum). elian mentions a stuff made of such materials; and the monks certainly wore garments of this kind. hats were also formed of the same hair;d but by the term camblet was understood, at least in subsequent times, cloth made of goat's wool. as chrysostomf mentions garments worn 4. joscel. c. 12.-reyner, 118.-mosheim, cent. b sulpitius severus in vitâ martini, l. i. p. 9. du cange, v. camelocum. d du cange, v. camelaucum. e id. v. barracanus, camale, camalius. lopez's epitome sacrorum sanctorum, l. 15. ch. iv. f by the egyptian religious, some of goat's hair, some of camel's, the analogy between that rule and the martinian is sufficiently proved either way. ricemarch, a welsh bishop of the eleventh century, in his life of david, says, that he is concise in his account of the manners and customs of the monks of rose valley, because they were similar to those of the egyptian monks. unfortunately, the institutes of pachomius consist chiefly of prohibitions and penalties; on which account the conformities of the british monks can only be illustrated partially. persons applying for admission to the order were to stay at the gate many days, be taught the lord's prayer, as many psalms as they could learn, and then be put to the trial of fitness in renunciation of the world, and other ascetical pre-requisites. if found fit, they were to be instructed in the remaining ordinances. then, after being clothed in the habit of the monks, they were to be consigned to the porter, who, at the hour of prayer, was to put them in the place appointed.b a canthis denial of admission to novitiates, founded upon, or at least similar to, the prohibition of catechumens, under certain circumstances, from entering the church,i is distinctly marked in the establishment of david. didate for the order was obliged to remain for ten days before the gates of the monastery, exposed to rebuke and insult, to prevent pride. if he endured it with patience till the tenth day, he was consigned to the senior, who had the care of the gate, as his servant, and there for a long time condemned to hard labour, and intellectual suffering, which probation at length insured him admission into the society.k all things were common, according to the rules mentioned of the fathers and martin; nor did any one dare to call a book or other thing his own, angl. sacr. ii. 646. h regula pachomii ap. stellartius de regulis et fund. monachorum, p. 115, seq. i johns. east. canons, 52, 53. j vita bernardi, l. i. ch. ix. see devoirs de la vie monastique, i. 419-450. ricemarch in angl. sacr. ii. 646. monachism among the britons. 15 without immediate subjection to severe penance.a the precise similarity of this particular rule to the benedictine,b favours rudborne's affirmation, that it is the same in substance as the egyptian, but mitigated, and rendered more efficacious.c after the monastery of rose valley was finished, david, who is styled, according to the egyptian rule, father, not abbot, established the following consuetudinal: "every monk was to pass his life in common and daily manual labour, according to the apostolical direction, that he who would not labour should not eat. this labour was that of husbandry. during the employment there was no other conversation than what necessity required; but every one performed his task, either praying or rightly thinking."d these are regulations plainly conformable to the eastern rules before mentioned, from augustine and jerom. "upon concluding the rustic work they returned to the monastery, and passed the remainder of the day till evening in reading, writing, or praying. (this evening was three o'clock p. m.) and then they immediately at the sound of the bell, without a moment's delay, proceeded to the church in silence. after conclusion of the psalmody, they remained in genuflexion until the appearance of the stars proclaimed the close of the day. when they were all withdrawn, the father alone prayed in private for the good of the church."e the succession of the ecclesiastical duty to that of manual labour, is before noted. none of the eastern monks were allowed to eat till they had said nones, which were then assigned to three o'clock.f the rule of pachomius mentions attendance, without delay, upon divine service, and the rejection of any excuse. aidan, a disciple of david's, when occupied in reading, left it at a moment's warning, when ordered by a prior to attend two oxen and • ricemarch in angl. sacr. ii. 646. c. xxxiii. sanctor. patr. regulæ monast. fol. 30, b. 12mo. 1571. angl. sacr. i. 222. d ricemarch, ubi sup. p. 645. • ricemarch, loc. cit. 'johns. east. canons, p. 109. and a cart, sent to fetch wood. in the monasteries of this æra it was not unusual to have unceasing divine service, by means of successive choirs ;h and this oriental practice is thus alluded to in the fictitious abbey described in the legend of s. brandon, " and always twelve of us goo to dyner, whiles other twelve kepe the quere."i after this service in the church, and its subsequent offices, "they assembled at the table, where the refection was adapted to the age, labour, or state of health of the parties. bread and herbs seasoned with salt was the food in general, and accompanied with a moderate beverage of milk and water."k eusebius notices the subsistence of the oriental monks upon bread, water, salt, and herbs; which last, chrysostom adds, as a luxury.m "after grace was said they returned to the church, and there passed three hours in vigils, prayers and genuflexions; during which time they were not allowed to cough, sneeze, or spit. the nocturnal recreation of sleep followed; but they rose again at cock-crowing, and prayed till day-light."n chrysostom says, "at sun-rise (nay many before day-light) they rise from their beds, and, forming a choir, diligently praise god with hymns."o the father (or abbot) passed the day in attending the sick, schools, visitors, poor, widows, orphans, and in other offices of regulation and inspection, and in prayers, and ascetical severities. among these was the consecration of the eucharist, and a succeeding immersion in cold water, "to subdue all carnal provocations."p david went to the isle of wight to paulinus, a disciple of germanus, who received young persons for education ; and this was usual in these ages. he used to sup in the refectory; but had a scriptorium or study in his cell,r angl. sacra, ii. 634. in ireland. reyner, 151. ccxxxi. has of bangor i golden legend, supra. k cres1 b. ii. c. ricemarch, ubi sey's church history, p. 236. 17. m lopez, ubi sup. cressey, ubi supra. • lopez, ubi sup. pricemarch, ubi supra. 4 girald. cambrens. anglia sacr. ii. 632-655, 662. anglia sacra, ii. 635. 16 monachism among the britons. being a famous scribe. when he was a boy his schoolfellows declared that they often saw a white dove teaching and advising him ;a and in this age every person designated for a bishop or saint was so attended when officiating, and the dove continued till the service was finished.b in the old wood-cuts of the golden legend the popes are uniformly distinguished by a dove, whispering in their ears. we have a few further scattered particulars of these monks of rose valley. the situation was chosen because it was solitary and pleasant. thus also dubricius, contemporary with arthur, set up a school, or college, in a spot which abounded in woods. these ancient monks were instructed from childhood in the old and new testaments; and they worked very hard in manufactures and agriculture, even in road-making.c very superstitious ideas were attached to bells;d and the opposition to the pelagian heresy, and the druidical triads united, probably produced that singular exhibition of veneration for the trinity, which is thus recorded. three clergymen of st. teliau's three churches claimed his body when dead; upon which three several corpses appeared, and one was buried in each of these churches. thus giraldus cambrensis records, that three persons sat down to table in honour of the trinity long after this age.f the abbot's licence upon all occasions, the benediction before a journey, and visitations to correct abuses, occur in these, as in subsequent ages. in these early centuries the monks were not deemed of the clerical order.h very few were ordained even in the most numerous houses; but some were necessary to perform ecclesiastical offices, and these were distinguished by the addition of presbyter, as jerom presbyter, beda presanglia sacra, ii. 631. ii. 629, 655, 662. d b id. ii. 658. e id. see british pilgrims. e angl. sacr. ii. 665. f ed. frankf. c. 18, p. 892. angl. sacr. ii. 629, 636, 658. h costumes de maillot, &c. iii. p. 5. byter. from saturday night till the first hour of sunday, these monks were engaged in religious offices, except only one hour after mattins. they confessed to the superior; and david, like the oriental abbots, held "divinity converzacionès;" of which we have specimens in the rule ascribed to basil. william of malmesbury says, that stone buildings were deemed miraculous by the britons ;k and the addition of a choir or chancel was a great ornament to the churches of this age.¹ thatched and wattled work, no doubt, formed all the offices of these abbeys, as long afterwards. costume. it was a peculiarity of the early british monks, that they shaved the head from the top to the level of the ears, and thus did not use the tonsure of either peter or paul.m the egyptian monks wore the short cloak of the greek philosophers ; i. e. the tribonium, to be seen in statues of diogenes. ricemarch says that these british monks wore common leather jerkins, usual also with the egyptian religious.p reyner adds white cowls.9 in the 5th century the monks of gaul had, besides cloaks, girdles and walking sticks.r chrysostom mentions the hair-shirt as part of the oriental monastic habits;s and it no doubt obtained here at least for penance, as in the egyptian rule. these shirts reached from the elbows to the knees, and were made of goat's hair worked into fine threads, and woven by weavers on purpose." that worn by becket was washed by his chaplain ; but it was rare if there was no vermin in them.y a halter and hair shirt were often worn in token of penitence before death.z the feet and legs were, without doubt, bare; for visitors were received among the anglo-saxons by giving them water to cleanse their hands, washing their 1 i reyner, 129. angl. sacr. ii. 637, 646. * script. p. bed. 155, a. angl. sacr. ii. 659. m maillot, 16. "jortin's remarks, iii. 25. • angl. sacr. ii. 646. p lopez, ubi supr. maillot, ubi supr. a p. 118. supra. t hoved. 298, a. hoved. ubi supr. ved. 354, a. s lopez, ubi " m. paris, 554. • hoy knighton, 2433. monachism among the britons. 17 feet, wiping them with a towel, and inviting them to dine at nine in the morning; and the rule of pachomius orders that the feet of visitors be washed, even if clerks or monks. of the manners and customs of the british nuns, i can give little more than analogous information from the eastern customs, which of course obtained with the nuns as well as monks. winifred was sent to school to a saint named beuno, who instructed her religiously, and afterwards veiled and consecrated her in a nunnery, where she stayed seven years; during which time she and her fellows made a chesible of silk work for her holy patron. from hence she went to another house, where religious of both sexes resided, and became abbess over the sisters.b paulina, a noble roman lady, whose life was written by jerom, visited the monks of egypt, and "founded in bethleem an abbaye, in whyche she assembled virgynes, as well of noble estate as of mydle and low lygnage. and departed them in thre congregacyons, soo that they were departed in werke, in mete, and in drynke.c but in saying theyr psalter and adouring were they togydre at houres, as it apperteyned. and she enduced and enformed all the other in prayer and in worke by ensample gyvyng. she was never ydle. and all they were of one habyte. and they had no shetes, no lynnen cloth but too drye theyr hondes. and they myght have no lycence to speke to men; and them that came late to the houres, she blamed debonayrly or sharply; and suffred not that oony of them shold have ony thyng, save the livinge and clothinge, • decem scriptores, 788. > golden legend, ccii. the acoemiti, achimitenses, were monks who celebrated divine service without ceasing, the society being therefore divided into three companies. du cange. : for to put away avaryce fro them. she appeased them swetely that stroof; and also she brake and mortefyed emonge the yonge maydens theyr fleshely desyres by continuelly fastinges. for she hadde lever have them good, suffryng sorowe and sekenes, than theyr herte should be hurte by fleshly wyll. and she chastysed theym that were nyce and quynte, sayen that such nycete was filthe of the sowle, and sayd also that a word sowninge to ony ordure or fylthe sholde never yssue out of the mouth of a vyrgine.-she that so spake and was rebuked therfore, yf she amended it not at the first warning, ne at the second, ne at the thyrd, she sholde be dysseveryd fro the other in etyng and in drinkynge, by whyche she shold be asshamed; and thus shold be amended by debonayr correccyon and yf she wold not, she shold be punyshed by ryght grete moderation. she was merveyllous debonayr and pyteous to them that were seke, and comforted them, and served them ryght besely. and gaaf to them largely for ete, suche as they asked; but to herself she was hard in her sekenes and skarse. for she refused to ete fleshe how wel she gaf it to other; and also to drynke wyn. she was ofte by them that were seke, and leyde the pylowes aryght and in poynt, and froted (rubbed) theyr feet, and chauffed (boiled) water to wasshe them; and her semed that the lasse she did to the seke in servyse, soo moche lasse servyse dyde she to god, and deserved lasse mercy and therfore she was to them pyetous and nothing to herself. in her ryght grete sekenesses she wold have no softe bedde, but laye upon the strawe, or upon the ground, and toke but lytyll reste. for the most parte she was in prayers, bothe by daye and by nyght; and she wepte so moche, that it semed of her eyen a fountayne. and whan we said to her oftymes that she shold kepe her eyen fro wepyng so moche, she said the vysage oughte to be like the fowl, by cause it hath so moche be made fayr and gaye, agenst the comaundement of god; 18 monachism among the scots. and the body ought to be chastysed that hath had soo moche solas in thys world; and the lawhyngys ought to be recompensed by wepyngis, and the softe bedde and the shetes ought to be chaungyd in to sharpness of hayer." this good lady, a genuine friend to superstition and misery, understood hebrew, greek, latin, and french; "redde coursably the scryptures in thys foure languages," but "sholde her more to the spyrituell understondyng, than too thystoryes of the scripture.' at her death, "anone all the congregacyon of vyrgines made noo crye in wepyng as don the people of the worlde; but redde devoutly theyr psalter, not only unto the time that she was buryed, but all the daye, and all the nyghte."a costume. in france, during the fifth century, the widows of simple individuals took nearly the costume of nuns. this was a hood and wimple, and a gown resembling a surplice.b monachism among the scots. the scottish writers consider the culdees as the immediate successors of the druids. it is certain that the clergy were called culdees [colidei, cultores dei, i. e. worshippers of god] as soon as there were clergy among the scots; but the old pure scottish culdees were similar to the inferior clergy in the primitive church-itinerant preachers under the bishop, not monks.d they seem to have been those religious which the topographical accounts of ireland call canons, in foundations long anterior to the existence of that order. ninian, the apostle of the southern picts, who had seen martin, and lived some time with him, founded monastery at whitehern, according to martin's rule. columba, his contemporary, in the sixth century, was the first author of monastic institutions in " golden legend, ivii. 24, 32. pl. iii. fig. 7. from edinburgh, i. 190. c maillot, iii. p. 5, campbell's journey d skinner's ecclesiastical history of scotland, lett. 10. the celebrated iona, or hy;e one for monks, the other for nuns; the former conformably, says fordun, to the benedictine, the latter to the augustinian, rule.f the rule of this columb, or columbkill, was similar to that of the other columb, or columbanus, brendan, congall, &c. according to fabricius ; and reyner supports fordun, by observing that columb's rule resembled the benedictine, except in the modes of penitence and silence, and the addition of the practice of bangor in psalmody, which was that of unceasing divine service by means of successive choirs; a division of psalmody, which was abolished by the council of aix in 817, through the variety of practices thus introduced in different houses.h columba died in 597; and adamnanus, a succeeding abbot in the next century, was a benedictine.i columba is called the founder of the culdees [a mistake], who fixed. themselves in isles, upon places sanctified by the druids. it is known that both druids and druidesses had occupied iona. parish churches, from policy, were also founded upon the site of druidical temples.k the church of bennachie in marr is built within a druidical circle, probably to draw off the new converts from their old superstitions.1 in incrallen parish, in murray, is a stone circle and groves, one of which was in the last age a burial-place for poor people, and is so still for unbaptized children and strangers.m in the parish of duthell, in the county of strathspey, are two circles of stones called chapell piglag, from a lady of that name, who they pretend used to celebrate there (as a druidess) before the church was built in these parts; and within half a mile of it is a small grove of trees, held in such veneration that nobody will cut a branch skinner's ecc. hist. i. 76, 77. lett. 15. usser. antiq. 359. f id. 361. bibl. med. evi, i. 1125. h p. 151, 2. columb's rule is printed in holstein's codex, messingham's florilegium, stengelius, and usher's sylloge. fabric. bibl. med. av. i. 14. ledwich's ireland, 73, 115. 'gough's camden, 1789, iii. 421. id. 430. monachism among the irish. 19 of it; and there the neighbouring women pay their thanks to god after child-bearing. in the middle of it is a well, called the well of the chapel, and held sacred.a monachism among the irish. one of howard's prisons, if the religious offices be excluded, conveys a clear idea of ancient irish monasteries, in habits of living and solitude. 66 in the interesting legend of st. brandon, which, for ingenious fiction, is nearly equal to the admirable arabian nights, we have various allusions to the ancient irish monks, who were of such holy celebrity, that paul, the egyptian hermit, is, to the astonishment of the learned, made to say, "somtyme i was a monke of saynt patrikes abbey in yrelonde, and was wardein of the place, whereas men entre into saynt patrikes purgatory." saynt brandon himself was "abbote of an hows, wherein were a thousand monkes;" of whom, in opposition to anchorets, supported by others, he observes, we be monkes, and most labour for our mete;"d for the irish cœnobiarchs, all great travellers, visited and studied the institutions of rose valley, which their societies followed; but, through patrick, mixed with the martinian system, both being egyptian. the pretended monks of saint patrick's abbey, however, "never spake to each other;" and this is the peculiarity of silence alluded to in the preceding remarks of the variation of the rule of columban from the benedictine. we also hear of mervoc, an irish "monke of grete fame, whyche had grete desyre to seke aboute by shippe in divers co'tres to fynde a solitarye place, wherein he myght dwelle secretely out of the besynesse of the world, for to serve god quyetely with more devocyon. and i conseylled him to sayle in to an ylonde ferre in the a e gough's camden, iii. 432. b golden legend, ccxxxii. • id. ccxxx. d id. ccxxxii. * angl. sacr. ii. 632, seq. see. and thenn he made hym redy, and saylled theder with hys monkes." these institutions of solitary silence account for the frequency of monasteries in the small islands upon the coast of ireland, and the peculiar construction of their dwellings, now to be described. [it is to be recollected that in the second synod, ascribed to patrick, monks are designated as solitary persons, who dwelt, without earthly possessions, under the government of a bishop or abbot. hence the cells in these fabricks were indispensable; for in fact, these monasteries were colleges of anchorets, or lauræ.] at inis murray is an inclosure of walls from 5 to 10 feet thick, rough, and built of large stones without mortar. within are cells covered with earth, thrown up so as to make them in a manner subterraneous (some are found in others alike horrid and a gloomy), having a small hole in the top, and another on the side, seemingly to give air, not light. they have all been vaulted with the same rude stone. cell at the entrance is lighted by the door, and appears to have been the place where the candidate remained before admission into the other close. the entrance into the inclosure is so narrow as scarcely to admit a man to pass. within are three square chapels, dedicated to st. melas and columbkill, built of stone and lime in a rude manner, but modern compared with the rest of the building. an altar or single stone is inclosed within another square wall.h dun angus, in the isle of arran, on the coast of galway, is a circle of monstrous stones without cement, of which the monastic appellation is mandra. within one of these mandræ, or stone circles, stood, among the orientals, the pillar which symeon stylites occupied a well-known superstition; for st. luke of stiris, the greek saint, who lived in the earlier part of the golden legend, ccxxx. wilkins's concilia, i. p. 3. gough's camden, 1789, iii. 596. i ledwich's ireland, p. 141. c 2 20 monachism among the irish. 10th century, met with at petræ one of these living statues, then not unfrequent, ministred to him for ten years, fishing, getting wood, and dressing victuals; preventing him from starving, and enabling him to preserve his footing on his pedestal.a though the british pilgrims to jerusalem visited simeon, this ridiculous superstition never obtained in these irish mandræ. the appropriation of them to the early monastic uses, is proved by bede's description of a religious house built by cuthbert. the building was constructed around four or five porches, made between wall and wall. the wall on the outside was the height of a man, in the inside higher; so made by sinking a huge rock, which was done to prevent the thoughts from rambling, by restraining the light. the wall was neither of squared stones or brick, nor cemented with mortar; but of rough unpolished stones, with turf dug up in the middle of the place, and banked on both sides of the stone all round. some of the stones were so large that four men could hardly lift one. within the walls he constructed two houses and a chapel, together with a room for common uses. the roofs he made of unhewn timber, and thatched them. within the walls was a large house to receive strangers, and near it a fountain of water.c this large house was the xenodochium, mentioned in the rule of pachomius, and borrowed from the jews, who had such places near their synagogues. the fountain of water was for washing the feet of the visitors upon their arrival. at the pretended abbey of st. patrick's monks, "the abbot welcomed saynt brandon and his felawship, and kyssed them full mekely; and toke saynt brandon by the honde, a chandler's greece, 62. it was attempted at treves, but immediately suppressed. in the east it lasted till the 12th century. mosheim, i. 254, 255. ledwich's ireland, 140. phrase, ii. p. 700. d whitby's paraand ledde hym wyth his monkes into a fayr halle, and sette them down a rewe upon the benche; and the abbot of the place washe all theyr feet with fayr water of the well, that they sawe before." the size of the stones may be traced to the cyclopean architecture, which prevailed before the invention of the orders; and the absence of cement, and the construction of the cells, was derived from druidism. the houses of the druids were without lime or mortar, of as few and unwrought stones as possible, and capable of holding only one person. these little houses were their sacella, sacred cells, to which the people were to have recourse for divining, or deciding controversies, or prayers.f this construction was not the only druidical or pagan interpolation. at kildare, where once stood a temple resembling stonehenge, was a nunnery said to have been founded by st. brigid before 484; and about the same time an abbey was also founded under the same roof for monks, but separated by the walls from the nunnery. in 1220 henry de loundres, archbishop of dublin, quenched the fire, called unextinguishable, which had been preserved from an early period by the nuns. this fire was however re-lighted, and continued to burn until the total suppression of monasteries.g in the first synod, ascribed to patrick, it is enacted, that a monk and nun from different houses should not lodge together; ride in a chariot from town and town,h or be constantly gossiping; that a nun should not marry; and if she did that she should be excommunicated, her husband dismissed, and neither of them be suffered to dwell together in the same house or town. this synod shows the intere golden legend, ccxxxi. f borlase's cornwall, 150. sir r. c. hoare's tour, 161. festus mentions two persons, sitting together in a benna or car; and hence they were denominated combennones. du cange in voce. i wilkins's concil. i. p. 3. monachism among the early anglo-saxons. 21 course betwixt monks and nuns. as to the fire, whether it was druidical, vestal, or merely heathen, is not easily decided; for such fires were kept up in the temples of jupiter," and the pagan fires continued long after the introduction of christianity.b at inismore, or church island, in sligo, in a rock, near the door of the church, is a cavity called our lady's bed, into which pregnant women going, and turning thrice round, with the repetition of certain prayers, fancy that they shall not die in child-bed.c [here is an evident commixture of the druidical deasuil; and others might be found; but the inquiry is not connected with monachism.] monachism among the early anglo-saxons. the hypothesis, that benedict was the last composer of a monastic rule,d afterwards so amplified by reyner, and so ably supported by what he calls irrefragable conjectures, is sufficiently confuted by the silence of bede,f and the various rules which were composed long after the age of benedict by various british and hibernian coenobiarchs. "probably," says an eminent antiquary, "no particular order was observed in the saxon monasteries; but the abbot or abbess prescribed such rules as they thought best; and were directed in their choice, by regard for those they had been used to in the houses where they had received their education, or such as were practised and most approved in other monasteries at home or abroad."g the anglo-saxon monasteries at first consisted of mere assemblages of revirgil, en. iv. line 200. de valancey in collect. reb. hybern. no. ii. p. 165. gough's camden, 1789, iii. 590. 4 sanctus benedictus abbas ultimus compositor regulæ monachorum. tractatus de prærogativ. et dignit. ord. monast. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. p. 325. • p. 120. biogr. brit. v. ii. p. 133, bentham's ely, p. 51. ed, 2, ligious people, around the habitation of some person eminent for sanctity, who led an eremitical life, and presided as abbot. he often acted as a preceptor of youth to obtain subsistence. such was malmesbury in its origin." elphegus refounded the abbey of bath nearly in the same manner.i the first monastery of abingdon in the latter end of the seventh century was one of this description. the building was round in the eastern and western parts, and in the circuit of it were twelve habitations and as many chapels, in which were a like number of monks, who ate, drank, and slept there. they were inclosed by a high wall, nor did any one go to the gate except from manifest necessity, or the use of the house, and then with license of the abbot. a woman never entered the place; nor did any but the twelve monks, and the abbot, the thirteenth,k reside there. they had a house at the gate for a locutory, where they conversed with acquaintance and friends; and on sundays, and the principal feasts, they assembled at mass, and ate together.¹ alfred founded a monastery with different orders intermixed;m and osbern, a norman monk, says, that before the reformation by dunstan in the reign. of edgar, "there was no common rule of living, and that the name of abbot was scarce heard of;"n but that devotees, singly, or with companions, emigrated from their native places, and set up schools (as before observed) until they had obtained an endowment." the first anglo-saxon monasteries in the æra mentioned (as wharton remarks upon the passage) were merely convents of secular clerks, who, h moffat's malmesbury, 36. elphegi. anglia sacra, ii. 124. i osbernus vita "for threttene is a covent as i gues," chaucer, sompnoure's tale. see too m. paris, 413. dec. script. 1807. the idea was borrowed from christ and the twelve apostles; for a founder assigns this reason in marculfi formulæ, l. ii. c. i. p. 12. tit. de magna re, &c. m asser menevens. 1 dugd. monast. i. p. 98. "angl. sacr. ii. 91, 92. p. 29. 22 monachism among the early anglo-saxons. though they were bound by certain rules, and daily performed the sacred offices, yet enjoyed all the privileges of other clerks, and were even married. exceptions, though not numerous, may be found to this affirmation; but it is sufficient to observe, that the monastic orders, over every quarter of the globe, before the ninth century, when the benedictine absorbed all the other orders, followed various rules and methods of living, altered them at pleasure, and were not only negligent in observing them, but were licentious and profligate to a proverb,a though learning and study received encouragement.b these premises are necessary to explain the following passages of bede and the early synods. the former observes that it was the fashion in his days for noblemen and others to purchase crown lands upon pretence of founding a monastery; upon which they made themselves abbots, collected a convent out of expelled monks, and their own servants, and led a life perfectly secular, "bringing wives into the monastery," and being husbands and abbots at the same time. the king's servants also adopted the fashion, and the same persons became abbots and ministers of state. the following enactments of the earlier synods are therefore not singular. bishops and abbots are directed to exhort abbots and monks, to set a good example, and treat their families, not as slaves, but children ;c to provide necessaries for them; be vigilant against theft, and inculcate reading both in monks and nuns. the latter were not to be contentious, or wear pompous dresses.d edgar exclaims against the nuns for wearing ermine upon the bosom; earrings, rings, and dresses of linen and purple.e monasteries were not to be recepa mosheim, cent. v. p. 2. ch. ii. § 9. p. 245. cent. vi. p. 2. ch. ii. § 6. cent. vii. p. 2. ch. i. § 1. cent. viii. p. 2. ch. ii. § 13. b ibid. < hutchinson's durham, i. p. 25. a wilkins's concilia, i. 95, seq. • eadmer, spicileg. 163. tacles of ludicrous arts, of poets, harpers, fiddlers, and buffoons, whence ensued a vicious familiarity with laymen, especially in less orderly nunneries.f there were itinerant musicians, as now, among the anglo-saxons for voluntary pay. the abuse mentioned in the synod existed till the dissolution of abbeys.h nunneries were also not to be houses of gossiping and drunkenness, and beds of luxury; but of sober and pious livers; of people given to reading and psalm-singing, not employed in working fine cloaths.i small houses or oratories were common in these æras for reading and praying; and the nuns of coldingham used them for feasting, drinking, and gossiping. these nuns also employed themselves in working fine cloaths, dressing themselves like brides, and acquiring the favour of strange men.k they were not all of this description, for we hear of anglo-saxon nuns writing the psalter with their own hands.' monks were not to get drunk: or desire worldly honours.m drinking after dinner was common with the anglo-saxons." abbots and abbesses were to be chosen of approved life: not irreputable for fornication, homicide or theft, but leading regular lives, prudent and acute in speech." several of the anglo-saxon kings and nobles were notorious for the constupration of nuns.p but over all europe in this age monks kept concubines, or were married; and kings conferred abbeys even upon soldiers, who became bishops and abbots.9 concubinage was antiently a kind of legal contract, inferior to that of marriage, in use, where there was a considerable disparity between the parties; script. p. f wilkins's concilia, ubi supra. bed. 26, b. warton's hist. poetry, ii. 205. iii. 324, &c. i wilkins, ut supra. * sim. dunelm. l. i. ch. xiv. l. ii. ch. vii. 1 dec. script. 1907. wilkins, p. 97. 134. xv. script. 542. ita • wilkins, 147, 170. p malmsb. de gest. reg. l. i. ch, iv. 9 mosheim, cent. x. p. 2. ch. ii. § 10. egyptian rule of pachomius. 23 the roman law not suffering a man to marry a woman greatly beneath him; but he was not to have a wife. in the third century the clergy took concubines instead of wives, the people thinking that married persons were most subject to the influence of malignant dæmons, and therefore most unfit to instruct others.b the danes discouraged conversion, and especially persecuted the monks, lest the number of their effective troops should be thus diminished, and the converts refuse to fight against their ministers. by this means, in the time of alfred, none but boys were willing to become monks, and monachism was extinct.d indeed it is said that in the tenth century there were no monks in england, except at glastonbury and abingdon. but i presume that this remark does not apply to canons of both sexes, who occupied the monasteries, and whose sæcular habits occasioned their overthrow. the immense abbey of bangor, with its three thousand monks, continued long after the conquest. bede informs us, that the britons would not impart what knowledge they had of the christian faith to the angles; and hence, among other reasons, we hear of no such enormous establishment out of wales and ireland. it is to be recollected, that cloisters were not in use till the ninth century, and therefore that cells were not till then superseded by this substitute.g thus grose (antiq. ii. 17.), who by the way has borrowed this from du cange, v. viceconjux, a termed used in inscriptions, and alluded to by julian. mosheim, i. 137. angl. sacr. ii. 132. spelmanni vita alfredi (by hearne), p. 131, note. * angl. sacr. i. 165. eadmer. spicileg. 209. see cloister. note. many interesting particulars of monachism in this æra will be found hereafter, under anchorets and hermits. appendix. the egyptian rule of pachomiush followed by the britons. in the punishment of speaking or laughing during psalmody, praying or speaking in the midst of the lesson, was loosing the girdle, inclination of the head, depression of the hands to the lower parts, a standing position before the altar, and a reprimand from the chief of the monastery. the same was to be done in the convent when assembled for refection. the punishment of tardiness when the trumpet i sounded to convoke the congregation in the day was similar. no one was to leave the congregation without permission. the monks were to remember orders. on sundays no divine service was permitted without leave of the father and seniors of the house. the morning, after prayers, the monks were to study the weekly disputations made by the prelates in their cells. if any one was asleep during these disputations, he was to rise; if asleep in a sitting position, he was to be compelled to rise, and so continue till the superior ordered him to sit. the monks were to assemble at the signal, but not to light the fire before the disputation. at the dismissal of the congregation they were to meditate in their cells bareheaded, but to dine covered. when ordered to pass from one table to another, they were to go, and not to hold out their hands before the superiors, nor gaze at others eating. laughter or speaking during refection, and tardiness in coming to it, were forbidden, and silence enjoined. the officers were to have only the common food of the brethren. the monks pr. stellartius de regulis et fund. monachorum, p. 115, seq. the jews used trumpets instead of bells. antiq. vulgar. 15, ed. brand. the royal minstrels among us blew their trumpets to supper. hawkins's music, ii. 291. the subject might be traced much further. 24 egyptian rule of pachomius, were not to strike. he who 138 dulciamina vreetments to the retiring monks, before the doors of the refectory, was, in giving them, to meditate something from scripture presents were to be divided. the sick were not to enter the cellar, kitchen, or take any thing from thence, or dress themselves what they wanted, but to have all necessaries from the governors of the house. the infirmary was only to be entered by the sick; and the latter were not to lave access to the refectory, and eat what they liked, unless brought there by the officer. nothing was to be carried from thence to the cells. cooks of the gruel or broth (pulmentaria, were to send it to the eaters without tasting. wine and liquamen were not to be eaten out of the infirmary. those on a journey, or the sick, who desired such liquamen, were to have it furnished separately by the servants. no one was to visit the sick without leave. then follows the passage concerning novitiates given in § british monks, p. 14. no one was to give eatables to any one, but to send him to the gate of the xenodochium, explained in § irish monks, p. 20. when any person came to the gate of the house, if clerks or monks, they were to be received with greater honour, and after their feet were washed be ushered into the xenodochium. if this happened at the time of divine service, the officer of the xenodochium was to inform the father, and thus they were to be brought to pray. [see this rule practised in the life of david, angl. sacr. ii. 638, and all the subsequent monastic rules.] infirm brethren and women were to be respectively received in different places. the porter was to announce the request of visitors to see any monk, and such monk was to see him with a companion. if any present this, i apprehend, is the "right thinking" of rice-march, in angl. sacr. ii. 645. stellartins, in the margin, renders it liquor piscibus; but as it is used (i think in falle's jersey) for cider or perry, so du cange quotes the very passage, and renders it polus ex liquore, which corroborates falic's definition. was brought, the porter was to receive it. if any thing proper to be eaten with bread, it was to be taken to the infirmary. when the sickness of a relative was announced, a companion was sent with the monk, who was then to eat only in consecrated places, and no cther than the usual food of the house. if any edible was given him, he was to use only a sufficiency for the journey, and give the rest to the infirmary. the monks were not to attend the funerals of relatives without leave of the pater. they were not to go out alone upon business, or, when returning, tell what they did or heard. when at work, they were to meditate the scripture, and say nothing. they were not to sit without leave. they had no power to send any one to any place. they were to wash their cloaths with a companion. they were not to take herbs from the garden without leave of the gardener; not to carry away the palm leaves, of which the baskets were made, without leave; not to eat unripe grapes, or ears of corn, or any thing, before it was furnished in common to the brethren. the cooks were not to eat before the others, nor the orcharders or vineyarders, but to have their portions with the others. the wind-falls of the apples were to be put in a heap, at the roots of the trees. bread and salt were only for those who affected greater abstinence. nothing was to be cooked out of the common kitchen. they were to have nothing unallowed in the cell, "a little money," nor property. when removed from one house to another, they were to take only what was necessary for daily use in their e taverns were brothels (suet. ner.). a similar prohibition occurs in apost. can. 46. laod. 24, &c. in the middle ages travellers rarely used inns, but sought hospitality from private persons, whether acquainted with them or not. x script. 910, 1058. m. paris, 966, 981. script. p. bed. 439, a, &c. &c. this was done by the lay-brothers among the gilbertines, when there were no fullers; but washing then consisted in treading the cloths in a tub (dugd. monast. ii. 739), as recently in scotland, see the print in birt's letters. followed by the britons. 25 dress. no one was to walk in or out of the house without leave; nor to carry tales; nor to tell what he saw done, or had heard. they were not to sleep but upon a sloping seat [reclivam sellulama]; nor to speak to any one when they laid themselves down. if they waked, they were to pray. they were not to drink, though thirsty, if a fast day was at hand. no one was to wash or anoint another without leave. they were not to speak to another in the dark, and to sleep alone. in walking, sitting, or standing, a cubit's distance was to be observed between each. they were not to shave their heads without leave, to make exchanges, or add any thing new to their dress. on going to refection, they were not to leave the book unchained. the proper officer was to attend to the books after nones. they who were weak, but not confined to their beds, were to receive what they wanted from the officer. they were not to go to the town unless sent, nor to ride double upon the bare back of an ass, nor upon the pole of a waggon. the priors were to go alone to the shops of the different tradesmen. they were not to go to another's cell, to receive presents, or hoard any thing in the cell without leave. the prior was to delegate his office to another when going out. when making bread, they were not to speak, but to meditate the psalms. the bakers only were to this was the scimpodium, a kind of chair and bed united, the feet resting upon a stool. in the acta s. triphillii, tom. 2. jan. p. 681, we are told that when he mentioned that text, "take up your bed and walk," he used to say "take up your scimpodium," &c. bosius exhibits beds of this kind in his roma subterranea, p. 83, 91, 101. du cange, v. scimpodium, ubi plura. this was unknown to the romans, "do you think that two can ride upon one horse?" (mart. l. v. epigr. 39. uno credis, &c.) but it was very common in the middle ages, especially after battles, to save the wounded. dec. script. 2518. two templars had often only one horse between them. see watts's matt. paris, § adversaria, &c. stowe, &c. in whatever occupation a monk or any religious person, clergyman, or layman was engaged, he was always to have a psalm in his mouth or thoughts. see among innumerable authorities, angl. sacr. ii. 261, 695. the psalter was thought virtually to stay in the baking-place when the flour was to be mixed. if on a voyage the other brethren resting upon the benches and decks, in the inner part of the ship, no one was to sleep, or suffer secular persons to sleep with him.d women were not to sail with them without leave of the pater. no one was to make a fire in his house but for the common use. laughter, whispering, talking, or tardiness in prayer, was to be punished. they were not to talk of secular concerns when at home in the house, but to meditate on such scriptural matters as the prior might have taught from the scriptures. there was to be a punishment for breaking any earthen vessel, or useful necessary. if a monk went to sleep, the whole fraternity were to attack (prosequor) him. no one was to go out, speak, or stay without leave. they were to attend divine service at the signal given; not to begin the psalms till ordered, nor to join another without leave when they were finished. they were not to go out of their rank, nor walk before the prior. the loss of any thing was to be punished. on finding any thing they were to hang it up three days before the congregation, that those who knew it might take it. no one was to wash his house but by direction of the prior. lost rank was not to be restored without the order of a senior. if any one ignorant of his letters entered the house, he was to be forced to contain the substance both of the old and new testament, and to exceed the scriptures in expelling dæmons, &c. (lyndw. 184. oxf. ed.) the psalms were not only learned by children, &c. (malmesb. 148. a. x script. 136. m. par. 98); but we find instances likewise of saying over the whole psalter before eating on sundays and festivals (x scr. 2432), and psalm-singing the common employ of the devout when alone (m. par. 401, 818); sometime the whole psalter sung over every night (id. 519.) i omit many curious passages in see the histories of musick; and familiar books. § baker. the sailors used to sleep upon the benches. there was a place at the poop where the trierarchs slept, on their stragulæ or blankets. those of the steersman (gubernator) were merely mats (casaub. in theophrast. 338.) the hammock does not occur in lye, cotgrave, or sherwood; though the carriage-hammock engraved in strutt's horda, i. pl, ix. p. 45, is anglo-saxon. 26 egyptian rule of pachomius, learn them. they were not to pretend occupation in psalmody and prayer, as if they could not go; or if engaged in any journey or office, to omit such psalms or prayers. no one was to see the nuns, unless he had a mother or other relative there. if a paternal estate had belonged to them before their conversion, visitors could see them with a man of approved age. when the nuns had renounced it, they could be seen with the seniors of the house. there was to be no conversation concerning secular affairs. punishments were to be made of negligence of orders, detraction, anger, false testimony, perverting the minds of the simple; murmuring, murmuring, disobedience, disobedience, laughing, playing, and intimacy with the boys; contempt of the commands of the officers and rule; exciting quarrels; neglect of inquiring the cause of vexation in an officer or monk; which officer or monk so injured was to be satisfied by castigation of the offending party. they who left the order, returned upon promise of penance, and then pretended to be sick, were to be put among the sick, and fed with them, till they performed their promises. boys given to play and idleness, if incorrigible, were to be corrected for thirty days successively, until fear a wulstan, bishop of worcester, as soon as he had mounted his horse, began the psalter, and added litanies, &c. according to the distance. this was done that they might unlearn the vain fables, which chiefly obtruded themselves upon travellers (angl. sacr. ii. 260), for pilgrims used to amuse themselves by telling tales on their journeys (wart. poetr. i. 397); and in 1279, when roger de mortimer had jousts at kenilworth, he set out from london with one hundred knights well armed, and as many ladies going before singing joyful songs, a practice mentioned by virgil, ecl. ix. 64, 65. (smythe's lives of the berkeleys, ms. 160.) thus the intention was to avoid secular singing. sometimes a due portion of the hours was deemed sufficient. (angl. sacr. ii. 306). we hear of a bishop and his chaplain singing psalms in turn, when on horseback. (id. 311). a book of prayers was commonly used by travellers, which began with the song of zachary (du cange, v. ilinerarium.) in some religious orders those who could not read the psalms were notwithstanding to carry tables of them in travelling, and meditate upon them (id. v. superpositi.) this was called a tabula peregrinantium. (id. in voce.) was excited. unjust judges were to be justly condemned by others. consenting to and abetting the vicious was punishable with the severest reprimand, but pardon was to be extended to ignorance. humility, moderate labour, peace, concord, and mutual deference, were prescribed. the patres were to correct delinquents, and to compel observation of the punishment in every point, either in the society of the house, or in the greater congregation, that is, to subject them to the sentence of all the patres. the next in rank was to take the office of the prior when absent. there was to be reproof for borrowing a book from another house without the knowledge of two. the monks were to live blameless, and to do all necessary business, even without the order of the prior. they were to make the six evening prayers, according to the example of the greater congregation. there was to be no ennui or weariness. if any one went out and was hot, he was not to be compelled to go to church, if the brethren were already gone there. when the priors taught the brethren "of the conversion of holy life," no one, unless extremely sick, was to be absent. whatever brother was sent out, he was to have the rank of an officer, and command accordingly. if any dispute arose, the seniors were to settle it, and reprimand the offender. if it was between an officer and monk,the brethren of approved conversation and fidelity were to settle it between them. if the "father" of the house was a party, and absent, his return, if his stay was not too long, was to be waited for. superfluous garments were to be brought to the keeper of them, and be under the care of the prior. if a monk came too late to receive his portion of work for the next day, he was to have it in the morning; and if he wanted work, the senior was to appoint him what to do. no work was to be destroyed through negligence or otherwise. punishment was to be levied for a garment spread to the sun on the third day; for contradiction, contenfollowed by the britons. 27 tion, lying, hatred, disobedience, detraction, and other crimes; for losing or "suffering to perish" skins, boots, and girdles. there was to be a penance for theft, part of which was beating by thirty-nine monks; expulsion; bread and water; wearing a hair shirt and ashes during prayer-hours. fugitives were to be punished in like manner. the prior was to be reprimanded if before three days he did not inform the pater of any thing lost. if he was a simple monk, and did not mention it before three hours, he was to be guilty of the loss unless he found it. there was to be a three days' penance for causing a brother to elope. if it was not notified to the father of the house "the same hour he eloped," he was to be guilty of the crime. the prior was to be reprimanded if he saw the fugitive in his house and did not notify it. there were to be six prayers every evening in every house, and the psalmody to be completed according to the order of the greater congregation. dispositions were arranged by the prior every week. no one was to have any thing in his house but what the prior ordered, who was himself to be informed against if negligent. the prior was not to get drunk, nor sit in the meaner places "near the utensils of the house," or "csleep in lofty chambers."d the institutes of pachomius, according to palladius,e were these. work and food were to be apportioned to the respective powers of the monks. there we i purposely decline entering copiously into this ample subject, as travelling out of the record. hear of an abbot who wore a brazen girdle, as before an iron one, in order that if his belly projected, it might not be a pleasure but a torment (angl. sacr. ii. 45.) the leathern strap was chiefly worn by monks. du cange, v. mastigia. it is well known that these enormous societies were divided into portions of two or three hundred monks, of whom one portion was always officiating in the church, while the others were employed elsewhere. • non inveniatur in excelsis cubilibus. marg. note. d stellartius de regulis, &c. p. 115–133. • id. p. 134, seq. were to be different cells in the same "house," and three in a cell. they were to take their refection in one place, and to sleep in a kind of sitting position upon sloping seats. at night they were to wear lebitones (linen tunicks), and to eat and sleep in a melotes, or white wrought skin. they were to go to the communion on sabbathsf and sundays in a hood only. there were to be soft hoods as for boys, with a purple cross. there were to be twenty-four orders of monks, from the twenty-four letters, each order being denoted by a. b. t. and so on; the more simple having the distinction of an i. the more difficult by e. and in like manner to every order. visitors from a house of a different rule were neither to eat, drink, or have entrance to them. no one was to be admitted who could not undergo a trial of three years. they were to eat with their hoods on, that one might not see the other. they were not to speak in refection, nor turn their eyes beyond the quadrah and table. there were to be twelve prayers in the day; twelve in the nightly vigils; twelve in the morning; at the ninth hour three. before eating every order was to anticipate every prayer by a psalm.i f saturday in the ancient canons (laod. 29, 49, 51, &c.) the communion was celebrated on that day; saturday as well as sunday being anciently a stated feast. (johns. east. can. 118.) but the elements were consecrated on the sunday preceding. g here seems an allusion to the hearers in the primitive church, or to penitents after transgression without necessity. see nicene can. 11, and johns. note, p. 52. h a trencher in the usual acceptation, but this is not certain. at herculaneum (says winckelman) were found two entire loaves of the same size, a palm and half diam. five inches thick. they were marked by a cross, within which were four other lines; and so the bread of the greeks was marked from the earliest periods. sometimes it had only four lines, and then it was called quadra. the bread had rarely any other mark than a cross (which the first christians constantly used), which was on purpose to divide and break it more easily. encycl. des antiquit. v. pains. the "heus! mensas consumimus" of virgil will occur to mind. see hotcross buns, chap. v. istellartius, ut supra, p. 134, seq. 28 benedictine monachism from edgar chapter iv. benedictine monachism from the reign of edgar to the norman conquest. the anglo-saxon kings were remarkably prone to religion-even prostrated themselves before preachers ;a and virtue among the anglo-saxons consisted in abstinence from pleasure.b it was objected to the secular canons, that they deputed indigent vicars to officiate for them, and neglected the services for the dead, who were thus supposed to suffer in purgatory; and that the benefactions of pious donors were not expended upon the service of the church, nor support of the poor.c desire of the popularity essential to sovereigns naturally induced edgar, a great hypocrite, addicted to low pleasures, to favour the general wish for an exhibition of religion by the more austere monastic system, suited to the ideas of the age. accordingly this prince, and a noble anglo-saxon named alfretli, gave a manor to ethelwold, bishop of winchester, on condition, that he should translate the rule of benedict from latin into anglo-saxon, which he accordingly did ; and such a version now exists, as well as a short tract of that prelate's, "of the rule of the monks."e from its contents it might be inferred that the monastick offices consisted almost wholly of singing psalms and the rubrics of the times and services. among these were "twegen sealmes for tham cynge and c script. p. eddius, xv scr. 46, 55. bed. 139, b. angl. sacr. i. 289, 290. hist. eliensis, l. i. c. xlix. mss. c. c. c. cant. cott. tiber. a. iii. titus a. iv. &c. bodl. archiv. seld. d. 52. in this ms. is the anglo-saxon rule of fulgentius : whether the african bishop who died a.d. 533, or the spanish prelate who lived in the next century, does not appear from the enumeration of their works in fabricius (bibl. med. evi. ii. 655, 672). as the rule of benedict was followed literally only by the cistercians, that of fulgentius conveys, in my opinion, a better idea of benedictine monachism than the institutes of the founder; it is therefore annexed to the conclusion of this chapter. thære cwene." two psalms for the king and queen. oswald, archbishop of york, in the same æra, "enlarged the rule by his own authority." all these, however, as junius observes,g were consolidated in the "concord of rules by dunstan," which regulated the practice of the monks till the year 1077.h for the due understanding of the following customs, it is necessary to premise an account of the canonical hours or services of the romish church, a division originating among the ancient monks. because the jews separated the day into four quarters or greater hours, each containing three lesser or common hours, so each canonical hour was presumed to consist of three smaller; and the whole night and day was thus divided into the eight servicesk of mattins, lauds, prime, tierce, sext, nones, vespers, and completorium or complin. dunstan's concord of rules.1 for the sake of perspicuity, i shall divide the day according to the intervals of the canonical hours. from unchrang (mattins and lauds) midnight, till primrang (prime, 6 a.m.) at every season in the nocturnal hours, when the monk rises to divine service,m let him first sign himself with malmesb. gest. reg. l. 2, c. 8. bodl. archiv. seld. d. 52. ms. b reyner, 208. * godi bingham's antiq. b. 13. c. ix. sect. 8. win's moses and aaron, 103. 1 from reyner, p. 208; where it is printed at large. selden (spicileg. ad eadmer.) has published the proemium. the monks went to bed at 8 p.m. and rose the next day about 2 a.m. lauds commencing at 3 a.m. or nearly so. "the order of nightly hours" (says john de turrecremata) "begins from lauds, to the norman conquest. 29 the cross, and invoke the holy trinity. then, after certain prayers, let him provide for the bodily necessity of nature, and so hasten to the church, repeating a psalm with such care and reverence as not to disturb others praying; and then on his knees, in the usual and suitable place, repeat three prayers. let one bell be rung until the novices enter the church, who from reverence to the trinity shall use the triple prayer. this being finished by the boys, let the second bell be rung, all sitting in their seats in order, and singing fifteen psalms, "singly in a triple division; so that the seven superior or former, kneeling after five psalms, at a sign from the prior, and after the remaining bells were rung and psalms finished, may begin nocturns, and, these concluded, certain psalms.' after these psalms let there be a very short interval, as the rule requires, and in summer is convenient; during which the chantor and choir, and those who need it, may retire for bodily necessities, and the rest continue in the church praying. then let lauds follow; lauds for the dead, and other services. 23 duties from primrang. (prime, 6 a. m.) to un-on common deprang (tierce, about 9 a. m.) days. which are called mattins, because they are celebrated at daybreak" (comm. in reg. bened. p. 180. tr. 69, in c. xii.); and hugo a s. victore fixes the time by observing, that "morning lauds claim the last part of the night; viz. the fourth watch, which is extended to day-break.' (erud. theol. de offic. eccles. lib. 2, c. x. p. 1393.) the watches from the jews began first at 6 p.m.; the second at 9 p.m.; the third at 12 p.m.; the fourth at 3 a.m. (godwin ubi supra.) in ethelwold's tract, "de consuetudine monachorum," all the prayers and psalms are specified. it is in anglo-saxon. (ms. bodl. arch. seld. d. 52.) the nightly hours are mattins, prime, and complin; the daily, tierce, sext, nones, and vespers (provinc. angl. 227, ed. oxf.) thus lyndwood; but others make their nocturns to be mattins. (godw. ubi supr.) "in the time of mattins in which there is an interval before lauds." (dugd. monast. i. 952.) carthusian rule. the saxon appellations of the hours are taken from lambard's archaionomia, p. 131. if the office of lauds be finished by day-break as is fit, let them begin prime without ringing; if not, let them wait for day-light, and, ringing the bell, assemble for prime. this service and its appendages finished, let the monks attend to reading till the second hour (7 a. m.); and then at the bell-ringing (and not before, the officiating ministers excepted) return and put on their daycloaths. let no one without leave omit this duty. afterwards let the whole convent, silently psalmodizing, wash their faces and proceed to the church. let the sacrist ring the bell, and the triple prayer being finished by the seniors first, and children afterwards, let every one take his place, the bell ring, and tierce commence, to be followed by the morning mass. from unbeprang (tierce, on comabout 9 a. m.) to middingrang (sext, about 12.) mon days. after tierce and morning mass, the prior making the sign, and going first, let them proceed to the chapter, salute the cross with their faces to the east, and bow to the surrounding brethren. then all being seated, let the martyrology or obituary be read, and be followed by [a certain divine service.] then let the rule be read to them sitting; or, if it be a saint's day, the gospel of the day, upon which the prior shall make a discourse. after this, let any one who acknowledges himself guilty of a fault, humbly asking pardon, request indulgence. let every monk, when chidden, before he speak a word, solicit pardon; and, when interrogated why he made this solicitation, confess his fault, and afterwards, upon command, arise. let him, who upon reprimand does not immediately request pardon, be subject to severe punishment. after this let them sing five psalms for deceased brethren. the concordia regularum here commences the exception on festivals, &c. hereafter given; and so intermixes the duties, that it cannot be followed regud see pachomius's rule, note, p. 25. 30 vikkeish from edgar bene larly in the famiikka of the aess of the t. takse, joterer, vis is 5llows: few zubering about 12 % nocmara nivet. about 2 or 3, a 2 afer charter, the monks tent ork or read yet then, aber the semine, from easter hood far. they dined. then sloved the mendan or sleep at noon. anless any one preferred reading. then nines. from nocracy nies. about 2or? p.m. 1223. erenvesters, fr vepers. luceraz "vun, about 4 deka common days. from holmoed day to lent, wednesdays and fridays in the simmer, and all the fasts of the order, the minks did not dine till nones. then reading or work till vespers, if there was time. from epeorary tespers 46'clock to niterorg, cow-commen plin, second veapers, 7 days. o'clock.s after vespers followed reading, till collation; then compiin: confession of sins, evening prayers, and retirement to rest at eight. exceptions on particular days and seasons. the duties 'proceeds the concord of rules, which were to be performed after tierce on common days, were to be done before on sundays; yet so, that there might be time for confession to the abbot, or in his absence, his • bishop fox says (rule of st. bennet, bl. letter, 1516, fol.) “ at sext, about an hour before noon,' and “nones about 2." vespers have been placed at six o'clock; but it was after dinner, among the monks, about four. a visitation injunction says, “item quod cuncti cant ad vesperas ad horam quartam et non ante, bam sorbate quam hyeme." item, that all go to ve-pers at four o'clock, and not before, both in winter and summer. ms. ashmol. mus. 1519, thus fuller, (church hist. b. 6, p. 278;) but davies (rites and monuments of the church of durham) earlier. if the monks were too numerous to mess in that day, they were so do so on the following, without akcepting er the novices. they vere 11 menfess is at ther times, vien prompted by temptation of body 3 cc feast days, on account of the observabon of silence and study,d prze vis to be so extended, that the chapter being finished (and a succession of allons seres the monks might after the peace. reserve the sacrament. when the mass was finished, the cheating ministers were to take some what by way of refreshment, while the rest stand in the church; and, at the bell ringing. sext commenced; and atervands the monks went to linner. on a festiva dar a solemn silence was to be observed during the whole day in the cloister. after the chapter, let certain psalms be said for the deceased; and if the monks have no work, a simple benedicite from the 4 no work 1pen holidays of course. the the peace the peace of the lord be ever with you was instituted by innocent (walafr. strabo, de reb. eccies. ca. xii. p. 683.) a kiss prohibited between men and women immediately followed the above words, and preceded the commanien arılımas. l. 3. ch. riri. xxxiv. p. 433.) the reason was to shew that we were members of his body, who died, was crucified, and rose again for us rab. maurus de instit. cleric. l. 1. ch. i. additio de missà, p. 5×6.) in the thirteenth century the queen of france when at church happened to embrace a courtezan, whom, by her dress, she mistook for a lady, (maillot, costumes, iii. 107, and through consequences of this kind. the pax-berd, what bishop jewell calls "a little table of silver, or somewhat else," with the picture of the virgin mary, was substituted in subsequent æras. see § abbot. a little bread and wine by way of breakfast; but it was given here, lest there should be any remains of the sacrament which could be spit out du cange in voce.) it is also a small portion of broth, or similar thing, but not here; for davies mentions an almery, "wherein singing bread and wine were usually placed, at which the sacristan caused his servant or scholar daily to give attendance from six of the clock in the morning, till the high mass was ended; out of which to deliver singing bread and wine to those who did assist and help the monks to celebrate and say mass." a council of mexico, in 1585, orders priests not to smoke tobacco before celebration of mass. du cange, v. picietum. the idle and infirm had work given them. reg. bened. to the norman conquest. 31 prior, and the reply of dominus ;ª but if they have, certain short prayers. let the work be done, till the bell ring for "robing themselves for sext." when sext was ended, the mass commenced, and was followed by the first bell of nones, and a short prefatory prayer, as usual before every canonical hour. after this prayer, the officiating monks of the week took their mixtus, while the others continued in psalmody, till another sound of the bell proclaimed the commencement of nones, and the prayers appended. dinner immediately followed; and, after this, reading or psalmody; and if any thing remained to be done, the table was struck, and it was directly set about. vespers were expedited; and after prayer in the choir, while the bells were ringing, the juniors were employed in spiritual reading, and the seniors in divine prayer, sitting. after vespers, they retired to put off their diurnal shoes [davies calls them daysocks], and take their nocturnal ones.c if it was a saturday, they washed their feet, after that their shoes,dand emptied. ■ houses just after the conquest, through many of the noble anglo-saxons flying to the woods and turning thieves, were obliged to be strongly fortified and secured. prayers, as in a storm at sea, were said by the master of the house; and in shutting the doors and windows, benedicite, and the answer dominus, reverently resounded. this custom continued till the reign of henry iii.; perhaps later. m. paris, 999. see the explanation postea, chap. xxix. § novices. the tabula was a wooden hammer, called also ferula, struck when a monk was dying, that the rest in the infirmary might pray for him, and the others hasten to it.-when the breve or obit of a stranger deceased monk was announced-to assemble the chapter-to proclaim the arrival of a strange brother (among the franciscans)-at the maundy -for work-for licence of conversing; and also during the days in passion-week, when bell-ringing was suspended. du cange, v. ferula, tabula; who (v. matratum) makes it a kind of rattle like a watchman's, or a clapper. < mr. strutt thinks that these were a thick kind of shoes, made large enough to receive the foot with the common shoe upon it, which was certainly done, though not in this express instance perhaps. dresses, i. p. 48. d many people observed saturday for a fast in honour of the holy virgin. it was also usual to make every thing clean on that day (boccac. decamer. d. ii. nov. 10.); but friday was also among us a general cleaning day (harrington's nug. antiq. ii. 270.) in bernardus (de ord. cluniac.) it is said, " on every wednesday, if it be a private day, and the vessels, at the ringing of a bell by the prior. after the washing was finished, the hammer was struck, and the monks went to the maundy. after the maundy was finished, the collation commenced. at another sound of the bell, they entered the refectory to receive their charities (cups of wine), while the collation was reading modified in length by the time and inclination of the prior; and when that was over, the prior said a certain prayer.h on other days they went to the refectory after changing their shoes. the bell was then rung for completory; after which, at a sign from the prior, they mutually confessed. the on every saturday, the boys, after vespers, wash their shoes; they wash also their patini by custom, before the birth-days of peter and paul; but they do not suspend them to dry upon a cord, as the other brothers do, but only lay them on the grassplat of the cloister." du cange, v. patini (lighter shoes). e "the church," says rupert tuitiensis, "imitates that woman who anointed the feet of christ; i. e. refreshing them with alms, who although they are his lowest members, and, as it were, his feet, so they are esteemed the extreme parts of his great body." (de divin. offic. p. 951.) in some monasteries a maundy occurred on every saturday, and the feet of as many poor people were washed, as there were monks. some abbeys, after washing the feet, gave linen to the poor. warm water was used. (du cange, v. aceolum. mandatum.) at this æra there was a maundy for washing the feet of three of the poor belonging to the house, and distributing refection to them every day (besides that of maundy thursday); and this is the maundy alluded to. augustine is first quoted for the custom, according to du cange. "as soon as they shall have risen from supper, let all sit in one place, and one read collations, or lives of the fathers, or anything else edifying." (reg. bened. c. xlii.) late suppers took their name from hence. (du cange in litt. c. p. 749, ed. bened.) given on festivals, anniversaries, &c. to remind the monks of benefits received; and first mentioned in eddius's life of wilfrid, about the year 700. du cange, v. caritates. let the abbot say after the drinking, "blessed be the name of the lord." after this drinking, let the hour of rest take place. abbas dicet post potum, sit nomen domini benedictum; post hanc potationem teneatur hora quietis. missale de oseney, ms. arch. a. bodl. 73, § de potu caritatis. so called because it completed the duties of the day; and the service ending with that versicle of the psalms: "set a watch, o lord, before my mouth, and keep the door of my lips," silence was strictly observed till the next day. fuller's church history, book 6, p. 289. "wulstan atthis was usual in all orders. tended the collation of the monks, that, having 32 benedictine monachism from edgar complin was concluded by certain prayers; at the end of which the hebdomadary (the officiating minister of the week) sprinkled the monks with holy water, as was done also to the dormitory. and if any one staid longer for private prayer, he was indulged till the bell of the sacrist, rung for that purpose, warned him to depart. from the calends of november to the beginning of lent access was granted (in silence) to the fire, and a fit place chosen for that purpose. the same customs were observed here as in the cloister, where in tranquil seasons the monks abode. no one went from hence without leave of the prior. at this season the monks rose earlier to vigils ;b and after mattins, lauds, prime, and other services. finished, attended to reading. from the feast of st. martin the bell of nones rung, which nones no drinking d followed, till the purification of the virgin mary. this was done on all solemn days; but on others they put on their shoes, &c. as before directed. in advent let the fat of bacon e be forbidden except on holidays. made the general confession with them, and given the benediction, he might retire to rest." knighton in x script. col. 2367. see chap. liii. § common house. these, says linwood, (prov. p. 102) were eves of certain feasts, in which they not only fasted, but prayed and watched the whole night. there were, however, two nightly services on the chief festivals, one in the beginning of night; and this seems to be the vigils here alluded to. du cange, v. vigilia. the latins observed three lents; the greater lent of forty days, and the two others of st. martin's and john the baptist before christmas, latterly compressed into one. it began upon the octaves of all saints; and egbert (de eccles. institut.) says, that the english nation, in the full week before christmas, not only fasted on wednesday, friday, and saturday, but spent twelve whole days before christmas, in fasts, vigils, prayers, and almsgiving; which practice obtained both among the monks and people. du cange, v. quadragesima. these were called biberes, and were usual in summer after nones. du cange, v. biberes nonales. • stocks of bacon were laid in for winter provision by our ancestors (m. paris, 527); and this season, being the smaller lent, it was forbidden, as being a luxury. we are told, that none of the monks ate meat or blood till the time of charlemagne, who obtained by devout prayers from pope in advent, vespers were celebrated at the usual time after dinner. on the vigil of christmas day, whilst that event was recited by the reader in the chapter, all, rising together, kneeled down to thank our lord for the piety of his sacrifice. on easter-day the gospel was read by the abbot. before lauds the ministers went out in silence, to shoe, wash, and clothe themselves in haste. after prime the chapter was held; and, after other spiritual duties, the monks besought indulgence of the abbot for their faults; and the abbot, throwing himself at their feet, did the like from them. after the chapter they robed themselves for tierce. on the purification of the virgin mary, they went in surplices to the church for candles, which were consecrated, sprinkled with holy water, and censed by the abbot. every monk took a candle from the sacrist and lighted it. a procession was made, tierce and mass were celebrated, and the candles offered to the priest. palm sunday was celebrated in a leo the use of blood; and procured for the monks on his side of the alps, the fat of bacon, the others having olive oil. monachorum nemo carne vel sanguine vescebatur ante tempora caroli magni ; qui devotis optinuit a leone papa supplicationibus, usum sanguinis cismontanis monachis impetrans eis oleum lardinum, qui non haberent laurinam, ut transmontani. ms. bodl. wood, ii. p. 213, from w. mapes, de nugis curialium. query, j. sarisb.? candlemas day. the candles at the purification, says alcuinus (de divin. offic. p. 231), were an exchange for the lustration of the pagans; and candles were used from the parable of the wise virgins. du cange observes, that it was a substitute of pope gelasius for the candles, which in february, the people used to carry in the lupercalia (v. candelaria.) another reason was, that the use of lighted tapers, which was observed all winter at vespers, and litanies, was then wont to cease till the next all hallow mass (antiq. vulg. 221.) the people used to go to church carrying candles in their hands. in the ancient danish calendars, a hand holding a torch was painted, in allusion to the day. du cange. branches of box-wood (palms not being to be obtained here) were carried in procession in memory of the palms strewed before christ. (du cange, v. dominica dies. lignum paschale.) the host was carried on an ass, bushes were strewed in the road, cloths of the richest kind spread and hung about (antiq. vulg. 237, ed. brand.), and to the norman conquest. 33 similar manner by a procession, consecrating, sprinkling, and censing the palm branches, which were immediately afterwards distributed, and, at the end of a religious service, offered like the candles at the altar. in the first nights of the passion week,a if mattins were ended before day-break, they retired to rest, though it was more laudable if they remained watching. after prime on these days the whole psalter was gone over in the choir: after that the litany was sung in a prostrate position; then they read till the time for shoeing themselves; and after chapter unshod and washed the pavement of the church and the altar with holy water. no mass was said till this was done to the altar; after which they washed their feet and re-shod themselves. after sext there was a mass, and such a number of poor as the abbot approved having been collected in a fit place, they proceeded to the maundayb [which was the heads of children and adults, become dirty, through lent, washed in preparation for confirmation (du cange, v. capitiluvium). see the next chapter. a the weeks of lent had their several denominations from certain duties, now obsolete, as the hebdomada casta (chaste week); because chastity was to be observed throughout lent. hebdomada indulgentiæ, the holy week, when penitents were absolved in it. hebdomada mediana, the fourth week, when ordinations were held, especially of priests (du cange, v. hebdomada). [this contains mid-lent, or mothering sunday, imperfectly explained in the antiquitates vulgares. it is founded on the roman hilaria, or feast in honour of the mother of the gods, upon the 8 ides of march (of this see danet. v. calendar); which mother of the gods was converted by christianity into the mother church, whence in the second step the antiquitates vulgares deduce the origin.] hebdomada muta, when the bells were bound up. hebdomada pænalis, passion week, to be passed in the strictest fasting for the memory of christ. du cange. b bishop jewell says (in addition made to what has been before said), "the bodies of them that had appointed to be baptized (at easter), being illcherished, by reason of the lenten fast, would have had some loathsomeness in the touching, unlesse they had been washt at some time before; and that, therefore, they chose this day chiefly to that purpose, upon which day the lord's supper is yearly celebrated." bishop jewell's defence of his apology, p. 87. done by washing, wiping, and kissing their feet], and giving them water [to wash their hands], money, and provisions, and singing suitable antiphonars.c after nones they cloathed themselves if they chose, and the sacrist carried to the church gate a spear with the image of a serpent.d a light struck from a flint was consecrated by the abbot; and the candle, fixed on the spear like a serpent, was lighted from it.e the convent then entered the church, and a taper was lighted from the candle. in the same ceremony on friday the serpent was carried by the dean, on the saturday by the prior, after which mass followed. when concluded they took mixtus; and the abbot, with certain of his monks, performed his own maunday; after which vespers commenced, and was followed by the conventual refection. monks had then their maundy. this was succeeded by the commencement of the collation, a certain part of the gospel was read, and the whole convent with tapers and frankincense, and the deacon reading the gospel, went to the refectory, and sat down while the reading was still continued. the abbot went round with the cup of drink, and kissed the monks' hands; then, upon his being seated, the prior and other officers drank to him again. the e alternate chaunts of two choirs. they originated with ignatius among the greeks, and were introduced by ambrose among the latins. they were taken from the two seraphim, and intended to represent the two covenants mutually answering each other. rab. maur. de instit. cler. l. ii. ch. 50, p. 615. see too du cange, v. antiphonar. d du cange says, that it was a wooden rod made in a spiral form, from whence the name serpent (v. serpens). zosimus first instituted it; the taper was christ, and expressed the column of fire which preceded the israelites. the new fire lighted from it was the new doctrine of christ (gemma animæ, 1281). in the holy church of jerusalem a pretended angel descended to light it (la brecquiere, p. 12). it was lighted through the roof at durham. (davies.) e the flint was christ, the fire was the holy ghost (rup. tuitiens. l. v. ch. xxviii. § de novo igne). see more in the next chapter concerning the taper, and the note under agnus dei. d 34 benedictine monachism from edgar en the gospel was finished, and z le cups emptied, they unrobed themlves, and went to complin. at easter lauds were as before. at prime all were bare-footeda till the cross was worshipped. on the same rayer, covered. this denudation of the cross continued until the sub-deacon turned to the congregation. upon this the abbot and all the convent of the right choir thrice prostrated themselves before the cross, and said the seven penitential psalms, and suitable prayers. after these they kissed the cross.* the abbot returned to his seat; and the left choir and all the congregation ay at nomes," the abbot and convent went to the church, and, after the while he was robed, he came from the vestry, before the altar, to ray; and then, silently going to his and people did the same. seat, the sub deacon began a service relating to the passion of christ; and when they came to "they parted my "they parted my vestments among them," the deacon stripped the altar of the silk, which had been placed under the missals, in the manner of thieves.d was followed by prayers: the abbot returning to the altar began others; 1 he first without genuflexion. then this the cross was held at a short distance from the altar by two deacons, and a short service was performed in latin and greek. the cross was then brought before the altar, and an acolyte followed with the cushion on which the cross was put. then followed a religious service, during which the cross was exalted, and then un. of this see & pilgrims, of this veneration of the cross, see angl. sacra, ii. 416, © because at the ninth hour christ cried, "father, into thy hands i resign my spirit." rup. tuitions. l. vi. ch. iv. p. 959. because our lord was stripped of his clothes. rup. tuitions. l. v. ch. xxx. p. 955. 66 at what hours or times among the public services we are not to pray with genuflexion, the canons mention: i. e. on sundays, and the greater feasts, and quinquagesima; according to which canons, the public penitents are, however, always to kneel." (walafr. strabo de reb. eccles. ch. xxv. p. 686-7.) lyndwood says, genuflexions are not to be made at the hours from easter to pentecost inclusive, in sign of the resurrection; nor on any sunday; but it was otherwise upon fast-days (p. 298.) see too justin martyr, p. 462. joseph of arimathea, and nicodemus, who begged our lord's body from pilate. rup. tuit. l. vi. ch. xxxiii. p. 967. there were alleluias, osannas, &c. i. e. greek, latin, and hebrew, in the mass; because our lord's title on the cross was drawn up in these languages. hug. à s. victore, ch. ii. 12. further, because on that day was the burial of our saviour, an image of a sepulchre was made on a vacant side of the altar, and a veil drawn around it, where the cross was laid until it should have been worshipped in this form. the deacons bearers wrapping it in silk in the places where it had been worshipped, brought it back to the tomb, singing certain psalms, and there laid it, with more psalmody. there it was watched till the night of easter sunday, by two, three, or more monks, singing psalms. after this followed the communion. every one sung vespers, as complin afterwards, silently, in the manner of the canons," in his place, after which they went to the refectory. other matters were as h this signified, that, when christ gave up the ghost, the veil of the temple was rent in twain, and from that time all the mosaic law, and arcana of the jews, were manifested to the gentiles. rup. l. vi. ch. xx. p. 965. 1. domine ne in furore. 2. miserere mei deus. 3. miserere mei deus meus. 4. deus misereatur nostri. 5. deus in adjutorium. 6. inclina, domine. 7. de profundis. (du cange, v. psalmi.) they bowed as low as possible at its approach, and then with extended arms took it, and kissed it. ang. sacr. ii. 316. because our lord rested that day in the tomb, and the disciples passed all the following night in sorrow. rup. tuit. l. vi. ch. xxii. p. 966. because the apostles, after they had sung a hymn, and gone with christ to the mount of olives, being oppressed with sorrow, were silent from the common praise. therefore that deep silence was begun from complin, because about that hour when our lord said, "behold, he is at hand who shall betray me," they began to be sorrowful, and slept from grief. rup. tuit. l. v. ch. xxxii. § cur horas sub silentio cantamus. a dictate of gregory in his antiphonarium. concord. regul. p. 89. to the norman conquest. 35 return to the altar, the chantor cried light" (accendite). all the candles were instantly lighted,d the abbot beusual; but upon any vacant time, after the veneration of the cross, the officiating priests or boys shaved and bathed, if the society was too large for it to beginning "glory to god on high," and done on the morrow, saturday. in the chapter and elsewhere every thing was as usual, except that on these three days all matters in the refectory were accompanied with benediction.a on the sunday the same ceremony followed, as before described, respecting the serpent,b with this difference: that after the consecration, two acolytes held lights at the right and left horn of the altar. a divine service followed, during which the abbot and convent singing five litanies, went to consecrate the fonts ; and upon their benedictions were taken from moses. deut. xxviii. rab. maur. de instit. cler. l. ii. ch. lv. p. 619. b it was carried before the candidates for baptism, because the fiery column preceded the is raelites to the red sea, which prefigured baptism (gemma animæ, p. 1281). by others it is said, our baptizates, their past sins being extinguished, are led to the church, the taper preceding them, whence it is understood that it ought to be lighted for no other purpose in any place, except for exciting a recollection of the illumination of the holy spirit, whilst they are going to the church (albinus de div. offic. p. 262). there is a long account of this in the "ordo romanus de divinis officiis," pp. 80, 82; and a formula in ms. bodl. barl. vii. p. 32: but i prefer giving matters more archæological than ritual. the greater churches had rooms adjoining to them, in the middle of which was the bason or font, into which springs flowed by pipes and aqueducts often of the figure of stags, sometimes of lambs. we hear of fonts of rich work, supported by twelve oxen, and "ecce agnus dei" (behold the lamb of god) inscribed upon them. the baptisteries had oratories and altars in them, and were adorned with various pictures: such as john baptizing our lord, peter, cornelius, &c. there were also grottoes in the middle of church-yards, whence springs burst forth; sometimes mere basons (du cange, v. baptisterium, deductorium, agnus fundens aquam, canthari fons, nymphæa.) see robinson's history of baptism. of luton font, &c. &c. i decline speaking; and proceed to matters connected with baptism, but curious and little known. 1st. of godfathers. the ordo romanus, above quoted, orders godfathers to hold the children in their right arms, while the priest said the baptismal prayers. adults placed one foot upon that of the godfather. a cake was given every year by the sponsors, on the vigil of christmas-day, to the children, until they were all the bells were rung. after this followed a religious service, a maundy and complin, as above. on easter-day the seven canonical hours were to be sung in the manner of the canons; and in the night before mattins, the sacrists [because our lord rested in the tombe] were to put the cross in its place. then, during a religious service, four monks robed themselves, one of whom in an alb, as if he had somewhat to do, came stealingly to the tomb, and there holding a palm branch, sat still, till the responsory was ended; when the three others, carrying censers in their hands, came up to him, grown up (says du cange, v. pompa; whenever they asked a blessing. cowell, v. kichell.) ruffinus says, that he had a godfather, who was to him both a teacher of the creed and the faith (du cange, v. pater.) we hear of a godfather sparing the life of a godson in battle, on account of that connexion (chron. sax. 58.) the presents of apostlespoons are well known. it was the custom formerly for one name to be given by the parents to children after birth, to which others were sometimes added in baptism (du cange). the names were often given from vows of the parents to particular saints from relatives-from inclination-from their own names-but mostly from the first cause (m. par. 97, 414, 480, 526, 575, 669. rous, 204.) as to surnames, &c. it is not my intention to give extracts from camden's remains, du cange, v. cognomen, &c. &c. infants for eight days were clothed in white; and in this dress they were brought to church every day to be christened, on the sabbath, at easter, or pentecost, with candles: at least this was the custom in some places (du cange, v. capa). baptism was delayed by the anglo-saxon kings and nobles, in order to indulge in plundering other countries; nor were they often baptized till monastic retirement was resolved on (scr. p. bed. 192, 193). upon the principle of illuminations, it was universally known, that the joy of the church was signified by the light of tapers and lamps. upon this particular occasion, "all the lights," says amalarius [except the serpent taper, and another lighted from it] "remain extinguished till the last litany, which belongs to the office of the mass of the resurrection. then the lights of the church and newly baptized [who carried candles: see the preceding note] are lighted, to show that the whole world was illuminated by the resurrection of christ." de ordine antiphonarii, ch. xliv. p. 541. rup. tuit. l. vi. ch. xxii. p. 996. e d 2 36 benedictine monachism from edgar to the conquest. step by step, as if looking for something. as soon as he saw them approach, he began singing in a soft voice (dulcisone), "whom seek ye?" to which was replied by the three others in chorus, "jesus of nazareth." this was answered by the other," he is not here, he is risen.' at which words, the three last, turning to the choir, cried, "alleluia, the lord is risen." the other then, as if calling them back, sung, "come and see the place;" and then rising, raised the cloth, showed them the place without the cross, and linen cloths in which it was wrapped. upon this they laid down their censers, took the clothes, extended them to show that the lord was risen, and singing an antiphonar, placed them upon the altar. the whole was concluded with suitable offices. "on these seven days," says dunstan, 66 we do not sing."a from the octaves of easter, and all summer, after mattins, there was an interval according to the rule, and lauds followed; after which, if they were finished at day-break, as they ought to have been, the monks left the church, put on their shoes, washed, said their prayers, and sat in the cloister reading till prime. if it was not day-break, the prior, if willing, allowed them to go to bed again until morning, when they did as above during all summer, except sundays and festivals. after prime, the morning mass and chapter, they did what was to be done, till the first bell of tierce rung. after this service they washed their hands and went to dinner. having dined, they retired to bed till half-past two [the meridian, or sleep at noon, common with all ranks, through the classical and middle agesb], when the first bell this has been before explained; but mattins were not said, like the hours, in silence, because the latter signified the presence of christ's passion; but the nightly vigils, the former times, in which the prophets foretold the approaching sufferings of our lord, "who were not killed silent," non tacentes interfecti sunt. rup. tuit. l. v. ch. xxxiii. p. 955. the romans went to sleep about 2 p.m. after of nones rang, at which signal they arose, washed themselves, and sang the service. after this, the biberes, or drinking followed; and then they were to do what was necessary, for the remaining hours were devoted to reading and silence; as "from the first bell of the evening course" there was no speaking till the conclusion of the chapter on the morrow, except in the auditory [locutory or parlour], which was so named, "because there was to be heard what was ordered," not that idle talk was to be indulged there or elsewhere. vigils for the dead, psalms for benefactors, and litanies bebathing. lubin. in juven. p. 69. nott's catull. i. 88. xv. script. 268. scr. p. bed. 408, b. neubrig. l. i. ch. 3; "writan in my sleeping time at afternone on wytsonday." paston lett. iii. 282. 46 this, and the concluding duties of private prayer, confession, and the evening prayer, obtained in all orders. amalarius says, complin is so called because therein is completed the daily use of meat and drink, which is necessarily taken for support of the body, or common conversation. whence the custom is observed among the monks, from the benedictine rule, that, after that office, they are silent, and do those things which are foreign from common conversation, till they again return to their labours." (de eccl. offic. l. iii. ch. viii. p. 458.) lanzo, a prior at lewes, had never spoken after complin since he became a monk (malmesb. script. p. bed. 97, a.) among the dominicans the direction is, " ante completorium tum legatur lectio in hoc 'fratres sobrii este'" (i. e. the collation), et factâ confessione et deo completorio det benedictionem, qui præest, et ebdomadarius aspergat aquam benedictam (decr. lanfr. ch. xiv.) et cantent fratres" salve regina" (ms. cott. nero a. 12, const. fratr.); i. e. before complin, let the reading be in this, "brothers, be sober;" and after confession and complin, let the presiding officer give the benediction, the minister of the week sprinkle the friars with holy water, and the brethren sing, "hail, queen, blessed mother of our lord." this salve regina (though among the friars, as above, the prayer was different at different seasons), which davies calls the salvi, was, says du cange (in voce), the sequence which peter bishop of compostella composed, though in another place he denominates it the antiphona de podio, because made by audemar bishop of podia (in voce: perhaps a correction of the benedictine editors, unless it alluded to its being sung de podio, part of the seat called misericord). jordan, a general of the dominicans, introduced it about 1266 (hospinian de orig. et progressu monachor. p. 393). however, it was a gaudium, or common song (du cange, v. gaudia), especially sung by beggars at people's doors. (hawk, music, ii. 89.) 12 the rule of fulgentius. 37 fore mass, were then omitted, because there was no genuflection on account of the resurrection. at the calends of november, the vigil [mattins of the dead] was done after mattins, which, through the short days, could not be done on the evening, except on the festivals, in which the brothers were to sup. then, after supper, they performed the vigil, the officiating ministers supping in the interim, that, afterwards, according to the rule, all might meet at collation. this order respecting the vigil was to be observed till the beginning of lent; and then, and during the whole summer, it was to be said after supper, or if there was none, after vespers. the sabbath was the general cleaning day; oiling of shoes, washing of clothes, &c.; and no one was to omit his duty at divine service, or do any thing without leave of the prior. all these customs, though anglosaxon as to us, but really foreign in origin, subsisted till the dissolution, rather enlarged than mutilated by subsequent repetitional institutes.a appendix. the rule of fulgentius.-(latin and anglo-saxon-ms. bodl. archiv. seld. d. 52.) 1. introduction. 2. from the calends of october to easter, at the ninth hour, till tierce, eleventh hour, and at all times in the church, silence. 3. seniors to call the juniors brethren; the juniors to call the seniors nonnos [equivalent to uncle]; the abbot dominus or pater. 4. to use no oath, but crede mihi (believe me), or planè (evidently), or certè (surely). 5. voluntary penitence. 6. obedience. a see ms. bodl. barlow, 7; where all the formulæ of passion week, &c.; but the affirmation is proved by green's worcester, i. 127, davies, anglia sacra, &c. 7. juniors to say to the prior and seniors benedicite, whenever they met them, and to rise from their seats when a senior passed. &c. 8. the punishment of envy, malice, 9. to address the abbot and seniors with benedicite on going, or returning, from the convent, beginning any work, &c. [to be deprived of the benediction among the monks was to be sent to coventry. du cange, v. benedictio.] 10. voluntary acknowledgment of faults on losing or breaking anything in the refectory, kitchen, cellar, or other place; prostration upon the ground, and holding the thing broken in the hand. 11. to beware of laughter and frequent conversation with friends or relatives; not to speak with any one alone, but in the presence of others. 12. to go in the house only where ordered. 13. to speak low. 14. to do no work without permission or benediction of the prior. 15. to give or receive nothing without the abbot's permission, and to have nothing of their own but what he allowed. 16. to have no more of meat, drink, or clothes than the rule allowed. 17. not to return to past vices. 18. seniors to correct small faults by private reprimand, large ones from the rule. 19. to be lenient and cautious in correction. 20. to recur to confession for wicked thoughts. 21. to converse humbly among themselves. 22. to attend the church at the canonical hour, on the bell ringing. 23. not to be contentious. 24. not to eat or drink but at stated times, the sick and infants excepted. 25. not to calumniate, or notice those who did. 26. to preserve peace. 27. to shun sæcular gossiping (fabulas). 38 the rule of fulgentius. 28. to attend to manual labour at the stated times. 29. at other times to read silently in the cloister. 30. in summer time, after dinner, to retire to bed, or to read. 31. no monk to call anything his own, but always our, except in faults, then my. 32. instant obedience to the abbot's commands. 33. unison in the choir. 34. when the hour of refection came, after the service was ended, to wait in the church silently psalmodizing (tacites psallentes). [the monks do not seem to have understood the rear hebrew meaning of psallo, which is to sing to an instrument. all other acceptations of the word are corruptions.] 35. at the sound of the bell, having washed their hands, to enter the refectory, saluting the cross and looking to the east. 36. at the second sound of the bell, all together to say the verse and the lord's prayer, kneeling. 37. at the benediction given by the prior, all to sit in their seats in order. 38. no one to take any meat or drink before the abbot. 39. each monk upon taking the first bread, and first draught of drink, to say benedicite to his companion, who was to answer deus. 40. the reader first to ask for the benediction before the monks began to eat. 41. the prior to bless the meat or drink standing. [thus grace was said over liquid food. one anglo-saxon grace before dinner was by signing the dish with a cross. eddius in xv script. p. 77. the form used by the clergy in this age is in alcuini poemata, 146. du cange, v. benedictio. see the preceding remarks upon the psalter.] 42. the monks to take apples or fruit as divided by the cellarer, equally, whether at dinner or supper; and they were to be eaten immediately after other food, at a side table. the reading to cease at the termination of the meal. 43. upon leaving the table after a verse was said, the left choir go out first, the abbot last, singing the 50th psalm; and upon entering the church to incline themselves and kneel to the glory. 44. after vespers to meet in the evening chapter, and read. 45. the reading over all to rise at once, and the abbot to say, " adjutorium nostrum ;" and the rest to an"who made heaven and earth.” 46. complin. swer, 47. silence, prayer, retrospect (recordatio) of sins. 48. the evening prayer. 49. caution and care in the church and dormitory. 50. to remember and con the rule. benedictine monachism from the conquest. 39 chapter v. benedictine monachism from the norman conquest to the dissolution. after the year 1077, on account of failure in the observance of dunstan's concord of rules, through the consequences of danish invasions, lanfranc, archbishop of canterbury, found it necessary to issue new institutes.a matthew paris says, that the church of st. alban's became the school of discipline and pattern of the rule, through all england; because paul, the fourteenth abbot, had brought with him the decrees of lanfranc.b these, reyner says (erroneously), were prevented from taking firm root by the peculiar circumstances under which the norman kings reigned in this country. to remedy this defect of influence in the decrees of lanfranc, a synod of lateran issued emendatory statutes in the year 1215. upon the superannuation of these, benedict the xiith, in the fourteenth century, published constitutions which biassed monachism till the dissolution. these are printed in wilkins's councils (vol. ii.) as the two last codes are more visitational than novel, the anglo-monastic consuetudinal is rather to be sought in the institutes of dunstan and lanfranc, which the most indubitable evidence attests to have subsisted till the dissolution, with few or no variations of moment.c ordinary of the whole year, or decretals of lanfranc. from october to advent. on private days, till all saints' day, nov. 30, the monks were to return to a reyner, p. 208. b p. 1001. the paschal, the maundy, the burial service, &c. &c. are all included in davies's rites and monuments of the church of durham, published after the dissolution. their beds after mattins; and at daybreak,the brethren in their night-clothes, and infantsd and youthse with their candles, were to come to the church, sing prime, and afterwards sit in the cloister. the boys were "first to read loudly" (primitus altè legant), and afterwards, if necessary, sing; and before they read, no one was to read or sing in the cloister, except silently, or go to confession. before the warning bell of tierce, no one was to put on his day-clothes except officers engaged out of the cloister; nor they, before they had sat there and waited till the children had first read. when tierce approached, the sacrist was to ring a small bell, and the monks to go to the dormitory, to put on their day-shoes,f and take their knives;g and from thence to the lavatory, where they were to wash and comb themselves; and then, coming to the church, take holy water, all under fifteen years of age. fuller's church hist. b. vi. 289. e all under twenty, i infer, from reyner, append. 165. see §§ chamberlain, vestiary. every monk had a table-book, knife, needle, and handkerchief; and they slept without their knives for fear of injury (reg. bened. ch. iv. fuller, ubi supr. p. 288). men used to carry needlecases (cylindrical and hooped) about their persons, to mend their clothes when necessary. the beau of the fifteenth century, just risen in the morning, before he has completed his dress, is represented as taking a needle from his needle-case on purpose to sew or baste his sleeves. strutt's dresses, ii.292, and plate cxxxii. as acia is sewing thread, and aciarium a needle case, in du cange, probably the former was included. the needle, according to chaucer, was of silver, resembling probably a bodkin; but, as the encyclopædie des antiquités, by the way, says, that no needle of the classical age has ever been found, it is fit to note, that one exists in the hamilton collection at the british museum. see the catalogue for visitors. b described in § cloister. 40 benedictine monachism from the conquest and lie prostrate a till the children came. when these were washed, and began to comb themselves, the greater bell was to ring for the hour, and the infants to come and take holy water. the bell was then to cease, and all together to begin the triple prayer. after this the smaller bell was to ring, and tierce commence ; and when the psalm miserere was begun, they were to rise for the celebration of mass, make their antè and retròb (a bow to the altar first antè, and to the abbot at the bottom of the choir retro), and go to clothe themselves. after the mass they were all to sit in the choir, except some converts, who were to assist the priest, and those who served at mass; and, when they had done this, return to the choir. then, at the abbot's order, the prior was to ring the least bell, and they were to go to the chapter, two and two, according to seniority, the children last. after the chapter, the table being struck, the abbot or prior was to say benedicite, and the monks to converse in the cloister, and the infants hold their chapter, and afterwards go to the refectory. after sext, no one was to speak in the there were psalmi prostrati, those said on the ground, the same as the penitential. du cange. see further on. the antè and retrò was a method of bowing among the monks when they entered or left the choir, so contrived, that the back was lower than the loins, and the head than the back. du cange, in voce. persons who entered into religion late in life, and lay-brothers, were both called converts (du cange, v. conversi.) "in the lanthorn, called the new work," says davies, "hung three fine bells, rung always at twelve o'clock at night, the monks going to mattins at that hour. four men were appointed to ring these bells at midnight, and at such times of the day as the monks went to serve god. two of the said men belonged to the revestry, and kept the copes, the vestments, and five pair of silver censers, with the other ornaments pertaining to the high altar, and lay in a chamber over the west end of the revestry. the other two men lay in a chamber in the north alley, over against the sacrist's exchequer they swept and kept the church clean, and filled the holy water stones every sunday morning with clean water before it was hallowed, and locked the church-doors every night," cloister till the children had gone from the church, and the youngest said "benedicite." then, after a space, during the ringing of the skilla à for warning of mass, and the signumd for mass, while the preparatory prayer and a litany was performed by a child, the officiating ministers were to robe themselves. on wednesdays and fridays,e if after sext and before mass, there was to be a procession through the cloister, the sacrist was to omit the mass-bell, and ring another when the time of procession approached; and upon this there was to be instant silence in the cloister. they were to unshoe themselves, wash their hands, go to the procession, after mass say a prayer, the hebdomadaries of the kitchen and reader of the table to take mixtus, and those absent from mass through the business of the house, with the abbot's or prior's consent, to have bread and beer; the others in the interim sitting in the choir, and those who chose it reading. upon the return of the servants to the choir the bell was to be rung, nones to be celebrated; and, this concluded, the prior to go to strike the cymbalum ;f and the hebdomadaries of the kitchen, and others, to their respective offices. the names of bells. see spelman's gloss. v. campana. e on the calends of november, at midnight, they were to sit in the choir; the children with their lights to remain with their masters in the chapter singing; or if they rose in the depth of night to rest, "jacentes ad sedilia sua," lying at their seats. at this interval, the prior, with a dark lantern, was to go through the choir, to see how regularly they sat; afterwards through the altars, and parts of the church, lest any one should be asleep there. if any one was praying, he was to pass him by in silence; if asleep, to awake him, and, by a sign, order him to return to the choir. then he was to go through the chapter, and see how the masters and scholars behaved. then were to follow mattins and prime; at the former of which, the sacrist was to take care so to arrange the hour of lauds, that all should be finished by day-break; but if he was mistaken, and there was any darkness after the litany, the monks were so to manage as above directed, that none but the minuti (those who had been bled) should return to bed. at daybreak they were to sit in the cloister. the name of a bell. to the dissolution. 41 festivals between october and advent how observed. all saints. the devout visited all the altars of the church, and required the suffrages of all the saints.a all souls was to be passed in devotions for diminishing the pains of the souls in purgatory.b § from advent to lent. on the sunday preceding advent a sermon was to be preached in the chapter. on the vigil of st. thomas the apostle, if it was a sunday, the monks were to be shaved; and those who wished to bathe so manage that two days before christmas they might all be bathed. if necessary they might do this on the above saint's day. the day before, the abbot or keeper of the order was to appoint a senior, whose office was to give the monks notice of the time, see how they behaved, observe whether matters were duly prepared, see that the servants were men advanced in years, and give notice, if any thing was amiss, to the chamberlain. after this he was to return to the cloister, inform the monks, and take care that the juniors and novices did not go with the seniors. the monks appointed, after they were shaved, taking the fresh clothes they were to put on, were to go to the place appointed for bathing, and there stripping, as in the dormitory, enter every one where he was told, and putting aside the curtain, which hung before them, sit silent. if they wanted anything they were to make a sign to the servant, who was to lift the curtain, give it them, and instantly retire. they were to stay no longer than till they were washed, and having put on their shoes, and washed their hands, to return to the cloister. the children were to go, and return with their masters. monks might bathe at all hours from prime to complin, but no one without leave of the superintending monk. gold. leg. cclxxxxix. b id. ccii. the festivals between advent and christmas how observed. of st. catherine's and st. clement's days, see strutt. the boy-bishop was elected on st. nicholas's day, december 6. it is too well known to say more of it." st. thomas's day. on this day, called mumping-day, the poor in herefordshire go around the parishes, begging corn, &c. mumpers, in an old dictionary, are dictionary, are "gentile beggars." mumping is making mouths (see cotgrave, v. mourd); and in the english plutarch's morals, iii. 116, we have mercenary gypsies, and mumping charlatans." gypsies in plutarch! on christmas day, after the morning mass, the bell of chapter was to be rung later than usual; that, laying aside all occupations, they might assemble at chapter, and when the nativity was announced, fall prostrate on the ground. upon the president of the chapter (an unfixed officer) having finished his prayer, the gospel was to be read, and a sermon preached upon it. on the night of christmas day, after mattins of all saints at the altar of st. mary, they were to repair to the dormitory. the monks robed to celebrate, were to go to an excellent fire, prepared by the chamberlain's servants, and have materials for washing their hands. for this time only they were to comb their heads before they washed. afterwards they were to celebrate mass. this and some private masses finished, they returned to bed; and, on the bell ringing at day-break, all were to rise; and those who were to celebrate, to wash their hands and faces, and robe themselves. when the mass was over, the monks were to go to the dormitory to put on their shoes, and afterwards, having washed, to say the usual three prayers, and make a procession. esports, &c. p. 270. d see brand's popular antiquities, 4to. &c. from the shepherds at the angelic vision, in the gospel of st. luke, who in old prints lie prostrate. 42 benedictine monachism from the conquest festivals observed upon christmas day. after the nocturnal office of christmas (i. e. the vigil), was celebrated at rouen, and probably here, the office of the shepherds. after the te deum a stable was prepared behind the altar, and the image of the virgin mary placed in it. a boy from above, before the choir, in the likeness of an angel, announced the nativity to certain canons, or vicars, who entered, as shepherds, through the great door of the choir, clothed in tunicks and amesses. many boys in the vaults of the church, like angels, then began the gloria in excelsis. the shepherds, hearing this, advanced to the stable, singing peace, goodwill, &c. as soon as they entered it, two priests in dalmaticks, as if midwives (quasi obstetrices), who were stationed at the stable, said, "whom seek ye?" the shepherds answered, "our saviour christ," according to the angelick annunciation. the midwives, then opening the curtain, exhibited the boy, saying, "the little one is here, as the prophet isaiah said." then they shewed the mother, saying, "behold the virgin," &c. upon these exhibitions they bowed and worshipped the boy, and saluted his mother. the office ended by their returning to the choir, and singing alleluia, &c. du cange, v. pastorum officium. upon christmas-day was also celebrated a feast of asses (there being more than one feast so called, as will appear hereafter), which mr. warton mentions, as obtaining among ourselves; and his account, so far as it goes, corresponds with the following, complete, except the prayers. (hist. poetry, i. 249.) after tierce the prophets were dressed according to order, and a furnace was prepared in the nave of the church with linen and tow, a procession then moved from the cloister, and two clerks in copes from the second seat, directed the procession, singing verses, which were repeated by a chorus. clerks. of the glorious and famous. chorus. glorious. clerks. whose birth. chorus. glorious. clerks. who was about to be. chorus. glorious. clerks. of the impious jews. chorus. glorious. clerks. but the jews. chorus. glorious. clerks. to unbelieving israel. chorus. glorious. clerks. from whence the gentiles. the procession then stopped in the middle of the church, and six jews were ready on one side, and six gentiles on the other. the latter then demanded the vocatores, or callers. all the gentiles said, "the lord is made man." here the callers turned themselves to the jews, and said, vocatores. "oh, jews! the word of god. your laws prove it." jews. that we are to govern you. vocutores. (to the gentiles) "and you unbelieving gentiles.' gentiles. the true king, king of kings. vocatores. "call moses first-you moses, the legislator." then moses, holding the tables of the law open, clothed in an alb and cope, and a horned forehead, bearded, with a rod in his hand, advanced and spoke; after which he was led beyond the cauldron. he was followed by amos, an old man bearded, carrying a wheat-ear. isaiah, bearded, with a red stole across his forehead. aaron, in a mitre and pontificals, holding a flower. jeremiah,bearded, robed like a priest, and holding a roll. daniel, clothed in a green tunick, having a juvenile aspect, and carrying a wheat-ear. habakkuk, a lame old man, in a dalto the dissolution. 43 matick, with a scrip full of radishes, which he ate, while he spoke, and long palms to strike the gentiles. balaam, dressed up, sitting upon an ass (whence the name of the feast), spurred (very large ones, says warton), holding the reins, and spurring the ass, which a young man with a sword some one under the ass then says, "why do ye hurt me so with your spurs?" the young man then added, "do not comply with the command of balak." opposes. callers. "balaam, balaam, prophesy." this he did, and was followed by samuel, clothed religiously. david, in royal robes. osea, a man with a beard. joel, dressed in parti-colours, and bearded. abdias, dressed as joel. jonas, bald, dressed in white. micah, dressed as joel. naum, an old man. sophonias, bearded. aggai, an old man, or marked as such (senilem vultum gerens). zacharius, bearded. of ezekiel malachi } no distinction specified. zacharias, dressed as a jew, husband elizabeth, like a pregnant woman. john the baptist, barefooted, holding the bible. symeon, an old man. virgil, a well-dressed young man. [mr. warton says, that he spoke monkish verses. here they are," ecce polo demissa solo."] here the ceremony was interrupted by the appearance of nebuchadnezzar, dressed like a king, showing an image of two armed men, whom he orders to exhibit the image to three youths. they refuse to worship it, and make a reply of "deo soli digno coli" (god alone is worthy to be worshipped). the armed men then led them to the cauldron, and after being placed upon it, it is lighted; but the youths are immediately liberated, to the astonishment of the king. the calling, and replies, recommence with the sibyll, crowned and dressed like a woman. all the prophets and ministers then began a chaunt, with which the feast ended. du cange, v. festum asinorum. the custom of ornamenting the church with boughs is variously explained, but founded upon evergreens.a in the west of england, the churches are dressed at whitsuntide with deciduous boughs. it seems, from the earliest æras, to be no more than a common token of rejoicing, to carry or exhibit branches of trees; and therefore the explications are not satisfactory. the twelve days of christmas were kept with great festivity, and without limitation of meals or habits. in the legend of st. brandon, judas, on his island of remission, says, "of ryght my place is in the brennyng helle. but i am here but certeyne tymes of the yere, yt is, fro crystmasse to twelfth daye; and fro ester to whytsontide be past, and every festeful daye of our lady, and every satyrday none tyll sonday ye evening ben don. but all other tymes i lye still in helle in full brennynge fire with pylate, herode, and cayaphas." the fifty days from easter to pentecost, were rejoicing seasons from memory of the resurrection. a brother of the order of the temple of syon, writing to sir john paston, says, "in which place (temple of syon) in this season of the year (christmas) it is accustomed to be (have) all manner of disport ;"e and what this disport was, may be seen fully in mr. nichols's progresses, the antiquitates vulgares, and strutt's sports. homicides and traitors were, at christmas, indulged with peace and a antiq. vulgar. strutt, &c. &c. b flowers and roses have been used upon the vigils of saints' days. du cange, v. gabia, gold. leg. fol. ccxxxii. d fuller's church hist. b. vi. 288. • paston letters, iii. 422, 433. 42 benedictin festivals observed i mas day. after the nocturnal of mas (i. e. the vigil), was rouen, and probably here office of the sheph after the te deum a sta pared behind the altar, a of the virgin mary placed from above, before the likeness of an angel, an nativity to certain cano who entered, as shepherdgreat door of the choir, nicks and amesses. mai vaults of the church, lik began the gloria in e shepherds, hearing this the stable, singing peace as soon as they entered in dalmaticks, as if n obstetrices), who were stable, said, "whom s shepherds answered, christ," according to t nunciation. the mid ing the curtain, exhibi ing, "the little one prophet isaiah sai shewed the mother, the virgin," &c. u₁ tions they bowed an boy, and saluted office ended by thei choir, and singing cange, v. pastorum upon christmas brated a feast of more than one fe appear hereafter), mentions, as ob selves; and his goes, correspond complete, except poetry, i. 249.) after tierce t sed according to was prepared in ith linen and t 'arte, ini . ! ཤེས་ 1 " t. *** . ' .ouble the dores 4 su ti the ** y we celebrated ・ 713. tem gregori. cerdotis" **canona jowe: as 2: as its ow : t 1 4 ida. life va no tetum. 1 sal མųམ=pad/7as rm of the on after communau na že *** 17ge, ▼ protum. *one wma, weave lessons were re mauartus i.ch. i. 2, p. 57 jal resina were anciently read in greek in, “om 10 congregation consisting of both mas insights ther ansupported expira 7. "spus sani) confines it to new • de repuol. l. x. ch. v. n. 10. to the dissolution. 45 the saturnalia were ingrafted into ecclesiastical ceremonies, though it was admitted that all idolatrous customs were mere inventions of the devil, the monkey and fool, whom the almighty kept for his amusement.a epicurus recommended princes, who were lovers of the muses, to entertain themselves with the scurrilities of drolls and buffoons; and when the slaves celebrated the saturnalia the din was intolerable.b lucian brings in saturn, speaking thus: "during my whole reign no public or private business is to be done; but only to drink, sing, play, create imaginary kings, place servants with their masters at table, smut them with soot, or make them leap into the water with head foremost, when they do not perform their duty well." these conformities to the feast of fools, indisputably prove its just appropriation to the saturnalia; both terminating in the innocent exhibition of twelfth-day, and its king and queen of the bean, cake, &c. in the calends of january it was usual for the sexes to change dress, even assume the form of beasts;d and the custom was so prevalent, that it could not be suppressed by bishops, councils, &c. fasts and litanies were prescribed to take off the guilt; but even when the laity had left it off, the clergy still retained it. hence came the term feasts of sub-deacons, not because they were kept by that body of men in particular, but because diacres sauols signified "saturi diaconi," drunken clerks. belethus says, "the feast of sub-deacons, which we call of fools, is performed by some on the circumcision, by others on the epia diabolo summi dei simia et improbo histrione excogitata. solorzanus de indiar. jure, p. 110, § 94. this version has been blamed, but histrio is the word used, and being coupled with simia, vindicates the presumed meaning. plutarch de volupt. sec. epicurum. e danet, v. saturnalia. du cange, v. cervelus. mr. douce (archæologia, xv. 227) disputes this etymon of du cange. phany or its octaves. but there are four (sic) sports of ecclesiasticks in the church after christmas, of the priests, of the boys, i. e. juniors in age and order, and the sub-deacon, which is an uncertain rank; whence it happens that this rank is sometimes accounted a holy order and sometimes. not, which is expressly signified by this that it has no fixed period, and is celebrated in a confused manner."f now as the injunction quoted in the article friars, that these religious should not, on st. nicholas's day (the exhibition not being limited to a particular day), put on masquerade, even female habits, or lend theirs to seculars for that purpose, certainly alludes to a feast of fools, there is no reason to admit any other acceptation than that of actual sub-deacons. this folly of bishops, or rather of clerks, seems to have been taken from the greeks; among whom some of the laymen, who altered their hair into the form of a tonsure, and took ecclesiastick garments, made mock elections, promotions, consecrations, &c.; sometimes sharp calumnies and depositions of bishops. from a passage of anastasius upon this subject, it appears that these mockeries were not then known in the west. because, therefore, this feast took place about the end of december, it was called "libertas decembrica." belethus, who lived in 1182, says, there are some churches in which it is common that even bishops and archbishops should play with their subjects in monasteries at the game of ball [the equality of the saturnalia]; and indeed this liberty is therefore called the liberty of december; because, formerly, it was the custom among the gentiles; and in this month, the slaves, and maid servants, and shepherds, were privileged with a kind of liberty, and put in the same condition with their f divin. offic. explicat. ch. ixxii. strutt's gliggamena, 260. 46 benedictine monachism from the conquest masters, making common feasts after the celebration of harvests [the reader will recollect the modern harvest-home]. but although the great churches, as that of rheims, observed this custom of playing, it seems more laudable not to play.a [a king of fools was prohibited at beverley in 1391.] on the 17th of december (continues du cange) all the petty clerks assembled to elect an abbot of fools; upon whose election a te deum was sung, and then he was chaired upon the shoulders of his fellows, and taken to the house where the rest were assembled to drink; and put in a place especially ordered and prepared for this purpose. at his entrance all rose, even the lord bishop, if he were present; and due reverence being paid to the elect by his fellows and companions, fruit, spices, wine, &c. were given to him. the drink being taken, the same abbot, or elder sub-chanter in his absence, began singing in a ludicrous manner, with bawling, hissing, howling, laughing, clapping hands; each party endeavouring to conquer the other. a short dialogue afterwards was followed by a sermon from the porter. the abbot and others then rushed out of the church, followed by the younger canons, choristers, and bishop's esquires, into the city, saluting every body whom they met. in this visit, which lasted every day to the vigil of christmas in the evening, the abbot was to wear a dress, feather, and mantle or tabard, or cope, with a hood of vair.b [sir s. r. meyrick now possesses, by bequest of mr. douce, a girdle, reported to have been worn by the abbot of fools upon his entrance into office. it consists of 35 square pieces of wood, let into each other, upon which are carved ludicrous and grotesque figures of fools, tumblers, huntsmen, animals, and indecent representations.] very probably also the indecorous carvings upon the stalls of churches kalendæ. a du cange, v. c archeol. ubi supra. b ibid. have, in reality, an allusion to this festival; for certain it is, that several carvings on stone in anglo-saxon churches of a bizarre kind, allude to the mummeries of our ancestors. it was the abbot's place, if any thing indecorous was done in the choir, to correct and chastise it. on the feast of innocents, a fool bishop was elected in the same manner as the abbot of fools; and afterwards lifted up by the petty clerks, and, with a little bell before him, taken to the house of the bishop, at whose arrival, the gates of the house, whether the bishop was at home or not, were to be instantly opened, and in one of the windows of the great hall he was to be put down, and standing, give there again his benediction towards the town. the fool bishop, at mattins, high mass, and vespers, with his chaplain, was to preside for three days pontifically on the episcopal marble throne, properly adorned; from whence, on the introit of the said hours, he was to be clothed in the vestiary with a common silk cope, and adorned with a mitre and silk gloves. the chaplain was to be clothed likewise in a common silk cope, carrying on his head a little cushion, instead of the cap, or birretum. incense-bearers, and the apparitor, preceded the fool-bishop to the episcopal throne. there, with his chaplain sitting at his feet, having always a cross in his hand, he sat as long as the above hours were celebrating. the subdeacon, who was to sing the epistle, or the deacon the gospel, with one knee bent, made him a supplication, whom he marked with his right hand. mattins, mass, and vespers, being finished, his chaplain said with a loud voice, "be silent, be silent, keep silence." the chorus replied, "deo gratias." the fool-bishop, adjutorium nostrum, &c. chorus, qui fecit, &c. then the bishop gave the blessing, indulgences, &c. the feast of fools was celebrated as before in various masquerades of women, lions, players, &c. they to the dissolution. 47 danced and sung in the choir, ate fat cakes upon the horn of the altar, where the celebrating priest played at dice, put stinking stuff from the lea ther of old shoes into the censer, ran, jumped, &c. through the church. in a ms. of the church of beauvais, about the year 500, it is said that the chantor and canons shall stand before the gates of the church, which were shut, holding each of them urns full of wine, with glass cups, of whom one canon shall begin the canons of january. the following were assimilations or off-shoots of the feast of fools. the council of treves, in 1227, says, "let not the priests permit vagrant scholars, or goliards, to sing verses upon the holy agnus dei in masses, or divers services; because by this the priest in the canon is very much hindered, and the hearers offended. the council of tours speaks, in 1231, of these ribald clerks; and the council of cologn, in 1300, forbids them to preach in the church, and carry indulgences to sell. matthew paris, in 1229, explains this by saying, that they used to compose ridiculous verses, and were so named from one golias, a scoundrel who composed libels in this kind of verse. in the church of roan were certain jesters, calling themselves conardi, who elected an abbot by a majority of votes, for which he canvassed the others. he rode dressed in a mitre and pastoral staff, once a year, through rouen in a chariot; at evereux, upon an ass, surrounded by his comrades. he jested upon all persons whom he met, as well as the absent. he issued mock letters-patent electing persons to cardinalships, &c., and was himself elected upon st. barnabas's day; behowever horrible was this profanation, i could quote a passage, where in part of a serious penance, actions most indecent were to be publickly performed upon the altar-table; and therefore our ancestors had plainly not the ludicrous ideas of these mummeries as ourselves. they were the mere coarse festivities of the age, which delighted in low humour. cause, as le beuf supposes, the gallic trumpeters were the same as the conardi, who had st. arnulph the trumpeter for their patron, and his day was the same as that of barnabas. conardi are elsewhere called fools. du cange thinks, that these ridiculous spectacles were derived from the feast of fools. the above are from du cange, v. kalendæ, goliardi, and abbas conardorum, except where other authors are specified. there were games played in churches abroad with bertelli, perhaps the french bretilles. du cange, v. bertillus. dancing in churches also occurred. id. v. choreare. tumblers used to attend burials of the poor, and throw somersets. id. v. corbitores. on the feasts of the calends, the people gave suppers in the manner of the romans. id. v. festum. upon the epiphany was performed the office of the three kings; or, feast of the star. three priests, clothed as kings, with their servants carrying offerings, met from different directions before the altar. the middle one, who came from the east, pointed with his staff to a star. a dialogue then ensued; and, after kissing each other, they began to sing, "let us go and enquire;" after which the precentor began a responsory, "let the magi come." a procession then commenced; and as soon as it began to enter the nave, a crown, like a star, hanging before the cross, was lighted up, and pointed out to the magi, with "behold the star in the east." this being concluded, two priests, standing at each side of the altar, answered meekly, "we are those whom you seek ;" and, drawing a curtain, shewed them a child, whom, falling down, they worshipped. then the servants made the offerings of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, which were divided among the priests. the magi in the mean while continued praying till they dropped asleep; when a boy, 48 benedictine monachism from the conquest clothed in an alb, like an angel, addressed them with, "all things, which the prophets said are fulfilled." the festival concluded with chanting services, &c. at soissons, a rope was let down from the roof of the church, to which was annexed an iron circle, having seven tapers intended to represent lucifer, or the morning star; but it was not confined to the feast of the star. cange, v. stella, stellæ officium. du on the 14th of january was another feast of asses, intended to represent the flight of the virgin mary into egypt. a very pretty girl seated upon an ass, elegantly trapped, and holding a child, was led in procession to the church, and placed upon the ass, at the gospel side of the altar. kyrie, the glory, creed, &c., were then chaunted, and concluded with hinham. at the end of the service, the priest, turning to the people, instead of dismissing them, said three times hinham; to which they replied hinham, hinham, hinham. du cange, v. festum asinorum. on the 21st of january was the feast of st. agnes, on which it was usual to make presents. du cange, v. agnecten, festum. on the purification, after tierce, a carpet was to be laid before the altar, and the candles upon it. after consecration, one was to be given to each monk. a particular psalm (lumen ad revelationema) was to be when sung they began to be lighted. after which, religious services, procession, and mass, were to follow. after dinner they were to sit in the cloister, till the servants had done, and then sing nones. this finished, the prior was to ring the bell, and the monks to go to the refectory. this custom, except on fasts, was to last until palm sunday.b see ch. iv. cowell, &c. say, the candles implied the light of the gospel, from old simeon's hymn. on st. blaze's-day (feb. 3), the people were § from septuagesima to passion sunday. on the first sunday of septuagesima they might eat fat (see ch. iv.); but were afterwards to abstain till easter. on ash-wednesday, after sext, they were to return to the cloister to converse; but, at the ringing a bell, be instantly silent. they were to unshoe themselves, wash their hands, and go to the church, and make one common prayer. then was to follow a religious service; after which, the priest having consecrated the ashes, and sprinkled holy water on them, was to throw them on the heads of the monks, saying, "remember that you are but dust, and to dust must return."c then the procession was to follow. festivals, fasts, &c. shrove tuesday and the monday before were days of sport and pastime;d but the tuesday derived its name from the confession usual on that day, preparatory to the lent fast. pancakes. the norman crispelle (du cange) are evidently taken from the fornacalia on the 18th of february, in memory of the method of making bread, before the goddess fornax invented ovens. the ashes were ash-wednesday. made of the branches of brush-wood, properly cleansed, sifted, and consecrated, and were worn four times a year, as in the beginning of lent.e on this day the people were excluded from church;f and husbands and wives parted beds. the ancient penitents wore sackcloth and ashes.b accustomed to burn lights for their houses and cattle, and bestow alms. du cange, v. festum. rupert tuitiensis adds, "bare-footed;" because, besides creation from earth, we are deprived of our glory by sin, and are naked among enemies, wanting the grace of god. l. iv. ch. x. p. 917. § cur cineres capitibus imponimus. d m. paris, 298. see strutt. e du cange, v. cinis. f eadm. 23, xv. script. 262. malmesb. g. pont. l. ii. h antiq. vulgar. 225. to the dissolution. 49 the rule says, "that on the first sunday of septuagesima the monks might eat fat; but were afterwards to abstain." upon carnivora, or mardigras, the thursday before lent, the remains of meat were eaten, and the septuagesima sunday was the first day of lent fast, according to william of newborough; i. e. the time before lent, when they began to abstain from meat. before the ninth century lent began upon quadragesima sunday; but afterwards, to fulfil the forty days, four days of quinquagesima were added.ª elsewhere we have sexagesima sunday called carniprivium, because they ceased eating meat on that day: quinquagesima, when they left off eating cheese and eggs. on the first sunday of lent they renewed the worship of the images. from the sabbath before palm sunday, to the last hour of the tuesday after easter, the christians were accustomed to stone and beat the jews, which the latter commuted for a payment in money.c the lent fast differed from all the others, because the refreshment was not taken till after vespers; in others after nones. and we find instances of fasting every day but sunday until the evening; and then eating only a little bread, an egg, and some milk and water:e but this fast was allowed to be performed by another vicariously.e the most sacred ideas were annexed to lent. froissart says, there were daily delivered to the germans in the army ten tons of herrings for lent and 800 carp, without counting different sorts of fish, which cost the king immense sums; so that probably the dispensations so often printed, could not have been obtained even by royal authority for mere convenience; or it was not prudent to solicit it. on the first day of lent in the evening boys used to run about with firebrands and torches.h a du cange, v. carniprivium. b id. v. dominica dies. e id. v. colaphi judæorum. dugd. monast. did. in litt. j. p. 1299. i. 63. 36. ed. johnes. e dec. script. 874, 2468. · xii. du cange, v. brandones. absence from the church and marriage bed, and dereliction of the use of the sword and horse, occur during the whole forty days i among the laity. because the scripture was concealed in the prophets till the coming of christ, therefore the altars, &c. were veiled. the removal in the week before easter was the manifestation by the veil of the temple being rent in twain.k on the first sunday of lent, after complin, a curtain was to be hung between the choir and altar. on monday before tierce, the cross, &c. were to be covered. before they entered the chapter the keeper of the books was to have the books in chapter laid out on a carpet, such excepted as had been lent to read the preceding year: for these the borrowers were to bring in their hands, according to a notice for that purpose, given the day before by the above librarian; then the sentence of the benedictine rule for the observation of lent was to be read in the chapter, and, after a sermon made upon it, the librarian read the schedule of the books lent to the monks on the year past. as every one heard his name called over he was to return the book lent to him; and he who had not read it was to solicit pardon. then the keeper was to give each monk another book, and register their names as they received them. if this day was a feast of twelve lessons there were two readings in succession, one of the gospel, the other of the observance of lent. on that day was to begin the penitential or prostrate psalms, and the carriage of a lantern at the second lesson. on the mondays, wednesdays, and fridays, till easter, the table was not to be struck after chapter, nor were they to speak in the cloister. on the two last days, after nones, they id. v. carena. rupert tuitiens. l. iv. p. 916. e 50 benedictine monachism from the conquest were to sit in the cloister; and, after an interval, at the bell ringing, unshoe themselves, wash their hands, and go to church. this was to be followed by a procession, where every one was to be bare-footed, except the priest and deacon; and those who from disease could not go with bare feet, were to stay out of the procession. when they returned, they were forbid to put on their shoes without leave. after the mass and prayers, antecedent to vespers [and every service], they were to wash their feet and hands, and perform vespers.b if a festival was celebrated in lent;e on the day before, the curtain was gathered and the forms d taken from up, the choir. after mattins of the dead they were to return to their beds. after chapter they were to sit silent in the cloister till the bell of tierce; and the children, after their chapter, coming from the dormitory, sit in school, and read. after complin, the curtain was to be extended, and the forms brought back to the choir. passion-week. there was to be a procession in the cloister, as usual on the conversations in the cloister were after chapter, and after nones on certain seasons. these conversations were very licentious (thorpe's custumale, p. 235); and therefore the visitors of edmundsbury ordered, "that the common conversations, which were sometimes allowed to be made, relate to the scriptures, edification, observation of the order, and, as far as practicable, in the hearing of a guardian of the rule." forbid discourses through the cloister and infirmary, and again," also we as far as the prior's chamber, as well by monks as others, that the peace of those in the cloister may not be disturbed." communes locutiones quæ in claustro aliquando fieri permittuntur de scripturis sint, et edificatione et de ordinis observatione, et in quantum fieri potest in audientiâ custodis ordinum fiat. item, discursus per claustrum et per infirmarium usque cameram prioris tam a monachis quam aliis prohibemus, ne traquillitas claustralium turbetur. mss. cott. julius, d. ii. 157, a. 161, b. b on the annunciation of the virgin mary, the bells were rung, in honour of the salutation of the angel. du cange, v. festum. 46 thomas (2d) lord berkeley used to feast several convents in lent. smythe's berkeley mss. for prostration upon dicentes orationem dominicam (let them lie on the jaceant supra formas, forms, saying the lord's-prayer.) oseney, ms. arch. a. bodl. 73. the face was missale de downwards. osculantes furmulas, says the portiforium sec. usum sarum, 1540, fol. lxiii. b. this elsewhere. of sundays. the abbot, or priest, was to consecrate the palms, flowers, and leaves, which were laid upon a carpet before the high altar, sprinkle holy water on them, and cense them. the sacrists were then to distribute the palms to the abbots, priors, and nobler persons, and flowers and leaves to the others. when this was done, and they made a stand in the procession which followed, two priests were to bring the paschale in which the crucifix was laid, and stand still. the banner and crossbearers were to file off to the right and left of them, and the boys and convent so to arrange themselves, that, after a short service, the priests, with the might pass between the monks, who tomb, headed by the banner and cross, were to kneel as they passed. when they came to the city-gates, they were shrine to be put on a to divide again into two sides, and the shrine to be put on a table, covered with cloth. above the entrance of the gates a place was to be handsomely prepared with hangings. the boys then, and those whom the chanter had appointed to be with them, were to sing, "gloria, laus," glory, praise, • the paschal (see du cange, v. sepultura crucifixi) was a tomb for the burial of christ at easter. davies describes one; but the most curious is that at st. mary redcliff's church, bristol, which i give from an original ms. of chatterton, when very young, in my possession. the furniture of redclift church in 1470. memorandum. that master cannings hath delivered, the 4th day of july, in the year of our lord 1470, to master nicholas pelles, vicar of redclift, moses conterin, philip berthelmew, and john brown, procurators of redclift, beforesaid, a new sepulchre, well gilt with fine gold, and a civer thereto; an image of god almighty rising out of the same sepulchre, with all the ordinance that longeth thereto; that is to say, a lath made of timber and iron work thereto. item, thereto longeth heven made of timber and stained cloths. item, hell made of timber and iron work thereto, with devils the number of thirteen. item, four knights armed, keeping the sepulchre with their weapons in their hands; that is to say, two spears, two axes with two paves (pavaches, shields.) item, four pair of angel's wings, for four angels, made of timber, and well-painted. item, the fadre, the crown and visage, the well (sic, read boll) with a cross upon it, well gilt with fine gold. item, the holy ghost coming out of heven into the sepulchre. item, longeth to the four angels, four chiveliers (perukes.) [this is printed in barrett's bristol, 578, &c. &c.] to the dissolution. 51 &c. after a procession through the city, they were to return to the convent-gate, where the shrine was to be laid on a table, covered with cloth, and a religious service to be performed. they were next to return to the church, and make a stand before the crucifix then uncovered. then mass was to be performed; and, after they had communicated, the deacon first and the rest afterwards, were to offer their palms and flowers. the tables of the refectory were to be covered. after dinner they were to go to sleep, and at nones to arise, wash their hands and faces, comb themselves, and go to the choir; and upon the entrance of the infants, after their having washed and combed likewise, make the preparatory prayer, and sing nones. after this the prior was to ring the bell, and the monks go to the refectory. this was to be the rule all summer, till the calends of october, except on fast-days. the feast of the she ass, upon which christ sitting was worshipped by the people, was not kept (says lindwood), because the praise was human, and therefore not to be regarded. p. 102. ed. oxf. [it was kept: see note on palm sunday before.] on tuesday the monks in the cloister were to shave, and on the morrow to bathe; on which day there was to be no procession, and after complin the curtain was to be removed. on thursday [shire-thursday, which was a general day for communicating], as many candles were to be lighted as there were antiphonars and responses; and at singing each of them, a candle was to be extinguished; the last,b extinction of the lights. honorius gallus says, "on these three days we celebrate the burial of our lord; but the three days and nights we reckon for 72 hours. and therefore we extinguish so many lights, because we mourn the true light extinguished on these days, and express the sorrow of the 72 disciples, which they had on account of the setting of the eternal day and sun of justice, whose hours they were. for three hours, to wit, from the 6th to the 9th, there was darkness when christ hung on the cross. these three hours we represent by three nights, which we observe by extinction of the lights. by the day illumined by the sun, christ-by the night illumined by the moon, when the chantor began the antiphonar (traditor autem), "but the traitor." at one psalm, masters, children, young and old, were to mix together in a disorderly manner. then, after prostration on the forms, and singing certain psalms, at a signal from the abbot or prior, they were to make their bow to the altar and abbot, and stand in their places till the master brought lighted lanterns and gave them to the children. the sacrist was then to light the candles at the altar for the children to light theirs at. after lighting their candles they were to return to their beds; and at day-break, that the boys and youths might come out without lights, the sacrist was to ring the bell late (modice). the monks were immediately to rise, put on their nightshoes, and, coming into the choir, incline over the forms till the children came; and while they were coming, after the prayer of preparation, begin a service at a sign from the abbot, which was to end in confession. after this they were to sit in the cloister till tierce, which was to be followed by the chapter, reading the sentence of the rule, the sermon made on it, the correction of abuses, and the arrangement of the customs and ordinances for the morrow's chapter, and the whole day. after this was to follow an appropriate service if any monk was dead, or they had received a breve or the present church-by the twelve hours of the day or night, the twelve apostles are signified; because therefore the hours of the day and night are 24, and on feast days 24 gloria patries are sung, therefore the 24 lights are illuminated on these nights, which we distinguish at each canticum, because, like the apostles, we mourn the setting of the true sun." gemma animæ, p. 1279. amalarius says, the extinction of the lights signified the sorrow in the hearts of the disciples, while christ lay in the sepulchre; and that they were extinguished when beginning the chant, that in every article of any unforeseen joy we might be affected with sorrow. de ordine antiphonarii, ch. xliv. p.541. rupert says, the darkness signified the blindness of the jews, and the darkness of the crucifixion ; the lights, the saints; the extinction, the slaughter of them. l. v. ch. xxvi. p. 953. b our lord himself. id. ch. xxxiii. p. 955. see further rup. l. vi. ch. xxix. p. 970; albinus flaccus de divin. offic. p. 247; and amalarius, l. iii. ch. xxii. p. 472. e 2 52 benedictine monachism from the conquest obit from another house. at the beating of the table they were to talk in the cloister, and after sext again. then was to follow a mass for the poor introduced by the almoner, who were to take the sacrament, and receive refection; after which nones were to commence, and the forms, as then usual, to be removed. on these four days no one was to absent himself from the communion without a reasonable cause; when the mass was nearly ended, the forms were to be brought back, and vespers began upon them. in the mean while the priest following the procession was to go to the place where the body of christ was laid, having been censed both before and after its deposition there, and with a light constantly burning before it. this over, they took a mixtus. upon entering the refectory they were to bow before their seats, and, sitting down, take a mixtus of bread only, and drink, which was to be put ready by the refectioners. then the poor (who washed their feet first) were to be introduced to the maundy. the monks who died that year were to have their poor in this maundy [see infirmary], as well as those whom the abbot selected; in this service no monk, but those deputed to the office, were to interfere. as long as this office of washing the feet and hands lasted, they were to sing ; and those who wished it might sit in the same manner as it was usual to sit in the choir, namely, one between two standing; but when the drinking commenced they might sit how they liked. then vespers were to follow. if any stranger from without sought benediction on any of these three days [see hostrey], he was to receive it; the tables of the refectory were to be covered; at the bell, and over the abbot's table were to be placed tables with hammers.a bells signified the apostles, the heralds of christ, and were not then rung, because they deserted him; and there was a wooden hammer suspended in a table, and sounding, ("ligneus malleolus in tabula suspensus et personans,") because christ was then solum torcular calcans (see isaiah, ch. lxiii. v. 3.) solus in ligno crucis, alone on the the verses and benediction in the refectory were to be omitted, and the miserere after dinner read in a low voice. the reader was not to wait for the benediction, and to end without tu autem domine. whilst the monks were in the fratry the sacrists were to uncover all the altars, and get ready two reading desks (the one in the chapter and the other in the church), which were to be carried, before collation, into the refectory. after the monks rose from table, and, as usual, returned from the church and dormitory, they were to wash their feet as on a sabbath, and preparation was to be made for a maundy in the chapter, which was to take place after a drinking in the refectory. this maundy over, the abbot and others, entering the chapter, the convent rising as he passed to his seat, were to go to their places. when the hymn was over the sacrist was to strike the table for collation, and the deacon to enter with the gospel, preceded by three converts, carrying the candlestick and censer. upon their entrance the convent was to rise till the first verse of the gospel was read, and, at a proper time, the abbot nodded to the prior to strike the table; upon which they were all to rise, and, preceded by the deacon and the above converts, go to the refectory for a charity. the deacon was to put the gospel upon the lectern brought from the church, and cense both; and, at a nod from the senior prior, who then officiated in the abbot's room, to begin reading in the place where he had left off. the refectioner was next to strike the table, and the abbot and brothers, who had assisted him in the maundy, to go to the place where the drink of charity was prepared, with bottles, or the cups of the monks in their hands. when these were filled, the reader was to be silent, wood of the cross, and the sole witness to the truth. rupert tuitiens. l. v. ch. xxix. b beginnings and ends were left out, because, "i am alpha and omega, &c.; and he who is our head and beginning jesus christ was in these days taken away from us." id. l. v. ch. xxv. to the dissolution. 53 and they were to go to the step; and till they came thither the refectioner was to strike the table from the time they had received the drink and began to go; and upon their arrival, three or four times more quickly, and then stop. then was to follow the benediction by the priest of the week, and, after this, the abbot was to give drink to the prior and others, according to seniority, kissing their hands, those who assisted him in bringing the drink to the step ministering to him. when all the monks and children were served, the abbot was to go to the deacon, who read the collation, and, when he had ended the verse he had begun, give him the drink, and so afterwards to those who carried the candlesticks and censers. these the abbot's assistants were in the mean while to hold, then to carry the cups of the deacon and others to the abbot's table, and when they came to the step, to make a bow, and sit down. then the like drink, and kissing of hands, was to be done to them. the abbot was next to go to his seat, the convent rising as he passed, and the prior to administer the drink to the abbot, and kiss his hands. a nod of the abbot was then to terminate the reading of the deacon, who was to shut the book, make his bow, and lay his officiating robes upon the desk. the converts were to carry the candlesticks and censer to the abbot's table, make an inclination, and, with the deacon, sit down at the table and drink. the abbot was then to strike the table once, and as many times as the bell was struck on a common sabbath at the charity after the maundy, and the priests to carry the two desks and robes to the church. thither the abbot and convent were to go in procession, and the wonted confession to be made and complin said, and after this the three usual prayers. on good friday the table was to be struck before mattins in the cloister, before the cellar and infirmary, to awake the sleepers, and the service to be the same as on thursday. at prime the table was to be struck, and they were to go barefooted to the church, and so continue till the office of the day was finished when it was very cold the abbot might order them to put their shoes on, in which case of extreme cold they were only to be barefooted at the office. afterwards they were to sit in the cloister; and, the abbot beginning to say the whole psalter, after which those who chose it might go to confession. when tierce approached they were to go as usual to the dortour, and, being combed and washed, to the preparatory prayers and tierce. after these they were to go to the chapter, a verse was to be said in silence, a sentence of the rule read as on thursday, a discourse made on it, and matters arranged for the morrow's chapter. they were next to sit in the cloister, neither talking, singing, or reading. after nones the officiating ministers were to robe themselves, and the priest and deacon go to the altar, covered with a single linen cloth. during the service, at the part they divided my vestments among them," two of the robed ministers near the altar were to draw out two cloths, which before the office had been sent there, the linen still remaining under the missal. then was to follow a religious service, and the prayer for all orders of men, except the jews. when this was over, two priests, appointed by the chantor, were to go to the cross, prepared and covered at the morning altar, and bear it, advancing by degrees, and singing (as well as the convent) to the high altar. they were then to uncover it, begin the antiphonar, ecce lignum, and bow the knee. after more religious services, carpets were to be laid before the altar, and the abbot and others successively to prostrate themselves, pray, kiss the foot of the crucifix, and afterwards return to the choir. if there were any clerks or laymen who wished to adore the cross,b it was to be carried 66 because, till the fulness of the gentiles, no manner of prayer could expel their blindness. rup. tuit. l. vi. ch. xviii. p. 964. b at durham was 46 an image of our lady, which 54 benedictine monachism from the conquest to another place, and the monks to kneel as it passed. when this adoration was entirely over, the bearers were to elevate the cross, and take it to its place; the monks seeking pardon on their knees. then the priests, &c. were to go to the place where the host was laid on thursday, cense it, and give it to the deacon to carry. as they approached the altar, the monks, kneeling, were to adore the host, which was placed upon the altar, and wine and water mixed in the chalice. after confession and prayer the priest was to cense the host and chalice. then was to follow the communion without the pax, and the preparatory prayer of vespers. these ended they were to go to the cloister, wash their feet with warm water, and put on their diurnal shoes. then vespers were to be said in silence; and after these they were to take their refection of bread and water, and raw herbs only, though the usual viands were cooked, but distributed in alms. after the refection of the convent, the sacrists, assisted by as many priests as were necessary, were to wash the altars, first with water, then with wine. when the servants, after returning from the church and dormitory, had taken their refection, the monks were to go to the refectory for the rule's sake, but to drink water only. upon their leaving this and sitting in the cloister, the table was to be struck for collation; after which was made to open with gimmers (hinges) from her breast downwards; and within was painted the image of our saviour, finely gilt, holding up his hands, and betwixt his hands a fair and large cru cifix of christ, all of gold; which crucifix was to be taken out every good-friday; and every man crept unto it that was then in the church." davies, &c. hot-cross buns. in the life of st. severus (abbat. agath.) ch. ii. we hear of bread sent for presents in the manner of eulogia [explained in the chapter of rules]; which bread was marked with a cross, and the eating of it so marked had a mystical allusion. du cange, v. artona. a by the host left on the altar, was implied, that christ lay in the sepulchre, and was deserted by his disciples. raban. maur. de instit. cleric. l. i. ch. xxxiii. addit. de missâ, p. 586. b because blood and water issued from the wounded sides of our lord. rup. tuit, l. v. ch. xxxi. they were to go to the refectory "to drink a charity." on the saturday till prime all was to be done as on friday. in the chapter the sentence from the rule was to be read, and all things arranged till the easter chapter. before and after chapter the sacrists were to adorn the church and all the altars; to put the tapers where they ought to be, and place the one for consecration in its proper place [the serpent taper in the concordia regularum]. in this taper was to be written the year of our lord;d and the cross to be marked with five grains of incense in five places [from the five wounds of christ]. then were to follow the censing procession and consecration of the taperf (much as in the concord of rules); and a candle was to be lighted in the lantern, to light the taper if it went out; and this lantern was to be carried by one of the masters of the novices. at this procession the candlesticks were not to be carried. the holy fire which remained in the cloister was to be collected by the cellarer's servants; and from this taper all the fires before extinguished in all the offices were again to be lighted. the children, if too little, were not to stay till after vespers for refection. 46 at durham, upon the paschal, besides six branches or candlesticks, three on each side, stood a long piece of wood, reaching within a man's length to the uppermost vault or roof of the church, upon which stood a great long squared taper of wax, called the paschal, having a fine convenience through the said roof of the church to light the taper." davies; see before, ch. iv. because christ is the acceptable year of the lord, whose months are the twelve apostles, whose days are the elect, and whose hours are the children baptized. gemma animæ de antiq. rit. missar. l. iii. p. 1281. this the deacon did, because the women who came to the burial of christ brought spices. rup. tuit. ch. xxxi. p. 971. the deacon consecrated it, because the weaker sex announced the resurrection to the apostles. ibid. the fire was extinguished at sext, and relighted at nones, on account of the eclipse of the sun during the crucifixion at those hours. gemma animæ, p. 1280. all the tapers were re-lighted from the new fire, because our lord, on the day in which he arose from the dead, though it was late, standing in the midst of his disciples, and showing them his to the dissolution. 55 easter-day and during easter there was to be a procession to the crucifix after lauds and after vespers through the whole week; on easter-day in cappis. festivals in cappis (rich robes) were in general, not always, the most grand of all. the cappa (or cope, says honorius, is the proper robe of singers, cantorum), which seems to be substituted for the acintine tunic of the law (pro tunicâ acintinâ legis), from whence as that was adorned with bells so this with fringes. by this robe holy conversation is represented, therefore it is used by every order. it has a hood above, which marks the joy of heaven. it reaches to the feet, because in good living we must persevere to the end; by the fringes the labour is denoted by which the service of god is consummated. it is open before, because eternal life lies open to the ministers of christ who lead a holy life. gemma animæ, ch. ccxxviii. p. 1238. on easter-day was performed the office of the sepulchre, of which a slight notice was given in the preceding chapter. the more full service was this; previous to which it is fit to note, that mary magdalen, mary of bethany, and the sinner of naim, were three different persons, though often confounded: three deacons clothed in dalmaticks and amesses, with their heads in the manner of women, and holding a vase in their hands, came through the middle of the choir, and hastening towards the sepulchre, with downcast looks, said together this verse, "who will remove the stone for us?" upon this a boy, clothed like an angel, in albs, and holding a wheat-ear in his hand, before the sepulchre, said, "whom do you seek in the sepulchre?" the maries answered, "jesus of nazareth, who was crucified." the angel answered, "he is not here, but is risen ;" and pointed to the place hands and his side, breathed upon them, and said, "receive ye the holy ghost." rup. tuit. ch. xxix. p. 971. menagiana, ii. 98, 99. with his finger. the angel then departed very quickly, and two priests, in tunicks, sitting without the sepulchre, said, "women, whom do ye mourn for? whom do ye seek?" the middle one of the women said, "sir, if you have taken him away, say so." the priest, shewing the cross, said, "because they have taken away the lord." the two priests, sitting said, "whom do ye seek, women?" the maries, kissing the place, afterwards. went from the sepulchre. in the mean time a certain priest, in the character of christ, in an alb, with a stole, holding a cross, met them on the left horn of the altar, and said, "mary." upon hearing this, the mock mary threw herself at his feet, and, with a loud voice, cried, cabboin. the priest nodding replied, "noli me tangere" (touch me not). this being finished, the priest again appeared at the right horn of the altar, and said to them as they passed before the altar, "hail! do not fear." this being finished, he concealed himself; and the women, joyful at hearing this, bowed to the altar, and turning to the choir, sung "alleluia, the lord is risen." this was the signal for the bishop or priest before the altar, with the censer, to begin aloud, "te deum." du cange, v. sepulchri officium. another office was the burial of alleluia. the observation of this ceremony is mentioned in ernulph's annals of the church of rochester, and by selden in his notes to eadmer, as observed just before the octaves of easter. austin says, that it used to be sung in all churches from easter to pentecost; but damasus ordered it to be performed at certain times, when it was chaunted on the sundays from the octaves of the epiphany to septuagesima, and on the sundays from the octaves of pentecost to advent. one mode of burying the alleluia was this in the sabbath of septuagesima at nones, the choristers assembled in the great vestiary, and there arranged the ceremony. having finished the last : 50 benedictine monachism from the conquest benedicamus, they advanced with crosses, torches, holy water, and incense, carrying a turf (glebam) in the manner of a coffin, passed through the choir, and went howling to the cloister, as far as the place of interment; and then, having sprinkled the water, and censed the place, returned by the same road. according to a story (whether true or false) in one of the churches of paris, a choir-boy used to whip a top, marked with alleluia, written in golden letters, from one end of the choir to the other. in other places alleluia was buried by a serious service on septuagesima sunday. du cange, v. alleluia. another ceremony, though probably practised only abroad, is given here for its curiosity. a ball, not of size to be grasped by one hand only, being given out at easter, the dean and his representative began an antiphone suited to easter-day; then taking the ball in his left hand, commenced a dance to the tune of the antiphone; the others dancing round hand in hand. at intervals the ball was bandied, or tossed to each of the choristers. the organ played according to the dance and sport. the dancing and antiphone being concluded, the choir went to take a refreshment. it was the privilege of the lord, or his locum tenens, to throw the ball; even the archbishop did it. du cange, v. pelota percula. anthony, the egyptian abbot, used to play with his monks, that he might, as he alledged, be afterwards more strong to serve god. gold. leg. fol. xlviii. but the above was taken from a circumstance recorded in the acta sanctorum. du cange suspects that there was a horrible custom in the thirteenth century of seizing all ecclesiasticks who walked abroad between easter and pentecost (because the apostles were seized by the jews after christ's passion); and making them purchase their liberty by money, v. prisio. in the easter week the monks were not to converse in the cloister: but till the ides of september on private days, unless when they left the refectory, they were to go to the chapter, perform a very short service, and afterwards speak in the cloister. on the octaves, at the lections, there were to be paschal sermons.a at the rogation days, after mattins for the dead, the monks were to return to their beds, and those who wished it to sleep longer than usual; for in these days there was to be no meridian or sleep at noon, nor were they to be awakened by any sound, as usual at other times;b but at a proper season the masters were to awake the children as quietly as possible; and while they were reading in the cloister those in their beds were to rise without delay. after the mass de jejunio, the sentence of the rule was to be read in chapter, and the procession arranged. after tierce, the boys and infirm, who could not fast, took mixtus; from sext they were to go to the dormitory, as at another time, when they were used to sleep at noon; then, with naked feet, they were to leave the dormitory, wash their hands, and, going to the church, say a prayer. this was to be followed by a religious service and procession, in which the chamberlain's servants were to deliver stavesd to the monks to support them; and when they were to come to the church, where they were going, and because our whole life is the revolution of seven days, the eighth or octave signified eternity; and this was the mystical reason, why octaves were annexed to festivals. sparrow on the common prayer, 232. du cange adds, because our lord rose on the 8th day (including sunday to sunday, says alcuinus), the octave of a feast was the day on which the whole solemnity closed. v. octava. boys used to claim hard eggs or small money at the feast of easter, in exchange for the ball play before mentioned. du cange, v. roulleta. b alluding to the state of the disciples, between the passion and ascension of christ. the rogations were processions for the good of the future harvest; and the three days before were to be spent in fasting, that the purified soul might ascend with christ on the thursday following. sparrow, p. 160. "sometimes we use this staff, sometimes not. when we have christ at hand we need no support. if he has left us on account of our sins, we have need to seek a support; i. e. the prayers of the saints." ciampini vetera monumenta, ch. xv. p. 119. to the dissolution. 57 the chantor began a chant to the honour of the patron saint, the monks, as they entered, returned the staves to the servants, to take them again when they went out.a then there was to be another mass de jejunio, a single prayer to be said for the patron saint, and two monks to go to the gate of the house to sing an agnus dei,b and then to come back, taking with them some of the servants to sing the litany,c which the convent was to do upon their return. when the procession came to the gate of the church, they the staff was human assistance, and they did not need it when christ was present. expositio missæ de vetusto codice, p. 2172. "when we make a procession to another church," says honorius, "we go as it were to the land of promise; when we enter the church singing, we arrive as it were rejoicing at our home (patriam)." gemma animæ, l. i. ch. lxx. p. 1200. the churches to which the procession was made were sometimes the cathedrals, see provinc. angl. p. 9. n. 1. voc. minoribus ecclesiis; but not always these. see monast. i. p. 212. b this, besides a chant in the mass, had another signification. pieces of the paschal taper, consecrated at easter, were given to the people, to make perfumes for their houses, protect them from sorcery, &c. this custom only prevailed out of rome; for there, instead of the taper, the archdeacon used to consecrate some wax, mixed with oil, and distribute pieces in the form of a lamb to the people. this was the origin of those waxen images of the lamb, which the pontiffs themselves consecrated in a more august form. du cange, in voce. st. mark's day, says davies, was commonly kept a fast through all the country, and no flesh eaten upon it. also upon this, and the three first days of cross, or the rogation week, there were processions by the prior and monks of durham to one of the parish churches, and a sermon preached at each. upon holy thursday was a procession with two crosses, borne before the monks, and each in rich copes; the prior in one of cloth of gold so massy, that his train was supported. shrines and relicks were also carried. there were two litanies performed twice in the year, the greater and the less; the first on st. mark's day, instituted by gregory, on account of a pestilence, called also the black cross from the black cloaths, worn from weeping and penance; or "peraventure, because they covered the crosse and auters with blessed hayres." the smaller litany was sung three days before the ascension, and was called the rogations, processions, &c.; because then a general procession was made, the cross borne, bells rung, and, in some churches, a dragon with a great tail, filled full of chaff, emptied on the third day, to shew that the devil, after prevailing the first and second day, before and under the law, was on "the thyrde day of grace, by the passion of jhesu criste, put out of his reame." gold. legend, fol. xvi. a. b. ubi plura. were to end the litany; after which the two selected monks were to stand with naked feet before the gates, and sing an agnus dei. the litany was to be followed by the preparatory prayer of nones; and, after this, they were to go to the cloister to wash their feet, then return to the choir, and, at the ringing of another bell, sing nones. whitsuntide. this week the fasts were to be begun, which the rule required on wednesdays and fridays, till the ides of september,d unless there was a reason why the abbot or prior should twice grant a license of refection. on a vigil that fell on these days there was to be a mass, but no procession. after the chapter on fast days they were to sit in the cloister conversing. after tierce the servants, and minuti, and sick, were to take mixtus. after sext they were to go to sleep, and next bring their shoes, barefooted, to the cloister. then they were to wash and comb themselves, and go to church. in this season to the calends of october they were only to converse once in the cloister, from after the chapter till tierce. after sext they were to go to the dormitory, and mass be celebrated after that hour. presents of roses were made on whitsunday. festivals, &c. how observed. whitsuntide. in some churches abroad water was let down, afterwards d benedict prescribed fasting from holy-cross day (sept. 14.) to easter, and from pentecost to holy-rood day, every wednesday and friday. on the fasts prescribed by the order, the monks were to make but one repast at nones (3 p. m.), and on the church-fasts, not till the evening collations. reg. ch. xli. this fast was by no means observed. reyn. append. 165. the dispensation extended to growing youths, the sick, weak, minuti, and "those who bore the burden of the day." const. m. paris, p. 1059. cap. gen. northamp. a. 1225. § hospitalitate. by the const. of the same place, a. 1444, ch. viii. the monks were not to sup on any friday in the whole year, except a christmas-day fell then. fasting twice a week was borrowed from the pharisees. pictet. serm. sur. matt. 19. du cange, v. rosa. 58 benedictine monachism from the conquest wafers, from a hollow place in the middle of the church, in commemoration of the descent of the holy ghost.a the ordinary of the church of rouen says, "whilst veni creator is begun some of the treasurer's people, being in the lower deambulatories of the tower, shall throw down before the crucifix, and, as far as they can, below the choir, oak-leaves, unconsecrated wafers, and burning tow, in a large quantity: and, at the gloria in excelsis (glory to god on high), shall let fly towards the choir small birds, with unconsecrated wafers tied to their legs; and continue the above till the mass, and not cease till the gospel be said. all this was be at the expense of the treasurer and chapter in equal proportions. elsewhere at the feast of pentecost we find, among the solemnities of high mass, unconsecrated wafers, with burning torches, thrown down from the highest vaulting among the choir."c lambarde (after describing the office of the sepulchre by puppets, in which was one watchman, who seeing christ arise, made a continual noise, like the metynge of two sticks, and was therefore nick-named jack snackes) thus describes the whitsuntide-office: "i myself, being then a child, once sawe in poule's church, in london, a feast of whitsuntyde, wheare the coming downe of the holy ghost was set forth by a white pigeon, that was let to fly out of a hole, that yet is to be seene in the mydst of the roof of the great isle; and by a long censer, which descendinge out of the same place, almost to the verie grounde, was swinged up and downe at such a lengthe, that it reached with thone sweepe almost to the west gate of the churche, and with the other to the quyre staires of the same, breathinge out over the whole churche and companie, a most pleasant perfume of such swete things as burned therein. with the like doome shewes also, they used everie where to furnish sondrie coryatt's crudities, i. p. 3. b du cange, v. nebula. c id. v. oblatæ. parts of their church service, as by their spectacles of the nativitie, passion, ascension, &c."d in some councils of spain it is enacted, that there be no representation of the emission of the holy ghost at this season, during mass and vespers, nor mock thunders, which had done much damage.e on the principal feasts every thing was to be done usual on a holy sabbath. on the vigil the whole monastery and all the altars were to be ornamented to the best ability of the place. the offices and cloister were to be cleaned, the seats of the refectory, chapter, and cloister, were to be covered, and rushes strewed on the forms. at the reading of the gospel the altar was to be uncovered, and all the tapers lighted. festival cloths were to spread upon the refectory tables, so that they might hang before, besides the daily ones upon which the monks were to eat. they were to have towels to wipe their hands with at the first refection only, and late at supper. on the principal feasts of the second class, the altars, presbytery, choir, and members of the church, on both sides the choir, were to be ornamented on the vigil, the bells rung, as on principal feasts, two parts of the tapers of the crown of the presbytery, all about the high altar, and the one before the crucifix lighted. on ascension-day there was to be a procession in albs (a kind of surplice, the white garment that herod put upon christ.)f on the feast of the dedication of the church, the tapers lighted at the vespers preceding through all the altars were not to be extinguished before the morrow's complin. a mass was to be celebrated at every altar, if there were priests enough; and after that a procession in albs, either around the church, if there was a proper place for it, or through the cloister. on feasts of the third class the two altars of the presbytery, the presbyd warton's poetry, i. 241, &c. • du cange, v. zamborio. f lewis's thanet, p. 154. to the dissolution. 59 tery and choir, were to be dressed on the vigil. in the exaltation of the cross, the service was to be similar to that of the invention, except that on the latter the cross was to be worshiped, on the former not. in the latter, after tierce, the choir was to be strewed with carpets up to the high altar. two monks were to bring the cross, covered, to the step nearest the altar. it was then to be uncovered, and at the ecce lignum crucis all were to kneel, and afterwards prostrate themselves before it, and kiss the foot of it according to seniority. this ended the two bearers were to begin an antiphonar, super omnia, and all to kneel. the cross was then to be returned to its place, and mass performed. every christian of age fasted three days on bread and water before the feast of st. michael, and went to church to confess barefooted, &c. leg. ethelredi, 2, ap. brompton. du cange, v. jejunium. appendix. decrees of the council of lateran, anno 1215.a it enjoins visitations and general chapters-forbids new religions-orders no monk or abbot to have a place in more than one house, nor to play at dice or draughts. draughts-prohibits players and jesters-mentions abbots spending almost half the night in superfluous talk and dissolute habits, and never performing divine service four times in a year-enjoins the relisi-gious not to be bail for persons withon the five principal sundays (1 adv. septuag. 1 lent, midlent, and palm sunday) the ornaments were to be milar to those of principal feasts. on all the feasts of twelve lessons, and all days within the octaves, the monks were not to converse in the cloister. on trinity sunday there was at durham a grand procession, and especially on corpus christi day, instituted by urban iv., and great pardons granted upon it. all the trades in the city, with banners and candles, and a shrine containing the pix (or chrystal-box enclosing the host), went in procession, and were joined by the convent, who worshipped it; and had a service in the choir. of the play, &c. &c. upon this day, see weever, fun. mon. 405. strutt, gliggam. 118. archæological library, 161, et alios. it was abolished by james i.; and the citizens, in some parts of england, to make themselves amends, substituted show-days, and erected arbours in the town-meadows, philips's where they feasted, &c. shrewsbury, p. 202. upon the transfiguration of christ (aug. 6), new wine, if it could be found, was used in the chalice, or sometimes a ripe grape squeezed into it, and the branches consecrated. from this they communicated. du cange, v. festum. among the anglo-saxons, at least, out leave of the abbot or conventforbids abbots invading episcopal offices by "meddling with matrimonial causes, enjoining public penances, granting letters of indulgences, and similar presumptions"-prohibits the receipt of tythes from lay-hands-reprobates persons deputed to collect alms stopping in taverns or other unfit places-and censures simony. labbei the monks cite various constitutions, not to be found in labbe. swapham says, "it was decreed in the synod of lateran, that the monks should fast, as contained in the rule, namely, from holy-rood to easter. the abbot returning home from the said council, made it known to his convent, and obtained, by his requests, that the aforesaid fasts should be observed for the above time." hist. coenobii burgensis, p. 111. matthew paris too (p. 1063) insinuates, that an alteration was made in the burial of abbots after the lateran council. but the printed councils are notorious for omissions. see selden's titles of honour, 239, ed. 2. tythes, c. viii. § 4, 5, 10, 26, &c. bi. e. arbitrarily, without the bishop's consent. see selden on this passage. tythes, c. 6, § 7. the cynical and querulous barclay is bitter upon this subject. he says, "the abbot and prior, and also their covent, are so blinded with unhappy covetise, that with their own can they not be content, but to have more they alway meanes devise ; yea in so much that some have found a gyse, to fayne their brethren taken in captivitie, that they may begge so by authoritie; they fayne miracles, where non were ever done, and all for lucre: some other range about, to gather and begge with some fayned pardon, 60 benedictine monachism from the conquest concilia, sub anno 1215. [see § monks and nuns, for the practices alluded to.] constitutions of benedict the twelfth, anno 1336. against common and provincial chapters once in three years-appointment of visitors-general chapters annually to correct abuses, and audit the accounts of those who had been charged with an office -aids and collections-daily chapters in abbeys of more than six monksmasters to teach the monks-to send students to the university-to grant pensions to them-against waste of the woods by improper sales, and granting pensions for life against deceitful contracts. "they also, by themselves and others, pretend to have made loans; sometimes in their own names, and their securities; and even make use of the names of others. sometimes they acknowledge, by public instruments, to have borrowed from a father, relative, servant, or merchant, wine, corn, money, cattle, or other goods, for the use of their houses, when they never received any such thing"abbots to take an oath not to sell, alienate, mortgage, or enfeoff anew the lands destined "to the table of the house"-not to appropriate to themselves the goods of vacant offices, priories, and benefices-inventories or registers ordered-places not to be let to farm unless from necessity-prelates and officers not to obtain privileges "by which the liberties, possessions, property, and rights of their offices are strengthened," and various valuables and at the ale-house at night all drinketh out. so run these beggers in company rowte, by streetes, tavernes, towns, and villages: no place can well be free of their outrages. some begge for buildinges, some for reliques newe of holy saintes, of countreys farre and strange; and with their wordes fayned and untrue, for cause of lucre about they runne and range, but in a simple village, farme, or grange, whereat these beggars most simple men may finde, with their false bones, as relickes, they them blinde. ship of fooles, 119, b. ed. seb. brandt. of their houses transferred to, or held in, the hands of relatives and friendsagainst monks having property, scraping up money, buying estates, or causing them to be bought in other names, or their own; giving others cattle to keep to produce interest or profit to themselves or another, and driving many various bargains like tradesmen-against money being given them instead of victuals no secular clerks or laymen, or monks of another house, to farm the kitchen-against officers keeping women, although mothers and sisters, in the same housenot to have other horses or servants than office required-suite of abbots and officers limited, except in case of war or personal danger-punctuality in payment of the funds for the necessaries of monks at the usual times-fit persons, or those likely to be so, only received as monks-against deviations in dress-punishment of illicit absence, a severe beating with a ferula, in chapter ferula, in chapteragainst monks dwelling alone in offices or priories, and single monks being placed in towns and parish churches-the usual hours to be sung in the priories, and the monks to take their weeks in celebrating mass once a day with note where three or four more, and then one mass at least every day-to lie in a dormitory, not in separate chambers -to obey the prior-to abstain from flesh, and not to have partitions in the dormitory-masses to be celebrated once a week at least, in priories and schools, and elsewhere-persons, not priests, to confess every week, and take the sacrament once every month -proper provision for the books and necessaries of the church-no person to be made a conventual prior till twenty-five years old, and within a year after such promotion to be ordained priest-claustral priora to be a prudent and discreet man-monks not to hold offices or benefices in other churches or houses ancient number of monks to be kept up, and the usual procuraa see § prior. to the dissolution. 61 tions paid-presidents of provincial chapters to restore decayed discipline in bad houses, by sending them fit monks for such purpose-monks who had injured the property of their houses to be sent to others mendicants a claiming administrations, offices, and similar privileges, among the monks, to exhibit the papal authority for this assumption-no monk defaming his superior to be attended to, unless willing to sustain the punishment of failure of proof-against conspiracies concerning the promulgation of the constitutions in the provincial chapters. [for the regular canons. none but fit persons, or those likely to be so, to be received-to be instructed by a proper person during the time of probation, "in a place where at least seven canons resided "creation of them to belong to the prelate and convent; to the former, with counsel of a third of the seniors, if the convent delayed after a month's warning-profession, not clandestine, and with mass -no clerk to be received to a prebend or portion, who had not first resigned se & sua (himself and property) to the house a claustral prior in every house not having a superior, or more than twelve canons, or (though usually fewer) having a head-regular chapters at least once a week, or oftener-annual chapter of superiors-provincial one from four years to four years -no large suite to be brought there-office of visitors-not to be visitors the same year of those who had visited themnot to stop above two days unless from urgent occasions-not to extort money by themselves or others, except for expenses b-collections to be made -masters to be appointed to teach • friers. in the visit. of oseney, by peacham, "procurationem visitationis-non in esculentis et poculentis ut assolet exigebat, sed in pecuniâ numeratâ juxta consuetudinem pristinam;" i. e. he required his procurations to be paid not in eatables and drink. ables, but in ready money, according to ancient custom. ms. wood, in mus. ashmol. 8563, pp. 2, 12. so that episcopal and conventual visitors were on different footings. the canons in the primary sciences, and afterwards in the divine and canon laws-one out of twenty to be sent to study at the university-number to be made up by joining dependent and parent houses-pension to doctors, lecturers, scholars, and others-distribution of books among the studentsgovernment of them by a prior-presidents of the provincial chapter to manage the affairs of the students in pecuniary respects-no one to take degrees without previously engaging only to expend a certain sum-canons in benefices and cells as the benedictines before-usual number to be preserved -excess of horses and servants forbidden-immoderate feasts of superiors and their servants prohibited religious to go out with company-abbots or other prelates to have two companions with them-beneficed men or officers to be ordained priests-regulation of dress-illicit absence punished as among the benedictines-no alienations of property without licence of the papal seefraudulent and deceitful contracts forbidden as in the benedictine constitutions-recovery of debts from them only after a consultation of at least two distinct days, with the chapter or convent-against unwise and injurious leases (locationes)-to have registers and archives-punctuality of payment in money or pensions for aliments and revenues-no flesh to be eaten on sabbath, and all adventon wednesday and septuagesima according to local statute--to reside in the cloister, and sleep in a dortour, not private chambers-privileges and moveables as in the benedictine constitutions-mass in convents at least twice a week-in priories and cells once in schools or elsewhere at least once in fifteen days-confession the same-sacrament every month-mass to be said, not by running it over, or shortening it, but gradually and distinctly [see the end of this article ¶¶] from the bullarium romanum, v. i. p. 242— 274. the deviations alluded to in these and the preceding constitutions will be severally discussed in their respective places. 62 benedictine monachism from the conquest -care to be taken of the relicks and church ornaments-not to be forced to secular courts-against hunting and fowling, "unless they had vivaria a or warrens of their own, or a right of sporting in others, in which case it was allowed, so that they did not keep dogs within their precincts, or lent their personal presence to hunting"-not to have arms without leave-against detraction and other crimes as in the benedictine code.b] ¶¶ the abuse of the service in churches under the monks, canons, and clergy is delineated in a very curious and interesting manner by barclay : there be no tidings nor nuelties of warre, nor other wonders done in any straunge lande, whatsoever they be, and come they never so farre, the priestes in the queere, at first have them in hande, while one recounteth the other to understande his fayned fable, harkening to the glose, full little adverteth howe the service goes. the battayles done perchaunce in small britayne, in fraunce, or flaunders, or to the worlde's ende, are told in the quere (of some) in wordes vayne, in middest of matins in steede of the legende, and other gladly to heare the same intende. much rather then the service for to heare, the rector chori is made the messanger. he runneth about like to a pursevant with his white-staffe c moving from side to side; where he is leaning tales are not scant, but in one place longe doth not he abide, so he and other themselves so lewdely d gide, without devotion by their lewde negligence, that nothing can binde their tonges to silence. and in the morning when they come to the quere, the one beginneth a fable or a historie; the other leaneth their eares it to heare, taking it in stede of the invitorie. some other maketh respons, antem, and memory, and all of fables and jestes of robin hood, or other trifles, that scantly are so good.e ship of fooles, 182, 183. the behaviour of the laity in these churches is also admirably described thus: "and whyle the priestes also them exercise, in mattins, praying, sermon, or preaching devine, these were mostly fish-ponds or stews, but they mean parks here. see lyndwood, p. 200. b bullarium romanum, ubi supra. e collins mentions this (peerage, vi. 419); but an angel in a vision uses a reed, not a wand. du cange, v. arundinetum. see § precentor hereafter. d lewdely, licentiously. steevens. • the account of st. paul's church, as the mart of news, in mr. douce on shakespeare, well illustrates this passage. to the dissolution. 63 of other due thinges, that longe to their service teaching the people to vertue to encline; then these fooles, as it were roving swine, with their jetting a and tales of viciousnesse, e; trouble all suche service, that is said, more and lesse. into the church then comes another sotte,b without devotion, jetting up and downe, c or to be seene, and to showe his garded cote: another on his fiste, a sparhauke or fawcone,d or els a cokow,e and so wasting his shone (shoes), before the aulters he to and fro doth wander, with even as great devotion as a gander. in comes another his houndes at his tayle, with lynes and leases,f and other like baggage, his dogges barke, so that withouten fayle the whole church is troubled by their outrage, so innocent youth learneth the same of age, and their lewde sounde doth the church fill, but in this noyse the good people kepe them still. one time the hawkes bells jangleth hye, another time they flutter with their winges, and nowe the houndes barking strikes the skye; nowe sounde their feete, and nowe the chaynes ringes, they clap with their handes; by such maner thinges, they make of the church for their hawkes a mewe, and canell (kennel) for their dogges, which they shall after rewe. there are handled pleadinges, and causes of the lawe, there are made bargaynes of divers maner thinges, byinges and sellinges scant worth a hawe, and there are for lucre contrived false leasinges; and while the priest his masse or matins singes, these fooles, which to the church do repayre, are chatting and babling, as it were in a fayre.5 some gigle and laugh, and some on maydins stare, and some on wives with wanton countenance, a to jet is to strutt. steevens. cotgrave (v. fringuer) extends the meaning. sot, not a drunkard. sherwood says, "a sot. sot, fol, bedault, badelori, grue, oison bride, jangipon, jobelin, micon, minchon, bedier, bejaune." here it means a vain trifler. laced. the english and french nobles never travelled but in a warlike or hunting equipage; the bird upon the fist, and the dogs running before. the bird upon the fist was the most unequivocal proof of nobility in women, and those not yet made knights. maillot, iii. 67. e though it was usual to carry a hawk upon the fist, i never before heard of a cuckow: only that rank was distinguished by the kind of hawk. f cotgrave has lesse; a leash to hold a dog, &c. in the reign of henry iii. a law-suit was settled in st. peter's church, bristol; and each party took a solemn oath, and agreed to forfeit ten marks for every article of the agreement which might be broken (smythe's berkeley mss. 119). the people used to come early in the morning on law matters, begging to have mass first said by the priest (sim. dunelm. 35). this business was mostly done in the porch. eadmer (p. 26) mentions persons assembling there on business, which is an extremely ancient custom; the aisles and bodies of the heathen temples being expressly devoted to such purposes, if desired. godw. rom. hist. anthol. p. 21. see, too, livy, i. 30, &c. 64 benedictine monachism. as for the service they have small force or care, but full delite them in their misgovernaunce. some with their slippers to and fro doth praunce, clapping with their heeles in church and in queare, so that good people cannot the service heare. what shall i write of maydens and of wives, of their roundinges a and ungoodly communing; howe one a slaunder craftely contrives, and in the church therof hath her talking; the other have therto their eares leaning; and then when they all have heard forth hir tale, with great devotion they get them to the ale. thus is the church defiled with vilany, and in steede of prayer and godly orison, are used shameful bargayns and tales of ribawdry, jettinges and mockinges and great derision; there fewe are or none of perfect devotion; and when oure lorde is consecrate in fourme of bread, therby walkes a knaves, his bonet on his head. whispering, a. sax. puntan, "called than to him a clark, and rowned with him." state trials, p. 36, col. i. ed. fol. 65 chapter vi. rules of the orders which obtained in england. in the 13th century guyot de provins, at first a minstrel, afterwards a monk, wrote, what he has (oddly to us) denominated a bible, though only a poem, religious, moral, and satirical.a it contains some curious passages of various monastick orders, which he often generally designates, as does james de vitry and others, by black monks, or those who follow the benedictine rule; and white monks, who adopted the augustinian institutes, or, in reforming themselves, had quitted the black habit for the white. cistertians. "the abbots and cellarers have ready money, eat large fish, drink good wine, and send to the refectory, for those who do the work, the very worst. these monks," he says, "i have seen put pig sties in church-yards, and stables for asses in chapels. they seize the cottages of the poor, and reduce them to beggary." carthusians. "i know the carthusians," says he, "and their life does not tempt me. they have each habitation; every one is his own cook; every one eats and sleeps alone; and i do not know whether god is much delighted with all this. but this i well know, that if i was myself in paradise, and alone there, i should not wish to remain in it. a solitary man is always subject to bad temper. thus i call those fools who wished me to immure myself in this way. but what i particularly dislike in the carthusians is, that they are murderers of their sick. if these require any little extraordinary nourishment, it is peremptorily refused. i do not like religious persons who have no pity; the very quality which, i think, they especially ought to have." ms. bibl. nationale à paris, marked la valiere, 2707, &c. the extracts are from the notices, &c. vol v. 285, seq. grandmontines. "besides fondness for good cheer, they were remarkable for the most ridiculous foppery. they painted their cheeks, washed and covered up their beards at nights (as now women do their hair), in order that they might look handsome and glittering on the next day. they were entirely governed by the lay-brothers, who got possession of their money; and with it, buying the court of rome, obtained the subversion of the order."b regular canons. "augustin, whose rule [i. e. the rule composed by ivo de chartres from the writings of augustin, says mosheim, &c.] they allow was more courteous than benedict. among them one is well shod, well cloathed, well fed. they go out when they like, mix with the world, and talk at table." clugniacs. "when you wish to sleep they awake you: when you wish to eat they make you fast. the night is passed in praying in the church, the day in working, and there is no repose but in the refectory: and what is to be found there? rotten eggs, beans with all their pods on, and (boisson des boeufs) liquor fit for oxen. for the wine is so poor (mouillé, watered), that one might drink of it for a month without intoxication." templars. "they are honoured in syria, much dreaded by the turks, and their order would suit me well enough, were it not necessary to fight; but they are too brave.d as to me, if i die, it will never be, i hope, through prowess or courage. i had rather be a living coward than have the most illustrious death in the whole world. these worthies (preux) of the temple b of this monastick quarrel, see fleury, hist. eccl. xvi. 73. these were eaten. du cange, v. goussa. they were never to fly. m. paris, 374. f 66 rules of the orders are very exact in all which concerns the service of the church; and, respecting that point, i should yield to them in nothing; but the moment fighting commenced, 'your servant,' they should go without me. a battle is not wholesome (saine). i willingly leave that honour to them; and, please god, i hope to be neither killed nor wounded.' hospitalers. "i have lived with them at jerusalem, and have seen them proud and fierce. besides, since by name and foundation they ought to be hospitable, why are they not so in reality? a monk in vain leads a very hard life, fasts, labours, chaunts, and reads the scriptures, if he is not charitable; it is only an uninhabited house, where the spider weaves his web." a converts of st. antony. "they have established an hospital, which has neither funds nor revenues; but, by the abundant alms which they have the secret of amassing, it procures them immense riches. with a bell in the hand, preceded by relicks and a cross, they run over, begging, not only all france, but germany and spain. there is neither fair, nor town, nor oven, nor mill where they have not a purse suspended. at the season of the vintage they go into the country to beg wine. the good wives give them linen, rings, hoods (guimper), clasps, girdles, cheeses, gammons of bacon, in one word, all they have got; and every thing comes alike to them. this year their pigs will bring them 5000 silver marks; for there is not a town or castle in france where they are not fed."b "in their hospital there are fifteen b in the wood-cuts of the golden legend, anthony has a tau cross (called from him antonius. du cange in voce); i. e.. like a crutch, with a bell hanging from one of the beams, a book in his hand, a round hat, long gown, and a pig by his side. fol. xlvii. b. the officers charged with the oversight of the markets in the city of london did several times take from the market people pigs starved, or otherwise unwholesome for man's sustenance. these they used to slit in the ear; and one of the procconverts, fat and large. there they buy and sell; they are tradesmen. there is not one among them who is not worth 500 marks: some even a thousand. besides (du reste) each of them has his wife or his kept woman (s'amie); they marry their girls advantageously, leave a good property to their children, and keep a good house; but, in all this, saint antony goes for nothing." in the manuscript life of gerard de sala, we have the following anecdote of the nuns of fontevraud. having entered their chapter to preach, he saw an abomination to god and man. the nuns with their hair dressed, and the horned head-dress [common in strutt] above. having beheld these reasonable beasts, he began to rave, and they were all soon after shorn.c i. benedictine rule. abbot to represent christ-to call all his monks to council in important affairs, and afterwards adopt the advice he thought best. obedience without delay silence, no scurrility, idle words, or such as excite laughterhumility, patience in all injuries; manifestation of secret faults to the abbot--contentment with the meanest things and employment—not to speak when unasked to avoid laughterhead and eyes inclined downwards— to rise to church two hours after midnight-every week the psalter to be sung through to leave the church together at a sign from the superiora dean over every ten monks in large ― -tors for st. anthony's hospital (in london), having tied a bell about the neck of one of them, and turned it to feed on the dunghills, no man would hurt or take it up; but if any gave them bread, or other feeding, such they would know, watch for, and daily follow, whining till they had somewhat given them. from whence arose the proverb, that such a one would follow such a one, and whine like an anthony pig." if one of these pigs grew to be fat, and came to good liking, as oftentimes they would, then the proctor took it up for the use of the hospital. maitland's london, 845; from stowe. d du cange, v. mantica. which obtained in england. 67 houses. light in the dormitory-to sleep cloathed, with their girdles on, the young and old intermixed. upon successless admonition and public reprehension excommunication; and, in failure of this, corporal chastisement. for light faults the smaller excommunication, or eating alone after the others had done-for great faults separation from the table, prayers, and society, and neither himself nor food to receive the benediction-those who joined him or spoke to him to be themselves excommunicated-the abbot to send seniors to persuade him to humility and making satisfaction -the whole congregation to pray for incorrigible, and, if successless, to proceed to expulsion (vide § chapter). no person expelled to be received after the third expulsion. children to be punished by fasting or whipping. cellarer to do nothing without the abbot's order, and in large houses have assistants. habits and goods of the house to be in the hands of proper officers; the abbot to have an account of them. no property. distribution according to every one's necessities. the monks to serve weekly, and by turns, at the kitchen and table. upon leaving their upon leaving their weeks, both he that left it, and he that began it, to wash the feet of the others, and on saturday to clean all the plates, and the linen which wiped the others feet. to resign the dishes clean and whole to the cellarer, who was to give them to the new hebdomadary. these officers to have drink and food above the common allowance before the others, that they might wait upon them cheerfully. the hebdomadaries, both entering and retiring from office, were on solemn days to continue till the masses; after mattins on the sunday to kneel and beg the others to pray for them; then, those going out to say a certain prayer three times, and receive the benediction; the one coming in to do the same, and after benediction go into office.-infirmary. its officer. use of the baths, and flesh for the sick ordered. rule mitigated to children and old men, who had leave to anticipate the hours of eating. refection in silence, and reading scripture during meals. what was wanted to be asked for by a sign. reader to be appointed for the week. two different dishes at dinner, with fruit. one pound of bread a day for both dinner and supper. no meat but to the sick. three quarters of a pint of wine per day. from holyrood day to lent dining at nones; in lent till easter at six o'clock; from easter to pentecost at sext; and all summer, except on wednesdays and fridays, then at nones. collation or spiritual lecture every night before complin (after supper), and, complin finished, silence. loss of rank, subtraction of wine or their allowance, or sitting in the place of disgrace, for tardiness at church or table. prostration with the face towards the ground, without the church-gate, when the monks went to prayers, for the excommunicated. immediate pardon to be sought for a fault in the chant; faults in other places, or breaking any thing, to be spontaneously acknowledged before the abbot and congregation. abbot to give the signal for going to church, and nobody to sing or read there without his leave. work from prime till near ten o'clock from easter till cal. octob.; from ten till near twelve reading. after refection at twelve, the meridian or sleep, unless any one preferred reading. after nones labour again till the evening. from cal. oct. to lent reading till 8 a.m. then tierce, and afterwards labour till nones. after refection reading or psalmody. in lent reading till tierce; doing what was ordered till ten; delivery of the books at this season (vide dec. lanfr.). senior to go round the house, and see that the monks were not idle. on sunday all reading except the officers, and the idle and infirm who had work given them. particular abstinence in lent from meat, drink, and sleep; and especial gravity. monks travelling to say the canonical hours wherever they happened to be. monks staying out bef 2 68 rules of the orders yond a day not to eat abroad without the abbot's leave. no other use than that of prayer to be made of the church.a strangers to be received with prayer (by them and the monks); the kiss of peace, prostration and washing their feet, as of christ, whom they represented; then to be led to prayer, the scripture read to them, after which the prior might break his fast (except on a high fast). abbot's kitchen and the visitors' separate, that guests coming in at unseasonable hours might not disturb the monks. no letters or presents to be received without the abbot's leave. abbot to invite his monks when he had no strangers. workmen in the house to labour for the common profit. novices to be tried by denials and hard usage before admission; a year of probation; rule read to them in the interim every fourth month; admitted by a petition laid upon the altar, and prostration at the feet of all the monks. parents to offer their children by wrapping their hands in the pall of the altar, promising to leave nothing to them (that they might have no temptation to leave the house); and, if they gave any thing with them, to reserve the use of it during their lives. priests requesting priests requesting admission to be tried by delays; to sit near the abbot, but not to exercise sacerdotal functions without leave, and conform to the rule. strange monks to be received, and if of good intreated to stay. monks, ordained priests, to be subject to the rule and officers, or else expelled. precedence according to the time of profession. elders to call the juniors brothers; the juniors to call the elders nonnos; the abbot domnus or pater. when two monks thus theodulphus, bishop of orleans, after bennet's æra, says, "videmus crebro in ecclesiis messes et fœuum congeri" (we see corn and hay often stored in churches). epist. p. 263.-the canon against carrying on "trades in churches," in lyndwood, is well known. b there is no satisfactory definition of this word. cancellieri (lettera sopra dominus e domnus, rom. 1808) notes, that in italy, children use nonno and nonna to grandfathers and grandmothers. magas. encycloped. tom. v. p. 204. met, the junior was to ask benediction from the senior; and when he passed by, the junior was to rise and give him his seat, nor to sit down till he bade him. abbot to be elected by the whole society and plurality of votes ; his life and prudence to be the qualifications. prior elected by the abbot; deposable for disobedience. porter to be a wise old man, able to give and receive an answer, who was to have a cell near the gate, and a junior for a companion. if possible, to prevent evagation, water; a mill, garden, oven, and all other mechanical shops to be within the house. monks going on a journey to have the previous prayers of the house, and, upon return, pray for pardon of excesses on the way. impossible things ordered by the superior to be humbly represented to him; but, if he persisted, the assistance of god to be relied on for the execution of them. not to defend or excuse one another's faults. no blows or excommunication without the permission of the abbot. children might be corrected with discretion. mutual obedience; but no preference of a private person's commands to those of the superiors. superiors. prostration at the feet of the superiors as long as they were angry. sanctorum patrum regulæ monasticæ, louv. 12mo. 1571, fol. 9-51. joh. de turrecremata, concordia regularum, &c. &c. &c. from this rule proceeded the 1. clugniacs. benedictines, says bouthillier de la rance, according to the spirit of the rule. their peculiarities were-two solemn masses every day; on private sccred days no labour allowed, except out of the hours of divine service. every day each alternate choir "offered their hosts" (singulis diebus suas singuli hostias alterni chori offerebant), although five only on sundays, and three on common days, were used to communicate, the rest taking the consecrated wafers before their common which obtained in england. 69 food in the manner of eulogiæ.a in solemn masses of the dead, and the three days of rogations, both choirs made an offering. in greater solemnities the deacon communicated from the wafer of the celebrating priest, the rest from the other wafers. the communion was extended to all three days before easter. if any one on the holy saturday (sabbath) wished privately to perform divine service (sacrum facere) he did not use a candle, because the new fire was not yet consecrated (see conc. regul. & decr. lanfr.), (especial peculiarities were used in making the host.) constant silence in the day-time; almost death to violate it before prime; hence the use of signs among them instead of words. from the ides of november the seniors attended to meditation in the church after mattins, whilst the juniors diligently studied singing in the chapter. manual labour was accompanied with the repetition of psalms. the proclamation of crimes was usual among them. strangers were not admitted after complin, nor leave of refection after that time granted to the monks who were absent from the common table. a monk just going to mount his horse to go out, if the bell for divine service happened to ring, was to delay his journey, and proceed to the church. in the fasts they nearly observed the rule of benedict. from the ides of september they ate only once a day; but in feasts of 12 lessons and the octaves of christmas and epiphany twice. on those feasts, after dinner and reading in the cloister, nones having been said, they went to the refectory to drink; but on private days this was done only after vespers and reading; and when that was over readthese were loaves offered in the church for alms, and consecrated, from a part of which the host was taken, and they were given to those who, from any impediment, could not take the sacrament. they were given after the mass by the priest, a little before the dismissal, and were kissed before eating. eulogiæ privatæ were loaves consecrated, and sent as presents, by ecclesiasticks, to each other. du cange, v. eulogiæ. see hot-cross buns, ch. v. ing again; then the spiritual lecture or collation before complin. the remains of the bread and wine were given by the almoner to pilgrims pedestrians. eighteen poor were fed every day; but in lent an amazing number. the manual labour, says udalricus, was udalricus, was "to shell unripe beans, or weed in the garden, and sometimes. make bread in the bake-house" (fabas novas et nondum bene maturas de folliculis suis egerere, vel in horto malas herbas et inutiles, et quæ bonas herbas suffocabant eruere, et aliquando panes formare in pistrino). udalricus antiquiores consuetudines cluniacensis. monasterii in d'acherii spicilegium, iv. 39. the above is from this writer, and mabillon's annales benedictini, iii. 389, seq. the abuses and degeneracy of this order may be seen in the appendix to reyner's apost. benedict. and ms. cott. tiber. b. xiii.; extracts from which ms. (i. e. from the parts unpublished in anglia sacra, vol. ii.) are given elsewhere.-[the rule is excessively voluminous, and defies abridgment regularly; therefore the learned must go to the original. i am indebted principally to mabillon. ceremonies, not customs, form the mass of the rule.] a reformation of it in bullarium roman. vol. 1. p. 101. 2. cistercians. benedictines, according to the letter of the rule, without mitigation ("in quo," says mabillon, "regula sine ullâ mitigatione ad apicem servaretur.") their peculiarities i shall give from dugdale's warwickshire, which i have compared with malmesbury and knighton. "first, for their habits they wear no leather or linen, nor indeed any fine woollen cloth; neither, except it be on a journey, do they put on any breeches, and then upon their return, deliver them fair washed. having two coats with cowls, in winter time they are not to augment, but in summer if they please may lessen them; in which habit they are to sleep, and after mattins not to return to their beds. for prayers, the hour of prime 70 rules of the orders they so conclude, that before the laudes it may be day-break, strictly observing their rule, that not one iota or tittle of their service is omitted. immediately after laudes they sing the prime; and after prime they goe out performing their appointed hours in work. what is to be done in the day they act by day-light; for none of them, except he be sick, is to be absent from his diurnal hours, or the compline. when the compline is finished the steward of the house and he that hath charge of the guests go forth, but with great care of silence serve them. for diet, the abbot assumes no more liberty to himself than any of his convent, every where being present with them, and taking care of his flock, except at meat, in regard his table is always with the strangers and poor people. nevertheless, wheresoever he eats he is abstemious of talk or any dainty fare, nor hath he or any of them ever above two dishes of meat; neither do they eat of fat or flesh except in case of sickness; and from the ides of september till easter they eat no more than once a day, except on sundays, no not on any festivals. out of the precints of their cloyster they go not but to work,a neither there nor any where do they discourse with any but the abbot or prior. they unweariedly continue their canonical hours, not piecing any service to another except the vigils for the deceased. they observe the office of st. ambrose, so far as they could have perfect knowledge thereof from millain; and taking care of strangers and sick people, do devise extraordinary afflictions for their own bodies, to the intent their their manual labour was as follows: "in summer, after chapter, which followed prime, they worked till tierce, and after nones till vespers. in winter, from after mass till nones, and even to vespers during lent. in harvest, when they went to work in the farms, they said tierce, and the conventual mass immediately after prime, that nothing might hinder their work for the rest of the morning; and often they said divine service in the places where they were at work, and at the same hours as those at home celebrated in the church." dev. vie monast. ii. 337. souls may be advantaged." hospinian says thus, de orig. et progr. monach. p. 313, of them; a year's probationno reception of fugitives after the third time-all fasts observed according to the rule-prostration to visitors and washing their feet-abbot's table always with guests and pilgrims-labour more than the rule required-delicate habits exploded-obsolete and primitive fervour endeavoured to be revived by them.-avarice was the great vice of this order. they were great dealers in wool; generally very ignorant; and, in fact, farmers more than monks. the authors who have written upon this order (and indeed every other) are enumerated by fabricius; and i wish the learned may have the good fortune to find them, which i had not (at least most of them), though i tried the best library in the kingdom, the bodleian.b 3. grandmontines. benedictines, with certain exceptions directed against the wealth, luxury, and secular conduct of the parent monks. by these exceptions poverty and obedience were especially inculcated; no lands or churches were allowed beyond the limits of the house. they were to reserve nothing offered for masses, nor exercise a right of penance over others. on sundays and festivals seculars were not admitted to their church. possession of cattle was forbidden. if oppressed by poverty they were to have recourse to the bishop; and, if he did not relieve them, after fasting two days, two brothers, sturdy in religion, were to beg alms from door to door. fairs, traffic, and trials were forbidden. women were not admitted into the order, nor men of another order, nor seculars under twenty years of age. silence in the church, cloister, refectory, and dormitory, and from complin till after chapter. care of temporals in the lay-brothers; even the ornaments of the church to be b the usus cisterciensium is the main book. which obtained in england. 71 sold for alms. the flesh both of birds and quadrupeds was forbidden. refection twice from easter to the exaltation of the cross. from exaltation to easter perpetual fast (except sundays and christmas), and then one refection after nones; from lent to easter after vespers. from all saints to christmas only lent food; but on other days out of lent eggs and cheese were allowed. at the election of the prior of grammont, two brothers from every cell assembled at grammont, out of which twelve were elected to choose the prior, six clerks, and as many lay-brothers. when elected, he could not leave the cloister of grammont but from urgent necessity. the rule in short turned upon three points: imprisonment in the house; perpetual silence; and a distinction of the hermits, totally absorbed in contemplation, and lay-brethren, who had the care of the temporals, and of course took advantage of the others. this silly rule is in martene's anecdota, vol. iv.; whence extracts are given in this work. 4. carthusians. variety of superstitious gestures and ceremonies; as faces totally hid at the canon of the mass (i. e. words of consecrating the eucharist), shewn at other times; fingers not clenched; legs not extended, spread, or crossed. private prayer at the altar once a day; omitted when any frailty had been incurred. "in the time of matins, in which there is an interval before lauds, no one left the church but from necessity. between matins and tierce every day spiritual exercises; from tierce to sext, and from nones to vespers, manual labour; to be interrupted with short prayers; from vespers to complin manual labour; reading, however, not excluded at these times. no disciplines, vigils (not of this institution), nor abstinences, except those of the order, allowed. hours not to be said in another's cell, unless the brother was there at work with the inhabitant; silence in the cell; cell door not open, unless another person was with the inhabitant. to ask for what they wanted after nones on a talking day. if any brother came to the cell he was interrogated, whether he had the prior's or his substitute's licence; if not, the butler or porter was to procure it, otherwise they could not be conversed with. departure from another's cell or elsewhere after complin. no conversation with persons coming up without the prior's licence, but only with those they were working with. not to enter the cells of others without licence. no letters to be sent or received. not to leave the cell except to confession or conference by the prior's order. no pottage or pittance, only raw herbs and fruits to be kept in the cell. every inhabitant to have two books to read, besides other writing and necessary utensils. in chapter no speech, but at confession or when the chapter was held. in the refectory dining bareheaded; drinking with two hands; bowing to those who brought or removed anything; no wiping of hands or mouths at the cloth. plates not uncovered, nor cloths turned up before the presiding officers. no speech in the fratry, cloister, or church. to go out to common labour only thrice on three days in the year: 1. in the second week after the octaves of easter; another in the second week after the festival of peter and paul; 3d. in the first week. after michaelmas. a novice to be recommended to a senior, who at suitable times was to instruct him in saying the hours and other observances, which he was to take great pains about for a week, or longer if necessary; and, till such novice could say the hours, no one was to visit the cell but the prior or proctor. the summer meridian or sleep. conversation after nones, from november to easter, of the customs of the order; afterwards of the gospels. from exaltation of the cross, eating only once a day. general con72 rules of the orders fession on the sabbath; private confession besides. from the rule in monast. anglic. i. 951-958. ― ii. three augustinian rules. rule i. property relinquished by the applicant for admission. probation by the prior. nothing to be taken away by a canon leaving the order from necessity. any thing offered to be accepted by the prior's approbation. the rule to be observed from the superior downwards. punishment denounced for contumacy, and offences declared to the præpositus, before whom disagreements were also to be laid. property detained through necessity as above to be delivered to the superior.-rule ii. what psalms, &c. to be sung at the hours and nightly readings immediately after vespers. labour from the morning till sext, and from sext till nones reading. after refection work till vespers. two to be sent together on the convent business. no one to eat or drink out of the house. brothers sent to sell things not to do any thing against the rule. no idle talk or gossiping, but sitting at work in silence.-rule iii. union in one house. food and raiment distributed by the superior. every thing common. consideration to be had of infirmity; against pride on account of difference of birth. concord. attention to divine service at the proper hours. not to make other use of the church than that it was destined to, except praying in it, out of the proper hours, when they had leisure or inclination. when psalm-singing to revolve it in the heart. not to sing but not to sing but what was enjoined to be sung. fasting and abstinence. those who did not fast to take nothing beyond the usual time of dining, except when sick. reading during dinner. better food for the sick, not to make the others discontented. better provisions and clothes for those of delicate habits, not to disgust the others. sick to be treated in recovery as suitable; return to the usual habit when well. habit not conspicuous. to walk together when going out, and stand together at the journey's end. nothing offensive in gait, habit, or gestures. not to fix their eyes upon women. mutually to preserve each other's modesty when two together, in a church where women were. punishment by the superior for such offences. receipt of letters or presents to be punished uncloaths less voluntarily confessed. from one common vestiary, as food from one cellar. labour for the common good. vestments sent by relatives to be stored in the common vestiary. same punishment for concealment as of theft. clothes washed, according to the order of the superior, either by themselves or fullers. washing the body in case of infirmity by medical advice, or, on refusal of that, by the order of the superior. not to go to the baths but by two or three, and then with the person appointed by the superior. sick to have an infirmarer. cellarers, chamberlains, or librarians, to serve the brethren with good-will. books not to be obtained but at the stated hour. clothes and shoes to be delivered when needed. no lawsuits or quarrels, or terminated as quick as possible. satisfaction to be made for offences, and speedy forgiveness in the offended. harsh expressions avoided, and an obeapology made when uttered. dience to the superior, who, if he spoke harsh, was not to beg pardon. obedience to the head over them, but especially to the priest, who had the care of the whole house. superior, when his authority was not sufficient, to have recourse to that of the elder or priest. superior to govern in charity; to be strict in discipline, yet aim more to be loved than feared. rule to be read in the presence of the monks once a week. monast. anglic. vol. ii. &c. &c. to this rule were adapted the following orders: 1. praæmonstratensians. novices to be of a proper age; able before profession to read well, understand grammar, and know latin. illegitimates not to be admitted, accordwhich obtained in england. 73 ing to the decree of sixtus the fifth; but abbots might dispense with this on account of merit. novices confessed to the masters: not to be professed before eighteen. the object of the institution pure contemplative life. the summer regulations were-daily chapter. twice refection from easter to holyrood, except certain days. from chapter (after prime) work. after tierce great mass, immediately followed by sext, then reading, then refection; after this sleep till nones; after nones drinking, then vespers ; after vespers reading till collation. on sundays the same, except reading instead of work. in fasts mass after sext; reading till nones; after nones refection and sleep. in harvest times mass early in the morning; same in feasts of twelve lessons "which were not observed in the diocese." at this period working from prime to sext, and dining out of the house, if needful, and sleeping, if not above a french mile from the abbey; if afar off to work till vespers, and, after singing them in the fields, to return home. winter regulations.-from sept. 14, to easter, continual fast and dining after nones, except sundays and christmas; tierce after chapter without an interval; after tierce mixtus for the boys and infirm, after tierce work till sext; after sext mass; reading till nones; after nones refection; then reading or work till vespers ; after these reading till collation. on feasts of nine lessons and sabbaths tierce delayed; mass said after it, and immediately followed by sext; others the same. sundays same as in summer, except that nones was said after refection, because there was no sleep before it. on all festivals, when there was no work, to read instead in the working hours. in lent the seven penitential psalms were said by the convent prostrate; tierce followed without interval; mass after nones; refection after vespers ; after refection reading, and, in case of any necessity, work. bibliotheca præmonstratensis, vol. i. p. 24, 789, 90, where the rule, filling nearly a folio volume. their abbots were never to use any episcopal insignia. all the abbots to meet once a year at premontre, to consult about the affairs of the order: penalty for non-attendance to be taken off only by the pope himself. abbots to have power of excommunicating and absolving their monks. differences arising to be composed among themselves, and no appeal to be allowed to secular courts. not to keep or feed dogs, hawks, swine, &c. exemption from the bishop's jurisdiction. ordination upon refusal of the diocesan from any other bishop. no schools. for the education of youth among them. id. the præmonstratensian nuns did not sing in the choir and church; prayed in silence. priests and clerks dwelt apart, who instructed them in scripture at certain seasons, and heard their confessions. launoii opuscula varia, iii. 134. vow 2. trinitarians. government by a minister. of chastity and poverty. third part of comings-in (the properest term) to be devoted to the redemption of christian captives from infidels. of cloaths and shoes, and small matters for use, the convent to deliberate whether they should be sold or not, in the sunday chapter; if sold, the third part to be used as above. all the churches to be of plain work, and dedicated to the trinity. three clerks and three laymen in the house besides the minister. sleep in their cloaths; no feather beds nor counterpanes, only pillows allowed. gowns to be marked. to ride upon asses. wine to be drank so as not to invade sobriety. fasting from the ides of september on monday, wednesday, friday, and sabbath (except festivals intervening and sundays), till easter on lent food. usual fast of the church. minister might relax it from age, travelling, or any just cause. flesh only on certain sundays. to buy nothing but beans, peas, pulse, potherbs, oil, eggs, milk, cheese, and fruit; no flesh, fish, nor wine, except for the sick, minuti, or poor, or in great solemnities they might buy and bring up 74 rules of the orders articles of food. wine allowed sparingly on journeys, and fish in lent if necessary. the residue of presents to undergo the triple division. the whole if they were on a journey to redeem captives, after expenses were paid, to be devoted to that purpose. in towns where there were houses of the order to eat only in them. allowed to drink water in creditable houses, but not to sleep elsewhere than above, or use taverns. same food, clothing, dormitory, refectory, and table for brothers, clerks, and laymen. sick to sleep and eat apart under a lay or clerk infirmarer. sick not to require delicate food. strangers to be received, but no oats, except to poor religious, if any was to be bought in the place. labour. silence in church. fratry. dormitory. speech of necessary matters at fit times, in a low voice. chapter every sunday. accounts of the redemption-money interchangeably settled between the minister and brethren. sermon to the whole establishment. no accusation without proof, or the accuser to undergo the punishment the accused had been liable to. the punishment of raising scandals or striking in the breast of the minister. to beg pardon even to three times of the party offended. if it should become public pardon to be solicited at the feet of the minister, who was to settle the matter ad arbitrium. when the offence existed only between brother and brother, and no other person knew it, private admonition, to repent and not do the like again, from the party injured, for three times. general chapter once in the year in the octaves of pentecost. debts about to be contracted first canvassed in chapter. in case of violence done to the property of the house, admonition first to the party from the convent, afterwards from the neighbours. election of the minister of the order by common consent; to be a priest or clerk fit for orders. minister of the order to hear the confessions of all the brothers of all the houses; lesser minister those of his own house. minister to see the rule observed. deposition by the greater minister, and three or four lesser ones: if the greater minister was too far off, by lesser ones deputed by him. greater minister deposed by four or five lesser ones authorized by the general chapter. year's probation of novices, longer if necessary, during which he retained his property. men received if agreeable to the convent, and there was a vacancy. no one to be received before twenty years old. profession in the will of the minister. no pledges (pignora; i am not certain whether it may not have a more extensive meaning), except tithes with the bishop's consent, or oaths allowed, except on very extraordinary occasions, with licence of the minister of the order, of the bishop, or any one executing apostolical functions. faults in things sold to be notified to the buyer; no deposits of money, &c. to be received. sick to confess, and communicate the first day of their coming. every monday after mass, except at certain seasons, absolution of all faithful persons buried in the cemetery. every night, at least, in the guest-house or almonry (hospitalis) in the presence of the poor, prayer for the holy roman church, all christendom, pious benefactors, &c. manner of st. victor in the regular hours. tonsure of st. v. laymen not to shave their beards. monast. ii. 830, 1. 3. dominicans. followed, according to the "scriptores ordinis prædicatorum," vol. i. p. 12, the rule of austin, with severe additions in food, fasts, bedding, garments, and utter dereliction of property. of the first dominicans (says surius, 1. vi. v. iv. p. 544, seq. in august.), the novices were perfectly instructed. silence was rigidly observed; and, after complin till tierce, praying 100 or 200 times a day. complin. salve regina, &c. disciplines. confessions before mass. wonderful abstinence, as stopping eight days without drink. vast respect for the virgin mary. frequent preaching. a general chapter yearly which obtained in england. 75 (says hospinian, de orig. et progr. monach. s92, 3). long fasts, for seven months together, from holyrood-day till easter, and at other times on fridays, with some other days. no flesh except to the sick. only woollen in dress and beds, nor even with counterpanes (culcitris). no intercourse with women. silence at certain places and hours; that at table first founded by jordan of paris, general of the order about 1226. buildings low, suitable to their poverty. cloister and in it cloister and in it cells accommodated for study, and in the cells an image of the virgin mary and crucifix. more particulars of this order may be found in the citations i have given from ms. cott. nero a. xii. constit. fratrum; which, from the single term fratres, should belong to the dominicans. 4. knights hospitalers. vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. to have nothing but bread, water, and clothes. clerks to serve at the altar in white dresses. priest, deacon, and sub-deacon, and, if necessary, another clerk. light in the church night and day. priest with the host, deacon, or sub-deacon, or other clerk, with the lantern and a sponge with holy water, to visit the sick. knights to go out (not alone) but by two or three, with companions ordered by the masters, and to stand together at their journey's end. no women to wash their heads or feet, or make their beds. to ask food only in begging alms, and buy nothing else. not to receive either lands or pledges, but to give an account of what they received to the master, and he to send it with that writing to the house. master to have the third part of the bread and wine and food (nutrimentum) of all obediences; the superfluity to alms. none to go to the collections but those whom the chapter and master of the church sent. in their collections to put up with such food as the other knights had amongst themselves, and to carry a light, and have that light burning before them in every house (hospitales) they went into. not to wear unsuitable clothes. to eat but twice in a day, and on wednesday and sunday, and from septuagesima to easter, no flesh, the infirm and sick excepted. never to sleep naked, but clothed in camelot (see chap. iii.) linen or woollen, or some such dress. a knight committing fornication to repent privately and enjoin penance upon himself; if discovered, he was, upon a sunday after mass, in the town where he had committed it, in the presence of all the people, to be stripped and beat by the master and brethren, and then expelled: if, however, he did suitable penance for a whole year, in a strange place, he might be received again if the knights chose it. the punishment of altercation was seven days dining on the ground, without table and cloth, and fasting wednesday and friday on bread and water. any one who struck another to be in the forty days' fast. if any one eloped from the house or master he had been committed to, similar forty days' penance, besides staying in a strange place as long as the time of his absence, except it was so long that the chapter thought fit to moderate it. silence in dinner and in bed, and no drinking after complin. brothers incorrigible after a third admonition to be sent to jerusalem on foot. if not to strike the servants. any knight took the property of a deceased one (so i venture to render "in morte sua proprietatem habuerit, et magistro suo celaverit, ac postea super eum inventa fuerit"), and the money was found upon him, it was to be tied round his neck, himself severely beaten by the others, and the fortydays' fast enjoined as above. trental or thirty-days' mass for the dead: in the first mass an offering of a candle or money by every knight, which money was given to the poor; priest who sung the mass, if not of the house, to have a procuration; upon the end of the office the master to make a charity for him; all the clothes of the deceased. given to the poor; brothers priests to say prayers for him; the clerks to sing 76 rules of the orders a psalter, and laymen say 150 lord's prayers. chapter for deciding on crimes, business, and accusations. sick received with confession; communion; afterwards carried to bed, and then, according to the ability of the house, charitably refreshed every day before the knights went to dinner. every every sunday the epistle and gospel sung, procession and sprinkling of holy water. if any obedientiary (officer) gave the goods of the house to secular persons, for the sake of governing, to be expelled. if two or more knights went together, and one behaved ill, he was not to be exposed, but one of the others was to reprimand him in a friendly manner; and, if he would not amend himself, to get two or three others to join him and chastise him; if this would not do to be punished as the master and chapter directed. not to accuse another without proof. the cross to be worn upon their robes and cloaks. when any one wished to be admitted a knight, he was to come to the chapter on a sunday, ask the consent of the house, and, on consent of the majority, be received; after certain exhortations and engagements, to take the missal in both his hands, make an oath, go to the church, lay the book upon the altar, and bring it back; the person who was to make him a knight then to take the missal from him, and give him the missal with a suitable prayer. those who sought the fraternity only, to take a like oath upon the missal; to promise to love the house and knights; to defend them with their utmost ability from all evil-doers (malefactoribus); defend the property of the house, and, if not able to do this, make the evil known; to engage that, if they took any religious order, it should be that; and, if they died without, to be buried in their cemetery, and make an annual present to the house. upon this to receive the peace; and their names, and what they promised to give annually, to be entered in the register. monast. anglic. ii. 493-7. these military orders, it seems, were augmented by the entrance of many noble persons abroad, after the departure of the two kings (richard i. and philip of france); which noble persons bestowed all their transmarine property upon them.-unicum tamen memorabile hoc tempore contigit quod multi ingenui et nobiles viri post regum et principum discessum in terrâ sanctâ permanserunt, atque sese militaribus ordinibus adjunxerunt, omnibus suis bonis transmarinis iisdem attributis. pantaleon de ord. joannitarum, 1. ii. p. 63, anno 1193. rules blended, or unconnected with the benedictine and augustinian. 1. knights templars. rule composed by bernard. regular service; so many lord's prayers instead if they could not attend. mass for a dying knight, and 100 lord's prayers for him afterwards for seven days; same allowance as to him when alive to a poor man for forty days. chaplains only to have food and raiment. seven days of support to a poor man for the brothers deceased who lived with them only for a term. no offerings to be made. not to stand immoderately long during divine service. eating in one common refectory; reading there. flesh only three times a week except on certain festivals. two meals on sunday; the armigeri and clientes only one. refection by two and two; wine singly in equal portions. monday, wednesday, and saturday, two or three meals of esculents; friday lent food. grace after meals. tenth loaf to the poor. collation before complin, whether of water only, or water mixed with wine, in the regulation of the master. silence after complin. not to rise to matins when fatigued. same food to all. three horses to every knight. one servant to every knight, who was not to be beaten by them. horses, arms, &c. to be found for knights who staid with. them for a term; at going away part which obtained in england. 77 to of the price to be paid by the knight, the rest from the common stock. do nothing from their own will. not to go to the town without leave of the master. not to go alone. not to seek what they wanted by name (nominatim). regulation of their bridles, spurs, &c. not to speak boastingly of their faults. not to keep any presents till permitted by the master. not to make or use bags for their horses to eat out of, but have baskets. not to exchange or seek any thing. not to hawk. not to kill beasts with bow or cross-bow. to attend to justice. to have lands and property. necessaries to be given to the sick. not to provoke one another to anger. married knights to be admitted, provided they gave after their death a portion of their substance, and whatever more they had acquired, to the society. not to have sisters. not associate with excommunicated persons. secular knights to be received into the order if after probation they conformed to the rule. all the knights not called to the secret rule to observe silence in their praying. to receive the service of servants, except they behaved with theft or indecency. no little boys to be received into the order. old men always to be respected. knights travelling to observe the rule. equal food to all. allowed to have tithes. expulsion for disobedience, obstinacy, and rebellion. linen shirts allowed from easter to all saints, ex gratia; woollen at other times. sleeping in their shirts and breeches. to avoid murmuring. not to give kisses to women. stellartius de reg. et fund. monachor. p. 469. d'emilliane (short hist. of monast. orders, p. 279) says, that their greatness and power occasioning jealousy in the pope and several kings, their destruction was resolved on; and, before execution, several horrid crimes published, none of which could ever be proved. their guilt, however, is very strenuously insisted on by the abbé barruel, mem. of jacobinism, ii. 372-387. 2. gilbertines. the rule is considered generally as a compound of those of bennet and augustine; but it seems more accurate and close to say, that the canons were premonstratensians, and the nuns cistercians. this rule had canons and nuns separated, but under the same roof. master of the whole order; chosen by thirteen electors (four deputies, five priors, and four claustrals); had two canons for chaplains, and a lay-brother for a servant; received persons into the order; heard confession; his sanction necessary to buying and selling; disobedience to him to be considered as incurring the penalty of excommunication; appointed certain officers; scrutators and scrutatrices for visiting monks and nuns: same officers in the cloister; four officers in every house, called a prior, cellerer, proctor, and grangiary, for managing and distributing the goods of the house. novices not to be readers nor attendants at the table, but sometimes at collation and chapter: after profession, under custody of the masters forty days, or a little more. canons' garments washed by the lay sisters. a canon inspector and superintendant of the work-shops. from cal. nov. to easter, sleep or reading after matins, prime, then mass and the private ones before tierce, if possible, if not, after; after tierce, the chapter. from easter to september chapter after prime, and the conventual mass after tierce, and between prime and tierce labour. after chapter reading in the cloister. dinner. after dinner reading in the cloister, or sleeping in the dormitory (during summer.) collation; complin; dormitory.-of the nuns. tithing of lambs, and the whole substance of the house under the care of the nuns. three nuns to keep the common seal and money. one to cut and distribute the cloth. the same nuns to take care of washing the clothes, and patching and mending them. accounts of money expended before it came to the nuns to be notified to the 78 rules of the orders shut in by a entrance to no presents no conversaprioress. nuns to be ditch and wall, or fence. their court prohibited. or letters sent to them. tion allowed between the canons and them. fire not to be begged of them at night. no one to have admission to the nuns whilst they were singing the hour, or were in the refectory or dormitory. if any entered on business to be in a number, and to take care not to see or to be seen by the nuns. if the grand prior entered a number of them were to surround him immediately, at least three or four, and none to be alone with him, except to confess, and then with others in sight. one cellar and kitchen to all, under the care of a prioress and nuns. shirts or breeches of the canons not to be cut out or sewed by the nuns. place to be appointed in the court for nuns and sisters to talk with the prioress and cellaress, standing, and two only with her. maundy. adoration of the cross. lay-sisters to clean the area of the church at easter while the nuns were at dinner; cloister and chapter after complin. no nun to be received compulsorily. nuns not to go out to labour, or to receive shoes of cordwain, to use or "ad erogandum" (perhaps, let out). to be shaved at easter, mary magdalen's day, and all saints, at least. to wash their hoods seven times a year. not to go to another house; punishment of disobedience. not to be intimate with the lay-sisters. readings four times a year by the nuns to the lay-sisters, as by the canons to the lay-brothers. discord to be shunned between the canons and brothers, nuns and sisters. bath prohibited. monast. anglic. ii. 699-790. abridged in the abridgement of the monasticon assigned to capt. steevens.-it is singular that, notwithstanding the story of the poor nun in alfred of rievesby and bale, nigel wireker says nothing of this order but what observation of the rule implies; but it was yet young when he wrote. as there is a more copious account of nuns to be found -here than elsewhere, i shall cite largely from this long rule in the course of my work. 3. carmelites. rule founded upon that of basil; but even that is disputed; for lyndwood and others say, that all the religious followed one of the three orders, benedictine, augustinian, or franciscan (p. 213). the rule was prior elected unanimously, or by majority. to have places in deserts or elsewhere; separate cells; common refectory and reading. not to change their places without the prior's leave. prior's cell near the entrance of the house, that he might be the first to meet comers. all to remain in their cells, meditating day and night. at fit hours in church. cloisters. to stay and walk freely and lawfully (libere et licite). canonical hours. paternosters by the ignorant. all things common. asses or mules allowed, and nourishment of animals or birds. church in the middle of the cells. sundays, or at other times, as necessary, the correction of abuses. no flesh but to the sick. to carry with them, to eat on journeys, dumplings (pulmenta, a very equivocal term among the monks) drest with flesh. fast every day except sunday from holyrood-day to easter, except the sick and infirm. chastity; labour; silence after complin till prime; might talk at other times moderately. p. stellartius, ut supra, p. 461.-there is a mitigation of this rule, anno 1247, in the bullarium romanum, vol. i. p. 116. 4. franciscans. novitiates to be received by the provincial priors, and no others, after a year's profession; dereliction of property and wives. divine service according to the romish church, except the psalter, of which they were to have breviaries (excepto psalterio, ex quo habere potuerunt brevia). paternosters by lay-brothers instead. fasting from all saints to christmas (besides which obtained in england. 79 lent from epiphany); another till the resurrection; at other times on fridays. in times of manifest necessity not bound to corporal fasting. not to ride but from manifest necessity. on journeys to eat whatever was set before them. not to take money. to receive necessaries, not money, as rewards of their labours. to have no property. to beg lustily (confidenter). for penitence to go to the provincial priors only. if these were not priests, to get priests to enjoin this penance for them. general elected by the provincials and wardens in the chapter of pentecost held every third year, or a shorter or longer term, as the general thought fit. provincials always to come there. general removable for insufficiency. not to preach in any bishoprick without the prelate's leave, or unless examined and approved by the general. short sermons, because our lord's was such. ministers to visit and advise obedience. brothers unable to observe the rule to recur to the ministers. if unlearned not to learn. not to enter houses of nuns, or be godfathers of children. missionaries, with license of the provincial, to have a cardinal for their protector. stellartius, &c.-there being great disputes in this order about property, and vast varieties or modifications of the rule (at large in bullarium romanum), but since impossible to be mentioned here, and given in essentials by dr. mosheim, it is sufficient to note, that the more austere franciscans were called observants. 5. franciscan nuns, minoresses, or nuns of st. clare. novices examined at their reception as to their catholic faith. a year's probation. divine service read not sung. pater-nosters for the ignorant, and those who were unable to attend the hours. fast all the year. christmas, every friday refection twice. dispensation of fasting in favour of the young and weak. confession twelve times in the year, communion seven ; for which purpose chaplains were then at allowed to celebrate. no one to be elected abbess unless professed. to observe the order of the society (communitatem servare) in all things; especially in the church, dorter, fratry, infirmary, and clothing; in a similar manner her vicaress or deputy. chapter and confession (private) at least once a week. no deposits. from complin to tierce silence (service excepted out of the house), always in the church and dormitory, and while they ate in the refectory; infirmary excepted, where they might speak in a low voice, and briefly insinuate what they should find necessary. not to talk in the parlour or at the grate without leave, and at the former in the presence of two sisters, at the latter of three. the grate, a cloth to be put on the inside, not to be removed but at divine service, or when any thing was said to any body. a gate with two locks, always to remain fast (in the night especially) except in time of divine service. no one to speak at the gate before sun-rise or after sun-set. at the locutory, the cloth, which might not be removed, always to remain within. in st. martin's lent and greater lent no one to speak at the locutory but at confession or in urgent necessity. work after tierce, which was assigned in the chapter. same public disposition with regard to alms sent for the sisters. no letters or receipt or gift of any thing out of the house allowed without leave of the abbess. if any thing were sent by parents or others, the abbess might have it given to her, and take it to herself if she wanted it, if not, she might give it to one who did. abbess and obedientiaries to dispose of money for things wanted. abbess to see into the infirmary. penitences; bread and water in the refectory for the contumacious after admonition twice or thrice. chaplain and two lay-brothers for the relief of their poverty. chaplain not to enter the house without a companion; upon entrance to be in a public place where he might be seen by others; might enter for confession of the sick, extreme 80 rules of the orders unction, absolution, &c. ; grave-diggers | months, then to return, and be asked, also allowed.-from the rule in bullarium romanum, vol. i. pp. 123, 124. in a mitigation of this rule it was enacted as follows. lay-sisters allowed to go out on the convent business. all and the abbess to lie in the common dormitory, and separate beds, the abbess's so placed that she could see them all around her. allowed to talk from nones to vespers on festivals and certain other times. from easter to christmas sleep till nones unless any one preferred prayer, contemplation, or quiet labour. id. 152, seq. [the remaining parts of this rule will appear in the sections infirmary, porter, dormitory, and cloister.] 6. brigettine nuns. no property whatever. beds of straw; two woollen coverings or blankets, bolster and pillow covered with linen. veil to represent the form of the cross. speech after mass of virgin mary until the table was consecrated (quod mensa consecratur); after the grace, reading in the church till vespers began; then silence till after supper they had given thanks in the church; speech again till collation; after that, silence till the mass of the virgin mary on the day following. no secular person, male or female, to enter the house. speech, sitting at the window, from nones to vespers. fast on the proper food from advent to christmas. friday before lent till easter on common food. holy-roodday till michaelmas fish and white meats (lacticinia). all saints to advent same. on certain days only bread and water. on all other days of the year, flesh on sunday, monday, tuesday, thursday, and in the evening fish and white meats. wednesdays, the whole year, at dinner and supper, fish and white meats. fridays, the whole year, common fast-food. sabbath fish and milk food. all other fasts according to the rule of the church. persons requesting admission to be sent away successively, first, for three whether she continued in the same mind; the like after a longer lapse; then the rule to be proposed, its asperities, contempt of the world, forgetfulness of parents. after a year, profession and admission; when the bishop at the gate of the church put several questions to her; whether she was free from matrimony, from any tie of the church or excommunication, &c. and whether she desired entrance there in the name of jesus christ and the virgin mary. upon her affirmative reply, the bishop introduced her, when the two candles were lighted, which were carried before the standard that preceded the nun, and burned during the mass. the bishop consecrated the ring and put it on her finger, and concrated the nun, after which mass was performed. the bishop went to the altar, and began the mass of the trinity, while the nun stood at the altar; who, when the offertory began, went there, and afterwards returned to her place. then she was called to the altar by a priest, when they were barefooted, and put off her outward garment in order to put on her consecrated ones. then the tunic, hood, veil, &c. in which the bishop fixed a pin, were severally put on and consecrated. she returned to her place. the bishop began mass, and, when he came to that part in which the priest at the wedding ceremony was used to bless the husband and wife, put the crown on her, fixed the pin on it, said a prayer, and she returned to her place till the mass was over. then she came to the altar, prostrated herself upon her face, and a litany and absolution followed; after which she took the sacrament, and four sisters brought in the coffin (which at the beginning of the mass stood in the gate through which the nun was introduced, and had earth sprinkled on it) into the house. then the bishop went to the gate, and commended her to the abbess, who made a suitable reply. the nun was then led to the chapter, for the first eight which obtained in england. 81 days was exempted from discipline, and stood in the bottom of the choir. at the expiration of this term she began the observance of the order, and sat last at the choir and table. there were thirteen priests, who had a hall (aula) in which they resided, from which there was an entrance into the church, the lower choir belonging to them, and the upper (roof) to the nuns; four gospellers, who were to be priests if they chose; eight servants; all of whom (with the nuns) made the thirteen apostles and seventy-two disciples (see fuller's sarcastic remarks). there never could be more than twentyfive brothers, who had a form of benediction similar to the nuns, except that, instead of the ring, they laid hold of the priest's hands, and used a similar ceremony instead of the veil. their hair was cut in a circle as in other monasteries. the abbess was elected by the convent, and the confessor out of the thirteen priests, who were obedient to the abbess, and the sisters and lay-brothers to him. the thirteen priests alone managed divine service, did no secular service, fasted on bread and water on the evening before the greater festivals, and all other days celebrated the vigil by preaching. confession three times a year at least by the nuns, though one of the thirteen priests was every day ready to hear it. on evenings preceding the greater feasts fasting on bread and water. communion on maunday thursday; at easter, the ascension, whitsuntide, christmas, and every sabbath, with advice of the confessor. chapter every thursday. a sick sister who had property was absolved, and did penance when convalescent. one in health, who did not confess it, and was convicted before three witnesses, on the first day of the chapter had the usual allowance, but on the next friday had bread and water, at the time of divine service staid in the churchyard, did not speak a word to any one, and prostrated herself at the feet of each passing nun. when the evening of friday was over, and the convent went out in due order, the abbess raised her, brought her to the altar, the convent interceded for her, and she was absolved. if, however, any one died. with property, her body was placed on the bier, brought to the churchdoor, the abbess pronounced a denunciation of the crime, ave maria was said, and the body brought into the choir, after mass carried again to the church-door, and buried by the brother. neither presents nor property allowed the nuns or abbess. no monastery to be inhabited till fully built, and they could peaceably and quietly live there. no fewer sisters or priests to be received than were necessary for divine service, and the number to be afterwards completed. those who entered the house after the first foundation to bring with them sufficient for their maintenance in good and bad times; and when the number was full, and they had revenues enough to furnish allowances of meat and drink annually, no more necessary to be brought in. vestments of the dead and her daily provision given the poor till another was chosen in her room. all surplus money or food given to the poor, and on this account no visitors allowed. deductions were, however, made from this, in case of apparent necessity, for the ensuing year; but as far only as seemed sufficient. old cloaths given to the poor. abbess not to build unnecessary or splendid buildings. presents at admission not to be of permanent revenues; but that they might not come with empty hands before god, it was fit to offer something. extreme poor received gratis. such presents not to be converted to private use, but given to "poor churches " (egenis et pauberibus ecclesiis); exception in case of necessity. inquiry to be made whether these gifts were honestly obtained; if not, rejected, provided the convent had no need of them. nuns not to be admitted till eighteen years old, nor to enter the house before the year of probation. priests and brothers to profess at twenty-five years of age. manual lag 82 rules of the orders. bour at times not devoted to divine service, and the fruits of such labour given to the poor. disciplines rejected and reprobated. same portion of meat and drink. confessors (and lay-brothers) not to enter the house unless in company with others to give the sacrament to a dying nun. if she happened to die all the priests and lay-brothers with the confessor entered, and carried her to sepulture with chanting and prayers and the usual rites. the bishop was to be the visitor; the prince protector and advocate; pope a faithful guardian (fidelis tutor) over both bishop and prince. in the house was a grave constantly open, which the abbess and convent visited daily, and performed a divine service at. a coffin (whether the same thing as alluded to in the preceding sentence, or not, appears to me rather dubious, i think not) to be placed at the entrance of the church, that the persons entering might see and remember death. hospinian, 506-514. there is too a large folio volume in b.l. with wood-cuts of the "revelation of s. bridget." 7. augustinian eremites. of this order i could find nothing. in ms. bodl. digby, 113 (disquisitio fratrum eremitarum), it is said, "illam non puto fuisse regulam quæ communiter apud particulares religiones legitur et tenetur; sed alia cujus pars recitatur in canone n. q. p'ti non dictatis." [i do not think that to be the rule which is commonly read and held in particular religions, but another, part of which is recited in the canon n. q. &c.] notwithstanding this, it is plain that alexander the fourth, who concentrated the hermits into this order, gave them the rule of austin, without any such distinction, as all writers agree. 8. nuns of fontevraud. of this rule too i could obtain no information. all i know of them is, that they followed the benedictine rule amplified: that the several monasteries of monks and nuns within the same inclosure were subject to an abbess; and that, according to malmsbury (s. 96, p. 2.), they never spoke but in chapter. 9. bon hommes (augustinians). their peculiarities, according to the monast. ii. 357, are to be found in mss. c. c. c. cant. miscell. g. 10. brothers of the sack. these were tertiaries of st. francis. see bullar. rom. i. and maclaine's mosheim, in c. xiii. p. 2. c. ii. § 40, n. 9. monastic officers.-abbot, abbess. 83 chapter vii. monastic officers. abbot, abbess. abbot is a syriac term, signifying father, and was anciently applied to all monks, especially those who were venerable for years and sanctity. if authenticity be conceded to the rule of basil, it should seem to have been first used in the scriptural form of abba,b a mode of compellation, by which a son expresses his confidence and dependence on his father's kindness, or conveys a petition.c domnus, or pater, was the more recent mode of address.d among the egyptian monks the abbot was called david; whence, perhaps, the name of the welch saint.e abbots and priors, as heads of houses, are usually considered, except in cathedrals, where there were no abbots, on account of the bishop, synonymous terms. but there is an express injunction of a founder, that the superior shall only be stiled prior;f and in another place it seems that, if the king granted his charter of liberties and protections, the superior was to have the style of abbot.g this appears from the speech of geffrey-fitz-peter to the abbot of walden, "oh, my lord abbot, you and your monks have disinherited me and my heirs, by turning my priory into an abbey, and throwing me off, by subjecting yourselves wholly to the royal power." the king's right in abbeys was considered to extend to the advowson and presentation;i and as thomas lord berkeley, in the fourteenth century, bought the advowson du cange gl. as also to seculars, who had care of souls. lyndw. p. 32, whence the modern abbè, abbatè. reg. c. 33, 38, &c. e hammond on luke, c. 8. v. 15. n. a p. 47. b. 4 reg. bened. c. 63. the term was at first proper only to popes. du cange. du cange, v. david. id. 328. ¡eadm. 24. ii. 301. 455. f monast. angl. h dugd. monast, i. of the abbey of kingswood, of richard chedder, it shows the loss by such practices. upon the same principle, we find only prioresses appointed in nunneries, that obedience might not be withdrawn from the parent house or founder. perhaps in allusion to this king john confirmed to william marshall, earl of pembroke, and his heirs, the gift of a pastoral staff to the abbey of nutley, to have and hold for ever, with all matters, liberties, and free customs appertaining to the donation of such pastoral staff. the augustinian order, says reyner by mistake, had no abbots till the æra of eugene the fourth (cent. 15th.), and then with very small authority." there were anciently lay-abbots, which, it seems, was owing to the laity seizing the church lands, and leaving only the altars and tithes to the clergy.p lay-abbots were also called abbacomites, and abbates-milites, noble abbots, and knightly abbots. they were great persons, under whose protection the monasteries_voluntarily placed themselves; but these protectors became their oppressors. had another title, that of commendatory abbots, and often filled the first offices in the court and army,s they during the vacancies of abbeys, unless the right was purchased or relin1 angl. k smythe's berkeley's mss. 424. sacr. ii. 290. m monast. angl. ii. 156. n reyner, 101. see an instance, temp. h. ii. monast. ii. 933. spelm. gl. v. abbas and comorban. chron. saxonic. p. 67, concil. clovesho, § 5. p gir. cambr. in ware's ireland, p. 42, 1. 17. bede's complaint above might be an additional motive. 4 du cange. lot, iii. 52. notices, vii. 13. • mailw. thorne, c. 34, § i. knight. a. 1363. m. par. p. 745. g2 84 monastic officers. quished, they escheated to the pa| trons, or, in case of their minority, their guardians, which patrons, at this period, according to their respective claims, placed a man and horse at the gate,d presented the superior, or reserved only the grant of the congé d'elire, and confirmation, fealty, and homage of the elect. the king's clerks in custody committed great depredation for themselves and their master. in nunneries subservient to monks, the prioress was elected by the abbot, and he appointed a guardian in vacancies. in houses possessing the right of election, that right, where the number of monks or canons was not sufficient, was resigned to the bishop.i reading abbey, when vacant, was to be in the disposition of the prior and chapter, because the abbot had no separate revenues,k an arrangement sometimes made on account of the debts they often contracted.] vacancies were thought to leave the monks room for secular indulgences, and occasion them to die without confession.m the inquiries of the roman court, respecting the qualifications of the person elected, were directed to his age, profession (monastic), free or servile condition, legitimacy," competency of literature, sobriety, gravity, prudence in spirituals and temporals, zeal for the order, and fair character, and whether before his entrance he was a courtier; but it seems, that science and a monast. ii. 1045, 1047. b since the reign of rufus; before they were in the bishop's hands. e monast. ii. 326. d id. 243. lyttelton's h. ii. iii. 247.-stat. provis. 25 ed. iii. f monast. ii. 236. 8 m. paris, 751. h monast. i. 489. see the formula, "rev. in christo patri humiles et devoti filii et legitimi oratores williem. whaddon et joh. lambe canonici regularis prioratus de a. ord. s. aug." &c. in ms. harl. 670, fol. 76. *monast. i. 418, 471. reyn. append. 165. the canons. so i infer from eadmer, 24. " from x script. 2185. (curialis.) "sed et alii plures de anglis causidici per id noble birth were frequent considerations,p and simony more than any. the celts considered beauty and dignity of person, as characteristick of nobility and family. indeed person was enormously regarded by our ancestors;s and deformity deemed a providential denotation of crime, as in the question of the jews concerning the blind man, put to christ. a poor abbot afflicted with a hernia, and having a mutilated finger, is thus stigmatized ;t and person was deemed an important consideration in electing an abbot." the form of election, to which i have found most analogies, is this. licence from the patron to elect was read-hymn of the holy ghost sung -all in the chapter who had no right in the election ordered to departpatron's letter of licence read votes taken separately by three scrutators— election proclaimed by the chantorall approved, except the elect, who tempus in abbatiâ ista habebantur, quorum collationi nemo sapiens refragabatur. siquidem regis officiales illis diebus hominibus in ecclesiæ possessionibus diversis locorum manentibus multas inferebant injurias. cui abbati aldelmo (he died a° 1084) plurimum auxilii ferebant, duo ecclesiæ hujus monachi, germani quidem fratres, quorum major natu sacolus, junior vero bodicius vocabatur.” registr. de abendone, ms. cott. claud. c. ix. "but also many other english curiales at that time resided in the house, to whose maintenance no prudent man objected. for the royal officers in those days did many injuries to the residents in the different possessions of the church; and to this abbot aldelm much assistance was rendered by two brothers, monks of the house, the eldest named sacolus, the younger bodicius." i thought fit to note the above, because curialis has various applications. see du cange in voce. p monast. ii. 700. vivebas simeon, sed tu non tempore vivis, subtractus morti vivere semper habes. simeon you lived; but still all time survive, snatch'd from death's claws eternally alive. ms. cott. vitell. a. xii. fol. 129ª. de simone abbate. macpherson on ossian, § sulmalla of lumon. • m. paris, 312, 414, 494. scriptor. p. bed. 192, &c. rous. 196 et alii. du cange, v. ruptura. " angl. sacr. i. 755, ii. 195. for the election of priors a verbal consent was sufficient. reyn. 125. * if each monk voted singly, the pope declared the election not universal or inspired by the holy ghost. angl. sacr. i. 735. abbot, abbess. 85 remained silent--the monks lifted up the elect, and, singing te deum, carried him to the high altar. here having reclined him, they said the usual prayer over him-the election was published in english to the clergy and laity then in the monastery-and announced, and accepted in form, by the elect, next day.a at st. alban's there were twelve electors deputed, no one of whom could be chosen.b in cathedral priories (at least some) the bishop appointed one out of a number nominated, and at rochester was besides the scrutator. at ely, the prior, after election, was examined by doctors in divinity.d in these elections interest was often used, and sometimes in a very boisterous form. it is recorded of cockersand, that "for as moche as the said howse was many tymes troublyd at the tyme of their allecion of theyr abbot with the jentylmen of the countre, theyre neghbours, they mad sewt to the kyng, for his mantenance to have free aleccion amongst theymselff, and bound their sayd howsse for that preveley to gyve at every aleccion xxs. to the kyng, and his heyres kyngs." the abbots so elected were, however, deposeable for various causes, by the ceremony of breaking their seals, as was done at their natural demise, by a hammer upon one of the steps before the altar,h and depriving them of the stole and ring. sometimes they retired upon pensions, or became monks daraigne, quitted their profession and married.i 1047. 673. barrett's bristol, i. 259, 601. angl. sacra, i. 372, 550. b m. paris, d id. e monast. i. 275, &c. ms. coll. of arms, d. 4, north coronat. convents were very liable to injury from their neighbours: "my lorde attendant dwellyng nigh the said (abbey of harwolde), intyssede the yonge nunnes to breke up the coffer wheras the convent seale was, and john mordaunt then present ther, persuading them to the same, causid ther the priorisse and hir folisshe yonge folke to seale a wryting made in lattyn, nether the priores nor hir sisters can telle," &c. ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. p. 131. & willis's abbies in westm. m. par. 406. h id. 1064. du cange, v. stola. this was not always done as to the seal. x script. 1872. 1 w. thorne, c. 23, § 11. pennant's whiteford, &c. 34, 269. of these abbots, so elected, some were exempt from the bishop, others not; a privilege which, says a most elegant and plausible writer; originated in the excessive power assumed by the bishops, whose grants of exemptions from temporals had opened the door to this privilege,k "and who, by the meanness of their stile in these grants, seem to have acted under that fear of emperors and princes, to whom, says mosheim, the monks fled for refuge from the odious task of collecting contributions, which the bishops, to support themselves in their luxuries, had imposed upon them."m these exempt abbots, after the decree made to that effect by innocent the third, in the synod of lateran, were confirmed by the pope, and for their journey to rome, the fees of which court were most enormous," the convent agreed to pay their expenses.p the penalty of £10,000 was levied upon a bishop, for invading the privileges of exempt houses; and it seems they occasioned "disobedience, hatred, the inflation of haughtiness, and venom of pride."r by wits they were derided, for, says nigell wireker, "mulus et abbates sunt in honore pares." ("abbots and mules are in honour alike."s) those who were not exempt, made protestations of canonical ˇobedience to the bishop.t upon every new election of an abbot (of gloucester) the abbey was obliged to maintain one of the king's clerks, whom he thought fit to name, and accordingly a corrody for life was granted to him. in the reigns of kings hen. vii. and viii. the value of those corrodies or grants was £5 a year." jenkins's fra. paolo on eccles. benef. 34, 35. 1 marculfi formulæ, p. 4. m eccles. hist. v. i. p. 321, ed. 4to. " m. paris, 1063. p monast. • hutchinson's durham, ii. 89. i. 299. ↑ id. 291. "tumorem elevationis et superbiæ venenum." petr. blæs. ms. roy. libr. 8. f. xvii. spec. stultor. ms. harl. 2422, &c. &c. and in print. registr. hereford in rudder's gloucestershire, p. 449. junius has a satirical passage about exemptions in ms. bodl. james, no. 6, pp. 120, 1. "archd. furney in rudder's glouc. p. 147, monastic officers. 86 the newly-elected abbot received a large sum from the monastic tenants, under the name of providing him a palfrey, for, upon doing homage to the king, the marshall's fee from abbots or priors holding a whole barony, was a palfrey, or the price of it; in adequate proportion, from those who held only a part of a barony, and from those who held in free alms nothing; a reasonable fee was due to the chamberlain also, from abbots or priors, holding an intire barony; from those that bold neither the whole, nor part of one, their upper garment or its price. on doing homage to the patron, abbots omitted the form of laymen. the installation feast was very sumptuous, as is well known; but, to spare expense, he sometimes dined with the convent alone.e between the election and benediction, the abbot (at st. alban's) used the prior's chamber, instead of the abbatial great lodgings. no one upon his rising from the celebration of the election in the church, as had been sometimes the case, was to solicit the monastic habit from him or necessaries of life, as a test of his future liberality. he chose his companions or chaplains, appointed the messengers whom he wished to send to rome, and invited those whom he liked to dine with him, who, however, had the prior's previous leave: nor without this leave could any one but the principal cellarer, chamberlain, infirmarer, and sacrist, go out on horseback. the elect dined alone in the refectory on wastel bread; but the prior sat at the high dais, and took the first place, except in processions, where he went last, on the abbot's side, like another senior,h x script. 1921, 1939, &c. 5 marks the horse, a mark the harness. edmondson's heraldry, i. 69, ubi pl. stat. 13 e. i. c. 42. only saying i "do homage to you," instead of "i become your man." spelm. archæol. 357. x script. 2152. the desk or canopy over the high table. warton's hist. engl. poetry, i. 40, 422. the abbot's place in processions was "directly after the convent, and in the middle." momast, ii, 935. ↳ m. paris, p. 1069. the affairs of the abbey were unsettled till the abbot was confirmed.i the form of the benediction which fixed him in his authority was this: mass was begun, and before the gospel the elect entered, and was interrogated by the bishop, whether he would "be well" with them, refrain his manners from evil, keep the rule, preserve divine affairs, instruct the others, maintain chastity and sobriety, and obey the bishop and his successors. then the schedule of profession was read, after which carpets were laid before the altar, the bishop and elect lay prostrate, and litanies and prayers were chanted. after the litany the bishop rose, and pronounced the benediction; at the end of which the abbot rose, and the bishop gave him the rule, with a suitable exhortation; then the pastoral staff, and if he was to be ordained priest the sacerdotal belt.¹ a hymn followed, and after the gospel, he offered to the bishop two loaves, and two lighted tapers, and communicated.m instances appear, where this ceremony was invalid, before the abbot had sworn that nothing prejudicial to the royal interest was contained in the bull of benediction," and others, where no money was to be extorted for it." the sacrist, however, of the church where the abbot was confirmed, had a present usually of the copes or of vestments, or of materials to make them.p this was contrary to papal edicts.q fees too were paid. eddius says, that wilfrid was blessed abbot, and ordained priest after that period;s but eadmer makes the ordination indispensable before benediction, and adds, that the latter ceremony alone gave the abbot full power over the conventual affairs; notwithstanding this, even prior to the synod 5 eadm. 93. * bene esse. stance, monast. i. 288. ms. harl. 2866. nast. ii. 937. 1 see an inrituale antiquum. • mo"x script. 2152. archd. furney, & angl. sacr. in rudder's glouc. 143. 9 x script. 253, 327. x script. 1798, 2152. p. 92. at least sometimes. vit. wilfr. c. 8. abbot, abbess. 87 of lateran, when exempt abbots were to be confirmed by the pope, such confirmation gave the abbot full power, and rendered the benediction a mere conclusory ceremony.a the next ceremony was his formal admission. he was to put off his shoes before the doors of the church, and, with devotion and giving of thanks, proceed to meet the convent,b who were to advance in a procession previously arranged by the chantor. after his entrance, he was to pray upon a robe put upon a carpet laid upon the upper step of the choir. the bishop, or his deputy,d then introduced him into the choir,e and he was placed in his stall. the monks, according to seniority, even those of another house, kneeling, gave him the kiss of peace upon the hand, and afterwards rising, upon the mouth.f all this time the abbot held his staff, which he did not either in his admission or introduction. he then entered x scriptor. p. 1813. b abbas calceamenta amovebit; pro foribus ecclesiæ calceamentis amotis cum devocione et gratiarum actione conventui obviam debet procedere. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 183. (consuetud. de abendone.) • quo introducto ad summum gradum chori incumbet orationi, pallio, ut prius tapeto, supposito. thus a commission. thomas permissione divinâ wygorniensis ep's dilecto nobis magistro jacobo de cobeham, doctori decretorum canonicoque wellensis ecclesiæ, omnem gratiam et bene. dictionem. ad admittendum nominationem septem monachorum nostri capituli wygorniensis prioris solacio destituti nobis juxta formam compositionis super hoc editæ tempore bonæ memoriæ will'i le bloys predecessoris nostri presentandi examinandique eosdem monachos, et ad approbandum unum ex illis septem, necnon perficiendum eundem debite in priorem; vobis vices nostras committimus, cum ad id vacare non possimus, aliis arduis et inevitabilibus negotiis impediti. dat' london. xi. kal. decembris anno d'ni mill'o c.c.c.o xlvii. consecrationis nostræ anno primo." (ms. bodl. 2508. p. 65.) as the substance is expressed above, a translation is unnecessary. e the decreta lanfranci, sect. de abbate, conform to the ms. ' postmodum omnes ex ordine post priores, etiam monachi extranei, osculum pacis et amoris porrigent abbati primo manui genibus flexis reliquis per ordinem subsequentibus, deinde se erigendo osculum porrigent ori. abbasque quousque omnes ei osculum perrexerint baculum in manu suâ tenebit. sed in admissione abbatis nec introductione abbas baculum portabit. ms. cott. ut supra. the choir with that ensign of dignity, put on his shoes in the vestiary, and the vestments being laid by in the choir, a chapter was held, and the bishop preached an appropriate sermon. the abbot retired to his chamber, and the convent to the cloister. at the feast of his admission the convent had every man a gallon of wine, a whole loaf, and three handsome dishes of fish. the day after, the obedientiaries laid the keys of their offices at his feet.h the abbot, say the consuetudines, shall sleep at night in his chamber, with the chaplains whom he shall chuse out of the convent. the abbot's bed shall not be transferred from his chamber on account of any one under royal or metropolitan rank. one of his chaplains ought always to be with him. the abbot shall celebrate mass on festival days, and dine in the refectory.k the prior of the weekly mass, if a worthier person be not present, shall introduce him to the great altar. if the prior be absent, his own chaplain. it is in the disposition of the abbot to celebrate mass in the profession of monks; and if so, he shall give the benediction.¹ on sundays, as often as he is disengaged, he ought to be in the procession, and begin the antiphonar in the entrance of the church; if he is indisposed, the chantor. in the processions he shall 81 galonem vini unicuique : placentam integram: ms. cott. ut tria fercula piscium honorabilia. supra. "in his first chapter." dec. lanfr. i abbas in camera suâ noctibus recumbet cum capellanis suis quos de conventu eliget. [see athon, p. 150, who says, that, notwithstanding his separate apartment, he was never alone, having his bajulus, i. e. domestick monk (mabillon annales benedictini, iii. 244,) always with him at least.] nullius auctoritate et reverentiâ cubiculum abbatis transferetur de camerâ suâ nisi præ personâ regiâ vel metropolitanâ-ex consuetudine unus capellanorum debet semper cum abbate esse. id. f. 184, a. the prior and sub-prior were often put in his room on the table of the high mass. cap. gen. northampt. anno 1444, stat. 9. 1 in abbatis est dispositione in professione monachorum missam celebrare-benedictionem faciet super monachos professuros. f. 185, b. 88 monastic officers. enter the choir with the convent.a the abbot, after the triple prayer," made in the morning, shall visit the sick; and when he comes to celebrate from afar; in like manner after prayers for excesses in the way he shall visit the sick upon his return from the church. three days before easter, and other festivals, he was to head the procession to the chapter.d if he made an error in the pronunciation of a chant, he was to ask pardon. he could reprove and accuse a monk, which was not allowed to the prior, or any other. in every accusation the abbot could remit the sentence except in the transgression of silence, and then he could modify it. [it was his duty to attend the cloister in the morning to hear what the monks had to say.f] while the boys conversed with the abbot or prior in confession, no one could call any of the confessed to confession. if any monk, after the chapter, spoke with the abbot in confession, the chapter of the boys g was dispensed with that day. all were to incline to the abbot as he passed by. in every conference, when the abbot was present, the alone was to sit by his side, and no prior • abbas diebus dominicis quotiens expeditus fue rit ad processionem debet esse, et in introitu ecclesiæ antiphonam incipere. si aliquo incommodo corporis præoccupatus fuerit, cantor debet incipere, in processionibus cum conventu chorum intrabit. f. 186. a. see concordia regularum. abbas post tres orationes mane factas infirmos visitabit; et cum de longinquo canere veniet; inemptidem per orationes pro excessibus in viâ subripientibus, fratres infirmos visitabit cum de ecclesia redierit. ibid. lum. anticipare processionem conventus ad capitu• abbati licitum est monachum reprehendere eundemque clamare, quod nec priori nec alii licet. in quolibet clamore abbas sententiam potuit relaxare, nisi in silentii transgressione; hoc etiam erit in suâ dispositione. 1 eadm. 8. held after that of the monks. see conc. regul. and dec. lanfr. supra. dum pueri cum abbate vel cum priore loquuntur in confessione, nulli licet aliquem confessorum ad confessionem vocare (i. e. a second time). si quis monachorum post capitulum cum abbate loquitur in confessione, magister puerorum non tenebit capitulum illo die. other without his order. adults and aged persons were to sit opposite upon the form of the cloister; the younger at his feet.k when he entered the chapter, all descending one step were to rise and bow to him, and stand on the same step till he sat down. when he was in the cloister, neither prior nor other, without his leave, was to speak in the locutory, or elsewhere, for any business, or to drink in the refectory. he could make a search whenever he chose; and whenever he, or a prior, or monk, except in scrutiny, passed through the convent, he was to move his hood.m before refection, after washing his hands, he was not to go to the lavatory; but his chaplains, and the other monks present, were to minister with basins and towels. in the morning, or other times, he went to the lavatory. he was not to follow the convent after refection, but with his chaplains “give thanks to the lord." he could visit his manors without benediction if for not more than three days. he was to order monks and officials to obey the prior in respect to the admission of visitors and external and internal dispensations. when he went out with benediction, the monks were to meet him on their knees, and give the kiss of charity to his hand first, and to his mouth afterwards, if he offered it. the monks delivered any thing to him on their knees, kissing his hand, if he was seated; if standing, without genuflexion. he was to give orders to the prior, when he wished to be let i dec. lanfr. * in omni claustriloquio, abbate præsente, solus prior sedebit ei collateralis, nullusque alius sine præcepto abbatis. senes et maturæ personæ ex opposito super tabulatum claustri sedebunt; juniores pedibus abbatis se humiliabunt. f. 186, b. ibid. omnes uno gradu descendentes cum inclinatione ei assurgent. eodemque gradu stabunt donec abbas in consistorium reclinetur. f. 186, b. quociens abbas vel prior vel aliquis fratrum transierit per medium conventus amovebit caputium, nisi fecerit scrutinium. f. 186. ibid.-ante cibi perceptionem post ablutionem manuum abbas non ibit ad lavatorium, sed capellani sui et reliqui fratres præsentes cum pelvibus et manutergiis ministrabunt. f. 186, b. decr. lanfr. abbot, abbess. 89 blood. when present in the choir at mattins, he was to shew the lantern to the prior, if he went to sleep. he could speak when he found it necessary, as could his chaplains, or any other with him. when a sick man was dying, the infirmarer was to inform him, and, postponing all business, he was to hasten to him. when he went to foreign parts, the leave of the chapter was requisite. he stood first at going from chapter, and received the kiss from the departing monks. he was admitted upon his return as at first, except that he did not pull off his shoes. the monks too then the kiss of charity.d in the commemoration of parents he was to sing mass.e gave him to this confused detail of the customs respecting abbots at abingdon, shall now follow the orderly narrative (literally rendered) of other duties and privileges appertaining to ensham.* abbate ad matutinas in choro præsente lucubrum ostendet priori si obdormierit. f. 187. this was a very common request of a dying monk. the hebdomadary and certain priests were to go to him in decr. lanfr. of the king at st. alban's. m. paris, 1051. licet abbati ubicunque viderit expedire loqui; loqui licet etiam suis capellanis et cuilibet alii exigente necessitate loqui cum abbate. f. 187. quando infirmus laborat in extremis infirmarius maturè abbati indicabit. abbasque omni negotio posthabito ad infirmum festinabit. id. 188, b. d m. paris (1051) adds to this, "the acceptation of small veniæ or pardons." in commemoracione parentum abbas cantabit missam. ms. harl. 209, p. 12. * from ms. bodl. barlow, vii. fol. 2-32. abbas in vii fest' et sollempni processione debet utrasque vices, tertiam vel sextam pro tempore cantare, et missam si vacaverit celebrare. in tabulari etiam debet ad matutinas in prædictis festis, et item in vigilia natalis domini, et dominicâ palmarum, et in tenebris, dummodo in partibus cismarinis existat. in festis vero caparum, in voluntate ipsius, est dictum officium implere. sed et in ceteris festis et in feriis interesse poterit, quandocunque voluerit. sciendum item quod cum missis in capis, vel in albis interesse voluerit revestiat se, et teneat chorum. dum abbas vesperas voluerit cantare, ponatur in vestiario vestimentum et capa, ad opus ejus aqua in bacinis argenteis, et manutergium, pecten, et mitra, cirotecæ et baculus. abbas vero pectinato capite et lotis manibus in vestiario, revestiat se albâ, capâ, mitrâ, cirotecis, annulo et baculo, capellanis ejus in omnibus humiliter ministrantibus. eo revestito pulsetur classicum cum omnibus sigpis. qui ingrediens chorum superius cantoribus, the abbot in the seven feasts and solemn procession sung both seasons, et priore pro tempore indutis proeuntibus procedat ad stallum suum inferius. et notandum quod quando stallum sive sedile abbas incessurus fuerit, semper ornetur quarello sive sit revestitus sive non. post classicum, abbas stans in stallo incipit deus in adjutorium, et post inceptionem primi psalmi capiat senior baculum ejus, osculatâ ipsius manu, et reponat juxta eum. et sciendum quod quandocunque quis aliquid tradiderit abbati sive ab eo aliquid accepit, semper osculetur ejus manus. sedente abbate, capellanus manitergium ex transverso gremii sui apponat, sicut semper quum est revestitus. finitis psalmis surgat, thuribulum sumat seniore tradente, capellani vero ejus ministrent sibi de capitulario et de absconsâ pro tempore abbas dicat capitulum cum mitrâ, sicut semper. item in vii fest' et in sollempnibus processionibus, et in festis caparum pro tempore abbas, præmunitus a præcentore, incipere debet a 'super psalmum magnificat,' vel psalmum benedictionem pro tempore, et notandum, quod quicquid abbas cantare vel legere aut incipere debuerit, precentor eum præmunire. ad inchoationem psalmi magnificat vel benedictus, abbas stans in stallo suo ponat incensum in thuribulum, capellano seu priore pro tempore ministrante de a'crat et incenso, et ministro seu capellano pro tempore de thuribulo, et sic procedant ad altare, priore pro tempore accepto thuribulo a sinistris abbatis eunte, et capellano thuribulum abbatis a dextris deferente, dicentes psalmum magnificat, vel benedictus, sive submissâ voce psallentes pro tempore. et flexis genibus super gradus ante altare tradat capellanus thuribulum abbati, et sustentet laciniam capæ suæ ; sicque incensetur altare a dextris et a sinistris, propterea feretrum s. egwini, deinde feretrum s. wistani, præterea tumba s. wulsini: quo facto tradat thuribulum capellano, rediens ad stallum suum; capellanus vero ejus et item prior pro tempore incensetur eum. item capellani ministrent ei de libro, et mitrâ, et absconsâ pro tempore. post dominus vobiscum ante oremus deponatur mitra, et in fine ad per omnia recipiatur; et hoc servetur ad omnes collectas. præterea quum ad collectas super horas, quæ semper dici debent cum mitrâ, post benedicamus primæ collectæ det abbas sollempnem benedictionem, sicut semper post vesperas, post matutinas, post missam suam cum celebraverit sive capellanus ejus, nisi fuerit pro defunctis, et post prandium statim post gratias, ante ps. de profundis, vel si sit in conventu ante ps. miserere. istud observet abbas ubicumque fuerit, nisi legatus fuerit, seu archiep' vel ep'us, cui voluerit deferre. formå sollempnis benedictionis primo faciat crucem cum pollice super pectus, dicens, "sit nomen domini benedictum;" postmodum signans se subjungat, "adjutorium nostrum in nomine domini." deinde erigat manum signando populum, "benedicat nos omnipotens deus, pater, et filius, et spiritus ejus.” si processio post vesperas facienda sit tunc, finitis commemorationibus procedat abbas ad altare ubi facienda fuerit, cantoribus præeuntibus cum cereis, et conventu processionaliter subsequente. quo cum pervenit, sumpto thuribulo incenset altare, et incensetur a capellano; et dictis dicendis, redeat ad vestiarium cantoribus præeuntibus, et devestiat se. de officio abbatis ad collationem et ad completorium. si contingat abbatem collationi interesse, * the gospel. † a'bra, ms. 90 monastic officers. p tierce or sext, according to the time, and celebrated mass, if at leisure. he ceprocedat in medio manicis cancellatis et capite discooperto inclinans aliquantulum usque ad gradus, et factâ inclinatione eat sessum. ad cujus adventum omnes surgant, et stent super inferiorem gradum inclinantes dum transit. et notandum, quod ubicumque transit abbas per officinas regulares, preterquam in dormitorium, singuli stando inclinent ad eum. sedente eo duo juvenes surgant, et discalcient cum flexis genibus: cum autem discalciatus fuerit, incipiat antiphonam mandatum novum cantore premuniente lotis ejus pedibus, juvenes, qui prius, recalcient eum, et sic revertantur ad sedes suas. postea surgat, lavet manus suas, ministris mandati ministrantibus, et resideat; finitisque omnibus antiph' et lectore dicente jube domine benedicere, det benedictionem angelorum custodia, &c. teris vero noctibus dicat noctem quietam, &c. post ea cimbâ percussâ surgat, et procedat ad refectorium conventu processionaliter præeunte et duobus juvenibus pro tempore cereos coram eo deferentibus cum pervenerit ad refectorium, procedat in medio capite discooperto, inclinans usque ad superiorem gradum, et factâ inclinatione, eat sessum: deinde percusso tintinnabulo a refectorario surgat unus de capellanis abbatis, cum cæteris ministrantibus de potu, et sumptâ cuppâ stet in medio ante cæteros. cetera fiant secundum librum. notandum quod duo juvenes stent utrumque ad digitum, et ministretur sicut semper quum abbas est presens. et dum biberit unus eorum subministret ei cum cooperculo, sicut semper ciphis coram conventu sufficienter appositis. percutiat abbas mensam cum palmâ manus et terminetur lectio, et mittatur cuppa una lectori. deinde facto congruo intervallo tintet tintinnabulum semel. et cum conventus sufficienter potaverit, tintet vero ter, et surgat. et stans in gradu mediocri in medio inclinet ad crucifixum, et erectus dicat adjutorium, &c. et iterum inclinet et exeat. notandum autem quod durante collacione inquirant capellani voluntatem abbatis, si velit remanere de completorio, vel item interesse, in voluntate enim ejus est semper remanere. si velit remanere, capellani ejus cum accensâ lanternâ divertant sinistrorsum extra hostium; et notandum quod quandocunque necesse fuerit, quocunque abbas ierit, preterquam in dormitorio, capellanus deferat lanternam accensam coram eo. si ad completorium ierit, capellani ejus procedant cum conventu in ecclesiam, et dicantur quæ dicenda sunt, priore seu custode ordinis faciente signa quæ ad ordinem pertinent. et notandum quod abbas nusquam faciet hujusmodi signa nisi in refectorio cum sederet ad digitum.* finito completorio inclinet abbas, et exeat; ante trinam orationem capellani vero ejus præsto sint extra chorum cum lanternâ pro tempore ut cum ipso divertant. quod si trinæ orationi voluerit interesse, inclinet solus sicut semper, et hoc stando vel jacendo super formam pro voluntate suâ, postea exeat primus, ceteris processionaliter subsequentibus, et aspergantur aquâ benedictâ. et notandum, quod ubicumque abbas aspergi debeat, tradatur ei aspersorium, preterquam si interfuerit completorio. de matutinis. in septem festis et in sollempni *digitus is a certain quantity of water; in this ms. it plainly signifies the washing of his hands at dinner. was in the table of matins in those feasts, and also in the vigil of christprocessione abbas si vacaverit debet matutinis interesse, et in primo a° secundam vel tertiam ant' pro tempore inchoare, octavum respons. cantare, et ultimam lectionem atque evangelium legere. abbas det benedictiones ante lectiones, sicut semper quando est præsens. cum abbas lecturus sit lectionem, procedat aliquantulum manibus cancellatis et capite discooperto, et inclinet. cui omnes assurgant et inclinet dum intersit, sicut semper quum intersit per medium conventum; post lectionem præsto sit capellanus suus, qui de manu ejus absconsam accipiat: ipse vero procedat aliquantulum, sicut prius, et capiat parvam veniam, et revertatur ad stallum. post ultimum responsorium sic incipiat te deum, &c. semper quum est præsens, et inclinet. notandum quod cum abbas lecturus sit evangelium, sic. in vi fest. et in process. sollempn. post inceptionem hymni te deum præsto sit capellanus ejus retro chorum cum lanternâ accensâ qui ipsum præcedat in vestiarium. et posito manutergio contra humeros abbatis, pectinetur, et lavet manus suas, capellanis ministrantibus; postea induatur qui cantaturus missam exceptis sandaliis. et accepto baculo procedat ministris præeuntibus, capellanus sequitur in frocco usque ad gradus, et accipiens baculum dextrorsum, abbasque inclinans dicat, da michi domine sermonem rectum, &c. postea erectus, deosculetur altare, et signet se. deinde ponat incensum in thuribulo, et incens (sic) altar', ministro laciniam casulæ sustentante; postea minister accepto thuribulo incenset abbatem, ppo dico inclinante (q. if ipso [et] diacono inclinante.) sicque vadat ad analogium: subsacrista præsto sit cum absconsâ, quam tradat abbati deosculando ejus manum, libro prius super analogium. ad gl'a tibi domine, capellanus propè stans deponat mitram, quam reponat dictâ oratione, evangegelium et baculum tradat, sicque incipiat abbas deus in adjutor. et revertatur in vestiarium. si laudes cantare voluerit, exutus casula stola et manipulo induatur capâ mitrâ cirotecis et baculo, et ingrediatur chorum superius, ciroferariis procedentibus usque ad gradus chori. si non abbas præsens fuerit, et non legerit, sed laudes cantare voluerit, tunc post inchoationem hymni te deum, &c. exeat ut super, et revestiatur, ingrediaturque chorum superius, et eat ad stallum suum inferius, lectoque evangelio incipiat ipse deus in adjutor. &c. et [si] capellanus vero ejus inter ymnum revestiatur ad ministrandum ut supra ad vesperas, alius capellanus ejus ministret sibi de capitulario et de absconsâ. dictâque oratione et datâ bened. si velit exeat, et capellanus revestitus remaneat, et dicat dicenda, aliter capellanus ipsum sequatur. si vero abbas processioni interesse voluerit, capellanus pro voluntate suâ dicat dicenda, et postea cnm abbate procedat. si abbas præsens fuerit matutinis, et voluerit interesse laudibus, exeat post inchoationem deus in adjutor. capellanis suis cum lanternâ extra chorum præsto exeuntibus. et notandum quod quotienscumque abbas revestitus interesse voluerit processioni post vesperas, vel post matutinas, seu ante missam, capellanus deferat ei baculum pastoralem. de privata missa abb'is. si abbas missam privatam voluerit celebrare, capellani ejus ministrent ei cum omni humilitate et reverentiâ in præparatione calicis et replicatione vestimentorum, et in abbot, abbess. 91 mas and palm sunday, and in the tenebræ, if he was in inland parts. cæteris necessariis. et unus eorum legat epistolam. si capellanus ejus celebret, abbas dicat confiteor, sicut semper. ante vero evangelium capellanus petat benedictionem ab abbate, missâ pro abbas defunctis dicens, jube dompne ben. &c. respondeat dominus sit in corde tuo, &c. vel aliud quod voluit. post evangelium alter capellanus deferat abbati librum ad deosculandum evangelii, ni fuerit missa item deferat ei pacem defunctis. pro post orapost agnus dei, ni fuerit prior præsens. tionem placeat tibi sancta trinitas det abbas benedict. num ipse celebraverit sive capella' ejus, ni fuerit missa pro defunctis. de sessione abbatis in claustro. abbas, quando voluerit et vacaverit, sedeat in claustro ante hostium capituli, et deferatur ei liber ad respiciendum si voluerit; maxime autem ibi sedeat diebus dominicis ante primam, vel tertiam, ad audiendum confessiones fratrum et precipue novitiorum, qui in initio suæ conversionis diligenter sunt instruendi. deputet et abbas aliquos fratres, quos viderit sapientores, qui una cum priore confessiones fratrum audiant quando ipse non vacaverit. de capitulo. abbas cum voluerit, et aliqua expedienda habuerit, intret capitulum, conventu ibi exeunte. intret autem ut supra ad collationem ; ad ejus adventum conventus inclinet ut supra. prior etiam seu præsidens et senior abb'i propinquior ex aliâ parte accedant ad deosculandam manum ob paternam reverentiam; et notandum quod licet ad collationem vel alias quam horâ statutâ capituli abbas capitulum intraverit, non deosculetur ejus manus. post tabulam lectam dicat abbas "anima fratrum," &c. conventus respondeat amen, et ille benedicite, et ille dominus, iterum ille loquamur de ordine nostro; ad quod omnes inclinent ei, et teret postea tractentur quæ tractanda sunt. minet ipse capitulum more solito, exiens cum capell' dicendo verba mea. notandum autem quod in vigilia natalis domini, die cœnæ, die parascevæ, et in vigilia paschæ et pentecostes, abbas si vacaverit, ante capitulum veniat in chorum, et precedat conventum in cap'lum; cap'lo finito abb' inclinans versus conventum dicat confiteor; ceteri inclinantes respondeant misereatur, et postea confiteor, et abbas dicat misereatur: et post absolutionem, et omnes flectant genua; postea exeat ut supra. de dominicali processione. si voluerit abbas processioni in diebus dominicis interesse, ingrediatur chorum superius dum aqua benedicitur, et stet ibi in stallo suo, capellano à dextris ejus cum baculo propè astante. sacerdos vero qui aquam benedixit, aspersâ tumbâ sc'i wulsini, et inclinans et deosculans manum abb'is, tradat ei aspersorium. qui aspergat seipsum, et postea sacerdotem, et retradat aspersorium. quo facto, capellanus tradat ei baculum pastoralem, et fiat processio, abbate ultimo in medio gradiente (sic) cum baculo. cum perveniunt in ecclesiam fiat statio, abb'e stante in medio, subtus fontes. finite (sic) responsorio vel antiph. procedat cantor ad abbat. et dedicat (sic) cum eo de profundis, et fiat absolutio animarum abbatum ibidem quiescentium et omnium fidel' defunct'. ad introitum inthe nights in the passion week, when the candles were extinguished. in the feasts of copes it was at his option to perform the above duty, but cipiet abbas responsor. vel antiph. pro tempore præmuniente. et notand' quod ejus semper incipere antip. vel resp' ad introitum quum est præsens. introitu ecclesie abbas divertat dextrorsum capellanis, unus eorum reponat baculum pastoralem, et alius cum eo procedat. de sollempni processione. si abbas in aliquo festo caparum ad horam ante missam majorem, vel ad processionem præsens esse voluerit, præmunitus à præcentore ingredietur vestiarium cum capellanis suis; primo pectinetur, postea lotis manibus induatur alba stolâ capâ mitrâ cirotecis et annulo, capellanis semper ministrantibus. deinde sumpte (sit) baculo pastorali ingrediatur chorum superius, et stet in stallo suo. interim fiat exorcismus aquæ benedictæ si dominica fuerit, et aspersio ut supra, hoc adjuto quod abbas teneat baculum in manu sinistra, dum aspergit se et sacerdotum. aspersâque aqua bened. dicatur oracio dominica, priore faciente signa sicut semper item cum sit præsens, et incipiatur hora. si abbas præsens fuerit cantet horam, et capellus ejus ministret sibi de capitulario et aliis necess. horâ cantatâ si sollempnis fuerit processio, fiat thurificatio à priore more solito, ita quod abbas incensum imponat, sicut semper quum est præsens. tunc exeat processio, junioribus præcedentibus, abbas sequatur ultimus in medio, capellanus ejus eat post seniores cum manitergio; cum autem processio eat per comiteria, fiat statio in comiterio monachorum cum ps. de profundis, et absolvantur animæ ibidem et ubicumque in christo quiescentium. cumque pervenerint in ecclesiam fiat statio, et absolutio animarum abbatum ibidem si autem requiescent. et omn' fidel' defunct. sponsor' cantand' sit ad stationem, sedeat abbas usque ad repetitionem retractus post versum, vel prosam pro tempore, et tunc fiat sermo si fuerit habendus; sin autem, fiat absolutio ut prius. statim finito retractu abbas præmunitus à cantore incipiat ad introitum antiph' vel respons' pro tempore, et tunc fiat sermo si fuerit habendus; sin autem, fiat absolutio ut prius. statim finito retractu abbas præmunitus à cantore incipiat ad introitum antiph' vel sespons' pro tempore sicut semconventu ingrediente per quum est præsens. chorum abbas divertat dextrorsum usque in vestiarium, et præparet se ad missam fuerit celebrasi vero missam non fuerit celebraturus, et interfuerit processioni, nihilominus divertat ut supra, et procedat ad altare cum quocunque missam celebraturo, ibidem more solito confiteor et cetera dicturus; postea regat chorum cum cantoribus, si velit interresse missæ; sin autem, revertatur in vestiarium, et devestiat se. et notand' quod abbas semper quum est præsens procedere debet ad altare cum missam celebraturo, et ibidem dicere confiteor, et cætera ut supra, seu sit revestitus seu non. turus. qualiter abbas præparet se ad missam. si missam fuerit vii festum, depositâ mitrâ et capâ sedeat et discalcietur, ac sandaliis cum pertinenciis recalcietur. deinde lotis manibus tunicâ et dalmaticâ induatur capellanis et ministris ministrantibus et psallentibus hos ps'os...... hac oracione dicta procedat abbas versus altare, priore eunte à dextris ejus et capellano à sinistris. diaconus vero cum baculo pastorali, et subdiaconus cum texto procedat et ceteris ministris. ad gloria vero officium in92 monastic officers. in other feasts and common days he was present when he pleased. it is to trent, et procedant usque ad gradus, et diaconus tradat abbati baculum, cæteris circumstantibus, capellanoque mitram deponente, dicat abbas confitemini domino, &c. postea confiteor, &c. ad absolutionem et remissionem flectant omnes genua. quo dicta deosculetur abbas [abbis in ms.] textum apertum sicut semper, et reponatur mitra. postea tradat capellano baculum, et ascendat gradus coram altari, dicendo "domine, exaudi oracionem meam, &c." et inclinet dicens oracionem "aufer à nobis," &c. quâ dictâ erectus deosculetur altare, et signet se in erigendo; dicat adjutor' nostr' de more solito. et notand' quod induatur sandaliis solum in vii fest. et tunc solum cantantur prædicti psalmi cum antiph. item non induatur tunicâ et dalmaticâ, nisi in festis cum solempni process. cætera vero omnia fiant semper ut supra. item nullus collateralis cum abbate incedat nisi ad missam. incepto kyrie eleeson thurificet abbas altare mitratus. ad inchoandum "gloria in excelsis" deponatur mitra, et statim reponatur. post dominus vobiscum ante oremus, iterum deponatur, et ad per omnia reponatur. ad epistolam sedeat usque ad evangel. capellano sustinente laciniam casulæ ex una parte, et diacono ex aliâ. capellanus et diaconus in vii festis canant submissâ voce coram abbate. item abbas semper det benedictionem super legentes et cantantes, ad gradus, statim expletis eorum officiis. ad inceptionem evangel. surgat, capellano juvante, et baculum sibi tradente, atque mitram deponente. post credo in unum inceptum reponatur mitra, factâ offerendâ, collocatoque calice et thurificato deponatur annulus et cirothecæ lavet suas manus priore ministrante, si præsens fuerit; et notand' quod quociens abbas missam celebrat in capis, prioris est conducere eum ad altare, et facere offertorium, et ministrare in ablutione manuum, tam post offert. quam post perceptionem si præsens sit, sin autem præcentor debet. lotis manibus abbas vertat se ad altare dicendo orationem consuetam. ad in spiritu humilit. deponatur mitra, et peragatur totum sine mitra. post communionem lotis manibus abbas cirotecas resumat, annuloque digito imposito finiat missam more solito. post oracionem placeat tibi, sumpto baculo vertat se ad populum, et det benedictionem, ut supra, ad vesperas, nisi fuerit missa pro defunctis. tunc recedant ab altari usque in vestiarium eodem ordine quo prius acceperant ; abbate tunc baculum in dextrâ gestante et dicente, "benedicite sacerdotes," &c. cum priore et capellano, et aliis ministris sicut semper, et hoc in capis. de prandio. cum abbas in refectorio comedere voluerit, ponantur sex panes coram eo ad prandium de proprio silicet pane, et tres ad coenam. sex vero ad eleemosynam, et duos ad s'cisiones faciendas in mensa. ponatur etiam coram eo magnum potum cerviciæ. et quociens fuerit caritas, vini dimidium sextarium ponatur ad opus suum. tempore igitur congruo intret refectorium, et procedat ut supra ad collationem usque ad digitum, ubi lavet manus suas, priore fundente aquam, et aliis ministrantibus de manutergio. et notandum, quod refectorarii est providere manutergium et bacinos cum aquâ. manibus lotis faciat inclinationem, et pulset tintinnabulum aliquantulum morose, et dicantur gratiæ more solito, ipso item dante benedictionem lectori. be noted also, that when he chose to be present at masses in copes, or in albs, he robed himself, and held the choir. when he pleased to sing vespers, the vestment and cope for his use, water in silver basins, towels, the comb, mitre, gloves, and staff, were placed in the vestiary. the abbot then having combed his head, and washed his hands, clothed himself in the vestiary with the alb, robe, mitre, gloves, ring, and crosier, his chaplains humbly attending upon him. upon his being robed, a peal of all the bells struck up; and entering the upper choir preceded by the chantors and prior robed for the occasion, he went to his stall below, which whether he was in pontificals or not, was to be adorned with a carrel.a when the bells had done, the abbot, standing in his stall, began deus in adjutorium; and after the beginning of the first psalm, a senior, kissing his hand, took the crosier, and laid it near him; which ceremony of kissing his hand was to be always used upon the receipt or delivery of any thing from or to him. when he was seated, a chaplain was to place a towel athwart his bosom, as was always usual when he was in pontificals. when the psalms were finished, he rose, and took the censer from a senior, and his chaplains attended him with the gospel and lantern for the occasion; he then said the duo juvenes stent ad digitum ex imâ et aliâ parte, et ministrent ei sicut quum est ad digitum. capellanus etiam ejus ministrent de coquinâ sicut semper quando præsiderit, uno de ministris digiti, vel ambobus cum necesse fuerit ipsum juvantibus; unus etiam eorum subministret ei cum cooperculo dum bibit, sicut semper. tempore congruo faciat sonitum cum cochlearibus suis, et colligantur cochlearia. cumque omnes comederunt, percutiat ter mensam cum cultello, et colligatur relevium. quo collecto faciat signum cum manu super mensam, et terminetur lectio. et factâ inclinatione à lectore, pulset tintinnabulum ut supra, et dicantur gratiæ. post agimus tibi gratias, statim det solempnem benedictionem, ut supra ad vesperas. conventu eunte ad ecclesiam miserere, remaneat ipse cum priore et aliquibus de senioribus in refectorio : finiant gratias. interim lavet sibi manus, priore et ceteris, ut prius, ministrantibus; postea ducat eos in cameram suam ad potum. * pew. there is a similar injunction in the dec. lanfr. § de abbate (with one or two additions), given in mr. tindal's evesham, p. 178, abbot, abbess. 93 gospel with his mitre, as he always did. also the seven feasts, and solemn precisions, and in the feasts of copes, archbishop, or bishop, to where he the abbot, pre-admonished by the chantor, was to begin the antiphonar after the psalm magnificat, or benedictionem, according to the occasion; and it was to be noted, that the abbot was always to be forewarned by the chantor of what he was to sing, read, or begin. at the beginning of the magnificat, or benedictus, the abbot, standing in his stall, put incense in the censer, the chaplain or prior for the occasion assisting with the materials of the incense, and an assistant or chaplain for the occasion with the censer; and thus they were to proceed to the altar; the prior for the occasion, with the censer, going on the left of the abbot, and the chaplain, with the abbot's censer, on the right, saying the magnificat, or benedictus, or singing with a low voice, according to the occasion. the chaplain then kneeling upon the steps before the altar, gave the censer to the abbot, and supported his train: and thus the altar was to be censed on the right and left, also the shrines of certain saints: after this, the abbot gave the censer to the chaplain, and returned to his stall, and the chaplain and prior also for the occasion censed him. the chaplains. too attended him with the book, mitre, and lantern for the time. after the dominus vobiscum before oremus, the mitre was to be laid down, and in the end at the per omnia resumed; and this use was to be observed at all the collects. besides at the collects after the hours, which were always to be said with the mitre, after the benedicamus of the first collect the abbot gave his solemn benediction, as usually after vespers, after mattins, after his mass, when he or his chaplain celebrated (unless it was a mass for the dead), and after dinner immediately next to the grace; before the psalm de profundis, or, if he was in the convent, before the miserere a a sung upon going out from dinner. the and this he was to observe, wherever he was, unless there was a legate, whom wished to pass the compliment. in giving the benediction he first made a cross with his finger upon his bosom, saying, "blessed be the name of the lord." then, pointing to himself, he added, "our help is in the name of the lord." then he was to elevate his hand as a token to the people, and say, "almighty god, the father, son, and holy ghost, bless us." if a procession was to be made after vespers, when the commemorations were finished, the abbot was to go to the altar, to which the procession was to be made, the chantors preceding him with tapers, and the convent following. when he came there, he censed the altar, was himself censed by the chaplain; and having performed the due service, returned to the vestiary, preceded by the chantors, and unrobed. of the office of the abbot at collation and completory. if the abbot happened to be present at the collation, he proceeded up the middle with his arms across,b and head bare, somewhat bowing as far as the steps, and having made his inclination, went to his seat. at his coming all arose, and stood upon the lower step, bowing as he passed. and (continues the rubric) "whensoever the abbot passes through the regular offices, except to the dormitory, every one shall bow to him standing. when he is seated two youths shall rise and pull off his shoes kneeling. when he has his shoes off he shall begin the antiphonar mandatum novum, the chantor forewarning him. the feet-washing ended, the young men shall put his shoes on, and return to their seats. afterwards he shall rise, wash his hands, the servants of the maundy assisting, and sit down. when all the antiphonars are done, and the reader says "jube domine benedicere," he shall give the benedicb from the customs of the monks, i follow pliny's sense of cancello (see the lat. dict.) in which sense it is used in the carthus. rule. monast. anglic. i. p. 951. 94 monastic officers. tion angelorum custodia, &c. if it be a, sabbath; but, on other nights, he shall say, noctem quietam, &c. (good night, &c.) after this, the bell being struck, he shall arise, and go to the refectory, the convent preceding in procession, and the two youths, for the occasion, carrying tapers before him. when he comes to the refectory, he shall proceed up the middle with his head bare, bowing as far as the upper step, and having made his inclination, sit down. the refectioner then having struck the bell, one of his chaplains, with the attendants, ministering the drink, shall rise, take a cup, and stand in the middle before the rest.it is to be noted, that the two youths shall stand at either side the digitus, and the service shall be that usual when the abbot is present. whilst he drinks, one of them shall attend with a cover, as is usual with the cups (when complete) laid before the convent. the abbot shall then strike the table with the palm of his hand, the reading shall end, and a cup be sent to the reader. afterwards, at a proper interval, the bell shall ring once. and when the convent has sufficiently drank, it shall ring three times; he shall then rise, and standing in the middle step in the centre, make a bow to the crucifix, and then standing say "adjutorium, &c." and again bow and retire. it is to be observed, however, that during the collation, his chaplains shall inquire whether he chuses to stay from complin, or be present at it, for it is at his option always to stay if he chuses it. his chaplains with lanterns shall turn to the left out of the gate, and it is to be noted, that whenever it shall be necessary, wherever he goes, except in the dormitory, a chaplain shall carry a lighted lantern before him. if he should go to complin, his chaplains shall proceed to the church with the convent, and the necessary service be said, the prior or guardian of the rule making the add. to dec. lanfr. in tyndal's evesham, p. 178. proper signs. and it is to be noted that the abbot shall never make signs of this kind unless when he sits at the digitus in the refectory. at the end of the service the abbot shall bow and retire; and before the triple prayer, his chaplains shall be ready out of the choir with a lighted lantern for the occasion, that they may go out with him. but if he wishes to be present at the triple prayer, he shall bow alone as usual, either by standing or lying upon the form as he likes, and afterwards shall retire first, the others following in procession; who all shall be sprinkled with holy water. and it is to be noted, that whensoever the abbot ought to be sprinkled, the sprinkle shall be given to him, unless he is present at complin." of mattins. in the seven feasts, and days of solemn procession, the abbot, if at leisure, was present at mattins, and in the first course of antiphonars, according to the occasion, began the second or third antiphonar, sang the eighth responsory, and read the last lesson and gospel. he gave the benedictions before the lessons, as always when present. when he was going to read the lesson, he advanced somewhat with his arms crossed, and head uncovered, and bowed. all rose and bowed to him, as was usual b when he was present in the convent assembled. after the lesson his chaplain was to be ready to take the lantern from him; he advanced a little as before, took a small venia, and returned to his stall. after the last responsory he began te deum always when present, and bowed. it is to be noted, that when he was going to read the gospel, if it was in the six feasts and in solemn procession, after the beginning of te deum, his chaplain was to be ready behind the choir with a lighted lantern, to go before him to the vestiary; and a towel being put over his shoulders, he combed himself and washed his hands, his chaplains asdu b after the antiphonar was begun. dec. lanfr. e penitential inclination, or genuflexion. cange. abbot, abbess. 95 sisting; and he who was to celebrate clothed himself for singing mass, the sandals excepted. then taking the crosier, he advanced, and the ministers going first, and the chaplain following in his frock, as far as the steps, and taking the crosier from him on the right side, the abbot bowed, and said, grant me, o lord, a right conversation, &c. afterwards, erect, he kissed the altar, and crossed himself. then he put incense in the censer, and censed the altar, the chaplain holding his train; who afterwards, taking the censer, censed the abbot, ..... thus he went to the lectern. the subsacrist was ready with a lantern, which he delivered to the abbot, kissing his hand, the book being first laid on the lectern. at the gloria tibi domine, the chaplain standing near, took off the mitre, which he put on again, when the prayer was said; and delivered the gospel and crosier. the abbot then began deus in adjutorium, and returned to the vestiary. if he wished to sing lauds, putting off the chesible, stole, and maniple, he was robed in the cope, mitre, gloves, and crosier, and entered the upper choir, the taperbearers proceeding to the steps of the choir. if he was not present, and would not read, but wished to sing lauds, then, after the beginning of the te deum, he went out, as above, robed himself, entered at the upper choir, and went to his stall below, and the gospel being read, began himself deus in adjutorium, &c. if his chaplain, during the hymn, was robed for ministering at vespers, as above, another attended on him with the text and lantern. after the prayer and benediction he went out, if he chose, and the chaplain, robed, remained and celebrated what was to be done; otherwise he followed the abbot. if the latter wished to be present in the procession, the chaplain, according to his wish, said what was to be done, and afterwards joined the abbot. if the abbot was present at mattins, and wished to be at lauds, he went out after the beginning of the deus in adjutorium, his chaplains at hand, with a lantern out of the choir, going forth [with him]. and it is to be noted, that, as often as the abbot in pontificals wished to attend the procession after vespers, or after mattins, or before mass, the chaplain brought him his crosier. of the abbot's private mass. if he wished to celebrate a private mass, his chaplains attended him with all humility and reverence, preparing the chalice, unfolding the vestments, and performing other necessary services; and one of them was to read the epistle. if the chaplain celebrated, the abbot said as usual, confiteor. before the gospel, the chaplain solicited benediction from the abbot, saying, in the mass for the dead, jube dompne ben. &c. to which the abbot replied, dominus sit in corde tuo, &c. or any thing else he liked. after the gospel, another chaplain brought him the texta to kiss if it was not a mass for the dead and if the prior was not present, the pax after the agnus dei. after the prayer, placeat tibi sancta trinitas, the abbot gave the benediction, whether he himself or his chaplain celebrated, unless it was a mass for the dead. of the abbot's sitting in the cloister. the abbot, when he liked, and was disengaged, sat in the cloister before the door of the chapter, and a book was brought to him to peruse, if he chose it; but he sat there especially on sundays before prime or tierce, to hear the confessions of the monks, and especially of the novices, who, in a book of the gospels, with the image of christ, or the virgin mary, on the cover. the pax was of like use, only of silver, ivory, or even board. davies says, 66 ia marvellous fair book, which had the epistles and gospels in it; which book had on the outside of the covering the picture of our saviour christ, all of silver, of goldsmith's work, all parcel gilt, very fine to behold, which book did serve for the pax in the mass." the gospel was brought to the abbot, and the pax likewise, to be kissed; for they were distinct things; the kiss of peace at the mass was instituted by innocent i. in the year 407; the pax after the agnus dei, by leo ii. in 681. the kiss of peace followed the consecration of the host, when the priest said "the peace of our lord," &c. but the third day before easter it was omitted on account of the passion. du cange, v. osculum pacis. 96 monastic officers. the commencement of their conversion, were to be carefully instructed. the abbot deputed some of the more prudent monks to join the prior in hearing the confessions, when he was himself engaged. of the chapter. the abbot, when he liked it, and had any business, entered the chapter, upon the convent's retiring. he entered as above at collation; and the convent, as above also, bowed at his arrival. the prior also, or president and senior, next to the abbot, came from the other side to kiss his hand from paternal reverence; and it is to be noted, that whenever at collation or not the stated hour of chapter, the abbot entered that place, his hands were not kissed. after the table was read, the abbot said, "the souls of all deceased brethren and all believers rest in peace;" to which the convent replied, "amen." and he again, "benedicite," again "dominus," and then, "let us speak of the order." all immediately bowed, and the business commenced. he finished the chapter in the usual manner, by going out with his chaplains and saying verba mea. it is to be observed, that if he was at leisure on the vigil of christmas day, maundy thursday, easter-day, and the vigils easter and whitsuntide, he came before the chapter to the choir, and preceded the convent in going to the former place. when it was over, bowing to the convent, he said, confiteor, to which the others bowing answered misereatur, and they afterwards confiteor, and he misereatur. after the absolution, and all had knelt, he went out as above. of the sunday procession. if the abbot wished to be present at the sunday procession, he entered the upper choir, while the water was consecrating, and stood there in his stall, his chaplain standing near on his right with the crosier. the priest who consecrated the water, having sprinkled the shrine of wulsin, bowed, kissed the abbot's hand, and gave him the sprinkle. he then sprinkled himself, and next the priest, to whom he then returned the sprinkle. after this the chaplain gave him the crosier, and the procession began, the abbot last, going in the middle with his staff. when they came into the church, a stand was made, the abbot being in the middle beneath the fonts. the response, or antiphonar, being over, the chantor proceeded to the abbot, and said, with him, de profundis. absolution was then pronounced of the souls of all the abbots there lying, and all faithful persons deceased. the abbot began the responsory, or antiphonar, according to the occasion and warning of the chantor at the entrance of the procession, when he was present. upon entering the church, the abbot turned to the right with his chaplains, one of whom was to put by the crosier, and the other proceed with him. of solemn procession. if the abbot wished to be present in any feast of cape at the hour before the greater mass, or at procession, according to the warning of the chantor, he entered the vestiary with his chaplains, first combed himself, and then having washed his hands, put on the alb, stole, cope, mitre, gloves, and ring, his chaplains always attending upon him. then he took his crosier,a entered at the upper choir, and stood in his stall. others when it was to be laid aside, at least in the a there were times when this was to be borne, and same houses; thus the customs of abingdon say, among other instances :abbas si missam pro defunctis celebraverit baculum non portabit. ad matutinas in processu ad altare, nec in pronuntiatione evangelii baculum habebit. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. p. 184. quotiens abbas in conventu celebraverit vel chorum tenuerit aut revestitus fuerit, baculum et cirotecas habebit. fol. 184. b. in processionibus cum conventu chorum intrabit, sed per medium chorum baculum minimè portabit; sed capellanus sinister in introitu chori balum de abbate accipiet, et ad locum solitum referet. fol. 186. a. if the abbot celebrates the mass for the dead, he shall not carry his crosier; nor at mattins in going to the altar, nor in reading the gospel. as often as he celebrates in the convent, or holds the choir, or is in pontificals, he shall have the crosier and gloves. he shall enter the choir with the convent in processions, but by no means carry his crosier through the midst of the choir; his chaplain on the left hand shall take it upon entering the choir, and carry it to its usual place. abbot, abbess. 97 in the interim, the holy water was consecrated, if it was a sunday, and sprinkled as above, with this addition that the abbot held his crosier in his left hand while he sprinkled himself and the priest. after the sprinkling, the lord's prayer was said, the prior making the signs, as was always usual when he was present, and the hour was begun. if the abbot was present he sang the hour, and his chaplains attended him with the gospel and other necessaries. the hour being sung, if there was a solemn procession the censing was made by the prior, except that the abbot put in the incense, as he always did when he was present. then the procession went forth, the juniors preceding; the abbot followed last in the middle, his chaplain next to the seniors with a towel. when the procession went through the church-yards, a stand was made in the cœmitery of the monks, with the psalm de profundis, and the absolution of all souls there and every where sleeping in christ. when they came to the church a like stand was made, and an absolution of the souls of abbots there resting, and all faithful persons deceased. but if the responsory was to be sung at the standing, the abbot was to sit till the repetition of the retractus a after the verse or prose according to the occasion; and then a sermon was made, if it was so to be; if not, absolution, as before. as soon as the retractus was over, the abbot, forewarned by the chantor, began at the entrance the antiphonar, or responsory, according to the season, as usual when he was present. upon the convent's entrance of the choir, the abbot turned to the right to go into the vestiary and prepare himself for mass, if he meant to celebrate; if not, but to attend the procession, he still turned off as above, and proceeded to the altar with the person who was to celebrate, to say there, in the usual manner, the confiteor, &c. and afterwards lead the choir, with the chantors, the retractus was the return of tractus in the chant. if he meant to be present at the mass: if not, he returned to the vestiary, and unrobed himself. the abbot always, when he was present, was to proceed to the altar with him who was to celebrate, and there to say the confiteor, &c. as above, whether in pontificals or not. how the abbot prepared himself for muss. if he was going to celebrate mass, and it was one of the seven feasts, he laid aside his mitre and cope, and put on the sandals and appurtenances. then he washed his hands, and robed himself in the tunic and dalmatic, his chaplains and servants attending upon him, and singing certain psalms. when this prayer was over, the abbot proceeded towards the altar, with the prior on his right, and the chaplain on his left. the deacon advanced with the crosier, and the subdeacon with the text and the other attendants. at the glory they entered, and proceeded to the steps; and the deacon delivering the crosier to the abbot (the others stood by), and the chaplain taking the mitre off, the abbot said, "confess to the lord," &c. and afterward confiteor, &c. at the absolution and remission all kneeled. after which, the abbot kissed the gospel, which lay open, as usual, and the mitre was put on again. he then gave the crosier to his chaplain, and ascended the steps before the altar, saying, "lord, hear my prayer," &c. when he said the prayer, "aufer à nobis," &c. he bowed, and, when it was over, kissed the altar, and crossed himself as he was rising. he then said the adjutorium, &c. in the name of the lord. and it is to be noted, that he wore his sandals only in the seven feasts, when only the above psalms and antiphonars were sung. neither did he wear the tunic and dalmatic except in feasts with solemn. procession. all other things were done as usual. no one walked abreast with the abbot, except to mass. at the beginning of the kyrie eleeson the b addit. to decr. lanfr. sect. de abbate, in tyndal's evesham, p. 178. h 98 monastic officers. abbot censed the altar in his mitre, which was put off at the commencement of the gloria in excelsis, and immediately resumed. after the dominus vobiscum, before the oremus, it was again taken off, and replaced at the per omnia. at the epistle he sat till the gospel, the chaplain holding his train on one side, and the deacon on the other. on the vii feasts the chaplain and deacon sang in a low voice in the presence of the abbot. the abbot also always gave the benediction to those who read and sung, at the steps, immediately after their duty was over. at the beginning of the gospel he rose, the chaplain assisting him, delivering the crosier, and taking off the mitre. after the creed was begun, the mitre was replaced, and (the offering made, and the chalice placed and censed), the ring and gloves were pulled off. he then washed his hands, the prior attending upon him, if present; and it was a rule, that as often as the abbot celebrated mass in capis, the prior should lead him to the altar, and make the offertory, and minister in the washing of his hands both after the offertory, and after the communion, if he was present; if not, the above duty devolved to the chantor. when he had washed his hands, the abbot turned himself to the altar, and said the usual prayer. at the in spiritu humilitatis the mitre was taken off, and the rest of the service said without it. when the abbot had washed his hands after the communion, he resumed his gloves, put on his ring, and finished the mass in the usual manner. after the placeat tibi, he took his crosier, turned himself to the people, and gave the benediction, as above, at vespers, unless it was a mass for the dead. they then departed from the altar to the vestiary in the same order as before, the abbot then carrying his crosier in his right hand, and saying, "benedicite sacerdotes, &c." with the prior and chaplain and other attendants as usual; and this in capis, of dinner. when the abbot chose to dine in the refectory, six loaves of his own bread (wassel, the finest sort) were put before him, six for dinner, and three for supper. there were six for alms, and two for cutting from at the table. besides these, there was a great jug of beer; and as often as there was a charity, half a sextary of wine. at a suitable time, therefore, he entered the fratry, and proceeded as above at the collation to the digitus, where he washed his hands, the prior pouring out the water, and others attending with a towel. and the rule was, that the refectioner should provide a towel and basons with water. when he had washed his hands, he made a bow, and rang the bell somewhat late. then grace was said in the usual manner, himself giving the benediction to the reader. two young men stood at the digitus from the lowest and other side, and ministered to him as when he was at the digitus. his chaplain also ministered from the kitchen as always when he presided, one of the servants of the digitus, or both, if necessary, assisting him. one of them, too, ministered to him with the cover, when he drank, as was usual. at a fit time he made a noise with the spoons, and they were collected. when all had dined, he struck the table three times with his knife, and the fragments were collected. after this he made a sign with his hand upon the table, and the reading ceased. the reader having made a bow, he rang the bell as above, and grace was said. after the agimus tibi gratias, he immediately gave the solemn benediction, as above at vespers. the convent going then to the church with miserere, ps. 51st, he remained with the prior, and some of the seniors in the refectory, and grace was ended. in the mean while, he washed his hands, the prior and others assisting as before; after which he took them to his chamber to drink. besides these high distinctions, discipline was to be always observed in abbot, abbess. 99 his presence; and in reproof, the delinquent was to stand till he ordered him to sit, and repeatedly solicit pardon as long as he was angry. the abbot was, however, to shun this before seculars. when he was in the choir, no one was to discipline the children without his orders; and while he was a-bed in the morning, the master was to wake them at the proper hour, by striking the rod upon their bed-clothes; after which they were to wash, comb themselves, say their prayers, go to their school, and sit silent until the abbot rose. when he sent letters to the convent, all were to bow and kneel, as to those of the pope and king; for other persons they only bowed. if he gave a command, the monk who received it was immediately to kneel. if a monk came to him, he was to say benedicite, and then tell the cause of his coming; nor was he to sit in his presence, or depart without his leave; after which he was again to say benedicite, and go. if any thing new was done in his absence, it was to be submitted to his discretion upon his return; and when he staid out a whole night, a monk, penanced with abstinence, was, upon his return, absolved.b abbots had separate tables, because living in penitence, and using only the common viands, strangers would be no expence to them. the frugal would there see an example to confirm them in that virtue, and the bon-vivant a condemnation; the presence of the superior would, too, impress respect, and prevent deviation from bienséance and edification. very different consequences, however, caused the council of aix in the ninth century, and dunstan after them, to decree that the abbot should dine in the common refectory; and, though the cistercians, who "when their (the barons') letters were read upon occasions in any assemblies, the commons present would move their bonnets." smith's lives of the berkeley family, ms. 270. see also state trials, vol. i. p. 25. fol. ed. b decr. lanfr. de abbate. professed to follow the rule of bennet in its literal strictness in reviving the separate table, took precautions to prevent the consequence, excess and good cheer, these precautions, whatever may be the elegant and judicious malmesbury's assertion,d were useless.e fastred reproaches an abbot for having himself served in his guest's hall when he had no company, on purpose to have more means of satisfying his appetites, for imitating in his dress and furniture the magnificence of dives, for having exquisite food, fresh fish seasoned in different manners, and bread made out of the house by women. by the injunctions too of the villains, whom the villain henry & stiled his visitors, the abbot's table was "not to be somptious or full of delicate and forayne dishes, but honestlye furnished with comon meate, at which table the said abbot, or some senior in his stede, shall sit to receive the guests."h notwithstanding these accounts, separate habitations for abbots are mentioned as early as the reign of alfred the great; and yet æthelstan, abbot of ramsey, is described as dining with his monks in the common refectory.k it is plain, by lanfranc's decretals ordering the master of the novices so to wake the children in the morning as not to disturb the abbot, that he was supposed to sleep in the common dormitory; yet the synod of london, held in the reign of henry i. was obliged to order that they should eat and sleep in the same house with their monks, unless prevented by any nee devoirs de la vie monastique, vol. ii. p. 307-11. d who says they never had but two dishes for themselves or others. de w. 2. p. 72. e dev. v. m. ut sup. f id. p. 312. drayton says, that, temp. h. viii. the worst man in the house was elected abbot; that, by the slander which from him should spring, into contempt it more and more might bring. leg. of t. cromw. e. of essex. b ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. p. 22. a. i m. par. 992. hist. ramer. c. lxxxix. 125331b h 2 100 monastic officers. a cessity. these passages show, that some separate abbatial habitations and tables existed, by the abuse of retaining the primary practice previous to the revival of it by the cistercians. it was expected of abbots that they should associate with their monks in preference to seculars.b the customs of abingdon enjoined, that before easter the abbot should invite, twice or thrice in the week from custom, sixteen or seventeen, or twelve monks to his table alternately, or any other at a different time, whom he should chuse (though boys and youths were neither to go there or elsewhere at any time without masters); in which case, the abbot's chaplain was to announce the invitation to the refectioner, and he to the prior, presiding in the fratry.c at croyland, every principal feast three monks were to dine at the abbot's table, every second feast two, and on certain days the prior. it was also enacted, that every day in the year two monks should dine in the abbot's hall, whether he was present or not.d this invitation, however, the abbot was to extend no further than when he had not other visitors. the monks thus invited used to absent themselves from celebrating masses on that day; and the preference in point of precedences at the table, of juniors to seniors, through office, or otherwise, occasioned, it seems, diseadm. 68. b m. paris. (2d) 1048. abbas quemcunque de conventu ad mensam convivarum vocare voluerit, vocabit; pueri autem et adolescentes, sine custodia, nec ad refectionem abbatis nec alibi aliquando debent esse, vel incedere. si abbas aliquem vocabit ad mensæ convivium capellanus abbatis indicabit refectorario, refectorarius referet priori qui ad mensæ consistorium sederit. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. p. 187. abbas ex consuetudine bis vel ter in ebdomadâ senos vel septenos, denos vel duodenos, ad mensæ convivium alternatim vocabit. id. 188. d contin. hist. croyl. 499. cap. gen. northampt. a° 1444. c. vii. f ibid. the abbot promoted monks by only saying to them in chapter "go sit next to that person;" after which they always took that rank. dec. lanfr. there was a promotion called emancipation, which released monks from obedience. du cange, v. emancipatio. content.h the monks, too, behaved ill: "not abstaining from detractions, contentions, and vain gossipings." the guests of abbots, however, no doubt, consisted, at least some, of their secular relatives, whom they had constantly on visits to them.k the power of an abbot was limited only by deviations from the rule ; and latterly at least, there was no appeal allowed, because it would be to appeal from the law itself. but whatever was his power, if he or any officer was too rigid, the monks either fled," or made his life uncomfortable ;º accordingly, in the latter æras of monachism, in case any dispute arose between the prelates of different houses, or the prelates and their convents, it was to be referred to the visitors of those houses, or presidents of the last general chapter; who were to appoint arbitrators, and if they failed it was to be delayed till the general chapter. but in the reign of henry viii. it was lawful to appeal to his visitors; and the prior of walsingham says, if he offered correction, his monks "would rather appeal, as this man did, to the intent that in so doing they may lyve in great liberty." the monks, too, h c. g. north. ut sup. c. x. i similiter ita cum fratres ad mensam abbatis vel prioris vocati fuerunt, vel in oriolo comederunt, à detractionibus, contentionibus, et vanis confabulationibus, omnino abstineant. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 243. k m. par. 1100. the number of the abbot's and convent's visitors was sometimes settled between them. when he was at home all belonged to him; when absent, all who had more than 13 horses, if they were religious or specially invited by the prior. monast. i. 299. (s. edm. de burgo.) whiting of glastonbury entertained 500 persons of fashion at one time; and upon wednesdays and fridays all the poor of the country were relieved by his particular charity. collinson's somers. ii. 256. the prior of durham constantly maintained four old women. davies, &c. the master of the songschool too, had his diet in the prior's hall among the prior's gentlemen. ibid. 1 bernard in dev. vie mon. v. i. p. 226. m du monstier. 504. "qui cum eis arctius fræna teneret, cœpit displicere aliquibus, de quorum numero iv. à fugâ non abstinentes, i. e. being too strict four took disgust and fled. ms. bodl. wood, ii. p. 213. • monast. from memory. p reyn. app. 130, 162. 4 ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. f. 101, a. abbot, abbess. 101 had other modes of vexing the abbot. he had one key of the place where the convent seal was kept, and the two others, or more, were in the hands of fit persons appointed by himself or the convent. this seal could not be applied without consent of the chapter; and a visitor was obliged to order, "that the abbot should diligently exhort and persuade his monks, easily and lovingly, to give consent to expose and bring out the common seal to seal the deeds, which the abbot, with the counsel of the more prudent, thought good to be sealed for the benefit of the house."a commensurate with the power of an abbot, were his privileges. at one time to make knights b-to confer the lesser orders to dispense with irregularities in his monks-to give the benediction any where to consecrate churches and cemeteries, and other ecclesiastical appendagesd-to appoint and depose priors of cells to hold visitations once a year, and if there was a necessity oftener to regulate the reception of nuns in subservient houses, and to give the benediction to subject nuns.b-besides parliamentary honours, they were sponsors to the ut abbas diligenter exhortet et inducat fratres ut facile et diligenter consensum præbeant ad ex. ponendum et perducendum sigillum suum commune, ad sigillandum ea quæ abbas in consilio saniorum domûs pro utilitate et necessitate mon. duxit sigillandum. ms. in the ashmol. mus. 1519, p. 26, a. see too monks and nuns. b hearne's antiq. disc. i. p. 82-90. the bishop of the diocese conferred the greater, as in several bulls of privilege appears; but of this see lyndw. 32. the formula for abbots making clerks is in ms. bodl. barlow, 7. d chronol. augustin. cant. m. paris, 1033. f ibid. in these visitations they received the homage of tenants (monast. i. 299), corrected abuses (id. ii. 940), and enacted statutes for the regulation of their subject nuns and ecclesiastics (ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 369), who then swore fealty, i. e. not to appoint or depose a prior, receive a nun, nor grant or alienate territory. monast. i. 353. accounts were then also taken of the monastic property, dues, &c. ms. harl. 1005. f. 69, b. as to fealty, abbots also made it to one another. see gutch's collectanea curiosa, p. 53. 33 ed. iii. thomas de brownal, abbot of croyland, made to robert de camiley, abbot of peterborough, fealty for lands which he held. ms. harl. 604, f. 3, a. monast. i. 489. m. paris, 1035. children of the blood royal. some of the higher order had the privilege of coining, but that of impressing their own name and effigies was limited (ruding thinks) to archbishops only. bells were rung in honour of them when they passed by churches belonging to them. they rode with hawks on their fists, on mules with gilded bridles, saddles,m and cloths of blood colour," and with immense retinues. the noble children, whom they educated in their private families, served them as pages. they stiled themselves by "divine permission," or the "grace of god," and their subscription was their surnames, and name of the house. they associated with people of the first distinction, and shared the same pleasures with them, being accustomed to visit and dine with them. the abbot of st. alban's usually sat alone at the middle of the table of the great hall, [because the i lodge's illustrations, i. 27. monast. i. 160-5. mitred were not consequently parliamentary abbots, the summons merely depending upon the tenure. cowell, v. mitred abbots. coinage, iv. 163. ed. 2. 1 x script. col. 1920, 1923. the reformation of the clugniacs, a° 1233, forbids their abbots and priors riding without a saddle and crupper. bullarium romanum, v. i. p. 101. "warton's history of english poetry, ii. 330, 395. • m. par. 1101. when abbot whiting went abroad, which he did seldom but to national synods, general chapters, and parliaments, he was attended by upwards of 100 persons. collinson (from sanders) ut supra. p wart. ii. 445. fiddes's wolsey collect. 23. whiting had near 300 pupils (credat judæus), besides others of a meaner rank, whom he fitted for the universities at home. collinson and sanders. 9 morant's colchester, 144. latymer wygorn. is the signature of the prior of worcester, in ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. brit. topogr. ii. 461.-in ms. harl. 913, fol. 8-10, is a song made against the "luxurious abbot and prior of gloucester, in vile latin rhythms on purpose." here are a few stanzas, the whole being in my history of gloucester city: quondam fuit factus festus, et vocatur ad comestus abbas, prior gloucestrensis, cum totâ familiâ. abbas ire sede sursum, et prioris juxta ipsum, ego stavi semper dorsum inter rascabilia. 102 monastic officers. lord's seat was there; strangers of rank sitting above a] where he was served in plate; and when any nobleman, or ambassador, or strangers of eminent quality, came thither, they sat at his table towards the end of it.b like the nobility too, they had their " privy vinum (obliter.) ad prioris et abbatis, nichil nobis paupertatis, sed ad divites omnia. abbas bibit ad prioris, date vinum ad majoris, prosit esse de minoris si se habet gratiâ. hoc est bonum, sie potare et conventui nichil dare, quorsum volunt nos clamare dura in capitulo. the prior then proposes going away for a time. surge, cito recedamus, hos'tes nostros relinquamus, pro termino jam precamus, ibimus in claustra ; post completum† redeamus, &c. dixit abbas ad prioris, tu es homo boni moris, quia semper sanioris mihi das consilia. post completum rediere, ad currinum combibere, potaverunt usque flere, &c. that is, the abbot and prior of gloucester, and suite, were lately invited to share a good treat; the first seat took the abbot, the prior hard by, with the rag, tag, and bobtail below was poor i. [for] wine [for the abbot and prior they call], to us poor devils nothing, but to the rich all. the blustering abbot drinks health to the prior, give wine to my lordship, who am of rank higher; if people below us but wisely behave, they are sure from so doing advantage to have; we'll have all, and leave nought for our brothers to take, for which shocking complaints in the chapter they'll make. says the prior, "my lord, let's be jogging away, and to keep up appearances, now go and pray." "you're a man of good habits, and give good advice," the abbot replies-they return'd in a trice, and then without flinching stuck to it amain, till out of their eyes ran the liquor again. *for hospites-guests. f. + complin, a fine piece of oblique satire, as will appear hereafter. i. e. till the return of day, archæologia, xiii. 321. brit. topogr. ii. 462. see archæol. xiii.p.321. councils" of certain monks, called maturi fratres. in the very old rules, seniors were deputed (as many as twelve in large houses) to assist and advise the abbot; and they were to be men remarkable for probity and science.d their secular tenures introduced them into a variety of incongruous offices, as that of going to war,e though substitutes of knights were mostly sent,for tenure in free alms pretended.g some of them were justices itinerant,h in violation of the rule; and till the dissolution they were employed to collect the dismes, "a shrewde labor " (says the prior of bromholm) "for us a grete cost, a shrewde juparde." this office they commonly shifted off upon one of their monks; and, to prevent malice, they were not to be appointed by any bishop to collect dismes out of the country of their residences."m besides skill in writing and illuminating, and various arts, we find abbots physicians." i apprehend they were in general good agriculturists. thomas lord berkeley in the 13th century, when part of his pupilage was spent, was endowed by his father with the manor of bedminster, near bristol, not only for his expences, but to initiate him in husbandry, where he continued till he married; the abbot and prior of st. augustine's, and the master of st. catherine's hospital, being his instructors and tutors in it." many of the large number of pupils, which whiting, abbot of glastonbury, and others had, might have been sent for the acquisition of similar knowledge, if not intended for the church; for arms and agriculture were in these ages five of the older and healthier canons to be a council to the abbot on business of the house. barrett's brist. 265. du cange, v. discretæ. d du cange, v. seniores monasteriorum. e dodechini append. to m. scot. sub anno 1.110. du cange in v. hostis. f walt. de whittleseye, p. 172. ayloffe in edmondson, i. p. 72. brinkeland in hearne's antiq. disc. i. p. 64. 1 m. paris, 770. * paston letters, iii. 406. m stat. 9 h. v. c. 9. smythe's berkeley's ms. 166. 1 w. thorne, c. 37, § 3. " m. par. 242. 0 abbot, abbess. 103 the chief branches of baronial education. the public dress of an abbot is known to have consisted of the episcopal ornaments of the dalmatic or seamless coat of christ, signifying holy and immaculate piety; of the mitre, emblematic of christ, the head of the church, whose figure bishops bore; of the crosier, or pastoral care; of the gloves, which, because occasionally worn or laid aside, typified the concealment of good works for shunning vanity, and the demonstration of them for edification; of the ring, as christ was the spouse of the church, and scripture mysteries were to be sealed from unbelievers, and revealed to the church:a and of the sandals, because, as the foot was neither covered nor naked, so the gospel should neither be concealed nor rest upon earthly benefits. the mitres appear to have been worn, like those of bishops, though, it is said, the episcopal were gold, the abbatial argent garnished gold, all of them with murrey labels,c a mere distinction of the writer or painter. their parliament robes ["a perlement robe of quite furryd with lettese," says an inventory e] were how ever different from the episcopal, for they wore gowns, hoods, and cassocks.f the inventory adds, "an abbet lynt with quite (white) sattin; a kirtill of white; a quite abbet furred; a blak gown furred with shanks (the shank of a kidde, says minshew, which beareth the fur that we call budge) and a hood. the pastoral crooks (called the staves of justice and mercy ) were sometimes barely curled, sometimes more ornagemma animæ de antiquo ritu missarum, c. 211, 12, 14, 15, 16. b rab. maurus de instit. cleric. l. i. c. 22, p. 574. fiddes's wolsey coll. p. 113. in the ms. coll. of arms cited above, the label is in fol. 28. b. murray; in 34 a. green; in 37 b. or; in 47 b. white. • ms. in mus. ashmol. 1519, p. 142, a. lettice was a white fur, called also lituit. see blome's heraldry, p. 17. fiddes, ut supra. du cange, v. investitura. some were of ivory. id. v. crochia. mented, sometimes like beadles' staves, more like maces than crosiers. in the 9th century we have one very short, like a lituus,h but as there is mention of a choral staff, which they carried in the choir,i perhaps there were two kinds of crosiers; at least one for state only. though the ferula abbatum was a crosier, yet a crosier might not be a ferula, and the wooden pastoral staff, often found in the tombs of abbots, might be the common ferula, distinct from the state crosier,k which would be preserved from value, not buried. the rings worn on various fingers were either of a circular or oval form, and set often with seals of arms and devices, and antique gems. the bull of honorius, respecting the privileges of st. alban's, only allows the abbot to use his pontificals m within his own churches and cells on festival days, and on other times within the house to wear the habit conformable to the rule;" and they did so, though with trifling uncanonical variations. some abbots of evesham clothed themselves from the monks, common chamber.p the foppish prelate who wore the taberd, which the french called canis, despising the common round robe of priests, and had double garments of scarlet, crimson, and party-coloured, scarcely reaching to the knees, and boots without a fold, "like the sign of the leg," is a singular instance." bishops sometimes did not choose to appoint abbesses, but kept the b maillot's costumes, iii. 52, pl. 13, f. 2. du cange, v. baculus choralis. du cange, v. ferula. 1 gough's sepulch. mon, vol. i, introd. cliii. clxxi. o of respect had to revenue in the use of these, see wilk. concil. iii. 142, monast. i. 180. reyn. append. 195, 6. p monast, i. p. 148. 4 or camis, a thin gown. see spens. f. q. b. ii. c. 3. st. xxvi. spreverat in sacerdotibus rotundam communis habitus capam, et taberdam quam gallici canem appellant, induerat: vestes ejus ex scarletâ moretâ variâ duplices erant vix genua contingentes. ocreas habebat in cruribus, quasi innatæ essent, sine plicâ porrectas. ms. bodi. james, no 6, p. 121. the last sentence is in print in tyrwhitt, and johnson and steevens. 104 monastic officers. government in their own hands ; or where there was no competent nun, would commit the temporals to one, and the spirituals to another. abbessess too were deposed by complaint of the nuns; even for inattention to repairs of buildings, a point very strictly impressed upon all governors of religious societies.a abbesses were distinguished by the pastoral staff,b and veil of prelacy conferred at sixty years of age. the dress of an abbess of the twelfth cen. tury consists only of a long white tunic, with close sleeves, probably made of linen, and a black surcoat of equal length with the tunic, the sleeves of the surcoat being large and loose, and the hood drawn up so as to cover the head completely.d elmston abbesses have wimples finely plaited and coming upon the chin, and on one of them it covers the sides of the face like a hood; both have the mantle. the abbess at goring, in the fifteenth century, has very little of the appearance of a religious; her mantle resembles those of lay ladies; her gown is buttoned in front down to the toes; she wears the mitten sleeves buttoned; her headdress is reticulated and studded; and her tresses fall loose upon her shoulders.e we hear of learned abbesses.f in the anglo-saxon æra they attended provincial synods.g the great duty of an abbot was to set the example in the observation of the rule. the abbot of feversham says, "the cheyf office and profession of an abbot [is] (as i have ever taken it) to lyve chaste and solytarilye, to be separate from the intromeddlynge of worldleye thinge, and to serve god quietlye, and to distribute his faculties in refreshing of poore indigent persons, to have a vigilant eigh to good ordre, and rule of his house, and the a angl. sacr. i. 362, 364, 375. ii. 287. eadmer, 142, 3. c lyndw. 202. d strutt's dresses, i. p. 125. e gough's sepulchr. mon. vol. i. introd. clxxxvi. xv. seript. 241. hutchinson's durham, i, 31. reg. bened. c. 65. flock to him commytted in god."i but both the duties and virtues of a good abbot, in an appropriate view, will be amply shown by the following character of william abbot of st. alban's: "whenever he returned from a journey, he had all the poor brought to the gate to receive refection. every day he attended the duties of the chapter and the greater mass; present even on private days, he stimulated the others by his spirited chanting; and on the greater and simple feasts came to vespers, and to complin daily. he assisted indefatigably at mattins of twelve lessons, by reading the lesson, singing the response, beginning te deum, standing with those who stood according to their turns, and animating the whole choir by his example. he was always present mitred in the midst of the choir at the mass of commemoration of the blessed virgin, and on principal feasts always celebrated the mass at the great altar. on the double feasts he held the choir in his mitre, and on other days, standing in his stall, led the band, and sang the whole service with spirit. when the convent was in copes, or albs, he sang his response in the mass, at the nod of the chanter. he always attended the unction of the sick, not far from his stall, about the middle of the choir, and performed the funeral service in his own person. he never professed novice but at the great altar; attended all processions (especially those of sundays), and never anticipated the hour when the convent was wont to eat.k he lent effectual aid to the fabric of the church, and its buildings and ornaments. he studied books, preached in the chapter, and was ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. f. 33. b. k see watt's gl. m. paris, in v. nona, and econ. monast. life, p. 7. samson, abbot of edmundsbury, used to preach english to the people in the norfolk dialect, where he was born and bred, for which purpose he had a pulpit in the church. reyn. append. 143. in the receipts, &c. of the priory of huntingdon : "item, for our master's costes in huntingdon 2 sondays in lenton after the sermons to drinke with the parishioners." nichols's manners and expenses of antient times, p. 292. of this elsewhere. abbot, abbess. 105 kind to the writers and their masters. both in doubtful ordinances of the rule, and in divine services, he took the previous advice of his convent, and even instructed the old, and removed their doubts. he was always the first speaker upon arduous business, and an efficacious assistant respecting the wine, and other matters concerning him; and he was either the donor of it, or a brisk and faithful principal agent of procuring it.a this abbot was plainly a monk in se; but in most others, monachism was the mere graft of a profession upon a common man, as will appear from their vices, detailed in the inquiries which the visitors of henry viii. were appointed to make. to prevent the effects of commiseration in the public mind, every article was insidiously contrived to have its existence in fact, or to imply the breach of a canon. the inquiries were,-whether the abbot fulfilled the injunctions of the last visitation whether lawfully electwhether simoniacally-whether born in wedlock-whether of sufficient literature to instruct the brethrenwhether of good living and famewhether he had the companie of any suspect person, and what woman was most in his companie-what was his character in the neighbourhood b whether he preached the word of god sincerely at the time and places convenient-whether he came to divine service daily and nightly, as bound to do-whether he caused the statutes of the house to be declared to the brethren -whether he himself kept them-whether he looked into their being kept by others -whether of a et dator, vel principalis auctor alacer et devotus. m. paris, 1064. he provided it for feasts. id. 1008. in ms. harl. 913, f. 4. b. ms. ashmol. 1519, fol. 28. ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. are numerous passages concerning the debauchery of abbots, but omitted here on account of their indelicacy. the abbot of fountains is described thus by the visitors; "pleas it your mastershippe to understand, that the abbot of fontans hath so gretely dilapidated his howse, wasted the woddys, defamed à toto populo, &c." f. 114. ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. prelates were remarkably negligeat. reyn. append. 195. temporal wisdom and prudence whether he spent the revenues of the house ydelly, or in vaine, as in dysing,e huntinge,ftaverne haunting, promoting his kynne, purchasing lands, costly bancketing, kepyng many ydell servaunts, riding furthe to oft to the in courtliness, prodigality, or liberality. reyn. append. 168. there was a bull at st. aug. canterb. that they should not be compelled to pay debts, unless contracted for the use of the house. chron. august. cant. "as for the abbot of bury, we found nothing suspect as touching his living, but it was detected that he laye moche forth in his granges; that he delited moche in playing at dice and cards, and therein spent moche money, and in buylding for his pleasure; he did not preache openly. also that he converted divers farmes into copyholds, whereof poor men doth complayne. also he seemeth to be addict to suche suspicious ceremonies, as hathe been used heretofore." cotton. ms. ut supra, 120, b. at s. august. cant. the monks obtained a bull, that the abbot should not devote the revenues of the sacrist and almonry elsewhere without the knowledge of the chapter. chron. aug. cant. similar restrictions attended the kitchen (see § cook); for there are complaints of insufficient bread, not of corn or other grain;"" de pane insufficienti, non de frumento et aliis granis." ms. ashmol. mus. 1519, 126. 66 e the abbot of welbeck is accused of spending the whole day and night in games "tabularum et aliorum ludorum," draughts, and other sports. ms. ashmol. mus. 1519, 286. "tesseras quatere," (to shake the dice) says malmsbury of the norman monks, 118. f 30 edw. i. an agreement was made between lord berkeley and the abbot of kingswoode, that the latter should not hunt, nor bring bows, arrows, cross-bows, nor other engines, or dogs, on the manor of wotton. smith's lives of the berkeley family, ms. 210. the furniture of a prior's manor is described to have consisted of carpenter's and agriculturer's tools, partridge and lark nets, purses with counters,* a glass of steel gilt, and fox nets with bellis to take foxes. ms. harl. 604, fol. 104, a. william de clowne, abbot of leicester, who died 1377, was so intimate with the king, that he asked permission in jest to have fairs for buying and selling greyhounds and dogs of any kind. the king, thinking him in earnest, granted his request, but the abbot was unwilling to urge it. in hare-hunting he was the most famous of all the noblity; so that the king himself, his son edward, and many noblemen, were retained to hunt with him under an annual pension. knighton, col. 2631. hunting was a science. dallaway's herald. inq. 161. see § monks and nuns. the foundation-charter of waltham orders that no relative of the abbot shall have the stewardship or other office. monast. ii. 15. v. mantissæ. * which the monks used to cast accounts with. see pinkerton and snelling. 106 monastic officers. graunges, manors, &c."awhether there were dilapidations—whether hospitality was kept, especially to the poore, or els for pompe, pride, and mayntenaunce of his own will-whether he kept up the doles and anniversaries-whether he kept a reckoning of his administration dwhether he had sold or alienated the conventual property.e (other items to a like purport). whether he was sober and modest of his wordes and conversation,f as well towards the brethren as without —whether he had punished or menaced any of his brethren for denouncing or proffering to denounce any thing against him b-whether he had made a covenant with any of his brethren to conceal any fault in him i-whether he kept a schoolmaster for the novices, &c.k-whether he found of the breth― "the general chapter held at northampt. 1225, and 1444, allows them to be absent only for three months; and wolsey's decretals for the augustinians but for one. reyn. append. 116, 17, 19, and 167. monast. ii. 568. b"reædificet claustrum suum," let him rebuild his cloister. ms. ashmol. mus. 1519, p. 33, 34, et passim. see almonry. d he was not bound to this if his revenues were separate from the conventual. lyndw. 204. h. abbot of buildewas, finding his mother distressed with a large family, granted a certain relative" a certain service, with livery and wages for his life." monast. ii. 915. f sub quo mundi climate, sub quo mundi signo, est abbas vel pontifex pectore benigno. under what climate of the world or zone, are priests or abbots with kind bosoms known. ms. harl. 978. see too § cells and chapter. < piers ploughman says of a religious : and but if hys knave knele that shal hys cope brynge he loured on him, and ask who taught him curtesie. f. 50. ed. crowley, 2d of 3, 2d ed. h thus ms. harl. 913, f. 10. tunc exinde tu cavebis, malum loqui sic tacebis, prælatorem non spernebis. juxta tuum regulam. see § prison. i. e. and if i tell any tales they taken hem together, and do me fast fridayes to bred and to water. piers plowm. fol. xxiii. juramentis si qua de tacendâ veritate abbas extorserit relaxatis (the oaths which the abbot may have extorted to conceal the truth being dissolved.) ms. bibl. reg. 8, f. ix. (no pages.) ut juniores insequantur grammaticam satis ; that the younger may sufficiently follow their grammar. ms. ashmol. mus. 1519, p. 37, a. see cap. monks and nuns, § ignorance. ren at the university-whether there be any vertues of holy write kepte or observed in this house, and whether ther ought any such to bee by the fundacion, ordinaunce, or custom of this house whether he provided sufficient necessaries for the house and sickwhether he took any novices for money, friendship, affection, before sufficient age, or enticed or compelled them against their free willm-whether he distributed offices for money, friendship, or favour -whether he made the officers give in accounts yearly and quarterly — whether there was any faire, market, or pedler's shop, kept within the precincts of the house," or at the church door on sundays or holidays by his sufferance p-whether the doors were shut, and the keys brought to him every night — how much money he spent at his table and chamber.r — m. paris gives regularly the faults of each abbot of st. alban's. wulsig, the third abbot, changed his dress both in shape and colour; used silk ones; hunted much; was choice in his table; courted the favour of great persons'; invited vast numbers of women of rank to dine with him in the house; married his female relatives to great persons at much expence, and enriched others with the conventual property. wulnoth, the fourth, besides hunting, spent much upon jesters and similar persons. [there is a civil law ms. in pembroke college library, oxon, which mentions abbots spending half their incomes upon players and prostitutes.] eadfrith, the fifth, was always in his chamber, seldom in the cloister, never in the choir. paul, the fourteenth, was careless of the conventual property, and, as did his 1 see § novices. m see id. " see § obedientiaries. • see parlour. p trades were not to be carried on in the churches, unless at fair-times. m. par. 1096. the monks were very fond of fairs, see id. 724, and kept shops at them. wart. hist. engl. poetry, p. 280. i. fuller's ch. hist. § vi. p. 291. the prior, or other officer, had them, as will appear by and by. ms. harl. 791, f. 18, 19, v. mantissæ. abbot, 107 abbess. rosuccessor, enriched his kindred with it. geffrey, the sixteenth, besides neglecting and alienating it, portioned his sister with one of the manors. ralph, the sevententh, besides carelessness of the conventual property, persecuted his prior with inexorable hatred. bert, the eighteenth, alienated part of the estates without consent of the convent, and wheedled the latter into the grant of others. symon, the nineteenth, ran his convent into debt; and cut down the woods to enrich his relatives. robert, the twentieth, followed his own will exclusively; persecuted and dispersed for this purpose the senior part of the convent; exalted the novices; relaxed the rule to gain favour with the effeminate; and cut down the woods, for which purpose he had an office, where twenty timber-merchants were more or less every saturday in the habits of coming to deal; and this money was raised, not for erecting edifices for the convent, but to gain favour with the king and queen by presents, and to spend lavishly. those who blamed him he sent to remote cells. john, the twenty-first, sent the monks obnoxious to him from cell to cell, or rather, during his infirmity, his parasites in his name; and enriched his relatives with the ecclesiastical property. william, the twenty-second, was complained of for associating with seculars in preference to his monks. besides these, they used to turn out the divines the bishops had settled in churches, and employ the monks on out-door business.b a the inquiries concerning abbesses, omitting the items similar to those of abbots, were, whether she saw divine service duly performed: whether all ornaments and necessaries appertaining thereto were duly kept and repairsim. dunelm. 253. præcipimus fratribus tam senioribus quam junioribus quod ad exteriora officia non deputentur. we order that neither seniors nor juniors be sent on out-door offices. ms. ashm. 1519, f. 65, b. see too chaucer in the shipman's tale. to do divine service duly nythe and daye. injunct. to the nuns of st. helen's. monast. ii. 895. ed-whether the ladies resorted to divine service at the proper seasonswhether she taught her sisters the rule-whether she overlooked them, and set them to work in some honest exercise, and hearing the divine services-whether she punished and corrected them charitably and impartially d -whether there was convenient kepyng and sustentacion for the sick e whether suspected of incontinency, and with whom-whether used to lye at the grange, or to walk abroad, and with what company-whether she found any auncyent, sadd, and vertuous woman, as mistress of the novices f--whether the word of god was preached to the sisters, and how often in the year-whether the confessor or chaplain did his duty, and how many of them there were g دو 66 it seems that abbots of piety, while in their last sickness, used to be carried into the chapter to receive disciplines, or to absolve and be absolved by the monks h in the following form: "wherefore i seek absolution from you, as much as appertains to you, and benediction, and i absolve you from obedience to me, and give you my benediction." the last abbot of pershore appears only as a simple monk upon his tomb, perhaps from this voluntary humiliation.k abbot's officers, and offices. the office of the chaplain was, it seems, to receive at the bowcer's hands all such sums of money as were paysee nuns, § quarrelling. also we enjoyne you, prioresse, that ye kepe yowre dortour, and lye therein by nythe, &c. monast. ii. 895.; and again "to ordeyne a convenient place of furmarye, where the seeke sustres might be honestly kepte and relieved." ibid. a good teacher of the sustres to be kept. ibid. ms. harl. 791, f. 20, b. w. malmsb. m. paris, &c. 1 quamobrem peto à vobis absolucionem, quantum ad vos pertinet, et benedictionem, et ego vos absolvo à curâ mea, et do vobis benedictionem meam. ms. bodl. fairfax, 17, § lamentatio gervasii abbatis. of their burials, see § infirmary. *gough's sepulchr. monum. introd. i. clv. 108 monastic officers. able by him to the lord prior's use for his maintenance, the expence of his whole household, and other necessaries. he was to provide apparel for the lord prior, and to see all things in good order in the hall, and the furni ture for his table to be sweet and clean; and that every man executed his office diligently as he ought to do; and that no debate or strife should be within the house. he had in his custody all the lord prior's plate and treasure, as well for delivering it out, as receiving it again. he was also to discharge and pay all the gentlemen, yeomen, and all other the servants and officers of the lord prior's house their wages, and to discharge all other debts of the house whatsoever. his chamber was adjoining to the prior's chamber: for he never slept in the dormitory, but in the absence of the abbot; of whom, as stated above, he was to be a constant spy. part of the service in the abbot's chamber at midnight was said by the chaplains by heart, without a candle, a small lamp only shining through a glass window." he was to attend to every conventual service when unoccupied, as well as to take his turn in the weekly service of the mass." principal chaplain, from carrying the abbot's seal, was called portitor sigilli. if the abbot had two chaplains, to comply with the constitution, which, that he might have more witnesses of his good life in case of scandal, enjoined an annual change of them, he needed only change one; and where the abbey was not exempt, the bishop could make the requisite change for a reasonable cause.f his privilege of sleeping out of the dorter was not peculiar to him; for, says a complaint, "ther be certeyn officers, brodurs of the howse, whiche have all way be attendant upon the abbot, as a davies, &c. b m. par. 1042. the c capellani abbatis debent ebdomadarii ecclesiæ, et omni servitio conventûs, cum expediti fuerint interesse, abbate absente in dormitorio jacere. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. 184, a. d m. paris. f lyndw. 206. reyn. app. 117. his chaplyn, steward, celerer, and on or two officers more, if they shulde be bounde to the first two articles (dining in the miserecord, and sleeping in the dormitory), it shulde much disappoynt the order of the house." a council of paris, held in 1212, ordered abbots not to have irreligious chaplains. the chaplains were also called monitores, because they informed the abbot of every thing done by the monks.i at abingdon there were two monks to ease the abbot, the proctor and curiarius.k the former was to manage his revenues. the latter was to have the whole care of the house, and always admit visitors, whose arrival was to be announced to him by the porter, according to the difference of their rank. he was also to pay particular attention to the parents of the monks (who were to announce their arrival to him only), coming from other parts. because the care of souls was a superior object to all temporal concerns,m the council of mentz forbad abbots to appear in secular causes without the consent of the bishop, and enjoined them to appoint advocates or agents, an office which several canons permitted a religious person, with the consent of his abbot, to undertake." accordingly we find them appointing their monks attorneys. several statutes exist, allowing the privilege of appointing attorneys to abbots, and also their credentials.¶ ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. f. 39. h c. iv. apud labbe. i du cange, v. bajulus. k ms. cott. claud, b. vi. f. 187, b. 1 curiario incumbit ut curam totius curiæ agat, hospites admittat usque secundum personarum differentias, in adventu hospitis janitor indicabit curiario. parentibus monachorum aliunde venientibus summa cura à curiario impendetur. et parentum adventus per monachos ei et non alteri indicabitur. id. 187, b. 188, b. m bened. reg. 24. • x. script. col. 2078. " dev. vie mon. ii. 47, 8. p 9 h. vi. c. 10. 15 h. vi. c. 7. 9 attornatum nostrum ad sectas hundredi tui pro nobis faciendas. alberto de d. domino senescallo et ballivis hundredi, &c. ms. harl. 209. fol. 11; but it seems, that the abbot's consent was not alone sufficient. faciet abbas attornatum in prædictâ loquelâ quemcunque voluerit coram aliquo qui ad hoc habeat potestatem per breve regis. rot. parl. 6 ed. i. no. 34. vol. i. abbot, abbess. 109 the meaner officers appear to have been the barber, who had 108. per yere wages; the cook, who used to ride sometime before them, when on journeys, to prepare refreshment for them, and was allowed a horse; the porters at different gates ;d and doubtless others for other necessities; for it seems, that their number was so great, that the houses, after their decease, were burdened with an indefinite expence, on account of their wages, on which account it was enacted that they should receive fixed and annual stipends.e though we hear of abbots going out to sport with servants, carrying bows and arrows, yet while the attendants of laymen carried bugles, it was deemed indecent for an abbot's servant to blow a horn, however common. the great hall, which was ascended by numerous steps, was at st. alban's adorned with tapestry,h at gloucester with portraits of the kings of england in fresco ; and the furniture of such a place appears to have consisted of four fixed tables, four forms, one table with two tressels at the high bench, a cupboard, a chair, a chaffer.k the study, or library, was adorned with curious. painted imageries and divers inscriptions.1 there was a gallery, chapel, and another; a fish-house for dry and salted fish; a brew-house, and kitcha nichols, ut sup. 288. b m. par. 1032. e monast. i. d davies, &c. e cap. 7. p. gen. northampt. a 1225. angl. sacr. i. 511. rous, p. 64. du cange, v. coreizare. i dallaway's herald. inq. 116. k steevens's monast. i. 487. ¹ chauncey's hertfortshire, 445. en.m their chapels were not only for prayer, but celebration ;n and matthew paris mentions an abbot sleeping in his chamber with his chaplains, while the monks were at mattins, and the chaplains awaking to perform divine service; but the chapel and oratory were distinct apartments, the latter being an annexation.p it is well known that the nobility had what were called secret houses, whither they retired at certain seasons to religious privacy, and declined society; in like manner wulstan had an oratory between his hall and private house, known only to his domesticks, where he secluded himself, especially in lent, from morning after mass, till dinner, or the time of the hours. gundulf had a little oratory attached to each of his manerial habitations, where his chamberlain used to put his prayer-book for his religious exercises, during the interval between mass and the hours.s ethelwulf, speaking of an abbot of lindisfarn, says, that while the monks were asleep at night, he was singing psalms and hymns.t at canterbury, over the prior's chapel, was a library for the use of the studious; and next to his chamberwas a tower called the prior's study, it being the fashion to study in towers." abbesses had a maid, besides assistant nuns, called discreta.y m steevens's monasticon, i. 448. " lyndw. 234. p. 1042. sacr. i. 148. sacr. ii. 262. odare. * id. i. 364. p angl. r angl. see § church. 4 paston letters, &c. • id. 282. "angl. sacr. i. 145. y du cange. du cange, v. 110 monastic officers. chapter viii. obedientiaries. these were all officers under the abbot; to be appointed to which, interest was made, to a great degree, as well as to be kept in them, and have out-door employment;a and they were often conferred by the abbot for favour or money. the consequence was, that very unfit persons were appointed; for, says nigell. wireker, istud contingit in religione frequenter, quod major servit, proficiturque minor, digna sub indignis vivunt; quod rosa saluncis lilia sub tribulis. spec. stultor. ms. cott. tit. a. 20. this evil too oft in religion we have, the worse is a ruler, the better a slavethe worthy to unworthy subject ; as grow the rose and the lily wild brambles below. walter mapes says, "that the monks were parasites and flatterers of the abbot, soothing his ears with honied words, deceiving those above them with cunning, making presents to their inferiors, and granting every thing the abbot asked, however impossible; such men, he says, in whose hearts were found deceit and guile, with honey in their mouths, were the persons who were chosen to offices. they pretended to be simple and modest in the eyes of their brethren, till they gained their purpose, and then it was 'hold your tongues, wretches,' to the monks, you know nothing; we will govern the house; to which harsh language they were in the habits of contemptuously adding thee and thou. without doubt, continues walter mapes, some of the brothers are prudent, modest, and moral, but find no favour with the abbot, because they cannot flatter.d a cap. gen. northampt. aº 1444. c. v. b cap. gen. northampt. a° 1225. m. par. 1096. cap. g. north. a° 1444. c. x. de novitiis. d en adulatio plena fallaciis, nares prælati lambentes ambiunt, verbis et mellitis aures reficiunt, procaci superos fallunt hastucia. inferioribus præbent munuscula, among the nuns it was enjoined that "no sisters be admitted to any office, unless of good fame."e it is not to be admired that the monks were so ambitious of office; for, says an old song: altera præpositis, altera regula nobis : nos infelices vini nescimus odorem, præpositi vinum, nos digeramus acetum; nos extra claustrum prohibemur figere gressum, et dominis cameræ licet ad sua tecta redire; fit rogus in medio, celebrantur et orgia baccho, siccantur cuppæ, spumanti nectare plena. ms. cott. vitell. a. xii. 129. a. one law for our rulers, another for usto us wretches the smell ev'n of wine is unknown, the vinegar's ours-the wine all their ownnot a peg from the cloister must we dare to roam, while the lords of a dwelling withdraw to their home. to a smoking good fire then sit themselves down, and with nectar of heaven their blest moments crown. it seems, "that they were dishonest persons, who were guilty, to a barefaced degree, of illicit and fraudulent practices; exercised prohibited and unjust trades; oppressed people with violence or unfair exactions, or made their servants do so; frequented taverns and other indecorous places; had the company of women in private places, and to eat and drink with them in chambers within the precincts of their monastery or priory, and carried bows, swords, and arms; took persons in, in buying and selling; borrowed money (for which abuse they were limited to abbas si proferet impossibilia blandis sermonibus concedunt omnia. cor dolo plenum est; os profert dulcia, jacent in animo fraus et fallacia, hi tales digni sunt obedientiâ. fingunt se simplices fratrum conspectibus, set mutant animum susceptis clavibus, "tacete miseri" dicunt claustralibus, vos nichil sapitis-nos domum regemusset procul dubio quidam de fratribus, prudentes, simplices, ornati moribus, omnia non vacant adulationibus, non habent gratiam coram pastoribus. ms. cott. vespas. a. xviii. 168, b. 169. a. and tit. a. 20. 161, • monast. ii. 895. obedientiaries. 111 100s.); pretended to be engaged in offices, when it was their duty to attend in the church; kept a vast number of servants, and rode out to the manors, and staid there when they liked without a companion,a obtained letters of confirmation not to be removed, and offices or profession in many houses.b the inquiries of the visitors respecting them were, "how many officers, and what their portion-how many tables kept or ought to be kept-what allowed to each of the officers for this purpose -whether any of the said officers be in debt or arrears-whether they give in accounts yearly, or quarterly, as bound to do whether they have spent or pawned any jewels, plate, &c. belonging to their offices-how many of them • precipimus ut semper se honeste habeant, præsertim in conspectu populi, ab illicitis et dolosis contractionibus omnino abstineant; mercimonia prohibita vel inhonesta non exerceant. nullum vi aut injustis exactionibus opprimant, seu a ministris operam faciant; tabernas vel alia loca inhonesta intrare non præsumant; consortia mulierum in omni loco penitus evitent, in cameris, vel locis privatis infra septa monasterii vel prioratus non comedant vel bibant. inhibemus et ipsis obedientiariis et quibuscumque aliis fratribus nostris ne arcum (see lysons's env. lond. i. 343,) gladium (see fuller's ch. hist. b. vi. 285.) seu quæcumque arma ubique sine nostrâ speciali licentiâ tenere præsumant. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 245. a. in empcionibus aut vendicionibus et aliis contractibus nullum studeant decipere. nullusque obedientiarius nostri monasterii cujuscumque fuerit status, pecuniam ultra summam centum solidorum absque nostrâ spec. licent. mutuo recipere præsumat. ibid. quia monachi-quibus officia forinseca et intrinseca committuntur, fingunt, cum possent et debent in choro divinis officiis interesse, in officiis forinsecis et commissis multociens occupari. ms. harl. 328. p. 5. b. thus too among the nuns. "thus done oft tymes suche remowers about, yat mow not long rest in the silence of the cloister, and in comune praieries of the quere, but they starte aboute from one office to another, and whan the belle ringith to houres than thei begynne first to occupy them in her offices." ms. bodl. laud. d. 52. alii preterea provecciores, certis officiis deputati, ad maneria et loca alia equitant quum placet, ibidem manentes nullo commonacho itineris in socium assignato. familiares questumque quos monachi officiarii et alii, in numero excessivo retinent. ms. harl. 328. p. 5. p. 10. m. paris, 1096, 8, cap. g. northampt. a 1444. c. v. are removable-how many not-whether they rode forth over-sumptuously with a grete number of men and horses -whether they lye in granges abroad very oft at will, and indulge in banquetting, and women resorte to them?"c when they were extremely sick, they were to give in their accounts and resign, because if they died unexpectedly, the monks used to steal the ecclesiastical property. they were not excused from collation and complin, but from imperious necessity, and then with the abbot's leave. certain constitutions ordered them not to give or receive any thing without leave of the superior-denounced frauds on the conventual property-the false imposition of crimes upon others-confederacy to overthrow emendatory statutes -private persecution from hatred or ambition, and personal property.f they were bound to find the students going to oxford their travelling money, and lend them their horses, which animals they kept, it seems, beyond what was necessary for office. the subordinate officers among the clugniacs were only persons sent from abroad to collect money.i the priors of cells, and chief officers, were called master obedientiaries.k the monks observed sometimes a gradation in their promotions, with a view to the improvement of the officer.1 c ms. harl. 791, f. 21. d cap. north. ut sup. the abbot might restore them, when well. ibid. e m. par. 1095. f id. 1096. g c. north. a° 1444. c. v. h nec aliquis obedientiarius equum in stabulo teneat, ni eum pro administratione sui officii equum habere oporteat. ms. cott. jul. d. 2. p. 160. i reyn. append. 147.-certain of these officers were allowed gloves and christmas stockings. isti debent habere glove-silver contra autumpnum, prior, hostilarius exterior, &c. isti debent habere christmesse stockes contra natale domini, wellelmus le wodward, &c. ms. harl. 1005, p. 53. they also invited friends to dinner. w. thorne, c. 36, sect. 1, div. 3. angl. sacr. i. 753. ibid. ii. 246. 112 monastic officers. chapter ix. prior. in the rule of pachomius, a disputation (i. e. scriptural lecture) is orderd to be made three times a week by the præpositi domorum,a for every monastery of the east had patres or abbots, stewards, hebdomadaries, ministers, and præpositi domorum, or governors of houses, because those large abbeys consisted of numerous houses, each containing 30 or 40 monks, under one of these præpositi; and from these præpositi descended the prior and sub-prior (secundus in the rule of pachomius) terms only known from the pontificate of celestine the fifth,b ao 1294. this officer was next only to the abbot, and had the first place in the choir, chapter, and refectory. he was censed after the abbot, could depose malversant officers, and could call at pleasure a chapter of the servants, and punish delinquents. he had a chaplain, two servants, two palfreys, a baggage-horse, and two others, at edmondsbury.d at st. alban's, says m. paris, they were provided by the convent with an apartment, horses, retinue, and equipage.e the greater prior represented the abbot, and performed all his offices, except making or deposing obedientiaries, and consecrating novices. whether the abbot was present, or absent, he struck the cymbalum, beat the table for work, and monitum in the dormitory, as well as corrected the faults of the readers in the church and chapter. the claustral prior was his vicar, and remained always in the cloister.f du cange, v. disputatio. b du cange, v. præpositus. prior. • decr. lanfr. sect. de priore. d ad stabulum prioris habet prior quinque equos, vid. prioris capellanus duos palefridos et summarium, qui est tertius. item duobus armigeris duos equos. lib. alb. edm. de burgo. ms. harl. 1005, fol. 44. m. paris, 1094, 1144. f du cange, v. prior. his privileges and offices at abingdon were these:* he had one man, *ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 179, 189, seq. prior habebit unum hominem, ad corrodium in aulâ, et præbendam ad unum equum. licitum est priori equos habere, sed abbas eosdem equos in negotiis suis potuit accipere. soli priori licet in scola puerorum sedere, per scolam transire, lectionem audire, capitulum tenere, et eos cædere exceptâ magistrorum admissione. licet priori omnibus horis canonicis sedere. priore capitulum intrante omnes in supremo gradu stantes, sine inclinatione ei assurgent, priusquam sedit nullus sedebit. si abbas in transmarinis, vel in nimium remotis partibus fuerit, prior secundum modum culpæ extendet disciplinam in carcere, vel in gravioribus culpis, exceptâ ecclesiæ suæ quantulâcumque abalienatione, et caputii abscissione. quando ecclesia pastore vacaverit licet priori aliquem monachari. licet priori cuilibet maturo moribus licentiam dare uno die ire eodemque redire, et instantiâ necessitatis transigere spatium unius noctis. prior nusquam proficiscetur sine uno vel duobus monachis. licet priori ad consistorium sedenti cellerario semel vel bis ciphum pro impletione mittere, nec cellerarius renuere debet. si prior in ordine suo discubuerit unus puerorum sibi ministrabit. non priori, nec alii alicui in ordine suo sedenti, licet ciphum cum operculo. si clerici vel laici in refectorio discubuerint ob consolationem eorum prior remanebit. prior post conventum cum clericis vel laicis remanens, quos de conventu, unum, vel duos, vel tres evocare voluerit, vocabit. prior ad hostium claustri apponet caputium capiti, idemptidem omnes alii. sicque prior, et omnes alii à processione non declinaturi procedent usque ad dormitorium, quo secessum naturæ sunt petituri. in reditu suo prior ante lectum suum morose sedebit, donec major pars conventus discubuerit. prior primo faciet scrutinium ad locutorium hospitum; si hospites defuerint, nisi gratiam monachis quos ibi inveniet conferre voluerit, ostia obserabit. si hospites præsentes fuerint, cum clavibus pertransibit ad monasterium, et in choro, et in circuitu chori, et si hostia hæc aut illa reserata fuerint, ut videat quid agatur, faciat scrutinium postmodum ad locutorium, &c. si aliqui de claustriloquio egrediuntur ut in loquutorio loquantur, magna est ordinis transgressio; ne aliquo ingruente negocio, si claustriloquio defuerunt quam plurimi, licet exploratori eos prosequi. exploratori incumbit explorationem facere, quociens viderit expedire. abbate, vel priore, in claustro præsente, si subprior, vel tertius prior, in locutorio loquuntur, nec ipsi exploratori verbo indicaverint, aut signo significaverint, se liceat loqui, clamabunt. si priori in loquutorio loquatur explorator eo viro pertransibit, sic sub-prior et tertius prior, nec illi qui cum illo sunt, clamabuntur. ac exploratori explorationem facienti licet signa facere; sed nusquam si aliquis priorum præsens fuerit sine licentiâ loqui. prior prior. 113 who had a corrody in the hall, and maintenance for a horse. he was also allowed horses, but the abbot might take them for his own business. only could sit in the school of the he qui in ordine erit, si in locutorio loquatur, licet exploratori signum non fuerit, non clamabitur. prior debet cum primis primus esse, cum ultimis ultimus, &c. in tabula positus ministrabit. in festis quæ celebrantur in cappis, si prior terciam cantaverit, post terciam cantatam stolâ amotâ, si processio fuerit, cappam induet, et in ordine suo incedet. licet priori ad matutinas, si in choro fuerit, alium rogare de officio suo vice suâ ministrare. ubivis prior venerit in loquutorio, vel promptuario, vel ubi licitum fuit monacho loqui, omnes assurgent ei, etiam collaterales abbati. priore in choro præsente, nulli licet inter eum in formam transire. prior pro voto suo clamorem in præsentiam abbatis differret, sed interventu conventus prior potuit reclamare commissum secundum modum culpæ per se emendare. priori licet monachum sententiæ subdere se à cibo potuque abstinentiam, lanternam, custodiam, ultimamque positionem, ignorante abbate; sed sententiæ carceris, vel gravioris culpæ, nullum potuit subjicere abbate domi præsidente, sed res referetur ad abbatem, et pro voto suo frater illæ sententiæ subdetur. abbate præsente prior potest competenter clamari. abbate peregre profecto, &c. non licet priori, nisi ad succurrendum aliquem in monachatum admittere; nisi pro magno commodo ecclesiæ. priore in locutorio, vel alibi scrutinium faciente, omnes loquentes assurgent, et dicent, quod se ipsius licentiâ loqui.-prior in ordine suo sedens, si sonum fecerit, vel potum fudit ad prandium, puer ei ministrans, ne aliquid malum impu. nitum videtur, pro illâ offensâ ante consistorium veniam accipiet. si prior cum servitoribus discubuerit in ordine suo, cum illo quem secum discumbere voluerit, discumbet, nec licentiam discumbendi à sedente ad consistorium accipiet. quociens aliquis abbas ad prandium sederit ad consistorium, si dies jejunii fuerit, per vesperas ad potum prior si præsens fuerit in refectorio pulsabit signum. prior pro voto suo ante lectum suum morabitur; postmodum de dormitorio egredietur, quo egresso donec servitores discubuerint quo voluntas eum direxit ibit. post servitorum refectionem prior faciet explorationem, et ostia loquutoriorum obserabit. postmodum gratiâ et licentia prioris de meridianâ remanebunt, cum priori ipsi; et omnes alii ad meridianam ibunt. si hospites cum servitoribus discubuerint, graciâ prioris per refectionem sine excessu; et minuti etiam remanebunt. prior si expeditus fuerit ad completorium erit. prior post completorium scrutinium faciet cum lucis appositione, et in æstate et in hieme lucubrum feret. item quociens fuerit necesse lucubrum feret cum lucis appositione.-priore absente ad lectum prioris qui fuerit in ordine. hoc tantum licet prioribus post completorium, identidem ad meridianam. si prior morbo laboraverit in infirmitorio recumbet et discumbet ex consuetudine set alibi gratiâ. intuitu enim auctoritatis ipsius ipsi est condescendum, et ab omnibus deferendum. si prior infirmatus, aliquis minister notus et in ecclesiâ educatus pro voto suo, præter ministros infirmitorii priori novices, pass through the school, hear their lessons, hold a chapter of them, and beat them, but could not appoint the masters. he could sit at all the canonical hours, [his stall was at the entrance of the choir, opposite the abbot's.] when he entered the chapter, the monks standing on the upper step, rose to him without bowing, and idid not sit down before him. when the abbot was abroad, or very far off, the prior, according to the fault, could extend the discipline to the prison, or greater punishment, amoval from the church and deprivation excepted. when the abbacy was vacant, he could profess monks. he could give licence to any monk of good character to go out and return on the same day; and, upon the pressure of necessity, to exceed the space of a night. he could go nowhere without one or two monks; the abbot found him his expences, and licence was not to be denied him. when he sat at the table he could send his cup to the cellarer to be filled once or twice, and that officer was not to deny him. when he sat professedly in office, one of the novices was to attend him. he was not allowed, nor any other, to have a cup with a cover. if clerks, or laymen, dined in the refectory, he was to stay for the sake of the company, and to ask two or three of the monks to do so besides, those ministrabit. omnia enim respicienda ad ordinem debent referre ad priorem et disponi qui fuerit in ordine. f. 192 a. ad potum per vesperas cum prior vidit conventum competenter transisse, semel cum manu percutiet tintinnabulum, et post illum ictum nullus præsumat intrare ad potum. postmodum prior sollicite circumspiciat, ut videat conventum perbibisse, et ciphos reposuisse. deinde trina percussione in tintinnabulo factâ de consistorio se eriget, et ante tercium ictum nullus de tabulâ surget, sed post tercium ictum omnes. identidem fiet ad potum post collationem, et ad potum post nonam, benedictione dictâ, antequam aliquis præsumat bibere, semel debet tintinnabulum tangere, et postmodum omnes licenter potum haurire. si quis fratrum abbatis præcepto sententiæ cibi aut potus subditus per biduum, vel triduum, aut per majus spacium, prior, si ad consistorium discubuerit, illum fratrem illo die pro voto suo à sententiâ relaxabit, postero die frater ille sententiam reiterabit, et à sententiâ non relaxabitur, donec in capitulo absolvatur, ut sententia compleatur, f. 192 b. suppidaneis. dec. lanfr. i 114 monastic officers. whom he chose. after complin, he was to put his hood on at the gate of the cloister, as were all the others; and thus they were to proceed in procession to the dormitory; the prior sitting upon his bed some time, till the greater part of the house were in bed. he was to make his search first at the guests' parlour; if there were none, unless he wished to oblige the monks, whom he found there, he was to lock the doors. if there were visitors, he was to pass by with the keys to the church, to see what was done in the choir and circuit of it; and if such and such gates were unlocked; and afterwards make a search at the locutory. if any left the cloister-conversation to talk in the parlour, it was a great breach of the order; if in urgent business there were but few at the cloister-conversation, the searcher might follow them. it was the duty of the explorator to make a search whenever it seemed proper. when the abbot or prior was present in the cloister, if the sub-prior or third prior were talking in the cloister, and did not suggest to the explorator,b by a word, the egyptian monks had an officer, similar to the circa, or circator, who went round the cells of the monks silently, and listened outside for the detection of abuses. du cange, v. circa. in the anglo-saxon and norman institutes, there was a peculiar officer, called the circa, or circuitor. his duty was to search the whole house, and to proclaim the abuses in the chapter of the next day; to which also he was to bring any books or vestments he found in the cloister, and to put the lantern before a monk who was asleep during the lesson; which monk, when awake, was to beg pardon kneeling, take the lantern, and go round the choir. in the norman æra (just before mattins was his proper time for scrutiny), he was never to speak, but make a complaint in the chapter of the next day. those whom he found sleeping in the dormitory, he just made a sound sufficient to awake. his complaints were made first in the chapter, after the veniæ, or voluntary solicitations of pardon for offences. the gilbertine nuns had also scrutatrices. the duties of the circa or circator, were to go round the house at the hours when the monks were engaged in reading; to the officer, to notice the abuses of the laybrothers; to the cloister if any monk should be idle; to the dormitory to wake the monks, or any where, to collect the monks for the canonical hours, for which he rang the signum. in the rule of s. victor he is ordered to be chosen from the most religious, zealous, and impartial monks; or a sign, that they had leave so to do, they were to be accused in chapter. if the explorator spoke to the prior in the parlour, he was to pass by that person, and thus the sub-prior, and third prior, and those that were with him, would not be accused in chapter. when this officer was making his search, he was allowed to make signs, but not to speak any where without leave, if any one of the priors was present. the prior on duty, if he spoke in the parlour without making a sign to the explorator, was not to be accused. the prior was to be first in rank with the first, and last with the last: if absent from mattins, by disease or otherwise, he was to celebrate at the lectern of the guests. on the days of christmas, easter, and pentecost, if the abbot was absent or unable, he was to be put in the table, and celebrate. in the feasts celebrated in cappa, if the prior sang thirds, he was to put off the stole, when the service was over; and if there was a procession, put on his robe, and walk in his rank. he could ask another to officiate in his stead, when he was himself at mattins. whenever he came to the parlour, or store-room, or wherever the monks were allowed to speak, all were to rise to him, even the abbot's officers.d when he was in the choir, no one was to pass by him to the form. if any contention arose in the chapter, he could (at option) defer the accusation till the abbot was present; but if the convent interfered, he could claim cognizance of it himself. he could and was to visit all the offices, and note breaches of duty. he was to take his walk in so silent and solemn a manner, as to strike terror in the spectators; but not to speak, or make a sign to any one. he made his circuit at all times, except during chapter and collation, when the doors of the cloister were locked. it was his especial duty to see that no monk was absent from the hours, or spoke, where and when he ought not. du cange, v. circa, circator. a board, where the names of the ebdomadaries, who were to officiate during the week, were set down. see sect. church. d any where out of the cloister or choir; when he wished to sit in the former, those only near him. dec. lanfr. prior. 115 subject a monk to the penance of fasting, carrying the lantern, custody, and last rank, without the abbot's knowledge: but he could subject no one to the sentence of imprisonment, or severer punishment, when the abbot was at home; but the matter was to be referred to him, and the monk be punished with that sentence according to his award. when the abbot was present, the prior could be accused. when the abbot went abroad, the prior could not, unless for succour's sake, admit any one a monk, and then with advantage to the church. if the subprior held the chapter, the prior was not to enter, unless asked, or from urgent necessity. when the prior nade a search in the parlour, or elsewhere, all who were talking were to rise, and say that they talked by his leave. if the prior sitting on duty made a noise, or spilt the drink at dinner, the novice that waited on him, lest evil should seem to be unpunany ished, was to receive pardon for that offence before his seat. if the prior on duty dined with the servants, he might sit with him whom he chose should be that person; nor was he to receive licence of doing so from the president of the table. when any abbot sat at dinner at the high desk, if it was a fast day, the prior at the drinking during vespers was to strike the bell in the refectory. if he found a journey troublesome, he could send the sub-prior, and release him then from all his offices. after dinner, when the convent went to the dormitory, he was to sit before his bed until the rest were laid down. there he was to sit as long as he liked, and afterwards go away where he chose, till the servants had dined. after this, he was to make a search and lock the doors of the parlours. those who had licence from the prior were to stay with him, and be absent from the meridian; but all the others were to go to sleep. the prior, if disengaged, • decret. lanfr. sect. de priore. b ibid. sect. de circuitoribus. was to be at complin, after which he was to make a search with a lantern, which he was to carry both in winter and summer, at that time, and every other, when necessary. whoeverlocked the gates was to carry the keys to the prior's bed, and in his absence to that of the prior on duty. to search the dormitory was allowed only to priors after complin, and at the meridian, or sleep at noon. at the drinking during vespers, when the prior saw the convent had sufficiently drunk, he was to strike the bell with his hand once, and after that no one was to presume to enter. afterwards he was carefully to look round and see whether the convent had all drunk, and put the cups by. afterwards, at a triple blow of the bell, he was to rise from his seat, and all the convent with him, but not before. the same was to be done at the drinking after collation, and after nones; when the benediction was given, he was to strike the bell once, and then and not before, the monks were to drink. if any monk, by the abbot's order, was penanced with fasting for two or three days, or longer, the prior, if he dined at the head of the table, might on that day relax the sentence: but, on the next day, it was to be renewed, and there was further remission, till he was absolved in chapter, in order that the sentence might be executed. no if the prior was sick, he was to lodge and dine in the infirmary from custom, but elsewhere by favour; for respect was to be paid to him by all,` on account of his authority. any servant, known and brought up in the church, whom he chose, was, except the common servants of the infirmary, to wait upon him; and all things, respecting the order, to be referred to the prior on duty. notwithstanding these regulations, it seems, that they affected to be second abbots, and did not look much after the cloister and care of the order.c the sub-prior's chamber, says dareyn. append. 198. i 2 116 monastic officers. vies, was over the dormitory door, that he might hear if any stirred or went out. his office was to go every night as a private watch before and after midnight to every monk's chamber door, and to call upon him by name, to see if any were wanting, or stolen out in pursuit of any unlawful business. the sub-prior also sat always among the monks at meat, to see that every man behaved himself according to the order he had betaken himself to. he always said grace at dinner and supper, and, after five o'clock at night, was to see all the doors locked: as the cellar-door, the frater-house door, the fawden-gates,a and the cloister doors. he kept the keys of these doors all night till five in the morning, and then returned them to the porters and other proper officers. the sub-prior (in abbeys) had the same power and privileges as the major prior in his absence. when the abbot was also away, he could permit the sick to retire to the infirmary, and, if necessary, eat meat. the visitation of the infirmary was his peculiar care; and, like the prior, he could punish the servants, but not add to, or turn them away. every day after complin, having received the holy water with the others from the hebdomadary, he was to stand, while the convent passed, to notice those who walked irreverently, and without their hoods on. after this, he took a lantern, and searched the whole house.b at abingdon he was elected by the abbot and choice of the prior and more sage of the convent. at the four days of christmas, easter, or pentecost, when the abbot or prior was absent, he was to take his place. if he himself was absent, the chantor. he was to search the dormitory before mattins. before the chapter he was to observe the gates of the locutory and other gates. if the a fald, a. s. a sheepfold, stable, a bishop's stall; viderint dunelmenses. b decr. lanfr. sect. de priore. the reader will recollect trinity sunday included in the pentecost term. prior held the chapter, he was to sound the bell in his stead.d dean was the old appellation of prior,e for to every ten monks there was a prior. instances appear where the deans were actual sub-priors in office." the rule ordered them to be selected from the best that could be found; "h and the licence for absence from chapter was to be had from them. in nunneries, says b. fox, "if the covent be great, we woll that certeyne of the susters of good proufe and holy conversacion be made deanes; "k with whom agrees the anglo-saxon rule of bennet, adding that they were "to divide the burden with the abbess." the prior and deans were called guardians of the order among the cistertians; but these monks had this peculiarity: a monk who presided pro tempore over a particular study or office, was not to be called prior, but provisor, and every where out of his office was to stand in the right choir, directly after the abbot.n prioresses. among the gilbertine nuns there were three prioresses, one of which presided in turn, and had then the first stall, one of her coadjutors standing on the right hand, the other on the left. the presiding prioress held the chapter, enjoined the penances, granted all the licences or allowances, visited the sick, or caused them to be visited by one of her companions. she had obedience and respect paid to her by all. she could d cimbam vice suâ pulsabit. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. 192. b. du cange, v. decanus. f wilkins's concil. ii. 719. "decanum et monachos quoscunque ad custodiam manerii et ecclesiæ (de leominstre cellæ abbatiæ de reading) deputatos :" (monast. angl. i. 25.) i render, "the prior and monks deputed to the custody of the manor and church," &c. du cange, v. norma. nam jubet regula decanos fieri, de melioribus qui possunt eligi. ms. cott. vesp. a. xviii. 169. a. reyner, 120. cap. gen. northampt. aº 1444. c. 3. r. of s. benn. for the mynchins or nuns, b. 1. 1516, c. 21. 1 abbatissæ partiantur onera. ms. bodl. archiv. seld. d. 52. (no pages). m du cange, v. custos. id. v. provisor. prior. 117 not depose the sub-prioress or cellaress without consulting the general prior. the food was distributed by the cellaress, but the vestments of the nuns cut, sewed, and divided by the prioresses. no prioress could sit near any man in their houses, without some discreet sister sat between; nor elsewhere, if it could be conveniently avoided. she could send the subprioress into the infirmary, to take the venic, if she was herself engaged. the prioress was to endeavour to visit the nuns, unless she happened to be in the kitchen, or was detained by sickness. if any one wished to confess, she signified to the prioress, if she was in the cloister or church, or confessed to her or any person she ordered. on holidays, she sent some learned nun with a book to her sisters, to teach them somewhat of the profit of the soul, and rigour of the order. she herself presided over the chapter of the sisters, and one of her coadjutors often took their venie in the evening chapter. on festival days she visited them if she had time, and diligently inquired of their order and religion. if she left the dormitory after dinner, or after complin, she did not go out without nuns. she was obliged to indicate the cause of her departure to the prior of all. if she left the church through sickness, she confessed in the chapter, and no one stood in her stall, except at mass, and necessity required it. if she was in the kitchen, she could take the venia of others in her scapulary. when she was serving in the kitchen, and made a mistake in the refectory, she begged her pardon there. she was to shun conferring with the scrutatrices (or visitors) of another house, deputed to her, or to make search of any thing, except in the common chapter. if she was in the infirmary, she was to conduct herself more reservedly, and not speak with more together than two, and that in a bounded place, unless perhaps necessity compelled her to talk with more for the sake of consultation, or when she happened to hold the chapter of the sick. she could upon great necessity, hold the chapter of the convent, and receive confessions. if she was confined by extreme illness, she could, like the rest, talk in bed. sub-prioress. she could not become prioress, unless the prior of all, or scrutatrices, judged it necessary. she could not enter the chamber of the novitiates to take their venice, unless called by a sign from their mistress. if in the absence of the prioresses she spoke of any thing, except of labour, she confessed having done so in the chapter. if it happened that another spoke in the absence of the prioress, the sub-prioress notwithstanding took the venie in the chapter and out of it. but she could not go to the gate of the window without a sage companion.a a monast. anglic. ii. 760, 1. 118 monastic officers. chapter x. cellarer. this officer, who was to be the father of the whole society, had the care of every thing relating to the food of the monks, and vessels of the cellar, kitchen, and refectory. he was to be careful of the healthy, but especially of the sick. he was to do nothing of greater moment, without the advice of the abbot or prior. he was to ask the chantor some days before, when his sentence of the. rule was read in the chapter, and then to solicit absolution, and make a handsome refection for the monks, which, if the sentence of the rule fell upon an improper day, was deferred by leave of the prior and chapter to another.a he was allowed absence from masses, completory, and all the hours, except mattins, vespers, and prime. he was to be present at the great mass upon feast days, till the gospel was read; also every day in lent, till the verses of the offertory were sung. he was to weigh the bread daily, and in collecting the spoons after dinner he was to carry the abbot's in his right hand, and the rest in his left. but if there were two or more abbots at the high table, one of the brothers, invited by the refectioner, and attending on the left hand with the spoons, was to take the spoons of the abbots in his right hand, and collect the rest, with the assistance of the spoon-officer, in his left. he was to wait upon the visitors, minuti, and monks returning from journeys. was to take care that no one sat down before the abbot or prior, and, when any one asked for bread and beer in reason, was to give it to him.b at a dec. lanfr. sect. de cellerario. he b ms. cott. claud. b. vi. 201, b. si autem fuerunt duo, vel plures abbates ad consistorium discumbentes, unus fratrum à refectorario rogatus levâ parte de cochlearibus ministrans abbatum cochlearia dextrâ manu feret, cætera autem cochedmundsbury he held his court of thieves and robbers; and had power over the highways, so that no one could dig chalk or clay without his leave. he or his agents had the preemption of all food for the use of the convent if the abbot was not at home.c there was sometimes a cellarer for in-door business, and another for out-door.d davies says, "his office was to see how much was expended in the kitchen, both for the prior's table, the whole convent, and for all strangers that came. it was his office also to see all things orderly served, and in due time. his chamber was in the dorter." e the cellaress was to see, when she came into her office, what was owing to it by different farmers and rentgatherers; to receive certain sums yearly of the different collectors on the nunnery estates; to take account of all the ox-hides, inwards of them, tallow, and every mess of beef sold; to charge herself with the hay sold at any farm belonging to her office; to purvey all the provision for the house, and pay certain offerings, wages, and gifts; to hire pasture for her oxen, and attend to the mowing and making of hay, and repairs of building.f the cellaress of the gilbertine nuns was not to talk in private with the yearly visitors from another house, nor with any other concerning any learia cum cocleatorio manu sinistrâ colliget. 202. b. cellerarius vigilanter provideat ne ante recubitum abbatis, vel prioris, aliquis recubet. id. 201. b. nulli panem et cervisiam consideranter petenti debet renuere. id. 201. b.-the keys of the colatorium or strainer, for straining the beer, were also in his custody. ibid. c monast. i. 300. d m. par. 1096, et alii. e a secular performed this office at winchester, but was removed by william of wickham. ms. harl. 328. f monast. i. 80, 83. for the reason of the agricultural direction of her office, see sect. nuns. cellarer. 119 canon or nun (de aliquo vel aliquâ), that the visitors might hear; nor serve in the kitchen, where the sub-cellaress was to take her place. she was to have a lay-sister associated with her to help her, with whom she might talk of necessaries openly in the cellar. in the cellar, however, no one was to speak except the prioress and cellaress, and fenestraria, or window-porteress, lay-sister of the hostrey, that of the kitchen, and the assistant of the cellaress. the cellaress was not to speak in the infirmary of the laysisters sitting; and a fault of this kind was to be examined. the bread of the sick and the whole society was to be distributed according to her direction. all the food was too in her disposal, and no one but the prioress had besides any controul over it. when she left the dormitory, after dinner or complin, and broke silence, she was to declare the cause of both in the chapternor was to go out without more nuns.a a monast. ii. 761. 120 monastic officers. chapter xi. precentor, or chantor. the office of precentor was one of those which could only be filled by a monk who had been educated in the monastery from a child. he was only to be set down in the table to the lesson and responsory in the abbot's absence, in order that he might then take his place. he was to correct all mistakes in the choral service, which was entirely at his disposal, to distribute the robes at festivals, and to make the tables of the monks for divine service. no one was to leave the choir before mass was over without his leave. his place was in the middle of the choir, and on the right side. he was censed next to the abbot and prior. he began the chant first, and was followed by the right choir. in all principal feasts which fell on sundays, he was put into the table of office, with two others whom he chose. on sundays, and festivals of that kind, another held the choir, and made a sign to the chantor when he began the verse of the offering, which salutation was returned by a bow; and, upon the beginning of every verse, he and all the children bowed. in times of manual labour, he either read or showed the master of the novices where the children were to begin reading. he notified to the abbot all the chants which he sang or began.b at abingdon he was elected by the abbot, prior, and convent. *it was du cange, v. nutriti. b decr. lanfr. sect. de cant ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. cantoris est officio cantandi amussim docere et instruer priorem, postmodum o accentu, aut pronuntiat verit, cantor illud du morbo præoccupatus per capellanum suu postmodum officium his office to teach all the monks to sing and read, to the most exact degree, first the abbot, afterwards the prior, and then all the others. if any one hesitated respecting an accent or pronunciation, or any thing else, the chantor was to rectify that doubt. [the officiating monks were accustomed to rehearse the services, and receive the key, &c. from the precentor]. when the abbot was diseased, and could not be present at mattins, his chaplain notified it to the chantor, cessionibus in monasterio abbas nichil incipiet, nisi cantor præsignaverit. cantor à nullo officio ebdomadario liber erit. si abbas præsens fuerit monitu cantoris incipiet ; et si abbas expeditus non fuerit, et in festis quos abbas non incipit, cantor succedet. cantor negligentes in choro corripietquando alicui innuet ut cantet, frater illi inclinare debet. cantori licet, sine reprehensione horis canonicis et ad missas libros inspicere, exceptis libris ad officium missæ assignatis. quociens cantor chorum tenuerit quoddam excepto communi de coquina habebit. in festis quæ celebrantur in cappis aliquis fratrum monitu cantoris bacula festiv. in chorum deferet, et cantor concantoribus distribuet. quisquis tabulam scripserit cantor ante capitulum providebit. a diebus fratrum anniversariis lector martirologii monitu cantoris prout cantor disposuerit, dispositionem in capitulo pronuntiabit. in precipuis anniversariis triduo ante pronuntiationem cantor cellerario et coquinario intimabit [the same with the abbot's anniversaries]. si quis ad missam sederit, monitu cantoris surgens inclinabit. a depositione alicujus fratris nomen ispsius in martyrologio providentiâ cantoris debet inscribi. arciva cantori debent assignari, per cantorem eleemosynario tradi. in omnibus festis in quibus processio fuerit cantor processionem ordinabit, et ad ostium chori socium socio parificabit pro ordinatione processionis monachos de choro in chorum transponet. quae ad processionem sunt ferenda, monitu cantoris ferentur. cantoris dispositione annuæ disponenter rasturæ. si quis morbe præoccupatus licentiâ capituli infirterium adierit, de quocunque ebdomadarius fuebit; idemptidem procurabit, si metione ierit, 194. b. canndacii et negligentiâ in ee eriget, capillos distialmaria puer conventa eparabit, p eperiet, fractures ange, v, auscultar juveram redcict, t precentor, or chantor. 121 he and he made provision for supplying his place. in the processions in the monastery, the abbot was to do nothing unless forewarned by the chantor. the chantor was free from no weekly office. when the abbot was present, he began at the warning of the chantor; and if the abbot was engaged, the chantor took his place, as well as in festivals, which that prelate had not begun. he reproved the negligent in the choral service, and when he nodded to any one to sing, that monk was to bow to him. could inspect the books at the canonical hours and masses, those only excepted assigned to the office of the mass. as often as he held the choir, he had an allowance beyond the commons of the house. on the feasts of copes, some monk, by his direction, brought the festival staves into the choir, and he distributed them to his fellow-chantors. before the chapter he made provision of the person to write the table. upon the anniversaries of the monks, the reader of the martyrology, by his direction, pronounced in the chapter how he had arranged matters. on the principal anniversaries (and those of abbots) he intimated the arrangement to the cellarer and kitchener three days before the annunciation. if any one sat at mass, he rose and bowed at the direction of the chantor. at the decease of a monk, his name, by the provision of this officer, was registered in the martyrology or obituary. the archives belonged to him, and were delivered by him to the álmoner.a in all the in all the feasts in which there was procession, he arranged the procession and paired the monks at the door of the choir; and also transposed the monks from choir to choir. every thing borne atrocession was under his direcnal rastureb were disny sick monk, by went to the om. see almoner. ale, is the shaving of re, is bread raspings. infirmary, he provided who should be ebdomadary; and, in the same manner, when any one went out with benediction, or for a time. he could lug the ears of the boys, pull their hair, and chastise with his hand, the novices who told lies, and were negligent in the choir. he mended the presses or almonries of the novices, youths, and others, where the convent books were deposited, repaired them, and found cloths for the library books, and repaired their damages. during service the precentor held in his hand a kind of musical instrument made of bone, called tabula. in a will, dated 837, they are called singing tabule, prepared (ornamented) with gold and silver. amalarius says, he holds them in his hands as a substitute for organs, without any necessity of reading, that he may represent that of the psalmist, "they shall praise his name in the choir with timbrel and psalter." among the classical ancients, the coryphæus, or leader of the band, not only beat time with his foot and the scaltilla, or crupezia, but with the hand also, putting the fingers of the right hand upon the hollow of the left, for which purpose they sometimes used oyster-shells, the shells of other fish, as well as the bones of animals, &c. the roll of parchment now used, is merely a copy of the contacium, a stick with several skins rolled round it, containing the offices to be recited by the priest. some accounts say, that the precentor held a silver staff while the service was performed, which was taken, says honorius, from the staff held by the israelites, who, eating the paschal lamb, travelled to their country.g *the subchantor was to be elected by the choice and request of the chantor, whose place he was to fill. the keys of the lockers, where the yearly du cange, v. tabula. d l. 3. c. 16, p. 411. e burney's hist. of musick, i. 75. du cange, v. contacium. id. v. baculari cantorum. * succentor. dispositione præcentoris et petitione succentor constituatur. claves almariorum 122 monastic officers. books and singing books were locked up, were to be in his custody. by the constitutions of walter de wickwane, abbot of winchcombe, for the government of the house, it was enacted, that no letter with the convent seal, whatever might be the emergency, should be carried out of the cloister before it was entered by the succentor, or a person deputed by him, in the landbok, or elsewhere, as the business required. the succentor or subchantor presided over the left choir; the chantor in quibus libri annualos (sic) et libri cantus recluduntur custodiæ succentoris assignabuntur. 194. b. et quod nulla litera sigillo conventuali (quodcunque contingat) aliquando extra claustrum deferatur priusquam per succentorem aliumve per eum depubegan, and the subchantor answered; sometimes (the precentor having only that one appellation) the succentor was called chantor.a precentrix. when the precentrix served in the kitchen (says the gilbertine rule), her companion had the key of the book-case, which was locked always, except in reading-time. she and her companion, in the first sunday of lent, when the chapter was over, divided the books at the prioress's order. she was to provide the book for the collation.b tatum in landbok seu aliis locis prout negocium requirit scribatur. ms. cott. cleop. b. 11. f. 225 b. a du cange, v. præcentura, succentor. b monast. angl. ii. 767. kitchener. 123 chapter xii. kitchener. at abingdon he was free from every weekly office, except the great mass and the virgin mary's. he was never absent from chapter unless engaged. he might leave the dormitory before the bell rang, and was to visit the sick in the morning to see what they wanted. the abbot could not, without his leave, contract any of the manors assigned to the kitchen. he sat on the left of the prior at meals, and gave the licence to the reader, as well as that of dining and drinking. *after dinner, on whatsoever duty he should be, he observed the rank of the prior by walking last after the servants. when he sat at the table of the servants, any abbot coming thither might dine there; and the kitchener, notwithstanding, dining according to his duty, attended no less upon any of the servants with a meal, for change of place was not an alteration of rank. a consolatory companion, or solatium, was allowed him. at dinner time he went round the tables of the sick to see what they wanted. the vacarius, or herdsman, was subject to him. at winchcombe it was ordered that the refectioner and kitchener, for the time, should shew themselves ready to deliver to the servants of the minuti what was necessary, they might not be obliged, on this account, to decline the society, or common table of their brethren.a at eve*ms. cott. claud. b. vi. p. 200, a. b. post prandium cujuscunque ordinis fuerit, ordinem prioris postremo post servitores incedendo servabit. cum discubuerit ad consistorium servitorum, aliquis abbas superveniens discubuerit ad consistorium: coquinarius in ordine suo discumbens non minus quemlibet servitorem uno ferculo visitabit, loci enim mutacio non est dignitatis alteratio. a refectorarius autem et coquinarius qui pro tempore fuerit, sic se minutorum ministris exhibeant paratos, et sibi liberent quæ debentur, quod non sit necesse cuiquam de minutis pro suis necessariis perquirendis a contubernio declinare. ms. cott. cleop. b. 11. p. 228. sham he had a horse allowed him, and used to attend markets. it may be gathered from statutes, that he was sometimes in the habit of distressing the monks, by giving them always the same dishes. a familiar modern says, the office of chief cook in monasteries was never conferred on any but such as had made the art their study:d and another, more antient, says, that they had lay-cooks able to please the palate of apicius himself. i find that there were at abingdon, besides the abbot's cook, bo, the cook of the monks, and am, the cook of the household, nicknames, or names oddly spelt.f ælfstan, a monk, who afterwards became a bishop, was cook at abingdon. alone, and unassisted, he cooked the viands, gave them out, lighted the fire, fetched the water, and washed the dishes, which, as well as the pavement, he kept in the cleanest state.g cooks. among the gilbertines, one of them was to assist the cellaress in carrying bread and drink into the refectory; all to carry the remains of the pittances into the cellar, and themselves serve the nuns at supper. they were to have their refection after the nuns, and, as well as the servants, take mixtus.h b monast. anglic. i. p. 148. cap. gen. northampt. aº 1444. c. v. de obe dientiariis. d andrew's gr. brit. vol. i. p. 2, from croyl. hist. apud gale. e fuller's ch. hist. b. vi. f cocus abbatis ii panes parvos, pro companagio iii ob. et cervisiam in aulâ. bo cocus monachorum, &c. am cocus de familiâ. (ms. cott. claud. b. vi.p. 178.) i am inclined to think from the universality of soubriquets in my own parish and elsewhere, that there were formerly, notwithstanding baptism, persons who never were known by any other, because the family denomination was not sufficiently distinctive. angl. sacr. i. 165. monast. anglic. ii. 761, 762. monastic officers. 124 chapter xiii. seneschall. this obedientary, often a layman of rank, whose office was held by fee, was to loid the courts, to do the abbot's business with the king, by paying money into the exchequer, and transacting other matters of a like kind. for all this he had certain very valuable fees, and privileges in hospitality and other respects. there appears, however, to have been a seneschali of inferior dignity. this officer was to be always ready to do the convent business with the prior and celjarer, which was to be done out of the bouse. he was to make the presents,c when sent to persons lodging in the town. when at home he was to have the corrody of one monk, to carry a rod in his hand, and to arrange the matters of those who sat at table in the guests' hall. his annual wages were joz when he rode out with the prior and cellarer beyond the gate, for the business of the house, he had a servant, who attended the guests in the hostrey, drew beer for liveries, carried presents at the direction of the cellarer, and received every day from the cellar bread and beer, and culinary fare, as persons in the hostrey. this seneschall had also the bishop's habitations in custody.d the following charter of the abbey of winchcombe shows the office and emoluments of an inferior seneschall. • monast. i. 290, 302, 361. b curia. 4 • exenia. thorpe's custumale roffense, p. 29. 1 as long as he continued in office, he was to have the same commons in the hall as the cellarer, or even the abbot's chaplain. his servants were to fare the same as other servants. he had provender for two horses; two horses. the same allowance as for the cellarer's once a year, with lamb's fur, for a suhe had also a robe of clerk's cloth per-tunick, and for a hood of budge fur, and an allowance for his servant the same as the cellarer's servant. he had also 40s. sterling every year at michaelmas. for this he was to hold their mantend to other business, and even go erial courts twice a year, at least ; atabroad, if required, upon affairs of the house, in which case his expenses were allowed.b • videl. quod habeat et percipiat quoad vivit in officio senescallatus nobis deservienti de nobis et nostro monasterio in victualibus, sicut nostro cellerario etiam capellano deservitur in aulâ. et habeant sui garciones sicut cæteri garciones. habeat insuper duos equos pro quibus habeat in præbendâ, sicut pro duobus equis cellerarii liberatur. habeat insuper robam unam de panno clericorum annis singulis cum forurâ agninâ pro supertunicâ, et pro caputio de bogeto: et pro robâ unius garcionis, sicut garcioni cellerarii liberatur. et quadraginta solidos sterlingorum annis singulis in festo s'i michaelis percipiendos. in the norman æra, a dress like a smock-frock, without sleeves, worn between the tunick and gown (strutt, i. 94), but varying in subsequent æras. 8 see abbot's dress, ch. vii. h registrum parvum abbatiæ de winchcombe penès prænob. domin. sherborne, fol. 240. treasurer, or bursar. 125 chapter xiv. treasurer, or bursar. davies says, "his exchequer was a little stone house, joining upon the coal-garth a pertaining to the great kitchen, a little distant from the dean's hall-stairs. his office was to receive the rents of the house, and all other officers of the house made their accounts to him. he discharged all the servants' wages, and paid all the expenses and sums of money laid out den. a yard or fold. a. s. geand. watson's halifax, gloss. hence garabout any works appertaining to the abbey, or that the house was charged withal. his chamber was in the infirmary, and his meat was served from the great kitchen to his exchequer." this is all the notice i have seen of this officer, except a denomination of capsarius in du cange, and bursar elsewhereb, for in many houses the exterior cellarer supplied his place. b angl. sacr. i. 767. 126 monastic officers. chapter xv. sacrist or he was to uncover the altar after the gospel in feasts of twelve lessons, to carry the text to the vestiary, which the priest bore, as in his robe he proceeded every day to the altar; to carry a lantern before the priest in his way from the altar to the lectern, and, after the collect, put the text upon the altar, and to ring the bell, or tell others to do it; for which he was to ask no leave, unless at prime, or collation, or at thirds and vespers, when the abbot sat in the cloister with the monks conversing. he distributed the candles for the offices; took care of all burials; washed the chalices twice a week, or oftener, as necessary; and the corporals a before easter, or when expedient, provided he was a priest or deacon, and for this he had brazen vessels used for nothing else, the water of which was thrown in the piscina, or, as it is otherwise and there called, sacrarium.b he had the charge of preparing the host, and of washing the ampullæ for wine and water on thursdays and sundays, which he supplied every day for the officiating ministers, and furnished the wafers to the communicants. he lighted the candles. after the collect, at the lessons and lauds; and, if any indiscreet delay ensued, he lay prostrate before the step of penanced till a certain part of the service was ended, after which he departed without leave. the intricacy of this office occasioned a recommenc a cloths the host was wrapped in. b hist. of hampton poyle, by mr. ellis. ms. e vessels to pour the wine into the chalice with. the ceremony of preparing the host is given at large in tindal's evesham, p. 185; but, though verbatim the same as in the dec. lanfr. the officer is there the infirmarer. if the host happened to fall, an appropriate religious service was performed, and whatever thing it touched was cut off and thrown into the sacrarium, or piscina (of the various uses of which i shall speak in sect. church). dec. lanfr. c. ii. the step where the benedictions were received; but see art. chapter, sect. penances and disci. pline. secretarius. dation that it should be committed to a master and servants.e at abingdon* the sacrist was elected in the same manner as the chantor. when unoccupied, he was in the order, and exempted from no weekly office. he had the care of the vestments of the church, bells, and banners. he could not give, sell, or pawn any of the official ornaments of the church, nor even pledge any small matter for a short time, without the witness of his fellows. he could not speak at any time with a monk, or any other in the church. as often as any one of the congregation of the servants, or persons coming from other places (not a respectable person) should sit or e decr. lanfr. c. 6. de secretariis, &c. ornams. cott. claud. b. vi. 195, seq. eodem ordine, eadem dispositione, quâ cantor eligitur et instituitur, debet secretarius eligi et institui. quociens secretarius expeditus fuerit, in ordine erit, et à nullo officio ebdomadarii absolutus erit. menta ecclesiæ nec aliqua sibi assignata sacrista dare, vendere, nec impignorare potuit, autem [aut] aliquod modicum, pro modico tempore, sine sociorum testimonio impignorare. non licet secretario aliquando cum monacho, aut alio aliquo loqui in monasterio. quociens aliquis in congregatione ministrantium, vel aliunde venientium, nisi reverenda fuerit persona, in conspectu conventus sederit, aut steterit, sacrista eum amovebit, exceptâ nativ. s. mar. homo sacristarii cirpum ad ornatum ecclesiæ in dominio abbatis, et militum, et omnium aliorum accipiet; non illato damno prato. rum aut segetum. quociens matutinæ tam morose pulsantur ut collecta ad laudes possit sine appositione candelæ vidi et pronuntiari, sacrista ad preces ante gradum veniam accipiet; et ibidem donec inchoetur collecta prostratus recumbet; postmodum surgens ordinem suum adeat. si hoc fecerit nec ab abbate, nec ab alio clamabitur; sin alias molestè in capitulo reprehendetur. ne via cenulenta, vel aquosa [fuerit] sacrista locum itineris cantori denuntiabit. sacrista habebit totam ceram totius ydromelli in promptuarium monachorum relati: exceptis xx secretariis, abbati assignatis. licet secretario et subsecretario jacere in monasterio, quod non licet aliis, nisi præcepto aut licentiâ abbatis vel prioris. infra septa embrii monachorum nullum constituetur stabulum. sacrista curabit ut urticæ et omnes herbæ eradicandæ ab embrio radicitus extirpentur, nec equus, aut aliquod animal in embrio frequentetur. sacrista habebit de granario cotidie præbendam suo palefrido. licet secretario cum subsecretario unum habere solatium consolatorium. sacrist or secretarius. 127 stand in view of the convent,a the sacrist was to remove him, except on the nativity of the virgin mary.b the sacrist's man was to take rushes to ornament the church, in the demesne of the abbot and knights, and all others, so as no damage was done to the meadows or corn. as often as mattins were rung so late that the collect at lauds could be seen without the use of a light, the sacrist was to take a small venia at prayers before the step; and there lay prostrate till the collect was begun; afterwards, rising, he went to his place. if he did this, he was not to be accused in chapter by the abbot or any other; if otherwise, severely reprimanded. at the procession of the rogations, lest the way should be dirty or watery, the sacrist was to point out the road to the chantor, the chantor to the chapter. the sacrist was to have all the wax of the ydromele brought into the store-house of the monks, except the twenty secretaries d assigned to the abbot. he was to appoint a subsacrist, who was to keep the keys in his absence; to take the corn necessary for the guests, and to go out from the refectory before the convent, to see that there was no negligence in the time of ringing the bell. the sacrist and subsacrist were to sleep in the church, which was allowed to no one else without the order or leave of the abbot or prior. the sacrist was to take care that no nettles or weeds grew in the church-yard, nor horse or other animal frequented it, or any stable be there. he had from the granary a daily allowance for his palfrey; and a see church, sect. lady-chapel. b this was the grand day, for an obvious mystical reason, on which the parents of monks used to visit them. see hostrey. • mead. d the glossaries have been tried. the abbot, &c. had a livery of wax every week. monast. i. 298. i think them candles. in a stall (pulpitum). x script. 1911. 1. 14. the words are lying in a stall i saw (watching or waking) vigilans." was allowed, with his deputy, a solatium, or companion. besides what is here mentioned, respecting the wine and candles, davies adds, "his office was also to lock up every night the keys of every altar in the church, every altar having its several almery, and some two; to lay the said keys forth every morning between seven and eight o'clock, upon the top of the almery, which was of wainscot, wherein they were locked, which stood within the north quire door, that every monk might take the key, and go to what altar he was disposed to say mass at. the sacristan's chamber was in the dorter, and he had his meat served from the great kitchen in his exchequer." in the order of st. victor, the sacrist had a servant, called matricularius, a poor man from the almonry, who rang the bells, regulated the horologe, wakened the monks in the dormitory, shut and opened the church-doors, and answered strangers who knocked at the church-door. he assisted the sacrist in sweeping the church, cleaning the lamps, and other duties. he slept in the church, as did the sacrist, and a third man, whom the abbot appointed.f sacrist of the gilbertine nuns. when the sacrist rose at night to ring the bell, she was to have at least two nuns with her, whom the prioress assigned. she was to ring the bell to chapter, and all the daily hours. she and her companion was to adorn the area of the church in the vigil of easter, and the altar after sext. she was to light the lamp in the interval at the lessons; to prepare the coals for the censor; to receive the holy-water at the window; and the pax-bord (lapidem pacis), which she was to carry round to the nuns and sisters, beginning always to give the pax in the right choir, whether the prioress was present or absent.g du cange, v. matricularius. monast. anglic. ii. 763. 130 monastic officers. chapter xvii. almoner. he was to find mats in the choir, &c. to put under the feet of the monks in the vigil of all saints; also under those of the boys and youths. he was besides to find mats in the chapter, cloister, in both the parlours, and upon the stairs of the dormitory. this he was to have strewed with rushes twice a year, at the assumption and nativity of the virgin mary; and find ivy leaves at easter for the cloister and chapter. he was to provide the rods for the chapter, chapel, and boys' school, and brooms, plates, baskets, and sweepers for the refectory. he was to sweep yearly the walls of the dorter, and three days before the assumption of st. mary, clean that place with a small circle. he was to ms. cott. claud. b. vi. 203, 4. sub pedibus monachorum inveniet mattas in choro, &c. in vigi. liâ omnium sanctorum; identidem sub puerorum et juvenum; præterea inveniet mattas in capitulo, in claustro, in quolibet locutorio; super ascensorios gradus dormitorii; bis cirpabit dormitorium per annum, sc. ad assumpt. et nat. s. mar.; inveniet folia hæderæ ad pascha, in claustro, in capitulo, in scolâ puerorum procurabit disciplinas, in refectorio scopas, discos, scoparios, sportas. scopabit annuatim macerias dormitorii, et triduo ante assumpt. s. mar. mundabit dormitorium circulo tenui. quociens abbas vir aut alius in camerâ discubuerit unus ministror' elemosynar' presentiam suam exhibeat, ut eleemosynam recipiat...... identidem fiet in coquinâ cotidie.-baculum boxeum, vel alium magis idoneum de manu in manum sunt assignaturi: idemque ministri cum janitore, vel cum ministro suo processionem huc et illuc anticipabunt, ut viam hominum impedimento aliorumque impedientium expediant. licet eleemosynario pro negotiis domus uno die ire, eodem redire, non petitâ licentiâ. annuatim contra natale domini pannos sotulares emit, viduis, orphanis, et maximè clericis quos precipuè egere consideraverit, distribuet. ex consuetudine non licet eleemosynario per tabulas, aut aliud aliquid colligere. si quicquid per tabulas sibi porrectum fuerit, licet ei recipere et ad eleemosynam deferre: post prandium autem conventus de egressu refectorii licet ei tabulas ambire, quicquid potus de caritate remanserit eleemosyne destinare. f. 204 b. • du cange says, the monks used to sleep on mats, pray on them, hold their collations on them, and strew them under the dead. (in voce). not in du cange. it is used for interval. see sect. servants. at make out the brerias for annunciations of the deaths of monks), and give them to the chantor. he was to find the necessaries for the maundy; to send the account of the deaths of the brethren to the neighbouring houses, and to take care that a servant constantly guarded the gates of the locutory, and honourably to admit the visitors. as often as an abbot, or other person, dined in the chamber, one of his servants was to attend to receive the alms; and the same was daily to be done in the kitchen. the rogation processions, two of his servants were to stand at the gate of the house, and give to every monk a boxen staff, or other more suitable, from hand to hand; and the same servants, with the porter, or his man, were to go before the procession this or that way, that they might clear the way from people pressing in, or other hindrances. on business of the house, he could go out on one day, and return on the same, without asking leave. he was to buy annually against christmas, cloth and shoes for widows, orphans, and especially clerks, and those whom he thought to need it most. he was not allowed to collect any thing through the tables. if any thing was handed to him from thence, he could take it, and devote it to alms. after dinner, when the convent had left the refectory, he could go round the tables, and destine to alms the drink which remained of the charity. at evesham, it was his office to receive half a mark from the abbot on maundy thursday, to be distributed among the monks to give to the poor, see ms. harl. 652, f. 44. b. ms. cott. tib. a. m. f. 74 b. same in substance as printed in conc. reg. almoner. 131 and to have the care of the monks' garden.a the almoner was to reserve the nice pieces which were left, for the sick and infirm poor, who were instructed by him to eat them privately apart.b by the norman institutes, his office was to find out poor, sick, and infirm persons, for which, when he went hima monast. i. 148. ord. vict. ms. du cange, v. eleemosynarius. self, he was to have two assistant servants, to send all women out of such house before his coming, and then console the sick, and supply their wants as they wished. where the sick were women, one of the servants performed this office. in the disposition, however, of his alms, he was to give previous notice to the abbot or prior, and attend to their directions.c • dec. lanfr. c. 9. de cellario. k 2 132 monastic officers. chapter xviii, master of the novices. the prior, say the constitutions of the friers, shall choose, for the instruction of the novices, a diligent master, who shall instruct them in the order, stimulate them in the church, and where they behave themselves negligently, endeavour to amend them as much as he can by a word or a sign, and, as far as he is able, provide necessaries for them. he could grant pardon for open negligences, when they sought it from him, or accuse them in chapter. he was to teach them to be humble in heart and body, and endeavour to bring them up to this point according to the text, "learn of me, who am meek and lowly in heart;" to instruct them how to receive disciplines, and not talk of the absent, even that which was good; how to drink. with two hands, and how to sit; how carefully they ought to guard the books and vestments, and other goods of the house; how intent they ought to be in study, and be reading something day and night in the house and when on journeys; how they should work, how they should meditate, how they should endeavour to get by heart every thing they could; how fervent they should be in preaching in good time.* * prior noviciis magistrum diligentem in instructionem eorum proponat, qui eos de ordine doceat, in ecclesiâ excitet, et ubi se negligenter habuerint verbo vel signo quantum poterit studeat eos emendare, et necessaria quantum potest debet eis procurare. de apertis negligenciis, dum ante eum veniam petierint veniam potest dare, vel eos in capitulo proclamare. humilitatem cordis et corporis doceat habere, et studeat ad hoc ipsum instituere juxta illud, "discite à me, qui mitis sum, et humilis corde." qualiter disciplinas suscipient, et non loquantur de absente non quæ bona sunt. duabus manibus sit bibendum et sedendum. diligenter debeant custodire libros et vestes aliasque res monasterii. quam intenti esse debent in studio, ut de die et nocte, in domo in itinere, legant aliquid; ut operentur, ut meditentur, ut quicquid poterint retinere corde tenus nitantur. quam quod quam by the norman institutes, they were to shave the boys, and the boys them. the latter were to wash the heads of the boys too little to shave themselves." by the benedictine constitutions, a master was to be provided, who was to teach the monks the primitive sciences of grammar, logic, and philosophy: but there were lay-teachers;c and monks themselves used to travel from house to house to teach music or singing.d lyndwood says, the masters of the novices were to be old men.e in the order of st. victor, the master is ordered to instruct the novices how to unshoe or to cover themselves, and not to enter the necessary unless with the head covered.f davies says, "there were always six novices, who went daily to school within the house, for the space of seven years together; and one of the eldest and most learned monks was constituted their tutor. the said novices had no wages, but meat, drink, and apparel for that space. the master, or tutor's office, was to see they wanted nothing; as cowls, frocks, stamyne, bedding, boots, socks; and as soon as they needed any of these necessaries, the master had charge to call at the chamberlain's for such things. the satire of nigell wireker, a monk of canterbury, upon the pupil of the middle age, under the figure of an ass, is so piquant, so elegant, and exhibits so fine a state of mind in its author, that i shall here digress to give it: ferventes esse debeant in prædicatione tempore optimo. ms. cott. nero, a. xii. f. 160. a dec. lanfr. c. 12. see, respecting this vague term, mosheim's ecc. hist. i. 569. ed. 4to, 1765. wart. hist. eng. poetry, ii. 429, 435. c d lyndw. 210. du cange, v. necessaria. • id. 144. master of the novices. 133 jam pertransierat burnellus tempora multa, et propè completus septimus annus erat. cum nichil ex toto quodcumque docente magistro, aut socio potuit discere præter ya. quod natura dedit; quod sæcʼlum detulit illuc, hoc habet; hoc illi nemo tulisse potest. cura magistrorum multum quum diu laborabat demum defecit victa labore gravi. dorso se baculus, lateri se virga frequenter applicat; et ferulam sustinuere manus: semper ya repetit: nichil est quod dicere possit affectus quovis verbere præter ya. vellicat hic aurem ; nasum quatit ille recurvum ; hic secat, hic urit; hinc solvitur inde legatur; intonat iste minas; porrigit ille preces; sic in eo certant ars et natura vicissim ; ars rogat, illa jubet; hæc abit, illa manet: quorum principia constat viciosa fuisse aut vix, aut nunquam convaluisse valent; a primo didicit burnellus ya; nichil ultra quam quod natura dat retinere potest. spec. stult. ms. cott. titus, a. xx, &c. now a very long season burnellus had past, and the seventh of years was near ended at last; when of all that his comrade and master had taught, to learn nothing but ya could burnellus be brought; what nature had given, what time had brought there, that he had; and that none could away from him tear. the masters, when long they had labour'd in vain, no longer the burden would bear to sustain: to his back went the stick, and the rod to his side, and the ferula oft to his hands was applied. still ya he cries out; still could only say ya, and blow upon blow nothing else could outdraw; this pulls at his ear; that twists his nose round; this cuts, and that burns; now he's loosed, now he's bound; this menaces thunders; that stoops to request; and nature and art both the matter contest; art begs; nature orders; this goes; that remains : where the foundacion 's bad, 'tis no use to take pains; nought but ya from the first had he learned; nor aught could poor burnell retain, but what nature had taught. of the absurd sciences, which prevailed in the æras of which i treat, it is unnecessary for me to say more, than that the tendency of such was, and ever will be, to create not a man of science, but a mixture of the puppy, pedant, and pettifogger, a pert, litigious, captious, vain, and ostentatious character, quibbling but not able, quick but shallow. taste and mind are only to be formed in the school of the classics. the mistress of the novices, among the gilbertines, when she served at the table, was not to speak in the interim with the novices, nor enter their cell. she might, however, look through the gate, to see whether they behaved in an orderly manner. she could not grant them licence to do any 134 monastic officers. work, nor speak in their cell after vespers, lest they should lose the time of reading. nor could she take their private pardons, or discipline them without the prioress's order. in the winter, when it was required, she explained the rule before tierce, to the novices going to make profession; and, if she could not finish it before tierce, after chapter. she was very seldom to grant them leave to sit in the parlour, at the time assigned for their instruction in the order." monast. anglic. ii. 770. infirmarer. 135 chapter xix. infirmarer. by the decrees of lanfranc, he was to have a cook and kitchen separate (if possible), that he might have every thing ready for the sick in its proper season; to administer all their meals, and sprinkle holy water after complin on the beds. after making the triple prayer before mattins, to go round them with a lantern, to see if any able to rise staid in bed; to proclaim in chapter all negligences; to order his servants to warm the water for washing the corpse, when he saw a monk was at the point of death. care and management of the bier was in him and his servants, as well as of the table the prior struck. after the washing and removal of the corpse, he was to wash the place where it lay to be cleaned, and have it fresh strewed with straw or rushes. at abingdon,* after the daily office was finished in the infirmary, he was at all hours to be present in the convent, nor then have the care of the sick. vespers were excepted. in all feasts of robes he was to be present till lauds, nor be absent from vespers. he was to lie constantly in the infirmary, and those who lay there were to receive licence of being bled from the infirmarer. he was to attend to the sick, with two brethren to assist him, * ms. cott. claud. b. vi. p. 205. officio diurno in infirmitorio expleto, omnibus horis erit in conventu, nec curam infirmorum gerat tantum, vesperis exceptis. in omnibus festis, quæ celebrabuntur in cappis, usque ad laudes inierit matutinis, nec deerit vesperis. jacebit in infirmitorio continuè; in infirmitorio recubantes licentiam minuendi accipient de infirmario.-si quis angistro, qui ab angendo dicitur, et alio nomine ventosa à suspirio vocatur, minui voluit, infirmario indicabit. infirmarius ministro illi administrationi deputato opus suum adimplere precipiet, candelamque ad illam administrationem inveniet. abbas assensu capituli talem infirmarium constituat, ut infirmorum confessionem pro inopinatæ rei eventu recipere possit et debeat. f. 205. and to take care that the monks under his protection went to their beds and rose with regularity. there was to be silence after complin, a punishment of sloth, and on sundays the sacrament. the alms of the sick, till the prime of the next day, was to be under the custody of the infirmarer. he was to provide provision for the sick, and to find a light for the monks who lay constantly in the infirmary, or who dined or drank there, as often as it was necessary. he was to go to the kitchen daily, and receive what he wanted for the sick. if any one diseased with the agistrum, so called ab angendo (from choaking), and by another name, windy, from short breathing, wished to be bled, he was to announce it to the infirmarer, who was to order the servant, to whom that office belonged, to do it; and find him a candle for it. the abbot, with the consent of the chapter, was to appoint such a person infirmarer as might be able, in case of sudden accident, to receive the confession of the sick. the infirmaress had a lay-sister as an assistant, and neither of them had an office out of the infirmary when any one was very sick. the infirmaress was allowed to be present at the mass till the post-communion, unless any necessity of the sick hindered her. if she could not indicate, by a sign, what she wanted, the cellaress was to come, and, in her hearing, she was to mention her necessities. she never served in the kitchen when she had persons grievously sick. she gave the peace to the sick when the sick said confiteor.a a monast. ii. 776. 136 monastic officers. chapter xx. porter. the office of porter was for the most part committed to men of mature age, and unblameable life.a the benedictine porter had a deputy, who was never absent while his master took a message to the cellarer. he only entered the kitchen, refectory, infirmary, and residence of the superior, to deliver a message when visitors came, which office the deputy could execute when his master was absent. he always lay at night at the gate, and had a horse, that, as often as the superior or cellarer wished, he might attend their summons, and ride with them. he had always a boy, who lay at the gate with the sub-porter, and took the key, after curfew, to the cellarer's bed, which he fetched again in the morning, sooner or later, as necessary. in some accounts we find, that as soon as the bell rang for complin, the porter locked the gates, and carried the keys to the abbot. we hear also of deaf and dumb porters.d of the augustinian porter mr. steevens gives us the following account: "adjoining to the said gate (of oseney), was a little cabin, or cell, for the janitor to lodge in, who, according to their rule, was to keep the gates for the most part shut, not to let any in without leave from the abbot; to have an eye towards the young canons in their wandering to and fro; to keep out lay-people and young women, especially men bearing weapons, or suspicious varlets, who not only came with an intent to filch, but also to pry into the actions of the canons, and so thereby take advantage to slander their conversation, and render them odious to the vulgar; he was also to receive poor people, and du cange, v. portarius. b thorpe's custum. roffen. 29. du cange, v. completa. d gold. legend. iv. pilgrims, with love and in the name of god; not to let them abide long at the gate, to the disturbance of the quiet, but send them away with refreshment, for which purpose he had several loaves appointed by the cellarer to be laid in his cell to distribute to them, especially on fasting days, when there was no offal meat from the refectory.e besides this bread, the præmonstratensian, i. e. augustinian porter, was to sleep by day, if he was a canon, and also by night, if he was a convert, at the gate, but not alone. as soon as he heard the bell for the hour, even though he was a canon, he was to stay, while the hour was celebrating, conducting himself, as well as he could, like the brethren in the church. he was to be present at the chapter, mass, vespers, and mattins, especially if he had a companion; when he was absent, his deputy was to watch the gate, distribute the alms, and perform other his duties. the right of appointing the porter was sometimes reserved by the founder, in right of dominion, which porter, at the installation of every new prior, was to receive five shillings only, or an ox.5 he had also very valuable fees and privileges, as "two corrodies, a monk's loaf, ii coronati,h and two meals a day, and beer; an allowance from the abbot's storeroom, and another from the refectory cellar; benefits of certain lands; an offering of 4s. d. at christmas, he and his man, and at easter 24d.i du e steevens's monast. ii. 120. bibliotheca præmonstratensis, v. i. p. 808. monast. i. 358. h du cange has panes coronati (v. panis), loaves in the form of a crown. i petrus portarius duo conredia habet; panem monachi et ii coronatos, et ii fercla per diem, et cervisiam, unam mansuram de promptuario abbatis, et aliam de cellario aulæ. scepinga ejus iiii acras (div. in div. loc.) et habet oblationem iiiis. et ob. in natale domini, ipse et homo suus, et in paschâ ii ob. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. p. 178, porter. 137 cange mentions various porters, as one at the gate, where the poor applied for alms; the porter of the court, a lay-brother; the porter of the cloister, a lay-brother also, who was to prevent strangers from entrance or inspection. john de northwolde, in his tract of minor offices, mentions a porter and his boy, as in the service of the infirmarer. the white book of edmundsbury mentions the janitor at the great gate, and a portarius, or porter, for another ;c for, however, as in voce portarius. in obedientiâ infirmarii officium janitoris et garcionis ejusdem. ms. harl. 743. f. 209. tanner notes, the terms janitor and portarius might be confused, walafrid strabo justly observes, the term janua was proper only to the entrance of a house.d john de northwolde also mentions a portership of the refectory, with all its members and appurtenances, with an annexed serjeanty.e various porters are also mentioned by davies, of which notice will be taken in their respective places. c janitor, ad magnam portam. ms. harl. portarius, 1005. f. 44. d c. 6. p. 666. quandam serjantiam spectantem ad custodem ostii refectorii, cum omnibus membris et pertinentiis. ms. harl. 743, p. 210. 138 monastic officers. chapter xxi. refectioner.* he was to take care that the pots, or noggins, were washed at certain feasts; and the same care was to be taken with regard to the cups. the tables were to be wiped daily. he was to find from his revenues, cups, pots, table-cloths, mats, basins, double cloths, candlesticks, towels, saltsellers. if the cups were broken, they were to ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 202. obbæ debent ablui prudentiâ refectorarii, sc. ad festum omn. s. ad nat. dom., ad purif. s. mar., in anniv. faricii et vincentii, ad pasch., ad fest. reliqu. pentecost. assumpt. et nativ. s. mar. identidem omnes ciphi debent ablui.-refectorarius de redditibus sibi assignatis inveniet in refectorio ciphos, obbas, mappas, mattas, pelves, duplomata, candelabra, manutergia, salina. si ciphi franguntur, laminis argenteis cura refectorarii reparabuntur. die cœnæ domini post completorium prudentiâ refectorarii scopabitur refectorium. quociens poma distribuuntur in refectorio pomarius dabit xxx poma, excepto communi refectorario. hostilarius hospites in refectorium introducet; sic refectorarius obbas secundum personarum differentias constituet, accubitusque discumbendi significabit. ter in anno, sc. ad festum omn. sanct. ad nat. dom. ad pasch. habebit quinque honera stramentorum de bertonâ fratrum pedibus in refectorio supponendis. 5 honera foeni refectorio jaciendi. quinquies in anno inveniet cirpum in refectorio sc. ad ascens. d. pentec. ad fest. s. joh. ad assumpt. et nativ. s. mar. si monacho per tabulas panis apponatur, refectorarius panem et caseum manibus suis cuilibet monacho proponet. si abbas in conventu discubuerit, pelves, aquam, manutergium ante prandium poni procurabit ad lavatorium. identidem in refectorio post prandium. ad caritatem cum idromelli, vel aliusmodi potus, sono signi excitabit fratres, ad administrationem caritatis, pulsabitque signum ad benedictionem, identidem ad collationem. providentia debet refectorarii vinum in promptuario abba. tis accipi, quociens in conventu vinum debet distribui, et mensurare sc. quum viderit necesse. in restitutione et donacione caritatum supra ferias semel tacto signo excitabit fratres administrationi potus, sed benedictio non dabitur. secundum temporis exigentiam refectorarius de prandio surget, ut in cifis caritatem tenentibus potum infundet. refectorarius præest aliis unà caritate. abbati, monachis abbatis, monachis infirmariis, monachis pocionariis inveniet caritatem; abbati autem duas caritates, si in camerâ discubuerit. minister qui præest aliis in infirmitorio habet caritatem idromelli et ne'nius (f. err. pro vini.) nulli exteriori victum de promptuario habenti dabitur caritas idromelli et vini, vel alicujus poculi, nisi in anniv. faritii et innocentii. 202 b. be repaired with silver plates. on maundy thursday, after complin, he was to have the refectory swept. when apples were distributed in the refectory, the pomarius, or apple-officer, was to give thirty, besides the common allowance, to the refectioner. as the hosteler was to introduce the visitors into the fratry, so the refectioner was to place the pots according to the rank of the persons, and appoint them their places to dine at. three times in the year, at all saints, christmas, and easter, he was to have five bundles of straw from the barton, to put under the feet of the monks in the refectory, and five burdens of hay for that place. he was to find rushes for the same place five times in a year.a he was to weigh the cheese. he was not to be absent from mattins nor prime. he was to be busy at morning mass and tierce for cutting and putting cheese; and when a person was wanting, to take in the cheese. sent at great mass, and to go out after the gospel. he was absent from sext, and also from nones, when the servants happened to dine at that hour. he was present at vespers, and at complin, unless hindered by the presence of visitors, to whom he was silently to attend with his hood on. he was dismissed from the service of the week at church; and attended on the minuti and visitors at whatever hour they dined. when bread was put before any monk at table, the refectioner was to distribute the bread and cheese with his own hands. if the abbot dined in the convent, he was to cause basins, water, and a towel before dinner to be placed at the lavatory, and prea in the rule of s. victor, the refectioner is to find mats, snuffers, and cocks for the lavatory, and clean the lavatory as often as necessary. du cange, v. muscatoria. refectioner. 139 the in the same manner in the refectory after dinner. at the charity, whether of idromel or any other kind of drink, he warned the monks, by the sound of a bell, to the ministration of the charity, and rang the bell for the benediction; in like manner at the collation. refectioner was to receive wine from the store-house or cellar of the abbot as often as it was to be distributed in the convent, and to measure it if necessary. in the restitution and donation of charities on week-days, he warned the brethren to the ministration of the drink, but no benediction was given. he rose from dinner according to the exigencies of time, to pour the drink in the cups that contained the charity. the refectioner exceeded the others by one charity. he found the charity for the abbot, the abbot's monks (or chaplains), the monks assisting in the infirmary, and those who attended and helped at the charity;a for the abbot he provided two charities if he dined in camerâ. the servant who presided over the others in the infirmary had a charity of idromel, and not of that only. one of idromel and wine, or of any drink, was granted to no person having allowance from the cellar, except on the anniversaries of faritius and innocent.b a see dec. lanfr. in the charity, ut supra. b besides the refectioner, there was an obscure officer, called the pittancer, or dispenser of allowances over commons on festivals; and he was to distribute the charities on certain feasts. monast. i. 149. 140 monastic officers. chapter xxii. hospitaler.* a lantern was found for him by the chamberlain, and candle by the sacrist. he had annually the taleapariaª of the best of the old shoes for the visitors that wanted slippers, to serve them in a morning. he was allowed to drink with any orderly person, for the sake of sociality, at the direction and request of that person, without asking leave. but he could not, without permission, dine with any persons, except abbots of the order, or their vicegerents. by the norman institutes, he was to have in the hostrey beds, seats, tables, towels, table-cloths, cups, plates, spoons, basins, and similar articles; as well as wood, bread, beer, and other viands from the cellar. he was to observe * ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 207. habebit præterea vetustarum crepitarum quæ meliores fuerint annuatim taleaparia ad opus hospitum crepitis carentium, ad matutinas crepitas calciatura. licet hostilario cum qualibet ordinatâ (perhaps it means "in holy orders,") personâ, gratiâ consolationis, precepto et personæ peticione non petitâ licentiâ bibere. non licet cum aliquibus discumbere, nisi cum nostri ordinis abbatibus, vel vicem abbatum gerentibus, nisi gratiâ licentiæ. perhaps there was an officer of this kind, sometimes created for extraordinary occasions; for i find in ms. cott. cleop. b. ii. p. 221, mention of the hospitaler who should be for the time for receiving the parents, guests, and friends coming to the monks, &c. "hostilarius qui pro tempore fucrit, pro suscipiendis parentibus, hospitibus, et amicis, ad confratres monachorum venientibus, &c." talaria are shoes even with the ancles. du cange. talus and par make the same. the officers, whether they had proper servants, and regular chambers, and to make complaints of their ill behaviour. if strange clerks wished to dine in the refectory, he was to notify it to the abbot or prior, and, upon consent, to instruct them how to behave in the refectory; and, after ringing a bell, introduce them into the parlour, where the abbot, or prior in his absence, was to give them water to wash their hands, and afterwards conduct them to the abbot's table. when dinner was over, he was to remain alone with the abbot, or prior, follow the procession of the convent with the visitors, and, after it had passed the refectory door, lead them out of the cloister, singing a psalm in a low voice. he was to conduct a strange monk through the cloister into the church to pray; and introduce into the chapter seculars who sought the fraternity of the house. he was to shew the offices to those who wished to see them, unless the convent was in the cloister, or they were booted or spurred; or barefooted, or only in breeches. he was also to bring novitiates at their first entrance into the house to the chapter, and instruct them how to make their first petition.b see more of this officer in hostrey. chamberlain. 141 chapter xxiii. chamberlain. by the decrees of lanfranc he was to find every thing necessary for the clothes, bedding, cleanliness, and shaving of the monks. he was to find the glass for making and mending the dormitory windows; shoeing for the horses; gowns, garters, and spurs for the monks travelling; and once in a year have the dormitory swept, and the straw of the beds changed. at abingdon* he was to find annually for every monk a pilch before the feast of all saints, and the same allowance of gowns and hoods; and two pilches, a hood and gown for the abbot. he attended fairs. three times in a year, at easter, christmas, and the nativity of the virgin mary, he was to provide the use of the baths for the refreshment of the bodies of the monks. he was to find the beds in the dormitory, and straw, pucas,a ropes, and stools. he could, to repel the wants of the monks, search the beds; and no one *ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 198. annuatim inveniet cuilibet monacho pellicium ante festum omnium s'ctor. idemque de coopertoriis et caputiis inditium; abbati annuatim duo pellicea, et cucullam et tunicam.-ter in anno, sc. pascha, ad nat. domini, ad nativ. s. mar. ad recreationem corporum procurabit usus balnearum. in dormitorio inveniet cubilia, et cubili stramina, pucas, et funes, et scabella. licet camerario lectos, ut fratrum indigentiam expellat, explorare in dormitorio. nulli licet de lecto in lectum vestimenta removere, camerario ignorante. omne inventum à camerario, datum vel dandum in capitulo, repositum, et annulo cognitum, camerario erit depositum.-in admissione novitii vestes camerario debent assignari, et sub ipsius custodia, sine distributione aliquâ donec, professus fuerit, reponi. in amissone cultelli, pectinis, nova dari. ex consuetudine novitiis novaculas, et manutergia debet invenire.-de cœnæ dominico mandatum pauperes, cum eleemosynario et janitore, introducet, primo parentes monachorum egentes, deinde clericos, et peregrinos, unicuique tres præbiturus denarios. in usu fratrum balneario camerarius conducet quendam ministrum, cui pertinet administratio balneatoria, cum ministro ablutorum. f. 199 a. "pewke angl. is a gown. perhaps it should be pertica, a beam to hang things on. see dormitory. it is not in du cange or charpentier. could remove the clothes from bed to bed without his leave. every thing provided by the chamberlain, granted or to be granted in chapter, was laid up and sealed by him, and in his care. at the maundy on holy thursday he was, with the assistance of the almoner and porter, to introduce the poor, first the necessitous parents of the monks, afterwards the clerks and pilgrims, bestowing upon each of them three pence. in the admission of a novice, his clothes were to be assigned to the chamberlain, and laid up in his custody, without any distribution, until he should have professed. upon the loss of a knife, or comb, he was to find new ones. he was, from custom, to provide the novices with razors and towels. chalk, at his order, was to be brought to the persons employed in mending. he was to hire a servant for the service of the baths, besides the one devoted to the bathed. his servants seem to have been in the habit of extorting money from the monks for making their clothes.b he had a taylor and two bathers in his service. the sub-chamberlain* was to be conformable to the will of his immediate superior officer. he was to be present at mass, and the hours when the chamberlain was. the monks b injungimus camerario quod provideat ne servientes sui à monachis quorum vestimenta præparant invitis, aliquod pro labore suo exigent. ms. cott. jul. d. 1. p. 161 a. in obedientiâ camerarii officium unius scissoris et duorum balneatorum. ms. harl. 743. f. 209. *ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 198 b. pro voto camerarii fiet instructio subcamerarii.-sonitu subcamerarii ad usum balnearum procedent monachi. camerario absente, licet subcamerario, licentiâ proventâ à priore, usum balnearum concedere. minister ablutorum feret et referet vestimenta fratrum in dormitorium comitante subcamerario; minister numerabit vestimenta in præsentiâ subcamerarii cum feret, identidem cum referet. nullus ministrorum sartorum præsumet ire in dormitorium, nisi ductu subcamerarii. f. 198 b. 142 monastic officers. the were to go to the baths under his direction; and, in the absence of the chamberlain, he could grant the use of them with the prior's consent. he was to accompany the servant of the bathed in bringing and carrying back the clothes of the bathed into the dormitory; and that servant, in his presence, was to count the clothes, both in bringing them and returning them. no servant of the menders was to go to the dormitory but under his guidance. the clothes were to be distributed by his direction, and all the old ones were in his custody. he was allowed to give out girdles, and other matters of that kind. he was to prepare the beds of the novices, and to light and extinguish the candles in the dormitory at twilight or da day-break. davies says, "the chamberlain's office was to provide stamyne, otherwise called linsey-woolsey, for sheets and shirts for the novices and the monks, for they were not permitted to wear linen. he kept a taylor daily at worka in making socks of white woollen cloth, both whole and half socks; and making shirts and sheets of linseywoolsey in a shop underneath the exchequer. this taylor was one of the servants of the house. the chamber where he laid was in the dorter." the taylor's shop was to be without the inner shops of the cloister; i. e. in a place where the secular servants, if necessary, might be admitted. du cange, v. sartrinum. other officers of the house. 143 chapter xxiv. other officers of the house. terrier of the house. this officer, mentioned by davies, was to see all the guests' chambers cleanly kept, and all the napery in the chambers, as sheets and pillows, to be sweet and clean. he always provided two hogsheads of wine to be ready for the entertainment of strangers, and likewise provender for their horses, that nothing should be wanting, when strangers came, of whatsoever degree they were. four yeomen were allowed to attend strangers. his chamber was in the infirmary. 66 granetarius, or keeper of the garners. "his office," says the same writer, was to receive all the wheat and barley that came, and give account what malt was used weekly; as also what barley was delivered to the kiln, and what malt received from it, and how much was used in the house. his chamber was in the dorter." master of the common house. "his office," says davies, "was to provide all such spices against lent, as should be comfortable for the monks under their great austerity both of fasting and praying; and to have a fire constantly in the common-house hall, for the monks to warm themselves at when they pleased; and to provide always a hogshead of wine for the monks; and for keeping his o, called o sapientia;a and to provide figs and "then by reason of these antiphonars, and others which begin with the letter o," says udalric, in d'acherii spicileg. iv. p. 100. amalarius, in his chapter of the antophonars which begin with o, says, "by this o the chantor means to intimate that the words following belong to some wonderful vision, which relates rather to the contemplation of the mind, than the narration of the singer. the antiphonar, which is the first of the eight present in the text of the antiphonary, and is inscribed 'o wisdom, which proceeded from the mouth of the most high,' is partly taken from the book of jesus, the son of sirach, partly from the wisdom which is commonly ascribed to solomon, for that wonderfully commends wisdom." amalarius de ordine antiphonarii, c. 13, p. 520. walnuts for lent. his chamber was in the dorter." he virgultarius, or orcharder.b was not excepted from any of the church duties; was to have straw from the barton to lay under the apples, which he was to deliver to the visitors before complin, after complin the refectioner, or the same fruit which the convent had for refection. operarius. he could talk with his workmen in the cloister, church, and elsewhere, without exclusion of any place, but not with the monks or others, except in case of necessity. the collation in summer was to be somewhat delayed, if there were persons at work in the church. the operarii were not to go through the cloister, cloked, unshoed, buttoned up, nor any others. a part of his office was to take care that all slippery matters of the glass-shops, and filth of such kind, were carried out of doors. other filth the master was to look to.c porcarius. this was an office held by serjeantry at edmundsbury;d he had for his profit the fructus de caudâ (perhaps the offal, perhaps the dung) of every pig fed in the house; e for stramenta ms. cott. claud. b. vi. 207. a. pomis supponenda et proponenda habebit de bertonâ. ante completorium hospitibus dabit poma virgultarius, post completorium refectorarius, vel eundem fructum quo conventus reficitur. f. 207 b. licet operario cum suis operariis loqui in claustro, in monasterio et alibi, nullo excluso loco, sed non licet loqui cum monachis, vel aliis, nisi tempore necessitatis. in æstate collatio aliquantulum morosè pulsabitur, si operarii infra septa monasterii operantur. operarii non ibunt per claustrum palliati, discalceati, fibulati, nec aliqui alii. rabit labinas omnium officinarum vitrorum, sordesque labinarum ejus curâ et prudentiâ exterius deferentur; aliæ sorde (sic) cura magistri. ms. cott. ut sup. f. 207 b. procud scriptum de officio custodis porcorum per serjantiam. ms. harl. 743, f. 210. e idem omni porco qui nutritur in curiâ fructum de caudâ habebit porcarius. ms. cott. ut sup. f. 178 b. 144 monastic officers. these animals were of great regard among the monks. how many pigs 66 the abbots ought to have in kingesfrid was settled at abingdon; a and there are clauses of this kind in numerous edited charters. walter mapes, ridiculing the cistertians for their pretences of abstaining from flesh, says, pigs they keep, many thousands of them, and sell the bacon, perhaps not all of it; the heads, legs, and feet, they neither give nor sell, nor throw away; what becomes of them god knows; likewise there is an account between god and them of fowls, that they keep in vast numbers."b nigell wireker says of the hermits of grandmont, "that they sent no fat pigs to the woods." quot porcos debeat abbas habere in kingesfrid. id. 173. a. b porcos tamen ad multa millia nutriunt, bacones inde vendunt forte non omnes, capita, tibias, pedes, nec dant, nec vendunt, nec dejiciunt, quod deveniant deus scit; similiter et de gallinis inter deum sit et ipsos, quibus habundant maximè. ms. bodl. wood, ii. p. 216. "nec faciunt pingues in nemus ire sues." spec. stultor. besides these officers, there was sometimes the cancellarius, registrary, auditor, and secretary of the convent, it being his proper business to write and return letters, and manage the most learned employments in the monastery. the butler, who at abingdon ate in the refectory, and had 20s. wages from william de cumbe, and a servant that had the same privilege of dinner.d the lardenarius, or keeper of the larder; squelenarii, keepers of the baskets; and in short, for every mean employment, proper officers, who had again secondaries, or assistants. among these was the baker, and sub-bakers,e who in the manuscript constitutions of the clugniac order, are directed not to sing psalms, like the other monks, when at work, lest any saliva should fall into the dough.f d dapifer comedat in aulâ, et xx sol. habebit pro stipendio de will° de cumbe, famulus suus comedat in aula. ms. cott. ut sup. 178. angl. sacr. i. 343. du cange, v. breiare. officers among the friars. 145 chapter xxv. officers among the friars. general of the order. his election and offices the chapter of rules and next article shew. among the dominicans, hospinian says, that they had at first abbots, afterwards masters of the order, and that the other inferior prelates were called priors and superiors. the resignation of the general, he adds, was not accepted unless on account of perpetual impediment.a armachanus says (i. e. fitz ralph, the famous archbishop of armagh), that, because the rule of francis ordered that no brother should preach penitence to the people, unless examined, approved, and licensed by the general minister, that the friers obtained privileges to get rid of this examination.b in the amoval and appointment of priors general of the carmelites bribery and corruption interfered. "in that chapter," says the syllabus of them, "resigned the reverend master, brother john grossi, a most worthy doctor in divinity, and he governed the order forty-two years, and would have continued longer, if money had not interfered." "c in the heroi-comic poem of the nouveau renard (new fox), written by jacquemars gelée in the 13th century, the dominicans perceive, that the poverty which they professed was injurious to them, and that, if they were richer, they would be more respected. in consequence, they hold a chapter; de orig. et progr. monach. p. 492, 3. b regula francisci precipit quod nullus fratrum populo pœnitentiam audeat predicare, nisi à ministro generali fuit examinatus et etiam approbatus, et ab eo predicationis officium sibi concessum [fuerit]: et fratres, ut non examinentur à ministro, privilegium procurarunt. ms. bodl. 2737, f. 14, b. in illo capitulo resignavit reverendus magis. ter frater johannes grossi in sacrâ paginâ dignissimus doctor, et ordinem rexit annis xlii. et magis rexisset, nisi fuisset pecunia. ms. harl. 1819, f. 108, a. one of them makes a speech; and after having advanced that without reynardism, they should be always beggars, they propose to send a deputation to reynard, to induce him to take their habit, and become general of the order, in the hopes that under such a chieftain the society would not fail to extend itself, and abound in money. reynard answers, that he cannot accept their offer, but proposes to them his eldest son, who has already exhibited great ability. they agree, and renouncing poverty, go, like the other orders, to inhabit the castle of pride. the franciscans come to reynard with the same request, and he gives them his second son. in vain does their rule oppose innovations. they allow latitude of conscience, and mitigate their austerities.d from this passage we have a full idea what a general of the order was expected to be, that is, a skilful jesuit. prior provincial had the same power in his province as the ruler of the order, namely, in receiving persons under eighteen years of age, and dispensing with those who could not competently read or sing; and that without special licence of the ruler. he was to have the same respect shown to him by the brothers of the province as the general had, who was not to harass his provincials when present. he was bound to visit, either personally or by deputy. persons particularly able and likely to be useful he was to send to places of study, and they were not to be occupied elsewhere.e d ms. dans la biblioth. nation. n°. 7615, &c. notices, v. 326. • prior provincialis eandem potestatem habeat in sua provinciâ quanti est rector ordinis, sc. recipiendis minoribus xviii annis, et illis qui nesciunt competenter legere et cantare dispenset; et sine l 146 monastic officers. the friers could not give presents to women, nor send them orally or by writing without his leave. a constitution of the minors, or franciscans, ordered that the friers should not take orders without this officer's consent.a diffinitors, says hospinian, were officers "who had the power of appointing and ordaining, respecting the president and whole [general] chapter during the sitting of the same, regard being had to the authority of the general. theodoric de appoldiâ was the author of them."b the statutes of the franciscans ordered, that those should not be diffinitors in the provincial chapter next following, who had licentiâ speciali rectoris. et eadem reverentia, i. e. quæ fratribus suæ provinciæ exhibeatur, quæ et rectori exhibetur, nec rector præsens exerceat provincias suas. priores provinciales visitare tenentur, quod si commode non valuerint committere poterint vices suas. curet prior provincialis, ut si habuerit aliquos utiles ad docendum, &c. mittere eos ad studium ad loca ubi viget studium, et illi ad quos mittuntur eos in aliis non audeant occupare. ms. cott. nero, a. x11. f. 167. a munuscula sine licenciâ prioris provincialis mulieribus non dentur à quocunque, nec aure, verbo, vel literis mandentur. id. 157, b. item fratres sacros ordines non suscipiant sine sui vicarii provincialis licenciâ. ms. bodl. 1882, p. 52, b. b of the dominicans, 392. filled that office in the one preceding.c among the benedictines and augustinians, says du cange, of societies lately instituted and reformed, and others, the diffinitors are nine superiors elected in the time of the general chapter, who have the principal power of the whole assembly, whether in respect to the elections of superiors, or to enact and constitute whatever affected the monastic discipline. in certain other orders the diffinitors are called assistants, or advisers of the superior, even out of the time of the general chapter. wardens (of the franciscans). the general statutes say, "we enact, that, in future, the wardens be elected in every place by the convents of such place. also, that no one shall have a vote who is not twenty-five years of age, and in holy orders; but where they have wardens, the custom hitherto observed in the election of them shall be retained."d • qui fuerint diffinitores in provinciali capitulo proximo præcedenti non sint diffinitores in cap proximo sequenti. ms. bodl. 1882, f. 65, b. nul4 statuimus ut deinceps gardiani in singulis locis elegantur per conventus eorundem locorum. lus vocem habeat, non saltem qui 25 suæ ætatis annum attigit, et in sacris fuit ordinibus constitutus; ubi autem custodes habent, fuerit in eorum electione consuetudo hactenus observata. idem. 61, b. nuns' confessor. 147 chapter xxvi. nuns' confessor. one officer remains to be mentioned, peculiar to the nuns, as well as two females, the portress and the formaria.a this officer was the nuns' confessor, appointed, says lyndwood, by the bishop, and who was, where there was no particular person ordained, the incumbent of the parish in which they resided.b this confessor did duty in the church, in which he was assisted by the chaplain or chaplains.c whether the professor was a man of learning and discretion, was one of the inquirenda of henry's visitors.d among the nuns of sempringham, as soon as the confessor came, his arrival was announced. if the prioress then found it necessary that any one should confess, she was told to go to the place of confession. when the confession was made in the house, two discreet sisters sat apart from the window to see how the nun confessing behaved. the confessor too was to shun talking vain and unnecessary things; nor ask who she was, whence she came, and such things; nor to talk to her, about who he was, and whence he came. his behaviour too was also to be watched. no other obedience was due to him than that of confession.e the brigettine nun was to confess at a latticed window, so as to be heard but not seen.f it was the opinion of those æras, that "the office of a confessor and preacher was that of a midwife, whose duty it was to entirely eradicate sin from the heart, that it might afterwards bring forth a new man ;" but the aubrey says, that the last priest [at the nunnery of kington st. michael, co. wilts] was parson whaddon, whose chamber is that on the right-hand of the porch with the old fashioned chimney. britton's beauties of wilts, iii. 154. lyndwood, p. 211. e const. ii. monial. de sopewell, &c. &c. d ms. harl. 791, f. 21. e monast. anglic. ii. 775. f ex regula. & officium obstetricum nil aliud est quam officonfessors of nuns often attended only to the latter part of the injunction in a corporeal sense. amours of this kind are upon record concerning very extensive powers of absolution for certain vices; writing love letters; interviews at grated windows, and employing smiths to remove the bars, as well as holy contemplations in the church at night between two lovers.h the porteress of the nuns of st. clare was, during the days, to reside in an open chamber without the gate; and to have a companion to take her place when necessary. they were to take care the gate never stood open when it was improper.i when it was improper. among the gilbertines, two nuns attended at the versatile window, who went to mass and chapter alternately.k the formarius was a fugle-man, or pattern monk, who instructed the rest by his example. he was also called titulus. the formaria was the nun mentioned in the benedictine rule, "as the senior fitted to gain souls," who was, says du cange, (as the formarius. among the monks,) "to watch and inspect them curiously." thus terminates the account of the monastic officers; and such was the effect of puritanical principles, that the very names became odious; and, at the dissolution, the dean and other officers of exeter cathedral requested to be styled by the scriptural appellations of pastor and preachers.m cium confessoris et prædicatoris, quorum officium est penitus educere peccatum de corde, ut postea pariat novum hominem. ms. gardiner, in pemb. coll. libr. oxf. (ancient sermons.) h visitor's letter in fuller's ch. hist. b. vi. 315. ¡ex regulâ. dugd. monast. ii. 758. 1 du cange. m ms. harl. 604, f. 135. a. this was one of those genevese innovations (see aerius redivivus, p. 208-14), which terminated (as all religious zeal, except that of promoting the virtues of christianity, will ever do) in faction, blood, sedition, and harassing, if not overturning, the state,-a direction it instantly assumes, when it has raised a strong party. l 2 150 monks, nuns, &c. and grow angry by discourses, we see very rarely honesty, respect, and charity among them: they divide by difference of sentiment; they contract friendships and intimacies quite human, which are the ruin of holy and true charity; or rather they canvass, when conversing together, the faults of their brethren, which renders them contemptible in their eyes, and hinders their esteeming them."a upon these accounts silence was a principal duty of a monk, the rule of which obtained, during divine service, meals, mid-day, between mattins and prime, and after complin. the prior, sub-prior, deans, master of the novices, and cellarer, had a right from office to speak. on account, however, of the danger of nightly interviews, to speak after complin was subject to the severest punishment; and, in some places, the law was so strict, according to bernard, that it did not permit a person labouring under blame, to excuse himself,or one who entertained suspicions, to divulge them. we are even told of persons who carried stones in their mouths, that they might learn to observe duly this injunction of silence.c lindwood gives the following curious reason for silence : silentium. quod est justitiæ cultus."d in consequence, therefore, of this prohibition from exhortation, advice, and every kind of communication, it became necessary that they should do by signs what they could not effect by words.e these signs were not optional, but transmitted from antiquity, and taught like the alphabet;f the use of them was, however, prohibited when silence was commanded; for, says nigell de wireker, in his monita moralia: 66 dev. vie monast. i. p. 336. b dev. vie monast. ii. 220, 1, 2, 3. qui lapides in ore portabant, ut taciturnitatem addiscerent. ms. harl. 1750, f. 105, b. "agathon the abbot (says the golden legend, ccxxxv. b.) bare thre yere a stone in hys mowthe tyll that he had lerned to kepe scylence." d prov. 207. e dev. vie monast. i. 308. f id. ii. 221. "signa scire studeant omnes necessaria;" (let all endeavour to learn the necessary signs.) m. paris, 403. see too sect. novices. si jubet ut taceas, statuâ taciturnior esto, nec redimas signis verba negata tibi.s as statues still, if ordered so, abide, nor seek by signs the speech that is denied. notwithstanding this, the monks did so, for they were perpetually making unnecessary signs in the choir, refectory, and other undue places.h however ridiculous this may appear to us, signs, to a given extent, have, in relation to speech, the expedition of short-hand writing, and might be made language. with relation to the monks, in part to supply the place of universal they admirably contributed to the preservation of order. du cange has preserved a catalogue of them; and the following are extracts: fish. waive the hand like a fish's tail in the water. book. extend the hand, and move it as a leaf is moved. milk. press the little finger on the lips, because an infant sucks milk.i there were signs not only for persons and things, but actions and qualities, as seeing, hearing, good, evil, &c. crashaw, who seems to have known that the felicity which is so rarely attainable in divine poetry, by attempts at the sublime, is well substituted by blending taste and elegance with fervour, thus describes the duties of a religious house : a hasty portion of prescribed sleep, obedient slumbers that can wake and weep, and sing, and sigh, and work, and sleep again, still rolling a round sphere of still returning pain; hands full of hearty labours, pains that pay and prize themselves; do much that more they may; and work for work, not wages : let to-morrow's new drops wash off the sweat of this day's sorrows. a long and daily-dying life, which breathes a respiration of reviving deaths. the state of reason among the monks be ascertained from some may old rhymes of the monastic life, published by fabricius.k the mechanical modes of avoiding some bad habits are thus pourtrayed. g ms. cott. jul. a. vii. cap. gen. northampt. anno 1225, sect. de hospitalitate. see too sect. refectory. du cange, v. signum. see also the signs used in the nunnery of syon, co. middx. in aungier's hist. of, hounslow and syon monastery, 8vo. 1840. * bibl. med. æv. v. vii. 913, seq. monks, nuns, &c. 151 omnem horam occupabis you shall occupy ever hour hymnis, psalmis ; et amabis in hymns [and] psalms; and you shall like tenere silentium. to keep silence. super hoc orationem besides this, you shall love diliges et lectionem, prayer and reading, nutricem claustralium. the nurse of cloisterers. habens vestitum et victum, having raiment and food, ut fert apostoli dictum, as the apostle's saying directs, nihil quæras amplius; you must not seek any thing further; de colore ne causeris, do not talk of the colour, si fit vilis tunc loteris, if it be mean, then be glad, et ficeris sobrius. and thus you will be sober [minded]. cave ne fis curiosus take care not to be foppish in vestitu, nec gulosus in [your] dress, nor dainty in diversis epulis. in [your] different meals. sic non eris somnolentus, thus you will not be lethargick, nec in potu vinolentus, nor vinolent in your drink, nec vacabis fabulis, nor waste your time in gossiping; nimis est periculosum it is too dangerous esse claustralem verbosum, for a cloisterer to be verbose, cum silere debeat; when he ought to be silent; joci quidem sunt ferendi, jests, indeed, must be endured, nunquam tamen referendi, but never repeated, quos proferre pudeat. for it may be disgraceful to utter them. maxims derived from the vulgate may be seen in detail in stellartius, p. 351. some of the epistles and gospels are unnoticed, and tobit substituted where these had been better quoted instead. monachism was an institution founded upon the first principles of religious virtue, wrongly understood and wrongly directed. if man be endowed with various qualities, in order to be severely punished for using them, god is made the tempter of vice, and his works foolish. if voluntary confinement, vegetable-eating, perpetual praying, wearing coarse clothing, and mere automatical action through respiration, be the standard of excellence, then the best man is only a barrel-organ set to psalm tunes. sleep, according to this plan, ought to be virtue; but the fact is, that it is not possible to pursue a system exclusively directed to suppress faults, without reducing the character to a caput mortuum.a mere innocence was, indeed, the qualification for a monk; and the error is, that all its merit was limited to that. the result of such system is the ruin of the public and patriotic character, and the elevation of anthony and francis over leonidas and socrates; for the consideration was not what sacrifices any one made for the good of society, but how many dinners he could go without in a week? what aversion he had from matrimony? and how many prayers he said in a day? but, alas! superstition has its basis in the will, and therefore monachism never succeeded but when it was an act of volition. as soon as its duties became mechanical operations, the work was performed, and the principle disregarded, while the heart, left open to the world, was constantly prompting those aberrations, which naturally result from the opposition of will to duty. shame is of no avail, where security is to be gained from coparceny, evasion, or secrecy. hence the vices of the monks: gluttony, their grand crime, is the natural pleasure of those who are debarred from other enjoyments, whether by physical or moral causes. what these crimes were, in the greater part, the "inquirenda circa conventum" of henry's visitors will show. these were,-of what rule? of what age? what vows? what local statutes? whether of good company and living? whether defamed for incontisee this position admirably illustrated in the edinburgh review for 1813, p. 186. b see sect. refectory. 150 monks, nuns, &c. and grow angry by discourses, we see very rarely honesty, respect, and charity among them: they divide by difference of sentiment; they contract friendships and intimacies quite human, which are the ruin of holy and true charity; or rather they canvass, when conversing together, the faults of their brethren, which renders them contemptible in their eyes, and hinders their esteeming them."a upon these accounts silence was a principal duty of a monk, the rule of which obtained, during divine service, meals, mid-day, between mattins and prime, and after complin. the prior, sub-prior, deans, master of the novices, and cellarer, had a right from office to speak. on account, however, of the danger of nightly interviews, to speak after complin was subject to the severest punishment; and, in some places, the law was so strict, according to bernard, that it did not permit a person labouring under blame, to excuse himself,or one who entertained suspicions, to divulge them. we are even told of persons who carried stones in their mouths, that they might learn to observe duly this injunction of silence.c lindwood gives the following curious reason for silence: "silentium. quod est justitiæ cultus."d in consequence, therefore, of this prohibition from exhortation, advice, and every kind of communication, it became necessary that they should do by signs what they could not effect by words. these signs were not optional, but transmitted from antiquity, and taught like the alphabet;f the use of them was, however, prohibited when silence was commanded; for, says nigell de wireker, in his monita moralia: dev. vie monast. i. p. 336. dev. vie monast. ii. 220, 1, 2, 3. qui lapides in ore portabant, ut taciturnitatem addiscerent. ms. harl. 1750, f. 105, b. "agathon the abbot (says the golden legend, ccxxxv. b.) bare thre yere a stone in hys mowthe tyll that he had lerned to kepe scylence." d prov. 207. e dev. vie monast. i. 308. f id. ii. 221. "signa scire studeant omm cessaria;" (let all endeavour to learn the n signs.) m. paris, 403. see too sect. n si jubet ut taceas, statuâ taciturnior esto, nec redimas signis verba negata tibi.s as statues still, if ordered so, abide, nor seek by signs the speech that is denied. notwithstanding this, the monks did so, for they were perpetually making unnecessary signs in the choir, refectory, and other undue places.h however ridiculous this may appear to us, signs, to a given extent, have, in relation to speech, the expedition of short-hand writing, and might be made in part to supply the place of universal language. with relation to the monks, they admirably contributed to the preservation of order. du cange has preserved a catalogue of them; and the following are extracts: fish. waive the hand like a fish's tail in the water. book. extend the hand, and move it as a leaf is moved. milk. press the little finger on the lips, because an infant sucks milk.i there were signs not only for persons and things, but actions and qualities, as seeing, hearing, good, evil, &c. crashaw, who seems to have known that the felicity which is so rarely attainable in divine poetry, by attempts at the sublime, is well substituted by blending taste and elegance with fervour, thus describes the duties of a religious house: a hasty portion of prescribed sleep, obedient slumbers that can wake and weep, and sing, and sigh, and work, and sleep again, still rolling a round sphere of still returning pain; hands full of hearty labours, pains that pay and prize themselves; do much that more they may; and work for work, not wages: let to-morrow's new drops wash off the sweat of this day's sorrows. a long and daily-dying life, which breathes a respiration of reviving deaths. the state of reason among the monks may be ascertained from some old rhymes of the monastic life, published by fabricie nical modes bits hamonks, nuns, &c. 151 omnem horam occupabis you shall occupy ever hour hymnis, psalmis; et amabis in hymns [and] psalms; and you shall like tenere silentium. to keep silence. super hoc orationem besides this, you shall love diliges et lectionem, prayer and reading, nutricem claustralium. the nurse of cloisterers. habens vestitum et victum, having raiment and food, ut fert apostoli dictum, as the apostle's saying directs, nihil quæras amplius; you must not seek any thing further; de colore ne causeris, do not talk of the colour, si fit vilis tunc loeteris, if it be mean, then be glad, et ficeris sobrius. and thus you will be sober [minded]. cave ne fis curiosus take care not to be foppish in vestitu, nec gulosus in [your] dress, nor dainty in diversis epulis. in [your] different meals. sic non eris somnolentus, thus you will not be lethargick, nec in potu vinolentus, nor vinolent in your drink, nec vacabis fabulis, nor waste your time in gossiping; nimis est periculosum it is too dangerous esse claustralem verbosum, for a cloisterer to be verbose, cum silere debeat; when he ought to be silent; joci quidem sunt ferendi, jests, indeed, must be endured, nunquam tamen referendi, but never repeated, quos proferre pudeat. for it may be disgraceful to utter them. maxims derived from the vulgate may be seen in detail in steins, p. 351. some of the epis pels are unnot stituted who quoted inst onach d ar dsfor using them, god is made the tempter of vice, and his works foolish. if voluntary confinement, vegetable-eating, perpetual praying, wearing coarse clothing, and mere automatical action through respiration, be the standard of excellence, then the best man is only a barrel-organ set to psalm tunes. sleep, according to this plan, ought to be virtue; but the fact is, that it is not possible to pursue a system exclusively directed to suppress faults, without reducing the character to a caput mortuum.a mere innocence was, indeed, the qualification for a monk; and the error is, that all its merit was limited to that. the result of such system is the ruin of the public and patriotic character, and the elevation of anthony and francis over leonidas and socrates; for the consideration was not what sacrifices any one made for the good of society, but how many dinners he could go without in a week? what aversion he had from matrimony? and how many prayers he said in a day? but, alas! superstition has its basis in the will, and therefore monachism never succeeded but when it was an act of volition. as soon as its duties became mechanical operations, the work was performed, and the prin ciple disregarded, while the heart, left open to the world, was constantly prompting those aberrations, wid naturally result from the opposition of will to duty. shame is of avail where security is to be gained from es parceny, evasion, or secret. henes the vices of the monks: gluttony, ther grand crime, is the natural pleasure of those who are debarred from other e joyments, whether by physical or mor causes. what these crimes were, f the greater part, the "inquirente conventum of henry's abshow. these were of 2 what age? what you tutes? whether ef living whether ence." incon ms. implying horis et misquomodolibet convent, who is hours and masses, be absent from the but see sect. church, 152 monks, nuns, &c. nence,a apostasie, padarastia,b heresie, treason, perjury, or any noted crime? whether possessed of property unknown to the superior? whether they carry on any bargaining, chevisaunce, or such worldlie business for their own profit ?d whether they use a very indelicate proofs of this occur in ms. harl. 913, f. 2. ms. cott. cleop. e. 1v. f. 115, b. the principal pretence for the entrance of wo. men was for washing the clothes. monast. anglic. ii. 566; and there is a visitation injunction, that they should not take any women to carry pots into the infirmary, refectory, or place called jordayn chamber; "ne aliquas sumant mulieres in infirmar. refector. vel domum vocatum jordayn chameram ollas deferre." ms. mus. ashmol. 1519, f. 84, a. women were admitted into the dormitory. id. 97, a. mulieres de incontinentiâ seu furto suspectæ (women suspected of incontinence or theft) are mentioned in the same ms. 25, b. by the order of henry's visitors, no women were to enter but by leave of the king or his visitors; nor no entrance to the house but by the "great forgate." ms. cott. ut supr. b hincmar of rheims (epist. 600 b. c.) speaks of "negotiatorem clericum aut inhonestis aut lucris turpibus intuantem." of superstition, apostacy, treason, incest, adultery, &c. &c. see the above ms., f. 147, 8, 9, et passim. i decline giving the passages. whatever may have been invented, and much was so no doubt by henry's visitors, still ancient visitation injunctions (ms. ashm. ut supra, &c.) say nearly the same; and it would be absurd to suppose, that, in so large a body of men, and in the middle age, instances of vice, in its most gross form, should not sometimes be found, especially as the institution made no provision for satiating appetite; and the monks had fastidious ones, as will soon appear, which occasionally, we know, conquer all restrictions. c vel sunt furatores, vel faciunt numismata regni, proditores. or they are thieves, or fabricate the money of the realm, traitors. ms. cott. cleop. b. 11. p. 59. invectivum contra monachos, &c. t. r. ii. in the notices des mss. are more proofs of coining. a monk of peterborough stole jewels, &c. to give them to women in the town. gunton, 55. thomas strutt sold privately the pix of the monastery of drax (vendidit clam pixidem monasterii, &c.) ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. f. 154, a. furtum (theft) is mentioned in the general confession of crimes which might happen to monks in ms. cott. calig. a. 1. henry, prior of tupholme, was very ingenious in making false money. monast. angl. ii. 629. one william pigun, a monk of st. alban's, forged the convent seal. m. paris (1st), 1048. ed. watts. d quia nonnulli firmas ecclesiarum maneriorum et aliarum possessionum, quæ mercatoris instar obtinere dicuntur, recipiunt indecenter. (because some indecently receive the farms of churches, manors, and other possessions, which, like a tradesman, they are said to acquire, &c.) ms. any unlawful art, as nycromancye, sorcerye, alchemistry,e &c.? whether they leave the house by day or night without leave? whether they have any children lying with them by night, or conversant with them in the daytimes, and for what purpose?s whether any one of them be a diser, carder,h harl. 328, f. 7, a. whether they keep any bakehouses, or farms in hand against the statutes? ms. harl. 791, f. 25. ne aliquid emant seu vendant, ni quod erit abbate mandatum, necessitate vestimentorum exceptâ; i. e. let them not buy or sell any thing, except clothes, without the abbot's order. ms. ashm. 1519, f. 68, a. see the article obedientiaries. lyndw. const. othob. tit. 43, and stat. 21 henry viii. which mentions their tan-yards, dealing in wool (the cistercians especially), cloth, &c. they used to sell wine at taverns, by deputy, some lay-brother, or other. monast. anglic. ii. 746. it was certain, too, that they used to buy corn, wine, or other moveable goods, that they might afterwards sell them dearer, without the knowledge of their superiors. bibliotheca præmonstrat. p. 835. the benedictine constitutions given before say more on this head. e w. thorne (col. 2146) mentions, upon something being stolen, the application of the necromantic art, to discover the thief, without success. chaucer's canon the alchemist, &c. &c. is well known. quia nonnulli monachi etiam juniores opportunitate captatâ extra septa monachorum absque societate honesta evagandi, etiam nullâ super hoc obtentâ licentiâ, se gesserunt pluries indecenter. (because even some of the junior monks, watching their opportunity, have rambled alone out of the precincts of the house, and many times behaved themselves indecently.) ms. harl. 328, p. 5. these charter-house monks (say henry viii.'s visitors) "would be called solitary; but to the cloister-door there be above xxiiii keyes in the hande of xxiiii persons, and it is lyke many letters, unprofitable tayles and tydings, &c. comin ther by reason therof; also to the buttery-door ther be xii sundry keyes in xii mens hands." cott. ms. cleop. e. iv. f. 35, a. the nuns of st helen's, london, were forbidden to have keyes of the posterne door. monast. ii. 896. to punish this evagation it was ordered, that, after their return, they should take the last rank, lose their vote in chapter, and so continue till pardoned. m. paris, 1096. they were not to leave the cloister for 15 days in cap. gen. northampt. aº 1444. c. 10, de prælatis; by which chapter it appears, that the inferior officers took the liberty of granting this licence of going out, and that in these rambles the monks used to call upon religious or sæculars by the way. 8 cohibendum est ei pueros nutrire ni ei concessum fuit episcopali auctoritate. "he (the monk) is not to bring up children unless by episcopal authority." ms. cott. jul. a. ix. f. 12, b. (de vitâ reclusorum.) barclay says (ship of fooles, 91, a.) "the monkes think it lawful for to play, when that the abbot bringeth them the dice." in the confessionale generale de casibus qui commonks, nuns, &c. 153 tavern-haunter,a or hunter,b or resorter to suspecte places, or with suspect persons? whether they sit up late, or be surfett or overlyen with drinke?c muniter possunt accidere monachis. ms. cott. calig. a. 1. f. 223, a. is peccavi—in ludo taxillorum, scaccorum. "i have sinned in playing at draughts and chess." rob. holcot, a dominican, wrote a book of the game of chess, and of course played at this game. (bale, ed. 4to, 1554, p. 148, b.) but, in the statutes of the savoy hospital, it is enacted, "statuimus, &c. quod nullus magister, vicemagister, capellanus perpetuus vel conductitius, aut aliquis alius minister, vel servitor hospitalis prædicti, pro tempore existens, ad talos, cartas, vel aliquos alios jocos illicitos et prohibitos, infra hospitale prædictum, clam vel palam, quoquo modo judet. poterint enim omni tempore ludere ad scaccos, et tempore nat. dominicæ, per quadraginta dies ad tabellas, sine fraude, et blasphemiâ, et magnâ pecuniarum summâ; i. e. we enact, &c. that no master, vice-master, perpetual or temporary chaplain, or any other minister or servant of the aforesaid hospital, for the time, shall in any manner, openly or privately, within the aforesaid house, play at dice, cards, or other illicit and prohibited games. but they may at all times play at chess, and at christmas for forty days at draughts, so as they do not cheat, blaspheme, and lose much. cott. ms. cleop. c. v. xxiiii. a. in the inquiries touching the chaplains and other ministers of the savoy, it. ii. is, "whether any of theym be a fighter, a seditious person, a drunkard, a common haunter of taverns or alehouses, or a dicer, carder, or walker abrode by night?" ms. harl. 791, f. 33. a the peterborough monks haunted a tavern near the house. gunton, 55; and in ms. ashmol. mus. 1519, p. 70, a. is, "tabernasque frequentando, ad matutinas cum fratribus sæpius non consurgendo." (by frequenting taverns, and seldom rising to mattins with the brethren.) the fondness of the monks for hunting is well known, and ancient, for it is reprobated by ambrose (lopez epitom. ii. p. 4.); but, notwithstanding this, it is to be observed, that the purchase of freewarren was made, sometimes at least, on a different account, as is plain from the abbot and convent of warden, who bought this right of the king, because the servants of the neighbouring noblemen tore up their fences, run over their ploughed lands, and beat and abused the brothers, who were employed in cultivating them, and the keepers (custodes). m. paris, 740. but it is further to be noted, that, though hunting for pleasure's sake was a mortal sin, even in a layman ; for health or necessity, or need of body (indigentia corporis), it was allowable in a clerk (athon. 147.); and accordingly we find that bishop juxon was a keen sportsman, and said to have kept the best pack of hounds in england (acta regia, 787.) the monks we should call poachers; for " noctem venaciones et piscationes (huntings and fishings by night) are inhibited in ms. ashmol. mus. 1519, f. 71, b.; but to stay up all night in this sport is mentioned in xenophon's cyropadia (b. p. 135.), and smythe's berkeley ms., as usual. in ms. ashm. mus. 1519, one wm. gloucester is described as staying out all night, “bibenper whether they sleepe together in the dormitory, or eate together in the refectory?d whether they keep silence in the cloister, dormitory, and at meat, and observe their fasting and other ceremonies ?f what shete and shirte, linen and woollen, they lie in, and what bed, whether of feathers or wool? whether they attend the divine services? how many professed and not professed, and how many the foundation required? what wages eche of ad do et rixando" (drinking and quarrelling), f. 39, a. (see sect. dormitory.) in ms. harl. 913, f. 58, is the passio unius monachi secundum bacchum, where mention is made of a monk, who, postquam incaluerat mero (after he had got warm with wine), timens ne per continentiam morbus perrepat ad vitalia, 'fearing lest by continence disease should creep to his vitals,' went out to find some one to cure his languor, and at length meets a woman sitting, &c. to the same purpose is the missa de potatoribus, or parody on the mass. (ms. harl. ut supra.) "intrabo ad altare bacchi. vinum, quod lætificat cor hominis. confiteor deo baccho omnipotenti et reo vino coloris rubei, et omnibus ciphis, et vobis potatoribus, me nimis gulose potasse, per nimiam nauseam rei (sic) bacchi dei mei potacione, sternutacione, oscitatione, maximâ mea ciphâ, mea maximâ ciphâ. ideo precor beatissimum, et omnes ciphos ejus, et vos fratres potatores, ut potetis pro me ad dominum reum bacchum, ut misereatur mei. misereatur nostri ciphipotens bacchus, et permittat nos perdere omnia vestimenta vestra, et perducat nos ad vivam tabernam; qui bibit et potat per omnia pocula poculorum." f. 11, b. it does not admit of translation. nigell wireker says of the black canons: causa datur vino, debetur culpa bibenti, cum caput aut membra cætera mane dolent. the fault, due to the drinker, is laid to the wine, when the head aches on the morning.-spec. stult. d aut in domibus sæcularium edent, aut comedent infra leugam à monast. [or eat in the houses of sæculars within a league from the house.] ms. mus. ashm. 1519, f. 93, b. see dormitory and misericord. equia, &c. comperimus evidenter, quod silentium inter vos minimè observatur. ms. harl. 328. f. 2. i. e. "because we find clearly, that silence is by no means observed among you,' ,"&c. it was owing to the negligence of abbots. reyn. append. 195. nigell wireker says of the grandmontines, "abdita claustra colunt, et nulla silentia servant." they live in secret cloisters, and keep no silence." spec. stult. ms. cott. tit. a. xx. &c. 46 the book of visitations of abbeys, in ms. ashm. mus. 1519, is full of items, implying breaches of these. nec licet alicui de conventu, qui horis et missis his interesse tenetur, ab eisdem quomodolibet absentare; i. e. no one of the convent, who is bound to be present at these hours and masses, ought, on any account, to be absent from the ms, harl, 328, f. 2, but see sect. church, same. 2 1 de luj hil te iurcull 2 1. an treun, sternati tiem kis via inas zet veel n 2 ime 2: * te sus vate tunk • toure tire e kare j funny an inaa duane & müller aut liver of asset tues. sor be get in every lajuns *un zoo farm was 23 wwn text at 11 man motar. augu the mikona vit garrant * money funded a t from twee pares e orie mwy na we beat that t vi luvmom wta tak event and ruowedge of the åsnor (run. d... hoovid be depease w1 & 2wearest veney for restments. we anded to in, vry, lystx. 966. keemiat the curwoks was in the habit of gring, and the mosunod akong may inn of restment cap. gin hom aapt. f 1727. wit. de vestimentis. ine yenerus chapter of 1956 allowed money to be *** and taken for small numara. reya. apwas $172. "they had also beguin. lowe's wigkanam, 491) but, notwithstanding these aljumandar, there wm a great want of punctuality in the payment of them by the officers. cap. gen. northampt, a 1444, c. v. rest. de officiariis. * at the visitation of peterborough it was ordered that one reginald bray should have a due proportion for number of dishes. gunton, 55. raavena's monast. 1. 425. *m** almonty, 4 the cistertians professed to follow the rule of benedict in its literal strictness, of which manual labour formed a part; and nigell wireker says of them, "they make every body work, lest any one should be idle or at leisure among them." ommibus injungunt operas, ne desidiosus, aut quandoque vacans inveniatur ibi. spec. stult. ms. harl. 2122, m. mb. harl. 791, f. 19, 23. often in print. ở te i. me if the cg his στο the as to be tremor as quaretati më regtouch for le sang by the body in a canon of the ei se ne mother ten i cits" gradus the things tt rocson; ts dadas done themselves 11 meme wang rections ese cu de tea fàng with da te mos 2 ff boue. cture into pet in augusta it i turmeln, de ime tank if is jaket vi a sword." ter is lotin having sementy gamert but some goat's vall de tiered the other. three tours estet iming them in the year das micks that struck one wider, vært to be punished by their respective aboots, the sea to the rowho the lim.cy was excessive. does not know the noble mstration of xs. cie. cen. e m. £ 146, £. 22. a vink of ▼ckt & da recurd, who, havme sormed the same hos pares, resided spen 7 dke a layilel. monas. angle. i. 293. tw: cistercian 4g canterbury were bresting of the miraces of s. bernard, upon wich john planeta toul a story of his attempting to cast a devil out of a young man, when the event was, that he pelted the afoot with stones, pursued him from street to street, and at last, when the people had caught and bound him, kept his eyes sargely fixed on him. ms. bodl. wood, ii. p. 219. reyn. append. 190. * nomen dei sæpissimè in vanum assumpsi (i have very often taken the name of god in vain) is in the confessionale generale de casibus qui communiter accidere possunt monachis) in ms. cott. calig. a. 1. p. 223. * cap. gen. northampt. a 1444, ch. x. de novitiis, &c. unum plerumque contingere solet, ut dum potionibus monachi immoderatis indulgent, ad rixas et pugnas persilientes cum ollis ipsis liquore plenis se invicem percutiunt. ms. cott. tiber. b. 13. (gir. cambrens. contra excess. monachorum.) m manum ense fratris carmelita infortunè abscidit dextram. ms. in the ashmolean museum, 1519. f. 99, b. » m. paris, p. 799. • id. 653. p id. 405. monks, nuns, &c. 155 monks? says an old poet: the fame of them has pervaded the whole world: they consume all things, and yet they are not satisfied with the birds of heaven, and the fishes of the sea; they seek many dishes, and a long time in eating them.a another adds, "feed them but well, they care for nothing else."b nigell de wireker charges them with hiding many things, and pocketing provisions to eat on fast days. and one of their own body says, "all fowlowe our owne sensyalitye and pleser; and thys religyon, as i suppose, ys alle in vayne glory." they were equally remarkable for the fastidiousness of later æras. "in this present age," says peter of blois, "religious men, and persons of the sacred order, contend about the number of their meals. if a religious finds that he has a quick pulse, or an inflamed urine, or a dull appetite, he consults medical men, searches out spices, makes electuaries, and uses no salt-fish, which are not seasoned with cinnamon, cloves, and other spices. such a religious is rather a disciple of epicurus than of christ. this, he says, hurts the head; this, the eyes; this the stomach;this, the liver; butter is of a convertible nature; beer occasions flatuence; cabbages are melancholy; leeks inflame choler; peas generate the gout; beans excite phlegm; lentils hurt the eyes; cheese is worst of all; to stand long at prayer weakens the nerves; to fast hurts the brain; to watch drys it."e • quis nescit quod monachorum nobilis ordo? in omnem terram exivit sonus eorum : omnia consumunt, nec eos possint saturare volucres cœli et pisces maris, fercula multa petunt, et longum tempus edendi. ms. harl. 913, f. 55. si bene pascatur, monachus nil amplius optat. ms. cott. titus, a. xx. f. 86, a. e multocies carnes et pinguia sæpe vorare, in feria sextâ sæpe licebit eis, pellicias portant, et plura recondita sumant, quæ non sint sociis omnia nota suis. spec. stultor. ms. harl. 2422, and cott. tit. a. xx. a ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. f. 161, a. e hodie viri religiosi et sacri ordinis professores de ferculorum numerositate contendunt; si invenit religiosus circa se aut pulsum velocem, aut urinam incensam, aut hebetem appetitum, consulit medi"i boasted much of nourishing my person, the bloom of my countenance, and whiteness of my skin," f is one of the articles of monastic confession; and simon of gaunt complains that, "theo thet shculden one leenen hore soule mid heorte bereosunges and fleshes pinunge vorwurded fisiciens and liccomesh leche." i wicliff charges the monks with studying the constitutions and physiology of women in books, and thence teaching, that to lie with them in the absence of their husbands, was very wholesome against various diseases.k for this purpose, as well as for profit, they studied or professed the medical art; "for to beon so angressful hereafter," says the last ancient writer, "nis nout god i wene, and god and his deciples speken of foule lechekrefte and ypocras (hippocrates) and galien (sic) of licomes hele (bodily health); the on thet was bett ilered of jhu cristes deciples seid that fleshes wisdom is dead of the soule." giraldus cambrensis describes "two vagabond monks, who, without throwing off their habit, yet leading a beggarly life, committed various enormities, and endeavoured to make a trade of the medical art, though they had never studied hippocrates or galen, or heard cos, examinat species, electuaria facit, nullis utitur salsamentis (salted food, i suspect, not salt fish), quæ non sunt condita ex cinnamomo et gariophillo, et nuce muscatâ (nutmeg). religiosus talis discipulus potius est epicuri, quàm christi. hoc capiti, inquit, hoc oculis, hoc stomacho, hoc epati, nocet; butirum convertibilis est naturæ ; cervisia ventos facit, caules melancholici sunt, porri choleram accendunt; pisa guttam generant, faba constipat; lentes excæcant; caseus universaliter est pessimus; diu ad orationem stare nervos debilitat; jejunare cerebrum turbat; vigilare desiccat. ms. roy. libr. 8 f. xvii. f gloriabar valde de rostro colendo, faciei candore, albedine cutis. ms. cott. caligula, a. i. f. 221. s i suspect for bereavinge. h body doctors. a. sax. i ms. cott. nero, a. xiv. f. 202, a. not to indulge his person too much is among the duties of monks in ms. harl. 103, f. 114, b. the de hypocrisi ap. bale, v. i. p. 475. well-known story of st. louis refers to this pretended remedy of disease, which the monks converted into a license for illicit pleasure. ims. cott. ut sup. 156 monks, nuns, &c. or read a single lecture on the subject, either in the schools, or elsewhere."a avarice, accompanied with villany, also characterised them. a certain knight had left 100 marks by will to a certain house, and lay there sick; upon getting well, the monks, that they might not lose the money, plotted his death by poison or suffocation.b "the churches of wales," says the same writer, "are deprived of their parishioners by them, both living and dead;" and he also adds instances of a small house of nuns being oppressed by them, and of an archbishop cheated out of his books which he had collected from his juvenile years.e barclay reproaches their avarice for begging alms over the country, though wealthy; and nigel wireker says of the cistertians, who are elsewhere censured for singularity, avarice, and little communication with the world, thatthey wished their neighbours to have landmarks, and none themselves." nor from this avarice can it excite wonder, that, as says an antient poet, "they neither loved, nor were beloved by any one."h a monachos duos domorum suarum desertores gyrovagantes, et de loco ad locum circumeundo discurrentes, nec tamen habitum abjicientes. hii vero inter excessus enormes varios et multos, quatinus trutannicam vitam suam victumque lucrosam efficere possent, et pecuniosam artis medicinalis peritiam profiteri non minus imprudenter quàm impudenter præsumpserunt, cum tum hippocratem aut galenum cæterorumque librorum faculta. tis illius, nunquam in scolis, aut alibi lectionem unam audissent aut legissent. ms. cott. tiber. b. xiii. (no pages.) b quatinus propter pecuniam tantam, qua domus illorum per ejus convalescentiam fraudaretur, aut venenato poculo militem extinguerent, aut subitis eundem et violentis oppressionibus subfocarent. ms. cott. tib. b. xiii. de communi coenobiorum walliæ vitio per quod baptismales ecclesie parochianis suis sicut vivis sicut mortuis per monachos destituuntur. ib. d de domo monialium exili et exiguâ per monachos opulentos oppressa. id. see too monast. ii. 785. e thesaurum librorum suorum quos à puerilibus annis usque in provectam ætatem tam studiose collegerat. id. f ship of fooles, 119, b. agrorum cupidi nunquam metas sibi poni ; vicinis vellent, &c. spec. stultor. monast. anglic, ii. 61. dum vivunt monachi, nec amant, nec amantur ab ullo." ms. harl. 913, f. 55. they were detractors, disobedient, proud, dissatisfied, rebellious, and otherwise criminal. alas! says alfred of rievesby, i am ashamed to say how they get together, and abound in detractions and contentions. for, to be silent of lovers of the world, whose whole discourse is of gain or baseness; what shall i say of them, who, having professed to renounce the world, only dispute and converse of the belly, i will not say the delight of it, but burden.i they were in the habits of persecuting some of their prelates or brethren, from hatred or ambition, or of maliciously defending others.k they used to exalt their heads above their seniors, through the negligence of abbots.¹ acharius, abbot of peterborough, used often to say in the convent, "my lords, my lords, if some of you had not opposed me, i should have done you much good,"m and visitation injunctions enjoin obedience to the abbot." they were extremely deceitful, and their society was dangerous through the frauds they practised. their pride was conspicuous in their treatment of the clergy. roger, prior of lantony, wishing to celebrate mass at canterbury, modestly addressed a monk whom he happened to meet; the other, turning his head back, and looking at him scornfully and askant, asked him, if he was not a secular clergyman? yes, replied the prior's companion; go, then, said the haughty monk, and hear or say mass in some of the chapels of the town. this shows how bibliotheca patrum, xiii. p. 16, col. 2. * cap. gen. northampt. a 1225. 1 reyn. append. 195. m hist. coenobii burgensis, p. 107. my lord was the title of a monk as well as of an abbot. chaucer, gervas, i. 415, 1. 44, &c. n ut fratres sint obedientes mandatis sui proprii prælati. ms. ashmol. mus. 1519, f. 71, b. • rara fides fratrum, &c. nigell wirek. spec. stult. of the cistertians. p de monachi societate dolosa. de librorum emptione subdolâ, seu potius ademptione non per abbatis simplicitatem, sed magis monachorum duplicitatem et dolositatem. ms. cott. tib. b. xiii. 4 qui cum monachum quendam loci ejusdem sibi tunc obvium, super hoc humiliter conveniret; ille statim caput et collum cervicosè retorquens, eumque superciliosè nimis et valde obliquè respimonks, nuns, &c. 157 absurd the monastic maxim was, that different orders were instituted, that whilst the lesser paid deference to the greater, and the latter returned it with affection, true concord might ensue.a they were flatterers of the rich, and gallant to the ladies.b sometimes so much so, that, says giraldus, the townsmen of lannaneveri, on account of their wives and daughters, which the monks every where and openly abused, prepared themselves for leaving the place entirely, and departing to england.c when they were at leisure they were always revolving temporal matters.d "sometimes," says an antient sermon, addressed to them, "when a monk goes into the country under pretence of health, he returns to his place of nativity, there to breathe a free and accustomed air for some days, and perhaps bring back some present to the brethren from their friends. when a monk goes out under pretence of serving the convent, he becomes an importunate suitor to great persons, calling profit, however made, piety; and, when he returns, he carefully inquires the hour of the day, lest he should be obliged to go to the common table and church; and though he professes to do all this from public good, the true cause is, he does not like the half-boiled vegetables of the convent, and wine mixed with water, and thinks silence and sitting in the cloister a prison. he wants to eat better, drink ciens, nonne vos, inquit, clerici estis? canonicus respondit, utique sumus; et ille, in villam igitur ite, et in aliquâ capellarum exteriorum inter clericos missam audiatis vel dicatis. ms. cott. tiber. b. xiii. et ■ ordines constituit esse distinctos, ut dum reverenciam minores pocioribus exhiberent, pociores minoribus dilectionem impenderent, vera concordiafieret. ms. roy. libr. 8 f. ix. (no pages.) b bernard in dev. vie mon. ii. p. 18. they were often attendants upon the ladies, and rode about with hounds and a servant. wart. i. 282. c dicens etiam quod burgenses hii de castello eodem (lannaneveri) propter uxores suas et filias quibus monachi passim et palam abutebantur, villam suam ex toto relinquere, et in angliam recedere jam parabant. ms. cott. tib. b. xiii. d pravæ monachorum mentes temporalium rerum tumultus intra semet ipsos versare non cessant, etiam cum vacent. ms. bodl. 2401, p. 19, a. more savorily, speak more freely, lie more softly, watch more seldom, pray less. thus staying in the cloister, he does not even suppress the vice of curiosity," e a term which among the monks signified restlessness, and investigation of the lives of others, a common fault. "he who is singular," says the same antient sermon, "despises others, and conceives himself alone able to live piously. he sows discord and hatred among the monks by whispers; from some he detracts; the advantages he openly depreciates; his hand is against every body, and every body's against him."g others became negligent in the following manner: for two months, three, or a year, they began to have a certain boldness; after that boldness, security; then becoming negligent, they began first to love their own will, and through this, unwilling to follow that of another. this caused them to ask the reason, when ordered to do any thing against their will. then they complained of the heat and cold, and how they should fare in that season. when any thing upon an urgency was ordered them, they began to murmur, or asked for various articles of good cloathing, or thought others had e quandoque enim sub obtentu sanitatis egrediatur monachus ad provincias, ad natale solum redit, ut ibi liberum et consuetum aera bibat per aliquos dies, et forte aliquam refectionem referat fratribus ab amicis. quandoque sub obtentu utilitatis fratrum egreditur monachus, ad principes terræ rogator importunus, questum quocunque factum appellans pietatem; cum redierit horam ingres. sus sui diligenter explorat, ne oporteat eum ingredi ad communem fratrum mensam, et orationem communem; et cum obtentu boni hæc se facere proponat, verior tamen causa quod olera claustri semicocta fastidit et vinum aquâ mixtum; silentium, sessionem in claustro carcerem reputans. appetit enim edere cautius, bibere sapidius, loqui licentius, cubare mollius, vigilare parcius, orare tenuius. sic nec manens in claustro vicium curiositatis condit. ms. harl. 1712, f. 23, a. b. f nam ille monachus alienum agit negotium, qui curiositatis vitio suam oblitus vitiosam discutere, vitam alienam investigare sollicitè curat. inquietudo ergo quæ et alio nomine curiositas appellatur. ms. bodl. ut sup. f. 56, a. 8 qui singularis est aspernit cæteros, &c. susurro in fratribus fomitem odii et seminaria discordiæ ministrans. quibusdam latenter detrahit, quorundam beneficia patenter decolorat; manus ejus contra omnes, et manus omnium contra eum. ms. harl. ut sup. 23. 158 monks, nuns, &c. better than themselves. they were ambitious and intriguing. an ass is introduced into the church, says nigell wireker, a silly animal, that wishes to have a different and larger tail than nature has given him. thus a religious, not content with his condition, no more than the ass with his tail, scorns the claustral life, in which he ought to continue to the end, seeking by every method to be plucked away and transplanted from it; that he may be able to increase himself with a new and long tail, lay hold of a priory or abbacy, and insert nearer him a long suite of relatives; who, afterwards, wherever he goes, may rejoice in dragging his tail for him.b he also adds, of abbots, with an allusion to their first state, that they are harassed with envy and ambition; that their first labour is to rise; and that they are next tormented with worldly cares, and that they may gain wealth. their a iste aliquando per duos menses et tres et per annum incipit habere quandam audaciam; post audaciam securitatem; post securitatem devenit negligens, discit vel incipit experiri quod dicit sapiens, qui modica spernit paulatim decidit. incipit primò amare propriam voluntatem, et per hoc incipit esse piger ad sequendam voluntatem alterius. inde incipit quærere causam quum aliquis ei præcipit aliquod contra voluntatem suam. tunc de frigore et de æstu causatur, et per quam se nutrierit in isto tempore. quum aliquod ei precipitur propter aliquam necessitatem, incipit immurmurare, aut quærit bonas tunicas, bona pallia, bonam cappam, bonam cucullam, et incipit semper considerare pannos aliorum, et sæpe putat quod alii habeant meliores quam ille. ms. harl. ut supr. f. 34, b. b introducitur ecclesiæ asinus animal, sed stolidus, volens caudam aliam et ampliorem quàm natura contulerit contra naturam sibi inseri. qui non contentus condicione suâ, sic nec asinus caudâ suâ, vitam claustralem in quâ deberet usque in finem perseverare, ut salvus fieret, omnino fastidit, quærens omnibus modis qualiter ab eâ evellatur et transplantetur: ubi novâ caudâ et prolixa possit se accrescere, ut prioratum vel abbatiam possit sibi apprehendere, ubi parentum suorum sequelam copiosam possit proprius inserere. et postea qui caudam pro se quocunque ierit trahere gloriantur. præf. spec. stultor. ms. harl. 2422. e invidiæ stimulis vexantur et ambitiosis estibus assiduis precipueque tribus : primus ut ascendant labor est; sequitur periturum indiscretus amor, cura; quiete carent: hæc omnes ardent; hac omnes febre laborant, hæc tenet impium postpositura deum; ignorance was so great, that they did not often understand what they read, were unacquainted with the canonical hours which they sung, and as they were reading, put short accents for long ones.d among henry abbot of warden's reasons for desiring to resign, was the following: "item, they be in nombre xv brethren, and except three of them, non understand or knowe their rule, nor the statutes of ther religion." nor did they wish to learn; for he says before, "item, forasmuch as i did perceave ignorance was a great cawse whi that theis my bretherne was thus farre out of good order, and in continuall inquietnesse, to thentent that i wolde somewhat induce them to understanding, i caused [a] boke of gramer to be bowghte for eche of theim, and assigned mi brother to instructe them but ther wolde com non to him but one richard balldock and thomas clement."e they were fond of law. peter of blois says, "there is not a seat of justice in which religious men have not a concern, and eagerly obtrude themselves; for, deceiving the world with a specious appearance of religion, they are wretchedly deceived; and, while dead to the world, barter for and hunt after what belongs to it." it seems they were in the habit of attending to law concerns for parents and friends, and being bail for seculars.g their neighbourhood was dreaded much, perhaps on account of this litigious spirit, since they took the property of others away.h pawning was hinc ut opes habeant summâ virtute laborant possideantque brevi tempore parta diu. spec. stult. d item quia nonnulli commonachi et fratres, non intelligentes quid legant, horasque prorsus ignorantes dum psallunt, ut legunt accentum brevem pro longo ponunt. ms. harl. 328, f. 3. b. ms. cott. cleop. e. 1v. 163. a. non est hodie aliquod forum judiciale, aut venale, cui se viri religiosi non immisceant, et cui se importunissimè non imponunt. mundum enim quâdam simulatoriâ religione fallentes falluntur pessimè, et mundo mortui negotiantur et venantur quæ mundi sunt. ms. bibl. reg. 8. f. xvii. g monast. ii. 751. h voces cunctorum vicinia quos premit horum, deflent atque gemunt quod eis monachi sua demunt. ms. ashmol. mus. 8496, p. 133, b. monks, nuns, &c. 159 not an uncommon thing among them.a from the levity of indolence, they indulged themselves in writing lampoons,b or hunting after news; and, to conclude this catalogue of faults, that they might go on with impunity, perc de his qui auguria et diviniationes et sacrilegia attendunt.e nullus sibi percantatores adhibeat. nullus ex vobis observet quâ die de domo exeat, qua die iterum revertatur : ridiculosas sternutationes considerare et observare nolite. sed quociens vobis in quacumque parte fuerit necessitas prosperandi, signate vos in nomine christi, et simbolum et orationem dominicam fideliter dicete, securi de dei adjutorio iter agite. et quia quando supradicta omnia sacrilegia deo vobis inspirante contempnere et despicere ceperitis, molestè hoc accepturus diabolus, quod vos videt de amicitia et societate suâ discedere et sacrilegia per quæ vos decipiebat contempnere, ob aliquas nequitias vobis factas aut infirmitatem aliquam inmissurus aut aliquod animal aut per mortuum aut pervagationem ablaturus, quia ad vos probandos hoc fieri permittit deus, ut agnoscat utrum ad ipsum fideliter venistis.-f. 97. a. symbolum et orationem dominicam et ipsi tenete et filiis vestris ostendite. -f. 111. b. scitote vos fide-jussores pro ipis ad deum exstitisse, et ideo tam illos qui de vobis nati sunt quam illos quos de fonte excipitis semper castigate atque corripite.—ibid. in ecclesiâ stantes nolite sæcularia expectare, sed lectiones divinas patienter audire. qui enim ecclesiâ verboin dispositione fore prælati ad solutionem suorum debitorum et redemptionem librorum per se impignoratorum. ms. ashm. mus. 1519, p. 15, b. wm. burton pignorasset et in vadum, &c. tres libros. id. f. 25, b. b nonvult eum (benedictus) ad satiras offensas in rugâ nasum contrahere. nonvult eum ad satiras scribendas studium applicare ;-transgressores dne bernarde ejus instituti existunt qui talibus scriptis ex otio intendunt. ms. ashm. mus. 1285, p. 3. · hugh, bishop of lincoln, soon after a treaty secuted those who led better lives than themselves. d how superstitious and profane they and others were, appears from a ms. in the bodleian library, marked 2401, and entitled "smaragdus diadema monachorum." of those who attend to auguries, and divinations and charms. let no one apply to fortune-tellers. let no one take notice what day he goes out, and what day he returns: do not consider or notice ridiculous sneezings. but as often as you have any necessity of prospering, mark yourselves in the name of christ, and enjoy the creed and lord's prayer, set out on your journey, secure in the favour of god. and because, when from god inspiring you, you begin to despise all the above charms, the devil takes it ill, because he sees you depart from his friendship and society, and despise the witchcraft by which he deceived you, on account of wickedness committed by you, may send some disease or take away some animal by distemper or straying, because god permits this to try you, whether you have faithfully come to him. the creed and lord's prayer both learn yourselves and teach your children. know, that your godfathers promised this, and therefore always chastize and correct, not only your own children, but those whom you have received from the font. while standing in the church, do not attend to secular matters, but patiently listen to the divine lessons, for he who had been made, upon entering a carthusian monastery, was instantly accosted with, "what are the conditions of the peace?" gruteri spicileg. ii. 234. from surius. d and if that one live well and virtuously, in way of grace, like as he ought to go, the remanent assaile him with envy, and him oppresse with grievous payne of wo, until he folowe like as the other do. barclay's ship of fooles, 256, b. it appears from the fathers, in passages too frequent to be cited, that all these superstitious practices were derived from the heathens. 160 monks, nuns, &c. rari voluerit, et pro se, et pro aliis malam redditurus orationem dum verbum dei nec ipse audit, nec alios audire permittit.-f. 112. a. omnes viri quando ascessuri sunt ad altare, lavant manus suas, et omnes mulieres nitida linteamina exhibent, ubi corpus christi accipiant.-f. 114. a. among their levities was a fondness, quite inconsistent with their profession, for sights and amusements. giraldus tells a story of a monk who ran out to see a whale, and who, his feet slipping, tumbled into a pit, and was lugged out with ropes and poles hooked with iron. minstrels, whom some houses maintained on purpose, contributed to their amusement at festivals and other times; though it is said they were disgustful to the severer orders, particularly before the norman conquest, when they were considered as brethren of the pagan scalds. to these are to be added bearwards.d the friars ex vapore pinguedinis monstri illius lubricè magis effecte, lapsis pedibus utrisque retro cadens subito totus in apercionem illam resupinus intravit; à qua cum funibus et perticis longis ferro aduncatis vix tandem ferro extractus emersit. ms. cott. tib. b. xiii. sect. de monacho ad mon. struosam belluam inspiciendum occurrente, &c. these exhibitions were probably more interesting than now; for, in the wood-cuts of ambrose parey's works, p. 619, representing the manner of cutting up the whale, a drummer and fifer are standing upon it and playing; drum-beating and bell-ringing being the signal given to the inhabitants of aquitain, at sight of a whale. the lard was boiled, and eaten with fish in lent, that gormandizers might have something to serve them instead of flesh, then forbidden. the houses of the fisheaters were built with their bones, and orchards fenced with them. ibid. c b warton's history of english poetry, i. p. 92. reliques of ancient english poetry, i. xli. lix. ed. 2. d warton, ut sup. the romans kept bears tame under a keeper, and upon lamps we see showmen leading them; one among others is mounted upon a ladder (encyclop. des antiq. v. ours.) bearbaiting is alluded to by apuleius; and it was a pastime in much vogue here, generally upon sundays after service. (strutt's sports, &c. xxxix.) the maintenance of bears was a tax sometimes imposed upon the feudal vassal; and the public ovens paid, at every baking, each a loaf to the ursarius, or instructor, for which the tenants were to see the sport upon holidays. (du cange, v. ursarius, ursorum pastus.) kings made presents likes to talk in the church must give but a bad account both for himself and others, whilst he neither hears the word of god himself nor permits others to do it. all men, when about to go to the altar, wash their hands, and all the women put on clean clothes when they take the sacrament. minors of francis having passed into england, and taking their way towards oxford, stopped at a benedictine abbey, where a young monk, thinking them, by their ridiculous habit, to be some jugglers, ran immediately to give notice of it to the abbot, who, in hopes of having some good sport, bad them come in. but they having made them to understand that they were poor friars, who came to implore their charity, the abbot and monks commanded they should be turned out of doors.e there were even masquerades in abbeys, as far back as the time of gregory of tours.f the inquirenda, in the visitation of nuns, were these; whether they used to have intercourse with strangers, men and women, without licence, especially in secret places, and in the absence of their sisters; whether used to go any where without the gates ;i whether any the of them, and a lady sent one to a tournament, for the reward of him who behaved best. m. paris, 113, 223. of sports with bears, see further strutt's sports, 182, 193, 194, and horda, iii. 150. bear formerly existed in britain, archæologia, x. 162. our taste for bear-baiting and boxing was that of the roman vulgar : media inter carmina poscunt aut ursum, aut pugiles. horat. l. ii. ep. i. v. 185. e d'emilliane's monastical orders, p. 169. f du cange, v. barbatoria. g items similar to those of the monks are omitted. h see monast. angl. ii. 895. "item, that non of your sisters bring in, receave, or take any layman, religious, or secular, into the chambre or any secrete place day or night, nor with thaim in such private places to commune, ete, or drinke, without lycense of your prioresse." monast. anglic. i. 910. it seems, from the 7th item of the constitutions of the nuns of sopewell, that the taylors of the house were the persons thus invited into private places. i in monast. anglic. ii. 896, is mention of "nonnes having keyes of the posterne doore," and "moche comyng in and owte unlefulle tymys." the capitularies of charlemagne say, "in some monks, nuns, &c. 161 do not use her habit continually out of her cell; whether any familiarity with religious or secular priests, not near kinsmen. item, whether any of them use to wryghte any letters of lovea or [lascivious fashions]b to any person, or receive any suche, and have any prevye messengers comyng and resorting to them with tokens or gifts from any maner seculer person or other; whether they talked without leave with any manner of persons, "by gratis or backewindows;"d what sporte or game they used in their playing days;e how often they were confessed; whether any of them were suspected of incontinence ;f small monasteries, where the nuns are without rule, we order, that their cloisters be well locked, and that they do not write or send love-letters. du cange, v. winileodes. the nuus of st. helen's were prohibited from receiving letters, or sending them, without license of the prioress, and witnesses to attest the propriety of the contents. dugd. monast. ii. 895. b blank in orig. but filled up from ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. p. 19. a very ancient writer says, "nuns support and exercise their bodies in woollen work (lanificio) (which, and cooking, was of egyptian origin), and deliver the garments to the monks, receiving in return what is needful for their support (victui). isidor. de eccles. offic. l. 2, c. 15, p. 213 (aº 630). secular hence perhaps the custom of presents. women, going backwards and forwards, are forbidden the nuns of sempringham, as likely to be messengers rather of evil than good. monast. ii. 699. the gilbertine nuns were not to make purses except of white leather, and without coloured silk. monast. ii. 784. see chapter of "anchorets," &c. "no loking nor spectacles owterwarde, through the wiche ye mythe falle in worldly dilectacyone.' monast. ii. 805. the 5th constitution of the nuns of sopewell orders, at certain times, "les fenestres devers la cuysine clos." "also we enjoyne yow, that alle dauncyng and revelling be utterely forborne among yow, except christmasse, and other honest tymys of recreacyone among youreselfe, usid in absence of seculers in alle wyse. "" monast. ii. 896. itinerant players, principally boys, used to be admitted, and play mysteries before them. warton's english poetry, iii. 324. the well-known instance of juliana bernes shows skill in hunting, hawking, and field sports. this crime they committed from the earliest periods; (charlton's whitby, 39.) and they despised the statutes made to correct it. athon. 155. a visitor at a convent of gilbertine nuns near lichfield, "founde two of the said nunnes; one of them impregnant (supprior domus): anothyr a yonge mayd." also at another, called harwolde, "wherein was iiii or v nunnes with the prioress, one of them had two faire children, another one, whether stubborn, incorrigible, seditious, a brawler, envious, yrefull, given to voluptuousness and sloth; whether and no mo." ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. f. 131. it is well known, that the bishop of lincoln, about 1251, in his visitations, ordered the nipples of the nuns to be squeezed, that he might be physically convinced of their chastity. various amulets for pregnant women were common in nunneries : thus the nuns of gracedieu had part of st. francis's coat, deemed beneficial to lying-in women (partem tunica sancti francisci, quæ ut creditur parturientibus conducunt). nuns of st. mary of derby had part of the shirt of st. thomas, in veneratione apud multoties pregnantes. those of wrelsa, apud mewse, had the girdle of bernard, ms. prægnantibus aliquando vestitum," (sometimes worn by breeding women.) ms. cott. ut sup. 147, 150, &c. &c. the nuns of yorkshire took potacions "ad prolem conceptum opprimendum." cott. ms. ut sup. f. 115, b. sometimes the children were murdered: "hic cum juvenis esset decorus formâ, instinctu antiqui hostis sororem suam illico amore concupivit, et ex eâ prolem procreavit;" which offspring "propriis manibus suffocavit ne ad homines incestus ipsius perveniat; et reversus (sic) ad peccatum suum secundo et tertio de eodem fratre concepit atque partus suffocavit." harl. 2385, f. 56, i. e. the monk, being young and handsome, fell in love with a nun, and had children by her, which children, even to a second and third parturition, she suffocated." some of the laws against this were as follows: "to carry off a nun was 120s. fine-leges aluredi, 1. 31, in lamb. whoever indecently handled her breasts, if she was unwilling, double the penalty (58.) of doing so to a lay-woman. id. c. 33. by the laws of edmund, made aº 946, the ravisher was punished like a homicide with the fine of all his fortune (747.) in the penitentiary canons of edgar, a guilty nun was punished with a twenty years penance (can. 32.) with perpetual penance and imprisonment among the gilbertines (of which alfred of rievesby relates a shocking instance, copied by bale), with severe discipline; (ms. harl. ut sup. f. 55, b.) and by the 13th of edward i. it was three years imprisonment for carrying off a nun, besides satisfaction made to the convent. sir osbert giffard, for stealing two nuns out of wilton abbey, was ordered never to enter a nunnery more; not to be in the presence of a nun without leave of his diocesan; to go thrice naked in his shirt and breeches to wilton church, but not in the presence of the nuns, and be each time beaten; and so likewise in salisbury market, and shaftesbury church; not to wear the insignia of knighthood, but russet with lamb or sheep fur, and calf-leather shoes, nor use a shirt after he was beaten; and this until he should have been three years in the holy land, or the king recalled him. tit. of honour, p. 790, and weever. bertram walton says (invective against nuns) : "but there was a lady, that hizt dame pride, "in grete reputacion they her toke, "and pore dame meekness sate beside, "to her unethys ony wolde loke, "but all as who seyth i her forsoke, "and set not by her nether most ne leste, "dame ypocrite loke upon a book, m 162 monks nuns, &c. they do understand first the articles of their faithe, and then the rule ;a whether surfeit with drink; how many howsholders are in their house, and who keepeth them.c besides these "and bete herself upon the brest : "i wolde have sene dame devowte "and sche was but with few of that route, "for dame sclowth and dame vayne glory 66 by vilens had put her owte. "and than in my harte i was full sorry, "that dame envy was there dwelling, "the which can selth strife in eny state, "and another ladye was there wonnyng "that hight dame love inordinate, "in that place both erly and late, "dame lust, dame wantonness, and dame vyce, "they were so there enhabyted, i wotte "that few token hede to goddys service." he afterwards complains that "dame envy, "in every corner had great cure ; "that another lady there was "that hyzt dame disobedient." ms. cott. vesp. d. 1x. f. 182, 3. "by this hede you schall understond suche cloistereris, the whiche thinken that thei ben more discrete, more witty, more kunning, than other; and therfor alle such natural witty cloistereris ben more lothe to be spoiled, and to be made naked from her owen willes than other simple cloistereris, ffor ther suche live witte is ther is ofte moche indignacion, and ofte tymes conflicte multiplying of many wordis, and pride of konnyng, yei have gret indignacion, whan thei ben in any wise withstond from her owen willes, thei weine that thei have grete wrong gif other ben clepid to counseil and not yei." ms. bodl. laud. d. 52. (regulæ inclusarum.) "i forbede not wordis of recreation, yough i forbede noyous wordis." id. monast. ii. 895. "where one of the intelligent sisters is ordered to teach the other." b the drinking after complin of the prioress of rumsey has got into all our familiar books. among the injunctions to the convent of appleton, aº 1489, is one; "item, that non of your sisters use the alehouse, nor the water syde, where course of strangers dayly resorte." monast. anglic. i. 910. in the inquiries touching the savoy, it was inquired, "whether any of the susters do cherish them moste that hath any money, and causeth them to spende the same when they be within at good ale or otherwise, wherby the same might have any pleasure or profit theymselff. item, whether any of the susters be comenly drunke." ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. f. 33, b. ms. harl. 791, f. 22. "also we ordeyne and injoyne, that nunnes have ne receyve noo schuldrin with hem into the house forseyde, but yif that the profite of the comonys turne to the vayle of the same house." monast. ii. 896. in the injunction to the nuns of appleton, they are to have noe perhendinancers or sojorners, but children and old persons, by which profit may come to the place. monast. i. 910. no man or woman in a secular habit was to be received to make a stay in the house of nun-cotun, unless any one slept there for the sake of hospitality. monast. i. 925. item, that the prioresse suffer no man to lodge under the faults, they were finical in their hairdressing;d fond of tales and gossiping; apt to give the lie, and strike one another. "ticle of her tonges," says piers plowman, "and must all secretes tell;" fond of flattering, stroking, and smoothing themselves;f receiving male visi tors with the salutation of "my love," and adding minstrelsy and dancing;g affected; used to adorn the walls of their chambers with pictures, for such are mentioned by alfred of rievesby (see anchorets), and the rule of cæsarius for nuns orders no wax tablets or other pictures to be affixed to the walls ; delighted in keeping dogs, parrots, and geese, hens, and other birds; for it seems they used to stay at the grange for the nourishment of animals, and that two would eat from one loaf, that they might keep the other whole for their dumb dependants. whatever, nevertheless, the faults of the dorter, or onn the backside, except such sad persones by whom the house might be holpyne, and secured without slander or suspicion. id. i. 910. ric. hagulstad. p. 327-torturâ capillorum et compositione capillorum. e fol. xxiii. ed. 2d. of 32d ed. ball. and herbert's ames.) f ms. cott. nero. a. 3. f. 15, b. wart. emend. v. i. p. 11. (see percy's 1 c. 42. h ms. cott. nero, a. 3, p. 19, b. * chaucer's prioress kept a number of small dogs; 39 loaves of coarse bread to the dogs in every manor per week. monast. i. 498. 1 nigell wireker mentions an unlucky parrot, who had the habit of telling tales: he says, by poisoning him they taught him to die earlier than to speak. sæpe mala phittacus in thalamum dominâ redeunte puellas prodit, et illorum verba tacenda refert; nescius ille loqui; sed nescius immo tacere profert plus æquo phittacus oris habens ; hinc avibus crebro miscente aconita puella, discat ut ante mori quam didicisse loqui; sunt et aves aliæ quæ toto tempore vitæ relligiosorum claustra beata colunt. spec. stultor. ver vert, or the nunnery parrot of gresset, translated by cooper, is well known, and modern. in monast. i. 925. ii. 768. the rage for keeping domestic animals was very strong among our ancestors. rob. betun, bishop of hereford, says on his death-bed, "i had in my house a black white footed dog, a domestic tame deer, a four-horned ram, cranes and peacocks, all which i used to feed from my table." (angl. sacr. ii. 318.) we hear also of a tame crane who stood before the table at dinner, and knelt and bowed his head when a bishop gave the benediction. (id. 400.) tame deer monks, 163 nuns, &c. poor nuns were, says nigell wireker, "they have this virtue, which wipes away every thing, incessant tears, that are penitently poured before the throne of god: whilst they are thus contrite, they merit pardon, and obliterate every crime they commit."ab nuns were sometimes styled "ladies, reverend ladies," but burial entries exist where they are called dames, as dame ann preston, &c.d in a monastery at brabant, the canonesses were created knightesses by some noble count, with a drawn sword struck upon the back, and the usual words.e to redress these evils in the conduct of the religious,f the expedient was (as in virgil) were very common among the anglosaxons, and sometimes they wore a collar, and were taught to bow to their masters. (ibid. and dugd. monast. i. 84. ii. 120.) there were some of them, at least, decoy-deer, which hunters sent into the woods, that, mixing with the others, they might draw them into the nets; and they had collars, or some other marks, that the hunters might not shoot them with their arrows. (du cange, v. extellarius, ii. p. 276.) s. gregory kept a cat, and was very fond of it. ugutio calls it a certain ingenious animal, viz. a mouse-catcher. tame ravens were kept even by an earl, and were sometimes supposed to be spirits in that form. (j. rous, 207.) we hear too of weazels, with little bells round their necks. (du cange, v. pelteolus.) parrots are of classical antiquity, as every school-boy knows. singing birds were artificially taught. (x. scr. 666. m. par. 140.) both parrots and monkeys were also curiously instructed. du cange, v. mammones. (id.) sed tamen illud habent quod cuncta refellit, ante deum lachrymas quæ sine lege fluunt; hiis dum placent semper veniamque merentur his sua cuncta lavant crimina, quicquid agunt. spec. stult. ms. cott. tit. a. 20. b the gilbertine nuns were not to talk latin unless a suitable occasion required; or to privately hide or steal any thing. monast. ii. 766. angl. sacr. i. 629, 654. lysons's britannia, i. 52. du cange, v. militissa. all monks and nuns were not of the above vicious description. pensions were granted at the dissolution according to the characters of the monks, and the visitors recommended such for preferment, as they did one randall wylmyston, monk of norton, calling him "a gud religious man, discrete, and well grounded in lerning, and hath many gud qualities." ms. harl. 604, f. 54. and the nunnery of legborne petitioned to be preserved, saying, "we trust in god, ye shall here no complaint against us, nether in our living nor hospitalitiekeeping." ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. 270, b. adopted of general chapters and visitations. the first general chapter was one of the cistertians in burgundy, which afterwards became annual, and set the example to the other orders.g when this first chapter of the cistertians was held, is not mentioned by mabillon; but it seems it was in 1116.h the benedictines first assembled for this purpose at oxford in the year 1219.i when the friars held a general chapter, sustenance was found them by persons of high rank. in all orders provisions were laid-in weeks before. these assemblies were meetings of the abbots and priors, or their proctors, once in three years, when visitors of the different houses were appointed, and emendatory statutes enacted.m the forms and methods of proceeding in them may be seen in the appendix to reyner. n in the year 1232, gregory appointed visitors to correct abuses. these were in the exempt houses, not bishops, but abbots, principally of the cistertian and præmonstratensian orders, and appointed by the pope or the general chapter. their harshness, insolence, and severity, occasioned frequent appeals to rome; the result of which was the appointment of others. those who refused to admit the visitation were to be suspended by the visitors (pay 101. say later constitutions) ;p but, upon seeking absolution, were to receive it, upon condition of giving security to obey the judgment of the general chapter, and receive the visitation in future. transmarine monks were to assign reasons, if they were unwilling to be visited. the visitors were to beware putting the convent to g mabillon's annales benedictini, v. 617. h see fabricii bibl. m. ævi, iii. 559. knighton, 2430. 1 howes's stowe, 284. k m. paris, 677. m athon. 52. reyner, append. &c. i have published the full ceremonial of one in the archæological library, p. 167, from an abbey register. it is not important. • w. thorne, 2114. p cap. gen. northampt. a° 1444. c. 12. a m. paris, 1097. m 2 164 monks, nuns, &c. if superfluous expence. they were to order delinquent monks to be punished by the abbot, who, if remiss, was himself punishable by the general chapter; and, till such chapter was held, if the abbot was not exempt, his diocesan was to find him a coadjutor. one of the visitors could not perform his office, another was to be appointed by the abbots who presided over the general chapter.b no one could the same year be the visitor of one who had been deputed to inspect his own abbey. they were to be suspended from the celebration of divine service if they neglected their duty; and, if a crime was rumoured of any house, they were to send word and visit it as soon as possible. informers at visitations were not to be vexed or persecuted afterwards by the abbot or officers.c visitors were to reduce to writing what they had discovered in their visitations, where it was necessary to have the advice of the president of the chapter.f the ceremony observed was this. notice was given of the intended visitation; an agreement was made respecting the time; and in the mean while the abbot promised the declaration of every thing amiss before their coming; all which he would himself, in process of time, amend. on the morrow after the arrival of the visitors, a sermon was preached in the chapter, and the commission and statutes made in the provincial chapter read. then, if after a minute scrutiny of every monk no offence was found, they departed, having made only a stay of a few days.g these visitations gave birth to many defamatory libels and letters from those who happened to pass by any house and heard the vices of it, and from malicious persons; as well as to confederacies of the monks to overthrow emendatory statutes. matthew paris says, that, in consequence of the local constitutions thus made, scarce two houses were found alike in their rule of living; but, as the canons of ottoboni were uniformly enforced by them, this may be questioned. many acts of successive general chapters, the same vices continuing, are nuing, are mere transcripts of one another. order of st. victor at paris.k this is the form of holding a general chapter, according to the manner of the order of saint victor of paris. the convent of the place in which the general chapter is celebrated, shall rise early in the morning of that day; and the signal being given in the dormitory, the brethren shall go to the church, and there say all the hours of the day and high-mass, and the 25 psalms, if it be lent, except the last hour of nones, and the service of the virgin mary, which all the brethren shall say by themselves, that they may all be present at the general chapter. when this is finished, they shall immediately ring for the general chapter. a m. paris, 405. b reyn. append. 97. d c. north. ut supr. c. 12. wilkins's concil. iii. 147. c jd. 103. • ibid. hæc est forma tenendi capitulum generale juxta modum ordinis sancti victoris parisiensis. conventus loci, quo capitulum celebratur, summo mane surget illo die, et dato signo in dormitorio fratres ibunt ad ecclesiam, et ibi dicent omnes horas diei et missam magnam et xxv psalmos, si quadragesima fuerit, exceptâ ultimâ horâ none et horis b'e marie, quas singli dicent per se, ut omnes fr'es intersint capit'lo generali. istis completis statim pulsabunt ad cap'lum generale. g m. paris, 713. c. north. ut supr. i p. 322. from an abbey register at berkeley. monks, nuns, &c. 165 and when all the brethren have entered the chapter, and are seated, the brother, before he begins to preach the word of god, shall immediately rise, and say, jube domine benedicere; and the president shall say, that all may hear, dominus sit in corde tuo et labiis ad pronunciandum sacra dei eloquia. in noie p. et fr. &c. and all shall say amen. the sermon being therefore completed, the president shall say benedicite, and all shall answer dominus; and he shall say to the proctors, "you conventual proctors have somewhat to say," and they shall answer, "yes, sir ;" and one of the proctors shall say first, "father, we have the souls of our brethren and friends first to be recommended, if it pleases," and shall say thus: "we of the convent of such a place ask, that you have these souls of our brethren, and the souls of our friends lately deceased, to be recommended, to wit, the souls of brother n., and brother n., and brother n., our special canons lately deceased;" and afterwards read our intimates, to wit, will. n., rich. n., and john n., and even of our special benefactors lately deceased: and the president shall answer to every proctor, when he reads over the brothers and friends, "requiescant in pace." each of these being read over in order, they shall say, de profundis clamavi, and the pater-noster, and three prayers, to wit, deus venie largitor, deus indulgenciarum, et fidelium deus. afterwards the president shall say, in the name of all the presiding officers, "we enjoin all our canons, who are able to celebrate masses, that for the souls here recommended, they each say a mass; and the other brethren not celebrating, a psalter; and every one of the convent brethren a hundred pater-nosters, and as many ave-marias." then the president shall say, "ye conventual proctors, where are your credentials?" and they shall show and deliver them to the president, to examine if they be sufficient; and, after examination, the president shall return them. then the president shall say, et cum omnes fr'es cap'lum sunt ingressi, et in sedibus suis collocati, frater priusquam ad predicandum verbum dei statim surget, et coram præsidente inclinabit et dicet: jube d'ne benedicere, et præsidens dicet ita ut ab omnibus audiatur : dnus sit in corde tuo et in labiis tuis ad pronunciandum sacra dei eloquia. in noie p. et s. &c. et omnes dicent amen. sermone itaque completo, presidens dicet benedicite et omnes dicent dns, et dicet procuratoribus: vos procuratores conventuales habetis aliquod dicere: et respondebunt etiam dne, et dicet unus de procuratoribus primo: pater, habemus ai'as fratrum et amicorum primo recommendandas si placet, et dicet sic, nos de conventu talis loci rogamus ut habeatis istas ai'as fratr' nostror' et animas amicorum nuper defunctorum recommendandas, scil' ai'as fratris n. et frat. n. et fratr. n. canonicorum nostrorum specialium nuper defunctorum, et pos tea leget familiares, sc. will'm n. ric'm n. et joh'nem n. et etiam benefactorum nostrorum specialium nuper defunctorum et respondebit præsidens unicuique procuratori cum perlegerit fr'es et familiares, requiescant in pace. quibus per ordinem singlis perlectis dicent, de profundis clamavi et pat. nr. et tres orationes, sc. deus venie largitor, deus indulgenicarum, et fidelium deus. postmodum dicet præsidens vice omnium prælatorum, nos injungimus omnibus canonicis suis qui missas celebrare possunt, ut pro istis ai'abus pie recommendatis dicant singli singlas missas et ceteri fr'es non celebrantes unum psalterium et unusquisque conversorum fr'm c. pr. nr. cum totidem ave-maria. deinde dicet præsidens, vos procuratores conventuales, ubi sunt vestra procuratoria? et ipsi ostendent procuratoria sua, et tradent præsidenti ad examinandum si sint sufficiencia. quibus examinatis o'ia eadem procuratoribus restituet. tunc præsidens dicet o'ibus assistenti166 monks, nuns, &c. bus, fr'es mei ecce in no'ie dni sumus hic vocati et congregati ad vidend' et emend' defectus et excessus in divinis officiis in personis et rebus, et ad statuendum per communem assensum super eisdem, quæ deo placeant, et fratribus ac notis proficeat (sic) ad salutem a'iarum et ut in præsenti capitulo generali possumus sic agere et perficere ea quæ agenda sunt ad laudem dei et ad honorem oi'um sc'orum et sc'æ ecclie, et ad ai'arum nostrarum utilitatem s'ctum spr❜m in adjutorium invocemus. et tunc dicent hymnum veni creator spr'us, quo dicto dicat præsidens oracionem scil. deus qui corda fidelium, et tunc dicet o'ibus, habetisne aliqua motiva legitima proponenda super defectibus et excessibus in officiis divinis aut in rebus aut in personis quæ per istud cap'lum poterunt emendari? et respondebunt illi qui habent aliqua proponenda, dicendo etiam dne, et tunc legent fr'es præponentes sua motiva in scriptis. et tunc eligatur unus præsidens per communem assensum pro tempore futuro. quo electo et pro tribunali sedente surget præsidens præteritus, et stans coram præsidente electo, officium suum resignet coram o'ibus dicendo: fr'es mei dilecti pro deo rogo mihi parcatis si in officio mihi commisso negligens extiterim vel remissus, nam nomine dei invocato suscepto præsidentis officio coram vobis fribus et testibus illud, pater reverende, resigno. et præsidens respondebit, indulgeat tibi deus, et omnes fr'es dicent amen. postea elegantur quatuor personæ ad minus per communem assensum, ad via motiva per fratres ibidem proposita examinanda qui religione et discrecione' sint approbati. qui habito super hiis nactatu diligenti statuant et diffiniant super propositis per communem assensum ea quæ magis cultui divino, et ai'arum saluti sibi viderint expedire, et ea quæ secundum deum et jura canonica approbaverint all assisting, "my brethren, lo! we are here summoned and assembled, in the name of our lord, to see and correct the defects and excesses in divine matters in persons and things, and to settle, by common assent, upon these, what may please god and profit our brethren, and to the salvation of their souls: and that, in the present general chapter, we may be able so to do and perform what must be done to the praise of god, and the honour of all saints, and the holy church, and the edification of all our souls, let us invoke the holy spirits to our aid." and then they shall say the hymn veni creator, &c. after which the president shall say the prayer, deus, qui corda fidelium; and then shall say to all, "have you any legitimate motions to make upon defects or excesses in the divine offices, respecting either persons or things, which can be emendated in this chapter?" and they who have any thing to propose, shall answer, "yes, sir, and then shall read their motions in writing; and a president shall then, by common assent, be elected for a future time. who being elected, and sitting before the tribunal, the past president shall rise and standing before the president elect, shall resign his office, saying, "my beloved brethren, i beg you to make allowances for me if in the execution of my duty i have been negligent or remiss for calling upon the name of god. i received the office, and before you, brethren and witnesses, i, reverend father, now resign it:" and the president shall answer, "god be merciful to you," and all the brethren shall say "amen." afterwards four persons at least shall be elected by common consent to examine the propositions there made by the brethren, which persons may be approved for virtue and religion. who, after due deliberation, may settle and define upon the propositions by common consent, what may best suit divine worship and the salvation of their souls: and let those things which they shall approve according to god and the canon laws, monks, nuns, &c. 167 be approved by them, and remain permanent according to the chapter de statu monachorum, and the chapter which thus begins: in singlis provinciis [they are constitutions of ottobon, and are printed in lindwood] and be reduced to writing in due form, that they may be held for authentic, and be sent to every convent of the province under the seal of the president. these things being done in due form, let the visitors of the past time be called to answer for the office committed to them, and if they have any thing to reveal, let them relate what they have to say, yet by no means exceeding the bounds of their office: and if the above visitors shall have been found negligent in the office of visiting, or have exceeded their duty, they shall be corrected, and deservedly punished according to their merits, so that their punishment may be an example to others, because their office is especially dangerous, if they have not acted in a proper manner. after these things, let three visitors be elected by common consent for a future time, who may know how to execute the office of visitation in a due form, as is fit, so that no one may visit in their own houses, but be visited among the other brethren by their two colleagues. afterwards let the place and day of the next general chapter be named, so that they by no means be protracted beyond the next term, and be written in the end of the statutes, that they may be known to all the brethren, and it is to be observed, that as often as a necessity of visiting shall exist, it shall be announced by letter to the visitors, and the convents of the places have due notice. ab o'ibus approbentur, et rata debent permanere secundum permanere sccundum quod legitur capit'lum de statu monachorum: et cap'lum qui sic incipit, in singlis provinciis: et in singlis redigantur modo debito ut pro autenticis teneantur, & sub sigillo præsidentis singlis conventibus provinciæ liberentur. hiis cum deliberatione peractis vocentur visitatores temporis præteriti ut de officio. illis commisso respondeant, et si quid habeant revelandum revelent, et quod dicendum est referant: metas tamen visitationis minime excedendo, et si iidem visitatores in officio visitandi negligentes extiterint vel in visitando in aliquo excesserint super hoc corripiantur, et juxta ipsorum merita condigni puniantur ita qd pœna eorum sit cæteris in exemplum, quod eorum officium est diversimode periculorum nisi debito modo in visitando proceperint. hæc eligantur iii visitatores per coēm assensum pro tempore futuro, qui sciant officium visitandi debito modo exequi prout decet. ita vero ut nullus eor' in propriis domibus visitet sed inter alios fr'es a duobus collegis suis visitentur ut cæteri. postmodum no'ientur locus et dies proximi capitli futuri. ita q'd ultra proximum terminum minime præfigantur et in fine statutorum conscribentur ut omnibus fratribus valeant. innotescere, et notand' quod quoties necessitas visitandi extiterit per præsidentem literatoriæ debent visitatores excitari et conventus locorum sufficienter premuniri. post ex registro abbatiæ sancti augustini bristolliæ in castro de berkeley, p. ult. 168 friars. chapter xxviii. friars. the sciences of physiology, chemistry, natural philosophy, and astronomy, by their stupendous developements of the grandeur of deity, are the firmest friends of rational piety; for they exhi.. bit fanaticism in the light of a procuress, who wishes to palm off a painted prostitute for a blooming virgin. they who are not ignorant, will not be credulous; and only because the multitude cannot be informed, it is easy to dupe them. the evils of poverty were not, however, felt by the mendicants. neither physicus præcipuus et regis franciæ curam gerens. hic cum ditatus fuisset auro franciæ, sibi quoddam hospicium comparavit in civitate prædictâ (paris) penè dilapsum et dirutum, in quod solebant ex longinquis partibus venientes causâ peregrinationis versus sanctum jacobum in hispaniâ divertere peregrini, et ibidem per dies aliquot exhiberi, sed deficientibus redditibus et eleemosynâ subtractâ, est et hospicium desolatum. emit ergo johannes dictum zenodochium, et exinde fecit sibi hospitium qui cum vidisset dictos fratres cotidie missas celebrare, oracionibus instare, et prædicationibus invigilare, motus devotione quam pietate, contulit eis prædictum zenodochium in habitaculum sempiternum, ex cujus hospitalis vocabulo nomen traxerunt prædicti fratres, ut jacobitæ vocarentur ab adjecto nomine hospitalis. tractatus de ortu ac prioritate ordinis monachor. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. 322, b. 323. a. correspondens fortunæ suæ. of pious harlotry (for the scriptures designate false worship by the term fornication), the most successful agents in the middle age were the friars. they differed only from monks, in being by profession beggars. this voluntary mendicity, to a certain extent infringed,a produced, of course, the practice of mean arts. dread of knowledge, not prejudice, occasioned the persecution of galileo; and we find from spain, that whenever, as swift would say, a country is over-run with religious vermin, an interest is created for perpetuating ignorance, and that grovelling character which annexes no value to the noble and useful qualities of honour, ingenuousness, bravery, patriotism, and high reason, as the governing principle of the whole man. "we never swear, only cheat and lie," is the jesuitical adage of many who support their characters by abstaining from pleasure; but the friars, more clever, united both at the public expence. pontifical edicts restricted the friars to the four orders of dominicans: jacobites, or preachers,b franciscans, carmelites, and augustinian eremites. a they pretended that the property was in the pope, the use only in themselves. gutch's collectanea curiosa, i. p. 80. b the jacobites were so named from the following circumstance: quo tempore, 1198, fuit in eadem civitate quidam famosus anglicus de villâ sancti albani, oriundus magistro johanne, dictus de sancto albano, at which time (1198) there was in the same city a certain famous englishman of the town of st. alban's, descended from one master john, and named from st. alban's, an excellent physician, who had the care of the king of france. having got rich with french gold, he purchased in the same city (of paris) a dilapidated and almost ruined hospital, where the pilgrims going to st. james's in spain were used to resort, and to receive refreshment for some days, till decay of revenue prevented it. the above john, therefore, bought the place, and made an hospital of it suitable to his fortune, and when he had seen the said brothers daily celebrating mass, urgent in prayer, and diligent in preaching, from instigations of devotion, he gave them the house for a perpetual dwelling; and from the previous name of the house, they were in consequence called jacobites [or preachers.]* some writers say there were three sorts of poverty among the friars; to have nothing either of their own or in common (franciscans, true only of some branches of them); another, nothing of their own, but something in common, as books, clothes, and food (dominicans;) the third, something of both, but only necessaries, food and clothes. speed remarks, that every householder paid to each of the five orders of friars, one penny per quarter; the amount of which contribution, being £43,333. 6s. 8d. per annum, is equalto a fourth of the gross revenues of all the other religious houses, as given by that author. taylor's index monast. pref. viii. * "when the pope was going to write to dominick on business, he said to the notary, write to master dominick and the preaching brethren ;' and from that time they began to be called the friars preachers." jansenius vita dominici, l. i. c. vi. p. 44. antw. 12mo. friars. 169 king nor bishop, says an antient poet, "have any thing done so soon as these esteemed religious;"a and, says barclay, "the freres have store every day of the week." to shew how they were obtained, faustus the countryman says, we geve wool and cheese, our wives coyne and eggs, when freres flatter and praise their proper legges ; to which he adds, that one had two or three cheeses of him for a score of pinnes, and two or three needles, and phillis gave coyne because he did her charme, ever sith that time lesse hath she felt of harme. firing was given them by grant,d and clothing sent by cart-loads at a time.e if an estimate of their conduct may be formed from that of foreign religious not long after their æra, who resembled them in other respects, denial of their requests was extremely perilous, if refused, they were in the habits of extracting scandal from the servants, dispersing it, and sometimes fabricating a charge of heresy, in case they had little chance of injuring in the former way. they had rich garments or valuable furniture, and delighted much in having or borrowing moveables of this kind. they took persons with them to collect money, because they could not receive it themselves. their taxes were paid for them by the nobility; and they obtained mansions and nec rex nec episcopus, ut satis est probatum, habent opus aliquod tam cito paratum, quam qui cotidie vadunt mendicatum. ms. cott. cleop. b. 11. p. 59. c id. 5. barclay, egl. i. d morant's colchester, 152. e m. paris, p. 718. "illius ancillas f buchanani franciscanus. famulosque accerse loquaces," &c. poemata, 268. amstel. 12mo. 1687. see also notices, v. 408. non habere debent apparamenta aut preciosa vasa; et fratres in hujusmodi rebus precipue gloriantur. ms. bodl. 2737, p. 15. insuper fratres non habeant nec mutuent vasa aurea vel argentea, vel utantur eisdem, vel aliis jocalibus preciosis. ms. bodl. 1882, p. 49, b. quod secum ducat ad colligendos denarius receptores. ms. bodl. 2737, p. 14, b. 66 in the ninth of edward iii. when the houses of the friars, carmelites, and other houses of friars in bristol and gloucester, were taxed to pay any 15th or other duty to the king, this lord sent to them either all or most part of the money." ms. lives of the berkeley family, 292. dwellings by sending messengers to the papal see, to cheat the monks of them, in which, however, they received a check,k chaucer's friar is a pleasant scoundrel, a religious falstaff. he was wanton and merry; full of dalliance and fair language; had made full many a marriage of young women at his own cost; was intimate with yeomen over all the country and worthy women of the towns; was licentiate of his order, and had power of confession, more than any curate; instead of weeping and prayers, by way of penance, he prescribed money to the "poor freres;" could sing and play well; knew the taverns, hostelers, and tapsters, in every town, but shunned the beggars ;1 courteous and lowly of service when any thing was to be got; gave a certain farm for his grant; could toy like a whelp; lisped somewhat for wantonness, to make his english sweet upon his tongue; when begging at the bed of a sick man, he asks him for his money to make their cloister, and pretends that they had fared a long while upon muscles and oysters to raise money for it; that they owed forty pounds, and if they could not get wherewith to pay it, must sell their books; that the friars were the sun of the world, which must go to destruction but for their preaching, and that elisha and elias were friars; at last he pretends that they had prayed in their chapter day and night for his health, and adds that a trifle is nothing parted among twelve. k m. paris, 354. hence the satire "cur vos nudipedes, ad papæ curritis ædes ?" "why, barefoot friers, run ye to the pope?" in ms. cott. jul. d. vii. p. 128. and how the fryers followed folke that was ryche, and folke that was pore at little price they set, and no cors in hir kirkeyard nor kirke was buried but quik he bequeth hem ought or quite part of hir dets. piers plowman, f. lxi. they had standing hearses always ready. see lib. cotid. contrar. garderob. 28 ed. i. p. 46. and compelled splendid funerals. bale, i. 664, 5 ed. oporin. 170 friars. the constitutions enacted, that no one should become a general preacher before he had studied theology for three years. persons fit were presented to the general or provincial chapter, and an inquiry was made into their characters from the brothers they lived with. when sufficient attestation was adduced of their learning, piety, and fervour of zeal in purpose and intention, the decision was made, whether they should stay longer in study, or whether they should proceed to preach with others more advanced in age, or by themselves. thus qualified, they began their pernicious office. matthew paris describes them as expecting to be received by procession, as entering into noble monasteries upon pretence of performing their duty, and departing on the morrow; but instead, feigning sickness, and making a temporary wooden superaltar, receiving the confession of many parishioners, to the injury of the parish priests. in 1246 the friars preachers obtained the papal licence to hear confessions and enjoin penances any where. they called the secular | clergy idiots; and those who were restrained from committing sin by unwillingness that their parish priests should know it, encouraged themselves by saying, we will confess to some friar passing this way, whom we have never seen before, and shall never see again.d erasmus mentions a parish priest who refused them hospitality, because, said he, if you should see any poultry in my house, i should be traduced in your sermon to-morrow.e with the great they were the favourite confessors;f they strove to be inmates at the houses of nobles, to gain favour with whom they suppressed the truth, taught them fables and falsehoods, and often, to extort money, preached matters contrary to the true faith.g the pope ordered them, when attending dying people, to persuade them to make their wills to the use and help of the holy land, that he might extort money upon recovery, or from executors upon decease. nor was their preaching practical and useful; for, says robert langland, friars and feli other masters that to the lewd men preachen ye moven matters immesurable to tel of the trynity that ofttimes the lewde people of their beliefe douten.k they took vows of chastity from women, or induced them to pay obedience to themselves; became judges and arbiters; and on st. nicholas's day, about the time of the feast of fools, put on secular, clerical, or female garments, and lent their own to lay a statuimus ne ullus fiat prædicator generalis antequam theologiam audierit per tres annos. ms. cott. nero, a. xii. 171, b. post hæc qui idonei ad prædicandum ab aliquibus estimantur præsentes capitulo generali, vel provinciali, ubi diligenter inquiratur à fratribus, cum quibus conversati sunt, &c. de studio et religione, et caritatis fervore in proposito ac intentione; utrum ipsi fratres adhuc in studio debeant morari, vel cum fratribus provectioribus in prædicatione exeant, vel idonei sint vel utiles per se prædicatoris officium exercere. 168. b. id. b at st. alban's a hostrey was built on purpose for them below the gate of the court, and they came there almost every day to dine or preach. m. paris, 715. c p. 354. this is admirably ridiculed in the funus of erasmus. persons for secular games and sports. d m. paris, p. 607, 8. e colloq. 269, § franciscani. "for sith charitie was chapman and chefe to shrive lordes." piers plowm. f. i. b. tu, carmelita, (chaucer's friar in the sompn. tale was of that order,) mundum deserere quæris, ac nobilium domos frequentare anhelas. favere magnatibus divitibusque cupiens veritatem taces, fabulas et fallacias doces, et ut sæpe pecuniam extorqueas fidei contraria prædicas. ms. harl. 1819, f. 120, b. (sermo johan. egidii.) h m. par. 753. they were very reluctantly the pope's agents. id. 696. i many. * f. lxxviii. 1 item nullus frater à muliere votum continentiæ requirat, seu oblatum recipiat, seu ad faciendam sibi obedientiam inducat. item fratres non sint judices nec arbitri. ms. bodl. 1882, f. 54. caveant fratres in festo s. nicholai, &c. ne vestes exeuntes religiosas, seu seculares, aut clericales, vel muliebres ...sub specie devotionis induerent, nec habitus aut vestes ordinis secularibus pro ludis faciendis, aut secularibus velom' accommodenter. id. 51. b. from this it seems most probable, that the friar in the morris-dance was not an actuai franciscan, as mr. friars. 171 erasmus says, that he had seen a domestic fool, who wore the long gown and cap of a doctor of divinity; observed a grave look, and disputed upon subjects with as much entertainment of great men, as any other fool. eating with seculars, the canonists decided, was allowable to them as a fit return for the services rendered to them.b they denied that their rule prescribed labour, obtained papal letters, and glossed the rule to their own liking. admitted murderers into their society,d and obtained money to procure pardons for condemned criminals,e were great liars, and contentious,g fraudulent, usurious, simoniacal, rapacious, proud, and domineering over others, epicures, hated long prayers, dreaded penances, haunted suspicious places h tollet supposed, but a sæcular to whom the habit was lent. franciscani colloq. 277. b nam qui alterius negotium gerit utilitatis, et ignorantis et absentis licitè recipit expensas; unde satis videtur per hoc quod fratres prædicatores, qui eunt ad raptores ut eos inducant ad pœnitentiam et restitutionem faciendam, excusari [debent] si comedant apud illos maximè, si non possunt invenire cibos apud alios. raymundi summula. ms. pemb. coll. libr. oxford. e dicunt esse errorcm, illud quod in suâ regulâ continetur. dicitur enim in regulâ isto modo. fratres quibus dedit gratiam laborandi laborent fideliter et devote. ms. bodl. 2737. regula francisci precipit quod verba regulæ non glosentur; et fratres laborant ut verborum sensus tollantur, specialiter de literis à sede apostolicâ non petendis. id. 14. b. (this was the grand source of contention between the mild and austere franciscans.) d m. paris, 775. the motive here was probably not so pure as the magdalen principle (ecce ovis errans) upon which a thief was admitted, in ms. harl. 2385, f. 517. e id. 792. f "falsenes for feare then fledde to the friers." piers plowman, f. xi. a. "i am wrath, quod he, i was continually a fryer." id. fol. xxiii. gravis culpa est, si quis inhonestum (sic) in audienciâ sæclariorum cum aliquo contendit; si frater cum fratre intus vel exterius lites habuerit. ms. cott. nero, a. xii. f. 161, a. (it is a great fault if there are any disgraceful contentions in the hearing of sæculars, if one friar quarrels with another, either in door or out.) h ceteros vero terrenis inhærentes avariciæ studio, fraudibus, usuris, symoniâ rapinâque loculos et cor (quod insaciabile est) anxiâ cum solicitudine implere concupiscere vides. ms. harl. 1819, f. 120, a. alios nempe ambitione superbos videtis aliis dominare velle, f. 120, a. tu vero gulæ delicias quæris, f. 120, b. video vos præstantissimi fratres oratione longiore affici tædio, f. 121, a to enjoy gossipping, and made idle and useless visits to women, and received presents from some of them of bad character,i for with the women they were great favourites : for when the godeman is fro hame, and ye frere comes to onie dame, he spares nought for synne ne shame. if women seme of hert full stable, with faire behest and with fable yay can make yer hertes chaungeable. this favour was additionally gained perhaps by their military manners and habit. we have had bishops famous generals, as peter de rupibus, bishop of winchester; and knighton describes one john of the franciscan order as "brave in warlike arms;"m and john giles reproaches the carmelites with dressing like soldiers in the same stuff and like particularity.n hence too the irony of these lines: prieste ne monke ne no chanon, ne no man of religion, gyfen so to devocion, as don thes holy frers, for some gyven ham to chivalry, some to riote and ribaudry, but freres gyven ham to grete study.° on the favourable side there appear instances of disinterestedness, in rejecting a royal present of clothing criminally obtained ;p of their religious zeal, in attempting the conversion of the jews; of their learning in being multi nempe religionis poenitentias horrentes nedum juvenes, sed et ætate cani.... in luxuriæ laqueo capiuntur, f 122, b. insuper firmiter inhibemus ut loca suspecta, fabulaciones, visitationes mulierum viciosas et inutiles penitus caveatis. . . . prohibentes nihilominus ne munuscula à suspectis mulieribus capiantur. ms. cott. nero, a. xii. f. 157, b. * ms. cott. cleop. b. 11. f. 62, 63. ¹ see grose's military antiquities, i. 69. anglia sacra, &c. m in bellicis armis strenuus. sub. ao 1381. "tu ut miles eodem panno eâque curiositate vestiaris. ms. harl. 1819, p. 120, b. see also m. paris, 630. "but nothing is viler, nor moving more to wepe, than a priest a rayler, disdaining his honour, or clothed as a courtiour, or cruel soldiour, with weapon or armour, as one ready to fight." barclay, § preface to "mirror of good manners." ms. cott. ut supr. f. 26. grete study is perhaps mere irony. see sect. studies. › m. paris, p. 718. 9 tovey's anglia judaica, p. 216, seq. 172 friars. collectors of books for literary prelates,a and referees in heretical matters.b i shall conclude this account with the description of them, given by the revered wickliff. "and here men noten many harmes yat freris doen y the cherch; yei spuyle ye peple many weies by ypocrisie or other lesyngis [lies]; and bi these lesyngis, and bi this spuylinge, yei bilden caymes d castels, to harm of cuntries; yei stelen pore mennes childrene yat is worse yan stele an oxe; and yei stelen gladlich eiris. i leve to speke of stelyng of wymen; and yat thei maken londis bareyne, for wythdrawing of werkmen not aloonli in defaute of cornes, but in beestis and oyir good, for yei reversen goddis ordynaunce in preceptis of the chirche, yei maken men to trowe fals on hem, and letten almes to be gomin by goddis lawe [i. e. hinder their being given according to god's law]; and thos yei letten by gabbingis [idle talk, lies] office and luf of trewe prestis, for hei letten [hinder] hem for to preche,f and speciali christes gospel; yei move londis to batels and pesible persones to plete; yei maken many divorsis and many matrimonyes unleeful, bothe by leesyngis made to parties and bi pravyleges of the court. i leve to speke of fizting yat yei doen in oor lond and other, and of other bodili harmes yat a cave's historia literaria prolegom. p. 111. b spenser's life of chicheley, 75. abbas de bruere implacitavit fratres prædicatores lond' in gwy aula de uno mes' ibidem qui dixerunt quod non debeant respondere sine rege qui eis tenementa sua in puram eleemosynam confirmavit. et quia dominus rex dictum mesuag' eis non dedit, quod respondeant ulterius eidem. (i. e. the abbot of bruere has a trial with the friars preachers of london, in guild hall, of a messuage there; and the friars say that they are not to answer to it without the king, who confirmed it to them in pure alms. and because our lord the king did not give it to them, that they answer further to the same.) rot. parl. 18 e. i. no 15. (vol. i.) caym is cain, a synonym; and by this term wickliff designated the four mendicant orders, from the initials c, carmelites, a, augustinians, j, jacobites, m, minors. see fuller. there were laws against this. st: 4 h. iv. c. 17. they were to receive no infants into their order under 14 years of age, without consent of parents. parliament. rolls, 4 h. iv. well exposed by erasmus in his colloquies. tung is sufficen not to telle; for as moche as yei dispende, as moche and more yei harmen rewmes. ... but, as spyritual thing is better than bodili thing, that ihe mai see, so spiritual harm is more yan bodili harm; yei dooen him gostth harm and al mankinde; whereof yei ben and is thou seist that non be freris; but if yei ben, ye better to god; for holinesse of ther cumpany maketh many goode that ellis wolden be schrewis ; stryve we not when this may falle; but graunte we on tothir side that many wolde be lesse yvel out of these ordris than in hem; and sith they witen not who is beterid by entryng into yese ordris they doen as a blynd man castyth his staff to bring ony to ther ordir. crist seyth that pharisees been to blame for this dede, and scarioth was the worse for beeing in this hooly cumpany he hadde not thus traied crist and be moost unkinde traitour; and sith coventis of freris ben schrewis for the moest part or moche no wonder yf thei envenime men that come thus unto them for yhei moven to oolde errours yat thei holden among them, as thei tellen to grete avaunt yat thei be charioush to the peple in ther synful begging, and zit yei blasfemen m' crist, and seien that he beggide thus, to maynteyne ther owne syne: suche blasfemyes be founden and contynued in these sectis, that unethis thei be evir purgid fro' servyce that thei ben browzt in as crist techyth in his gospel. now what men shulde snybbe ther britheren in their tymis and aftirward forsake ther cumpany as venim; thes sectis han fordo the gospel; for nether thei doen thus snybbe their britheren, ne forsake them at the farye time; for yf yei doen yei schulen be deed or enprysoned long tyme; ellis haastily be killed; and whanne synne regneth among grete g persons of bad temper and habits. tyrwhitt. it is a loose general term for bad people. see paston letters, iv. 22. state trials, 19, col. 2. hof some poor freers is made more curiously, then is some abbey or riche monastery, the first hath their trust in god our creatour, the other trusteth upon their vayne treasour, barclay's egloges, egl. i. friars. 173 men, and thei dreden of worldli harm, thei doen not snybbe men of thys synne leest ther ordir leese worldli helpe; but wher is more heresie than to love this ordre more than god, or to do yvellis for hope of good, that poul forfendyn men to do. also yese sectis empugne the gospel, and also the oold lawe, for thei chargen more yer owne statute, al if it be agens goddis lawe,a yan yei doen the lawe of the gospel, and yus thei loven more ther ordre than crist; al if it were never so moche nede to go out and preche goddis lawe, to defende our modir holi churche, zit yer ordir letteth this but if yei han ther priour's leve, al if god bidde to do this; and communli thes privat priours lette ther felowis here to go out, and so be thei never so riche, thei schulen not helpe ther fleshli eldres (erased), for all ther goodis ben ye housis sith they have nowgt propre but synne, and thys errour repruveth crist in the pharisees, yat sizen the gnat and swallowen the camel; for yei chargen lesse more harm; also thes pharisees chargen moche ther fastyngis and other thyngis, that thei han foundun; but kepyng of goddis mauntementes thei chargen not halfe so moche, as he schulde be holden apostata that lefe ye abite for a daie, but for levyng of dedys of charite schulde he nothyng be blamed; and thus yei blasfemen in god, and seien whoso dieth in this abyte schall never go to helle, for holynesse "see menagiana, i. 302. b there are limitours, friars allowed to beg and preach within limits, and listers, without bounds. • quidam monachi dicunt omnes esse monachos, qui in paradiso erunt, vel potius nullum ibi esse non monachum. (certain monks say, that all are monks who shall gain heaven; or rather that there is no one there not a monk.) ms. royal library, 7. a. iii. (no pages.) accordingly, it is no wonder some people were desirous of being buried in their habits; but others took care not to wear it while living. lewis the landgrave said, "as soon as i am dead, put on me the hood of the cistertian order; but take very diligent care not to do it while i am alive." (mox ut mortuus fuero cucullam ordinis cisterciensis mihi induite, et ne fiat me vivente diligentissime cavete.) many took the habit in sickness, and afterwards left it. muratori rer. italic. scriptores, iv. 316. the monthly reviewers for may, 1801, p. 77, have extracted a curious passage from mr. gough's monuments on this subject. that is therein; and so ayens cristis sentence, they semen an oolde cloute in a newe cloeth, for yer order yei sein is gederid of the old lawe and the newe; and zit thei han founden herto newe thingis, that thei kepon as gospel; and thus thei chargen ther owne fasting and other ritis that thei kepen, more than biddyngis of crist, for thei ben no newe maundementis to them. suche hid sinnes among freres doen more harm to christen men than ben the bodili harmes, which the world. chargyth more; and thes errours in the world ben hyth maynteynid by freres, for wynning of worldli good or worldli worschip that thei covetin,e as lettris of fraternity, and dowring of other d sir thomas more said to his lady, that the consideration of the time (for it was lent) should restrayne her from so scolding her servants; "tush, tush, my lord," said she, "looke, here is one step to heavenward," shewing him a frier's girdle. "i fear me," said he, "this one step will not bring you up a step higher." camden's remains, 276. thus it appears, that ladies wore friers' girdles in lent. e i found ther the fryers, all the four orders, preached to the people for profite of hemselves, glosed the gospel as hem good liked. piers plowman, fol. i. b. see too maitland's london, i. 142. of getting wills made in their favour, see rapin, iv. 437. is well known they were great instruments of sedi. tion. wickliff himself (and others) says, "yf they seien that it (the host) is goddis body, and many freris seien the contrary." ms. roy. lib. 18. b. ix. f. 187, b. it for while fortune is thy friend, friers will the love, [beseche and fetche the to their fraternitie and for the to her prior provinciall a pardon to have. piers plowman, f. liii. b. there were letters of fraternity, of various kinds. "lay people of all sorts, men and women, married and single, desired to be inrolled in spiritual fraternities, as thereby enjoying the spirituall prerogatives of pardon, indulgence, and speedy dispatch out of purgatory." smith's lives of the berkeley family, ms. iii. 443. those, however of the friers had a peculiar sanctity. piers plowman, speaking of the day of judgment, says, a poke full of pardon, ne provincial letters though ye be founden in the fraternitie of the iiii orders. f. xxxviii. b. these letters of fraternity are of the most remote antiquity, and several of them have been published. there were also letters of fraternity between different convents for mutual defence; for, in the year 1251, certain prelates and religious, finding that the popes and bishops, formerly their friends, became their persecutors and oppressors, combined together, that bearing one another's burthens, they might be less heavily felt (m. paris, 700;) and a similar thing was enjoined in 1444, on account of 174 friars. prestes al if it be agens himself, is stiflè susteyned bi freris, and so men sufficen not to tell insensible errours that thei susteynen, and zit for privylege of the pope, none othir man dar biame hem, for thei ben exempt fro goddis lawe bi prevelygees that they general dislike. cap. gen. northamp. ejusd. ann. cap. ix. it seems, that by letters of confederation between different houses (it is not precisely mentioned of what kind), the monks bound themselves down to what they could not perform, and on this account a remedy was to be found by the general chapter. reyn. append. 108. w. thorne mentions agreements between different houses to receive in hospitality each the other's monks; also if any monk, not convicted of a notorious crime, came there, he was to be charitably entertained till consigned in peace to his own house; and if an abbot was elected from another house, the brethren of such house were to come to the other to celebrate the election canonically. c. 16, sect. 9. c. 23, sect. 4. c. 28, sect. 8. the object of some of these confederations was, that the monks, when driven from one place, should have a refuge in another. ibid. they lapsed into oblivion in many places, though preserved at st. augustine's, canterbury. w. thorne, 1924. the spiritual privileges of the first kind of letters of fraternity were also extended to monks, clerks, and canons; and such perons were called fratres externi. du cange, in voce. the form of admitting a monk into fraternity was this: he was introduced into the chapter; and, han getun; but peter was not exempt fro scharp snybbyng of poul theiling that john forfendide hath no virtu among these freris; for they saluten often fiendis more than thei doe cristis children."a after benedicite, prostrated himself on the step; the question was then put, what he wanted, which was suitably answered by the abbot, who ordered him to rise, and he received the society of the house by the book of the rule. the abbot then gave him the kiss of peace, which he returned by prostration at his feet; then he returned to the step, made three genuflexions, and the monks continued bowing to him till he went to the seat the abbot ordered. to an abbot the convent rose when he entered the chapter, and he sat next the prelate of the house, and kissed the monks when they left the chapter. a secular person took the society upon the gospel, and, if male, kissed the monks in circuit. dec. lanfr. wickliff takes another opportunity of censuring these letters of fraternity. see dialogi, pars 4, c. 30, fol. cxlix. seq. of the ed. 1525, of which, as being excessively scarce, it is necessary to note, there are two later editions, and perhaps more. n. b. the curious reader will find much valuable information of the mendicant orders in one of the chapters of mr. warton's history of english poetry. ms. roy. libr. 18. b. ix. f. 186, 7. (wickliff's omelies.) they were printed, i believe, in the 16th century at leipsic. novices. 175 chapter xxix. novices. the profession of monachism was considered as a kind of second baptism: a but the main motive for being so baptised, was, it seems, good eating.b except, however, in the mendicant orders, who stole and kidnapped children, this privilege was by no means easily obtained. the difficulty sufficiently appears, by the king's sometimes sending letters to request admission for certain persons, and founders and benefactors reserving a right of having a monk or nun of their own appointment.d instances are upon record of poverty and insufficiency, upon examination, being respectively causes of rejection, and of a preference given to noble or at least legitimate birth being complained of.e john, 21st abbot of st. alban's, made a statute, that the number of monks in that abbey should never exceed 100, unless any person was famous for rank or science, or his admission requested by a powerful man, whom it might be dangerous to offend.f richard the first complained of the monks and canons of his æra, that they associated to themselves tanners and shoe-makers, not one of whom ought, with propriety, or his knowledge, to be made a bishop or abbot ; and this complaint, which is re-echoed in the plowman's tale, erroneously ascribed to chaucer, receives further confirmation by an injunction [from the augustinian rule], that "suche as enter power into religion [should not] looke with hye contynaunce because they be associat a calvin, instit. theol. 451. but bene pascant omnes cupiunt monachari, moab et agarem, gebal et ammon. all wish to be monks for the sake of good eating, &c. ms. harl. 913, f. 55. • monast. ii. 804. m. par. 268, 995, 996, 1016, 1019. 1 ! id. (2d.) 1043. d id. i. 691. * gervas, 1595. with theym, unto whom they durste not come, when they were abrode in the worlde." benedict allowed presents to be made at admission of monks, provided that the use of them was reserved by the donors for their lives.i simony, however, was common under the name of the price of their clothes, and customs of the house;k and lands were frequently given, as the purchase of admission. sometimes only mere interest was used; "also she had two doughters, whiche bothe were made nonnes at catesby in northamptonshire, by the labor of theyr broder edmunde." m the age of admission and profession it is not very easy to decide. in some rules, the boys offered to monasteries were not to be younger than ten or twelve years, because they did not then require attention, and knew how to avoid faults.n any monk, say the clugniac rules, can offer a boy, and the chamberlain then took him to the vestiary, and clothed him in the habit of a novice, except that he did not wear a stamin, but a linen shirt. he was then offered in the same manner as a boy presented by his parents; and he was professed at fifteen years of age. the monks of st. augustine's, canterbury, obtained a bull, that boys under fifteen years of age should not be received in the house, because several abbots, through fear or interest, had admitted children to the habit who had scarcely left the breast.º in the anglo-saxon period four infants, not seven years old, were educated under h ms. bodl. 3010. reg. c. 59. conc. oxon. a° 1222. can. 39. dev. vie mon. ii. 497, 501, 4. 1 monast. i. 39, 42. m gold. leg. ccxvii. du cange, v. nutriti oblati. • chronol. august. cant. & w. tho. c. 12. sect. 13. 176 novices. the rule of religion.a hugh the lincolne saint, "whan he was ten yere, was put into a monastery for to lerne the rules of discypline, and there was made and professyd a chanon reguler; wherein he lyvid so devoutly that when he was xv yere olde he was deputet for to be a priour of a certayn celle." one william pigun, a monk of st. alban's, applied to his abbot for the admission of a nephew; but the abbot declined it "because he was under age, and therefore unfit;" but he was nevertheless received at peterborough. the canons ordered no one to be professed a monk till eighteen a monk till eighteen years old, without a necessity, as a deficiency of monks for divine service, or utility, as powerful connections, skill in art or science, or temporal wisdom. this statute, canonists said, was special in islands, on account of the superior severity of the climate and religion, but they confessed that they did not find it observed even there.d alexander iii. forbad any profession of virginity till the age of fourteen years; the council of trent till sixteen; more ancient councils till twenty-five; gregory the first not before sixty; bellarmin till the age of puberty, fourteen in males, and twelve in females. there was a statute made, that boys under twelve years of age, should not be received by the mendicants into their orders; which was opposed by william folville, a franciscan of lincoln.f the renewal of the gregorian statutes ordered no novice to be professed till he had attained his fifteenth year, and the convent of st. alban's returned "observed," to this as well as other points of the benedictine rule on this head, except that they were admitted to profession before the terminations of the year of probation.h a general chapteri of a hist. rames. c. lxvii. they did not become monks. e m. par. 1048. gold. leg. f. ccxviii. b. d lyndw. 202. fuller's ch. hist. 297. le voeu de jacob, iv. 29. 1 fabric. biblioth. m. ævi, iii. 432. decr. lanfr. c. 18. m. par. 1098, 1040. i north. a 1225. sect. de proprietate. the thirteenth century enacted, that unless from commendable utility, monks should not be received under twenty years of age. the general statutes of the franciscans, in the reception of novices, prescribe, that, "they shall be legitimately born, and sixteen years old at least; "k and henry's visitors order, "that no man be sufferyd to professe, or to were the habit of religion in this house, or he be xxiiii years of age; and that they entice or allure no man with skeusacions and blandiments to take the religion uppon him."1 the lawful age of profession in nuns was after they had passed their twelfth year; and they were, ipso facto, to be judged professed, after they had passed more than a year in the society, though they were to be consecrated by the bishop, at the proper season, when twenty-five years old, and not before.m however, alan, canon of beneventum, was nearly five years a novice of canterbury." paris mentions a person who had lived three years a novitiate." and among the clugniacs many were never professed, and others forty years before that took place, owing to their being obliged to go beyond sea, for such purpose.p m. novices were of various sorts, as clerks, laymen, and those already monks, of which there were three kinds. 1. those from other monasteries. 2. those from their own cells. 3. those from a monastery of their own order.q certain forms of the habit worn were alone sufficient, among other spider's webs equally frivolous, to constitute, without profession, an obligation to remain in the order.r it appears, that women were much ms. bodl. * de novitiorum receptione, ætatem attingens xvi annorum ad minus, legitimè natus. 1882, p. 44. 1 ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. a 1535. m lynd. 202. n gervas, 1456. p reyner, append. 148, 9. du cange, v. novitii. lyndw. 202, 203. f. 24. a. see stowe, • p. 1031. novices. 177 more ready to take the vows than men, especially when in trouble; that a person under the age of puberty could not take them without the consent of the father; nor a woman after cohabitation without that of the husband; nor a bishop, but by papal permission;ª that old persons were advised not to do it, lest after tonsure they should wish to withdraw ;b and that many were deterred, by dread of having the lives of the saints, and divine service, to get by heart, in consequence of which suitable dispensations were granted. as to making nuns by force, peter of blois loudly declaims against it. the nobility so crowded nunneries, that papal prohibitions were often obtained.e by the norman institutes,f persons coming to conversions were received where other guests were, and the arrival announced to the abbot, who, or a deputed person, spoke on the subject with the applicant. then, after the opinion of the chapter was taken, if the abbot decided upon his admission, the hosteler introduced him into the chapter, where he lay prostrate; upon this, some questions were put to him, and the severities of the order announced.h if after this he persisted, the prelyndw. 203, 4. b cumque senex fueris non debes claustra subire, ne post tonsuram fortasse velis resilire. ms. bodl. 2159, f. 207. c nonnulli etiam viri hilares religionem nostram ingredi affectantes cum historiarum multitudinem solicite considerant, timore percussi e proposito recedunt; prædictasque historias una cum reliquo totius anni servicio [cum] omnes inter nos religionem ingredientes more antiquitus observato, plenè corde tenus reddere teneantur: salvâ dispensatione cum viris multum habilibus, seu in scolis statum habentibus, in toto vel in parte, prout abbas indicaverit facienda: considerantes etiam noctium brevitatem tempore æstatis, volumus, et ordinamus, &c. [to dispense with them at given times.] ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 242, a. (const. tho. abb. s. alb. a. 1351.) d adelicia neptis vestra quod eam in monasterium detrudere et claustrali vultis invitam et renitentem custodia mancipare, &c. ms. king's library 8. f. xvii. sect. quod non est mulier monachanda invita. e parkin's norwich, 298. f decr. lanfr. c. 18. de novitiis suscipiendis. g those who entered adults. see du cange, v. nutriti. a person newly coming to conversion has sident of the chapter proclaimed his admission, and the novice kissing his feet, retired to the church, and sat down before one of the altars out of the choir till the chapter was finished. then followed the benediction of the tonsure, shaving of his head, and robing him in the monastic habit, all which was accompanied with suitable religious offices. thus prepared, he was led into the convent; and went last of the clerks, if a clerk; of the laymen, if a secular; and took rank in the processions, chapter, and refectory, according to the time of his conversion. he slept in the chamber of the novices, or, where there was no such appointment, in the dormitory; he did not read in the convent; never sung alone; did not offer at mass; did not take the peace; sat apart in the cloister with his master in the place appointed for the novices; and no one spoke to, or made a sign to him, without leave of the master; but when any one of the monks conversing in the cloister wished to reprove or advise him, he could, by leave of the master, do so. when he was accused of a fault, he immediately rose and solicited pardon, like the monks in chapter, nor sat till his master ordered him to do so. for greater faults, he was either chidden or beaten in the chapter or chamber of the novices. he went out daily from the chapter, and remained in the interim in the church, except he staid for punishment. he made frequent confessions of the faults he committed, both before and after he took the habit, to the abbot, prior, or person deputed by them. after certain days the master advised him to procure the prior and some seniors to intercede with the abbot for his benenot an easy admission, but is mocked (deluditur), and proved in various ways according to that text of the apostle, "try the spirits, whether they be of god." it then mentions a parent, who was ordered to throw his son into a river, in order to try his obedience, who was however restrained by the monks. after this he was treated as above. (of the cistertians.) monast. thuringianum, p. 890. n 178 novices. diction and profession. upon a fixed day, after the reading of the rule was finished in the chapter, he prostrated himself at the abbot's feet, and made his petition; he was then ordered to rise, and the severities of the order were announced to him; upon his answer, that he would patiently endure them, the abbot consulted the monks upon his request, and if they consented, he went to the abbot or presiding officer's feet, then returned to his place, and bowing, thanked the monks for their intercession. afterwards, upon the abbot's order, he retired with his master; and, if he could write, wrote out the schedule of profession; or, if he could not write, another, provided by the chantor, did it for him; and he only made a cross. then, till the time of benediction, he took off his hood from his gown, and remained out of the choir; which time, whether before the beginning of mass, if the abbot did not celebrate, or after the gospel, if he did or not, was in the option of the abbot; though it was his duty to celebrate that office if convenient. the gospel then being read, he entered the choir, his master preceding him, and prostrated himself at the step of the altar, while a psalm was sung, upon the conclusion of which he rose and read his profession (or his master instead, if he could not read), and then laid it upon the altar. after this he knelt before the altar, and requested pardon; then going to his former place, he said three times, kneeling, "receive me, o lord!" which was each time re-echoed by the convent. at the doxology he turned round and prostrated himself then followed a religious service; after which the novice arose, and the abbot sprinkled him and his hood with holy water. then took off his gown, as he knelt before him, saying, "the lord take away from you the old man with his deeds," and, putting on the hood, bade him be clothed with the new man; to all which the convent returned, amen. then, after a prayer, while the novice. kneeled, the abbot kissed him, and put he the hood on his head;a then he was led through the choir for all the monks to kiss him, and was placed last. for three days he took the sacrament, and on the third the hood was taken from his head.b before that time he preserved a constant silence; left the chapter after the sentence of the rule was read, went in no procession, and slept in his hood. in the first chapter, in which he was allowed to speak,c his master solicited licence for him to read and sing in the convent like the others; to which assent was given, and he could then perform all services except mass, which he could not celebrate till a year after, unless by especial commission. when a boy was offered, after his hair was cut round,d he was presented, carrying the host and chalice, by his parents to the priest celebrating at the mass. the parents then wrapped his hands in the pall of the altar, and read a written promise, that they would use, directly or indirectly, no inducement for him to leave the order, or knowingly give him any thing; which promise they laid upon the altar. the abbot novices did not anciently wear hoods at st. alban's. m. paris, 1045. b in the capitula of theodore (abp. cant.) it is ordered, that the abbot in the profession of a monk should say mass and three prayers over his head for seven days, cover his head with a hood, and on the seventh take the veil from the head, as the priest did from that of infants in baptism, the susception of monachism being considered by the fathers as a second baptism. du cange, v. velum. e novices were to leave the chapter immediately after the portion of the rule appointed for the day was read (though some abbots allowed them to stay), lest, taking disgust at the disciplines, they should decline profession, and expose the secrets of the house. reyn. app. 196. however, on the third day after profession, they took their first seat, and then swore, [at s. aug. cant.] to the utmost of their power, not to suffer the house to be bound for other's debts, or reveal its secrets. x script. 2062. the friers never allowed them to attend the chapter at all. speght's chaucer, 617. d cutting off the hair in the monks was a sym. bol of servitude to god, slaves being shorn. when monks were shorn, the first locks were cut off by the king, or great men. to offer a lock of hair to a monastery was to become partaker of its prayers, &c. in 697, an offerer pulled off his shoes, went to the altar, and offered a lock of hair. cange, v. capilli.) the beard was also consecrated to god, when they became monks. (id. v. barbam radere.) (du novices. 179 then consecrated his hood, and, after divesting him of his secular habit, put it on with a preceding prayer. he was then taken out to be shaved and robed, according to the order. later æras used this supplication, "attend, "attend, o lord, to our prayers, and deign to bless this thy servant, upon whom, in thy holy name, we place the habit of religion, that, by thy assistance, he may continue devout in the church, and deserve to inherit eternal life." these norman institutes formed the basis of all subsequent english monachism, and, like a great roman road, are to be conspicuously traced in the later forms of profession. at abingdon, when the abbot said, "we speak of the order," the candidates for profession rose, and went to the reading-desk, and solicited pardon. the abbot then asked them, what they said? to which they replied, "we ask permission of the virgin mary, and our master, st. benedict, that you would grant us leave to be professed." then the abbot spoke what was usual on such occasions; after which, they advanced and said, "by the grace of god, and the blessing of you and the convent, we will behave well." this was followed by prayers, and kissing the hands and feet of the abbot; after which they went to the place where they had sat in the beginning of the chapter, made their inclination, and went in the usual adesto, a ad pueros sacro habitu induendum. domine, supplicationibus nostris, et hunc famulum tuum benedicere dignare, cui in hoc sancto nomine habitum sacræ religionis imponimus, ut te largiente et devotus in ecclesiâ persistere, et vitam percipere mereatur æternam. ms. cott. tiber. b. viii. f. 115, b. b cum dixit abbas, "loquimur de ordine nostro," tunc surgant qui petunt professionem, et eant ad analogium; sibi capiant veniam : tunc dicet abbas, quid dicitis? tunc dicet prior eorum, petimus veniam de sanctæ mariæ et nostri magistri sancti benedicti, &c. ut vos concedatis nobis benedictionem monachatus. tunc dicet abbas quæ dicenda sunt: postquam perrexerint dicent ipsi qui petunt professionem, per graciam dei et vestram benedictionem et conventus faciemus bene. tunc dicet abbas (prayers to which the convent answered amen): tunc osculentur pedes et manus abbatis; tunc ibunt ad locum quo prius sedebant in principio capituli, et faciant ibi ante et retro et exeant more solito et eant ad ecclesiam. ms. cott. claud. c. ix. f. 184. manner to the church. the ritual from this period thus takes up the ceremony. the convert was led into the church, and the psalm miserere was sung; after which followed appropriate prayers, then such as were suited to the consecration of the habit; and to putting off the to putting off the secular, and assuming this was succeeded by a particular prayer, and the kiss of peace being given by all, the novice remained silent in albs till the third day.c at ensham,d when the candidates • permaneat cum summo silentio in albis, usque in tertium diem. ms. cott. tiber. b. vii. f. 114, b. athon says, where the habits of the novitiates and professed are not different, the habit ought to be blessed at the time of profession. p. 143. hac d ms. bodl. barlow, 7, fol. 61. de professione novitiorum. quando novitii facere debent professionem, inter evangelium vel ante pro tempore ducantur ad altare s. petri in vestiario, ubi deponant cucullas suas, indutique tunicis et froccis, habentes cucullas suas super sinistra brachia, ducantur post evangelium ante majus altare, singuli novitii singulis monachis, ita quod primus à priore. dicemus in eundo psm. miserere. quo finito stantes coram abbate, legant singuli singillatim voce mediocri professionem suam manibus propriis scriptam hoc modo [several of these have been printed.] lectâ tradat quilibet professionis libellum in manum abbatis, et abbas ponat super altare. quibus factis dicant omnes simul flexis genibus altâ voce hunc versum, suscipe me secundùm eloquium tuum, et vivam; et non confundas me ab expectatione mea; hic versus à conventu repetatur, et ita usque tertio ab eis dicatur, et à conventu repetatur, et ultimo (sic) cum gloriâ prosternant se novicii super gradum medium in modum satisfactionis, et sequatur (a religious service). interim novicii jaceant in curtâ veniâ; hic surgant novicii, et ponant cucullas suas ad pedes abbatis. abbas vero benedicat eos hoc modo (pr.) hic aspergat cucullas aquâ benedictâ, er tunc exuat primum novicium frocco, et dicat exuendo, "exuat te d'mnus veterem hominem cum actibus suis." et omnes respondeant, amen. et cooperiat abbas capud novicii cum capucio, usque ad medietatem faciei, et ita faciat de singulis. tunc iterum prosternant se novicii super gradus in satisfactione; et dicat abbas cum astantibus psalmum, &c. hic surgant novicii, et det eis abbas osculum pacis ; et sic semper velato capite ducantur in chorum singuli à singulis monachis osculum pacis recipientes. quibus peractis sedeant ultimi in choro cum psalteriis suis, dum missa celebratur, et cum ventum fuerit ad agnus dei procedant, et recipiant osculum ab abbate, et postea communicent, et redeant ad stalla sua et psalteria. et notandum quod licet ultimi sunt in choro, tum quicunque procedere debent cum conventu alii eos precedant; et sciendum quod quandocunque fit processio ab eccl'iâ in dormitorium, eant cum conventu ; quando vero in claustrum, remaneant in eccl'iâ. capitulum non intrent; ante terciam oracionem eant in dormitorium et ad lavatorium; et faciant trinam oracionem et n 2 180 novices. for profession were to make it, during the gospel, or before, they were led to the altar of st. peter in the vestiary, where they put aside their hoods, and, in their tunics and frocks, with their hoods on their left arms, were brought after the gospel before the great altar, every novice being led by a monk, the first by the senior prior. in going, the psalm miserere was sung; after which, standing before the abbot, every novice, singly, in a low voice, read his profession written with his own hand, and then delivered it to the abbot, who placed it upon the altar. after this, all together kneeling said, in a loud voice, the precatory petition for reception, which was repeated three times both by them and the convent in answer; after which, at the doxology, they prostrated themselves upon the middle step of the altar, while a religious service was performed. then they arose and put their hoods at the abbot's feet, who consecrated them, sprinkled them with holy water, and stripped the first novice of his frock, with the preceding form, to which the convent replied amen. the abbot then covered the head of the novice with his hood, as low as half of his face, and did the same with the rest. the novices then again prostrated themselves, and the abbot and standers-by sung a psalm. here they arose, the abbot gave them the kiss of peace, and to receive this from the other monks they were led round the choir with their heads covered. after these ceremonies, they sat last in the choir, with their psalters, while the mass was semper velato capite; et nichil ad diurnas horas altâ voce apponant, sed dimisse (sic) omnia dicant cum conventu. noctibus vero induti cucullis jaceant ante matutinas in dormitorio; post matutinas vero post processionem in dormitorium ducantur in ecclesiam, et residuum noctis in meditatione sc'a et psalmis, &c. peragant; et ita fiat per duos dies et duas noctes. tertia vero die veniant ad missam abbatis, sive abbas celebret, sive eo impotente celebrare alius missam celebraverit; et cum ventum fuerit ad agnus dei suscipiant osculum pacis ab abb'e, et communicant; et cum communicant abbas discooperiat capita eorum: et post missam faciat abbas eis sermonem, exponens eis quod talis debet esse prima monachi, qualem jam inceperunt, et postea ducantur in conventum. celebrated, and at the agnus dei proceeded to receive the kiss from the abbot, and afterwards communicated, and returned to their stalls and psalters. although last in the choir, those who were to go out with the convent went before others; and when there was a procession from the church_to_the dormitory, they went with the convent; when to the cloister, they staid in the church. they did not enter the chapter; they went to the dormitory and lavatory before the triple prayer, which they said with their hoods on, and sung nothing at the daily hours with the convent with a loud voice, but joined the convent at all services in a lowly form. at nights, before mattins, they slept in the dormitory with their hoods on. after mattins, when the procession to the dormitory was finished, they passed the rest of the night in the church, in meditation and psalmody; and this was done for two days and nights. on the third day they came to the abbot, or whoever celebrated the mass, and at the agnus dei received the kiss of peace from him, and communicated; upon which the abbot uncovered their heads; and, after the mass, he made a sermon to them, explaining, that such as they had begun, so they ought to continue; after which, they joined the convent.a the professions of the monks were entered in a book called pactum.b their previous duties as novices still however remain to be shown. a it seems that there was a liberty in some places of sending to what bishop they pleased to make professions and confer orders upon their monks, and that they sometimes selected in this respect with a view to prevent exaction. hist. eliens. l. 2. c. 9. however, the usual rule was for them to be ordained by the bishop of the diocese ; for this is a common item in bulls of exemption. monast. i. 54, &c. notwithstanding which, ordination by any bishop was a proof of exemption. m. paris, 1026. it seems, upon being promoted to priesthood, great feasts were given with a large assembly of seculars. monast. ii. 718. after profession, they were named from the places they came from; but it is strange that they should be so absurd as to name a monk henricus de urinaria. smith's catalogue of the cotton mss. p. 201, under tiber. a. viii. b du cange, in voce. novices. 181 he among the gilbertines they were not set down in the table to any church duty, or were readers or attendants at dinner, as among the benedictines (where i suspect the custom crept in latterly. m. paris, 1045.) though they rose for this purpose when necessary. they performed only certain parts in divine service, nor celebrated mass, though priests. they read only occasionally at collation and chapter; nor went to work constantly till they had learned the whole service. they communicated (having previously confessed to the master) eight times per ann. was punishable in chapter for their misbehaviour.a the prior was to awake the monks at such an hour, say lanfranc's decretals, that the boys, after the usual prayers, might read in the cloister; who, when they began to read loudly, were to sit so far apart, as not to touch one another either with their hands or clothes. no sign, speech, or locomotion, was to be made without the knowledge or leave of the master; and one of these, wherever they went, was to be between two boys. they bowed to the monks in passing, which was returned by those who were sitting. one lantern was to be enough for two novices; if there were three, a third carried another; and so in proportion. they neither gave nor took any thing without leave, and in fit places, except from the chantor, with regard to the books they read or sung in, or when serving at an altar. they were beaten in their chapter; and in confession, while one was with the confessor, another sat on a stool, their master being just by. if they were tardy in entering the refectory or choir, they went to their usual places, made their bow, and their master took the place of those who were late. abstinence of meat or drink could not be enjoined on the novice that attended the abbot, without his order; in which last case he was either indulged, or, in the interim, removed from his office. when the abbot was present in the choir, no one beat. monast. ii. 718. or stripped them without his leave; but, in his absence, the chantor might correct them in matters relating to his office, and the prior where they behaved with levity. no one but these could make a sign to or smile upon them; or enter their school, or talk to them, without licence. at midday they only rested in their beds covered; and at night, till they were covered, the masters attended with a lantern. the boys had breakfast in the morning, and ate meat till fourteen years old. the rule was explained to them every day, and they sung in the choir, immoveably, with their faces inclined to the ground.b young men brought up in the house, or just come from the world, were treated in many things in a similar manner; sitting apart; never going any where without a keeper; carrying lanterns two and two, and making their confessions only to the abbot, prior, or deputed person; not reading at midday in their beds; not writing; not doing any work; only sleeping covered, the beds being either before or between those of the masters; if they wanted to rise, they awoke their masters; and, a lantern being lighted, they accompanied them for the purpose needed. in their own place, no one sat near, spoke, or made a sign to them without leave; and then the master sat between; nor could they talk together, unless the masters were between or before them. when they went to sleep, the masters stood before them till they were laid down. in the church, fratry, and chapter, they mixed with the seniors, without observing rank, if necessary. if they read at the table, or served in the kitchen, they went with the monks, when they rose from table, to the church, and, after saying a prayer, returned with their keepers to the refectory; two together, or more, if possible, remaining of the convent. in case, however, of a paucity of seniors, and a great number b du cange, v. comestio, infantes, 182 novices. of juniors, sufficient guardians were deputed; and, if the custom of some houses was more agreeable, they sat apart in the cloister in separate places; every one carried a lantern; and their guardians never left them, unless under the care of another in whom they could confide. among the friars, "during silence they were to beware making a noise at others; whenever reproved by the superior, to ask pardon; to contend with nobody, but in all things obey their master; in processions to wait for their comrade, and not talk at improper places and seasons. when any garment was given them, to bow humbly, and say lowly [thanks]; if they saw any thing done licentiously, to conceive the bad good, or suspect it done with a good intention, when there was no accusation in the chapter, or reproof elsewhere."a they were not to have an office till they knew by heart what they had to learn; nor till then be dismissed from custody, or promoted to priesthood; nor were they to sleep or dine out before they had been laudably conversant in the cloister, nor to have a chest, or key, or out-door office, or be sent out of the house till they had been two years well behaved; except in cases of urgency or utility, or except they were old men. they had recreations of play, it seems, in the morning, and ut aliis rugitum non faciant, ubicumque reprehensi fuerint à prælato veniam petant. ut cum nemine contendere præsumant, sed in omnibus magistro suo obediant ; ubique ad processionem socium sibi collateralem attendant, et non loquantur locis et temporibus interdictis. quum quodpiam vestimenti dabitur, profunde inclinantes.... demissius dicant &c. si quæ ab aliquo fieri viderint licenter, videantur mala, bona suspicentur vel bonâ intentione facta; quum nemo in capitulo vel ubicumque reprehensus fuerit, sic faciendum. ms. cott. nero, a. xii. f. 170, b. b m. par. 1095. cap. gen. north'. 1444. c. 10. • nec etiam ludendi causâ matutinali tempore, cum aliis egrediendi, &c. ms. cott. cleop. b. 11. p. 229, sect. pro noviciis, &c. "sometimes in the week, at suitable hours, by leave of their masters, they were used to alleviate the severities of the rule by puerile discourse and conversation (locatione, orig. it should be, i think, locutione) out of the cloister. on a certain day, therefore, as usual, going out to play with an attendant, they ran to the perhaps in the afternoon; for, says an old poet, the zung monkes each daie, aftur met goth to plai.d such discipline was observed in some monasteries, that, in a procession of the infants, apples were ordered to be thrown upon the church pavements to allure the boys, but no one, even of the smallest, appeared to attend to it.e according to the scriptural declaration, "he that hath said to his father and mother, i knowe yee not, and to his bretherne i knowe ye not, and hath not knowne his owne children, they have kept thy worde;"f they were to forget filial affections, "and this not of any stifnes or hardnes of harte, for if a meere stranger unto them be in miserie, they mourne as easily for him as for another, but the sworde is yt that we spake of, that is in their harte, and hathe cut them awaye from their wonted aquayntance and affinitie, not for that they have to love hem still, that love also their very enimyes, but because they have cast awaie all carnall love which groweth often to meere dotage, and have converted the same wholly to spirituall charitie." both duty and affection still however subsisted.h to be reduced to the state of a novice was a punishment.i this article would be unsatisfactory were there not added some cursory observations upon the education of monks and nuns, in a brief view; for more would require a volume. learning the service and the rule, was the chief part of the education of ropes and broke the bell." hist. rames. cap. lxvii. see sect. common house. d ms. harl. 913, f. 4. it is possible that this may allude to the conversations allowed after nones; but it is equally possible that the season of relaxation for monks was that also of novitiates. e du cange, v. infantes. f deut. 33. g ms. harl. 1805, f. 57, b. (tract of novices.) eadmer. histor. novor. p. 8, records an instance of a pension paid by a monk to his mother, from money given by lanfranc. see too §§ guesthall, and almonry. i du cange, v. novitii. novices. 183 a nun, as well as of a monk.a psalmody was so urged, that the novice, when studying in the cloister, was to make himself perfect in his psalter, so as to say it by heart to a word.b bede remarks, that those who knew only their native language, were to be carefully taught to sing; for many became monks late in life, and were called conversi, as those who had been brought up in the house, and knew latin, were distinguished by the term nutriti.c after acquisition of the psalter by heart, latin (common because the language of the septuagint) was taught by the usual methods of parsing and the parts of speech.d though langland says, that the latin grammar used was a donat, so called from donatus, a grammarian of the 4th century, whose works, together with those of priscian, were used by elfric; yet, in fact, there were only three grammars in use from the 6th to the 16th century. these were, priscian's, and ville dieu's doctrinale puerorum in verse, which appeared in the 13th century, and was superseded by despautiere's in the sixteenth. the dictionary was from the 11th century that of papias, which was enlarged by ugution, and hugh de pisa;g and these works were, no doubt, the bases of the promptorium parvulorum of richard fraunceys, a preaching friar, the first printed english and latin dictionary, which appeared in 1499.h the cato, the doctrinal, written by sauvage, and other books, were works for construing, consisting of sentences, moralities, maxims of conduct, and even precepts of behaviour; some were composed of lessons and examples united, as the chastisement a dugd. monast. ii. 895. du cange, v. firmare cantum. id. v. idiota, nutriti. d id. v. partes edere. e of the donat of wynkyn de worde, which was very imperfect, see dibdin's ames, ii. 306, where is given a curious wood-cut of a master and 3 boys. f notices des mss. v. 500-513. mem. de petrarque, ii. 179. 8 ibid. of those preceding, see preface of du cange, and others. h dibdin's ames, ii. 416. see other books of the same kind noticed ib. pp. 155, 585. of a father; but the morals were very insipid. virgil was used by the roman children, that so great a genius might not lapse into oblivion.k when the french language was universally taught from the conquest to the 14th century, and children after learning to speak english were compelled to construe their lessons into french, a virgil in that language was daily learned in schools.1 in monasteries, numerous quotations show, that it was familiar in the original. ovid, esop's fables, boethius, and others, occur as favourite authors; but bibliographical discussion is not within the plan or track of reading of the author. writing was taught by copy-books, called breviales tabulæ;m and arithmetick, or rather the compotus, by counters, &c. of which elsewhere.n the education at court was so bad, that from thence came first the anglosaxon eddel-knaven; and from this term, our lazy scoundrel. it is not singular then that bishops should undertake the tuition of youths, whom they made priests or monks, or sent when adults in arms to the king;p or that it should be a privilege of founders. for abbeys to educate their children.9 they were first trained at home religiously, by their mothers, and taught a catechism. when sent to the monastery, about seven years old, or above, they were successively instructed in the psalter by heart, the septenary arts, musick, french, latin; often agriculture, and the mechanical arts.s hunting, as a science and pastime auxiliary to warlike habits and strength of constitution, was understood by all anglosaxon boys, and monks and clergymen of the whole middle age, asceticks excepted. notices, v. 159. augustin. de civit. dei, p. 6. biographia britannica, iii. 351, 374. in du cange. n see scriptorium and exchequer. spelm. archæologus, v. adelscale. o p xv script. 62. s x script. 1056, 2647. smythe's berkeley ms. script. p. bed. 171, 509. x script. 76, 77. xv script. 256. script. p. bed, 13. 184 novices. the education of monks, in the early centuries, consisted of psalmody, musick, notation of it, accounts, grammar, writing, turning, and carpentry; but in truth, every art known, especially embroidery, was practised in monasteries. because idleness is inimical to the soul, manual labour was prescribed.b ednoth, monk of ramsey, superintended building, and worked at it. in jewellery and goldsmith's work, instances of skill are numerous, from dunstan downwards. walter de colchester, sacrist of st. alban's, was an excellent painter and sculptor.d thomas de bamburgh, monk of durham, was employed to make two great warlike engines for the defence of the town of berwick;e and sir john paston requests harcort, of the abbey, "to send him a little clokke which was sent him to be mended."f an astronomical clock, made by lightfoot, monk of glastonbury, about the year 1325, is still preserved at wells. the monks too engaged in civil and external avocations. among the clerks of the household to edw. iii. was a monk of bury; and they were often ambassadors.b henry vii. employed them as spies. they travelled from monastery to monastery, to teach musick.k the courtesies were duly regarded. every novice was to be instructed how to incline his head, not with an arched back, as was common to some ungenteel persons, but in the ante and retro fashion, before explained. this applied to the inclinatio, a salutation made only to the abbot and prior.m the elders approved by the voice, the juniors by a bow of the head; the a du cange, v. nota musica. b theodulph. aurelian. epist. p. 263. hist. rames, l. 54. d m. paris, 1054. liber garderobæ, 28 ed. i. p. 73. f paston letters, ii. 30. royal household, p. 10. j. rous, p. 73. m. paris, 844. henry's history of england, xii. 469. k see master of the novices. du cange, v. reverentia. m id. abbot nodded in token of assent." peter of clugny says, "whenever the brethren meet, the junior seeks benediction from the prior, by saying benedicite [me] if he should be out of the regular places, and humbly inclines; but he says nothing if he meets the prior in the regular offices." they used to say benedicite, and others to answer dominus, in like sort, as the priest and his penitent were wont to do at confession in the church. the reply of dominus [sit vobiscum] "the lord be with you," was the usual salutation of priests.p this may explain a passage before left in doubt. the punishments and rewards. ferule and rod are anglo-saxon, ¶ but where the children were too young for this, the soles of their feet were pared with a knife.r common schoolmasters used to give their boys even fiftythree stripes at a time, and carry pebbles in their pockets to pelt them with. ingulphus however says, that abbot turketul visited the school at least once a day, and distributed rewards of fruit and sweetmeats to deserving boys. notwithstanding what has been said of arithmetick, it was often a late study, commenced only at the university.t pious students kissed the bible whenever they opened it for reading." education of nuns. in the rule of fontevraud, it is said, that claustral nuns knew little more than to sing psalms, whence it is there ordered, that no nun of this kind, through inability, should be made abbess.x if, however, a girl was intended for a nun, it was a matter of course to instruct her in letters ; and nuns not only wrote upon parchment, but even works in du cange, v. capitis inflexio. holinshed, ii. p. 9. (new edit.) p du cange, v. officina-pax. 4 angl. sacr. ii. 102, 103. vita alcuini. du cange, v. acra. hawkins's musick, ii. 125. x script. 2433. du cange, v. claustrum. y m. paris, p. 80. u id. 2434. x script. 378. du cange, v. punctare, novices. 185 latin. among the duties of ancho| resses and nuns, is mentioned "vorsting of her sautre [psalter], redyng of englische, oder [or] of french, holi meditaciuns." henry says, that nunnery education consisted of writing, drawing, confectionary, needle-work, physick, and surgery. sir h. chauncy says, that there was taught in them working, singing by notes, dancing, and playing upon instruments of musick.c tumbling, playing, and dancing, all occur in nunneries, the two former by professors itinerant.d aubrey, speaking of the nunnery of kington st. michael, says, "on the east side of the house is a ground facing the east, and the delightful prospect on the south east, called the nymph hay. here old jaques, who lived on the other side, would say, he hath seen 40 or 50 nunnes in a morning, spinning with their wheels and bobbins." fuller says, nuns with their needles wrote histories also; that of christ his passion, for their altarclothes, and other scripture (and moe legend) stories in hangings to adorn their houses.f one particular accusation against them was a miserly attention to housewifery.g it was only ascetical asperity to make the remark. joan lady berkeley, in the 13th century, when she came to the farm-houses, as oft as she did, to oversee, or take account of her dairy affairs, oftentimes spent in provision, at a meal there, the value of 4d. and 44d.; and also a cheese of 2lbs. weight was at each time spent by her attendants. the extraordinary accomplishments of juliana barnes are not singular. a young wife is described by boccaccio as beautiful in her person, mistress of her needle, waiting at her husband's table as well as any manservant, thoroughly discreet and well bred, skilled in horsemanship, and the management of a hawk, and in aca du cange, v. non decem. b ms. cott. nero, a. xiv. p. 10, a. hertfordshire, p. 423. athon. p. 154, col. 2. note a. e britton's beaut. of wilts, iii. 154. church hist. b. vi. p. 298. ms. cott. nero, a. 1. p. 2. b. see anchorels. smythe's berkeley ms. 216, 227. the counts as clever as a merchant.i sage reformer erasmus saw no impropriety in publishing an obscene word, and says, in defence of it, that though he has put it into the mouth of a prostitute, it was in general use, even among chaste matrons.k this passage_explains the indelicacy of the nun, juliana barnes; and it was much owing to the vile education-books then in use, which recommended only prayer, fasting, submission to the church, assiduity in religious offices, mortification and solitude, as precepts of conduct. the chastisement des dames gives very detailed advice how women ought to walk, salute, talk, behave themselves at church, at table, in love tête-à-têtes; and ends with a long disquisition upon love. la tour, a french gentleman, who in 1371 wrote the first treatise upon domestic education, professes to teach by historiettes, in which he uses obscene stories, and even words. to induce his daughters to say their prayers in a morning, he tells them a tale of two daughters of an emperor, of whom one neglected this duty, the other never. both were entangled in love, and had each made an assignation with their lovers on a certain morning. the youngest, who said her prayers as usual, was disappointed in meeting her lover, who was compelled to fly by fancying that he saw armed guards, compelling him to retreat. the other, who did not say her prayers, fell a victim to seduction. the sad effect upon morals, which for many ages was produced by these tales, so common in monasteries, is well pourtrayed by the following story in this very book: "deux individus ayant insulté à la religion en couchiant (c'est son expression) sur un autel avec des femmes, ils en sont punis d'une façon bien extraordinaire, et restent dans cet état tout un jour, jusqu'a ce qu'enfin l'on vient en procession prier dieu pour eux et obtenir leur délivrance."l whoever has heard of the ceremony decameron, day ii. nov. ix. * de colloq. utilit. inter colloq. p. 650. 1 notices, v. 159-166, 188 novices. was to be made on solemn days, namely, either in the epiphany, or on the festivals of st. mary, or of the apostles, or sundays. the virgin to be consecrated, after the beginning of the mass and collect, before the epistle was read, came before the altar, robed in white, carrying the religious habit in her right hand, and an extinguished taper in her left, which habit she laid before the altar, at the bishop's feet, and held the taper in her hand. the bishop then consecrated the habit, and gave it her (the veil excepted), saying, "take, girl, the robe, which you shall wear in innocence;" upon which she went to the revestry, put it on, and returned with a lighted taper in her hand, singing, "i love christ, into whose bed i have entered." b then, after the epistle, gospel, and creed, the bishop said, "come, come, come, et virgo retro episcopum, et cantetur interim letania à duobus clericis festive choro respondente. episcopus vero et ministri altaris cantent interim vii psalm. post letaniam, surgat episcopus, et incipiat festivè, "veni creator spiritus." post hymnum, surgat virgo, et veniat ante altare; tunc imponat episcopus velamen super caput virginis inclinatæ. tunc virgo incipiat hanc, "induit me dominus," vel quamlibet antiphonam quæ conveniat de historiâ s. agnetis aut s. agathæ. hic episcopus faciat bannum, ne quis præsumat illud sanctum propositum violare; postea faciat virgo hanc professionem, si tempus fuerit. deinde signum crucis faciat in fine professionis, et ponat super altare. his expletis, abbatissa ipsam petitionem accipiat ab altari, et servandam tradat. tunc professa stet ante altare, et tertio hunc versum dicat, " suscipe me, domine, secundum eloquium tuum," &c. qui versus tertio repetatur ab omnibus, et in fine, gloria patri," &c. et postea, "kyrie, et pater noster." interim professa prosternat se coram altare, quo facto dicat episcopus, et ne nos induce, &c. et subsequentes psalmos incohet; domine, quis habitabit ; dominus regit me, et salvum me fac domine, quem intraverunt, quibus ad omnibus decantatis statim subjungat hæc capitula, "salvam fac ancillam tuam," &c. post hæc tradat alicui puella cereum ad tenendum, et offerat panem et vinum episcopo, iterumque accipiat cereum, et stet inclinata, usque communicet, et missa finiatur ordine suo. item episcopalis benedictio super eam. post missam offerat virgo cereum super altare, et discendat cum ms. cott. tiber. b. viii. f. 120, seq. pace. a wearing veils originated with the pontiff soter in the year 178; and gelasius, who was pope in the fifth century, decreed that they should not be veiled, except in cases of extreme sickness, but on the epiphany, paschal albs, or the nativities of the apostles. johnson's canons of the eastern church, p. 320. see the chapter of continentes. daughters, i will teach you the fear of the lord;" upon which the nun came before the altar, singing, "and now we follow with our whole hearts." when this was finished, the bishop prostrated himself upon the carpet before the altar, and the nun behind him; and in the mean while the litany was sung by two clerks, the choir making the responses; but the bishop and ministers of the altar sang in the mean time the seven psalms. after the litany, the bishop rose, and began the veni creator; after which the nun rose, and came before the altar, when the bishop put the veil upon her head, as she stooped. after which, she began induit me dominus, or suitable antiphonar from the histories of agnes or agatha. this was followed by a curse from the bishop, against all those who presumed to disturb her holy purpose. the nun then made her profession, if she had time, put the signature of the cross to the end of it, and laid it upon the altar, from whence the abbess took it, to be laid by. then the nun stood before the altar, and said this verse three times, "receive me, o lord!" which was each time repeated by all, and concluded with the doxology, kyrie eleein the mean son, and lord's prayer. time the nun lay before the altar, and certain psalms were sung; after which she gave the taper to some one to hold, and offered bread and wine to the bishop; which over, she again took the taper, and stood inclined till she had communicated, and the mass and episcopal benediction was concluded. after the mass, she offered the taper upon the altar, and descended in peace. the second was the order how a nun was e ordo qualiter virgo faciat professionem, si ante fuerit benedicta sine professione. quocunque festo voluerit cantabit episcopus missam, et post evangelium incipiatur psalmus, "miserere mei, deus," cum "gloria patri." quo decantato ab omnibus accedat virgo ante altare, et legat professionem suam, "ero soror," sicut superius prænotatum est. tunc dicat episcopus (m.); tunc incipiat episcopus excelsâ voce hymnum. hic se erigat virgo accedatque ad episcopum, et episcopus ponet velamen super oculos ejus; quo facto, iterum se prosternat incipiatque præsul hunc psalmum [then, an antinovices. 189 to make profession, if she had been blessed before without profession. upon whatever festival he chose, the bishop sung_mass, and after the gospel the 51st psalm, and gloria patri was sung by all. the nun then advanced before the altar, and read her profession, which was succeeded by a religious service by the bishop. she then rose, and advanced to that prelate, who put the veil over her eyes; after which she prostrated herself again, and a psalm and antiphonar was sung by the bishop. the third was the formd how a nun phonar] ab episcopo. ms. cott. ut supra, 135, seq. without profession alludes to its omission for want of time. d ms. harl. 561. f. 107. 114. b. forma qualiter sanctimonialis non virgo, vel alia facere debet professionem suam. quocunque festo solempni episcopus voluerit, induat se sacris vestibus, vid. sandaliis, superpellicio, sudario, amissio, interim dum se induit percantentur à clericis ad hoc assignatis preces consueti, &c. [then some religious services.] et tunc episcopus ponat se in phildistorio honeste præparato coram medio altaris facie conversa ad occidentem. et interim mulier professura accedat præparata per ostium chori inferius, cum duabus vel tribus sororibus ipsam comitantibus, portans habitum, quæ religio sua requirit, super brachium sinistrum, in quo infigatur velamen capitis cum annulo, et in dexterâ manu scedulam habeat scriptam suæ professionis pleno visu continue in eam intendendo. deinde dum procedit usque altare episcopus cum ministris suis mediocri voce dicat clero vel choro alternatim constrepente, "miserere mei, deus," &c. cum "gloria patri," et "sicut erat." positis autem habitu, velamine, et annulo ad pedes episcopi, et completo psalmo, mulier professura stans super medium gradum altaris legat professionem suam hoc modo: "ego soror promitto stabilitatem meam, et conversionem morum meorum, et obedientiam coram deo omnibusque sanctis ejus, secundum regulam sancti benedicti, in loco qui est consecratus in honore s. n. et in præsentiâ domini episc. n. vel abbatissæ n." quâ lectâ genuflectendo faciat crucem cum pennâ in fine professionis super genua episcopi, et osculatâ manu ejus, surgat et prosternat se super tapetum vel terram ante inferiorem gradum altaris, super quam sic prostratem episcopus stando has sequentes dicat, &c. deinde erigatur mulier, et remotis velamine et annulo, benedicat episcopus habitumsic dicendo; deinde asperso habitu aquâ bened. induat episcopus professuram cum ea sic dicendo; postea convertat se episcopus, cum ministris genuflectendo ad altare, professura retro episcopum prostrata incipiat altâ voce. veni creator, &c. ut supra in benedictione abbissæ; dicto hoc, surgat episcopus et conversus ad mulierem dicat. . . hic erigat se à terrâ sanctimonialis episcopo interim velamen ejus benedicente sic... tunc imponat unus sacerdos et non episcopus velamen capiti mulieris, episcopo interim dicente ; quo dicto, benedicat episcopus amissium hoc modo; tunc tradat ei episcopus annulum sic dicendo; deinde trahit episcopus velamen super oculos ejus not a virgin, or other, was to make her profession. upon whatever festival he chose, the bishop robed himself in pontificals, and while he was doing this, the usual prayers were said by clerks appointed for this. the bishop then placed himself in a chair before the middle of the altar, with his face towards the west. the nun in the mean while advanced through the lower gate of the choir, with two or three sisters accompanying, carrying the habit on her left arm, in which was fixed the veil with the ring, and in her right the schedule of profession, upon which she kept her eyes fixed. while she was advancing, the bishop, ministers, and choir, in a low voice, sung a certain service. when this psalm was over, and the habit, veil, and ring laid at the bishop's feet, the nun, standing upon the middle step of the altar, read her profession in this form: "i sister [a] promise stedfastness, and the conversion of my manners, and obedience before god and all his saints, according to the rule of st. benedict, in the place which is consecrated to the honour of s. n. and in the presence of our lord bishop n. or abbess n." after this, she knelt and made a cross with a pen in the end of the profession upon the knees of the bishop, and having kissed his hand, rose and prostrated herself upon the carpet or ground incipiendo antiphonam; deinde dicat episcopus stando super istam prostratam sequentem orationem cum præfacione; si sit de ordine s. s. augustini vel francisci sic. deinde legatur evangelium dictoque officio ac interim dum à choro cantatur professa procedendo offerat genibus flexis ad manum episcopi, manu ejus ab eâdem prius osculatâ. postea offerant alii qui volunt. professa continuè super tapetum vel terram se prosternente, usque post receptionem corporis et sanguinis christi, ab episcopo plene factam. et tunc ante resuperacionem (sic) professa erigatur, episcopus veniens ab altari cum corpore christi patenâ imposito communicet eam super gradum altaris superioris devote genuflectentem sic dicendo; tunc osculatâ manu episcopi surgendo ducatur in chorum osculetque sorores tres universas. ac nichil omnino illorum vestimentorum, quæ in benedictione habuit, exuendo sive mutando, subtalaribus pedum tantum modo exceptis; sed die nocteque psalmis, hymnis, et canticis spiritualibus, magis devocione cordis quam modulacione vocis, domino jam christo cui se devovit jugiter servire intendat, ultimo etiam stabit in loco usque in tercium diem. 190 novices. before the lower step of the altar, over whom the bishop standing then said certain prayers. she was then raised, and the veil and ring being set aside, the bishop consecrated the habit, and, after it had been sprinkled with holy water, put it upon her, with certain prayers. he then turned with his attendants to the altar, kneeling, and the nun prostrate behind him, beginning with a loud voice, veni creator; after this he rose, and turning to her, said certain prayers. she then rose, and the veil was consecrated, and one of the priests, not the bishop, put it upon her head, while the bishop said certain prayers. the amessa was then consecrated, the ringb given to her,c and the veil drawn over her eyes, which was followed by certain prayers over her as she lay prostrate. then the gospel was read, and while the service was singing by the choir, she kissed the bishop's hand, and made her offering kneeling, as afterwards. did those who chose it. she then continued prostrate till the communion was over, when she arose, and the bishop brought her the patin to communicate, as she knelt upon the step of the high altar. after this, she kissed the bishop's hand, was led into the choir, and kissed all the three a worn on the head: it signified the rag of linen wherewith the jews blinded christ in mockery, when they smote and buffeted him. gutch's collectanea curiosa, ii. 179. b a small ring of gold with a sapphire at amesbury. lib. cotid. contrar. garder. 28 ed. i. p. 348. the constitutions complained of their wearing several. though there is a canon in lyndwood (p. 206), that only consecrated nuns should wear rings, yet widows made the vow of chastity, by a ring only, without habit or veil. see an instance in speed, 616. sisters. she then continued in silence for three days, never changed any part of her clothes, except her shoes, but day and night devoted to psalms and hymns, and spiritual songs, studied how she should serve god constantly, and took the last rank, till the third day. the duties of the female novitiates were similar to those of the male.d when taken sick, the infirmaress was to follow them, and they were to have no communication with their companions, unless a curtain or wall intervened.e d monast. ii. 770. • id. ubi sup. n. b. there is an injunction in ms. ashm. mus. 1519. f. 37, a. that a canon should not be received from the profession of another house. (nec ullum canonicum ex professione alterius domus ordinis nostri recipiat.) they were refused admission without dimissory letters (m. paris, 1015,) which assigned as a reason, that they could no longer stay, with quiet of their souls, or a sound conscience or observation of the rule. "licentia pro monacho eundi ab una domo in aliam. abbas sive prior et conventus a. b. salutem. cum sicut exhibita nobis pro parte tua, &c. peticio, &c. (ms. harl. 670, fol. 100, a.) continebat quod in dicto monasterio per causas certas et literas nobis ministratas, non possis cum tuæ quiete animæ et sanâ conscientiâ vel amplius remanere, neque dicti ordinis regulam observare in eadem, transeundi ad aliud monasterium ejusdem ordinis indulgentiam nobis humiliter supplicavisti, &c." (ms. harl. 2179, f. 78, a.) but he might leave his order, without leave of the superior, if that he proposed to go into was more austere. (dev. vie monast. i. 243.) if it was to a more remiss one, the papal licence was necessary; unless there was a cause, and the monk was young or old, and the cause required celerity, and then the bishop's was sufficient. lyndw. 210. but if he went into the same order, dimissory letters were taken. monast. i. p. 41. they might change their order when the irregularity and bad example of the religious endangered their salvation. dev. vie monast. ii. 25. in 1247 the friars preachers obtained a privilege, that no one should leave their order, because many who had entered into it were disappointed. par. 637. the abbot's licence was necessary even to be elected abbot of another house. id. 1031. m. lay-brothers, 191 chapter xxx. lay-brothers. a lay-brother made his petition prostrate in the chapter, in this form: "i seek charitably the habit of a brother, for the salvation of my soul." upon his being raised, the abbot or prior said that it was necessary he should swear to observe chastity, to be faithful to the church, and obedient to his superiors, as well as to renounce property and his own will. afterwards a brother was deputed to him to teach him his pater noster, ave mary, creed, and other religious offices, to serve at the masses, and graces at dinner, as well as to say the hours, in a form peculiar to themselves.a these were professed lay-brothers; but there were also oblati, persons who devoted themselves to servitude by giving four-pence, and sometimes binding their necks in a bell-rope; b and fratres ad succurendum, assistant brothers, who wore only a short scapulary, while the professed lay-brother had the habit of the order. some persons gave themselves, and all or part of their property, to the house, and professed obedience to the abbot, and received food and clothing. there were inferiors to these, who, with their families, became vassals to the church.d of this kind of persons, or others, they had, it seems, a long train: for the abbot of feversham, writing to croma secularis habitum fratrum suscepturus faciat peticionem in capitulo prostratus in hunc modum, "ego peto caritative habitum fratris pro animâ meâ salvandâ." quo erecto, dicat abbas, seu prior, quod oportet eum supra textum vovere castitatem, et jurare fidelitatem ecclesie, et obedientiam suis superioribus abrenuntiando etiam proprietati et propriæ voluntati. deinde deputetur ei aliquis pater qui doceat eum pater noster, ave maria, credo, confiteor, psalmos de profundis, et miserere. et ad serviendum ad missas et gracias ad prandium. item doceatur dicere horas hoc modo. ad quamlibet horam dicat (prayers). ms. bodl, low, 7. 24. p. bardu cange, in voce. bibliotheca præmonstratensis, i. du cange, v. oblati, ubi plura. see also v. donati. well, says, "i have sent to yow a paper of suche proportyon of vyttell and other, as the lay-brothers hyre tellyth me of necessite must be provydyde for them; now they not regarding this derthe, would have and hathe that same fare contynuall that then was usid, and wold have like plenty of brede and ale and fishe given to straungers in the butterye, or at the butterye doore, and as large lyveries of bredde and ale to all ther servaunts, and to vagabunds at the gate, as was than usid."e the gilbertine rule goes minutely into their duties.f these were, excommunication (if impenitent) upon transgression; to wash their own cloaths, if there were not fullers; or else to have it done by some poor person found by the porter, and to be washed only by the foot; chapter to be held at the same time, and in a similar form to that of the canons; novices to be professed; brothers coming to conversion not to be admitted under twentyfour years of age; at mattins and daily hours to use certain prayers; from the ides of september, till maundy thursday, on private days, and such feasts as they worked on, a special bell to be rung to wake them; after vigils and lauds to keep silence till prime, which over, to go to their work; to say the other hours, on the places where they worked. from easter to september, on working days, to sleep till lauds, because they had no meridian sleeps from the rule, but of favour, e ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. p. 35, a. monast. ii. 732, seq. in the bodleian catalogue of the contents of ms. ashm. 1285, there is mention made of "institutio laicorum fratrum." the ms. contains no such thing, according to my research. thus the franciscans enacted, "that no one should be received for a lay-brother under twentyfour years of age, nor beyond forty-three, unless he was a person very remarkable and famous." (et nullus recipiatur pro laico omnino intra xxiiii ann. nec ultra xliii, nisi erit persona multum notabilis et insignis.) ms. bodl. 1882. p. 45. 192 lay-brothers. : namely, those who were in the house from easter to hay harvest; those in the granges, from the feast of holy cross till the same term. on feasts that they did not work on, to rise to mattins; and from september to easter, to both vespers : on other days to attend to their work, as long as it was light; when the work was over, to strike the table and sing complin. those in the granges from the calends of november till the chayring of st. peter;a to watch till the fourth part of the night; and from the chairing of st. peter till easter, and from the ides of september till the calends of november, to rise so as to end vigils and lauds before day-break; after this, work from easter to the above ides, to rise with day-break; from the octaves of pentecost to christmas, and of epiphany to easter, every friday, disciplines; to come to the communion eight times in the year, novices three; silence in all the offices, except on indispensable occasions; no entrance into the offices without leave; workmen of the house, as shoemakers, tailors, weavers, and other artificers, not to speak but standing, and in a place out of their shops of necessary matters. a place within the shops to be only granted to smiths (fabris). the evening chapter to be held every week on thursday, after vespers in winter, and after supper in summer, except hay-harvest and august; one or two canons to assist, and delinquents be beaten in the next chapter; no signs to be made, or gossippings, unless for fire, theft, or things of that kind. necessity excused from this office the brothers engaged with the guests, grangiaries, neatherds, and grooms: on feast days on which they worked, allowed to be present at the complin of the nuns; those in the granges to keep silence in the dormitory, refectory, and calefactory in the chairing of st. peter was the 8 cal. mart. 22d of february. b vigilent circum quartam partem noctis, [perhaps "to wake about the fourth part of the night," i. e. to lauds.] the appointed limits; but allowed to converse with the grangiary standing and two together; a brother travelling to keep silence in all the churches, and in refection; and after complin to conform to the rule, though not to fast, but as the rest in granges; upon coming to a house or grange of the same order to do in all things like the others; allowed to converse about necessaries with the groom, as of shoeing horses, and when he gave them hay, and in matters of that nature, but standing; if a brother went out with leave. he was to do as ordered; no gossipping, nor carrying tales to and fro; upon entering an office, to seek what was wanted by a sign; none to refuse going in a cart in order that they might ride; shepherds and cow-keepers to return the salutation of a traveller, or inform him of his road, if he asked the question; but if he asked any further, to inform him they were not allowed to speak; in their refectory to dine with their prior or the grangiary, with similar religious ceremonies as the canons; not to dine with their clothes off; to lose their beer, if they missed the verse three times, and dine last, and make prostrations, if they spilt their drink or soup, and ask pardon in the chapter, if they cut their fingers; in the granges after dinner to go to the oratory; to have no bells, but wooden balls, to assemble them; not to fast but on the principal feasts, and in advent, and fridays in the winter, when they had every one of them a certain allowance of bread; pittances to the sick persons returning from journeys, and those who had been bled. c the grangiary or bailiff was to manage the farms; to converse with the brothers of labour and walking, if needful; not to enter the court of the nuns; not to go any where without orders from the prior; to have a companion to watch him in the absence of the prior or cellarer; not to take any thing to himself out of things bought • lignea balla; not in du cange. lay-brothers. 193 or sold; the prior or cellarer to punish those who did not obey him. a canon to assist the lay-brothers in buying and selling: the emptor to be assisted alternately by one of three brethren who was to be a spy upon him, if possible a lettered person; silence under certain modifications; allowed to talk with their footboy on necessary occasions; not to buy or sell without leave of the prior, cellarer, grangiary, and proctor; give an account upon their return; punctually to restore every thing borrowed; whoever went to fairs to buy the things (notified in writing) for the use of the house; which persons to consist of one lay-brother, two lettered persons, and as many more as the prior thought fit; their purchases (for the nuns at least) to be exhibited to the prior, cellarer, and others; not to buy superfluous fish for themselves to eat, or delicacies, or drink wine unless well watered; to be content with two messes of pottage; not to eat but in places provided by the officers, and then together; no silk to be bought for worldly vanities; no wool to be mixed with that of others; no one to speak offensively of another in his presence; the artificers to have chests to put their tools in, locked with two keys, one in the hands of the prior; no artificer, a guest, to become a brother without consent of the principal prior; no dwelling out of the gates of the house, unless for animals; bricklayers, carpenters, and those who worked aloft, to wear breeches; after autumn, a brother and threshers to be sent to the granges, to thresh as much corn as would serve the convent for a year; also another to have the care of the cheese and butter; geese, hens, bees, honey, and eggs, under the care of the hospitalis frater grangia," and assistants. of these the best to be sent to the abbey, when wanted, by the care of certain of these lay-brothers; the hospitalis frater to be continually · housekeeper. mansionarius. du cange. at home, if possible, and keep the keys of the grange, in preference; if not, a faithful brother in his stead: measures of allowances for persons coming to the granges, and horses, &c. to be established, and to be uniform every where; a check to be kept by an itinerant brother of the quantities of corn threshed out; the tithes to be regularly separated, and no stranger's corn put in their custody without leave; women not to milk in houses, but in fields; not to enter the granges without leave, and, as far as possible, to be neither young nor pretty; the laybrothers not to go near them; to be assisted by boys; their refection to be made in a house out of the gate, and the presiding lay-brother to oversee them silently through a hole, and to have a faithful mercenary to attend upon them, and such a person to oversee them in their work; not to ride or overload their horses, or overwork themselves; to come to the bake-house at the proper season, and the baker to strike the table at the time of mass; punishments to be established for theft and other crimes. lay-brothers retained their beards, while the monks were shaved, and were therefore called bearded brothers; they were also called viatores, from frequently travelling on the convent business.c lay-sisters. not to be admitted to the habit before twenty years old; not to wait for the nuns to begin their work, which consisted of washing, culinary employments, attendance, and other menial offices;d not to enter the church but at the times appointed for them; to hold their chapter every sunday, and twice in the week; not to du cange, v. barbati fratres. du cange, in voce. d there is a constitution in lyndwood (provinc. 207, ed. oxon.) which prohibits the services, by nuns, of females who worked in silk, acted as lady's maids, or prepared baths. these were called voluptuous and delicate servants. others, in matters connected with food, necessary servants. among these were not only bakers (pistrices), but furnariæ, whose duty appertained to the oven. 194 lay-sisters. weave (texere) any thing to be sent or sold out of the house; when they rose from their beds to say the nocturnal synaxis before they did any work, but not prime until the proper season; to finish, however, what they had begun, if it could not be delayed; in a working day of twelve lessons, to rise before the sixth psalm; on entering the church, to sit upon the forms called misericords, and say the usual prayer, though the nuns had ended part of the service; from all saints to the chairing of st. peter every day before lauds and prime, a season to be granted them for attending to devotions; from holyrood day to all saints, prime to be said at such an hour as they might very soon (mox) go to their work. when at their devotions, any one to be allowed to join them after they had said two pater nosters; but if more, such to say it by themselves; all to say complin together except those engaged; after prime and complin to sprinkle themselves with holy water; to communicate eight times per annum ; novices three; the latter to leave the chapter at the "let us speak of the order;" and after it was ended, enter again, and take their venia. in their refection (which was attended with prayers like those of the canons), not to sit before their prior; those who served at the table in lent, and others who were not allowed to eat with the convent, to eat after nones when they had said vespers. in feasts, when the nuns went to their biberes, to go to theirs; to drink with leave after vespers if the brothers or sisters professed on a working day; to take the sacrament on the sunday following; those employed in brewing to say the hours in their house; the mistress of those employed in offices out of doors to have some old woman to speak in her stead, when she gave orders; the mistress to strike one blow before she said benedicite at the table; a lay-sister to attend in the infirmary to dress the victuals, wash the linen, carry the weak, lead the blind, and otherwise assist the sick; intimacy forbidden between them and the nuns; punishments for crimes; not to receive the sacrament on the sunday, if they had concealed any crime during the week which ought to have been proclaimed in chapter. there were persons called fellow sisters, sisters, being virgins, or women who gave themselves and their goods, or at least a part, to abbeys, in the same manner as the oblati among the monks.a du cange, v. consoror. servants. 195 chapter xxxi, servants. all those within the house took an oath of fidelity, and not to reveal the secrets of the house.a instances appear, where they had been brought up in the house from childhood, and were persons judiciously selected. the abbot of feversham says: "yet have i such faithful approved servaunts, whome i have brought upp in my poure house, from their tender yeares. and those of suche wit and good discresion, joyned unto the long experience of the trade of suche worldly thing, that they are able to furnishe and supply those partes, i know, right well in all poynts." in the time of william rufus, the servants at evesham amounted to sixty-five; five in the church; two in the infirmary; two in the cellar; five in the kitchen; seven in the bakehouse; four brewers, four menders, two in the bath, two shoemakers, two in the orchard, three gardeners; one at the cloister gate, two at the great gate; five at the vineyard; four who served the monks when they went out; four fishermen; four in the abbot's chamber, three in the hall.c at the nunnery of yedingham, there were a miller and boy, shoemaker, carters, cowherds, porter, reaper, two gardeners, servant of the granges, four maids, maids of the infirmary, keeper of the geese.d elsewhere are mentioned a servant of the parlour, two tailors, in an upper chamber, two servants in the vestiary, who rung the bells; the barber ;f one of the fires, c. northampt. aº 1444. cap. vi. sect. de infirmitorio. ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. f. 33. a. • monast. anglic. i. 146. d id. 498. • serviens parlorii; duos cissores in nigro solario ex consuetudine. in vestiario duo servientes qui pulsant campanas (davies has a similar item of durham). ms. harl. 1005, p. 44. f by lanfranc's decretals, prime, tierce, and chapter, were expedited, and no chapter held by the children, but they went to their school, and when every thing was ready in the cloister, the who was constantly every fifteen days to clean the spittings under and near the forms, and strew them plentifully with hay; servants of the laundry, who washed the table-cloths of the refectory; the servants of certain officers. at tewkesbury, at the dissolution, there were 144.i the convent of st. alban's did not return observed, to the prohibition that womenk abbot began a religious service. no one was shaved in his hood; but, like the persons who performed the office, both the shaving and shaved were in their frocks. they shaved one another, but the refectioners first, in winter, when the minuti and sick had mixtus after chapter, that they might find every thing ready for them. while the psalms were singing, no one was to wash his head, pare his nails, or leave the cloister without leave: but, after the psalms, and a benedicite and answer, they might speak. then a bason was brought, and they washed their heads. if the bell rung for church, those went whose beards were either shaved or untouched. on the shaving day the cloths were changed in the refectory; on days, when conversation in the cloister was allowed, any one who thought it necessary, might be shaved with consent of the abbot or prior. č. 12. till the year 1266, the monks of st. augustine's, canterbury, used to shave one another in the cloister, but frequent injuries ensuing through their awkwardness in that office, secular persons were hired (w. thorne, c. 25. sect. 3); and it is plain, from davies and others mentioning the barber's stipend and fees, that this example was followed by other houses. in the sempringham rule (monast. ii. 721) the canons were shaved seventeen times per annum; but one of the inquirenda of henry's visitors was, "whether ye bee wyckely shaven." ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. shaving the beard began about the year 1200. le voeu de jacob, i. 851. lest the eucharist should be violated by it. 8 minister focarum continuè circulo quindecim dierum screationes subtus et prope formas mundabit, et foenum competens copiosè ibidem magistri distributione curabit jacere, &c. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 197. b. spenser (fairy queen, b. vi. c. xii. st. 24) mentions the dirtiness of the monks and i think this passage, and one in the article refectioner, sufficiently prove it; notwithstanding thomas hearne's indignation (lib. nig. scaccarii, ii. 456) at the charge. h monast. i. p. 149. see mr. dyde's neat and pleasing history of that place, p. 146. k in ministerio reclusi nulla maneat mulier, neque neptis, neque aliena, nec soror, nec mater. [in the service of a monk there shall be no woman, neither a niece, nor stranger, sister, or mo0 2 196 servants. should not be personally admitted in the service of anchorets."a by the norman institutes, it was enacted, that the servants should sup in the refectory, and in their way to the church, while they passed before the chapter, go bowing till they had passed, and before the entrance of the chapter raise themselves, and, turning to the east, in the usual manner, make an humble inclination. this salutation was to be returned by the monks in the chapter, rising from their seats and bowing.b in edmund de hadenham's annals of rochester, are long details, by which it appears, that these servants were married men, not lay-brothers, and transferred from one avocation to another, however different, upon the principle of promotion and favour only, leaving them to acquire the requisite qualifications successively.c ther.] ms. cot. jul. a. ix. f. 12. b. (de vitâ reclusorum.) m. paris, 1100. b decr. lanfr. c angl. sacr. i. 343, 344, 389. bishop kennet has been often cited for the blood-coloured liveries worn by the prior of burcester's servants: liveries being anciently general, and families supposed to be guided in the colours, by the tinctures of their armorial bearings. rial bearings. this, however, is rather an exception, than a general rule. donne says, "nor come a velvet justice with a long great train of blew-coats, twelve or fourteen strong." sat. i. blue was the colour in which the gauls cloathed their slaves, and from this british custom, for many ages, blue-coats were the liveries of servants and apprentices, even of younger brothers, as now of the blue-coat boys, blue schools in the country, &c. hence the proverb in ray. "he's in his better blew clothes;" i. e. thinks himself very fine; and strumpets doing penance in blue gowns.g d plin. n. h. xvi. 18. douce on shakspeare, 334, strutt's dresses, 302, 315. p. 66. · steevens. monastic buildings. 197 chapter xxxii. monastic buildings. monastic buildings, like roman temples,a were erected by the gifts of great men, the alms of the people, and the substraction of a part of the annual revenues, devoted to another purpose.c the abbey of vale royal cost the king 32,000l. sterling, and the abbot drew for the money by instalments. when they were impoverished and decayed by fire or other cause, all the abbots of the order were to endeavour to rea suetonius, in august. c. 29. b bishop hooper says, "the people are made so blind by the falsehood of antichristes ministers, that they will rather give a golden crowne to the buildinge of an abbeie, foundation of a chantrie, or for a masse of requiem, then one silver penie for the defence of their commonwealth." sermons, b. 1. 57. b. c w. thorne, c. 34. sect. 6. d monast. ii. 928, 9. it is singular, that instances appear, where they had no idea of water carriage. "ad omnia edificia quod fecerat abbas store them; and petitions were presented to the king. low sites were chosen (absurdly) upon account of convenience for fish :5 and picturesque spots selected.h several of our english monasteries were fortified, and capable of enduring a siege. taylor's index monast. pref. iii. who mentions binham priory, st. bennet's and ewenny priory, in south wales, as an interesting specimen. (faritius) prædictus trabes et tigna de regione wallensium venire fecit cum magno sumptu et gravi labore. sex enim plaustra ad hoc habebat, et ad unum quodque illorum xii boves. sex vel vii ebdomadarum erat eundi et redeundi, nam juxta salopesbiriam transire oportuit." hist. abban. dunensis, ms. in bibl. cott. c. g. northampt. a° 1444. c. ix. f rot. parl. 18 ed. i. no. 89. m. 4. (vol. i.) morant's colchester, ii. see ray's wisdom of god. b see lanthony in dugd. monast. ii. 198 church architecture, &c. chapter xxxiii. church-architecture, &c. the later periods of medieval architecture are so thoroughly understood, as to render investigation unnecessary: but that of the early ares is by no means established; and as mr. king's elaborate work upon castles (though of great merit in elucidating churches. the inferior parts does not determine the easy acquisition of ascertaining their ara by their construction, the architecture of churches shall be classified in one column, that of castles in the other. castles. british. gildas mentions strong fortified houses very lofty, built upon the top of a hill ex edito), and nennius arces with gates and castles, both of brick and stone. this bribritish. the simplest kind is that of the old chapel of glastonbury, made of wattled work, as described by william of malmesbury, and the windows excepted, accurately sketched by sammes. whoever considers the british castle, from trercaeri and other tish houses upon the antonine column [see fig. 1); knows, that the remains of british houses near clun castle are circular buildings, detached from each other, with foundations only, and door-posts of stone, and no windows or chimneys; and that the old poem in higden says, that the welsh build houses of wattle and dab detached from each other; and that froissart says the same of scotch houses: will from such knowledge acquiesce in sammes's design, except that the windows should be round-headed and long. great windows appear in the most ancient welsh churches.d mr. wilkins, in his magna græcia, shows that the temple of jerusalem was of the barn-like form of the parthenon,e and from this greek fashion of temples, not warburton's vista of trees, undoubtedly came the long bodies of our ancient and modern churches. very old welsh churches are of the barn form, but without towers: the wall at one end is raised above the specimens, is known to have been a round hill, hooped with walls, like a churn, within which were caverns, and circular british houses for the garrison, but at the very summit a large tower, sometimes round, more rarely square, for the habitation of the prince. castle corndochen, and castle prysor, ascribed to the romans, have a square, a round, and an oval tower. launceston keep. mr. king very justifiably makes a british remain. anglo-saxon castles. however true is sir william dugdale's remark, that there were very few anglo-saxon castles, their chief fortresses being earth-works, yet the keep of corfe, because called edgar's tower, is an undoubted remain. it has the light upper rooms, or solaria, of which the anglo-saxons were so fond. colchester, considered by strutt of the same æra, is cased with caen stone, and only one fabrick raised out of the ruins of another, i. e. a gundulf keep, such as rochester, dover, canter• xv scriptores, 293. any other churches must have been very rare. see chap. iii. britton's architectural antiquities, ii. 57. 4 rowland's mona antiqua, 158. 1 xv script. ch. 2. 30, seq. xv scriptores, 188. • introd. viii. ix. gough's camden, ii. 545. xv. scriptor. 957. x script. 750. i believe the direct ascent, as at conisborough, to be anglosaxon; the side-long stairs to be a norman improvement. 8 cent. a sove 5 3=l a. soo 8 cent. keec մամմ 000 2 уа. уус. 3 church-architecture, &c. 199 churches. roof, and has arches, under which hang two bells exposed to the air. at the same time superior churches, in the style of that of the 5th and following centuries [see fig. 2 from maillot], might exist at bangor or val rosine. for gregory of tours, who lived in the same sixth century, says, "this church has in length 155 feet, in breadth 60,a in height to the chamber or vaulting 45, windows in the altar (i. e. choir) 32, in the capsum (nave) 20, pillars 41; in the whole edifice 52 windows, 120 pillars, 8 doors, 3 in the choir, 5 in the nave." again, "he made a church 150 feet long, 60 broad, 50 feet high from the nave to the vaulting, 42 windows, 72 pillars, 8 gates." the naves of monastic churches were sometimes far shorter. in the year 709 (see fig. 3, 4, from maillot) are two churches, one with the long roundheaded door of the british house; the other, a fac-simile of the anglo-saxon house in strutt, whose copies of ancient illuminations coincide in other respects, as appears by the plate. anglo-saxon churches. a round tower at the west end, and a semi-circular termination of the chancel, are admitted to be undisputed denotations of anglo-saxon churches. a modern sweeping position consigns nearly all to the normans,d because the anterior specimens are rare. (the west front of malmsbury, still existent, is a work of aldhelm, and very fine.e) one remark is alone sufficient to show its error. castles. bury, norwich, &c. was erected, for the opposite materials prove the alteration. corfe, limme in kent, and other ugly towers, often with herringbone work, especially coningsborough, are, therefore, as mr. king in the latter instance thinks, probably anglosaxon. he is supported by strong reasons; for, however similar may be the exterior forms of oxford keeptower, and hedingham, of later date, as well as others, the entrance in these norman fabricks is not by a strait flight of steps, but one side-long and flanking: nor has the interior of those keeps, called anglo-saxon by mr. king, the same conveniences and artificial annexations as the norman. differences, therefore, do exist, though not externally apparent, the staircase excepted, which undoubtedly (from the keeps in cornwall, where norman customs were comparatively recent,) is more ancient when strait than parallel. besides, there is a rude ancientry of structure at coningsborough, &c. aided by the tradition of saxon proprietors. norman castles. the anglo-saxon keep-tower is, besides interior additions, dilated and amplified into a gundulf-keep, so as to have an additional large central room; or, as at berkeley, a ballium, with a range of apartments around the inside. this keep, sometimes octangular, sometimes with circular angular towers, is mostly square, with whole or demi-towers at the angles. such are dover, rocheswillis says (cathedrals, ii. 763), that the height of the vaulting is generally the breadth of the nave and side ailes; but at stewkeley, &c. is an upper-croft over the vaulting. b du cange, v. capsum. from the grotesque animal ornaments of monstrous heads, and interlaced dragons, i seriously believe may be distinguished anglo-saxon from norman churches; for they abound in our earliest mss. and norman figures more resemble nature. that very curious anglo-saxon church kilpeck, in herefordshire, has no west door; and three compartments, the porticus, i. e. west end, the nave, and a semi-circular chancel. each is divided by large round arches, upon the pilasters of which are figures of saints, like caryatides. there is no staircase to the rood-loft. the intersection of the zig-zag groins, arched roof, and narrow round-headed windows, exhibit the chancel most pleasingly from the west end. the wall of the western point-end rises above the roof, to hold two bells under arches. there is a rich south-door case, which had no porch, full of interlaced serpents, &c. around the whole church runs a frieze of monstrous heads, &c.; among which, is a tumbler holding his leg, from the shows of the anglo-saxon gleemen. others have the hair parted on each side, in true anglo-saxon costume. as interlaced dragons have been found at hyde abbey, i believe also, that the crypt of st. peter's, oxford, &c. is not norman, notwithstanding recent publications. messrs. lysons are laudable exceptions; and where are more experienced antiquaries? • xv scriptores, 349. 200 church-architecture, &c. churches. stewkeley, inter alia, has been deprived of its anglo-saxon antiquity. now it has an upper-croft, as has elkstone in gloucestershire, &c. &c.; and uppercrofts obtained in irish churches, where the first normans never reigned. the church was the parochial fortress, especially the steeple ; and the upper-crofts were made on account of the danes. wooden churches were constantly exposed to depredation and fire. "there were no other means of saving the sacred reliques, vestments, &c. of the churches, and the wealth of the inhabitants, than by hiding them in subterraneous caves. the method, therefore, of building churches entirely of stone, with upper-crofts, was a great improvement, as it gave a place of security to the goods of the inhabitants, as well as to the sacred utensils for the churches being entirely of stone, could not be easily burnt; and the entrances into the upper crofts, being only by narrow newel stairs, or by ladders, through stone trap-doors, they could not be plundered without pulling down the building, which, in these desultory expeditions, they had seldom time to do."c here then we have three proofs of anglo-saxon fabricks: 1. cylindrical steeples. 2. circular east-ends. 3. upper-crofts. conceding the similarity of the anglosaxon and norman styles, it is admitted, that hexham, built by wilfrid, was very lofty in the walls, had three tiers or stories, columns, pontices, &c. now in a church, built in the time of charlemagne (see fig. 5, from maillot), it is very lofty, is divided into stories, and plainly shows the origin of the spire; i. e. the pyramidal roof of a tower rounded and elongated. so also strutt's drawings castles. ter, durham, york, &c. if the anglosaxon keep-towers occasionally occur, they have side-long, not direct, ascents. twelfth century. berkeley, of this age, has the large high norman keep, but is surrounded to prevent mining (the usual method of siege) with a terras walk, exactly conformable to the description of an old poem in warton.f there are no walls with towers; only the barbican, and demi-bastions. the ascent to the keep is sidelong.g hitherto the test of castles is reduced to a very simple standard: the lofty commanding character of the keep, and the lowness of the walls, and paucity of contiguous buildings. this is well exhibited in the second volume of grose's military antiquities, where is a gundulf-keep, &c. in perfection (fortification, pl. 1). the normans (says strutt) defended the base-court from the keep, but a defence from many towers must be better than from one. accordingly, in 1190, towers are ordered to be annexed to the walls of paris ; and, in 1241, lofty towers and double walls occur. the garrison, after defending the walls, upon their demolition, fled to the keep. to augment the fortifications, therefore, so that, in fact, several towers became keeps, was a desideratum which appears to have been supplied by edw. i. in the construction of caernarvon. others were altered and at godrich, the old saxon keep being retained (godric not being a norman owner), a wall and four towers were placed at the angles; each tower being a keep of itself in strength. accordingly, in the end of the thirteenth century, the characteristicks alter from a lofty commandhutchinson's durham, i. 94; ii. 578. transact. royal irish academy for 1789, pp. 80-83. e transactions royal irish academy, ubi supra. bentham's ely, 22, 23. i believe, from very ancient illuminations, that grotesque capitals of columns are almost always anglo-saxon. a subsequent rule for spires was, the same height as the length of the church. du cange, v. turrile, 1 poetry, i. 84. a guard-room afterwards over the stairs. du cange, v. tornella, 1 m. paris, 504, x scriptores 623, church-architecture, &c. 201 a churches. from undoubted anglo-saxon manuscripts. tickencote church, without a fac-simile in grose, through its profusion of carved work, does not assimilate a norman specimen. in the county of berks alone, welford, with a round tower, padworth, finchamsted, remenham, (with semi-circular towers at the east end), tidmarsh and avington, are undoubtedly rescued from the hands of those normans, who altered everything in england, and yet had a similar architecture. the norman fabricks appear to have had less carved work, but much more elegant proportions, and greater beauty and pattern as a whole, than anglo-saxon churches. luton church is said to be of conventual fashion, because it has two porches to the north and south each, and two chapels adjoining to the east end of the north and south ailes.b that this was not exclusively a conventual fashion, nor was an invariable form of abbeychurches, is evident, whatever may be the grounds upon which dr. ducarel broached this position. parochial churches, though not appropriated, were, if situate upon abbatial estates, at least sometimes distinguished by transepts, though the erection of the church was at different periods. the splendor of conventual churches is thus explained: personal expence, or secular indulgence, was culpable in a monk; but what was expended in ornamenting the church, was thought to be glorifying god.c ancient churches, most splendid in the reign of the first edward,d had various peculiarities now unknown, which shall be respectively detailed. as the high altar represented the church, and had four corners, because the gospel was extended through the four quarters of the globe,e that shall be first considered. its dimensions are thus stated by bishop hakewill: castles. ing keep, which designates the whole as an object of import, to a large and conspicuous tower, commonly at an angle, from greater command every way, and to numerous high turrets and towers, with high walls between; all one whole building as to external aspect, not of disjunct parts, as the anglosaxon and norman castles. the outer walls too are quite high. in short, the whole castle is a keep enlarged into a walled and towered court. such is caernarvon, &c. fourteenth century. this is a single castle, square, with angular towers and machicollated gateways, sometimes flanked by slender round towers. thus lumley, built in 1389, hilton, bodenham, and cowling, in kent. mr. king says, that the low flat round keep of windsor was found there 18 edw. iii. by william of wickham; but as another occurs at leeds in kent, also built by wickham, and queenborough of this age, however modernized, has similar towers, they also are fashions of this æra. fifteenth century. the general characteristick is lightness; light slender machicollated towers. so caister in norfolk. in the rich illuminated roman d'alexandre in the bodleian library, are numerous representations of castellated mansions. they are like beverstone in gloucestershire, built temp. edw. iii.; lofty compact keeps, but windowy, with angular demi-towers square; the faces diagonal to the building, but differing from castles, in having pine-end roofs. hurstmonceaux, and the oxford college, and quadrangular mansions, are no more than single-castles housified, begotten, in jockey language, from gundulph keeps, whose dam was the lofty old keep-tower. sixteenth century. the castle adapted to residence and war, occurs at lysons's britann. i. 205, 322. bibl. topogr. britann. vol. iv. no. viii. p. 11. eadmer, 109. the idea was taken from the splendour of the heathen temples. see hor. od. 82. d dallaway's heraldic enquiries, p. 36, seq. ivo carnotensis, 787, od. 14. e 202 church-architecture, &c. churches. "allowing then an altar of three foote and an halfe high, and a rising to it from the lower floore of a foote high; the height of the altar from the lower floore will be foure foote and a halfe, or three cubits, which is the measure required in the leviticall law, and differs little in height from the altars in forraine parts, or those which are yet standinge with us, if wee likewise take their height from the lower floore; which, by reason of the continued and easie degrees of ascent to them, may not unfitly be counted their basis or foote." the authentic mark of an altar-table was its five crosses. as no altar could be consecrated without relicks, there was a small stone, called the sigillum altaris, by which the aperture for insertion of the relicks was closed upd by mortar tempered in holy water. what are the horns of the altar has been doubted by warton. they have been called the corners of the altar. du cange says, the horn of the altar is the side, where the epistle and gospel were read. symmachus, gregory of tours, and others,h mention the siborium, an arch over the altar, supported by four lofty columns, in imitation of the propitiatory, which covered the ark. it was sometimes illuminated and adorned with tapers. where there was no siborium, a mere canopyi hung over the altar, which was most common among us; a fine stone screen full of niches being the back of the altar, from which the canopy projects. curtains called the tetravelum were annexed, and drawn round, that the priest might not be confused by view of the spectators.k under this ciborium or canopy, hung the pix, or box, containing the host, a apologie, p. 221. b gent. mag. for 1799, p. 860. lyndw. provinc. 249. d du cange in voce, and v. malta. • i. 302. emend. v. ii. f pictet. serm. sur gen. c. xxviii. v. 17. h v. cornu altaris. bishop jewell's reply to harding, p. 311, 312. i called umbraculum. du cange. du cange, v. ciborium, cortona, propitia. torium, tetra-velum. castles. thornbury. the range of apartments is affixed to a strong tower at one end, which flanks and protects them. there is also a large court, with barracks and loop-holes. mr. king's opinion is, that there is no rule in the construction of castles, from their different aspects: certainly not, if, instead of taking pure specimens, of which the dates are known, recourse be had to mongrel buildings, altered at various times; but, in the construction of all fortresses, rule and plan are matters of course. commonly a dove of goldsmith's work, esteemed so sacred, that upon the march of hostile armies, it was especially prohibited from theft; and henry the fifth delayed his army for a whole day, to discover the thief who had stolen one.m a common altarpiece was piece was a picture of the general judgement, called mappa mundi ;" but others occur, though, i am inclined to think, no subject was admissible, which was not either contemporary with, or posterior to, the passion of christ. over the altar was put the palla, carried out against fires; and over the pall,p the corporal, always made of linen, according to an order of sextus in the year 133.4 the antependium was a veil which hung before,r as the dorsale behind.s behind and about the altar were perticæ, or beams, ornamented at the great feasts with reliquaries of ivory, silver, &c. besides piscinas, hereafter described, were the stalls, where the officiating ministers retired, during parts of the service performed by the choir." du cange says, 1 bp. jewell, ubi supra. n tho. de elmham in vitâ henrici v. p. 39, 53. gough's sepulchral monuments, introd. vol. ii. p. 3. lysons's britannia, ii. 117. p du cange, v. palla altaris. o 4 m. polonus sub anno. du cange. it is the frontale of staveley, churches, 187. • du cange. du cange, v. pertica. see dec. scriptor. col. 1300. u hoc facto, sacerdos cum suis ministris in sedibus ad hoc paratis se recipiat. missale antiq. ms. pemb. coll. oxon. church-architecture, &c. 203 "the sedes majestatis is a seat by the side of the altar, in which the minister about to celebrate sits, while the kyrie, gloria, and creed, are sung; from whence, as often as he arose, the deacon removing his hood, or amess, used to comb his hair; although that office is now done in the vestiary [see § abbot] before he comes to the altar.' the altar-plate stood upon a side table called credentia, or ministerium.a besides this, were the altaria animarum, where masses were said for the dead; rarely attended but by the priest, a boy to assist him, and perhaps, a relative or two of the deceased.c the lecterns, where the epistle and gospel were sung, and certain services of the dead performed. some lecterns were made in the shape of an eagle, to designate st. john the evangelist. analogium was a reading-desk of spanish metal cast, over which hung a gilt eagle with expanded wings. it was sometimes taken for the martyrology, or necrology, because that book was always laid upon it, to read from it what belonged to the service of the day.f candlesticks. the first of these known in the church were some of the form of crosses, presented to the arians by the empress eudocia, and borne by them in procession. afterwards in the choir were candlesticks called arbores or trees, with many lights rising from the ground.h the statutes of clugny say, "on the above festivals in which that iron machine is accustomed to be lighted, which is commonly called ezra, because it was illuminated by glass lamps." there were also pendent chandeliers, called corona.k in different parts of the • du cange. b du cange, v. altare. dugd. monast. ii. 367. peck's desider. curiosa, 229. d davies, ch. xxi. sect. 10. • du cange, v. aquila. du cange. a very fine one is engraved in notices des mss. dans la bibliothèque nationale, vol. vi. pl. i. socrates, 1. vi. c. 8. 1 du cange, v. ezra. du cange, v. arbores. ibid. at the chapel of ford abbey in devonshire, when on a visit to j. f. gwynne, esq. i church, sometimes in front of the high altar, were herses or stages, decorated with palls, tapers, &c. in memory of deceased great persons.¹ the seats of those who sung in the choir, consisted of two parts: antica and postica. in the postica were tl.e folding seats, which were raised when the singers were to stand. the folding part afforded a kind of seat, called a misericord. the part antica made a leaning stock, upon which they reclined when the venia was to be sought.m for though venia was a general term for genuflexion, prostration, or similar gesture, there was the greater metanæa, very low inclination of the body; the smaller only bending the neck and head." thus the oseney missal says, "let them raise themselves, and lift their seats, and lye upon the forms, saying the lord's prayer."o to understand this, it is necessary to observe, that the seniors only leaned upon the forms; the juniors and the boys lay prostrate upon the pavement opposite the stalls ;p for to be raised to a forma, the word for a stall, was a promotion. kneeling cushions and hassocks were common.r the monks bowed at the gloria patri, except at the hours of the virgin mary; and sat at all the psalms, at least in this service.s the stalls were ornamented with tapestry on festivals ;t and the whole church hung with black on funerals of state: as were the houses of the deceased, and black curtains over the pictures. over the body was put a black pall, with armorial escutcheons." the naves of churches were not was astonished to find two beautiful altar-candlesticks, exact fac-similes of some classical candelabra. there is a very fine specimen in the prints concerning abbot islip, in the vetusta monumenta. du cange, v. forma. " ibid. erigant se, et levent sedilia, et jaceant supra formas dicentes orationem dominicam. ms. arch. a. bodl. 73. reyner, onomast. v. prosternales psalmi, see dugd. monast. i. 951. 9 du cange, v. levari supra chorum. id. v. genuflectile, genuflexorium, basse. du cange, v. hora. id. v. tapetias. " id. v. listra, scutellum. 204 church-architecture, &c. always paved,a whence the use of rushes, according to cowell,b for warmth and better kneeling. men used to stand on the right hand or south side; women on the left or north.c organ. this was of very different form to the modern, the pipes being exposed; and such an organ was, and perhaps is now, at uley church in gloucestershire. the organist was anciently no separate officer, but one of the society. we hear of an archdeacon playing upon one in the anglosaxon era. the anglo-saxon had copper pipes. wulstan, in his prologue to the life of st. swithin, mentions one with twelve pair of bellows above, fourteen below, four hundred pipes, and seventy strong men required to work it. in 1450 that of st. alban's was the best in the kingdom.b in the 14th century they were very general in abbies: davies mentions more than one in a church. piscinas, or sinks, where the priest emptied the water he washed his hands in, and where flies (because the emblems of unclean thoughts) and other filth in the chalice, in short, all consecrated waste stuff that could be so, were poured out.k du cange calls it the font, where the priest washed his hands before he performed the sacred offices, in allusion to the psalm, "i will wash my hands in innocency," &c. we order, says an ancient synod, a font for washing the hands of the celebrating priests, which may be either affixed to the wall or pensile, and furnish water with a linen pall." the lavatory is also called the horn of the altar, where the priest washed his hands in the mass. nichols's progress of q. eliz. du cange, v. pars virorum. d warton's sir t. pope, 424. angl. sacr. ii. 43. histor. rames. ch. liv. b pisciv. cirpus. du cange, v. organa. what clumsy machines they were, may be seen by the prints in strutt, hawkins, and burney. h warton's sir t. pope, 345. burney's musick, ii. 376. lyndw. et du cange, v. piscina. du cange, v. fons lavatorium, nas are sometimes double; sometimes single.m lockers, or small niches, held the ampullæ, or cruets of mixed wine and water for the altar; and of oil for holy unction and chrism." in the old anglo-saxon church of kilpeck in herefordshire, there are two lockers, but no piscina. in a corner, stands a moveable double stone bason, formed like a dice-box, or hour-glass, without feet; used either for a piscina or holy water, there being a large font besides. pensile tables, containing genealogies of buried persons ; number of pardons granted to those who prayed for the deceased ;p registers of miracles; histories; and duties of the temporary priests." excubitoria, or apartments for persons who watched the whole night.s in lincoln cathedral is a chamber of timber, where the searchers of the church used to lie ; under which, every night, they had an allowance of bread and beer. at the shutting of the church-doors, the custom was to toll the greatest of our lady's bells, forty tolls; and after, to go to that place and eat and drink, and then to walk round and search the church.t roodlofts, or galleries across the nave, at the entrance of the chancel, or choir, where were the images of the crucifixion, mary, and john, and sometimes rows of saints, on either side, and where the musicians played. m lysons's britannia, ii. 61. du cange, v. ampullæ. • ms. cott. jul. f. vii. p herbert's ames, i. 420. a willis's cathedrals, i. 35. to make these was the chantor's office. the following was the form of one of them: "tabula sic fiat, 1. evang. fr. ille. 1. pl'am fr. ille gr. ille et ille. r. cantores." "tabula sine invit. fiat. post l'c. et lx lx ponatur mensæ lector." ms. arch. a. bodl. 73. any one prevented by infirmity or otherwise from officiating, gave notice to the prior (of winton), or his substitute, who nominated another. lowth's wykeham, 282. seems, that at shene, there were no less than thirty-four tables hanging up in the nave (devo. tional ones). itin. s. simeon, et w. worcest. p. 299. • custumale roffense, p. 171. peck's desiderata curiosa, 305, it church-architecture, &c. 205 there is a remarkable similarity in the style of roodlofts. the gallery is commonly supported by a cross beam, richly carved with foliage, sometimes superbly gilt; and underneath runs a screen of beautiful open. tabernacle work. one at honiton in devon, precisely resembles that engraved by sir r. c. hoare. mary and john were not always the images which accompanied the crucifix, for we find the four evangelists substituted instead. at gilden morden in cambridgeshire, the roodloft is very large and complete, having a double screen, forming two pews, about six feet square, on each side of the passage to the chancel; the upper parts of light open gothic work of the 15th century; the lower part is painted with flowers, and figures of edmund and erkenwold, with their names and inscriptions added.c confessionals. at gloucester, it is a large chair by the side of a door. at the ruined abbey of maig adare in ireland, are stalls with oblong holes cut in them for confession.d some are arched stone vaults, through which was a passage from the choir to a chapel, formerly very dark. here the people stood, the priest being within the altar rails, and the voice passing through a wall made hollow for the purpose. on each side of the altar, at crewkerne in somersetshire, is a door leading into a small room; that by which the penitents entered for confession has two swine carved over it, to signify their pollution; that, by which they returned, two angels, to signify their purity. at gloucester two angels look upwards: it is more probable that this was a pictorial recommendation of confession, founded upon the principles of its absolving and saving power, mentioned in the first chapter. giraldus, plate 5, f. 3. b warton's sir t. pope, 348. lysons's britannia, ii. 59. sir r. c. hoare's tour, p. 51. • parkin's norwich, 187. ' collinson's somersetshire, ii. 262. see sir r. c. hoare's giraldus, i. 29. galilees, where the processions ended: places or pews aloft, for the abbot's family to view processions from ;º lines cut in the pavement to show the room to be kept clear for processions; and circular stones, to mark where each should take his stand at such times. in the nave of the church of york are small circles, engraved on the pavement, marking each place in the length of this nave, which, being twelve times repeated, make exactly an english mile. they showed us twelve holes against the great door, with a little peg, which served to mark the miles, to any one chusing to measure them, changing every time this peg into a fresh hole, in order not to misreckon.i lady-chapels, or retro-choirs. this chapel was so called, because, in general, dedicated to the virgin mary. the sick and strange monks commonly sat there. in the rule of the order of victor of paris, it is said, "those, who from sickness, are in the retro-choir by licence." again [ch. xxxix], "as long as a brother is in the retro-choir, they ought not to be put in the table for officiating. the sick, who are in the retro-choir, ought to stand, if they can, at the te deum, benedictus, and gospel." thus [in ch. lii], "after the glory of the first psalm, let no one enter the choir without licence. after half an hour, let no one enter at all, but go to the retro-choir, and afterwards beg pardon in the chapter." k a deformed child, waiting for a miraculous cure, lay, on his birth-day, and that following, in the lady-chapel at malmsbury. after the reformation, it was often given to the scholars of free-schools for the purpose of morning prayers, &c.m cripts, forn clandestine drinking, feasting, and things of that kind. oswald, or where the monks were exposed in penance. h gostling's canterbury walk, 203. i antiquarian repertory, ii. 217. du cange, v. retro-chorus. 1 anglia sacra, i. 42. m phillips's shrewsbury, 95. n cust. roff. 235. the holy-water stones were filled with fresh water every sunday morning by the bell-ringers, or servitors of the church, and a monk conse206 church-architecture, &c. terrards ambishop of york ceived from his abbot a secret place in the charming that he might hel private prayer. this secret place was à crist sued a confessional: before the four of which, twelve poce, al kierku, zied to reserve daily alms; and the crit had an altar where he celebrated mans.* tsjerk, omamented with bowers, used on big, festivals to bam before parimlar images, and be borne in prosaint, belu, the use of which was this, says m. harting. we have com-, monly seen the priest, when he sped him to say his service, ring the sannicebeil, and speake out aloud. pater nos ter, by which token the people were commar.ded silence. reverence, and devotion." c according to staveley, and warton from him, it was rung when the priest came to the holv. holy, lord god of sabaoth, or trissgium, in order that all persons without might fail on their knees in reverence of the host, then elevated." they then bowed the head, spread or elevated the hands, and said, “salve, lux mundi," &c. hail, light of the world, &c. in opposition to barclay before quoted, erasmus says,f no person ever passed by a church or cross, without pulling off his hat or bowing. towers, for the juniors to learn the church service in.g triforia, or upper ways round the church, for the convenience of suspending tapestry and similar ornaments on festivals.b pulpits, which generally faced the west, that the people's faces, in all acts of devotion, might look towards crated it early in the morning before divine service. davies, &c. * ang. sacr. ii. 195. b m. paris, 1056. bp. jewell's reply, p. 133. 4 du cange mentions a wheel, appended to the wall near the altar, full of bells, and whirled round on this occasion. v. rota. one occurs in an anglo saxon church. dugd. monast. i. 104, 1. 40-50. ⚫ lyndw. 249. monit. pædagog. colloq. 35. gervas. cant, 1292. the east. according to the custom of the primitive times: the change to the souta, or other direction, being a reform of the puritans: and sir walter midmar, in the foundation of the chapel of emanuel college, cambadge which stood north and south out of opposition, first setting the examcie in the annals of dunstable priory is this item: la 1453 made a clock over the pulpit. a stand for an hourgiass still remains in many pulpits. a rector of bibury used to preach two hours, regularly turning the glass. after the text, the esquire of the parish withdrew, smoaked his pipe, and returned to the blessing. lecturers' pulpits have also hour-glasses. the priest had sometimes a watch found him by the parish.” painted glass. warton says, that the stem of jesse was a favourite subject. sugerius thus proves it: “i have caused to be painted a beautiful variety of new windows, from the first, which begins with the stem of jesse in the caput ecclesia [the part where the altar was erected, du cange] as far as that which is over the principal gate."o | any miraculous events happening to persons, were represented in their chapels and churches in stained glass, or such as happened within the knowledge of the erector.p common subjects were, a genealogical series of benefactors-arms and figures of donors of lights-the seven sacraments of the romish church-many crowned heads with curled hair and forked beards, represent the edwards, richard ii. and henry iv.-whole length figures, with crowns and sceptres, jewish kings, connected with some scriptural history, universally so when in profile. the saints are known by the following attributes: i heylin's hist. presbyterians, 329. * bibl. topogr. brit. vol. iv. no. viii. p. 11. 1 rudder's gloucestershire, in bibury. m wood-cuts in hawkins's musick, ii. 332. manning's surrey, i. 531. • du cange, v. jesse. h ibid. 1295. p joinville, i. 230. dallaway's arts. church-architecture,-&c. 207 peter. the keys and a triple cross; sometimes a church. paul. a sword, sometimes a book, or drawing a sword across the knee. gabriel. a lily, a flower pot full of which is frequently placed between him and the virgin. john the baptist. a long mantle and long wand, surmounting by a small shaft, forming a cross; and a lamb is generally at his feet, or crouching, or imprest on a book in his hand, or on his hand without a book. john the evangelist. a chalice, with a dragon or serpent issuing out of it, and an open book. james the great. a club and a saw. thomas. a spear. simon. a saw in a boat. matthew. a fuller's club. james the less. a pilgrim's staff, book, scrip, and hat, with an escallop shell in it.. bartholomew. a knife. philip. a crosier. anthony. a rosary on his mantle, a tau-cross, at his feet a pig, with a bell round his neck. nicholas. a tub, with three or four naked infants in it. margaret. treads on or pierces a dragon, with a cross; sometimes holds a book, sometimes wears a crown. clare holds the expositorium. apollonia. a palm branch and tooth. barbara. a palm branch and book, or tower, wherein she was confined. mary magdalen. dishevelled hair, and a box of ointment. mary egyptiaca. her hair all round her. elizabeth. st. john and the lamb at her feet. anne. a book in her hand. dorothy. a basket of fruit. sebastian. pierced through with arrows. edward the confessor. crowned, a ring on his right hand, sometimes a short spear. edmund. an arrow. ursula. a book and arrow. st. john of beverley. pontifically habited, his right hand blessing, his left holding a cross. thomas of becket. a mitre and crosier; his hand elevated to give the benediction. asaph. a bishop with a crosier, hand elevated. bridget. a book and crosier. christopher. a gigantic figure, crossing a river, with the infant saviour upon his shoulder. st. john almoner. a pilgrim with a nimbus, a loaf in the right hand, pilgrim's staff in the left, and a large rosary. st. flower. her head in her hand, and a flower sprouting out of her neck. st.lucy. a short staff in her hand, like a sceptre, and the devil behind her. agnes. carries her breasts in a dish full of blood. eugene, as st. lucy. stephen. a stone in his hand, and book. paul the hermit. a long robe, and string of beads. paulinus. the devil looking her in the face. st. loy. a crosier and hammer. seven sleepers. as many persons praying. felix, &c. triple crown and anchor. lawrence. a book and gridiron. roche. boots, a wallet, dog sitting with a loaf in his mouth; roche shows a boil on his thigh. exaltation of the cross. a king kneeling and worshipping the cross, held by a person in heaven. invention of the cross. the cross lifted out of a tomb amidst spectators. cosme and damian. one holds a round box, the other a big-bellied round bottle. michael, in armour, with a cross, or pair of scales. francis. a fryer's dress, with a figure half human, half a cross, from which issue lines to his heart, feet, and hands, for the five wounds of christ. denys holds his head in his hand. eleven thousand virgins. young women crowned, kneeling. 208 church-architecture, &c. crispin and crispinian. at work in a shoemaker's shop. catherine. her wheel, or a spear, with the point downwards. erasmus lies on the ground while his bowels are extracting, by being wound round a windlass above. st. lewis, king of france. a king kneeling, at his feet the arms of france, a dove dropping on his head, a bishop blessing. popes have the triple crown and anchor, or triple cross, and a dove whispering in their ears. this catalogue is from gough's sepulchral monuments, aided by the wood-cuts in the golden legend, &c. &c. at the reformation, the pictures in stained-glass, even of benefactors, were removed as superstitious.a it was usual for guests of rank, after a long visit, to give an escutcheon of their arms in stained-glass, to the bowwindow of the hall.b king charles i. and queen mary, being entertained by the clergy in the deanery of winchester, his arms and initials, together with those of the queen, were, as a memorial, placed in one of the windows of the dean's hall, where they remain to this day. king henry viii. and anne boleyn made a visit to prinknash, near gloucester, and their arms still remain in the windows. encaustic pavements. in the norman centuries there is abundant proof, that mosaic work was adopted, as an embellishment of the high altar, and before shrines; at first exhibiting scriptural stories, painted upon glazed bricks and tiles of an irregular shape, fitted together as the colour suited; and upon the same plan as the stained glass in windows. as an improvement in the succeeding ages, the bricks were made equilateral, and about four inches square, which, when arranged and connected, produced an effect very resemwarton's sir t. pope, 199. b id. 233. e hist. of winchester, cr. 8vo, 1761, ii. 126. blant of the roman designs; yet, wanting their simplicity and taste. the wreaths, circles, and single compartments, retain marks of gothic incorrectness, and of as gross deviation from the original as the saxon mouldings. at what period heraldick devices were introduced, cannot be ascertained with precision; but, it is probable, that when they were carved, or painted upon escutcheons, or stained in glass, the floors received them likewise as a new ornament. the arms of founders and benefactors were usually inserted, during the middle centuries, after the conquest (though doubtless there are earlier instances), when many of the greater abbies employed kilns for preparing them from which the conventual and their dependent parochial churches were supplied. some have conjectured, that the painted tiles were made by italian artizans settled in this country; and, it has been thought, that monks, having acquired the art of painting and preparing them for the kiln, in the manner of porcelain, amused their leisure, by designing and finishing them. exquisite delicacy and variety (though seldom of more than two colours), are particularly discernible in those of a date when this branch of encaustick painting had reached its highest perfection. it should be remarked, that the use of these painted bricks was confined to consecrated places, almost without exception; and that all of them discovered since the reformation have been upon the sites of convents, preserved either in churches, or in houses to which strong tradition confirms their removal. amongst those of latter date, arms impaled and quartered, as well as scrolls, rebuses, and cyphers, are very frequent; and, interspersed with other devices, are single figures, such as gryphons, spread-eagles, roses, fleurs-delis, &c. of common heraldic usage indeed, but not individually applied.d it appears, that in some instances, they formed a kind of tesselated pavement, d dallaway's heraldic enquiries, p. 107-109. church. 209 the middle representing a maze or labyrinth, about two feet in diameter, so artfully contrived, that a man following all the intricate meanders of its volutes, could not travel less than a mile before he got from one end to the other. the tiles are baked almost to vitrification; and wonderfully resist damp and wear.a actual tesselated pavements_once existed. a manuscript anglo-saxon glossary, cited by junius, says, "of this kind of work, mosaick in small dies, is little in england. howbeit i have seen of it a specimen upon church floors, before altars, as before the high altar at westminster, though it be but gross." b the bells (of which the ropes had brass, and sometimes silver rings, at the end, for the hand,) were anciently rung by the priests themselves, afterwards by servants; and sometimes by those incapable of other duties, as persons who were blind.d at certain seasons the choir was strewed with hay, at others with sand. on easter sabbath with ivy-leaves; at other times with rushes.e the doors were locked till prime, and from dinner to vespers ;f henniker major on norman tiles, pp. 8, 9, 13. b cowell, v. mosaick work. c du cange, v. circuli, campana. in the clocktower was a nolula, or double-bell. spelm. gloss. v. campana. d davies, &c. "in the monasterye of west. minster ther was a fayre yong man, which was blynde, whom the monkes hadde ordeyned to rynge the bellys." gold. leg. f. clxxxviii. b. e vigilia omnium sanctorum et nat. dom. jacietur fenum copiosè in choro et in circuitu chori ; feriâ secunda post dominicam in ramis palmarum ipsius (cantoris) prudentiâ scopabitur ecclesia. eodemque die jacietur fenum in choro, et in circuitu chori copiosè. sabbato autem adventu domini et primo die quadragesimæ in choro jacietur. sancto sabbato pascha spargentur solia ederæ. quatuor sollempnitatibus, sc. pentecostes, sancti athelwoldi, assumptione sanctæ mariæ, et nativitatis, in choro et in circuitu chori cirpus sufficienter spargetur. in quatuor solempnitatibus, sc. ascensionis, sc. joh. baptist. sc. bened. sc. mich. tantum in choro jacietur. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. 195, 196. f ad sonitum nec ante primam diluculo pulsatam reserabuntur hostia ecclesiæ; conventu ad prandium urgente, usque ad vesperas obserabuntur. id. 198. b. see white's selborne. and the books in the choir, at least some of them, were covered with cloths.g the nuns' church, lyndwood describes as entirely surrounded by walls,h which answers to jerom's account of a nunnery, "that it should be so inclosed, as scarcely to leave an entrance for birds." visitation injunctions order a door at their choir, "that no straungers may look on them, nor they on the straungers, during divine service."k the brigettine nuns took the sacrament through a window, where they could be both seen and heard:1 and the mitigated rule of the order of st. clare directs, that in the wall, which divided the nuns from the church, an iron grate, or perforated plate, with projecting spikes outward, should be made, and have a small door of an iron plate, through which the priest could give them the chalice and paten.m it seems that divine service was very much abused. the saxon monks were censured for velocity." the services were not sung in the proper tone and note, and the psalmody immoderate and indistinct.p the prayers were shortened in the manner of persons at work or on a journey; for the monks even then said their hours." the festivals were neglected. secular customs were intermingled with the mass. the hours were not observed through fault ad pannos abluendos qui sunt supra libros in choro, sive contra natale, sive contra pentecosten, sive contra festivitatem s. mariæ, si opus fuerint, ut laventur cellerarius debet præbere præcentori. id. 201. b. h p. 153. lopez's epit. s. s. p. 405. k monast. ii. 896. 1 ex regulâ. bullarium romanum, i. p. 155. "in nimia velocitate psallendo deum potius ad iracundiam inconsideratè, quod absit, provocent. ms. harl. 652. 0 præcipimus ut cantent capitula, preces, versiculos, et collectas, tam in ecclesia quam in caplo, secundum tonam et notam nostri almi religionis. ms. ashm. mus. 1519. f. 14. a. p ut psalmodia in choro moderate et distincte celebraretur. id. 27. a. curtæ ad modum laborantium et itinerantium. ms. mus. ashm. 1519. f. 27. monast. i. 876. p 210 church. of the clock. the services of founders and benefactors were unattended to.b they did not even give personal attendance, through the negligence of abbots.d some scarcely celebrated four times in the year, though every one in priest's orders was to do so at least once in eight days. there was much disorderly noise, tumult, laughter, gossiping, and disputes, as well as lounging about the church, conversing with brethren, or seculars, and idly turning over the books. the nocturnal office was ill-sung, through those who needed light not having candles.h the bell which rung to mattins was called the fool-waker, in ridicule of those who got up when it rung.i their music (cantus fractus et divisus) consisted of a method of figurate descant, in which the various voices. following one another were perpetually repeating different words at the same time; and it may be inferred, from bernard's directions respecting psalmody, that the latter was very much protracted; the metre and close of the verse not sounded together or dismissed together; and the note held too long or too soon left off; that some began before others, went on too fast, or lagged behind; or kept the note too long; and that another's part was taken up a festa visitationis b. mariæ, &c. observanda. ms. ashm. ut supr. 24. a. usibus sæcularibus omnino spretis, f. 35. defectu orologii; f. 81. a. b negligunt et omittunt fundatorum aliorum atque benefactorum suorum animas. ms. harl. 328. f. 2. non licet alicui de conventu, qui horis et missis his interesse tenetur ab eisdem quomodolibet absentare. ibid. but see on the contrary, m. paris, 1140. d reyn. app. 195. • sunt et alii qui missarum solempnia vix celebrant quat. in anno. ms. bibl. reg. 8. f. ix. wilk. concil. ii. 245. g c. g. north. a° 1444. c. 2. sect. de divin. offic. monast. i. 951. in loco benedictionis confidentes sacerdotes nullus debet in discretis vocibus perstrepere aut quibuslibet tumultibus perturbare. nullus etiam fabulis vanis vel agresti risu, (risibus, ms.) vel quod est deterius obstinatis disceptacionibus tumultuosas voces effundere. ms. bibl. reg. ut sup. h c. g. north. aº 1444. c. 2. 1 du cange, v. evigilans stultum. k mason's essay on cathedral music. before he had done, instead of beginning when and where he stopped.' the service among the nuns was performed by the confessor and chaplains. their singing, among such orders as did sing, was exquisite." the nuns of sempringham indirectly psalmodized; those who did so stood in one choir, and the rest in another. they began at the direction of the prioress, and no one did this duty who had not been previously exercised in the refectory and chapter. an old nun stood at the further end of the choir, to see that they did not behave amiss. no nun in summer, after thirds, when the priest was robed, was to leave the church. the nun, who had the care of the collect, and could do nothing else, did not minister at the drinkings after nones, but a junior served instead. in lent they sung vespers in the place where they worked, as also nones, after holyrood-day, and vespers in summer. nuns who could not read or perform divine service, worked at reading time, although they knew the psalter; notwithstanding which, they prayed when the others did. alí could stand or sit at the lessons of the mass. if they did not come to prayer before prime in summer, and thirds in winter, on working-days, they were to confess it in chapter; and if they exceeded the first glory of the hour, on private days, they were to solicit pardon on the ground. if any nun, except those who ate after nones, did not rise in the summer, after the first bell of nones, she was to confess it 1 c. g. north. ubi supr. m monast. i. 498. 924. n vocibus altisonis adeo modulamine dulci cantant, syrenes quod cecinisse putes. spec. stult. ms. cott. tit. a. 20. • besides this humming, if it so meant, (perhaps chanting, or half-singing, which i rather think is the meaning of indirectè psallere,) there was in the ritual cum nota, et sine nota. the cum nota is plain enough; and it seems the sine nota meant celebrating in a low voice, gradually, distinctly, and openly. "similiter etiam cætera omnia quæ sine nota in conventu sunt agenda voce mediocri, tractim, distinctè, et apertè. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 241. a. church. 211 the day after in the chapter. the laynuns stood in their stalls at the masses and gratiasa only. the nuns, who had misericords of sleeping, were divided into two choirs, of which one slept one night, the second the other. if there were two or one, they slept in the infirmary.b davies says, "every sunday a sermon was preached in the galiley from one to three in the afternoon; previous to which, at twelve, the great bell of the galiley tolled three quarters of an hour, and rung the fourth quarter till one o'clock, that the people might have warning to come and hear the word of god preached." the friars also preached there, and there were sermons on saints' days, and other solemnities. some of these sermons were very strange and ridiculous, as the following extracts will show: "a lark is a bird which sings a song proceeding from recollection of the benefits of god. for the lark, when she begins to mount, lightly sings deum, deum, deum; when she comes a little higher, she sings many times deum, many times deum: when she comes highest of all, she sings entirely deum. thus does the pious soul from gratitude." e similar instances are before given of the nightingale. in another it is said, that in these two things, the election of a monk, and keeping his rule, the whole of monasa the meaning of this word may be got at from the following passage. et tam post prandium quam post cœnam seu collationem, adeant ecclesiam gratias reddendo; tempore estivali, post prandium, dictis gratiis dormiant more aliorum religiosorum. these are hospital statutes from monast. ii. 370; and gratiæ of course are thanks rendered in the church after meals, by the lay-sisters. see too the brigettine rule, and ch. lx. b monast. ii. 763, 4. for sixpence a sermon. warton's hist. engl. poetry, ii. 106. as by the prior. gold. leg. f. clxxxix. e avis est alauda, quæ cantat canticum, quæ procedit ex recordacione beneficiorum dei. alauda enim quum incipit ascendere, leviter cantare deum, deum, deum. quum venit parum altius cantat plu. deum, plu. deum. quum venit in summo cantat tot. deum, tot. deum. sic anima saneta quæ cogitat beneficia, &c. ms. harl. 1750, f. 118, a. | tic discipline consists; and is like a great joint in a small dish. they were also enlivened with stories and curious metaphors. "moreover," it says, "how wholesome is the obligation of profession, you may by a short story learn. a father had a sick son, who could not be cured without the knife and cautery. the father asks the lad, whether he would wish to be bound? anxious for his health, he replies, that he has no objection to be bound and burned. accordingly he is so; but no sooner does he feel the knife and file, than he storms, rages, and begs to be loosed; but no, says the father, not till you are healed. in the same manner acts the monk, who has willingly and knowingly taken the vows." one of their metaphors was this: "you have seen a man carrying a lighted candle in the open air, and guarding it with his hands lest it should be blown out." the monk's soul was the candle, his body the part illuminated; the three winds liable to blow it out were the world, the flesh, and the devil; the two hands that held the light were alms and fasting. a sermon for the nuns, upon flowers emitting odour, like the lily,g is a string of allegorical puns. another, in the manner of the old black-letter story of the "abbaye of the holy ghost," originally in latin by the famous b. alcock, says, the first girl is chastity, the second humility, the third is mercy, and she is cel66 f in his duobus summa totius monasticæ religionis disciplinæ regularis est, tamque grande ferculum in vase brevi. ms. harl. 1712. f. 22. porro quæ salubris est professionis obligatio brevi exemplo perpendere potestis: pater filium habet ægrotum qui sanari non potest absque incisione et cauterio. pater consulit filium utrum ligari velit. ille sanitatem desiderans rogat se ligari ac uri. ligatur, autem cum ferrum et ignem incipit sentire, clamat, furit, solvi se deposcit, sed à patre non solvitur, donec sanetur. in hunc modum monachus qui se regulari disciplinæ sponte et scienter obligavit, &c. id.-vidisti quempiam sub dio ambulantem ceream faculam succensam ferentum in manibus utque manu circumpositâ custodit eam, ne vi ventorum extinguatur, et si quando aduritur ustionem sustinet patienter. id. f. 24. eccles. c. 39. ms. harl. 52. f. 128. p 2 2 church-yard. 213 chapter xxxiv. church-yard. were extinguished, and the bells silent. other ceremonials, besides similar devotions, mention unction of the corpse, upon a stone in the infirmary for that purpose; and, with respect to abbots at least, a public exhibition of the corpse in the church.d davies adds, a chalice of wax was placed on the breast,e and with respect to superiors, perhaps of silver or other metal. it seems that the abbot and others were used to convert to private uses the goods, money, and other articles, belonging to deceased brethren.f the church-yard was called polyan| as soon as this was over, the lights drium,a and no large cemetery was anciently made without an altar to st. michael, who, in every mass for the dead, was named signifer, for the resurrection. the ceremonial of burials was as follows: by the institutes of dunstan, the body was washed and clothed in a clean hood, boots, and cowl (and, if a priest, a stole), and carried to the church, all singing psalms, and the bell ringing; and, if he died in the night, or early in the morning, he was buried (if possible) after mass before dinner; but, if they could not attend without intermission to psalmsinging, the body was interred immediately. the norman decretals add to this, a cross at the head of the corpse before burial, and a burning light at the head and feet, constant watching, and psalmody, unless when the convent was at church; religious services for him ; silence in the cloister as long as he was unburied; the corpse censed by the deacon; absolution of the deceased by the abbot after a sermon in the chapter; a variety of duties postponed and altered on account of the burial; procession to the grave, with tapers and holy water, with which both the corpse and grave were sprinkled; pall (or bed) extended over the grave; burial by persons descending into it; a written absolution laid upon his breast, and buried with him. ↑ and carnarium, &c. &c. see du cange. b gough's sepulchr. monum. intr. ii. ccxxxvi. a veil concealed corpses from the pontifex maximus. after the burial, a monk was sent with the breve,g or notice of his death, to other houses, and when it was entered in their obituary, he took a copy of the entry, which was called titulus, and brought it back with him.h in the thirteenth century, reginald de homme, abbot of gloucester, made the following ordination for the obits. of the monks: d m. paris, 1063. peck's desiderata curiosa, p. 244. for more prolix information, i refer the reader to the authors i have cited, and to mss. cott. claud. b. vi. and bodl. barlow, 7.; mss. in their respective walks of information, i have found unique. for nuns, v. monast. ii. 779, 80. e this was borrowed from the heathen custom of depositing sacred utensils in sepulchres (vetusta monumenta, iv. p. 3); and the construction of wax, from ancient gaulish drinking vessels of that material. c. g. northampt. anno 1444. st. 10. de prælatis. 8 the form of the brevia of the obits of monks, see in du cange, v. precatorium. h desiderata curiosa, 242. 216 refectory. chapter xxxv. refectory. refectory. this room, as described | the master of them, when he had done, by davies, was a large hall, wainscotted on the north and south sides; and in the west and nether part, a long bench of stone, in mason work, from the cellar door to the pantry or cove door. it had a dresser in it. above the wainscot was a large picture of christ, the virgin mary, and st. john; but in most places, or there perhaps, the cross or crucifixion. within the door on the left hand was an almery, where stood the grace-cup, out of which the monks, after grace, every day drank round the table; and another large one on the right, with smaller within, where stood the mazers, of which each monk had his peculiar one, and an ewer and bason, which served the sub-prior to wash his hands in at the table, of which he sat as chief.d at the west end was a loft above the cellar, ascended by stairs. with an iron rail, where the convent and monks dined together, the subprior sitting at the upper end of the table. at the south end of the high table, within a glass window-frame, was an iron desk, ascended by stone. steps with an iron rail, where lay a bible; out of which one of the novices read a part in latine during dinner, du cange, v. directorium. festinent lotis manibus introire in refectorium, salutantes crucem, versis vultibus ad orientem [let them hasten after they have washed their hands, to enter the fratry, saluting the cross, with their faces towards the east]. reg. fulgentii. ms. bodl. archiv. seld. d. 52. see also speed, 411. sect. 4. the classical cup, ayabou daμovos, handed round at the end of a feast. plin. l. 28, c. 2. and not. pintian. this is plainly the ceremony of the digitis alluded to in sect. abbot. the readers at the table were to give ear to the prior, in case of error; and if they did not understand his correction, they were to begin the verse again, even repeatedly, until they comprehended the prior's meaning. reg. vict. par. du cange, esyrinire. v. ringing a silver bell, hanging over his head, to call one of the novices to come to the high table and say grace.g at the east end was a neat table, with a screen of wainscot over it, for the master of the novices, the elects, and novices to dine and sup at. two windows opened into the refectory from the great kitchen, the one large for principal days, the other smaller for every day; and through these the meat was served. over against the door, in the cloister, was a conduit or lavatory for the monks to wash their hands and faces,k of a round form, covered with lead, and all of marble, excepting the outer wall, without which they might walk about the laver. it had many spouts of brass, with twenty-four brazen cocks about it, and seven windows of stone work in it; and above, a dovecoat covered with lead. adjoining to the east side of the conduit door hung a bell to call the monks at eleven o'clock, to come and wash before dinner." in the closets or almeries on each side of the skilla was the appellation of a small bell, often of very sweet sound, rung by a cord in the dormitory and infirmary to awaken the monks, and struck in the refectory by the prior with a single blow when the dinner was finished. du cange, v. skilla. 8 a small bell hung at the abbot's table, by which he, or the presiding officer, signified the conclusion of the lecture, or of the meal. reg. vict. cistert. &c. du cange, v. nola. see too du cange, v. damadarius. i water was often conveyed into a stone receptacle at the entrance, by subterraneous pipes, for washing the hands. du cange, v. concavarium. at the striking of the cymbalum, a small bell hung in the cloister, the monks went in procession, if they were at church, to the lavatory first to wash their hands. reg. ord. victor. id. v. lavatorium cymbalum. struck with a hammer, not a clapper. ibid. v. timpanum. m at other places was, besides, a small stone bason on the side of the fratry door. refectory. 217 the frater-house door in the cloisters,, towels were kept white and clean to dry their hands upon.a at st. alban's was an ascent of fifteen steps to the abbot's table,b to which the monks c brought up the service in plate,d and, staying at every fifth step, which was a landing-place, they sung a short hymn. after the monks had waited. awhile on the abbot, they sat down at two other tables, placed at the sides of the hall, and had their service brought in by the novices, who, when the monks had dined, sat down to their own dinner. fires were ordered from all-hallows day to good friday, and the wood was found by the cellarer.h pinnafores, or super-tunicks, to protect the cloaths at dinner, are mentioned by lyndwood, and occur in foreign consuetudinals.i giraldus cambrensis,k on dining with the prior of canterbury, noted sixteen dishes besides intermeals; a superfluous use of signs; much send* changed every friday. du cange, v. manutergia, manutergiolum. b who only dined there on great days: the abbess of barking five times in the year. monast. i. 83. c elsewhere the novices. reyn. append. 143. d trays and waiters for the cups to stand on occur (du cange, v. musta, tabularius). a cupboard of plate. id. v. trisorium. see angl. sacr. i. 60. e certain psalms, called psalmi refectionum, were sung, both at laying and removing the table, and adapted to praising god for the food, &c. these were sung on sundays and holidays, antiphonally or with alleluia. du cange, v. psalmi refectionum. 1 british topography, ii. 462. ms. cott. cleop. e. 1v. f. 22 b. h monast. i. 149. i sale. lyndw. 124. du cange, v. mantellum, menangl. sacr. ii. 480. "there are certain times and days in which the convent of peterborough, and other monks, were used to eat twice in the day; from holyrood day to october 1; and from october 1, every 12th day, till advent, and every day within the octaves of st. martin; and from christmas-day till the octaves of the epiphany; and from them, every 12th day, till quinquagesima; in all which on days of robes, during the above times, the convent was used to have one meal at supper with cheese. but, on other days, viz. the 12th, a certain intermeal of sixteen dishes, cum servientibus; all which, on account of the alms, the same abbot enjoined, that what used to be brought up at supper should be so at dinner." swapham, 111. 0 ing of dishes from the prior to the attending monks, and from them to the lower tables, with much ridiculous. gesticulation in returning thanks,m and much whispering, loose, idle, and licentious discourse; n herbs brought in, but not tasted; numerous kinds of fish, roasted, boiled, stuffed, fried; eggs; dishes exquisitely cooked p with spices; salt meats to provoke appetite; wines of various kinds," piment, claret, mead, and others. respecting these, bernard says, it was not unusual m anciently, when the abbot dined with the monks, they used to take the cups with reverence and silence, and did not say, as was afterwards the custom, "pardon." du cange, v. ignosce. 66 n monks were to dine without detraction, laughter, secular stories, and gossiping. athon. 150. as the monks complained of the hardship of continual silence at dinner, it was resolved, that after the reading was over, which the presiding officer finished at discretion, they might talk in a low voice. reyn. append. 102. but it seems, on account of this liberty they had at certain times of talking english, they became so loquacious, that it was one reason why the statute was made, that on all public occasions they should speak only latin or french. c. g. northampt. aº 1444. c. vii. as to presents, acharius, abbot of peterborough, 'every day sent his own wassal bread into the refectory." hist. coenob. burgens. 107. one of the priors of durham used to send wine into the fratry. in the decret. wolsey, for august. canons, "no layman was to attend upon the canons, nor any one to send out any kind of meat or drink without leave." monast. ii. 568. see almonry. the distinction of dishes is thus alluded to: "also we forbid singularity in the refectory; and, if any thing be placed before a claustral and obedientiary, besides what suits the convent, let it be put before the president, to be disposed of by him as he chuses." item singularitatem in refectorio prohibemus, et si alicui claustrali et obedientiàrio aliquod fuit in refectorio appositum præterea quod conventui convenit, apponatur illud præsidenti, ab ipso pro voluntate suâ precipiendum. ms. cott. jul. d. 11. 161, b. 0 perhaps sallads. menotus says, "john the baptist went into the wilderness to eat sallads, but without oil." sermones, fol. 64. du cange, v. sallada. john is pretended to have been a monk. lopez. epit. ii. 26. pa plain good monk is described as "not angry with the cooks, for he is not used to a splendid table." non iratus cocis, lautioris enim mensæ consuetudinem non habet. ms. harl. 1712. f. 79, a. 1 pipere. the younger monks mixed wine and water for the brethren, when the cellarer rung the bell, for saying grace over the drink. du cange, v. miscere. ms. cott. tiber. b. 13. [printed in angl. sacr. ii. 480.] piment was made of wine, honey, and spices. 218 refectory, to see brought a vessel half full, to try the goodness and flavour of the wine, after proving which, the monks decided in favour of the strongest.a there were always superior dinners upon the feasts of the apostles.b it seems that it was not lawful to eat the flesh of any animal nourished on the earth, because this had been cursed by god; but this curse not extending to the air and water, birds were permitted, as created of the same element as fish.c hence the prohibition of quadrupeds.d but, notwithstanding this, it was found both impossible and impracticable for inland monasteries to have fish enough,e and to eat flesh became unavoidable; medical considerations and the augmentation of alms by this means, also interfered. it was also placed on the table for visitors. however, to the great rule all their articles of food bore relation; which were bread, beer, soup, beans for soup, all lent; oats for gruel thursday and saturday in that season; flour for pottage every day in the same season; fried dishes, wastels, or fine bread for dinner and supper on certain feasts; flathos or cakes in easter; formictæ, or fine flour cakes, in advent, christmas, against lent, easter, pentecost, and certain feasts;h fat things were frequent with the a videas ter vel quater in uno prandio semiplenum calicem reportari, quatinus diversis vinis magis odo. ratisque potatis, nec tam haustus quam attractus celeri cognitione, vinum quod fortius est eligatur. ms. mus. ashmol. 1285. f. 5, 6. b angl. sacr. i. 56. le voeu de jacob, 656, 658. d though otters were eaten by the german carthusians, as not included in the prohibition of flesh. gentleman's recreation, p. 116. ed. 8vo. e fishponds, which flow into one another, so common in monastick sites, were made on purpose to catch the fish, in the lower pools. cange, v. lapsus. f reyn. append. 143, 165, 168. ang. sacr. ii. 309. h monast. i. 149. du see du cange, v. profioli. i pinguia concedens quæ sunt affinia carní, sic tamen ut nunquam sit manifesta caro. spec. stultor. these fat things, which resembled flesh, appear to have been bacon. quia carnibus quidam monachi non vescuntur, de bacone tum grandi, tum grosso, quicquid pulchrum est, et pingue non devoratum nichil omnino relinquunt. ms. cott. tib. b. 13. præmonstratensians; black beans and salt with the clugniacs; k general bad fare with the cistertians. drinking with both hands was a fashion peculiar to the monks.m n at barking nunnery, the annual store of provision consisted of malt, wheat, russeaulx (a kind of allowance of corn) in lent, and to bake with eels on sheer thursday; green pease for lent; " green pease against midsummer; oxen by the year; herrings for advent; red ones for lent; almonds, salt fish, salt salmones; figs, raisins, ryce all for lent; mustard; two-pence for cripsis (some crisp thing) and crum cakes [cruman is friare. skinner.] at shrovetide; e; mutton for the vicar; wheat and milk for frimite on st. alburg's day; bacon-hogs twice in the winter; vi grecis (fat jun.) vi sowcys, vi inwards; bread, pepper, saffron for the same; three gallons good ale for besons (besoins, fr.), mary-bones to thus too an allowance for anniversaries was beer. [british beer, i. e. welsh ale, a kind of superior quality. see toulmin's taunton, p. 25. (of brewing without hops, horda angelcynnan, iii. 73.) m. paris says the conventual beer was much improved by a mixture of oats, of which husbandry mr. smith says, "much of wheat, barley, and oats was yearly made into malt, an husbandry almost lost in this age" (about 1600). lives of the berkeley family. ms. 266. oat ale was poor stuff: what though he quaffe pure amber in his bowle of march-brew'd wheat, yet sleeks my thirsting soul with palish oat frothing in boston clay. hall's sat. b. v. sat. ii.] part sweetened with honey, meed, fat cows, wethers, gammon of bacon, cakes, pure bread. monast. i. 139. a grant in mr. rudder's cirencester, p. 96, mentions the convent's beer, and chaplain's beer. our beer, says m. paris, consists of barley and oats. p. 1074. wheat was forbidden to be made into malt aº 1315. stowe, sub a°. there is a regular history of malt liquor in the archeological library, 222, seq. k esse niger monachus si velim forte cluniaci qua fabasque nigras cum sale sæpe dabunt spec. stultor. 1 sabbata rara colunt, malè respondente coquinâ est ibi virga frequens, atque diæta gravis. ibid. m du cange, v. scyphus. "if one will have pease soone in the yeare followinge, such pease are to bee sowenne in the waine of the moone at st. andro's tide before christmas." order and government of a nobleman's house, p. 373. 0 cruma, a. s. crumb. refectory. 219 make white wortys for the covent. at st. andrew's tyde a pittance a of fish for my lady and the covent; eight chickens for my lady abbess against shrove tide; "bonnes for the covent; and four gallons of milk for the same time; fish for the covent on every sunday in lent; stubbe eels and shaft eels baked for sheer thursday; bred wine on the same day and easter evening; ale every week in lent; eggs for all times except lent; half the quantity in advent, or money instead, called eysilver; butter at feasts, pork, pigs sowse, geese, hens, pittance mutton three times per annum; eggs for supper; every lady two, and four for the doubles or higher officers; bacon for the time before christmas; oatmeal. but, as this discussion is not a matter of much novelty, i shall end it, as far as concerns the monks, with the bill of fare of one of their fish feasts: first course. elys in sorry, d blamanger, bakoun herryng, mulwyl tayles, lenge taylys, jollys of samoun, merlyngf sope, pyke, grete plays, leche burry, crustade ryal.h a commons was given to each person upon a plate to each. a pittance was an allowance in one plate between two, and the administration of either was a distinct duty among certain officers, as well as the component materials. du cange, v. generale. b in 1247, mackerel were allowed to certain religious on the third day of the rogations. du cange, v. mequerellus. c monast. i. 83. d were eels and parsley boiled in water, to which were added wine, spicery, sage, grated bread, brothe of the eel, ginger. ms. bodl. hearne, 197. • melwell is asellus, a cod. collection of obsolete words. ms. penès me. whiting. skinner. leche is gelatina, jelly in obsolete words. crustade (singly), chekyns, pejons, small briddes in a brothe, with poudur of pepur, clowes, verjouse, saffron, make coffyns (pies) with rasynges of second course. mammenye,i crem of ålemaundys,k codlyng, haddock, fresh hake,¹ solys y sope, gurnedd broylid with a syruppe,m brem de mere, roche, perche, memise fryedd,n urchouns, elys y rostydd, leche lumbarde,º grete crabbys, a cold bakemeate.p it seems, that in certain solemnities, the convent was in the habit of retiring with the abbot, leaving a few in the refectory, in order to eat meat elsewhere; and that they frequently dined in apartments," where they used to bring women to talk, eat, and drink with them. on the feasts of the dedications of the churches of the order, they used to eat and drink very intemperately. t sometimes money was given to them instead of viands, and s corance, and ginger, and canell, and raw egges. append. ordin. royal household. vernage wine, almonds, ginger, &c. boiled up in ale. ms. harl. 279, p. 87. ka compound of them with thick milk, water, salt, and sugar. id. p. 12. a favourite dish. see gale's scriptores, i. 498, 9. sup. m hakot is lucius piscis. obsolete words, ut hyeca. id. see johnson and steevens's shakspeare, v. 390. 11 parsley, ale, sause saffroned, &c. with pykes or others. ms. bodl. ut sup. clarified honey, ale, grated bread, almonds, ginger, &c. ms. bodl. supr. p ms. harl. 279, p. 49 b. the liber viventium was a book in which the commons of the monks were entered. du cange. the meat was cut into commons for each monk, by an officer called particularius; twickere of the anglo-saxons. du cange, in voce. in refectorio nullus omnino carne vescatur, nec in quibusdam solempnitatibus, sicut aliquando fieri consuevit. conventus exeat cum abbate, paucis ibi relictis, ut extra refectorium carnes edant. ms. bibl. reg. 8, f. ix. see misericords. m. par. 1098. reyn. append. 166. t monast. ii. 752. 220 refectory. the table farmed. notwithstanding the canons, and the furiousness of the bishop of lincoln against cups with circles or feet, they had such cups,d as personal property, besides spoons and other gold or silver trinkets. seculars used often to dine and sup with them, and very often low people, g and they took advantage of meal times to receive the visits of women. these too used to come after dinner; and the statute made to correct this abuse permitted them to come with license. of the abbot, or in his presence, and makes an exception with regard to noble women, as to season and time, as seemed fit to the superiors.i it appears, that there was refreshment before dinner in the refectory,k (for, after leave obtained, they could enter the refectory at any time to drink, if thirsty); and that a statute was made, forbidding supper on any friday in the year, except on a christmas day.m pure wine, or bread dipped • procurari (perhaps it means obtained by procuration, as the royal table.) c. g. north. aº 1444. c. vii. see const. b. 12. kings had numerous palaces, in order by short residences not to burden the neighbourhood too much in the supply of provisions. du cange, v. palatium. b athon. 149. e m. paris, 705. the reason why these were forbidden is, according to m. paris, p. 1098, because they were conceived too great distinctions for simple monks. e sparke's scriptores, 105. reyn. append. 166. ne sæcularis comedat cum conventu in firmariâ, nec in refectorio, nec intersit suis collocacionibus, potacionibus, et recreationibus. ms. mus. ashmol. 1519, f. 14 b. ignobiles personæ à prandio conventus penitus excludentur. ms. cott. jul. d. 2. f. 158 a. nullus et monachus habeat colloquium cum muliere cognatâ aut extraneâ, in temporibus indebitis, sicut prandii, et cœnæ, et horæ meridianæ, aut tempore potûs assignati. id. 159 a. i m. paris, 1096. k monast. i. 296. see misericords. ¹ lyndw. 211. m c. g. north. ut sup. erasmus says of the english, respecting friday, "the common people during lent, have a regular supper every alternate day. no one wonders at it. if any one sick of a fever wished for chicken broth, it would be worse than committing sacrilege. in lent they have suppers without scruple; but if you was to attempt it, out of lent, upon a friday, no one would bear it." icthyophagia inter colloq. 431. | into it, were allowed upon occasions, and before eating; also on account of labour to the brethren at certain times." the drinking after nones, or biberes, as well as the noon-day refreshment of sleep after dinner in summer, has been already mentioned. a late supper was made after collation, which the monks called consolatio. the etiquette of dining was as follows among the gilbertines. the prior, or a person appointed by him, rung the bell; the monks washed and wiped their hands, and entering the fratry, and bowing to the high table, stood till the prior came; or, if he staid long, sat down. when he came, they rose to him, and he bowed before his seat, and rung the bell, which continued while the 51st psalm was singing. then followed a short religious service by way of grace. the prior then gave the benediction to the reader, and, at the end of the first verse,p they uncovered the food, the prior beginning. the soup was then delivered round by the servants, and two plates laid, one on the right, another on the left, and the pittances, if there were any, also carried round. no one wiped his knife with the cloth, unless he had first used his bread for this purpose. they took salt with their knives. what was wanting was required from the servant or cellarer, and when it was brought, both the bringer and receiver bowed. when the prior sent any thing to another, he bowed to the messenger, and then rising, to that officer. if any fault was committed by a person dining or attending, he begged pardon before the step; and when the prior made a noise with his knife, rose, bowed, and went to his place. when the plates and " du cange, v. merus. • ibid. p if a monk came too late, after the 1st, 2nd, or 3d verse had been said, he was subject to a small venia, or penitence: and this was called perdere versum, or losing the verse. du cange, v. versus. refectory. 221 spoons were moved, the prior ordered the reading to conclude by a tu autem, and the reply of deo gratias; the reader then bowed, the remaining food was covered; the bell was rung; the monks rose; a verse of a psalm was sung, and they bowed, and retired two and two, singing the miserere. delay in coming before the benediction was punished by a prayer before the step; prostration on the floor; deprivation of wine or beer; for negligent servants, in regard to food and drink, beating. at the refectory door of the nuns sat a steady nun, wh who entered with them when they went to drink; or some other in her stead, with respect to the application of persons who had been bled. after the refection of the convent, the bell called the servants to dinner, and the nun reader said the jube domine at their table before the benediction." "monast. ii. 728, 767. 222 chapter. chapter xxxvi. chapter. this room had three rows of stone benches one above another," a reading desk and bench,b a place called the judgment in the middle, a seat for the abbot higher than the others,d and a crucifix to remind them, during disciplines, that their sufferings were nothing in comparison of those of christ.e there were footstools on purpose for the venia, by kneeling.f about nine of the clock in the morning, says davies, and others seven,g the monks seated themselves, and religious services commenced, which were followed by the sentence of the rule, read from the desk; then the table was read (on certain days), and any person who had omitted an office prescribed to him solicited mercy. this was succeeded by the commemoration of the dead,h which a hutchinson's durham, ii. 266. b w. thorne, 1815. chronol. aug. cant. aº 1386. c m. paris (2d), 1045. d id. 1040. abbots of another house, if present, sat near the abbot. id. 1032. propterea dilectissimi in capitulis crucifixi imago ante oculos habetur, ut quicunque flagella subeunt quicquid tulerint pro nichilo ducant, pro nichilo reputent recordantes crucis angustiæ, dominicæ passionis anxietatis. ms. harl. 1712. f. 137. b. : du cange, v. salutem mandare. g econ. monast. life, p. 86. there was the martyrology, in which were registered the names of those to whom the religious granted their letters of fraternity, and the obituary, which contained the deaths of the abbots, priors, &c. gutch's coll. curios. ii. 275, b. the annotatio regulæ was the description of the names of benefactors, the days of their death, and of the benefits received from them, placed at the end of the rule; viz. in the necrology annexed to it, for it was usual after the martyrology and rule had been read in the chapter, after prime, to recite the names of benefactors, and all prayed for them. the martyrology was, in later ages, taken for the necrology, or obituary and rule, which were generally in the same volume. the martyrology was also called liber vitæ. the custom obtained from the beginning of the sixth century. the necrology was also called regula, from being in the same book with the rule: and all these were included in one volume, because the services in the chapter were connected with each other. 1st, a portion of ended with "requiescant in pace," (may they rest in peace!) the reader then gave the book to the presiding officer, and he expounded the sentence of the rule. this finished, the chantor read the brevia or obits of strange monks, if any had been sent, which terminated as the commemoration of the deceased. the voluntary solicitations for pardon by persons who had been guilty of faults next followed; after which began the accusation or clamatio of offenders. the presiding officer (which was unfixed)i was not to lose his temper, or "speake greate or harde wordes," k unless "by the ordinary observyng of humylite, the auctoritye of governinge [was] broken amongst them, which ought of duetie to be subjecte." the rule of victor says, whilst the accusation was made, no one was to speak except the accuser, the abbot, and the accused. the first merely said, "i accuse brother . . . . of . . the other, as soon as he heard his name, made no answer from his seat, but coming before the abbot, and first bowing, afterwards raising himself, stood still, patiently expecting what the the rule, read every day to insure remembrance; 2d, the necrology, for prayers for those admitted to fraternity; 3d, the names of the dead and benefactors, for commemoration of the days of their obits. cardinal bona says, that the custom prevailed in many monasteries, of sending to each other mutually the names of their brothers, friends, and benefactors, to be entered in the diptichs; but when this custom had ceased, they were entered in the necrology, selected from thence on the day of their decease, and a de profundis, and suitable prayers, said. du cange, in vocibus. i w. thorne, c. 35, sect. 4. from the rule of basil, because he was not to fall into the sin he wished to deliver others from, and entertain the sentiments of a father and physician. dev. vie monast. i. 432. 1ms. bodl. 3010. nor was he to beg pardon if he did. reg. august. and const. fratr. b. mariæ de mercede, &c. 4to. rotæ, 1630, p. 29.-puppup, whence pho, pho, was the anglo-saxon term of contempt used by aldhelm, du cange, v. puppup. chapter. 223 accuser had to alledge against him. the accuser, to avoid exaggeration, simply said, "he did so and so." the other, if he knew himself guilty, immediately asked pardon, and confessed his fault. if not guilty, he said shortly, "sir, i do not recollect to have said or done what brother . . . . . . affirms." upon this the accuser, bowing to the abbot, did not repeat his charge, but went to his seat; and if he knew that his charge was true, was allowed to adduce evidence. the accused was not permitted to recriminate upon the accuser. similar forms occur in other orders.a c a monk reprimanded stood in the middle of the chapter, and, after the definitive sentence was pronounced, he humbly bowed, and retired to his seat.b a person condemned to receive discipline was beaten, according to the norman institutes, with one single twig over his shirt, clothed and prostrate, or naked d sitting, with a rod, which, in later times, was called a balais, and applied, according to piers plowman, to that part where its tingling sensations are still frequently experienced. during the discipline (which could not be performed by the accuser,f) the du cange, v. clamare. b m. paris, 1031. disciplines consisted of rods of flexible twigs (dec. scriptores, 1190). hugh nonant, bishop of lincoln, not only flogged his back, but his mouth for lying, detraction, &c. when he was a private man (angl. sacr. ii. 333). in times of drought it was thought that no rain could be procured but by this process of flagellation, and then all ranks disciplined themselves in person, or by proxy. mem. de petrarque, i. 236; and don quixote, ii. 284. disciplines were thought to prevent the punishment of the fault in another world, on which account no reply was to be made to the reprover. du cange, v. distringere. du the place where he was stripped for this purpose in the chapter was called spoliatorium. cange. • m. paris, 731. gl. watts and tyrwh. to chauc. quislibet sacerdotum abbatis præcepto disciplinam faciet in cap'lo excepto priore, vel eo qui loco prioris fuerit et clamante, i. e. any one of the priests may, by the abbot's command, perform the disciplines, unless the prior, or he who presided instead, claimed the privilege. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. p. 186. it is most probable, from what m. paris says, p. 1045, that the disciplines were performed monks hung down their heads, and regarded the sufferer with pity. go du cange mentions a hand-bell rung behind the delinquent by the brother who was to chastise him.g it terminated at the order of the presiding officer, and was proportioned to the offence. in the statutes of the order of st. victor of paris, it is said, the delinquent shall kneel, and strip himself from his girdle, and so prostrate himself, or shall only say, "it is my fault: i will correct myself." no one in the interim shall speak, unless one of the priors intercedes for him with the abbot. if the latter pardons him, such prior shall assist him to put on his clothes, but he shall remain clothed. and standing, till the abbot bids him sit down, and then bowing, he shall to his place. he could not be punished by a person of inferior rank.h the whole chapter concluded with a short religious service. these were held daily in most orders, but only once a week in others.k latin or french was only to be spoken in it, and all public places, one reason of which was, besides that before alledged, to put an end to ignorance in those languages. no person was allowed to enter the cloyster, while the chapter was held, on account of the secrets of it; which besides were never to be revealed. it seems that the presiding officers had frequent contentions in it ;n and the statutes insinuate, that the monks used to grumble at the accusations and sentences, which last they reprobated, to make frivolous appeals, and reproach one another after they had undergone sentence. those were in a chair upon the place called the judgement, in the middle. v. corrigiuncula. h du cange, v. disciplina. i decr. lanfr. monast. ii. 722, 3. * ordinamus, quod capitulum culparum sicut assuetum est semel in ebdomadâ ad minus celebretur. ms. bodl. 1882. p. 63. 1 see auct. cit. sup. m w. thorne, c. 1208. c. 2062. n inhibemus districte tam priori quam cæteris præsidentibus conventus contentiones in cap'lo habere. ms. mus. ashmol. 1519, f. 35. a. c. g. north, a° 1444. c. 3. m. paris, 1096. 224 chapter. especially rebellious who had powerful friends.a the rebellibus ob suam pertinaciam vel potenciam amicorum. ms. roy. libr. 8. f. ix. the monks divided crimes into leves and graves (small and great), which are respectively defined in various rules, and to which their punishments were accordingly apportioned. to the former belonged carrying the lantern publickly, though when out of penance privately it carried no shame with it. muratori rer. italic. script. iv. 212. the lantern of penance was called the greater lantern, and not the one carried round the choir at night to awaken the drowsy. m. paris, 1003. sometimes an old sack was borne round the neck. rastall's southwell, 145. repetition of a psalm, kissing the feet of the brethren were others. constit. fratr. ut sup. p. 77. fasting (severest) bread and water, (slightest) bread, ale, and pulse. lysons's environs, i. 343. but the most common was prostration, and a continuance in that position. dev. vie mon. i. 473, 5. other punishments for light offences were, sitting alone upon a chair in the middle of the choir. angl. sacr. i. 739. walking barefoot to the cross. gold. leg. clxvi. standing with the arms expanded in the form of a cross; it is mentioned in the anglo-saxon canons; and if a person could stand so, immoveable, while the gospel, lord's prayer, &c. were recited, he was deemed innocent. du cange, v. crucis judicium. disciplina condigna, was either fasting, or castigation, imposed on those who neglected to learn the creed and lord's prayer. du cange, v. disciplina. fasting on bread, and drinking water defiled by the excrement of a fowl. marten, anecdot. iv. 22. repetition of psalms and being cuffed. du cange, v.pænitentia.-penitentiary processions. a charter of the year 1240 says, they ought to be present at the procession with naked feet, only in their shirts and breeches, and holding rods in their hands, and to come before the ebdomadary, and there on their bent knees be beaten by him for penitence, sometimes walking with naked feet and shirt only. du cange, v. processiones publicæ. repetition of psalms only. id. v. pœnitentia psalmorum. silence. id. v. silentium. sending to coventry for theft. v. sagus. prostration upon the joints of the hands without motion, for small faults, as forgetfulness in the service. v. fallacia. separation from the table, and deprivation of the abbot's benediction. v. mensa. in the lesser excommunication, when the offender dined three hours later than the others, he lost his rank, performed no divine service, except with the others, and at a certain office prostrated himself, and lay there for a time. during dinner, he staid in the church, and so continued till the abbot sent a prior to him, who made a sign to him to rise, upon which he went to that prelate, bowed, and went to his place. dec. lanfr. c. 17. for severer faults, after discipline, the monk was committed into custody, and his keeper led him to and from church, and secretly enquired of the abbot how he was to live, and when he was to eat. no one spoke or associated with him, and when the bell rung for divine service, he lay prostrate at the church gate till the convent passed, and when that was done, kneeled while the hour was singing, and bowed to every one who happened to pass. when the convent left the church, the prostration was the chapter of the nuns was similar; b the second constitution of the nuns of sopewell orders, that there shall be only three voices in it, of the president (subprioress or other), mistress of the rule (challenger), and the person challenged. their chapter was strewed on easter sabbath.c they who wished to sit near the abbot (among the cistercians) in the chapter, or all places except the church, bowed to him profoundly from their places.d after the chapter, some staid behind, or ought to have done so, to confess, which confession was to be short, and of a peculiar relation to certain faults. an old writer says, " after the saying of sant bernard, and other holy repeated, and the passing monks said, “lord have mercy upon you." he was then led back to his place; received disciplines in the chapter on stated days; and at last, upon promise of amendment, and by the intercession of the monks, was pardoned. a contumacious monk was sent to the prison till he was humbled, and afterwards treated according to his fault. a fugitive monk was not admitted into the house for some days, but staid in the hostrey, and was afterwards very severely disciplined in the chapter. dec. lanfr. another penance was, "dwelling at the gate for a long tyme, and living on a morsel of bread a day," and, " upon re-admission being enjoyned to do all the offyces that were most foulle." gold. leg. f. lxxxix. when a monk was sent to another house for penitence sake (which monks were those who were disturbers of the common peace, and the reason because it was better that one should perish, than the whole society, reyn. append. 124), the bishop or president of the general chapter was to compel such house to receive him; the term being expired, the abbot was to recall him. vestments, among which were bed things, were to be found by the convent that sent him, food by the other; but on this head there were opposite opinions. lyndw. 207, 8. by the constitution, however, of certain general chapters, the receiving-house was to find him necessaries, to the amount of two-pence a day, unless there was any agreement to the contrary. reyn. 161, &c. app. this dismission did not take place but when the monk's own house was negligent or dissolute. lyndw. ut supr. an expelled monk, according to the rule, could not be admitted after a third offence; but monastic expulsion was the imposition of perpetual penance, viz. exclusion from the common table, chapter, and dormitory, and imprisonment. athon. 143. correction, in the first place, belonged to the abbot; and, in defect of that, to the bishop afterwards; in some cases, the monks might be held to answer to that prelate. athon. 148. b monast. ii. 765. • id. 767. it does not appear with what, du cange, v. supplicare, chapter, 225 doctours, when any man usyth to confesse dayle or ofte tymes he sholde nott make a longe confession, but shorte, of syche as his conscience is most grevyd wyth, and first of dydly sinnys, i. e. those that he is in dowt whether they be dedly or veniall, and secundly of suche venial syns in general, that cannot be expressyd specially as thes be; ydell words; vayne thoughts; necligence; dulness in redyng or praying; losse of tyme; and distraction of hart or wandryng mind in saying his service or other prayers; unthankfulnes of the gudness of god; more besy for the body than nede ware; lyght turbacions agaynst his neghbure; lyght inchinge of other men; lyght suspecion; to be not content with all that god dothe; and nott to use the grace and gyfte that god hath geffyn him; with other suche that cannot be flede, and well forborne; of a feble and a weak sawle; when it suffers suche agayns its wyll they are butt lyght venial; neverlesse they wolde be confessyd in generall." a accordingly such sins were confessed in the following mannerb among the ms. cott. nero, a. 111. f. 138, b. ordo confessionis quotidianæ apud cystercienses. nostrates confitentur super genua coram confessore. quærit confessor, quid dicite? reddet, meas culpas. erigit eum confessor, dicens, surge in nomine domini. benedicite. confitens, dominus. confessor, deus sit nobiscum. confitens, amen. confiteor deo, &c. quia peccavi nimis. factâ autem confessione, dicit pœnitens, de iis et aliis peccatis meis meum reatum confiteor; veniam deprecor. et oro te patrem orare pro me. confessor, deo gratias. misereatur tui omnipotens deus. dimittat tibi omnia peccata tua, et perducat te ad vitam æternam. amen. indulgentiam et remissionem omnium peccatorum tuorum tribuat tibi omnipotens et misericors deus. amen. dominus noster jesus christus te absolvat, ut ego auctoritate ipsius absolvo te a peccatis tuis. in nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti. amen. meritum passionis domini nostri jesu christi, intercessio beatissimæ virginis mariæ et omnium sanctorum, humilitas hujus confessionis, bonum propositum quod habes, et mala quæ pro deo pacienter sustinebis, profuit tibi ad remissionem peccatorum tuorum. et si hæc modica venia non sit peccatis vestris condigna, passio christi suppleat residuum.-retribuat tibi dominus vitam æternam. ms. harl. 2363. f. 7, b. constitutions enact, that every monk should confess at least once a week, and besides private confession of daily faults, twice or at least once a year to the abbot. quilibet etiam monachus ad minus semel omni ebdomadâ confiteatur, et præter illas privatas confessiones de cotidianis delictis regulariter faciendis, bis vel semel in cistertians: our monks, says the ordinance, confess on their knees before the confessor. the latter enquires, "what do you say?" the other replies, "my faults." the confessor raises him, saying, "rise in the name of the lord, benedicite," the monk returns "dominus;" the confessor, "god be with us;" the monk, "amen. i confess to god, that i have deeply sinned." when the confession is made, the penitent says, "of these and all other my sins i confess myself guilty. i seek pardon, and beseech you, father, to pray for me." the confessor returns, thanks to god; the lord have mercy on you, forgive you all your sins, and bring you to eternal life. amen. the almighty and merciful god grant you indulgence and remission of all your sins. amen. our lord jesus christ absolve you, as i, by his authority, absolve you from your sins, in the name of the father, son, and holy ghost. amen. the merit of the passion of our lord jesus christ, the intercession of the blessed virgin mary, and all the saints, the humility of this confession, the good intentions which you have, and the evils which you will patiently endure for the sake of god, profit you to the remission of your sins. [for a special penance nevertheless.] and if this small pardon be not sufficient for your sins, the passion of christ supply the residue." it concluded with an interchangeable religious salutation. and "the lord grant you eternal life, from the confessor rising. some constitutions enact, that no monk should confess to any secular, or man of other order, unless on a journey, or unable to obtain the assistance of a monk; notwithstanding which, other injunctions allow them what confessor they anno saltem suo confiteatur prælato. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 244. m. paris says, that daily confession took place when necessary, besides the general monthly one, p. 1095, 1097, 1140. nullusque monachus sub nostra obedientiâ constitutus confiteatur alicui seculari aut viro alterius religionis quin nostræ ; nisi in itinere constitutus vel monachi copiam nequeant obtinere. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 244. thus too, monast. i. 147. 226 chapter. liked, whether regular or secular.b the office of external confessors the monks found so profitable, that they obtained grants for five years, on purpose to exercise that function, from the papal see. it seems, that the monks confessed very reluctantly;d and that it was a very difficult duty to young beginners. it was a rule, that whatever guilt the monks had contracted from the hour of nones, it was to be confessed before complin. those also who had assembled to sing prime, after it was over, and before the 50th psalm [sung by the procession when retiring], used to say to each other, "i confess to the lord and you, brother, that i have sinned in thought and deed, wherefore i beg you to pray for me;" chronol. august. cant. b licentiâ ut eligere possitis confessorem idoneum sæcularem vel regularem. ms. mus. ashmol. 1519, f. 12, b. reyn. append. 190. d" valdè abhorrebam confiteri peccata." ms. cott. calig. a. 1. f. 221. joan. solorzani de indiar. jure, 186. and he answered, "almighty god have mercy upon you.' i shall end this account of the chapter, with observing, that to be buried in it was an honour, though the view was, for the monks to retain a fresher memory of the deceased's services.h in the statutes of the clugniacks, adjoining to the chapter, were rooms called trisantiæ, with seats on both sides, where the monks were to retire after shaving and conclusion of the psalmody. psalmody. conversation was allowed, and they were to take a book, and cut their nails if necessary. after complin and collation, some retired there from the chapter, till the whole convent had withdrawn. they who sat on one side of the trisantia began one verse, those on the opposite replied. these trisantia were places of rendezvous, especially connected with chapter business.i du cange, v. completa-confessiones dare. m. paris, 1018, 104. monast. i. p. 456. 1 du cange, v. trisantia. dormitory. 227 chapter xxxvii. dormitory. "on the west side of the cloyster," says davies, "was a large house, called the dorter, where the monks and novices lay. every monk had a little chamber to himself. each chamber a had a window towards the chapter,b and the partition betwixt every chamber was close wainscotted, and in each window was a desk to support their books." in the ancient orders, at least some, the abbot's bed was in the middle of the dormitory, near the wall, and he made a sound to raise the brethren in the morning. the prior's bed in the dormitory, with a study and other apartments annexed.d "on the west side of the said dorter were " [similar chambers, and on the south, those of the novices, who had also one each, but neither so close nor so warm as the others were, and without any other light than what came in at the foreside.] "at each end of the dorter was a square stone, in which was a dozen of cressets, wrought in each stone, being always filled and supplied by the cooks" [in order to afford light]. adjoining to the west side of the dormitory was the privy, with separate seats wainscotted and partitioned, each lighted with a little window. the middle part of the dormitory was paved with fine tile-stones, the whole length." at ford abbey in devonshire, a dormi66 the obedientiaries used to sell these chambers according to the goodness of them. c. g. northampt. a 1444. c. 3, sect. de dormitorio. windows in the door; and the latter to have no lock, are ordered. ut in dormitorio in singulorum cellæ, sive cameræ ostio parvulas fenestras fieri, &c. per quas procedentes fratrum laudabiles, nostri ordinis consuetudinem, introspicere liberè queant, nullusque canonicorum in dormitorio jacencium præsumat ostium cameræ suæ intro quovis ingenio firmare. ms. ashm. 1519. du cange, v. dormitorium. d angl. sacr. i. 143. tory remains complete. it is a long narrow gallery, with lancet windows on both sides, one window to each apartment or partition, now removed. several constitutions enact, that the beds should not be curtained, that they should be without perticæ,e (patibula for hanging things on); that, among the friars, they should not have counterpanes, sheets, or pillows, and that they should not sleep naked ;g an injunction which the monks extended only to their shirts and breeches.h it was deemed injurious to sanctity for monks to sleep with naked legs. they too at least had blankets,k and besides common bed furniture of curtains of red, green, white, or a mixed colour,¹ silk pillows (still to be seen in ancient beds), and coverlids with teasters." the nuns of st. clare were permitted to have sacks of hay or chaff, and a pillow of chaff or wool, if they could not have religious culcitran of wool. "the keys of the dortour were carried to the prefect or vicar by the servitor belonging thereto, and by him again at • et ut omnis suspicio mala tollatur, lecti monachorum velaminibus et perticis, si qui fuerunt, amotis, ita sint ordinati, ut in ipsis lectis existentes, sine obstaculo quocunque die nocteque continuè valeant à custodibus ordinis, et aliis transeuntibus intueri. ms. cott. claud. e. rv. f. 242, b. non cortinatos. cust. roffens 235. f super culcitrum non dormiant fratres. ms. cott. nero, a. xii. f. 159, b. item fratres sani in dormitorio, culcitris, lintheaminibus, ac pulvinaribus non utantur. ms. bodl. 1882, p. 48, b. g ibid. a custom of egyptian origin. gruteri spicileg. ii. 132. reyn. append. 166. du cange, v. pedana. kw. thorne, c. 32, sect. 3. 1 reyn. append. 195. mi pulvinar de serico, i coverlit cum tester. ms. harl. 1005. f. 69, b. the bedsteads were of oak. m. par. 1054. according to some rules, no one in the time of summer was allowed to sleep out of his bed, except the prior ordered him to sleep in the open air, for custody of the area. du cange, v. nubilum. n here it means a bed. q2 228 dormitory. the appointed time in the morning opened; then each monk receiving their summons to rise,a had half an hour, or thereabouts, allowed them both in making up themselves and their beds.b in some rules the meridians began on palm sunday, in others on the ides of may; and in some ended on the ides of september, in others on those of october. the order of st. victor says, "in the summer, at mid-day, any one who chuses may read in the dormitory, provided they do not make a noise in turning over the leaves. in that hour the brethren ought to lie in their cloaths; and take care not to extend their feet outside the bed, or appear naked in it. the meridians after sext on fast-days were very short." c it seems that these meridians, or sleep at noon during summer, were neglected by the monks, in order that they might attend to drinking or gossiping elsewhere; d and that both they, the nuns, and friars spent almost half the night in similar indulgences both there and in other places; so that they could scarcely be prevailed on to rise in the morning; that the friars made great in some rules certain monks were deputed to wake the others to matins, which office they took in weekly rotation; and they were called vigiliarii, or vigill-galli, from the wakefulness of cocks. du cange, v. vigiliarii. b steevens's monast. ii. 121, of oseney. the friars might lie out of the house, for the convenience of the guests. extra domum etiam jacere poterunt sicut fuerit eis constitutum, ne hospites molestentur. ms. cott. nero, a. xii. f. 159, b. du cange, v. meridiana. aliquos de conventu extra dormitorium pro potacionibus vel vanis confabulacionibus, sicut antiquitus solebant, notare, &c. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 244, a.-comestiones atque potationes in dormitorio inhibemus. ms. ashmol. mus. 1519. e quidam contra commessationes superfluas et confabulationes illicitas, ut de aliis taceamus, fere medietatem noctis expendunt, et sompno residuum relinquentes, vix ad diurnum conventum avium excitantur. ms. bibl. reg. 8, f. 9. "fratres nolumus vos ignorare de dormientibus, ut non contristemini sicut ethnici qui spem non habent." ms. harl. 913, f. 11. item quod morosæ sessiones et famulationes post completorium, multa mala et pericula mittunt in religionem, precipimus, ut tempestive in quantum possent, cubent. ms. cott. jul. d. 11. f. 158, b. see also c. g. northampt. aº 1444. ch. 2. item post completorium ex quo signum dormitorii factum fuerit, aliquis comedere noises in talking; that the nuns made many useless signs, as did the monks, who went to the beds of the others to converse; did not rise to mattins; and disturbed the quiet brethren with singing or dancing till the hours of ten or eleven at night-an abuse thus alluded to by barclay : the frere or monke in his frocke and cowle, must daunce in his dorter, leping to play the foole. it also appears that seculars slept there as well as in nunneries, whose dormitories were not much used by the sisters. they were all, except officers, to be in bed by eight o'clock." among the premonstratensians they were not to get into bed upright; but sitting down, turn round. a prayer was said by the senior prior. the dormitory was the place for dressing. the rule of victor says, of the brethren going to work, "let them ascend into the dormitory, and there preparing themselves put on woollen tunicks above, small subtalares, or shoes not higher than the ancles, gloves," &c.p non præsumat, nec alicubi in locutionibus remanere. ms. cott. nero, a. x11. f. 158, b. nullus in dormitorio præsumat se a matutinis absentare. ms. ashm. f. 33, et pass. 'hortamur enim ut fratres assuescantur ubique religiosè et sine clamore loqui, et maximè in dormitorio. ms. bodl. 1882, p. 47, b. monast. ii. 766. h nullus etiam fratrum ad lectum alterius accedat ad confabulationem, vel signum aliquod faciendum, nisi hii quibus ex officiis eorum incumbit. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 242, b. 1 gunton's peterborough, 55; and verbatim from him, steevens's monast. i. 485. this ship of fooles, 116, a. ed. cawood. was uncandid. fordun mentions dancing and singing till midnight (xv. script. 678). aldhelm, when he returned from abroad, was received by the people with dancing (angl. sacr. i. 19); and always when hugh prior of durham was at home, the poor of the town used to dance before him, and he ordered them refreshment in the kitchen (id. i. 740). this could not have been, if criminal ideas had been attached to dancing. however, orderic vitalis says, that the dormitory, infirmary, and other private places of monasteries, were open to buffoons and prostitutes. du cange, v. crontochium. ne aliquis sæcularis de cætero in dormitorio nocte requiescat. ms. ashmol. mus. 1519. f. 123, a. m monast. i. 910, ii. 895. n ut cuncti sint in lectis ad horam octavam, exceptis officiariis. ms. ashmol. 1519, p. 15, du cange, v. gambesa, collocare, p ibid. v. mainfula. cloister. 229 chapter xxxviii. cloister. "d several antient canons enacted, that cloisters a should be erected near the church, where the clerks might attend to ecclesiastical discipline; b and confinement to it originated in the gossiping practices of the antient monks, which benedict was determined to prevent.c there was a green in the midst of it (sometimes called paradise)," signifying," says wicliff, "the greenness of their virtues above others;" and a tree in the middle, which implied "the ladder, by which, in gradations of virtue, they aspired to celestial things." its four sides had also particular designations; the western side was appropriated to the school; that which joined the church to moral reading; and the uses of the two others (for du cange's extract is imperfect) seem to be conjoined with the duties of the church and chapter. the form was square, that the monks might be secluded from intercourse with the world; f and the idea of the building itself was taken from solomon's porch, erected near the temple. sometimes it had a fountain in the middle, and the doors were consecrated with relicks.h davies describes it as having a seat (fastened to the wall, four feet high, with a back of wood, and boarded under feet for warmth), on which sat the there were antiently curie claustrales, dependencies of cloisters, residences of canons. magasin encyclopedique, vi. p. 195. b le voeu de jacob, iv. 504, 5. dev. vie mon. ii. 14, 15. d dialogi cxliii. 4to. 1525. for the tree, see also d'emiliane's monastical orders, p. 170. 44 • du cange in v. claustrum, from peter of blois, who has in ipsa ecclesia meditatio spiritualis" [omitted by du cange,] and "ad orientem [orientalem, du cange] in capitulo correctio [omit. du cange] materialis." ! du cange. 8 gemma animæ, cap. 148, de claustro. mr. warton says it was adorned with carols (texts or inscriptions). see angl. sacra, i. 146. du cange, v. atrium. + porter; and, on the same side, a long bench of stone for children at the maundy, at the end of which were almeries, or closets, of pierced work, to admit air to the towels there kept, with which the monks wiped their hands when they washed and went to dinner. the north alley, he says, was finely glazed, and in every window were three pews or carrels, in each of which was a desk, where every one of the old monks had a carrel severally to himself, to which, after dinner, they resorted, and there studied their books till even song; and opposite to these, against the church wall, were almeries full of books, at all times open to them. in the west alley was the treasury, in the midst of which was an iron grate, having a strong iron door of the same work, with a lock, and great slots of iron ;" and within, a square table covered with green cloth, for telling their money.k within this 66 i they could either study or sleep. monast. 11. 730. *seals of a round form generally denoted, according to lewis and blomfield, "something of royalty in the possessor, or a more than ordinary extent of temporal jurisdiction." monasteries of royal foundation had commonly round seals. bishops and superiors of houses had usually oval seals. the former hold the pastoral staff in their left hands; abbots in their right. the earliest conventual seals commonly bore mere rude representations of the patron saints; the more recent were highly finished: the most common device being the superior praying to the patron saint above. from the reign of edward the confessor to that of edward iii. that is, from a. d. 1041 to 1327, the kings of england were represented on their broad seals, sitting upon thrones, but without canopies. from edward iii. down to the present time, they are seated under canopies. previously to the time of edward iii. the convent seals represented the patron saints and abbots seated upon thrones; but after this period they constantly exhibited these figures sitting or standing beneath canopies and arches. the patron saint subduing and treading upon the dragon being symbolical of his overcoming sin; a star, the symbol of the epiphany, and a crescent of the increase of the gospel, are frequently introduced into the seals, taylor's index monasticus, pref. xxi. seq. 230 cloister. treasury was kept the best muniments, the chapter seal, and evidences of several gentlemen's lands in the country, in three great chests well locked. opposite to this, was a stall of wainscot, where the novices were taught; and their master had a seat of the same kind, upon the south side of the treasury-house door, opposite to the stall, where the novices studied. there he instructed them both forenoon and afternoon, no strangers or other persons being permitted to molest the novices or the monks in their carrels, while at study in their cloisters, a porter attending for that purpose at the cloister-door. a little south of the treasee sect. abbot. in general the custody of it was ill observed. ms. mus. ashmol. 1519, f. 34. in the cistertian and præmonstratensian orders it was in the custody of the prior and four more eligible. id. 50, a. through the scarcity of notaries public, a constitution of otto ordered abbots and priors, whose benefices were perpetual, to have a seal of their own, separate from that of the house, which dr. pegge is of opinion was not the case, except where heads of great and opulent foundations had indeed their own seals conformable to the regulation, or at least by favour of his holiness the pope (essay on the matrices of conventual seals, p. 3.) abbeys too had not only different seals for different purposes, but these were frequently altered and changed (id. p. 7); though, from the seal of hyde abbey being worth 15 marks (monast. i. 210;, i apprehend it must have been extremely expensive to have them sculped.-so careless were the monks of it, that m. paris mentions its being thrown among a chest of papers (p. 1048). the abbot's bajulus, or domestic monk, was also the bearer of this seal (id. 1051). a silver seal and chain, sigillium argenti cum cathena, is mentioned as a plain monk's in ms. harl. 1005, f. 69, b. bof this see præf. notit. monast. it is well known that w. i. &c. caused the abbeys to be searched for treasures of this nature. there are injunctions not to receive secular deposits, on account of the danger of so doing. (deposita secularia nun suscipiet, quia multus ad pericula varia traxerunt.) ms. cott. jul. a. ix. f. 12. b. according to certain constitutions they were to be received with consent of the abbot and four monks of "laudable testimony." m. paris, 1096. these matters, as they were deposited for security, were also removed, after leave obtained, with the most profound secresy. paston letters, iii. 354. the custom seems to arise from the roman deposits in the temple of vesta. at st. alban's the charters were kept in chests, upon which, withinside, was a table of contents. m. paris, p. 1035. at a franciscan abbey at donegall, in the cloister are two narrow passages one over the other, seemingly placed for depositing valuable effects in times of danger. sir r. c. hoare's tour, 191. these carrels were locked, and contained various things. cowell v. carols. sury, he adds, was a convenient room, wherein was established the songschool, for the instruction of boys for the use of the choir; the song-school in the south aile of the lanthorn being decently furnished with a readingdesk, convenient seats, and all other requisite conveniencies, appropriated to the service of god; where morning prayer was daily celebrated at six in the morning throughout the year, except on sundays and holidays. a number of constitutions forbid women to have access to the cloister, except noble patronesses and others to whom entrance could not be denied, unless on passing through on certain festivals, or going to the church for devotion, and taking their way through (not talking or standing in the cloister), to the places deputed for the visitors, the hospitia of abbots, or in great houses, the lodgings of priors;d but it was confessed only, that such regulations ought to be observed. among the friars they were allowed to follow processions, and be present whenever there was preaching. it seems too, that the convent was much disturbed by persons of both sexes passing through, and that the monks were in the habit of gossiping in the corners in small parties, in consequence of the injunction of reading instead of manual labour.i the monks had each of them a book, except those studying the divine service, to whom the chantor, or a person deputed by him, attended. they sat side by side, never asked questions except of long or short acd m. paris, 1100. monast. ii. 566. c. g. northampt. aº 1444. c. ix. e m. paris. f quum non fuerint processiones eos sequi poterint; et ubi prædicabitur semper poterint interesse. ms. cot. nero, a. xii. item quia transitus communis personarum utriusque sexûs per claustrum, incongruis temporibus exercetur, et potissimè horis illis, quibus fratres de conventu et contemplatione sanctâ studiis quoque ac lectionibus variis inibi occupantur, unde dissolutiones plurimæ pervenerunt. ms. harl. 328, f. 3. non bini aut terni seorsim per angulos claustri vacant. ms. cott. faustina, b. iv. f. 128. (dis quis. de grandimont.) i dev. vie mon. ii. 395, b. cloister. 231 cents, or beginnings of lessons at table, collation, and mattins, which questions were very short. when they found it necessary to go away for a time, they put their books in the case, or consigned them to a monk that sat nigh❘ them.a angry looks and signs were much reprobated. embroidery, though forbidden in the rule of cæsarius,b was a common employment of monks: and others were not rare. the ancient monks of egypt worked in masonry, upholstery, carpentry, braziery, agriculture, clothmaking, shoe-making, basket-making, rope and net making, tanning, fulling, dressing and colouring the papyrus, fine writing, indeed every employment, agricultural and mechanical, necessary for the use of life." the nuns too, as the monks, sat in their cloister side by side, with one's back to the other's face, except they were reading in the same book, or sewing in the same cloth. no person passing bowed to any one but the prioress; nor could any lettered nun, after prime, be in the cloister without a book; and, if she sat idle at it, work instead was enjoined her.d but there were peculiarities attendant upon their cloisters. there was a wheel made in the outer wall, too small for persons to go in and out at, but so managed, that though it precluded vision, necessaries could be administered by it; and on either side of it was a strong door of small size (locked at night, and in summer during the meridians), for the use of the attendant porteress, to manage her business. there was also only one door to enter the cloister by, made so high, that it was accessible only by a ladder; and this ladder, during the above periods, was fast bound by an iron chain on the nun's side; and a porteress attended to keep it locked. the grate, or locutory, consisted of an iron plate perforated, not to be opened, and strengthened "monast. ii. 724, 5. b c. 42. d monast. ii. 765. dev. vie monast. ii. 406. externally with projecting nails, over which, on the inner side, a black cloth was so placed, that they could neither see nor be seen. there they were allowed to converse at certain times, except from complin to prime, eatingtime, the meridian, or during divine service.e their processions were to be made within the yards and gardens surrounding their cloister, with beating of bells, hoods on, walking two and two, and the cross borne before.f the day of the month was proe mitig. rule of s. clare. the versatile window of the sempringham nuns, for necessary purposes, was not quite two feet high and broad. that of confession and conversation with parents, &c. once or twice a-year, a finger's length and breadth. monast. ii. 757, 8. 2. f athon. 157. processions were founded upon christ's ordering his disciples to go forth into galilee. rup. tutiens. l. vii. c. 21. p. 991. in the nuns' processions (ord. sempr.) they were made through the cloister, and curtains hung at every corner of it, to obstruct vision. monast. ii. 765. the sunday procession originated with agapetus the first, aº 537. m. polonus, sub aº. the standards of the church, representing the trinity, saints, &c. made in the form of the labarum, at least sometimes, were, after the procession was over, erected in the church:† but there was a standard made of hair-cloth for reconciling penitents. after nones was sung, a priest went to the western gate of the church, clothed in sacerdotal vestments, and a red silk cope, with two deacons in white amesses, without the sub-deacon, and without the cross, through the middle of the choir, the hair-cloth standard preceding. thus the penitent was introduced.‡ in all processions the cross was carried before, and when elevated signified temporal dominion. § relicks were carried upon a fork sometimes. the cistertian nuns wore a large and wide hood, called culla, in processions.¶ shrines, containing relicks, were carried in procession with singing and bell ringing, in imitation of the israelites carrying the ark.** the statio was a stoppage at the oratories, or other places, and prayers were said, antiphones sung, and mass celebrated. they are said to have been taken from a custom of the first christians to hold meetings at public churches, or oratories, to transact business.†† *du cange, v. auriflamma. † id. v. vexillum. missale sarisb. § notices des mss. vi. 83. du cange, v. branchada. ¶ id. v. culla. ** id. v. scrinium. t id. v. statio. 232 cloister. claimed in the cloister every morning after prime by the boys.a books were chained in the cloister for the instruction of the novices, of which æsop's fables is known to have been one. from a book of tales of this kind, a specimen shall now be exhibited of the wrong conclusions of the middle age. these tales begin with the moral, not conclude as is the modern fashion; and one of the stories intended to warn persons against lustb is this. a king's son, till a certain age, was kept from the society and knowledge of the female sex, and then shown every thing in the world according to its kind, men apart, women apart, houses apart, and elsewhere gold, silver, jewels, and every thing which could charm the eyes of the beholders. he comes to the women, and asks, what those were? the servant answers sportively, these are devils, which seduce men. the heart of the boy began, however, to feel desire; and when the king asked him, what he liked best of all which he had seen? the other replied, "i like the devils du cange, v. luna. b valde cavendum in viris religiosis, ne superentur in temptacione diaboli, &c. unde legimus, &c. ms. harl. 463. f. 2, 3. which seduce men, better than all the others." c in orders eremite, the cells opened into the cloister. that of the carthusians, at shene, contained about thirty cells.d nigel wireker says, jocosely, "if i get among them, i must go to bed without a light."e the tendency of perpetual solitude is to produce insanity. intercourse with society is the regulator of the clockwork of reason. judgment is the distinction of men of the world. erasmus says, that he never knew a carthusian monk who was not mad, or an ideot.f petrarch says otherwise; but he proves the existence of social intercourse in carthusians. c omnia quæ sunt in mundo secundum genus suum, vid. viros seorsim, mulieres seorsim, seorsim equos, et alio loco aurum, argentum, et lapides preciosos, et omnia quæ delectare possunt oculos intuentium ;..... servus respondit ludendo, "istæ sunt dæmones, homines seducentes;" cor vero pueri illarum desiderio certis rebus anhelabat. cumque rex quæreret à puero, quid magis ex omnibus quæ viderat amaret, respondit, diligo dæmones illos qui homines seducunt, quam magis omnia alia quæ vidi." ibid. 66 d itin. s. simeon. et w. worcest. p. 258. e "et sine luce meum solus adibo thorum." spec. stultor. ichthyophagia colloq. 439. infirmary. 233 chapter xxxix. a infirmary. this place had a chapel annexed, where divine service from a breviary on purpose was celebrated;b a great table, with a bell over it, to assemble the monks at meals; a stone where the dying sick were washed and received the extreme unction and sacrament,d and where monks, affected with ennui and languor, were directed to sit and meditate;e wood, coals, and other necessaries, saltcellars, spoons, candlesticks, towels, beds, and the straw of beds, and tables, in the refectory of it; it was also strewed with hay, rushes, straw, or other matters, when necessary.f there were also chambers duly provided with chimneys, a distinction made by our ancestors. a common appendage to it was a garden or court for recreation of the sick. at norwich was a long inclosed gallery for the same purpose.h a nun sick of a cancer, who disturbed the rest by the smell, was removed by the infirmaress, into a place called the antexenodochium.i by the anglo-saxon institutes, a monk taken severely sick announced his disease to the abbot or the whole congregation, and having received the benediction, retired to the infirmary. to this the norman decretals added, that, from the day he began to eat flesh there, he should walk with his a little chapel and lobby, or covered gallery for walking in. du cange, v. lobia. b w. thorne, c. 32, sec. 5. angl. sacr. i. 393, 399. m. paris, 1009. d id. 1045. e cum se senserit tædio quodam et languore mentis affici componat se supra petram, in qua lavantur mortui, et tractet apud se solicité quod vid. tractentur ibidem sepeliendi. ms. harl. 103. f. 115, a. f ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 205. a. angl. sacr. i. 142, 646. h parkins's norwich, 163. ! du cange. hood on, and leaning on a staff; a trick which young and healthy monks often played, to get admitted on pretence of illness.k as soon as he got well, after being shaved, he was to attend divine service at the hour before the chapter, and, if there was a mass afterwards, not offer at it. when the chapter commenced, he was then to enter as soon as the affairs of the order began to be discussed, solicit pardon prostrate for having eaten meat, and, after absolution from the abbot and convent, throw himself at the feet of the abbot, return thanks to him and the convent for the assistance furnished to him in his sickness, and make three genuflexions. after that he was allowed mixtus that day, and as long as was necessary. if, however, he had not eaten meat, it was in the abbot's disposition when he should return to the convent, and how conduct himself afterwards. at st. alban's the custom was for them, if they did not get well in three days, to enter the infirmary, and then to be contented with regular food, unless by acceleration of disease they were compelled to eat meat. medical assistance, though this was much neglected, was engaged to attend upon them, and medicines thus provided.m phlebotomy was in much fashion in the middle ages; for, in the fifteenth * bern. dev. vie mon. iii. 48. 1 m. paris, 1009, but they had an oriel for persons not so bad as to be sent to the infirmary. unus medicus de bonis communibus ipsius ecclesiæ debitè procuretur, qui monachis et fratribus ejusdem infirmis de medicinis congruis, cum opus fuerit, provideat. ms. harl. 328. p. 4. as they had no monk of this description, they were to seek medical aid from elsewhere. ibid. the benedictines of s. vitalis at ravenna had a depôt of pharmacy for all kinds of medicines, a complete surgery, and anatomical subjects, and instruments for all kinds of operations. observat. sur l'italie, t. i. 323, 324. 234 infirmary. allowed them in the infirmary, and that the monks desired often to be bled, on account of eating meat.b in the order of st. victor the brethren were bled five times a year, in september, before advent, before lent, after easter, at pentecost, which bleeding lasted three days: after the third day they came to mattins, and were in the convent. on the fourth day, they received absolution in the chapter. in another rule, one choir was bled at the same time in silence and psalmody, sitting in order in a cell. other rules forbid a stated time of bleeding.i. century, it was the subject of a poem;ª¦ appointed. it seems, that fire was and robert boutevylleyn, a founder, claimed in the abbey of pipewell four bleedings per annum. among the monks, this operation, which was performed by a servant, was termed minution. a complete set of surgical instruments was found at herculaneum, a lancet excepted, but it is very clearly, described and distinguished from the fleam by william brito, and perhaps it was the blod-sex of the anglo-saxons. in some abbeys was a bleeding-house, called flebotomaria. by the norman institutes, leave was to be asked immediately after chapter, and the hour declared to the cellarer; in winter, after the gospel of the great mass; in summer, after vespers, having put on their nocturnal shoes, bowed, and turned to the east, they undressed. they were not to speak but from very urgent necessity, and then softly. exemption from the choir duty was granted till the commencement of the chapter, on the next day, or longer, if necessary. on the morrow they put on their nocturnal shoes, for two days had mixtus, and performed a short religious service; accordingly, as it was the season when the convent took refection once or oftener, the benediction was given by the senior priest, the reading recited from memory, and the whole done in the refectory. on the morrow, if any one of them was accused in chapter, his minution was notified to the prior, and he might solicit and receive pardon for a small fault; but if it was irremissible, the discipline was to be delayed. there were certain festivals when this bleeding was not allowed; as the festival of all saints, because on the morrow all the priests were to celebrate masses of the dead, and the rest say the psalms ayscough's catal. ii. 833. b monast. i. 818. du cange, v. lanceola. phlebotomum. a du cange. they did not attend divine service even on festivals. reyn. append. 165. from sunday till thursday, or a week, was sometimes the term allowed. monast. ii. 274. by the anglo-saxon institutes, when a monk was sick beyond prospect of recovery, it was notified to the abbot and convent by the infirmarer, and they immediately attended him, gave him extreme unction, afterwards the eucharist, and this continued till his death approached; at which period they went to witness his departure, and begin the commendation of his soul. according to the norman decretals, he was visited at first only by a deputation, consisting of the hebdomadary, sacrist, and four converts, who sprinkled him, confessed him, absolved him (he likewise them), kissed him, gave him extreme unction, and the sacrament. certain prayers 8 quia infirmi fratres, et qui opus habebant minui sanguini, igne carebant, idem abbas faritius consensu totius capituli concessit omnes redditus eis maneriorum subnotatorum, &c. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 158. a. h ubi juxta ordinis monastici rigorem in refectorio carnes, aut in publico non comeduntur longe avidius longeque voracius et immoderancius in privato sumuntur, dum propter hoc crebras monachi simulant egrotaciones, dumque creberrimas ob hoc sanguinis appetunt et affectant minuciones, &c. ms. cott. tiber. b. 13. nec extra refectorium in infirmitorio esum carnium credant sibi licere. ms. bibl. reg. 8 f. ix. du cange, v. minuere. the prior's chaplain only. davies. 1 ego auctoritate dei et beatorum apostolorum petri et pauli, et domini nostri, domini nicholai papæ quinti, michi in hac parte specialiter commissâ, et tibi concessâ, absolvo te. ms. bibl. reg. 2, a. 2. instead of this blasphemous insertion of the pope's name, in the above absolution, (the one used on these occasions,) on a par with that of god, that in herbert's ames, i. 310, has only "virtute papalis indulgentiæ." infirmary. 235 were made for him in the mass: and this was done till he seemed likely to recover; but, if the contrary appeared manifest, he was never without two monks, who constantly read to him. the passion of our lord, and the gospels, while he was sensible (and also said their hours there); and when he was deprived of his understanding, never ceased singing the psalter." as soon as he appeared upon the verge of dissolution, a servant laid a hair-cloth over him, and sat watching d till he was just departing, and then, with the two monks, ran to the cloister-door, and beat upon a table, to give notice to the convent to come to him; which they accordingly did, and began a religious service, after which they again retired, certain of them remaining to say the psalter. afterwards they returned again to perform the commendation of his soul. "thence," says davies, whose account agrees with the norman institute," he (the deceased) was carried to a chamber called the dead man's chamber, in the infirmary, there to remain till night. the prior's chaplain, as soon as he was conveyed to the dead man's chamber, locked the chamber door where he died, and carried the key to the prior. at night he was removed from the dead man's chamber into st. andrew's chapel, adjoining to the said chamber and infirmary, there to remain till eight o'clock in the morning, the chapel being a place ordained only for solemn devotion. the night before the funeral, two monks, either in kindred or kindness, nearest to him, were appointed by the prior to the bajuli obituum were officers in abbeys, whose duty it was to receive and distribute legacies, and attend to the service of the hours and obits. du cange. perhaps these were the two monks of davies. see this in angl. sacr. i. 654. it should be under him, together with the ashes consecrated on ash wednesday (du cange, v. cinis), from "dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return." d servientes etiam qui vigilant circa fratrem proximum morti. monast. i. 149. • first there occurs, positoque corpore in loco, ubi poni solet; afterwards, locato in ecclesia corpore. decr. lanfr. be especial mourners, and to sit all night on their knees at the dead corpse's feet;f and the children of the almery, sitting on their knees in stalls on either side of him, were to read david's psalms & till eight in the morning, when the corpse was carried to the chapter-house, where the prior and the whole convent met it, and there said their dirge and devotion; none being permitted to approach the chapter-house during the time of their devotion and prayers for his soul.h when their devotion was ended, the corpse was carried by the monks from the chapter-house through the parlour, into the centrygarth, where he was buried.i it was the duty of the infirmarer to give the communion to the sick, when they wished, especially on every sunday, and he had a claustral monk to assist him in respect to revenues.' the prior, sub-prior, kitchener, or person deputed by them, were to visit the infirmary before prime,m and such visitations were observed." the prior, or in his absence the president, twice or once at least in the week, were to visit the infirmary personally; and the infirmarer was to certify the abbot, when he could not visit himself, of the state of matters.p sawing billets in rooms for exercise upon medical principles was a common employment of the sick in these ages, and was borrowed from galen. f deputentur aliqui fratres, qui ibi remaneant. id. quicquid superest noctis infantes cum magistris canendo expendant. id. h facto in capitulo sermone absolvat eum abbas, &c. id. the last part, of never approaching the chapter when the convent was there, was at all times usual. i confession, absolution, &c. and similar burial for lay-brothers. ms. bodl. barl. 7. p. 270, 1. * ad infirmarium pertinet infirmos fratres communicare cum voluerint, et precipue omni die dominicâ. ms. bodl. barl. 7. p. 185. 1 dec. script. 2113. m wilkins's concil. ii. 723. n m. par. 1099. • wilk. concil. ii. 247. p m. par. 1009. 4 galen de sanit. tuenda, ch. 8. v. 2. p. 148. smythe's berkeley's ms.217. "in her elder years she [joan lady berkeley, t. h. iii.] used to saw 236 infirmary. it was usual for monks, in chronic infirmities, to spend their remaining days in the infirmary.a secular persons used to have access (and to eat) there in crowds, so as to be troublesome, and the place was full of gossiping and scandal.c seculars were admitted at all hours to carry necessaries to the sick.d the sick did not dine at the common table;e and there seems to have been an excess of servants, besides the usual ones, who never slept out of the place, or ought not to have done so.f it was resorted to for private treats. when john de whitefeld, monk of rochester, preached in the chapter about his bishop, it was said that the brethren bribed him in the infirmary with wine.s the monks were in the habit of going there, and to the hostrey, after complin, and used both to feign sickness, and be loth to leave it. the monks too, oppressed with old age, the sempecta, spent their remaining days there;h billets and sticks in her chamber for part of physick, for which purpose she bought certain fine hand sawes, which commonly cost 11d. a piece." taylor the water-poet says (p. 241), "now all their exercise is privately to saw billets." a monast. i. 301. dec. scriptores, 1783. ang. sacra, i. 299. injungimus etiam ipsis prioribus et fratribus, ut non permittant tantum ad infirmariam concursum fieri sæcularium, exceptis medicis et servitoribus ad infirmorum curam deputatis. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 245, a. hoc autem summopere caveatis, ne alicui seculari ibi comedere cum monachis concedatur. id. jul. d. 11. 1586. a superfluis et vanis sermonibus abstineant; prohibeantur etiam rumores sæculares in infirmariâ de fratre, et secreta, quæ inter fratres audierint, publicare. ibid. angl. sacr. i. 360. • statuimus insuper ut nullus infirmus ab infirmorum mensâ communi se subtrahat, nisi tantâ corporis invaletudine sit detentus, quod ad illum accedere nequeat sine scandalo et gravamine corporis evidenti, præter gistarios et illos cum quibus ex gratiâ nostrâ speciali fuerint dispensati. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 245. f noct. et dieb. in infirmariâ recubabunt et excubabunt. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 205. d. m. par. 1096. reyn. app. 127. angl. sacr. i. 373. quod aliquis ad infirmariam vel domum hospitum non audeat accedere ni specialiter vocatus. ms. cott. nero, a. x11. f. 158, b. fratres autem infirmi, cum ab ipsorum infirmitatibus, vel alias, quum meliorati fuerint, quum competenter cum cæteris in conventu laborare potuerint; ulterius in and there appears to have been very good living in it; for, says piers plowman, by this daye, syr doctour, quod i, than ye be not in dowel, for ye have harmed us two, in that ye eate the puddinge, mortreux, and other meate, and we no morsel had, and if ye fare so in your farmery.k this was very illiberal satire, for our ancestors rarely used medical assistance. burton, from paulus jovius and levinus lemnius, observes, "that there was of old no use of physicke amongst us, and but little at this day, except it be for a few nice idle citizens, suretting courtiers, and staulfed gentlemen lubbers. the country-people use kitchen physicke," &c. matthew flint, tooth-drawer of london, received from the crown 6d. a day for life, to exercise his art upon the poor without fee or reward. these passages show the reason why there was such neglect of medical aid; viz. because good living or kitchen physick was most in vogue: whence the rich dishes used in the infirmary. davies says, that four aged women lived in the infirmary, who had each chambers, were fed from the prior's table, and had mass said to them every holiday and friday in the infirmary chapel, by the master of the infirmary school, whose chamber and place of teaching certain poor children, called the children of the almery, were over that place of worship. in the infirmary of the order of st. clare, the nuns might lie in sacks and infirmariâ residere, aut infirmitates fingere non præsumant. gistarii (gista is jus hospitii. du cange) autem et qui solum senectute gravantur, communibus cibis in quantum possint sint contenti. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 245. a rich soup. tyrwhitt is right in the ingredients; add only brawn of fesantes, as well as of capons. see ms. bodl. hearne, 197, in sect. mortraws eweas. k f. lxvi. 1 burton's anat. melanch. p. 368, ed. folio. m pat. 1 h. iv. pars 6 m. 10. in vincent's mss. coll. of arms. the toothdrawing instrument is pretended by erasistratus to have been taken from the temple of apollo at delphos; but assuredly is very ancient. du cange makes it similar to the present pincers; but his authorities and extracts do not support this affirmation. see v. dentiducum. infirmary. 237 chaff, but with pillows of feathers at their head. those who wanted woollen stockings, and culcitra, might have them. they might too converse, concisely, with visitors.b the ceremonial, with regard to dying nuns, was similar to that of the monks, except that they were anointed on the throat above the breast and chin, instead of the navel and throat in males. the confession and unction in the order of sempringham was administered by deputed priests; the sick who were able to take the communion with others went to it in common with them, at the window, or had it administered, as their situation demanded, by two religious and a lay-brother, who had a private way to go to them for this purpose, that they might not be seen. the præcentrix appointed the sick some task to execute: none of the hours were said in the infirmary before they were began in the church, except sext and the evening synaxis in lent. if any lettered nun was sick, another said the hours for her; the use of the lay-sisters was to suffice, if there was no substitute. or as at st. alban's was an oriel, apartment for persons not so sick to retire to the infirmary; and there were regulations among the sempringham nuns of this kind. the sick . either quilts or beds; the latter here, i suppose. ex regulâ. the oriel appears to have been sometimes at least a porch, atrium, or pentice. du cange, v. oriolum. d the rule of st. victor says, that there were three kinds of sick in the infirmary; some who kept their beds, others who were recovering and walked, but yet staid there for the recovery of their strength; others lived constantly there, as the old, nfirm, blind, &c. du cange, v. infirmaria. not in the infirmary attended all the daily hours, but the prayers only of those of the nocturnal synaxis. in case of sudden attack, the sick nun did not join the labour of the convent, unless she had before been united with it in divine service. they only ate and drank in the refectory or infirmary. they were exempted from offices which had been imposed upon them. they did not enter the church to pray when the convent was present. they were prohibited from making signs at the table, either after complin or before prime, or at mid-day, unless from immoderate sickness. while the convent was at refection in summer, they could do any work or read. those who worked could do so in their scapulary, and sleep by day; and at night in their hoods. woollen mitræ, a sort of hoods like those of the lay-brothers, were granted to the brethren when at work or travelling; as well as to the sick, when sitting before the infirmary in super pelliceis, [garments belonging to canons, differently formed in various countries.] any one who left the choir from sickness, before the venite was over, lawfully entered the infirmary. the sick who could walk had leave to speak with their parents at the window. nuns, or lay sisters, continually sick, had periodical indulgences of fifteen days or more at a time, twice, thrice, or four times in a year, of eating meat. all the sick, able to leave their beds, ate together, in fixed places and hours, and regularly said their canonical hours. the neglect of the nuns in general, respecting the infirmary, has been already mentioned. du cange, v. mitra. monast. ii. 775-7. 238 guest-hall. chapter xl. guest-hall. this place was, at canterbury, forty feet broad, and not less than one hundred and fifty long, situated where it is was least likely to interfere with the privacy of the monks, or business of their servants, and had a covered way or pentice leading to the cellarer's offices.a the guest-hall was a large room with columns, like the body of a church, and called palatium, palace, anciently meaning a place of short residence. it had on both sides bedrooms, to each a privy and cloaths' closet. passages of communication led to staircases, cellars, and the buttery. b. willis, in his mitred abbies, says, that john de hertford, abbot of st. alban's, in 1260, built a noble hall for the use of strangers in that abbey, adding many chambers to the same, with an inner parlour, having a chimney with a noble picture, and an entry, and a small hall; also a most noble entry with a porch, and many very fair bedchambers, with their inner chambers to receive strangers honourably. here we see, that this hospice consisted of two sets of apartments, one for common pilgrims and travellers, the other for persons of rank. there was an called pro-aula, the greeting-house of ælfric, or salutatorium, a place where persons were first received. it appears to have been the same as the visitor's parlour, and perhaps, as the pulsatorium, (so called from "knock and it shall be opened unto you,") where candidates for admission to the order stayed and waited upon strangers, &c. because it adjoined the hostrey.c gostling's canterbury walk, 152, 3. b owen and blakeway's hist. of shrewsbury, ii. 50. du cange, v. palatium, pro-aula, pulsatorium, salutatorium. cowell, v. garderoba. collect. reb. hybern. no. ix. 680. m. par. 1071. britton's architect. antiq. ii. 78. in the admission of visitors, as soon as they were disengaged, they made a trifling venia at the gate of the house. at getting up they sprinkled themselves with holy water. when the convent sat in the cloister, or wheresoever absent, they made a prayer for excesses on the way in the choir in the presence of the convent, and did the same before the altar of the vestiary. if the convent was on the form, they took their venia; if not, they bowed and made their prayer. the hosteler met them in the parletory, and gave the kiss of peace, after the benedicite, which was properly the abbot's office; but the officer, if he liked it, could confer it upon any person of note, or, as it is precisely said in the same consuetudinal, the benediction for excesses was received, the hosteler went out of the choir, and met the visitor; and then, after the kiss of peace, and tender words of love and consolation, returned to the service in the choir. if he came before dinner to the refectory, notice was given to the refectioner. if he was too late to dine with the convent, he staid in the locutory till the refectory was swept, and then was introduced. the hosteler provided all things fit for mass fo for the visitors; and if he was prevented, any one asked by him sung the mass and hours to them, for they had divine service as well as the convent, they had meat and drink at solicitation, and the hosteler was to fetch the viands, according to the rank of the person; d all which was, however, acd in admissione hospitum hospites omnimodo expediti ad hostium monasterii parvæ veniæ incumbent. in venia elevatione in introitu ecclesiæ aquâ benedictâ se aspergent. conventu in claustro residente, vel quoquam (f. 1. q. quoquo*) absente orationem pro excessibus in viâ surreptis in choro facient, conventu præsente; ante altare vestiarii identidem fiet. si conventus super formam * see monast. ii. 769. guest-hall. 239 companied with the unpleasant appendages of a dirty table-cloth, very indifferent wine, grease in the salt, and a clownish servant.b the hosteler could not introduce them to the collation before the end of the first verse. when this was over, he lighted his lantern, with which the visitors waited before the chapter door. he then introduced them into the parlour; after which they had refection, and complin was sung to them. if they wished to be bled, their inclination was notified by the hospitaler to the abbot, and every thing usual on such occasions was done under the care of the former officer. if they desired to see any one of the convent, the hosteler took care, with leave of the prior, that their request should be gratified; and the monk had liberty to speak without remission of the license. they could not leave the cloister but by permission of the hosteler, who was to guide them out. if the visitors wished to speak with their servants, lodged within recubuerit veniam accipient, sin alias se inclinando orationem facient....hospite in locutorio introducto, hostilarius dicet benedicite; benedictione pro excessibus acceptâ; osculoque pacis dato tenerisque verbis amoris et consolationis ad horam hostilarius in chorum regredietur. si in discubitu conventus tam morosus fuerit ejus adventus quod in conventu discumbere non possit, non introducetur, sed in locutorio erit donec scopatio fiat in refectorio; postmodum hostilarius eum introducet.... hospitibus expeditis missam celebrare. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 205, 6, 7. in the advice of a father to his son (hawkins's musick, ii. 465), the son is directed to be careful that his table be covered with a clean cloth. i could add numerous other authorities. b in ms. harl. 913, f. 58, b. is a short poem entitled, "hospitalitas monachorum et salutatio de claustro;" of which the only parts of import are, the above" sordidum mappale; paniscoctus melle; vinum tale quale; oleus in sale; mancipium rusticale." • hostilarius hospites non introducet ad collacionem ante primi versus determinacionem. collatione terminatâ prout tempus exegit lanternam accendet. in regressu terminatæ collationis hospites ante hostium capituli cum lanternâ præstolabuntur. postmodum in locutorium eos ducet......si hospes minui voluerit hostilario significabit, hostilarius abbati et indicabit, et omnia consuetudinaria minutionis habebit, hostilariusque curam minutoriam ei exhibebit. si hospes aliquem de conventu venire voluerit hostilarii curâ loquetur licentiâ priore expetitâ. [if refused, the monk was not to know it. decr. lanfr.] illi licet sine remissione licentiæ loqui cum hospite. id. the gates of the court, the hosteler caused the keeper of the locutory to deliver the message; if they lodged without the gates, the porter performed the office. if any breach of silence or great disorder was made by a visitor, he was detained till the chapter of the next day; and, emendation having been made, according to the will of the prior and chapter, he made his bow, and departed. when the visitors wished to depart before day-break, or at that time, the hosteler took the keys of the parlour from the prior's bed, and dismissed them according to the rule and their rank; after which he again locked the doors, and carried the keys back to the prior's bed. on sundays, before procession, no one could receive the benediction, or ceremony of dismission.-[whence our farewell of god bless you, or goodbye, i. e. god be with you. the king did not leave england without the benediction of the archbishop of canterbury. it consisted in that prelate's making the sign of the cross upon the king's head, who stooped for that purpose.]d-if necessity urged, they could receive it at mattins; and guests not returning the same day, at prime and all other hours, except vespers. similar regulations obtained with respect to nones, rung after dinner.e persons of rank were received with procession and high honours. one of the great bells was struck three times, d eadm. 25, 41. hospes claustrum non egredietur nisi licentia ab hostilario detur, ut ductu ejus egrediatur. si hospes cum famulis suis infra portas curiæ hospitalis loqui voluerit, hostilarius per custodem locutorii eos mandabit. si portas curiæ transgredietur, idemptidem faciet administratione janitoris. quotiens ante lucifragum, vel die lucescente abire voluerunt, hostilarius claves loquutorii ad lectum prioris accipiet, hospitesque ordinatè, et pro personarum dignitate emittet, postmodum secundum temporis exigentiam hostia reobserabit, clavesque ad lectum reportabit. dominicis diebus ante processionem nulli licet accipere benedictionem [apres ceo prist il beneyson, et conge de l'abbé et du covent. monast. ii. 219.] si necessitas instat ad matutinas benedictionem accipiat. primæ et omnibus aliis horis hospites non revertentes eodem die benedictionem debent accipere. nullus ad vesperas benedictionem proficiscendi accipiat. idemptidem fiet ad nonam post prandium pulsatam. id. 240 guest-hall. to give the monks notice of assembling in the church to robe themselves. the sacrist spread a carpet and a pallium above, before the great altar, upon the upper step, also before the rood. upon the near approach of the visitor, the two greater bells were rung. when the procession made a stand, at the reception of the guest, the abbot gave him the holy-water sprinkle, afterwards the incense, and the prior the text, if he was a bishop; other persons the abbot sprinkled himself. when they entered the church, and made a stand before the crucifix, the boys stood between the two choirs; and the bearers of the holy water and other things advanced through the midst, and stood before the crucifix with their faces towards it. in the mean while the visitor continued praying; and, when he arose, a service was begun in honour of the patron saint. then the bearers advanced to deposit the respective processionalia as soon as they came to the altar. the infants and others followed, filing off on each side the altar according to seniority. the visitor again prayed; and, when the chaunt was over, (if a bishop, after he had given the benediction,) kissed all the monks; who, however, because in copes, or robed, were not to kneel before him, as was usual with a bishop, abbot, or prince, but humbly bowing, proceed to the salutation. if he was a spiritual person, and the abbot wished to be expeditious, the monks were unrobed, and sat in chapter, where the visitor was introduced, and requested the benediction. this was followed by a reading from scripture; after which, if he chose, he preached. if he was an abbot he kissed the monks at the entrance of the chapter, as they retired; and if he did not enter that place, at a fit season, he did it in the cloister. the flatteries and homage paid to great visitors were such, that a dying abbot said, "thou well knowest what flatteries and adulations thou hast made, for temporal and perishable things, to secular . decr. lanfr. persons, not in truth but falsehood, against your conscience." b these flatteries are thus in the most piquant style satirized by an ancient goliard or jester, "when it is dinner time, dine with the great man; fill the glasses with exquisite wine. when it is cold, sit at the fire, hold the richest wine in your hands, fill the empty cups; persuade him to drink and drink again. when he has well soaked, have a bed for him; he will gladly stay with you. when he looks in his purse, throw out a hint how much he has drank: if he has been intemperate, take it kindly: say nothing of what has passed." an exemplification of this satire, we are told of an abbot who, in order to exhilirate the mind of a certain knight, and gain his good will, plied him well with choice liquor, in the english fashion. in order to provoke him to drink better, instead of wesheil, the abbot gave for the toast pril, to which the other was instructed by the abbot, instead of drinkheil to reply wril; and thus drinking and toasting with pril and wril, and assisted by the monks, lay brothers, and servants, they went on till midnight.d thomas pennant, in tu bene nosti, quot favores et adulationes pro temporalibus et caducis faciebas secularibus hominibus, non veritate sed fictione, contra conscientiam tuam. ms. bodl. fairfax, 17. § lamentatio gervasii abb. et hora cum fuit, cum ipso prandete. mero delectabili calices implete. tempus cum sit frigidum ad prunas sedete. vinum meracissimum manibus tenete. calices si fuerint vacui replete. ut bibat et rebibat sæpe suadete. si bene potavit, lectum tunc habete. vobiscum moram faciet libenter et lætè. in bursâ dum reperit stantes monete. de dono haustæ fuerint quindecim metretæ, &c. modum si excesserit blande sustinete. quod fit in consorcio pandere cavete. ms. harl. 978, f. 58, b. abbas autem ut militis animum exhilararet, ipsumque sibi placabilem magis efficeret, calices ei crebros de potu electo more anglicano propinari fecit. ipsemet quoque quatinus ad melius potandum militem provocaret, et efficacius invitaret, loco wesheil ait ei pril. ille vero ignorans quid respondere deberet, edoctus ab abbate, pro drinkheil respondit ei wril, et sic provocantes ad invicem et compotantes cum monachis et fratribus assistentibus et servientibus ingeminare pril, wril, et alternatim sæpius usque noctis ad horam profundioris inculcare non destiterunt. ms. cott. tiber b. b. 13. [ppixl is reciprocatio; pril,wril, hob, nob.] this was against all rule: neubrigensis says (154), guest-hall. 241 a abbot of basingwerk, is said to have given twice the treasure of a king in wine; and they were profuse of more humble liquors.b the apartments for the reception of persons of quality, as says davies and others, were furnished in a most splendid style. visitors were allowed to make a stay of two days and nights; and on the third, after dinner, they were to depart. if by accident a guest could not then go, the hosteler signified his request to the abbot, prior, or curiarius, for a longer stay. if he was taken ill, his stay was regulated by the disposition of the prior, and the exigency of the disease. if in health, he was to be present at mattins, unless he had leave to the contrary, and follow the convent in every thing. if a visitor exceeded three daysd among the friars minors, he mentioned his fault in the chapter, and, after receiving pardon, departed.e constitutions enact that hospitality should be shown to all, to religious persons, especially those of the order (who were to be consigned to the tables of that prayers were said during drinking, and our saviour's name mentioned. the old danes and normans, says james delmerus, used to drink in ho nour of odin, thor, &c.; but after conversion, to the saints. the form of this toast is given by christ. de scala, in the life of st. wenceslaus, p. 56. again, sitting in the eating-room, and taking the cup, he says, with a loud voice, let us drink this cup in the name of the holy archangel michael, begging and praying him to introduce our souls into the peace of eternal exaltation." to this the visitors replied amen, and drank the cup. if they were going to part, the kiss of peace, as now shaking hands, went round. see du cange, v. bibere in amore sanctorum, for more on this subject. a pennant's whiteford, 33. british topography, ii. 461. licet hospiti biduo continuationem duarum noctium morari tertioque die donec discubuerit. si casu incidente, profectio ejus expedita non fuit, hostilarius abbati, vel priori, et curiario ejus importunitatem significabit. si infirmitate oppressus fuerit, indulta erit, &c. si sanitate exhilaratur, matutinis, nisi licentiam petat, intererit, conventumque omnimodo sequatur. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 206, b. this was the old celtic period of visits. see ossian, in carthon, colna-dona. fingal. b. iii. temora, b. ii. it is explained by cowell, v. hogenhine, third-night. du cange, &c. ipsi vero hospites in locis ubi ultra tres dies moram traxerint, dicant in capitulo culpas suas, et dictâ culpâ acceptâque pardonâ egrediantur. ms. bodl. 1882, p. 52, a. the abbots, or other fit and honourable places), and to the friars, who were to be excluded the refectory and private places deputed for the recreation of the monks. women were to be received, who came with an honourable suite.g particular attention was to be paid to the parents of monks; for whom necessaries and food were to be found whenever they came to see their children; especially on the nativity of the virgin mary, wheresoever they took refection in the town or house; and they were to be honourably received on the vigil.h it seems that the monks were in the habit of often going to the visitors; i and, as if pitying the miseries of the poor, asking abundance of questions of the peace of the nobles, making speeches of the cruelty of knights, and the superfluity of clerks, interrupting their conversation with sighs, as from compassion; and then, when the bell rung, tripping off, after a previous whisper, that if the abbot or prior should come, the visitors would not forget to say a kind word in their favour. it seems too that the sons of donors, when unable to injure the monks by means of law, would burden them with continual visits and hospitality; and that, from the heavy weight c. g. northampt. a° 1343. c. xvii. and aº 1444. c. ix. g honestà comitivâ. custum. roffens. 235. h item parentes monachorum ad domum istam (edmundsbury) divertentes honorificentius solito admittantur; et uberius procurentur, maximè parentes claustralium. ms. cott. jul. d. ii. f. 160. b. quociens parentes monachorum eos visitare venerint, omnia necessaria eis et victus sunt decernenda. maximè in nativ. s. mar. ubicunque comederint in villâ vel in curiâ. item debent recipi honorifice in vigilia. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. p. 187. the hosteler sometimes separated them against their will. monast. i. p. 2. * crebrius egreditur (monachus) ad hospites, et quasi calamitatibus pauperum compaciens de pace principum terræ quærit, sermones faciens de acerbitate militum et de superfluitate clericorum, interpolatis suspiriis, tanquam misericordiâ motus super ad sonitum campanæ necessarium abire proponit, nec omittit in auribus instillare ut cum venerit abbas, aut prior, meminerint apud eos ipsum, commendare. ms. harl. 1712. f. 236. eos. i hist. rames. prol. pars 2. r 242 guest-hall. of the latter, several statutes were made to ease them; and indeed they were not only liable to this expense, but to stabling for horses, the maintenance of sporting dogs, hawks, servants, (claims of founders, and convert jews.b in the hostrey of the nuns, she who received the visitors was allowed to speak to them. cloths were kept for their feet. the place was inclosed in the nuns' court, but excluded from their view. no nun entered the hostrey, but the prioresses and obedientiaries. lay-sisters of the hostrey introduced them into the oratory prepared for them while the nuns were singing the hours, but brought them back before they left the choir. two or three nuns presided over the hostrey, and conversed with the bet5 ed. i. 9 ed. ii. c. ii. west. 1 ed. iii. b monast. i. 18; ii. 459. tovey, 227, 14 edw. iii. st. 4. c. 1. ter sort of visitors; lay-sisters served them, and slept there when necessary. if the visitors were to be brought any where within the nuns' courts, they were introduced by nuns. no meat was given them to eat without the master's especial license; nor was any one permitted to bathe, be bled, or exceed the stay of one night, without that of the prioress. the nuns conversed with the guests or relatives, and none were excluded from their maundy, unless sick; the table for this office was struck after the convent was gone to the dorter. the lay-sister spoke only to female pilgrims, and no nun entered, if a visitor brought a boy with her.c monast. ii. 769. all davies says of import concerning the hostrey is, that it was like the body of a church, with pillars on each side, and a large range for the fire in the midst of it, with chambers and lodgings belonging to it. locutory, or parlour. 243 chapter xli. locutory, or parlour. du cange says, that there were three parlours among the clugniacks and cistercians; and that in a parlour, the monks assembled for conversation; and that the monastic schools were held there.a-of these apartments there were two, one for the monks, another for the visitors. this apartment was for conversation, when silence was enjoined in other places. the rule of st. victor of paris speaks thus: when any thing required immediate discourse, the precentor led the persons to the parlour, who briefly explained themselves. no one was to enter it, unless called by the abbot or prior. the latter, the sub-prior, and officers, came, however, without license to converse upon business, but not the claustrals. the servants, introduced there for any necessary orders or information, were not to sit down, or make any stay; and those who had license, were not to sit long, or be more than four at a time. no strange monk or canon was to be brought into the regular locutory to converse, only those of the house, with license, who were not to talk elsewhere. no claustral could come into the other locutories, without summons from the abbot or prior. there was a forensic locutory, where monks and nuns could converse with seculars; the sacrist's locutory, locutories in the church for confession, and others.b-davies says, the locutory was the place where merchants used to expose their wares. after dinner was the time allowed for conversation; but, in consequence of av. auditorium. b du cange, v. locutorium. post prandium, supplicandum pro peccatis scil. eorum quorum eleemosynis sustentatur, si forte vocatur ad colloquium secundum regulam, leviter et sine risu pauca verba et rationabilia loquatur. ms. harl. 103. f. 114. b. abuses, for the monks used to talk nothing but trifles, raillery, and small talk,d meditations and reading were substituted instead.e the minuti had an indulgence of going to the locutory of the guests to converse immediately after refection and grace, and from complin to curfew. entrance to the parlour, both in monks and nuns, was very seldom allowed, except when necessary for taking venice; or to say any thing which could not be explained by a sign. a sign was made at the door, and then, if permitted, they entered, and not more than two together, unless it was needful, talked together with the prior at reading-time. when their business was over, they departed immediately. conversation was also allowed with visitors of a certain kind. the nun who took the venia, when many were assembled to confess, sat. those sat too who talked with the guests and scrutatrices. no one could enter there unasked, when the prioress was conversing with any one. in the parlour too the nuns were taught standing the exposition of the rule. the constitutions of those of sopewell order them not to converse with seculars unless their necks and faces were covered with a kercheif and veil. in the nuns' parlour was a grating covered with a curtain, not to be removed but when a person spoke to them, or they received the communion, which was administered in the parlour.i d bern. dev. vie mon. iii. 147. e m. paris, 1095. "after dinner read or hear somewhat of holy scripture." ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. f. 23. a. f m. paris, 1043, 1045. pardons for the omission of duties, &c. monast. ii. 767, &c. &c. &c. h monast. ii. 731, 769. du cange, v. cratis. 244 almonry. chapter xlii. almonry. the almonry was sometimes a stone house near the church.a this was its proper and usual situation, from the connection of charity and religion.b alms-houses are still common in church-yards. some abbots have e been reproached for moving it to the gate, in order to get rid of the poor from the refectory doors after dinner. we hear of priests' halls, and various edifices annexed to almonries.d the alms were, according to basil, in the application of them, an exclusive concern of the superior; and it seems they thought so; for they bestowed them upon their secular kindred and acquaintance. they were, says lyndwood, generally to be given to persons unable to work, or kindred, because we are directed to provide for our own house first; according to which principle henry enjoined, that none of the brethren "send any parte of his meate, or the levynge thereof, to any person;" but that the alms should be collected with special consideration of "soche before other as be kinnesfolke to any of the said brethren." a preference was also to be made of piety and utility, as well as h ■ monast. i. 273. b du cange, v. matricula. grose, under reading abbey. ang. sacr. i. 143. dev. vie mon. ii. 91. 1 monast. i. 418, 471. * p. 209. ms. cott. cleop. e. 1v. f. 22. a. the degree of connection with the house, whence proceeded the custom of maintaining from them certain poor children, who went there to learn grammar. after all, there was no certain rule, but discretion; and a common religious could give them, if he saw any one likely to perish with hunger, though his abbot forbid it, because he was to obey god more than man.i beer was brought into the refectory to give to the poor; k different allowances were made at different festivals; the distribution of the alms at glastonbury, and most other houses, on wednesdays and fridays.m it seems that the obedientiaries and others were in the habits of thus supporting their servants, especially the almoners, who are charged with giving the alms to their workmen or out-door servants. certain scholars (the children alluded to by lyndwood) had constant residence in the almonry of st. augustine, canterbury; and the poor and sick flocked to it from all quarters. the whole revenues of certain churches, besides the abbot's alms, were devoted to it. the tenth of all the monastic proceeds was to be given in alms to the poor.p i lyndw. ut sup. * m. par. 1095. monast. i. 149. m reyn. 224. n m. par. 1094. c. g. north. a° 1343. c. x. & aº 1444, c. vii. • w. thorne, 1801. p du cange, v. eleemosynarius, library. 245 chapter xliii. library-museum. this place was under the care of the chantor, as well as the muniments of the house. he could neither sell, pawn, or lend the books, without an equal or more than equivalent pledge; he might, however, with respect to neighbouring churches, or persons of consideration, relax somewhat of the strictness of this rule. it seems that, on a new foundation, the king sometimes sent letters patent b to the different abbeys, requesting them to give the new religious theological books; though these were only perhaps for the use of the church; and he gave them sometimes himself.c duplicates and triplicates of the same work were imported. the catalogues of their libraries, of which several exist, were very artificial, pedantic, and whimsical, as will appear from the following account of that of dover priory, made in the year 1389. "note, first, says a bibliotheca erit sub cantoris custodiâ, omnes ecclesiæ cartæ cantori, &c. assignatæ. cantor non potuit libros accommodare, nisi pignore, qui tanti vel majoris fuerit reposito, &c. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 191. b. b 55 h. iii. m. 24. monast. i. 936. c monast. ii. 924. d du cange, v. pandecta. primo quod tota hæc bibliotheca in novem separatis distinctionibus secundum novem primas alphabeti literas, literas ipsis distinctionibus patenter affixas dividitur. quia vero in multis voluminibus plures continentur tractatus, nomina ipsorum tractatuum licet non semper congruè baptisatorum in singulis voluminibus poscebuntur, et figura numeralium algorismi ipsis nominibus, designans folium in quo tractatus ipse incipiat, consequenter apponitur, cum a litera vel b, protinus subjunctâ hac parte. ipsa etiam volumina singula non solum exterius in tegimine verum etiam interius juxta nomina contentorum in sui principio affixas habent literas suas distinctionales; modica figura algorismalis includitur per quam quotus sit liber in ordine locationis gradus memorati plenius declaratur. in secundo aut tertio, vel quarto folio voluminum, vel prope illud in margine inferiori, præmissis iterum literis distinctionalibus, et figuris gradualibus prædictis, nomen voluminis inseritur, et post modico spacio dimissum quo modo folium illud, quod probatorium cognitionis dicetur, incipiat, protinus titulatur: quotque folia in ipso toto volumine contithe preface, that the whole of this library is divided into nine separate distinctions, according to the nine first letters of the alphabet, the letters being affixed to the distinctions. because, however, many tracts are contained in many volumes, the names of those tracts, although not always suitably christened, will be required in every volume, and the figure, of the numbers of the algorism, marking the leaf in which the tract begins, is consequently affixed to the titles, with the letter a or b immediately added, so that a may designate the first side of the leaf, and b the second. each volume itself, not only outwardly in the cover, but inwardly according to the names of its contents, has its distinctional letters affixed to the beginning of it, and a small algorismal figure is added by which what the book is in the order of its place in the above gradation is more fully declared. in the second, or third, or fourth leaf of the volumes, or near it in the lower margin, the aforesaid distinctional letters and gradual figures being again premised, the name of the volume is inserted, and afterwards being in a little time dismissed, how the leaf begins, which may be called the touchstone of knowledge, is immediately entitled; the first number of the algorism then following, tells how many leaves are contained in the whole volume; and another number instantly adjoined, the neatur, primus numerus algorismi tunc sequens declarabit, adjunctus protinus ibidem finaliter numerus alius figatur [figitur], numerum [que] ejusdem voluminis contentorum tractatuum pandit manifeste. præmissis igitur retentis, memoriæ finaliter commendatis, patebit manifeste quibus distinctione gradu loco vel ordine singula volumina totius bibliothecæ debent collocari, quibusque foliis et foliorum lateribus singulorum principia tractatuum poterint reperiri. ms. bodl. 3012, in præf. [upon every statute that is abrygid in any of the chapyters of this boke be set figures of algorisme.] herbert's ames, i. 479, 246 library. tracts contained in the volume. when these premises are committed to memory, it will plainly appear in what distinction, degree, place, or order. every volume of the library should be placed, and in what leaves, or sides of leaves, the beginnings of the tracts may be found. leland's story a of the library of the franciscans at oxford has been often told; it was only accessible to the warden and bachelors of divinity; was full of cobwebs, moths, and filth; and contained no books of value, the best having been surreptitiously carried away. the custom of the custom of chaining books, which i saw retained at magd. coll. library, oxon, was very ancient. we are told by eusebius that the roman senate in the time of claudius, ordered philojudæus's treatise of the impiety of caligula, to be chained in the publick library as a famous monument. the magnificent roman libraries were paved with marble, and ornamented with gold; the walls were covered with glass and ivory: the presses for the books were made of cedar and ebony, and carried as high as the roof. though the books were in rolls, they had elegant fronts and titles.d the booksellers' shops had pillars, on which were inscribed the names of the works for sale, and the books were kept in nidi, drawers or pigeon-holes, the best in the upper, the worst in the lower-among the egyptian monk the books were kept in a window, by which i suppose, is meant a cupboard arched in the wall, which was the depository among the britons,s and appears centuries after in the frontispiece of trivet's annals. the monasteries had painted presses or almeries. chests were also used, i and shelves. glass-globes, like orreries, before mentioned (ch. i.) have been found at herculaneum, and are mentioned by inguiphus, as occurring in monastic libraries. as from the variety of knowledge interspersed in scholars' books, and the vast bulk and quantity of such books in the world, the merit of every compilation both does now, and must in future, depend much and unavoidably upon indexes, i shall, as far as lies in me, present to the respect of the public an ayscough or wanley of antiquity, john brome, prior of gorlestone, who, in the fifteenth century, put indexes to almost all the books in his library. the proportion in which the monks cultivated the respective sciences appears, from a cursory enumeration, sufficiently accurate for this purpose, of the works of authors in bale, to have been nearly this: divinity, 175; scholastic literature, 89; epistles, controversy, miscellanies, 65; history, 54; biography, 32; arts, mathematics, astrology, &c. 31; philosophy, 14; law, 6. appendix. disquisitions upon monastic literature have been given by mosheim, warton, and others, but they are all treated in reference to modern thinking. the following merely respect contemporary ideas, and taste. they show undeniably that the state of de scriptor. p. 286. b. 2, ch. 18. astle's writing, introd. vii. l. p. 197. 4 seneca de tranquillit. c. 9. mind was very contemptible, as to literature properly so called, though in the mechanical arts there was much excellence but that is no proof of civilization. • martial l. i. ep. 118. regul. pachom. c. 82. 8 m. paris, 994. ¹ du cange, v. libellare. ancient illuminations. 1 barthelemy's tour in italy. bale, 1st ed. f. 194, h ibid. 1038. library. 247 divinity. it has been elsewhere noted, that the study of theology was presumed to confer the gift of prophecy. divinity consisted in forced and ridiculous allegorical interpretations of the scriptures; a and these and other religious works of the most bizarre kind were thought to expiate sins. in 1435, a shearer of cloth in france, and a great lover of tennis, wrote a ballad upon that game. when he was old and sick in bed, he wished by another kind of writing to expiate his sins, and had his work reviewed by a dominican. he accordingly allegorized the game of tennis. the wall, he says, means faith, which ought to have a solid foundation, and in other parts of the game he finds the cardinal virtues, the evangelists, active and contemplative life, the old and new law, &c. it is a most insipid production: but not more so than innumerable volumes of divinity manuscripts. philosophy, arts, &c. in the 13th century, omons, the lucretius of his day, wrote a singular work entitled the picture of the world, in which are passages strongly illustrative of the philosophy of the middle age. in the metaphysical department, by materials borrowed from thales, anaxagoras, epicurus, and plato, god is made an idle being, who, when he created matter, also created nature, who, he says, executes the will of god, as the ax in the hands of the carpenter, but sometimes makes deformities, through want or excess of matter, because the more the latter abounds, the more she works; and if it be wanting, she stands still. the liberal arts he divides into the usual septenary arrangement, adopted so early as the fifth century by marcianus capella. alcuinus had done the same in the eighth century, with no other difference, than includthe lessons in the portiforium of sarum, the proems of the saints' lives in the golden legend, show, amidst innumerable authorities, that this quibbling divinity lasted for many ages. notices, v. 157. ing arithmetick, geometry, musick, and astronomy, under the general term of mathematicks. omons makes arithmetick, not the mere science of numbers, but the knowledge of every thing which has produced any regular order whatever; and rhetorick includes judicial verdicts, decretals, laws, &c. the term liberal was only applied to an art which exclusively appertained to the mind; and therefore medicine, painting, sculpture, navigation, the military art, and architecture, though in their theories as intellectual as arithmetick and astronomy are, because applicable to bodily purposes, denominated mere trades. the term philosophers means only men versed in the occult sciences of nature, for plato is called the sovereign of philosophers, merely because he had discovered traces of the trinity in the unity of god; and among the later philosophers, no one was so eminent as virgil. this was not the mantuan bard, but an ugly lame italian, who performed feats of legerdemain: these were an inextinguishable lamp; a long bridge, which supported itself, without being propped in any of its parts; a speaking head, which pronounced oracles, and answered questions put to it; an impenetrable garden, enclosed only by a wall of air; a brass fly, which when it found in the room a living fly, flew upon it and killed it; a brazen horse,d of such virtue, that sick horses, who looked upon it, were instantly cured; and lastly an egg, in which was built a very large town, which fell to pieces when the egg was moved, but in a moment afterwards re-established itself. [these are important details, for they throw light upon the best existing picture of oriental manners, the exquisite "arabian nights," the first tales of fiction in the world.] our author says, that whoever thoroughly ignorance of this distinction has produced inconceivable confusion in writers upon mediæval subjects. the wooden horses, flying by turning a peg, are fictions, formed upon ships with rudders. the anglo-saxons called ships, sea horses. 248 library. understood astrology, might effect things, which though natural, would appear miraculous to the rest of mankind. an adept in this science might have during life all that he could desire.a it is certain, that the ancients did believe a miraculous power to be conferred upon material substances, by various modifications of them under certain astrological signs. in an old magical ms. of the 14th century,b are the following processes. "when you wish to provoke a girl to follow you: make an image of a woman, under the second face of cancer, of tin, and touch the girl you wish with it, and she will follow you." and again, "when you wish to enter where there are dogs, that they may not hinder you, make a tin image of a dog, whose head is erected towards his tail, under the first face of sagittary, and say over it, i bind all dogs by this image, that they do not raise their heads nor bark; and enter where you please." the fallacy of all this is conspicuous; but failure did not produce contempt, because, as appears from grosthead's brazen head, it was ascribed to error in the astrological process. it is however certain, that automata were very commonly made in the fourteenth century; that speaking through heads and statues is a very easy and old trick;d that the construction of whispering galleries shows a fondness for such deceptions; and that the feats ascribed to virgil, are only hyperbolical exaggerations of mechanical ingenuity or legerdemain! slight of hand, or thaumaturgicks, was notices, v. 246–256. b presented to me by edw. wilbraham, esq. of cirencester. in it is a process for raising the devil. cum volueris provocare puellam ut sequaris te, fac imaginem mulieris sub 2da facie cancri ex stanno, et tange cum eâ quam volueris, et obediet tibi. cum volueris intrare ubi canes sunt, ut non impediant te, fac imaginem canis stanncam, cujus caput sit ad caudam erectum, sub primâ facie sagittarii, et dic super id, ligo omnes canes per hanc imaginem, ut non erigant capita sua, nec latrent; et intra ubi volueris. d see beckman's excellent paper on jugglers, &c. inventions, iii. 293–337. called mechanica, and a part of necromancy.e jerom natural history-medicine. in s. hilarion, says, "a dragon of wonderful magnitude, which the dalmatians in their native language call boas, because they are so large that they can swallow oxen." hence it should seem, that the boa snake may have given birth to the fiction of dragons.f the coup de soleil appears to have been ascribed to a dæmon, called dæmon meridianus. geography. this abounds with marvellous accounts, from which are borrowed many of the exquisite fictions of the "arabian nights." in the year 1545, was published at antwerp the cosmography of peter apianus, expurgated from all faults by gemma frisius, a physician and mathematician of louvain. it is sufficient to say, that in this correct expurgated work, scotland is an island, of which york is one of the chief cities.h history. the fugitive trojans, and their descendants, not only commenced the empires of italy and great britain, but also that of france. a priam junior, nephew of the old trojan king, in union with antenor, founded venice, which last shortly afterwards separated himself from his companion, and established padua. at his death, his troop, like strolling players, removed again, and settled in germany, where finding a third priam, descended from the venetian, they chose him for king. thus there was no conscientious restriction from mixing favourite hypotheses with history, as serious truths. history is in general a dry diary of incidents, and yet, acknowledging the elegant latinity of malmesbury, a produ cange, v. mechanica. du cange, v. boa. s du cange. h fol. 44. b. i tresor de brunetto latini, ms. bibl. national, paris. notices, v. 273, library. 249 fessed imitator of livy in his national histories, and the interesting descriptions of froissart, the chivalrous votary of heroic love and pleasure, is rather adapted to reference than reading. except the last author, they are uniformly ill-natured writers. the apparent original of their style, in mixing and relating the private affairs of their abbeys, &c. is the family narrative of the classical actuarius, or historiographer, who was called in to read and recite to the company.a the only qualification required was that of a senior class school-boy, an ability to write grammatical latin; and even he would not have dared to show to his master the following sentence, that "if night had not terminated the battle, they would have all been shaved with the razor of death." what a frigid unintelligible simile is this! "forethoughts are like gnats." gothic architecture is the only sublime inimitable monument of the middle age, but it was a trade, and the monks did not know, that nothing great in the arts can be produced without intercourse with society; for solitude and single mind is debarred from the division of labour, is satisfied like crusoe, having only itself to gratify, with rude expedient, nor could have a motive, where superstitious mortification was sufficient. what was excellent, was intended to bias the public mind, and no other motive is adequate to the production of the great in any thing. a solitary, though often a mere selfish man, is under numerous circumstances, a wise, a happy, and with reading see the form of these in petronius, i. 162. ed. nodot. qui profecto, nisi nox prælium diremisset, omnes mortis novaculâ abrasi fuissent. gemmeticensis inter camdeni scriptores, p. 669. du cange, v. rebones. the an opinion directly opposite has been given. the chartreux of ferrara had very fine paintings in their churches; and excellent prints adorned most of the cells of monks of this order. author regrets, that painting and engraving were not labours imposed on these monks, because the concentration of ideas in solitude and other results might produce chef-d'œuvres. observat. sur l'italie, tom. i. 361. habits, which inculcate only what is good, a virtuous and enviable one, for book-worms never know ennui. the monks, however, must not be deprived of the chief merit in this architecture. in building roslyn chapel, the founder caused drawings to be made upon boards, which being carved accordingly by carpenters, were given as patterns to the masons.e this, no doubt, the monks often did, and after a common practice of even bishops,f carried mortar, and worked themselves. latin language. this, always considered a universal language, because immutable, was deemed an essential qualification, but how far with general success, may be determined from the errors condemned in the university by peacham. these are,1. ego currit is good latin. 2. currit, legit, is as perfect speech as curro, lego. 3. sum ego is as good as ego sum. 4. socrates legere: and so in every case.h who would suppose that such barbarous words as honorificabilitudo, and honorificabilitudinitas, for dignity or a term of address to sovereigns, were words in serious use; yet they occur in the twelfth century, at least in italy.i philosophers, who accede to the high reason and noble sentiment of the classical authors, cannot eulogize the learned languages in the warm style of linguists and philologists. if a language, as is the euphonous and versatile greek, with even the advantage of an alphabet founded upon modifications of the voice, cannot be elegantly or correctly written by a modern, during the study of a whole life, its construction must be as bad as the chinese, in the opinions of all who consider language as a convenient means of expediting science and business, not a cumbrous, however ingenious machine, • britton's architectural antiquities, iii. 51. f m. par. 171. angl. sacr. i. 761. h ms. wood. in mus. ashmol. 8563. prs. 2. p. 12. du cange in vocibus, from muratori and ugtrolli, 250 library. impeding both. such, however, is the influence produced by the fine ser.timent of the greek writers, that deep grecians are commonly very excellent men. the perfection of the mental powers certainly existed in the morea; and the steam-engine of their language was easily worked by them: but then only because it was native. it is indispensable to construe the classicks fluently, because mind is not to be formed in any other school. but french, or grammatical literal latin, better perhaps, as a safer and far easier substitute for universal language, ought to supersede writing in elegant latin, because it is productive of obscurity, and is confined to scholars. the advantage of using terminations instead of prepositions, though it may be convenient for versification, is far beneath that of juxta-position of the words; and is limited to sound, not sense. the very alphabets of the learned languages have not the ingenuity of the curves and lines of short hand, because founded upon scientific prin-, ciples, much less of the chemical nomenclature; and horne tooke has exposed the ignorance of real grammar. selden has justly observed, that the monkish law latin is better, because more intelligible and preservatory, than idiomatic style; and professor stewart adds, "the deranged collocation of the words in latin composition renders that language an inconvenient medium of philosophical communication, as well as an inconvenient instrument of accurate thought."a the classicks and versification. church permitted no ideas that were not dogmas dictated by itself. study of the classicks and mythology were reprobated by aldhelm as tending to corruption of manners ;b and he is not singular, the heathen gods being debauchees. in the 13th century, homer was the only greek poet known.d a philosophy of the human mind, p. 201. angl. sacr. ii. 14. ibid. ii. 249. d notices des mss. v. 502. the greek language was never wholly extinct in italy, but in the 14th century, there were scarcely six persons who in the chronique d'idace, a manuscript of the eleventh century, more than 200 verses are extracted from different authors, as virgil, ovid, juvenal, &c. ranged in order, apparently for no other reason, but to determine the prosodial quantity. false quantities are too common to need illustration; but notwithstanding the evident pains bestowed upon the study of construction, they terminate pentameters with adjectives. in the beginning of the 14th century there were only four classicks in the royal library at paris, cicero, ovid, lucan, and boethius.s in the catalogues given by leland of abbatial libraries, there are only the following classicks, cicero and aristotle (common), terence, euclid, q. curtius, sidonius apollinaris, jul. frontinus, apuleius, and seneca. from this disregard of the classicks, not the shameful destruction only of the monastic libraries at the dissolution, probably ensued that loss of the decades of livy, &c. which has been so justly lamented.i the extreme ignorance of classical habits is conspicuous by the following account of the coliseum. bede prophesied, that while the colisæum lasted rome would stand, but when that had even a slight knowledge of it. mem. de petrarque, i. 405, 406. • ibid. v. 231. f see an instance in angl. sacr. i. 513. 8 nichols's appendix to the history of leicester, i. p. 107, n. 6. collect. iii. 7. 17. 28. 54. 60. 66. 159. 46 i i give here the admirable remarks of petrarch upon the utility of profane literature in ecclesiastical studies. i know by experience how much human learning may contribute to give just notions, to make a man eloquent, perfect his morals, and what is more, defend religion. if it be not permitted to read the poets and heathen authors, because they do not speak of christ, whom they did not know, with how much more reason ought we to prohibit heretical works; yet the defenders of the faith studiously peruse them. profane literature, like certain solid aliments, does not hurt a good stomach, only a weak one. reading, wholesome for a sound mind, is a poison to a feeble intellect. i know that letters are no obstacles to holiness, as some pretend. there are many roads to heaven; ignorance is that which the idle take: the sciences may produce as many saints as ignorance and surely we ought not to compare an ignorant devotion to an enlightened piety." mem. de petrarque, iii. 606. library. 251 fell rome would fall, and with rome, the world. this famous amphitheatre is described as a place, where were the images of all the provinces, and that of rome in the middle, holding a golden apple, as queen of all; which images were so disposed by necromancy, that if any province wished to rebel, the image of rome immediately turned its back upon that province.a works of humour. irony and satire are quite common; but otherwise professed works of wit, turn chiefly upon practical jokes, coarse indecency, or ludicrous adventures. now and then a good pun occurs, and ingenious quibbles. i met with the following epigram in a ms. of the ashmole library, of which i have never seen a copy; but as it was in a collection, made in the 16th century, of poems, i cannot tell its age. marriage, saith one, hath oft compared bin unto a fest, where meet a public rout, where those, that are without, would fain get in, and those, that are within, would fain get out. bulls, &c. these blunders owe their use to a warmth of feeling, prompting a rapidity of utterance, by which, time not being allowed for reflection, one idea trips up the heels of another. in print, however, such errors are exceedingly rare. in the acta sanctorum, a narrow place is described, where a person could not stand except by lying.c poetry. under this term ought never to be included mere strings of unidea'd verses; for no sensible man reads poetry in general. it is immersion in a cold bath. the antiocheis of joseph ischam, and the virgil of gawin douglas, are as admirable in the heroic, as chaucer is in horatian vivacity and terseness; though the versification of neither is classical, nor the language pure, nor the taste correct. poor warton,f deprived of preferment, because he had not that ponderous gravity, resembling the benumbing property of the torpedo, which englishmen reverence, and enlightened foreigners despise, under the name of tristitia, has the following exquisite passage, given for its beauty. "the customs, institutions, traditions, and religion, of the middle ages, were favourable to poetry. their pageants, processions, spectacles, and ceremonies, were friendly to imagery, to personification, and allegory. ignorance and superstition, so opposite to the real interests of human society, are the parents of imagination. the very devotion of the gothic times was romantic. the catholic worship, besides that its numerous exterior appendages were of a picturesque and even of a poetical nature, disposed the mind to a state of deception, and encouraged, or rather authorized, every species of credulity. its visions, miacrosticks were known to the greeks,dracles, and legends, propagated a genebut the monks used hieroglyphical kinds, impossible to be divined. in hollow stonework over the kitchen chimney in kingswood abbey, wilts, is a tyger, heart, ostrich, mermaid, ass, and swan, for the founder's christian name, thomas.e a du cange, v. coliseum. b the monks were the most bitter censors of boccacio, because he exposed them; for it is certain, that the most licentious of the tales in the decameron, were found in conventual libraries, and taken by him from thence. vannozzi, however, says truly, "it would frighten us to know how many harlots the decameron has produced." quia aliter stare non poterat, nisi jacendo. du cange, v. estramen. d antholog. 1. i. c. 28. • parsons's mss. in bibl. bodl, f. 91. strengthened the belief of spectres, ral propensity to the marvellous, and demons, witches, and incantations. these illusions were heightened by churches of a wonderful mechanism, and constructed on such principles of inexplicable architecture, as had a tendency to impress the soul with every false sensation of religious fear. the savage pomp and the capricious heroism of the baronial manners were f mr. douce has excellently defended this illused scholar, "whose literary body" (to use the expression, from shakespeare, of the author of the pursuits of literature) "had been punched full of deadly holes," in a very ill-natured way. ministers sneered at warburton for recommending him for preferment! 252 library. replete with incident, adventure, and enterprize; and the untractable genius of the feudal policy, held forth those irregularities of conduct, discordancies of interest, and dissimilarities of situation, that framed rich materials for the minstrel muse. the tacit compact of fashion, which promotes civility, by diffusing habits of uniformity, and therefore destroys peculiarities of character and situation, had not yet operated upon life, nor had domestic convenience abolished unwieldy magnificence. literature and a better sense of things, not only banished these barbarities, but superseded the mode of composition, which was formed upon them. romantic poetry gave way to the force of reason and inquiry; as its own inchanted palaces and gardens instantaneously vanished, when the christian champion displayed the shield of truth and baffled the charms of the necromancer. the study of the classicks, together with a colder magick and a tamer mythology, introduced method into composition; and the universal ambition of rivalling those new patterns of excellence, the faultless models of greece and rome, produced that bane of invention, imitation. erudition was made to act upon genius; fancy was weakened by reflection and philosophy. the fashion of treating everything scientifically, applied speculation and theory to the arts of writing. judgment was advanced above imagination, and rules of criticism were established. the brave eccentricities of original genius, and the daring hardiness of native thought, were intimidated by metaphysical sentiments of perfection and refinement. setting aside the consideration of the more solid advantages, which are obvious, and are not the distinct subject of our contemplation at present, the lovers of true poetry will ask, what have we gained by this revolution? it it may be answered, much good sense, good taste, and good criticism; but in the mean time, we have lost a set of manners, and a system of machinery more suitable to the purposes of poetry, than those which have been adopted in their place. we have parted with extravagances that are above propriety, with incredibilities that are more acceptable than truth, and with fictions that are more valuable than reality." the "scottish chiefs" of miss porter, an exquisite epic poem, (though denominated a romance), which has not been equalled for years, is entirely founded upon chivalrous ideas in war and love. it appears to be a work, which, for a continual support of the sublime in the two leading characters, is superior to any thing ever written: it is the only modern work which shows the elevation of soul produced by warton's middle age ideas. milton or virgil do not surpass it in sentiment. mr. nichols has made the following excellent remarks, upon the library of leicester abbey: "from this catalogue it seems rather doubtful, whether in the library of this religious house, there might be any one complete collection of all the holy scriptures. supposing biblie, in the first article, to have included both the old and the new testaments, it was a tome defective and worn. the second consisted of each book of the old testament only; and the third of the gospels, without any mention of the acts of the apostles, of the epistles, or of the apocalypse. there is however, a separate mention of " actus aplor' gloss', apocalyps' gloss', eple pauli [of no other apostle] gloss', eple canonice," and among the last occurs the "canticus canticorum." perhaps there might be some of those augustine monks, to whom the divine oracles in the learned languages would have been of little use; and yet to these was not indulged a translation in english, there being in the consistorial acts at rochester, the minutes of a rigid process against the precentor of the priory of that cathedral, for retaining an english testament in disobedience to the general injunction of cardinal wolsey library-museum. 253 to deliver up these prohibited books to the bishops of the respective dioceses. knighton, a canon of st. mary-lepre, has, to his own disgrace, recorded his bitter condemnation of the translation made by his contemporary wicliff (x script. col. 2644). "christ intrusted his gospel," says that ecclesiastick, "to the clergy and doctors of the church, to minister it to the laity, and weaker sort, according to their exigences, and several occasions; but this master john wicliff, by translating it, has made it vulgar, and has laid it more open to the laity, and even to women, who can read, than it used to be to the most learned of the clergy, and those of the best understanding; and thus the gospel jewel, the evangelical feast, is thrown about, and trodden under feet of swine." such language, as an ingenious and learned divine has justly observed, was looked upon as good reasoning by the clergy of that day, who saw not with what satire it was edged against themselves.a petrarch always carried all his books with him upon extra horses, when he made a long journey.b towers were the most usual places for studies, and libraries. the prior of canterbury's study was a tower, next to his bed-room, but over his chapel was also a library for the use of the studious.d museum. adjoining to the library, says erasmus, was a certain small but elegant museum, which, upon the removal of a board, exhibited a fireplace, if the weather proved cold; otherwise it seemed a solid wall.e coryatt saw a stuffed crocodile in an abbey.f nichols's appendix to the history of leicester, vol. i. p. 108. b memoires, &c. iii. 614. angl. sacr. i. 145. convivium religios. colloq. 142. e ibid. 616. f crudities, i. 182. in beckmann's inventions, iii. 43, seq. is a history of museums. 254 scriptorium-domus antiquariorum. chapter xliv. scriptorium-domus antiquariorum. this is commonly called the writingroom; but by it was sometimes signified a more remote place, not so destined to writing, but there was room for other employments. the abbot, prior, sub-prior, and precentor, were the only persons admitted to the writers. there was an especial benediction of the scriptorium. writing books as a monastic employment is to be found in the earliest æras. among british monks, david had a study, or writing-room, and began the gospel of st. john in golden letters with his own hands. the anglo-saxon artists possessed eminent skill in the execution of their books, and the character which they used had the honour of giving rise to the modern small beautiful roman letter.f but after the norman invasion, degeneracy of skill occasioned the manuscripts, subsequent to that period, to be of difficult reading. the missals, and other books of divine offices, were indeed curiously done, through extraordinary expence laid out upon works of this nature; and in compliance with an injunction, that no books should be brought into places of devotion, which could not be easily read. such copies as were written in a larger hand were for more aged persons; and those illuminated with extraordinary beauty for nuns of superior quality, and other persons of distinction. great caution was also observed in writing the fathers and classicks; but the execution of books. which concerned the national and monastic history was an object of small du cange, v. scriptorium. e gruteri spicileg. ii. 132. ibid. d girald. cambrens. in vitâ davidis. angl. sacr. ii. 635. e warton, diss. introd. learning. f lowthorp's abridgment of the philosophical transactions, iii. p. 2. p. 440, 1. concern, unless the books were intended for presents.g "the antiquarii in monasteries were industrious men, continually employed in making new copies of old books, either for the use of the monastery, or for their own emolument. these writing monks were distinguished by the name of antiquarii. they deprived the poor librarii, or common scriptores, of their business, so that they found it difficult to gain a subsistence for themselves and their families." thus mr. astle; but du cange says, that the antiquarii were those scribes, who repaired, composed, and re-wrote books, old and obsolete with age, in opposition to the librarii, who wrote both new and old books.i eccard junior says, those religious whom he found more dull at the study of letters, he employed in writing, and making lines. it appears, that the monastic scribes were certain persons selected by the abbot.! boys and juniors, says du cange, were especially employed in writing; the elder monks on the church books.m the boys or juniors were undoubtedly employed in letter writing, and matters which required expedition." all monks were in fact instructed to write, if wanted, according to the statutes. in those of the canons regular are two verses specifying that they had simple girdles, tablets, comb, needle, thread, leland's collect. vi. 77, 78. h astle's writing, p. 192. i v. antiquarius. neither definition corresponds with the classical antiquarii, who were, i. inspectors of copyists, and keepers of the antiquarium, where the books were kept. ii. ciceroni. iii. purists, who affected old words. iv. scholiasts. encycl. des antiquit. du cange, v. capitanæ literæ. 1 id. v. scriptores. in warton ubi supra. du cange, v. scriptorium. n xv. scriptores, 153. scriptorium-domus antiquariorum. 255 a style, paper or parchment (chartas), | feather was certainly common in the ink, and a pen case.a du cange mentions a singular kind of scribes, called brodiatores, who wrote books, and letters, in the manner of embroiderers, so lightly representing the object, that it almost escaped the sight. perhaps petrarch alludes to such writers in the following passage: "his writing was not wandering, nor loaded like that of writers, or rather painters of our age, who flatter the eye from afar, and fatigue it when near."b the writing instruments were pens, chalk, pumice stones for rubbing the parchment, pen-knives, other knives to scrape the parchment, a punctorium or awl to make dots, a plummet, a weight to keep the parchment down, a ruler, inkstands, a large knife for cutting the parchment, and styles made of iron or bones,d for the ancient mode of writing on wax sometimes obtained with respect to the tables of the officiating ministers of the choir. it is said that vellum had taken place of waxen tablets in the time of alfred, and pens consequently succeeded to styles.f metal pens were used. in a ms. of nigel wireker at the british museum, the vellum has the lines and numeration of the pages, in the same manner as the water-mark in paper. large estates were set aside for the expences of making books.h the custom of carrying a pen behind the ear, lately common, is ancient. in the life of s. odo is the following passage: " he saw a pen sticking above his ear, in the manner of a writer."i as to paper, mabillon says, that he could find no paper books more ancient than the tenth century: but the pen made of a cingula simplicia, tabulas, et pecten acumque fila, stilum, cartas, encaustum pennaculumque. du cange, v. pennaculum. b memoires, iii. 701. du cange, v. asciatus. artavus. calamarium. cornicularius. linea. punctorium. scarpellum. scriptionale. scripturale. d archæologia, ii. 76. warton, iii. 151. 1 archæologia, ii. 76. s warton, diss. 2d. angl. sacr. i. 278. du cange, v. penna. seventh century; and though ascribed to the classical antients, by montfaucon's mistaking a passage of juvenal, is first mentioned by adrian de valois, a writer of the fifth century. this rather precedes beckmann, who places the first certain account in isidore.¹ ancient ink had nothing common with ours, except the colour and gum; for instead of gall nuts and copperas, soot or ivory black was the chief ingredient.m some peculiarities are noticeable in the practices of these ancient scribes. omissions in the text were to be noted in the margin.n the monks used to transcribe their bulls of privilege, not only into one, but several books of a various nature, as missals and others, as well as make marginal notes of the affairs of their abbeys in books of histories. the martyrology sometimes contained acts of general chapters. in the acta sanctorum, it is said "lest the life and miracles of s. francis de paula should lapse into oblivion, we have dispersed them through these four volumes of s. jerom, tegminatim;" i. e. on the covers. the scribes also memorandumed their interlineations. in the processus de vitâ s. yvon, in the acta sanctorum, the copyist says, "i have written it with my own hand, together with interlineations and erasures, made in seven distinctions ;" and in the bullarium of the carmelites much greater particularity is used. the scribe says, "i have signed it with the sign following, and made a certain interlineation which says redis, and another which encycl. des antiquit. v. plume. it is to be noted, that the french writers denominate the century from the first figures, not the next in order, as we do. 1 invent. ii. 207, seq. astle's writing, 211. ubi plura of inks. "script. p. bed. f. 19. • decem. scriptores, 1801, 1770. selden's titles of honour, 690. ed. fol. it was the custom of all persons, to write in the book, which they most often read, the things they wished most to remember. in petrarch's favourite virgil, is his memorandum of laura's death. memoires, ii. 493. p du cange, v. tegminatim. 256 scriptorium—domus antiquariorum. rate ordinis, and another which sams ordin, and another which says coats the importance which was annexed to this practice may be seen by referring to the rules of ruinartins in his apologia, c. for determining interpolations in manuscripts. what is done often is done carelessly; but to the credit of the monastic scribes, very few instances of bad writing have occurred during my researches. in one manuscript indeed, there is a shocking scrawl, which i think the writing of a nan; the lines being irregular, and the letters of various size and of rade make. writing was neglected by the anglo-saxons after the norman invasion.c in one point they were too careless. numerous titles of manuscripts are very indecisive of their contents. this is remarkably shown, by an instance supremely ridiculous. in the 13th century, richard de furnival wrote a bestiary, or treatise of the manners of animals, to which he sometimes annexed moral paraphrases, but mostly addresses to his mistress; these of course turn chiefly upon points of love and gallantry. to distinguish this manuscript from the bestiaries of other writers, the copyists entitled it "bestiarium amoris," i. e. the bestiary of loved a surpassing incongruity of terms and meaning. it is not the intention of this account to reprint the nouvelle diplomatique, or the various authors upon ancient writing; but it is worth while to notice, that leonard wirstlin, monk of s. udalrick, describes no less than one hundred different hands, the names of which are given by du cange.e a neat running epistolary hand is quite modern except among papers, written by lawyers. hamlet says, "i once did hold it, as our statists do, a baseness to write fair." • du cange, v. interlineatura. ms. cott. cleop. c. vi. p. 200. script. p. bed. 518, b. d notices des mss. v. 278. • v. scriptura. engressing vs immer sess nated a neater kind of woning these dunisation of muvierists. works admirably show the general tase of the middle ares. in matters of in and decoration, that is gorgeous hear less. the rich laced court-dress of the last century. simple elegance and airy lightness never appear in ancient furniture, or works of ingenuity. they perished with the conquests of the barbarians, and were revived with the classical taste, introduced by modera artists, within these few years. first painters of the age laminated manuscripts.h the in the national library at paris, is a superb history of the bible, of which m. camus has given an account expressly adapted to illustrate the paintings. he compares it with another manuscript of similar rich ornaments,¹ and his remarks apply to illuminated writings in general, matters excepted, which purely refer to the nature of the work. every painted column contains two pictures; the first represents what is passed, the second, that which is to ensue after the annunciation contained in the first painting. azure. the first initial letters of every article are richly adorned with gold and azure. the first letter of the latin text is gold; that of the translation azure. the alinea are terminated by strokes (traits) covered with gold and the first letter of every book is distinguished by very multiplied ornaments. the pages have a running title formed of capitals, alternately gold and azure. the initials and the capitals are placed upon a ground ornamented with extremely delicate touches red and blue.1 du cange, v. grossator. the age of classical taste ends with constantine, say all the works on the fine arts. 89. h mem. pour la vie de petrarque, i. 402, 403. 1 both mss. are marked 6829. the favourite colours of illuminers. warton, ii. 1 notices, vi. 109. scriptorium-domus antiquariorum. 257 the same artist as did the following sheet, on purpose that the disparity of the different styles might not be too perceptible.c the painting is in general a la gothe vellum was left without colour to form the ground of the pictures. the heads, the different parts of the body, the draperies, &c. are designed, and washed with an ink, approaching that which we call indian ink. the pic-nache. after having drawn the printures are then, properly speaking, black cameos: only in the upper part there is a little azure blue to represent the clouds. red is used to mark fire; green or blue, water; green for trees, and red to give effect to carnation tints: gold is employed for the crowns, vases, pieces of money, and the nimbi of saints.a there is no perspective or proportion observed. the men are as large as the gates, and as tall as the houses and trees. the figures are commonly slender, but the arms, hands, and feet are excessively long and slim: and the drawing very incorrect in the attitudes. the most original figures are those of devils. they are in very great number, and the artists appear to have exercised their talents in varying them. in general they have made of them beings of black colour, and hairy, armed with claws and horns, with a crook for a sceptre, and sometimes they have attached to their shoulders the wings of a bat: but what is singularly pleasant, is the form which they have given to the mouth, to make them grin, and the manner in which they have transformed into hideous heads, their bosoms, their legs, and the lower part of the belly; in short, their different attitudes. they are always in motion; and of extraordinary vivacity.b in the other manuscript the vellum is finer, and the pictures, instead of being lines and shading, are paintings; some in miniature, others en gonache, all heightened with gold and azure. the book is divided into sheets or compartments, each of eight pages or four leaves of vellum, and the last page of each sheet is generally appointed to a notices, vi. 110. p. 111. among the costumes, &c. is a handorgan, carried by a man, but played upon by a young woman. persons in bed are represented stark naked, as was the custom of the day; of which see strutt's dresses. cipal lines upon the vellum, they have put colours of a middling tint, upon which they have laid shades and lightse to form the draperies, and distribute the lights; but some pictures are real miniatures, where they have employed for every part the tints which are suited to them, without laying a first mass of colour. gold and sometimes silver are employed in two manners, in many of the paintings. sometimes they have begun by employing a mass, destined to give some force to the colour, which they have laid above, and they have seldom left any parts of their bed of gold apparent. sometimes they have applied fine gold as a last laying,' either by filets or in masses, by means of a mordant. further there are parts of gold, which they have polished h to adorn the frames of the pictures. the gold employed to ornament the capitals, is equally brightened. silver is used in the pictures to paint heraldry, and sometimes gold. all these pictures are of a dazzling lustre, when held up to the light; because in general, the white predominates, and not being painted in oil, it does not absorb a single ray of the sun, but reflects them all. antichrist is represented with three faces; one full face, two others in profile; three noses, three mouths, and only two eyes.k the artists who worked at this kind of painting, did not finish each picture separately, but performed successive operations upon the same painting. thus they bedded at first in gold and • p. 115. d this word is not in the french dictionaries. c des bruns and des clairs. en dernier couche. filet d'or, in boyer, is a fillet of gold on a book. bruni, which also signifies darkened. ¹ p. 115. k p. 118. in the history of ruth is a woman upon her knees, threshing corn with a flail. s 258 scriptorium-domus antiquariorum. silver, or rather in copper and tin, the parts to which these leaves of metal were to give effect: afterwards they laid on blue, green, or yellow upon many pictures, the whole in masses and flat, to darken or lighten it according to the lights and shades.a [portraits were taken upon parchment,b and some, excluding the want of relief from proper shades, are very beautiful. f.] allegorical figures occur, but they are in too bad taste to merit notice.c [fantastick interpolations show that the gout de singulier may not always proceed from the ennui du beau: the latter, in pure grecian taste, being utterly unknown in the middle age. f.] in a manuscript abridgment of universal history, the serpent who tempts eve has the head and body of a woman. this egyptianized painting accords with the text where it is said, that the tempter took the form of a serpent, with the head of a female.d caricatures are sometimes discoverable. in the livre de pierre salmon, a beautiful manuscript illuminated on purpose for charles the sixth, the french king, john sanspeur, duke of burgundy, is characterized in the illumination by his robe (semee de rabots), powdered with carpenters' planes. he had adopted this tool for a symbol, and said, that with his planes he would level france. the heads are portraits. that of pope alexander v. has too little resemblance to merit confidence. the line where the nose terminates is much too near that of the eyes, and the mouth too far from the nose. this imperfect resemblance exaggerates the faults of the original; and is therefore presumed to be a caricature. so far m. camus. a p. 120. b angl. sacr. ii. 385. notices, v. 173, 174, where are specimens. d notices des mss. v. 152. • notices, v. 416. [as this is only presumptive evidence, it is fit to note, that caricatures have been found at portici, &c. (caylus rec. iii. pl. 76. n. 1.) but they all or most turn upon the figure of an ass or ass's head. warton (sir tho. pope, p. 58) describes a bitter caricature of our queen mary; and see mr. douce on shakespeare. f.] two motives appear to be conspi cuous in respect to these beautiful manuscripts; one, that perusal might this be invited; the other, that they might be presents of value, for the art of writing was very unusual. petrarch, when at liege, had great difficulty to obtain ink to copy two orations of cicero; and what he did get was as yel low as saffron.f ervenius, an anglosaxon, was very skilful in writing and illuminating. he committed two books, the sacramentary and psalter, in which he had decorated the principal letters with gold, to the care of wulstan, when a boy. admiration of the workmanship invited wulstan to a studious perusal. but ervenius consulting advantage of the age, as affirmed, with the hope of greater reward, presented the sacramentary to canute, and the psalter to emma his queen.g du cange and various authors mention receipts for the colours, which i omit. where red occurred, to give it effect, an iron colour was laid, as a ground.h vignettes are not modern. du cange supposes that paginator means a person who adorned pages with pictures and vincolis, which he calls vignettes, both terms being evidently derived from the ornaments of foliage, which appeared in wood-cuts long after the invention of printing. the gilbertine rule prohibits hired writers, by which i apprehend is meant limners. however, there were such writers, or limners, at st. alban's, who had commons from the alms of the monks, and cellar, that they might not be delayed by going out to buy food.k they had the frequent drunken habits of artisans, who, because every man, says johnson, is discontented with his avocation, from the obligation to pursue it at all times, whatever be the state of his mind or will, too often abuse relaxation. f mem. pour la vie de petrarque, i. 207. angl. sacr. ii. 244. h gemmeticensis, 670. i dugdale's monast. ii. 767. k m. paris, 1063. 1 scriptorium-domus antiquariorum. 259 barclay, without knowing that stimulants, however injurious in a prudential and medical view and never a good means, prevent, by the providential extraction of good from evil, much hypochondriacal influence and tedium, which might end in insanity or suicide, says: but if thou begin for drinke to call and crave, thou for thy calling such good rewarde shall have, that men shall call thee malapart or dronke, or an abbey lowne, or limner of a monke. eglogue 2d. the invention of printing occasioned the following results. the scribes having less employment, there were very few good artists in this kind, and writing lost much of its beauty.a about the year 1546, limners and scribes were reduced to great distress for want of employ; b for besides printing, engraving, invented about 1460,c superseded the illumination of initials and margins. the last specimen was the lectionary d of cardinal wolsey at oxford.e besides the rule, it was inquired "whether the monks had made, taken, and received the king's age and succession notices, vi. 113. b warton, iii. 145. walpole's catalogue of engravers, p. 3. code of proper lessons for the year. spelm. gloss. • warton, iii. 146. according to act of parliament," f for they were obliged to record these, and the births of the royal family, as well as other public events.g bookbinding was occasionally very gorgeous: gold, relicks, silver plates, ivory, velvet, and other expensive adornments, were bestowed upon the books, relating to the church service, but not confined to them; h for we hear of a book of poems, finely ornamented, bound in velvet, and decorated with silver-gilt clasps and studs, intended for a present to the king.i books were written in purple vellum in order to exhibit gold or silver letters; and adorned with ivory tablets.k the most common binding was a rough white sheep-skin, lapping over the leaves sometimes, with or without immense bosses of brass, pasted upon a wooden board; and sometimes the covers were of plain wood, carved in scroll and similar work. there were formerly leaden books with leaden covers, and books with wooden leaves.m f ms. harl. 791. f. 25. g ms. cott. tiber. e. iv. p. 30. smith's catalogue, angl. sacr. i. 147, 622, 644. archæologia, xiii. 220, 221. i froissart, x. 127. du cange, v. membranum. 1 du cange, v. coopertum. decem scriptores, 2435. 8 2 260 studies of the monks. chapter xlv. studies of the monks. richard kidderminster, abbot of winchcombe, made his house a little university. he studied night and day in a small cell, and had a constant divinity lecture, a the divine offices were moderated to allow time for study; and exemption from learning by consequence of performing the daily services, in some constitutions, and from all churchduty, in others, were privileges of lettered persons. the friars too enacted, "that a greater opportunity might be afforded for the study of prayer,c that every day after complin was said, all the brethren except the infirm, those engaged out, and their servants, should shut themselves up either in the cloister, library, dormitory, or necessary, till the first bell of the day following." d elsewhere, however, there were the superior conveniences of appropriate studies furnished with presses and cabinets, either over the cloister, or annexed to a chapel in the dormitory, or, as is plain from davies, in the boarded division of the latter place. an abbot, in erasmus,f says, "i hist. et antiq. oxon. l. i. p. 248. see more of studies in § library. decem scriptores, 1935. willkins, conc. ii. 723. monast. ii. 708. c reading the psalter through, every day, was called the study of eloquence, i. e. reading. du cange, v. eloquentia. et ut studio orationis major præstetur occasio, volumus quod singulis diebus à dicto completorio, fratres omnes præter infirmos ac forenses et eis servientes, infra spatium comprehendens curiarum sevocatarum, (aut quid simile) claustrum, librarium, dormitorium, et secretæ naturalitatis locum, usque ad primum signum diei sequentis se recolligant et includent. ms. bodl. 1882. p. 47. b. e dec. script. 2146. 1935. leland's coll. i. 249. f abbatis et eruditæ colloq. 285. have sixty-two monks, yet you will not find a book in my bed-room.' that the monks had books of their own is clear, from william of malmesbury's acknowledgement, and chaucer's monk, although it was prohibited. still, however, the studies of the monks took a pleasurable rather than severe direction; for it seems they preferred ovid to augustine, and ulpian and trogus to the gospel of christ; and practised desultory reading, not to instruct themselves, but to get rid of the day. even these, it is probable, were not always found the inhabitants of their studies; for we find the appendages of the sportsman filling their prohibited chests,h ancient great coats, saddles, and spurs. hearne says, there were seldom more than five or six books in these private studies.i abbesses had studies.k hic enim (monachus) in manibus libentius gestat ovidium quam augustinum; avidius legit ulpianum et pompeium quam christi evangelium. cotidie novas excogitat occupationes, novas lectiones divisas non ad edificandum sed ad fallendum diei spatium. ms. harl. 1712. f. 23. b. f. 138. a. statuimus insuper ut nullus prorsus nisi pro officio sibi commisso arcam, sive cistam cum clave, sive armariolum, absque supprioris licentiâ speciali detinere præsumat, quæ cum prælatus clavem petierit ei sine difficultate tradatur. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 245. b. notwithstanding this, besides spurs and a saddle, i find, among the property of a deceased monk, armariola. cistæ duo magnæ et cistulæ cum omnibus aliis sc. argentum et aurum cum jocalibus pertinent. ad thesaurum. ms. harl. 1005. f. 69. b. nullus et claustralis capam pluvialem, (a large cloak, thrown over the other cloaths. strutt's dresses, ii. 156.) vel sellam, vel alia, ad equitatum pertinencia penes se retineat. ms. cott. jul. d. 11. f. 160. a. i lel. collect. vi. 87. * du cange, v. studiolum. prison. 261 chapter xlvi. prison. the arbitrary power of an abbot is supposed to have originated in the selfish considerations of benedict; but it should be remembered, that the severity of monastic duties necessarily required very extensive powers to maintain them. of this power they occasionally made a full use. alexander de langley, a monk of st. alban's, who was deranged and behaved sillily and haughtily, was, by order of the abbot, accused in chapter, and beat to a plentiful effusion of blood; but, as this did not humble him, the abbot sent him to the cell of binham, where he was solitarily imprisoned in fetters, and dying was buried in them.a very useful too was this place (though not appertaining to every house b) to vicious abbots. christopher levyns, one of henry's visitors, says of the prior of christ church, canterbury, "those monks who had informed against this prior, shall by him be poysoned or murthered in prysone, as the comen reporte of the monks of the same house, is, that he hathe murthered dyverse other." davies says, "within the infirmary, underneath the master's lodge, [he kept the keys of it;d and m. paris, 1051. the prison was called vade in pace, because those who were put into it were to stay there till death. du cange, v. vade, &c. b monast. ii. 568. c. g. north. aº 1444. c. iiii. ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. f. 124. a. ms. cott. claud. b. vi. f. 205. aliquo frawhen any monk was confined there, the monk's keepere brought the keys back, and brought and carried him back according to the directions of the abbot and chapter] was a strong prison, called the lying-house, ordained for great offenders; as for monks guilty of felony or adultery, where they were imprisoned in chains a whole year, without seeing any one, except the master of the infirmary, in letting down their meat through a trapdoor by a cord, and that at a great distance from the prisoners." he is correct: the clugniac statutes mention. the prison as a place accessible only by a ladder, without window or door. the fetters were some lighter, some heavier; and there were also a kind of stocks, or boice, handcuffs and iron collars, fastened by chains, through the wall on the outside.f "bishops used to imprison offending clerks there.g but if any of the temporal men belonging to the house offended in the premises, they were punished by the temporal law;" that is, in the monastic courts. tre in ergastulo truso, magister illius fratris claves feret, illumque secundum abbatis et capituli deliberationem ducet et reducet. id. in a visitation of hales abbey (ms. bibl. reg. e. 14, aº 1241) a keeper of the prison is ordered to be appointed. f du cange, v. boga, boia. 8 wilkins, concil. iii. 495. 262 monastic courts. chapter xlvii. monastic courts. these at canterbury were held in the conventual church. they had all kinds of cognizance of their own men, except judgment of life and limb, in some places; and in others more extensive powers. if in the abbots' courts justice was not done, the founder and his heir were to compel it, and this sometimes even in his own conventual court; or there was an appeal to that of the king. sometimes the monks obtained from a founder, that, if any of their servants should do any injury to his people, justice should be sought in their court. there were servants of the monastery of hexham, who used to serve summonses, levy distresses, and carry rods. it is singular, that that spirit of equivocating plain language (which marks modern pleading, which every honest jury should, where possible, overrule, and which had its origin, in my opinion, in scholastic subtlety, or quibbling on weak sides, corrupting the exquisite ratiocination and perfect discrimination of the civil law), should, so early as the reign of the first edward, have compelled the abbot of st. mary's, york, to petition that the general terms of cognizance of pleas, murder, and other crimes, which designated his legal privileges, should be more particularized, on account of the subtlety of the moderns. the decem scriptor. 1982. church-porches are known to have been law-courts. julius (pontiff a. 340,) enacted that no clerk should be brought to trial in public, except into a church. b monast. i. 202. 377. 1055, ii. 911. c id. ii. 92. d rot. parl. 18 edw. i. no. 146. (vol. i.) of the subtlety of feudal claims take the following anecdote : in the 14th century the augustinian monastery of windsheim in the province of overyssel wished to erect a windmill, but the neighbouring lord objected, saying, that the wind in that district belonged to him. the monks complained to the bishop, who gave them permission, affirming, in manerial courts (and perhaps the others) were held by the seneschal,e and wolsey orders, that the canon, who sat with the seneschal in holding the courts, should behave so piously, and so seriously attend to the benefit of the house, that he should seem rather to regard this than his own recreation.f the author of the plowman's tale charges the monks with slighting their tenants on these occasions, and rejoicing the higher they were amerced. it was, i presume, in these courts, that tenants sought or purchased that licence of marrying their daughters,g which was the real marchet tenure, so absurdly made obscene, and was no other than what has been elsewhere called maiden rents.h the king's justiciaries held gaol-deliveries of the prisoners.i the form of a trial in one of these courts is thus related by a monk of st. augustine's, canterbury. certain flemings were brought into the abbot's court of stonor, in kent, for murder. they were arraigned by the seneschal and court, to which they pleaded not guilty, and placed themanger, that the wind in the whole province (of utrecht) was his property. however absurd this seems, the roman law ruled, that all the air over a person's houses or estates was his own; some emperors even had tribute for air and shade; and it was decided at naples, that a criminal was entituled to sanctuary who hung by his hands from a window which overlooked a church-yard.t houses in cities are pushed aloft, as high as the proprietor pleases, in the present day, but only because it in. jures no one. • monast. ii. 551. f id. ii. 569. memorandum, quod anno, &c. die, cepit ricardus avystaine de draitone licentiam maritandi agnetem filiam suam. registr. de abingd. ms. harl. 209. p. 12. i monast. i. 242. watson's halifax, 268. * beckman's inventions, i. 269. + cujacius, l. 10 obs. c. 7. petr. greg. syn. tagm. l. 3. c. 10. n. fin. and the roman laws quoted in solorzanus, l. 3. c. 3. p. 387. monastic courts. 263 selves upon the town of stonor. the men of stonor were then ordered to inquire into their guilt or innocence, and to give judgment accordingly. they returned them innocent, and the seneschal, in the presence of the whole court, acquitted them. goods and chattels of the convicts belonged to the king, or, by charter from him, to the abbot. instances appear of the issue of summonses three days before the holding the court; of records of proceedings; of perquisites; and of numerous thieves being taken and hanged by their authority, as a result of the privilege of infangentheoff; of the coroner entering their precincts to do his duty; of the responsibility of the abbot in cases of escape; and of the king's justiciaries taking cognizance of prisoners, in crimes to which the abbot's privilege did not extend.a a w. thorne, 1839. 1917. 1919. 1928. 1930. 1933. 2021. if i rightly understand this monk in p. 1843, men were imprisoned for coming there in arms. the history of ely, c. xxvii. mentions a large court held at the abbey door. w. thorne also mentions citations, punishments for contempt, &c. as now. 264 misericord. chapter xlviii. misericord. this was a hall in which were tables and a dresser. the word misericord also implied stated indulgences and allowances, according to circumstances, of food, drink, wine or beer, or cloathing or bedding, beyond the rule.a the use of this office is in part explained by the following injunction. also, that all and singular brethren and monks of this monastery take the refection altogether in a place called the misericorde soch dayes as they ete fleshe, and all other dayes in the refectory." b by the constitutions of ottoboni, two parts of the convent were to eat in the refectory; but the statute which forbad flesh being eaten in the convent, the monks used to evade, by leaving a few in the refectory, and eating meat elsewhere, and those who did dine in the fratry also took meat at supper in another place. to this the constitution, or rather permission, just quoted, alludes. but, as the word additionally implies the relaxations granted to the monks, i shall take this opportunity of discussing them. misericords, established by the authority and dispensations of abbots, were, says lyndwood, in some places, exonerations from the duties of the choir and cloister, granted to the monks alternately by weeks. an account was given in to the chapter how they behaved during that time; and they were not to refresh themselves but in the presence of two seniors, who were to go out from the monastery, return with them, converse with them in the misericord, and restrain their levities by reproof, which was the especial privilege du cange, v. misericordia. b ms. cott. cleop. e. 1v. f. 22. athon. 150. and c. g. northampt. a° 1444. c. vii. see too erasmi ixoyoþaгia. d lyndw. 211, 212. it of seniors over juniors. other writers,e misled by the glossarist of matthew paris, have called a misericord a guzzle of wine,f an imperfect definition, taken from the refreshment of that liquor granted during the above period.s seems that a license was thus granted to the monks of conversing, disputing on learned topicks, talking of business, histories, tales, news of the world, and raillery; and wolsey, finding that the augustinian canons absented themselves from the choir for whole weeks, and neglecting the regular observances, mingled in dishonourable games, and the company of suspected persons, ordered that the canons, not singly, but in a number together, regulated by the superior, and accompanied by one or two elder brethren, should recreate themselves, not in the towns, villages, and taverns, but in sunny, large, and pleasant places, near their houses, where they should be satisfied with religious and modest exercise of the body; not mix with seculars, or go to houses of laymen to eat and drink without leave of the superior, but carry their provisions with them; and, on every such day of recreation, return at night, unless they stopped at lewis's thanet, p. 110. f these charities did not consist of wine only, but cowell says of beer, indeed of various refreshments, for we find a charity, consisting of a sallad, seasoned with honey. (du cange, v. oxgorafius.) g de vino misericordiarum. decem scriptores, col. 2039. 1. 21. h dev. vie mon. ii. 650. i perhaps there is an allusion here to the arietem levare, a game among the english religious, forbidden in several of our councils. the ram was raised upon wheels, and the standard of the church preceded the sport with it. bishop kennet supposes that it was a kind of quintain, i. e. a mark at which they tilted with poles. (du cange, v. arielem levare.) concerning the quintain, perhaps strutt has not quoted menestrier of tournaments and the disquisition in the mem. acad. des. inscript. v. xx. misericord. 265 the granges with the abbot, then at any of those places.a "sum is ald and feeble, and is the lesse dread of," b was a monastic maxim; and accordingly, says the golden legend, "when a relygyous man hath contynued in his ordre fyfty yere, thenne he shall be admytted to make hys jubilee, and that made, he is pardonned, and hathe remyssion of many observauntes before he bounden unto." c was every convent was divided into three orders. juniors, who, up to the 24th year of their profession bore all the burdens of the choir, cloister, and refectory. the next sixteen years they were exonerated from the duties of chantries, epistle, gospel, and similar labours. they undertook the important business of the house. from the 40th to the 50th year they were called seniors, and were excused from the offices of the cellar, almonry, and kitchen. in the 50th year they became sempectæ.d these sempectae had a chamber in the infirmary, with a boy to wait upon them, and a junior for a companion. they went in and out about any part of the house without restriction; were never, from an elegant refinement, told any thing unpleasant, or received any offence; and thus they waited their dissolution.f the consequences of privileges and exemptions in favour of old monks were bad: for they took the liberty of examining, judging, and censuring every thing; and there were a monast. ii. 569. ms. cott. cleop. c. vi. fol. 4. a. c f. cxi. a. d du cange, v. sempecta. • συμπαικται. du cange. in mr. gough's second appendix to his history of croyland, p. 283, it is supposed a corruption of senecta: but the authorities cited in du cange will best settle the question. the benedictine editors were monks; and they make the word greek. f ingulphi hist. 504. ed. savile; in which edition the reader will observe, that the licentiam habet, &c. belongs to the prior and not to the sempecta, as is plain from the oxford edition, p. 50, which supplies the defect of sir h. savile's ms. (see præf. angl. sac. and watson's halifax, for an account of sir henry's ms.) as many superiors as old men in the monastery, which banished piety, ruined discipline, and introduced a scandalous irregularity and confusion.5 favouritism and cynical asperity are often found together in aged persons. 66 henry's visitors allowed the abbot to goe out and take three or four of his brethren with him" at inclination; and also allowed the "said abbot to give the prior, supprior, and other officers, being suche as he shall thinke men of discretion, licence thre or four tymes at the most in the yeere, to goo abrod for their refresse and recreacon, taking to him or them so having license, four of the other brethren at the least." this was a hard constitution for obedientiaries and monks, who, as before has been shown, took great liberties in this respect; though the canons, which allowed them to visit friends and relatives, even in foreign parts,i with leave of the abbot, only granted the indulgence very seldom (only for once in a year was the request of the articles against them), on good cause, and for a small time, and with a companion.k the monks mutually kissed each other, when going out.1 the obedientiaries who had horses were then bound to lend them to the monks, if the request was not made too often. john, 21st abbot of st. alban's, wishing to spare the trouble and expences of monks travelling, who did not abound with money, made a statute, that if they could not finish their journey in time to get to st. alban's, they should go to any of the nearest monastic farms. by the decretals of wolsey, for the augustinian canons, no one was to go out without leave, and the term of his return appointed; not to have dogs or hawks with him; not to drink in the town, m s dev. vie monast. i. 331. ms. cott. cleop. e. 1v. f. 49. or for study. see richard of cirencester's itinerary by stukeley, preface. * m. par. 1331, 1100. reyn. append. 166. 1 du cange, v. osculum pacis. c. g. north. aº 1444, c. v. " m. paris (2d) 1043, 266 misericord. unless sick or by special permission; to have such companions as the superior appointed, and money found from the common stock; a the well-known pictures of chaucer's monk, and lidgate, render it unnecessary for me to describe their habits as travellers.b by the norman institutes, the religious did not receive both benedictions of going and returning, unless he staid out for more than two days; but either benediction alone, as the circumstances of his going out or return were within that period. this benediction of going out was never given at vespers or complin; and a monk, who had received it, if the bell of the hour rung before he left the cloister, returned to the church, though, if he had passed the court-gate, he staid out of the choir. he did not enter the cloister, when gartered or girdled, or with a cope on. when they said their hours on their journey, or made a prayer, they kneeled, but never bowed, nor upon a mistake begged pardon, except they were in church. on such days as the hours in the convent were said on the misericords, if on horseback they descended, and having begun the hours, and taken a venia, they pulled the gloves from their hands and hoods from their heads, and re-mounting their horses, finished them. if they had a necessity of speaking, they began afresh when that was over. until the hour was sung, in an inn, or when they ate in their frocks or hoods only, they said the psalmody, which they could not sing at night on horseback. they also said complin before going to sleep; and, if interrupted by a necessity of speaking before mattins, began it afresh, and afterwards observed silence. whereever they were they had a light burning all night. eagerness, says petrarch, to execute your orders has made of me a traveller by night, against my character and principles. thus it monast. ii. 567. b attended with three or four horsemen. hutchinson's durham, ii. 92. • dum hora canitur. memoires &c. ii. 142. was deemed irreputable to journey by night. the constitutions allowed a nun to be absent only from disease; for recreation; to make or receive a cure; to console sick parents, or attend their funerals; for three days only when absent for the sake of relaxation, and in case of illness for six only, after. cure, unless by episcopal dispensation. a permission of making pilgrimages, and of visiting relatives from their own inclination, or light occasions, wantonly granted, is reprobated in visiting injunctions.g ing injunctions. an episcopal license on this occasion only mentions the request for absence by a noble female, and enables the prioress to grant it, adding, that the nun must have a companion, and might go on horseback, though in opposition to the customs of the house. the gilbertine nuns, in their way to the general chapter, travelled in carriages, and shunned all hospitia of religious persons, unless there was a habitation of women there. they did not talk by the way; and no speech was made unheard by the attendant canon and lay brother.k-erasmus gives an anecdote of two nuns on a visit, at which he was present. they were at the house of a relative. the servant_by forgetfulness had omitted to bring their book of prayers. a great disturbance ensued. they did not dare to eat their supper, without first saying their evening prayers, nor would they accept e female medical talents, and theirs, among others, are spoken of by mr. warton and others. f lyndw. 212. g monast. i. 910.925. forbidden. monast. ii. 787. ilicentia pro moniali exeundi de domo sua. p. &c. priorissæ, &c. precibus charissimæ nobis in christo filiæ dominæ j. consanguinis domini wla militis nostri dioc' favorabilius inclinatus, ut ad eam justis et honestis ex causis, domina m. hujus dicti vestri prioratus commonialis, cum aliâ ejusdem prioratus ipsam associante accedere valeant; valeant equestri, non obstantibus vestris consuetudinibus contrariis, dispensatione, ex causis licitis nobis sufficienter doctis, in quantum de jure possumus, quatinus obedientiam et honestatem disciplinæ regularis, literarum tenore præsentium duximus indulgendum, &c. &c. ms. harl. 2179. * monast. ii. 706. misericord. 267 of any other book than their own. in the mean while, the whole house was eager for supper. what was to be done? the servant returned to his horse, and fetched the book, when night was far advanced. the prayers were said, and it was ten o'clock (a very late hour in that age) when they sat down to supper.a farm-houses were anciently used as inns; and there is a grant of a place on condition of paying twelve-pence annually, and finding an hospitium for the prior and chapter passing that way; though no further than the space of the house to stay in. william, abichthyophagia inter colloq. 428. smythe's lives of the berkeley family. ms. • monast. ii. 818. p. 145. bot of st. alban's, bought a house at london for the accommodation of his monks, with a chapel, numerous beds, orchard, stable, kitchen, court, garden, and well; and a perpetual servant resided there to keep it. the punishment of exceeding the allotted time of absence, according to the constitutions of benedict the twelfth, was a severe discipline. this liberty was very difficultly granted at st. alban's even after three years continuance in the state of a novice.f m. paris, p. 1057. • he was led naked from the gate, in his shirt, carrying his cloaths and a ferula, to the chapter, and there beaten. wilkins's concil. ii. 608. (const. bened. xii. § de licentiâ eundi extra monasterium.) 1 m. paris, 1031. -268 sanctuary. chapter xlix. sanctuary. this was the method by which anciently the rigour of common law was moderated. it allowed the criminal time for making restitution, or under the anglo-saxon laws, he must have suffered immediate pains and punishments.a the old sanctuary of westminster consisted of two churches one over another, in the form of a cross.b margaret, countess of shrewsbury, was said to have hired one chamberlain, a sanctuary man at westminster, to meet will. marquess berkeley with a great company on the road, and assassinate him. as soon as this news, though false, came to the abbot's ears, he sent for this chamberlain, and called the archdeacon and others to examine the matter, and because the story was raised by chamberlain's assent, the abbot decreed, that he should be brought to an open place in the sanctuary, on purpose for punishment, and made him to be arrayed in papers printed with signes of untroth, sedition, and doubleness, made him go before the procession in this dress, and afterwards set him in the stocks, that the people might see him.d at durham certain men lay in two chambers over the north door to let in offenders whenever they knocked, however late; after which they tolled the galilee bell, in notice of such * hutchinson's durham, i. 39. b archæol. i. 39. • some monasteries had archdeacons over their own jurisdictions; as that of worcester, &c. smythe's berkeley ms. 539. event. when the prior heard of it, he sent orders that they should keep within the sanctuary, church, and church-yard, and wear a black gown with a yellow cross, called st. cuthbert's cross (a token of the privilege granted to that saint's shrine); and that they should lie upon a grate made only for that purpose, adjoining to the galilee south door. they had also meat, drink, and bedding, for thirtyseven days, being only such as were necessary for such offenders,e until the prior and convent could get them conveyed out of the diocese. accounts were given in to the king of the goods of felons,f which, it seems, were sometimes distrained by conventual bailiffs, and preserved in the house till their persons were sent to gaol. this privilege, to be granted by the king alone, was not to be claimed without charter, and extended only to criminal offences. living in sanctuary was very expensive, and the demands excessively extortionate ;i bawds and whores took refuge there.k e in the gravamina eccles. anglican. art. 22, it is said, "when any fugitive flies to the protection of the church, church-yard, or stair-case of the church, he shall be guarded by lay-keepers, because he cannot expect to be provided for in viands by the church." hence the expence of living in sanctuary, hereafter noted. f jones's index to records, vol. ii. tit. beaulewe and berkyng. s monast. ii. 348, 9. staveley on churches, p. 170. paston's letters, ii. p. 10. maitland's london, p. 771. pl. in stowe, 442, &c. and mr. pegge on the subject. dependent churches. 269 chapter l. dependent churches. according to the council of chalcedon, a decree of alexander ii. and a general chapter of the year 1215, monks were not to preach to the people, under penalty in the latter of deposition to an abbot, and expulsion to a simple religious. the idea was, however, reprobated by their own body:b and athone says positively, (very ancient constitutions allow them to do parochial duties so far back as the seventh century,d) that a religious could be instituted in secular churches by leave of the bishop, abbot, and the common law, without a dispensation, and that he might live upon his benefice, like another rector. an ordinance too of a late general chapter, ordered that those who were able and fit should preach, and they did so both in their convents and in public.e visitation injunctions forbid interest being made for benefices; and the dismission of a religious from his house to fill one, mentions good life and morals, the consent of the house for his departure, the episcopal dispensation, and superior's license.f burn says, that rectors only, not vicars, were expected to preach; sometimes all who were ordained priests. as to vicarages, it appears that they "scarcely among xx set one sufficient vicar to preach;" and that in some places dev. vie monast. ii. 21. 184, 5. b reyner, 245. malmsb. 112. c p. 146. reyn. app. 102. lel. de scriptor. p. 146, &c. ne sollicitent seu laborare faciant seculares pro beneficiis. ms. mus. ashmol. 1519. f. 26. b. (ord. aug.) vitæ ac morum honestas-de collegio nostro liberum dimittimus quatinus de jure, &c. dispensatio episcopi, &c. licentiâ magistri dicti hospitalis in hac parte petitâ primitus et obtentâ. ms. harl. ut sup. f. 88. a. where the form of the abbot's writ for arresting vagabond monks, f. 88, and other formula. angl. sacr. ii. 487. there was preaching "but ones in a year."h such vicars were, in some places, answerable to the bishop for the cure of souls; to the monks for temporals. there were often in these churches peculiarities, (as being in the local site of cells,) thus described by mr. hasted :-" at the west end of the chancel (lenham) there are sixteen stalls, eight on each side, though of a different size, for the use of the monks of st. augustine's, when they visited their estate in this parish, and for such other of the clergy as should be present at the services of the church."k dormitories, &c. were annexed to the rectories, for accommodation of the monks.¹ if the benefice was given to the table of the monks, and so not appropriated in the common form, but granted by way of union in full right, it was served by a temporary curate, belonging to their own house, and sent out as occasion required. the like liberty of not appointing a perpetual vicar was sometimes granted by dispensation, in benefices not annexed to their tables, in consideration of the poverty of the house, or nearness of the church.m to their vicarages the abbot presented;" and in those belonging to the alien priories, there was particular neglect of duty.o "sacralegious monks buyers of churches," selden's tythes, 4to. 1618. p. 487. the recall of canons in the præmonstratensian order, who officiated in cures, is insisted on with vehemence in biblioth. præmonst. i. 837. 1 monast. ii. 854. hist. of kent, v. 439. see too iii. 511. ed. 8vo. 1 angl. sacr. i. 146. m gibson and burn. n monast. i. 297, 8. • selden's tythes, 106. henry's injunctions charge the abbot with taking the revenues of churches to his own use. 270 dependent churches. says gualo britannus. chapels were built on the manerial demesnes from the fear of war.b pensions from these churches were common; and, by a synod held in the reign of the first henry, it appears the monks so stripped the churches of their revenues, that the officiating priests could scarcely live. by some regulations it seems, that when churches were vacant, the keys were brought to the chapter, and the revenues taken possession of by the abbot and convent; and the abbot • sacrilegis monachis emptoribus ecclesiarum, composui satyram, &c. ms. cott. tit. a. xx. f. 105. & fabr. bibl. m. æv. iii. 322. capellam, quam pater meus tempore regis stephani propter metum guerræ construxit. registr. abbat. de winchcombe pen. dom. sherborne, fol. 431. e eadmeri hist. novor. p. 68. bound to present within forty days. by others, the keys were brought to the chapter, or prior of the manor; an inventory was taken of all the books, vestments, and other moveables; the above prior was to appoint some priest to do the duty; to take care of the profits of the benefice; to be present (unless any one was sent on purpose by the abbot) at the institution of the incumbent; and to cite him (upon neglect of so doing, when suspension was the consequence), to come and do fealty in the convent. delinquent clerks, at least in exempt houses, were suspended and excommunicated by the abbot's commissary. the prior of the manor was to see that no new chantries were made.d ■ w. thorne, p. 1956. 1961. 1980. c. xxvii. sect. 7. cells-granges. 271 chapter li. cells-granges. cells were either places of recreation, where the monks used to stop for this purpose by turns; or where monks of bad character were sent,b and others sometimes by the abbot in a fit of passion. it was thought a great grievance to be sent to remote cells, or from cell to cell; for the people used to say, "this man has done something bad, or the abbot hates him, and envies him, because he is better than himself, or contradicts his errors, and reproves his excesses.d the monks resident were to conform to the practice of their abbies in respect to divine service, sleeping in dormitories, and other religious practices. it was the custom antia dec. scriptores, 1937. leland's collect. ii. 330. chapel and infirmary annexed to them. lewis's thanet, 154. also a dormitory, angl. sacr. i. 146. b the bad behaviour of the monks in them is sufficiently shown by the following extract: "monachus quidam sagiensis coenobii de cellâ quadam in partibus angliæ longinquis ad aliam cellam loci ejusdem remotis in walliæ finibus super mare milverdicum et hibernicum gyrovagando discurrens, ne solus esset in viâ, quia væ soli,-non socium sibi, sed sociam elegit; ejus turpitudo terque quaterque turpiter deprehensa fuit. adeo quidem quod à castellanis parcium illarum demum captus et in carcerem missus, sociaque ipsius et confusionis causâ ribaldis exposita fuerat et garcionibus prostituta. tales autem honores et tales honestates ex monachis ad cellulam missis ordine monastico pervenire solent. ms. cott. tiber. b. 13. a certain monk, who was rambling about from a cell in the remote parts of england to another in wales, lest he should be alone on his journey, took a companion on his way; not a he one, but a she one; three or four times he was most unluckily detected; and at last put into gaol by some castellans of that neighbourhood, whilst his poor lady was exposed to all the indecencies of the rabble among them. such honours and such graces, says giraldus, adorn the monastic order, from the monks who are sent to cells. cc. g. north. a° 1444, c. x. d m. paris, 1046, 7. prior vero in cellis, quanto frequentius commode possit, intersit matutinis, nec extra dormitorium jacere præsumat, nisi ad minus quatuor de fratribus in dormitorio ipso absente remaneant. ms. cott. claud. e. iv. f. 242. b. ently, when any of the monks belonging to a cell went out upon business, not to take refreshment out of the cell.f the priories were much sought after even by novices; and it seems that they were matters of commerce; that the abbot, in granting a farm of them, received or required securities; that the priors made dishonest contracts, unjust claims, and sold too dear for a time. certain alien priories chose their own prior, were entire societies within themselves, received the revenues for their own use, and paid only a yearly pension, as an acknowledgment to the parent-house. foreign abbies could sometimes compel any monk of the subject cells, except the prior and cellarer, to come to them when wanted.k they were places of enjoyment for the foreign superiors. william of exeter, abbot of grestain, in normandy, a house which had property in england, used to stay above two years at a time, upon pretence of conventual business in this country. a preceptory or commandery was a convenient mansion belonging to the knights hospitalers, of which sort they had several on their different estates, in each of which they had a society of their brethren placed to take care of their lands and rents in that neighbourhood. the respective priors, or preceptors, accounted to the order in general, for the overplus of the profits of the respective estates; but in process of time, a certain rent called a responsion was paid instead. a mark was paid by cells f du cange, v. responsum. 8 ms. roy. libr. 8 f. xvii. sect. cuidam novitio, qui affectabat prioratum. h m. paris, 1098. 1 hasted's kent, 8vo. viii. 180. k monast. i. 595. 1 du monstier's neustria pia, p. 532. collinson, iii. 97. 272 cells-granges. sometimes as a token of dependence,a and procurations upon the decease of abbots. at santoft, in the county of lincoln, a cell of st. mary's, york, a mastiff was granted to the monk to keep his house, a croft for out-door animals, and whatever he could gain by the common marsh, and things sold for his use. it is singular, that giraldus cambrensis should say that the cistercians avoided all the bad consequences of cells in the irregularities of their inhabitants, by having none, and remedying all defects by visitors and chapters. the monks used to reap and make hay themselves.c in the rules of st. victor, the brethren who staid at cells were to be three in every place, if possible, or two at least. in food, and clothing, and the tonsure, they did not vary from the common institution. they kept silence at table, and did not speak in the church. they sung complin at an early seasonable hour in summer and winter, and did not run about the village or elsewhere.f a good prior is recorded for paying more money than his farm amounted a monast. i. 340. c id. i. 405. b id. ii. 347. d circumspectè vero cistercienses in hiis et similibus cavendis sibi providerunt, dum et cellis per totum ordinem carent, et cuncta supervacanea, et honestati ordinis contraria per visitatores et capitula now resecar icurarunt. ms. cott. tiber. b. 13. kingswood was considered as a cell of tinterne, and so de cæteris. e henry, vi. 175. du cange, v. obedientia. to; for selling the wool well, and making good granges. by some regulations he was ordered to see that chambers and gowns were provided for the use of the monks who came there by turns for recreation; and not to erect buildings above a certain cost, except sea-walls, and things of that kind. the nuns too held manors under the care of a prioress.g granges were the farms and abbatial residences, and parks were often annexed to them. thomas lord berkeley, 18 edward i. being ill, went to a grange of the abbot of st. augustine's, canterbury, for change of air, till he recovered. the abbot's bill came to 2d. which the abbot received. upon the grange at cuddesdon, in oxfordshire, there were, it seems, corn, cattle, common utensils, benches, tables, forms, and "a carte, the wheles bound with iron." i the housekeeper, or hospitalis frater grangiæ, has been already mentioned. in a synod of cologn, held anno. 1300, it appears, that persons hung torches and letters annexed, at the gates of abbies and granges, in which they threatened fires, homicides, &c. unless a certain sum of money was given them in a limited time.k w. thorne, 1931. 2008, c. xxvii. sect. 7. smythe's berkeley ms. p. 179. ms. harl. 607. p. 7. a. du cange, v. teda. song-school. 273 chapter lii. song-school.a "this school," says davies, "was built within the church, and was neatly wainscotted within, round about, two yards high, and had a desk from one end of the school to the other to lay their books on. the floor was boarded for warmness, and round about it long forms were fastened in the ground for the children to sit on: and the place where the master sat and taught was all close boarded for warmness. his office was to teach the six children to sing and play on the organs every principal day, when the monks sang their high mass, and at even song; b but when the monks were at mattins, and service at midnight, one of them played on the organ himself and none else. the master had his chamber adjoining to the song-school, where he lodged, and his diet in the prior's hall, among the prior's gentlemen, and his other necessaries were supplied at the common charge." gregory had a whip, with which he threatened the young clerks and singing boys, when they were out, and failed in the notes. they also fasted the day before they were to chant, and constantly ate beans. erasmus says, ■ musick was so prevalent in the middle age, that even whistling was a fashion and amusement, being asked for by an archbishop.* b the faucetum or pitch-pipe was used in some orders. cowell, v. faucetum. e hawkins's musick, i. 396. * sir r. c. hoare's giraldus, ii. 84. "we have introduced into the churches a certain elaborate theatrical species of music, accompanied with a tumultuous diversity of voices. all is full of trumpets, cornets, pipes, fiddles, and singing. we come to church as to a play-house; and for this purpose ample salaries are expended on organists and societies of boys, whose whole time is wasted in learning to sing. not to mention the great revenues which the church squanders away on the stipends of singing-men, who are commonly great drunkards, buffoons, and chosen from the lowest of the people. these fooleries are so agreeable to the monks, especially in england, that youths, boys, &c. every morning sing to the organ the mass of the virgin mary with the most harmonious modulations of voice, and the bishops are obliged to keep choirs of this sort in their families." d at the singing and grammar-schools of the convent of norwich, the masters, after induction by the archdeacon, generally published the bishop's inhibition, prohibiting all other persons to teach grammar or singing in the city.e schools were attached to religious houses, as early as the seventh century.f d warton's sir t. pope, 427. e parkins's norwich, 269. taylor's index monast. pref. iii. t 274 common house. chapter liii. common house. "on the right hand," says the same writer, "at going out of the cloysters into the infirmary was the common house. it was instituted to have a fire constantly by day in winter for the use of the monks, who were allowed no other fire; but the master and officers of the house had their own several fires. a garden and bowling alley belonged to the said house, towards the water, for the novices sometimes to recreate themselves, leave being first granted; their master attending to see to their good order. in this house once in the year, betwixt martinmas and christmas,a the master of it kept a dec. 14th. du cange says,-"the antiphonæ majores de 0, 0: the antiphonars beginning by the interjection o, which are sung seven days before the nativity of christ." see too cowell, v. 0. his o sapientia, a solemn banquet, at which the prior and convent were entertained with figs, raisins, ale, and cakes, but not to superfluity or excess. here, with the prior's leave, they warmed themselves when needful. du cange calls pyrale the conventual hypocaust or fire place, in which the chapter was celebrated, and where the rod of discipline was hung up [over the fire-place]. eckhard has this passage: "being tied to a pillar of the pyralis, he was severely beaten with rods." the chapter and common house were certainly, however, distinct rooms, at least in most abbies. b du cange, v. pyralis. mints-exchequer. 275 chapter liv. mints-exchequer. the abbatial mints, of early saxon origin, had the stamps given them to coin with as incident to that privilege, which in some houses was soon lost.a the abbot placed a keeper over it.b in a charter of reading abbey it seems the money was coined there at the abbot's expence, and sent to the exchequer.c exchequer. at ely was a chamber with a square table in it for calculation. it was also called countingroom; or cubiculum computatorium.e gervase of tilbury describes an exchequer table as square, about ten feet long and five broad, covered with a black clock, divided by stripes in the manner of a chess-board. summing, for want of the arabick numerals, being a most difficult process, this cloth was for the arithmetical process by counters, of which the monks struck several, still known by the name of abbey pieces. mr. pinkerton gives some account of the process, but it applies to one method only. one was, where the a leake's historical account of english money, pp. 17. 50. dec. script. 1816. d angl. sacr. i. 646. du cange, v. saccarium. c id. 92. • id. i. 779. table had six lines. 1. units, 2. tens, 3. hundreds, 4. thousands, 5. tenthousands, 6. hundred-thousands. where there were no lines, there were set in their stead, 66 so many counters as shall need, for each line one." in the merchant's method, the lowest line served for pence, the next above for shillings, the third for pounds, the fourth for scores of pounds; the space between was never occupied but by one counter, which above the pence signiged 6d. above the shillings 10s. above the pounds £10. the auditor's method made one counter at the left of a line signify 5, at the right 10.8 before counters, stones were used, the augrim stones of chaucer,h the npo and calculi of the greeks and romans, and the use of them was the first arithmetick taught to their children. upon a bas-relief of the capitol is a trajan and plotina; near them is an abacus in the hands of a young man, upon which are placed ranks of counters.i mellis's ground of arts, b. 1. 1632. the instructions occupy 43 pages. astle's writing, 183. diog. laert. solon, 39. juven. xi. 131. caylus, rec. vii. pl. 7. no. 3, 4, et alii. t 2 276 kitchen. chapter lv. kitchen. galbert, in the life of charles earl of flanders,a says, that the church of st. donatian was built round, and high roofed, with bricks and earthen materials only that fire might not burn it. the kitchen of glastonbury, and others, was octagonal, had no wood about it, and the smoke escaped, or rather steam, either by concealed chimnies or from a turret in the roof. at stanton-harcourt were shutters above, which were opened or shut according to the direction of the wind.b kitchens anciently were much larger concerns than at present; as will appear from the following details of their departments and apparatus. a large pastery with five ovens new built, some of them fourteen feet deep.c a great kitchen with four ranges, and a boiling place for small boiled meats.d a boiling house for the great boiler.e bellows for in the thirteenth century there were bellows-blowers in royal kitchens, who were also to take care, when the soup was on the fire, that it was neither burnt nor smoked.f dresser. a term out of the kitchen, given to the sideboard, furnished with plate.g trigoni. versatile gibbets for hanging cauldrons over the fire.h perpendicula. handles or chains, by which cauldrons were carried.i copper and brazen vessels, tinned as a n. 62. b grose. • nichols's progresses, 3. this was the common size of even public ovens. d nichols, ubi supra. f joinville, i. 409. e nichols, ubi supra. du cange, v. dressorum, dretectorium. h du cange. ithus an old poet in du cange, 64 cum perpendiculo defert ancilla lebetim." now.k the romans lined theirs with silver. kitchen towels.¹ irons, in the fire-places for a prodigious number of spits and stoves.m large chopping-blocks." massy wooden tables, hollowed out into a sort of basons, by way of kneading troughs for pastry." poker and tongs. tongs, as now, but larger: the poker, called fire-forke, ended in a fork.p the process of malting is of classical antiquity; 9 and in the brewhouses were coppers, mash-vats, leaden troughs (instead of wooden coolers), set in the ground or on curbes, &c.r in a manuscript in the ashmole museum, no. 1519. fol. 141. b. is the following inventory of the minor culinary articles, viz. "in coquind, two pannes, a kettell, a littil pot, a bassen, a bassen with holis [i. e. a colander], a chawfer, a bras mortar and pestell, a chawfing dish, two spetis, a brandlet [and-iron], a skimmer, and a laddell of latten, xi platters, xi dishes, vii sawcers [saucepans], four potts, a great pann, ii rakis [racks], ii gridiryns, bufet, tongs, fireforke [poker], tray, pott for sauces," jack [with wheels in dugd. monast. eccl. coll. iii. 186.] udalrick, in the customs of the clugniacks, mentions sleeves used in the kitchen, lest the shirts of the brethren should be dirtied; and gloves, that they might not burn their hands in moving the caldron on the fire. ber* du cange, v. stagnatus. 1 du cange, v. torsorium culina. britton's architect. antiq. ii. 78. p id. ii. p. 99. • ibid. a du cange, v. torra. n ibid. du cange, v. tap-troughe. warton's sir t. pope, 372. s consuetud. 1. 2. the nuns who cooked, had each a glass of wine on account of the work.* * du cange, v. merus. kitchen. 277 • nard, speaking of the same order, says, that the kitchen was swept clean with brooms every saturday after nones or vespers; and that, when the bell rung for putting on their shoes, the monks walked into the kitchen, to wash their hands and faces, and comb themselves.a visitation injunctions order no one to enter the kitchen or cellar to eat there; b and the sempringham rule for the nuns the same, with dispensation only to the præcentrix, to smooth the table, warm the ink, the nuns writers to dry the parchment, and the sacrist to light the candle, or for other purposes (except the cooks, or infirmaress on duty); nor the former, when there was fire enough in the calefactory or common house. the wood for the kitchen, water, herbs, and other necessaries, were found by certain lay-brothers and the gardener, and the care of it was in the nun-kitchener and laysisters, who did the drudgery work.c a visitation injunction directs a hatche a du cange, v. peripsima, pexere. et nullus coquinam seu cellarium ingredi audeat, aut in eis comedere. ms. ut. sup. f. 26. b. e monast. ii. 768. 9. with iron spikes to be made, in order to prevent the entrance of strange people.d a servant of the almoner's attended here daily to collect the alms.e fat pigs were killed in the winter as now.f at st. alban's there were fifty-three farms devoted to the kitchen, every one of which was valued at forty-six shillings per annum. a certain part was devoted to nine carriers, who brought provisions from london; and the rest divided between the cellarers of the monks and the household. to these were added allowances from other manors; the odd or fifty-third week was devoted to the culinary utensils. similar regulations obtained elsewhere. the above abbey had also a house at yarmouth to lay up fish, especially herrings, for the use of the convent.g our ancestors at martinmas salted vast loads of provisions for winter. d monast. ii. 896. e ms. cott. claud. b. vi. 204 a. f. more sues proprio mactat december adultos." chroniques d'idace ms. notices, v. 231. (11th cent.) m. paris, 1007, 1057. 278 bakehouse. chapter lvi. bakehouse the manner of preparing the host is curious. the care of making it lay with the infirmarer. the corn, if possible, was to be selected grain by grain. then being put into a clean bag, made of good cloth, and used for this purpose only, it was carried to the mill by a servant of good character. when brought there, the servant saw that some other corn was ground first, that the flour for the host might not be polluted with any fretts from the mill. when the flour was brought home, the sacrist was to put a curtain round the vessel and place where the flour was to be boulted, and provide a trusty person to do this work. one of the servants sprinkled the flour upon a very clean table with water, and moulded and kneaded it. the servant who held the irons, in which the host was baked, had his hands covered with rochets; and also while the host was making and baking; silence was also observed during the same processes. the man, however, who held the iron, might, if necessary, make short indications to the servant who made the fire and brought the wood, which was to be very dry, and prepared on purpose many days before, a "the host," says du cange," before consecration was called oblata " these oblate, not consecrated, though blessed on the altar, were given by the priest, before food in the refectory, to those monks who had not received the sacrament. oblatæ of this kind were in the earliest ages made in an iron mould, called by the french oblie, of a small pattern, in the form of money: and these, as well as the host, were a tyndal's evesham, p. 185. made of the purest flour by the monks themselves, with stated ceremonies and prayers, in a mould, marked with characters.b sometimes pious matrons, whom they used to call sanctimonia, undertook the office of making them, which was without leaven. these unconsecrated oblatæ, there is reason to think, were sometimes placed upon the bosoms of the dead. they were baked in a clibanus, or oven. the oblata was a name from thence given to very fine bread made of flour and water, baked at a fire, in iron presses. the host, before consecration, was cut in the form of a cross, by an especial knife,d and the vessels in which it was preserved made in the form of small towers." the host was mystically tically divided into nine parts, called gloria, &c.f it was deemed heresy to make the host of fermented bread.g loaves called eulogiæ, were consecrated before taking food, or dinner, by bishops and priests, and sent to friends or visitors in token of communion; they were also taken when parties had disagreed, and were reconciled. at christmas the people offered loaves to the priest, from leviticus (chapter 22), "you shall offer two loaves to the priest," &c. loaves made in some countries in the form of a wedge, and composed of finer flour, eggs, and milk, were presented at christmas by tenants to their landlords.h b ferramento characterato. du cange, v. oblata. d ibid. v. lancea. f ibid. v. gloria. h ibid. v. panis. e ibid. v. turres. ibid. v. panis. www. garden. 279 chapter lvii. garden. the this place had arbours, and abounded with fruit-trees and herbs proper for making salves." the anglo-saxon gardens had cabbage-beds, commonly called wyrt-beds,b and the gardener called leac-weard, and orceard-weard; whence leeks were probably much in use, and orchards not infrequent. gardens made by the romans were also preserved; d and the anglosaxons much esteemed those in the suburbs of towns.e upon new building the latter, gardens were assigned to the tenements. apples, pears, beans, and other esculents grew in them; g and pot-herbs [not allowed to be picked upon sunday] were plucked up by a wooden instrument. john of salisbury mentions flower-gardens, and others viridaria, where trees and wholesome herbs were planted. our ancestors not only promenaded in their gardens, but played at chess in them; and slept in them, after dinner, in the open air, upon a pillow.m a walk in them after morning mass, or dinner, was common. there were grass plats near houses, where the sick walked to have a purer air from the exhalation of the flowers of the herbs." "this done," (prime) says an old monk, 66 we are sent to work in a garden, to work and delve for near two hours more ;" and i find orders, "that the brothers do work in the gardens a wart. i. 301. 455. c lbid. b lye, v. bedd. d x. script. 1165. e x. script. 1248. m. paris, 993. script. p. bed. 515. b. turner's anglo-saxons, iii. 63, 64. x. scriptor. 2093. h dugdale's monast. i. 91. du cange, v. areola florarium lilietum. for exercise or pleasure. xv. script. 426. m. paris, 682. ¹ j. rous, 207. neubrigens. p. 11. script. p. bed. 398. b. "ibid. 155. b. • desid. curiosa, i. 231. m but from morning till vespers."p these were peculiarities of certain orders; and the uses the monks made of them, foreign to their obvious one, for esculents (and medical herbs), were to walk in; exhibit shows in them; and have drinkings and discourses there.s gardens of priors and cellarers are mentioned; t and the monks of mailross had private gardens. the visitors say to the abbot, that they heard he permitted "from the year last past, his monks to have portions," pensions, and private gardens, against their injunctions." the religious begged a dispensation for these indulgences, and promised to distribute the remainder of their portions, as seemed fit for them. visitors permitted it upon these, among other conditions, that no one monk should have more than another; that there should be no passage from garden to garden; and that they should not keep a servant beyond a year.x the garden had a cross in it.y the best fruit-trees in scotland are found in the gardens of the religious houses, the p ut fratres à mane usque ad vesperas faciant opera in ortis. ms. ut sup. 1519. f. 37. a. the house is styled s. radgunde, of præmonstratensians perhaps. according to the statutes, adds the visitation. hist. rames, c. lx. ne fratres ad nuptias transeant (let not the brothers atten weddings), sive gardinio spectacia de cætero exerceant (of cokersand). ms. ut sup. p. 121. a. burial grounds were the most usual places. see archæol. xiii. 237. • inhibemus potaciones sive discursus in ortis fieri. id. ms. f. 37. a. x. script. 2056. monast. ii. 936. parcels of tythes given to farm (lyndw. 167.) separate revenues. monast i. 297. ab anno jam elapso porciones, pensiones, ac hortos particulares, contra dictæ chartæ tenorem, &c. hoc tamen servato, quod nemo fratrum ultra aunum servitorem retineat. ms. harl.2363. f. i—vi. y warton's hist. of english poetry, i. p. 3016. 280 garden. and they are all planted on circular causeways of flat grounds." aubrey, speaking of the nunnery of kington st. michael, co. wilts, says, "in the old hedges belonging to this priory, and in the hedge of the priory downe, are yet a great number of barberry trees, which it is likely the nuns ■ newte's tour, p. 156. used for confection, which art they taught the young ladies that were brought up there: for in those dayes the women were bred at nunneries; no such school as hackney or ** for women till since the reformation.b" b britton's beauties of wilts, iii. 155. * abbey gate-dovecote, &c. 281 chapter lviii. abbey gate-dovecote, &c. thomas ruthall, bishop of durham, repaired the abbey gate, with the cell of the porter, in which he slept, and over them made a chapel, where all the lay-men assembled twice a day to hear mass, which was celebrated by priests deputed by the prior and convent, and in the same building was a chamber in which the priest slept.a this custom of mass for workmen was not unusual elsewhere. dovecote. this, at bredsall, consisted of four hollow truncated hexagonal cones, from a larger to a smaller size, placed one above another, and with a little turret at top.b they were distinct allocations. the dovecote near the capital messuage of tatterwyke, called turneyes court, was let separately.c besides the offices treated of in this a angl. sacr. i. 781. b topograph. miscel. vol. i. where is a plate of it. registr. abbat. de bath. ms. harl. 3970. and the preceding chapters, there were, vaccaria, or cow-house, under an officer, subject to the kitchener, where none were to go without the abbatial licence; d shoemakers' and other artificers' shops; necessary and modern offices; stables, of which that for the guests at st. alban's was large, to contain nearly 300 horses, which animals. the monks kept in excellent condition; (it had a lamp burning in it all night); bathing-houses; kilns, and others, of which the names alone explain the use, and it is needless for me to speak. d sine abbatis licentiâ exeuntes ad vaccariam, sive ad alium quemcunque locum deinceps apostatas decrevimus. ms. ashm. mus. 1519. f. 71. b. cow pastures were of great use in providing aliments for the younger monks. m. par. 1002. si malè administraveri de vaccatione [vaccarius], coquinario incumbit emendare. mss. cott. claud. b. vi. p. 200. b. • m. paris, 737. b. vi. f m. paris, 1035. athon. 143. pl. ap. fuller, 282 sacristy-vestiary-costumes. chapter lix. sacristy-vestiary-costumes. double vestries adjoining the altar are mentioned; in one, the garments and ceimelia of the church were preserved; in the other, the priests attended to reading the sacred books. what we should call vestries were also the secretaria or sacristies, where councils and consistories were held, and the priests sometimes resided. at gloucester, the ancient vestiary for the church-robes is a series of stone closets, formed of gothic arches fronted with iron lattices, at one end of a transept; but the clothes of the monks were, if not in their chambers in the dormitory, certainly deposited in a place called vestiaria, perhaps the same as the particular room, sometimes under the dormitory, called pisalis, and especially used for a wardrobe.a eustathius, condemned in the gangran council, was the first author of the vestments of monks. the hood and tunick were intended to represent the six wings of the cherubim, viz. the hood two, the sleeves two others, and the body part completed the number.c notwithstanding varieties of fashion, the articles were but few, and by the following description every habit may be easily identified. mantle or cloak. a large mantle, like a modern dragoon's cloak, without sleeves.d a hood is commonly attached. it was the same in nuns. (see the plate, fig. 1.) cowl, is simply a hood; but is applied by stevens, &c. to a gown, with large loose sleeves like a counsellor's gown. (see fig. 2.) rochet. simply two strips hanging before and behind (see fig. 3), open at the sides. see also tabard, p. 284. du cange, v. secretarium, pisalis, vestiaria. b le vau de jacob, 827. reyner, 76. d'emilliane, 223, et alii. d du cange, v. cuculla, culla. scapulary, a sleeveless tunick, which sat close to the skine (see fig. 4), notwithstanding other definitions of it. it signified armour against the devil, and was given to the monks that they might spare their cloaks, when at work.g wimple. a dress covering the neck and coming close under the chin (see fig. 5). of this hereafter, p. 284. canon's cap, see fig. 6. tunicks. under garments, in the fashion of shirts (sometimes with sleeves, like those of coats), only sitting closer to the body. they resembled a mail-jacket in form, the longer reaching to the ancles, the shorter to the knees. the anglo-saxon monks wore both these under the cowl.h frock, a long and ample gown with sleeves.i it mystically signified the protection of god.k stamin. the benedictines, instead of a penitentiary hair shirt, used what davies calls stamins, i. e. shirts made of woollen and linen. perhaps it was the same same as the inner tunick; for some orders, as the franciscan, wore only a woollen tunick next the skin.m breeches. the highland campestre, or fillibeg, was probably the celtick dress of the british monks, for the irish in the 14th century did not wear breeches." the fillibeg occurs in later orders, as do stockings and breeches in one piece among the anglo-saxon monks, and breeches. e specimen monachologiæ, tab. ii. fig. 9 to 13. f d'emilliane's monastical orders, p. 223. 8 du cange, v. scapulare. h strutt's dresses, i. 65. kirtles were kinds of tunicks often substituted for shirts. id. ii. 349. du cange, v. cuculla, culla. k d'emilliane, ubi supra. 1 du cange, v. staminea. m specimen monachologiæ, p. 20. n froissart, x. 161. specimen monachologiæ, plates. o » strutt, i. 65. du cange, v. infirmitates. franciscan, or grey frien 2.. augustinian eremite. 3. premonstratensian wonk benedictine monk 3. dominican tiin. 6. augustinian canon. audinet sailp monastick costume. sacristy-vestiary-costumes. 283 stockings were usual.a boots. leathern boot-stockings were worn by cuthbert,b and they appear to have given rise to all boots,c which were first substituted for sotularia, fastened with thongs, in the 12th century at st. alban's,d from superior convenience in more expeditious dressing, not soiling the hands in putting on, &c. the abbot's boot, like the sign of the leg, was no doubt like that of henry vi. engraved in whitaker's craven deanery (p. 106), buttoned up the side as now gaiters. shoes. socks. shoes occur in some orders, and slippers or socks made of felt, for day or night. the old irish monks wore brogues.h shoe-cleaning was strictly enjoined, and was done by a man on purpose, called frico. the process merely consisted in washing them, and then applying soap, grease, or other unctuous materials.k blacking is first mentioned in the 16th century. we then hear of "a pair of pumps on his feet, with a cross, cut at the toes for corns, not nue indeed, but cleanly blakt with soot, and shining like a shoeing horn." it was probably brought from italy: for it is said, that the shoes of the neapolitan factors upon the exchange in london shone with blacking.m clogs. pattens or ironed socks, from noise, were forbidden to certain canons,n ‚n and bishop jewel mentions some monks and friars stalking upon patens.o pattens were not usually worn by men.p one rule orders wooden clogs, lest the bed-clothes should be soiled by dirty feet. knife. among the grandmontines du cange, v. pedules. b id. v. tibrucus. e id. v. osa. d m paris, 1044. specimen monachologiæ, tab. iii. fig. 7. f du cange, v. nocturnales, diurnales. g sometimes at least. du cange, v. feltrum, veltro. i id. v. frico. h id. v. fico. * xv. scriptor. 260. du cange, v. sapo-sevum. 1 nichols's progresses, ii. 31. m howell's letters, 55. n du cange, v. patinus. • defence of his apology, p. 322. antiq. repert. ii. 275. du cange, v. cuspus. it was worn with a steel, and without ornament.r folding knives are ancient.s comb. we hear of ivory combs,t but the grandmontine were to be of horn, and the case of small value." among the romans they were made of box or ivory; and both among them, and in the middle ages, they were adorned with bas-reliefs between the rows of teeth, which were, as now, of unequal size,y sometimes with only studs. the ancient germans made combs of horse-tail.aa the britons had combs.bb the ivory was partly gilt in some instances,cc and that material formed the comb used by the clerks and monks before officiating at mass.dd st. neot's comb was two fingers broad, made of a small bone, with the teeth of fish, inserted like those of the jaws of the sea-wolf.ee we also hear of a "faire kemb, with a spoonge deintly dipt in a little capon's grease," which made the hair shine, like a mallard's wing.ff neglect of combing the hair was deem. ed by the romans a token of military bravery,gg and it was not usual here every day till the anglo-norman times,hh except among the danes, who were great fops in this respect. afterwards it was deemed a great luxury to have the hair combed, and thought essential to have it well done.kk mm handkerchief of roman" and anglo-saxon origin, was worn on the left side."n needle-case, occurs in the grandmarteni anecdota, iv. col. 1234. du cange, v. investitura. t id. v. pecten. u marten, ubi supra. martial, apophor. xxv. juven. v. s. 14. l. 195. montfaucon, supplem. iii. c. 5. archæologia, strutt's dresses, pl. xci. xv. pl. xli. aa plin. ix. 45. bb nennius in xv. scriptor. 108. ce id. 229. 781. dd du cange, v. pecten, &c. ee leland's collect. iii. 13. ff nichols's progresses, i. 30. gg juven. ubi supra. hh eadm. 23. ii joinville, i. 350. froissart, v. 21. kk du cange, v. pecten. apul. oper. ii. 57, 59, 60. ed. biss. suet. in nero, xxii. juvenal, iv. sat. xi. v. 193. mm du cange, v. facitergium, sudarium, muccinium, &c. nn fuller's church hist. b. vi. p. 290. du cange, v. mappula. 284 sacristy-vestiary-costumes. montine rule before quoted. it was usual for all persons to carry them, in order to take up loose stitches, &c.a girdles, ought to have been leather straps, sometimes mere ropes. there was great abuse in wearing fur or silk girdles, adorned with gold or silver.b reliquaries. relicks enclosed in little crosses, boxes, &c. were divided by the sacrist, among the monks, to be worn suspended from the neck.c tippets. tippets were garments of both sexes, worn about the neck, which, though often narrow, in the end became so large, that they soon supplied the place of mantles.d tabards, were garments covering the front of the body and back, but open on both sides :e it is difficult to distinguish this robe from the rochet, which was sometimes without sleeves, and open on the sides. indeed the rochet was only a sleeved tabard sewed up a short way under the arm-pits.f head-coverings. among the monks this was the hood, but canons had a particular caps or bonnet, resembling that worn by the scots.h strutt's dresses, pl. 132. b zonam de serico cum apparatu argenteo. ms. harl. 1005, f. 69. b. forbidden, ms. harl. 328, f. 9. and by canons. c du cange, v. nuxa, capsa. d strutt's dresses, ii. 377. e id. p. 151. f id. 373 and plates. this was an ancient difference of costume from monks. reyner, 76. h st. louis fastened his bonnet with a ribband, tied in a bow in front; whence originated cockades. maillot, iii. 109, pl. xxxv. f. 2. tonsure. the tonsure signified the crown of thorns worn by our saviour, and also denoted humility, and the service of god, slaves being shorn;k but though the westerns used a small circle of short hair round the head, called the tonsure of st. peter, some orders had dropped it in the 14th century. various tonsures appear: 1. the hair preserved with only a bald spot upon the crown of the head. 2. a bristly head with a small circle. 3. shorn, with a hemisphere of hair. 4. shorn, with a continuous circle of hair. 5. shorn, with an interrupted circle.m the nuns had similar habits, except in some rules. pilches, i. e. petticoats, and veils. wimples. the first is well known; the latter is the habit which comes up to the chin, and covers the bosom. the two were sometimes united; sometimes one was substituted for the other.o the wimple, according to strutt, appeared about the 12th century.p i d'emilliane, ubi supra. k maillot, costumes, iii. 16. 1 id. iii. 16. 139. m specimen monachologiæ, tab. i. fig. 1 to 5. see reyner, 112. from pellicium, a garment made of skins, or furs, but the skins of lambs or sheep only allowed to the nuns. the same as tippets in the first column of this page. strutt, pl. 40. cotgrave, v. guimple. p maillot, iii. 118, 121, 134, 175. 1 3 2 sacristy-vestiary-costumes. 285 was not observed. see p. 293. in the preceding plate, fig. 1, is st. | precious stones for bishops. this law radegonde from mezeray in maillot (vol. iii. pl. iii. fig. 7), to illustrate the veil and wimple of a british nun in the sixth century. fig. 2, is st. bathilde in the seventh century, from the same writers (vol. iii. pl. vi. fig. 5), for the like illustration. fig. 3, is a hermit's costume, from a wood-cut in the golden legend, printed in 1503. in a manuscript communicated by mr. nichols is the following passage concerning abbots' mitres. when abbots began to wear the mitre, the bishops complained bitterly, that their privileges were invaded by the monks, and they were shocked, above all, that there was no distinction between them in the councils and synods. on this occasion, pope clement iv. ordered that abbots should wear the mitre embroidered with gold only, and leave there were great abuses of dress among the monasticks, but two singularities shall only be adduced. the first is mentioned by petrarch, and in partat least applies to the religious. "who can see," says he, "with patience, hoods with wings, peruques with tails toupees; men frizzed up with ivoryheaded pins, such as the women put in their hair; and bellies confined with stays (ressorts), a species of torture which was imposed on the martyrs?" a aldhelm, speaking of nuns, says, that they had not only acus discriminales, or hair-bodkins, but trinkets hanging from the neck, ornamented with crescents, set with jewels, and smellingbottles, or boxes. the excesses of the monks are regularly catalogued by reyner, and the secular clergy are thus reprobated in an old song: c "ye poope holy prestis full of presumpcion, with your wyde furrid hodes, voyd of discretion, unto your owyn preching of contrary condicion, which causith the people to lesse devocion. "avaunced by symony in cetees and townys, e make shorter your taylis and broder your crownis, leve your short stuffide doubelettes and your pleyted gownis, and kepe your own howsing, and passe not your boundis."d the names of the monks were sewed in their frocks, hoods, shirts, and breeches; and the clothes were also pronounced in danger of being corrupte and spylte by reason of moths, or any other chaunse, if they were not beaten and layde abrode." the old ones were given to the poor, or sold if the convent was in debt. according to wolsey's decretals, the garments were to be cleaned by some of the canons, and a fuller on purpose; and the washing was done by a lay-brother, a memoires, iii. 675. b olfactoriola nardi. du cange (v. matricularii) has the passage. c append. 105. d ms. harl. 372, fol. 113. e custumale roffense, 31, 32. f ms. bodl. 3010 (de vitâ monachorum). * lyndw. 205. suited to this work. the admission of women for washing has been already mentioned, as well as the taylor's shop for mending. by the gilbertine rule the washing and mending were to be done by the lay-sisters.i instead of ironing, the clothes were polished by a glass cylinder, called a lischa.k heated irons are recent. large stones inscribed with a scripture text were used about the reigns of elizabeth and the first james.i one of these was in the museum of the late sir ashton lever. dugdale's monast. ii. 566. i fol. 720, 762. * du cange, in voce. whitaker's craven deanery, p. 401. note. 286 sacristy-vestiary-costumes. articles of clothing belonging to the several orders.a augustinian canons. a white tunick, with a linen gown under a black cloak, and a hood covering the head, neck, and shoulders. see the plate, p. 282, fig. 6.) the costumes of france and england were the same, at least till after the twelfth century.b in the ninth century the canons were almost all shorn, and wore a mantle and two tunicks, one down to the heels, the upper only to the mid-leg: between the two the stole went round the neck; and in their hands they carried the orarium.c augustinian canoness. in the plate, (p. 282, fig. 5) she has a long cowl, hood, and wimple; a short upper tunick or rochet, over a long one. augustinian eremite. in the house, a white tunick, and scapulary over it. in the choir or out of doors, a sleeved cowl and large hood, both black; the hood round before, and hanging to the waist in a point, girt with a black leather thong. (see the plate, p. 282, fig. 2.) [thus steevens: the cowl is the gown, which is the costume of hermits in the cuts of the golden legend. (see the plate, p. 284, fig. 3.) in the specimen monachologiæ, they wear a black round quinque partite cap; naked neck; fillibeg, instead of breeches; slippers; black cloth tunick, tied with a black thong; hood, as before, a black mantle down to the thighs, and woollen shirt.]d augustinian eremite nun. a hood black; white wimple; and black long tunick, tied with a black thong. benedictines. "as for the habits of the monks," says steevens, "they were left to the discretion of the abbots, according to the nature of the country, as it was either hotter or colder. in temperate climates a cowl the authority, where not otherwise expressed, is steevens's translation of dugdale's monasticon. b maillot, iii. 66. c id. pl. xiv. d p. 24. and a tunick were sufficient; the cowl thicker for winter and thinner for summer; and a scapular to work in. the scapular was the upper garment during the time of labour, which was put off, and the cowl worn during the rest of the day. every one had two tunicks and two cowls, either to change at night or to wash them. the stuff they were made of was the cheapest the country afforded. to the end, that no man might have any property, that is, any thing he could call his own, the abbots found them all with every thing that was necessary, that is, besides the habit, a handkerchief, a knife, a needle, a steel pen, and tablets to write. their beds were a mat, a straw bed, a piece of serge, a blanket, and a pillow. "st. benedict did not decide of what colour the habit should be; but it appears by ancient pictures, that the garment the first benedictines wore was white, and the scapular black. that scapular was not of the same shape, that those of the same order do use at present. it was more like the jerkins worn by mariners, saving that it was not open before, but only a little in the sides. that sort of garment had been long before the common garment of the poor and of peasants." see the plate, p. 282, fig. 4.) [thus steevens: but in the ancient benedictines, he has forgotten a coif upon the head. the specimen monachologiæ clothes the benedictine monk in breeches; a black woollen robe, covering the whole body and feet; hood loose, obtuse, oval, and broad; scapulary plain, of the breadth of the abdomen; girdle broad; a black cowl descending to the ancles; inner tunicks in general black; shirt narrow at the wrist.]e but in the house the monk lays aside the hood, girds his scapulary, and wears a crested or twofold cap on the head.f benedictine nun. a black robe, with a scapular of the same, and under the black robe, a tunick of wool that has not been dyed; others wear the tunick maillot, iii. 14. f id. 15. sacristy-vestiary-costumes. 287 quite white. in the choir, or upon solemn occasions, they wear over all a black cowl, like that of the monks. thus steevens. [a black veil and white wimple, as in the plate, p. 282, fig. 5.]a brigettine nun and friers. the sisters had two shifts of white coarse woollen, one to wear, and the other to wash ; a tunick of coarse grey woollen, a cowl of the same, and a mantle made fast with a wooden button, which mantle in the winter was lined with lamb-skins. for their head attire they had a caul or coif covering their foreheads, and coming down close to the cheeks, fastened on the top of the head with a pin over that coif or hood a veil of black cloth, fastened with three pins, and on the black veil a crown or circle of white linen, with five small red pieces on it [for the five wounds of christ], which crown was also pinned on. the friers had two shirts of white coarse woollen, a tunick of coarse grey woollen, a cowl of the same, to which was attached a hood and a mantle on the left side of it. the priests wore a red cross in memory of our saviour's passion, and in the midst of the cross a bit of white cloth in form of a host, in memory of the holy sacrifice which they daily offered. the deacons wore a white circle, to represent the wisdom of the fathers of the church; and on that circle four red pieces of the form of fiery tongues; and the lay-brothers a white cross to betoken innocence, in which were five little red pieces for the five wounds of christ. carmelites. their first habit was white, as well as their mantles, of which the bottom was laced thick with many yellow bands; an ornament suppressed by honorius iv. they then assumed the robe of the minims, and a white mantle. in the specimen monachologiæ, the costume is breeches, a tunick, and white mantle, with loose hood of the length of the a maillot, iii. 15. b id. p. 116. c p. 27. tunick, another tunick shorter, a linen shirt, and woollen under-waitcoast. the carmelite nun, besides her head, veiled her face, and in the choir wore a longer cowl than the friars.d carthusians. their bed, says steevens, is to be straw, and on it a felt or coarse cloth; their pillow a covering of the coarsest sheep-skins and cloth; their clothing two hair-cloths, two cowls, two pair of hose, cloak, &c. all coarse. cistercians. their habit was a white robe in the nature of a cassock, with a black scapular and hood; their garment was girt with a black girdle of wool: in the choir they had over it a white cowl, and over it a hood, with a rochet hanging down round before to the waist, and in a point behind to the calf of the leg; and when they went abroad they wore a cowl and a great hood, all black; which was also the choir habit. the lay-brothers were clad in dark colour, their scapular hung down about a foot in length before, and was rounded at the bottom. their hood was like that which the priests wore over their cowl, excepting the difference of the colour. in the choir, they wore a cloak or mantle reaching to the ground, of the same colour as the habit. the novices, who were clerks, wore the same habit in the church, but it was all white. their scapular was not of the same length in all places; for sometimes it reached only half way down the thigh, in others to the mid-leg, or even to the heels. cistercian nuns. a white tunick, a black scapular and girdle. in the choir, most of them wore cowls, others only mantles. the habits of the lay-sisters were of a dark colour. the noviciates were clad in white. [add a black veil and white wimple.] clugniacks. a large full-sleeved cowl; a hood down to the elbows; a rochet or tabard from the chin to the feet, over a long tunick. dominicans. a white woollen tunick, d specimen monachologiæ, p. 29. 288 sacristy-vestiary-costumes. bound with a thong; a hood; a white collar; a long black woollen cowl, when they went out, with a hood and pectoral bill, and a dorsal black, covering the inner white dress. inner vestments chiefly white. the lay-brothers had no cowl, and never laid aside the hood and black scapulary. except a black the dominican nun, veil, had the same habit. the nun in the plate (p. 282, fig. 5.) has the arms crossed upon the bosom. this was the posture of a priest, and occurs in various images of the middle age. franciscans, or grey friers, from their habit; a long grey coat down to their heels, with a hood; see the plate, p. 282, fig. 1.) girdle of cord; and were under an obligation of wearing cloth next to their very skin night and day.d steevens says, from the rule, that the habit of probation was two tunicks without a hood, a girdle, breeches, and cloak to the waist, unless god upon any occasion thought good to order it otherwise. when the year of probation was expired, they were to have one tunick with a hood, and another without a hood, if they would have them. upon necessity, they were to be shod, but to adopt mean habits, and even mend them with sacks and scraps. in the specimen monachologiæ,e they have no breeches, a tunick, a moveable hood, with an appendage, pendent before and behind, hanging below a white linen robe; no scapular; but a cloak, hanging below the loins, fastened at the bosom with a bone fibula. no shirt, only a woollen under waistcoat. the tunick was full of pockets for receiving edibles, &c. for they were called mendicants because pretending to evangelical perfection, and begged from door to door.f the franciscan nun, or minoress or poor clare, wore a black veil, but otherwise imitated the males.g a sack, says steevens, was given them because they wore garments made like sacks, or from their scapulary being made of the same sort of coarse cloth as sacks; but their true name was friers of the penance of jesus christ. their habit was made like that of the capuchins. they went bare legged and had only wooden sandals on their feet. [the head was partially shorn; but they retained the beard and mustachoes on their upper lips. neck and posteriors naked; a tunick, hood (funnel formed) no scapulary. thus the specimen monachologiæ h of capuchins; but the tunick in steevens is surmounted with a tabard of different colours. they are said to have had pockets in the hood, and under the arms.] i the following beastly practices are mentioned of the capuchins: "tunica replicata, absque impedimento cacat et mingit, anum fune abstergit." and again: "aurum et argentum non tangit, sed venatur pediculos, quibus vexatur et quos non occidit."k the capuchin nun had an upper veil black; the lower white; naked neck; on the breast a white handkerchief.1 in steevens, the nun of the order of penance has the veil as above; a narrow half mantle only behind, a girdle, tunick, and bare feet with wooden clogs. gilbertines. the garments of the canons were to be three tunicks, one coat of full grown lamb-skins, and a white cloak sewed before, four fingers in breadth, and having furs to put on if the cloak were not furred, and hood lined with lamb-skins, and two pair of stockings; a pair of woollen socks, and day-shoes and night-slippers; as also a linen cloak for divine service. at time of work they had a white scapulary. their beds like the cistercian monks. -exceptions were made in the case of donation of habits. the prior and cellarer had boots, friers of the sack. the name of the reaching a little above their knees to ride specimen monachologiæ, p. 16-18. b m. paris, 720. somner's canterbury, pp. 99, 100. d collectanea anglo-minoritica, p. 2. • p. 20. f somner's canterbury, 99, 100. specimen monachologiæ, p. 21. in; the dorterer kept two or three other pairs of boots for the use of such at rode out, who were to restore them at their reh specimen monachologiæ, p. 22. ispecimen monachologiæ, 22. 1 ibid. * id. 22, 23. sacristy-vestiary-costumes. 289 turn. all the shoes of the canons were of red leather, and of a moderate height. gilbertine nuns. five tunicks; three for labour, and two large, i. e. cowls to wear in the cloister, church, chapter, refectory, and dormitory, and a `scapulary for labour. all had a coat of lamb-skins, and a shift of coarse cloth if they would, and black linen caps. all cloths for their hoods were black and coarse, and so their veils. the common premonstratensians. habit was not inelegant, viz. a tunick girt round the waist, a leaf-formed hood, and head-part to throw back; and a bonnet in fashion at the end of the eleventh century. (see the plate, p. 282, fig. 3.) trinitarians. the rule says, they were to have white woollen vestments; and a pilch and breeches each, which they were not to put off in bed. they were not to have feather beds, only pillows. in the specimen monachologiæ, the costume is a hemispherical tonsure, a fillibeg, white woollen tunick tied with a black thong, a loose white hood, with a short round pectoral hanging before, a longer pointed dorsal behind. a close scapulary shorter than the tunick. a mantle and hood, besides that of the tunick. the scapulary and left side of the mantle marked with a red and blue cross, a shirt and woollen vest. when one of this order went abroad, he fed only upon tripe. "the husband, whose home," says baron bozn, "a trinitarian monk frequented, should remember the horned stag, who always accompanied the fathers of the species, john de matha and felix a valois, and warned all of their impending danger."c knight templar. the following account is from nichols's leicestershire, iii. p. 943. "as for their habit on their heads, they wore linen coifs (like to the serjeants at law) and red caps close over them; on their bodies shirts of mail, and swords girded unto them with a c maillot, iii. p. 71, 72, pl. xxii. fig. 4. dugd. monast. ii. 830. specimen monachologiæ, 25, 26. broad belt; over all which they had a white cloak reaching to the ground, with a red cross on the left shoulder, partly to the end that having such a triumphal figure instead of a buckler, they should not flee from any infidel, whilst they were armed with so great a protection, and that to the intent they might be distinguished from other religious persons; and that they used to wear their beards of a great length (whereas most other religious orders shaved), appears from the testimony of king edward ii. made in behalf of an eminent servant in his court. the king, &c. "since our beloved servant peter auger, bearer of these presents, has made a vow, that he will not shave his beard, until he has made a pilgrimage in a certain place in foreign parts, and the said peter is afraid that some persons, by reason of his long beard, will take him for a templar and use him ill; we therefore grant him this testimony, that he never was a templar, only a servant of our chamber, and only wears a long beard for the reason before stated." maillot says, "the templars at first used without distinction all colours in their dress, differing in that from the religious, whom they did not distinguish from the templars but by the colour; but the council of troyes, in 1146, when they adopted the rule composed by bernard, ordered that they should wear the white cross as well as the cloak, to which eugene iii. added a red cross; which cloak descended almost to the feet. upon the head they wore a cap, like a salade or bowlscull cap. the long beard a l'orientale was the distinctive mark of this order; and their standard was half black, half white.d knights hospitalers. pope honorius iii. assigned to them for their dress, a black mantle with a white cross in the fore-part thereof. the rest of the dress, consists of a chapeau in the heraldick form, a surcote, and mail, and plated armour mixed, with a long sword and belt round the waist. d costumes, 123, pl. 38. f. 11. nichols's leicestershire, vol. iii. u 290 ecclesiastical costume. chapter lx. curious and select costumes of various ecclesiasticks. the following interesting chapter was kindly contributed by an intelligent and industrious artist; who sedulously applied the labours of a long professional life to the study of our national antiquities, and more especially those which relate to our ecclesiastical and monastic remains. it being understood that i had devoted much of my time to the study of our ancient costume, civil, military, ecclesiastical, and regal, by sketches (pencilled drawings taken from the originals on the spot, and afterwards made into finished drawings,) done from such remains, exemplified in sculptures, paintings, and brasses, i was referred to, by my old and worthy friend mr. nichols, in order to make some select drawings for the ecclesiastical costumes, with explanations; which are submitted in the following plates, engraved by mr. james basire, junior, under my superintendence and corrections. j. carter. specimens of english ecclesiastical costume, from the earliest period down to the sixteenth century, selected from sculptures, paintings, and brasses remaining in this kingdom. among the various selections from our antiquities, in series arranged chronologically, that of ecclesiastical costume has not hitherto engaged particular attention. whether the pursuit has not interested any exploratory hand, or that such subjects are held as too much connected with the original religion of the country, from an overzealous study on the features thereof raising an interest incompatible with the present orthodox precepts of the established church, it is rather difficult to determine. with impartial minds, not swayed by bigoted impressions, such ideas must give way to more useful study, guided by the opinion that every line of information, whether it squares exactly with our real sentiments, must impart something that merits notice; no part of science should be avoided, or lost; and surely, that vestige, which once rendered this land magnificent, if it deserves no other appellation, ought to engage attention. on such grounds, therefore, the present collection is submitted; not alone to exhibit the variety of habits worn at different periods, but as examples of the progress of the arts of sculpture, painting, &c. then prevailing. and it may be asserted that our ancestors were conspicuously eminent for more enlightened ideas than those of laws and arms, which seem to be all the mental gifts allowed them, though their descending gigantic and splendid works of architecture are standing in majestic state still before us. why therefore not give them credit for possessing every other gift enriching the human sense then, as well as now, by those who live? to think or maintain opinions to the contrary, is to pass but a cold compliment on the capabilities of englishmen at any period! thus premising, we enter on the main purpose of the ensuing objects, which is to restore, though in the smallest degree, a regular representation of antient religious costume, in aid of historical information, both in literature and the arts, before the originals are obliterated from the public eye, by disfigurement or utter annihilation. class i. 1 cod 10000 wilmsbury 175 walmsbury. winchester 103. norwich 1100. in jaxon m. scerca 1006. in jaxon m.i british museur pastre st class 5600 rochester lig peterborough. peterborough. carew castle, pembrokeshire. llandaff, 1120. durham 1154 ecclesiastical costume. 291 class i. figure, malmesbury, anno 675. among others of the apostles, in basso relievo, of st. peter, in the south porch of the abbey-church of malmsbury, wiltshire. sketched 1801. saxon work. the double keys in the right hand (head of the church), book with jewels of the new testament (suppose) in the left; the robes are becoming, and well disposed; jewels on the border of the neck; feet bare. malmesbury. figure of a religious in basso relievo on door-way at the entrance into the church; the dress is the simple monk's habit, hood, &c. winchester, 963. figure of a bishop, in basso-relievo on the fonta (saxon work) in the cathedral. sketched 1790. the sculpture is not by the best hand: but the costumic information imparted supersedes that consideration; crosier extremely simple (shepherd's crook); mitre simple also and low; outer robe enriched with beads, and diagonal embroidery; under diagonals maniple beaded. norwich. 1100. statue of a bishop in a niche on west front of the cathedral. (saxon.) sketched 1786.b crosier, meer crook; no mitre; robes not enriched; right hand giving the benediction. in a saxon ms. circa 1066, in possession of of f. douce, esq. sketched 1787. figure of a bishop; pastoral staff, cross on top has four beads; mitre very high, a few beads and jewels; robes not enriched; the colours express for the outer robe a gold ground, under robe red; extreme under robe white, with a gold fringe; red boots. in a saxon ms. in the british museum. sketched 1810. figure of a female; the lines in ink tinged with red. understood to represent st. mary magdalene with the vessel of precious ointment: attitude chaste, robes elegant, and drawing excellent. the font engraved in carter's "antient architecture." b engraved with the niche in carter's "antient architecture." class ii. rochester, 1109. statue in a niche on west front of the cathedral. (saxon.) sketched 1783. in this statue the head of crosier, mitre, and right hand restored; neck, border of outer robe beaded; on the breast a broach; under robe ornamented; extreme under robe, reticulated ornament; right hand giving the benediction. peterborough. statue lying in south aile of the choir of the cathedral. sketched 1783. cannot give precise date, as the sculpture is not now disposed on any sepulchral memorial or tomb; appears to have been brought from some other situation; supposed however to be of early work, that is, soon after the conquest, as the sculpture is saxon, therefore introduced in this place. crosier, the simple crook; no mitre; book in left hand; robes plain. peterborough. no date. statue lying with the foregoing; of course to be accounted for in the same way. crosier, simple crook; no mitre; outer robe, embroidered with a centrical cross; rich foliage on the breast; in left hand a book with clasps. no carew castle, pembrokeshire. date; but supposed, from the mode of sculpture, requisite to be brought forward at this juncture. sketched 1803. a priest in plain robes, but with an inverted cross embroidered centrically; supposed officiating, and holding between the hands the consecrated wafer in the shape of a heart. llandaff. 1120. statue on west front of the cathedral. sketched 1803. a good performance; crosier, the simple crook; mitre plain, as are the robes; right hand giving the benediction. durham. 1154. figure of a bishop painted on the side of the altar of our ladie of pitie in the gallilee at west front of the cathedral. sketched 1795. crosier, little more than the simple crook, is painted to represent gold; mitre, gold, has a few jewels with depending drapery; outer robe red, jewels u 2 292 ecclesiastical costume. on neck border and bottom; under robe blue; extreme under robe white; shoes white; right hand giving the benediction. class iii. lichfield. no date. statue of a bishop in the cathedral. judged, from the mode of sculpture and costume, to be of the above period. sketched 1782. crosier, crook; foliaged drapery depending from the staff: robes plain, except a jewel on the breast, though full and graceful; gloves; right hand giving the benediction. 1 york. no date. figure of a bishop | painted on the walls of the chapterhouse of cathedral. sketched 1790. since obliterated. judged, from mode of dress, to be of the above period. staff has a cross gilded with its depending drapery; mitre, few jewels, gilded; outer robe green edged with gold, open in front and fastened with a brooch on the breast; under robe white, with attached brown drapery on each side; white gloves and shoes; right hand giving the benediction. wells. no date. statue of a bishop in the cathedral. sketched 1784. judged to be of the above period; has no sepulchral memorial; said to have been brought from the abbey-church of glastonbury. crosier foliaged; mitre plain; outer robe plain; on left arm the maniple; right hand on the heart, an emblem of truth. hexham, northumberland. no date. statue of prior richard on north side of choir of the abbey church. sketched 1795. judged to be of the above period. robes are those of a priest, and plain; hood drawn over the face; attitude, devotional. the statue is laid on a low tomb. ingham, norfolk. no date. figure of a bishop seated, painted on board in a series of historical subjects in the church. sketched 1787. apprehend still of the same period. mitre, few jewels and gilded; outer robe blue, and gold edges, with the like foliage embroidered at neck; under robe red edged with gold fringe; depending gold foliage and tassels; extreme under robe white; white gloves and black shoes. attitude, devotional. connington, huntingdonshire. no date. statue of a knight in ring armour, over the armour a monk's habit. sketched 1798. the above date going on. girdle is the knotted cord. attitude, devotional. the singularity as well as the curious turn of the sculpture (and it is believed no other example exists), is that of a warrior being thus habited; but the intent is obvious; a military man retires into a monastery, where, notwithstanding having taken the order, he is so biassed to his former life, as to be unable to put aside his warlike accoutrements. class iv. louterell psalter; circa 1300. most beautiful and costumic illuminated folio ms. in the possession of thomas weld, esq. of lulworth castle, dorsetshire. the variety of dresses, suiting all degrees of persons, are infinite and interesting; from among which is selected this ecclesiastical object, a female as a lady abbess. copied 1793. crosier, foliaged crook gilded; outer robe, black; under robe, wimple, and shoes white; attitude, giving the benediction, but with the left hand. query, if such was the practice with religious women? louterell psalter. priests officiating, by chanting part of the service from a book sustained on the eagle desk. the principal priest has a blue reticulated outer robe lined with red; white under robe. other priests, in white robes. st. cross. 1382. brass in the church of the hospital of st. cross, near winchester. sketched 1789. it represents the figure of john de campden, grand vicar and confidential friend of the illustrious william of wickham, and master of this hospital. the outer robe has an enriched diamond-formed border; attitude, devotional. class 111. 1 111 arte del fitchfield. york. wells. hexham. ingham. connington. class iv. souterell psalter fouterell psalter. st cros 1382. dorchester beer 1 wensley st albans. beverly exxerer 1397 ecclesiastical costume. 293 dorchester. no date. supposed, from mode of work, to belong to this class. small statues attached to the mullions of the south window in choir of the abbey-church of dorchester near oxford. sketched 1793. they represent a funeral procession, said to be that of st. berinus, patron of the church. in order to accommodate the several figures to the space allotted in the plate, they are necessarily brought closer together than seen in the existing sculpture. first statue, priest with holy water sprinkler and ditto vessel. second statue, bearing the processional cross. third and fourth statues with books; fifth and sixth statues bear on their shoulders parts of the staves which sustained the body in a coffin, or shrine of st. berinus, which, of course by ignorant hands, foes to antient art, has been destroyed. seventh statue, bishop or abbot officiating, with plain crosier and mitre, in the attitude of reciting some portion of the solemn service. eighth, ninth, and tenth statues, priests following with books, &c. this mode of funeral observance has been most scrupulously adhered to, and brought down to the present times among catholicks, which i have often witnessed, and particularly so, monday jan. 28, 1793, being the monday after the horrid martyrdom of lewis xvi. when his funeral obsequies were celebrated in the spanish chapel, manchester square. the bishop of limoges, who had been tutor to the unfortunate monarch, read the awful ceremonial.. class v. sawtry all saints, huntingdonshire. brass half-length figure of a priest, (with the flagellarium,) in the church. no date. conceive from the costume, to be of the period under discussion. sketched 1798. durham. statue placed (as lumber,) in a disused chapel in basement story of the bishop's palace. sketched 1795. it is crowned, which is an extraordinary circumstance, unless it is to be considered as an allusion to the princely jurisdiction which the bishop of this see maintains. the robes are full and stately; the right arm probably, when perfect, shewed the hand giving the benediction: what object the left hand sustained it is difficult to form any conjecture. * wensley. no date. brass figure of a priest in wensley dale church, yorkshire. sketched 1790. costume appears still in continuation for this æra. robes express the full officiating detail, and highly enriched, the under one particularly so. attitude, devotional; hands crossed, which uphold the chalice. st. alban's. brass in the abbeychurch. sketched 1783. supposed of thomas de la more, abbot 1396. crosier much foliaged and studded with jewels, as is the mitre [see p. 285]; the enrichment of the border to the robes, maniple, &c. a mixture of circles and diamond forms. depending decoration over the under robe has compartments of four turns; shoes enriched. attitude, devotional; hands crossed. beverley. no date; yet supposed of this æra. sketched 1790. statue of a priest on a tomb in the minster. the enrichments to the borders and other parts of the robes consist chiefly of shields of arms, evincing this personage to have been of high birth and character. attitude, devotional; hands, crossed. exeter. statue of bishop walter branscomb, 1281, (or 1397,) when executed, in his sumptuous monument on south side of our lady's chapel in the cathedral. sketched 1792. as we are arrived in due order at the zenith of splendour, the reign of edward iii. when every power of the human mind seemed so pre-eminently conspicuous, more immediately in laws, arms, and architecture, of which such extraordinary documents are on record, and in actual existence, particularly the latter subject; it is not to be wondered at that the sculpture of the statue before us is so excellently brought forward in the crosier, mitre, and robes: how elegant in disposure, how gorgeously enriched! from this specimen of eccle294 ecclesiastical costume. mastical magalicence an opinion may be adduced what extreme volendour pervaded the whole field of church embellement, in recurring to york cathedral; durham cathedral; bishop hatfield's throne and monoment, and high altar screen therein; st. stephen's chapel, westminster: percy monument, beverley minster; earl crouchback's monument, westminster abbey, &c. painter's labours takes place, more unassuming, and bearing a tendency to bring the whole mass of work to the united skill alone of the mason and sculptor, still not the less refined and high-wrought than formerly, painted glass excepted. but of this branch of art hereafter. ashby de la uch, leicestershire. no date. having fixed on the begin&c. from these, and other the likening of the fifteenth century as above, objects in various parts of the kingdom, are adduced the strongest proofs of the taste of painting, gising, &c. overlaying the internal face of the walls, monuments, statues, painted ornaments, coloured paving-tiles, enamelled brasses, &c. hence it may be accounted why the present statue is so minutely coloured in the above mode. gilded foliaged crosier,a inclosing small statue of a saint; mitre, diamonded compartments with jewelry work, &c. the execution of which 'painting is most wonderfully elaborate: i speak without fear of contradiction but by those who have never studied or drawn from this, or other like remains. having most scrupulously copied this example to the fullest scale in many large drawings, i may thus presume on the certainty of what i now advance in its praise; indeed too much cannot be said to cause general observation and general regard: (i allude principally to the statue itself.) outer robe, gold embroidery with jewels; under robe, and extreme under robe, white with gold fringe; the same to the crosier drapery, and the white gloves; shoes embroidered and jewelled. right hand giving the benediction. class vi. as all things submit to changeful habitude, our costumic theme owns the truth of this dogma. the succeeding reigns shew less superb embellishments; an insensible diminution of the see william of wykeham's actual crosier of this time in new college chapel, oxford. engraved in carter's "antient sculpture and painting." it is concluded from similar costumes that our thread of chronological order is correct. sketched 1500. represents some dignified personage, who having previously, it is supposed, been on a pilgrimage to the holy land, requested on his return that his effigies after death might be sculptured in his pilgrim's habit, as here represented. this statue is on his monument in the church. the staff with cross at top, hat with escalop shells st. james the fisherman the patron of pilgrims); scrip slung over the shoulders, with cross band and shells: outer robe, half open sleeves, shewing close robe under them; sandals laced; collar of s. s. attitude, devotional. orford. no date; our present æra is still in progress. sketched 1792. brass figure of john bloxham master) in merton college chapel. robes consist of a flowing gown and mantle. attitude, devotional. winchester. statue of cardinal beaufort; in his monumental chapel on south side of grand east aile of choir of the cathedral. he died 1447. sketched 1790. the robes worn by cardinals of this period were rather plain; that before us graceful; it is painted; round hat, and depending knotted tassels red; outer robe red, sleeves of under robe purple; shoes black. attitude, devotional. it is to be pointed out, that, notwithstanding the other statues in the church, wykeham, waynflete, &c. have been much disfigured, particularly in the noses (an almost universal barbarous custom throughout the kingdom,) and as miserably repaired by some ignorant mechanic, the statue of the cardinal, maugre the invidious chaclass vi. ashby de la zouch . oxford. winchester, 1447. ml hallows church york. exeter 1153. guild hall, london. jb. 140 east dereham 1468 winchester bags timminsterisig ecclesiastical costume. 295 racter bestowed by shakespeare, remains perfect, imparting to unprejudiced minds sentiments of the utmost awe and veneration. all-hallows church, york. no date; yet this æra may be considered as of course. sketched 1790. painted figure of a bishop in a window of the church. pastoral staff has a rich jewelled cross, supported by canopies gilded; mitre foliaged and gilt, jewels, &c. outer robe white, with an embroidered cross inclosing smaller ditto; ground of robe worked in small gold flowers and edged with jewels; under robe purple, edged with jewels and green fringes; extreme under robe, white with gold edgings; gloves and shoes white. right hand giving the benediction. the paintings of this æra, and those more immediately on glass, partook of a less degree of high colouring than those of the late reign: while those branches of art under the direct sway of architectural design were profuse and unbounded efforts both in masonry and sculpture; and it is found that in the sixteenth century, exclusive of heraldic blazonings, the only colour used in glass painting was yellow. exeter. statue of bishop oldham in his monumental chapel on south side of south aile of choir of the cathedral. he died 1453. sketched 1792. work of the crosier elaborate in foliage and jewels; the depending drapery from it pleasingly bound about the staff, a mode then in general practice, as is witnessed in numerous instances among our sepulchral remains. mitre, richly studded with jewels, as is also the maniple; under robe fringed, extreme under robe and depending drapery fringed; gloves with jewels and tassels. attitude, devotional. guildhall, london. erected in the fourteenth century. female statue on the south or entrance front over the porch of the hall. sketched 1783. the greater part of this porch has been dehe appears, in milner's "history of winchester," to have been a most exalted and praiseworthy ecclesiastick. stroyed, except the door-way and avenue into the hall, and in its place a most odious and ridiculous upright in the mock east indian style set up, more to the city's reproach than honour. this, with three other female statues in the same tier, expressed discipline (having taken the veil), justice, fortitude, and mercy, all equally delicate and beautifully executed: they have been dispersed into various hands; but, being considered as the work of some unknown and remote english artist, therefore no real interest became their portion, so necessary to fix them in a final resting-place, either in some private or public repository, the british museum for instance, like those there seen of roman or grecian pagan idolatry. the costume is that of a nun, with outer and under robes, veil and wimple. attitude, devotional. class vii. barnack, northamptonshire. no date; however, the period is proceeding on with. sketched 1780. the figure of a bishop carved in oak pannel in low relief, in some pew fences in the church. mitre has jewels; its dependant draperies plain; outer robe shews a border of jewels, and fastened on the breast in front by a brooch or fibula. here is found a great change in the make of the outer robe, not less than the fore part of it being left open, and merely brought together and secured on the breast as above stated. antecedently, the outer robe appears to have been one covering, and put on by casting it over the heads of the clergy; the arms raised the sides of the robe, which, with their occasional actions, brought the whole covering into fine disposed drapery, as witnessed in our progress hitherto. under robe fringed, cross band over front of it; extreme under robe plain. attitude, admonitory. london. no date: our progress continued. sketched 1782. figure of a bishop painted in east window of trinity hall chapel, aldersgate street, (chapel destroyed) of "st. basil the 296 ecclesiastical costume. mitre. he is ca his knees. in continuation of the painting, there is a statue, to which he is praying. great" in an inscription under the vilege of this insignia of erosier and fest. after the removal of the painting, it came into the possession of the late mr. kirgate, printer, strawberry h.l. pastoral staff, goid: mitre, with jewels and gold work; outer robe, parple lined with bise; and parpie enameled broach; mantle, green bordered with blue embroidered ornament:under robe seen on the breast, diamonded form goid brocade; extreme under robe white; shoes blue. attitude, giving the benediction. hesham, northumberland. no date: æra in succession. sketched 1795. painting on board, in the abbey-church of st. acca. there are five more of the same kind, as st. almundus, st. eata, st. wilfridus, st. john of beverley, and st. fredbert. they are the size of life, finely painted on board, in their original frames, and display the most strict studied costume. crosier foliaged, supported by canopies, gilded; mitre, jewels, and gold work; outer robe, white sprig ornament on light brown ground, and edged with gold fringe; brooch, gold; under robe of similar embroidery with outer ditto; extreme under robe, white; with its collar, sleeves, &c.; gloves white, and jewels at their backs, black shoes. attitude, giving the benediction. east dereham, norfolk. 1468. figure of a priest in basso-relievo, on the font in the church; confirming. sketched 1786. there are seven more basso relievos on the font; baptism, penance, eucharist, ordination, marriage, extreme unction, crucifixion.a winchester. 1489. sketched 1788. figure of thomas silksted, prior of the cathedral, painted with other subjects relating to the miracles of the blessed virgin, in her chapel at the east end of the church. the above date refers to the period when executed.b crosier slightly foliaged on plain canopies gilded; mitre plain, except two jewels gilt (it is placed on his altar desk); missal, leaves and clasps gilded; outer robe black. it appears the priors of this convent had the priengraved in carter's "antient sculpture and painting." " ibid. westminster. 1319. sketched 1753. figure in bronze of abbot islip, on the tomb of henry vii. in his chapel in the church; frst stone laid by islip. this abbot and sir reginal bray were the joint architects who constructed that wonderful pile. the tomb from whence this subject is selected, is the work of torregiano, a florentine artist, and the portrait is by traditionary report believed to be that of the good | islip; the circumstance expressed in the performance of which this effigies makes a part is, edward the confessor delivering the famous ring to the convent, and, in compliment to the meritorious abbot islip (setting aside all reference to edward's time, but understanding the whole a vision), makes him the receiver thereof. outer robe, hanging sleeves open to the upper half of the arm, and fringed at the edges; under robe plain; mantle and maniple, fringed. attitude, devotional, and mixed with some degree of surprise and devout attention. the proposed thread of illustration, as full and as explicit as my experience and exploratory collections of sketches would admit, being expended, i have but to hope that my zeal and reverence to preserve from obloquy relicks of the above cast may be taken in good part; and that no particular reflections will be cast on my ardent zeal, which may have been too strong to avoid, in some instances, in giving too warm praise, or too much honour, to the manners and costume (ecclesiastical) of former times. the gradual declination seen in the two last classes of superb ecclesiastical raiment is remarkably striking; as well as is the circumstance of the outer robe being open in front, with other particulars; but not of that great import as need detail. the eye alone will be sufficient to render that part of the performance discernible. april, 1817. j. carter. series of the basso-relievos on the tomb, in carter's" antient sculpture and painting." hospitals. 297 chapter lxi. hospitals. these were generally founded according to the augustinian order; and the following consuetudinal of s. leonard's, york, is an excellent summary of the usual monastick method of living. as the reception of pilgrims and poor travellers was formerly one of the principal uses of the hospitals, they were generally situated by a road side.a every lettered brother and chaplain had a desk in the cloister. all rose to mattins; and a few being left afterwards to celebrate the mass of the virgin mary, they studied in the cloister till prime. that service over, they went to the chapter, and from thence again to the choir for the celebration of the other hours, belonging to the time of day. after these, they repaired to the refectory, where the dinner was accompanied by reading and left a taylor's ind. monast. pref. xiii. the fratry to return thanks in the church. in the summer they next went to sleep, but in the winter to their books in the cloister, where they staid till vespers. these celebrated, they again returned to their books, till the hour of supper, which meal was attended with reading. after this supper or collation, they said grace, sung completory and a salve regina, &c. in the church; and after it was over, their private prayers in the choir or cloister, till bed-time, when they slept in a common dormitory. they could not eat, drink, or enter the refectory after complin, nor speak in the cloister, refectory, or dormitory. they were shaved every fifteen days.b where the paupers or others could not say the hours, so many paters and aves were substituted; and the statutes modified accordingly; but still the monastic tenor was retained. b dugd. monast. ii. 370, 371. 298 modern monachism. chapter lxii. modern monachism. after the partial restoration of monachism by mary, the accession of elizabeth totally ousted the monks and nuns; and, in 1609, one robert buckley, alias father sebert, a professed monk of westminster, aged 90 years, was the only survivor.a foreign houses were established, whither the candidates for monachism were surreptitiously conveyed. a convent of capuchins was set up at somerset-house, according to the marriage articles of queen henrietta maria, in 1633. prynne places two convents in london in the year 1640, but fuller doubts the fact:c and in 1677, sir thomas gascoigne established and endowed a nunnery at dolebank in yorkshire.d james ii. filled england with monks; but this work is not historical, and there are only three things within the plan. i. the establishment of a protestant nunnery at little gedding. ii. some attempts at the revival of monastick female institutions, chiefly for the purpose of education. iii. the modern introduction of monasticks, owing to the political surgery of the french revolutionary charlatans, who amputated limbs with hatchets, and drew teeth with blacksmith's pincers. i.-protestant nunnery. in 1633, charles i. on his progress to scotland to be crowned, went to see a protestant nunnery, at gedding parva, near stilton in huntingdonshire, instituted and appointed by mrs. farrar, a widow of eighty years of age, who said, that she had bidden adieu to all fears and hopes in this world, and only desired to love god. in this house, none were a reyner, append. i. seq. b fuller's church hist. b. ix. p. 88. archæologia, xiii. 251. seq. fuller, b. vi. p. 366. cent. xvii. p. 119. d state trials, iii. 6, 7. ed. fol. | permitted to reside who would not devote themselves to prayers at certain hours, morning, noon, evening, and night, and eat and drink by measure. within her chapel was a rich altar, crucifix, and wax-candles, and before the reading of prayers, they bowed thrice to the altar, as they went up and came down. they were at liberty to use any vocation within the house, as binding books, teaching scholars, or studying, and if any of the society were inclined to marry, they had free liberty to depart.e this protestant nunnery was other than the old beguines, or devout women, who appeared about the 13th century, and wearing a religious habit, with a private profession of continence and regular life, yet would not be confined to a cloister, or adopt a rule. lindanus thus describes the flemish beguines, contemporary, or nearly so, with these protestant nuns. they observe a middle course between a monastic and secular life. they live under certain rules, but from their own funds, and without vows. if they think fit to marry, they leave the house and do so. the old beguines did sometimes, however, make a vow of marrying god, by cutting off their hair. in france, by degrees, the order was converted into tertiaries of francis.g ii. in 1696, the learned mary astell projected a college for the education of young women, and an asylum for the unfortunate, of which an ample endowment was promised. learned acta regia, 771. f see the two matthews, paris and westminster, aº 1243, but earlier evidences exist. du cange, v. begharde, &c. h mr. nichols kindly communicates the facts upon which the reflections annexed are founded. modern monachism. 299 extremes. or able persons ought not to think in the common occurrence of results, which cannot be anticipated, may justify caution, but not the vulgar habit of allowing weight to frivolous objections; and thus sanctifying prejudice. because the plan assimilated conventual institutions, bishop burnet, notoriously a man of defective judgment, and swift, by profession a libeller, in sentiment not a man, succeeded in robbing posterity of much probable benefit. lady masham, about 1700, meditated, as i presume, a similar educational plan, in a tract in which she shows the necessity of a reform in female education, and expatiates upon the ignorance of english gentlemen. squire western was in his day a real character, but a lineal descendant in manners and habits of the feudal landholder, whom field-sports inured to military duties. though this coarseness was ameliorated by chivalry; improvements in the state of society, with far greater effect, have produced an alteration, which could not possibly result from simple education, whether monastic or not, unsupported by such important auxiliaries. a kind of royal society of philosophers of both sexes had been monastically governed in germany, at the end of the 17th century, by elizabeth, daughter of frederick v. king of bohemia. a rich and fashionable groupe of bas-blues were assembled upon a conventual plan, in a rural retreat, by the accomplished harriet eusebia harcourt, who died in 1745. according to nature, as the feminine duties are pointed out by her, and sensitive timidity and soft grace rendered woman's chief attractions, fine taste, delicate sentiment and tender feelings are more appropriate than philosophical habits, which produce masculine, disputatious, and deterring characters, certainly unsuited to the conjugal or maternal station. monasteries of learned women would be injurious to society, because they might be much better employed. hopeless as to the revival of monastick institutions, some advocates, by way of insinuation, have used the following arguments. one pleads the advantageous result, as he supposes, or similar restraints upon indulgence o the passions: but he does not know, that the riotous, corrupt, and prurient imagination, occasioned by these restraints, destroys the effect proposed, through invigoration of the passions.a another, upon medical principles, palliates ascetical austerities, by displaying various intellectual and corporeal injuries, which ensue from too generous food, and consequent dispeptic habits; but this proves not the necessity of monasteries, only of temperance. a third, under the persuasion, that an unjust libel upon numerous pious, charitable, and even amiable women is a serious truth, gravely recommends monastick institutions, as remedies, eradicating the spleen and fidgets in old maids; as if dogs became better tempered from being chained or kenneled, or there was no quarrelling in alms-houses of old women. a rigid monastery would at least be a more proper punishment of adultery than a pecuniary mulct. iii.modern monks in england. the most eminent of these is the monastery of la trappe, settled by the bounty of mr. weld, at lulworth in dorsetshire. the first abbey of la trappe, [in normandy,] was founded by retrou count de perche, in 1140: but was converted in the 17th century into its present form, by bouthillier de la rancé, the once celebrated author of the devoirs de la vie monastique, a rhapsody, with learned ascetick quotations, often cited in this work. he is said in early life to have been a man of elegant mind and pleasurable habits, who at the age of fourteen published an edition of anacreon. two accounts are given of his change of manners: one, that it was owing to a providential escape when a gun burst see this ingeniously and ably exhibited by zimmerman, in his work upon solitude. i 3. til i i ax 155x ace. dease ex se tig re ni at t * i ment int t telin jesse ife ruch wy 3. d **ca st zme gassucha besnis, ie jars me minus i sporal mere ang mag ummas, avis in larpasqyravimaly instrated in the * crea micks mos y der icon of sie sú mut me poor, and entercars: 3sa zorrective penitil sken, kriet z daracters petes d acer, spans only the servus urtencen of poczcal ecomists, but 10 government coght to permit me power of being such misery men maccence. add to this the flowing remark of lady mary specimen monacaninge. p. 11. seq. this does ut hear i lavort. *al dis the center may see in his devoirs, i. 139. 142. i 3)—345. il 47. and other places quoted in ths vics. modern monachism. 301 wortley montague upon a monastery, of la trappe: "i cannot well form a notion of that spiritual and extatick joy, that is mixed with sighs, groans, hunger and thirst, and the other complicated miseries of monastick discipline. it is a strange way of going to work for happiness, to excite an enmity between soul and body, which nature and providence have designed to live together in an uninterrupted friendship, and which we cannot separate, like man and wife, when they happen to disagree." these lulworth monks, though of course mere automata, are humble, inoffensive, and moral. superstition, compatible with all religious, and even infidel principles, does not necessarily include vice; and these noble-minded asceticks maintained 80 orphan children of the murdered french noblesse, and refused an asylum from the emperor of russia, because they would not rob a legitimate proprietor of his estate. messrs. gough and nichols made a visit to the refugees of lulworth, and, besides their own remarks, have printed a the accounts of a hostile and a friendly visitor. the two latter are evidently ignorant of the romish canonical hours, and invariable monastick habits. in manners and customs they are both inaccurate. without rejecting their description, it is therefore better to premise the rule, which their imperfect lights only show in almost all points observed. rule. the hour of rising is marked by the dormitory bell, which rings at 2 a. m. on working days, at 1 on sundays and festivals, and at midnight [on account of vigils, f.] for grand festivals. they go immediately to the church to say matins and lauds till four. they employ themselves till five in prayers at church, or in reading divinity in the cloister. they return to church to say prime, after which is in hutchins's dorsetshire, new edition (vol. iv. p. 349, seq.) additions to vol. i. whence all the accounts here are taken. held, for half an hour, a chapter of faults; they then go to work for an hour and a half; and leave off at the bell which calls to church to tierce, high mass, and sext; after which they repair to the refectory. in winter nones are said at noon, and in summer at one o'clock. after nones they return to labour for an hour and a half, and leave off when the bell calls to church to pray for the king, which lasts about a quarter of an hour. at four o'clock they say vespers; at five go to the refectory, till half after six; a quarter of an hour is spent in praying in the church, or in reading together in the cloister. at seven they say complin, and at eight they go to bed. these and some other of the subsequent regulations are simply benedictine, except the manual labour, and the rigorous injunction of silence, which is not only perpetual, but prohibits communication by writing or signs, or even two standing near together. every saturday at la trappe was a maundy, or feet-washing in the cloister; and communion every sunday and principal festivals by all the religious not priests. the deacon having received the kiss of peace from the celebrant, while they were singing the agnus dei, went down to give it to the sub-deacon, who carried it to the entrance of the sanctuary to the oldest monk, who was to communicate, and he to the next following, and so the rest. this kiss of peace was received at the place where the sub-deacon chaunted the epistle. they afterwards kneeled down six and six in the sanctuary, and communicated on the epistle side of the altar; then returned to their places. conferences [religious converzationes] were usually held in a room, garden, or other place, at the ringing of the bell by the superior every sunday, and on festivals, when they fell on the middle of the week. the sick or infirm religious had meat only by leave of the superior, and after five or seven attacks of fever. the infirm never drank wine, unless a 302 modern monachism. remedy against fainting. sweetmeats were used.a no sugar or when motraye visited la trappe, which was while our james ii. made a temporary visit there for edification in his own way of ite, missa est, [go, it is the hour of mass,] he was received by the porter in a coat like a quaker, of the coarsest grey stuff, who, after kneeling before him in silence, beckoned to him to follow him, and brought him to another brother in the same dress, who, after kneeling, led him into a hall, whither the father porter, who was allowed to speak, introduced him to rancé, who had resigned through age. in 1800 mr. gough, mr. nichols, and mr. basire, visited lulworth. they say, "when the french revolution drove these religious from their situation in normandy, mr. weld, of lulworth castle, gave them refuge on the sea-coast, near lulworth cove, a few fields from his park-gate, and allotted them 400 acres, which they cultivate, and send the produce that exceeds their own consumption to poole. their house consists of an outer court, with stables or other buildings, through which you pass to the principal door, where the porter, who is permitted to speak, receives and conducts you, from a small hall or lobby, into a parlour, in the window of which lay thomas à kempis, and a french quarto of the rules, &c. of the orders." another traveller says, "ringing at the gate of the monastery, we were received by the porter. it is impossible to give an accurate idea of the hideousness of this man's dress, which was composed of a tunick made of coarse, thick, and heavy woollen cloth. over his shoulders he wore a cope made of the same material; this was partly thrown back, so that his face was visible. (see the plate, p.306, fig.3.) the porter, though one of the brotherhood, was sufficiently communicative. he complained, indeed, that the superior, by continuing of this carthusian regulation, see chapter of rules, p. 65. b a mere compliment; not the rule. him for two years in an office which ought to be occupied by each brother in his turn, had grievously interrupted those devout meditations, in which it iwas his ardent wish to be uninterruptedly employed. intercourse with strangers, he said, led his thoughts back to that world, which he wished to forget:" [thus proving the justice of the remark, that monachism disqualifies mankind for any duties but its own.] the friendly visitor says, "the entrance to the monastery is on the west side, near the porter's lodge, under a long narrow building, which serves for offices of the meaner kind. the porter who received us, was dressed in the habit of a convent-brother, wearing a long brown robe of coarse cloth, and a cowl of the same colour over his head, a leathern girdle encircled his waist, from which were suspended his keys: he spoke to us in a whisper, and desired us to be silent." (see the plate, p. 306, fig. 3.) on the right and left of the gate at la trappe was the farm of the abbey, where the secular brethren, thrice a week, under a pent-house, distributed bread to numerous poor. there they lodged in bed-chambers a great number of guests. after passing the gate at the further end of the court, was on the left the chapel, where the women heard mass, not being admitted into the church. on each side was a suit of buildings for the use of the monastery, such as presses, forges, stables, magazines, &c. at lulworth the conformity of structure is at least upon the same plan, and women equally excluded; and all these offices are in an outer court, as at la trappe. one of the travellers says, "as we passed through the first court at lulworth, we fancied ourselves in former days, when the monastick orders flourished; and strange and unusual seemed the appearance of the monks in the full habit of their order, gliding along intent on meditation, or employed in manual labour, but not a word spoken." the other traveller says, that their faces were covered, so that only their eyes and modern monachism. 303 noses were visible. this is precisely according to the rule and custom of the parent house, where they never spoke, read, wrote, or looked any person in the face, but always on the ground. there were only two exceptions, of which hereafter. at lulworth are a chapel or church, chapter, cloisters, refectory, dormitory, visitors' parlours, and bed-room; of which, in order. church. at la trappe the church was descended into by six steps, and consisted of a nave and two choirs for the converts and the brethren. at the service the religious appeared like machines singing without book; their eyes shut or fixed on the earth, their hands crossed before them, and kissing the ground at going in and coming out. their chaunt was unaccompanied by the organ or any musical instrument whatever, and no decoration was permitted in the church. messrs. gough and nichols describe the chapel at lulworth, as neatly fitted up with deal stalls on each side; in the centre, as at la trappe, a turret with a dome. the anti-chapel, over which is a gallery, has on each side the door two whole-lengths of the virgin mother, with i. h. s. on a heart on the south, superscribed on the frame, "do all that he will tell you." on the north, "mother, behold your son." over the door, our lady of pity. at a table, lifted up under the north picture, the abbot celebrated high mass, attended only by an acolyte. he finished the service at the high altar; which has, under a tabernacle, the virgin and child, seemingly in terra cotta or painted wood; the arms with wax lights, issued from the heart, and i. h. s.; and there was a small plain chandelier. in the way to the vestry was a good picture of st. john's baptism, over a table; and in the vestry, in two sets of drawers, the maniples and vestments for solemn festivals; a large cross of wood with an inscription on the shaft and transverse; and a silver chalice, embossed with scripture histories in compartments, the oldest piece of plate which they possess. one of the travellers says, the names of the monks were inscribed on the stalls, and in each stall was a large old missal on vellum, guarded at the corners and sides, and large clasps; a lamp burning perpetually during the presence of the eucharist. the rood-loft contained an organ [a deviation from the custom of the parent house]. opposite to the chapel were private oratories, embellished with crucifixes and religious paintings. chapter. at la trappe the chapter opened into the cloister, where the abbot, on a raised seat, addressed his reproof to the brethren, and near it was a way into the garden, in which the religious, on a signal given by their superior, returned to their work. in the old rule was a morning chapter, as in almost all orders. of lulworth, one traveller says, "from another part of the cloisters we entered the chapter-house, whither the monks retire after their meal is over, not to beguile away their time in trifling conversation, but in reading religious books, saying vespers and other evening prayers, and in public self-accusation: the walls of this room are covered with religious prints, and at the entrance hung up a board with pegs, on which were suspended bits of wood, inscribed with the names of all the monks that had been and are now in the convent; p. dionysius, p. hyacinthus, p. julianus, p. barnardus, p. martinus, p. matthæus, p. pius, and others, to the number of eighty-six: on another board were inscribed a list of the different offices of the church for the day, and the names of such of the fathers as officiated, set opposite; below it, an exhortation in latin and french, pointing out the advantages of devotion, and the importance of self-denial." at la trappe the religious might speak to confess their evil thoughts to the abbot, and to accuse or proclaim a alluding to the conversations after nones, and the biberes, in other orders. 304 modern monachism. themselves in full chapter, on which they prostrated themselves to the ground, and remained till the abbot stamped with his foot. cloisters. at la trappe the cloister was within the house, wherein they passed all their leisure time, and attended lectures and conferences. at lulworth, one modern visitor says, "the cloisters are used for air and exercise in bad weather, having a large cistern at one end for the monks to wash." at la trappe on the right hand of the garden was the cemetery of the religious, and in the middle of it the tomb of de rancé their founder, under a building 9 feet by 6. the graves of the common religious were distinguished only by a wooden cross, with the name, diocese, and town of the deceased, inscribed on a plate of lead. when in a dying state, they were carried into the choir, and laid on straw, over which ashes had been previously strewed in form of a cross,a and were buried in their habit, without any pomp. at lulworth, messrs. gough and nichols noted in the cemetery a grave of a boy, at the head and feet of which were a wooden cross; and an open grave. one traveller says, passing from the chapter through a cloister, we visited the burying ground, which occupies a small inner court. "two graves, already tenanted are marked by two wooden crosses; and one grave is always kept open [as a memento mori was the intention of de rancé. f.] ready to receive the next deceased. our conductor assured us, that each individual of the fraternity prayed sincerely that he might himself soon become the next occupant." the other traveller says, "this monastery is of a quadrangular shape, with a schilling in the inside, forming the cloisters, and the area a depository for the dead. we observed seven graves, to some of which were added a wooden cross, either at the head or feet." the ashes on ash-wednesday and these times, were to commemorate "that man is but ashes and earth, and thereto shall return." fuller's ch. hist. cent. xvi. p. 222. refectory. at la trappe, on one side of the cloister, was the refectory of the monks, and by the side of it that of the convert brothers, with a communication between them, that both might hear the reading in the great refectory. it ended at the kitchen, which, by a little court, communicated with the court of the converts, where in different shops each followed his respective trade. their fare was only pulse, herbs, and boiled roots, without butter or oil, and very brown bread, and no fish, or flesh, or eggs, only milk. messrs. gough and nichols say, that at lulworth, "the cloister led on the south to the refectory, opposite to which are the kitchen and buttery with two doors. at the upper end of the refectory, which runs from north to south, is the abbot's table under a crucifix; and on each side, on the east, the table of the religious, and on the west, that of the seculars and acolytes, all spread with coarse cloth, wooden platters and spoons, stone jugs and horns, filled with water. one of the seculars from the kitchen, through the door, carried up two bowls full of boiled rice, cabbage, potatoes, and milk to the abbot's table, making three bows in the refectory, and afterwards took from the hatch the bowls of the others singly. east of the refectory is the scullery and workshop, where they turn, make and mend their habits, bind their books, and write their musick." one traveller describes the refectory as " a very plain room with white-washed walls, furnished with a rude table, and two or three wooden-bottomed chairs." || in the next account there must be some mistake, for it mentions soup and bread, quite black, as the only fare allowed to the monks, of which they partook twice a day in summer, and once only in winter; whereas the other traveller says, they have only one meal. the former says, that a wooden bowl and spoon and a coarse earthenware cup for each person, composed the whole of their table utensils. the latter describes the refectory "as a modern monachism. 305 very long room, containing a wooden bench, extending on each side; upon the tables were placed a wooden trencher, bowl and spoon, with a napkin for each monk, and the name of each inscribed over his seat; and at the upper end sat the prior, distinguished from the rest of the convent, only by his pastoral staff. during the repast, the lecturer delivered a discourse, as usual in all orders; and still retained in many colleges of the two universities. dormitory. at la trappe the upper story was occupied by distinct dormitories for each order, and the monks slept on straw mattrasses, without sheets and at eight went to bed. at lulworth, messrs. gough and nichols found the dormitory a long gallery lighted by one window to the south, with 12 bedsteads, straw mattrasses, and pillows on each side; and on the teasters the respective names of the monks. the cynical traveller agrees with them in the construction of the apartment, but makes the beds or rather cells, 24 or 25, separated from each other by wooden partitions. in these cells, the whole fraternity repose on bare boards, covered with only a blanket and rug. the friendly visitor says, that the dormitory "extends the whole length of the building, and on each side are ranged the cells of the monks, in which they recline themselves on wood, with one blanket, and a coarse rug. there is a window at each end, to ventilate and air the room, which is dark and gloomy: and a clock is stationed near the entrance to warn the monks of the hour of mattins." visitors' parlour and bed-room. these at la trappe had the usual large accommodations of the great abbeys: a hall, chambers, &c. one traveller describes it at lulworth, as a kind of common sitting-room, where were about two dozen of superstitious books, mostly in french, some few in latin, the whole of their library. messrs. gough and nichols say, that over the parlour are two neat small plaster chambers, with check bed-furniture, and white quilts, for strangers. the rule of the founder prescribed manual labour, as being the first punishment annexed to sin, and an exercise extremely well suited to the state of the poor and of the penitent, and as a very powerful means to sanctify them in their profession. this work they were to perform, neither indolently nor violently; that is, in the festina lente manner of baron born's description. at la trappe, when at work, they threw off the great hood, and retained only a shirt, of white thin serge, with their long gowns of the same stuff, but thicker, which they tucked up and confined in the ends of the scapulary, under their leathern girdle. the first traveller to lulworth says, 66 the monks whom we met did not so much as look at us when we approached them; they turned aside their heads, and crossed themselves in silence." the second visitor says, "the monks observe perpetual silence, scarcely even look at each other, and never speak but to their prior, and only on urgent occasions: they never wander from their convent without permission of their superior, but go each morning cheerfully to such work as they are directed to perform. as we passed these poor humble unoffending monks at their work they received us with courtesy and humility, but never spoke." the ground attached to the monastery contains about 400 acres, which is cultivated by the monks, with the assistance of a carter and his boy. costumes. at la trappe their habit was a long white woollen gown, tied with a leathern girdle, a black scapulary, and a wide hood; but novices wore a kind of capote of coarse brown wool, without sleeves. the first traveller describes them at lulworth, as habited like the porter (see p. 302), with stockings of coarse cloth, and wooden shoes, about three inches thick in the sole. the second traveller mentions a vestment-room, where the vestments x 306 modern monachism. of the choir-brothers were hung up, with the name of each inscribed. explanation of the print. the subjects of this plate are selected from several very spirited sketches by mr. basire, taken when on a visit to lulworth with messrs. gough and nichols, in the year 1800. fig. 1, is a portrait of the abbot, in his costume. fig. 2, is a portrait of one of the monks, in meditation and prayer. fig. 3, is a striking portrait of the talkative little porter. fig. 4, is another of the monks. fig. 5, the monks at church, exhibiting the attitude of the venia. fig. 6, is a monk in prayer at the high altar. in the back ground of figures 2, and 4, are very slight distant views of the monastery at lulworth. nuns of spettisbury. a mrs. mary wiseman, a professed nun of the flemish convent of st. ursula in louvain, established in the last place, in the year 1609, a house of canonesses of the augustinian order. they were governed by a prioress, and educated young ladies. this house enjoyed considerable funds, and subsisted till the french invasion in 1794, when the members of it fled out of the low countries. thus the abbé mann: according to other authorities," the house was founded by some english members of a flemish community. when they sought an asylum in their native country, in 1799, they were received by an hospitable friend, till a residence was hired for them at amesbury in wiltshire, where they resided till the year 1800. since then, spettisbury house, in dorsetshire, has been their mansion. the society is at present composed of 33 members. the principal apartment of the house is occupied by young ladies, whom they educate. they are about 70 in family. there is also a separate building, in which their chaplain and some archæologia, xiii. p. 264. hutchins's dorsetshire, new edit. iii. p. 135. respectable boarders reside. these ladies express much gratitude to the nation at large; and particular obliga tion to a lady who boarded with them, and built them a private chapel, over the entrance of which her arms are placed. benedictine nuns. in the year 1651, this monastery was founded by the interest of clementina cara, daughter of the celebrated viscount falkland, killed in the wars of charles i. after five several habitations in paris, they at last, in 1664, fixed themselves in the rue du champ d'aloutte, fauxbourg st. marcel, where they remained till their expulsion by the revolution in 1793. after imprisonment with other nuns in the castle of vincennes for four months, and removal from thence to another convent of nuns, they at length, in march 1795, were liberated; and with much delay and difficulty obtaining, by great interest, the necessary passports, and selling what little was left to pay their passage, they arrived at dover, july 3, 1795; at london two days after.d in the same year they retired to marnhull, co. dorset. the society consisted of eighteen ladies, all english, (one a sister of the late eccentric philip thicknesse,) under mrs. johnson, as abbess. the sister and heir of the late cuthbert tonstal, esq. was a frequent visitor and benefactress. she lived and slept in the house, and had a separate table; but her maid servant, being a protestant, did not sleep there. they have two priests for chaplain and confessors, one of whom, by the importation of a valuable library in several large chests, subjected them to an absurd suspicion, that these chests concealed arms, and actually persons. this foolish affair was soon set at rest by the magistrates and gentry of the neighbourhood. the burial of one of the sisters abbé mann's account of english convents, &c. on the continent, in archæologia, v. xiii. p. 269. d account of british subjects sufferers by the late revolution. part ii. p. 9—16. 1 2 3 4 5 6 thrit monks of la trappe, at lulworth, dorsetshire. audinet salp modern monachism. 307 in the garden, without a coroner, created another alarm, which was in like manner removed. during the search thus occasioned, were found four alabaster bas-reliefs of the passion and crucifixion. in 1799, there were seventeen, in the benedictine costume of black gowns and veils. they have since removed to a house near bridgewater in somersetshire.a it has been reported, that there are other societies now in the kingdom. a hutchins's dorsetshire, new edition, iv. 164. appendix. the particulars attending the dissolution of monasteries are well known; but, as i have seen some unpublished matter on this subject, i shall here give it. the famous prophecy of robert langland, in the vision of piers plowman, of the destruction of monasteries, is not unique. in ms. cott. titus, d. xii. sect. 8. (smith's catalogue,) there are or were "versus prophetici rhythmici de destructione monasteriorum;" and it is by every thing probable that langland, and this writer, merely expressed a general opinion. it was said of the lollards: "they also persuade the great persons of the land, that the church-possessions are to be taken away, and given to knights." b as henry viii. acted on this idea, it is fit to note, that if an estate is bought subject to tithes, the purchase money is proportionably less; and if tithes be taken away, the landlord will have the amount in increased rent, with whom the tenant can never make so good a bargain as with the clergyman. now it happens most unluckily, that the gifts to the religious were of considerable national benefit; and that they were the great loanmongers of their days; (toulmin's taunton, p. 8.) and that large possessions in the hands of those very knights only served to hii quoque suadent terræ magnatibus auferendas esse possessiones ecclesiæ, et militibus distribuendas. ms. cott. claud. e. 1v. f. 330, a. promote bloodshed and misery; that what learning and what religion there was resided among the religious; that the want of the one would reduce this country into the political imbecility of turkey, and that the necessity of the other is conspicuous enough. in ms. harl. 604. f. 63. a. is the abbot of athelney's solicitation for mercy, &c. respecting the payment of their debts, "that he may be out of trobell and sute of the law." the form of the certificate returned in at the dissolution was as follows: names of the houses; clere value of lands; number and pensions of the religious; clere money remaining ; stock and domestic articles; rewards with the portions paid unto the priors; remainder of the price of goods and chastels sold; lead and bells; wood and underwood; plate and jewells. id. 92. the king and queen (philip and mary) discharged the purchasers of lands of all expence and incumbrance, except leases. the purchaser was to discharge the kinge and queen's majesties of all the fees and repryses goynge out of the premises. ms. harl. 607. p. 74. a. an inquiry was constantly made in parting with the abbey-land, whether they lay near the royal manors, castles, or houses. id. 46. a. it may please your honnors. further to understande that because all the possessions belonge to the said late monasterye of saint agathe's, were immediately upon the dissolution therex 2 308 appendix dissolution of monasteries. of letten to the lord scrope without haringe respecte to value. id. 25. a. it was done to create an interest which might destroy all hopes of restitution. the visitors took care of the churchduty. "it is needful," one of them says, "to have a vicar indowde in the saide collegiate churche, beside th' other pastors, at the leaste to serve the cures ther; that is to say, one to be assistant to the vicar in the saide collegiate churche, and uther to serve the cure in the castell churche, and the third to serve the cure in horton churche." ms. harl. 605. f. 56. the convent would disclose nothing; and, says the visitor, "i fermely bileve and suppose, that they had confedered and compacted before our coming, that they should disclose nothing and yet it is confessed and proved, that there was here suche frequencie of women coming and reassorting to this monastery, as to no place more." ms. cott. cleop. e. iv. f. 120. b. "the abbey (of newark) here is | confederyde we suppos, and nothing will confesse; the abbot is an honest man, and doth vara well; but he hath here the most obstinate and factiouse canons that ever i knewe. this mornynge i will objecte against divers of them; .... and adulterie, et sic specialiter descendere, whiche i have lerned of othir, but not of any of them, which i shall finde i cannot tell." id. 131. b. the different valuations in dugdale and speed, dr. smith (catal. of cott. mss. xxxix.) professes to explain, by saying the one valuation gives the nett sum after the deductions made, the other not; now, in sir h. ellis's shoreditch, p. | 292, are no less than seven valuations of one place; in p. 321, fire; and it is in vain to enquire the cause of this, since various reasons, all of equal probability, might conspire jointly or severally to produce it. a defect in value, or enumeration, is, however, the most likely in my opinion. no doubt both these events ensued as best suited the purpose. *** the following verses on the dissolution have more than sufficient merit for publication. they are entitled "a tale of robin hoode, dialogue-wise, between watt and jeffry.” the moral is the overthrow of the abbeys: adem bella was ware and wise, when hee first began to rise, as the bee in summer's prime sucks the marigolde and thyme, sucks the rose and daffodill, leaving, taking what she will, and from flow'r to flow'r doth glide, sweetly by the river side; where chrystal streames delightfull runninge, are ever sweet'ned with his cumminge. ■ monachism. such was adam in his prime, in the flower of his tyme, soe he tastes every sweete till with fatt he fell asleepe; as he slumb'red in the dale, spread upon the gentle vale, a famisht lion came that way, [hungry pantinge] for his pray, in his grasping pawes he hente him, and in pieces all to rent him; yet his cabin doth remaine beaten with the windes and raine, spoyled of all the passers by whose huge frame doth terrify; all that wondrous monument, all the world's astonishment; when the wolves and foxesd saw adam in the lion's paw, ours is robin's strength they cried, and sett him round on every side. ms. harl. 367. f. 150. b seized. c puritans. d politicians. ceremonial of the nuns of st. cyr. 309 the rev. francis vyvyan jago arundel having very obligingly communicated a curious ms. entitled, "the benedictine ceremonial of the nuns of st. cyr," in the park of versailles, compiled from ancient documents, abstracts are here given of such passages as are not analogous to preceding matters. chap. i. at the sound of the bell, the noviciates and professed juniors hastened to the church, followed by their mistress and her assistant; the others meditating the rule (c. 43, 48.); to prefer nothing to divine worship. at the church-door they said the versicle, "i will enter into thy house," and then dipping their fingers in holy water, 66 crossed themselves, saying, asperges," &c. this they did at all times of entering or leaving the church, except when in procession. they next, in the anti-choir, put on their full dress, and tied their wimples on certain days, but on others untucked their robes, and dropped the sleeves over their hands. at two steps from the entrance they made a low bow to the host, one not so low to the superior, another similar to the prioress, and upon arrival at their stalls (chaires) again lowly inclined to the host. these ceremonies were used at going out and passing by. the juniors, down to the tenth year of their profession, said nothing by heart, except the most common things, and the office of complin. those exonerated legitimately from singing or psalmody arranged themselves last, that they might not interrupt those who sang. the nuns placed themselves according to the seniority of their profession on each side of the choir, particular places of distinction being allotted to the abbess, her coadjutrix, the prioress, and sub-prioress. all descended by the nearest steps, the juniors first. when the abbess said her part of the service, the nuns stood, as they always did in every place, until she was seated. when she entered or left the choir, they rose and bowed. no one, except officers on duty, left the choir during service, without stating the occasion to the presiding nun. those released from the daily service, placed themselves below the stalls at tierce, vespers, and the benediction of complin, which they were obliged to attend, except by dispensation or necessary engagements elsewhere. the candles were lighted and snuffed by some of the youngest. any sister who had business with another, was to call her out into the anti-choir, that the service might not be impeded.—there were other minor regulations, pp. 1-9. — chap. ii. the attitude in the choir was to be the body erect, the head a little inclined, downcast eyes (les yeux demi in terre), the hands under the scapulary or in the sleeves of the full dress, unless when holding the book. spitting, blowing the nose, and irreverent gestures to be avoided, pp. 10. 14. chap. iii. "our holy patriarch seems to us to distinguish (signer) two kinds of psalmody, or chant; the first, which is varied by antiquity or note; the second, which has no variation, but is of the same tenor." p. 14. certain services were to be celebrated accordingly. chap. iv. regulates the psalmody. small mistakes noticed by kissing the ground in their places: great errors by doing so before the presiding nun. pp. 18-20. chap. v. two kinds of bows. the greater, bending the body till the hands touched the knees; the other, just inclining the head, the body a little bent. pp. 20-25. chap. vii. prostration and kissing the ground at certain offices. 310 ceremonial of the nuns of st. cyr. chap. xxii. a weekly officer of the choir appointed for certain minor religious services. chap. xxiii. except on particular days the cross was placed on the abbess's bench 'au banc de l'abbesse). tapers were borne before her when she went to the grate, in processions, &c. the cross was carried a little before her on the right side; but the bearer did not touch it with the naked hand. the cross-bearer also presented the holywater sprinkle at a certain office. chap. xxv. method of the holy water benediction. the nuns ranged themselves in front of the stalls, the sacrist gave the sprinkle to the abbess kneeling, and kissing her hand, retired a little behind her, both she and the abbess having their backs turned to the altar. the prioress and rest of the nuns then made a low reverence to receive the holy water. at other times the nuns formed a circle, and were sprinkled by the presiding officer in the centre. chap. xxvi. contains the regula! tion of the whole day. if the abbess has no want of her sister (sic) she waked the society, and had the care of the clock; otherwise, another nun. nearly the whole society rose at 4 a.m. the others past. she then opened the doors, grate, &c. and at past 4 rung the first bell of mattins. lauds followed immediately without ringing; then half an hour's prayer, unless it was abbreviated for justifiable reasons. prime and chapter succeeded; and until 8 they withdrew to dress, or official duties, or those enjoined. at 8, tierce, followed by mass, and, till 10, manual employment, except on certain days. at 10, sext. on the fasts of the rule about past 10; if there was a double office, past 10. on the fasts of the church they left work at past 10, and withdrew to their cells, if they had no business in the offices. at past 11, nones. then to the refectory in procession, from whence to the church to say grace, ranged along the benches, from top to bottom. "if there be no fasts, they go from 11 to 12 to refreshment all together: if there be fasts of the rule, from past 11 or thereabouts, till 1. upon fasts of the church, from past 12 till 2. upon days when there is no fast, silence at noon, and nones at 1. work till 3. upon fasts of the rule, silence from after 1 to 2; and upon fasts of the church from after 2 to 3 there is no work. upon fasts of the rule, the hour of labour is from 2 to 3; so that ! vespers is always at 3. after this there is prayer for an hour. it must finish a little before past 4. if it be a fast they withdraw to their cells; are occupied in their offices, or may walk in the garden, or visit the sick." at past 5 the coliation in the refectory, from whence in procession to the church to complin. afterwards the benediction, sprinkling with holy water, and at 9 at latest the dormitory. pp. 102-108. chap. xxxvi. a retirement once a year for eight or ten days, when they communicated once a day, and passed the time in holy meditation. chap. xxxvii. confession twice a week, upon wednesdays and saturdays, except upon certain festivals, &c. in the confessional were half-hour glasses to regulate the time for confession allowed to each nun; at first only a third of the sand, but this limitation being found to cramp the conscience, the whole half hour was allowed. chap. xli. records a custom of drawing tickets inscribed with the name of a month and some particular virtue. each then drew one; and engaged to study that virtue during the time. chap. xlii. on the vigil of january the first, the abbess brought to every cell some fine paper and a small candle; and the next day, at the end of prime, the society wished the abbess a happy new year, and received her benediction. the novices did the same also with their mistress, and the others at meeting kissed each other in token of amity. upon the vigil of the epiphany, after the benediction of the supper, or the collation, one or more cakes was placed upon the abbess's table, and the ceremonial of the nuns of st. cyr. 311 youngest noviciates drew each a part. she who had the bean went to eat her portion at the abbess's table. a wag would smile at the indulgencies granted to the sisters, consisting of suspensions of the law of silence after dinner, and in the evening, upon the epiphany, the sunday following, and tuesday and thursday before septuagesima. chap. xliii. candlemas day. the consecrating priest wore a violet-coloured cope. chap. lxvii. festival of st. cyr. flowers were thrown upon the procession as it passed. 23 june. vigil of st. john. a bonfire being made in the evening before the garden gate, all the nuns assembled around it. the abbess set fire to it, and, after a short religious ceremony, they withdrew in silence, " to imitate that of the saint in his solitude." [here is druidism, &c. &c.] chap. lxxxi. cells in the dormitory. doors to be always shut except in hot weather. the only furniture [except, of course, beds, &c.] an image framed in black, like a picture, and two or three others quite simple: only six books allowed, except those which they had" dans le particulier." not to take physick in the dormitory unless there were many sick, nor to bring any thing to eat there, except to the sick; but on account of preserving silence in the dormitory, always to prefer removal to the infirmary. those who "font des remedes," without sleeping in the infirmary, to retire at 8 o'clock, and not to speak afterwards. no noise to be made by moving the furniture, knocking, &c. no one to leave it during the hours of silence; and on this account pails of water to be provided every night for the use of the nuns. no sweeping in the house, except during the garden promenades in the evening. -an apothecary's shop mentioned in this chapter and elsewhere, as belonging to the house, under the care of an apothecaress. chap.lxxxii. the common house. open, except in the hours of silence, when permission was necessary for work or reading while they warmed themselves. but they could not go there in a night dress, or to dress and undress without leave. if a nun found herself there alone, she might request another to come, that the fire might be employed. p. 254. chap. lxxxiv. at the collation, about a quarter to six, humiliations of kissing the feet of any sister, &c. were practised. chap. xci. infirmary. phlebotomy in the foot is mentioned. p. 280. chap. xcii. garden. "they shall not go to the garden alone without a great necessity, except on festivals and sundays, or (ou) it is permitted, and when they go there after complin. it is usual to go there for a little more than three months during the heat of summer, after leaving complin, till 8 o'clock." the abbess renewed the permission every year in chapter of going to the garden. no flowers except jessamin and violet to be picked, unless by assent of the sacristan. not to go there in a night or undress, but to put on the great scapulary at least for propriety's sake. promenades in the garden permitted at the hour after prime, and at that after the prayers, on fast days. pp. 283, 284. form of investing (a la vesture) a choir girl, i. e. making her a noviciate. at the chapter preceding the ceremony, she begged on her knees the habit from the abbess, who replied by a suitable exhortation. on the vigil the mistress of the novices took the girl to ask pardon of the mothers and sisters. upon the day, prime, tierce, and sext were said successively without singing, that the sisters might go to dress, and after mass and communion, the girl after the abbess, the society went to breakfast in the refectory upon some meat and wine. if the girl had parents or near relatives, she was to solicit their blessing before the ceremony. upon their arrival there were placed in the middle of the choir a large carpet, a prie, dieu covered with carpeting, upon which the crucifix was 312 ceremonial of the nuns of st. cyr. laid, a careau, a chair; and before a taper, ou il doit avoir une piece dor; near the abbess's seat, a small table covered with a carpet, upon which were laid all the religious habits, a silver basin, scissars (une plote et des espingles), qu? a pincushion and pins. chairs were put for the society; and the sacrist consecrated, sprinkled, and censed the habits. at the offering the mistress of the novices brought the girl to the grate, the taper being carried before her. the girl then having kissed the pax, dropped the piece of gold into the silver bason held by the subdeacon, and bowing, retired to her seat. after mass and the sermon, the cross-bearer, accompanied by the mistress, leaning the crucifix on the right arm, led the girl to the abbess seated; she made her request, kissed the ground, bowed to the abbess, and returned to her seat. the chantress then commenced a service, each of the nuns holding a lighted taper. after the response, the mistress conducted the girl to the sacristy, where she was stripped of her worldly habiliments, and re-clothed in a tunick, dishevelled hair, a crown of thorns upon her head, and the crucifix in her arms. as she entered the choir a service commenced, at the end of which the sacrist went to present the ceremonial to the abbess. the mistress brought the girl to the superior to give her the habit. the sacrist held the book open all the time the girl was being drest. the superior then cut off a lock of her hair in the form of a cross, adding a prayer signifying excision of superfluities and secular vanities. the girl was next clothed in the robe, girdle, scapulary, and white veil, with suitable prayers. being thus arrayed, she kissed the feet of the superior, resumed the crucifix, which she placed upon its stand in the middle of the choir, and prostrated herself before it, the convent performing a service. the girl next offered her taper to the holy virgin, over the altar of the anti-choir. after some more prayers the girl returned and knelt before the abbess, who said, "my daughter, you shall no more be called, 'my sister so and so,' but, my sister' [after the name of some saint]." the superior then embraced her, and the mistress led her round to embrace the community; the convent singing te deum, and the bells ringing. after that the grate was closed, and all that day the novice dined at the table of the abbess. "si elle fait la retraite elle aura son voile baisse celle qui ont des parends, qui les veulle voir en de hors, l'on les fait sortir la veille mais elle ny couche point." remark (sic). the day of her investment they made a small altar, which they placed in the chapter, properly dressed, and put upon it the rod, which was kept in the dormitory. the ceremony was the same with a convert girl, only the bench was differently placed, and there was no careau. part ii. pp. 1-11. the forms of consecrating and professing nuns have been before given. peregrinatorium religiosum; or, manners and customs of ancient pilgrims. 3 c introduction. costumes of pilgrims. the particular designations of pilgrims were the scrip, staff or bourdon, palmer's staff, scarf, bell, sclavina, hat, rosary, scrobula. the scrip was derived from the monks of egypt. charlemagne wore a golden scrip when he went to rome.a it was the pouch or wallet in which pilgrims carried their necessaries. thus chaucer, "in scrippe he bare both bread and leeks."b it was made of leather. in the life of s. margaret is this passage: "and you shall visit me with a pilgrim's staff, the scrip hanging from your shoulder;" and in a compotus from the year 1333 to 1336 is an entry "for a scrip of seta," which i think not leather only, but leather with the hair on. in the roman de la rose ms. it is coupled with the bourdon, as will hereafter appear. small ones are mentioned.d we find a scrip and mantle united,e and pilgrims were called manticulati from mantica, the scrip. the anglo-saxons had scrips, and they were worn at the side.g the term scrip also applied to the whole of a pilgrim's baggage, so far as concerned packages.h a sack instead of a scrip occurs, as carried by a female poor pilgrim.i scarf. the abbot of cheminon, says a pilgrim, gave me my scarf, and bound it on me; and likewise put the pilgrim's staff in my hand. i made pilgrimages to all the holy places in the du cange sur joinville, diss. 15. p. 151. ed. johnes. b id. gloss. v. pera. d id. v. perula. f du cange. e id. v. scarcella. e v. mantiperium. lye, v. codd. xv. script. 370. m. paris, 836. h see ch. v. gold. leg. fol. cxix. neighbourhood, on foot, without shoes, and in my shirt.k authors often use the word scarf instead of scrip, because these scrips or wallets were commonly attached to the scarfs with which they begirded the pilgrims. in general the scarf is a mere leather thong or belt. in the thirteenth century, the french began to wear over the cuirass the white scarf, which afterwards characterized their military men. it was sometimes worn as a girdle, sometimes as a belt or baudrick. with them it was sometimes white; sometimes red. the spaniards preferred it red; the bavarians and catalans black; the palatines, inhabitants of the rhine, the danes and english blue.m accordingly in old portraits of our military men in armour, we find it of blue silk: of that, or some similar material, as a designation of officers, so late as the middle of the last century," and at last converted into a sash, and worn around the waist. we hear of a scrip being supported by a girdle or belt, and both occur in plates. the arms borne by the name of tasborough are, 1. argent, a chevron, between three stirrups pendent on as many palmers' staves, sable. 2. argent, a chevron, between three pilgrims' staves, with pouches hanging on them, sable, garnished or. bourdon staff. he had a long staff in his hand, with a nobbe in the middle, according to the fashion of this pilgrim's staff. the fashion of all the joinville, i. p. 118. 1 du cange sur joinville, diss. 15. maillot, iii. 112. m " grose's military antiquities, vol. i. p. 362. plate of salutes. 0 du cange, v. peramentum. r coryatt's crudities, i. 20. 316 costumes of pilgrims. staves, except the palmers', is similar in the plate, (p. 323,) and shows the error of the theatrical costume, in furnishing pilgrims with a long cross. upon the arms of sempringham is what is called a pilgrim's crutch, i. e. this long cross. taylor's ind. monast. p. 32. qu.? if this be not a misnomer. the staff was also called bourdon, being, according to hawkins, a walking stick, excavated into a musical instrument. the same author says, bourdoun the base part in chaucer; the bourdon in french is still not only in use, as the drone of a bagpipe, whence the burden of a song, but for the double diapason, or lowest stop in french and german organs.b burney says, the bourdon was a kind of drone-base under the voice part. it was doubtless applied to the use of pitching the note, or accompanying the songs which pilgrims used to recreate themselves on their journies, and supposed by menestrierd to be hymns and canticles. it has been elsewhere noted, that it was customary for all ranks to sing aloud along the road while travelling. pollux describes the embaterion as a flute used by the greeks for recreation in travelling, e this etymon from a musical use is more than doubtful. the barbarous greek bopdoria signified a beast of burden,f and the bourdon was a staff of support. besides it was a fashion which came from syria. in the roman d'aubery ms. is the following line: s'il ait esclavine et bordon de surie. to which it may be replied, that the bordon de surie, was perhaps the palmer's staff, and of different fashion from the round knobbed pilgrim's bourdon; if so, both staves were called * taylor's ind. monast. p. 32. qu? if this be not a misnomer. b hawkins's hist. of musick, iii. 374. c musick, i. 430. d as cited in burney, ii. 326. • enc. des antiq. v. embaterienne. f rigaltii glossarium tacticum græco-barbarum, p. 45. du cange, v. sclavina. bourdons. but all this is very uncertain; for an old romance says, "he had palm, and scarf, and good ferrule: bourdon ;"h where the latter was no doubt the common bourdon, because palm is mentioned as accompanying it. the roman de la rose ms. says, a "bourdon grant et fort," (a bourdon great and strong.) du cange, under the word bordonatus, says, "turned [in a lathe] and terminated in the manner of a pilgrim's staff." pilgrims who carried very large bourdons were called by the albigenses, burdonarii.k palmer's staff. peter damian says, "coming from jerusalem, he bore & palm in his hand." one palmer is described as carrying a great club in hand ;m but somner, in his glossary of the decem scriptores, mentions a staff or boughs of palm. however common palm branches may be, as attributes of female saints, or confessors, [i. e. holy men who died a natural death, not by martyrdom,] it is plain that they could not be preserved during so long a journey as that from the holy land; and as jerusalem was a great mart for nicknacks in that æra, they appear to have been supplied with staves of palm, of which the make was not always uniform. see the plate, and explanation of it, p. 323. a palm tree is the symbol of judæa, as well as of phenicia, upon monuments.n bell. i have seen no account of any, except that of s. brigid, the irish saint, in the second chapter; and the canterbury bells, hereafter mentioned. sclavina. du cange says, the sclavina, which somner by mistake calls sclauma, is a very long coarse robe, sometimes at least of shaggy stuff, like the military sagum, and was worn by slaves, whence the appellation. it was the common habit of pilgrims, for an old chronicle says, "walking on foot du cange, v. palmata. du cange, v. peregrinatio. k du cange, v. burdones. 1 du cange, v. palmata. decem scriptores, col. 2322. "enc. v. judèe. • gloss. x. script. costumes of pilgrims. 317 in the habit of a pilgrim, which is commonly called sclavina." herbert de miraculis says, "like any jerusalemite, adorned with a palm, scrip, and staff, and covered with the sclavina.” a in the description of the habit of a palmer it is white.b hat. we hear of a masquerade pilgrim, clad in a coat of russet velvet, fashioned to his call, his hat being of the same, with scallop shells of cloth of silver. the figure of this hat, turned up in front, appears upon the plate; and at kingswood church, in wiltshire, near wotton underedge, is a fine head in stained glass, with a hat of this kind, and the escallop in front. it appears plain from the passages hereafter given from strutt, that the hat contained on the turn-up front, tokens of the respective pilgrimages, as i. jerusalem pilgrims, had the signs of sinay. these, strutt says, were relicks, brought from thence, and from the holy land. ii. pilgrims to rome. the signs were, a cloak marked with cross keys, and the veronique, or vernicle (of which under chapter x.) in front; but whether of the cloak, or hat, does not appear. iii. compostella pilgrims. the escallops, being denominated by ancient authors, the shells of gales, or gallicia, plainly apply to this pilgrimage in particular. fuller however says, the escallop shells were assumed by the pilgrims, because used for cups and dishes by the pilgrims in palestine; and that nicholas de villers, the first of the family, who attended edward i. to the holy wars, bore the escallops to denote a tour to palestine,d whereas it was usual to return by way of compostella, and the shells appear to have implied this, in the instance mentioned. it appears by the figures (see the plate, p. 323.) that this hat, though general, was not universal; and that a du cange, v. sclavina. decem script. 2322. nichols's progresses, i. 3. d church hist. cent. xii. p. 42, 43. head-covering, evidently intended for shooting off wet, was a frequent substitute. as rosary. this is a term, properly speaking, only applied to chaplets of beads, used in prayers to the virgin, but all chaplets of beads e are now so called. coryatt's pilgrim had chains about his neck of extraordinary great beads, whereon was the picture of our lady, and christ in her arms. connected with prayers, the first christian mention is made by augustine, about the year 366; 8 but du choul h is quoted for the same use of them among the classical ancients.i malmsbury mentions the use, that no prayers might be omitted.k might be omitted.k peter the hermit invented a mode of praying by 55 calculi, or beads, so distinct in order, that after 10, each of the largest was affixed to the thread; and, as many as the latter were, so many times they recited the lord's prayer; as many as the other, so many times the angel's salutation, by going over the number three times; thrice also they went over the shorter creed, which they called the psalter of the virgin mary. it was invented, according to polydore virgil, about 1090. of rosaries, dominick was the author. a rosary consisted of a series of beads, 15 large, 150 small, intermixed, which they ran over, in reciting the pater-noster, from the larger, the avemarias from the smaller, in honour of the 15 mysteries of christ, whose consors (i. e. associate in worship) was the virgin mary. these chaplets of beads were respectively of amber, or coral, or glass, or chrystal, or gold, or silver. the nuns sometimes wore them from their necks.m the beads were called gaudia," and run over in douce, i. 32. crudities, i. 20. hanmer's eusebius, 586. h p. 255. roma antiqua et recens, p. 177. * gest. pont. l. iv.-mr. douce on shakespeare, i. 32. thinks that they were brought by crusaders from the east. du cange, v. rosarium. m du cange, v. paternoster. " ibid. v. gaudia. 318 costumes of pilgrims. repeating ave-marias. sometimes the prayers were said by counting the fingers instead of beads. an avemaria, said with one of the aforesaid grains, was presumed to deliver a soul from purgatory.b they were mostly made of glass. a pair of paternosters of great pearl were among the effects of maur. lord berkeley in the reign of edw. ii.d in spain few women go without the doors, walk, play, or toy, without a rosary in the hand. the men are never without one hanging round their necks. in the comedies, if the devil be chained, it is with a rosary; and he then makes a dreadful howl, by which the good people are much edified.e scrobula. this was the robe, worn by female pilgrims, and, except closer sleeves, like to that of the men. saint odoric says, "but these women walk unshod, wearing scrobulæ, even to the ground." it was essential, as will soon appear, that the garments of pilgrims should be of woollen; and the roman de vache says, b "en jerusalem fist peregrination en langes et nus piez a grant devotion;" i. e. a pilgrimage to jerusalem in woollen, and naked feet, with great devotion. in the 14th century, breeches were generally made of linen, and considered a part of dress, essential to ease and indulgence; hence in an old romance, where one of the heroes is resolved upon pilgrimage, it is mentioned, as a great instance of mortification, that he refused to take with him either shirt or breeches; and it was common, for piers plowman, speaking of the poverty of pilgrims, says, "in poure cotes for pilgrimage to rome-no breeche betwene." g bare-feet. this was a very essential part of penitentiary pilgrimage. tera angl. sacr. i. 13. english spanish pilgrim, 4to, 1630, p. 18. du cange, v. roscida. d smyth's berkeley mss. e bourgoanne, iii. 359, 360. du cange, v. scrobula. strutt's dressess, ii. 336. tullian b mentions the annunciation of nudipedalia, during drought, among the classical antients; but the first appearance of the custom in the later æras, was, according to evagrius, in a sect of hereticks, mentioned by augustine, about the year 435, who went so from mistaking certain passages in scripture. the apostles are represented by petrarch to have gone bare-footed. it was a custom annexed to some civil punishments. we read of a religious person, who pulled off his shoes, when in sight of a monastery, because he was unwilling to approach dwellings of martyrs, without a martyrdom on his own part.¹ in the wood-cuts of the golden legend, published by julian notary in 1503, is the image of s. roche, with the hat, staff, scrip, &c. he holds up his clothes, that, as sir david lindsay says, saint roch well scaled men may see a boil new broken on his thie. monarchy, b. ii. p. 64. to shew the effects of the pestilence which had seized him. the dog is gotarde's hound, "that by the purveaunce of god brought fro the lordes borde brede unto saint roche" whole loaves at a time.m "it seems," says strutt, "to have been almost as fashionable, in the days of chaucer, to make occasional visits to the tomb of some favourite saint, as it now is to frequent the different watering-places." particular habits were appropriated to these occasions; it is indeed certain, that they were not absolutely necessary; but few, i presume, who were actuated by real principles of religion appeared without them. such pilgrims abstained from all secular vanities, travelled barefooted, clothed in garments of the coarsest cloth, and h p. 713. ed. rigalt. i mem. de petrarque, ii. 95. du cange, v. arestara et arrestare. 1 angl. sacr. ii. 301. id golden legend, fol. cxliv. n tyrwhitt (gloss. chaucer) notes that the verb to play in one sense signified to go upon a pilgrimage. costumes of pilgrims. 319 subsisted upon the charitable contributions of those they met with on their journey. in the romance of the four sons of aymont, which probably is about the twelfth century, one of the heroes, renouncing all secular pursuits, determines upon a pilgrimage, and requests for that purpose, a coat, or tunick, to be made of coarse cloth, and a large hat or hood, and [a bourdon ferruled a with iron]; to which his friends, contrary to his wishes, added shoes made of cows' skin [neat leather, the thickest, best for duration and wear], but could by no means prevail upon him to accept of breeches, stockings or a shirt, or any other soft or comfortable garment. in pierce the ploughman's visions a personage is introduced apparelled as a pilgrim, bearing a burden bound about with a broad list upon his back, and a bag and a bowl b by his side; his cloak was marked with crosses, interspersed with the keys of rome (two keys crossed) and a vernicle in the front [see ch. x.] upon his hat were placed the signs of sinay, and shells of gules; that it might be known by these tokens, for whose sake he had travelled; therefore being asked whence he came, he replied, "ye may see by the signes that sitteth on my cappe," and added that he had visited sinai, the holy sepulchre, bethlem, and variety of other places. "the pilgrim's habit, as it was delineated in the fourteenth century, is given in the plate,c p. 323, fig. 1. his hat is turned up in the front, with an escallop-shell affixed to it: he is barefooted, and holds a staff in his left hand. this figure in the original painting is intended for the portraiture of saint james: and for that reason, by way of distinction, i presume, the border of gold is added to the sleeves, and at the bottom of the garment; for all such ornaments were generally considered as highly indecorous to the profession of a pilgrim." the figure just described appears with a long beard: it was dangerous at the commencement of the thirteenth century, for a stranger to appear with a beard,d "peter auger, valet to edward the second, obtained from that monarch letters of safe conduct, he being desirous of visiting the holy places abroad, as a pilgrim; and having made a vow not to shave his beard, was fearful, without such documents, of being taken for a knight templar, and insulted. it was by no means uncommon with lay pilgrims to make such a vow, and to extend it still further to the hair of their head e and their finger nails: conceiving, i suppose, that the resemblance to a savage was a positive mark of piety and humbleness of mind."f a female pilgrim, with the staff, scrip, hat, and scrobula, is engraved in strutt's dresses, pl. cxxxiv. costumes of crusaders. in 1094, urban ii. preached the first crusade. the crusaders received from the hand of a priest or some other ecclesiastick a cross of red stuff, which un bourdon ferrè; which strutt by mistake calls a staff headed with iron. b see chap. vii. copied from royal mss. in british museum, 15 d iii. this figure is also engraved by strutt, pl. cv. so far as concerns pilgrims, strutt here requires explanation. in the 12th century the laity and clergy had all renounced the beard; the was placed upon their hood or left shoulder. upon the stained glass, about the time of the first croisade, the pilgrims peasants only, and those who had travelled to the holy land, did not shave, after the example of the orientals. costumes, &c. par maillot, iii. 89. e communem gerens peregrinationis consuetudinem, baculum et peram circumferens, comâ capitis, et barbâ prolixâ. de secundo philosopho, scriptor. p. bed. 464, a. strutt's dresses, ii. 318. seq. 320 costumes of crusaders. carry a cross upon their banners, their helmets, their mail jacket, sleeves, and hoods; their bucklers were still without heraldick distinction, and they had for arms only a lance and sword.a philip ii. having determined to undertake a croisade in 1188, came to st. dennis to take the oriflamme, scrip, and bourdon. the crusaders, who followed them, put then a cross of red stuff behind their habit.b though the use of arms is very ancient, yet they did not become hereditary till the crusades. the crusaders invented arms to distinguish themselves in battle. they were at first only particular marks or colours, which they put upon their bucklers, their coats of arms, their banners, the trappings of their horses: and whole families adopted them, no doubt to make it known that they belonged to conquerors, but these marks did not become hereditary till the age of louis ix. towards the year 1230. if the shields of the warriors before the crusades contained any distinction, it was but an emblem, and most commonly their monogram or cypher. many crusaders took crosses, of which they changed the form and the colour. those of the french in general were white; of the spaniards, red; of the italians, blue; of the germans, black, or orange; of the english, yellow or red; of the saxons, green.d besides the bearings with which they decorated the coat of arms, the shield, &c. they wore a scarf, of which the colour distinguished the province from which they came. the colour of the earls of flanders was a deep green; that of the earls of anjou was a grass green; of the dukes of burgundy, red; of the earls of blois and champagne, sky blue; of the dukes of lorraine, yellow; of the dukes of brittany, black and white. the vassals of these different princes wore scarfs of their princes' a maillot, costumes, iii. 71. pl. 23. b id. p. 91. d id. p. 93. • id. p. 86. colours, and such, even of these va sals, as were allied to them, or w possessed any considerable office abou their persons, affected to join to t colours of their particular liveries, : little band or fringe, more or less large. of the livery of their lord.e the crosses or badges, says d cange, were generally of cloth, interwoven with gold, or silk, latterly of any cloth. in an expedition against manfred of sicily, as a heretick, they won a cross divided in colours, of which one part was white, another red. on some other expeditions, in distinction from those of jerusalem, they wore a cross, not on their shoulders, but on the breast, and there were other distinetions not within our subject.f the crosses were sometimes of fine goldsmiths' work.g the cross of the french king and his followers was of vermillion. the english carried a red cross upon a white ground, the french a white cross upon a red ground. the figure of a crusader, completely armed, has a close helmet, mail gorget, the rest of his armour, partly mail, and partly plaited. upon his shield, his breast, and his square banner, attached to his lance, is st. george's cross, i. e. red or gules upon a white ground. this iteration of arms in the days of chivalry was intended to denote a resolution to atchieve some great feats of arms. sir john chandos, says froissart, was dressed in a large robe, which fell to the ground, blazoned with his arms, in white sarcenet, "arg. a pile gules," one on his breast, the other on his back. thus he appeared resolved on some adventurous undertaking. the information on this subject to be found in heraldick works, is of course declined here. emaillot, p. 94. du cange, v. crux. see chapter vii. froissart, iii. 105. erasmi franciscani colloq. 276. lysons's environs, i. 529. 1 iv. 45. walexander esa dd. 1 2 3 4 fil grits'. audinet saity. costumes of crusaders. 321explanation of the plate. fig. 1. is a simple pilgrim. (see p. 319.) fig. 2. was designed by mr. alexander, from a monumentin ashby de la zouch church, leicestershire. (see before p. 294.) this and the next figure, both shod, are a for the drawings used in this plate, the editor was indebted to the late eminent draughtsman and truly amiable man, william alexander, esq. of the british museum. palmers. the staves differ; and there is another different, engraved in archæologia, vol. xiv. pl. xxxvii. f. 2. the shoe, like the countryman's half-boot, is the doric cretan shoe worn by diana succincta, and hunters, to save the ancles in leaping rocks. see m. millin in magas. encyclop. for 1809, p. 115. fig. 3. is copied from brit. mus. cott. mss. tib. a. vii.; and fig. 4. from royal mss. b. vii. 322 antiquity of pilgrimage. chapter i. antiquity of pilgrimage.-british pilgrims. cicero, in a letter to atticus, says, that if he did not accept the offer which cæsar made to him of serving under him in gaul, in the quality of lieutenant, he had a pretext for leaving rome, that of going elsewhere to fulfil a vow. an old spanish poet pretends, that alexander the great, after conquering egypt, went to the temple of jupiter ammon [in the oasis; see brown] and took the scrip and bourdon. it would be needless to produce more instances of so well-known a practice, as making visits, upon particular occasions, to celebrated temples, or oracles. such a practice is a natural impulse of religious sentiment and pious regard. the custom, however, increased towards the decline of the roman republick, and from a preposterous desire of imitating paganism, and blending it with christian worship, arose, in the fourth century, pilgrimages to palestine and the tombs of the martyrs. they were said to be founded upon the approbation of the fathers and formed part, under circumstances, of the sacrament of penance. accordingly in this century pilgrimages from britain to jerusalem were common. gregory of nice and jerom both say, "the celestial court equally lies open from jerusalem and britain: for the kingdom of god is within you. antony, and all the swarms of monks of egypt, and mesopotamia, pontus, cappadocia, and armenia, have not seen jerusalem: and the gate of paradise lies open to them, without that city. the blessed hilarion, though he was a native of palestine, and lived in that country, only saw jerusalem for a c opera, ii. 134. ed. fol. lond. 1681. du cange, v. burdo. encyclopédie des antiquites, v. vœu. d mosheim, i. 191. ed. 4to. lyndewood's provinciale, p. 298. • one day, that he might neither seem to despise the holy places, on account of vicinity, nor on the other hand to inclose god in a particular spot." a further evidence that the britons resorted to palestine, among other nations, is the relation concerning melania, by palladius, in his lausiac history, and the epistle, written by jerom, in the name of paula and eustochius. this melania, one of the most noble of the women of rome, and daughter of marcellinus, who had been once consul, made a voyage to jerusalem, where she was so celebrated for her virtue and humility. that she received the name of tecla. she, and rufinus, her particular companion, received all the pilgrims at jerusalem with hospitality; "which," says palladius, "it is not only my duty to mention, but that of the inhabitants. of persis, britain, and all the isles. neither east, west, north and south, has been without the kindness and bounty of this immortal woman." jerom, writing in the name of paula and eustochius, says, "the briton, divided from our world, if he has made any progress in religion, leaving the west, seeks a place known only to them by fame, and the relation of the scriptures;" and a little after, speaking of other visitors, he says, "they meet together, at these places, and exhibit to us a specimen of various virtues. their language is indeed different; but their religion the same. there are almost as many choirs of psalm-singers, as there are diversities of nations.' this unity of religion, and conformity of the britons, in this respect, not so much it is remarkable, that at tiddenham in gloucestershire, (part of wales, before the reign of henry viii.) was a chapel of st. tecla (now under water,) corrupted into treacle: but no such dedication occurs in england. possibly the british pilgrims took shipping here. british pilgrims. 323 with the roman church in particular, as with the catholick and universal, he further shows in an epistle to evagrius: "neither is there one church of rome, and another of the whole world. both the gauls, and britons, and africa, and persia, and the east, and india, and all the barbarous nations, worship one christ, observe one rule of truth. if authority be required, the world is larger than a city. wheresoever there is a bishop, whether at rome, or eugubium, or constantinople, or rhegium, or alexandria, or tanis, it has the same husband, the same priesthood." notwithstanding, the britons visited rome in common with other nations, and setting sail from porto romano, not only passed over into palestine, but even the neighbouring syria, whither they were attracted by the fame of simeon stylites, the ascetick, who passed his life upon a pillar. this simeon refers the following passage of theodoret, who wrote the life of this lunatick during his existence: "many, who inhabit the extremes of the west, spaniards, i say, and britons, and gauls came thither." jerom, in his epitaph of fabiola, the celebrated lady, who is well known as the first founder of an infirmary, says, "all the world. has heard of the xenodochium, situated at porto romano. in one summer, britain has learned, what the egyptian and parthian have known in the spring." hence it appears, that in this, as in the later æras, pilgrims were eminent for conveying news. to lewis, in his life of caxton, p. 77, &c. says, "the practice of going in pilgrimage to jerusalem or the holy land was new in the fourth century; when about the latter end of it, gregory nyssen wrote a learned letter to dissuade christians from going thither on that errand; and was at last, here in england, treated with contempt and ridicule, as only a pretence for sloth and laziness."c 110. of him, see postea. usserii antiquit. eccles. britannic. pp. 109, dibdin's typographical antiq. i. 176. we have an account of some manners and customs of these british pilgrims in the lives of david, and the accounts of his two friends and companions, eliud or teliaus, and paternus. an angel appeared to david and eliud, as another had done to the mother of saint roche, the patron saint of pilgrims, and urged the journey to jerusalem upon the very next morning. the two companions were added from the old british respect for the trinity. they went on shipboard, down the channel, the bay of biscay, and the mediterranean, passing their days and nights in psalms, hymns, spiritual canticles, and divine converzationes. they did not, as many pilgrims, take much money with them, not even a staff and scrip, but trusted to providence. the hospitality of believers furnished them with all necessaries, which, as it is very probable most of our early religious professed some knowledge of medicine,d they repaid by curing diseases, actions assigned to their sanctity. when they met with robbers, they offered them what they had; but these (according to a respect usually paid to all pilgrims, of which hereafter), not only refused to take it, but guided them, till they arrived at places of safety. at jerusalem they were received by all the people in procession with psalms and hymns, and so conducted to the church of the holy sepulchre, and placed in three remarkable chairs. they preached alternately, by this means intending to convey an idea of the trinity, and to confirm their hearers in the belief of that doctrine. they were consecrated bishops in this temple, plainly without any appointment from home, and received valuable presents, suited to their qualifications. paternus received a staff (in token of his being a d see marianus scotus, aº 593-4. e the druidical deasuil, or triple procession, the triads, &c. paved the way for this veneration of the trinity. in the pilgrimage to holy wells the druids prescribed three several tours; and if the patient died before the pilgrimage was finished, some intimate friend concluded it. smith's gaelic antiq. p. 79. y 2 117 why toys76% 1, "arava se va ** kerkukuk wight; brod, a onebrated postha na witary and triang, a morall heard bei, of aequate round, and it condemnet wonderful propre etiam the perpared, cured the sick, and sounde pulkvery hour, without any one moring it, and it was touched by the poiluted founds of a summer. probably it contained some mechanism, sufficient be strike the hours, and hand-bells worn word by the welsh, till recently, at funerale d in a john ninclair's statistical account of mouthand, vol. xvii. p. 377, under kollon parish, co, perth, mr. maart the minder, says, "there is a bell belonging to the chapel of st. filyou that was high reputation among paypal*at that want in old times. de were to be at some mixed metal. bere cout a foot high, and of an obby wala lay on a grave vana'y chamy 5 yard. when mad do vince nego) to be dipped in r tanell tot: via e im ne that i miel i ont of the surfa home ranging a ne from the proces pilgrimage of år 20 jerse: not perhaps as = terdir:f bra holy land when choories to than 90,000 christians pensted: salem in the seventh cent!). years afterwards a hospital was in ed at rome for weish p cadwallader, king of wales. from the further instance of b! lus the abbot being directed by angel, to make a pilgrimage, in a to effect the translation of the re of st. andrew to scotland, then every reason to infer, that a visite of this celestial kind was a cour superstition of this age, as a prelimi of pigrimage. • popular antiquities, vol. ii. p. 394, b. p. the suject connased in the next page. as x script. 115. • curger chimers's historia, p. 386. puurs ja ix. b. ix. p. 86. i script. p. 614. pilgrimages of the scots, irish, and anglo-saxons. 325 chapter ii. pilgrimages of the scots, irish, and anglo-saxons. ong the usual pilgrimages, comn to the other nations of the same s, the scots and irish intermingled idical practices. at iona is the e of a cross, in which are certain nes, which pilgrims turn three times nd, supposing that the end of the -ld will not ensue until the stone in ch they are is worn through. they bably succeeded to three white marglobes, placed in three stone basons be turned round, but at the refortion, thrown into the sea.a it is pretended, that through the e story of the interment of patrick glastonbury, it was the custom of irish to make pilgrimages there, in er to kiss his relicks. among these y visitors was brigid in the year 3, who left behind her as a memo, her scrip, monile,b bell,c and texgough's camden, iii. 715. monile. an old author says, "monile is an iment of the breast, quasi munile a munio, bese it protects the bosoms of women, so that atores (lechers) cannot thrust their hands into n." du cange, v. lecator. isidore calls it a klace of gems, resembling a serpent. id. v. pentum. the origin of the bell (says mr. stuart) is to referred to the most remote ages of the celtic arches, whose ministers spoke a dialect of that guage. ara trode, one of the most ancient landic historians, tells us, in his second chapthat when the norwegians first planted a coy in ireland, about the year 870, "eo tempore t islandia silvis concreta, in medio montium et orum: tum erant hic viri christiani, quos norgi papas appellant: et illi peregre profecti sunt, eo quod nollent esse hic cum viris ethnicis, et inquebant post se nolas et baculos; ex illo pote. discerni quod essent viri christiani." nola d bajula both signify hand-bells. see du cange. raldus cambrensis, who visited ireland about the d of the 12th century, speaks thus of these reks of superstition: "hoc non pretereundum to, quod campanas, bajulas, baculosque sanctom, ex supperiore parte recurvos, auro et argento tære confectos, tam hiberniæ et scotiæ, quam givalliæ populus et clerus in magnâ reverentiâ bere solet; ita ut juramenta supra hæc, longè agis quam super evangelia et præstare vereantur perjurare. ex vi enim quâdam occultâ, et iis asi divinitus insità, nec non et vindictâ (cujus æcipue sancti illi appetibiles esse videntur) plemque puniuntur contemptores." he elsewhere eaks of a bell in ireland, endowed with the same comotive powers as that of st. fillan, who is id to have died in 649. popular antiquities, ii. 15. note *. trilia arma, whether it means a distaff, &c. or scarf, or clothes.d besides the other pilgrimages, common to all nations and æras, it appears from the legend of st. brandon, that nautical pilgrimages were made to islands which they denominated paradise, but were, in fact, according to fordun, the fortunate islands. they are the canaries, where it is certain that strabo, and other ancients, from the fecundity of the soil, and perpetual spring, placed the elysian fields. it is pretended, that after the decline of the roman empire, they were unknown till the year 1291; but in fact, columbus derived the knowledge of america from some spanish-arabian voyagers.b in short, any country very fertile and pleasant, was denominated paradise.i in this migratory age, pilgrimage was a kind of tyrocinium, or apprenticeship, served in various places, in order to acquire a stock of novel ecclesiastical customs and knowledge, with which to enlighten the barbarous inhabitants upon their return. this appears in the lives of nearly all the early saints. the irish and scots were remarkable beyond other nations for restless pilgrimages over the whole world; often in severe colds, and summer heats. the pilgrimages of the anglo-saxons commenced, according to eddius, about the year 700.¹ rome was the favourite destination of the anglo-saxons. ina grew old there," cloathed in a plebeian habit among beggars." m there appear to be no particular customs, which did not obtain in subsequent æras. d guil. malmesbury in antiquit. glaston. xv scriptores, p. 298. e golden legend, ccxxx. b. f scriptores, 635. 8 mem. de petrarque, ii. 200. see a paper in the notices. bunting's itinerarie, 1636, 359. 4to. du cange, v. scoti. 1 id. v. peregrini. xv scriptores, 248. 326 consecration of pilgrims. chapter iii. consecration of pilgrims. the pilgrims first confessed all their sins, after which they lay prostrate before the altar. particular prayers and psalms were then said over them, and after every psalm [with manifest skilful appropriation] the gloria patri ; the psalm, ad te, domine, levavi; and the miserere. at the end of these, the pilgrims arose from their prostrate position, and the priest consecrated their scrips and staves, saying, "the lord be with you," and "let us pray, &c." he next sprinkled holy water upon their scrips and staves, and placed the scrip around the neck of each pilgrim, with other religious services. afterwards he delivered to them the staff with similar prayers. if any of the pilgrims were going to jerusalem, their garments were in readiness, marked with the cross, and the crosses were consecrated, and holy water sprinkled over them. the garments and crosses were then delivered to the pilgrims, accompanied by appropriate prayers. the service concluded with the mass, de iter agentibus.b offerings were paid for consecration of the scrip. in the penitential of theodore it is said, "in the aforesaid church, the priest is accustomed to consecrate the scrip and staves of the age. pilgrims, and receive 1d. from the oblation.c" elsewhere it appears, concerning jerusalem pilgrims, that immediately after the sermon, preached on the occasion, the cross was sewed upon the shoulders, and at least placed there by the bishop;d for according to du cange, to affix the cross was a privilege of that order only.e kings even assumed the scrip and staff. king richard the first, at tours, in sign of his immediately undertaking the pilgrimage to the holy land, received the scrip and staff. f the arms of the pilgrims were also consecrated.g by the laws and customs of normandy, a pilgrim having received licence, was led out of the parish when going to jerusalem, rome, or st. james's, or any other pilgrimage, with the cross, holy water, and procession.¹ in pilgrimages of penance and punishment, this previous consecration, at least sometimes, did not take place. in the metrical romance of robert the devil; robert, become penitent, travels without any ecclesiastical ceremony to the pope, who, after hearing his confession, directed him to go to a hermit three miles off. "in the morning robert walked over hyll and dale, he was full werye of his labourynge. at the last he came in to a greate vale, and found same hermyte standinge. he spake with the hermyte, and shewed of his lyvinge, and tolde that he was sente fro the pope of rome. but when that holy man hearde hys confession, he sayed, brother, ye be right welcome. this was deemed indispensable before pilgrim. gold. leg. f. cxviii. b manuale ad usum ecclesiæ sarisberiensis, 4to. b. lett. 1554. fol. lxx. seq. tit. ordo ad servitium peregrinorum. du cange, v. pera. e litt. c. p. 1183. angl. sacr. ii. 490. f girald. cambrens. angl. sacr. ii. 387. du cange, v. armorum benedictio. h id. v. peregrinatio. consecration of pilgrims. 327 and for your synnes ever you must be sorye, for as yet i will not assoylle youe. in a lyttell chappell all nyght shall youe lye. do ye as i do youe councelle nowe; aske god mercy, and let youre hearte bowe; for all thys nyght i wyll wake and praye unto oure lorde, that i maye knowe yf in salvacion ye do stande in the waye."-page 33. robert is dismissed with his penance; of which hereafter; but that only, for the consecration appears to be withheld, partly on account of the penance, not admitting the pilgrim's habit, partly because the absolution could not be added. 328 preparatory steps to the journey. chapter iv. preparatory steps to the journey. in 1187, the pagans having obtained by their incursions a great part of the holy land, hugh pudsey, bishop of durham, animated by the example of other bishops and abbots, took the cross, and extorted from his tenants a large sum for his travelling expences; he built also for himself and his retinue a very handsome ship for his own safety, and the conveyance of stores. he also carried culinary utensils, and different vessels of silver; as well as a seal of that metal, admirably executed and beautiful, that he might surpass the glory of other bishops and dukes.a giraldus cambrensis says, that he had sold the corn of the church of landu, and all the revenues of the archdeaconry for three years, under the privilege of crusaders, to two burgesses of aberhotehni, because before he had made his journey to the roman court, he had affixed the cross to his shoulders.b in 1240, simon de montfort, earl of leicester, after coming to court, went to his estates for collecting money, and selling woods and lands, to provide the necessaries for his journey to jerusalem. the hospitalers and canons of leicester then bought of him the noble wood of leicester for 10007.c this shows, that the monks and other religious had great advantage by the crusades; and that, estimating the expence of a journey to palestine in a nobleman, it amounted to an enormous sum in modern money. king edward i. devised 30,000l. for 140 knights to go to the holy land,d i. e. about 2147. each. these expences, with respect to crusading pilgrims, were ina angl. sacr. i. 723. e m. paris, 470. b id. ii. 601. d warton's poetry, i. 110. dispensable, for they had horses, arms, and various necessaries to purchase. the privileges of crusaders were, to be released from any obligation to pay their debts, until they returned, or for a certain number of years; and they were exempted from paying interest of money owing during that time. they were to be free from tallages, unless of a particular kind (reales). they had liberty to mortgage their lands without license of the lord. their goods and persons were under the protection of the pope and bishops. their causes were tried in the ecclesiastical courts. but all these privileges ceased in criminal cases; indeed they were of no use, for as nobody would let them t have money under such privileges, they were obliged to renounce them.f it seems that the susception of the cross induced an obligation to observe strictness of conduct. richard the first, because he had taken up arms against his father after he had taken the cross, was absolved by the archbishops of roan and treves before he set out.g when they had taken the cross, they learned a particular song, called ultreia, by singing which they animated themselves upon their journey.h it was also usual for them to insult and persecute jews, whenever they met them. the king of france engaged with richard the first not to attack his people or states, as long as richard continued in pilgrimage, nor after his return, before the expiration of forty days.i so that sovereigns secured e m. paris, 671. triveti annales, 94. h du cange. i triveti annales, 108. f du cange, v. crux. preparatory steps to the journey. 329 their states before they undertook this hazardous expedition. three years the term limited to pilgrimage of richard i.a an economy at home, correspondent to the expense, was dictated. in the year 1188, at a council at geytinton, where baldwin, archbishop of canterbury, presided, and took the cross with many others, it was enacted concerning the people of england, that no one should use scarlet cloth, sable 8 angl. sacr. ii. 385. or vair furs, or vestes laqueati (laced), or more than two dishes at dinner, because the king and all the great men of the kingdom were going to the holy land at great cost.b after taking farewell of their friends and making their wills, the pilgrims (at least for the crusades) met together at one place to fix a day for their departure.c b decem scriptores, 1149. • m. paris, 671. du cange, v. manaia. 330 manners and customs on shipboard. chapter v. manners and customs on shipboard. some of the english pilgrims, destined for jerusalem, went by way of sicily, the greater part from marseilles." in a synod held under king pepin, it is enacted as follows, " in like manner we appoint, that when pilgrims go to rome or elsewhere, on account of god, that they be not detained at bridges, or excluded (for toll), or in voyages, on account of their scrippa;" a term by change of a letter probably put for scirppa, which were baskets made of rushes, used by travellers to hold their baggage.b in the eighth century, the profession of christianity appears to have been grossly abused by the english merchants, who carried on a singular kind of smuggling trade, in foreign countries. in order to elude the payment of duties abroad, they put on the habit of pilgrims, and pretended that they were travelling to rome, or some other place, for religious purposes. the bales, which they carried with them, they insisted, contained only provisions for their journey, and were exempt from paying any duty. but the collectors of the customs, a suspicious kind of men in all ages, often searched the parcels of those pretended pilgrims, and either seized them, or imposed a heavy fine on the owners of them.c in other enactments it is said, 66 for any other pilgrims, having a place from the mast, i. e. the midship, to the forecastle, with their provisions and armour, they shall pay a mark."d these were inferior pilgrims, who had no cabin, and carried their own provisions. a capitulum metense, cap. 6, in the year 757, orders, that no claim shall m. paris, 475. du cange, v. scrippum. e thomson's ocellum promontorium, p. 34. d du cange, v. habuisia. be made from pilgrims for their scrips. this imposition on account of their baggage and provisions was rendered quite nugatory by the truly ascetical pilgrims; for godrick of finchale, the celebrated hermit, on the whole of the journey, ate only barley-bread and drank water; never washed or changed, or mended his clothes.f it therefore appears, that, upon this plan, a pilgrimage to rome or jerusalem was not an absurd undertaking for the wife of a weaver (as chaucer says), on account of the assistances which they received by land, soon to be mentioned. by some statutes of marseilles, no master of a ship was to have more than four pilgrims for his own (vianda) profit or freight; except from charity. he was also compelled to take an oath, that he would keep good faith with the pilgrims, perform his engagement, buy good victuals for them, and have no contracts with the masters or partowners of other ships, relating to the cargoes or provisions of pilgrims.i the manner of embarkation was curious. the ports of the vessel were opened to allow entrance for the horses, which they intended to carry with them. when they were all on board, the port was caulked and stopped up, as close as a large tun of wine, because when the vessel was at sea, it was under water. the horses were soon landed again; for froissart says, no horses were to be embarked, because the voyage from england to lisbon • du cange, v. scrippum. f m. paris, 99. hawkins's musick, ii. 109. he did not kno w their resources. han abuse alluded to in chapter iv. du cange, v. cargator. joinville, i. 118. ed. johnes. manners and customs on shipboard. 331 horses were sometimes was too far.a conveyed upon deck.b when the priests and clerks embarked, the captain made them mount to the castle (round-top) of the ship, and chaunt psalms in praise of god, that he might be pleased to send them a prosperous voyage. they all with a loud voice sang the beautiful hymn of veni creator, from the beginning to the end, and while they were singing, the mariners set their sails in the name of god, [singing "salve regina,"d] which was the celeusma of the middle age. a priest having said, that god and his mother would deliver them from all danger if processions were made three times on a saturday, a procession round the mast was accordingly begun on that day. the host was carried by the pious, and a tent in a fit place erected over it of silk and gold. in hard gales, the bulkheads or partitions of cabins were removed, and vows made to st. nicholas of a silver ship, if they escaped the storm.g the galleys of the rich crusaders were painted within and without with escutcheons of their arms; and some galleys had full 300 sailors on board, each bearing a target of their lord's arms, and upon each target was a small flag with his arms likewise, of beaten gold. in the norman ship in the celebrated bayeux tapestry, the crew are ranged along the sides, with each a shield, as in the preceding description.i proper attention was paid to the compass, which was contained in a binnacle, for the advantage of light in a v. 330. b du cange, v. boudron. e joinville, i. 119. d erasmi naufragium inter colloquia, p. 203, et alibi. e joinville. joinville, i. 262. this was only an especial privilege allowed to s. louis; it not being permitted to other pilgrims. du cange, v. eucharistia in navibus. joinville, i. 227. all this is admirably detailed in irony by erasmus in his dialogue de naufragio. colloquia, 201. h joinville, 125. engraved in maillot, costumes, iii. pl. xxi. froissart is copious on the gorgeousness, &c. of ancient ships and private barges. the evening, as now. hugh de berry says, (in the thirteenth century) the sailors in the dark nights, to avoid losing their route, lighted a candle, to observe the needle every now and then.k men and their wives had the usual accommodation of the moderns, for they could have separate small cabins to themselves.1 provisions were not matters of serious difficulty, for bacon and corn were the chief, almost the only stores laid in, in provisioning danish and norman ships;m and william brito mentions biscuit and wine." the regulations of richard the first for the conduct of his subject pilgrims, show the rude punishments of the age, always certain tests of barbarism, if every other information was wanting. "richard by the grace of god, &c. to all his men about to go to jerusalem by sea, greeting. know ye, that we by the common counsel of our honest men, have made the following regulations: "i. if any man kills another in the ship, he shall be fastened to the corpse, and thrown into the sea. "ii. if he commits murder on the land, he shall be bound to the dead man, and buried with him. "iii. if any one shall have been convicted by lawful witnesses of having drawn his knife to strike another, or shall have actually done so to the effusion of blood, he shall lose his hand; but he, who shall have struck another with the palm of his hand without shedding blood, shall be three times ducked in the sea. "iv. if any one shall abuse, insult, or privately slander his fellow, he shall pay an ounce of silver for every offence. "v. a robber, convicted of theft, shall be shaved in the manner of a champion; and boiling pitch poured upon his head, and the feathers of a pil* joinville, i. 348. 1 boccaccio, decameron, day ii. nov. vii. gemetic. c. iv. inter camd. script. p. 611. philipp. l. 4. du cange, v. panis. 11 332 manners and customs on shipboard. low shaken over his head to distinguish him; and be landed at the first port where the ships shall stop.a a hoveden, sub anno 1189. this passage shows the antiquity of tarring and feathering, used by the anglo-americans: who apply it to the whole body; but this is also not new. "the bishop of halverstadt having taken a place, where there were two monasteries of nuns and friers, caused divers featherbeds to be ript, and all the feathers to be "for the execution of these statutes, justices were appointed by the king over every ship.' thrown in a great hall, whither the nuns and friers were thrust naked, with their bodies oiled and pitched, and to tumble among these feathers." howell's letters, 135. one of the masquerade characters in strutt's dresses has evidently the aspect of one of these disguises; though it was only an assumed cover, for the mask resembles a hawk. manners and customs on the journey by land. 333 chapter vi. manners and customs on the journey by land. this journey was often attended with considerable difficulties, in foreign countries. canute, on his return from a pilgrimage to rome, bought a free passage for pilgrims in many places at a great expence. the jerusalem pilgrimage called via dei and via sanctorum, appears by an old charter to have exempted the pilgrims from paying customary tolls. the constitutions of the constitutions of pepin, in the preceding chapter, mention the detention of them at bridges and roads, for want of money to pay the numerous tolls, usual in those ages; and amounting to a large sum in journeys of so many miles. cervantes mentions pilgrims on foot, who had a design to embark for italy in order to go to rome, and had yet among them only 60 rials. being overtaken by banditti,c the captain of the latter (a genteel robin hood) not only restored their money to the pilgrims, but added more to it.d facilitation of their progress was therefore a leading concern of kings and benevolent noblemen. the former expedited their passage by munificent assistance in some instances.e among the reforms in the police of italy, effected by rienzi, in 1347, one mentioned is, that pilgrims went and came without danger. and john mansel obtained for the pilgrims, going to st. james of compostella, that they should choose their lodgings at pleasure in the cities under the dominion of the king of spain, and have liberty of purchasing a xv scriptores, 275. b du cange, v. via sanctorum. cirrha (about 585 b. c.) by its extortions and oppression of pilgrims, deserved the wrath of the amphictyonic confederacy, and was therefore destroyed. muller's dorians. thus ancient was the plunder of pilgrims. don quixote, p. ii. b. iv. c. 8. • m. paris, 475. mem. de petrarque, ii. 332. their own provisions without asking permission of their landlords. they travelled in companies; and in the legend of s. james, it is said "thirty men of loreyne wente togyder on pylgrymage to saynte james, and all made fayth to other yt every man shold abide and serve other in all estates yt shall happen by the waye."h they had horses, and other matters, suited to their respective circumstances; and except the dress, or particular case of vows, with no variation from the usages of common journeys,i unless in customs detailed in chapter xii. their persons were secure from robbery by one of those wonderful influences of superstition, which are not uncommon in ignorant minds in a barbarous, though not a refined age. "richard lynsted cam this day from paston, and letyt me wete, that on saturday last past dravayle, halfe brother to waryn harman, was taken wt enemys walkyn by the se side, and have hym forthe with hem, and they token ii pylgrimys, a man and a woman, and they robbyd the woman and let her gon; and ledde the man to the see, and whan they knew he was a pylgreme, they geffe hym money, and sette hym ageyn on the lond." a similar instance of respect has been before mentioned. if however, coming from an enemy's country, they claimed this protection in the country of that enemy, they were, at least sometimes, made prisoners.m they were, notwithstanding, much robbed at inns. the legend of s. james abounds with instances. among these, it says, "there 8 m. paris, 751. h golden legend, f. cxviii. i angl. sacr. ii. 594. k paston letters, iii. 304. m chap. i. it has exceptions, see further on. anglia sacra, ii. 594. 334 manners and customs on the journey by land. was a frensche man, about the yere of our lorde a m. and a c. wolde eschewe the mortalyte, that in fraunce, (sic) and wolde visyte saynte james, and he tok his wyf and children and went thyder: and whan they came to pampelone, hys wyff deyde and hys hoost take fro hym all hys money and hys jument, upon whych is children were borne."a-the statutes for the crusaders enacted, that they should take no women with them in their pilgrimage, except a laundress on foot, of whom there could be no suspicion ;b an exception founded upon their known character, as the harlots of the middle age. but these were not the only female companions, notwithstanding the statute; in instances, however, where the transgression implied no breach of propriety. when godric of finchale set out for rome, his mother desiring to become his companion, he consented, and, being a foot pilgrim, he carried her on his shoulders, where the roughness of the road required it. at london they picked up another woman of great beauty, but totally unknown to them, and insuperably reserved in concealing herself. she accompanied them the whole journey, washed and kissed their feet, and was singularly obsequious. when they returned, she suddenly disappeared, and though probably some noble magdalen, crossed in love, who had imposed upon herself this voluntary penance, was, through her secrecy and imperceptible departure, converted into the virgin a golden legend, fol. cxviii. b guil. neubrigens. l. iii. c. 22. p. 291. ed. antw. 1567. c meretricem et lotricem. knighton, in x scrip. 2422. in the 17th century the city laundresses used to treat young men with saffron [cakes i presume] and eggs, in order to lure them. peacham's complete gentleman, 31. it was a franch fashion, and they swarmed about inns. erasmi diversoria, colloq. p. 211. d a common custom with respect to infirm women. m. paris, 347. "what gave me the greatest concern, was to see zorayda travelling on foot among the flinty rocks, for though i sometimes took her on my shoulders, she was much more fatigued with seeing me weary, than refreshed by finding herself exempted from walking." don quixote, ii. 187. mary, who had shown the hermit this mark of respect.c some pilgrims declined any female attendance. gilbert beket, father of the celebrated archbishop thomas. when a young man, took the jerusalem cross, but would have no other companion than a servant named richard. female pilgrims often suffered much on the journey. "thre knyghtes of the diocese of lyon went to saynt james; and one was requyred of a pore woman, for the love of saynt james, to bere her sacke upon hys hors; and he bare it; after he founde a man seke, and set hym on hys hors, and toke the burdon of the man, and the sacke of the said woman, and followed hys hors afote."g the poorer pilgrims provided for themselves by mendicity and the aid of charitable institutions. it was sometimes a part of the papal absolution of those who had vowed a pilgrimage to jerusalem, but were too poor or old to undertake the journey, that they should give money to those who did go, and pecuniary aid for the repair of a church.h monasteries received them courteously,i and gave them for three days lodging and diet, without question whence they came.k such hospitals were regularly endowed with tythes. in the legend of st. john the almoner, it is said, "there was a poure man in the habyte of a pilgrim came too saynte johan, and demaunded almesse; and he called his dyspenser and badde to gyve that poure man vi pens.' in the romance of the renard contrefait" (so called because an imitation of the others), written by an anonymous inhabitant of tholouse, between the years 1328 and 1342, is the character of these mendicant pil"m e m. paris, 98. f decem scriptores, 1052. golden legend, fol. cxix. angl. sacr. ii. 495. reyner apostolatus benedictinorum, p. 224. gough's brit. topography, ii. 460. du cange, v. nona. m golden legend, f. 55. ms. dans la bibliotheque nationale à paris. manners and customs on the journey by land. 335 grimages. the confessor announces to renard his penitent, that he is not able to give him absolution, and that he must go to rome to demand it of the pope. the convert submits, takes the scarf and bourdon,ª and commences his journey. our pilgrim, on his road, meets the ass, and belin, the sheep, who stop and converse with him. this conversation leads on both sides to long discourses, intermixed with historiettes, among which is that of count renard de s. marcel who was a robber on the high road, and who, one day that he saw a carter stuck fast in the mud, advanced in charity to assist him, was killed by him, and ascended to heaven directly. his two acquaintance asked renard, why, instead of going to beg upon the road to rome, he did not pursue an honest trade, in which, after all, he could ensure his salvation, as well as by the vagrant life which he was going to adopt. he answers the question by a satire upon the different professions and trades, exposes their several rogueries, and concludes, by observing, that it is not so bad a trade as thieving. after this he renounces his devotion, and returns home. this character of pilgrims was assumed by the gipsies. on april 17th, 1427, there came to paris twelve penitents, one duke, one earl, ten knights, and one hundred and twenty men and women with a number of infants. they said, that they were christians, expelled from egypt by the saracens, who came to the pope for confession, and were ordered to wander seven years, nor during that time to rest in a bed. they had many followers, till the bishop compelled them to change their habitation, for theft, and fortune-telling, and other offences. in 1560 they were expelled from gaul, and soon after, in 1591, banished spain.c • of these in the chapter of costumes. notices, v. 345, 346. du cange, v. ægyptiaci. this account corresponds with that given in the antiquarian repertory, i. 56. as the most probable origin of these vagrants. this assumption of the character of pilgrims by the gipsies was not mal apropos. erasmus mentions a man, who supported himself and two servants, on his journey to jerusalem, by chiromancy and fortune-telling ;d and when he got there, he quartered himself upon a very rich pilgrim, who, though 70 years old, could not die in peace till he had been to the holy land. it was a rule to extend benefactions to pilgrims, whatever might be their rank. eadmer says of lanfranc, archbishop of canterbury, "what pilgrim of whatsoever order of men, ever asked relief from him, and did not obtain it?"e anselm being in doubt what he should do with the property which devolved to him by the death of his father, revolved in his mind, among other things, whether he should not build a house for the reception of pilgrims. st. roche, the patron saint of pilgrims, used in part of his duties, to visit hospitals;" but when he had been long in hospitall of placence, and had almost heled the seke men therin, about mydnight he herd in his slepe an angel thus sayeng, o roche most devout to crist, awake, and know yt thou art smitten with the pestilence, studye now how thou mayst be cured. and anone he felte himself sore taken with the pestylence under both his armes, and he therof gaaf thankinges to our lord, and he was so sore vexed with ye payne, that they yt were in thospital were deprived of theyr slepe and rest of the night; wherefore saynt roche arose fro his bedde, and went to the utterest place of thospitall, and layd hym downe there abyding the light of the day. and whan it was daye the people goinge by sawe him, accused the mayster of the hospytall of offence yt he suffred the pylgrime to lye without ye hospytall, but he purged hym d colloquium senile, p. 265. hist. novor. p. 8. f angl. sacr. ii. 156. the hospital of ledbury in herefordshire was founded for the relief of pilgrims and poor men. dugdale's monast. ii. 453. kings invited them to refreshment. x script. 2322. 336 manners and customs on the journey by land. of the defaute sayenge yt the pylgrime, wae smyten with the pestilence, as ye see and unwittynge to us he went out. thenne the cytezens incontynent put out saynt roche fro the cyte and suburbes, leest by him the cytee myght be the more infected." thus it appears, that the obligation to lodge pilgrims was imperious, except in cases of contagious disease. this is the more natural, if it be considered, that whatever might be the abuse of mendicant pilgrimage, it was deemed meritorious. saint roche, from the text "in the sweat of thy brow," &c. persuaded gotarde to leave all his goods to his heirs, to follow the way of christ, which he makes to consist in begging" brede and almesse," and "in the name of jhesu." b it was was even done by men of very estimable character and habits, who often found asylums in the houses of the great. "i was a poor pilgrim," says one of these," when i came to your court; i have lived honestly and reputably in it, on the wages you have given me; restore to me my mule, my wallet, and my staff, and i will return in the same manner as i came." c this was not the only attention paid to pilgrims on their route. trees were planted at crosses, and other accom* golden legend, fol. cxliiii. c history of the troubadours, p. 300. b ibid. modations placed there, for shade, and rest to them.d in their migrations they were the great instruments of conveying news. a woman on her return from a pilgrimage to our lady of boulogne, being weary, seated herself in the market-place, where there were crowds of people, who asked her for news.e_sir john paston says, "i kan not her by pylgrimys yt passe the kontre, nor noon other man.”f the pilgrims, on their journeys, used to amuse themselves by narrating tales.8 the jerusalem pilgrims of the richer sort took tents with them. baldwin archbishop of canterbury, ordered those which he intended to take with him, to be elevated in lambeth field. kings and great men took letters of safe conduct; i and the destruction of the places where they were in the habit of plundering pilgrims, was the punishment inflicted.k many of the pilgrims to jerusalem were detained at marseilles, for want of vessels to convey them, till their money was spent.¹ d du cange, v. albellus. e froissart, v. 103. f paston letters, ii. 76. warton's poetry, i. 397. h x scriptores, 1564. k ibid. 1118. ¡ x scriptores, 1126. 1 ibid. 1173. crusaders. 337 chapter vii. the arrival at jerusalem.-consequences of the crusades.miscellaneous of crusaders. it is not the intention of this essay to detail historical matters, or be narratory; as possessing no novelty, and much tediousness.-the bells were rung when the pilgrims appeared off the port, where they were to land.a the pilgrims, not engaged in the military department of the croisades, visited the holy sepulchre, and other religious places. godric of finchale, after doing this, proceeding to the river jordan with the hair shirt, and cup, which he carried in his scrip, entered the waters of that river [in imitation of naaman, the syrian]. then for the first time after leaving england he stripped and washed himself: pulled off his shoes, and said, "god omnipotent, who hast walked barefooted in this land, and suffered your feet to be pierced with nails on my account, henceforth, i will not put shoes on my feet." having thus performed his vow of pilgrimage, he returned to england.b they delighted to pick up relicks during their peregrinations. balsam was sold at jerusalem,d images, and no doubt many other articles. gundulf, bishop of rochester, and william his archdeacon, for the sake of exercising the flesh, and fixing in their memories the incarnation, passion, and ascension of christ, made a visit to the holy land.e erasmus, however, says, that the pilgrims saw nothing but ancient monuments, to which only legendary accounts were attached, and that even the precise situation of ancient jerusalem was not certainly known by the residents there. the pilgrims, neubrigensis, 276. more will appear in torkington's journal following. b m. paris, p. 99. du cange, v. munerba. e angl. sacr. ii. 274. • eadm. 88. he adds, abounded with marvellous tales, and false stories of what they had seen and heard,f but returned with injured health. there is preserved an account of a pilgrimage to jerusalem, made by a sir richard torkington in 1517, of which the following extracts were published by mr. wheeler, from the identical ms. diary.g "thys ys the begynnyng of the pylgrymage of syr rychard torkyngton, person of mulberton in norffolke. and how he went towardys iherusalem all a lone to the tyme he came to venesse." "ffyrst the ffryday a for mydlent that was seynt cuthberdys day and the xx day of marche in the vij yer of kyng herri the viij.th and the yer of ower lorde god m.cccccxvij. abowte viij of the cloke the same mornyng i shippyd at rye in sussex. and the same day a bowte x. of the cloke at nyght i londed at depe. in normandy. and ther i lay in the shippe all nyght," &c. &c. "at cambray i hard a ffamus sermon of a doctor which began at v. of the cloke in the mornyng and contynuyd tyll it was ix of the clok. in hys s'mon at on time he had a balys [rod] in hys hond a nother tyme a schorge the iij.de tyme a crowne of thorne the iiij.th tyme he shewyd the pepyll a pictur poyntyd on a clothe of the passion of o. lorde. and aft. that he shewyd them the ymage of god crucyfyed upon a crosse and thanne all the peple bothe yong and old they fell downe upon ther knes and cryed with lamentable voce om'a the p'cher the peple they weppe marvell it was to see. colloq. § de votis, &c. p. 22. * gentleman's magazine, octob. 1812. z 338 crusaders. "we com [29. april] to the goodly and ffamose cite of venys. ther í was well at ese, ffor ther was no thyng that i desired to have but i had it shortly. at venyse at the fyrst howse that i cam to except oon the good man of the howse seyd he knew me by my face that i was an englysshman. and he spake to me good englyssh thanne i was jous and glade. ffor i saw nev'. englyssh man ffrom the tyme i dep'ted owt of parys to the tyme i cam to venys. which ys vij or viij c. myles." "in candia sive creta was musyke fyrste founde and also tourneys and exercyse of armys fyrst founde on horse bake. ther was lawe fyrst put in wrytyng. armour was fyrst ther divisyd and founde. and so was remys and rowyng in bootts. 66 satirday the xj day of july a bowyt iiij of the cloke at aftyr noon we had sight of the holy londe. thanne the maryners song the letany and aftyr that all the pylgryms w.t a joyffull voyce song te deum laudamus. and thankyd all myghty god that he had yoven us such grace to have onys the sight of the most holy lande." "at jaffe begynnyth the holy londe and to ev.y pylgryme at the ffyrst foote that he sett on the londe ther ys grauntyd plenary remission de pena et a culpa. in jaff seynt petir reysid ffrom deth tabitam. the sarvaunt of the appostolis. and fast by ys the place where seynt petir usyd to ffysh and or. savior crist callyd hym and seyd sequere me. "at rama we war receyvyd into duke philipps hospitall and it ys callyd so by cause duke philippe of burgone byldyd it of hys grett charite to receye pylgryms therin. we found no thyng ther in but bar walles and bar florethes excepte oonly a well of good ffresh watir whiche was myche to o. comforth. nev'theles ther com to us jacobyns and other feynyd cristen peple of soundry sectis that browght to us mattes ffor o.' mony to lye upon and also brede sodyng egges and sumtyme other vetallyes as mylke grapys and appyllys." "satirday [18. july] a bowyt vjï vij of the cloke at aftyr noon we can to iherusalem and were receyvyd in to the mounte syon. "whanne masse was don [sunday 19. july] we went all to dyn', in the place wher we war ryghg honestely s'vyed. and at medys of the dyner the ffather wardyn made a right hol sermon and shewyd ryght devowth the holynesse of all the blyssyd chosey place of the holy londe and exortyd ev'y. man to co'fession to co'fession and repentaunce. and so to visite the seyd holy placis in clennes of lyff. and w shuch devocion as all myghty god wold yeff unto them of hys most spe ciall grace." "at the mounte of olivete we came to the place under an holow roke whe o. savyor preying fell in suche a agony that he swete watir and blode. that the droppes fell in grett plenty from hys eyne to the erthe seying, pater si possibile est ut transeat a me calix iste; verumtamen nơ'. sicut eg: volo, s'. sicut tu vis. ffiat voluntas tu. clene remission." "ffrom thens descendyng a stonys cast we came to the place wher or. s vyor crist left petir jamis & john. sedete hic donec vadam illuc et orem vigilate et orate. also wher the pos tyllys made the crede of ower feyth also wher ower savyor crist taugh hys discipulis to pray seying cum orat. ita dicite, pater noster." "the stonys of that place whe: ower lady was born ys remedi and consolation to women that travell chylde." "we went to the howse of dives epulonis, qui sepultus est in inferno." "we cam to the howse of veronic wher as or. blyssid savyor impress the ymage of hys fface in hyr wymple whiche ys at rome. and it ys cally ther the vernacle. "the churche of the holy sepulcre whitby says, that the story of dives and lazarus is only a parable taken from the gemara bebylonicum; but chateaubriand, from chrysostout, makes it a real history. trav. ii. 27. f. crusaders. 339 ys rounde myche leke the form and makyng of the temple at london saff it ys excedyng fer in gretnesse and hath wonder many yles crodes and vowtes chapellys high and lowe in grett nowmber and mervell it ys to see the many deferens and secrete places wt.in the sayd temple." "under the mounte of clavery [calvary] ys a nother chapell of o.r blyssyd lady and seynt john ev'ngeliste that was callyd galgatha and ther ryght under the morteys of the crosse was founde the hede of o.r fore father adam." "we cam to bethelem it was callyd in old tyme effrata wher of it ys wretyng ecce audivimus eum in effrata. and bytwyne citie and the chirche ys the flod floridus where the fayer mayd shuld a ben brent and was savyd harmesse by myracle for the fyer chaunged into rosis." "at the est ende of the chirche of bethlem ys a cave in the grounde wher sumtyme stod a chirch of seynt nicholas. in the same cave entred ower blyssid lady wt. hyr sone. and hyd hyr for ffer of kyng herrod. the gronde ys good for norces that lake mylk for ther childern." "the last day of july a bowyt v. of the cloke in the mornyng we made sayle to warde cypres homward wt. ryght grett joy and solas." "the xxv. day of august that was seynt bertilmews day the morne aftyr seynt bertilmew decessyd roberd crosse of london pewterer and was buryed in the chirche yard in salyus [in the island of cyprus]. and xxvij day of august decessyd syr thomas toppe a prest of the west countre. and was cast ov'. the borde as was many moo whos soules god assoyle. and thanne ther remayned in the shippe iiij englyssh prestis moo." "of o." chere and well entretyng at the rody [rhodes] and what comfort was don to us and speciall that was seke and disesyd by syr thomas newporte and mayster william weston and syr john bowthe and aftyrward by other jentylmen of englond ther it war to long to wrytte. 66 sunday [3. january] the wynde began to ryse in the north and munday all day and all nyght it blew owtrageously. indured a wondred grett tempest aswell be excedyng wondors blowyng of wynde as by contynuall lythynyng so that the capteyne and the patron and all the knyghtys of the rode whyche war ther to the nowmbyr of xiiij wended we shulde a be lost." "the same nyght a bowte x of the cloke we all p'mysyd pylgrymage to ower lady of grace of missena in cecylia. and ev'y man delyv'ed hys offeryng the same tyme to the patrone of the shippe. and of "wedynsday the vj. day of januarij the wynde rose a yens us wt. grett tempest thounderyng and lyghtnyng all day and all nyght so owt rageously that we knew not wher wee war. thanne we putt us all in the mercy god beyng in grett peyne and woo both day and nyght voowyng sum of us pylgrylmages to o. blyssyd lady of lorett'. in ytalya and sum to o. lady of walsyngh'm. and sum to seynt thomas of cannterbury we that war englysshmen. the patrone of o.r shippe gaderd mony of us for to make o. offerying to the iij kyngs of coloney a and as sone as we cam on londe we shuld have messe in honor of them.” "and in thys fforsayd long contynuall tempeste and storme we war dreff bakward iij. c. myle." "in the yle callyd swafana in turkey we a bode v. dayes and dyv'se knyghtes of the rodes wont on lond wt. ther hande gonnes and slew horse for ther hawkes that war in the sheppe ther war in the shippe i. c. hawkes and moo." 66 saturday a for the fyrst sounday the iii magi, who worshipped the infant christ, called in the legend kings, and of cologn, because their bodies were pretended to have been brought first to milan, and from thence to cologn. golden legend, fol. vi.-viii. f. z 2 340 crusaders. of clene lent the xx. day of ffebruary we went in to the castell [of corfu] a mong the jewys it was ther sabaday. the same day ther was a jewe maryed and aftyr dyner i saw them danse in a grett chamber bothe men and women in ryche apparell damaske saten velvett weryng a bowte their nekkys chenys of fyne gold wt. many rynggs on their ffyngers wt. stonys of grett pryce. she that was maryed she had upon hyr hede a crowne of gold.—on of the jewys be gan to syng and than all the women dannsed to gedyr by the space of an owre. and aftyr that ther cam in yong men on of them sang thanne the men and women danncyd to gedyr aftyr that they callyd in ther mynstellys and so they danncyd iij long howrys. they be fayer women wonderfull werkes in sylke and gold and many goodly thyngs they have to sell. in thys cetye we a bode by the space of xiiij dayes." 66 munday that was the xvij day of apryll we cam to dover and lay ther all nyght." "tewysday a for whith sounday we cam to cannterbury to seynt thomas messe and ther i offeryd and made an ende of my pylgrymagedeo gracia." "we war owt of englond in ower seyd pylgrymage the space of an holl yer v. wekys and iij dayes." as to the military, they lived in the same habits as at home. statutes were made for the regulation of them, of which the following is an abstract. i. all the pilgrims who died on the road, had a power of disposing of their arms, horses, and cloaths, provided they sent nothing home: as to clerks, they could dispose at will of religious furniture. ii. knights and clerks were allowed to play for money, provided they did not lose more than 20s. in 24 hours. but all servants, except the king's, were to be punished by three day's beating through the army, and mariners were to be ducked once a day for three days, if they meddled with games. iii. money borrowed on the jour ney, was to be paid during the journey, but not that borrowed before. iv. runaway servants were not to be harboured, under penalty of excommunication, &c. v. no merchant of any trade was to buy bread to sell again in the army, nor any foreigner to speculate in corn, unless he made bread of it, or detained it to carry with him; nor was any one to buy dead meat to sell again, or a live beast, unless he killed it in the army. vi. the same regulation was made about regrating in wine.a other regulations order the crusaders not to swear enormously; not to gamble at dice; and to be content with two meals.b but their libertinism was so notorious, as in its consequences to be a leading cause of their final ill success. joinville is a work of such easy access, that it is quite unnecessary to make large extracts. the knowledge | of the useful arts was considerably augmented by this intercourse with the east. the following short notices betray the strangest inconsistencies. friday's fast was diligently observed;" and there were tents in the form of ! chapels, with the annunciation of the virgin mary embroidered on the inside;d and yet brothels were kept even within a stone's throw of saint louis's pavilion, by his attendants.e the name of our richard i. was so terrible, that it was used by the saracen women to frighten children.f la brocquiere mentions 30,000 amazons, with bows and arrows and curious quivers.g in tacticks the present admirable method of defending infantry from ca valry, was successfully practised.b a la brocquiere says, that a dwarf and script. p. bed. 384. b neubrigensis, 1. 3. c. 22. p. 291. joinville, i. 167. id. 128. f id. 274. d id. 119. & p. 150. a woman with only one breast occurs on indian monuments. ments at salset, pl. v. p. 18. h triveti annales, 120. gough's indian monu 1 crusaders. 341 two young persons acted the parts of fools with the sultan; and that the custom was introduced by the crusaders to the christian courts. now it has been said that our interesting acquaintance in infancy, tom thumb, was a dwarf in the court of king arthur, who only imitated augustus in keeping a dwarf.b la brocquiere may be correct, for they were mostly then brought from syria and egypt.c all the pomp of the gothick ages was derived, by means of the crusades, from the riches and magnificence of the eastern cities. before this æra old poetry consisted of the achievements of king arthur and the knights of the round table, and charlemagne and his twelve peers; but after these expeditions of the soldans, caliphs, trebizond, and other cities. whole legions of poets embarked with the military for the crusades.d the pisans, when the crusades first took place, fitted out small vessels loaded with provisions, which they sold to the crusaders, and brought back columns, sculptures, bas-reliefs, &c. from ancient greece, as well as greek artists; and from hence commenced the revival of the arts in italy.e the crusades gave birth to the maritime powers, of which venice, genoa, and pisa were the first; and occasioned the establishment in europe of naval commerce, which, till then, had been in the hands of the greeks and arabs.f about the year 1060, when the pagans obstructed the journey, the pilgrimage was still made by stealth.g but it being a misfortune which occurred from possession of the country by the saracens, that the pilgrims were enslaved when they came to the holy land, antioch, which was taken by a p. 254. b sueton. c. xliii. in augusto. see figures of them in kircher edip. ægypt. ii. 522. and count caylus, rec. d'antiq. vi. pl. 88. f. 1, 2. e d warton's poetry, i. 110, 111. bromley's arts, ii. 306, seq. f observat. sur l'italie, tom. iii. 261. du cange, v. tapinatio. see instances x script. 1052. the crusaders in 1098, was the most convenient place, tyre not being then in the possession of the christians, for adventurers and pilgrims to land at. when, however, they had debarked, they had 200 miles of a barbarous country to traverse before they could reach jerusalem; hence arose the necessity of a constant guard to protect them, and a subsistence when arrived. at this new capital of the christian empire. these circumstances produced the only two religious orders which were established in the holy land; the first of which were the knights hospitalers in 1113, who undertook the accommodation of the pilgrims at their hospitium or inn, during their stay in jerusalem. as many, however, were attacked by the saracens in their journey from antioch, the second order, that of templars, took place in 1188, who professed to escort the pilgrims to their quarters with the knights hospitalers.k the fanaticism for making pilgrimages to the holy land has been supposed extreme; and it is certain, that in 1199, john bishop of faenza went to the holy land with 200 of his diocesans, no small number for the population of his town, and it is also certain, that even children engaged to take the cross.m much art, however, was practised. at the approach of christmas, when it was customary for great men to give new cloaths to their dependants, the french king, standardbearer of the cross, [for that ensign always preceded their march], assumed to himself, in a new manner, the office of preacher, and procurator of the business of the cross; he ordered to be this protection was no doubt particularly necessary with relation to our countrymen, of whom continental hatred thus expressed itself: " in my youth," says petrarch (fam. 1. 21. ep. 3.), "the inhabitants of great britain, whom they call english, were the greatest cowards of all the barbarians, inferior even to the vile scotch." this is the only time a modern italian perhaps ever talked of the cowardice of our countrymen. archæologia, ix. 128. these orders are however charged in some french mss. with becoming banditti to rob the pilgrims. notices, vi. 53. m m. paris, 502. 342 crusaders. got ready many more gowns than he used to have, with their appurtenances, of the most precious cloth, and different furs and crosses, made of fine goldsmith's work, to be sewed upon the shoulder parts of the gown, privately in the night. when therefore the courtiers attended mass in the morning, they were astonished to find the cross upon each other's shoulders; but seeing the king's motive, were ashamed to remove them. this art was necessary. a father wisely excuses himself from undertaking a foreign pilgrimage, on account of leaving his wife and children to the care of others.b at the predication of the crusade by giraldus cambrensis, philip mangonel, a knight, observed that no man, who professed integrity to his country, would take the cross, upon his preaching, or the archbishop's. sovereigns vehemently opposed these jerusalem pilgrimages, as robbing the country of effective men, and separating relatives of worldly service to each other. indeed they openly called it (according to our modern language) crimping and kidnapping.d when they did patronize them, it was for the reason assigned by henry iv. in shakespeare, who says, that to avoid being dethroned, i had a purpose now to lead out many to the holy land, lest rest and lying still might make them look too near into my state :" an idea which, by the way, was suggested from elian,e and justin, who relates the same of dionysius the tyrant. an obligation to enter either of the military orders was substituted for the punishment of exile. william de berke. ley, 56 henry iii. came before the king, then at the tower of london, and promised to render himself into the religion of st. john of jerusalem or of the templars, before the 15th pasch. in that year, and to go towards jerusalem, or to any other place out of the m. paris, 604. angl. sacr. ii. 491. e l. ix. c. 25. b du cange, v. inoletivus. d id. 492. occakingdom of england, as he should be directed by the brethren of that order, never afterwards to return into england, and thereof took his oath, and put in fourteen sureties to perform the same: which banishment was sioned by his former insurrections this record is important, because it shows of what persons these orders were chiefly composed, probably of desperate malcontents, and explains much of their history. thomas lord berkeley, who died in 1321, having made a vow to go to the holy land, his son maurice gave £100 to sir john veel to go in his stead, and thus absolve his father's vow. these vows were also redeemed, especially in relation to old men, invalids, women, the infirm, and children, for money, through preaching of the friars. the reason was, that, unless the papal absolution was obtained, death was presumed to result from non-performance of the vow. the pilgrims themselves, by their own weariness of the crusades, no doubt discouraged the people. in 1192, when king richard had held a council concerning the siege of jerusalem, he was dissuaded, among other reasons, because it would require a strong garrison to keep it, and the people were very desirous of finishing their pilgrimage, and returning to their own country: some actually did so, even before the business was completed of delivering the holy land.k pilgrimages to jerusalem were turned to great advantage in some instances. about 1520, one mabon, dean of jersey, made the journey, and after return contrived, by lengthening the east end of a chapel, and excavating a place under the altar, to form a representation of the holy sepulchre. he then "feigned visions and apparitions in this place," by which he got numerous hill. placit 56 hen. iii. rot. 18. smythe's mss. smythe's berkeley mss. 328. h m. paris, 502. i erasm. ixoyo aгia. colloq. 412. * trivet, i. 120, 123. crusaders. 343 offerings to be made there; and considerable profit to himself. it is probable, that the clerical pilgrims turned their tours to good account in various ways. lastly, when the christians began to grow lukewarm upon the subject of these jerusalem expeditions, the moslems took it up, and recommended a pilgrimage there to the mosque alarsa, as prayers said in that mosque obtained expiation of sins, and other spiritual advantages.b it must, however, always be an interesting tour; and the recent destruction by fire of the church falle's jersey, 271. ed. morant. see an exhortation to souls, upon a pilgrimage to jerusalem, by bourhan eddin alkazaoni, ms. bibl. nation. notices, iii.605. of the holy sepulchre is to be seriously regretted upon many accounts. monks were not allowed to take the cross. an abbot, named edmund, says matthew paris,c to the derision of every body, in violation of his vows, and injury of the order, attempted a most pernicious precedent, by taking the cross to flatter the king. after the soldan of babylon had taken acre in 1291, the christians were entirely driven out of the holy land, and there was not a single place left where troops could land. pilgrimages to the holy land, as a general fashion, ceased with us about the time of henry v. • p. 671, 696. 1 344 return home.-palmers. chapter viii. return home.-palmers. pilgrims returned from the holy | whom our countrymen commonly call land by whole ship-loads at a time, and were then called palmiferia when they began their journey, they went with scrip and staff; but after they had accomplished their pilgrimage,and when they were onthe point of returning home, they cut off branches of palm-trees, which are common in palestine, and brought them home. on their arrival they went to church to thank god for the happy success of their pilgrimage, and for the proof of the fulfilment of their vows, proffered the palms to the priests, who placed them upon the altar. durand gives another reason. they who come from jerusalem carry a palm in their hands, for a sign that they fought for the king, who was honourably received in jerusalem with palms, and afterwards there fought a victorious battle with the devil. that the jerusalem pilgrims returned into their own countries with a palm, many writers attest, but they chiefly used the palma juncta. when they came home they were received with an ecclesiastick procession.c erasmus says, they who have been at jerusalem are called knights, style each other brethren, and seriously practise a ridiculous ceremony on palm sunday, i. e. drag along a wooden ass with a rope. the compostella pilgrims imitated this. i presume that the host, or crucifix, or figure of christ, was placed upon the ass,e to complete the allusion to the hosanna procession. somner, in his glossary to the decem scriptores,f says, "that pilgrim, du cange, v. palmifer. b du cange. diss. sur joinville, 15, p. 152. c id. v. palmarius. d de colloq. utilit. p. 653. • see antiquitates vulgares. f du cange, v. palmarius. a palmer, the name which they are ac customed to take from staves of branches of palm. but a pilgrim and a palmer, according to some, remark ably differ in these respects: a pilgrin has a fixed residence; a palmer none: a pilgrim goes to a certain and prefixe! place; a palmer to none in particular, but to all: a pilgrim goes at his ow expence ; a palmer professes voluntary poverty: a pilgrim can renounce his profession; a palmer never, unless he had first obtained the palm, i. e. con quered his spiritual enemies by death.” it is certain that a palmer distinguished a pilgrim to jerusalem from another. thus giraldus cambrensis: "asseruit ipsos de gisortii partibus esse et pal miferos omnes, et sepulchri dominic peregrinos; præter archidiaconum solum, quem de roma venientem papie primo repereunto." h there is no reason to dispute the fe that there were persons who vowed perpetual (rather a long) pilgrimage and poverty, and ended their days in a hermitage; and who also, having been to jerusalem and returned, were thus palmers; but to say that they became palmers from the first vow, is an erro neous distinction.i henry, emperor o germany, repenting that he had imprisoned his own father and the pope, lef (as it is said) his kingdom in a pilgrim's habit, and became a hermit at chester, under the name of godstall.k a pilgrim and palmer of the above of these staves, see the chapter of costumes, p. 315. angl. sacr. ii. 594. tyrwhitt (gloss. chaucer) defines palmers by pilgrims to foreign parts. it is incorrect. the palm denoted jerusalem pilgrims. the veronique, or vernicle, pilgrims to rome. the escallops to compostella, see introduction, p. 317. angl. sacr. i. 270, 271. return home.-palmers. 345 description was also the famous guy, earl of warwick, concerning whom knighton, who lived in an age when these matters were quite common, uses the term pilgrim and palmer indiscriminately. he had returned from the holy land, but before his hour of refreshment, visited all the churches of the city to pray; and afterwards, when his peregrinations were ceased, came to warwick, and lived there as a hermit, unknown to his wife, felicia, to whom he did not discover himself till his death.a of the journey and return of a less rigid pilgrim we have the following account. william de mandeville, earl of essex, took the cross, and, after procuring suitable necessaries, took with him a retinue, and among them a chaplain to perform divine offices. for all these he kept a daily table, but before he set out, went to gilbert bishop of london for his license and benediction. these were of course granted, and he passed as far as rome, over france, burgundy, and the alps, leaving his horses at mantua. he visited every holy place at jerusalem, and on his route; made his prayers and offerings at each, and so returned. upon his arrival he made presents of silk cloths to all the churches of his see, decem scriptores, 2322. leland, &c. for copes or coverings of the altars. the monks of walden met him in procession in albs and copes, singing, "blessed is he who cometh in the name of the lord;" and the earl coming to the high altar, and there prostrating himself, the prior gave him the benediction. after this he rose ; and kneeling, offered some precious relicks. in an ivory box, which he had obtained. in jerusalem and elsewhere. this offering concluded, he rose and stood. before the altar, the prior and convent singing te deum. leaving the church, he went to the chapter to give and receive the kiss of peace from the prior and monks. a sumptuous entertainment followed for himself and his suite; and the succeeding days were passed in visits to relatives and friends, who congratulated him upon his safe return.b the pilgrims upon their return from jerusalem, used to present their scrips and bourdons to their parish churches.c coryatt says, that he saw cockle and muscle shells, and beads, and other religious relicks, hung up over the door of a little chapel in a nunnery.d these were deposits and offerings made by pilgrims to compostella, when they returned and gave thanks. see costumes, p. 317. b dugd. monast. i. 452, 453. du cange, v. spera. d crudities, i. 18. 346 pilgrimages of punishment and penance. chapter ix. pilgrimages of punishment and penance. pilgrimages of punishment are ordered in the canons of patrick, in ware, and the laws of our henry i. a priest revealing a confession is to repent in disgrace, by a pilgrimage for life a pilgrimage to the holy land within two years is directed for the soul of a murdered person. other pilgrimages might be redeemed for money.a in 1284, john archbishop of canterbury gave the cross to one of the canons of dunstable for his irregularities, and by the authority allowed to crusaders, absolved him from his bad behaviour, provided, in his expedition, he could redeem himself, as far as he could get money from his own chamber or his friends, without hurting the monastery.b some monks having borrowed money from a certain burgess, delivered him the curtains of the church in pawn. afterwards, at the festival of the holy virgin, the monks asked him to lend them the curtains, that the church might not be without its usual ornament, promising to return them after the festival. the man refused, because his wife had recently laid in, and the curtains were put around her bed, and could not be removed. the virgin mary appeared to the woman, in punishment of her impiety, and after menacing death to her child and husband, ordered her to go to her church in bethlehem, and having beheld the three sepulchres there, to choose one for herself: but she got absolution by papal means.c in the famous romance of reynard the fox, an heroi-comick poem, written by pierre de st. cloud in the thir• du cange, v. peregrinatio. 、 bibl. topograph. brit. viii. 126. trivet, 30. teenth century,d reynard is condemned to die for his sins, and, being without resource, begs to take the cross, and in expiation of his sins, to visit the holy places beyond sea. the lion answers, that these foreign pilgrimages have, as yet, reformed nobody: that he knew even people who had gone out good, return bad: and as to the delinquent, there was no hope of his reform by going to the holy land, as he would return just as bad as before. upon condition, however, that the crusade should be for life, consent is granted. the cross is then put upon his shoul ders, the scarf and bourdon are brought to him, and he is told, that if he dies, he will go directly into paradise. those, whom he had offended, pardon him and advise him to repent. the hypocrite promises every thing, while his only object is to escape. they let him go, and he immediately insults and injures his benefactors. of these pilgrimages for punishment, some were greater, some less. those which were greater were directed to st. james's, rome, or jerusalem: the smaller to visiting the oratories, within the province or kingdom. the pil grimage was, according to the crimes harder or lighter. they who had com mitted great crimes, as homicide, for instance, were bound to carry iron chains,f through the holy places, unt they were liberated. in an ancien manuscript consuetudinal, it appears that this custom prevailed in the inte rior parts of france, that whoever ha killed his next relative with the sword and afterwards repenting, should relate d i am aware that mr.douce assigns it an earlier origin, &c. • notices des mss. à paris, v. 303, 304. a knight with iron chains is engraved in th frontispiece of strutt's dresses, vol. i. pilgrimages of punishment and penance. 347 1 his crime to the priest, by direction of the latter was to have the sword made into an iron chain; and the chain closely bound, around his neck, belly, and arms, and so be expelled from his own country and native soil. in the mean time, until the divine mercy should order these chains to be loosened, he should be compelled to travel first to rome, and afterwards, through the different places, to ask pardon of the saints.a it was customary to impose for penance the wearing an iron ring upon the arm, which was not to be laid aside, till after many pilgrimages to the sepulchres of saints, and the rings were loosed by some miracle.b of these pilgrimages for punishment, that of robert the devil is very curious and entertaining, on account of the penance: shall take, "the hermite with that shortlye did awake and called robert, and spaeke to him, and saide heare now the pennaunce that ye god commaundeth thee to counterfet a foole in all thinge, meat none to eate without a dogge do yt bringe to the in his mouth, then must thou yt eate. no worde to speake, but as domb ever beinge, with dogges every night also thou must sleepe. * * * * * then poore robert departed fro the hermyte and blessed hym and agayne went to rome for to do hys pennaunce in the strete, and whan that he thether was come, like as he had ben a foole he dyd ronne and lepte and daunced from one syde to another, many folke laughed at him soone and wende he had bene a foole, they knewe non other. boyes folowed hym throughe the strete castynge styckes and stones at hym, and some with roddes his bodye dyd beate, the children made great shoutes and cryenge, burges of the cyttie at robert laye laughynge out of theyr wyndowes to se him playe, the boyes threwe dyrte and myre at him, thus continued robert manye a daye. thus he played the foole on a season, he came on a tyme to the emperours courte, and sawe that the gate stood all open, robert ranne into the hall and beganne to worke, so daunced and lept and aboute so starte, at the last the emperoure had pyttie on hym, howe he taere hys clothes and gnew his shyrte, and bade a servaunte meate hym for to bringe. thys servaunte brought robert plentye of meate so proferde hyt him and saide go dyne, robert sate styll he woulde not eate, yet god wotte his belly greate pyne. • du cange, v. peregrinatio. id. v. circuli ferrei. 348 pilgrimages of punishment and penance. at last themperour sayde yonder is a hounde of mine, and bade bys servaunte throwe him a bone, so he dvd, and when robert yt had spyne, alack thought robert he shall not eate it alone.a he lepte from the table and with the dogge faught, and all for to have the bone awaye, the hounde at the last by the fyngers him caught, so style in his mouth he kept hys praye. when robert sawe that, downe he laye the dogge gnewe the one ende and robert the other. the emperour laughed when he that sawe, and sayde the dogge and he fought harde together. the emperour sawe that he was hongrye, and bade to throwe the dogge a hole lofe, whan robert sawe that he was glad greatelye, for to lose his parte he was right lothe. and again to the dogge he goeth, so brake the loffe asonder and to the hounde he gave the one halfe to say the sothe and eate the other, as the dogge dyd on the grounde. the emperoure saide, syth that i was borne sawe i never a more foole naturall, nor such an ydeot sawe i never beforne that had lever eate that, that to the dogge did fall rather then that that was proffered hym in the hall, than robert toke hys staffe and smote at forme and style, what sorowe was in his hearte they knewe not all, these men were gladde to see hym playe the foole b at the last robert went into a garden and there he founde a favre fountayne, he was a thurst, and whan he had dronken he went in to hys dogge agayne to folowe hvm ever he was favne thus under a stayre at nyht lave the hounde, and ever his pennaunce robert did not dysdayne, alwaye hys bed was with the dogge on the grounde. whan the emperoure espyed hym lye there, fett hym a bed to a man dyd he save, and lett yt be layed for hym under the stayre, so they dyd and robert poynted as naye, and woulde have them to beare the bed awaye. then they fett hym an arme full of strawe, and thereupon by hys dogge he laye, all men marveyled that yt sawe. much myrthe and sporte he made ever amonge, and as the emperoure was at dyner on a daye a jue sate at the borde, that great rowme longe in that house beare, and was receyved all waye. than roberte hys dogge toke in hys armes in faye and touched the jue, and he over hys sholder loked backe, • roberte the devyll, a metrical romance, from an ancient illuminated manuscript, p. 35. ibid. p. 36. pilgrimages of punishment and penance. 349 robert set the dogges [tail] to hys mowth without naye, full soore the emperoure loughe, whan he sawe that.a robert sawe a bryde that shoulde be maryed and soone he toke her by the hande so into a foule donge myxen he her caryed and in the myre he let her stande. the emperoure stoode and behelde hym longe, at the last robert toke a quyckeb catte and ranne into the kechyn amonge the thronge and threwe her quycke into the beefe potte. lordes and barons loughe that they could not stande to see hym make myrth withoute harme, they sayd he was the meryest in all that lande." a very singular custom prevailed in some pilgrimages of penitence. certain penitents imposed upon themselves the penance of receiving blows with ferules, upon the palms of their hands: which they commuted by striking the ground instead. peter damian mentions a man who wore an iron corslet next his skin, had iron rings around his limbs, with difficulty performed his metaneas [penitential inclinations], and very often dashed the palms of his hands upon the pavement.c in strutt's dresses is a female pilgrim, lying on the ground, apparently to perform this penance.d robert the devyll, &c. p. 37. du cange, v. palmata. b alive. d pl. cxxxiv. 350 pilgrimages to rome. chapter x. pilgrimages to rome. lewis, in his life of caxton, p. 77, | says, "about 709, an odd and surprising opinion of the merit and holiness of pilgrimages to rome, wonderfully prevailed among the english, insomuch that all ranks and degrees of every sex and age of the people of this nation travelled to rome, and placed a mighty confidence in visiting the tombs of the apostles st. peter and st. paul, and of such other holy men, &c. as had there suffered for the sake of christ. the consequence of this was, that about the middle of this century, this humour so far increased, that the english nuns ran to rome; and there were so many lewd women of the english nation abroad in lombardy, france, &c. that boniface, archbishop of mentz, complained of them to the archbishop of canterbury, and recommended to him the suspension of this practice of pilgrimaging, as of very bad and scandalous consequence." a the general reason for pilgrimages to rome in the whole middle age was to obtain absolution from the pope. there were however exceptions. the noble anglo-saxons went there with immense retinues on horseback, for the purpose only of praying to the holy apostles there.b petrarch thus explains this appellation: "what pleasure," says he, "is it for a christian to behold a town cemented by the blood of the martyrs; built, in some fashion, of their bones and nerves; to contemplate the image of our divine master, the sacred vestiges of the feet of his apostle, engraved in the rock; the tombs of the saints, the chambers of the apostles, and all the precious remains of incipient christianity which it contains in its bosom.” c • dibdin's typographical antiquit. i. 176. anglia sacra, ii. 79. mémoires pour la vie de petrarque, i. 284. the limina apostolorum were churches of the apostles,d or their bodies burie. in chapels of the great church. stukley makes the limina apostolorum the subterraneous oratory of st. peter's rome.f the british and irish saints a made this pilgrimage, and called at the eminent abbies upon their return. the pilgrims to rome were calle romei and romipeta, but romip gium was a term not confined to the pilgrimage, but extended to others. it was a favourite destination f voluntary penitentiary pilgrimages. i the romance of reynard the f reynard, become old, feels some remorse for the errors of his life, ar wishes in penitence to go in pilgrimag to rome. but meeting with some pleasant incidents upon his road, b returns home convinced, that he may be as honest a man in his own hoe as in running to strange countries. jubilees drew numerous pilgrimst partake of the indulgences. the ce brated john talbot, earl of shrews bury, when released from impriso ment by the french king, did not s his liberty to take up arms again, b went to rome to profit by the ind gences of the jubilee.! these indulgences were plenary mission of all sins. the concourse pilgrims was prodigious, nearly a n lion, in the jubilee of 1350. all t inhabitants of rome turned innkee ers; and made the pilgrims pay for the support of themselves and ther horses. as the strangers came fr • id. v. capellani. d du cange. iter boreale, p. 62. anglia sacra, ii. 635. du cange, v. romipeta. ms. biblioth. nation. notices, v. 311. mémoires pour la vie de petrarch, i. 103. 1 conquête de la normandie, ms. per blondel. notices, vi. 92. de pilgrimages to rome. 351 all countries, and for the most part knew only their mother tongues, they were obliged to employ interpreters, in confession, who published what they had heard, unless they were handsomely paid for silence. this abuse occasioned the establishment of penitentiaries who understood the languages.a in the middle of the fourteenth century, it was an established custom to make pilgrimages to rome from all parts of the christian world, in order to see the portrait of christ. petrarch says, that even old men made this tour f with impatience. two portraits were exhibited, which equally excited the curiosity of the devout. one was the veronique, a handkerchief, which a jewish woman is pretended to have thrown over the face of christ, when he was carrying his cross, i in order to wipe off the blood and sweat, with which it was covered. his portrait remained impressed upon it. it was brought to rome, as affirmed, under the empire of tiberius, but marianus scotus, an author of the eleventh century, is the first who mentions it. it used to be kept at the church of the holy ghost, but boniface viii. removed it to st. peter's, and placed it between the altars of st. james and mary magdalen. the other was that which appeared miraculously upon the top of the ■ villani, &c. see tyrwhitt's gloss. chaucer, v. veronique. see § costumes. church of st. john lateran, on the day upon which they were celebrating the dedication of that church, which the emperor constantine built soon after his baptism. it is in mosaic, and the history of its appearance is preserved in a manuscript of this church, written on parchment of the ninth century, with this title, "discourse of the dedication of this church of our saviour." it is said, that no fires have ever injured it. nicholas iv. in rebuilding the vault of the church in 1291, placed there the miraculous image. it was a more stern and reverential portraite than the veronique, as appears from the verses of petrarch quoted below;d and in 1318, john xxii. granted an indulgence to those who went to see this image, which was believed to have been painted by divine hands.e the pilgrims, who for the representation of the passion, opened the first theatre at paris, brought there from italy, the taste and first idea of the drama.f in duppa's " subversion of the papal government, 1798,"p. 20, is a short account of this head, called "il santo volto," and an engraving of it. after exhibition, it was removed to the chapel of the sancta sanctorum at the scala santa. id. p. 30. d faciemque agnoscere christi, vel quæ fœmineo servatur condita panno, vel populo quæ visa olim sub vertice templi emicuit, perstatque minax horrore verendo. carm. 1. 2. ep. 5. • mémoires pour la vie de petrarque, v. ii. pp. 204, 205. 1 observat. sur l'italie, i. 339. 352 pilgrimages to compostella. chapter xi. pilgrimages to compostella. torches, about the place where his bodk was found in a coffin of marble in a wood in the year 797, whereat the spaniards themselves do much wonder. seeing they find no mention in the histories of s. james sepulcher in spaine, in all the time which past since his death, unto the raigne of this a phonso: no not in the time of miron the first christian king of the sueves | in gallicia, who first erected the king of the gothes, that were christians. nor yet since. it was revealed at that time by such apparitions to theodemi who believed it to be the verie body c s. james, and so persuaded the king d. alphonso, who was wonderfull joyful thereof, and built a temple, endow ing it with great revenues, taking this manifestation for a singular favour of god. god. the spaniards have since made him their patron and protector of their countrie, calling on him in all the necessities, especially in the war. neighbour princes were amazed at this relicke; for we read that charlemagne (in whose times d. alphonso began to raigne) being advertised of this inver in the form of bidding the beads on the sunday, or, as it was sometimes called, "the dominical prayer in the pulpit," is the following clause: “also, ye shall pray for all true pilgrims and palmers, that have taken their way to rome, to jerusalem, to saint katharine's, or to saint james, or to any other holy place, that god of his grace give them time and space well for to go and to come to the profit of their lives and souls." by this it appears, that at the time of composing this form, these were the fashionable pilgrimages. in a more ancient form, no particular places or saints are mentioned, but this clause is expressed as follows, "ye shall bids for hem that in good ways beest ywent other wendyt other thenkit to wenthe her sins to boot, that our lord jesus christ ward and shield them from all misadventures, and grant them so going and coming, that it be him to worship, and them in remission of their sins, for them and for us, and all christian folk." this seems to intimate, as if, at the time when this ancienter form was drawn, the saints katharineª and james of compostellation, posted thither, and afterwards obwere not in so great request, or had in so much veneration as they were afterwards.b in the general historie of spaine, written in french by lewis de mayerne, turquet, and translated into english by edward grimeston, esquire,c is the following passage. "to this is added the finding out of the sepulchre of the apostle st. james, neere unto iria, by the bishop of that place, called theodemir, at the relation of two men, which the historie of compostella, in latine, calls personatos, that is to say, masked, who said they had seene angels and ■ of sene in italy, canonized 1461. b dibdin's typographical antiq. i. 175. < london, fol. 1612. tained from pope leo the third, sitting at rome, that the episcopal see iria should be removed to compostell under the metropolitane of braga, from the which it was since exempt, as we will shew hereafter.” d lewis, in his life of caxton, says "st. james i take to be st. james compostella in spain; hither, it was said, the bones or relicks of james, th brother of john, who was killed by herod, were translated. but it does not appear that much notice was taken. of them till calistus or calixtus ii.'s time, who was chosen pope of rome, a.d. 1119. he not only wrote a tract ¿ pp. 179, 180. pilgrimages to compostella. 353 of the miracles of this saint, done at compostella, but advised the english pilgrims in particular rather to go for pilgrimage to this saint than to rome, and promised them, on account of the length of the journey, that if they went twice to compostella, they should have refunded to them the same advantageous benediction which they had who went once to rome.a in 975 the moors sacked the town, and carried away the small bells in the steeple of the church, the spaniards saying" that the apostle's sepulchre could not be violated, the moors being terrified with a great light that came out of it." in 1125 it was made an archiepiscopal see, and long after, ferdinand and isabella founded a hospital for the relief of the poor, and of pilgrims.d so cervantes gives the following interesting account of pilgrims in spain. "he saw coming towards them six pilgrims with their staves, of that sort which begs charity by singing. soon, therefore, as they approached them they made a lane, and raising their voices together, began to sing in their language, though sancho understood nothing of what they said, except the word charity. he offered them food; but they replied that they wanted money. these pilgrims were well provided with wine, &c. in their wallets, and were clothed in rochets or mantles over their doublets. in giving an account of themselves, they say, that a great number of them were used to come to spain yearly, upon pretence of visiting the holy places there, which was their indies, as being productive of most certain gain. they traverse the whole country, and there is not a village from which they are not dismissed with a bellyful of meat and drink and a rial in money. thus at the end of their pilgrimage, they are above a hundred crowns in pocket, which, being changed into gold, they conceal in the hollow of their staves, a dibdin's typographical antiq. i. 176. b general historie of spaine, &c. p. 215. c p. 278. d p. 917. or in the patches of their cloaks, and by management thus carry off their gains to their own country, in despite of the guards at the passes and gates where they are examined and registered."e a custom of two-pence was taken from every person going and returning by the river thames on pilgrimage to the shrine of st. james.f in the year 1170 godrick returned. from a pilgrimage to jerusalem by way of compostella. henry son of henry ii. wished to make this pilgrimage to escape from his father's superintendance, and the king himself sent ambassadors to spain stating his intention of visiting compostella, and requesting letters of safe conduct for his journey and return. this was necessary; for it was a custom, at least before the punishment of them by richard i. for the people of serges and lespurmi in gascony to plunder the pilgrims going to st. james's,k and the privileges obtained for them by john mansel have been before mentioned.1 in 1386, when john duke of lancaster claimed the crown of spain, he was attended to st. james's by vast numbers of pilgrims.m erasmus mentions a person in danger of shipwreck, who vowed a pilgrimage to compostella, with bare feet and head, only an iron corslet on his body, and begging his bread all the way." godrick, the celebrated hermit, was brought up to business, and was owner of half of one ship and a fourth of another. thus sailing through different countries, he carried on trade, and made pilgrimages at the same time to the shrines of the saints, and recommended himself to their patronage. when engaged, he of course minded his concerns, but when alone, he used to ruminate upon the lord's prayer and creed. this custom of carrying e don quixote, iv. 139-143. edit. glasg. 1803. bayley's tower of london, ii. 655. m. paris, 98. decem scriptores, 1110. i id. 1126. k id. 1118. 1 c. vi. colloquia, 204. 2 a m knighton, sub anno. • m. paris, 97. 354 pilgrimages to compostella. on commerce and pilgrimage at the same time, appears to have been quite common in the journies to compostella. in mr. lodge's shrewsbury papers, thomas allen, writing to the earl of shrewsbury in 1516, has the following passage: "the saying is her, yn some places there was a ship, fraygth in tempnes with goods of the religion of saynt jamys." upon this mr. lodge remarks thus: "the property of the pilgrims to compostella in spain, the supposed burial place of the apostle st. james. great numbers of these went annually from hence, in ships regularly licensed for that purpose; previously binding themselves by an oath, not to discover the secrets of england, nor to take more money with them, than might be necessary for the expences of their journey. it should seem from this passage, that the original motive to pilgrimage was now giving way to that spirit of traffick which prevailed in proportion to the decay of pious superstition." a it appears however to have been always held, that the interchange of commerce and hospitality was essentially necessary for the propagation of the faith, b ■ illustrations of british history, i. p. 12. ▷ solorzanus de indiarum jure, p. 300. the pilgrims to compostella we by the name of jacobita and jacobpete. there was an hotel at paris, û purpose for receiving the pilgrims on the road to st. james's; but the revenues failing, it was purchased for the dominicans.c sir john hawkins says, that the pilgrims to st. james of compostela. excavated a staff or walking stick into a musical instrument for recreation on their journey. this ascription of the invention of the bourdon to these pilgrims in particular is very questionable. erasmus says, that the compostell ' pilgrims, upon return, were loaded with scallop shells, pewter or leaden images. chains of straw, and a rosary on the arm.e those, who undertook pilgrimages to st. james's shrine at compostella or to st. peter's at rome, were distinguished by the escallop shell, affixed to their hats and cloaks; a badge, which denoted the wearer's intention of crossing the seas, and which further reminded him of the occupation of those apostles, as fishermen.f du cange, v. jacobitæ. d hist. of musick, iv. 139. e peregrinatio religionis ergo, inter colloquia, p. 353. taylor's ind. monast. pref. xviii. provincial pilgrimages to shrines, wells, &c. 355 chapter xii. provincial pilgrimages to shrines, wells, &c. that fierce puritan (in principle) sir david lindsay, in the second book of his monarchy, thus speaks of these kinds of pilgrimage, in his chapter "of images used among christian men." a after detailing the images of saints, and their attributes, he goes on, "all these on altars stately stands priests crying for their offerands; to whom we commons on our knees do worship all these imageries in church or queer or in the cloyster praying to them our pater-noster. in pilgrimage from town to town with offering and adoration, to them ay babbling on our beeds that they may help us in our needs, what differs this, declare to me from the gentiles idolatrie? if this be true that thou reports it goes right near the self-same sorts; but we by counsel of clergy have license to make imagery.b p. 64. ed. glasg. 1754. 12mo. in 1407, says archbishop arundel, "beyonde the sea are the beste peynters that ever i saw. and, syrs, i tell you this is their maner, and it is a goode maner. whan that an ymage maker shall kerve, caste in moulde, or peynte ony images, he shall go to a prieste, and shryve him as clene, as if he sholde than dye, and take penaunce, and make some certeyne vowe of fasting or of praying or of pilgrimage, doinge, praying the priests, specially to pray for hym, that he may have grace to make a faire, and a devout ymage." (state trials, i. 25. col. 2. ed. fol.) the makers of them were called anthropoformite, and carried them to fairs for sale. (du cange.) orders were also given to buy them from abroad, as from jerusalem, where there was a particular place for selling them (m. paris, 176.) the crucifix and the virgin mary were the most common, because, while the power of other saints was limited, that of the former extended to all things (catholick doctrine of the church of england, 4to. 1675, p. 133), and the latter was able to attend her own candle, which, of course, saved much trouble (bishop jewell's reply to harding, bl. lett. 1609. p. 381). we find images of christ in breeches. (du cange, v. antiphoneti.) mosheim says, that the image of mary and the child jesus obtained the first place on account of the nestorian controversy, maclaine's edit. i. 258, 4to. which of unlearned been the books for when the laicks on them looks, it brings them to remembrance of saints lives the circumstance: how the faith for to fortify they suffered pain right patiently. seeing the image on the rood men should remember on the blood which christ into his passion did shed for our salvation, or when thou seest the portraitour of blessed mary virgin pure, a pleasant babe upon her knee,c then in thy mind remember thee the word which the prophet said how she should be both mother and maid. but who that sitteth in their knees praying to many imageries with oration and offerands kneeling with cup into their hands no difference been i say to thee from the gentiles idolatrie. right so of divers nations i read the abominations. how greeks made their devotion hail to mars to save them in battel. to jupiter some took their voyage to save them from the stormy rage: some prayed to venus from the spleen that they their lovers might obtain: and some to juno for riches their pilgrimage they would address: so doth our common popular which were too long for to declare, their superstitious pilgrimages to many diverse images. nicholas dovedale, prebendary of clonmethan, belonging to st. patrick's, dublin, in a petition preferred by him. to parliament14th edw. iv. stated, that divers persons, aliens, strangers, and so distinguished from our lady of pity, where she is weeping over a dead christ in her lap, while (says la brocquiere, 227) nicodemus was preparing the tomb. 2 a 2 356 provincial pilgrimages to shrines, wells, &c. denizens, did frequent, in considerable numbers, by way of pilgrimage, the chapel of st. catharine the virgin and martyr, of feldstown, which was appropriated and annexed to the prebend of clonmethan, being for the health and safety of their souls and accomplishment of their petitions and prayers; those persons he complained had been at divers times vexed and molested on divers pretences, by reason of which they were obliged to lay aside said devotions and pilgrimages: this was a case that peculiarly interested the feeling of such an assembly at that time; the parliament accordingly ordained, that the persons and properties of all such pilgrims should, during their pilgrimage, be under the protection of the king, nor should the person of any such be arrested on any writ or authority whatever, for debt, treason, felony, or trespass, until said pilgrimage should be accomplished; provided that during their going thither, dwelling there, and returning, they did behave peaceably to the king's liege subjects; they ordained likewise that any officer who should vex or arrest the persons, or molest the houses of such pilgrims, contrary to this statute, should forfeit, for every such offence, the sum of twentypounds.a doors of chapels were ordered to be left open on particular holydays, that pilgrims might have free access to them.b the appearance and manners of pilgrims, in these domestick peregrinations, are admirably described in a curious dialogue, between, as i think, a captious disciple of the great heresiarch (as wickliff was styled) and arundel, archbishop of canterbury, in the reign of henry the fourth. "also, sir, he says i knowe well, that whan diverse men and women will go thus after their own willes, and findyng out one pilgrimage, they will orden with them before to have with them, both men and women, that can well synge wanton stat. roll. 14 e. 1v. mason's dublin, pp. 33. 34. dugdale's st. paul's, p. 91. ed. ellis. songes; and some other pilgremis wi have with them bagge pipes, so that every towne they come throwe, what with the noyse of their singyng and with the sound of their pipyng, and with the jangling of their canterbury bellis, and with barking out of doggis after them, that they make more noise than if the kinge came there awaye with all his clarions, and many other menstrelles. and if these men and women be a moneth in their pilgrimage, many of them shall be an half-year after great janglers, tale-tellers, and lyers." the archbishop justifies part of this, by observing, "that pilgremys have with them both syngers, and also pipers, that whan one of them that goeth barefoote striketh his too upon a stone, and hurteth him sore, and maketh him to blede, it is well-done, that he or his fellow begyn than a songe, or else take out of his bosome a bagge-pipe, for to drive away with soche myrthe the hurte of his felow. for with soche solce the travell and werinesse of pylgremes is lightely and merily broughte forth." a gallant and learned nation will smile at the following record of their ancestors. the scotch pilgrims were so notorious for lying and fabulous adventures, that to "lie like a scotchman" became a proverb: but it ap pears from preceding passages, that pilgrims of other nations also told lies. heaps of stones, on which crosses were erected, were laid together by them when they came within view of the end of their journey, and were called mountjoyes. this term "mount of the joy of god" was certainly the denomination of some heaps of stones; c love-songs were sung instead of psalms. du cange, v. amor. sternhold and hopkins (says warton) translated the psalms for superseding these amorous ditties, but in vain. juliana bernes (a nun) published obscenities. even noblemen did not travel without a trumpeter preceding. see phillips's shrewsbury, p. 47. of the king's clarions and minstrels, see ordinances of royal housholds. e state trials, i. p. 27. ed. fol. 1730. du cange, v. escotus. & hutchinson's durham, ii. p. 312. provincial pilgrimages to shrines, wells, &c. 357 and also of little hills where saints had suffered martyrdom.ª this pilgrimage to churches and shrines is the most ancient and universal of all the kinds. the feast of the consecration of the temples was celebrated annually in hindostan, and every temple dedicated to some particular deity. the feast lasted ten days, and was attended by pilgrims and offerings. the parishioners of glastonbury were told, that if they did not attend church and keep dunstan's day as a holiday, but minded their business and labour, nothing prosperous would happen to them during that year, or they would sustain some heavy losses in their cattle or estates. at the tomb of st. teliaus, among the ancient britons, the sick, it is said, were often healed, the blind restored to sight, and the deaf made to hear; wherefore, says his historian, celebrate his festival, with the whole energy of your mind, go to the church, and according to your respective means give alms to the poor.d it was the custom in the anglo-saxon era to prefer the patronage of the saints to all worldly matters. these passages, while they throw light upon the festival of the dedication of the church, show the uncommon force of the principle which produced pilgrimages to shrines. those who could not go abroad were encouraged to these domestick pilgrimages instead. an antient verse, about the proportion of pardons given to pilgrims for these visits, says, that two pilgrimages to st. david's equalled in merit one to rome: "roma semel quantum, bis dat menevia tantum."f pilgrimages to shrines. the canopy over shrines called mandualis, whence mantel-piece, requies, ripa, &c. was sometimes so richly adorned with gold, silver, gems, and other ornaments, as to make a very brilliant appearance, on which account, the shrines were covered du cange, v. mons gaudii. b sketches of the religion of the hindoos, i. 114. angl. sacr. ii. 231. d ld. 656. e eadm. 51. fuller's church hist. cent. xii. p. 24. in lent. formerly, in foreign countries at least, a golden dove was placed on the top of the canopy,h and gifts and offerings were hung round the shrines.i the form and condition of the shrine, and the annexation of an image to it, was of importance, because such tombs had greater privileges than plainer monuments. sometimes offerings were made at the tombs of persons not canonized.k it is observed of the tomb of ralph de shrewsbury, fifteenth bishop of bath and wells, that he was buried at wells, between the steps of the choir and the high altar, in an alabaster tomb, and that over his tomb was placed an image very like him. from whence more indulgences were granted to all who visited the place of his burial, and prayed devoutly for his soul.1 when the tombs of eminent saints were visited for the purpose of recovering health, and also in return for vows, if there remained any token of the disease, as congealed blood, &c. it was sometimes enclosed in silver, and suspended to the shrine of the saint who effected the cure.m st. cuthbert's shrine at durham had four seats or places convenient underneath for the pilgrims or lame men, sitting on their knees, to lean and rest on, in the time of their devout offerings and fervent prayers to god and holy st. cuthbert, for his miraculous relief and succour." the old gauls used to hang the members or feet of men made of wood, or wool stuffed, upon consecrated trees in the high roads, thinking by this means to be cured of divers diseases; and instead of this it is ordered in councils, that persons should keep vigils in the church. at st. paul's, london, if the pilgrims offered burning tapers, they were extinguished, melted, and the wax sold, and if money or obladu cange, v. ripa, &c. b id. v. pendentiæ. 1 du cange, v. sepulchrum. taylor's index monast. pref. xviii. angl. sacr. i. 569. m id. i. 648. "antiq. of durham by patr. saunderson, p. 6. du cange, v. pervigilium. 358 provincial pilgrimages to shrines, wells, &c. or tions, were put into an iron box, and applied to the use of the dean and chapter. porphyry (de abstinentiâ) says, that amasis substituted figures of wax of the human size for the human victims used at ilithyia near latopolis. solon made the thesmothetæ guardians of the laws, promise for every law which they broke to dedicate a golden statue at delphi, of the same weight as themselves. these observations may explain some very curious offerings. it was formerly the custom to weigh sick children at the shrines or sepulchres of saints, and offer their weight in corn, bread, or other things, adding a sum of money. metellus mentions a person who weighed him. self there in bread and cheese, which he afterwards gave to the poor.d king edward the first offered his measure in wax, to the church of orcheston in wilts; and john paston's mother, upon the sickness of her son, vowed that she would present an image of wax of the weight of him to our lady of walsingham.f of these offerings of wax of the weight of the person, the anonymous writer of the miracles of st. thomas, published by stapleton, treats largely. they appear to be, in some instances, tapers of the stature or height of the person,h and are called in the miracles of simon the hermit, statual tapers. in the life of st. stephen, it is said, when the above man found his oxen stumble, fearing lest they should die within the house, he ordered his wife to take them far away, lest they should infect the other animals, but his wife recommending waxen statuaries to be made for them, this was accordingly done, and the oxen led to the shrine of the saint, and the statuaries offered. when persons could not well tame or manage their hawks, they sent waxen images of a hawk, or dugdale's st. paul's, p. 14. ed. ellis. savary's egypt, ii. 440. c plutarch in solon. du cange, v. ponderare. • liber garderobæ, 28 ed. i. p. 34. paston letters, iii. 21, 22. 5 c. 23, 37, 63. of twisted long tapers, &c. see du cange, v. longitudo. id. v. statualis, statuarius cereus, statuarium. other prssents, to st. tibbe for better success. after the battle of poitiers, when john the french king was taken prisoner, a taper was lit at the church of notre dame, before the altar of the virgin mary, which burned without ceasing. it is said to have been rolled round the circle of a wheel, and to have been as long as the whole circumference of paris.¹ behind the shrine of st. david are two holes of a circular form, in which the offerings were deposited. at st. paul's, an iron box was affixed to the pillar where the image stood." it was a common practice to hire a pilgrim to visit a certain image, the distance of the journey being regulated by the wealth or the piety of the individual. the profits of these offerings were sometimes matters of dispute. some arbitrators appointed the profits of the shrine of wulstan at worcester to be divided between the bishop and convent, and the former to appoint one keeper, and the latter another.p ladies made these pilgrimages to shrines in all their finery, but met with a sad fate. in a ms. of the fourteenth century, many miracles were wrought at the church of roch-madame in france upon numerous ladies and chevaliers, who had washed their hair in wine to make it beautiful and glossy, and coming in pilgrimage to this church, could not enter the door until they suffered their tresses to be cut off; and these tresses were afterwards hung up in the church, as mementos before the image of our lady. instances appear where the companions or friends attendant upon a sick man, if he owed his recovery to the presumed assistance of a saint, vowed a pilgrimage to the shrine of that saint bare-footed (for travelling thither on k j. rous, p. 71. 1 hist. de paris, i. fol. 639. trarque, iii. 544. sir r. c. hoare's giraldus, i. 26. " dugdale's st. paul's, p. 14. mém. de petaylor's index monasticus, pref. xviii. p angl. sacr. i. 545. strutt's dresses, ii. 242. provincial pilgrimages to shrines, wells, &c. 359 foot was deemed essential), and the sick person himself made a similar pilgrimage and offering.a a prior having been healed at st. edward's shrine, preached a sermon on the feast of that saint, "in whiche he tolde of the myracle, howe he was holle." b shrines were also visited before taking a voyage, to have the prayers of the saints for safety, and also upon delivery from danger.c sometimes annual pilgrimages were mode to certain shrines. "ther was a knyght, wyche hadde a custome every yere to go a pylgrimage unto the bodye of marye magdalene." d women in pregnancy used to make these pilgrimages.e "tho. (5th) lord berkeley and his wife went a kind of pilgrimage to divers religious houses, his wife being then great with child, or newly delivered of her son thomas." f caxton, in the epilogue to his cordyale, printed in 1480, says, "it is to be noted, that since the time of the great tribulation and adversity of my said lord [anthony earl rivers] he hath been full virtuously occupied as in going of pilgrimages to saint james in galice, to rome, to saint bartholomew, to saint andrew, to saint matthew, in the realme of naples, and to saint nicholas de bar in puyle [apulia], and other divers holy places." g these kinds of pilgrimage were made a pretence by labourers and artificers to escape from their hundreds. in the statute of labourers, anno 1388, it is enacted, that no servant or labourer, whether man or woman, should depart at the end of his term, out of his hundred, rape, or wapentake, where he is resident, to serve or dwell elsewhere, under colour of going afar off in pilgrimage, unless he has letters patent containing the cause of his going, and time of his return. angl. sacr. i. 654. gold. leg. fol. clxxxix. b. golden legend, fol. cxv. • decem scriptores, 2432. f smythe's berkeley ms. m. paris, 505. * dibdin's typographic. antiquit. p. 79. decem scriptores, 2730. in 1346, the beautiful but voluptuous isabella de fiesco, princess of milan, having been delivered of twins, made a pilgrimage to st. mark of venice, accompanied with the most gay lords and ladies, in the style of cleopatra's voyage down the cidnus. feasts, balls, and every kind of pleasure, attended her progress, and the husbands of the married ladies in her company, after their wives return, informed of their lot, were doomed to console one another, upon the universality of their misfortune. the lady herself set the example with the easy principles of the egyptian queen. in the middle age the manners of all countries were nearly alike; and the sober english, not then checked by an exemplary reformed clergy, and austere sectaries, made a similar use of pilgrimage."frier donald," says camden, "preached at paul's crosse, that our ladie was a virgin, and yet at her pilgrimages, there was made many a foule meeting. and loud cried out, ye men of london, gang on yourselves with your wives to wilsdon, in the divel's name, or else keepe them at home with with you the canterbury pilgrimage was probably the most common. in the second week of lent, edward the third, and his mother, made a pilgrimage there, and, i apprehend, this was the most general season for these pilgrimages. becket's shrine had probably such a preference, because he was the peculiar saint of sinners, and therefore of universal application.m a sorrow.' "' k giraldus cambrensis says, "the bishop saw me and my companions marked with the tokens of st. thomas suspended from my neck." a giraldus on his return from abroad had visited the shrine of becket; and these signacula were, i apprehend, the "canterbury bells" mentioned before, and i mém. de petrarque, ii. 427. camden's remains, p. 281. angl. sacr. i. 368. catholic doctrine of the church of england, 4to. cambr. 1675, p. 133. b angl. sacr. ii 481. 360 provincial pilgrimages to shrines wells, &c. worn in token of the performance of the pilgrimage. erasmus amply describes the exhibition made to the pilgrims; the skull of thomas becket, cased in silver; the blade of the sword which killed him; the altar at which he was celebrating; his hair shirt, &c.; at the sight of all which the pilgrims dropped on their knees, and kissed each relique. the jewels and rich gifts were exhibited by the prior with a white wand, but they were strongly secured by gratings.a according to erasmus, the walsingham pilgrimages were mere imitations of those to loretto; but there is an apparent mixture of fiction in his acmore, and carry away some of the water each in a bottle at their departure.d at muswell hill was formerly a chapel called our lady of muswell. from a well there, near which was her image, that was continually resorted to by way of pilgrimage. at walsingham a fine green road was made for the pilgrims, and there was a holy well, and cross adjacent, at which pilgrims used to kneel while drinking the water. it is remarkable that the anglo-saxon laws had proscribed this, as idolatrous. such springs were consecrated, upon the discovery of cures effected by them. in fact, these consecrated wells merely imply a knowledge of the procount of this our famous provincial pil-perties of mineral waters, but through grimage, which precludes quotation.b holy wells are of classical and druidical ancientry. on a spot called nell's point, is a fine well, to which great numbers of women resort on holy thursday, and having washed their eyes in the spring, they drop a pin into it. a kind of fair is held round st. caradoc's well, cakes sold, and country games celebrated. once in a year, at st. mardrin's well, two lame persons went on corpus christi evening to lay some small offering on the altar there, to lie on the ground all night, drink of the water there, and in the morning after take a good draught a peregrinatio religionis ergo, inter colloquia, p. 377, seq. b id. p. 362. hoare's giraldus, i. 133, 198. ignorance, a religious appropriation of those properties to supernatural causes. taylor, index monasticus, p. 66, has the following curious items : saint spyrite. legacies were left in the old wills for persons to go in pilprimage to "st. spyrite." st. margaret of horstede. legacies were occasionally left to pay pilgrims to repair to these images. the "good swerd of winferthinge." this sword was much visited by those whose goods had been stolen, and by wives, who prayed for the shortening of their husbands lives. d antiq. repertory, ii. 79. e simpson's agreeable historian, ii. 622. f beauties of england (old edition) ii. 118. 8 brompton, x script. 923. h decem scriptores, 2417. mourning pilgrimages. 361 chapter xiii. mourning pilgrimages.-incognito pilgrimages.-political pilgrimages. pilgrims adventurers.-pilgrims against hereticks. mourning pilgrimages. catherine, widow of thomas (4th) lord berkeley in the 14th century, after the death of her husband, had a licence to take a journey beyond sea, for a year in pilgrimage. her lord's grandfather's wife had before done the same. the earl of stafford, in the ninth year of richard the second, made a pilgrimage to jerusalem, probably on account of the loss of his son, and died the ensuing year, at rhodes, when on his return.b incognito pilgrims. anselm archbishop of canterbury, when banished by rufus, took the scrip and staff of pilgrims before the high altar in the cathedral church of canterbury, previous to his journey.c fitzalan, when archbishop of canterbury, and on an embassy to france, came to valenciennes, stopped at the swan hotel in the market place, and having staid there three days to recover himself, pursued his journey, not as archbishop of canterbury, but like a simple monk on a pilgrimage; thus concealing both his rank, and the business in which he was engaged.d agapit had married a relative of pope boniface, by whose order he was separated from his wife. in the jubilee of the year 1300, he entered rome, in the disguise of a pilgrim, and saw her.e cervantes mentions the return of moors, by this disguise, into spain, after expulsion upon pain of death. political pilgrimages. in the reign. of john, pilgrimages were made the vehicle of seditious meetings of the dissmythe's berkeley ms. b froissart, vii. 70. d froissart, x. 115. eadmer, 41. mémoires pour la vie de petrarque, i. 103. he contented barons. many of them met at edmundsbury under this pretence.f pilgrims adventurers. in the 12th century gilbert talbot, an english knight, assumed the habit of a pilgrim, and sailed over into normandy. stopped there for two years, wandering here and there in search of ela, countess of salisbury. having found her, he dropped the pilgrim's habit, and taking that of a minstrel,s entered her court, and staid there. as he was a man of humour, and well versed in old chronicles, he was received as an agreeable visitor, upon a familiar footing, and when a proper time came, he brought the countess with him into england, and presented her to king richard, who most graciously received her, and married her to his brother, william longespee.i another pilgrim adventurer of inferior rank is before mentioned.k pilgrims against hereticks. these were crusaders against unfortunate f smythe's berkeley ms. 66 * minstrel, i. e. of a jongleur or troubadour. in the history of the latter, p. 338, is the following passage: my lord said, i had a father, who was well accomplished; he was a marvellous singer, an agreeable and copious story-teller: i trust i resemble him."our story teller, as a synonym for liar, is derived from "great janglers (jongleurs), tale-tellers," &c. given in chapter xii. in the liber niger domus regis edw. iv. is the following item: "these esquires of houshold of old be accustumed wynter and somer in aftyrnoones and in evenynges to draw to lordes chambres within courte, there to keep honest company after theyre cunning, in talking of cronycles of kings and of other polycyes, or in pypeyng, or harping, singing or other actes martialles to help occupy the courte, and accompany straungers till the tyme of departing," p. 47. knights errant learned the histories of celebrated knights and ladies. s. palaye. i dugd. monast. ii. 341, 342. * chapter vi. 632 mourning pilgrimages. dissenters from the romish church. the chief of these was against the albigenses. it was no more than a design for simon de montfort to acquire a great and powerful sovereignty, at the expence of the earl of toulouse and his family; and for the pope's legates to arrogate authority over the lor and burghs of these fine and unfort nate provinces. it has no connexiz with our subject, except in costume. • notices des mss. à paris, vi. 201. love-pilgrims. 363 chapter xiv. love-pilgrims. ve are now arrived to chivalry, hat exquisite part of the history of he middle age, which is its brightest eature, because it inculcated the most heroic, tender, and benevolent sentinents. ours is a branch of chivalry, omantic and noble; unconnected with chat degradation of character, which superstition always introduces. however foolish were the monkish fictions, and the absurd adventures of chivalry, the nobility and gentry were too ignorant to see their absurdity; and chivalry, by the romantick deeds of arms, which it daily presented, so turned their heads, that the more extraordinary and absurd were romances of adventurers, the more they were in vogue. all this is ridiculed in the dit d'aventures, a manuscript of the thirteenth century, written in the manner of munchausen, long before the time of cervantes: a to whom it probably suggested his excellent don quixote. we are not therefore to be surprised at the following singular exhibitions of a prevailing mania of chivalrous heroism. some young knights bachelors had one of their eyes covered with a piece of cloth, so that they could not see with it, for they had made a vow to some ladies not to use but one eye, until they had performed some deeds of arms, nor would they make any reply to whatsoever question was asked them. another lover, smitten with a lady of carcassowne, called louve de penautier, caused himself to be called loup or wolf in her honour, and engaged himself to submit to all the perils of being hunted in a wolf's skin for her sake. in this disguise, the notices des mss. v. 398. b froissart, i. 114. shepherds, with their mastives and greyhounds, drove him into the mountains, and pursued him there; and so cruelly was he mangled, for he would not suffer the dogs to be taken off him, till they had almost killed him, that they carried him home for dead to his mistress.c the explanation of these customs, and of those which will conclude this chapter, by m. porte-du-theil, are admirable: "in all ages, and among all civilized nations, love, like the other passions, has borrowed the forms and the language which, according to the manners and customs of the time, appeared to it most proper to express its sentiments towards the beloved object. when the inhabitants of all europe were divided into masters and slaves, the metaphorical language of love was borrowed from the ideas of slavery: and this first foundation of amorous language subsists to the present day. when the feudal system was established, and vassalage superseded slavery, the ideas and forms of feodality were applied to love. the mistress called her lover her baron, and he styled her his lady. he demanded of his mistress the mouth and the hands in the form of homage. a troubadour of the twelfth century, compares his mistress to a freehold which paid no rents or services, to which he wishes should be at least attached, the payment of some kisses. love assumed the character as well as the language of vassalage; its respective obligations were reduced to rules; the acknowledged lover had his rights recognised; he owed to his lady fidelity and services; she, to him, attachment and favours. "in the mean while the feudal syshist. of the troubadours, 332. 364 love-pilgrims. tem was brought to bed of chivalry. private wars, the unfortunate results of feudal rights, had turned all minds towards arms. the lords, obliged to defend, without ceasing, their own possessions, and those of their vassals, were occupied only with military ideas; they carried them even into their love affairs. "chivalry, founded at the same time for a proof and reward of valour and generosity, imposed upon itself, as its principal duty, the protection of the ladies; and gallantry became, almost as much as bravery, the distinctive character of a knight. to form the eulogium of an accomplished knight, it was said, that no one better understood to break a lance, and kiss a lady. "the crusades had redoubled the heroism of the knights, by a kind of enthusiasm, mingled with ideas of glory and religion, which incited them. to the most hazardous enterprises. this enthusiasm immediately laid hands upon love. they devoted themselves for their mistresses to the most perilous, and sometimes the most bizarre attempts. if an opportunity did not offer, they created one. they maintained, with arms in their hands, that the woman whom they loved was the most beautiful in the world, and they found knights who accepted the challenge. nothing was so common as this proof of love in the thirteenth century. they wished to appear the most brave, as well as the most enamoured, because valour, carried to excess, was then the quality most fitted to make themselves beloved in return; the ladies became fond of a knight upon the mere recital of his exploits. chivalry had so ennobled love, that it had rendered it a passion purely heroick. in the roman de rose,a it is affirmed, that the knights were more estimable, and the ladies lived. better and more chastely: a ms. fol. 80. 'les chevaliers mieux en valoient, les dames meilleures etoient et plus chastement en vivoient.' "far from regarding love as :! criminal passion, they associated with the ideas and practices of dev tion. a troubadour of the thi teenth century said, that he burn. tapers, and caused masses to be s for the success of his love. the mis tress of the lord of craon, whe upon her death-bed ready to rece the sacrament, called god to witness. that craon had never made a request to her, which her father might not her made; non, dit elle, qu'il ne couchet & mon lit, mais a fin sans vilence et sa… a mal y penser." notwithstanding, love was not always thus pure, even in the times when this passion was carried to its highest point of heroism. it became debased insensibly. in the fif teenth century eustace des champs often complained, that luxury had effminated the knights; that they thought to please more by their dress, than by their exploits and virtues; and that gallantry as well as chivalry was strangely declined. strangely declined. notwithstanding in this century, they still fought, nation against nation, for the honour of the ladies, as in 1402 did seven french | knights against seven english knights. "in the end all this heroism was eclipsed. brantome says, that in the 16th century, love was no more than libertinism. it was the age of devices and amorous emblems.c afterwards, b agnes de navarre, wife of phoebus, count 2: foix, was in love with william de machaut, es of the best french poets, of the age of petrarch she made verses for him, which breathed the lar guage of passion. she wished him to publish is his own the details of their love. he was jealou without a cause; she sent her confessor to him. to testify not only the truth of the sentiments which she had for him, but further, her fidelity. and the injustice of the suspicion which he ha conceived against her. notwithstanding this, agnes de navarre was a very virtuous princess. mém. pour la vie de petrarque, i. 118. f. e classical symbols and mottoes derived from the chiefs of the neapolitan wars, in the close of the fifteenth century, and common in england in the next. dallaway's heraldic inquiries, p. 391. sir philip sydney's works abound in them. edit. 10. · 8 love-pilgrims. 365 'rom this period, we hear no more of heroick loves. devout loves still existed, when the general manners wore the livery of devotion; then overs, in pious processions, whipped hemselves, by way of gallantry, under the windows of their mistresses. men carried, in their breviaries, under the figure of the virgin mary, the portrait of the woman whom they loved: and the women had that of their lovers, under the representation of christ or some saint. "from the whole of this discussion, it appears that love was simple and tender in the tenth century; severe and impassioned in the eleventh; that it participated of the heroick or superstitious enthusiasm of the three following centuries; and sometimes elevated itself even to a virtue; but in the fifteenth century declined, till it was almost always a vice, and scarcely a passion; in the sixteenth century, the spirit, which mingled with it, was subtle and cold; the ideas of piety, which were allied with it from time to time, instead of warming and ennobling it, as before, completed its degradation by introducing all the meannesses of superstition and hypocrisy. the other forms, which it has taken in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, show that it has constantly followed the modifications of society. thus, love, in all times subject to fashion, which seems to have so little empire over the passions, has always undergone the same variations as exterior manners and customs."a pleasure and courtship are still leading habits of the modern military; and, without doubt, derive their origin from the feudal ages. this curious and interesting history of courtship, explains the petrarchism, or heroic love, which characterized the pilgrimages of the troubadours, a term p. 30, 62, 179, 180, &c. some augustin monks in flanders represented the whole life of that saint in a series of these impressions. sylloge symbolor. &c. by menestrier, p. 355. see camden's remains. notices des mss. v. p. 695, seq. derived from trobar to invent, because they sung extemporaneous effusions, or pretended to do so, petrarch complaining of their application to him for assistance. they were natives of the south of france, who, being stimulated by their genius, and the warmth of the climate, to poetry, musick, and love, were, as president henault styles them, the knights errant of gallantry, travelling from castle to castle, singing and making love.b accordingly one of them says, "the beauty i adore shall behold me, for her sake, clad in a woollen habit, and with a pilgrim's staff."e the following account of one of these pilgrims is singularly curious: "it was in the month of october, i well remember, i ordered two of my pages to take two falcons, and the third a gosshawk, the best that ever was, with dogs and hares. we were ten knights well mounted, and all eager for the chace. at the moment of our departure, behold, there came to us a knight in the habit of a pilgrim. he was the most beautiful and elegant figure that was ever seen in the robe of penitence. he advanced with slow steps, as if overwhelmed with fatigue, and he hung down his head as if plunged in sorrow. when he was come up to me, without any salutation, or speaking a single word, he took my horse by the bridle, drew me aside, and, casting on me a look of tender sorrow, he paused a moment from the fullness of his grief. at last he said, 'for the sake of god, my lord, have pity on my state. i come from a distant country to ask your council in love; for you are the only man in the world capable of giving me advice. i love a lady, as excellent for virtues as renowned for beauty. i have used every effort, and cannot obtain her love. know not what to do; in pity teach me how i ought to act. my pilgrimage has no other object, but to seek instruction in love.' b mémoires pour la vie de petrarque, i. 77. hist. of the troubadours, p. 50. i 366 love-pilgrims. "at these words, i said to my barons, permit me to put off our party to another day; for at present, i must converse of joy and pleasure with this young stranger, and our discourse must be private. immediately dismounting from my horse, i took the unknown knight by the hand, and conducting him in, i begged him to defer our conversation till the morrow, that i might have time to reflect on his situation, and be able to give him the advice he stood in need of. but i would know, added i, to whom i speak, that i may form some judgment of the advice i ought to give. his answer was as courteous as my request; and when i heard his name, i held him in great esteem. after he was refreshed, he sat down to play at chess and draughts. we sung songs, and told a thousand tales,a till sunset; when they informed us, that supper was served in the great hall, where many guests were assembled. after supper, as our new guest wanted repose, we all retired to rest. after a sound sleep, we rose, the priest having summoned us to mass.b after mass was said, we went to the dinner, which bidans my constable had served up; it was good, and we were long at table. at last i rose, and taking the stranger by the hand, we left the company in the hall, and went down into an orchard, where i seated him under a laurel tree, by my side. then, addressing myself to him, i said, friend, what you desire of me i wish i may be able to grant. you will find in me neither much knowledge nor skill, but courtesy, courage, and joy; and it is in those, the most illustrious lovers of all if a jugleur or minstrel was not present, our ancestors used to sit round the fire, and tell ancient gests or stories. warton. gesta romanorum, lxiv. hence the numerous collections of tales, which we have in manuscript. b froissart (ii. 157.) mentions an oratory of the black prince near his bed-chamber, where mass was said the first thing in the morning, sometimes before sun-rise (id. ii. 135), even in the bedchambers. it appears to have been usual to take exercise in the garden, after mass, or in the morning. stowe's annals, 500, 535. ed. howes. 1 times have excelled. remember what i am going to say, and you v surpass all others in love. be alwa dressed neatly and elegantly, whethe your cloaths are rich or plain. le your linen be very fine and white; your shoes, your stockings, and you waistcoast, be so well adjusted, that who behold, shall admire you; let you! robe be rather short than long; let it made wide before; the breast can the be left open without any improprie let your cloak be of the same stuff; a let the girdle and the clasp be neat fastened. nothing gives a man so mu advantage as the beauty of his hair! wash your head often; wear not your ha too long; it is more becoming to hav it somewhat shortened. your whiske and beard ought also to be neatly cut: it were better they were too short the too long; but no excess of fashion ever becoming; be particularly atten tive to that. by the eyes and the han a man is often judged: there should be a dignity and delicacy in both. never fix your eyes, with a saucy assurance and effrontery, on any: and let your hands be placed with decency and care. if you see any one with something a their hands you wish to look at, and which strikes you with admiration never be guilty of such unpoliteness as to take it from him to gratify you own curiosity. if you would gain the hearts of ladies, you must be magnifcent in your house; you must have 'squires to attend you; you must hav: two in particular, who are handsom and who know how to please: the res need only to be courteous and polite but they must converse with grace an with discretion, that if you send them any where, they may not incur th: laugh at your expense, and it be sai of them, like master like man.' whet you receive company, show great kinċness to all you receive; invite them to make good cheer; let them be we served, and set them the example of gaiety and freedom. none will fre quent you, if your house wears the face of poverty, and they do not meet with plenty and hospitality. when the day i love-pilgrims. 367 appears, do not set yourself at the table to eat alone: nothing is more unpolite. place your guests near you in a neat apartment. do the honours of your table not only yourself, but be careful your attendants are assiduous in the service; and let the fire be well replenished. recommend in particular to your servants, that they never come in, and interrupt the repast, by whisbe careful also never to speak to them in a low voice; this has the air of poverty and stinginess. before you place yourself at table, give all your orders for the day as to wine, lights, and other accommodation. take care, that the horses, the attendants, and grooms of your guests, have all they want; for if they have not plenty of provision, you will hear murmurs shamefully reproaching to a gallant knight. "if you hold a court or assembly, spare for nothing. let there be no gate locked at the entrance of your house; no porters a to keep back with their staves, the grooms, pages, hangerson, and jongleurs, who would enter. do not follow the example of those rich misers, who retire secretly from their feasts. heaven forbid, you should be the first to quit the company, when you ought to be the last. your house ought to be open to all the world, and you ready to receive, at all hours, those who shall present themselves. play high; it will do you honour; continue playing. it is shameful and base to take up the dice, and leave off immediately. if you should lose, express porter. "here a porter, tall of person, big of limbs, stark of countenance, with club and keys of quantity according, in a rough speech, full of passion in metre, while the queen [elizabeth] came within his ward, burst out in a great pang of impatience to see such uncouth trudging to and fro; such riding in and out, with such din and noise of talk, within his charge; whereof he never saw the like, nor had any warning once; ne yet could make to himself any cause of the matter. at last, upon better view and aduertisement, he proclaims open gates and free passage to all; yields over his club, his keys, his office, and all, and on his knees, humbly prays pardon of his ignorance, and impatience : which her highness graciously granting," &c. hurd's dialogues, 98. no ill-humour; change not your place, nor clap your hands together, like an enraged man, nor give any signs of displeasure; for if you do, you will be made a jest of. in short, spend your fortune in a generous and hospitable reception of all the world. unless you do this, you must for ever renounce gallantry. be well mounted; have a horse light and nimble for the course; to manage, and have it continually led in your train. let your arms be bright, and valuable; and let your lance, your shield, and your cuirass, be well proved. let your horse be well equipped, in saddle, bridle, and breast-leathers; let the saddle and crupper be of the same colour with your shield, and the streamer of your lance. have a war-horse to carry a change of arms.b "the reason i recommend these things, is, that if you have not prepared them in readiness and set them in order, on the first injury done you, on the first war that happens, you will be obliged to seek them, with precipitation; and ladies are never fond of those knights who are not always ready for war and tournaments. they will prefer those who seize every occasion of procuring fame and honour. "if my exhortations do not weary you, i would recommend to you the love of chivalry, and to attach yourself to the means of pleasing universally. be vigilant against all unforeseen attacks; fear neither cry nor murmur; be the last in retreat, and the first in charge; for such is the man who is conducted by love. "when you are at the tournament, have a halbert and a helmet in change; your steel-armour, and your sword, which you must brandish to animate your horse. let his breast be garnished with bells well hung; nothing is more proper to inspire confidence in a knight, and terror in an enemy. put up with no loss, nor damage; and retwo horses generally accompanied knights, a hackney, and a charger, that the latter might not be wearied, upon coming into action. numerous instances occur in froissart. 368 love-pilgrims. turn not without some engagement. when once your arm is raised, if your lance fails, draw your sword directly, and let heaven and hell resound with the clash. thus have i levelled my strokes since i was a knight, and thus have i possessed the love of many beautiful and worthy ladies." a the old knight was correct in his a hist. of the troubadours, 471-475. advice. in a satirical catalogue ca pretended museum, one article is “t skin of the serpent which seduced e a lady said, the colour of it must e tainly be scarlet. the favouritism sh to officers, may be enough to convir that bravery, attention to person, c teous manners, pleasurable habits, living in style, are the methods, wh experience proves, to be best suited procure success in love. " the office of pilgrims in the church of rouen. 369 chapter xv. the office of pilgrims in the church of rouen. he following account shews a deaction of pilgrimage from the journey 7 the disciples to emmaus. the office of pilgrims ought to be one in this form. two of the second call, who may be put in the table, at he pleasure of the writer, shall be othed in a tunick, with copes above, arrying staves across, and scrips in e manner of pilgrims; and they shall ave capellia over their heads, and be earded. let them go from the vesiary, singing a hymn, "jesus, our reemption," advancing with a slow step, hrough the right aisle of the church, s far as the western gates, and there topping, sing a hymn, as far as that lace, "you shall be satisfied with thy ikeness." then a certain priest of the igher stall, written in the table, clothed in an alb and amess, bare-footed, carrying a cross upon his right shouller, with a look cast downwards, comng to them through the right aisle of the church, shall suddenly stand between them, and say, "what are these discourses." the pilgrims, as it were admiring, and looking upon him, shall say, "are you a stranger," &c. priest shall answer, "in what?" the pilgrims shall answer, "of jesus of nazareth." the priest, looking upon both of them, shall say, "o fools, and slow of heart," which being said, the priest immediately shall retire and pretend to be going further: but the pila hat or bonnet. du cange. the grims hurrying up, and following him, shall detain him, as it were inviting him to their inn, and drawing him with their staves, shall show him a castle, and say, "stay with us." and so singing, they shall lead him as far as a tent in the middle of the nave of the church, made in the resemblance of the castle emmaus. when they have ascended thither, and sat at a table ready prepared, the lord sitting between them shall break the bread; and being discovered by this means, shall suddenly retire, and vanish from their sight. but they amazed, as it were, rising with their countenances turned to each other, shall sing lamentably " alleluia," with the verse, "did not our heart burn," &c. which being renewed, turning themselves towards the stall, they shall sing this verse, "tell us, mary." then a certain person of the higher stall, clothed in a dalmatick and amess, and bound round in the manner of a woman, shall answer, "the sepulchre of christ; the angels are witnesses." then he shall extend, and unfold a cloth from one part, instead of clothes, and throw it before the great gate of the choir. afterwards he shall say "christ is risen." the choir shall sing two other verses, following, and then the master shall go within; a procession be made; and vespers be ended.b b du cange, v. peregrinorum officium. 2 b consuetudinal of anchorets and heinis the hermits of egypt dragged out a wretched life in perfect solitude, and were scattered here and there in caves, in deserts, in the hollows of rocks, sheltered from the wild beasts only by the cover of a miserable cottage, in which each one lived sequestered from the rest of his species. philo-judaeus, a.d. 41, was the first who introduced the philosophy of plato and pythagoras into the gospel. as he lived at alexandria in the neighbourhood of the desert, and gives (it is believed) the earliest account of the contemplative life of worshippers, eusebius shews that the figures and hieroglyphics of the egyptian philosophy are verified and manifested in the scriptures.a the order of the anachorites was yet more excessive in the austerity of living than the eremites. they frequented the wildest deserts, without either tents or cottages; nourished themselves with the roots and herbs which grew spontaneously out of the uncultivated ground; wandered about, without having any fixed abode; and in syria lucian is ini ported to hete 5. in the middle of t which eminence double wall ne north were erected enormous height of t one of which a me every year, swarming f chain, as was practised in climbing the pain-res country. arrived at the top. his clothes so as to form a ne and having let down anotie which he carried with him, an up by the means of it food saries, he remained upon the seven days. seated aloft, he for all syria; but whilst he pray rang a bell." perhaps the first instance of r being held in reverence was in the of simeon stylites, whom the of antioch thought leo the ene left among them for their d against enemies.c the distinction of anchorets quite different in the hermits was reposed wherever the approach of night ceeding ages. the former were per happened to find them.b the origin of that curious superstition, the habitation on a pillar by simeon stylites, is thus given in christie's greek vases, p. 99: "the ancient temple at hierapolis euseb. s. ii. c. 41. 17, 18. b mosheim, i. p. 199. cent. 4. who passed their whole lives in from which they never moved. i latter were indeed solitary perso wandered about at liberty. the ing the respective definitions of chorets and hermits,d the saged be treated accordingly. evagr. b. i. c. 1. heremitæ solivagi aut anachare p consuetudinal of anchorets and hermits. 371 e horets. "in the first ages of chism, the custom was introduced ain abbies, of choosing some one › religious, whom they thought advanced in perfection, and of ng him up apart, on purpose that ght be able for the rest of his life dulge without distraction in the mplation of divine things. comy the cell was near the church, d in such a manner that the rehad the faculty of seeing the altar, hearing the service. the door locked upon him, often even wallp, but they left a kind of garret low, by which he received the comion and the necessaries of life." he same custom existed in female ents; there were even many inces of men who became anchorets junneries, and of women in abbies ionks.a particular ceremonies were estahed for these solitaries. gregory of irs describes those which were in in his æra." many councils, and particularly t of 692, which is called of trullo,b t of frankfort in 787, and others, ated of this kind of life, and endeaured to modify and confine it to rules d forms." charlemagne forbade it, but the abuse ll prevailed. there were even abes, such as that of vallombreuse, for ample, where they supported a pere. hermits, solitary wanderers, or anchorets, mured). angl. sacr. ii. 436. de foe makes e same distinction in robinson crusoe. helyot. ordr. monastiques disc. prelim. a b the trullan canons say: "they who affect › be anchorets, shall first for three years be conned to a cell in a monastery; and if, after this, hey profess that they persist, let them be examined y the bishop or abbot; let them live one year at arge; and if they still approve of their first choice, et them be confined to their cell, and not be pernitted to go out of it, but by consent and benedicion of the bishop in case of great necessity." canon 41. "hermits who stroll up and down in towns in black habits and long hair, and converse freely with both sexes, shall be either shorn and go into some monastery, or be driven into the wilderness, from whence they have their names." canon 42. there are strong anathemas against anchorets in the gangran cauons. canon 9. 17. johnson's eastern canons, 83, 85, 274, 275. f. petual anchorage, uninterruptedly occupied by a religious, who voluntarily secluded himself. the penitent not only vowed eternal silence, but absolutely saw no person but the brother by whose hands he received his nourishment." c "towards the end of the ninth century, a certain person named grimlaic made a rule for those who wished to adopt this anachoretical life. by this rule, their cells were to be near a church, but it was permitted to them to join to it a small garden. many might even dwell together in one common enclosure, and even have communication by a window, provided that every cell was separate. they lived there, either by the labour of their hands or by alms, or by what the neighbouring monasteries bestowed. their dress was a frock. notwithstanding, if they were priests, they used a cope, and had the right of confessing. there were some of them who brought up disciples, but these lived out of the common enclosure, and the candidates, after a certain time of noviciate and trial, were obliged to become anchorets in their turn."d [m. d'aussy has omitted the dreadful task in grimlaic's rule of learning the gospels, and other scriptures by heart.] "the bishop performed the ceremony of seclusion. he put his seal upon the anchorage, which could not be removed but when the recluse had need of assistance, or was sick."e thus m. le grand d'aussy. that all this was purely egyptian, will appear from the legend of thaysis, a prostitute, converted by the abbot pafuncius. "she went to the place whiche th' abbot had assygned to her. and there was a monasterye of vyrgyns, and there he closed her in a celle, and sealed the door with led. and the celle e vallombreuse is situated in the apennines, not far from florence. upon the hills around are hermitages occupied by religious, who lead a very austere life, according to the benedictine rule. f. d c. 64. the rule is printed in holstein's codex. e notices des mss. v. p. 287, 288. 2 b 2 372 conste udinal of anchorets and hermits. and some and best co re open by white was pe: furthe that they shoud brede and water. 2 andr a nt shilde derate. taris sande to eim. fader, where shall i shedle the water, and that why the shall enme fro the antiges of nature. and he sayde to hen, in ty eele, as thou art worthy. and thenne she demanded how she shade prave: and he answered: thou art bit worthy to name god, ne that the name of the trynte be in thy mouth, ne strate thy hondes too leven by cause thyn lippes ben full of inyguytes and tip hondes fuisferil aftoweringes and fixie ordure." thas the last sentence shows how she was to extricate herself from a most annoying embarrassment of her situation. in rader's rule of the solitaries, the cell of an anchoret is to be of stone, 12 feet long, and as many broad, with three windows, one opposite the choir, by which the sacrament was received: the second for admitting food: the third, light, which was to be closed with born or glass. 2 oxbern, in his life of dunstan, mentions the destina for so these anchorhoids or stalls axed to larger buildings were called & occupied by dunstan soon after he became a mork. it was annexed to the church of the virgin mary at glastonbury, where he had been professed. osbern says, he scarcely knew what to call it, whether a cell, or destina, or cave, since it was made by dunstan's own hands, and more resembled a sepulchre than a human habitation. for to bear testimony, he says, of a thing which he had himself seen, the length, as far as his estimation went, could not be more than five feet, and the breadth, two feet and a half. further, the depth was about the height of a man, supposing any one was standing in a pit, otherwise it • golden legend, f. dlu. b. ▸ c. 16. a bavarian rule. . by bede, 1 3. c. 17. wharton's note. would not reach up to the breast; 2 from hence it is plain, that he se ying, and always prayed to god sta g. the door formed one whole siia in the midst of the door was a sma window, which gave light to the pers at work within; for dunstan was a tpital godsmith. thus it appears, th the habitation resembled a cobbler's ste is point of fact. from these origos there arose regular anchor-holds or øcir-huses annexed to abbatial or pa rochial churches. some anchore were even placed in churches to l after thems alms boxes were anneed to them. piers plowman says, -ne in ancres there a box hangeth" ful ixxx. they were the great emporia of t vage news, an abuse quite foreig to the institution. it was strictly enacted, that no azchorets or anchoresses should be p in any place, 1. without the special license of the diocesan, 2. due cous deration of the situation, 3. quality the person, and, 4. means of support the first article, as commented by lyndwood, shows that monks might become hermits by license of the a bot, but not anchorets. the secor refers to the place, whether it was ne any church, or far separated from it: whether it were in the city or in the country; because there was a mor speedy provision for such a recluse i his wants in the city than in the cour try, where the inhabitants in gener were poor. it was also to be consi dered, whether it was near any monastery, by whose alms the anchoret cou be supported. the quality of the perangl. sacr. ii. 96. ⚫ i use this term because it is ancient. domitian removed the stalls which blocked up the streets of rome mart. vii. 60; and the acts of s. ber. trand say, "he was sitting in his stall, as is it custom of the shoemaking trade." du cange, scapinus. weever's fun. monum. 150. parker's norwich, 259. from mulne (mill), and vrom chepyng ( ket), vrom smid'de' (smith's shop), and vrom crehuse, men tidinge bringeth. ms. cot. nero, a. xiv. f. 21. a. consuetudinal of anchorets and hermits. 373 son regarded his profession, whether religious or secular, clerk or layman, young or old. the means of his support was to be regarded, because, if he had not property of his own, or being a monk, had claims upon his house, he could not well be included in one spot; and the bishop was to look into this, because otherwise the anchoret might be starved to death, or the bishop be compelled to support him, in the manner of a clerk, ordained without a title. at st. augustine's canterbury, anchorets were not to be made, except by the ordinary, nor by the ordinary without consent of the abbot.b anchor-holds were not, however, always near cities or churches. goluennus chose a place for himself near the shore, most fit for divine contemplation, and built there a small house square in the form of an oratory, which, in the language of the britons, is called peniti, that is, the house of penitence, or of a penitent. there goluennus shut himself up within the precincts of the penititium. in the acts of st. goeznoveus, ms. it is said, that he built an oratory in a grove, near a river, in a place four miles distant from a city, which place was called penititium s. goeznovei.c guthlack went to a retired spot, and the remains of his chapel are still called anchor-churchhouse. he is said to have been our first anchoret.e the ceremony of including an anchoret was as follows. he was to be advised by the bishop, or some other priest, to examine his conscience, whether he acted from piety sincere or feigned; and, if the answer was favourable, the priest was, by the order of the bishop, to shut him up. provision was first to be made for his conlynd. 214, 215. b lewis's thanet, 48. du cange, v. penili. d second appendix to the history of croyland (bibl. topogr. brit.), vol. iii. p. 287. fecerunt quandum domum super solum regis, in quâ quædam anachorita modo inhabitat quæ valet p' annum, &c. rot. parl. i. 419. a° 1324 and 5. the site was "le droynes de loundres." fession, and that, on the day preceeding the ceremony, he received the refection of bread and water. on the night following he passed devout vigils in the church nearest the hermitage. on the morrow, after an exhortation to the people and the anchoret, the priest began a responsory; and, upon the conclusion of it, prostrated himself with his ministers, before the step of the altar, and said certain psalms. after these, the mass was celebrated in the neighbouring church, and an especial prayer said for the anchoret. after the gospel, he offered a taper, which was to burn upon the altar at the mass.f the anchoret then read the schedule of his profession (which consisted only of the vows of obedience, chastity, and stedfastness), at the step of the altar; and, if he was a layman, the priest read it for him. he then made a sign of his intention, and offered it upon the altar kneeling. the priest consecrated the habit, and sprinkled that and the anchoret with holy water. then followed f qualiter hii qui in ordine anachoritarum debeant se habere, sequencia secundum usum sarum declarabunt. non oportet quenquam inclusum, fieri sine episcopo constitutum; ut ab episcopo, aut ab aliquo alio presbytero, radietur ac moneatur, quatinus ipse devotus suam conscientiam scrutetur, viz. utrum bona an malâ sanctitate appetit, &c. quod cum se pro regno dei, &c. includat eum sacerdos jussu episcopi. imprimis, provideat sibi qui includendus est, quod de omnibus peccatis suis quæ suæ memoriæ occurrere possunt sit bene confessus. et quod in die diem inclusionis præcedente pane et aquâ tum reficiatur. in nocte insequente in ecclesiâ inclusario suo vicinâ cum suo cæreo accenso devotè mæroribus vigiliarum tenetur. in crastino factâ exhortacione ad populum et ad eum qui est includendus sacerdos incipiat hoc modo responsorium, &c. functo hoc cum suo clerico, prosternat se sacerdos cum suis ministris ante gradum altaris, et dicant hos psalmos; his dictis incipiatur missa de quocunque voluerit quæ celebrabitur in ecclesiâ, juxta quam includi debeat, et ad eandem missam dicatur hæc oratio specialiter pro includendo. post evangelium offerat includendus cereum qui super altare ad missam semper ardeat. postea fiet † includendus ad gradum altaris et legat. professionem suam. ms. harl. 873. f. 18. 25. a. non ancre bi mine rede ne schal makien professiun, that is, behoten ase hest bute three thinges, that beoth obedience, chastete, and studestathelvestnesse... obedience of hire bischope other (or) of hire herre (lord). ms. cott. nero, a. xiv. f. 2. or choro. † or fuerit. 374 consuetudinal of anchorets and hermits. mass and litany; after which they went in procession to the hermitage. the priest took him by the right hand and led him to the house, which was then blessed and shut from without. the priest, with the assistants, retired, leaving the anchoret within, and advised the standers-by to pray for him." a similar ceremony ensued with respect to female anchorets; for in 1351 lucy de newchirche received letters of the bishop of worcester, after due enquiry made into her life and morals, addressed to the archdeacon, directing him to include the said anchoress in the hermitage of st. brandon, near bristol; so that though anchorets were nct hermits, anchor-holds (the old english word) were styled hermitages.b there exist some very old and curious rules respecting these female anchorets, which shall be here given, and changing the sex, they are equally applicable to these male solitaries. though recluses, as leading an anchoretical life, were not analogous to nuns, yet a similar rule attached to both, and recluse and nun were synonymous. a very ancient rule is that of simon de gandavo [or of ghent] to his sisters, anchoresses, whom also he styles nuns. after mentioning the vow before given, he adds, " that hes ne schal then stude never more chaungen, bute vor nead, one alse strengde and deathes dred," i. e. the vow was not to be infringed but by the most imperious necessity or fear of death. d meat not to eaten. "also of mete and of drunch flesch forgon." the next of the eucharist painted in the si vero laicus fuerit à presbytero legatur pro eo professio. deinde faciat includendus signum qu[od velit] facere scedulam professionis suæ, et eam offerat super altare genibus flexis. post hoc benedicat sacerdos habitum professionis et tunc aspergat sacerdos habitum et suscipientem, &c. de foris domus claudatur. ms. harl. ut supra. b barret's bristol, p. 61. in bennet coll. libr. cambridge, is a ms. entitled, "a rule for nunnes and recluses," in old english written in saxon characters. hickes's grammat. anglo-saxonica, p. 164 (in catalogo libror. septentrion.) d ms. cott. nero, a. xiv. f. 2. • fol. 2. chamber of nuns.f "also se sch don, whon the preost halt hit e messe,g and bivore the confiteor he ze schulen beon ihuseled h efter | valleth acneon to other crucifix a teos vif gretunges." k "nonnes must not foulle their liday cloaths."1 their studies ver be "versling of hire sautere psalter], reding of englischs oder of freinchs holi meditaciuns." grace occurs before drinking. tweone mete who so drinken wull sir. [say] benedicte." n 0 another article allegorizes the dri "that blake clod betockned that: beoth blacke and unwurde toward : worlde: that hwite creois limpeth to vor threo manere creorices beoth rea and blake and white; that reade limpe to theo, that beoth vor godes luve hore blod-scheddinge ireaded (reddene) ase the martiris weren: the blake er limpeth to theo, that makied ide the worlde hore penitence nor b licke sinnen: that white croiz limpe to hwit meidenhed and to clennesse." rule of silence. "everich vride of de zer holdeth silence, bute zif less] hit beo duble feste, and teori holdith hir sum other dai i the w ithen advent and i the umbridare wodnesdays and fridayes in the lant three dayes and al the swith' wike vr non; of ester even to oyr meiden :: muyen thaut siggen [say] mid lut [ ing] wordes, what ze wulled, and £ eni god mon is of feorrene ikumer herched, his speche and onswerid m lut wordes to his askunge."4 he then reprobates embraces of me "god hit wot ase me were muche? dole leovere thet ich iseie on alle thre mine leove sustren wummen me leof eucharista depicta in conclavi nonnarum. 8 elevates, or holds the host at mass. hoseled, i. e. receive the sacrament. fall on your knees to the crucifix with thes lively salutations. fol. 10. l fol. 4. a. 1 fol. 4. b. n ibid. • belongeth, from the anglo-saxon limpiar. pertinere. p instances have been repeatedly given of the uncommon sanctity attached to fridays. 4 fol. 16. consuetudinal of anchorets and hermits. 375 st hongen on a gibet vort wid buyen nne then ich iseie on of ou (you) ziven ne elpi col to eni mon on eorde, so e ich mene leh am still of demore out on monglinde honden .... hireif beholden hire owene honden white ed'herm to moni ancre." i. e. he had ther see them hanged on a gibbet, than king any man round the neck, light gesture and demeanour, joining ands, and keeping the latter white; on ie contrary, like the monks of la 'rappe, they were every day to scrape up the arth for their graves, with their hands. heo schulden schreapien ev'riche deie ne eorde up of hore putte ther heo chulden rotien inne.' " a monks and priests were not to be alled by their proper names. "mid hus thu micht siggen [say] a munuch der a preost, and nout willam ne vater, though ther ne beon non oder." their confessors were not to be young. ich ne der noutthat heo deopluker b schrive [confess] hire to yunge preosces her abuten." this manuscript c is of the thirteenth century, for the author was bishop of salisbury from 1297 to 1315,d and it is a curious specimen of the saxon english of the time. a more interesting rule is that of alfred of rievesby, in latin and english, (the latter professed to be a translation, but by no means faithful,) the former intituled de institutis inclusarum,e the other "rewle of a recluse." the following are extracts from the first: "surely if you have any necessary food, or cloathing of value, you are not a nun" "i do not like a pimp of • fol. 29. from the anglo-saxon deoplicop. penitus. v. lye. there is a latin translation of this ms. at magdalen college, oxon. see warton's emend. v. p. 11. i. britton's cathedrals, in salisbury, p. 30. ms. cott. nero, a. 3. f. 3. certe si pretii necessarium victum et vestitum aliquem habes monacha non es.... nolo ut insidiatrix pudicitiæ vetula mixta pauperibus accedat; propius deferat ab aliquo monachorum vel clericorum eulogias nec blanda verba in aure susurret; ne pro acceptâ eleemosyna osculans manum venenum insibilet. f. 3. b. an old woman, mixed among the poor, bringing eulogiæ, [presents of consecrated bread, see the chapter of rules,] and whispering soft words to you from some monk or clerk, lest she should insinuate poison, when she kisses your hand for alms received. care is also to be taken, that the anchoress be not burdened in showing hospitality to religious women; for often among the good, some very bad come, who sitting down before the anchoress's window, after prefacing with a few pious speeches, run off to secular matters. thence she begins to frame love affairs, and pass nearly the whole night without sleep. beware of such persons, &c.g "therefore let some old woman be chosen, not garrulous, not litigious, not gadding about, not a tale-bearer. let this woman guard the door of the cell, and admit and repel whom she ought.h "let her have a girl to carry burdens; fetch water and wood; dress beans or pot-herbs, or, if infirmity requires it, procure superior viands.i "grant no access to boys and girls. there are certain anchoresses, who are occupied in teaching girls, and turn their cell into a school. she sits at the window, they in the porch. she beholds each, and during their puerile actions, now is angry, now laughs, now threatens, now soothes, now spares, now kisses; now calls the weeping child to be beaten, now strokes her face, draws up her head, and eagerly 8 cavendum præterea est, ut nec ob susceptionem religiosarum fœminarum quodlibet hospitalitatis onus inclusa suscipiat. nam inter bonas plerumque tam pessimæ veniunt, quæ ante inclusæ fenes. tram discumbentes, promissis valde paucis de religione sermonibus, ad sæcularia devolvuntur. inde subtexere amatoria et fere totum noctem insompnem ducere. cave tu tales, &c. fol. 3. b. itaque eligatur anus aliqua non garrula, non litigiosa, non vaga, non rumigerula: hæc ostium cellæ custodiat, et quos debuerit vel admittat, vel repellat. fol. 4. habeat sibi.... ad onera sustinenda puellam, quæ aquam et ligna comportet; coquat fabas, aut olera; aut si hoc infirmitas exegerit, præparet pociora. fol. 4. 1 376 consuetudinal of anchorets and hermits. embracing her, calls her her daughter, her love.a "that we may not impose upon you perpetual silence, let us see with whom if it be you may honestly converse. possible, let there be provided, in a neighbouring monastery or church, some old priest of sound morals, and good character. with him conversation may now and then be holden concerning confession and edification of the soul; advice be received in doubtful, consolation in sad affairs. but as even old age may not be insusceptible of b amatory emotions, you are not to give him your hand to touch, or feel. let no discourse be held concerning his attenuated features, lean arms, and wrinkled skin, lest where you seek a remedy, you incur danger." speak with no visitors unless a bishop or abbot, or prior of high characpueris et puellis nullum ad te concedas acces. sum. sunt quædam inclusæ, quæ docendis puellis occupantur, et cellam suam vertunt in scolam. illa sedet ad fenestram; istæ in porticu resident. illa intuetur singulas; et inter puellares motus, nunc irascitur, nunc ridet, nunc minatur, nunc blanditur, nunc parcit, nunc osculatur, nunc flentem pro verbere vocat; ipsius palpat faciem, stringit collum; et in amplexum ruens, nunc filiam vocat, nunc amicam. fol. 4. a. quod perpetuum ni cum viris indicere possimus silentium cum quibus honestius loqui possit videamus. igitur si fieri potest provideatur in vicino monasterio, vel ecclesià presbiter aliquis senex, maturis moribus, et bonæ opinionis. cui raro de confessione et animæ edificatione loquatur a quo consilium accipiat in dubiis, in tristibus consolationem. verum quia (i decline inserting the next part) emollit mortuam senectutem, nec ipsi manum suam tangendam præbeat vel palpandam. nulla nobis de macie vultus, de exhillaritate (sic) brachiorum, de cutis asperitate, sermocinatio fit; ne ubi quæris remedium incurras perriculum. fol. 5 b. cum nullo advenientium, præter episcopum aut abbatem, vel magni nominis priorem, sine ipsius presbyteri licenciâ vel præcepto loquaris, et tunc aliquo præsente, fol. 5. nunquam inter te et quemlibet virum quasi occa. sione exhibendæ caritatis vel invitandi affectus vel expetendæ familiaritatis, aut amicitiæ spiritalis discurrant nuncii; nec eorum munuscula litterasque suscipias; nec illis tua dirigas; sicut plerisque moris est, quæ zonas vel marsupia diverso stramine vel sub tegmine variata; et cetera hujusmodi adolescentioribus monachis vel clericis mittunt. fol. 6. a. nemo se palpet; nemo blandiat se; nemo se fallat; nunquam ab adolescentibus, sine magnâ cordis contritione, et carnis afflictione castitas conqueritur et servatur. fol. 15. b. ter, without the license or direction f the confessor, and then in the pre sence of some other person. never let any messengers run to and fro between you and any man, under colour of exhibiting charity, or inviting regard, or courting spiritual familiarit or friendship; nor receive their preses or letters; or direct yours to them, a is the custom of many, who send girdle. or purses, made of various coloure. straw, or diversified under a case covering, and other things of this sor to young monks or clerks. let no one stroke herself; let no on flatter herself; let no one deceive he self. chastity is never sought or pre served without great contrition of heart and affliction of the flesh. there is also a certain hope of vanity, in being delighted even within a cell by some affected decoration: as ornamenting the walls with various pictures of carvings; the oratory with a variety of tapestry and images.c the old english paraphrase (acording to the language) of the fifteen's century, shall now be given, so far a concerns its contents not of a mere ge neral or moral kind. it is entitled "rewle of a recluse that seynt alred wrote to his suster." "omine also ben,f which ben bus in gadrynge of worldly good in bestail in wolle, in multipling of peny to peny and shilyng, so that they oughten r ther to be called housewyves, than recluses. they ordeyne mete for her bestes, verder for her cattell, and att yere's end, they loke after the nombre or after the price; after this followeth est et quædam spes vanitatis in affectatâ aliqui pulchritudine et intra cellulam delectari parietes variis picturis vel celaturis ornare, oratorium par norum et imaginum decorare. fol. 19. b. d ms. bodl. 2322. e recluse mostly signified an anchoress, as i plain from the anglia sacra, ii. 269, yet there ar passages in this rule, as of keeping cattle, &c. which appear to me to apply to nuns. inclum also denoted an anchoret. id. f the original is " quod fere vicium per omnes hujus temporis serpit inclusas pecuniæ aggregande vel multiplicandis, pecoribus inhiant." ms. cott. nero. a. 3. fol. 2. this is more than decisive proof of the looseness of the translation. 1 consuetudinal of anchorets and hermits. 377 yinge and sellinge, of the which comth covetise and avarice." a "first chose an honest ancient wonan in lyvinge, no jangler ne royler bout, noo chider, noo tidinges teller, out such oon, that may have witnesse of hir good conversacyon and honesty. hir charge shall be to kepe thyn housold and thy lyflod to close thy dore; and to resceve that shuld be resceyved, and to voide that shuld be avoided; under her govarnaile shuld she have a yonger woman of age to bere greter charges in fettynge of woode and water, and sethynge and guithynge of mete and drynke. "also how a recluse should speke, and whanne. now sith i have tolde the of silence, i shall also shew the of speche. whan thou shalt speke. from exaltacyon of the crosse unto estern, after tyme complyn is seyde unto pryme be do a morrowe to speke with noon saaf after pryme with the mynistres that serven the yit under fewe wordes of such thinges as the nedith; and fro that tyme tyl thou have ete, kepe the in silence in devoute praiers and holy meditacions. and than use communicacioun tyll evensonge tyme. after evensonge is do to speke with thy ministres of thynges that the behoveth till tyme of collacioun, and to kepe silence for al that nyght, from estern til the exaltacion of the crosse come ayen. after tyme that complyn is seide til the sonne arise amorwe, to kepe silence, and than to speke with thy ministres. after tyme prime is seide tyl the thridde houre to commine with othir that comen honestly, and under fewe wordes. in the saam wise shalt thou do bitweene the houre of noon after thou hast ete tyl evensonge tyme, and after evensong is adon than to speke with thy ministres tyl the tyme of collacyon. but in lente keepe silence, that thou speke with noon saaf with thy confessour and thy mynistres, or ellys but it be som body that cometh from fer contre. after tyme thou hast sayde divyne a fol. 178. servyce, thou shalt occupie the with some honest labour of thy hondes-be well wer of multitude of psalmes in thy pryvat prayer,b and put it in noo certeyn but as long as thou delitist ther inne so long use hem: and when thou beginnest to waxe hevy of hem, orwery, then take a boke and rede, or do som labour with thy hondes. thus shalt thou be occupied bitwene every divyne houre of the nyght, and of the day from the kalendes of november unto lente, so that a little before complyn thou be occupied with redynge of holy faders prively by thiself in stede of thy collacyon that thou mightest, by grace, gete the som compuncyon of teres and fervour of devocion in saienge of thy complyn. and whan thou art thus replet and fedd with devocion reste the, and go to to (sic) thy bed restynge the ther unto the tyme that it be passed mydnyght her than thou beginne thy matyns, for thou shalt slepe no more of all day. this same rule shalt thou kepe from estern unto the kalendes of november, saaf that thou shalt slepe after mete afore the hour of noon. loke also that thou be in bed after complyn by than the sonne goo to reste." in lent. "the manner of thy slepynge in this tyme a fore mydnyght shall be lasse than in another tyme.' رو eating what "with so many of potage of wortes, or of peses or of benys, or elles of formaged medled with myĺke or with oyle, to put away or avoyde the bitterness, and with o kynde of ffyshe, with apples or with herbes. and upon the wednesday, friday, and saturday, to use but lent metes. in lente one maner of potage every day, bute sicknesse it make-every friday brede and water. and the tyme of thy meles shall be every day at hye none and in lente tyme after evensonge b a sick nun of barking" at suche tyme as her sickness came entryd in to her oratorye, and sayde the seven psalmes and letanye." golden legend, fol. clxxxix. v. c cabbage, sax. all kinds of pot-herbs. junius. d fromage, cheese, will naturally occur to mind, but firmity is no doubt meant. see refectory. e without. sax. 378 consuetudinal of anchorets and hermits. b from estern to whitsondye ontake a rogacion days and with sone eve, thou shalt ete at midday and sithen at evening. this rule shall tow kepe al the somer tyme ontake c wednesday and friday, and other solempne vigils. also thou maist and thou wilt, every fastynge day in the somer season, by cause thou hast noo merydian after noon, to slepe bitwene matyns and pryme. thy vesture that thou shalt use ben these; a warme pylched for winter, and oo kirtel and oo cote for somer with a black habite above hem, and every either time ii stamyns f-also loke the veyle of thyne hed bee of noo precyouse clothe, but of a menes black, be also wel war that thou have no more than the nedith to hoson and to shoon, and of other thynge that longeth to thy feet." 66 arraye thyn auter with white lynnen clothe, the whiche betokeneth both chastite and simplenesse. in this auter sette an image of christis passion, that thou may have mynde and se hou he sette and spredde his armes abrood to resceyve thee and al mankynde to mercy if thaie wil axe it. and if it plese the sette on that oo side an ymage of our lady, and another on that other syde of seint john, for commendacyon of more chastite, bothe of man and of woman; the which be ended in our lady and seint john.i" an eminent anchoret, whom matthew paris calls "holy and solitary,' on privativ. sax. b afterwards. "outtake" is a true old english word. see tyrwhitt's glossary to chaucer. d pilch was a garment made of skins; a furred one i suppose here. e a tunic or waistcoat, says tyrwhitt, perhaps, in its common acceptation, a petticoat. johnson and steevens's shakespeare, v. 510. ed. 2d. 8 middle. f woollen shifts. fol. 186. i ibid. fuller (waltham abbey, 17,) has the following extract from church-wardens' accounts in 1554" item, for mary and john that stand in the rood-loft 26s. 8d. christ (john xix. 26. &c.) on the cross saw his mother, and the disciple whom he loved, standing by. in apish imitation whereof the rood (when perfectly made with all the appurtenances thereof) was attended with these two images." was wulfric of haselborough, a priest in early life fond of hounds and hawks but converted by the information of : beggar, that he had money in his purse with which he was not acquainted. a first he was a humble friend at the table of the lord of the manor, where he w born. but panting for solitude, he re tired to haselborough, where he passe his life in a cell, contiguous to t church. not content with a hair shir [but becoming one of the loricati,] begged an old iron corslet of cha mail,k which from becoming thin, a last incumbered him, by falling to his knees, when he said his prayers. h used to say the psalter, and immer himself in a tub of cold water, durin the time, at night, to subdue the flesh strangers resorted to him, but he neve conversed with them, except with the windows closed. when he died, he was buried in his oratory at haselbe rough. anchorets were always supposed to hold direct intercourse wit heaven, and converse familiarly with angels. for this reason even that insufferable coxcomb, giraldus cambresis, thought proper to visit an anchore within his own archdeaconry, in ordɛ: to take his opinion, upon relinquishing the court for a life of study, and have his blessing, because the anchoret was full of the holy spirit. this anchore had been to jerusalem, and afterwards shut himself up in his prison. after mass, he called the priest to his window, to read the gospel, and at th hour of refreshment, his servant brought him his meal to his window. in order to comprehend the missal, he learned latin, but only to be understood, without attention to the grammar, tenses or cases, and always spoke in the infini tive mood; thus instead of saying (t render his words, in english) "i wen to jerusalem and visited the sepulchr very religious persons for mortification wart an iron corslet next the skin, which they never took off. they were called loricati. (du cange, in voce.) it was also presumed to prevent tempta tion by carnal weakness. dugd. monast. ii. 59. i m. paris, 78, 79. m du cange, v. festum nativitatis s. marie. consuetudinal of anchorets and hermits. 379 "" f christ," he said, "i to go to jerualem and to visit the holy sepulchre.' however filled with the holy ghost, t appears, that some cistercian monks ad persuaded him not to put his hand hrough his window, and cure the blind, ame, and sick, who resorted to his cell, and that he was in doubt how to act, until giraldus had advised him to exert is faculty of healing. thus the absurdity of supposing, that the holy spirit was ever in doubt, was not understood, even by giraldus; who blindly acted from the superstition before mentioned. there are strong distinctions made by piers plowman, in reference to the characters of anchorets and hermits respectively. of the former, he speaks well, and for the love of our lorde, lyveden full harde, as ankers and hermits, that hold him in her sells, and coveten nought in contrey to carien aboute, for no liquerouse livelodeb her likam to please. a church in normandy being set on fire, two anchoresses were burnt to death in it, because they thought that their cells were not to be deserted, even in such a necessity; but this opinion was not general. these female anchorets, who were sometimes distinguished by the vulgar prefix of mother,d were not always steady. at a part of the abbey of whalley, lancashire, near the gate, one isold heton, widow, who had petitioned henry vi. to be admitted anchoress there, afterwards went away disgusted; and it appears that other anchoresses and recluses had done the same before, and that divers of their servauntes attendant had been gotten with child within the said place. the prohibition of locomotion necessarily, as before noted, required attendants in their service, but with respect to themselves, it is prescribed in the visitation of edmundsbury, "that the monks do not hold frequent and familiar conversations with the nuns near the monastery, fol. i. with recluse women, that so all ground of suspicion may be taken away."f at bicknor, in kent, is a shed, or hovel, called the rector's house, built against the north side of the church, with a room projecting nearly across the aisle, and under the same roof.g this was, possibly, an anchor-hold; though very rare instances do occur, of such residences for incumbents. abroad they were sometimes of elegant fashion. agnellus says, "at the sides of the said church, he subjoined little monasteries, all which were ornamented with gilt tessellæ, and the name of maximianus carved upon the tops of the pillars, together with lithostratick, tesselated, or mosaick work, in the monastery, forming words. it was the style of roman pavements.h anchorages were situated in churches, church-yards, over the church porch, and at town gates. they had often chapels annexed.i anchorets were denominated "sir," as "sir thomas the anchorite," in taylor's index monasticus, p. 65. hermits. godrick of finchale was a hermit of high note in his day. he learned the psalter by heart, and lived in a cottage, excavated out of the ground, angl. sacr. ii. 497. 498. hic heremita sacer non parvo tempore vixit sæpius angelicis felix affatibus usus. alcuin. de pontif. ebor. v. 662. this is explained further on. angl. sacr. i. 262. d ballard's ladies, p. 1. weever's funer. monum. 154, 5. ed. fol. and covered with turf. to it was annexed an oratory, which had not only a crucifix, but an image and altar of f interdicimus et monachis frequentia et familiaria colloquia cum monialibus huic monasterio vicinis, cum mulieribus reclusis, ut ita tollatur omnis materia suspicionis. ms. cott. jul. d. ii. f. 139. a. hasted's kent, v. 568. h du cange, v. lithostrate literæ. taylor's index monasticus, p. 65. 380 hermits. the virgin mary, as well as another altar of john the baptist, possibly from the eremitical character of that saint. he lay at night upon the ground, his pillow being a stone, which served him also for a table. being determined to live by manual labour only, for which purpose he cultivated a piece of ground, he refused all presents, and provisions, which were offered to him. he reduced the branches and roots of herbs to ashes, which he mixed with barley flour in such proportion, that the ashes contained a third part. as he abstained often for six whole days without food, and never ate without the most urgent necessity, famine reconciled him to this coarse diet; nor did he drink any thing, but a very small quantity of water, which he took only when urged by thirst. in the winter, often during the whole night, he immerged himself naked in a frozen river, up to his neck, and there said prayers and psalms. this usual process, for subduing carnal appetites, was called offering himself a living victim to the lord. at times, he sat in his oratory, ruminating upon the psalter; and upon holidays or other great days, a priest or monk attended to say mass to him in that oratory. he wore a hair-shirt, and an iron corslet for fifty years. he never occupied a bed, but lay naked in his hair shirt. like all other anchorets and hermits he was presumed to have frequent intercourse with the inhabitants of the celestial world.a it was usual with hermits to say the psalter every day,b and they were favourite confessors. don quixote makes them the especial, perhaps only confessors of knights errant. in the romance of the nouveau renard, written in the 13th century, renard goes to confess to a hermit, who tells him, if he turns to that profession, he must walk bare-footed, wear a hair shirt, and live upon water and roots, though barley-bread and water was a common a m. paris, 97-99. • notices des mss. v. 622. b id. 284. food. to this there were excepti in the "enseignmens of the cheva de la tour lundri,” a ms. of the \ century, we hear of a hermit who. cepted hospitality and lodging free female.e in the "acta sanctorum" it is a that they invited william the he to dinner, and placed before him m caroons, a kind of delicate sweetne to this good fare, from hospit piers plowman alludes by the we "lyqerouse livelihoode" before quo and additionally illustrated further it was generally thought, that t had the power, from sanctity, of cur diseases, and working miracles. ed. iii. thomas lord berkeley for ed an hermitage at bedminster, bristol, and placed one john mark therein for life, so that hermit passed under the advowson for unlike other religious, they could p sess property, and make a will. t commonly followed trades or occup tions. bilfrid, an anglo-saxon a choret, was an excellent goldsmith. . i worked at that trade.k it was of usual for bishops, or abbots, to re and end their days as hermits. e nent hermits sometimes drew fen anchorets around them. roger. monk of st. alban's, lived, as a he mit, in obedience to his abbot; ur whom was one christina, as an achoress, in a cell, contiguous to oratory. he never saw her face, £ she was so concealed by boarded trivances, as to be invisible to a person, externally; and instead of door, was a hard trunk of wood, whic was too heavy to be moved by b she lay upon the cold stone, condem ed to sit immovably, be tortured, 2 remain in silence, nor had any mea of summoning roger to her, but! the voice and knocking; and this sh d gemeticensis, 622. f du cange, v. maccarones. • notices, v. 18. 8 p. de comines, b. vi. c. 8. gold. leg.c m. paris, 98, &c. b smythe's berkeley ms. f. 357. lyndw. 167. * x script. 22. 1 m. paris, 993. angl. sacr. &c. &c. hermits. 381 s afraid to do, even to sigh, lest any e besides roger should be present, 1 discover her retreat, which she aded more than death; nor except the evening "exire foras, non nisi o licebat ad ea quæ natura poposcit."a she was a famous embroideress, possibly she amused herself in that employ. whatever might be the estimation in which particular hermits were held, many of them were worthless rogues and vagabonds. piers plowman, though he speaks well of anchorets, thus describes hermits: in habyte as an hermit unholie of workes. hermets on a heape with hoked staves b wenten to walsingham and her wenches after, great loubeis and longe that loth were to swynke, clothed hem in copes to be knowen from other and shopen hem hermits her ease to have. to understand this, it is fit to note, at lob, lubber, looby, and lobcock, ys steevens, all denoted inactivity of dy and dulness of mind: and swinke labour. as to the copes, the cosme of hermits is a long gown with hood covering the whole body, with m-holes, a tunick, and rosary: beard ery long, but their dress was often gged. "or clothed in some hermit's ragged reed," ys george fletcher.d to this add a ope for a girdle, a hair-shirt, and what as peculiarly affected, a knight's iron. orslet.e langland, the author of 'iers plowman, is well supported by ther authorities. "the hermit of dursley was awarded at the court of he manor of ham, 8 henry viii. ind manu (a form of arraignment i believe belonging to the clergy,f) with wo hands, to prove, that the horse which had thither strayed, and there been taken up, was not thiefe-stolen by him, but his own proper goods.g❞ their presumed sanctity was not ala dugd. monast. i. 350. seq. bearded hermits' staves; shakespeare, 2 hen. iv. act 5. scene i. in the frontispiece of ms. bodl. 3010, is a monk, with a staff, topped by a cross botonnée; but the wood-cuts of the legend have no staff at all, in the costumes of hermits. e cuts in the golden legend, fol. xliv. ccxlix. d christ's triumph, &c. st. lxii. e dugd. monast. ii. 59. see note of the loricati, p. 378. f i think i have seen such a form in the state trials. smythe's berkeley hernesse ms. fol. 179. fol. i. fol. i. b. ways a protection to them, probably from frequent bad character. we hear of one edwin a hermit, who made a turning bridge over a ditch, round his hermitage; and also had begun an outer ditch in a marsh, against the shepherds, who wished to burn down his dwelling; but the men of saltrey hindering him and driving him away, he could not secure himself till the lord permitted him to make the outer ditch pro numine suo. one william de swinderby, a fanatical itinerant preacher, being nearly stoned by the women, for preaching against their dress, finding his concionations of no avail, turned hermit, and was maintained by the charity of john of gaunt, but had no resolution to persist in his profession, though the devotees of leicester gratuitously offered him victuals.i hermitages. interesting remains of these are still exhibited in the county of worcester, and are ranges of caverns. they were sometimes very sanctified spots. that year, says cervantes, the heavens had withheld refreshing showers from the earth; and through all the villages of that district, the people instituted processions, disciplines, and prayers; for this purpose the inhabitants of a neighbouring village were then going in procession, to a holy hermitage, built on an emih dugd. monast. i. 852. 1 decem scriptores, col. 2666. engraved in nash's worcestershire, 382 hermitages. the nence, that skirted the valley. hermits of the time of gregory nazianzen lived on bread and water in caves, and wore garments of skin and hair. fiacre, the eminent hermit, seeking a place "to lede hys lyfe heremyticke and solitarily," begged for that purpose "a lytill place within a wood "c and" ferre fro abydinge of ony folk," where he "founded a chyrche," and "beyonde it a lytill way thens he bylded a lytil hous wherin he dwelled, and there herberowedde the pour that passed by;" but these visitors becoming very numerous, in order to be healed of diseases, and have his prayers and advice, he found that " of nedes he muste make hys habtacyon or howsyng more specious and gretter, than hyt was. and thought to hym good and necessary to make a grete gardyne wheryn he sholde have alle manere of herbes good for to make potage wyth for to fede the poure, whan they shold retourne towarde hym."d not far from hence, says the student in don quixote,e is an hermitage, where lives an anchorite, who is said to have been a soldier.-adjoining to the hermitage is a little house, built by the labour of his own hands, which though narrow is large enough to receive travellers. "can that same hermitage produce any poultry?" said sancho. "there are few hermitages destitute of that provision," answered the knight, "for the anchorites of these days are not like those who dwelt in the deserts of egypt, clothing themselves with palm-leaves, and subsisting on the roots of the earth. accordingly they called at the hermitage for some of the best wine, but were answered by the under-hermit, his masdon quixote, ii. 284. b du cange, v. anachoreta. drayton (battle of agincourt) describes the blazon of the stafford men to be a hermit in his homely suit, because many hermits formerly lived there, it being all foresty. d golden leg. fol. cclxix. p. ii. b. 2. c. 7. we hear of an irish anchoret of the 17th century, who had proctors, as they were called, who went about the country begging corn, geese, turkies, &c. for the "holy man of the stone." collect. reb. hybern. no. i. p. 64. ter not being at home, that they ha no wine, but were welcome to water. hermitages were common at the en of bridges, in churchyards, and in th gates of towns, and in chapels.g hence it appears, that the various hermitages, which we find so room! were for the above hospitable purposes: a common hermitage being a mere ce and chapel. the hermitage of wark worth, a most elegant cavern hew out of a rock, is one of the sweetes and most picturesque secessions in the whole world. at tottenham, the he mitage was, i believe, a house, with apartments, unless these were modern. the hermitage of s. briavel was chantry of two monks, and had de mesne lands, upon which corn w grown for their support. hermis were in the habit of assarting woo lands by their own labour; and fourders of churches exempted such lands from tythes, at least in some instances. some were either actual farms or mad such. "tradidimus ad firmum her mitagium quod vocatur hemeryes chirche in parva pakintona." gar dens were indeed common appendages." a sequestered situation was an esser tial characteristick, for we are told. that chetwood in buckinghamshir was called a hermitage purely upo account of its solitude, though 1 hermit ever occupied the spot." miscellaneous. an anglo-saxo charter says, "the venerable father of the monastery saxulf having monks lovers of anchoretical life, has su gested to me, that he wished to found an abbey in the adjacent desert, with hermit's cells, that the coenobites mar live as anchorets or monks at option." in the hospital of st. bartholomer at gloucester, there was always on priest in the habit of a hermit prè siding as governor.p perhaps, because he had a lay office, united to the clerical. taylor's index monastic. pp. 65, 66. h lysons's environs, iii. 540. n dugd. monast. i. 927. angl. sacr. i. 527. dugd. monast. ii. 339. p id. ii. 456. * id. ii. 990. m m. paris, 993, • id. i. 64. continentes-vows of chastity. 383 continentes-vows of chastity. the term continentes, though in one sense the mere latin appellation of the greek asceticks, yet applied to persons who, upon a demi-monastick principle, took vows of chastity.a there were various classes of these persons. honorius pretends, that dinah daughter of jacob was the first before the law, with whom the custom began: judith and others followed under the law; anna, &c. under the gospel.b infants made the vow at seven years old, as did virgins, even girls, after which the parents could not force them to marryd because they were deemed already affianced to god. christ is pretended to have affianced catharine in this manner, putting a ring on her finger, &c.e erasmus makes a nun say, "i am married to one, who, when he sees me, may not chuse to have me," in allusion to the custom of affiancing before matrimony, to which all the preceding matters have a relation; as appears from various passages in tertullian, and isidore, as cited by rosinus. the term continentes also applied to 1. women, who lived in monasteries with nuns. 2. tertiaries of st. francis. 3. women who sung psalms at the celebration of funerals.f the following were distinguished by name. holy or consecrated widows or priesa du cange, v. continentes. b id. v. vidua. id. v. castimonium, castimoniales. d notices des mss. iv. 186. • golden legend, ccxxv. there was anciently among the classical ancients and ourselves, a ceremony called affiancing, betrothing, espousals, &c. forming a contract of marriage, which might not take place for years afterwards. mr. smythe says (berkeley ms.) that it was usual at 6 or 7 years old among the nobility, as well as very early subsequent union, to prevent imprudent connections by falling in love. mr. douce's account of it (i. 108 seq.) may be preceded by the long description of the roman sponsalia in rosinus, antiquit. roman. p. 444, upon which the custom was founded. du cange, v. continentes. tesses. similar orders existed among the heathens. tertullian (inter alia) says, "we know that widows are occupied in the service of the african ceres, who are weaned from matrimony by the most severe oblivion. calvin says, widows serving the church, confined themselves to celibacy, not that they thought there was any thing religious in it, as it was afterwards held; but, because if not their own mistresses, and entangled with the marriage yoke, they could not perform the office. the earlier ages of the church, the wives of priests or deacons, married before the latter were ordained, used to preserve the connection in a sisterly form, and perform the duties of the ancient deaconesses. they were called presbyteræ or priestesses, which term. was also applied to the elder widows, who attended to church duties. they used a far more modest habit than other women. otto vercellensis says, in as those who were called priestesses took the office of preaching, ordering, or teaching; so the deaconesses took the office of ministering, or baptizing, which now is by no means expedient.i these widows lived often in almshouses near the church,k whence now old females in many towns. conversa, or penitent prostitutes, after the manner of mary magdalene, took the habit of widows, and in the greek empire lived in penitentiaries on purpose. pyrocare. in the 13th century appeared in italy, women called pyrocare, similar to the beghins of france, who made vows of chastity, and were ordered to be loaded with prayers and fasts, because some of them had broken their vows by marriage.m convert husbands and wives. epiphanius and other fathers mention husg du cange, p. 185. ed. rigalt. h instit. theolog. p. 455. i du cange, v. presbyteræ. k id. v. matricularia. du cange, v. pyrocaræ. 1 id. v. conversæ. www. 384 continentes-vows of chastity. bands who lived apart from their wives, and wives from their husbands. these vows were taken from mary and joseph, and held sacred long after the dissolution of abbeys. among us men and their wives took them when growing old;d and certain hospitals required these vows before admission.e the most common vow was, however, that of widowers and widows to observe chastity in honour of their deceased wives or husbands. these widows were called viduæ pullata (from the habit), or as they may be termed mourning widows. mourning widows. these vows among us are very ancient. gildas mentions cuneglass's wife's sister, a widow who had made a vow of chastity.g the anglo-saxon women also made them, and the women wore a ring and russet gown.h the bishop of the diocese issued a commission; and besides observing the vow, the widow was for life to wear a veil, and a mourning habit. both were duly consecrated. the veil was put on by the priest; but the ring only was sufficient, whether they took the veil or habit or not.k the following is the literal translation of the ceremonial of making a vow of this kind, by a widow:1 13 march, 1393. lady blanch, relict of sir nicholas styvecle, knt. alledging that she was a parishioner of john, lord bishop of ely, humbly supplicated the said bishop, that he would think worthy to accept her vow of chastity, and from consideration of regard, confer upon her the mantle and du cange, v. continentes. b le voeu de jacob, iv. 176. e wilkins's concilia, iii. 846. henry's gr. brit. iii. 398. d m. paris, 950. e dugd. monast. ii. 377, 390. f du cange, v. vidua. 8 xv scriptor. p. 11. h m. paris, 707. x scriptor. 1906. i dugdale's warwickshire, 1013, et alii. k m. paris, 398. 1 from gough's sepulchr. monum. v. i. p. 171. in ms. cott. tiber. b. viii. is the benedictio vestis viduarum, f. 145; and f. 146, the benedictio viduarum, and then " post hæc ponas pallium super caput ejus, et dicas, accipe, vidua, pallium," &c. ring, &c.; and afterwards the said lad blanch in the chapelm of the manor of dodyngton, in the diocese of ely, before the high altar, in the presence c the said reverend father, then and ther solemnly celebrating mass, made so lemnly her vow of chastity as follows in these words: "i, blanch, heretofore wife of si nicholas de styvecle, knt. vow to god, and our holy lady saint mary. and all saints, in presence of our reverend father in god, john, by the grace of god, bishop of ely, that i will be chaste from henceforth during my life." and the said reverend father received her vow, and solemnly consecrated and put upon the said vowess the mantle and ring in the presence of, &c.-one of the witnesses is a notary public. the veil occurs in foreign councils. in some ancient constitutions, the widows, if they became unchaste, were fined in money, and thrust into a monastery. the mendicant orders are bitterly reproached by wickliffa for inducing women to make vows of chastity. in the secreta monita of the jesuits, there are three chapters which throw considerable light upon these vows of chastity, and the tirade of wickliff. the title of the sixth chapter is of the proper methods for inducing rich widows to be liberal to our society. such members of the society were only to be chosen for this purpose, as were of a lively complexion and agreeable conversation. they were to display the advantages of a single life; and the confessor to worm himself into the widow's confidence, so that she should do nothing without his advice. she must be exhorted to the frequent use and celebration of the m in some councils the ceremony was to be per. formed in the sacristy. du cange, v. vidua. n vowess. leland mentions the habit of a vowess, i. e. nun; as votarist in comus (1. 189) in palmer's weed, is a pilgrim. mr. nichols. p 1d. v. wera, • du cange, v. pallium. see ch. of friars. t vi. vii. xvi. continentes-vows of chastity. 385 sacraments, but especially that of penance, because in that she freely makes a discovery of her most secret thoughts, and every temptation. having weaned her from matrimony, it will then be time to recommend to her a spiritual life, but not a recluse one, the inconveniences of which must be magnified to her, but such a one as paula's or eustochius's, &c.; and let the confessor, having as soon as possible and without offence, whatever pleasure they have an inclination to.d if they secretly steal into the garden or college, seem as if you knew it not, and allow them the liberty of conversation and private diversions with. those whose company is most agreeable to them.e let widows and others who have given us almost all they possessed, though then they are on an equal footprevailed upon her to make a vowing with others, be treated with much of chastity, for two or three years at least, take due care to oppose all tendencies to a second marriage; and then all conversation with men, and diversion even with her near relatives and kinsfolk, must be forbidden her, under pretence of entering into a stricter union with god.b if they have made a vow of chastity, let them, according to our custom, renew it twice a year; and let the day upon which this is done, be set apart for innocent recreation with the members of the society.c let them be frequently visited, and entertained in an agreeable manner. if widows prove faithful and liberal to the society, allow them in moderation, a * p. 41. b pp. 44, 45. c < p. 47. more rigour, lest people should imagine that the greater indulgence of others proceeds from our hopes of secular advantages.f erasmus mentions a widow, who, by the will of her husband, because she refused to become a nun, was compelled to wear the robe of a beguin, a middle order between nuns and laywomen, who lived by manual labour, and were so denominated from the head-dress, called beguin. a twelfth part of her husband's fortune was devised to her, upon half of which she was to live, the other half going to the religious house to which she should belong.g d p. 49. e p. 51. f p. 117. funus. colloq. 452, 453. of beghins, see chap. modern monachism before, p. 298. 2 c select poems, (in various styles) by the rev. t. fosbroke. 1. economy of monastic life • 2. triumph of vengeance; an ode spenser. gray. gray and collins. 3. the red man; or, the address of buonaparte's familiar demon; an ode 4. parody on collins's ode to the passions. 5. on a lady bathing • 6. epitaph · the italian concetto. the german manner. 2 c 2 economy of monastic life. part the first. what, though our way unfeeling fate denies where plato throng'd the academic grove? that not for us, a mountain ruin lies the mighty dome of capitolian jove, where bony gauls for latian laurels strove; "though we but know from antiquarian tale that plain, a youth exulting chanced to rove, charm'd with the doric fanes, the fragrant gale, and verdant sky of land in pæstum's vale.a yet we have eyed with awe the stony heap, where solemn druids hymn'd unwritten rhyme; the hills of green turf, where old heroes sleep; and towers the norman liege-lord rear'd sublime, whose builders fondly smiled contempt at time: much we have loved o'er fallen fanes to stray, what time we hear the sheep-bell's distant chime, the beetle's drowsy horn, and that sweet lay with which night's solemn bird proclaims the close of day. now we stray here, for yonder arch hung high displays, in pride of picture greatly fine, nature's night-magick to the wondering eye; the meek moon blends her light and shade divine; a robe, on plates of silver foil where shine rich knots of spangles, covers yonder mound, its vinca blued and prickly eglantine; no flower that grows that beauteous place around, but has its painted head with flame innocuous crown'd. the ruins of pæstum, the classical "rosaria pæsti," dewy meadows, containing several doric temples, were accidentally discovered by a painter's apprentice. stonehenge. mr. davies and mr. maurice, upon the authority of diodorus's round temple of apollo [or bel the sun, &c.] in britain, seem to have discovered its real appropriation. the appellation chorea gigantum explains its rude construction, as being of the cyclopean architecture, termed the "work of giants." • netley abbey. d periwinkle. 390 economy of monastic life. this arch, more picture thus, the tall ash a shades, on whose lank arms, the autumn's early spoil,b the hallow'd misletoe a green wreath braids; c admitted we revere a long-drawn aile, the church conventual of a ruin'd pile; brackets of plaistered faces, posterns low, and mouldings richly wrought by fretter's toil, and windows, erst where robed in gorgeous show of jesse's honour'd race were ranged a tinted row.d time's palsied hand a ragged outline leaves; in every rift, (for he is wont to fling the berry there) sequacious ivy weaves a nappy frieze to hide unsightly thing, the ill-faced owl, and bat with devil's wing: beneath the walls in safeguard fence is spread the evil race of weeds that quickly spring, the tetchy nettle with its venom dread, and arm'd like porcupine, the thistle's threatening head. thus wicked time, with his scythe-weapon'd hand, has 'reft the fane of its antique array; i would, we could suspend his rash command, and take the surly dotard's scythe away, more mischievous than wayward infant's play; thou, hated history, shalt pen the strain, for thou canst hold him by his forelock gray, and stay his wonted hurry, to explain what ancient glories deck'd the desolated fane. in days of old, near egypt's slimy land, their feathery leaves where nesh acacias spread, leaving the haunts of man, a mournful band by providence and friendly midnight led, from chase of shouting persecution fled; e of branches lithe their wattled walls they knit, of moss and ivy made their evening bed, and on the green banks at their doors would sit, hymning grave canticles, or conning holy writ. like birds, unprison'd from a darkling grove, that the bright eye of prowling hawk beguiled, the godly race rejoiced at ease to rove; some rear'd thatch'd chapels, that on hillocks smiled o'er bushy tufts, and tamed a region wild; some, by a martyr's grave, with busy spade a fraxinus excelsior, linn. the leaves of the ash are the latest which appear in spring, and the first which fall in autumn. c see brown's vulgar errors, b. 2, c. 6. d a favourite subject for painted glass, &c warton, v. i. p. 210. gostling's canterbury walk, so bishop tanner, &c. but others deny it. 323. ed. 2. economy of monastic life. 391 a small room scoop'd beneath the greensward mild; an uncouth cross upon the round roof laid, and of the plot anear a cultured garden made.a some, where a ring of rugged stones was laid, like statues, on a pillar's tow'ring height, with knees, which faith had chang'd to marble, pray'd; their hoar trees dripp'd with harmless dews of night, their fix'd eyes gazed unhurt meridian light; -as when jove's eagle condescends to play, his plumes he ruffles, droops his winged might, fronts his full eye to the attacking ray, and dares the burning power of him, the lord of day. some hermits were, who dwell'd within a rock hollow, indented in a sloping ground, above, an ancient tree's inclining stock spread branchy arms, that shaded all around, its crooked roots for beams the loose roof bound; before the entrance rude, a gentle stream adown the vale its serpent courses wound, seen here and there through breaks of trees to gleam, gilding their dancing boughs with noon's reflected beam. from oozy pores within, depended down congealing stalactites in whiteness pale, those mosses interwove their fibrils brown, where slimy slug and house-upbearing snail their tardy way in glossy streamlets trail; fearful of day, along the midnight walls the armed beetle shone in sable mail, and insect hammer'd loud,b that much appalls the rest of beldame old, who this the death-watch calls. aged the sires, who dwell'd such caves within, head-shaking sages, prone to moralize, and him disciple, who there made his inn; their cheeks were hollow, slender was their size, and ever on the ground they bent their eyes; " one book they had, the book of holy lore, against the wall a cross stood leaning-wise, a table small a scull and cross-bones bore, and bosky ivy hid the bell above the door. in days when such was virtue, where a wood edges a green knoll, and a wide stream flows, where he that woos the moon, the vassal flood his march announcing, oft to greet her goes,d a plantet, inserat, riget, aquas ferat, cæteraque monachorum faciat opera, &c. lopez's epit. ut v. 2, pp. 393, 402. sup ptinus fatidicus, linn.; engraved in shaw's naturalist's miscell. v. iii. pl. 104. • this benedict prescribed to his monks. reg. c. 7. specimen monachologiæ, p. 14. d the southampton estuary. 392 economy of monastic life. from royal boon, a holy mansion rose a with spires and great tow'r, topp'd with gilded vane, that emblem meet of man inconstant shows; the far-off seaman knew where stood the fane by shades, that laid at length their huge limbs o'er the main. thence vecta's b nymph "who checks the westring tide" with a sleek sister-lady, ocean's queen, is seen in state along the main to ride; before the team of dolphins yoked is seen the triton herald, with his tresses green; while all the region-nymphs their lyres employ, in pairs parading o'er the marge serene, to where southampton's youths and daughters coy uncoil the tangled dance to tipsy tones of joy. on adverse shores, where dark woods brow the strand, and boat of fisherman floats tilting by, the massy outworks of beak'd calshot stand, breasting the noisy waves, that quarrel nigh; work of that king,d where awe was wont descry lust's putrid eye-ball, pride's oppressing stare, hatred's black frown, ambition's bosom high musing sublimely-wicked deeds of dareah! never pity's dove was seen to nestle there! * in middle front the gate-house high was rear'd; an arch beneath o'erhung an entrance wide; within through cloisters dim the rare light peer'd; the church conventual fill'd one stately side, boasting its window train in mitred pride; the eaves were hid by an embattell'd screen; the vacant court was simply beautified, all nature's melody of colour, green, had it not here and there with daisies powder'd been. just as a giant guards, with ample stride, a conquer'd brother underneath him flung, on straddling arches, in its sturdy pride stood the great tow'r--there the loud bells were hung, each under each, with graduated tongue, supreme lords of a boundless world of tone; the great bell shone its meaner peers among in portly pride, and its high rank was known by learned scroll, inscribed around its ample zone. netley abbey, founded by henry iii.; where however the king only joined in a foundation. he was considered as sole founder. see something similar to this of royal rights in religious foundations in dean pierce (of sarum) 1683. vindication of the king's sovereign rights, pp. 6, 7. b isle of wight. • new forest. d calshot castle, built by henry viii. e imitated from collins's sweet line, " nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there," a thought which he took from euripides, “ μελισσα λειμών, &c. hippol. barnes's edit. p. 220, v. 36. economy of monastic life. 393 methinks i listen, at what horrid time fork'd lightnings cleft the tented sky in twain, together when these madding bells 'gan chime, when pealing organs stunn'd the vaulted fane, mix'd with a gabbling wild discordant strain of fathers hurrying fast the bead-roll a round, when wild hail pelted on the painted pane, when thunder roar'd along the blue profound, and all was one strange grand bewildering war of sound.b from other tower, upon whose vane the bird of pertness would his dusky plumage preen, a stately horologe was hourly heard, c at prime it waked the hinds, at eve serene it timed their gossip on the village green; to the tow'r corners pinnacles were join'd, of work that let the blue sky peep between, with numerous mouldings all about entwined, fretted in waves, like lakes just ruffled by the wind. within the church, each side the door of wires,e were blessed saints, that stood in rows along,f and stalls, that upwards shot their many spires, lamps, pendent from a vaulting, light yet strong with groins, bright fields of heraldry among; a choir of gilded tubes, whose voices deep with storms of musick swell'd the ritual song; hangings that shook in undulating sweep; tassels that flamed like suns, and cushions "soft as sleep." g aloft the silken gonfalons were rear'd, that led to palestine the bold crusade, hard by some blade, that much by paynim fear'd enchanter merlin's liveried spirits made; h the bearded martyr in scoop'd niche display'd the lifted cross and brow to heaven upraised; on high install'd beneath a sculptured shade, the patron-saint's enamell'd image blazed, for wonder-working deeds and healing virtue praised. along a tomb, which painted sculpture dress'd, arm'd as for tourney, the knight-warrior lay, his crossing legs a couching lion press'd, a helmet was his head's supporting stay, his limbs were mail'd in battalious array, a plaited gorget girt his shoulders wide,i "the king's enemies were curst by name in the bead-roll at paul's." bacon's hist. h. vii. p. 72. this ceremony was supposed to repel evil spirits; see more upon this subject in hospin. de orig. templ. 1. 4, c. 9, de consec. campan. e abbey orloge. d tabernacle or open work. • choir doors latticed. old prints. f in niches in the screen. id. theocr. id. 14, v. 125. spens. f. q. b. 3. c. 4, st. 59. tomb of the black prince at canterbury. 394 economy of monastic life. his belt was studded thick with bosses gay, the sword appendant kiss'd his stony side, of rich work were his spurs, the knight's distinguish'd pride. long ailes of arches sharp and pillars fine, a pomp of fretted pinnacles upbore, to form the founder-saint's superior shrine; like canopy the prostrate image wore, a model of the fane its breast before one hand sustain'd; in scrawls and figures quaint, and letters black, that legendary lore, monks loved to tattle of their valued saint, they not forgot along the neighb'ring wall to paint. on the high cross a bleeding christ was raised, of iv'ry wrought; from types of diamonds bright inlaid in gold, a sparkling "inri" blazed; from every gem a drop of twinkling light shot hues of rainbows on the dazzled sight; like glitter on the reliquary play'd, imbost with sculptures of that heav'nly fight, when fell a show'r of hosts in arms array'd through chaos, and his realm of anarchy dismay'd. beneath the eastern window's pictured pane, a canopy of fretted stone was spread, pavilioning an altar's marble plain; each corner rested on an angel's head, within lay relicks of the sainted dead; two giant torches blazed perennial fires, a smoke of odours from the censer fled, the pall, that gorgeous altar's proud attire, a crimson noon-day glared around the colour'd choir. how changed that choir, when cease of noble breath was thunder'd by the great bell's sullen tongue, and train conventual did the rites of death; the holy walls in feral black were hung, a dim relief the painted scutcheons flung, a vista reach'd down to the doorway wide of lights, lamps hung the colour'd stalls among, yet darkness reign'd, but in its starry pride, its gloomy majesty attemper'd, dignified. at the choir end, the altar high before, a hearse uprear'd its melancholy mien,a its fringes flounced a pomp of scutcheons bore, at here and there, a painted flag was seen;b where now the nodding of a plume had been, like that sweet tree of sorrow, wont to grow a fabric reared in the church. b see the account of the funeral of john gaunt in dugd. st. paul's, p. 23. economy of monastic life. 395 forlorn, upon some river's margin green, and weeping, o'er the hurrying waves to throw the graces of its branch, in elegance of woe. by sinner rear'd for wrongful deed of yore, to the side chantry, a low postern led; shrouded in such attire as beadsmen wore, in its dark house was laid the founder dead, a row of tapers a bright lustre shed, the name and race armorial ensigns told, around the bier a sable pall was spread, a bright fringe guarded every curling fold, with threads, in warrior files with glittering spears of gold. about the roof a maze of mouldings slim, like veins that o'er the hand of lady wind, embraced in closing arms the key-stone trim, with hieroglyphs and cyphers quaint combined, the riddling art that charm'd the gothic mind; to form the floor, a scroll-depicted train of glossy tiles, one seemly order join'd; deep in the wall, as far as arm could strain, an iron lattice mesh'd a richly tinted pane. beneath that window, flowery arbours lay their arms abroadwhere harlot woodbines flung, and shameless woo'd the winds with them to play; in allies strait, espaliers prim among, the rough-skinn'd pear and glossy apple hung; on the carved rood, that filled the central place, stood hoary saints and angels "ever young ;" herbs of ill savour filled the vacant space, with thyme, and balm, and rue, a plant renown'd for grace. an adverse window, shaded by a tree, betray'd the school-house, with its little fry buzzing, as if a civil polity of bees were wont there to and fro to fly, and diverse trades within their straw shops ply; more pleasing sounds, when to the chaunted rite of holy church, they wound their voices high, soft was the winged musick's downy flight, and echo silent was from exquisite delight. there too, before the monkish cowl was worn, two hoary pedagogues a tyrannic reign (soon as his youthful locks were closely shorn) tutor'd the novice to a life of pain, harsh as of maids, whom aunts unmarried train deceiver man at distance meet to hold; when of the bright-hair'd monarch's fiery wain one journey through the pictured signs was told, in list of monks profess'd that novice was inroll❜d. the masters of the novices were to be old men. lynd. oxf. ed. p. 144. 396 economy of monastic life. he, on such day, in a sequester'd cell, on all the hierarchies of heaven would call, to witness that he bade the world farewell; ere long the prior fill'd his fretted stall, and hooded many lined the chapter wall, ere long the sound of coming feet they hear'd, a gentle buz began of murmurs small, against the door a trembling form appear'd, whose pale looks mark'd how much the solemn scene he fear'd. slowly he moved with head upon his breast, and bent his knee the prior's throne before; his hands were by the trembling prior prest: all silent gazed, the book of holy lore in solemn step the grave precentor bore. a due pause made to aid his fault'ring tongue, a triple piety of vows a he swore, his lips thrice on the quiv'ring volume hung, and thrice a loud amen along the arches rung. then two and two they march'd, and loud bells toll'd, one from a sprinkleb holy water flung, this bore the relicks in a chest of gold, on arm of that the swinging censer hung, another loud a tinkling handbell rung, four fathers went that ringing monk behind, who suited psalms of holy david sung, then o'er the cross a stalking sire inclined; and banners of the church went waving in the wind.c next, while the fane with unwont splendour blazed against the lighted altar's velvet plain,d behold him kneel, his hands to heaven upraised; visions of glory burst upon his brain, jesu's meek form, and the immortal train of white-robed saints a bright procession hold, ambrosial dews in misty fragrance rain, and woven light from seraph skirts unroll'd gleams on their sattin plumes of pure white dropt with gold. louder and louder swells the choral song, the mighty sounds a grander dream inspire, the holy hosts around the altar throng, in sudden extacy the seraph quire with god's own antiphonar strike the wire; dark clouds upon the burning glory rest, and light excessive vaults the fane with fire; he joins the bright assemblage of the blest, and glides with them away, a heaven-admitted guest. • poverty, constancy, and obedience. holy-water sprinkle. • besides these there were the ceroferarii or candlestick-bearers, the deacon reading the gospel, &c. d highly illuminated on festivals and great occasions. monast. v. 3. ecc. cath. p. 241. economy of monastic life. 397 part the second. with clouted shoon at tiptoe peep of morn, oft as the herdsman shook the dews away, he eyed from window small, the forehead shorn of elder monk, with curl of silver gray, gazing if foul or fair uprose the day; and chanced the bell of prime to tinkle, while his lowing herds would wander from the way, to top the wall he scaled the neighb'ring stile, and view'd the gownsmen march by pairs into the aile. in stately wise first stalk'd the abbot proud, and every footstep shook his hood behind, a man much greater than the monkish crowd,a and called my lord, his ceremonious mind was to the study of his state confined; the monks that heard him, ever would commend what fine words he with lordly gestures join'd; this abbot when he willed to condescend, would courteous smile, and call ignoble monk his friend. next hied the cell'rer, to whose belt was join'd, a clang of keys; a man quite lank and spare through fretting much lest aught should be purloin'd; whenever he assized the daily fare, he surely talked of loss, and waste and wear.b next he, to whom, at to-fall of the year, the louting vassals were enjoined to bear the portioned kingly coin, or autumn's cheer; d they knew how much he chid, nor dared to leave arrear. with an hoar compeer next the sacrist went, of things religious he had custody, it was his bliss, the holy ornament, at the magnificence of mass, to see in order meet and seemly decency: the pure stream he in silver vase e would bring for pious needs, and on his doubled knee would bid a bead, and wet each holy thing; no lurking fiend but yell'd, and sped his leathern wing.f * vestri autem ocuuli omne sublime vident, &c. st. bern. of abbots, in ep. 42. ad hen. senon. arch. apud lopez's epit. v. 2, p. 401. quando plus desiderant in palatio regis versari (viri religiosi) st. greg. in p. 405. see also l. 14, c. 30, 31. this character is entirely fictitious. • thesaurarius, or bursar. d full. ch. h. 298. spellm. in firmis. • one of silver, enchased with images and vine. leaves, a handle of two dragons, and a sprinkle of ivory, belonged to st. paul's cath. monast. v. 3. ecc. cath. p. 310. see the form of consecrating holy water in the salisbury manual. 398 economy of monastic life. his compeer hoar the leech's a calling plied, herbs aromatic, dangling in a noose, for medicines to the sick-house beams he tied ; he knew the learned name of each, the juice, and moon's age when it should be cull'd for use; if 'chance his herbs were unavailing found, he would, from a much-treasured volume, chuse the powers of words of most unwieldy sound, and add the gestures meet that to those words were bound. then with the dean came he b who bore the seal, in him the chapter band were wont confide concerns to chronicle of common weal; evening in vain in vernal skies has tried the tints to pencil this old sire supplied; within his stall, less noble monks before, a stand was raised, and there in lifted pride leading the choir his arm aloft he bore, his bony tablets shook, and stamped the sounding floor. last came the trusty man of watch and ward, a massy key from his bent elbow hung, of goers all he kept a keen regard, or question'd them with peremptory tongue; at prime and eve his larum bell he rung,d if to his lodge enquiring strangers went, his turning window on its hinge he flung, and, if he so could tell his mind's intent, would talk by alphabet of arms and fingers bent. at cease of bell, ere yet the rites began, by massy bolts the latticed doors were bound, the speeding chantor through the office ran; and now the choir turn'd to the east around, or bow'd at name of jesu to the ground; the prying dean would sum the gather'd band, and truant monk if frequent truant found, with pursed-up brow and angry waving hand, to scanty fare, and jail of fearful thought command. (for some there were, when blew the tassel'd horn, and all the bosky valleys shook for dread, on the hill tops who met the youth of morn, as from the waves he reared his glorious head; o'er gossy heaths on fleeting palfreys sped; with jolly hunters not ashamed to hoot, haply if roused from her rush-woven bed, upsprung the fearful game with flying foot, and all the chase began a musical pursuit.) • physician. precentor, or chantor. for the limners. d spens. f. q. b. 2, c. 9, st. 25. economy of monastic life. 399 on that most holy day that heads the seven, acting his wavy arm and goggling eyes, the preacher monk would mix the lore of heaven with tales the phrygian sage was wont devise, and fancy's wildest world of quaint surprise. (scorn not the light step of the airy maid, nature herself, albeit that she is wise, to make the insect's wing besought her aid, and sweetly smiled to see what beauteous tints she laid.) to chapter next, the gown'd procession came for sage consult, and founder's daily rite to chant, at each articulated name a saintly form shot by in robes of white, and features indistinct of palest light, selected next from guiltless monks among, exposed delinquents trembled with affright, these on their breasts their silly faces hung, while language barb'd with fire flew from the prior's tongue. while thus the monks, before the open'd gate a mincing palfrey, with a waving load of gorgeous trapping, shook his bells in state. seeking his neighbour baron's arm'd abode, o'er quilted sell the lordly abbot strode, spurring his palfrey o'er the field amain, with tarsel perch'd upon his fist he rode, and now he lean'd upon the jingling rein, and his lank dogs of speed d ran stretching o'er the plain. while thus the abbot, to the elmy shade that girt the grange,e the humbler cell'rer hied, a swinging porthose from his girdle play'd, close to his cheek his russet hood was tyed; unlike that abbot swell'd with worldly pride he rode a steed f of most ill-favour'd view, sharp hips, and staring ribs, and shaggy hide; going, the shame of loit'ring monk he knew, the shame of shoulders streak'd with stripes of livid blue.g meanwhile along the cloister's painted h side, the monks (each bending low upon his book with head on hand reclined) their studies plied; forbid to parly, or in front to look, a esop. • saddle. common appendages to bridles. d greyhounds. see wart. v. 2, p. 221. abbey granges abounded with timber. full. ch. h. 337. f ordered to be despecti et deformes, in monast. v. 2, p. 750. no monk in const. bened. 12 nigr. monach. was to travel without his hood close, and portvoise, porthose or breviary, and if he exceeded his allotted time, was to carry half-naked a ferula from the parletory door through the cloister to the chap. ter, and there be beaten. concil. v. 2, p. 608. with texts called carols, &c. wart. v. 2, p. 424. 400 economy of monastic life. he lengthways their regulated seats they took; the strutting prior gazed with pompous mein, and wakeful tongue, prepared with prompt rebuke, if monk asleep in sheltering hood was seen; wary often peep'd beneath that russet screen." hard by, against the windows' adverse light, where desks were wont in length of row to stand, the gown'd artificers inclined to write; the pen of silver glisten'd in the hand; some on their fingers rhyming latin scann'd; b some textile gold from balls unwinding drew, and on strain'd velvet stately portraits plann'd; here arms, there faces shone in embryo view, at last to glittering life the total figures grew.c perchance with train immense of knights and squires, some noble dame admires the cloister wall, its scrolls of texts and painted gests admires, the prior points with white wand d long and small, and whispers low what this, what that to call; perchance he shows in pictures of the loom, some chief who fills in glory's fane a stall, some king, who living look'd a nation's doom, or hero arm'd, whose nod shook conquest from his plume.e at noon-hour (did no fleshless day betide) f on posied trenchers & the plain cates were spread, the snow-white egg, the fish's corned side, domestic fowl by barn-door plenty fed, and best of nutriment fermented, bread; no thirst was their's but what that juice could pall, the sugar'd ears of bearded barley shed ; an aged monk b was marshal of the hall, there walking to and fro the servitours i to call. from due ablution, at the vaulted door, the entering monks stood each one with his mate, at the two tables of the lowest floor, their looks directing to the spiry state of chair much-sculptured, where the prior sate; to this where transversely a board was spread, inferior lordlings of the convent ate; as pass'd the prior, all depress'd the head, loud rung a tinkling bell, and wonted grace was said. a wilkins's concil. v. 2, pp. 45, 610. the leonine verse, whose origin warton leaves uncertain, lord roscommon attributes to the druids. poems, ed. tons. 1717, p. 47. but instances have been found sportively among the classicks. a conceit always pleases bad taste; and hence it became admired and frequent. • embroidered vestments. . 6, p. 419. coll. peer. v. e tapestry, in which the gests of alexander, the trojan heroes, &c. were favourite subjects. wart v. 1, p. 210, v. 2, p. 227, &c. when they fasted till the evening collations. 8 with flowers in the centre, and posies rom them. gent. mag. 1794, p. 407. the refectioner. famuli refectorii, &c. concil. v. 2, p. 246. economy of monastic life. 401 the prior gave the signal word, aloud the reader 'gan the lore of god reveal; at the first stated pause, the holy crowd turn'd to the board in instantaneous wheel, and solemn silence a mark'd their instant meal the prior to the reader bow'd, again they turn'd, the sacrist rang a tinkling peal, last grace was said, and carolling a strain ; of david, two and two withdrew the hooded train. then while the bright sun march'd along the sky, with his spread banner broad of golden sheen, kind sleep his soft hand laid on monkish eye, silence reserved enjoy'd the peaceful scene, and musing stalk'd the space of beds between; he who did nought these brethren friends esteem, would at a cloister window studious lean, gazing with fix'd eyes in a kind of dream, or stooping with low brow to pore upon his theme. (he thought, where ancient isis winds her way, to hear apollo's lute of silver sound, and sisters nine chant their alluring lay, to see by all their worshippers renown'd, about his brows a laureat wreath be wound, a train of convents to parade his praise, a train of abbots proud, with mitres crown'd, of knights, whose helmets stole the sunny rays, and barons with wrought cloaks of gorgeous noon-day blaze.)b then where the porter in his lodge secure, with open porthose e sat, and conn'd his prayers, a multitude of old and female poor assembled, canvassing their own affairs, usage unneighbourly, or household cares, ere long the almoner in lifted view beckon❜d their way unto the gatehouse stairs; their pucker'd aprons into folds they drew, and almoner therein the victual fragments threw.d soon as the weary day was west'ring far, and nightmares squab with waking howl upsprung, to drag some ugly dream's fantastic car, the branchy lamp a yellow radiance flung, in this, as in other respects, resembling the essenes. prid. connect. ed. 2, 8vo. v. 3, p. 485, seq. also the ancient monks, lop. epit. v. 1, p. 552. the monks took their degrees with prodigious parade. c breviary suspended to the monks' girdles, for their constant study at times of leisure. the almoner or servants of the refectory only, were to collect the fragments after dinner, and distribute them to the poor. wilkins's concil. v. 2, p. 246. 2 d 402 economy of monastic life. and to his harp the hosted minstrel sung a his chiming song of wizard, fay, or sprite, along the wires his lightning fingers rung, his meteor eyeballs blazed with strange delight, and sparkling flames outrush'd and skirmish'd with the night. or p'rhaps while melody that minstrel made, some proper tutor and the novice train, in dress dramatic holy writ arrayed; here with bright eyes and cheek of rosy stain a smiling david tripp'd o'er elah's plain; there in the studied looks of saul were shown, hoped and yet fear'd success, dissembled pain; (a youth by his ungainly limbs o'ergrown, strutted with weighty sword the man of mighty bone.) (were it a certain mirth-exulting day, the abbot-fool, through the high window'd hall, with rabble comrades march'd in rude array. deck'd with the mitre, sandals, staff, and pall, he scaled the laughing choir's superior stall, his ruffian train pair'd off on either side, strange was the scene, when they endeavour'd all the chanted mass with discords to divide, and howl'd and yell'd and grinn'd and hiss'd and laugh'd and cried.) or perhaps was dragg'd into some area forth, to sturdy mastives that stood watching nigh, a bear, the hairy native of the north; methinks i see him roll his angry eye, against his furry sides the mastives fly, they snap, and show their teeth's embattled row, he growls and on his hind feet ramping high, between his closed paws grasps a dying foe, whose eyes jut from his head, and flaggy tongue hangs low. or perhaps a train of jigging puppets d dance their wooden muscles hard and nerves of wire, or here and there the nimble fingers glance of tregetour,e with him in quaint attire who ribbands eats, and vomits flames of fire; quite happy monks, did nature's general law let simple man to feats so great aspire, but no, beneath the cover'd board they saw, the grand fiend's visage grim and horns and horrid claw. to minstrels supping in the painted chamber with the sub-prior, &c. &c. comput. maxt. pri. in wart. v. 2, p. 106. see more in v. 1, p. 89, seq. b the minstrel versification is remarkable for alliteration, or words beginning with the same letter, and a monotonous modulation proceeding from the absence of the cæsura. c feast of fools. d the most ancient amusement in this country. wart. from memory. e juggler. economy of monastic life. 403 or perhaps to gambol in the slanting sun, the menial train to grassy leas withdrew, with pension'd sires whose days of deed were done, then where two banks of green turf met the view, they tugg'd alternately their bows of yew, and 'chance the grove of bristling shafts among, a gifted one had pierced the centre true, with peals of loud applause the welkin rung, and the gray sires 'gan tell what they atchieved when young.ª all sudden stopp'd-the great bell's sullen roar proclaim'd the day's, the toil's, the pastime's close, the dormitory oped its massy door, from pendent lamps a circling smoke arose, the fleecy pallets lay along in rows, each proper one by wall between confined, there couch'd the monk, nor doffed his russet cloaths, for he who dared his cover'd limbs unbind, was surely chid, and deem'd to freakish sins inclined. a part the third. in iron times when laws of battle were, that weakly folk, of prowess small in fight, the galling gyves of vassalage should bear;b ere castle seneschalls with pale affright heard the shrill horn wind of the errant knight, a foeman firm affianced to be to all who wronged the feeble of their right; such folk the church let from their thraldom free, a deed that had not shamed the knight of chivalry.c the holy church too in those iron times, with dreadful sanctity of forms array'd, a pomp of shows for cognizance of crimes, it might false charge uncourteous rumour laid, of foulest blot on fame of gentle maid; her eyes were veiled, her lilly feet were bare, a burning row the ploughshares nine display'd, the guileless maid was heaven's peculiar care, angels her veil upheld, and cherubs cried "beware." was it that sin so much to beldames' shame, of horsing broomstaves through the vault of night, and calling talon'd devils up by name, who coming would for sport the neighbours fright; antiq. selb. p. 414. servants were even obliged to travel with bows and arrows, in order to practise with them. daines barrington's letter on archery, in archæol. v. 7. b the feodal system. • manumission of slaves. roberts. ch. 5, ed. 8vo. v. 1, 329 seq. manumission began in the reign of constantine, eus. vit. const. b. 2, c. 32 and was performed in the church before three witnesses. dion. exig. justell. biblioth. atı. can. 64. bever. trul. can. 85. 2 d 2 404 economy of monastic life. such beldames' arms and feet they corded tight, plunged them in pools, and on the green banks stood wond'ring, if they to the arch-wicked sprite in hellish deed had sign'd their names in blood, for such bad beldames always sunk beneath the flood. judicial duels (so the times behoved, when men were wont oft from her lifted throne to shoulder justice) holy church approved; with heaps of arms the sacred courts were strown, and glittering death on points of lances shone, a beauteous band of blue-eyed maidens came, and she whose guilty love was over-thrown, would hide her eyes, and hang her head for shame, tearing the silken gifts of that unworthy flame. and in those iron days, if fell despight of feodal chieftain gall'd the bosom sore; the relick hoard was sunn'd by unknown light, and on the thighbone of a saint he swore, spite to eschew, as taught god's holy lore. nor dared false fear that feodal chief to feign, for monk would deep in his remembrance store the ruthful banquet of a bragging dane, who was by sword unseen of scorn'd st. edmund slain.ª and in those iron times, no forest wide but shrouded robbers and assassins fell, for justice knew not well her way to guide, not having custom's clue, to that lorn cell where they were wont 'mid ferns and briars dwell; can there be one in better ages born, who has not heard exulting infants tell, of robin hood, his bow and bugle horn, and how he chased the deer o'er sherwood's wilds forlorn? ah me! much irks it fearful mind to tell, such trespass vile how holy church dispraised; in middle mass, the great reluctant bell by minutes toll'd, the cross on high was raised, and now the lighted torch that sudden blazed, as sudden quench'd, a dreary symbol shew'd;b the kneeling sinner in dumb horror gazed, the mass priest's cheek with burning blushes glow'd, while slowly syllabled these formal curses flow'd. "dark be those eyes, that dare with lust behold "another's earnings, in eternal night:" amen, and slowly once the great bell toll'd; "those hands be shrivell'd by a withering blight, swearing upon relicks. king sweyne was thus said to have been punished at gainsborough, for having threatened to plunder the monastery and relicks of st. edmund's bury. lyd. life of st. edm. in wart. v. 2, p. 56. b ceremonies of the greater excommunication. this imprecation is taken from a formula printed in robertson's ch. v. § proofs, &c. vol. 1. p. 398, ed. 8vo. economy of monastic life. 405 "that wealth purvey by deeds of unjust might," amen, and once the great bell toll'd again; "like fortune on the guilty limbs alight, "such hands that aid;" at end of every strain the great bell toll'd, amen responded all the train. "be all thy days incessant cursed with toil; "be void of rest, and yet to rest inclined; "be all thy booty but another's spoil; "bewild'ring jeopardies o'erhang thy mind, "nor backward look but foes pursuing find; "of peril quit, still to thy listening ear "a speeding horseman sound in every wind; "till lacking crimson life thy carcase fear, "through never-ceasing pain shall press an early bier. "and soon as doom'd to press that early bier, "in damned talons be thy soul convey'd "to the accursed house of death and fear "and darkness; there be thy allotment made "with judasa who the lord of life betray'd; "refining in expurgatory flame, "be there thy agonizing spirit laid, "until immaculate of sin and shame, "it meet be to invoke a saviour's hallow'd name. "long as such sins thy guilty soul imbue, "so long these curses in dread force remain, "so long these curses shall those sins pursue ;"b amen amen return'd the total train, fiat-a general fiat shook the fane; still kneel'd that robber, with erected hair and features smiling horribly with pain, now frenzy roll'd his eyes, and now despair changed them to sightless orbs with petrifying stare. c such were the customs of our days of old, for not those days the sun of science cheer'd; our song historical must now unfold more mournful tales; when holy henry steer'd the bark of state, a novel race appear'd, who rules to preach and proselyte obey'd, though for their home a proper fane was rear'd, no annual bounty to the fane was paid, for all the friar race were mendicants by trade. unwise it was, for mendicants by trade are skill'd their tongues, as chrystal smooth, to file, their fanes were with unequal pomp array'd, much as these sons of honey-dropping guile, a common denunciation in early charters. see monast. v. 3. ecc. cath. pp. 126, 303, 4, 5, &c. canute consigns the infringers of one of his charters to torture by devils in iron frying-pans,ferreis sartaginibus. id. p. 130. b roberts, c. 5, ed. 8vo. v. 1, p. 398. compare an anathema in wilkins's concil. v. 1, p. h. iii. a. d. 1221. 283. 406 economy of monastic life. could flatter, talk, profess, and cringe and smile; "for ever they to conscience would appeal, "if idle monk ought live by other's toil, "no envy their's, it was becoming zeal "to speak the truth of those, who damaged public weal.”a who sees not faults? and faults in monks there were, the monk not scorn'd to play the juggler's part,b penance aloft his whip of wire might bear, more mighty nature would disdain the smart; the hand that toil'd not, could but waste the mart; and crimes were rife, for crimes through them had grace,c the monk not knew within his bounded heart, that scope of feeling for our general race, that, like the eye of god, admits no bound of place. the day was come, and what has not its day? all things regard from use or pleasance gain; nor longer needed was the dread array of superstitious thunder, to restrain hunters and warriors in a feodal reign; commerce was building bourses d on the land, aided by industry, art's handmaid train, and plenty boon, a nymph was with the band call'd printing, almost deem'd to wield a magic wand. the day was come-fame trumpeted abroad a six-times-wedded monarch's ban of wrath; upstarting war unsheathed his instant sword, rebellion led her rabble-legions forth, her flag unfurling in the stormy north; along the clam'rous vanguard stalk'd despair, while busy superstition nerved the loth; pale injury laid her bleeding bosom bare, and rev'rence show'd with dust defiled his hoary hair. this horrid while, against the fane forlorn the banded fiends of hell unwearied toil'd, high on a pinnacle stood grinning scorn, the axe of false zeal charms of art defiled, and talon'd sacrilege look'd up and smiled, with severing engine as she vestments shore, recorded good erasing envy spoil'd, while snatching violence the charters tore, and scrambling rapines off the flying fragments bore.f the jesuitical practices of the begging orders first brought the monks into disrepute. see their character in thynne's chauc. p. 617, and sompnour's tale. the writings of wickliff destroyed their reputation in return. see knighton, col. 2665. conscious of the superior learning of the friars, the monks built small colleges at oxford for the better education of their novices, and thus began our universities on their present footing. wart. v. 1, p. 288, seq. b false miracles, images with springs, &c. e sanctuary. the term is here used figuratively. e in a.d. 1536 on account of the dissolution of monasteries. it was called the pilgrimage of grace, and in their ensigns they had our saviour crucified, the host and chalice, &c. medail histor. p. 207. godwin's annals, p. 65. f the visitors destroyed the monasteries immediately on their falling into their hands. will economy of monastic life. 407 for monk until a figure new they made, four fiends were busied in a secret nook, the fit materials stammering ign'rance laid, for prejudice, that could but one way look, hypocrisy, that thumb'd the sacred book, and crabb❜d austerity, that smiling blamed; for speech they texts of holy scripture took, for his stiff neck a band dependent framed, and this their figure new a puritan surnamed.a sedition meanwhile in black gall imbued, a sheaf of arrows from her quiver'd store, and with that archery the monks pursued, who fled the giant danger's strides before, and trunk of tree his breadth of shoulder bore; b the deed was done; the looking fiends were dumb; when fleeing all at once, the air they tore with yells that midnight travellers benumb, groans of the damn'd in hell, and shrieks of doomsday come. so fell the monkish fane, and we might deem were here and there not ivied ruins spread, it ne'er had been, or but a first sleep's dream; it fell, and doom'd to hide her banish'd head for ever, gothic architecture fled; c forewarn'd she left in one most beauteous place, that much might of her ancient fame be said, her pendent roof, her windows' branchy grace, pillars of cluster'd reeds, and tracery of lace.d be courteous, commerce-in no sullen mood too harshly gibe the monk's less active bent; for from thy foeman baron's wassails rude, where sanctuary a holy dwelling lent, the wattled flocks, the craftsman's canvas tent, the morrice-dancer with his marrion queen, and the famed dog of british hardiment baiting the bull and bear, were frequent seen in motley crowds to sport along the peopled green. be courteous, commerce-there are bridges high, ranging their salient angles o'er the strand, which the monks rear'd; where some proud dwellings lie, a fane exorcised agues from the land; f mitr. abb. introd. p. 53, seq. id. princ. relig. hous. p. 274. religious buildings did not cease to be plundered till the 14th eliz. upon a criminal process being issued against the offenders. dugd. st. paul's, p. 45. a puritanism arose from the translation of the bible becoming common, being misunderstood, and the aversion from popery producing a contrary extreme. wart. v. 2, p. 547. bands are said to be invention of this sect. b the court of augmentations appointed the disincorporated monks to vacant benefices, in order to ease the exchequer of their salaries; and the endeavours of these men to restore their perished institution produced the proclamation of 1547 against preaching. id. v. 3, p. 197. e gothic architecture first became mixed with the greek style in henry the eighth's reign. henry vii.'s chap. at westminster. d e monasteries assisted commerce by procuring markets and fairs. spelm. gloss. p. 264. croyland abbey reared upon piles in the fens of lincolnshire. bibliotheca topographica britannica, vol. iii. no. xi. 408 economy of monastic life. hard by conceive its buttress rows to stand, and fine perspective of a range of spires; where lie yon leas, uppluck'd by monkish hand, their rushes crackled on the daily fires, monks delved that foss where-through the brumal flood retires.a be courteous, learning-think what monks would write, figuring strange signs they had wizards seen; seen dapper fairies by the moon's pale light, in quaint rings dance about their tiny queen; grim ghosts with stony eyes flit o'er the green; steeds of bright brass that to the board updrew, where sat the soldan with astonished mien ;b or dragons, such as george of britain slew, spout smoky hurricanes of flame and sulphurs blue.c (truth, i would fain but cannot thee commend, for thou art superstition's enemy, and she to song has been an ancient friend; can'st thou not hide the terrors of thine eye, hold down thy mirror, and pass smiling by? must we thy beams depopulating rue? yes, and the visionary race must fly; but stay thy steps, imperious maid, and view one backward glance of scorn, their noble proud adieu.) be courteous, learning-tales of times of old of troynovant, of ancient british land, for you the monkish chroniclers have told; before you, lo! the greybeard fathers stand, holding the holy martyrs by the hand; lo classic bards, with their thrice triple train of attic ladies, sing at your command; say could a gifted poet form a strain for oxford's earl,d that not attends the monkish fane? learning, some monks were very deeply taught, speech they could all into its parts divide,e but these knew how to prank a showy thought,f and a minutely-subtle science plied, drawn from the lore that man to god allied;8 our laws they tinctur'd with that emp'ror's page, amalfi's rocks were fated long to hide,h who could like them with mighty quibbles wage, the syllogistic war of famed stagyra's sage ;i for the improvement of desart lands by monasteries, see roberts. c. 5th, ed. 8vo. v. i. p. 244; andrew's anecdotes, art. lazy monks. chauc. squier's tale. milt. p. l. b. 1, v. 763. to ride through the hall to the high table, was a favourite custom in the days of chivalry. the monks often wrote for the minstrels. wart. v. 1, p. 87. d alluding to the harleian collection of mss. e grammar. ! rhetoric. scholast. theology. h pandects of justinian. andrews from pfeffel asserts, that the civil law was studied before the discovery of justinian's code at amalfi, for the history of which romantic place, see swinb. trav. v. 2, p. 149. ilogic. economy of monastic life. 409 learning, this lore is deem'd of nought to be, unlovely we from trial sad attest, yet hence the scornful nymph philosophy, in robe succinct for loosely-floating vest, was by the matron strict precision drest;a and had not hooded superstition flung on speech o'er vulgar wont her high behest, the sluggard schoolboy ne'er had lisp'd the tongue, that tully chastely spoke, and maro chastely sung. shades of past fame, farewell! the glooms ye cast! the melancholy pleasure ye have bred! there are, who fain would fly into the past, and where i but a weeping pilgrim tread, as cowl'd monks hide for aye the aching head! alas! there now are no elysian bowers, to sepulchre among the living dead, a lost thing, when life's day in tempests lours, and grief the painted wings rends of the shrieking hours. pause, cries a willowed youth, in shades like these, with hopeless flames a virgin victim glows, the pride of needy ancientry to please, for ever lost to love, my only rose, the sweetest flower of all my eden blows, go, weeping girl; and i for life must bear an icy soul, enwrapt in winter's snows, and corpse-eyed visage, of white marble glare, so changed by gazing on the gorgon ghost, despair. • scholastic learning introduced precision into philosophy. life of m. turgot, p. 11. 410 the triumphs of wengeance; ok the count of julian. an ode. in the manner of gray. this ode is founded on the following event in the spanish history, as related by heylyn (cosmography, p. 213): "of this province (tingitana) was julianus governor in the time of roderick, who (julian) being of the faction of the sons of vitiza (the last king), stomached his (roderick's) advancement to the kingdom; and thereby got the greater portion of the king's displeasure; who sending him upon an embassy to the moors of africa, in the mean time deflowered his daughter, named cava (cuba in mr. russel), which the father took in such indignation, that he procured the moors, amongst whom he had gotten much credit, to come over into spain. this request they performed under the conduct of musa and tariff, and having made a full conquest aº 729, subjected it to the great caliphs or mahometan emperours." there is a translated poem on the same subject in a collection by mr. russel, published at oxford some years ago. i remember no more of it, than that it interested me extremely, and was one of the finest of that fine wreath of parnassian flowers. the excellent moral of the story will be visible: and this was my inducement to reduce it to verse. i. 1. from the morning grey and still fast the dews of night retire wide along the heathy hill, ; burns a blazing stream of fire; dark before the glittering gleam, shadows black of horsemen dance; a steely light with starry beam, glimmers from the shivering lance: down the mountain, grand and slow, processioning in state they go: in a bright cloud they close their firm array; throbbings of glory from the clarions sound; before them rolls the thunder of their way; before them darkness sweeps the shaking ground; heard ye the shout, that rent the air? saw ye the brandish'd spear, and flash of fiery glare? t triumphs of vengeance. 411 i. 2. like the wood's edge at deep of night striking back the heedless eye; gazing for the coming fight; dark and terrible we lie; silence dread and whispers low, panting expectation show; with outstretch'd arms and streaming eyes, thus the impassion'd father cries; "flower of hope, of fragrance wide, "gem, that deck'd the green bank's swell, "no more upon thy painted pride, "my gazing tenderness will dwell. "lightnings of fury through my eyeballs dart, "the worm of shame sleeps not, that twines around my heart." i. 3. "maiden of the shining eyes, "cava dear and cava fair, "starting tears, and stealing sighs, "would a father's pride declare; "sweet the summer breeze, that blows "lightly from the dancing rose; "soft the silver glitter shed "from the violet's weeping head; "gay the bird's new-feather'd wing, "gay the fresh-born leaf of spring: "so sweet, so soft, so gay, "the meeken'd lustre of her vernal day; "when in the dance her graceful way she moved, "in speechless agonies of bliss i loved; "the flushes of her beauty sunk my eyes, "to thoughtless vacancy, and melting soft surprize." ii. 1. see the wind (the day is still) the poplar's twinkling verdure shed; ah! the judgment from the hill shows through the cloud his awful head! speedy death and present fear, guilty king, there vow to thee men, that never shed a tear, stormy or sullen as the sea; does the robber ever laugh? does the wolf's eye lose its fire? these the bleeding life that quaff, no human sympathies inspire: revenge, that shows what man can do, unfurl our banners thus, and terrify his view. ii. 2. now the mountain's steep beneath, the winter's flood has found its shores; now the north wind sweeps the heath on our driving battle pours; 412 triumphs of vengeance. kings. o'er the billows of the war, rodorigo shines afar; the northern bear, with ruffian sway, that bore the eagle's spoil away; alarick's tremendous name burn his cheek with rage and shame; seven nights, asleep, awake, fast the bubbles rise and break; b mighty warrior, mighty lord! c will not greatness ease afford? round him teazing visions fly, suspense's shifting form and writhing agony. ii. 3. seven nights and seven days will he gain a hero's praisewide the doors enchanted throw, blast his soul's desire and show! king, those swarthy warriors see, foes, that will thy victors be; read the characters of fate, they proclaim thy kingdom's date; d urging is the unseen pow'r, end of doubt and end of strife; soon will come the fatal hour, last of war, and last of life; vain the ardour, vain the toil, thine is not the joy of spoil; stony horror fills thine eyes; trumpets of glory sound, and swell him till he dies. iii. 1. live, hope; prediction is but vain; mists gather to disperse again; does the thunder rend the skies? in innoxious tears it diesah! who is that, in deep despair, retiring with the lion's shame, the fury of his glowing air, a fire's expiring flash of flame; by fate's unmoving gaze downcast, weary, mad, forlorn, and last: flown are his bands; alone remain drops of the tempest's ceasing rain; roderick was the last of the gothic line of b roderick had 130,000 foot, and 35,000 horse. tariff had 30,000 horse and 180,000 foot. the battle continued for seven days together from morning to night. c "mighty victor, mighty lord." gray. d roderick, upon hopes of treasure, opened a part of his palace, of long time forbidden to be touched; but found nothing but pictures resembling the moors, with a prophecy, that, whensoever the palace was there opened, the people there resembled should overcome spain. 1 40 1 1 triumphs of vengeance. 413 "low the gasping hero lies," a (hear the exulting father's yell) "gambol," he screams, "ye fiends, before his eyes, "and greet his harrow'd ears with howls of hell. iii. 2. "is he gone, the lord of light, "the sun, that spread his beams so wide? "woe to spain and endless night! "shone he high in noon of pride? "no, it was with a glimmering flame, "the mockery of a winter's morn; "where is the odour of his fame? "gone with the fleeting flow'r, for ever, ever gone." iii. 3. julian, hear my dying breath; (prophetic is the voice of death;) think'st thou that belongs to thee, the mighty of the mightiest decree? he grants the infidel an hour to punish vice's lawless power; why pass those sages o'er the vale? all hail, ye unborn nations, hail, with beaming eyes of brighter rays! b turn, instrument of heaven, and gazeah! famish'd in a dungeon deep, at the bright day does julian weep? dead do thy wife, thy children, lie? liv'd they with wishes but to die? blest is roderick that's goneforget not in thy woes this parting smile of scorn.c • what became of roderick was never known (says heylin); his soldiers took one arrayed in his cloaths, whom, upon examination, they found to be a shepherd, with whom, after the discomfiture, the king had changed his cloaths. however, as it is generally understood he perished, the poetical variation (inevitable) is of no moment. b the introduction of science into europe was a consequence of the arrival of the saracens in spain. julian, after seeing the miserable death of his wife and children, was starved in prison by the moors. 414 the red man. the red man. an ode, in the manner of gray and collins. the red man, or l'homme rouge, so called because a little muffled figure, wholly attired in red, is the dæmon, or familiar, who in vain warned buonaparte of every impending danger. [see paul's letters, pp. 430, 431.] upon this legend; the comet; which appeared over corsica about the period of napoleon's birth; that of 1811; and the newspaper account of a figure seen in the sun, with a banner, at first erect and surrounded by other figures, but at last prostrate and broken in pieces, this ode is founded. as it was a subject, purely suggested by a favourable bearing to poetry, and the author merely speaks in the character of the red man, nothing political is intended. i. 1. "lo! a king of the sky comes forth, "marching stately tow'rds the north; "awful stranger! dost thou bear "omens, sparkling on thy hair? "does thy train of blazing glow, "the battle's hurly burly show? "or does thy pale orb's misty gleam "show that widows' tears must stream? "dost thou come in pomp to bring, "or wrath to take away a king? "making now and now undoing, "gamboling with fate and ruin? "art thou come to show god's ire, "a migratory world on fire? "or, art thou he, who at the birth "of gallia's lord alarm'd the earth? "is the eagle, soon to fly "where he'll droop his wing, and die?" thus the wond'ring red man spoke as his sleep an earthquake broke. i. 2. ah! the earthquake shakes again! the tumbling columna strews the plain.how like the waterfall, what time the star of night comes pacing up the dusky west, back'd by dark groves, bright glistening from afar i saw thee, france, in robes of glory drest; b "erected by buonaparte in imitation of that of trajan. this and the following stanza (which i published years ago, in the collections of a poetical friend), allude to the pompous pretensions of the french revolution, when social perfection and happiness were to result from a system, which held in utter disregard religion and virtue; a monstrous absurdity! the red man. 415 fine as the waving light of summer noon, soft as the breeze that sweeps the evening deep, thy distant pæans in luxurious swoon made my exulting ear enchanted sleep; ah! where is he, who knows not to admire the meteor blaze of fame, and twinkling dance of fire? i. 3. oh! i have gazed enraptur'd with the scene till fairy dreams upraised my buoyant soul; sounds of delight" from airy harps unseen,' shades of the blest, "whose glittering skirts unroll" elysian groves, whence cooling odours blow, immingled roses in deep burning blush, essential light in streaming gales, that throw o'er softest glades of green a lustrous flush? the dancing hours and nymphs of purpled wing, sporting with smiling loves and zephyrs of the spring. ii. 1. alas! while thus we sleep and dream, how sad to breathe but pestilential steam; pity and hope go hand in hand to sue, where fate does not command, but cannot bear a form to see more ugly, than adversity; ages, like the waters, sweep in rolling volumes to the deep; and grandeur's perishable pride, a bubble floating down the tide, glitters in the noon-day beam, then bursts and mingles with the vulgar stream.ii. 2. sorrow, red man, thou must not feel hammer and forge thy soul to steel; thou must away to pull the bell which tolls a dying empire's knell; while, o'er his writhing prey, a lion roaring shakes his majestick mane, and mocks the tone deploring. ii. 3. loudly once the red man knocks; the doors unfold, the chamber rocks; "hero, doom'd to fight and shame; "listen to him, thou canst not name; "dost thou hear the thunder roll? "it bodes a tempest in thy soul. "will thy wolf attempt to tear "his white beard from the northern bear? "know'st thou not, his breath alone "can freeze the ruffian into stone? "ah! look not thus with sneering eyes, "the summer with the swallow flies. "is ambition void of woe? "russia is a hell of snow. 416 the red man. • elba. iii. 1. "close thy imperial ashes in an urn,a "thy soul, an etna, will for ever burn. "giant of france, and husband of her choice,b "the oracle of victory thy voice! c "spur again the horse of war; "ah! what but vapour is the falling star? "those warriors old, who scorn'd to fly, "in dumb astonishment must die : "is the emperor and king "an insect now without a sting? "shoulder'd from his gaudy throne 66 by those, whom he was proud to own ;d "fair was the bride of austria, fair the morn, "when he the cæsar king was born. "screw the torture to his heart? "the father from his only child must part; "are his marshals false and hollow? "will birds of prey not carrion follow? "in black procession to inter his fame they stalk; but still the smoke betrays surviving flame." iii. 2. "what dost thou laugh in scorn? ah! then "thou dog within a lion's den, "take the boon contempt will give ; "a statue on a pedestal to live; "gaze on to-morrow's sun, and see "the signs that heaven shows to thee; "say then, i see; but not believe;' "hereafter, "i have seen; and grieve."" iii. 3. "land of the bravest brave and fairest fair! "thou land, that worshippest god's blessed son! "thou land, that teachest to forgive and spare! "thou land, that praisest, when god's will is done! "too great to fear, and too humane to hate, "royal in mind, he's still in patience great ; e "let nature's saintly milkiness, in grace "grant to the sire once more a son's embrace; "a belisarius without a home "who fears? who now regards his pageant reign of rome?" b it is well known, that universal conquest was a favourite project in france, long before the time of buonaparte. he only married the national vanity for her fortune, and was governed by his wife, an imperious fury. as soon as the emperor appeared in the field at the commencement of any battle, the soldiery rent the air with shouts. labaume. the austrian family, whose junction with the allies, first turned the scale against him. • from his character, dispassionately drawn, in the edinburgh review. 1 417 the last fifty years. a parody on collins's ode to the passions. when revolution, fidler blind, was young, (while yet in modern france he sung) the democrats to hear him sing throng'd around the vulgar ring; exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, fuddled, beyond the muse's painting; by turns they felt a moon-struck mind; to castle-building much inclined; with fresh supplies of gin then fir'd, fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd; they snatch'd from the surrounding boys their various instruments of noise: and, as they oft had heard apart from thieves, the signal-whistle's art; each, for madness rul'd the hour, would prove his own seditious power. first hardy* came his skill to try amongst the corresponding trade; and back recoil'd-he well knew whyof neck-extension sore afraid. tom paine, combustible most dire, next made the rich stockholders sweat; the hangman to his tail set fire,† and off he scamper'd, deep in debt. in purley's meadows, john horne tooke with parts of speech his grief beguil'd; ‡ the verbo-philosophic book by fits was fine, by starts was wild. but thou, o fox, with speech so fair, what was thy opposing measure? still it whisper'd pension'd pleasure, and bade the places good at distance hail; still would his touch the strain prolong, and from the india bill's sad tale, he call'd on westminster through all the song: and when to toast the sov'reign mob he chose, his title lost, he mourn'd at every close; secretary to the corresponding society, and tried for treason. the age of reason was burnt by the common hangman. the "diversions of purley," which reduce the parts of speech to only the noun and verb. § mr. fox's name was erased from the privy council for this toast. 2 e 418 the last fifty years. and fox neglected wept, and wav'd his pig-tail'd hair; yet longer had he sung-but with a frown, burdett impatient rose ; and threw his bonnet rouge in thunder down; and with his palace-yardian look, the mob-collecting trumpet took; and blew a blast so loud and dread, ne'er were the cornish burghs so full of woe; and ever and anon he beat, the cobbett drum with furious heat; and though at times, each dreary pause between, th' attorney general at his side, his soul-subduing voice applied, yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, till in the tow'r close shopp'd, he laid his aching head. thy numbers, cochrane, to the funds were fix'd, sad proof of thy distressful state; of war and politics the theme was mix'd, and now he woo'd employ, now raving called on hate. with eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd, pitt in the treasury sat retir'd; and from his snug official seat, in notes, by lucre made more sweet, pour'd through the commons' house his winning soul; from opposition rocks around burke jump'd away, and hail'd the sound; through corp'rate towns the safety-measures stole, and o'er the bottle's talk with fond delay, jacks in office port-wine boozing, constitution toasts diffusing, at civic banquets drank away. but, oh! how alter'd was its marching tone, when government, a nymph of brawny hue, with habeas corpus o'er her shoulder flung, and volunteers in buskins gemmed with dew, blew an inspiring air, that inn and post-house rung, the soldier's call, to tippling idlers known; the cyprian fair, and their dram-drinking queen, drummers and corporals were seen, peeping from forth our alleys green; pipe-clay'd militia-men rejoic'd to hear, and six-foot tailors grasp'd the sergeant's spear. last came finance's dubious trial, he with the income-tax advancing; first to the yellow gold his hand address'd, but soon he saw the bank-restriction viol. whose more prolific notes he lov'd the best; they would have thought, who heard the strain, they saw in lombard street the bankers mad, all bills discounting, whether good or bad; to rising stock perpetual dancing; the last fifty years. 419 while, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, pitt and the bank fram'd a fantastic round; loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound, and he amidst his frolic play, as if he would one time or other pay, exchequer bills shook from his paper wings. oh! money, earth-extracted maid! the lender's loss, the borrower's aid, say, goddess, why to us denied, layest thou prices high aside; as in that loaf-in-seven-days year ª, when things were most confounded dear; link'd arm in arm, o nymph endear'd, thou hast with strumpets forg'd appear'd― where is thy native form unlying, scales and weights and dirt defying? arise as in that elder time, sweated and clipp'd, but still sublime; thy wonders in that golden age fill england's subsidizing page. "tis said (and i believe the tale) that guineas were expos'd to sale; and that our latest cask of beer, the sinking fund, was tapp'd this year; pitt, i with weeping say, seduc'd the bank, and left her much reduc'd; scarce left her bare back clothes enough, and made her fame a lottery puff; abortive drugs were given by pittbut now laid in, she bears gold yet. • some years back the consumption of bread was restricted to a quartern loaf per week for each person. 2 e 2 420 on a lady bathing. in the manner of the italian concetto. be hush'd, ye winds, ye tempests, cease, my love now tries the faithless main ; be still, ye waves, and glide in peace, until my love returns again. but should the wat'ry mountains roll, and overwhelm their lovely prize; "twere just, for she their treasures stole their brightest glitt'ring gems for eyes. but see, more bright in all her charms, my darling girl returning see; she tells me all her soul's alarms, what boldly dar'd the saucy sea. that down her hair in fond embrace, the raptur'd waves enamour'd clung, and loth to leave so sweet a place, in pearls adown her tresses hung. that one fond wave upon her breast to die in ecstasy resolv'd; and weeping, that it was so blest, in show'rs of joyous tears dissolv'd. yet, grateful still for so much bliss, it left a gift its love to prove, and fix'd its coral in a kiss upon her ruby lips of love. 421 epitaph. in the german manner. humanity, sweet sister of sympathy, gratitude, beauteous daughter of honour, ye delicious melodies of applauding conscience; ye smiling eyes of undefecated affection; ye overpowering felicities of unutterable sensation; ye meek cordialities; ye holy pieties of nature; welcome into eternity the friend of those who wanted friends, charles hayward, esquire, of quedgley: an elegant scholar, his bright mind was a continual sunshine; a generous patron, genius and learning felt not the spurn of sensuality; a friend to the best interests of his country, he blended the patriot and the subject: a man of opulence, he founded not his character upon it; a man of family, he spoke not unwisely, or acted perniciously. almighty father! may thine own energies of thine own religion now make him as thyself, all glorious! all happy! general index. abbey-gate, 281. abbot, pieces, what, 275. appellation, 23. abbess, rank, 83. lay abbots, 83. election, 84, seq. qualifications, 85. exemption, 85. benediction, 86. customs, duties, &c. 87-93. table, residence, 93, 94. power, &c. 101, 102. dress, 103. character, 104, 105. vices, 106, 107, seq. deaths, 107. officers, 107, seq. apartments, 108. mitres, 285. accomplishments, female, what, 185. advent, duties of, &c. 32. albs, 56. alleluia, burial of, 56. all saints, all souls, }how how kept, 41. almoner, various of, 130. almonry, various of, 244. altar, various of, 201. amazons, modern, 340. amess, 189. anchorets, 370, seq. anchor-holds, 372, seq. angels instigating pilgrimage, 323, 324. animals kept, 162. antiquity, forged, 10. antony, st. converts of, 66. anthony pig, 66. ara frode, 325. arms, why iterated, 320. asceticks, 10, 11. ash-wednesday, 48. asses, feasts of, 42, 48, 51. astell, mary, her college, 298. astrology, 6. severities, laity attached to, 2. auguries, 7, 159. augustinian rules, 72. costume, 286. eremites, 82, 236, 237. costume, 286. austere system, effects of, 1, 2. bangor abbey, 23. bacon, when allowed, 32. bakehouse, 278. bakers, 193. ball-play, 56. baptism, 35. barbarians, who, 3. bare-feet, 318. baths, 11. bauble, origin of, 44. bear-baiting, &c. 160. beard, why worn, 319. beds, 227. beguines, 298, 385. bells, various of, 16, 52, 209, 392. -of pilgrims, 316, benedicite salutation, 30, 184. benedict xii. constit. 60. benedictines, rule, 66, 68. costume, 286. benedictions, origin of, 35. farewell, 239. of abbesses, 292. benett's, st. priory, 197. billets sawing, 235. binnacle, ancient, 331. binham priory, 197. blacking, first use, 283. blue-coats, origin, 196. bon-hommes, 82. bookbinding, 259. boots, origin of, 283. bourdon, 315. brazen-heads, 7. breeches, 282. brigettines, rule, 80. costumes, 287. brothers of the sack, 82. buonaparte, character of, 414. burials, monastick, 213. in a cowl, 173. buildings, monastick, 197. bursar, 125. camel's-hair, what, 14. candlemas day, 32, 311. candles, when lighted, 35. candlesticks, 203. canonical hours, 28, 29. caps, 284. canons, regular, 65, 72. canterbury bells, 356. caricatures, 258. carmelites, rule, 78. costume, 287. carter, john, his specimens of english ecclesiastical costume, 290–296. carthusians, 71. costume, 287. castles classified, 198, seq. catharine, st., the virgin and martyr, chapel of, 356. cats, devils, 7. caym, what it meant, 172. cellarar, cellaress, 118. cells, 271. -in orders eremite, 232. in the dormitory, 311. chamberlain, 141. chapter, various of, 222. charities, what, 31, 264. chivalry, 263. choir-girl, form of investing, 311, 312. choristers, 373. christmas day, various of, 41. christmas box, 44. chronicles, who versed in, 361. church, 198. british, and a saxon, what, 16, 198. ornamenting of, 43. 209. of nuns, 309, seq. service, 62, 426 general index. porter, porteress, 136, 147. of barons, 367. portraits, what, 184. præmonstratensians, 72. costumes, 289. præcentor, 120. præcentrix, 122. prior, 112. · general, 145. provincial, 145. prioresses, 116. prison, 261. processions, various of, 231. abbot's place in, 86. professions, various of, 179. promotion of monks, 100. psalm-singing, 25, 309. pulpits, 206. on journeys, 179. punishments, various of, 222, 223. puritanism, origin of, 407. red man, an ode, 414. refectioner, 138. refectory, 216, 297. religion, how perverted, 3, seq. reliquaries, 284. repentance, rich exonerated from, 4, 5. retro-choir, 205. richard i., pilgrimage of, 329. riding, criminal, 2. through the hall, 408. rings of nuns, &c. 190. robert the devil, 347. rochet, what, 282. standards of the church, 231. statuaries, waxen, 358. stonehenge, what, 389. story-teller, whence derived, 361. studies, 260. sub-prior, 116. succentor, 121, 122. sudden death, why, 3. superstition, where unavoidable, 3. tabard, 284. table, what, 114. singing, 121. tabulæ, singing, 121. tapers, 206. tarring and feathering, 331, 332. taverns, various of, 24. tecla, saint, 322. templars, 65, 66, 76. costumes, 289. foundation, 341, 342. temporal good and evil, how connected, 4. terrier of the house, 143. thomas's day, custom of, 41. threshing on the knees, 257. thunder, effects of, 6. tickets, drawing, 310. tippet, 284. toasts, drinking, 240. tonsure, various of, 284. tooth-drawing, 236. towers, what for, 206. trance, how construed, 6. trappe, la, monks of, 299, seq. travellers, custom of, 26. 28 travelling of monks, 265. by night how reputed, 266. treasurer, 125. rogation days, 56. roodlofts, various of, 204, 378. rosary, 317. rushes, church strewed with, 209. sabbath, when, 27. sacrist, 126. sacristy, 282. saints, various of, 3, 8, 11. attributes, 207, 208. bells, 206. sallads, 217. sanctuary, 268. saturday, various of, 27, 31, 37. scapulary, what, 288. scarf, 320. scrip, 315. scholastic learning, result of, 409. seats in the choir, 203. seals, conventual, 229. seneschals, 124. sepulchre, officer of, 55. seniors, who, 265. serpent, ceremony of, 33. servants, 195, seq. sermons, monkish, 211, 212. shaving of the monks, 195. shepherds, office of, 42. shire thursday, 51. shoes, 283. shoulders, women carried on, 334. shrove tuesday, 48. signs, monastic, 150. silence, duty of, 149, 150. sisters, who, 194. smelling-bottles, socks, 283. song-school, 273. 285. spettisbury nuns, 306. stable, 281. stamin, 282. trental, 214. trinitarians, 73. costume, 289. trinity, respect for, 16, 323. sunday, 59. triumph of vengeance, an ode, 410. troubadours, who, 365. trumpets for bells, 23. tumbling in nunneries, 185. tunicks, 282. twelfth-day, 310. vagrant monks, 269. vaticination, 6. veils, 188, 284. vestiary, 282. veronique, vernicle, 351. victor, st. order of, at paris, 164. vigils, 32. vignettes, 258. virgin mary 50, 54. visions, 6. visitations, 59, 163, 164. visitors, 238. vows of chastity, 383, seq. universities, mode of living in, 186. origin of, 406. upper-crofts, 199. wardens (franciscans), 146. washing, how done, 24. whale, exhibition of, 160. whitsuntide, 57, 58. whistling, admired, 273. widows mourning, 384. wimple, 282, 284. witchcraft, 7. writing, variety of, 255. 427 index of latin terms explained. acoemiti, 17. agnus dei, 57. allivis, 187. altaria animarum, 203. ampullæ, 126, 204. analogium, 203. annotatio regulæ, 222. ante and retro, 40. antependium, 202. antexenodochium, 233. anticæ, 203. antiphonar, 33. antiquarii, 254. arbores, 203. arietem levare, 264. bajuli obituum, 235. barbarus, 3. barbati fratres, 193. bardicatio, 214. benedicite, 30, 184. biberes, 32. breve, 213. brodiatores, 255. capelli, 369. caritates, 31, 264. ciborium, 202. circa, circator, 114. clamatio, 223. combennones, 20. consolatio, 220. consorores, 194. contacium, 121. continentes, 383. conversi, 40. conversæ, 383. coronæ, 203. credentia, 203. cubiculum computatorium, 275. culcitræ, 227. curiæ claustrales, 229. culla, 231. curiarius, 108. cymbalum, 216. destina, 372. digitus, 98, 216. dorsale, 202. eulogiæ, 69. evigilans stultum, 210. excubitoria, 204. explorator, 114. ezra, 203. ferula, 31. forma, 203. formaria, formarius, 147. fratres, externi, 174. ad succurrendum, 191. frico, 283. grangiarius, 192. gratiæ, 211. imaginarii, 7. jacobitæ, 354. laura, 12. lebitones, 27. liber vitæ, 222. viventium, 219. limina apostolorum, 350. liquamen, 24. loricati, 378. mandualis, 357. mandra, 19. manticulati, 315. mappa mundi, 202. matricularius, 127. melotes, 27. metanæa, 203. mixtus, 30. monile, 325. nota{cum210. nutriti, 183. oblatæ, 278. oblati, 191. o sapientia, 274. palmiferi, 344. panes coronati, 136. particularius, 219. paschall, 50, 54. pax, 95. peniti, 373. perticæ, 202. pisalis, 282. piscina, 202. pix, 202. portitor sigilli, 108. postica, 203. præpositus, 112. presbyteræ, 383. pro-aula, 238. proctor, 108. psalmi prostrati, 40. pulsatorium, 238. pyrale, 274. pyrocaræ, 383. quadra, 27. regula, 222. requies, 357. retractus, 97. retro-chorus, 205. romei, romipetæ, romipetagium, 350. sacrarium, 126. salve regina, 36. salutatorium, 238. sanctimoniæ, 278. scimpodium, 25. sclavina, 316. scrippa, 330. 428 index of latin terms explained. scriptorium, 254. scrobula, 318. tetravelum, 202. titulus, 213. scrutatrices, 114. secretarius, 126. sedes majestatis, 203. sempecta, 265. siborium, 202. sigillum altaris, 202. skilla, 216. spoliatorium, statio, 231. 223. tabula, 31; singing, 121. triforia, 206. trisantiæ, 226. venia, 203, 306. vestiaria, 282. via dei, via sanctorum, 333. viatores, 193. viduæ pullatæ, 384. vigiliarii, 228. ultreia, 328. xenodochium, 20. محمد ཛ apr 17 1958 apr 17 1958 corea the hermit nation i.â��ancient and mediã�val history ii.â��political and social corea iii.â��modern and recent history by william elliot griffis formerly of the imperial university of tokio, japan author of â��the mikadoâ��s empireâ�� ninth edition, revised and enlarged new york charles scribnerâ��s sons 1911 to all corean patriots: who seek by the aid of science, truth, and pure religion, to enlighten themselves and their fellow-countrymen, to rid their land of superstition, bigotry, despotism, and priestcraftâ��both native and foreignâ�� and to preserve the integrity, independence, and honor, of their country; this unworthy sketch of their past history and present condition is dedicated. preface to the ninth edition. the year 1910 saw the land of the plum blossom and the islands of the cherry blooms united. in this ninth edition of a work which for nearly thirty years has been a useful hand-book of informationâ��having, by their own unsought confession, inspired not a few men and women to become devoted friends and teachers of the corean peopleâ��i have made some corrections and added a final chapter, â��chå�-sen: a province of japan.â�� besides outlining in brief the striking events from 1907 to 1911, i have analyzed the causes of the extinction of corean sovereignty, aiming in this to be a disinterested interpreter rather than a mere annalist. although the sovereignty of corea, first recognized and made known to the world by the japanese in their treaty of 1876, has been, through the logic of events, destroyed, i doubt not that the hopes of twelve millions of people will be increasingly fulfilled under the new arrangement. not in haste, but only after long compulsion, did the statesmen of japan assume a responsibility that may test to the full their abilities and those of their successors. the severe criticisms, in japan itself, of the policy of the tokio government bear witness to the sensitiveness of the national conscience in regard to the treatment of their colonies. in this respect, as in so many other points of public ethics, the japanese are ranging themselves abreast with the leading nations that are making a world-conscience. in sending forth what may be the final edition of a work, with the title of which time has had its revenges, while the contents are still of worth, the author thanks heartily all who, from 1876, when the work was planned, until the present time, have assisted in making this book valuable to humanity. w. e. g. ithaca, n. y., june 27, 1911. preface to the eighth edition. when in october, 1882, the publishers of â��corea the hermit nationâ�� presented this work to the public of english-speaking nations, they wrote: â��corea stands in much the same relation to the traveller that the region of the pole does to the explorer, and menaces with the same penalty the too inquisitive tourist who ventures to penetrate its inhospitable borders.â�� for twenty-four years, this book, besides enjoying popular favor, has been made good use of by writers and students, in europe and america, and has served even in corea itself as the first book of general information to be read by missionaries and other new comers. in this eighth edition, i have added to the original text, ending with chapter xlviii (september, 1882), five fresh chapters: on the economic condition of corea; international politics: chinese and japanese; the war of 1894: corea an empire; japan and russia in conflict; and corea a japanese protectorate, bringing the history down to the late autumn of 1906. within the brief period of time treated in these new chapters, the centre of the worldâ��s politics has shifted from the atlantic and the mediterranean to the waters surrounding corea, the strange anomaly of dual sovereignty over the peninsular state has been eliminated, and the military reputation of china ruined, and that of russia compromised. the rise of japan, within half a century of immediate contact with the west, to the position of a modern state, able first to humiliate china and then to grapple successfully with russia, has vitally affected corea, on behalf of whose independence japan a second time went to war with a power vastly greater in natural resources than herself. in this period also, the united states of america has become one of the great powers interested in the politics of asia, and with which the would-be conquerors of asiatic peoples must reckon. the present or eighth edition shows in both text and map, not only the swift, logical results both of japanâ��s military and naval successes in manchuria and on the sea of japan and of her signal diplomatic victory at portsmouth, but more. it makes clear the reasons why corea, as to her foreign relations, has lost her sovereignty. the penalty laid upon the leaders of the peninsular kingdom for making intrigue instead of education their work, and class interests instead of national welfare their aim, is also shown to be pronouncedâ��less by the writer than by the events themselvesâ��in the final failure of intriguing yang-banism, in may, 1906. the japanese, in the administration of corea, are like the other protecting nations, british, american, french, german, now on a moral trial before the world. in again sending forth a work that has been so heartily welcomed, i reiterate gladly my great obligations to the scholars, native and foreign, who have so generously aided me by their conversation, correspondence, criticism, and publications, and the members of the korean branch of the royal asiatic society, who have honored me with membership in their honorable body. my special obligations are due to our late american minister, h. n. allen, for printed documents and illustrative matter; to professor homer b. hulbert, editor of the korea review, from the pages of which i have drawn liberally, and to the editor of the japan mail, the columns of which are rich in correspondence from corea. i would call attention also to the additions made upon the map at the end of the volume. i beg again the indulgence of my readers, especially of those who by long residence upon the soil, while so thoroughly able to criticize, have been so profuse in their expression of appreciation. from both sides of the atlantic and pacific have come these gratifying tokens, and to them as well as to my publishers, i make glad acknowledgments in sending forth this eighth edition. w. e. g. ithaca, n. y., december 12, 1906. preface to the first edition. in the year 1871, while living at fukui, in the province of echizen, japan, i spent a few days at tsuruga and mikuni, by the sea which separates japan and corea. like â��the saxon shoreâ�� of early britain, the coast of echizen had been in primeval times the landing-place of rovers, immigrants, and adventurers from the continental shore opposite. here, at tsuruga, corean envoys had landed on their way to the mikadoâ��s court. in the temple near by were shrines dedicated to the corean prince of mimana, and to jingu kå�gå�, ojin, and takã©nouchi, whose names in japanese traditions are associated with â��the treasure-land of the west.â�� across the bay hung a sweet-toned bell, said to have been cast in corea in a.d. 647; in which traditionâ��untested by chemistryâ��declared there was much gold. among the hills not far away, nestled the little village of awotabi (green nook), settled centuries ago by paper-makers, and visited a millenium ago by tribute-bearers, from the neighboring peninsula; and famous for producing the crinkled paper on which the diplomatic correspondence between the two nations was written. some of the first families in echizen were proud of their descent from chå�-sen, while in the villages, where dwelt the eta, or social outcasts, i beheld the descendants of corean prisoners of war. everywhere the finger of tradition pointed westward across the waters to the asian mainland, and the whole region was eloquent of â��kin beyond sea.â�� birds and animals, fruits and falcons, vegetables and trees, farmersâ�� implements and the potterâ��s wheel, names in geography and things in the arts, and doctrines and systems in religion were in some way connected with corea. the thought often came to me as i walked within the moss-grown feudal castle wallsâ��old in story, but then newly given up to schools of western science and languagesâ��why should corea be sealed and mysterious, when japan, once a hermit, had opened her doors and come out into the worldâ��s market-place? when would coreaâ��s awakening come? as one diamond cuts another, why should not chå�-ka (japan) open chå�-sen (corea)? turning with delight and fascination to the study of japanese history and antiquities, i found much that reflected light upon the neighbor country. on my return home, i continued to search for materials for the story of the last of the hermit nations. no master of research in china or japan having attempted the task, from what locke calls â��the roundabout view,â�� i have essayed it, with no claim to originality or profound research, for the benefit of the general reader, to whom corea â��suggests,â�� as an american lady said, â��no more than a sea-shell.â�� many ask â��whatâ��s in corea?â�� and â��is corea of any importance in the history of the world?â�� my purpose in this work is to give an outline of the history of the land of morning calmâ��as the natives call their countryâ��from before the christian era to the present year. as â��an honest tale speeds best, being plainly told,â�� i have made no attempt to embellish the narrative, though i have sought information from sources from within and without corea, in maps and charts, coins and pottery, the language and art, notes and narratives of eye-witnesses, pencil-sketches, paintings and photographs, the standard histories of japan and china, the testimony of sailor and diplomatist, missionary and castaway, and the digested knowledge of critical scholars. i have attempted nothing more than a historical outline of the nation and a glimpse at the political and social life of the people. for lack of space, the original manuscript of â��recent and modern history,â�� part iii., has been greatly abridged, and many topics of interest have been left untouched. the bulk of the text was written between the years 1877 and 1880; since which time the literature of the subject has been enriched by rossâ��s â��coreaâ�� and â��corean primer,â�� besides the grammar and dictionary of the corean language made by the french missionaries. with these linguistic helps i have been able to get access to the language, and thus clear up doubtful points and obtain much needed data. i have borrowed largely from dalletâ��s â��histoire dâ��eglise de corã©e,â�� especially in the chapters devoted to folk-lore, social life, and christianity. in the bibliography following the preface is a list of works to which i have been more or less indebted. many friends have assisted me with correspondence, advice, or help in translation, among whom i must first thank my former students, hasã©gawa, hiraii, haraguchi, matsui, and imadattã©, and my newer japanese friends, ohgimi and kimura, while others, alas! will never in this world see my record of acknowledgmentâ��k. yayeâ�² and egi takatoâ��whose interest was manifested not only in discussion of mooted points, but by search among the book-shops in kiå�to and tå�kiå�, which put much valuable standard matter in my hands. i also thank mr. charles lanman, secretary of the legation of japan in washington, for four ferrotypes taken in seoul in 1878 by members of the japanese embassy; mr. d. r. clark, of the united states transit of venus survey, for four photographs of the corean villages in russian manchuria; mr. r. idã©ura, of tå�kiå�, for a set of photographs of kang-wa and vicinity, taken in 1876, and mr. ozawa nankoku, for sketches of corean articles in japanese museums. to lieutenant wadhams, of the united states navy, for the use of charts and maps made by himself while in corea in 1871, and for photographs of flags and other trophies, now at annapolis, captured in the han forts; to fleet-surgeon h. o. mayo, and other officers of the united states navy, for valuable information, i hereby express my grateful appreciation of kindness shown. i would that admiral john rodgers, commodore h. c. blake, and minister f. f. low were living to receive my thanks for their courtesies personally shown me, even though, in attempting to write history, i have made criticisms also. to lieutenant n. y. yanagi, of the hyrographic bureau, of the japanese navy, for a set of charts of the coast of corea; to mr. metcalfe, of milwaukee, for photographs of coreans; to miss marshall, of new york, for making colored copies of the battle-flags captured by our naval battalion in 1871, and for the many favors of correspondentsâ��in st. petersburg, mr. hoffman atkinson; in peking, jugoi arinori mori; in tå�kiå�, dr. d. b. mccartee, hon. david murray, rev. j. l. amerman, and others whose names i need not mention. to gen. george w. mccullum, vice-president, and to mr. leopold lindau, librarian, of the american geographical society, i return my warmest thanks; as well as to my dear wife and helpmeet, for her aid in copying, proof-reading, suggestions, and criticism during the progress of the work. in one respect, the presentation of such a subject by a compiler, while shorn of the fascinating element of personal experience, has an advantage even over the narrator who describes a country through which he has travelled. with the various reports of many witnesses, in many times and places, before him, he views the whole subject and reduces the many impressions of detail to unity, correcting one by the other. travellers usually see but a portion of the country at one time. the compiler, if able even in part to control his authorities, and if anything more than a tyro in the art of literary appraisement, may be able to furnish a hand-book of information more valuable to the general reader. in the use of my authorities i have given heed to baconâ��s adviceâ��tasting some, chewing others, and swallowing few. in ancient history, original authorities have been sought, and for the story of modern life, only the reports of careful eye-witnesses have been set down as facts; while opinions and judgments of alien occidentals concerning corean social life are rarely borrowed without due flavoring of critical salt. corean and japanese life, customs, beliefs, and history are often reflections one of the other. much of what is reported from corea, which the eye-witnesses themselves do not appear to understand, is perfectly clear to one familiar with japanese life and history. china, corea, and japan are as links in the same chain of civilization. corea, like cyprus between egypt and greece, will yet supply many missing details to the comparative student of language, art, science, the development of civilization, and the distribution of life on the globe. some future writer, with more ability and space at command than the undersigned, may discuss the question as to how far the opening of corea to the commerce of the world has been the result of internal forces; the scholar, by his original research, may prepare the materials for a worthy history of corea during the two or three thousand years of her history; the geologist or miner may determine the question as to how far the metallic wealth of corea will affect the monetary equilibrium of the world. the missionary has yet to prove the full power of christianity upon the peopleâ��and before corean paganism, any form of the religion of jesus, roman, greek or reformed, should be welcomed; while to the linguist, the man of science, and the political economist, the new country opened by american diplomacy presents problems of profound interest. w. e. g. schenectady, n. y., october 2, 1882. bibliography. the following is a list of books and papers containing information about corea. those of primary value to which the compiler of this work is specially indebted are marked with an asterisk (*); those to which slight obligation, if any, is acknowledged with a double asterisk; and those which he has not consulted, with a dagger (â� ). see also under the corean language and cartography, in the appendix. * history of the eastern barbarians. â��book cxv. contains a sketch of the tribes and nations occupying the northeastern seaboard of china, with the territory now known as manchuria and corea.â�� this extract from a history of the later han dynasty (25â��220 a.d.), by a chinese scholar of the fifth century, has been translated into english by mr. alexander wylie, and printed in the revue de lâ��extrãªme orient, no. 1, 1882. du halde and de mailla, in french, and ross, in english, have also given the substance of the chinese writerâ��s work, which also furnishes the basis of japanese accounts of corean history previous to the fourth century. â�  the subjugation of chaou-seen, by a. wylie. (atti del iv. cong. int. degli orient, ii., pp. 309â��315, 1881.) this fragment is a translation of the 95th book of the history of the former han dynasty of china. * empire de la chine et la tartarie chinoise, par p. du halde. * the kå�jiki and nihongi, written in japan during the eighth century, throws much light on the early history of corea. * wakan-san-sai dzuyã©. article on chå�-sen in this great japanese encyclopã¦dia. â�  tong-kuk tong-kan (general view of the eastern kingdom), a native corean history written in chinese. * zenrin koku hoki (precious jewels from a neighboring country), by shiuho. japan, 1586. * corea, its history, manners, and customs, by john ross. 1 vol., pp. 404. illustrations and maps. paisley, 1880. * the chinese readerâ��s manual, by w. fred. mayers. 1 vol., pp. 440. shanghae, 1874. an invaluable epitome of chinese history, biography, chronology, bibliography, and whatever is of interest to the student of chinese literature. * kå�-chå� rekidai enkaku zukai. historical periods and changes of the japanese empire, with maps and notes, by otsuki tå�yå�. ** san koku tsu-ran to-setsu. mirror of the three [tributary] kingdoms, chå�-sen, riu kiu, and yezo, by rin shihei, 1785. this work, with its maps, was translated into french by j. klaproth, and published in paris, 1832. 1 vol. 8vo, pp. 288, of which pp. 158 relate to chå�-sen. digested also in sieboldâ��s archiv. ** archiv zur beschreibung von japan, by franz von siebold. this colossal work contains much matter in text and illustrations relating to corea, and the digest of several japanese books, in the part entitled nachrichten ã¼ber korai, japanâ��s bezã¼ge mit der koraischen halbinsel und mit schina. ** corea und dessen einfluss auf die bevã¶lkerung japans. zeit. fã¼r ethnologie, zitzungbericht viii. p. 78, 1876. p. kempermann. ** o dai ichi ran. this work, containing the annals of the emperors of japan, is a birdâ��s-eye view of the principal events in japanese history, written in the style of an almanac, which titsingh copied down from translations made by japanese who spoke dutch. klaproth revised and corrected titsinghâ��s work, and published his own version in 1834. paris and london, 8vo, pp. 460. this work contains many references to corea and the relations of the two countries, transcribed from the older history. ** tableaux historiques de lâ��asie, depuis la monarchie de cyrus jusque nos jours, accompagnes de recherches historiques et ethnographiques, etc. par j. klaproth, paris, 1826. avec un atlas in folio. this manual of the political geography of asia is very useful, but not too accurate. â�  a heap of jewels in a sea of learning (gei kai shu jin; jap. pron.). a chapter from this chinese book treats of corea. â�  chå�-sen hitsu go-shin. a collection of conversations with the pen, with a corean who could not speak japanese. by ishikawa rokuroku sanjin, yedo. * the classical poetry of the japanese. by basil hall chamberlain. london, 1880. ** an outline history of japanese education, new york, 1876. this monograph, prepared for the centennial exposition at philadelphia, reviews the educational influences of corea upon japan. the information given is, with other data, from klaproth, utilized in pickeringâ��s chronological history of plants, by charles pickering, m.d., boston, 1879. * japanese chronological tables. by william bramsen, tå�kiå�, 1880. an invaluable essay on japanese chronology, which was, like the corean, based on the chinese system. we have used this work of the lamented scholar (who died a few months after it was published) in rendering dates expressed in terms of the chinese into those of the gregorian or modern system. ** history of the mongols. 3 vols. pp. 1827. london, 1876. by henry howorth. this portly work is full of the fruits of research concerning the people led by genghis khan. it contains excellent maps of asia, and of mongolia, and manchuria, illustrating the mongol conquests. â�  chå�-sen ki-che. (memorandum upon corean affairs.) the chinese ambassador sent by the ming emperor in 1450, gives in this little work an account of his journey, which throws light upon the political and geographical situation of chå�-sen and china at that time. quoted by m. scherzer, but not translated. * nihon guaishi. military history of japan, by rai sanyo. this is the japanese standard history. it was published in 1827 in twenty-two volumes. it covers the period from the taira and minamoto families to that of the tokugawa in the seventeenth century. the first part of this work was translated into english by mr. ernest satow, and published in the japan mail at yokohama, 1872â��74. in the latter portion the invasion of chå�-sen, 1592â��97, is outlined. * chå�-sen seito shimatså­ki. a work in five volumes, giving an account of the embassies, treaties, documents relating to the invasion of 1592â��97, with an outline of the war, geographical notes, with nine maps by yamazaki masanagi and miura katsuyoshi. * illustrated history of the invasion of chå�-sen. written by tsuruminã© hikoichiro. illustrations by hashimoto giokuron. 20 vols. yedo, 1853. this popular work, besides an outline of corean history from the beginning, condensed from local legends and chinese writers, details the operations of war and diplomacy relating to hidã©yoshiâ��s invasion. it is copiously illustrated with first-class wood engravings. it has not been translated. * chå�-sen monogatari. a diary and narrative of the japanese military operations in chå�-sen during the campaign of 1594â��97, by okoji hidã©moto. copied out and published in 1672, and again in 1849. this narrative of an eye-witness was written by the author at the time of the events described, and afterward copied by his own son and deposited in the temple at which his ancestors worshipped. this vivid and spirited story of the second invasion of chå�-sen by hidã©yoshi has been translated into german by dr. a. pfizmaier, under the title der feldzug der japaner gegen corea, im jahre, 1597. 2 vols. vienna, 1875: 4to, pp. 98; 1876: 4to, pp. 58. ** chohitsuroku. history of the embassies, treaties, and war operations during the japanese invasion. this work is by a corean author, who was one of the ministers of the king throughout the war. it is written in chinese, has a map, and gives the corean side of the history of affairs from about 1585 to 1598. 3 vols. * three severall testimonies concerning the mighty kingdom of coray, tributary to the kingdom of china, and bordering upon her northeastern frontiers, and called by the portugales, coria, etc., etc., collected out of portugale yeerely japonian epistles, dated 1590, 1592, 1594. in hakluyt, london, 1600. * hidã©yoshiâ��s invasion of korea. trans. asiatic society of japan. by w. g. aston. in these papers mr. aston gives the results of a study of the campaign of 1592â��97, as found in japanese and corean authors. ** lettre annuelle de mars 1593, ecrite par le p. pierre gomez au p. claude acquavira, general de la compagnie de jesus. milan, 1597, p. 112 et suiv. in hakluyt. * histoire de la religion chrã©tienne au japon. par leon pages. 2 vols., text and documents. paris, 1869. ** histoire des deux conquerans tartares, qui ont subjugã© la chine, par le r. p. pierre joseph dâ��orliens. * chå�-sen monogatari (romantic narrative of travels in corea), by two men from mikuni, in echizen, cast ashore in tartary in 1645. this work is digested in sieboldâ��s archiv. * narrative of an unlucky voyage and imprisonment in corea, 1653â��1667 in astleyâ��s and pinkertonâ��s voyages. by hendrik hamel. * imperial chinese atlas, containing maps of china and each of the provinces, including shing-king and the neutral strip. * histoire de lâ��eglise de corã©e, par ch. dallet. 2 vols. 8vo, pp. 982. paris, 1874. this excellent work contains 192 pages of introduction, full of accurate information concerning the political social life, geography, and language of corea, and a history of the introduction and progress of roman christianity, and the labors of the french missionaries, from 1784â��1866. it contains also a map and four charts of corean writing. * une expedition en corã©e. in la tour du monde for 1873 there is an article of 16 pp. (401â��417) with illustrations, by m. h. zuber, a french naval officer, who was in corea in 1866 under admiral roze. an excellent descriptive paper by an eye-witness. * diary of a chinese envoy to corea (journal dâ��une mission en corã©e), by koei ling, ambassador of his majesty the emperor of china, to the court of chå�-sen in 1866. translated from the chinese into french by f. scherzer, interpreter to the french legation at peking. 8vo, pp. 77. paris, 1882. this journal of the last chinese ambassador to seoul is well rendered, and is copiously supplied with explanatory notes, and a colored map of the authorâ��s route from peking through chili, shing-king, via mukden, and through three provinces of corea to seoul. â�  many memoirs and special papers prepared by french officers in the expedition to corea in 1866 were prepared and read before local societies at cherbourg, lyons, etc. â�  expedition de corã©e. revue maritime et coloniale, february, 1867, pp. 474â��481. â�  paris moniteur, 1866â��67. ** lettre sur la corã©e et son eglise chrã©tienne. bulletin de la sociã©tã© geographique de lyon, 1876, pp. 278â��282, and june, 1870, pp. 417â��422, and map. ** the corean martyrs. by canon shortland. 1 vol., pp. 115. london. compiled from the letters of the french missionaries. ** nouvelle geographie universelle. this superb treasury of geographical science, still unfinished, contains a full summary of our knowledge of corea, especially showing the prominent part which french navigators, scholars, and missionaries have taken in its exploration. paris. ** voyage of discovery to the north pacific ocean and round the world. by william r. broughton. 2 vols. 4to, with atlas. london, 1804. ** voyage round the world. by jean franã§ois de gallou de la perouse. london, 1799. ** voyages to the eastern seas in the year 1818. by basil hall. new york, london, and revised by captain hall in 1827. jamaica, n. y. * narrative of a voyage in his majestyâ��s late ship alceste, to the yellow sea, along the coast of corea, and through its numerous hitherto undiscovered islands, etc., etc. by john mcleod, surgeon of the alceste. 1 vol., pp. 288 (see pp. 38â��53). london, 1877. a witty and lively narrative. ** voyages along the coast of china (corea), etc. by charles gutzlaff. 1 vol., pp. 332. new york, 1833. (from july 17, to august 17, 1832; pp. 254â��287.) * narrative of the voyage of h.m.s. samarang, during the years 1843â��46. by captain sir e. belcher. 2 vols. 8vo, pp. 574â��378. london, 1848. vol. i. pp. 324â��358; vol. ii., pp. 444â��466, relate to corea. * american commerce with china. by gideon nye, esq. in the far east. shanghae, 1878. a history of the commercial relations of the united states with china, especially before 1800. * diplomatic correspondence of the united states, china, and japan, 1866â��81. * report of the secretary of the navy to congress, pp. 275â��313. 1872. * private notes, charts, and maps of officers of the united states navy who were in corea in 1871. ** a summer dream of â��71. a story of corea. by t. g. the far east. shanghae, april, 1878. * journey through eastern mantchooria and korea. by walton grinnell. journal american geographical society, 1870â��71, pp. 283â��300. * japan and corea. a valuable monograph in six chapters, by mr. e. h. house, in the tå�kiå� times, 1877. ** on a collection of crustacea made in the corean and japanese seas. j. muirs, 1879. london zoological societyâ��s proceedings (pp. 18â��81, pls. 1â��113). reviewed by j. s. kingsley. norwich, n. y. american naturalist. ** a private trip in corea. by frank cowan, m.d. the japan mail, 1880. â�  the leading men of japan. by charles lanman. boston, 1882. contains a chapter on corea. * manuscript volume of pencil notes made by kawamura kuanshiu, an officer on the japanese gunboat unyo-kuan, during her cruise and capture of the kang-wa fort, 1875. partly printed in the japan mail. * journals of japanese military and diplomatic officers who have visited corea, and correspondence of the japanese newspapers, from seoul, fusan, gensan, etc. these have been partly translated for the english press at yokohama. * correspondence, notes, editorials, etc., in the english and french newspapers published in china and japan. ** maru-maru shimbun (japanese punch). * chå�-sen: its eight administrative divisions. 1 vol. tå�kiå�, japan, 1882. * chå�-sen jijo. a short account of corea, its history, productions, etc. 2 vols. tå�kiå�, 1875. * chå�-sen bunkenroku (things seen and heard concerning corea). by sato hakushi. 2 vols. tå�kiå�, 1875. * travels of a naturalist in japan [corea] and manchuria. by arthur adams. 1 vol., pp. 334. london, 1870. see chaps, x., xi., pp. 125â��166. ** ueber die reise der kais. corvette hertha, in besondere nach corea. kramer, marine prediger. zeit. fã¼r ethnologie, 1873. verhandlungen, pp. 49â��54. ** a forbidden land. by ernest oppert. 1 vol., pp. 349. illustrations, charts, etc. new york, 1880. ** journeys in north china. by rev. a. williamson. 2 vols. 16mo. london, 1870. besides a chapter on corea, this work contains an excellent map of the country north and east of chå�-sen ** the middle kingdom. by s. wells williams. ** consular reports in the blue books of the british government, especially the reports of mr. mcpherson, consul at niu-chwang. january, 1866. * handbook for central and northern japan, with maps and plans. satow and hawes. 1 vol. 16mo, pp. 489. this work, which leaves nothing to be desired as a guide-book, contains several references to corean art and history. ** the wild coasts of nipon. by captain h. c. st. john (who surveyed some parts of southern corea in h.b.m.s. sylvia). see chap, xii., pp. 235â��255, with a map of corea. ** darlegung aus der geschichte und geographie coreas. pfizmaier. 8vo, pp. 56. vienna, 1874. â�  petermannâ��s mittheilungen, no. 1, carte no. 19, 1871. ** das konigreich korea. von kloden. aus allen welth., x., nos. 5 u. 6. â�  corea. geographical magazine. (s. mossman.) vi. p. 148, 1877. â�  corea. by captain allen young, royal geographical society. vol. ix., no. 6, pp. 296â��300. ** china, with an appendix on corea. by charles eden. 1 vol., pp. 281â��322. london. a popular compilation. ** korea and the lost tribes, and map and chart of korea. text and illustrations. the title of this work is sufficient. even the bibliography of corea has a comic side. ** chi-shima (kurile islands) and russian invasion. a lecture delivered in japanese, before the tå�kiå� united geographical society, february 24, 1882. by admiral enomoto. this valuable historical treatise, translated for the japan mail and japan herald, contains much information about russian operations in the countries bordering the north pacific and the coreans north of the tumen. â�  bulletin de la sociã©tã© geographique, 1875. corean villages in the russian possessions described. ** ravensteins, the russians on the amoor. london, 1861. â�  die insel quelpart. deutsche geogr. blã¤tter, 1879. iii., no. 1, s. 45â��46. â�  a trip to quelpaert. nautical magazine, 1870, no. 4, p. 321â��325. ** the edinburgh review of 1872, and fortnightly review of 1875, contain articles on corea. * the missionary record of the united presbyterian church of scotland, edinburgh, containing the correspondence and notes of the missionaries laboring among the chinese and coreans, and who have translated the new testament into corean. â�  la corã©e, par m. paul tournafond, editor of lâ��exploration, a geographical journal published in paris, which contains frequent notes on corea. â�  la corã©e, ses ressources, son avenir commercial, par maurice jametel. lâ��economiste franã§ais, juillet 23, 1881. * the japan herald, the japan mail, the japan gazette, lâ��echo du japan, of yokohama, and north china herald, shanghae, have furnished much information concerning recent events in corea. corea, the last of the hermit nations. sunday magazine, new york, may, 1878. corea and the united states. the independent, new york, nov. 17, 1881. corea, the hermit nation. bulletin of the american geographical society, new york, 1881, no. 3. chautauqua text-books, no. 34. asiatic history; china, corea, japan. 16mo, pp. 86. new york, 1881. library of universal knowledge, articles corea, fusan, gensan, kang-wa, etc. new york, 1880. cyclopã¦dia of political science, etc., article corea. chicago, 1881. the corean origin of japanese art. century magazine. december, 1882. by wm. elliot griffis. orthography and pronunciation. in the transliteration of corean names into english, an attempt has been made to render them in as accurate and simple a manner as is, under the circumstances, possible. the coreans themselves have no uniform system of spelling proper names, nor do the french missionaries agree in their renderingsâ��as a comparison of their maps and writings shows. our aim in this work has been to use as few letters as possible. japanese words are all pronounced according to the european methodâ��a as in father, ã© as in prey, e as in men, i as in machine, o as in bone, u as in tune, å­ as in sun; ai as in aisle, ua as in quarantine, ei as in feign, and iu is sounded as yu; g is always hard; and c before a vowel, g soft, l, q, s used as z, x, and the combinations ph and th are not used. the long vowel, rather diphthong o, or oho, is marked å�. the most familiar chinese names are retained in their usual english form. corean words are transliterated on the same general principles as the japanese, though ears familiar with corean will find the obscure sound between o and short u is written with either of these letters, as chan-yon, or in-chiå­n, or kiung-sang. ch may sometimes be used instead of j; and e where o or a or u might more correctly be used, as in kang-wen, or wen-chiu. instead of the french ou, or ho, we have written w, as in whang-hai, kang-wa, rather than hoang-hai, kang-hoa, kang-ouen, tai-ouen kun, etc.; and in place of ts we have used ch, as kwang-chiu rather than kwang-tsiu, and wen-chiu than ouen-tsiu. maps and plans. page ancestral seats of the fuyu race, 25 sam-han, 30 ancient japan and corea, 56 the neutral territory, 85 the japanese military operations of 1592, 99 the campaign in the north, 1592â��1593, 107 the operations of the second invasion, 131 plan of uru-san castle, 138 home of the manchius and their migrations, 155 the jesuit survey of 1709, 165 ping-an province, 181 the yellow sea province, 185 the capital province, 188 military geography of seoul, 190 chung-chong province, 194 chulla-då�, 199 the province nearest japan, 204 kang-wen province, 208 corean frontier facing manchuria and russia, 210 southern part of ham-kiung, 215 the missionaryâ��s gateway into corea, 364 border towns of northern corea, 365 the french naval and military operations, 1866, 379 map illustrating the â��general shermanâ�� affair, 393 map illustrating the â��chinaâ�� affair, 400 map of the american naval operations in 1871, 415 general map of corea at the end of 1906 at end of volume. contents. part i. ancient and mediã�val history. chapter i. page the corean peninsula, 1 chapter ii. the old kingdom of chå�-sen, 11 chapter iii. the fuyu race and their migrations, 19 chapter iv. sam-han, or southern corea, 30 chapter v. epoch of the three kingdoms.â��hiaksai, 35 chapter vi. epoch of the three kingdoms.â��korai, 40 chapter vii. epoch of the three kingdoms.â��shinra, 45 chapter viii. japan and corea, 51 chapter ix. korai, or united corea, 63 chapter x. cathay, zipangu, and the mongols, 70 chapter xi. new chå�-sen, 76 chapter xii. events leading to the japanese invasion, 88 chapter xiii. the invasionâ��on to seoul, 95 chapter xiv. the campaign in the north, 104 chapter xv. the retreat from seoul, 115 chapter xvi. cespedes, the christian chaplain, 121 chapter xvii. diplomacy at kiå�to and peking, 124 chapter xviii. the second invasion, 129 chapter xix. the siege of uru-san castle, 137 chapter xx. changes after the invasion, 145 chapter xxi. the issachar of eastern asia, 154 chapter xxii. the dutchmen in exile, 167 part ii. political and social corea. chapter xxiii. the eight provinces, 179 chapter xxiv. the king and royal palace, 218 chapter xxv. political parties, 224 chapter xxvi. organization and methods of government, 230 chapter xxvii. feudalism, serfdom, and society, 237 chapter xxviii. social lifeâ��woman and the family, 244 chapter xxix. child life, 256 chapter xxx. housekeeping, diet, and costume, 262 chapter xxxi. mourning and burial, 277 chapter xxxii. out-door life.â��characters and employments, 284 chapter xxxiii. shamanism and mythical zoã¶logy, 300 chapter xxxiv. legends and folk-lore, 307 chapter xxxv. proverbs and pithy sayings, 317 chapter xxxvi. the corean tiger, 320 chapter xxxvii. religion, 326 chapter xxxviii. education and culture, 337 part iii. modern and recent history. chapter xxxix. the beginnings of christianityâ��1784â��1794, 347 chapter xl. persecution and martyrdomâ��1801â��1834, 353 chapter xli. the entrance of the french missionariesâ��1835â��1845, 361 chapter xlii. the walls of isolation sapped, 367 chapter xliii. the french expedition, 377 chapter xliv. american relations with corea, 388 chapter xlv. a body-snatching expedition, 396 chapter xlvi. our little war with the heathen, 403 chapter xlvii. the ports opened to japanese commerce, 420 chapter xlviii. the year of the treaties, 433 chapter xlix. the economic condition of corea, 443 chapter l. internal politics: chinese and japanese, 458 chapter li. the war of 1894: corea an empire, 472 chapter lii. japan and russia in conflict, 484 chapter liii. corea a japanese protectorate, 497 chapter liv. chå�-sen: a province of japan, 507 index, 521 list of illustrations. page a city in corea, frontispiece. corean coin, 10 coin of modern chå�-sen, 18 the founder of fuyu crossing the sungari river, 20 coin of the sam-han, or the three kingdoms, 34 coin of korai, 69 two-masted corean vessel, 75 the walls of seoul, 79 magistrate and servant, 81 corean knight of the sixteenth century, 101 styles of hair-dressing in corea, 161 a pleasure-party on the river, 196 corean village in russian territory, 211 table spread for festal occasions, 264 gentlemenâ��s garments and dress patterns, 275 thatched house near seoul, 282 battle-flag captured by the americans in 1871, 305 battle-flag captured in the han forts, 1871, 320 house and garden of a noble, 355 breech-loading cannon of corean manufacture, 382 the entering wedge of civilization, 407 i. ancient and mediã�val history corea: the hermit nation. chapter i. the corean peninsula. corea, though unknown even by name in europe until the sixteenth century, was the subject of description by arab geographers of the middle ages. before the peninsula was known as a political unit, the envoys of shinra, one of the three corean states, and those from persia met face to face before the throne of china. the arab merchants trading to chinese ports crossed the yellow sea, visited the peninsula, and even settled there. the youths of shinra, sent by their sovereign to study the arts of war and peace at nanking, the mediã¦val capitol of china, may often have seen and talked with the merchants of bagdad and damascus. the corean term for mussulmans is hoi-hoi, â��round and roundâ�� men. corean art shows the undoubted influence of persia. a very interesting passage in the chronicles of japan, while illustrating the sensitive regard of the japanese for the forms of etiquette, shows another point of contact between corean and saracen civilization. it occurs in the nihon o dai ichi ran, or â��a view of the imperial family of japan.â�� â��in the first month of the sixth year of tempiå� shå�hå� [february, 754 a.d.], the japanese nobles ohan no komaro and kibi no mabi returned from china, in which country they had left fujiwara no seiga. the former reported that at the audience which they had of the emperor gen-sho, on new tearâ��s day [january 18th], the ambassadors of towan [thibet] occupied the first place to the west, those from shinra the first place to the east, and that the second place to the west had been destined for them (the japanese envoys), and the second place to the east for the ambassadors of the kingdom of dai shoku [persia, then part of the empire of the caliphs]. komaro, offended with this arrangement, asked why the chinese should give precedence over them to the envoys of shinra, a state which had long been tributary to japan. the chinese officials, impressed alike with the firmness and displeasure exhibited by komaro, assigned to the japanese envoys a place above those of persia and to the envoys of shinra a place above those of thibet.â�� thus the point at issue was settled, by avoiding it, and assigning equal honor to shinra and japan. this incident alone shows that close communications were kept up between the far east and the west of asia, and that corea was known beyond chinese asia. at that time the boundaries of the two empires, the arab and the chinese, touched each other. the first notice of corea in western books or writings occurs in the works of khordadbeh, an arab geographer of the ninth century, in his book of roads and provinces. he is thus quoted by richthofen in his work on china (p. 575, note): â��what lies on the other side of china is unknown land. but high mountains rise up densely across from kantu. these lie over in the land of sila, which is rich in gold. mussulmans who visit this country often allow themselves, through the advantages of the same, to be induced to settle here. they export from thence ginseng, deerhorn, aloes, camphor, nails, saddles, porcelain, satin, zimmit (cinnamon?) and galanga (ginger?).â�� richthofen rightly argues that sila is shinra and kantu is the promontory province of shantung. this arabic term â��silaâ�� is a corruption of shinraâ��the predominant state in corea at the time of khordadbeh. the name of this kingdom was pronounced by the japanese, shinra, and by the chinese, sinloâ��the latter easily altered in arabic mouths to sila. the european name corea is derived from the japanese term korai (chinese kaoli), the name of another state in the peninsula, rival to shinra. it was also the official title of the nation from the eleventh to the fourteenth century. the portuguese, who were the first navigators of the yellow sea, brought the name to europe, calling the country coria, whence the english corea. the french jesuits at peking gallicized this into corã©e. following the genius of their language, they call it la corã©e, just as they speak of england as lâ��angleterre, germany as lâ��allemagne, and america as lâ��amã©rique. hence has arisen the curious designation, used even by english writers, of this peninsula as â��the corea.â�� but what is good french in this case is very bad english, and we should no more say â��the coreaâ�� than â��the germany,â�� â��the england,â�� or â��the america.â�� english usage forbids the employment of the definite article before a proper name, and those writers who persist in prefixing the definite article to the proper name corea are either ignorant of the significance of the word, or knowingly violate the laws of the english language. the native name of the country is chå�-sen (morning calm or fresh morning), which french writers, always prodigal in the use of vowels, spell tsio-sen, teo-cen, or tchao-sian. the chinese call it tung-kwo (eastern kingdom), and the manchius, sol-ho or solbo. the peninsula, with its outlying islands, is nearly equal in size to minnesota or to great britain. its area is between eighty and ninety thousand square miles. its coast line measures 1,740 miles. in general shape and relative position to the asian continent it resembles florida. it hangs down between the middle kingdom and the sunrise land, separating the sea of japan and the yellow sea, between the 34th and 43d parallels of north latitude. in its general configuration, when looked at from the westward on a good map, especially the magnificent one made by the japanese war department, chå�-sen resembles the outspread wings of a headless butterfly, the lobes of the wings being toward china, and their tops toward japan. legend, tradition, and geological indications lead us to believe that anciently the chinese promontory and province of shantung and the corean peninsula were connected, and that dry land once covered the space filled by the waters joining the gulf of pechili and the yellow sea. these waters are so shallow that the elevation of their bottoms but a few feet would restore their area to the land surface of the globe. on the other side, also, the sea of japan is very shallow, and the straits of corea, at their greatest depth, have but eighty-three feet of water. that portion of the chinese province of shing king, or southern manchuria, bordering the sea, is a great plain, or series of flats elevated but a few feet above tide water, which becomes nearly impassable during heavy rains. a marked difference is noted between the east and west coasts of the peninsula. the former is comparatively destitute of harbors, and the shore is high, monotonous, and but slightly indented or fringed with islands. it contains but three provinces. on the west coast are five provinces, and the sea is thickly strewn with islands, harbors and landing places, while navigable rivers are more numerous. the â��corean archipelagoâ�� contains an amazing number of fertile and inhabited islands and islets rising out of deep water. they are thus described by the naturalist arthur adams: â��leaving the huge, cone-like island of quelpaert in the distance, the freshening breeze bears us gallantly toward those unknown islands which form the archipelago of korea. as you approach them you look from the deck of the vessel and you see them dotting the wide, blue, boundless plain of the seaâ��groups and clusters of islands stretching away into the far distance. far as the eye can reach, their dark masses can be faintly discerned, and as we close, one after another, the bold outlines of their mountain peaks stand out clearly against the cloudless sky. the water from which they seem to arise is so deep around them that a ship can almost range up alongside them. the rough, gray granite and basaltic cliffs, of which they are composed, show them to be only the rugged peaks of submerged mountain masses which have been rent, in some great convulsion of nature, from the peninsula which stretches into the sea from the main land. you gaze upward and see the weird, fantastic outline which some of their torn and riven peaks present. in fact, they have assumed such peculiar forms as to have suggested to navigators characteristic names. here, for example, stands out the fretted, crumbling towers of one called windsor castle, there frowns a noble rock-ruin, the monastery, and here again, mounting to the skies, the abbey peak. â��some of the islands of this archipelago are very lofty, and one was ascertained to boast of a naked granite peak more than two thousand feet above the level of the sea. many of the summits are crowned with a dense forest of conifers, dark trees, very similar in appearance to scotch firs.â�� the king of corea may well be called â��sovereign of ten thousand isles.â�� almost the only striking feature of the inland physical geography of chå�-sen, heretofore generally known, is that chain of mountains which traverses the peninsula from north to south, not in a straight line, but in an exceedingly sinuous course, similar to the tacking of a ship when sailing in the eye of the wind. as the coreans say, â��it winds out and in ninety-nine times.â�� striking out from manchuria it trends eastward to the sea at cape bruat on the 41st parallel, thence it strikes southwest about eighty miles to the region west of broughtonâ��s bay (the narrowest part of corea), whence it bears westward to the sea at the 37th parallel, or cape pelissier, where its angle culminates in the lofty mountain peaks named by the russians mount popoffâ��after the inventor of the high turret ships. from this point it throws off a fringe of lesser hills to the southward while the main chain strikes southwest, and after forming the boundary between two most southern provinces reaches the sea near the amherst isles. nor does its course end here, for the uncounted islands of the archipelago, with their fantastic rock-ruins and perennial greenery, that suggest deserted castles and abbeys mantled with ivy, are but the wave-worn and shattered remnants of this lordly range. this chief feature in the physical geography of the peninsula determines largely its configuration, climate, river system and watershed, political divisions, and natural barriers. speaking roughly, eastern corea is a mountainous ridge of which western corea is but the slope. no river of any importance is found inside the peninsula east of these mountains, except the nak-tong, which drains the valley formed by the interior and the sea-coast ranges, while on the westward slope ten broad streams collect the tribute of their melted snows to enrich the valleys of five provinces. through seven parallels of latitude this range fronts the sea of japan with a coast barrier which, except at yung-hing bay, is nearly destitute of harbors. its timbered heights present a wall of living green to the mariner sailing from vladivostok to shanghai. great differences of climate in the same latitude are observed on opposite sides of this mountain range, which has various local epithets. from their height and the permanence of their winter covering, the word â��whiteâ�� forms an oft-recurring part of their names. the division of the country into eight då�, or provinces, which are grouped in southern, central, and northern, is based mainly on the river basins. the rainfall in nearly every province finds an outlet on its own sea-border. only the western slopes of the two northeastern provinces are exceptions to this rule, since they discharge part of their waters into streams emptying beyond their boundaries. the yalu, and the hanâ��â��the riverâ��â��are the only streams whose sources lie beyond their own provinces. in rare instances are the rivers known by the same word along their whole length, various local names being applied by the people of different neighborhoods. on the maps in this work only the name most commonly given to each stream near its mouth is printed. in respect to the sea basins, three provinces on the west coast form one side of the depression called the yellow sea basin, of which northeastern china forms the opposite rim. the three eastern då�, or circuits, lining the sea of japan, make the concave in the sea basin to which japan offers the corresponding edge. the entire northern boundary of the peninsula from sea to gulf, except where the colossal peak paik-tu (â��white headâ��) forms the water-shed, is one vast valley in which lie the basins of the yalu and tumen. corea is, in reality, an island, as the following description of white head mountain, obtained from the journal of the chinese ambassador to seoul, shows. this mountain has two summits, one facing north, the other east. on the top is a lake thirty ri around. in shape the peak is that of a colossal white vase open to the sky, and fluted or scolloped round the edge like the vases of chinese porcelain. its crater, white on the outside, is red, with whitish veins, inside. snow and ice clothe the sides, sometimes as late as june. on the side of the north, there issues a runnel, a yard in depth, which falls in a cascade and forms the source of the (tumen) river. three or four ri from the summit of the mountain the stream divides into two parts; one is the source of the yalu river. in general, it may be said to dwellers in the temperate zone that the climate of corea is excellent, bracing in the north, and in the south tempered by the ocean breezes of summer. the winters in the higher latitudes are not more rigorous than in the state of new york; while, in the most southern, they are as delightful as those in the carolinas. in so mountainous and sea-girt a country there are, of course, great climatic varieties even in the same provinces. as compared with european countries of the same latitude, corea is much colder in winter and hotter in summer. in the north, the tumen river is usually frozen during five months in the year. the han river at seoul may be crossed on ice during two or three months. even in the southern provinces, deep snows cover the mountains, though the plains are usually free, rarely holding the snow during a whole day. the lowest point to which the mercury fell, in the observation of the french missionaries, was at the 35th parallel of latitude 8â° and at the 37th parallel 15â° (f.). the most delightful seasons in the year are spring and autumn. in summer, in addition to the great heat, the rain falls often in torrents that blockade the roads and render travelling and transport next to impossible. toward the end of september occurs the period of tempests and variable winds. a glance at the fauna of corea suggests at once india, europe, massachusetts, and florida. in the forests, especially of the two northern circuits, tigers of the largest size and fiercest aspect abound. when food fails them, they attack human habitations, and the annual list of victims is very large. the leopard is common. there are several species of deer, which furnish not only hides and venison, but horns which, when â��in velvet,â�� are highly prized as medicine. in the fauna are included bears, wild hogs and the common pigs of stunted breed, wild cats, badgers, foxes, beavers, otters, several species of martens. the salamander is found in the streams, as in western japan. of domestic beasts, horses are very numerous, being mostly of a short, stunted breed. immense numbers of oxen are found in the south, furnishing the meat diet craved by the people who eat much more of fatty stuff than the japanese. goats are rare. sheep are imported from china only for sacrificial purposes. the dog serves for food as well as for companionship and defence. of birds, the pheasant, falcon, eagle, crane, and stork, are common. corea has for centuries successfully carried out the policy of isolation. instead of a peninsula, her rulers have striven to make her an inaccessible island, and insulate her from the shock of change. she has built not a great wall of masonry, but a barrier of sea and river-flood, of mountain and devastated land, of palisades and cordons of armed sentinels. frost and snow, storm and winter, she hails as her allies. not content with the sea-border she desolates her shores lest they tempt the mariner to land. between her chinese neighbor and herself, she has placed a neutral space of unplanted, unoccupied land. this strip of forests and desolated plains, twenty leagues wide, stretches between corea and manchuria. to form it, four cities and many villages were suppressed three centuries ago, and left in ruins. the soil of these solitudes is very good, the roads easy, and the hills not high. for centuries, only the wild beasts, fugitives from justice, and outlaws from both countries, have inhabited this fertile but forbidden territory. occasionally, borderers would cultivate portions of it, but gather the produce by night or stealthily by day, venturing on it as prisoners would step over the â��dead line.â�� of late years, the chinese government has respected the neutrality of this barrier less and less. one of those recurring historical phenomena peculiar to manchuriaâ��the increase and pressure of populationâ��has within a generation caused the occupation of large portions of this neutral strip. parts of it have been surveyed and staked out by chinese surveyors, and the corean government has been too feeble to prevent the occupation. though no towns or villages are marked on the map of this â��no-manâ��s land,â�� yet already, a considerable number of small settlements exist upon it. as this once neutral territory is being gradually obliterated, so the former lines of palisades and stone walls on the northern border which, two centuries and more ago, were strong, high, guarded and kept in repair, have year by year, during a long era of peace, been suffered to fall into decay. they exist no longer, and should be erased from the maps. the pressure of population in manchuria upon the corean border is a portentous phenomenon. for manchuria, which for ages past has, like a prolific hive, swarmed off masses of humanity into other lands, seems again preparing to send off a fresh cloud. already her millions press upon her neighbors for room. the clock of history seems once more about to strike, perhaps to order again another dynasty on the oft-changed throne of china. from mysterious mongolia, have gone out in the past the various hordes called tartars, or tã¢tars, huns, turks, kitans, mongols, manchius. perhaps her loins also are already swelling with a new progeny. this marvellous region gave forth the man-children who destroyed the roman empire; who extinguished christianity in asia and africa, and nearly in europe; who, after conquering india and china threatened christendom, and holding russia for two centuries, created the largest empire ever known on earth; and finally reared â��the most improvable race in asiaâ�� that now holds the throne and empire of china. chå�-sen since acting the hermit policy of ancient egypt and mediã¦val china, has preserved two loopholes at fusan and ai-chiu, the former on the sea toward japan, and the latter in the northwest, on the chinese border. what in time of peace is a needleâ��s eye, is in time of war a flood-gate for enemies. from the west, the invading armies of china have again and again marched around over the gulf of liao tung and entered the peninsula to plunder and to conquer, while chinese fleets from shan-tung have over and over again arched their sails in the yellow sea to furl them again in corean rivers. from the east, the japanese have pushed across the sea to invade corea as enemies, to help as allies against china, to levy tribute and go away enriched, or anon to send their grain-laden ships to their starving neighbors. from a political point of view the geographical position of this country is most unfortunate. placed between two rival nations, aliens in blood, temper, and policy, chå�-sen has been the rich grist between the upper and nether millstones of china and japan. out of the north, rising from the vast plains at manchuria, the conquering hordes, on their way to the prize lying south of the great wall, have over and over again descended on corean soil to make it their granary. from the pre-historic forays of the tribes beyond the sungari, to the last new actors on the scene, the russians, who stand with their feet on the tumen, looking over the border on her helpless neighbor, corea has been threatened or devastated by her eager enemies. nevertheless corea has always remained corea, a separate country; and the people are coreans, more allied to the japanese than the chinese, yet in language, politics, and social customs, different from either. as ireland is not england or scotland, neither is chå�-sen china nor japan. in her boasted history of â��four thousand years,â�� the little kingdom has too often been the ireland of china, so far as misgovernment on the one side, and fretful and spasmodic resistance on the other, are considered. yet ancient corea has also been an ireland to japan, in the better sense of giving to her the art, letters, science, and ethics of continental civilization. as of old, went forth from taraâ��s halls to the british isles and the continent, the bard and the monk to elevate and civilize europe with the culture of rome and the religion of christianity, so for centuries there crossed the sea from the peninsula a stream of scholars, artists, and missionaries who brought to japan the social culture of chå�-sen, the literature of china, and the religion of india. a grateful bonze of japan has well told the story of coreaâ��s part in the civilization of his native country in a book entitled â��precious jewels from a neighbor country.â�� corea fulfils one of the first conditions of national safety in having â��scientific frontiers,â�� or adequate natural boundaries of river, mountain, and sea. but now what was once barrier is highway. what was once the safety of isolation, is now the weakness of the recluse. steam has made the water a surer path than land, and japan, once the pupil and anon the conqueror of the little kingdom, has in these last days become the helpful friend of coreaâ��s people, and the opener of the long-sealed peninsula. already the friendly whistle of japanese steamers is heard in the harbors of two ports in which are trading settlements. at fusan and gensan, the mikadoâ��s subjects hold commercial rivalry with the coreans, and through these two loopholes the hermits of the peninsula catch glimpses of the outer world that must waken thought and create a desire to enter the family of nations. the ill fame of the native character for inhospitality and hatred of foreigners belongs not to the people, nor is truly characteristic of them. it inheres in the government which curses country and people, and in the ruling classes who, like those in old japan, do not wish the peasantry to see the inferiority of those who govern them. corea cannot long remain a hermit nation. the near future will see her open to the world. commerce and pure christianity will enter to elevate her people, and the student of science, ethnology, and language will find a tempting field on which shall be solved many a yet obscure problem. the forbidden land of to-day is, in many striking points of comparison, the analogue of old japan. while the last of the hermit nations awaits some gallant perry of the future, we may hope that the same brilliant path of progress on which the sunrise kingdom has entered, awaits the land of morning calm. we add a postscript. as our manuscript turns to print, we hear of the treaty successfully negotiated by commodore shufeldt. chapter ii. the old kingdom of chå�-sen. like almost every country on earth, whose history is known, corea is inhabited by a race that is not aboriginal. the present occupiers of the land drove out or conquered the people whom they found upon it. they are the descendants of a stock whose ancestral seats were beyond those ever white mountains which buttress the northern frontier. nevertheless, for the origins of their national history, we must look to one whom the coreans of this nineteenth century still call the founder of their social order. the scene of his labors is laid partly within the peninsula, and chiefly in manchuria, on the well watered plains of shing-king, formerly called liao tung. the third dynasty of the thirty-three or thirty-four lines of rulers who have filled the oft-changed throne of china, is known in history as the shang (or yin). it began b.c. 1766, and after a line of twenty-eight sovereigns, ended in chow sin, who died b.c. 1122. he was an unscrupulous tyrant, and has been called â��the nero of china.â�� one of his nobles was ki tsze, viscount of ki (or latinized, kicius). he was a profound scholar and author of important portions of the classic book, entitled the shu king. he was a counsellor of the tyrant king, and being a man of upright character, was greatly scandalized at the conduct of his licentious and cruel master. the sage remonstrated with his sovereign hoping to turn him from his evil ways. in this noble purpose he was assisted by two other men of rank named pi kan and wei tsze. all their efforts were of no avail, and finding the reformation of the tyrant hopeless, wei tsze, though a kinsman of the king, voluntarily exiled himself from the realm, while pi kan, also a relative of chow sin, was cruelly murdered in the following manner: the king, mocking the wise counsellor, cried out, â��they say that a sage has seven orifices to his heart; let us see if this is the case with pi kan.â�� this chinese monarch, himself so much like herod in other respects, had a wife who in her character resembled herodias. it was she who expressed the bloody wish to see the heart of pi kan. by the imperial order the sage was put to death and his body ripped open. his heart, torn out, was brought before the cruel pair. ki tsze, the third counsellor, was cast into prison. meanwhile the people and nobles of the empire were rising in arms against the tyrant whose misrule had become intolerable. they were led on by one wu wang, who crossed the yellow river, and met the tyrant on the plains of muh. in the great battle that ensued, the army of chow sin was defeated. escaping to his palace, and ordering it to be set on fire, he perished in the flames. among the conquerorâ��s first acts was the erection of a memorial mound over the grave of pi kan, and an order that ki tsze should be released from prison, and appointed prime minister of the realm. but the sageâ��s loyalty exceeded his gratitude. in spite of the magnanimity of the offer, ki tsze frankly told the conqueror that duty to his deposed sovereign forbade him serving one whom he could not but regard as a usurper. he then departed into the regions lying to the northeast. with him went several thousand chinese emigrants, mostly the remnant of the defeated army, now exiles, who made him their king. it is not probable that in his distant realm he received investment from or paid tribute to king wu. such an act would be a virtual acknowledgment of the righteousness of rebellion and revolution. it would prove that the sage forgave the usurper. some chinese historians state that ki tsze accepted a title from wu wang. others maintain that the investiture â��was a euphemism to shield the character of the ancestor of confucius.â�� the migration of ki tsze and his followers took place 1122 b.c. ki tsze began vigorously to reduce the aboriginal people of his realm to order. he policed the borders, gave laws to his subjects, and gradually introduced the principles and practice of chinese etiquette and polity throughout his domain. previous to his time the people lived in caves and holes in the ground, dressed in leaves, and were destitute of manners, morals, agriculture and cooking, being ignorant savages. the divine being, dan kun, had partially civilized them, but kishi, who brought 5,000 chinese colonists with him, taught the aborigines letters, reading and writing, medicine, many of the arts, and the political principles of feudal china. the japanese pronounce the founderâ��s name kishi, and the coreans kei-tsa or kysse. the name conferred by kishi, the civilizer, upon his new domain is that now in use by the modern coreansâ��chå�-sen or morning calm. this ancient kingdom of chå�-sen, according to the coreans, comprised the modern chinese province of shing-king, which is now about the size of ohio, having an area of 43,000 square miles, and a population of 8,000,000 souls. it is entirely outside and west of the limits of modern corea. in addition to the space already named, the fluctuating boundaries of this ancient kingdom embraced at later periods much territory beyond the liao river toward peking, and inside the line now marked by the great wall. to the east the modern province of ping-an was included in chå�-sen, the ta-tong river being its most stable boundary. â��scientific frontiers,â�� though sought for in those ancient times, were rather ideal than hard and fast. with all due allowance for elastic boundaries, we may say that ancient chå�-sen lay chiefly within the liao tung peninsula and the corean province of ping-an, that the liao and the ta-tong rivers enclosed it, and that its northern border lay along the 42d parallel of latitude. the descendants of ki tsze are said to have ruled the country until the fourth century before the christian era. their names and deeds are alike unknown, but it is stated that there were forty-one generations, making a blood-line of eleven hundred and thirty-one years. the line came to an end in 9 a.d., though they had lost power long before this time. by common consent of chinese and native tradition, ki tsze is the founder of corean social order. if this tradition be true, the civilization of the hermit nation nearly equals, in point of time, that of china, and is one of the very oldest in the world, being contemporaneous with that of egypt and chaldea. it is certain that the natives plume themselves upon their antiquity, and that the particular vein of corean arrogance and contempt for western civilization is kindred to that of the hindoos and chinese. from the lofty height of thirty centuries of tradition, which to them is unchallenged history, they look with pitying contempt upon the upstart nations of yesterday, who live beyond the sea under some other heaven. when the american admiral, john rodgers, in 1871, entered the han river with his fleet, hoping to make a treaty, he was warned off with the repeated answer that â��corea was satisfied with her civilization of four thousand years, and wanted no other.â�� the perpetual text of all letters from seoul to peking, of all proclamations against christianity, of all death-warrants of converts, and of the oft-repeated refusals to open trade with foreigners is the praise of ki tsze as the founder of the virtue and order of â��the little kingdom,â�� and the loyalty of corea to his doctrines. in the letter of the king to the chinese emperor, dated november 25, 1801, the language following the opening sentence is as given below: â��his imperial majesty knows that since the time when the remnants of the army of the yin dynasty migrated to the east [1122 b.c.], the little kingdom has always been distinguished by its exactness in fulfilling all that the rites prescribe, justice and loyalty, and in general by fidelity to her duties,â�� etc., etc. in a royal proclamation against the christian religion, dated january 25, 1802, occurs the following sentence: â��the kingdom granted to ki tsze has enjoyed great peace during four hundred years [since the establishment of the ruling dynasty], in all the extent of its territory of two thousand ri and more,â�� etc. these are but specimens from official documents which illustrate their pride in antiquity, and the reverence in which their first law giver is held by the coreans. nevertheless, though kishi may possibly be called the founder of ancient chå�-sen, and her greatest legislator, yet he can scarcely be deemed the ancestor of the people now inhabiting the corean peninsula. for the modern coreans are descended from a stock of later origin, and quite different from the ancient chå�-senese. from ki tsze, however, sprang a line of kings, and it is possible that his blood courses in some of the noble families of the kingdom. as the most ancient traditions of japan and corea are based on chinese writings, there is no discrepancy in their accounts of the beginning of chå�-sen history. ki tsze and his colonists were simply the first immigrants to the country northeast of china, of whom history speaks. he found other people on the soil before him, concerning whose origin nothing is known in writing. the land was not densely populated, but of their numbers, or time of coming of the aborigines, or whether of the same race as the tribes in the outlying islands of japan, no means yet in our power can give answer. even the story of ki tsze, when critically examined, does not satisfy the rigid demands of modern research. mayers, in his â��chinese readerâ��s manualâ�� (p. 369), does not concede the first part of the chow dynasty (1122 b.c.â��255 a.d.) to be more than semi-historical, and places the beginning of authentic chinese history between 781 and 719 b.c., over four centuries after ki tszeâ��s time. ross (p. 11) says that â��the story of kitsu is not impossible, but it is to be received with suspicion.â�� it is not at all improbable that the chå�-sen of ki tszeâ��s founding lay in the sungari valley, and was extended southward at a later period. it is not for us to dissect too critically the tradition concerning the founder of corea, nor to locate exactly the scene of his labors. suffice it to say that the general history, prior to the christian era, of the country whose story we are to tell, divides itself into that of the north, or chå�-sen, and that of the south, below the ta-tong river, in which region three kingdoms arose and flourished, with varying fortunes, during a millennium. we return now to the well-established history of chå�-sen. the great wall of china was built by cheng, the founder of the tsin dynasty (b.c. 255â��209), who began the work in 239 a.d. before his time, china had been a feudal conglomerate of petty, warring kingdoms. he, by the power of the sword, consolidated them into one homogeneous empire and took the title of the â��first universal emperorâ�� (shi whang ti). not content with sweeping away feudal institutions, and building the great wall, he ordered all the literary records and the ancient scriptures of confucius to be destroyed by fire. yet the empire, whose perpetuity he thought to secure by building a rampart against the barbarians without, and by destroying the material for rebellious thought within, fell to pieces soon after, at his death, when left to the care of a foolish son, and china was plunged into bloody anarchy again. one of these petty kingdoms that arose on the ruins of the empire was that of yen, which began to encroach upon its eastern neighbor chå�-sen. in the later days of the ki tsze family, great anarchy prevailed, and the last kings of the line were unable to keep their domain in order, or guard its boundaries. taking advantage of its weakness, the king of yen began boldly and openly to seize upon chå�-sen territory, annexing thousands of square miles to his own domain. by a spasmodic effort, the successors of ki tsze again became ascendant, reannexing a large part of the territory of yen, and receiving great numbers of her people, who had fled from civil war in china, within the borders of chå�-sen for safety and peace. thus the spoiler was spoiled, but, later on, the kingdom of yen was again set up, and the rival states fixed their boundaries and made peace. the han dynasty in b.c. 206 claimed the imperial power, and sent a summons to the king of yen to become vassal. on his refusing, the chinese emperor despatched an army against him, defeated his forces in battle, extinguished his dynasty, and annexed his kingdom. one of the survivors of this revolt, named wei-man, with one thousand of his followers, fled to the east. dressing themselves like wild savages they entered chå�-sen, pretending, with gibeonitish craft, that they had come from the far west, and begged to be received as subjects. kijun, the king, like another joshua, believing their professions, welcomed them and made their leader a vassal of high rank, with the title of â��guardian of the western frontier.â�� he also set apart a large tract of land for his salary and support. in his post at the west, wei-man played the traitor, and collecting a number of his former countrymen from the yen province, suddenly sent to kijun a messenger, informing him that a large chinese army of the conquering han was about to invade chå�-sen. at the same time, he suggested that he should be called to the royal side and be made protector of the capital. his desire being granted, he hastened with his forces and suddenly appearing before the royal castle, attacked it. kijun was beaten, and fled by sea, escaping in a boat to the southern end of the peninsula. wei-man then proclaimed himself king of chå�-sen, 194 b.c. he set out on a career of conquest and seized several of the neighboring provinces, and chå�-sen again expanded her boundaries to cover an immense area. wei-man built a city somewhere east of the ta-tong river. it was named wang-hien. two provinces of modern corea were thus included within chå�-sen at this date. the new kingdom grew in wealth, power, and intelligence. many thousands of the chinese gentry, fleeing before the conquering arms of the han â��usurpers,â�� settled within the limits of chå�-sen, adding greatly to its prosperity. during the reign of yukio (chinese, yow jin), the grandson of wei-man, he received a summons to become vassal to the chinese emperor, who sublimely declared that henceforward the eastern frontier of china should be the ta-tong riverâ��thus virtually wiping out chå�-sen with a proclamation. in b.c. 109, a chinese ambassador sailed over from china, entered the ta-tong river, and visited yukio in his castle. he plead in vain with yukio to render homage to his master. nevertheless, to show his respect for the emperor and his envoy, yukio sent an escort to accompany the latter on his way. the sullen chinaman, angry at his defeat, accepted the safe conduct of the chå�-sen troops until beyond the ta-tong river, and then treacherously put their chief to death. hurrying back to his master, he glossed over his defeat, and boasted of his perfidious murder. he was rewarded with the appointment of the governorship of liao tung. smarting at the insult and menace of this act, yukio, raising an army, marched to the west and slew the traitor. having thus unfurled the standard of defiance against the mighty han dynasty, he returned to his castle, and awaited with anxious preparation the coming of the invading hosts which he knew would be hurled upon him from china. the avenging expedition, that was to carry the banners of china farther toward the sunrise than ever before, was despatched both by land and sea, b.c. 108. the horse and foot soldiers took the land route around the head of liao tung gulf, crossed on the ice of the yalu river, and marched south to the ta-tong, where the chå�-sen men attacked their van and scattered it. the fleet sailed over from shantung, and landed a force of several thousand men on the corean shore, in february or march, b.c. 107. without waiting for the entire army to penetrate the country, yukio attacked the advance guards and drove them to the mountains in disorder. diplomacy was now tried, and a representative of the emperor was sent to treat with yukio. the latter agreed to yield and become vassal, but had no confidence in the general whom he had just defeated. his memory of chinese perfidy was still so fresh, that he felt unable to trust himself to his recently humbled enemies, and the negotiations ended in failure. as usual, with the unsuccessful, the chinaman lost his head. recourse was again had to the sword. the chinese crossed the ta-tong river on the north, and defeating the chå�-sen army, marched to the kingâ��s capital, and laid siege to it in conjunction with the naval forces. in spite of their superior numbers, the invaders were many months vainly beleaguering the fortress. yet, though the garrison wasted daily, the king would not yield. knowing that defeat, with perhaps a cruel massacre, awaited them, four chå�-sen men, awaiting their opportunity, during the fighting, discharged their weapons at yukio, and leaving him dead, opened the gates of the citadel, and the chinese entered. with the planting of the han banners on the city walls, b.c. 107, the existence of the kingdom of chå�-sen came to an end. henceforth, for several centuries, liao tung and the land now comprised within the two northwestern provinces of corea, were parts of china. the conquered territory was at once divided into four provinces, two of which comprised that part of corea north of the ta-tong river. the other two were in liao tung, occupying its eastern and its western half. within the latter was the district of kokorai, or kaokuli, at whose history we shall now glance. chapter iii. the fuyu race and their migrations. somewhere north of that vast region watered by the sungari river, itself only a tributary to the amur, there existed, according to chinese tradition, in very ancient times, a petty kingdom called korai, or to-li. out of this kingdom sprang the founder of the corean race. slightly altering names, we may say in the phrase of genesis: â��out of korai went forth ko and builded corea,â�� though what may be sober fact is wrapped up in the following fantastic legend. long, long ago, in the kingdom called to-li, or korai (so pronounced, though the characters are not those for the korai of later days), there lived a king, in whose harem was a waiting-maid. one day, while her master was absent on a hunt, she saw, floating in the atmosphere, a glistening vapor which entered her bosom. this ray or tiny cloud seemed to be about as big as an egg. under its influence, she conceived. the king, on his return, discovered her condition, and made up his mind to put her to death. upon her explanation, however, he agreed to spare her life, but at once lodged her in prison. the child that was born proved to be a boy, which the king promptly cast among the pigs. but the swine breathed into his nostrils and the baby lived. he was next put among the horses, but they also nourished him with their breath, and he lived. struck by this evident will of heaven, that the child should live, the king listened to its motherâ��s prayers, and permitted her to nourish and train him in the palace. he grew up to be a fair youth, full of energy, and skilful in archery. he was named â��light of the east,â�� and the king appointed him master of his stables. one day, while out hunting, the king permitted him to give an exhibition of his skill this he did, drawing bow with such unerring aim that the royal jealousy was kindled, and he thought of nothing but how to compass the destruction of the youth. knowing that he would be killed if he remained in the royal service, the young archer fled the kingdom. he directed his course to the southeast, and came to the borders of a vast and impassable river, most probably the sungari. knowing his pursuers were not far behind him he cried out, in a great strait, â��alas! shall i, who am the child of the sun, and the grandson of the yellow river, be stopped here powerless by this stream.â�� so saving he shot his arrows at the water. immediately all the fishes of the river assembled together in a thick shoal, making so dense a mass that their bodies became a floating bridge. on this, the young prince (and according to the japanese version of the legend, three others with him), crossed the stream and safely reached the further side. no sooner did he set foot on land than his pursuers appeared on the opposite shore, when the bridge of fishes at once dissolved. his three companions stood ready to act as his guides. one of the three was dressed in a costume made of sea-weeds, a second in hempen garments, and a third in embroidered robes. arriving at their city, he became the king of the tribe and kingdom of fuyu, which lay in the fertile and well-watered region between the sungari river and the shan alyn, or ever-white mountains. it extended several hundred miles east and west of a line drawn southward through kirin, the larger half lying on the west. fuyu, as described by a chinese writer of the eastern han dynasty (25 b.c.â��190 a.d.), was a land of fertile soil, in which â��the five cerealsâ�� (wheat, rice, millet, beans, and sorghum) could be raised. the men were tall, muscular, and brave, and withal generous and courteous to each other. their arms were bows and arrows, swords, and lances. they were skilful horsemen. their ornaments were large pearls, and cut jewels of red jade. they made spirits from grain, and were fond of drinking bouts, feasting, dancing, and singing. with many drinkers there were few cups. the latter were rinsed in a bowl of water, and with great ceremony passed from one to another. they ate with chopsticks, out of bowls, helping themselves out of large dishes. it is a striking fact that the fuyu people, though living so far from china, were dwellers in cities which they surrounded with palisades or walls of stakes. they lived in wooden houses, and stored their crops in granaries. in the administration of justice, they were severe and prompt. they had regular prisons, and fines were part of their legal system. the thief must repay twelve-fold. adultery was punished by the death of both parties. further revenge might be taken upon the woman by exposing her dead body on a mound. certain relatives of a criminal were denied burial in a coffin. the other members of the family of a criminal suffering capital punishment were sold as slaves. murderers were buried alive with their victims. the fuyu religion was a worship of heaven, their greatest festival being in the eleventh month, when they met joyfully together, laying aside all grudges and quarrels, and freeing their prisoners. before setting out on a military expedition they worshipped heaven, and sacrificed an ox, examining the hoof, to obtain an omen. if the cloven part remained separated, the portent was evil, if the hoof closed together, the omen was auspicious. the fuyu chief men or rulers were named after the domestic beasts, beginning with their noblest animal, the horse, then the ox, the dog, etc. rulers of cities were of this order. their king was buried at his death in a coffin made of jade. evidently the fuyu people were a vigorous northern race, well clothed and fed, rich in grain, horses and cattle, possessing the arts of life, with considerable literary culture, and well advanced in social order and political knowledge. though the chinese writers classed them among barbarians, they were, in contrast with their immediate neighbors, a civilized nation. indeed, to account for such a high stage of civilization thus early and so far from china, mr. ross suggests that the scene of the ki tszeâ��s labors was in fuyu, rather than in chå�-sen. certain it is that the fuyu people were the first nation of manchuria to emerge from barbarism, and become politically well organized. it is significant, as serving to support the conjecture that ki tsze founded fuyu, that we discern, even in the early history of this vigorous nation, the institution of feudalism. we find a king and nobles, with fortified cities, and wealthy men, with farms, herds of horses, cattle, and granaries. we find also a class of serfs, created by the degradation of criminals or their relatives. the other manchurian people, or barbarians, surrounding china, were still in the nomadic or patriarchal state. why so early beyond china do we find a well-developed feudal system and high political organization? it was from feudal china, the china of the yin dynasty, from which ki tsze emigrated to the northeast. knowing no other form of government, he, if their founder, doubtless introduced feudal forms of government. whatever may be thought of the theory there suggested, it is certainly surprising to find a distinctly marked feudal system, already past the rudimentary stage, in the wilderness of manchuria, a thousand miles away from the seats of chinese culture, as early as the christian era. as nearly the whole of europe was at some time feudalized, so china, corea, and japan have each passed through this stage of political life. the feudal system in china was abolished by shi whang ti, the first universal emperor, b.c. 221, but that of japan only after an interval of 2,000 years, surviving until 1871. it lingers still in corea, whose history it has greatly influenced, as our subsequent narrative will prove. in addition to the usual features of feudalism, the existence of serfdom, in fact as well as in form, is proved by the testimony of dutch and french observers, and of the language itself. the richness of corean speech, in regard to every phase and degree of servitude, would suffice for a norman landholder in mediã¦val england, or for a carolina cotton-planter before the american civil war. out of this kingdom of fuyu came the people who are the ancestors of the modern coreans. in the same chinese history which describes fuyu, we have a picture of the kingdom of kokorai (or kao-ku-li), which had fuyu for its northern and chå�-sen for its southern neighbor. â��the land was two thousand li square, and contained many great mountains, and deep valleys.â�� there was a tradition among the eastern barbarians that they were an offshoot from fuyu. hence their language and laws were very much alike. the nation was divided into five families, named after the four points of the compass, with a yellow or central tribe. evidently this means that a few families, perhaps five in number, leaving fuyu, set out toward the south, and in the valleys west of the yalu river and along the 42d parallel, founded a new nation. their first king was ko, who, perhaps, to gain the prestige of ancient descent, joined his name to that of korai (written however with the characters which make the sound of modern korai) and thus the realm of kokorai received its name. a japanese writer derives the term kokorai from words selected out of a passage in the chinese classics referring to the high mountains. the first character ko, in kokorai, means high, and it was under the shadows of the lofty ever white mountains that this vigorous nation had its cradle and its home in youth. here, too, its warriors nourished their strength until their clouds of horsemen burst upon the frontiers of the chinese empire, and into the old kingdom of chå�-sen. the people of this young state were rich in horses and cattle, but less given to agriculture. they lived much in the open air, and were fierce, impetuous, strong, and hardy. they were fond of music and pleasure at night. especially characteristic was their love of decoration and display. at their public gatherings they decked themselves in dresses embroidered with gold and silver. their houses were also adorned in various ways. their chief display was at funerals, when a prodigal outlay of precious metals, jewels, and embroideries was exhibited. in their religion they sacrificed to heaven, to the spirits of the land, and of the harvests, to the morning star, and to the celestial and invisible powers. there were no prisons, but when crimes were committed the chiefs, after deliberation, put the criminal to death and reduced the wives and children to slavery. in this way serfs were provided for labor. in their burial customs, they made a cairn, and planted fir-trees around it, as many japanese tombs are made. in the general forms of their social, religious, and political life, the people of fuyu and kokorai were identical, or nearly so; while both closely resemble the ancient japanese of yamato. the chinese authors also state that these people were already in possession of the confucian classics, and had attained to an unusual degree of literary culture. their officials were divided into twelve ranks, which was also the ancient japanese number. in the method of divination, in the wearing of flowery costumes, and in certain forms of etiquette, they and the japanese were alike. as is now well known, the ancient form of government of the yamato japanese (that is, of the conquering race from corea and the north) was a rude feudalism and not a monarchy. further, the central part of japan, first held by the ancestors of the mikado, consists of five provinces, like the kokorai division, into five clans or tribes. at the opening of the christian era we find the people of kokorai already strong and restless enough to excite attention from the chinese court. in 9 a.d. they were recognized as a nation with their own â��kings,â�� and classified with huentu, one of the districts of old chå�-sen. one of these kings, in the year 30, sent tribute to the chinese emperor. in 50 a.d. kokorai, by invitation, sent their warriors to assist the chinese army against a rebel horde in the northwest. in a.d. 70 the men of kokorai descended upon liao tung, and having now a taste for border war and conquest, they marched into the petty kingdom of wei, which lay in what is now the extreme northeast of corea. absorbing this little country, they kept up constant warfare against the chinese. though their old kinsmen, the fuyu men, were at times allies of the han, yet they gradually spread themselves eastward and southward, so that by 169 a.d. the kokorai kingdom embraced the whole of the territory of old chå�-sen, or of liao tung, with all the corean peninsula north of the ta-tong, and even to the tumen river. this career of conquest suffered a check for a time, when a chinese expedition, sailing up the yalu river, invested the capital city of the king and defeated his army. the king fled beyond the tumen river. eight thousand people are said to have been made prisoners or slaughtered by the chinese. for a time it seemed as though kokorai were too badly crippled to move again. anarchy broke out in china, on the fall of the house of han, a.d. 220, and lasted for half a century. that period of chinese history, from 221 to 277, is called the â��epoch of the three kingdoms.â�� during this period, and until well into the fifth century, while china was rent into â��northernâ�� and â��southernâ�� divisions, the military activities of kokorai were employed with varying results against the petty kingdoms that rose and fell, one after the other, on the soil between the great wall and the yalu river. during this time the nation, free from the power and oppression of china, held her own and compacted her power. in the fifth century her warriors had penetrated nearly as far west as the modern peking in their cavalry raids. wily in diplomacy, as brave in war, they sent tribute to both of the rival claimants for the throne of china which were likely to give them trouble in the future. dropping the family name of their first king, they retained that of their ancestral home-land, and called their nation korai. meanwhile, as they multiplied in numbers, the migration of kokorai people, henceforth known as korai men, set steadily southward. weakness in china meant strength in korai. the chinese had bought peace with their eastern neighbors by titles and gifts, which left the koraians free to act against their southern neighbors. in steadily displacing these, they came into collision with the little kingdom of hiaksai, whose history will be narrated farther on. it will be seen that the korai men, people of the fuyu race, finally occupied the territory of hiaksai. already the koraians, sure of further conquest southward, fixed their capital at ping-an. in 589 a.d. the house of sui was established on the dragon throne, and a portentous message was sent to the king of korai, which caused the latter to make vigorous war preparations. evidently the chinese emperor meant to throttle the young giant of the north, while the young giant was equally determined to live. the movement of a marauding force of koraians, even to the inside of the great wall, gave the bearded dragon not only the pretext of war but of annexation. for this purpose an army of three hundred thousand men and a fleet of several hundred war-junks were prepared. the latter were to sail over from shantung, and enter the ta-tong river, the goal of the expedition being ping-an city, the koraian capital the horde started without provisions, and arrived in mid-summer at the liao river in want of food. while waiting, during the hot weather, in this malarious and muddy region, the soldiers died by tens of thousands of fever and plague. the incessant rains soon rendered the roads impassable and transport of provisions an impossibility. disease melted the mighty host away, and the army, reduced to one-fifth its numbers, was forced to retreat the war-junks fared no better, for storms in the yellow sea drove them back or foundered them by the score. such a frightful loss of life and material did not deter the next emperor, the infamous yang (who began the grand canal), from following out the scheme of his father, whom he conveniently poisoned while already dying. in spite of the raging famines and losses by flood, the emperor ordered magazines for the armies of invasion to be established near the coast, and contingents of troops for the twenty-four corps to be raised in every province. all these preparations caused local famines and drove many of the people into rebellion. this army, one of the greatest ever assembled in china, numbered over one million men. its equipment consisted largely of banners, gongs, and trumpets. the undisciplined horde began their march, aiming to reach the liao river before the hot season set in. they found the koraian army ready to dispute their passage. three bridges, hastily constructed, were thrown across the stream, on which horse and foot pressed eagerly toward the enemy. the width of the river had, however, been miscalculated and the bridges were too short, so that many thousands of the chinese were drowned or killed by the koraians, at unequal odds, while fighting on the shore. in two days, however, the bridges were lengthened and the whole force crossed over. the chinese van pursued their enemy, slaughtering ten thousand before they could gain the fortified city of liao tung. once inside their walls, however, the korai soldiers were true to their reputation of being splendid garrison fighters. instead of easy victory the chinese army lay around the city unable, even after several monthsâ�� besieging, to breach the walls or weaken the spirit of the defenders. meanwhile the other division had marched northward and eastward, according to the plan of the campaign. eight of these army corps, numbering 300,000 men, arrived and went into camp on the west bank of the yalu river. in spite of express orders to the contrary, the soldiers had thrown away most of the hundred daysâ�� rations of grain with which they started, and the commissariat was very low. the koraian commander, carrying out the fabian policy, tempted them away from their camp, and led them by skirmishing parties to within a hundred miles of ping-an. the chinese fleet lay within a few leagues of the invading army, but land and sea forces were mutually ignorant of each otherâ��s vicinity. daring not to risk the siege of a city so well fortified by nature and art as ping-an, in his present lack of supplies, the chinese general reluctantly ordered a retreat, which began in late summer, the nearest base of supplies being liao tung, four hundred miles away and through an enemyâ��s country. this was the signal for the koraians to assume the offensive, and like the cossacks, upon the army of napoleon, in russia, they hung upon the flanks of the hungry fugitives, slaughtering thousands upon thousands. when the chinese host were crossing the chin-chion river, the koraian army fell in full force upon them, and the fall of the commander of their rear-guard turned defeat into a rout. the disorderly band of fugitives rested not till well over and beyond the yalu river. of that splendid army of 300,000 men only a few thousand reached liao tung city. the weapons, spoil, and prisoners taken by the koraians were â��myriads of myriads of myriads.â�� the naval forces in the river, on hearing the amazing news of their comradesâ�� defeat, left corea and crept back to china. the chinese emperor was so enraged at the utter failure of his prodigious enterprise, that he had the fugitive officers publicly put to death as an example. in spite of the disasters of the previous year, the emperor yang, in 613, again sent an army to besiege liao tung city. on this occasion scaling ladders, 150 feet long, and towers, mounted on wheels, were used with great effect. just on the eve of the completion of their greatest work and tower the chinese camp was suddenly abandoned, the emperor being called home to put down a formidable rebellion. so cautious were the besieged and so sudden was the flight of the besiegers, that it was noon before a koraian ventured into camp, and two days elapsed before they discovered that the retreat was not feigned. then the koraian garrison attacked the chinese rear-guard with severe loss. the rebellion at home having been put down the emperor again cherished the plan of crushing korai, but other and greater insurrections broke out that required his attention; for the three expeditions against corea had wasted the empire even as they had sealed the doom of the sui dynasty. though no land forces could be spared, a new fleet was sent to corea to lay siege to ping-an city. even with large portions of his dominions in the hands of rebels, tang never gave up his plan of humbling korai. this project was the cause of the most frightful distress in china, and seeing no hope of saving the country except by the murder of the infamous emperor, coward, drunkard, tyrant, and voluptuary, a band of conspirators, headed by yã¼ min, put him to death and korai had rest. to summarize this chapter. it is possible that ki tsze was the founder of fuyu. the kokorai tribes were people who had migrated from fuyu, and settled north and west of the upper waters of the yalu river. they entered into relations with the chinese as early as 9 a.d., and coming into collision with them by the year 70, they kept up a fitful warfare with them, sustaining mighty invasions, until the seventh century, while in the meantime korai, instead of being crushed by china, grew in area and numbers until the nation had spread into the peninsula, and overrun it as far as the han river. thus far the history of corea has been that of the northern and western part of the peninsula, and has been derived chiefly from chinese sources. we turn now to the southern and eastern portions, and in narrating their history we shall point out their relations with japan as well as with china, relying largely for our information upon the japanese annals. chapter iv. sam-han, or southern corea. at the time of the suppression of chå�-sen and the incorporation of its territory with the chinese empire, b.c. 107, all corea south of the ta-tong river was divided into three han, or geographical divisions. their exact boundaries are uncertain, but their general topography may be learned from the map. ma-han and ben-han. this little country included fifty-four tribes or clans, each one independent of the other, and living under a sort of patriarchal government. the larger tribes are said to have been composed of ten thousand, and the smaller of a thousand, families each. round numbers, however, in ancient records are worth little for critical purposes. south of the ma-han was the ben-han, in which were twelve tribes, having the same manners and customs as the ma-han, and speaking a different yet kindred dialect. one of these clans formed the little kingdom of amana, from which came the first visit of coreans recorded in the japanese annals. after the overthrow of his family and kingdom by the traitor wei-man, kijun, the king of old chå�-sen escaped to the sea and fled south toward the archipelago. he had with him a number of his faithful adherents, their wives and children. he landed among one of the clans of ma-han, composed of chinese refugees, who, not wishing to live under the han emperors, had crossed the yellow sea. on account of their numbering, originally, one hundred families, they called themselves hiaksai. either by conquest or invitation kijun soon became their king. glimpses of the manner of life of these early people are given by a chinese writer. the ma-han people were agricultural, dwelling in villages, but neither driving nor riding oxen or horses, most probably because they did not possess them. their huts were made of earth banked upon timber, with the door in the roof. they went bareheaded, and coiled or tied their hair in a knot. they set no value on gold, jewels, or embroidery, but wore pearls sewed on their clothes and hung on their necks and ears. perhaps the word here translated â��pearlâ�� may be also applied to drilled stones of a cylindrical or curved shape, like the magatama, or â��bent jewels,â�� of the ancient japanese. they shod their feet with sandals, and wore garments of woven stuff. in etiquette they were but slightly advanced, paying little honor to women or to the aged. like our indian bucks, the young men tested their endurance by torture. slitting the skin of the back, they ran a cord through the flesh, upon which was hung a piece of wood. this was kept suspended till the man, unable longer to endure it, cried out to have it taken off. after the field work was over, in early summer, they held drinking bouts, in honor of the spirits, with songs and dances. scores of men, quickly following each other, stamped on the ground to beat time as they danced. in the late autumn, after harvests, they repeated these ceremonies. in each clan there was a man, chosen as ruler, to sacrifice to the spirits of heaven. on a great pole they hung drums and bells for the service of the heavenly spirits. perhaps these are the originals of the tall and slender pagodas with their pendant wind-bells at the many eaves and corners. among the edible products of ma-han were fowls with tails five feet in length. these â��hens with tails a yard longâ�� were evidently pheasantsâ��still a delicacy on corean tables. the large apple-shaped pears, which have a wooden taste, half way between a pear and an apple, were then, as now, produced in great numbers. the flavor improves by cooking. as kijunâ��s government was one of vigor, his subjects advanced in civilization, the hiaksai people gradually extended their authority and influence. the clan names in time faded away or became symbols of family bonds instead of governmental authority, so that by the fourth century hiaksai had become paramount over all the fifty-four tribes of ma-han, as well as over some of those of the other two han. thus arose the kingdom of hiaksai (called also kudara by the japanese, petsi by the chinese, and baiji by the modern coreans), which has a history extending to the tenth century, when it was extinguished in name and fact in united corea. its relations with japan were, in the main, friendly, the islanders of the sunrise kingdom being comrades in arms with them against their invaders, the chinese, and their hostile neighbors, the men of shinraâ��whose origin we shall now proceed to detail. shin-han. after the fall of the tsin dynasty in china, a small body of refugees, leaving their native seats, fled across the yellow sea toward the sea of japan, resting only when over the great mountain chain. they made settlements in the valleys and along the sea-coast. at first they preserved their blood and language pure, forming one of the twelve clans or tribes into which the han or country was divided. this name shin (china or chinese), which points to the origin of the clan, belonged to but one of the twelve tribes in eastern corea. as in the case of hiaksai, the shin tribe, being possessed of superior power and intelligence, extended their authority and boundaries, gradually becoming very powerful. under their twenty-second hereditary chief, or â��king,â�� considering themselves paramount over all the clans, they changed the name of their country to shinra, which is pronounced in chinese sinlo. between the years 29 and 70 a.d., according to the japanese histories, an envoy from shinra arrived in japan, and after an audience had of the mikado, presented him with mirrors, swords, jade, and other works of skill and art. in this we have a hint as to the origin of japanese decorative art. it is evident from these gifts, as well as from the reports of chinese historians concerning the refined manners, the hereditary aristocracy, and the fortified strongholds of the shinra people, that their grade of civilization was much higher than that of their northern neighbors. it was certainly superior to that of the japanese, who, as we shall see, were soon tempted to make descents upon the fertile lands, rich cities, and defenceless coasts of their visitors from the west. how long the chinese colonists who settled in shin-han preserved their language and customs is not known. though these were lost after a few generations, yet it is evident that their influence on the aborigines of the country was very great. from first to last shinra excelled in civilization all the petty states in the peninsula, of which at first there were seventy-eight. unlike the ma-han, the shin-han people lived in palisaded cities, and in houses the doors of which were on the ground and not on the roof. they cultivated mulberry-trees, reared the silk-worm, and wove silk into fine fabrics. they used wagons with yoked oxen, and horses for draught, and practised â��the law of the road.â�� marriage was conducted with appropriate ceremony. dancing, drinking, and singing were favorite amusements, and the lute was played in addition to drums. they understood the art of smelting and working iron, and used this metal as money. they carried on trade with the other han, and with japan. how far these arts owed their encouragement or origin to traders, or travelling merchants from china, is not known. evidently shinra enjoyed leadership in the peninsula, largely from her culture, wealth, and knowledge of iron. the curious custom, so well known among american savages, of flattening the heads of newly born infants, is noted among the shin-han people. neither chinese history nor japanese tradition, though they give us some account of a few hundred families of emigrants from china who settled in the already inhabited corean peninsula, throws any light on the aborigines as to whence or when they came. the curtain is lifted only to show us that a few people are already there, with language and customs different from those of china. the descendants of the comparatively few chinese settlers were no doubt soon lost, with their language and ancestral customs, among the mass of natives. these aboriginal tribes were destined to give way to a new people from the far north, as we shall learn in our further narrative. the japanese historians seem to distinguish between the san han, the three countries or confederacies of loosely organized tribes, and the san goku, or three kingdoms. the coreans, however, speak only of the sam-han, meaning thereby the three political divisions of the peninsula, and using the word as referring rather to the epoch. the common â��cash,â�� or fractional coin current in the country, bears the characters meaning â��circulating medium of the three kingdoms,â�� or sam-han. these were korai in the north, shinra in the southeast, and hiaksai in the southwest. other japanese names for these were respectively komã©, shiriaki, and kudara, the chinese terms being kaoli, sinlo, and pe-tsi. like the three kingdoms of england, scotland, and wales, called also britannia, caledonia, and cambria, these corean states were distinct in origin, were conquered by a race from without, received a rich infusion of alien blood, struggled in rivalry for centuries, and were finally united into one nation, with one flag and one sovereign. chapter v. epoch of the three kingdoms.â��hiaksai. the history of the peninsular states from the time in which it is first known until the tenth century, is that of almost continuous civil war or border fighting. the boundaries of the rival kingdoms changed from time to time as raid and reprisal, victory or defeat, turned the scale of war. a series of maps of the peninsula expressing the political situation during each century or half-century would show many variations of boundaries, and resemble those of great britain when the various native and continental tribes were struggling for its mastery. something like an attempt to depict these changes in the political geography of the peninsula has been made by the japanese historian, otsuki tå�yå�, in his work entitled â��historical periods and changes of the japanese empire.â�� yet though our narrative, through excessive brevity, seems to be only a picture of war, we must not forget that hiaksai, once lowest in civilization, rapidly became, and for a while continued, the leading state in the peninsula. it held the lead in literary culture until crushed by china. the classics of confucius and mencius, with letters, writing, and their whole train of literary blessings, were introduced first to the peninsula in hiaksai. in 374 a.d. ko-ken was appointed a teacher or master of chinese literature, and enthusiastic scholars gathered at the court. buddhism followed with its educational influences, becoming a focus of light and culture. as early as 372 a.d. an apostle of northern buddhism had penetrated into liao tung, and perhaps across the yalu. in 384 a.d. the missionary marananda, a thibetan, formally established temples and monasteries in hiaksai, in which women as well as men became scholastics. long before this new element of civilization was rooted in shinra or korai, the faith of india was established and flourishing in the little kingdom of hiaksai, so that its influences were felt as far as japan. the first teacher of chinese letters and ethics in nippon was a corean named wani, as was also the first missionary who carried the images and sutras of northern buddhism across the sea of japan. to hiaksai more than to any other corean state japan owes her first impulse toward the civilization of the west. hiaksai came into collision with kokorai as early as 345 a.d., at which time also shinra suffered the loss of several cities. in the fifth century a chinese army, sent by one of the emperors of the wei dynasty to enforce the payment of tribute, was defeated by hiaksai. such unexpected military results raised the reputation of â��the eastern savagesâ�� so high in the imperial mind, that the emperor offered the king of hiaksai the title of â��great protector of the eastern frontier.â�� by this act the independence of the little kingdom was virtually recognized. in the sixth century, having given and received chinese aid and comfort in alliance with shinra against korai, hiaksai was ravaged in her borders by the troops of her irate neighbor on the north. later on we find these two states in peace with each other and allied against shinra, which had become a vassal of the tang emperors of china. from this line of chinaâ��s rulers the kingdoms of korai and hiaksai were to receive crushing blows. in answer to shinraâ��s prayer for aid, the chinese emperor, in 660, despatched from shantung a fleet of several hundred sail with 100,000 men on board. against this host from the west the hiaksai army could make little resistance, though they bravely attacked the invaders, but only to be beaten. after a victory near the mouth of the rin-yin river, the chinese marched at once to the capital of hiaksai and again defeated, with terrible slaughter, the provincial army. the king fled to the north, and the city being nearly empty of defenders, the feeble garrison opened the gates. the tang banners fluttered on all the walls, and another state was absorbed in the chinese empire. for a time hiaksai, like a fly snapped up by an angry dog, is lost in china. not long, however, did the little kingdom disappear from sight. in 670 a buddhist priest, fired with patriotism, raised an army of monks and priests, and joining fuku-shin (fu-sin), a brave general, they laid siege to a city held by a large chinese garrison. at the same time they sent word to the emperor of japan praying for succor against the â��robber kingdom.â�� they also begged that hå�sho (fung), the youthful son of the late king, then a hostage and pupil at the mikadoâ��s court, might be invested with the royal title and sent home. the mikado despatched a fleet of 400 junks and a large body of soldiers to escort the royal heir homeward. on his arrival hå�sho was proclaimed king. meanwhile the priest-army and the forces under fuku-shin had reconquered nearly all their territory, when they suffered a severe defeat near the sea-coast from the large chinese force hastily despatched to put down the rebellion. the invaders marched eastward and effected a junction with the forces of shinra. the prospects of hiaksai were now deplorable. for even among the men of hiaksai there was no unity of purpose. fuku-shin had put the priest-leader to death, which arbitrary act so excited the suspicions of the king that he in turn ordered his general to be beheaded. he then sent to japan, appealing for reinforcements. the mikado, willing to help an old ally, and fearing that the chinese, if victorious, might invade his own dominions, quickly responded. the japanese contingent arrived and encamped near the mouth of the han river, preparatory to a descent by sea upon shinra. unsuspecting the near presence of an enemy, the allies neglected their usual vigilance. a fleet of war-junks, flying the tang streamers, suddenly appeared off the camp, and while the japanese were engaging these, the chinese land forces struck them in flank. taken by surprise, the mikadoâ��s warriors were driven like flocks of sheep into the water and drowned or shot by the chinese archers. the japanese vessels were burned as they lay at anchor in the bloody stream, and the remnants of the beaten army got back to their islands in pitiable fragments. hå�sho, after witnessing the destruction of his host, fled to korai, and the country was given over to the waste and pillage of the infuriated chinese. the royal line, after thirty generations and nearly seven centuries of rule, became extinct. the sites of cities became the habitations of tigers, and once fertile fields were soon overgrown. large portions of hiaksai became a wilderness. though the chinese government ordered the bodies of those killed in war and the white bones of the victims of famine to be buried, yet many thousands of hiaksai families fled elsewhere to find an asylum and to found new industries. the people who remained on their fertile lands, as well as all southern corea, fell under the sway of shinra. the fragments of the beaten japanese army gradually returned to their native country or settled in southern corea. thousands of the people of hiaksai, detesting the idea of living as slaves of china, accompanied or followed their allies to japan. on their arrival, by order of the mikado, 400 emigrants of both sexes were located in the province of omi, and over 2,000 were distributed in the kuantå�, or eastern japan. these colonies of coreans founded potteries, and their descendants, mingled by blood with the japanese, follow the trade of their ancestors. in 710 another body of hiaksai people, dissatisfied with the poverty of the country and tempted by the offers of the japanese, formed a colony numbering 1,800 persons and emigrated to japan. they were settled in musashi, the province in which tå�kiå�, the modern capital, is situated. various other emigrations of coreans to japan of later date are referred to in the annals of the latter country, and it is fair to presume that tens of thousands of emigrants from the peninsula fled from the tang invasion and mingled with the islanders, producing the composite race that inhabit the islands ruled by the mikado. among the refugees were many priests and nuns, who brought their books and learning to the court at nara, and thus diffused about them a literary atmosphere. the establishment of schools, the awakening of the japanese intellect, and the first beginnings of the literature of japan, the composition of their oldest historical books, the kojiki and the nihongiâ��all the fruits of the latter half of the seventh and early part of the eighth centuryâ��are directly traceable to this influx of the scholars of hiaksai, which being destroyed by china, lived again in japan. even the pronunciation of the chinese characters as taught by the hiaksai teachers remains to this day. one of them, the nun hå�miå�, a learned lady, made her system so popular among the scholars that even an imperial proclamation against it could not banish it. she established her school in tsushima, a.d. 655, and there taught that system of [chinese] pronunciation [go-on] which still holds sway in japan, among the ecclesiastical literati, in opposition to the kan-on of the secular scholars. the go-on, the older of the two pronunciations, is that of ancient north china, the kan-on is that of mediã¦val southern china (nanking). corea and japan having phonetic alphabets have preserved and stereotyped the ancient chinese pronunciation better than the chinese language itself, since the chinese have no phonetic writing, but only ideographic characters, the pronunciation of which varies during the progress of centuries. hiaksai had given buddhism to japan as early as 552 a.d., but opposition had prevented its spread, the temple was set on fire, and the images of buddha thrown in the river. in 684 one sayã©ki brought another image of buddha from corea, and umako, son of inamã©, a minister at the mikadoâ��s court, enshrined it in a chapel on his own grounds. he made yeben and simata, two coreans, his priests, and his daughter a nun. they celebrated a festival, and henceforth buddhism [1] grew apace. the country toward the sunrise was then a new land to the peninsulars, just as â��the westâ�� is to us, or australia is to england; and japan made these fugitives welcome. in their train came industry, learning, and skill, enriching the island kingdom with the best infusion of blood and culture. hiaksai was the first of the three kingdoms that was weakened by civil war and then fell a victim to chinese lust of conquest. the progress and fall of the other two kingdoms will now be narrated. beginning with korai, we shall follow its story from the year 613 a.d., when the invading hordes of the tang dynasty had been driven out of the peninsula with such awful slaughter by the koraians. chapter vi. epoch of the three kingdoms.â��korai. after the struggle in which the corean tiger had worsted the western dragon, early in the seventh century, china and korai were for a generation at peace. the bones of the slain were buried, and sacrificial fires for the dead soothed the spirits of the victims. the same imperial messenger, who in 622 was sent to supervise these offices of religion, also visited each of the courts of the three kingdoms. so successful was he in his mission of peaceful diplomacy, that each of the corean states sent envoys with tribute and congratulation to the imperial throne. in proof of his good wishes, the emperor returned to his vassals all his prisoners, and declared that their young men would be received as students in the imperial university at his capital. henceforth, as in many instances during later centuries, the sons of nobles and promising youth from korai, shinra, and hiaksai went to study at nanking, where their envoys met the arab traders. korai having been divided into five provinces, or circuits, named respectively the home, north, south, east, and west divisions, extended from the sea of japan to the liao river, and enjoyed a brief spell of peace, except always on the southern border; for the chronic state of korai and shinra was that of mutual hostility. on the north, beyond the tumen river, was the kingdom of pu-hai, with which korai was at peace, and japan was in intimate relations, and china at jealous hostility. the chinese court soon began to look with longing eyes on the territory of that part of korai lying west of the yalu river, believing it to be a geographical necessity that it should become their scientific frontier, while the emperor cherished the hope of soon rectifying it. though unable to forget the fact that one of his predecessors had wasted millions of lives and tons of treasure in vainly attempting to humble kokorai, his ambition and pride spurred him on to wade through slaughter to conquest and revenge. he waited only for a pretext. this time the destinies of the eastern kingdom were profoundly influenced by the character of the feudalism brought into it from ancient times, and which was one of the characteristic institutions of the fuyu race. the government of korai was simply that of a royal house, holding, by more or less binding ties of loyalty, powerful nobles, who in turn held their lands on feudal tenure. in certain contingencies these noble land-holders were scarcely less powerful than the king himself. in 641 one of these liegemen, whose ambition the king had in vain attempted to curb and even to put to death, revenged himself by killing the king with his own hands. he then proclaimed as sovereign the nephew of the dead king, and made himself prime minister. having thus the control of all power in the state, and being a man of tremendous physical strength and mental ability, all the people submitted quietly to the new order of things, and were at the same time diverted, being sent to ravage shinra, annexing all the country down to the 37th parallel. the chinese emperor gave investiture to the new king, but ordered this corean warwick to recall his troops from invading shinra, the ally of china. the minister paid his tribute loyally, but refused to acknowledge the right of china to interfere in corean politics. the tribute was then sent back with insult, and war being certain to follow, korai prepared for the worst. war with china has been so constant a phenomenon in corean history that a special term, ho-ran, exists and is common in the national annals, since the â��chinese warsâ�� have been numbered by the score. again the sails of an invading fleet whitened the waters of the yellow sea, carrying the chinese army of chastisement that was to land at the head of the peninsula, while two bodies of troops were despatched by different routes landward. the tang emperor was a stanch believer in whang ti, the asiatic equivalent of the european doctrine of the divine right of kings to reignâ��a tenet as easily found by one looking for it in the confucian classics, as in the hebrew scriptures. he professed to be marching simply to vindicate the honor of majesty and to punish the regicide rebel, but not to harm nobles or people. the invaders soon overran liao tung, and city after city fell. the emperor himself accompanied the army and burned his bridges after the crossing of every river. in spite of the mud and the summer rains he steadily pushed his way on, helping with his own hands in the works at the sieges of the walled citiesâ��the ruins of which still litter the plains of liao tung. in one of these, captured only after a protracted investment, 10,000 koraians are said to have been slain. in case of submission on summons, or after a slight defence, the besieged were leniently and even kindly treated. by july all the country west of the yalu was in possession of the chinese, who had crossed the river and arrived at anchiu, only forty miles north of ping-an city. by tremendous personal energy and a general levy in mass, an army of 150,000 korai men was sent against the chinese, which took up a position on a hill about three miles from the city. the plan of the battle that ensued, made by the chinese emperor himself, was skilfully carried out by his lieutenants, and a total defeat of the entrapped koraian army followed, the slain numbering 20,000. the next day, with the remnant of his army, amounting to 40,000 men, the koraian general surrendered. fifty thousand horses and 10,000 coats of mail were among the spoils. the foot soldiers were dismissed and ordered home, but the koraian leaders were made prisoners and marched into china. after so crushing a loss in men and material, one might expect instant surrender of the besieged city. so far from this, the garrison redoubled the energy of their defence. in this we see a striking trait of the corean military character which has been noticed from the era of the tangs, and before it, down to admiral rodgers. chinese, japanese, french, and americans have experienced the fact and marvelled thereat. it is that the coreans are poor soldiers in the open field and exhibit slight proof of personal valor. they cannot face a dashing foe nor endure stubborn fighting. but put the same men behind walls, bring them to bay, and the timid stag amazes the hounds. their whole nature seems reinforced. they are more than brave. their courage is sublime. they fight to the last man, and fling themselves on the bare steel when the foe clears the parapet. the japanese of 1592 looked on the corean in the field as a kitten, but in the castle as a tiger. the french, in 1866, never found a force that could face rifles, though behind walls the same men were invincible. the american handful of tars kept at harmless distance thousands of black heads in the open, but inside the fort they met giants in bravery. no nobler foe ever met american steel. even when disarmed they fought their enemies with dust and stones until slain to the last man. the sailors found that the sheep in the field were lions in the fort. the coreans themselves knew both their forte and their foible, and so understood how to foil the invader from either sea. shut out from the rival nations on the right hand and on the left by the treacherous sea, buttressed on the north by lofty mountains, and separated from china by a stretch of barren or broken land, the peninsula is easily secure against an invader far from his base of supplies. the ancient policy of the coreans, by which they over and over again foiled their mighty foe and finally secured their independence, was to shut themselves up in their well-provisioned cities and castles, and not only beat off but starve away their foes. in their state of feudalism, when every city and strategic town of importance was well fortified, this was easily accomplished. the ramparts gave them shelter, and their personal valor secured the rest. reversing the usual process of starving out a beleaguered garrison, the besiegers, unable to fight on empty stomachs, were at last obliged to raise the siege and go home. long persistence in this resolute policy finally saved corea from the chinese colossus, and preserved her individuality among nations. faithful to their character, as above set forth, the koraians held their own in the city of anchiu, and the chinese could make no impression upon it. in spite of catapults, scaling ladders, movable towers, and artificial mounds raised higher than the walls, the koraians held out, and by sorties bravely captured or destroyed the enemyâ��s works. not daring to leave such a fortified city in their rear, the chinese could not advance further, while their failing provisions and the advent of frost showed them that they must retreat. hungrily they turned their faces toward china. in spite of the intense chagrin of the foiled chinese leader, so great was his admiration for the valor of the besieged that he sent the koraian commander a valuable present of rolls of silk. the koraians were unable to pursue the flying invaders, and few fell by their weapons. but hunger, the fatigue of crossing impassable oceans of worse than virginia mud, cold winds, and snow storms destroyed thousands of the chinese on their weary homeward march over the mountain passes and quagmires of liao tung. the net results of the campaign were great glory to korai; and besides the loss of ten cities, 70,000 of her sons were captives in china, and 40,000 lay in battle graves. according to a custom which californians have learned in our day, the bones of the chinese soldiers who died or were killed in the campaign were collected, brought into china, and, with due sacrificial rites and lamentations by the emperor, solemnly buried in their native soil. irregular warfare still continued between the two countries, the offered tribute of korai being refused, and the emperor waiting until his resources would justify him in sending another vast fleet and army against defiant korai. while thus waiting he died. after a few years of peace, his successor found occasion for war, and, in 660 a.d., despatched the expedition which crushed hiaksai, the ally of korai, and worried, without humbling, the latter state. in 664 korai lost its able leader, the regicide prime ministerâ��that rock against which the waves of chinese invasion had dashed again and again in vain. his son, who would have succeeded to the office of his father, was opposed by his brother. the latter, fleeing to china, became guide to the hosts again sent against korai â��to save the people and to chastise their rebellious chiefs.â�� this time korai, without a leader, was doomed. the chinese armies having their rear well secured by a good base of supplies, and being led by skilful commanders, marched on from victory to victory, until, at the yalu river, the various detachments united, and breaking the front of the korai army, scattered them and marched on to ping-an. the city surrendered without the discharge of an arrow. the line of kings of korai came to an end after twenty-eight generations, ruling over 700 years. all korai, with its five provinces, its 176 cities, and its four or five millions of people, was annexed to the chinese empire. tens of thousands of koraian refugees fled into shinra, thousands into pu-hai, north of the tumen, then a rising state; and many to the new country of japan. desolated by slaughter and ravaged by fire and blood, war and famine, large portions of the land lay waste for generations. thus fell the second of the corean kingdoms, and the sole dominant state now supreme in the peninsula was shinra, an outline of whose history we shall proceed to give. chapter vii. epoch of the three kingdoms.â��shinra. when shinra becomes first known to us from japanese tradition, her place in the peninsula is in the southeast, comprising portions of the modern provinces of kang-wen and kiung-sang. the people in this warm and fertile part of the peninsula had very probably sent many colonies of settlers over to the japanese islands, which lay only a hundred miles off, with tsushima for a stepping-stone. it is probable that the â��rebelsâ�� in kiushiu, so often spoken of in old japanese histories, were simply coreans or their descendants, as, indeed, the majority of the inhabitants of kiushiu originally had been. the yamato tribe, which gradually became paramount in japan, were probably immigrants of old kokorai stock, that is, men of the fuyu race, who had crossed from the north of corea over the sea of japan, to the land of sunrise, just as the saxons and engles pushed across the north sea to england. they found the kumaso, or kiushiu â��rebels,â�� troublesome, mainly because these settlers from the west, or southern mainland of corea, considered themselves to be the righteous owners of the island rather than the yamato people. at all events, the pretext that led the mikado chiu-ai, who is said to have reigned from 192 to 200 a.d., to march against them was, that these people in kiushiu would not acknowledge his authority. his wife, the amazonian queen jingu, was of the opinion that the root of the trouble was to be found in the peninsula, and that the army should be sent across the sea. her husband, having been killed in battle, the queen was left to carry out her purposes, which she did at the date said to be 202 a.d. she set sail from hizen, and reached the asian mainland probably at the harbor of fusan. unable to resist so well-appointed a force, the king of shinra submitted and became the declared vassal of japan. envoys from hiaksai and another of the petty kingdoms also came to the japanese camp and made friends with the invaders. after a two monthsâ�� stay, the victorious fleet, richly laden with precious gifts and spoil, returned. how much of truth there is in this narrative of jingu it is difficult to tell. the date given cannot be trustworthy. the truth seems at least this, that shinra was far superior to the japan of the early christian centuries. buddhism was formally established in shinra in the year 528; and as early as the sixth century a steady stream of immigrantsâ��traders, artists, scholars, and teachers, and later buddhist missionariesâ��passed from shinra into japan, interrupted only by the wars which from time to time broke out. the relations between nippon and southern corea will be more fully related in another chapter, but it will be well to remember that the japanese always laid claim to the corean peninsula, and to shinra especially, as a tributary nation. they supported that claim not only whenever embassies from the two nations met at the court of china, but they made it a more or less active part of their national policy down to the year 1876. many a bloody war grew out of this claim, but on the other hand many a benefit accrued to japan, if not to shinra. meanwhile, in the peninsula the leading state expanded her borders by gradual encroachments upon the little â��kingdomâ�� of mimana to the southwest and upon hiaksai on the north. the latter, having always considered shinra to be inferior, and even a dependent, war broke out between the two states as soon as shinra assumed perfect independence. korai and hiaksai leagued themselves against shinra, and the game of war continued, with various shifting of the pieces on the board, until the tenth century. the three rival states mutually hostile, the japanese usually friends to hiaksai, the chinese generally helpers of shinra, the northern nations beyond the tumen and sungari assisting korai, varying their operations in the field with frequent alliances and counter-plots, make but a series of dissolving-views of battle and strife, into the details of which it is not profitable to enter. though korai and hiaksai felt the heaviest blows from china, shinra was harried oftenest by the armies of her neighbors and by the japanese. indeed, from a tributary point of view, it seems questionable whether her alliances with china were of any benefit to her. in times of peace, however, the blessings of education and civilization flowed freely from her great patron. though farthest east from china, it seems certain that shinra was, in many respects, the most highly civilized of the three states. especially was this the case during the tang era (618â��905 a.d.), when the mutual relations between china and shinra were closest, and arts, letters, and customs were borrowed most liberally by the pupil state. even at the present time, in the corean idiom, â��tang-yangâ�� (times of the tang and yang dynasties) is a synonym of prosperity. the term for â��chinese,â�� applied to works of art, poetry, coins, fans, and even to a certain disease, is â��tang,â�� instead of the ordinary word for china, since this famous dynastic title represents to the corean mind, as to the student of kathayan history, one of the most brilliant epochs known to this longest-lived of empires. what the names of plantagenet and tudor represent to an anglo-saxon mind, the terms tang and sung are to a corean. during this period, buddhism was being steadily propagated, until it became the prevailing cult of the nation. reserving the story of its progress for a special chapter, we notice in this place but one of its attendant blessings. in the civilization of a nation, the possession of a vernacular alphabet must be acknowledged to be one of the most potent factors for the spread of intelligence and culture. it is believed by many linguists that the choctaws and coreans have the only two perfect alphabets in the world. it is agreed by natives of chå�-sen that their most profound scholar and ablest man of intellect was chul-chong, a statesman at the court of kion-chiu, the capital of shinra. this famous penman, a scholar in the classics and ancient languages of india as well as china, is credited with the invention of the nido, or corean syllabary, one of the simplest and most perfect â��alphabetsâ�� in the world. it expresses the sounds of the corean language far better than the kata-kana of japan expresses japanese. chul-chong seems to have invented the nido syllabary by giving a phonetic value to a certain number of selected chinese characters, which are ideographs expressing ideas but not sounds. perhaps the sanskrit alphabet suggested the model both for manner of use and for forms of letters. the nido is composed almost entirely of straight lines and circles, and the letters belonging to the same class of labials, dentals, etc., have a similarity of form easily recognized. the coreans state that the nido was invented in the early part of the eighth century, and that it was based on the sanskrit alphabet. it is worthy of note that, if the date given be true, the japanese kata-kana, invented a century later, was perhaps suggested by the corean. one remarkable effect of the use of phonetic writing in corea and japan has been to stereotype, and thus to preserve, the ancient sounds and pronunciation of words of the chinese, which the latter have lost. these systems of writing outside of china have served, like edisonâ��s phonographs, in registering and reproducing the manner in which the chinese spoke, a whole millennium ago. this fact has already opened a fertile field of research, and may yet yield rich treasures of discovery to the sciences of history and linguistics. certainly, however, we may gather that the tang era was one of learning and literary progress in corea, as in japanâ��all countries in pupilage to china feeling the glow of literary splendor in which the middle kingdom was then basking. the young nobles were sent to obtain their education at the court and schools of nanking, and the fair damsels of shinra bloomed in the harem of the emperor. imperial ambassadors frequently visited the court of this kingdom in the far east. chinese costume and etiquette were, for a time, at least, made the rigorous rule at court. on one occasion, in 653 a.d., the envoy from shinra to the mikado came arrayed in chinese dress, and, neglecting the ceremonial forms of the japanese court, attempted to observe those of china. the mikado was highly irritated at the supposed insult. the premier even advised that the corean be put to death; but better counsels prevailed. during the eighth and ninth centuries this flourishing kingdom was well known to the arab geographers, and it is evident that mussulman travellers visited shinra or resided in the cities of the peninsula for purposes of trade and commerce, as has been shown before. kion-chiu, the capital of shinra, was a brilliant centre of art and science, of architecture and of literary and religious light. imposing temples, grand monasteries, lofty pagodas, halls of scholars, magnificent gateways and towers adorned the city. in campaniles, equipped with water-clocks and with ponderous bells and gongs, which, when struck, flooded the valleys and hill-tops with a rich resonance, the sciences of astronomy and horoscopy were cultivated. as from a fountain, rich streams of knowledge flowed from the capital of shinra, both over the peninsula and to the court of japan. even after the decay of shinraâ��s power in the political unity of the whole peninsula, the nation looked upon kion-chiu as a sacred city. her noble temples, halls, and towers stood in honor and repair, enshrining the treasures of india, persia, and china, until the ruthless japanese torch laid them in ashes in 1596. the generation of corean people during the seventh century, when the chinese hordes desolated large portions of the peninsula and crushed out hiaksai and korai, saw the borders of shinra extending from the everlasting white mountains to the island of tsushima, and occupying the entire eastern half of the peninsula. from the beginning of the eighth until the tenth century, shinra is the supreme state, and the political power of the eastern kingdom is represented by her alone. her ambition tempted, or her chinese master commanded, her into an invasion of the kingdom of pu-hai beyond her northern border, 733 a.d. her armies crossed the tumen, but met with such spirited resistance that only half of them returned. shinraâ��s desire of conquest in that direction was appeased, and for two centuries the land had rest from blood. until shinra fell, in 934 a.d., and united corea rose on the ruins of the three kingdoms, the history of this state, as found in the chinese annals, is simply a list of her kings, who, of course, received investiture from china. on the east, the japanese, having ceased to be her pupils in civilization during times of peace, as in time of war they were her conquerors, turned their attention to nanking, receiving directly therefrom the arts and sciences, instead of at second-hand through the corean peninsula. they found enough to do at home in conquering all the tribes in the north and east and centralizing their system of government after the model of the tangs in china. for these reasons the sources of information concerning the eighth and ninth centuries fail, or rather it is more exact to say that the history of shinra is that of peace instead of war. in 869 we read of pirates from her shores descending upon the japanese coast to plunder the tribute ships from buzen province, and again, in 893, that a fleet of fifty junks, manned by these corean rovers, was driven off from tsushima by the japanese troops, with the loss of three hundred slain. another descent of â��foreign pirates,â�� most probably coreans, upon iki island, in 1019, is recorded, the strangers being beaten off by reinforcements from the mainland. the very existence of these marauders is, perhaps, a good indication that the power of the shinra government was falling into decay, and that lawlessness within the kingdom was preparing the way for some mighty hand to not only seize the existing state, but to unite all corea into political, as well as geographical, unity. in the far north another of those great intermittent movements of population was in process, which, though destroying the kingdom of puhai beyond the tumen, was to repeople the desolate land of korai, and again call a dead state to aggressive life. from the origin to the fall of shinra there were three royal families of fifty-five kings, ruling nine hundred and ninety-three years, or seven years less than a millennium. despite the modern official name of the kingdom, chå�-sen, the people of corea still call their country gaoli, or korai, clinging to the ancient name. in this popular usage, unless we are mistaken, there is a flavor of genuine patriotism. chå�-sen does indeed mean morning calm, but the impression made on western ears, and more vividly upon the eye by means of the chinese characters, is apt to mislead. the term is less a reflection of geographical position than of the inward emotions of those who first of all were more chinese than corean in spirit, and of a desire for chinaâ��s favor. the term chå�-sen savors less of dew and dawn than of policy and prosy fact. it is probable, despite the coreanâ��s undoubted love of nature and beautiful scenery, that americans and europeans have been led astray as to the real significance of the phrase â��morning calm.â�� at the bottom, it means rather peace with china than the serenity of dewy morning. audience of the chinese emperor to his vassals is always given at daybreak, and to be graciously received after the long and tedious prostrations is an auspicious beginning as of a day of heaven upon earth. to the founder of corea, ki tsze, the gracious favor of the chow emperor was as â��morning calm;â�� and so to ni taijo, in 1392 a.d., was the sunshine of the ming emperorâ��s favor. in both instances the name chå�-sen given to their realm had, in reality, immediate reference to the dayspring of chinaâ��s favor, and â��the calm of dawnâ�� to the smile of the emperor. chapter viii. japan and corea. it is as nearly impossible to write the history of corea and exclude japan, as to tell the story of mediã¦val england and leave out france. not alone does the finger of sober history point directly westward as the immediate source of much of what has been hitherto deemed of pure japanese origin, but the fountain-head of japanese mythology is found in the sungari valley, or under the shadows of the ever-white mountains. the first settler of japan, like him of fuyu, crosses the water upright upon the back of a fish, and brings the rudiments of literature and civilization with him. the remarkable crocodiles and sea-monsters, from which the gods and goddesses are born and into which they change, the dragons and tide-jewels and the various mystic symbols which they employ to work their spells, the methods of divination and system of prognostics, the human sacrifices and the manner of their rescue, seem to be common to the nations on both sides of the sea of japan, and point to a common heritage from the same ancestors. language comes at last with her revelations to furnish proofs of identity. the mischievous susanoå�, so famous in the pre-historic legends, told in the kojiki, half scamp, half benefactor, who planted all japan with trees, brought the seeds from which they grew from corea. his rescue of the maiden doomed to be devoured by the eight-headed dragon (emblem of water, and symbolical of the sea and rivers) reads like a gallant fellow saving one of the human beings who for centuries, until the now ruling dynasty abolished the custom, were sacrificed to the sea on the corean coast fronting japan. in kiå�to, on gi-on street, there is a temple which tradition declares was â��founded in 656 a.d. by a corean envoy in honor of susanoå�, to whom the name of go-dzu tenno (heavenly king of go-dzu) was given, because he was originally worshipped in go-dzu mountain in corea.â�� dogs are not held in any honor in japan, as they were anciently in kokorai. except the silk-haired, pug-nosed, and large-eyed chin, which the average native does not conceive as canine, the dogs run at large, ownerless, as in the levant; and share the work of street scavenging with the venerated crows. yet there are two places of honor in which the golden and stone effigies of this animalâ��highly idealized indeed, but still inuâ��are enthroned. the ama-inu, or heavenly dogs, in fanciful sculpture of stone or gilt wood, represent guardian dogs. they are found in pairs guarding the entrances to miya or temples. as all miya (the name also of the mikadoâ��s residence) were originally intended to serve as a model or copy of the palace of the mikado and a reminder of the divinity of his person and throne, it is possible that the ama-inu imitated the golden corean dogs which support and guard the throne of japan. access to the shrine was had only by passing these two heavenly dogs. these creatures are quite distinct from the â��dogs of fo,â�� or the â��lionsâ�� that flank the gateways of the magistrateâ��s office in china. those who have had audience of the mikado in the imperial throne-room, as the writer had in january, 1873, have noticed at the foot of the throne, serving as legs or supports to the golden chair, on which his majesty sits, two dogs sitting on their haunches, and upright on their forelegs. these fearful-looking creatures, with wide-open mouths, hair curled in tufts, especially around the front neck, and with tails bifurcated at their upright ends, are called â��corean dogs.â�� for what reason placed there we know not. it may be in witness of the conquest of shinra by the empress jingu, who called the king of shinra â��the dog of japan,â�� or it may point to some forgotten symbolism in the past, or typify the vassalage of coreaâ��so long a fundamental dogma in japanese politics. it is certainly strange to see this creature, so highly honored in fuyu and dishonored among the vulgar in japan, placed beneath the mikadoâ��s throne. the japanese laid claim to corea from the second century until the 27th of february, 1876. on that day the mikadoâ��s minister plenipotentiary signed the treaty, recognizing chå�-sen as an independent nation. through all the seventeen centuries which, according to their annals, elapsed since their armies first compelled the vassalage of their neighbor, the japanese regarded the states of corea as tributary. time and again they enforced their claim with bloody invasion, and when through a more enlightened policy the rulers voluntarily acknowledged their former enemy as an equal, the decision cost japan almost immediately afterward seven months of civil war, 20,000 lives, and fifty millions of dollars in treasure. the mainspring of the â��satsuma rebellionâ�� of 1877 was the official act of friendship by treaty, and the refusal of the tå�kiå� government to make war on corea. from about the beginning of the christian era until the fifteenth century the relations between the two nations were very close and active. alternate peace and war, mutual assistance given, and embassies sent to and fro are recorded with lively frequency in the early japanese annals, especially the nihongi and kojiki. a more or less continual stream of commerce and emigration seems to have set in from the peninsula. some writers of high authority, who are also comparative students of the languages of the two countries, see in these events the origin of the modern japanese. they interpret them to mean nothing less than the peopling of the archipelago by continental tribes passing through the peninsula, and landing in japan at various points along the coast from kiushiu to kaga. some of them think that japan was settled wholly and only by tungusic races of northeastern asia coming from or through corea. they base their belief not only on the general stream and tendency of japanese tradition, but also and more on the proofs of language. the first mention of corea in the japanese annals occurs in the fifth volume of the nihongi, and is the perhaps half-fabulous narrative of ancient tradition. in the 65th year of the reign of the tenth mikado, sujin (97â��30 b.c.), a boat filled with people from the west appeared off the southern point of chå�-shiu, near the modern town of shimonosã©ki. they would not land there, but steered their course from cape to cape along the coast until they reached the bay of keji no wara in echizen, near the modern city of tsuruga. here they disembarked and announced themselves from amana sankan (amana of the three han or kingdoms) in southern corea. they unpacked their treasures of finely wrought goods, and their leader made offerings to the mikado sujin. these immigrants remained five years in echizen, not far from the city of fukui, till 28 b.c. before leaving japan, they presented themselves in the capital for a farewell audience. the mikado mimaki, having died three years before, the visitors were requested on their return to call their country mimana, after their patron, as a memorial of their stay in japan. to this they assented, and on their return named their district mimana. some traditions state that the first corean envoy had a horn growing out of his forehead, and that since his time, and on account of it, the bay near which he dwelt was named tsunaga (horn bay) now corrupted into tsuruga. it may be added that nearly all mythical characters or heroes in japanese and chinese history are represented as having one or more very short horns growing out of their heads, and are so delineated in native art. six years later an envoy from shinra arrived, also bringing presents to the mikado. these consisted of mirrors, jade stone, swords, and other precious articles, then common in corea but doubtless new in japan. according to the tradition of the kojiki (book of ancient legends) the fourteenth mikado, chiu-ai (a.d. 192â��200) was holding his court at tsuruga in echizen, in a.d. 194, when a rebellion broke out in kiushiu. he marched at once into kiushiu, against the rebels, and there fell by disease or arrow. his consort, jingu kå�gå�, had a presentiment that he ought not to go into kiushiu, as he would surely fail if he did, but that he should strike at the root of the trouble and sail at once to the west. after his death she headed the japanese army and, leading the troops in person, quelled the revolt. she then ordered all the available forces of her realm to assemble for an invasion of shinra. japanese modern writers have laid great stress upon the fact that shinra began the aggressions which brought on war, and in this fact justify jinguâ��s action and japanâ��s right to hold corea as an honestly acquired possession. all being ready, the doughty queen regent set sail from the coast of hizen, in japan, in the tenth month a.d. 202, and beached the fleet safely on the coast of shinra. the king of shinra, accustomed to meet only with men from the rude tribes of kiushiu, was surprised to see so well-appointed an army and so large a fleet from a land to the eastward. struck with terror he resolved at once to submit. tying his hands in token of submission and in presence of the queen jingu, he declared himself the slave of japan. jingu caused her bow to be suspended over the gate of the palace of the king in sign of his submission. it is even said that she wrote on the gate â��the king of shinra is the dog of japan.â�� perhaps these are historic words, which find their meaning to-day in the two golden dogs forming part of the mikadoâ��s throne, like the scotch â��stone of scone,â�� under the coronation chair in westminster abbey. the followers of jingu evidently expected a rich booty, but after so peaceful a conquest the empress ordered that no looting should be allowed, and no spoil taken except the treasures constituting tribute. she restored the king to the throne as her vassal, and the tribute was then collected and laden on eighty boats with hostages for future annual tribute. the offerings comprised pictures, works of elegance and art, mirrors, jade, gold, silver, and silk fabrics. preparations were now made to conquer hiaksai also, when jingu was surprised to receive the voluntary submission and offers of tribute of this country. the japanese army remained in corea only two months, but this brief expedition led to great and lasting results. it gave the japanese a keener thirst for martial glory, it opened their eyes to a higher state of arts and civilization. from this time forth there flowed into the islands a constant stream of corean emigrants, who gave a great impulse to the spirit of improvement in japan. the japanese accept the story of jingu and her conquest as sound history, and adorn their greenback paper money with pictures of her foreign exploits. critics reject many elements in the tradition, such as her controlling the waves and drowning the shinra army by the jewels of the ebbing and the flowing tide, [2] and the delay of her accouchement by a magic stone carried in her girdle. the japanese ascribe the glory of victory to her then unborn babe, afterward deified as ojin, god of war, and worshipped by buddhists as hachiman or the eight-bannered buddha. yet many temples are dedicated to jingu, one especially famous is near hiå�go, and koraiji (corean village) near oiso, a few miles from yokohama, has another which was at first built in her honor. evidently the core of the narrative of conquest is fact. at the time when the faint, dim light of trustworthy tradition dawns, we find the people inhabiting the japanese archipelago to be roughly divided, as to their political status, into four classes. in the central province around kiå�to ruled a kingly houseâ��the mikado and his familyâ��with tributary nobles or feudal chiefs holding their lands on military tenure. this is the ancient classic land and realm of yamato. four other provinces adjoining it have always formed the core of the empire, and are called the go-kinai, or five home provinces, suggesting the five clans of kokorai. to the north and east stretched the little known and less civilized region, peopled by tribes of kindred blood and speech, who spoke nearly the same language as the yamato tribes, and who had probably come at some past time from the same ancestral seats in manchuria, and called the kuan-tå�, or region east (tå�) of the barrier (kuan) at ozaka; or poetically adzuma. still further north, on the main island and in yezo, lived the ainos or ebiså­, probably the aborigines of the soilâ��the straight-eyed men whose descendants still live in yezo and the kuriles. the northern and eastern tribes were first conquered and thoroughly subdued by the yamato tribes, after which all the far north was overrun and the ainos subjugated. in the extreme south of the main island of japan and in kiushiu, then called kumaso by the yamato people, lived a number of tribes of perhaps the same ethnic stock as the yamato japanese, but further removed. their progenitors had probably descended from manchuria through corea to japan. their blood and speech, however, were more mixed by infusions from malay and southern elements. into kiushiuâ��it being nearest to the continentâ��the peninsulars were constantly coming and mingling with the islanders. the allegiance of the kiushiu tribes to the royal house of yamato was of a very loose kind. the history of these early centuries, as shown in the annals of nihon, is but a series of revolts against the distant warrior mikado, whose life was chiefly one of war. he had often to leave his seat in the central island to march at the head of his followers to put down rebellions or to conquer new tribes. over these, when subdued, a prince chosen by the conqueror was set to rule, who became a feudatory of the mikado. the attempts of the yamato sovereign to wholly reduce the kiushiu tribes to submission, were greatly frustrated by their stout resistance, fomented by emissaries from shinra, who instigated them to â��revolt,â�� while adventurers from the corean mainland came over in large numbers and joined the â��rebels,â�� who were, in one sense, their own compatriots. from the time of jingu, if the early dates in japanese history are to be trusted, may be said to date that belief, so firmly fixed in the japanese mind, that corea is, and always was since jinguâ��s time, a tributary and dependency of japan. this idea, akin to that of the claim of the english kings on france, led to frequent expeditions from the third to the sixteenth century, and which, even as late as 1874, 1875, and 1877, lay at the root of three civil wars. all these expeditions, sometimes national, sometimes filibustering, served to drain the resources of japan, though many impulses to development and higher civilization were thus gained, especially in the earlier centuries. it seemed, until 1877, almost impossible to eradicate from the military mind of japan the conviction that to surrender corea was cowardice and a stain on the national honor. but time will show, as it showed centuries ago in england, that the glory and prosperity of the conqueror were increased, not diminished, when japan relinquished all claim on her continental neighbor and treated her as an equal. the coreans taught the japanese the arts of peace, while the coreans profited from their neighbors to improve in the business of war. we read that, in 316 a.d., a corean ambassador, bringing the usual tribute, presented to the mikado a shield of iron which he believed to be invulnerable to japanese arrows. the mikado called on one of his favorite marksmen to practice in the presence of the envoy. the shield was suspended, and the archer, drawing bow, sent a shaft through the iron skin of the buckler to the astonishment of the visitor. in all their battles the coreans were rarely able to stand in open field before the archers from over the sea, who sent true cloth-yard shafts from their oak and bamboo bows. the paying of tribute to a foreign country is never a pleasant duty to perform, though in times of prosperity and good harvests it is not difficult. in periods of scarcity from bad crops it is well nigh impossible. to insist upon its payment is to provoke rebellion. instances are indeed given in japanese history where the conquerors not only remitted the tribute but even sent ship loads of rice and barley to the starving coreans. when, however, for reasons not deemed sufficient, or out of sheer defiance, their vassals refused to discharge their dues, they again felt the iron hand of japan in war. during the reign of yuriaki, the twenty-second mikado (a.d. 457â��477), the three states failed to pay tribute. a japanese army landed in corea, and conquering hiaksai, compelled her to return to her duty. the campaign was less successful in shinra and korai, for after the japanese had left the corean shores the â��tributeâ�� was sent only at intervals, and the temper of the half-conquered people was such that other expeditions had to be despatched to inflict chastisement and compel payment. the gallant but vain succor given by the japanese to hiaksai during the war with the chinese, in the sixth century, which resulted in the destruction of the little kingdom, has already been detailed. among the names, forever famous in japanese art and tradition, of those who took part in this expedition are satã©-hiko and kasi-wadã©. the former sailed away from hizen in the year 536, as one of the mikadoâ��s body-guard to assist their allies the men of hiaksai. a poetical legend recounts that his wife, sayohimã©, climbed the hills of matsura to catch the last glimpse of his receding sails. thus intently gazing, with straining eyes, she turned to stone. the peasants of the neighborhood still discern in the weather-worn rocks, high up on the cliffs, the figure of a lady in long trailing court dress with face and figure eagerly bent over the western waves. not only is the name matsura sayohimã© the symbol of devoted love, but from this incident the famous author bakin constructed his romance of â��the great stone spirit of matsura.â�� kasiwadã©, who crossed over to do â��frontier serviceâ�� in the peninsula a few years later, was driven ashore by a snow squall at an unknown part of the coast. while in this defenceless condition his camp was invaded by a tiger, which carried off and devoured his son, a lad of tender age. kasiwadã© at once gave chase and followed the beast to the mountains and into a cave. the tiger leaping out upon him, the wary warrior bearded him with his left hand, and buried his dirk in his throat. then finishing him with his sabre, he skinned the brute and sent home the trophy. from olden times chå�-sen is known to japanese children only as a land of tigers, while to the soldier the â��marshalâ��s baton carried in his knapsackâ�� is a tiger-skin scabbard, the emblem and possession of rank. as the imperial court of japan looked upon shinra and hiaksai as outlying vassal states, the frequent military movements across the sea were reckoned under â��frontier service,â�� like that beyond the latitude of sado in the north of the main island, or in kiushiu in the south. â��the three countriesâ�� of corea were far nearer and more familiar to the japanese soldiers than were yezo or the riu kiu islands, which were not part of the empire till several centuries afterward. kara kuni, the country of kara (a corruption of korai?), as they now call china, was then applied to corea. not a little of classic poetry and legend in the yamato language refers to this western frontier beyond the sea. the elegy on ihã©maro, the soldier-prince, who died at iki island on the voyage over, and that on the death of the corean nun riguwan, have been put into english verse by mr. chamberlain (named after the english explorer and writer on corea, basil hall), in his â��classical poetry of the japanese.â�� this corean lady left her home in 714, and for twenty-one years found a home with the mikadoâ��s prime minister, otomo, and his wife, at nara. she died in 735, while her hosts were away at the mineral springs of arima, near kobã©; and the elegy was written by their daughter. one stanza describes her life in the new country. â��and here with aliens thou didst choose to dwell, year in, year out, in deepest sympathy; and here thou builtest thee a holy cell, and so the peaceful years went gliding by.â�� an interesting field of research is still open to the scholar who will point out all the monuments of corean origin or influence in the mikadoâ��s empire, in the arts and sciences, household customs, diet and dress, or architecture; in short, what by nature or the hand of man has been brought to the land of sunrise from that of morning calm. one of the corean princes, who settled in japan early in the seventh century, founded a family which afterward ruled the famous province of nagatå� or chå�shiu. one of his descendants welcomed francis xavier, and aided his work by gifts of ground and the privilege of preaching. many of the temples in kiå�to still contain images, paintings, and altar furniture brought from corea. the â��pheasant bridgeâ�� still keeps its name from bygone centuries; in a garden near by pheasants were kept for the supply of the tables of the corean embassies. the arab and persian treasures of art and fine workmanship, in the imperial archives and museums of nara, which have excited the wonder of foreign visitors, are most probably among the gifts or purchases from shinra, where these imports were less rare. a buddhist monk named shiuho has gathered up the traditions and learning of the subject, so far as it illustrated his faith, and in â��precious jewels from a neighboring country,â�� published in 1586, has written a narrative of the introduction of buddhism from corea and its literary and missionary influences upon japan. under the chapters on art and religion we shall resume this topic. as earnestly as the japanese are now availing themselves of the science and progress of christendom in this nineteenth century, so earnestly did they borrow the culture of the west, that is of corea and china, a thousand years ago. the many thousands of coreans, who, during the first ten centuries of the christian era, but especially in the seventh, eighth, and ninth, settled in japan, lived peaceably with the people of their adopted country, and loyally obeyed the mikadoâ��s rule. an exception to this course occurred in 820, when seven hundred men who some time before had come from shinra to tå�tå�mi and suruga revolted, killed many of the japanese, seized the rice in the store-houses, and put to sea to escape. the people of musashi and sagami pursued and attacked them, putting many of them to death. the general history of the coreans in japan divides itself into two parts. those who came as voluntary immigrants in time of peace were in most cases skilled workmen or farmers, who settled in lands or in villages granted them, and were put on political and social equality with the mikadoâ��s subjects. they founded industries, intermarried with the natives, and their identity has been lost in the general body of the japanese people. with the prisoners taken in war, and with the laborers impressed into their service and carried off by force, the case was far different. these latter were set apart in villages by themselvesâ��an outcast race on no social equality with the people. at first they were employed to feed the imperial falcons, or do such menial work, but under the ban of buddhism, which forbids the destruction of life and the handling of flesh, they became an accursed race, the â��etasâ�� or pariahs of the nation. they were the butchers, skinners, leather-makers, and those whose business it was to handle corpses of criminals and all other defiling things. they exist to-day, not greatly changed in blood, though in costume, language, and general appearance, it is not possible to distinguish them from japanese of purest blood. by the humane edict of the mikado, in 1868, granting them all the rights of citizenship, their social condition has greatly improved. from the ninth century onward to the sixteenth, the relations of the two countries seem to be unimportant. japan was engaged in conquering northward the barbarians of her main island and yezo. her intercourse, both political and religious, grew to be so direct with the court of china, that corea, in the japanese annals, sinks out of sight except at rare intervals. nihon increased in wealth and civilization while chå�-sen remained stationary or retrograded. in the nineteenth century the awakened sunrise kingdom has seen her former self in the hermit nation, and has stretched forth willing hands to do for her neighbor now, what corea did for japan in centuries long gone by. still, it must never be forgotten that corea was not only the bridge on which civilization crossed from china to the archipelago, but was most probably the pathway of migration by which the rulers of the race now inhabiting nihon reached it from their ancestral seats around the sungari and the ever-white mountains. true, it is not absolutely certain whether the homeland of the mikadoâ��s ancestors lay southward in the sea, or westward among the mountains, but that the mass of the corean and japanese people are more closely allied in blood than either are with the chinese, manchius, or malays, seems to be proved, not only by language and physical traits, but by the whole course of the history of both nations, and by the testimony of the chinese records. both coreans and japanese have inherited the peculiar institutions of their fuyu ancestorsâ��that race which alone of all the peoples sprung from manchuria migrated toward the rising, instead of toward the setting, sun. chapter ix. korai, or united corea. the fertile and well-watered region drained by the amur river and its tributaries, stretching from the pacific ocean to lake baikal, covers the ancestral seats of many nations, and is perhaps the home of nations yet to arise. it may be likened to a great intermittent geyser-spring which, at intervals, overflows with terrific force and volume. the movements of population southward seem, on a review of chinese and corean history, almost as regular as a law of nature. as the conquerors from the central asian plateaus have over and over again descended into india, as the barbarians overran the roman empire, so out of the region drained by the amur and its tributaries have burst forth, time and again, floods of conquest to overwhelm the rich plains of china. or, if we regard the flowery and grassy lands of manchuria and beyond as a great hive, full of busy life which, from the pressure of increasing numbers, must swarm off to relieve the old home, we shall have a true illustration. time and again have clouds of human bees, with the sting of their swords and the honey of their new energy, issued from this ancient hive. the swarms receive different names in history: hun, turk, tartar, mongol, manchiu, but they all emerge from the same source, giving or receiving dynastic names, but being in reality tungusic people of the same basic stock. a tribe inhabiting one of the ravines or rich river flats of the sungari region increases in wealth and numbers. a powerful chief leads them to war and victory. tribes and lands are annexed. martial valor, wealth, and strength increase. ambition and the pressure of numbers tempt to farther conquest. over and beyond the great wall is the ever-glittering prizeâ��teeming china. the march begins southward. after many a battle, and only, it may be, after a generation of war against the imperial legions beyond the frontiers, the goal is reached. the middle kingdom is conquered and a new dynasty sits on the dragon throne, until long peace enervates and luxury weakens. then out of the old northern seats of population rolls a new flood of conquest, and a new swarm of conquerors is hived off. thus we see the original land embracing the amur and sungari valleys has had its periods of power and decay, of historical and unhistorical life. unity and movement make history, disintegration and apathy cause the page of history to be blank. but the land is still there with the people and the possibilities of the future. in spite of the associations of hoary antiquity that cluster around asiatic countries, the reader of history does not expect to hear of single empires enduring through many centuries. with the exception of japan, no nation of asia can show a dynastic line extending through a millennium. the empires founded by asiatic conquerors are short-lived. the countries and the people remain, but the rulers constantly change, and the building up, flourishing, decay, and dissolution suggest the seasons rather than the centuries. no enduring political fabrics, like those of rome or britain, are known in asia. though china and india abide like the oak, their rulers change like the leaves. socially, these countries are the symbols of petrifaction, politically they are as the kaleidoscope. from this law of continuous political mutation, corea has not been free. in one of these epochs of historical movement, at the opening of the eighth century, there arose the kingdom of puhai, the capital of which was the present city of kirin. its northern boundaries first touched the sungari, and later the amur, shifting to the sungari again. its southern border was at first the tumen river, and later the modern province of ham-kiung was included in it. lines drawn southwardly through lake hanka on the east, and mukden on the west, would enclose its longitude. its life lasted from about 700 to 925 a.d. this kingdom was continually on bad terms with china, and the tang emperors for nearly a century attempted to crush it into vassalage. puhai made brave resistance, being aided not only by the large numbers of koraians, who had fled when beaten by the chinese across the tumen river, but also by the japanese, whose supremacy they acknowledged by payment of tribute. with the latter their relations were always of a peaceful and pleasant nature, and the correspondence and other documents of the visiting embassies to the mikadoâ��s court are still preserved in japan. yet though puhai was able to resist china and hold part of the old territory of korai, it fell before the persistent attacks of the kitan tribes, whose empire, lasting from 907 to 1125 a.d., stretched from west of lake baikal to the pacific ocean. in the early part of the tenth century this puhai kingdom, whose age was scarcely two centuries, melted away again into tribes and villages, each with its chief. the country being without political unity returned to unhistorical obscurity, as part of the kitan empire. without crossing the tumen, to enter china by way of corea, the kitans marched at once around the ever-white mountains and down the liao tung valley into china. the breaking up of puhai was not without its influence on the corean peninsula. as early as the ninth century thousands of refugees, driven before the kitans or dissatisfied with nomad life on the plains, recrossed the tumen and a great movement of emigration set into northern corea, which again became populous, cultivated, and rich. with increasing prosperity better government was desired. the worthlessness of the rulers and the prospect of a successful revolution tempted the ambition of a buddhist monk named kung-wo who, in 912 a.d., left his monastery and raised the flag of rebellion. he set forth to establish another political fabric of mushroom duration, which was destined to make way for a more permanent kingdom, and, in the end, united corea. with his followers, kung-wo attacked the city of kaichow (in the modern kang-wen province), and was so far successful as to enter it and proclaim himself king. his personal success was of short duration. his lieutenant, wang-ken, that is wang the founder, was a descendant of the old kingly house of korai. during all the time of chinese occupancy, or shinra supremacy, his family had kept alive their spirit, traditions, and claims. thinking he could rule better than a priest, wang put the ex-monk to death and proclaimed himself the true sovereign of korai. all this went on without the interference of china, which at this time was torn by internal disorder and the ravages of the same kitan tribes that had destroyed puhai. wang made ping-an and kaichow the capitals of his kingdom, and resolved to take full advantage of his opportunity to conquer the entire peninsula and unite all its parts under his sceptre. circumstances made this an easy task. with china passive, shinra weak, through long absorption in luxury and the arts of peace, and with most part of the population of the peninsula of koraian blood and descent, the work was easy. the whole country, from the ever-white mountains to quelpart island, was overrun and welded into unity. the name of shinra was blotted out after a line of fifty-six kings and a life of nine hundred and ninety-three years. for the first time the peninsula became a political unit, and the name korai, springing to life again like the arabian phå�nix out of its ashes, became the symbol alike of united corea and of the race which peopled it. even yet the name korai (gauli or gori in the vernacular) is generally used by the people. the probabilities are that the people of the old fuyu race, descendants of the tribes of kokorai, as the more vigorous stock, had already so far supplanted the old aboriginal people inhabiting southern corea as to make conquest by wang, who was one of their own blood, easy. this is shown in a series of maps representing the three kingdoms of corea from 201 to 655 a.d., by the japanese scholar otsuki tå�yå�. at the former date the kokorai people beyond that part of their domain conquered by china have occupied the land as far south as the han river, or to the 37th parallel. later, shinra, in 593, and again in 655, backed by chinese armies, had regained her territory a degree or two northward, and in the eighth and ninth centuries, acting as the ally of china, ruled all the country to the tumen river. yet, though shinra held the land, the inhabitants were the same, namely, the stock of korai, ready to rise against their rulers and to annihilate shinra in a name and monarchy that had in it nationality and the prestige of their ancient freedom and greatness. thoroughly intent on unifying his realm, wang chose a central location for the national capital. kion-chiu, the metropolis of shinra, was too far south, ping-an, the royal seat of old korai, was too far north; but one hundred miles nearer â��the riverâ�� han, was sunto. this city, now called kai-seng, is twenty-five miles from seoul and equally near the sea. wang made sunto what it has been for over nine centuries, a fortified city of the first rank, the chief commercial centre of the country, and a seat of learning. it remained the capital until 1392 a.d. wang-ken or wang, the founder of the new dynasty under which the people were to be governed for over four hundred years, was an ardent buddhist. spite of his having put the monk to death to further personal ends, he became the defender of the india faith and made it the official religion. monasteries were founded and temples built in great numbers. to furnish revenues for the support of these, tracts of land were set apart as permanent endowment. the four centuries of the house of korai are the palmy days of corean buddhism. from china, which at this time was enjoying that era of literary splendor, for which the sung dynasty was noted, there came an impulse both to scholastic activity and to something approaching popular education. the nido, or native syllabary, which had been invented by chul-chong, the statesman of shinra, now came into general use. while chinese literature and the sacred books of buddhism were studied in the original sanscrit, popular works were composed in corean and written out in the nido, or vernacular syllables. the printing press, invented by the sung scholars, was introduced and books were printed from cut blocks. the japanese are known to have adopted printing from corea as early as the twelfth century, when a work of the buddhist canon was printed from wooden blocks. â��a corean book is known which dates authentically from the period 1317â��1324, over a century before the earliest printed book known in europe.â�� the use of metal type, made by moulding and casting, is not distinctly mentioned in corea until the year 1420, and the invention and use of the unmun, a true native alphabet, seems to belong to the same period. the eleven vowels and fourteen consonants serve both as an alphabet and a syllabary, the latter being the most ancient system, and the former an improvement on it. the unifier of corea died in 945 and was succeeded by his son wu. fifteen years later the last of the five weak dynasties that had rapidly succeeded each other in china, fell. the chinese emperor proposing, and the corean king being willing, the latter hastened to send tribute, and formed an alliance of friendship with the imperial sung, who swayed the destinies of china for the next 166 years (960â��1101). korai soon came into collision with the kitans in the following manner. the royal line of united corea traced their descent directly from the ancient kings of kokorai, and therefore claimed relationship with the princes of puhai. on the strength of this claim, the koraian king asserted his right to the whole of liao tung, which had been formerly held by puhai. the kitans, having matters of greater importance to attend to at the time, allowed its temporary occupation by korai troops. nevertheless the king thought it best to send homage to the kitan emperor, in order to get a clear title to the territory. in 1012 he despatched an embassy acknowledging the kitan supremacy. this verbal message did not satisfy the strong conqueror, who demanded that the koraian king should come in person and make obeisance. the latter refused. a feud at once broke out between them, which led to a war, in which korai was worsted and stripped of all her territory west of the yalu river. palladius has pointed out the interesting fact that a little village about twenty miles north of tie-ling, and seventy miles north of mukden, called gauli-chan (korai village) still witnesses by its name to its former history, and to the possession by corea of territory west of the yalu. the kitans, not satisfied with recovering liao tung, crossed the river and invaded korai, in 1015. by this time a new nation, under the name of nã¼jun or ninchi, had formed around lake hanka, in part of the territory of extinct puhai. with their new frontagers the koraians made an alliance â��as solid as iron and stone,â�� and with their aid drove back the kitan invaders. henceforth the boundaries of corea remained stationary, and have never extended beyond the limits with which the western world is familiar. an era of peace and prosperity set in, and a thriving trade sprang up between the nã¼jun and korai. the two nations, cemented in friendship through a common fear of the kitans, grew apace in numbers and prosperity. the kitans were known to chinese authors as early as the fifth century, seven nomad tribes being at that time confederate under their banners. at the beginning of the tenth century, these wanderers had been transformed into hordes of disciplined cavalry. their wealth and intelligence having increased by conquest, they formed a great empire in 925, which extended from the altai mountains to the pacific ocean, and from within the great wall to the yablonoi mountains, having peking for one of its capitals. it flourished until the twelfth century (a.d. 1125), when it gave way to the kin empire, which held mongolia and still more territory than the kitans possessed within what is now china proper. this kin empire was founded by the expansion of the nã¼jun, who, from their seats north of the tumen and east of the sungari, had gradually widened, and by conquest absorbed the kitans. aguta, the founder of the new empire, gave it the name of the golden dominion. during its existence corea was not troubled by her great neighbor, and for two hundred years enjoyed peace within her borders. her commerce now flourished at all points of the compass, both on land, with her northern and western neighbors, with the japanese on the east, and the chinese south and west. much direct intercourse in ships, guided by the magnetic needle, â��the chariot of the south,â�� took place between ningpo and sunto. mr. edkins states that the oldest recorded instance of the use of the marinerâ��s compass is that in the chinese historianâ��s account of the voyage of the imperial ambassador to corea, from nanking by way of ningpo, in a fleet of eight vessels, in the year 1122. the arabs, who about this time were also trading with the coreans, and had lived in their country, soon afterward introduced this silent friend of the mariner into their own country in the west, whence it found its way into europe and to the hands of columbus. to the eye of the corean its mysterious finger pointed to the south. to the western man it pointed to the lode-star. the huge wide-open eyes which the sailors of chinese asia paint at the prow of their ship, to discover a path in the sea, became more than ever an empty fancy before this unerring pathfinder. as useless as the ever-open orbs on a mummy lid, these lidless eyes were relegated to the domain of poetry, while the swinging needle opened new paths of science and discovery. chapter x. cathay, zipangu, and the mongols. after a long breathing-spellâ��as one, in reading history, might call itâ��the old hive in the north was again ready to swarm. it was to be seen once more how useless was the great wall of china in keeping back the many-named invaders, known in history by the collective term tã¢tars. a new people began descending from their homeland, which lay near the northern and eastern shores of lake baikal. this inland seaâ��scarcely known in the school geographies, or printed in the average atlas in such proportionate dimensions as to suggest a pondâ��is one of the largest lakes in the world, being 370 miles long and covering 13,300 square miles of surface. its shores are now inhabited by russian colonists and its waters are navigated by whole fleets of ships and steamers. it lies 1,280 feet above the sea. beginning their migrations from this point, in numbers and bulk that suggest only the snowball, the mongol horsemen moved with resistless increase and momentum, consolidating into their mass tribe after tribe, until their horde seemed an avalanche of humanity that threatened to crush all civilization and engulph the whole earth. these mounted highlanders from the north were creatures who seemed to be horse and man in one being, and to actualize the old fable of the centaurs. with a tiger-skin for a saddle, a thong loop with only the riderâ��s great toe thrust in it for a stirrup, a string in the horseâ��s lower jaw for a bridle, armed with spear and cimeter, these conquerors who despised walls went forth to level cities and slaughter all who resisted. in their raids they found food ever ready in the beasts they rode, for a reeking haunch of horse-meat, cut from the steed whose saddle had been emptied by arrow or accident, was usually found slung to their pommels. a slice of this, raw or warmed, served to sustain life for these hard riders, who lived all day in the saddle and at night slept with it wrapped around them. for a century the power of these nomads was steadily growing, before they emerged clearly into history and loomed up before the frontiers of the empire. the master mind and hand that moulded them into unity was genghis khan (1160â��1227 a.d.). who was genghis khan? a japanese writer, who is also a traveller in corea and china, has written in english a thesis which shows, with strong probability, at least, that this unifier of asia was gen-ghikã©, or yoshitsunã©. this japanese hero, born in 1159, was the field-marshal of the army of the minamoto who annihilated the taira family. [3] in 1189, having fled from his jealous brother, yoritomo, he reached yezo and thence crossed, it is believed, to manchuria. his was probably the greatest military mind which japan ever produced. that yoshitsunã© and genghis khan were one person is argued by mr. suyematz, [4] who brings a surprising array of coincidences to prove his thesis. these are in names, titles, ages, dates, personal characteristics, flags and banners, myths and traditions, nomenclature of families, localities and individuals, and japanese relics, coins, arms, and fortresses in manchuria. without reaching the point of demonstration, it seems highly probable that this wonderful personality, this marvellous intellect, was of japanese origin. whoever this restless spirit was, it is certain that he gathered tribes once living in freedom like the wild waves into the unity of the restless sea. out from the grassy plains of manchuria rolled a tidal-wave of conquest that swept over asia, and flung its last drops of spray alike over japan, india, and russia. among the nations completely overrun and overwhelmed by the mongol hordes was corea. in 1206, yezokaiâ��the word in japanese means yezo seaâ��the leader of the mongols, at the request of his chieftains, took the name of genghis khan and proclaimed himself the ruler of an empire. he now set before himself the task of subduing the kitans and absorbing their land and people, preparatory to the conquest of china. this was accomplished in less than six years. liao tung was invaded and, in 1213, his armies were inside the great wall. three mighty hosts were now organized, one to overrun all china to nepal and anam, one to conquer corea and japan, and one to bear the white banners of the mongols across asia into europe. this work, though not done in a day, was nearly completed before a generation passed. [5] genghis khan led the host that moved to the west. in 1218 the corean king declared himself a vassal of genghis. in 1231 the murder of a mongol envoy in corea was the cause of the first act of war. the mongols invaded the country, captured forty of the principal towns, received the humiliation of the king, who had fled to kang-wa island, and began the abolition of corean independence by appointing seventy-two mongol prefects to administer the details of local government. the people, exasperated by the new and strange methods of their foreign conquerors, rose against them and murdered them all. this was the signal for a second and more terrible invasion. a great mongol army overran the country in 1241, fought a number of pitched battles, defeated the king, and again imposed heavy tribute on their humbled vassal. in 1256 the corean king went in person to do homage at the court of the conqueror of continents. in the details of the mongol rule kindness and cruelty were blended. the most relentless military measures were taken to secure obedience after the conciliatory policy failed. by using both methods the great khan kept his hold on the little peninsula, although the coreans manifested a constant disposition to revolt. about this time began a brilliant half century of intercourse between europe and cathay, which has been studied and illustrated in the writings of colonel h. yule. the two franciscan monks carpinini and rubruquis visited china, and the camps of the great khan, between the years 1245 and 1253. by their graphic narratives, in which the wars of genghis were described, they made the name of cathay (from kitai, or kitan) familiar in europe. matteo, nicolo, and marco polo, who came later, as representatives of the commerce which afterward flourished between venice and genoa, and ningpo and amoy, were but a few among many merchants and travellers. embassies from the popes and the khan exchanged courtesies at avignon and cambaluc (peking). christian churches were established in peking and other cities by the franciscan monks. the various europeans who have saved their own names and a few others from oblivion, and have left us a romantic, but in the main a truthful, picture of mediã¦val china and the mongols, were probably only the scribes among a host who traded or travelled, but never told their story. among the marvels of the empire of the mongols, in which one might walk safely from corea to russia, was religious toleration. when, however, the mongols of central asia embraced the creed of islam, bigotry closed the highway into europe, and communications ceased. cathay, zipangu, and corea again sunk from the eyes of europe into the night of historic darkness. khublai khan having succeeded his grandfather, genghis, and being now ruler of all the asiatic mainland, resolved, in 1266, to conquer japan. he wrote a letter to the mikado, but the envoys were so frightened by the coreanâ��s exaggerated account of the difficulties of reaching the empire in the sea, that they never sailed. other embassies were despatched in 1271 and 1273, and khublai began to prepare a mighty flotilla and army of invasion. one hundred of the ships were built on quelpart island. his armada, consisting of 300 vessels and 15,000 men, chinese, mongols, and coreans, sailed to japan and was met by the japanese off the island of iki. owing to their valor, but more to the tempest that arose, the expedition was a total loss, only a few of the original number reaching corea alive. evidently desirous of conquering japan by diplomacy, the great khan despatched an embassy which reached, not the mikadoâ��s, but only the shå�-gunâ��s court in 1275. his ambassadors were accompanied by a large retinue from his corean vassals. the japanese allowed only three of the imposing number to go to kamakura, twelve miles from the modern tå�kiå�, and paid no attention to the khanâ��s threatening letters. so irritated were the brave islanders that when another ambassador from the khan arrived, in the following year, he disembarked as a prisoner and was escorted, bound, to kamakura, where he was thrown into prison, kept during four years, and taken out only to be beheaded. upon hearing this, khublai began the preparation of the mightiest of his invading hosts. to be braved by a little island nation, when his sceptre ruled from the dnieper to the yellow sea, was not to be thought of. various fleets and contingents sailed from different ports in china and made rendezvous on the corean coast. the fleet was composed of 3,500 war junks, of large size, having on board 180,000 chinese, mongols, and coreans. among their engines of war were the catapults which the polos had taught them to make. they set sail in the autumn of 1281. from the very first the enterprise miscarried. the general-in-chief fell sick and the command devolved on a subordinate, who had no plan of operation. the various divisions of the force became separated. it is probable that the majority of them never reached the mainland of japan. the mongol and corean contingent reached the province of chikuzen, but were not allowed to make a successful landing, for the japanese drove them back with sword and fire. the chinese division, arriving later, was met by a terrible tempest that nearly annihilated them and destroyed the ships already engaged. the broken remnant of the fleet and armies, taking refuge on the island of iki, were attacked by the japanese and nearly all slain, imprisoned, or beheaded in cold blood. only a few reached corea to tell the tale. the â��mongol civilization,â�� so-called, seems to have had little influence on corea. the mighty empire of genghis soon broke into many fragments. the vast fabric of his government melted like a sand house before an incoming wave, and that wave receding left scarcely a sediment recognizable on the polity or social life of corea. marco polo in his book hardly mentions the country, though describing zipangu or japan quite fully. one evil effect of their forced assistance given to the mongols, was that the hatred of the japanese and coreans for each other was mutually intensified. after the mongolian invasion begins that series of piratical raids on their coast and robbery of their vessels at sea, by japanese adventurers, that made navigation beyond sight of land and ship-building among the coreans almost a lost art. the centuries following the mongol invasion were periods of anarchy and civil war in japan, and the central government authority being weak the pirates could not be controlled. building or stealing ships, bands of japanese sailors or ex-soldiers put to sea, capturing corean boats, junks, and surf-rafts. landing, they harried the shores and robbed and murdered the defenceless people. growing bolder, the marauders sailed into the yellow sea and landed even in china and in liao tung. they kept whole towns and cities in terror, and a chain of coast forts had to be built in shan-tung to defend that province. the fire-signals which, in the old days of â��the three kingdoms,â�� had flashed upon the headlands to warn of danger seaward, were now made a national service. the system was perfected so as to converge at the capital, sunto, and give notice of danger from any point on the coast. by this means better protection against the sea-rovers was secured. all this evil experience with the piratical japanese of the middle ages has left its impress on the language of the coreans. from this period, perhaps even long before it, date those words of sinister omen of which we give but one or two examples which have the prefix wai (japan) in them. a wai-kol, a huge, fierce man, of gigantic aspect, with a bad head, though perhaps with good heart, a kind of ogre, is a japanese kol or creature. a destructive wind or typhoon is a japanese wind. as western christendom for centuries uttered their fears of the norse pirates, â��from the fury of the northmen, good lord, deliver us,â�� so the korai people, along the coast, for many generations offered up constant petition to their gods for protection against these northmen of the pacific. this chronic danger from japanese pirates, which korai and chå�-sen endured for a period nearly as extended as that of england from the northmen, is one of the causes that have contributed to make the natives dread the sea as a path for enemies, and in corea we see the strange anomaly of a people more than semi-civilized whose wretched boats scarcely go beyond tide-water. chapter xi. new chå�-sen. it will be remembered that the first chinese settler and civilizer of corea, ki tsze, gave it the name of chå�-sen. coming from violence and war, to a land of peace which lay eastward of his old home, ki tsze selected for his new dwelling-place a name at once expressive of its outward position and his own inward emotionsâ��chå�-sen, or morning calm. for eleven centuries a part of manchuria, including, as the coreans believe, the northern half of the peninsula, bore this name. from the christian era until the tenth century, the names of the three kingdoms, shinra, hiaksai, and kokorai, or korai, express the divided political condition of the country. on the fall of these petty states, the united peninsula was called korai. korai existed from a.d. 934 until a.d. 1392, when the ancient name of chå�-sen was restored. though the coreans often speak of their country as korai (gauli, or gori), it is as the english speak of britainâ��with a patriotic feeling rather than for accuracy. chå�-sen is still the official and popular designation of the country. this name is at once the oldest and the newest. the first bestowal of this name on the peninsula was in poetic mood, and was the symbol of a peaceful triumph. the second gift of the name was the index of a political revolution not unaccompanied with bloodshed. the latter days of the dynasty founded by wang were marked by licentiousness and effeminacy in the palace, and misrule in the country. the people hated the cruelties of their monarch, the thirty-second of his line, and longed for a deliverer. such a one was ni taijo (japanese, ri seiki), who was born in the region of broughtonâ��s bay, in the ham-kiung province. it is said of him that from his youth he surpassed all others in virtue, intelligence, and skill in manly exercises. he was especially fond of hunting with the falcon. one day, while in the woods, his favorite bird, in pursuing its quarry, flew so far ahead that it was lost to the sight of its master. hastening after it the young man espied a shrine at the roadside into which he saw his hawk fly. entering, he found within a hermit priest. awed and abashed at the weird presence of the white-bearded sage, the lad for a moment was speechless; but the old man, addressing him, said: â��what benefit is it for a youth of your abilities to be seeking a stray falcon? a throne is a richer prize. betake yourself at once to the capital.â�� acting upon the hint thus given him, and leaving the falcon behind, taijo wended his way westward to sunto, and entered the military service of the king. he soon made his mark and rapidly rose to high command, until he became lieutenant-general of the whole army. he married and reared children, and through the espousal of his daughter by the king, became father-in-law to his sovereign. the influence of taijo was now immense. while with his soldierly abilities he won the enthusiastic regard of the army, his popularity with the people rested solely on his virtues. possessed of such influence with the court, the soldiers, and the country at large, he endeavored to reform the abuse of power and to curb the cruelties of the king. even to give advice to a despot is an act of bravery, but taijo dared to do it again and again. the king, however, refused to follow the counsel of his father-in-law or to reform abuses. he thus daily increased the odium in which he was held by his subjects. such was the state of affairs toward the end of the fourteenth century, when everything was ripe for revolution. in china, great events, destined to influence â��the little kingdom,â�� were taking place. the mongol dynasty, even after the breaking up of the empire founded by genghis khan, still held the dragon throne; but during the later years of their reign, when harassed by enemies at home, corea was neglected and her tribute remained unpaid. a spasmodic attempt to resubdue the lapsed vassal, and make corea a mongol castle of refuge from impending doom, was ruined by the energy and valor of ni taijo. the would-be invaders were driven back. the last mongol emperor fell in 1341, and the native ming, or â��bright,â�� dynasty came into power, and in 1368 was firmly established. their envoys being sent to corea demanded pledges of vassalage. the king neglected, finally refused, and ordered fresh levies to be made to resist the impending invasion of the chinese. in this time of gloom and bitterness against their own monarch, the army contained but a pitifully small number of men who could be depended on to fight the overwhelming host of the ming veterans. taijo, in an address to his followers, thus spoke to them: â��although the order from the king must be obeyed, yet the attack upon the ming soldiers, with so small an army as ours, is like casting an egg against a rock, and no one of the army will return alive. i do not tell you this from any fear of death, but our king is too haughty. he does not heed our advice. he has ordered out the army suddenly without cause, paying no attention to the suffering which wives and children of the soldiers must undergo. this is a thing i cannot bear. let us go back to the capital and the responsibility shall fall on my shoulders alone.â�� thereupon the captains and soldiers being impressed with the purity of their leaderâ��s motives, and admiring his courage, resolved to obey his orders and not the kingâ��s. arriving at sunto, he promptly took measures to depose the king, who was sent to kang-wa, the island so famous in modern as in ancient and mediã¦val history. the kingâ��s wrath was very great, and he intrigued to avenge himself. his plot was made known, by one of his retainers, to taijo, who, by a counter-movement, put forth the last radical measure which, in chinese asia means, for a private person, disinheritance; for a king, deposition; and for a royal line, extinction. this act was the removal of the tablets of the kingâ��s ancestors from their shrine, and the issue of an order forbidding further continuance of sacrifice to them. this corean and chinese method of clapping the extinguisher upon a whole dynasty was no sooner ordered than duly executed. ni taijo was now made king, to the great delight of the people. he sent an embassy to nanking to notify the ming emperor of affairs in the â��outpost state,â�� to tender his loyal vassalage, to seek the imperial approval of his acts, and to beg his investiture as sovereign. this was graciously granted. the ancient name of chå�-sen was revived, and at the petitionerâ��s request conferred upon the country by the emperor, who profited by this occasion to enforce upon the coreans his calendar and chronologyâ��the reception of these being in itself alone tantamount to a sufficient declaration of fealty. friendship being now fully established with the mings, the king of chå�-sen sent a number of youths, sons of his nobles, to nanking to study in the imperial chinese college. the dynasty thus established is still the reigning family in corea, though the direct line came to an end in 1864. the coreans in their treaty with japan, in 1876, dated the document according to the 484th year of chå�-sen, reckoning from the accession of ni taijo to the throne. one of the first acts of the new dynasty was to make a change in the location of the national capital. the new dynasty made choice of the city of han yang, situated on the han river, about fifty miles from its mouth. the king enlarged the fortifications, enclosed the city with a wall of masonry of great extent, extending over the adjacent hills and valleys. on this wall was a rampart pierced with port-holes for archers and over the streams were built arches of stone. he organized the administrative system which, with slight modification, is still in force at the present time. the city being well situated, soon grew in extent, and hence became the seoul or capital (pronounced by the chinese king, as in nanking and peking, and the japanese kio, as in kiå�to and tå�kiå�). he also re-divided the kingdom into eight då� or provinces. this division still maintains. the names, formed each of two chinese characters joined to that of då� (circuit or province), and approximate meanings are given below. [6] with such names of bright omen, â��the eight provincesâ�� entered upon an era of peace and flourishing prosperity. the people found out that something more than a change of masters was meant by the removal of the capital to a more central situation. vigorous reforms were carried out, and changes were made, not only in political administration, but in social life, and even in religion. in all these the influence of the china of the ming emperors is most manifest. buddhism, which had penetrated into every part of the country, and had become, in a measure, at least, the religion of the state, was now set aside and disestablished. the confucian ethics and the doctrines of the chinese sages were not only more diligently studied and propagated under royal patronage, but were incorporated into the religion of the state. from the early part of the fifteenth century, confucianism flourished until it reached the point of bigotry and intolerance; so that when christianity was discovered by the magistrates to be existing among the people, it was put under the band of extirpation, and its followers thought worthy of death. whatever may have been the motive for supplanting buddhism, whether from sincere conviction of the paramount truth of the ancient ethics, or a desire to closely imitate the middle kingdom in everything, even in religion, or to obtain easy and great wealth by confiscating the monastery and temple lands, it is certain that the change was sweeping, radical, and thorough. all observers testify that the cult of shaka in corea is almost a shadow. on the other hand, in many cities throughout the land, are buildings and halls erected and maintained by the government, in which sit in honor the statues of confucius and his greatest disciples. one great measure that tended to strengthen and make popular the new religious establishment, to weaken the old faith, to give strength and unity to the new government, to foster education and make the corean literary classes what they are to-dayâ��critical scholars in chineseâ��was what americans would call â��civil service reform.â�� appointment to office on the basis of merit, as shown in the literary examinations, was made the rule. modelled closely upon the chinese system, three grades of examinations were appointed, and three degrees settled. all candidates for military or civil rank and office must possess diplomas, granted by the royal or provincial examiners, before appointment could be made or salary begun. the system, which is still in vogue, is more fully described in the chapter on education. among the changes in the fashion of social life, introduced under the ni dynasty, was the adoption of the ming costume. to the chinese of to-day the corean dress and coiffure, as seen in peking, are subjects for curiosity and merriment. the lack of a long queue, and the very different cut, form, and general appearance of these eastern strangers, strike the eye of mandarin and street laborer alike, very much as a gentleman in knee-breeches, cocked hat, and peruke, or the peasant costumes at castle garden, appear to a new yorker, stepping from the elevated railway, on broadway. yet from the fourteenth to the seventeenth century, the chinese gentleman dressed like the corean of to-day, and the mandarin of canton or nanking was as innocent of the tartar hair-tail as is the citizen of seoul. the coreans simply adhere to the fashions prevalent during the ming era. the chinese, in the matter of garb, however loath foreigners may be to credit it, are more progressive than their corean neighbors. to the house of ni belongs also the greater honor of abolishing at least two cruel customs which had their roots in superstition. heretofore the same rites which were so long in vogue in japan, traces of which were noticed even down to the seventeenth century, held unchallenged sway in corea. ko-rai-chang, though not fully known in its details, was the habit of burying old men alive. in-chei was the offering up of human sacrifices, presumably to the gods of the mountains and the sea. both of these classes of rites, at once superstitious and horrible, were anciently very frequent; nor was buddhism able to utterly abolish them. in the latter case, they choked the victims to death, and then threw them into the sea. the island of chansan was especially noted as the place of propitiation to the gods of the sea. the first successors of the founder of the house of ni held great power, which they used for the good of the people, and hence enjoyed great popularity. the first after taijo reigned two years, from 1398 to 1400. hetai-jong, who came after him, ruled eighteen years, and among other benefits conferred, established the sin-mun-ko, or box for the reception of petitions addressed directly to the king. into this coffer, complaints and prayers from the people could lawfully and easily be dropped. though still kept before the gate of the royal palace in seoul, it is stated that access to it is now difficult. it seems to exist more in name than in fact. among the first diplomatic acts of king hetai-jong was to unite with the chinese emperor, in a complaint to the mikado of japan, against the buccaneers, whom the authorities of the latter country were unable to control. hence the remonstrance was only partially successful, and the evil, which was aggravated by corean renegades acting as pilots, grew beyond all bounds. these rascals made a lucrative living by betraying their own countrymen. siei-jong, who succeeded to the throne on the death of his father, hetai-jong, enjoyed a long reign of thirty-two years, during which the fortifications of the capital were added to and strengthened. the manchius beyond the ever-white mountains were then beginning to rise in power, and liao tung was disturbed by the raids of tribes from mongolia, which the ming generals were unable to suppress. when the fighting took place within fifty miles of her own boundary river, chå�-sen became alarmed, and looked to the defence of her own frontier and capital. in 1450, on the death of the king, who â��in time of peace prepared for war,â�� mun-jong, his son, succeeded to royal power. as usual on the accession of a new sovereign, a chinese ambassador was despatched from peking, which had been the ming capital since 1614, to seoul, to confer the imperial patent of investiture. this dignitary, on his return, wrote a book recounting his travels, under the title of â��memorandum concerning the affairs of chå�-sen.â�� according to this writer, the military frontier of corea at that time was at the eastern mountain barrier, a few miles northwest of the present border gate. palladius, the russian writer, also states that, during the ming dynasty, three grades of fortresses were erected on the territory between the great wall and the yalu river, â��to guard against the attacks of the coreans.â�� it is more in accordance with the facts to suppose that the chinese erected these fortifications to guard against invasion from the manchius and other northern tribes that were ravaging liao tung, rather than against the coreans. these defences did not avail to keep back the invasion which came a generation or two later, and â��the corean frontier,â�� which the chinese traveller, in 1450, found much further west than even the present â��wall of stakes,â�� shows that the neutral territory was then already established, and larger than it now is. of this strip of rich forest and ginseng land, with many well-watered and arable valleys, once cultivated and populous, but since the fifteenth century desolate, we shall hear again. in chinese atlases the space is blank, with not one village marked where, until the removal by the chinese government of the inhabitants westward, there was a population of 300,000 souls. the depopulation of this large area of fertile soil was simply a chinese measure of military necessity, which compelled her friendly ally chå�-sen, for her own safety, to post sentinels as far west of her boundary river as the eastern mountain barrier, described by the imperial envoy in 1450. the century which saw america discovered in the west, was that of japanâ��s greatest activity on the sea. on every coast within their reach, from tartary to tonquin, and from luzon to siam, these bold marauders were known and feared. the chinese learned to bitterly regret the day when the magnetic needle, invented by themselves, got into the hands of these daring islanders. the wounded eagle that felt the shaft, which had been feathered from his own plumes, was not more to be pitied than the chinese people that saw the japanese craft steering across the yellow sea to ravage and ruin their cities, guided by the compass bought in china. they not only harried the coasts, but went far up the rivers. in 1523, they landed even at ningpo, and in the fight the chief mandarin of the city was killed. yet, with the exception of incursions of these pirates, chå�-sen enjoyed the sweets of peace, and two centuries slipped away in morning calm. the foreign vessels from europe which first, in 1530, touched at the province of bungo, in southern japan, may possibly have visited some part of the corean shores. between 1540 and 1546 four arrivals of â��black shipsâ�� from portugal, are known to have called at points in japan. it was from these the japanese learned how to make the gunpowder and firearms which, before the close of the century, were to be used with such deadly effect in corea. now came back to europe accounts of china and japanâ��which were found to be the old kathay, and zipangu of polo and the franciscansâ��and of â��coria,â�� which polo had barely mentioned. it was from the portuguese, that europe first learned of this middle land between the mighty domain of the mings, and the empire in the sea. stirred by the spirit of adventure and enterprise, and unwilling that the iberian peninsulars should gain all the glory, an english â��society for the discovery of unknown landsâ�� was formed in 1555. a voyage was made as far as novaia zemlia and weigatz, but neither corea nor cathay was reached. other attempts to find a northeast passage to india failed, and asia remained uncircumnavigated until our own and nordenskjã¶ldâ��s day. the other attempts to discover a northwest passage to china around the imaginary cape, in which north america was supposed to terminate, and through the equally fictitious straits of anian, resulted in the discoveries of the cabots, and of hudson and frobisherâ��of the american continent from the hudson river to greenland, but the way to china lay still around africa. from japan, the only possibility of danger during these two centuries was likely to come. in the north, west, and south, on the main land, hung the banners of the ming emperors of china, and, as the tribute enforced was very light, the protection of her great neighbor was worth to chå�-sen far more than the presents she gave. from china there was nothing to fear. at first the new dynasty sent ships, embassies, and presents regularly to japan, which were duly received, yet not at the mikadoâ��s palace in kiå�to, but at the shå�-gunâ��s court at kamakura, twelve miles from the site of the modern japanese capital, tå�kiå�. but as the ashikaga family became effeminate in life, their power waned, and rival chiefs started up all over the country. clan fights and chronic intestine war became the rule in japan. only small areas of territory were governed from kamakura, while the mikado became the tool and prey of rival daimiå�s. one of these petty rulers held tsushima, and traded at a settlement on the corean coast called fusan, by means of which some intercourse was kept up between the two countries. the japanese government had always made use of tsushima in its communications with the coreans, and the agency at fusan was composed almost exclusively of retainers of the feudal lord of this island. the journey by land and sea from seoul to kamakura, often consumed two or three months, and with civil wars inland and piracy on the water, intercourse between the two countries became less and less. the last embassy from seoul was sent in 1460, but after that, owing to continued intestine war, the absence of the coreans was not noticed by the ashikagas, and as the tsushima men purposely kept their customers ignorant of the weakness of their rulers at kamakura and kiå�to, lest the ancient vassals should cease to fear their old master, the coreans remained in profound ignorance of the real state of affairs in japan. as they were never summoned, so they never came. giving themselves no further anxiety concerning the matter, they rejoiced that such disagreeable duties were no longer incumbent upon them. it is even said in corean histories that their government took the offensive, and under the reign of the king chung-jong (1506â��1544) captured tsushima and several other japanese islands, formerly tributary to corea. whatever fraction of truth there may be in this assertion, it is certain that japan afterward took ample revenge on the score both of neglect and of reprisal. so, under the idea that peace was to last forever, and the morning calm never to know an evening storm, the nation relaxed all vigilance. expecting no danger from the east, the military resources were neglected, the army was disorganized, and the castles were allowed to dilapidate into ruin. the moats filled and became shallow ditches, choked with vegetation, the walls and ramparts crumbled piecemeal, and the barracks stood roofless. as peace wore sweeter charms, and as war seemed less and less probable, so did all soldierly duties become more and more irksome. the militia system was changed for the worse. the enrolled men, instead of being called out for muster at assigned camps, and trained to field duty and the actual evolutions of war, were allowed to assemble at local meetings to perform only holiday movements. the muster rolls were full of thousands of names, but off paper the army of corea was a phantom. the people, dismissing all thought of possibility of war, gave themselves no concern, leaving the matter to the army officials, who drew pay as though in actual war. they, in turn, devoted themselves to dissipation, carousing, and sensual indulgence. it was while the country was in such a condition that the summons of japanâ��s greatest conqueror came to them and the coreans learned, for the first time, of the fall of ashikaga, and the temper of their new master. chapter xii. events leading to the japanese invasion. china and japan are to each other as england and the united states. the staid chinaman looks at the lively japanese with feelings similar to those of john bull to his american â��cousin.â�� though as radically different in blood, language, and temperament as are the germans and french, they are enough alike to find food for mutual jealousy. they discover ground for irritation in causes, which, between nations more distant from each other, would stir up no feeling whatever. china considers japan a young, vain, and boasting stripling, whose attitude ought ever to be that of the pupil to the teacher, or the child to the father. japan, on the contrary, considering china as an old fogy, far behind the age, decayed in constitution and fortune alike, and more than ready for the grave, resents all dictation or assumption of superiority. even before their adoption of the forces of occidental civilization in this nineteenth century, something of this haughty contempt for china influenced the japanese mind. japan ever refused to become vassal or tributary to china, and the memory of one of her military usurpers, who accepted the honorary title of nihon-o, or king of japan, from the chinese emperor, is to this day loaded with increasing execration. it has ever been the practice of the japanese court and people cheerfully to heap upon their mikado all the honors, titles, poetical and divine appellations which belong also to the chinese emperor. to conquer or humble their mighty neighbor, to cross their slender swords of divine temper with the clumsy blades of the continental braves, has been the ambition of more than one japanese captain. but hidã©yoshi alone is the one hero in japanese annals who actually made the attempt. as the mongol conquerors issuing from china had used corea as their point of departure to invade japan, so hidã©yoshi resolved to make the peninsula the road for his armies into china. after two centuries of anarchy in japan, he followed up the work which nobunaga had begun until the proudest daimiå� had felt the weight of his arm, and the empire was at peace. yet, although receiving homage and congratulations from his feudal vassals, once proud princes, hidã©yoshi was irritated that chå�-sen, which he, with all japanese, held to be a tributary province, failed to send like greetings. since, to the ashikagas, she had despatched tribute and embassies, he was incensed that similar honors were not awarded to him, though, for over a century, all official relations between the two countries had ceased. on the 31st day of july, 1585, hidã©yoshi was made kuambaku, or regent, and to celebrate his elevation to this, the highest office to which a subject of the mikadoâ��s could aspire, he shortly afterward gave a great feast in kiå�to, and proclaimed holiday throughout the empire. this feast was graced by the presence of his highest feudatories, lords, and captains, court nobles and palace ladies in their richest robes. among others was one yasuhiro, a retainer of the lord of tsushima. hidã©yoshiâ��s memory had been refreshed by his having had read to him, from the ancient chronicles, the account of jingu kå�gå�â��s conquests in the second century. he announced to his captains that, though chå�-sen was from ancient times tributary to japan, yet of late years her envoys had failed to make visits or to send tribute. he then appointed yasuhiro to proceed to seoul, and remind the king and court of their duty. the japanese envoy was a bluff old campaigner, very tall, and of commanding mien. his hair and beard had long since turned white under years and the hardships of war. his conduct was that of a man accustomed to command and to instant obedience, and to expect victory more by brute courage than by address. on his journey to seoul he demanded the best rooms in the hotels, and annoyed even the people of rank and importance with haughty and strange questions. he even laughed at and made sarcastic remarks about the soldiers and their weapons. this conduct, so different from that of previous envoys, greatly surprised the corean officials. heretofore, when a japanese officer came to fusan, native troops escorted him from fusan to seoul, overawing him by their fierceness and insolence. yasuhiro, accustomed to constant war under hidã©yoshiâ��s gourd-banner, rode calmly on his horse, and, amid the lines of lances drawn up as a guard of honor, spoke to his followers in a loud voice, telling them to watch the escort and note any incivility. in a certain village he joked with a corean soldier about his spear, saying, with a pun, that it was too short and unfit for use. at this, all the japanese laughed out loud. the coreans could not understand the language, but hearing the laugh were angry and surprised at such boldness. at another town he insulted an aged official who was entertaining him, by remarking to his own men that his hair and that of the japanese grew gray by years, or by war and manly hardships; â��but what,â�� cried he, â��has turned this manâ��s hair gray who has lived all his life amid music and dancing?â�� this sarcastic fling, at premature and sensual old age, stung the official so that he became speechless with rage. at the capital, credentials were presented and a feast given, at which female musicians sang and wine flowed. during the banquet, when all were well drunk, the old hero pulled out a gourd full of pepper seeds and began to hand them around. the singing-girls and servants grabbed them, and a disgraceful scuffle began. this was what yasuhiro wanted. highly disgusted at their greedy behavior, he returned to his quarters and poured out a tirade of abuse about the manners of the people, which his corean interpreter duly retailed to his superiors. yasuhiro made up his mind that the country was in no way prepared for invasion; the martial spirit of the people was very low, and the habits of dissipation and profligacy among them had sapped the vigor of the men. to the offensive conduct of the envoy was added the irritation produced by the language of hidã©yoshiâ��s summons; for in his letter he had used the imperial form of address, â��we,â�� the plural of majesty. yasuhiro asked for a reply to these letters, that he might return speedily to japan. there was none given him, and the coreans, pleading the flimsy excuse of the difficulty of the voyage, refused to send an embassy to japan. hidã©yoshi was very angry at the utter failure of yasuhiroâ��s mission. he argued that for an envoy to be content with such an answer was sure proof that he favored the coreans. some of yasuhiroâ��s ancestors, being daimiå�s of tsushima, had served as envoys to chå�-sen, and had enjoyed a monopoly of the lucrative commerce, and even held office under the corean government. reflecting on these things, hidã©yoshi commanded yasuhiro and all his family to be put to death. he then despatched a second envoy, named yoshitoshi, himself the daimiå� of tsu island, who took with him a favorite retainer, and a priest, named genshå�, as his secretary. they reached seoul in safety, and, after the formal banquet, demanded the despatch of an envoy to japan. the corean dignitaries did not reply at once, but unofficially sent word, through the landlord of the hotel, that they would be glad to agree to the demand if the japanese would send back the renegades who piloted the japanese pirates in their raids upon the corean coasts. thereupon, yoshitoshi despatched one of his suite to japan. with amazing promptness he collected the outlaws, fourteen in number, and produced them in seoul. these traitors, after confessing their crime, were led out by the executioners and their heads knocked off. meanwhile, having tranquillized â��all under heavenâ�� (japan), even to yezo and the ainos, and finding nothing â��within the four seasâ�� worth capturing, hidã©yoshi cast his eyes southward to the little kingdom well named riu kiu, or the sleepy dragon without horns. the people of these islands, called loo choo, on old maps, are true japanese in origin, language, and dynasty. they speak a dialect kindred to that of satsuma, and their first historical ruler was sunten, a descendant of tamã©tomo, who fled from japan in the twelfth century. of the population of 120,000 people, one-tenth were of the official class, who lived from the public granaries. saving all expense in war equipment, and warding off danger from the two great powers between which they lay, they had kept the good will of either by making their country act the part of the ass which crouches down between two burdens. they made presents to both, acknowledging japan as their father, and china as their mother. from early times they had sent tribute-laden junks to ningpo, and had introduced the chinese classics, and social and political customs. when the ming dynasty came into power, the chinese monarch bestowed on the prince of riu kiu a silver seal, and a name for his country, which meant â��hanging balls,â�� a reference to the fact that their island chain hung like a string of tassels on the skirt of china. another of their ancient native names was okinawa, or â��long rope,â�� which stretches as a cable between japan and formosa. sugar and rice are the chief products. hidã©yoshi, wishing to possess this group of isles as an ally against china, and acting on the principle of baiting with a sprat in order to catch a mackerel, sent word to riu kiu to pay tribute hereafter only to him. the young king, fearing the wrath of the mighty lord of nippon, sent a priest as his envoy, and a vessel laden with tribute offerings. arriving in the presence of the august parvenu, the priest found himself most graciously received. hidã©yoshi entered into a personal conversation with the bonze, and set forth the benefits of riu kiuâ��s adherence to japan alone, and her ceasing to send tribute to china. at the same time he gave the priest clearly to understand that, willing or unwilling, the little kingdom was to be annexed to the mikadoâ��s empire. when the priest returned to riu kiu and gave the information to the king, the latter immediately despatched a vessel to china to inform the government of the designs of japan. meanwhile, the court at seoul, highly gratified with the action of the japanese government in the matter of the renegade pilots, gave a banquet to the embassy. yoshitoshi had audience of the king, who presented him with a horse from his own stables. an embassy was chosen which left seoul, in company with yoshitoshi and his party, and their musicians and servants, in april, 1590, and, after a journey and voyage of three months, arrived at kiå�to during the summer of 1590. at this time hidã©yoshi was absent in eastern japan, not far from the modern city of tå�kiå�, besieging odawara castle and reducing â��the second hå�jå�â�� family to submission. arriving at kiå�to in the autumn, he postponed audience with the coreans in order to gain time for war preparations, for his heart was set on conquests beyond sea. finally, after five months had passed, they were accorded an interview. they were allowed to ride in palanquins under the gateway of the palace without dismountingâ��a mark of deference to their high rankâ��all except nobles of highest grade being compelled to get out and walk. as usual, their band of musicians accompanied them. they report hidã©yoshi as a man of low appearance, but with eyes that shot fire through their souls. all bowed before him, but his conduct in general was of a very undignified character. this did not raise him in the estimation of his guests, who had already discovered his true position, which was that of a subject of the mikado, whose use of the imperial â��weâ�� in his letters was, in their eyes, a preposterous assumption of authority. they delivered the kingâ��s letter, which was addressed to hidã©yoshi on terms of an equal as a koku o (king of a nation, in distinction from the title of whang ti, by which title the heavenly ruler, or emperorâ��the mikado of japan, or the emperor of chinaâ��is addressed). the letter contained the usual commonplaces of friendly greeting, the names of the envoys, and a reference to the list of accompanying presents. the presentsâ��spoken of in the usual terms of oriental mock modestyâ��consisted of two ponies and fifteen falcons, with harness for bird and beast, rolls of silk, precious drugs, ink, paper, pens, and twenty magnificent tiger-skins. the interview over, hidã©yoshi wished the envoys to go home at once. this they declined to do, but, leaving kiå�to, waited at the port of sakai. a letter to the king finally reached them, but couched in so insolent a tone that the ambassadors sent it back several times to be purged. even in its improved form it was the blustering threat of a japanese bully. all this consumed time, which was just what hidã©yoshi wished. some years before this, some portuguese trading ships had landed at the island of tanã©, off the south of japan. the japanese, for the first time, saw europeans and heard their unintelligible language. at first all attempts to understand them were in vain. a chinese ship happened to arrive about the same time, on which were some sailors who knew a little portuguese, and thus communications were held. the foreigners, being handsomely treated, gave their hosts some firearms, probably pistols, taught their use, and how to make powder. these â��queer things, able to vomit thunder and lightning, and emitting an awful smell,â�� were presented to shimadzå­, the daimiå� of satsuma, who gave them to hidã©yoshi. among the presents, made in return to chå�-sen, were several of these new weapons made by japanese. they were most probably sent as a hint, like that of the pequotâ��s offering of the arrows wrapped in snake-skin. with them were pheasants, stands of swords and spears, books, rolls of paper, and four hundred gold koban (a coin worth about $5.00). with the returning embassy, hidã©yoshi sent the priest and a former colleague of yoshitoshi to seoul. they were instructed to ask the king to assist hidã©yoshi to renew peaceful relations between japan and china. these, owing to the long continued piratical invasions from japan, during the anarchy of the ashikaga, had been suspended for some years past. the peaceful influences of christianityâ��s teachings now came between these two pagan nations, in the mind and person of yoshitoshi, who had professed the faith of jesus as taught by the roman catholic missionaries from portugal, then in japan. be this as it may, yoshitoshi, who had been in seoul, and lived in tsushima, being well acquainted with the military resources of the three countries, knew that war would result in ruin to chå�-sen, while, in measuring their swords with china, the japanese were at fearful odds. animated by a desire to prevent bloodshed, he resolved to mediate with the olive branch. he started on an independent mission, at his own cost, to persuade the coreans to use their good offices at mediation between japan and china, and thus prevent war. arriving at fusan, in 1591, he forwarded his petition to seoul, and waited in port ten days in hopes of the answer he desired. but all was in vain. he received only a letter containing a defiant reply to his masterâ��s bullying letter. in sadness he returned to kiå�to, and reported his ill-success. surprised and enraged at the indifference of the coreans, hidã©yoshi pushed on his war preparations with new vigor. he resolved to test to its utmost the military strength of japan, in order to humble china as well as her vassal. accustomed to victory under the gourd-banner in almost every battle during the long series of intestine wars now ended, an army of seasoned veterans heard joyfully the order to prepare for a campaign beyond sea. hidã©yoshi, during this year, nominally resigned the office of kuambaku, in favor of his son, and, according to usage, took the title of taikå�, by which name (taikå� sama) he is popularly known, and by which we shall refer to him. among the coreans, even of to-day, he is remembered by the title which still inspires their admiration and terrorâ��kuambaku. chinese writers give a grotesque account of hidã©yoshi, one of whose many names they read as ping-syew-kye. they call him â��the man under a tree,â�� in reference to his early nickname of kinomoto. he is also dubbed â��king of taikå�.â�� the jesuit missionaries speak of him in their letters as quabacundono (his lordship the kuambaku), or by one of his personal names, faxiba (hashiba). the coreans were now in a strait. though under the protectorate of china, they had been negotiating with a foreign power. how would china like this? should they keep the entire matter secret, or should they inform their suzerain of the intended invasion of china? they finally resolved upon the latter course, and despatched a courier to peking. about the same time the messenger from riu kiu had landed, and was on his way with the same tidings. the riukiuan reached peking first, and the corean arrived only to confirm the news. yet, in spite of such overwhelming evidence of the designs of japan, the colossal â��tortoiseâ�� could, at first, scarce believe â��the beeâ�� would attempt to sting. chapter xiii. the invasionâ��on to seoul. for the pictures of camps, fleets, the details of armory and commissariat, and all the pomp and circumstance that make up the bright side of japanese war preparations in 1591 and 1592, we are indebted, not only to the japanese writers, but to those eye witnesses and excellent â��war correspondents,â�� the portuguese missionaries then in kiushiu, and especially to friar louis frois. he tells us of the amplitude, vigor, and brilliancy of taikå�â��s measures for invasion, and adds that the expenses therefor greatly burdened the â��ethniquesâ�� or daimiå�s who had to pay the cost. those feudatories, whose domain bordered the sea, had to furnish a mighty fleet of junks, while to man them, the quota of every hundred houses of the fishing population was ten sailors. the land and naval forces assembled at nagoya, in hizen, now called karatsu, and famous for being the chief place for the manufacture of hizen porcelain. here a superb castle was built, while huge inns or resting-places were erected all along the road from kiå�to. the armies gathered here during the war numbered 500,000 men; of whom 150,000 formed the army of invasion, 60,000 the first reserve, while 100,000 were set apart as taikå�â��s body-guard; the remainder were sailors, servants, camp followers, etc. beside the old veterans were new levies of young soldiers, and a corps of matchlock men, who afterward did good execution among the coreans. the possession of this new and terrible weapon gave the invaders a mighty advantage over their enemies. though firearms had been known and manufactured in japan for a half century, this was the first time they were used against foreign enemies, or on a large scale. taikå� also endeavored to hire or buy from the portuguese two ships of war, so as to use their artillery; but in this he failed, and the troops were despatched in native-built vessels. these made a gallant display as they crowded together by hundreds. at the signal, given by the firing of cannon, the immense fleet hoisted sail and, under a fresh breeze, bore away to the west. their swelling sails, made of long sections of canvass laced together, vertically, at their edges, from stem to boom (thus differing from the chinese, which are laced horizontally), were inscribed with immense crests and the heraldic devices of feudalism, many feet in diameter. near the top were cross-wise bands or stripes of black. the junks of satsuma could be distinguished by the white cross in a circle; those of higo by the broad-banded ring. on one were two crossed arrow-feathers, on others the chess-board, the â��cashâ�� coin and palm-leaves, the butterfly, the cloisonnã© symbol, the sun, the fan, etc. innumerable banners, gay with armorial designs or inscribed with buddhist texts, hung on their staves or fluttered gaily as flags and streamers from the mastheads. stuck into the back of many of the distinguished veterans, or officers, were the sashi-mono, or bannerets. kato kiyomasa, being a strict buddhist, had for the distinctive blazon of his back-pennant, and on the banners of his division, the prayer and legend of his sect, the nichirenites, â��namu miyo ho rengã© kiå�â�� (glory to the holy lotus, or glory to the salvation-bringing book of the holy law of buddha). on the forward deck were ranged heavy shields of timber for the protection of the archers. these, at close quarters, were to be let down and used as boarding planks, when the sword, pike, and grappling-hook came into play. huge tassels, dangling from the prows like the manes of horses, tossed up and down as the ships rode over the waves. each junk had a huge eye painted at the prow, to look out and find the path in the sea. with the squadron followed hundreds of junks, laden with salt meat, rice-wine, dried fish, and rice and beans, which formed the staple of the invadersâ�� commissariat for man and horse. transport junks, with cargoes of flints, arrows, ball, powder, wax candles, ship and camp stores, â��not forgetting a single thing,â�� sailed soon after, as well as the craft containing horses for the cavalry. taikå� did not go to corea himself, being dissuaded by his aged mother. the court also wished no weaker hand than his to hold the reins of government while the army was on foreign shores. the men to whom he entrusted the leadership of the expedition, were konishi yukinaga and kato kiyomasa. to the former, he presented a fine war horse, telling him to â��gallop over the bearded savagesâ�� with it, while to the latter he gave a battle-flag. konishi was an impetuous young man, only twenty-three years of age. he was a favorite of taikå�, and sprung like the latter from the common people, being the son of a medicine dealer. his crest or banner was a huge, stuffed, white paper bag, such as druggists in japan use as a shop sign. in this he followed the example of his august chief, who, despising the brocade banners of the imperial generals, stuck a gourd on a pole for his colors. for every victory he added another gourd, until his immense cluster contained as many proofs of victory as there are bamboo sticks in an umbrella. the â��gourd-bannerâ�� became the emblem of infallible victory. konishi also imitated his master in his tacticsâ��impetuous attack and close following up of victory. konishi was a christian, an ardent convert to the faith of the jesuit fathers, by whom he had been baptized in 1584. in their writings, they call him â��don austinâ��â��a contraction of augustine. other christian lords or daimiå�s, who personally led their troops in the field with konishi, were arima, omura, amakusa, bungo, and tsushima. the personal name of the latter, a former envoy to corea, of whom we have read before, was yoshitoshi. he was the son-in-law of konishi. kuroda, as mr. ernest satow has shown, is the â��konderaâ�� of the jesuit writers. kato kiyomasa was a noble, whose castle seat was at kumamoto in higo. from his youth he had been trained to war, and had a reputation for fierce bravery. it is said that kato suggested to taikå� the plan of invading corea. his crest was a broad-banded circle, and his favorite weapon was a long lance with but one cross-blade instead of two. kato is the â��toronosquiâ�� of the jesuit fathers, who never weary of loading his memory with obloquy. this â��vir ter execrandusâ�� was a fierce buddhist and a bitter foe to christianity. a large number of fresh autographic writings had been made by the bonzes in the monasteries expressly for katoâ��s division. the silk pennon, said to have been inscribed by nichiren himself and worn by kato during the invasion, is now in tå�kiå�, owned by katsu awa, and is six centuries old. with such elements at work between the two commanders, bitterness of religious rivalry, personal emulation, the desire to earn glory each for himself alone, the contempt of an old veteran for a young aspirant, harmony and unity of plan were not to be looked for. nevertheless, the personal qualities of each general were such as to inspire his own troops with the highest enthusiasm, and the army sailed away fully confident of victory. what were the objects of taikå� in making this war? evidently his original thought was to invade and humble china. then followed the determination to conquer chå�-sen. ambition may have led him to rival ojin tennå�, who, in his motherâ��s womb, made the conquest of shinra, and, as the deified hachiman, became the japanese god of war. lastly, the jesuit fathers saw in this expedition a plot to kill off the christian leaders in a foreign land, and thus extirpate christianity in japan. to ship the christians off to a foreign soil to die of wounds or disease, was easier than to massacre them. they make taikå� a david, and his best generals uriahsâ��though coligny, slain twenty years before, might have served for a more modern illustration. certain it is that it was during the absence of the christian leaders that the severest persecutions at home took place. it is probable, also, that his jealousy of the success and consequent popularity of the christian generals created irresolution in taikå�â��s mind, leading him to neglect the proper support of the expedition and thus to bring about a gigantic failure. finally, we must mention the theory of a japanese friend, mr. egi takato, who held that taikå�, having whole armies of unemployed warriors, all jealous of each other, was compelled, in order to ensure peace in japan, to find employment for their swords. his idea was to send them on this distant â��frontier service,â�� and give them such a taste of home-sickness that peaceful life in japan would be a desideratum ever afterward. the coreans, by their own acknowledgment, were poorly prepared for a war with the finest soldiers in asia, as the japanese of the sixteenth century certainly were. nor had they any leader of ability to direct their efforts. their king, sien-jo, the fifteenth of the house of ni, who had already reigned twenty-six years, was a man of no personal importance, addicted entirely to his own pleasures, a drunkard, and a debauchee. though the royal proclamation was speedily issued, calling on the people to fortify their cities, to rebuild the dilapidated castles, and to dig out the moats, long since choked by mud and vegetation, the people responded so slowly, that few of the fortresses were found in order when their enemies laid siege to them. weapons were plentiful, but there were no firearms, save those presented as curiosities by the taikå� to the king. there was little or no military organization, except on paper, while the naval defences were in a sad plight. however, they began to enroll and drill, to lay up stores of fish and grain for the army, to build ships, to repair their walls, and even to manufacture rude firearms. yet even the most despondent of the coreans never dreamed that the japanese, on their first arrival, would sweep everything before them like a whirlwind, and enter the capital within eighteen days after their landing at fusan. one of the first castles garrisoned and provisioned was that of tong-nai, near fusan. on the morning of may 25, 1592, the sentinels on the coast descried the japanese fleet of eight hundred ships, containing the division of konishi. before night the invaders had disembarked, captured fusan, and laid siege to tong-nai castle, which at once surrendered. so sudden was the attack that the governor of the district, then in the city, was unable to escape. konishi, writing a letter to the king, gave it into the hands of the governor, and made him swear to deliver it safely, promising him unconditional liberty if he did so. the governor agreed, and at once set out for seoul; but on reaching it he simply said he had escaped, and made no mention of the letter. his perjury was not to remain undetected, as later events proved. without an hourâ��s delay konishiâ��s division, leaving tong-nai, marched up the nak-tong valley to shang-chiu. katoâ��s division, delayed by a storm, arrived next day. landing immediately, he saw with chagrin the pennons of his rival flying from the ramparts of tong-nai. angry at being left behind by â��the boy,â�� he took the more northerly of the two routes to the capital. the two rival armies were now straining every nerve on a race to seoul, each eager to destroy all enemies on the march, and reach the royal palace first. kuroda and other generals led expeditions into the southern provinces of chulla and chung-chong. these provinces being subdued, and the castles garrisoned, they were to make their way to the capital. the coreans proved themselves especially good bowmen, but inexpert at other weapons, their swords being of iron only, short, clumsy, and easily bent. their spears, or rather pikes, were shorter than the japanese, with heavy blades, from the base of which hung tassels. the iron heads were hollow at the base, forming a socket, in which the staff fitted. the japanese spearheads, on the contrary, were riveted down and into the wood, which was iron-banded for further security, making a weapon less likely to get out of order, while the blades were steel-edged. the corean cavalry had heavy, three-pronged spears, which were extremely formidable to look at, but being so heavy as to be unwieldly at close quarters, they did little execution. many of their suits of armor were handsomely inlaid, made of iron and leather, but less flexible and more vulnerable than those of the japanese, which were of interlaced silk and steel on a background of tough buckskin, with sleeves of chain mail. the foot soldiers on either side were incased in a combination of iron chain and plate armor, but the coreans had no glaves, or cross-blades on their pikes, and thus were nearly helpless against their enemyâ��s cavalry. the japanese were smooth-shaven, and wore stout helmets, with ear-guards and visors, but the coreans, with open helmets, without visors, and whiskered faces, were dubbed â��hairy barbarians.â�� they were beginning to learn the use of powder, which, however, was so badly mixed as to be exasperatingly slow in burning. their very few firearms were of the rudest and most cumbrous sort. they used on their ramparts a kind of wooden cannon, made of bamboo-hooped timber, from which they shot heavy wooden darts, three feet long, pointed with sharp-bladed, y-shaped iron heads. the range of these clumsy missiles was very short. the japanese, on the contrary, had at several sieges pieces of light brass ordnance, with which they quickly cleared the walls of the castles, and then scaled them with long and light ladders, made of bamboo, and easily borne by men on a run. the japanese were not only better equipped, but their tactics were superior. their firearms frightened the corean horses, and the long spears and halberds of their cavalry were used with fearful effect while pursuing the fugitives, who were pierced or pulled off their steeds, or sabred in droves. few bodies of native troops faced the invaders in the field, while fire-arrows, gunpowder, and ladders quickly reduced the castles. not a few of the corean officers were killed inside their fortresses by the long range fire of the sharp-shooters in the matchlock corps. the greater share of glory fell to konishi, the younger man. taking the southern route, he reached the castle of shang-chiu, in the northwestern part of kiung-sang, and captured it. leaving a garrison, he pushed on to chiun-chiu. this fortress of chiun-chiu is situated in the northeastern part of chung-chong province, and on the most northerly of the two roads, over which kato was then marching. it was at that time considered to be the strongest castle in the peninsula. on it rested the fate of the capital. it lay near one of the branches of the han river, which flows past seoul. at this point the two high roads to the capital, on which the two rivals were moving, converged so as to nearly touch. chiun-chiu castle lay properly on katoâ��s route, but konishi, being in the advance, invested it with his forces and, after a few daysâ�� siege, captured the great stronghold. the loss of the coreans thus far in the three fortresses seized by konishi, as reported by friar frois, was 5,000 men, 3,000 of whom fell at chiun-chiu; while the japanese had lost but 100 killed and 400 wounded. after such a victory, â��konishi determined to conquer all corea by himself.â�� kato and his army, arriving a few days after the victory, again saw themselves outstripped. konishiâ��s pennons floated from every tower, and the booty was already disposed of. the goal of both armies was now â��the miaco of the kingly city of coray.â�� straining every nerve, kato pressed forward so rapidly that the two divisions of the japanese army entered seoul by different gates on the same day. no resistance was offered, as the king, court, and army had evacuated the city three days before. the brilliant pageant of the japanese army, in magnificent array of gay silk and glittering armor, was lost on the empty streets of deserted seoul. when taikå� heard of the success of his lieutenants in corea, especially of konishiâ��s exploits, he was filled with joy, and cried out, â��now my own son seems risen from the dead.â�� chapter xiv. the campaign in the north. the court at seoul had been too much paralyzed by the sudden invasion to think of or carry out any effective means of resistance. konishi had sent letters from fusan and shang-chiu, but these, through official faithlessness and the accidents of war, had failed in their purpose. konishi was too fast for them. when the news reached seoul, of the fall of chiun-chiu castle, the whole populace, from palace to hut, was seized with a panic which, in a few hours, emptied the city. the soldiers deserted their post, and the courtiers their king, while the people fled to the mountains. his majesty resolved to go with his court into liao tung, but to send the royal princes into the northern provinces, that the people might realize the true state of affairs. so hurried were the preparations for flight, which began june 9th, that no food was provided for the journey. the only horses to be obtained were farm and pack animals, as the royal stables had been emptied by the runaway soldiers. the rain fell heavily, in perpendicular streams, soon turning the roads to mire, and drenching the women and children. the corean dress, in wet weather, is cold and uncomfortable, and when soaked through, becomes extremely heavy, making a foot journey a severe tax on the strength. to add to the distress of the king, as the cortege passed, the people along the road clamored, with bitter tears, that they were being abandoned to the enemy. tortured with hunger and fatigue, the wretched party floundered on. their first dayâ��s journey was to sunto, or kai seng, thirty miles distant. darkness fell upon them long before they reached the rin-yin river, a tributary of the han, which joins it a few miles above kang-wa island. the city lay beyond it, and the crossing of the stream was done in the light of the conflagration kindled behind them. the king had ordered the torch to be applied to the barracks and fortifications which guarded the southern bank of the river. another motive for this incendiary act was to deprive their pursuers of ready materials to ferry themselves across the river. it was not until near midnight that the miserable fugitives, tortured with hunger and almost dead with fatigue, entered the city. though feeling safe for the moment, since the japanese pursuers could not cross the river without boats or rafts, most of the kingâ��s household were doomed still to suffer the pangs of hunger. the soldiers had stolen the food provided for the party, and the king had a scant supper, while his household remained hungry until the next day, when some of the military gave them a little rice. the march was resumed on the following morning and kept up until ping-an was reached. here they halted to await the progress of events. the king ordered his scattered forces to rally at the rin-yin river, and, on its northern bank, to make a determined stand. kato and konishi, remaining but a short time in the capital, united their divisions and pressed forward to the north. reaching the rin-yin river, they found the corean junks drawn up on the opposite side in battle array. the japanese, being without boats, could not cross, and waited vainly during several days for something to turn up. finally they began a feigned retreat. this induced a portion of the corean army to cross the river, when the japanese turned upon them and cut them down with terrible slaughter. with the few rafts and boats used by the enemy, the japanese matchlock men rapidly crossed the stream, shot down the sailors and the remaining soldiers in the junks, and thus secured the fleet by which the whole army crossed and began the march on ping-an. the rival japanese commanders, kato and konishi, who had hitherto refrained from open quarrel, now found it impossible to remain longer together, and drew lots to decide their future fields of action in the two northern provinces. ham-kiung fell to kato, who immediately marched eastward with his division, taking the high road leading to gensan. konishi, to whom the province of ping-an fell, pushed on to ping-an city, arriving on the south bank of the river toward the end of july, or about three weeks after leaving seoul. here he went into camp, to await the reinforcements under kuroda and yoshitoshi. these soon afterward arrived, having traversed the four provinces bordering on the yellow sea. the great need of the japanese was floating material; next to this, their object was to discover the fords of the river. on july 20th they made a demonstration against the fleet of junks along the front of the city, by sending out a few detachments of matchlock men on rafts. though unsuccessful, the corean king was so frightened that he fled with his suite to ai-chiu. the garrison still remained alert and defiant. delay made the japanese less vigilant. the corean commanders, noticing this, planned to surprise their enemy by a night attack. owing to bad management and delay, the various detachments did not assemble on the opposite side of the river until near daylight. then forming, they charged furiously upon konishiâ��s camp, and, taking his men by surprise, carried off hundreds of prisoners and horses, the cavalry suffering worse than the infantry. kurodaâ��s division came gallantly to their support, and drove the coreans back to the river. by this time it was broad daylight, and the cowardly boat-keepers, frightened at the rout of their countrymen, had pushed off into mid-stream. hundreds of the coreans were drowned, and the main body, left in the lurch, were obliged to cross by the fords. this move gave the japanese the possession of the coveted secret. flushed with victory, the entire army crossed over later on the same day and entered the city. dispirited by their defeat, the garrison fled, after flinging their weapons into the castle moats and ditches of the city; but all the magazines of grain, dried fish, etc., were now in the hands of the invaders. frois reports, from hearsay, that 80,000 coreans made the attack on konishiâ��s camp, 8,000 of whom were slain. the news of the fall of ping-an city utterly demoralized the coreans, so that, horses being still numerous, the courtiers deserted the king, and the villagers everywhere looted the stores of food provided for the army. many of the fugitives did not cease their flight until they had crossed the yalu river, and found themselves on chinese territory. these bore to the governor of liao tung province, who had been an anxious observer of events, the news of the fall of ping-an, and the irresistible character of the invasion. the main body of the corean army went into camp at sun-an, between an-ton and sun-chon. in japan, there was great rejoicing at the news received from the frontier, because, as frois wrote, konishi, â��in twenty days, hath subdued so mighty a kingdom to the crown of japan.â�� taikå� sent the brilliant young commander a two-edged sword and a horseâ��â��pledges of the most peerless honor that can possibly be done to a man.â�� the japanese soldiers felt so elated over their victory that they expected immediate orders to march into china. with this purpose in view, konishi sent word to the fleet at fusan to sail round the western coast, into ta-tong river, in order to co-operate with the victorious forces at ping-an. had this junction taken place, it is probable china would have been invaded by japanese armies, and a general war between these rival nations might have turned the current of asiatic history. this, however, was not to be. corean valor, with the aid of gunpowder and improved naval construction, prevented this, and kept three hundred miles of distance, in a mountainous country, between the japanese and their base of supplies. oriental rhetoric might describe the situation in this wise: the eastern dragon of invasion flew across the sea in winged ships, and speedily won the crystal of victory. but on land the dragon must go upon its belly. the corean navy snatched the jewel from the very claws of the dragon, and left it writhing and hungry. in cool western phrase, sinister, but significant, konishi was soon afterward obliged to â��make a change of base.â�� the brilliant success of the army seems to have impressed the japanese naval men with the idea that there was nothing for them to do. on the contrary, the chå�-sen people set to work to improve the architecture of their vessels by having them double-decked. they also provided for the safety of their fighting men, by making heavy bulwarks, and rearing, along the upper deck, a line of strong planks, set edgewise, and bolted together. behind these, archers discharged their missiles without danger, while from port-holes below they fired their rude, but effective, cannon. appearing off the inlet, in which the japanese fleet lay at anchor, they at first feigned retreat, and thus enticed their enemies into pursuit. when well out on the open sea, they turned upon their pursuers, and then their superior preparation and equipment were evident at once. lively fighting began, but this time the coreans seemed invulnerable. they not only gained the advantage by the greater length of their lances and grappling-hooks, with which, using them like long forks, they pulled their enemies into the sea, but they sunk a number of the japanese junks, either by their artillery or by ramming them with their prows. the remnant of the beaten fleet crept back to fusan, and all hope of helping the army was given up. the moral effect of the victory upon the corean people was to inspire them to sacrifice and resistance, and in many skirmishes they gained the advantage. they now awaited hopefully the approach of chinese reinforcements. to the chinese it seemed incredible that the capture of the strongest castles, the capital, and the chief northern city, could be accomplished without the treasonable connivance of the coreans. in order to satisfy his own mind, the chinese mandarin sent a special agent into corea to examine and report. the government at peking were even more suspicious, but after some hesitation, they despatched, not without misgiving, a small body of chinese soldiers to act as a body-guard to the corean king. these braves crossed the frontier; but while on their way to ping-an, heard of the fall of the city, and, facing about, marched back into liao tung. the king and the fragments of his court now sent courier after courier with piteous appeals to peking for aid, even offering to become the subjects of china in return for succor rendered. a force of 5,000 men was hastily recruited in liao tung, who marched rapidly into corea. early in august the japanese pickets first descried the yellow silk banners of the chinese host. these were inscribed with the two characters tai-ming (great brightness), the distinctive blazon of the ming dynasty. for the first time, in eight centuries, the armies of the rival nations were to meet in pitched battle. the chinese seemed confident of success, and moved to the attack on ping-an with neither wariness nor fear. having invested the city, they began the assault on august 27th. the japanese allowed them to enter the city and become entangled in its narrow lanes. they then attacked them from advantageous positions, which they had occupied previously, assailing them with showers of arrows, and charging them with their long lances. one body of the ming soldiers attempted to scale the wall of a part of the fortifications, which seemed to have been neglected by the japanese, when near the top, the whole face of the castle being covered with climbing men, the garrison, rushing from their hiding-places, tumbled over or speared their enemies, who fell down and into the mass of their comrades below. those not killed by thrusts or the fall, were shot by the gunners on the ramparts, and the chinese now received into their bosoms a shower of lead, against which their armor of hide and iron was of slight avail. in this fight the ming commander was slain. the rout of the chinese army was so complete, that the fugitives never ceased their retreat until safely over the border, and into china. the government at peking now began to understand the power of the enemy with whom they had to deal. an army of 40,000 men was raised to meet the invaders, and, in order to gain time, a man, named chin ikei, was sent, independently of the coreans, to treat with konishi and propose peace. some years before the japanese pirates had carried off a chinaman to japan, where he was kept captive for many years. returning to china, he made the acquaintance of chin ikei, and gave him much information concerning the country and people of his captivity. chin ikei was evidently a mercenary adventurer, who could talk japanese, and hoped for honors and promotion by acting as a go-between. he had no commission or any real authority. the chinese seem to have used him only as a catâ��s-paw. arriving at the corean camp, at sun-an, early in october, and fully trusting the honor of the japanese commander, chin ikei ventured, in spite of the warnings of the frightened coreans, and to their intense admiration, within the japanese lines, and had a conference with konishi, yoshitoshi, and genshå�. the chinese agent agreed to proceed to peking, and, returning to ping-an after fifty days, to report the approval or disapproval of his government. to this konishi agreed, and there was a truce. the conditions of peace, insisted on by konishi, were that the japanese ancient territory in the peninsula, namely, those portions covered by the old states of shinra and hiaksai, should be delivered over to japan, to be held as vassal provinces. this demand virtually claimed all corea south of the ta-tong river, in right of ancient possession and recent conquest and occupation. arriving in peking, chin ikei found the chinese army nearly ready to march, and, as their government disowned his right to treat with the japanese, nothing, except the time gained for the chinese, resulted from the negotiations. meanwhile kato kiyomasa, with his troops, had overran the whole extent of ham-kiung, the longest and largest province of corea, occupying also parts of kang-wen. no great pitched battle in force was fought, but much hard fighting took place, and many castles were taken after bloody sieges. in one of these, the two royal princes, sent north by their father on his flight from seoul, and many men of rank were captured. among his prisoners, was â��a young girl reputed to be the most beautiful in the whole kingdom.â�� in the pursuit of the fugitives the japanese were often led into wild and lonely regions and into the depths of trackless mountains and forests, in which they met, not only human foes, but faced the tiger disturbed from his lair. they were often obliged to camp in places where these courageous beasts attacked the sentries or the sleeping soldiers. kato himself slew a tiger with his lance, after a desperate struggle. after a hard campaign, the main body of the troops fixed their camp at am-pen, near gensan, but closer to the southern border of the province. nabã©shimaâ��s camp was in kang-wen, three daysâ�� journey distant. from a point on the sea-coast near by, in fair weather, the island cone of dagelet is visible. to the question of kato, some corean prisoners falsely answered that this was fujiyamaâ��the worshipped mountain of the home-land, and â��the thing of beauty and a joy foreverâ�� to the japanese people. immediately the japanese reverently uncovered their heads and, kneeling on the strand, gazed long and lovingly with homesick heartsâ��a scene often portrayed in japanese decorative art. thus the year 1592 drew near its close; the japanese, necessarily inactive, and the spirit of patriotism among the coreans rising. collecting local volunteer troops and forming guerilla bands, they kept the japanese camps, along the road from fusan to ping-an, constantly vigilant they ferreted out the spies who had kept the japanese informed of what was going on, and promptly cut off their heads. isolated from all communication, konishi remained in ignorance of the immense chinese army that was marching against him. the discovery, by the japanese, of the existence of the regular chinese troops in corea, was wholly a matter of accident. according to chinese report, the commander of the ming army, li-yu-son (japanese, ri jo shå�), was a valiant hero fresh from mighty victories over the rising manchiu tribes in the north. the march of his host of 60,000 men through liao tung in winter, especially over the mountain passes, was a severe one, and the horses are said to have sweated blood. evidently the expectation of the leader was to drive out the invaders and annex the country to china. when the corean mountains appeared, as they reached the yalu river, the leader cried out, â��there is the place which it depends on our valor to recover as our hereditary possessions.â�� on the sixth day, after crossing the frontier, he arrived at sun-an. it was then near the last of january, 1592, and the new year was close at hand. word was sent to konishi that chin ikei had arrived and was ready to reopen negotiations, with a favorable reply. konishi promptly despatched a captain, with a guard of twenty men, to meet chin ikei and escort him within the lines. it being new yearâ��s day, february 2, 1593, the guard sallied out amid the rejoicings of their comrades who, tired of desolate chå�-sen, longed for peace and home. the treacherous chinamen received the japanese with apparent cordiality, and feasted them until they were well drunk. then the unsuspicious japanese were set upon while their swords were undrawn in their scabbards. all were killed except two or three. according to another account, they fell into an ambuscade, and fought so bravely that only three were taken alive. from the survivors konishi first learned of the presence of the ming army. the pretext, afterward given by the lying chinaman, was that the interpreters misunderstood each other, and began a quarrel. the gravity of the situation was now apparent. a chinese army, of whose numbers the japanese were ignorant, menaced them in front, while all around them the natives were gathering in numbers and in courage to renew the struggle for their homes and country. the new army from china was evidently well equipped, disciplined, and supplied, while the japanese forces were far in an enemyâ��s country, distant from their base of supplies, and with a desolate territory in the rear. under this gloomy aspect of affairs, the faces of the soldiers wore a dispirited air. konishiâ��s alternative lay between the risk of a battle and retreat to kai-seng. he was not long in resolving on the former course, for, in six days afterward, the ming host, gay with gleaming arms, bright trappings, and dragon-bordered silk banners, appeared within sight of the cityâ��s towers. konishi anxiously watched their approach, having posted his little force to the best advantage. the city was defended on the west by a steep mountainous ridge, on the north by a hill, and on the south by a river. the japanese occupying the rising ground to the north, which they had fortified by earthworks and palisades. at break of day, on february 10th, the allies began a furious assault along the whole line. the japanese at first drove back their besiegers with their musketry fire, but the chinese, with their scaling ladders, reached the inside of the works, where their numbers told. when night fell on the second day of the siege, all the outworks were in their possession, and nearly two thousand of the japanese lay dead. the citadel seemed now an easy prize to the corean generals; but the chinese commander, seeing that the japanese were preparing to defend it to the last, and that his own men were exhausted, gave the order to return to camp, expecting to renew the attack next morning. konishi had despatched a courier to otomo, the japanese officer in command at hozan, a small fortress in whang-hai, to come to his aid. so far from obeying, the latter, frightened at the exaggerated reports of the numbers of the chinese, evacuated his post and marched back to seoul. unable to obtain succor from the other garrisons, and having lost many men by battle and disease, while many more were disabled by wounds and sickness, konishi gave orders to retreat. one of his bravest captains was put in command of the rear-guard, and the castle was silently deserted at midnight. in this masterly retreat, little was left behind but corpses. crossing, upon the ice, the river, which was then frozen many feet in thickness, their foes were soon left behind. next day the allied army, surprised at seeing no enemy to meet them, entered the castle, finding neither man nor spoil of any kind. the coreans wished to pursue their enemy, but the chinese commander, not only forbade it, but glad of a pretext by which he could shift the blame on some other person, cashiered the corean general for allowing the japanese to escape so easily. konishi, without stopping at kai-seng, was thus enabled to reach seoul, now the headquarters of all the invading forces. fully expecting the early advance of the chinese, the men were now set to work in fortifying the city. in the flush of success, li-yu-sung, the ming commander, sent an envoy with a haughty summons of surrender to kato and nabã©shima. to this kato answered in a tone of defiance, guarded his noble prisoners more vigilantly, and with his own hand, in sight of the envoy, put the beautiful corean girl to death, by transfixing her, with a spear, from waist to shoulder, while bound to a tree. he immediately sent reinforcements to the castle of kiã©-chiu, then threatened by the enemy. the corean patriots, who organized small detachments of troops, began to attack or repel the invaders in several places, and even to lay siege to castles occupied by japanese wherever they suspected the garrison was weak. the possession of a few firearms and even rude artillery made them very daring. they compelled the evacuation of one fortress held by katoâ��s men by the following means. a corean, named richosun, says a japanese author, invented bombs, or shin-ten-rai (literally, heaven-shaking thunder), containing poison. going secretly to the foot of the castle, he discharged the bombs out of a cannon into the castle. as soon as they fell or touched anything they burst and emitted poisonous gas, and every one within reach fell dead. the first of these balls fell into the garden of the castle, and the japanese soldiers did not know what it was. they gathered around to examine it, and while doing so, the powder in the ball exploded. the report shook heaven and earth. the ball was rent into a thousand pieces, which scattered like stars. every man that was hit instantly fell, and thus more than thirty men were killed. even those who were not struck fell down stunned, and the soldiers lost their courage. many balls were afterward thrown in, which finally compelled the evacuation of the castle. from the above account it seems that the coreans actually invented bombs similar to the modern iron shells. they may have been fired from a heavy wooden cannon, a sort of howitzer, made by boring out a section of tree trunk and hooping it along its whole length with stout bamboo. such cannon are often used in japan. they will shoot a ten or twenty pound rocket or case of fireworks many hundred feet in the air. the corean most probably selected a spot so distant from the castle that a sortie for its capture could not be successfully made. corean gunpowder is proverbially slow in burning, which accounts for the fact that the japanese had time to gather round it. the bomb was most probably a thin shell of iron, loaded only with gunpowder, which, like the chinese mixture, contains an excess of sulphur. the military customs of the japanese required every man disabled by a wound to commit hara-kiri, so that the number of actual deaths must have been swelled by the suicides that followed wounds inflicted by the iron fragments. the japanese were so completely demoralized that they evacuated the castle. two other castles at kinzan and kishiu, being beleagured by the patriots, kato started to succor the slender garrisons. the coreans, hearing this, redoubled their efforts to capture them before kato should arrive. they had so far succeeded that the japanese officer in the citadel, having lost nearly all his men, went into the keep, or fireproof storehouse, in the centre of the castle, and opened his bowels, preferring to die by his own hands rather than allow a corean the satisfaction of killing him. just at that moment the black rings of katoâ��s banners appeared in sight. the coreans, setting the castle on fire, and giving loud yells of defiance and victory, disappeared. kato and nabã©shima had received an urgent message from seoul to come with their troops, and thus unite all the japanese forces in a stand against the chinese. kato disliked exceedingly to obey this order because he knew it came from konishi, but he finally set out to march across the country. thorough discipline was maintained on the march, and the rivers were safely crossed. cutting down trees, the soldiers, in companies of five or ten, holding on abreast of logs, forded or floated over the most impetuous torrents, while the cavalry kept the coreans at bay. though annoyed by attacks of guerilla parties on their flanks, the japanese succeeded in reaching seoul without serious loss. by the retreat of the japanese armies, and their concentration in seoul, the four northern provinces, comprising half the kingdom, were virtually lost to them. at the fall of ping-an the war found its pivot, for the japanese never again retrieved their fortunes in chå�-sen. chapter xv. the retreat from seoul. the allies, after looking well to their commissariat, began their march on seoul, about the middle of february, with forces which the japanese believed to number two hundred thousand men. the light cavalry formed the advance guard. the main body, after floundering through the muddy roads, arrived, on february 26th, about forty miles northwest of seoul. in the first skirmish, which took place near the town shortly afterward, the allies drove back the japanese advance detachment with heavy loss. li-yo-sun, the commander-in-chief, now ordered the army to move against the capital. in the council of war, held by the japanese generals, ishida, who, like konishi, was a christian in faith, advised the evacuation of seoul. this, of course, provoked kato, who rose and angrily said: â��it is a shame for us to give up the capital before we have seen even a single banner of the ming army. the coreans and our people at home will call us cowards, and say we were afraid of the chinamen.â�� hot words then passed between the rival generals, but otani and others made peace between them. all concluded that, in order to guard against treason, the coreans in the capital must be removed. thereupon, large portions of the city were set on fire, and houses, gates, bridges, public and private buildings, were soon a level waste of ashes. the people, old and young, of both sexes, sick and well, were driven out at the point of the lance. to the stern necessities of war were added the needless carnage of massacre, and hundreds of harmless natives were cruelly murdered. only a few lusty men, to be used as laborers and burden-bearers, were spared. years after, the memory of this frightful and inhuman slaughter, burdening the conscience of many a japanese soldier, drove him a penitent suppliant into the monasteries. there, exiled from the world, with shaven head and priestly robe, he spent his days in fasting, vigils, and prayers for pardon, seeking to obtain nirvana with the eternal buddha. meanwhile the work of fortification went on. the advance guard of the chinese host were now within a few miles of the city, and daily skirmishes took place. the younger japanese officers clamored to lead the van against the chinese, but kobayã©kawa, an elderly general, was allowed to arrange the order of battle, and the japanese army marched out from the capital to the attack in three divisions, kobayã©kawa leading the third, or main body of ten thousand men, the others having only three thousand each. in the battle that ensued the japanese were at first unable to hold their ground against the overwhelming forces of their enemies. the chinese and coreans drove back their first and second divisions with heavy loss. then, thinking victory certain, they began a pursuit with both foot soldiers and cavalry, which led them into disorder and exhausted their strength. when well wearied, kobayã©kawa, having waited till they were too far distant from their camp to receive reinforcements, led his division in a charge against the allies. the battle then became a hand-to-hand fight on a gigantic scale. the chinese were armed mainly with swords, which were short, heavy, and double-edged. the allies had a large number of cavalry engaged, but the ground being miry from the heavy rains, they were unable to form or to charge with effect. their advantage in other respects was more than counterbalanced by the length of the japanese swords, the strength of their armor, and their veteran valor and coolness. even the foot soldiers wielded swords having blades usually two, but sometimes three and four, feet long. the japanese have ever prided themselves upon the length, slenderness, temper, and keen edge of their blades, and look with unmeasured contempt upon the short and clumsy weapons of the continental asiatics. they proudly call their native land â��the country ruled by a slender sword.â�� marvellous in wonder and voluminousness are their legends, literature, and exact history concerning ken (two-edged, short falchion), and katana (two-handed and single-edged sabre). in this battle it was the sword alone that decided the issue, though firearms lent their deadly aid. the long, cross-bladed spears of their foot soldiers were also highly effective, first, in warding off the sabre strokes of the chinese cavalry, and then unhorsing them, either by thrust or grapple. one general of high rank was pulled off his steed and killed. the japanese leaders were in their best spirits, as well as in their finest equipments. one was especially noticeable by his gilded helmet that flashed and towered conspicuously. it was probably that of kato, whose head-gear was usually of incredible height and dazzling splendor. after a long struggle and frightful slaughter, the allies were beaten back in confusion. ten thousand chinese and coreans, according to japanese accounts, were slaughtered on this bloodiest day and severest pitched battle of the first invasion. the chinese suffered heavily in officers, and their first taste of war in the field with such veterans as the soldiers of taikå� was discouraging in the extreme. li-yo-sun drew off his forces and soon after retired to sunto. not knowing that kato had got into seoul, and fearing an attack from the rear, on ping-an, he drew off his main body to that city, leaving a garrison at sunto. tired, disgusted, and scared, the redoubtable chinaman, like â��the beaten soldier that fears the top of the tall grass,â�� sent a lying report to peking, exaggerating the numbers of the japanese, and asking for release from command, on the usual oriental plea of poor health. as for the japanese, they had lost so heavily in killed, that they were unable to follow up the victory, if victory it may be called. a small force, however, pressed forward and occupied kai-jo, while the main body prepared to pass a miserable winter in the desolate capital. the corean stronghold of an-am was also assaulted. this castle was built on a precipitous steep, having but one gate and flank capable of access, and that being a narrow, almost perpendicular, cutting through the rocks. the attacking force entered the gloomy valley shut in from light by the luxuriant forest, which darkened the path even in the daytime. at the tops, and on the ledges of the rocks beetling over the entrance-way, the corean archers took up advantageous positions, while others of the garrison, with huge masses of rock and timber piled near the ledge, stood ready to hurl these upon the invaders. awaiting in silence the approach of their enemies, they soon saw the japanese fan-standards and paper-strip banners approach, when these were directly beneath them, every bow twanged, and a shower of arrows rained upon the invaders, while volleys of stones fell into their ranks, crushing heads and helmets together. the besiegers were compelled to draw off and arrange a new attack; but in the night the garrison withdrew. next day the japanese entered, garrisoned the castle, and decorated it with their streamers. the long-continued abandonment of the soil, owing to the war and the presence of three large armies, bore their natural fruits, and turned fertile corea into a land of starvation. famine began its ravages of death on friend and foe alike. the peasants petitioned their government for food, but none was to be had. thousands of the poor people died of starvation. the fathers suffered in camp, while the dead mothers lay unburied in the houses, and the children, tortured with hunger, cried for food. one day a captain in the chinese army found, by the roadside, an emaciated infant vainly seeking for nourishment from the cold and rigid breast of its dead mother. touched with compassion, the warrior took the child and reared him to manhood under his own care. some rice was distributed to the wretched people from the government store-houses in certain places, but still the groans and cries of the starving filled the air. pestilence entered the japanese camp, and thousands of the home-sick soldiers died ingloriously. the long winter rains made the living despondent and gloomy enough to commit hara-kiri, while the state of the roads and the dashing courage of the guerillas, who pushed their raids to the very gates of the camps, made foraging an unpopular duty among the men. in such discomfort, winter wore away, and tardy spring approached. in this state of affairs the japanese were willing to listen, and the allies ready to offer, terms of peace. a corean soldier, named rijunchin, by permission of his superior officer, had penetrated into seoul to visit the two captive princes. on his return to the camp, he stated that the japanese generals were very homesick and heartily tired of the war. at the same time, a letter was received from konishi, stating his readiness to receive terms of peace. chin ikei was again chosen to negotiate. reaching the japanese lines at kai-jo, he held an interview with konishi, and the following points of agreement were made: 1. peace between the three countries. 2. japan to remain in possession of the three southern provinces of chå�-sen. 3. corea to send tribute to japan as heretofore. 4. hidã©yoshi to be recognized as king of corea. the three other articles drawn up were not made public, but the acknowledgment of taikå� as the equal of the emperor of china was evidently one of them. the japanese, on their part, were to return the two captive princes, withdraw all their armies to fusan, and evacuate the country when the stipulations were carried out. both parties were weary of the war. the ming commander had requested to be relieved of his command and to return to china, while the three old gentlemen, who were military advisers in the japanese camp, yearning for the pleasures of kiå�to, wrote to taikå�, asking leave to come home, telling him the object of his ambition was on the eve of attainment, and that he was to receive investiture from the chinese emperor, and recognition as an equal. scholarship and literature were not at a very high premium at that time among the japanese military men. the martial virtues and accomplishments occupied the time and thoughts of the warriors to the exclusion of book learning and skill at words. the sword for the soldier, and the pen for the priest, was the rule. the bluff warrior in armor looked with contempt, not unmingled with awe, upon the shaven-pated man of ink and brush. one of the bonzes from the monastery was usually of necessity attached to the service of each commander. it was by reason of the ignorance, as well as the vanity, of the illiterate japanese generals that such a mistake, in supposing that taikå� was to be recognized as equal to the emperor of china, was rendered possible. the wily chin ikei, who drove a lucrative trade as negotiator, hoodwinked konishi, who would not have been thus outwitted if he had had a bonze present to inspect the writing. being a christian, however, he was on bad terms with the bonzes. in both camps there were those who bitterly opposed any peace short of that which the sword decided. the corean generals chafed at the time wasted in parley, and wished to march on the japanese at once, whose ranks they knew were decimated with sickness, and their spirit and discipline relaxed under the idea of speedy return home. an epidemic had also broken out among their horses, probably owing to scant provender. thus crippled and demoralized, victory would certainly follow a well-planned attack in force. within the camp of the invaders achilles and agamemnon were as far as ever from harmony. kato sullenly refused to entertain the idea of peace, partly because konishi proposed it, but mainly because, if the two princes were given up, his achievements would be brought to naught, and all the glory of the war would redound to his rival. only after the earnest representation by his friends of the empty granaries, and the danger of impending starvation, the great sickness among the troops, and the fearful loss of horses, was he induced to agree with the other commanders that seoul should be evacuated. meanwhile, the allies were advancing toward the capital. on may 22, 1593, the japanese, with due precautions, evacuated the city, and the vanguard of the chinese army entered on the same day. the retreat of the japanese was effected in good order, and, to guard against treachery, they bivouacked in the open air, avoiding sleeping in the houses or villages, and rigidly kept up the vigilance of their sentinels and the discipline of the divisions. in this way the various detachments of the army safely reached fusan, tong-nai, kinka, and other places near the coast. here, after fortifying their camps, they rested for a space from the alarms of war, almost within sight of their native land. the allies later on marched southward and went into camp a few leagues to the northward. since crossing the yalu river, the chinese had lost by the sword and disease twenty thousand men. chapter xvi. cespedes, the christian chaplain. the aspect of affairs had now changed from that of a triumphal march through corea into china and to peking, to long and tedious camp life, with uncertain fortunes in the field, which promised a long stay in the peninsula. konishi had now breathing time and space for reflection. being an ardent christianâ��after the faith and practice of the portuguese jesuitsâ��he wished for himself and his fellow-believers the presence and ministrations of one of the european friars to act as chaplain. he therefore sent, probably when at or near fusan, a message to the superior of the mission in japan, asking for a priest. toward the end of 1593, the vice-provenã§al of the company of the jesuits despatched father gregorio de cespedes and a japanese convert named â��foucan eionâ�� to the army in chå�-sen. they left japan and spent the winter in tsushima, the domain of yoshitoshi, one of the christian lords then in the field. early in the spring of 1594 they reached corea, arriving at camp comangai (most probably a name given by the japanese after the famous hero kumagayã©), at which konishi made his headquarters. the two holy men immediately began their labors among the japanese armies. they went from castle to castle, and from camp to camp, preaching to the pagan soldiers, and administering the rite of baptism to all who professed the faith, or signed themselves with the cross. they administered the sacraments to the christian japanese, comforted and prayed with the sick, reformed abuses, assisted the wounded, and shrived the dying. new converts were made and old ones strengthened. dying in a foreign land, of fever or of wounds, the soul of the japanese man-at-arms was comforted with words of hope from the lips of the foreign priest. held before his glazing eyes gleamed the crucifix, on which appeared the image of the worldâ��s redeemer. the home-sick warrior, pining for wife and babe, was told of the â��house not made with hands.â�� the two brethren seem to have been very popular among the japanese soldiers. perhaps they already dreamed of planting the faith in corea, when, suddenly, their work was arrested at its height by kato, whose jealousy of konishi was only equalled by his fanatical zeal for the buddhist faith. being in japan he denounced the foreign priest to taikå�, declaring that these zealous endeavors to propagate the christian faith only concealed a vast conspiracy against himself and the power of the mikado. at this time taikå� was dealing with the jesuits in japan, and endeavoring to rid the country of their presence by shipping them off to china. he fully believed that they were political as well as religious emissaries, and that their aim was at temporal power. these suspicions, as every student of japan knows, were more than well founded. besides accusing cespedes, kato insinuated that konishi himself was leading the conspiracy. the cry of chå�-tã©ki (rebel, or enemy of the mikado) in japan is enough to blacken the character of the bravest man and greatest favorite. treason against the mikado being the supreme crime, konishi found it necessary to return to kiå�to, present himself before taikå�, and cleanse his reputation even from suspicion. this the lull in the active operations, occasioned by the negotiations of chin ikei, enabled him to do. immediately sending back the priest, he shortly afterward crossed the straits, and, meeting taikå�, succeeded in fully ingratiating himself and allaying all suspicion. the wife of konishi had also embraced the christian faith, her baptized name being marie. to her, while in camp, he had sent two corean lads, both of whom were of rank and gentle blood, the elder being called in the letters of the jesuits â��secretary to the corean king.â�� he was the son of a brave captain in the army, and was thirteen years old. the lady, marie, touched by their misfortune, kept the younger to be educated in the faith under her own direction, and sent the elder to the jesuit seminary in kiå�to. of this young manâ��s career we catch some glimpses from the letters of the missionaries. at the college he was a favorite, by reason of his good character, gentle manners, and fine mind. professing the faith, he was baptized in 1603, taking the name of vincent. he began his religious work by instructing and catechising japanese and his numerous fellow coreans at nagasaki. when about thirty-three years old, the jesuits, wishing to establish a mission in corea, proposed to send him to his native land as missionary; but not being able, on account of the persecution then raging in japan, he was chosen by the father provenã§al to go to peking, communicate with the jesuits there, and enter corea from china. at peking he remained four years, being unable to enter his own country by reason of the manchius, who then held control of the northern provinces of manchuria and were advancing on peking, to set on the throne that family which is still the ruling dynasty of the middle kingdom. vincent was recalled to japan in 1620, where, in the persecutions under iyã©mitså­, the third tokugawa shå�-gun, he fell a victim to his fidelity, and was martyrized in 1625, at the age of about forty-four. warned of the dangers of patronizing the now proscribed religion, there was no farther return of zeal on konishiâ��s part, or that of the other christian princes, and no farther opportunity was given to plant the seeds of the faith in the desolated land. of the large numbers of corean prisoners sent over to japan, from time to time, many of those living in the places occupied by the missionaries became christians. many more were sold as slaves to the portuguese. in nagasaki, of the three hundred or more living there, most of them were converted and baptized. they easily learned the japanese language so as to need no interpreter at the confessionalâ��a fact which goes to prove the close affinity of the two languages. others, of gentle blood and scholarly attainments, rose to positions of honor and eminence under the government, or in the households of the daimiå�s. many corean lads were adopted by the returned soldiers or kept as servants. when the bloody persecutions broke out, by which many thousand japanese found death in the hundred forms of torture which hate and malice invented, the corean converts remained steadfast to their new-found faith, and suffered martyrdom with fortitude equal to that of their japanese brethren. but, by the army in corea, or by cespedes, no seed of christianity was planted or trace of it left, and its introduction was postponed by providence until two centuries later. chapter xvii diplomacy at kiå�to and peking. the chinese ambassadors, with whom was chin ikei, set sail from fusan, and reached nagoya, in hizen, on june 22d. taikå� received them in person, and entertained them in magnificent style. his lords imitated the august example set them, and both presents and attentions were showered upon the guests. among other entertainments in their honor was a naval review, in which hundreds of ships, decorated with the heraldry of feudalism, were ranged in line. the boats moved in procession; the men, standing up as they worked the sculls, sang in measured chorus. the sheaves of glittering weapons, spears, and halberds arranged at their bows, were inlaid with gold and pearl the cabins were arranged with looped brocades and striped canvas, with huge crests and imperial chrysanthemums of colossal size. the ambassadors were delighted, both with the lovely scenery and the attentions paid them, and so remained until august. little, however, came of this mission. taikå� sent orders to kato to release the corean princes and nobles; and chin ikei, who usually went off like a clumsy blunderbuss, at half-cock, hied back to chå�-sen to tell the news and get the credit of having secured this concession. the coreans were made to bear the blame of the war, and the envoys of china, in good humor, returned to peking in company with a japanese ambassador. yet taikå�, though willing to be at peace with china, did not intend to spare unhappy chå�-sen. to soothe the spirit of kato, the order was given to capture the castle of chin-chiu, forty miles west of fusan, which had not yet been taken by the japanese, though once before invested. alarmed at the movements of the invaders, the coreans tried to revictual and garrison the devoted fortress, and even to attack the enemy on the way. unable, however, to make a stand against their foes, they were routed with frightful carnage. kato led the besieging force, eager to make speedy capture so as to irritate the coreans and prevent the peace he feared. he invested the castle which the coreans had not been able to reinforce, but the vigorous resistance of the garrison, who threw stones and timber upon the heads of his assaulting parties, drove him to the invention of kamã©-no-kosha, or tortoise-shell wagons, which imitated the defensive armor of that animal. collecting together several hundred green hides, and dry-hardening them in the fire, he covered four heavily built and slant-roofed wagons with them. these vehicles, proof against fire, missiles, or a crushing weight, and filled with soldiers, were pushed forward to the foot of the walls. while the matchlock men in the lines engaged those fighting on the ramparts, the soldiers, under the projecting sheds of the tortoise wagons, that jutted against the walls, began to dig under the foundations. these being undermined, the stones were pried out, and soon fell in sufficient number to cause a breach. into this fresh soldiers rushed and quickly stormed the castle. the slaughter inside was fearful. the news of the fall of this most important fortress fell like a clap of thunder in peking, and upon the corean king, who was preparing to go back to seoul. the chinese government appointed fresh commissioners of war, and ordered the formation of a new and larger army. the immediate advance of the invaders on the capital was expected, but kato, having obeyed taikå�â��s orders, left a garrison in the castle and fell back on fusan. the chinese general, upbraiding chin ikei for his insincerity, sent him to konishi again. their interview was taken up mainly with mutual charges of bad faith. chin ikei, returning, tried to persuade the chinese commander to evacuate corea, or, at least, retire to the frontier. though he refused, being still under orders to fight, the chinese army moved back from seoul toward manchuria, while konishi, on his own responsibility, despatched a letter to the chinese emperor. large detachments of the japanese army actually embarked at fusan, and returned to japan. in the lull of hostilities, negotiations were carried on at peking and kiå�to, as well as between the hostile camps. the pen took the place of the matchlock, and the ink-stone furnished the ammunition. a son was born to taikå�, and named hidã©yori. a great pageant, in honor of the infant, was given at the newly built and splendid castle of fushimi, near kiå�to, which was graced by a large number of the commanders and veterans of corea, who had returned home on furlough, while negotiations were pending. the result of the japanese mission to peking was the despatch of an ambassador extraordinary, named rishosei, with one of lesser rank, to japan, by way of fusan. on his arrival, he requested to see konishi, who, however, evaded him, excusing himself on the plea of expecting to hear from taikå�, after which he promised to hold an interview. konishi then departed for japan, taking chin ikei with him. on his return he still avoided the chinese envoy, for he had no definite orders, and the other generals refused to act without direct word from their master in kiå�to. meanwhile chin ikei, consumed with jealousy, and angry at the peking mandarins for ignoring him and withholding official recognition and honors, planned revenge against rishosei; for chin ikei believed himself to have done great things for chå�-sen and china, and yet he had received neither thanks, pay, nor promotion for his toils, while rishosei, though a young man, with no experience, was honored with high office solely on account of being of rank and in official favor at peking. evidently with the intent of injuring rishosei, chin ikei gave out that taikå� did not wish to be made king of chå�-sen, but had sent an envoy to china merely to have a high ambassador of china come to japan, that he might insult or rather return the insult of the sovereign of china, in the person of his envoy, by making him a prisoner or putting him to death. konishi and chin ikei again crossed to japan to arrange for the reception of the chinese envoys. the reports started by chin ikei, coming to the ears of rishosei, so frightened him that he fled in disguise from fusan, and absconded to china. his colleague denounced him as a coward, and declaring that the chinese government desired only â��peace with honor,â�� sailed with his retinue and two corean officers to japan. â��and satan [chin ikei], came also among them.â�� all landed safely at sakai, near ozaka, october 8, 1596. audience was duly given with pomp and grandeur in the gorgeous castle at fushimi, on october 24th. the ambassador brought the imperial letter, the patent of rank, a golden seal, a crown, and silk-embroidered robes of state. at a banquet, given next day, these robes were worn by taikå� and his officers. formalities over, the ming emperorâ��s letter was delivered to taikå�, who at once placed it in the hands of three of the most learned priests, experts in the chinese language, and ordered them to translate its contents literally. to konishi, then at kiå�to, came misgivings of his abilities as a diplomatist visiting the bonzes, he earnestly begged them to soften into polite phrase anything in the letter that might irritate taikå�. but the priests were inflexibly honest, and rendered the text of the letter into the exact japanese equivalent. in it the patent of nobility first granted to the ashikaga shå�-gun (1403â��1425) was referred to; and the gist of this last imperial letter was: â��we, the emperor of china, appoint you, taikå�, to be the king of japanâ�� (nippon o). in other words, the mighty kuambaku of japan was insulted by being treated no better than one of the ashikaga generals! this was the mouse that was born from so great a mountain of diplomacy. the rage of taikå� was so great that, with his own hands, he would have slain konishi, had not the bonzes plead for his life, claiming that the responsibility of the negotiations rested upon three other prominent persons. as usual, the â��false-hearted coreansâ�� were made to bear the odium of the misunderstanding. the chinese embassy, dismissed in disgrace, returned in january, 1596, and made known their humiliation at peking; while the king of corea, who had been living in seoul during the negotiations, appealed at once for speedy aid against the impending invasion. hidã©yoshi again applied himself with renewed vigor to raising and drilling a new army, and obtaining ships and supplies. a grand review of the forces of invasion, consisting of one hundred and sixty-three thousand horse and foot soldiers, was held under his inspection. kuroda, nagamasa, and other generals, with their divisions, sailed away for fusan, january 7, 1597, and joined the army under konishi and kato. the new levies from china, which had been waiting under arms, crossed the yalu and entered from the west at about the same time. marching down through ping-an and seoul, a division of ten thousand garrisoned the castle of nan-on, in chulla. the coreans, meanwhile, fitted out a fleet, under the command of genkai, expecting a second victory on the water. an extinguisher was put on chin ikei, who was suspected of being in the pay of konishi. genkai, a chinese captain, had long believed him to be a dangerous busybody, without any real powers from the peking government, but only used by them as a decoy duck, while, in reality, he was in the pay of the japanese, and the chief hinderance to the success of the allied arms. on the other hand, this volunteer politician, weary and disappointed at not receiving from china the high post and honors which his ambition coveted, was in a strait. taikå� urged him to secure from china the claim of japan to the southern half of corea. china, on the contrary, ordered him to induce the japanese generals to leave the country. thus situated, chin ikei knew not what to do. he sent a message, through a priest, to kato, urging him to make peace or else meet an army of one hundred thousand chinamen. the laconic reply of the japanese was: â��i am ready to fight. let them come.â�� bluffed in his last move, and aware of the plots of genkai, his enemy, chin ikei, at his witsâ�� end, resolved to escape to konishiâ��s camp. the spies of genkai immediately reported the fact to their master, who lay in wait for him. suddenly confronting his victim, they demanded his errand. â��i am going to treat with kato, the japanese general; i shall be back in one month,â�� answered chin ikei. he was seized and, on being led back, was thrown into prison. a searching party was then despatched at once to his house. there they found gold, treasure, and jewels â��mountain high,â�� and his wife living in luxury. believing all these to have been purchased by japanese gold, and the fruits of bribery, the chinese confiscated the spoil and imprisoned the traitorâ��s family. this ended all further negotiations until the end of the war. henceforth, on land and water, by the veterans of both armies, with fresh levies, both of allies and invaders, the issue was tried by sword and siege. chapter xviii. the second invasion. the plan of the second invasion was to land all the japanese forces at fusan, and then to divide them into three columns, which were to advance by the south to nan-on castle in chulla, and by two roads, northward and westward, to the capital. as before, konishi and kato kiyomasa were the two field commanders, while hidã©aki, a noble lad, sixteen years old, was the nominal commander-in-chief. the coreans had made preparations to fight the japanese at sea as well as on land. their fleet consisted of about two hundred vessels of heavy build, for butting and ramming, as well as for accommodating a maximum of fighting men. they were two hundred and fifty or three hundred feet in length, with huge sterns, having enormous rudders, the tillers of which were worked by eight men. their high, flat prows were hideously carved and painted to represent the face and open jaws of a dragon, or demon, ready to devour. stout spars or knotted logs, set upright along the gunwale, protected the men who worked the catapults, and heavily built roofed cabins sheltered the soldiers and gave the archers a vantage ground. the rowers sat amidships, between the cabins and the gunwales, or rather over on these latter, in casements made of stout timber. the catapults were on deck, between the bows. they were twenty-four feet long, made of tree-trunks a yard in circumference. immense bows, drawn to their notches by windlasses, shot iron-headed darts and bolts six feet long and four inches thick. on some of the ships towers were erected, in which cannon, missile-engines, and musketeers were stationed, to shoot out fire-arrows, stones, and balls. at close quarters the space at the bowsâ��about one-third of the deckâ��was free for the movements of the men wielding spear and sword, and for those who plied the grappling hooks or boarding planks. the decks crowded with men in armor, the glitter of steel and flash of oars, the blare of the long corean trumpets, and the gay fluttering of thousands of silken flags and streamers made brilliant defiance. the japanese accepted the challenge, and, sailing out, closed with the enemy. wherever they could, they ran alongside and gave battle at the bows. though their ships were smaller, they were more manageable. in some cases, they ran under the high sterns and climbed on board the enemyâ��s ships. once at hand to hand fight, their superior swordsmanship quickly decided the day. their most formidable means of offence which, next to their cannon, won them the victory, were their rockets and fire-arrows, which they were able to shoot into the sterns, where the dry wood soon caught fire, driving the crews into the sea, where they drowned. two hours fighting sufficed, by which time one hundred and seventy-four corean ships had been burned or taken. news of this brilliant victory was at once sent by a swift vessel to japan. endeavors were made to strengthen the garrison at nan-on, but the japanese general, kato yoshiakira, meeting the reinforcements on their way, prevented their design. kato kiyomasa, changing his plans, also marched to nan-on, resolving to again, if possible, snatch an honor from his rival as usual, the younger man was too swift for him. konishi now moved his entire command in the fleet up the sem river, in chulla province, and landing, camped at a place called uren, eighteen ri from nan-on castle. he rested here five days in the open meadow land to allow the horses to relax their limbs after the long and close confinement in the ships. from a priest, whom they found at this place, they learned that the garrison of nan-on numbered over 20,000 chinese and coreans, the reinforcements in the province, and on their way, numbered 20,000 more, while in the north was another chinese corps of 20,000. at the council of war held, it was resolved to advance at once to take the castle before succor came. in spite of many lame horses, and the imperfect state of the commissariat, the order to march was given. men and beasts were in high spirits, but many of the horses were ridden to death, or rendered useless by the forced march of the cavalry. early on the morning of september 21st, the advance guard camped in the morning fog at a distance of a mile from the citadel. the main body, coming up, surrounded it on all sides, pitched their camp, threw out their pickets, set up their standards, and proceeded promptly to fortify their lines. nan-on castle was of rectangular form, enclosing a space nearly two miles square, as each side was nine thousand feet long. its walls, which were twelve feet high, were built of great stones, laid together without cement. though no mortar had been used on wall or tower, shell-lime had been laid over the outside, in which glistened innumerable fragments of nacre and the enamel of shells, giving the structure the appearance of glittering porcelain. at the angles, and at intervals along the flanks, were towers, two or three stories high. the four ponderous gates were of stone, fourteen feet high. the preparations for defence were all that chinese science could suggest. in the dry ditch, three hundred feet wide, was an abatis of tree-trunks, with their branches outward, behind which were iron-plated wagons, to be filled with archers and spearmen. from the towers, fire-missiles and shot from firearms were in readiness. the weak points, at which no enemy was expected, and for which preparations for defence were few, were on the east and west no effect being produced during the first two days, either by bullets or fire-arrows, konishi, on the third, sent large detachments of men into the rice-fields, then covered with a promising harvest of growing rice, which the farmers, in the hope of peace, had sown. reaping the green, juicy stalks, the hundreds of soldiers gathered an enormous quantity of sheaves and waited, with these and their stacks of bamboo poles and ladders, until night. in the thick darkness, and in perfect silence, they moved to a part of the wall which, being over twenty feet high, was but slightly guarded, and began to build a platform of the sheaves. four japanese, reaching the top by climbing, raised the war-cry, and one of the towers being set on fire by their arrows, the work was discovered. yet the matchlock men kept the walls swept by their bullets, while the work of piling fresh sheaves and bundles of bamboo went on. the greenness of the rice-stalks made the mass both firm and fire-proof. at last the mound was so high that it overtopped the wall. the men now climbed over the ramparts by the hundreds, and the swordsmen, leaping into the castle, began the fight at hand to hand. most of the chinese fought with the courage of despair, while others, in their panic, opened the gates to escape, by which more of the besiegers entered. the garrison, smitten in front and rear, were driven to the final wall by konishiâ��s troops. on the other side a body of picked men, from katoâ��s army, joined in the slaughter. they had entered the castle at the rear, by scaling a rugged mountain path known only to the corean prisoners, whose treachery they had purchased by the promise of their lives. between the two attacking forces the coreans and chinese, who could not escape, were slain by thousands. among many curious incidents narrated by ogawuchi, who tells the story of this siege and attack, was this. as he entered the castle, amid the smoke and confusion, in which he saw some of the panic-stricken garrison destroying themselves, he cut off the heads of two enemies, and then, suddenly recollecting that this fifteenth day of the eighth month was the day sacred to hachiman, the god of war and buddha of the eight banners, he flung down his bloody sword, put his red palms together, and bowing his head, prayed devoutly toward his adored japan. his devotions ended, he sliced off the noses from the heads of the two enemies he had slain, wrapped them in paper, twisted the package to his girdle, and sprang forward to meet, with but three men, the charge of fifty horsemen. the first sweep of the japanese sabre severed the leg of the nearest rider, who fell to the earth on the other side of his horse, and ogawuchiâ��s companions killing each his man, the enemy fled. the fires of the burning towers now lighted up the whole area of the castle, while the autumn moon rose red and clear. ogawuchi slew, with his own hand, kã©ku-shiu, one of the chinese commanders. his body, in rich armor, lined with gold brocade, was stripped, and the trappings secured as trophies to be sent home, while his head was presented for konishiâ��s inspection next morning. according to the barbarous custom of the victors, they severed the heads of the bodies not already decapitated in fight, until the castle space resembled a great slaughter-yard. collecting them into a great heap, they began the official count. the number of these ghastly trophies, or â��glory-signs,â�� was three thousand seven hundred and twenty-six. the ears and noses of the slain were then sheared off, and with the commanderâ��s head, were packed with salt and quick lime in casks, and sent to japan to form the great ear-tomb now in kiå�to, the horrible monument of a most unrighteous war. a map of the castle and town, with the list of the most meritorious among the victors, was duly sent back to taikå�. then the walls and towers, granaries, and barracks were destroyed. this work occupied two days. promptly on september 30th the army moved on to teru-shiu, the cavalry riding day and night, and reaching the castle only to find it deserted, the garrison having fled toward seoul. the japanese remained here ten days, levelling the fortress with fire and hammer. as the cold weather was approaching, the japanese commanders, after council, resolved at once to march to the capital. katsuyoshi and kiyomasa had joined them, and the advance northward was at once began. by october 19th they were within seventeen miles of seoul. [7] the successes on land, brilliant though they were, were balanced by the defeat of the japanese navy off the southern coast. the chinese admiral rishinshin, in conjunction with the coreans, won an important victory over kurodaâ��s naval forces a few days after the fall of nan-on. in this instance, the chinese ships were not only heavy enough to be formidable as rams, but were made more manageable by numerous rowers sitting in well-defended timber casements, apparently covered with metal. the warriors, too, seem to have been armed with larger lances. the chinese commanders, having improved their tactics, so managed their vessels that the japanese fleet was destroyed or driven away. this event may be said to have decided the fate of the campaign. bereft of their fleet, which would, by going round the west coast, have afforded them a base of supplies, they were now obliged to advance into a country nearly empty of forage, and with no store of provisions. as in the opening of the war, so again, the loss of the fleet at a critical period made retreat necessary even at the moment of victory. meanwhile, the chinese general keikai, thoroughly disliking the rigors of a camp in a corean winter, and feeling deeply for his soldiers suffering from exposure in a desolate land, determined on closing the war as soon as possible. erecting an altar, in presence of the army, he offered sacrifices to propitiate the spirits of heaven and earth, and prayed for victory against the invaders. then, after seeing well to commissariat and equipment, he gave orders for a general movement of all the allied forces, with the design of ending the war by a brief and decisive campaign. the japanese generals at koran, by means of their spies and advance parties, kept themselves well informed of the movements of the enemy. at a skirmish at chin-zen the chinese advance guard was defeated with heavy loss, but the japanese at once began their retreat. shishida and ota, who were further east, learning of the overwhelming odds against them, fell back into uru-san, which was already manned by a detachment of katoâ��s corps. while kato and katsuyoshi were at chin-zen, a grand tiger hunt was proposed and carried out, in which a soldier was bitten in two places and died. the army agreed that tiger-hunting required much nerve and valor. besides the tiger steaks, which they ate, much fresh meat was furnished by the numerous crane, pheasants, and â��the ten thousand things different from those in japan,â�� which they made use of to eke out their scanty rations. to remain in camp until the han river was frozen over, and could be crossed easily, or to press on at once, was the question now considered by the japanese. while thus debating, word came that the chinese armies had made junction at seoul, and numbered one hundred thousand men. the japanese â��felt cold in their breastsâ�� when they heard this. far from their base of supplies, their fleet destroyed, and they at the threshold of winter in a famine-stricken land, they were forced, reluctantly, again to retreat into kiung-sang. this turning their backs on seoul was, in reality, the beginning of their march homeward. the invaders, therefore, enriched themselves with the spoil of houses and temples as they moved toward the coastâ��gold and silver brocades, rolls of silk, paintings, works of art, precious manuscripts, books written with gold letters on azure paper, inlaid weapons and armor, rich mantles, and whatever, in this long-settled and wealthy province, pleased their fancy. on the boundaries of roads and provinces they noticed large dressed stone columns of an octagonal form, with inscriptions upon them. their route lay from chin-zen, which they left in ashes, on october 25th, to chin-nan; to ho-won; to ho-kin; to karon; reaching kion-chiu, the old capital of shinra, after some fighting along the way. the japanese were impressed with the size and grandeur of the buildings in this old seat of the civilization and learning of shinra and korai. here, in ancient days, was the focus of the arts, letters, religion, and science which, from the west, the far off mysterious land of india, and the nearer, yet august, empire of china, had been brought to corea. here, too, their own ancient mikados had sent embassies, and from this historic city had radiated the influences of civilization into japan. as buddhism had been the dominant faith of shinra and korai, this was the old sacred city of the peninsula, and among the historic edifices still standing and most admired were the halls and pagodas of the eternal buddha. kion-chiu was to the japanese very much what london is to an american, geneva to a protestant, or dordrecht to a hollander. yet, in spite of all classic associations, the city was wantonly destroyed. on the morning of november 2d, beginning at the magnificent temples, the whole city was given to the torch. three hundred thousand dwellings were burned, and the flames lighted up the long night with the glare of day. the next morning, turning their backs on the gray waste of ashes, they resumed their march. kokiå�, kunoi, sin-nã© were passed through. skirmishing and the destruction of castles, and the burning of granaries, were the pastimes enjoyed between camps. on november 18th the army reached a river, where the coreans made an unsuccessful night attack, repeating the same in the morning, while the japanese were crossing the stream, with the same negative results. thence through yei-tan, they came to kã©ku-shiu, another famous old seat of shinraâ��s ancient grandeur. the beautiful situation and rich appearance of the city charmed the invaders, who lingered long in the deserted streets before applying the torch. the â��three hundred thousand houses of the peopleâ�� were clustered around the great buddhist temple in the centre. the clock-tower, eighteen stories high, was especially admired. the massive swinging beam by which the tongueless bells, or gongs, of the far east are made to boom out the hours, struck against a huge bronze lotus eight or nine feet in diameter. this sacred flower of the buddhist emblem of peace and calm in nirvana had in corean art taken the place of the suspended bell, being most probably a cup-shaped mass of metal set with mouth upright, or like a bell turned upside downâ��such being the form often seen in the temples of chinese asia. again did antiquity, religion, or the promptings of mercy fail to restrain the invaders. securing what spoils they cared for, everything else was burned up. after camping at kiran, they reached the sea-coast, at uru-san, november 18th. chapter xix. the siege of uru-san castle. the japanese now took up the spade as their immediate weapon of defence against the infuriated coreans and the avenging chinese. a force of twenty-three thousand men was at once set to work, â��without regard to wind or rain,â�� along the lines marked out by the japanese engineers. to furnish the wood for towers, gates, huts, and engines, a party of two thousand axemen and laborers, guarded by twenty-eight mounted pickets and three hundred matchlock men, with seven flags, went daily into the forest. the winter huts were hastily erected, walls thrown up, ditches dug, towers built, and sentinels and watch stations set. the work went on from earliest daybreak till latest twilight, the carpenters so suffering from the cold that â��their finger nails dropped off.â�� by the first part of january the castle was almost completed. from the eleventh day the garrison took rest. the fortress was three-sided, the south face lying on the sea. the total line of works was about three and a half miles, pierced by three gates. the inner defences were in three parts, or maru. the third maru, or enclosure, had stone walls, one tower and one gate; the second had two towers, two gates; and the first or chief citadel had stone walls, forty-eight feet high, with two towers and two gates. the war operations, which had hitherto covered large spaces of the country, now found the pivot at this place situated in kiung-sang, on the sea-coast, thirty-five miles north of fusan. another commander, asano, marched to assist the garrison and entered the castle before the ming army arrived. his advance guard, while reconnoitring, was defeated by the coreans, yet he succeeded, by an impetuous charge, in entering the castle. the chinese, smarting under their losses at chin-sen, and stung by the gibes of the coreans, now hastened to uru-san, to swallow up the japanese. the corean army, which had been collecting around the japanese camps, were soon joined by the advance guard of the ming army. the arrival of the chinese forces was made known in the following manner. a japanese captain commanded one of the advance pickets, which had their quarters in the cloisters of ankokuji (temple of the peaceful country). one night a board, inscribed with chinese characters, was set up before the gate of the camp. the soldiers, seeing it in the morning, but unable to read chinese, carried it to their captain, who handed it to his priest-secretary. the board contained a warning that the chinese were near and would soon attack uru-san. betraying no emotion and saying nothing, the captain soon after declared himself on the sick-list, and secretly absconded to fusan. the truth was, that an overwhelming ming army was now in front of them and their purpose to invest the castle was thus published. the entire japanese forces were now gathered close under the walls, or inside the castle, and the sentinels were doubled. on the morning of january 30th the ming army suddenly assaulted the castle. a small detachment, evidently a decoy and forlorn hope, attempting to scale the walls, was driven back by the matchlock men and began to retreat. seeing this, the japanese recklessly opened the barbican gate and began pursuit of their enemies, thinking they were only coreans. lured on to a distance, they suddenly found themselves encircled by a mighty host. by their black and yellow standards, and their excellent tactics, the japanese officers saw that they were ming soldiers. the dust raised by the horses of the oncoming enemy seemed to the garrison as high as atago mountain in japan. they now knew that eighty thousand chinese were before their gates. only after hard fighting, was the remnant of the japanese sortie enabled to get back within the castle, while the allies, surrounding the walls, fought as fiercely as if they intended to take it by immediate assault. some of the bravest leaders of the garrison fell outside, but no sooner were the gates locked than katsuyoshi, without extracting the two arrows from his wounds, or stanching the blood, posted the defenders on the walls in position. ogawuchi had performed the hazardous feat of sallying out and firing most of the outside camps. he re-entered the castle with arrows in his clothes, but received no wounds. the battle raged until night, when the chinese drew off. the japanese had suffered fearfully by the first combat beyond and on the walls. â��there was none but had been shot at by five or ten or fifteen arrows.â�� one of their captains reckoned their loss at eighteen thousand three hundred and sixty men, which left them but a garrison of five thousand fighting men. a large number of non-combatants, including many of the friendly people of the neighborhood, had crowded into the fortifications, and had to be fed. food growing scarcer, and danger increasing, asano sent word to kato for help. on a fleet horse the messenger arrived, after a ride of two days. kato had, in japan, taken oath to asanoâ��s father to help him in every strait. immediately, with seventy picked companions, he put out to sea in seven boats, and, after hard rowing, succeeded in entering the castle. on january 31, 1598, the war-conch sounded in the ming camp, as the signal of attack, and the ears of the besieged were soon deafened by the yells of the â��eighty thousandâ�� besiegers. the japanese were at first terrified at the clouds of dust, through which the awful sight of ranks of men, twenty deep, were on all sides visible. the enemy, armed with shields shaped like a fowlâ��s wings, upon which they received the missiles of the garrison, charged on the outer works, but when into and on the slope of the ditch, flung their shields away, and plied axe, knife, sword, and lance. though seven attacks were repulsed, the wall was breached, the outer works were gained by overwhelming numbers, and the garrison was driven into the inner enclosure. night fell upon the work of blood, but at early morn, the enemy waked the garrison with showers of arrows, and with ladders and hurdles of bamboo, tried to scale the walls. in four hours, seven attacks in force had been repulsed, yet the fighting went on. in spite of the intense cold, the soldiers perspired so that the sweat froze on their armor. over their own heaps of corpses the chinese attempted to force one of the gates, while, from the walls of the inner citadel, and from the higher gate above them, the japanese smote them. the next day the carnage ceased from the third to the ninth hour. on february 3d, the chinese, with their ladders, were again repulsed. at night their sentinels â��gathered hoar-frost on their helmets,â�� while guarding the night long against the sortie, which they feared. another attack from the clouds of enemies kept up the work of killing. some of the japanese warriors now noticed that their stockings and greave-bands kept slipping down, though adjusted repeatedly. the fact was their flesh had shrunk until their bones were nearly visible, and â��their legs were as lean as bamboo sticks.â�� another warrior, taking off his helmet and vizor, was seen to have a face so thin and wizen that he reminded his comrades of one of those hungry demons of the nether world, which they had seen so often depicted in temple pictures at home. on february 5th, the ming generals, who had looked upon the reduction of uru-san as a small affair to be settled by the way, and vexed at not having been able to take it by one assault, tried negotiation. in fact, they were suffering from lack of provisions. the japanese sent back a defiant answer, and some of them profited by the lull in the fighting to make fires of broken arrows and lances, to strip the armor from the dead and frozen carcasses of their steeds, and enjoy a dinner of hot horse-meat. the vast number of shafts that had fallen within the walls, were gathered into stacks, and those damaged were reserved for fuel. outside the citadel, they lay under the wall in heaps many feet high. the next day, february 6th, was one of quiet, but it was intensely cold, and many of the worn out soldiers of the garrison died. sitting under the sunny side of the towers for warmth, they were found in this position frozen to death. yet amid all the suffering, the japanese jested with each other, poured out mutual compliments, and kept light hearts and defiant spirits. a council of war had been held february 2d, at fusan, and a messenger sent to encourage the garrison. by some means he was able to communicate with his beleaguered brethren. with helmets off, the leaders listened to the words of cheer and praise, and promised to hold out yet longer. while the lull or truce was in force, the chinese were, according to ogawuchi, plotting to entrap the japanese leaders. this they learned from one okomoto, a native of japan, who had lived long in china, and was a division commander of eight thousand men in the chinese army. he it was who first brought the offers of accommodation from the ming side. the chinese proposed to get the japanese leaders to come out of their citadel, leave their horses and weapons at a certain place, and go to the altar to swear before heaven to keep the peace. then the chinese were to surround and make prisoners of the japanese. okomotoâ��s soul recoiled at the perfidy. going by night to the side of the castle near the hills, he was admitted in the citadel, and exposing the plot, gave warning of the danger. a profound impression was produced on the grateful leaders, who immediately made a plan to show their gratitude to okomoto. they swore by all the gods to reward also his sons and daughters who were still living in japan. when this fact was made known to him, he burst into tears and said he had never forgotten his wife or children; though he saw them often in his dreams, yet â��the winds brought him no news.â�� on the following morning a chinese officer, coming to the foot of the wall, made signs with his standard, and offered the same terms in detail which okomoto had exposed. the japanese leaders excused themselves on the plea of sickness, and the parley came to nothing. yet the sufferings of the japanese were growing hourly severer. to half rations and hunger had succeeded famine, and with famine came actual death from starvation. unfortunately there was no well in the castle, so the japanese had at first sallied out, under cover of the night, and carried water from the mountain brooks. the chinese, discovering this, posted archers in front of every accessible stream, and thus cut off all approach by night or day. to hunger was added the torture of thirst. the soldiers who fought by day stole out at night and licked the wounds of their slain enemies and even secretly chewed the raw flesh sliced from the corpses of the chinese. within the castle, ingenuity was taxed to the utmost to provide sustenance from the most unpromising substances. the famished soldiers chewed paper, trapped mice and ate them, killed horses and devoured every part of them. braving the arrows of the chinese pickets, they wandered at night wherever their dead enemies lay, and searched their clothes for stray grains of parched rice. on one occasion the chinese, lying in wait, succeeded in capturing one hundred of the garrison, that were prowling like ghouls around the corpses of the slain. after this the commanders forbade any soldier, on pain of death, to leave the castle. yet famine held revel within, and scores of starved and frozen multiplied into hundreds, until room for the corpses was needed. tidings of the straits of the dwindling garrison at uru-san having reached the other japanese commanders, nabã©shima and kuroda, they marched to the relief of their compatriots. one of the chinese generals, rijobai, leaving camp, set out to attack them. the foiled chinese commander-in-chief, angry at the refusal of the japanese to come to his camp, ordered a fresh attack on the castle. this time fresh detachments took the places of others when wearied. the day seemed shut out by the dust of horses, the smoke of guns, the clouds of arrows, and the masses of flags. again the scaling ladders were brought, but made useless by the vigilant defenders in armor iced with frozen sweat, and chafing to the bone. their constant labor made â��three hours seem like three years.â�� the attack was kept up unceasingly until february 12th, when the exhausted garrison noticed the chinese retreating. the van of the reinforcements from fusan had attacked the allies in the rear, and a bloody combat was raging. at about the same time the fleet, laden with provisions, was on its way and near the starving garrison. next morning the keen eyes of their commander noticed flocks of wild birds descending on the chinese camp. the careful scrutiny of the actions of wild fowl formed a part of the military education of all japanese, and they inferred at once that the camp was empty and the birds, attracted by the refuse food, were feeding without fear. orders were immediately given to a detachment to leave the castle and march in pursuit. passing through the deserted ming camp, they came up with the forces of kuroda and nabã©shima, who had gained a great victory over the allies. in this battle of the river plain of gisen, february 9, 1598, the japanese had eighteen thousand men engaged. their victory was complete, thirteen thousand two hundred and thirty-eight heads of coreans and chinese being collected after the retreat of the allies. the noses and ears were, as usual, cut off and packed for shipment to kiå�to. the sufferings of the valiant defenders were now over. help had come at the eleventh hour. for fourteen days they had tasted neither rice nor water, except that melted from snow or ice. the abundant food from the relief ships was cautiously dealt out to the famished, lest sudden plenty should cause sudden death. the fleet men not only congratulated the garrison on their brave defence, but decorated the battered walls with innumerable flags and streamers, while they revictualed the magazines. on the ninth, the garrison went on the ships to go to sezukai, another part of the coast, to recruit their shattered energies. with a feeling as if raised from the dead, the warriors took off their armor. the reaction of the fearful strain coming at once upon them, they found themselves lame and unable to stand or sit. even in their dreams, they grappled with the ming, and, laying their hand on their sword, fought again their battles in the land of dreams. for three years afterward they did not cease these night visions of war. according to orders given, the number of the dead lying on the frozen ground, within two or three furlongs of the castle, was counted, and found to be fifteen thousand seven hundred and fifty-four. of the japanese, who had starved or frozen to death, eight hundred and ninety-seven were reported. in the camp of the allies, crimination and recrimination were going on, the coreans angry at being foiled before uru-san, and the chinese mortified that one fortress, with its garrison, could not have been taken. they made their plans to go back and try the siege anew, when the explosion of their powder magazine, which killed many of their men, changed their plans. for his failure the chinese commander-in-chief was cashiered in disgrace. on may 10th the soldiers of the garrison, now relieved, left for their homes in japan. thus ended the siege of uru-san, after lasting an entire year. after this nothing of much importance happened during the war. the invaders had suffered severely from the cold and the climate, and from hunger in the desolated land. numerous skirmishes were fought, and a continual guerilla war kept up, but, with the exception of another naval battle between the japanese and chinese, in which artillery was freely used, there was nothing to influence the fortunes of either side. in this state of inaction, hidã©yoshi fell sick and died, september 9, 1598, at the age of sixty-three. almost his last words were, â��recall all my troops from chå�-sen.â�� the governors appointed by him to carry out his policy at once issued orders for the return of the army. the orders to embark for home were everywhere gladly heard in the japanese camps by the soldiers whose sufferings were now to end. before leaving, however, many of the japanese improved every opportunity to have a farewell brush with their enemies. it is said, by a trustworthy writer, that 214,752 human bodies were decapitated to furnish the ghastly material for the â��ear-tombâ�� mound in kiå�to. ogawuchi reckons the number of corean heads gathered for mutilation at 185,738, and of chinese at 29,014; all of which were despoiled of ears or noses. it is probable that 50,000 japanese, victims of wounds or disease, left their bones in corea. thus ended one of the most needless, unprovoked, cruel, and desolating wars that ever cursed corea, and from which it has taken her over two centuries to recover. chapter xx. changes after the invasion. the war over, and peace again in the land, the fugitives returned to their homes and the farmers to their fields. the whole country was desolate, the scars of war were everywhere visible, and the curse of poverty was universal. from the king and court, in the royal city, of which fire had left little but ashes, and of which war and famine had spared few inhabitants, to the peasant, who lived on berries and roots until his scanty seed rose above the ground and slowly ripened, all now suffered the woful want which the war had bred. kind nature, however, ceased not her bountiful stores, and from the ever-ready and ever-full treasuries of the ocean, fed the stricken land. the war was a fruitful cause of national changes in corean customs and institutions. the first was the more thorough organization of the military, the rebuilding and strengthening of old castles, and the erection of new ones; though, like most measures of the government, the proposed reforms were never properly carried out. the coasts were guarded with fresh vigilance. upon one of the corean commanders, who had been many times successful against the japanese, a new title and office was created, and the coast defence of the three southern provinces was committed to him. this title was subsequently conferred upon three officials whose headquarters were at points in kiung-sang. among the literary fruits of the leisure now afforded was the narrative, in chinese, of the events leading to the war with the japanese, written by a high dignitary of the court, and covering the period from about 1586 to 1598. this is, perhaps, the only book reprinted in japan, which gives the corean side of the war. in his preface the excessively modest author states that he writes the book â��because men ought to look at the present in the mirror of the past.â�� the chinese style of this writer is difficult for an ordinary japanese to read. the book (chå�hitsuroku) contains a curious map of the eight provinces. in japan the energies of the returned warriors were fully employed at home after their withdrawal from corea. the adherents of taikå� and those of iyã©yaså­, the rising man, came to blows, and at the great battle of sã©kigahara, in october, 1600, iyã©yaså­ crushed his foes. many of the heroes of the peninsular campaign fell on the field; or, as beaten men, disembowelled themselves, according to the japanese code of honor. konishi, being a christian, and unable, from conscientious scruples, to commit suicide by hara kiri, was decapitated. the humbled spirit and turbulent wrath of satsuma were appeased, and given a valve of escape in the permission accorded them to make definite conquest of riu kiu. this was done by a well-planned and vigorously executed expedition in 1609, by which the little archipelago was made an integral part of the japanese empire. when retiring from chå�-sen, in 1597, the daimiå� and general nabã©shima requited himself for the possible loss of further military glory, by bringing over and settling in satsuma a colony of corean potters. he builded better than he knew, for in founding these industries in his own domain, he became the prime author of that delight of the ã¦sthetic world, â��old satsuma faã¯ence.â�� other daimiå�s, in whose domains were potteries, likewise transported skilled workers in clay, who afterward brought fame and money to their masters. on the other hand, iyã©yaså­ sent back the corean prisoners in japan to their own homes. the spoil brought back from the peninsular campaignâ��weapons, flags, brocades, porcelains, carvings, pictures, and manuscripts was duly deposited, with certifying documents, in temples and storehouses, or garnished the home of the veterans for the benefit of posterity. some, with a literary turn, employed their leisure in writing out their notes and journals, several of which have survived the wreck of time. some, under an artistic impulse, had made valuable sketches of cities, scenery, battle-fields, and castles, which they now finished. a few of the victors shore off their queues and hair, and became monks. others, with perhaps equal piety, hung up the arrow-pierced helmet, or corslet slashed by chinese sabre, as ex-voto at the local shrines. the writer can bear personal witness to the interest which many of these authentic relics inspired in him while engaged in their study. in 1878 a large collection of various relics of the corean war of 1592â��1597 came into the possession of the mikadoâ��s government in tå�kiå�, from the heirs or descendants of the veterans of taikå�. in kiå�to, besides the ear-monument, the hall of the founder, in one of the great buddhist temples, rebuilt by the widow of taikå�, was ceiled with the choice wood of the war junk built for the hero. though the peninsula was not open to trade or christianity, it was not for lack of thought or attention on the part of merchant or missionary. in england, a project was formed to establish a trading-station in japan, and, if there was a possibility, in corea also, or, at least, to see what could be done in â��the islandâ��â��as corea then, and for a long time afterward, was believed to be. through the dutch, the jesuits, and their countryman, will adams, in japan, they had heard of the japanese war, and of corea. captain saris arrived off hirado island about the middle of june, 1613, with a cargo of pepper, broadcloth, gunpowder, and english goods. in a galley, carrying twenty-five oars and manned by sixty men furnished by the daimiå�, saris and his company of seventeen englishmen set out to visit the iyã©yaså­ at yedo, by way of suruga (now shidzuoka). after two daysâ�� rowing along the coast, they stopped for dinner in the large and handsome city of hakata (or fukuoka), the city being, in reality, double. as the englishmen walked about to see the sights, the boys, children, and worse sort of idle people would gather about them, crying out, â��corã©, corã©, cocorã© warã©â�� (oh you coreans, coreans, you kokorai men), taunting them by these words as coreans with false hearts, whooping, holloaing, and making such a noise that the english could hardly hear each other speak. in some places, the people threw stones at these â��coreanâ�� englishmen. hakata was one of the towns at which the embassy from seoul stopped while on its way to yedo, and the incident shows clearly that the japanese urchins and common people had not forgotten the reputed perfidy of the coreans, while they also supposed that any foreigner, not a portuguese, with whom they were familiar, must be a corean. in the same manner, at nankin, for a long while all foreigners, even americans, were called â��japanese.â�� nothing was done by saris, so far as is known, to explore or open corea to western commerce, although the last one of the eight clauses of the articles of license to trade, given him by iyã©yaså­, was, â��and that further, without passport, they may and shall set out upon the discovery of yeadzo (yezo), or any other part in and about our empire.â�� by the last clause any japanese would understand corea and riu kiu as being land belonging to, but outside of â��civilizedâ�� nippon. after leaving nagasaki, and calling at bantam, saris took in a load of pepper, and sailed for england, reaching plymouth september 27, 1614. an attempt was also made by the dominican order of friars to establish a mission in corea. vincent (caun), the ward of konishi, who had been educated and sent over by the jesuits to plant christianity among his countrymen, reached peking and there waited four years to accomplish his purposes, but could not, owing to the presence of the hostile manchius in liao tung. but just as he was returning to japan, in 1618, another attempt was made by the dominican friars to penetrate the sealed land. juan de saint dominique, a castilian spaniard, who had labored as a missionary in the philippine islands since 1601, was the chosen man. having secured rapid mastery of the languages of the malay archipelago, he was selected as one well fitted to acquire corean. with two others of the same fraternity he embarked for the shores of morning calm. for some reason, not known, they could not land in corea, and so passed over to japan, where the next year, march 19th, having met persecution, dominique died in prison. the ashes of his body, taken from the cremation furnace, were cast in the sea; but his followers, having been able to save from the fire a hand and a foot, kept the ghastly remnants as holy relics. the exact relations of â��the conquering and the vassal state,â�� as the japanese would say, that is, of nihon and chå�-sen, were not definitely fixed, nor the menace of war withdrawn, until the last of the line of taikå� died, and the family became extinct by the death of hidã©yori, the son of taikå�, in 1612. there is not a particle of evidence that the conquerors ever exacted an annual tribute of â��thirty human hides,â�� as stated by a recent french writer. while iyã©yaså­ had his hands full in japan, he paid little attention to the country which taikå� had used as a cockpit for the christians. iyã©yaså­ dealt with the jesuit, the christian, and the foreigner, in a manner different from, and for obvious reasons with success greater than, that of taikå�. he unified japan, re-established the dual system of mikado and shå�-gun, with two capitals and two centres of authority, kiå�to and yedo. he cleared the ground for his grandson iyã©mitså­, who at once summoned the coreans to renew tributary relations and pay homage to him at yedo. magnifying his authority, he sent, in 1623, a letter to the king of corea, in which he styles himself tai-kun (â��tycoonâ��), or great prince. this is the equivalent in chinese pronunciation of the pure japanese o-gimi, an ancient title applied only to the mikado. no assumption or presumption of pomp and power was, however, scrupled at by the successors of iyã©yaså­. the title â��tycoon,â�� too, was intended to overawe the coreans, as being even higher than the title koku o (king of a [tributary] country), which their sovereign and the ashikaga line of rulers held by patents from the emperor of china, and which taikå� had scornfully refused. the court at seoul responded to the call, and, in 1624, sent an embassy with congratulations and costly presents. the envoys landed in hizen, and made their journey overland, taking the same route so often traversed by the hollanders at dã©shima, and described by kaempfer, thunberg, and others. a sketch by a yedo artist has depicted the gorgeous scene in the castle of the â��tycoon.â�� seated on silken cushions, on a raised dais, behind the bamboo curtains, with sword-bearer in his rear, in presence of his lords, all in imitation of the imperial throne room in kiå�to, the haughty ruler received from the corean envoy the symbol of vassalageâ��a gohei or wand on which strips of white paper are hung. then followed the official banquet. since the invasion, fusan, as before, had been held and garrisoned by the retainers of the daimiå� of tsushima. at this port all the commerce between the two nations took place. the interchange of commodities was established on an amicable basis. japanese swords, military equipments, works of art, and raw products were exchanged for corean merchandise. having felt the power of the eastern sword-blades, and unable to perfect their own clumsy iron hangers, either in temper, edge, or material, they gladly bought of the japanese, keeping their sword-makers busy. kaempfer, who was at nagasaki from september 24, 1690, to november, 1692, tells us that the japanese imported from fusan scarce medicinal plants, especially ginseng, walnuts, and fruits; the best pickled fish, and some few manufactures; among which was â��a certain sort of earthen pots made in japij and ninke, two tartarian provinces.â�� these ceramic oddities were â��much esteemed by the japanese, and bought very dear.â�� from an american or british point of view, there was little trade done between the two countries, but on the strength, of even this small amount, earl russell, in 1862, tried to get great britain included as a co-trader between japan and corea. he was not successful. provision was also made for those who might be cast, by the perils of the sea, upon the shore of either country. at the expense of the yedo government a chå�-sen yashiki (corean house), was built at nagasaki. from whatever part of the japanese shores the waifs were picked up, they were sent to nagasaki, fed and sheltered until a junk could be despatched to fusan. these unfortunates were mostly fishermen, who, in some cases, had their wives and children with them. it was from such that siebold obtained the materials for his notes, vocabulary, and sketches in the corean department of his great archiv. the possession of fusan by the japanese was, until 1876, a perpetual witness of the humiliating defeat of the coreans in the war of 1592â��1597, and a constant irritation to their national pride. their popular historians, passing over the facts of the case, substitute pleasing fiction to gratify the popular taste. the subjoined note of explanation, given by dallet, attached to a map of corea of home manufacture, thus accounts for the presence of the foreigners. the substance of the note is as follows: during the sixteenth century many of the barbarous inhabitants of tsushima left that island, and, coming over to corea, established themselves on the coast of corea, in three little ports, called fusan, yum, and chisi, and rapidly increased in numbers. about five years after chung-chong ascended the throne, the barbarians of fusan and yum made trouble. they destroyed the walls of the city of fusan, and killed also the city governor, named ni utsa. being subdued by the royal troops, they could no longer live in these ports, but were driven into the interior. a short time afterward, having asked pardon for their crimes, they obtained it and came and established themselves again at the ports. this was only for a short time, for a few years afterward, a little before the year 1592, they all returned to their country, tsushima. in the year 1599 the king, syen-cho, held communication with the tsushima barbarians. it happened that he invited them to the places which they had quitted on the coast of corea, built houses for them, treated them with great kindness, established for their benefit a market during five days in each month, beginning on the third day of the month, and when they had a great quantity of merchandise on hand to dispose of he even permitted them to hold it still oftener. this is a good specimen of corean varnish-work carried into history. the rough facts are smoothed over by that well-applied native lacquer, which is said to resemble gold to the eye. the official gloss has been smeared over more modern events with equal success, and even defeat is turned into golden victory. yet, with all the miseries inflicted upon her, the humble nation learned rich lessons and gained many an advantage even from her enemy. the embassies, which were yearly despatched to yield homage to their late invaders, were at the expense of the latter. the japanese pride purchased, at a dear rate, the empty bubble of homage, by paying all the bills. we may even suspect that a grim joke was practised upon the victors by the vanquished. year by year they swelled the pomp and numbers of their train until, finally, it reached the absurd number of four hundred persons. with imperturbable effrontery they devastated the treasury of their â��tycoon.â�� to receive an appointment on the embassy to yedo was reckoned a rich sinecure. it enabled the possessor to enjoy an expensive picnic of three months, two of which were at the cost of the entertainers. landing in chikuzen, or hizen, they slowly journeyed overland to yedo, and, after their merrymaking in the capital, leisurely made their jaunt back again. for nearly a century the yedo government appeared to relish the sensation of having a crowd of people from across the sea come to pay homage and bear witness to the greatness of the tokugawa family. in 1710 a special gateway was erected in the castle at yedo to impress the embassy from seoul, who were to arrive next year, with the serene glory of the shå�-gun iyã©nobu. from a pavilion near by the embassyâ��s quarters, the tycoon himself was a spectator of the feats of archery, on horseback, in which the coreans excelled. the intolerable expense at last compelled the yedo rulers to dispense with such costly vassalage, and to spoil what was, to their guests, a pleasant game. ordering them to come only as far as tsushima, they were entertained by the so family of daimiå�s, who were allowed by the â��tycoonâ�� a stipend in gold kobans for this purpose. a great social custom, that has become a national habit, was introduced by the japanese when they brought over the tobacco plant and taught its properties, culture, and use. the copious testimony of all visitors, and the rich vocabulary of terms relating to the culture, curing, and preparation of tobacco show that the crop that is yearly raised from the soil merely for purposes of waste in smoke is very large. in the personal equipment of every male corean, and often in that of women and children, a tobacco pouch and materials for firing forms an indispensable part. the smoker does not feel â��dressedâ�� without his well-filled bag. into the forms of hospitality, the requisites of threshold gossip and social enjoyment, and for all other purposes, real or imaginary, which nicotine can aid or abet, tobacco has entered not merely as a luxury or ornament, but as a necessity. another great change for the better, in the improvement of the national garb, dates from the sixteenth century, and very probably from the japanese invasion. this was the introduction of the cotton plant. hitherto, silk for the very rich, and hemp and sea grass for the middle and poorer classes, had been the rule. in the north, furs were worn to a large extent, while plaited straw for various parts of the limbs served for clothing, as well as protection against storm and rain. the vegetable fibres were bleached to give whiteness. cotton now began to be generally cultivated and woven. it is true that authorities do not agree as to the date of the first use of this plant. dallet reports that cotton was formerly unknown in corea, but was grown in china, and that the chinese, in order to preserve a market for their textile fabrics within the peninsula, rigorously guarded, with all possible precautions, against the exportation of a single one of the precious seeds. one of the members of the annual embassy to peking, with great tact, succeeded in procuring a few grains of cotton seed, which he concealed in the quill of his hat feather. thus, in a manner similar to the traditional account of the bringing of silk-wormsâ�� eggs inside a staff to constantinople from china, the precious shrub reached corea about five hundred years ago. it is now cultivated successfully in the peninsula in latitude far above that of the cotton belt in america, and even in manchuria, the most northern limit of its growth. it is evident that a country which contains cotton, crocodiles, and tigers, cannot have a very bleak climate. it seems more probable that though the first seeds may have been brought from china, the cultivation of this vegetable wool was not pursued upon a large scale until after the japanese invasion. our reasons for questioning the accuracy of the date given in the common tradition is, that it is certain that cotton was not known in northern china five hundred years ago. it was introduced into central china from turkestan in the fourteenth century, though known in the extreme south before that time. the chinese pay divine honors to one hwang tao po, the reputed instructress in the art of spinning and weaving the â��tree-wool.â�� she is said to have come from hainan island. though cotton was first brought to japan by a hindoo, in the year 799, yet the art of its culture seems to have been lost during the long civil wars of the middle ages. the fact that it had become extinct is shown in a verse of poetry composed by a court noble in 1248. â��the cotton-seed, that was planted by the foreigner and not by the natives, has died away.â�� in another japanese book, written about 1570, it is stated that cotton had again been introduced and planted in the southern provinces. the portuguese, trading at nagasaki, made cotton wool a familiar object to the japanese soldiers. while the army was in corea a european ship, driven far out of her course and much damaged by the storm, anchored off yokohama. being kindly treated while refitting, the captain, among other gifts to the daimiå� of the province, gave him a bag of cotton seeds, which were distributed. the yarn selling at a high price, the culture of the shrub spread rapidly through the provinces of eastern and northern japan, being already common in the south provinces. even if the culture of cotton was not introduced into corea by the japanese army, it is certain that it has been largely exported from japan during the last two centuries. the increase of general comfort by this one article of wear and use can hardly be estimated. not only as wool and fibre, but in the oil from its seeds, the nation added largely to the sum of its blessings. paper, from silk and hemp, rice stalk fibres, mulberry bark, and other such raw material, had long been made by the chinese, but it is probable that the coreans, first of the nations of chinese asia, made paper from cotton wool. for this manufacture they to-day are famed. their paper is highly prized in peking and japan for its extreme thickness and toughness. it forms part of the annual tribute which the embassies carry to peking. it is often thick enough to be split into several layers, and is much used by the tailors of the chinese metropolis as a lining for the coats of mandarins and gentlemen. it also serves for the covering of window-frames, and a sewed wad of from ten to fifteen thicknesses of it make a kind of armor which the troops wear. it will resist a musket-ball, but not a rifle-bullet. chapter xxi. the issachar of eastern asia. the shan-yan alin, or ever-white mountains, stand like a wall along the northern boundary of the corean peninsula. irregular mountain masses and outjutting ranges of hills form its buttresses, while, at intervals, lofty peaks rise as towers. these are all overtopped by the central spire paik-tu, or whitehead, which may be over ten thousand feet high. from its bases flow out the yalu, tumen, and hurka rivers. from primeval times the dwellers at the foot of this mountain, who saw its ever hoary head lost in the clouds, or glistening with fresh-fallen snow, conceived of a spirit dwelling on its heights in the form of a virgin in white. her servants were animals in white fur and birds in white plumage. when buddhism entered the peninsula, as in china and japan, so, in corea, it absorbed the local deities, and hailed them under new names, as previous incarnations of buddha before his avatar in india, or the true advent of the precious faith through his missionaries. they were thenceforth adopted into the buddhist pantheon, and numbered among the worshipped buddhas. the spirit of the ever-white mountains, the virgin in ever-white robes, named manchusri, whose home lay among the unmelting snows, was one of these. perhaps it was from this deity that the manchius, the ancestors of the ruling dynasty of china, the wearers of the world-famous hair tails, took their name. according to manchiu legend, as given by professor douglas, it is said that â��in remote ages, three heaven-born virgins dwelt beneath the shadow of the great white mountains, and that, while they were bathing in a lake which reflected in its bosom the snowy clad peaks which towered above it, a magpie dropped a blood red fruit on the clothes of the youngest. this the maiden instinctively devoured, and forthwith conceived and bore a son, whose name they called ai-sin ghioro, which being interpreted is the â��golden family stem,â�� and which is the family name of the emperors of china. when his mother had entered the icy cave of the dead, her son embarked on a little boat, and floated down the river hurka, until he reached a district occupied by three families who were at war with each other. the personal appearance of the supernatural youth so impressed these warlike chiefs that they forgot their enmities, and hailed him as their ruler. the town of o-to-le [odoli] was chosen as his capital, and from that day his people waxed fat and kicked against their oppressors, the chinese.â�� the home of the manchius was, as this legend shows, on the north side of the ever-white mountains, in the valley of the hurka. from beyond these mountains was to roll upon china and corea another avalanche of invasion. beginning to be restless in the fourteenth century, they had, in the sixteenth, consolidated so many tribes, and were so strong in men and horses, that they openly defied the chinese. the formidable expeditions of li-yu-sun, previous to the japanese invasion of corea, kept them at bay for a time, but the immense expenditure of life and treasure required to fight the japanese, drained the resources of the ming emperors, while their attention being drawn away from the north, the manchiu hordes massed their forces and grew daily in wealth, numbers, discipline, and courage. the invasion of chå�-sen by the japanese veterans was one of the causes of the weakness and fall of the ming dynasty. to repress the rising power in the north, and to smother the life of the young nation, the peking government resorted to barbarous cruelties and stern coercion, in which bloodshed was continual. unable to protect the eastern border of liao tung, the entire population of three hundred thousand souls, dwelling in four cities and many villages, were removed westward and resettled on new lands. fortresses were planned, but not finished, in the deserted land, to keep back the restless cavalry raiders from the north. thus the foundation of the neutral strip of fifty miles was unconsciously laid, and ten thousand square miles of fair and fertile land, west of the yalu, was abandoned to the wolf and tiger. what it soon became, it has remained until yesterdayâ��a howling wilderness. (see map on page 155.) unable to meet these cotton-armored raiders in the field, the ming emperor ordered, and in 1615 consummated, the assassination of their king. this exasperated all the manchiu tribes to vengeance, and hostilities on a large scale at once began by a southwest movement into liao tung. china had now again to face an invasion greater than the japanese, for this time a whole nation was behind it. calling on her vassal, the eastern kingdom, to send an army of twenty thousand men, she ordered them to join the imperial army at hing-king. this city, now called yen-den, lies about seventy miles west of the yalu river, near the 42d parallel, just beyond what was â��the neutral strip,â�� and inside the palisades erected later. in the battle, which ensued, the coreans first faced the manchius. the imperial legions were beaten, and the coreans, seeing which way the victory would finally turn, deserted from the chinese side to that of their enemy. this was in 1619. the manchiu general sent back some of the runaway coreans to their king, intimating that, though the coreans were acting gratefully in assisting the chinese, who had formerly helped the coreans against the japanese, yet it might hereafter be better to remain neutral. so far from taking any notice of this letter, the government at seoul allowed the kingâ��s subjects to cross the yalu and assist the people of liao tung against the manchius, who were making hing-king their capital. at the same time the chinese commander was permitted to enter corea, and thence to make expeditions against the manchius, by which they inflicted great damage upon the enemy. this continued until the winter of 1827, when the manchius, having lost all patience with corea, prepared to invade the peninsula. compelling two refugees to act as their guides, they crossed the frozen yalu in four divisions, in february, and at once attacked the chinese army, which was defeated, and retreated into liao tung. they then began the march to seoul. ai-chiu was the first town taken, and then, after crossing the ching-chong river, followed in succession the cities lining the high road to ping-an. thence, over the tatong river, they pressed on to seoul, the coreans everywhere flying before them. thousands of dwellings and magazines of provisions were given to the flames, and their trail was one of blood and ashes. among the slain were two hollanders, who were captives in the country. heretofore a line of strong palisades had separated corea from manchuria, on the north, but large portions of it were destroyed at this time in the constant forays along the border. those parts which stood yet intact were often seen by travellers along the manchurian side as late as toward the end of the last century. since then this wooden wall, a pigmy imitation of chinaâ��s colossal embargo in masonry, has gradually fallen into decay. the manchius invested seoul and began its siege in earnest. the queen and ladies of the court had already been sent to kang-wa island. the king, to avoid further shedding of blood, sent tribute offerings to the invaders, and concluded a treaty of peace by which chå�-sen again exchanged masters, the king not only acknowledging from the manchiu sovereign the right of investiture, but also direct authority over his person, that is, the relation of master and subject. the coreans now waited to see whether events were likely to modify their new relations, so reluctantly entered into, for the chinese were far from beaten as yet. when free from the presence of the invading army the courage of the ministers rose, and by their advice the king, by gradual encroachments and neglect, annulled the treaty. no sooner were the manchius able to spare their forces for the purpose, than, turning from china, they marched into corea, one hundred thousand strong, well supplied with provisions and baggage-wagons. entering the peninsula, both at ai-chiu and by the northern pass, they reached seoul, and, after severe fighting, entered it. being now provided with cannon and boats, they took kang-wa, into which all the royal, and many of the noble, ladies had fled for safety. the king now came to terms, and made a treaty in february, 1637, in which he utterly renounced his allegiance to the ming emperor, agreed to give his two sons as hostages, promised to send an annual embassy, with tribute, to the manchiu court, and to establish a market at the border gate, in liao tung. these covenants were ratified by the solemn ceremonial of the king, his sons and his ministers confessing their crimes and making â��kow-towâ�� (bowing nine times to the earth). tartar and corean worshipped together before heaven, and the altar erected to heavenâ��s honor. a memorial stone, erected near this sacred place, commemorates the clemency of the manchiu conqueror. in obedience to the orders of their new masters, the coreans despatched ships, loaded with grain, to feed the armies operating against peking, and sent a small force beyond the tumen to chastise a tribe that had rebelled against their conquerors. a picked body of their matchlock men was also admitted into the manchiu service. after the evacuation of corea, the victors marched into china, where bloody, civil war was already raging. the imperial army was badly beaten by the rebels headed by the usurper li-tse-ching. the manchius joined their forces with the imperialists, and defeated the rebels, and then demanded the price of their victory. entering peking, they proclaimed the downfall of the house of ming. the tã¢tar (vassal) was now a â��tartar.â�� the son of their late king was set upon the dragon-throne and proclaimed the whang ti, the son of heaven, and the lord of the middle kingdom and all her vassals. the following tribute was fixed for chå�-sen to pay annually: 100 ounces of gold, 1,000 ounces of silver, 10,000 bags of rice, 2,000 pieces of silk, 300 pieces of linen, 10,000 pieces of cotton cloth, 400 pieces of hemp cloth, 100 pieces of fine hemp cloth, 10,000 rolls (fifty sheets each) of large paper, 1,000 rolls small sized paper, 2,000 knives (good quality), 1,000 ox-horns, 40 decorated mats, 200 pounds of dye-wood, 10 boxes of pepper, 100 tiger skins, 100 deer skins, 400 beaver skins, 200 skins of blue (musk?) rats. when, as it happened the very next year, the shå�-gun of japan demanded an increase of tribute to be paid in yedo, the court of seoul plead in excuse their wasted resources consequent upon the war with the manchius, and their heavy burdens newly laid upon them. their excuse was accepted. twice, within a single generation, had the little peninsula been devastated by two mighty invasions that ate up the land. between the mountaineers of the north, and â��the brigandsâ�� from over the sea, corea was left the issachar among nations. the once strong ass couched down between two burdens. â��and he saw that the rest was good, and the land that it was pleasant, and bowed his shoulder to bear, and became a servant unto tribute.â�� the manchius, being of different stock and blood from the chinese, yet imposed their dress and method of wearing the hair upon the millions of chinese people, but here their tyranny seemed to stop. hitherto, the chinese and corean method of rolling the hair in a knot or ball, on the top of the head, had been the fashion for ages. as a sign of loyalty to the new rulers, all people in the middle kingdom were compelled to shave the forefront of the head and allow their hair to grow in a queue, or pig-tail, behind on their back. at first they resisted, and much blood was shed before all submitted; but, at length, the once odious mark of savagery and foreign conquest became the national fashion, and the chinamanâ��s pride at home and abroad. even in foreign lands, they cling to this mark of their loyalty as to life and country. the object of the recent queue-cutting plots, fomented by the political, secret societies of china, is to insult the imperial family at peking by robbing the chinese of their loyal appendage, and the special sign of the tartar dominion. as a special favor to the coreans who first submitted to the new masters of kathay, they were spared the infliction of the queue, and allowed to dress their hair in the ancient style. the corean king hastened to send congratulations to the emperor, shun chi, which ingratiated him still more in favor at peking. in 1650 a captive corean maid, taken prisoner in their first invasion, became sixth lady in rank in the imperial household. through her influence her father, the ambassador, obtained a considerable diminution of the annual tribute, fixed upon in the terms of capitulation in 1637. in 1643, one-third of this tribute had been remitted, so that, by this last reduction, in 1650, the tax upon corean loyalty was indeed very slight. indeed it has long been considered by the peking government that the coreans get about as much as they give, and the embassy is one of ceremony rather than of tribute-bringing. their offering is rather a percentage paid for license to trade, than a symbol of vassalage. nevertheless, the coreans of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries found out, to their cost, that any lack of due deference was an expensive item of freedom. every jot and tittle, or tithe of the mint or anise of etiquette, was exacted by the proud manchius. in 1695, the king of chå�-sen was fined ten thousand ounces of silver for the omission of some punctilio of vassalage. at the investiture of each sovereign in seoul, two grandees were sent from peking to confer the patent of royalty. the little bill for this costly favor was about ten thousand taels, or dollars, in silver. the coreans also erected, near one of the gates of seoul, a temple, which still stands, in honor of the manchius general commanding the invasion, and to whom, to this day, they pay semi-divine honors. yet to encourage patriotism it was permitted, by royal decree, to the descendants of the minister who refused, at the yalu river, to allow the manchius to cross, and who thereby lost his life, to erect to his memory a monumental gate, a mark of high honor only rarely granted. the jesuits at peking succeeded in ingratiating themselves with the conquerors, and shun-chi, the emperor, was a pupil of adam schall, a german jesuit, who became president of the board of mathematicians. nevertheless, in the troubles preceding the peace, many upright men lost their lives, and hundreds of scholars who hated the tã¢tar conquerors of their beloved chinaâ��as the christians of constantinople hated the turksâ��fled to corea and japan, conferring great literary influence and benefit. in both countries their presence greatly stimulated the critical study of chinese literature. with the mito and yedo scholars in japan, they assisted to promote the revival of learning, so long neglected during the civil wars. at nagasaki, a chinese colony of merchants, and trade between the two countries, were established, after the last hope of restoring the mings had been extinguished in kokusenya (coxinga), who also drove the dutch from formosa. this exodus of scholars was somewhat like the dispersion of the greek scholars through europe after the fall of the byzantine empire. to the jesuits in peking, who were mostly frenchmen, belongs the credit of beginning that whole system of modern culture, by which modern science and christianity are yet to transform the chinese mind, and recast the ideas of this mighty people concerning nature and deity. they now began to make known in europe much valuable information about china and her outlying tributary states. they sent home a map of coreaâ��the first seen in europe. imperfect, though it was, it made the hermit land more than a mere name. in â��china illustrata,â�� written by the jesuit martini, and published in 1649, in amsterdamâ��the city of printing presses and the leipsic of that dayâ��there is a map of corea. the same industrious scholar wrote, in latin, a book, entitled â��de bello inter tartaros et seniensisâ�� (on the war between the manchius and the chinese), which was issued at antwerp in 1654, and in amsterdam in 1661. it was also translated into english, french, and spanish, the editions being issued at london, donay, and madrid. the english title is â��bellum tartaricum; or, the conquest of the great and most renowned empire of china by the invasion of the [manchiu] tartars,â�� london, 1654, octavo. the dutch had long tried to get a hand in the trade of china, and, in 1604, 1622, and 1653, had sent fleets of trading vessels to chinese ports, but were in every instance refused. the russians, however, were first allowed to trade on the northern frontier of china before the same privileges were granted to other europeans. the cossacks, when they first crossed the ural mountains, in 1579, with their faces set toward the pacific, never ceased their advance till they had added to the czarâ��s domain a portion of the earthâ��s surface as large as the united states, and half of europe. once on the steppes, there began that long duel between cossack and tartar, which never ended until the boundaries of russia touched those of corea, japan, and british america. cossacks discovered, explored, conquered, and settled this triple-zoned region of frozen moss, forest land and fertile soil, bringing over six million square miles of territory under the wings of the double-headed eagle. they brought reports of corea to russia, and it was from russian sources that sir john campbell obtained the substance of his â��commercial history of chorea and japanâ�� in his voyages and travels, printed in london, 1771. in 1645, a party of japanese traversed chå�-sen from ai-chiu to fusan, the dan and beersheba of the peninsula. returning from their travels, one of them wrote a book called the â��romance of coreaâ�� (chå�-sen monogatari). takã©uchi tosaã©mon and his son, tozo, and shipmaster kunida hisosaã©mon, on april 26, 1645, left the port of mikuni in the province of echizenâ��the same place to which the first native of corea is said to have reached japan in the legendary period. with three large junks, whose crews numbered fifty-eight men, they set sail for the north on a trading voyage. off the island of sado a fearful storm broke upon them, which, after fifteen days, drove them on the mountain coast of tartary, where they landed, may 12th, to refit and get fresh water. at first the people treated them peacefully, trading off their ginseng for the sakã©, or rice-beer, of the japanese. later on, the japanese were attacked by the natives, and twenty-five of their number slain. the remainder were taken to peking, where they remained until the winter of 1646. honorably acquitted of all blame, they were sent homeward, into the eastern kingdom, under safe conduct of the chinese emperor shun-chi. they began the journey december 18th, and, crossing the snow-covered mountains and frozen rivers of liao tung, reached seoul, after twenty-eight days travel, february 3, 1647. the japanese were entertained in magnificent style in one of the royal houses with banquets, numerous servants, presents, and the attendance of an officer, named kan-shun, who took them around the city and showed them the sights. the paintings on the palace walls, the tiger-skin rugs, the libraries of handsomely bound books, the festivities of new yearâ��s day, the evergreen trees and fine scenery, were all novel and pleasing to the japanese, but still they longed to reach home. leaving seoul, february 12th, they passed through a large city, where, at sunset and sunrise, they heard the trumpeters call the laborers to begin and cease work. they noticed that the official class inscribed on their walls the names and dates of reign and death of the royal line from the founder of the dynasty to the father of the ruling sovereign. this served as an object lesson in history for the young. the merchants kept in their houses a picture of the famous tao-jå�-kung, who, by skill in trade, accumulated fortunes only to spend them among his friends. on february 21st, they passed through shang-shen (or shang-chiu?), where the japanese gained a great victory. in passing along the nak-tong river, they witnessed the annual trial of archery for the military examinations. the targets were straw mannikins, set up on boats, in the middle of the river. on march 6th they reached fusan. the japanese settlement, called nippon-machi, or japan street, was outside the gates of the town, a guard-house being kept up to keep the japanese away. only twice a year, on august 15th and 16th, were they allowed to leave their quarters to visit a temple in the town. the coreans, however, were free to enter the japanese concession to visit or trade. the waifs were taken into the house of the daimiå� of tsushima, and glad, indeed, were they to talk with a fellow countryman. sailing to tsushima, they were able there to get japanese clothes, and, on july 19th, they reached ozaka, and finally their homes in echizen. one of their number wrote out an account of his adventures. among other interesting facts, he states that he saw, hanging in the palace at peking, a portrait of yoshitsunã©, the japanese hero, who, as some of his countrymen believe, fled the country and, landing in manchuria, became the mighty warrior genghis khan. whether mistaken or not, the note of the japanese is interesting. mr. leon pages, in his â��histoire de la religion chrã©tienne au japon,â�� says that these men referred to above found established in the capital a japanese commercial factory, but with the very severe restrictions similar to those imposed upon the hollanders at deshima. this is evidently a mistake. there was no trading mart in the capital, but there was, and had been, one at fusan, which still exists in most flourishing condition. the manchius, from the first, showed themselves â��the most improvable race in asia.â�� in 1707, under the patronage of the renowned emperor kang hi, the jesuits in peking began their great geographical enterpriseâ��the survey of the chinese empire, including the outlying vassal kingdoms. from the kingâ��s palace, at seoul, kang hiâ��s envoy obtained a map of corea, which was reduced, drawn, and sent to europe to be engraved and printed. from this original, most of the maps and supposed corean names in books, published since that time, have been copied. having no corean interpreter at hand, the jesuit cartographers gave the chinese sounds of the characters which represent the local names. hence the discrepancies between this map and the reports of the dutch, japanese, french, and american travellers, who give the vernacular pronunciation. to french genius and labor, from first to last, we owe most of what is known in europe concerning the secluded nation. the jesuitsâ�� map is accurate as regards the latitude and longitude of many places, but lacking in true coast lines. while making their surveys, the party of missionaries, whose assignment of the work was to eastern manchuria, caught something like a pisgah glimpse of the country which, before a century elapsed, was to become a land of promise to french christianity. in 1709, as they looked across the tumen river, they wrote: â��it was a new sight to us after we had crossed so many forests, and coasted so many frightful mountains to find ourselves on the banks of the river tumen-ula, with nothing but woods and wild beasts on one side, while the other presented to our view all that art and labor could produce in the best cultivated kingdoms. we there saw walled cities, and placing our instruments on the neighboring heights, geometrically determined the location of four of them, which bounded korea on the north.â�� the four towns seen by the jesuit surveyors were kion-wen, on-son, and possibly kion-fun and chon-shon. the coreans could not understand the tartar or chinese companions of the frenchmen, but, at hun-chun, they found interpreters, who told them the names of the corean towns. the french priests were exceedingly eager and anxious to cross the river, and enter the land that seemed like the enchanted castle of thornrose, but, being forbidden by the emperorâ��s orders, they reluctantly turned their backs upon the smiling cities. this was the picture of the northern border in 1707, before it was desolated, as it afterward was, so that the russians might not be tempted to cross over. at hun-chun, on the manchiu, and kion-wen, on the corean side of the river, once a year, alternately, that is, once in two years, at each place, a fair was held up to 1860, where the coreans and chinese merchants exchanged goods. the lively traffic lasted only half a day, when the nationals of either country were ordered over the border, and laggards were hastened at the spearâ��s point. any foreigner, manchiu, chinese, or even corean suspected of being an alien, was, if found on the south side of the tumen, at once put to death without shrift or pity. thus the only gate of parley with the outside world on coreaâ��s northern frontier resembled an embrasure or a muzzle. when at last the cossack lance flashed, and the russian school-house rose, and the church spire glittered with steady radiance beyond the tumen, this gateway became the terminus of that â��underground railroad,â�� through which the corean slave reached his canada beyond, or the corean christian sought freedom from torture and dungeons and death. chapter xxii. the dutchmen in exile. the old saw which tells us that â��truth is stranger than fictionâ�� receives many a new and unexpected confirmation whenever a traveller into strange countries comes back to tell his tale. marco polo was denominated â��signor millianoâ�� (lord millions) by his incredulous hearers, because, in speaking of china, he very properly used this lofty numeral so frequently in his narratives. mendez pinto, though speaking truthfully of japanâ��s wonders, was dubbed by a pun on his christian name, the â��mendacious,â�� because he told what were thought to be very unchristian stories. in our own day, when paul du chaillu came back from the african wilds and told of the gorilla which walked upright like a man, and could dent a gun-barrel with his teeth, most people believed, as a college professor of belles lettres, dropping elegant words for the nonce, once stated, that â��he lied like the mischief.â�� when lo! the once mythic gorillas have come as live guests at berlin and philadelphia, while their skeletons are commonplaces in our museums. even stanleyâ��s african discoveries were, at first, discredited. the first european travellers in corea, who lived to tell their tale at home, met the same fate as polo, pinto, du chaillu, and stanley. the narratives were long doubted, and by some set down as pure fiction. like the indian braves that listen to red cloud and spotted tail, who, in the lodges of the plains, recount the wonders of washington and civilization, the hearers are sure that they have taken â��bad medicine.â�� later reports or personal experience, however, corroborate the first accounts, and by the very commonplaceness of simple truth the first reports are robbed alike of novelty and suspicion. the first known entrance of any number of europeans into corea was that of hollanders, belonging to the crew of the dutch ship hollandia, which was driven ashore in 1627. in those days the dutch were pushing their adventurous progress in the eastern seas as well as on the american waters. they had forts, trading settlements, or prosperous cities in java, sumatra, the spice islands, formosa, and the ports of southern japan. the shores of these archipelagoes and continents being then little known, and slightly surveyed, shipwrecks were very frequent. the profits of a prosperous voyage usually repaid all losses of ships, though it is estimated that three out of five were lost. the passage between china and japan and up the seas south of corea, has, from ancient times, been difficult, even to a chinese proverb. a big, blue-eyed, red-bearded, robust dutchman, named john weltevree, whose native town was de rijp, in north holland, volunteered on board the dutch ship hollandia in 1626, in order to get to japan. in that wonderful country, during the previous seventeen years, his fellow-countrymen had been trading and making rich fortunes, occasionally fighting on the seas with the portuguese and other buccaneers of the period. the good ship, after a long voyage around the cape of good hope, and through the indian and chinese seas, was almost in sight of japan. coasting along the corean shores, mr. john weltevree and some companions went ashore to get water, and there were captured by the natives. the coreans were evidently quite willing to have such a man at hand, for use rather than ornament. after the japanese invasions a spasm of enterprise in the way of fortification, architecture, and development of their military resources possessed them, and to have a big-nosed and red-bearded foreigner, a genuine â��nam-ban,â�� or barbarian of the south, was a prize. to both coreans and japanese, the europeans, as coming in ships from the southward, were called â��southerners,â�� or â��southern savages.â�� later on, after learning new lessons in geography, they called them â��westerners,â�� or â��barbarians from the west.â�� like the black potentates of africa, who like to possess a white man, believing him to be a â��spirit,â�� or a new zealand chief, who values the presence of a â��paheka maoriâ�� (englishman), the coreans of that day considered their western â��devilâ�� a piece of property worth many tiger skins. it may be rememberedâ��and the coreans may have borrowed the idea thenceâ��that the japanese, then beginning their hermit policy, had also a white foreigner in durance for their benefit. this was the englishman will adams, who had been a pilot on a dutch ship that sailed from the same texel river. perhaps the boy weltevree had seen and talked with the doughty briton on the wharves of the dutch port. adams served the japanese as interpreter, state adviser, ship architect, mathematician, and in various useful ways, but was never allowed to leave japan. it is highly probable that the ambassadors from seoul, while in yedo, saw will adams, since he spent much of his time in public among the officials and people, living there until may, 1620. the magnates of seoul probably desired to have a like factotum, and this explains why weltevree was treated with kindness and comparative honor, though kept as a prisoner. when the manchius invaded corea, in 1635, his two companions were killed in the wars, and weltevree was left alone. having no one with whom he could converse, he had almost forgotten his native speech, when after twenty-seven years of exile, in the fifty-ninth year of his age, he met some of his fellow-hollanders and acted as interpreter to the coreans, under the following circumstances: in january, 1653, the dutch ship sperwer (sparrowhawk) left texel island, bound for nagasaki. among the crew was hendrik hamel, the supercargo, who afterward became the historian of their adventures. after nearly five monthsâ�� voyage, they reached batavia, june 1st, and formosa july 16th. from this island they steered for japan, fortunately meeting no â��wild chineseâ�� or pirates on their course. off quelpart island, a dreadful storm arose, and, being close on a lee shore with death staring all in the face, the captain ordered them â��to cut down the mast and go to their prayers.â�� the ship went to pieces, but thirty-six out of the sixty-four men composing the crew reached the shore alive. the local magistrate, an elder of some seventy years of age, who knew a little dutch, met them with his retainers, and learned their plight, who they were, and whence they came. the hollanders were first refreshed with rice-water. the coreans then collected the pieces of the broken ship, and all they could get from the hulk, and burned them for the sake of the metal. one of the iron articles happened to be a loaded cannon, which went off during the firing. the liquor casks were speedily emptied into the gullets of the wreckers, and the result was a very noisy set of heathen. the old leader, however, evidently determined to draw the line between virtue and vice somewhere. he had several of the thieves seized and spanked on the spot, while others were bambooed on the soles of their feet, one so severely that his toes dropped off. on october 29th the survivors were brought by the officials to be examined by the interpreter weltevree. the huge noses, the red beards and white faces were at once recognized by the lone exile as belonging to his own countrymen. weltevree was very â��rustyâ�� in his native language, after twenty-seven yearsâ�� nearly complete disuse, but in company with the new arrivals he regained it all in a month. of course, the first and last idea of the captives was how to escape. the native fishing-smacks were frequently driven off to japan, which they knew must be almost in sight. one night they made an attempt to reach the sea-shore. they at first thought they were secure, when the dogs betrayed them by barking and alarming the guards. it is evident that the european body has an odor entirely distinct from a mongolian. the abbã© huc states that even when travelling through thibet and china, in disguise, the dogs continually barked at him and almost betrayed him, even at night. in travelling, and especially when living in the japanese city of fukui, the writer had the same experience. in walking through the city streets at night, even when many hundred yards off, the japanese dogs would start up barking and run toward him. this occurred repeatedly, when scores of native pedestrians were not noticed by the beasts. the french missionaries in corea, even in disguise, report the same facts. the baffled hollanders were caught and officially punished after the fashion of the nursery, but so severely that some had to keep their beds for a month, in order to heal their battered flanks. finally they were ordered to proceed to the capital, which the dutchmen call sior (seoul). hamel gives a few names of the places through which he passed. these are in the pronunciation of the local dialect, and written down in dutch spelling. most of them are recognizable on the map, though the real sound is nearly lost in a quagmire of dutch letters, in which hamel has attempted to note the quavers and semi-demi-quavers of corean enunciation. he writes coeree for corea, and tyocen-koeck for chå�-sen kokå­, and is probably the first european to mention quelpart island, on which the ship was wrecked. the first city on the mainland to which they came was heynam (hai-nam), in the extreme southwest of chulla. this was about the last of may. thence they marched to jeham, spending the night at na-diou (nai-chiu). the gunner of the ship died at je-ham, or je-ban. they passed through san-siang (chan-shon), and came to tong-ap (chon-wup?), after crossing a high mountain, on the top of which was the spacious fortress of il-pam san-siang. the term â��san-siang,â�� used twice here, means a fortified stronghold in the mountains, to which, in time of war, the neighboring villagers may fly for refuge. teyn (tai-in), was the next place arrived at, after which, â��having baited at the little town of kunigaâ�� (kumku), they reached khin-tyo (chon-chiu), where the governor of chillado (chulla då�) resided. this city, though a hundred miles from the sea, was very famous, and was a seat of great traffic. after this, they came to the last town of the province, jesan, and, passing through gunun and jensan, reached konsio (kong-chiu), the capital of chung-chong province. they reached the border of kiung-kei by a rapid march, and, after crossing a wide river (the han), they traversed a league, and entered sior (seoul). they computed the length of the journey at seventy-five leagues. this, by a rough reckoning, is about the distance from hainam to seoul, as may be seen from the map. in the capital, as they had been along the road, the dutchmen were like wild beasts on show. crowds flocked to see the white-faced and red-bearded foreigners. they must have appeared to the natives as punch looks to english children. the women were even more anxious than the men to get a good look. every one was especially curious to see the dutchmen drink, for it was generally believed that they tucked their noses up over their ears when they drank. the size and prominence of the nasal organ of a caucasian first strikes a turanian with awe and fear. thousands of people no doubt learned, for the first time, that the western â��devilsâ�� were men after all, and ate decent food and not earthworms and toads. some of the women, so hamel flattered himself, even went so far as to admire the fair complexions and ruddy cheeks of the dutchmen. at the palace, the king (yo-chong, who reigned from 1648 to 1658) improved the opportunity for a little fun. it was too good a show not to see how the animals could perform. the dutchmen laughed, sang, danced, leaped, and went through miscellaneous performances for his majestyâ��s benefit. for this they were rewarded with choice drink and refreshments. they were then assigned to the body-guard of the king as petty officers, and an allowance of rice was set apart for their maintenance. chinese and dutchmen drilled and commanded the palace troops, who were evidently the flower of the army. during their residence at the capital the hollanders learned many things about the country and people, and began to be able to talk in the â��coresianâ�� language. the ignorance and narrowness of the coreans were almost incredible. they could not believe what the captives told them of the size of the earth. â��how could it be possible,â�� said they, in sneering incredulity, â��that the sun can shine on all the many countries you tell us of at once?â�� thinking the foreigners told exaggerated lies, they fancied that the â��countriesâ�� were only counties and the â��citiesâ�� villages. to them corea was very near the centre of the earth, which was china. the cold was very severe. in november the river was frozen over, and three hundred loaded horses passed over it on the ice. after they had been in seoul three years, the â��tartarâ�� (manchiu) ambassador visited seoul, but before his arrival the captives were sent away to a fort, distant six or seven leagues, to be kept until the ambassador left, which he did in march. this fort stood on a mountain, called numma, which required three hours to ascend. in time of war the king sought shelter within it, and it was kept provisioned for three years. hamel does not state why he and his companions were sent away, but it was probably to conceal the fact that foreigners were drilling the royal troops. the suspicions of the new rulers at peking were easily roused. when the manchiu envoy was about to leave seoul, some of the prisoners determined to put in execution a plan of escape. they put on dutch clothes, under their corean dress, and awaited their opportunity. as the envoy was on the road about to depart, some of them seized the bridle of his horse, and displaying their dutch clothing, begged him to take them to peking. the plan ended in failure. the dutchmen were seized and thrown into prison. nothing more was ever heard of them, and it was believed by their companions that they had been put to death. this was in march. in june there was another shipwreck off quelpart island, and weltevree being now too old to make the journey, three of the hollanders were sent to act as interpreters. hamel does not give us the result of their mission. the manchiu ambassador came again to seoul in august. the nobles urged the king to put the hollanders to death, and have no more trouble with them. his majesty refused, but sent them back into chulla, allowing them each fifty pounds of rice a month for their support. they set out from seoul in march, 1657, on horseback, passing through the same towns as on their former journey. reaching the castle-city of â��diu-siong,â�� they were joined by their three comrades sent to investigate the wreck at quelpart, which made their number thirty-three. their chief occupation was that of keeping the castle and official residence in orderâ��an easy and congenial duty for the neat and order-loving dutchmen. hamel learned many of the ideas of the natives. they represented their country as in the form of a long square, â��in shape like a playing-cardâ��â��perhaps the dutchmen had a pack with them to beguile the tedium of their exile. certain it is that they still kept the arms and flag of orange, to be used again. the exiles were not treated harshly, though in one case, after a change of masters, the new magistrate â��afflicted them with fresh crosses.â�� this â��rotation in officeâ�� was evidently on account of the change on the throne. yo-chong ceased to reign in 1658, and â��a new king arose who knew not joseph.â�� yen-chong succeeded his father, reigning from 1658 to 1676. two large comets appearing in the sky with their tails toward each other, frightened the coreans, and created intense alarm. the army was ordered out, the guards were doubled, and no fires were allowed to be kindled along the coast, lest they might attract or guide invaders or a hostile force. in the last few decades, comets had appeared, said the coreans, and in each case they had presaged war. in the first, the japanese invasions from the east, and, in the second, the manchius from the west. they anxiously asked the dutchmen how comets were regarded in holland, and probably received some new ideas in astronomy. no war, however, followed, and the innocent comets gradually shrivelled up out of sight, without shaking out of their fiery hair either pestilence or war. the dutchmen saw many whales blowing off the coast, and in december shoals of herring rushed by, keeping up an increasing stream of life until january, when it slackened, and in march ceased. the whales made sad havoc in these shoals, gorging themselves on the small fry. these are the herring which arrive off the coast of whang-hai, and feed on the banks and shoals during the season. the catching of them affords lucrative employment to hundreds of junks from north china. from their observations, the dutchmen arguedâ��one hundred and twenty years before la perouse demonstrated the factâ��that there must be a strait north of corea, connecting with the arctic ocean, like that of waigats (now called the strait of kara), between nova zemla and the island lying off the northwestern end of russia. they thus conjectured the existence of the straits of tartary, west of saghalin, before they appeared on any european map. waigats was discovered by the englishman, stephen burroughs, who had been sent out by the muscovy company to find a northwest passage to china. their mention of it shows that they were familiar with the progress of polar research, since it was discovered in 1556, only seven years before they left holland. it had even at that time, however, become a famous hunting-place for whalers and herring fishers. these marine studies of the captives, coupled with the fact that they had before attempted to escape, may have aroused the suspicions of the government. in february, 1663, by orders from seoul, they were separated and put in three different towns. twelve went to â��saysiano,â�� five to siun-schien, and five to namman, their numbers being now reduced to twenty-two. two of these places are easily found on the japanese map. during all the years of their captivity, they seem not to have known anything of the japanese at fusan, nor the latter of them. though thus scattered, the men were occasionally allowed to visit each other, which they did, enjoying each otherâ��s society, sweetened with pipes and tobacco, and hamel devoutly adds that â��it was a great mercy of god that they enjoyed good health.â�� a new governor having been appointed over them, evidently was possessed with the idea of testing the skill of the bearded foreigners, with a view of improving the art productions of the country. he set the dutchmen to work at moulding clayâ��perhaps to have some pottery and tiles after dutch patterns, and the delft system of illustrating the bible at the fireplace. this was so manifestly against the national policy of making no improvements on anything, that the poor governor lost his place and suffered punishment. the spies informed on him to the king. an explosion of power took place, the ex-governor received ninety strokes on his shin-bones, and was disgraced from rank and office. the quondam improvers of the ceramic art of corea were again set to work at pulling up grass and other menial duties about the official residence. as the years passed on, the poor exiles were in pitiful straits. their clothing had been worn to tatters, and they were reduced even to beggary. they were accustomed to go off in companies to seek alms of the people, for two or three weeks at a time. those left at home, during these trips, worked at various odd jobs to earn a pittance, especially at making arrows. the next year, 1664, was somewhat easier for them, their overseer being kind and gentle; but, in 1665, the homesick fellows tried hard to escape. in 1666, they lost their benefactor, the good governor. now came the time for flight. all possible preparations were made, in the way of hoarding provisions, getting fresh water ready, and studying well the place of exit. they waited for the sickness or absence of their overseer, to slacken the vigilance of their guards. in the latter part of august, or early in september, 1667, as the fourteenth year of their captivity was drawing to a close, the governor fell sick. the dutchmen, taking time by the forelock, immediately, as soon as dark, on the night of september 4th, climbed the city wall, and reaching the seaside succeeded, after some parleying, in getting a boat. â��a corean, blinded by the offer of double the value of it,â�� sold them his fishing craft. they returned again to the city. at night they crept along the city wall, and this time the dogs were asleep, absent, or to windward, though the dutchmenâ��s hearts were in their mouths all the time. they carried pots of rice and water, and that darling of a dutchmanâ��the frying-pan. noiselessly they slipped the wood and stone anchor, and glided out past the junks and boats in the harbor, none of the crews waking from their mats. they steered directly southeast, and on the 6th found themselves in a current off the goto islands. they succeeded in landing, and cooked some food. not long after, some armed natives (probably from the lingering influence of the comet) approached them cautiously, as the japanese feared they were coreans, and forerunners of an invading band. hamel at once pulled out their flag, having the arms and colors of the prince of orange. surrendering themselves, they stated their history, and condition, and their desire of getting home. the japanese were kind, â��but made no return for the giftsâ�� of the dutchmen. they finally got to nagasaki in japanese junks, and met their countrymen at dã©shima. the annual ship from batavia was then just about to return, and in the nick of time the waifs got on board, reached batavia november 20th, sailed for holland december 28th, and on july 20, 1668, stepped ashore at home. hamel, the supercargo of the ship, wrote a book on his return, recounting his adventures in a simple and straightforward style. it was written in dutch and shortly after translated into french, german, and english. four editions in dutch are known. the english version may be found in full in the astley, and in the pinkerton, collections of voyages and travels. the french translator indulges in skepticism concerning hamelâ��s narrative, questioning especially his geographical statements. before a map of corea, with the native sounds even but approximated, it will be seen that hamelâ��s story is a piece of downright unembroidered truth. it is indeed to be regretted that this actual observer of corean life, people, and customs gave us so little information concerning them. the fate of the other survivors of the sparrowhawk crew was never known. perhaps it never will be learned, as it is not likely that the coreans would take any pains to mark the site of their graves. yet as the tomb of will adams was found in japan, by a reader of hildrethâ��s book, so perhaps some inquiring foreigner in corea may discover the site of the graves of these exiles, and mark their resting-places. there is no improbability in supposing that other missing vessels, previous to the second half of the nineteenth century, shared the fate of the sparrowhawk. the wrecks, burned for the sake of the iron, would leave no trace; while perhaps many shipwrecked men have pined in captivity, and dying lonely in a strange land have been put in unmarked graves. at this point, we bring to an end our sketch of the ancient and mediã¦val history of corea. until the introduction of christianity into the peninsula, the hermit nation was uninfluenced by any ideas which the best modern life claims as its own. as with the whole world, so with its tiny fraction corea, the door of ancient history shut, and the gate of modern history opened, when the religion of jesus moved the hearts and minds of men. we now glance at the geography, politics, social life, and religion of the coreans; after which we shall narrate the story of their national life from the implanting of christianity until their rivulet of history flowed into the stream of the worldâ��s history. ii. political and social corea. chapter xxiii. the eight provinces. ping-an, or the pacific. this province bears the not altogether appropriate name of peaceful quiet. it is the border land of the kingdom, containing what was for centuries the only acknowledged gate of entrance and outlet to the one neighbor which corea willingly acknowledged as her superior. it contains, probably, the largest area of any province, unless it be ham-kiung. its northern, and a great part of its western, frontier is made by the yalu river, called also the ap-nok, the former name referring to its sinuous course, meaning â��dragonâ��s windings,â�� and the latter after its deep green color. the yalu is the longest river in corea. its source is found near the 40th parallel. flowing northwardly, for about eighty miles, the stream forms the boundary between ping-an and ham-kiung. then, turning to the westward, it receives on the manchurian side twelve tributaries, which run down the gorges of the ever-white mountains. each of these streams is named, beginning westwardly, after the numerals of arithmetic. the waters of so many valleys on the west, as well as on the north and east, emptying into the yalu, make it, in spring and fall, a turbulent stream, which sinuates like the writhing of a dragon; whence its name. in the summer, its waters are beautifully clear, and blue or greenâ��the coreans having no word to distinguish between these two colors. it empties by three mouths into the yellow sea, its deltas, or islands, being completely submerged during the melting of the snows. it is easily navigable for junks to the town of chan-son, a noted trading place, sixty miles from the sea. the valley of the yalu is extremely fertile, and well wooded, and the scenery is superb. its navigation was long interdicted to the chinese, but steamers and gunboats have entered it, and access to the fertile valley and the trade of the region will be gained by other nations. the tong-kia river drains the neutral strip. the town nearest the frontier, and the gateway of the kingdom, is ai-chiu. it is situated on a hill overlooking the river, and surrounded by a wall of light-colored stone. the annual embassy always departed for its overland journey to china through its gates. here also are the custom-house and vigilant guards, whose chief business it was to scrutinize all persons entering or leaving corea by the high road, which traverses the town. a line of patrols and guard-houses picketed the river along a length of over a hundred miles. nevertheless, most of the french missionaries have entered the mysterious peninsula through this loophole, disguising themselves as wood-cutters, crossing the yalu river on the ice, creeping through the water-drains in the granite wall, and passing through this town. or they have been met by friends at appointed places along the border, and thence have travelled to the capital. through this exit also, corea sent to peking or mukden the waifs and sailors cast on her shores. a number of shipwrecked americans, after kind treatment at the hands of the coreans, have thus reached their homes by way of mukden. this prosperous city, having a population of over two hundred thousand souls, and noted for its manufactures, especially in metal, is the capital of the chinese province of shing-king, formerly liao tong. it is surrounded by a long wall pierced with eight gates, one of whichâ��that to the northeastâ��is called â��the corean gate.â�� niu-chwang has also a â��corean gate.â�� fifty miles beyond the corean frontier is the â��border gateâ�� (pien-mun), at which there was a fair held three or four times a year, the chief markets being at the exit and return of the corean embassy to china. the value of the products here sold annually averaged over five hundred thousand dollars. in the central apartment of a building inhabited at either end by chinese and corean mandarins respectively, the customs-officers sat to collect taxes on the things bartered. the corean merchants were obliged to pay â��bonusâ�� or tribute of about four hundred dollars to the mandarin of fung-wang chang, the nearest chinese town, who came in person to open the gates of the building for the spring fair. for the privilege of the two autumn fairs, the coreans were mulcted but half the sum, as the gates were then opened by an underling manchiu official. the winter fair was but of slight importance. for the various chinese goods, and european cottons, the coreans bartered their furs, hides, gold dust, ginseng, and the mulberry paper used by chinese tailors for linings, and for windows. ping-an has the reputation of being very rich in mineral and metallic wealth. gold and silver by report abound, but the natives are prohibited by the government from working the mines. the neutrality of the strip of territory, sixty miles wide and about three hundred miles long, and drained by the tong-kia river, between chå�-sen and chin, was respected by the chinese government until 1875, when li hung chung, on complaint of the king of corea, made a descent on the manchiu outlaws and squatters settled on the strip. having despatched a force of troops, with gunboats up the yalu, to co-operate with them, he found the region overspread with cultivators. the eyes of the viceroy being opened to the fertility of this land, and the navigability of the river, he proposed, in a memorial to peking, that the land be incorporated in the chinese domain, but that a wall and ditch be built to isolate corea, and that all chinese trespassers on corean ground be handed over to the mandarins to be sent prisoners to mukden, and to be there beheaded, while chinese resisting capture should be lawfully slain by coreans. to this the seoul government agreed. by this clever diplomacy the chinese gained back a huge slice of valuable land, probably without the labor of digging ditches or building palisades. the old wall of stakes still remains, in an extremely dilapidated condition. off the coast are a few islands, and a number of shallow banks, around which shelland scale-fish abound. chinese junks come in fleets every year in the fishing season, but their presence is permitted only on condition of their never setting foot on shore. in reality much contraband trade is done by the smugglers along the coast. a group of islands near the mouth was long the nest of chinese pirates, but these have been broken up by li hung changâ��s gunboats. next to the yalu, the most important river of the province is the ta-tong or ping-an, which discharges a great volume of fresh water annually into the sea. a number of large towns and cities are situated on or near its banks, and the high road follows the course of the river. it is the rubicon of chå�-sen history, and at various epochs in ancient times was the boundary river of china, or of the rival states within the peninsula. about fifty miles from its mouth is the city of ping-an, the metropolis of the province, and the royal seat of authority, from before the christian era, to the tenth century. its situation renders it a natural stronghold. it has been many times besieged by chinese and japanese armies, and near it many battles have been fought. â��the general sherman affair,â�� in 1866, in which the crew of the american schooner were murderedâ��which occasioned the sending of the united states naval expedition in 1871â��took place in front of the city of ping-an, commander j. c. febiger, in the u. s. s. shenandoah, visited the mouths of the river in 1869, and while vainly waiting for the arrest of the murderers, surveyed the inlet, to which he gave the name of â��shenandoah.â�� by official enumeration, ping-an contains 293,400 houses, and the muster-rolls give 174,538 as the number of men capable of military duty. the governor resides at ping-an. there is considerable diversity of character between the inhabitants of the eight provinces. those of the two most northern, particularly of ping-an, are more violent in temper than the other provincials. very few nobles or official dignitaries live among them, hence very few of the refinements of the capital are to be found there. they are not overloyal to the reigning dynasty, and are believed to cherish enmity against it. the government keeps vigilant watch over them, repressing the first show of insubordination, lest an insurrection difficult to quell should once gain headway. it is from these provinces that most of the refugees into russian territory come. it was among these men that the â��general sherman affairâ�� took place, and it is highly probable that even if the regent were really desirous of examining into the outrage, he was afraid to do so, when the strong public sentiment was wholly on the side of the murderers of the shermanâ��s crew. the yellow-sea province. all the eight circuits into which chå�-sen is divided are maritime provinces, but this is the only one which takes its name from the body of water on which its borders lie, jutting out into the whang-hai, or yellow sea, its extreme point lies nearest to shantung promontory in china. its coast line exceeds its land frontiers. in the period anterior to the christian era, whang-hai, was occupied by the tribes called the mahan, and from the second to the sixth century, by the kingdom of hiaksai. it has been the camping-ground of the armies of many nations. here, besides the border forays which engaged the troops of the rival kingdoms, the japanese, chinese, mongols, and manchius, have contended for victory again and again. the ravages of war, added to a somewhat sterile soil, are the causes of whang-hai being the least populated province of the eight in the peninsula. from very ancient times the corean peninsula has been renowned for its pearls. these are of superior lustre and great size. even before the christian era, when the people lived in caves and mud huts, and before they had horses or cattle, the barbaric inhabitants of this region wore necklaces of pearls, and sewed them on their clothing, row upon row. they amazed the invading hordes of the han dynasty, with such incongruous mixture of wealth and savagery; as the indians, careless of the yellow dust, surprised by their indifference to it the gold-greedy warriors of balboa. later on, the size and brilliancy of corean pearls became famous all over china. they were largely exported. the chinese merchant braved the perils of the sea, and of life among the rude coreans, to win lustrous gems of great price, which he bartered when at home for sums which made him quickly rich. in the twelfth century the fame of these â��eastern pearls,â�� as they were then called, and which outrivalled even those from the tonquin fisheries, became the cause of an attempted conquest of the peninsula, the visions of wealth acting as a lure to the would-be invaders. it may even be that the corean pearl fisheries were known by fame to the story-tellers of the â��arabian nights entertainments.â�� much of the mystic philosophy of china concerning pearls is held also by the coreans. the corean elysium is a lake of pearls. in burying the dead, those who can afford it, fill the mouth of the corpse with three pearls, which, if large, will, it is believed, preserve the dead body from decay. this emblem of three flashing pearls, is much in vogue in native art the gems are found on the banks lying off the coast of this province, as well as in the archipelago to the south, and at quelpart. the industry is, at present, utterly neglected. the pearls are kept, but no use seems to be made of the brilliant nacre of the mussel-shells, which are exported to japan, to be used in inlaying. more valuable to the modern people than the now almost abandoned pearl mussel-beds, are the herring fisheries, which, during the season, attract fleets of junks and thousands of fishermen from the northern coast provinces of china. opposite, at a distance of about eighty miles as the crow flies, measuring from landâ��s end to landâ��s end, is the populous province of shantung, or â��country east of the mountains.â�� on the edge of this promontory are the cities of chifu and teng chow, while further to the east is tientsin, the seaport of peking. from the most ancient times, chinese armadas have sailed, and invading armies have embarked for corea from these ports. over and over again has the river tatong been crowded with fleets of junks, fluttering the dragon-banners at their peaks. from the shantung headlands, also, chinese pirates have sailed over to the tempting coasts and green islands of corea, to ravage, burn, and kill. to guard against these invaders, and to notify the arrival of foreigners, signal fires are lighted on the hill-tops, which form a cordon of flame and speed the alarm from coast to capital in a few hours. these pyrographs or fire signals are called â��pong-wa.â�� at mok-mieâ�² san, a mountain south of the capital, the fire-messages of the three southern provinces are received. by day, instead of the pillars of fire, are clouds of smoke, made by heaping wet chopped straw or rice-husks on the blaze. instantly a dense white column rises in the air, which, to the sentinels from peak to peak, is eloquent of danger. in more peaceful times, corean timber has been largely exported to chifu, and tribute-bearing ships have sailed over to tientsin. the chinese fishermen usually appear off the coast of this province in the third month, or april, remaining until june, when their white sails, bent homeward, sink from the gaze of the vigilant sentinels on the hills, who watch continually lest the chinese set foot on shore. this they are forbidden to do on pain of death. in spite of the vigilance of the soldiers, however, a great deal of smuggling is done at night, between the coreans and chinese boatmen, at this time, and the french missionaries have repeatedly passed the barriers of this forbidden land by disembarking from chifu junks off this coast. the island of merin (merin-to) has, on several occasions, been trodden by the feet of priests who afterward became martyrs. at one time, in june, 1865, four frenchmen entered â��the lionâ��s denâ�� from this rendezvous. there is a great bank of sand and many islands off the coast, the most important of the latter being the sir james hall group, which was visited, in 1816, by captains maxwell and hall, in the ships lyra and alceste. these forest-clad and well-cultivated islands were named after the president of the edinburgh geographical society, the father of the gallant sailor and lively author who drove the first british keel through the unknown waters of the yellow sea. eastward from this island cluster is a large bay and inlet near the head of which is the fortified city of chan-yon. in january, 1867, commander r. w. shufeldt, in the u. s. s. wachusett, visited this inlet to obtain redress for the murder of the crew of the american schooner general sherman, and while vainly waiting, surveyed portions of it, giving the name of wachusett bay to the place of anchorage. judging from native maps, the scale of the chart made from this survey was on too large a scale, though the recent map-makers of tå�kiå� have followed it. the southern coast also is dotted with groups of islands, and made dangerous by large shoals. one of the approaches to the national capital and the commercial city of sunto, or kai-seng, is navigable for junks, through a tortuous channel which threads the vast sand-banks formed by the han river. hai-chiu, the capital, is near the southern central coast, and whang-chiu, an old baronial walled city, is in the north, on the ta-tong river, now, as of old, a famous boundary line. though whang-hai is not reckoned rich, being only the sixth in order of the eight circuits, yet there are several products of importance. rock, or fossil salt, is plentiful. flints for fire-arms and household use were obtained here chiefly, though the best gun-flints came from china. lucifer matches and percussion rifles have destroyed, or will soon destroy, this ancient industry. one district produces excellent ginseng, which finds a ready sale, and even from ancient times whang-haiâ��s pears have been celebrated. splendid yellow varnish, almost equal to gilding, is also made here. the native varnishers are expert and tasteful in its use, though far behind the inimitable japanese. fine brushes for pens, made of the hair of wolvesâ�� tails, are also in repute among students and merchants. the high road from the capital, after passing through sunto, winds through the eastern central part, and crosses a range of mountains, the scenery from which is exceedingly fine. smaller roads thread the border of the province and the larger towns, but a great portion of whang-hai along its central length, from east to west, seems to be mountainous, and by no means densely populated. there are, in all, twenty-eight cities with magistrates. whang-hai was never reckoned by the missionaries as among their most promising fields, yet on their map we count fifteen or more signs of the cross, betokening the presence of their converts, and its soil, like that of the other provinces, has more than once been reddened by the blood of men who preferred to die for their convictions, rather than live the worthless life of the pagan renegade. most of the victims suffered at hai-chiu, the capital, though whang-chiu, in the north, shares the same sinister fame in a lesser degree. the people of whang-hai are said, by the seoul folks, to be narrow, stupid, and dull. they bear an ill name for avarice, bad faith, and a love of lying quite unusual even among coreans. the official enumeration of houses and men fit for military duty, is 103,200 of the former and 87,170 of the latter. kiung-kei, or the capital province. kiung-kei, the smallest of the eight circuits, is politically the royal or court province, and physically the basin of the largest river inside the peninsula. the tremendous force of its current, and the volume of its waters bring down immense masses of silt annually. beginning at a point near the capital, wide sand-banks are formed, which are bare at low water, but are flooded in time of rain, or at the melting of the spring snows. the tides rise to the height of twenty or thirty feet, creating violent eddies and currents, in which the management of ships is a matter of great difficulty. the han is navigable for foreign vessels, certainly as far as the capital, as two french men-of-war proved in 1866, and it may be ascended still farther in light steamers. the causes of the violence, coldness, and rapidity of the currents of han river (called salt or salã©e on our charts), which have baffled french and american steamers, will be recognized by a study of its sources. the head waters of this stream are found in the distant province of kang-wen, nearly the whole breadth of the peninsula from the mouth. almost the entire area of this province of the river-sources, including the western watershed of the mountain range that walls the eastern coast, is drained by the tributaries which form the river, which also receives affluents from two other provinces. pouring their united volume past the capital, shifting channels and ever new and unexpected bars and flats are formed, rendering navigation, and especially warlike naval operations, very difficult. its channel is very hard to find from the sea. the french, in 1845, attempting its exploration, were foiled. like most rivers in chå�-sen, the han has many local names. the city of han-yang, or seoul, is situated on the north side of the river, about thirty-five miles from its mouth, measuring by a straight line, or fifty miles if reckoned by the channel of the river. it lies in 37â° 30â�² north latitude, and 127â° 4â�² longitude, east from greenwich. the name han-yang, means â��the fortress on the han river.â�� the common term applied to the royal city is seoul, which means â��the capital,â�� just as the japanese called the capital of their country miako, or kiå�, instead of saying kiå�to. seoul is properly a common noun, but by popular use has become a proper name, which, in english, may be correctly written with a capital initial. according to the locality whence they come, the natives pronounce the name sayâ´-ool, shayâ´-ool, or sayâ´-oor. the city is often spoken of as â��the kingâ��s residence,â�� and on foreign maps is marked â��king-ki taã¶,â�� which is the name of the province. the city proper lies distant nearly a league from the river bank, but has suburbs, extending down to the sand-flats. a pamphlet lately published in the city gives it 30,723 houses, which, allowing five in a house, would give a population of over 150,000 souls. the natural advantages of seoul are excellent. on the north a high range of the ho mountain rises like a wall, to the east towers the ridge of barriers, the mighty flood of the han rolls to the south, a bight of which washes the western suburb. the scenery from the capital is magnificent, and those walking along the city walls, as they rise over the hill-crests and bend into the valleys, can feast their eyes on the luxuriant verdure and glorious mountain views for which this country is noted. the walls of the city are of crenellated masonry of varying height, averaging about twenty feet, with arched stone bridges spanning the watercourses, as seen in the reproduced photograph on page 79. the streets are narrow and tortuous. the kingâ��s castle is in the northern part. the high roads to the eight points of the compass start from the palace, through the city gates. within sight from the river are the o-pong san, and the sam-kak san or three-peaked mountain, which the french have named cockâ��s comb. north of the city is chå�-kei, or tide-valley, in which is a waterfall forty feet high. this spot is a great resort for tourists and picnic parties in the spring and summer. from almost any one of the hills near the city charming views of the island-dotted river may be obtained, and the sight of the spring floods, or of the winter ice breaking up and shooting the enormous blocks of ice with terrific force down the current, that piles them up into fantastic shapes or strews the shores, is much enjoyed by the people. inundations are frequent and terrible in this province, but usually the water subsides quickly. not much harm is done, and the floods enrich the soil, except where they deposit sand only. there are few large bridges over the rivers, but in the cities and towns, stone bridges, constructed with an arch and of good masonry, are built. the islands in the river near the capital are inhabited by fishermen, who pay their taxes in fish. another large stream which joins its waters with the han, within a few miles from its mouth near kang-wa island, is the rin-chin river, whose head waters are among the mountains at the north of kang-wen, within thirty miles of the newly-opened port of gen-san on the eastern coast. several important towns are situated on or near its banks, and it is often mentioned in the histories which detail the movements of the armies, which from china, japan, and the teeming north, have often crossed and recrossed it. naturally, we expect to find the military geography of this province well studied by the authorities, and its strategic points strongly defended. an inspection of the map shows us that we are not mistaken. four great fortresses guard the approaches to the royal city. these are suwen to the south, kwang-chiu to the southeast, sunto or kai-seng to the north, and kang-wa to the west. all these fortresses have been the scene of siege and battle in time past. on the walls of the first three, the rival banners of the hosts of ming from china and of taikå� from japan were set in alternate succession by the victors who held them during the japanese occupation of the country, between the years 1592 and 1597. the manchiu standards in 1637, and the french eagles in 1866, were planted on the ramparts of kang-wa. besides these castled cities, there are forts and redoubts along the river banks, crowning most of the commanding headlands, or points of vantage. over these the stars and stripes floated for three days, in 1871, when the american forces captured these strongholds. in most cases the walls of cities and forts are not over ten feet high, though, in those of the first order, a height of twenty-five feet is obtained. none of them would offer serious difficulty to an attacking force possessing modern artillery. kai-seng, or sunto, is one of the most important, if not the chief, commercial city in the kingdom, and from 960 to 1392, it was the national capital. the chief staple of manufacture and sale is the coarse cotton cloth, white and colored, which forms the national dress. kang-wa, on the island of the same name at the mouth of the han river, is the favorite fortress, to which the royal family are sent for safety in time of war, or are banished in case of deposition. kang-wa means â��the river-flower.â�� during the manchiu invasion, the king fled here, and, for a while, made it his capital. kwang-chiu was anciently the capital of the old kingdom of hiaksai, which included this province, and flourished from the beginning of the christian era until the tang dynasty of china destroyed it in the seventh century. kwang-chiu has suffered many sieges. other important towns near the capital are tong-chin, opposite kang-wa, kum-po, and pupion, all situated on the high road. in-chiå­n, situated on imperatrice gulf, is the port newly opened to foreign trade and residence. the japanese pronounce the characters with which the name is written, nin-sen, and the chinese jen-chuan. at this place the american and chinese treaties were signed in june, 1882; commodore shufeldt, in the steam corvette swatara, being the plenipotentiary of the united states. situated on the main road from the southern provinces, and between the capital and the sea, the location is a good one for trade, while the dangerous channel of the han river is avoided. most of the islands lying off the coast are well wooded; many are inhabited, and on a number of them shrines are erected, and hermits live, who are regarded as sacred. their defenceless position offers tempting inducements to the chinese pirates, who have often ravaged them. kiung-kei has been the scene of battles and contending armies and nations and the roadway for migrations from the pre-historic time to the present decade. the great highways of the kingdom converge upon its chief city. in it also christianity has witnessed its grandest triumphs and bloodiest defeats. over and over again the seed of the church has been planted in the blood of its martyrs. ka-pion, east of seoul, is the cradle of the faith, the home of its first convert. for political purposes, this â��home provinceâ�� is divided into the left and right divisions, of which the former has twenty-two, and the latter fourteen districts. the kam-sa, or governor, lives at the capital, but outside of the walls, as he has little or no authority in the city proper. his residence is near the west gate. the enumeration of houses and people gives, exclusive of the capital, 136,000 of the former, and 680,000 of the latter, of whom 106,573 are enrolled as soldiers. the inhabitants of the capital province enjoy the reputation, among the other provincials, of being light-headed, fickle, and much given to luxury and pleasure. â��it is the officials of this province,â�� they say, â��who give the cue to those throughout the eight provinces, of rapacity, prodigality, and love of display.â�� official grandees, nobles, literary men, and professionals generally are most numerous in kiung-kei, and so, it may be added, are singing and dancing girls and people who live to amuse others. when fighting is to be done, in time of war, the government usually calls on the northern provinces to furnish soldiers. from a birdâ��s-eye view of the history of this part of corea, we see that the inhabitants most anciently known to occupy it were the independent clans called the ma-han, which about the beginning of the christian era were united into the kingdom of hiaksai, which existed until its destruction by the tang dynasty of china, in the seventh century. from that time until 930 a.d. it formed a part of the kingdom of shinra, which in turn made way for united korai, which first gave political unity to the peninsula, and lasted until 1392, when the present dynasty with chå�-sen, or corea, as we now know it, was established. the capital cities in succession from hiaksai to chå�-sen were, kwang-chiu, sunto, and han-yang. chung-chong, or serene loyalty. the province of serene loyalty lies mostly between the thirty-sixth and thirty-seventh parallel. its principal rivers are the keum, flowing into basilâ��s bay, and another, which empties into prince jerome gulf. its northeast corner, is made by the han river bending in a loop around the white cloud (paik un) mountain. fertile flats and valleys abound. the peninsula of nai-po (within the waters), in the northwestern corner, is often called the â��granary of the kingdom.â�� most of the rice of the nai-po, and the province generally, is raised for export to the capital and the north. in the other circuits the rice lands are irrigated by leading the water from the streams through each field, which is divided from the other by little walls or barriers of earth, while in this region, and in chulla, the farmers more frequently make great reservoirs or ponds, in which water is stored for use in dry weather. the mountains are the great reservoirs of moisture, for in all the peninsula there is not a lake of noticeable size. the coast line is well indented with bays and harbors, and the run to shantung across the yellow sea is easily made by junks, and even in open boats. on this account the native christians and french missionaries have often chosen this province as their gate of entry into the â��land of martyrs.â�� in the history of corean christianity this province will ever be remembered as the nursery of the faith. its soil has been most richly soaked with the blood of the native believers. with unimportant exceptions, every town along its northern border, and especially in the nai-po, has been sown with the seeds of the faith. the first converts and confessors, the most devoted adherents of their french teachers, the most gifted and intelligent martyrs, were from nai-po, and it is nearly certain that the fires of roman christianity still smoulder here, and will again burst into flame at the first fanning of favorable events. the three great highways from fusan to the capital cross this province in the northeastern portion. over these roads the rival japanese armies of invasion, led by konishi and kato, passed in jealous race in 1592, reaching the capital, after fighting and reducing castles on the way, in eighteen days after disembarkation. chion-chiu, the fortress on whose fate the capital depended, lies in the northeast, where two of the roads converge. the western, or sea road, that comes up from the south, hugs the shore through the entire length of the province. others, along which the japanese armies marched in 1592, and again in 1597, traverse the central part. along one of these roads, the captive hollanders, almost the first europeans in corea, rode in 1663, and one of the cities of which hamel speaks, kon-sio (kong-chiu), is the capital and residence of the provincial governor. the bays and islands, which have been visited by foreign navigators, retain their names on european or japanese charts. some of these are not very complimentary, as deception bay, insult island, and false river. at basilâ��s bay, named after captain basil hall, gutzlaff also landed in 1832, planted potatoes, and left seeds and books. the archipelago to the northwest was, in 1866, named after the prince imperial, who met his death in zululand in 1878. prince jeromeâ��s gulf is well known as the scene of the visits of the rover and the emperor, with the author of â��a forbidden landâ�� on board. haimi, a town several times mentioned by him, is at the head of shoal gulf, which runs up into the nai-po. two other bays, named caroline and deception, indent the nai-po peninsula. the large shoal off the coast is called chasseriau. other wide and dangerous shoals line parts of the coast, making navigation exceedingly difficult. fogs are frequent and very dense, shrouding all landmarks for hours. the tides and currents are very strong, rising in some places even as high as sixty feet. the international body-snatching expedition, undertaken by a french priest, a german merchant, and an american interpreter, in 1867, to obtain the bones or ancestral relics of the regent, was planned to take advantage of a certain â��nick of time.â�� the river emptying into the prince jerome gulf, runs some thirty miles inland, and can be ascended by a barge, or very light-draught steamer, only within the period of thirty hours during spring tides, when the water rises to a height of three feet at the utmost, while during the rest of the month it dries up completely. on account of delays, through grounding, miscalculated distances, and the burglar-proof masonry of corean tombs, the scheme failed. the narrative of this remarkable expedition is given in a certain book on corea, and in the proceedings of the united states consular court at shanghae, china, for the year 1867. the flora is a brilliant feature of the summer landscape. tiger-lilies and showy compositã¦, asters, cactus plants, cruciferã¦, labiatã¦, and many other european species abound side by side with tropical varieties. the air is full of insects, and the number and variety of the birds exceed those of japan. pigeons, butcher-birds, fly-catchers, woodpeckers, thrushes, larks, blackbirds, kingfishers, wrens, spoonbills, quail, curlew, titmouse, have been noticed. the ever-present black crows contrast with the snowy heron, which often stand in rows along the watercourses, while on the reefs the cormorant, sea-gulls, and many kinds of ducks and diving birds, many of them being of species differing from those in europe, show the abundance of winged life. the archipelago and the peninsula alike, are almost virgin soil to the student of natural history and the man of science will yet, in this secluded nook of creation, solve many an interesting problem concerning the procession of life on the globe. so far as known, the coreans seem far behind the japanese in the study and classification of animate nature. the coreans are not a seafaring people. they do not sail out from land, except upon rare occasions. a steamer is yet, to most coreans, a wonderful thing. the common folks point to one, and call it â��a divine ship.â�� the reason of this is, that they think the country of steamships so utterly at the ends of the earth, that to pass over ten million leagues, and endure the winds and waves, could not be done by human aid, and therefore such a ship must have, in some way, the aid of the gods. the prow and stern of fishing-boats are much alike, and are neatly nailed together with wooden nails. they use round stems of trees in their natural state, for masts. the sails are made of straw, plaited together with cross-bars of bamboo. the sail is at the stern of the boat. they sail well within three points of the wind, and the fishermen are very skilful in managing them. in their working-boats, they do not use oars, but sculls, worked on a pivot in the gunwale or an outrigger. the sculls have a very long sweep, and are worked by two, three, and even ten men. for narrow rivers this method is very convenient, and many boats can easily pass each other, or move side by side, taking up very little room. for fishing among the rocks, or for landing in the surf, rafts are extensively used all along the coasts. these rafts have a platform, capable of holding eight or ten persons. the boats or barges, which are used for pleasure excursions and picnic parties, have high bows and ornamental sterns, carved or otherwise decorated. over the centre a canopy stretched on four poles, tufted with horsehair, shelters the pleasure-seekers from the sun as they enjoy the river scenery. in the cut we see three officials, or men of rank, enjoying themselves at a table, on which may be tea, ginseng infusion, or rice spirit, with fruits in dishes. they sit on silken cushions, and seem to be pledging each other in a friendly cup. perhaps they will compose and exchange a pedantic poem or two on the way. in the long, high bow there is room for the two men to walk the deck, while with their poles they propel the craft gently along the stream, while the steersman handles the somewhat unwieldy rudder. the common people use a boat made of plain unpainted wood, neatly joined together, without nails or metal, the fastenings being of wood, the cushions of straw matting and the cordage of sea grass. by official reckoning chung-chong contains 244,080 houses, with 139,201 men enrolled for military service, in fifty-four districts. it contains ten walled cities, and like every other one of the eight provinces is divided into two departments, right and left. chulla, or complete network. this province, the most southern of the eight, is also the warmest and most fertile. it is nearest to shang-hae, and to the track of foreign commerce. its island-fringed shores have been the scene of many shipwrecks, among which were the french frigates, whose names glory and victory, were better than their inglorious end, on a reef near kokun island. until the voyage of captains maxwell and basil hall, in the alceste and lyra, in 1816, â��the corean archipelagoâ�� was absolutely unknown in europe, and was not even marked on chinese charts. in the map of the empire, prepared by the jesuits at peking in the seventeenth century, the main land was made to extend out over a space now known to be covered by hundreds of islands, and a huge elephantâ��the conventional sign of ignorance of the map-makers of that dayâ��occupied the space. in these virgin waters, captain hall sailed over imaginary forests and cities, and straight through the body of the elephant, and for the first time explored an archipelago which he found to be one of the most beautiful on earth. a later visitor, and a naturalist, states that from a single island peak, one may count one hundred and thirty-five islets. stretching far away to the north and to the south, were groups of dark blue islets, rising mistily from the surface of the water. the sea was covered with large picturesque boats, which, crowded with natives in their white fluttering robes, were putting off from the adjacent villages, and sculling across the pellucid waters to visit the stranger ship. on these islands, as arthur adams tells us, the seals sport, the spoonbill, quail, curlew, titmouse, wagtail, teal, crane and innumerable birds thrive. the woody peaks are rich in game, and the shores are happy hunting-grounds for the naturalist. sponges are very plentiful, and in some places may be gathered in any quantity. there are a number of well-marked species. some are flat and split into numerous ribbon-like branches, others are round and finger-shaped, some cylindrical, and others like hollow tubes. though some have dense white foliations, hard or horny, others are loose and flexible, and await only the hand of the diver. the corean toilet requisites perhaps do not include these useful articles, which lie waste in the sea. the coral-beds are also very splendid in their living tints of green, blue, violet, and yellow, and appear, as you look down upon them through the clear transparent water, to form beautiful flower-gardens of marine plants. in these submarine parterres, amid the protean forms of the branched corals, huge madrepores, brain-shaped, flat, or headed like gigantic mushrooms, are interspersed with sponges of the deepest red and huge star-fishes of the richest blue. seals sport and play unharmed on many of the islands, and the sea-beach is at times blue with the bodies of lively crabs. an unfailing storehouse of marine food is found in this archipelago. the eight provinces take their names from their two chief cities, as mr. carles has shown. whang hai då�, for instance, is formed by uniting the initial syllables of the largest cities, whang-chiu and hai-chiu. in the case of chulla-då�, the chon and nai in chon-chiu and nai-chiu (or chung-jiu and na-jiu) become, by euphony, chulla or cholla. hamel tells of the great cayman or â��alligator,â�� as inhabiting this region, asserting that it was â��eighteen or twenty ells long,â�� with â��sixty joints in the back,â�� and able to swallow a man. [8] the soil of chulla is rich and well cultivated, and large quantities of rice and grain are shipped to the capital. the wide valleys afford juicy pasture for the herds of cattle that furnish the beef diet which the coreans crave more than the japanese. the visiting or shipwrecked foreign visitors on the coast speak in terms of highest praise of fat bullocks, and juicy steaks which they have eaten. considerable quantities of hides, bones, horns, leather, and tallow now form a class of standard exports to japan, whose people now wear buttons and leather shoes. as a beef market, corea exceeds either china or japanâ��a point of importance to the large number of foreigners living at the ports, who require a flesh diet. troops of horses graze on the pasture lands. chulla is well furnished with ports and harbors for the junks that ply northward. the town of mopo, in latitude 34â° 40â�², has been looked upon by the japanese as a favorable place for trade and residence, and may yet be opened under the provisions of the treaty of 1876. this region does not lack sites of great historic interest. the castle of nanon, in the eastern part, was the scene of a famous siege and battle between the allied coreans and chinese and the japanese besiegers, during the second invasion, in 1597. the investment lasted many weeks, and over five thousand men were slaughtered. it was in this province also that the crew of the dutch ship sparrowhawk were kept prisoners, some for thirteen years, some for life, of whom hendrik hamel wrote so graphic a narrative. for two centuries his little work afforded the only european knowledge of corea accessible to inquirers. among other employments, the dutch captives were set to making pottery, and this province has many villages devoted to the fictile art. the work turned out consists, in the main, of those huge earthen jars for holding water and grains, common to corean households, and large enough to hold one of the forty thieves of arabian nights story. through the labors of the french missionaries, christianity has penetrated into chulla-då�, and a large number of towns, especially in the north, still contain believers who are the descendants or relatives of men and women who have exchanged their lives for a good confession. the tragedy and romance of the christian martyrs, of this and other provinces, have been told by dallet. most of the executions have taken place at the capital city of chon-chiu. many have been banished to quelpart, or some of the many islands along the coast, where it is probable many yet live and pine. three large, and several small rivers drain the valleys. two of these flow into the yellow sea and one into the sea of japan. the main highway of this province traverses the western portion near the sea, the other roads being of inferior importance. fortified cities or castle towns are numerous in this part of corea, for this province was completely overrun by the japanese armies in 1592â��1597, and its soil was the scene of many battles. by official enumeration there are 290,550 houses, and 206,140 males enrolled for service in war. the districts number fifty-six. the capital is chon-chiu, which was once considered the second largest city in the kingdom. if corea is â��the italy of the east,â�� then quelpart is its sicily. it lies about sixty miles south of the main land. it may be said to be an oval, rock-bound island, covered with innumerable conical mountains, topped in many instances by extinct volcanic craters, and â��all bowing down before one vast and towering giant, whose foot is planted in the centre of the island, and whose head is lost in the clouds.â�� this peak, called mount auckland, or han-ra san, by the people, is about 6,500 feet high. on its top are three extinct craters, within each of which is a lake of pure water. corean children are taught to believe that the three first-created men of the world still dwell on these lofty heights. the whole surface of the island, including plains, valleys, and mountain flanks, is carefully and beautifully cultivated. the fields are neatly divided by walls of stone. it contains a number of towns and three walled cities, but there are no good harbors. as quelpart has long been used as a place for the banishment of convicts, the islanders are rude and unpolished. they raise excellent crops of grain and fruit for the home provinces. the finely-plaited straw hats, which form the staple manufacture, are the best in this land of big hats, in which the amplitude of the head-coverings is the wonder of strangers. immense droves of horses and cattle are reared, and one of the outlying islands is called bullock island. this island has been known from ancient times, when it formed an independent kingdom, known as tam-na. about 100 a.d., it is recorded that the inhabitants sent tribute to one of the states on the main land. the origin of the high central peak, named mount auckland, is thus given by the islanders. â��clouds and fogs covered the sea, and the earth trembled with a noise of thunder for seven days and seven nights. finally the waves opened, and there emerged a mountain more than one thousand feet high, and forty ri in circumference. it had neither plants nor trees upon it, and clouds of smoke, widely spread out, covered its summit, which appeared to be composed chiefly of sulphur.â�� a learned corean was sent to examine it in detail. he did so, and on his return to the main land published an account of his voyage, with a sketch of the mountain thus born out of the sea. it is noticeable that this account coincides with the ideas of navigators, who have studied the mountain, and speculated on its origin. kiung-sang, or respectful congratulation. kiung-sang då�, or the province of respectful congratulation, is nearest to japan, and consists chiefly of the valleys drained by the nak-tong river and its tributaries. it admirably illustrates the principle of the division of the country on the lines furnished by the river basins. one of the warmest and richest of the eight provinces, it is also the most populous, and the seat of many historical associations with japan, in ancient, mediã¦val, and modern times. between the court of kion-chiu, the capital of shinra, and that of kiå�to, from the third to the tenth century, the relations of war and peace, letters, and religion were continuous and fruitful. when the national capital was fixed at sunto, and later at seoul, this province was still the gateway of entrance and exit to the japanese. many a time have they landed near the mouth of the nak-tong river, which opens as a natural pass in the mountains which wall in the coast. rapidly seizing the strategic points, they have made themselves masters of the country. the influence of their frequent visitations is shown in the language, manners, and local customs of southern chå�-sen. the dialect of kiung-sang differs to a marked degree from that of ping-an, and much more closely resembles that of modern japanese. kiung-sang seems to show upon its surface that it is one of the most ancient seats of civilization in the peninsula. this is certainly so if roads and facilities for travelling be considered. the highways and foot-paths and the relays and horses kept for government service, and for travellers, are more numerous than in any other province. it also contains the greatest number of cities having organized municipal governments, and is the most densely populated of the eight provinces. it is also probable that in its natural resources it leads all the others. the province is divided into seventy-one districts, each having a magistrate, in which are 421,500 houses, and 310,440 men capable of military duty. two officials of high rank assist the governor in his functions, and the admirals of the â��sam-nam,â�� or three southern provinces, have their headquarters in kiung-sang. this title and office, one of the most honorable in the military service, was created after the japanese war of 1592â��1597, in honor of a corean commander, who had successfully resisted the invaders in many battles. there are five cities of importance, which are under the charge of governors. petty officials are also appointed for every island, who must report the arrival or visit of all foreigners at once to their superiors. they were always in most favor at court who succeeded in prevailing upon all foreign callers to leave as soon as possible. fusan has been held by the japanese from very ancient times. until 1868 it was a part of the fief of the daimiå� of tsushima. it lies in latitude 35â° 6â�² north, and longitude 129â° 1â�² east from greenwich, and is distant from the nearest point on the japan coast, by a straight line, about one hundred and fifty miles. it was opened to the japanese by the treaty of 1876, and is now a bustling mart of trade. the name means, not â��gold hill,â�� but pot or skillet mountain. the approach to the port up the bay is through very fine scenery, the background of the main land being mountainous and the bay studded with green islands. the large island in front of the settlement, to the southward, called tetsuyã©, or the isle of enchanting view, has hills eight hundred feet high. hundreds of horses were formerly reared here, hence it is often called maki, or island of green pastures. the fortifications of fusan, on the northern side, are on a hill, and front the sea. the soil around fusan is of a dark ruddy color, and fine fir trees are numerous. the fort is distant about a league from the settlement, and tong-nai city and castle, in which the corean governor resides, are about two leagues farther. tai-ku, the capital, lies in the centre of the province. shang-chiu, in the northwestern part, is one of the fortified cities guarding the approach to the capital from the southeast. it was captured by konishi during his brilliant march, in eighteen days, to the capital in 1592. in recent years, much christian blood has been shed in shang-chiu, though the city which justly claims the bad eminence in slaughtering christians is tai-ku, the capital of the province. uru-san, a few miles south, is a site rich in classic memories to all japanese, for here, in 1597, the chinese and corean hosts besieged the intrepid kato and the brave, but not over-modest, ogawuchi for a whole year, during which the garrison were reduced, by straits of famine, to eat human flesh. when the chinese retreated, and a battle was fought near by, between them and the relieving forces, ten thousand men were slain. foreign navigators have sprinkled their names along the shore. cape clonard and unkoffsky bay are near the thirty-sixth parallel. chå�-san harbor was named by captain broughton, who on asking the name of the place in 1797, received the reply â��chå�-san,â�� which is the name of the kingdom instead of the harbor. other names of limited recognition are found on charts made in europe. many inhabited islands lie off the coast, some of which are used as places of exile to christians and other offenders against the law. christianity in this province seems to have flourished chiefly in the towns along the southern sea border. nearly the whole of the coast consists of the slopes of the two mountain ranges which front the sea, and is less densely inhabited than the interior, having few or no rivers or important harbors. the one exception is at the mouth of the nak-tong river, opposite tsushima. this is the gateway into the province, and the point most vulnerable from japan. the river after draining the whole of kiung-sang, widens into a bay, around which are populous cities and towns, the port of fusan and the two great roads to seoul. tsushima (the twin islands) lies like a stepping-stone between corea and japan, and was formerly claimed by the coreans, who call it tu-ma. its port of wani-ura is thirty miles distant from fusan, and often shelters the becalmed or storm-stayed junks which, with fair wind and weather, can make the run between the two countries in a single day. from a strategic military point of view, the twin islands are invaluable to the mikadoâ��s empire, guarding, as they do, the sea of japan like a sentinel. the russians who now own the long island at the upper end of the sea, attempted, in 1859, to obtain a footing on tsushima. they built barracks and planted seed, with every indication of making a permanent occupation. the timely appearance on the scene of a fleet of british ships, under sir james hope, put an end to russian designs on tsushima. a japanese writer reports that the kiung-sang people are rather more simple in their habits, less corrupted in their manners, and their ancient customs are more faithfully preserved than in some of the other provinces. there is little of luxury and less of expensive folly, so that the small estates or property are faithfully transmitted from father to son, for many generations, in the same families. studious habits prevail, and literature flourishes. often the young men, after toiling during the day, give the evening to reading and conversation, for which admirable practice the native language has a special word. here ladies of rank are not so closely shut up in-doors as in other provinces, but often walk abroad, accompanied by their servants, without fear of insult. in this province also buddhism has the largest number of adherents. kion-chiu, the old capital of shinra, was the centre of the scholastic and missionary influences of the buddha doctrine in corea, and, though burned by the japanese in 1597, its influence still survives. the people are strongly attached to their superstitions, and difficult to change, but to whatever faith they are once converted they are steadfast and loyal. the numerous nobles who dwell in this province, belong chiefly to the nam in party. kang-wen, the river-meadow province. kang-wen fronts japan from the middle of the eastern coast, and lies between ham-kiung and kiung-sang. its name means river meadow. within its area are found the sources of â��the riverâ�� of the realm. though perhaps the most mountainous of all the provinces, it contains several fertile plains, which are watered by streams flowing mainly to the west, forming the han river, which crosses the entire peninsula, and empties into the yellow sea. the main mountain chain of the country, called here the makira, runs near the coast, leaving the greater area of the province to the westward. the larger part of the population, the most important high roads, and the capital city wen-chiu, are in the western division, which contains twenty-six districts, the eastern division having seventeen. the official census gives the number of houses at 93,000, and of men capable of bearing arms, 44,000. some of the names of mountains in this province give one a general idea of the geographical nomenclature of the kingdom, reflecting, as it does, the ideas and beliefs of the people. one peak is named yellow dragon, another the flying phå�nix, and another the hidden dragon (not yet risen up from the earth on his passage to the clouds or to heaven). hard metal, oxhead, mountain facing the sun, cool valley, wild swamp, white cloud, and peacock, are other less heathenish, and perhaps less poetical names. one range is said to have twelve hundred peaks, and from another, rivers fall down like snow for several hundred feet. these â��snowy riversâ�� are cataracts. deer are very plentiful, and the best hartshorn for the pharmacy of china comes from these parts. out in the sea, about a degree and a half from the coast, lies an island, called by the japanese matsu-shima, or pine island, by the coreans u-lon-to, and by europeans, dagelet. this island was first discovered by the french navigator, la perouse, in june, 1787. in honor of an astronomer, it was named dagelet island. â��it is very steep, but covered with fine trees from the sea-shore to the summit. a rampart of bare rock, nearly as perpendicular as a wall, completely surrounds it, except seven sandy little coves at which it is possible to land.â�� the grand central peak towers four thousand feet into the clouds. firs, sycamores, and juniper trees abound. sea-bears and seals live in the water, and the few poor coreans who inhabit the island dry the flesh of the seals and large quantities of petrels and haliotis, or sea-ears, for the markets or the main land. the island is occasionally visited by japanese junks and foreign whaling ships, as whales are plentiful in the surrounding waters. the japanese obtained the timber for the public and other buildings at their new settlement at gensan from this island. the land of morning calm is, by all accounts of travellers, a land of beauty, and the customs and literature of the people prove that the superb and inspiring scenery of their peninsula is fully appreciated by themselves. not only are picnics and pleasure gatherings, within the groves, common to the humbler classes, but the wealthy travel great distances simply to enjoy the beauty of marine or mountain views. scholars assemble at chosen seats, having fair landscapes before them, poets seek inspiration under waterfalls, and the bonzes, understanding the awe-compelling influence of the contemplation of natureâ��s grandeur, plant their monasteries and build their temples on lofty mountain heights. these favorite haunts of the lovers of natural beauty are as well known to the coreans as niagara and yo semite are to americans, or chamouni to all europe. the places in which the glory of the creatorâ��s works may be best beheld are the theme of ardent discussion and competing praise with the people of each province. the local guide-books, itineraries, and gazetteers, descant upon the merits of the scenery, for which each of the eight divisions is renowned. in the river-meadow province, the eight most lovely â��sceneriesâ�� are all located along the coast. beginning at the south, and taking them in order toward the north, they are the following: 1. the house on uru-chin, a town below the thirty-seventh parallel of latitude. the inn is called â��the house of the emerging sun,â�� because here the sun seems to rise right out of the waters of the ocean. in front of the coast lies an island, set like a gem in the sea. the view of the rising sun, the tints of sky, river, waves, land, and mountains form a vision of gorgeous magnificence. 2. hion-hai (tranquil sea). out in the sea, in front of this village, are many small islands. when the moon rises, they seem to be floating in a sea of molten silver. the finest effect is enjoyed just before the orb is fully above the horizon. in many of the dwellings of the men of rank and wealth, there is a special room set apart for the enjoyment of the scenery, upon which the apartment looks. especially is this the case, with the houses of public entertainment. at hion-hai, one of the inns from which the best view may be obtained is called the â��house fronting the moon.â�� in it are several â��looking-rooms.â�� 3. one of the finest effects in nature is the combination of fresh fallen snow on evergreens. the pure white on the deep green is peculiarly pleasing to the eye of the japanese, who use it as a popular element in their decorative art, in silver and bronze, in embroidery, painting, and lacquer. the coreans are equally happy in gazing upon the snow, as it rests on the deep shadows of the pine, or the delicate hue of the giant grass called bamboo. near the large town of san-cho is a tower or house, built within view of a stream of water, which flows in winding course over the rocks, sparkling beneath the foliage. it has a scene-viewing room to which people resort to enjoy the â��chikusetsu,â�� or snow and bamboo effect. 4. from an elevation near the town of kan-nun, or bay hill, one may obtain a pretty view of the groves and shrubbery growing upon the rocks. during the spring showers, when the rain falls in a fine mist, and the fresh vegetation appears in a new rich robe of green, the sight is very charming. 5. beneath the mound at an-an the river flows tranquilly, tinted by the setting sun. the sunsets at this place are of exquisite beauty. 6. at the old castle town of kan-nun, there is a room named â��the chamber between the strong fortress and the tender verdure.â�� here the valley is steep, and in the bosom of the stream of water lie â��floating islandsâ��â��so called because they seem to swim on the surface of the water. 7. near ko-sion, or high fortress, is â��three days bay,â�� to which lovers of the picturesque resort on summer mornings, to see the sun rise, and on autumnal evenings, to watch the moonlight effects. the fishersâ�� boats gliding to and fro over the gleaming waters delight the eye. 8. at tsu-sen is the â��rock-loving chamber.â�� here, among some steep rocks, grow trees of fantastic form. the combination of rock-scenery and foliage make the charm of this place, to which scholars, artists, and travellers resort. in spring and autumn, literary parties visit the chamber dedicated to those who love the rocks. there, abandoning themselves to literary revels, they compose poems, hold scholarly reunions, or ramble about in search of health or pleasure. the people of kang-wen are industrious and intelligent, with less energy of body than the southern provincials, but like their northern countrymen, they have the reputation of being bold, obstinate, and quarrelsome. in time of bad harvests or lax government, â��trampsâ�� form bands of thirty or fifty, and roam the country, stealing food or valuables from the villages. local thieves are sufficiently abundant. during the heavy snows of winter, people travel the mountain paths on snow-shoes, and in exceptional places, cut tunnels under the snow for communication from house to house. soldiers test their strength by pulling strong bows, and laborers by carrying heavy burdens on their shoulders. strong men shoulder six hundred pounds of copper, or two bales of white rice (260 pounds each). the women of this province are said to be the most beautiful in corea. even from ancient times, lovely damsels from this part of the peninsula, sent to the harem of the chinese emperor, were greatly admired. christianity has made little progress in kang-wen, only a few towns in the southern part being marked with a cross on the french missionary map. in the most ancient times the chinhan tribes occupied this portion of corea. from the christian era, until the tenth century, it was alternately held by kokorai, or korai, and by shinra. ham-kiung, or complete view. ham-kiung is that part of corean territory which touches the boundary of russia. only a few years ago all the neighbors along the land frontiers of chå�-sen were chinese subjects. now she has the european within rifle-shot of her shores. only the tumen river separates the muscovites from the once hermits of the peninsula. the southern boundary of russia in asia, which had been thrown farther south after every european war with china, touched corea in 1858. what was before an elastic line, has in each instance become the czarâ��s â��scientific frontier.â�� by the supplementary treaty of aigun, march 28, 1858, count mouravieff â��rectifiedâ�� the far eastern line of the czarâ��s domain, by demanding and obtaining that vast and fertile territory lying south of the amur river, and between the gulf of tartary and the river usuri, having a breadth of one hundred and fifty miles. this remote, but very desirable, slice of asia, is rich in gold and silk, coal and cotton, rice and tobacco. with energy and enterprise, the russian government at once encouraged emigration, placed steamers built in new york on the usuri river and lake hanka, laid out the ports of vladivostok, and possiet, constructed a telegraph from the baltic sea to the pacific ocean, and enforced order among the semi-civilized and savage tribes. the name of the new russian territory between the amur river and the sea of okhotsk, is primorskaã¯a, with vladivostok for the capital, which is finely situated on peter the great or victoria bay. immense fortifications have been planned, and the place is to be made the sebastopol of the czarâ��s pacific possessions. this gigantic work was begun under the charge of the late admiral popoff, whose name has been given to the iron-turreted war vessels of which he was the inventor, and to a mountain in central corea. possiet is within twenty-five miles of the corean frontier. it is connected with nagasaki by electric cable. in the event of a war between china and russia, or even of anglo-russian hostilities, the czar would most probably make corea the basis of operations against china; for corea is to china as canada is to the united states, or, as the people say, â��the lips of chinaâ��s teeth.â�� russia needs a coast line in the pacific with seaports that are not frozen up in winter, and her ambition is to be a naval power. while england checks her designs in the mediterranean, and in europe, her desire is great and her need is greater to have this defenceless peninsula on her eastern borders. the coreans know too well that the possession of their country by â��russia the ravenousâ�� is considered a necessity of the absorption policy of peter the greatâ��s successors. the tumen river, which rises at the foot of the ever-white mountains and separates corea from russia, is about two hundred miles in length. it drains a mountainous and rainy country. ordinarily it is shallow and quiet; but in spring, or after heavy rains, and swollen by a great number of tributaries, its current becomes very turbulent and powerful. in winter it is frozen over during several months, and hence is easily crossed. thousands of coreans fleeing from famine, or from the oppression of government officials, christians persecuted for their faith, criminals seeking to escape the clutches of the law, emigrants desirous of bettering their condition, have crossed this river and settled in primorskaã¯a, until they now number, in all, about eight thousand. the majority of them are peasants from ham-kiung, and know little of the southern parts of their country. there is, however, an â��underground railroadâ�� by which persecuted christians can fly for refuge to russian protection. their houses are built of stout timbers, wattled with cane, plastered with mud, and surrounded with a neat fencing of interlaced boughs. they cover their houses with strips of bamboo, well fastened down by thatching. the chimney is detached from the house, and consists of a hollow tree. under the warmed floor is the usual system of flues, by which the house is kept comfortable in winter, and every atom of fuel utilized. their food is millet, corn, venison, and beef. they pare and dry melon-like fruits, cutting them up in strips for winter use. they dress in the national color, white, using quilted cotton clothes. they make good use of bullock-carts, and smoke tobacco habitually. the national productâ��thick strong paperâ��is put to a great variety of uses, and a few sheets dressed with oil, serve as windows. some of the russian merchants have married corean women, who seem to make good wives. their offspring are carefully brought up in the christian faith. some of these corean children have been sent to the american home at yokohama, where the ladies of the womanâ��s union missionary society of america have given them an education in english. through the russian possessions, the corean liberal, kin rinshio, made his escape. from this man the japanese officials learned so much of the present state of the peninsula, and by his aid those in the war department at tå�kiå� were enabled to construct and publish so valuable a map of corea, the accuracy of which astonishes his fellow-countrymen. the russians have taken the pains to educate the people in schools, and, judging from the faces and neat costumes, as seen in photographs taken on the spot, they enjoy being taught. the object of instruction is not only to civilize them as loyal subjects of the czar, but also to convert them to the russian form of christianity. in this work the priests and schoolmasters have had considerable success. there are but few coreans north of the tumen who cannot read and write, and the young men employed as clerks are good linguists. a number of them are fishermen, living near the coast. most of the converts to the greek church are gathered at vladivostok. so great has been the fear and jealousy felt by corea toward russia, that during the last two generations the land along the boundary river has been laid desolate. the banks were picketed with sentinels, and death was the penalty of crossing from shore to shore. many interesting relics of the ancient greatness of corea still abound in manchuria and on russian soil. travellers have visited these ruins, now overgrown with large forest trees, and have given descriptions and measurements of them. one fortification was found to cover six acres, with walls over thirty feet in height, protected by a moat and two outer ditches, with gateways guarded by curtains. in the ruins were elaborately carved fragments of columns, stone idols or statues, with bits of armor and weapons. some of these now silent ruins have sustained famous sieges, and once blazed with watch-fires and echoed to battle-shouts. they are situated on spurs or ends of mountain chains, commanding plains and valleys, testifying to the knowledge of strategic skill possessed by their ancient builders. the shan-yan alin, range on range, visible from the corean side of the river, are between eight thousand and twelve thousand feet high, and are snow-covered during most of the year. the name means long-white, or ever-white mountains, the chinese shang-bai, meaning the same thing. two of the peaks are named after chinese emperors. paik-tu, or white head, is a sacred mountain famous throughout the country, and is the theme of enthusiastic description by chinese, japanese, and corean writers, the former comparing it to a vase of white porcelain, with a scolloped rim. its flora is mostly white, and its fauna are reputed to be white-haired, never injuring or injured by man. it is the holy abode of a white-robed goddess, who presides over the mountain. she is represented as a woman holding a child in her arms, after a legendary character, known in corean lore and chinese historical novels. formerly a temple dedicated to her spirit was built, and for a long time was presided over by a priestess. the corean buddhists assign to this mountain, the home of manchusri, one of their local deities, or incarnations of buddha. lying in the main group of the range, over eight thousand feet above the sea, is a vast lake surrounded by naked rocks, probably an extinct crater. large portions of the mountain consist of white limestone, which, with its snow, from which it is free only during two months of the year, gives it its name. another imposing range of mountains follows the contour of the coast, and thus presents that lofty and magnificent front of forest-clad highland which strikes the admiration of navigators. other conspicuous peaks are named by the natives, continuous virtue, the peak of the thousand buddhas, cloud-toucher, sword mountain, lasting peace, heaven-reaching. twenty-four rivers water and drain this mountainous province. the coast of ham-kiung down to the fortieth parallel is devoid of any important harbors. a glance at a foreign chart shows that numerous french, russian, and english navigators have visited it, and gained precarious renown by sprinkling foreign names upon its capes and headlands. at the south, yung-hing, or broughtonâ��s bay, so named by the gallant british captain in 1797, is well known for its fine harbors and its high tides. it contains a small archipelago, while the country around it is the most populous and fertile portion of the province. port lazareff, east of yon-fun, near the mouth of the dungan river, and west of virginie bay, is well known. a large japanese army under kato occupied this territory during the year 1592. by the recent treaty with japan, the port of gensan, fronting on the south of broughtonâ��s bay, was opened for trade and commerce, from may 1, 1880. gensan lies near the thirty-ninth parallel of latitude. near the shore is the island of chotoku, and within the twenty-five mile circuit allowed to japanese merchants for general travel, or free movement, is the old castle-town of tokugen. the tomb of the founder of the reigning dynasty of chå�-sen is situated near the bay and is a highly venerated spot. as the dragon is in native ideas the type of all that is strong, mighty, and renowned, the place is named the â��rise of the dragon.â�� one of the high roads of the kingdom traverses the strip of land skirting the sea from north to south throughout the province, touching the water at certain places. the greater part of the people dwelling in the province live along this road. the interior, being a mass of mountains, is thinly inhabited, and the primeval forests are populated chiefly by tigers and other beasts of prey. in the current scouring the coast of ham-kiung swim unnumbered shoals of herring, ribbon fish, and other species inhabiting the open seas. after these follow in close pursuit schools of whales, which fatten on them as prey. thousands of natives from the interior and the shore villages come down in the season and fish. they often stand knee-deep in the water, looking like long rows of the snowy heron of a rice-swamp, in their white clothes. they use a kind of catamaran or raft for fishing and for surf navigation, which is very serviceable. they sometimes hunt the whales at sea, or capture them in shoal water, driving them in shore till stranded. sticking in the bodies of these huge creatures have been found darts and harpoons of european whalers. this chase of the herring by the whales was noticed, even in the extreme south of corea, by hamel, and by shipwrecked dutchmen. since the present year, japanese whale-hunters have been engaged by coreans to improve their methods of catching this huge sea-mammal. the capital city of this largest of the provinces, and the residence of the governor, is ham-hung, situated near the fortieth parallel of north latitude. according to a native geography this province contains 103,200 houses, which gives a population varying from 309,600 to 516,000 souls. there are enrolled and capable of military service (on paper) 87,170 men. for administrative purposes the province is divided into divisions, the northern and the southern. there are fifteen walled cities. formerly, and until the russians occupied the primorskaia territory, an annual or bi-annual fair was held at the corean city of kion-wen, which lies close to the border. the manchiu and chinese merchants bartered tea, rice, pipes, gold, and furs for the corean ginseng, hides, and household implements. furs of a thousand sorts, cotton stuff, silks, artificial flowers, and choice woods, changed hands rapidly, the traffic lasting but two or three days, and sometimes only one day, from noon until sunset. such was the bustle and confusion that these fairs often terminated in a free fight, which reminds one of the famous donnybrook. one of the articles most profitable to the coreans was their cast-off hair. immense quantities cut from the heads of young persons, and especially by those about to be married, were and are still sold by the chinese to lengthen out their â��pig-tailsâ��â��that mark of subjection to their manchiu conquerors. during the time of trade no chinese or manchiu was allowed to enter a corean house, all the streets and doorways being guarded by soldiers, who at the end of the fair drove out any lingering chinese, who, if not soon across the border, were forced to go at the point of the spear. any foreigner found inside the border at other seasons might be, and often was, ruthlessly murdered. the nearest town beyond the frontier, at which the chinese merchants were wont to assemble, is hun-chun. [9] this loophole of entrance into corea, corresponded to ai-chiu at the yalu river in the west. as at the latter place, foreigners and christian natives have attempted to penetrate the forbidden country at kion-wen, but have been unsuccessful. an outline of the political history of the part of the peninsula now called ham-kiung shows that many masters have in turn been its possessors. when the old kingdom of chå�-sen, which comprehended liao tung and that part of the peninsula between the ta-tong and the tumen rivers, was broken up toward the end of the first century, the northern half of what is now ham-kiung was called oju or woju, the southern portion forming part of the little state of wei, or whi. these were both conquered by kokorai, which held dominion until the seventh century, when it was crushed by the chinese emperors of the han dynasty, and the land fell under the sway of shinra, whose borders extended in the ninth and tenth centuries, from eastern sea to the tumen river. after shinra, arose korai and chå�-sen, the founders of both states being sprung from this region and of the hardy race inhabiting it. from very ancient times, the boundaries of this province, being almost entirely natural and consisting of mountain, river, and sea, have remained unchanged. chapter xxiv. the king and royal palace. the title of majesty in chå�-sen is hap-mun. in full robes of state the sovereign wears a silken garment, the gift of his suzerain, the emperor of china. it is embroidered with dragons, the emblems of regal power. his throne has riong or dragons sculptured around it. the steps leading to it are called â��the staircase of jade.â�� the cord which is used to tie criminals has a dragonâ��s head at the ends, to signify that the officers act in obedience to the royal command. chief of the regalia of corean sovereignty is the great seal, the possession of which makes the holder the actual sovereign of chå�-sen. this seal, of which we shall hear again, seems to have been captured by the french in 1866. in time of war or public danger, the royal library, archives and regalia are sent to kang-wa island for safety. ridel wrote in 1866: â��in another case, they found a marble tortoise, sculptured in perfect art, upon the pedestal of which was the great seal of state. this royal cartouche was to the simple corean folk neither visible nor approachable, the possession of which has sufficed many times to transfer the royal authority and to terminate revolutions. it was the regalia of corean sovereignty. the one which he saw was new and appeared never to have been used.â�� the sovereign, in speaking of himself, uses the term â��hap-mun,â�� which is the equivalent of the imperial â��weâ�� of asiatic state documents. the word is somewhat similar to that employed by, or for, other rulersâ��pharaoh, sublime porte, mikado, all of which mean the grand, chief, or first, gate of all the gates in the country. the first character in hap-mun is, however, different from that in mikado, or honorable gate, but the hap is honorific. no other person in the land, official or private, is allowed to use this compound word in speech or writing as applying to anyone except the king. even in transcribing the term hap, a stroke must be omitted out of respect to the august personage to whom alone it is applied. at his death, three cups of rice are set out in the households in memoriam. this ceremony must not be imitated for any other person. so also, if the character with which the name of the ruling emperor of china is written be found in that of a public person, a gateway, a palace or edifice in seoul, the graphic sign must be temporarily changed, though the pronunciation remains the same. this same system of graduated honors, of which, in corea, the king is the culmination, slopes down to the common people, and is duly protected by law. the sovereignâ��s person is hedged round with a divinity that has an antipathy to iron. this metal must never touch his august body, and rather than have an abscess lanced, the king cheng-jong, in 1800, died from the effects of the disease. no ordinary mortal must touch him, and if by accident this is done, the individual must ever afterward wear a red silk cord. notwithstanding such regulated veneration for the hap-munâ��s person, the royal harem numbers several hundred inmates, duly presided over by eunuchs. none but the king can drink out of a cup made of gold, and a heavy penalty is visited upon all who presume to do so. when outside the palace, the three signs of the sovereignâ��s power of life and death over his subjects, are the axe, sabre, and trident. the huge violet fan and red umbrella are likewise borne before him. the chinese envoy is always escorted by soldiers bearing the three emblems, and by a band of musicians. when the hap-mun, or king, is in his minority, the queen, who is regent, sits behind a curtain in the council of ministers, and takes part in the discussions. when she is pregnant, the slaughter of beeves is prohibited during the space of three months. this is done in order â��to honor heaven by abstinence,â�� and may also be ordered to procure rain. once every year, the queen entertains at her palace some worthy woman in humble life, who has reached the advanced age of eighty years. the king likewise shows favor to old men in the lower walks of life. whenever an auspicious event happens, or good fortune befalls the kingdom, all the officials over seventy, and the common people over eighty years of age, are feasted at the expense of the government. when the first male child is born to the king, criminals are pardoned, and general festivity is observed. the birthdays of the royal pair are celebrated every year. the royal princes are supposed to have nothing whatever to do with politics, and any activity in matters of government on their part is jealously resented by the nobles, who form the political parties. the royal castle contains over three acres (15,202 square yards), surrounded by a wall twenty feet high, and formerly by a moat, now filled up, measuring fifty feet wide or less. it is crossed by stone bridges in several places. this castled palace is called the â��place of government,â�� and is divided into two parts called the â��east and westâ�� palace. the east, or lower palace, is the residence of the king and is so called because situated on level land. the western palace is used for the reception of the chinese ambassadors. the gates of the outer city proper, and inner city, or palace, are named in high-sounding phrase, such as â��beneficent reception,â�� â��exalted politeness,â�� â��perfect change,â�� â��entrance of virtue,â�� and the throne-room is styled â��the hall of the throne of the humane government.â�� the chinese ambassador of 1866 spent the night in that part of the royal residence called â��the palace reserved for the south,â��â��â��the southâ�� here evidently referring to the imperial favor, or the good graces, of the emperor. a marked difference concerning â��the freedom of the cityâ�� is noticed in the relative treatment of the two embassies. while the entire body of coreans, dignitaries, servants, merchants, and cart-men enter peking, and all circulate freely in the streets among the people, the chinese envoy to seoul, must leave his suite at the frontier, and proceed to the capital with but a few servants, and while there dwell in seclusion. after the long and rough journey through shin-king and corea, the chinese envoy in 1866 stayed less than three days in seoul, and most of the time in-doors. the japanese who, in 1646, were feasted in some part of the eastern palace, describe it as being handsomely furnished, with the walls gilded and painted with landscapes, beasts, birds, and flowers, with artistic effects in gold-dust and leaf. the royal family live each in separate buildings, those above the ninth degree of relationship reside inside the enclosure, all others live beyond the wall in the city. when the wife of the king has a child, she dwells apart in a separate building. the queen is selected from among the old and most loyal families of the nobility. the palace pages, who attend the king day and night, number thirty. there are also three hundred court ladies, and eunuchs are among the regularly-appointed officers of the court. the royal archives and library form an interesting portion of the royal residence. part of this library, when removed to kang-wa in 1866, was captured by the french. bishop ridel wrote of it, â��the library is very rich, consisting of two or three thousand books printed in chinese with numerous illustrations upon beautiful paper, all well labeled, for the most part in many volumes hooped together with copper bands, the covers being of green or crimson silk. i notice among other things the ancient history of corea in sixty volumes. what was most curious of all was a book formed of tablets of marble, with characters in gold encrusted in the marble, folding upon one another like the leaves of a screen, upon hinges of gilded copper, and each tablet protected by a cushion of scarlet silk, the whole placed in a handsome casket made of copper, which was in its turn enclosed in a box of wood painted red, with chased ornaments in gilt copper. these square tablets formed a volume of a dozen pages. they contain, as some say, the moral laws of the country, but according to others, whose opinion is more probable, the honors accorded the kings of corea by the emperor of china. the coreans set great store by it.â�� a custom, similar to the old â��curfewâ�� of england prevails in the capital. the great city bell is struck at sunset, after which male citizens are not allowed to go out of their houses even to visit their neighbors. if such nocturnal prowlers are caught, they run the risk of receiving the bastinado on their legs. at eight oâ��clock another three strokes are given on the bell. at the hours of midnight, and at two and four a.m. the drum is struck, and the brass cymbals sounded. at these signals the watchmen or guards of the palace are relieved. the night-watch consists of ten reliefs of eighteen each. twenty stand guard at midnight, thirty at two a.m., twenty at four a.m., and ten at six a.m. there are also extra reliefs with their officers ready. the sentinels change after giving the pass-word. the military garrison of the city is divided into five portions, or four in addition to the household or palace troops. this is the modern form of the old division of kokorai, into five tribes or clans. there are several noted holidays, on which the curfew law is suspended, and the people are allowed to be out freely at night. these are the first and the last day of the year, the fourteenth and fifteenth day of the first month, and the fifteenth of august. even under a despotism there are means by which the people win and enjoy a certain measure of liberty. the monarch hears the complaints of his subjects. close communication between the palace and populace is kept up by means of the pages employed at the court, or through officers, who are sent out as the kingâ��s spies all over the country. an e-sa, or commissioner, who is to be sent to a distant province to ascertain the popular feeling, or to report the conduct of certain officers, is also called â��the messenger on the dark path.â�� he receives sealed orders from the king, which he must not open till beyond the city walls. then, without even going to his own house, he must set out for his destination, the government providing his expenses. he bears the seal of his commission, a silver plate having the figure of a horse engraved on it. in some cases he has the power of life and death in his hands. yet, even the messenger of the dark path is not free from espionage, for after him forthwith follows his â��doubleâ��â��the yashi or night messenger, who reports on the conduct of the royal inspector and also on the affairs of each province through which he passes. the whereabouts of these emissaries are rarely discoverable by the people, as they travel in strict disguise, and unknown. this system corresponds almost exactly to that of the omã©tsukã© (eye-appliers), for many centuries in use in japan, but abolished by the mikadoâ��s government at the revolution of 1868. it was by means of these e-sa or spies that many of the corean christians of rank were marked for destruction. the system, though abominable in free countries, is yet an excellent medium between the throne and the subject, and serves as a wholesome check on official rapine and cruelty. the king rarely leaves the palace to go abroad in the city or country. when he does, it is a great occasion which is previously announced to the public. the roads are swept clean and guarded to prevent traffic or passage while the royal cortã©ge is moving. all doors must be shut and the owner of each house is obliged to kneel before his threshold with a broom and dust-pan in his hand as emblems of obeisance. all windows, especially the upper ones, must be sealed with slips of paper, lest some one should look down upon his majesty. those who think they have received unjust punishment enjoy the right of appeal to the sovereign. they stand by the roadside tapping a small flat drum of hide stretched on a hoop like a battledore. the king as he passes hears the prayer or receives the written petition held in a split bamboo. often he investigates the grievance. if the complaint is groundless the petitioner is apt to lose his head. the procession for pleasure or a journey, as it leaves the palace, is one of the grandest spectacles the natives ever witness. his body-guard and train amount to many thousand persons. there are two sedan chairs made exactly alike, and in which of them the king is riding no one knows except the highest ministers. they must never be turned round, but have a door to open at both ends. the music used on such occasions isâ��to a corean earâ��of a quiet kind, and orders are given along the line by signals made with pennons. in case of sudden emergencies, when it is necessary to convey an order from the rear to the front or far forward of the line, the message is sent by means of an arrow, which, with the writing attached, is shot from one end of the line to the other. five caparisoned horses with embroidered saddles precede the royal sedan. the great dragon-flag, which is about fourteen feet square, mounted in a socket and strapped on the back of a strong fresh horseâ��with four guy ropes held by footmen, like banner-string boys in a paradeâ��forms the most conspicuous object in the procession. succession to the throne is at the pleasure of the sovereign, who may nominate his legitimate son, or any one of his natural male offspring, or his cousin, or uncle, as he pleases. a son of the queen takes precedence over other sons, but the male child of a concubine becomes king when the queen is childless, which, in corean eyes, is virtually the case when she has daughters only. since the founding of the present dynasty in 1392, there have been twenty-nine successors to the founder, among whom we find nephews, cousins, or younger sons, in several instances. four were kun, princes, or kingâ��s son only, and not successors in the royal line. they are not styled wang, or kings, but only kun, or princes, in the official light. one of these four kun, degraded from the throne, was banished after eleven years, and another was served in like manner after fourteen yearsâ�� reign. the heir to the throne holds the rank of wang (japanese å�), king, while the younger sons are kun, princes. from 1392 to 1882, the average reign of the twenty sovereigns of corea who received investiture is very nearly sixteen and a half years. chapter xxv. political parties. during the past three centuries the nobles have been steadily gaining political power, or rather we might say have been regaining their ancient prestige at court. they have compelled the royal princes to take the position of absolute political neutrality, and the policy of the central government is dictated exclusively by them. those who hold no office are often the most powerful in influence with their own party. the origin of the political parties, which have played such an influential part in the history of modern corea, is referred to about the time of the discovery of america. during the reign of sien-chong (1469â��1494), the eleventh sovereign of the house of ni, a dispute broke out between two of the most powerful of the nobles. the court had bestowed upon one of them a high dignity, to which his rival laid equal claim. as usual in feudalism everywhere, the families, relatives, retainers, and even servants, of either leader took part in the quarrel. the king prudently kept himself neutral between the contending factions, which soon formed themselves into organized parties under the names of â��easternâ�� and â��western.â�� later on, from a cause equally trivial to an alien eye, two other parties formed themselves under the names â��southernâ�� and â��northern.â�� soon the easterners joined themselves to the southerners, and the northerners, who were very numerous, split into two divisions, called the great north and the little north. in one of those unsuccessful palace intrigues, called conspiracies, the great north party was mixed up with the plot, and most of its members were condemned to death. the survivors hastened to range themselves under the banner of the little north. the next reaction which arranged the parties on new lines, occurred during the reign of suk-chong (1676â��1720), and well illustrates that fanaticism of pedantry to which the literary classes in time of peace formerly devoted their energies. the father of a young noble named yun, who belonged to the western party, having died, the young man composed an epitaph. his tutor, an influential man of letters, not liking the production of his pupil, proposed another. unable to agree upon the proper text, a lively controversy arose, and out of a literary acorn sprang up a mighty oak of politics. the western party split into the sho-ron, and no-ron, in which were found the adherents of the pupil and master. a free translation of the correlative terms sho and no, would be â��old coreaâ�� and â��young corea,â�� or conservative and progressive, or radical. there were now four political parties. the shi-seik, or â��the four parties,â�� are still in existence, and receive illustration better from french than from british politics. every noble in the realm is attached to one or the other of the four parties, though â��trimmersâ�� are not unknown. these tuhil-poki, or â��right and left men,â�� are ever on the alert for the main chance, and on the turn of the political vane promptly desert to the winning side. however trivial the causes which led to their formation, as western eyes see, the objects kept in view by the partisans are much the same as those of parties in european countries and in the united states. nominally the prime purpose of each faction is to advance the interests of the country. actual and very powerful motives have reference to the spoils of office. each party endeavors to gain for its adherents as many of the high appointments and dignities as possible. their rallying-point is around the heirs apparent, or possible, to the throne. when a strong and healthy king holds the reins of power, political activity may be cool. when the sovereign dies and the succession is uncertain, when a queen or royal concubine is to be chosen, when high ministers of state die or resign, the corean political furnace is at full blast. when king suk-chong was reigning in 1720, having no son to succeed him, the four parties coalesced into two, the opposition and the court or royal party. the former supported in this case one who proved the successful candidate, a brother of the king; the latter party urged the claims of an expected heir to the reigning king, which, however, was not born, as the king died childless. to secure the throne to their nominee, the brother of the childless king, the opposition secretly despatched a courier to peking to obtain the imperial investiture. the other party sent assassins to waylay or overtake the courier, who was murdered before he had crossed the frontier. yeng-chong, the nominee of the opposition, mounted the throne after the death of his brother, and reigned from 1724 to 1776. he was an able ruler, and signalized his reign by abolishing many of the legal tortures until then practised, especially the branding of criminals. yet personally he was cruel and unscrupulous. public rumor credited him with having found a road to power by means of a double crime. by the use of various drugs he made it impossible for his brother to have an heir, after which he poisoned him. stung by these reports, he began, as soon as he was made sovereign, to send to the block numbers of the opposite party whom he knew to be his enemies. some years after, his eldest son having died, he nominated his second son, sato, to be his heir, and associated him with himself in the government of the kingdom. this young and accomplished prince endeavored to make his father forget his bitter hatred against the si-pai party, to proclaim general amnesty, and to follow out a frank policy of reconciliation. the king, irritated by his sonâ��s reproaches, and hounded on by his partisans, resolved to put the prince out of the way. by the royal command a huge chest of wood was made, into which the young prince was ordered to sleep while living. the ponderous lid was put on during one of his slumbers and sealed with the royal seal. they then covered this sarcophagus with leaves and boughs, so that in a short time the young prince was smothered. this horrible crime served only to exasperate the party of the prince, and they demanded that his name should be enrolled in the list of sovereigns. their opponents refused, and this question is still a burning one. the kingâ��s defenders, to this day decline to rehabilitate the character of the smothered prince. the others demand that historic justice be done. though other questions have since arisen, of more immediate moment, this particular moot point makes its distinct hue in the opposing colors of corean politics. this, however, does not take on the features of an hereditary feud, for oftentimes in the same family, father and son, or brothers may hold varying views on this historical dispute, nor does it affect marriage between holders of diverse views. the corean romeo and juliet may woo and wed without let or danger. in general, it may be said that the piek-pai are radical and fiery, the si-pai are conservative and conciliatory. cheng-chong, who ruled from 1776 to 1800, a wise, moderate, and prudent prince, and a friend of learning, favored the men of merit among the southern si-pai, and is also noted for having revised the code of laws. among the more radical of the partisans, the object in view is not only to gain for their adherents the public offices, but also to smite their rivals hip and thigh, and prevent their getting appointments. hence the continual quarrels and the plots, which often result in the death of one or other of the leaders. assassination and murderous attacks are among the means employed, while to supplant their enemies the king is besought to order them to death or exile. concessions are made by the dominant party to the other only to avoid violent outbreaks, and to keep the peace. with such a rich soil for feuds, it is not wonderful that corea is cursed with elements of permanent disturbance like those in mediã¦val scotland or italy. as each of the noble families have many retainers, and as the feuds are hereditary, the passions of human nature have full sway. all manner of envy and malice, with all uncharitableness flourish, as in a thicket of interlacing thorns. the southern and no-ron parties have always been the most numerous, powerful, and obstinate. between them marriages do not take place, and the noble who in an intrigue with one of his enemies loses caste, his honors, or his life, hands down to his son or his nearest relative his demand for vengeance. often this sacred duty is associated with an exterior and visible pledge. he may give to his son, for instance, a coat which he is never to take off until revenge is had. the kinsman, thus clad with vengeance as with a garment, must wear it, it may be until he dies, and then put it upon his child with the same vow. it is not rare to see noblemen clad in rags and tatters during two or three generations. night and day these clothes call aloud to the wearer, reminding him of the debt of blood which he must pay to appease the spirits of his ancestors. in corea, not to avenge oneâ��s father is to be disowned, to prove that one is illegitimate and has no right to bear the family name, it is to violate, in its fundamental point, the national religion, which is the worship of ancestors. if the father has been put to death under the forms of law, it behooves that his enemy or his enemyâ��s son should die the same death. if the father has been exiled, his enemyâ��s exile must be secured. if the parent has been assassinated, in like manner must his enemy fall. in these cases, public sentiment applauds the avenger, as fulfilling the holy dictates of piety and religion. the pretext of accusation most often employed by the rival factions is that of conspiracy against the life of the king. petitions and false evidence are multiplied and bribery of the court ministers is attempted. if, as is often the case, the first petitioners are thrown in jail, beaten, or condemned to mulct or exile, the partisans assess the fine among themselves and pay it, or manage by new methods, by the favor or venality of the court ministers, or the weakness of the king, at last to compass their ends, when those of the vanquished party are ousted from office, while the victors use and abuse their positions to enrich themselves and ruin their enemies, until they in their turn are supplanted. it is no wonder that a corean liberal visiting in tå�kiå�, in 1882, declared to a japanese officer his conviction that coreaâ��s difficulties in the way of national progress were greater than those of which japan had rid herself, mighty as these had been. by the revolutions of 1868, and later, the ripened fruits of a century of agitation and the presence of foreigners, japan had purged from her body politic feudalism and caste, emancipating herself at once from the thrall of the priest and the soldier; but corea, with her feudalism, her court intrigues, her confucian bigotry, and the effete products of ages of seclusion and superstition has even a more hopeless task to attempt. the bearing of these phases of home politics will be further displayed when the new disturbing force of christianity enters to furnish a lever to ambition and revenge, as well as to affection and philanthropy. a native caricature, which was published about a generation ago, gives even a foreigner a fair idea of the relative position of each party at that epoch. at a table gorgeously furnished, a no-ron is seated at his ease, disposing of the bountiful fare. a sho-ron seated beside him, yet in the rear, graciously performs the office of servant, receiving part of the food as reward for his attendance. the little north, seeing that the viands are not for him, is also seated, but with a more sedate and serious visage. last of all the southern, covered with rags, keeps far in the rear, behind the no-ron, who does not notice him, while he, in vexation, grinds his teeth and shakes his fist like a man who means to take burning vengeance. such was the political situation before 1850, as some native wit pictured it for the amusement of the seoulians. it requires a ruler of real ability to be equal to the pressure brought upon him by the diverse and hostile political parties. nominally sovereign of the country, he is held in check by powerful nobles intrenched in privileges hoary with age, and backed by all the reactionary influences of feudalism. the nobles are the powerful middle term in the problem of corean politics, who control both king and commons. the nobles have the preponderance of the government patronage, and fill the official positions with their liegemen to an extent far beyond what the theory of the law, as illustrated in the literary examinations, allows them. a native caricature thus depicts the situation. chå�-sen is represented as a human being, of whom the king is the head, the nobles the body, and the people the legs and feet. the breast and belly are full, while both head and lower limbs are gaunt and shrunken. the nobles not only drain the life-blood of the people by their rapacity, but they curtail the royal prerogative. the nation is suffering from a congestion, verging upon a dropsical condition of over-officialism. the disease of coreaâ��s near neighbor, old japan, was likewise a surplus of government and an excess of official patronage, but the body politic was purged by revolution. the obstructions between the throne and the people were cleared away by the removal of the shå�-gunate and the feudal system. before the advent of foreigners, national unity was not the absolute necessity which it became the instant that aliens fixed their dwelling on the soil. now, the empire of the mikado rejoices in true political unity, and has subjects in a strong and not over-meddlesome government. the people are being educated in the rudiments of mutual obligationsâ��their rights as well as their duties. the mikado himself took the oath of 1868, and his own hand shaped the august decree of 1881, which will keep his throne unshaken, not because it was won by the bows and arrows of his divine ancestors, but because it will rest broad-based upon the peoplesâ�� will. so in chå�-sen the work of the future for intelligent patriots is the closer union of king and people, the curtailment of the power of the nobles, and the excision of feudalism. already, to accomplish this end, there are coreans who are ready to die. during the last decade, the pressure from japan, the jealousy of china, the danger from russia, the necessity, at first shrunk from and then yielded to, of making treaties with foreign nations, has altered the motives and objects of corean politics. old questions have fallen out of sight, and two great parties, progressionists and obstructionists, or radical and conservative, have formed for the solution of the problems thrust upon them by the nineteenth century. chapter xxvi. organization and methods of government. next in authority to the king are the three chong or high ministers. the chief of these (chen-kun) is the greatest dignitary in the kingdom, and in time of the minority, inability, or imbecility of the king, wields royal authority in fact if not in name. another term applied to him when the king is unable to govern, is â��foundation-stone minister,â�� upon whom the king leans and the state rests as a house upon its foundation-stone. the title of tai-wen-kun, which suggests that of the â��tycoonâ�� of japan, seems to have been a special one intended for the emergency. it was given to the regent who is the father of the present king, and who ruled with nearly absolute power from 1863 to 1874, when the king reached his majority. in the troubles in seoul in july, 1882, his title, written in japanese as tai-in kun, became familiar to western newspapers. after the king, and the three prime ministers, come the six ministries or boards of government, the heads of which rank next to the three chong or ministers forming the supreme council. in the six departments, the heads are called pan-cho, and these are assisted by two other associates, the cham-pan, or substitutes, and the cham-ã©, or counsellor. these four grades and twenty-one dignitaries constitute the royal council of dai-jin (great ministers), though the actual authority is in the supreme council of the three chong. the six boards, or departments of the government, are: 1, office and public employ; 2, finance; 3, ceremonies; 4, war; 5, justice; 6, public works. the heads of these tribunals make a daily report of all affairs within their province, but refer all matters of importance to the supreme council. there are also three chamberlains, each having his assistants, who record every day the acts and words of the king. a daily government gazette, called the chå�-po, is issued for information on official matters. the general cast and method of procedure in the court and government is copied after the great model in peking. each of the eight provinces is under the direction of a kam-sa, or governor. the cities are divided into six classes (yin, mu, fu, ki, ling, and hilu), and are governed by officers of corresponding rank. the towns are given in charge of the petty magistrates, there being twelve ranks or dignities in the official class. in theory any male corean able to pass the government examinations is eligible to office, but the greater number of the best positions are secured by nobles and their friends. from the sovereign to the beggar, the gate, both figuratively and actually, is very prominent in the public economy and in family relationships. a great deal of etiquette is visible in the gates. at the entrance to the royal palace are, or were formerly, two huge effigies, in wood, of horses, painted red. only high officials can pass these mute guardians. all persons riding past the palace must dismount and walk. to the houses of men of rank there are usually two, sometimes three, gates. the magistrate himself enters by the largest, his parents and nearer friends by the eastern, and servants by the west or smallest. when a visitor of equal grade calls upon an officer or noble, the host must come all the way to the great or outer gate to receive him, and do likewise on dismissing him. if he be of one degree lower rank, the host comes only to the outside of the middle gate. if of third or fourth rank, the caller is accompanied only to the space inside the middle gate. the man of fifth and sixth rank finds that etiquette has so tapered off that the lord of the mansion walks only to the piazza. in front of a magistrateâ��s office, at the gateway, are ranged the symbols of authority, such as spears and tridents. the gates are daily opened amid the loud cries of the underlings, and their opening and closing with a vocal or instrumental blast is a national custom, illustrated as well at the city as at the office. the porters who close them at sunset and open them at dawn execute a salvo on their trumpets, often lasting a quarter of an hour. this acoustic devastation, so distressing to foreign ears, is considered good music to the native tympanum. in sitting, the same iron tongue upon the buckle of custom holds each man to his right hole in the social strap. people of equal rank sit so that the guest faces to the east and the host to the west. in ordinary easy style, the visitorâ��s nose is to the south, as he sits eastward of his host. a commoner faces north. in social entertainments, after the yup, or bows with the head and hands bent together, have been made, wine is sipped or drunk three or five times, and then follows what the coreans call music. the sumptuary laws of the kingdom are peculiar, at many points amusing to occidentals. to commit pem-ram is to violate these curious regulations. what may be worn, or sat upon, is solemnly dictated by law. nobles sit on the kan-kio, or better kind of chairs. below the third rank, officers rest upon a bench made of ropes. chairs, however, are not common articles of use, nor intended to be such. at entertainments for the aged, in time of rich harvests, local feasts, archery tournaments, and on public occasions, these luxuries are oftener used. in short, the chair seems to be an article of ceremony, rather than a constant means of use or comfort. only men above the third rank are allowed to put on silk. petty officials must wear cotton. merchants and farmers may not imitate official robes, but don tighter or more economical coats and trowsers. a common term for officials is â��blue clouds,â�� in reference to their blue-tinted garments. to their assistants, the people apply the nickname, not sarcastic, but honorable, of â��crooked backs,â�� because they always bend low in talking to their employers. the magistrates lay great stress on the trifles of etiquette, and keep up an immense amount of fuss and pomp to sustain their dignity, in order to awe the common folks. whenever they move abroad, their servants cry out â��chii-wa,â�� â��chii-wa,â�� â��get down off your horse,â�� â��get down off your horse,â�� to riders in sight. the il-san, or large banner or standard in the form of an umbrella, is borne at the head of the line. to attempt to cross one of their processions is to be seized and punished, and anyone refusing to dismount, or who is slow about slipping off his horse, is at once arrested, to be beaten or mulcted. when permission is given to kill an ox, the head, hide, and feet usually become the perquisites of the magistrate or his minions. the exuberant vocabulary in corean, for the various taxes, fines, mulcts, and squeezes of the understrappers of the magistrate, in gross and in detail, chief and supplementary, testify to the rigors and expenses of being governed in chå�-sen. overreaching magistrates, through whose injustice the people are goaded into rebellion, are sometimes punished. it seems that one of the penalties in ancient times was that the culpable official should be boiled in oil. now, however, the condemned man is exiled, and only rarely put to death, while a commutation of justiceâ��equivalent to being burned in effigyâ��is made by a pretended boiling in oil. good and upright magistrates are often remembered by mok-pi, or inscribed columns of wood, erected on the public road by the grateful people. in many instances, this testimonial takes the form of sculptured stone. a number of the public highways are thus adorned. these, with the tol-pi, or monumental bourne, which marks distances or points out the paths to places of resort, are interesting features of travel in the peninsula, and more pleasant to the horseman than the posts near temples and offices on which one may read â��dismount.â�� at the funeral of great dignitaries of the realm, a life-sized figure of a horse, made of bamboo, dragged before the coffin, is burned along with the clothes of the deceased, and the ashes laid beside his remains. as the magistrates are literary men, their official residences often receive poetic or suggestive names, which, in most cases, reflect the natural scenery surrounding them. â��little flowery house,â�� â��rising cloud,â�� â��sun-greeting,â�� â��sheet of resplendent water,â�� â��water-that-slides-as-straight-as-a-sword dwelling,â�� â��gate of lapis-lazuli,â�� â��mansion near the whirlpool,â�� are some of these names, while, into the composition of others, the morning-star, the heaven-touching, the cave-spirit, and the changing-cloud mountain, or the falling-snow cataract may enter. passionately fond of nature, the corean gentleman will erect a tablet in praise of the scenery that charms his eye. one such reads, â��the beauty of its rivers, and of its mountains, make this district the first in the country.â�� if, as the french say, â��paris is france,â�� then seoul is corea. an apparently disproportionate interest centres in the capital, if one may judge from the vast and varied vocabulary relating to seoul, its people and things, which differentiate all else outside its wall. three thousand official dignitaries are said to reside in the capital, and only eight hundred in all the other cities and provinces. seoul is â��the city,â�� and all the rest of the peninsula is â��the country.â�� a provincial having cultivated manners is called â��a man of the capital.â�� â��capital and provinceâ�� means the realm. the rule of the local authorities is very minute in all its ramifications. the system of making every five houses a social unit is universal. when a crime is committed, it is easy to locate the group in which the offender dwells, and responsibility is fixed at once. every subject of the sovereign except nobles of rank, must possess a passport or ticket testifying to his personality, and all must â��show their ticketsâ�� on demand. for the people, this certificate of identity is a piece of branded or inscribed wood, for the soldiers of horn, for the literary class and government officials of bone. often, the tablet is in halves, the individual having one-half, and the government keeping its tally. the people who cannot read or write have their labels carefully tied to their clothing. when called upon to sign important documents, or bear witness on trial, they make a blood-signature, by rudely tracing the signs set before them in their own blood. the name, residence of the holder, and the number of the group of houses in which he lives, are branded or inscribed on the ho-pai, or passport. the actual workings of corean justice will be better understood when treating of christianityâ��an element of social life which gave the pagan tribunals plenty of work. civil matters are decided by the ordinary civil magistrate, who is judge and jury at once; criminal cases are tried by the military commandant. very important cases are referred to the governor of the province. the highest court of appeal is in the capital. cases of treason and rebellion, and charges against high dignitaries, are tried in the capital before a special tribunal instituted by the king. the two classes of assistants to the magistrate, who are called respectively hai-seik and a-chen, act as constables or sheriffs, police messengers, and jailers. french writers term them â��pretoriansâ�� and â��satellites.â�� these men have practically the administration of justice, and the details and spirit of local authority are in their power. the hai-seik, or constables, form a distinct class in the community, rarely intermarrying with the people, and handing down their offices, implements, and arts from father to son. the a-chen, who are the inferior police, jailers, and torturers, are from the very lowest classes, and usually of brutal life and temper. the vocabulary of torture is sufficiently copious to stamp chå�-sen as still a semi-civilized nation. the inventory of the court and prison comprises iron chains, bamboos for beating the back, a paddle-shaped implement for inflicting blows upon the buttocks, switches for whipping the calves till the flesh is ravelled, ropes for sawing the flesh and bodily organs, manacles, stocks, and boards to strike against the knees and shin-bones. other punishments are suspension by the arms, tying the hands in front of the knees, between which and the elbows is inserted a stick, while the human ball is rolled about. an ancient but now obsolete mode of torture was to tie the four limbs of a man to the horns of as many oxen, and then to madden the beasts by fire, so that they tore the victim to fragments. the punishment of beating with paddles often leaves scars for life, and causes ulcers not easily healed. one hundred strokes cause death in most cases, and many die under forty or fifty blows. for some crimes the knees and shin-bones are battered. a woman is allowed to have on one garment, which is wetted to make it cling to the skin and increase the pain. the chief of the lictors, or public spanker, is called siu-kiå�. with the long, flexible handle swung over his head, he plies the resounding blows, planting them on the bare skin just above the knee-joint, the victim being held down by four gaolers. the method of correction is quite characteristic of paternal government, and is often inflicted upon the people openly and in public, at the whim of the magistrate. the bastinado was formerly, like hundreds of other customs common to both countries, in vogue in japan. as in many other instances, this has survived in the less civilized nation. when an offender in the military or literary class is sentenced to death, decapitation is the rather honorable method employed. the executioner uses either a sort of native iron hatchet-sword or cleaver, or one of the imported japanese steel-edged blades, which have an excellent reputation in the peninsula. undoubtedly the severity of the corean code has been mitigated since hamelâ��s time. according to his observations, husbands usually killed their wives who had committed adultery. a wife murdering her husband was buried to the shoulders in the earth at the road side, and all might strike or mutilate her with axe or sword. a serf who murdered his master was tortured, and a thief might be trampled to death. the acme of cruelty was produced, as in old japan, by pouring vinegar down the criminalâ��s throat, and then beating him till he burst. the criminal code now in force is, in the main, that revised and published by the king in 1785, which greatly mitigated the one formerly used. one disgraceful, but not very severe, mode of correction is to tie a drum to the back of the offender and publicly proclaim his transgression, while the drum is beaten as he walks through the streets. amid many improvements on the old barbarous system of aggravating the misery of the condemned, there still survives a disgraceful form of capital punishment, in which the cruelty takes on the air of savage refinement. the cho-reni-to-ta appears only in extreme cases. the criminalâ��s face is smeared with chalk, his hands are tied behind him, a gong is tied on his back, and an arrow is thrust through either ear. the executioner makes the victim march round before the spectators, while he strikes the gong, crying out, â��this fellow has committed [adultery, murder, treason, etc.]. avoid his crime.â�� the french missionaries executed near seoul were all put to death in this barbarous manner. officials often receive furloughs to return home and visit their parents, for filial piety is the supreme virtue in chinese asia. the richest rewards on earth and brightest heaven hereafter await the filial child. curses and disgrace in this life and the hottest hell in the world hereafter are the penalties of the disobedient or neglectful child. the man who strikes his father is beheaded. the parricide is burned to death. not to mourn long and faithfully, by retiring from office for months, is an incredible iniquity. coreans, like japanese, argue that, if the law punishes crime, it ought also to reward virtue. hence the system which prevails in the mikadoâ��s empire and in chå�-sen of publicly awarding prizes to signal exemplars of filial piety. these in japan may be in the form of money, silver cups, rolls of silk, or gewgaws. in corea, they are shown in monumental columns, or dedicatory temples, or by public honors and promotion to office. less often are the rewarded instances of devotion to the mother than to the father. official life has its sunshine and shadows in this land as elsewhere, but perhaps one of the hardest tasks before the corean ruling classes of this and the next generation is the duty of diligently eating their words. accustomed for centuries to decry and belittle the foreigner from christendom, they must now, as the people discern the superiority of westerners, â��rise to explainâ�� in a manner highly embarrassing. in intellect, government, science, social customs, manual skill, refinement, and possession of the arts and comforts of life, the foreigner will soon be discovered to be superior. at the same time the intelligent native will behold with how little wisdom, and how much needless cruelty, chå�-sen is governed. the japanese official world has passed through such an experience. if we may argue from a common ancestry and hereditary race traits, we may forecast the probability that to corea, as to japan, may come the same marvellous revolution in ideas and customs. chapter xxvii. feudalism, serfdom, and society. it is remarked by palladius that the fuyu race, the ancestors of the modern coreans, was the first to emerge from the desert under feudal forms of organization. the various migrations of new nations rising out of northern and eastern asia were westward, and were held together under monarchical systems of government. the fuyu tribes who, by turning their face to the rising, instead of the setting sun, were anomalous in the direction of their migration, were unique also in their political genius. those emigrants who, descending from the same ancestral seats in manchuria, and through the peninsula, crossed toward nippon, or sunrise, and settled japan, maintained their feudalism until, through ambitious desire to rival great china, they borrowed the centralized system of court and monarchy from the tang dynasty, in the seventh century. the mikado, by means of boards or ministries like the chinese, ruled his subjects until the twelfth century. then, through the pride and ambition of the military clans, which had subdued all the tribes to his sway, feudalism, which had spread its roots, lifted its head. by rapid growths, under succeeding military regents, it grew to be the tree overspreading the empire. it was finally uprooted and destroyed only by the revolution of 1868, and the later victories of united japanâ��s imperial armies, at an awful sacrifice of life and treasure. that branch of the fuyu migration which remained in the corean peninsula likewise preserved the institution of feudalism which had been inherited from their ancestors. in their early history, lands were held on the tenure of military service, and in war time, or on the accession of a new dynasty, rewards were made by parcelling out the soil to the followers of the victor. provision for a constant state of servitude among one class of the political body was made by the custom of making serfs of criminals or their kindred. a nucleus of slavery being once formed, debt, famine, capture in war, voluntary surrender, would serve to increase those whose persons and labor were wholly or partly owned by another. to social prosperity, religion, and the increase of general intelligence, we may look as elements for the amelioration of serfdom and the elevation of certain classes of bondsmen into free people. the forms of corean society, to this day, are derived from feudal ranks and divisions, and the powers, status, divisions, and practical politics of the nobles have their roots in the ancient feudalism which existed even â��before the conquest.â�� its fruit and legacy are seen in the serfdom or slavery which is coreaâ��s â��domesticâ�� or â��peculiarâ�� institution. speaking in general terms, the ladder of society has four rungs, the king, nobles, and the three classes of society, in the last of which are â��the seven low callings.â�� in detail, the grades may be counted by the tens and scores. in the lowest grade of the fourth class are â��the seven vile callings,â�� viz.: the merchant, boatman, jailor, postal or mail slave, monk, butcher, and sorcerer. the â��four classes of societyâ�� include the literary men or officials, the farmers, the artisans, and the traders. among the nobility are various ranks, indicated by titles, high offices at court, or nearness of relationship to the king. he is â��neither ox nor horseâ�� is the native slang for one who is neither noble nor commoner. the nobles are usually the serf-proprietors or slave-holders, many of them having in their households large numbers whom they have inherited along with their ancestral chattels. the master has a right to sell or otherwise dispose of the children of his slaves if he so choose. the male slave is called chong-nom. a free man may marry a female slave, in which case he is termed a pi-pu. the male children by this marriage are free, but the female offspring belong to the master of the mother, and may be sold. a liberated slave is called pal-sin, and he speaks of his former master as ku-siang. the native vocabulary for the slave in his various relations is sufficiently copious. â��fugitiveâ�� slaves, â��slave-hunters,â�� and â��slave-drivers,â�� are as common to the corean ear, as to the american in the long-ago days of â��before the war.â�� a pan-no is a bondsman trying to escape, and to attempt chiu-ro is to hunt the fugitive and bring him back. the in-chang is the public slave of the village. yet such a thing as the bondsmanâ��s servile love of place, rising into swollen and oppressive pride that looks down on the poor freeman, is a common thing, and cruel and overbearing treatment of the peasantry by the minions of a noble is too frequently witnessed in corea. â��tek-pun-aiâ�� (â��by your favor,â�� equivalent to â��let me live, i pray youâ��) is a cry, more than once heard by french missionaries, from a man beaten by the swaggering serfs of some nobleman. it is not exactly the feeling of the sleek and well-bred black slave of old-time virginia for â��the poor white trash,â�� since in corea slavery has no color-line; yet, in essentials of circumstance, it is the same. such a phase of character is more likely to be developed among the serfs of the old barons or landed proprietors who have longest occupied their hereditary possessions, and who keep up a petty court within their castles or semi-fortified mansions. slavery or serfdom in corea is in a continuous state of decline, and the number of slaves constantly diminishing. in the remote provinces it is practically at an end. the greater number of serfs are to be found attached to the estates of the great noble families of the central provinces. the slaves are those who are born in a state of servitude, those who sell themselves as slaves, or those who are sold to be such by their parents in time of famine or for debt. infants exposed or abandoned that are picked up and educated become slaves, but their offspring are born free. the serfdom is really very mild. only the active young men are held to field labor, the young women being kept as domestics. when old enough to marry, the males are let free by an annual payment of a sum of money for a term of years. often the slaves marry, are assigned a house apart, and bound only to a fixed amount of labor. although the master has the power of life and death over his slaves, the right is rarely exercised unjustly, and the missionaries report that there were few cases of excessive cruelty practised. an unjust master could be cited before the tribunals, and the case inquired into. often the actual condition of the serfs is superior to that of the poor villagers, and instances are common in which the poor, to escape the rapacity and cruelty of the nobles, have placed themselves under the protection of a master known to be a kind man, and thus have purchased ease and comfort at the sacrifice of liberty. outside of private ownership of slaves, there is a species of government slavery, which illustrates the persistency of one feature of ancient kokorai perpetuated through twenty centuries. it is the law that in case of the condemnation of a great criminal, the ban of ui-ro-ui-pi shall fall upon his wife and children, who at once become the slaves of the judge. these unfortunates do not have the privilege of honorably serving the magistrate, but usually pass their existence in waiting on the menials in the various departments and magistracies. only a few of the government slaves are such by birth, most of them having become so through judicial condemnation in criminal cases; but this latter class fare far worse than the ordinary slaves. they are chiefly females, and are treated very little better than beasts. they are at the mercy not only of the officers but even of their satellites, servants, and grooms, or to whomever they are sold for an hour. nothing can equal the contempt in which they are held, and for an honest or an innocent woman, such a fate is worse than many deaths. in the earliest written account of the kokorai people, the ancestors of the modern coreans, we find this same feature of ancient feudalism by which a class of serfs may be continually provided. to christian eyes it is a horrible relic of barbarism. the penal settlements on the sea-coast, and notably quelpart island, are worked by colonies of these male government slaves or convicts. the females are not usually sent away from the place of their parents or their own crime. in ancient times of kokorai and korai there were only two classes of people, the nobles and their free retainers, and the serfs or slaves. the nobles were lords of cities and castles, like the daimiå�s of japan, and were very numerous. the whole country was owned by them, or at least held in the kingâ��s name under tenure of military serviceâ��a lien which length of time only strengthened. in the long centuries of peace, many of these old familiesâ��weakly descendants of vigorous foundersâ��have died out, and the land reverting to the sovereign, or possessed by the people, is now owned by a more numerous and complex class, while nearly all the cities and towns are governed by officers sent out by the central authority at seoul. the ancient class of serfs has, by industry and intelligence and accumulation of rights vested in their special occupations, developed into the various middle classes. the nobles are now in a minority, though at present their power is on the increase, and their ancestral landholds comprise but a small portion of the soil. as in mediã¦val europe, so in corea, where feudalism, which rests on personal loyalty to a reigning sovereign, or a particular royal line, prevails, a more or less complete revolution of titles and possessions takes place upon a change of dynasty. on the accession of the present royal house in 1392, the old korai nobility were impoverished and the partisans of the founder of the ni, and all who had aided him to the throne, became at once the nobility of the kingdom, and were rewarded by gifts of land. to the victors belonged the spoils. the honors, riches, and the exclusive right to fill many of the most desirable public offices were awarded in perpetuity to the aristocracy. the mass of the people were placed or voluntarily put themselves under the authority of the nobles. the agricultural class attached to the soil simply changed masters and landlords, while the cities and towns people and sea-coast dwellers became, only in a nominal sense, the tenantry of the nobles. gradually, however, those who had ability and address obtained their full liberty, so that they were in no way bound to pay tithe or tax to the nobles, but only to the central government. under peace, with wealth, intelligence, combination, trade-unions, and guilds, and especially by means of the literary examinations, the various classes of the people emerged into independent existence, leaving but a few of the lowest of the population in the condition of serfs or slaves. between the accounts of hamel in 1653, and of the french missionaries in the last decade, there are many indications of progress. laborers, artisans, merchants, soldiers, etc., now have a right to their own labor and earnings, and the general division of the commonwealth is into three classesâ��nobles, common people, and serfs or slaves. speaking generally, the peculiar institution of chå�-sen is serfdom rather than slavery, and is the inheritance of feudalism; yet, as russia has had her alexander, america her lincoln, and japan her mutså­hito, we may hope to see some great liberator yet arise in the â��land of morning calm.â�� under absolute despotisms, as most asiatic governments are, it is a wonder to republicans how the people enjoy any liberty at all. if they have any, it is interesting to study how they have attained it, and how they hold it. politically, they have absolutely no freedom. they know nothing of government, except to pay taxes and obey. their political influence is nothing. in chå�-sen, according to law, any person of the common people may compete at the public examinations for civil or military employment, but, in point of fact, his degree is often worthless, for he is not likely to receive office by it. in a country where might and wealth make right, and human beings are politically naught, being but beasts of burden or ciphers without a unit, how do the people protect themselves and gain any liberty? how does it come to pass that serfs may win their way to social freedom? it is by union and organization. the spirit of association, so natural and necessary, is spread among the coreans of all classes, from the highest families to the meanest slaves. all those who have any kind of work or interest in common form guilds, corporations, or societies, which have a common fund, contributed to by all for aid in time of need. very powerful trade-unions exist among the mechanics and laborers, such as porters, ostlers, and pack-horse leaders, hat-weavers, coffin-makers, carpenters, and masons. these societies enable each class to possess a monopoly of their trade, which even a noble vainly tries to break. sometimes, they hold this right by writ purchased or obtained from government, though usually it is by prescription. most of the guilds are taxed by the government for their monopoly enjoyed. they have their chief or head man, who possesses almost despotic power, and even, in some guilds, of life and death. new members or apprentices may be admitted by paying their rate and submitting to the rules of the guild. in the higher grades of society we see the same spirit of association. the temple attendants, the servants of the nobles, the gardeners, messengers, and domestics of the palace, the supernumeraries and government employes, all have their â��rings,â�� which an outsider may not break. even among the noble families the same idea exists in due form. the villages form each a little republic, and possess among themselves a common fund to which every family contributes. out of this money, hid in the earth or lent out on interest, are paid the public taxes, expenses of marriage and burial, and whatever else, by custom and local opinion, is held to be a public matter. foreigners, accustomed to the free competition of english-speaking countries, will find in chå�-sen, as they found in japan, and even more so, the existence of this spirit of protective association and monopoly illustrated in a hundred forms which are in turn amusing, vexatious, or atrocious. a man who in injustice, or for mere caprice, or in a fit of temper, discharges his ostler, house-servant, or carpenter, will find that he cannot obtain another good one very easily, even at higher wages, or, if so, that his new one is soon frightened off the premises. to get along comfortably in chinese asia, one must, willy-nilly, pay respect to the visible or invisible spirit of trade-unionism that pervades all society in those old countries. one of the most powerful and best organized guilds is that of the porters. the interior commerce of the country being almost entirely on the backs of men and pack-horses, these people have the monopoly of it. they number about ten thousand, and are divided by provinces and districts under the orders of chiefs, sub-chiefs, censors, inspectors, etc. a large number of these porters are women, often poor widows, or those unable to marry. many of them are of muscular frame, and their life in the open air tends to develop robust forms, with the strength of men. they speak a conventional language, easily understood among themselves, and are very profuse in their salutations to each other. they have very severe rules for the government of their guild, and crimes among them are punished with death, at the order of their chief. they are so powerful that they pretend that even the government dare not interfere with them. they are outside the power of the local magistrate, just as a german university student is responsible to the faculty, but not to the police. they are honest and faithful in their business, delivering packages with certainty to the most remote places in the kingdom. they are rather independent of the people, and even bully the officers. when they have received an insult or injustice, or too low wages, they â��strikeâ�� in a body and retire from the district. this puts a stop to all travel and business, until these grievances are settled or submission to their own terms is made. owing to the fact that the country at large is so lacking in the shops and stores so common in other countries, and that, instead, fairs on set days are so numerous in the towns and villages, the guild of peddlers and hucksters is very large and influential. the class includes probably 200,000 able-bodied adult persons, who in the various provinces move freely among the people, and are thus useful to the government as spies, detectives, messengers, and, in time of need, soldiers. it was from this class that the corean battalions which figured prominently in the affair of december 4â��6, 1887, were recruited. chapter xxviii. social life.â��woman and the family. according to the opinions of the french missionaries, who were familiar with the social life of the people, a corean woman has no moral existence. she is an instrument of pleasure or of labor; but never manâ��s companion or equal. she has no name. in childhood she receives indeed a surname by which she is known in the family, and by near friends, but at the age of puberty, none but her father and mother employ this appellative. to all others she is â��the sisterâ�� of such a one, or â��the daughterâ�� of so-and-so. after her marriage her name is buried. she is absolutely nameless. her own parents allude to her by employing the name of the district or ward in which she has married. her parents-in-law speak of her by the name of the place in which she lived before marriage, as women rarely marry in the same village with their husbands. when she bears children, she is â��the motherâ�� of so-and-so. when a woman appears for trial before a magistrate, in order to save time and trouble, she receives a special name for the time being. the women below the middle class work very hard. farm labor is done chiefly by them. manure is applied by the women, rarely by the men. the women carry lunch to the laborers in the field, eating what is left for their share. in going to market, the women carry the heavier load. in their toilet, the women use rouge, white powders, and hair oil. they shave the eyebrows to a narrow lineâ��that is, to a perfectly clean arch, with nothing straggling. they have luxuriant hair, and, in addition, use immense switches to fill out large coiffures. in the higher classes of society, etiquette demands that the children of the two sexes be separated after the age of eight or ten years. after that time the boys dwell entirely in the menâ��s apartments, to study and even to eat and drink. the girls remain secluded in the womenâ��s quarters. the boys are taught that it is a shameful thing even to set foot in the female part of the house. the girls are told that it is disgraceful even to be seen by males, so that gradually they seek to hide themselves whenever any of the male sex appear. these customs, continued from childhood to old age, result in destroying the family life. a corean of good taste only occasionally holds conversation with his wife, whom he regards as being far beneath him. he rarely consults her on anything serious, and though living under the same roof, one may say that husband and wife are widely separated. the female apartments among the higher classes resemble, in most respects, the zenanas of india. the men chat, smoke, and enjoy themselves in the outer rooms, and the women receive their parents and friends in the interior apartments. the same custom, based upon the same prejudice, hinders the common people in their moments of leisure from remaining in their own houses. the men seek the society of their male neighbors, and the women, on their part, unite together for local gossip. in the higher classes, when a young woman has arrived at marriageable age, none even of her own relatives, except those nearest of kin, is allowed to see or speak to her. those who are excepted from this rule must address her with the most ceremonious reserve. after their marriage, the women are inaccessible. they are nearly always confined to their apartments, nor can they even look out in the streets without permission of their lords. so strict is this rule that fathers have on occasions killed their daughters, husbands their wives, and wives have committed suicide when strangers have touched them even with their fingers. the common romances or novels of the country expatiate on the merits of many a corean lucretia. in some cases, however, this exaggerated modesty produces the very results it is intended to avoid. if a bold villain or too eager paramour should succeed in penetrating secretly the apartments of a noble lady, she dare not utter a cry, nor oppose the least resistance which might attract attention; for then, whether guilty or not, she would be dishonored forever by the simple fact that a man had entered her chamber. every corean husband is a cã¦sar in this respect. if, however, the affair remains a secret, her reputation is saved. there is, however, another side. though counting for nothing in society, and nearly so in their family, they are surrounded by a certain sort of exterior respect. they are always addressed in the formulas of honorific language. the men always step aside in the street to allow a woman to pass, even though she be of the poorer classes. the apartments of females are inviolable even to the minions of the law. a noble who takes refuge in his wifeâ��s room may not be seized. only in cases of rebellion is he dragged forth, for in that case his family are reckoned as accomplices in his guilt. in other crimes the accused must in some way be enticed outside, where he may be legally arrested. when a peddler visits the house to show his wares, he waits until the doors of the womenâ��s apartments are shut. this done, his goods are examined in the outer apartments, which are open to all. when a man wishes to mend, or go up on his roof, he first notifies his neighbors, in order that they may shut their doors and windows, lest he risk the horrible suspicion of peeping at the women. as the coreans do not see a â��man in the moon,â�� but only a rabbit pounding drugs, or a lady banished there for a certain fault, according as they are most familiar with sanskrit or the chinese story, the females are not afraid of this luminary, nor are the men jealous of her, the moon being female in their ideas of gender. marriage in chå�-sen is a thing with which a woman has little or nothing to do. the father of the young man communicates, either by call or letter, with the father of the girl whom he wishes his son to marry. this is often done without consulting the tastes or character of either, and usually through a middle-man or go-between. the fathers settle the time of the wedding after due discussion of the contract. a favorable day is appointed by the astrologers, and the arrangements are perfected. under this aspect marriage seems an affair of small importance, but in reality it is marriage only that gives one any civil rank or influence in society. every unmarried person is treated as a child. he may commit all sorts of foolishness without being held to account. his capers are not noticed, for he is not supposed to think or act seriously. even the unmarried young men of twenty-five or thirty years of age can take no part in social reunions, or speak on affairs of importance, but must hold their tongues, be seen but not heard. marriage is emancipation. even if mated at twelve or thirteen years of age, the married are adults. the bride takes her place among the matrons, and the young man has a right to speak among the men and to wear a hat. the badge of single or of married life is the hair. before marriage, the youth, who goes bareheaded, wears a simple tress, hanging down his back. the nuptial tie is, in reality, a knot of hair, for in wedlock the hair is bound up on the top of the head and is cultivated on all parts of the scalp. according to old traditions, men ought never to clip a single hair; but in the capital the young gallants, in order to add to their personal attractionsâ��with a dash of fashionable defianceâ��trim their locks so that their coiffure will not increase in size more than a henâ��s egg. the women, on the contrary, not only preserve all their own hair, but procure false switches and braids to swell their coiffures to fashionable bulk. they make up two large tresses, which are rolled to the back and top of the head, and secured by a long pin of silver or copper. the common people roll their plaits around their heads, like a turban, and shave the front of the scalp. young persons who insist on remaining single, or bachelors arrived at a certain or uncertain age, and who have not yet found a wife, secretly cut off their hair, or get it done by fraud, in order to pass for married folks and avoid being treated as children. such a custom, however, is a gross violation of morals and etiquette. (see illustration, page 161.) on the evening before the wedding, the young lady who is to be married invites one of her friends to change her virginal coiffure to that of a married woman. the bridegroom-to-be also invites one of his acquaintance to â��do upâ�� his hair in manly style. the persons appointed to perform this service are chosen with great care, and as changing the hair marks the turning-point in life, the hair-dresser of this occasion is called the â��hand of honor,â�� and answers to the bridesmaid and groomsman of other countries. on the marriage-day, in the house of the groom, a platform is set up and richly adorned with decorative woven stuffs. parents, friends, and acquaintances assemble in a crowd. the couple to be marriedâ��who may never have seen or spoken to each otherâ��are brought in and take their places on the platform, face to face. there they remain for a few minutes. they salute each other with profound obeisance, but utter not a word. this constitutes the ceremony of marriage. each then retires, on either side; the bride to the female, the groom to the male apartments, where feasting and amusement, after fashions in vogue in chå�-sen, take place. the expense of a wedding is considerable, and the bridegroom must be unstinting in his hospitality. any failure in this particular may subject him to unpleasant practical jokes. on her wedding-day, the young bride must preserve absolute silence, both on the marriage platform and in the nuptial chamber. etiquette requires this at least among the nobility. though overwhelmed with questions and compliments, silence is her duty. she must rest mute and impassive as a statue. she seats herself in a corner clothed in all the robes she can bear upon her person. her husband may disrobe her if he wishes, but she must take no part or hinder him. if she utters a word or makes a gesture, she is made the butt of the jokes and gossip of her husbandâ��s house or neighborhood. the female servants of the house place themselves in a peeping position to listen or look through the windows, and are sure to publish what they see and hear amiss. or this may be done to discover whether the husband is pleased with his wife, or how he behaves to her, as is the case in japan. a bit of gossipâ��evidently a stock storyâ��is the following from dallet: a newly married corean groom spent a whole day among his male friends, in order to catch some words from his wife at their first interview, after their hours of separation. his spouse was informed of this, and perhaps resolved to be obstinate. her husband, having vainly tried to make her speak, at last told her that on consulting the astrologers they had said that his wife was mute from birth. he now saw that such was the case, and was resolved not to keep for his wife a dumb woman. now in a corean wedding, it is quite possible that such an event may take place. one of the contracting parties may be deaf, mute, blind, or impotent. it matters not. the marriage exists. but the wife, stung by her husbandâ��s words, broke out in an angry voice, â��alas, the horoscope drawn for my partner is still more true. the diviner announced that i should marry the son of a rat.â�� this, to a corean, is a great insult, as it attaints father and son, and hence the husband and his father. the shouts of laughter from the eavesdropping female servants added to the discomfiture of the young husband, who had gained his point of making his bride use her tongue at a heavy expense, for long did his friends jeer at him for his bravado, and chaff him at catching a tartar. from the language, and from japanese sources, we obtain some side-lights on the nuptial ceremony and married life. in corean phrase hon-sang (the wedding and the funeral) are the two great events of life. many are the terms relating to marriage, and the synonyms for conjugal union. â��to take the hat,â�� â��to clip the hair,â�� â��to don the tuft,â�� â��to sit on the mat,â�� are all in use among the gentlemen of the peninsula to denote the act or state of marriage. the hat and the hair play an important part in the transition from single to double blessedness. all who wear their locks ta-rai, or in a tress behind, are youths and maidens. those with the tuft or top-knot are married. at his wedding and during the first year, the bridegroom wears a cap, made of a yellow herb, which is supposed to grow only near sunto. other honeymoon caps are melon-shaped, and made of sable skin. after the chung-mai, or middle-man, has arranged the match, and the day is appointed for the han-sa, or wedding, the bride chooses two or three maiden friends as â��bridesmaids.â�� if rich, the bride goes to her future husbandâ��s house in a palanquin; if poor, she rides on horseback. even the humblest maid uses a sort of cap or veil, with ornaments on the breast, back, and at the girdle. when she cannot buy, she borrows. the prominent symbolic figure at the wedding is a goose; which, in corean eyes, is the emblem of conjugal fidelity. sometimes this mok-an is of gilded wood, sometimes it is made out of a fish for eating, again it is a live bird brought in a cloth with the head visible. if in the house, as is usual, the couple ascend the piled mats or dais and the reciprocal prostrations, or acts of mutual consent, form the sacramental part of the ceremony, and constitute marriage. the bride bows four times to her father-in-law and twice to the groom. the groom then bows four times to the bride. other symbolic emblems are the fantastic shapes of straw (otsuka) presented to bride and groom alike. dried pheasant is also brought in and cut. a gourd-bottle of rice-wine, decorated or tied with red and blue thread, is handed by the bride to the groom. the bridesmaids standing beside the couple pour the liquid and pass for exchange the one little â��cup of the wine of mutual joy,â�� several times filled and emptied. then begins the wedding-feast, when the guests drink and make merry. the important document certifying the fact of wedlock is called the hon-se-chi, and is signed by both parties. when the woman is unable to write, she makes â��her markâ�� (siu-pon) by spreading out her hand and tracing with a pencil the exact profile of palm, wrist, and fingers. sometimes the groom, in addition to his four prostrations, which are significant of fidelity to the bride, gives to his father-in-law a written oath of constancy to his daughter. faithfulness is, however, a typical feminine, rather than masculine, virtue in the hermit nation. the pong-kang, a kind of wild canary bird, is held up to the wife as her model of conjugal fidelity. another large bird, somewhat exceeding a duck in size, and called the ching-kiong, is said never to remate after the death of its consort. corean widows are expected to imitate this virtuous fowl. in some places may be seen the vermilion arch or monumental gateway erected to some widow of faithful memory who wedded but once. married women wear two rings on the ring finger. sixty years, or a cycle, completes the ideal length of marital life, and â��a golden weddingâ�� is then celebrated. among the most peculiar of womenâ��s rights in chå�-sen is the curious custom forbidding any males in seoul from being out after eight oâ��clock in the evening. when this corean curfew sounds, all men must hie in-doors, while women are free to ramble abroad until one a.m. to transgress this law of pem-ya brings severe penalty upon the offender. in-doors, the violation of the privacy of the womanâ��s quarters is punishable by exile or severe flagellation. the following story, from dallet, further illustrates some phases of their marriage customs, and shows that, while polygamy is not allowed, concubinage is a recognized institution: a noble wished to marry his own daughter and that of his deceased brother to eligible young men. both maidens were of the same age. he wished to wed both well, but especially his own child. with this idea in view he had already refused some good offers. finally he made a proposal to a family noted alike for pedigree and riches. after hesitating some time which of the maidens he should dispose of first, he finally decided upon his own child. without having seen his future son-in-law, he pledged his word and agreed upon the night. three days before the ceremony he learned from the diviners that the young man chosen was silly, exceedingly ugly, and very ignorant. what should he do? he could not retreat. he had given his word, and in such a case the law is inflexible. in his despair he resolved upon a plan to render abortive what he could not avert. on the day of the marriage, he appeared in the womenâ��s apartments, and gave orders in the most imperative manner that his niece, and not his daughter, should don the marriage coiffure and the wedding-dress, and mount the nuptial platform. his stupefied daughter could not but acquiesce. the two cousins being of about the same height, the substitution was easy, and the ceremony proceeded according to the usual forms. the new bridegroom passed the afternoon in the menâ��s apartments, where he met his supposed father-in-law. what was the amazement of the old noble to find that far from being stupid and ugly, as depicted by the diviners, the young man was good-looking, well-formed, intelligent, highly educated, and amiable in manners. bitterly regretting the loss of so accomplished a son-in-law, he determined to repair the evil. he secretly ordered that, instead of his niece, his daughter should be introduced as the bride. he knew well that the young man would suspect nothing, for during the salutations the brides are always so muffled up with dresses and loaded with ornaments that it is impossible to distinguish their countenances. all happened as the old man desired. during the two or three days which he passed with the new family, he congratulated himself upon obtaining so excellent a son-in-law. the latter, on his part, showed himself more and more charming, and so gained the heart of his supposed father-in-law that, in a burst of confidence, the latter revealed to him all that had happened. he told of the divinersâ�� reports concerning him, and the successive substitutions of niece for daughter and daughter for niece. the young man was at first speechless, then, recovering his composure, said: â��all right, and that is a very smart trick on your part. but it is clear that both the two young persons belong to me, and i claim them. your niece is my lawful wife, since she has made to me the legal salute, and your daughterâ��introduced by yourself into my marriage-chamberâ��has become of right and law my concubine.â�� the crafty old man, caught in his own net, had nothing to answer. the two young women were conducted to the house of the new husband and master, and the old noble was jeered at both for his lack of address and his bad faith. it is the reciprocal salutation before witnesses on the wedding-dais that constitutes legitimate marriage. from that moment a husband may claim the woman as his wife. if he repudiates or divorces her, he may not marry another woman while his former wife is living, but he is free to take as many concubines as he can support. it is sufficient that a man is able to prove that he has had intimate relations with a maiden or a widow; she then becomes his legal property. no person, not even her parents, can claim her if the man persists in keeping her. if she escape, he may use force to bring her back to his house. conjugal fidelityâ��obligatory on the womanâ��is not required of the husband, and a wife is little more than a slave of superior rank. among the nobles, the young bridegroom spends three or four days with his bride, and then absents himself from her for a considerable time, to prove that he does not esteem her too highly. etiquette dooms her to a species of widowhood, while he spends his hours of relaxation in the society of his concubines. to act otherwise would be considered in very bad taste, and highly unfashionable. instances are known of nobles who, having dropped a few tears at the death of their wives, have had to absent themselves from the saloons of their companions to avoid the torrent of ribaldry and jeers at such weakness. such eccentricity of conduct makes a man the butt of long-continued raillery. habituated from infancy to such a yoke, and regarding themselves as of an inferior race, most women submit to their lot with exemplary resignation. having no idea of progress, or of an infraction of established usage, they bear all things. they become devoted and obedient wives, jealous of the reputation and well-being of their husbands. they even submit calmly to the tyranny and unreason of their mothers-in-law. often, however, there is genuine rebellion in the household. adding to her other faults of character, violence and insubordination, a corean wife quarrels with her mother-in-law, makes life to her husband a burden, and incessantly provokes scenes of choler and scandal. among the lower classes, in such cases, a few strokes of a stick or blows of the fist bring the wife to terms. in the higher classes it is not proper to strike a woman, and the husband has no other course than that of divorce. if it is not easy for him to marry again, he submits. if his wife, not content with tormenting him, is unfaithful to him, or, deserting his bed, goes back to her own house, he can lead her before the magistrate, who after administering a beating with the paddles, gives her as a concubine to one of his underlings. women of tact and energy make themselves respected and conquer their legitimate position, as the following example shows. it is taken by dallet from a corean treatise on morals for the youth of both sexes: toward the end of the last century a noble of the capital, of high rank, lost his wife, by whom he had had several children. his advanced age rendered a second marriage difficult. nevertheless, the middle-men (or marriage-brokers employed in such cases) decided that a match could be made with the daughter of a poor noble in the province of kiung-sang. on the appointed day he appeared at the mansion of his future father-in-law, and the couple mounted the stage to make the salute according to custom. our grandee, casting his eyes upon his new wife, stopped for the moment thunderstruck. she was very fat, ugly, hump-backed, and appeared to be as slightly favored with gifts of mind as of body. but he could not withdraw, and he played his part firmly. he resolved neither to take her to his house nor to have anything to do with her. the two or three days which it was proper to pass in his father-in-lawâ��s house being spent, he departed for the capital and paid no further attention to his new relatives. the deserted wife, who was a person of a great deal of intelligence, resigned herself to her isolation and remained in her fatherâ��s house, keeping herself informed, from time to time, of what happened to her husband. she learned, after two or three years, that he had become minister of the second rank, and that he had succeeded in marrying his two sons very honorably. some years later, she heard that he proposed to celebrate, with all proper pomp, the festivities of his sixtieth birthday. immediately, without hesitation and in spite of the remonstrances and opposition of her parents, she took the road to the capital. there hiring a palanquin, she was taken to the house of the minister and announced herself as his wife. she alighted, entered the vestibule, and presented herself with an air of assurance and a glance of tranquillity at the women of the united families. seating herself at the place of honor, she ordered some fire brought, and with the greatest calmness lighted her pipe before the amazed domestics. the news was carried to the outer apartments of the gentlemen, but, according to etiquette, no one appeared surprised. finally the lady called together the household slaves and said to them, in a severe tone, â��what house is this? i am your mistress, and yet no one comes to receive me. where have you been brought up? i ought to punish you severely, but i shall pardon you this time.â�� they hastened to conduct her into the midst of all the female guests. â��where are my sons-in-law?â�� she demanded. â��how is it that they do not come to salute me? they forget that i am without any doubt, by my marriage, the mother of their wives, and that i have a right, on their part, to all the honors due to their own mothers.â�� forthwith the two daughters-in-law presented themselves with a shamed air, and made their excuses as well as they were able. she rebuked them gently, and exhorted them to show themselves more scrupulous in the accomplishment of their duties. she then gave different orders in her quality as mistress of the house. some hours after, seeing that neither of the men appeared, she called a slave to her, and said to him: â��my two sons are surely not absent on such a day as this. see if they are in the menâ��s apartments, and bid them come here.â�� the sons presented themselves before her, much embarrassed, and blundered out some excuses. â��how?â�� said she, â��you have heard of my arrival for several hours and have not come to salute me? with such bad bringing up, and an equal ignorance of principles of action, how will you make your way in the world? i have pardoned my slaves and my daughters-in-law for their want of politeness, but for you who are men i cannot let this fault pass unpunished.â�� with this she called a slave and bade him give them some strokes on the legs with a rod. then she added, â��for your father, the minister, i am his servant, and i have not had orders to yield to him; but, as for you, henceforth do you act so as not to forget proprieties.â�� finally the minister himself, thoroughly astonished at all that had passed, was obliged to come to terms and to salute his wife. three days after, the festivities being ended, he returned to the palace. the king asked familiarly if all had passed off happily. the minister narrated in detail the history of his marriage, the unexpected arrival of his wife, and how she had conducted herself. the king, who was a man of sense, replied: â��you have acted unjustly toward your wife. she appears to me to be a woman of spirit and extraordinary tact. her behavior is admirable, and i donâ��t know how to praise her enough. i hope you will repair the wrongs you have done her.â�� the minister promised, and some days later solemnly conferred upon his wife one of the highest dignities of the court. the woman who is legally espoused, whether widow or slave, enters into and shares the entire social estate of her husband. even if she be not noble by birth she becomes so by marrying a noble, and her children are so likewise. if two brothers, for example, espouse an aunt and a niece, and the niece falls to the lot of the elder, she becomes thereby the elder sister, and the aunt will be treated as a younger sister. this relation of elder and younger sisters makes an immense difference in life, position, and treatment, in all chinese asia. it is not proper for a widow to remarry. in the higher classes a widow is expected to weep for her deceased husband, and to wear mourning all her life. it would be infamy for her, however young, to marry a second time. the king who reigned 1469â��1494 excluded children of remarried widows from competition at the public examinations, and from admittance to any official employment. even to the present day such children are looked upon as illegitimate. among a people so passionate as coreans, grave social disorders result from such a custom. the young noble widows who cannot remarry become, in most cases, secretly or openly the concubines of those who wish to support them. the others who strive to live chastely are rudely exposed to the inroads of passion. sometimes they are made intoxicated by narcotics which are put in their drink, and they wake to find themselves dishonored. sometimes they are abducted by force, during the night, by the aid of hired bandits. when they become victims of violence, there is no remedy possible. it often happens that young widows commit suicide, after the death of their husbands, in order to prove their fidelity and to secure their honor and reputation beyond the taint of suspicion. such women are esteemed models of chastity, and there is no end to their praises among the nobles. through their influence, the king often decrees a memorial gateway, column, or temple, intended to be a monument of their heroism and virtue. thus it has often happened that christian widows begged of the missionary fathers permission to commit suicide, if attempts were made to violate their houses or their persons; and it was with difficulty that they could be made to comprehend the christian doctrine concerning suicide. the usual method of self-destruction is ja-mun, or cutting the throat, or opening the abdomen with a sword. in this the coreans are like the japanese, neck-cutting or piercing being the feminine, and hara-kiri (belly-cutting) the masculine, method of ending life at oneâ��s own hands. among the common people, second marriages are forbidden neither by law nor custom, but wealthy families endeavor to imitate the nobles in this custom as in others. among the poor, necessity knows no law. the men must have their food prepared for them, and women cannot, and do not willingly die of famine when a husband offers himself. hence second marriages among the lowly are quite frequent. most of the facts stated in this chapter are drawn from dalletâ��s â��history of the [roman catholic] church in corea.â�� making due allowance for the statements of celibate priests, who are aliens in religion, nationality, and civilization, the picture of the social life of chå�-sen is that of abominable heathenism. chapter xxix. child life. judging from a collection of the toys of corean children, and from their many terms of affection and words relating to games and sports, festivals and recreation, nursery stories, etc., the life of the little kim or ni must be a pleasant one. for the blessings of offspring the parents offer rice to the god of the household (sam-sin-hang), whose tiny shrine holds a place of honor in some ornamental niche in the best room. when the baby begins to grow, cradles being unknown, the mother puts the infant to sleep by to-tak, to-takâ��patting it lightly on the stomach. when it is able to take its first step across the floorâ��the tiger-skin rug being ready to ease its possible fallâ��this important household event, spoken of with joy as the ja-pak, ja-pak, is described to the neighbors. as the child grows up and is able to walk and run about, the hair is mostly shaved off, so that only a â��button of jadeâ�� is left on the top of the head. this infantile tuft takes its name from the badge or togle worn on the top of the menâ��s caps in winter. a child, â��three feet high,â�� very beautiful and well formed, docile and strong, if a son, is spoken of â��as a thousand-mile horseâ��â��one who promises to make an alert and enduring man. a child noted for filial piety will even cheerfully commit tan-jiâ��cutting his finger to furnish his blood as a remedy for the sickness of father or mother. should the child die, a stone effigy or statue of itself is set up before his grave. in the capital and among the higher classes, the childrenâ��s toys are very handsome, ranking as real works of art, while in every class the playthings of the tiny corean humanity form but a miniature copy of the life of their elders. among the living pets, the monkey is the favorite. these monkeys are fitted with jackets, and when plump and not too mischievous make capital pets for the boys. puppies share the affections of the nursery with the tiger on wheels. made of paper pulp and painted, this harmless effigy of the king of beasts is pulled about with a string. a jumping-jack is but a copy of the little boy who pulls it. a jerk of the string draws in the pasteboard tongue, and sends the trumpet to his mouth. official life is mirrored in the tasselled umbrella, the fringed hats, and the toy-chariot with fancy wheels. other toys, such as rattles, flags, and drums, exactly imitate the larger models with which the grown-up men and women amuse themselves. all these are named, fashioned, and decorated in a style peculiarly corean. among the most common of the childrenâ��s plays are the following: a ring is hidden in a heap of sand, and the urchins poke sticks into and through the pile to find it. whoever transfixes the circlet wins the game, suggesting our girlsâ�� game of grace-hoop, though often taking a longer time. rosettes or pinwheels of paper are made and fastened on the end of sticks. running before the breeze, the miniature windmills afford hilarious delight. the childrenâ��s way of bringing rain is to move the lips up and down, distending the cheeks and pressing the breath through the lips. playing â��dinnerâ�� with tiny cups and dishes, and imitating the ponderous etiquette of their elders, is a favorite amusement. see-saw is rougher and more exhilarating. games of response are often played with hands, head, or feet, in which one watches the motions of his rival, opens or shuts his hands, and pays a forfeit or loses the game when a false move is made. for the coast-dwellers, the sea-shore, with the rocks which are the refuge of the shell-fish, is the inexhaustible playground of the children. looking down in the clear deep water of the archipelago they see the coral reefs, the bright flower-gardens of marine plants, and shoals of striped, banded, crimson-tailed, and green-finned fish, which, in the eastern seas, glitter with tints of gold and silver. the children, half naked, catch the crabs and lobsters, learning how to hold their prizes after many a nab and pinch, which bring infantile tears and squalls. one of the common playthings of corean children, the â��babyâ��s rattle,â�� is the dried leathery egg of the skate, which with a few pebbles inside makes the infant, if not its parents, happy with the din. besides a game of patting and dabbling in the waterâ��chal-pak, chal-pakâ��boys amuse themselves by fishing with hook and line or net. one method is to catch fish by means of the yek-kui. this is a plant of peppery taste, which poisons or stupefies the fish that bite the tempting tip, making them easy prey. more serious indoor games played by women and children are pa-tok, or backgammon; sang-pi-yen, dominoes; siu-tu-chen, game of eighty cards; and chang-keui, or chess. all these pastimes are quite different from ours of the same name, yet enough like them to be recognized as belonging to the species named. the festivals most intensely enjoyed by the children are those of â��treading the bridges,â�� â��the meeting of the star lovers,â�� and the â��mouse fire.â�� there is one evening in the year in which men and children, as well as women, are allowed to be out in the streets of the capital. the people spend the greater part of the night in passing and repassing upon the little bridges of stone. it is a general â��night outâ�� for all the people. comedians, singers, harlequins, and merry-makers of all kinds are abroad, and it being moonlight, all have a good time in â��treading the bridges.â�� on the seventh day of the seventh month, the festival honored in china, corea, and japan takes place, for which children wait, in expectation, many days in advance. sweetmeats are prepared, and bamboos strung with strips of colored paper are the symbols of rejoicing. on this night the two stars capricornus and alpha lyra (or the herd-boy and spinning maiden) are in conjunction in the milky way [10] (or the river of heaven), and wishes made at this time are supposed to come true. chu-pul, or the mouse fire, occurs in the twelfth month, on the day of the mouse (or rat). children light brands or torches of dry reeds or straw, and set fire to the dry herbage, stubble, and shrubbery on the borders of the roads, in order to singe the hair of the various field or ground-burrowing animals, or burn them out, so as to obtain a plentiful crop of cotton. at school, the pupils study according to the method all over asia, that is, out loud, and noisily. this kang-siong, or deafening buzz, is supposed to be necessary to sound knowledge. besides learning the chinese characters and the vernacular alphabet, with tongue, ear, eye, and pen, the children master the ku-ku (â��nine times nineâ��), or the multiplication table, and learn to work the four simple rules of arithmetic, and even fractions, involution, and evolution on the chon-pan, or sliding numeral frame. a â��red markâ�� is a vermilion token of a good lesson, made by the examiner; and for a good examination passed rewards are given in the form of a first-rate dinner, or one or all of â��the four friends of the study tableâ��â��pens, ink, paper, and inkstand, or brushes, sticks of â��indiaâ�� ink, rolls of unsized paper, and an inkstone or water-dropper. writing a good autograph signatureâ��â��oneâ��s own penâ��â��is highly commended. sometimes money is given for encouragement, which the promising lad saves up in an earthen savings-bank. not a few of the youth of the humbler classes, who work in the fields by day and study the characters by night, rise to be able officers who fill high stations. the french missionaries assure us that the normal corean is fond of children, especially of sons, who in his eyes are worth ten times as much as daughters. such a thing as exposure of children is almost unknown. in times of severe famine this may happen after failure to give away or sell for a season, that they may be bought back. parents rarely find their family too numerous. the first thing inculcated in a childâ��s mind is respect for his father. all insubordination is immediately and sternly repressed. far different is it with the mother. she yields to her boyâ��s caprices and laughs at his faults and vices without rebuke. the child soon learns that a motherâ��s authority is next to nothing. in speaking of his father a lad often adds the words â��severe,â�� â��terrible,â�� implying the awe and profound respect in which he holds his father. (something of the same feeling prevails as in japan, where the four dreadful things which a lad most fears, and which are expressed in a rhyming proverb, are: â��earthquake, wind, fire, and father,â�� or â��daddy.â��) on the contrary, in speaking of his mother, he adds the words â��good,â�� â��indulgent,â�� â��iâ��m not afraid of her,â�� etc. a son must not play nor smoke in his fatherâ��s presence, nor assume free or easy posture before him. for lounging, there is a special room, like a nursery. the son waits on his father at meals and gets his bed ready. if he is old or sickly, the son sleeps near him and does not quit his side night or day. if he is in prison the son takes up his abode in the vicinity, to communicate with his parent and furnish him with luxuries. in case of imprisonment for treason, the son at the portal, on bended knees day and night, awaits the sentence that will reduce himself to slavery. if the accused is condemned to exile, the son must at least accompany his father to the end of the journey, and, in some cases, share banishment with him. meeting his father in the street, the son must make profound salute on his knees, in the dust, or in the ditch. in writing to him, he must make free use of the most exaggerated honorifics which the corean knows. the practice of adoption is common, as it is abnormally so in all countries where ancestral worship is prevalent and underlies all religions. the preservation of the family line is the supreme end and aim of life. in effect all those persons are descendants of particular ancestors who will keep up the ancestral sacrifices, guard the tablets and observe the numerous funeral and mourning ceremonies which make life such a burden in eastern asia. daughters are not adopted, because they cannot accomplish the prescribed rites. when parents have only a daughter, they marry her to an adopted son, who becomes head of the family so adopted into. even the consent of the adopted, or of his parents, is not always requisite, for as it is a social, as well as a religious necessity, the government may be appealed to, and, in case of need, forces acceptance of the duty. in this manner, as in the patriarchal age of biblical history, a man may be coerced into â��raising up seedâ�� to defunct ancestors. properly, an adoption, to be legal, ought to be registered at the office of the board of rites, but this practice has fallen into disuse, and it is sufficient to give public notice of the fact among the two families concerned. an adoption once made cannot be void except by a decree from the tribunal of rites, which is difficult to obtain. in practice, the system of adoption results in many scandals, quarrels, jealousies, and all the train of evils which one familiar with men and women, as they are, might argue a priori without the facts at hand. the iron fetters of asiatic institutions cannot suppress human nature. primogeniture is the rigid rule. younger sons, at the time of their marriage, or at other important periods of life, receive paternal gifts, now more, now less, according to usage, rank, the family fortune, etc., but the bulk of the property belongs to the oldest son, on whom the younger sons look as their father. he is the head of the family, and regards his fatherâ��s children as his own. in all eastern asia the bonds of family are much closer than among caucasian people of the present time. all the kindred, even to the fifteenth or twentieth degree, whatever their social position, rich or poor, educated or illiterate, officials or beggarsâ��form a clan, a tribe, or more exactly one single family, all of whose members have mutual interests to sustain. the house of one is the house of the other, and each will assist to his utmost another of the clan to get money, office, or advantage. the law recognizes this system by levying on the clan the imposts and debts which individuals of it cannot pay, holding the sodality responsible for the individual. to this they submit without complaint or protest. instead of the family being a unit, as in the west, it is only the fragment of a clan, a segment in the great circle of kindred. the number of terms expressing relationship is vastly greater and much more complex than in english. one is amazed at the exuberance of the national vocabulary in this respect. the coreans are fully as clannish as the chinese, and much more so than the irish; and in this, as in the middle kingdom, lies one great obstacle to christianity or to any kind of individual reform. marriage cannot take place between two persons having the same family cognomen. there are in the kingdom only one hundred and forty or fifty family, or rather clan names. yet many of these names are widespread through the realm. all are formed of a single chinese letter, except six or seven, which are composed of two characters. to distinguish the different families who bear the same patronymic, they add the name which they call the pu, or gentile name, to indicate the place whence the family originally came. in the case of two persons wishing to marry, if this pu is the same, they are in the eyes of the law relatives, and marriage is forbidden. if the pu of each is different, they may wed. the most common names, such as kim and niâ��answering to our smith and jonesâ��have more than a score of pu, which arise from more than twenty families, the place of whose origin is in each case different. the family name is never used alone. it is always followed by a surname; or only the word so-pang, junior, sang-wen, senior, lord, sir, etc. male adults usually have three personal names, that given in childhood, the common proper name, and the common legal name, while to this last is often added the title. besides these, various aliases, nicknames, fanciful and punning appellatives, play their part, to the pleasure or vexation of their object. this custom is the source of endless confusion in documents and common life. it was formerly in vogue in japan, but was abolished by the mikadoâ��s government in 1872, and now spares as much trouble to tongue, types, and pens, as a reform in our alphabet and spelling would save the english-speaking world. as in nippon, a corean female has but one name from the cradle to the grave. the titles â��madame,â�� or â��madame widow,â�� are added in mature life. as in old japan, the common people do not, as a rule, have distinguishing individual names, and among them nicknames are very common. corean etiquette forbids that the name of father, mother, or uncle be used in conversation, or even pronounced aloud. chapter xxx. housekeeping, diet, and costume. corean architecture is in a very primitive condition. the castles, fortifications, temples, monasteries and public buildings cannot approach in magnificence those of japan or china. the country, though boasting hoary antiquity, has few ruins in stone. the dwellings are tiled or thatched houses, almost invariably one story high. in the smaller towns these are not arranged in regular streets, but scattered here and there. even in the cities and capital the streets are narrow and tortuous. in the rural parts, the houses of the wealthy are embosomed in beautiful groves, with gardens surrounded by charming hedges or fences of rushes or split-bamboo. the cities show a greater display of red-tiled roofs, as only the officials and nobles are allowed this sumptuary honor. shingles are not much used. the thatching is of rice or barley straw, cut close, with ample eaves, and often finished with great neatness. a low wall of uncemented stone, five or six feet high, surrounds the dwelling, and when kept in repair gives an air of neatness and imposing solidity to the estate. often a pretty rampart of flat bamboo or rushes, plaited in the herring-bone pattern, surmounts the wall, which may be of pebbles or stratified rock and mortared. sometimes the rampart is of wattle, covered with smooth white plaster, which, with the gateway, is also surmounted by an arched roofing of tiles. instead of regular slanting lines of gables, one meets with the curved and pagoda-like roofs seen in china, with a heavy central ridge and projecting ornaments of fire-hardened clay, like the â��stirrupâ�� or â��devilâ�� tiles of japan. these curves greatly add to the beauty of a corean house, because they break the monotony of the lines of corean architecture. doors, windows, and lintels are usually rectangular, and are set in regularly, instead of being made odd to relieve the eye, as in japan. bamboo is a common material for window-frames. the foundations are laid on stone set in the earth, and the floor of the humble is part of the naked planet. people one grade above the poorest cover the hard ground with sheets of oiled paper, which serve as rugs or a carpet. for the better class a floor of wood is raised a foot or so above the earth, but in the sleepingand sitting-room of the average family, the â��kangâ�� forms a vaulted floor, bed, and stove. the kang is characteristic of the human dwelling in northeastern asia. it is a kind of tubular oven, in which human beings, instead of potatoes, are baked. it is as though we should make a bedstead of bricks, and put foot-stoves under it. the floor is bricked over, or built of stone over flues, which run from the fireplace, at one end of the house, to the chimney at the other. the fire which boils the pot or roasts the meat is thus utilized to warm those sitting or sleeping in the room beyond. the difficulty is to keep up a regular heat without being alternately chilled or smothered. with wood fuel this is almost impossible, but by dint of tact and regulated draught may be accomplished. as in the swedish porcelain stove, a pail of live coals keeps up a good warmth all night. the kangs survive in the kotatsã¹ of japan. the â��fireâ�� in sentiment and fact is the centre of the corean home, and the native phrase, â��he has put out his fire,â�� is the dire synonym denoting that a man is not only cold and fasting, but in want of the necessities of life. bed-clothes are of silk, wadded cotton, thick paper, and tiger, wolf, or dog skins, the latter often sewn in large sheets like a carpet. comfort, cleanliness, and luxury make the bed of the noble on the warm brick in winter, or cool matting in summer; but with the poor, the cold of winter, and insects of summer, with the dirt and rags, make sleeping in a corean hut a hardship. cushions or bags of rice-chaff form the pillows of the rich. the poor man uses a smooth log of wood or slightly raised portion of the floor to rest his head upon. â��weariness can snore upon the flint when resty sloth finds the down pillow hard.â�� three rooms are the rule in an average house. these are for cooking, eating, and sleeping. in the kitchen the most noticeable articles are the ang-pak, or large earthen jars, for holding rice, barley, or water. each of them is big enough to hold a man easily. the second room, containing the kang, is the sleeping apartment, and the next is the best room or parlor. little furniture is the rule. coreans, like the japanese, sit, not cross-legged, but on their heels. among the well-to-do, dog-skins, or kat-tei, cover the floor for a carpet, or splendid tiger-skins serve as rugs. matting is common, the best being in the south. as in japan, the meals are served on the floor on low sang, or little tables, one for each guest, sometimes one for a couple. the best table service is of porcelain, and the ordinary sort of earthenware with white metal or copper utensils. the table-cloths are of fine glazed paper and resemble oiled silk. no knives or forks are used; instead, chopsticks, laid in paper cases, and, what is more common than in china or japan, spoons are used at every meal. the climax of ã¦sthetic taste occurs when a set of historic porcelain and faience of old corean manufacture and decoration, with the tall and long-spouted teapot, are placed on the pearl-inlaid table and filled with native delicacies. the walls range in quality of decoration from plain mud to colored plaster and paper. the corean wall-paper is of all grades, sometimes as soft as silk, or as thick as canvas. sa-peik is a favorite reddish earth or mortar which serves to rough-cast in rich color tones the walls of a room. pictures are not common; the artistic sense being satisfied with scrolls of handsome chinese characters containing moral and literary gems from the classics, or the caligraphic triumph of some king, dignitary, or literary friend. to possess a sign-manual or autograph scrap of yung, hong, or o, the three most renowned men of chå�-sen, is reckoned more than a golden manuscript on azure paper. the windows are square and latticed without or within, and covered with tough paper, either oiled or unsized, and moving in groovesâ��the originals of the japanese sliding-doors and windows. in every part of a corean house, paper plays an important and useful part. very fine venetian blinds are made of threads split from the ever-useful bamboo, which secures considerable variety in window decoration. the doors are of wood, paper, or plaited bamboo. glass was, till recently, a nearly unknown luxury in corea among the common people. even with the nobles, it is rather a curiosity. the windows being made of oiled or thin paper, glass is not a necessity. this fact will explain the eagerness of the people to possess specimens of this transparent novelty. even old porter and ale bottles, which sailors have thrown away, are eagerly picked up, begged, bought, or stolen. an old medicine-vial, among the coreans, used to fetch the price of a crystal goblet among us. the possessor of such a prize as a bassâ�� ale bottle will exhibit it to his neighbor as a rare curio from the western barbarians, just as an american virtuoso shows off his last new satsuma vase or box of soochow lacquer. when english ship captains, visiting the coast, gave the coreans a bottle of wine, the bottle, after being emptied, was always carefully returned with extreme politeness as an article of great value. the first corean visitor to the american expedition of 1871, went into ecstacies, and his face budded into smiles hitherto thought impossible to the grim corean visage, because the cook gave him an arm-load of empty ale-bottles. the height of domestic felicity is reached when a corean householder can get a morsel of glass to fasten into his window or sliding-door, and thus gaze on the outer world through this â��loophole of retreat.â�� this not only saves him from the disagreeable necessity of punching a finger-hole through the paper to satisfy his curiosity, but gives him the advantage of not being seen, and of keeping out the draft. when a whole pane has been secured, it is hard to state whether happiness or pride reigns uppermost in the ownerâ��s bosom. candlesticks are either tall and upright, resting on the floor in the japanese style, or dish-lamps of common oil are used. flint and steel are used to ignite matches made of chips of wood dipped in sulphur, by which a â��fire-flowerâ�� is made to blossom, or in more prosaic english, a flame is kindled. phosphorus matches, imported from japan, are called by a word signifying â��fire-sprite,â�� â��will-of-the-wisp,â�� or ignis-fatuus. usually in a gentlemanâ��s house there is an ante-room or vestibule, in which neighbors and visitors sit and talk, smoke or drink. in this place much freedom is allowed and formalities are laid aside. here are the facilities and the atmosphere which in western lands are found in clubs, coffeeand ale-houses, or obtained from newspapers. one such, of which the picture is before us, has in it seats, and looks out on a garden or courtyard. on a ledge or window-seat are vases of blossoms and cut flowers; a smaller vase holds fans, and another is presumably full of tobacco or some other luxury. short eave-curtains and longer drapery at the side, give an air of inviting comfort to these free and easy quarters, where news and gossip are exchanged. these oi-tiang, or outer apartments, are for strangers and men only, and women are never expected or allowed to be present. the ching-ja is a small house or room on the bank of a river, or overlooking some bit of natural scenery, to which picnic parties resort, the coreans most heartily enjoying out-door festivity, in places which sky, water, and foliage make beautiful to the eye. there are often inscribed on the portals, in large chinese characters, moral mottoes or poetical sentiments, such as â��enter happiness, like breezes bring the spring, and depart evil spirit as snow melts in water.â�� before a new house is finished, a sheet of pure white paper, in which are enclosed some nip, or â��cash,â�� with grains of rice which have been steeped in wine, is nailed or fastened on the wall, over the door, and becomes the good spirit or genius of the house, sacrifices being duly offered to it. in more senses than one, the spirit that presides over too many corean households is the alcohol spirit. the corean liquor, by preference, is brewed or distilled from rice, millet, or barley. these alcoholic drinks are of various strength, color, and smell, ranging from beer to brandy. in general their beverages are sufficiently smoky, oily, and alcoholic to western tastes, as the fusel-oil usually remains even in the best products of their stills. no trait of the coreans has more impressed their numerous visitors, from hamel to the americans, than their love of all kinds of strong drink, from ale to whiskey. the common verdict is, â��they are greatly addicted to the worship of bacchus.â�� the corean vocabulary bears ample witness to the thorough acquaintance of the people with the liquor made from grain by their rude processes. the inhabitants of the peninsula were hard drinkers even in the days of fuyu and kokorai. no sooner were the ports of modern chå�-sen open to commerce than the chinese established liquor-stores, while european wines, brandies, whiskeys, and gins have entered to vary the coreanâ��s liquid diet and increase the national drunkenness. strange as it may seem, the peasant, though living between the two great tea-producing countries of the worldâ��japan and chinaâ��and in the latitude of tea-plantations, scarcely knows the taste of tea, and the fragrant herb is as little used as is coffee in japan. the most common drink, after what the clouds directly furnish, is the water in which rice has been boiled. infusions of dried ginseng, orange-peel, or ginger serve for festal purposes, and honey when these fail; but the word â��tea,â�� or cha, serves the corean, as it does the typical irishman, for a variety of infusions and decoctions. with elastic charity the word covers a multitude of sins, chiefly of omission; all that custom or euphony requires is to prefix the name of the substance used to â��chaâ�� and the drink is teaâ��of some kind. the staple diet has in it much more of meat and fat than that of the japanese. the latter acknowledge that the average corean can eat twice as much as himself. beef, pork, fowls, venison, fish, and game are consumed without much waste in rejected material. nearly everything edible about an animal is a tidbit, and a curious piece of cookery, symbolical of a generous feast, is often found at the board of a liberal host. this tang-talk (which often becomes the â��town-talkâ��) is a chicken baked and served with its feathers, head, claws, and inwards intact. â��to treat to an entire fowlâ�� is said of a liberal host, and is equivalent to â��killing the fatted calf.â�� fish are often eaten raw from tail to head, especially if small, with only a little seasoning. ho-hoi, or fish-bone salad, is a delicacy. dog-flesh is on sale among the common butchersâ�� meats, and the coreans enjoy it as our indians do. in the first month of the year, however, owing to religious scruples, no dog-meat is eaten, or dishes of canine origin permitted. the state dinner, given to the japanese after the treaty, consisted of this bill of fare: two-inch squares of pastry, made of flour, sugar, and oil; heaps of boiled eggs; pudding made of flour, sesame, and honey; dried persimmons; â��pine-seeds,â�� honey-like food covered with roasted rice colored red and white; macaroni soup with fowl; boiled legs of pork, and wine, rice or millet spirit with everything. it is customary to decorate the tables on grand occasions with artificial flowers, and often the first course is intended more for show than for actual eating. for instance, when the japanese party, feasted at seoul in 1646, first sat down to the table, one of them began to help himself to fish, of which he was very fond. the dish seemed to contain a genuine cooked carp basted with sauce, but, to the embarrassment of the hungry guest, the fish would not move. he was relieved by the servant, who told him that it was put on the table only for show. the courses brought on later contained more substantial nourishment, such as fish, flesh, fowl, vegetables, soups, cakes, puddings and tea. judging from certain words in the language, these show-dishes form a regular feature at the opening of banquets. the women cook rice beautifully, making it thoroughly soft by steaming, while yet retaining the perfect shape of each grain by itself. other well-known dishes are barley, millet, beans, taro (potato cooked in a variety of ways), lily-bulbs, sea-weeds, acorns, dai-kon (radishes), turnips, and potatoes. macaroni and vermicelli are used for soups and refreshing lunches. apples, pears, plums, grapes, persimmons, and various kinds of berries help to furnish the table, though the flavor of these is inferior to the same fruits grown in our gardens. all kinds of condiments, mustard, vinegar, pepper, and a variety of home-made sauces, are much relished. itinerant food-sellers are not so common as in china, but butcher-shops and vermicelli stands are numerous. two solid meals, with a light breakfast, is the rule. opan, or midday rice, is the dinner. tai-sik is a regular meal. the appearance of the evening star is the signal for a hearty supper, and the planet a synonym for the last meal of the day. at wakes or funeral feasts, and on festal days, the amount of victuals consumed is enormous, while a very palatable way of remembering the dead is by the yum-pok, or drinking of sacrificial wine. the coreans understand the preservative virtues of ice, and in winter large quantities of this substance are cut and stored away for use in the summer, in keeping fresh meat and fish. their ice-houses are made by excavating the ground and covering over the store with earth and sod, from which in hot weather they use as may be necessary. these ice stores are often under the direction of the government, especially when large quantities of fish are being preserved for rations of the army in time of war. those who oversee the work are called â��officers of the refrigerator.â�� one striking fault of the coreans at the table is their voracity, and to this trait of their character japanese, french, dutch, and chinese bear witness. it might be supposed that a frenchman, who eats lightly, might make a criticism where an englishman would be silent; but not so. all reports concerning them seem to agree. in this respect there is not the least difference between the rich and poor, noble or plebeian. to eat much is an honor, and the merit of a feast consists not in the quality but in the quantity of the food served. little talking is done while eating, for each sentence might lose a mouthful. hence, since a capacious stomach is a high accomplishment, it is the aim from infancy to develop a belly having all possible elasticity. often the mothers take their babies upon their knees, and after stuffing them with rice, like a wad in a gun, will tap them from time to time with the paddle of a ladle on the stomach, to see that it is fully spread out or rammed home, and only cease gorging when it is physically impossible for the child to swell up more. a corean is always ready to eat; he attacks whatever he meets with, and rarely says, â��enough.â�� even between meals, he will help himself to any edible that is offered. the ordinary portion of a laborer is about a quart of rice, which when cooked makes a good bulk. this, however, is no serious hindrance to his devouring double or treble the quantity when he can get it. eating matches are common. when an ox is slaughtered, and the beef is served up, a heaping bowl of the steaming mess does not alarm any guest. dog-meat is a common article of food, and the canine sirloins served up in great trenchers are laid before the guests, each one having his own small table to himself. when fruits, such as peaches or small melons, are served, they are devoured without peeling. twenty or thirty peaches is considered an ordinary allowance, which rapidly disappears. such a prodigality in victuals is, however, not common, and for one feast there are many fastings. beef is not an article of daily food with the peasantry. its use is regulated by law, the butcher being a sort of government official; and only under extraordinary circumstances, as when a grand festival is to be held, does the king allow an ox to be killed in each village. the coreans are neither fastidious in their eating nor painstaking in their cooking. nothing goes to waste. all is grist that comes to the mill in their mouths. they equal japanese in devouring raw fish, and uncooked food of all kinds is swallowed without a wry face. even the intestines pass among them for delicate viands. among the poorer classes, a cooked fish is rarely seen on the table; for no sooner is it caught than it is immediately opened and devoured. the raw viands are usually eaten with a strong seasoning of pepper or mustard, but they are often swallowed without condiment of any sort. often in passing along the banks of a river, one may see men fishing with rod and line. of these some are nobles who are not able, or who never wish to work for a living, yet they will fish for food and sport. instead of a bag or basket to contain the game, or a needle to string it upon, each fisher has at his side a jar of diluted pepper, or a kind of soy. no sooner is a fish hooked, than he is drawn out, seized between the two fingers, dipped into the sauce, and eaten without ceremony. bones do not scare them. these they eat, as they do the small bones of fowls. nationally, and individually, the coreans are very deficient in conveniences for the toilet. bath-tubs are rare, and except in the warmer days of summer, when the river and sea serve for immersion, the natives are not usually found under water. the japanese in the treaty expedition in 1876 had to send bath-tubs on shore from their ships. morning ablutions are made in a copper basin. the sponges which grow on the west coast seem to find no market at home. this neglect of more intimate acquaintance with water often makes the lowest classes â��look like mulattos,â�� as hamel said. gutzlaff, adams, and others, especially the japanese, have noted this personal defect, and have suggested the need of soap and hot water. it may be that the contrast between costume and cuticle tempts to exaggeration. people who dress in white clothing have special need of personal cleanliness. perhaps soap factories will come in the future. the men are very proud of their beards, and the elders very particular in keeping them white and clean. the lords of creation honor their beard as the distinctive glory and mark of their sex. a man is in misery if he has only just enough beard to distinguish him from a woman. a full crop of hair on cheek and chin insures to its possessor unlimited admiration, while in corean billingsgate there are numerous terms of opprobrium for a short beard. europeans are contemptuously termed â��short-hairsâ��â��with no suspicion of the use of the word in new york local politics. old gentlemen keep a little bag in which they assiduously collect the combings of their hair, the strokings of their beard and parings of their nails, in order that all that belongs to them may be duly placed in their coffin at death. the human hair crop is an important item in trade with china, to which country it is imported and sold to piece out the hair-tails which the chinese, in obedience to their manchiu conquerors, persist in wearing. some of this hair comes from poor women, but the staple product is from the heads of boys who wear their hair parted in the middle, and plaited in a long braid, which hangs down their backs. at marriage, they cut this off, and bind what remains in a tight, round knot on the top of the scalp, using pins or not as they please. the court pages and pretty boys who attend the magnates, usually rosy-cheeked, well fed, and effeminate looking youths, do not give any certain indication of their sex, and foreigners are often puzzled to know whether they are male or female. their beardless faces and long hair are set down as belonging to women. most navigators have made this mistake in gender, and when the first embassy from seoul landed in yokohama, the controversy, and perhaps the betting, as to the sex of these nondescripts was very lively. captain broughton declared that the whole duty of these pages seemed to be to smooth out the silk dresses of the grandees. officials and nobles cover their top-knots with neat black nets of horse-hair or glazed thread. often country and town people wear a fillet or white band of bark or leaves across the forehead to keep the loose hair in order, as the ancient japanese used to do. women coil their glossy black tresses into massive knots, and fasten them with pins or golden, silver, and brass rings. the heads of the pins are generally shaped like a dragon. they oil their hair, using a sort of vegetable pomatum. among the court ladies and female musicians the styles of coiffure are various; some being very pretty, with loops, bands, waves, and â��bangs,â�� as the illustration on page 161 shows. corea is decidedly the land of big hats. from their amplitude these head-coverings might well be called â��roofs,â�� or, at least, â��umbrellas.â�� their diameter is so great that the human head encased in one of them seems but as a hub in a cart-wheel. they would probably serve admirably as parachutes in leaping from a high place. under his wide-spreading official hat a magistrate can shelter his wife and family. it serves as a numeral, since a company is counted by hats, instead of heads or noses. how the corean dignitary can weather a gale remains a mystery, and, perhaps, the feat is impossible and rarely attempted. a slim man is evidently at a disadvantage in a â��japanese windâ�� or typhoon. the personal avoirdupois, which is so much admired in the peninsula, becomes very useful as ballast to the head-sail. corean magnates, cast away at sea, would not lack material for shipâ��s canvas. in shape, the gentlemanâ��s hat resembles a flower-pot set on a round table, or a tumbler on a chinese gong. two feet is a common diameter, thus making a periphery of six feet. the top or cone, which rises nine inches higher, is only three inches wide. this chimney-like superstructure serves as ornament and ventilator. its purpose is not to encase the head, for underneath the brim is a tight-fitting skull-cap, which rests on the head and is held on by padded ties under the ears. the average rim for ordinary people, however, is about six inches in radius. the huge umbrella-hat of bleached bamboo is worn by gentlemen in mourning. after death it is solemnly placed on the bier, and forms a conspicuous object at the funeral. the native name for hat is kat or kat-si. the usual material is bamboo, split to the fineness of a thread, and woven so as to resemble horse-hair. the fabric is then varnished or lacquered, and becomes perfectly weather-proof, resisting sun and rain, but not wind. the prevalence of cotton clothing, easily soaked and rendered uncomfortable, requires the ample protection for the back and shoulders, which these umbrella-like hats furnish. in heavy rain, the kat-no is worn, that is, a cone of oiled paper, fixed on the hat in the shape of a funnel. indeed, the umbrella in corea is rather for a symbol of state and dignity than for vulgar use, and is often adorned with knobs and strips. quelpart island is the home of the hatters, whose fashionable wares supply the dandies and dignitaries of the capital and of the peninsula. the highest officers of the government have the cone truncated or rounded at the vertex, and surmounted by a little figure of a crane in polished silver, very handsome and durable. this long-legged bird is a symbol of civil office. â��to confer the hat,â�� means as much to an officer high in favor at the court of seoul as to a cardinal in the vatican, only the color is black, not red. it is corean etiquette to keep the hat on, and in this respect, as well as in their broad brims, the hermits resemble the quakers. marriage and mourning are denoted also by the hat. a variety of materials is employed by other classes. soldiers wear large black or brown felt hats, resembling mexican sombreros, which are adorned with red horse-hair or a peacockâ��s feather, swung on a swivel button. suspended from the sides, over the ears and around the neck, are strings of round balls of blue porcelain, cornelian, amber, or what resembles kauri gum. sometimes these ornaments are tubular, reminding one of the millinery of a cardinalâ��s hat. for the common people, plaited straw or rushes of varied shapes serve for summer, while in winter shaggy caps of lynx, wolf, bear, or deer-skin are common, made into havelock, astrachan, japanese, and other shapes, some resembling wash-bowls, some being fluted or fan-like, winged, sock-shaped, or made like a nightcap. variety seems to be the fashion. the head-dress of the court nobles differs from that of the vulgar as much as the popeâ��s tiara differs from a cardinalâ��s rubrum. it is a crown or helmet, which, eschewing brim, rises in altitude to the proportions of a mitre. without earstrings or necklaces of beads, it is yet highly ornamental. one of these consists of a cap, with a sort of gable at the top. another has six lofty curving folds or volutes set in it. on another are designs from the pa-kwa, or sixty-four mystic diagrams, which are supposed to be sacred symbols of the confucian philosophy, and of which fortune-tellers make great use. the wardrobe of the gentry consists of the ceremonial and the house dress. the former, as a rule, is of fine silk, and the latter of coarser silk or cotton. these â��gorgeous corean dressesâ�� are of pink, blue, and other rich colors. the official robe is a long garment like a wrapper, with loose, baggy sleeves. this is embroidered with the stork or phå�nix for civil, and with the kirin, lion, or tiger for military officers. buttons are unknown and form no part of a coreanâ��s attire, male or female, thus greatly reducing the labor of the wives and mothers who ply the needle, which in corea has an â��earâ�� instead of an â��eye.â�� strings and girdles, and the shifting of the main weight of the clothing to the shoulders, take the place of these convenient, but fugitive, adjuncts to the western costume. there are few tailorsâ�� shops, the women of each household making the family outfit. soldiers in full dress wear a sleeveless, open surcoat for display. the under dress of both sexes is a short jacket with tight sleeves, which for men reaches to the thighs, and for women only to the waist, and a pair of drawers reaching from waist to ankle, a little loose all the way down for the men, and tied at the ankles, but for the women made tight and not tied. the females wear a petticoat over this garment, so that the coreans say they dress like western women, and foreign-made hosiery and under-garments are in demand. although they have a variety of articles of apparel easily distinguishable to the native eye, yet their general style of costume is that of the wrapper, stiff, wide, and inflated with abundant starch in summer, but clinging and baggy in winter. the rule is tightness and economy for the working, amplitude and richness of material for the affluent classes. the women having no pockets in their dresses, wear a little bag suspended from their girdle. this is worn on the right side, attached by cords. these contain their bits of jewelry, scissors, knife, a tigerâ��s claw for luck, perfume-bottle or sachet, a tiny chess-board in gold or silver, etc. besides the rings on their fingers the ladies wear hair-pins of gold ornamented with bulbs or figures of birds. many of them dust pun, or white powder, on their faces, and employ various other cosmetics, which are kept in their kiong-tai, or mirror toilet-stands; in which also may be their so-hak, or book containing rules of politeness. the general type of costume is that of china under the ming dynasty. to a chinaman a corean looks antiquated, a curiosity in old clothes; a japanese at a little distance, in the twilight, is reminded of ghosts, or the snowy heron of the rice-fields, while to the american the corean swell seems compounded chiefly of bed-clothes, and in his most elaborate costume to be still in his under-garments. plenty of starch in summer, and no stint of cotton in winter, are the needs of the corean. his white dress makes his complexion look darker than it really is. the monotonous dazzle of bleached garments is relieved by the violet robes of the magistrate, the dark blue for the soldiers, and lighter shades of that color in the garb of the middle class; the blue strip which edges the coat of the literary graduates, and the pink and azure clothes of the children. less agreeable is the nearness which dispels illusion. the costume, which seemed snowy at a distance, is seen to be dingy and dirty, owing to an entire ignorance of soap. the corean dress, though simpler than the chinese, is not entirely devoid of ornament. the sashes are often of handsome blue silk or brocaded stuff. the official girdles, or flat belts a few inches wide, have clasps of gold, silver, or rhinoceros horn, and are decorated with polished ornaments of gold or silver. for magistrates of the three higher ranks these belts are set with blue stones; for those of the fourth and fifth grade with white stones, and for those below the fifth with a substance resembling horn. common girdles are of cotton, hemp cloth, or rope. fans are also a mark of rank, being made of various materials, especially silk or cloth, stretched on a frame. the fan is an instrument of etiquette. to hide the face with one is an act of politeness. the man in mourning must have no other kind than that in which the pin or rivet is of cowâ��s horn. oiled paper fans serve a variety of purposes. in another kind, the ribs of the frame are bent back double. the finer sort for the nobility are gorgeously inlaid with pearl or nacre. a kind of flat wand or tablet, seen in the hands of nobles, ostensibly to set down orders of the sovereign, is made of ivory for officers above, and of wood for those below the fourth grade. another badge of office is the little wand, half way between a toy whip and a mercuryâ��s caduceus, of black lacquered wood, with cords of green silk. this is carried by civil officers, and may be the original of the japanese baton of command, made of lacquered wood with pendant strips of paper. canes are carried by men of the literary or official class when in mourning. these tall staves, which, from the decks of european vessels sailing along the coast, have often looked like spears, are the sang-chang, or smooth bamboo staves, expressive of ceremonial grief, and nothing more. as the coreans have no pockets, they make bags, girdles, and their sleeves serve instead. the women wear a sort of reticule hung at the belt, and the men a smoking outfit, consisting of an oval bag to hold his flint and steel, some fine-cut tobacco, and a long, narrow case for his pipe. foot-gear is either of native or of chinese make. the laborer contents himself with sandals woven from rice-straw, which usually last but a few days. a better sort is of hempen twine or rope, with many strands woven over the top of the foot. a man in mourning can wear but four cords on the upper part. socks are too expensive for the poor, except in the winter. shoes made of cotton are often seen in the cities, having hempen or twine soles. the low shoes of cloth, or velvet, and cowhide, upturned at the toe, worn by officials, are imported from china. small feet do not seem to be considered a beauty, and the foot-binding of the chinese is unknown in chå�-sen, as in japan. chapter xxxi. mourning and burial. the fashion of mourning, the proper place and time to shed tears and express grief according to regulations, are rigidly prescribed in an official treatise or â��guide to mourners,â�� published by the government. the corpse must be placed in a coffin of very thick wood, and preserved during many months in a special room prepared and ornamented for this purpose. it is proper to weep only in this death-chamber, but this must be done three or four times daily. before entering it, the mourner must don a special weed, which consists of a gray cotton frock coat, torn, patched, and as much soiled as possible. the girdle must be of twisted straw and silk, made into a rope of the thickness of the wrist. another cord, the thickness of the thumb, is wound round the head, which is covered with dirty linen, each of the ropeâ��s ends falling upon the cheek. a special kind of sandals is worn, and a big knotty stick completes the costume of woe. in the prescribed weeds the mourner enters the death-chamber in the morning on rising, and before each meal. he carries a little table filled with food, which he places upon a tray at the side of the coffin. the person who is master of the mourners presides at the ceremonies. prostrate, and struck by the stick, he utters dolorous groans, sounding â��ai-kå�â�� if for a parent. for other relatives he groans out â��oi, oi.â�� according to the noise and length of the groans and weeping, so will the good opinion of the public be. the lamentations over, the mourner retires, doffs the mourning robes, and eats his food. at the new and the full moon, all the relatives are invited and expected to assist at the ceremonies. these practices continue more or less even after burial, and at intervals during several years. often a noble will go out to weep and kneel at the tomb, passing a day, and even a night, in this position. in some instances, mourners have built a little house before the grave, and watched there for years, thus winning a high reputation for filial piety. among the poor, who have not the means to provide a death-chamber and expensive mourning, the coffin is kept outside their houses covered with mats until the time of sepulture. though cremation, or â��burying in the fire,â�� is known in chå�-sen, the most usual form of disposing of the dead is by inhumation. children are wrapped up in the clothes and bedding in which they die, and are thus buried. as unmarried persons are reckoned as children, their shroud and burial are the same. with the married and adult, the process is more costly, and the ceremonial more detailed and prolonged. this, which is described very fully in rossâ�� â��corea,â�� and with which hamelâ��s curt notes agree, consists of minute ceremonial and mourning among the living and the washing, combing, nail-paring, robing, and laying out in state of the dead, with calling of the spirits, and with screens, lights, and offerings, according to confucian ritual. in many interesting features, the most ancient rites of china have survived in the peninsula after they have become obsolete in the former country. the very old tombs opened, and the painted coffins, coated with many layers of silicious paint, dug up near shanghai recently, are much like those of the coreans. the coffin, which fits the body, is made air-tight with wax, resin, or varnish, and is borne on a bier to the grave by men who make this their regular business. often there are two coffins, one inside the other. sons follow the body of their father on foot, relatives ride in palanquins or on horseback. prominent at the head of the procession is the red standard containing the titles and honors of the deceased. this banner, or sa-jen, has two points on it to frighten away the spirits, and at the funeral of a high officer, a man wears a hideous mask for the same purpose. when there are no titles, only the name of the deceased is inscribed upon the banner. the selection of a proper site for a tomb is a matter of profound solicitude, time, and money; for the geomancers must be consulted with a fee. the pung-sui superstition requires for the comfort of both living and dead that the right site should be chosen. judging from the number of times the word â��mountainâ�� enters into terms relating to burial, most interments are on the hillsides. if these are not done properly, trouble will arise, and the bones must then be dug up, collected, and reburied, often at heavy expense. thousands of professional cheats and self-duped people live by working upon the feelings of the bereaved through this superstition. the tombs of the poor consist only of the grave and a low mound of earth. these mounds, subjected to the forces of nature, and often trampled upon by cattle, disappear after the lapse of a few years, and oblivion settles over the spot. with the richer class monuments are of stone, sometimes neat or even imposing, sometimes grotesque. some, as the pi-popi, are shaped like a house or miniature temple; or, two stones, cut in the form of a ram and a horse respectively, are placed before the sepulchre. the man-tu, â��gazing headstone,â�� consists of two monoliths or columns of masonry, flanking the tomb on either side, so that the soul of the dead, changed into a bird, may repose peacefully. in the graveyards are many tombs paved with granite slabs around the temple model, but for the most part a corean cemetery is filled with little obelisks, or tall, square columns, either pointed at the top or surmounted with the effigy of a human head, or a rudely sculptured stone image, which strangely reminds a foreigner of â��patience on a monument, smiling at grief.â�� this apparition of a human head rising above the tall grass of the burial-ground may be the original of japanese pictures of the ghosts and spirits which seem to rise dark and windblown out of the wet grass. often the carving in corean grave-yards is so rude as to be almost indistinguishable. mourning is of many degrees and lengths, and is betokened by dress, abstinence from food and business, visits to the tomb, offerings, tablets, and many visible indications, detailed even to absurdity. pure, or nearly pure white is the mourning color, as a contrast to red, the color of rejoicing. even the rivets of the fan, the strings on the shoes, and the carrying of a staff in addition to the mourning-hat, betoken the uniform of woe. when noblemen don the peaked hat, which covers the face as well as the head, they are as dead to the worldâ��not to be spoken to, molested, or even arrested if charged with crime. this corean mourning hat proved â��the helmet of salvationâ�� to christians, and explains the safety of the french missionaries who lived so long in disguise, unharmed in the country where the police were as lynxes and hounds ever on their track. the jesuits were not slow to see the wonderful shelter promised for them, and availed themselves of it at once and always. the royal sepulchres within the peninsula have attracted more than one unlawful descent upon the shores of chå�-sen. the various dynasties of sovereigns during the epoch of the three kingdoms in the old capitals of these states, the royal lines of kokorai at ping-an, of korai at sunto, and of the ruling house at seoul, have made corea during her two thousand years of history rich in royal tombs. these are in various parts of the country, and those which are known are under the care of the government. are these mausoleums filled with gold or jewels? foreign grave-robbers have believed so, and shown their faith by their works, as we shall see. french priests in the country have said so. the ancient chinese narratives descriptive of the customs of the fuyu people, confirm the general impression. without having the facts at hand to demonstrate what eager foreigners have believed, we know that vast treasures have been spent upon the decoration of the royal sepulchres, and the erection of memorial buildings over them, and that the fear of their violation by foreign or native outlaws has been for centuries ever before the corean people. that these fears have too often been justified, we shall find when we read of that memorable year, a.d. 1866. the profuse vocabulary of terms relating to burial, mourning, and memorial tablets in corea show their intense loyalty to the confucian doctrines, the power of superstition, and the shocking waste of the resources of the living upon the dead. the voluble corean envoys when in tå�kiå�, visited the naval college, and on learning that in certain emergencies the students from distant provinces were not allowed to go home to attend the funeral of their parents, nor to absent themselves from duty on account of mourning, were amazed beyond measure, and for a few moments literally speechless from surprise. it is hard for a corean to understand the sayings of jesus to the disciple who asked, â��lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father,â�� and â��let the dead bury their dead.â�� from the view-point of political economy, this lavish expense of time, energy, money, and intellect upon corpses and superstition is beneficial. without knowing of malthus or his theories, the chå�-senese have hit upon a capital method of limiting population, and keeping the country in a state of chronic poverty. the question has been asked the writer, â��how can a people, pent in a little mountainous peninsula like corea, exist for centuries without overpopulating their territory?â�� wars, famine, pestilence, ordinary poverty answer the question in part. the absurd and rigorous rules of mourning, requiring frightful expense, postponement of marriage to young peopleâ��who even when betrothed must mourn three years for parents and grandparents, actual and expected, the impoverishing of the people, and the frequent hindrances to marriage at the proper season, serve to keep down population. this fact is an often chosen subject for native anecdotes and romances. the vexations and delays often caused by the long periods of idle mourning required by etiquette, are well illustrated by the following story, from the â��grammaire corã©enne,â�� which is intended to show the sympathy of the king cheng-chong (1776 to 1800) with his subjects. it is entitled â��a trait of royal solicitude.â�� it was about new yearâ��s that cheng-chong walked about here and there within the palace enclosure. having come to the place reserved for the candidates at the literary examinations, he looked through a crack in the gate. the competitors had nearly all gone away to spend the new year holidays at home, and there remained only two of them, who were talking together. â��well, all the others have gone off to spend new yearâ��s at home; isnâ��t it deplorable that we two, having no place to go to, must be nailed here?â�� â��yes, truly,â�� said the other; â��you have no longer either wife, children, or house. how is this?â�� â��listen to my story,â�� said the first man. â��my parents, thinking of my marriage, had arranged my betrothal, but some time before the preparations were concluded, my future grandfather died, and it became necessary to wait three years. hardly had i put off mourning, when i was called on to lament the death of my poor father. i was now compelled to wait still three years. these three years finished, behold my mother-in-law who was to be died, and three years passed away. finally, i had the misfortune to lose my poor mother, which required me to wait again three years. and so, three times fourâ��a dozen yearsâ��have elapsed, during which we have waited the one for the other. by this time she, who was to be my wife, fell ill. as she was upon the point of death, i went to make her a visit. my intended brother-in-law came to see me, found me, and said, â��although the ceremonies of marriage have not been made, they may certainly consider you as married, therefore come and see her.â�� upon his invitation i entered her house, but we had hardly blown a puff of smoke, one before the other, than she died. â��seeing this, i have no more wished even to dream at night. i am not yet married. you may understand, then, why i have neither wife, children, nor home.â�� in his turn the other thus spoke: â��my house was extremely poor. our diet looked like fasting. we had no means of freeing ourselves from embarrassment. when the day of the examination came i presented myself. during my absence my wife contrived in such a manner, that putting in the brazier a farthingâ��s worth of charcoal, she set a handful of rice to cook in a skillet, and settled herself to wait for me. she served this to me every time i came back. but i never obtained a degree. the day on which i was at last received as a bachelor of arts, on returning after examination, i found that she had as before lighted the charcoal, put to boil a dish of soup, and seating herself before the fire, she waited. in this position she was dead. â��at sight of this my grief was without bounds. having no desire to contract a new union, i have never re-married.â�� hearing these narratives, cheng-chong was touched with pity. entering the palace, seating himself upon the throne, and having had the two scholars brought in, he said to them: â��all the other scholars have gone to their homes to spend new yearâ��s. why have not you two gone also?â�� they answered, â��your servants having no house to go to, remained here.â�� â��what does that mean?â�� said cheng-chong. â��the fowls and the dogs, oxen and horses have shelter. the birds have also a hole to build their nests in. can it be that men have no dwelling? there should be a reason for this. speak plainly.â�� one of the scholars answered: â��your servantâ��s affairs are so-and-so. i have come even till now without re-marriage. it is because i have neither wife, child, nor family.â�� the story being exactly like that which he had heard before, the king cried out, â��too bad!â�� then addressing the other, he put this question: â��and you, how is it that you are reduced to this condition?â�� he answered, â��my story is almost the same.â�� â��what do you wish? speak!â�� replied the king. â��the circumstances being such and such, i am at this moment without wife and without food. that is my condition.â�� as there was in all this nothing different from the preceding, the king, struck with compassion, bestowed upon them immediately lucrative offices. if he had not examined for himself, how could he have been able to know such unfortunate men, and procure for them so happy a position in the world? in truth, the goodness of his majesty cheng-chong has become celebrated. chapter xxxii. out-door life.â��characters and employments. six public roads of the first class traverse the peninsula and centre at the capital. they are from twenty to thirty feet in width, with ditches at the side for drainage. one of these begins near the ocean, in chulla då�, and in general follows the shores of the yellow sea through three provinces to tong-chin opposite kang-wa island, and enters the capital by branch roads. another highway passes through the interior of the three provinces bordering the yellow sea, and enters seoul by the southern gate. hamel and his fellow-captives journeyed by this road. the road by which the annual embassy reaches peking, after leaving the capital, passes through sunto and ping-an and ai-chiu, crosses the neutral strip, and enters manchuria for peking by way of mukden. this was the beaten track of the french missionaries, and the shipwrecked men from the united states and japan, and is the military road from china. it is well described, with a good map, in koei-lingâ��s â��journal of a mission into corea,â�� which mr. f. scherzer has translated for us. from fusan and tong-nai, in the southeast, seoul is reached by no less than three roads. one strikes westward through chung-chong, and joins the main road coming up from the south. another following the nak-tong river basin, crosses the mountains to chulla, and enters seoul by the south gate. eight river crossings must be made by this road, over which konishi marched in 1593. the third route takes a more northerly trend, follows the sea-coast to urusan, and passing through kion-chiu, enters the capital by the east gate. the fifth great road issuing from the north gate of the capital passes into kang-wen, and thence upward to gensan, and to the frontiers at the tumen river. the roads of the second class are eight or nine feet wide, and without side ditches. they ramify through all the provinces, but are especially numerous in the five southern. the three northern circuits, owing to their mountainous character, are but poorly furnished with highways, and these usually follow the rivers. the third class roads, which are nothing more than bridle-paths, or trails, connect the villages. the hilly nature of the country, together with the asiatic apathy to bestowing much care on the public highways, makes travelling difficult. inundations are frequent, though the water subsides quickly. hence in summer the road-beds are dust, and in winter a slough of mud. macadamized, or paved roads, are hardly known, except for short lengths. few of the wide rivers are bridged, which necessitates frequent fordings and ferriages. stone bridges, built with arches, are sometimes seen over streams not usually inundated, but few of the wooden bridges are over one hundred and eighty feet long. in one respect the roads are well attended to. the distances are well marked. at every ri is a small, and at every three ri a large mound, surmounted with an inscribed post or â��mile-stone,â�� called chang-sung. they are two, six, and even ten feet in length. in ancient times, it is said, there was a man named chang-sung, who killed his servant and wife. when punished, his head was placed on a small mound. legend even declares that it was successively exposed on all the distance mounds in the kingdom. this is said to be the origin of the bournes or distance-mounds, which suggests, as mr. adams has shown, the termini of the romans. when of stone, they are called pio-sek, but they are often of wood, rudely carved or hacked out of a whole tree by an axe into the exaggerated form of a man, and are of a ludicrous or absurd appearance. the face is meant to be that of the murderer chang-sung. the author of â��a forbidden landâ�� mistook these for â��village idols,â�� and was surprised to find the boys in some cases sacrilegiously kicking about some that had rotted down or fallen. the â��gods of the roadsâ�� may, however, have their effigies, which are worshipped or profaned. all distances in every direction are measured from the front gate of the magistratesâ�� offices, the standard of all being the palace at seoul. not the least interesting sights to the traveller are the memorial stones set up and inscribed with a view to commemorate local or national worthies, or the events of war, famine, or philanthropy. the coreans are â��idolaters of letters,â�� and the erection of memorial tablets or columns occasionally becomes a passion. sometimes the inscriptions are the means of stirring up patriotism, as the following inscription shows. it was graven on a stone in front of a castle erected after the french and american expeditions, and was copied by a japanese correspondent. â��it is nothing else than selling the kingdom into slavery, in order to avoid war, to make peace without fighting when any western nation comes to attack it; such should never be done even by our descendants thousands of years hence.â�� in this country, in which sumptuary laws prevent the humbler classes from travelling on horseback, and where wagons and steam-roads are unknown, the roads are lively with numerous foot-passengers. palanquins are used by the better classes and the wealthy. the rambling life of many of the people, the goodly numbers of that character not unknown in christendomâ��the trampâ��the necessities of trade, literary examinations, government service, and holy pilgrimages, prevent too many weeds from growing in the highways. in travelling over the high roads one meets a variety of characters that would satisfy a corean dickens, or the japanese author who wrote the tokaidå� hizakurigã© (leg-hair, i.e., â��shanksâ�� mare,â�� on the east sea road). bands of students on their way to the capital or provincial literary examinations, some roystering youths in the full flow of spirits, are hastening on, others, gray-headed and solemn, are wending their way to fail for the twentieth time. pompous functionaries in umbrella-hats, on horseback, before whom ordinary folks dismount or kneel or bow, brush past with noisy attendants. pilgrims in pious garb are on their way to some holy mountain or famous shrine, men to pray for success in business, women to beseech the gods for offspring. here hobbles along the lame or rheumatic, or the pale-faced invalid is borne to the hot springs. here is a party of pic-nickers, or poets intent on the joys of drink, verse, and scenery. here a troop of strolling players or knot of masqueraders are in peripatetic quest of a livelihood, toiling fearfully hard in order to escape settled industry. nobles in mourning pass with their faces invisible. postal slaves, women doing the work of express agents in forwarding parcels, pass the merchant with his loaded pack-horses returning from sunto, or going to gensan. there a packman is doing horseâ��s work in transportation. here an ox laden with brushwood is led by a woman. beggars, corpses, kang-si, or men dead of hunger in times of famine, make the lights and shadows of life on the road. there are other methods of travel besides those of horseback, on foot, and sedan chair, for oxen are often straddled by the men, and poor women travel on an ox, in a sort of improvised palanquin having four poles recurved to centre and covered with robe or cloak. in winter, among the mountains not only in the north, but even in chulla, the people go on racquettes or snow-shoes. these are in shape like a battledore, and are several feet long. at regular distances are yek, or relays or offices, at which sit clerks or managers under government auspices, with hereditary slaves or serfs, porters, guides, mail-couriers, and pack-horses. these await the service of the traveller, especially of official couriers, the finer beasts being reserved for journeying dignitaries. all these throughout a certain district, of which there are several in each province, are under the direction of the tsal-peng, or director of posts. kiung-sang, the province having the greatest number of roads, has also the best equipment in the way of post-officers, relays, and horses. the following table from dallet shows the equipment of the eight provinces: -------------+----------------------+---------+------- |post superintendents. | relays. | horses. -------------+----------------------+---------+------- kiung-kei | 6 | 47 | 449 chung-chong | 5 | 62 | 761 chulla | 6 | 53 | 506 kiung-sang | 11 | 115 | 1,700 kang-wen | 4 | 78 | 447 wang hei | 3 | 28 | 396 ham-kiung | 3 | 58 | 792 ping-an | 2 | 30 | 311 | - | --- | ---- | 40 | 471 | 5,362 -------------+----------------------+---------+-------yet with this provision for locomotion, the country is very deficient in houses for public accommodation. inns are to be found only along the great highways, and but rarely along the smaller or sequestered roads. this want arises, perhaps, not so much from the poverty of the people, as from the fact that their proverbial hospitality does away with the necessity of numerous inns. the coreans have been so often represented, or rather misrepresented, as inhospitable, fierce, and rude by foreigners, that to give an inside view of them as seen through information gathered from the french missionaries in corea is a pleasant task. from them we may learn how much the white-coated peninsulars are like their cousins, the japanese, and that human nature in good average quantity and quality dwells under the big hats of the coreans. the traveller usually takes his provisions along with him, but he need not eat it out-doors. as he sits along the wayside, he will be invited into some house to warm his food. when obliged to go some distance among the mountains to cut wood or make charcoal, a man is sure to find a hut in which he can lodge. he has only to bring his rice. the villagers will cook it for him, after adding the necessary pickles or sauces. even the oxen, except during the busy season, are easily obtained on loan. the great virtue of the coreans is their innate respect for and daily practice of the laws of human brotherhood. mutual assistance and generous hospitality among themselves are distinctive national traits. in all the important events of life, such as marriages and funerals, each one makes it his duty to aid the family most directly interested. one will charge himself with the duty of making purchases; others with arranging the ceremonies. the poor, who can give nothing, carry messages to friends and relatives in the near or remote villages, passing day and night on foot and giving their labors gratuitously. to them, the event is not a mere personal matter, but an affair of public interest. when fire, flood, or other accident destroys the house of one of their number, neighbors make it a duty to lend a hand to rebuild. one brings stone, another wood, another straw. each, in addition to his gifts in material, devotes two or three daysâ�� work gratuitously. a stranger, coming into a village, is always assisted to build a dwelling. hospitality is considered as one of the most sacred duties. it would be a grave and shameful thing to refuse a portion of oneâ��s meal with any person, known or unknown, who presents himself at eating-time. even the poor laborers, who take their noon-meal at the side of the roads, are often seen sharing their frugal nourishment with the passer-by. usually at a feast, the neighbors consider themselves invited by right and custom. the poor man whose duty calls him to make a journey to a distant place does not need to make elaborate preparations. his stick, his pipe, some clothes in a packet hung from his shoulder, some cash in his purse, if he has one, and his outfit is complete. at night, instead of going to a hotel with its attendant expense, he enters some house, whose exterior room is open to any comer. there he is sure to find food and lodging for the night. rice will be shared with the stranger, and, at bed-time, a corner of the floor-mat will serve for a bed, while he may rest his head on a foot-length of the long log of wood against the wall, which serves as a pillow. even should he delay his journey for a day or two, little or nothing to his discredit will be harbored by his hosts. in corea, the old proverb concerning fish and company after three days does not seem to hold good. as may be imagined, such a system is prolific in breeding beggars, tramps, blackmailers, and lazy louts, who â��spongeâ�� upon the benevolently disposed. rich families are often bored by these self-invited parasites, who eat with unblushing cheek at their tables for weeks at a time. they do not even disdainâ��nay, they often clamor forâ��clothing as well. to refuse would only result in bringing down calumny and injury. peddlers, strolling players, astrologers, etc., likewise avail themselves of the opportunities, and act as plundering harpies. often whole bands go round quartering themselves on the villages, and sometimes the government is called upon to interpose its authority and protect the people. corea is full of micawbers, men who are as prodigal as avaricious, who when they have plenty of money, scatter it quickly. when flush they care only to live in style, to treat their friends, to satisfy their caprices. when poverty comes, they take it without complaint, and wait till the wheel of fortune turns again to give them better days. when by any process they have made some gain by finding a root of ginseng, a bit of gold ore, a vein of crystal, what matters it? let the future take care of itself. hence it happens that the roads are full of men seeking some stroke of luck, hoping to discover at a distance what they could not find at home, to light upon some treasure not yet dug up or to invent some new means of making money. people forever waiting for something to turn up emigrate from one village to another, stop a year or two, and then tramp on, seeking better luck, but usually finding worse. strolling companies of mountebanks, players and musicians, in numbers of five, six, or more, abound in chå�-sen. they wander up and down through the eight circuits, and, in spring and summer, earn a precarious and vagabond livelihood. their reputation among the villagers is none of the best, being about on a par with that of the gypsies, or certain gangs of railroad surveyors of our own country. they often levy a sort of blackmail upon the people. they are jugglers, acrobats, magicians, marionette players, and performers on musical instruments. some of them display an astonishing amount of cleverness and sleight of hand in their feats. in the villages crowds of gaping urchins are their chief spectators, but in the large cities they are invited to private houses to give exhibitions and are paid for it. when about to begin a performance, they secure attention by whistling on the nail of their little finger. on the occasion of the anniversary of some happy event, a public fãªte day, a marriage or a social company, the lack of what we call societyâ��that is, social relations between gentlemen and ladiesâ��is made up, and amusement is furnished by these players, engaged for an evening or two. the guests fully appreciate the â��hired music,â�� and â��best talentâ�� thus secured for a variety entertainment. the company of one class of these â��men of society,â�� or pang-tang, a kind of â��professional diner-out,â�� is so desirable that several are taken along by the ambassadors to china to amuse them on their long and tedious journey, especially at nights. the chang-pu are character-comedians, who serenade the baccalaureates that have passed successfully the government examinations. they play the flute and other instruments of music, forming the escort which accompanies the graduate on his visits to relatives and officials. a band of performers is always attached to the suite of ambassadors to china and japan, or when visiting a foreign vessel. a character common to corea and japan is the singing-girl, who is also a great aid in making life endurable to the better class of coreans, whose chief business it is to kill time. the singing-girl is the one poem and picture in the street life of the humbler classes, whose poverty can rarely, if ever, allow them to purchase her society or enjoy her charms and accomplishments. socially, her rank is low, very low. she is herself the child of poverty and toil. her parents are poor people, who gladly give up their daughter, if of pretty face and form, to a life of doubtful morals, in order that she may thereby earn her own support and assist her parents. she herself gladly leaves the drudgery of the kitchen, and the abject meanness of the hovel, to shine in the palace and the mansion. her dress is of finest fabric, her luxuriant black hair is bound with skill and grace, her skin is whitened by artificial cosmetics as far as possible, and with powder, paint, and pomatum, she spends much of her life before the looking-glass, studying in youth to increase, and in womanhood to retain, her charms. at home, she practises her music, occasionally enlivening a party of her humble neighbors. as she passes along the street, fresh, clean, bright, and pretty, she may dispense smiles for popularityâ��s sake, but her errand is to the houses of the wealthy, and especially to the official, who, for his own amusement as he dines alone, or for his friends in social gathering, may employ from two to twenty geishas (as the japanese call them). most corean cities have these geishas, who form themselves into a sort of guild for fixed prices, etc. often they organize complete bands or choirs, by which music may be had in mass and volume. at a feast they serve the wine, fill and pass the dishes, and preside generally at the table. when eating has fairly begun, they sing (chant), play the guitar, recite in pantomime or vocally, and furnish general amusement. the dancing is usually not of an immoral character. such a life, however, amid feast and revel, wine and flattery, makes sad wreck of many of them, morally and physically. a large proportion of the most beautiful girls become concubines to wealthy men or officials, or act as ladies of the chamber (brevet wives) to young men and widowers. not a few join the business of prostitutes with that of musicians. nevertheless, it is quite possible for a respectable family to enjoy a pleasant and harmless evening by the aid of the lively geishas. of course, seoul is the chief headquarters of the fairest and most accomplished geishas, who are, as a class, the best educated of their sex in corea. the theatre, proper, does not seem to exist in corea. the substitute and nearest approach to it is recitation in monologue of certain events or extracts from the standard or popular histories, a single individual representing the successive rã´les. the histrionic artist pitches his tabernacle of four posts in some popular street or corner. he spreads mats for a roof or shade from the sun in front, and for a background in the rear. a platform, and a box to squat on, with a small reading-desk, and a cup of gingery water to refresh his palate, complete his outfit. a few rough benches or mats constitute all the accommodation for the audience. a gaping crowd soon collects around him, his auditors pull out their pipes, and refreshment venders improve the occasion for the chance sale of their viands. with his voice trained to various tones and to polite and vulgar forms of speech, he will hold dialogues and conversations, and mimic the attitude and gestures of various characters. the trial of a criminal before a magistrate, the bastinado, a quarrel between husband and wife, scenes from high life and low life will be in turn rendered. he will imitate the grave tones and visage of the magistrate, the piteous appeals, the cries and groans and contortions of the victim under torture, the angry or grumbling voice of the husband, the shrill falsetto of the scolding shrew or the shower of tears and the piteous appeals of the wife. smiles, frowns, surprise, sorrow, and all the emotions are simulated, and the accompaniment of voice is kept up with jokes, puns, bon-mots, irony, or well-expressed pathos. in short, the reciter is a theatrical stock company, and a band of minstrels, rolled into one person. for the use of beginners, and the mediocrity of the profession, there are a number of â��jest-books,â�� collections of jokes and anecdotes, more or less threadbare, and of varying moral quality, from which speakers may prime for the occasion. with the advanced of the profession, however, most of the smart sayings are original and off-hand. the habituã©s of the booths have their â��starâ�� favorite, as theatre-goers with us go into raptures over their actors. able men make a good living at the business, as they â��pass round the hatâ�� to take up a collection in the audience. this usually comes at the most telling point of the narrative, when the interest of the hearers is roused to the highest pitch (or when it is to be â��continued in our next,â�� as the flash newspapers say). sometimes the speaker will not go on till the collection is deemed by the tyrant a sufficient appreciation of his talents. in addition to their public street income, the best of them are often invited to perform in private houses, at family reunions, social parties, and as a rule, in visits to dignitaries by candidates who have won degrees. the corean gamut, differing from the scale used in european countries, makes a fearful and wonderful difference in effect upon our ears. some of their melodies upon the flute are plaintive and sweet, but most of their music is distressing to the ear and desolating to the air. one hearer describes their choicest pieces as â��the most discordant sounds that ever were emitted under the name of music from brass tubes.â�� some of the flute music, however, is very sweet. as most of the ancient music of japan is of corean origin, one can get a fair idea of the nature of the sounds that delight a corean ear from the music of the imperial band of tå�kiå�, which plays the classical scores. yet it is evident that the modern tunes of seoul are not melodious to japanese auditory nerves. one would think that, as the mikadoâ��s subjects â��hear themselves as others hear themâ�� when corean musicians play, they would be delighted. on the contrary, corean music seems to horrify and afflict the japanese ear. evidently, in the course of centuries the musical scales of the two countries, originally identical, have altered in tone and interval. wan-ka is the father of corean musicâ��though the mere fact that he belonged to antiquity would secure his renown. the various stringed musical instruments known are the kemunko, a kind of large guitar; the kanyakko, mandolin; the ko-siul, or guitar of twenty-five strings; and the five-stringed harp or violin. the wind instruments comprise a whole battery of flutes, long and short trumpets, while cymbals, drums, and other objects of percussion are numerous. ambassadors and other high officers at home, and when on duty to foreign countries, are accompanied by a band of musicians. laborers on government works are summoned to begin and end work by music, but the full effect of a musical salvo is attained at the opening and closing of the city gates. then the sound is most distressingâ��or most captivating, according as the ears are to the manner born, or receive their first experience of what tortures the air may be made to vibrate. the chief out-door manly sport in corea is, by excellence, that of archery. it is encouraged by the government for the national safety in war, and nobles stimulate their retainers to excellence by rewards. most gentlemen have targets and arrow-walks for practice in their gardens. at regular times in the year contests of skill are held, at which archers of reputation compete, the expense and prizes being paid for out of the public purse. hamel says the great menâ��s retainers have nothing to do but to learn to shoot. the grandees rival each other in keeping the most famous archers, as an englishman might his fox-hounds or as the daimiå�s of japan formerly vied with each other in patronizing the fattest and most skilful wrestlers. other manly sports are those of boxing and fist-fights. young men practice the â��manly artâ�� in play with each other, and at times champions are chosen by rival villages and a set-to between the bruisers is the result, with more or less of broken heads and pulpy faces. in large cities the contestants may come from different wards of the same city. in seoul, usually in the first month, there are some lively tussles between picked champions, with betting and cheering of the backers of either party. often these trials of skill degenerate into a free fight, in which clubs and stones are used freely; cracked skulls and loss of life are common. the magistrates do not usually interfere, but allow the frolic to spend itself. another class of men worthy of notice, and identified with out-door life, are the sportsmen. the bird-hunters never shoot on the wing. they disguise themselves in skins, feathers, straw, etc., and lurk in some coigne of vantage to bring down the game that comes within their range. the skilled fowler understands perfectly how to imitate the cries of the various birds, particularly that of the pheasant calling his mate. by this means most of the female pheasants are captured. the call used is an iron whistle, shaped like the apricot-stone, and similar to that used by the japanese hunters. the method of hunting the deer is as follows: during the months of june and july deer-horn commands a very high price, for it is at this season that the deer-horns are developing, and the â��spike-bucksâ�� are special prizes. a party of three or four hunters is formed. they beat up the mountain sides during several days, and, at night, when obliged to cease for awhile, they have a wonderful instinct for detecting the trail of the game, except when the earth is too dry. usually they come up to their game on the third day, which they bring down with a gunshot. the horn is sold to the native physicians or is exported to china and japan, where hartshorn and valuable medicines are concocted from it. a successful deer-hunt usually enables a hunter to live on his profits for a good part of the year, and in some cases individuals make small fortunes. those who hunt bears wait for the occasion when the mother bear leads her cubs to the seashore to feast them on the crabs. then the hunters bide their time till they see the mother lifting up the heavy rocks on edge, while the little cubs eat the crabs. the hunters usually rush forward and assault the bear, which, frightened, lets fall the rock, which crushes the cub. when on the open field or shore they do not fire at the she-bear, unless sure of killing her. for the various parts of the animal good prices await the hunter who sells. in addition to the proceeds from hide, flesh, fat, and sinews, the liver and gall of the brute, supposed to possess great potency in medicine, are sold for their weight in silver. in another chapter we have written of the tiger-hunters and their noble game. gambling and betting are fearfully common habits in corea, and kite-flying gives abundant occasion for money to change hands. the two months of the winter, during which the north wind blows, is â��kite time.â�� the large and strong kites are flown with skill, requiring stout cords and to be held by young men. a large crowd usually collects to witness the battle of the kites, when the kites are put through various evolutions in the air, by which one seeks to destroy, tear, or saw off the string of the other. resources for in-door amusement are chiefly in the form of gossip, story-telling, smoking, lounging, and games of hazard, such as chess, checkers, and backgammon. the game of chess is the same as that played in japan and china. card-playing, though interdicted by law, is habitual among the common people. the nobles look upon it as vulgar amusement beneath their dignity. the people play secretly or at night, often gambling to a ruinous extent. it is said that the soldiers, especially those on guard, and at the frontiers, are freely allowed to play cards, as that is the surest way to keep them awake and alert in the presence of enemies, and as safeguards against night attacks. they shuffle and cut the cards as we do. games with the hands and fingers, similar to those in japan, are also well known. in pagan lands, where a sabbath, or anything like it, is utterly unknown alike to the weary laborer, the wealthy, and the men of leisure, some compensation is afforded by the national and religious holidays. these in corea consist chiefly of the festal occasions observed in china, the feasts appropriate to the seasons, planting, and harvest, the buddhist saintsâ�� anniversaries, the kingâ��s birthday, and the new year. among the poorer classes the families celebrate the birthday of the head of the family only, but among the noble and wealthy, each member of the family is honored with gifts and a festal gathering of friends. there are certain years of destiny noticed with extra joy and congratulations, but the chief of all is the sixty-first year. with us, the days of man are three score years and ten, but in the hermit kingdom the limit of life is three score years and one, and the reason is this: the coreans divide time according to the chinese cycle of sixty years, which is made up of two series of ten and twelve each respectively. every year has a name after the zodiacal sign, or one of the five elements. the first birthday occurring after the entire revolution of the cycle is a very solemn event to a sexagenarian, and the festival commemorative of it is called wan-kap. all, rich and poor, noble and vulgar, observe this day, which definitely begins old age, when man, having passed the acknowledged limit of life, must remember and repose. when it happensâ��a rare eventâ��that the sixty-first anniversary of a wedding finds both parties alive, there are extraordinary rejoicings, and the event is celebrated like our â��diamond weddings.â�� for both these feasts children and friends must strain every nerve, and spend all their cash to be equal to the occasion and to spread the table for all comers; for at such a time, not only the neighbors, but often the whole country folk round are interested. a silk robe for the honored aged, new clothes for themselves, and no end of wine and good cheer for friends, acquaintances, hangers-on, country cousins, and strangers from afar, must be provided without stint. poems are recited, games and sports enjoyed, minstrels sing and dance, and recitations are given. all come with compliments in their mouthsâ��and a ravenous appetite. all must be fed and none turned away, and the children of the honored one must be willing to spend their last coin and economize, or even starve, for a year afterward. it is often as dreadful an undertaking as a funeral pageant in other lands. in the event of the queen, royal mother, or king, reaching the sixty-first birthday the profusion and prodigality of expense and show reaches a height of shameful extravagance. all the prisons are opened by general amnesty, and the jail-birds fly free. an extraordinary session of examiners is held to grant degrees. in the capital all the grandees present themselves before the king with gifts and homage. in all the rural districts, a large picture of the king is hung up in a noted place. the chief magistrate, preceded by music and followed by his satellites, and all the people proceed to the place and prostrate themselves before the effigy, offering their congratulations. in the capital the soldiers receive gifts from the court, and the day is a universal holiday for the entire nation. almost as matter of course, the festivals are used as means of extortion and oppression of the people by the officials, who grind the masses mercilessly to provide the necessary resources for the waste and luxury of the capital and the court. new yearâ��s day is not only the greatest of all corean feasts in universal observance, but is also the only real sabbath time of the year, when for days together all regular employments cease and rejoicing reigns supreme. all debts must be paid and accounts squared up, absentees must return, and children away from home must rejoin the family. the magistrates close the tribunals, no arrests are made, and prisoners held to answer for slight offences are given leave of absence for several days, after which they report again as prisoners. all work, except that of festal preparation, ought to cease during the last three days of the old year. it is etiquette to begin by visits on new yearâ��s eve, though this is not universal. on new yearâ��s morning salutations or calls are made on friends, acquaintances, and superiors. to this rule there must be no exception, on pain of a rupture of friendly relations. the chief ceremony of the day is the sacrifice at the tablets of ancestors. proceeding to the family tombs, if near the house, or to the special room or shelf in the dwelling itself, the entire family make prostrations. costly ceremonies, with incense-sticks, etc., regulated according to the family purse, follow. this is the most important filial and religious act of the year. in cases where the tombs are distant, the visit must not be postponed later than during the first month. after the ancestral sacrifices, comes the distribution of presents, which are enclosed in new yearâ��s boxes. these consist of new dresses, shoes, confectionery, jewelry for the boys and girls, and various gifts, chiefly cooked delicacies, for neighbors, friends, and acquaintances. for five days the festivities are kept up by visits, social parties, and entertainments of all sorts. the ordinary labors of life are resumed on the sixth day of the new year, but with many, fun, rest, and frolic are prolonged during the month. the tenth day of the second month is the great house-cleaning day of the year, when mats are taken up and shaken, the pots, kettles, and jars scoured, and the clothing renovated. tomb-cleaning day occurs in the third month. on this occasion they make offerings of food to their ancestors, and cleanse tombs and tablets. it is a busy time in the graveyards, to which women transfer their straw scrubbers, dippers, and buckets, when monuments and idols are well soused and scoured. it is more like a picnic, with fun and work in equal proportions. the third day of the third month comes in spring, and is the great may-day and merrymaking. the people go out on the river with food and drink, and spend the day in feasting and frolic. others wander in the peach-orchards to view the blossoms. others so inclined, enjoy themselves by composing stanzas of poetry. on the eighth day of the fourth month the large cities are illuminated with paper lanterns of many colors, and people go out on hills and rivers to view the gay sights and natural scenery. the fifth day of the fifth month is a great festival day, on which the king presents fans to his courtiers. on the fifteenth day of the seventh month occurs the ceremony of distributing seed. the king gives to his officials one hundred kinds of seed for the crops of the next year. on the fifteenth day of the eighth month sacrifices are offered at the graves of ancestors and broken tombs are repaired. the chrysanthemum festival is one of much popular interest. among the most brilliant flowers of the peninsula are the chrysanthemums, which are cultivated with great pride and care by gentlemen and nobles. the flower is brought to unusual perfection by allowing but a single flower to grow upon one stem. they are often cultivated apart, under oiled paper frames. on the ninth day of the ninth month the perfected blossoms are in their glory, and the owner of a crop of brilliant chrysanthemums invites his friends to his house to feast and enjoy the sight of the blooms. the florists exhibit their triumphs, and picnic parties enjoy the scenery from the bridges and on the mountains. the article chiefly used for pastry among oblique-eyed humanity is what the japanese call mochi, a substance made by boiling rice and pounding it into a tough mass resembling pie-crust. like oysters, it may be eaten â��in every style,â�� raw, warmed, baked, toasted, boiled, or fried. it occupies an important place in ceremonial offerings to the dead, in the temple, and in household festal decoration. it is made in immense quantities, and eaten especially at new yearâ��s time, and on the two equinoctial days of the year. another favorite mixed food for festive occasions is â��red riceâ�� and beans. the corean housewife takes as much pains to color the rice properly as a german lavishes upon his meerschaum, and if the color fails, or is poor, it is a sign of bad luck. the fourteenth day of the first month a person who is entering upon a critical year of his life makes an effigy of straw, dresses it up with his own clothing at evening, and casts it out on the road, and then feasts merrily during the whole night. whatever happens to the man of straw thus kicked out of the house, is supposed to happen to the manâ��s former self, now gone into the past; and fate is believed to look upon the individual in new clothes as another man. the fifth, fifteenth, and twenty-fifth of each month are called â��broken days,â�� on which they avoid beginning anything new. these are the â��fridaysâ�� of chå�-sen. in the beginning of each of the four seasons of the year they post up on the doors of their houses slips of paper, on which are written mottoes, such as â��longevity is like the south mountain,â�� â��wealth is like the eastern sea,â�� etc. certain years in each personâ��s life are supposed to be critical, and special care as to health, food, clothing, new ventures, etc., must be taken during these years, which are ended with a feast, or, what is more economical, a sigh of relief. the fifteenth day of the first month is called â��stepping on the bridge.â�� a man and woman go out together over the bridge at the rising of the moon and view the moonlit scenery, indulging meanwhile in refreshments, both of the solid and liquid sort. it is believed that if one crosses over seven bridges on this night, he will be free from calamities during the year. not the least interesting of the local or national festivals, are those held in memory of the soldiers slain in the service of their country on famous battle-fields. besides holding annual memorial celebrations at these places, which fire the patriotism of the people, there are temples erected to soothe the spirits of the slain. especially noteworthy are these monumental edifices, on sites made painful to the national memory by the great japanese invasion of 1592â��97, which keep fresh the scars of war. a revival of these patriotic festivals has been stimulated by the fanatical haters of japan, since this neighbor country broke away from asiatic traditions. though much has been written concerning the population of corea, we consider all conjectures of persons alike unfamiliar with the interior and the true sources of information as worthless. these random figures vary from 250,000 (!) to 6,000,000. dallet presumes a population of 10,000,000. a rude enumeration made thirty years ago gives the number of houses at 1,700,000, and of the people at 7,000,000. our own opinion, formed after a study of the map and official lists of towns and cities, is that there are at least 12,000,000 souls in chå�-sen. a japanese correspondent of the tå�kiå� hochi shimbun, writing from seoul, states that a census made last year (1881) shows that there are 3,480,911 houses and 16,227,885 persons in the kingdom. chapter xxxiii. shamanism and mythical zoã�logy. shamanism is the worship of a large number of primitive north asiatic tribes, having no idols except a few fetishes and some rude ancestral images or representations of the spirits of the earth and air. it is a gross mixture of sorcery and sacrificial ceremonies for the propitiation of evil spirits. these malignant beings are supposed to populate the earth, the clouds, and the air, and to be the cause of most of the ills suffered by man. they take various forms, chiefly those of animals whose structure and anatomy are more or less imaginary, each imp or demon being a composite creature, compiled from the various powers of locomotion, destruction, and defence possessed by the real creatures that inhabit water, earth, and air. some of them, however, are gentle and of lovely form and mien. their apparition on earth is welcomed with delight as the harbinger of good things to come. confucius, the teacher, hailed by the chinese as their holiest sage, and to whom even divine honors are paid, believed firmly in these portents and appearances. chief among these mythic creatures are the phå�nix, the kirin, the dragon, besides a variety of demons of various sizes, colors, habits, and character. much of the mythology of chå�-sen is that common to chinese asia. instead of a gallery of beautiful human, or partially human, presences like that of greece, the mythology of china deals largely with mythic animals, though legendary heroes, sages, and supernatural beings in human form are not lacking. the four chief ideal creatures are the dragon, phå�nix, tortoise, and kirin. there is another animal which, though a living reality, the coreans have idealized and gifted with powers supernatural and supra-animal, almost as many in number as those with which the japanese have endowed the white fox. this is the tiger. they not only ascribe to him all the mighty forces and characteristics of which he is actually possessed, but popular superstition attributes to him the powers of flying, of emitting fire and hurling lightning. he is the symbol of strength and ubiquity, the standard of comparison with all dangers and dreadful forces, and the paragon of human courage. on the war-flags this animal is painted or embroidered in every posture, asleep, leaping, erect, couchant, winged, and holding red fire in his fore-paw. on works of art, cabinets, boxes, and weapons the tiger is most frequently portrayed and is even associated as an equal with the four supernatural beings. in ancient time he was worshipped. the riong, or dragon, whose figure, as depicted in corean art, is perhaps nothing more than a highly idealized form of an extinct geological species of saurian, is one of the four supernatural or spiritually endowed creatures. he is an embodiment of all the forces of motion, change, and power for offence and defence in animal life, fin, wing, tusk, horn, claws, with the mysterious attributes of the serpent. there are many varieties of the species dragon, which is the chief of scaly monsters. it possesses the gift of transformation and of rendering itself visible or invisible at will. in the spring it ascends to the skies and in the autumn buries itself in the watery depths. it is this terrific manifestation of movement and power which the corean artist loves to depictâ��always in connection with water, clouds, or the sacred jewel of which it is the guardian, and for which it battles, causing commotion in heaven and earth. the dragon is synonymous in chinese philosophy with the third of the four creative influences and indicative of the east and springtime, the blue dragon being the guardian of the east. another cycle of popular notions and artistic ideas is suggested by its change of bulk, for this omnipotent monster â��becomes at will reduced to the size of a silkworm or swollen till it fills the space of heaven and earth. it desires to mount, and it rises until it affronts the clouds; to sink, and it descends until hidden below the fountains of the deep.â�� the dragon is the embodiment of the watery principle of the atmosphere, and its protean shapes are but the varied ideal expression of the many forms and forces of water. moisture in its fertilizing or destructive aspectsâ��from the silent dew to the roaring tempest, from the trickling of a rill to the tidal wave that engulphs citiesâ��blessed, terrible, gentle, irresistible, is symbolized by the dragon. the functions of the celestial dragon are to guard the mansions of the gods in heaven, so that they do not fall; of the spiritual, to cause the wind to blow and produce rain for the benefit of mankind; of the terrestrial, to mark out the courses of rivers and streams, while another watches over the hidden treasures concealed from mortals. this last is the dragon that presides over mines and gems, and which mortals must propitiate or overcome in order to gain the precious metals and minerals out of the earth. intense belief in the dragon is one of the chief reasons why the mines in chå�-sen are so little worked, and the metals disturbed. the dragon pursuing the invaders of their sanctuaries or fighting each other to gain possession of the jewel balls or sacred crystals is a favorite subject in all art of chinese parentage. rarely is the whole figure of the writhing creature exposed. partly hidden in clouds or water, he seems ever in motion. there are also four dragon-kings, who have their palaces in the world under the sea, one ruling in the northern, one in the eastern, one in the southern, and one in the western sea. the ministers and messengers of these four monarchs are the terrible dragons whose battles in the air and in the deep are the causes of the commotion of the elements. there is also a dragon without horns, and another that never ascends to the skies. the yellow dragon is reckoned the most honorable of his tribe. in common belief the dragon carries on his forehead a pear-shaped pearl, supposed to possess wondrous virtues of healing and power. whoever possesses these jewels will be invincible, and the power of his descendants endure. from its divine origin and character the dragon is symbolical of all that pertains to the emperor of great china. hence it is made use of not only by him, but by his vassal, the king of chå�-sen, and by his rival the mikado of japan. hence the significance of the trio of these sacred jewels on ornaments and instruments belonging to the royal family, whether embroidered on the robes of state worn by the king, surmounting the large drum of his musicians, or glistening in golden embroidery on the banners of his body-guard. the â��dragon robeâ�� and â��dragonâ��s bed,â�� â��dragon standard,â�� refer to the mantle, throne, and flag of the king. in the popular speech, whatever is most excellent is compared to a dragon. a â��dragon-childâ�� is a paragon, a â��dragon horseâ�� is one of extraordinary speed. when â��the fish has been metamorphosed into the dragon,â�� some happy change or promotion has taken placeâ��the student-competitor has received his degree of doctorate, or the office-holder has been told by royal appointment to â��come up higher.â�� the kirin (kilin or lin) is another of the four supernatural creatures of chinese philosophy and mythology, believed in by the coreans, and depicted in corean art especially as a symbol of peace and joy, and on articles used on auspicious and happy occasions. this beast, which to the corean is a â��living creature,â�� has the body of a deer and the tail of an ox, usually highly curled and twisted in a manner to suggest the work of a hair-dresser. on its forehead is a single soft horn. it is said never to tread on or injure any living being. it is the emblem of perfect rectitude, and the incarnate essence of the five primordial elements of all things, viz.: water, fire, wood, metal, earth. it is considered the noblest form of the animal creation. its appearance on the earth is ever regarded as a happy omen, as the harbinger of good government and the birth of good rulers. hence the wealth of association to the oriental mind in the kirin. the male beast is called ki and the female rin or lin. the two words combined form the general term kirin. the tortoise is the centre of a great circle of pleasing superstitions, and hence is one of the set of symbols oftenest employed in corean art. the practice of divination is mostly associated with tortoise-shell, the figuring of a tortoiseâ��s back having a mystic signification. in chinese legend a divine tortoise emerged from the yellow river, on the shell of which a sage discovered the system of numerals, and thus obtained the foundation of mathematics and the rudiments of philosophy. this tortoise was said to be the embodiment of the star in ursa major, and the progenitor of all the tortoise tribe. it can transform itself into other forms of life and lives to the age of ten thousand years. hence it is the symbol of long life. it is said to conceive by thought alone. there are said to be ten kinds of tortoises, one of them being half dragon, half tortoise, and with a tail like a fringe of silver. this is the attendant of the god of waters, and hence is often used as the top of a well. the tortoise is also the symbol of immortality and strength, hence is often used over walls and places of entrance. many corean gateways are surmounted with huge tortoises sculptured in stone. the same idea is expressed in making the representations of this creature, cut from a single rock, the base for monumental tablets set into its back. the great seal of state, the regalia of sovereignty in chå�-sen, has the form of a tortoise. the phå�nix is also represented as standing upon a tortoise. closely connected with the hindoo idea of the world resting on an elephant which stands on a tortoise, is the chinese idea of â��supporting the earth with the feet of a tortoise.â�� a common idea in chå�-sen, as in china, is the huge tortoise which supports mountains on its back, and having a shell which is one thousand leagues in circumference. the phå�nix (fung-wang or hå�wå�), like the kirin, appears on the earth at or near the birth of a good ruler, and hence is the emblem of peace and good government. the male is called fung, or ho, and the female wang, or wå�, hence the generic name fung-wang or hå�wå�. in its marvellous plumage the sheen of the five colors may be descried, each of which is typical of the five cardinal virtues. in figure it seems to be an ideal combination of the peacock and the golden pheasant, but with feathers wondrously curled and made into ringlets. it is not only a symbol of auspicious government, but of inseparable fellowship, and many stanzas of poetry refer to it as typical of courtship and conjugal love. in its voice are many intonations, to each of which a name is given. for this reason it is a favorite element in the decoration of musical instruments. another symbol often used is the chinese lion, with marvellously curled hair and mane. every tuft is a mass of fanciful ringlets, and the beast is so pictured as to make a masterpiece of ugliness and terror. the dog of the breed called ngao, so named after the earth-supporting tortoise, is also liberally furnished with tooth, nail, and hair. it usually cuts the figure of guardian on the edge or lid of vessels in which are kept treasures which, because they tempt the palate, tempt also the fingers that lift to the mouth. the marvellous creature called the dog of fo, or buddha, usually associated with chinese-buddhist art, is believed to be of corean origin. jacquemart calls it the â��dog of corea.â�� other mythical creatures that have their existence in the corean imagination are in the form of fishes and serpents. the in-ã© (fish-man or merman) is a sort of siren that is supposed to inhabit the sea of japan and the eastern sea, but whether partly fabulous or entirely real, we are unable to say. it is six or seven feet long, and in its head and body resembles a human being, as its nose, mouth, ears, and arms, or flippers, are covered with white skin without scales. it has a long and slender tail, like that of a horse. it suckles its young, and sheds tears when its offspring are captured. it is probable that this creature, though called a fish-man by the coreans, is the animal of which we read, in several instances, being presented to the manchiu emperors in peking. one of them inquired whether such a creature was known in europe, and the jesuit friar, producing a book, showed an engraving of one similar. perhaps this â��fish-manâ�� is the same as a reported â��dog-fish or shark,â�� living in the seas around quelpart, whose tears produce pearls. the i-sium, a colossal marine creature, is purely imaginary, like the â��earthquake-fishâ�� of the japanese, which causes the continent to shake. the word is pure corean, and may answer to our symbol of vastness and uncertaintyâ��the sea-serpent. mr. fergusson would doubtless find a new chapter for his â��tree and serpent worshipâ�� in chå�-sen, for, in the peninsula, not only are trees reverenced as the abode of spirits, but the sa, or snakes, are rarely, if ever, harmed. the people feed, venerate, and even worship them as the guardian genii of their households. the epkuron-gi (a pure corean word) is the name by which they call the serpent which presides over their family edens. instead of being looked upon as the embodiment of the principle of evil, as in semitic lore, their presence is hailed as an omen of blessing. they are treated like pets. in their heads they are believed to carry a precious jewel after they have lived long. a serpent often lives to be one thousand years old, and then bears in his front a glistening gem, called ya-kang-chiu, which name the people also apply to any glittering stone, especially the diamond. the guardian serpent is represented as double-winged, with forked tongue, long and darting, flying among the clouds and protecting its worshippers by pursuing their enemies. the illustration here given is copied from one of the war-flags carried by the corean mountaineers from their homes to the forts on the han river, in 1871. the staff is tipped with pheasant-feathers and horse-hair. their fear of the serpent is the basis of their worship, and the average corean does not fail to take due precaution to guard against its sting. in addition to the ordinary osa or black snake, there is the venomous viper, salmo, which â��kills its mother at birth.â�� its bite is considered exceedingly dangerous. the tai-mang is a great serpent. the flower called kiuk-sa-wa (snake-bane), or eye of india, is believed by coreans to keep away the reptiles, and hence is highly valued. hamel and the french missionaries agree in picturing corea as a land well supplied with reptiles, serpents, and vermin of all sorts, and testify to the veneration of them by the people. in the folk-lore of the country, the beasts play a conspicuous part. another creature to whom wings rightfully belong is the gin-sai. this fabulous bird is capable of diffusing so venomous an influence that even its shadow poisons food. even the brief list of creatures which we have enumerated does not exhaust the list of the beings which are real and active to the imagination of the people. science and christianity are the remedies for this delirium tremens of paganism. the ancient and still lingering belief in the powers of the air and all the creatures therein, visible and invisible, is reflected on their triangular and streamer-shaped war-banners. they believe that all these creatures and all the forces of nature are under the control of the spirits, who will give or withhold sunshine or rain, send blasting mildew and pestilence, or fertility, plenty and joy, according as they are pleased or displeased. it will be seen at once what a soil the demagogue has for sowing dragonsâ�� teeth, and what frightful popular commotion may be stirred up by playing upon the fears of the populace. the most recent illustration of this is seen in the frightful massacre of the ministers and the japanese, in july, 1882. the long drought having ruined the rice crop, the leaders of the anti-foreign faction persuaded the common people that the spirits were annoyed at the introduction of foreigners, and therefore withheld the rain. in this belief they were strengthened from the fact that it rained heavily for many hours after the japanese had been driven out of seoul. chapter xxxiv. legends and folk-lore. it is not difficult to appreciate or understand the history of people whose psychology is our own. we seem to look through white light in gazing at their past as told in the words of a language that grew in the same mental sunlight with our own. in eating fruit that grows on familiar intellectual soil, we may sometimes recognize a slightly strange flavor, but the pulp is good food which our mental stomach does not reject, but readily assimilates. truth, like the moon, usually presents one side only, but the mass of mankind do not think of this, even if they know it. they go on blissfully imagining they have seen all sides, even the full orb. with the history of the aryan nations we are familiar, and think it is clear to us. we insist that we know we can understand what they did and that their thoughts need no translation to us. a visitor at the american centennial, or any exposition of the industry of all nations, sees before him for comparative study the art, symbols of religion, architecture, implements of domestic life, and all the outward expressions of inward ideas. they are the clothed or concrete soul of man under the varied civilizations of this planet. standing before the exhibits of indiaâ��the home of the aryan nationsâ��the man of western christendom, as his mindâ��s eye surveys the vastness of difference between him and the hindoo, is yet able to bridge the gulf. the researches into language, art, myths, folk-lore, show him that the infancy of the two races was the same, and that modern differences are impertinent accidents. at bottom the aryan and the hindoo are brothers. no such reconciliation of ideas is yet demonstrable between the mongolian and the aryan. before the art, symbols, ideas, literature, language, and physical presence of the man of cathay, no bridging of the gulf seems yet possible. he appears to be a man of another planet. language gives as yet little clue to a common origin; art and symbol seem at the other pole, and in psychology the difference at present seems total and irreconcilable. hence, to attempt to write the history of a turanian people by simply narrating bald facts in an occidental language, seems to be but putting another white skeleton in the museum of nations. even the attempt, by a purely destructive method of criticism, to manufacture a body, or corpse, rather, of history, by hacking away all legend and tradition to get out what the critic is pleased to call â��history,â�� seems at once unnatural and false. it is like attempting to correlate the genius of shakspeare with ounces of beef and cheese, or to measure the market value of poetry by avoirdupois. a history of an asiatic people ought to be as much a history of mind, of psychology, as of facts or dynasties. hence, in writing of a new and almost unknown people like the coreans, we think it as important to tell what they believe to have happened, as to attempt to state what we think actually did happen. to understand a people we must know their thoughts, as well as their physical environment. according to corean tradition, the origin of their country and people is thus outlined: of old the land had neither prince nor chiefs. a divine being descended from heaven and took up his abode at the foot of a sandal-wood tree on the ever-white mountains. the people of the land became his subjects, made him their sovereign and called him dan kun (the sandal prince), and his realm chå�-sen (morning calm). this took place in the time of tang ti yao (2356 b.c.). his first residence was at ping-an. later he transferred it to pe-yo, where his descendants remained till the eighth year of the emperor wu ting of the chang dynasty (1317 b.c.), when they were established in mount asstak. his descendants reigned in chå�-sen more than one thousand years, but nothing more is known of them after the period covered by their reign. then followed the occupation of the country by the chinese noble ki tsze. the mythical origin and founding of shinra is thus told in the local legends of the place. after the invasion of chå�-sen, by the chinese emperor, many of the original inhabitants fled and scattered over the east coast. they made settlements on the mountains, in the valleys, and along the sea-shore, some of which in time grew to be cities and large towns. one day the attention of the head man of one of the villages was attracted by the neighing of horses toward a mountain. he went in the direction of the sounds, but instead of a horse he found an egg of extraordinary size, shaped like a gourd. carefully breaking it open, he discovered a beautiful rosy boy-baby inside. the old manâ��s heart was touched by the sight, and he took the child to his home and adopted it as his own. the boy grew up beloved of all who saw or knew him. when but thirteen years old, the elders of the six principal towns gathered together and chose him as their lord and master. they gave him a name signifying â��coming out of the west,â�� and to the country a name meaning â��born of the gourd-egg.â�� the new king took to wife a fair maiden who was reputed to be the offspring of a well-dragon. they reigned for sixty years, when their daughter succeeded to the throne. in the fifth year of her reign she married a youth who had come from afar, whose origin was as wonderful as that of her own parents. his mother the queen had been delivered of an egg. her husband, not enjoying such a form of offspring, threw the egg away, but the queen recovering it, carefully wrapped it in a silk napkin, and with many other treasures put it in a box and set it adrift on the sea. after many days the box was washed ashore on a distant coast. the fishermen who picked it up in their nets thought nothing of it, and threw it into the sea again. it drifted into one of the harbors of shinra. an old woman finding it, opened the lid and found a lovely boy with a smile on his face. carefully nourishing him, he grew up to be a man of strength, nine feet high. he excelled all other youths in bodily vigor and accomplishments. when the old woman first picked up the waif, there were a number of crows standing around the shore, and the crone gave him a name referring to the presence of these birdsâ��â��opened in presence of the crows.â�� excelling in the knowledge of geomancy, he found a good place for a residence and built on it. hearing of his renown, the queen of shinra married him to her daughter. one evening the newly made king heard a cock crow in the woods toward the west. he sent his servants after it, who found a small golden casket suspended from a tree. under it a white cock was crowing. the servant reported the matter to his master. another servant was despatched to the place. he returned with the box, which, being opened, was found to contain a boy baby, who was given the name signifying â��the golden boy from the grove in which the cock crowed.â�� the baby boy grew up and succeeded his father. in the reign of the twenty-second king of the line, the people of the country, then called shin-han, changed the name of their country to shinra. in the â��grammaire corã©enneâ�� there are a number of specimens of folk-lore given in corean and french, from which we extract a few of the most characteristic. the first one is an illustration of our universal human nature. the three wishes. there were once two old married folks who had not a single child, boy or girl. extremely poor, they lived a pitiable life. one evening, when it was very cold in winter, after having supped, they gazed into the fire in the brazier, and sitting in their room face to face they warmed themselves a moment in silence, when the good old man thus spoke: â��for the rich the winter is an excellent season; their food is prepared in advance. having no toil they have only to take their ease. but for the poor, it is a rough time when they have neither food for the mouth nor fuel. if they go out over the mountain through the rain or the snow to seek wood, they die of cold or frost.â�� the good dame replied: â��they say that heaven is just. why then does he permit this? they say, besides, that when you pray to heaven, it is easy to obtain that which you need. if we ask to become richâ��â�� said she. â��you are right, do so,â�� replied the husband. and both prostrating themselves, prayed fervently to the deity, when suddenly an angel appeared. â��in spite of your sin of murmuring, heaven having pitied you, accords you three things, after which you can ask no more. reflect well, choose, and ask.â�� saying this he disappeared. the old man made this proposition: â��if we ask riches, freedom from sickness, or long lifeâ��â�� â��no,â�� said the old woman, â��we should not enjoy these things properly if we do not have a child. what pleasure will it be?â�� â��hold! i have not asked. what shall i do? if he had only said four things at the good moment! why did he say only three? since we wish to have a child, must we forego freedom from sickness, must we renounce riches, must we give up long life? it is hard to decide. think, then, seriously this night, and decide to-morrow.â�� breaking off their conversation, both sat plunged in reverie. at the moment of lying down to sleep, the old woman, stirring up the fire with the tongs, launched out with this reflection, â��if we could have three or four feet of pudding to set to toast on this brazier, that would be royally excellent.â�� she spoke, and there was three feet of food placed by her side. the husband, beside himself with rage, screamed outâ�� â��oh! what a woman! by one stroke you have lost all our benefits. to punish you i wish the pudding would hang itself on the point of your nose.â�� immediately the pudding made a leap and attached itself to the old dameâ��s nose. at this the husband cried out, â��hello! angry as i am, i have also by my fault lost a wish.â�� seizing the sausage to detach it, they pulled, first one, then the other, almost dislocating the nose, but the sausage held on. â��alas!â�� said the woman in tears, â��if this is always to remain hanging here, how can i live?â�� the husband, on the contrary, without being at all disturbed, said, â��if even yet our wish of fortune is fulfilled, we could make a tube of gold to hide this sausage, and then drawing it out at length, it will be only more beautiful to see.â�� the wife, still more miserable, cried out, â��oh, wretched me, only to think that fortune should wish to put it there. well! whether you be rich or live long, as for me, i should like to kill myself.â�� saying this she took a cord and went to strangle herself at the end of a beam. the husband, struck with fear, and touched with compassion, hastened to set her free. â��stop,â�� said he, â��there remains one wish to us. have your own way about it.â�� â��if that is so, i wish that what hangs to my nose comes loose. quick, quick, that it may go swift away. that is my chief wish.â�� she had hardly finished speaking when the sausage fell plump to the ground, and out of the midst of the heaven an angry voice was heard: â��you have obtained the three things which you wished for, and have you gained a great advantage? if you wish to enjoy true blessing in this world be content to live with what heaven gives, and do not form vain desires.â�� the two old folks spitted the pudding, ate it, and from this night they abstained from foolish wishes. on the morrow, agreeably to their supreme ambition, which was to have a baby, they found a little fatherless and motherless orphan. having adopted it as their child, they gave him a good education and lived happily to extreme old age. the following illustrates official shrewdness and rapacity: the history of a nose. in the chief city of chulla, there was a politician who was in debt to the government to the amount of ten thousand strings of cash. unable to pay the same, he was condemned to death. cast into prison, he awaited only the orders of the king to carry out the sentence. as he had thought hard without discovering any means to get out of the affair, he bethought himself of a stratagem. so, addressing the jailer, he said: â��helloa! you there, youâ��ll do well to let me go free a little while.â�� â��helloa!â�� answered the jailer, â��what wretched talk! after i have set free a man who ought to be put to death to-morrow or day after to-morrow, what shall i do?â�� the prisoner replied, â��are we not friends both of us? if you do not let me go, who can save my life? think over it a little and see. my wife, my children, my house, all i have, all my relations and friends being here, where shall i fly? if you set me at liberty for some moments not only will i not abscond but there will be found means for preserving my life safely. do so.â�� as he thus besought him eagerly, the jailer, struck with compassion, could not do otherwise than let him go. so at midnight he presented himself before the door of the room where the governor slept, and thus addressed him. â��are you asleep? is your excellency sleeping?â�� hearing the sound and astonished at recognizing the voice of the officer who had been cast into prison and was to be executed in a short time, the governor asked. â��who are you?â�� â��your servant,â�� answered the officer. â��a scoundrel who is at the point of being executed, how is it you are here?â�� â��if i may be allowed to enter to salute you,â�� said the officer, â��i have something particular to say to you.â�� â��oh, well, come in and speak.â�� the officer entering, approached, sat down, and said: â��i pray your excellency to reflect and consider my purpose. if you put your servant to death this will be simply one man of means less in the world, and the money i owe will be lost to the government. what advantage will you thus derive? if, on the contrary, you preserve my life there will be one man more in the world, and i shall repay the whole of my debt to the government. let me then live.â�� â��if it ought to be so i wish you well in the matter.â�� â��your servant will come again, then, to-morrow, during the night, to see you.â�� â��do as you will.â�� the morrow during the night the officer presented himself anew and asked to be introduced. approaching he made the prostrations before the governor, drew from his sleeve a packet which he undid and took out a sketch representing a human nose. he immediately besought the governor to please put his seal upon the sketch. agreeing to the proposal the governor imposed his seal. the officer now associated three companions who were in the plot, and they all assembled upon the coast of the eastern sea, where they found a populous village, in the midst of which rose a high and grand mansion. taking their drink of spirits at a hotel in the suburbs of the next village beyond, they prepared to sup. addressing their host they put this question: â��what is the name of the village which is just behind us? whose is the largest house?â�� the inn-keeper answered, â��that is the house of a very rich noble. last year he received the degree of the doctorate and is eligible to fill very soon a very high position under the government.â�� the officer taking with him one of his comrades repaired to the mansion, where, as he noticed, everything showed abundant means, and thus spoke to the son. â��as we have a secret affair to treat of, let us go into another room,â�� said the officer. they did so. â��see here, the king is very sick, and they have called all the physicians from all the eight provinces for a consultation. they have declared that the only means to obtain healing is to find the nose of a man just like this, and to concoct a remedy from it. this is why we have been commanded by the court, where they have said to us, putting in our hand this sketch of the nose: â��without distinction of place or person if you meet a nose similar to this, strike it off and produce it before us in this place.â�� obeying this severe order we have been out many times without being able to find a nose conforming to the sketch, and thus far have made useless journeys, but now, without peradventure, your honorable fatherâ��s nose exactly resembles this. we demand to see him, and wherever he may be we shall not depart till we have cut it off.â�� the son cried out: â��perhaps they do say such things!â�� â��who dare oppose the government business? hurry, hurry, strike it off and weâ��ll go.â�� the son fell into a study and reflected. â��it is an affair of state. this is a matter which we cannot prevent. cut it off, they say, but to cut off the nose of my old father, that is altogether impossible. the entire family, men, women, young and old, every one will be plunged into woe. you can bear away the half of our fortune at least, if you will go away without taking my fatherâ��s nose.â�� the officer replied, â��we had proposed to ourselves to depart only after having cut off the nose. however, as this is a matter of a son devoted to his father, and that they may not repress filial piety in others, we shall not cut off the nose. if you will give us a certain sum we will go elsewhere to procure a nose which we shall present to the king.â�� he accepted with thanks a sum equal to many times ten thousand strings of cash, for which he gave a receipt, told the sender of the money such a day, such a place, and on leaving offered this recommendation: â��upon the whole, say nothing of this affair. if it should leak out, and the government comes to know that having found a proper nose we have been bribed not to cut it off, we shall be arrested and put to death, they will certainly cut off your fatherâ��s nose and take your money also. pray then be careful not to divulge this secret.â�� upon this they took their leave. overjoyed at not having his parentâ��s nose amputated, but believing that the king on being informed would send again on this business, the son dared let no one know until the day of his fatherâ��s death. then breaking the silence he said, â��i have bought my fatherâ��s nose for â��â�� thousand strings of cash.â�� the story here told explains itself. cheng-chong was the haroun al raschid of corea. an instance of royal solicitude. there was in chå�-sen a king called his majesty cheng-chong, who was celebrated in all the kingdom for his goodness. one night, disguised as a countryman, and accompanied only by a single companion, he started out from the midst of the capital to make a circuit in order to inform himself of the temper of his subjects, and to become himself acquainted with the details of their life. arrived at a certain point he looked in the window. there was a miserable house, of which the outer dilapidation, extremely pitiable as it was, led him to suspect in the interior a state of things difficult to imagine. eagerly wishing to know what it was, he punched a peep-hole in the paper door and perceived an old man weeping, a man in mourning singing, and a nun or widow dancing. unable to divine the cause of this spectacle, he ordered his companion to call the master of the house. the kingâ��s servant doing so, said: â��is the proprietor of the house at home?â�� hearing this voice the man in mourning made his appearance. his majesty saluting him said: â��we have never before met.â�� â��true,â�� said the man in mourning, â��but whence are you? how is it that you should come to find me at midnight? to what family do you belong?â�� cheng-chong answered, â��i am mr. ni, living at tong-ku-an. as i was passing before your house, i was attracted by strange sounds. then by a hole which i made in the door, i saw an old man weeping, a nun who danced, and a gentleman in mourning who sang. why did the old man shed tears, the nun dance, and the man in mourning sing? unable to fathom the motive i have made my friend call the householder with the purpose of informing myself.â�� the man in mourning rejoined, â��have you any business to know other peopleâ��s matters? what is your reason for acting thus when it concerns you so little? the night is well gone. get back as quickly as possible.â�� â��no, not at all. i acknowledge that it is not becoming to pry into the affairs of others, but this is such an extraordinary case i beg of you give me some light on the matter.â�� â��alas!â�� said the man in mourning, â��why is the gentleman so eager to know other peopleâ��s matters?â�� cheng-chong replied, â��it is important that i should be somewhat informed.â�� â��since the gentleman wishes so much to know, i cannot do other than tell. this is why. my family has always been poor. in my hut one could never find sufficient grain for a meal and one flea would not have enough room upon my land to squat upon. i have no victuals for my old father. this is why, morning and evening, in default of all other resource, my wife has often cut off a tress of her hair and gone and sold it to buy a cup of bean-soup, which she graciously offers to my father. this evening she clipped and sold all of her hair that remained, and by this she has become bare-headed like a nun. my old father, seeing that for his sake his young daughter-in-law has become a nun, broke out into mourning in these terms: â��â��why have i lived to this day? why am i not dead? why have i thus degraded my daughter-in-law?â�� and in saying this he shed tears. to console him, my wife said to him, â��do not weep,â�� and she danced. i, also, although in mourning, joined in with my wife. one danced, the other sang. this made my old father smile, and perhaps gave him solace. there! that is why we behaved so. do not think it strange, and go away.â�� listening to this narrative the king was impressed with such a marked supreme devotion on the part of the son and daughter-in-law, even in the time of deepest misfortune, and he said, â��this is the most extraordinary thing in the world. how will it do to present you at the examination to-morrow?â�� â��what examination to-morrow?â�� asked the man. â��why, certainly,â�� said cheng-chong, â��to-morrow there will be an examination. by all means donâ��t fail to be there.â�� the man responded, â��but i have not heard it said that there is to be an examination.â�� â��whether you have heard or not,â�� said the king, â��prepare to compete, and present yourself. as i shall also present myself to-morrow i shall give you a stall in the enclosure.â�� having thus spoken he took his leave, returned to the palace and awaited the stroke of the great clock-bell. no sooner did he hear the vibration of the mighty gong than he immediately gave the order to announce promptly the examination in the city, and beyond the walls, to the utter astonishment of the literary men, who said, â��even until yesterday no one had heard of an examination, and behold it was published during the night. what does this mean?â�� the poor householder on his part made this reflection, â��although i knew nothing about it, this man knows perfectly,â�� and he started out. on the way he noticed a crowd of candidates. without hesitation he entered the enclosure. the subject of the examination was: â��the song of a man in mourning, the dance of a nun, the tears of an old man.â�� of all the students not one could derive the sense of such a subject. this man alone knew it perfectly well, because he had had experience of those very things in his own house. he treated the theme clearly and sent in his copy. the king having examined the essay and found it without a mistake, gave the degree of doctor and sent for him to come to him. when they were in each otherâ��s presence the king said: â��do you know me? it is i who yesterday recommended you to present yourself at the examination. lift up your head and look.â�� fixing his gaze attentively, the man recognized who he wasâ��in effect the same personâ��and manifested his feelings in appropriate actions of gratitude. â��go quickly,â�� said the king to him, â��go find your old father and wife.â�� forthwith, with high appointment to office joined to magnificent treatment, the king recompensed the filial piety of the son and daughter-in-law. the royal renown has been handed down from generation to generation. in truth, beyond the goodness of the king, the reward bestowed upon the filial devotion of these two married people is known to every one. evidently the following is a story told by metropolitans to show up the bumpkins of the provinces: the prodigious effects of a looking-glass. a young noble of kiung-sang province was going on a journey to seoul. just as he was about to depart, his wife called him. â��he! say now, listen to me a little. i have heard the mother of mr. kim speak of a very lovely thing which looks like glass and pretty metal. they say that if you look in it you will see a very curious thing. you must bring me one.â�� â��is it dear or cheap?â�� asked the husband. â��it is not dear,â�� said she. â��it will be necessary to spend some money, but if you heed the matter at all, it will be easy to pay for it.â�� this is what the husband heard as he set out for the capital. having finished his business at seoul he was on the point of returning, having almost lost sight of his wifeâ��s order. at last he recalled it, asked the name of the object in question, and made the purchase of a mirror through one of his friends. in his eagerness to get home he put his wifeâ��s commission in his wallet without even looking at it. when he arrived home, she hastened to take out the mirror. at once she perceived in it a woman. immediately she began to weep and to berate her husband. â��oh the villain! not only to play himself the vagabond and debauchee but to bring along a concubine! is it possible? this woman, what is she?â�� the amazed husband looked in the mirror, and at the side of his wife perceived a man. unable to contain his wrath which made his face first dark and then blue, he uttered piercing cries. â��is this the conduct for the wife of a noble. you have brought a libertine here,â�� cried he. he was about to murder his wife, when his old mother hearing the squabble came in to know what it was. at sight of the old woman the quarrel ceased on either side. pointing at the mirror, the rivals spoke both at once. the weeping daughter-in-law raved about a concubine, the son, even more angry, talked of a paramour. as the couple had never quarrelled before, there was no way of accounting for the mystery. â��do not be vexed,â�� said she, and looking in the mirror she saw a woman. at once she broke out into a laugh. â��is it because you see the old woman, your neighbor, that you dispute? the widow pak has come to get some fire,â�� said she, and she went out to speak to her, but she was not there. astonished, she called her husband and said to him â��there is in the childrenâ��s room a very funny thing. you can see in it all kinds of extraordinary things and they are bickering over it. come and see a little.â�� the venerable gentleman having entered the room perceived in the mirror an aged man. â��hello! the puppy of the teacher tsoi has come to collect his fees and i have not a penny. that is not very nice.â�� the people of the village, one by one, two by two, all without exception looked at the mirror, but unable to comprehend anything, they made a tumult. curious to know what should result, they carried it to the magistrate. at sight of the instrument, the man of authority more astonished than the others, called the policemen and gave them this order: â��a new officer has arrived, why have i lost my place? get ready men and horses for him.â�� really believing that he had been cashiered he prepared to leave, when a young policeman after a careful examination of the mirror, pointed out the manner in which the visage of each individual was reflected. chapter xxxv. proverbs and pithy sayings. shut off, as they are, from the rest of the world, like fish in a well, the coreans nevertheless have coined a fair share of homely wisdom, which finds ready circulation in their daily speech. their proverbs not only bear the mint-mark of their origin, but reflect truly the image and superscription of those who send them forth. many, indeed, of their current proverbs and pithy expressions are of japanese or chinese origin, but those we have selected are mainly of peninsular birth, and have the flavor of the soil. do the coreans place the seat of wisdom as they do the point of vaccination, in the nose? they ask, â��who has a nose three feet long?â�� which means, â��if one is embarrassed, how can he put others at ease?â�� evidently they have a wholesome regard for that member. a â��nose of ironâ�� describes an opinionated man and suggests unlimited â��cheek.â�� a common expression of the christians, meaning to go to church and pray, is â��to see the long nose of the fatherâ��â��that feature of the french priestâ��s face being looked upon with awe as the seat of wisdom. between the rivals, japan and china, corea probably sees herself in this proverb of the unhappy cur that wanders boneless between two kitchensâ��the cook in each supposing it has been fed by the other. â��the dog which between two monasteries gets nothing.â�� coreaâ��s isolation is â��like a fish in a well,â�� or â��like a hermit in the market-place.â�� they say of a secluded villager, â��he knows nothing beyond the place which he inhabits.â�� â��one stick to ten blind men,â�� is something very precious. â��the cock of the village in a splendid city mansion,â�� is the bumpkin in the capital. â��to have a cake in each hand,â�� is to know not which to eat firstâ��to be in a quandary. â��a volcano under the snow,â�� is a man of amiable manners who conceals a violent temper. â��the treasure which always circulates without an obstacle,â�� is â��cash,â�� or sapeks. â��an apricot-blossom in the snow,â�� is said when something rare and marvellous happens. â��to blow away the hair to see if there is a scar,â�� is to look for a mote in another manâ��s eye, and to hunt for defects. â��as difficult as the roads of thibet,â�� is evidently a reminiscence derived from the ancient buddhist missionaries who came from that region. â��to put on a silk dress to travel at night,â�� is to do a good action and not have it known. some pithy sayings show the local gauge of sense. â��he does not know silver from lead,â�� â��he has round eyes,â�� â��he canâ��t tell cheese from wheat,â�� he is an idiot. â��doesnâ��t know lu from yu.â�� this last refers to two corean letters, jot and tittle. â��as opposed as fire and water.â�� â��a buckskin man,â�� is a man of no will or backbone. â��to have a big hand,â�� means to be liberal. â��a great blue sea,â�� refers to something very difficult, with no end to it and no way out of it. a man who is â��not known in all the eight coasts,â�� is an utter stranger. a very sick person is â��a man who holds disease in his arms.â�� â��a bag of diseases,â�� is a chronic patient â��who can tell in seeing a crow flying whether it be male or female?â�� is a question referring to the impossible. the numeral 10,000 (man) plays a great part in proverbial sayings as â��10,000 times certain.â�� corea is a â��land of 10,000 peaks.â�� certain success is â��10,000 chances against one.â�� â��to die 10,000 times and not be regretted,â�� is to be â��worthy of 10,000 deaths.â�� ten thousand sorrows means great grief. a mountain is â��10,000 heights of a man high.â�� â��ten thousand strings of cash,â�� is a priceless amount. man-nin are 10,000 peopleâ��all the people in the universe. â��to lose oneâ��s hands,â�� is to make a fiasco. a comet is an â��arrow star.â�� â��a hundred battles make a veteran.â�� almost as poetical as the greek â��anarithma gelasmaâ�� (unnumbered laughings) is this corean description of the seaâ��â��ten thousand flashings of blue waves.â�� â��to lose both at a time,â�� is a proverb founded on a native love-story. â��when a raven flies from a pear-tree, a pear fallsâ��â��appearances are deceitful, donâ��t hazard a guess. â��if one lifts a stone, the face reddens.â�� the coreans are fond of rival feats of lifting. heavy stones are kept for that purpose. â��results are proportionate to effort put forth.â�� mosquitoes are lively and jubilantly hungry in chå�-sen, yet it does not do to fight them with heavy weapons or â��seize a sabre to kill a mosquito.â�� a very poor man is thus described: â��he eats only nine times in a month,â�� or â��he eats only three times in ten days.â�� to say he is in the depths of poverty is to mention the pathetic fact that â��he has extinguished his fire;â�� for â��he looks to the four winds and finds no friend.â�� â��the right and left are different,â�� is said of a hypocrite who does not speak as he thinks. when a man is not very bright he â��has mist before his eyes;â�� or he â��carries his wits under his arms;â�� or has â��hidden his soul under his arm-pits,â�� or he â��goes to the east and goes to the west when he is bothered.â�� like beaconsfieldâ��s dictumâ��â��critics are men who have failed in literature and art,â�� is this corean echo, â��good critic, bad worker.â�� â��on entering a village to know its usages,â�� is our â��when in rome do as the romans do.â�� â��to destroy jade and gravel together,â�� refers to indiscriminate destruction. â��without wind and without cloud,â�� describes a serene life. â��go to sea,â�� is a provincial malediction heavier than a tinkerâ��s, and worse than â��go to grass.â�� â��i am i, and another is another,â�� is a formula of selfish, and corean for â��ego et non ego,â�� â��i and not i.â�� â��a poor horse has always a thick tailâ��â��talent and capacity are badly located. the large number of morals pointed and tales adorned by the tiger are referred to elsewhere. chapter xxxvi. the corean tiger. the one royal quadruped associated with corea, as the white elephant is with siam, the bison with the united states, or the dromedary with egypt, is the tiger. unlike his relative in india that roams in the hot jungles and along the river bottoms, the corean â��king of the mountainsâ�� is seen oftenest in the snow and forests of the north, ranging as far as the fiftieth parallel. both actually and ideally the tiger is the symbol of power and fierceness. the flag of the tiger-hunters, from the northern provinces of ping-an or ham-kiung, who so bravely faced the rifles of the united states marines and sailors in â��our little war with the heathen,â�� in 1871, was a winged tiger rampant, spitting fire, holding the lightnings in his lifted fore-claws, and thus embodying the powers of earth, air, and heaven. it reminds one of the winged leopard in the vision of daniel, â��after this, i beheld, and lo another like a leopard, which had upon the back of it four wings of a fowl.â�� it is the tutelary genius of the descendants of the aboriginal worshippers of the tiger, who even yet cling to the religion of the soil. [11] the caps of the body-guard of the sovereign are decorated with the cheek and whiskers of the tiger, in order to inspire terror among beholders. the corean beauty carries among the jewelry and â��charmsâ�� in the reticule at her waist, a claw of the dreaded pem or tiger, nor can the hardy mountaineer put in the hand of his bride a more eloquent proof of his valor than one of these weapons of a man-eater. it means even more than the edelweiss of other mountain lands. on the floors of the better class of houses the tiger-skin rug not only adorns the best room, but makes the childrenâ��s play-ground, or the babyâ��s cushion in lieu of cradles, which are unknown. the soft hair of these natural rugs is often a finger long. curious toys are made of the fur. the most prized articles among the tribute offerings (in these days, rather a â��bonusâ�� or bribe, than a tax or humiliation) presented at the court of peking, as of old at kiå�to or yedo, are these gorgeous pelts. one of them, which the writer saw recently, the property of a japanese merchant, measured twelve feet long, exclusive of the tail. the symbol of military rank in old japan, as indicative as our shoulder-straps, was a tiger-skin scabbard. especially was it honorable to wear it if captured with oneâ��s own hands on â��frontier service.â�� the hair of these animals seems to have more of a woolly quality than those from india, while the orange tint is far less predominant, white taking its place. the black bars are, however, of equal magnificence with the tropical product, and the tail seems to be rather longer. some idea of the great numbers and awful ravages of these huge felid㦠in the two northern provinces of the peninsular kingdom, may be gained from the common saying of the chinese that â��the coreans hunt the tiger during one half the year and the tigers hunt the coreans during the other half.â�� the coreans retort by the proverb born of the desolation that has so often followed the presence of a chinese army on their soil, whether as invaders or allies: â��after the chinese, the tigers.â�� as a single man can create the gigantic spectre of the brocken, so in the national literature this one animal seems to have cast a measureless shadow of evil influence upon this hermit nation. from the most ancient times it has been an object of religious reverence. â��they also worshipped the tiger, which they looked on as a god,â�� was written of the people living on the sea of japan before the christian era. â��they had also the many-spotted leopard.â�� a few of the national proverbs will illustrate the amount of attention which the subject receives in daily life, in art, religion, and language, and how often it serves to point the morals and adorn the tales told around corean hearths. â��a wooden tiger,â�� is the ass in the lionâ��s skin. â��a broken-backed tigerâ�� describes impotent and raging malice. â��to give wings to a tiger,â�� is to add shrewdness to force. â��if you donâ��t enter the tigerâ��s lair, you canâ��t get her cubs,â�� is said to spur on the faint heart, â��to beard the tiger in his cave.â�� â��a tigerâ��s repast,â�� describes excess in eating, or the gorging which follows after fasting. â��to nourish a tiger, and have him devour you,â�� probably states a common fact of history, as well as it depicts ingratitude. â��if you tread on the tail of a tiger, youâ��ll know it,â�� explains itself. â��it is hard to let go the tail of a tiger,â�� suggests our â��fireâ�� after the â��frying-pan,â�� or the â��other horn of the dilemma;â�� while over-cautious people â��in avoiding a deer, meet a tiger.â�� men of irascible temper or violent disposition are given the pet name of maing-ho, which means an unusually ferocious tiger or â��man-eater.â�� corean shrewdness utilizes the phenomena of local experience, and equals the craft of the sellers of joseph. so common is the disappearance of a villager through visitations of the tiger, that the standard method of escaping creditors or processes of law is to leave bits of oneâ��s torn clothes in the woods, and then to abscond. obliging friends or relatives quickly report, â��devoured by a tiger,â�� and too often it is believed that â��joseph is without doubt rent in pieces.â�� this local substitute for our former g. t. t., or the usual trip to europe, is especially fashionable in places where â��tigers as big as a mountainâ�� are plentiful. to drive away the dreaded kal-pem, the people invoke the aid of the tu-eâ�², a fabulous monster, which is the enemy of the tiger, and which the latter greatly fears. the cry of his name tu-eâ�², tu-eâ�², is believed to act as a charm, and is often raised by villagers at night. in art, though the native picture-maker may draw a lion in such preposterous shape and with such impossible attributes as to show at once that no living model was ever before his eyes, yet in those pictures of the tiger drawn by corean artists which we have examined, accuracy and vigor of treatment predominate over artistic grace. the hunters who are familiar with every habit, trait of character, and physical detail of the species, carefully distinguish his parts and varieties. ho-rang-i is the generic name for the felis tigris. kal-pem, is a mature fellow in full claw, scratchy and ferocious. maing-ho is a large one of unusual size and in the full rampancy of his vigor. mil-pal is an old brute that can no longer scratch, and is most probably mangy, and well gouged and scarred from numerous household quarrels and frequent tussles with rivals. pi-ho is one agile in turning tail to escape, rather than in showing teeth to fightâ��the term being sometimes applied to the leopard. san-tol is a huge fellow that makes annual visits to one place, making his lightning strike more than once in the same spot. siyo-ho is a little, and hal-pem is a female, tiger. a â��stoneâ�� tigress is sterile. special terms suggestive, and even poetical, for the murders, calamities, or ravages of the beast, for traps or ditches, for the skin, tail (used for banners and spear-sheaths), beard, moustaches, and the noises of purring, growling, nocturnal caterwauling, and even for lashing the tail, enrich and vivify the chå�-sen vocabulary. tiger-shooting is not a favorite sport among the nobles or young bloods. hunting in general is considered a servile occupation. nobles, except those of a few poor families in the northern provinces, never practise it as sport. yet it is free to all. there are no game laws, no proscription of arms, no game preserves, no seasons interdicted. the only animal which it is forbidden to kill is the falcon, whose life is protected by stringent laws. from the most ancient times this bird of the golden wing has been held in high honor. the hunting-grounds are almost entirely among the mountains, as the valleys are too densely occupied with rice and millet fields and cultivated soil, to allow game to exist or be hunted. the chief weapon used is the flint-lock, imported from japan. with this a single hunter will attack the huge game, although the animal, when not immediately killed, leaps right upon his enemy and easily makes him his prey. when a tiger has caused great ravages in a district, the local magistrate calls together all the professional hunters and organizes a hunt in the mountains. in such cases, the chase is usually, and of intent, without results; for the skin is the property of the government, and the official always looks out for himself, coming in first for the spoils. hence it is that a government hunt is usually a farce. most of the tiger-hunters prefer to meet the royal game alone, for then the prized skin, which they sell secretly, is theirs. they eat the meat, and the bones stripped and boiled make various medicines. the number of human lives lost, and the value of property destroyed by their ravages, is so great as at times to depopulate certain districts. a hungry tiger will often penetrate a village in which the houses are well secured, and will prowl around a hovel or ill-secured dwelling, during several entire nights. if hunger presses he will not raise the siege until he leaps upon the thatched roof. through the hole thus made by tearing through, he bounds upon the terrified household. in this case a hand-to-claw fight ensues, in which the tiger is killed or comes off victorious after glutting himself upon one or more human victims. rarely, however, need this king of corean beasts resort to this expedient, for such is the carelessness of the villagers that in spite of the man-eaterâ��s presence in their neighborhood, they habitually sleep during the summer with the doors of their houses wide open, and oftentimes even in the sheds in the open fields without dreaming of taking the precaution to light a fire. this sense of security is especially apt to follow after a grand hunt successfully pursued. then the prey is supposed to have been all killed off in the vicinity or driven to the distant mountains. the coreans are as careless of tigers as the japanese are of fires. sometimes the tiger is caught in a snare, without danger and by very simple means. a deep pit is covered over with branches, leaves, and earth. at the bottom a sharp stake is set up. this, however, is only rarely used. during the winter the snow is half frozen over and strong enough to bear the weight of a man, but is broken through by the paws of the tiger. the beast sinks to the belly, and not being able to move fast, or escape, is as helpless as a fly in molasses. it is then apparently quite easy to approach the creature at bay, though woe be to the hunter who is too sure of his prey. to be well-equipped for this method of mountain sport, the hunter must have a short sword, lance, and snow-shoes. these sel-mai, or racquettes, are of slightly curved elastic board, well fitted with loops and thongs. with dogs, trained to the work, the san-chang (lanceman) starts the game, and following up the trail usually finishes him with a thrust of his spear; or, in bravado, with a sword-stroke. this method of sport was the favorite one pursued by the japanese invaders. though occasionally a man-at-arms was chewed up, or clawed into ribbons, scores of glossy skins were carried back to nippon as trophies by the veterans. indeed, it may be said, to most japanese children, the nearest country west of them has no other association in their minds than as a land of tigers. at gensan, the merchants from tå�kiå� had their dreary homesickness, about the time of their first new yearâ��s season in the strange land, rather unpleasantly enlivened by the advent of several striped man-eaters. these promenaded the settlement at night, and seemed highly desirous of tasting a japanese, after having already feasted on several natives. the prospect of playing little red riding hood to a whiskered man-eater was not a very pleasant experience, though a possible one at any time. a tiger ten feet long can easily stow away two five-feet japanese without grievous symptoms of indigestion. for an untrained hand, even when armed with a winchester breech-loader, to attempt hunting this corean emblem of power is not attractive sport. the tiger is more apt to hunt the man, for elephants are not at hand to furnish the shelter of their backs. the japanese do not seem to hanker after tiger-claws or skins while in the flesh, but prefer to buy for cash over their own counters at gensan. the â��cropâ�� of these costly pelts averages five hundred a year at this one port. few experiences tend more to develop all the manly virtues than facing a tiger on foot in his native wilds. the coreans know this, and in their lack of drilled troops capable of meeting the soldiers of europeâ��their â��armyâ�� consisting almost entirely of archers, spearmen, and jingal-firersâ��they summoned the tiger-hunters from ping-an to fight the frenchmen of admiral rozeâ��s expedition of 1866. underrating their enemy, the frenchmen, in attempting to storm a fortified monastery garrisoned by the hunters, were completely defeated. when the marines and sailors of the american naval expedition of 1871 assaulted â��fort mckee,â�� after it had been swept by the shells of the fleet, they were amazed at the stern courage of their dark-visaged enemies, who, with matchlock, spear, and sword, fought against the shells and breech-loaders to the last. the americans speak admiringly of these brave fellows, so worthy of their lead and steel. chapter xxxvii. religion. a careful study of the common names applied to the mountains, rivers, valleys, caves, and other natural features of the soil and landscape of any country will lay bare many of the primitive or hidden beliefs of a people. no words are more ancient than the aboriginal names given to the natural features of a country amid which the childhood of a nation has been spent. with changing customs, civilization, or religion, these names still hold their place, reflecting the ancient, and often modified, or even vanished, faith. even a casual examination of the mountain, river, and other local names of places in corea will give one a tolerably clear outline of the beliefs once fully held by the ancient dwellers of this peninsula. against the tenets and influences of buddhism these doctrines have held their sway over the minds of the people and are still the most deeply-seated of their beliefs. the statements of ancient chinese, and later of japanese writers, of foreign castaways, and of the french missionaries all concur in showing us that shamanism is the basis of the coreanâ��s, and especially the northern coreanâ��s, faith. in the first historic accounts of fuyu, kokorai, and the sam-han, we find the worship of the spirits of heaven and earth, and of the invisible powers of the air, of nature, the guardian genii of hills and rivers, of the soil and grain, of caves, and even of the tiger. they worshipped especially the morning-star, and offered sacrifice of oxen to heaven. from such scanty notices of early corea, especially of the northern parts, we may form some idea of the cultus of the people before buddhism was introduced. from the reports of recent witnesses, dutch, japanese, and french, and the evidence of language, we incline to the belief that the fibres of corean superstition and the actual religion of the people of to-day have not radically changed during twenty centuries, in spite of buddhism. the worship of the spirits of heaven and earth, of mountains and rivers and caves, of the morning star, is still reflected in the names of these natural objects and still continues, in due form, as of old, along with the sacrifices of sheep and oxen. the god of the hills is, perhaps, the most popular deity. the people make it a point to go out and worship him at least once a year, making their pious trip a picnic, and, as of old, mixing their eating and drinking with their religion. thus they combine piety and pleasure, very much as americans unite sea-bathing and sanctification, croquet and camp-meeting holiness, by the ocean or in groves. on mountain tops, which pilgrims climb to make a visit for religious merit, may often be seen a pile of stones called siong-wang-tang, dedicated to the god of the mountain. the pilgrims carry a pebble from the foot of the mountain to the top. these pilgrims are among those held in reputation for piety. the other popular gods are very numerous. the mok-sin, the genii of the trees, the god of rain and of the harvest, are all propitiated, but the robust corean, blessed with a good appetite, especially honors cho-an-nim, the tutelary genius of the kitchen. to a corean, the air is far from being empty. it is thickly inhabited with spirits and invisible creatures. some of these figments of imagination, and the additional powers for good and evil, which the corean attributes to animals of flesh and blood, are treated of in a former chapter on mythical zoã¶logy. even the breezes are the breath of spirits, and â��a devilâ��s windâ�� is a tempest raised by a demon intent on mischief. when a person falls dead suddenly, heart-disease is not thought of; he has been struck by a devilâ��s arrow. there are not wanting sorcerers who seek to obtain supernatural force by magic, which they use against their enemies or for hire, direct the spirits to wreak malignity against the enemy of him who fees them. these sorcerers are social outcasts, and reckoned the lowest of humanity. the unlucky days are three in each month, the figure of ill-omen being five. they are the fifth, fifteenth, and twenty-fifth. on all extraordinary occasions there are sacrifices, ceremonies, and prayers, accompanied with tumultuous celebration by the populace. the chief sacrifices are to heaven, earth, and to the king or emperor of heaven [12] (shang ti of the chinese). the various superstitions concerning the direction of evil, the auspicious or the ill-omened lay of the land, the site for the building of a house, or the erection of a tomb, will be well understood by those who know the meaning of the chinese term, fung shuy, or the corean pung-siu. this system of superstition has not only its millions of believers, but also its priests or professors, who live by their expertness and magnify their calling. the native vocabulary relating to these pretenders and all their works is very profuse. among the common sights in corea are little mounds raised on eligible, propitious places, in which a pole is planted, from which little bells or cymbals are hung. these jingled by the breeze are supposed to propitiate the good spirits and to ward off the noxious influences of the demons. the same idea is expressed in the festoons of wind-bells strung on their pagodas and temples. pung-siu means literally â��wind and water,â�� but in a broad sense is a rude cyclopã¦dia of ideas relating to nature, and bears nearly the same relation to natural philosophy as astrology does to astronomy. its ideas color every-day speech, besides having a rich terminology for the advanced student of its mysteries. upon this system, and perhaps nearly coeval in origin with it, is the cult of ancestral worship which has existed in chinese asia from unrecorded time. confucius found it in his day and made it the basis of his teachings, as it had already been of the religious and ancient documents of which he was the editor. the corean cult of ancestor-worship seems to present no features which are radically distinct from the chinese. public celebrations are offered at stated times to ancestors, and in every well-to-do house will be found the gilt and black tablets inscribed with the names of the departed. before these tablets the smoke of incense and sacrifice arises daily. in the temple also are rooms for the preservation of duplicates of the tablets in the private houses for greater safety. like the iron atoms in his blood, the belief in ancestral piety and worship is wrought into the coreanâ��s soul. the christian missionaries meet with no greater obstacle to their tenets and progress than this practice. it is the source, even among their most genuine converts, of more scandals, lapses, and renunciations, than are brought about by all other causes. confucianism, or the chinese system of ethics, is, briefly stated, an expansion of the root idea of filial piety. it is duty based on relation. given the five great relations, all the manifold duties of life follow. the five relations are that of king and subject (prince and minister), of parent and child, of husband and wife, of the elder brother and the younger brother, and between friends. the cardinal virtues inculcated, or â��the five constituents of worth,â�� or constant virtues displayed, according to the teachings of confucius, by the perfect man are: 1, benevolence; 2, uprightness of mind; 3, propriety of demeanor; 4, knowledge or enlightenment; 5, good faith; or, affection, justice, deference, wisdom, confidence. with the ethics of the chinese came their philosophy, which is based on the dual system of the universe, and of which in corean, yum-yang (positive and negative, active and passive, or male and female) is the expression. all things in heaven, earth, and man are the result of the interaction of the yum (male or active principle) and the yang (female or passive principle). even the metals and minerals in the earth are believed to be produced through the yum-yang, and to grow like plants or animals. the confucian ethics, suiting well a state of feudalism, and being ever acceptable to the possessors of authority, found congenial soil in the peninsula, as they had already taken root in kokorai. they nourished the spirit of filial piety and personal loyalty, of feud and of blood-revenge, by forbidding a man to live under the same heaven with the murderer of his father or master. notwithstanding the doctrines and loftier morals of buddha, the chinese ethics and ancestor-worship, especially in the northern part of the peninsula, underlaid the outward adherence of the people to the religion of the enlightened one. as the average christian, in spite of the spirit of jesus and the sermon on the mount, is very apt to base his behavior and legal procedure on the code of justinian, so the corean, though he may believe in fo (buddha), practises after the rules of kong-ja (confucius). official sacrifices are regulated by the government and are offered up publicly at the national festivals. something of the regulated subordination in vogue among the chinese prevails in chå�-sen when ancestors are honored. high officials may sacrifice to three ancestors, the gentry only to father and grandfather, and the common people to father only. in every province, capital, and city ranked as tai-mu-kan, there are buildings containing statues of confucius and his thirty-two disciples, which are maintained at the public expense. confucianism overspreads the whole peninsula, but during the prevalence of buddhism, from the fourth to the fourteenth century, was probably fully studied and practised only by the learned classes. under the present dynasty, or from the fifteenth century, the religion of china has been both the official and popular cult of chå�-sen, long ago reaching the point of bigotry, intolerance, and persecution. taoism seems to be little studied. in corean mouths buddha becomes pul, and his â��wayâ�� or doctrine pul-to or pul-chie. introduced into hiaksai in the fourth, and into shinra in the sixth century, the new faith from india made thorough conquest of the southern half of the peninsula, but has only partially leavened the northern portion, where the grosser heathenism prevails. the palmy days of corean buddhism were during the era of korai (from 905â��1392, a.d.). the missionary work had been accomplished, the reigning dynasty were professors and defenders of the faith, and for these four centuries it was the religion of the state. the few surviving monuments of this era of splendor are the grand pagodas, monasteries, and temples that are found, especially in the southern provinces. the profusion of legal and ecclesiastical terms in the language which relate to lands set apart to provide revenues for the temples, and to their boundaries and rents, and the privileges of monks and priests, are more probably the relics of a past time, being only verbal shells and husks of what were once fruit and kernel. until the fifteenth or sixteenth century the japanese buddhists looked to the â��treasure-land of the west,â�� as they termed chå�-sen, for spiritual and even pecuniary aid in their ecclesiastical enterprises. the special features of many renowned japanese temples, libraries, collections of books, images, altar furniture, etc., are of corean origin. this is especially noticeable in the old seats of the faith in kiå�to. images in gold, gilt wood, bronze, and some fire-resisting materialâ��perhaps platinumâ��are known and duly certified by genuine documents in temples in other cities. in a building at kamakura is a copy of the buddhist canon in a revolving library, said to have been obtained by sanã©tomo from corea in the thirteenth century. among the amusing passages in the letters from ashikaga in kamakura, two hundred years later, is the hint given to the king of corea that a contribution in aid of the repair of certain japanese temples would be acceptable. the site and general surroundings of corean buddhist temples and monasteries greatly resemble those of china and japan. they are often situated on hills, rising ground, and even high mountains, and walled round by lofty and venerable trees which seem to inspire awe and veneration in the worshipper, besides acting as extinguishers to sparks drifted from neighboring fires. an imposing gateway is usually built at some distance before the temple, with massive curved roof of tiles, and flanked by a wall of masonry which, in its upper part, consists of plaster tiled at the top. on the frieze of the portal, the name of the temple is inscribed in large chinese characters. sanskrit letters or monograms are occasionally seen. under a roofed shed in front hangs the drum on which the bonze beats the hours for prayer, or of the clock. on the other side stands the coffer for the cash of the faithful, or a well for the manual ablutions of pious worshippers. boards, on which are written the names of those who have contributed money to the temple, are suspended near by, and the thatched houses of the neophytes and bonzes are close at hand. the idols seen in a corean temple are the same as those found throughout buddhist asia. the chief is that of shaka muni, or buddha, the founder of the religion. in their sculpture and artistic treatment of this, the central figure of their pantheon, the image-carvers of the different countries do not greatly vary, adhering strictly to their traditions. the sage in nirvana sits on his knees with the soles of his feet turned upward to the face. his hands touch, thumb to thumb, and finger to finger. the folds of the robes, the round bead-like caste mark of his forehead, the snails on his crownâ��which tradition says came out to shelter his head from the rays of the sunâ��and the lop or pierced ears, are substantially the same as those seen on idols from india, siam, and thibet. the eye is only slightly oblique, and the ear-lobes are made but slightly bulbous, to satisfy the tastes of worshippers in chinese asia. the throne, consisting of the fully opened calyx of a lotus flowerâ��the symbol of eternityâ��with the petals around the base and seed-holes open, is the same. in the representation of local deities the artist asserts his patriotism and displays his own taste. in the various countries overrun by buddhism, the indigenous heroes, sages, and gods have been renamed and accepted by the buddhists as avatars or incarnations of buddha to these countries before the advent of the teachers of â��the true religion.â�� there are also saints and subordinate magnates in the buddhist gallery of worshipped worthies, with whose effigies the artist does not scruple to take certain liberties. one can easily recognize an idol of chinese, corean, siamese, or japanese manufacture, though all bear the same name. the god of war in chå�-sen holds the double-bladed sword, with its tasselled cord, and wears the chino-corean armor and helmet. in the aureole round the head are three fiery revolving thunder-clouds. on the battle-flags captured by the american forces in 1871 were painted or embroidered the protecting deities of those who fought under them. one of these, whether representing a buddha, as seems most probable, or, as is possible, some local heroâ��perhaps dan kun or ki tszeâ��deified, rides on one of the curious little ponies, stunted and piebald, of ham-kiung, with which, even in ancient times, one could ride under a fruit tree. evidently it would have been safer for absalom in corea than in woody palestine. the tutelary god on the stunted piebald horse is dressed in the peculiar winged head-dress and frilled collar which travellers on ham-kiung soil noticed fifteen centuries ago. his armor is in scales, or wrought in the â��wave-patternâ�� characteristic of corean art. his shoes and saddle are of the chinese type. he rides among the conventional clouds, which in the native technique, are different from those of either china or japan. evidently the buddha and saints of shaka muni are portrayed by the native artist according to the strict canons of orthodoxy, while in dealing with indigenous deities, artistic licence and local color have free play. most of the artists and sculptors of temple work are priests or monks. the principal idols are of brass, bronze, or gilded wood, the inferior sorts are of stone. the priests dress just like the japanese bonzes. they attend the sick or dying, but have little to do with the burial of the dead, owing to the prevalence of the pung-sui superstition, to which a corean in life and in death is a bond-slave. this all-powerful disease of the intellect is the great corrupter of corean buddhism, many of its grossest ideas being grafted into, or flourishing as parasites on a once pure faith. in its development corean buddhism has frequently been a potent influence in national affairs, and the power of the bonzes has at times been so great as to practically control the court and nullify decrees of the king. with the fuyu raceâ��that is in chå�-sen and nihonâ��the history of buddhism has a decidedly military cast. during the first centuries of its sway in the peninsula the ablest intellects were fed and the ablest men were developed by it, so that it was the most potent factor in coreaâ��s civilization. over and over again have the political and social revolutions been led by buddhist priests, who have proved agitators and warriors as well as recluses and students. possessing themselves of learning, they have made their presence at court a necessity. here they have acted as scribes, law-givers, counsellors, and secretaries. often they have been the conservers of patriotism. the shaven-pated priest has ever been a standard character in the glimpses of corean history which we are allowed to catch. not always has this influence been exerted for good, for once possessed of influence at court, they have not scrupled to use it for the purpose of aggrandizing their sects. tradition tells of high nobles won from the pleasures of the palace to the seclusion of the cloisters, and even of corean queens renouncing the bed of their royal spouses to accept the vows of the nuns. as in japan, the frequent wars have developed the formation of a clerical militia, not only able to garrison and defend their fortified monasteries but even to change the fortune of war by the valor of their exploits and the power of their commissariat. there seems to be three distinct classes or grades of bonzes. the student monks devote themselves to learning, to study, and to the composition of books and the buddhist ritual, the tai-sa being the abbot. the jung are mendicant and travelling bonzes, who solicit alms and contributions for the erection and maintenance of the temples and monastic establishments. the military bonzes (siung kun) act as garrisons, and make, keep in order, and are trained to use, weapons. many of their monasteries are built on the summit or slopes of high mountains, to which access is to be gained only with the greatest difficulty up the most rocky and narrow passages. into these fastnesses royal and noble professors of the faith have fled in time of persecution, or pious kings have retired after abdication. in time of war they serve to shelter refugees. it was in attacking one of these strongholds, on kang-wa island, in 1866, that the french marines were repulsed with such fearful loss. many temples throughout the country have been erected by the old kings of korai or by noblemen as memorials of events, or as proofs of their devotion. the building of one of these at great expense and the endowment of others from government funds, sometimes happens, even during the present dynasty, as was the case in 1865, when the regent was influenced by the bonzes. he rebuilt the temple in an unparalleled style of magnificence, and made immense presents to other temples out of the public treasury. it has been by means of these royal bounties, and the unremitting collection of small sums from the people, that the bonzes have amassed the vast property now held by them in ecclesiastical edifices, lands, and revenues. some of these mountain monasteries are large and stately, with a wealth of old books, manuscripts, liturgical furniture, and perhaps even yet of money and land. the great monastery of tong-to-sa, between kiung-sang and chulla, is noted for its library, in which will be found the entire sacred canon. the probabilities of american or european scholars finding rare treasures in the form of sanskrit mss. in this unsearched field are good, since the country is now opened to men of learning from christendom. as a rule, the company of monks does not number over ten, twenty, or thirty, respectively, in the three grades of temples. hamel tells us that they live well and are jolly fellows, though his opinion was somewhat biased, since he remarks that â��as for religion, the coreans have scarcely any.... they know nothing of preaching or mysteries, and, therefore, have no disputes about religion.â�� there were swarms of monastics who were not held in much respect. he describes the festivals as noisy, and the peopleâ��s behavior at them as boisterous. incense sticks, or â��jossâ�� perfumery, seemed very much in vogue. he bears witness to their enjoyment in natural scenery, and the delightful situation of the famous temples. even at the present day, buddhist priests are made high officers of the government, governors of provinces, and military advisers. like as in japan, buddhism inculcates great kindness to animalsâ��the logical result of the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, and all who kill are under its ban. though beef, pork, and mutton are greedily eaten by the people, the trade of the butcher is considered the most degraded of all occupations, and the butchers and leather dressers form a caste below the level of humanity, like the etas in japan. they are beneath the slaves. they must live in villages apart from the rest of the people, and are debarred from receiving water, food, fire, or shelter at the hands of the people. the creation of this class of corean pariahs and the exclusion of these people from the pale of recognized society is the direct result of the teachings of the bonzes. like the chinese, and unlike the japanese bonze, the devotees will often mutilate themselves in the frenzy of their orgies, in order to gain a character for holiness or in fulfilment of a vow. one of these bonzes, appointed by the magistrate to dispute publicly with a christian, had lost four fingers for the sake of manufacturing a reputation. the ceremony of pul-tatta, or â��receiving the fire,â�� is undergone upon taking the vows of the priesthood. a moxa or cone of burning tinder is laid upon the manâ��s arm, after the hair has been shaved off. the tiny mass is then lighted, and slowly burns into the flesh, leaving a painful sore, the scar of which remains as a mark of holiness. this serves as initiation, but if vows are broken, the torture is repeated on each occasion. in this manner, ecclesiastical discipline is maintained. in the nunneries are two kinds of female devotees, those who shave the head and those who keep their locks. the po-sal does not part with her hair, and her vows are less rigid. hamel mentions two convents in seoul, one of which was for maidens of gentle birth, and the other for women of a lower social grade. excepting in its military phases, the type of corean buddhism approaches that of china rather than of japan. in both these countries its history is that of decay, rather than of improvement, and it would be difficult indeed for shaka muni to recognize the faith which he founded, in the forms which it has assumed in chå�-sen and nippon; nor did it ever succeed in making the thorough missionary conquest of the former, which it secured in the latter, country. the priority of the confucian teachings and the thorough indoctrination of the people in them, the nearness of china, the close copying of chinese manners, customs, and materialistic spirit, the frequency of chinese conquests, and perhaps the presence of an indigenous religion even more strongly marked than that of shintå� in japan, were probably the potent reasons why buddhism never secured so strong a hold on the corean intellect or affections as upon the japanese. nevertheless, since buddhism has always been largely professed, and especially if confucianism be considered simply an ethical system and not a religion proper, corea may be classed among buddhist countries. among the surprises of history is the fact that, in 1876, the shin, or reformed sect of japanese buddhists, sent their missionaries to corea to preach and convert. among their conquests was a young native of ability, who came to kiå�to, in 1878, to study the reformed buddhism, and who later returned to preach among his own people. in 1880 five more young coreans entered the shin theological school in kiå�to, and a new and splendid shin temple, dedicated to amida buddha, has been built at gensan. evidently this vigorous sect is resolutely endeavoring, not only to recoup the losses which christianity has made in its ranks in japan, but is determined to forestall the exertions of christian missionaries in the peninsula. so thoroughly saturated is the corean mind with chinese philosophy (p. 329) that when of necessity a national emblem or flag must be made, the symbol expressive of the male and female, or active and passive principles dominating the universe, was selected. though corea excels in the variety of her bunting and the wealth of symbolism upon her flags and streamers, yet the national flag, as now floated from her ships, custom-houses, and legations in the united states and europe, has an oblong field, in the centre of which are the two comma-shaped symbols, red and black, of the two universal principles. in each of the four corners of the flag is one of the pak-wa or eight diagrams, consisting of straight and broken lines, which fu-hi, the reputed founder of chinese civilization, read upon the scroll on the back of the dragon-horse which rose out of the yellow river, and on the basis of which he invented the chinese system of writing. in these diagrams the learned men in chinese asia behold the elements of all metaphysical knowledge, and the clue to all the secrets of nature, and upon them a voluminous literature, containing divers systems of divination and metaphysical exegesis, has been written. the eight diagrams may be expanded to sixty-four combinations; or, are reducible to four, and these again to their two primaries. the continuous straight line, symbol of the yum principle, corresponds to light, heaven, masculinity, etc. the broken line symbolizes the yang principle, corresponding to darkness, earth, femininity, etc. these two lines signify the dual principle at rest, but when curved or comma-shaped, betoken the ceaseless process of revolution in which the various elements or properties of nature indicated by the diagrams mutually extinguish or give birth to one another, thus producing the phenomena of existence. professor terrien de lacouperie sees in the pak-wa a link between babylonia and china, a very ancient system of phonetics or syllabary explaining the pronunciation of the old babylonian characters and their chinese derivatives. it is not likely that morse derived the idea of his magneto-electric telegraphic alphabet from the chinese diagrams. possibly the corean literati who suggested the design for a national flag intended to show, in the brightly colored and actively revolving germs of life set prominently in the centre, and contrasted with the inert and immovable straight lines in the background of the corners, the progressive corea of the present and future as contrasted with corea of the past and her hermit-like existence. significantly, and with unconscious irony of the virginia advertisers, the new corean flag was first published to the western world at large on the covers of cigarette packages. for centuries the energies of coreans have been wasted in tobacco smoke, and the era of national decay is almost synchronous with the introduction of tobacco. chapter xxxviii. education and culture. corea received her culture from china, and gave it freely to japan. if we may believe the doubtful story of ki tsze, then the coreans have possessed letters and writing, or, what is the equivalent thereto, they have had â��civilization,â�� during three thousand years. it is certain that since about the opening of the christian era, the light of chinaâ��s philosophy has shone steadily among corean scholars. japanese early traditionâ��unworthy of credence in the matter of chronologyâ��claims that literature was brought to nippon as early as the period 157â��30 b.c. the legend of jingu bringing back books and manuscripts from shinra is more probable; while the coming of wani from hiaksai, to teach the chinese characters and expound the classics, is a historic fact, though the real date may be uncertain, or later than the accepted one, which is 285 a.d. while the kokorai people may have brought letters with them, as they migrated southward, in hiaksai the confucian analects were not studied until the fourth century, when official recognition of education was made by the appointment of hanken as master of chinese literature. this is said to have been the first importation of learning into the peninsula. it was so in the sense of being formally introduced from china into the country south of the ta-tong river. as in most of the asiatic countries, into which chinese culture penetrated, popular education was for centuries a thing unthought of. learning was the privilege of a few courtiers, who jealously guarded it from the vulgar, as an accomplishment for those about the royal person, or in the noble families. the classics and ethical doctrines seem in every case to have penetrated the nations surrounding the middle kingdom, and formed the basis of courtly and aristocratic education. buddhism furnished the popular or democratic element, which brought learning to the lower strata of society. neophytes were usually taken from the humbler classes, and thus culture was diffused. even the idols, pictures, and scrolls, with the explanations and preaching in the vernacular, served to instruct the people and lift their thoughts out of the rut of every-day lifeâ��a result which is in itself true education. wherever buddhism penetrated, there was more or less literature published in the speech of the unlearned, and often the first books for the people were works on religion. china gave her language and ideographs; india sent sanskrit and phonetic letters, from which syllabaries or alphabets were constructed, not only for vernacular writing and printing, but as aids to the easier apprehension and more popular understanding of the tenets of confucius. the corean syllabary seems to have been first invented by chul-chong, one of the ministers at the court of the king of shinra, in the seventh century. this was the nido; like the kana of the japanese, purely a collection of syllables and not a true alphabet. the nido was made by giving to some of the commoner chinese characters a phonetic value, though the idea of having a vernacular system of writing was most probably suggested by the sanskrit letters, [13] some of which accurately represented corean sounds. the true alphabet of the coreans, called unmun (common language), was invented by a buddhist priest named syel-chong, or syeâ�²-chong, who is regarded as one of the ablest scholars in the literary annals of corea. the â��grammaire corã©enneâ�� states that this took place under the dynasty of wang, at sunto, â��toward the end of the eighth or ninth century of the christian era.â�� this is a palpable mistake, as the dynasty of wang was not established at sunto until the tenth century. mr. aston, whose researches are based on the statements of corean and japanese writers, believes that the unmun, or true corean alphabet, â��was invented not earlier than the first half of the fifteenth century.â�� yet, in spite of their national system of writing, the influence of the finished philosophy and culture of china, both in form and spirit, has been so great that the hopelessness of producing a copy equal to the original became at once apparent to the corean mind. stimulating to the receptive intellect, it has been paralyzing to all originality. the culture of their native tongue has been neglected by corean scholars. the consequence is, that after so many centuries of national life, chå�-sen possesses no literature worthy of the name. only in rare cases are native books translated into either chinese or japanese. at present, corean literary men possess a highly critical knowledge of chinese. most intelligent scholars read the classics with ease and fluency. penmanship is an art as much prized and as widely practised as in japan, and reading and writing constitute education. from the fifth to the seventeenth century the corean youth of gentle blood went to nanking to receive or complete their education. since peking has been the chinese capital (under the mongols from 1279, and under the ming emperors from 1410) few young men have gone abroad to study until within the last year, when numbers of corean lads have entered the naval, military, and literary schools of the imperial government. the practical democratic element pervading china was long absent from the nations which were her pupils and vassals. of all these borrowers, corea has most closely imitated her teacher. she fosters education by making scholastic ability, as tested in the literary examination, the basis of appointment to office. this â��civil service reformâ�� was established in chå�-sen by the now ruling dynasty early in the fifteenth century. education in corea is public, and encouraged by the government only in this sense, that it is made the road to government employ and official promotion. by instituting literary examinations for the civil and military service, and nominally opening them to all competitors, and filling all vacancies with the successful candidates, there is created and maintained a constant stimulus to culture. corean culture resembles that in mediã¦val europe. it is extra-vernacular. it is in latinâ��the latin of eastern asiaâ��the classic tongue of the oldest of living empires. this literary instrument of the learned is not the speech of the modern chinamen, but the condensed, vivid, artificial diction of the books, which the chinese cannot and never did speak, and which to be fully understood must be read by the eye of the mind. the accomplished scholar of seoul who writes a polished essay in classic style packs his sentences with quotable felicities, choice phrases, references to history, literary prismatics, and kaleidoscopic patches picked out here and there from the whole range of ancient chinese literature, and imbeds them into a mosaicâ��smooth, brilliant, chaste, and a perfect unity. this is the acme of style. so in the corean mind, the wise saws and ancient instances, the gnomic wisdom, quotations and proverbs, political principles, precedents, historical examples, and dynasties, are all chinese, and ancient chinese. his heaven, his nature, his history, his philosophy, are those of confucius, and like the chinaman, he looks down with infinite contempt upon the barbarians of christendom and their heterodox conceptions of the universe. meanwhile his own language, literature, and history are neglected. the corean child begins his education by learning by voice, eye, and pen, the simple and beautiful native alphabet of twenty-five letters, and the syllabary of one hundred and ninety or more combinations of letters. he learns to read, and practises writing in both the book or square style and the script form or running hand. the syllabary is not analyzed, but committed to memory from sight and sound. spelling is nearly an unknown art, as the vowel changes and requirements of euphonyâ��so numerous as to terrify the foreign student of coreanâ��are quickly acquired by ear and example in childhood. with this equipment in the rudiments, which is all that nearly all the girls, and most of the boys learn, the young reader can master the story-books, novels, primers of history, epistles, and the ordinary communications of business and friendship. if the lad is to follow agriculture, cattle-raising, trade, mining, or hunting, he usually learns no more, except the most familiar chinese characters for numbers, points of the compass, figures on the clock-dial, weights, measures, coins, and the special technical terms necessary in his own business. thus it often happens that a corean workman, like a chinese washerman, may be perfectly familiar with the characters even to the number of hundreds relating to his trade or occupation, and yet be utterly unable to read the simplest book, or construct one chinese sentence. with the chinese characters, one can write english as well as corean or japanese, but a thorough knowledge of the terms necessary to a sailor, a jeweller, a farmer, or a lumber merchant would not enable one to read ivanhoe or wordsworth. if the corean lad aspires to government service, he begins early the study of the â��true lettersâ�� or â��great writing.â�� the first book put into his hands is, â��the thousand character classic.â�� this work is said to have been composed by a sage in one nightâ��a labor which turned the hair and beard of the composer to whiteness. in it no character is repeated, and all the phrases are in two couplets, making four to a clause. the copies for children are printed from wooden blocks in very large type. at the right side of each character is its pronunciation in corean, and on the left the equivalent corean word. the sounds are first learned, then the meaning, and finally the syntax and the sense of the passages. meanwhile the brush-pen is kept busily employed until the whole text of the author is thoroughly mastered by eye, ear, hand, and memory. in this manner, the other classics are committed. education at first consists entirely of reading, writing, and memorizing. etiquette is also rigidly attended to, but arithmetic, mathematics, and science receive but slight attention. after this severe exercise of memory and with the pen, the critical study of the text is begun. passages are expounded by the teacher, and the commentaries are consulted. essays on literary themes are written, and a style of elegant composition in prose and verse is striven for. for the literary examinations in the capital and provinces, the government appoints examiners, who give certificates to those who pass. those who succeed at the provincial tests, are eligible only to subordinate grades of employ in the local magistracies. the aspirants to higher honors, armed with their diplomas, set out to seoul to attend at the proper time the national examination. the journey of these lads, full of the exultation and lively spirit born of success, moving in hilarious revelry over the high roads, form one of the picturesque features of out-door life in corea. the young men living in the same district or town go together. they go afoot, taking their servants with them. pluming themselves upon the fact that they are summoned to the capital at the royal behest, they often make a roystering, noisy, and insolent gang, and conduct themselves very much as they please. the rustics and villagers gladly speed their parting. at the capital they scatter, putting up wherever accommodations in inns or at the houses of relatives permit. though young bachelors form the majority at these examinations, the married and middle-aged are by no means absent. gray-headed men try and may be rejected for the twentieth time, and grandfather, father, and son occasionally apply together. on the appointed day, the several thousand or more competitors assemble at the appointed place, with the provisions which are to stay the inner man during the ordeal. the hour preparatory to the assignment of themes is a noisy and smoky one, devoted to study, review, declamation, or to eating, drinking, chatting, or sleeping, according to the inclination or habit of each. the examination consists of essays, and oral and written answers to questions. during the silent part of his work, each candidate occupies a stall or cell. the copious, minute, and complex vocabulary of terms in the language relating to the work, success and failure, the contingencies, honest and dishonest shifts to secure success, and what may be called the studentâ��s slang and folk-lore of the subject, make not only an interesting study to the foreigner, but show that these contests subtend a large angle of the corean gentlemanâ��s vision during much of his lifetime. examination over, the disappointed ones wend their way home with what resignation or philosophy they may summon to their aid. the successful candidates, on horseback, with bands of musicians, visit their patrons, relatives, the examiners and high dignitaries, receiving congratulations and returning thanks. then follows the inevitable initiation, which none can escapeâ��corresponding to the french â��baptism of the line,â�� the german â��introduction to the fox,â�� the english â��fagging,â�� and the american â��hazing.â�� one of the parents or friends of the new graduate, an â��alumnus,â�� or one who has taken a degree himself, one also of the same political party, acts as godfather, and presides at the ceremony. the graduate presents himself, makes his salute and takes his seat several feet behind the president of the party. with all gravity the latter proceeds, after rubbing up some ink on an ink-stone, to smear the face of the victim with the black mess, which while wet he powders thickly over with flour. happy would the new graduate be could he escape with one layer of ink and flour, but the roughness of the joke lies in this, that every one present has his daub; and when the victim thinks the ordeal is over new persons drop in to ply the ink-brush and handful of flour. meanwhile a carnival of fun is going on at the expense, moral and pecuniary, of the graduate. eating, drinking, smoking, and jesting are the order of the day. it is impossible to avoid this trial of purse and patience, for unless the victim is generous and good-natured, other tricks and jokes as savage and cruel as those sometimes in vogue in american and british colleges follow. after this farce, but not until it has been undergone, is the title recognized by society. the three degrees, corresponding somewhat to our b.a., m.a., and ph.d., are cho-si, chin-sa, kiup-chiei. the diplomas are awarded in the kingâ��s name, the second written on white paper, and the third on red adorned with garlands of flowers. the degrees are not necessarily successive. the highest, or the second, may be applied for without the first. the holder of the second degree may obtain office in the provinces, and after some years may become a district magistrate or guardian of one of the royal sepulchres. the highest degree qualifies one to fill honorable posts at the palace and in the capital, in one of the ministries, or to be the governor of a province, or of a great city. properly, the place of a â��doctorâ�� is in seoul. the usual term of office is two years. the examinations for civil titles and offices attract students of the highest social grade. the military studies are chiefly those of archery or horsemanship, the literary part of their exercises being slight. but one degree, the lowest, is awarded, and if the holder is of gentle blood, and has political influence, he may rise to lucrative office and honors, but if from the common people, he usually gets no more than his title, or remains a private or petty officer. the system of literary examinations which, when first established, and during two or three centuries, was vigorously maintained with impartiality, is said to be at present in a state of decay, bribery and official favor being the causes of its decline. the special schools of languages, mathematics, medicine, art, etc., are under the patronage of the government. the teachers and students in these branches of knowledge form a special class midway between the nobles and people, having some of the privileges of the former. they may also attend the examinations, gain diplomas, and fill offices. their professions are usually hereditary, and they marry only among themselves. in most respects, these bodies of learned men resemble the old guilds of scholars in yedo, and the privileged classes, like physicians, astronomers, botanists, etc., in japan. there are eight distinct departments of special knowledge. the corps of interpreters include students and masters of the chinese, manchiu, mongol, and japanese languages. these attend the embassy to peking, have posts on the frontier, or live near fusan. the treaties recently made with the united states and european powers will necessitate the establishment of schools of foreign languages, as in tå�kiå� and peking. the school of astronomy, geoscopy, and the choice of fortunate days for state occasions is for the special service of the king. corea, like china, has not yet separated astrology from astronomy, but still keeps up official consultation with the heavenly bodies for luckâ��s sake. the school of medicine trains physicians for the royal, and for the public, service. the school of charts or documents has charge of the archives and the preparation of the official reports sent to peking. in the school of design, the maps, sketches, plans and graphic work required by the government are made, and the portraits of the king are painted. the school of law is closely connected with the ministry of justice, and serves for the instruction of judges, and as a court of appeals. the school of mathematics or accounts assists the treasury department, audits accounts, appraises values, and its members are often charged with the task of overseeing public works. the school of horology at seoul keeps the standard time and looks after the water-clock. beside these eight services, there is the band of palace musicians. it is evident from all the information gathered from sources within and without the hermit nation, that though there is culture of a certain sort among the upper classes, there is little popular education worthy of a name. the present condition of chå�-sen is that of europe in the middle ages. the confucian temples and halls of scholars, the memorial stones and walls inscribed with historical tablets and moral maxims, the lectures and discussions of literary coteries, and the poetry parties concentrate learning rather than diffuse it. the nobles and wealthy scholars, the few monasteries and the government offices possess libraries, but these are but dead chinese to the common people. nothing like the number of book stores, circulating libraries, private schools, or ordinary means of diffusing intelligence, common in china and japan, exists in corea. science and the press, newspapers and hospitals, clocks and petroleum, and, more than all, churches and school-houses, have yet a mighty work to do in the land of morning calm. paganism and superstition, confucianism and buddhism, having taken root in chå�-sen, each with its educational influence, christianity entered within the last century to plant an acorn within the narrow bottle of the corean intellect. it is needless to say that the receptacle was shattered by the spreading of the oak. the corean body-politic, confronted by this rooted and growing influence, must be transformed. how the seed was dropped, how the tiny stem grew, how the trunk received into its bosom the lightning bolts of persecution, how the boughs were riven, and how life yet remains, will now be narrated. iii. modern and recent history. chapter xxxix. the beginnings of christianityâ��1784â��1794. christianity entered corea through the gates of rome and peking. though some writers have supposed that christianity was introduced into the corean peninsula by the japanese, in 1592, yet it is nearly certain that this religion was popularly unknown until near the end of the eighteenth century. then it entered from the west, and not from the east. it was not brought by foreigners, but grew up from chance seed wafted from the little garden of the church in peking. the soil upon which the exotic germ first lighted was in the mind of a student well-named by his father, â��stonewall,â�� on account of his character in choosing a literary career, instead of the hereditary profession which his family wished him to adopt. during the winter of 1777, stonewall was invited to form one of a party of students who were to spend a season of literary dalliance in company with the famous confucian professor, kwem. the conference, held in a secluded temple, lasted ten days, during which time the critical study of the texts of confucius and mencius was indulged in with keen delight, and the profoundest problems that can interest man were earnestly discussed; but most fertilizing to their minds were some tracts on philosophy, mathematics, and religion just brought from peking. these were translations of the writings, or original compositions in chinese of the jesuits in the imperial capital. among these publications were some tracts on the christian and roman catholic religion, treating of the existence of god, divine providence, the immortality of the soul, the conduct of life, the seven capital sins, and the seven contrary virtues. surprised and delighted, they resolved to attain, if possible, to a full understanding of the new doctrines. they began at once to practise what they knew, and morning and evening they read and prayed. they set apart the 7th, 14th, 21st and 28th days of the month as periods of rest, fasting, and meditation. how long they continued this course of life is not known. stonewall, well knowing that his ideas of this new religion were imperfect and confused, turned his thoughts longingly toward peking, hoping to get more books or information through a living teacher. for several years all his attempts were fruitless; though study, discussion, and practice of the new life were continued. in 1782, he moved to seoul to live, and in 1783, to his joy, his friend senghuni, son of the third ambassador to peking, proceeded thither through shing-king (liao tung), with a message to the bishop, alexander de gorla, a portuguese franciscan. senghuni himself became a docile pupil, and was, with the consent of his father, baptized. with the hope that he would become the first stone of the church in chå�-sen, he was named peter. [14] he pledged himself to suffer all torments rather than abandon his faith, to have but one wife, to renounce worldly vanities, and finally to send his foreign friends tidings every year. safely passing the sentinels at ai-chiu, he reached seoul. stonewall, eagerly receiving his share, gave himself for a time up to fresh reading and meditation, and then began to preach. some of his friends in the capital, both nobles and commoners, embraced the new doctrines with cheering promptness and were baptized. it is interesting to note the choice of baptismal names. as stonewall had been the forerunner, he was named john the baptist. another called himself francis xavier, intending to make this saint his protector and patron. other names of these primitive confessors are ambrose, paul, louis, thomas, augustine, and later, among the women, agatha, marie, madeleine, barbe, etc. the adoption of these foreign names excited bitter feelings among the patriotic, and became a cause of intense hatred against the christians, who were stigmatized as â��foreigner-coreans.â�� a counterblast soon followed. the first, and as they were destined to be the last and most bitter enemies were the literati, who saw at once that the new faith sapped at the base their national beliefs and their most cherished customs. in the contest of discussion which followed, senghuni came off victor. the pagan champions retired from the conflict uttering memorable and prophetic words, with a final question, that became a by-word to americans nearly a century later: â��this [christian] doctrine is magnificent, it is true, but it will bring sorrow to those who profess it. what are you going to do about it?â�� among the converts were the lecturer kwem and his brother, both of whom propagated the faith in their district of yang-kun, thirty miles east of seoul, now justly called â��the cradle of the faith.â�� one of their converted students from the nai-po returned home to labor in the new cause, and from first to last, in the history of roman christianity in corea, nai-po has ever been a nursery of fervent confessors and illustrious martyrs. a second convert of the kwem brothers laid the foundations of the faith in chulla. at the capital, a learned interpreter, on becoming a believer, multiplied with his own facile pen copies of the books brought from peking; and it is believed translated from the chinese the â��explanation of the gospels of the sabbaths and feastsâ��â��the first christian book in the corean language. thus from small beginnings, but rapidly, were the christian ideas spread, but soon the arm of the law and the power of the pen were invoked to crush out the exotic faith. the first victim, thomas kim, was tried on the charge of destroying his ancestral tablets, tortured, and sent into exile, in which he soon after died. the scholar now took up weapons, and in april, 1784, the kingâ��s preceptor fulminated the first public document officially directed against christianity. in it all parents and relatives were entreated to break off all relations with the christians. the names of the leaders were published; and the example of kim was cited. forthwith began a violent pressure of entreaty and menace upon the believers to renounce their faith. instead of peace, the sword was brought into the household. then began an exhibition alike of glorious confession and shameful apostasy, but though even stonewall lapsed, the work went on in nai-po, and in 1787, [15] persecution slackened. meanwhile, in order to cement more closely their bonds, the leaders formed a hierarchy after the model which peter had seen in peking, and to which their liturgical books so often referred. francis xavier was made bishop and others were chosen as priests. separating to their various posts, they baptized, confessed, confirmed, and distributed the sacred elements in communion, all of which infused a new glow of faith among the converts. they robed themselves in rich chinese silk, and erected platform confessionals. for ordinary faults confessed by the kneeling penitents alms were ordered, but for graver derelictions the priests administered one or two smart blows on the legsâ��a mild imitation of the national punishment, which so suggests western methods of nursery discipline. in perfect good faith and harmony, this curious hierarchy, so strange and even comical to a believer in the so-called â��apostolical successionâ��â��continued for two years; but in 1789, certain passages in their books suggested doubts as to the validity of their ministry. after earnest thought, and even at the risk of public ridicule, and of troubling the consciences of the faithful, they resigned their offices and took their places among the laity. a letter of inquiry was written, and sent in 1790 by the convert paul to peking. surprised and overjoyed at the news from corea, the fathers baptized and confirmed paul, explained to him the roman dogma of validity of ordination, and gave him a letter written on silk, to be concealed in his clothes, directed to peter and francis xavier. his godfather pansi, being an artist, painted paulâ��s portrait in oil, which was sent on to paris. the christians at seoul graciously submitted to the episcopal rebuke and explanation, giving them the right only to baptize, yet they yearned to receive the sacraments. inflamed by the accounts of paul, who pictured before them the ritual splendors, in the peking cathedral, of altars, lights, vestments, solemn masses, music, processions, and all that enchants the eye and fires the imagination in the roman form of christianity, they indited another letter to the bishop, beseeching that an ordained priest should be sent them. this letter, carried by paul, who left with the special embassy sent to congratulate the renowned emperor kien-lung, which left seoul september 17, 1790, contained a whole catechism of vexed questions of discipline and faith which had begun to disturb the little church. while in peking, paulâ��s companion was baptized, receiving the name of john the baptist. the fathers gave them a chalice, a missal, a consecrated stone, some altar ornaments, and everything necessary for the celebration of the eucharist, with a recipe for making wine out of grapes, in order that all might be ready on the arrival of a priest among them. paul and john the baptist, after the return journey of a thousand miles through shing-king, arrived safely in seoul. all were filled with joy at the idea of having a priest sent them, but the episcopal decision against the worship of ancestors proved to many a stone of stumbling and a cause of apostasy. hitherto, in simple ignorance and good faith, they had honored their ancestral shades and burnt incense at their shrines. henceforth, all participation in such rites was impossible. after the authoritative declaration from peking, that the worship of god and the worship of ancestors were contrary and impossible, no corean could be a christian while he burned incense before the tablets. this tenet of the bishop was in the eyes of the corean public a blow at the framework of society, the base of the family, and the foundation of the state. from this time forward, many of the feeble adherents began to fall away. in the conflict of filial and religious duty, many a soul was torn with remorse. in frequent instances the earnest believer who, for conscience sake, despoiled the family oratory and piling the ancestral tablets in his garden set them on fire, saw his aged parents sink with sorrow to the grave. for this crime paul and jacques kim were put upon public trial, at which, for the first time, a clear and systematic presentation of christian doctrine and the roman cultus was elicited. the case, after condemnation of the prisoners, was submitted to the king, who was prevailed upon by the premier to approve the finding of the local tribunal. on december 8, 1791, the two christians, after publicly refusing to recant, and reading aloud the sentence inscribed upon the board to be nailed over their pillory, were decapitated, while invoking the names of jesus and mary. their ages were thirty-three and forty-one. thus was shed the first blood for corean christianityâ��the first drops of the shower to come, and the seed of a mighty church. the headless trunks, frozen to a stony rigidity which kept even the blood fresh and red, lay unburied on the ground for nine days, until devout men carried them to burial. a number of handkerchiefs dipped in their blood and preserved kept long alive the memory of these first martyrs of bloody persecution. the nai-po now became a hunting-ground for the minions of the magistrates, who sought out all who professed themselves christians and threw them in prison. there the tortures, peculiarly corean, were set to work to cause apostasy. the victims were beaten with rods and paddles on the flesh and shin-bones, or whipped till the flesh hung in bloody rags. in many cases their bones were disjointed until the limbs dangled limp and useless. one man, francis xavier, after prolonged agonies was exiled to quelpart, and on being removed to another place, died on the way. peter, 61 years old, after wearying his torturers with his endurance, was tied round with a cord, laid on the icy ground at night, while pails of water were poured over him, which freezing as it fell, covered his body with a shroud of ice. in this dantean tomb, the old martyr, calling on the name of jesus, was left to welcome death, which came to him at the second cock-crow on the morning of january 29, 1793. in the ten years following the baptism of peter at peking, in spite of persecution and apostasy, it is estimated that there were four thousand christians in corea. [16] chapter xl. persecution and martyrdomâ��1801â��1834. the first attempt of a foreign missionary to enter the hermit kingdom from the west was made in february, 1791. jean dos remedios, a portuguese priest from macao, offered himself, was accepted, and left peking for the border gate with some chinese guides. after a twenty daysâ�� journey in midwinter, he arrived on the frontier, and there awaited the precarious chances of recognition, according to certain signs agreed upon. for ten days he scanned the faces of the noisy crowd, hoping every moment to light upon friends, but in vain. the christians, kept at home by the violence of the persecution, feared to venture to the border. the fair closed, the embassy crossed the yalu river, while the foreigner and his chinese guides returned to peking. there the disappointed priest soon after died. about the same time, the bishop of peking addressed a letter to the pope detailing the origin, development, and condition of the new-born church in corea. hearing no word from the corean christians during the next two years, it was determined to send succor. for this perilous mission, a young chinese priest named jacques tsiu, twenty-four years old, of good bodily strength and pronounced piety, whose visage closely resembled a coreanâ��s, was selected. fortified with extraordinary ecclesiastical powers, he left peking in february, 1794, and in twenty days arrived on the neutral ground. there he met the christians, who urged him to wait nearly a year, on account of the vigilance of the sentinels. this he did among his fellow christians in shing-king, and on the night of december 23, 1794, crossed the yalu, reached seoul in safety, and at once began his labors. all went on well till june, when, through a treacherous visitor, the official spies were put upon his track. in spite of his removal to another place, three christiansâ��two who had guided him to seoul, and one an interpreter, who in sublime self-sacrifice tried to pass himself off as the chinamanâ��were seized and tortured. with arms and legs dislocated, and knees crushed, they refused to betray their brother in the faith, and were put to death in prison, june 18. the three headless and battered trunks were flung in the han river, which for the first, but not for the last time was streaked with martyr blood. meanwhile, the chinese priest was at first hidden for many days under a wood-pile by a christian lady, who, having gained over her mother-in-law, sheltered him in her house, where, protected by the law which forbids a nobleâ��s dwelling to be invaded, he remained three years. in september, 1796, he wrote a letter in latin to the bishop of peking, and the native christians writing in chinese, the copies on silk were sewed into the garments of two believers, who, having bought positions as servants in the embassy, arrived in peking, january 28, 1797. among other things jacques proposed that the king of portugal should send an embassy to the king of chå�-sen to obtain a treaty of friendship, and allow the residence of physicians, astronomers, and scientific men in corea. though no portuguese envoy was sent out to treat with the court of seoul, [17] a foreign vessel appeared in the autumn of this same year, off the eastern coast, floating the british flag. it was the sloop of war providence, carrying sixteen guns, commanded by captain w. r. broughton, who cast anchor in yung-hing bay, october 4th, and touched at fusan. [18] one of the natives who visited the ship was suspected by the government and arrested; though the english visitors were ignorant of the existence of christians in corea, and the local magistrates were equally uninformed as to the difference in religion and nationality between britons and portuguese. the four political parties into which the corean nobility was at this time divided, as described in chapter xxv., were ranged into two general groups, the si-pai and the piek-pai, â��the governmentâ�� and â��the opposition.â�� the si-pai were devoted to the king, and ready to second his views, the piek-pai were more attached to their special views. the king, cheng-chong, who had ruled since 1776, was opposed to persecution of the christians, and had done much to restrain the bitterness of partisans. the si-pai included the nam-in, or â��southernâ�� wing, in which were the christian nobles, while all their enemies belonged to the piek-pai. so long as the king lived, the sword of persecution slept in its scabbard, but in 1800 [19] the king died, and was succeeded by his son, sunchå�, a boy still under the care of his grandmother. this lady at once assumed the conduct of national affairs, [20] and no sooner were the five months of public mourning decently over, than the queen regent dismissed the ministers then in office, and installed three others of the no-ron group, all of whom were bitter enemies of the christians. a decree of general persecution was issued a few days after, in the name of the king. two converts of noble rank were at once arrested, and during 1801, the police were busy in haling to prison believers of every rank, age, and sex. alexander wang, who had written a book in his native language on â��the principal articles of the christian religion,â�� and had begun another on systematic theology, was arrested. from the reading of these works, the magistrates imagined the essence of christianity was in hatred of oneâ��s parents and the king, and the destruction of the human race. [21] the church calendar was also seized. the chinese priest was outlawed by the government, in a public proclamation. on reading this, the brave man left the house of the noble lady in which he had been sheltered, and refusing to endanger longer the lives of his friends, voluntarily surrendered himself, and received the death-stroke, may 31, 1801, at the age of thirty-two. his hostess, colombe, thrown in prison herself, while awaiting death wrote out his life and works on the silk skirt of her dress. at her execution the noble lady begged that she might not be stripped of her clothes, as were other malefactors, but die in her robes. her request was granted, and with the grace of the english lady jane grey, she laid her head on the block. four other women, formerly attendants in the palace, and an artist, who for painting christian subjects was condemned, were beheaded by the official butchers, who made the â��little western gateâ�� of seoulâ��where a christian church may yet be builtâ��a golgotha. the policy of the government was shown in making away with the christians of rank and education, who might be able to direct affairs in the absence of the foreign priests, and in letting the poor and humble go free. from a letter written on silk in sympathetic ink to the bishop of peking by alexander wang, and, with the aid of treachery, deciphered by the magistrates, they suspected a general conspiracy of the christians; for in his letter this corean proposed an appeal to the christian nations of europe to send sixty or seventy thousand soldiers to conquer corea! [22] the bearer of this letter was immediately beheaded, and his body cut into six pieces; while the visitor to captain broughtonâ��s ship in 1799, for having said that â��one such ship as that could easily destroy one hundred corean vessels of war,â�� was put to the torture and condemned. alexander wang, who had witnessed a good confession, before the king, a year before, and bore on his wrist the cord of crimson silk showing that he had touched the royal person, was likewise decapitated. it now devolved upon the king of chå�-sen to explain to his suzerain the execution of a chinese subject. in a letter full of confucian orthodoxy, he declares that chå�-sen from the time of ki tsze, had admitted no other dogmas than those taught by the sages of chinaâ��â��all other doctrine is strange to the little kingdom.â�� he describes the christians as â��the monstrous, barbarous, and infamousâ�� â��sect of brigandsâ�� â��who live like brutes and birds of the vilest sort,â�� and who in their plot, â��have interlaced themselves as a serpent and knotted themselves together like a cord.â�� the plan to conquer â��the little kingdom at the corner of the earthâ�� by myriads of men and vessels from europe is detailed, with an apology for the execution of jacques, not as a chinese subject, but as chief conspirator. dallet suggests that, in answer to this letter, the dragon monarch read the king a tart lecture, and hinted that a rich stream of silver would soothe his ruffled scales. â��china had not been china had she lost so fair an occasion to fleece her cowering vassal.â�� a fresh edict, made up of the usual fixed ammunition of corean rhetoric, was fulminated against â��the evil sect,â�� january 25, 1802. the result was to advertise the outlawed faith in every corner of the realm. nevertheless, the condition of the christians scattered in the mountains and northern forests, or suffering poverty, hunger, and cold at home, was deplorable, under the stress of political as well as religious hatred. the first exchange of muscovite and corean courtesies took place in 1808, when several of the commissioners from seoul were in peking. [23] presents were mutually given, which in both cases were products of the then widely separated countries, which were destined within fifty years to be next-door neighbors. out of the modern catacombs of roman christianity, the corean converts addressed two letters, dated december 9 and 18, 1811, to the popeâ��â��the very high, very great father, chief of the whole churchâ��â��in which they invited help, not only of a spiritual nature, but aid in ships and envoys to treat with their king. they were willing even to leave their native land and colonize the islands in the sea, for the sake of worship and conscience. signed with fictitious names, copied on silk, and sewn in the clothing of the messenger, they reached peking and rome, but the bishop of neither city could afford succor. his holiness was then a prisoner at fontainebleau, and the roman propaganda was nearly at a standstill. with a goodly supply of medals and crosses, the messenger returned, and the church in corea enjoyed peace, and new converts were made until 1815, when a non-political persecution broke out for a while in kang-wen and kiung-sang. in 1817, the king and court were terrified by the appearance off the west coast of the british [24] vessels alceste and lyra. they suspected that the good captain and jolly surgeon, who have given us such fascinating narratives of their cruise, were in active connection with â��the evil sect;â�� but beyond some surveys, purchases of beef, and interviews with local magistrates, the foreigners departed without further designs against the throne. in 1823 several of the christians, encouraged by hopes held out by the bishop of peking, went to the border gate to meet a foreign priest, but to their dismay found none. in 1826, [25] they were troubled by a report that the shå�-gun of japan had requested their king to return six japanese adherents of the interdicted â��jesus sect,â�� who had fled the empire in a boat. shortly after, in chulla, through a quarrel instigated by a drunken potter, a convert, which led to information given in spite, a severe persecution broke out, lasting three months. the year 1832 was noted for its rainfall and inundations. to propitiate heavenâ��s favor the king recalled many exiles, among whom were christians. in this year also the british ship, lord amherst, was sent out by the east india company on a voyage of commercial exploration, and to open, if possible, new markets for the fabrics of england and india. on board was a prussian gentleman, the rev. charles gutzlaff, under the patronage of the netherlands missionary society, though travelling at his own cost. reaching the coast of chulla, july 17th, he remained one month. being a good chinese scholar, and well equipped with medical knowledge, he landed on several of the islands and on the mainland, he distributed presents of books, buttons, and medicines, planted potatoes and taught their cultivation. through an officer he sent the king presents of cut glass, calicoes, and woollen goods, with a copy of the bible and some protestant christian tracts. these, after some days of negotiation, were refused. a few of the more intelligent natives risked their heads, and accepted various gifts, among which were chinese translations of european works on geography and mathematics. mr. gutzlaff could discover no trace of christianity [26] or the converts, though he made diligent inquiry. the lying magistrates denied all knowledge of even the existence of the christian faith. deeply impressed with their poverty, dirt, love of drink, and degradation, the protestant, after being nearly a month among the coreans, left their shores, fully impressed with their need of soap and bibles. the year 1834 closed the first half century of corean christianity. in this chapter, the moral weakness of roman catholic methods of evangelization in corea, and elsewhere in asia, has been revealed. it must be remembered that the corean converts were taught to believe not only in the ecclesiastical supremacy of the pope, but also in the righteousness of his claim to temporal power as the vicar of heaven. untaught in the scriptures of the new testament, and doubtless ignorant of the words of jesusâ��â��my kingdom is not of this world; if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fightâ��â��the coreans suspected no blasphemy in the papal claim. seeing the popeâ��s political power upheld by the powerful european nations then under bourbon rule, the corean christians, following the ethics of their teachers, played the part of traitors to their country; they not only deceived the magistrates, and violated their countryâ��s laws, but, as the letter of alexander wang shows, actually invited armed invasion. hence from the first christianity was associated in patriotic minds with treason and robbery. the french missionary as the forerunner of the french soldier and invader, the priest as the pilot of the gunboat, were not mere imaginings, but, as the subsequent narrative shows, strict logic and actual fact. it is the narrative of friends, not foes, that, later, shows us a bishop acting as spy and pilot on a french man-of-war, a priest as guide to a buccaneering raid; and, after the story of papal christianity, the inevitable â��french expedition.â�� chapter xli. the entrance of the french missionariesâ��1835â��1845. the french revolution, and the wars of napoleon following, which distracted all europe for a period of over twenty years, completely disorganized the missionary operations of the holy see and french roman catholic church. on the restoration of the bourbons, and the strengthening of the papal throne by foreign bayonets, the stream of religious activity flowed anew into its old channels, and with an added volume. missionary zeal in the church was kindled afresh, and the prayers of the christians in the far east were heard at the court of st. peter. it was resolved to found a mission in corea, directly attached to the holy see, but to be under the care of the society of foreign missions of paris. barthelemy brugiere, then a missionary at bangkok, siam, offered as a volunteer, and in 1832 was nominated apostolic vicar of corea. he reached shing-king, but was seized with sudden illness, and died october 20, 1835. pierre philibert maubant, his host, stepped into the place of his fallen comrade, and with five corean christians left fung-wang chang, crossed the neutral strip, and the yalu river on the ice. dodging the sentinels at ai-chiu, he entered corea as a thread enters the needleâ��s eye. they crawled through a water-drain in the wall, and despite the barking of a dog, got into the city. resting several hours, they slid out again through another drain, reaching the country and friends beyond. two daysâ�� journey on horses brought them to seoul, from which maubant, the first frenchman who had penetrated the hermit kingdom, or who, in corean phrase, had committed pem-kiong (violation of the frontier), wrote to his friends in paris. maubantâ��s first duty was to order back a chinese priest who refused to learn corean, or to obey any but the bishop of peking. with the couriers who escorted the refractory chinaman to the frontier, went three young men to study at the college in macao. at the border gate they met jacques honore chastan a young french priest, who, on the dark night of january 17, 1837, passed the custom-house of ai-chiu disguised as a corean widower in mourning, and joined maubant in seoul. nearly one year later, december 19, 1838, laurent marie-joseph imbert, a bishop, ran the gauntlet of wilderness, ice, and guards, and took up his residence under the shadow of the kingâ��s palace. visits, masses, and preaching now went on vigorously. the christians at the end of 1837 numbered 6,000, and in 1838, 9,000. up to january 16, 1839, the old regent being averse from persecution, the work went on unharmed, but on that day, the court party in favor of extirpating christianity, having gained the upper hand, hounded on the police in the kingâ��s name. the visitation of every group of five houses in all the eight provinces was ordered. hundreds of suspects were at once seized and brought to trial. in june, before the death of the old regent, the uncle of the young king (hen-chong, 1834â��1849) and the implacable enemy of the christians obtained control of power, and at an extraordinary council of the ministers, held july 7, 1839, a new decree was issued in the regentâ��s name. the persecution now broke out with redoubled violence. in a few days, three native lay leaders were beheaded, and a score of women and children suffered death. to stay the further shedding of blood, bishop imbert, who had escaped to an island, came out of his hiding-place, and on august 10th delivered himself up and ordered maubant and chastan to do the same. the three willing martyrs met in chains before the same tribunal. during three days they were put to trial and torture, thence transferred to the kum-pu, or prison for state criminals of rank. they were again tried, beaten with sixty-six strokes of the paddle, and condemned to die under the sword, september 21, 1839. on that day, the inspector and one hundred soldiers took their place on the execution ground, not near the city gate, but close to the river. a pole fixed in the earth bore a flag inscribed with the death-sentence. pinioned and stripped of their upper clothing, a stick was passed between the elbows and backs of the prisoners, and an arrow, feather end up, run through the flesh of each ear. their faces were first wet with water and then powdered with chalk. three executioners then marched round, brandishing their staves, while the crowd raised a yell of insult and mockery. a dozen soldiers, sword in hand, now began prancing around the kneeling victims, engaging in mock combat, but delivering their blows at the victims. only when weary of their sport, the human butchers relieved the agony of their victims by the decapitating blow. the heads were presented to the inspector on a board, and the corpses, after public exposure during three days, were buried in the sand by the river banks. on the day after the burial, three christians attempted to remove the bodies, but the government spies lying in wait caught them. as of old in rome, when the primitive christians crawled stealthily at night through the arches of the coliseum, into the arena, and groping about in the sand for the bones of ignatius left after the lionâ��s feast, bore them to honored sepulture, so these corean christians with equal faith and valor again approached the bloody sand by the han river. twenty days after the first attempt, a party of seven or eight men succeeded in bearing away the bodies of the martyrs to noku, about eight miles north of seoul. thus died the first european missionaries who entered â��the forbidden land.â�� as in the old fable of the lionâ��s den, the footprints all pointed one way. with the foreign leaders there perished no less than one hundred and thirty of their converts, seventy by decapitation, and the others by strangulation, torture, or the result of their wounds. [27] in november, 1839, a new edict in the vernacular was posted up all over the country. six bitter years passed before the christians again had a foreign pastor. great events now began to ripen in china. the opium war of 1840â��42 broke out. the â��western barbariansâ�� held the chief cities of the china coast from hong-kong to shanghae, and the military weakness of the colossal empire was demonstrated. the french, though having nothing to do with this first quarrel of china with europe, were on the alert for any advantage to be gained in the far east. in 1841, louis philippe sent out the war vessels erigone and favorite, to occupy if possible some island to the south of japan, which would be valuable for strategic and commercial purposes, and to make treaties of trade and friendship with japan, and especially with corea. the erigone cast anchor at macao, september 7, 1841, and captain cecile awaited events. moving north in february, 1842, with andrew kim the corean student, as interpreter, on the erigone, and thomas tsoi, his companion, on the favorite, the french captains, hearing of the sudden conclusion of the war, gave up the idea of opening corea. the two coreans, with two french priests, engaged a chinese junk, and landed on the coast of shing-king, october 25, 1842. on december 23d, kim set out for the border gate, and within two leagues of it met the outward-bound embassy. each of the three hundred persons had his passport at his girdle. stopping to see them file past, he saluted one who was a christian, and had in his belt letters from maubant and chastan, written before their execution, and from the natives. unable to go back with andrew to ai-chiu, as every name on the embassyâ��s list was registered, the man went on to peking. andrew kim, by mingling among the drovers and huge cattle returning from the fair, ran the blockade at ai-chiu; but on the next day, having walked all night, he applied for lodgings at an inn for shelter, and was recognized as a stranger. fearful of being arrested as a border-ruffian from the neutral strip, he took to his heels, recrossed the yalu, and after resting at fung-wang chang, rejoined his friends at mukden. on december 31, 1843, jean joseph ferreol was consecrated bishop of corea, and resolved to cross the frontier, not at ai-chiu, but at hun-chun, on the tumen. andrew kim exploring the way, after a monthâ��s journey through ice and snow, mountains and forests, reached hun-chun, february 25, 1845. the native christians, having been duly instructed, had arrived at kion-wen a month before. for recognition, andrew was to hold a blue kerchief in his hand and have a little red bag of tea at his girdle. at the fair which opened at kion-wen on the 28th, the christians met. the result of their conference was that ai-chiu was declared safer even than kion-wen. since 1839, the government had tripled its vigilance, and doubled the guards on the frontier. no one could pass the gate at ai-chiu who had not a passport stamped with the chief inspectorâ��s seal, bestowed only after the closest scrutiny and persistent cross-questioning. on it was written the name and place of birth and residence of the holder, and after return from china or the fair it must be given up. the result of these stringent regulations was to drive the missionaries to find a path seaward. in december, 1844, of seven converts from seoul, attempting to get to the border gate, to meet ferreol, only three were able to pass ai-chiu. the other four, who had the wig, hair pins, and mourning costume of a widower for ferreol, were unable to satisfy their questioners, and so returned. at the border gate, ferreol, after seeing the caravan pass, ordered andrew kim to enter alone, while he returned and sailed soon after to macao. andrew, with the aid of his three friends, who met him at a lonely spot at some distance from ai-chiu, reached seoul, january 8, 1845. as soon as resources and opportunity would permit, andrew collected a crew of eleven fellow-believers, only four of whom had ever seen the sea, and none of whom knew their destination, and equipped with but a single compass, put to sea in a rude fishing-boat, april 24, 1845. despite the storms and baffling winds, this uncouth mass of firewood, which the chinese sailors jeeringly dubbed â��the shoe,â�� reached shanghae in june. andrew kim, never before at sea except as a passenger, had brought this uncalked, deckless and unseaworthy scow across the entire breadth of the yellow sea. after the ordeal of the mandarinâ��s questions, [28] and visits and kindly hospitality from the british naval officers and consul, he reached his french friends at the roman catholic mission. the beacon fires were now blazing on quelpart, and from headland to headland on the mainland, telegraphing the news of â��foreign shipsâ�� to seoul. from june 25th until the end of july, captain edward belcher, [29] of the british ship samarang, was engaged in surveying off quelpart and the south coast. even after the ship left for nagasaki, the magistrates of the coast were ordered to maintain strict watch for all seafarers from strange countries. this made the return of andrew kim doubly dangerous. bishop ferreol came up from macao to shanghae, and on sunday, august 17th, andrew kim was ordained to the priesthood. on september 1st, with ferreol and marie antoine nicholas daveluy, another french priest, he set sail in â��the shoe,â�� now christened the â��raphael,â�� and turned toward the land of martyrdom. it was like greatheart approaching giant despairâ��s castle. the voyage was safely, though tediously, made past quelpart, and through the labyrinth of islands off chulla. on october 12th, the frenchmen, donning the garb of native noblemen in mourning, and baffling the sentinels, landed at night in an obscure place on the coast. soon after this daveluy was learning the language among some christian villagers, who cultivated tobacco in a wild part of the country. the bishop went to seoul as the safest place to hide and work in, while the farmer-sailors, after seven monthsâ�� absence, returned to their hoes and their native fields. chapter xlii. the walls of isolation sapped. while the three priests were prosecuting their perilous labors, thomas tsoi, the corean student from macao with maistre, a new missionary, were on their way through manchuria to hun-chun. arriving after a seventeen daysâ�� march, they were seized by manchiu officers, reprimanded, and sent back to mukden. andrew kim, by order of bishop ferreol, went to whang-hai by water, to examine into the feasibility of making that province a gateway of entrance. the sea was full of chinese junks, the herring fishery being at its height. watch-towers dotted the hills, and the beach was patrolled by soldiers to prevent communication with shore. andrew, coming ostensibly to buy a cargo of fish, was enabled to sail among the islands, to locate the rocks and sandspits, and to make a chart of the coast. deeming the route practicable, he hailed a chinese junk, and after conference, confided to the captain the mail-bag of the mission, which contained also the charts and two maps of corea. unfortunately these documents were seized by the spies, and andrew kim, delayed while the cargo of fish was drying, was arrested on the suspicion of being a chinaman. he was sent to seoul, and while in prison heard of the french ships which were at that moment vainly trying to find the mouth of the han river and the channel to the capital. meanwhile, from his hiding-place, ferreol wrote to captain cecile, who commanded the fleet of three war-vessels. the object of this visit was to hold a conference with the kingâ��s ministers, and demand satisfaction for the murder of imbert chastan and maubant in 1839. after some coast surveys made, and the despatch of a threatening letter, the ships withdrew. ferreolâ��s note arrived too late, and andrew kimâ��s fate was sealed. while in prison, andrew was employed in coloring, copying, and translating two english maps of the world, one of which was for the king, and composing a summary of geography. in a letter in latin to ferreol, dated august 26th, he narrated his capture and trial. on september 16th, he was led out to trial. the sentence-flag bore the inscription: â��put to death for communicating with the western barbarians,â�� and the full programme of cruelty was carried out. four women and four men were put to death in the persecution which followed. maistre and thomas tsoi went to macao and there found the french frigates la gloire and la victorieuse, ready to sail north for an answer to captain cecileâ��s letter. gladly welcomed by captain pierre, they went aboard july 12th. on august 10th, while under sail in a group of islands off chulla, in latitude 35â° 45â�² and longitude 124â° 8â�², in water which the english charts marked at twelve fathoms deep, both vessels grounded simultaneously. the high tides for which this coast is noted falling rapidly, both vessels became total wrecks. the largest of the la gloireâ��s boats was at once sent to shanghae for assistance, and the six hundred men made their camp at kokun island. kindly treated and furnished with provisions as they were, the frenchmen during their stay were rigidly secluded, and at night cordons of boats with lanterns guarded against all communication with the mainland. thomas tsoi acted as dumb interpreter, with pencil, in chinese, and though hearing every word of the corean magistrates was not recognized. though meeting fellow christians, he was unable to get inland, and ferreolâ��s messengers to the sea-shore arrived after an english ship from shanghae had taken the crews away. the corean government, fearing [30] further visits of the outside barbarians, sent an answer to admiral cecile, directing it to captain pierre at macao, by way of peking. [31] they explained why they treated frenchmen shipwrecked kindly; but sent frenchmen disguised to execution. [32] when admiral cecile reached paris in 1848, one of the periodical french revolutions had broken out in paris, and a war at the ends of the earth was out of the question. the french government neglected to send a vessel to take away the effects saved from the wreck. the coreans promptly put the cannon to use, and from them, as models, manufactured others for the forts built to resist â��the pepinsâ�� in 1866, and the americans in 1871. once more maistre and thomas tsoi essayed to enter the guarded peninsula, by sailing early in 1848 in a chinese junk from macao to merin island off whang-hai, but no christians met them. by way of shanghae, they then went into shing-king, and in december to the border gate, meeting couriers from bishop ferreol. on a fiercely cold, windy, and dark night, which drove the soldiers indoors to the more congenial pleasure of the long pipe, cards, and cup on the oven-warmed floors, thomas tsoi got safely through ai-chiu, and in a few days was in seoul, and later in chulla. the work of propagation now took a fresh start. a number of religious works composed or translated into the vulgar tongue were printed in pamphlet form from a native printing press, and widely circulated. in 1850, the christians numbered eleven thousand, and five young men were studying for the priesthood. regular mails, sewn into the thick cotton coats of men in the embassy, were sent to and brought from china. a french whaler having grounded off the coast, the french consul at shanghae, with two englishmen, came to reclaim the vesselâ��s effects, and meeting three young men sent by the ever-alert thomas tsoi, took them back to shanghae, the third remaining to meet his comrades on their return with fresh missionaries to come. after still another failure to enter corea, maistre set foot in chulla-då�, by way of kokun island, even while the fire-signals were blazing on the headlands on account of the presence of russian ships. [33] ferreol, worn out with his labors, after lying paralytic for many months, died february 3, 1853; but in march, 1854, janson, making a second attempt, entered corea, having crossed the yellow sea in a junk, which immediately took back three native students for macao. janson died in seoul, of cerebral fever, june 18, 1854. in these years, 1853 and 1854, commodore perry and the american squadron were in the waters of the far east, driving the wedge of civilization into japan, and sapping her walls of seclusion. the american flag, however, was not yet seen in corean waters, though the court of seoul were kept informed of perryâ��s movements. a fresh reinforcement of missionaries to storm the citadel of paganism, bishop simeon, franã§ois berneux, with two young priests, michel alexandre petitnicholas and charles antoine pourthie, set sail from shanghae in a junk, and, after many adventures, arrived at seoul via whang-hai, while feron (of later buccaneering fame) followed on a corean smuggling vessel, standing unexpectedly before his bishop in the capital, march 31, 1857. a synod of all the missionaries was now held, at which berneux consecrated daveluy as his fellow bishop. maistre died december 20th. the faith was now spread to quelpart by a native of that island, who, having been shipwrecked on the coast of china, was carried by an english ship to hong-kong, where he met a corean student from macao and was converted. the roman catholic population of corea in 1857 was reckoned at 16,500. communication with the native christians living near nagasaki, and then under the harrow of persecution, took place. the cholera imported from japan swept away over 400,000 victims in corea. thus does half the world not know how the other half lives. how many americans ever heard of this stroke of pestilence in the hermit nation? in 1860, war with china broke out, the french and english forces took the peiho forts, entered peking, sacked the summer palace of the son of heaven, a few thousand european troops destroying the military prestige of the chinese colossus. the chinese emperor fled into shing-king, toward corea. the news produced a lively effect in chå�-sen, especially at court. [34] the utter loss of chinese prestige struck terror into all hearts. for six centuries, china, the tai-kuk (great empire), had been, in corean eyes, the synonym and symbol of invincible power, and â��the son of heaven, who commands ten thousand chariots,â�� the one able to move all the earth. copies of the treaty made between china and the allies, granting freedom of trade and religion, were soon read in corea, causing intense alarm. but the after-clap of news, that turned the first storm of excitement into a tempest of rage and fear, was the treaty with russia. general ignatieff, the brilliant and vigorous diplomatist then but twenty-eight years old and fresh on the soil of cathay, obtained, in 1860, after the allied plenipotentiaries had gone home, the signature of prince kung to the cession of the whole ussuri province. the tread of the great bear had been so steadily silent, that before either great britain or chå�-sen knew it, his foot had been planted ten degrees nearer the temperate zone. a rich and fertile region, well watered by the amoor and sungari rivers, bordered by the pacific, with a coast full of harbors, and comprising an area as large as france, was thus ceded to russia. the manchiu rulers of china had actually surrendered their ancestral homeland to the wily muscovites. the boundaries of siberia now touched the tumen. the russian bear jostled the corean tiger. with france on the right, russia on the left, china humbled, and japan opened to the western world, what wonder that the rulers in seoul trembled? the results to corean christianity were that, in less than a decade, thousands of natives had fled their country and were settled in the russian villages. at the capital all official business was suspended, and many families of rank fled to the mountains. the nobles or officials who could not quit their posts sent off their wives and children. all this turned to the temporary advantage of the missionaries. in many instances, people of rank humbly sought the good favor and protection of the christians. medals, crosses, and books of religion were bought in quantities. some even publicly wore them on their dress, hoping for safety when the dreaded invasion should come. the government now proceeded to raise war-funds, levying chiefly on the rich merchants, who were threatened with torture and death in case of refusal. a conscription of able-bodied men was ordered, and bombs, called â��french pieces,â�� and small-bore cannon were manufactured. in a foundry in the capital heavy guns were cast after the model of those left by the wreck of the la gloire. the kang-wa forts were built and garrisoned. in the midst of these war preparations, the missionary body was reinforced by the arrival of four of their countrymen, who, by way of merin island, set foot on the soil of their martyrdom october, 1861. their names were landre, joanno, ridel, and calais. this year the number of christians reached 18,000. indirect attempts to insert the crowbars of diplomacy in the chinks of coreaâ��s wall of seclusion were made about this time by france and england, and by russia at another point. japan was in each case the fulcrum. on account of the petty trade between tsushima and fusan, earl russell wished to have great britain included as a co-trader with the peninsula. the russians the same year occupied a station on tsu island, commanding the countries on either side; but under protest from yedo, backed by british men-of-war, abandoned their purpose. in 1862, while the members of the japanese embassy from the tycoon were in paris, the government of napoleon iii. requested their influence in the opening of corea to french trade and residence. at this time, however, the japanese had their hands full of their own troubles at home, nor had the court at seoul sent either envoys or presents since 1832. they should have done so in 1852, at the accession of the new shå�-gun, but not relishing the humiliation of coming only to tsushima, and knowing the weakened state of their former conquerors, they were now ready to defy them. one new missionary and two returned native students entered in march, 1863. the ni dynasty, founded in 1392, came to an end on january 15, 1864, by the king chul-chong, who had no child, dying before he had nominated an heir. this was the signal for fresh palace intrigues, and excitement among the nobles and political parties. the three widows of the kings who had reigned since 1831 were still living. the oldest of these, queen chå�, at once seized the royal seal and emblems of authority, which high-handed move made her the mistress of the situation. craftily putting aside her nephew chå� sung, she nominated for the throne a lad then but twelve years old, and son of ni kung, one of the royal princes. this latter person was supposed to be indifferent to politics, but no sooner was his son made the sovereign, than his slumbering ambition woke to lion-like vigor. this man, to use a corean phrase, had â��a heart of stone, and bowels of iron.â�� he seemed to know no scruple, pity, or fear. possessing himself of the seal and royal emblems, he was made tai-wen kun (lord of the great courtâ��a rare title given to a noble when his son is made king) and became actual regent. this corean mayor of the palace held the reins of government during the next nine years, ruling with power like that of an absolute despot. he was a rabid hater of christianity, foreigners, and progress. in spite of the new current of hostility that set steadily in, the christians began to be bold even to defiance. in kiung-sang a funeral procession carrying two hundred lanterns, bore aloft a huge cross, and chanted responsive prayers. in the capital, the converts paraded the signs of the romish cult. a theological training school was established in the mountains, four new missionaries entered the kingdom through nai-po, 1976 baptisms were made during the year, and, with much literary work accomplished, the printing-press was kept busy. the year 1866 is phenomenal in corean history. it seemed as if the governments and outlaws alike, of many nations, had conspired to pierce or breach the walls of isolation at many points. russians, frenchmen, englishmen, americans, germans, authorized and unauthorized, landed to trade, rob, kill, or, what was equally obnoxious to the regent and his court, to make treaties. in january the russians, in a war-vessel, again appeared in broughtonâ��s bay, and demanded the right of trade. at the same time they stated that some russian troops were to pass the frontier of ham-kiung to enforce the demand. the usual stereotyped response was made, that corea was a vassal of china, and could not treat with any other nation without permission of that power, and that a special ambassador charged with the matter would be immediately despatched to peking, etc. the advent of the double-headed eagle was the signal for lively feeling and action among the christians at seoul. the long-cherished project of appealing to england and france to make an alliance to secure liberty of religion was revived. the impulsive converts now forwarded the scheme, under the plea of patriotic defense against the russians, with all the innocent maladdress which characterizes men who are adults in age but children in politics. in their exhilaration they already dreamed of building a cathedral in seoul of imposing proportions, and finished in a style worthy alike of their religion and their country. three christian nobles, headed by thomas kim, composed a letter embodying their ideas of an anti-russian franco english alliance, and had it presented to the regent, who blandly sent thomas kim to invite the bishops, then absent to a conference in the capital. on his return to seoul, kim was coldly received, and no further notice was taken of him. the anti-christian party, now in full power at court, clamored for the enforcement of the old edict against the foreign religion, while a letter from one of the corean embassy in peking, arriving late in january, added fuel to the rising flame. it stated that the chinese were putting to death all the christians found in the empire. that lie, â��as light as a featherâ�� in its telling, was â��as heavy as a mountainâ�� in corea. such an illustrious example must be followed. vainly the regent warned the court of the danger from europe. the russian ship, too, had disappeared, and the french seemed afraid to take vengeance for the massacre of 1839. the cry of â��death to all the christians, death to the western barbariansâ�� now began to be heard. forced by the party in power, the regent signed the death-warrants of the bishops and priests, promulgated anew the old laws of the realm against the christians, and proceeded â��to make very free with the heads of his subjects.â�� the minions of the magistrates sallied forth like bloodhounds unleashed. berneux was seized on february 23d, and brought to trial successively before three tribunals, the last being the highest of the realm. in his interview with the regent, who had formed a high idea of the frenchman, berneux failed to address his highness in the punctilious form of words demanded by court etiquette. forthwith the official made up his mind that the frenchman was a man of slight attainments, and of no personal importanceâ��so sensitive is the corean mind in the matter of etiquette. from the highest class prison, the bishop, after undergoing horrible tortures with club, paddle, and pointed sticks thrust into his flesh, was cast into a common dungeon, where, in a few days, he was joined by three of his fellow missionaries with several converts, faithful to their teachers even in the hour of death. all suffered the fierce and savage beatings, and on march 8th were led out to death. an immense crowd of jeering, laughing, curious people followed the prisoners, who were tied by their hair to the chair so as to force them to hold up their faces, that the crowd might see them. four hundred soldiers marched out with the doomed men to the sandy plain near the river. the lengthened programme of brutal torture and insult was duly carried out, after which the four heads were presented for inspection. one day afterward, two other french missionaries and their twelve students for the priesthood were led captives into seoul, marked with the red cord and yellow caps betokening prisoners soon to die. with like tortures, and the same shameful details of execution, they suffered death on march 11th. on this day, also, daveluy and two other priests were seized, and on march 30th, good friday, decapitated, together with two faithful natives. in the case of daveluy, the barbarity of the proceeding was increased by the sordid executioner, who, after delivering one blow, and while the blood was spouting out from the wound, left the victim to bargain with the official for the sum due him for his work of blood. in a little over a month all missionary operations had come to a standstill. scores of natives had been put to death; hundreds more were in prison. ridel, while hiding between two walls, wrote to peking, describing the state of affairs. feron and ridel met on may 8th, travelling all night, and on june 15th they found that calais was still alive. hearing that a foreign steam-vessel was cruising off the nai-po, ridel sent a letter begging for help. this ship was the rona, captain morrison, belonging to a british firm in china, on its way back from niu-chwang, under the direction of mr. ernest oppert. the native christians were unable to get on board the rona; but when the same oppert visited haimi in the nai-po, some months later, in the steamer emperor, this letter was put in his hands. meanwhile ridel had reached the sea-coast, and in spite of the vigilant patrols, put off in a boat constructed without an ounce of iron, and manned by a crew of eleven christian fishermen. he reached chifu july 7th. going at once to tien-tsin, he informed the french admiral roze of the recent events in corea, and then returning to chifu, waited till mid-august. feron and calais, hearing of the presence of french ships in the han river, reached the coast, after great straits, to find them gone. they put to sea, however, and got upon a chinese smuggler, by which they reached chifu, october 26thâ��while the french expedition was in corea. not one foreign priest now remained in the peninsula, and no christian dared openly confess his faith, while thousands were banished, imprisoned, or put to death. thus after twenty years of nearly uninterrupted labors, the church was again stripped of her pastors, and at the end of the eighty-two years of corean christianity, the curtain fell in blood. of four bishops and nineteen priests, all except four were from france, and of these only three remained alive. fourteen were martyrs, and four fell victims to the toils and dangers of their noble calling. in the foregoing story of papal christianity in chå�-sen, which we have drawn from dalletâ��a roman catholic writerâ��we have the spectacle of a brave band of men, mostly secular priests educated in french seminaries of learning, doing what they believed it was right to do. setting the laws of this pagan country at defiance, they, by means of dissimulation and falsehood, entered the country in disguise as nobles in mourning. fully believing in the dogma of salvation by works, they were sublimely diligent in carrying on their labors of conversion, ever in readiness for that crown of martyrdom which each one coveted, and which so many obtained; but the nobleness of their calling was disfigured by the foul and abominable teaching that evil should be done in order that good might comeâ��a tenet that insults at once the new testament and the best casuistry of the roman catholic church. according to the code of any nation, their converts were traitors in inviting invasion; but if worthy to be set down as arnolds and iscariots, then their teachers have the greater blame in leading them astray. it is to be hoped that the future christian missionaries in corea, whether of the greek, roman, or reformed branch, will teach christianity with more of the moral purity inculcated by its founder. chapter xliii. the french expedition. the preliminaries of the french expedition to corea in 1866 may be gathered from the letters which passed between the french chargã© dâ��affairs at peking and prince kung, the chinese premier, as published in the united states diplomatic correspondence, 1867â��68. [35] the pyrotechnic bombast of the frenchman may be best understood by remembering that he lived in the palmy days of louis napoleon and the third empire. his violent language and behavior may be contrasted with the calm demeanor and firm temper of the astute chinaman, the greatest of the diplomats of the middle kingdom. â��unfortunately for the interests of his country, m. h. bellonet had carried into diplomacy the rude customs and unmeasured language of the african zouaves, in whose ranks he had served at one period of his career.â�� the best commentary upon this boast of an irate underling, dressed in the brief authority of his superior, will be found in the events of the expedition, notably in the reduction to ashes of the city of kang-wa, which rendered 10,000 people homeless, and in the repulse of the reckless invaders even before bellonet at peking was settling the fate of the king. with bishop ridel as interpreter, and three of his converts as pilots, three vessels were sent to explore the han river. equipped with charts made by captain james of the emperor, who had examined the western entrance one month before, the despatch-boat dã©roulã¨de leaving her consorts in prince jerome gulf, steamed up the river on september 21st, as far as the narrows between kang-wa and the mainland. the french officers were charmed with the beauty of the autumnal scenery. on the cultivated plain, checkered into a thousand squares of tiny rice-fields, all well irrigated, the golden-tinted grain, now full ripe, awaited the sickle and the sheaf-binder. numerous villages dotted the landscape, and to the northwest rose the green hills on which sat, like a queen, the city of kang-wa. a number of forts, as yet unmounted with cannon, were already built. others, in process of construction, were rising on well-chosen sites commanding the river. no garrison or a single soldier was as yet seen. the simple villagers, at first frightened at the sight of a mighty black ship, moving up the river against a strong current without sails or oars, collected in crowds along the banks to see this fire-pulsing monster from the western ocean. on the 23d the dã©roulã¨de and tardif, leaving the primauguet at boisã©e (woody) island, moved up the han river to the capital, the corean pilots at the bow, and ridel with the men at the wheel. one or two forts fired on the vessels as they steamed along, and in one place a fleet of junks gathered to dispute their passage. a well-aimed shot sunk two of the crazy craft, and a bombshell dropped among the artillerists in the redoubt silenced it at once. the rocks were safely avoided, and on the evening of the 25th, the two ships cast anchor, and the flag of france floated in front of the corean capital. the hills environing the city and every point of view were white with gazing thousands, who for the first time saw a vessel moving under steam. the ships remained abreast of the city several days, the officers taking soundings and measurements, computing heights and making plans. m. ridel went on shore in hopes of finding a christian and hearing some news, but none dared to approach him. while the french remained in the river, not a bag of rice nor a fagot of wood entered seoul. eight days of such terror, and a famine would have raged in the city. seven thousand houses were deserted by their occupants. returning to boisã©e island, having surveyed the river, two converts came on board. they informed ridel of the burning of a â��europeanâ�� ship [the general sherman] at ping-an, the renewal of the persecution, and the order that christians should be put to death without waiting for instructions from seoul. ridel in vain urged admiral roze to remain with his fleet, in order to intimidate the government. sailing away, the ships arrived at chifu, october 3d. tai-wen kun, now thoroughly alarmed, began to stir up the country to defense. the military forces in every province were called out. every scrap of iron was collected, and the forges and blacksmith shops were busy day and night in making arms of every known kind; even the farmerâ��s tools were altered into pikes and sabres. loaded junks were sunk in the channel of the han to obstruct it through the japanese at fusan, and the daimiå� of tsushima, word was sent to the tycoon of japan, informing him of his straits, and begging for assistance. the yedo government, being at that time in great straits between the pressure of foreigners on one hand, and of the â��mikado-reverencersâ�� on the other, could not then, had it been right to do so, afford any military assistance against the french, with whom a treaty had been made. instead of this, two commissioners were appointed to go to seoul, and recommend that chå�-sen open her ports to foreign commerce, as japan had done, and thus choose peace instead of war with foreigners. before the envoys could leave japan, the tycoon had died, and the next year japan was in the throes of civil war, the shå�-gunate was abolished, and corea was for the time utterly forgotten. the object of the french expedition and the blockade of the salã©e (han) river were duly announced from the french legation in china to the chinese and foreign representatives in peking. without waiting to hear from his government at home, bellonet despatched the fleet and made war on his own responsibility. the squadron which sailed october 11th, to distribute thrones and decapitate prime ministers, consisted of the frigate guerriã¨re, the corvettes laplace and primauguet, the despatch-vessels dã©roulã¨de and kien-chan, and the gunboats tardif and lebrethon, with 600 soldiers, including a detachment of 400 marines from the camp at yokohama. one would have thought 600 men rather too small a force to root up thrones with, seeing that the days of cortez and pizarro were past. the coreans were not like the mexicans, who thought a horse and his rider were one animal. they had smelt powder and fought tigers. on october 13th the admiral cast anchor off boisã©e island. the next day the gunboats steamed up the river, landing the marines in camp, a little over half a mile from the city. on the 15th, before any attempt was made to communicate with the government, a reconnoissance was made in force, toward kang-hoa (kang-wa), during which a small fort, mounting two guns, was captured. kang-wa was, to a modern eye, probably one of the best fortified cities in the kingdom. it was surrounded by a crenelated wall, nearly fifteen feet high! behind this defense the native soldiery stood ready with flails, arrows, matchlocks, and jingals. the royal residence, for pleasure in summer, and refuge in war-time, was beautifully situated on a wooded hill, from which a glorious view of the island, sea, and mainland was visible. the fertile island itself lay like a green emerald upon a greener sea. crops of rice, barley, tobacco, sorghum, maize, various root foods, chinese cabbage, chestnuts, persimmons, with here and there a great camellia tree just entering into bloom, greeted the view of the invaders. kang-wa was well named â��the flower of the river.â�� at eight oâ��clock on the morning of october 16th an attack was made in force on the main gate. at the distance of one hundred yards, the infantry charged on a run, to the cry of â��vive lâ��empereur.â�� the hot fire of the jingals checked them not a moment. reaching the wall, they set up the scaling ladders, and in a few moments hundreds of frenchmen were inside, shooting down the flying white-coats, or engaging in a hand to hand encounter, though only a few natives were killed. the gate was soon crushed in with axes, and the main body entered easily. firing was soon over, and the deserted city was in the victorsâ�� hands. about eighty bronze and iron cannon, mostly of very small calibre, over six thousand matchlocks, and the official archives of the city were found and made trophies of. kang-wa was the military headquarters for western corea and the chief place of gunpowder manufacture. large magazines of food supplies had been collected in it. eighteen boxes of silver, containing ingots to the value of nearly thirty eight thousand dollars, and a great many books and manuscripts were found, besides spoil of many kinds from the shops and houses. immense stores of bows and arrows, iron sabres without scabbards, helmets, and breastplates, beautifully wrought, but very heavy and clumsy, were found. the cannon had no carriages, but were fastened to logs or fixed platforms. they were breech-loaders, in that the powder, fixed in an iron cartridge, was introduced at the breech, while the ball seemed to be put in simultaneously at the muzzle. these double-ended cannon reminded one of a tortoise. a curious or rather comical thing about these cannon was that many of them had several touch-holes in a row, the cannonier firing them by applying his match rapidly along the line of ventsâ��an â��accelerating gun,â�� of a rude kind. the corean gunpowder is said to burn so slowly that a charge has to be lighted at both endsâ��a type of the national policy. as the coreans were fortifying tong-chin with unusual care, the admiral sent out, october 26th, a reconnoitering party of one hundred and twenty men, who were landed on the mainland, opposite kang-wa island, whence the high road runs direct to the capital. here was a village, with fortifications clustered around a great gate, having a pointed stone arch surmounted by the figure of a tortoise and a pagoda. to force this gate was to win the way to the capital. as the marines were disembarking, the coreans poured in a heavy fire, which killed two and wounded twenty-five frenchmen. nevertheless the place was stormed and seized, but as the corean forces were gathering in the vicinity, the marines returned to the ships to await reinforcements. toward evening a party of coreans defiled at the foot of the plain in gallant array, evidently elated with supposed victory. suddenly, as they came within range, the french ships opened on them with shell, which exploded among them. terrified at such unknown war missiles, they broke and fled to the hill-tops, where, to their surprise, they were again enveloped in a shower of iron. finally they had to take shelter in the distant ravines and the far plains, which at night were illumined by their bivouac fires. weak men and nations, in fighting against stronger enemies, must, like the weaker ones in the brute creation, resort to cunning. they try to weary out what they cannot overcome. the coreans, even before rifled cannon and steamers, began to play the same old tricks practised in the war with the japanese in the sixteenth century. they made hundreds of literal â��men of straw,â�� and stuck them within range of the enemyâ��s artillery, that the frenchmen might vainly expend their powder and iron. the keen-eyed frenchmen, aided by their glasses, detected the cheat, and wasted no shot on the mannikins. meanwhile the invaded nation was roused to a white heat of wrath. the furnace of persecution and the forges of the armorers were alike heated to their utmost. earnest hands plied with rivalling diligence the torture and the sledge. in the capital it was written on the gate-posts of the palace that whoever should propose peace with the french should be treated as a traitor and immediately executed. on october 19th, ni, the corean general commanding, had sent the french admiral a long letter stuffed with quotations from the chinese classics, the gist of which was that whoever from outside broke through the frontiers of another kingdom was worthy of deathâ��a sentiment well worthy of a state of savagery. the french admiral, with equal national bombast, but in direct and clearest phrase, demanded the surrender of the three high ministers of the court, else he would hold the corean government responsible for the miseries of the war. the coreans in camp were ceaselessly busy in drilling raw troops and improving their marksmanship. soldiers arrived from all quarters, and among them was a regiment of eight hundred tiger-hunters from the north, every man of whom was a dead shot either with bow or matchlock. these men, who had faced the tiger and many of whom had felt his claws, were not likely to fear even french â��devils.â�� they garrisoned a fortified monastery on the island which was situated in a valley in the centre of a circle of hills which were crowned by a wall of uncemented masonry. it could be approached only by one small foot-path in a deep ravine. the entrance was a gateway of heavy hewn stone, arched in a full semicircle, the gate being in one piece. the walls were mounted with home-made artillery. on the same day on which this information reached the admiral, the natives attacked a french survey boat, whereupon he at once resolved to capture the monastery. for this purpose he detached 160 men, without artillery, who left at six oâ��clock in the morning of october 27th, with their luncheon packed on horses. the invaders, with their heads turned by too many easy victories, went in something like picnic order, frequently stopping to rest and enjoy the autumnal scenery. on several occasions they saw squads of men marching over the hills toward the same destination, but this did not hurry the frenchmen, though a native informed them that the monastery, ordinarily inhabited only by a dozen priests, was now garrisoned and full of soldiers. at 11.30 they arrived near the fortress, when some one proposed lunch. others jauntily declared it would be very easy to capture â��the pagoda,â�� and then dine in the hall of buddha himself; this advice was not, however, followed. having arranged three parties, they advanced to within three hundred yards of the gate. all within was as silent as death. suddenly a sheet of flame burst from the whole length of the wall, though not a black head nor a white coat was visible. in a minute the french columns were shattered and broken, and not a man was on his feet. the soldiers, retreating in a hail of lead, found refuge behind rocks, sheaves of rice, piles of straw, and in the huts near by. there the officers rallied their men lest the garrison should make a sally. the wounded were then borne to the rear. they numbered thirty-two. only eighty fighting men were left, and these soon became conscious of being weak and very hungry, for they had been cruelly tantalized by seeing the lunch-horse kick up his heels at the first fire, and trot over to the coreans. they learned that one of the slips â��twixt the cup and the lip might be caused by a horse in chå�-sen. perhaps some native poet improvised a poem contrasting the patriotic nag with the steed of kanko, which led a hungry army home. it being madness or annihilation for eighty frenchmen to attempt to storm a stone fortress, garrisoned by five or ten times their number of enemies, and guarded with artillery, retreat was resolved on. the wounded were hastily cared for and the mournful march began. the stronger men carried their severely injured comrades on their shoulders with brotherly kindness. the unwounded who were free formed the rear-guard. three times the little band had to face about and fire with effect at the coreans, who thrice charged their foes with heavy loss to themselves. they then mounted the hills, and with savage yells celebrated their victory over the western barbarians. it was not till night, hungry and tired, that reinforcements were met a half league from camp. they had been sent out by the admiral, to whom had come presentiment of failure. there was gloom in the camp that night and at headquarters. the near sky and the horizon, notched by the hills, seemed to glare with unusual luridness, betokening the joy and the deadly purpose of the invaded people. the next morning, to the surprise of all, and the anger of many, orders were given to embark. the work on the fortifications begun around the camp was left off. the troops in kang-wa set fire to the city, which, in a few hours, was a level heap of ashes. the departure of the invaders was so precipitate that the patriots to this day gloat over it as a disgraceful retreat. a huge bronze bell, from one of the temples in kang-wa, which had been transported half way to the camp, was abandoned. the coreans recaptured this, regarding it as a special trophy of victory. the french embarked at night, and at six oâ��clock next morning dropped down to the anchorage at boisã©e island. on the way, every fort on the island seemed to be manned and popping away at the ships, but hurting only the paint and rigging. to their great disgust, the men repulsed two days before, discovered the walls of the monastery from deck, and that the distance was only a mile and a half from the river side. there was considerable silent swearing among the officers, who believed it could be easily stormed and taken even then. orders must be obeyed, however, and in rage and shame they silently gazed on the grim walls. the return of the expedition was a great surprise to the fleet at boisã©e island. on his return to china, the admiral found, to his mortification, that his government did not approve of the headlong venture of bellonet. [36] in the palace at seoul, the resolve was made to exterminate christianity, root and branch. women and even children were ordered to the death. several christian nobles were executed. one christian, who was betrayed in the capital by his pagan brother, and another unknown fellow-believer were taken to the river side in front of the city, near the place where the two french vessels had anchored. at this historic spot, by an innovation unknown in the customs of chå�-sen, they were decapitated, and their headless trunks held neck downward to spout out the hot life-blood, that it might wash away the stain of foreign pollution. â��it is for the sake of these christians,â�� said the official proclamation, â��that the barbarians have come just here. it is on account of these only that the waters of our river have been denied by western ships. it behooves that their blood should wash out the stain.â�� upon the mind of the regent and court at seoul, the effect was to swell their pride to the folly of extravagant conceit. feeling themselves able almost to defy the world, they began soon after to hurl their defiance at japan. the dwarf of yesterday had become a giant in a day. in spite of foreign invaders and warâ��s alarms, one peaceful event during this same year, and shortly after the french fleet had gone away, sent a ripple of pleasure over the surface of corean society. the young king, now but fourteen years old, who had been duly betrothed to min, [37] a daughter of one of the noble families, was duly married. popular report credits the young queen with abilities not inferior to those of her royal husband. according to custom, the chinese emperor sent an ambassador, one koei-ling, a mandarin of high rank, to bear the imperial congratulations and investiture of the queen. this merry chinaman, cultivated, lively, poetic in mood, and susceptible to natureâ��s beauties, wrote an account of his journey between the two capitals. his charming impressions of travel give us glimpses of peaceful life in the land of morning calm, and afford a delightful contrast to the grim visage of war, with which events in corea during the last decade have unhappily made us too familiar. chapter xliv. american relations with corea. america became a commercial rival to chå�-sen as early as 1757, when the products of connecticut and massachusetts lay side by side with corean imports in the markets of peking and canton. ginseng, the most precious drug in the chinese pharmacopå�ia, had been for ages brought from manchuria and the neighboring peninsula, where, on the mountains, the oldest and richest roots are found. the dutch traders, at once noticing the insatiable demand for the famed remedy, sought all over the world for a supply. the sweetish and mucilaginous root, though considered worthless by europeans, was then occasionally bringing its weight in gold, and usually seven times its weight in silver, at peking, and the merchants in the annual embassy from seoul were reaping a rich harvest. besides selling the younger and less valuable crop in its natural condition, they had factories in which the two-legged rootsâ��which to the asiatic imagination suggested the figure of the human body they were meant to refreshâ��were so manipulated as to take on the appearance of age, thus enhancing their price in the market. suddenly the corean market was broken. stimulated by the dutch merchants at albany, the indians of massachusetts had found the fleshy root growing abundantly on the hills around stockbridge in massachusetts. taking it to albany, they exchanged it for hardware, trinkets, and rum. while the dutch domines were scandalized at the drunken revels of the â��yankeeâ�� indians, who equalled the mohawks in their inebriation, good jonathan edwards at stockbridge was grieving over the waywardness of his dusky flock, because they had gone wild over ginseng-hunting. the hollanders, shipping the bundled roots on their galliots down the hudson, and thence to amsterdam and london, sold them to the british east india company at a profit of five hundred per cent. landed at canton, and thence carried to peking, american ginseng broke the market, forced the price to a shockingly low figure, and dealt a heavy blow to the corean monopoly. henceforth a steady stream of ginsengâ��now found in limitless quantities in the ohio and mississippi valleysâ��poured into china. though far inferior to the best article, it (aralia quinquefolia) is sufficiently like it in taste and real or imaginary qualities to rival the root of chå�-sen, which is not of the very highest grade. less than a generation had passed from the time that the western end of massachusetts had any influence on corea or china, before there was brought from the far east an herb that influenced the colony at her other end, far otherwise than commercially. massachusetts had sent ginseng to canton, china now sent tea to massachusetts. the herb from amoy was pitched into the sea by men dressed and painted like the indians, and the revolution followed. the war for independence over, captain john greene, in the ship empress of china, sailed from new york, february 22, 1784. major samuel shaw, the supercargo, without government aid or recognition, established american trade with china, living at canton during part of the year 1786 and the whole of 1787 and 1788. having been appointed consul by president washington in 1789, while on a visit home, major shaw returned to china in an entirely new ship, the massachusetts, built, navigated, and owned by american citizens. at canton he held the office of consul certainly until the year 1790, and presumably until his death in 1794. this first consul of the united states in china received his commission from congress, on condition that he should â��not be entitled to receive any salary, fees, or emoluments whatever.â�� animated by the spirit of independence, and a laudable ambition, the resolute citizen of the new world declared that â��the americans must have tea, and they seek the most lucrative market for their precious root ginseng.â�� [38] it was ginseng and teaâ��an exchange of the materials for drink, a barter of tonicsâ��that brought the americans and chinese, and finally the americans and coreans together. cotton was the next american raw material exported to china, beginning in 1791. in 1842 the loaded ships sailed direct from alabama to canton, on the expansion of trade after the opium war. the idea now began to dawn upon some minds that it was high time that japan and corea should be opened to american commerce. the first public man who gave this idea official expression was the honorable zadoc pratt, then member of the house of representatives from the eleventh (now the fifteenth) congressional district of new york. as chairman of the committee on naval affairs, he introduced in congress, february 12, 1845, a proposition for the extension of american commerce by the despatch of a mission to japan and corea as follows: â��it is hereby recommended that immediate measures be taken for effecting commercial arrangements with the empire of japan and the kingdom of corea,â�� etc. (congressional globe, vol. xiv., p. 294). the mexican war was then already looming as a near possibility, and under its shadow, the wisdom of sending even a part of our little navy was doubted, and mr. prattâ��s bill failed to pass. none of the american commanders, glyn, biddle, john rodgers, or even perry, seem to have ventured into corean waters, and commodore perry has scarcely mentioned the adjacent kingdom in the narrative of the treaty expedition which he wrote, and his pastor, the rev. francis l. hawks, edited. in truth, the sealed country was at that time almost as little known as that of corea or coreã¦, which josephus mentions, or that province of india which bears the same name. the commerce which sprang up, not only between our country and china and japan, but also that carried on in american vessels between shanghae, chifu, tien-tsin, and niu-chwang in north china, and the japanese ports, made the navigation of corean waters a necessity. sooner or later shipwrecks must occur, and the question of the humane treatment of american citizens cast on corean shores came up before our government for settlement, as it had long before in the case of japan. when it did begin to rain it poured. within one year the corean government having three american cases to deal with, gave a startling illustration of its policyâ��with the distressed, kindness; with the robber, powder and iron; with the invader, death and annihilation. on june 24, 1866, the american schooner surprise was wrecked off the coast (of whang-hai?). the approach of any foreign vessel was especially dangerous at this time, as the crews might be mistaken for frenchmen and killed by the people from patriotic impulses. nevertheless captain mccaslin and his men with their chinese cook, after being first well catechised by the local magistrate, and secondly by a commissioner sent from seoul, were kindly treated and well fed, and provided with clothing, medicines, and tobacco. by orders of tai-wen kun, they were escorted on horseback to ai-chiu, and, after being feasted there, were conducted safely to the border gate. thence, after a hard journey via mukden, they got to niu-chwang and to the united states consul. a gold watch was voted by congress to the rev. pã¨re gillie for his kindness to these men while in mukden. from a passage in one of the letters of the corean government, we gather that the crew of still another american ship were hospitably treated after shipwreck, but of the circumstances we are ignorant. of the general sherman affair more is known. the general sherman was an american schooner, owned by a mr. preston, who was making a voyage for health. she was consigned to messrs. meadows & co., a british firm in tien-tsin, and reached that port july, 1866. after delivery of her cargo, an arrangement was made by the firm and owner to load her with goods likely to be saleable in corea, such as cotton cloth, glass, tin-plate, etc., and despatch her there on an experimental voyage in the hope of thus opening the country to commerce. leaving tien-tsin july 29th, the vessel touched at chifu, and took on board mr. hogarth, a young englishman, and a chinese shroff, [39] familiar with corean money. the complement of the vessel was now five white foreigners, and nineteen malay and chinese sailors. the owner, preston, the master, page, and the mate, wilson, were americans. the rev. mr. thomas, who had learned corean from refugees at chifu, and had made a trip to whang-hai on a chinese junk, went on board as a passenger to improve his knowledge of the language. [40] from the first the character of the expedition was suspected, because the men were rather too heavily armed for a peaceful trading voyage. it was believed in china that the royal coffins in the tombs of ping-an, wherein more than one dynasty of chå�-sen lay buried, were of solid gold; and it was broadly hinted that the expedition had something to do with these. the schooner, whether merchant or invader, leaving chifu, took a west-northwest direction, and made for the mouth of the ta tong river. there they met the chinese captain of a chifu junk, who agreed to pilot them up the river. he continued on the general sherman during four tides, or two days. then leaving her, he returned to the riverâ��s mouth, and sailed back to chifu, where he was met and questioned by the firm of meadows & co. no further direct intelligence was ever received from the unfortunate party. the time chosen for this â��experimental trading voyageâ�� was strangely inopportune. the whole country was excited over the expected invasion of the french, and to a coreanâ��especially in the north, where not one in ten thousand had ever seen a white foreignerâ��any man dressed in foreign clothes would be taken for a frenchman, as were even the japanese crew of the gunboat unyo kuan in 1875. an armed vessel would certainly be taken for a french ship, and made the object of patriotic vengeance. according to one report, the hatches of the schooner were fastened down, after the crew had been driven beneath, and set on fire. according to another, all were decapitated. the coreans burned the wood work for its iron, and took the cannon for models. during this same month of august, 1866, the jewish merchant ernest oppert, in the steamer emperor, entered the han river, and had secret interviews with some of the native christians, who wrote to him in latin. communications were also held with the governor of kang-wa, and valuable charts were made by captain james. one month later, in september, the french war-vessels made their appearance. the u. s. steamship wachusett, despatched by admiral rowan to inquire into the sherman affair, reached chifu january 14, 1867, and is said to have taken on board the chinese pilot of the general sherman, and the rev. mr. corbett, an american missionary, to act as interpreter. leaving chifu january 21st, they cast anchor, january 23d, at the mouth of the large inlet opposite sir james hall group, which indents whang-hai province. this estuary they erroneously supposed to be the ta tong river leading to ping-an city, whereas they were half a degree too far south, as the chart made by themselves shows. a letter was despatched, through the official of cow island, near the anchorage, to the prefect of the large city nearest the place of the sherman affair, demanding that the murderers be produced on the deck of the wachusett. the city of ping-an was about seventy-five miles distant. the letter probably went to hai-chiu, the capital of the province. five days elapsed before the answer arrived, during which the surveying boats were busy. many natives were met and spoken to, who all told one story, that the shermanâ��s crew were murdered by the people, and not by official instigation. [41] on the 29th, an officer from one of the villages of the district appeared, â��whose presence inspired the greatest dread among the people.â�� an interview was held, during which commander shufeldt possessed his soul in patience. to the polished americanâ��s eye, the coreanâ��s manner was haughty and imperious. he was utterly beyond the reach of reason and of argument. in his person he seemed â��the perfect type of a cruel and vindictive savage.â�� the coreanâ��s impressions of the american, not being in print, are unknown. it is unnecessary to give the details of the fruitless interview. the american could get neither information nor satisfaction; the gist of the corean reiteration was, â��go away as soon as possible.â�� commander shufeldt, bound by his orders, could do nothing more, and being compelled also by stress of weather, came away. in 1867, dr. s. wells williams, secretary of the legation of the united states at peking, succeeded in obtaining an interview with a member of the corean embassy, who told him that after the general sherman got aground, she careened over, as the tide receded, and her crew landed to guard or float her. the natives gathered around them, and before long an altercation took place between the two parties, which soon led to blows and bloodshed. a general attack began upon the foreigners, in which every man was killed by the mob. about twenty of the natives lost their lives. dr. williamsâ�� comment is, â��the evidence goes to uphold the presumption that they invoked their sad fate by some rash or violent act toward the natives.â�� dr. williams also met a chinese pilot, yu wautai, who reported that in 1867 he had seen the hull of a foreign vessel lying on the south bank of the river, about ten miles up from the sea. the hull was full of water. a corean from sparrow island had told him that the murder of the shermanâ��s crew was entirely the work of the people and farmers, and not of the magistrates or soldiery. still determined to learn something of the fate of the shermanâ��s crew, since reports were current that two or more of them were still alive and in prison, admiral rowan, in may, 1867, despatched another vessel, which this time got into the right river. commander febiger, in the u. s. steamship shenandoah, besides surveying the â��ping yang inlet,â�� learned this version of the affair: a foreign vessel arrived in the river two years before. the local officials went on board and addressed the two foreign officers of the ship in respectful language. the latter grossly insulted the native dignitaries, i.e., â��they turned round and went to sleep.â�� a man on board, whom they spoke of as â��tony, [42] a frenchman,â�� used violent and very impolite language toward them. the coreans treated their visitors kindly, but warned them of their danger, and the unlawfulness of penetrating into, or trading in the country. nevertheless, the foreigners went up the river to ping-an city, where they seized the â��adjutant-generalâ��sâ�� ship, put him in chains, and proceeded to rob the junks and their crews. the people of the city aroused to wrath, attacked the foreign ship with fire-arms and cannon; they set adrift fire-rafts, and even made a hand-to-hand fight with pikes, knives, and swords. the foreigners fought desperately, but the coreans overpowered them. finally, the ship, having caught fire, blew up with a terrific report. this story was not of course believed by the american officers, but even the best wishers and friends of the ping-an adventurers cannot stifle suspicion of either cruelty or insult to the natives. knowing the character of certain members of the party, and remembering the kindness shown to the crew of the surprise, few of the unprejudiced will believe that the general shermanâ��s crew were murdered without cause. chapter xlv. a body-snatching expedition. early in may, 1867, the foreign settlement at shanghae was thrown into excitement by the report of the return of an unsuccessful piratical expedition from corea. the ennui of eurasian port life was turned into a lively glow of excitement. conversation at the clubs and tea-tables, which had wilted down to local gossip, wadeâ��s policy, paper hunts, and the races, now turned upon the politics and geography, methods of royal sepulture, mortuary architecture, antiquities, customs, and costumes in the mysterious peninsula. the pleasures of wheelbarrow rides, and visits to the bubbling springs, now palled before the pending trial at the united states consular court. an american citizen was charged with making an â��unlawful and scandalous expeditionâ�� to corea, and of violently attempting to land in a country with which the united states had no treaty relations. it was further stated that he had gone to exhume the bones of a defunct king in order to hold them for sale or ransom. in plain english, it was said to be a piratical and body-snatching descent upon the grave-yards of chå�-sen, to dig up royal remains, not for the purpose of dissection, nor in the interests of science or of archã¦ology, but for the sake of money, which money was to be extorted from the regent and court of seoul. the idea, of course, awoke merriment as well as interest. one may well understand why professor marsh should make periodical descents upon the bone-yards of red cloudâ��s territory, and exhibit his triumphsâ��skeletons of toothed birds and of geological horses as small as corean poniesâ��in a museum under glass cases, well mounted with shining brass springs and iron joints. even a school-boy can without laughing think of dr. schliemann rooting among the tombs of mycenã¦, and di cesnola sifting the dust of kurium for its golden treasures. even the night picture of resurrectionists, emptying graves in a scotch kirk-yard for subjects to sell at a pound sterling apiece, has few elements of humor about it. but to conceive of civilized â��christians,â�� or israelites, chartering a steamer to exhume and steal the carcase and mouldering bones of a heathen king, to hold them in pawn to raise money on them, created more laughter than frowns or tears. it was thought that the sign under which the ship sailed, instead of being the flag of the north german confederation, should have been the three golden balls, such as hang above a pawnbrokerâ��s windows. the person on trial was formerly an interpreter at the united states consulate, and, having learned chinese from childhood, was able to speak the language fluently, and thus converse, by means of tongue or pencil, with the many coreans who know the standard of communication in eastern asia either by sound or sight. it was he also who furnished the cash for the expedition, the commander-in-chief of which was one oppert, a north german subject; the guide was a french jesuit priest named farout (evidently a fictitious name) who spoke corean, having been in the country as a missionary. these three were the leaders of the expedition. before going, the american had told consul seward that his object was to take a corean embassy to europe, to negotiate treaties, and to explain to the governments of france and the united states the murder of their subjects in corea. four coreans, with the french missionary bishop ridel, had been in shanghae a short time before, april 24, 1867; and the defendant declared that it was from these four persons, whom he styled â��commissioners,â�� that he got his information as to the desire of the corean government for treaties, etc. he also stated that this knowledge was held only by the four coreans, himself, and a jewish peddler, who had several times penetrated into corea, and by whom the corean â��commissioners,â�� had been brought to shanghae. these â��commissioners,â�� he averred, had a new and correct version of the general sherman affair. according to their report, some of the crew had become embroiled in a row growing out of the improper treatment of some native women, and were arrested. the crew went to rescue them. they succeeded, and took also two native officers on board for hostages. this so enraged the people that they attacked the crew, killed eight at once, and made prisoners of the others who were still alive. readers of our narrative will smile at discovering the poor fishermen who brought their bishop across the yellow sea in their boat thus transformed into â��ambassadors.â�� one thing seemed to be on the surfaceâ��that this modern jason and his argonauts had gone out to find a golden fleece, but came back shorn. on the return of the expedition, mr. seward questioned the american closely, sifted the matter, and finally, being satisfied that something was wrong, put him on trial, eliciting the facts which seem to be the following: oppert, who had been at the naipo, and up the han river in the emperor and rona, secured a steamer named the china, of six hundred and eighty tons, with a steam tender, the greta, of sixty tons, and run the north german flag up at the fore. the complement of the ship was eight europeans, twenty malays from manila, and about one hundred chinamen, these last were a motley crew of sailors, laborers, and cooliesâ��the riff-raff of humanity, such as swarm in every chinese port. with muskets in their handsâ��it is doubtful whether a dozen of them had ever fired off a gunâ��they were to form the â��forcesâ�� or military escort of the expedition, which was to negotiate â��treaties,â�� embark an embassy to travel round the globe, and introduce the hermit nation to the world. the â��fleetâ�� left shanghae april 30, 1867, and steamed to nagasaki; in which japanese port she remained two days, taking on board coal, water, and ten cases of muskets. the prow was then headed for chung-chong province. they arrived in prince jerome gulf at 10 p.m. on friday, may 8th. the next day at 10 a.m. they moved farther in the river. in the afternoon they succeeded in getting two small boats, or sampans, partly by persuasion and pay, partly by force. the expedition was then organized, oppert commanding. the mate, engineer, and regular chinese manned the tender which was to tow the boats. the muskets were unpacked and distributed on deck, and the coolies were armed, equipped, taught the difference between the butt and muzzle of their weapons, and given their orders. four men carried spades or coal shovels to exhume the bones and treasure. the french priest who had been in corea acted as guide and interpreter. shortly after midnight, and very early on sunday morning, the steam tender began to move up the river, stopping at a point about forty miles from the sea. the armed crowd landed, and the march across the open country to the tomb was begun. as they proceeded, the neighborhood became alive with curious people, and the hills were white with people gazing at the strange procession. a few natives being met on the way, the french priest stopped to speak with them. the party rested for a while at a temple, for the march was getting tiresome, having already occupied several hours. reaching the burial-place [near totta-san?], they found a raised mound with a slab of stone on each side at the base. beneath this tomb was the supposed treasure. was it bones or gold? the four men with spades now began their work, and soon levelled the mound. they had dug out a considerable quantity of earth, when their shovels struck on a rocky slab, which seemed to be the lid of the tomb proper, or the sarcophagus. this they could not move. all efforts to budge or pry it up were vain. having no crowbars they were, after much useless labor, with perhaps not a little swearing, compelled to give up their task. on their return march, the exasperated coreans, plucking up courage, attempted to molest them, but the marauders, firing their guns in the air, kept their assailants at a respectful distance. the party and tender dropped down the river and rejoined the steamer at noon, the weather being foggy. further proceedings of the expedition are known only in outline. the steamer weighed anchor and left for kang-wa island. they put themselves in communication with the local magistrate during three days. on the third day a party landed from the ship, and while on shore were fired upon. two men were killed and one wounded. the expedition remained in corea ten days, returning to shanghae after two weeksâ�� absence. in the foregoing trial it is most evident that many details were concealed. the quantity of truth divulged was probably in proportion to the whole amount, as the puffs of steam from a safety-valve are to the volume in the boiler. the accused let out just enough to save them from conviction and to secure their acquittal. the defendant was discharged with the scotch verdict â��not proven.â�� mr. george f. seward, however, wrote to the state department at washington his opinion, that the expedition was â��an attempt to take from their tombs the remains of one or more sovereigns of corea, for the purpose, it would seem, of holding them to ransom.â�� whether any great amount of treasure is ever buried with the sovereigns or grandees of chå�-sen is not known to us. certain it is that the national sentiment is that of horror against the disturbance or rifling of sepulchres. now they had before their eyes a fresh confirmation of their suspicions that the chief purpose of foreign invaders was to rob the dead and violate the most holy instincts of humanity. the national mind now settled into the conviction that, beyond all doubt, foreigners were barbarians and many of them thieves and robbers. with such eyes were they ready to look upon the flag and ships of the united states when they came in 1871. note.â��nearly every word of the above was written in december, 1877, the information having been derived from the united states diplomatic correspondence. at that time we suspected that â��faroutâ�� was the fictitious name of feron, the french roman catholic missionary, who had escaped the persecutions of 1866. it seems that three countries and three religions were represented in this body-snatching expedition, which was of a truly international character. in march, 1880, there was published in london and new york the english translation of â��ein verschlossenes land,â�� a work printed in germany. as we read â��a forbidden land: voyages to the corea,â�� it dawned upon us that the author was none other than â��the needy hamburgh trader,â�� â��the jewish peddler,â�� of the consular court trial of 1867. it was even so. coolly and without denial, the author tells us that the main object of his last voyage was to â��removeâ�� some buried relics held in great veneration by that â��blood-thirsty tyrant,â�� the tai-wen kun, or regent. the project was first suggested to him by the french priest, who, as the author takes pains to tell us, was not a jesuit, nor had ever belonged to that order (p. 295), though he gives feronâ��s proposition in his own words (p. 299), the italics being ours: â��if the project i am going to lay before you (i.e., to rob the grave) will at first sight appear to you strange and out of the common, remember that a great aim can never be gained by small means, and that we must look at this affair from another point of view than that which may be taken by narrow-minded people.â�� the details of the landing, march [to near totta-san?], excavation, and retreat are duly narrated, the blame of failure being laid upon one unlucky wight who was â��the only disreputable character we had with us!â�� after leaving prince jerome gulf, the china proceeded up the han river to tricault island (see map, page 379), â��about twenty minutesâ�� steam below kang-wha.â�� there the leader received a note from the taiouen-goon (the tai-wen kun, or regent), the gist of which was, â��corea has no need of foreign intruders.â�� while holding a parley near the wall of a town on tricault island, â��the only disreputable characterâ�� in the party again got them into trouble. this black sheep was a german sailor, who, hungering after fresh veal, had stolen a calf; an act which drew the fire of the native soldiery on the city wall. the thief received a ball in his arm, which compelled him to drop the calf and run, while one manilaman was shot dead. it is not known how far the statistics of a corean warfare diverge from those elsewhere, nor how many tons of lead are required to kill one man, but owing to the incredibly bad aim of the jingal shooters, the remainder of the party of twenty or more escaped their deserts and reached the tender. the next morning the expedition set out on the return to shanghae. after a review of this book (in the nation of april 7, 1880), which the author issued after his imprisonment, the following note appeared in the same paper of april 21st: oppertâ��s corean outrage. to the editor of the nation: sir: the notice of oppertâ��s book on corea recalls some curious incidents to my mind. the raid on the kingâ��s tomb was one of the most extraordinary affairs ever known. its inception and failure might have been concealed but for the coreans, when they attacked the ghouls, killing an unfortunate manilaman. hearing of this, the spanish consul applied to mr. seward (united states consul-general at shanghae), who at once arrested jenkins. i was one of the four â��associatesâ�� summoned to sit with the consul-general in the trial, and well remember what a perfect burlesque it was. the chinese, who had told a plain and coherent story on preliminary examination, were as dumb as oysters on the stand. when all had been called, the defendantâ��s counsel said that he would rest his case on their testimony. conviction was impossible, but in the minds of those informed on the subject, the wickedness of this buccaneering expedition was remembered as surpassing even the absurdity of an attempt to destroy a granite mausoleum with coal shovels. there is a monstrous impertinence in oppertâ��s publishing an account of a piratical fiasco which is reported to have cost him a term of imprisonment at home. a. a. hayes, jr. new york, april 15, 1880. chapter xlvi. â��our little war with the heathen.â�� the representations made to the department of state at washington by dr. s. wells williams, concerning the general sherman, and by consul-general george f. seward, in the matter of the china, affair, directed the attention of the government to the opening of corea to american commerce. the memorial of mr. seward, dated october 14, 1868, reviewed the advantages to be gained and the obstacles in the way. the need of protection to american seamen was pointed out, and as japan had been opened to international relations by american diplomacy, why should not a smaller nation yield to persuasion? american merchants in china having seconded mr. sewardâ��s proposal, the state department took the matter into serious consideration, and, in 1870, resolved to undertake the difficult enterprise. the servants of the united states who were charged with this delicate mission were, mr. frederick f. low, minister of the united states to peking, and rear-admiral john rodgers, commander-in-chief of the asiatic squadron. mr. low was directed by secretary fish to gain all possible knowledge from peking, and then proceed on the admiralâ��s flag-ship to the corean capital. he was to make a treaty of commerce if possible, but his chief aim was to secure provision for the protection of shipwrecked mariners. he was to avoid a conflict of force, unless it could not be avoided without dishonor. â��the responsibility of war or peaceâ�� was to be left with him and not with the admiral. [43] there was at this time, all over the far east, a feeling of uncertainty and alarm among foreigners, and many portentious signs seemed to indicate a general uprising, both in china and japan, against foreigners. the example of corea in expelling or beheading the french priests acted as powerful leaven in the minds of the fanatical foreigner-haters in the two countries adjoining. the â��mikado-reverencers,â�� who in japan had overthrown the â��tycoonâ�� and abolished the dual system of government, made these objects only secondary to the expulsion of all aliens. the cry of â��honor the mikadoâ�� was joined to the savage yell of the jo-i (alien-haters), â��expel the barbarians.â�� in china the smothered feelings of murderous animosity were almost ready to burst. the air was filled with alarms, even while the american fleet was preparing [44] for corea. rear-admiral rodgers, [45] who had taken command, and relieved admiral rowan, august 20, 1869, began his preparations with vigor. in a consultation held at peking during november, 1870, between the admiral, minister, and consul general, the time for the expedition was fixed for the month of may, 1871. mr. seward then left for a visit to india, and mr. low despatched, through the tribunal of rites at peking, a letter to the king of corea. after vast circumlocution, it emerged from the mazes of chinese court etiquette, and by a special courier reached the regent at seoul. in this, however, the chinese were doing a great favor. no answer was received from seoul before the expedition sailed. meanwhile the german minister to japan (now in peking), herr m. von brandt, had landed from the hertha at fusan, and attempted to hold an interview with the governor of tong-nai. he was accompanied by the japanese representatives at fusan, who politely forwarded his request. a tart lecture to the mikadoâ��s subject for his officiousness, and a rebuff to the kaiserâ��s envoy were the only results of his mission. after sauntering about a little, herr von brandt, who arrived june 1, 1878, left june 2d, and the era of commercial relations between the central european empire [46] and chå�-sen was postponed. during the year 1870, bishop ridel, who had gone back to france, returned to china and prepared to rejoin his converts. having communicated with them, they awaited his coming with anxiety, and we shall hear of them on board of the flag-ship colorado. mr. low, having gathered all possible information, public and private, concerning â��the semi-barbarous and hostile peopleâ�� of â��the unknown countryâ�� which he expected to fail of entering, sailed from shanghae, may 8th, arriving at nagasaki, may 12th. on the 13th he wrote to the secretary of state, mr. hamilton fish. he declared that â��corea is more of a sealed book than japan was before commodore perryâ��s visit.â�� evidently he looked upon the pathway of the duty laid upon him as unusually thorny. the rose if plucked at all would be held in smarting fingers. while granting a faithful servant of the nation the virtue of modesty, one cannot fail to read in his letter more of an expectation to redress wrongs than to conciliate hostility. the whole spirit of the expedition was not that reflected in the despatches of the state department, but rather that of the clubs and dinner-tables of shanghae. the minister went to corea with his mind made up, and everything he saw confirmed him in his fixed opinion. of the admiral, it is not unjust to say that the warrior predominated over the peace-maker. he had an eye to the victories of war more than those, not less renowned, of peace. the sword was certainly more congenial to his nature than the pen. the fleet made rendezvous at nagasaki, in kiushiuâ��that division of japan whence warlike expeditions to chå�-sen have sailed from the days of jingu to those of taikå�, and from taikå� to rodgers. this time, as in the seventh century, the landing was to be made not near the eastern, but on the remote western, coast. the cry was, â��on to seoul.â�� the squadron, consisting of the flag-ship colorado, the corvettes alaska and benicia, and the gun-boats monocacy and palos, sailed gallantly out of the harbor on may 16th, and, making an easy run, anchored off ferriã¨res islands on the 19th, and, after a delay of fogs, isle eugenie on the 23d. in spite of the formidable appearance of our navy, the vessels were of either an antiquated type or of too heavy a draught, their timbers too rotten or not strong enough for shotted broadsides, and their armament defective in breech-loading firearms, while the facilities for landing a force were inadequate. the palos and monocacy were the only ships fitted to go up the han river. the others must remain at the mouth. they were little more than transports. all the naval world in chinese waters wondered why so wide-awake and practical a people as the americans should be content with such old-fashioned ships, unworthy of the gallant crews who manned them. however, the fleet and armament were better than the corean war-junks, or mud-forts armed with jingals. in gallant sailorly recognition of his predecessor, yet with unconscious omen of like failure, the brave rodgers named the place of anchorage roze roads. the french soundings were verified and the superb scenery richly enjoyed. all navigators of the approaches to seoul are alike unanimous in showering unstinting praise upon their natural beauty. here for the first time the natives beheld the â��floweryâ�� flag of the united states. next morning the palos and four steam-launches were put under the command of captain homer c. blake, to examine the channel beyond boisã©e island. four days were peaceably spent in this service, a safe return being made on the evening of the 28th. meanwhile boat parties had landed and been treated in a friendly manner by the people, and the usual curiosity as to brass buttons, blue cloth, and glass bottles displayed. the customary official paper without signature, of interrogations as to who, whence, and why of the comers was displayed, and the answers, â��americans,â�� â��friendly,â�� and â��interviewâ�� returned in faultless chinese. it was announced that the fleet would remain for some time. on the following day, may 30th, the fleet anchored between the isles boisã©e and guerriã¨re. a stiff breeze had blown away the fogs and revealed the verdure and the features of a landscape which struck all with admiration for its luxuriant beauty. approaching the squadron in a junk, some natives made signs of friendship, and came on board without hesitation. they bore a missive acknowledging the receipt of the americansâ�� letter, and announcing that three nobles had been appointed by the regent for conference. these junk-men were merely messengers, and made no pretence of being anything more. they were hospitably treated, shown round the ship, and dined and wined until their good nature broke out in broad grins and redolent visages. they stood for their photographs on deck, and some fine pictures of them were obtained. one of them, after being loaded with an armful of spoil in the shape of a dozen or so of bassâ�� pale ale bottles, minus their corks, and a copy of every saturday, a boston illustrated newspaper, was told in the stereotyped photographerâ��s phrase to â��assume a pleasant expression of countenance, and look right at this point.â�� he obeyed so well, and in the nick of time, that a wreath of smiles was the result. â��our first corean visitorâ�� stands before us on the page. strange coincidence! strange medley of the significant symbols of a christian land! the first thing given to the corean was alcohol, beer, and wine. in the picture, plainly appearing, are the empty pale ale bottles, with their trade-mark, the red triangleâ��â��the entering wedge of civilization.â�� but held behind the hands clasping the bottles is a copy of every saturday, on the front page of which is a picture of charles sumner, the champion of humanity, and of the principle that â��nations must act as individuals,â�� with like moral responsibility! promptly on may 31st, a delegation of eight officers, of the third and fifth rank, came on board evidently with intent to see the minister and admiral, to learn all they could, and to gain time. they had little or no authority and no credentials, but they were sociable, friendly, and in good humor. â��mr. low would not lower himself,â�� nor would admiral rodgers see them. they were received by the secretary, mr. drew. they were absolutely non-committal on all points and to all questions asked, and naturally so, since they had no authority whatever [47] to say â��yesâ�� or â��noâ�� to any proposition of the americans. a golden opportunity was here lost. the corean envoys were informed that soundings would be taken in the river, and the shores would be surveyed. it was hoped that no molestation would be offered, and, further, that twenty-four hours would elapse before the boats began work. â��to all this they (the coreans) made no reply which could indicate dissent.â�� [certainly not! they had no power to nod their heads, or say either â��yesâ�� or â��no.â��] â��so, believing that we might continue our surveys while further diplomatic negotiations were pending, an expedition was sent to examine and survey the salã©e [han] river.â�� [48] the survey fleet consisted of the monocacy, palos, the only ships fit for the purpose, and four steam-launches, each of the latter having a howitzer mounted in the bow. captain h. c. blake, the commander, was on board the palos. the old hero understood the situation only too well. as he started to obey orders he remarked: â��in ten minutes we shall have a row.â�� exactly at noon of june 2d, the four steam-launches proceeded in line abreast up the river, the palos and monocacy following. the tide was running up, and neither of the large vessels could be kept moving at a rate slow enough to allow the survey work to be done well, so that this part of their work is of little value. yet everything seemed quiet and peaceful; the bluffs and high banks along the water were densely covered with green woods, with now meadows, now a thatched-roof village, anon a rice-field in the foreground. occasionally people could be seen in their white dresses along the banks, but not a sign of hostility or war until, on reaching the lower end of kang-wa island, a line of forts and fluttering flags suddenly become visible. in a few minutes more long lines of white-garbed soldiery were seen, and through a glass an interpreter read on one of the yellow flags the chinese characters meaning â��general commanding.â�� in the embrasures were a few pieces of artillery of 32-pound calibre, and some smaller pieces lashed together by fives, or nailed to logs in a row. on the opposite point of the river was a line of smaller earthworks, freshly thrown up, armed only with jingals. around the bend in the river was â��a whirlpool as bad as hell gate,â�� full of eddies and ledges, with the channel only three hundred feet wide. the fort (du condã¨) was situated right on this elbow. hundreds of mats and screens were ranged within and on the works, masking the loaded guns. as the boats passed nearer, glimpses into the fort became possible, by which it was seen that the cannon â��lay nearly as thick together as gun to gun and gun behind gun on the floor of an arsenal.â�� (see map, page 415.) for a moment the silence was ominousâ��oppressive. the hearts of the men beat violently, their teeth were set, and calm defiance waited in the face of certain death. the rapid current bore them on right into the face of the frowning muzzles. it seemed impossible to escape. were the coreans going to fire? if so, why not now? immediately? now is their opportunity. the vessels are abreast the forts. the corean commander was one moment too late. from the parapet under the great flag a signal gun was fired. in an instant mats and screens were alive with the red fire of eighty pieces of artillery. then a hail of shot from all the cannon, guns, and jingals rained around the boats. forts, batteries, and walls were hidden for a moment in smoke. the water was rasped and torn as though a hailstorm was passing over it. many of the men in the boats were wet to the skin by the splashing of the water over them. old veterans of the civil war had never seen so much fire, lead, iron, and smoke of bad powder concentrated in such small space and time. â��old blake,â�� who had had two ships shot under him by the confederates, declared he could remember nothing so sharp as this. the fire was promptly returned by the steam-launch howitzers. the palos and monocacy, which had forged ahead, turned back, and â��old blake came round the point a-flying, and let drive all the guns of the palos at them. the consequence was that they kicked so hard as to tear the bolts out of the side of the ship and render the bulwarks useless during the remainder of the fight.â�� the monocacy also anchored near the point, and sent her ten-inch shells into the fort. during her movements, she struck a rock and began to leak badly. after hammering at the forts until everything in them was silenced, the squadron returned down the river, sending their explosive compliments into the forts and redoubts as they passed. all were quiet and deserted, however, but the commanderâ��s flag was still flying unharmed and neglected. strange to say, out of the entire fleet only one of our men was wounded and none was killed; nor did any of the ships or boats receive any damage from the batteries. two hundred guns had been fired on the corean side. the signal coming too late, the immovability of their rude guns, the badness of the powder, and the poor aim of the unskilled gunners, were the causes of such an incredibly small damage. it was like the bombardment of fort sumter in 1861, or like those battles which statistics reveal to us, in which it requires a ton of lead to kill a man. however, it was determined by the chief representatives of the civil and naval powers to resent the insult offered to our â��flagâ�� in the â��unprovokedâ�� attack on our vessels, â��should no apology or satisfactory explanation be offered for the hostile action of the corean government.â�� ten days were now allowed to pass before further action was taken. they were ten days of inaction, except preparation for further fight and some correspondence with the local magistrate. what a pity these ten days had not been spent before, and not after, june 2d! some civilians, not to say christians, might also be of the opinion that ample revenge had already been taken, enough blood spilled, the â��honorâ�� of the flag fully â��vindicated,â�� a delicate diplomatic mission of â��peaceâ�� spoiled beyond further damage, and that further vengeance was folly, and more blood spilled, murder. but not so thought the powers that be. the chastising expedition consisted of the monocacy, palos, four steam-launches, and twenty boats, conveying a landing force of six hundred and fifty-one men, of whom one hundred and five were marines. the benicia, alaska, and colorado remained at anchor. the total force detailed for the work of punishing the coreans was seven hundred and fifty-nine men. these were arranged in ten companies of infantry, with seven pieces of artillery. the monocacy had, in addition to her regular armament, two of the coloradoâ��s nine-inch guns. captain homer c. blake, who was put in charge of the expedition, remained on the palos. the squadron proceeded up the river at 10 oâ��clock, on the morning of the 10th of june, two steam-launches moving in advance of the monocacy. the boats were in tow of the palos, which moved at 10.30. the day was bright, clear, and warm. a short distance above the isle primauguet a junk was seen approaching, the coreans waving a white flag and holding a letter from one of the ministers of the court. one of the steam-launches met the junk, and the letter was received. it was translated by mr. drew, but as it contained nothing which, in the american eyes, seemed like an apology, the squadron moved on. at 1 oâ��clock the monocacy arrived within range of the first fort and opened with her guns, which partly demolished the walls and emptied it in a few seconds. the landing party, after a two minutesâ�� pull at the oars, reached the shore, and disembarked about eight hundred yards below the fort. the landing-place was a mud-flat, in which the men sunk to their knees in the tough slime, losing gaiters, shoes, and even tearing off the legs of their trousers in their efforts to advance. the howitzers sank to their axles in the heavy ooze. once on firm land, the infantry formed, the marines deploying as skirmishers. unarmed refugees from the villages were not harmed, and the first fort was quietly entered. the work of demolition was begun by firing everything combustible and rolling the guns into the river. day being far spent when this was finished, the whole force went into camp and bivouacked, taking every precaution against surprise. four companies of infantry were first detailed to drag the howitzers out of the mud, a task which resembled the wrenching of an armature off a twenty-horse power magnet. our men lay down to sleep under the stars. all was quiet that saturday night, except the chatting round the camp-fires and the croaking of the corean frogs, as the men cleaned themselves and prepared for their sunday work. toward midnight a body of white-coats approached, set up a tremendous howling, and began a dropping fire on our main pickets. as they moved about in the darkness, they looked like ghosts. when the long roll was sounded, our men sprang to their arms and fell in like old veterans. a few shells were scattered among the ghostly howlers, and all was quiet again. the marines occupied a strong position half a mile from the main body, a rice-field dividing them, with only a narrow foot-path in the centre. they slept with their arms at their side, and, divided into three reliefs, kept watch. while at the anchorage off boisã©e island that evening, twelve native christians, approaching noiselessly in the dark, made signs of a desire to communicate. they had come in a junk from some point on the coast to inquire after their pastor, ridel, and two other french missionaries whom they expected. to their great distress, the americans could give them no information. fearing lest the government might know, from the build of their craft, from what part of the country they came, and punish them for communicating with the foreigners, they burned their boat and returned home. next day was sunday. the reveille was sounded in the camps, breakfast eaten, and blankets rolled up. company c and the pioneers were sent into the fort to complete its destruction, by burning up the rice, dried fish, and huts still standing. the march began at 7 a.m. the sun rolled up in a cloudless sky and the weather was very warm. it was a rough road, if, indeed, it could be called such, being but a bridle-path over hills and valleys, and through rice fields. whole companies were required to drag the howitzers up the hills and through the narrow defiles. the marines led the advance. the next line of fortifications, the â��middle fort,â�� was soon entered. the guns were found loaded, as they had been deserted as soon as the fort was made a target by the monocacy, every one of whose shots told. the work of dismantling was here thoroughly done. the sixty brass pieces of artillery, all of them insignificant breech-loaders of two-inch bore, were tumbled into the river, and the fort appropriately named â��fort monocacy.â�� the difficult march was resumed under a blazing sun and in steaming heat. a succession of steep hills lay before them. sappers and miners, with picks, shovels, and axes, went ahead levelling and widening the road, cutting bushes and filling hollows. the guns had to be hauled up and lowered down the steep places by means of ropes. large masses of white coats and black heads hovered on their flanks, evidently purposing to get in the rear. their numbers were increasing. the danger was imminent. the fort must be taken soon or never. a detachment of five howitzers and three companies were detailed to guard the flanks and rear under lieutenant-commander wheeler. the main body then moved forward to storm the fort (citadel). this move of our forces checkmated the enemy and made victory sure, redeeming a critical moment and turning danger into safety. hardly were the guns in position, when the coreans, massing their forces, charged the hill in the very teeth of the howitzersâ�� fire. our men calmly took sure aim, and by steadily firing at long range, so shattered the ranks of the attacking force that they broke and fled, leaving a clear field. the fort was now doomed. the splendid practice of our howitzers effectually prevented any large body of the enemy from getting into action, and made certain the capture of the citadel. meanwhile the monocacy, moving up the river and abreast of the land force, poured a steady fire of shell through the walls and into the fort, while the howitzers of the rear-guard on the hill behind, reversing their muzzles, fired upon the garrison over the heads of our men in the ravine. the infantry and marines having rested awhile after their forced march, during which several had been overcome by heat and sunstroke, now formed for a charge. the citadel to be assaulted was the key to the whole line of fortifications. it crowned the apex of a conical hill one hundred and fifty feet high, measuring from the bottom of the ravine. it mounted, with the redoubt below, one hundred and forty-three guns. the sides of the hill were very steep, the walls of the fort joining it almost without a break. up this steep incline our men were to rush in the face of the garrisonâ��s fire. could the white-coats depress the jingals at a sufficiently low angle, they must annihilate the blue-jackets. should our men reach the walls, they could easily enter through the breaches made by the monocacyâ��s shells. as usual, slowness, and the national habit of being behind time, saved our men and lost the day for corea. a terrible reception awaited the americans. every man inside was bound to die at his post, for this fort being the key to all the others, was held by the tiger-hunters, who, if they flinched before the enemy, were to be put to death by their own people. all being ready, our men rose up with a yell and rushed for the redoubt, officers in front. a storm of jingal balls rained over their heads, but their dash up the hill was so rapid that the garrison could not depress their pieces or load fast enough. their powder burned too slowly to hurt the swift yankees. goaded to despair the tiger-hunters â��chanted their war-dirge in a blood-chilling cadence which nothing can duplicate.â�� they mounted the parapet, fighting with furious courage. they cast stones at our men. they met them with spear and sword. with hands emptied of weapons, they picked up dust and threw in the invadersâ�� eyes to blind them. expecting no quarter and no relief, they contested the ground inch by inch and fought only to die. scores were shot and tumbled into the river. most of the wounded were drowned, and some cut their own throats as they rushed into the water. lieutenant mckee was the first to mount the parapet and leap inside the fort. for a moment, and only a moment, he stood alone fighting against overwhelming odds. a bullet struck him in the groin, a corean brave rushed forward, and, with a terrible lunge, thrust him in the thigh, and then turned upon lieutenant-commander schley, who had leaped over the parapet. the spear passed harmlessly between the arm and body of the american as a carbine bullet laid the corean dead. the fort was now full of officers and men, and a hand to hand fight between the blue and white began to strew the ground with corpses. corean sword crossed yankee cutlass, and clubbed carbine brained the native whose spear it dashed aside. the garrison fought to the last man. within the walls those shot and bayoneted numbered nearly one hundred. not one unwounded prisoner was taken. the huge yellow cotton flag, which floated from a very short staff in the centre, was hauled down by captain mclane tilton and two marines. meanwhile a desperate fight went on outside the fort. during the charge, some of the coreans retreated from the fort, a movement which caught the eye of master mclean. hastily collecting a party of his men, he moved to the left on the double quick to cut off the fugitives. he was just in time. the fugitives, forty or fifty in all, after firing, attempted to rush past him. they were driven back in diminished numbers. hemmed in between the captured fort and their enemy, mclean charged them with his handful of men. hiding behind some rocks, they fought with desperation until they were all killed, only two or three being made prisoners. another party attempting to escape were nearly annihilated by casselâ��s battery, which sent canister into their flying backs, mowing them down in swaths. moving at full speed, many were shot like rabbits, falling heels over head. at the same time captain tilton passed to the right of the fort and caught another party retreating along the crest of the hill joining the two forts, and, with a steady carbine fire, thinned their numbers. at 12.45 the stars and stripes floated over all the forts. a photographer came ashore and on his camera fixed the horrible picture of blood. the scene after the battle smoke cleared away, and our men sat down to rest, was of a kind to thoroughly satisfy those â��who look on war as a pastime.â�� it was one from which humanity loves to avert her gaze. two hundred and forty-three corpses in their white garments lay in and around the citadel. many of them were clothed in thick cotton armor, wadded to nine thicknesses, which now smouldered away. a sickening stench of roasted flesh filled the air, which, during the day and night, became intolerable. some of the wounded, fearing their captors worse than their torture, slowly burned to death; choosing rather to suffer living cremation than to save their lives as captives. our men, as they dragged the smoking corpses into the burial trench, found one man who could endure the torture no longer. making signs of life, he was soon stripped of his clothes, but died soon after of his wounds and burns. only twenty prisoners, all wounded, were taken alive. at least a hundred corpses floated or sunk in the river, which ran here and there in crimson streaks. at this one place probably as many as three hundred and fifty corean patriots gave up their lives for their country. on the american side, the gallant mckee, who fell as his father fell in mexico, at the head of his men, the first inside the stormed works, was mortally wounded, and died soon after. one landsman of the colorado and one marine of the benicia were killed. five men were severely, and five slightly, wounded. the other two forts below the citadel being open to the rear from the main work were easily entered, no regular resistance being offered. the results of the forty-eight hours on shore, eighteen of which were spent in the field, were the capture of five fortsâ��probably the strongest in the kingdomâ��fifty flags, four hundred and eighty-one pieces of artillery, chiefly jingals, and a large number of matchlocks. of the artillery eleven pieces were 32,â�� fourteen were 24,â�� two were 20,â�� and the remaining four hundred and fifty-four were 2and 4-pounders. the work of destruction was carried on and made as thorough as fire, axe, and shovel could make it. a victory was won, of which the american navy may feel proud. zeal, patience, discipline, and bravery characterized men and officers in all the movements. the wounded were moved to the monocacy. the forts were occupied all sunday night, and early on monday morning the whole force was re-embarked in perfect order, in spite of the furious tide, rising twenty feet. the fleet moved down the stream with the captured colors at the mast-heads and towing the boats laden with the trophies of victory. reaching the anchorage at half past ten oâ��clock, they were greeted with such ringing cheers of their comrades left behind as made the woodlands echo again. later in the day, dennis hendrin (or hanrahan) and seth allen, the two men slain in the fight, were buried on boisã©e island, and the first american graves rose on corean soil. at 5.45 p.m. mckee breathed his last. [49] yet the odds of battle were dreadfulâ��three graves against heaps upon heaps of unburied slain. well might the pagan ask: â��what did heaven mean by it?â�� the native wounded were kindly cared for, and their broken bones mended, by the fleet surgeon, dr. mayo. admiral rodgers, in a letter to the native authorities, offered to return his prisoners. the reply was in substance: â��do as you please with them.â�� the prisoners were therefore set ashore and allowed to dispose of themselves. admiral rodgers having obeyed to the farthest limit the orders given him, and all hope of making a treaty being over, two of the ships, withal needing to refit, the fleet sailed from the anchorage off isle boisã©e the day before the fourth of july, arriving in chifu on the morning of july 5th, after thirty-five daysâ�� stay in corean waters. he arrived in time to hear of the tientsin massacre, which had taken place june 20th. â��our little war with the heathen,â�� as the new york herald styled it, attracted slight notice in the united states. a few columns of news and comment from the metropolitan press, a page or two of woodcuts in an illustrated newspaper, the ringing of a chime of jests on going up salt river (salã©e), and the usual transmission of official documents, summed up the transient impression on the american public. in china the expedition was looked upon as a failure and a defeat. the popular corean idea was, that the americans had come to avenge the death of pirates and robbers, and, after several battles, had been so surely defeated that they dare not attempt the task of chastisement again. to the tai-wen kun the whole matter was cause for personal glorification. the tiger-hunters and the conservative party at court believed that they had successfully defied both france and america, and driven off their forces with loss. when a scotch missionary in shing-king reasoned with a corean concerning the power of foreigners and their superiority in war, the listenerâ��s reply, delivered with angry toss of the head and a snap of the fingers, was: â��what care we for your foreign inventions? even our boys laugh at all your weapons.â�� chapter xlvii. the ports opened to japanese commerce. the walls of corean isolation, so long intact, had been sapped by the entrance of christianity and the french missionaries, and now began to crumble. with the russians on the north, and the sea no longer a barrier, the japanese began to press upon the east, while china broke through and abolished the neutrality of the western border. the fires of civilization began to smoke out the hermit. the revolutions of 1868 in japan, culminating after a century of interior preparation, abolished the dual system and feudalism, and restored the mikado to supreme power. the capital was removed to tå�kiå�, and the office of foreign affairsâ��a sub-bureauâ��was raised to a department of the imperial administration. one of the first things attended to was to invite the corean government to resume ancient friendship and vassalage. this summons, coming from a source unrecognized for eight centuries, and to a regent swollen with pride at his victory over the french and his success in extirpating the christian religion, and irritated at japan for adopting western principles of progress and cutting free from chinese influence and tradition, was spurned with defiance. an insolent and even scurrilous letter was returned to the mikadoâ��s government, which stung to rage the military classes of japan, who began to form a â��war-party,â�� which was headed by saigo of satsuma. waiting only for the return of the embassy from europe, and for the word to take up the gage of battle, they nourished their wrath to keep it warm. it was not so to be. new factors had entered the corean problem since taikoâ��s time. european states were now concerned in asiatic politics. russia was too near, china too hostile, and japan too poor; she was even then paying ten per cent. interest to london bankers on the shimonosã©ki indemnity loan. financial ruin, and a collision with china might result, if war were declared. in october, 1873, the cabinet vetoed the scheme, and saigo, the leader of the war party, resigned and returned to satsuma, to nourish schemes for the overthrow of the ministry and the humiliation of corea. â��the eagle, even though starving, refuses to eat grain;â�� nor would anything less than corean blood satisfy the japanese veterans. in 1873, the young king of corea attained his majority. his father, tai-wen kun, by the act of the king backed by queen chå�, was relieved of office, and his bloody and cruel lease of power came to an end. the young sovereign proved himself a man of mental vigor and independent judgment, not merely trusting to his ministers, but opening important documents in person. he has been ably seconded by his wife min, through whose influence tai-wen kun was shorn of influence, nobles of progressive spirit were reinstated to office, and friendship with japan encouraged. in this year, 1873, an heir to the throne was born of the queen; another royal child, the offspring of a concubine, having been born in 1869. the neutral belt of land long inhabited by deer and tiger, or traversed by occasional parties of ginseng-hunters, had within the last few decades been overspread with squatters, and infested by manchiu brigands and corean outlaws. the depredations of these border ruffians both across the yalu, and on the chinese settlementsâ��like the raids of the wild indians on our texas frontierâ��had become intolerable to both countries. in 1875, li hung chang, sending a force of picked chinese troops, supported by a gunboat on the yalu, broke up the nest of robbers, and imbibed a taste both for corean politics and for rectifying the frontiers of shing-king. he proceeded at once to make said frontier â��scientificâ�� by allowing the surveyor and plowman to enter the no longer debatable land. in 1877, the governor of shing-king proposing, the peking government shifted the eastern frontier of the empire twenty leagues nearer the rising sun, on the plea that â��the width of the tract left uncultivated was of less moment than the efficiency of border regulations.â�� by this act the borders of china and corea touched, and were written in yalu water. the last vestige of insulation was removed, and the shocks of change now became more frequent and alarming. by contact with the living world, comatose corea was to be galvanized into new life. nevertheless the hostile spirit of the official classes, who tyrannize the little country, was shown in the refusal to receive envoys of the mikado because they were dressed in european clothes, in petty regulations highly irritating to the japanese at fusan, and by the overt act of violence which we shall now narrate. since 1868 the japanese navy, modelled after the british, and consisting of american and european iron-clads and war vessels, has been manned by crews uniformed in foreign style. on september 19, 1875, some sailors of the unyo kuan, which had been cruising off the mouth of the han river, landing near kang-wa for water, were fired on by corean soldiers, under the idea that they were americans or frenchmen. on the 21st the japanese, numbering thirty-six men, and armed with breech loaders, stormed the fort. most of the garrison were shot or drowned, the fort dismantled, and the spoil carried to the ships. occupying the works two days, the japanese returned to nagasaki on the 23d. the news of â��the kokwa [kang-wa] affairâ�� brought the wavering minds of both the peace and the war party of japan to a decision. arinori mori was despatched to peking to find out the exact relation of china to corea, and secure her neutrality. kuroda kiyotaku was sent with a fleet to the han river, to make, if possible, a treaty of friendship and open ports of trade. by the rival parties, the one was regarded as the bearer of the olive branch, the other of arrows and lightning. with kuroda went inouyã© bunda of the state department, and kin rinshiå�, the corean liberal. general kuroda sailed january 6, 1876, amid salvos of the artillery of newspaper criticism predicting failure, with two men-of-war, three transports, and three companies of marines, or less than eight hundred men in all, and touching at fusan, anchored within sight of seoul, february 6th. about the same time, a courier from peking arrived in the capital, bearing the imperial recommendation that a treaty be made with the japanese. the temper of the young king had been manifested long before this by his rebuking the district magistrate of kang-wa for allowing soldiers to fire on peaceably disposed people, and ordering the offender to degradation and exile. arinori mori, in peking, had received the written disclaimer of chinaâ��s responsibility over â��the outpost state,â�� by which stroke of policy the middle kingdom freed herself from all possible claims of indemnity from france, the united states, and japan. the way for a treaty was now smoothed, and the new difficulties were merely questions of form. nevertheless, while kuroda was unheard from, the japanese war preparations went vigorously on. kuroda, making commodore perryâ��s tactics his own, disposed his fleet in the most imposing array, made his transports look like men-of-war, by painting port-holes on them, kept up an incredible amount of fuss, movement, and bustle, and on the 10th landed a dazzling array of marines, sailors, and officers in full uniform, who paraded two miles to the treaty-house, on kang-wa island, where two high commissioners from seoul, ji shinken and in jiahå�, aged respectively sixty-five and fifty, awaited him. one day was devoted to ceremony, and three to negotiation. a written apology for the kang-wa affair was offered by the coreans, and the details of the treaty settled, the chief difficulties being the titles to be used. [50] ten days for consultation at the capital were then asked for and granted, at the end of which time, the two commissioners returned, declaring the impossibility of obtaining the royal signature. the japanese at once embarked on their ships in disgust. they returned only after satisfactory assurances; and on february 27th the treaty, in which chå�-sen was recognized as an independent nation, was signed and attested. the japanese then made presents, mostly of western manufacture, and after being feasted, returned march 1st. mr. inouyã© bunda then proceeded to europe, visiting, on his way, the centennial exposition at philadelphia, at which also, it is said, were one or more corean visitors. the first corean embassy, which since the twelfth century had been accredited to the mikadoâ��s court, sailed in may, 1876, from fusan in a japanese steamer, landing at yokohama may 29th, at 8 a.m. two neptune-like braves with the symbols of powerâ��huge iron tridentsâ��led the procession, in which was a band of twenty performers on metal horns, conch-shells, flutes, whistles, cymbals, and drums. effeminate-looking pages bore the treaty documents. the chief envoy rode on a platform covered with tiger-skins, and resting on the shoulders of eight men, while a servant bore the umbrella of state over his head, and four minor officers walked at his side. the remainder of the suite rode in jin-riki-shas, and the japanese military and civil escort completed the display. they breakfasted at the town hall, and by railroad and steam-cars reached tå�kiå�. at the station, the contrast between the old and the new was startling. the japanese stood â��with all the outward signs of the civilization that is coming in.â�� â��on the other side, were all the representatives of the barbarism that is going out.â�� on the following day, the coreans visited the foreign office, and on june 1st, the envoy, though of inferior rank, had audience of the mikado. for three weeks the japanese amused, enlightened, and startled their guests by showing them their war ships, arsenals, artillery, torpedoes, schools, buildings, factories, and offices equipped with steam and electricityâ��the ripened fruit of the seed planted by perry in 1854. all attempts of foreigners to hold any communication with them, were firmly rejected by the coreans, who started homeward june 28th. the official diary, or report by the ambassador of this visit to japan, was afterward published in seoul. it is a colorless narrative carefully bleached of all views and opinions, evidently satisfying the scrutiny even of enemies at court. during the autumn of this year, 1876, and later on, in following years, the british war-vessels, sylvia and swinger, were engaged in surveying portions of the coast of kiung-sang province. captain h. c. saint john, who commanded the sylvia, and had touched near fusan in 1855â��long enough to see a native bastinadoed simply for selling a chicken to a foreignerâ��now found more hospitable treatment. his adventures are narrated in his chatty book, â��the wild coasts of nipon.â�� an english vessel, the barbara taylor, having been wrecked on corean shores, an attachã© of the british legation in tå�kiå� was sent to fusan to thank the authorities for their kind treatment of the crew. the japanese found it was not wise to hasten in taking advantage of their new liberties granted by treaty. near fusan, are thousands of graves of natives killed in the invasion of 1592â��97, over which the coreans hold an annual memorial celebration. hitherto the japanese had been rigorously kept within their guarded enclosure. going out to witness the celebration, they were met with a shower of stones, and found the road blockaded. after a small riot in which many words and missiles were exchanged, matters were righted, but the temper of the people showed that, as in old japan, it would be long before ignorant hermits, and not over-gentle foreigners could live quietly together. saigo, of satsuma, dissatisfied with the peaceful results of kurodaâ��s mission, and the â��brain victoryâ�� over the coreans, organized, during 1877, â��the satsuma rebellion,â�� to crush which cost japan twenty thousand lives, $50,000,000, and seven months of mighty effort, the story of which has been so well told in the lamented a. h. mounseyâ��s perspicuous monograph. yet out of this struggle, with which corea manifested no sympathy, the nation emerged with old elements of disturbance eliminated, and with a broader outlook to the future. a more vigorous policy with chå�-sen was at once inaugurated. under the new treaty, fusan (corean, pu-san) soon became a bustling place of trade, with a population of two thousand, many of whom, however, were poor people from tsushima. among the public buildings were those of the consulate, chamber of commerce, bank, mitsu bishi (three diamonds) steamship company, and a hospital, under care of dr. yano, in which, up to 1882, four thousand coreans and many japanese have been treated. a japanese and corean newspaper, chå�-sen shimpo, restaurants, places of amusements of various grades of morality, and a variety of establishments for turning wits and industry into money, have been established. the decayed gentry of japan, starting in business with the capital obtained by commuting their hereditary pensions, found it difficult to compete with the trained merchants of tå�kiå� and ozaka. great trouble from the lock of a gold and silver currency has been experienced, as only the copper and iron sapeks, or â��cash,â�� are in circulation. in corean political economy to let gold go out of the country is to sell the kingdom; and so many rogues have attempted the sale of brass or gilt nuggets that an assaying office at the consulate has been provided. the government of tå�kiå� has urged upon that of seoul the adoption of a circulating medium based on the precious metals; and, perhaps, corean coins may yet be struck at the superb mint at ozaka. while gold in dust and nuggets has been exported for centuries, rumor credits the vaults at seoul with being full of japanese gold koban, the mountains to be well packed with auriferous quartz, and the rivers to run with golden sands. among the callers, with diplomatic powers, from the outside world in 1881, each eager and ambitious to be the first in wresting the coveted prize of a treaty, were two british captains of men-of-war, who arrived on may 21st and 28th; a french naval officer, june 16th, who sailed away after a rebuff june 18th; while at gensan, june 7th, the british man-of-war, pegasus, came, and saw, but did not conquer. after six years of mutual contact at fusan, the coreans, though finding the japanese as troublesome as the latter discovered foreigners to be after their own ports were opened, have, with much experience learned, settled down to endure them, for the sake of a trade which undoubtedly enriches the country. the coreans buy cotton goods, tin-plate, glass, dyes, tools, and machinery, clocks, watches, petroleum, flour, lacquer-work, iron, hollow-ware, and foreign knick-knacks. a good sign of a desire for personal improvement is a demand for bath-tubs. soap will probably come next. the exports are gold dust, silver, ox hides and bones, beche-de-mer, fish, rice, raw silk, fans, cotton, and bamboo paper, ginseng, furs of many kinds, tobacco, shells for inlaying, dried fish, timber, beans and peas, hemp, jute, various plants yielding paper-stock, peony-bark, gall-nuts, varnishes and oils, and a variety of other vegetable substances having a universal commercial value. even riu kiu has seen the benefits of trade, and five merchants from what is now the okinawa ken of the mikadoâ��s empireâ��formerly the loo choo island kingdomâ��came to tå�kiå� in february, 1882, to form a company with a view to establishing an agency in fusan, and exchanging corean products for riu kiu sugar, grain, and fish. gensan (corean, won-san) was opened may 1, 1880. in a fertile region, traversed by two high roads, with the fur country near, and a magnificent harbor in front, the prospects of trade are good. the japanese concession, on which are some imposing public buildings, includes about forty-two acres. an exposition of japanese, european, and american goods was established which was visited by 25,000 people, its object being to open the eyes and pockets of the natives, who seemed, to the tå�kiå� merchants, taller, stouter, and better looking than those of fusan. one twenty-sixth of the goods sold was japanese, the rest, mostly cotton goods and â��notions,â�� were american and european. the busy season of trade is in autumn and early winter. for the first three months the settlers were less troubled by tigers than by continual rumors of the approach of a band of a thousand â��foreigner-haters,â�� who were sworn to annihilate the aliens on the sacred soil of chå�-sen. the bloodthirsty braves, however, postponed the execution of their purpose. the japanese merchants, so far from finding the coreans innocently verdant, soon came in contact with monopolies, rings, guilds, and tricks of trade that showed a surprising knowledge of business. official intermeddling completed their woe, and loud and long were the complaints of the mikadoâ��s subjects. yet profits were fair, and the first anniversary of the opening of the port was celebrated in grand style. besides dinners and day fireworks, the police played the ancient national game of polo, to the great amusement of the coreans. among the foreign visitors in may, 1881, was doctor frank cowan, an american gentleman, and surgeon on the japanese steamer tsuruga maru, who made a short journey in the vicinity among the good-natured natives. besides spying out the land, and returning well laden with trophies, he records, in a letter to the state department at washington, this prophecy: â��next to the countries on the golden rim of the pacific, ... to disturb the monetary equilibrium of the world, will be corea.â�� â��the geological structure is not incompatible with the theory that the whole region [east coast] is productive of the precious metal.â�� to regulate some points of the treaty, and if possible postpone the opening of the new port of in-chiå­n (japanese, nin-sen) a second embassy was despatched to japan, which arrived at yokohama, august 11, 1880. the procession of tall and portly men dressed in green, red, and pink garments of coarse cloth, with chinese shoes, and hats of mighty diameter, moved through the streets amid the rather free remarks of the spectators, who commented in no complimentary language on the general air of dinginess which these rip van winkles of the orient presented. the coreans remained in tå�kiå� until september 8th. perfect courtesy was everywhere shown them, as they visited schools and factories, and studied japanâ��s modern enginery of war and peace. the general attitude of the tå�kiå� press and populace was that of condescending familiarity, of generous hospitality mildly flavored with contempt, and tempered by a very uncertain hope that these people might develop into good pupilsâ��and customers. chå�-sen did not lack attentions from the outside worldâ��russia, england, france, italy, and the united statesâ��during the year 1880. whether missionaries of the holy synod of russia attempted to cross the tumen, we do not know; but in the spring of 1880, a muscovite vessel appeared off one of the ports of ham-kiung, to open commercial relations. the offer was politely declined. the italian war-vessel vettor pisani, having on board h. r. h. the duke of genoa, arrived off fusan, august 1, 1880, at 1 p.m.â��a few hours after the corean embassy had left for japan. one survivor of the italian ship, bianca portia, wrecked near quelpart in 1879, had been kindly treated by the corean authorities and sent to nagasaki. the duke, through the japanese consul, forwarded a letter of thanks to the governor of tong-nai, who, however, returned the missive, though with a courteous answer. after seven days, the vettor pisani sailed northward, and avoiding gensan and the japanese consul, anchored off port lazareff, where, during his six daysâ�� stay, he was visited by the local magistrate, to whom he committed a letter of application for trade. some native cards of silk-wormâ��s eggs were also secured to test their value for italy. after a three daysâ�� visit to gensan the ship sailed away, the italian believing that negotiations with the coreans would succeed better without japanese aid, and congratulating himself upon having been more successful than the previous attempts by the british, and especially by the french (captain fourmier, of the lynx) and american (commodore shufeldt) diplomatic agents, whose letters were returned unread. the government of the united states had not forgotten corea, and japan had signified her willingness to assist in opening the hermit nation to american commerce. on april 8, 1878, senator sargent, of california, offered a resolution that president hayes â��appoint a commissioner to represent this country in an effort to arrange, by peaceful means and with the aid of the friendly offices of japan, a treaty of peace and commerce between the united states and the kingdom of corea.â�� the bill passed to a second reading, but, the senate adjourning, no action was taken. in 1879, the u. s. steamship ticonderoga, under commodore r. w. shufeldt, was sent on a cruise around the world in the interests of american commerce, and to make, if possible, a treaty with corea. entering the harbor of fusan, may 14, 1880, commodore shufeldt begged the japanese consul, who visited the ship, to forward his papers to seoul. the consul complied, but, unfortunately, neither the interpreters nor the governor of tong-naiâ��preferring present pay and comfort to possible future benefitâ��would have anything to do with such dangerous business. japanese rumor asserts that the coreans seeing the letter addressed on the outside to â��the king of corea,â�� declined to receive it, partly because their sovereign was â��not king of koraiâ�� but â��king of chå�-sen.â�� under the circumstances, the american could do nothing more than withdraw, which he did amid the usual salute from a corean fort near by. a second visit being equally fruitless, the ticonderoga again turned her stern toward â��the last outstanding and irreconcilable scoffer among nations at western alliances,â�� and her prow homeward. the corean embassy, failing in their attempts to have the japanese go slowly, hanabusa, the mikadoâ��s envoy at seoul, now vigorously urged the opening of the third port, and, after much discussion, in-chiå­n, [51] twenty-five miles from seoul, was selected; in december, 1880, hanabusa and his suite, crossing the frozen rivers, went thither, and selected the ground for the japanese concession. the old questions upon which political parties in the hermit nation had formed themselves, now sank out of sight, and the new element of excitement was the all-absorbing question of breaking the seals of national seclusion. the â��civilization party,â�� or the progressionists, were opposed to the exclusionists, port-closers, and foreigner-haters. heading the former or liberal party were the young king and queen, bin kenko, bin shoshoko, ri saiwo, and other high dignitaries, besides kin giokin and jo kohan, former envoys to japan. the leader of the conservatives was the tai-wen-kun, father of the king and late regent. the neutrals clustered around kin koshiu. physically speaking, the coreans see the sun rise over japan and set over china, but morally, and in rhetoric, their sun of prosperity has ever risen and set in china. some proposed to buy all machinery, arms, and government material in china, and imitate her plans and policy, and conform to the advice of her statesmen. the other side urged the adoption of japanese methods and materials. the pro-chinese gentry imitated the peking mandarins in details of dress, household decoration, and culture; while all their books conveying western science must be read from chinese translations. the pro-japanese coreans had their houses furnished with japanese articles, they read and studied japanese literature and translations of european books, and when out of corea the most radical among them wore coats and pantaloons. the long and hot disputes between the adherents of both parties seriously hampered the government, while precipitating a revolution in the national policy; for serious debate in a despotic country is a sign of awakening life. about this time, early in 1881, a remarkable document, composed by kwo-in-ken, adviser to the chinese minister to japan, had a lively effect upon the court of seoul. it was entitled â��policy for corea.â�� it described the neighbors of chå�-sen, and pointed out her proper attitude to each of them. from russia, devoted as she is to a policy of perpetual aggrandizement at the expense of other countries, and consumed by lust for land, corea is in imminent danger. china, on the contrary, is coreaâ��s natural ally and friend, ever ready with aid in men and money; both countries need each other, and their union should be as close as lips and teeth. for historical and geographical reasons, corea and japan should also be one in friendship, and thus guard against â��russia the ravenous.â�� the next point treated is the necessity of an alliance between corea and the united states, because the americans are the natural friends of asiatic nations. pointing out the many advantages of securing the friendship of the americans, and making a treaty with them first, the memorialist urges the coreans to seize the golden opportunity at once. about the same time, li hung chang, chinaâ��s liberal statesman, wrote a letter to a corean gentleman, in which the advice to seek the friendship of china and the united states was strongly expressed, and a treaty with the americans urged as a matter of national safety. many, though not all, of the members of the embassies to japan returned full of enthusiasm for western civilization. it soon became evident that the king and many of his advisers were willing to make treaties. in peking, the members of the embassy, before the winter of 1881 was over, began diplomatic flirtations with the american legation. at that time, however, neither minister j. b. angell, in peking, nor john a. bingham, in tå�kiå�, had any authority to make a treaty with corea. while the way was thus made ready, the representations of messrs. bingham and angell to the state department at washington impressed upon our government the necessity of having a diplomatic agent near at hand to take advantage of the next opportunity. hitherto the only avenue of entrance seemed through the japanese good offices; but the apparent willingness of coreans in peking, the experience of the italians in the vettor pisani at fusan and port lazareff, the advice of chinese statesmen to corea to have faith in the united states, and to open her ports to american commerce, convinced the american minister at peking that china, rather than japan, would furnish the better base of diplomatic operations for breaking down the corean repulsive policy. the government at washington responded to the suggestion, and in the spring of 1881, commodore shufeldt was sent by the state department to peking as naval attachã© to the legation, so as to be near the american minister and be ready with his experience, should a further attempt â��to bring together the strange states of the extreme seaâ�� be made. shortly after the presentation of kwo-in-kenâ��s memorial in seoul, a party of thirty-four prominent men of the civilization party, led by giå� inchiu and kio yeichoku, set out from seoul to visit japan and further study the problem of how far western ideas were adapted to an oriental state. the proposition to open a port so near the capital to the japanese, and to treat with the americans, was not left unchallenged. the ultra-confucianists, headed by ni mansun, stood ready to oppose it with word and weapon. in swelling corean rhetoric, this bigoted patriot from chung-chong proved to his own satisfaction that all the nations except china and corea were uncivilized, and that the presence of foreigners would pollute the holy land. gathering an array of seven hundred of his followers, he dressed in mourning to show his grief, and with the figure of an axe on his shoulders, in token of risking his life by his act, he presented his memorial to the king, and sat for seven days in front of the royal palace. he demanded that in-chiå­n should not be opened, the two bin should be deposed, and all innovations should cease. the popular form of the dread of foreigners was shown in delegations of country people, who came into seoul to forward petitions and protestations. placards were posted on or near the palace gates, full of violent language, and prophesying the most woful results of western blight and poison upon the country which had ever been the object of the special favor of the spirits. another party of two thousand literary men, fanatical patriots, had assembled at chå�-rio to go up to seoul to overawe the progressive ministers, but were met by messengers from the court and turned back by the promise that the party about to visit japan under royal patronage should be recalled. for a moment the king had thrown a sop to these cerberian zealots, whose three heads of demand would keep chå�-sen as inaccessible as hades. the order came too late, the progressionists had left the shores, and were in nagasaki. thence to ozaka, where some remained to study the arts and sciences; the majority proceeded to tå�kiå� to examine modern civilization in its manifold phases. unlike peter the great, some of these reformers began with themselves, clothing mind and body with the nineteenth century. dropping the garments of picturesque mediã¦valism, they put on the work-suit of buttoned coat and trousers and learned the value of minutes from american watches. the cutting off their badge of nationalityâ��the top-knotâ��was accompanied with emotions very similar to those of bereavement by death. giå� inchiu [52] after his return from japan was despatched on a mission to china, where his conference was chiefly with li hung chang. he returned home by way of fusan, december 29, 1881. he had now a good opportunity of judging the relative merits of japan and china. his patriotic eye saw that the first need of corean reform was in strengthening the army; though the poverty of the country gave slight hope of speedy success. the results of this mission were soon apparent, for shortly after, eighty young men, of the average age of twenty, were sent to tientsin, where they are now, 1882, diligently pursuing their studies; some in the arsenal, learning the manufacture of firearms, others learning the english language. a returned chinese studentâ��one of the number lately recalled from new englandâ��while severely sarcastic at the corean governmentâ��s â��poor discrimination in selecting the country from which her students could profit most,â�� added, â��they possess a far better physique for the navy than any of our future imperial midshipmen.â�� chapter xlviii. the year of the treaties. the year 1882 opened ominously. a fire broke out in the royal palace in seoul, on january 27th, in which two buildings, nearly completed for the heir apparent, were burned down. the fire was at first believed to have political significance, and the tension of the public mind was not relaxed until it was shown that the fire was the result of pure accident. the spirit of progress made advance, but discussion reached fever-heat in deciding whether the favor of japan or china should be most sought, and which foreign nation, the united states, france, or england, should be admitted first to treaty rights. bin, opposed to the arbitrary spirit of the japanese, edged his argument by proposing an alliance with foreigners in order to checkmate the designs of japan. an event not unlooked for increased the power of the progressionists. one kozaikai urged the plea of expulsion of foreigners in such intemperate language that he was accused of reproaching the sovereign. at the same time, a conspiracy against the life of the king, involving forty persons, was discovered, and the sword and torture came into play. kozaikai was put to death, many of the conspirators were exiled, and the ringleaders were sentenced to be broken alive on the wheel, the revolutions of which tore off hands and feet in succession. six of those doomed to death were spared, through the intercession of a minister, and one, the kingâ��s cousin, who delivered himself up, was pardoned by his sovereign on the ground of the prisonerâ��s insanity. the progressionists had now the upper hand, and early in the spring giå� inchiu and riå�sen left on a mission to tientsin, to acquaint the americans and chinese with the information that the corean government was ready to make treaties, and that the proper officer would be at in-chiå­n to sign the compact and complete the negotiations. meanwhile the reforms in military affairs were begun with energy. japanese officers, at the head of whom was lieutenant horimoto, drilled picked men in seoul, with creditable success, in spite of their unwieldy hats and costume, and the jeers of the anti-foreign people, in public as well as in private. substantial proof of the adoption of japanâ��s military system was shown in an order sent to tå�kiå� for a few hundred snider rifles with equipmentsâ��the weapon of the british armyâ��and one for twenty thousand of the rifles made at the japanese arsenal in tå�kiå�, which, combining the merits of the best-known military fire-arm, contained improvements invented and patented by colonel murata, of the mikadoâ��s army. two corean notables later again visited japan in april of this year, and were annoyed to find a report spread abroad in nagasaki that they had come to raise a money loan. nevertheless, they proceeded to kiå�to and tå�kiå�. some of their suite went into the printing-offices and silk-worm breeding establishments to learn these arts, while type, presses, and printing material were ordered for use at home. affairs had so shaped themselves that even to outsiders it became evident that the corean apple was ripe even to falling. by march 4th it was known at the american legation in peking that â��barkis was willinâ��,â�� while to the japanese envoy then in tå�kiå� it became certain that, unless he made all haste to in-chiå­n, the american commodore would have his treaty signed and be off without even waiting for a call. hastily bidding his friends good-by, he left in the japanese steamer, iwaki kuan, and arrived in the harbor just one hour before the american corvette swatara arrived with commodore shufeldt on board. with the swatara were three chinese men-of-war, one of them an iron-clad. the american diplomatic agent, commodore r. w. shufeldt, having spent nearly a year in china, surmounting difficulties that few will know of until the full history of the american treaty with corea is written, arrived in the swatara off chimulpo, may 7th. accompanied by three officers, commodore shufeldt went six miles into the interior to the office of the corean magistrate to formulate the treaty. though surrounded every moment by curious crowds, no disrespect was shown in any way. two days afterward, the treaty document was signed on a point of land in a temporary pavilion opposite the ship. thus, in the most modest manner the negotiations were concluded, and a treaty with the united states was, after repeated failures, secured by the gallant officer who, by this act of successful diplomacy, closed a long and brilliant professional career. [53] both on the american and corean side the results had been brought about only after severe toil. the corean nobleman bin, a cousin of the queen, had so labored in seoul night and day to commit the government to the policy of making treaties with the americans, that, when the messengers had been despatched with the order for commodore shufeldt to appear in imperatrice gulf, he fell ill, and was unable to appear at in-chiå­n. the american envoy was so worn out with anxiety and toil by his efforts to have corea opened under chinese auspices, that on landing at san francisco, he retired to the naval hospital at mareâ��s island to recover his exhausted strength. four days after the signing of the american and chinese treaties, the corean capital was full of mirth and gayety, on account of a wedding in the royal family. the crown prince, a lad of nine years old, was wedded to the daughter of jun, a nobleman of high rank, who had postponed a visit to japan until the nuptials were accomplished. a brilliant procession in the streets of seoul marked the event, and for a moment the excitement concerning foreigners was forgotten. none foresaw the bloody ending of this honeymoon so happily begun. the british minister at tå�kiå�, sir harry parkes, who had left no stone unturned to secure a personal interview with the ambassador in 1876, and, since that time, british trade with corea, was still on the alert. he at once ordered admiral willes to proceed to in-chiå­n. leaving his large fleet in japanese waters, admiral willes left nagasaki in the vigilant, may 27th, while mr. william g. aston, the accomplished linguist and corean scholar, received orders to follow. the admiralâ��s business was soon despatched, a treaty was made, and his return to yokohama was accomplished june 14th, the u. s. steamship ashuelot saluting him on his arrival. the french and germans were the next to improve the long-awaited opportunity. the german admiral left japan in the man-of-war stosch, on may 31st, while a vessel of the french navy entered the port of in-chiå­n june 5th. there had thus appeared in this sequestered nook of creation, within a few days, two american, three british, one french, one japanese, and five chinese armed vessels. all of them, except the french, had left by june 8th, to the great relief of the country folks and old men and women, many of whom, with the children, had fled to the hills when the big guns began to waste their powder in salutes, to the detriment of the thatched roofs of the houses. china lost no time in taking advantage of the position secured her by treaty. no vexatious delays of ratification troubled her. everything had been arranged beforehand with the coreans, so that, on the return of the vessels from in-chiå­n, officers were despatched to shanghae to sail for gensan and fusan, and select land for public buildings. during the present year the japanese legation in seoul has numbered about forty persons, including secretaries, interpreters, military officers, policemen, students, and servants. notwithstanding their precarious situation, amid the turbulent elements at work around them, they seemed to enjoy the spectacle before their eyes of a repetition of the history of their own country after perryâ��s arrival in 1853. the young men of the legation visited the historic sites near the capital, enjoyed the mountain and river scenery, and studied the corean language and literature. at first the common people believed that their visitors sucked the blood of the children lured away by them; and so carefully guarded their little ones. by and by, however, as more liberty was afforded them, the occasional pelting with vegetables and pebbles became less frequent, and even the women would talk with them. the light-hearted japanese seemed to suspect no imminent danger, although the old fanatic and tyrant tai-wen kun was still alive and plotting. to insure perfect secrecy for his plans, it is said that he employed two or three mutes to wait on him, and act as his messengers. he was the centre of all the elements hostile to innovation, and being a man of unusual ability, was possessed of immense influence. the populace of seoul and of the country had been taught to believe that â��the japanese were inebriated with the manners of christian nations, and were enchanted by the western devils, and that as a europeanized country of the devil was being created in their immediate neighborhood, they must expel the barbarians.â�� every means had been used to inflame the people against foreigners. stone monuments had been set up on the high roads and market-places which bore this inscriptionâ��â��the western barbarians will come to invade our soil, there are but two alternatives for chå�-sen; to go to war, or to maintain peace. to submit peacefully means to sell the country; therefore we coreans must resort to arms.â�� many thousands of these inscribed stones had been set up, and an edict had been issued, commanding the ink-makers to inscribe their sticks of ink with this inflammatory declaration. when nobles of high rank would advocate progresssive views, tai-wen kun would sneeringly dare them to remove these anti-foreign monuments. during the nine years of his nominal retirement from office, from 1873 to 1882, this bigoted confucianist, who refused to know anything of the outer world, bided his time and waited his opportunity, which came during the summer of the present year. just when the populace was most excited over the near presence of the americans and other foreigners at in-chiå­n, the usual rainfall was withheld, the wells dried up, and in the consequent drouth, the rice crop was threatened with total failure. the diviners, sorcerers, and anti-foreign party took advantage of the situation to play on the fears of the superstitious people. the spirits, displeased at the intrusion of the western devils, were angry and were cursing the land. at the same time the soldiery of the capital were disaffected, as some say on account of arrearages of wages, or as others aver, because the old warriors of the bow and arrow hated the japanese method of drilling as a foreign innovation insulting to the gods. a more probable reason is that on account of the failure of the rice-harvest, the soldiersâ�� rations were cut down, and they were deprived of this choice cereal for food. among the first corean officers killed was the superintendent of the rice storehouses, which were pillaged by the hungry mob. on july 23d, while the king was out in the open air praying for rain, a mob of sympathizers with tai-wen kun attempted to seize his person. the king escaped to the castle. according to one account, some mischief-maker then started the report in the city that the japanese had attacked the royal castle, and had seized the king and queen, and that the prime minister with the palace-guards in vainly endeavoring to beat back the assailants, had been defeated; and that every corean should take up arms. forthwith the mob rushed with frantic violence upon the legation, murdering the japanese policemen and students whom they met in the streets and the japanese military instructors in the barracks. not satisfied with this, the rioters, numbering 4,000 men, attacked and destroyed the houses of the ministers favoring foreign intercourse. before quiet was restored, the queen, min, the heir apparent and his wife, the chief ministers of the government, min thai ho and min yong ik, were, as was supposed, murdered; but all these emerged alive. many of the mins and seven japanese were killed. the japanese, by their own account, had suspected no danger until the day of the riot, when they noticed great excitement among the people, and that crowds were assembling and rushing to and fro. they sent out a policeman to inquire into the nature of the disturbance, and at two oâ��clock p.m. they learned from a native that the mob would attack the legation. word was also sent to the japanese by the corean officer in charge of the drill-ground where the troops were trained by lieutenant horimoto, saying that the troops drilled in japanese tactics had been attacked, and the legation would next be in danger. hanabusa and his suite then arranged a plan of defence. while thus engaged, a corean employed at the legation informed them that the mob had destroyed the houses of the two ministers bin, and were attacking three japanese students. three policemen well armed then left to succor the students, but nothing was heard from either policemen or students again. a corean officer now appeared and warned the japanese to escape to the hill back of the legation; and being requested by hanabusa to ask the government for soldiers, he left on this errand. at 5.50 p.m. the mob reached the legation, and raising a united yell, fired volleys of bullets, arrows, and big stones at the legation, but dared not enter the gate to face the revolvers of the policemen. in hurling stones the ruffians showed remarkable skill. the mob set on fire a house, near by, and in the rising windâ��then boding a coming stormâ��two out-houses of the legation were burned, the police shooting down the incendiaries when they could see them. it was now about ten oâ��clock, and the ruffians having thrown up barricades to hem in their victims and to shield their cowardly carcases while shooting, the japanese fired the remaining buildings, and armed only with swords and pistols, formed themselves into a circle, charged the mob, and cut their way through to the house of the chief magistrate, which they found empty. finding no one in the official residence, they marched to the southern gate of the royal castle. instead of opening it, the soldiers on the wall above pelted them with stones. hanabusa now resolved to cross the river with his party and make his way to in-chiå­n. turning their backs on the flames, they arrived at the river and, on the ferryman refusing to convey them across, they seized the boat and crossed safely to the other side. it was now past midnight and the rain began to fall heavily, and with occasional thunderstorms continued to pour down all night. the refugees plunged on through the darkness, often losing their way, but next day at ten oâ��clock, they procured some raw barley to eat, and through the pelting rain pushed on, reaching in-chiå­n at 3 p.m. the governor received them kindly and supplied food and dry clothing. the japanese officers slept in the official residence, and the servants, police, and others in a guard-house about fifteen yards distant. the governor posted his own sentinels to watch so that the japanese could get some rest. in a few minutes the tired men were sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. about five oâ��clock, hanabusa and his officers were suddenly awakened by the shouting of a mob outside; and in a moment more a japanese entered covered with blood, and with a drawn sword in his hand with which he had cut his way. the mob had attacked them while they were asleep, and the soldiers of the local garrison were joining the rioters, firing from behind fences. all the japanese now hurried on their clothes, and charging a body of about forty soldiers, armed with swords and spears, who were blocking the gateway, made for chi-mul-po seaport, having lost three killed and two missing. meeting two japanese on horseback from the port, who reported that the road was free from ambuscades, they put the wounded man on one horse, and by another despatched one of their number to hasten forward and have a boat ready. they reached chi-mul-po, the port, about seven oâ��clock, and immediately crossed over to roze island for safety. about midnight, having procured a junk, they put to sea, toward nanyo bay, where they knew the british gunboat flying fish was then on survey. encountering a southerly wind, they made little or no progress, and on the 26th a dense fog set in; but at 11.30 a.m., it cleared up and the welcome sight of a three-masted vessel greeted their eyes. hoisting the flag of japan, they saw their signal answered, and soon the party of twenty-six half-naked, hungry, and cold refugees were on board the ship, where kindest treatment awaited them. that night at ten oâ��clock the flying fish sailed for nagasaki. on august 3d a religious service in memory of their slain comrades was held by the survivors, at shimonosã©ki. â��the deep silence was only broken by the sobbing of the audience, overcome by deep sympathy for the murdered men.â�� on the 8th hanabusa had an audience with the mikado in tå�kiå�. without hesitation, the japanese government ordered the army to assemble at shimonosã©ki and tsushima, with naval forces to co-operate. hanabusa and his suite were sent back, escorted by a military force. he re-entered seoul, august 16th, and was received with courtesy. a fleet of chinese war-vessels with a force of four thousand troops was also at hand. apparently everything was under the control of tai-wen kun, who professed to be friendly to foreigners, and to ascribe the recent riot to a sudden uprising of the unpaid soldiery, which the government had not force at hand to suppress. two corean officers coming on board the flying fish, august 10th, informed captain hoskyn that the soldiery, dissatisfied with the unfair treatment of their superiors, had incited the peasantry to rebellion; that by orders of tai-wen kun, who bitterly regretted the recent outrages, the dead japanese had been honorably buried; that the old regent while usurping the royal power, had professed a total change of views and was in favor of a progressive policy. at his audience with the king, august 20th, hanabusa presented the demands of his government. these were nominally agreed to, but several days passing without satisfactory action, hanabusa having exhausted remonstrance and argument, left seoul august 25th and returned to his ship. this unexpected moveâ��a menace of warâ��brought the usurper to terms. on receipt of tai-wen kunâ��s apologies, the japanese envoy returned to the capital august 30th and full agreement was given to the demands of japan, at which time it would appear, tai-wen kun, forcibly kidnapped by the envoy of china, had begun his travels into the country of confucius. the following telegram to the new york tribune of october 2d, summarizes the news from yokohama up to september 13th: the corean government pledged itself to the following conditions: to arrest the insurgents within twenty days and inflict due punishment upon them, japanese delegates to be present at the trial; to bury properly the bodies of those murdered and pay 50,000 yen (dollars) to their families; to pay japan 500,000 yen as indemnity for expenditure, etc., in five yearly instalments; to allow japanese troops in seoul for the protection of the legation, and to provide proper accommodations for them; to send an apology by a special embassy to japan; to extend gradually privileges to the japanese residents and traders; to afford proper conveniences for travel throughout corea for the japanese government officials. while this was going on the chinese envoy, who had remained inactive with his escort until august 25th, suddenly called up the full body of his troops, about three or four thousand, to the capital. what degree of pressure he may have exercised is not yet known, but it is certain that the chief rebel and assassin, the tai-wen kun, was taken on board a chinese ship and carried to tien-tsin. it is alleged that his departure was by no means voluntary, and that some physical effort was required to get him ashore on arriving at his destination. whatever was the object of this proceeding, it must have been dictated by li hung chang, the chinese viceroy at tien-tsin, who seems to have quite abandoned his demeanor of calm stolidity during these active corean transactions. it is declared by one chinese party that the only purpose was to rescue the tai-wen kun from the dangers that threatened him, and by another that the intent was still to maintain the theory of sovereign control over coreaâ��s rulers, which li hung chang has been straining for throughout. during the recent prospect of trouble with corea, the japanese government received offers of military service from twenty thousand volunteers, and of money gifts to the value of 200,000 yen. at this stage of affairs, when corea ceases to be a â��hermit nation,â�� and stands in the glare of the worldâ��s attention, we bring our imperfect story to a close. the pivot of the future history of eastern asia is corea. on her soil will be decided the problem of supremacy, by the jealous rivals china, japan, and russia. the sudden assumption of self-imposed tutelary duties by china proves her lively interest in the little country, which has been called both â��her right arm of defense,â�� and â��her gloved handâ��â��the one to force back the ravenous muscovite, the other to warn off the ambitious japanese. whether the middle kingdom has deliberately chosen the land of morning calm to affront and humiliate â��the neighbor-disturbing nation,â�� that twice humbled her pride in the fairest islands of the seaâ��formosa and riu kiuâ��the events of the not distant future will soon determine. whether the hoary empire shall come in collision with the young northern giant, and the dragon and the bear tear each other in the slime of war in corean valleys, may be a question the solution of which is not far off. we trust that amid all dangers, the integrity of the little kingdom may be preserved; but whatever be the issue upon the map of the world, let us hope that paganism, bigotry, and superstition in corea, and in all asia, may disappear; and that in their places, the religion of jesus, science, education, and human brotherhood may find an abiding dwelling-place. chapter xlix. the economic condition of corea. for nearly a quarter of a century corea, the once hermit nation, has been opened to intercourse with the world, and the student has had facilities for understanding the country and people and realizing what are the social and political problems of humanity in the peninsula. as in most old asiatic states, so in corea, there is an almost total absence of an intelligent middle class, which in the west is the characteristic of progressive nations. in the land of morning radiance there is a governing minority consisting of about one-tenth of the whole population. these, the yangban (civil and military), living in ancient privilege and prerogative and virtually paying no taxes or tolls, prey upon the common people. the great bulk, that is, nine-tenths of the population, is agricultural and is gathered in hamlets and villages. the typical corean tills the soil, in which occupation, after ages of unprogressive routine, he has come to his present mental status. there is not even a distinct manufacturing class in corea, for nearly all industry is still in the cottage. the few articles needed by the laborer for the floor, the wall, and the kitchen are made by the farmer during his winter hours, and his women-folk weave and make up the clothing. the average carpenter, blacksmith, and stone mason is simply a laborer on the land with added skill in a special line. even the fisherman cultivates the soil. the village schoolmaster is a son of the farmer of the better class. there are groups of population-office-holders and their retainers and hangers-on, shopkeepers and traders, butchers, porters, miners, junk-sailors, and innkeepers, sorcerers, gamblers, and fortune-tellers, but, all told, the number of men who do not live on the soil form but a decimal fraction in the national household. for these compelling reasons the problems of internal government relate almost wholly to the woe or weal of the tillers of the soil. during the summer of six months the average corean stands bare-legged in the mud, planting or cultivating grain. his wife and children, especially his daughters, help him in the raising of rice, barley, wheat, and beans, and in the harvesting and securing of the final products. during the four cold months of the year he is at work gathering fuel or making mats, sandals, screens, or thatch. during the first and seventh moons he enjoys an easy time, doing little or nothing, and these two months are like holiday. the average income of a corean farmer is about thirty dollars a year. the average house in corea consists only of mud, straw, twine, and wood, above a foundation of earth faced with stone and worth but a few dollars. the price of waste land is from one to five dollars an acre, and of cultivated fertile soil from ten to sixty dollars an acre. the lots are poorly marked and boundary quarrels are incessant. the corean farmer knows little about scientific irrigation or variety in fertilizers, dried grass being his chief manure. the mountains are greatly denuded of their forests, and alternate droughts and floods work awful disasters. with a naturally good soil and fine climate, agriculture is yet in a backward condition. it is said that the japanese in the sixteenth century taught the coreans the cultivation of rice, millions of bushels of which, under stimulus from the same source, they are now able to export annually. in recent years the japanese have attempted to secure control of the waste lands of corea so as to develop them, not only for the production of cereals, vegetable wax, paper fibre, and stuff for weaving, but also for cotton to supply the demands of the osaka mills. their demands, pressed too severely in july, 1904, were the cause of vigorous native protest in great public meetings. the corean rustic is, as a rule, illiterate. probably only about four out of ten males of the farming class can read either chinese or corean, but counting in the women it is estimated that about eighty-five per cent of the people can neither read nor write, though the percentage varies greatly with the locality. as a general thing, there is more acquaintance with books and writing in the southern than in the northern provinces. it is pitiful to find in the budget for 1904 that but $27,718 are appropriated for schools outside of seoul, the latter receiving $135,074, of which the sum of $44,220 goes to foreign teachers in the english, french, german, russian, chinese, and japanese language schools. although since 1895 the old civil-service examinations have been abolished and there has been a department of education, it has thus far had little influence upon the country at large. in the central office in 1904, out of $28,617 appropriated, $19,857 went for salaries and office expenses, $6,500 being for text-book printing. the corean farmer is simple in his dress, food, and habits. he does not journey far from home. although the high-roads are lively with travellers, one sees not the farmer but the literati, the traders, and the porters. few country folks ever visit the large cities, and in regions near the capital few have seen seoul. custom is the eternal law to the rustic, who is patient, bearing extortion until flesh and blood can stand it no longer, when he rises in revolt against his oppressor. yet it is against the bad man, not the system itself, that he protests. after the obnoxious officer has been recalled or driven away and temporary relief is obtained, the corean farmer settles down into a good tax-paying subject as of yore, and unless something like the tong hak movement stirs him, his wheel of life quickly slips again into the rut of routine. as long as he can get enough to eat he is content. when oppression and robbery are joined to natureâ��s niggardliness, he and his comrades are transformed into a howling mob of starving malcontents, ready for bloody vengeance. the son of the soil is superstitious to the last degree. he lives in constant terror of the demons and spirits that overpopulate earth, air, and water, for he is without the protection that the certainties of science or the strength of pure religion furnishes. no unifying, uplifting, and inspiring knowledge of one god is his. his thatched hut or mud-floored hovel is a museum of fetiches. often he will give the best fruits of the fields to what seems to an alien a mass of straw or rags. the sorceress thrives like a fat parasite on the farmer, getting well paid for her songs, dances, incantations, and presence at the feasts. yet the corean enjoys the religious festivals. he is at least just to himself, while professing generosity to the spirits. he honors the gods but ultimately puts the well-cooked offerings far from themâ��even into his own interior; for above all things, the worshipper is orthodox in his belief in a well-filled stomach. with such a people, both confucianism and buddhism become the grossest of superstitions. the coreanâ��s face is toward the past. he invokes and worships the dead, and to him the graveyard contains more than the future can bring him. besides the extortions of the nobles, officials, and other parasitic or predatory classes, the expense of offerings to his dead ancestors amounts to many millions of dollars a year, far exceeding in their total the national revenue. in seoul alone there are three thousand sorceresses, each earning at least $7.50 a month. the farmer is poor, but he is hospitable and liberal. he has untold reverence for learning and for rank, he loves flowers and beautiful scenery, but he is stupid in the presence of an innovation. his area of vision is bounded by the hills within the circle of which he was born. his chief recreation is in going to market, for, generally speaking, there are few shops in the peninsula, but there is a market every five or six days, where the natives exchange their products and their opinions. according to the state of weather conditions, the native is happy or suffers, a large harvest making all smile, a scant crop causing famine and hunger and the outbreak of banditti and rapine. besides buying and selling, huckstering and gossiping, there are at the markets plenty of fighting and drunkenness as diversions. going out for wool the farmer frequently comes home shorn, but he has had his fun, or rather a variation of deadly monotony. furthermore, he is fond of a joke and loves to chaff his fellows. as the country itself is governed out of the graveyard, and sovereign, court, and people are driven by imaginary demons and spirits, so the farmers, both as individuals, as families, and as clans, guard jealously and in fear the ancestral mounds with superstitious reverence. hence one large element of village excitement is in quarrelling and fighting over graves. about fifty per cent of the cases brought before the country magistrates are said to be connected with these grave fights. these bitter struggles involve whole clans and result in bloodshed and loss of life. even the dead are not allowed to rest in peace. the digging up of corpses and the tumbling of them beyond the limits in dispute is a common occurrence. this ghoulish activity is varied by an occasional abduction of widows or by other infractions of the law. another large element of anxiety to the farmer is the protection of the water supply for his rice-swamp. the damming of the stream above or the draining off of the water below may ruin his crop. the breaking of the mud boundaries, and the stealing of water from a neighborâ��s field is mirrored in proverbs and folk-lore. it is sufficiently habitual to furnish a plentiful supply of pretexts for quarrels and fighting. there are four classes of agriculturists. the lowest tiller of the soil is a serf, owning no land, working by the day or contract, and virtually bound to the glebe. the men of the next class, though owning no lands, work the farms of others on shares. these farm-hands and farm-tenants make up the great mass of the corean people. they live in thatched mud huts, with enough plain food to keep them alive and often fat, but with scanty change of garments and few or no comforts of life. they are occupied during the working months from daybreak to twilight in unremitting toil. the third class consists of the small owners with possessions worth from five hundred to five thousand dollars and numbering three per cent of the farming population. in the fourth or highest class are the landed proprietors, the aristocracy of the land, the richest member being worth as much as four or five million dollars, with an annual income of at least a quarter of a million. insignificant in numbers, they are mighty in power, for it is these great landowners who rule the realm, and most of them live in seoul. to the great mass of the people in corea there is no motive for much industry beyond danger of starvation, and but little incentive to enterprise. under old normal conditions now being slowly ameliorated, the official, the yangban, and the landed aristocracy, in a word, the predatory classes, seize upon the common manâ��s earnings and accumulations, so that it seems to him useless and even foolish to work for more than enough to support life, while as for the â��civilization nonsense,â�� does it not mean more taxation? on the 13th of november, 1902, the announcement was made of the increase in land tax from $10 per measure of ground to $16 per measure. so argues the average man in corea, the land long ruled by real oppressors and imaginary demons. the researches of scholars have also revealed the actual economic conditions of the nation in the days of hermitage. old corea was not, as in feudal japan, straitened in its production of food. in the island empire only about one-twelfth of the soil was or could be cultivated. hence japan was rigidly limited in her food-producing area, so that the population, besides being kept down through such natural checks as famine, pestilence, storm and flood, was further diminished to fit the food supply by such artificial means as sumptuary laws, licensed prostitution, infanticide, cruel punishments, and frequent decapitation. in corea, also, where the fertile earth, though formed to be inhabited and abundant in area of plain and valley, was neither properly replenished nor subdued, many checks upon population existed. local famines were frequent and often long continued, and neither religion nor the means of transportation furnished the means of saving life to any large amount. artificial checks on too rapid multiplication of humanity operated powerfully. the lesser care and kindness given to female children resulted in a heavy death-rate as compared with that of the boys, the cruel punishments and frequent torture and decapitation and the lack of incentive to industry all wrought together to make both the land and the human life on it of comparatively slight value. the whole situation was changed when corea ceased to be a hermit land and began to be fertilized by foreign commerce and ideas. confronted by new methods of trade, science, and religion, the thinking native was summoned to thought and action. into the corean mind, long held in bondage by confucianism, which degrades woman and narrows manâ��s intellect, the universal religion entered to compel the corean man to think of other lands and people besides his own, to search his own heart, to attempt to make himself and his neighbors better, and to take a new outlook on the universe. the new doctrines delivered believers from the paralyzing thrall of demons and evil spirits, from ancestor worship, and from the sceptre held by the hand rising out of the grave. into the corea clamped as in iron bands by false economic notions entered the spirit of free competition. into a land that knew no such thing as a foreign market the railway brings an eager purchaser to the farmerâ��s door, and by carrying his goods to the seaports it enables him to give to and receive manifold benefits from the world at large. already, through the energy of the canny islanders from the east, the crops in corea have quadrupled, though under native mismanagement this does not necessarily mean immediate benefit to the man on the soil, but rather to the official class, or to the landholder in the capital. it has been computed that the production of sixty million bushels of grain have thus been developed in corea through the japanese demand. between the feverish enterprise of the japanese on the one side and the tireless thrift of the chinese on the other, â��the good old daysâ�� of primitive routine are gone forever. corea has 4,500,000 acres under cultivation, or about eight and a half per cent of her 82,000 square miles of area, so that 3,500,000 available acres await the plough. from her arable soil six millions more of population might easily find subsistence, and nearly ten millions of dollars of crops could be raised. the peninsula needs in every great valley the railway, which â��quadruples the value of every foot of land within twenty miles of its line.â�� the line from fusan to seoul has already raised the value of town property in elect places hundreds of per cent and measurably all along between the terminals. this railway was begun in august, 1901, but though the work slackened for lack of capital, by december 1, 1903, thirty-one miles at either end had been built. the outbreak of the war with russia revealed its military value and promise was at once given that by japanese government aid it would be completed with its thirty-one tunnels and 20,500 feet of bridges by the end of 1904. this fusan-seoul railway, 287 miles long, will traverse four provinces in the richest part of corea, wherein are seven-tenths of all the houses and five-sevenths of all the cultivated area in the empire. here also are the sites of the great fairs held six times monthly, the thirty-nine stations of the road being located at or near these places of trade, the total business of which amounts to over sixty-five per cent of the internal trade of the empire. the corean social and political system, sufficiently weak in hermit days, has shown itself unable to withstand the repeated shock of attack by eager and covetous foreigners, nor will it ever be able, even in a measure, to defend itself against the fierce and unrelenting greed of the strong nations intrenched upon its soil, except by complete reorganization. both the outward forms and the inward spirit must change if the coreans are to preserve their national identity. the nation has been the bone of contention between jealous and greedy rivals. one foreign government by crafty diplomacy secures the right of cutting timber valued at millions of dollars, another gets mining concessions, others propose this or that industry or supposed line of production which depleted the treasury. the impoverished kingdom has not only wasted many millions of treasure in foolish enterprises, but is deprived of its natural assets in timber, metals, fisheries, and industries. the problem of bringing corea into harmony with her modern environment is only in some features like that of japan, for there have been wanting in the peninsula what was so effective in japanâ��s case. in the island empire, the long previous preparation by means of the infiltration of western ideas during two centuries of communication with europe through the dutch merchants, the researches of her own scholars furnishing inspiration from their national history, the exercise during many generations of true patriotism and self-sacrifice for the public good prepared the island nation to cope with new conditions and situations. in the clash with the west, japan came out victor. corea has no samurai. she lacks what japan has always hadâ��a cultured body of men, superbly trained in both mind and body, the soldier and scholar in one, who held to a high ideal of loyalty, patriotism, and sacrifice for country. the island samurai enjoying the same prerogative and privilege as the corean yangban (civil and military) not only abolished feudalism, but after giving up their hereditary pensions and privileges, joined the productive classes, while at the same time the japanese merchants and mechanics were raised in the social scale, the pariahs given citizenship, and then all lines of promotion opened to all in the army, navy, schools, courts, and civil service. the fertilizing streams of foreign commerce, the inspiration that comes from brotherhood with other nations, and above all, the power brought to nippon through the noble labors and object lessons of the christian missionaries, enabled the japanese to take equal place in the world with the nations of the west. corea, on the contrary, by still allowing the existence of predatory classesâ��nobles, officials, and great landownersâ��by denying her people education, by being given to superstition from palace to hut and from sovereign to serf, remains still in weakness and poverty. what corea above all needs, is that the lazy yangban cut their long finger-nails and get to work. yet dark as is the situation, it is not without hope. slowly and painfully the coreans are learning that no nation is born in a day. under the training of christian teachers, a generation with new motives to action and new mental horizons, and fed with food to sustain the spirit, is coming on. christianity is, with a remnant at least, making headway against the vices so common to this mild-mannered nationâ��skill in lying, stealing, gambling, drunkenness, and the social evil. for ages and until japan humbled china in 1894, corea was so thoroughly and in all things the vassal and pupil of the middle kingdom, from which most of the elements of her civilization had been borrowed, that in the tributary kingdom there could be no patriotism in its highest sense, nor could political parties and cliques have any reason for existence except as they were concerned with aims that ended in selfishness. with the people in general, there was only anxiety to pay taxes, win the favor of the local magistrate, and escape the clutches of the law. with masters and rulers, there was ever pitiful fear of the great country china, and, under confucianism, a desire to keep things as they were, mixed with impotent dread of change. of pure love of country, of willingness to make sacrifices for their native landâ��that is almost a new thought as yet nourished by a few far-seeing patriots. in the evolution of the corean, social and psychic, his present ethical stage is not beyond that of the group, clan, or neighborhood. it has not yet reached the individual. the majority of the people have that kind of patriotism which means the instinctive desire to preserve national identity. the one thing which they now fear, being in the vortex of the great storm of war and in the centre of the economic typhoon of the twentieth century, is national extinction. even to-day the coreans feel that they would rather live without the new things of civilization, such as railways, education, public hygiene, or even of righteous government, than be subject to an alien power. history to the peninsular gives no uncertain sound as to what foreign intervention has always meant, that is, more oppression and even rapine. seeing what has happened in half a lifetime, through the coming of the alien to corea, the native does not want civilization at the hands of foreigners, though it may be that he will have to take it. possibly through education and a new outlook upon the universe he will be glad to get it, even struggling for it until by assimilation it becomes his own. in ancient history and the old days of the separation of nations, there were many civilizations and varying standards. in these latter days of the worldâ��s brotherhood there is but one standard of civilization, and but one body of international law, which all must obey. the nation or kingdom that will not serve and obey this standard will pass out of history and perish. the signs that corea realizes this truth and that her best men are seeking fraternity with their fellows for help and uplift are not wanting. naturally they turn to the great republic, which since its beginning has steadfastly followed the policy of healing, helping, teaching, and uplifting the asiatic nations. corea sent a delegate to the international postal union, which met in washington, and in 1896 a postal system with stamps of four kinds was established, and under french auspices has been working in excellent condition. the stamps, as well as the national flag and documents, coins and other expressions of what is essentially representative of the coreans as a nation, illustrate their repertoire of symbolism. the flag in blue, red, black, and white contains the two great emblems of the primitive chinese philosophy and theory of the universe. through these, the corean sees all things visible and invisible produced as the results of their endless working and counteraction in combination and dissolution. the forces of heaven and earth, light and darkness, the positive and the negative, the male and the female, the in and the yo, are represented as two germs or commas in constant embrace or movement. this figure occupies the centre of the field and in each corner are the broken lines of the pal kwai, or eight diagrams of primitive chinese tradition concerning the origin of language and writing. on the stamps we read the chinese characters tai han and corea. like china, old japan, russia, turkey and other church nations, which unite more or less closely church and state and are governed, in spite of all outward development and manifestations, by primitive or mediã¦val notions, corea is a â��tei koku,â�� or â��divinely governedâ�� realm, and so makes profession in chinese characters, as does even modern japan, though furnished with a constitution and diet. besides these chinese ideographs, we read in english, â��imperial corean post,â�� and in the en-mun or native script, a sentence to the same effect. the national flower is the plum blossom, and is figured with its leaves on either side of the stem. the value or denomination of the stamp is given below both in english with roman letters, and in corean or en-mun. the date-mark made by the ink-stamp shows in the french spelling of the name of the country and capital the international character of the postal system. the national colors, as judged by the hangings in the royal palace, are yellow, red, and green. imitating other things imperial in adjoining or western nations, the government at seoul established a bureau of decorations. these baubles, being liberally distributed, have helped handsomely to deplete the treasury of the little empire, most of whose people live in a state of semi-starvation or righteous discontent. the emperor himself and his generals and ministers have had their breasts liberally adorned with various marks of the regard of the rulers of japan, great britain, russia, france, and belgium, while between august 5, 1900, and december 20, 1902, the corean government had bestowed forty-two decorations, requiring a liberal outlay of bullion and artistic workmanship. to the emperor of japan, queen victoria, the czar of russia, the kaiser of the german empire, the president of the french republic, the king of italy, the king of the belgians, the emperor of austria, and the crown prince of japan, the great decoration of the golden measure was awarded. this contains the emblem in the centre of the flag. no americans have been thus officially adorned, but the great decoration of the golden measure was offered to president mckinley, only to be declined; he having, happily for the american people, nothing to offer in return. the great decoration of the plum blossom has been given to prince kwacho of japan and the russian prince cyril, while the other decorations, containing the pal kwai of the eight mystic diagrams and the plum blossom or the national flower, in several grades or classes, have been offered to various servants or guests of the government. along with this brilliancy on foreign coat breasts, it is suggestive to read in the imperial budget for 1904 that of $19,560 appropriated to the bureau of decorations, the amount expended on bullion, medals, etc., was $7,431, and for salaries $10,130. another interesting item, illuminating economic methods in seoul, is that of $10,453 appropriated for the mining bureau. of this amount the sum of $8,173 was spent for salaries and travelling, all the rest, except one item marked â��miscellaneous $744,â�� being for office expenses. in the ceremonial bureau $19,000 were used on salaries and office expenses out of a total of $21,508. similar titbits of economic information are frequent under the heads of the board of generals (who supervise an army supposed to be five thousand strong) and that of imperial sacrifices, and others, explain very clearly the condition of a country in which there is no clear line of demarcation between the palace and the government or administration, while eloquent in suggestions as to the reason why the larger part of corea remains in a state of more or less chronic insurrection. the budget for 1904 shows a total revenue of $14,214,573 made up of the following items: land tax, $9,703,591; house tax, $460,295; taxes on salt, fish, etc., $210,000; poll tax, $850,000; miscellaneous taxes, $200,000; arrears from 1903, $2,790,687. the items of disbursement are as follows: imperial privy purse, $1,013,359; imperial sacrifices, $186,641; household department, $327,541; war department, $5,180,614; finance department, $42,741,999; communications, $637,648; incidentals and extras, $1,843,503. other items, of which the police bureau, $406,925, and the foreign department, $287,367, and educational, $205,673, are the more important, are pension bureau, board of generals, the cabinet government records, bureau of decorations, law department, department of agriculture, privy council, and special palace guard. it is pleasant to note that there is a surplus of $275, but the amount given for education and expended under the head of agriculture seems pitiful. the large items of the budget deal almost wholly with the salaries of native officials. one interesting and redeeming item among the â��extrasâ�� is that â��for helping shipwrecked men, $5,000.â�� the greatest immediate need of corea is a uniform and stable currency. added to ancient evils was the action of japan in adopting the gold standard in 1899, which threw all things commercial in corea into dire confusion. on the 15th of december, 1901, the coinage law was published, by which corea adopted the gold standard; but this law was never put into effect. the japanese have frequently endeavored by various means to secure a standard currency. under the stimulus and pressure of foreign trade, corea has now at least nine ports open to the residence and business of foreigners besides the three or four inland places of traffic. wonsan (gensan), fusan, and chemulpo were opened by the treaties of 1876 and 1882, and have thriving settlements. the ginseng crop exported from these places is usually bought by japanese, whose usual practice is that, for example, of may, 1902, when of the fifty thousand catties, ten thousand catties were burnt at chemulpo, in order to keep up the price. on the 1st of october, 1898, chinnampo and mokpo were added to the list of open ports. the former lies on the northern shore of ping-an inlet, twenty miles from the sea and forty miles from ping-an city. it is now a thriving town with well laid-out streets. as the river leading to ping-an is for ten miles or so below the city not navigable even by very small sea-going steamers, it can never be â��a portâ�� in the ordinary sense, but the returns of its trade are tabulated with those of chinnampo, its outlet. wiju (ai-chiu) and anju are almost the only other ports of value in the province of ping-an. anju is the landing stage of the american mining company for its mining materials and explosives. yongampo is in north latitude 38â° 52â�² and east longitude 126â° 04â�². when it was opened in 1898, russians and japanese took up land so eagerly that a collision seemed imminent. later it came very near being made a russian fortress as â��port nicholas.â�� mokpo, in the southwestern part of chullado, is the natural maritime outlet of â��the garden of corea.â�� soon after it was made port of entry and trade, the wisdom shown in its selection was justified, for its growth has been healthy and rapid. from this point, in the autumn of 1902, a boston gentleman went into the interior for a hunting trip of two months, during which time he killed three large tigers, besides deer and wild boar. on may 1, 1899, kunsan, masampo, and songchin were thrown open to foreign trade and residence. kunsan is on the west coast, and like mokpo, long famous for its abundant export of rice paid as revenue. it lies at the mouth of the river dividing the two rich and warm provinces of chulla and chung chong, about half-way between chemulpo and mokpo, whence the rice, wheat, beans, hides, grasscloth, paper, manufactured articles in bamboo, fans, screens, mats, and marine products of many kinds are exported. masampo, a few miles to the southwest of fusan, in north latitude 35â° 09â�² and east longitude 128â° 40â�², has one of the finest harbors in the world, which, when well fortified, might command the entrance to the sea of japan. in the negotiations between japan and russia, in 1903, this spot was jealously coveted by both powers as the prize of the future, as the party possessing it might make it a dardanelles, closing the sea between the island empire and the continent and making this body of water a euxine. russia tried to bind japan not to fortify this or any other place on the east coast of corea. japanese, russians, chinese, and coreans soon flocked to this favored port and have made business lively. songchin, once the seat of an old stronghold, in the large northeastern province of ham kiung, bordering on russia, which has no long navigable rivers, as in the south, lies about 120 miles from wonsan and sends most of its products thither. it has a poor harbor in a foggy region, but fertile soil, fat cattle, and mineral riches are within reach. the customs reports for 1903 show a growing trade of $328,891. eleven other landing stages bring up the total value of trade in ham kiung province to $1,676,714. in 1902 the total imports were nearly balanced by the exports from all corea. cotton is becoming an important item of sale abroad. gold in 1902 was exported to the amount of $2,532,053. the total value of foreign trade has doubled during the past decade. so far the steamer tonnage is, like the general foreign trade, over three-fourths japanese. most emphatically and luminously does the modern economic as well as political history of the peninsula prove that the best interests of japan and corea are closely interwoven. mutual benefit follows unity and friendship, reciprocal injury results from estrangement. all these open ports are the gateways of a commerce that must steadily and healthfully increase, and which under stable and just government would rapidly enlarge. so long as there is uncertainty as to the political status of the land of morning calm, the chief importance of the maritime gateways into the country will be strategic and military, rather than commercial. a permanent settlement of the political question, in debate ever since the modern renascence of japan, ought to act on the development of the natural resources of corea as the warm spring rains act upon soil long chilled and fallow under winterâ��s frost. few regions, whether we consider its geographical location for commerce, the fertility of its soil, its animal wealth, the richness of its mineral deposits, or the abundance of its treasures in the sea, are more highly favored than corea. when man, society, and government in the peninsula answer natureâ��s challenge and match the opportunity, the world will find that historyâ��s storehouse of surprises has not been empty. toward the development of the kind of man needed, the christian missionaries are, above all other teachers and forces, working, and with every sign of promise. chapter l. internal politics: chinese and japanese. the preponderating influence of china was the mainspring in the intricate machinery of old corean politics, though within the two clearly defined parties in seoul there are also factional and family differences. â��from 1834 to 1864 the royal clan was shorn of much of its power, all offices were in the hands of the kim clan, whose head, kim pyong-gi, was virtually ruler of the land for the years ending that epoch.â�� the kims hoped to continue the lease of their power, but the tai-wen kun humbled this clan and exalted his own, meanwhile doing much for the common people and compelling the yangban to bear a share of the burdens of government in paying a house tax. in his whole course toward these predatory gentry, he was â��a blundering anticipatorâ�� of the great reforms of 1894. he began the suppression of the tong-haks. he was a great builder of public edifices, not only in seoul, but in the provinces. he protected the country against the foreigner. he meant well in his ignorance, but he knew nothing of the world at large. his first lease of power came to an end in 1873. the first corean noblemen, kim and pom, left their homes in 1875 to travel in lands beyond china. they went to japan, and coming back, boldly told the king what they had seen and advocated the adoption of western civilization. they tried to win over the powerful min clan and the queen to a liberal policy, but this to the regent, tai-wen kun, meant nothing else than christianity and radical reform, which involved popular education. that is exactly the sort of reform that every confucian mandarin in any country of asia hates most heartily, because he sees in the general enlightenment of the people the end of the power of the literati. the bold and crafty statesman, who, as prince parent, held his son the king as his puppet and had already shed the blood of thousands of native christians, nearly succeeded in putting the two young champions of western civilization to death. when the american treaty negotiations were impending, the min clansmen held aloof until china, as represented by li hung chang, gave the nod. then they showed so much energy in the matter as to seem to foreigners the party of progress. this roused the wrath of the regent, who determined to crush the min clan and to nullify the treaty. we have seen how, in july, 1882, by a masterly appeal to local bigotry and superstition, he directed the soldiersâ�� riot into a revolt against the pro-chinese clan. after destroying, as he imagined, their leading men and the queen, he seized the government himself, enjoying for a few days full lease of power. when the news of the usurpation reached china and japan, a fleet with soldiers was despatched from each country. the chinese force landed first, marched to seoul, built forts to command the river against the japanese, and established their camp inside the walls. by this move china held a new lien on her â��vassal state.â�� the chinese general made his formal call on the tai-wen kun, and when this lord of the land returned the courtesy, he was seized and deported to china. meanwhile the queen, for whom a palace maid had suffered vicarious death, together with some of her chief helpers and advisers, re-entered the palace october 9, 1882. the star of the min clan was again in the ascendant. thus the results of the regentâ��s smart trickery were not pleasant for the coreans, for now they had both the chinese and the japanese soldiers encamped in the capital and on the ground where nearly three hundred years before they had met in battle. by good discipline on both sides, collision between the soldiers was avoided, but the government at once made provision to replace the foreign soldiery by native troops. four battalions of corean infantry were organized and put under chinese drill masters, introduced by the min leaders. fourteen young men, mostly members of progressive families, were sent to tokio to study in the military school. the treaty negotiated by commodore shufeldt was promptly ratified by the united states senate, and on february 26th president chester a. arthur sent in the name of general lucius h. foote as minister to corea. reaching chemulpo may 13th in the u.s.ss. monocacy, the formal ratifications of the treaty were exchanged in the capital may 19th. the same cannon, and served by some of the same sailors that in 1871 had shelled the han forts, [54] peacefully saluted the new national flag, emblazoned with the proofs of coreaâ��s intellectual servitude to chinese philosophy and fantastic traditions. keeping clear of the native factions, mr. foote dealt as directly as possible with the sovereign. he made an earnest plea for the toleration of religion, a promise to proclaim which was secured from the king. the corean government responded to the american courtesy by despatching a special mission, consisting of eleven persons headed by min yong ik, which arrived in san francisco september 2d. president arthur being then in new york, these quaintly apparelled oriental strangers were given audience in the parlor of the fifth avenue hotel. after three monthsâ�� stay in the eastern cities, one part of the embassy, headed by han yong sik, returned home by way of san francisco. a few days later, on the u.s.ss. trenton (afterward lost at samoa) with ensign g. c. foulke (afterward of the doshisha university, kioto) and lieutenant j. g. bernadou, u.s.n. (afterward distinguished in the spanish-american war of 1898, on the u.s.ss. winslow), as naval attachã©s to the american legation in seoul, min yong ik and two other coreans returned home by way of europe and the suez canal. on november 27th, at the victoria hotel in the city of new york, i had the pleasure of spending an agreeable evening with the three corean gentlemen, min yong ik, so kuang pom, and pien su, the two latter being able to talk japanese. [55] though many of my questions were answered and a number of subjects discussed, nothing could be learned of corean christianity, or of the relics or reminders of hendrik hamel and his dutchmen. [56] before leaving, min yong ik, like a true corean gentleman, brought out a large package of choicest ginseng roots, without which no well-to-do native of the land of morning calm would think of travelling abroad. he presented me with several choice specimens of the man-shaped drug, each wrapped up in its own â��armsâ�� and â��legs.â�� on the same evening in seoul, november 27th, a banquet was spread in the english-language-school building to celebrate the signing on the day before of two treaties, one with great britain and the other with the german empire, the negotiator of the english treaty being sir harry parkes. [57] the music was furnished by the band of the german man-of-war leipsic. seoul now began to be the residence of foreigners from christendom, nine of whom were already in the city. new yearâ��s day, january 20, 1884, dawned brightly. the little children who during the summer are â��dressed in a hair ribbon,â�� made the streets brilliant with their bright clothes of many colors, and the sky was gay with kites. in the royal palace audience was given to the envoys of china, japan, and the united states. on february 28th the electric submarine cable between nagasaki and fusan was completed and messages from the once hermit nation were sent into the outside world. han yong sik was appointed postmaster with power to organize a national postal system, stamps for which were engraved in tokio. from this japanese base of supplies many novelties from the western world poured in, and the body politic, long insulated from other nations, thrilled with new currents of life. treaties were made with russia and italy, june 25th and 26th. later on, telegraph lines connecting seoul with peking and with fusan were completed. the year following the arrival home of the first coreans who had gone round the world was a year of progress, such as corea had never known before or has known since. through the advice of ensign foulke, several reformatory measures, political and industrial, were promulgated. the most ardent member of the reform party, pak yong hio, being made mayor of seoul, immediately set to work at sanitary and municipal improvement. some progress was made in dress improvement. a model farm, for which california live stock had been ordered, was sown by american seeds liberally given in washington. edison electric lights, american rifles and gatling guns, a powder mill, a mint, a printing office for the dissemination of useful literature for the people, together with japanese artisans to establish or improve properties, paper factories, and other industries, not excepting the fisheries and whale hunting, gave indications of the new path of national progress upon which corea had entered. altogether the early days of 1884 were as a morning of bright promise, for public opinion, so far as it existed, that is, among the nobles and gentry, seemed to be entirely in favor of progress. the most hopeful felt that the corean government, having begun lo relay the foundations of the kingdom, would persevere and possibly even excel japan. on the other hand, with the tide of confucian bigotry rising and the conservatives encouraged by chinese reactionaries on the soil, how could there be any real advance? yuan, the chinese commissioner, living at the barracks in front of the palace, was ceaselessly active in the interests of his own government, which meant active support of the conservative party and opposition to reform. over against enlightened liberalism, several incidents stood out in dark contrast, showing the inherent barbarism, the low state of corean humanity, and the slight value set on human life. when the chinese soldiery arrived, they seized ten of the rioters of 1882, court-martialled them, tied their limbs to bullocks, and tore them to pieces. even after these men in office had returned from civilization they had eight more men, suspected of complicity with the regent, executed by poison. furthermore, the kwang wang temple was built, devoted to the interests of three thousand or more sorcerers and exorcists in seoul, who enjoyed the direct patronage of the queen, and sucked the vitals of the nation, making respectable government impossible. the innovations effected by the progressives, who thought that they had the king and queen in full sympathy with them, led them to hope that they would be able soon to reorganize the government, to differentiate the court from the administration, and to make corea a modern state. but according to the measure of their success, so also was the suspicion and hostility of the conservatives. min yong ik while abroad might be a liberal, an individual with personal convictions and opinions, but once back in the bosom of his family and under pressure of his clan, he lost interest in reform. the progressive leaders began to look upon him as a traitor to their cause. he took his stand with the conservatives and it was soon evident that the queen was withdrawing her sympathy and support from the liberals, whose hopes seemed about to be dashed to the ground. these men therefore turned more and more to the japanese and to their methods and spirit. they saw the revenues for the promised industries and enterprise diverted to warlike enterprises. it looked as if corea, as tributary vassal, was to help china against france in the tonkin complication. added to the fears of the liberals was the local irritation caused by the insolent behavior of the ill-disciplined native troops who had been recruited almost wholly from the peddlers and hucksters of the country fairs. the peddlerâ��s guilds in corea hold a truly feudal relation to the government, often preparing the roads and escorting officials on their journeys, acting as detectives, and forming militia according to the occasion. some astonishing proofs of their power and discipline, especially in mountain regions, were given by min yong ik to lieutenant foulke. instead of their being independent, as they had hoped for under the american treaty, it seemed to the progressive men that the chinese were more than ever ruling their country, and that the mins were their tools. it was about october 25th that the liberals, feeling that their heads were likely to remain on their shoulders only so long as it pleased their enemies to bring no charge against them, declared to their american friend that â��for the sake of corea, about ten of the prominent conservatives would have to be killed.â�� they proposed to play the same old asiatic game of first seizing the person of the sovereign and then in his name proclaiming their own measures and reforms. the preliminaries would be a fire and a riot. then, in the confusion, the man with a programme, knowing just what to do, would direct affairs. they believed that the powers would condone and approve their action, make new and more favorable treaties, and loan money for national improvement. though the conservatives had at their call a rabble of rapacious militia eager to try their new tools of war upon their hereditary enemies, the japanese, the liberals knew full well the sterling qualities of the little body of japanese infantry then in the capital, most of whom were from northern japan and many of them deer hunters and dead shots with the rifle. there were fifteen hundred chinese soldiers still in camp, under yuan shi kai, then the lieutenant and later the successor of li hung chang, but the progressive plotters in their craft expected to secure the employment of the two hundred or more japanese soldiers for their own purposes. the moment for action seemed to be propitious for early december. a japanese man-of-war was expected to arrive in chemulpo on the 5th or 6th of that month. china, pressed by france, had withdrawn half her troops. japan with a view to strengthening her influence in corea had, a few days before, remitted $400,000 of the indemnity exacted for the riot of 1882. the golden moment to strike off forever the chains of political slavery to china was approaching. the date was set for the 7th of december. when, however, news arrived that the japanese gunboat had broken down and was delayed and it was known that the conservatives had got some intimation of what was coming, it was decided to start the fire, the riot, the coup dâ��ã©tat a few days earlier. on the night of the 4th of december, han yong sik, the postmaster-general, gave a dinner at the new post-office, situated in the very heart of the city. the guests were three chinese, yuan, chin, and wang, two americans, general foote and his secretary, mr. scudder, the british consul-general, w. g. aston, the german foreign adviser, von mã¶llendorf, and a dozen or more corean high officers, both conservatives and progressives, han yong sik, kim ok kiun, min yong ik, pak yong hio, and so kwang pom. others also were present. the japanese minister was absent on the plea of ill-health. it was noticed that kim ok kiun rose and left the table several times, going out into the courtyard, but nothing was thought of this action. the guests sat down at six. at seven a fire broke out, a house just in front of the post-office being in flames. min yong ik, who had charge of the city fire-brigade, rose from the table, and calling on his servants to follow him, passed out. as he did so, a man dressed in japanese clothes leaped out of the shadow of the gateway and struck at him fiercely with a sword. min yong ik fell heavily, but though wounded in head and body he recovered through the skilful surgery of dr. horace n. allen. the assassin escaped, and the corean guests, instead of leaving by the door, got away over the back wall. hastening immediately to the old palace, the leaders of the conspiracy reached the royal presence, announced that the chinese were coming to seize the kingâ��s person and that he must hasten to a place of safety. reaching the small gate leading into the kiong-u palace, kim ok kiun requested the king to send to the japanese minister for a body-guard, but his majesty refused. thereupon so kwang pom drew out a piece of foreign note-paper and a pencil and wrote in chinese the words â��let the japanese minister come and give me his help.â�� [58] this was despatched by a servant. when the little company reached the kiong-u palace, the king was saluted by the japanese minister and his interpreter, the twelve students who had been in japan, and two hundred soldiers under captain murakami drawn up in line, who by some magic were all waiting there. here then was the new government, king, army, and counsellors. word was sent to three of the corean liberals to come and receive office under the reconstructed authority. with amazing promptness they were present within half an hour. the programme had thus far been carried out with the precision of actors on a well-regulated theatrical stage. the â��summoning tabletâ�� was sent early in the morning by royal messenger to six of the conservative leaders. going to the palace in the expectation of losing their lives, they first sent word to the chinese yuan, warning him of the state of affairs and asking his help. as soon as they had passed inside the palace gates their heads were chopped off. the royal eunuch was put to death in spite of the entreaties and remonstrances of the king himself. while the japanese surrounded the gates of the palace, kim ok kiun gave passes to those who were to be allowed to go in and out. in the reconstructed government yo cha wun and han yong sik were prime ministers, pak yong hio was made general-in-chief, so kwang pom minister of foreign affairs, kim ok kiun minister of finance, and su ja pil lieutenant-general. the young men who had studied in tokio were also given official positions. all these proceedings simply illustrate the corean method of the oppositionâ��s moving a vote of censure of the government. the chinese â��residentâ�� yuan took no immediate action, but the next morning, december 5th, great surging crowds of coreans begged that he would interfere, because they said the japanese were holding the king as a prisoner in his palace. yuan sent a messenger to the japanese minister, inquiring why he had surrounded the king with soldiers and killed the ministers, demanding that he immediately evacuate the palace. after three hours had passed, and no answer coming, yuan moved with his chinese troops and the corean military, making a force of four or five thousand men, toward the old palace. he found the entrance strongly guarded with the japanese. the battle which ensued lasted from about 3 to 4 p.m., several score of the combatants being killed. as darkness drew near, the japanese made their way to the northeastern part of the palace grounds, whence the king escaped from them with a few of the progressive leaders and the party of students. the corean soldiers carried the king to the north temple, where he was saved, but han yong sik and seven of the students were hacked to pieces by the mob. about 8 p.m. captain murakami led off his soldiers and making a masterly retreat reached the japanese legation after forty-eight hours of absence. pak yong hio, kim ok kiun, so kwang pom, su ja pil, and a half dozen or so of the military students accompanied the japanese. all day long on december 6th, with the cry of â��death to the japanese,â�� the corean militia and the ruffians were let loose on a wild revelry of outrage, butchery, and incendiarism. the nine white foreigners in seoul, of whom three were ladies, together with twenty-two japanese who had escaped bullets, stones, and knives, found refuge in the american legation, which was put in a state of defence by lieutenant bernadou. the twenty soldiers left behind in the japanese legation, aided by a hundred or more of their fellow refugee countrymen, defended the walled enclosure from the mob. on the afternoon of the 7th, provisions being exhausted, the japanese with admirable coolness, discipline, and success began the march to chemulpo. the women, children, and refugees were put inside of a hollow square formed by the soldiers, the legation buildings were fired, and despite hostile soldiers, chinese and corean with rifles and cannon, and armed men firing from roof and wall, they unbarred the city gates and with their wounded crossed the river. reaching chemulpo on the 8th, they were fed by the sailors on the japanese man-of-war, which had happily arrived. a japanese steamer carried the news to nagasaki. the short-lived liberal government came to an end after forty-eight hoursâ�� existence. the conspirators fled to japan, whence most of them reached america. a month later count inouye, with a guard of six hundred troops, took up his quarters outside the west gate in seoul and negotiations were opened. on january 9th a convention was signed by which the corean government agreed to pay an indemnity of six hundred thousand yen, and herr von mã¶llendorf and su sang yu were sent to japan to arrange terms for the renewal of friendly relations. the coreans, to show their regret, chopped up and distributed around the streets the flesh and bones of eleven human beings supposed to have been active in the killing of defenceless japanese in seoul. at tientsin, may 7, 1885, the marquis ito and li hung chang signed a convention, by which it was agreed that the troops of both countries should be withdrawn and that neither government should land a military force in corea without notifying the other. early in the spring the japanese legation was built at corean expense in occidental style, this being the first of the many foreign edifices which now adorn seoul. the chinese and japanese troops embarked for their respective countries at chemulpo on the 21st of may. on october 5, 1885, the tai-wen kun, fresh and rosy after his sojourn in tientsin, re-entered seoul. he was escorted by chinese warriors and many thousands of coreans. most of his immediate followers being dead or in exile, his name was not often mentioned during the decade of years following. he lived in comparative seclusion until the outbreak of the chino-japanese war. the progressives of 1884 were in too much of a hurry. they had tried to hatch the egg of reform by warming it in the fire. the affair of december, in its origin an anti-chinese uprising of radicals, became at its end an anti-japanese demonstration in which about three hundred lives were lost. yet as if to show that revolutions never go backward, this bloody business pushed open the gateway through which science and christianity entered to hasten the exit of barbarism. dr. horace n. allen, an american missionary physician, had arrived in seoul in september, 1884. when called on the night of december 4th to minister to the min yong ik, he found the native doctors stopping up the sword wounds with wax. dr. allen, by treating the injured man in scientific fashion, saved his life. the superiority of western methods having been demonstrated, the wounded chinese soldiers and coreans, with their shattered bones and torn flesh, over which they had plastered the reeking hides cut from living dogs, or had utilized other appliances of helpless ignorance, came to him in crowds. unable to attend to all these sufferers, application was made for a hospital. the government at once set apart the dwelling occupied by han yong sik and, naming it the house of civilized virtue, established april 10, 1885, a hospital. following this event, american missionaries arrived in increasing numbers. the government engaged three american young men, messrs. d. a. bunker, g. w. gilmore, and h. b. hurlbert, as teachers, who with thirty-five sons of noble families as their pupils opened a school september 23, 1885. missionaries with unquenchable patience began the instruction of a people much better acquainted with malevolent demons than with beneficent beings or with one living and true god, whose only idea of sin is that it is a civil offence, and whose language has no word for the love of a superior to an inferior. in apathetic faces they were to light the fire of a new hope. to become a christian in corea means a complete revolution in a manâ��s life, especially in that of a yangban, who has the intellectual power of a man with only the actual knowledge of a child. nevertheless, with orphanages, sunday-schools, christian womenâ��s work in the home, organized christian churches, hospitals, schools for boys and girls, and a printing establishment, most of the forms of active christianity were soon visible in corea, the country which, in 1904, with its tens of thousands of believers, is the most hopeful of missionary fields. a treaty with france, negotiated in the summer of 1886 and ratified may 30, 1887, enabled the french roman catholic missionaries to come forth into open day. they at once made preparations for the erection of a cathedral, which, when completed and dedicated, may 29, 1897, was the tallest and most imposing edifice in the capital. it is 202 feet long and from 60 to 90 feet wide, and cost $60,000. the french minister endeavored to secure the same magisterial rights for the bishops and priests in corea which have been long enjoyed by prelates of the roman form of christianity in china. although at first the government resisted, yet these claims have been virtually validated, and france acts in corea, as elsewhere in asia, as the protector of roman catholics. much disquiet and local disorder in various parts of the country, especially in quelparte and the provinces of whang hai, may be traced to popular notions and the procedure of the priests based on this peculiarity of french foreign policy. corea soon found that diplomacy could not be one-sided. having dealings with foreign nations, it was not sufficient that western governments should have their representatives in seoul, while there were no corean legations or consulates abroad. an episode arising from international jealousies soon caused this desire to take tangible form, despite active opposition from china. on april 14, 1885, the british government, in view of eventualities with russia, ordered the temporary occupation of port hamilton in the nan how group of islands, about thirty-five miles from the northeastern end of quelparte. corea at once protested against this seizure of territory, and, in spite of all offers of gold for purchase, and all diplomatic pressure, she secured, after voluminous correspondence and the assurance that russia would not occupy any part of corea, the evacuation of port hamilton by the british. the flag of the double cross was hauled down february 27, 1887. at once the government at seoul prepared to send embassies to japan, europe, and the united states to establish permanent legations. this plan was of course opposed by yuan shi kai, the chinese â��resident,â�� as he called himself, in an active, impudent, and villainous manner, he acting at the beck of his chief, li hung chang. the right to make a treaty carries with it the right of a legation abroad, and the american minister, the honorable hugh n. densmore, by order of the government of the united states, invited the embassy to take passage in the u.s.ss. omaha, which was done. with his secretary, dr. h. n. allen, pak chung wang, envoy plenipotentiary, arrived in washington and had audience of president cleveland in january, 1888. a minister of equal rank went also to europe and another to japan. the chinese â��residentâ�� then planned, by transferring his headquarters three miles from seoul, to get all other foreigners removed from seoul in order to have more power, but the scheme was frustrated in good season. the road out of fetichism, superstition, and ignorance into light and civilization was not an easy one and had many a drawback. until schools dispel ignorance, and the certainties of science dominate the minds of the natives terrorized by superstition, corea, long intoxicated with sorcery, will suffer from continual attacks of the delirium tremens of paganism. even the importation of condensed milk acted on the diseased imagination of the people to develop the disease. in 1888 what is known as the â��baby warâ�� agitated the people. the report was spread abroad that americans and europeans were stealing children and boiling them in kettles for food, and that foreigners caught women and cut off their breasts. the absence of cows led the coreans to believe that the condensed milk, so much used among them, came wholly from a human source. for a time there was imminent danger of an uprising, but a proclamation from the king couched in strong language calmed the excitement, which gradually died away. the local revolts against unjust taxation and dishonest officials occurred with the usual regularity of such events in corea. provision was made for a stable revenue in a system which was organized under herr von mã¶llendorf on an independent corean basis, but after his dismissal in july, 1885, the customs service was put under the management of sir robert hart, and an entirely new staff of men was sent from china. mr. h. n. merrill was made chief commissioner and the three open ports were given in charge of men directly from the chinese customs staff, one of the most able and valuable among whom was dr. mcleavy brown. financially promising as this movement seemed and has proved, it gave china her great prestige and furnished the strongest lever for carrying out her ambitious plans in the peninsula, which some coreans suspected of going even so far as to dethrone the king and to set up a new heirâ��a plot which min yong ik exposed. yuan, the chinese resident, made himself practically a chinese mayor of the palace. in ostentatious display of gorgeous costume, palanquin and retinue, as he vibrated between the royal residence and the chinese legation, he and his procession formed one of the notable sights of the corean capital. in a word, li hung changâ��s policy, working in conjunction with the mins at court, headed by the queen, resulted in a vigorous and undisputed reassertion of chinese control, so that in the emergency which was soon to arise, the peking government felt perfectly safe in speaking of corea as â��our tributary state.â�� apparently the influence of japan had become a cipher, while that of the united states had dwindled into a merely academic theory of corean independence. potentially japan was insulted and defied by her old rival and modern enemy. to make her grip on corea sure, china massed her forces on the frontier, bought large quantities of nagasaki coal for her steel-clad fleet at port arthur, and with her german-drilled army and great fortresses on the promontories guarding the sea-gates to the capital, she seemed herself defiantly ready to maintain her prestige regained in the peninsula which she called her â��tributary state.â�� thus stood, or rather, thus crouched, in the early days of 1894, the pigmy, corea, between the continental colossus on the one hand and the insular athlete on the other. to add to troubles imported from abroad, the long-standing intestine disturbances again broke out and the tong hak rebellion culminated in civil war, at the local causes of which we may now glance. this uprising of sectarians became not the cause, but the occasion of the clash between china and japan, which ended in the destruction of chinaâ��s claim of suzerainty over corea, and the independence of the peninsular state. chapter li. the war of 1894: corea an empire. in asia and in semi-civilized states, as in the old european world, each sovereignty is a church nation. religion and the state are one. china, corea, and japan, in their normal oriental condition, are all acute illustrations of the evils of the union of church and state. like turkey and russia, they are persecuting nations, allowing no freedom of conscience to the subject. any attempt to think differently from the orthodox and established cult, or philosophy, is sure to call down persecution, torture, and death. modern japan, by ceasing to be oriental and adopting freedom of conscience, has simplified the relations between ruler and ruled. china still persecutes in bigotry, and during the course of her history has shed more blood in the name of religion and government than probably the mediã¦val states of europe. [59] in all asiatic countries in which religious despotism still flourishes, practical christianity, especially that form of it which is founded on the bible in the vernacular, is the great disturbing force, even as it is the hope of the future. it comes at once into collision with the theory of the union of church and state. giving the common man a new outlook on the universe makes him exactly the kind of man that despots and men of privilege and prerogative most bitterly fear, hate, and oppose. of this truth corea is a striking illustration. the religious history of the people in the corean peninsula is first that of fetichism and shamanism, then of buddhism, which brought in culture and made a nation, giving also to the land its permanent monuments, its art, manners, and most of its folk-lore and general traditions. in the intellectual clash which, in every country in eastern asia, has at one time or another taken place between confucianism and buddhism, buddhism remained victorious. running a splendid career for over a thousand years, it finally reached corruption through wealth, worldliness, and political ambition. yet intrenched in office and revenue, it held its own until overthrown with the dynasty in 1392, when confucianism, after a long struggle, became the state church system. buddhism, left to stagnation and decay, and as the religion of the peasants, remained in a frightfully corrupt form, while the scholars and thinking men were almost wholly devoted to confucianism. as this system of chinese ethics lends itself most admirably to despotism and the continuance in power of the privileged classes over the masses, so also under stereotyped confucianism, coreaâ��s type of civilization, as we see it to-day, seems to mean for the nation at large only a general degradation as compared with the splendor of the mediã¦val buddhist age. allied with chinese bigotry of race and ignorance of the world, corean confucianism degenerated still further into the savagery of conceit, of which the tai-wen kun seemed an incarnation, and made chå�-sen, as a body politic, a country eaten up with parasitesâ��one-tenth of the population living on the other nine-tenths. in the persecution of the christian converts to that form of christianity which entered in 1777, corean confucianism showed itself as barbarous and as devilish as the spanish inquisition, or anything else in history which masks manâ��s lower nature under the garb of noble pretexts. nevertheless, the very patience of the christians under their tortures, the zeal and consecration of both the natives and their foreign priests, so impressed a corean scholar named choi, that in 1859 he set himself to ponder the question whether, after all, christianity, though foreign, were not the true religion. after severe sickness and a revelation, as he believed, from the lord of heaven, choi felt himself called to found a new religion. he proceeded to do so after the time-honored manner most fashionable in china, corea, and japan, where originality is not too common, that is, make an eclectic system. from the ethics of confucius and the philosophy of his commentators, from the writings of lao-tsze and his interpreters, and from the buddhist sutras and their accretions, he composed a book entitled the great holy scripture and wrote out the brief prayer which his followers still daily repeat. as christianity was a western sect, he gave to his new religion the name of tong hak, eastern doctrine or culture. many, perhaps most, of his followers laid their emphasis in the new religion upon the idea of maintaining orientalism as against occidentalism. beginning in the town of kion chiu, forty-five miles north of fusan, the movement spread quickly into the provinces of chung chong and chullado. entering the sphere of politics, it gave the downtrodden peasants hope and new life, in the midst of the awful night of ever-increasing official corruption and oppression. it was about this time that the tenure of office by the provincial governors was changed from three years to one year. this move, made in the interests of the official class, vastly increased the burdens laid upon the people, since the political spoilsman, who usually bought his office, having now less time wherein to recoup and fill his own chest, became threefold more grasping than before. the influence of christianity is very manifest in the history of the tong haks and in the literary, dogmatic, and devotional manifestations of their leader. within six years, under the fierce initiative of the tai-wen kun, choi and his disciples were officially charged with being â��foreigner coreansâ�� and followers of the lord of heaven, that is, roman catholic christians. choi was tried, tortured, and beheaded, and his doctrines were outlawed. as with the boxer and other common delusions among the ignorant, the tong haks believed that â��by the influence of their god they could dance the sword dance and ascend into the air.â�� the sect kept on spreading year after year, its animus blending with that spirit of revolution and resistance to intolerable official oppression then rampant in the southern provinces, the two movements melted into each other and became one. early in 1893, before the palace gate at seoul, there was a wonderful sight. with pathetic ceremonies and long and patient waiting, fifty of choiâ��s followers presented a petition that their founder be rehabilitated and their sect be tolerated even as the christians were. they intimated that if they were kept under ban they would drive all aliens out of the country. their prayer for toleration was refused, and they were driven away by the palace guards. in the springtime the tong haks led a great uprising of the peasantry in the southern provinces. the soldiers sent to seoul to put down the insurrection were scattered like chaff before the wind. the insurgents occupied the chief city of chullado and the danger seemed to threaten the whole kingdom. the corean general, hong, notified the court of his inability to cope with the situation. then the pro-chinese faction in seoul, instigated by yuan, applied to peking asking for military aid to put down the tong hak rebels. according to the li-ito convention of may 7, 1885, neither china or japan could send soldiers into corea without first notifying the other power. meanwhile kim ok kiun was in japan. though the government at seoul repeatedly demanded his extradition and both in corea and japan assassins continually plotted to kill him, he received the same asylum and protection which, under the laws of civilization, the government in tokio gave to all foreigners. finally, in 1894 kim ok kiun was lured to shanghai by a false telegram and a forged bank-draft. on his arrival at the hotel he was promptly murdered. his assassin was rewarded with honor, fame, and money from seoul, and in china looked on as a hero. with indecent haste, but following its ancient barbarous traditions, the chinese government made itself the express company which carried the victimâ��s body in a man-of-war to corea, where it was cut to pieces and the head and limbs exposed on the public highway. this action of china raised a storm of popular wrath in japan, while about the same time, china, first on june 7th forwarding her troops into corea, in violation of the treaty of 1885, sent a defiant insult to the tokio government. following this action, a despatch was sent to the japanese legation in peking, in which were the words which we italicize: â��it is in harmony with our constant practice to protect our tributary states by sending our troops to assist them.... general weh has been ordered to proceed to zenra ... to restore the peace of our tributary state.â�� thus by force of arms china defied western diplomacy, and, trampling on the treaties, asserted her ancient claims of suzerainty over corea as her vassal state. the reply of the tokio government was the announcement, on june 12, 1894, of the despatch of a body of the mikadoâ��s troops under strict discipline to chå�-sen. on june 17th china was invited to co-operate with japan in financial and administrative reforms in corea, in order to preserve the peace of the far east. china curtly refusing this request, demanded the immediate return to japan of her soldiers, at the same time ordering her tartar forces in manchuria to cross that ancient rubicon of eastern asiaâ��the yalu river. chartering the british ship kow shing, she put on board eleven hundred soldiers with ammunition and artillery to reinforce the chinese camp at asan in the northwest of chung chong province. the reply from tokio was, that, pending an amicable settlement of the questions in dispute, any further despatch of chinese troops into corea would mean war. as soon as it was known in tokio that the tartar forces had been mobilized and that the kow shing was being loaded, the japanese fleet sailed and orders were given to the troops, railways, and steamers to be ready for the embarking of an army. within twelve days a japanese army corps was landed at chemulpo, marched to seoul, the han river bridged by pontoons in twenty minutes, and the military cordon around seoul completed. on the 20th of july yuan fled the corean capital, leaving his nationals to shift for themselves. on the 23d mr. hoshi toru, envoy of the mikado, with a military guard entered the palace and demanded of the king an answer to the question of coreaâ��s independence and willingness to stand by her treaty with japan. the royal answer was in the affirmative. the king called in the tai-wen kun to allay his fears and aid him in the formation of a new cabinet, to which he invited, for the most part, the liberals exiled in 1884. prince pak yong hio, who had been declared an arch-traitor and his house razed to the ground, was again received into royal favor. on july 25th the japanese cruiser naniwa, under captain, now admiral, togo, met the kow shing. after four hours of parley and refusal to surrender, the transport was sunk by the guns of the naniwa. on july 29th and 30th the japanese met the chinese forces at asan, routed them and occupied their stronghold. the declarations of war between the emperors of china and japan, the old rival sons of heaven, were published to the world on the same day, august 1, 1894. the former was full of arrogance and ignorance, the latter was clear in phrase and temperate in tone. the chinese lady then on the throne called on her soldiers to â��root the pigmies out of their lair.â�� with the conceit and stupidity of the giant, china went to war against the intelligent and splendidly armed jack of the islands. in results it was an affair of goliath and david over again. ancient and overweening orthodoxy met culture and intelligence in the field and on the wave, to be confronted by what was despised as too small to do harm. at bottom the chino-japanese war meant the right of a nation to change its civilization. japan, already a signatory to the geneva convention and her officers trained in the ways of civilization, even though her people were dubbed heathen by some semi-enlightened folks of the west, went to war in christian style. the japanese had a superb red cross organization, a corps of surgeons, and a body of fifteen hundred trained nurses, while their hospitals were equipped according to scientific ideas. with each army corps and fleet went a lawyer versed in international law, to see that nothing should be done against the laws of nations. the literary fruits of these precautions and this loyalty to the high standards of civilization are seen in mr. takahashiâ��s masterly work â��international law during the chino-japanese war,â�� and in mr. arigaâ��s â��la guerre sino-japonaise au point de vue du droit internationale.â�� the chinese had not yet (or before the year 1904) recognized the laws of civilization and had scarcely the beginning of hospital corps, hospitals, or surgeons. it was not wonderful, therefore, that her wounded usually crawled away to die like dogs, or that her ignorant soldiers frequently fired upon those bringing succor to the wounded. the official organization of the chinese was honeycombed with corruption, but with their thirty thousand drilled troops and fleet, including battle-ships, of which the japanese had none, they expected easy victory. occupying ping-an, they built between fifty and sixty forts. at sea their fleets were busy in convoying transports full of soldiers to the mouth of the yalu river to prevent the japanese from advancing beyond corea and in the hope of overwhelming them at one onset. on the site of their previous victory three centuries before, they expected to rout the japanese and then to drive them southward and out of corea. the japanese, centuries ago, learned the difference between bulk and brain, and are but slightly overawed in the presence of mere weight or size. they knew that the military reputation of china only existed on paper, and their excellent system of jiu-jitsu had taught them how to turn an enemyâ��s strength against himself. her soldiers had grown up in the new era of ideas which had come to fruit under christian civilization. borrowing these ideas and forces and combining them with their own resources and informing them with their own genius, they gave the world a surprise. they had long grieved in spirit over their non-recognition by the world at large of their peaceful ambitions and of the principles that lie at the basis of their civilization. they mourned that war and bloodshed were necessary to impress the world and secure respect. within six months they humbled china and compelled her to sue for peace. in three divisions, up from the south, eastward from the mouth of the ta tong river, and westward from gensan, the three columns of the japanese army marched and met at ping-an (ping yang). after two daysâ�� fighting, september 15th and 16th, the chinese hosts were routed. the next day, at sea, off the mouth of the yalu river, the chinese fleet, in the first great battle of modern steel ships, was disabled and was never afterward able to resume the offensive. before october 1st corea was entirely cleared of chinese. on the continent of asia, chiefly in manchuria, they held an area larger than their own empire. port arthur fell on november 21st, and the great fortress of wei-hai-wei was surrendered january 31, 1895. then russia unmasked. calling to her aid france and germany, this triple alliance compelled japan to give up all claims upon the continent and to be content with an indemnity and the island of formosa. had the japanese possessed a fleet of battle-ships, they would have refused this insolent demand and declared war on russia. as it was, the treaty of shimonosã©ki, between li hung chang and ito and mutsu, was signed. the japanese spent the indemnity money on a new navy and proceeded to gird themselves for their next war with another giant, and to show again the difference between bulk and brain. corea suffered surprisingly little from the presence of two great armies on her soil. her people were paid liberally for labor and materials which they so grudgingly furnished to the japanese, who were not, in this instance, sufferers on account of their own excess of politeness, while the chinese troops were within her borders too short a time to be a very heavy tax. only around ping-an was there much public or private suffering. in seoul, the mikadoâ��s envoy, as early as august, began to insist upon a programme of reforms, which, had they been carried out, would have amounted virtually to a new constitution. in the reconstruction of the administration of the seven departments, that of public works was broadened to include agriculture and commerce, and in place of the department of ceremonies there was created one of education co-ordinate with the others. a mighty programme of reforms, twenty-three in number, was prepared, but enough to make up several social tornadoes, some of which were possible, while others seemed too radical and absurd on their faces. a new mint began to issue coins in european form. the second son of the king was sent to tokio to bear the thanks of the nation and government for having secured the independence of chå�-sen. the corean sovereign, on january 8, 1895, with tremendous picturesqueness of procession, pomp, and circumstance, proceeded to the temple of his ancestors and with imposing ceremonies solemnly adjured all vassalage and dependence upon china. the official name of the new empire is dai han or ta han, that is, the great han, single and sovereign, as contrasted with the three (san han) of ancient history. with this royal act vanished from history the strangest anomaly in diplomacy, and one of the last of the dual sovereignties in asia. furthermore, from this time forth, the whole tissue and complexion of corean politics altered. the native scholars began to seek a new intellectual climate and the culture of the west. scores of students were sent abroad and many foreigners were employed, as in the new japan of 1868. when, however, count inouye, one of the purest and best statesmen in japan, in co-operation with the reform committee of the corean government began his labors, the old chronic difficulties at once presented themselves and in legions. there seemed to be no real patriotism in the country. rare indeed was the native of ability who was not hopelessly inoculated with the vices of the old clans and noble families, whose only idea of the relation between government and office holders was that of the udder and the sucking pig. plots and jealousies continually hampered reform. the real problem was to separate the functions of the court from those of the government, which in corea, as in china, had never been fully done. in japan the holding of office by females in the palace had been abolished. in the palace at seoul their influence could secretly nullify public business. the question of succession to the throne without court intrigue through the influence of the queen and the mob of palace underlings, and the reconstruction of the military system and that of civil and criminal law were grappled with. over one hundred young men were sent to japan to study. on june 20, 1895, a royal ordinance was issued dividing the kingdom into thirteen prefectures, five of the large provinces being divided into two parts, with 151 districts and 339 magistracies. a cabinet, with nine boards of administration, was organized, and a judiciary system for the entire country formed, a postal system inaugurated, and the army, consisting of 5,000 men, was put under the instruction of japanese and american officers. for all these enterprises, money was of the first necessity. attempts, therefore, were made to reform the revenue, making taxes payable in money instead of in kind, while lands illegally seized were restored to their rightful owners. all seemed to promise well, notwithstanding that many of the old-style gentry, who saw in the change a lessening of their income, still opposed what they called the â��civilization nonsense.â�� the chinese merchants gradually returned after the war and resumed business. foreign trade in 1895 amounted to nearly thirteen million dollars. commercial prosperity seemed to be general and increasing. a fitful insurrection of the tong haks, in the summer of 1895, was completely subdued by japanese troops. all was proceeding auspiciously until count inouye left corea for a visit home. the queen, who feared that her father-in-law, the regent, might make a bad use of the japanese troops, was anxious. count inouye assured her that the mikadoâ��s government â��would not fail to protect the royal house of corea.â�� thus allaying her well-grounded suspicions, count inouye left seoul about september 15th. there were still living in the peninsula the two ablest characters, man and woman, in modern corean history; the queen, bound to overcome, and nullify by her craft and the power of the min clan, the reforms begun by the japanese, and the old regent, who was bent on getting his sonâ��s wife out of the way, by fire, sword, poison, or dynamite. nominally about seventeen thousand useless persons in government employ and pay had been discharged, and the queenâ��s palace attendants reduced from hundreds to a dozen. but after inouye had gone away, these parasites gradually returned at her invitation, until the palace was crowded again as of old with her women, eunuchs, servants, and underlings of all sorts, while her clansfolk prepared for another of those plots so characteristic of unregenerated corea. at the signs of danger, prince pak yong hio, minister of home affairs, fled the capital. it looked to the japanese as if all their work and influence were to come to nothing. they had been foiled by a woman. the tokio government had appointed as its envoy, in place of count inouye, a military officer named miura, who, like the french zouave de bellonet, of whom we have read before, brought to his work in seoul the habits of the camp and the methods of the soldier, rather than the patience, tact, and civil abilities of his immediate predecessor. about this time there were in seoul many japanese, of all grades of character, especially soshi, political bullies or â��heelersâ�� from tokio, angry at the queen, who, as they professed to believe, was the friend of russia. these men gathered many other spirits like unto themselves from among the native soldiers who had been discharged through the queenâ��s influence. soon both the native and the foreign worthies concluded, with the tai-wen kun, that for the good of corea the queen would have to be killed. on the early morning of october 8th the japanese troops were conveniently and purposely posted so as to make possible the entrance into the palace of a motley band of ruffians, some sixty in number. seizing the queen in her own apartments, they murdered her, dragged her corpse into one of the areas outside, poured petroleum over the rice straw mats and clothing and set the heap on fire. thus perished one of the ablest women in corean annals. a new government was quickly formed under the instigation of the tai-wen kun. a radical programme of reforms was published, new officers were appointed at home and envoys sent abroad. with horrible mockery of history and justice, this â��rebel cabinetâ��â��as the king later stigmatized it in public documentsâ��pretended that the queen was alive and forthwith conducted an absurd travesty of publicly trying some native accused of her murder. in the name of his majesty a proclamation was forged degrading the queen to the level of a servant. all this was done by men, some of whom, it seems impossible to doubt, were implicated in the palace slaughter. when on november 27th some ultra-patriotic coreans, opposed to the japanese and the policy of the tai-wen kun, made an effort to drive out their new rulers by an attack on the palace and failed, the chief participants, as well as those alleged on trumped-up charges to have been in the affair of october 8th, were executed december 8th. meanwhile there were anti-japanese riots in many parts of the country. on hearing of the strange use of the mikadoâ��s soldiery in seoul, the japanese government promptly recalled miura and arrested forty-seven persons supposed to have taken part in the assault on the palace in seoul. nevertheless, in the court at hiroshima, technical evidence against them was lacking and the whole band of this new i-ro-ha of modern japanese heroism was discharged free of blame, or at least without the stigma of condemnation. it is probable that the whole affair of october 8th was connived at by a reckless diplomatic blunderer, to the regret and mortification of the mikadoâ��s ministers and the national sentiment of japan. in any event, it proved the death-blow, for a time at least, of japanese prestige in corea. in december the troops of japan evacuated the country. this was almost the last appearance in public of â��yi ha-eung, prince of heung song,â�� the tai-wen kun, or prince parent. he emerged fitfully on one occasion before the police authorities to secure the release of one of his retainers, and then retired to his estate in kiodang. he died peacefully, on the 22d of february, 1898, and was buried with due ceremonies. his mausoleum, made according to all the proprieties of corean taste and mortuary art, makes an attractive sight on the landscape of corea. on august 18, 1900, corea being now an empire, he was by imperial decree raised to the rank of wang, or king. he will ever be remembered by the coreans as one of the most powerful personalities in the modern history of their nation. according to traditional usage, corean princes cannot hold office, and for that reason many of them decline the title, in order to avoid the poverty which acceptance of it brings, and get government appointments to office with salary. the tai-wen kun, born in seoul, january 22, 1811, made good use of his opportunity, which came both with his title and his office. besides doing a great many bad things, to the injury of his country, he made some great improvements. he was, according to his lights, a statesman and a patriot, and he foresaw to some extent the designs of russia. in methods he never rose above the atmosphere of the environment within which he had been educated. in person he was five feet six inches in height, but looked a leader of men. he was the great-grandson of one king, the nephew of another, and the father of a third. â��he became the leader of the small remnant of the imperial clan left, and really preserved it from extinction.â�� [60] the passing away of these two eminent characters, queen min and tai-wen kun, marked the end of an era. chapter lii. japan and russia in conflict. from the night of the murder of his consort until his escape, four months later, to the russian legation, the sovereign of corea was to all intents and purposes a prisoner in his own palace. unable to trust anybody and feeling in constant danger, he sought the american missionaries for food, for companionship, and even for protection. [61] to him the new government consisted of his jailers. the corean people, sympathizing with their king, hated the japanese all the more, for they felt that their sovereign was a virtual prisoner in the hands of the tai-wen kun and the pro-japanese conspirators. under these circumstances, he determined to break the palace jail. on the morning of february 11, 1896, according to a plan elaborated by the women and arranged with the russians, he entered one of the ordinary box chairs in which female servants are carried. a few minutes later, pale and trembling, the king of corea knocked at the north gate of the legation of russia and was promptly admitted. it has been insisted that â��no russian had been to the palace or near it, nor had any russian been to any of the public offices,â�� yet by some curious coincidence the russian legation guards had been increased on the evening of the 10th by nearly one hundred men from the czarâ��s men-of-war at chemulpo. furthermore, the russians welcomed not only the king but later also the crown prince and the queen dowager. his majesty was scarcely within the walls of his new shelter before he issued an edict against his â��rebel cabinet,â�� ordering his soldiers to â��cut off their heads at once and bring them,â�� but in the afternoon another edict decreed that the six traitors should be degraded and delivered to the courts for trial. this royal order was the signal for another outburst of riot, savagery, and bloodshed. the corean prime minister and the minister of agriculture were killed and their corpses mutilated and dragged round the streets. the prisons were emptied and the innocent and guilty alike released. sixty-six japanese, mostly workmen on the telegraphs, were murdered and the line partially destroyed. the pro-japanese party, beginning with the bloody morning of october 8, 1895, when queen min was murdered, had been in power during four months, during which time a tremendous blow was dealt to the prestige of japan in corea. for eleven months the king transacted the national business in the russian legation buildings, going only occasionally to the palace to give audiences to the foreign envoys. one of these from the mikado presented a claim of indemnity for $146,000 for his subjects slain during the riot. the flight of coreaâ��s sovereign was like that pictured in the proverb â��from the frying pan into the fire.â�� in fierce reality, it was escape from bloody to inky tyranny, from an iron to a silken chain; but in both cases it was humiliation and slavery. while the guest of the russians, the king paid well his bill as tenant by signing a concession to his hosts, permitting them to cut timber â��in the yalu valley.â�� the russian government liberally interpreted this document, according to the vast scale of muscovite geography, as meaning the whole basin drained by the yalu and its tributaries, that is, a region half as large as corea. the russians thus obtained for a yearâ��s rent of part of their legation buildings a lien on corean property valued at fifty millions of dollars. revolutions do not go backward, and the general proceeding of the government was along the line of progress. the external reforms are particularly noticeable in the capital, in which corean officers trained in washington have greatly improved the streets, the methods of cleaning and the drainage. the police and soldiery were uniformed and disciplined, and preparations made for a national census. the untrustworthy â��censusâ�� of seoul showed a population of 144,626 in 27,527 houses, and in the suburbs 75,189 in 18,093 houses, or a total of 219,815, and of houses 45,350, in which district are 36 buddhist temples with 442 priests and 204 nuns. the original width of the streets, as laid out in 1392, of 55 feet, has been regained over many miles of the city thoroughfares. foreign trade steadily increased. american capital and energy helped to make what was once one of the filthiest and most unprogressive cities of the far east a clean and attractive place, bright with electric lights and railway and modern water-works. a railroad was built from the seaport to the capital and opened for traffic september 1, 1899. the steel bridge, made at chattanooga, tenn., spanning the han river is nearly a mile long. the electroliers give light to the palace and to part of the city of seoul. the trolley line, besides traversing the city, runs to the mausoleum of the queen, which has been built in superb style. there her scant remains, escorted by a vast procession characterized in all its features by the old barbaric grandeur of corea, were laid with appropriate ceremonies. in the spring of 1896 the independence club, with a membership of over 2,000, was formed. it was composed entirely of natives actively interested in social and material development as well as in the independence of corea. on october 21st the cornerstone of independence arch was laid on a site but a few yards distant from the old chinese gate under which the ambassadors of china had for centuries received the vassalage of the corean sovereign. it is a structure in stone, alike of architectural beauty and of political significance. the subsequent history of this club and of the general movement, in which the publication of a daily newspaper in both english and native script, the korean independent, were prominent features, is not a happy one. it showed clearly that independence or freedom must be something more than a word, in order to bring forth the fruits seen in america or among the nations that have most cultivated liberty, safeguarded by law. in this seoul movement the seed may have been good, but good and well prepared soil did not exist. rock, brambles, and the beaten road of bad precedent, in which corea is so rich, received the sowerâ��s hopes. the movement ended in sedition or evaporated. nevertheless, it was vastly better than the seoul mobs that so often dictated imperial policy to the ministers of the government. as late as may, 1902, the former members of the independence club were being arrested and executed. more promising in ultimate results was the celebration on september 2d of the forty-fifth birthday of the king by a great gathering of corean christians in the pavilion near the old chinese gate. after a stay of one year and nine days, the king left his russian quarters and took up his residence in the new palace of kyeng-wun, built in 1896 in the western part of the city, where are gathered the foreign legations and residences, some of them very handsome and substantial. corea, being now free and independent, between the two great empires of japan and china, and corean conceit of national history and antiquity, real or supposed, being never at any time lacking, it was thoroughly appropriate and financially very profitable for the yangban and palace officials to take measures to proclaim the once â��little outpost stateâ�� an â��empire,â�� and their sovereign an â��emperor.â�� besides suffering from imperialism in an acute form, the corean office-holders knew well the significance of this nominally political act, in relation to their own fortunes; for in the assumption of the king of corea of the title of emperor, $100,000 was taken out of the treasury to celebrate the event, most of which, as a matter of course, went into the pockets of the kingâ��s faithful servants. his majesty protested in vain against the proceedings, but finally yielded gracefully. at 3 a.m. on october 12, 1896, with great pomp and state, before the altars of the spirits of the land, the king assumed the title of emperor of ta han, or the great hanâ��in distinction from the ancient san han. â��the king is dead, long live the emperor.â�� this, too, was the time of russiaâ��s political dominance, when a russian military commission of fourteen were drilling the corean military and when the minister of foreign affairs at seoul and the russian envoy, mr. speyer, signed an agreement, november 5th, by which dr. mcleavy brown, the englishman in charge of the national financesâ��able, faithful, and unterrifiedâ��should be ousted and a russian, mr. kuril alexieff, put in his place. mr. brownâ��s contract not having expired, he refused to vacate his post, and a large british and japanese fleet having appeared off chemulpo, he was able to maintain his ground. the three countries, russia, great britain, and japan, made an agreement that mr. brown should remain in office and that a russian and a japanese commissioner of customs should share in the collection of foreign duties at the ports. on december 23, 1897, a telegram was received from the czar of russia recognizing the emperor of corea, whereat the imperial party in seoul was greatly elated. this whole incident illustrates the rather theatrical methods of russian diplomacy in corea during the past twenty years, showing how entirely her interests were military and strategic, but not commercial, she having usually scarcely a score, and never at any time a hundred, of subjects in the empire commercially engaged, and only a few fishermen who are whale hunters on the coast. one baron guntzburg was busy as a promoter of russian interests, and the wife of the russian minister was not inactive in social affairs and even as an influencer of political action. it was not long before there were signs of a popular reaction against russia. on january 22, 1898, an attempt was made to assassinate kim, the native russian interpreter. by march 10th this feeling had taken form in a great anti-russian demonstration, which ended in the apparently total though not real withdrawal of russian influence in the peninsula. the military commission soon after departed and the russo-corean bank was closed. after much excitement, russia and japan, on april 25th, agreed on a modus vivendi, both recognizing the sovereignty of corea and engaging to refrain from direct interference in her internal affairs. no military or financial adviser was to be nominated without mutual agreement, and russia bound herself not to impede the commercial relations between japan and corea. it was evident (probably in large measure on account of russiaâ��s new interests in manchuria) that she considered corea for the present beyond her sphere of influence. no serious revival of the claims of russia to any part of corea were made again openly until 1903. when the correspondence between tokio and st. petersburg, leading to the war of 1904, opened, the ambitions of russia were seen to be serious and all-embracing. the first year of the corean empire was completed after the celebration of the kingâ��s birthday with unusual demonstrations of loyalty. the founderâ��s day (that of ki-tsze, or ki-ja, whose tomb and temple are at ping-an and which suffered during the war of 1894) and the 506th anniversary of the establishment of the dynasty, as well as the celebration of the coronation, were honored with unusual demonstrations, including the illumination of the capital. this year was noted for a revival of confucianism among the yangban, buddhism having already enjoyed a â��recrudescenceâ��â��both systems being galvanized into a similitude of life by the powerful induction, and evidences, both in leaven and bloom, of the new faith. on the whole, the year 1898 was characterized by an intense conservative reaction in the government and by an absence of important diplomatic or political events, except the chronic local rebellions in the provinces and the plots of rivals and partisans in the capital. notwithstanding that the solar calendar had been adopted in 1895, and had been officially observed, the people still celebrate new yearâ��s day with a fortnight of oldtime rejoicings, merrymakings, and customs according to the lunar calendar. the year 1899 was one of comparative quiet in the capital and provinces. during the boxer agitation in china, there was danger of eruptions across the border which were duly guarded against, and a russian escort of fifty soldiers to the refugee danish missionaries from china was given free passage. corea virtually joined the allies marching to peking, by giving aid and comfort in the form of a thousand bags of cleaned rice, two thousand bags of flour, and several hundred cases of cigarettes. in august, 1899, the written constitution of the kingdom was issued, the nine articles of which declare the absolute power of the king. it cannot be said that either the coreans, the foreign diplomatic corps, or the world at large took this giving of a constitution as a very serious matter. to the special â��imperialâ�� envoy despatched from seoul to tokio, japan flatly refused to promise the complete neutrality of corea. nevertheless, corean subjects are expected to bow down and worship (either in the old english sense of the term or with more profound significance) the picture of the emperor as in other pagan or semi-civilized countries. a memorial tablet and pagoda â��to commemorate the virtues of his majestyâ�� was begunâ��on a day significant in the westâ��april 1, 1902. these will be in the main street at the junction of palace street in seoul. it was noted as a great event in the history of a country that has never given very serious attention to its high-roads, that dr. w. b. magill, an american missionary, drove a horse and carriage from gensan to seoul. a system of lighthouses was decided upon october 31, 1901. the fiftieth anniversary of the emperorâ��s birthday was celebrated december 7th, silver commemorative medals being given to each guest at the palace. a corean band of musicians, trained by mr. franz eckhart, a german, who arrived in the country february 19, 1901, played two pieces of foreign music very creditably to themselves and their instructor. on july 1, 1902, the corean national hymn, an adaptation by franz eckhart, was published. this german musician had already made a good record in japan. on may 30, 1902, the emperor entered the society of the hall of aged men, having completed the first year of the sixth decade of his life (51 years), the foreign representatives being entertained at breakfast. prominent among these, in influence and ability, was the american minister, dr. horace newton allen, born in delaware, ohio, in 1868, and resident in corea since the summer of 1884, when he introduced modern methods of healing and surgery. he accompanied the first legation of chå�-sen in washington. there he was appointed secretary to the american legation in seoul, and since 1890 has been the chief guardian of american interests in corea, being made minister in july, 1896. during the time of the boxer insurrection in china, when the movement threatened to spread into corea, he was especially alert in precautionary measures of safety. previous to the outbreak of the russo-japanese war, he secured the presence of a guard of american marines in seoul by which american rights, personal and commercial, were thoroughly secured. events during the year 1903 showed a steady movement toward an inevitable end and pointed to the impending crisis between russia and japan. the situation in seoul was dominated by yi yong ik and yi keun tak, who were in close communication with port arthur and the russian authorities at that place. their high-handed financial and other schemes, in opposition to the japanese efforts at securing a stable currency, came to naught after severe pecuniary loss to natives and foreigners and the serious disturbance of trade. the russians, on april 11, 1901, had secured a twenty-year extension of timber cutting and prosecuted vigorously their advances in the north. they now refused to allow the corean government any supervision over their work of denuding the forests in the yalu valley. in may one of the czarâ��s gunboats anchored in the harbor of yongampo, which the russians called port nicholas, and soon after began what were believed to be fortifications. a guard of twenty-six russian marines reinforced the legation in seoul, shortly after the violation by russia of her pledge to evacuate manchuria. a serious riot in november between nipponese and muscovite soldiers at chemulpo foreshadowed the impending clash on a large scale in 1904. during december russiaâ��s influence at seoul blocked all attempts of the foreign representatives to have wiju (ai-chiu) opened as a port of trade. at this stage in the nationâ��s history, the once white-coated hermits who had hitherto lived under their own top-knots, and often under hats that were as big as a haycock, began numerously to go abroad as students. scores of them have been in america and europe and hundreds in japan. in december, 1902, a party of nearly one hundred emigrants, men, women, and children, started for hawaii. all of these were admitted, except eight who were sent back because of contagious eye disease. other incidents showed healthful movement in a long-stagnant mass of population. light and vision are coming to a people blind to nearly everything modern. of all the moral and reformatory forces at work, that of active christianity leads. the missionary pioneers, allen, underwood, scranton, appenzeller, heron, gale, jones, hulbert, and others, mastered the language and opened the treasures of native literature and history. already the list of aids to the vernacular and of their writings descriptive of country and people is a very respectable one. these works, the fruit of earnest toil, contrast superbly in the quality of truthfulness with the sketchy and ephemeral writings of tourists and hasty travellers. with other scholars and civil servants of various governments, they sustain the editor in furnishing the richly freighted pages of the korea review, and have formed the korea branch of the royal asiatic society, from which already several creditable volumes of â��transactionsâ�� have appeared to delight the serious student, who values perspective and tone in his mind-pictures of this once hermit nation. already the representatives of the christian brotherhoods of english-speaking peoples have their row of graves in which sleep heroes, veterans, and some who â��fell at the first fire.â�� beginning in 1884, their prospective celebration of a double decennial, in september, 1904, was postponed under the clouds of war. besides healing and helping, translating the scriptures, and teaching the great uplifting truths which centre around the idea of one living and true god, gathering thousands of souls into churches and furnishing gospel nurture, they have taught the natives the grand lesson of self-support and self-propagation through a first-hand knowledge of the bible. war, persecution, and manifold trials have tested and proved the quality of the converts, who in sincerity and power to stand in the midst of temptations are perhaps second to none in any field. it was evident at the opening of the year 1904 that japanese armies were once again to tread the soil of corea, this time the war being not between china and japan, but between japan and russia. against the colossus of the north and russian rapacity, the island empire had a long list of grievances. as far back as 1861 a russian man-of-war had, not without shedding the blood of its defenders, landed marines on the island of tsushima. there they had planted seed and begun the formation of a settlement looking to permanent occupation. in those days of hermitage, weakness, and fear, nothing could be done by the japanese authorities at yedo; but katsu awa, the shogunâ��s most far-seeing statesman, called the attention of the british minister at peking to this invasion, and a british naval force was sent to compel the russians to retire. a few years later russia took possession of saghalien, after the usual preliminary of â��joint occupation,â�� compelling the japanese to be satisfied with the kurile islands below 50â° 56â�² of north latitude. this was in the year 1875, but long before that, japanese statesmen, especially okubo, had penetrated the designs of russia. the formation, out of feudal elements, of her national army in 1871 and the first of this character since the twelfth century, was largely with a view of defending japan against russian and other aggressions. on the return of the japanese embassy from its trip round the world in 1873, okubo, kido, and others opposed the corean war project (as we have seen in chapter xlvii), because a war with corea then meant playing into russiaâ��s hands. something of the popular fear of russia over the japanese nation, which hung like an advancing black cloud, was seen in the attack by a fanatical policeman on the crown prince, now the czar of russia, during his visit to japan in 1891, but the government in tokio, even in the person of the mikado, besides making ample apology, scrupulously maintained propriety in all dealings with russia, at home and in corea, living on terms of perfect friendship. it was therefore a stunning disappointment, though a not wholly unexpected procedure, when russia, in 1895, summoning to her aid the french and germans, deprived the japanese of the fruits of their victories in the war with china, by compelling the islanders to relinquish all territory on the mainland of asia, and to be content with formosa and an indemnity. exhausted as they were by the war with china, yet had the japanese been possessed of five battle-ships, they would have declared war upon russia as an abominable intermeddler and aggressor. the force of circumstances required them to swallow their humiliation, but as the japanese, any more than certain christian nations, never forgive an injury, they began immediately to gird themselves for the coming and inevitable struggle with the power that seemed bent upon their destruction. when the boxer uprising in 1899 called forth the military energies of eight nations, the japanese government at first held back, lest its motives in being too forward might be questioned. when finally urged to lead the van of the allied armies of rescue, japan sent 21,000 of her ablest and best equipped soldiers into the campaign. their experiences on the march to peking were invaluable to the japanese, for through becoming comrades with the mujiks in the camps and on the battle-field, they learned that they had nothing to fear from such foes when arrayed against them in anything like an equality of numbers in war. the japanese officer found himself a modern man in the presence of his equals, who were men steeped in mediã¦val methods of thought. steadily enlarging their navy and perfecting in every detail arms, ammunition, field equipment, army hygiene, and the physical development of their soldiers, the japanese determined to stand for their rights, even though this might seem like jack challenging the giant. no longer hermits on an island, which, having but a small fraction of arable fertile soil, could not feed its inhabitants, so that population had to remain stationary, the japanese had become a nation of traders and manufacturers, with an annual increase of population of over 500,000 a year, with a total population of fifty millions, and with a foreign trade that had increased 543 per cent since 1890, with a total export trade consisting of 84.6 per cent of manufactured articles. with nearly thirty thousand japanese subjects in corea, most of them married and with homes, and with 10,000 of their people in manchuria, they took an interest in the affairs of corea and manchuria which was not like that of the russians, chiefly military and strategic, but which, on the contrary, was commercial and vital. during the boxer troubles, russia sent a large army into manchuria and finally took possession of the whole of that portion of the chinese empire. she promised solemnly to all the governments interested, to vacate the country on the 9th of october, 1903. the world knows how this promise was broken. the correspondence between tokio and st. petersburg reveals the exasperating delays of the russian government, and its intention not only to remain permanently in manchuria but to prevent if possible japan from having anything to do with the matter. russia even desired â��recognition by japan that manchuria is outside her sphere of special interestâ�� and requested a mutual engagement to establish â��a neutral zone on the corea-manchuria frontier, extending fifty kilometers each side into which neutral zone neither of the contracting parties shall introduce troops without the consent of the other,â�� and â��the engagement on the part of japan not to undertake on the coast of corea any military works capable of menacing the freedom of navigation in the straits of corea.â�� in a word, what japan claimed is, that â��japan has a perfect right to demand that the independence and territorial integrity of china shall be respected and the rights and interests of japan in that region shall be formally guaranteed.â�� after innumerable delays and the situation growing more serious every day, the russians continually reinforcing their naval and military forces in the far east, mr. kurino, the mikadoâ��s minister to st. petersburg, having waited for an answer since the 13th of january, called on count lamsdorff at 8 p.m. february 4th for a definite reply, which was not forthcoming. finding that in all probability there would be no changes in russiaâ��s claims of control over manchuria and her demand for â��a buffer region between confines of direct influence and action of the two countries in the far east,â�� being out of the question, the japanese legation was on the 10th of february withdrawn from st. petersburg and war began. the russians were already on corean soil with three hundred cossacks guarding their timber cutters on the left bank of the yalu river. since june, 1903, they had reinforced their army with 40,000 men and their navy with 26 vessels, ranging from battle-ship to torpedo boat, thus adding 83,000 tons to their sea power. five days before, the russian commander at vladivostok had notified the japanese commercial agent that a state of siege might be declared at any moment. with steam up, decks cleared for action, and search-lights in use for night work, the russian seamen instantly replied to the fire and torpedoes of admiral togoâ��s attack. the japanese thus anticipated a naval raid from the russians, which was afterwards successfully carried out from vladivostok. to the czarâ��s advisers in europe actual war may have come as a surprise. it did not come thus to his servants in the far east. nevertheless, within three days after the rupture of peaceful relations the russian war ships variag and koreetz had been sunk outside of the harbor of chemulpo by the guns of admiral uriu and an army landed to begin its march northward. at port arthur three battle-ships and four cruisers had been sunk or damaged by admiral togoâ��s torpedoes. the first idea of the japanese was to eliminate the sea power of russia from the scene of the seat of war. landing her armies in corea, at chemulpo, the march was made without serious opposition, until near wiju, the mikadoâ��s hosts once more stood on the banks of the yalu, the rubicon of eastern asia, confronting the forces of the white czar. meanwhile, a new protocol between japan and corea was signed, in march, 1904, in which the stronger power bound itself to reform the weaker country without annexing it and to protect it without impairing its sovereignty. corea pledged herself, as distinctly under japanâ��s protection, to repose confidence in and to accept advice from the japanese government, and to make no agreement with a third power which might seem to contravene the principles of the protocol. this document made japan the champion of corean independence, and is in spirit and letter the antipodes of russiaâ��s action in manchuria. the new model army in asia, and the most modern of all armies, was in its fitness of body and mind to cope with the problems of war in the twentieth century, the creation of the public schools of japan. these soldiers, both veterans and youth, set a new standard of resourceful valor, celerity of movement, temperance in living, ability to endure hunger and hardship, and of self-abnegation in the presence of death. to a japanese patriot, life, apart from duty, has no value. on the 1st of may, this â��public school army,â�� under kuroki, having crossed the yalu under fire, won a brilliant victory, capturing many guns and prisoners. they had met european troops and beaten them in fair fight. then began the japanese march through the old border gate and feng-wang chang or phå�nix castle, and over the mountain range dividing the yalu from the liao valley. the fortified passes were one after the other carried in victorious assault, and in the early days of september both russian and japanese main armies were marshalled before liao yang city, southwest of the ruins of the ancient corean stronghold, for one of the great decisive battles of modern times and perhaps of human history. during this time other armies were landed in manchuria and by may 15th oku was in possession of the railway leading to port arthur. dalny was occupied may 26th, and later yinkow and niu chwang came under the sun banner. on august 25th field-marshal oyama took command of all the japanese forces and the armies of kuroki, nodzu, and oku. after the great pitched battle in the early days of september, the mikadoâ��s flag floated over liao yang, and kuropatkin fell back on mukden, in masterly retreat. from port arthur, girdled by a wall of fire and under a rain of shells, the czarâ��s battle-ships and cruisers made desperate efforts to escape, only to be sunk, driven back, or, torn and riven, to seek shelter in the ports of china, and elsewhere, their presence giving rise to perplexing questions in international diplomacy. as we close again, in the autumn of a.d. 1904, our story of the once â��hermit nation,â�� the japanese, confronted with the practical difficulties of assuming a real protectorate over corea, while nominally but sincerely striving to maintain her independence, are still determined to control the peninsula as a vital possession. one hundred miles of the seoul-fusal railway are in operation. the sound of the blasting night and day in the deep rock-cuts near seoul announce their purpose to finish speedily a highway of steel to the chinese frontier. the real purpose of the war is the integrity of china, upon which depends the safety of japan, perhaps even the political salvation of asia. chapter liii. corea a japanese protectorate. having been responsible for two great foreign wars fought by japan, it was natural that at the end of each campaign the position of corea among nations should be notably altered. the war with the middle kingdom blew to pieces the chinese doctrine of universal sovereignty, besides making the once vassal state independent. in name, at least, corea was made an empire. the war with russia annihilated the dogma so long held in europe, that asiatic nations exist for conquest and spoliation, with the corollary that â��the break-up of chinaâ�� was imminent. japanese success in the war of 1894â��95 was a vindication of the american doctrine as expounded by men from the united states during a century, and formulated by john hayâ��â��china for the chinese.â�� had corea been a state fitted, by the power of unselfish patriotism and love of industry among her leaders, to survive amid modern political and economic conditions, japanâ��s triumph over russia would have made her all the stronger. her independence would have been assured, had the virtue of her own sons responded to the opportunity. on the contrary, the history of corea since 1866, as outlined on these pages, reveals the fatal weakness of the ruling class in corea. instead of giving themselves to patriotic sacrifice and personal industry, the yang-ban, or men of privilege, have made their capital a hot-bed of intrigue and corea the storm centre of the far east. instead of developing their own strength and the nationâ��s resources, they have plied the arts of cunning and the crafts of the weak. yet modern civilization, rich in powerful governments, has no place for the weak. least of all is self-chosen weakness allowable. being neither skilful merchants like the chinese, nor brave warriors like the japanese, the corean noblemenâ��on whom lies the burden of responsibilityâ��might at least have imitated the good example of their island neighbors. in japan the outstanding event of modern times was the renunciation, in 1871, by 400,000 knights or gentry, of their hereditary pensions paid out of the public treasury. [62] after this sacrifice, made in the interests of true patriotism, they put off their swords and silk petticoats, got to work, paid taxes, and began to earn an honest living. even china has broken with her unsocial past and conceit of perfection, and has entered upon the path of modern civilization. the corean yang-ban abused their independence by intrigue. they failed to discern that the petty arts of the plotter endangered their existence as a nation. after her second great war, japan saw clearly that to allow her neighbor state, wherein there was no sharp distinction between the court and the government, to remain, as of old, the hot-bed of intrigue, would jeopard her own existence. she therefore did for corea what great britain has done for egypt, the united states for cuba, and the french for annam. corea is now numbered among protectorates. when our narrative closed in september, 1904, the japanese were building a trunk line of railroad, nearly six hundred miles long, which should traverse the whole peninsula from fusan to wiju (ai-chiu, pp. 181, 364). port arthur had not surrendered. the real goal of the japanese armies, the city of mukden, containing the mausoleums of the manchiu dynasty now ruling in peking, â��the possession of which would put the heart of china in the palm of japanâ��s hand,â�� was yet unreached. yet those who in the early seventies had helped to train the boys who made the public-school army of japan, had no fear of its ultimate triumph.[62] on the 3d of january, 1905, port arthur was formally surrendered, and its evacuation completed january 7th. the main japanese army fronting mukden was quickly reã«nforced by nogiâ��s division on the left, or west, and by kawamuraâ��s army, out of corea, on the right, or east. the great campaign of hard fighting, destined to last nearly a month, opened amid a snow-storm on the 23d of february. by the 28th the fighting was general along the whole front of nearly one hundred miles. on the 10th of march okuâ��s columns entered, by the southern gate, the city of mukden. the russians lost nearly thirty thousand in dead and over forty thousand prisoners. the japanese pursuit northward lasted until april 14th. on the 27th and 28th of march â��the battle of the sea of japanâ�� took place, in which the russian armada of thirty-eight modern ships of war was, â��by the grace of heaven and the help of the gods,â�� annihilated. by invitation of president roosevelt, the envoys of the two warring nations, de witte and rosen for russia, and komura and takahira for japan (both of the latter the writerâ��s former pupils in tokio), met at portsmouth, n. h.; whence, in the thirties, had sailed captain edmund roberts, commissioned by president jackson, and the first american diplomatist in the far east. the japanese won a signal diplomatic victory, securing the main points of their contention. the peace treaty which was signed recognized in the first article japanâ��s predominant position in corea, political, military, economic, as well as her right to supervise that countryâ��s affairs and to protect it, russia agreeing not to obstruct japanâ��s proceedings in any respect. one of the first and worst results for corea was the immediate entrance within her borders of a horde of low-class, insolent japanese adventurers, who, by their cruelties and spoliations of natives, nearly neutralized the well-meant plans of good men in tokio. following up the results of the decisive war, the mikado sent his highly honored servant, baron komura, to peking to arrange matters amicably with china, and then turned his attention to corea. the protocol of march, 1904 (p. 495), had been quickly followed by the abolition of the peddlersâ�� guild (so long used by pro-russian intriguers) and by the visit of marquis ito, who bore a reassuring message of fraternity and good-will. mr. i. megata, one of the most experienced and skilful officers of the treasury department in tokio, was sent to seoul as financial adviser, and mr. durham dwight stevens, an american gentleman, who united ability and tact to long and varied experience in diplomacy in the far east, accepted the post of assistant at the corean foreign office. these gentlemen, like all their predecessors, encountered insuperable difficulties in dealing with a government that was nominally carried on at the council board, but in reality directed from the harem or by clan factions in secret intrigue. occupied so seriously with other matters, few attempts were made at first by the japanese government in the interest of real reforms that could benefit the corean people. meanwhile, it must be repeated, tens of thousands of the mikadoâ��s subjects, many of them of the most truculent temper and disreputable character, crowded into the peninsula, committing acts of rapine and brutality which neutralized many of the best measures of wise statesmen. when the proposition, approved of in tokio, was made that all uncultivated land in the peninsula should be open to japanese occupation and enterprise, and the water rights and supply be shared by these aliens, the corean people, as a body, made systematic protest. all the circumstances considered, this sudden act of virtual spoliation was a colossal blunder. in the eyes of the coreans it was not only â��stealing water from another manâ��s fieldâ��â��so terrible a crime in lands of rice culture, where irrigation is a vital necessityâ��but the theft of the very soil itself. at once a storm of opposition arose that swept the peninsula from end to end. the corean emperor was besieged with petitions to resist the japanese demands. a society called po-an, for the preservation of safety and peace, was formed, which met in seoul in excited discussion, and began the propagation of what seemed to the japanese authorities a campaign of sedition. the meetings of the po-an were broken up by the police, and the japanese garrison of seoul was augmented to six thousand men. though other corean societies were formed, the excitement died out, the japanese not pushing their scheme, the corean noblemen showing little or no real patriotism, and the people little power of persistent unity. on october 13, 1904, general hasegawa took control of the military situation. yet it is the simple truth to state that while the japanese soldier, superb in discipline and noble in human qualities, is respected by the corean, the low japanese, who so often proves himself a rascal, is feared and despised. it is unfortunate that these disreputable characters were so long under such slight control from tokio. on the other hand, notwithstanding that japan, in the treaty of 1904, had guaranteed the independence of corea, yet the government in seoul, choked by palace cliques, languished in chronic feebleness. unable to keep order at home, to pay its legation bills abroad, or to separate itself from that â��forbidden interiorâ�� of mystery in the boudoir inhabited by a mob of women, eunuchs and hangers-on, which curses china, corea, and so long cursed old japan in both yedo and kioto, what guarantee was there for the peace of asia and the world? for the preservation of this, the mikadoâ��s government was responsible, while every complication in corea involved japan also. after long deliberation, the statesmen in tokio agreed that the surest exit out of the labyrinthine difficulty was to take charge of coreaâ��s foreign relations and place a controller-general at the capital, with subordinates at the chief cities and seaports, leaving internal affairs to be directed from seoul. the mikado despatched marquis itoâ��â��patient, able, and authoritativeâ��â��to seoul. on the 17th of november, 1905, the corean emperorâ��s minister, pak che soon, and the mikadoâ��s representative, hayashi, signed a treaty, of which the following is the official translation into english: the governments of japan and corea, desiring to strengthen the principle of solidarity which unites the two empires, have with that object in view agreed upon and concluded the following stipulations to serve until the moment arrives when it is recognized that corea has attained national strength:â�� article i. the government of japan, through the department of foreign affairs at tokio, will hereafter have control and direction of the external relations and affairs of corea, and the diplomatic and consular representatives of japan will have the charge of the subjects and interests of corea in foreign countries. art. ii. the government of japan undertake to see to the execution of the treaties actually existing between corea and other powers, and the government of corea engage not to conclude hereafter any act or engagement having an international character, except through the medium of the government of japan. art iii. the government of japan shall be represented at the court of his majesty the emperor of corea by a resident general, who shall reside at seoul, primarily for the purpose of taking charge of and directing matters relating to diplomatic affairs. he shall have the right of private and personal audience of his majesty the emperor of corea. the japanese government shall also have the right to station residents at the several open ports and such other places in corea as they may deem necessary. such residents shall, under the direction of the resident general, exercise the powers and functions hitherto appertaining to japanese consuls in corea, and shall perform such duties as may be necessary in order to carry into full effect the provisions of this agreement. art. iv. the stipulations of all treaties and agreements existing between japan and corea not inconsistent with the provisions of this agreement shall continue in force. art. v. the government of japan undertake to maintain the welfare and dignity of the imperial house of corea. in faith whereof the undersigned, duly authorized by the governments, have signed this agreement and affixed their seals. [signed] hyashi gonsuke, envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary. [signed] pak che soon, minister for foreign affairs. november 17, 1905. whatever may be the real history of the transfer thus made or the means taken to secure the document, it is certain that the governments of europe and america were very prompt in withdrawing their legations from seoul and in acknowledging japanâ��s supremacy. in washington the minds of the president and secretary of state were quickly made up, because of the local eccentricities of corean envoys, unable to pay their grocery bills, and despite the representations of more than one private emissary. on the accession of theodore roosevelt to the presidency by the election of the people and his change of diplomatic assistants, minister horace n. allen, long our able representative in seoul, was succeeded, in 1905, by mr. edwin vernon morgan, who had had experience in samoa, corea, russia, and china. he being appointed to another position, the american legation in seoul ceased, while the consul-general and consuls were retained as before. meanwhile, under the energetic action of the resident general ito, real reforms were inaugurated and disorderly japanese characters arrested and either sent out of the country or made to give pledges for good behavior. the whole prospect of things brightened. at a banquet given in his honor by his countrymen in seoul, april 8, 1906, the marquis ito spoke as follows: â��according to what his corean majesty has repeatedly condescended to say to me, i may be permitted to believe that i have the honor to enjoy his confidence and trust in no small measure. he has on more than one occasion been pleased to assure me that he wished to rely upon my loyal services for the regeneration of the corean administration. his majesty has also given orders to his ministers to carry out this work of regeneration under my direction and guidance. as for the corean ministers, they have assured me of their determination to do their utmost to this end; they say that an opportunity like the present will not occur again, and, as a matter of fact, they are now actively engaged in the work of regeneration.â�� apparently these words were as honestly applauded by the corean emperorâ��s servants as they were believed to be true by the speaker himself. in mutual confidence, corean military officers were duly appointed, and both general hasegawa and the marquis ito left with them for japan, to witness the grand review of the returning victorious japanese armies from manchuria, which was held in tokio april 30th. the opportunity for intrigue and conspiracy created by the absence of the two great men was too tempting to be lost by the factions of the boudoir and its inmates. the corean conservative and progressive parties kept warring among themselves, hatching plots in which even the emperorâ��s privy councillors, palace eunuchs, and officers of the imperial household were active. two lines of policy looking to domestic and foreign disturbance were mapped out by the conspirators. one utilized the distress and almost chronic troubles in the southwestern provinces, the other was based on the hope of russian intervention. the plot was planned by yang-ban in the palace itself. in chung chong do (p. 194) a min and in chulla do (p. 199) a choi nobleman led the insurrections. antiquated muskets, matchlocks, swords, and spears were laid in store against the japanese. in kang-wen do (p. 208), also, troubles were reported. four police (out of the 350 then in all corea) were sent from the residency in seoul, but they were killed or driven away. the corean provincial troops being supine, two companies of japanese infantry were sent to the city. attacking in daylight in order to spare the peaceful non-combatants, the soldiers blew up the gates with dynamite. after some street fighting the city was in the hands of the military, 69 coreans being killed and 145 made prisoners. it was hoped that this affair would end further insurrection. but in a land so long governed by the sorcerer, where the means of communication are slight and the people lack education and mental initiative, news travels slowly. choi, in the more southern city, held out. murderous attacks on japanese settlers and fishermen continued. the wi-pion party, representing inveterate conservatism, sided with the insurgents, while the il ching-hoi, or liberal progressive, set to work to unearth evidence and expose the conservative plotters. giving information at the residency in seoul, five high officers, kim, choi, min, hong, etc., of the corean court or government, including a eunuch, were arrested. the twofold plan, first, to make the world believe that the whole corean people was opposed to the japanese protectorate, and second, to enlist russian cooperation, was exposed. one immediate result of forcing the japanese military hand was the quick surrender of choi to corean soldiers in chulla do. in his camp was found authorization from seoul, sealed with the vermilion seal of the palace, to raise troops. thus collapsed the plot for internal disturbance. [63] the prospect of drawing russia again into hostilities which might free corea from the japanese yoke shows the weak spot in the russo-chinese negotiations of ignatieff in 1860 (p. 371). in the delimitation of frontiers then made, a strip of country containing nearly 3,000 square miles, called han-do, or island circuit, between the tumen and its affluent, the hai-lan river, which, beginning about seventy-five miles from the sea, flows nearly parallel, was left as neutral territory to be uninhabited. this region is shown on the maps (pp. 210, 365), and though the chinese characters describe an island, it is interfluvial only. in reality the land, being very fertile, did in course of time attract many settlers, both chinese and corean. when russia began to assert her strenuous policy in the far east, she demanded that this neutral strip should be cleared of coreans, or that all settlers in this region between the rivers should be enrolled as chinese subjects. the japanese war coming on in 1904, nothing further was done. since russia, by the portsmouth treaty, controls the railways of kirin, she may by holding this region control the trade routes to the seaboard. here then was the bait to make the russian bear bite. one of the kims, an anti-japanese ultra-conservative, secured a commission from the corean emperor appointing him virtually governor of this hai-lan region. at vladivostok, through the infamous pro-russian li yong ik and m. pavloff, the late envoy of the czar in corea, the court of st. petersburg was to be sounded on the possibility of gaining control of this strategic territory. if it be asked, what ground of hope kim hseung-mun had of success, it must be remembered that while all other foreign consuls in corea, under the new order of things, had received their exequaturs, or authorizations, from the emperor of japan, the new russian consul-general, m. plancon, claimed that he should be recognized by the corean and not the japanese emperor, thus ignoring coreaâ��s denunciation of her old treaty with china and the convention of november 17, 1905. the russian envoy, for a little while or until he withdrew his contention, consciously or unconsciously, gave encouragement to the corean conspirator, kim. this whole plot to embroil russia and japan was frustrated, getting no further than the palace, while the surrender of choi in chulla do was made sure by the arrest, on the night of june 8th, of the chief conspirators as they were leaving the palace. the liberals had turned stateâ��s evidence. without impeaching the corean emperor, the japanese government removed his evil advisers and resolved to persevere in using what authority he still possesses for the good of the corean peopleâ��as their protectors see it. that policy requires the public finance of corea to be known in ledgers and budgets, with strict accountability for every dollar; the purging of the palace, and the thorough differentiation of court and government, and of the â��boudoirâ�� from the council table; the creation of a public school system; the building of a railway from ping an to gen san; a coinage and stable monetary system; the reform of prison methods and the judiciary; the reclamation of the vast quantities of waste land; the encouragement of all moral forces; the development of trade, commerce, and industry; and last, but not least, the severe handling of unprincipled and truculent japanese; or, in general, a policy of righteousness and conciliation that must overcome the traditional hatred between the coreans and the japanese. to make the yang-ban get to work and earn their own living will be the great blessing to this long-oppressed land. if japan can satisfy the enlightened judgment of the world that corea is exploited for the good primarily of the coreans and not the japanese, humanity will approve and rejoice. the accomplished author of â��the passing of korea,â�� which contains the severest arraignment of the japanese thus far made, passes this verdict on the situation: â��the koreans have awakened to the fact that this, which should have been their first consideration many years ago, is now their last resort, and they are clamoring for education.... korea can gain nothing by holding back and offering to the plans of japan a sulky resistance. they are face to face with a definite condition, and theories as to the morality of the forces which brought about the condition are wholly academic.â�� chapter liv. chå�-sen: a province of japan. chå�-sen is the official name of the country described in this volume and now a province of japan, as declared in the act of annexation of august, 1910. thus its oldest name, now to be better known to the world, is also its newest. since 1392 the natives have known no other. the chinese characters for chå�-sen, or morning calm, were stamped on the first and earlier editions of this book. the japanese name of the capital is kã©ijo. by the russo-japanese war, corea was saved from being a russian province and the king and court given the supreme occasion of reform, which, if carried out, would mean new national life. corea would have remained a sovereign state, had the chief ruler and the governing classes risen to their opportunity. it was not to be. with despotism in the palace and a lettered class bound in cast-iron traditions, but profoundly ignorant of the world and the century, there lay beneath an oppressed populace, steeped in superstition, for which the government did nothing. lacking an intelligent middle class between, reform in corea, except from without, was perhaps morally impossible. old corea, an unreformed oriental state, with all the features inseparably associated with such a society, was thus described by lord curzon in 1894: â��a royal figure-head, enveloped in the mystery of the palace and the harem, surrounded by concentric rings of eunuchs, ministers of state, officials and retainers, and rendered almost intangible by the predominant atmosphere of intrigue; a hierarchy of office-holders and office-seekers, who are leeches in the thinnest disguise; a feeble and insignificant army, an impecunious exchequer, a debased currency, and an impoverished peopleâ��these are the invariable symptoms of the fast-vanishing rã©gime of the older and unredeemed oriental type. add to these the first swarming of the flock of foreign practitioners who scent the enfeebled constitution from afar and from the four winds of heaven come pressing their pharmacopå�ia of loans, concessions, banks, mints, factories, and all the recognized machinery for filling western purses at the expense of eastern pockets, and you have a fair picture of korea as she stands after ten years of emergence from her long seclusion and enjoyment of the intercourse of the nations.â�� corea as represented by the yang-ban, or ruling class, numbering with their families 200,000 souls, was dragged suddenly out into the worldâ��s light and confronted with vital problems. without that long interior intellectual preparation which enabled japan in the nick of time to meet her new duties, the coreans were neither able nor willing to grapple with the colossal tasks awaiting them. yet this was no fault of the plain people, for it is to their credit that they welcomed foreigners. except a morbid curiosity as to alien persons and ways, they have ever shown kindness, and politeness so far as they knew it. with amazing promptness the spiritually hungry and thirsty masses have responded with grateful appreciation to what their foreign teachers brought them. one secret of their readiness and docility lies in the fact that they were glad to be delivered from the oppression of rulers, whose one idea of government meant the grinding of the people for private benefit. after the treaty of november 17, 1905, by which a resident-general from japan was established in seoul, and which took control of the foreign relations and affairs of the little kingdom, it was found that few of those who could have effected national reform gave any indication of their desire to do so. in 1907 a fresh agreement was made, â��with the object of speedily providing for the wealth of corea and of promoting its welfare,â�� and the japanese government spent millions of dollars in schemes of practical advantage to the coreans. when, after four years, it was found that the age-old abuses continued, and reform by natives seemed impossible, the formal annexation of corea was consummated on august 29, 1910. the full text of the treaty, in eight articles, with preamble, etc., and english translation, is printed in the journal of international law (revue de droit international) for december, 1910, published in tokio. the amalgamation convention provides: [64] â��(1) the emperor of corea shall concede to the emperor of japan the corean sovereignty, together with all territorial rights. â��(2) the sovereign imperial household is to be treated as a quasi-imperial family of japan, continuing to have the annual allowance of 1,500,000 yen, while members of the imperial family and meritorious persons of the country are to be created peers, or endowed with certain grants. â��(3) the name corea shall be changed into â��chå�-sen.â�� â��(4) the corean cabinet being abolished, the residency-general shall be changed into a government of governor-general, while as to the administrative business and customs tariff, there will be no change for the present.â�� the cost to japan of the amalgamation is estimated at yen, 30,000,000, or $15,000,000. seventy-five coreans of distinguished families were created peers of japan, and the monetary grants in yen were conferred as follows: to a baron, 50,000; to a viscount, 100,000; to a count, 150,000; and to a marquis, 200,000. as with the kugã©, or court nobles, to prevent waste, the principal is retained in the imperial treasury, and the interest promptly paid at frequent intervals. provision has been made for other meritorious persons, and the military conscription will not be put in force for ten years yet. meanwhile, besides thousands of corean students in tokio, delegations of leading men and women of chå�-sen have visited and travelled in japan. it has always been a sore spot with the coreans that the united states refused to intervene, though in the first article of the treaty of may 22, 1882, promise was made that â��if other powers deal unjustly or oppressively with either government, the other will exert their good offices, on being informed of the case, to bring about an amicable arrangement, thus showing their friendly feeling.â�� yet apart from the settled policy of non-intervention in the affairs of foreign nations, the united states was but one of several nations that, with a significant promptness and unanimity, gladly called home their legations and handed over the control of corea to japan. there is nothing mysterious to the student in the loss of coreaâ��s sovereignty and her absorption in the japanese empire. a survey of her history and a view of the worldâ��s movement since 1866 shows inexorably the law of cause and effect. it was the weakness of corea to be not only shut off from the world, but in her hermitage so to exaggerate antiquity and its importance as to leave the nation helpless in the modern clash of civilizations, when orient and occident are meeting to merge into one world society. the first infirmity of the coreans of insular mind arises from long contact with the history and literature of the chinese. stimulating to the intellect, this has paralyzed mental initiative and swamped originality. the corean imagined that chinaâ��s was the beginning and end of all wisdom. added to this was the delusion that a knowledge of letters was in itself sufficient to preserve both society and national sovereignty. old japan suffered frightfully, but not fatally, from the same disease. in coreaâ��s case, this insanity of literary pride was exaggerated into a crime when, after 1392, the popular religion was ruthlessly destroyed, the people robbed of their teachers, and the country given over to superstition and ignorance by a government which lieutenant foulk, in 1883, after prolonged tours within the country and study of the details of administration, declared was but armed robbery. there was no political or social unity in the corean peninsula until the tenth century. the chief force in welding together the various tribes and peoples into the astonishing unity and similarity now visible among the people and villages from quelpart to the ever white mountain was buddhism. the missionaries of this faith, coming from thibet and china, gave the peninsulars art, architecture, literature, folk-lore, a noble path of morals for guidance in this life, vast consolations for the future, and pretty much everything that means culture, refinement, and civilization. in very early days, before mikadoism in japan was formulated into a militant dogma, the islanders and the peninsulars, the japanese and the coreans, were virtually one and the same people, and in about the same stage of civilization. in the reaction of nature upon man and of man upon nature, during ten centuries, the two peoples were differentiated, and the two languagesâ��almost exactly the same in structure, thus proving their common originâ��developed their vocabulary and local pronunciation. the two nations, according to their ethnic mixtures, heredity and environment, grew further and further apart. nevertheless, to-day, after a millennium of separation, the underlying elements are so much greater than the surface differences that the prospects of an amalgamation of the two peoples are decidedly promising. in the main, the history of corea is like its landscape. her political annals, as thus far studied, seem like monotonous undergrowth among which loom indistinct figure-heads. as bare as her desolated coast or denuded mountains, the scene in historic perspective reminds one of the peninsulaâ��s lava beds, her square leagues of disintegrated granite, or her waste lands, out of which rise sculptured rocks, and whence emerge the miryeks, or stone colossi, amid ruins surrounded with forests. to a native scholar his nationâ��s chronicles are not without a rugged grandeur of their own, besides a rich coloring that recalls the rock-scenery of corea when looked at in the sunlight. to the alien student, buddhism looms as the chief civilizer and the mother of popular culture. it is certain that during its thousand years of growth and prosperity in the peninsula the people were as one flock led by one shepherd. they were trained in what was at least beautiful and human. coreaâ��s debt to buddhism is unspeakable. even to-day, in the land so often invaded, desolated, peeled, and scraped by tartar, chinese, and japanese marauders, and raided by men from countries called christian, almost everything that remains to touch the imagination, whether in architecture, rock sculpture, stone colossus, pagoda, in art, and even in literature, apart from erudition, is of buddhist origin. when, after a.d. 1392, the popular faith was banned, its temples, schools, monasteries, and works of art destroyed or doomed to decay, its priesthood socially outlawed and oppressed even to beggary, the people were left to ignorance and superstition and were as sheep without shepherds. they became the prey alike of the ruling classes and of sorcerers and fortune-tellers, who, though densely ignorant, lived by their wits and wickedness. parasitic spoilers of all sorts, from the palace to the hovel, thrived, while the people, the foundation of the state, existed on lifeâ��s narrowest margins. confucianism, as made into a state ritual since 1392, and as interpreted and developed by the yang-ban, or educated and office-holding classes, meant neglect of the land, the grinding of the peopleâ��s faces, the permanent destruction of popular wealth and comfort, the paralysis of the motives to industry, and the creation of a standing army of inquisitors, office-seekers, and office-holders, and their satellites and hangers-on, with headquarters in seoul. in place of the spiritual bread of buddhism, the new rã©gime offered a stone. in government, instead of the egg for nourishment, they proffered a scorpionâ��even chronic extortion. a great gulf was fixed socially between the men to whom education meant the stifling of original thought, a ban on mental initiative and the oppression of the people. monopoly of office and privilege, as held by one class, meant systematic robbery of the populace, the government itself being an engine of oppression by which fewer than one-quarter million yang-ban subsisted upon eleven million of the common folk. when reform was called for which meant public benefit, apart from private rapine or individual advantage, manual as well as clerkly labor, continuous and unselfish toil with only slight pecuniary reward, the average high-class native proved a total failure. despite the purging from the palace of several hundred women, and over a thousand male persons who drew salaries, the remainder within, or parasitic to royalty, proved worthless for the remaking of the nation. ever under the spell of the chinese characters, saturated with the ideas of confucianism run to seed, having only one ideal of lifeâ��selfish advantage and the subordination of the lower classesâ��devoted to their sensual enjoyments, their long pipes, and their liquor, to checker-playing, gossip, and elaborate idleness, the yang-ban during five centuries did nothing to develop the soil or the resources of the country. on the contrary, the office-holding class systematically hindered the development of wealth, or even thrift, by extortion, unjust taxes, and dishonest manipulation of imposts, which were paid in kind instead of in coin, by exactions or forced loans never repaidâ��usually under the menace and reality of beating, torture, and imprisonment. one innovation under the japanese rule, which made taxes payable in cash and not in kind, wrought infinite blessing to the people and carried consternation to the army of extortioners. in the modern world-life, japan and corea are as necessary to each other as are man and woman. it soon became evident to the tokio government, after every step, that some stronger remedy than advice would be necessary to heal the age-old and deep-seated corean disease that seemed as incurable as leprosy. hence the measures of 1907, which put into the hands of the mikadoâ��s resident-general still greater powers. to this work of reforming corea, nippon gave her ablest son, one who, both in feudal and constitutional japan, had dedicated his life to promoting the evolution of the modern man. the statesmanship of ito was that of a lover of humanity, who might well, after long and multifarious labors, have taken the rest which he craved and which his physical condition demanded. nevertheless, with his unique experience and amazing abilities, he applied himself with unremitting toil to lead the once hermit nation into the twentieth century. according to itoâ��s motto, â��the secret of statesmanship consists in securing the contentment of the people.â�� he was all the better fitted for his colossal task by having known so well the late feudal nippon with its political diseases. neglect of the people and of the soil, official falsehood, and class oppression were characteristic of both countries. ito took all the more encouragement because life in chå�-sen was but the mirror of that in old japan. having fought belated feudalism and grappled with the new problems of a modern state in asia, none was better equipped than he for the task of making a progressive nation out of a people whose mental eyes were set even further back in their heads than those of the chinese. for while china boasts of confucius, corea penetrates further into the primitive. she hails as the founder of her social order, kija (ki-tsze, or kishi, pp. 11â��15), the distant ancestor of the chinese sage. on this nursery fairy tale of the nationâ��since the peninsulars knew nothing of writing until, long after the christian era, they obtained the chinese ideographsâ��every corean for a thousand years or more has been brought up. the early mythology and legend of the peninsulars are about as trustworthy as those of the neighboring islanders, whose conceit of antiquity was once fully as great and whose official and orthodox chronology was fixed and published so long ago as a.d. 1872! this myth of kija, as the actual founder of civilization east of the yalu, took its literary form only in the eighth century, when the coreans had become saturated with chinese ideas. then the peninsulars, made acquainted with chinese historiography, and having but one model before them, faithfully followed it (as did the japanese also), the coreans surpassing even the greater nation in pride of antiquity and in the glorification of heroes, who loom up in vaster proportions according as the unrecorded centuries multiply and recede into the past. historical science has already begun to change this perspective of antiquity as surely as hospitals have furnished object-lessons in the law of cause and effect. corean gods and demons, more numerous even than old japanâ��s mythical menagerie and pantheon, are being steadily banished to the realms of fairy-land. [65] ito, scorning delights and living laborious days, continued the labors, but vastly enlarged the plans of his predecessors. first of all, having deported hundreds of the bad subjects of the mikado and curbed the rapacity and brutality of his own countrymen, he applied himself unceasingly to healing the wounds of war, to indemnifying the unjustly impoverished natives, and to giving corea what she never hadâ��or, if possessed of, had allowed to lapse during the five hundred years of the dynasty that had destroyed the peopleâ��s religion and had done nothing for national development. a system of good roads, honest coinage and currency, courts and justice, popular education, afforestation of the mountains, improvement of the soil through scientific agriculture and reclamation of waste land, preventive hygiene, honest taxation and collection now exists. ito cleansed the palace, separating the functions of court and government, lessening by fifty per cent. the number of persons paid from the public treasury, both male and female, removing as far as possible the king and his advisers from the great mob of sorcerers, fortune-tellers, geomancers, and others who prey upon the corean people. the deposition of the incompetent emperor and the installation of his son in power were followed by the education of the crown prince in tokio. the difficulties in the way of reform were appalling. the principal obstacles existed in the two classes of which corean society is composedâ��oppressors and oppressed. the yang-ban, or privileged men, with more or less scholarship of a chinese kind, seemed to have no conception of patriotism apart from pelf. their chief trait was political vampirism. on the other hand, the supine attitude of the common people, accustomed for centuries to systematic oppression, was discouraging. to them even decent government, that is, the kind which could be tolerated to the point of rebellion, meant the grace of their masters and rule without robbery. one of the striking features of nearly every corean town or city is seen in the long rows of tablets in stone or iron that celebrate the merits of â��good,â�� that is, fairly decent, governors. a collection of all the local instruments of torture, stacked in one museum, would be impressive and furnish fuel for a vast conflagration. in education, progress was hampered by the general prevalence of fanaticism on the subject of â��race suicideâ�� and in the absurd measures taken for its preventionâ��measures that largely tend to hinder the end in view. in corea the marriage and birth rate may possibly be in excess of that of any country in the world, while, almost as matter of course, and as a scientific corollary, the same may be said of the death rate, which, owing to superstition, ignorance, and dirt, is appalling. corea, despite shining white clothes, is not a land of bath-tubs. in the schools, nearly all the boys were found to be married, and to girls older than themselves. these over-mature youths, of antediluvian frame of mind, too often seem to have eyes set too far back in their heads, which fix their gaze on duties appropriate to the time of confucius rather than of the twentieth century. we have glanced at this subject before. yet even to-day, with all the advantages afforded them, there is danger. expecting, like their fathers before them, to be verse-makers, to quote from the ancient chinese, to be literary, and to hold office, because of a knowledge of the characters, the young corean yang-ban are indifferent to useful progress and scorn manual labor. having already lost nearly everything, they will, unless radically changed in mind, lose all. the one hope of chå�-sen is the raising up in a generation, now under new influences, of a new type of humanity. the christian schools and churches are supplying this need. indeed, the fall of yang-banism and the extinction of coreaâ��s sovereignty means buddhismâ��s opportunity. it will be both logical and natural that one of the first effects of christian missions will be, as in japan, to quicken the spirit and improve the form and power of the older religion. nor ought missionaries fear its vigorous competition, should it become potent for the abolition of demon-worship and the moral uplift of the masses otherwise neglected, especially in out-of-the-way places. unfortunately, corea of mediã¦val mind, like barbarous japan of not so many years ago, sought a remedy for supposed wrongs in assassination. rashly unintelligent, sword and bullet were resorted to in order to stop the car of progress. quick to misjudge and impatient to wait for results, the assassin selected as his first victims his countryâ��s best friends. the weak and disappointed tried suicide as a remedy and deterrent. the insurgents in the so-called righteous army, too often were robbers of their own people. in the name of patriotism they attempted redress, seeking to turn back â��modern civilization which rides on a powder cart.â�� the list of coreans who in cowardice or discouragement died by their own hands, who were slaughtered by their own compatriots, who fell beneath the bullets or the swords of rebels in civil strife, or who were mown down by the resistless fire of the japanese infantry, is sadly great. [66] the mikadoâ��s soldiers were perhaps frequently unable to distinguish between the deserving and the undeserving. their actions are not absolutely free from criticism. yet with unrestrained frankness the statistics of the military operations are given in the annual reports on reforms and progress in korea, in 1907, 1908â��9, and 1909â��10. from july, 1907, when the riots broke out in seoul, on account of the disbanding of the corean army, to the end of 1908, there were of japanese soldiers 179 killed and 277 wounded, besides 67 japanese residents killed in 1907 and 16 in 1908. of corean insurgents, 14,566 were â��killed.â�� besides positive military measures, the corean emperorâ��s rescripts urging those in arms to submit quietly were effective, and the total of those who surrendered and were pardoned to december 13, 1907, was 8,728. during the fiscal year 1909 the japanese lost 38 men, but the number of insurgents killed (3,001), wounded, captured, or surrendered was 6,131. those in arms who yielded or asked pardon were given employment in road-making and other useful occupations. by 1911, most of the activity of native insurgent bands had degenerated into the work of mere banditti. military movements on a large scale were not required, and much of the desolation of villages was repaired with better hope of more comfortable existence. frightful as is this frank showing, it is doubtful whether more lives were lost in the suppression of rebellion, from 1907 to 1911, than in the nearly chronic anarchy that prevailed in the southern provinces during the previous decade and a half. the annual reports above referred to show by text, pictures, and statistics, not only the purpose and results of the japanese government, but also the fearful cost of restoring order, a cost of life and treasure aggravated both by natives who have not scrupled to use the torch, the mulct, and the assassinâ��s weapon on their own native soil, and by foreigners who, in the name of liberty, abused the freedom of the press and kept the useless and dangerous embers of sedition in a flame. not satisfied with murder at home, coreans have made the united states, already the happy hunting ground of the black hand and the lyncher, the arena of their cowardly exploits. after mr. durham white stevens, an american of long experience in the far east, and diplomatic adviser to the corean government, had been shot and killed in san francisco by a corean, the most shining mark was coreaâ��s best friend, ito. made a prince and rewarded with every mark of honor possible to a subject by the emperor of japan, this man who, in unquailing discharge of his duty, had already braved the japanese feudal sword wielded by cowards in choshiu, and the infuriated tokio mob in constitutional japan, and who seemed immune from the assassins of which old japan raised such a luxuriant crop, fell in manchuria at the harbin railway station, on october 26, 1909, before the bullets of the petty revenger, who shot from behind. amid the grief and the honor of the whole world, on november 4, 1909, ito was given a state funeral such as has been bestowed upon few subjects of japan. ito shed his blood in the cause of peace. whether these assassinations hastened the absorption of corea by japan, and the blotting out of a sovereignty unknown to the world until japan, by peaceful diplomacy, conferred it in 1876, is not known. the emperor at once appointed general viscount terauchi, then minister of war, and already famous for his brilliant military record and notable organizing abilities, to be the successor of ito in corea. the record for energetic action, consummate tact, and ceaseless toil already made by terauchi places his name very near that of ito as a modern civilizer and lover of the victories of peace even more than those of war. despite all the instances of individual wrong, private injustices, and public mistakes made by the japanese in corea, and in view of the severe criticisms of terauchi by such leading japanese newspapers as the kokumin and kochi, it is nevertheless manifest that the policy of the tokio government is antipodally the reverse of that of hidã©yoshi. instead of the ear-tomb, and the scooping of corea clean of her artists, artisans, potters, and art treasures, there rise to-day the school, the hospital, and the temples of justice and finance. plans are being perfected for the development of the soil and of the wealth of the nation, in the interest of the people, while to the missionary and alien philanthropist is given all encouragement. a new land survey is in operation for the equalization of taxes. light-houses have reduced the dangers of a foggy and treacherous coast. harbor works are in course of construction; well-made common roads are decreasing the difficulty of transport; while these and the highways of steel continually increase the value of the arable lands and of town lots. rivers, even the wide yalu and han, are spanned by bridges. many a place, historic because of war, is now famous for its commercial and industrial development. piracy gives way before policemen in steam launches, and chronic brigandage is dying out. in all that relates directly to humanity, the reform of the judiciary methods of justice, prison procedure, the codification of laws, etc., the progress is marvellous. at the head of the judicial department is a christian, judge watanabã©, and many men of this faith, japanese and corean, fill other high offices. special schools, of medicine, surgery, nursing, scientific agriculture, forestry, live-stock improvement and manual training, are preparing young men and women to raise the standard of human life in chå�-sen and to reclaim the sixty-six per cent. of the arable land in the peninsula which has lain waste. the absorption of corea by japan has given the astonishingly successful christian missionary work a new environment, and one for the better, despite the manifest dangers of misunderstanding arising temporarily from the political situation and the eager readiness of a few japanese press correspondents to misrepresent. with full religious liberty, and under the protection of a firm, orderly, and impartial government, the great work of raising up the new type of man and woman in chå�-sen, now one of the most promising of mission fields, proceeds. in the christian household, numbering roughly about 200,000, we discern the best promise for chå�-senâ��s future. into his new world of hope and cheer, the native, when enlightened and converted, brings the richest inheritances of the national culture, the best results of his training, and the most winning traits of his character. this is strikingly shown in the general eagerness to read and study the holy scriptures, in the wonderful powers of memory, and in the committing of large portions of the bible, which is now accessible in the vernacular. the nativeâ��s generosity, good-nature, power of self-support, mutual desire and practice of helpfulness, patience, and power to endure persecution of any and all sorts fit him admirably for christian service. christianity has come to corea to reveal the national treasures that are enduring. for centuries the beautiful phonetic alphabet, en-mun, and syllabary nido (p. 47), lay neglected and scorned by the learned. yet this was but one of many elements of potency for good that lay unused like barren rocks. at the smiting of the missionariesâ�� hand of faith gushed forth the waters of life and healing. the new messages of hope and salvation came to the people not only in their own tongue, but in their own script. christian teachers, after long years of discouragement, have made, through the patience of hope, of love and sympathy, a real conquest of the corean heart. the faces of men and women are lighted up with a new glow of interest in life here and hereafter as they find both body and soul ministered to by their friends from afar. with this spiritual invitation and challenge to enter into the promised land fully accepted by the coreans, it is not too wild a dream to imagine even the strong conqueror conquered by the weaker. samsonâ��s experience and his riddle may be the coreanâ��s. chå�-sen may yet be to nippon what palestine was to greece and rome. bereft of political sovereignty, from the land of the hebrews went forth that salvation which â��is of the jewsâ�� to conquer europe and the world. already, by closer contact of the humbler classes of the two nations on corean soil, the paganism of rustic japanâ��hitherto almost untouched by the gospelâ��begins to disintegrate and ferment because of the leaven brought from christian chå�-sen. this has the corean leftâ��and perhaps more abundantly than ever beforeâ��â��power to becomeâ�� the spiritual regenerator of japan. notes [1] there are colossal stone images at pe-chiu (pha-jiu) in the capital province, and at un-jin in chung-chong då�. the former, discovered by lieutenant j. g. bernadon, u.s.n., are in the midst of a fir-wood, and are carved in half-figure out of bowlders in place, the heads and caps projecting over the tops of the trees. one wears a square cap and the other a round one, from which mr. g. w. aston conjectures that they symbolize the male and female elements in nature (p. 329). at un-jin in chung-chong då� mr. g. c. foulke, u.s.n., saw, at a distance of fifteen miles, what seemed to be a lighthouse. on approach, this half-length human figure proved to be a pinnacle of white granite, sixty-four feet high, cut into a representation of buddha. similar statues may perhaps be discovered elsewhere. coreans call such figures miryek (stone men, as the chinese characters given in the french-corean dictionary read), or miriok, from the chinese mi-lä�, or buddha. (in japanese, the buddha to come is miroku-butsuâ��a verbal coincidence.) professor terrien de lacouperie has written upon this theme with great learning. besides the lop-ears, forehead-mark, and traditional countenance seen in the buddhas of chinese asia, there is on the un-jin figure a very high double cap, on which are set two slabs of stone joined by a central column, suggesting both the ceremonial cap of ancient chinese ritual and the indian pagoda-like umbrella. these miriok stand in what was once hiaksai. in his â��life in corea,â�� mr. carles gives a picture of the one at un-jin. smaller ones exist near monasteries and temples. [2] the story, told in full in the heikã© monogatari, is given in english in â��japanese fairy world.â�� [3] the mikadoâ��s empire, chapters xiii. and xiv. [4] the identity of the great conqueror, genghis khan, with the japanese hero yoshitsunã©, by k. suyematz of japan. london, 1879. [5] see howorthâ��s history of the mongols, london, 1876. [6] beginning at the most northern and eastern, and following the sea line south around up to the northeast, they are: corean. japanese. english. 1. ham-kiung, or kan-kiå� då�. perfect mirror, or complete view province. 2. kang-wen, or ko-gen då�. bay meadow province. 3. kiung-sang, or kei-shå� då�. respectful congratulation province. 4. julla, or zen-ra då�. completed network province. 5. chung-chong, or chiu-sei då�. serene loyalty province. 6. kiung-kei, or kei-ki då�. the capital circuit, or home province. 7. whang-hai, or ko-kai då�. yellow sea province. 8. ping-an, or hei-an då� peace and quiet province. in this table we have given the names in english which approximate the sounds of the chinese characters, with which names of the provinces are written, and as they are heard to-day in chå�-sen. the modern coreans use the modern chinese sounds of the characters, while the japanese cling to the ancient chinese pronunciation of the same characters as they received them through hiaksai and shinra, eleven or twelve centuries ago. the old pure corean sounds were teru-ra tai for zen-ra då�, tsiku-shaku tai for chiu-sei då�, keku-shaku tai for kei-ki då�, etc. [7] their line of march, as shown in the japanese histories, was to sen-ken, october 11th; to kumu-san, where they experienced the first frost; to kumui, october 12th; to chin-zon; to funki; to shaku-shiu; to koran; to chin-zen. these are names of places in chulla and chung-chong, expressed in the japanese and old corean pronunciation. [8] mr. pierre l. jouy, of the smithsonian institute, who in 1884 spent six months in corea in zoological collecting and research, says: â��no monkeys or alligators are found in corea. i am at a loss to understand how the alligator story originated.â�� was the alleged animal the giant salamander, or the akã©? japanese art and legend refer often to alligators. [9] hun-chun is in chinese manchuria. the russian possessions south of victoria bay extend but a few miles from the mouth of the tumen. [10] see â��the meeting of the star lovers,â�� in japanese fairy world. [11] this flag was presented by its captors to commodore homer c. blake, by whose courtesy the writer had the sketch made for the cut given above. [12] this word, pronounced in a slightly different way in corean, is the term which dr. james legge, in his â��religions of china,â�� and many missionaries of reformed christianity, translate god (jehovah, theos), but which the roman catholic missionaries are forbidden to use. dr. legge holds that shang ti is the most ancient title of deity in the language of the chinese, and was used by their ancestors when they held to primitive monotheism. â��in the ceremonies at the altars of heaven and earth, they served godâ�� (confucius). [13] dr. d. bethune mccartee, a well-known american scholar, writing on riu kiu, says: â��the art of spelling was invented neither by the chinese nor by the japanese. its introduction into both these countries (and, as we are convinced, into corea as well) was the result of the labors of ... the early buddhist missionaries. in all the three countries ... the system of spelling is most undoubtedly of sanskrit origin.â�� [14] the equipment of this first native missionary propagandist of roman christianity in corea, deserves notice, as it brings out in sharp contrast the differing methods of roman and reformed christianity. the convert brought back numerous tracts, didactic and polemic treatises, catechisms and commentaries, prayer-books, lives of the saints, etc., etc. these were for the learned, and those able to master them. for the simple, there was a goodly supply of crosses and crucifixes, images, pictures, and various other objects to strike the eye. it is not stated that the bible, or any part of the holy scriptures, was sent for the feeding of hungry souls. [15] it was during the summer of this year, 1787, that la perouse sailed along the eastern coast of chå�-sen, discovered the straits which bear his name, between yezo and saghalin, demonstrated that the gulf of tartary divided saghalin from the asian mainland, and that corea was not sea-girt, and named dagelet island and its companion boussole. he had a copy of hamelâ��s book with him. he noticed the signal-fires along the coast, which from headland to headland, telegraphed to the capital the news of the stranger with his â��black ships.â�� not as yet, however, as afterward, did the government connect the appearance of european vessels with the activity of the christians within the realm, although la perouse sailed under the flag which ever afterward was indissolubly associated in corean minds with christianity. [16] this rapid spread of christian ideas may be understood if we consider, as dallet points out, the customs of the people. in every house there is the room open to the street, where everybody, friend or stranger, known or unknown, may come and talk or hear the news and discuss events. nothing is kept secret, and being a nation of gossips and loungers, the news of any event, or the expression of a fresh idea, spreads like fire on the prairie. a doctrine so startlingly new, and preached as it was by men already famous for their learning, would at once excite the public curiosity, set all tongues running, and fire many hearts. though in most cases the new flame would soon die out, leaving hardly enough ashes to mark a fire, yet the steady glow of altered lives would not pale even before torture and death. [17] â��some priests proposed to the late queen of portugal to send an embassy hither [to corea] with some gentlemen versed in mathematics, that they might benefit the country both in a religious and scientific way.... this plan never succeeded.â�� gutzlaff, 1834. voyages to china, page 261. [18] captain broughton was impressed with â��the gorgeous corean dresses,â�� and the umbrella-hats, a yard in diameter. he asked for beef, but they gave him only wood, and he was tantalized with the sight of fat cattle grazing near by, which he was unable to get or purchase. he cruised in the sea of japan and the gulf of tartary, naming several places on the corean coast. see p. 203. [19] see page 226. [20] or, as the natives say, â��she proceeded to pull down the blinds.â�� this phrase, which is highly suggestive of american street slang, refers to the curtain of bamboo which veils the sovereign of chå�-sen; as in old japan the mikado was thus screened from the vulgar, and even noble, gaze during state councils. whoever, therefore, is â��behind the curtain,â�� is on the throne. [21] this highly logical conclusion was reached by pondering upon the doctrine of romanism that celibacy is a more perfect state than marriage; and that â��the world,â�� which, with the flesh and the devil, was to be regarded as one of the true believersâ�� enemies, could mean only the king and country of chå�-sen. to this day, most of the pagans accept the magistratesâ�� decision as a complete epitome of the gospel of christ. [22] dallet, vol. i., p. 205. [23] timkowskiâ��s travels of the russian mission through mongolia to china, and residence in peking, london, 1827. [24] in 1793, the first british and the first european vessel entered the yellow sea. it was the ship of the line lion, on board of which was lord macartney, the ambassador of king george iii. to peking, the first english envoy to china. the ship did not visit or approach corean shores. [25] this date is that given by dallet, who perhaps refers to the uprising in 1829 at ozaka, of suspected believers in the â��jesus doctrine,â�� when six men and one old woman were crucified by the japanese authorities. the leader of the so-called conspiracy fled to sea with his companions. [26] while off the island of wen-san, according to dallet, some of the native christians, attracted by the legend in chinese characters on the flag â��the religion of jesus christ,â�� came on board. â��a protestant minister saluted them with the words which are sacramental among the pagans, â��may the spirits of the earth bless you!â�� at these words the neophytes, seeing that they had been deceived, and that a snare had been laid for their good faith, retired in all haste without ever returning the salute, and made no further visits to the ships.â�� [27] by poetic justice, the chief instigators of this persecution came each to a bad end. of the court ministers, one, having provoked the kingâ��s jealousy, was obliged by royal order to poison himself at a banquet, in december, 1845, and the other, falling into disgrace, was sent to exile, in which he shortly died. the chief informer, who had hoped for reward in high office, obtained only a minor position, with little honor and less salary. he was afterward exiled, and in 1862, having headed a local uprising, was put to death, his body was minced up, and the fragments were exhibited through the provinces. [28] so fearless and generous a soul as andrew kim, who could yet follow the ethics and example of his teachers in repeatedly practising deception and violating his countryâ��s laws at ai-chiu, scrupled not to lie to the mandarin at shanghae, and tell him that he and his crew had been accidentally driven out to sea. as in the later case of the robbery of the regentâ��s tomb, â��the end justified the means.â�� [29] the voyage of this officer, which added so much to science, resulted in making quelpart and beaufort islands, port hamilton, and mount auckland as well known in geography as the names of her majestyâ��s servants were known in british politics. the visitors were treated with courtesy, and even their survey-marks, stakes, and whitewashed stones were carefully set up when washed away by the storm, or disturbed by cattle. the coreans, however, drove their beeves well away from the englishmen, who longed for fresh meat. [30] these were the first official relations of france with corea; or, as a native would say, between tai-pep-kuk and chå�-sen; the expression for france being tai-pep, and for a frenchmanâ��curiously enoughâ��pepin. [31] inside the country, the frequent appearance of the foreign ships was the subject of everyday talk, and the news in this nation of gossips spread like a prairie fire, or a rolling avalanche. by the time the stories reached the northern provinces whole fleets of french ships lay off the coast. their moral effect was something like that among the blacks in the southern states during the civil war, when the â��lincoln gunboatsâ�� hove in sight. the people jestingly called the foreign vessels â��the authorities down the river.â�� [32] for changing their name and garments, sleeping by day, going abroad at night, associating with rebels, criminals and villains, and entering the kingdom clandestinely, the missionaries were put to death; and no comparison could be drawn to mitigate their sentence between them and innocent shipwrecked men. [33] other nations besides france now began to learn something of the twin hermits of the east, chå�-sen and nippon. during 1852, the russian frigate pallas sailed along the east coast up to the tumen river, making no landing, but keeping at a distance of from two to five miles from the shore in order to avoid shoals and rocks. the object of the pallas was to trace and map the shore line. in 1855, the french war-vessel virginie continued the work begun by the pallas, and at the end of her voyage the whole coast from fusan to the tumen was known with some accuracy, and mapped out with european names, at once numerous and prophetic. the coast line of tartary or manchuriaâ��at that time a chinese provinceâ��was also surveyed, mapped, and made ready for the czarâ��s use and that of his ambassador in 1860. pallas and virginie! the names are suggestive of the maiden diplomatic victory of general ignatieff, of whom more anon. [34] a noble of high rank presented to the council of ministers a memorial, setting forth the dangers that then menaced chå�-sen, and urging that extraordinary means be put forth to meet the emergencies. he proposed that the national policy of armed neutrality should be preserved, that the conquered emperor of china should not enter chå�-sen, that the frontier should be strengthened against a possible invasion of the border-ruffians inhabiting the neutral strip. taking advantage of the situation, these men, banding together with chinese adventurers and corean refugees, might make a descent in force into the kingdom. finally, the supreme danger that filled all minds was the threatened invasion of the french. he recommended that the castle of tong-nai, near fusan, and the western strongholds of nam-an, pu-pion, and in-chiå­n (the port opened in 1882), should be strongly garrisoned and strengthened; and that a new citadel be built on the island of kang-wa, to command the river and the entrance to the capital. (see map, page 190.) [35] july 13, 1866. m. de bellonet to prince kung. sir: i grieve to bring officially to the knowledge of your imperial highness a horrible outrage committed in the small kingdom of corea, which formerly assumed the bonds of vassalage to the chinese empire, but which this act of savage barbarity has forever separated from it. in the course of the month of march last, the two french bishops who were evangelizing corea, and with them nine missionaries and seven corean priests, and a great multitude of christians of both sexes and of every age, were massacred by order of the sovereign of that country. the government of his majesty cannot permit so bloody an outrage to be unpunished. the same day on which the king of corea laid his hands upon my unhappy countrymen was the last of his reign; he himself proclaimed its end, which i, in turn, solemnly declare to-day. in a few days our military forces are to march to the conquest of corea, and the emperor, my august sovereign, alone has now the right and the power to dispose, according to his good pleasure, of the country and the vacant throne. the chinese government has declared to me many times that it has no authority over corea, and it refused on this pretext to apply the treaties of tien-tsin to that country, and give to our missionaries the passports which we have asked from it. we have taken note of these declarations, and we declare now that we do not recognize any authority whatever of the chinese government over the kingdom of corea. i have, etc., h. de bellonet. his imperial highness, prince kung. spurning with irritating, not to say insulting, language, the suggestion of prince kung that bellonet might do well to inquire into the causes and merits of the execution of the missionaries, the representative of france, november 11th, again addressed the chinese statesman. in this missive occurs the following: â��as for the fate of the former king of corea, it is now subject to the decision of the emperor, my august sovereign.â�� monsieur bellonetâ��s method is one specimen of the manner in which the envoys of european nations are accustomed to bully the governments of asiatic countries. in a long communication to prince kung, dated november 11, 1866, mr. bellonet charges upon the chinese government: 1st. complicity with corea. 2d. that the corean embassy, during the previous winter, had stated the project of the massacre, and had received the tacit official authorization of the chinese government. 3d. the direct approval of several high members of it. 4th. that the recruiting and mobilization of mauchiu troops, beyond the great wall, was for the purpose of assisting corea against the french. he writes, in addition to the above, an amazing amount of nonsense, which shows of what magnifying powers the human eye is capable when enlarged by suspicion. among other tidbits of rodomontade, is this oneâ��which is a truthful picture of the france of napoleon iii.â��â��war for us is a pleasure which the french passionately seek;â�� and thisâ��â��the people of corea address us as deliverers, ... we shall inaugurate the reign of order, justice, and prosperity.â�� [36] the results of this expedition were disastrous all over the east. happening at a time when relations between foreigners and chinese were strained, the unexpected return of the fleet filled the minds of europeans in china with alarm. it was the unanimous verdict of press and people that the return of the french in sufficient force to corea in the spring was a measure of absolute safety to foreigners in the far east. if not, since both british and american citizens were among the crew of the general sherman, murdered at ping-an, the fleets of great britain and the united states should proceed to seoul. this, however, was not done; the english let well enough alone, the french soon had their hands full in attending to the germans at home, and the americans went later only to follow admiral rozeâ��s example. meanwhile the smothered embers of hostility to foreign influence steadily gathered vigor, as the report spread like a gale through china that the hated frenchmen had been driven away by the coreans. the fires at length broke out in the tien-tsin massacre, june 21, 1870. â��it is believed by many thoughtful observers in china that this frightful event gained its first serious impetus from the unfortunate issue of admiral rozeâ��s campaign in corea.â�� [37] the min or ming family is largely chinese in blood and origin, and, besides being pre-eminent among all the corean nobility in social, political, and intellectual power, has been most strenuous in adherence to chinese ideas and traditions, with the purpose of keeping corea unswerving in her vassalage and loyalty to china. their retainers constitute a large portion of the population of seoul. besides the queen, the king on his motherâ��s side, the wife of the heir apparent, and several of the highest officers of the government belong to the house of min. for centuries this family has practically governed the kingdom. their social and personal influence in peking has always been very great, while at home their relations to the treasury and the army have been very close. the plot of 1882 was in effect an ineffectual attempt to destroy their power. when china commanded, they approved of the treaty with the united states. [38] the honorable gideon nye, of china, from whose article in â��the far eastâ�� these facts are drawn concerning the first consul of the united states to china, has effectually disproved the oft-quoted statement of sir john davis in his â��history of china,â�� that â��it was in the year 1802 that the american flag was first hoisted at canton.â�� dr. william speer in his excellent bookâ��fair to the chinese as well as to foreignersâ��has told the story of jonathan edwards and his troubles over ginseng and the drink which his indian pupils bought with it. [39] these shroffs are experts in handling money. they can detect counterfeits by the touch, and, with incredible celerity, can reckon amounts to thousandths of a cent on the abacus. one or more of them are found in nearly every one of the banks and hongs in eurasian ports. [40] some weeks before, he had offered to penetrate the peninsula as missionary and agent of the scottish national bible society. the coreans who had accompanied bishop ridel to chifu, and who had met dr. williamson, volunteered to be his guides, and he had decided to go with them. when the opportunity of going by the american vessel offered itself, he changed his plan. against the advice of his friends, who suspected the character of the expedition, he joined the party. [41] a broad streak of light was thrown upon at least one possible cause of the sherman tragedy, by the statement of the natives that chinese pirates frequently descend on the coast and kill and rob the coreans. during the previous year, several natives had been killed by chinese pirates near the wachusettâ��s anchorage. as ten of the crew of the sherman were canton chinamen, it is probable that the very sight of them on an armed vessel would inflame the coreans to take their long-waited for revenge. [42] in 1884, lieutenant j. b. bernadon, u.s.n., made a journey from seoul to ping-an, and, being able to speak corean, learned the following from native christians. the sherman, arriving during the heavy midsummer rains, which make the river impassable to native boats, was seen from the city walls and caused great excitement. when the waters subsided the governor sent officers to inquire her mission. unfortunately, to gratify their curiosity, the common people set out also in a large fleet of boats, which the shermanâ��s crew mistook for a hostile demonstration, and fired guns in the air to warn them off. then all the boats returned. when the river fell the sherman grounded and careened over, which being seen from the city walls a fleet of boats set out with hostile intent and were fired upon. officers and people, now enraged, started fire-rafts, and soon the vessel, though with white flag hoisted, was in flames. of those who leaped in the river most were drowned. of those picked up one tchoi-nan-un (rev. mr. thomas), who was able to talk corean, explained the meaning of the white flag, and begged to be surrendered to china. his prayer was in vain. in a few days all the prisoners were led out and publicly executed. [43] mr. low, who had served one term in congress and as governor of california from 1864 to 1868, had been chosen by president grant to be minister to china the year before, 1869, was new to his duties. he was in the prime of life, being fifty-two years of age. all his despatches show that chå�-sen was as unknown to him as thibet or anam, and from the first he had scarcely one ray of hope in the success of the mission. [44] admiral rodgers left new york, april 9, 1869, with the colorado and alaska. the benicia had left portsmouth march 2d, and the palos set sail from boston june 20th. these vessels, with the monocacy and ashuelot, were to form the asiatic squadron of admiral rodgers. of our vessels on the station during the previous year, two had returned home, two had been sold, the rotten idaho was moored at yokohama as a store-ship, and the oneida, which had been sunk by the british mail-steamer bombay, lay with her uncoffined dead untouched and neglected by the great government of the united states. admiral rodgers was so delayed by repairs to the ashuelot, that finally, in order to gain the benefit of the spring tides, had to sail without this vessel. [45] rear-admiral john rodgers, who commanded the fleet, was a veteran in war, in naval science, and in polar research. he had served in the seminole and mexican campaigns, and through the civil war on the iron-clad monitors. he had visited the pacific in 1853, when in command of the john hancock. he had cruised in the china seas and sailed through behringâ��s straits. he, too, was in the prime of life, being at this time fifty-eight years of age. his whole conduct of the expedition displayed consummate skill, and marked him in this, as in his many other enterprises, as â��one of the foremost naval men of the age.â�� yet princes in naval science are not always princes in diplomacy. [46] the first appearance of the flag of north germany in corean waters was at the mast-head of the china, when plunder and dead menâ��s bones were the objects sought. its second appearance, on the hertha man-of-war, was in peace and honorable quest of friendly relations. its third appearance, in may, 1871â��while, or shortly before, the american fleet were in the han riverâ��was on the schooner chusan, which was wrecked on one of the islands of sir james hall group, the chinese crew only, it appears, being saved. on june 6th, a party of three foreigners left chifu in a junk to bring back salvage from the wreck. these men were not heard from until july 6th, when the chinese crew returned without them. on the same day the british gunboat ringdove, with the consul of chifu, left for the hall group. it was found that the foreigners had landed to bring away the crew of the chusan, when the chinamen, pretending or thinking that they had been taken prisoners, put off to sea without them. the consul found them in good health and spirits, and the ringdove brought away for them whatever was worth saving from the chusan. again the corean policy of kindness toward the shipwrecked was illustrated. the two foreignersâ��a scotchman and a malteseâ��had been well fed and kindly treated. [47] these men simply acted as the catspaws for the monkey in the capital to pull out as many hot chestnuts from the fire as possible. it is part of asiatic policy to send official men of low rank and no authority to dally and prelude, and, if possible, hoodwink or worry out foreigners. their chief weapons are words; their main strength, cunning. when these are foiled by kindness, and equal patience, firmness, and address, the asiatics yield, and send their men of first rank to confer and treat. perry knew this, so did townsend harris in japan; so have successful diplomats known it in china. was it done in the american expedition to corea in 1871? let us see. these coreans had no right to say either â��yesâ�� or â��noâ�� to any proposition of the americans. had they committed themselves to anything definite, degradation, crushed shin-bones, and perhaps death, might have been their fate. the only thing for the americans to doâ��who came to ask a favor which the coreans were obstinately bent on not givingâ��was to feast them, treat them with all kindness, get them in excellent good humor, send them back, and wait till accredited envoys of high rank should arrive. in the light of the french failure, this was the only course to pursue. there were even men of influence in the american fleet who advised this policy of patience. as matter of fact, such a course was urged by captain h. s. blake. in such an emergency, patience, kindness, tact, the absence of any burning idea of â��wiping out insults to the flag,â�� and an antiseptic condition toward fight were most neededâ��the higher qualities, of resolution and self-conquest rather than valor. even if it had been possible to inflict ten times the damage which was afterward actually inflicted, and win tenfold more â��glory,â�� the rear-admiral must have known that nature and his â��instructionsâ�� were on the side of the coreans, and that the only end of the case must be a retreat from the country. and the only possible interpretation the people could put upon the visit of the great american fleet would be a savage thirst for needless vengeance, a sordid greed of gain, and the justification of robbers and invaders. in spite of all the slaughter of their countrymen, they would read in the withdrawal of their armies, defeat, and defeat only. [48] these are the rear-admiralâ��s own words. here was the mistake! from what may be easily known of the corean mind, it must have seemed to them that the advance of such an armed force up the river, leading to the capitalâ��following exactly the precedent of the frenchâ��was nothing more than a treacherous beginning of war in the face of assurances of peace. to enter into their waters seemed to them an invasion of their country. to do it after fair words spoken in friendship seemed basest treachery. had a corean officer counselled peace in the face of the advancing fleet, he would undoubtedly have been beheaded at once as a traitor. there were men on the american side who saw this. some spoke out loud of it to others, but it was not â��theirs to make reply.â�� [49] in the chapel of the naval academy, at annapolis, a tasteful mural tablet, â��erected by his brother officers of the asiatic squadron,â�� with the naval emblemsâ��sword, belt, anchor, and glory-wreathâ��in medallion, and inscription on a shield beneath, keeps green the memory of an unselfish patriot and a gallant officer. [50] the japanese refused to have the mikado designated by any title but that of whang ti (japanese kå�tei) showing that he was peer to the emperor of china; while the coreans would not, in the same document, have their sovereign written down as wang (japanese å�) because they wished him shown to be an equal of the mikado, though ceremonially subordinate to the whang ti or emperor of china. the poor coreans were puzzled at there being two suns in one heaven, and two equal and favorite sons of heaven. the commissioners from seoul attempted to avoid the dilemma by having the treaty drawn up in the names of the respective envoys only; this the japanese refused to do. a compromise was attempted by having the titles of the mikado of japan, and the hap-mun of chå�-sen inserted at the beginning; and, in every necessary place thereafter, â��the governmentâ�� of dai nippon (great japan), or of dai chå�-sen (great corea); this also failed. finally, neither ruler was mentioned by name or title, nor was reference made to either, and the curious document was drawn up in the name of the respective â��governments.â�� [51] this fu city, called by the japanese ninsen, or nii-gawa, was well known by the japanese, as is shown on their maps of the sixteenth century. the name means two rivers. the rise and fall of the tides here is very great, sometimes amounting to a difference of twenty-nine feet; and in winter the shore-water is frozen. large vessels cannot anchor within a mile of the shore. the port chi-mul-po is at some distance from the city. [52] in this and the following chapter the names of corean noblemen have been given in their japanese form, i.e., bin for min, etc., but in the supplementary chapter according to corean pronunciation. [53] commodore b. w. shufeldt was born in dutchess county, new york, in 1822, and entered the navy in 1839, serving ten years on foreign stations and in the coast survey. one cruise to the west coast of africa interested him in the negro colony of liberia, in which he has ever since felt concern. from 1850 to 1860, our navy being in a languishing state, he was engaged in the mercantile marine service, and in organizing a transit route across the isthmus of tehuantepec. in 1860 an article of his on the slave trade between the island of cuba and the coast of africa, drew the attention of the government to him, and led to his appointment of consul-general at havana. the slave-trade was soon effectually broken up, and through the trying period of the first half of the civil war, he was occupied in his civil duties, at one time going to mexico on a confidential mission to president juarez, passing unrecognized through the french lines. he was on blockade duty during the last two years of the civil war. in 1865 he went to china, as flag-captain of the hartford, and commanding the wachusett visited corea. in 1870 he organized a party for the survey of the isthmus of tehuantepec, his report being made the basis of captain eadsâ�� ship-railway project. the official history of the semi-diplomatic cruise of the ticonderoga round the world (1878â��1880) has been written, but has not yet been published. [54] on which tablets erected to the memory of the slain have been erected by the coreans. see the article, kang-wha, by rev. m. n. trollope, (corean) asiatic society transactions, vol. ii, part i. [55] at that time i was engaged in editing and annotating hamelâ��s narrative, which is the first account in any european language of corea. hamel and his party of dutchmen were shipwrecked and spent fourteen years in corea (see pp. 167â��76). i have examined and read several copies in the original dutch editions, printed in cheap pamphlet form at rotterdam in holland in 1668, and now preserved in the royal library at the hague. the full narrative in english is given in the book corea without and within. philadelphia, 1884. mr. percival lowell, the secretary of the corean special mission, returned with han yong sik, and as the guest of the king spent a winter in seoul, the literary fruit of which is the charming volume chosen, the land of morning calm, in which the proper names are transliterated according to astonâ��s manual of corean geographical and other proper names romanized. yokohama, 1883. [56] nevertheless, in 1886 there were unearthed in seoul two dutch vases, as described in mr. scottâ��s paper in vol. xxviii, 1893â��94, of the transactions of the north china branch of the royal asiatic society. the figures of dutch farm-life told their own story, and the well-worn rings of the handles bore evidence of constant use for years. mr. scott suggests that the presence of these dutchmen might perhaps explain the anomaly often noticed in coreaâ��namely, blue eyes and fair hair. [57] see his biography by lane-poole and dickens, 1894. [58] see the forthcoming korean history, by homer b. hulbert, in the korean review (april, 1904, p. 180). this work is a complete survey of the story of chå�-sen from prehistoric to recent times. [59] see sectarianism and religious persecution in china, by j. j. de groot. amsterdam, 1904. [60] see in the korean repository for july, 1898, a sketch of his life by rev. g. h. jones. [61] see fifteen years among the topknots, by l. h. underwood (1904). [62] see â��the mikadoâ��s empire,â�� pp. 533â��535, and p. 682, of the eleventh edition, 1906, for the five points of prediction made at hartford, conn., february 8, 1904. [63] see the long letter in the london times of august 8, 1906, from an unimpeachable authorityâ��the author of the oriental series, nearly forty years in the far east. [64] the japan mail, august 27, 1910. [65] see â��the unmannerly tiger and other korean fairy tales,â�� by w. e. griffis, new york, 1911. [66] see also â��the tragedy of korea,â�� by h. a. mckenzie, london, 1908. 601 b 1,178,405 artes 1817 library veritas scientia of the university of michigan tuebor s queris peninsulam amo nam circumspice 8 1 805 m69 l3 am 1 1 805 m69 23am writings ascribed to richard rolle hermit of hampole and materials for his biography by hope emily allen published by the modern language association of america new york: d. c. heath and company london: oxford university press mdcccc xxvii me t scribed to 'le en a by the modern language association of america york: d. c. heath and company ondon: oxford university press m dcccc xxvii 7 27 ༢ writings ascribed to richard rolle hermit of hampole and materials for his biography by hope emily allen published by the modern language association of america new york: d. c. heath and company london: oxford university press m dcccc xxvii 1 9 27 approved for publication in the monograph series of the modern language association of america edward c. armstrong robert herndon fife john livingston lowes john matthews manly william albert nitze committee of award printed in england at the oxford university press by john johnson printer to the university wah 1-16-51 22142 the preface he present work has been years in the making, and the obligations which it has involved have been correspondingly numerous. when working for a master's degree at my own college of bryn mawr in 1905, i first studied richard rolle for a seminary report, at the suggestion of professor carleton brown, who now, after over twenty years, brings out my completed work in the series of which he is general editor. at a time when my interest was predominantly in modern english, professor brown's unique enthusiasm for the manuscript literature of medieval england (and especially the theological) proved a stimulus which in the end brought me back to richard rolle; when a candidate for the degree of doctor of philosophy at radcliffe college in 1908-10, i was advised by professor w. h. schofield, of lamented memory, to resume for a seminary report the study of rolle which had been started under the direction of professor brown, and the rich interest of the subject in time diverted me for my dissertation from a modern subject. under the extraordinarily generous and stimulating direction of professor schofield i made in 1910, as a contribution to the volume of radcliffe monographs presented to miss irwin under his editorship, an article on the authorship of the prick of conscience: for this work i was given the elizabeth allen paton memorial fellowship, given by miss lucy allen paton. in 1910 i received the fellowship of the association of collegiate alumnae (now the american federation of university women) to be used in investigating the manuscripts of rolle. these i have studied in european libraries and from rotographs at home, from 1910 till the present. i was unfortunately prevented from completing the requirements for a doctorate, but while a candidate at radcliffe college, with viii preface a thesis on rolle, i received kind assistance from professor kittredge, professor (now president) neilson, and professor robinson. during my years of study in european libraries i have received kindness from persons too numerous to mention by name. i can only record my gratitude in general terms to all owners and librarians whose manuscripts i have used, and to the committee of the modern language association of america, who have read the present work in manuscript. in england i owe special gratitude to the late professor napier, to professor craigie, to mr. g. g. coulton, to miss paues of newnham college, and to mr. herbert of the british museum -to all these for repeated services. miss paues lately brought to my notice the upsala mss. mr. herbert, like professor brown, during these many years has never forgotten to bring to my attention any new fact that has come to him concerning rolle, and it is also my special good fortune that during the laborious process of preparing this work for the press his learning and accuracy have been constantly at my disposal. wherever possible he has gone over the quotations from unedited works with rotographs of the manuscripts, and he has several times read the whole book in manuscript and in proof. i am much indebted to r. p. livarius oliger, o.f.m., of rome (to whom i was introduced by mr. a. g. little), and especially for pointing out to me the trier and naples mss.; to monsignor pelzer, of the vatican library, and especially for directing me to the cracow, ghent, prague cathedral, and schlägel mss.; to dom noetinger, of solesmes, especially for assistance with patristic citations. many other obligations have been recorded in the text. i am much indebted to professor lucy martin donnelly for direction in my early years as a graduate student; to preface ix miss m. e. temple for a very stimulating influence on my early medieval studies; to miss j. p. strachey for receiving me at newnham college during the most strenuous period of my early researches; to miss margaret deanesly for much assistance with manuscripts; to miss joan wake for assistance making possible my long journey in search of continental manuscripts; to miss esther lowenthal for my extended pilgrimage to the scenes of rolle's early life; to miss b. h. putnam, miss h. e. sandison, miss joan wake, mr. hilary jenkinson, mr. hubert stuart moore, and miss evelyn underhill for general scholarly assistance; and to the librarian of the society of antiquaries for use of his library. hope emily allen. september 15, 1927. kenwood, oneida, new york. introduction contents chapter i. printed editions, etc. a. early editions b. modern editions c. modernized texts d. scholarly investigations chapter ii. principal manuscripts a. bodl. ms. 861 b. longleat ms. 29 • c. mss. camb. univ. dd. 5. 64 and thornton d. douay ms. 396 e. vienna ms. 4483 f. heneage ms. g. other large collections and summary. • · 9 14 16 19 22 2 226 34 36 • 37 39 • 43 45 chapter iii. the office of st. richard hermit abbreviated title chapter iv. super aliquos versus cantici canticorum (in which the author signs his name in the text) additional note (on the development of rolle's mysticism) office 51 cant. 62 83 chapter v. early works (latin) canticum amoris judica me deus, a, b, c, d melum contemplativorum super lectiones job in officio mortuorum. · 89 cant. am. 89 judica 93 mel. 113 job 130 xii contents abbreviated title chapter vi. scriptural commentaries (latin and english) . part i. miscellaneous commentaries (latin) super threnos jeremiae super apocalypsim (usque ad cap. vi) • 145 . 150 thren. 150 арос. 152 super orationem dominicam super symbolum apostolorum super mulierem fortem o. d. 155 s. a. 157 mul. fort. 159 part ii. commentaries connected with the psalter (latin and english). de dei misericordia latin psalter (manuscripts, etc.) english psalter (manuscripts, etc.) psalters (general discussion) super magnificat super psalmum xxm additional notes (commentaries on pss. xc-xci) chapter vii. treatises (latin). liber de amore dei contra amatores mundi. incendium amoris emendatio vitae chapter viii. epistles (english) ego dormio. the commandment 161 • de m. 161 lat. ps. 165 169 • • eng. ps. 177 magn. 192 20th ps. 194 • 196 • 198 203 contra am. m. incend. 209 · e. v. 230 •· 246 ego d. 246 command. 251 form 256 the form of living chapter ix. miscellaneous english works miscell. 269 part i. short prose pieces 269 the bee 269 desyre and delit 271 " gastly gladnesse 272 · seven gifts of the holy spirit on the ten commandments part ii. meditations on the passion additional note (on another english meditation on the 274 · 276 278 passion) • 286 · · part iii. lyrics additional note (b. mus. add. ms. 37049) 287 • 306 contents xiii abbreviated title chapter x. works of doubtful authenticity part i. in latin compilations and abridgements from patristic sources super symbolum s. athanasii excerpts from st. gregory's morals on job prayer to the name of jesus, o bone jesu (meditatio of st. anselm). novem virtutes (with patristic texts) compilation from rolle's own works de excellentia contemplationis thornton prayer regula heremitarum . additional note (on rolle and schismatic influences) part ii. in english the abbey of the holy ghost o bone jesu · lambeth devotion dubia 312 · 312 • 312 • 312 • 313 · 314 · 317 320 320 324 · 324 333 335 · 335 343 · 343 · 344 lyrics chapter xi. latin works wrongly ascribed to rolle · spur. 345 balliol prayers • 345 de diligendo deo • 346 meditationes of st. anselm · 347 meditationes of william rimington works connected with the name of jesus cursus de aeterna sapientia (of henry suso) missa de nomine jesu scala perfectionis (translated from walter hilton) soliloquium (of st. bonaventura). · 347 349 • 349 • 350 • 351 352 speculum peccatoris stimulus amoris de tribulatione. · 353 · 354 • 355 chapter xii. english prose works wrongly ascribed to rolle • contemplations of the dread and love of god epistles of ar. ms. 286 (st. bonaventura and st. anselm) pater noster · remedy against the troubles of temptations spur. 357 357 • 357 • 358 • 359 xiv contents rolle) the scale of perfection (of walter hilton). sermons of wyclif speculum of st. edmund of three workings in man's soul abbreviated commentary on two commandments of the new law additional note (on modern unfounded ascriptions to title • 361 361 · 362 364 366 368 chapter xiii. english verse wrongly ascribed to rolle spur. 369 lyrics • 369 pety job • 369 · 371 371 stimulus conscientiae seven penitential psalms speculum vitae a. mss. ascribing the work to rolle b. mss. ascribing the work to grosseteste c. mss. giving hints of other ascriptions d. medieval quotations and references e. evidence of wide circulation f. the interpolated text g. summary. stim. consc. 372 chapter xiv. medieval quotations and references a. in treatises and compilations b. in lists and catalogues c. in wills . d. general references. chapter xv. early bibliographies chapter xvi. materials for rolle's biography date of birth. birthplace and family thomas de neville, rolle's patron at the university john de dalton, rolle's first patron after becoming a hermit an early critical temptation references in the melum to persecutions claims to sanctity possible sojourn in the sorbonne • · 374 · 377 • 379 • 383 · 386 387 · 394 398 • 398 407 • 413 . 416 • 418 430 • 430 • 431 • 444 . 449 · 466 470 488 · 490 contents xv incidents of later life. margaret de kirkeby hampole · william stopes later history of hampole priory rolle's costume appendix. the 'defence against the detractors of richard' by thomas basset, hermit additional notes addenda index for richard rolle. select general index index of initia index of mss. scribes owners 501 • 502 · 511 . 518 520 · 526 · 527 538 • 539 · 541 550 · 558 563 567 567 abbreviated titles the titles by which rolle's own works will be cited have been enumerated above. the abbreviations now to be given do not include recognized and obvious contractions. most authorities are cited in the following pages with the full reference at the first mention (which can be found from the index): exceptions are here noted. a detailed list of editions and studies of rolle will be found in chapter i, and of early bibliographies, etc., in chapter xv. the edition or manuscript quoted from in the case of rolle's works will be cited at the opening of the discussion of each work. titles of medieval latin and french pieces are often cited in english. bateson. mary bateson, catalogue of the library of syon monastery, cambridge, 1898. bernard. e. bernard, catalogi librorum mss. angliae et hiberniae, oxford, 1697. brown. carleton brown, register of middle-english religious and didactic verse, oxford, part i 1916, part ii 1920, and religious lyrics of the xivth century, oxford, 1924. chevalier. u. chevalier, répertoire des sources historiques du moyen-âge, bio-bibliographie, paris, 1877-89, and repertorium hymnologicum, louvain, 1892-1912. clay. rotha mary clay, the hermits and anchorites of england, london, 1914. deanesly. the edition of rolle's incendium, infra, p. 15. deanesly, lollard bible. margaret deanesly, the lollard bible, cambridge, 1920. d. n. b. dictionary of national biography. herbert. j. a. herbert, catalogue of romances in the british museum, iii, london, 1910. julian. j. julian, dictionary of hymnology, london, 1907. migne. patrologia latina. rs. rolls series. ss. surtees society. turton. r. b. turton, honor and forest of pickering, north riding record society, new series, london, 1897, 4 vols. te. testamenta eboracensia (v. infra, p. 384). v. c. h., n. r. victoria county history, yorks, north riding. yaj. yorkshire archaeological journal. yas. rec. ser. yorkshire archaeological society, record series. introduction the writings ascribed to richard rolle hermit of hampole he present volume will supply lists of all the manuscripts of the the works of richard rolle, hermit of hampole, and of writings ascribed to him falsely or doubtfully which have come to light during a long investigation of manuscript collections. all the information of assistance for determining his canon that can be derived from medieval sources will be quoted, whether in the form of scribes' notes and colophons appended to manuscripts and early editions of the works, or of references in early compilations and bibliographies. the evidence will be given for disproving false ascriptions, and the authenticity of true and doubtful works will be discussed. the most salient features of each piece will be described, but their structure is so informal that no summaries are attempted. since the bulk of rolle's work is either unprinted or only accessible in rare early editions, the present descriptive catalogue of the writings may be useful for its quotations. on that account works which have never been printed will be quoted more at length than those easily accessible. it is hoped that the lists of manuscripts here given may attract editors to some of the works still unedited. in compiling them, i have been assisted by the courtesy of the editors of the times, the times literary supplement, the morning post, the yorkshire post, and the spectator, all of whom have inserted letters from me asking for news of manuscripts of rolle. to collect the materials for an understanding of rolle's place in literary and religious history may be called the primary purpose of the present study; but since the materials have been up to now in confusion, the principal enterprise has actually been that of determining the canon. to this purpose other considerations have when necessary been sacrificed, for other studies can follow the determination of the canon better than they can precede it. whatever material brings any evidence as to the authorship of the writings has primarily been given in that connexion, in order that the canon may so far as possible be settled once for all. rolle's life may especially be pointed to as a subject of which the treatment has lost in interest and coherence because it has been subordinated to the study of the a 2 introduction canon, and the discussion is not given in a single consecutive whole. the materials for rolle's life serve a double purpose in the present study where the various works give autobiographical passages, valuable evidence is thus given supporting the authenticity of the compositions in question. accordingly, the autobiographical references have all (except in the case of the melum, which contains too much autobiography to be so treated) been first noted in connexion with the works in which they occur. they are later in most cases briefly cited in the chapter on rolle's life, where they serve their second usefulness. that long section discusses the biographical details to be derived from all quarters (which often require considerable analysis). some new evidence which has come to light in the course of the present investigation is added, but it should be pointed out that the sources for the chapter on rolle's life have not been searched for as extensively as have the manuscripts of his writings. there may be new material lurking in legal documents which will one day be brought to light. in the chapter on rolle's life, much space has been given to discussing conjectures, and seldom does the argument rest on an absolutely irrefragable foundation. though the narrative offers perhaps more conjectures than ascertained facts, yet it is at some few points (with the aid of rolle's own statements, or of historical documents) secure beyond the possibility of doubt. it has seemed best to sketch the implications probably involved by the facts, since such conjectures may point the way to further research-with some hope of fruitful results. an attempt has been made to be explicit in claiming no more certainty than exists, but to suppress working hypotheses altogether would seem to check the lines of future inquiry. these hypotheses may lead the future scholar astray, but the chances are that he is more likely to turn up significant new facts as to rolle's life with them than without them-provided he does not hold his clues for more than they are worth. since autobiographical details have a share in upholding the authenticity of the writings, the catalogue has been preceded by a summary of the authoritative account of rolle's life given in the office prepared for his canonization. research supports this narrative in every important particular, as will be shown in detail in the last chapter. it may be said that the lessons of the office supply the first part of the criterion to be used in the judgement of rolle's canon, and the following chapter, on the commentary on the canticles, a signed work, supplies the second. as is true of most of the great mystics, rolle's life and writings show a striking consistency, introduction 3 and discussion of his biography and of his mystical doctrine are both necessary to give the impression of consistency and idiosyncrasy in his character which is carried away by any one who has read extensively in his works. the literary historian has generally not read rolle's writings, and he has therefore lost the key to rolle's canon. rolle was much read during the later middle ages in england, and the lists of manuscripts in the present volume will show that the medieval scribes on the whole did not blunder in their ascriptions. the most serious errors that have found their place in literary history have arisen from the exaggerated attention given by modern writers to medieval mistakes that were sporadic. when the testimony of all the medieval scribes and authorities is seen in the subjoined lists, it will appear that they always give a strong consensus of opinion. the descriptions of the works will offer internal evidence in agreement with the external evidence. richard rolle of hampole would have been a most individual writer in any age, and in the authority-loving middle ages his individualism was not easily mistaken. the study of his canon is simplified as a result, and it may be said that almost no uncertainties enter it. in the early part of the work the only conjectures may be said to be those concerned with the dating, a subject which really makes part of the narrative of rolle's life. some aspects of rolle's character and teaching lent themselves to use by the lollards, and were abused by them, but these were minor elements; the gospel of mysticism, consistently expressed in his life and writings, is what makes his influence on literary history, when studied from the contemporary sources. rolle's readers quoted him constantly, and usually his most characteristic passages. the sensational english poem, the prick of conscience, is never quoted with his name, and it will be seen that the medieval evidence for connecting it with his authorship is negligible. such evidence as we find is probably due to the existence of an interpolated text coloured by lollardy, to which, as to an interpolated text of his english psalter, his name was probably attached as a safe-conduct. in the end, his influence seems to have become one of the main currents in what may be called 'the counter-reformation' directed against lollardy during the fifteenth century. we shall see that in spite of some heterodox tendencies in his works his books were owned not only by lay persons of high position, but also by ecclesiastics of high rank (cathedral dignitaries especially) and by religious houses (for example, by westminster and reading abbeys, and even by rievaulx and fountains, which we may imagine were hostile to rolle in his 4 introduction lifetime). the popularity of rolle's work at syon and shene monasteries-the great royal foundations of the fifteenth century-is especially noteworthy, as will be later discussed in detail (infra, p. 49). it was natural that carthusians (who were devoted to solitude) often owned his works, but there was a rift in carthusian unity on the subject of richard hermit, for at least one prominent english carthusian condemned his influence, saying that his writings 'made men judges of themselves' (v. infra, p. 534). probably at the time of the reformation 'richard hermit's' influence was as great as, or greater than, that of any other medieval english writer of devotional works. the 'cult of the holy name of jesus', in which his, though far from being the only, had probably been the decisive influence, had permeated general popular devotion. a 'feast of the holy name of jesus', with an office in nine lessons, had been established in the calendars of sarum, york, &c., with such a pressure of popular devotion behind it that it was able to survive the great change, and to pass over into the calendar of the church of england, where it still remains. its persistence has real meaning, for it signifies a concentration of devotion on the saviour, with the personal warmth more often in medieval times offered to his mother, or to a saint. this was a characteristic of the later middle ages in england which doubtless made easy the simplification of devotion brought about when the cults of saints were swept away at the reformation. thus the festival of the holy name of jesus perpetuates a strain in richard the hermit's influence which links him with english religious history up to modern times. rolle's influence was probably greatest at the time of the invention of printing, and some of his works were edited in the early days of the press. strangely enough, all but one of the early editions of rolle were printed on the continent, where his writings were utilized in the counter-reformation of the sixteenth century. several early english editions give spurious works with his name. strangely enough, he was not used by the seventeenth-century english benedictines, father baker¹ and father cressy, who used other fourteenthcentury english mystics, and the continental editions gave the last signs of rolle's living influence on religious history visible until the revival of interest in mysticism of the last few decades. horstmann's volumes brought richard into notice at a time when mysticism was again beginning to be popular among the readers of devotional 1 father baker seems to have modernized the remedy against temptations which was printed by wynkyn de worde as rolle's though it was not his (j. n. sweeney, father augustine baker, london, 1861, p. 92, and infra, p. 360). introduction 5 literature, and rolle's works have since appeared in modernized editions and been given their full significance in the history of mysticism. horstmann's work, however, was neither complete nor systematic, and any one interested in the hermit was at a loss to find satisfactory information on his life and writings. so far as possible the raw material for the study of rolle's life and work will be given in the present volume, and readers can verify all conclusions for themselves. in the following catalogue facts of purely scholarly interest alternate with discussions which (though necessary for the scholarly purpose of establishing rolle's canon, which depends on internal evidence as much as on external) are also of possible interest to the general reader. it is to be hoped that the materials have been arranged so that what is interesting to the student of general religious history can be easily separated from matters of a significance more narrowly scholarly. for example, the first two chapters (on the early editions and the principal manuscripts) have for the most part no general interest, nor have the lists of manuscripts appended to the descriptions of the works. on the other hand, the summary of the narrative of rolle's life in the office (chapter iii), and the following descriptions of the writings, though directed to scholarly ends, have conceivably some interest for the general reader who wishes to observe rolle's psychology and development. we have some evidence as to the chronology of rolle's works, and they have been described as far as possible in chronological order. as already noted, the autobiographical passages are generally described with the compositions in which they occur, and therefore the descriptive catalogue as here given works gradually up to the climax of rolle's life, both for its external events and for its internal development. the chapter on his life may be considered as supplying notes to the chapter on the narrative given in the office, and to the autobiographical passages in the works. in conclusion, something should be said as to the meaning in which the words 'mystic' and 'mysticism' are used in the following pages. it should be said at once that rolle was the simplest possible type of mystic, and accordingly the term 'mysticism' is used in the present work in the broadest possible meaning. he was not given to philosophies nor to apocalypses, and his mysticism depended on the personal and emotional element in his religion. when described from his point of view, it may be defined as a divine transmutation of his inner life. it was a relation with the divinity which was not only an influence transforming his consciousness, but was also directly personal. to rolle, the divinity was 'jesus', who was 6 introduction his friend. he held a highly spiritualized and emotionalized conception of friendship, and his friend out of friendly favour granted him, while in this life, a share in celestial experience. thus rolle's mysticism meant a concentration of the affections, and a resulting experience of celestial joy. in his own words (as given in two latin works, v. infra, p. 341), contemplation was 'joy of the divine love taken in the mind with the sound of the heavenly melody'. in an english work (v. ibid.) he calls it 'a wonderful joy of god's love'. 'that joy', he goes on, 'is in the soul, and for abundance of joy and sweetness it ascends into the mouth, so that the heart and the tongue accord in one, and body and soul rejoice, living in god.' here we have indicated both the supernatural and the sensuous elements which generally go to make up the mystic's experience, and we have also the emphasis on joy which specially distinguishes rolle and the mystics of his type. other mystics in various ways emphasize knowledge, but with these he has very little kinship. his mysticism is not so much a revelation as a life, and that life is joy. throughout the lists of manuscripts any information given by the scribes as to authorship or title will be quoted. usually more than one work occurs in a volume, and cross-references (abbreviated, v. supra, pp. vii sq.) will be given to other works of rolle's which the manuscript under consideration may contain, beyond that immediately in question. first and last lines will be quoted, and will often be significant for the style and doctrine of the author. only the roughest classifications will be made of texts, and those on which no comment is made may be, roughly speaking, considered as complete. early references to owners are quoted (at the first mention) since they give valuable evidence as to the kind of public reached by rolle's works. lists of editions are given in a separate chapter, and (where they exist) with each work. in the case of several important compositions, the only portions in print are to be found in the introduction to horstmann's second volume, where they are given without references. though it is not likely that many more manuscripts of rolle's works will be forthcoming than the present investigation has unearthed, probably many more references and quotations exist than are cited here, and will in time be brought to light. every reference and quotation given is an interesting indication of rolle's influence, and many give evidence as to his canon. such as are at present available are described in a separate chapter, and noted by cross-references in the lists of manuscripts of rolle's own works. in general no post-medieval notes are quoted. in giving the quotations from the works i have introduction 7 in many cases used italics for emphasis-especially to point out the reminiscences of his mystical experience, and the favourite ornaments of his style (which are rarely indicated exhaustively).¹ " *2 all manuscripts except those marked with an are described from my own notes, made from the manuscripts. the 'long numbers' used in the summary catalogue of the bodleian library are supplied at the first mention of a bodleian volume: the verso in the case of oxford and continental manuscripts is noted as 'v', but in other cases as 'b', since this discrepancy exists in the printed catalogues of the libraries. when page references have not been supplied by local authorities, i have not supplied them. the full details of the location of a volume (as b. mus. harl. ms.', 'bodl. laud ms.', &c.) are given in the lists of copies of each work, but only the shorter titles ('harl.', 'laud', &c.) in the incidental references. the crossreferences given with any manuscript containing more than one work can be used for pointing the way to the first mention of that volume. the quotations from manuscripts in the case of unprinted works are collated in each case with a second copy, but the variant readings are only recorded when the manuscript usually followed is obviously corrupt. the manuscripts chosen for the quotations cannot be taken as always certainly the best, since, as already mentioned, the texts have not been worked out, and in any case for the present purpose it has often been necessary, in choosing texts to be used, to consider convenience. quotations are made with the original spelling, except that the usage of the manuscripts in alternating initial 'u' and 'v' and vocalic 'i' and 'j' is not always reproduced. abbreviations are generally expanded. rolle's versions of scriptural texts are retained, though they are sometimes peculiar. in the discussion of rolle's life the distances mentioned have been roughly computed from the map and therefore represent the minimum only. since, in the following pages, the establishment of rolle's canon has been the main enterprise, his most extravagantly individual pas. sages have naturally been chosen for quotation. as a result, it is the undisciplined strains in his character that have perhaps especially been brought to the attention: he has often appeared as a self-willed, bitter individualist, something very far from our conception of a christian saint. this was the impression that he made in his own time on a few readers, as we shall see in the appendix, but it was not 1 the alliteration is generally italicized in inverse ratio to its frequency: only when the alliteration is scanty is every alliterative syllable indicated, the most extreme alliterative passages have no italics. 2 in two cases an* makes part of the title: v. infra, pp. 239, 241. 8 introduction the general impression, for he seems to have been esteemed among a very wide circle. the truth is that in his youth sanctity and unregenerate bitterness were strangely mixed in rolle, but from the first he gave flashes of rare mystical fervour, and of profound devoutness, and, by the end of his life, his works altogether express in a chastened and beautiful manner an idyllic romance, as it were, of the religious life. the later compositions, the four epistles (one in latin, three in english), have perhaps not been quoted here sufficiently for their virtues to appear. they will probably rank among the classics of the devotional literature of england. 1 though the fierceness of rolle's early moods may disturb the impression of his holiness for some temperaments, this very wildness probably for some readers in the scholastic age had its own attraction of novelty and of vitality. we can use for the reader of rolle what was recently written for the reader of blake: 'the buzz of powerful words, the rocking motion of long rhythms, will keep him comatose and inflated in imagination.' if only these moods had been expressed in english, even they might have given us something memorable. as it is, we have them in a bastard latin, which bores and repels. by the time rolle died, he had learned a delicate english style that makes us regret his loss the more. first, by his writing latin, then by his death in mid career, we seem to have suffered one of the premature losses in english literature. in rolle the later middle ages had an english prose writer of great promise and of some achievement. on the whole he writes like a modern, but it is his peculiar charm that at times the anglo-saxon literary traditions break through, giving his prose cadences and ornaments archaic, but in his case, instinctive. thus he gives the rare, perhaps unique, example of a style truly belonging to the middle age of english prose-something that inherits from the rich national literature before the conquest as well as from the international traditions of writing brought over by the normans (which now monopolize our literary expression). fortunately rolle's compositions sometimes expressed the vivacity of his temperament, and they sometimes therefore seem to give us the veritable utterances of a medieval englishman, speaking with the human directness and intelligibility of a modern. 1 alan porter in the spectator, june 26, 1926, p. 1086. chapter i printed editions, etc. a. early editions. the most detailed account of the early editions of rolle's works, or of works ascribed to him, will be found in a bibliography of sheffield and vicinity, section i, to the end of 1700, by w. t. freemantle, sheffield, 1911, pp. 164 sq. seven of the fine plates in this volume illustrate the section on rolle.¹ the early editions of rolle's works are as follows: oxford, 1483. explanationes notabiles deuotissimi viri ricardi hampole heremite super lectiones illas beati job que solent in exequijs defunctorum legi qui non minus historiam quam tropologiam et anagogiam ad studentium vtilitatem exactissime annotauit. 12º. the sermon of st. augustine is added 'de misericordia et pia oracione pro defunctis'. only eight books are known to have been printed at oxford before the job, and of this only three copies and a fragment are known to be extant: all were preserved at cambridge (see f. madan, the early oxford press, oxford, 1895, pp. 3, 258). the printer at oxford at this time was probably theodoric rood of cologne, who by 1483 seems to have associated with him an englishman, thomas hunt (v. madan, p. 8). london, 1503. hore beate marie virginis secundum vsum insignis ecclesie sarum... hore beate marie virginis ad vsum insignis ecclesie sarum finiunt feliciter vna cum multis sanctorum et sanctarum suffragiis et multis aliis diuersis orationibus nouiter superadditis: cum quattuor euangeliis et passione domini et cum horis dulcissimi nominis jesu. printed by wynkyn de worde (july 31). in hore nominis jesu just noted, the vespers and compline are headed: uespere in 1 the illustrations are: a picture of a figure lying on a tomb, perhaps representing rolle (b. mus. add. ms. 37049, v. infra, p. 307), a page of the oxford edition, the frontispiece and explicit of the edition of 1510, a picture from the contemplations of 1500-6 representing a hermit (?) outside a cell, the printer's device from the same volume, the frontispiece of the speculum spiritualium, the frontispiece of the contemplations (as frontispiece). b ιο printed editions veneratione nominis jesu edite a deuoto ricardo de hampole... completorium ab eodem ricardo editum. a beautiful volume printed on vellum and richly illuminated. the ascription to rolle was pointed out to me by mr. herbert. the hours of the name of jesus' here found are in reality the highly popular cursus de aeterna sapientia of the german mystic henry suso, of which one manuscript is ascribed to rolle (v. infra, p. 349). the ascription in this edition of part of the work only is curious, for the vespers and compline here ascribed to richard certainly belong to the same author as the rest: they are included in the usual text, and they echo at several points the phraseology of the earlier hours. wynkyn de worde was unfortunate in his ascriptions to rolle, for the present edition is the first of three which he assigns to the hermit, and in all cases the attributions are flagrantly erroneous. the present one was, however, widely copied, as i have been informed by mr. herbert. it reappears in de worde's primer of 1523, in the sarum primer printed at antwerp in 1530, and at paris in 1532, and in the york hours of 1516 and 1517-18 (see ss. 132, p. xxxiii). it would probably be found that the ascription to rolle of the two hours in question was to be found in many of the early editions of the primer besides those here noted. e. hoskins (horae beatae mariae virginis, or sarum and york primers, london, 1901) cites a book of hours printed by julian notary 'c. 1503' which gives exactly the same table of contents as that printed by de worde in july 1503. this edition therefore also contains the hours of the name of jesus, but i have not seen the only extant copy (owned by the duke of devonshire). it would seem fairly certain that the attachment of rolle's name in any case originated with de worde, who, as already noted, attached it erroneously to two other pieces. his edition, as we have seen, is securely dated, whereas the date of notary's is uncertain. london, 1506. rycharde rolle hermyte of hampull in his contemplacyons of the drede and loue of god, with other dyuerse tytles as it sheweth in his table. 4°. below is a picture of a bearded hermit (?) with staff, beads, and halo, and on the reverse a hermit (?) sitting outside a cell surrounded by demons. fol. 2: opus ricardi rolle heremyte de hampull, qui obiit anno christi m.ccc. xlix. printed by wynkyn de worde, who also printed an undated edition (1500-6). this work is wrongly ascribed to rolle (v. infra, p. 357). horstmann reprints the contemplations from this volume (ii. 72-105). printed editions ii london, 1508. the remedy ayenst the troubles of temptacyons .. here after foloweth foure proufytable thynges to haue in mynde whiche hath be taken out of be thyrde chapiter of a deuoute treatyse and a fourme of lyuinge that the dyscrete and vertuous richard hampole wrote to a deuoute and an holy persone for grete loue... 4º. on the back of the title-page is the same picture of a hermit (?) with staff, beads, and halo as above. fol. 1: here foloweth and enseweth a souerayne notable sentence to comfort a persone that is in temptacyon ... fol. 19b: here endeth be remedy ayenst the troubles of temptacyons. a 'meditation on saying devoutly the psalter of our lady' follows. printed by wynkyn de worde (feb. 4, on vellum), and reprinted by him (on paper) jan. 21, 1519. only the extracts at the beginning of this volume are by rolle, though one manuscript gives him the remedy (v. infra, p. 359). horstmann (ii. 106-28) reprints the whole edition. paris, 1510. explanationes notabiles deuotissimi viri richardı hampole heremite super lectiones illas beati job: que solent in exequijs defunctorum legi: qui non minus hystoriam quam tropologiam et anagogiam ad studentium vtilitatem exactissime annotauit. fol. xxix b: impresse parrhisijs in sole aureo vici sancti jacobi per magistrum bertholdum rembolt impensis ipsius et johannis vvaterloes. anno domini. m.cccccx. die vero. xvj. mensis nouembris. 4º. the sermon of st. augustine is added, as in the oxford edition. paris, 1510. speculum spiritualium. . . additur insuper et opusculum ricardi hampole de emendatione vite: ac de regula bene viuendi ... venale habetur londonie apud bibliopolas in cimiterio sancti pauli ad signum sanctissime ac indiuidue trinitatis. after fol. ccviii: iste est libellus de emendatione vite: siue de regula viuendi et distinguitur in xij capitula. a prayer to the guardian angel precedes the end: explicit tractatus cuiusdam viri deuoti contemplatiui et instar heremite solitarii nomine ricardi hampole cuius aliqua capitula: scilicet quartum et quintum sunt per alium dilatata et alia in parte abbreuiata. opera predicta in alma parisiorum academia per wolffgangum hopylium sunt impressa: sumptibus et expensis honesti viri guilhelmi bretton ciuis london. anno domini millesimo quingentesimo decimo. 4º. the enlarged text of the emendatio found here is unique. for other books printed under the same conditions see dibdin, ed. amesherbert, typographical antiquities, london, 1816, iii. 15 sq. v. infra, p. 405, for the speculum spiritualium (a compilation quoting rolle). antwerp, 1533. de emendatione peccatoris, per venerabilem doctorem richardum heremitam anglum, opus christifidelibus quam b 2 12 printed editions vtilissimum, nec antea vnquam excusum. item & alia quaedam, quae versa pagella inuenies. antuerpiae, apud martinum caesarem. an. m.d.xxxiii. mense octobri. 8°. the variant title here given to the emendatio vitae is found in many manuscripts. following this manual are the fourth section of the commentary on the canticles, commenting on the text 'oleum effusum nomen tuum', incomplete at the beginning, with the appropriate title: eulogium nominis iesu '; chapter 15 of the incendium amoris (giving the account of rolle's first attainment of ecstasy, v. infra, p. 27), here under the title: de incendio amoris; and (under the title tractatus super his verbis, adolescentulae dilexerunt te nimis) the fifth section of the canticles. the first two pieces seem to have been (with the exception of the emendatio) the most popular of all rolle's writings throughout the middle ages. they contain not only his most characteristic doctrine, but also his most salient references to his personal history. both are quoted in the office prepared for his canonization, and (except the beginning of the incendium) are the only part of his work so honoured. cologne, 1535. d. richardi pampolitani¹ eremitae, scriptoris perquam vetusti ac eruditi, de emendatione peccatoris opusculum, nunc primum typis excusum, cum alijs aliquot appendicibus, quas versa indicabit pagella. coloniae, apud melchiorem nouesianum. anno m.d.xxxv. 8°. a prefatory letter from the editor, the dominican johann faber of heilbronn (see art. faber, cath. encycl.), is dated at cologne and addressed to the rector of the dominican convent of wimpfen, where faber had passed his early years. he was an active propagandist against the reformation, and the present epistle makes clear that his edition is intended to further the counter reformation. 'sic & caeteri patres ab initio secundum successionis seriem, ad haec vsque tempora, contra suorum temporum haereticos viriliter pugnauere. inter quos strenuus ac diuinus catholicae fidei athleta richardus ille eremita pampolitanus memoriae succurrit vir multis titulis insignitus... in virtutibus enim excolendis, quis eremita nostro illo richardo laborauit felicius aut eruditius? nemo illo mouet efficacius, delectat ciuilius, nullus suadet ac hortatur ardentius. est enim in hac re vltra communem hominum sortem summe admirabilis.' faber is said to have printed this volume and the next (promised in the epistle just noted) while at the university of cologne, which 1 this latinization of hampole was used by continental bibliographers (v. infra, p. 425). printed editions 13 was at that time a centre of the counter reformation and of mysticism. this university is now extinct, and i have been unable to discover whether it ever possessed a manuscript of rolle's works from which faber printed his editions. earlier he was a cathedral preacher at augsburg, but no manuscript of richard's works is found amongst the manuscripts at augsburg catalogued by a. reiser (augsburg, 1675). he cannot have used for his second edition any manuscript now known, since the excerpts which he prints from gregory's morals as ascribed to rolle are not otherwise extant. nor does the commentary on the athanasian creed, which he also prints with rolle's name, exist in any extant manuscript ascribed to the hermit, though it occurs among his writings in several important collections (v. infra, pp. 33, 312). faber's text of the works which had been printed earlier may have been copied from the printed editions, but against this conjecture is the fact that his adolescentulae contains at the end two more sentences than theirs. the existence of so many manuscripts still of rolle's works on the continent (especially at trier and elsewhere on the moselle) might suggest that faber used medieval manuscript sources found in his neighbourhood, but it must also be remembered that theodoric rood, who first printed rolle, came also from cologne, and might have brought back there news and perhaps manuscripts of richard. the appendices' which follow the de emendatione peccatoris in the edition of 1535 are as follows: nominis iesu encomium, de incendio amoris, de amore summo eodemque singulari, orationis dominicae exegesis, symboli apostolic enarratio, symboli athanasii expositio. the first three pieces here are identical with those printed in 1533, with the exception already noted." cologne, 1536. d. richardi pampolitani anglosaxonis eremitae, viri in diuinis scripturis ac veteri illa solidaque theologia eruditissimi, in psalterium dauidicum, atque alia quaedam sacrae scripturae monumenta (quae versa indicabit pagella) compendiosa iuxtaque pia enarratio. coloniae, ex officina melchioris nouesiani, mense martio, anno m.d. xxxvi. fol. 1 mémoires de l'académie de belgique, 46, 1891, pp. 311 sq. melchior von neuss, the printer of faber's two editions of rolle, brought out principally theological works: his volumes appeared from 1527 to 1550. he was preceded and followed in his printing by members of his family. see p. heitz, die kölner büchermarken bis anfang des xvii. jahrhunderts, strasburg, 1898, p. xx. 14 printed editions faber here addresses a prefatory letter (dated at cologne, march 8, 1536) vigilantissimis consulibus ac vniverso senatorum ordini, imperialis ciuitatis vuympinensis.' he again praises richard and laments the reformation. the works edited by him in 1535 are reprinted here, and there are also included the latin psalter, the commentary on the lessons from job used in the service for the dead, the commentary on the lamentations of jeremiah, a selection from the morals of st. gregory, and the commentary on the 20th psalm. paris, 1542. d. richardi pampolitani eremitae enarratio compendiosa in threnos, sive lamentationes jeremiae, parisiis, joan. foucherius, 1542. 8°. known to me only through the catalogue of the royal library, paris, 1739, to which i was led by the d. n. b. cologne, 1622. magna bibliotheca veterum patrum, ed. m. de la bigne, vol. xv, pp. 817-83. the works given in faber's edition of 1535 (repeating the same headings, &c., but not the same order) are here reprinted. bale, pits, sixtus senensis, and antonius possevinus are quoted as to rolle's works, and his date is given as 1420, perhaps from bale's first catalogue (v. infra, p. 425). la bigne's collections were made in the interests of the counter reformation, and under the patronage of the university of cologne (see art. 'de la bigne', cath. encycl.). this series was reprinted in 1654, and rolle's writings were reprinted in la bigne's maxima bibliotheca veterum patrum, lyons, 1677, xxvi, pp. 609-732. the latter was reprinted at cologne in 1694. b. modern editions. eets. orig. ser., 20, hampole's english prose treatises, ed. rev. g. g. perry, 1866. the short english pieces of the thornton ms., coupled with the office prepared for rolle's canonization (as found in another lincoln ms.). a new edition with minor revisions was brought out in 1921. some of the short pieces were reprinted with valuable notes in e. mätzner's sprachproben, berlin, 1867, ii. 118 sq. the psalter by richard rolle of hampole, ed. rev. h. r. bramley, oxford, 1884. v. infra, p. 170. yorkshire writers, richard rolle of hampole, ed. c. horstmann, london, 1895-6, 2 vols. this work has given the foundation for most modern work on rolle. it prints all the english works except the psalter, which was already in print, describes the latin works. and quotes from them often at length (but without references). the printed editions 15 texts are excellently printed, and some good hints are given on general subjects connected with rolle, but the method is extremely haphazard, and the editor at times even contradicts himself. a striking inconsistency is pointed out by m. konrath in reviewing the work (herrig's archiv, xcix. 162). horstmann (ii. 130) says: 'r. rolle died in 1349 an old man, and his earlier life belongs to the 13th century', though he had said (ii, p. v, n.) 'i fix 1300 as the most approximate date' (of his birth). this discrepancy may be taken as fairly typical of others. the volumes are filled with material of which the connexion with rolle is hard to ascertain, and it will be seen in the following pages that (outside of his psalter) very little english work is really his. horstmann-on the basis of northern dialect, rhythmical prose, or occurrence with authentic works-conjectures his authorship for many pieces which we have no evidence to connect with the hermit. an exhaustive discussion of these conjectures will not be given here. the exact information given by the manuscripts as to rolle's canon will be copied, but where we have no medieval testimony assigning to him a work, it will not be discussed, unless there is internal evidence which suggests his authorship. no work is included in the canon of which no manuscript gives rolle's name (but v. infra, p. 152); one work only is discussed, among doubtful works, of which no copy is ascribed to richard (v. infra, p. 325). eets. orig. ser., 106, the fire of love and the mending of life, translated by richard misyn, 1434-5, ed. rev. r. harvey, 1896. the incendium amoris of richard rolle of hampole, ed. margaret deanesly, manchester university publications, 1915 (v. infra, p. 209). this is the only edition of a latin work of rolle's brought out in modern times. the pricke of conscience (or stimulus conscientiae, as it is often called in the manuscripts) was printed by the philological society, in their early english volume, 1862-4 (london, 1865, ed. r. morris). as i showed in 1910 in radcliffe college monographs, no. 15, in a monograph on 'the authorship of the prick of conscience', this poem could not have been written by rolle, though it was considered to be his principal work. the conclusions there reached (mostly on internal evidence) have been confirmed by the present investigation, which shows the slight external evidence on which the opinion of rolle's authorship was founded, and suggests a motive for this attribution. rolle's authorship of the prick of conscience seems impossible. 16 printed editions the office of st. richard hermit, which had been first printed from the imperfect lincoln ms. by the eets. (orig. ser., 20), was reprinted, with a collation of the three manuscripts in english libraries, in the york breviary, ss. 75, ii. app. v., 1882. it has been again reprinted, with reproductions from the manuscripts, &c., by canon r. m. woolley (s.p.c.k., 1919).¹ none of the english editors of the office knew the abridged copy of the work at the university of upsala printed by harold lindkvist, skrifter utgifna af k. humanistiska vetenskaps, xix. 3, upsala, 1917 (pointed out to me by miss paues). lindkvist, in the volume just mentioned, prints as well a text (with notes) of rolle's meditations on the passion, also found in the upsala library. he gives a valuable description of other upsala manuscripts containing works of rolle, all of which are noted below. the meditations on the passion were also printed from a cambridge ms. by ullmann, eng. stud. vii. 415 sq.: verbal emendations by zupitza on this text are printed ibid., xii. 463. c. modernized texts. it is a notable feature of the modern interest in mysticism² that some of rolle's works have been reproduced for devotional purposes, as follows: a book of the love of jesus, ed. rev. r. h. benson, london, 1904, and later. in this volume various pieces of rolle in prose and 1 some errors appear in the introduction to this useful work. the narrative concerning a supernatural temptation is once quoted correctly (with the title often given to this section of the canticles) as from 'his own book the nominis iesu encomium' (p. 7). the piece is here given in english (from the thornton ms.). when exactly the same piece occurs in the office, in latin, the editor notes: 'the story is related in the incendium amoris' (p. 36, n. 4). the incendium in question must be of the common abridged type in which rolle's oleum effusum from his canticles (in which occurs the narrative in question) follows along with other extracts (v. infra, p. 64). where the office gives the opening of the incendium-with the correct reference 'in libro siquidem predicto' (sc. 'in libro suo primo de incendio amoris')-the editor notes: 'this quotation is not from the incendium amoris, but from the beginning of the melodia amoris' (p. 31, n. 1). he is writing in lincoln, and instead of looking up miss deanesly's edition of the incendium to verify his reference, he has turned up a lincoln cath. ms. of that work in which it is given the title melodia amoris (v. infra, p. 218). 2 the first use of rolle in modern devotional literature which i have noted is found in trees planted by the river, by frances bevan (london, 1894), where canon perry's texts from the thornton ms. are drawn on. this was pointed out to me by my friend miss grace i. f. creed. printed editions 17 verse are modernized from the texts given in horstmann's edition. father martindale, in his biography of monsignor benson (london, 1916, 1. 314), states that the study of rolle was suggested to him by dr. frere, when at the house of the resurrection, mirfield, during his last days in the church of england. rolle must have interested mgr. benson, for his novel richard raynal, solitary (london, 1906), he has in a general way founded on the life of the yorkshire hermit, though the period is fifteenth century. rolle is mentioned in passing. this book mr. a. c. benson considered to be his brother's best work.' meditations on the passion, by richard rolle, hermit of hampole, done into modern english by the rev. edwin burton, catholic truth society, london, 1906. two meditations are here printed as rolle's 'undoubtedly genuine works', but that from horstmann, i. 112-21, is not given him in any manuscript and gives no special signs of his authorship (v. infra, p. 286). the form of perfect living, and other prose treatises of richard rolle of hampole, modernized texts by geraldine e. hodgson, litt.d., 1910. only the first piece here is a work of rolle. the others are taken from horstmann's volumes-apparently on the supposition that everything which they contain is by richard. for example, a revelation as to purgatory (horstmann, i. 383) is spoken of in miss hodgson's introduction as by him, though the revelation is dated 1422 in the text, and he died in 1349. the mending of life, ed. from camb. univ. ms. ff. v. 40, with introduction and notes by the rev. d. harford, london, 1913. middle-english translations of the emendatio are classified. the fire of love . . . and the mending of life, translated by richard misyn, edited and done into modern english by frances m. m. comper, with an introduction by evelyn underhill, london, 1914. lists are given of many manuscripts of the emendatio, and a translation is added of three lessons from the office of st. richard hermit which concern richard's life. richard rolle of hampole's mending of life, ed. w. h. hulme, western reserve university bulletins, new series, vol. xxi, no. 4, 1 hugh: memories of a brother, london, 1915: 'i believe the most beautiful book he ever wrote was richard raynal, solitary, and i know he thought so himself' (p. 164). 18 printed editions may 1918. a middle-english translation from worcester cath. ms. f. 172. on errors in the introduction see m. deanesly in modern philology, xvii. 181. the stations of the cross taken freely from the meditations on the passion of the lord by richard rolle, with woodcuts (opposite each page) by gabriel pippet, london, 1917. the amending of life, translated by rev. h. l. hubbard, london, 1922. from misyn's version, but less archaic than miss comper's text.1 some minor works of richard rolle, with the privity of the passion by st. bonaventura, modernized texts by g. e. hodgson, london, 1923. the only authentic works here are rolle's two shorter epistles, and some very short prose pieces from the thornton ms. (v. infra, pp. 269 sq.). for a general work by miss hodgson treating rolle, v. infra, p. 431 n. an english lyric ascribed to rolle is printed in the oxford book of english mystical verse, ed. d. h. s. nicholson and a. h. e. lee (oxford, 1916), and in the new golden treasury, ed. ernest rhys, 'everyman's library', 1906. as i have pointed out in the modern language review, xiv. 320-1, the poem in question is a close translation of a part of the incendium amoris, and we cannot be sure that rolle is the versifier (v. infra, p. 299). richard rolle was not included in the earlier general works treating english mysticism, such as hours with the mystics by r. a. vaughan (london, 1856), or in dean inge's christian mysticism (bampton lectures, published london, 1899), or his studies of english mystics (london, 1906). miss evelyn underhill, however, in her large work mysticism (1st ed., london, 1911, 10th ed., 1924), uses a great many illustrations from rolle, as she does also in many later books. a volume of rolle's works in a french modernized version is under preparation by dom maurice noetinger, monk of solesmes, in the series mystiques anglais', in which he has already edited similar versions of the scale of perfection of walter hilton and of the cloud of unknowing (the former as a collaborator). judging by the analogy of the works already published in this series, this french edition of rolle will make a valuable addition to the scholarship of • 1 in the introduction to this work (p. 32 n.) the melum is said to have been written for margaret'-in other words it is confused with the form (v. infra, p. 256). printed editions 19 the subject, even though it is primarily intended for devotional use. dom noetinger is likely (as in the other works) to add numerous patristic references and parallels in this part of his work he has the invaluable assistance of his convent, so that the edition becomes in a sense a communal affair. here for the first time rolle is to be treated by those who are specialists in patristic literature. in his work on the cloud, dom noetinger has shown that one of the most striking passages is merely a 'spirited adaptation' from hugh of st. victor,¹ and it is possible that equally unexpected discoveries will come to light in connexion with rolle; it would appear that discussion of his persecutions is to be looked for. the edition will include the incendium. an article by dom noetinger in the month (jan. 1926) on 'the biography of richard rolle' gives important new information and valuable discussion, which will be later reviewed here in detail (infra, pp. 490 sq.). he decides that the narrative of rolle's life as given in the office is open to question as a literally accurate biography, since the work is written primarily for edification. he points out that rolle's works show that he was a skilled theologian, and would support the statement of pits that he was a doctor of theology. dom noetinger, on the authority of a note in a paris manuscript, would conclude that richard is likely to have continued his studies in paris and been a 'socius' of the sorbonne. du péché à l'amour divin, ou l'amendement du pécheur, traduit et annoté par léopold denis, s.j. (éditions de la vie spirituelle), paris (librairie desclée et cie.), 1926. pointed out to me by dom noetinger. this little book contains a most excellent introduction and notes on rolle's mysticism and sources. d. scholarly investigations connected with rolle. heretofore the principal work ascribed to rolle in the histories of literature was the prick of conscience, and accordingly most of the scholarship done on rolle centred about this piece. such scholarly articles as concern the prick alone will not be included here: they will be found in such a standard work as the cambridge history of english literature. very little scholarship has been expended on 2 1 blackfriars, march 1924, p. 1460, le nuage de l'inconnaissance, tours, 1925, p. 205. this is the vivacious account of the mannerisms of the devout. 'en présentant richard rolle aux lecteurs français, l'occasion se trouvera de s'étendre sur ces polémiques dont l'ermite de hampole eut personnellement à souffrir' (nuage, p. 10). 20 printed editions the authentic works, and of the few investigations which touch on them some give even more attention to the prick of conscience. h. middendorff, studien über richard rolle von hampole unter besonderer berücksichtigung seiner psalmen-commentare, magdeburg, 1888. this is an excellent piece of work. the author uses to the best advantage all the available material, and brings out some interesting points. he shows that rolle's english psalter is founded in the main on peter lombard's catena of commentary on the psalter (migne, 191), which is also used in rolle's latin psalter. many interesting quotations are made from the latin works as found in the cologne edition of 1536, but no use has been made of works in manuscript. a. hahn, quellenuntersuchungen zu richard rolles englischen schriften, berlin, 1900. some interesting evidence is here given as to sources used in the english epistles. the greater part of the dissertation traces the sources of the prick of conscience and of works printed by horstmann which the present investigation shows to have been ascribed to rolle on horstmann's conjecture only. f. kühn, über die verfasserschaft der in horstmanns library of early english writers, band i und ii-r. rolle de hampole-enthaltenen lyrischen gedichte, greifswald, 1900. this dissertation uses the prick of conscience as a norm for rolle's style. the author notes rolle's habit of repetition, and the uncertainty of determining the authorship of many of the lyrics in horstmann's volumes. j. p. schneider, the prose style of richard rolle of hampole, with special reference to its euphuistic tendencies, baltimore, 1906 (johns hopkins dissertation). the 'euphuistic tendencies' of rolle had been one of the theses sustained by kühn in 1900, but his dissertation did not investigate this point. h. henningsen, über die wortstellung in den prosaschriften richard rolles von hampole, erlangen, 1911 (kiel philological dissertations, vol. 17, jan. 1912). for a note on the sources of an english lyric ascribed to rolle v. supra, p. 18. though the edition of rolle's english psalter did not take account of the sources or of many of the manuscripts, middendorff's dissertation gave important assistance for the study of this work. two later studies have added valuable new material to the same purpose. miss a. c. paues, in the edition (1902) of her fourteenth-century printed editions 21 english biblical version, which was presented as a dissertation to the university of upsala, but printed at cambridge, enumerates thirty-three copies of the english psalter, and separates these into two classes—the original and the lollard texts. a later valuable study of the psalter suggested by her was that by miss dorothy everett, printed in the modern language review in three parts (xvii. 217 sq., 337 sq., xviii. 381 sq.). a brief summary of the accounts of rolle's works given in histories of literature will be found in my authorship of the prick of conscience, radcliffe college monographs, 15, p. 115, n. 2. in the romanic review (ix. 154-93) in an article on 'the mystical lyrics of the manuel des pechiez' the present writer has given a summary account of the development of medieval english mysticism more generalized than anything in the present work. it treats rolle and will be constantly cited here. additional notes p. 16. monsignor benson notes (book of the love of jesus, p. 222) in connexion with rolle's canor 'the instance of s. francis of assisi, who used fancifully to accompany, on a piece of wood used as a fiddle, the ideal music that flooded his soul'. p. 17. mr. harford analyses (pp. xix-xxviii) rolle's development of mysticism according to the incendium (cap. 15) taken in connexion with the description also in that work (p. 202), quoted below (pp. 84-5). as a possible source for the canor and dulcor he notes (pp. xxviii-ix) bede's account of the death of s. chad. he identifies john cok, the copyist of caius coll. ms. 669*, as the 'redituarius of st. bartholomew's hospital' (p. 11). chapter ii notes on the principal manuscripts in the present study no attempt is made to describe the full contents of manuscripts containing rolle's works along with works by other writers; and the manuscripts are not in general described as wholes, though in every case the whole manuscript can be reconstructed (so far as rolle's works are concerned) by means of the cross-references given under each of the several works which it contains. a few manuscripts, however, deserve special mention. a. bodl. ms. 861 (sum. cat. no. 2728) is the largest collection of rolle's works anywhere found, and it contains all his latin writings, with three unimportant exceptions (v. cant. am., mul. fort., and de misericordia, infra). strangely enough, it was not even mentioned by horstmann. i wish to acknowledge much kind assistance in its elucidation from mr. madan, dr. craster, and mr. gibson. bodl. ms. 861 is a small folio volume of 170 paper leaves, 12 by 9 in., in double columns. the watermark is an animal described by briquet (les filigranes, geneva, 1907, no. 3552) as a cat. he registers seventeen varieties from france and the low countries, ranging in date from the last quarter of the 14th century to the first quarter of the 15th. the whole book is written in a characteristic and clear, though very close and much abbreviated script, apparently by one hand, though with variations due to changes of pen and ink. gatherings: i¹, ii-x¹², xi¹º, xii³ (originally ¹²), xiii², xiv³, with signatures (a ¹¹², b¹¹², &c., and q', q², &c.; the signatures repeated in red in quires iii and iv). binders' marks (+, a, b, c, &c.) remain, rudely scrawled in chalk, and at two points (v. infra, ff. 103, 143) curious binders' notes (difficult to interpret) have been pasted on the top of the page at the right-hand corner— folded and continuing, as miss deanesly has noted (incend. am., pp. 18, 19), across the top of the verso. these may possibly hint that the volume as we now have it is not complete, and a certain indication of the same sort is to be found in the rubric '15 quaterna' which appears at the bottom of f. 7º (the middle of the first quire). 1-1 principal manuscripts 23 the whole volume at present contains fourteen quires. we find on f. 87 the rubric‘anno 2º f. iiij', which is almost certainly to be taken in connexion with the similar rubric 'anno 30' found in the first quire (f. 11). these two notes would seem to indicate the order in which the work was copied, and we are given another sign that the first quire was copied late. the end of a work coincides with the end of a quire at ff. 50, 122, 132, 141, 166, at which points new 'blocks' may be said to begin. a series or dates given almost certainly indicate that the whole of the first block was written between the autumn of 1410 and the spring of 1411. since the earlier part of this period is called 'the third year' of the copying, the 'second year' (in which at least the fourth quire of the second block was written) must have been 1409-10. perhaps the reason why the scribe evidently did not have his book bound in the order in which he wrote it was because he made a late decision to form an 'opera omnia' of richard rolle. the only materials in the volume not ascribed to rolle are three short latin pieces found at the head of the fourth and fifth blocks respectively (ff. 133-8, 142). thus, all but one page of this foreign material occurs in the fourth block, which we suppose to have been copied early. probably the psalter was shifted to its position at the beginning of the book, because that was the usual position for such a piece in a volume of collected works, and it is found there in other large collections of rolle's writings (e. g. corpus christi oxf. 193, hereford o. viii. 1, savile). evidently the scribe copied more than we have in the present volume, and since it is now very thick, it would hardly be possible ever to have bound more in it than we now find. perhaps the other quires went into another volume, now lost. the rubricator has worked in an erratic fashion, sometimes for a considerable distance inserting paragraph signs, dividing the clauses with red strokes, &c., and then dropping out. the corrector also worked sporadically. the influence of the cult of the holy name of jesus appears in the 'ihu' at the head of all pages, and for considerable portions of the book 'maria' appears at the bottom. the book is full of small drawings, mostly with similar faces; certain designs often recur, especially feathered bodies portrayed with tonsured heads, monks' heads with wings, single feathers as markers, feathered heads upside down, &c. the cross 'patée fitchée' is common, but no heraldic devices can be identified. some large plain initials have been inserted in blue. some headings and colophons are in the same hand as the text-in black or red-and some in narrow 24 principal manuscripts cramped capitals in red. the drawings use the same inks as the text, and are doubtless due to the humorous scribe, who perhaps multiplies feathers because his author hopes to join the angels. on the fly-leaf: 'liber librarii wigoriensis, inde desumptus mar. 22, 1590, et illuc restituendus.' the catalogue says that this note is in the hand of william thornhill, prebendary of worcester 1584-1626. f. 1. on the extreme upper right in a minute form of the original hand, nearly faded : 'die martis post nat./beate marie virginis [anno] domini [14]10.' later references make the insertions here suggested almost certain. the nativity of the virgin (september 8) in 1410 fell on a monday. (1) rolle's latin psalter begins the volume, without title or name of author, but a marginal note against a text on the first page reads: 6 non ricardi.' f. 7, at the bottom of the page in the original hand in red : ricardus hampul heremita de vita perfecta mitto thesaurum dulcius super aurum. in nomine ihesu scriptum sit custoditum. on '15 quaterna' v. supra, p. 22. 15 quaterna. textual notes occur fairly often on the margin: their position in the text is in general carefully indicated. f. 10. at the top of the page ps. xxi. 30 is copied, with a comment and the following: 'non inueni istum versum in glosa ricardi nec in borientalibus (sic) apud hampul nec in cometatu de richemund nec in australibus in aliquo antiquo libro sed in vno nouo scripto'. v. infra, p. 29. as a matter of fact this verse is lacking in the text of the psalter in corpus christi coll. oxf. ms. 193, but it is found in the cologne edition. f. 117. a marginal note (also in the original hand) makes another insertion, and adds: 'ille est secundus versus quem non inueni in glosa ricardi heremite nisi in nouo libro uno'. here the insertion is also lacking in the corpus text and present in that of cologne. it is really a variant exposition for a text already expounded, and the whole comment is re-copied at the foot of the page. f. 11, in the same hand in red above: anno 3º die martis post festum angelorum'. the date (in the 'third year' of the work) probably refers to 1410, when september 29 fell on a monday. principal manuscripts 25 f. 23, a marginal note (marked for insertion in the text): 'die iouis bricii/[anno] domini [14]10. t... 3m de/ spiritu et cetera.' the latter half of this note is unintelligible, when inserted in the text and in general. the first part is probably the date of writing again; st. brice's day (november 13) in 1410 fell on a thursday, and the assignment of this series of dates to 1410 is confirmed. f. 46, at the end of the psalter and the beginning of the canticles, in the original hand, a rubric: 'in ramis palmarum die sabbati sancti ambrosii m cccc 11 [anno] domini feria (?) hora 3.' st. ambrose's day (april 4) in 1411 fell on the saturday before palm sunday. the omission here of the 'anno' from a date otherwise certain confirms the conjecture that 'anno' should be supplied in other cases. captus/die f. 47, a curious tiny drawing of a cross on a standard, with a diminutive clover leaf on each side. to the right, the following note: 'die sabbati ante gor[dian]i/anno domini iouis post/liberatus.' this is written in black ink, and rudely scrawled in red over the first line is what appears to be 'ioh[annels', over the third 'filipi' and 'i[ac]obi'. this curious note is probably meant to register some interruption in the work about the beginning of may 1411. the scribe probably meant to say that he was 'captus' (by sickness, perhaps, or by other duty) on the saturday before st. gordian's day (may 10) and 'liberatus' on the thursday after he has rendered the '1411' by an 'm' over an '11'. we have already seen him combine arabic and roman numerals in the date at f. 46. he has here probably omitted the 'cccc', by a not unusual carelessness. probably the three names scrawled in red over the top represent 'john', 'philip', and 'james', and are inserted because the festivals of these saints are near. may i is the day of st. philip and st. james, and the day of st. john ante portam latinam is may 6, of st. john of beverley may 7, of st. john of bridlington may 11. we evidently have to do with a fantastic scribe, whom sometimes only fantastic explanations will fit. sometimes, however, his annotations are devout. 6 f. 49, at the end of the psalter and canticles, in the original hand in red: anno domini mocccc 11 die mercuri[i] hora 3ª post meridiem 13 die mai.' may 13, 1411, was a wednesday. this indisputable date supports the earlier ones, of which the interpretation is partly conjectural. half of ff. 49, 49, and both sides of f. 50 are blank. c 26 principal manuscripts (2) ff. 51-81, rolle's melum; with (at the top of f. 51) the title (written later) 'melum contemplatiuorum'. 'me' appears at the upper right-hand corners of the pages. f. 80 is blank, and the original hand, using the later dark ink, has scribbled here: 'fac saltum ad dexteram '. (3) f. 81, the same hand and ink: 'explicit melum contemplatiuorum. incipit tractatus de primo versiculo canticorum per ricardum h.' rolle's commentary on the canticles is indicated by 'cant.' on the upper corners of the pages. f. 85: explicit tractatus super primum uersiculum canticorum et incipit tractatus super secundum versiculum.' (4) f. 87, on the top of the page: 'anno 2º f. iiij.' v. supra, p. 23. f. 90: explicit supra sirasirin, id est, cantus canticorum secundum ricardum heremitam. incipit tractatus super psalmum 24m' (sic). f. 93. rolle's commentary on the 20th psalm ends: 'amen, secundum venerabilem ricardum de hampul.' (5) f. 93 hic incipit secundus liber ricardi heremite venerabilis hampul de amore dei contra amatores mundi.' see below, f. 99º. rolle's contra amatores mundi, corrected at some points by marginal notes in the original hand (using darker ink). f. 99: amen die martis katis' (in the original hand and ink). no satisfactory explanation for this curious inscription has been offered. (6) f. 99, rubric: 'de amore dei contra amatores mundi secundum ricardum heremitam. ffinis libri secundi, et tercius liber dicitur de incendio amoris, qui sic incipit : admirabar amplius quam enuncio quando siquidem sentiui cor meum primitus incalescere et igne estuare.' here, as in the rubric at f. 93, the scribe is evidently reproducing what he finds in the volume which he is copying, though in his own book it is meaningless. hereford cath. ms. o. viii. 1 ¹ perhaps used the same original or a derivative, for a note (now defective) on the inside of the cover in a late medieval hand (perhaps copying from the first three leaves, which are now lost) announces the following: 'quoddam opus solempne venerabilis heremite i wish to thank miss bull for bringing this manuscript to oxford for my use. principal manuscripts 27 ricardi hampul continens in se 4ºr libros, quorum primus dat regulam viuendi et continet duodecim capitula. 2us liber... de amore dei 3us...' later notes indicate the incendium and the melum as the third and fourth works respectively. the hereford volume seems to have been 'bound, horned, and nailed' in the late 15th century, when a label was affixed to the cover ascribing the authorship of the works to rolle and naming the donor as 'magister owyn lloyd, quondam canonicus huius [ecclesie]'. as miss deanesly points out (p. 31), many books in the cathedral library were given by lloyd, and he was perhaps a cleric of that name who can be traced 1466-78. the rubric last quoted (f. 99) leads us to expect the incendium amoris, but what actually follows is only the second part of the compilation which usually follows the incendium in the manuscripts which contain what is known as 'the short text' (v. infra, p. 64). the scribe perhaps waits to copy the treatise till he can lay hands on the full text. the hereford ms., which seems here to be following the same original, now gives part only of the 'long text'. at the beginning of the compilation (f. 99) one of the notes in darker ink on the margin: quomodo ricardus heremita peruenit ad uerum amorem dei.' the original hand writes in the original ink at the end of the piece (f. 100): explicit quomodo perueni ad incendium amoris.' this is rolle's conclusion to the section just copied, which is his incendium, chapter 15, on his development of ecstasy. at the bottom of f. 99▾ in the dark ink and original hand already noted (marked for insertion above): 'nota quod ab inicio alteracionis uite et mentis usque ad apericionem hostii, ut superos contemplaretur oculus cordis, effluxerunt tres anni exceptis tribus mensibus. ostio manente aperto usque ad tempus quo in corde realiter senciabatur (sic) calor eterni amoris, annus unus plene effluxit. flagrante autem sensibiliter calore et inestimabiliter suaui usque ad infusionem et percepcionem soni celestis et spiritualis dimidius annus et tres menses et aliquot eldomade (sic) effluxerunt. unde et ab inicio mutati animi usque ad gradum suppremum in quo canor iubileus personoretur, quatuor anni et circa tres menses effluxerunt. hic nempe status cum prioribus dispositiuis ad illum permanet usque in finem. hic tamen non modicum proficit, sed in alium statum non ascendit. immo quasi consummatus quiescit, gracias deo laudes incessanter, amen. in nocte purificacionis beate marie uirginis dictum mihi fuit in sompnis, anno domini mº ccc° xliij° annis duodecim uiues.' the first part gives the salient sentences from rolle's incendium, 1 the full text adds: 'et uideret qua uia amatum suum quereret, et ad ipsum iugiter anhelaret' (incendium, p. 189). c 2 28 principal manuscripts chapter 15, already mentioned. it will be constantly cited. το this the note as to the vision of 1343 has been added, and the likelihood is that the whole memorandum was originally found in an autograph manuscript. there is nothing unlikely in rolle's copying an abbreviated form of his famous narrative how i came to the fire of love, and the vision here mentioned seems to have left its trace on a bit of his english prose (v. infra, p. 273). the whole note as quoted appears also in durham cath. ms. b. iv. 35 (of the fourteenth century), f. 1121 (from which the variant readings are quoted by miss deanesly, p. 188, n. 6). it must also have been copied in a book once belonging to the brothers' library at syon monastery, for a volume noted in the index and ascribed to rolle contains: 'idem de successu eiusdem & de alteracione vite vsque ad summum gradum contemplacionis. idem de visione eiusdem, de tempore mortis sue.' rolle's canticles begin on the same page. bale also says in his index (as 'ex domo archidiaconi gybbes'): 'scripsit idem ricardus: in nocte purificationis marie dictum fuit in somnis, a. d. 1343, annis xij viues,' &c. for further discussion, v. infra, p. 273. (7) f. 100: 'hic continentur nouem virtutes quas dominus noster ihesus christus cuidam sancto viro volenti deuote facere que deo placent ore suo reuelauit.' in the darker ink: 'admonicio valde salubris de elimosina secundum r. h.' the context would make it appear that the scribe here (by an afterthought) meant to ascribe this little piece to‘richard hampole (or hermit]' (v. infra, p. 317). this is the only wrong ascription in the volume, but v. infra, f. 166. f. 101. at the end of the novem virtutes, in the same hand and ink, occurs the following: r. i am unable to offer any explanation for this curious signature, which dr. craster (who agrees in the reading) is also unable to interpret. it is probably a date. (8) f. 101. the epistle which makes the first member of the collection of tracts known as 'judica me deus' (v. infra, p. 93) begins without sign. f. 102: 'hec ricardus heremita dicit in libro quem habuit heremita de tanfeld die veneris natali domini sancti johannis 1409. et nudus pedes 40 millia ibat.' here we have the reference to 1409, which, considering the series of dates in 1411, and the earlier 1 i wish to express my special gratitude to the late archdeacon watkins for kindness in making easy for me my use of durham manuscripts. principal manuscripts 29 references to the 'third' and the 'second' years, we should expect to find in this part of the book: the date in question (as miss deanesly points out) is dec. 27, 1409. however, it might refer to the hermit's feat of walking, though, considering the series of other dates given for the writing and the order of the sentence, it is more likely to refer to the copying. if the other two doubtful dates of writing (?) found in this quire (ff. 99, 101v) could be certainly assigned to 1409, the present one should also be taken to indicate the time of writing. " the note as to the book of the 'hermit of tanfield' here given is also found attached to a text of judica a (also occurring alone) in trin. coll. dublin ms. 153, another large and valuable collection of rolle's latin works. the original of this text was therefore a book of some fame. the tanfield in question is probably that on the southern boundary line of the north riding, rather than that in co. durham. unfortunately, the note already quoted from f. 10 does not give the clear indication of the scribe's home which it should: the slip in the phrase 'in borientalibus apud hampul ' throws out the topography. it seems clear, however, that either borealibus' or 'orientalibus' must be in question. hampole is therefore either north or east of the scribe, and since it lies in a lower corner of the west riding, with the counties of derby, nottingham, lincoln, and the east riding all not more than fifteen miles away, it is quite impossible to localize the scribe from the confused indications which he gives. his wanderings might suggest that he was also a hermit. since he mentions 'the county of richmond' as within the range of his search for manuscripts, he must have passed by the yorkshire tanfield, but the durham tanfield is less likely to be in question. several facts may perhaps support the identification with the former. lord scrope, lord of the near-by manor of masham, in 1415 willed to henry fitzhugh, his kinsman, an autograph of the judica (v. infra, p. 98): the latter was (in the right of his wife) lord of the manor of tanfield. probably the copy of special authority possessed by the hermit of tanfield was corrected from the autograph, if it were not that very book, but on this point v. infra, p. 107. the scribe of the bodl. ms. apparently took his copy between 1409-11, and a book then in the hermitage may by 1415 have passed to the neighbouring manor house. in 1314 john marmion, lord of the manor of tanfield (from whom lady fitz hugh inherited), received permission to crenellate his house called 'lermitage' (v. c. h., p. 385). however, this was 30 principal manuscripts apparently not the manor house of which the tower (built by henry fitz hugh) still exists, overhanging the churchyard.¹ the earlier site is now marked by an earthwork, and the ruined foundations of a chapel and other buildings. it is possible that, when the marmions about the middle of the fourteenth century transferred their manor house to the site next to the church, their older seat sheltered a hermitage (as perhaps, if the name is a clue, it had originally done). it is also worth mentioning that the parish church of west tanfield contains a mysterious recess, which is said to be unique'. the church doors were originally barred from within, and it has been suggested that the cell was made for a sacristan, and not for a confessional, as had been earlier conjectured. it has one opening into the chancel and another towards the high altar, and it would appear (though too small for an anchorite) to have been possibly suitable for a hermit, who would be able to leave it for a change. it may be noted that the rector of this church in 1406 was one of the trustees to whom fitz hugh assigned the endowment which he set aside for the foundation of a brigittine house (deanesly, p. 98). he was evidently in close touch with the church, which his manor house adjoined. (9) f. 102: 'incendium amoris hic incipit, habet xxii capitula' (rubric). on the margin: 'liber 3' (this numbering also corresponds with that given to the same work in the hereford ms., and it is probably derived from a common original). the scribe has now found his complete incendium, which he proceeds to copy, thereby repeating practically all that he has copied in the earlier compilation. he is completely mixed on the number of the chapters. the rubric gives 22', and the original hand gives in red at the bottom of the blank verso (f. 122): 22 capitula cum cauda' (the 'cauda' is perhaps the short paragraph-a kind of afterthought—which con1 see yorks. archaeol. journ., xii. 287-8, h. b. mccall, richmondshire churches, london, 1910, pp. 188-90. 2 a. h. allcroft, earthwork of england, london, 1908, pp. 447 sq. (reference kindly supplied by the vicar of west tanfield). the place is now called 'magdalen field'. 3 the north riding of yorkshire, j. e. morris, london, 1904, p. 371. the vicar kindly informs me that at a recent meeting of the royal archaeological society the suggestion was made that the chamber was used by an anchorite. the dimensions (4 feet by 3 feet 9 inches, v. mccall) would seem to make it impossible that a person strictly enclosed could ever have been confined in this small space. principal manuscripts 31 cludes the last chapter). the full text (usually forty-two chapters and a prologue) is here, but divided into thirty-five chapters by red roman capitals, and into forty-four by the black cursive script. ff. 103-103". here occurs the first of the bookbinder's labels already mentioned, and perhaps the scribe's confusion as to the text of the incendium helps to make it cryptic. it runs as follows : 'hic incipit liber iij qui vocatur incendium amoris, habet xxij capitula. admirabar amplius quam enuncio quando siquidem sentiui cor meum primitus, et hic caret folio in fine istius quaterni, et in principio similiter istius quaterni caret folio, et illud folio (sic) non est secundum folium in quaterno quem clausum misi ad vos, quia est finis libri 2, scilicet, habetis totum secundum librum, de amore dei contra amatores mundi. in quaterno vestro clauso et (or 2)signato uerte folium caudam cum c[api]te et ponatur in loco suo, quia quilibet quaternus habet xii folia, vester quaternus xvi.' no quire of the present book has sixteen leaves, though the binder's marks show that nothing has been lost from the middle of the book. possibly the last block (now only three leaves) once contained sixteen. the references to the lack of two leaves, and to the 'quire which i sent to you closed' are unintelligible; the latter may be the same as the quire 'closed and signed' (or 'signed 2'), which reappears in the second note (f. 143), where it seems to refer to the quire in hand (of twenty-four leaves). perhaps the scribe should have written above 'vester quaternus xxiv'. evidently in studying this curious manuscript our task is made more difficult by the occasional inconsistency of the scribe. our difficulties are increased in the present case by the faded and worn condition of the labels, and by the fact that the scribe renders 'et' and '2' by the same symbol. f. 122: amen secundum ricardum heremitam.' (10) ff. 123-8, rolle's commentary on the apocalypse, without title or ascription, except that a tiny 'apl' appears in the upper righthand corners of the pages. since horstmann missed bodl. ms. 861, he also missed this work, of which this is the only copy easily accessible. (11) f. 128: 'regula viuendi distincta in duodecim capitula' (v. emendatio, infra, p. 230). during this piece the most astonishing variations occur in the size of the handwriting every few sentences, and considering the whimsical character of the scribe, he is probably 32 principal manuscripts here alternately expanding and compressing his script as a tour de force. the text ends abruptly in the last chapter but one: only one word is to be found on f. 132, and f. 132 is entirely blank. this ends the quire (of ten leaves) which makes up the block (iii). the ink and pen change almost as much as the handwriting. much of this resembles that used in some of the notes already mentioned. (12) ff. 133-137, an anonymous commentary on the canticles, written in the same hand as the rest of the book. beg.: 'materia huius operis sunt ffideles existentes ante aduentum christi.' ends: 'foris argento variata. explicit sirasirim versus cc. 80. maria. pre die. scripta die mercurii a[nno] 1411 domini aurius (?) mensis (?) 5.’ (13) f. 137. the same hand has then written (almost certainly later) a commentary on the ten commandments in the blank column and a half of this page. the handwriting is minute but extraordinarily clear: the lines are not kept as in the rest of the text. the 'pre die' seems, by the ink and pen used, to belong to the canticles: it is more or less unintelligible anywhere. the date itself almost certainly belongs to the commandments (a later insertion). the only month in 1411 when the 5th fell on a wednesday was august, and the 'aurius' may be a slip for 'augusti'. miss parker suggests that the last word above is 'numerus', but in 1411 the 'golden number' was 6. it was 5 in 1412. (14) ff. 138-41, rolle's commentary on the lamentations of jeremiah (without title or ascription). this is the only work by rolle in the present quire (of nine leaves, with three at the end cut off), which makes up the fourth block. f. 141, on the extreme upper right-hand corner: 'sabbato die crucis [14]10 [anno] domini.' in 1410, the invention of the holy cross (may 3) was a saturday. this is the earliest date in the book, except that on f. 102 (dec. 27, 1409). (15) f. 142, a popular section from the meditations on the life of christ (pseudo-bonaventura). beg.: circa virginem' (for an english translation see horstmann, i. 158 sq.). the back of this page contains only alphabets. (16) f. 143, rolle's commentary on the pater noster, without title or ascription except that 'pater' is just visible at the upper right-hand corner. here occurs the second bookbinder's note, which is less worn where it is folded than the other note, and can be made out as follows: principal manuscripts 33 'finis istius libri iob est primum folium in quaterno uestro clauso signato 2 (or et) incipit cum uita gloriose uirginis matris marie et habet iste quaternus xxiiij folia, quorum secundum folium incipit oratio dominica, alii quaterni habent xii folia.' the note is obviously a trifle out of place, since the job does not begin till f. 148 and ends on the last page of this quire, but it is correct in the main. this quire has twenty-four leaves (ff. 142-65), and the first folio contains the extract on the blessed virgin from the meditations, the second the pater noster. (17) f. 143º: 'idem ricardus super simbolum.' 'credo' appears at the upper corner of the pages. rolle's commentary on the apostles' creed ends: 'per ricardum hampul' (f. 146). the curious note follows: etas mundi 5050 minus uno, anno domini incarnacionis. nota quod ab inicio alteracionis uite et mentis...' a slightly shortened form of the abridgement of rolle's attainment of ecstasy found on f. 99 then follows, but the reference to the vision of 1343 is lacking, and we find the rubric: 'amen qui anno domini 1049 apud hampvl manacarum' (sic.). the end straggles off as if the scribe had been interrupted: it seems likely that he intended to give the date and place of rolle's death as they are found in so many manuscripts. if so, however, he carelessly wrote '1049' for 1349'. mr. madan points out his interesting use of 'nuns' hampole' as the place-name (on the analogy of bishop's stortford', 'abbot's langley', &c.). mr. madan in the catalogue suggests that the earlier date ('etas mundi 5049') could by the jewish system of reckoning be 1288. he takes this to be an indication that rolle was born in 1288. such a conjecture seems unnecessary and groundless. the scribe (as in other instances) may be copying something in his source, or he may be using another of the many eras on record. (18) f. 148: incipiunt postille ricardi heremite super nouem lecciones mortuorum et ista leccio sequens scribitur job septimo capitulo (rubric). a tiny 'iob' appears on the upper right-hand corners of the pages. f. 165 expliciunt postille ricardi heremite.' the original hand writes in the green-yellow ink elsewhere used the verse signature often attached to the job (v. infra, p. 130). another pious latin quatrain follows, obviously written at the same time. (19) f. 166, the commentary on the athanasian creed which is sometimes ascribed to rolle, though his share in its composition 34 principal manuscripts must have been of the slightest (v. infra, p. 312). no sign of authorship is given, but the scribe may for all that have considered the work to be richard's, since he omits the ascription in other cases (e. g. the melum), where he must certainly have known it. (20) f. 167: rolle's commentary on the magnificat. it will be seen that the present volume is of unusual interest, not only for the study of rolle, but also for the study of medieval bookmaking in general. before the end of the book we get into close touch with the scribe, which provokes curiosity as to his identity. evidently he wrote the volume for his own use, and worked at it sporadically. his textual notes at some points show that he was something of a scholar. b. longleat ms. 29, in the possession of the marquess of bath, is a large 15th-century collection of english works which deserves special mention. it is a quarto volume on vellum, which in the time of henry viii belonged to john thynne, m.p., the ancestor of lord bath who built longleat. the account in the report of the historical mss. commission (iii. 181) is very imperfect. the book contains a miscellaneous collection of theology in latin and english, prose and verse, including all richard rolle's english works except his english psalter, some prose scraps found in the lincoln cath. thornton ms., and some lyrics found in camb. univ. ms. dd. v. 64. it contains, however, some of the prose scraps of the thornton ms., and some of the lyrics of the ms. dd. v. 64, and for many of these items it gives the only other copies known. one lyric it ascribes to rolle which is not elsewhere found with his name. its texts are not northern, but it must have been derived from manuscripts of authority because it contains rare texts and gives the surname of rolle's favourite disciple. an index on the fly-leaf in the original or a contemporary hand mentions 'a notable tretice of ricardus heremyte to margaret recluse of kyrkeby of contamplatif lyf’. f. 28: tractatus ricardi heremite ad margaretam de kyrkeby reclusam de vita contemplatiua.' 'hampol' is written in red in the margin. ihu' is scrawled on the margin of many pages. a collection of works (here without separate titles) is introduced by the heading just quoted; they are as follows: (1) the english epistle form of living, with the usual ending (which gives the title and dedication to 'margaret'). principal manuscripts 35 (2) f. 41. the english epistle ego dormio. the english epistle the commandment. (3) f. 45. (4) f. 48b. the prose scrap desyre and delit (found otherwise only in the thornton ms.). (5) f. 49. the prose scrap (partly autobiographical) gastly gladnesse (found otherwise only in the thornton ms.). (6) f. 49. 'cantalene amoris' (rubric, with 'dei' added in black). lyrics then follow (v. infra, pp. 297 sq.). 'hampoll' heads ff. 49, 49b. 'amen' f. 56. f. 56b: and pre pater 'omnipotens sempiterne deus qui dedisti famulis tuis. noster and auees, and than kysse pe erthe and say: be thynke the thou wreched kaytif how hit shalbe of þe when pu shalt be cast in a pitte undre þe erth whan todis wormys snakys and other venymous bestes shal ete þi eighen thy nose þi mouth thy lippes thi tonge thy hede thy hondes thy fete and al þi body. who shal þan be thy help, thy comfort and thy refuyt? than, þu wreche, shal per non be the for to comfort bot þat derward lord iħic. therfor þu wreched kaytif now whan tyme is of mercy and of pite ren to pat derward lord ihū and say mercy dei ihū, space and grace for thi mercy and pitte, dere and swete ihesu, etc. explicit tractatus ricardi heremite de hampoll ad margaretam reclusam de kyrkby de amore dei.' the last two pages of the form and all of the two shorter epistles have 'hampole' written at the head of the right-hand page, and 'amor dei' at the head of the left-hand. the shorter epistles are separated from the longer one only by thin red division lines such as divide the chapters of the latter (these are unnumbered). this manuscript would seem to imply that all the works included were written for margaret kirkeby, but the two shorter epistles were not written for recluses. the colophon may be derived from an autograph volume in which rolle included pieces not originally written for margaret, along with the form dedicated to her. 6 we shall see that the verse prologue attached to a laud copy of rolle's english psalter states that he wrote that work at the 'prayer of a worthy recluse, dame margaret kirkby'. the vienna ms. mentions his disciple margaret ab ipso multum perfecte de sancta singulari vita instructa'. as we have seen, the form ends (in most manuscripts) with an address to 'margaret', and the office of st. richard hermit relates incidents connected with his favourite disciple, domina margareta, olim reclusa apud anderby', and " 4.p.272 impora in yks, writer cambdd $64 81 36 principal manuscripts * states that she retired to hampole after rolle's death. miss clay (op. cit., p. 143) has discovered valuable references in the registers of the archbishop of york relating to the favourite disciple of rolle. they seem to indicate that her family name was 'margaret la boteler', and that she was a nun of hampole when she became a recluse at laton' in 1348. she is called 'margaret de kirkeby' (the spelling of her name which is here adopted) when the archbishop grants permission for her removal from est laton' to an enclosure at ainderby in 1357. these scattered pieces of evidence support the present manuscript in the name which they give to margaret, but they require some discussion, which will be given. in connexion with rolle's life (infra, pp. 502 sq.). c. the two manuscripts, thornton and dd. v. 64, already mentioned, evidently bear some relation to the longleat volume.¹ both (unlike the last) are strongly northern in their dialect, and all their texts of rolle's english works have been printed by horstmann. the fact that the thornton ms. was written by robert thornton (a. 1440, v. d. n. b.) gives special authority to its ascriptions, for he was almost certainly the country gentleman of that name born at oswaldkirk (near helmesley), who spent most of his life at east newton, near pickering. in other words he was born and spent his life near rolle's birthplace, and he belonged to the 1 its relations to the thornton ms. are not confined to rolle's works. both contain hilton's mixed life, as well as ‘a revelation respecting purgatory, made on st. lawrence day, 1422', which was printed from the thornton copy (then considered unique) by horstmann, i. 383-92. in the report the presence of the revelation' is entirely obscured by its appearing under the inexplicable title: 'verses on st. leonard's day, 1422.' actually the piece follows the prose revelation printed by horstmann exactly, with the advantage that it is complete, whereas the thornton text has lost a leaf. the anti-clerical subjectmatter of the missing page, as it is disclosed in the longleat ms., probably accounts for its disappearance from the thornton. the following quotation will show what was probably the dangerous character of this portion of the work in the 15th century: ...bot ful horribly pay cried as al þe world had cried at onys. and þis peyne, fadyre, had men and women of religionse and prelatis of holychirche more pan seculer prestes or seculere wommen, bot almaner of prestes were casten into depe pittis and har womman with ham. and ful horribly pay cried to giddyre and hare crie was this: wo worth pride, couetiss and lechery, and þe wikked lustes of the world, and wo worth þe wikked willys þat wold neuer here do penaunce whils pay lyved in this wreched world, and perfor here we shal ful dere abye and euery cristen man and womman be ware by us and forsak syn and do penaunce in his lyf, and pus me pozt, my dere fadyre, i sawe prestes be pinished in purgatory ... principal manuscripts 37 class who supplied the hermit's patrons. since richard almost certainly died in middle life, the interval between the dates of the two men was probably not so great as at first appears. the quotations from the thornton ms. will be made from horstmann's texts. ms. dd. v. 64 was in york in the 17th century, but we have no details as to its provenance. it gives rare texts, as well as unique information regarding the two short english epistles: it states that the ego dormio was written for a nun of yedingham, and the commandment for a nun of hampole. for valuable texts of rolle's works in the latin part of this volume, v. infra, p. 116. d. ms. 396 of the public library of douay contains seven works of rolle, which present some unusual features. it is vellum, written in a number of 15th-century hands. rolle's works have in many cases been corrected in medieval times, which would seem to ensure unusually accurate texts. a distinguished origin is indicated by the rubric on the last fly-leaf: 'iste liber est domus ihū de bethleem ordinis cartusiensis de schene. ihu fili dei miserere mei, quod j. london.' si quis istum librum alienauerit, anathema sit.' the later ownership is indicated by the note on f. 1, 'coll. angl. duac.' (the english benedictine college at douay). on the verso of the fly-leaf in a black scrawl: 'liber in quo continentur xix tractatus quorum primus est expositio super orationem dominicam.' below is an old mark, 'k' (probably that of the benedictine library). there is a careful index in red on f. 1, in which rolle's works are indicated as follows: in hoc libello continentur materie subscripte. in primis: exposicio super orationem dominicam... item libellus qui vocatur incendium amoris ... item libellus ricardi hampole de excellencia contemplacionis. item carmen prosaycum eiusdem extractum de melo. item libellus eiusdem de institucione vite siue de regula viuendi. item sermo eiusdem de nomine ihu. ff. 1-2. rolle's pater noster, without title or ascription, in a small neat hand which does not occur elsewhere in the book (probably later). some insertions are carefully indicated, and two short lines are added at the top of the work ('ante orationem . . sic ergo orabitis '). f. 7. the prayer, 'o bone jesu', sometimes ascribed to rolle (v. infra, p. 314), unattributed, with other prayers. 1 also the scribe of b. mus. roy. ms. 7 d xvii. 38 principal manuscripts f. 70. 'hic incipit libellus qui vocatur incendium amoris.' a late (17th century) hand writes on the margin: 'incendium diuini amoris authore richardo rosso heremita de hampoole iuxta pontrefret eboracensis diocesis.' this title is not found in this copy but is in others (v. infra, pp. 42, 220). on the top of the page: 'qui cruce pendebas ihū per tua vulnera christe, te precor ut facias habeat finem liber iste.' f. 87. on the margin is a drawing of a flag containing a small square flanked by four dots (apparently medieval). this is the long text of the incendium, but the last paragraph is lacking, and in consequence it ends with the explicit of the short text. the chapters are numbered as in the printed edition, except that the last is divided into two, so that forty-three are indicated in all. f. 126v: 'explicit incendium amoris compositum a ricardo rolle (the surname added above the line in an apparently contemporary hand) dicto heremita, cuius corpus sepultum et nuper de loco sepulture in ecclesiam assumptum quiescit in monasterio monialium de hampolle iuxta poumfret eboracensis diocesis. cuius meritis undique confluentibus populis beneficia sanitatum tam corporis quam anime ab ipso summo gratiarum largitore christo ihū (qui ipsum et omnes electos suos eligit et semper ad suum amorem assumit sicut vult) de die in diem conferuntur ad laudem et gloriam nominis sui, cui est honor et gloria in secula seculorum. amen.' v. infra, p. 516. the jesu dulcis memoria follows anonymously. f. 177. incipit tractatus ricardi de hampull de excellencia contemplacionis que continua est in perfectis, excepto sompno, ut idem hic manifestat per processum.' here we find a salient point of rolle's doctrine emphasized (v. infra, p. 70). ten chapters are indicated. this is a compilation from rolle's works (v. infra, p. 321). 6 f. 193. explicit libellus ricardi de hampulle de excellencia contemplacionis. incipit carmen prosaicum eiusdem ricardi.' beg.: 'o parvulorum pater... deus funditus finito famine felici preditus in pascuis. explicit carmen prosaicum ricardi de ampull extractum a quodam tractatu qui dicitur melum.' extracts from rolle's melum run together as a whole (text as in corpus christi oxf. ms. ff. 217– 217, 219, 221-2, 222-3, passim). since the autograph of rolle's melum was (at least in the later middle ages) at syon, across the river from shene, this might be expected to be a good text. principal manuscripts 39 f. 196. 'hic est libellus ricardi rolle (' rolle' added above the line by a contemporary hand) heremite de hampoole de emendacione vite siue de regula viuendi,' &c. f. 217. the dedication is added: 'ecce formam viuendi' found in four other copies, of which one also belonged to shene and one to syon (v. infra, p. 231), without the name (william) found in two of them (v. infra, p. 40). another hand (apparently contemporary) has made this insertion. the same hand adds: explicit tractatus ricardi rolle ('rolle' added above by another hand as in other cases) heremite de emendacione peccatoris. qui obiit anno domini milesimo tricentesimo quadragesimo nono apud sanctimoniales de hampole.' f. 218. 'venerabilis ricardus de hampol composuit de nomine ihu.' another contemporary hand adds the section from rolle's commentary on the canticles which expounds the text 'oleum effusum nomen tuum'. the piece ends without sign (f. 220v). a half-legible scrawl on the back of the last fly-leaf gives : 'fratri sacriste reverendo traditur liber iste cum gaudio.' quod. (?) ... this volume has probably been corrected from other volumes of rolle's works in the possession of shene. e. vienna ms. 4483 (national-bibliothek), a thick, badly written paper volume containing many works connected with the hussites, gives a text of rolle's incendium followed by a compilation otherwise found at prague and (partially) at lincoln and at brussels (v. infra, p. 221). the vienna text ends with a colophon giving an approbation from the cardinal-bishop of bologna, afterwards pope innocent vii, which is otherwise found only (in a shortened form) at prague. this colophon in the vienna ms. is followed by some lines now scored through and almost illegible, after which (in the same or a very similar hand) a most interesting note follows (continuing across the bottom of the next page) giving reminiscences of rolle's life as derived from the account given by an english monk, a bachelor of theology. some words are scored through, but legible. similar notes are written on the margin of earlier pages: one cites an english doctor' as informant. in the case of the second of these, a note, similar but not identical, has been scored out on another margin of the same page and can now be made out with difficulty. similarly, seven lines at the beginning of the treatise 40 principal manuscripts have also been scored through and are now practically illegible. fortunately what we can read of what has been erased hardly seems to give new facts, but to be general remarks of a colourless nature (sometimes repeating what we have in the other notes). why the passages in question have been crossed out is hard to determine. it is probable that all these notes have been copied from another volume, for '&c.' appears and the note at the top of f. 135° says that the piece 'cum ergo singulare, &c.' has been given before, and is superfluous here. it has not been given before, but would have been if the volume had contained rolle's comment on the canticles, of which this makes part. it usually (with the rest of the comment, oleum effusum, as found here) is included in the compilation which in so many manuscripts follows the 'short text' of the incendium, but if the same manuscript contains the canticles, this and the other quotations from the canticles usually found in the compilation in question are omitted, in order to avoid repetition. the note here given would seem to be derived from a volume which gave the canticles, but repeated in the compilation usual to the 'short text' the extracts given from the canticles in that work. as already noted, however, the compilation here actually found is of another type. we can hardly escape the conclusion that the annotator responsible in the first place for the notes here found has received from reliable sources (the english doctor and bachelor of theology mentioned) certain facts as to rolle's life, but that he has gone on to conjecture on the strength of these facts. thus, for example, he has evidently been told that rolle was not a monk or a priest, and that he wrote english. he has then taken it for granted that the hermit was not even in minor orders or literate, and asserts that all his works were originally written in english (which is manifestly a gross error). in the same way he has been told that the piece oleum effusum was added to one of rolle's works by william stopes, and he seems to take it for granted that this (an important section of rolle's canticles) was not published at all, till collected by this disciple. these examples will make it clear that the following notes cannot be taken as a seamless garment either of truth or of falsehood. we possess a good deal of data by which their truth can be tested, and it may be said that on the whole they give us more truth than falsehood. in some cases (when not explicit themselves) they give us clues which, with other evidence, lead us to what is probably the truth. this is notably the case in regard to their unique mention of principal manuscripts 4i william stopes, which elucidates for us the dedication of the emendatio, and possibly also the origin of the compilation so commonly circulating with the 'short text' of the incendium. at the top of the first page of the incendium (f. 112): 'detur hodkōi retro frunburk et alii sexterni isti'. dr. gerstinger would suggest that this is a sign of german ownership with the price following.¹ below this is the heading 'intitulatur amoris incendium', and on the margin (lower down, beside the beginning of the treatise): 'rycharus heremita.' on the first fly-leaf of the book: 'liber rychardi heremite.' f. 112. the first seven lines are so heavily scored through as to be almost illegible. a few words can be tentatively made out, as follows: '[d]ictum est supra spiritum esse h[ere]mitas vel aliquem unum ad (five words lacking) unum secundum virum presens lib[er . .]dit probabit. vide bene ubi simpliciter proponit et loquitur simpliciter et absolute se intelligit et indicat. eciam modum non usibus omnium heremitarum sed sui principaliter profeccionis describit. innuens ut si alicui placet et conuenit (two words lacking) sequatur, et proficiat ad perfectionem vite solet anime videntur veritati (last two words on an erasure, the preceding and following words lacking) sed nota bene in intelligenti. sic incipit.' the text of the incendium then begins, with a space left for a large initial. f. 134. a marginal note: 'notandum doctor quidam de anglia mihi dixit quod alius doctor nomine gwilhelmus stuops istud de nomine ihū addidit. hic fuit valde intimus socius huius rychardi: vnum miliare a se morabantur. qui gwilhelmus creditur hunc totum librum dictasse, et transferre de lingwa anglica in latinam. llaycus enim fuit iste rychardus et hunc librum et alios plures ydiomate proprio, id est, anglico descripsit. ipse gwilhelmus (after doctor erased) 40ª annos doctor sacre theologie (after existens erased) optime prefuit. prius vocatis fratribus, eis predixit quod esset iam ab hoc seculo transiturus, et, petens speciales (or spirituales) oraciones, ipsis (after a word erased) flentibus obdormiuit in domino. subicit se eciam hic rychardo quasi in nomine ihū plus deuoto. ideo sibi totum (after richardo erased) dictamen de hoc principaliter intitulauit, etc.' 1 i wish to thank for assistance with this manuscript dr. hans gerstinger and dr. emil wallner. dr. wallner has gone over the readings of the notes with the manuscript in detail. monsignor pelzer and mr. madan have kindly gone over the photographs. d 42 principal manuscripts f. 135. at the top of the page : 'cum ergo singulare, etc. istud prius premisit. superflue ergo hic iteraret. sed creditur iste rychar[d]us certis (after ħ erased) temporibus, deo se visitante, hec scripsisse. post, forte, alius amicus suus sibi carus (last two words on an erasure) scripta collegit et in hanc formam libelli conscripsit ex pluribus huiusmodi (?) iteratis. patet legenti et creditur is qui hec collegit eciam alia capitula sequencia pro robore dictorum addidisse.' a curious insertion above the penultimate line at the end seems to give: 'videtur hic'. on the margin, scored through: 'exemplum hoc supra et [cetera ?] dicit ex quo videtur quod heremita (one word lacking) non (one word lacking) sed aliquando sed certis temporibus (five words lacking) scripta et post (three words lacking) ipsius ferre ab alio (four words lacking) in (one word lacking) huius libelli redacta. nam (one word lacking, aliter?) non (one word lacking, iter..?) et hec et cetera multa per totum hunc libellum, ut patet legenti. item (one word lacking) is qui colligit creditur et alia capitula sequencia pro robore dictorum addidisse etc.' this is the most tantalizing of the obliterated notes, for it may contain some new matter. we may guess that the annotator is here conjecturing that the author wrote occasional fragments, which were afterwards collected by some one else: 'otherwise he would not have repeated as he did.' this note is similar to, but not identical with, that on the top of the same page. on the question of the repetition of the 'cum ergo singulare . . ., v. supra, p. 40. f. 136. at the bottom of the page and continuing across the bottom of f. 137: 'ffinis optimi libelli pro contemplatiuis, specialiter solitariis heremitis, cuius copia concessa fuit per reuerendum in christo patrem dominum cosmatem cardinalem bononiensem pro johanne cardinali (note on margin adds: et archiepiscopo pragensi) in curia romana. incendium diuini amoris vocatur, qui conscriptus est per quemdam nobilem et sanctum virum anglicum nomine rychardum, in solitudine campi (on an erasure) habitantem, ipso incendio feliciter ardentem (after a word erased. the following line and a half are heavily scored through, though partly legible) et ad dominum consumatum deum. tam cardinalis dictus quam rychardus nunc adhuc deo propicio superstites sunt (end of scored-through passage). dominus vero cosmatus nunc anno domini m.cccc.v. in papam assumptus innocencius vijus (last two words over an erasure) vocatus est. rychardus vero predictus in principiis sub delibancione (for delibacione?) locorum vbi eum gracia admonuisset, siue in heremo, siue in seculo, vel in peregrinacionibus vixit. post, inclusus (words scored out which seem to principal manuscripts 43 carnes. be in campo) prope sanctimoniales de hampol in borealibus (partibus scored through), id est australibus partibus anglie: obiit citra annum domini mm cccm lxxxm. quatutuor (sic) diebus in ebdomada (semel in die vtebatur pane scored through), 2ª, 4ª, 6ª, et sabbato vtebatur pane et aqua tantum, aliis tribus vino et paruis pisciculis vel aliis cibis preter cotidie vero semel tantum et citra horam vespertinam conswetus fuit accipere cibum. scripsit multos alios libellos, valde utiles monachis et heremitis (tam in latino quam scored through) in wulgari anglico. nunc solempni fama habetur ab vniuersis in anglia, vt singularis vite sancte apud deum et homines. in cuius etiam inclusione post mortem eius quedam (?) ¹ margareta, adherens predictis sanctimonialibus et sibi tempore sue vite deseruiens, ab ipso multum perfecte de sancta singulari vita instructa, se inclusit et post x annos obijt. vsque adhuc miraculis choruscat. ita retulit mihi quidam monachus anglicus, baccalarius sacre theologie, etc. item dictus richardus scripsit regulam heremitice vite et modi viuendi quem ipse habuit, instruens paulatim in principiis se exercitari donec ad totum quis aswescat et quod nititur introducat sine sui destructione, etc.' the last note (from 'vocatus ') is not certainly in the same hand as the rest and as the other notes. the 'etc.' here, and at the end of the notes on ff. 134-5, may mean that only a part of the notes copied are here given. they would seem to indicate, in any case, that this is not the first appearance of the material. the statement that rolle died before 1380' might indicate that this was the date when the information was first given-as if one were to say 'i was told of this man in 1380, and he was then already dead'. 'citra', however, might mean 'on this side of', and in that case we should have at this point another gross error. the 'regulam heremitice vite et modi viuendi' is probably the emendatio, which was apparently written for william stopes. if the reading of the last note is correct at the illegible end of the first paragraph, we must have here a corruption of 'nunc' for 'non' (the scribe having been misled by a 'nunc' in the following line). john genzenstein, third archbishop of prague, who is in question here, died in 1396, and since rolle died in 1349, both of the first two persons mentioned would be dead in 1405, when the original of the note was apparently written. f. heneage ms., in the possession of mr. and mrs. walker heneage of sutton bingham manor and coker court, near yeovil, somerset. i owe my knowledge of this manuscript to miss joan wake and mr. jeayes (formerly assistant-keeper of manuscripts in the british 1 we have here merely the usual abbreviation for 'con'. d 2 44 principal manuscripts museum), who discovered it when discovered it when he was cataloguing for mrs. heneage the magnificent collection of the muniments of her own and her husband's families which is preserved in the two 15th-century towers of coker court. the present manuscript has been in possession of the heneage family for many centuries. the name appears on it of michael heneage, 'keeper of her majestie's records in the tower of london' (d. 1600), and it was used (as a family bible might be) from 1528 to the middle of the 18th century for the family records of the heneages (entered in the fly-leaves). it was produced as evidence in a lawsuit in 1820. unlike most copies of rolle's works it is a handsome volume : vellum, small folio, in an early 15th-century hand, with some fine floriated borders. on the original cover (oak, covered with lambskin) appears the number 'e. 10 b.', which might suggest that it once made part of a monastic library. f. i. a fine floriated border in blue and gold. hic incipiunt duodecim capitula secundum ricardum de hampole.' annotated by the original hand. f. 14b: expliciunt xij capitula secundum ricardum de hampole.' no heading follows, but we now have a compilation (not otherwise found) from rolle's writings. the extracts here given are run together to make a continuous treatise, and no references are given ; two works assigned to other authors are inserted. f. 14b. incendium, pp. 234-5, 239, 153-4. f. 16. canticles, f. 27b (the short paragraph on detractors quoted infra, p. 77). f. 16. the speculum peccatoris. " f. 20b: explicit speculum peccatoris a beato augustinus (sic).' f. 20b. a large initial, but no heading. rolle's oleum effusum (v. infra, p. 67). a sentence from f. 21 has been transferred to the beginning, and a cross-reference given in the original hand ('ex alia parte ad tale signum', f. 21). f. 22b: explicit oleum effusum.' f. 23: 'jeronimus in quadam epistola contra clericos' (a collection of extracts). f. 24. quotations from rolle's melum (ff. 210-11) as to the virtues necessary to priests, and the deficiencies of modern priests. i 1 principal manuscripts 45 rolle's incendium, pp. 227–9. f. 24. f. 25. melum, f. 237ª. f. 25b. incendium, pp. 211-14, 219–21, 154–6, 167 (two sentences only), 175, 208 (one sentence only), 225 (one sentence), 224. f. 28b: 'secundum ricardum heremitam de hampole. benedictus deus amen. explicit.' paragraph-signs are sprinkled all through the compilation in gold and blue. the rest of the volume is taken up with the latin translation by thomas fishlawe of walter hilton's scale of perfection (v. infra, p. 352). it will be seen that the compiler of the present volume had as many as four works of rolle at his disposal. his erratic jumps from one text and from one portion to another are, to say the least, peculiar. they suggest the method of the author of a longer compilation which exists in several copies of interesting provenance (v. infra, p. 320). g. some manuscripts which contain large collections of rolle's works are not specially described here because they present no features of special interest. specially important for the latin writings are corpus christi coll. oxf. 193 (twelve works), once belonging to john hanton, monk of york, generally cited by horstmann and sometimes used here; castle howard (nine works-two spurious); hereford, already noted (nine works-one doubtful, and two imperfect); balliol 224 and laud misc. 528 (both containing six works); dublin 153, already cited, and sloane 2275 (both containing five works); corpus christi coll. camb. 365 (containing four works). rawl. a. 389 contains two latin works and three english works, and a first part of dd. v. 64 (a separate volume) contains four latin works preceding the four english works of the second part. it will be seen that bodl. 861, already described (containing a compilation, fourteen latin works, and two doubtful ones) is by far the largest extant collection of rolle's works. however, a manuscript now lost, which belonged in the 16th century to henry savile of banke (co. yorks), was almost equally important; it contained twelve works and almost certainly part of another, as well as the office and miracles of st. richard hermit (v. infra, p.51). an extant cotton ms. probably contains or reproduces the last four items of this volume, and corpus christi oxf. 193 nearly reproduces the rest. a shrewsbury school ms. which contains three latin works is notable because the hand46 principal manuscripts writing seems to be as early in the second half of the 14th century as that of any existing volume, and it contains the complete dedication at the end of the emendatio (v. infra, p. 231). the text is in an extraordinarily clear and clean condition.¹ it is a striking fact that not a single manuscript of rolle's works survives from his lifetime, or from earlier than perhaps twenty years after his death (the earliest dated copy is of 1384, v. infra, p. 236). interest in the writings, however, did not apparently die out at any time, since we have in several cases evidence as to the existence of autographs into the later middle ages. an autograph of his english psalter was at hampole, and an autograph psalter bequeathed to that house at the end of the 15th century was probably in latin. hampole also probably owned the autograph compilation which is quoted in the office. margaret kirkeby, who was originally a nun of hampole and probably returned there to end her days, perhaps possessed an english autograph collection of his works, of which a derivative has already been described. the lack in modern times of copies of rolle's writings earlier than the latter part of the 14th century probably should be interpreted as meaning that the first copies were worn out by the eagerness of readers. it has been noted that the scribe of bodl. 861 in 1411 refers to 'antiqui libri', which he uses for corrections. since our earliest manuscripts were written nearly a generation after rolle died, it is not strange that in general few indications are left of the signatures with which he may have sent out his autographs. the english epistle, the form of living, as already noted, in a large number of copies preserves the concluding address to 'margaret' (once appearing as 'cecil '-certainly by substitution): only one copy preserves a fragment of a request for prayers by 'richard hermit', which perhaps concluded an autograph. the wording of the conclusion to the form is reproduced (in latin) in five manuscripts of the emendatio, and two of these address 'william', who is probably william stopes. one manuscript of the latin epistle judica (written in rolle's extreme youth) has been noted, which gives in the text the address 'o n[ominate]', and it is possible that an editor examining the whole of the manuscripts would discover a personal name in one or more. considering its character, the work in all probability contained one when it left rolle's hands in the first autograph, though he may of course later have copied it without such i wish to thank mr. pickering for my knowledge of this manuscript. principal manuscripts 47 a relic of its origin. it may be noted that one copy of this work has abbreviated the text and added a general cross-reference to 'the tract on mercenary priests' at the point where corruptions among the parochial clergy are particularly insisted on. the scribe may here register his discovery of rolle's sources, or he may take this method to relieve himself from copying anti-clerical material which he feared might be dangerous (since he was writing in the days of the lollards). the bodl. ms. has already given us interesting evidence that richard's works were owned and copied by persons with a scholarly care for texts. other manuscripts also seem to have been worked over by scholars. for example, sloane 2275 contains texts corrected by one mertth, and dd. v. 64 (i) contains part of a glossary to that difficult piece, the melum, drawn up by 'doctors'. the volume most interesting for its indications as to the scholarly care of the owners is emmanuel coll. 35 (said to have been corrected from an autograph), which is also notable for its large collection (seven works). for its annotations by master john newton, almost certainly the treasurer of york cathedral (d. 1414), and by sister joanna sewell, nun of syon monastery (professed 1500), see miss deanesly's edition of the incendium. the presence of manuscripts of rolle's work at vienna and prague is significant of the interest of bohemians in english literature at the time of richard ii. an approbation is granted to rolle's incendium before 1396 by the archbishop of prague.¹ in 1412-13 his latin psalter was often copied in central europe. rolle's manuscripts still at upsala probably show the link with sweden that was made by the foundation of syon monastery, for (with one exception) they were all originally at wadstena, the brigittine mother-house. probably (though in all likelihood written in sweden) they are derived from volumes sent out from the great daughter-house in england: a wadstena ms. (c. 159, containing hilton's scale of perfection in latin), also still at upsala, bears a note explicitly stating that it was sent to the great swedish nunnery as a gift from the english brigittine scholar clement maidstone, brother of syon. on the other hand, dr. brilioth, docent of church history in the university of upsala, has pointed out to me that there was, after the great schism, a very close connexion between sweden and the univer1 the prelate in question elsewhere showed his interest in the solitary life, for his commendacio heremi', written in connexion with the foundation of a hermitage in 1384, still exists (die handschriften-verzeichnisse der cistercienserstifte, vienna, 1891, ii. 269, xenia bernardina, ii). 48 principal manuscripts sity of prague,' and it is possible that the wadstena mss. of rolle came through bohemia (where rolle was known), though not likely: the extant volumes in bohemia bear no relation to those in sweden. a manuscript at douay is a relic of the post-reformation english benedictine college there. one at least of the volumes of rolle's works at paris is a reminder of the french royal captivities in england during the hundred years' war, for it belonged to jean d'angoulême. miss deanesly has conjectured that the many continental copies of rolle's incendium are derived from the propaganda on behalf of that work undertaken by one christopher braystones, at first a benedictine of st. mary's, york, afterwards a carthusian. he was chaplain to bishop thomas spofforth (a northerner), and may have attended his bishop at the council of constance (v. infra, p. 214). it is interesting to note that the representative of wadstena at constance bought many books there for his convent (lindkvist, p. 21). fitz hugh, who founded syon in the very year of the council (and in the same year inherited one of rolle's autographs), was a representative from england. rolle's works, however, had evidently reached the continent before this time, for a manuscript of the incendium amoris in vienna and another in prague state that 'the treatise was approved at the request of the archbishop of prague by cosimo, bishop of bologna, afterwards pope innocent vii (1404-6). the latter was papal collector in england for about ten years before 1386 (v. cath. encycl.), and perhaps he took the incendium from england back with him to italy. both the copies giving his approbation present the same text, which is a peculiar one (v. infra, p. 221). it is possible that other manuscripts of the same type may be lurking in the many uncatalogued italian libraries. the copy at milan (like others on the continent) is the usual 'short text'; the long text', however, also reached the continent (v. mss. at metz, paris, brussels). evidently other agencies also carried this work abroad. 6 among the manuscripts of rolle's works on the continent, it will be seen that a large proportion were owned by carthusian houses (one, in the charterhouse where lived denis, the ecstatic doctor', v. ibid.). no explanation can be suggested at present for the exceptionally large number owned in three convents at trier (eight manuscripts of rolle's works from these libraries are still extant). two manuscripts 1 he showed me evidence of the large number of swedes there (mon. univ. prag., liber decanorum, 1367–1585, i, prague, 1830; ii, album facult. jurid., 1372-1448, prague, 1834). principal manuscripts 49 originally belonged to a charterhouse in hainault, a region which in the days of queen philippa must have been closely connected with england. it is possible, however, that the originals of all the copies of rolle's works on the continent were carried there by travellers to rome, or to the council of constance or of bâle. it may not be an accident that to-day so many of the continental manuscripts of rolle's works are to be found along what is still a great international route through switzerland to italy from england: manuscripts are found at bâle, metz, trier, brussels, and ghent, on or close to the line of the through express trains. it would be natural, considering how widely richard rolle was read in england during the last century and a half before the reformation, that whenever devout englishmen came into contact with like-minded foreigners they should introduce their friends to the favourite english mystic. not only the manuscripts of rolle still in sweden, but also the still extant catalogue of the brothers' library at syon shows how zealously his writings were read in that great religious house of royal and of 'modern' foundation (one of the richest in england). the same is shown by the reference to rolle's english psalter as in use there, by the author of the mirror of our lady, which was compiled to explain the liturgy to the nuns. a copy of the psalter once belonging to the sub-prior of st. alban's, who was one of the compilers of the syon additions to the brigittine rule, still exists. miss deanesly has shown (pp. 78, 96) that master john newton, the owner of the emmanuel manuscript, was directly associated with henry fitz hugh, the founder of syon, and she also notes (p. 97) that lord scrope bequeathed to fitzhugh in 1415-besides the autograph of the judica, already noted-a copy of rolle's incendium, which may also have been an autograph, and the original of newton's text. we have seen that fitz hugh' was lord of the manor of tanfield, where probably resided a hermit owning in 1409 a text of the judica of special authority. syon monastery possessed the autograph of the melum (v. infra, p. 412), and probably rivalled hampole (the place of his death) as a centre of rolle's autographs, though it was not founded till nearly three-quarters of a century after that event. we do not know what treasures may have been contained in the sisters' library. one copy of a work by richard has come to light 1 fitz hugh's son was bishop of london, and he or other children may of course have inherited the volumes of rolle owned by the founder of syon. for bishop fitz hugh's will, see ss. 116, p. 42. 50 principal manuscripts which probably belonged there (v. infra, p. 133), as did two volumes belonging to joanna sewell (v. infra, p. 217). miss deanesly has pointed out (p. 78) that the foundation of syon was due to a little group of north country personages', and perhaps others than fitzhugh, the prime mover, were students of rolle. we may suspect that its founders were the descendants of some of those yorkshire gentry who supported rolle while living. shene, the other great house founded by the king at the same time across the thames (and as a charterhouse dedicated to contemplation even more than the enclosed house of brigittines), also seems to have had northern connexions, for at its foundation the books and church utensils were supplied from the yorkshire charterhouse of mount grace. they are paid for out of the exchequer, and since there was a large charterhouse as near as smithfield, it is surely significant that shene was stocked from the north. the nun joanna of syon, who was a student of rolle, was assisted in her studies by a monk of shene (v. infra, p. 216), and the name of the latter suggests a northern origin. the shene library is likely to have been a fine one, but no catalogue survives. two shene volumes containing rolle's works, however, still exist (v. supra, p. 37, infra, p. 237). 1 j. h. wylie, henry v, cambridge, 1914, i. 216. 2 'greenhalgh' is a township in lancashire. yorkshire and one in northumberland. there similar names. two 'greenhows' exist in are no other places cited of chapter iii office of st. richard hermit the 'office of st. richard hermit' was prepared at a time when his canonization was hoped for, as appears from the following note prefixed to two of the extant manuscripts: 'officium de sancto ricardo [here]mita postquam fuerit ab ecclesia canonizatus quia interim non licet publice in ecclesia cantare de eo horas canonicas uel solempnizare festum de ipso. potest tantum homo euidenciam habens sue eximie sanctitatis et uite eum uenerari. et in oracionibus priuatis eius suffragia petere et se suis precibus commendare' (ed. woolley, p. 12). dom noetinger has pointed out that 'the office as it stands in the three surviving mss. is not intended for a monastic choir, but for the secular clergy'. however, we shall see that it may have been re-written, and the cistercian nuns of hampole, in whose domain rolle is said to have been buried at his death in 1349, were (or their friends) in all likelihood the instigators of his sainthood. in addition to the personal veneration which they doubtless had for his memory, they had a practical stake in the cult that brought pilgrims to their little house. miracles are described at the end of the office which are dated 1381 and 1383, and would probably place the composition of the work at a short time after the latter date. on this point we cannot be sure, however, for the piece has evidently been enlarged, and the dated miracles may have been inserted some time after the original office was written. it was in any case almost certainly composed near the home of the saint in his later years, at a time when some of his friends would be still living in the nunnery. it will be shown later (p. 431) that richard rolle probably died in middle age, and the chances are therefore that many of his friends outlived him. it is even possible that the recluse dame margaret', whose long friendship with the hermit is described in the 1 the month, jan. 1926, p. 1. 52 office office with special particularity, was living at hampole during its composition, and that the details relating to her were supplied by herself (v. infra, p. 517). under these circumstances the office deserves consideration as a more or less authoritative document, in spite of the edifying purpose insisted on by dom noetinger, which certainly at times directs its emphasis (v. supra, p. 19). it will be considered in the present study first, in order that the reader may start with rolle the individual and his most significant doctrine as clearly indicated as possible. as has already been said, a vivid impression on these points will prove the best touchstone for determining his canon. the office gives us most of our information on rolle's life, and its narrative will be paraphrased, with the latin of the original supplied when any argument is to be supported by the detail in question. the few inaccuracies which can be detected will be briefly pointed out in conclusion, but in general the discussion of the details of rolle's life which the office gives will be reserved till rolle's life is discussed as a whole. for printed editions v. supra, p. 16. manuscripts. i. bodl. e musaeo 193 (sum. cat. no. 3610), ff. 3-34, c. 1400. imperfect at the beginning. canon woolley, the latest editor, calls this the best text. the office of st. richard hermit occurs amongst other liturgies. a hand which dr. craster dates 'about the middle or the third quarter of the 15th century' notes 'iuxta pickering' where the office states that rolle was born 'in the village of thornton, diocese of york'. the same note is repeated at the bottom of the page by the same hand. these notes were added well before the end of the middle ages, whilst rolle's cult was flourishing at hampole and much information as to his life must have been in possession of the hampole nuns. there seems no reason to doubt their authority. there are sixteen or more parishes named thornton in the county of york' (more in the medieval diocese), but rolle's connexion with that near pickering (usually known as thornton dale ') is upheld by the fact that perhaps the most prominent citizen of pickering during rolle's early life was one john de dalton, who may therefore be identified with the 'armiger' of that name described 1 a letter kindly inserted by the editor of the yorkshire post about aug. 13, 1910, brought replies from many correspondents, from which the information just given was gleaned. office 53 · in the office as being rolle's first patron. the name richard' rolle', and 'rol', can also be connected with thornton dale by somewhat hypothetical evidence, but the name 'rolle' is very infrequent in medieval yorkshire, and neither this name nor that of john de dalton can be connected with any other thornton in yorkshire by evidence of any kind. there would on the whole appear to be no reasonable doubt that the thornton referred to in the office was, as the present manuscript states, that near pickering. this ii. b. mus. cotton tiber. a. xv, ff. 191-4, 15th cent. copy suffered severely in the fire of the cotton library. as the description in the catalogue makes clear, before the fire it contained also the miracula attached to the office in mss. i and iii. for its relations to a volume in the 16th-century savile library, v. infra, p. 408. some additional matter as to rolle's healing of his disciple, the recluse margaret, which in the lincoln ms. is included in lectio viii, here appears following the office. this section is omitted in the bodl. text. it gives a narrative of the holy friendship between richard and his recluse friend margaret, which would be certain to make evil-thinking in some quarters, and discretion has probably suppressed it in the one case and in another thrust it outside of the office proper. see apoc., mul. fort. iii. lincoln cath. 209, ff. 2-13, late 14th cent. 'legenda de vita sancti ricardi de hampole, scilicet in proprio officio.' all the works in this manuscript except the last were written by john wodeburgh'. see contra am. m., job, 20th ps., mel. iv. upsala univ. c. 621, ff. 103-5, c. 1400. this manuscript was once in the possession of wadstena, the mother-house of the brigittine order, and its discovery almost certainly means that a copy of the office was also once at syon. it is an abridged copy of the first six lessons. rolle's incendium had ended f. 67 with: 'explicit. hucusque richardus heremita. de vita eius (?) quere¹ circa finem libri.' this reference applies to ff. 103-4, and to a small slip of vellum which is inserted between ff. 104-5. there is no heading to the office, and the scribe's remark suggests that he copies the work merely for its biographical information. it is perhaps for this reason that he omits all the liturgical portions. another manuscript of rolle's works at upsala is apparently written in the same hand (v. infra, p. 223). the copy has evidently been made for use in sweden-or (more probably) executed there from a book sent from ¹ supplied from a rotograph; lindkvist reads 'quaestio'. 54 office england. where the other manuscripts give the place of rolle's birth in uilla de thornton eboracensis diocesis', the present one writes: 'nacione anglicus'; where they give as the wife of his first patron' consors cuiusdam probi armigeri iohannis de dalton nomine', this writes: 'consors cuiusdam nobilis', and substitutes 'nobilis' for 'armiger' in referring to dalton throughout; where they give dalton's question to the young hermit 'an esset filius wlmi rolle', this writes: " an esset filius talis n'. such alterations suggest an abridgement for foreign readers, to whom personal details were of small interest. the only additions are a rhymed couplet and some prose prayers for the intercession 'beati ricardi confessoris', which show that the hope of richard's spiritual assistance was not forgotten. in conclusion, reference is made to miracles worked by richard after his death in many parts of england. since the miracles described in the office are all humble and mostly local, such a reference is interesting. see e. v., incend., quot. ('defensorium contra oblatratores eiusdem ricardi quod composuit thomas basseth sancte memorie', v. infra, p. 529). for the savile copy of the office and miracles v. infra, p. 408. bodl. laud misc. 528 (sum. cat. no. 1114), early 15th cent., contains on f. 2, under the list of contents (all rolle), in a contemporary hand: 'oracio. de sancto ricardo heremita. potens pater... ciuibus' (office, p. 80). on f. 2 is a large picture of one cleric praying to another; the latter (bearded and barefoot) holds a staff and book and wears grey over white (as rolle did when he first became a hermit). there is an architectural canopy over both. 'in christo sibi karissimis johanni ston et agneti consorti sue frater iohannes fratrum minorum in anglia minister et seruus salutem' (f. 1). again the office is apparently known to high ecclesiastics. the volume shows the influence of the cult of the holy name (v. ff. 11, 97). see e. v., judica, cant., contra am. m., job, incend. camb. univ. ms. hh. iv. 13 and magd. coll. oxf. ms. 71, both 15th cent., state that rolle's emendatio vitae was 'editus a sancto viro magistro ricardo hampoll qui in ecclesia de hampoll eboracensis diocesis sepultus gloriosis coruscat miraculis, ipsum fuisse virum seraphicum, id est in dei amore ardentem, contestantibus'. the douay ms. (from shene) gives similar information (v. supra, p. 38). in the mention of rolle's name found with the manuscripts of his works, the epithets sanctus', 'venerabilis', 'beatus', 'saint', 'holy' are not infrequently added. the only pictorial representations given of rolle occur as illustrations to a northern poem office 55 known as the 'desert of religion' (v. infra, p. 309), the three manuscripts of this work (though they differ in some details) all picture 'richard hermit' as surmounted by angels in the sky holding over him a scroll on which is written 'sanctus, sanctus, sanctus, dominus omnipotens', etc. all three were written in the first half of the 15th century, and would seem to indicate that an effort for rolle's canonization was still being made at that time. the cistercian influence on the office probably appears in the fact that in more than one miracle we are told that the mother of god comes leading richard hermit, yet she appears, as we shall see, very rarely in his own devotions. the office as we have it shows in the section relating to margaret kirkeby signs of disarrangement both in its position and its length. the responses also hint that some dislocation has taken place. what has probably happened is that the accumulation of new miracles and the growth of devotion to the cult have pushed into a separate miracula (to be used within the octave) the description of miracles which once found their place in the last two lessons of the office. new material has then taken their place, but it is impossible to say what is most likely to be this material added later. as the nine readings of the office at present stand, they give rather the effect of having been compressed than expanded. three sections could really be made of the section relating to margaret, which is of variable position. it is possible that the office was originally written in twelve lessons (hence for monastic use, as at hampole). evidently the liturgical history of the cult of richard hermit had not been without incident. lectio prima. the saint of god, the hermit richard, took his origin (accepit sue propagacionis originem) in the village of thornton near pickering in the diocese of york ('iuxta pickering' appears only in the bodleian ms., v. supra, p. 52). in due time he was set to learn his letters by the efforts (or the intention) of his parents (de parentum industria). when he was older, master thomas de neville, at one time (olim) archdeacon of durham, honourably maintained him (ipsum honeste exibuit) in the university of oxford, where he was very proficient in study. he desired rather to be imbued more fully and deeply with the theological doctrines of holy scripture than with the study of physical and secular science. in his nineteenth year (demum decimo nono uite sue anno), considering 56 office the uncertain term of human life, and the fearful end especially before the fleshly and the worldly, he took thought, by the inspiration of god, providently concerning himself (remembering his end), lest he should be taken in the snares of sin. therefore, when he had returned from oxford to his father's house, he one day asked his sister (whom he dearly loved) for two of her tunics (a grey and a white) and for his father's rain-hood. at his request (but ignorant of his purposes) she next day brought them to a neighbouring wood (nemus uicinum). he took them and cut off the sleeves from the grey one and the buttons from the white, and, as he could, fitted the sleeves to the white tunic, that it might serve his purpose. he took off his own clothing, and put his sister's white tunic next his flesh. the grey tunic (with the sleeves cut off) he put over it, and through the openings where the cutting had taken place exposed his arms. he hooded himself in the aforesaid rain-hood, and thus, as far as was then possible to him, he contrived a confused likeness to a hermit. when his sister had understood these things, she cried in astonishment, 'my brother is mad!' when he heard her, he drove her away from him menacingly, and he himself fled at once without delay, lest he should be taken by his friends and acquaintances. " the response then begins: the saint has fled to solitude . . .' lectio secunda. after he had taken the hermit's garb, and left his parents, he came to a certain church, on the vigil of the assumption of the blessed virgin mother of god. here he set himself to pray in a place where the wife of a certain worthy esquire (armiger) named john de dalton was accustomed to pray. after she entered the church to hear vespers, the retainers (familiares) from the house of the esquire wished to remove him from their lady's place, but she, from humility, did not permit his prayers to be interrupted. when vespers were over and he had arisen from prayer, the sons of the aforesaid esquire, who were scholars and had studied in the university of oxford, recognized him, and said that he was the son of william rolle, whom they had known in oxford. on the day of the aforesaid feast of the assumption, he entered again the same church, and, without the bidding of any one, he put on a surplice, and sang matins and the office of mass with the others. when, however, the gospel had been read in the mass, he first sought the benediction of the priest and then entered the preacher's pulpit, office 57 and gave a sermon to the people of marvellous edification. the multitude of those who heard it were so moved that they could not restrain themselves from tears, and all said that they had never before heard a sermon of such virtue and efficacy. nor was this wonderful, since he was the special organ of the holy ghost. the response which follows alludes to his 'calor', 'melos canorus', and 'dulcor'. these were the attributes of his ecstasy, as he tells us throughout his writings (v. supra, p. 27). lectio tercia. after mass, the aforesaid esquire invited him to dinner. when he entered the manor (manerium), out of humility he placed himself in a certain house¹ that was broken down and old (in quadam domo abiecta et antiqua), not wishing to enter the hall. when he had been diligently searched for and found, the esquire seated him at the table above his own sons. he ate in silence, and rose to leave when he had eaten. the esquire called him back, saying that this was not customary, and by insisting forced him to seat himself again. when dinner was finished, again he wished to go, but the esquire, wishing to have private speech with him, kept him till those were gone who were in the house.¹ he asked him whether he was the son of william rolle, and he reluctantly and with hesitation replied: perhaps i am', for he feared lest obstacles should be put in the way of the purpose which he had formed in his own mind. the esquire, it seems, loved his father with warm affection as his retainer, or 'familiar' (patrem suum ueluti familiarem grata affeccione dilexit). richard, however, newly made hermit without his father's knowledge and against his will, had assumed this state because he loved god more than his father in the flesh. the response describes richard's purgation, the verse his ecstasy to which his sorrow was turned. lectio iiija. after the esquire had examined him in secret, and by perfect evidences learned the sanctity of his purpose, with richard's assent he clothed him with garments suitable to a hermit, and kept him a long time in his house, giving him a place of solitary sojourn (ipsum in domo sua diu retinuit, dans sibi locum mansionis solitarie) and providing him with all the necessities for food and life. then he began with all diligence, day and night, to study perfection of life, and how he could advance in the contemplative life, and burn in 1 or 'room' (v. infra, p. 459). e 58 office divine love. what excellent perfection in this art of loving god ardently he finally obtained, he himself—though not to vainglory— has narrated in the first book of his incendium amoris. the response and verse touch on richard's ecstasy. leccio quinta. the opening of the incendium describing the first coming-on of rolle's 'fire of love' is here quoted, and the austerities which have led to this culmination are briefly described. the response and verse also touch on his ecstasy. leccio sexta. richard's holy exhortations and writings, by which many have been turned to god, are briefly mentioned, and a remarkable incident is recounted. we are told that the hermit was once sitting alone in his cell after dinner when there came to him the lady of the house (domina domus) and many persons with her, and found him writing rapidly. they begged him to desist, in order to give them some words of edification, and for two consecutive hours he proceeded to give them excellent exhortations, while at the same time never ceasing his writing-and all the while what he was writing was not the same as what he was speaking. at another time the holy man was so absorbed in prayer that it was possible to take off his ragged cloak and mend and return it without his noticing the transaction. the response and verse relate to his desire for death. lectio viia. however much this blessed hermit richard laboured for perfection of life, so much the more the enemy of human kind, the devil, tried to impede him. hence it is told in a little book found after his death, compiled from his writings in his own hand (ex scriptura manus proprie huius sancti reperta post mortem in uno libello de suis operibus compilato), that an attempt was made to overthrow him by concupiscence, through the apparition of a certain woman. the narrative found in the canticles then follows, describing how in the beginning of my conversion' a beautiful young woman 'whom i had known before and who loved me in good love not a little' seemed to appear to him in his solitude at night (v. infra, p. 75). here the response and verse relate to the incident of preaching and writing at the same time, as described in the preceding lesson. office 59 lec. viija. the holy hermit richard, out of the abundance of his charity, was accustomed to show himself very familiar (multum familiarem) to recluses, and to those who needed spiritual consolation and who suffered from the vexations of evil spirits (whom god gave him a singular grace to overcome). and it happened once that a certain lady (quedam domina) was nearing death, in whose manor (manario) richard had his cell, separated by a long distance from the family (longe a familia separatam). here he was accustomed to live and give himself up to contemplation. there came to the chamber where the lady was dying a great multitude of horrible demons, which threw her into great terror. those who were in the room sprinkled holy water and said prayers, but the vexation was redoubled. then, by the wise and provident counsel of friends, holy richard was called to the chamber, whose prayers and earnest exhortations to throw all on the mercy of god drove away the demons, but as they fled they left traces of their passing, for in the chaff strewn on the floor some of the straw was burnt to black cinders, in which appeared as it were the imprint of bovine hoofs. when the demons had lost their prey, they avenged themselves by following richard to his cell, where for a time they made contemplation impossible. but he persisted in his prayers, drove them away, and to the consolation of the friends of the lady in question was able to announce that she was saved, and would be a coheir of heaven after her departure from this life (for this incident v. infra, p. 465). the narrative just given is as long as any other lesson, but there follows here in the lincoln ms. a further narrative even longer, which may be abridged as follows: after these things (post hec) the holy richard removed himself to other parts, without doubt by the divine providence, for frequent changes of place do not necessarily proceed from levity (this apology is pursued at some length). when thus this saint, from necessary and very useful causes, had transferred his abode to the county of richmond, it chanced that the lady margaret, at one time (olim) recluse at 'anderby' in the diocese of york, in the very day of holy thursday was seized with a severe infirmity, so that for thirteen successive days she was completely deprived of the power of speech, and grievously tormented in body. a certain householder (paterfamilias) of the same town knew that the holy hermit richard loved her with the perfect affection of charity, so that he was accustomed to instruct her in the art of the love of god, and direct her as to her e 2 60 office manner of life (in modo uiuendi sua sancta institucione dirigere). this man quickly went on horseback to the hermit, who was then living twelve miles from the recluse, and begged him to come in haste. he came and found her mute, but when he had seated himself at her window and they had eaten together, it chanced that at the end of the dinner the recluse wished to sleep, and oppressed by slumber her head drooped towards the window where god's saint, richard, was reclining, and as she was leaning a little on that same richard, suddenly, with a vehement onslaught, such a grave vexation took her in her sleep that she seemed to wish to break the window of her house, and in that strong vexation she awoke, her speech was restored, and with great devotion she broke out into the words 'gloria tibi domine', and the blessed richard completed the verse which she had begun. again she slept another time in the same position and circumstances, and suffered the same vexation, and this time holy richard held her while she struggled, and when the paroxysm was over and she had wakened, he promised her that she would never again be so afflicted in his lifetime. some years later (transactis tamen postea quibusdam annorum curriculis) she suffered the same distress, except that she could speak. she summoned the same householder and sent him on horseback to the house of the nuns of hampole (which was far from her habitation), where holy richard in those days was leading the solitary life. she did not doubt that he was dead, and it was found that he had left this life the hour before this seizure came to her. afterwards she removed to hampole, where the body of the hermit was buried, and never again did she suffer that grievous torment. the response and verse describe the first miracle, when the stone brought for the tomb of richard fell on the builder without harming him. leccio nona. it is not unknown to men, and especially to those who seek by devout and attentive studies to learn perfection of life, how and by what means this blessed zealous hermit of god, richard, reached the state of perfect love and charity so far as is possible to mortals. he himself in the thirteenth chapter of his incendium amoris says thus (the famous description of richard's attainment of 'calor, canor, et dulcor', the triple ecstasy, as described in chapter 15 of his incendium and already quoted from bodl. 861, then follows: v. supra, p. 27). office 61 the response and verse relate to the miracles. it is evident that when the office states that margaret removed to hampole after rolle's death the facts are being stretched a little in order to show the miraculous benefits derived from her proximity to the tomb. since she did not reach ainderby till 1357, she could not have reached hampole till some years after that, and since, as we now know, she was originally a nun of hampole, her return may have been due merely to old age, which would render life in an isolated anchorage difficult. the facts must also have been stretched a little when the author says that rolle's death occurred several years after his first triumph over her seizure, during which she had enjoyed entire peace. we now know that margaret did not become a recluse till december 1348, and the holy thursday in which her thirteen days' seizure began must have been april 9, 1349, less than half a year before rolle's death. the zeal displayed in the office to describe richard as a miracle-worker appears in the fact that every incident of his life described in his writings which could possibly appear miraculous is mentioned, and every quotation from his works turns on a more or less miraculous event. it will be noted that the hermit's surname is given by the office. it is given also elsewhere (v. infra, p. 432), but on the whole, he is generally called 'richard hampole', 'richard hermit', or 'richard the hermit'. since there were (naturally) other medieval hermits named richard, the latter titles offer some uncertainty (v. clay, op. cit., pp. 204 sq., passim, and infra, p. 383). a' ricardus dictus heremita' who is not noted by miss clay appears in the account of the miracles of simon de montfort.¹ 1 see rishanger, camden soc. 1840, p. 94. this person would naturally (from dates given to other miracles) be put in the late 13th century. the writer of the work was a monk of evesham (v. p. 151). the miracle concerns a 'deacon of werintone' (warrington ?), which, if to be assigned to eastern lancashire, might not be out of the line of rolle's activities (v. infra, p. 501). chapter iv canticles rolle's comment on the canticles is a diffuse and rambling exposition of the first five half-verses of the song of songs. it is quoted in the office, and in general the external and internal evidence for his authorship are both as strong as possible. indirect testimony on this question, however, need not be considered, because the author in the comment on the second text speaks in his own name, 'ego ricardus vtique solitarius heremita vocatus' (f. 147). this signature, when coupled with the distinctive details of mysticism found in the work, puts the authenticity of the canticles beyond the possibility of doubt by the most cautious critic, and it will be given first place in the descriptive catalogue of rolle's writings in order that it may be used as a standard of comparison in determining the canon. fortunately it is one of the most characteristic of his works, and a complete account of his doctrine could be given by quotations from this single composition. it gives some hints as to incidents in his life, and it may be said that the office and the canticles together give us a court of appeal on any significant question that might arise in studying his life and writings. the quotations from the canticles are made from corpus christi coll. oxf. ms. 193, with readings supplied from bodl. 861 when the corpus text (cited in foot-notes as c) is obviously corrupt. the divisions of the exposition are not the same in all copies, but in the corpus ms. here used (though not in the bodl. ms. used for correction) the beginnings and endings of the various sections, with the texts on which they comment, are as follows: (1) 'osculetur me osculo oris sui' (cant. i. 1): beg. 'suspirantis anime deliciis eternorum'; ends: 'et merito illud a te quero quia sequitur' (corpus christi oxf. ms. 193, ff. 142v-6). 6 (2) quia meliora sunt ubera tua vino '(ibid.): beg. 'fidelis et delicate depasta supernis deliciis anima'; ends: 'alta sapere quam timere' (ff 146-7). canticles 63 (3) fragrancia unguentis optimis' (cant. i. 2): beg. 'cum laudasset sponsa'; ends: 'finire cupit ad christum suspirando, clamans, osculetur, etc. explicit tractatus super primum versiculum canticorum et incipit tractatus super secundum versiculum' (ff. 147-9). (4) ‘oleum effusum nomen tuum' (ibid.): beg. 'expulsus de paradiso pro transgressione diuini precepti in pomo vetito primus parens cum tota posteritate'; ends: ergo benedictum sit nomen ihesu in secula seculorum' (ff. 149-51). in the printed editions and the form of this section found in the compilation attached to the 'short text' of the incendium, the opening (partly addressed to the mother of jesus) is omitted, and the exposition begins at once with the holy name: 'nomen ihesu venit in mundum et statim adoratur' (f. 149"). (5) 'ideo adolescentule dilexerunt te nimis' (ibid.): beg. 'et quia tale est nomen tuum'; ends: 'igitur, o bone, propicius esto nobis miseris, quia adolescentule ', etc. (ff. 151-2). (6) 'trahe me post te' (cant. i. 3): beg. 'radix cordis nostri sit caritas'; ends : 'feliciter clamabit cum sponsa, trahe', etc. (ff. 152-3). (7) curremus in odore unguentorum tuorum' (ibid.): beg. 'ecce, fratres, mira amatoris christi instancia'; ends: 'amodo igitur dum canimus amoris canticum, curremus, etc. explicit super 2m versum canticorum secundum ricardum heremitam' (ff. 153–6). it will be observed that the commentary is divided phrase by phrase this is the form of division followed in some manuscripts. miss deanesly (incendium amoris, p. 60) describes the work as 'divided into five sections' (one for each half-verse), and her divisions are therefore not identical with the above. printed editions. the only portions of the canticles in print are the fourth section (incomplete at the beginning) and the fifth. these occur joined by the account of the conversion from the incendium, chapter 15 (as in mss. vi and viii), in the following editions: 1533, 1535, 1536, 1622, 1677. an english translation of the encomium nominis jesu (to use the convenient title for the fourth section found in early editions) is printed by horstmann (i. 186 sq.). a variant translation appears anonymously as chapter ix of the anonymous fourteenth-century compilation known as the poor caitiff (v. infra, p. 406): most of this work was printed in a modernized form (writings of john wickliff, religious tract society, 1831). 64 canticles manuscripts. miss deanesly has pointed out (pp. 60 sq.) the large number of manuscripts in which parts of the comment on the canticles accompany what she calls the 'short text' of the incendium amoris, as part of a compilation remarkably constant in its elements. this compilation in its complete form contains the last four sections of the canticles (lacking the opening of the first of these), a fragment from st. anselm on the will ('omnis actio...'), and chapters 12, 15, and a paragraph from chapter 8 ('ex magno amoris incendio . . .') from the 'long text' of the incendium. the origin of this compilation will be discussed later (pp. 210 sq.). in the discussion of the incendium the copies of the compilation are described once for all. it may be noted here, therefore, that copies (not cited here) of the four last portions of the present work will be found in nine mss. of the incendium, viz. : iv, xi, xiv, xxiv, xxxi-ii, xxxiv, xxxvii, xxxix. the peculiar fact should be noted, as pointed out by miss deanesly, that 'the numerous mss. which give these passages (of the incendium) in connexion with all or part of the comment on the canticles sometimes include these incendium passages as part of the canticles, sometimes the canticles as part of the incendium' (pp. 61-2). large sections of the canticles are also inserted, with other extracts from rolle, in the last chapter of the incendium in a peculiar type of text found only in three continental copies (v. incend., mss. xxix, xxxiii, xxxviii). oxford mss. i. bodl. 861. ascribed to rolle. v. supra, p. 26. ii. laud misc. 528 (sum. cat. no. 1114), ff. 24-33, early 15th cent. hic incipit oleum effusum tu... ricardi.' the last four sections only, attached without comment to the contra amatores mundi (which here lacks the first two chapters). see office, e. v., judica, contra am. m., job, incend. iii. balliol coll. 224, ff. 1-18, 15th cent. the first leaf is bound as f. 3. given by bishop gray of ely (1454-78), earlier archdeacon of richmond. perhaps the volume has lost some quires, for rolle's latin psalter is lacking, recorded by tanner (note b). see contra am. m., e. v., incend., spur., job, judica. iv. corpus christi coll. 193, ff. 142-56, late 14th cent. for the titles, headings, and ascription to richard, v. supra. 'liber fratris johannis hanton, monachi ebor.' arms at the bottom of f. i which a 17th-century hand identifies as those of robert lacy, canticles 65 'founder' of pontefract priory. original binding. old library mark : 'in viij. g'. see lat. ps., job, thren., 20th ps., o. d., s. a., e. v., contra am. m., incend., mel., judica. v. st. john's coll. 127, ff. 57-78, 15th cent. 'incipit tractatus super cantica canticorum.' the fourth and fifth sections (which usually follow the short text of the incendium, earlier given in this copy), are lacking, and at the point of omission is the obscure note: 'hic capiantur capitula videlicet oleum effusum ideo adolescentule. trahe me post te & curremus in odore unguentorum tuorum. ista forma capiantur capitula suprascripta.' the same two sections are lacking in the following compilation (as is usual in manuscripts giving the canticles). see contra am. m., incend. other mss. the fourth vi. jesus coll. camb. 46, ff. 95b-107, 15th cent. and fifth sections, separated by chapter 15 of the incendium (as in early editions and ms. viii infra). the whole is concluded: 'explicit quoddam notabile de spirituali edificacione compositum de ricardo heremita de hampole qui obiit anno domini mºcccxlix.' see e. v., incend. vii. b. mus. cotton vesp. e. i, ff. 78–99b, first half 15th cent. headings as above quoted, with the name 'richard hermit'. last two sections lacking. at the end of the fourth (oleum effusum) the scribe has copied what were throughout this century in england the two most popular devotions to the holy name, viz. the hymn jesu dulcis memoria and the prayer to the name beginning 'o bone jesu'. rolle shows the influence of the former, and the latter is sometimes ascribed to his authorship (v. infra, pp. 314 sq.). the present volume in the 16th century belonged to henry savile of banke, co. yorks (v. infra, p. 409). viii. b. mus. harl. 5235, ff. 11b-13b, 14b-16b, late 14th cent. only the sections also found in ms. vi. 'explicit tractatus eiusdem (ricardi heremite de hampole) super oleum effusum nomen tuum' (f. 13b). at f. 16b occurs the general attribution to richard quoted from ms. vi. a burscough ms. (see j. a. herbert, cat. of romances, iii. 41). see e. v., incend. ix. lambeth palace 536, ff. 1-4, 15th cent. breaking off in the first part of oleum effusum. an abridgement x. castle howard ms.,¹ 15th cent. after the heading: 'oleum this volume was shown me by the kind arrangement of the late dowager countess of carlisle. 66 canticles effusum nomen tuum. ricardus hampole. sermo', the complete compilation follows, with one peculiar insertion from the incendium, and the addition of the beginning of the fourth section of the canticles (usually omitted), as well as of the last two sections of that work. in the course of the whole, the various texts commented on had been used as headings, but in conclusion the scribe returns to his first text and writes: explicit oleum effusum nomen tuum.' on the top of the next page appears: ricardus hampole super cantica', and the second section follows, so that actually the present manuscript gives the whole work except the first and third parts. see e. v., spur. (2), incend., contra am. m., job, judica, mul. fort. xi. trin. coll. dublin, 153, 15th cent. the headings, divisions, and ascription to 'richard hermit' usual in the full texts. thren., cant. am., judica (text of the 'hermit of tanfield'), and mul. fort. see xii. hereford cath. o. viii. 1, late 14th cent. the last three sections (incomplete at the beginning) follow without break on a peculiar text of the incendium (v. infra, p. 217). the second item in the index is 'glosa super cantica canticorum secundum . . .', but actually the second piece is the exposition of the old testament canticles attached to the psalter. a note on the cover (late 15th cent.) assigns the whole volume to rolle's authorship (v. supra, p. 26). see lat. ps., e. v., contra am. m., incend., mel., dubia, magn., apoc. xiii. rylands lib., manchester, 18932, ff. 1-31, 15th cent. a full text, except that a few leaves are lost at the beginning. the usual titles and headings appear, but not the name of the author (as we now have the book). see incend., contra am. m., quot. xiv. sotheby's, mar. 1-2, 1921, lot 275, now in the possession of sir leicester harmsworth,' ff. 44-78, 15th cent. 'liber beate marie ouery in sowthwerke.' text as in ms. ii. 'explicit oleum effusum' (f. 102b). see e. v., contra am. m. oleum effusum. the popularity of the fourth section of the commentary the canticles has already been illustrated by the preceding list, where it has appeared in all the manuscripts except two (v, xii), and appropriated the title in two (ii, xiv) where the canticles are combined 1 i wish to thank sir leicester for bringing to my notice six manuscripts owned by him. canticles 67 with another work. the encomium nominis jesu also circulated alone, both in latin and english, and these separate copies will now be noted. we have no reason to suppose that the english text is due to rolle. it is abridged and awkward. latin mss. i. bodl. 16 (sum. cat. no. 1859), ff. 152-7, c. 1400. see e. v., incend. ii. caius coll. camb. 223, ff. 450 sq., late 15th cent. e. v. see job, iii. b. mus. harl. 330, ff. 126b-9b, 15th cent. 'hic est liber monasterii beate marie radingie ex dono willelmi wargrave dicti monasterii monachi. anno domini millesimo cccclxxxxvº. pretium libri vis et viiid' (f. 52). explicit tractatus ricardi hampole de nomine ihesu, videlicet oleum effusum nomen tuum’(f. 129¹). iv. heneage ms. (v. supra, p. 44). v. lincoln cath. 218, mid 15th cent. 'incipit tractatus de hoc nomine ihesu compilatus a ricardo heremita.' after the narrative, which ends this section, the scribe (as in mss. prague and vienna, infra) has copied part of st. bernard's famous sermo in cantica xv (also commenting on 'oleum effusum '), which begins: non tantum lux est nomen ihesu, sed et cibus.' nevertheless, the scribe concludes the whole: 'explicit tractatus de nomine ihesu compilatus a ricardo heremita.' he gives peculiar titles to two of rolle's works. e. v., incend., job. see vi. sotheby's, nov. 14, 1919, lot 187, 14th cent., now in the possession of sir leicester harmsworth. 'tractatus ricardi heremite de hoc nomine jhesus.' the verney arms appear on the book-plate. see contra am. m., e. v. vii. brussels (bib. roy.) 1485, 14th cent. the oleum effusum follows the short text of the incendium, after quotations from various sources otherwise found only in a lincoln and (enlarged) in the prague and vienna copies. see incend. viii. douay 396. ascribed to rolle (v. supra, p. 39). ix. prague univ. 814, ff. 16v sq., 14th-15th cent. the oleum effusum is included in a peculiar compilation attached to the short text of the incendium. the prague and vienna mss. entitle the whole collection 'incendium amoris'. see incend. x. vienna 4483. v. supra, p. 39. the unique notes found in this copy tell us that the oleum effusum was added to the incendium by richard's disciple, william stopes. see incend. 68 canticles english mss. i. b. mus. harl. 1022, f. 62, late 14th cent. printed horstmann, i. 186-91, beside the version in the thornton ms., which is practically identical. passages in the latin which attack the worldly are omitted, so that the text is more evenly mystical than its original. ii. b. mus. stowe 38, f. 161, 15th cent. a fragment of the beginning of the same version, copied at the end of the manuscript, after two blank leaves. the same manuscript contains only the poor caitiff (v. infra, p. 406), which inserts the english oleum effusum in a variant translation omitting the opening. the fragment may therefore be the beginning of an attempt to supplement the text of the oleum found in the compilation. this text probably iii. trin. coll. dublin 155, early 15th cent. varies too much from that printed to be derived from the same original. see ego d., form, dubia, stim. consc. iv. lincoln cath. 91 (thornton), ff. 192 sq., 1430-40 (written by robert thornton not far from the scenes of rolle's life, v. supra, p. 36). of the vertuz of the haly name of ihesu: ricardus herimita super versiculo, oleum effusum nomen tuum.' the narrative is separate as 'narracio: a tale that rycherde hermet made'. printed, horstmann. see quot., miscell., dubia. for the translation found without rolle's name in the poor caitiff, v. infra, p. 406. references and quotations. for exact references here and in similar cases, v. infra, pp. 398 sq., where chapters xiv-xv will treat at length the medieval references and quotations and the early bibliographies. the canticles is quoted under rolle's name several times, with exact references to the part of the comment used, in ashmole 751, late 14th cent. (at length); in ff. i. 14, 15th cent. ; and the related compilation in hatton 97. it is quoted under rolle's name, without specific reference, in a compilation existing in rawl. c. 19 and three other copies-all 15th cent.; in kk. vi. 20, trin. coll. dublin 159 and 432, and the thornton and heneage mss., 15th cent. ; and in the speculum spiritualium, existing in numerous manuscripts and in two early printed editions. as already noted, the narrative found in the oleum effusum is quoted in the office as from an autograph compilation found after rolle's death. considerable portions of the canticles are used in a compilation from rolle's works which also circulated alone (infra, p. 320). 'super aliquos versus canticorum ’ canticles 69 appears in the index of the brothers' library at syon monastery under rolle's name, and was seen by leland at st. mary's, york. two copies are cited in bale's index, as well as a 'de nomine iesu. li. i. oleum effusum nomen tuum ideo.' the comment on the canticles supplies illustrations of rolle's characteristic style, doctrines, and autobiographical reminiscences, and it will constantly be brought into comparison with his other works as a touchstone of their authenticity. the passage in which he speaks in the first person will be quoted first, with its context, because it gives in a measure an epitome of his message, and makes clear at the outset his intense prejudice in favour of his own manner of life.¹ 2 'denique in quocunque gradu sit, siue monachus siue secularis, ipse. pre aliis christum diligit qui pre aliis in diuino amore dulcedinem presentit.... ego ricardus vtique solitarius heremita vocatus, hoc quod noui assero, quoniam ille ardencius deum diligit qui igne sancti spiritus succensus a strepitu mundi et ab omni corporali sono quantum potest discedit. . . . hinc igitur colligitur quod contemplacio est iubilus diuini amoris, suscepto in mente sono celice melodie vel cantico laudis eterne.' cum ergo constet vitam contemplatiuam digniorem esse et magis meritoriam quam actiua vita et omnes viros contemplatiuos solitudinem amantes et precipue in amore diuino feruentes, liquet profecto quod non monachi vel alii quicunque ad congregacionem collecti summi sunt aut maxime deum diligunt, set solitarii contemplacioni sublimati qui pro magno eterni amoris gaudio, quod senciunt, in solitudine sedere incessanter concupiscunt.... quicquid igitur exterius egerimus, non propter hoc sancti sumus, aut deum probamur diligere, set proculdubio tunc anima nostra deum diligit, quando christus ab eius memoria penitus non redit, quando alia cogitanda non distrahitur nec in alio delectatur. ... hec vtique scribo non derogans cuiquam set scrutans veritatem, humilitatem non relinquens. . . . si quis forsitan verbis meis contradicere non timuerit, primum rogo vt seipsum diligenter consideret et qualis sit solicite discuciat, si igne spiritus sancti cor suum senciat inardescere et mentem suam diuini amoris delicias canendo videat iubilare. si quis vero in se inuenire poterit, michi nequaquam aliquando contrarius erit. alius autem qui se habere putat quod non habet, quamuis etiam scolas disputancium vsque ad nomen magistri frequentauerit, non me set ipsum reprobabit dum in hoc quod se sapientem ostendere nititur, quod penitus ignorat. non i quote from the corpus christi oxf. ms., transcribed for me by mrs. a. f. new. 3 stirpitu c. ' ignem c. for the same definition as given in the emendatio, v. infra, p. 341. 5 feruente c. 70 canticles enim quis sanctus est quia multas litteras didicit, set quia voluntatem suam voluntati diuine in omnibus conformauit' (corpus christi coll. oxf. ms. 193, ff. 147-147).¹ thus, the contemplative man excels all others, and receives a foretaste of the joys of heaven. he seeks solitude, and not a congregation. sanctity is not measured by external acts, but by spiritual joys, and by conformity to the divine will. rolle's mystical experience is the central fact of his life and of his writings, and he is extremely tenacious of the phraseology and categories which he has developed to describe it. since these are primarily empirical, framed to fit his experience, they serve as indications of his authorship almost as clear as autobiographical reminiscences. fortunately, the essentials of his mysticism are all given in the canticles, though some aspects receive more special treatment in other treatises. in the canticles rolle at times describes his mystical experience in terms as self-confident and ecstatic as he anywhere uses; his life is supernatural, and wholly given to divine love, like that of the highest order of angels: 'hec vtique vita est angelica pocius quam humana, sic in carne viuere et nullam delectacionem nisi diuinam in animo sentire' (f. 143). 'perfectissimi, denique, de quibus supra diximus quod angelis summis propter eminenciam et nimiam caritatis fragranciam assimilarentur, mirabiliter in gaudio eterni amoris rapiuntur' (f. 154). hic nimirum verus christi amator cum seraphyn ardet et estuat, canit et iubilat, amat et laudat' (ibid.). 'set vt plurimi sanctorum, qui de amore dei gloriosa conscripserunt, asserunt, non potest quis in carne habitans corruptibili nisi raro in illa dulcedine affici, et non nisi raptim et momentanee tam 1 horstmann says (ii, p. xxx) that richard 'speaks with authority in his own person... (ego ricardus solitarius heremita dictus hoc melius cognovi quia expertus sum; or: hoc quod novi, assero)'. the passage above quoted is the only one that has been found giving the author's name. in the canticles (f. 152) we find the words which horstmann italicizes (v. infra, p. 71), but without the 'ricardus'. ⁹ st. gregory is perhaps one whom rolle has specially in mind here. dom butler says that 'the transiency and momentariness of the act of contemplation is insisted on habitually by st. gregory' (cuthbert butler, o.s.b., western mysticism, london, 1922, p. 115). he specially mentions st. gregory's use of ""raptim", which word constantly occurs in the descriptions of contemplation'. st. gregory's discussions of contemplation mostly occur in his morals, selections from which are ascribed to rolle in one instance (v. infra, p. 313). dom butler also (p. 157) quotes a passage from the de gratia et libero arbitrio of st. bernard, in which it is said that contemplation is only enjoyed 'raro, raptimque'. extracts from this work were included in the selection from st. gregory's morals ascribed to rolle (ibid.). canticles 71 suauiter debriari.... qui igitur eius amorem semper quereret, semper gaudium inueniret. hoc verum scio, quod qui eius memoriam iugiter retinet, et in amore eius iugiter gaudet. ego igitur, solitarius heremita dictus, inter amatores christi minimus, de amore loquar vobis interim prout dederit michi deus, set forte timeo, quia quamquam loqui nescio, tamen tacere non queo. quamobrem amore coactus non alienum set quo ipse noui loquor, quoniam non ab homine nec a carne et sanguine neque vero a meipso habui, set a christo et per christum sapienciam apprehendi' (f. 154). forsitan non credis verum esse quod dico, ideo experire modicum et inuenies me veracem, quia nemo illud nouit nisi qui accipit' (f. 149). hoc autem eternus amor in nonnullis, quamuis in perpaucis, agere dedignatur' (f. 146). hinc ergo, deuota mens, suauitatem quesiti osculi presenciens, se totam ad diligendum deum offerre non desinit, et omnibus mundi vanitatibus postpositis et oblitis, ad perfectam vite sanctitatem, christo ductore, venit. . . . nonnullis autem mirum videtur quod audeat aliquis, etiam excellens quamuis sit inter homines, se sanctum dicere' (f. 145). 'hoc vtique melius cognoui, quia illud expertus sum. nam ea que michi aliquando videbantur impossibilia modo non solum ea facillime possum, christo annuente, assequi, verum etiam in hiis agendis delectari ' (f. 152). 'tunc quippe manifestum erit omnibus quomodo nunc deus mirabilis est in sanctis (ps. lxvii. 36, f. 155). 'quippe non de ipsis, set de nobis scriptum est: iudicabunt naciones, dominabuntur populis' (sap. iii. 8, f. 144). the details of the ecstasy which has raised the mystic above mortal condition are indicated in the canticles, though to understand their full meaning we must go to the incendium amoris (pp. 187-91). in chapter 15 of that work, already quoted from (supra, p. 27), richard describes very specifically the first coming-on of his rapture. the 'calor, canor, et dulcor', whose successive appearance after 'the opening of the door' is described in the incendium, also appear in the concluding lines of the canticles: 'o amor, quam dulcis es et suauis, et vere desiderabilis! inebriasti cor meum, et non sencio nisi gaudium. videtur michi sepius ac si in celo essem positus, cum melodia vndique conclusus. venisti in me, et id quod sum, dulcor, ardor et canor sum. set hoc non ex me, set ex te, deus meus. amodo igitur dum canimus amoris canticum curremus in odore vnguentorum tuorum' (f. 156). the same trio appear in the conclusion of the incendium, and in that of some copies of the melum. the 'canor' seems to have been the profoundest and most significant element of the ecstasy, and here as elsewhere it receives special discussion (in ornamental prose): > 72 canticles 'et quia iam debriata mens diuinis poculis pre nimietate gaudii spiritualis in vocem laudis dei prorumpere nititur, canens et iubilans in celica melodia ad summa subleuatur. ... et quia canticus iste eterni amoris non raptim, non momentanee, set continue adest nobis, nulla aduersitate, nulla prosperitate concutitur,' non raro set continue gratulamur; hinc liquido patet quod nisi aut cibi tempus occupat (sic), aut sompnus surrepat, aut in clamore et tumultu hominum existat, quod deuota et ignita amore anima dilecti delicias cantat. cogitat quidem de deo vbicumque fuerit, et quicquid egerit, set remota in silencio canit. non putet quis quod cantus iste sit corporalis, aut humano sensui ymaginabilis; est enim sonus mellifluus in mente susceptus per amorem inuisibilis conditoris. quippe est melos angelicum captum ascendendo in contemplacionem, vnde non mirum si gaudentes amoris canticum canimus, qui tam affluentem, tam diu morantem increate dulcedinis suauitatem vsque ad mortem sentimus, set et in gaudio mori non diffidimus, qui in tanto amore, dante deo, viuebamus' (f. 154). : the description in the incendium (chapter 15) of rolle's first experience of ecstasy, already quoted from, is concluded as follows: 'puto tamen neminem illud accepturum, nisi specialiter nomen ihesum diligat, et eciam in tantum honoret ut ab eius memoria numquam, excepto sompno, recedere permittat. cui hoc facere datum est, estimo quod et illud assequetur' (p. 190). praise of the holy name of jesus makes always an essential part of rolle's mysticism, and it is not only one of the most constant elements of his writings it even, as we shall see, penetrates into his translations. horstmann, in the introduction to his second volume, has put strongly many aspects of rolle's doctrine, but he hardly illustrates the hermit's constant devotion to the holy name. elsewhere in a foot-note (i. 172) he mentions that 'the address to the name of iesus is a characteristic of the works of r. rolle'. the medieval readers of the hermit's writings were better informed: they quoted him on the subject of the holy name more often than on any other, as reference to the section of the present work on medieval quotations will show; and there was no aspect of his teaching which had a greater influence. the cult of the holy name of jesus was springing up all over europe during the later middle ages, and rolle's devotion was widely imitated in england, where foreign influences were also potent. his praise of the name, therefore, cannot be taken singly as a proof of his authorship, yet, with the 2 1 contutitur c. 2 a study is under preparation on the cult of the holy name in england. canticles 73 'calor, canor, and dulcor' (indicated explicitly or implicitly) it goes to make up almost the hall-mark of his work, to be traced in practically all of his writings. in a characteristically rhyming phrase of the canticles he says: "tociens glorior quociens nominis tui ihesu recordor' (f. 155), and it is fortunate that the same treatise, of unimpeachable authority, gives this most significant subject its most extensive and eloquent discussion. reference to the lists of manuscripts already given will show that the fourth section of the canticles (on the text 'oleum effusum ') probably circulated more widely both in latin and in english than any other part of rolle's works, except perhaps chapter 15 of the incendium on his development of ecstasy. the latter gives an account of the genesis of the 'calor, canor, and dulcor', as the end of the present piece gives an account of the genesis of the devotion to the holy name. the two together give the essentials of rolle's mystical history and doctrine. they make two of the three quotations from his work given in the office, of which the third, the prologue of the incendium, merely supplements chapter 15 by going into the origin of the 'calor' in detail. altogether, medieval students of rolle will be seen to have shown discrimination in the pieces chosen by them as favourites.. the text 'oleum effusum nomen tuum' had inspired st. bernard of clairvaux's most eloquent praise of the holy name (sermo in cantica xv), and in all generations it was the favourite text of the cult. rolle believed that he owed to this devotion the miracle of his ecstasy, and it was natural, therefore, that when he came in the fourth section of his canticles to expound this text, he should give full rein to his eloquence. parts of the encomium nominis jesu show the influence of earlier famous writings on the holy name— by peter chrysologus (called 'peter ravenna' by rolle in the opening of his oratio dominica), st. anselm, and st. bernard, but they are imitations rather than repetitions. as a whole the work is thoroughly characteristic of richard: his egocentric enthusiasm blows through it as strongly as through any of his writing, and he repeats portions in other works. though he quotes other writers very rarely, he is always ready to quote himself. the following quotation will show how in this piece rolle makes the devotion to the holy name the basis of his life and of all virtue : 'nomen ihesu venit in mundum et statim adoratur oleum effusum, oleum capitur quia eterna saluatio speratur. ihesus vero, id est saluator, f 74 canticles vel salutare.... o nomen admirabile, o nomen delectabile!' hoc est nomen quod est super omne nomen (philip. ii. 9): nomen altissimum sine quo non speret quis salutem. hoc nomen est suaue et iocundum, humano cordi verum prebens solacium. est autem nomen ihesu in mente mea cantus iubileus, in aure mea sonus celicus, in ore meo dulcor mellifluus, unde non mirum si illud diligam nomen quod michi in omni angustia prestat consolamen. nescio orare, nescio meditari, nisi resonante ihesu nomine. non sapio gaudium quod ihesu non est mixtum. quocumque fuero, vbicumque sedero, quicquid egero, memoria nominis ihesu a mente mea non recedit. ... et iam victus succumbo, vix viuo pre gaudio, pene morior quia non sufficio in carne corruptibili tante maiestatis perferre tam affluentem suauitatem. . . . set vnde michi iste iubilus nisi qui ihesus? nomen ihesu me canere docuit, et feruore increate lucis mentem illustrauit. inde suspiro, clamo, quis nunciabit dilecto quia amore ihesu langueo ? defecit cor meum, et caro mea liquescit in amore desiderando ihesum. cor totum in desiderio ihesu defixum in igne amoris conuertitur, et dulcore deitatis funditus absorbebitur. . . . vere, ihesu, desiderabile est nomen tuum, amabile et confortabile. non potest tam suaue gaudium concipi, non potest tam dulcis cantus audiri, nec tam delectabile solacium meditari. igitur quicumque es qui ad amandum deum te preparas, si vis nec decipi nec decipere, si vis sapere et non decipere [sc. desipere], si 1 cf. st. anselm, meditatio ii: 'jesu, jesu, propter hoc nomen tuum, fac mihi secundum hoc nomen tuum. jesu, jesu, obliviscere superbum provocantem, respice miserum invocantem nomen dulce, nomen delectabile, nomen confortans peccatorem, et beatae spei. quid est enim jesus, nisi salvator?' (migne, 158, cc. 724 sq.). all this part of this meditation appears with a few verbal changes as a widely circulated prayer to the holy name which is twice ascribed to rolle (v. infra, p. 314). there is no doubt as to its authenticity (see the invaluable discussion of the true sources of the prayers and meditations ascribed to st. anselm by dom wilmart, meditations et prières de st. anselme, collection pax (abbaye de maredsous), vol. xi, paris, 1923, p. xliv). * cf. st. bernard, sermo in cantica xv: ‘o nomen benedictum ! . . . quid aeque mentem cogitantis impinguat? quid ita exercitatos reparat sensus, virtutes roborat, vegetat mores bonos atque honestos, castas fovet affectiones ? . . . si scribas, non sapit mihi nisi legero ibi jesum. si disputes aut conferas, non sapit mihi, nisi sonuerit ibi jesus. jesus mel in ore, in aure melos, in corde jubilus... veniat in cor jesus, et inde saliat in os. . . . cui fons forte siccatus lacrymarum, invocato jesu, non continuo erupit uberior, fluxit suavior? cui, in periculis palpitanti et trepidanti, invocatum virtutis nomen non statim fiduciam praestitit, depulit metum? cui, quaeso, in dubiis aestuanti et fluctuanti, non subito ad invocationem clari nominis emicuit certitudo ? (migne, 183, cc. 845-6). 3 dulore c. 4 cf. the jesu dulcis memoria: 'nil canitur suavius, nil auditur jucundius, nil cogitatur dulcius, quam jesus dei filius' (migne, 184, c. 1317). canticles 75 vis stare et non cadere, hoc nomen ihesu in memoria memento iugiter retinere.... quicquid egeritis, et si omnia que habetis dederitis, nisi nomen ihesu dilexeritis frustra laboratis. nam soli tales in ihesu letari poterunt qui in hac presenti vita illum amauerunt.... non miror quippe si temptatus ceciderit qui nomen ihesu in memoriam perennem non ponit. ille nimirum secure eligit speciale pro deo in solitudine persistere qui nomen ihesu sibi eligit speciale. hoc enim nomen conscienciam purgat, cor clarum et mundum preparat, terrorem nocturnum excutit, ardorem amoris infundit, mentem vsque in celicum melos subleuat, demones infestantes fugat. o bonum nomen! o dulce nomen! o nomen mirificum! onomen salutiferum ! o nomen gloriosum! et nomen desiderabile! ibi vtique non possunt maligni spiritus nocere vbi perpendunt nomen ihesu iugiter aut mente aut ore nominari' (ff. 149-150º). then follows the most important autobiographical reference in the canticles, which seems to describe one of the landmarks in rolle's career. it begins as follows: 'dum ego propositum singulare percepissem et, relicto habitu seculari, deo pocius quam homini deseruire decreuissem, contigit quod quadam nocte in principio conuersionis mee michi in stratu meo quiescenti apparuit quedam iuuencula valde pulcra, quam ante videram et que me in bono amore non modicum diligebat' (f. 150º). he proved a diabolical origin for the apparition by crossing himself and saying: 'o ihesu, quam preciosus est sanguis tuus'— whereupon it vanished. 'deinceps vero ihesum amare quesiui, et quanto in amore eius profeci, tanto nomen ihesu michi dulcius et suauius sapiebat et etiam vsque hodie non recedit a me. ergo benedictum sit nomen ihesu in secula seculorum ' (f. 151). deinceps') sound these words (with their seemingly decisive as if the young hermit's devotion were not specially directed towards the saviour until the incident in question, and on this point we shall have further evidence (infra, p. 92). it is almost certain to have occurred before the opening of the heavenly door', almost three 1 in a sermon of peter chrysologus, the fourth-century bishop of ravenna, occurs the following: 'jesu... hoc nomen quod dedit caecis visum, auditum surdis, claudis cursum, sermonem mutis, vitam mortuis, totamque diaboli potestatem de obsessis corporibus virtus hujus nominis effugavit. et si nomen tantum est, quanta potestas?' (migne, 52, c. 586). this passage was exceedingly popular throughout the middle ages, and will be found often quoted (cf. camb. univ. gg. i. 6, etc.). it will be noted again that rolle has not echoed but imitated. he repeats, however, his canticles in both of his psalters (ps. xc. 14) and in two of his english epistles (form, p. 35, command., p. 70). f 2 76 canticles years after his conversion, for the description already quoted (p. 27) tells us that at that time he was shown by what way he might seek his beloved, and cleave to him continually'. in other words, his devotion was fastened on the saviour at the time of the 'opening of the door', when his thoughts were taken up to the angelic choirs, absorbed in their 'song of love' (cf. infra, pp. 87 sq.). we shall see as we go on to rolle's other works that when he says of the holy name in the canticles, in the passage in question, 'up to now it has not receded from me', he was speaking the literal truth, as is proved by practically all his extant writings. only one work extant seems to have been written before the special personal devotion to the saviour began (v. infra, cant. am.). a veiled allusion to the same temptation, also described as dissipated by the use of the name of jesus, seems to exist in the early melum (f. 227, partly quoted by horstmann, ii, p. viii, and in full, infra, p. 467). it will be noted that one or two of richard's works do not explicitly name the devotion to the holy name. however, they express his absorption in the thought of the saviour, and the cult is to be interpreted broadly as he practised it, as the quotations already given show; concentration on the thought of jesus, the divine person, seems to fulfil what he means by devotion to the name. as he tells his disciple margaret of the highest degree of love: 'þe sawle pat es in þe thyrd degre... es syngand gastly til ihesu, and in ihesu, and ihesu, noght bodyly cryand wyth mouth-of þat maner of syngyng speke i noght, for þat sang hase bath gude & ill' (form of living, p. 33). thus he gives his own warning against a narrow or fanatical interpretation of his own teaching,' and at the same time he recognizes more than one sort of invocation of the saviour. we shall find when we come to consider the manuals which were probably rolle's last works (infra, pp. 244 sq.) that in the analytical accounts of the religious life in three stages, which those pieces contain, the devotion to the holy name is treated usually under the second degree. here it seems to be a discipline to induce contemplation-as the mechanical use of the holy name would be. in the passage just quoted, however, the devotion is described which belongs to the third and highest degree of love, in which the actual name itself does not necessarily appear, and the devotion is an instrument, not of discipline, but of ecstasy. it is evident therefore 1 later excesses of the cult of the holy name will be treated in my article already mentioned. canticles 77 that rolle's predilection for the holy name of jesus will take more than one form of expression. our knowledge of rolle's life is nearly all derived from the office, but it will be seen that several passages in his works corroborate details there found. such autobiographical reminiscences give naturally telling evidence of the authenticity of the works in which they occur the canticles, which needs no such authentication, follows the other works in sometimes echoing facts in rolle's life. it touches on the wanderings hinted at (also with an apology) in the office: 'nempe quemadmodum caym [sc. cain] vagus et profugus fuit pro culpa fratriscidii super terram, ita et ego in hoc exilio incerte sedis, de loco ad locum transeo vt eternam consequor (sic) hereditatem. cernimus autem quod tam electi quam reprobi corporaliter vagi et profugi nonnunquam fiunt. sed in hoc differunt, quia electi quocumque corpore transferantur, in celo iugiter intencionem imponunt' (f. 143). this passage is copied almost verbatim from the early melum, f. 208: see also infra, p. 121. we learn from other works that rolle was persecuted, and 'detractores deo odibiles' are attacked in the canticles: 'o quam magna est mundanorum insania, qui non solum si quem bene agentem audierint deum non glorificant, verum etiam falsis interpretacionibus seruo dei pertinaciter obsistunt. set et demencia quodammodo est in eis cum nonnunquam vel amatorem christi affirmant esse ypocritam vel omnino non recte currere ad celestem mansionem. . . . plane ostenditis vos miseros cum non parum videtur vobis christum non diligere, nisi etiam illum in sanctis suis studeatis impugnare' (f. 144). this again is quoted almost verbatim from the melum, ff. 212 sq. the heated discussions which the canticles gives at length to the subject of the comparative merits of conventual and solitary life (ff. 147, 151) make it clear that rolle had been in collision with the regular religious, who were jealous of his prestige among the people : 'quis audeat diuinam benignitatem in illis abnegare quod non istos sanctos set inter seculares conuersantes tanta caritatis sublimitate impleat quanta illos sanctos quos in professione¹ ligat. ... nonnullos audiui deputacionibus me velle vincere, quia apud opinionem hominum eos viuendo videbar superare. set profecto eo inter homines me crescere fecerunt, quo me diminuere putabant' (f. 151v). the discussion here also bears a close relation to one in the melum (f. 240). the mystic's life is the more difficult because the very fact that he is a saint makes him appear a fool: 1 protessio c. 78 canticles 'cumque vero illam gloriam inuisibilem lucemque increatam tam delectabilem et iocundam prout potuit perspexerit, ad illam solam optinendam alia queque obliuiscens ardenter concupiscit, vnde a tanto desiderio in illam figitur, vt nonnunquam ab hominibus stultus iudicetur; hoc uero 'fit, quia mens amore christi rapta gestum mutat corporalem et ab omnibus terrenis actibus ipsum segregans inter homines velud mente alienatum reddit et madentem' (f. 145). words to the same effect occur in the latin psalter, fols. xxviiv, xliv; english psalter, p. 181; contra amatores mundi, ff. 172, 175, 179, etc. the mystic is still a great lover of books, and his mystical absorption is still nourished to some degree from the mind: 'quia nisi in diuinis doctrinis delectari satagimus, proculdubio ad suauitatem eterne dulcedinis veraciter non suspiramus. hoc manifestum est quandoquidem et laicus, quam cito diuino amore te tactum sencerit,2 etiam ad audiendum et loquendum de deo, secularibus curis postpositis, vehementerinardescit; quanto magis nos, qui etiam, iuvante deo, scripturas sacras intelligere possimus, ad legendum et audiendum verbum dei ac aliis scribendis et docendis nos attingere debemus' (f. 146). these words show the zeal for propaganda which existed alongside rolle's ecstasy, inspired his writings, and doubtless helped to make him an object of suspicion to the ecclesiastical authorities. throughout his writings rolle uses freely, to express his ecstasy, all the resources of rhetoric-alliteration, assonance, rhyme and rhythm, antithesis and balance. horstmann has been inclined to take 'cadenced prose' (ii, p. xl), 'his peculiar rhythmical prose' (i. 104), as substantial evidence of rolle's authorship, but the popularity of such style in the middle ages makes it a doubtful test of authenticity without the support of other evidence. schneider (op. cit.) has shown that his style shows many of the characteristics of euphuism, but the style of euphues has been shown to owe much to the usual latin style written in the middle ages." the qualities of poetical prose which rolle developed to the point of extravagance will be found now and then incidentally in the patristic writers whom we know that he read. for example, st. gregory's morals (v. supra, p. 70 n., and infra, p. 313) show many instances of rhyming verb-forms, and of careful antithesis and balance, and the constructions and general swing of the style often suggest rolle (as will be illustrated by a quotation to be made later, ibid.). the meditations and prayers ascribed to st. anselm (though not all 1 non c. 2 secerit c. see euphues, ed. m. w. croll, london, 1916, p. lvii. canticles 79 by him), as i have shown in another place,' would seem to have given many hints for rolle's mysticism, as well as for his style, and we even find here traces of alliteration. we shall see (infra, p. 201) that rolle was almost certainly influenced by richard of st. victor, and the fondness of the older richard for ornaments of style and especially for 'consonances' is well known. the style of st. aelred (rolle's fellow-countryman and fellow-northcountryman), also, sometimes suggests the hermit's." in general the middle ages apparently knew a whole philosophy of style 'gregorian', 'isidorian', and the like, which we do not know enough of medieval rhetoric to identify-and the brief account given by professor a. c. clark in his cursus in medieval and vulgar latin' gives glimpses of patristic rhetoric that suggest the origins of rolle's performances in poetical prose. thus, we are told (p. 12), that cassiodorus (480-575) writes in a cursus mixtus complicated by assonance and rhyme. gregory of tours (538-594) writes accentual prose in which the metrical element is recognizable.' the letters of gregory the great (a:d. 546-604) are considered to mark the full development of the cursus mixtus, which depends on accent, with some regard to quantity. we are told that after st. gregory rhythm left prose for four hundred years (p. 13), but, as we have seen, st. gregory was almost certainly read by rolle, and in any case 1 in my article on the mystical lyrics of the manuel des pechiez', v. supra, p. 21. * cf. the following (from a meditation not assigned by dom wilmart to any author): 'dilexit quando non dilexi, quia, et nisi non diligentem diligeres, diligentem quoque non efficeres. diligo te super omnia, o dulcissime jesu, sed nimis parum, quia longe minus quam dignus es, dilectissime, ac proinde minus quam debeo. et quis hoc posset? diligere te potest aliquis, te donante, quantum valet, sed nunquam quantum debet' (migne, 158, c. 772). for other passages suggestive of rolle compare the following: 'dulcis christe, bone jesu, sicut desidero, sicut tota mente mea peto, da mihi amorem tuum sanctum et castum, qui me repleat, teneat, totumque possideat' (c. 892, from a piece assigned to jean of fécamp, see wilmart, p. xiv); 'quam mira suavitas amoris tui, quo perfruuntur illi qui nihil praeter te diligunt, nihil quaerunt, nihil etiam cogitare concupiscunt ! ' (c. 901, also jean of fécamp). * see migne, 196, pp. xxx-xxxi.? 4 cf. speculum caritatis, i. 31. 'quid enim suavius, quid gloriosius quam mundi contemptu mundo se cernere celsiorem, ac in bonae conscientiae vertice consistentem, totum mundum habere sub pedibus, nihil videre quod appetat, nullum quem metuat, nullum cui invideat?' (migne, 195, c. 534). miss deanesly (pp. 56-7) notes the influence on rolle's 'rhythm and vocabulary' of hugh of st. victor's de arrha animae. oxford, 1910. 80 canticles rhythm had come back to prose long before richard s time. in fact the whole subject had been summarized in the generation immediately preceding his by an englishman (johannes anglicus, c. 1270), to whom we owe the descriptions of the three kinds of stylus, viz. gregorianus, isidorianus, and hilarianus' (clark, p. 16). it may be noted that a characteristic of rolle's prose appears in the isidorian style in its 'series of balanced antitheses' (ibid., p. 17). professor clark assures me however that rolle (in the latin quotations given by horstmann) does not use the cursus, and this is what we should expect of an inspirational writer who left the academic life in early youth. he is likely to have derived from the medieval stylistic traditions (whether encountered at the university or in his reading) no more than a general sense of sanction in using ornaments in his prose. a more popular tradition probably also influenced his beginnings in poetical prose. it has been pointed out that the 'talking of the love of god', which occurs in the vernon ms. with rolle's works and is printed by horstmann (ii. 345 sq.) as 'an imitation of r. rolle's manner', is merely a modernized version of two very early middle english alliterative rhapsodies.' they probably come from the same generation and environment as the ancren riwle, and followed anglo-saxon alliterative literature by less than a century (see my article in the romanic review, cited supra, p. 21). these pieces probably had a continuous circulation, and they will serve to remind us of the rashness of horstmann's conclusion that poetical prose can be used as a criterion of rolle's authorship. too many influences making towards that type of composition were abroad for such to be a safe hypothesis. it will be evident, however, that he carried poetical prose at times to a pitch of extravagance probably nowhere else attempted, and as a result he doubtless had a great influence in fixing the hold of poetical prose on the taste of the following generachaucer's boethius and the cloud of unknowing and its group of treatises are all written in this style, and because poetical prose was fashionable in the next generation it is again dangerous to take all work of this kind as rolle's. in any case this is an age in 1 see r. j. peebles, bryn mawr coll. monographs, no. ix, p. 86 n., and infra, p. 292. 2 modernized editions by miss e. underhill, london, 1912, and by j. mccann, o.s.b., london, 1925. the latter includes the group of treatises found with the cloud in the manuscripts. most of these were printed in prof. e. gardner's cell of self knowledge (london, 1913). the poetical character of the prose cannot be studied without recourse to the manuscripts. contemporary flemish mystical pieces were also written in poetical prose (v. mém. de l'acad. de belgique, 46, p. 175). canticles 81 which rhythmical writing might be expected, for mysticism flourished, with which rhythm is often associated.¹ poetical prose is used in the canticles perhaps as little as in any work of rolle's (though not less than in some others), yet here also it appears, and it has been illustrated in the extracts already quoted. a sentence quite in the style of his most alliterative works is the following: 'effectus autem in sonoris epulis celice melodie, contemplator inenarrabili amoris affluencia usque in domum dei conatur conscendere' (f. 146). the following is an extreme example of rhyme: 'errat qui te non diligit, insanit qui te amare non querit; ligasti mentem meam, redegisti in seruitutem, captiuum duxisti ad tuum libitum et iam totum quod sum tibi relictum, a te protectum, tibi subiectum. tanto cogito, gaudeo, clamo, quia amore langueo (cant. v. 8), mori desidero, usquequo sedebo. quando veniam ut ante faciem tuam appaream ? (ps. xli. 3). interim esto nobis gaudium, amor et solacium, quia curremus in odore unguentorum tuorum' (f. 155). 3 it should be noted that the canticles gives no citations of authority except the following, which introduces some verses: ' unde quidam verus christi amator pulchre dicit' (f. 148v). devotion to the virgin occurs only at the head of the fourth section. the date of the canticles is uncertain, but it would appear likely that it belongs to rolle's middle period: it does not show the preoccupation with the character of the parish clergy, which is so 1 in the 'twelve conclusions' of the lollards which were fixed to the doors of st. paul's and of westminster abbey in 1395, the preamble is as follows: 'we, pore men, tresoreris of cryst and his apostlis, denuncyn to the lordis and the comunys of the parlement certeyn conclusionis and treuthis for the reformaciun of holi chirche of yngeland, the qwyche han ben blynde and leprouse many yere be mayntenaunce of the proude prelacye, born up with flatringe of privat religion, the qwich is multiplied to a gret charge and onerous to puple her in yngelonde' (lollardy and the reformation in england, by james gairdner, london, 1908, i. 43). a trace of alliteration may be observed here, as well as a sort of rhythm. for an extreme bit of rhymed prose see horstmann, i. 367 (thornton ms.). an extreme example of rhythmical alliterative prose (on prayer) is printed also from the same northern ms. by horstmann (i. 295 sq.) in an imperfect text. bodl. ms. e mus. 35 (sum. cat. this interesting work shows no. 3615) contains a complete text (ff. 452 sq.). rolle's influence in style and doctrine, and might even be a work by him, though positive evidence (internal or external) is lacking. beg.: 'prayng es a gracyous gyfte of owre lorde godd.' another complete text is cited in quaritch's catalogue 344, ms. 10. 2 desiderio mss. 3 amor si c. 4 they have not been identified (beg.: 'satis amicicie dei non est pie . . .'). v. infra, p. 539. <p. 71 82 canticles prominent in the three prose works of the early group, nor does the division of love into three grades appear, found in the epistles, which seem to be rolle's last productions. on the whole, there seems to be considerable evidence pointing to the early portion of the middle period for its composition; it might perhaps even be practically contemporaneous with the job, the last work of the early period. the frequency of exuberant passages in the first person suggests the melum, the work preceding the job, and it borrows important sections verbatim from the former. borrowing would not necessarily mean contemporaneous composition, for we shall see that rolle borrowed from the melum in many works-and among others, in some which are certainly late. the borrowings from the melum found in the canticles, however, are in a special class, for they do not only concern opinions but also events. some general passages on mysticism coincide (including exposition of the verse, 'osculetur me osculo oris sui', which appears in the early chapters of the melum in a partly variant and longer text), but what is specially notable is the repetition in the canticles of the description from the melum of rolle's nomadic life, and of his argument in regard to the relative virtues of the life of the hermit and that of monks. both have already been quoted from (supra, p. 77). we shall see, when the melum is described, that rolle when he wrote it was apparently involved in a controversy with monks, which had instigated his writing that work. other works also echo his low opinion of the monastic virtues (see incendium, infra, p. 227, and mul. fort., infra, p. 161): no other, however, echoes this subject so persistently and at such length as the canticles (see ff. 147, 151v). as we have seen, it definitely refers to controversies with monks as if they were recently past. the incendium, on the other hand, refers to them as long past. it is possible that the appearance in the melum and the canticles of the same two somewhat autobiographical passages means that these works were nearly contemporaneous. some possible contemporary references in the canticles also may hint at a comparatively early date for its composition. they are as follows: 'nam finis mundi appropinquat, pene paratus est tubam caniturus, adest finis mundialis malicie, terminus terrene cupiditatis longe non moratur. iam detractores procaces linguas cogentur restringere' (f. 144). 've vobis diuitibus, qui habetis consolacionem vestram hic, in futuro autem eternam penam sencietis! ve vobis ! o quam miseri estis et repleti maledictis, qui dum infinitis demonibus seruicium exhibere cogimini, gaudetis canticles 83 vos ab hominibus diuinos appellari. et vos, non timentes conditorem omnium, subicitis homines in vestrum timorem. set hec est hora vestra et potestas tenebrarum. ecce namque dies venit et nimirum non tardabit in quo auferetur a vobis omne dominium, regale ceptrum, omnium possessio diuiciarum, et tunc plane videbitis vosmetipsos quam miseri, quam pauperes, quam impotentes,' etc. (f. 153"). these words might possibly suggest that the canticles was written before-after many years of tumult-the nation more or less settled down after the young edward in 1330 overthrew mortimer, and the last sentences might even be pointed at that tyrant (who practically held the royal sceptre). we shall see that another prophecy of the end of the world appears in rolle's judica—a work of his extreme youth, which probably was written before 1322. we shall see that both the melum and the job-the two early prose works which follow the judica-give warnings similar to that quoted from the canticles-though no actual prophecy of the end of the world. such passages are therefore characteristic of rolle's early prose works, and certainly they would be suggested by the events of his early life. as we shall see, he lived at this time in an environment where the political turmoil had immediate effects, of which he could hardly have remained unconscious. though passages like that just quoted suggest a common type of medieval lament, in this case they may, for all that, echo contemporary conditions. additional note chapter 15 of rolle's incendium amoris (pp. 187-91), in which he describes his experience of ecstasy, is, as we have seen, quoted in the office. it has already (p. 27) been quoted (abridged), and it will be mentioned so often in the following pages that its literalness and accuracy should be illustrated at once. it appears that whenever in any work richard has occasion to describe the development of the mystic, he does so by reproducing with more or less completeness his own experience. several impersonal descriptions of the mystic's progress, therefore, are of value in confirming rolle's description of what happened to himself; the consistency which he shows throughout his works is thus given striking illustration in connexion with a most important subject. the following passages may be compared with the incendium (chapter 15), from which the critical sentences have been quoted above; the critical phrases will be italicized: 84 canticles 'et nota diligenter acciones sanctorum, quomodo transmigrant a babilone in ierusalem. primo renunciant omnibus que possident; deinde, solis celestibus intenti, in amorem conditoris succenduntur; tercio, cum iam increatum dulcorem gustauerint, tanta auiditate illis angelicis choris interesse inardescunt, quod nulla aduersitate blandimenta mollicie ab interno aspectu queant superari; quarto, pre nimietate gaudii et magnitudine amoris qua implentur, sonum in se suscipiunt celestem, et diuina armonia obumbrantur, et fugiunt in solitudine[m] ne ab illo spirituali canore impediantur. hii sunt viri contemplatiui et solitarii summi, nullus eis equari potest in perfeccione et gloria' (melum, f. 240). here, in a very early work, the 'calor, canor, and dulcor' are made three successive landmarks as in the incendium, and 'voluntary poverty' makes another, which precedes them. the 'love of the creator' in which they are inflamed' is probably synonymous with the devotion to jesus: it is the basis of ecstasy, and the goal of the striving soul is the joys of the angels (such as would be perceived at the 'opening of the heavenly door' mentioned in the incendium as preceding the endowment of ecstasy). in another passage from the melum soon to be quoted (infra, p. 92), we find the 'heat, sweetness, and song' again hinted at in a reference to richard's early development. see also the 20th. psalm (infra, pp. 195-6). the incendium gives several incidental, more or less complete, accounts of the development of ecstasy, besides the formal autobiographical narrative found in chapter 15. the critical portions of these passages will be quoted entire : 'tibi deinceps non cessaui exhibere cor tactum desiderio; sed et tu tenuisti illud, ut non deflueret in diuersas concupiscenciarum desolaciones, et immisisti memoriam nominis tui, fenestramque contemplacionis oculo aperuisti. demum tibi deuotus cucurri in canorem; sed prius incaluit cor igne amoris, et in amorosa carmina intra me erupi' (p. 246). here the absorption in the holy name is specifically cited before (and therefore probably as preceding) the 'opening of the heavenly door'. only the 'dulcor' is lacking from the usual series, and this seems always to have been the adjunct of the other two attributes of ecstasy. we read in the incendium: 'hec duo (canor and fervor) non in ocio percipiuntur, sed in summa deuocione, ex quibus tercium, scilicet, dulcedo inestimabilis adest. feruor enim et canor mirabilem in anima causant dulcorem; et eciam ob nimiam dulcedinem illa causari possunt' (p. 185). 'cum ergo homo ad christum perfecte conuersus cuncta transitoria despexerit, et se in solo conditoris desiderio immobiliter, ut mortalibus canticles 85 pro corrupcione carnis permittitur, fixerit: tunc nimirum uires uiriliter exercens, primo quasi aperto celo supernos ciues oculo intellectuali con spicit; et postea calorem suauissimum, quasi ignem ardentem sentit. deinde mira suauitate imbuitur, et deinceps in canore iubilo gloriatur. hec est ergo perfecta caritas, quam nemo nouit nisi qui accipit, et qui accipit nunquam amittit, dulciter uiuit, secure morietur' (p. 202). it will be seen that here 'conversion' begins the process, and something like absorption in jesus (though not in those terms) follows and precedes the 'opening of the heavenly door', and the endowment of 'heat, sweetness, and song'. the 'opening of the heavenly door' leads to the vision-'oculo intellectuali'-of the heavenly citizens. 'hec enim est uita perfectorum: omnem curam secularium negociorum abicere... in solo conditoris amore inardescere, post amaros gemitus et immensa spiritualium operum exercicia superne contemplacionis dulcedinem sentire: et sic, ut de priuilegiatis loquar: pro gaudio diuine dileccionis in cantum spiritualem uel in celicum sonum contemplando suscipi.... sic nimirum talem suauitatem habebit (uir dei) in mente qualem habent angeli in celo, licet non tantam. hoc quippe modo efficiatur quis perfectus et non indigebit igne purgari post hanc uitam, quam ardenter in carne existentem ignis exurit spiritus sancti' (p. 208). here the stages described agree very well with those in the passage last quoted, except that the 'opening of the heavenly door' is not mentioned. a hint of it is however given in the reference to the song of angels. 'aiebant igitur amantes qui gloriosa carmina dictabant amoris, quod qui ad amandum eminenter eligitur in primis diligenter curat et affectat, ut eius cor ab amato suo nunquam recedat, ut sit illi memoria ihesu quasi musica in conuiuii[s], et in eius ore indulcoretur super mel et fauum. ... iam tunc ueniunt in animam eius affecciones dulces, et meditaciones mirabiles soli deo fauentes. que ruminate, et in hac mente cum intencione extense, ipsam ineffabiliter afficiunt. . . ut amator dei nihil querat in mundo, nisi ut possit in solitudine existere, et ibi solis conditoris sui desideriis uacare. postea uero fortiter et bene exercitatus, orando ac meditando summe quieti deditus, . . . uehementer proficit in uirtute amoris eterni, ascenditque superius affectus eius, in quod oculo mentali introitus aperitur, in speculacione misteriorum celescium. incipit quoque ardor quem antea non sentiuit animus eius adurere... ut eciam ipsa anima celica suauitate delinita... uerumptamen libenter sustinet aduersa que contingunt, quia in gaudio eterni amoris suauiter requiescit, neque iubilacionem ipsam quam in ihesu iocundata accepit, auferre poterunt omnia que occurrunt' (pp. 248-9). the 'canor' is not specifically mentioned here, but it is implied by the 86 canticles 'iubilacio' (which might be called 'a noisy form of joy'). the devotion to the holy name, as usual, precedes the endowment of ecstasy, and the 'love of the creator', found in the two passages already cited, is here used interchangeably to describe the absorption 'in ihesu'. the ego dormio and the form of living, two english epistles written near the end of rolle's life, give much the same description of the mystic's development as we find in the latin works. the passages in question will be quoted from later (infra, pp. 249, 341), but they may be briefly summarized here. & swetnes ... ... • .. in the ego dormio, in the degree that 'es called contemplatife lyfe, pat lufes to be anely'; the 'gastly egh es taken up in til þe blysse of heuen... & kyndelde with fyre of cristes lufe... feland lufe, ioy pan. [pi] prayers turnes in til ioyful sange þan es thesu al pi desyre' (pp. 58-9). here is the triple endowment of ecstasy preceded by something very like 'the opening of the heavenly door'. the devotion to the holy name is not mentioned, but the love which first kindles the heart is centred on the second person of the trinity, and when the ecstasy is complete, 'jesus' absorbs all the emotion of the mystic. in the form of living we are given a lengthy description of the mystic's development, in which many stages are hinted at-as, forsaking of the world and its lusts, retirement into solitude, purgation through prayer, meditations, and tears. when temptations are slackening 'he gars þam geder til þam þair hert & fest anely in hym ; and opens til þe egh of þair sawls þe zates of heuen . . . and þan þe fire of lufe verrali ligges in pair hert . . . & sithen forward þai er contemplatife men' (p.49). here is the devotion to jesus preceding the opening of the heavenly door', and the fire of love following. except for a few words more, the passage just quoted from concludes the form, and it will be seen that 'sweetness' and 'song' are not included they appear, however, constantly in other parts of this work. if they had been found in the conclusion, that work would have resembled the canticles, incendium, and some texts of the melum in ending on the three attributes of ecstasy. as it is, it will be seen that the conclusion of the form comes very near to those of the works just cited. it will be seen that the preceding passages give a fairly consistent account of mystical development: most of them mention heat, sweetness, and song', and precede this endowment (first) by the devotion to the holy name (expressed implicitly if not explicitly), canticles 87 and (second) by the 'opening of the heavenly door'. we seem thus to be given evidence that the temptation which initiated the hermit into the devotion to the holy name preceded the opening of the door and the endowment of ecstasy. however, it is probable that the absorption in jesus (begun almost accidentally) was not consciously adopted as the pivot of rolle's life till after the 'opening of the door', when it was probably given a kind of celestial sanction. we shall see, as we go on to describe all rolle's works, that the elements of the mystical life as thus constituted reappear continually. it is, however, notable that the opening of the heavenly door', which is so conspicuous a feature of the mystic's progress as rolle described it, never receives more than the bare mention given in the passages just quoted, where he is careful to make clear that this sight is given 'oculo intellectuali', to 'pe egh of pair sawls' or the 'gastly egh'. as we have seen, rolle was not the apocalyptic type of mystic, in the ordinary sense of the word: he believed that he was initiated in part into celestial experience while in this life, but not into the fullness of celestial knowledge. as he says in the form of living just quoted: noman hase perfite syght of heuen whils pai er lifand bodili here.' in his three latin treatises he amplifies this subject, as will be later described (infra, p. 199), and he even gives the specific opinion that supernatural experience in this life (such as he himself enjoys) is superior to visions of the supernatural world'sicut de multis legimus' (incendium, p. 254). thus it is evident that we need not look in rolle's writings for revelations of heavenly mysteries, in spite of the emphasis which he seems to put on the opening of the heavenly door' as a landmark in the mystic's progress. it will be noted, however, that the passages in which he mentions 1 rolle's superior analytical power (on occasion) is evident in this discussion. it is in sympathy with the best modern analyses of mysticism, whether undertaken from the side of devotion or of religious psychology. for example, r. p. de guibert, s.j., of rome, discusses in the revue d'ascétique et de mystique (vii, jan. 1926, pp. 3 sq.) the word 'mystique' according to the definitions of psychologists and theologians, and the best students do not see in ecstasy the whole of mysticism. m. e. boutroux, for example, regards ecstasy 'comme le phénomène essentiel, le point culminant, de la mystique', but 'pas tout le mysticisme' (ibid., p. 11). in his own words: 'le mysticisme est essentiellement une vie, un mouvement, un développement d'un caractère et d'une direction déterminée' (ibid.). father de guibert seems to give his fullest approval to the spiritual writers who go further, and declare that 'l'extase n'est pas le phénomène essentiel et caractéristique des états mystiques, elle n'en est qu'une conséquence (nécessaire pour les uns, accidentelle pour les autres), à un certain stade du progrès de ces états' (p. 12). 88 canticles 'the opening of the door' sometimes go on to refer to the sight of the 'heavenly citizens', and here we are given a hint which may connect the revelation in question with the usual subject of rolle's writings. he believed that he lived on earth the life of the heavenly citizens, and probably the line which his own life was to follow was part of what was revealed to him at this time. in other words, when rolle tells us that at the opening of the heavenly door he was enabled to 'gaze on those above with the eye of the heart, and see in what way he might seek his beloved', from our knowledge of his writings as a whole we can amplify the meaning of these words. he constantly tells us that he knows the character of the celestial life, and that it is love; and with equal frequency he tells us that the way to attain to divine love, with all its privileges and transformations, is by fastening the heart on the divine person, jesus. the highest order of angels (seraphim, whose attribute is fire) are described by him at length, and we are told that to these contemplative men (burning in the 'fire of love') are to be compared.' thus the remarkable consistency which rolle shows throughout his writings is not violated when we find one landmark of the mystic's development, as he describes it, never apparently recurring in the confessions of his own experience which run through all his writings: probably what seems to be an apocalyptic element in his account of his own development really goes no farther into the supernatural than does what he believes to be the miracle of his daily life: the heavens were not opened to him at the time in question to reveal any mysteries which did not concern his life on earth. what richard rolle believed, as we have seen, and what we shall see that he came to believe early, was that the highest life on earth was almost identical with the life in heaven. he tells us explicitly what was the relation of the two in a passage from the incendium already quoted: it was 'talis' but not 'tantus' (v. supra, p. 85, infra, p. 207). such a statement implies a glimpse into the mysteries of heaven, but it is not a true apocalypse. it came from the very heart of rolle's doctrine, as everywhere described, and probably it was made possible by what he calls the opening of the heavenly door'. perhaps the hint for this experience came from those passages of st. gregory and st. aelred (and other writers) in which the soul is said to aspire to 'join the choir of the angels' (v. infra, pp. 313 et n.). angel choirs' are ecstatically dwelt on in rolle's early judica, which seems, therefore, to hint at the suggestion that induced the 'opening of the door' (v. infra, pp. 99, 109). 1 see cant., f. 154' (partly quoted, supra, p. 70); ego dormio, pp. 50-1. chapter v early works in four of rolle's works he calls himself 'juvenis', and these can therefore be treated together with the certainty that they were produced in the same period. the first two will be discussed at disproportionate length, since they are to some extent uncharacteristic, and their connexion with rolle needs explanation. the order here followed is conjectural, except that we know that the melum preceded the job. in the case of the other works, the evidence seems conclusive which makes the basis of the order followed. in all four early works the author mentions that he is a hermit, and all must therefore have been written after he 'took his singular purpose' at eighteen (as we are told by the office). as we shall see (p. 143), he may have called himself ' juvenis' in his early thirties, so that the present group may be spread over ten years or more. it is possible that other works were contemporaneous (v. infra, threnos, apocalypse, de misericordia, and p. 314). canticum amoris the canticum amoris is an ecstatic latin poem to the virgin. the signature follows: 'virgo decora pari sine, viuens pure dilexi. squalentis heremi cupiens et in aruis haberi. per citharam sonui celicam, subiectus amori. virgo quam cecini, animam sublima ricardi.' beg.: 'zelo tui langueo, virgo speciosa, sistens in suspirio mens est amarosa' (sic) (rawl. ms. c. 397, f. 77).¹ ends: 'amans intus ardeo, vincens vilia. zelo tui langueo, virgo regia.' 1 this ms. has not been collated with ms. ii. g 90 early works manuscripts. i. bodl. rawl. c. 397 (sum. cat. no. 12251), ff. 77–8, early 15th cent. a quotation from the incendium with rolle's name follows immediately. see magn., judica, quot. ii. trin. coll. dublin 153, early 15th cent. 'incipit canticum amoris de beata uirgine per ricardum.' see thren., cant., judica, mul. fort. references and quotations. syon monastery probably owned the poem (perhaps in an autograph copy). in the library of leicester abbey an anonymous 'cantus amoris de beata virgine' may be the present piece. it escaped the early bibliographers, but was noted by horstmann. the present work is written in thirty-eight four-lined stanzas, rhyming aaaa, as did the two religious poems entitled 'philomena' and the hymn jesu dulcis memoria, all of which were probably favourites with rolle (v. infra, pp. 100, 420). the structure of the lines in the present poem differs from that found in any of the three just cited: it is divided into half-lines of three stresses, rhyming medially in couplets. alliteration is constant, and the vocabulary extensive and fantastic. the poem is an elaborate love-poem to the virgin, after the manner of worldly love-poems; her physical charms are specially emphasized, and from beginning to end the work is crude and extravagant. the author refers to his youth: 'iuuenem ingenue amor alligauit, et astantem strenue sibi separauit. . .' 'hinc geror, iuuenculus, in languente vita...' (f. 77, c. 2). a rhymed signature is attached to both copies of the present poem, but some account should be given of the internal evidence for rolle's authorship, in order to show the continuity of his works. this is the only composition in which his devotion is concentrated on the virgin; and, in general, the absence from his compositions of the cult of the mother of god is almost as striking for a medieval writer as 1 we may wonder whether it was in any degree the indirect effect of rolle's own practice (which after his adolescence we may describe as reverent but aloof) that her cult languished in yorkshire in the period of his later life and immediately following his death. in 1343 we learn that 'the services of b.v.m. have been much disused in some of our churches' (j. raine, historians of the church of york and its archbishops, rs. 71, iii. 256-7). archbishop canticum amoris 91 the absence, which in his case we also find generally, of citations of authority. in spite of the (for rolle) unusual direction of devotion in the canticum, the piece gives many signs of his authorship. the style resembles that found in the melum (and from time to time, as we have seen, in other latin prose works). not only is the vocabulary used here to express his devotion to the virgin like that which elsewhere he uses to express his devotion to the son, but the ecstatic affection which he voices is conceived with the same concomitants as we find throughout his writings-though the object is not the same addressed elsewhere. the phrase 'amans intus ardeo' has already been quoted, and the following lines will show that something very like 'heat, sweetness, and song' accompany the devotion expressed in this early work: 'tibi, cara, canticum emitto mansuetus, melos mulcet musicum, terror est deletus. concino quod carmine remanerem letus, pro tua dulcedine, qua fruar concretus' (f. 77º, c. 1). we see here also the 'melos' which often gives the title for the melum, and is frequently used throughout the other works. rolle tells us in the incendium (p. 185) and in the form of living (p. 45) that he always takes up the sitting position during contemplation, and it is probably in justification of his own habit that in the melum (f. 235) and the 20th psalm (fol. cxxx) he gives an allegorical discussion bringing out the superiority of this position: he tells us in the discussion on this point in the melum (f. 236, v. infra, p. 123) that he is accused by his enemies of sitting so much because of gluttony and drunkenness. hostile opinion does not influence him to a change of habit, and in most of his works he gives a hint of the attitude which he has chosen by referring to the contemplative (by implication himself) regularly as 'the sitter'. see, for example, incendium, p. 191; melum, f. 220: 'cito a celica symphonia subtrahit sedentem'; f. 244: 'hec sustinet sedentem'; canticles, f. 143: 'o mira laboris exercitacio, quam precipue sedentes ascendunt'; judica, f. 16: 'christus seruos querit feruentes et deserit torpentes. non vult coactum sed voluntarium . . . sedentem non discurrentem amore suo inebriat et mira consolacione letificat.' thoresby ten years later built a lady chapel in the minster because there was not aliquis locus congruus' where daily mass of our lady could be said (j. raine, fasti eboracenses, london, 1863, p. 485). this was surely late for any cathedral to lack a lady chapel. g 2 92 early works with the passages just quoted the following from the early poem to the virgin should be compared : 'gene peramabiles solantur sedentem' (f. 77, c. 2). 'vento est velocior virtus virginalis, sedenti similior requies regalis' (f. 77, c. 1). 'sufficit quod sedeam, cernens quo surrexi' (ibid.). evidently as early as the writing of this poem richard had taken up the sitting position for his contemplation, of which he says at the end of his life in the form: 'i haue lufed for to sytt: for na penance, ne for na fantasy, þat i wild men spak of me . . . bot anly for i knew i loued god mare & langer lasted with-in pe comforth of lufe pan gangand, or standand, or kneleand' (p. 45). the direction of rolle's devotion towards the virgin in the present work is unique in our experience of his writings, and the early melum gives us a hint in explanation. a passage there (ff. 234 sq.) would suggest that he passed through a period of special devotion to the virgin, which served as initiation into the devotion to the 'highest'. the critical lines are as follows: • amicam autem adamaui in quam angeli omnipotentis anhelant aspicere, et mirificam mariam misericordie matrem mulcebam mihi mollicie melliflua, nec despexit dileccionem quam detuli, at pocius procurauit a piissimo ut animus ornaretur ad amicabiles amplexus intimi amoris. illam utique habui adiutricem que orauit amatorem eternum ne abicerer ab eleccione amantissima, alioquin non amassem altissimum ardenter nec suscepissem suauitatem sonantis cithare neque caperer ad concentum canorum,' a few more sentences are quoted by horstmann, ii, p. xviii, n. 1. it will be noted that 'heat, sweetness, and song' and the emotional absorption in the saviour which rolle means by the devotion to the holy name are all implied in this passage. it should probably be taken in connexion with the conclusion to the narrative of deliverance from temptation recounted in the canticles, already quoted (p. 75): 'deinceps vero ihesum amare quesiui, et quanto in amore eius profeci, tanto nomen ihesu michi dulcius et suauius sapiebat, et eciam usque hodie non recedit a me' (f. 151). up to the time of the incident here described, it is likely that richard offered his devotion to the virgin, but he believed that he owed his miraculous deliverance in this temptation to the invocation of jesus, and it would appear that this circumstance may have been responsible for diverting his devotion from the mother to the son. we do not find in the judica, also a very early work, any mention of canticum amoris 93 the former. she does not appear in the account in the incendium of the first development of ecstasy, during the first four years after his conversion, and when the 'heavenly door was opened', three years (less three or four months) after his conversion, the son was already the direct object of his devotion. evidently rolle's absorption in the son began very early, and the present poem, which precedes that concentration, must have been written very soon after his conversion at the age of eighteen. this conjecture is borne out by the extremely crude character of the piece. if it were not for the 'heremi' of the signature, it might precede the conversion. judica me deus the latin prose work found in many manuscripts under the title judica me deus is really a collection of four loosely connected tracts, of which the last three together make up a manual for parish priests. the quotations from judica are made from laud misc. ms. 528, collated with burney 356, and (for judica a) with bodl. 861. judica a. beg.: 'iudica me deus et discerne causam meam de g[ente non sancta (ps. xlii. 1). a deo qui scruta-¹]tur cor et renes volo iudicari' (laud misc. ms. 528, f. 13). ends: ut deliciis eternis merearis assistere, spreta mundi insania, insanabili conscienciaque. labor durus videtur vitam interrumpere' (f. 16). judica b 1. beg.: 'cupienti mihi peticioni vestre satisfacere, occurrit ex una parte inuidencium malicia, ex alia, caritas diuina' (f. 16v). ends: 'nam proculdubio si delectacionem in sacra scriptura niteris querere, etiam in diuino amore rapieris iubilare' (f. 17). judica b 2. beg. istis iam dictis ad utilitatem vestram, videndum est consequenter de multis casibus in confessionibus contingendis, qualiter sit penitencia iniungenda' (f. 17º). ends: 'hii et huiusmodi ad superiores debent mitti' (f. 21º). judica b 3. beg. in die iudicii resurgent omnes incorrupti et sine diminucione membrorum' (f. 21). 1 supplied from bodl. ms. 861 where laud ms. is worn at the corners. 94 early works ends: 'sic ergo in operibus vestris christi laudem et gloriam querite, ut post hanc vitam ad regnum christi valeatis peruenire' (f. 23). manuscripts. oxford mss. i. ashmole 751 (sum. cat. no. 8193), ff. 31-34, late 14th cent. judica b 3 only, but in the collection of extracts from rolle's works, which begin this manuscript, two long quotations occur from judica a, with which rolle's name and the title of the work are given. see quot., stur., magn., job. ii. bodl. 861. judica a only (ascribed to rolle), according to 'the book of the hermit of tanfield' (v. supra, p. 29). the text is exceptionally correct, but much abridged, and it omits some important passages which seem, by their resemblance to other passages of rolle's works, to be genuine. the same omissions (in at least the two cases specially important) are to be found in the trin. coll. dublin ms. (no. xvii, infra, also corrected from 'the book of the hermit of tanfield '), as i am informed by mr. de burgh of the dublin library. both passages are contained in all of the manuscripts of the full text which i have examined. the first is a short significant personal reference (v. infra, p. 464). the second is a considerable passage, more mystical (in the manner of rolle's other works) than any other part of the judica (v. infra, pp. 99 sq., 107); it is difficult to see how its authenticity can be denied or, if it were in existence at the time the copy was made, its omission explained. it is quoted in two instances with rolle's name. these two passages were omitted from the text in emmanuel coll. ms. 35, also containing only judica a, but they have been added by the corrector (here also newton ?). it is possible that the epistle when first written did not contain these parts, which were added after rolle had written the later sections of the treatise, perhaps when he combined the tracts into one work. we shall see that the general circulation of the tracts together-ill-combined as they are-would establish their early connexion, but the circumstances of the origin of the two parts, judica a and b respectively, are such that they would probably have been written at different times. lord scrope's auto1 ms. ix is quoted for the first passage by horstmann (ii, p. xvi, n.), and i have examined these sections in mss. viii, x, xi-xiv (inclus.). part of the second passage is quoted with rolle's name in a rylands ms. and in ashmole ms. 751 ('solus namque amor separat'). judica me deus 95 graph was a small quire' (v. infra, p. 98), which seems to suggest that it contained only judica a, as do the copies taken from the book of his neighbour, the hermit of tanfield. this autograph may have been one made before judica b was attached to the work. iii. douce 107 (sum. cat. no. 21681), ff. 14-19, 15th cent. 'incipit sermo eiusdem ricardi hampol.' judica a only (complete). see e. v. iv. laud misc. 111 (sum. cat. no. 1550), ff. 178v-87, early 15th cent. 'explicit capitulum de iudicio dei.' judica a, b 1, b 3 only, as in ms. ix. judica b 3 (as in ms. ix) begins with the text 'attende, quod ait crisostomus', thus cutting off a few sentences. horstmann (ii, p. xxxvi) cites ms. mm. vi. 17 (ix) as 'the oldest ms.', and therefore takes the present form of the text as the original. but there are several copies of earlier date, and the evidence of other texts shows that the version here given is incomplete. see e. v. v. laud misc. 528, ff. 12v-23, early 15th cent. '... eiusdem beati ricardi, qui intitulatur judica me deus'. a list of headings follows, covering the whole collection. towards the end of judica b 1 in this copy we find the direct address: tu ergo, o n[ominate], agere coneris secundum preceptum' (f. 17). expliciunt confessiones ricardi heremite' (the same title is given in the original table of contents). on the outer margin of f. 17 there is an interesting drawing, difficult to interpret. a bearded man is seated, holding something which appears to be a vessel of some sort (a begging bowl?). he seems to wear a cope, which is fastened at the throat with a morse in the shape of a cross botonée. something on the breast between this and the bowl (?) may possibly be a kind of cross. the head is nimbed. this picture bears no relation to either of the two figures in the picture on the first page of the book (v. supra, p. 54). the text opposite which it is drawn instructs a priest how to conduct confession. see office, e. v., cant., contra am. m., job, incend. vi. rawl. c. 397, ff. 1-7, early 15th cent. 'incipit forma siue regula de modo confitendi extracta per beatum ricardum heremitam ex verbis sanctorum patrum.' judica b (1-3) only. 'explicit regula bona confitendi.' see magn., cant. am., quot. vii. balliol coll. 224, ff. 877-98, 15th cent. the full text, except that judica b 2 diverges at the end and judica b 3 does the same, cutting off all the exempla and more. a new section is added: 'studium cuiuslibet religiosi debet esse, scilicet, ut viuat in obedi96 early works encia ... in ordine suo conuersionis, etc. explicit.' this occurs also separately in b. mus. roy. ms. 5. c. iii. (f. 287b), as noted in the catalogue of the royal mss. the present passage inculcates monastic obedience, which was a virtue in which rolle was uninterested (v. infra, p. 124). its appearance here is probably due to a scribe who was a monk. see cant., contra am. m., e. v., incend., spur., job. viii. corpus christi coll. 193, ff. 251-55, early 15th cent. judica b 3 is lacking, but may have been present in the prototype (v. infra, p. 409). see lat. ps., job, thren., cant., 20th ps., o. d., s. a., e. v., contra am. m., incend., mel. cambridge mss. ix. univ. mm. vi. 17, ff. 59b-70, 15th cent. 'incipit capitulum de judicio dei secundum hampol.' judica a, b1, and b 3 only, the last incomplete at the beginning as in ms. iv, supra. the similarity of title of these two copies may also be noted. see dubia, spur. x. emmanuel coll. 35, ff. 19b-22b, 15th cent. (before 1414). 'hampole super hunc psalmum/judica me deus. . . . explicit fructuosus tractatus ricardi hampole heremite.' judica a only. see cant., incend., mul. fort., o. d., contra am. m., mel., and supra, ms. ii, and p. 49. xi. st. john's coll. 23, ff. 161-78, 15th cent. 'liber dompni petri de norwico.' given by thos., earl of southampton, from the books of wm. crawshaw, 1635. this handsome volume (rolle only) at the reformation belonged to ely priory. in original index : 'tractatus eiusdem (ricardi heremite) de iuste iudicando.' 'incipit alter tractatus venerabilis rycardi heremite de ampullis de iuste iudicando et recte discernendo.' some of the passages attacking bad priests in judica b are omitted here, and the references appear: 'melius in tractatu dicitur de mercenariis sacerdotibus', 'de ista materia vide bene in dicto tractatu de mercenariis sacerdotibus' (f. 169b). in both cases an 'etc.' precedes. see incend., mel. london mss. (british museum). xii. burney 356, ff. 65-78, early 15th cent. 'hic incipit libellus ricardi de hampole venerabili (sic) heremite qui intitulatur judica me deus, de meditacionibus et de modo viuendi ad imitandum vestigia christi, qui in sex capitulis diuiditur.' the subjects of chapters follow, more or less strained to conform to the usual orthodox model for a parish priest's compendium: 'primo, de articulis judica me deus 97 fidei, secundo, de preceptis decalogi', etc. the true course of rolle's argument in the first part of the work (here, as usual, rambling and subjective) is more closely rendered in the headings of ms. v, as follows: 'de meditacionibus sacris, de perfeccione viuendi ad imitandum christum', etc. the two sets of headings more or less agree for the latter part of the work, probably because a very systematic and conventional model (the pars oculi, v. infra, p. 101) is here drawn on by the author. two extra exempla are interpolated in this copy between the last two exempla of judica b 3, both concerned with visions of hell, and quite uncharacteristic of rolle. one is derived from 'beda in gestis anglorum', one from 'liber purgatorii beati patricii'. see e. v. xiii. burney 359, ff. 1-19, early 15th cent. 'explicit iudica me.' xiv. roy. 8 f. vii, ff. 16-24b, 15th cent. 'incipit libellus ricardi de hampolis heremite qui intitulatur iudica me deus.' heading and subjects as in ms. xii, without the chapter-divisions. 'explicit judica me deus'. xv. add. 21202, ff. 87-99, 15th cent. judica a only (complete). identified by dr. g. r. owst. 'dominus willelmus woddrest possessor huius libri' (f. 99b). other mss. xvi. castle howard ms., 15th cent. judica a is headed 'hampole'. only judica b 1 follows, and this is misplaced, and inserted before the end of judica a. the scribe has added notes at the bottom of the page at both ends to point out the disarrangement. see e. v., spur. (2), incend., contra am. m., cant., job, mul. fort. xvii. trin. coll. dublin 153, 15th cent. incipit de iudicio tractatus quasi (?) ricardi heremite (?) de h. h. (?) de t.' judica a only. in conclusion: hec ricardus heremita dicit in quodam libello quem habuit heremita de tanfeld' (cf. bodl. ms. 861). thren., cant. am., cant., mul. fort. 6 see xviii. paris, bib. nat., lat. 543, ff. 64-8v, 14th cent. explicit epistola ricardi heremite de hampole.' judica a only. old stamp: 'bib. reg.' see job, e. v. quotations and references. the judica is quoted from by name and ascribed to rolle in mss. ashmole 751 and ff. i. 14. two extracts from judica a (f. 16) occur with his name in rylands ms. 18932. the first 98 early works exemplum in judica b 3 is quoted as rolle's in the lincoln cath. thornton ms. in english. syon monastery catalogue cites (with rolle's name) two copies of the work, and the index registers another. leicester abbey probably owned the judica ascribed (as in the case of most of rolle's writings here) to john hampole'. lord scrope of masham, as already noted, in a will made in 1415 bequeathed to henry fitz hugh, founder of syon monastery, 'unum quaternum, parvum, in quo continetur expositio super judica me deus, quod richardus heremita composuit et scripsit, pro remembrancia'. leland saw among rolle's works at st. mary's, york, 'super psalmum judica me deus', and bale cites in his index ('ex ayloto holte, buriensi '), ' de non iudicando proximo' (with the proper incipit) under rolle's name. judica a. judica a is written to a friend on the occasion when the author has been criticized for a change of cell. he gives his reasons for his move, and calls on the judgement of god over the heads of men. he is a young hermit, not bound to any fixed abode. the opening which discusses these matters will be quoted in the chapter on rolle's life (pp. 460 sq.). after the personal matters discussed at the beginning of the work are left behind, general exhortations against worldliness follow of a very conventional nature. probably, however, they are meant to be specialized to some extent for the needs of a clerical person. we shall see that judica b is written for a friend who is a parish priest, and probably judica a is written for the same friend, whose status may be indicated by the following sentences: tu autem qui castitatem deo promiseras, si vis eciam esse perfectus, audi dominum dicentem: nisi quis, inquit, renunciauerit omnibus que possidet, non potest meus esse discipulus (luc. xiv. 33). denique hic omnibus renunciat, qui voluntatem habendi temporalia pro christo relinquit, alioquin non discipulus christi¹ sed ypocrita verius dicitur, scilicet, sub paupertate corporali terrena cupiens inuenitur. nemo te seducat: non potes christum vere diligere dum terrenis diuiciis habundare cupis, sed christum perfecte diligis cum preter christum nichil concupiscis' (f. 15). these sentences make clear that the friend has made the vow of chastity, and the exhortation to poverty also suggests that he is an ecclesiastic, for rolle has an almost franciscan strictness in demand1 in the melum rolle seems to use this phrase as limited to the clergy (v. infra, p. 475). judica me deus 99 ing poverty and freedom from worldly concerns from those who have dedicated themselves to the service of the church, whether as priests or as monks (v. infra, pp. 119, 124, 267). the following imply that the friend addressed here is a priest: 'ideoque labora fortiter ut sis mundus in corde, castus in corpore, in cibo et potu moderatus, non sompnolentus, oracioni intentus, bona meditacione assiduus, caritate feruidus, in seruicio christi deuotus, non necgligenter transcurrens, sed diligenter ordinem tenens, et non solum in diligencia sed in reuerencia et timore, non inflatus, non iracundus, in omnibus humilis.... (omnis enim talis indigne ad altare accedit qui aliquo mortali peccato se maculatum sentit. ve; qui nondum deo reconciliatus officium reconciliacionis exercet)'¹ (f. 15″). the commonplace exhortations which follow are perhaps specially directed against the rich; nevertheless, the author shows his esoteric standards when he speaks of the mediocriter boni, qui nec valde mali sunt nec perfeccioni inherent' (f. 15). he is boldly uncompromising solus namque amor separat bonos a malis. . . . sed forte dicit quis: fidem habeo, baptizatus, unum deum adoro, simulacra non veneror, quomodo ergo dampnari potero? non sis deceptus, quicumque es' (f. 13v). mirabilis est dulcedo celestis', he says later, 'qui non conceditur inherenti rebus terrenis' (ff. 15, 16). on this joy he speaks in his own person, in a passage which seems to show that he hopes to persuade the friend addressedpriest though he probably is-to become also a hermit: ... 'quamobrem si vos delectat heremus, ut in solitudine habitetis vel saltem singulare propositum teneatis iugiter, scitote quoniam in principio durum laborem habebitis, sed paulatim in amorem christi crescentes, ineffabile gaudium inuenietis. . . . tantum namque gaudium sencio sub heremitice habitacionis voluntate ut nec volo nec possum id narrare. . . . benedictum sit illud nomen heremiticum et illud singulare propositum, in quo amare disco, iubilare consuesco, saluacionem securus expecto, nullum in ecclesia ordinem reprehendo, sed solitudinem maxime diligo et laudo' (f.16). the following suggests the opening of the door' (v. supra, pp. 27, 87). 'o dulce et delicatum gaudium, amare dei filium. . . . o inestimabilis electorum gloria, qui, christo capite ducente, supernas sedes conscendunt, atque per christum, cum christo, et in christo congratulantes, diuinam maiestatem sine fine uident. o admirabilis saluatoris felicitas, qua³ inter angelicos choros merita sorciuntur, et amoris canticum canere non cessantes beatam uitam contemplantur' (f. 13). 1 the last two sentences belong to the sections missing in bodl. 861. om. bodl. ms., but cf. supra, p. 94, n. 3 qui l. 100 early works with the last quotation should be compared the following, from other works: 'o quam suaue est gaudium ab omni istius seculi solacio prorsus destitui, et interius diuine lucis deliciis in mente penetrari! o quam dulce et delectabile est canticum eterni amoris canere et, celica presonante melodia, contemplando iubilare' (canticles, f. 143″). 'o quam dulce et delectabile est, immo delectabilius quam excogitare possumus, consolatorium canticum eterni amoris canere et, celica resonante cythara, contemplando iubilare' (melum, f. 210v). o quam delectabile gaudium et delicatum solacium amare dei filium: o quam suaue et iocundum' (contra amatores mundi, f. 177). 'for .i. wate na bettere wele. than in my thoght to fele, the life of his lufynge. of all it is the best .ihū. in hert to fest. and 3erne nane othere thynge' (english psalter, p. 215). 'nihil enim iocundius quam ihesum canere: nihil delectabilius quam ipsum audire' (incendium, p. 216). dulciorem uoluptatem non cognosco, quam in corde meo canere tibi, ihesu, quem diligo, canticum laudis tue. ... omnium optimum estimo esse ihesum in corde figere, et aliud nequaquam desiderare' (ibid., pp. 275-6). the set of parallel quotations just made will show that already in the judica rolle had caught the style and sentiments which he was to use in the most characteristic of his works. the authenticity of the passage will be upheld, though it is one that is missing in the two tanfield mss. the alliteration and rhyme appearing in other quotations just made from the judica will also suggest the later works. it should be noted that the phrase 'singulare propositum', twice found, is that used in the canticles and elsewhere also in the same context (v. infra, p. 326). reminiscences can be pointed out in the group of passages just quoted to lines from the hymn jesu dulcis memoria (often known as the jubilus de nomine jesu): 'bonum mihi diligere jesum, nil ultra quaerere.. o beatum incendium, amare dei filium' (migne, 184, c. 1318). in a former article (already cited, supra, p. 21), i have pointed out that this hymn holds in germ such mysticism as richard's. it is very likely that it influenced his early development, and strengthened the devotion to the 'holy name of jesus', to which it was dedicated. its influence on the judica would suggest that by this time he had begun that devotion-a conjecture to which we are also led by the fact that his devotion here is concentrated on the son, to the total exclusion of the mother. though no explicit exhortations to the cult appear in this work, as in so judica me deus ιοι many others, stray signs seem to show that he is already practising the worship of the holy name; as in other works, he addresses 'bone jesu', and the following resembles other exhortations to absorption in the name later to be quoted: nullum tempus in quo non bona intencione intensi sumus esse non debet, quoniam aut de deo cogitemus aut loquamur de illo, vel aliquid utile [scribere seu orare, et precipue ihesus],' qui tocius cordis est amor, in tota mente sempiterna memoria retineatur' (judica b, ff. 16-17). judica b 1. rolle says of this work in the opening section, which is addressed to a friend who is a parish priest: 'verumtamen que vestro statui profutura iam videro, compilare studui. ... immo etsi vobis et aliis legentibus dignum videatur, sciatis quia de verbis precedencium patrum illud extraxi,et ad utilitatem legencium in quodam breui compendio redegi, ut quod ego nondum in publico predicando cogor dicere, saltem vobis ostendam scribendo, qui necessitatem habetis salubriter predicare' (f. 16). he is a youthful hermit, of uncertain position, who already has met evil-thinking: 'vobis habenda est discrecio non modica, ne dum circumquaque hunc libellum indifferenter ostenditis, iuuentutem meam inuidorum dentibus acerbiter corrodendam exponatis. nonnulli nempe, cum heremiticam vitam considerant, me et heremitam non esse impudenter affirmare non formidant' (ibid.). after a warning against judging others, exactly in the tone of judica a, a general discussion follows of the virtues required in the clergy, and contemporary priests are bitterly arraigned. this section is taken almost verbatim from the pars oculi, part ii (b. mus. roy. ms. 8. c. ii, ff. 82 sq., passim), usually ascribed to william of pagula. the pars oculi (in its complete form consisting of the oculi dextrum, sinistrum, et cilium) is a manual for the use of the parish clergy which had an immense circulation in england during the later middle ages, if we may judge by the number of extant manuscripts. mr. h. w. c. davis 2 points out that the author's references to the pretensions of the orders suggest that he belonged to the ranks of the secular clergy. 'the bibliographer bale gives his name as william de pagula, says that he was vicar of winkfield (co. berks), and dates him c. 1350. the internal evidence of the work points to a slightly 1 restored from bodl. ms. where laud ms. is worn, except at 'ihesus', which is added from the emmanuel ms. bodl. ms. inserts (by correction) 'nominis ihesu' after 'memoria' in the next line. 2 in an article on the canon law in england' (zeitschrift der savignystiftung für rechtsgeschichte, kanonistische abteilung iii, weimar, 1913, p. 349). 102 early works earlier date.... his work therefore belongs to the period 1301-1341.' we shall see reason for dating the judica before 1322. richard was at the references quoted from ms. xi may apply to the ultimate source of both the judica and the pars. as far as the relative dates of richard rolle and william de pagula are concerned, however, they would not in themselves offer any obstacle to william's authorship of a piece which is quoted in a juvenile work of richard's. the sections in common are of the sort of which the whole pars oculi is made up, as a complete and authoritative manual, and the judica is confessedly an amateurish compilation made by a man very young. rolle almost certainly died in his prime, so that in 1349 william of pagula may have been a generation older than he. oxford probably before 1319, and william was beneficed near enough to oxford to be in touch with the university. his surname is said to be derived from paull in holderness (n. & q., 8th series, viii. 203), and he may therefore be a fellow-yorkshireman. if he is the author of the manual, therefore, nothing known concerning him is an obstacle to the theory that rolle borrowed from his manual for the judica. we cannot, however, be sure of the origin of the pars. there has been some confusion between william and an earlier bishop of meaux of similar name (see d. n. b., william de pagula) it has also been noted in the catalogue of the royal mss. in the british museum that the incipit given by boston of bury for william's work belongs only to the third book. tanner adds to the confusion about this writer by quoting (p. 570) an ‘antiqua nota' in lambeth ms. 124, which cannot be traced.¹ william's name does not occur in any manuscript accessible, but the catalogue of syon monastery gives it with the work. the early date of composition necessary if this is the source of rolle's judica is upheld by the many 14th-century manuscripts, and particularly by bodl. rawl. ms. c. 84 (early 14th cent.). the confusion as to the authorship, therefore, does not greatly concern the present investigation. since a great part of judica b 1 merely copies the pars ocult, the traces of rolle's peculiar style and doctrine are naturally very few. this is in any case a very short section, which is doubtless intended as an introduction to the manual (judica b) as a whole. the following suggest rolle's other works: 'si amoris diuini dulcedinem sentire cupitis, oportet profecto ut totum cor vestrum ad querendum christum prebeatis. . . . unde et sciendum est 1 i wish to thank the rev. c. jenkins, librarian of lambeth palace, for assistance in connexion with this note. judica me deus 103 quod amor christi cum magno labore, magnaque spirituali exercitacione, videlicet per iuges oraciones et deuotas meditaciones menti fideli adquiritur, et in magno gaudio, cum quis amorem eius habuerit, possidetur. distat ergo inter amorem dei et amorem [mundi; nam in principio amor]¹ mundi ad modum suum dulcessit, sed in fine amarissimus est. amor vero christi in inicio pro penitencia nos cogit amarescere, sed paulatim in nobis crescens mirabili leticia nos facit habundare' (ff. 16-17). a touch of mysticism also appears in the conclusion (v. supra, p. 93). these passages, together with the author's description of himself as a hermit, give internal evidence of rolle's authorship: though they do not refer to the details of mysticism as rolle later knew it, they give his general conception of the love of god as a joyful personal experience. judica b 2. this section is a systematic manual for the use of the parish priest in confession, and it follows word for word, with some abridgements, what we also find in the pars oculi (part i, ff. 52b sq.). one expansion occurs, which is very characteristic of rolle. the subject of preaching in lent is shortly disposed of in the pars: verumptamen si sacerdos pro breuitate temporis et multitudine penitencium non possit huiusmodi cuilibet singulariter proponere, tunc in principio xle debet publice ea predicare' (f. 53). rolle adds to this (given in the second person) the following: '...et facere eis sermonem in generali de vera contricione et confessione et satisfaccione et quod debent ieiunare in munda vita, quia aliter forsitan non proderit eis multum vel nichil suum ieiunium, ut in sequentibus patebit. quod utile est ad predicandum: et illud ewangelium: ductus est ihesus in desertum (mat. iv. 1); et hanc epistolam: si linguis hominum loquar et angelorum (1 cor. xiii. 1). et debetis exponere eis ewangelium et epistolas prout uobis deus dederit scienciam et noticiam celestium secretorum. sed reuertamur iterum ad primum propositum' (f. 18). the last words prove that richard is here digressing from his source. the whole interpolation shows his hand: he is eager to preach on texts urging love and solitude even to simple parishioners, he seeks celestial secrets in the scriptures, and, as in all his later, more original manuals, he insists on the heart's being the only guarantee of virtue. he says of shrift in his english psalter: 'if we 1 restored from burney ms. 356 where ms. laud is worn at the corner. part of the first word is just legible and seems to be 'proximi', showing that laud was corrupt at this point. 104 early works shrife vs clene with sorow of hert, we sall lepe out of the deuels chekis' (p. 241), and the emphasis in this sentence can be understood by quoting from the english manuals, as : 'bot if a man do penance, it es a signe þat he lufes god: bot parfore lufes he hym noght.... na thyng þat i do with-owten, proues pat i lufe god. wharfore luf es in will, verrally, noght in warke bot als a signe of lufe' (form of living, p. 38); 'and for-þi seke mare to lufe hym, þan to do any penance' (commandment, p. 64). to richard, from his earliest days, the outward sacrament evidently meant little when the emotion of the heart was lacking. on the possibility of richard's writing lenten sermons—as to which the interpolation here seems to hint that he felt an interest, v. infra, p. 422. judica b 3. this is a sermon on the last judgement, addressed to 'fratres'. no explanation is given for the sudden change of tone which it brings, but we realize that it is added as a model sermon to assist the priest in his preaching, when we find that it is taken practically verbatim from the section of the pars oculi which is headed: 'nunc videndum est de hiis que presbyter debet predicare subditis suis' (f. 87). the opening of rolle's piece will be found in the middle of a sentence of the pars. he has throughout abridged considerably the material which he has chosen, but he has also made the two following additions, which are both highly characteristic: 'qui hic deum ardencius diligunt, ibi deo propiores et maiori gloria et lumine perfusos eternaliter erunt' (f. 21): debemus et hic laudes eterni amoris canticum personantes, ut eternaliter mereamur iubilare' (f. 22). analogues for the latter sentence have already been quoted— with the former may be compared: 'quanto enim quis caritate plenior fuerit, tanto in celesti regno honorabilior et sublimior erit' (contra amatores mundi, f. 179); 'qui enim amplius amat, superior in regno constituitur' (incendium, p. 214); 'quanto vero quis in amore christi in hoc praesenti seculo iucundior & feruentior fuerit, tanto in resurrectione imo & sine fine gloriosior & sublimior erit' (commentary on the apostles' creed, fol. 35). it is a sign that rolle is borrowing that judica b 3 contains several patristic citations (derived from the pars). 1 1 here burney ms. adds: 'in mentibus nostris suauiter canere ut ibi in gaudio dei nostri amoris'. this suggests rolle, though additions found earlier in this copy do not. judica me deus 105 three exempla follow the sermon on the last judgement with the same inconsequence with which the sermon followed the directions for confession: probably they are also introduced for the parish priest to use in his sermons. it is perhaps significant of some continuity being intended by rolle to run through the whole of the judica that just as the last judgement has been chosen as the subject of the model sermon, so all three exempla here given bring back the subject to the 'judgement of god', with which judica a had begun. all relate how some one who died with every promise of salvation according to the judgement of men turned out to be damned one is lost because in spite of the rites of the church he did not feel contrition; one for keeping what had come to him by fraud, though at the same time making much of his good acts; one for doing good for the sake of the appearance before men. each is quoted from an authority, with a moral following, and in the case of the first the moral is that the heart should be poured out like waterwhich links it with judica b 2, where that exact admonition is given. probably judica a and b circulate together because they were both written for the same friend: they do not easily coalesce. it will be seen that those manuscripts that entitle this work 'de judicio dei' have seized upon the only thread of connexion that can be made between the parts of this work—and even so, judica b 2 hardly comes into the group. such a subject is one which we see from other works would be very congenial to rolle. even the material details of the last judgement, such as are recounted in judica b 3, were not repellent to this preacher of love, as the following from the canticles will show: 'sancti igitur non solum reprobis in iudicio non compaciuntur, set et diffinitiue sentencie eterne damnacionis illorum delectantur, set eciam cum viderint superbos et elatos, qui in hac vita magnos et gloriosos se fuisse gratulabantur, diris infernalium exactorum instrumentis circumquaque opprimi, nulli dubium quin vehementer merentur letari' (f. 144). the question of the judgewith this should be compared the following, from a recent review on " revolutionary new england': 'he (jonathan edwards) actually depicted himself and his fellow-ministers as "saints" sitting by the side of christ as assessors at the last judgement, sentencing their own people and exulting at their torments in hell. "how joyfully will they (the saints) sing to god and the lamb when they behold this", is edwards's conclusion to passages which, in lurid horror, can have few parallels in theological literature' (times literary supplement, june 26, 1924). rolle also believed that the saints' would be judges (v. infra, pp. 119, 155). h 106 early works ... ment of god in the case of individuals was a subject of very special interest to him, for it touched his own life. he says: certes, mi hert, whethir it lufe my god or noght, wate na man bot god. . . . for i had it bot foly to deme a mans hert, þat nane knawes bot god' (form, pp. 39, 37). similar sentiments are repeated often and probably mean in part that he sought in them protection from criticism of his own way of life, which was often unconventional. 'occultum quippe est iudicium dei' (incendium, p. 153, cf. ego dormio, p. 54; job, fol. cix; english psalter, p. 26-the exposition of the psalm judica me deus-pp. 34, 45, 257; emendatio, fol. iiv). 'igitur nosmetipsos sollicite consideremus ne alios temere iudicemus' he says in the canticles (f. 151), and in the same work he prophesies the discomfiture of the hypocrite in words for which his exempla quoted in the judica would furnish the exact illustration: 'vanus autem in mente et coopertus similitudine sanctitatis aperte monstrabitur ypocrita' (f. 144); set quoniam nulla bona nec magna opera sine amore dei prodesse poterunt, proculdubio qui caritatem veram non habent, quicquid habuerint dampnati erunt. hinc miro et occulto iudicio agitur ut nonnunquam nichil exterius operans coram deo in futuro sublimiter coronetur' (f. 146). rolle seems to have been a man of great loyalty of mind—if such a phrase can be used to describe the consistency with which he repeated the same sentiments from the beginning to the end of his works. his present bliss never in any way diminished his joyful longing for the fuller measure which he was to receive, and evidently one of the special satisfactions to which he looked forward in the future state was the disclosure of the secret judgement of god, by which all sorts of positions and values, as the world saw them, were to be reversed: 'pauperes vero seculi, diuites sunt celi', etc., he says in the canticles (f. 144). this and other works depict the future bliss of the saints with confident rapture, and through his persecutions the expectation of the 'judgement of god' would seem to have been his comfort. the opening of judica a as far as it discusses personal matters will be quoted in connexion with rolle's life (infra, p. 460), but it should be noted now that most of the manuscripts continue here with a prophecy of the end of the world, as follows: 'nescitis enim que geruntur in mente, quamquam cernitis hominem ambulantem in carne; unde nec laudes secularium cupio, nec illorum maliciam pertimesco. veniet dies, ecce prope est, veniet, inquam, dies et non tardabit, in qua nos omnes non solum [de] factis et dictis, sed etiam judica me deus 107 de cogitacionibus ante tribunal christi reddemus racionem. o quam felix, qui tunc stare poterit ad videndum christum!' (f. 13). the last two sentences are omitted in the two tanfield mss., along with a good deal more, some of which is quoted supra, p. 99, and will be seen to suggest rolle strongly. the following, which reinforces the reference to the end of the world, is also omitted in the bodl. ms., at least: 'tot passibus ad infernum properat, quot malis actibus obedire non formidat; et quidem properat in istis temporibus, in quibus deueniunt fines temporum. maxime superbi regnant, ypocrite president, homicide dominantur, fornicatores sublimantur, auari diuicias et dignitates adquirunt, iracund[i] et inuidi se preponunt, ut vix unus inuenitur qui dolum non sequitur...' (f. 13º). such laments were common in medieval works, but that does not prove that they did not sometimes bear a special meaning. we know that rolle in his early life lived in a particularly troubled world, and it is therefore not likely to be altogether without contemporary significance that references like those just quoted are (so far as i have observed) found in his early prose works, in the canticles, and nowhere else, unless some such references may be embedded in the psalters. the fact that the two laments quoted from the judica are not found in the two manuscripts of special authority does not, as we have seen, make it any the less probable that they are genuine, since other passages here omitted seem to be genuine. if we are to imagine that the material here omitted was added at the time judica a and b were combined, that cannot date their composition much later, for judica b is also a work of extreme youth, and reminiscences which it gives of judica a would suggest a close connexion. the judica is one of the least characteristic of rolle's works, yet its authenticity, which is supported by strong external evidence, has been illustrated by internal evidence almost equally strong. both in judica a and in judica b 1 the author declares himself a hermit; and the motive for writing both of these compositions can be connected with what we know of the life of richard hermit. judica a is written on the occasion when the author has caused scandal by changing his cell, and it would seem that the incendium (chapter 15), in a critical passage to be quoted, refers to the incident in question. 1 a similar passage is however to be found in the apocalypse, perhaps also early (v. infra, p. 155). h 2 108 early works evidence that richard's changes of cell brought him criticism may also be drawn from the office (p. 39), where an apology is given on the subject. the motive for writing judica b (in all its parts) is not personal, but the general desire to improve the efficiency of the pastoral office here we have a motive which lies outside mysticism, yet we have other evidence that it was one which rolle felt strongly in his early years. the two other prose works belonging to the present group of early works both attack the vices of the parish clergy at length, in strong language. richard's first patron-who maintained' him at oxford was thomas de neville (son of the lord of raby, and afterwards archdeacon of durham), a pluralist whose high family connexions brought him a fortune from his ecclesiastical career: perhaps rolle's connexion with neville gave him a special indignation on the subject of the neglect of the pastoral office. the other writings-except the commentary on the lamentations of jeremiahdo not linger on this question, but in most of rolle's works, in spite of their mysticism, there is a good deal of preaching on simple, practical subjects-love of riches and of dress, marriage, and the like-which could reach an ordinary parochial audience (the treatise contra amatores mundi should specially be noted in this connexion). the fact that (as the office tells us) richard's first act as a hermit was to preach in a parish church, and that his sermon at this time was of the utmost eloquence, may give us a hint that at the time of his 'conversion' he even felt drawn to preach himself to the people, as well as to contemplate in solitude. judica b, as we have seen, tells us that he is writing for the use of his friend in preaching, because he himself 'is not yet allowed to preach'. at this time, evidently, he still hoped to fulfil the offices both of the preacher and of the mystic, but by the time of the melum he has found out that they are incompatible (v. infra, p. 149). the same work tells us that he is forbidden to preach by ecclesiastical authority, and thus the interest which inspired the judica b was checked from developing further, both from within and from without. we are given good reason for the isolation of this work among rolle's writings. in the mystical passages quoted from the judica, the song of love' is the only attribute of ecstasy echoed. this was a commonplace in england long before rolle's time, and here it refers to 1 middendorff (pp. 14-16) quotes a selection of the passages against the clergy found in the edition of 1536. 2 romanic review, loc. cit., p. 161. judica me deus 109 life after death. we have already seen that something very like 'heat, sweetness, and song' accompany his love for the virgin in his juvenile canticum amoris, where certainly they did not represent sensuous experience. rolle himself tells us in the incendium : 'porro, ut potui in scripturis perscrutari, inueni et cognoui quidem quod summus amor christi in tribus consistit: in feruore, in canore, et in dulcore' (p. 184). thus we have a confession from him that the form of ecstasy which he later felt sensuously he first learned academically. the canticum amoris evidently represents the period when traditional images of the mystic were working on his subconsciousness, though the final direction of his devotion was not yet given. by the time of the judica he has 'found jesus', and entered mystic joy, but it is still inchoate and inarticulate. a quotation made above (p. 99) suggests the period of the opening of the door', between two and three years after his conversion, described in chapter 15 of the incendium: the hermit yearns for 'angels' song', but the operation of suggestion has not been completed, and the traditional images of the mystic become incarnate. the contrast with the explicit assertiveness of the mystical passages in the melum, the work next to be considered, is extreme. in considering the dates of rolle's early life, we are given anchorage by the office, which states that he returned from oxford at the age of eighteen, and by the account of his early development given in chapter 15 of the incendium, which tells us that he reached the 'opening of the door', which apparently gave the final direction to his love, three years, less three or four months, after his conversion. it was almost another year before he felt 'heat', which came to him when he was sitting in 'quadam capella'. nine months and some weeks later he was sitting 'in eadem capella' when he heard for the first time 'canor'. in his summing-up (p. 190) he tell us that thus his progress from conversion to his complete mystic joy took 'quattuor annos et circa tres menses'. the office, which says that he returned from oxford at eighteen, does not specifically date his running away as a hermit further than to set it many weeks after the end of term (v. infra, p. 448). the incendium opens chapter 15 by dating his conversion 'cum infeliciter florerem et iuuentus uigilantis adolescencie iam aduenisset' (p. 187).¹ 1 these words would imply that he used 'juventus' and 'adolescentia ' interchangeably, which was not the usual custom. other passages in which he uses 'juvenis' would also suggest the same age as if he had used 'adolescens' (v. infra, p. 125, and supra, p. 90). dom noetinger (month, p. 3) interprets 110 early works rolle was a writer of idiosyncrasy, and we must seek to understand his meaning without much reference to usage. the passage in question cannot be taken as giving any precise information as to the age described, but the use of 'adolescentia 'at least suggests that the upper limits of age sometimes indicated by 'juventus' cannot be in question. rolle apparently means to say that he became a hermit when a man distinctly young, which might apply to his age at eighteen or even a little later (if he did not become a hermit at once on his return home). we can in any case take it that he was no younger than eighteen when he began mystical experience. this, he tells us, was consummated four years and three months after his conversion, which therefore must have been when he was at least twenty-two or three. a period of vague joys came about the time of the 'opening of the door' a year and a half earlier, that is, when he was at least between twenty and twenty-one. this stage lasted at least a year, and it was in this interval when we believe that the judica was written. in other words, we seem to have good evidence that it was written when he was twenty, or a year or two later. we must allow a margin, in case his conversion be dated after eighteen, and because the judica may have been written just before the actual opening of the door' (then near). since rolle received the endowment of 'calor' and of 'canor' when sitting in the same chapel, it is likely that he was living in the same place and certain that he was in the same neighbourhood during approximately the last year of his initiation. this is not likely, however, to be the scene of his first experience as a hermit, for in chapter 15 of the incendium, after discussing his conversion and before describing his growth of joy, he goes on: 'solebam profecto quietem querere, quamuis de uno loco ad alium transire. cellas namque deserere ex racionabili causa malum non est heremitis, et iterum ad easdem, si congruum uideatur, redire... mali uero malum loquuntur ... hoc cognoui quod quanto magis contra me uerbis detractoriis homines insanierunt, tanto amplius in profectu spirituali succreui. nam eos pessimos detractores habui, quos prius amicos fidos putaui. denique non cessaui ab hiis que utilia erant anime mee propter uerba illorum, immo exercui studium et semper inueni deum fauentem. recolui quod scriptum est: maledicent illi et tu benedices, etc. (ps. the former as 'the prime of manhood' (thirty to forty), the latter as fifteen to thirty. this usage is registered in lewis and short's dictionary, but no scholar experienced in medieval latin with whom i have spoken would agree thus to fix the limits. probably juventus' should be interpreted according to the context, and might be anything between fifteen and forty (v. infra, p. 539). " judica me deus iii cviii. 28). et per processus temporum datus est mihi profectus spiritualium gaudiorum. ab inicio,' etc. (p. 188). the account of the growth of joy then follows (v. supra, p. 27). this passage would hint that rolle changed his cell and incurred criticism for so doing early in his hermit's life. the position in the narrative would put the incident before the completion (at least) of his mystical development, and the remark that the complaints of his detractors were not able to check his growth in spiritual joys would hint that it came midway in the process. since the judica seems to refer to a first change of cell (or at least to the first change of cell which had occasioned hostile comment), it is likely that the one implied in chapter 15 of the incendium is that for which judica a gives the contemporaneous apology. this conjecture receives confirmation from the character of the mystical references in the judica, which have been seen to be such as would suit the early change of cell apparently implied in the incendium. when we discuss the details of rolle's life, it will be seen that 1322 was a momentous date in the world in which he was then living. his first patron as a hermit (john dalton) was (according to an identification almost certain) in the early months of that year involved in the rebellion of thomas of lancaster, imprisoned, heavily fined, and deprived permanently of all the important offices which he had held for many years. most of the neighbouring gentry were also punished, and some were executed. in the opening of the judica (to be quoted infra, p. 460) rolle says in explanation of his change of cell: 'they were changed towards me (quantum ad me) who were accustomed to minister to me.' this probably refers to the daltons, who, as the office tells us, promised him support immediately on his taking up the hermit's life. in the early melum rolle is eloquent on the unfeeling neglect which he has suffered from patrons, who supplied him with mouldy bread and insufficient covering and feasted while he was deprived of the necessities of life (v. infra, p. 121). it is likely that these were the daltons, for it will later be shown that there is historical evidence that john dalton was high-handed and grasping, and in more than one instance was guilty of exploiting the poor for mercenary ends. it is not likely that he would treat the young hermit generously. everything considered, it is highly probable that the melum in the passage in question is reverting with explicit details to events which are the occasion of writing the judica, but which (since the author is young and diffident) are there referred to in general terms. the 112 early works reference in the judica as to the change 'quantum ad me' would imply that it was personal matters that had separated him from his patrons. there is no indication that external events had any share in the change, yet if the piece had been written after 1322 it would hardly seem likely that it should not have echoed the tremendous happenings which shook all rolle's world in the spring of that year, and especially the family of his first patron. the melum, as we shall see (infra, pp. 123-4), seems to be occasioned by a feud with monkish adversaries: this bitter, farreaching quarrel has apparently not broken out at the time when the judica is written, for (though such references recur in several later works than the melum) here there is no mention of monks or of their pretensions. in the melum the whole impression given is one of tumult in the outside world, not only affecting the young hermit himself (though his affairs are most troublous). the judica, as we have seen, prophesies the end of the world, and later it goes on to castigate the worldly, with lamentations over modern degeneracy. there is, however, nothing pointed or personal about these passages, though the motive in writing the work is personal. if rolle's patrons had at this time suffered the worldly rebuff which they did in 1322, we can imagine that he would have triumphantly brought forward the fact in the melum he more than once gives us to understand that his enemies have met ignominy at the very time when they were persecuting him (v. infra, pp. 123, 484 sq.). since no hint is given in the judica of divine rebukes (as it were) delivered on his behalf, we can most plausibly conclude that the general disorders of the time are in question, but that the special events which tore rolle's world in 1322, from march on, had not yet come to pass. in the preceding discussion three considerations have entered, not all of equal validity. there is, first, the age at which rolle felt his period of vague mystic joy, which is certain, as drawn from his own account. there is, second, the assignment to this period of the mystical references of the judica, which is as near certain as anything not explicitly stated by rolle can be. there is, third, the hypothesis that the silence as to external disasters shown by the judica indicates that these disasters had not taken place, whic is only a hypothesis, but (considering the analogy of the melum) a very likely one. if all three considerations could be accepted as absolutely reliable we should have the judica dated as before 1322, and in the twentyfirst year of rolle's life, or, since in all dates in question a margin of some months enters, a year or two later. rolle's birth would judica me deus 113 then be fixed at c. 1300, that is, possibly a year or two before 1300, but hardly later. we shall see, in discussing the ages of rolle's contemporaries, that the margin on the other side of 1300 possible for his date of birth must be a narrow one. evidence to the same purpose seems also to lie in the fact that after the judica rolle signed himself as a youth in two long, very dissimilar works probably written c. 1326-30. melum contemplativorum the melum contemplativorum is an exuberant treatise in poetical prose describing the author's mysticism. the quotations from the melum are made from corpus christi oxf. ms. 193 (cited as c) collated with sloane ms. 2275. beg.: amor utique audacem efficit animum, quem arripit ab ymis, dum eterni auctoris incendium amicam inflammat' (f. 206). ends: amorem et odium utrumque ostendi, et puer nunc propero ad finem felicem, nam pene perfudi gressus grauantes, ut calcans contagium in cantico consummer. caritatem carissimam cunctis commendo. amen' (f. 251v). the title given to the treatise in the present study is that used by horstmann and found in a slight majority of the manuscripts. it will be seen below, however, that the title melos (in various forms) has as good manuscript authority as the one here used. 'melos amoris' is often used by rolle in the treatise and in other writings to describe his mystic joy, and 'melum' is less common. following quotations, however, show (as horstmann pointed out) that the author used as principal title that of the book of the glory and perfection of the saints: the 'ad pretacta plenius explananda propero ut, inspirante spiritu qui prebet potenciam, de gloria et perfeccione sanctorum precellencium postillas proferam que piis placeant' (melum, f. 209). 'sed quaerite de hac materia in libello de vita eremitarum, etiam & in libro de perfectione & gloria sanctorum, quia ibi inuenietis de eminentia sanctitatis' (job, fol. xcix"). possibly the fact that the title book of the glory and perfection of the saints is never found in the manuscripts, though they are fairly consistent in giving the titles melos and melum, means that the author circulated those titles as headings, though using the other in the text. probably he sometimes made several autographs for different disciples (v. infra, p. 169), and it would be like him 114 early works to repeat his title with slight variations. the autograph in the possession of syon monastery seems to have been entitled 'melos contemplacionis' (a title not found in any extant copy). it will be seen in the subjoined list of manuscripts that the numbering of the chapters of the melum varies, though within narrow limits. new chapters are often marked by scriptural texts or a change of subject, and the reference to the work as 'postils', above quoted, should be taken in connexion with the following: reuolue et recole postillam precedentem' (f. 238); 'in precedente capitulo dixerat dilectus quod amicam suam duceret in solitudinem' (f. 242). the author evidently wrote his work in chapters. manuscripts. oxford mss. i. bodl. 861. no ascription (v. supra, p. 26). • ii. corpus christi coll. 193, ff. 206-51, early 15th cent. 'explicit melum contemplatiuorum ardencium in amore dei. r. h.' fifty-seven chapters. see lat. ps., job, thren., cant., 20th ps., o. d., s. a., e. v., contra am. m., incend., judica. iii. lincoln coll. 89, ff. 1-25, 15th cent. chapters 4-56 only, with theological annotations (hardly legible). cambridge mss. iv. emmanuel coll. 35, ff. 194-238b, 15th cent. (before 1414). 'hampole in libro qui vocatur melum amoris.' extracts only, partly corrected (by john newton?) and with the chapter-numbers supplied. the extra last chapter noted below (v. ms. v) is included. the marginal note occurs 'de penuria quam interdum passus est iste (?) sanctus ricardus' (f. 211b). see cant., incend., judica, mul. fort., o. d., contra am. m. 'incipit tractatus v. st. john's coll. 23, ff. 41-161, 15th cent. venerabilis ricardi heremite de ampullis qui uocatur melos contemplatiuorum.' in the initial a hermit (?) with grey beard sits in a sort of tub, with a book and large beads. he wears a russet cowl, grey under-tunic, and white vest. a short extra chapter follows the usual ending (here numbered as chapter 52). this is made up of sentences from chapters 2-5 of the incendium, and it is found separate (anonymously) between two works ascribed to rolle in the castle howard ms. (v. infra, p. 217). it refers to the 'calor, dulcor, et canor', and with it the melum ends with a conclusion similar to melum contemplativorum 115 those of the incendium and the canticles, both of which mention the three elements of ecstasy in their last paragraph. see incend., judica. other mss. ... vi. b. mus. sloane 2275, ff. 1-52, 14th-15th cent. 'incipit melos amoris deuotissimi ricardi heremite. . . . explicit melos amoris.' the usual text, divided into fifty-eight chapters. a corrector, 'mertth', has worked on this manuscript. see contra am. m., incend., job, e. v., stim. consc. vii. douay 396. extracts ascribed to rolle (v. supra, p. 38). viii. trin. coll. dublin 159, ff. i sq., 15th cent. 'incipit tractatus beati ricardi heremite qui dicitur melos amoris.' the extra chapter follows at the end here as in ms. v. see quot. ix. hereford cath. o. viii. 1, late 14th cent. a second hand has written in the margin: hic incipit iiiir. . . de melis angelicis, et faciatis bonum spacium' (v. supra, p. 27). the usual text, divided into fifty-eight chapters. see lat. ps., e. v., contra am. m., incend., cant., magn., apoc. x. lincoln cath. 209 (ii), ff. i sq., late 14th cent. defective at the beginning. explicit melos amoris.' a medieval table of contents gives: 'ricardi melos amoris.' the handwriting in this work is not the same as that in the first part (john wodeburgh's). see office, contra am. m., job, 20th ps. xi. trier (stadtbibl.) 685, ff. 147-147, 15th cent. 'liber domus sancti albani iuxta treuerim ordinis cartus.' 'rich. hampol quod pre omnibus optimum est amare deum. .. a fragment of the melum, f. 234, which extols the state of contemplative men. written at the charterhouse of ruremonde, where lived 'the ecstatic doctor' denis. see incend., contra am. m., spur. incipit melum ricardus heremita.' xii. upsala univ. c. 1, ff. 34-80, late 14th cent. contemplatiuorum ardencium in amorem dei. 'liber monasterii sancte marie uirginis in wazsteno' (f. 229). forty-nine chapters marked, with a marginal note before chapter 43: 'hic deficiunt 8 (?) capitula.' the usual end. see incend. references and quotations. corpus christi coll. camb. ms. 194 and harl. ms. 2439 give with rolle's name a part of the passage from the melum as to his love for the virgin (already quoted). a compilation in the heneage ms., to which rolle's name is attached, gives extracts from the melum (anti116 early works clerical). trin. coll. dublin ms. 277 (lollard) quotes 'ricardus hampule in libro vocato melum co viio contra pastores' (a violent attack on the clergy). selections from the melum make part of the last section of the compilation on the name of jesus from rolle's writings in ms. kk. vi. 20. the academic consideration to which rolle's extravagant melum finally attained is attested by the existence of part of a glossary in dd. v. 64 (ii), early 15th cent. (ff. 84-5), headed as follows: 'hic incipiunt uerba difficilia per diuersos doctores exposita que continentur in libro qui vocatur melum r. heremite.' everything after the letter d is torn out in the complete manuscript the melum itself doubtless followed. this is now bound with the important northern ms. from which horstmann printed the english epistles. in the 17th century it was in york. see e. v., o. d., incend., form, command., ego d., miscell., and infra, p. 407. the brothers' library at syon monastery owned the autograph of this work. a'melum' by 'john hampole' is cited as at leicester abbey. in 1440 robert alne, an official of york chapter, willed to the library of cambridge university a 'melos' with rolle's name, which had belonged to master thomas de hebbeden, a yorkshireman at the episcopal court of durham. a list of books in the university library at cambridge notes with rolle's name 'melum contemplatiuorum' as given by alne. a volume once at the london charterhouse contained extracts from rolle's 'melos amoris'; which boston of bury (c.1410) cites as at bury. the same work is probably the 'de glorificatione sanctorum' which he notes without assigning to a library. leland saw in the carmelites' library, london, 'carmen rhythmicum nomine melum'. bale and pits repeat boston's second title, without connecting it with any extant work: the work was probably not seen from the time of leland till that of horstmann-who quoted from it largely, and gave it its true importance in rolle's bibliography. the melum contemplativorum is the most individual of richard rolle's writings, both in subject-matter and in style, and his authorship could be proved from almost every page. his reference to it in the job (v. supra, p. 113) would in any case put his authorship beyond doubt, for the job is concluded by a rhymed signature similar to that attached to the canticum amoris. it has been seen that the manuscript testimony for his authorship is very strong, and the autobiographical references to be discussed agree with what we know of his melum contemplativorum ii7 life from the office and from other works. though his authorship of the melum need not be proved, yet evidence should be given of the consistency of this work with the style and subject-matter of rolle in the commentary on the canticles. the author clearly states his message, profession, age, and purpose in writing, in the opening chapter; and he hints at a conflict with monks: 'amor utique audacem efficit animum,' quem arripit ab ymis, dum eterni auctoris incendium amicam inflammat, et suscipit in sublimitatem supra sophiam secularem, ut non senciat nisi sanctitatem. urget igitur amoris habundancia et audeo aperire eloquium ad informacionem aliorum, ostendens altitudinem amancium ardentissime iusticiamque iubilancium iocunde in ihesu, ac caritatem canencium in conformitate celica, necnon et claritudinem conscienciarum capacium increati caloris et delectacionis indeficientis. quatinus quisque comperiens quomodo conditor iuuenculum in germen gesserit iudicii non dicat deinceps quia non dignatur deus indulcorare homines in hoc mundo nec magnificare modernos in melliphona multitudine, sicut solebat sanctos qui antiquitus ambulabant.... siquidem superuenit spiritus spirans a patre pietatis et subito submisit ut in solitudinem me separarem a solacio seculari. deinde mentem tam mirifice mutauit a merore in melos, quod metuo 2 monstrare munus et multiplicare magnificenciam, ne multiloquium me minuerit. attamen inter hec alii in habitu obedienciariorum michi apparuerunt in argumentis quod ardencius amant quam aliquis inter eos non assumptus, et maioris meriti coram magestate mittunt munificenciam. quippe non cognouerunt qualiter cucurri et a contenciosa conticui collocucione, contineri cupiens in hoc quod creator michi copulauit. . . . liquide loquor, non timeo temptantes, nam tales in turbine trucidabuntur. silere non scio, sic caritas me cogit, ut cuncti cognoscant quod capax consisto cantabilis clamoris, et sonum suscipio celicum insignem, dum discedere dilexi a diuitum dolore et sancte subsistere solitarie sedendo, canens et calidus, ac iubilans iugiter' (f. 206). in the long treatise which follows the lines just quoted, the author returns again and again to the subject of his life of contemplation as a hermit, and the miraculous joy which it brings him. he expresses the same meaning over and over with changes of diction and of imagery, and he would seem to have rifled for his purposes the whole medieval latin vocabulary, as well as all the resources of 1 cf. jesu dulcis memoria: 'cum digne loqui nequeam de te, tamen non sileam; amor facit ut audeam, cum de te solum gaudeam.' and supra, p. 71, infra, p. 199. 2 nemo c. 3 meminerit c. ✦ subsisterem c. subsissem s. 118 early works poetical ornament. it is the most important and individual of richard's compositions, but extraordinarily monotonous. though its eccentricities (which have been illustrated) were never fully reproduced, even by rolle, it was probably none the less influential in its time. one is inclined to believe that it is the most extreme example of 'polyphonic prose' ever attempted:¹ no modern example can hope to approach it for boldness, for it was composed in latin (which offered unique opportunities for rhyme and assonance) in the fourteenth century, when in england the native instinct for alliteration was again stirring and gave a new motive for barbarously sacking the rich vocabulary at the disposal of the medieval neo-latinist. its mystical subject-matter gave the congruous material for such a style, for ecstasy often shows an affinity for rhythm. the later middle ages, as we have seen, knew a whole philosophy of rhetoric, of which we are only beginning to catch glimpses, and the place in it which belongs to a rhythmical piece like the melum is of interest at the present time, when some of the tendencies which it represents are again current. though in this early work rolle makes no explicit analysis of his ecstasy into three attributes, as in some others, one or all are usually implicit in the descriptions of mystical joy which make up the greater part of the treatise. the devotion to the holy name of jesus is also not often explicitly mentioned, but the iubilans in ihesu' appears in the first chapter already quoted, and other implicit expressions of the cult are common. some direct mentions of the devotion also occur, as: 'nonnulli, quia nequeunt in iubilo gestari et nodantur nequaquam · nominis in nexu, quod fixos inflammat in fide factoris, non credunt quod capior ad carmen canorum, aut scriberem constanter in modo mirabili de cantu caritatis' (f. 222). 'inter omnes habundans amore in dono dulcissimo, auctorem aspexi, nudatus nequaquam a nomine quod noui, thesum in iubilo scilicet suaui senciens, sublatus celitus in summa' (f. 230). 1 the modern experiment in free verse is brilliantly discussed in professor j. l. lowes's convention and revolt in english poetry (boston, 1919), where he quotes miss amy lowell as follows, concerning 'polyphonic prose': ""polyphonic" means-many-voiced-and the form is so called because it makes use of all the "voices" of poetry, viz. metre, vers libre, assonance, alliteration, rhyme and return. it employs every form of rhythm, even prose rhythm at times, but usually holds no particular one for long. . . . the rhymes may come at the ends of the cadences, or may appear in close juxtaposition to each other, or may be only distantly related' (p. 287). this would be an adequate description of the style of richard rolle's melum. melum contemplativorum 119 the following passage gives all the idiosyncrasies of rolle's mysticism: 'deus docuisti me¹ a iuuentute mea, et usque nunc pronunciabo mirabilia tua (ps. lxx. 17).... eciam inter epulas quas cupidi curabant utique habundat amor auctoris, et dulcor non deest... dum vigilo non vaco a voce vitali, si legerem, si scripserem, si ambulem, si agerem, continuo canorem concentu cupitum. si comedam, si bibam, non cadit a corde nomen notandum-solum in quo saluari me sencio securum. non obliuiscar illius qui animum assumpsit, ut ardens anhelem ipsi adesse. sine thesu non iubilo, qui genitum me gessit a gemitu et gelu ut germiner ingenuus in ius ierarchie, et cum sedeo inter suspirantes ad seculare solium, dum non garriunt ut clangentes, michi in secreto, quod non sciunt, ac si essem in requie restauratus, resultat organum angelicum, et sonat— sed subtilissime-celica symphonia. sed siquidem, dum sisto in solitudine, suauissimam sencio psalterii solucionem : illud autem inter homines non habeo, nisi propter impletum amoris, et quando eciam tunc ardore affluo, amoto strepitu circumstancium et turpitudine stultorum. unde et dissolui desidero ut ducar ad dilectum, nam contemplatiua suauitas desiderium mortis mandat in mentibus' (ff. 209, 209▼). in the melum rolle does not rely on assertion and autobiography alone to carry home his meaning: over and over again he brings texts from scripture into the discourse, and the following will illustrate the use which he makes of such : 'principes populorum congregati sunt cum deo abraham; quoniam dii fortes terre vehementer eleuati sunt (ps. xlvi. 10). hactenus egimus de viris sanctis precellentibus quantum ad ipsorum perfeccionem, quod sobrie, caste et pie viuunt. . . . similiter et quantum ad illorum gloriam, quia omnibus mundi diuiciis renunciantes voluntariam paupertatem elegerunt, christum sequentes, qui eos tanto amplius inebriat sui amoris dulcedine, quanto nichil terrenum nichilque carnale videntur effectare.... iam ergo, quia ad finem libri festinamus, de gloria sanctorum et miseria malorum, que in iudicio percepturi sunt, ac de fine seculi, prout possumus, edisseremus. denique supradictum est: principes, etc. ... propheta predixit sicut preuidit; principes (non accipitur hic pro regibus et prelatis, sed pro viris sanctissimis populorum) appellantur quia quamuis in hac vita despecti sint et humiles, in superno nimirum regno declarantur excellenciores, et si in hoc mundo in magna humiliacione positi et impremente paupertate potestatem inter homines et honorem non percipiunt, in futuro tamen iudicio venerabiliter populis principabunt. hii utique congregabuntur cum deo abraham, id est, cum christo iudicante' (ff. 248, 249). 1 om. c. 2 in c. ³ perfecione c. 120 early works the limit of rolle's assurance is only reached with such a passage as the following: 'solitudinem qui suscipit stabilis persistat, desolatus non doleat. . . . hoc itaque est optimum quod accipit homo dum in hac vita viuere valet; excelsum utique ambiguum non habet, nam taliter translatus, temporale transcendens, tutissime transibit. non erit quod erret qui sic adamauit; deitas nam debriat dulcedine dilectum, deducens ingenuum ut iubilet in ihesu, et currat continue celicas ad sedes' (ff. 241–241′). as in the judica he insists on being judged directly by god, so in the melum he insists that he is taught directly by god: 'didici quod doceo a deo dignante' (f. 218); ' diuinitus didici quod dico' (f. 224). thus he claims not only sainthood but direct inspiration as well. we shall see in later works (infra, p. 138), however, that though he claims freedom from error, he does not claim freedom from temptation or from venial sin. the book of the glory and perfection of the saints seems to have been the first work in which richard disclosed the inmost sanctity of his mysticism, and never again did he make his confessions on so ambitious a scale. perhaps as a result, the melum seems to have been the treasury to which he returned in writing other works. two sections of the melum which are important for rolle's personal history are repeated in the canticles, as already noted (supra, p. 82). another section is repeated (in a slightly abridged form) in the same work, beginning with the lines already quoted (supra, p. 100) in connexion with the judica: 'o quam dulce et delectabile est', melum, f. 210; o quam suaue est gaudium', canticles, f. 143. this section in its latter portion is also repeated in the last chapter of the emendatio vitae ('laboriosa est contemplatio, sed dulcis, desiderabilis et suauis', fol. 18; cf. melum, f. 211: est utique contemplacio labor, sed dulcis, desiderabilis et suauis'; canticles, f. 143: 'labor, utique est contemplacio, sed dulcis, desiderabilis et suauis..."). it will be later shown (p. 202) that the emendatio almost certainly shows a later development than the canticles and the melum, and the fact that it borrows from the latter would seem to show that rolle was borrowing from that early treatise even in his later years. probably the editor of the melum will find all richard's writings borrowing from that work: no systematic attempt has been made to trace such borrowings here, though incidentally some have been noted, as, one in the contra amatores mundi (infra, p. 125). what is especially interesting is to find one of rolle's english lyrics paraphrasing the melum (v. infra, p. 289). melum contemplativorum 121 there are many important and obscure autobiographical passages in the melum, most of them curiously smothered in rhetoric, so that the meaning is sometimes uncertain. some will be discussed in connexion with rolle's life, but a few (so far as possible without the rhetoric) should be quoted here, since the melum gives us our most explicit information on some incidents which are echoed in other works. the passage already quoted from the canticles in which rolle describes himself as 'a wanderer like cain', as already noted, is also found in the melum (f. 208). in the judica it would appear that he had just made his first change of cell, but by the time that he writes the melum he has evidently considerable experience as a nomad: 'in hoc exilio incerte sedis fio, de loco ad locum transeo' (f. 208). he has lived with the rich and met unkindness from his patrons : 'denique, inter diuites demorans, panni putridi me pene deprimebant, et nudus nocebar quasi per morsum muscarum; cutis quippe sine coopertorio confortabili calcabatur, pellis mea in puluere induta squalorem scaturizabat, sed et estu affligebar inter obumbratos ab omnibus que optabant, ac frigore frendebam, dum opimis utebantur ornamentis, et in superfluitatibus salierunt' (f. 210).2 the diversity of his experience has made evil thinking, against which he here makes his defence: 'comparui communiter inter carnales, et familiaris fueram cum diuite domorum. iocum cum iuuenculis raro gerebam, loquebar cum feminis de fide factoris, ludens nonnumquam sed laudans latenter, ridens cum reliquis, ut eis videbatur. quamobrem curabant comprehendere currentem, et lubricum et lapsum iudicauerunt, putantes quod pro puellis persisterem cum prauis, cum a nonnullis nimirum eram absconsus, qui de amore auctoris audire amabant. sed sciant simpliciter quod sanctus subsisto. similiter et singuli qui male senserunt protinus peniteant ne puniantur. errabant utique inique opinantes, non fallit me femina, nec pereo puellis, neque glorior in gula.... nam hec est intencio qua sic peregebam, ut omnes addiscerent auctorem amare, vanaque relinquerent et recia ruine, plus deo quam homini desiderent seruire, ac sapere celestia, contemnere terrena.... profecto plerisque et hoc predicaui ut amico mundano non macularentur. ... hec si non creditis, querite quid dixi, interrogare potestis qui me audierunt, si docui dampnabile[m] iniuriam aut deo, vel cogitaui corrumpere fragilem facturam. christus, quem cupio, hoc contestetur, et contra me consurgere faciat fideles, sed et ipse conquasset caput captiui, et cunctos corroboret me premere procellis, si ab adole¹ utabantur c. 3 2 as already noted (p. 111), this probably refers to rolle's life with the daltons. 3 corroborent c. i 122 early works scencia mea ipsum non amaui. nimirum non nego plurima non prospera in me peruenisse, ac temptamenta inter tales tollerasse; turbatus, tribulatus, et turbidus' primitus permansi. tamen hoc teneo, ut sistas securus: fugito feminas, qui christum amare voluntarie vouisti. . . . non accipe exemplum ex hoc quod narraui, nescisti namque quid dedit michi deus : eiecit me in ignem et exuri non permisit, inter procellas protexit me potenter, animum impleuit gracia tam grandi, ut gratenter graderer² in gradu glorioso.... nam digne despexi dulcedinem terrenam, cum diuina delectacio michi dulcior erat, et mentem repleuit munimento mirando, ut nec lira leticie quam lubrici laudabant michi liberet, sed et cantum carnalium concito calcaui, ad christum conuertens quod cantabatur, ut currerem constanter ad brauium beatum, et ardens apparerem in oculis amati integro amore. etenim audiui in infimo orbe quod impii errantes immunde amabant, et cantilenas quidem de feminis fecerunt, ficte fundati, florentes ut fenum. hoc reputaui rursum ruinam, nam quales cum canerent, pectus paraui ut hec non attenderem hac intencione qua ipsi in canticum impure clamabant. iostquam profecto incendium amoris mentem a maculis mortalibus nndauit, ac dulcis dileccio diuinitus descendit, inimicus inuidens a fodbus fugatur, et tanto aduersarius debilior existit, quanto succrescens solacio celesti reprobis et retibus ruine resisto' (ff. 237, 237°). this passage would seem to describe not only the general character of rolle's life during a considerable period, but to hint at special events. his friends have apparently had to hide him from his enemies (eram absconsus'); he has been exhorting, if not preaching to the people ('plerisque et hoc predicaui '), and he takes this opportunity of denying false reports on that subject. his literary efforts, in part at least, have been imitations of the worldly love-songs which have shocked him ('ad christum conuertens quod cantabatur'). the temptations which he has suffered have relaxed since he received the 'fire of love' (the first endowment of his ecstasy). this came, as we know from the incendium (chapter 15), about three years and a half after his conversion; since the office places the latter in his nineteenth year, this would put some of the experience just described before he was twenty-two. in other words, he is writing of what occurred at about the time of his writing the judica. after rolle's ecstasy came and lightened his burdens, his enemies continued none the less suspicious: 'insurrexerunt in me iniqui ambulantem in eterno amore, et tribulantes temptauerunt, ut non tenear nisi trutannus, et deicerer a domibus in quibus diligebar' (f. 234). 1 turpidus c. 2 gradere c. melum contemplativorum 123 'hic arguo contra aliquos procaciter errantes, qui forte ex inuidia indigne dicebant. asserebant etenim, sophistice loquentes, quod pro sumpto cibario sustinui sedere, et potibus deputantes quod piissimus prestauit, ac populis ut placeam plerique pauentes publice predicabant penitenciam me pati; quod solummodo subegi subsidio celesti. per ventrem repletum habere estimabant sessionem; in nocte suscepi silenter et vigilans in gaudio, carpsi clamorem¹ cordis constanter in impetu amoris, in canticum prorumpens, in laude canora liquide letabar' (ff. 236, 236). 'porro prepotens... pacienciam michi pocius prebuit procedenti a peruersitate... nam misit in me imperator eternus melos mirificum cum calore consolatorio, et quamuis penis pungerer et intollerabili tormentarer turbine, tamen huiusmodi illectus habundancia et sublatus solacio incessabili, semper sicut sanus subsistebam eciam etsi infirmarer, in tantum tonuit amor interius affluens quod lectus michi non libuit, nec iacebam aliquando in gemitu.... ergo errauerunt qui inuidebant et, opinantes inique, indigna arbitrantur; aiebant enim quod cibatus sepe sine subsidio celico subsistere potui, et sompn' m accipere sufficiens cum cenassem semper sedendo. sed reuera quia ligiosos se referebant, et propter obedienciam quam optulerunt alcioris eis qui preponebantur, si propter cibum sedebam et pre ebrietate alienabar ab animo, cur illi sedes suscipere non contendebant, ac iubilarent in ihesu, et mutarent merorem noctis nebulose in meridiem melodie suauissime dum amatores mundi hostilibus armis obscurabantur? etenim hii qui³ parabolam de me proposuerunt non minus quam ego comederunt et biberunt' (f. 236º). 2 we have here in the taunt directed against hostile monks what seems to be an important contemporary allusion: monks (see italics) seem to be the persecutors of the young hermit referred to in this passage, and they are almost certainly those either of rievaulx or of byland, for in october 1322 (a date which suits rolle's early manhood) the scots ('hostilibus armis') overcame king edward ii and his army ('amatores mundi') on the ground between rievaulx and byland, and sacked both abbeys. this was in the immediate neighbourhood of rolle's home at this time. many other yorkshire religious houses were sacked during the scotch wars of the first half of the fourteenth century, but no others, apparently, had the misfortune of having at the time of the sack a pitched battle fought in their immediate neighbourhood. the reference would therefore seem to point explicitly to one of the two houses just mentioned. the question of the identity of rolle's persecutors is a complicated one, which will be left till his life is discussed as a whole: the fact is however clear that in general they belonged to the clergy. as he says in the melum, 'hii qui preferuntur maxime me odiunt' (f. 242); 1 clamoris c. 2 senasse c. 8 ⁹ qui hii c. i 2 124 early works 'odium et inuidiam tantam non inueni nec habui inter omnes mortales, sicut sustinui ab hiis qui se dicebant discipuli ihesu christi' (f. 239). as we have seen, his first endeavour as a hermit was to attempt to reform the pastoral office, and the elaborate discussions of the virtues and vices of priests found in the melum (ff. 210 sq., 241 sq.) will certainly not have led to his popularity with the secular clergy. he especially condemns those who enter the church' per potenciam principum, vel per preces magnatum, vel per munera, vel per humanum fauorem, pocius quam per sinceram conuersacionem et eleccionem' (f. 210). a passage has already been noted in the canticles (supra, p. 82, and see also infra, p. 328) in which rolle denies any great sanctity to the monastic virtue of obedience; this lengthy discussion appears in almost identical form in the earlier melum (f. 240), and is probably an echo of the feud with monks already testified to by a reference quoted from the first chapter (supra, p. 117), and by the passage which we have connected with rievaulx or byland. as we have seen, this feud is not hinted at in the judica, which is so earnest in condemning evils among the secular clergy. it is evident that the melum is intended to give a complete exposition of the 'glory and perfection of the saints', not without prejudice to other members of the church. the complete purpose of the work is succinctly stated by the author: 'quapropter iste liber factus est de eminentibus amatoribus dei, ut dum legitur presumentes et superbientes confundantur, qui frustra alciora iam arguunt se arripuisse, qui adhuc minora nesciunt inuenire. accedo igitur ad assumptum, et patebit propositum. nimirum hoc quod noui nuncio, nam omnis melodia mundialis, omnis corporalis musica instrumentis organicis machinata, quamcumque actiuis viris et secularibus negociis implicatis placuerint, sanctis profecto contemplatiuis desiderabilia non erunt. immo hoc audeo annectere, quia feruore fruentes dulciflue dileccionis fremitum fugiunt, et canoro capti iubilo eciam psallencium solempnia audiunt inuite; utpote qui iam sonum suscipiunt² celicum clamori corporali ulterius non concordant.... hinc liquet summus gradus amoris dei, nam pre magno ardore et dul[c]ore diuinitus dato sanctissimus amator in canticum confluit, et iam, quasi in celo positus, undique ineffabili armonia et laude ludiflua cum tactu tumulo septum se sentit, et hoc utique, quod non audet aliquis sane mentis abnegare, in solitudine contingit, non in congregacione. unde et antiquitus solebant plerique perfecciores a monasteriis exire in aliquem locum solitudinis, ut liberius canore vacarent contemplacioni. iam nulli exeunt, omnes amant solacium hominum, et 2 susceperat c. 1 om. c. melum contemplativorum 125 ideo sine dubio visitacione carent angelorum. ita placet eis sonus exterior, et solempnia corporis, quod parum vel nichil curant de sono spirituali aut de solempnitate mentis' (ff. 240, 240). a portion of this passage reappears in the contra amatores mundi, f. 174. as quoted, it occurs in the midst of the discussion of the monastic life already mentioned: the last part is important in making clear rolle's indifference to liturgy; the first seems to give us the explicit statement that the melum was primarily written to confute rolle's enemies by proving that his spiritual gifts were superior to theirs. the context would imply that these enemies were clerics, and, when taken in connexion with other passages (v. infra, pp. 482 sq.), that they were monks. the melum must have been written at an early age, since the job, a long and laborious work of a very different sort, is to follow while rolle still can sign himself a youth. in the melum he seems almost to labour the point of his age, for he returns to it frequently, as in the following: 'quam impetuosus, quam violens sit vis amoris, nemo nouit nisi qui amauit. hanc nimirum expertus est amator eternus, et ego, iuuenculus, non modicum iam experior, qui pre amoris magnitudine assiduis horis ferme consummor' (f. 207). in the commentary on the canticles (section 5) he expatiates on the advantages of youth in commenting on the text 'adolescentule dilexerunt te nimis', and in the present work also he seems to turn his youth to advantage: 'iuuentus est genus quo in iubilum gerimur, nam habilis est hec etas ad ardenter amandum' (f. 228); ' equidem hee sancciuntur adolescentule que uruntur amore, que nimis diligunt deuotissime' (f. 232). we shall see (p. 129) that in the melum rolle speaks of himself as 'puer' as well as 'juvenculus', and (at least by implication) 'adolescens'. it is more than ever evident that when he calls himself 'juvenis', in all the present group of works, an early age is in question, and not merely the prime of life' (v. supra, p. 109 n). the following passage has been pointed out by horstmann (ii, p. v, n.) as giving an indication of the date of the melum : 'incassum quippe cupiunt carnalitatis colloquium, peribunt enim in penis peruersorum. reginas que reprobe regebantur vermes rodent visibiles: virginum vero virtuositas virescet in eternum. reges a regnis ruent, quia sanguis sceleribus sarcinatus duces et diuites inaniter decepit. tyrocinia¹ tyrannorum tradentur in exterminacionem, et strate in sterqui1 tyrocina c. 126 early works linio stragule cum sericis, et qui subtilia texerunt, putrescent, perdita pulcritudine quemadmodum non putata. prorsus impurum, quamuis pulcrum visui¹ virorum, evanescet vehementer dampno deformitatis, et omnes obfuscati hostium obprobriis per iustum iudicantem dampnati dolebunt' (f. 208′). horstmann (who quotes only the second and third sentences of this passage) introduces them as follows: 'in his earliest work, the melum, in which he calls himself juvenculus, puer, pusillus, he (rolle) prophesies a bad end for the king and queen. . . . now the queen's infamous adultery with mortimer, to which, it seems, allusion is made, commenced in 1325 and was known in england in 1326.' horstmann then proceeds to conjecture 1326 as the date of the composition of the work, and (as deduced therefrom) 1300 as the approximate date of rolle's birth. with the passage just quoted the following passages, which follow it in sequence, should also be compared: 'in tonitruo tonante terminabuntur regna regum qui nunc resident reprehensibiles, et racione non reguntur: reuera et omnes reprobi redigentur usque ad reliquias quas rex propter resistenciam reprobauit.' castra quoque carnalium concucientur ad casum', etc. (f. 211). 'quandoquidem et principes, quamuis precipua pulcritudine pollere putabantur et florere fortitudine que eos inficiebat, peremptis potestatibus suis, penas perpetuas pacientur, et erubescent amplius quam alii cum omnipotens opera omnium coram intuentibus palam apperuerit, quia infelices sine fundamento fidei fuerunt, et nunc, pauperibus (quos spernebant) in pulcherimam patriam promotis, illi utique sine subsidio ab altitudine honorum repente ruentes ad obprobrium omnium abducuntur; a castris ad chaos cadunt, et pro veste purpurea induta erit caro eorum putredine, et pro deliciis, in quibus degebant, in sordibus pulueris pernoctabunt' (f. 212). 'non metuit mors magnitudinem mundanorum, nec pulcritudini parcit aut potencie. omnes autem absumit ab hoc orbe, et percutit sine pietate peruersos, regesque rapit ut non regnent iterum in sua regione, ac fortissimos in furore fugauit a desideriis in quibus degerunt, nec pepercit puellis pulcherimis, que optime se in ornamentis amori hominum amabiles optulerunt' (ff. 246º-247). enough has in every case been given to show that all the four sections quoted come from the midst of universal warnings of a familiar kind, in which the excessive alliteration has introduced a perhaps specially vague and uncertain meaning. at the same time, 1 visu c. 4 om. c. 2 probauit c. 5 deguerunt c. 3 qui eos inficebat c. melum contemplativorum 127 it would appear that not quite all of the sentences are merely commonplace. the prominence given to 'evil queens' is not usual, and the phrase concerning death's taking 'kings so that they should not rule again' is remarkably applicable to the death of edward ii in prison, september 1327, while he was not ruling. this, it will be noted, occurs towards the end of the work, and the references to evil queens, beautiful princes, and reprehensible kings occur towards the beginning: probably they refer indirectly to queen isabella, who landed from france in september 1326 (some time after her connexion with mortimer was known), and to edward ii, who was not deposed till january 1327. he was, according to the chroniclers, 'elegans forma, viribus praestans' (rs., 43, ii. 280, 286). the first passages quoted might imply that they were written while he was ruling; the last that he was dead. we have seen, and will see illustrated further, that all through the melum general exhortations, of which the monotony and vagueness are intensified by the alliteration, alternate with extremely personal passages, in which the autobiographical element is certain, but often not to be interpreted from our present knowledge of rolle's life. there would be, therefore, nothing uncharacteristic of rolle in his inserting topical references in the midst of generalities. as it happens, the events apparently hinted at in the passages quoted touched rolle's world so nearly that it would be inevitable that he should be conscious of them and very natural that he should give them passing expression. professor tout has remarked that when queen isabella and mortimer landed they were shrewd enough to pose as the champions of the outraged contrariants [of the lancaster rebellion], and the avenger of the wrongs of the martyr of pontefract';' and it is noteworthy that henry of lancaster, brother of the martyr and cousin of the king, joined the queen at once, and gave the signal for a general rising. the john de dalton who was almost certainly rolle's first patron was the principal retainer of earl thomas at pickering, and on the fall of the latter lost his positions and (for a time) his lands and almost lost his life. on more than one occasion dalton received a direct personal favour from edward ii (the last being given in the summer of 1326). earl henry apparently did not recover pickering 1 the captivity and death of edward of carnarvon, bulletin of the john rylands library, no. 1, 1920, p. 8. 2 ibid., p. 10. for the authorities for the following summary v. infra, pp. 449 sq., and turton, passim. 128 early works castle, his inheritance, until the accession of edward iii, and his support of isabella was probably the preliminary to his reinstatement. this would have been a matter of interest to the neighbourhood of pickering, and especially to the circle of rolle's first patron. queen isabella spent most of 1327 at york, and prince edward was married to philippa of hainault there. richard the hermit had before the time of the writing of the melum almost certainly quarrelled with his patron dalton, but we shall see that it is very likely that he was living in the neighbourhood of pickering for some time after his quarrel (v. infra, p. 480). in referring therefore to the queen, prince, or king, he would be mentioning persons actually known to his friends, and possibly even to himself. edward ii was not above taking an interest in hermits, for on his visit to pickering in 1323 he made a direct grant to william, hermit of dalby near pickering (a hermit evidently of a practical habit of life, v. infra, p. 464). in 1315 he had sent lambert le fleming of ypres with four other hermits to reside at knaresborough, and in 1318 he gave a large sum of money to six hermits in knaresborough forest, of whom brother lambert was the head. evidently no royal favour was granted to richard rolle, if (as is not impossible) the young hermit who was at one time under the patronage of dalton (apparently a favourite of edward ii) were at any time brought to his attention, or later to that of his son. we must disabuse our minds of any notion of remoteness or rusticity in rolle's environment at this time. the scotch wars brought king, court, and parliament as well as army to yorkshire during these years, whence it has been called the capital of england.² the fact that pickering castle belonged to earl thomas gave it social importance. the countess lived there for long periods during his possession, and when in 1322 it fell to the king, he seems to have kept it till his fall in 1327. earl henry who then acquired it was, 1 v. c. h. yorks. iii. 91. here is an important distributing centre for yorkshire in rolle's youth of all influences from the low countries. at least in later life when he journeyed from hampole to layton he must have passed near to knaresborough. the king's interest in these flemings may have made him, for england, an important agent in the history of fourteenth-century mysticism, of which flanders and the rhineland were at this time great centres. though he was not the munificent patron of the movement which (in the days of a general popularity of mysticism) henry v was to be (who founded two great houses dedicated to contemplation), at least it is evident that he did not always turn a deaf ear to the obscure pioneers. 2 raine, fasti, p. 366. the exchequer went to york six times (see essays presented to thomas frederick tout, manchester, 1925, pp. 291 sq.). ... melum contemplativorum 129 as we have seen, a prime supporter of queen isabella, and he was the first keeper of edward ii on his capture. in 1334 edward iii was at pickering. whoever was the owner evidently used the castle as a centre of hospitality because of the hunting in pickering forest, and from legal records derived from his rolls of office we know that dalton as constable of the castle and keeper of the forest sent game from pickering for his master far and wide, to bishops, abbots, and lords all over yorkshire, as far south as ely, and to the parliaments that sat at york. the young hermit who lived for a time under his protection will have been brought into personal contact with the great world. passages quoted refer to rolle's presence at 'the feasts of the great', and the allusions quoted above (p. 126) are likely to have had contemporary meaning. in the opinion of the present writer they seem to indicate that the melum was written c. 1326-7. the selection of extracts that has been given from the melum makes an infinitesimal proportion of the highly mystical writing in this piece, and not all of the autobiography has been quoted. practically all the mystical passages and all the autobiography were quoted from the judica, and the contrast between the two works is striking, though they obviously belong to the same author. we see in the judica the beginnings of what bursts forth into abundance in the melum in the former the young hermit diffidently, in passing, confesses to mystic joy, which is beyond his power or will to describe; in the latter he announces himself as a saint, and 'sainthood' is the prime subject of nearly sixty chapters. rolle tells us in the incendium (p. 190) that when he first heard the 'canor' he concealed it from his companions, lest he should be honoured overmuch, but in the melum reticence is thrown to the winds, and we are therefore led to conjecture that a considerable time must have elapsed since he first experienced his mystic sensations. it was perhaps because he seems confident that his life is soon ending that he is here exhilarated beyond any thought of worldly prudence: horstmann has pointed out (ii, p. xxv) the 'presentiment of an early death' that is expressed in the concluding lines of the melum : puer nunc propero ad finem felicem.' it is perhaps on this account that rolle wrote this audacious work, which he evidently hoped would prove his sanctity, and thus stop the mouths of his persecutors. naturally, the effect seems to have been the exact opposite of what he expected in his next work he gives us expositions of penitence, only now and then shot through with ecstasy. we can imagine the period of trial that has probably intervened. 130 early works job beg.: [parce mihi], etc. exprimitur autem in his verbis humanae conditionis instabilitas, quae non habet in hac miserabili valle manentem mansionem' (edit. 1536, fol. lxxxix).¹ ends: [sed sempiternus horror], scilicet in visione daemonum, monstrorum, serpentium, & draconum, & in sensu ignis [inhabitans] in aeternum' (fol. cxii). printed editions. the job was the first of rolle's works to be printed, and one of the first books to be printed at the oxford press. this fact would seem to show that richard had attained a solid academic reputation by the end of the fifteenth century. the oxford edition came out about 1483, and the job was later printed at paris in 1510, and at cologne in 1536. no edition, so far as i know, is accessible in america. the present work is a close commentary on the nine readings from the book of job which occur in the office of the dead. in half of the manuscripts perfect at both ends (that is, in eighteen) the signature follows: 'talentum traditum timens subfodere fimum, sic pueris pabulum hoc semen sparsit opimum. dilexit hereinum, sonuit sibi cantus amorum. quem geris in iubilum, tu, christe, corona ricardum.' (corpus christi oxf. ms. 193, f. 136.) in one manuscript this signature follows the emendatio (v. infra, p. 235). two manuscripts of the present work entitle it 'versus ricardi heremite quos composuit in fine tractatus sui', and there seems no reason to doubt that they speak the truth. the analogy of the similar signature attached to the canticum amoris would help to support the authenticity of the present verses. the job on the strength of it may be considered a signed work. manuscripts. oxford mss. i. ashmole 751, ff. 51-61, late 14th cent. incipiunt postille venerabilis ricardi heremite super nouem lecciones mortuorum.' in the edition of 1536, from which the quotations from this and other works will be made in the following pages, all texts from scripture appear in square brackets. these are retained here, though abbreviations used in this edition are expanded. corpus christi oxf. ms. is sometimes collated. 2 bodl. ms. 315, etc.; sit c (and a majority of the mss.). job 131 the last few sentences are missing, and the text ends with 'etc.' see quot., spur., magn., judica. ii. bodl. 52 (sum. cat. no. 1969), ff. 1–59, c. 1420-3, written by j. maynsforth, fellow of merton 1425. index: 'in primis ricardus hampole super lecciones exequiarium.' colophon: 'deo gratias quod maynffreth. explicit tractatus ricardi heremite de hampole super lecciones exequiarum. versus eiusdem quos composuit in fine eiusdem tractatus.... iii. bodl. 315 (sum. cat. no. 2712), ff. 1-28, early 15th cent. on the back of the fly-leaf is written in the original hand: 'istum librum dedit decano et capitulo ecclesie cathedralis beati petri exoniensis magister johannes steuenys quondam eiusdem ecclesie canonicus cathenandum in eorum communi libraria post obitum magistri rogeri keys. et quicumque illum sine licencia... anathematizetur eo facto. qui quidem liber continet job secundum compilacionem ricardi hampole heremite.' 'versus ricardi heremite quos composuit in fine tractatus sui... explicit tractatus ricardi heremite de hampool super job.' a fine folio volume, with illuminated first leaf (the job). iv. bodl. 525 (sum. cat. no. 2207), ff. 1-86, early 15th cent. 'incipiunt postille ricardi super nouem lecciones mortuorum.' v. supra, p. 33. v. bodl. 861. ascribed to rolle, with verses. vi. hatton 86 (sum. cat. no. 4078), ff. 1-63, second half 14th cent. 'incipiunt postille ricardi heremite super nouem lectiones mortuorum.' dr. craster points out in the new catalogue that this manuscript seems to be by the same scribe as sum. cat. no. 4061, and it may, like that, have belonged to the austin priory of st. thomas, near stafford. verses present. vii. laud lat. 94 (sum. cat. no. 1131), ff. 108-32, 15th cent. the last few sentences are lacking, and the following sermons bound in without break. viii. laud misc. 528, ff. 42-77, early 15th cent. 'explicit iste tractatus quem composuit venerabilis ricardus heremita de hampolle super exposicionem ix leccionum mortuorum.' verses present. see office, e. v., judica, cant., contra am. m., incend. ix. e musaeo 130 (sum. cat. no. 3514), ff. 139 sq., late 15th cent. incipiunt postille sancti ricardi heremite de hampull super 9 lecciones mortuorum.' breaks off in the 18th part. x. rawl. d. 1229 (sum. cat. no. 13961), ff. 9-95, 15th cent. 'expliciunt lecciones de seruicio mortuorum secundum exposicionem ricardi heremite de hampole', etc. 132 early works xi. balliol coll. 224, ff. 61-87, 15th cent. verses present. a late index, headed 'r. hampole'. idem tractatus qui incipit parce mihi deus.' see cant., contra am. m., e. v., incend., spur., judica. xii. corpus christi coll. 193, ff. 111-36, early 15th cent. 'incipiunt postille eiusdem heremite super nouem lecciones mortuorum.' after the verses: 'expliciunt postille ricardi heremite super nouem lecciones mortuorum.' see lat. ps., thren., cant., 20th ps., o. d., s. a., e. v., contra am. m., incend., mel., judica. xiii. magd. coll. 6, ff. 71–133, 14th-15th cent. original index: 'item exposicio deuoti ricardi de hampole super ix leccionibus de exequiis mortuorum.... expliciunt lecciones de seruicio mortuorum secundum exposicionem ricardi heremite de hampol. respice illas bene et sapiens eris.' xiv. magd. coll. 71, ff. 98-135, 15th cent. verses present. see e. v., de m. xv. new coll. 93, ff. 249-78, 15th cent. 'explicit tractatus ricardi de hampole heremite super nouem lecciones mortuorum.' xvi. st. john's coll. 147, ff. 1-123, 15th cent. contemporary note: iste liber constat monasterio westmonasterii . . . in hoc volumine continentur omnia subscripta, videlicet in primis moralitas hampole super parce mihi domine' (the rest are saints' lives). 'moralitas venerabilis ricardi heremite de hampole super lectiones sancti job que leguntur in vigiliis mortuorum.' verses present. on f. 264: iste liber pertinet willelmo graunt et willelmo grove monachis westmonasterii.' william grant sang his first mass in 1469, and was refectorer in 1500. the joint-owner was perhaps william grene, who sang his first mass in 1492, and was living in 1525 (the mss. of westminster abbey, j. a. robinson and m. r. james, cambridge, 1909, p. 25). xvii. st. john's coll. 195, ff. 122-67, 15th cent. explicit tractatus ricardi heremite de hampole super nouem leccionibus mortuorum.' see lat. ps. xviii. univ. coll. 45, ff. 65 sq., 15th cent. breaks off near the end. cambridge mss. xix. univ. dd. iv. 54, ff. 155 sq., late 15th cent. xx. univ. ff. v. 36, ff. 1–52b, early 15th cent. see e. v. see e. v. verses follow. job 133 xxi. univ. ii. i. 26, ff. 263-362, 15th cent. 'incipiunt postille ricardi heremite de hampole super ix lecciones mortuorum.' verses follow. xxii. caius coll. 223, ff. 295–339, late 15th cent. 'parce mihi domine, exposicio. wade.' see e. v., ol. effus. xxiii. corpus christi coll. 365, ff. 114-45, 15th cent. (after 1445). explicit expositio r. heremite super nouem lectiones mortuorum.' from dover priory. see lat. ps., 20th ps., contra am. m. xxiv. peterhouse 218, ff. 106b-39b, 15th cent. see e. v. and spur. xxv. trin. coll. 14, ff. 106b-33, late 14th cent. 'incipit expositio super ix lectiones que leguntur in obsequiis mortuorum per ricardum hampole heremitam edita. . . . expliciunt postille ricardi heremite super ix lectiones mortuorum.' verses follow. see lat. ps., e. v. xxvi. trin. coll. 792, 15th cent. at end, perhaps in the original hand: 'ex dono johannis steyke et pro quibus tenetur.' similar notes are found in syon monastery mss. (v. infra, p. 233). this volume is not noted in the catalogue of the brothers' library, but it may have belonged to the sisters'. the gift of john dryden, fellow, in 1663. london mss. (british museum). xxvii. harl. 1035, ff. 85b-136b, first half 15th cent. explicit exposicio ix leccionum mortuorum.' incipit exposicio xxviii. roy. 7 e. ii, ff. 75-102, 15th cent. super job, videlicet, de illis ix lectionibus que leguntur in obsequiis mortuorum secundum ricardum hampole heremitam.' 'liber aule regie et collegii de brasenose. ex dono reuerendi patris domini willelmi smith, fundatoris eiusdem.' verses follow. xxix. roy. 8 a. vii, ff. 51-116, 15th cent. verses follow. e. v. see xxx. sloane 2275, ff. 109b-40, 14th-15th cent. 'explicit tractatus sancti ricardi heremite de hampole super nouem lecionibus mortuorum.' see mel., contra am. m., incend., e. v., stim. consc. " xxxi. add. 11304, ff. 1-69, 14th cent. explicit tractatus beati ricardi de hampole heremite super ix lecciones mortuorum.' 134 early works verses follow (added later). 'guilo. nicolson librum hunc dono dedit joh. aglionby armiger... 1699.' see stim. consc. other mss. xxxii. lambeth palace 357, ff. 1-29b, 14th cent. 'incipit tractatus ricardi heremite super ix lecciones mortuorum.' xxxiii. castle howard ms., 15th cent. 'incipit tractatus super omnes lecciones in obsequiis mortuorum editus a ricardo de hampole heremita.' see e. v., spur.(2), contra am. m., cant., incend., judica, mul. fort. xxxiv. wyggeston hospital, leicester, ms. 12,¹ second half 14th cent. the verses conclude the work and book, with ricardus heremita' preceding, and the colophon following: expliciunt lecciones de seruicio mortuorum secundum exposicionem ricardi heremite de hampol. respice illas bene.' xxxv. wyggeston ms. 15, early 15th cent. incipit exposicio eiusdem (ricardi hampole) super illo job parce michi domine.' verses follow. the first page of this manuscript contains an english version of the nine virtues much like that in rawl. ms. c. 285, as printed by horstmann (v. infra, p. 317). see e. v., contra am. m³ xxxvi. lincoln cath. 209, late 14th cent. original index : 'item libellus seu tractatus eiusdem (i. e. ‘sancti ricardi de hampole') super lecciones defunctorum.' 'explicit speculum meroris ricardi heremite de hampole super nouem lecciones mortuorum compositum.' after the signature follow verses giving the scribe's name as 'john wodeburgh'. see office, contra am. m., 20th ps., mel.. xxxvii. lincoln cath. 218, mid 15th cent. ends near the end. see e. v., incend., ol. effus. 1 i owe my knowledge of the leicester mss. to mr. geoffrey reach. the volumes were examined and described in 1903 by mr. madan, and his descriptions were kindly communicated to me by dr. lowe, director of the leicester public library. these books are supposed to have formed part of the priests' library in the old wyggeston chantry house in leicester, which was founded by william wyggeston in 1512-13'. the whole collection (six early printed books and ten manuscripts) is deposited in the public library. the manuscripts are all latin theological works of a commonplace sort, except no. 6, which contains english sermons on the sunday gospels and epistles, and 'a treatise on the church and its members' (english). " 2 this volume contains three latin works by 'frater johannes hanneton, humilis cordilatus'. they are: a 'regula communis (?) perfecte viuendi', beg. omnibus in christo ihesu pie viuere volentibus'; ' compendium amoris', beg.: nuper adueniente tempore sacro'; and 'meditationes', beg.: 'cum iam in tantum libri multiplicentur'. the last two are referred to in the conclusion to the first, and they give the author's name. job 135 xxxviii. paris, bib. nat., lat. 543, ff. 1-41, 14th cent. 'explicit expositio leccionum de exequiis mortuorum secundum ricardum heremitam de hampole.' see e. v., judica. 15700, ff. 70-94, 14th cent. oudin says that this book xxxix. paris, bib. nat., lat. old mark: bibliothèque de sorbonne.' 6 belonged to cardinal richelieu. 'explicit tractatus ricardi heremite de hampole super nouem leccionibus mortuorum.' an english script. see e. v., incend., contra am. m. xl. ms. 278 in quaritch's catalogue, dec. 1912, 15th cent. no other work. 'explanationes notabiles deuotissimi viri ricardi hampole heremite super lectiones illas beati job que solent in exequijs defunctorum legi, qui non minus historiam quam tropologiam et anagogiam ad studentium vtilitatem exactissime annotauit' (as in editions of oxford and paris, supra). probably by a french. scribe.' probably now huntington ms. 504 (henry e. huntington library, san marino, california). 1 6 6 xli. sotheby's, march 1-2, 1921, lot 309, ff. 17b sq., late 14th cent., now in the possession of sir leicester harmsworth. 'liber tobias (?) samsoni.' explicit tractatus sancti ricardi heremite de hampole super nouem leccionibus mortuorum.' see e. v., incend. xlii. see infra, p. 144. references and quotations. the job is cited several times (with exact references) under rolle's name in ms. ff. i. 14 (and the related hatton ms.) and in trin. coll. dublin ms. 277 (a lollard composition). three sections of the long compilation from rolle in ms. kk. vi. 20 on the name of jesus are condensed from the job. an extract is quoted and given to rolle in trin. coll. camb. ms. 333 (also lollard). the same anti-clerical passage is quoted by bale in both catalogues. the trin. ms.—and several others—contains a lollard tract which says (erroneously) that 'a nobil hooly man richerde e[r]myte drewe oon englice the... lessouns of dirige'. in peterhouse ms. 203 (early 15th cent.) a contemporary scribbling mentions among other books: 'hampole super parce mihi.' a savile ms. contained a copy of this work with rolle's name. syon monastery had four copies of this work, all with rolle's name. the index refers to two more, and appears to apply to all the entries the heading of ms. m. 5 (noting 1 my thanks are due to mr. dring for showing me this book. 136 early works '10 verses' as appended to the commentary). what these verses were is doubtful: the verse signature, it would seem, could hardly leicester abbey probably owned this be mentioned in these terms. work ascribed to 'john hampole'. the job is bequeathed (ascribed to rolle) in the following wills: william gate, parson in york (1431); robert semer, sub-treasurer of york minster (1432); canon william duffield of york (1452); thomas pynchebek of york (1479). boston of bury notes as at bury' de officio mortuorum' under rolle's name, and leland finds the same at st. mary's, york. bale in his index twice cites 'in lectiones funerales'. rolle's authorship of the job is reinforced by a significant passage in which he speaks in the first person: 'propter quod nec ego timeo haereticos aut inuidos qui forsitan insurgent contra me dicentes: aut me in expositione errasse aut sacra verba congruenter non tractasse, non acceptantes me, quia modernus sum. sed profecto qui bonos modernos reprobat, hesternos non laudat. non enim est deus nunc minoris bonitatis, quam fuit in primitiua ecclesia, qui adhuc electos suos ad amorem aeternitatis desiderandum praeparat, quia & quos vult coelestis scientia, sapientiaque diuina inspirat. verum sciatis quod episcopus non sum, nec praelatus, nec rector ecclesiarum: tamen solicitus sum pro ecclesia dei, si possem aliquo bono modo quicquam facere, vel scribere quo ecclesia christi augmentum capiat in diuina dilectione. sum vtique solitarius intentione, & eremitae propositum arripui, atque mutata tunica soli deo vacare concupiui. quamobrem forsitan, quia pauper sum, & non reputatus inter magistratus mundi, paruipendetis verba quae loquor vobis, sed si me contemnitis quod parum reputo, hoc vnum sciatis, quod nunquam deus, nec papae, nec episcopo, nec alicui alij, cuiuscunque status fuerit, singulari virgine excepta, de gloria aeterni amoris in hac vita illam praerogatiuam tribuit, quam vero solitario denegauit. vnde qui arguere contendunt, communem vitam plus valere quam eremiticam, nisi considerarent instantiam exterioris operis, non affluentiam internae contemplationis, nimirum desipere probantur. quia dum austeriori poenitentiae eremita se subijcit, atque cum hoc in canorum iubilum christo annuente surgit: quis audeat aliquem hic proponere, quamuis mortuos suscitauerit, & maxima opera fecerit, quem deus in tanto amoris sui mysterio dignatur collocare. sed quaerite de hac materia in libello de vita eremitarum, etiam & in libro de perfectione & gloria sanctorum, quia ibi inuenietis de eminentia sanctitatis. redeo ergo ad propositum ...' (fol. xcix"). as already noted, the last sentence here refers to the melum : the libellus de vita eremitarum cannot be identified with certainty, but v. infra, p. 325. job 137 " when rolle in the passage just quoted refers the reader to other works for discussion of the eminence of sanctity', he gives us a hint as to the cause for the great contrast shown by the job in comparison with the melum just described. sanctity is not the primary subject of the exposition, though actually the author's preoccupation with this matter is such that it slips in from time to time: the primary purpose of the job is to inspire penitence, and to this end it devotes itself for the most part to the whole cycle of sin-from original sin to death, the last judgement, and future punishment and reward. for this subject the texts found in the dirige supply a natural startingpoint. one can hardly (knowing the priority of the melum) escape the conclusion that the nature of the job as thus constituted is due in part at least to reaction from the irresponsible subjectivity of the earlier work. its reception amongst friends and enemies alike was probably a surprise to the young author; probably it demoralized some readers and scandalized others. his life had not ended, and it must have become clear even to him that the church would put an end to his efforts altogether if he continued to write in this vein; perhaps the natural wisdom as to the human heart which he shows in his later works began to awaken at this time, and taught him also that he was in danger of defeating his own ends and of substituting one self-indulgence for another if he described too emotionally the romance of the mystic. however this may be, it might seem that after writing the melum to prove himself a saint, he wrote the job as an almost complementary piece to prove that he understood the needs of the sinner. here the penitent soul takes the leading part given in most of rolle's works to the sanctified soul. in giving the disciplinary side of religion rolle to some degree uses the student's method, which he must have learned when a student at oxford (and perhaps later at paris). he argues many points to a careful conclusion, and the unity of the texts expounded allows him to give here a more coherent survey of theology than is found in most of his later scriptural commentaries, which take texts as they come. citations of authority are, however, practically lacking,' and the mother of god is hardly mentioned. some of the most scholastic portions of the job discuss the subject of perfectionism, as to which his melum may have seemed to hint that rolle was sympathetic. in the present exposition he takes the 1 some given in the edition of 1536 do not appear in corpus christi oxf. ms. 193 (cf. fols. xcviii, cx). k 138 early works opportunity of showing his complete opinion on this point, as follows: '[peccaui] quia vt ait salomon: non est homo super terram qui viuat & non peccet (eccl. vii. 21). et ioannes euangelista: si diceremus quia peccatum non habemus, nosmetipsos seducimus, & veritas in nobis non est (1 joan. i. 8). refellitur ergo opinio quorundam errantium, qui sustinere nituntur hominem in hac mortali vita posse viuere & non peccare, sed hanc praerogatiuam numquam habuit creatura beata virgine excepta ' (fol. xcii). 'non peccaui. hic oritur quaestio. superius dixit: peccaui. nam & sancti apostoli hoc de se díxerunt, quomodo ergo facit se contrarium sibi, quia hic dicit, non peccaui? haec quaestio soluitur, si occulta spiritualium virorum cogitentur. dixit, peccaui, quia nemo est, qui tam sancte viuat in hoc mundo, quod non peccet venialiter. . . . sed quia inconueniens est in sanctis scripturis contrarietatem relinquere, circa concordantiam curamus studere, sic ergo intellige: non peccaui, id est, peccato mortali non consensi. verum ipse peccator proprie dicitur, qui vult peccare, & cum facultatem peccandi habuerit, se libenter & intrepide ad peccandum reddit. et ideo cum vir iustus in innocentia sua, absque libidine, absque peccandi voluntate, a primaeua aetate permanserit, audacter dicit: non peccaui, scilicet mortaliter, & tamen se fatetur peccatorem, id est, fragilem, infirmum, & ad malum pronum nisi gratia christi fulciatur' (fol. cvi sq.). hints of the same doctrines appear in other works: cf. canticles, f. 145: 'nonnullis autem mirum videtur quod audeat aliquis eciam excellens quamuis sit inter homines se sanctum dicere, cum apostoli dicebant se peccata habere. sed hoc cito soluitur si veritas pensetur. ...' rolle says of himself even in the emendatio (which must have been one of his latest works): 'valde miser mihi videor. nam saepe caro mea affligitur et tentatur' (fol. 13). thus in rolle's later writings he admits that his sainthood does not give him immunity from temptation, and the teaching of the job on this point described, therefore, his permanent position. the texts used in this work offered suitable opportunity for rolle to express the mood of the mystic struggling with temptation: '[cur non tollis peccatum meum... ecce nunc in puluere dormio]: expulsis vitijs, succensa mente igne amoris, quaero cur peccatum non tollis, vt liber fiam ad volandum in dulcedinem contemplationis. [ecce nunc] dedisti cupitum, non negasti desiderium, quia mirabiliter etiam in hoc praesenti, coelica suauitate velut somno post laborem me sentio refectum' (fol. xciii). 1 cf. also both psalters, ps. xii. 2, and incendium, p. 202. job 139 in a moment he goes on: 'respondet seruus dei: [non subsistam], id est, non inuenies me cum damnatis & miseris subsistentem, qui in igne deiecti in miserijs non subsistent, sed integro & ardenti amore te amplectens, cum sanctis tuis subsistam' (fol. xciiiv). here he claims for the mystic a saint's place at the same moment that he acknowledges the power of sin over him. thus, though rolle in the job seems to show special eagerness to present an orthodox set of theological doctrines, his opinion on the question of his own sainthood is not hidden, when occasion brings it forward. the following will illustrate this point further : 'aliquando etiam visitat deus electum suum internam,' scilicet, & supernam consolationem infundendo, vt solatium diuinitus inspiratum mentem a malis cogitatibus excipiat, & oblectamentum carnale immundumque quodlibet expellat. porro plaerunque in nonnullis electis quamuis perpaucis in tantum suauitas dilectionis christi superaffluit, quod ab omnibus desiderijs terrenis, & appetitu carnalitatis ipsos continue defendit. et sic profecto dum spiritus a malitia auersus, omni quoque bono conuersus, aeterno amore rapitur salubriter, & sancte per diuinam visita. tionem custoditur. quamobrem electa anima christum laudans & glorificans, laetanter prorumpat in canticum, dicens: ecce ad te venio quia visitatio tua custodiuit spiritum meum.' this is the conclusion to the third lesson, and the fourth lesson then begins: '[responde mihi.] quid signat hoc, quia vir poenitens hic primo a deo quaerit responsionem antequam proposuerit quaestionem, sed hoc cito soluitur, si intellectus habeatur' (fol. xcviii). thus the mysticism found in the job passes abruptly into theology, and we see that neither subject incapacitated him for the other. he even fits his mystic's doctrine of love to a general scheme of theology, after the fashion of the more intellectual mystics, as follows: '[posuisti in neruo pedem meum]... id est, amorem meum, quo feror quocunque feror, vel ad coelum, vel ad infernum. amor enim noster, pes noster est, qui si fixus sit in coelestibus gaudijs perfruendis, ad deum profecto nos suscipit, & ad aeternas polorum mansiones nos perducit. verum si amor cordis nostri interna delectatione, & carnali moilitie inuolui permittitur, absque dubio per latam viam ad caliginem infernalis amaritudinis, & ad carcerem captiuorum nos ducere non desinit' (fol. c). 1 per internam edit. cf. hugh of st. victor: unus fons dilectionis intus saliens duos rivos effundit. alter est amor mundi, cupiditas: alter est amor dei, charitas' (migne, 176, c. 15). k 2 140 early works again we find the early job anticipating a later work: the following passage from the incendium echoes the same doctrine: 'non enim potest esse anima racionalis sine amore, quamdiu in uia est. unde et amor eius est pes eius, quo post hanc peregrinacionem ad deum uel ad diabolum defertur' (p. 210). it will already have been evident that the job gives hints of the usual sensuous concomitants of rolle's mysticism. a curious reference to the fire of love' is the following: • [et sicut caseum me coagulasti.] caseus ex lacte conficitur, sed antequam confici potest, lac per ignem coagulatur, virum ergo iustum deus sicut caseum coagulauit, quia fidelem & deuotam animam prius per ignem spiritus sancti in se colligit, & deinde sibi per veram charitatem coniungit. et nota quod lac semel coagulatum numquam iterum ad pristinum statum redire potest, sic qui vere aeterno amore incenditur ad amorem temporalem numquam relabetur. alioquin quicquid egerit, amator verus non fuit' (fol. xcviiv). 'sweetness' is also mentioned: 'quatenus dum terrena contemnens, coelestia desiderans, ad amandum christum, vehementer afficitur, spiritualis oculus in dulcoribus morari mereatur' (fol. cviv). the 'song of love' appears described in alliterative and ecstatic language that reminds us of the melum: 'ideo vmbra mortis hanc temporalem mortem vocamus, in qua si perfectus vir ambulat, mala non formidat nam diuino solatio in corde ipsius infuso, secure viuit, & gaudens moritur, quia non nisi in aeterno amore laetari conabatur. et merito quidem cum excellenti gloria suscipitur ad sedes coelicas qui in terra positus perfecte contempsit diuitias mundanas. nam inter epulas diuitum dilecti dei aeternae dilectionis delitias concinunt, & postposita carnali gloria, oblitaque immunditia, in sonoram coeli citharam interius liquefiunt' (fol. cˇ). elsewhere rhyme reappears: 'qui enim ardentius amat, amplius festinat, velocius currit, citius & foelicius peruenit' (ibid.). the job contains no explicit exhortations to the devotion to the holy name of jesus, but it gives signs that its author was practising this devotion at this time. the address 'o bone jesu' is found very often, and such a passage as the following refers to rolle's concentration on the thought of the saviour, though for the moment the name of jesus is not mentioned: 'inde est, quod non ponderat deus opus hominis, sed voluntatem eius, qua intentione, quo desiderio, quo feruore in diuinum amorem assurgere nititur, & memoriam christi incessanter meditatur' (fol. cviv). since the devotion to the name of jesus might involve something deeper than the mere job 141 reiteration of that word, the influence of the cult appears in the foregoing lines. they refer to a concentration on the 'thought of jesus', though under another title. various echoes are given us in the job of rolle's experience, but owing to the generally dramatic character of the exposition, it is often hard to draw the line between what is autobiography and what is interpretation of the texts. we may suspect, however, that the young hermit often describes the situation of his forlorn and tormented hero in terms that he feels are suitable to his own state. the following seem to be personal references: 'cupio respirare, assurgere attento, & deijcit me grauedo carnis meae, praecipi[t]at me sensualitas mea, agilem quoque effici non sinit conditionis infirmitas, donec interior natura in gaudio mirabili & sonora suauitate absorbeatur, ac destructa inimica mors, menti mirifice aeterna lux obscura inuadat vsquequaque & terminum tenebrarum tradat in tranquillis. interim vtique consistunt aduersum me castra fortium, & praelium aduersus me exurgit, atque qui me dum seculum amassem, laudabant; iam aduersum me eremum amantem iurant' (fol. xciii). et quamuis castus sim corpore, mundus corde, mitis mente, tamen [quasi putredo consumendus sum] a detractoribus, scilicet, qui nituntur scandalum ponere, & me quasi putredinem consumere, dum mihi quasi libidinoso & iniusto non cessant derogare' (fol. ci). in general the unmistakably personal passages are comparatively few, as also are those using alliteration and rhyme. in the following exposition texts which would have applied to what we know to have been rolle's own situation are interpreted in the person of the penitent soul: 'o deus ne elongeris a me, sed respicias¹ in auxilium meum, vide, quoniam iniqui daemones scilicet & inuidi homines insurrexerunt super me, & in synagoga potentium quaesierunt animam meam. sed da imperium puero tuo, & saluum fac filium ancillae tuae (ps. lxxxv. 16), vt ego quem [manus tuae fecerunt & plasmauerunt] ad tuam voluntatem in tuis praeceptis iugiter valeam viuere, & in solo tui amoris desiderio incessanter feruere. hic intendit poenitens argumentari cum deo, & probare, quod deberet adesse 2 sibi in tentationibus, & in angustijs tanquam diceret: o domine, non sum factus a dijs alienis, sed cum nihil fueram, per te aliquid esse incoepi, quia [manus tuae fecerunt me, & plasmauerunt me'] (fol. xcviv). evidently in such an exposition there would be a double entente, and the personal application is probably latent in many passages of the job, and has perhaps given the texts their interest for richard, ¹ respiciens edit. 2 dederet abesse edit. 142 early works even when he does not specifically apply them to his own case. even though the job makes clear that he has passed into mystic joy, in this work the memory of past penitence and of present temptation appears specially fresh, to give eloquence to the exposition. the interest in the improvement of the parish clergy which we have seen instigating rolle's judica reappears at length in the job, as it did in the melum. the following selected sentences will illustrate this point: 'vae presbyteris qui tanto zelo & clamore decimas & ea quae ad altare pertinent exigunt, & de animabus parochianorum tam parum curant . . .' (fol. cviiv, cf. also fol. c). it is not strange that this passage was seized on by a lollard scribe, and quoted by john bale (infra, pp. 401, 425). a passage suggested by the pars oculi (a thoroughly orthodox manual) was equally violent : 'qui prae alijs in vitae sanctitate & morum honestate excellere tenentur, iam terrenis desiderijs inuoluti, & prauis actibus mancipati, in omnibus scandalum efficiuntur. aut enim sacerdotes comessationibus, & ebrietatibus, & impudicitijs atque illicitis lucris deseruiunt: aut ociositati & somnolentiae dediti, a diuino seruitio per torporem deficiunt, & negligentes & vagabundi fiunt' (fol. civˇ). with this should be compared the following, which appears both in the judica (f. 17) and the pars (f. 82b): 'sed multi sunt sacerdotes hiis diebus qui nec sciunt legem domini nec adiscunt, sed vacantes, ocio, commessacionibus et ebrietatibus student', etc. (pars). in the signed passage quoted (supra, p. 136), richard's feud with monks probably instigated his slighting reference to the pretensions of those who followed the 'common life'. in the discussion of the abuses of the pastoral office, just cited, we find included (without reference) echoes of st. gregory's popular passage expounding the text 'obscuratum est aurum, mutatus est color optimus,' etc. (regula pastoralis, 11. vii), as also in rolle's commentary on the lamentations of jeremiah (fol. cxxviii). perhaps we have evidence that rolle had been reading the meditations of st. anselm in the following: 'me respiciat cum oculo, cum quo petrum negantem se respexit' (fol. xci), which suggests: 'intuere quam piis oculis... tertio negantem respexerit petrum' (migne 158, c. 790). the address 'o bone jesu', which, as we have seen, is found both in the judica and the job, is also frequent in the meditations. the author calls himself a youth: 'o sancti seniores orate pro me iuuene, vt non errem in hac expositione' (fol. xcvv). the greater maturity of the job would suggest that it followed the melum by job 143 a considerable interval: as horstmann pointed out (ii, p. xix), rolle in his commentary on the apostles' creed (fol. 39) mentions christ's age at the resurrection as 'aetas iuuenilis', and probably he used the same latitude in his own case, and the job may have been composed in his early thirties. we have seen (p. 125) that he is inclined to sentimentalize youth, and this would probably make him claim it as long as possible, but we have also seen (supra, pp. 109 n., 125) that 'juvenis' to him is definitely a young man'. two references suggest that the job, like the two prose works already described, was written in the troublous years during which edward ii finally lost his throne, only to be succeeded by the highhanded rule of mortimer and queen isabella. the opening perhaps hints at contemporary disorders: '[parce mihi domine, nihil enim sunt dies mei.] exprimitur autem in his verbis humanae conditionis instabilitas, quae non habet in hac miserabili valle manentem mansionem, sed peribit potestas a principibus peruersis, & ferientur proculdubio in profundissimas flammas infernorum, ludusque omnium hominum lasciuorum cito labitur in lamentationem, denique & dominia diuitum, cum tabernaculis tyrannorum intra breue tempus terminabuntur. hoc itaque annuncio vobis qui in transitoria dulcedine delectamini, & in istis terrenis diuitijs abundare anhelatis, quod de gaudio vestro dolorem habebitis, videntes quod euanescunt vniuersa quae sub sole adquisistis' (fol. lxxxix). these words sound as if the young hermit were trying to use the worldly troubles of the time as an incentive to repentance for the worldly, but it is not possible to fix them to any special year, though (when taken in connexion with the passage already quoted from the earlier melum), it is not likely that they were written before the queen had deposed her husband (1327), or after her son had deposed mortimer and restored a legitimate government (1330). the following passage may reinforce them by hinting at the same events: the ' tyrants' mentioned here, in the opening of the job above quoted, and in a passage quoted from the melum (f. 208), may conceivably allude to mortimer and the queen. 'est igitur honor deo, tyrannos deijcere, & magnos mundi principes, qui se quasi deos reputant, & reuerentiam vt dij exigunt, quemadmodum pharaonem & exercitum eius demersit in mare, expugnando a suis gaudijs deuincere & vincendo conquassare' (fol. xcix). such a passage is the more likely to have topical meaning because, as we have seen, rolle, at least during his early years as a hermit, must have had the material to have given abundant and striking no! 144 early works historical indications of a period marked by striking calamities, both in the natural world and in the political. however, the ascetic view of mundane affairs which inspired him may be understood by the following from the job: quamuis multi fame corporali mortui sunt, tamen multo plures superbia diuitiarum seipsos occidunt' (fol. cvv). since this was his point of view, it was inevitable that few contemporary allusions are to be found in his writings, and the process of dating them becomes at best uncertain.¹ the fact that a work like the job should have followed the melum will prove that rolle remained a student, however ardent a mystic he became. the theological element appears in most of his works, though usually almost overwhelmed by the mystical: in the present piece the usual proportions of the two have been reversed. we find here the most extreme expression which he anywhere gives of his theology (except in his latin psalter, which is perhaps contemporaneous), just as in a still earlier work, the melum, we find the most extreme expression of his mysticism. it is evident that rolle reached almost his full development early. we have seen that passages from the early works are quoted verbatim in late works, and in general the later writings will be found to repeat with superior analysis and restraint what we already find in the last two compositions of his youth. additional note ms. xlii. b. mus. harl. 275, ff. 67-90, 15th cent. verses follow. 'expliciunt lecciones de seruicio mortuorum secundum exposicionem ricardi heremite de hampool.' f. 148b: marriage banns in the diocese of london, 1451. see e. v., incend. a passage 'reges a suis regnis precipitat', etc., corpus christi oxf. ms. 193, f. 120, refers to the life after death. chapter vi scriptural commentaries (latin and english) he is rolle's commentaries on holy writ are numerous. constantly, as we shall see, preaching the value of study of the scriptures, and in his attacks on the clergy he specially blames them for their ignorance of the sacred writings. his own commentaries, therefore, have behind them a very conscious desire to increase interest in the bible, and perhaps his efforts were an influence making towards the special absorption in study of the holy scriptures characteristic of the lollards in the next generation. his interest, however, unlike theirs, was in the mystical,' rather than the literal meaning. \ to interpret this, much study of the bible was necessary, and rolle had a knowledge of scripture that would have pleased the lollards. he quotes it constantly intact and in solution, though, with characteristic dislike for a display of authorities, he usually omits references. rolle's commentaries show the ideas and style which we find in his other works. as a matter of fact probably the most earnest propaganda which he undertook in the interests of the life of love and solitude to which he was dedicated lay in composing his laborious commentaries, in which he showed the very word of god as reinforcing his message. his propaganda penetrated even into the expositions on the psalter, in which he was using a standard textbook, and this phenomenon perhaps gives us our strongest proof of his single-mindedness. the self-confidence involved in calling the whole scriptures to his assistance is worthy of a man who does not hesitate to call himself a saint, and we cannot be surprised that rolle's commentaries (in early life, at least) brought him persecution. outward interference, however, does not check his enterprise, for his understanding of the bible is one of the points where (as we shall see) | he believes himself directly inspired. though in the job he may show some signs of dejection and even nervousness lest he should not express the right shade of meaning, he never really loses faith in 1 cf. infra, p. 148, for a possible contributory cause of this emphasis. 146 scriptural commentaries himself, and his courage and integrity of purpose are always impressive. they give his commentaries as it were a living spirit, for all the disjointed structure which such compositions must show; by attaching the texts to the experience of the author, he gives us often poignant glimpses of the use which he made of the scriptures to express his own moods. the human interest, therefore, of rolle's commentaries is often considerable, and in his hands what is perhaps the most out-of-date of all medieval forms of literature still often retains vitality. some historical interest they also have, in showing how the orthodoxy of medieval times was 'compassed about with a cloud of witnesses'. it was upheld, as it were, by a thrust and counter-thrust of literal, moral, allegorical, and anagogical interpretations which may remind us of the thrust and counter-thrust of the contemporary gothic arches. the scholastic age in more than one direction achieved a unique power of interconnecting the elements with which it was concerned, whether material, intellectual, or spiritual, into a fabric at once compact and delicately wrought. rolle, in expounding his gospel of mysticism, showed himself the child of his age in the careful synthesis which he developed of the lot of the mystic, his initiation, experience, character, prestige, and reward. it will be seen that rolle's commentaries, though similar in spirit, differ greatly in method. a work like the canticles, built about two and a half verses of scripture, stands at the one extreme, and the psalters, in which he never strays far from the texts commented on, at the other. expositions like the job or the twentieth psalm are intermediate. two of richard's works already treated, the com mentary on the canticles and the commentary on the lessons from job, illustrate the type of work which is to be treated in the present chapter, and in the melum also many sections (in the words of the author, 'postils') devote themselves to the exposition of texts as closely as the canticles, though the texts are not chosen consecutively. since rolle's authorship of the three works just mentioned is beyond doubt the melum, which is the only one not signed, being referred to in the job, which is signed-it follows that the precedent is solidly established for rolle's composition of commentaries. a few quotations will be given, however, to show how this type of writing is, as it were, promised in rolle's other works, and expresses a vital part of his activity. in the judica me deus, which is probably richard's first prose composition, in the section (b 1) given to advice to a parish priest, occurs the following: 'scire enim debent sacerdotes sacras scripturas, english and latin 147 que necesse sunt ad illorum officium' (judica b, f. 17). here the young hermit is transcribing the orthodox manual pars oculi. in the similar account of the virtues of good pastors in the melum richard writes: 'sciant ergo scripturas qui ut eas predicent preferuntur' (f. 210). in the commentary on the lamentations of jeremiah occurs a great deal of complaint of contemporary clergy, similar to that found in the three early prose works, and here he writes: 'pastores & rectores ... errantes in amore seculi, pabulum spirituale non inueniunt in scripturis dei' (fol. cxxiv); '[paruuli], id est, fideles in ecclesia & laici [petierunt panem] praedicationis & verbi dei [& non erat qui frangeret eis], id est, qui scripturas exponeret vt ipsi intelligant, sic lamijs crudeliores sunt ecclesiarum rectores. [qui vescebantur voluptuose interierunt in vijs] fame verbi dei [qui nutriebantur in croceis], id est, donis spiritus sancti, relictis illis [amplexati sunt stercora], id est, corporales delectationes' (fol. cxxviii). 'sacerdotes reprobat, qui doctrinam dei vel sacramenta, non nisi cum pecunia ministrant, non pure pro deo [& ligna nostra], id est, scripturam & dona dei, quibus ignis in corde nutritur amoris [precio comparauimus] conqueruntur christiani de auaris sacerdotibus, qui etiam ipsum deum pro precio vendunt' (fol. cxxix). though richard thus believes that a knowledge of the scriptures is of the first importance, he is extremely cautious about how that knowledge is to be supplied, for it is the hidden meanings which he wishes to propagate. in discussing in the melum the office of the preacher he says: 'sed errant nunc undique, miseros mittentes qui ignorant oracula clause scripture et integrum non habent altissimo amorem, ac prohibent precipuos proferre sermonem.... cur pocius non eligunt quos deus inspirat et mittit in mundo ut multi meliorentur ?' (ff. 241-42). earlier in the same work we find the following: 'nimirum misterium mitto modernis. etenim antiqui sublimia sciebant: archanum absconditur ab omnibus auaris; uix unus hoc accipit dum est in hoc mundo. claudit enim conditor ianuam scripture ut lateant legentes que liquide lucescunt, sed amicis hanc aperit ardenter qui amant, ut aliis ostenderent quod hii intellexerunt' (f. 237'); and still earlier : 'auctorem amaui qui animam ardore olimpi impleuit, ut proferam precipue sermones amoris, scripturam scrutans que latet carnales ' (f. 233). he writes in the commentary on the apocalypse: 'vult enim deus scripturas suas clausas esse, ne inimicis pateat locus adeundi in thesaurum domini, qui gloriarentur in vanitate sua, non in deo, ut vilipenderent diuina verba sapientis. ergo egit dando scripturas in se 148 scriptural commentaries misticum sensum continentes, ut mali excludantur et sui deuoti, et illi penitus dediti, exerceri possint et, si inueniant, reddant laudes deo; si non inueniunt, imputent sue [im]pietati,' quia aut non recte querunt presumendo aut non perseuerant in querendo. nullus enim qui perfecte querit et perseueranter ab inuencione fraudabitur, nec tamen omnibus sanctis datum est inuenire, quia nec omnibus inspiratum est querere. diuersa enim carismata electis tribuuntur' (f. 123). he says in the english psalter: 'her may we see that nan sould be swa hardy to translate or expound haly writ bot if he felid the haly gast in him, that is makere of haly writ, for soen sall he erre that is noght led with him' (p. 61). it is evident from the quotations given that rolle believed that the understanding of scripture was a direct gift of inspiration, as was his gift of mystical joy, and that he enjoyed the former as well as the latter. they also make it probable that he had attempted to propagate his understanding of scripture by means of preaching, and been forbidden by ecclesiastical authority to continue (cf. also infra, pp. 471, 474 sq., 487). the english psalter will suggest the method which he sometimes followed in his expositions: 'wickid men torne 30w til god... he has bent his bow, that is, he manaunce 30w with haly writt, and redid it, thurgh haly men expownynge whaim ze dispise, and haly lare alswa' (p. 27). probably the authorities objected to rolle's preaching his interpretations because he turned all to the glorification of his own manner of life and the prejudice of other ranks in the church. the wordis of oure lord ere chast withouten corupcioun, he says (p. 44) in the english psalter (here reminding us of the style of the authorized version)'... ymange spechis nan is swa swet til the thoght as godis word.' if we may judge from the character of his commentaries, he found the holy scriptures specially sweet to the thought because the hero of the expositions is practically always the contemplative, whose life and future destiny-like those of the saviour and of the mother of god-are found cryptically described in the ancient writings." already in the melum, an early work, richard lays claim to a supernatural understanding of scripture, which he seems to be prevented from imparting as a preacher. evidence is there given almost strong enough to prove that by this time he has definitely i turned to the exposition as the form by which he is to send out the interpretations to which he feels himself inspired. the discussion of the preacher already quoted from culminates as follows: 1 mss. pietati. 2 here to some degree-he resembles joachim of flora (v. infra, p. 333). english and latin 149 1 'multo nimirum plures sunt qui sciunt verbum dei predicare quam qui senciunt in seipsis sonum eterne laudis et archanum angelice armonie, et ista duo raro aut nunquam simul in eodem inueniuntur. nam qui officium suscipit predicacionis circuit per villas, ciuitates et castella. qui autem amore contemplacionis perfecte rapitur, solus sedendo quiescere iugiter delectatur. itaque bonum est bonum predicatorem esse pro salute animarum, discurrere, monere, fatigari, sed melius est, securius, suauius, contemplatorem esse, eternam suauitatem presentire, delicias canere eterni amoris et in laudem rapi conditoris per infusionem canoris iubilei. si quis autem utrumque potuerit adipisci, tanto laudabilior esset, sed hoc non continget nisi prius efficeretur contemplator quam predicator, et proculdubio cum diuine caritatis dulcedo mentem absorbuerit, caro deficit, et ulterius iam ad exteriores labores sustinendos fortis non erit. doceat, exortetur, suadeat omnes ad caritatem, ut viuant in concordia et castitate, et in mansuetudine et in paciencia. studeat quoque, si habeat intellectum scripturarum et videat spiritum sanctum se inflammantem, hec et alia plura scribere, que in publico non potest predicare. sed nemo qui salutem suam amat, nisi sit doctus a deo et indicia cognoscit interne inspiracionis, tractare presumat de sacris scripturis, alioquin errabit nocens sibi et aliis' (f. 242). evidently the claims of mysticism as much as outside pressure now forced the young hermit to seek a quiet mode of expression; and even his interest is apparently withdrawn from preaching-to judge from the testimony of the later works. on the other hand, the quotations just made would make us look for richard to write expositions of scripture even if we did not know that he did so. the fact that his commentaries were owned by many high ecclesiastics would seem to show that the church in the end approved his scriptural interpretations-when presented to the literate. 1 bono c. 2 cf. incendium, p. 206. 6 • indica c. the following passage on the scriptures in the early melum may be of enough interest to quote: siquidem plures sunt qui voluntatem peccandi perfecte non dimittentes multa, que in sanctis libris scribuntur, vera esse non putant, et tamen plerique presumentes autumant se in tremenda discussione non iudicandos sed alios iudicaturos constitui. alii sunt qui, etsi verba sacre scripture seruare negligunt, tamen se saluandos audacter dicunt. primum genus hominum manifeste probantur errare, eo quod absurdissimum sit, immo dementissimum, opinari aliquid erroris in sancta scriptura, precipue in scriptis prophetarum, aut in euangelio aut in epistolis canonicis, scilicet, apostolorum. ... unde qui sacre scripture derogat, hereticus est. porro si loquamur de aliis sanctis qui expositores fuerunt, quis nisi insane mentis diceret quod aliquis ad celum per mendacia veniret ? sed anime eorum ad celestia gaudia perducuntur, ut patet. nam ubi ipsorum corpora humata fuerunt, miracula fiunt, que nunc eciam ab optimis viuis fieri non possunt; ergo vera scripserunt. preterea nunquid non scribo pro tua saluacione ? tam districtum iudicium tu sencies quam 150 miscellaneous scriptural commentaries part i: miscellaneous scriptural commentaries super threnos beg. '[quomodo sedet sola ciuitas plena populo.] et factum est postquam in captiuitatem.... aleph doctrina interpraetatur. vera autem doctrina est, qua deus cognoscitur' (edit. 1536, fol. cxxiii). ends: '[iratus es contra nos vehementer], si non poenitemus' (fol. cxxix). printed editions. the comment on the lamentations of jeremiah was printed in the edition of cologne of 1536, and at paris separately in 1542. manuscripts. oxford mss. i. bodl. 861. unattributed. v. supra, p. 32. ii. corpus christi coll. 193, ff. 135-42, early 15th cent. 'incipiunt postille eiusdem (ricardi heremite) super trenos siue lamentaciones jeremie.' 'explicit postilla ricardi heremite super trenos.' see lat. ps., job, cant., 20th ps., o. d., s. a., e. v., contra am. m., incend., mel., judica. other ms. iii. trin. coll. dublin 153, 15th cent. 'exposicio trenorum jeronimi per sanctum ricardum heremitam de hampull.' see cant. am., cant., judica, mul. fort. quotations and references. a compilation in trin. coll. dublin 277 quotes with rolle's name this commentary, which also boston found ascribed to rolle at bury. 'super threnos' was found with rolle's name by leland at st. mary's, york. bale does not cite the work in his index, and, curiously enough, he omits it in the list which he gives from ego. corpus meum castigo, et in seruitutem redigo, ne aliis predicans, ego reprobus efficiar (1 cor. ix. 27). si ergo timeo, quare non timeres et tu (presertim cum deo equalis sit cura de omnibus), aut quid proderit michi si homines dampnentur ? nunquid ego dampno malos, vel pocius eorum malicia (sic)? scribimus igitur, non ut dampnentur, sed ut conuertantur et viuant et saluentur. proponuntur eis terrores inferni, stricta iudicia dei, ut ea caueant ut non (om. c) in illis cadant' (ff. 249, 250). there soon follows the indictment of hypocritical clergy later to be quoted (p. 267). this passage is inconsistent with another in which rolle seems to declare that evil men may work miracles after death (v. infra, p. 488). super threnos 151 'bostonus'. leland) in his catalogus of 1557. it is, however, included (with the title given by the comment on the lamentations of jeremiah is a fairly close and concise exposition after the usual medieval type. nevertheless, the author introduces enough mysticism (sometimes expressed in alliterative language) to bring the work into close relations with the other writings of 'richard hermit'. the texts chosen for comment in the present piece would have had a striking present-day application during the latter years of the reign of edward ii and the early years of edward iii, when rolle was a young man. other indications might also go to show that the present commentary was a work of his youth. the possibility that it may belong with the early works has put it first among the commentaries, out of the alphabetical order generally followed. the desire to refrain from admitting any conjectures in the arrangement of the catalogue has, however, kept it from being formally included in the group just treated. the following may imply that the author is still young, and it certainly shows his prejudice for a life of solitude: 'magnum enim est iuuenibus seculum relinquere, a feruenti concupiscentia abstinere. hic talis [sedebit solitarius], id est, singularis cum deo est, quia omnes alios excellit, vel non immiscetur negotijs & desiderijs mundi [& tacebit] a vanis loquelis & cogitationibus, diuino amore contentus [quia leuauit se super se], id est, vltra vires corruptae naturae per contemplationem exeundo ad superna' (fol. cxxviiv). the persecution and temptation by ecclesiastics, which rolle is undergoing at the time of writing the melum and job, seem to be echoed here in a passage which also hints at the hermit's life of the author: '[velociores fuerunt persequutores nostri], id est, immundi spiritus ad lacerandum & deuorandum [aquilis coeli], id est, quam sancti praedicatores ad eripiendum, qui etiam eremitis, quorum sensus clausi sunt, ne mors intret, melliflua mundi proponunt [quia super montes], id est, in contemplatione positos [persecuti sunt nos]; vel qui ad ecclesiae regimina extolluntur, acrius ad persequendum eos incitant [in deserto insidiati sunt nobis], monachis & eremitis, quanto enim nos ad culmina virtutum promotos considerant, tanto ardentius infestant' (fol. cxxix). the present commentary gives many bitter attacks on the clergy, and in so doing shows connexion with the three early prose works already treated (see fols. cxxiiii, cxxviii-cxxix, and supra, pp. 101, 124, 142). 152 miscellaneous scriptural commentaries though the present work seems to be early, it has not been written before the author has attained some knowledge of ecstasy, with its sensuous concomitants, and some facility in alliterative prose : • 'anima sola sedet, quae suauitate amoris christi caret. .. plorat quippe non in omnibus, sed in his qui mortui sunt mundo, in viris contemplatiuis, amore christi ardentibus & mellifluis deuotione delicatissima factis' (fol. cxxiii sq.)... 'a choro sanctorum, canentium dei laudes in iubilo deficiunt, qui canticum amoris christi non assumunt' (fol. cxxix"). he has also apparently begun the familiar use of the name of jesus: '[mandauit dominus aduersum iacob], id est, contra animam olim vitia supplantantem, nunc solo nomine gloriantem' (fol. cxxv; cf. fols. cxxvii, cxxviii). the following exposition may have had contemporary significance: '[non crediderunt reges terrae, & vniversi habitatores orbis, quod ingrederetur hostis & inimicus per portas ierusalem] quia auersa est a domino, deo suo, cuius enim muniebatur beneficio, recessit praesidium, & sic facti sunt praeda inimicorum' (fol. cxxviiiˇ). if this be taken as a topical allusion, we have another hint that the work is likely to be early. edward ii's scotch wars might be in question. the battle of byland, one specially ignominous episode of that period, in which the king lost his baggage and was nearly captured himself, seems to be hinted at in the early melum, where rolle appears to be in conflict with the monks who suffered so much from this disaster (v. supra, p. 123, and infra, pp. 484, 487). super apocalypsim (usque ad cap. vi) the quotations from this work are made from bodl. ms. 861 (cited as b) collated with the hereford ms. beg.: apocalipsis ihesu christi, quam dedit illi deus (apoc. i. 1). beatus iohannes in exilium missus cogitauit diuersos status ecclesie multa pro nomine christi passuros, ut ergo deuocius transitoria queque despicerent' (f. 123). ends: sicut diabolus sedet in anima peccatrice, habebat arcum (apoc. vi. 2), id est, sanctam scripturam' (f. 128). manuscripts. i. bodl. 861. unattributed. v. supra, p. 31. the ii. b. mus. cotton tiber. a. xv, ff. 181-9, 15th cent. edges of the pages are defaced by fire. in smith's catalogue of 1696, made before the fire, this item is entered as comment. ricardi super apocalypsim 153 hampole heremitae in apocalypsim d. joannis'—which gives some presumption that this copy was originally ascribed to rolle. see mul. fort., office. iii. hereford cath. o. viii. 1, late 14th cent. see lat. ps., e. v., contra am. m., incend., cant., mel., magn. references and quotations. syon monastery evidently contained a copy of the present work giving the name of the author, for—after the incendium—ms. m. 96 contained: 'idem (ricardus hampole) super apocalipsim vsque ad vim capitulum' (the limit of the present commentary). in this manuscript were only these two pieces. an anonymous copy of this work was evidently contained in the important collection of rolle's works in the 16th-century savile library. leland evidently saw in the library of st. mary's, york, a copy of the present work ascribed to rolle, for he cites among the works of richard found there 'super apocalypsim'. his mention is copied by most of the later bibliographers. horstmann's failure to include the present work in his collection means that it has never been described, and accordingly it will be illustrated by quotations at some length. it is one of the most characteristic of rolle's commentaries, and no exhaustive account can be given of the passages which suggest his authorship. enough will be quoted to show that the exposition constantly echoes richard's individual experience, doctrine, and style. the author praises a life of solitude, in alliterative language: 'locus enim solitarius aptus est in quo cecreta celestia reuelentur. magnam quippe utilitatem affert solitudo pro deo pure suscepta, et qui vitam solitariam perfecte sectantur, ab immensis periculis se erutos gaudebunt, et si in primis quidem grauibus temptamentis vexentur, postea sine dubio ineffabili suauitate iubilabunt' (f. 123v).¹ some hints are given of rolle's external difficulties: 'quisquis namque turbam et domos diuitum frequentare audet, crebra vulnera suscipiet, quia si perfectus est, per detraccionem lacerabitur ab inuidis; si adhuc tener et immaturus aut non firmatus, decidet in lubricum voluptatis' (f. 123). 'ostendens aduersa calumpniarum, improperiorum et magnarum tribulacionum, non solum ab extraneis, sed eciam a falsis fratribus, quorum persecucio eo est magis periculosa quo occulta. et quod manifeste faciunt per inuidiam, fingunt se facere per zelum. inuident enim hiis 1 the hereford ms. has some leaves misplaced at this point. l 154 miscellaneous scriptural commentaries qui per graciam dei in ipsis operantem in conuersacione clari hominibus innotescunt, unde inuidia tabescentes, calu[m]pnias querunt, mendacia confingunt, falsa crimina inponunt, ut vel omnino deleantur vel saltem infamentur. hos peruerse mentis ideo permittit deus longe lateque discurrere et maliuolas linguas ac venenosas relaxare ut pacienciam electorum excerceatur, et gloriosius coronentur, et si quid in eis culpe contractum fuerit, lima expietur aduersancium linguarum' (f. 123).¹ 'recte angelo smirnie ista proferuntur, id est, illis quorum canticum et iocunditas christus est, quia nimirum quo suauius ac clarius inmisso in eis sono celico christo vel meditando et laudando et orando canunt, eo contra eos crudeliores aduersarii et plures insurgunt, ut de excellencia sua nulla elacione tangantur' (f. 125). 'caritas enim est que nos caros facit et amabiles reddit deo et angelis et hominibus, quamuis non omnes qui amore dei ardent ab omni homine amentur, quia inuidi et malicia pleni de bonitate proximorum tabescunt, et infamare student. mirabile esset, si aliquis iuste ac sancte viueret et inimicos atque aduersarios homines non inueniret' (f. 127v). the internal elements of rolle's life are suggested-the 'heat, sweetness, and song', and the ecstatic use of the holy name: 'vel pocius oculi christi sunt viri summi et contemplatiui, pre aliis membris corporis christi lucidi et in alto positi ad decorem tocius faciei, qui sunt velut flamma ignis, scilicet, ardentes interius quia igne eterni amoris mirabiliter succensi sunt, et totum cor suum quasi in igne conuersum est, unde se per contemplacionem ad superna rapiunt, et diuino gaudio natura eorum transmutata in dulcedine[m] mellis² in spiritu liquefiunt. in quibus flamma illa amor est, per quam ita melliflui facti sunt, quod et orando iubilant' (f. 124). 'smirnia, id est, canora delectacio, quia et nomen meum cum suauissima laudis exultacione intra se retinere non desinunt, deliciasque eterni amoris cantacione ineffabili in auribus meis canunt' (ibid.). the celestial quality of the mystic ecstasy is insisted on, for it is a 'prelibation' of the joys of heaven : 'introibo ad illum (apoc. iii. 20), id est, in secreta cordis ipsius parabo michi mansionem, interna eum aspiracione tangendo, ut me in eo esse cognoscat et senciat, dum non solum ipsum amoris mei igne succendam, sed eciam suauitatem vite eterne faciam pregustare' (f. 126).³ in the apocalyptic vision of heaven the mystic ecstasy is consummated: we have seen that (to use richard's own phrase) 'the glory and perfection of the saints' make the subject of most of his writings, and 1 the last part of this quotation ('inuident . . .') has not been read with the hereford ms., nor have the two following passages. 2 hereford ms. adds: celestis melodie'. 3 this section is misplaced in the hereford ms. super apocalypsim 155 the present commentary naturally offers opportunity to make clear their reward in heaven as well as on earth: 'et vidi, id est, intellexi, in dextera sedentis super thronum (apoc. v. 1), id est, in filio dei viui ihesu christi (sic), qui sedet regnando et quiescendo et delectando in sanctis qui sunt thronus eius, quia per eos iudicat de aliis et mores minorum fidelium informat. ipsi enim in tranquillitate ac serenitate consciencie positi et firmati, dum in diuino amore ardendo iubilant, christum profecto in cordibus suis suauiter portant' (f. 127). no vagueness is allowed as to the high criterion by which men are to be judged worthy of the highest seats in heaven : 'non tamen omnes qui carnem mortificant vel predicant digne cum christo iudicaturi sunt, sed qui excellenter et perfecte mundo renunciant et solis diuinis laudibus vacant, semper parati in spiritu agnum imitari, qui vix concupiscencias senciunt vel raro, in quibus pene exting[u]untur. potest et cithara que delectabilem reddit melodiam sanctorum solacium designare, qui, quia in mente sunt nitidi et diuina contemplacione eleuati ac firmi, missam celicam suauitatem cum ineffabili iubilo suscipiunt, et igne diuini amoris vehementer inardescunt' (f. 127v). the commentary on the apocalypse is evidently one of rolle's most characteristic writings. it may perhaps be conjectured that this also is an early work. the references to persecutions (by 'false brothers', i. e. clerics (?), actuated by envy) suggest those found in the early group. the following passage (though natural in expounding the texts at hand) perhaps also hints at a relation to rolle's early compositions : 'tempus enim prope est, quod libenter pati debemus, et cuncta contempnere que vana sunt, quia tempus prope est in quo finientur miserie et tribulaciones, omnesque dolores ab electis euacuabuntur atque eterna gloria apparebit' (f. 123).¹ super orationem dominicam beg. [pater noster . . .] haec oratio priuilegiata est in duobus, scilicet in dignitate et etiam in foecunditate' (edit. 1535, fol. 29). ends: ineffringibilia & inuiolabilia esse confirmata in veritate ' (fol. 31). printed editions. the comment on the lord's prayer was printed in the editions of cologne of 1535 and 1536, and by la bigne in 1622, 1677, &c. 1 this has not been collated with the hereford ms. l 2 156 miscellaneous scriptural commentaries manuscripts. oxford mss. 29-32, early 15th cent. i. bodl. 48 (sum. cat. no. 1885), ff. 'hic incipit exposicio oracionis dominice.' see e. v., s. a. ii. bodl. 549 (sum. cat. no. 2298), ff. 98-100, early 15th cent. 'hic incipit quedam exposicio notabilis oracionis dominice.' s. a. iii. bodl. 861. unattributed. v. supra, p. 32. see iv. corpus christi coll. 193, ff. 160-1, early 15th cent. 'incipit tractatus eiusdem (ricardi heremite) super oracione dominica.' see lat. ps., job, thren., cant., 20th ps., s. a., e. v., contra am. m., incend., mel., judica. cambridge mss. v. univ. dd. iv. 50, ff. 108-9, 16th cent. see stim. consc. (lat.), s. a. vi. univ. dd. v. 64(1), f. 16b, early 15th cent. 'exposicio oracionis dominice secundum ricardum hampole.' imperfect at the end. see e. v., incend., mel., form, command., ego d., miscell. vii. emmanuel coll. 35, ff. 60-3, 15th cent. (before 1414). 'exposicio oracionis dominice secundum r. h. heremitam.' cant., judica, mul. fort., incend., contra am. m., mel. london mss. (british museum). see viii. harl. 2361, ff. 59b-61, 15th cent. 'exposicio oracionis dominice secundum ricardum heremitam.' above is written: 'de hampole'. 'dominus johnson est possessor huius libri.... ex dono magistri johannis odlyne. 1503.' see s. a. ix. harl. 2406, ff. 12-15, 15th cent. 'explicit secundum ricardum.' 'iste liber pertinet domine matilde stuerd' (f. 11b). see s. a., e. v. (angl.). other mss. x. douay 396. unattributed. v. supra, p. 37. xi. shrewsbury school 25, ff. 164-164, 14th cent. see lat. ps., e. v., and supra, p. 45. references and quotations. 'super orationem dominicam' by rolle was seen by leland at st. mary's, york, and cited by the later bibliographers. super orationem dominicam 157 rolle's commentary on the lord's prayer is short, sometimes scholastic, and generally unmystical, but, like the following exposition (with which it generally occurs in the manuscripts), it gives hints of the 'glory and perfection of the saints' sufficient to uphold the strong external evidence for rolle's authorship: 'in coelis, id est, secretis sanctis & spiritualibus viris, qui sunt habitacula dei, & eorum conuersatio in coelis est: vt ad spiritualitatem, in qua habitat, festinare discamus, & coelestia ab eo petamus. . . . in nobis in eo quiescentibus sanctificatur ipse, dum nos in ipso sanctificamur. ... in beatis angelis & in animabus sanctis est plena conformitas diuinae voluntatis' (fols. 29, 30). alliteration will be noted here in the first sentence quoted. : super symbolum apostolorum beg. decimo die post ascensionem domini, discipulis prae timore iudaeorum in vnum congregatis' (edit. 1535, fol. 31v). ends: item christum ardenter amantibus. tenuerit illam scilicet, sapientiam, vitam haereditabit' (fol. 41). printed editions. ecci. 4. qui the comment on the apostles' creed was printed in the editions of cologne 1535 and 1536, and by la bigne in 1622, 1677, &c. manuscripts. oxford mss. i. bodl. 48, ff. 32-45, early 15th cent. 'explicit exposicio symboli per ricardum heremitam.' see e. v., o. d. hic incipit exposicio see o. d. v. supra, p. 33. ii. bodl. 549, ff. 100v-12, early 15th cent. simboli apostolorum.' a carthusian book. iii. bodl. 861. ascribed to rolle. iv. corpus christi coll. 193, ff. 'explicit exposicio simboli per ricardum heremitam.' see lat. ps., job, thren., cant., 20th ps., o. d., e. v., contra am. m., incend., mel., judica. cambridge ms. 161-5, early 15th cent. v. univ. dd. iv. 50, ff. 109-11b, 16th cent. imperfect at the end. see stim. consc. (lat.), o. d. london mss. (british museum). vi. harl. 2361, ff. 61-8, 15th cent. see o. d. 158 miscellaneous scriptural commentaries vii. harl. 2406, ff. 15-31, 15th cent. 'glosa ricardi de hampul heremite in oracione dominica et simbalo venerabili.' see o. d., e. v. (angl.). in every manuscript of the comment on the apostles' creed, that on the lord's prayer immediately precedes. references and quotations. in the index to the compilation in b. mus. roy. ms. 8 c. xv the second meditation of the fourth part appears as follows: 'quod opus incarnacionis filii dei attribuitur spiritui sancto. ricardus heremita super simbolum' (f. 2). for the passage quoted v. infra. 'super symbolum' by rolle was seen by leland at st. mary's, york, and the later bibliographers note a comment on the 'symbolum apostolorum'. the commentary on the apostles' creed is more scholastic and less mystical than most of rolle's writings. it cites a considerable number of authorities, with exact references, and explains many points of theology. traces of what we may suppose to be the influence of the hermit's early university training are not absent from the other works, and are perhaps specially notable in the latin psalter and the job. they are always alternated with passages expressing extreme mysticism, of rolle's most individual type. the present commentary is short, and, in spite of being generally uncharacteristic, it gives hints of mysticism sufficient to show that rolle in this work also was true to type. the 'ardent lovers of god' have already appeared in the concluding lines above quoted, and they enter the commentary at several points: 'quanto vero quis in amore christi in hoc praesenti seculo iucundior & feruentior fuerit, tanto in resurrectione imo & sine fine gloriosior & sublimior erit' (fol. 35). 'natus est christus in mense decembri tempore hyemis, ad ostendendum quod veniebat calefacere frigidos, vt amore aeternitatis ardeant, & ipsum solum pro eis natum tota cordis dilectione iugiter concupiscant' (fol. 33). alliteration and rhyme appear in the last quotation. a discussion of the trinity ('tres personae sunt vnum in essentia', etc., fol. 37) shows considerable resemblance to one on the same subject in the incendium amoris ('et quemadmodum deum nostrum, patrem et filium et spiritum sanctum, unam essenciam non tres essencias dicimus', etc., p. 163, cf. infra, p. 229). super mulierem fortem 159 super mulierem fortem the quotations from the present work are made from trin. coll. dublin ms. 153 (cited as t), collated with st. john's coll. oxf. ms. 77. beg.: 'mulierem fortem, etc. (prov. xxxi. 10). quanto aurum argento est preciosius, tanto' contemplatiua vita quam actiua subtilior estimatur.' ends: incessanter amorem christi querens, nullis prosperis vel aduersis a recta vite via variatur.' manuscripts. i. st. john's coll. oxf. 77, ff. 94-6, 15th cent. contemporary table of contents: item exposicio ricardi hampol super id prouerbium ultimum, mulierem fortem.' 'explicit mulierem fortem. expositum per ricardum hampol.' see spur. ii. emmanuel coll. camb. 35, ff. 23-5, 15th cent. (before 1414). 'hampole de actiua vita et contemplatiua.' see cant., incend., judica, o. d., contra am. m., mel. iii. b. mus. cotton tiber. a. xv, ff. 190-190h, 15th cent. explicit tractatus ricardi heremite.' much damaged by fire. smith's catalogue (printed before the fire) calls this piece: 'tractatus ricardi heremitae de vita activa et contemplativa.' see apoc., office. iv. castle howard ms., 15th cent. 'hampole. de vita actiua et contemplatiua.' see e. v., spur. (2), contra am. m., cant., incend., job, judica. v. trin. coll. dublin 153, 15th cent. 'incipit tractatus de vita actiua et contemplatiua per ricardum h. de hampole.' see thren., cant. am., cant., judica. references and quotations. this piece does not seem to have been cited or quoted in medieval times, and no intelligible reference to it is given by the early bibliographers. bale in his index notes among the works of rolle as 'ex domo ricardi grafton' a 'super mulierem fortem', but he gives the incipit: nemo ambigit humanę diuineque sapientie', which is not that of the present work. it is possible that he saw a copy to which some extra material had been added at the beginning. pits in giving the same mention has probably followed bale (who repeats the reference in his larger catalogue). an anonymous copy 1 tantum t 160 miscellaneous scriptural commentaries of this work was probably present in the important collection of rolle's works in the 16th-cent. savile library, under the title 'tractatus de vita activa et contemplativa' (as given in all extant copies except one). this work might be called a sermon rather than a commentary, for the text from proverbs with which it opens makes the basis of the whole discourse. it is, however, convenient to treat it in the present group. the method of the piece is very like that of the comment on the canticles, yet it might be called a short treatise, and four of the five manuscripts give it the eminently suitable title 'de vita activa et contemplativa', as if it were. all give rolle's name. in this work richard does not speak in his own person, but the following may be said to hint that the author is a hermit: contemplacio ergo non adquiritur nisi, relicto tumultu seculari, totum cor ad amandum deum prebeatur, ut magis delectetur deum desiderando in solitudine quam in clamore cantancium sedere.' the last clause will be seen to show alliteration. the following passage gives the general lines of the exposition, and will be seen to be highly typical of rolle: 'iam sic fidelis anima, eterni ignis calore inflammata, supernisque ardoribus circumsepta, prorsus ad vanas huius mundi delicias non respicit, solacia quoque secularia nec admittit, unde ad locum tabernaculi admirabilis usque ad domum dei (ps. xli. 5), amoris christi canticum cane[n]s, ascendit; et merito temporalia queque transcendens, ad celestia subleuari innituntur (sic), ut in voce exultacionis et laudis ac in sono epulantis (ps. xli. 5), id est, in canoro iubilo transiens delectetur. sic vero cum dei domum conscenderit, miris deliciis epulisque inexcogitabilibus donabitur affluere, ut iam deinceps nil preter christum et ea que ad eternam gloriam pertinent sciat affectare. hoc denique modo contemplacionem adquirimus, ut in nobis mulierem fortem in oculis saluatoris nostri veraciter ostendamus, quia dum cor nostrum in amore ihesu christi ardere non desinit, ab omni terrena et carnali concupiscencia penitus refrigescit. liquefacti¹ ergo eterni amoris dulcifluo ardore ad celestia speculanda medullitus exurimur, et, subductis quibuscumque vanitatibus, in gaudio diuini dulcoris suauiter absorbemur: gaudentes canimus, canendo amamus, amando ardemus, ardendo requiescimus, et eterne glorie sedem securius expectamus. iam in caritate proficimur, quia increate et vere lucis dulcedini, vocibus nostris organicis superne melodie consonantibus, que quondam dissone fuerant, affluenter iocundamur.' it will be noted that this passage mentions rolle's three attributes of ecstasy, and refers to the concentration on 'nil preter christum', 1 liquefacta t; st. john's 'inquesiui igitur'. super mulierem fortem 161 which is the essential of the devotion to the holy name. some rhyme and alliteration appear. the text from the psalms which is inserted is a favourite with rolle (v. infra, p. 321). reminiscences of phrases found in other works are also to be noted (v. supra, p. 70, infra, p. 195). a hint of the opposition which rolle encountered in his own life may be found in the discussion of false contemplation with which the piece opens, in the course of which he castigates the pretensions of the regular clergy, as in other works (v. supra, p. 124, infra, p. 328): 'non modicum quippe miror de nonnullis qui sic sua merita aliis preferunt, dum nihil aliud nisi de obediencia quam superioribus exhibent se bonos, immo meliores, ostendere contendunt.' part ii: commentaries connected with the psalter de dei misericordia the quotations from this work are made from magd. coll. oxf. ms. 71; they have not been collated with ms. ii. beg. misericordias domini in eternum cantabo (ps. lxxxviii. 2). misericordiam domini in eternum cantare et ipsam iugiter inuocare maximum est peccatori remedium' (f. 78). ends: que in hac parte ultima a septem condicionibus commendatur, ut quia sepcies in die cadit iustus, sepcies in die laudem dicat domino, ut per eius misericordiam ad vitam perueniant (sic) eternam, quam nobis, etc.' (f. 97). manuscripts. i. magd. coll. oxf. 71, ff. 78-97, 15th cent. 'explicit liber iste compilatus per ricardum hampule heremitam quem benedicat christus marie filius. amen. norton.' see e. v., job. ii. trin. coll. dublin 321, ff. 16b-76b, 15th cent. 'explicit tractatus quidam valde utilis super psalterium compilatus per ricardum hampole heremitam dei dulcissimi amatorem.' ms. hh. iv. 13 (15th cent.) probably once contained the present work ascribed to rolle, for in the contemporary table of contents scribbled on the fly-leaf occurs: 'hampoll de misericordia deuotissima'. this manuscript is doubtless related to magd. ms. 71 (supra), for the emendatio vitae begins in both works with the same note as to the miracles at hampole. see e. v. 162 commentaries connected with the psalter the present work is ascribed to rolle in both of the manuscripts known, and an ascription apparently occurred in a copy now lost. it exhibits none of the peculiarities of his other works, but is a composition of the usual medieval type, which could be safely ascribed to almost any writer of the middle ages: its ascription to rolle is only at first sight surprising, because most of his works could not be ascribed to any other writer. traces of his authorship do appear, and the easiest explanation for their not supporting the ascription more strongly is that the piece was written early (perhaps, if he went to paris, in the sorbonne, where the many books needed would have been at hand). the precedent of his other writings would show that richard's least characteristic productions were his earliest-and this is of course natural in the case of a mystic, who was experiencing a vividly progressive spiritual development. all the evidence that we have goes to show that rolle at the beginning of his religious life shared the usual religious enthusiasms of his time: he gave an absorbing devotion to the virgin, and showed great zeal on the subject of reforming parish priests. apparently it was only with the attainment of his ecstasy that mysticism began to dominate his writings. however, the de dei misericordia shows no sign disproving the ascription to rolle, and the passages supporting his authorship, though not very characteristic, nevertheless forbid our cancelling the attribution of the colophons. the misericordia is little more than a fabric of quotations, but in general structure it is an allegory ('parabola '). a man was ill, an exile and wanderer. he meets a king of merciful countenance, who tells him that he also has known the exile's disease, but is now cured, and has in his garden the herbs which cured him. the exile is sinful man, the king is david, and the garden is the psalter (ortum octo viridariis distinctum, quasi psalterium in septem [n]octurna (sic) et vesperarum et horarum psalmos egregie diuisum'). 'si peccator [herbas]... per contricionem et confessionem, per oracionem vel contemplacionem colligere voluerit, et suis ulceribus applicare voluerit, perfecte sanabitur, et ad gremium ecclesie reductus, suffragiorumque ipsius particeps effectus, angelorum etiam custodie simul et consorcio sociatus, coronam regni perpetui necnon et diadema speciei de manu domini gratanter accipiet, et perhenniter possidebit.... in hoc igitur tractatu, qui intitulatur de dei misericordia, auctoritates que sunt de misericordia... in unam seriem et tractatum recolligam et in octo partes in processu distinguam, quem processum si quis voluerit deuote legere, et in verbis eius dulciter meditari, misericordiam dei consequi poterit et a cunctis piaculis expurgari.' de dei misericordia 163 many scholastic arrangements occur in the succeeding sections,' and patristic quotations and exempla abound—usually with explicit references to their source. among the writers quoted are vincent of beauvais (often), st. anselm, st. augustine (many works), bartholomaeus (de proprietatibus rerum), st. bernard, aristotle (history of animals), st. ambrose, ovid, seneca, vegetius. several illustrations are given from the history of animals as in rolle's bee, and occasionally in other works (v. infra, p. 270). it may be noted, as possible evidence for an early date, that rolle also quotes exempla in the judica, and uses scholastic arrangements often in the job. the allegory and the abundant use of authorities in the present work will be seen at once to distinguish it from rolle's other writings. on the other hand, the love of the psalter here shown is highly characteristic of richard, and such a study of its text as the present work entails might have preceded his commentaries. though love makes the subject of most of his writings, we have a lyric on mercy which has a good chance of being authentic, and the following will show the place of mercy in some of his other works: 'laudamus ergo & praedicamus ineffabilem divinae maiestatis clementiam & magnitudinem (20th psalm, fol. cxxx). et ego laudo, magnifico, praedico, benignitatem tuam & multitudinem tuae misericordiae' (job, fol. civ). lo he has sett foure vers of an end of mercy, that it be mykil in oure thoght' (english psalter, p. 406). in the lyric on mercy (infra, p. 297) some of rolle's phrases usually applied to love appear applied to mercy, and the following quotations will show that the phrases just quoted are elsewhere in his works used for love, and for the saviour (the object of his love): 'o amor gloriosus... te laudo, te predico, per quem saluus fio' (contra amatores mundi, f. 180º); 'quicquid praeter te voluero despicabile est, quasi diceret : nihil praeter te volui super terram, nec in terra; te amaui, te desideraui, te concupiui, te praedicaui. vnde in te & ex te ita sum affectus' (latin psalter, ps. lxxii. 24, fol. xlv); 'now i will noght bot the. the i luf. the i desire. the i couaite. the i preche' (english psalter, ibid., p. 262). the resemblance of the phrases used for mercy and for love may come from the fact that rolle gives us as his excuse for revealing his ecstasy: non igitur ex arrogancia aut ex superbia loquimur, sed misericordiam dei ac 1 the following will give some idea of the scheme: 'sed quia non sufficit scire a quo petenda est misericordia, nisi sciat peccator quando eam petere debet, et quo loco debet eam querere, et qualem et quantam misericordiam debet appetere, et qualiter et quomodo debeat ad eam peruenire' (virid. iii). 164 commentaries connected with the psalter bonitatem eius in nobis attestamur' (canticles, f. 145). thus when richard says that he 'praises the mercy of god', this may be to him almost another way of saying that he 'praises love', since to him his love for the saviour was the crowning act of the mercy of god. the following from the canticles hints that a sudden realization of the mercy of god' may have played a part in rolle's early spiritual development: 'cum per graciam suam ab omnibus que me premebant incepit me extrahere, statim misericordiam eius intelligens, etiam meipsum curaui emendare' (f. 153). the other incidents of rolle's early life as a hermit suggest that it was his habit to find turning-points in his experience, and the words just quoted may signalize one of these-of which the literary memorial is the present work and the poem on the same subject. he was on the whole so consistent and literal himself throughout his works, that apparently we must be equally so in interpreting them. a passing reference to 'contemplation' has already been given (p. 162), and rolle's usual high expectations of future bliss may be noted in the reference in the same passage to the 'consorcium' of the angels, as well as to their custodia'. the fondness which rolle shows for the simile of the nightingale, especially in his youth (v. infra, pp. 419 sq.), as well as the 'song of love', appear in the passage: 'philomena, que de nocte cantat, in die pro cibo suo laborat. sic reuera qui in die presentis vite misericordiam dei per humilitatem querunt, canticum leticie in nocte future vite iocundissime decantabunt' (virid. iii). we find also: 'ignis enim diuini amoris liquefacit cor, id est, animam vere penitentis, ut digne suscipiat dei misericordiam in medio templi, id est, in discrecione anime' (virid. iii). contemplation' makes a special heading at the end of the work, but with the following impersonal treatment : 'sexto, dei misericordia est contemplatiuorum spirituale fastigium. ideo dicit textus: in conspectu angelorum psallam tibi, deus meus: adorabo ad templum sanctum tuum, et confitebor nomini tuo super misericordia tua et veritate tua (ps. cxxxvii. 2). ecce quod misericordia dei et veritas ducunt hominem ad contemplacionis fastigium, quia ad angelorum consorcium ad dei templum, et ad nomen dei, quod est in secula benedictum. qui enim veritatem eius meditatur, peccata vitabit: qui in misericordia eius dilectatur (sic), merita cumulabit, peccata deuincans (sic); leuis erit a sarcina delictorum, sed cumulans merita, fiet agilis ad ascensum per variarum pennas virtutum' (virid. viii). a possible hint of the devotion to the holy name is as follows: ‘ihesus, id est salus, post triduum confessionis et satisfac[c]ionis de dei misericordia 165 inuenitur in templo anime penitentis' (virid. iii). the 'anima penitens' (here and earlier quoted) is a phrase frequently used in the job. the most mystical passages found in the misericordia have been quoted, and will be seen to make a poor showing. they would not prevent our giving up rolle's authorship, if external evidence were at hand giving the piece to another writer. in this connexion it may be noted that the library of the austin friars at york contained in the late fourteenth century 'tractatus waldeby. misericordias domini.' the title here given suggests the first line of the de dei misericordia. if at any time a copy of the present work should turn up ascribed to john waldeby, the late fourteenth-century provincial of the austin friars, rolle's authorship should be abandoned in favour of his. his commentaries on the lord's prayer, &c., show the orthodox style of theological writing found in the present work (v. infra, p. 372). though richard rolle pursued this style in parts of his other writings (notably perhaps in the job), his pronounced idiosyncrasies were elsewhere evident as well. latin psalter beg. magna spiritualis iucunditatis suauitas illabitur mentibus cantica psalmorum deuote canentium' (edit. 1536, fol. i). ends: 'in ore autem potest esse canora exultatio in dei laudibus, dum mens iubilat & feruet, sed illa non est nisi ex iubilatione quae in anima est. et quia haec omnia spiritualiter velit intelligi, subiungit [omnis spiritus... laudet dominum]... qui non nisi spiritualiter laudandus est' (fol. lxxxiii). an epilogue follows, taken from the commentary of peter lombard (migne, 191, c. 55 sq.), where it is used as a prologue. beg.: 'iste liber docet obseruantiam decem mandatorum.' commentaries then follow on the six canticles from the old testament: [confitebor tibi domine], id est, laudem tibi dicam... constat ex populo suo' (fol. lxxxviiiv). printed editions. rolle's latin psalter has been printed once: in the cologne edition of 1536. copies of this work are fairly common in england, but, so far as i know, there is no copy in america. 1 see the catalogue, ed. m. r. james, fasciculus j. w. clark dicatus, cambridge, 1909. 166 commentaries connected with the psalter manuscripts. oxford mss. i. bodl. 861. marginal notes refer to richard's authorship. v. supra, p. 24. ii. corpus christi coll. 193, ff. 1-111, early 15th cent. 'hic explicit exposicio psalterii secundum ricardum heremitam de hampull.' see job, thren., cant., 20th ps., o. d., s. a., e. v., contra am. m., incend., mel., judica. iii. magd. coll. 115, ff. 164-7, 15th cent. only the exposition of the six canticles which conclude rolle's exposition of the psalter. 'exposicio ricardi hampoll super sex cantica... hec. ricardus hampoll.' the book is a collection of expositions of scripture, and that preceding the present work is by 'richard ullerston', 'doctor in theol. cathed.', oxford, 1415. iv. st. john's coll. 195, ff. 1-118, 15th cent. 'explicit textus psalterii cum glosa secundum venerabilis memorie virum ricardum heremitam de hampole' (f. 112v). see job. cambridge mss. v. corpus christi coll. 365, ff. 1-114, after 1445. 'incipit hampol super psalterium.' 'explicit textus psalterii cum glosa secundum venerabilis memorie virum ricardum heremitam.' the colophon after the canticles gives the work as 'secundum ricardum ampule heremitam'. see job, 20th ps., contra am. m. vi. trin. coll. 14, ff. 1-106b, late 14th cent. 'explicit psalterium glosatum secundum venerabilis memorie virum ricardum hampole.' the colophon after the canticles gives the work as 'secundum ricardum hampole solitarie viuentem'. see job, e. v. london mss. vii. b. mus. roy. 2 d. xxviii, ff. 1-148, 15th cent. the gift of henry parker, lord morley, to the princess mary some time after the birth of edward vi. he adds a prefatory letter in which he says and surely i do thynke that he that expounde thys psalter that to avoyde pryde he neither wolde wryte hys name nor yett tell in hys boke what tyme he wrote it which i do greately meruell at.' the scribe apparently adds his initials at f. 148: finis, quod j. p.' v. infra, p. 175. viii. lambeth palace 352, ff. 84-203, 14th cent. 'pertinet liber iste magistro johanni may rectori ecclesie omnium sanctorum latin psalter 167 maioris london. ex dono domini roberti nortone capellani in abbathia de mallynge in com. kancie, etc.' 'item hampole super psalterium'; 'pretium huius libri xxs' (notes on last fly-leaf). other mss. (british isles). ix. hereford cath. o. viii. 1, late 14th cent. cover ascribes the work to rolle (v. supra, p. 26). am. m., incend., cant., mel., magn., apoc. the note on the see e. v., contra x. kingston ms. 475*. burned in the fire of the earl of kingston's house in nottinghamshire. 'richd. hampole. glossa in psalterium david.' see sir t. phillipps, catalogus mss. magn. brit., middle hill, 1850. xi. shrewsbury school 25, ff. 82-164, 14th cent. e. v., and supra, p. 45. continental mss. see o. d., xii. cracow univ. 1628*, ff. 148-262. 'explicit glosa psalterij brevis et utilis secundum rijchardum hampel heremitam, sub. a. d. 1413, etc.' referred to elsewhere in an index as 'postilla super psalterium richardi'. dr. birkenmajer kindly informs me that the colophon as above quoted is complete (having the 'etc.' in the original). xiii. paris, bib. nat., lat. 431, ff. 1-116, 14th cent. 'explicit textus psalterii cum glosa secundum ricardum de hampole solitarie viuentem.' on the back of the last fly-leaf: 'iste liber constat iohanni comiti engolismi.' pierre champion, in his librairie de charles d'orléans (paris, 1910, p. 123) notes this as one of the books which jean d'angoulême probably brought home from his captivity in england (1412-45). xiv. prague cath. 331*. 'finitur glossa psalterii brevis et utilis secundum richardum hampul heremitam a. d. 1413 in festo s. gregorii.' xv. prague cath. 332*, 15th cent. defective at the beginning. 'et est finis huius glose psalmorum brevis et utilis richardi hampul anglici heremite.' xvi. prague cath. 333*. 'explicit glosa brevis et utilis. sub. a. d. 1412 finita est glosa psalterii edita per reverendum fratrem heremitam richardum hampul in die mathei apostoli et ewangeliste.' xvii. prague univ. 681, ff. 202-13, 15th cent. only the epilogue after the psalter, and the exposition of the canticles. a 168 commentaries connected with the psalter fragment from st. augustine on the psalms follows, as found in other prague mss. infra. the scribe asks for his reward in bohemian. xviii. prague univ. 872, 14th-15th cent. on the fine original cover (calf over board): psalterium cum richardi glosa.' richardi xix. prague univ. 1882, 1412. on the old cover: super psalterium.' 'explicit glosa breuis et utilis sub anno domini m°ccccxii edita per reuerendum fratrem heremitam richardum hampul. finita est in vigilia (sic) sancti francisci monachi monachorum.' xx. schlägl premonstratensians (austria), 105*, ff. 1-96. 'et sic est finis. finit glosa psalterij previs et utilis secundum richardum hampul heremitam symonis anno 1438° sabbato et vigilia andree, etc.' a later item is signed by a scribe 'wolfgang' 'capellanus in budweis (bohemia) altaris sancte barbare. anno 1438.' in connexion with the reference here to 'symon' monsignor pelzer points out to me the ms. mar. f. 152 (early 15th cent.) in the library of st. mary at danzig. after the end of the last work there, we read 'scripsit in heremo carm dominus symon heremita reclusus'; see the catalogue by o. günther, danzig, 1921. reference is there made to magd. coll. oxf. ms. 43, where exactly the same colophon is given (according to the catalogue), except that the name is transcribed thus in heremo carmentorinus symon heremita reclusus'. it may be noted that the danzig ms. contains an account of an academic disputation in the university of prague, 1379-96, in the time of john, the archbishop of prague. this is the prelate who gave an approbation to rolle's incendium (v. supra, p. 42). if the same symon is the scribe of the danzig and prague mss., it is likely that he had at least connexions with prague. an approbation granted to rolle's incendium by a prelate who died in 1396 (v. supra, p. 47) proves that the hermit's popularity in bohemia was in full swing before the end of the fourteenth century. it will be noted that four manuscripts of the latin psalter (three at prague, and one at cracow-probably written in the area of the same cultural influence) are dated 1412-13. it would appear that at that period (just before the condemnation of huss, when hussite influence must have been at its height) the work of richard rolle was energetically propagated in bohemia. if so many manuscripts copied at this time still exist, the likelihood is that many more have been lost. as it is, nearly one-half of the manuscripts of this work latin psalter 169 are preserved on the continent, and of these all but one are to be found in central europe. in nearly one-third of all the manuscripts, the job follows. references and quotations. a lollard english tract on translating the scriptures attributed by miss deanesly to purvey refers to rolle's english psalter when giving an exposition of his on a certain text: actually the author is here quoting the latin psalter. an english tract on maidenhood also refers to the english psalter, but in a puzzling and probably defective copy. two savile mss. contained copies of the psalter with rolle's name. the 15th-cent. catalogue of st. mary's college, winchester, includes 'ricardus hampole supra psalterium'. thomas beelby, 'persona' of york, bequeaths: 'magistro willelmo duffeld, domino meo, j psalterium de tractatu ricardi hampole.' duffield is a canon of york whose own will (of 1452) bequeaths rolle's job and psalter (the latter probably the volume above noted). st. mary's church, scarborough, in 1434 possesses unum psalterium ricardi de hampole'. all these references are ambiguous, for they might refer either to the latin or the english psalter. it is the more likely, however, that they refer to the latin psalter, since no mention 'anglice' is given. another ambiguous reference is that in the will of edward cheyne of bedford (1415) to 'a psalter glossed by richard the hermit'. " robert est of york in 1467 wills domui sanctimonialium de hampaule, psalterium glosatum, de propria scriptura beati ricardi, heremita, ibidem jacentis', and bramley in quoting this reference is puzzled because the laud ms. (early 15th cent.) tells us that the autograph of the english text is then at hampole. the manuscript of est may have been the latin autograph, or rolle may have made more than one copy of either work. boston of bury refers to rolle's psalters, but does not place them. leland saw rolle's latin psalter at st. mary's, york, at oxford, and at wells. tanner cites a copy in a balliol ms. (v. supra, p. 64). english psalter beg.: 'grete haboundance of gastly comfort and ioy in god comes in the hertes of thaim at says or synges deuotly the psalmes in louynge of ihū crist' (ed. bramley, p. 3). ends in the whilke instrumentis of musyke gastly melody is bitakynd, that mare is persayfid with pure thoght than with eryn of body. forthi ilke a spirit loue the lord' (p. 493). m 170 commentaries connected with the psalter commentaries then follow, in some manuscripts, on the six canticles of the old testament, the magnificat, te deum, benedictus, nunc dimittis, 'song of the three children', and athanasian creed. only the first seven of these are printed with rolle's psalter, as belonging to the original work, and the whole twelve, in the interpolated version, will be found in select english works of john wiclif, ed. t. arnold, oxford, 1871, iii. 3-82. miss a. c. paues, in her discussion of rolle's psalter (pp. lii-liii), notes that in general the interpolated copies of the work give the twelve additions, but they are all found in some copies which are not interpolated. she believes that the whole set is in general characteristic of late copies. she enumerates (p. liii, n. 1) the number of canticles commented on in the various manuscripts, and they vary greatly. the details which she gives on this point are amplified by miss everett, who gives a thorough account of the original seven cantica, of the interpolated form of the same, and of the later five cantica (which are possibly' the work of the same man who interpolated the earlier ones). this is not repeated here (see mod. lang. rev., xvii, pp. 223 sq.). printed editions. the only printed edition of rolle's english psalter unfortunately uses only twelve manuscripts (two more were noted), and makes no attempt to trace the sources. parallel quotations are given to illustrate differences of dialect. middendorff was later able to show that the english work derived a great part of its material from the catena on the psalter of peter lombard (migne, 191). miss paues in 1902 added many manuscripts of rolle's english psalter, and discriminated between the original and the lollard texts. forshall and madden (wycliffite versions of the holy bible, oxford, 1850, 1, p. v) had quoted from the laud prologue, but denied the heretical influence in the extant copies. it is desirable that an edition of the lollard version should be brought out. in the following lists the classification into original and interpolated copies is entirely derived from miss everett (elaborating the work of miss paues). the relations between the different classes will be seen to be often a complicated one: to some extent the groups overlap (see op. cit. xviii, p. 385). it is also difficult to classify strictly the relation of the various interpolators to lollardy, as reference to miss everett's valuable quotations will show (v. ibid., pp. 381 sq.). the most extreme lollard doctrine found is of a moderate variety, or english psalter 171 represents an early date (about 1381, v. p. 390). on the other hand, much of the material added has no heretical colouring whatever, and this specially applies to the shorter interpolations (v. p. 387). we shall find the same phenomenon in connexion with the prick of conscience: an interpolator has been active in one type of text who seems to show sympathy with lollardy, yet for the most part writes in the manner of ordinary piety (v. infra, p. 391). manuscripts.-original version (group i). oxford mss. incipit psalterium i. bodl. 467 (sum. cat. no. 2487), 15th cent. ricardi heremite.' 'iste est liber domini hugonis eyton supprioris monasterii sancti albani anglorum prothomartiris.' eyton was one of those set to frame for syon monastery local additions to the brigittine rule (see deanesley, p. 122). ii. bodl. 953 (sum. cat. no. 3089), a fine folio manuscript, 'written early in the fifteenth century for thomas iv, tenth lord berkeley.... he died in 1416. his family arms and obits appear. 'liber domini thome seignour de berkeley' is worked into the handsome illumination which runs around the first page. fine illuminated initials. 4127 iii. hatton 12 (sum. cat. no. 3693), late 14th cent. see ten com. iv. laud misc. 448 (sum. cat. no. 1413), 15th cent. v. tanner i (sum. cat. no. 9821), early 15th cent. imperfect at the end. vi. magd. coll. 52, early 15th cent. imperfect at the end. vii. univ. coll. 56, early 15th cent. bramley quotes a contemporary french note giving obits of 1413 and adding: 'rich. rolle heremyte autremen dit rich. hampool le quel mouruste lan de grace mcccxlixe & giste a hampoole' (the use of richard's surname is noteworthy); also a kalendar, in which a birth of 1422 is entered. viii. univ. coll. 64, 15th cent. the northern text edited by bramley. cambridge mss. (colleges). ix. corpus christi 387, 15th cent. 'iste liber constat dompno johanni colman abbati monasterii de lesnes' ('an augustinian priory near woolwich, otherwise called westwood'). m 2 172 commentaries connected with the psalter x. sidney sussex 89*, 14th-15th cent. bramley quotes notes which seem to show a lincolnshire origin, as well as one referring to a thaumaturgic use of a psalm mentioned (p. 405) in the commentary: 'sollun richard hermet ascun croit', etc. this comment is derived from the lombard, and is also used in the latin psalter of richard. london mss. xi. b. mus. ar. 158, 14th-15th cent. imperfect at the end. a page of this manuscript is reproduced by sir f. g. kenyon in his facsimiles of biblical manuscripts in the british museum, london, 1900 (pl. xxiii), and in a picture postcard recently printed by the museum. beginning. b. mus. harl. 1806, 14th cent. slightly imperfect at the other mss. xiii. aberdeen univ. ms.* xiv. eton coll. 10*, 15th cent. this northern ms. was used by miss everett for her quotations from the original text. xv. newcastle cath. ms.*, early 15th cent. discovered by dr. j. t. fowler of durham (see n. & q., 5th ser. i. 41), and brought to the attention of bramley, but too late for much use in his edition. he calls it nearer to the original dialect than any other. it begins far on in the work and shows many gaps. xvi. cheltenham, phillipps 8884* (formerly the manuscript of dr. adam clarke, sold at sotheby's, 17 may, 1897, lot 623), early 15th cent. bramley quotes the description from dr. clarke's salecatalogue. imperfect at the beginning. see ten com. xvii. sotheby, oct. 21, 1920, lot 137 (ms. ingilby, ripley castle, yorks). this fine northern copy was bought by messrs. maggs of conduit street, and kindly shown me by them. another hand inserts at the beginning and end other northern pieces. see command., spur. now huntington ms. 148. " xviii. worcester cath. f. 158. explicit psalterium.' xix. vatican reg. 320. hic incipit psalterium ricardi heremite.... explicit psalterium dauíd.' no cantica. a cursory examination has shown no wyclifite interpolations in this copy. perhaps queen christina brought it from sweden, where, as we have seen, other manuscripts of rolle are found. this manuscript has been described by k. christ (herrig's archiv, 136, pp. 35 sq.), as was english psalter 173 pointed out to me by miss paues. he dates it 15th cent. (perhaps the first half), and notes the name 'john chester' with the date '1524'. the dialect is mixed, with northern forms. interpolated versions (group iia: lollard). xx. bodl. 288 (sum. cat. no. 2438), mid 15th cent. the group is illustrated from this copy by miss everett. xxi. bodl. tanner 16 (sum. cat. no. 9836), early 15th cent. imperfect at the end. xxii. univ. coll. oxf. 74, 15th cent. imperfect at both ends. xxiii. trin. coll. camb. 171, early 15th cent. a large elaborate manuscript, with illuminated initials. xxiv. b. mus. roy. 18 d. i, first half 15th cent. 'here begynneð þe prologe vppon pe sauter þat richard heremyte of hampole translatid into englysche aftir þe sentence of doctours and resun'. pss. i-lxxix. 13 only. a large elaborate manuscript. xxv. lincoln cath. 92, late 15th cent. a gift in modern times from william brooke, esq. in 1875 it was collated by henry bradshaw. xxvi. bodl. laud misc. 321 (sum. cat. no. 1195), early 15th cent. imperfect at the end. miss everett notes that some of the interpolations found in this group appear here in the margins of the first few psalms, and in the text in pss. vii-ix. otherwise the original version is given. xxvii. lambeth palace 34, early 15th cent. pss. i-lxxxix only. a large handsome folio with some decorations, somewhat like the trinity and royal copies. miss everett notes (xvii, p. 222) that the interpolations peculiar to this group are found as far as ps. lxxxiv. from there to the end she says that the text differs from any that she has seen. interpolated versions (group iib: not interpolated after ps. xvii). xxviii. bodl. laud misc. 286 (sum. cat. no. 1151), early 15th cent. bramley has printed from this manuscript the metrical prologue giving unique and valuable information. though in this copy at least the dialect of this piece is not consistently northern, the writer was evidently in close touch with hampole. he begins by a general explanation of the psalter and some paraphrase of rolle's own prose prologue, but he goes on to tell that: 174 commentaries connected with the psalter 'therfore a worthy holy man, cald rychard hampole, whom the lord, that all thing can, leryd lely on his scole, glosed the sauter that sues here, in englysch tong sykerly, at a worthy recluse prayer, cald dame merget kyrkby. this same sauter, in all degre, is the self in sothnes that lyzt at hampole in surte, at richard own berynes, that he wrote with his hondes, to dame merget kyrkby: and thar it lyzt in cheyn bondes, in the same nonery.' the writer goes on to explain the way to hampole, and the miracles taking place there : 'that thei bene soth and nothing fabul, at hampole 3e may hit knowe. the psalter contains no error 'ne deseyt ne heresy, bot euery word is sad as stone, and sothly sayd, ful sykerly. whos wol it write, i rede hym rygth, wryte on warly lyne be lyne, and make no more then here is dygth, or ellys i rede hym hit ne ryne. copyed has this sauter ben, of yuel men of lollardry: and afturward hit has bene sene, ympyd in with eresy. they seyden then to leude foles, that it shuld be all enter, a blessyd boke of hur scoles, of rychard hampole the sauter. thus thei seyd, to make theim leue, on her scole thoro sotelte, to bryng hem in, so hem to greue, ageyn the feyth in grete fole, and slaundird foule this holy man, with her wykkyd waryed wyles: hur fantom hath made mony a fon, thoro the fend that fele begiles.' as we have seen, the roy. ms. above attaches rolle's name to a lollard text. miss everett has discovered that, in spite of the effusive prologue, laud 286 contains an interpolated text as far as ps. xvii. 53. she states that the hand changes at this point, but that which begins here would seem to me to be one which has already appeared earlier. the two come together abruptly on f. 5º, c. 2. the interpolations do not appear to contain lollard matter: they merely make the text more clear and more diffuse. it is possible that the scribe did not have access to the hampole autograph till he had reached ps. xvii: he must then have written the prologue later. miss everett points out the superior text which would seem to establish group i as the original (op. cit. xvii, p. 223). xxix. bodl. 877 (sum. cat. no. 3085), first half 15th cent. miss everett notes that this copy 'is unlike the mss.' of the original version throughout (ibid.). english psalter 175 xxx. merton coll. oxf. 94, 15th cent. fragments of the first psalms are bound into the covers. xxxi. b. mus. roy. 18 b. xxi, mid 16th cent. only pss. i-viii. 4 without the prologue. this volume was said by warton' to have been a present to the princess mary from henry parker, lord morley (who also gave her roy. 2 d. xxviii, a copy of rolle's latin psalter). there is at present no evidence showing that the english volume was a gift from parker to the princess. some old tooling on one side of the binding gives the words 'i am thyn, o lorde', and on the other 'therfor save me'. this is set in newer binding, with the arms of george ii and the date 1757. interpolated mss. (group ii c). " xxxii. b. mus. roy. 18 c. xxvi, 15th cent. pss. lxxxix-cxvii only. miss everett states (op. cit. xvii, p. 220) that this 'differs from any other manuscript i have seen'. the commentary (from which she quotes) is exceedingly enlarged. the end seems to have been broken off abruptly. this copy takes up the psalter where lambeth ms. 34 breaks off, and miss everett considers that it may even be the continuation of lambeth ms. 34' (p. 386). the comments in the two she calls 'similar in style'. both volumes are large and expensive books, already full size, and it may be that the cost prevented the completion of the interpolated text on the scale here begun. interpolated copies like bodl. 288 and trin. coll. camb. 171 discontinue the interpolations after ps. lxxxiv (everett, xviii, p. 385), and it may be that they do so because otherwise there would be no chance of getting the whole psalter into one volume. only the mss. lambeth and roy. 18 c. xxvi (if taken together as one volume) continue the lengthy interpolations to the end. both are written in two columns, of fifty-two lines each, with the same type of decoration and handwriting. miscellaneous mss. three manuscripts cited by miss paues were not seen by miss everett, and she was therefore not able to assign them to their proper classes. they are as follows: xxxiii. phillipps 3849* (no longer at cheltenham). miss paues notes as interpolated. xxxiv. wrest park 6 (sold sotheby's, june 21, 1922, lot 639), late 14th cent. 'hic incipit prologus super psalterium.' end 1 hist. eng. poetry, london, 1871, iii. 86. 176 commentaries connected with the psalter imperfect. a fine hand and fine margins and initials. a page is reproduced in the sale catalogue. interpolated.¹ xxxv. trin. coll. dublin 71, 15th cent. slightly imperfect at the end. miss paues notes that this is a copy founded on the interpolated version, from which the controversial matter has been removed. the classification of the following fragments is uncertain. xxxvi. bodl. douce 258 (sum. cat. no. 21832), 15th cent. a few psalms only (not consecutive) which are noted at the back of the book, without the latin. an english translation follows of the athanasian creed and of parts of the new testament. probably uninterpolated. xxxvii. worcester cath. f. 166, 17th cent. much abbreviated. probably uninterpolated. xxxviii. b. mus. add. 40769. this recent acquisition to the museum (imperfect at both ends) is apparently uninterpolated. the following manuscripts contain rolle's prologue onlya mystically rhetorical piece which thus shows its popularity: worcester cath. f. 172, late 15th cent., f. 166: 'here bigynneth a prolog vpon the psautier. grete habundaunce', etc. 'here endith oo prolog of the psautier and bigynnep anothe on the same booke, and next that suen five prologes.' the second wyclifite version follows, according to miss deanesly (mod. phil. xvii. 182). see e. v. (angl.). quaritch ms.* (catalogue 344, may 1916, no. 64), c. 1430. 'here suen foure ful notable prologis on þe sauter. þe firste and pe secunde ben ierounys... is richard hampollis wip pe fourpe' (f. 40b). • here bigynnep pe fourpe prolog on pe salmes of pe sauter pat richard hampol made' (f. 46b). an english psalter follows without commentary (probably wyclifite). now huntington ms. 501. b. mus. add. ms. 10046 and trin. coll. dublin a. 1. 10 also contain the prologue of rolle's english psalter attached to a text of the wyclifite version, as pointed out by forshall and madden, 1, p. xliv. they print the prologue (ibid., pp. 39-40). 1 this volume breaks off with a sentence characteristic of this interpolator : 'but in þat biholdynge schule feipful men of þe comoun religioun of crist for his lickenesse lijk to hym in louynge pe comoun profite more pan his owne.' the 'common profit' was a favourite phrase of fourteenth-century socialism, both in england and in france (see m. e. temple, romanic review, vi. 87). the interpolator of this type of manuscript more than once uses this phrase (cf. everett, xviii, p. 391), and he shows by this means the influence of something broader than lollardy. english psalter 177 references and quotations. the author of the mirror of our lady, written for the nuns of syon monastery (probably mid 15th cent.), refers his readers for authorized english texts of the psalms to those of 'richard hampole's drawing'. this important proof of the orthodox position which rolle's psalter enjoyed in the 15th century has been noted by miss paues, cardinal gasquet, and others. a text once belonging to eyton, who played an important part in the beginnings of syon, still exists (v. supra, p. 171). the syon brothers probably had a copy. the lollards' interest in rolle's psalter appears in a tract ascribed to purvey, where richard's translation of the psalter is noted as a precedent to further the cause of translating the scriptures into english. his translation is mentioned in another tract (on maidenhood). several references to rolle's work on the psalter are not phrased clearly enough to show whether the english or latin work is in question (v. supra, p. 169). boston of bury cites both the latin and english psalters of rolle, as do bale and later bibliographers. psalters richard the hermit's two expositions of the psalter are discussed together, in order to make clear their mutual relation. though the english psalter has been in print for a generation, the latin psalter, accessible only in the edition of 1536 and in manuscripts, has been hardly known, and it has not had justice done to its importance. middendorff, in the valuable dissertation in which he proved the dependence of the english psalter on the catena of peter the lombard, quoted here and there from the latin work, and showed (p. 7) that ten brink was wrong in doubting its attribution to rolle. horstmann (perhaps misled by the identity of the opening lines of the two works) was guilty of the error of stating that the english psalter was 'substantially a translation' of the latin (ii, p. xli). the following discussion will show that the two psalters are important, on the whole independent, works of their author: they always agree in the point of view which they present, and at times they agree verbally. we shall find that in the group next to be considered whole passages are sometimes repeated, and repetitions of phrases, sentences, and subjects are the very stuff of all of rolle's writings, and perhaps the inevitable effect of a life like his dedicated to concentration on a few topics. under these circumstances we need not consider that because parts of the two psalters coincide, the author had at any 178 commentaries connected with the psalter time the intention of producing identical expositions. with the change of language there came a change of public, and the audience to which he addressed his vernacular version would naturally require a different choice among the four-fold interpretations which the medieval mind recognized as possible in scriptural commentary, from that required by the latin version. if, as seems likely, the two psalters were written at different periods of rolle's life, some variation would naturally follow from this fact. rolle shows in all his writings only too much fluency of thought and language, and though his single-mindedness might prompt him sometimes to repeat himself, he would never do this from poverty of material. though he persists in certain moods and expressions from the beginning to the end, yet his vitality was too high to allow him ever to fall into a routine without spirit. his refusal to be bound to one cell, despite his unchanging purpose, is significant of his character. in much the same way we can hardly imagine that he could be bound to repeat his own words, however often he might express the same truth in other ways. it is therefore thoroughly characteristic of rolle that his two psalters, though similar, are not identical, and that though both are founded in the main on an academic source they are none the less among his most individual productions. the dependence of the english psalter on the catena of peter the lombard, which was discovered by middendorff, was discussed in my paper on the 'authorship of the prick of conscience' (pp. 146–52), and it was shown that rolle had selected and altered his material so that his work was consistently infused with his own personality. what was proved to be true of the english psalter has also been shown by an exhaustive examination to be true of the latin psalter. both rolle's psalters sometimes quote the expositions collected by the lombard exactly-often not at the same points-and sometimes they both adapt hints found there, or interpolate, so as to introduce expositions thoroughly typical of rolle at his most subjective moments. his whole mystical doctrine could be expounded from his psalters. abundant quotations from both works will be given. miss dorothy everett proves (op. cit. xvii. pp. 337 sq.) that the english psalter shows relations with the earlier metrical version known as the surtees psalter. she makes the interesting suggestion that the relation was not a direct one, but through the use of a common source. she conjectures that both may have used a 'partially modernised form of the o.e. glosses'. rolle's use of this source would have influenced his translation of the texts, but not psalters 179 the commentary in which his ideas find expression. these glosses may have suggested to rolle the use of english in the first place¹. in the latin psalter the author gives a direct reference to himself as a hermit, in the english psalter at the same point his profession is hinted at. both passages are in general highly characteristic, but they have been influenced by sentences in the source (which will be quoted). in general, in the quotations now to be given, rolle derives nothing significant from his source, unless specific mention is made of the relation. ps. liv. 7: [ecce elongaui] quia longe a peccatoribus salus [fugiens] ab his qui gratiam meam in vanum recipiunt, quia ad fructum bonae vitae non perducunt [& mansi in solitudine], id est, in his qui pro me solitudinem appetunt. sed ne videar statum meum superexaltare, quia solitarius sum qui hanc breuem expositionem compilaui, solitudinem mentis magis debetis intelligere quam corporis. solitudinem mentis voco, qua homo deserit tumultuosam cupiditatem, & vanitatem istius mundi, & turbam malarum ac vanarum cogitationum, cum omnibus secularibus negotijs perfecte relinquit, & se leuat in contemplationem dei & coelestium gaudiorum: vt quamuis inter homines moretur, longe tamen a vita eorum distet. hanc solitudinem magis laudo, quam si quis in eremum fugeret, & ibi cum radici. bus & aqua viuere posset' (fol. xxix).2 'ecce elongaui fugiens: & mansi in solitudine. lo i lenghid fleand, and i wonyd in anly stede. lo i lenghid fra ill men fleand thaire life, that i ware not like thaim: and i wonyd in anly stede of thoght, whare nane is with me bot god, whare is rest in godis luf, & na man lettis. in anly stede aman may fynde his vertu, and take tent til hym self, for anly stede is abile for praiynge, for gretynge, for thynkynge, for studiynge, and for spekynge til his frende, and forebrennand lufynge and wistynge of godis pryuete' (p. 195). 'fugiens se elongat, qui a turba desideriorum terrenorum in altam dei contemplationem se sublevat. sequitur, et mansi in solitudine, [aug.] mentis, ubi nullus est cum eo nisi deus, ubi quies. manet enim in solitudine, qui perseverat in remota mentis intentione' (peter lombard, migne, 191, c. 509). both psalters constantly echo the mysticism of the author's life, and the elements that make up his joy are all indicated. in the latin psalter we have the three attributes given together explicitly, as follows: ps. lxxv. 10: [... reliquiae cogitationis diem festum agent tibi.]. . . ¹ rolle's numbering of texts agrees with the surtees psalter and with peter lombard, but not (as mr. herbert points out to me) with the vulgate. 'on the possible significance of the rationalization of solitude here found, v. infra, p. 460. 180 commentaries connected with the psalter in hoc festo sunt cibaria delicata diuini amoris, potus aeternae suauitatis, ignis spiritus sancti & melos benesonantis cymbali & soni superni' (fol. xliii). ps. lxxx. 3: [... in insigni die], id est, in nobili [solennitatis vestrae], id est, quando spiritus vincit & caro succumbit. haec est enim dies valde solennis, & deo & animabus nostris, quando cogitatio nostra, quae apud deum est, in sonorum & dulce quid conuertitur, & cor de amore christi feruente in canoro iubilo laudes deo offerunt, & merito sic agendum est' (fols. xlvii-xlviii). we are explicitly told in both psalters that the 'fire' is more than a metaphor: ps. xxxviii. 4: [concaluit cor meum intra me], zelo animarum, vt darem cibaria conseruis [& in meditatione mea] quae est de aeterno amore & vita coelesti [exardescet ignis], id est, feruor perfectae dilectionis, vt vere non imaginarie sentirem ignem sancti spiritus, aestuantem cor meum' (fol. xxii). 'that is, my hert verraly hetid with the fire of cristes luf, say that my thoght was hally takyn til the ioy of god and in my thynkynge, that is, in meditacioun of crist and of heuen, bren sall fire of perfite luf, sa that i fele the brennynge in my hert' (p. 143). both psalters insist that the mystic joy is an actual foretaste of heaven: ps. cxxv. i: '[in conuertendo]. ego ita de virtute in virtutem ascendens ad tantum profectum perueni, & tantam consecutus sum gratiam, quod praelibaui dulcedinem aeternae suauitatis, & vidi & attendi me talem qualis eram (roy. ms. ero) post hanc vitam' (fol. lxxivˇ). ps. xxxii. 3: '. . . wele syngis til him with goed werkis in heghynge of voice, that is, in a wondirfull ioiynge that heghis 3oure voice til god, when 3oure thoght is taken in til the myrth of heuen: as it may be in erth lifand' (p. 114). 6 ps. lxvii. 27: ... in myddys of wenchis taburnysters, that is, of fayre saules, that has temyd thaire fleyss, and driyd it of the humor of syn, and ere zonge and new in thi luf, & for clennes and deuocioun louys god in melody of heuen, that is light in thaire hert, till whaim aungels ere gret specials' (p. 235). ps. xxvi. 11: [immolaui in tabernaculo eius... hostiam vociferationis], id est, iubilationis & laudis inexplicabilis [cantabo] voce sonora canendo mente in tono caelico, scilicet e coelo in me emisso non forato sensu hominis. . . . ergo cum tam suauiter sim inebriatus amore '...i offird in his tabernakile, that is in haly kyrke, the hoste of heghynge of voice: that is, of gastly criynge & louynge in wondirful ioy. that ioy is & criynge when a haly saule is fild with cristis luf, that makis the thoght to rise in til soun of heuen, or the soun of heuen psalters 181 tuo. [exaudi domine, etc.]' (fol. xivv). ps. xxxix. 4: '[et immisit in os meum canticum nouum], id est, misit me praedicare nouitatem vitae, quae est [carmen deo nostro], id est, ad magnam dei laudem pertinet. in os cordis amatorum dei, immisit christus canticum nouum, id est, canorum iubilum, vt canant intra se delitias aeterni amoris, quod est carmen delectabile deo nostro, in quo laudes illi ineffabiliter persoluuntur, & non habent illud nisi qui sunt purgati animi. non enim possunt homines accipere illud quando volunt: sed solus deus dat, cui vult, imo non cognoscit nisi qui accipit' (fol. xxii). lightis thar in and than that man may loue god in heghynge of voice. all the clerkis in erth may noght ymagyn it, ne wit what it is, bot he that has it, and in that i sall synge in dilatabilte of contemplacyon, thus is sayd in the glose' (p. 96). 'when he had taken me fra syn & fra all bisynes of erth, and stabild me in luf and vertus, thain he sent in til the mouth of my hert and of my body alswa a new sange, that is the melody of the tone of heuen, that nane may synge bot his derlyngs, for it is ympyn, that is, verray louynge, til oure god: fore god anly wate it, and nane may be heghid thar of for louynge of men, for men may not knaw how it is' (p. 146). the praise of the name of jesus is one of the most striking characteristics of both psalters, and it is in practically all cases an addition of rolle's, for the commentary of peter lombard was compiled too early to show the influence of the cult of the holy name. the countless special references to this subject in the two psalters range from a word or two to several sentences. the following are characteristic quotations: ps. ix. 10: [... qui nouerunt nomen tuum], id est, dulcedinem nominis tui iesu amando & cogitando experti sunt' (fol. vˇ). ps. lxviii. 35: '[laudabo nomen dei mei cum cantico], id est, cum canora iubilatione, in qua perfecta & speciosa laus consistit, & quae non nisi a deuota & sancta anima procedit' (fol. xxxvii). 'all that has knawn thi name, that is at say, thai at haf felid the suetnes in thaire saule of ihū, and knawis it be prouynge: noght that knawis it be sight o boke and tellynge of mouth' (p. 32). 'lo what he dos that is helid, he louys the name of ihū with sange, noght formed in notes of men, bot in sown of heuen, that he rasaifes in his hert that perfitly lufis this name ihu, in the whilke sange is faire louynge and perfite, that nowre is bot in a ful deuote gaste' (p. 244). 182 commentaries connected with the psalter ps. cxviii. 55: '[memor fui nocte ... nominis tui] iesu [domine] hoc cogitando in eo delectatus sum, vt non sapiam quicquam nisi nomine iesu condiatur: omni enim ore indulcabitur in quo retinetur, id est, dulcifluum reddit palatum cordis & oris dilectoris sui & mentem cogitantis se in canorum iubilum leuat, vt sit ibi quasi musica in conuiuio vini' (fol. lxx). 'aswhasay, noght anly in day, bot alswa in nyght thi name ihū is delitabil in my thoght, that is, in ilke tyme i gif tent til thi louynge' (p. 418). reminiscences of rolle's external experience also occur in both psalters, though naturally, considering the length of the works, and the sources to be considered, they have not been worked out exhaustively. the following original passages, however, will show that rolle in these compositions probably pursued his usual course of inserting personal references: ps. lxxxvii. 8: '[longe fecisti], id est, recedere permisisti [notos meos], id est, amicos, a quibus me amari aestimabam [a me], id est, a intentione mea, & quos maxime diligebam, aduersati sunt mihi, nam [posuerunt me abhominationem sibi], id est, abominabantur me, quia non placui eis in omnibus' (fol. liv: cf. infra, p. 480). 'that is, my frends of whom j wende j had bene loved, thou suffered them to depart fra me, that is, fra my will, and myne intent, & thai had me als wlatyng, for jagayn saide them in ther werkes, & in thair words' (pp. 316-17). this subject is reinforced by another original passage in the english psalter: my fas, that was bifore my fleysly frendis . . . and that louyd me when i oysid seculere life with thaim, agayns me sware that it is ypocrisy that i fare with' (p. 353). in the latin psalter occurs the following reminiscence (apparently) of rolle's early persecutions by clerics, as described in the melum: ps. xvi. 12: '[proijcientes me], id est, dignum proijci acclamantes, quasi inordinate viuentem [nunc circumdederunt me], id est, detractoribus meis inseruiunt toto tempore, quo conuersationem meam laudari cognouerunt: & hoc ideo faciunt, quia [oculos suos] interiores [statuerunt declinare in terram], id est, in istas transitorias & terrenas vanitates adquirendas, quia enim vident & audiunt alios a populo laudari inuidia torquentur & detrahere non cessant. et dicuntur haec verba de his qui habitum religionis falso portant & saepe inter homines videntur, quia nimis pestiferam linguam malitiose relaxant... loquitur hic sanctus mundi psalters 183 contemptor & dei perfectus amator, qui a malis iniurijs & obprobrijs laceratur' (fol. ix). examples can be given from both psalters of rolle's 'ecstatic diction', rhyme, and alliteration, as follows: ps. xli. iste psalmus est deuotae animae, patriam desyderantis, & miserias huius vitae deplorantis . . . & quasi amore langueo, & dico prae nimio desyderio [quando veniam ... & apparebo ante faciem dei], id est, assistam viuificae visioni, tam diu desideratae. iste non consentit cum illis, qui hic semper in voluptatibus vellent viuere, & de claustro corporis timent exire' (fol. xxiiiˇ). ps. lxx. 8: te enim cogito cum cantico suscepto in mente mea sono coelico' (fol. xxxviii). ps. lxxxiii. i: 'haec sunt verba contemplantis & amore ardentis animae, quae solum christum sapiens, & prae nimio amoris ardore pene moriens ac deficiens ait: nunciate dilecto, quia amore langueo. nam & in languore meo [cor meum] mellitum amoris dulcedine [& caro mea], id est, exterior homo consentiens & condelectans suauitati internae [exultauerunt in deum viuum], id est, in tanta exultatione bonae conscientiae captus sum vt dissolui cuperem & esse cum christo' (fol. xlix). ps. xxxvii. 8: 'i am mekid ful mykill in meknes of forthynkynge' (p. 139). ps. xxxviii. 3: 'i suffird reproues of thaim, and i stillid fra shewynge of goed, for i sagh that thai dispised that i sayd, and swa my sorow, that i suffird spekand, is newid in my silence: that men will not here godis word with delite & ioy, as thai sould' (p. 142). ps. xxxviii. 7: 'in lykynynge til thi lastandnes all this life is noght' (p. 143). ps. xliii. 21: 'oure dedly life is shadow of ded, bot verray ded is dampnacioun with the deuel' (p. 162). 6 ps. xlv. 4: the haboundant grace of the haly gast gladis in gastly ioy the cite of god, that is, a goed cristen mannys saule, for the heghest halighid his tabernakil, halykirke' (p. 168). ps. lvi. 11: 'ihū, be thou my ioy, all melody and swetnes, and lere me forto synge the sange of thi louynge. ps. lvi. 12: 'i synge in selkouth soun the lust & likynge of thi zouynge' (p. 204). two rhymed couplets have been noted: ... men that ere slane, and noght feghtis na flitis agayn' (p. 162), and 'in ilke stede is he at drede' (p. 269). the following little stanza was pointed out by horstmann: 'i wate na bettere wele, than in my thoght to fele, the life of his lufynge, of all it is the best, ihū in hert to fest, and zerne nane othere thynge' (p. 215: cf. supra, p. 100). 184 commentaries connected with the psalter the last lines are a close translation of the incendium (pp. 275-6); some of the other sentences quoted strongly suggest rolle's english lyrics and two bits which he has left of english alliterative prose. according to the dating to be hazarded (infra, p. 186), the treatise, lyrics and prose bits were all written at about the same period with the english psalter. at this time he was evidently attempting to reproduce in english the richly poetical style that he early developed for the melum in latin. this was near the end of his life, and if he had not been cut off in his prime he might have developed something further along these lines, which would have been personal, interesting, and perhaps beautiful. middendorff has noted (p. 45) that some sentences from rolle's psalter have passed over into the prayer book. though in general his english style seems to be in this work in an experimental state, some passages can be chosen from his english psalter by which the rare quality of his english prose could be illustrated. in this disjointed commentary rolle sometimes achieved prose that suggests the english of the authorized version of the bible: 'i sall slepe, that is with all softnes, pryue fra all the noys of the warld; i sall dye, and sythen i sall rest in the bed of endles blis and in the setil of heuen... thou has festid my hert: noght in many fald thyngs of the warld thai perisch that sekis many thyngs, and syngularite is halden in halymen, for thai sett all thaire hert to luf anly a god' (pp. 17-18). 'a thynge is myn askynge, that is god. ill men askis many thynges, i bot ane and that i sall seke in all my myght all the dayes of my life, that is, als lange als i life, that i won in godis hous, in erth and in heuen ' (pp. 95-6). 'thi name ihū thai sall hafe in thoght, ilkan in thaire tyme, til the warldis ende, when all generacioun sall cesse' (p. 167). 'thou put agayn thi crist, when thou him sett to be done on the cross, and swa thou gaf him til despyte, & delayd him fra ioy awhile' (p. 325). no definite indications of date have been noted in the latin psalter, but, considering its length, perhaps some have escaped notice and will be detected if an intensive study is ever made of that work. the general likelihood is, however, that it was composed early in rolle's career, though (it is evident) not before his mystic joy was complete. as we have seen, from the time of the melum he felt himself inspired to interpret scripture, and a very laborious enterprise such as commenting on the whole psalter might very well have been begun at that time, or before, and been carried on during several years, perhaps while he was bringing out other works. the work psalters 185 shows some signs of connexion with the job-which was apparently written soon after the melum: the job and latin psalter often circulate together, and he declares himself a hermit in each in the same language. the reference to persecution by ecclesiastics already quoted from the psalter would seem to refer to recent happenings, and to be connected with events touched on in the melum. such scholastic passages as the following might put the commentary in a period not far from rolle's student days, and again show connexion with the theological job: " 'cum posse malum non sit posse, sed magis non posse: quia eo es impotentior quo in malitia potentior, cum tale posse ducat ad non posse, imo a domino esse: ideo ille solus omnipotens est qui hoc non potest, quia omnia potest quae posse est aliquid posse' (latin psalter, fol. xxviii, not derived from the lombard). creare enim est aliquid de nihilo facere, quod est contra aristotelem & eius sequaces, qui non potuerunt credere, quod deus mundum de nihilo creauit, & ideo posuerunt mundum aeternum, dicentes, de nihilo nihil fit' (ibid., fol. lxxxii, enlarged from the lombard, c. 1285). if rolle went to paris, it is possible that he collected materials and began his latin psalter there. the date of the english psalter has been discussed by middendorff. he showed that some of the indications of date pointed out by bramley (p. xv) were of no significance, since they were found in the source. a passage not derived from the lombard is the following, which he calls (p. 20) die bezeichnendste und nach meiner ansicht für die zeitbestimmung wichtigste aeusserung': ps. cvi. 40: ... the wreth of god is first helte on princys, for thai ere wers than other. and swa ryses strife and werre itwix landis. and god suffirs all to erre out of the way of rightwisnes. that ilkan sla other' (p. 386). this he takes in connexion with the following (also original): ps. civ. 28: ... swilke ere oure pryncys now, that ledis thaire lif in filth of syn' (p. 370). he takes these two passages as referring to the renewal of the war with scotland, 1329, the adultery of mortimer and isabella, and the murder of edward ii. they incline him to date the psalter c. 1330. middendorff did not know the job in detail or the melum at all, and, if he had, he might have hesitated to date the english psalter so early. as we have seen, the melum and the job are likely to have been written 1326-30: in other words, the four early works were probably all written in the decade 1320-30 (roughly speaking). it is almost certain that the latin psalter would precede the english n 186 commentaries connected with the psalter • psalter, and this, as we have seen, was a very laborious piece. it would appear that the war hinted at in the passage cited by middendorff must be that which was declared against france in 1337 (which continued to the end of rolle's life) rather than the earlier scotch wars. this conjecture may receive some support from the following passage (also not derived from peter lombard): ps. xxi. 30: ... proud princes wene that thaire myght may wyn kyngdomes, bot thai ere desaifid: for all is in his hand' (p. 82). this sounds like a reference to edward iii's aggressive french war. it would be rash to date the english psalter on the evidence at hand, but such as we have would point to a date after 1337. this would suit excellently what we know of the dates of other works. it is likely that when once rolle began to write english, he wrote little more latin, and as a matter of fact the only latin work which gives evidence of being written late is the emendatio, which bears a close relation to the three english epistles (also all late). a special reason exists for this work being written in latin, for we now know that it was addressed to a doctor of theology (v. supra, p. 41). we have almost certain evidence that rolle was writing english in 1343, which seems to be the date of an english prose scrap (v. infra, p. 273), and the form, the longest of the english epistles, was almost certainly written in 1348-9, the last year of his life. the ego dormio had almost certainly been written a short time earlier. probably the latin psalter, the miscellaneous commentaries, and the earlier treatise (contra amatores mundi, which we know to belong far on in his life) were written in the decade 1330-40 (or thereabouts), and the english psalter may have been begun in the last years of that period. the incendium is likely to have been written about 1343 (v. infra, p. 229). in general, the years 1340-9 were probably taken up with completing the english psalter and with writing the incendium and the english epistles, lyrics, and short pieces, and the emendatio. this rough chronology fits whatever hints of date are forthcoming from any work, and it receives possible confirmation from another quarter. it has already been noted that, in spite of basic connexion, the three prose works of the early group are separated from each other by tremendous differences, and a gulf as great separates the emendatio and three english epistles from everything that has gone before. it is as if rolle had paused for years between the writing of the judica, the job, and the melum respectively, and again before psalters 187 the epistles at the end of his life. the years between his becoming a hermit at eighteen and his death (aged probably about fifty) would not suggest that he made long pauses in literary composition, since he has a large production to fit into a comparatively short period. his zeal for propaganda is at all times so great that long pauses are not likely in his case. what seems probable is that the development between the judica and the melum (naturally great because of his youth) has been accelerated by the completion of mystic joy and the persecutions described in the melum: the rapid development evident during the period when he was writing the melum and the job is very likely to have been accelerated by the vast systematic labour of working over the commentary of the lombard on the psalter (for one cause), and of founding on that his own latin exposition. a few years later there was a similar task of only less magnitude-the composition of the english psalter, which demanded not only the study of patristic sources for the commentary (now probably familiar), but (as miss everett has shown) of vernacular glosses for the translation.' if the english psalter were written during the first years of rolle's last decade (roughly speaking), we should have an explanation for the great development which he seems to show between the writing of the still inchoate and egoistic works of the middle period, and the chastened, orderly compositions of the last period. all four of the manuals show the same virtues, and it is probable that all were written later than the english psalter. we have almost certain evidence that rolle was writing english in 1343 (v. infra, p. 273), and perhaps the english psalter was still in progress at this time. in two respects this work opened a new period in rolle's production, which was to be the last it was written in english, and for a friend. there seems no reason to doubt the authority of the verse prologue attached to a laud copy, which states that he 'glosed the sauter that sues here, in englysch tong sykerly, at a worthy recluse prayer, cald dame merget kyrkby'. the unexpected fact discovered by miss clay is, however, that 1 middendorff is eloquent on the labour involved in the composition of rolle's psalters. he states that the latin psalter goes to the church fathers independently of peter lombard more than the english psalter, and he goes on to say: wenn man aber bedenkt, welch' grosse arbeit es ist, die folianten der kirchenväter zu durchlesen, um einen eigenen commentar danach zu schreiben, welche mühe es gekostet haben mag, den englischen commentar aus den lateinischen quellen zu übersetzen, undi hm dazu noch hier und da eigenes beizufügen, so wird man den erstaunlichen fleiss des einsiedlers von hampole bewundern müssen' (p. 45). n 2 188 commentaries connected with the psalter margaret kirkeby was apparently a nun of hampole till 1348, when she was enclosed at layton (v. infra, p. 502). the prologue in calling her a recluse gave a title not acquired till after the completion of the psalter, just as the office gave titles prematurely to her and to neville. both works were written years after the event, and evidently mixed up the periods in the lives of the persons involved. if the psalter was written for margaret, it must have been composed when she was in all probability still a nun at hampole, and before she was enclosed. we shall see that the form of living, written on her enclosure, mentions her youth. rolle, therefore, cannot have known her for many years before 1348, and evidently we cannot put back too far rolle's composition of the psalter, which was written for her. the office seems to place richard's friendship with margaret in the middle and latter portions of his life: he seems to meet her after his removal to richmondshire, and to be still in connexion with her at the time of his death at hampole. if the psalter were written for her, the date here suggested for its composition would fit the earliest possible dates for their friendship. she may have known him in religious or in secular life for perhaps ten years before she became a recluse in 1348, but hardly longer. she seems to have outlived him by many years, perhaps, as some slight evidence might indicate, till the end of the century (v. infra, p. 507). " the list of interpolated copies already given will have shown the truth of the allegation made by the early fifteenth-century prologue as to the lollards' use of the english psalter of rolle. miss everett has lately shown that the interpolated versions are to be in general subdivided into three classes, and she admits that 'it is impossible to make a definite statement of the number of revisers responsible for them' (mod. lang. rev. xviii. 386). she hazards' a list of three revisers, two of whom are only concerned with the latter part of the text. the work of the first two gave rise to two types of text. is very unlikely that the same man was responsible for the longer and the shorter continuations. the methods used in the two are entirely different. it is not improbable, however, that the writer of the longer continuation was the same as reviser 1, i.e. that one man made an interpolated psalter with comments which grew in length as he proceeded, and that a second writer made an alternative shorter version of pss. lxxxiv-cl' (ibid.). as i have suggested, the motive for the shortening of the later commentary may be economy of space. 'it it is evident that rolle's english psalter must have circulated widely among orthodox and heretics, or we should not have had the psalters 189 variety of texts for each party which we find. it was a work which appealed to gentry of no special asceticism, and this is perhaps the work of rolle's which received most handsome copies. such are lord berkeley's (bodl. ms. 953), the trin. coll. camb., roy. 18 c. xxvi, lambeth, and wrest park. the first of these contains the original text, the others lollard versions. we may wonder whether any one of the latter belonged to lord cobham, perhaps the richest and most important of the heretics, or to john of gaunt, the royal lollard sympathizer. such books bear testimony to the riches, and probably the social importance of the lollards' friends at the time when these texts were copied. they also testify to the zeal and literary industry to be found in the movement. it would be decidedly interesting if we could find out who and where were the interpolators of rolle's english psalter. we are told in the vivid narrative of the lollards affixed to the chronicle of knyghton, canon of leicester, of one lollard scribe, william smith (so named from his calling), who (having been crossed in love) went many years bare-foot, practised other austerities, taught himself 'abcedarium' in middle life, and set himself to copy books. in 1392 'libros etiam solemnes quos in materna lingua de evangelio, et de epistolis et aliis episcopis et doctoribus conscripserat, et ut fatebatur per annos octo studiose conscribere laboraverat archiepiscopo coactus tradidit' (rs. 92, ii. 181, 313). such a person might presume to nothing more ambitious than the copying of the texts before him, but it is worth pointing out in view of the active copying of lollard books that went on at leicester that rolle's name was known there, since one of the miracles at hampole was experienced by a woman from leicester, who had been told by a returned pilgrim of the hope of healing at the tomb of the hermit. the continuator of knyghton speaks of half of the population as lollard, and certainly leicester was a great centre of lollardy. the north, on the other hand, is generally considered to have been comparatively free from heresy, though of course not entirely so. gairdner notes (i. 183) that irregular preaching was denounced in the north c. 1405, several years before archbishop arundel had denounced it in the south: he had been archbishop of york (138896) before being elevated to canterbury, and he may have begun his campaign against the heretics while still at york. gairdner describes at length the career of richard wiche, a heretic of long standing who was burned in 1440: he had recanted in the diocese of durham in 1405 (ibid.). a lollard who preached in the north 190 commentaries connected with the psalter early enough to be a contemporary of the interpolator of rolle's psalter was william thorpe. in his 'examination' before archbishop arundel in 1407 the archbishop says: 'william! i know well, that thou hast, this twenty winter and more (i. e. from before 1387), travelled about busily, in the north country and in other divers countries of england, sowing about false doctrine.' he also charges thorpe lo, sirs, this is the manner and business of this losell and such others, to pick out such sharp sentences of holy scripture and of doctors to maintain their sect and lore against the ordinance of holy church. and therefore, losell! is it, that thou covetest to have again the psalter that i made to be taken from thee at canterbury, to record sharp verses against us! but thou shalt never have that psalter, nor none other book, till that i know that thy heart and thy mouth accord fully to be governed by holy church' (p. 128). this is an obscure reference. the psalter was the volume of the scriptures which every person, lay or clerical, could possess, and we can hardly imagine on what grounds it could be taken from thorpe, who after all had received a priest's education. one may wonder whether he might not have been the interpolator of the heretical version of rolle's psalter, and the volume taken from him a copy of that text, in which the interpretations were in general directed against the clergy. this suggestion was made to miss everett, and she writes: after a cursory comparison of thorpe's confession of faith and the views expressed in the lollard psalter, i can find nothing which makes it impossible. some of the views expressed in both are identical; in no case do they appear contradictory' (xviii, p. 387, n.). she notes, as confirming the conjecture, that bale in his index ascribes to thorpe 'glosses on the psalter'. it is so easy to change the dialect of prose works and the english psalter of rolle circulated so widely that it would be difficult to state positively from the language where the interpolated version was prepared. some support for placing it in the north may come from the fact that the catechism compiled in 1357 by the monk gaytring at the direction of archbishop thoresby of york was interpolated with rank lollard doctrine and circulated with the archbishop's heading at one end and his pardon at the other (eets. orig. ser., 118). thus we have another northern work treated exactly as 1 a. w. pollard, fifteenth-century prose and verse, english garner, 1903, p. 107. no english manuscript is known, but vienna ms. 3936 contains 'guillelmus thorpe, colloquium, in quo de wiclef et ejus discipulis nonnulla reperiuntur' (ff. 1-22). for a latin translation by bale see h. b. workman, john wyclif, oxford, 1926, i, 51, n. 4. psalters 191 rolle's work was treated. it may be noted that gaytring's catechism is mentioned in the tract on translating the scriptures (ascribed to purvey), which also mentions rolle's work in english (v. infra, p. 401). when the heretical form of his psalter is edited it should be brought into relation with the heretical catechism, to see if they give evidence of a common origin, and the interpolations of both should be compared with the account of thorpe's opinions given in his examination. moreover, the interpolated version of the northern english poem prick of conscience (v. infra, p. 391) should also be brought into the comparison, for that also may be the work of the northern heretical interpolator or interpolators elsewhere active. we can be sure that william thorpe need not be dismissed on the ground of language from a possible identification with that person, or with one of that group, for he evidently wrote in a northern dialect. tindale, in printing the examination in 1530, says in the preface that he has corrected and put [it] forth in the english that now is used in england, for our southern men.... and i intend, hereafter, with the help of god to put it forth in his own old english, which shall well serve, i doubt not, both for the northern men and the faithful brethren of scotland' (ed. pollard, p. 100). thorpe's northern connexions are illustrated by his friendship with 'david gotray, of pakring (pickering?), monk of bylande, and a master of divinity' (p. 119). " in regard to the date of the interpolated version of rolle's psalter, it will have been noted that no copy cited goes back to the fourteenth century. all may have been written after the constitutions of oxford of 1408, when a premium, as it were, was put on the name of a writer like rolle, who was well known to precede wyclif. decree was there set forth that the 'nullus libellus sive tractatus per johannem wycliff, aut alium quemcunque tempore suo, aut citra noviter compositus, sive inposterum componendus, amodo legatur in scholis, aulis, hospitiis, seu aliis locis quibuscunque infra nostram provinciam antedictam, sive secundum ipsum doceatur, nisi per universitatem oxonii aut cantabrigiae ... primitus examinetur '. it was also decreed that 'nemo deinceps aliquem textum sacrae scripturae auctoritate sua in linguam anglicanam, vel aliam transferat, per viam libri, libelli, aut tractatus, nec legatur aliquis hujus modi liber, libellus, aut tractatus jam noviter tempore dicti johannis wycliff, sive citra, compositus, aut imposterum componendus'.' 1 d. wilkins, concilia, london, 1737, iii. 317. a committee appointed by one of the universities is also allowed to examine. 192 commentaries connected with the psalter these decrees were probably foreshadowed years before 1408. rolle's name was made a cloak for dangerous material in the prick of conscience before 1400, and the lollard version of rolle's psalter may have been contemporaneous. super magnificat the present work is described here because the english exposition of the same texts circulates with the english psalter, and it will be convenient to describe the two expositions together. no copy of the latin magnificat occurs with the latin psalter. the quotations have been made from rawl. ms. c. 397, collated with the hereford ms. bramley's edition of the english comment is quoted. beg. istum psalmum benedicte virginis' (f. 1). : ends: ad hunc enim finem locutus est spiritus sanctus prophetis et apostolis, ut cunctis vanitatibus despectis ad eternam gloriam pertingamus, ad quam nos perducat ihesus christus. amen' (f. iv). manuscripts. i. bodl. ashmole 751, ff. 29-31, late 14th cent. 'item ricardus heremita super psalmum magnificat. . . . explicit canticum marie virginis secundum venerabilem r.h. amen.' see quot., spur., judica, job. ii. bodl. 861. unattributed. v. supra, p. 34. · iii. bodl. rawl. c. 397, ff. 1-1, early 15th cent. incipit canticum beate marie virginis super psalmum magnificat per beatum ricardum heremitam de hampule extractum et compositus (sic)... explicit canticum marie virginis.' see judica, cant. am., quot. iv. hereford cath. o. viii. 1, late 14th cent. see lat. ps., e. v., contra am. m., incend., cant., mel., apoc. the present work was first mentioned by horstmann, who cites two oxford manuscripts. rolle's two commentaries on the magnificat differ in fundamental purpose. the english piece interprets the texts in the person of the virgin mary, and thus gives what is perhaps to be designated as the 'historical' interpretation. the latin, on the other hand, makes the piece into a drama of the individual soul, and thus gives what should perhaps be called the 'moral' interpretation. super magnificat 193 though the two works differ essentially, nevertheless a parallel can be quoted which gives strong evidence of rolle's authorship of both works : 'istum psalmum benedicte virginis dicimus canticum: tamen in persona veri amatoris christi non incongrue illum pro magna parte possumus exponere. illa igitur anima deum magnificat, quam peruersa cogitacio non aggrauat, quam immunda delectacio non maculat, quam nullus peccati consensus deuastat, sed ad seipsam conuersa, immo et supra se quandoque eleuata, in deo ihesu suo exultat et iubilat, ut veraciter secundum versum canere posset. . . . ille vero spiritus in deo salutari suo exultat, cui pre amoris magnitudine nichil transitorium placere potest, cui omnis carnalis concupiscencia, omnia vana mundi gaudia vilescunt; quem nulla diuiciarum copia extollit, nec ulla inopia vel aduersitas minuit, sed pro christo languens, in christum siciens, semper ad illam eterne claritatis visionem terrena queque contempnendo suspirat' (f. 1). 'bot thof the soules of holy men worthely worship god, & wondurfully be ioyand in ihesu, this blessid mayden, before all in pryuelege of brennand luf, sho louyd god, and in synguler ioy shae was glad in cryst; the songis of louyng er swettest in hur mouth, and the notis of luf er delitabylest; in the melody that sho shewys, that gost now ioyes in god, the whilk is verely kyndild with the fyre of the holy gost, til the whilke for mykelnes of crystys luf no passand thing payes, all fleschly luf and erthly couetyse is vile and loth, bot all his ioy and coumfort is in crist, of whom he hopis life and heel endles' (pp. 523-4). though the present piece perhaps gives more commonplace material than is usual in rolle's works, it shows the traces of his idiosyncrasies. rhyme has already been noted and alliteration also appears: 'illi dicendo dolebunt et dolendo dicent illud' (f. 1º); and also the veneration of the holy name: 'digne dicitur nomen ihesu sanctum, sine quo salus in terra non speratur, per quod angelica ruina restauratur,¹ per quod humanum genus saluatur, per quod et eternaliter sanctificatur' (f. 1). on the whole the present commentary bears the usual close relation to richard's other works: it pursues the same method of exposition used in the two psalters and their canticles, and it might be as appropriately attached to the latin psalter as is the english magnificat to the english psalter. 1 the phrase 'restore the ruin of the angels' was a favourite with rolle: cf. cant., f. 154. 194 commentaries connected with the psalter super psalmum xxm the comment on the 20th psalm was printed in the cologne edition of 1536. : beg. cum christus qui est veritas, dicat: sine me nihil potestis facere' (edit. 1536, fol. cxxx). 6 ends: et hoc in praesenti per gratiam, & in futuro per gloriam, vt ipsum amemus, ipsum laudemus, & in ipso gloriemur in saecula saeculorum. amen' (fol. cxxxivv). manuscripts. i. bodl. 861. ascribed to rolle. v. supra, p. 26. ii. corpus christi coll. oxf. 193, ff. 156-60, early 15th cent. 'incipit tractatus super psalmum 20m... explicit tractatus ricardi heremite super psalmum 20m.' see lat. ps., job, thren., cant., o. d., s. a., e. v., contra am. m., incend., mel., judica. iii. corpus christi coll. camb. 365, ff. 145-52b, 15th cent. 'glosa psalmi vicesimi. ricardi hampol super psalmum vicesimum. see lat. ps., job, contra am. m. iv. lincoln cath. 209, late 14th cent. original index: 'item tractatus eiusdem (sancti ricardi) super psalmum domine in uirtute tua letabitur rex.' 'explicit tractus utilis super psalmum vicesimum ricardi heremite de hampole.' see office, contra am. m., job, mel. v. upsala univ. c. 621, ff. 55-63, c. 1400. see e. v., incend., quot. (basset's defence), office. references and quotations. mss. ashmole 751, ff. i. 14 (and the related hatton ms.) quote from this work by name, with an attribution to rolle. it is quoted with other works of rolle in roy. ms. 5 a. vi (v. infra, p. 399). it is drawn from in the compilation from rolle's works which passes as a separate work by him under the title de dulcedine et excellentia contemplationis (see dubia). the present work was noted by boston of bury and by bale in his index (three times, twice with incipit as above). the present commentary more nearly approaches the type of the commentary on the canticles than any other exposition of richard's. however, it does not go so far as the canticles in approximating to the mystical sermon, in which a very small body of text makes the basis for a very large amount of discussion. the author in the present work does not specifically name his profession, but the following passage may be said to point to his super psalmum xxm 195 hermit's life as plainly as if he did; it also exemplifies the peculiarities of mystical psychology, doctrine, and style which we recognize from analogy with other works as belonging to 'richard hermit': '[magna est gloria eius in salutari dei.] tunc quippe christi gloria in fideli anima magna est, quando aeternis electa, nulla mundi gloria mulceri potest. cui prae amoris magnitudine omnia temporalia vertuntur in taedium, cui omnis terrena delectatio apparet nocumentum: ita scilicet, vt tanta sit gloria eius in christo, vt nullam vtique valeat consolationem inuenire in hoc mundo. cui solitudo non immerito congruit, qui nihil terrenum, nihilque humanum sapit. talis nimirum manet in solitudine, quia longe distat ab hominibus coelesti conuersatione. nec potest commisceri societatibus saecularium, quia solummodo delectat in gaudio angelorum. hic a tumultu solus sedens, sed in christo glorians, ardet & amat, gaudet & iubilat, charitate vulneratus, amore liquefactus, canticum amoris canit dilecto, repletus dulcore suauissimo. iam non dicit orationes suas, sed in sublimitate mentis positus, & amore supernorum raptus, mira suauitate supra rapitur, & deo decantare spirituali organo in mirum modum subleuatur. non intelligas illum sonum emitti per instrumentum corporale, quia vigor spiritualis carnem superans, illud canere candor causat conscientiae bonae & purgatae. huiusmodi anima tanto gaudio vndique suffulta, non sentit iniurias, gaudet ad opprobria, ridet ad maledicta, quia quam sola conditoris memoria delectat, nulla mundi molestia seu miseria ab amore perturbat' (fol. cxxxii, partly repeated from other works, v. supra, p. 70, infra, p. 206). the present work does not mention 'the holy name of jesus', but the following gives the devotion in its essentials : 'quia enim charitas non quaerit quae sua sunt, sed iesum christum, in iesu salutari dei electa anima non solum in futuro, sed etiam in praesenti iubilat, dum deum vere & perfecte amat' (fol. cxxxv). a notable passage of the present work is that in which an allegorical discussion is given of 'sitting', 'standing', and 'walking'. we know from other works (v. supra, pp. 91 sq.) that it was rolle's custom to sit during his contemplation, and it is characteristic that he justifies this habit by, as it were, a 'philosophy of posture', ending with a characteristically empirical test of sanctity: 'in hoc autem ardens & perfectus amor christi verissime cognoscitur, si per totum diei noctisque spacium sedere delectetur. diuinus nanque amor illum compellit quiescere, vt totus homo supernae dulcedinis repleatur iubilatione' (fol. cxxxiii). a similar discussion has occurred in the melum (f. 236). in the present one (fol. cxxxiii) 'heat, sweetness, and song' appear as successive landmarks in the mystic's progress. the present commentary differs too much in scope from the ex196 commentaries connected with the psalter 6 positions of the same texts given in the two psalters to allow of much comparison. however, the latin psalter agrees with the present piece in interpreting the psalm of the individual soul, that is, 'morally', whereas the english psalter agrees with the psalter of peter lombard in interpreting it of christ-thus giving an allegorical' interpretation. this variation in commenting on the same texts exactly resembles that which runs through rolle's psalters, though there—as in the various expositions of ps. xx-the point of view of the author does not change. additional notes in conclusion reference should be made to commentaries in english on pss. xc-xci, which were cited by miss paues (op. cit., pp. liv sq.): she notes mss. dd. i. 1, hh. i. 11, and harl. 2397, and says that the commentary might well have been written by richard rolle, or one of his school of thought.' 'certain passages strike an almost personal note, and seem to be the outcome of experience rather than reflection.' quotations are then given in which the author says that 'after þat tyme þat i was turnyd unto the in wil & in werk, my gostly enemyes mor scharpli pursewid me porw dyuerse temptaciouns... pis scharp word is bakbiting, skornyng & euyl speking of froward men ageyn zonge men neweli turnid to god'. these words naturally make miss paues remark that we are reminded of the early trials and persecutions of the hermit of hampole' (p.lv). in spite of the passages just quoted, in general the two english commentaries contain nothing that suggests rolle. the mystical reminiscences found are infrequent and of a colourless sort common in the generation after rolle, as in the following: 'ffor qwhi for to syngge to be in goode werkis and in goode thouhtis and in brennyng love is his lyff and his comfort, his merthe and his solas' (ms. hh. i. 11, ps. xci. 1). it is probable that the author is walter hilton,¹ under whose name in the index to the catalogue of the brothers' library at syon monastery occurs the following entry: 'idem super psalmum qui inhabitat in anglica.... idem super psalmum bonum est confiteri domino.' the volume in question has evidently been lost or worn out, for the number now represents another title. we are given indirect evidence connecting hilton with the present works in the fact that the harl. ms. already mentioned (c. 1400) contains these two pieces in a volume otherwise containing only hilton's scala perfectionis and mixed life: this book belonged to the 1 the commentaries would seem in that case to show hilton as a young writer imitating rolle's personal references. we shall see that they may have been personally known to each other (v. infra, pp. 410, 519). " additional note 197 minoresses of london. also, lambeth ms. 472 (not known to miss paues) gives the two commentaries in a volume containing otherwise only the two works just cited, hilton's translation from 'louis de fontibus' (v. infra, p. 342), and an anonymous commentary on benedictus similar to those on pss. xc-xci. the commentaries on pss. xc-xci begin and end as follows: beg. qui habitat, etc. (ps. xc. 1). . . alle men þat wil leuyn cristenliche in pis werd alle shal suffre persecucioun as pe apostle seyth' (ms. hh. i. 11). ends: ffor qwho so louith me i schal loue hym and i schal schewe me self to hym.' beg. bonum confiteri domino, etc. (ps. xci. 1). . . noman may liue in pis liff þat he ne schal synne sumtyme.' ends: but he is good in alle goode and sowereyn goodnesse, quiche is blissed withowtyn ende. amen.' the commentary on benedictus in lambeth ms. 472 begins and ends as follows: beg. benedictus, etc. (luc. i. 68). the hooli man zacarias fader of seynt jhon for as moche as he trowed not to the angil gabriel.' ends: 'pat blissid lif and steede of pees in þe whiche we schal drede reste (sic) withoute endynge.' the lambeth ms. is one of those made for a common profit' (i. e. passed from one owner to another till worn out), cf. mss. douce 25, ff. vi. 31, harl. 2336, and supra, p. 176 n. it was 'made of the goods' of john kilbroin for this purpose. a contemporary note (signed 'mordan') asks that it be delivered to 'richard colop parchemanere of london' 'after my decease'. another note is signed 'per me dominum johannem graunt', 1497. a fine folio copy of rolle's english psalter (ms. xxxix) is in the possession of the marquis of salisbury at hatfield house, as was pointed out to me by miss helen sandison. the text closely resembles that of the eton ms., the handwriting that of ar. 158. magnificat is lacking. a note in the hatfield copy refers to a mention in strype's life and acts of matthew parker (oxford, 1821, ii. 515) of 'an old psalter done out of latin into english, which weaver saith he saw in the earl of exeter's library, translated by one richard, an heremite.' j. weaver (funerall monuments, london, 1631, pp. 151 sq.) gives extracts from this volume: the psalter quoted is rolle's, but other scriptural texts are included (suggesting a wyclifite origin). strype rightly decides that it cannot be a manuscript lent by cecil to parker (which was illuminated). chapter vii treatises (latin) among rolle's early works we have already considered one treatise, the melum, and the three pieces next to be discussed follow closely the type of the earlier treatise: though less exuberant in style and subject, and shorter, they also all dilate on the 'glory and perfection of the saints', with frequent lapses into poetical prose. all are divided into chapters, which, though some variations in the manuscripts occur, agree in all nearly enough to make it seem likely that rolle wrote the treatises in chapters. the treatises which form the present group go very explicitly into the details of rolle's mysticism, and at times they show an exactness of phraseology and of self-consciousness lacking in the earlier works, as if he had spent the years of his mysticism partly in analysis. this phenomenon may find some explanation in the following extracts from the first of the treatises here discussed, the liber de amore dei contra amatores mundi, in which the author shows that he has entertained and dismissed various scruples which might prevent his laying bare the mystic's secrets: 'de eterna igitur dileccione tractare ad confusionem et despeccionem amoris temporalis, compellor et delector' (corpus christi coll. oxf. ms. 193, f. 172). 'morimur igitur in gaudio, qui in amore viuimus, et eo ipso nobis mors desiderabilior est, quo eterne vite dulcedinem veraciter presentimus. sed caueat sibi lector, quia hec verba communiter in persona omnium non dicuntur qui christiano nomine censentur, sed in illorum persona qui sic sine ficcione sine et presumpcione de se senciunt, qualiter in hoc volumine scripta legunt. nam in plerisque opusculis meis sic soleo facere, ne quidem aliis alta scribens de me ipso videar desperare' (f. 174). nemo hominum hoc donum nouit, nisi qui accipit. pauci ergo sunt [uel]¹ nulli qui illud referunt, quia forsitan illud nescierunt. si autem h[ab]uerint, sed aliis predicare nec verbo nec exemplo voluerint, estimo hoc ab eis ideo fieri quia putabant tam gloriosum munus omnibus com1 supplied from sloane ms. 2275, with which the corpus christi coll. oxf. ms. 193 has been collated for the quotations from the contra amatores mundi. treatises 199 muniter non debere conferri, unde apostolus ait: raptus in celum audiui archana dei, qui (sic) non licet homini loqui (2 cor. xii. 4); sed vere necesse fuit ut apostolo multa reuelarentur, per quem et per cuius doctrinam ecclesia contra hereticos et scismaticos stabiliter fundaretur, que pluribus sanctis, forsitan et nobis, necessario non est reuelari. cum iam ecclesia, deo consedente et agente,contra venenatam doctrinam undique sit inuicta, siue igitur sic siue aliter ad laudem dei et profectum christianorum illud verbo et exemplo conor ostendere, quomodo et sine modo eius amore mihi donauit christus iubilare. sed quid si iam tacere cogitarem, subito venit in me ut cogar narrare. urgenti igitur caritati quis resistere audeat, aut pulsanti deo quis assurgere contradicat?¹ amantes itaque in aliis amorem predicare studuimus, nam et nobis hoc valde utile est, quia tanto ardencius et suauius in amore rapimur, quanto libencius hoc quod capere poterimus aliis predicamus' (f. 174). sed admoneo pium lectorem ne me aut arrogantem aut superfluum ² iudicet, ubi ardua et incognita me loquentem videt. non enim prope me loquor, sed propter gloriam dei et electorum utilitatem. nam et ipsi, si eternum regem veraciter cupiunt diligere, hec et maiora forsitan post modicum audebunt enarrare. igitur, quamuis lector in se hec omnia non senciat, nec diffidat' (f. 177). 6 the treatise in which these passages occur contains at least one discussion of the esoteric details of mysticism: this is the discussion of whether celestial things may be 'seen' while in this life (f. 176), which is a rare subject with rolle. the discussion is briefly echoed in the emendatio vitae, chapter 12, which elsewhere repeats large portions of the contra amatores mundi (f. 180v), as well as the section, already mentioned as also found in the melum and the canticles (v. supra, p. 120). it also bears a close relation to the careful account of 'raptus' given in the incendium (pp. 254–6). we shall see (infra, p. 201) that rolle seems to have been reading richard of st. victor at about this period, and it may be that he derived his interest in 'raptus' from the benjamin major (where it is a principal subject). the incendium gives more explicit descriptions of the esoteric details of mysticism than any other composition; chapter 15, perhaps the most popular of all rolle's writing, gives the careful analysis of his ecstasy so often quoted, with an account of 'how he came to the fire of love'. he tells us there that he concealed his miraculous sensations from those who were with him when he first experienced them, lest he should be honoured overmuch. the incendium, however, goes so far as to attempt to analyse the 'canor', 1 urgenti igitur caritati, resistere audeat ait pulsanti deo quis assurgere con. tradicatur c. ? superbum c. 200 treatises the most esoteric element of the mystic joy (pp. 232 sq.); and rolle seems to have been led to this disclosure because of outside pressure: 'quoniam autem in ecclesia cantores et cantatrices ordinantur in gradibus suis constituti ad laudandum deum... mihi quidem occurrerunt aliqui interrogantes cur sicut ceteri nollem hoc agere, cum sepe me cernerent missarum solempniis interesse.... proinde cogitaui quidem quodammodo aliqualem ostendere responsionem, et redarguentibus omnino non disperire.... hinc ergo inuenit animus meus audaciam ut aliquantulum aperirem musicam meam que accensit ex incendio amoris, et in qua iubilo coram ihesum, et pneumata resono suauissimi concentus' (pp. 232–3). hints are given us in the melum (already quoted, supra, p. 125) that richard avoids liturgical song (f. 240–1), cf. 20th psalm, fol. cxxxii, and contra amatores mundi, f. 174; in the latter work he tells us that the 'amator christi''oblitis aliis rebus, amorem christi canere siue in ecclesia siue in villa aut alibi cogitare non desinit, hinc sollummodo intentus. nonnulli, ridentes,' putant quod insanit, dicentes illum irreuerenciam deo facere et statuta ecclesie non obseruare' (f. 172). it is possible that the reference just quoted also refers to the criticism described in the incendium as above noted, for no similar passages are found in other works. the incendium ends the attempt to describe the 'canor' with the confession that it cannot be done, but with the wish ardently expressed that a friend might be found to do it for the mystic (p. 243). in the following chapter, the desire for a friend to share both the ecstasy and the writing is again passionately put forward (p. 245), and the mood voiced here is taken up in the chapter on friendship, which soon follows (p. 257). the only similar reference which has been noted again occurs in the contra amatores mundi, where the hermit breaks out into the words: 'heu mihi misero qualicumque solitario, ita fit in meis temporibus quod nec unum inuenio qui cupit mecum currere ac sedendo et tacendo eterni amoris delicias desiderare' (f. 175). thus it will be seen that the two treatises quoted from both show a special desire to disclose the secrets of the mystic, and a desire for a friend, and both refer to misunderstanding of the 'canor' by others, which had evidently stimulated the hermit to expose the real nature of his mysticism. thus one work would support the authenticity of the other-if the authorship of either most individual mystical treatise could ever be in doubt. the two 1 videntes c. treatises 201 works evidently belong to the same period, but for several reasons the contra amatores mundi seems to be the earlier (v. infra, p. 209). the emendatio vitae, the third and probably the last member of the present group, does not give any peculiarly thorough and intimate analysis of mysticism, as do the two just described, but it presents its own form of precise analysis. it was by a great deal the most popular of rolle's compositions, and it seems to a modern reader to give the most succinct and eloquent account of his message, though not the most interesting, since autobiography is almost entirely absent. as we have seen, it uses large sections from the other works: and the whole conclusion of the contra amatores mundi appears as the conclusion to the penultimate chapter-a fact which has made confusion in some manuscripts. it would appear by its comparatively concise style and good arrangement to be the most mature latin piece of rolle's which we possess, and this conjecture receives support from its connexion with the english epistles, next to be considered, which are otherwise the most mature of rolle's works; the form seems securely dated in the last year of his life (1348-9). all the epistles must, it would appear, be later than any treatise except possibly the emendatio, for that is the only other work which uses the classification of love into three grades, which appears at length in all three english epistles. the ego dormio, in which the three grades appear without their titles, seems to be the first work which uses them. it seems fairly certain that rolle classified love in three grades, entitled respectively inseparable', 'insuperable', and ‘singular', late in life, since these terms do not appear in any works except the four in question, and yet the characteristics and even much of the language which later attach themselves to the three stages appear over and over again. richard probably took the titles from the tract de iv gradibus violentae charitatis of richard of st. victor (migne, 196, cc. 1207 sq.). here the four grades are entitled 'insuperable', 'inseparable', 'singular', and 'insatiable', and described in terms that suggest rolle. three unnamed grades of love described in terms reminiscent of rolle are to be found in the de profectu religiosorum of st. bonaventura (ii, cap. xxv), as was pointed out by hahn (op. cit., pp. 7-8). hahn notes that the titles 'inseparabilis' and 'insuperabilis' are to be found in another work of st. bonaventura's as quoted from a 'doctor cantuariensis', but here they are applied to the 'fourth' and 'fifth' grades of love in a ¹ he cites 'c. xv '-being misled by a misprint in peltier's edition. 202 treatises description of six grades. richard of st. victor, in the twelfth century, gave the start for much description of this sort, but probably rolle went to him (the fountain head) for the classification in question.' it may be that rolle split off from the victorine on the number of the grades under the influence of st. gregory (whom we believe to have influenced his whole conception of mysticism). st. gregory thus classifies contemplation: primus ergo gradus est ut (mens) se ad se colligat, secundus ut videat qualis est collecta, tertius ut super semetipsam surgat, ac se contemplationi auctoris invisibilis intendendo subjiciat. sed se ad se nullatenus colligit, nisi prius didicerit terrenarum atque coelestium imaginum phantasmata ab oculis mentis compescere' (hom. in ezech. ii. v, migne, 76, c. 989). this is quoted by st. bonaventura (pharetra iv. xxviii), who may have derived from it the classification already quoted. the following quotations from the early melum and from the description of the third and highest grade of love in the emendatio will show that from his youth rolle was given to the sort of description of love which later he separates into rigid divisions : 'ubique, continue, usquequaque, semper et ex toto christus diligatur, ut videlicet amor noster in deum sit flagrans, vehemens, estuans, ardens, violentus, impetuosus, inuincibilis, inseparabilis, singularis, totum hominem ad se trahens, totum in seipso triumphans, totum in eiusseruitutem redigens' (melum, f. 243). 'in hoc (3rd) statu vel gradu amoris est amor. . . flagrans, aestuans, vehemens illum in se ligans, impetuosus miro modo omnem modum excedens, ad solum amatum se extendens. . . . o amor amoenus. . . inextinguibilis, qui totam animam in tuam seruitutem redigis, & aliud praeter te cogitare non sinis.... o amor inseparabilis, o amor singularis.... ergo vere amas deum & nihil aliud, nec teipsum nisi propter deum' (emendatio, fols. 15-16). the passage in the emendatio here quoted from is found also in the canticles (f. 151) and (slightly altered) in the conclusion to the contra amatores mundi (f. 180). neither work divides love into three grades. much more of these three works than is here quoted echoes the melum. if rolle had adopted the classification of love into three grades at the time he wrote the melum, canticles, and contra amatores mundi, it is very strange-and totally unlike his usual habit of repeating favourite passages-that he did not introduce 1 cf. father denis's du péché (supra, p. 19), pp. 109 sq. treatises 203 it when he came so near. in a passage already quoted from the melum (p. 84) he indicates four degrees of love, which was a usual classification. the melum, however, gives an entirely different arrangement from that now under discussion, for rolle there assigns each of his newly gained attributes of joy to a separate grade, whereas in the present classification they apparently all belong to the third and highest (the cult of the name, which makes the initiation to them, being-in its lower form-assigned to the second). it is possible that the development by rolle of the classification of love in three grades was due to the natural codification that came with time. on the other hand, it seems likely that the form of the works in which he used it had something to do with its origin. the epistles (three in english and one in latin) are manuals, each directed to a special friend, and in all there would exist the same motive for developing useful didactic formulae. all four works review the religious life from the beginning, and a more systematic, magisterial method is pursued than in the other works. we apparently see rolle at the period of writing these epistles finding the friends for whom he yearned in the first two treatises of the present group, and shaping his message for their needs. both treatises and epistles seem to show that whatever loneliness the hermit might feel at times (at least in the earlier period of the treatises) he has come full circle from the tumult and uncertainty in which he ended his first 'period. he feels secure enough of his position to give exuberant expression to his mysticism, both to the general public of the spiritually minded, and to special friends. his earliest extant prose work has been an epistle, and so is his latest. " contra amatores mundi beg. quoniam mundanorum insania gaudium eterni amoris cordibus electorum illabi non putat' (corpus christi oxf. ms. 193, f. 171). ends: illabere mihi in tua dulcedine. te mecum et meis commendo sine fine' (f. 18ov). the work is divided in many manuscripts into six chapters, in some into seven (by the division of the first). for the manuscripts used v. supra, p. 198. 1 cf. st. bernard, de diligendo deo, migne, 182, c. 998, and richard of st. victor, loc. cit. 0 2 204 treatises manuscripts. oxford mss. i. bodl. 769 (sum. cat. no. 2551), ff. 61-77, second half 15th cent. 'explicit tractatus de contemptu mundi secundum ricardum hampole venerabilem heremitam.' ii. bodl. 861. ascribed to rolle. v. supra, p. 26. iii. laud. misc. 528, ff. 33-41, early 15th cent. text as in ms. xviii (v. supra, p. 64). see office, e. v., judica, cant., job, incend. iv. balliol coll. 224, ff. 18v-31, 15th cent. see cant., e. v., incend., spur., job, judica. v. corpus christi coll. 193, ff. 171-80v, early 15th cent. 'hic incipit liber de amore dei contra amatores mundi.' see lat. ps., job, thren., cant., 20th ps., o. d., s. a., e. v., incend., mel., judica. vi. st. john's coll. 127, ff. 1–24, 15th cent. 'incipit tractatus de amore dei contra amatores. ... explicit tractatus contra amatores mundi.' this is confused in coxe's catalogue with chapter 6 of the emendatio, which is entitled de contemptu mundi, as is the present work in ms. i, etc. see incend., cant. cambridge colleges. vii. corpus christi 365, ff. 152b sq., late 15th cent. 'incipit liber de amore dei contra amatores mundi. r. hampole.' see lat. ps., job, 20th ps. viii. emmanuel 35, ff. 164-92, 15th cent. (before 1414). defective at the beginning. see cant., judica, incend., mul. fort., o. d., mel. other mss. ix. b. mus. sloane 2275, ff. 52b-61b, 14th-15th cent. an annotator adds: 'explicit ricardus de contemptu mundi. quod mertth et corrigitur.' see mel., incend., job, e. v., stim. consc. x. castle howard ms., 15th cent. 'ricardus heremita de amore dei et contemptu mundi.' see e. v., spur. (2), cant., incend., job, judica, mul. fort. xi. durham cath. b. iv. 35, ff. 92-112h, 14th cent. 'explicit liber de amore dei contra amatores mundi secundum ricardum venerabilem heremitam de hampole. amen quod j. h.' early durham ownership is shown by a note relating to elvet and auckland in 1539. see incend., spur., and supra, p. 28. contra amatores mundi 205 b xii. hereford cath. o. viii. 1, late 14th cent. hic incipit secundus liber ricardi heremite venerabilis hampole de amore dei contra amatores mundi.' see supra, p. 26, lat. ps., e. v., incend., cant., mel., magn., apoc. xiii. wyggeston hospital leicester 15, early 15th cent. explicit liber de amore dei contra amatores mundi secundum ricardum venerabilem heremitam.' the contemporary index cites the work as 'alius liber de amore dei'. see e. v., job. xiv. lincoln cath. 209, ff. 13b sq., late 14th cent. original index: item libellus eiusdem sancti ricardi de amore dei contra amatores mundi.' see office, job, 20th ps., mel. xv. rylands lib. manchester 18932, 15th cent. 'incipit tractatus ricardi hampole heremite de amore dei contra amatores mundi.' see cant., incend., quot. xvi. paris, bib. nat., lat. 15700, ff. 94-110, 14th cent. explicit liber ricardi heremite de contemptu mundi.' see e. v., incend., job. xvii. sotheby's, nov. 14, 1919, lot 87, now in the possession of sir leicester harmsworth, 14th cent. 'incipit tractatus ricardi heremite de ampoll' de amore dei contra amatores mundi.' 'explicit tractatus ricardi heremite de ampole de amore dei contra amatores mundi.' see ol. effus., e. v. xviii. sotheby's, mar. 1-2, 1921, lot 275 (now harmsworth), ff. 78-102b, 15th cent. see ms. iii, e. v., cant. xix. trier (stadtbibl.) 685, ff. 115-36, 15th cent. 'explicit libellus de amore dei contra amatores mundi. rich. heremita.' see incend., spur., mel. references and quotations. the compilation of 'robertus wasselyn, capellanus', in ms. ff. i. 14, and the related one in hatton quote this treatise many times, always with the same title, and usually with the chapter reference. the contra amatores mundi is quoted as rolle's in jesus coll. camb. 59, in the 'incendium diuini amoris' of john walsingham in trin. coll. dublin 159, and in the thornton and quaritch mss. extracts are included in the compilation from rolle's works which circulates under his name as de excellentia contemplationis (v. dubia, p. 322). a narrative told by rolle in the contra amatores mundi (f. 177, quoted from infra, p. 466) as to the death-bed of 'matrona quedam in mundo magna' is probably repeated in the office. 206 treatises syon monastery catalogue cites in the index under rolle's name four copies of this work, of which only one is now found in the catalogue; one not indicated there is included (m. 94). leicester abbey probably owned this work ascribed to 'john hampole'. a 'liber de amore... ricardi heremite' left to corpus christi coll., cambridge, by markaunt in 1439 is proved by the first words of the second leaf to be the present work. boston of bury cites as at bury under rolle's name: 'de timore domini et contemptu mundi', which is probably the present work, though that exact title is not found in extant manuscripts. bale registers in his index two copies of 'contra amatores mundi' (with incipit as above). rolle's authorship of the present treatise can hardly be doubted after the quotations made from it in the introduction to the present chapter, and the discussion there of the close relationship to other works of rolle which it was shown to bear. the manuscripts also will have given strong evidence for rolle's authorship. however, since it is not accessible in print, quotations will be made to show its strong consistency with rolle's usual style and manner. he speaks in this work also in the first person, in a passage full of his usual phrases, images, and ornaments of style : 'tracta namque mens superno dulcore cursum scandere non desinit; penetrare nititur spissitudinem nubium, supra stellatum celum se eleuare non veretur. sedem querit inter choros angelorum, dulcissimum suum anhelat intueri, unde et quanto in aula regia sponso suo se propius alleuat, tanto necesse est ut in igne eterni amoris suauius inardescat. ibi, inquam, succenditur et exuritur, splendore christi illuminatur; perfusa, itaque, sancta mens ardore diuine caritatis in ignem quasi tota conuertitur, et ardens et lucens vino veri dulcoris absorbetur, debriataque ab ubertate domus dei nec mundane felicitatis leticiam nec perturbantis vite mortalium tristiciam amodo gustabit.... huic igitur solitudo congruit, ut solitarius sedens degustet canticum, quod in clamore et in strepitu corporali positus nec canere nec ascultare se posse cognoscet. canorus nimirum iubilus quietis silencium querit in christianis, ut tanto mens nostra ardencius ac iocundius in melos rapiatur, quanto in secrecioribus locis assueti sumus ab hominibus et a contradicentibus linguarum (sic) separati. quoniam heremita vocor, et intencione utique degener non ex isto, laudo quidem bonitatem dei mei, qui me de mundo transtulit, et usque ad cantabiles eterni amoris delicias clemens subleuauit.... ibi profecto didici diuinas laudes exultando canere, et in feruore mellifluo canendo iubilare, sed undique intus et extra inuisibili melodia cognoui me refici, et in amoris gaudio suauissime immorari. mirabar quippe quod aliquis mortalium aliquando ad tantam gloriam caperetur, sed iam sciui contra amatores mundi 207 per experimentum quod vera dileccio apud deum. alii autem, qui illud donum nesciunt, nec illud ideo ab aliis percipi putant,' et sane paucissimi sunt qui illud habuerunt. quoniam quidem inter mortales nullus in alciori vita, nec ita alta, quia hec altissima qua ad deum graditur' (ff. 172, 172′). this is one of the works in which the three attributes of ecstasy are distinctly mentioned: 'manet autem mecum, non transit a me, feruor mellifluus, canor celicus, dulcor diuinus. aperiendo tibi, o bone ihesu, os meum, attraho spiritum. tantum quoque gaudium de te sencio, quantum exprimere non sufficio; dulcifluum asculto canticum, et canens ascendo usque in domum dei... hunc desidero, suspiro, et amore langueo, quia non video faciem dei mei: verumptamen tale gaudium opto in celo, quale in carne sedens gusto et sencio, nec volo ut alia gaudia mihi dentur, sed ut aliter mihi dentur, videlicet clare et perspicue² videndo deum meum in decore suo' (f. 177). the sentences just quoted will be seen to be full of rhyme, and elsewhere alliteration appears : 'eget attamen diues sepius pluribus possessionibus, cum pauper plenus paucis nonnumquam habundabit.... nam veri amatores eterne diuinitatis suauia senciunt solacia, dum mundi dilectores deliciis dampnosis depascantur' (f. 178). the devotion to the holy name of jesus does not appear explicitly in this work, but in the quotation above (f. 177) and elsewhere the address is made 'o bone jesu', and the discourse is of concentration on the thought of the saviour. 'sapientia' is invoked, ff. 171, 173.3 the contra amatores mundi contains a number of commonplace passages exhorting the worldly. the frivolous dress of women is condemned. a long esoteric discussion can be summarized as follows: 'sed alii sunt qui aliter dicunt, videlicet quod viderunt clare celestia. asserant qui hoc nouerunt. ego idem non expertus sum, nec puto experiri dum in carne sum.... potest itaque deuotus amator in amore canere et iubilare, quasi raptus supra terrena in se deficere et in deum pergere.' ... deus tamen potest reuelare cuicumque voluerit, etiam peccatori, secreta et facere eum videre mira ad utilitatem suam et aliorum, sed ideo talem sancciorem non dixerim, cum plurimi etiam sanctorum apostolorum in hac vita huiusmodi non viderunt' (f. 176). the present work was written at a period well on in rolle's life, for he refers to his writings as 'pleraque' (v. supra, p. 198). as we shall 1 the sloane scribe here writes on the margin 'ergo raptus erat ricardus deuotus' (f. 53"). 2 prospicue c. 3 as by suso (cf. infra, p. 349). • cf. f. 172: 'caro in se deficit dum spiritus in deum pergit, plene se subiciens diuine voluntati.' 208 treatises see, a great diversity of experience seems to lie behind him when he writes the incendium, with which this work may seem to be related. we shall see in describing the incendium that in that book ecclesiastical opposition seems to be echoed only from the past, but the difficulties with those on whom the hermit has been materially dependent seem fresh, and references to them recur. the contra amatores mundi appears specifically directed against the worldly, and some passages would seem to suggest that the author's theme is given special bitterness because he has recently had hostile encounters (with patrons?). the sentences in the first chapter of the work, following those already quoted on his 'singing' at church or in town, continue as follows: ‘... nonnulli ridentes ¹ putant quod insanit, dicentes illum irreuerenciam deo facere, et statuta ecclesie non obseruare. sed ille profecto christo in omnibus et ecclesie reuerenciam obtulisse probabitur, quando isti presumptores nequam tanquam irreuerentes quia incaute iudicantes punientur. illum christus amore suo medullitus rapuit, et multociens quasi a sensu corporali alienatus incedit. illos adhuc forte in malicia sua sinit viuere ; illum vero supra cuncta temporalia dignatus est subleuare. quomodo igitur audent illum arguere, quem ut patronum deberent pocius honorare? sed verum est quod apostolus ait: diligentibus deum omnia cooperantur in bonum (rom. viii. 28). nam eo ipso in diuino amore suauius iubilat, quo videt eum populus, nec laudat. illi vero miseri tanto se deterius viciis subiciunt, quanto contra sanctum dei inutilibus verbis contendunt. quem nimirum apud deum intercessorem habere pro eis poterant, malicia sua excecati sponte relinquunt. denique inter obprobria, inter irris[i]ones et scandala, inter reprehensiones et odia audacter canit cum psalmista: de vultu tuo, o bone ihesu, iudicium meum prodeat: oculi tui videant equitates. probasti cor meum et visitasti nocte; igne me examinasti, et non est inuenta in me iniquitas (ps. xvi. 2-3), quia raptus a terrenis dulcore eterni amoris ad christum per semitas perfecte iusticie properat. dicant quicquid volunt, securus non errat. iam linguis detractorum amputatis, electus christi seipsum studeat dirigere' (f. 172). the last sentence in most copies begins the second chapter. when later in this work richard laments his lack of a friend, he expresses his discontent in words that suggest special disillusionment: 'melius est mihi mori quam viuere, qui inter multos morans nec uni scio prodesse, et que putabam esse lucrata timeo ne euaniant, quia in mundana re et non in deo gaudent. ecce, o domine, relictus sum solus; qui videbant me foras fugiebant a me. obliuioni datus sum, tanquam mortuus a corde, sed et factus sum tanquam vas perditum, quoniam audiui vituperacionem multorum commorancium in circuitu 2 malici c. 3 om. c. • qui c. 1 videntes c. contra amatores mundi 209 (ps. xxx. 12-14). in circuitu meo non mecum sunt amatores terreni, quia etsi eis te vitam predico, tamen eos amantes mortem doleo. stulti quoque despiciebant me, et cum recessissem¹ ab eis detrahebant mihi' (f. 175º). these passages sound as if they echoed grievances just past, which do not seem to be connected with the clergy, but with 'amatores terreni'. probably the contra amatores mundi was written when the author was emerging from quarrels with patrons. we seem to have these quarrels hinted at from a greater distance in the incendium: the discussion as to the irreverence at mass and the desire for a friend also both appear in that work in what seems a more developed form. it is therefore likely that the contra amatores mundi preceded the incendium: it may be noted that the signature already quoted from the former resembles those in the job and the psalter, of which we know one, and suspect the other, to be early. beg. incendium amoris admirabar magis quam enuncio quando siquidem sentiui cor meum primitus incalescere' (deanesly, p. 145). ends: 'et ministrabit in aula celesti summo imperatori, in secula seculorum. amen' (p. 278). the 'short text' ends earlier: 'talem canorem ab ingenio humano; in quibus si perseuerauero saluus ero' (ibid.). printed editions. the only part of the incendium amoris in print before modern times was chapter 15 (on rolle's first attainment of ecstasy). this appeared with portions of the canticles (as in some manuscripts) in the editions of 1533, 1535, 1536, 1622, 1677. misyn's very awkward middle english translation was printed by the eets. orig. ser., 106, in 1896 (v. supra, p. 17, for a modernized edition). miss deanesly's critical edition of the incendium amoris is based on emmanuel coll. camb. ms. 35. i supplied her with the list of the manuscripts of the treatise, but it will be noted that i have since been able to add a considerable number. these are mostly in continental libraries, where some were perhaps carried by the influence of pope innocent vii (and perhaps circulated by the hussites), others were carried by the brigittines. some also may offer interesting confirmation of the conjecture made by miss deanesly (eng. hist. rev. xxix. 99-101) that the incendium 1 et recessisse c. 210 treatises travelled to the council of constance with the monk braystones, whose devotion to the work led to his procuring for it a long series of indulgences. one type of text is found only on the continent, in flanders and on the moselle, on the direct route, be it noted, from england to the great councils of the fifteenth century. seven copies of the incendium are still to be found along this route, representing three types of text. somewhere on the continent the prologue of the incendium became attached to the de triplici via of st. bonaventura, but the three late copies of the latter extant, which make this addition, are so widely distributed that no clue is given as to where the borrowing arose (v. infra, p. 226). the division of the manuscripts of the present work into 'short texts' and 'long texts' pointed out by miss deanesly (pp. 60 sq.) has been mentioned in connexion with the manuscripts of the canticles (9. v.). there is a strange intermixture of the texts of the canticles and of the incendium, and a compilation drawn from both works very frequently accompanies the short text of the treatise. we have seen that in volumes containing the full text of the canticles which also give the short text of the incendium, the compilation follows without the extracts from the canticles (which would thus be a repetition). the half-compilation thus found is sometimes given its own title: 'quomodo perueni ad incendium amoris' (v. mss. bodl. 861, balliol, and infra, p. 222). the whole compilation alone is sometimes given its own title 'oleum effusum' (v. mss. emmanuel coll. camb. 35, castle howard). when the whole compilation follows the short text, the two units together are sometimes included under the title incendium amoris (v. mss. laud misc. 202 and milan): other texts of heterogeneous composition assuming the title 'incendium amoris' are mss. b. mus. add. 24661, lincoln cath. 188, prague univ. 814, and vienna 4483. similar irresponsible use of the equally popular title 'oleum effusum' is found in mss. laud misc. 528 and sotheby (mar. 1-2, 1921), where parts of the canticles merge in the contra amatores mundi. the persistence of the combination of extracts from the canticles and incendium, which make up the compilation in question, gives rise to curiosity as to its origin. miss deanesly concludes (p. 62) that it must be due to 'some very early copyist', 'possibly . . . one of the hampole nuns' (p. 89). she proves that the original form of the incendium could not have been the short text, for that version in most copies writes an 'etc.' at three out of the thirty-nine abridgements made, and 'item' occurs elsewhere (see pp. 84, 221-3). in incendium amoris 211 other words, the original form of the work was the long text, from which both the short text and the accompanying compilation were compiled. miss deanesly believes that the earliest copyists of rolle found the epistle of anselm in close connexion with his work-perhaps copied by himself for reference' (p. 58). the extract from st. anselm (which was identified by horstmann) is the only part of the compilation not derived from rolle, but it discusses the importance of the will in a way very congenial to him: 'omnis actio laudabilis, sive reprehensibilis, ex voluntate habet lauden vel reprehensionem,' etc. (migne, 159, c. 167); his works at many points may show its influence (v. supra, pp. 70, 104). it is possible that it was first connected with the compilation because rolle had himself copied it, and it is barely possible that the short text and the accompanying compilation were also due to rolle. we have seen (supra, p. 58) that an autograph compilation from his works was found after his death and used in composing the office. as a matter of fact, all three quotations from rolle used in the office-the opening of the incendium, chapter 15 of that work on the growth of ecstasy, and the narrative as to a supernatural temptation recounted in the canticles (the latter quoted from the autograph)-occur in the combined short text and compilation: it might therefore at first sight appear that we have here rolle's own compilation used in the office. against this hypothesis is the fact that the first quotation is given in the office as from the 'incendium, book i, chapter 1', and though some copies of the long text are divided into two books, that division is not found in any short text. there is, however, in any case a discrepancy in the references given to the quotations from the incendium in the office: chapter 15 is cited as 'book i, chapter 13', a numbering which, so far as i know, is never found in an extant manuscript. this reference, however, also seems to point to a long text of the treatise as the source: chapter 15 does not occur in the body of the short text, but in the compilation at the end. altogether, therefore, there are difficulties in conjecturing the identity of the autograph collection mentioned in the office with that which circulates with the short text, even though the actual quotations in the office can all be referred to the short text and its attendant compilation. a note as to a supernatural intimation to rolle in 1343 as to the date of his death follows in two manuscripts an abridged account of his development of ecstasy as described in the incendium (v. supra, p. 27), and should be mentioned in this connexion. in both copies the note follows the end of contra amatores mundi, but bodl. 861 212 treatises " seems by marks of insertion to attach it to the phrase 'quomodo ricardus heremita peruenit ad uerum amorem dei' on the margin above, opposite 'omnis actio'. the phrase quomodo perueni', etc., reappears in the explicit as the title of the half-compilation' of the usual type here found. the note as to 1343 probably origi nated in an autograph, and the evidence at hand might suggest that it was originally copied at the head of the 'omnis actio'. as we have seen, the archetype of bodl. 861 probably contained the short text of the incendium (v. supra, p. 27), and if in that case the note originated in a copy of the short text, with accompanying compilation, these must then have been known to rolle, if not actually put together by him. in this case, the first person of the title 'perueni' (though repeated from the text) might also be due to an autograph. however, since the durham ms. attaches the note only to contra amatores mundi (also adjacent in the bodl. ms.), it may have originated in an autograph copy of that work. it is more likely that the short text and the accompanying compilation might be due to william stopes. the vienna manuscript does not contain the usual compilation following the short text, but, in its place, some elements of that text combined with other pieces (as in the prague univ. ms. and-partially-in a lincoln and a brussels ms.). on the other hand the notes would seem to have been derived from another volume, and perhaps the remarks which they contain as to william stopes were in the first instance connected with the usual compilation, which begins with the oleum effusum. it is perhaps an indication that the note as to stopes originated in such a connexion that here it is attached to the latter piece, though in the manuscript in hand this does not open the compilation (v. infra, p. 218). the vienna notes give manifest falsehoods (such as the statement that he translated the oleum effusum from english to latin), but on the other hand the preservation of the name 'william' at the end of two copies of the emendatio would support the supposition that rolle had an intimate disciple of that name at the end of his life, who might easily have become his literary executor. various workings over of richard's compositions exist, and may be due to william (v. infra, pp. 304, 323), but none has so good a claim to be his as the present compilation. it will be noted that there are altogether three compilations from rolle's works which follow the incendium at one time or another. the commonest is that of which the origin has just been discussed: sometimes, as we have seen, either half of this circulates alone with incendium amoris 213 the treatise. a second compilation is attached to the incendium in mss. lincoln and brussels (partially), and in mss. prague univ. and vienna: this combines fragments from other sources with the oleum effusum. a third compilation is attached to the incendium in a manuscript once belonging to joanna sewell, nun of syon (which also preserves the dedication of the emendatio to william, though without the name). this, in four volumes (two of which seem to be derived from syon and one from shene), appears (enlarged) as a separate work by rolle (v. infra, de excellentia contemplationis). the character of this piece would suggest an authoritative origin. a fourth type of the incendium inserts in the last chapter of the long text a compilation from other works of rolle. this is found only in three manuscripts, all once belonging to continental carthusian houses, that is, at enghien (hainault), at rethel near sierck (on the moselle above trier), and at trier (v. infra, mss. xxix, xxxiii, xxxviii-the last written in the charterhouse of the ecstatic doctor'). the chapter division used in the incendium is fairly constant, except that the prologue is sometimes counted as a chapter, and sometimes not. the division into two books found in the office reappears in various continental copies, in ms. x, and in misyn's translation it was known to newton, who notes at chapter 31 'principium libri 2i'. : for nine mss. below giving the cross-reference' cant.', v. supra, p. 64. manuscripts. oxford mss. short text. see e. v., i. bodl. 16, ff. 105-52, late 14th cent. short text. ol. effus. ii. bodl. 66 (sum. cat. no. 2075), ff. 1-79, first half 15th cent. 'r. ampolle. explicit liber de incendio amoris.' long text. the chapter-headings found with newton's name in the emmanuel ms. are here given in a tabula at the end (as there), whereas in dd. v. 64 and in misyn's translation they head the chapters. a late 15th-cent. hand writes: 'richard rolle hermyte off hampole; ihc.maria' (f. ivv). iii. bodl. 861. ascribed to rolle. v. supra, pp. 27, 31. iv. bodl. laud misc. 202, ff. 42-90, 15th cent. after the short text and complete compilation: explicit liber qui dicitur incendium amoris.' twenty-seven chapters marked. see e. v., cant. 214 treatises v. bodl. laud misc. 528, ff. 78-97, early 15th cent. 'hic incipit incendium amoris sancti (inserted above the line) ricardi heremite de hampule.' short text. see office, e. v., judica, cant., contra am. m., job. " vi. bodl. rawl. a. 389 (sum. cat. no. 11272), ff. 32-72, early 15th cent. explicit liber de incendio amoris.' long text. see e. v., ego d., command., form. vii. balliol coll. 224, ff. 39-56, 15th cent. short text, with the canticles preceding, and the half-compilation (with its own title) following. see supra, p. 210, and cant., contra am. m., e. v., spur., job, juaica. viii. corpus christi coll. 193, ff. 180-206, early 15th cent. long text. see lat. ps., job, thren., cant., 20th fs., o. d., s. a., e. v., contra am. m., mel., judica. ix. st. john's coll. 127, ff. 25-56, 15th cent. 'explicit tractatus vocatus incendium amoris.' short text, without the usual additions. those from the long text of the incendium (with the omnis actio) follow the canticles later. see contra am. m., cant. cambridge mss. x. univ. dd. v. 64 (ii), ff. 1-84, late 14th cent. incipit liber primus de incendio amoris secundum beatum ricardum heremitam de hampule. for the chapter-headings, division into two books, and the valuable northern texts in a second part of this book, v. supra, pp. 37, 213. see e. v., o. d., mel., form, command., ego d., miscell. xi. univ. mm. v. 37, ff. 1-60b, c. 1400. after the short text: 'explicit incendium amoris.' the complete compilation follows. a rubric note on the fly-leaf gives indulgences procured for the incendium by christopher braystones, originally monk of st. mary's, york, and chaplain to bishop spofforth of hereford, later carthusian monk of beauvale.¹ miss deanesly shows (p. 52) that the indulgences may be dated 1452-7. see cant., e. v., and supra, p. 210. xii. caius coll. 140, ff. 17-47, 15th cent. 'explicit incendium amoris sancti ricardi de hampole.' long text. see form (lat.), ego d. (lat.), e. v. 1 lincoln cath. ms. b. 6. 6 contains the meditations on the life of christ (pseudo-bonaventura) with the same rubric giving the indulgences procured by braystones as appears in ms. mm. v. 37. he gave the latter to beauvale. incendium amoris 215 " xiii. caius coll. 332, ff. 128-44, 15th cent. explicit tractatus qui dicitur incendium amoris.' short text. xiv. emmanuel coll. 35, ff. 16-19, 25-59, 63-99, 15th cent. (before 1414). the compilation (complete) occurs as a separate work: explicit oleum effusum secundum hampoll' (f. 19). after the judica and mulierem fortem, part of the long text of the incendium follows, with the chapter-numbers and headings given in the margins. at the end, over the index, appears: 'tabula huius libri additur per magistrum johannem de neutone'. through a reference supplied by professor l. a. hibbard of wellesley college i was able to conjecture (see athenaeum, aug. 23, 1913) that newton was probably john newton, the treasurer of york (d. 1414). miss deanesly (who makes this the basis of her edition) has followed newton through an important ecclesiastical career (see her incend., pp. 63-80). she discovered that he was vicar-general of archbishop arundel at york 1390-6, and the registers of that period are in his name and written, she finds (p. 14), in a hand 'very similar' to that in which the tabula is written in emmanuel ms. 35. the identification is thus confirmed (v. infra, p. 414). after rolle's short commentary, the lord's prayer, the short text of the incendium follows complete, headed: 'liber qui vocatur incendium amoris secundum ricardum hampoll.' at the bottom of the last page (f. 99) occurs the note: hic correctus per librum quem sanctus ricardus de hampole propria manu scripsit.' it is written in the hand in which the tabula has been noted, and the same hand has elaborately corrected the text of the whole preceding work, by inserting and altering both by marginal notes and by the insertion of small leaves, and of cross-references both to the sections of the incendium found in the compilation oleum effusum, with which the book had opened, and to the portion of the long text copied later. such references appear as 'require 6 capitulum a sinistra parte ad tale signum', etc. the complete long text is restored, and we have therefore authority for believing that this was the version found in rolle's autograph (or at least in one autograph copy). we have also probably sufficient reason to believe that the person who made the extremely careful and laborious. construction of the text was the 'master john newton' whose name is given with the tabula. as miss deanesly points out, the evidence of his will, and of others in which he receives legacies of books, would go to show that he was not only a great book-lover, but also fond of 216 treatises compiling tabulae to assist in their use, and gifted with an unusually 'scholarly care for texts'. the full interest of this book was not evident till miss deanesly discovered the marks of a later owner, a nun of syon, joanna sewell, professed in 1500. this religious woman has left her monogram on various pages, as well as that of her friend, the carthusian james greenhalgh of shene, who had given her a black-letter scale of perfection still in existence, on which (and on ms. xx, infra)¹ may also be seen his monogram as well as her own (see deanesly, pp. 79-83). thus emmanuel 35 is not only a proof of rolle's solid reputation among high ecclesiastical and academic persons at york half a century after his death, but also another sign of his popularity at syon monastery over a hundred years later. see cant., judica, mul. fort., o. d., contra am. m., mel. xv. st. john's coll. 23, ff. 1-41, 15th cent. incendio amoris venerabilis ricardi heremite de incipit tractatus de ampullis.' original index gives title 'de incendio amoris dei'. short text. in the illuminated initial a bearded hermit (?) sits in a tub outside a cell, writing 'in dei nomine'. he wears a russet garb, with white undervest. see mel., judica. london mss. (british museum). xvi. harl. 106, ff. 182b-6, 15th cent. in libro de incendio amoris.' extracts only. stim. consc. (lat.). 'ricardus de hampole see form (lat.), e. v., 'explicit incendium miss deanesly calls this see job, e. v. xvii. harl. 275, ff. 12b-46, 15th cent. amoris secundum ricardum heremitam.' an exceptionally good copy of the long text. xviii. roy. 5 c. iii, ff. 305 sq., 15th cent. amoris sancti ricardi heremite de hampole' (f. 317—the book is misbound, and the explicit occurs in the middle). long text. see infra, p. 426. 'explicit incendium xix. sloane 2275, ff. 73-108b, 14-15th cent. dium amoris sancti ricardi heremite de hampole.' mel., contra am. m., job, e. v., stim. consc. 'explicit incenlong text. see xx. add. 24661, ff. 14b-61, early 15th cent. 'sequitur de eodem (ricardo hampole) incendium amoris et de excellencia 1 trin. coll. camb. 354 contains a page of his writing (dated 1499). corpus christi camb. ms. 137 is also marked with the combined monogram and would seem to have belonged to joanna sewell. incendium amoris 217 " after an amoris dei seu amatorum dei siue de uita contemplatiua.' 'incomplete and independent version of the long text' the everpopular chapter 15 follows (f. 60), headed: quomodo ricardus hampole peruenit ad incendium amoris' (the title sometimes given to the half-compilation, v. supra, p. 210). after this follows: explicit incendium amoris secundum ricardum hampole.' the text which is given of the incendium in this manuscript is mixed in the last part with extracts from other works of rolle, and the same selection of extracts from rolle's works as is here included in the incendium, ff. 49b-58b, appears enlarged in other manuscripts as a separate work, de excellentia contemplationis (v. infra, p. 320). miss deanesly discovered that this manuscript contains (f. 18b) j. g. s.', the combined monogram of joanna sewell, nun of syon, and of james greenhalgh, carthusian of shene, which had occurred often on the emmanuel ms. see e. v., dubia. other mss. (british isles). " xxi. castle howard ms., 15th cent. the usual compilation from the canticles and the incendium here occurs without the short text of the latter under the separate title 'oleum effusum nomen tuum ' (as in the original form of newton's manuscript). a unique peculiarity, however, is the addition of the first section of oleum effusum, and the insertion into the end of chapter 15 of the incendium of part of the prologue and part of chapter 1 of that work (deanesly, pp. 146-9). a separate piece (without title or author) earlier copied ('amantibus autem eterne hereditatis abundanciam... culmen claritatis facie factoris fruentes sine fine ') is made up of fragments of the incendium (pp. 152-9, passim). it is the same which in some manuscripts makes an extra (last) chapter to the melum (v. supra, p. 114). see e. v., spur. (2), contra am. m., cant., job, judica, mul. fort. " xxii. durham cath. b. iv. 35, ff. 33-91b, 14th cent. explicit incendium amoris ricardi heremite.' long text. see contra am. m., spur., and supra, p. 28. xxiii. hereford cath. o. viii. 1, late 14th cent. miss deanesly notes (p. 33) that this is the first nineteen chapters only of the long text. it runs without break into rolle's canticles. see lat. ps., e. v., contra am. m., cant., mel., magn., apoc. xxiv. lincoln cath. 188, early 15th cent. the fourth and fifth sections of the canticles occur attached to 'the greater part of the long text of the incendium', though the compilation 'ends, curiously p 218 treatises enough, with the explicit of the short text' (deanesly, p. 29). both long and short texts of the incendium must have been at the scribe's disposal, for he includes the 'omnis actio': much of the emendatio is also here. the whole combined text is concluded: explicit incendium amoris secundum ricardum hampull.' xxv. lincoln cath. 218, mid 15th cent. the title 'melodia amoris' is given in a 16th-cent. hand, evidently copied from the index of the same date on the fly-leaf. the librarian tells me that the latter is in the hand of dean honeywood. seventeen chapters are indicated in the work, but the usual form of the short text is given until chapter 32. a good many pages have been lost the catch-word at the end of the quire at f. 116 is to be found in chapter 32 (p. 237), but what opens the next page of this copy belongs to the last chapter of the work. there then follows a short paragraph: 'anima exuta... deum offensum aduertit omnipotentis', after which: explicit tractatus compilatus a ricardo heremita qui vocatur incendium amoris cuius anime propicietur deus.' a piece follows which i have identified (mod. lang. rev., xviii, pp. 1 sq.) as made up of two fragments of the ancren riwle as found in english in the chastising of god's children and the poor caitiff (v. infra, p. 406). it begins: 'quandoque tribularis memento'... and treats of temptations. (it is also in part inserted in one text of rolle's emendatio, v. infra, p. 230.) st. paul is then quoted, after which the oleum effusum follows, with a section of st. bernard's sermo in cantica xv following. v. infra, mss. xxviii, xxxvi, and xlii. this volume contains many interesting little illustrations, mostly of clerics in brightly coloured garbs (blue, green, red, etc.), which, we may conjecture, can never have represented real monastic costume. the book has been examined by mr. coulton, and his notes are inserted. he dates the costumes c. 1400. it may be noted that a perhaps unusual prominence is given to friars (?) in white (see the openings of emendatio and incendium). this may point to carmelite ownership. see ol. effus., e. v., job. 'incipit xxvi. rylands lib. manchester 18932, 15th cent. prologus ricardi de hampole heremite de incendio amoris.' short text with compilation. see cant., contra am. m., quot. " xxvii. sotheby's, mar. 1, 1921, lot 309 (now harmsworth), late 14th cent. explicit incendium amoris sancti ricardi heremite de hampole.' long text. see e. v., job. incendium amoris 219 other mss. (continental). יך xxviii. brussels (bib. roy.) 1485 (4929), ff. 1-59, 14th cent 'incendium amoris richardi heremite. d. m. (the last three words are probably a library mark, v. infra). 'liber domus capelle b. marie iuxta angiam' (enghien in hainault, a carthusian house). 'istud prescriptum opus composuit richardus heremita' (f. 59). a corrector has made annotations, probably from the long text of the incendium in the same library (v. infra). he begins to note the chapters (as in the latter), but does not continue, though at f. 36 (in the proper place) he notes: 28 liber'. a short text, without the usual compilation, but with some elements of the prague type of compilation (as also found in the lincoln ms. supra, no. xxv). after the ending usual to the short text (f. 58), the corrector writes: 'quod sequitur usque ad finem non habetur in extractum (?).' " xxix. brussels (bib. roy.) 2103 (4987), ff. 1-105, 14th cent. 'liber domus capelle b. marie iuxta angiam' (v. supra). 'incendium amoris ricardi hampoil heremite. d. m. 16' ('d. m. 1' is at the top of f. 1). incipit prologus richardi heremite in incendium amoris.' explicit prefacio istius libri. tytulus incendium amoris sorciatur' (f. 4). at the proper place: 'explicit primus liber incendii amoris secundum richardum heremitam' (f. 62, original hand). after the usual ending of the long text: 'explicit incendium amoris secundum ricardum hampol heremitam.' elaborate insertions from rolle's canticles and emendatio (and perhaps other works) are made in the last paragraph (that which follows the ending of the short text): no sign is given that the text has been enlarged at this point. the same text is in mss. xxxiii, xxxviii below. xxx. douay 396. ascribed to rolle (v. supra, p. 38). xxxi. ghent (bib. de la ville) 291, ff. 48-72, 15th cent. 'codex monasterii sancti mathie apostoli '-the benedictine convent of st. mathias and st. euchère outside the walls of trier, where it was 'côté b. 29 (162)'. cited in the index with twenty-eight headings adapted from the first sentences of the chapters. incipit prologus libri sequentis magistri richardi de anglia heremite in librum qui dicitur incendium amoris.' short text, with usual compilation (here as part of the same work, which is not divided into chapters). a beautifully written volume, with fine initials. see e. v., cant. xxxii. madrid (escorial) b. iii. 5*, ff. 74-131, 15th cent. 'incipit liber qui dicitur incendium amoris.' short text, with comp 2 220 treatises pilation, as is clear from information kindly supplied by r.p. guillermo antolin. see e. v. xxxiii. metz (bib. de la ville) 361, ff. 1-84, late 15th cent. 'iste liber pertinet ad domum sancti sixti in rutila (rethel) ordinis cartusiensis prope sirch' (sierck, on the moselle). the tops of the pages are cut off. ... richard hampol heremita in anglia. liber primus. et capitula huius tractatus habeas in fine huius tractatus', etc. (f. 1). incipit liber secundus de incendio amoris secundum richard hampoil', etc. (f. 52). the chapters are all marked and summaries (not newton's or those at ghent) put as headings. an extra chapter-division is given at f. 66, and another at the usual last paragraph of the long text, where large insertions are made (with no sign of their origin) as in ms. xxix, supra. 'explicit incendium amoris secundum ricardum hampoil heremitam' (f. 84). the headings already given to the chapters are then repeated in a table of contents, in which the last chapter (containing the interpolations) is summarized (as chapter 14 of bk. ii, f. 85) as follows: 'pueri ignari et lusibus dediti amorem monstra[n]t. sed adolescentule. et de virtute contemplationis ac diuersis speciebus amoris. expliciunt capitula.' xxxiv. milan, ambrosian lib. g. 43 inf. e, ff. 1 sq.¹, dated (at venice) 1452. the heading is defective, but what is legible seems to reproduce the explicit, which runs as follows: 'deo gratias. ad honorem dei eterni amen. explicit liber iste qui intitulatur incendium diuini amoris. qui liber utilis ualde est omnibus cupientibus seruire domino deo nostro et maxime claustralibus. quem composuit uir quidam uenerabilis nomine ricardus parisiensis qui fuit sacerdos secularis et magister in sacra theologia. et notandum est quod rubrica posita in libri principio debet isti concordari. scriptus est liber iste et expletus anno ab incarnatione domini nostri jesu cristi milesimo quadri[n]gentesimo quinquagesimo secundo de mense ianuarij in ciuitate uenetiarum quam deus et dominus noster ad sui nominis honorem et gloriam per misericordiam suam pacifice conseruare dignetur amen ', etc. (f. 64). no explanation is given for the titles here bestowed on rolle (v. infra, p. 497). the work included in the title just given is the short text (ending f. 40), followed (without sign of change) by the compilation. xxxv. paris, bib. nat., lat. 15700, ff. 40-70, 14th cent. explicit 1 i wish to thank professor caroline bourland for assistance in regard to this manuscript. incendium amoris 221 incendium amoris beati ricardi heremite de hampole.' long text. see e. v., job, contra am. m. xxxvi. prague univ. 814, ff. 1-19, 14th-15th cent. 'incendium amoris.' short text. the same additions as in lincoln ms. 218 and brussels 1485, with the further addition of some miracles of the holy name from saints' lives and extracts on the holy name from the horologium sapientiae of suso (also found in the vienna ms.). both vienna and prague mss. conclude the whole series of extracts above cited as follows: 'explicit pulcher libellus qui incendium amoris nuncupatur, per quemdam nobilem et sanctum virum anglicum heremitam compositus reuelacione diuini spiritus, qui multum valet pro uiris contemplatiuis. cuius copia concessa fuit per reuerendissimum in christo patrem dominum cosmatem cardinalem dignissimum bononiensem pro johanne cardinali in curia romana' (prague ms., f. 19). it is evident from the wording of the colophons that both the extant copies were written on the continent. on the significance of the approbation by the bishop of bologna (afterwards pope innocent vii) for john, archbishop of prague, v. supra, pp. 47-8. xxxvii. trier (stadtbibl.) 296 (1969), ff. 76–130, 15th cent. 'codex monasterii beate marie ad martyres extra muros treueren. super litus moselle' (benedictine). explicit liber qui dicitur incendium amoris richardi de anglia heremite' (f. 130). short text, with compilation. xxxviii. trier 685 (247), ff. 57-113, 15th cent. 'liber domus sancti albani iuxta treuerim' (carthusian). 'incendium amoris rich. hampoil. liber primus.' 'incipit liber secundus de incendio amoris secundum rich. hampol' (f. 90). 'explicit incendium amoris secundum rich. hampoil heremitam' (f. 113). the table of contents found at metz follows the contra amatores mundi, and the incendium here is the same interpolated type of the long text as we find at brussels and at metz. a hand which may be that writing the present work writes a note (f. 56) signed 'william brede', carthusian in 'ruremunde' (in the province of limburg in the low countries), where also lived the mystical writer 'denis the carthusian'. brede says that he writes 'manu antiqua et tremula'. see contra am. m., mel., spur. xxxix. trier 775 (1348), ff. 57-100, 15th cent. 'codex sancti mathie apostoli' (benedictine). 'de contemplacione de[i] richardi de anglia.' 'incipit prologus libri sequentis magistri richardi heremite 222 treatises de anglia in librum qui dicitur incendium amoris.' 'explicit liber qui dicitur incendium amoris richardi de anglia, etc.' (sic), f. 100. the usual short text, with compilation. the earlier part of the work has been annotated by some one who has at hand the long text, from which he has supplied chapter-numbers and the division into two books, and from which he has (at the beginning) noted omissions. the original hand has numbered the last four sections of the compilation as 'cam xxiiij', and so on, thus making the combined short text and compilation twenty-seven chapters. evidently written abroad. see e. v. xl. upsala univ. c. 1, ff. 1–34, late 14th cent. 'incipit incendium amoris tractatus.' the complete long text, divided into fifty chapters. see mel. xli. upsala univ. c. 621, ff. 63-7, c. 1400. 'incipiunt extracta de libro qui dicitur incendium amoris.' most of the numbers of the chapters quoted from are entered on the margins. thomas basset's defence against the detractors of richard (v. infra, p. 527) follows immediately, and probably these extracts were in basset's possession also, for some of the quotations that he gives from the incendium in his defence appear prominently here. this was a wadstena manuscript, and the phraseology of the piece from the office of st. richard, given later in the book, would seem to show that it was written in sweden (v. supra, p. 54). the hand is apparently that also writing ms. c. 17 (infra). on the last fly-leaf (f. 117) is a fragment from the incendium (p. 265). see e. v., 20th ps., office. xlii. vienna (national-bibliothek) 4483, ff. 112-36v, 15th cent. short text. for the compilation found in this work see mss. lincoln 218 and prague, for the explicit see ms. prague, and for the marginalia concerning rolle's life and works v. supra, p. 39. fragmentary texts. i. jesus coll. camb. 46, ff. 100b-3b, 15th cent. chapter 15 only, between oleum effusum and adolescentulae (as in the early editions and harl. 5235). see e. v., cant. ii. b. mus. ar. 507, f. 49b, early 15th cent. chapter 15 only, headed ricardus heremita' (printed horstmann, i. 441). see ego d., form, miscell. (p. 274). iii. b. mus. harl. 5235, ff. 13b-14b, late 14th cent. chapter 15 only. explicit quomodo perueni ad incendium amoris' (for the same title v. supra, p. 210). see supra, ms. i, cant., e. v. incendium amoris 223 iv. b. mus. roy. 17 b. xvii, ff. 99 sq., late 14th cent. a fragment from chapter 33 (' vigilate & intelligite, viri . . .'), printed horstmann, ii. 65 sq. unattributed. see e. v. v. hereford cath. o. i. 10, ff. 1 sq. a 16th-cent. hand has written extracts from rolle on the first three pages, which were blank. they are 'nihil enim tam suaue... ostendat', 'vox languentis... quia iugiter amantibus te nociua', and the last chapter of the e. v. the first extract is from chapters 7-10 of the incendium, the second is the first part of chapter 26 (here headed 'capitulum xii '). both extracts are derived from the short text, where the first is usually chapter 4, the second chapter 13. a variant of the usual short text has apparently been used. 'richardus herevi. upsala univ. c. 17, ff. 35-6, 15th cent. mita. de vera amicitia' (chapter 39 of the incendium). written in the same hand as c. 621, and therefore almost certainly in sweden. see dubia (de excell. contempl.). incendium amoris in english manuscripts. i. corpus christi coll. oxf. 236, 15th cent. colophon as below. printed by the rev. r. harvey (eets. orig. ser., 106) along with misyn's translation of the emendatio (which here follows). mr. harvey shows that this cannot be an autograph, both because the emendatio (dated 1433) follows the incendium (dated 1434), and because of the contaminated dialect. dr. john dee, the elizabethan astrologer, owned an english text of the incendium, which dr. james identifies with this copy. it is one of the prettiest manuscripts of rolle's works. written in a very clear hand, it has been beautifully kept, and there are charming coloured initials and borders to the opening of each work. see e. v. (angl.). ii. b. mus. add. 37790, ff. 18b-95, mid 15th cent. 'explicit liber de incendio amoris ricardi hampole heremite translatus in anglicum instanciis domine margarete heslyngton recluse per fratrem ricardum misyn sacre theologie bachalaureum, tunc priorem lyncolniensem, ordinis carmelitarum, anno domini mºccccxxxvto in festo translacionis sancti martini episcopi, quod est iiij nonas julij, per dictum fratrem ricardum misyn scriptum et correctum.' misyn's translation of the emendario precedes, with the date 1434, but it seems very unlikely that this could be misyn's autograph, for the revelations of juliana of norwich (ff. 97-115) refer to her as 'yet 224 treatises alive, 1413', and it is obvious that the same scribe could not have written both 1413 and 1434-5 as an actual record of the date when he was writing. see e. v. (angl.), form, ego d. references and quotations. the incendium is quoted from by title with exact reference, in the office, in rawl. c. 397, and exeter coll. 7. extracts are included (under rolle's name) in the compilation known as de excellentia contemplationis, and in that found in the heneage ms. (at great length). quotations with rolle's name and the title incendium are given in a compendium in roy. 8 c. xv, but v. infra, p. 402. rawl. mss. a. 372, c. 19, etc., mss. ff. i. 14 (and the related hatton ms.), kk. vi. 20, and trin. coll. dublin 159, all quote from the work under rolle's name but without the title, as do those two very popular compilations, the speculum christiani and the speculum spiritualium. thomas basset (c. 1400), in his defence, quotes from the incendium with richard's name, but without the title. a verse paraphrase in english of parts of chapters 40-1 of the incendium is found among the lyrics ascribed to rolle in mss. dd. v. 64 and longleat, and again anonymously in a lambeth copy (v. infra, p. 299). several lines from the wonderfully popular chapter 15 of the incendium are put into english verse and combined with lines from the lyrics of rolle's epistles in b. mus. add. ms. 37049 (v. infra, p. 308). five copies 'de incendio amoris' are cited under rolle's name in the index to the catalogue of syon monastery: one is missing from the catalogue but another has been added. a note as to rolle's growth of ecstasy as described in the incendium (chapter 15) was given on a manuscript now lost. leicester abbey owned 'speculum johannis hampole de incendio amoris', and lord scrope of masham in 1415 left to the founder of syon monastery 'incendium amoris, quem richardus heremita composuit' (perhaps an autograph). boston of bury cites the work as at bury; leland saw at st. mary's, york 'de amore, sive incendio amoris', and at the london carmelites' 'richardus hampoole de incendio amoris.' bale registers the work in his index under rolle's name as 'de amore diuino' (twice) and as 'de incendio amoris': the first lines in these cases make the identification certain, but the absence of a first line prevents us from surely identifying another copy in the 'melodia amoris' cited (for an incendium given this title by a late note see above, ms. xxv). the 'commendacio vitae heremiticae' twice cited in incendium amoris 225 bale's index is proved by the first lines to be chapter 13 of the incendium. enough highly characteristic quotations have already been made from the incendium amoris to show that there can be no doubt as to rolle's authorship, and the description of the manuscripts has shown that they give overwhelming testimony to the same effect. since the treatise is in print, no confirmatory quotations need be given. references will be given, however, by which the consistency of this work with those already considered may be tested. though richard in the incendium does not speak in the first person as a hermit, as miss deanesly remarks, the main purpose' of the treatise is 'the vindication of the life of the hermit or solitary' (p. 46): the pre-eminence of the hermit is specially dwelt on in chapters 13-15 (pp. 179-91), and that of the contemplative life in chapter 20 (pp. 203-4). incidental references to the same subjects constantly occur, and at p. 179 a woman is quoted as saying to the author 'non pertinet ad statum tuum, scilicet heremiticum. . . '. cf. also p. 220, quoted infra, p. 227. as we have seen, the incendium is the work which gives the most extended and explicit references to the details of rolle's ecstasy which he gives anywhere. 'the 'calor, canor, and dulcor' are discussed, pp. 159, 185, 189 sq., 256, 278. the short text, like the canticles, ends with a reference to the three attributes of ecstasy and to the holy name, and the long text adds afterwards only a colourless short paragraph. the conclusion of the short text runs as follows: 'o bone ihesu ligasti cor meum in cogitacione nominis tui, et illud iam non canere non ualeo! ideo miserere mei perficiendo quod preparasti ! rapitur uerus amator tuus sollicitus in iubilum canori cogitatus, ut impossibile sit talem dulcedinem esse a diabolo, talem feruorem ab aliquo creato, talem canorem ab ingenio humano . . .' (p. 278). other references to the devotion to the holy name are frequent (cf. pp. 180, 190, 192, 216, 246, 248). a trifling correspondence between the incendium and the office is given in rolle's statement that he can do two things at once (cf. incendium, p. 253, office, p. 32). in the same passage of the incendium we are given a hint that rolle may sometimes write himself and sometimes dictate: 'unde et cogitaciones eorum mellite sunt in suo ministerio, quia eciam studendo et meditando in scripturis, ac eciam in scribendo uel dictando cogitant suum amatum ' 226 treatises (p. 253). we are told that william stopes took richard's dictation in at least one instance (v. supra, p. 41). he was a friend of rolle's later years; but it may be that he was acting as amanuensis to richard as early as the time of the writing of the incendium. the incendium amoris contains every sort of discussion which rolle anywhere gives us, except such directions for the pastoral office as we find in the early works. we have here alliterative passages and outbursts of ecstasy as exuberant as those of the melum, mixed with commonplace exhortations addressed to the worldly, careful arguments in theology, scriptural interpretations (turned to the glory of the contemplative), occasional bits of autobiography. the chapters in which he describes the growth of his ecstasy, the criticism which he met because of his behaviour at mass, and the exact nature of his 'canor', have already been noted as among the most important passages in rolle's writings. it would appear that this must be one of his most carefully thought out compositions. in his prologue he addresses it non philosophis, non mundi sapientibus, non magnis theologicis infinitis quescionibus implicatis, sed rudibus et indoctis, magis deum diligere quam multa scire conantibus' (p. 147). he seems to intend it to be a complete treatise on the spiritual wisdom to be learned by inspiration, as compared to that to be learned from books over and over he deprecates the theology of book-learning. there was a pugnacious strain in rolle's character, and just as we may feel that an undercurrent of attack on contemporary monks runs through the melum, and on the worldly rich through the contra amatores mundi, so an undercurrent of attack on the learned (in this case a mild one) may seem to run through the incendium. the mood in which rolle wrote this work, as expressed in the prologue (as just quoted), must have been a popular one with the public, for that prologue (beginning with the sentence quoted) became attached, in manuscripts at paris, munich, and florence, to the de triplici via of st. bonaventura, to which the title was then given of 'incendium amoris' (v. infra, p. 397). it is a sign of the careful construction of rolle's incendium that the title is methodically supplied at the end of the prologue. : the autobiographical passages in the incendium hint that the author has in his time suffered persecutions, unkindness, and slander. 'multi namque qui mecum loquebantur, similes fuerunt scorpionibus... a quorum labiis iniquis et linguis dolosis liberabit deus animam meam' (p. 170). comedi ergo et bibi de hiis que meliora uidebantur; non quia delicias amaui sed ut natura sustentaretur in seruicio dei et in iubilo incendium amoris 227 ihesu christi, conformans me illis cum quibus morabar bono modo propter christum, et ne sanctitatem fingerem ubi nulla est, et ne homines me nimis laudarent ubi minus essem laudabilis. recessi eciam a plerisque non quia me communiter et duriori modo pauerunt, sed quia non concordauimus in moribus, uel propter aliam racionabilem causam. verumtamen erubescent cum me uiderint qui dixerunt me nullicubi uelle morari, nisi ubi delicate possem pasci' (p. 175). ... he gives the reproaches which he received from four women: 'cum quibus sustentacionem per aliquod tempus accepi corporale[m]' (p. 179). the feeling account which he gives of the sufferings of the 'holy poor' at the hands of the rich is evidently derived from his own experience: 'inueni enim quosdam diuites qui sanctis pauperibus, ut ipsi putabant, dantes uictum, noluerunt dare uestitum uel alia necessaria, ... .. et cuncta que danda essent alicuius precii sibi est [for et] filiis suis reseruant' (p. 197). he speaks later in his own person: ego enim in solitudinem fugi quia cum hominibus concordare non potui, me nempe a gaudio sepe impediebant ; et quia non feci quemadmodum ipsi fecerunt, et errorem et indignacionem mihi imposuerunt' (p. 220). when he has discussed at some length how he has been misunderstood on the subject of his song', he concludes: 'uidete et intelligite, uiri, et nolite falli, quia ostendi uobis ad honorem omnipotentis dei et ad commodum nostrum: cur fugiebam cantantes in ecclesiis et qua racione meipsum eis immiscere non amaui, ac ludentes in organis non audire adoptari [for adoptaui]' (p. 239). thus we see that the boldness of self-assertion which he showed in the melum is still active, though now there is apparently no question of formal ecclesiastical persecution, and the worst which he meets is slander. the passages just quoted all seem to point to a period well on in rolle's life, and an indication of the same sort is given by the fact that the old argument as to the comparative virtues of the solitary and the monastic lives, which was such a burning one in the melum, the job, and the canticles, is disposed of as follows: 'extiterunt aliqui, et adhuc forte superstites sunt, qui communem uitam uite solitarie omnino preponunt, dicentes nos debere ad congregacionem currere si ad summam perfeccionem cupimus peruenire. contra quos non est multum disputandum, eo quod illam solam uitam laudibus efferunt quam uel tenere cupiunt uel saltem ad modicum cognouerunt. solitariam uero uitam idcirco non laudant quia ignorant' (p. 179). this sounds as if rolle at the time of writing was out of touch with monks, and quoted their opinion on the pre-eminence of their mode of life as from past days. 228 treatises though the incendium seems to have been written many years after rolle began to write, it is likely to have been begun before 1343, that is, more than six years before his death. as we have seen (supra, p. 27), a note of good authority seems to show that in 1343 he had a supernatural intimation that he would live twelve years more, and we shall see that this circumstance has apparently left its mark on a bit of his english prose (infra, p. 273). desire for death was with him, as with most mystics, a strong emotion, which was frequently expressed (v. infra, p. 289). horstmann has noted (ii, p. xxv) that in the melum he seems to expect an early release: 'puer nunc propero ad finem felicem' (f. 251). it was part of the customary procedure of the mystic to make ardent inquiry as to the date when he was to be freed from his mortal state, but in no work does rolle keep returning to this question so vehemently as in the incendium. 'o mors ubi moraris ?' he begins a long invocation to death: '... ecce enim amore langueo, mori desidero, ad te inardesco' (p. 192). 'deus meus... nonne languorem qui me ligat subleuabis in lucem, ut opportune habeam quod concupisco? laboremque quoque quo luo quod deliqui, mutabis in mellicum mansionem, ut . . . uideam in uenustate sui decoris dilectum quem desidero, . . . quia ad ipsum langueo' (p. 244). so he takes up the same theme in phrases almost reproducing the lyrics of his english epistles. the next chapter laments his lack of a friend, and the same inquiry reappears at length: ... 'quamdiu dilacionem pacior? quando uenies ad me...? interea quis modulabitur¹ finem erumpne mee, ac terminum in tranquilitate? immo et quis mihi annunciabit gaudii mei plenitudinem, ac cantici consumacionem, ut ex his eciam acciperem consolacionem et iubilarem cum iocunditate, eo quod agnoscerem quam prope sit illa perfeccio et finis infelicitatis mee?' (pp. 245–6). it would seem unlikely that these passages (parts of which only have been quoted) would occur if rolle had at the time of writing received what he believed to be a revelation on the date of his death, but it may be that the mood of ardent inquiry here expressed made the climax of emotion which brought a pathological answer as to the event so ardently wished for. it is likely that the dream as to the date of his death came at a time when he was preoccupied with longing for death, and the passages in question may have been written soon before the night in february 1343, when he received 1 cf. infra, p. 303, n. incendium amoris 229 his information in sleep. however, near the end of the incendium he writes: ....ego pre amore mori langueo ... sic deficit in dolore uita mea et anni mei in gemitibus (ps. xxx. 11) quia differor a dilecto, et differtur mortis desiderium et moratur medicina miserorum; et clamoribus consurgo et aio: heu mihi quia incolatus meus prolongatus est (ps. cxix. 5). amor est quod cruciat, amor quod delectat. cruciat: quia non cito tribuitur quod multum amatur; delectatur: quia et spe reficit, et inestimabilem consolacionem in ipsis ardoribus infundit' (p. 257). these words may again be the typical lament of the mystic, to whom every moment on earth was in a sense a disappointment. on the other hand, considering the note as to rolle's revelation and the more explicit reference in another piece, we may have here also an echo of the definite postponement which rolle has suffered in 1343. in any case, the incendium must have been written at approximately that period. we have seen that the autobiographical passages certainly put it late, yet the lack of any mention of the three grades of love would forbid us to put it at the very end of rolle's life. the incendium contains two strangely intrusive passages which in all likelihood echo incidents in his early life. one is an attack on the class to which his first patron apparently belonged (v. infra, p. 455); the other is the scholastic argument on the trinity already mentioned (p. 158). it is possible that the latter reflects a burning question of his undergraduate days at oxford. in 1314 the masters of theology condemned the errors (among others) that 'god the father could produce a creature before the word, could produce all creatures without the son', etc. this suggests part of rolle's argument in the present work, when (after a bitter attack because 'hereticorum et superborum est semper nouas opiniones gignere ') he goes on: 'horum errores abicientes dicimus: filius siquidem dei coeternus patri omnino credendus est et intelligendus, quia nisi ipsum pater ab eterno gigneret, in se profecto plenus deus non fuisset...' (p. 161). 1 anthony à wood, hist. and antiq. of the univ. of oxford, 1792, i. 385 sq. it is possible that this was connected with the heresies of the schismatic franciscan peter john olivi, for one of his heretical points is that 'l'essence divine engendre et est engendrée'. his errors were 'posed' at the council of vienne, in 1311, and a commission was appointed to consider them, but the papal condemnation following their report did not come till feb. 1326 (l'abbé feret, la faculté de théologie de paris, paris, 1896, iii. 117 sq.). we shall see that rolle may have been at paris at the later date. v. infra, pp. 490 sq. 230 treatises emendatio vitae beg.: 'ne tardes conuerti ad dominum, & ne differas de die in diem' (edit. 1535, fol. 1). ends in splendore maiestatis suae ipsum videre, et cum ineffabili iubilatione & melodia ipsum aeternaliter laudare. cui sit honor & gratiarum actio in secula seculorum, amen' (fol. 19). printed editions. the emendatio vitae was printed at the end of the speculum spiritualium in paris in 1510, with unique alterations. the fourth and fifth chapters are enlarged (as is announced in the colophon) and the new material added is probably compiled from various sources. the only section identified is that which immediately precedes rolle's own chapter 5 (on temptation): this is a section translated into latin from the ancren riwle, being the first of two extracts from that work which occur (in english) in the poor caitiff, and chastising of god's children, and (in latin) attached to rolle's incendium in copies at lincoln, prague, etc. (v. supra, pp. 218, 221). the origin of the piece is evident in the following: 'unde si heremita vel anachorita non senciat temptationes', etc., which may suggest that the enlarged text of the emendatio in which it occurs is made by a person leading a solitary life. the usual text was printed at antwerp in 1533, and at cologne in 1535 and 1536. it was reprinted in 1618, 1677, etc., by la bigne. misyn's middle english translation (1434-5) was printed by the eets. in 1896 (orig. ser., 106). for four modernized editions in english and one in french v. supra, pp. 17-19. it will be seen in the subjoined list of manuscripts that several other titles occur commonly with this work instead of, or accompanying, the one here used. such are 'regula vivendi', 'emendatio peccatoris', 'duodecim capitula'. the frequency with which the variant titles occur seems to point to their early origin, and, considering the vagaries of rolle's arrangements, it may be that more than one originated with him. on the other hand, headings and colophons unusually elaborate for rolle are found in a large number of copies, and it is possible that both they and the titles are due to william stopes, the learned doctor to whom the original copy was apparently sent. emendatio vitae 231 the division of this work into twelve chapters certainly originated with the author, and probably their titles as well. both are constant and significant. moreover, the tenth chapter, ‘de puritate mentis', begins: per hos nouem gradus praetactos ad puritatem mentis ascenditur' (fol. 12b, misyn, p. 121). as already noted, the conclusion of two manuscripts dedicates this work to 'william', in a colophon reproducing in latin the conclusion of the form, and the vienna ms. would seem to support this dedication and identify 'william' with william stopes. the fact that he was learned would account for this manual being written in latin. manuscripts. oxford mss. (bodleian). " i. bodl. 16, ff. 49-78, c. 1400. incipit tractatus ricardi heremite in cimiterio sanctimonialium de hampole humati de emendatione peccatoris et habet xii capitula.... ecce, willelme, formam viuendi paucis verbis descripsi, quam si sequi uolueris proculdubio ad magnam perfectionem attingeris, et cum bene tibi fuerit, memento mei qui ut bene tibi fiat te ut potui excitaui. explicit.' for this conclusion v. supra, p. 41, and mss. liii, lviii, lxvii, lxxvi, infra. the text at points has been corrected. see incend., ol. effus. ii. bodl. 43 (sum. cat. no. 27662), ff. 185-214, late 14th cent. 'de emendacione vite secundum ricardum. incipit quidam liber intitulatus de emendacione vite secundum ricardum heremitam. hic libellus de emendacione vite siue de regula viuendi. et distinguitur in xii capitula.' 'ecce finis operis ricardi. explicit regula viuendi secundum ricardum heremitam.' 'ricardus heremita' heads the pages. the multiplication of titles is characteristic of this work. iii. bodl. 48, ff. 1-23, early 15th cent. 'hic incipit libellus de emendacione [vite] siue regula viuendi et distinguitur in xii capitulis.' 'explicit libellus ricardi heremite de emendacione peccatoris. qui obijt anno domini millesimo ccco xlix° apud sanctimoniales de hampolle.' what are here given will be henceforth referred to as 'usual heading' or 'ending' or 'usual details' (title-one or both of those above-name of author, date, and place of death). see o. d., s. a. iv. bodl. 54 (sum. cat. no. 1975), ff. 24-45, late 14th cent. usual details. 232 treatises v. bodl. 61 (sum. cat. no. 2023), ff. 106-25, early 15th cent. usual title. explicit iste tractatus quod ricardus hampolde.' vi. bodl. 122 (sum. cat. no. 1985), ff. 55-69, late 14th cent. usual details with iuxta dancastriam' added to the mention of hampole (as it frequently is, though the instances will not be cited). " vii. bodl. 456 (sum. cat. no. 2412), ff. 1-26, between 1466 and 1469. usual heading. expliciunt duodeccim capitula de emendacione vite secundum venerabilem virum ricardum de hampole heremitam qui in festo sancti michaelis archangeli anno domini millesimo cccmo xlixo migrauit ad dominum.' on the flyleaf, in the original hand: 'iste liber constat domino ricardo wydeuill. comiti le ryviers et dominus (sic) de wymyngton.' the catalogue says: this was probably the first earl, who died in 1469, and who presumedly bought wymington after 1466. the woodville or wydville arms. . . are with the inscription.' for the same exact date of rolle's death see ms. lxvi, and infra, p. 419. viii. bodl. 861. unattributed, v. supra, p. 31. ix. douce 107, ff. 1-14, 15th cent. 'hic incipiunt duodena capitula ricardi heremite de hampol.' 'explicit regula viuendi secundum ricardum heremitam de hampole.' at the bottom of f. 1: 'mellifluus tractatus iste si intime respiciatur.' a late pencil note on the first page gives the curious information that the author is 'thomas of geytrington (alias richard rolle)': the correct date and place of rolle's death follow. horstmann states (ii, p. xl, n. 2) that a fragment of a latin translation of the form (beg.: 'in spirituali canone (sic) voce prorumpens') is to be found in this volume (f. 11): the incipit in question he has picked out of the middle of the last chapter of the emendatio, because it begins the fragment of that work found in laud misc. ms. iii. the latter he has taken to be a fragment of the form in latin, instead of a fragment of the emendatio. see judica. x. hatton 26 (sum. cat. no. 4061), ff. 167-83, late 14th cent. from the house of st. thomas martyr (austin canons) near stafford. xi. laud misc. 111, ff. 177-8, early 15th cent. a fragment with usual title and author (v. ms. ix). see judica. xii. laud misc. 202, ff. 1-16, 15th cent. usual heading. 'explicit libellus quem scripsit heremita richardus apud hampol tumulatus.' see incend. xiii. laud misc. 497 (sum. cat. no. 1584), ff. 272-85, 15th emendatio vitae 233 cent. incipit tractatus ricardi heremite qui vocatur vehiculum vite.' this title (added by corrector) was used for the work by boston of bury (compare mss. xxxix and lx). usual heading follows. ends in chapter 12. xiv. laud misc. 524 (sum. cat. no. 1049), ff. 1-7, 15th cent. begins in chapter 2. see form. xv. laud misc. 528, ff. 3-11, early 15th cent. 'hic incipit tractatus secundum sanctum ricardum heremitam de hampul in cimiterio sanctimonialium de hampule humatum. qui obiit anno domini millesimo tricentesimo quadragesimo nono. qui tractatus est de emendacione peccatoris et habet duodecim capitula.' the reference to rolle here as 'sanctus' should be taken in connexion with the fact that a prayer from his office appears on the first page, and on the next we find the picture (supra, p. 54) which may represent a devotee praying to him. see office, judica, cant., contra am. m., job, incend. xvi. rawl. a. 389, ff. 1-11, early 15th cent. usual details. see incend., ego d., command., form. xvii. rawl. c. 269 (sum. cat. no. 12129), ff. 3-19, late 15th cent. title on fly-leaf, with date 1460 (on erasure); usual details. owners: r. chelmynton 1454'; 'simon forman 1600'. from christ church, canterbury. forman is perhaps the elizabethan astrologer (v. d.n.b.). dr. john dee, a similar person, owned another of rolle's works (v. supra, p. 223). oxford mss. (colleges). xviii. balliol 224, ff. 31-9, 15th cent. title and author only in late index: 'tractatus eiusdem (r. hampole) qui incipit ne tardas.' seen at balliol by leland (v. infra, p. 421). contra. am. m., incend., spur., job, judica. see cant., xix. brasenose 15, ff. 1-18, 15th cent. usual details. on f. 1: ex dono m. johannis steyke et pro quibus tenetur.' identifies the volume as ms. m. 44 in the library of syon monastery: the contents agree, as well as the donor, and the first word of the second leaf (as i am informed by dr. craster). steyke was a priest who died 1513 (bateson, p. xxvi, n.). v. supra, p. 133. xx. corpus christi 155, ff. 212-37, 15th cent. usual heading. 'liber beate marie de rieualle ex procuracione domini willelmi spenser abbatis eiusdem.' this provenance is interesting since the q 234 treatises monks of rievaulx may have been rolle's persecutors (v. supra, p. 123). see dubia. xxi. corpus christi 193, ff. 165-71, early 15th cent. 'incipit libellus eiusdem (ricardi heremite) de emendacione peccatoris.' see lat. ps., job, thren., cant., 20th ps., o. d., s. a., contra am. m., incend., mel., judica. xxii. magd. 71, ff. 1-15, 15th cent. 'incipit libellus de emendacione vite et de regula viuendi editus a sancto viro magistro ricardo hampoll qui in ecclesia de hampoll eboracensis diocesis sepultus gloriosis coruscat miraculis ipsum fuisse virum seraphicum, id est in dei amore ardentem, contestantibus. et continet iste libellus duodecim capitula.' the reference to rolle as 'magister' should be noted (v. infra, p. 497). for the same heading see ms. xxx, infra. see de m., job. xxiii. merton 16, ff. 1-27, 14th-15th cent. and ending, with richard's name and place of death. usual heading xxiv. merton 67, ff. 212-17, 15th cent. usual heading and title at end. a medieval index gives: 'speculum siue libellus de emendacione vite christiane secundum ricardum de hampole heremitam.' xxv. merton 68, ff. 88-99, 15th cent. usual heading. 'expliciunt xii capitula ricardi heremite de modo viuendi in vita contemplatiua.' see stim. consc. (lat.). cambridge mss. (university). xxvi. dd. iv. 54, ff. 47-63, late 15th cent. usual heading. 'expliciunt xii capitula secundum ricardum de hampole.' see job. xxvii. dd. v. 64 (i), ff. 1-16, late 14th cent. usual heading. see o. d., incend., mel., form, command., ego d. see xxviii. ff. v. 36, ff. 52b–68, 15th cent. 'richard hermit' at both ends, with title, date and place of death in conclusion. job. xxix. gg. i. 32, ff. 171-80b, 15th cent. usual heading. on margin (f. 171): 'ric.' xxx. hh. iv. 13, ff. 141b-56, 15th cent. viuendi' (index adds: 'est optimus libellus '). see de m. xxxi. mm. v. 37, ff. 94b-124, c. 1400. book of christopher braystones (v. supra, p. 214). 'hampoll de regula v. ms. xxii supra. usual details. the see incend., cant. emendatio vitae 235 cambridge mss. (colleges). the usual headxxxii. caius 140, ff. 118b-26, 15th cent. ing as a conclusion. see incend., form (lat.), ego d. (lat.). xxxiii. caius 216, ff. 1-22, early 15th cent. see spur. xxxiv. caius 353, ff. 128-45b, 15th cent. with title at both ends: 'de emendacione peccatoris.' usual details. usual details, xxxv. jesus 46, ff. 74-95b, 15th cent. see cant., incend. xxxvi. peterhouse 218, ff. 141-51, 15th cent. 'hic incipit tractatus ricardi heremite de hampole qui vocatur regula viuendi perutilis et necessarius cuilibet saluacionem cupienti.' usual heading above. see job, spur. xxxvii. trin. 14, ff. 133-41, late 14th cent. usual heading, with the name 'ricardus heremita'. see lat. ps., job. xxxviii. trin. 17, ff. 85-93b, 15th cent. 'duodecim capitula ricardi hampole heremite.' usual heading follows. after a colophon at the end repeating the titles and rolle's name, follows the verse signature usually attached to the job. a 16th-cent. owner, william forrest of christ church, oxford, chaplain to queen mary, adds verses praising the works found here of hampole and of hughe' (of st. victor). london mss. (british museum). xxxix. burney 356, ff. 56-65, early 15th cent. hic est libellus vehiculum uite uocandus de emendacione uite siue de regula uiuendi et distinguitur in duodecim capitula.' 'explicit liber duodecim capitula vocatus a sancto ricardo venerabili heremita de hampole editus.' for the title 'vehiculum uite' see mss. xiii and lx. see judica. usual heading. 'liber sancte xl. cotton faust. a. v., ff. 12-23b, 15th cent. 'explicit tractatus ricardi hampoyle heremite.' marie de fontibus ex dono willelmi de coutton quondam monachi de fontibus.' v. infra, p. 348, n. xli. egerton 671, ff. 1-26, 15th cent. title and author's name given at end. begins in first chapter. excell. contempl.). see dubia (de xlii. harl. 106, ff. 41-7b, 15th cent. usual heading, and above: 'hampol de emendacione vite.' heremite.' see form (lat.), incend. 'explicit tractatus ricardi q 2 236 treatises xliii. harl. 275, ff. 1-12, 15th cent. 'explicit regula viuendi que dicitur duodecim capitula secundum ricardum heremitam de see job, incend. hampole.' xliv. harl. 2439, ff. 1-31, 14th cent. scribe is 'corf' (v. infra, p. 401). see mel. usual heading. the 'explicit... secundum xlv. harl. 5235, ff. 1-11b, 14th cent. richardum h. de hampole.' see cant., incend. xlvi. harl. 5398, ff. 4-20, 15th cent. 'incipit tractatus utilis de modo viuendi et regula in appetendo perfeccionem et distinguitur in 12 capitula, que composuit ricardus heremita vir mirabilis contemplacionis.' 'explicit materia utilis de contemplacione.' the scribe ('stoyle') often writes 'jhc'. usual heading. xlvii. roy. 8 a. vii, ff. 22b-45, 15th cent. 'explicit libellus de regula viuendi editus a deuoto quodam heremita.' see job. xlviii. roy. 12 e. xvi, ff. 54-8, 15th cent. the first three chapters only, anonymously. xlix. roy. 13 e. ix, ff. 95-101, c. 1400. usual heading. at the top of all pages: 'libellus de emendacione vite ricardi heremite.' explicit libellus de regula viuendi.' l. roy. 17 b. xvii, ff. 76-96b, late 14th cent. 'explicit secundum r. h' (later hand extends as hampole). see incend. li. sloane 2275, ff. 140-50, 14th-15th cent. usual heading and ending (with 'sanctus ricardus '). see mel., contra am. m., incend., job, stim. consc. lii. add. 16170, ff. 28b-48b, early 15th cent. usual details (at the beginning). the volume belonged to chipping campden parish church, co. glouc. (see f. 200). liii. add. 24661, ff. 1-14, 15th cent. 'explicit tractatus ricardi hampole de emendacione uite 12 capitula.' the concluding exhortation quoted from ms. i occurs here without the name. once the property of joanna sewell, nun of syon. see incend. and dubia (de excell. contempl.). liv. add. 34763, ff. 19-44b, 1384. explicit libellus ricardi heremite de hampole continens xii capitula de emendacione vite. qui obiit anno domini millesimo cccxlix apud hampole. scriptus vi die aprilis anno domini millesimo ccclxxxmojiiito, etc.' phillipps ms. 11928. the earliest dated manuscript containing a work of emendatio vitae 237 rolle. a gift in 1527 from 'dominus johannes knyght, rector de plumstyd, norwic, dioc.'. 'hic libellus de lv. add. 34807, ff. 121-31, 15th cent. modo viuendi distinguitur in xii capitula.' see spur. other mss. (british isles). lvi. lambeth palace 500, ff. 20b-51b, 15th cent. usual details. lvii. castle howard ms., ff. 1 sq., 15th cent. full details. see spur. (2), contra am. m., cant., incend., job, judica, mul. fort. lviii. trin. coll. dublin 281, ff. 40 sq., 15th cent. usual details, and at the end the conclusion quoted from ms. i (without the name). the index states: 'est domus jhū de bethleem ordinis cartusiensis de shene quod w. mede.' mede was also the scribe of cotton ms. vesp. d. ix, where he signs an account of the life and works of magister adam cartusiensis' (ff. 167-8). for bodl. ms. 117 (sum. cat. no. 1979), written by him, see the new catalogue (which places him in the late 15th century). the dublin volume contains writings against the lollards. lix. heneage ms. ascribed to rolle. lx. hereford cath. o. i. 10, 16th cent. copied with other extracts from rolle in the book. see incend. v. supra, p. 44. the last chapter only, front of a 12th-cent. the first article lxi. hereford cath. o. viii. 1, late 14th cent. in a collection and ascribed to rolle in the index. see supra, p. 26, lat. ps., contra am. m., incend., cant., mel., magn., apoc. lxii. kingston 942*. burned with the other manuscripts of the earl of kingston at his house in nottinghamshire. 'richardus heremita de emendatione vitae.' see sir thomas phillipps's cat. mss. magn. brit. lxiii. wyggeston hospital leicester 15, early 15th cent. rubric of the usual type is cut off at the top. the contemporary index cites as: 'xii capitula ricardi hampul heremite.' see job, contra am. m. lxiv. lincoln cath. 188, early 15th cent. a text probably imperfect, in the midst of other quotations from rolle, the whole concluded with the title of the incendium. see cant., incend. lxv. lincoln cath. 218, ff. i sq., mid 15th cent. 'incipit tractatus vocatus vehiculum vite.' cf. infra, p. 418, and mss. xiii 238 treatises and xxxix. ends in the last chapter, but fourteen are marked, and the order is disturbed. see incend., ol. effus., job. lxvi. salisbury cath. 56*, ff. 261b-9b, 15th cent. the usual details, as i know from the very kind and thorough notes sent me by the rev. christopher wordsworth. lxvii. shrewsbury school 25, ff. 164-72, 14th cent. the usual heading, and the dedication 'ecce willelme' (v. supra, ms. i). the work gives two titles to the contemporary table of contents: 'item liber de emendacione vite. item de vita contemplatiua qui habet 3 partes.' tanner cites the second title here (chapter 12 of the usual text) as ascribed to wyclif (v. infra, p. 428); this chapter occurs alone in ms. lx, supra. see lat. ps., o. d. lxviii. sotheby's, nov. 14, 1919, lot 187, now in the possession of sir leicester harmsworth, 14th cent. 'tractatus ricardi heremite de emendacione vite siue regula viuendi.' see contra am. m., ol. effus. lxix. sotheby's, mar. 1-2, 1921, lot 275, now in the possession of sir leicester harmsworth, ff. 14b-42, 15th cent. libellus ricardi heremite de hampole de emendacione peccatoris siue de modo viuendi et vocatur libellus iste regula perfeccionis qui continet in se xii capitula.' see cant., contra am. m. lxx. sotheby's, mar. 1-2, 1921, lot 309, ff. 1-17, late 14th usual details at end. see job, incend. cent. lxxi. stonyhurst coll. ms.* (near blackburn), 14th cent. usual details, with an ascription to 'richardus heremita', as i am kindly informed by the librarian. lxxii. dr. williams's library ms. (gordon square, london), ff. 1-15, 15th cent. usual details. lxxiii. york cath. 5, 16th cent. usual heading. 'expliciunt xii capitula de emendacione vite secundum venerabilem ricardum de hanpule heremitam qui in festo sancti michelis archangeli anno domini millesimo cccºxlix migrauit ad deum.' for the same exact date see ms. vii, and infra, p. 419. on the last fly-leaf: 'liber domini johannis appiltoun. liber magistri wencemyth (?) rectoris de mydeltoun super waldam . . . liber domini roberti nod persone ex dono magistri thome wencelagh quondam persone' etc. 'liber domini roberti carthom capellani cantaris (sic) corporis christi de beuerlaco.' emendatio vitae 239 continental mss. lxxiv. bâle (öffentliche bibliothek der universität) a. iv. 24, ff. 59-67, 15th cent. 'liber ecclesie sancti leonardi basel. ordinis canonicorum regularium.' breaks off in the eleventh chapter. lxxv. bâle a. vi. 29, 15th cent. 'iste liber pertinet ad fratres carthusienses in basilea minori, datus eisdem propter deum a bono (?) domino anthonio ruschman quondam decano in ryngfeldia' (ryngfeld, near bâle). usual details. lxxvi. douay 396. the dedication (without the name) is added by a second (but contemporary) hand. v. supra, pp. 39, 231. lxxvii. ghent 291, ff. 36-48, 15th cent. usual heading. explicit libellus quem scripsit magister richardus de anglia heremita aput hampol tumulatus.' see incend. lxxviii. madrid (escorial) b. iii. 5*, ff. 131 sq., 15th cent. usual heading. explicit libellus quem scripsit heremita ricardus apud hampol tumulatus.' see incend. lxxix. naples, biblioteca nazionale vii. f. 35, ff. 1-16, late 14th cent. 'incipit liber beati riccardi heremite anglici duodecim capitulorum in quibus docetur anima deuota qualiter peruenire possit ad amorem dei.' 'explicit libellus beati ricardi heremite anglici.' lxxx. paris, bib. nat., lat. 543, ff. 50-60, 15th cent. part of the last chapter at the beginning. usual heading. see job, judica. lxxxi. prague cath. 293*, ff. 232-9, 15th cent. 'hic incipiunt xii capitula exposicione richardi heremite de hampole. ' the work evidently breaks off before the end, but the last words ('et sic in oracione cor . . .') cannot be found in the printed text. the same volume contains works of wyclif, and a prologue by a bohemian, 1451. lxxxii. stockholm, roy. lib.* a. 68,' ff. 427-35, 15th cent. no sign of title or authorship, but the work was identified by the keeper of mss., dr. o. wieselgren, and kindly shown me by him. i owe my knowledge of it to dr. grape, the librarian of the university library of upsala. lxxxiii. trier (stadtbibl.) 683 (245), ff. 228-41, 1451. ' ad carthusienses prope treuerim.' 'scriptum anno 1451 in profesto francisci (?) beati confessoris. explicit tractatus de emendacione vite siue de regula viuendi magistri richardi heremite de anglia apud hampol tumulatus.' apparently the whole book is written by * 1 the is part of the title. 240 treatises brother lambert trurnicht de unna, carthusian, who began it as a novice in 1447 (f. 197) and wrote parts as late as 1453 (f. 265). " lxxxiv. trier 690 (252), ff. 89-108, 15th cent. iste liber spectat ad domum sancti albani iuxta treuerim ordinis carthusi ensis.' incipit liber richardi de amplo heremite xii continens capitula de peccatoris emendacione.' 'liber explicit anno 1463 in crastino bartholomei in reijnhusen' (reinhausen in bavaria ?). chapters 6, 7, 8, 9 omitted. a diffuse prologue is added, giving general exhortations, beg.: o lector, qui tractatum desideras sequentem legere.' lxxxv. trier 774 (1347), ff. 71-88, 15th cent. 'codex monasterii beate marie ad martyres prope tre. ordinis sancti benedicti.' 'explicit liber richardi de amplo heremita.' the same prologue as in the preceding volume. a table is given of nine chapter-headings, which are not the usual ones ('capitulum primum de non differencia ad deum conuersio[nis]', etc.). lxxxvi. trier 775, ff. 124-38, 15th cent. usual heading. 'explicit libellus quem scripsit heremita richardus apud hampol tumulatus.' see incend. usual lxxxvii. upsala univ. c. 621, ff. 36-63, c. 1400. heading. explicit tractus ricardi heremite valde vtilis de regula viuendi.' see 20th ps., incend., office, quot. (thos. basset). lxxxviii. upsala univ. c. 631, ff. 203-12, 15th cent. usual heading. see dubia (de excell. contempl.). lxxxix-xc. see infra, p. 245. emendatio vitae in english oxford mss. i. bodl. digby 18 (sum. cat. no. 1619), ff. 7-37, 15th cent. 'expliciunt duodecim capitula ricardi hampole heremite.' spur., form. see ii. bodl. douce 322, ff. 78-94, 15th cent. 'here bene the xij chapitres whyche richard hampole the eremyte made howe that a man shulde lyue in contemplacioun and in meditacion and in other vertuos lyuyng. and after lyfe to come to the lyfe euerlastyng and dwelle with god in the blys of heuene' (also in original index on fly-leaf). after a coat of arms, usual details follow (in latin). 'these booke... ys of pe zifte of william baron esquyer to remayne for euyr to pe place and nonrye of detforde and specially to the vse emendatio vitae 241 of dame pernelle wrattisley sister of þe same place by licence of her abbas pe whiche pernelle is nece to be forseyde gentylman william baron' (fly-leaf). as in harl. ms. 1706 the scribe has used a book of john lucas (perhaps a cambridgeshire hermit, v. infra, p. 424, n. 2). in the first initial is 'ihc'. see spur. the iii. corpus christi coll. 236, ff. 45-56, 15th cent. translation by the lincoln carmelite, richard misyn, as printed. for two modernized texts v. supra, pp. 17-18. see incend. cambridge mss. iv. univ. ff. v. 30, ff. 141–60b, late 14th cent. 'heere biginneth pe xii chapitres of richard heremite of hampool.' 'liber johannis wales.' formerly more ms. 821. v. univ. ff. v. 40, ff. 14b-32b, 15th cent. edition v. supra, p. 17. see command., form. for a modernized vi. caius coll. 669 *,1 ff. 75-147, 15th cent. 'here bygynnep þe twelue chapyters of ricardus hampole turnyd into englysch.' in the index: also pe xii chapiterys of richard hampoie pat is clepyd ne tardas conuerti ad deum yn englysch.' john cok is the scribe, and the famous scribe john shirley seems to have been the owner, for his device appears at the beginning. see form. london mss. (british museum). heading and usual vii. harl. 1706, ff. 67-80b, 15th cent. details as in ms. ii (to which it is otherwise related). a worsley book (so a note pencilled on the fly-leaf of ms. ii). see spur. viii. harl. 2406, ff. 36-57, 15th cent. the volume of ' domina matilda stuerd'. see o. d., s. a. ix. lansd. 455, ff. 41-8b, early 15th cent. usual heading (in english). 'here enden þe twelue chapitles of hampol.' see form. x. add. 37790, ff. 1-18, 15th cent. thus endis the xii chapetyrs off richarde hampole in to englys translate be ffrere richarde misyn to infformacion off crystyn saulis anno domini millesimo ccccmo xxxiiii.' see incend. (angl.), form, ego d. other mss. xi. trin. coll. dublin 432, 15th cent. chapitres of ricardus heremyte of hampole.' 'here enden the xii see quot. xii. gurney ms. (keswick hall, norwich, formerly dr. macro's), 'heer begynnyth a tretise pat seynt rycharde ff. 1-24, 15th cent. 1 the is part of the title. 242 treatises of hampole made how synful men schuld amend her lyfis. and it conteynyth xii chaptres.' 'here endith pe twelue chapetris of seint richarde of hampole.' see ego d., command. xiii. longleat 32, ff. 39b-81b, early 15th cent. 'here begynnyp a tretice pat richard rolle heremyte of hampole made how synful men schuld amende here lijf and it hap xii chapitres.' the use of rolle's surname should be noted. see command., form. 'this xiv. worcester cath. f. 172, ff. 17-32b, mid 15th cent. is the libel of richard hermyte of hampol of the amendement of mannes lif other ellis of the rule of good livyng and it is departed in xii chapitres.' 'explicit ricardus de ampull.' for an edition v. supra, p. 17. see eng. ps. xv. edinburgh univ. 93*, ff. 38 sq., 15th cent. 'here sueth xii chapitours of perfeccioun of richard hampolle.' this manuscript must have been a compendium of religious information for the use (probably) of a lay person. the ten commandments, seven gifts of the holy spirit, and many similar codified religious topics are here discussed. laing ms. 140. in the possession of thomas audley, 1668, and of joseph ames, 1760 (the latter a noted antiquary). the preceding manuscripts are grouped as follows: version i: mss. i, ii, iv, vii, xi. beg.: 'tarye not for to turne pee to god ne drawe not on longe fro day to day: for sodeynly he taketh wrecches in sharpnesse of deth . . .' (ms. iv, f. 141). version ii: mss. iii, x. beg.: 'tary pou not to oure lorde to be turnyd, ne put it not fro day to day: for oft-tymes cruelte of deed rauischis wrechis...' (eets. orig. ser., 106, p. 105). version iii: mss. v, viii. beg.: 'tarye pou nouth for to turne to god and delay noth fro day to day, for þe vnmerciful dep rauesschep sodanly wrecches. . .' (ms. v, f. 14b). version iv ms. vi. beg.: tarye no3t to be conuertyd to pe lorde, ne delay not to amende fro day to day for dep wipouten mercy sodeinly stelip away synneful . . .' (f. 75). version v: ms. ix. beg.: 'ne tarie pou nouzt to be conuertid to be lord, and deferre pou nozt fro dai into dai, for pe unmekenesse of dep sodeynli rauyschip wrechid men. . .' (f. 41). • version vi: mss. xii, xiii. beg.: ne lette pou noth to turne azen to thine lorde god for to make no delaye fro day to day. emendatio vitae 243 and seye, i schal turne to morwe, for dethe comyth sodeynly . . .' (ms. xii, f. 1). version vii: ms. xiv. beg.: tarie the noght man to be conuerted vnto thi lord god nother delay the noght from day to day, ffor sodanly he ravisshith wrecchis with greuous deth . . .' (f. 17). ms. xv has not been examined. quotations and references. the emendatio is quoted from, as 'in tractatu de xii capitulis, capitulo iio', in a compilation with a general acknowledgement to 'ricardus heremita' in camb. univ. ms. ff. i. 14. in the popular compilation speculum spiritualium a quotation is concluded: huc usque prefatus ricardus hanpole in quodam tractatu qui est de emendatione vite xii continens capitula.' quotations from the emendatio with rolle's name, but without the title of the work, are given in rawl. ms. c. 19 (and similar manuscripts), in rawl. ms. c. 285, jesus coll. oxf. ms. 39 (in a treatise entitled disce mori in an english translation), in mss. dd. v. 55, and kk. vi. 20. large sections of the work in an english form are found, with no name of author, in the popular compilation known as the poor caitiff. quotations from the emendatio play a prominent part in the compilation known as de excellentia contemplationis, which passes as a separate work by rolle. others are inserted in the incendium in three continental copies. it was doubtless the present work which, under the title '12 capitula hampol', was given to the carthusian house of witham by john blacman, sometime confessor of henry vi. it was also probably the work found in the library of leicester abbey, as 'libellus qui dicitur xii capitula ricardi heremite hampole.' another copy in the same library was probably the 'de conuersione peccatorum' ascribed to john hampole'. thirteen copies appear with rolle's name (under one or other of the many titles of the work) in the index to the brothers' library at syon monastery, and we have seen that one of these still exists (supra, ms. xix). 'dominus joh. newton', a rector in co. durham, master of sherburn hospital, bequeathed in 1427: 'unum librum de duodecim capitulis ricardi ermet', and nicholas holme, the legatee, in his turn bequeathed the book (or a duplicate) in 1458. boston of bury recorded at bury vehiculum vitae sive xii capitula' under rolle's name (v. supra, ms. xiii, etc.). leland saw at st. mary's, york, with rolle's name, ' de emendatione peccatoris 244 treatises alias vitae', and at balliol college 'libellus cui titulus ab exordio ne tardas'. bale registered in his index 'vehiculum vitae, emendationem peccatoris', as well as two more copies under the latter title (all with the incipit as above). the chapter-headings of the emendatio (with one exception, doubtless due to scribal error) make the 'twelve degrees of perfect living' in the northern poem known as the 'desert of religion'. this work is largely derived from the speculum vitae, and a picture of rolle makes one of its illustrations in the three extant copies (v. infra, p. 309). the quotations made from this work, the relation which it has been shown to bear to others, and the testimony of the manuscripts will already have illustrated its authenticity. since misyn's middle english translation is in print in an easily accessible edition, in general few confirmatory quotations need be given. the author does not speak in his own person as a hermit, but the following may be said to betray him: 'cum enim constet vitam contemplatiuam digniorem esse ac magis meritoriam quam actiuam vitam, & omnes contemplatiuos instinctu dei amantes solitudinem & propter contemplationis dulcedinem in amore sunt praecipue feruentes: liquet vtique quod solitarij dono contemplationis summi sunt & ad perfectionem maximi' (fol. 18b; misyn, p. 130). almost the identical words have already been quoted from the canticles (f. 147, v. supra, p. 69, and cf. melum, f. 240). the heat, sweetness, and song' are often implied, as, for example, in the following passages (the opening of the chapter on contemplation), in which alliteration, devotion to the holy name, and rhyme often appear also: 'dulce lumen & delectabile, quod es conditor meus incircumscriptus, illustra faciem meam, & aciem oculorum meorum interiorum claritate increata, & mentem meam: vt medullitus ab immundicijs mundata ac mirificata muneribus, agiliter euolet in altitudinem: amoenissimi amoris tui sapore succende, quatinus sedeam & quiescam, & in te iesu iubilans superna quoque suauitate quasi raptus incedens, inuisibilium quoque speculatione stabilitus, nunquam nisi diuinitus delecter. o amor aeterne, inflamma animum meum ad amandum deum. . . . o bone iesu, quis mihi det vt sentiam te in me. . . . veni in cor meum . . . vt . . . te solum contemplans, exultem & iubilem in deo iesu meo. amodo, dulcissime domine, non discedas a me iugiter manens mecum in tua dulcedine. . . . veni, dulcedo desideratissima . . . animae languenti pro te & ad te dulcifluo ardore illabere, calore tuo penetrabilia cordis mei incende, & intima emendatio vitae 245 quoque luce tua illuminando, mellifluo amoris iubilo cuncta pro raptu mentis & corporis depasce. in his & in huiusmodi meditationibus vt quandoque ad medullam amoris ascendas... te iugiter exerceas' (fols. 13, 13b; misyn, pp. 122 sq.). as has already been noted, the present work shows a strong connexion with the three characteristic english works next to be considered. like them it is a manual and an epistle, and like them it describes love in three grades, here called, as in two of the english works, 'insuperable, inseparable, and singular' (see fols. 14 sq.; misyn, pp. 123 sq.). it should be pointed out that the devotion to the holy name of jesus seems to be a prominent characteristic of the second degree: • amor inseparabilis est, quando iam vehementi dilectione succensa mens, atque christo inseparabili cogitatione adhaerens, nullo quidem momento ipsum a memoria recedere permittit, sed ... maxime hoc nomen iesu tantum honorat & diligit, quod in ipsius mente iugiter recumbit' (fol. 14; misyn, p. 123). chapter 4 of the emendatio (on the 'setting of man's life') runs parallel at many points to the form of living (pp. 121 sq.), where also a systematic discussion is given as to what 'files' a man, and what makes him clean'. the only autobiographical reference in the emendatio (apart from general description of rolle's mystical experiences) is that in which he refers to the temptations which he still feels (quoted supra, p. 138). additional note ms. lxxxix. paris, bib. nat., lat. 15700, 14th cent. usual details. see incend., job, contra am. m. ms. xc. quaritch ms. (shown to me by mr. dring), ff. 1 sq., 14th-15th cent. usual details. fly-leaf: rado de brocklebank/ dd. / chrus bird' (modern hand). ... gardner in artibus magister et vicarius de lynton, 1582' (f. 1). see quot. and infra, p. 538. chapter viii english epistles in a passage already quoted (p. 149) from the melum, rolle explains that the mystic whose spiritual ardours prevent preaching may undertake another kind of labour: 'doceat, exortetur, suadeat omnes ad caritatem ut viuant in concordia et castitate, et in mansuetudine et in paciencia.' the office refers to richard's 'sanctis exhortacionibus quibus quam plurimos conuersit ad deum' (p. 32), and gives an instance when his patroness the 'domina domus et multe alie persone cum ea' sought him after dinner for spiritual advice (ibid.); it also tells us that he 'ex abundancia caritatis sue solitus erat se multum familiarem exhibere reclusis et hiis qui spirituali indigebant consolacione' (p. 37). since richard, in spite of his absorption in mysticism, thus continued to minister to others, it was natural that he should write some works specially dedicated to disciples. the three english epistles are all written to women, and when rolle discusses friendship in the incendium he admits friendship with women as possible, though dangerous (p. 263). it seems likely that rolle's women friends were the means of bringing him to write english. his english psalter seems to have been written for the same woman for whom he wrote his form of living, and the psalter was probably founded on older english glosses (v. supra, p. 178). from these he may have first taken the idea of using english for literary purposes. beg. ego dormio (ego dormio, etc.) pou pat lyste lufe, herken & here of luf' (horstmann, i. 50). ends and i pi lufe sal syng thorow syght of þi schynyng, in heuen with-owten endyng. amen' (p. 61). printed editions. the present work was printed by horstmann from mss. dd. v. 64 and rawl. a. 389, with a missing leaf in the latter supplied from the ego dormio 247 vernon ms. (i. 49-61). it is here given the title used by horstmann (derived from the opening text). manuscripts. oxford mss. (bodleian). i. rawl. a. 389, ff. 77-81, 95-9, early 15th cent. the work is copied twice. the first text (northern) is printed by horstmann, the second (southern) joins the form of living without sign of division, and the ending perhaps applies to the whole: 'explicit quoddam notabile ricardi rolle heremite.' horstmann states that the vernon text is derived from the second rawlinson, and this seems likely, for both vernon and its derivative simeon (b. mus. add. ms. 22283) also append the present epistle to the form, without sign of division, and both conclude with the colophon given hereexcept that the surname rolle is omitted. its use should be noted. see e. v., incend., command., form. ii. vernon (sum. cat. no. 3938) ff. 369-70, late 14th cent. see supra, and command., form, stim. consc. cambridge mss. iii. univ. dd. v. 64 (iii), ff. 22-9, late 14th cent. printed by horstmann. explicit tractatus ricardi heremite de hampole scriptus cuidam moniali de 3edyngham.' see supra, p. 37, e. v., o. d., incend., mel., form, miscell., command. iv. magd. coll. pepysian 2125, 15th cent. gradus amoris secundum ricardum de hampol.' end. see form, command. london mss. (british museum). v. ar. 507, ff. 40-1, by horstmann, i. 415-16. 'hic incipiunt tres imperfect at the about 1400. an abridged text printed see form, incend., miscell. ms.), ff. 150b-1b, late 14th cent. cf. vi. add. 22283 (simeon ms. i. see command., form, stim. consc. incipit tractatus vii. add. 37790, ff. 132-5b, mid 15th cent. de diligendo deo.' ego dormio is preceded (as if part of the same work) by the first part of chapter 7 of the form (beginning 'amore langueo', and continuing to 'pe diuersite of lufe makes pe diuersite of halynes & of mede', p. 29). a few new sentences connect the section from the form with the ego dormio without break: 'and tille 248 english epistles loue god entierly schalle pu come thorowe grete trauayle and prayinge and thynkynge, hauande meditacions that are in loue and louynge of god. thare ar thre degrees of loue, as is writtene nowe here aftyre.' it is unlikely that this arrangement, occurring, as far as i know, only in this manuscript, should have been due to rolle. see form, incend. (angl.), e. v. (angl.). other mss. viii. trin. coll. dublin 155, early 15th cent. a text of many variations. in the first lyric (horstmann, i. 57), a new, more diffuse text, beginning 'ihesu, grete loue meued pe' and divided into two 'cantus', is substituted for the usual one. where, farther on (p. 59), the motto of the piece is repeated ('i slepe and my hert wakes. wha sall tyll my lemman say [pat] for hys lufe me langes ay?') this copy adds a new lyric, beginning 'ihesu, for þe mourne i may as turtel þat longep bope ny3t and day.' the last part of the concluding lyric also varies considerably. the diffuse variations of this manuscript do not commend themselves as being authoritative. the complete texts of the lyrics have been printed (brit. mag. ix, pp. 499 sq.). see form, dubia, ol. effus. (angl.), stim. consc. her beginnyth a tretis ix. gurney ms., ff. 24-8, 15th cent. which tellith of þe nyne ordris of angel, and how men suld be set in heuen as he ("seint richarde of hampole") wrot to an ankeresse.' this piece was written to a nun, not to an anchoress. (angl.), command. x. longleat 29. v. supra, p. 35. see e. v. xi. paris, bib. de ste. geneviève 3390, ff. 95-108, 14th cent. 'explicit ricardus hampole.' a note says that this manuscript was sent from the library of aberdeen in scotland to king james vi, and after his death it fell into the hands of various private persons, from whom it was rescued by canon de la haye and sent to ste. geneviève's in 1689. see form. xii. westminster school ms., c. 1420. this (the last article) is without title or ascription. see form, spur.¹ 1 i wish to thank mr. lawrence tanner for bringing this manuscript to my attention. ego dormio 249 ego dormio in latin. caius coll. camb. 140, ff. 115b-18b, 15th cent. form (lat.), e. v. references and quotations. see incend., several quotations from the ego dormio (in latin) are ascribed to rolle in trin. coll. dublin ms. 159, and said (in error) to have been written to a solitary. fragments both of prose and verse from the ego dormio occur anonymously in the heterogeneous volume b. mus. add. ms. 37049. the motto 'ego dormio' appears prominently there in illustrations. v. infra, pp. 307 sq. the present work, like all rolle's manuals, gives a complete account of mysticism, as he understands it, but without intrusion of himself. the audacious self-confidence found in the latin works > in general is lacking in the emendatio and in the english epistles. the author seems modest and not assertive. from the point of view of the church these works are all 'safer': at the same time they are unmistakably marked with the signs of rolle's authorship. the author in the ego dormio does not speak in his own person as a hermit, but a passage like the following shows his preference for the life of solitude, as well as the sensuous concomitants of the mystical life as richard experienced it: 'and pan enters pow in to be thirde degre of lufe . . . þis degre es called contemplatife lyfe, pat lufes to be anely, with-owten ryngyng or dyn, or syngyng or criyng. at þe begynnyng, when þou comes þartil, þi gastly egh es taken vp in til þe blysse of heuen, & þar lyghtned with grace & kyndelde with fyre of cristes lufe, sa þat þou sal verraly fele þe bernyng of lufe in þi hert, euer mare & mare; liftand þi thoght to god and feland lufe, ioy & swetnes so mykel, þat na sekenes, anguys ne schame ne penance may greue þe, bot al þi lyf sal turne in tyl ioy; & pan for heghnesse of þi hert þi prayers turnes in til ioyful sange, and þi thoghtes to melody. pan es ihesu al pi desyre, al þi delyte, al þi ioy, al þi solace, al þi comforth; al i wate pat on hym euer be þi sang, in hym all þi rest' (pp. 58-9). the devotion to the holy name of jesus is explicitly urged (p. 55) at length, with the strong assertion: na thyng pays god swa mykel als verray lufe of þis nam ihesu.' it should be noted that here, as in the emendatio, this subject is discussed under the second degree of love. alliteration and rhyme occasionally appear in the ego dormio: 'pou pat lyste lufe, herken & here of luf. . . . mykel lufe he schewes pat neuer is irk to lufe, bot ay, standand, sittand, gangand or wirkand, es ay his lufe thynkand, and oft-syth parof es dremande' (p. 50). r 250 english epistles a unique incident is the appearance of ten lines of alliterative unrhymed verse : 'al perisches & passes pat we with eghe see, it wanes in to wrechednes, þe welth of pis worlde.. delites and drewryse stynk sal ful sone .. ... bot he may syng of solace þat lufed ihesu criste, pe wretchesse fra wele falles in to hell' (p. 53). with these lines may be compared the opening lines from the job: exprimitur autem in his verbis humanae conditionis instabilitas, quae non habet in hac miserabili valle manentem mansionem', etc. (v. supra, p. 143; cf. also melum, f. 209). the lines quoted from the ego dormio, like the alliterative piece gastly gladnesse (infra, p. 273), reproduce in english the extreme alliterative style used throughout the melum, and often in other latin works. the ego dormio also contains two lyrics, written in irregular rhyme; both recommended in the text for use in private devotions. these lyrics will be discussed with others ascribed to rolle, infra, pp. 290 sq. it will be seen that they directly paraphrase the incendium at one point, and in their longing for death they constantly echo the mood expressed in that work. one incorporates part of a lyric older than rolle's time. one manuscript states that the present work was written to 'a certain nun of yedingham'. in rolle's early years at least he is almost certain to have known personally the neighbourhood of this small nunnery (v. infra, p. 458). however, the woman in question may have embraced a religious life after the writing of this work. she is addressed as 'my dere syster in criste' (p. 50), with special affection and intimacy, but nothing implies that she is a nun. the following might suggest that she was a secular lady of wealth, though, in view of the rich raiment sometimes worn by nuns (v. infra, p. 255), it is not possible to be sure on this point : ' pow will noght couayte pan to be riche, to haue many mantels & fayre, many kyrtels & drewryse.... pe wil thynk twa mantels or ane inogh; pow þat hase fyue or sex, gyf som til criste' (p. 56); she is also urged to give up the love of kindred as well as of wealth and all worldly concerns (pp. 52, 54). the following would seem to suggest that the author intended to advise her to a definite change in her life, such as entering a religious house or (if she was a nun) reforming her monastic life: 'til þe i write pis specialy, for i hope mare godenes in þe pan in a nother, and þat þou wil gyf þi thoght to fulfil in dede þat þou seys es maste prophetabel for þi sawle, and þat lyf gif þe til in pe whilk pow may halyest offer ego dormio 251 þi hert to ihesu criste, & leste be in bisynes of þis worlde' (p. 51); ‘gyf þien entent til vnderstand þis wrytyng: and if pþou haue sett al þi desyre til lufe god, here pies thre degrees of lufe, sa þat þou may rise fra ane til another, to pou be in þe heest. for i wil noght layne fra þe þat i hope may turne þe til halynes' (p. 52). the three degrees of love, as here given, appear, in the two lower stages, described in a more elementary manner than elsewhere, which may indicate that a worldly person is addressed. the titles for the three degrees are absent, and are not implied in the descriptions, which is likely to indicate that they had not yet been evolved. probably, therefore, the present work sees rolle using the three degrees of love for the first time (as founded, perhaps, on st. gregory, without as yet the influence of richard of st. victor, v. supra, p. 202). what other evidence we have may also date the ego dormio considerably before the end of rolle's life. the little piece gastly gladnesse, which is the only other work in english poetical prose except the piece here inserted, can be dated 1343, and we have seen that the lyrics echo the incendium, which is also probably to be dated at about the same time. the commandment beg.: 'pe comawndement of god es pat we lufe oure lorde' (horstmann, i. 6). ends to se hym in endles ioy þat þai haue lufed. amen' (p. 71). printed editions. the present work was printed from mss. dd. v. 64 and rawl. a. 389 by horstmann (i. 61-71). his title (from the opening) is used here. manuscripts. oxford mss. (bodleian). i. rawl. a. 389, ff. 81-5, early 15th cent. 'richard hermit.' at the end follows the beginning of chapter 9 of the form (on the holy name of jesus, which is the subject with which the commandment ends); the scribe thus shows his enthusiasm for that devotion, v. infra, ms. xii. printed by horstmann. see e. v., incend., ego d., form. r 2 252 english epistles ii. vernon ms., ff. 334-334, late 14th cent. 'her is a tretis þat techep to loue god with al pin herte.' see form, ego d., stim. consc. cambridge mss. (university). iii. dd. v. 55, ff. 81-2, 15th cent. northern. defective at the beginning. see quot. iv. dd. v. 64 (iii), ff. 29–34, late 14th cent. 'explicit tractatus ricardi hampole scriptus cuidam sorori de hampole.' printed by horstmann. see e. v., o. d., incend., mel., form, ego d., miscell. v. ff. v. 40, ff. 88b-92, 15th cent. 'de diuinis mandatis tractatus.' see e. v. (angl.), form. vi. ii. vi. 40, ff. 198-207b, 15th cent. in pis tretis we are tauzt how we schul loue god on al wise.' see spur. cambridge colleges. vii. magd. pepysian 2125, 15th cent. 'a good rule for men pat desirep to lyue perfit lif.' a fragment (p. 70) is copied later, before the form. see form, ego d. viii. trin. 374, ff. 2-5, 15th cent. explicit breuis tractatus perfeccio uite uocitatus.' ix. trin. 1053, ff. 1-8, 15th cent. northern forms. see form. other mss. x. b. mus. add. 22283, ff. 147-147b, late 14th cent. 'here is a tretis pat techep to loue god wip al pin herte.' abridged. see form, ego d., stim. consc. xi. gurney, ff. 28 sq., 15th cent. her begynnyth a noble tretis of loue.' this copy contains an introductory passage not in the other manuscripts, as follows: 'riht as þe werkys of men þat ben chosyn to pe blisse be dyuerse rizt so þe same men han diuerse meditacions. but neuerþelesse þei cum al to on ende, þat is to sey to be lif þat euer sal laste. and pedir þei ben brouzt and lede be dyuerse ways and be oo charite pe whyche is more in one pan in a noper.... sum goon be pe louest pathe. sum be þe heizest pathe... pe heiest pathe 3oup to hym þat louyth god moste and was ordeynyd þer befor þe begyninynge of þis worlde, not for he werchith more pan opir men, not for he zeue many þing for þe loue of god, ne for he suffryth many iniuries paciently, but for he loueth more, whych loue makith god to dwell in hym and he in god, but no man may by hys owne myth sett hym selfe in ony of þese pathis þat goith to heuyn, but hym behouyth to take the commandment 253 þat pathe mekely þat god hath chosyn him to... ffor þat is hid in a mannys trewe loue þat he hath in his hert, þat no man may knowe but god alone, ffor þer is no pinge þat man may doo outward to brynge hym to so heyz a pathe as trew loue of god. . . . and oþir þer ben þat þei reck not of. as men pat ben repreuyd of god þei deme hem and disdeyne to loke up on hem. and if þei myzte see her herts clerly as god doth and knowe þe pruyts (fruyts?) perof withoutyn doute, if þei hade pe grace of god withine hem, thei wolde worschip hem with all her myth euynly as þei sulde do to be holy angel of heuyn.' the omission of this introduction from all other copies of the commandment would seem to prove that it did not make part of the original epistle. the appearance of a stray' sall' might show that it had a northern prototype, but it is not likely that it was found in many copies, for a large proportion of the manuscripts extant use titles seemingly influenced by the usual opening. the subject of love of god, on the other hand, is considerably delayed in the gurney version. the style is dragging and insipid, and the diffuseness is of a vague quality unlike the exuberant insistence of rolle's diffuseness. it has some interest as a specimen of his influence. see e. v. (angl.), ego d. xii. longleat 29. v. supra, p. 35. 'here begynnep a " xiii. longleat 32, ff. 23-9, 15th cent. tretice hwo god comaundep us for to loue him in alwise.' explicit tractatus nobilissimus.' here (as in ms. i) the chapter from the form on the holy name of jesus has been appended to the present epistle. see e. v. (angl.). xiv. sotheby's, oct. 21, 1920, lot 137 (ingilby ms., bought by messrs. maggs of conduit street). after rolle's psalter this fine northern manuscript gives anonymous english tracts in a different hand (the first the commandment). see eng. ps., spur. huntington ms. 148. references and quotations. 6 horstmann (i. 130-1) prints from two manuscripts (rawl. c. 285 and dd. v. 55) a quotation on the passion headed in both ricardus heremita', which in part is the commandment, p. 69 ('i wate na thyng', etc.). the popularity of this section of the epistle is also attested by its appearance in english rhyme in b. mus. add. ms. 37049. the commandment shows unmistakable evidence of rolle's authorship, but it discusses holiness with fewer references to the more 254 english epistles esoteric details of mysticism than are usual in his works. evidently it is directed to a person who is beginning the spiritual life: though the three stages of love are described (briefly, pp. 62-3), and named 'insuperabel', 'inseparabel', and 'singuler', in general the counsel given concerns the purgative life rather than the ecstatic. the solitary life is not mentioned, though it is hinted at in the following: if þe lyste speke: forbere it at þe begynning for goddes lufe: for when pi hert feles delyte in criste, pe wil not liste to speke ne iangell bot of criste. if pow may not dreghe to syt by þi nane: vse pe stalworthly in hys lufe, & he sal sa stabyly sett þe, þat al þe solace of þis worlde sal noght remove þe, for þe will noght list þarof' (p. 64). the 'canor', the most esoteric element of rolle's mysticism, is not mentioned or implied, but the calor' and 'dulcor' frequently appear, as in the following passage: 'grete delyte and swetnes sal pou fele, if pou halde þi thoght in mynde of þe pyne þat cryst sufferd for þe. . . . for al þat he sees in gode will to luf hym, he helpes þam agaynes all þar enmys, and rayses þar thoght abouen all erthly thyng, swa þat þai may haue sauoure & solace in þe swetnes of heuen. purches pe þe welle of gretyng, & cees noght till pou haue hym. for in þe hert whare teres sprynges, þar wil þe fyre of þe haly gaste be kyndelde: and sythen pe fyre of lufe, þat sal byrn in þi hert, wil bryn til noght al þe rust of syn, & purge þi sawle of al fylth, als clene as þe golde pat es proued in pe fournes' (p. 69). the commandment ends with an eloquent exhortation to the devotion to the holy name of jesus, which echoes one on the same subject in the form of living (p. 35), as well as references in the psalters (ps. xc. 14, latin psalter, fol. liv, english psalter, p. 333, and v. supra, p. 75, n.). the devotion is not explicitly mentioned in the definition of the second degree of love (as it is in the other cases), but it is implied. the definition is as follows: 'pi lufe es inseparabel: when al pi thoghtes & þi willes er gederd to-geder & festend haly in ihesu criste, swa þat þou may na tyme forgete hym, bot ay pou thynkes on hym. and for-pi it es called inseparabel: for it may noght be departed fra þe thoght of ihesu criste' (p. 63). a great deal of the counsel given in this work may be said to imply the devotion to the holy name: higher raptures are not insisted on, but the author says of the name of jesus: 'thynk it in þi hert, nyght & day, as pi speciall, & þi dere tresowre. lufe it mare pan þi lyfe, rute it in þi mynde.... wha sa lofes it verraly, es full of goddes grace & vertues; in gastly comforth in þis lyfe, & when the commandment 255 þai dye pai er taken vp in til þe orders of awngels, to se hym in endles ioy þat þai haue lufed' (p. 70). quotations already made will have shown that rolle's usual alliteration appears from time to time in the present work. this piece is said to have been 'scriptus cuidam sorori de hampole' by the same manuscript which gives the information that the ego dormio was written for a nun of yedingham (the excellent northern dd. v. 64, from which horstmann prints both works). there is no reason to doubt that the present work was written for a sister of hampole: it is in any case certain that it was written for a nun, from the following passages: 'if you haue delyte in þe name of religion: loke þat þou haue mare delyte in þe dede þat falles til religion. thyne abett says þat þou hase forsaken þe world, þat þou ert gyuen till goddes seruys, þat þou delytes þe noght in erthly thyng: lok þan þat it be in þi hert, als it semes in men syght-for na thyng may make þe religious bot vertues & clennes of sawle in charite. if þi body be cled wyth-owten as pine order wille, loke þat þi sawle be noght naked with-in-þat þine order forbedes' (p. 68). it is evident that the sister addressed belonged to a house of lax discipline: 'pe sterne led pe thre keynges in til bedlem: þar þai fand criste swedeld in clowtes sympely, as a pore barne. parby vnderstand: whils pou ert in pryde & vanyte, pou fyndes hym noght. how may pou for schame, þat es bot seruand, with many clathes & riche folow pi spowse & pi lorde, pat yhede in a kyrtel: and pou trayles als mykel behynd þe, as al þat he had on? for-pi i rede pat pou parte with hym, ar þou and he mete: þat he reprove pe noght of outrage; for he wil þat þow haue pat þou hase mister of, & na mare' (pp. 65-6). it may be noted that in 1320 archbishop melton in his visitation of hampole warned the prioress to correct those nuns who used newfangled clothes, contrary to the accustomed use of the order . . . "whatever might be their condition or state of dignity": he mentions 'new-fashioned narrow-cut tunics and rochets' (v. c. h., yorks, iii. 164). "1 though rolle probably did not know the nunnery till years later, a tradition of worldliness and of keeping up the dignity of rank even in religion may have persisted till his time. miss power has taken margaret fairfax, prioress in 1397 of nunmonkton, a house also in the west riding, as one of the examples of worldly prioresses; they clearly regarded themselves as the great ladies they were by 1 eileen power, mediaeval english nunneries, cambridge, 1922, p. 329, n. she corrects the v. c. h., which had given the date erroneously as 1314. 6 256 english epistles birth, and behaved like all the other great ladies of the neighbourhood. margaret fairfax used divers furs, including even the costly grey fur (gris)... she wore silken veils', held feasts in her room with a man-friend and played tables with him (p. 77). miss power remarks that probably the grey fur which margaret fairfax was wearing in 1397 was "the cloak of black cloth furred with gray" which her brother left her four years earlier', and she cites other instances in which nuns are bequeathed rich secular clothing: a hampole nun is left a cloak lined with blue'; 'indeed the constant legacies of clothes to nuns go far to explain where it was that they obtained those cheerful secular garments, against which their bishops waged war in vain' (p. 329). the material on this subject is so abundant that miss power gives a whole appendix to the 'gay clothes' of nuns, in the course of which she remarks : these northern houses were continually in need of admonition, sometimes their slashed tunics, sometimes their barred girdles, sometimes their shoes being condemned' (p. 587). these facts are useful when we attempt to understand the conditions which richard rolle had to meet in his effort to spiritualize the yorkshire nuns. they warn us not to discard only on the ground of hints given of worldly life the tradition that his epistles were all addressed to dedicated women. as we have seen, margaret kirkeby was a nun of hampole before she became a recluse, and she may therefore be the person to whom the commandment is addressed. this is not likely, however, since the form was written for her. each of rolle's epistles gives a complete compendium of mystical piety, and it is natural to suppose that each was directed to a different person. the longleat ms., which connects all with margaret kirkeby, is likely to have been derived from an autograph collection not all of his own composition. form of living beg. in ilk a synful man or woman, þat es bunden in dedly syn, er thre wrechednes, pe wylk brynges þam to be dede of hell' (horstmann, i. 3). ends for hym pai soght, & hym pai couayted, and hym pai lufed, in al þar myght.' in ms. dd. v. 64 (and most others) a conclusion then follows: loo, margarete (sometimes 'margery'), i haue schortly sayde pe pe forme of lyuyng (v. infra), and how pou form of living 257 may com til perfection, and to lufe hym þat þou hase taken þe til. it it do pe gude, and profit til þe, thank god, & pray for me. pe grace of ihesu criste be with pe, & kepe pe. amen' (p. 49). printed editions. this work was printed by horstmann (i. 3-49), from mss. dd. v. 64 and rawl. c. 285, with the beginning and collations from harl. a modernized edition was brought out by miss hodgson ms. 1022. (v. supra, p. 17). the present work was called by horstmann 'the form of perfect living', after the title given it in the vernon manuscript, but 'form of living' is the title given by the author in the conclusion already quoted and in the following passage: 'and if pou will do als i lere pe in þis schort forme of lyuyng, i hope, thorou þe grace of god, þat if men halde pe gude, pou sall be wele better' (p. 18). ms. dd. v. 64, from which horstmann prints the text, and which shows signs of superior authority in connexion with the other two epistles, calls this work 'forma uiuendi' in heading and colophon; and this title is also found in other manuscripts. some manuscripts divide the work into two books, at the end of chapter 6 (p. 29). such a division was probably intended by rolle, for at this point occurs the following: 'now hase pow herd how pou may dispose þi lyfe, and rewle it to goddes will. bot i vate wele þat þou desyres to here some special poynt of pe luf of ihesu criste, & of contemplatyf lyfe, þe whilk pou hase taken þe till at mens syght. als i haue grace & konnyng, i will lere pe.' the remainder of the work takes up the contemplative life. manuscripts. oxford mss. (bodleian). ashmole 1524 (sum. cat. no. 8180), ff. 139 sq., early 16th cent. 'ricardus heremita exhibente gracia conditoris composuit istum librum ad salutem animarum.' addressed to 'margaret'. some n. forms. ii. bodl. 110 (sum. cat. no. 1963), ff. 134-54, early 15th cent. in index on fly-leaf: 'materia deuotissima contemplationis in anglicis.' 'hunc librum libere contulit willelmus cleue nuper rector ecclesie de clyveden kantiensis domino willelmo camyl 258 english epistles huius cantarie capellano et successoribus suis perpetuis. hic deuocius deo efficiatur.' below in another hand of the same date: 'pro modo. r. kent.' iii. bodl. 938 (sum. cat. no. 3054), ff. 209 sq., first half 15th cent. 'here bigynnep a tretys whiche is clepid pe pricke of loue after richard hampol heremyte, treting of iii degrees of loue.' the title prick of love' should be noted. lyrics absent. n. forms. iv. digby 18 (sum. cat. no. 1619), ff. 68-93, 15th cent. ends (without margaret'): 'i haue schortli seid a fourme of lyuynge and how men may come to perfectioun and loue god þat han take hem perto: if it do pee good panke god and preie for richard heremite pat...' the manuscript breaks off. it might seem that we have here a fragment of rolle's original signature, but, if so, it must be descended from a copy which rolle made for another friend than the original recipient. see e. v. (angl.), spur. v. laud misc. 210 (sum. cat. no. 1292), ff. 1-19, 15th cent. 'explicit tractatus qui vocatur forma viuendi compositus a ricardo heremita de hampole qui obijt ibidem anno domini m°cccxlixº, etc.' addressed to 'margaret'. vi. laud misc. 524, ff. 53-53, 15th cent. a fragment beginning with chapter 7 of horstmann's text (beginning: 'amore langueo'). see e. v. vii. rawl. a. 389, ff. 85-95, early 15th cent. incend., ego d., command. see e. v., viii. rawl. c. 285 (sum. cat. no. 12143), ff. 40-57, 15th cent. addressed to 'cecil', which must certainly be a substitution. northern. printed by horstmann. a little farther on in the ms. the section in the form on the name of jesus, with additions from other works of rolle, follows, as printed horstmann, i. 106. see quot. ix. vernon ms., ff. 334-69, late 14th cent. 'her bigynnep þe fourme of perfyt liuyng þe wzuche holi richard þe hermit of hampulle wrot to a recluse þat was clepet margarete.' see command., ego d., stim. consc. oxford colleges. x. univ. 97, ff. 266v sq., 15th cent. 'heere bigynneth a trete þat richard hermyte maade to a good ankeresse þat he louede.' cambridge mss. (university). xi. dd. v. 64 (iii), ff. 1-22b, late 14th cent. 'incipit forma form of living 259 uiuendi scripta a beato ricardo heremita ad margaretam anachoritam, suam dilectam discipulam.' this text contains the little tract on the seven gifts of the holy ghost as chapter ii (v. infra, p. 274), thus making the whole twelve chapters. printed by horstmann. see e. v., o. d., incend., mel., ego d., command., miscell. xii. ff. v. 40, ff. 98-114, 15th cent. chapter 9 follows later. the address to 'margaret' is made to the indefinite 'n'. see e. v. (angl.), command. xiii. ff. v. 45, ff. 1-2b, early 15th cent. a fragment only. a sign of the taste of the time for rhythmical, alliterative, and rhymed prose appears in the rubric heading the piece here: 'god that is gracious and grounde of al goodenes 3if vs my3t and strengpe so to lerne this processe þat it may profite vs in virtue to oure soulis encres and bryng vs alle to pat joie pat neuere shal cees.' xiv. hh. i. 12, ff. only. 104b sq., 15th cent. chapters 10, 3, 4, 6, xv. ii. iv. 9, ff. 190-7b, 15th cent. 'here endith the informacion of richard the ermyte þat he wrote to an ankyr translate oute of northowrn tunge into sutherne that it schulde the bettir be understondyn of men that be of the selbe countre.' xvi. ii. vi. 55, ff. 1–9, 15th cent. see quot. cambridge colleges. 6 imperfect at the beginning. xvii. caius 669*, ff. 148b-209, 15th cent. the original index gives: also anoper tretis of richard hampole pat is clepyd amore langueo, þat he made to a recluse.' 'here endep pe tretys of richarde hermyte of hampole þat ys clepid amore langueo.'¹ for texts using the title 'amore langueo' see mss. xxiii, xxxv. see e. v. (angl.). xviii. magd. pepysian 2125, 15th cent. 'epistola supra hortatis (?) relinquere vana huius mundi et adherere celestibus.' chapter i only. this is repeated some time later with the heading: 'incipit tractatus ricardi hampol heremite de conuersione ad deum et eius amore.' at the end: 'quere residuum superioris istius tractatus in quinto folio subsequenti. et incipit sic: ffor pou hast forsake pe ioye and pe solas of þis worlde, etc.' at the end of the piece (copied later, according to the reference here given): 'richard of hampol made pis rewle of lyuyng.' it is perhaps significant of the 1 dr. james quotes a heading mentioning richard of hampole 'knt.' the librarian assures me that the 'knt.' is absent. 260 english epistles origin of this volume that prayers recommended by 'john, hermit of warwyk', follow. see ego d., command., and infra, p. 317. xix. trin. 322, ff. 127b-48b, 14th-15th cent. addressed to margaret. the volume contains lollard works, including the series of wyclif's sermons ascribed to rolle in one copy (v. infra, p. 361). london mss. (british museum). xx. ar. 507, ff. 36-8, 43b-8, c. 1400. extracts (abridged), which were printed by horstmann (i. 412-15, 416-20). see ego d., incend., miscell. xxi. harl. 1022, ff. 47-61b, late 14th cent. northern. the first part and variants of the rest were printed by horstmann. see ol. effus. (angl.). xxii. lansd. 455, ff. 34-41, early 15th cent. concluding paragraph omitted, and the words added: 'ardeat in nobis diuini feruor amoris.' see e. v. (angl.). xxiii. add. 22283, ff. 147b-50b, late 14th cent. heading with rolle's name as in the vernon ms. chapter 7 (chapters are not here divided) is headed: 'secundus pars libri de amore langueo.' see command., ego d., stim. conse. xxiv. add. 37790, ff. 130b sq., first half 15th cent. two extracts only, viz. 'de triplici genere amoris spiritualis' (parts of chapters 8, 9, 10) and the first part of chapter 7, headed: 'incipit tractatus de diligendo deo.' ego dormio follows as if part of the same piece. n. forms. see incend. (angl.), e. v. (angl.), ego d. other mss. xxv. trin. coll. dublin 154, c. 1400. chapters 9-10 headed : 'of dyuyne loue taken fourthe of a treatyss by pe sayd dewoute fader richard rolle hermyte mayd to a certan recluse.' rolle's surname should be noted. the remedy against the troubles of temptations had preceded, embodying in the beginning a quotation from the form which usually heads that work as 'four profitable things'. here (as in wynkyn de worde's edition) rolle's authorship of the remedy is stated. see spur. xxvi. trin. coll. dublin 155, early 15th cent. all the chapters (except no. 11) printed by horstmann are present, but in a haphazard order, with the text sometimes enlarged. special prominence is form of living 261 given to the 'amore langueo' beginning the seventh chapter (and in some copies second book), because it here begins the whole text. see ego d., dubia, ol. effus. (angl.), stim. consc. the xxvii. edinburgh univ. 107, ff. 179 sq., 14th cent. last portion of the form, from the ninth chapter to the end, described in the catalogue as 'five meditations', and identified as pp. 35-49 of horstmann's edition. laing ms. 50, from lord alva's collection. xxviii. hereford cath. p. i. 9, ff. 141 sq., 15th cent. 'informacio sancti ricardi de hampull scripta margarete incluse de hampull.' the reference to margaret as a 'recluse of hampole' will be discussed, infra, p. 506. original index: 'vita inclusarum, anglice.' the conclusion is addressed to 'm', and continues beyond the usual end, as follows: '... preye for me. þe grace of almighti ihesu verei god and man þat is verrei loue and confort of his louers be wip þe and kepe pe fro al euyl and bringe pe to pi spouse þat þou hast take pe to be wiche is euere lyuynge god wipoute ende. amen.' this must have been a franciscan volume. 'jhc, maria, ffranciscus' appears several times, and the preceding works are the meditations on the life of christ, and the miracles and life of st. francis. xxix. longleat 29. v. supra, p. 34. xxx. longleat 32, ff. 29-29b, 15th cent. chapter 9 (on the holy name of jesus) only. see command., e. v. (angl.). xxxi. chetham coll. manchester 6690, 15th cent. 'pis teching made rychard hermyte and sent it to an ankres pat was cleped margarete.' n. forms. lacks the penultimate chapter, but the address to 'margaret' follows. xxxii. paris, bib. de ste. geneviève 3390, ff. 58-95, 14th 1 two english pieces (so far as i know unique) follow and complete the manuscript. the first begins: man þat wilnep for to profite in þe wey of perfeccion and souerenly to plese god he most studie bisily for to haue pese maneres in his herte þat folewep hereafter.' nine points are indicated. the piece ends: .... for non oper loue ne for sinne he be neuere departid fro pe. amen.' at the beginning a note on the bottom of the page with an index finger pointing up (in the same or a contemporary hand) announces: 'hic incipit doctrina ffratris henrici chambernoun magistri in via perfectionis.' it is uncertain whether this applies also to the final piece which begins: 'ffor encheson þat loue mai al do wipoute eny misdo' (f. 151). it ends loueliche lord and spouse ihesu crist writ in mi herte so þat i may rede pi loue toward me and pi sorwe for me and be minde of ham euere be dwelling freschliche in myn herte. amen' (f. 153). it is full of invocations to love, etc. 262 english epistles 'here bygynnep a drawing of contemplacion maad bi richard hermite of hampole to an ancresse.' see ego d. xxxiii. sotheby's, oct. 21, 1920, lot 47 (ingilby ms. from ripley castle), ff. 5b-15b, 15th cent. the name given in the conclusion is 'margery'. n. forms. bought by quaritch, and shown me by the kindness of mr. dring. xxxiv. sotheby's, jan. 17, 1921, lot 629 (now in the possession of sir leicester harmsworth), ff. 131b-46, dated 1465. amherst ms. 135 in the catalogue of the manuscripts of lord amherst of hackney. hic incipit liber ricardi hampole quem fecit vni anachorite.' in the catalogues the form is described as 'a treatise written for a hermit'. the prick of conscience precedes (anonymously, but with the title). formerly belonging to g. l. way. xxxv. sotheby's, mar. 20, 1923, lot 327 (from powis castle, welshpool), pt. ii, ff. 1-17b, 14th cent. 'incipit liber nuncupatus amore langueo.' the complete text, with 'margaret' omitted from the conclusion. for the same title v. supra, ms. xvii. the benjamin minor follows after an interval. huntington ms. 127. xxxvi. westminster school, ff. 205 sq., c. 1420. no title or ascription. addressed to margaret. see spur., ego d. xxxvii-viii. see infra, p. 268. form of living in latin. caius coll. camb. 140, ff. 108-15b, 15th cent. 'explicit ricardus heremita de modo viuendi ad m inclusam.' see incend., ego d. (lat.), e. v. b. mus. harl. 106, f. 1, 15th cent. a fragment only of another translation from the first part (beg. 'diabolus mille'). see e. v., incend., stim. consc. (lat.). for horstmann's erroneous references to two supposed copies of a latin text v. supra, p. 232. form of living in english verse. b. mus. cotton tiber. e. vii, ff. 85b-90, c. 1400. printed by horstmann, ii. 283-92. only the first six chapters, which are sometimes called the first book. northern. horstmann calls william of nassington the translator, but he has no reason for this opinion other than the fact that this manuscript begins with the speculum vitae, which in two of its more than thirty existing manuscripts is ascribed to nassington (v. infra, p. 371). horstmann's conclusions are form of living 263 doubtless influenced by the fact that he dates the present manuscript as the oldest, and probably original, ms. of the "mirror"... of about 1350' (ii. 274). h. l. d. ward (catalogue of romances in the british museum, ii. 740) dates it at 'about a.d. 1400'. references and quotations. this work was contained in syon monastery ms. m. 118 (a new volume) as 'hampole ad reclusam de vita perfeccionis cum aliis.' in the remedy against the troubles of temptations, both in the editions of wynkyn de worde and in the manuscripts, the treatise is prefaced by an abridged extract 'taken out of þe thyrde chapiter of a deuoute treatyse & a fourme of lyuinge that the dyscrete & vertuous richard hampole wrote to a deuoute & an holy persone for grete loue.' interesting testimony to the excellent english style found in rolle's form comes from a quotation from this epistle made in the very popular compendium, the speculum spiritualium: 'nonnulla preterea ad discretam abstinentiam pertinentia que prefatus richardus hanpol scribendo direxit ad reclusam nomine margaretam reseruo pro finali huius tractatus capitulo. et hoc ideo quia vt mihi videtur melius sonant eadem in lingua materna sicut idem richardus protulit quam si in linguam latinam transferentur' (fol. xxxviiˇ). other sections are quoted from the form, e. g. the account of the devil coming to a recluse as an angel of light (fol. xxxviii, form, p. 12), etc. a compilation perhaps even more popular than the one just noted was that known (from its preface) as the 'poor caitiff'. this english compendium gave anonymous currency (among other quotations from rolle's works) to some of the most characteristic sections of the form of living. a fragment of the form is also found among the anonymous scraps from rolle in add. ms. 37049 (v. infra, p. 308). in the present work rolle gives a most comprehensive and characteristic account of his mysticism, with continual reminiscences of his other works, both english and latin. he runs over the whole course of mystical experience, even to the heights of ecstasy, though without personal application. his authorship could be proved many times. the author does not state his own manner of life, but his prejudice in favour of solitude appears clearly: 'pe state þat þou ert in, þat es solitude, es maste abyll of all othyr til reuelacion of þe haly gaste' (p. 11). sere men in erth has sere gyftes & 264 english epistles graces of god: bot pe special gift of pas pat ledes solitary lyf, es for to lufe ihesu criste.... forpi, þe diuersite of lufe, makes þe diuersite of halynes & of mede. in heuen, þe awngels þat er byrnandest in lufe, er nerrest god. also men & women þat maste has of goddes lufe, whether pai do penance or nane: þai sall be in þe heghest degre in heuen' (p. 29). the sensuous concomitants of rolle's mysticism are constantly implied, as in the following, from the description of the third degree of love, which is 'heest, & maste ferly to wyn': 'singuler lufe es: when all comforth & solace es closed owt of pi hert, bot of ihesu cryste al-ane. other ioy lyst it noght. for pe swetnes of hym in þis degre es swa comfortand, & lastand in his lufe, sa byrnand & gladand, þat he or scho pat es in þis degre, mai als wele fele pe fyre of lufe byrnand in paire saule, als pou may fele þi fynger byrn, if þou putt it in þe fyre. bot þat fire, if it be hate, es swa delitabell & wondyrful, þat i kan noght tell it. pan þi sawle es ihesu lufand, ihesu thynkand, ihesu desirand, anly in þe couayties of hym anedande, til hym syngand, of hym byrnand, in hym restand. pan pe sange of louyng & of lufe es commen. pan þi thoght turnes in til sange & in til melody' (p. 32). the form of living is full of the higher devotion to the name of jesus, which it attaches to the third degree of love, but it also urges 'crying with the mouth', which is usually included in the second (v. supra, p. 76). here, as in the commandment, the name is not explicitly mentioned with the second degree, but it is implied in the following: 'inseparabel es þi lufe: when al þi hert, & pi thoght, & pi myght, es swa haly, swa enterely, and swa perfytely festend, sett, & stabeld in ihesu cryste: þat þi thoght comes neuer of hym, neuer departyd fra hym, outaken slepynge' (p. 31). the repetition of the name is, later, urged strongly in a separate chapter (p. 35), beginning : 'if þou wil be wele with god, & haue grace to rewle pi lyf, & com til þe ioy of luf: pis name ihesu fest it swa fast in þi hert, þat it com neuer owt of þi thoght.' some alliteration and rhyme have already appeared in the quotations given. two english lyrics are inserted (and introduced by the text), which will be discussed with the other lyrics ascribed to rolle, infra, pp. 288 sq. both are very short, and the longer one expresses the ardent inquiry as to the hour of death which we associate with the years before 1343. as we shall see, the form as a whole must have been written 1348-9, but it is evident that the lyric in question is at least in part an old piece here inserted, for the first lines (longing for form of living 265 death) are borrowed from the second lyric of the ego dormio (p. 60). this, as we have seen, must have been the earliest of the epistles. even if rolle after 1343 no longer mingled with his own devotions the traditional question of the mystic as to the hour of death, he would naturally expect his disciples to continue to do so. it is probably because rolle in the form is peculiarly in loco magistri that he includes many categories, lists of sins, etc. he imagines his disciple asking him five questions'-'hard questyons to lere, til a febyll man & a fleschly als i am' (p. 35). hahn has shown (op. cit., p. 8) that this section is derived largely from the compendium theologicae veritatis (iv, c. 23), and most of it comes ultimately from the de vita contemplativa ascribed to st. prosper of aquitaine. borrowings also occur in this section from st. bernard's de diligendo deo, and from st. bonaventura's de triplici via. in spite of this use in the form of patristic material, rolle gives only four specific quotations from church fathers (pp. 7, 44, 45). one exemplum is quoted from his reading (p. 12). as already mentioned, we know from other sources that rolle had a disciple named margaret, and there seems no reason to doubt that he wrote the present work for her (v. supra, p. 35). the connexion becomes clearer from the following passages, showing that the form of living was written for a woman recluse: 'for þat þou has forsakyn þe solace & pe ioy of his world, & taken þe to solitary lyf.... i trowe treuly þat þe comforth of ihesu criste, & þe swetnes of his loue, with þe fire of þe haly gast, þat purges all syn, sall be in þe... so pat in a few 3ers þou sall haue mare delyte, to be by þi nane, & speke till þi luf & to pi spows ihesu crist, þat hegh es in heuen, þan if þou war lady here of a thowsand worldes' (p. 10). 'men þat comes til þe, þai luf þe for þai se þi grete abstinens, & for pai se þe enclosed' (p. 27). in 1 the same five questions appear in a wyclifite tract (arnold, iii. 183). this short piece (written in response to an inquiry) 'god's law' is a prominent subject. the piece exists also in latin. 2 cf. p. 37: 'we sall afforce vs at cleth vs in lufe als þe yren or þe cole dose in þe fyre; als þe ayer dose in þe son; als þe woll dose in þe hewe ', etc., with the following: 'sic affici, deificari est. quomodo stilla aquae modica, multo infuso vino, deficere a se tota videtur, dum et saporem vini induit, et colorem ; et quomodo ferrum ignitum et candens, igni simillimum fit,' etc. (migne, 182, c. 991, cap. x). the germ of both passages is doubtless to be found in st. augustine's de civitate dei, xi, cap. x, 2. cf. also richard of st. victor, migne, 196, cc. 179 sq. (benjamin major, v. xi), and rolle's cant., f. 156. cf. p. 42: 'pan pou comes in til swilk rest & pees in sawle, & quiete... als þou war in sylence & slepe, & sette in noe schyppe, þat na thyng may lette pe.' this is literally translated from st. bonaventura's description of the sixth grade of love in the work in question. s 266 english epistles throughout the course of the work it is evident that the author knows the recluse very well. some passages of the epistle may confirm the hypothesis that it was prepared for margaret kirkeby at the opening of her life as a recluse (1348-9). the reference to her taking up the solitary life, already quoted, hints that she has only just done so, since richard tells her what he hopes will be her joy 'in a few years'. the discourse is directed to the future, as: 6 much of 'if pou will do be gode cownsel, & folow haly lare, als i hope þat þou will' (p. 9). at þe begynnyng, turne pe enterely to pi lorde ihesu criste' (p. 18). i wyll þat þou be ay clymbande till ihesu-warde, & ekand þi luf & þi seruys in hym' (p. 20). 'bot swilk a grace may þou noght haue in þe fyrst day' (p. 26). 'for þe tyme pou ert 3ong, i rede þat þou ete & drynk, better & war, als it comes.... and afterwarde ... þou mai take til mare abstinence' (p. 27). ful mykel grace haue þai pat es in pis degre of lufe. and me thynk, pou þat hase noght els at do bot forto lufe god, may com þartill if any may gete it' (p. 32). though the form makes clear that the woman he addresses has become a recluse, we are given no hint that she has been a nun. a passage like the following might imply that she was then turning her back on the world for the first time : 'at þe begynnyng, turne þe enterely to pi lorde ihesu criste. pat turnyng till ihesu es noght els, bot turnyng fra all þe couaytyse & pe likyng & pe occupacions & bisynes of worldly thynges & of fleschly lust and vayne luf: swa þat þi thoght, þat was ay donward, modeland in þe erth, whils pou was in þe worlde, now be ay vpwarde als fire, sekand þe heghest place in heuen' (p. 18). the analogy of the commandment shows the worldly life that was led in convents, and (if the dedication to a hampole nun found in one copy is correct) probably at hampole. rolle in the form warns margaret against the worldliness to be found in cloisters, as follows: pan es it schame sawle, als pou ert 'i knawe þat þi lyfe es gyuen to þe seruyce of god. til þe, bot if pou be als gode, or better, with-in in þi semand at þe syght of men. turne for-pi þi thoghtes perfitely till god, als it semes þat þou hase done þi body. for i will not þat þou wene pat all er hali þat hase þe abet of halynes, & er noght ocupyed with pe worlde' (p. 16). as we have seen, his writings are full of condemnation of the worldliness of clerics, whether secular or regular. only the solitary life offered full opportunities, in his opinion, for devout living. in form of living 267 margaret's case, therefore, he might consider that her real entrance into the religious life took place when she retreated into solitude. the following quotations from the melum will illustrate his attitude towards the life of many in monasteries : 'miror quippe de nonnullis qui videri uolunt se mundum reliquisse et tamen ad diuinum amorem desiderandum modico vel nullo conamine mentis assurgunt et in ocio agitati ad omnem ventum temptacionis cedunt, et hii assimilantur arundini vento agitate in deserto (matt. xi. 7). quia dum religionis habitum assumunt, oues exterius apparentes, et interius feruore fortis dileccionis non affecti, quid aliud recte dicantur quam arundo, que in oculis intuencium solidum apparet et intus omnino vacuum inuenitur ? summa igitur insania est parentes et propria relinquere, honorem mundi et diuicias fugere, habitum mutare, monasterium vel solitudinem ingredi, pauperem fieri et non totum cor omnesque mentis affecciones [et] animi cogitaciones ad deum dirigere et in eius solo desiderio estuans eius amorem et beneplacenciam infatigabiliter exorare. si delectaciones terrenas deseris, celestes quare non cupis? cur tepide uiuis in monasterio et non pocius sic vixisses in seculo?... melius esset tibi in mundo remansisse frigidus, quam intrasse religionem et non habere feruorem dileccionis' (f. 244). 'mille cadent (ps. xc. 7), id est, magna multitudo presumencium indigne, qui frustra estimant se accepturos potestatem iudicandi in ultima discussione. inuenient se prorsus proiectos¹ ab ipsa excellencia sanctorum quam per vanam gloriam sibi vsurpare credebant. huiusmodi sunt multi iam et precipue in hiis diebus in habitu 2 religioso constituti qui, vt in conuersacione sua liquet (quod dolendum est), sine causa illam sibi auctoritatem assumunt: ecce nos reliquimus omnia (matt. xix. 27)... plures ad voluptates, commessaciones, ebrietates, et ad immundas cantilenas sectandas se subiciunt, nimirum aperte videtur quod seipsos non abnegant' (f. 250). it will have been noted that one manuscript calls margaret kirkeby ' recluse of hampole' (supra, ms. xxvii), and it might be suggested that she was enclosed at hampole first, and later changed to layton, as still later (1356-7) she was to change to ainderby (apparently to return at last to hampole). in that case the form would have been written on her enclosure at hampole, whenever that took place. this hypothesis is difficult because nothing is said in the episcopal document which allows her removal to layton about her ever having been enclosed before: she is called 'nun of hampole'. on the other hand the vienna ms. says that she was enclosed at hampole during the last ten years of her life, and this may be the origin of the 2 habitum c. ¹ proiecti c. s 2 268 english epistles title, v. infra, p. 506. moreover, in any case, it would not appear possible to put forward the composition of the form more than a year or two, since the author died in 1349. the form, emendatio, ego dormio, and commandment are the only works in which rolle expounds the three stages of love, and they must therefore all have come near the end of his life. the form seems the finest and most mature work that he ever wrote, and it is plausible to put it lastjust before he was cut off. additional note ms. xxxvii. trin. coll. camb. 1053, ff. 101b-117b, 15th cent. beg. [m]y fulle dere and wel loued frende in god, fore als mekile as þat þou has foresakene alle be solace and ioye of pis wikked warlde and takene þe fully vnto solitarie life' (chap. 2). no address to 'margaret' but in its place: 'lo now my deere freende in jhesu criste.' signed: 'amen par charite quod jone roulle (?)', who also signs the commandment earlier as 'j. r. (?)'. here we find an adaptation of the form similar to those of the ancren riwle found in most of its manuscripts. ms. xxxviii. huntington 502 (formerly phillipps 11929)*, 15th cent., a fragment (horstmann, pp. 14-24). chapter ix miscellaneous pieces (english) part i: short english prose pieces five separate pieces of english prose are given to rolle by good internal and external evidence. the bee beg. the bee has thre kyndis' (horstmann, i. 193). ends: 'pay are so chargede wyth othyre affeccyons and othire vanytes' (p. 194). this is printed by horstmann from the thornton ms. manuscripts. i. durham, cosin lib. v. i. 12, f. 65, 15th cent. 'de natura apice (sic)'. not northern. beg.: 'the be hath pre kyndes.' ends: thay arn so chargid wt oper affectyons and veyne thowghtis.' a clear text, on a single page of a small vellum folio volume otherwise (except for a few lines of verse) all latin. ii. lincoln cath. thornton ms., f. 194, early 15th cent. 'moralia richardi heremite de natura apis, vnde quasi apis argumentosa.' see ol. effus. (angl.), quot., miscell., dubia. b. mus. harl. ms. 268, second half 14th cent., contains a collection of religious tales, fables, and similitudes from various sources'. the present piece is to be found here (f. 40b) in an abbreviated latin form, as is pointed out by j. a. herbert, catalogue of romances (iii, pp. xii, 571). the bee only is treated, and the sentences specially characteristic of rolle are lacking. quotations and references. no specific reference to the present work has come to light in manuscripts, but it is just possible that it is hinted at in the following lines of the office 270 miscellaneous english pieces 'labor dulcissimus apis eligitur. instructor optimus mellita [loquitur. docet] dulcissima fauus exprimitur' (p. 13). with this may be compared the following: 'the bee has thre kyndis. ane es pat scho es neuer ydill.... thus ryghtwyse men þat lufes god are neuer in ydyllnes: ffor owthyre pay ere in trauayle, prayand or thynkande or redande or othere gude doande, or withtakand ydill mene' (p. 193). horstmann cites pliny and aristotle as sources for this piece, and the author himself twice cites aristotle, who is not mentioned in the harl. latin text, which might otherwise seem to be the immediate source. the relation may be the other way round. in any case, the thornton ascription need not be questioned. holiness true and false, love of god and of the world, make the subject of this piece, as of most of rolle's productions: 'thay are so heuy in erthely frenchype þat þay may noghte flee in till þe lufe of ihesu criste, in þe wylke pay moghte wele for-gaa þe lufe of all creaturs lyfande in erthe... thay flye fra erthe to heuene and rystes thayme thare in thoghte, and are fedde in delite of goddes lufe, and has thoghte of na lufe of þe worlde' (p. 194). the style sounds exactly like rolle's, and offers some coincidences with his other english works: his fondness for rhyming participles, conspicuous in his epistles, and probably derived from the habit of writing latin, appears here also: 'pay ere in trauayle, prayand or thynkande or redande or othere gude doande, or withtakand ydill mene.' 'some are pat kan noghte flyghe fra pis lande bot in þe waye late theyre herte ryste.' the clause 'delyttes paym in sere lufes of mene and womene, als pay come & gaa, nowe ane & nowe a-nothire' echoes the form: kepers of comers and gangars' arely & late, nyght & day' (p. 33, cf. also p. 45). in the sentences quoted rolle's aggressive reforming zeal should be pointed out, which contrasted strongly with the temper of the mystics of the next generation. to him an essential work of 'righteous men' is 'withtakand ydill mene and schewand thaym worthy to be put fra pe ryste of heuene ffor pay will noghte trauayle here'. 1 the phrase 'comers and goers' was probably a common colloquial one, for in 1919 i heard it in common use in the same sense by a norfolk village woman. rolle's english prose probably owes much of its strength to the use of similar colloquial phrases. the bee 271 in the last sentences the piece leaves the bee and passes to a second interpretation from the bestiaries, this time of the stork. these birds signify those who are clad in the mere 'habit of holiness', as to whom rolle constantly gives warnings in his epistles: ' 'pay... fastes and wakes and semes haly to mens syghte, bot thay may noghte flye to lufe and contemplacyone of god, þay are so chargede wyth othyre affeccyons and othire vanytes.' aristotle's history of animals used in the bee is one of the many authorities quoted in the de dei misericordia ascribed to rolle (supra, p. 163). an account of the basilisk and the weasel occurs in his english psalter (p. 333) in the style of the bestiaries. peter lombard gives only the germ of this passage. desyre and delit this short piece of prose was printed by horstmann (i. 197) from the thornton ms., where it is headed 'idem (richard the hermit of hampole) de dilectacione in deo.' it has since been found in longleat ms. 29, in the collection of prose and verse there said to have been written by rolle for margaret kirkeby (v. supra, p. 34). horstmann notes that the thornton text is very incorrect'; the longleat copy will therefore be quoted in full: 'desyre and delit in ihesu criste þat hath no thynge of worldis thoght is wondreful, pure and fast, and þan is aman circumcised gostly when al other bisynesse and effectuous thoghtes ben shorne away out of his soule þat he may haue reste in goddis loue, withouten taryynge of oþer þynge. the delite is wondreful when hit is so hegh that no poght may reche thare to to brynge hit doune; hit is pure when hit is blyndet with no thynge þat is contrarie per to, and hit is faste when hit is certeyn and stabile, delitynge bi hit self. thre þynges make þe delite in god hegh: on is rest regnynge of flesshly lust in compleccion. anoper, destruynge or repressynge of il styrrynge and of temptacion in will. pe prid is kepynge of heighynge of þe hert in lightnynge of pe holygost, þat he hold his hert vp fro al erthly thoght þat he set non obstakle at þe conymynge (sic) of criste in to hym. euery man þat coueiteth endles hele, be he bisi nyght and day to fulfil þis lare, or ellis to cristes loue may he nat wyn, ffor hit is heigh, and al þat hit dwelleth in, hit lifteth aboue layry lustis and vile couaitise, and aboue al affectuouse thoghtys of any bodily thynge. two þynges maketh our delite pure: on is, turnynge of pe sensualite to pe skylle, ffor when any is turned to delit of his fyve wittis, alson vnclennesse entreth into his soule. another is þat þe skyl mekely be vsed in 1 cf. pp. 8, 16, 18, 27, 68; also apoc., ff. 125, 126. 272 miscellaneous english pieces gostly þynges, as in meditacion and orisoun, and lokynge in holy bokes. fforpi þe delit þat noght hath of vnordynat styrrynge, and myche hath of heynesse in crist, and in whiche pe sensualite is al turned to þe skyl and þe skyl al set and vset to god, maketh amanes soule in reste and sikernesse, and euer to dwelle in good hoop, and to be payed of al goddis sondis, withouten gruchynge and heuynesse of thoght.' the gastly gladnesse then follows, divided off by a thin red line. this text has lost the northern dialect of the thornton copy, but the variant readings which it gives are sometimes superior. for example 'desyre', as the first word, is to be preferred to the 'gernyng' of the thornton text, for the sake of the alliteration: the omission of the 'haly' from the first sentence is doubtless original, as is the use of the alliterative 'shorne' for 'drawene'. on the other hand, tagillynge' in the thornton text is preferable to the 'taryynge' here given, since the analogies from rolle to be quoted below probably outweigh the use of tariing' in the northern treatise gratia dei (horstmann, i. 142). the longleat ms. is also careless at 'rest regnynge' (thornton, 'restreynynge'). it seems to degenerate as it proceeds. " though the mysticism in this piece is not so explicit as usual, the general conceptions and phraseology suggest other works. reste in goddis loue, withouten tagillynge of oper þynge' suggests 'delytes of all thynge; þat mane may be tagyld with in thoghte or dede' (seven gifts, p. 196); 'takked with any syn wilfully' (rawl. ms. 'taglede', form, p. 34); 'thaire affecciouns ere ay takild with sum luf that draghis thaim fra godis luf' (psalter, p. 512). the uncommon phrase 'layry lustis' is found in the psalter (v. gloss.), and 'il styrrynge' is common there (pp. 86, 96, 166, 170, etc.). the thornton text ends with an 'etc.'; and it is possible that the scribe only copied a part of the treatise before him. the thornton ms. gives other evidence of having had access to lost works of rolle (v. infra, p. 403). gastly gladnesse some alliterative sentences, printed by horstmann (i. 81) from ms. dd. v. 64 (which ascribes them to rolle), make up what may be called a prose lyric-complete, and characteristically ecstatic in style and subject-matter. they are inserted in the midst of metrical lyrics which are their close kindred in everything except literary form, and the kinship is indicated by the explicit which follows the gastly gladnesse 273 prose, and which seems to make a joint attribution to rolle of the prose and verse immediately preceding it as 'cantica diuini amoris ' (v. infra, p. 301). a second copy, not known to horstmann, is given in longleat ms. 29 (v. supra, p. 35), in a collection of prose and verse said to have been composed by rolle for the anchoress margaret kirkeby. the longleat text will be quoted entire : 'gostly gladnesse in ihesu and ioy in hert with swetnesse in soule of the sauour of heuyn in hoop is helth in to hele, and my lyf lendeth in loue and lightsomnes vmlappeth my thoght. i dred nat þat me may wirch wo, so myche i wot of wele. hit ware no wonder if dethe ware dere þat i myght se hym þat i seke, bot now hit lengthes fro me, and me behoueth to lyve here til he wil me lese. list and lere of þis lare, and pe shal nat myslike; loue maketh me to mell, and ioy maketh me jangle. loke pou lede pi liff in lightsomnes and heuynesse hold hit away. sory. nesse let nat sit with the, bot in gladnes in god euer more make pou þi glee.' : though this text has lost the northern forms of ms. dd. v. 64, it will be seen to agree with that text very closely in the first sentence the substitution of 'hele' for 'heie' gives a more explicit climax to 'helth', and is preferable. the present piece seems to give us a clue as to date. as we have seen, bale, two extant manuscripts, and apparently one which was formerly at syon monastery give a note by rolle: 'in nocte purificacionis beate marie uirginis dictum mihi fuit in sompnis, anno domini m°cccxliiiº, annis (sic) duodecim uiues, amen' (v. supra, p. 28). this should probably be taken in connexion with the following from the gastly gladnesse: 'hit ware no wonder if dethe ware dere þat i myght se hym þat i seke, bot now hit lengthes fro me, and me behoueth to lyve here til he wil me lese.' this sentence would seem to indicate that the present piece was written after 1343, for a reference to the vision of february 2 of that year is probably implied. it would be likely that gastly gladnesse was written soon after the revelation, for the 'now' seems to indicate that the date appointed for his death has been recently revealed. as we have seen, the three english prose epistles and the emendatio are separated from all rolle's other works by their division of love into three grades, and they would appear to have been written last of all the writings. in any case the form, which was written 1 miss deanesly is in error in reading here uisitacionis' in bodl. 861 (see incend., p. 189, n. 6). 274 miscellaneous english pieces when margaret kirkeby was enclosed, must have been written 1 348-9. the likelihood is, therefore, that most of these pieces were written after rolle had put off his expectation of death, and we might look for some reference to his vision on that subject if he treated his longing to be released. however, all four works are written impersonally, and it is therefore not strange that in general the author's longing for death is not discussed. but in the english epistles longing for death makes the subject of much of the lyrics, and here, as we have seen (p. 264), rolle is probably reviving for disciples old devotions of his own. whatever the effect on later works of the revelation in question, the fact remains that rolle had a vision as to his death which is probably reflected in gastly gladnesse (and v. supra, p. 228). considering the intensity of rolle's nature, we should not be surprised to find that his insistent voicing of the mystic's desire for death had brought about psychopathic results, just as did his absorption in 'angels' song' (v. supra, p. 88) and in the traditional mystic's 'heat, sweetness, and song' (v. supra, p. 109). seven gifts of the holy spirit beg. 'pe seuene gyftes of þe haly gaste þat ere gyfene to men and wymmene þat er ordaynede to pe ioye of heuene' (horstmann, i. 196). ends: þat we kane knawe, and flese it als venyme' (p. 197). this short piece of english prose is printed by horstmann from all three manuscripts known from ms. dd. v. 64 (i. 45-6), where it is given as chapter ii of the form of living; from b. mus. ar. ms. 507 (i. 136), where it occurs anonymously between the anonymous northern tract gratia dei (v. infra, p. 286) and an abridged form of chapter 12 of the form of living (here also anonymous, as are the other portions of the epistles present); from the thornton ms. (i. 196-7), where it is headed 'idem (richerde the hermyte off hampull) de septem donis spiritus sancti'. most of the copies of the form of living have been examined to see if the present piece is included, but in no case has it been found. we must therefore conclude that it was probably written separately, and was inserted into the text of the epistle in ms. dd. v. 64 by the whim of the scribe (probably to bring the work up to twelve chapters, which was the form of the emendatio). • seven gifts 275 this little piece has the general sound of rolle's prose, and several specific coincidences as well. the sentence 'with thire seuene gyftes þe haly gaste teches sere men serely' (p. 196) recalls a series of similar passages both in the english works and the latin: " 'sere men in erth has sere gyftes & graces of god' (form, p. 29); ' sere men takes seer grace of oure lorde ihesu christe' (ego dormio, p. 58); so be sere wayes passis men fro this worlde til god' (english psalter, p. 458); 'gifand grace and vertu til ilkan eftere the mesure of his gift, gifand sum on a manere, sum on other, sum less, sum mare' (ibid., p. 301).¹ for all rolle's stiffness in insisting on the pre-eminence of his own manner of life, he always recognized a complete hierarchy of virtues, and the present group of passages is one of his most characteristic. the definition of contemplation here, which is quoted from st. augustine, is identical with that quoted (in latin) in the emendatio as the patristic definition which rolle prefers to all others and gives just before giving his own (on which it has had its influence: v. infra, p. 341). the reminiscence in desyre and delit of tagyld' in the present piece and in the psalter ('takild') has already been noted (supra, p. 272). for wele ne for waa' here found is one of rolle's favourite expressions (see psalter, pp. 90, 113-14, 118, etc.). 'ill eggyng' is also common (psalter, pp. 71, 122, 193, 207). the commentary on the pater noster and the psalter (pp. 29, 44, 58) frequently mention the seven gifts of the holy ghost (in spite of rolle's usual indifference to categories). a sentence in the seven gifts very evocative of rolle is the following: pete es pat a man be mylde; and gaynesay noghte haly writte whene it smyttes his synnes.' apparently he used the exposition of scripture as a direct personal weapon against the sinner, and as such his expositions were sometimes repudiated by his contemporaries. as already noted, we read in the psalter: 'he manaunce 30w with haly writt, and redid it, thurgh haly men expownynge, whaim ze dispise, and haly lare alswa' (p. 27). mystics of this stern temper were not common in england in the next generation, and such passages are to some extent useful as tests of authenticity. the last quotation is a type of countless others in latin and in english: cf. cant., f. 154; contra am. m., f. 176', etc. 276 miscellaneous english pieces english commentary on the ten commandments beg. here er þe ten comaundementis fe whilk god hym self bitoke til moyses in þe mounte of synai writen in thwo tabuls of stone, pe whilk thwo tabils bitokens pe holde lawe and pe newe' (hatton ms. 12, f. 209). the shorter thornton copy lacks this section and begins farther on: 'the fyrste comandement es ... in this comandement es forboden all mawmetryse' (horstmann, i. 195). ends: 'he hetis noght til þam þat wele byginnes, bot til þem þat duellis til þeir liues ende pe blisse of heuen, til þe whilk blisse god vs bringe' (hatton ms., f. 211v). the thornton ms. ends earlier : 'his neghtebour hym awe to lufe als hym-selfe, pat es till þe same gude þat he lufes hym-selfe to, nathynge till ill; and þat he lufe his neghtbour saule mare pane his body or any gude3 of þe worlde etc. explicit' (p. 196). printed editions. the thornton copy was printed by horstmann. he did not know the hatton ms. manuscripts. i. bodl. hatton 12, ff. 209-11, late 14th cent. the commentary on the ten commandments follows the first six canticles and magnificat (as printed by bramley), at the end of a northern copy of rolle's english psalter: et sic explicit psalterium dauid. incipiunt decem precepta.' a later hand has written on the inside of the back cover: 'ricardus de hamppole heremita.' see eng. ps. ii. lincoln cath. thornton ms., f. 194, 1430–40. 'a notabill tretys off the ten comandementys: drawene by richerde the hermyte off hampull.' a text much shorter than i. see oleum effus. (angl.), miscell., quot., dubia. a copy of the present commentary may have been affixed to the copy of rolle's english psalter once in the possession of dr. adam clarke and afterwards ms. 8884 in the library of sir thomas phillipps. we are told that 'the last two leaves contain a gloss upon various virtues and vices connected with the commandments. the last leaf is imperfect' (bramley, p. xxiv). this manuscript was apparently sold at sotheby's on may 17, 1897, lot 623. on the ten commandments 277 this short english commentary on the ten commandments gives passing reference to the more conventional of rolle's favourite sentiments sufficient to support the ascription to him which is found in the thornton ms., and, by implication, in the hatton. 'lipprayer' is condemned as in other works: 'with mouthe es it (god's name) tane in vayne with . . . prayere when we honour god with oure lyppys and oure hertys erre ferre fra hym' (p. 195). compare ego dormio: what gude hopes pou may come parof (of prayer), if pou lat þi tonge blaber on þe boke, & pi hert ren abowte in sere stedes in te worlde?' (p. 55). in the following quotation 'illstirring' is used for 'temptation', as often in rolle's english psalter and elsewhere (v. supra, p. 272): 'with werke ypocrittes takes goddes nam in vayne: ffor they feyne gud ded with-owttene, and þey erre with-owttene charyte and vertue and force of sawle to stande agayne all ill styrrynges' (p. 195). in the following we have practically the three degrees of love formulated by rolle in his later years, but in the elementary form found in the ego dormio (where the titles do not appear): 'the thirde commandement . . . may be takyne in thre maneres: firste generally þat we sesse of all vyces. sithen speciali, þat we cesse of alle bodili werkis þat lettys deuocyone to god in prayenge and thynkynge. the thyrde es specyall, als in contemplatyfe mene pat departis þayme fra all werldly thynges swa þat þey hally gyfe payme till god. the fyrste manere es nedfull vs to do. the tothire we awe to do. the thirde es perfeccyone' (ibid.). like rolle is also: 'he lufes god þat kepis thire commandementes for lufe' (p. 196). the hatton copy of this work, as we have seen, is attached to rolle's psalter, but it is doubtful whether this arrangement emanated from richard. it is all the more doubtful because the hatton text is considerably expanded, after a colourless fashion. the new material added may be rolle's, but there is nothing distinctive to prove that it is. however, the 'etc.' at the end of the thornton copy should be noted, and the sound of the english in the hatton passages perhaps suggests rolle's style, as in the following: and alle wichecrafts here er forbodon þat men of mysbileue traistes opon or hopes help in withouten god alle myghty' (f. 210). and þei pat worships þe noght has short life and shames dede, for it es noght worthi þat þei lange here be þat worships pe noght, of wham þei be' (f. 210v). 6 278 miscellaneous english pieces part ii: meditations on the passion text a. (ms. i). beg.: 'swete lord ihesu cryst, i thanke þe and zelde pe graces of þat swete prayere and of þat holy orysoun þat þou madest beforn þe holy passyoun for vs on pe mownt of olyuete' (horstmann, i. 83). 6 ends: penne was pere warde set of armede knyztes, to kepe pe monument tyl þe thrydde day, etc. amen. ihesu' (p. 91). text b. (mss. ii, iii, iv). beg.: lord þat madist me of nouzt, i biseche pee to zeue me grace to serue þe wip al myn herte. . . . swete ihesu, i panke pee wip al myn herte & kunnynge of pat swete preier & of pat holy orisoun' (pp. 92, 93). ends: 'graunte me, swete ladi, to haue & to holde pis passioun in mynde as hertili & as studiousli in al my lijf, as pou, ladi, & ioon, hadde it in mynde whanne pe peple weren goon & ze abiden bi pe rode foot. amen. pater noster. et ne nos in. adoramus te christe. quia per sanctam crucem. domine ihesu christe' (p. 103). printed editions. three of the four copies of rolle's meditations on the passion have been printed, as will be noted below. two modernized versions have been already cited (supra, pp. 17-18). manuscripts. i. camb. univ. ll. i. 8, ff. 201 sq., late 14th cent. 'explicit quedam meditacio ricardi heremite de hampole de passione domini: qui obiit anno domini mºcccºxlºviiiº. etc.' the scribe is untrustworthy, for in the early part of this manuscript he ascribes the speculum vitae to rolle, and there gives the date of rolle's death as 1384. this text (a) was printed in j. ullmann's study of the speculum vitae (eng. stud., vii. 415 sq.), and by horstmann (i. 83 sq.). more ms. 215 (see bernard's catalogus for the manuscripts of bishop more of norwich). see spur. ii. camb. univ. add. 3042, 15th cent. here bigynnep deuoute meditaciouns of pe passioun of crist whiche weren compilid of richard rolle hermyte of hampol, þat diede in pe zeer of oure lord mo.ccc. & xlix zeer.' this text (b) is almost entirely rewritten, meditations on the passion 279 and much new material added. the rhymes and northern forms found in the former copy are lost. formerly ms. 6 in the parish library of brent eley, suffolk; described while there in the brit. mag., iv, pp. 261 sq. on one page is written 'johanna, unfortunata westmerlandiae cowntes.' printed by horstmann, i. 92-103. cent. iii. bodl. e musaeo 232 (sum. cat. no. 3657), ff. i sq., 15th 'here begynneth a deuout meditacion vp pe passioun of crist imade by richard rolle heremyt of hampoll.' text b. later in the book appears a translation of the mirror of st. edmund by nicholas bellew, and the name appears in the hand of the scribe: 'jon flemmyn' (v. infra, pp. 381 sq.). given by alexander fetherston, vicar of wolverton (co. bucks) and prebendary of lichfield, 1680. iv. upsala univ. c. 494, ff. i sq., early 15th cent. text b. this manuscript is described by lindkvist (op. cit.) at length, and the meditations (which he first identified) printed. a valuable analysis is given of the dialect (e. midland), with constant reference to that of the two manuscripts printed by horstmann (both of which are collated for the text). there are some northern forms, which either come from a northern original, or are peculiar to the n.e. midland. 'broadly speaking, the dialect... bears a marked resemblance to that of osbern bokenham's lives of saints' (pp. 28-9). horstmann had called the two manuscripts known to him 'southern' (with northern forms present in the first, see his vol. ii, p. xl), but lindkvist says that ms. ii is really (like ms. iv) midland, though 'with a slight southern colouring'. as to the language of a (ms. i), it presents a strange mixture of southern, midland, and northern forms and words' (p. 30). lindkvist gives here the most valuable study of rolle's language that has yet been made. it is a pity that he did not know the bodl. ms. in order to bring that also into his discussion. unfortunately the upsala manuscript is imperfect at the beginning. " in the 16th century it was in the possession of english persons, for a 16th-cent. hand has added english notes dividing the work into meditations for each day in the week. it is a small pretty volume, such as would be written for lay persons of wealth. it is the only manuscript at upsala containing an english work, and it did not come from the brigittines at wadstena (as did rolle's other manuscripts there). it is first recorded in a special catalogue printed in 1706 of a hundred rare books collected in 1705 by j. g. 280 miscellaneous english pieces sparwenfeldt, who was sent by the king of sweden in 1688 to collect manuscripts. he does not seem to have visited england. the name of christian raue (professor of oriental languages at frankfurt, for several years librarian at magdalen college, oxford, and professor at upsala, 1650-9) is on the manuscript. quotations and references. b. mus. royal ms. 8. c. xv, end of 14th cent., contains 'liber meditacionum de vita domini nostri ihesu christi et venerabilis matris eius', which quotes many times from 'hampul in suo tractatu de passione' (ff. 7, 7b, 8, 151, 165b, 166). the text used must have been the longer one (b), but its exact character is hard to determine, since the quotations are embedded in the compilation, and the references are only given in a general table at the beginning. it may even have been fuller than any extant. the quotations are made in latin, with no sign that they are translated from english (v. infra, p. 284). it is of course just possible that rolle himself circulated a latin variant of his meditations. in 1468 in the inventory of elizabeth sywardby, widow, deceased (co. yorks), is noted 'de alio libro de meditatione passionis domini, compilato per ricardum rolle, iiijd.' there is no indication that the book in question is english, though three books in her possession earlier noted are described as 'in lingua anglica', or 'in lingua materna'. the appearance of the name 'rolle' should be noted, as well as the fact that it occurs in two extant copies of the meditations. it will be seen that every time the present work is copied in a manuscript, or mentioned in contemporary documents, rolle's name is attached: the external evidence for his authorship, therefore, is as strong as possible. nevertheless, his connexion with the meditations cannot be dismissed simply. the confusion of the texts has already been illustrated: two separate versions appear, both differing and agreeing for considerable portions, and of these one (found in a single copy) gives alliteration and rhyme not found in the second, and the other (found in three copies and quoted in a compilation) gives among other additions a long series of similes not found in the first, as follows: 'panne was pi bodi lijk to heuene. . . . and zit, lord swete ihesu, þi bodi is lijk a nett.... 3it, swete ihesu, þi body is lijk a dufhous.... more zit, swete ihesu, þi bodi is lijk a book writen wip reed enke. . . . swete ihesu, meditations on the passion 281 zit þi bodi is lijk to a mede ful of swete flouris' (pp. 96-7, quoted in the roy. ms., f. 165º). at times both versions follow a regular structure: gratitude is expressed to 'swete ihesu' for some incident of the passion, a few words of prayer follow (generally penitential and founded on the incident in question), after which some latin prayers are indicated. this parallel structure is followed more regularly in the second text than in the first, where, especially at the beginning, the incidents of the narrative are barely mentioned: toward the end, this text is fuller than the second, though the structure is more broken. it is possible that the original text of the present series of meditations went over the complete narrative of the passion, with an english and some latin prayers attached to each incident. the appearance of an 'etc.' at the end of the first version (which continues the narrative, in a compressed form, considerably beyond the second) might suggest that the texts that we have are abridged. in view of richard's habit in other works, the relation of the two forms of his meditations need not necessarily mean that both are descended from a common original, from which two scribes have made different selections in copying. richard was in the habit, as we have seen, of repeating himself in different works, sometimes verbatim, sometimes with small variations, and sometimes with new material interwoven with old (the discussion of the grades of love, found in the melum, the canticles, the contra amatores mundi, and the emendatio, is a case in point, v. supra, p. 202). the rewriting in the case of the meditations is so thorough that it is not likely to be a working over by an ordinary scribe, such as is often met with in medieval manuscripts. there is nothing in the material found in one version and not in the other which seems less likely to have come from rolle's pen than what is common to both. in connexion with the fantastic series of similes applied to christ in b, comparison may be made to a simile quoted from the job (supra, p. 140), where the soul touched with the fire of love is compared to cheese. both texts of the meditations, however, are singularly barren of passages unmistakably characteristic of rolle, and yet, almost in this very fact, we may see what the other works have led us to expect. mystic raptures do not appear here, because the prevailing mood is strongly penitential. richard, in the four manuals just described (three of them also in english), concerns himself in part with lower stages of spirituality than have been his concern in most of his works, and for persons beginning the religious life he always tells us t 282 miscellaneous english fieces that a penitential period is necessary: 'pluribus annis die nocteque nichil aliud videbantur agere nisi vigiliis, ieiuniis, leccionibus et oracionibus celestibus meditacionibus inseruire', he says in the canticles (f. 154); but in the judica a, the work of his early youth, he already considers that he himself is at least passing beyond this stage. he tells his friend: 'scitote quoniam in principio durum laborem habebitis, sed paulatim in amorem christi crescentes, ineffabile gaudium inuenietis' (f. 16); he thereupon goes on to mention the joy which he has attained. in most of his works he asserts that his life is 'jubilus', and he says in the incendium: 'cumque doctores nostri asserant perfectos debere lacrimari, et quo perfecciores sunt, eo in fletibus sunt uberiores, tam pro miseriis uie quam pro dilacione patrie. mihi quidem langor mirabilis in diuino amore affluit; et compunccio fletuum corporalium pro interne suauitatis magnitudine cessauit' (p. 270). the contra amatores mundi gives a long discussion to the same purpose, and acknowledges: 'considerabam sane quod nisi prius flerem quam amauissem, ad illud canorum solacium non peruenissem' (f. 175). nevertheless, 'flere autem et gemere sunt iam nouiter conuersorum et incipiencium ac proficiencium, sed iubilare et canere non est nisi perfectorum' (ibid., and also emendatio, fol. 18). in the manuals rolle specially urges meditation on the passion. thus in the emendatio: 'est autem meditatio bona de passione christi & morte, & saepe recordari quantas poenas et miserias sponte suscepit pro salute nostra, in ambulando & praedicando, famem simul frigus & calorem, improperia & maledicta sustinendo. . . . aestimo, quod haec meditatio vtilior sit omnibus alijs, his qui nouiter ad christum conuertuntur' (fol. 10º); in the ego dormio: 'for-pi in pis (second) degre of lufe pou sal be fulfilde with pe grace of þe haly gaste þat þou sal noght haue na sorow ne grutchyng bot for gastly thyng, als for þi synnes & other mennes, & after þe lufe of ihesu criste, & in thynkyng of his passyon. and i wil þat þou haue it mykel in mynde, for it wyll kyndel þi hert to sett at noght al þe gudes of þis worlde, & þe ioy parof, & to desyre byrnandly be lyght of heuen, with aungels and halowes' (pp. 54-5); in the commandment: 'i wate na thyng þat swa inwardly sal take þi hert to couayte goddes lufe and to desyre þe ioy of heuen & to despyse þe vanitees of þis worlde, as stedfast thynkyng of þe myscheues & greuous woundes & of þe dede of ihesu criste' (p. 69). meditations on the passion 283 in the form of living, which is written to a recluse evidently far advanced in spirituality, no special subjects of meditation are mentioned (cf. pp. 30, 41, 48). in the early melum rolle writes of himself: 3 'o pie ihesu, quam penaliter percuciebaris! pectus meum pietas tue passionis penetrauit, et sagittauit me sanguis quem sudasti.¹ memoria misericordie tue mentis mee medullas migrauit ; et funditus feror a febribus funeris vulnerum tuorum virtute, amplius non vacillans cum viciosis' (f. 228). it is evident from these quotations that richard might have written meditations on the passion, since he approved of that form of devotion so highly; and not improbable that if he did so, he would have written for novices, emphasizing a mood of penitence rather than of ecstasy. this is what has apparently happened: the meditations we have ascribed to him seek at every point to move the reader to tears, and the joys of the mystic are hardly hinted at. the following somewhat colourless passages come as close as anything found in the meditations to what we have been accustomed to find in rolle's other works: 'quikne me, lord ihesu crist, & gyf me grace þat i may fele som of þe sauowre of gostely swetnesse' (version a, p. 87); 'lord, i wele in my thougt þe rode foot take in my armys... gret comforte it schal to me be with lykande thou3t. . . . come þanne at þi wylle, heuenelyche leche, and lyzten me sone os þou my nede knowyst; a sparkle of þi passyoun, of loue and of reuthe, kyndele in myn herte to quycnen it with, so þat al brennyng in loue ouur al thynge, al þe world i may forgete, and bape me in þi blood. dan schal i blesse þe tyme þat i fele me so styred to be of þi grace, þat al wordely wele and fleschely lykyng ageyn þe thou3t of þi deth lykyth me nouzt' (ibid., p. 90). both passages recur in the second version with slight variations (pp. 100, 103). perhaps the most mystical passage found in the new material added in the second version is the following: 'now, swete ihesu, graunte me grace to touche pee wip criynge merci for my synnes, wiþ desiris to gostly contemplacioun, wip amendinge of my lijf and contynuaunce in goodnes, in stodie to fulfille pin heestis, & delicat abidinge in mynde of thi passioun ' (p. 97). the same is found in latin in the compilation in roy. 8 c. xv (f. 166). the first text gives two colourless references to the holy name. the first is : '... þe stynke of my schame, the sorwe of my soule, þe fylthe of my 1 fudasti c. 2 migraui c. 3 o c. t 2 284 miscellaneous english pieces mouthe, 3yf i lykke þere-onne it fylyth þi name: so may i no manere þe swetnesse of the taste' (p. 87); this passage, and what precedes and follows, are full of alliteration and of rhyme, both of which are lost in the compressed rewriting found in the second version (p. 100). again we find : 'blessyd is þat ilke man, gloriows lorde swete ihesu, þat ony thyng in hys lyue may soffren for þi sake of bodyly peyne or any worldys schame, or ony fleschely lustys gostely or bodyli for þe loue of þi name holly forsake, or may in any poynt folewe be here wyth pe schadowe of þi cros, þat is scharpe lyuynge' (p. 89, omitted in the similar passage in the second text, p. 101). it might appear that in both these cases the 'name' was introduced for the sake of the rhyme with 'shame'-this being a kind of ornament frequent in the first text: however, both versions continually address 'swete ihesu', and may therefore be said already to show the devotion to the holy name in action in its lower form of 'crying with the mouth'. the only other characteristic of the meditations which strongly suggests rolle is the ornamental style, especially characteristic of the first version. whatever the complicated relation between the two versions may be, it is certain that some of the variations in the second version are due to corrupt text, for that is the only plausible explanation for the loss of the alliteration and rhyme. the puzzling nature of this relation may be understood, however, when it is observed that the second text sometimes uses alliteration not found in the first. for example, where the first text gives : 'it is tokenyng of my deth, and fylthe of my synne, þat slayn hath my sowle & stoke is pere-inne, and stoppyth al þe sauoure, þat i may nouzt the fele' (p. 87), the second is equally though differently alliterative, suppressing the rhyme : 'my synnes ben so manye and so wickid þat þei han schit out deuocioun & han stoppid al þe sauour of swetnes fro my soule' (p. 100). though, on the whole, alliteration is much more frequent and extensive in the first version than the second, it occurs often enough also in the latter to rule out the possibility of that text (which seems to be the one used for the latin compilation) having been originally written in latin. evidence to the same effect may be found in the rhyming phrase 'to loue pee swete ihesu, moost needful, moost meedful, & moost spedeful', which occurs (p. 94) in the new material of the second text. meditations on the passion 285 rolle's meditations on the passion seem to betray a fondness on his part for the stimulus amoris, for he echoes it here (pp. 86, 99; cf. stim. am., pt. i, chapter 4) in a considerable passage on the blessed virgin, carefully translated. the older work (in part i, which treats of the passion) has probably influenced his in matters of style: both use the interrogative and apostrophes freely, and some other direct reminiscences occur, as in the author's emotional references to his stony heart, his desire to share the wounds of christ, etc. some of the elements which the two works have in common are probably derived from the meditations and prayers ascribed to st. anselm, and here (though the unknown author of the stimulus was probably influenced by those works) rolle in part took his influence at first hand, for reminiscences occur in his meditations not derived from the stimulus, along with others which are. the interrogative, and the emotional references to the hard heart and the desire to share in the wounds are both found here (migne, 158, cc. 808, 903); and meditatio xviii heads many paragraphs with 'gratias tibi ago', which is probably the source of rolle's continual 'swete ihesu i thanke pe'. altogether the purpose of rolle's work is exactly that described in a meditatio of st. anselm's as follows: fac, precor, domine, me gustare per amorem quod gusto per cognitionem; sentiam per affectum quod gusto per intellectum ' (c. 769). in the first version occurs a stanza of alliterative verse: 'gloryouse lord so doolfully dyzte, so rewfully streynyd up-ryzt on pe rode. . .' (p. 86), which (in a slightly variant form) makes part of an alliterative lyric occurring among lyrics ascribed to rolle and printed by horstmann under his name (p. 72). rolle's authorship will be discussed infra, p. 295. it will be seen from the facts reviewed that rolle's authorship of the meditations cannot be proved decisively by internal evidence, as is the case with almost every other work ascribed to him by good manuscript authority. it may be, however, that if we had the original text or texts, rolle's characteristics would appear as clearly as in other works. we have already seen that the discovery of a new manuscript has revealed more northern forms in the second version. at the same time there is nothing in the meditations positively unlike rolle, and they supply in english what he urges in his english epistles; the meditations may have directly followed the recommendation, or vice versa. further confirmation of his authorship may lie in the use of the holy name of jesus, and in the frequent occurrence of alliteration and rhyme. 286 miscellaneous english pieces additional note another english meditation on the passion, said by horstmann to be certainly a work of rich. rolle' (i. 112), should be mentioned here. it begins 'now open þi hert wyde to thynke on pase paynes þat cryst for þe thoolede' (ibid.), and passes into a description of the 'three arrows of doomsday'. two modernized versions have been printed under rolle's name (v. supra, pp. 17-18, burton, and hodgson, minor works). horstmann prints the work from two manuscripts, in both of which occur genuine works of rolle; neither ascribed the meditation to him, and in general there seems no reason to do so. it is more colourless than the meditations which bear his name, in spite of horstmann's dictum that it is written in his best style, in his peculiar rhythmical prose' (i. 104). the rhythmical prose is not more pronounced than is found in many works of the time (v. supra, pp. 78 sq.). " in the ingilby ms. containing rolle's english psalter (v. supra, p. 172) the meditation just cited makes part of the holy book gratia dei' along with the tracts entitled 'grace', 'prayer', and 'daily work', printed by horstmann from two very disjointed and confused texts (i. 132-56, 300-21). these, he says, 'can safely be ascribed to r. rolle' (i. 104). one text occurs in the thornton ms., the other in ar. 507 (from which comes also one text of the meditation just cited, to which there is a cross-reference in the tract, p. 149). the three tracts and the meditation make a continuous whole¹ in the ingilby ms., and probably this was the original arrangement. the opening of the ingilby text is that printed from the thornton ms., p. 305 (beginning 'gracia dei... grace pe appostille settis be-fore as ledare'). as i have shown, there was a 'liber gracia dei... in anglico' left in a northern will (1449), and the fact that in the ingilby text of that title a large section is to be traced to the ancren riwle, and other sections to the abbey of the holy ghost and the mirror of st. edmund does not mean that the 'gratia dei' did not have its own identity, though evidently its author was not notable for originality. the meditation in question may be one of the original parts of his work, or he may have borrowed it. there is a good deal 1 m. konrath in reviewing horstmann conjectured that they made part of the same work (angl., 96, p. 282). 2 now huntington ms. 148. 3 mod. lang. rev., xviii. 6. i regret that in this article (on 'some fourteenthcentury borrowings from ancren riwle') i have given the wrong name to the testator in the will in question. the date given, however, is correct. meditations on the passion 287 of unevenness in the work, and some parts of the sections printed by horstmann as separate tracts seem by their successfully colloquial style almost to suggest rolle. it is possible that scraps of lost works of his have been drawn on; the sections on grace, prayer, and daily work suggest him more than the meditation, though there is nothing in the latter that makes his authorship impossible. in spite of the reminiscences of his style in the section on daily work, however, the following would probably make his authorship impossible: 'god when he comes to his lufars: he gifs þaim to taste how swete he is; & are þai mai fulli fele: he fra þaim wendis, & als an egle he spredis his wengis & aboue þaim risis als if he said: "som dele mai ze fele: how swete i am; bot if ze wil fele pis swetenes to be full: flies vp after me, & lift zoure hertis vp to me þar i am sittand on mi fader right hand: & pare sal ze be fulfillid in ioie of me". god comes til his lufars: til comforte þaim; he partis fra þaim: for pai suld þe mare meke þaim, & þat þai suld noght ouer-mikil pride þaim of þe gladdyng þat þai haf of his come; for if þi spouse ware ai with þe: pou wold late ouer-wele of pe selfe & despice oper; &, if he ware ai with þe: pou wold rete it to kynde & noght to grace' (p. 147; lacking in the thornton ms., but present in the ingilby). as we have seen (supra, pp. 70 sq.), richard rolle declared that mystic joy was perpetual, though most mystical writers felt it to be intermittent. the passage quoted shows, therefore, an essential divergence from his experience. it will also have shown the superior style of the piece, which would suggest that it was written by one of the leaders among fourteenth-century mystics. part iii: english lyrics the question of the authenticity of the english lyrics ascribed to the hermit of hampole is one of the most complicated and interesting involved in the study of his canon. the different works in question will therefore be discussed more in detail than other compositions. just as in beginning the general study of rolle's canon it was necessary, in order to provide a criterion, to describe at some length the canticles and the office, of which the authenticity did not need to be proved, so in beginning the study of the english lyrics it will be necessary to consider first some lyrics of which the authenticity may be taken for granted. these are the four lyrics occurring in the english epistles. though, as we shall see, rolle probably adapted to his own purposes part of one of these, yet it seems practically certain that he attached them to the epistles much in their present 288 miscellaneous english pieces form, and himself composed most of their lines. this follows from the fact that they occur generally unchanged in the manuscripts, and are provided with introductions which make integral parts of the text. the four lyrics will be considered one by one, and the introductions quoted: (1) the first lyric occurs in chapter 7 of the form of living, as follows: 'and when pou ert at þi mete: loue ay god in þi thoght, at ilk a morsel,' & say þus in þi hert: loued be pou keyng,' etc. (p. 30). eight lines of irregular verse follow, built on two rhymes only, written with no more sense of poetic form than a child might have, whose idea of poetry was to bring in a rhyme wherever he could, and follow some sort of rhythm. we can hardly deny that such verseform would be characteristic of rolle. in his latin prose--especially in the melum, the most extreme example—he shows in a different medium the same tendency to take his effect wherever he can get it, shifting from one rhythm to another, and from alliterative to plain prose, with no apparent purpose in his style except that of getting somehow the greatest amount of ornament. the formlessness, therefore, of the lyrics which are interspersed in the epistles may almost be called indicative of his authorship. evidence of a more positive kind appears in the substance of the first lyric, short as it is. we get hints of the devotion to the thought of jesus in the line 'ihesu all my ioyng', and of the 'canor' in the conclusion pou gyf me grace to syng, þe sang of þi louyng'. the present lyric also occurs in the anonymous lay folks massbook, which, therefore, horstmann seeks to ascribe to rolle (ii, p. xlii). this conjecture seems unwarranted, since no other signs appear of his authorship. the likelihood is that the author of the mass-book is here simply quoting a popular prayer.3 1 cf. incendium: 'ad mensam eius memoriam habere poterimus eciam in ipsis gustibus cibi et potus' (p. 267); emendatio: dum comedis aut bibis, memoria dei tui qui te pascit a mente nunquam recedat' (fol. 6º). 2eets. orig. ser., 71; horstmann, ii. 1-8. the lines introducing the lyric (at the elevation) would bear out this opinion: 'swiik prayere pen pou make als lykes best þe to take;sondry men prayes sere, ilk mon on his best manere. short prayere shulde be, with-outen drede, and per-with pater noster & po crede. english lyrics 289 horstmann's ascription to rolle of the mass-book resembles earlier cases of wrong attribution to the hermit. a work not his is given to him because the reader recognizes signs of his influence. (2) in chapter 8 of the form of living, the second lyric is introduced as follows (in the account of the third and highest degree of love): 'and ymang other affeccions & sanges, pou may in þi langyng syng þis in þi hert til þi lorde ihesu, when pou couaytes hys comyng, & pi gangyng: when will how com to comforth me, and bryng me owt of care, & gyf me pe pat i may se, hauand euer-mare?' (p. 34). this short lyric is characterized by the irregular verse-form, alliteration, and ecstatic theme and language which we expect from rolle. it can hardly be written in stanzas. longing for death was always, as we have seen, a dominant mood of the mystic, and it gave a stanza to the hymn jesu dulcis memoria, as follows: 'desidero te millies, mi jesu; quando venies? me laetum quando facies? me de te quando saties?' (stanza 23). considering the other reminiscences of the jesu dulcis memoria in richard's works (v. supra, p. 100), it is probable that we have here the source of the opening of the present lyric, and to some extent of its metre. short as the piece is, it abounds in reminiscences of the other works, both english and latin. the following paraphrase from the melum occurs : 'i stand in still mowrnyng of al lufelyest of lare ... es lufe langyng, it drawes me til my day: pe band of swete byrnyng, for it haldes me ay fra place & fra plaiyng, til þat i get may pe syght of my 'en solus suspiro, in caumate consummor dulcissimi amoris, et ligat latibulum capax caloris dileccio stringens, dum trahit me torridum igne suaui ad diem dilectam uis liquidi languoris, nam tenet me if þou of ane be vn-puruayde, i set here ane pat may be sayde; pof i merk hit here in lettir, þou may chaunge hit for a bettir' (p. 6). these words show the liberal attitude of the time towards all material observances, which rolle himself had done much to build up. following the lyric in the form he gives permission for another to be used if more suitable (p. 30); and the same elasticity in his directions for devotion appears in his chapter on meditation in the emendatio. 290 english pieces miscellaneous swetyng, pat wendes neuer away' (p. 34). this extract illustrates the alliteration of the lyric. taliter quemadmodum inclusus a ludo lasciuo donec leticia in lumen leuatus lucrer cum lucidis uisionem uiuificam melliflui mei uitalis veraciter et nunquam vacilla[n]t[is]'¹ (f. 248). formlessness of metre and the irregular the first couplet of this lyric (slightly variant) is introduced into a northern meditation on the passion in b. mus. roy. ms. 17 c. xvii, early 15th cent. (f. 90): this is derived from ego dormio (v. infra). (3) the third lyric occurs in ego dormio: 'or thynk on hym principaly, þat þi thoght be ay hauand hym in mynde. and thynk oft on his passyon (meditatio de passione cristi): my keyng þat water grette, and blode swette...pou be my lufyng, þat i þi lufe may syng.—if þou wil thynk þis ilk day, þou sal fynde swetnes pat sal draw þi hert vp, þat sal gar þe fal in gretyng, & in grete langyng til ihesu' (pp. 56-8). this alliterative lyric is many times longer than those already described, and it more than once changes its length of line and system of rhyme. it falls into two parts, one of which is a realistic meditation on the passion, and the other an ecstatic 'love-longing'. in the first part is inserted a verse-translation of part of the oratio ii ascribed to st. anselm (migne, 158, c. 861), which exists in manuscripts of before rolle's day (see carleton brown, register, nos. 301, 2606, and fourteenth-century lyrics, no. 1).² this part also contains a translation of the sentences respice in faciem christi which follow in the oratio the candet nudatum pectus just cited: here, however, rolle does not utilize the english verse-paraphrase which was current in his day (brown, lyrics, no. 2), but he makes his own translation. as professor brown notes (lyrics, p. 242), "the "respice" passage, with only a few verbal changes', is inserted in rolle's incendium (p. 221). finally, the present lyric paraphrases some lines from the incendium, as follows: 'dryuen he was to dole... 'ipse uero christus quasi nostro god of mageste was dyand on þe amore languet, dum tanto ardore ut 1 vacillat mss. 2 professor brown assigns the latin original (candet nudatum pectus) to st. augustine, whose name is sometimes attached to many of the meditations and prayers otherwise given to st. anselm. on this subject see my article on 'the mystical lyrics of the manuel des pechies', p. 183, n. 65. wilmart (p. xiv) assigns the piece to jean of fécamp. english lyrics 291 rude. bot suth þan es it sayde þat lufe ledes pe ryng; þat hym sa law hase layde, bot lufe it was na thyng. ihesu, receyue my hert, & to pi lufe me bryng: al my desyre pou ert, bot i couete pi comyng. pow make me clene of synne... kyndel me fire with-in, þat i pi lufe may wyn, and se þi face ihesu in ioy þat neuer sal blyn.... pe i couete, pis worlde noght, & for it i fle; pou ert þat i haue soght: þi face when may i see?' (pp. 57-8). nos adquireret ad crucem festinauit : sed uerum dicitur quia amor preit in tripudio, et coream ducit. quod christum ita demissum posuit, nihil nisi amor fuit. ueni saluator meus animam meam consolari! stabilem me fac in dileccione, ut amare nunquam desistam!... reminiscere misericordie tue, dulcissime ihesu, ut lucens sit uita mea uirtute repleta. . . . ex quo enim sancto amore mens mea incensa est, positus sum in langore uidenti maiestatem tuam... despicio dignitatem terre, nec curo de ullo honore.... quando amare inceperam, amor tuus cor meum suscepit, et nihil me concupiscere permisit, preter amorem; deinde tu deus de dulci lumine animam meam inardescere fecisti, ex quo per te et in te mori potero, et tristiciam non sentire' (p. 276). the relation here between rolle's prose and verse is about such as we have seen between two of his prose works (v. supra, pp. 82, 202). he repeats his substance exactly, and sometimes his words. the passage here quoted from the incendium bears comparison with the second lyric in the form, just discussed, as well as with others later to be considered: the present lyric, like the former, is full of reminiscences of rolle's latin works. as usual the name 'jesus' and the fire of love' are both conspicuous. 6 (4) the fourth lyric of the epistles occurs at the end of ego dormio (p. 60): 'now i wryte a sang of lufe, þat þou sal delyte in when pow ert lufand ihesu criste.--my sange es in syhtyng, my lyfe es in langynge, til ipe se my keyng, so fayre in þi schynyng.... this lyric is a trifle longer than the last mentioned, alliterative, of variable metre, and entirely given up to 'love-longing'. it declares in words reminiscent of many prose passages: 'i wil na thyng bot anely þe, þat all my will ware.' it repeats exactly the opening lines of the third lyric, and abounds in reminiscences both of the other lyrics and of the prose works. it continually uses the name of 'jesus', sometimes with phrases similar to those found in other works, as in the following instance: 292 miscellaneous english pieces 'ihesu my dere & my drewry,... ihesu my myrth & melody, when will pow com my keyng? ihesu my hele & my hony, my whart & my comfortyng' (p. 60). 'o amor meus! o mel meum ! o cithara mea! o psalterium meum et canticum tota die!... quando uenies ad me ut assumas tecum suscipientem tibi spiritum meum?' (incendium, p. 245). lines suggesting this devotion are found in works older than rolle's time, as follows: 'ihesu min hali loue min sikere swetnesse (?). ihesu min heorte. mi sel, mi saule hele. ihesu swete, ihesu mi leof, mi lif, mi leome. min halwi, min huniter, þu al þet ic hopie. ihesu mi weole mi wunne. ... ontend me wip þe blase of þi leitinde loue, let me beo mi (þi ?) leofmon and her to loue þe, louie pe louende louerd, wa [is me] pet ic am swa fremede wip pe... hwine con ich þe woze wip swete luue, uor alle þinge swetest, alre pinge leoflucest and luue wurdest' (on ureisun of oure louerde, eets. orig. ser., 34, pp. 183 sq.). 'ihesu swete ihesu mi druð mi derling mi drihtin mi healend, mi huniter mi halewei. swetter is munegunge of pe þen mildeu o muže. hwa ne mei luue pi luueli leor? hwat herte is swa hard þat ne mei to-melte i þe munegunge of þe? ... nu mi derewurde druð, mi luue, mi lif, mi leof, mi luueleuest, mi heorte haliwei, mi sawle swetnesse. pu art lufsum on leor, þu art al schene, al engles lif is ti neb to bihalden.... a ihesu mi swete ihesu leue pat te luue of þe beo al mi likinge' (pe wohunge of ure lauerd, ibid., pp. 269–71). the sentence last quoted is repeated as a refrain throughout the piece-in all, ten times; it ends the whole. both rhapsodies are full of emotional meditation on the passion, and many more lines suggesting rolle could be quoted. enough has probably been given, however, to show that these pieces, which occur in manuscripts of the first half of the thirteenth century, and are probably much older, already give many of the characteristics of rolle's mystical devotions. like the latter, they also probably show the influence of the hymn jesu dulcis memoria (v. supra, p. 100, and romanic review, ix, pp. 186 sq.).¹ the special characteristic of the present lyric might be called, in mystical language, its 'languor', and though the carthusian richard of mount grace at the end of the next century said that this was not a special characteristic of rolle (v. infra, p. 416), many examples could be brought from his latin writings. the following almost reproduce the opening lines of the lyric, already quoted: 1 cf. my 'origin of the ancren riwle' (pub. mod. lang. assoc. of am., xxxiii. 536). english lyrics 293 'ideo enim amore langueo, quia quem diligo in suo decore cernere tota mente concupisco' (incendium, p. 216). 'ego deficio pre dileccione et in sanctis suspiriis totum tempus meum expendo' (ibid., p. 258). we shall find the first lines of the present lyric used in several others ascribed to rolle. a repetition in other lyrics ascribed to him makes it also important to note some parallels from the prose works to the couplet 'my setell ordayne for me & sett þou me par-in: for pen mon we neuer twyn' (p. 61). it has already been noted (supra, pp. 71, 119 sq., etc.) that rolle is very confident of his place in heaven, and he is very precise on this point to his disciples: 'for pis trauel pou sal coin till reste pat lastes ay, & syt in a setel of ioy, with aungels' (form of living, p. 41). 'for if pow stabil þi lufe, & be byrnande whils pou lyfes here: withowten dowte, þi settel es ordaynde ful heghe in heuen, & ioyful before goddes face, amang his haly aungels' (ego dormio, p. 51). the progress of the sanctified soul towards this appointed place is described in a variety of alliterative latin phrases: 'ac degent cum dilecto quem desiderabant, sanctissime suscepte in sedes securas' (melum, f. 232▾). 'suscepte sunt ad seraphyn cum ab hiis secedunt. siquidem suspirant incessanter vt subleuantur in sedes quas sciunt sempiternas' (ibid., f. 236). 'sic libere languens, in laude delector, adherens amplexibus osculis anhelo, ut semper suspensus in celicum sonorum euolem agiliter in aulam amati... et fugi falsidicos figmentum refrenans uolans uelociter in cytharam sublimem, ut fruar in fine festo futuro vultus in uisu perpetui splendoris assistens cum celicis in sede supprema' (ibid., f. 248▾; cf. also incendium, pp. 182, 184, 253, 258, etc.). as usual, in the present study, in making quotations to illustrate parallels for one idea, parallels are provided for others: the 'languor' in the last quotation may be noted, the expectation that the mystic will sit with the seraphim (v. supra, p. 88), and parallels to the following lines in the present lyric: 'me langes to þi hall, to se þe þan al.' 'til i pe se my keyng, so fayre in þi schynyng? 'til i it hafe in syght, his face sa fayre & bryght. thus the usual close relation exists between the lyrics of rolle's epistles and his other works. in some of the latin treatises294 miscellaneous english pieces • notably perhaps in the incendium and the emendatio-we find apostrophes inserted to love, the divine lover, etc., and an ecstatic meditation in prose has been quoted from the emendatio (supra, p. 245) which is offered by rolle as a type of what such a piece should be. in other words, we have analogies in rolle's latin works for the introduction of the lyrics in the epistles. the only attributions to rolle of english lyrics other than those which occur in his epistles are given in ms. dd. v. 64, iii, (late 14th cent.), and longleat ms. 29 (15th cent.), already described (supra, pp. 34 sq.). the latter includes lyrics in the collection dedicated to margaret kirkeby, and the former opens its series with a heading in which rolle's name does not appear, but concludes with his name. another lyric follows, which is concluded also with his name. it is uncertain just how many pieces are intended to be attributed to him in this volume. the first five are run together as prose. 'hic incipiunt cantus compassionis christi & consolacionis eterni (!)'. the first two poems are 'complaints of christ', to which this title probably refers. rolle inserts a prose piece of the same type in his melum (ff. 228–9). i. 'vnkynde man, gif kepe til me... in erth mi grace, in heuen my blysse.' as hahn has shown (p. 41), this is a translation of the first half of the lyric popularly ascribed to st. bernard of clairvaux, though probably by philip de grèves (see hauréau, les poèmes attribués à st. bernard, paris, 1890, p. 76). horstmann points out that another text is found in the vernon ms., and during the course of the present investigation another was found in ms. ii. i. 2, f. 126b (15th cent.), where the first fourteen lines (the limit of the translation) are copied parallel with the original, with the heading: 'he pleynep him of oure vnkyndenes porouz pe moup of seynt bernard. . . .' the sixteen concluding lines of the poem, which seem to be original, complete 'the complaint of christ' in a conventional manner, without any special sign of rolle's authorship. the fifteen rhymed couplets are regular in structure, and not alliterative. rolle's connexion with the lyric seems doubtful, though possible. professor brown cites another copy in harl. ms. 4012. ii. 'lo lemman swete, now may pou se... and i aske pe noght elles.' this lyric of twelve lines is also spoken in the person of christ. the line 'pat i pi lufe sa dere haue boght' english lyrics 295 reproduces one in the previous lyric, and both are probably due to the same author. the lines are regularly rhymed (aabccbddeffe), without alliteration. the address to the soul as 'lemman swete might suggest rolle, but this mode of address was old before his time, as i have shown in my article on 'the mystical lyrics of the manuel des pechiez' (pp. 161 sq.). rolle's authorship seems doubtful, though possible. " iii. my trewest tresowre sa trayturly was taken... pat pou be beryd in my brest, & bryng me to blysse.' this lyric on the passion is entirely made up of apostrophes addressed to christ in alliterative four-line stanzas (rhyming abab) that take occasionally a northern licence as to length of line. the occurrence of the fifth stanza in rolle's meditation on the passion (v. supra, p. 285), the ecstatic style and sentiment of many of the lines, and the alliteration of the whole give us some ground for believing that rolle may be the author. however, the diction at no point echoes his usual phrases, and the whole lyric reaches a height of poetic beauty nowhere else attained in any lyric ascribed to rolle. his use of the present poem is not sure proof of his authorship: we have already seen him appropriating the older candet nudatum pectus (supra, p. 290), and it is probable that he would use in his own devotions more than one lyric not of his own composition. the ms. attribution is too indefinite at this point to go very far as an argument for rolle's authorship, for it is uncertain how far back the colophon naming rolle is meant to apply. in any case, his use of some of its lines shows that it was a favourite with him. iv. 'ihesu, als þow me made & boght, þou be my lufe & all my thoght... pat i haue done ill, ihesu forgyf þow me: and suffer me neuer to spill, ihesu for þi pyte. amen.' this is a penitential lyric made up of two quatrains (the first rhyming aaaa, the second abab, both of lines of four stresses), followed by a quatrain (aaaa, lines of six stresses). each stanza begins with the word 'ihesu'. the structure of this poem, more than that of any other in the series, suggests the irregular arrangement of rhyme and of number of stresses in the lyrics of rolle's epistles the repetition of jesus' also suggests his authorship. the penitential character of the lyric would make it appear that, if it were written by him, it was intended for the use of some follower low in the ranks of the religious life. 296 miscellaneous english pieces v. 'on foure maners may a man wyt if he be owte of dedely syn. de ferth, if he haue sorow for hys synnes þat he hase done.' ... this is a prose scrap giving a category much on the lines of several which rolle gives in his manuals as an assistance to beginners in the religious life (see the english epistles and emendatio, passim). i do not recognize it as derived from any of his extant works, but it is such as would be possible to any medieval christian, and it might have been quoted from rolle's conversation or copied by him in a commonplace-book. the fact that it breaks into the series of 'cantica' shows how indefinite are the limits of the series of lyrics. vi. 'when adam delf & eue span, spir, if pou wil spede, whare was þan þe pride of man, þat now merres his mede?……. with i&e, syker pou be, pare es nane, i þe hete, of al þi kyth, wald slepe pe with, a nyght vnder schete.' this is the only lyric in the present series which it would appear impossible to ascribe to rolle. it gives not a hint of mysticism, and its careful six-line stanzas show considerable metrical facility. neither style nor sentiments give any hint of rolle's authorship. only the alliteration suggests his school. it might at first sight appear that the opening lines of this poem bear so close a resemblance to the text of john ball's famous sermon on blackheath that the poem must therefore belong to the period of the peasants' revolt. this does not, however, necessarily follow. ball may have caught up for his text and adapted a folk-saying long current (perhaps derived from the german),' or he may even (especially since he is said to have spent some time at york) have met this northern poem and taken a hint from it for his rhyme. the first lines of the lyric-and indeed the whole-give no sign of the socialism of the late fourteenth century: the refrain 'with i and e' occurs in several poems of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.' the present poem contains nothing to show its date, being made up of commonplaces of ascetic theology as old as the debate of the body and soul and the poema morale. its appearance here shakes our confidence in the scribe's authority, if he did intend to include the whole series in the ascription to rolle. 1 it is quoted in edinburgh univ. ms. 114* (15th cent., formerly owned by the canons regular at nuys) as follows: 'waer was do dey edelman do adam groeff end eva span?' (f. 324). i quote the catalogue of mss. 2 see w. heuser, angl., xxvii. 282 sq. for ball's life see d. n. b. english lyrics 297 a second text of this poem, with two extra stanzas on doomsday, is printed by horstmann, i. 367-8, from the thornton ms. vii. 'all synnes sal þou hate, thorow castyng of skylle, and 3herne to gang in þe gate pat es with-owten ille... owre setels heuen ar with-in-me lyst sytt in myne. lufe criste & hate syn, & sa purches pe pine.' this spirited little poem (mostly treating the day of judgement), with its vigorous diction and direct discourse, suggests rolle's style, though it presents what would be only the most elementary form of his message, such as he was in the habit of occasionally directing to the worldly. it is written in four-line stanzas rhyming on one rhyme medially and another rhyme finally (as do the stanzas in rolle's canticum amoris): the lines are, however, shorter than in the latin poem (in which the half-lines have three stresses). though the number of syllables is irregular, apparently each half-line here is intended to have two stresses. alliteration is apparent. the line 'tumbyl noght fra þe state þat þou hase tane pe tille' suggests the form of living: 'i wyll þat þou be ay clymbande till ihesu-warde . . . noght as foles doos: þai begyn in þe heyest degre, & coms downe till þe lawest' (p. 20). the reference to the 'settles in the last couplet suggests the conclusion to the second lyric of ego dormio, and the passages of rolle's prose works quoted in that connexion. a second text of no. vii is found in the longleat ms. (ff. 52-3), where also it is ascribed to rolle. viii. mercy es maste in my mynde, for mercy es pat i mast prayse... mercy es bath al & som, par-in i trayst & after pray.' we have here four stanzas, each made up of six lines, of which the first four rhyme medially (on one rhyme) and finally (on another rhyme), and the last two rhyme (medially and finally) as a couplet. alliteration is present. this lyric departs from the subject of most of the others ascribed to rolle, and extols 'mercy' instead of 'love'. in this it runs very near to the prose work on mercy (v. supra, p. 161), which is given to rolle in both manuscripts. as the quotations given in connexion with the latter work show, rolle's thoughts sometimes dwelt on the 'mercy of god', in spite of the mystical absorption in love which u 298 miscellaneous english pieces was generally his. as the prose work. the present poem may express the same mood like the latter it gives hints of the author's usual striving for direct personal relations with 'jesus', and for 'singing' in heaven : 'god of al, lorde & keyng, i pray þe ihesu, be my frende, sa þat i may þi mercy syng in þi blys with-owten ende.' no hints of ecstatic psychology are given, but a touch of romantic phraseology is retained: 'to pi mercy es my hert noynt, for þer-in al my likyng lyse.' the phraseology of the more mystical lyrics is also suggested in he lines: 'mercy es al my socoure, til lede me to pe land of lyght, and bring me til þe rial toure, whare i mai se mi god sa bryght.' with these compare the following bits from the second lyric of ego dormio: 'so fayre in þi fayrehede: in til þi lyght me lede... ihesu... my sokoure: when may i se þi towre?' (p. 60). we see here much the same phenomenon that we have observed with rolle's early latin poem to the virgin : as the ecstatic addresses to jesus are there applied to his mother, so some of the praises of love are here applied to mercy. this poem is perhaps written for the use of a novice. the above parallels occur among details easily imitated and on the whole commonplace, and the poem needs more external evidence to make rolle's authorship certain. however, it is evident that his authorship can be justified on internal evidence, though the metrical regularity of the piece is perhaps an obstacle. ix. 'ihesu god son, lord of mageste, send wil to my hert anly to couayte pe... on hym þat þe boght, hafe al þi thoght, & lede þe in his lare; gyf al þi hert til crist þi qwert, & lufe hym euer-mare.' this lyric is entirely given up to rolle's favourite subject of ecstatic love for 'jesus', expressed with alliteration and in his favourite phrases, with many lines both on 'love-longing' and the passion repeated exactly from the two lyrics of ego dormio. though the whole-unlike any lyric of the epistles-is written in monorhymed quatrains,' the lines sometimes halt a little in the manner we usually 1 stanza ii rhymes aabb. english lyrics 299 expect from rolle. all the following lyrics use the same form, which partly follows the structure of verse in the canticum amoris. the latin poem and english lyrics are all¹ written in quatrains (aaaa); but in the former the half-lines are uniform (bbcc), whereas in the present lyric they vary in length throughout the stanza, and the medialrhyme system is quite irregular. in lambeth 853 (mid 15th cent.), the present poem occurs anonymously, inserted into the text of no. x (see eets. orig. ser., 24, pp. 22-31); in the longleat ms. it occurs ascribed to rolle in the same arrangement, but preceded by an 'amen', and another 'amen' follows it before the last part of no. x (according to the text printed by horstmann) continues. thus the longleat ms. makes three lyrics of what the lambeth copy makes one, and the cambridge (by different arrangement) two. x. 'luf es lyf þat lastes ay, þar it in criste es feste... ihesu, gyf vs grace, as pou wel may, to luf þe with-owten endyng.' as i have pointed out in another place (v. supra, p. 18), the first sixty lines of this poem are a close translation of scattered sentences from chapters 40-1 of the incendium. hints from the same chapters and chapter 42 seem to have been used at times in the remaining 36 lines. as has already been noted, the other two copies of this lyric insert no. ix at line 68. : we have already seen rolle in the first lyric of the ego dormio translating a few lines from the melum and the incendium (chapter 42), and such incidental use of his latin as occurs in the latter part of no. x and in ix we are prepared to expect. the english style of the present lyric suggests rolle as the author of the whole we have alliteration, forceful homely diction, and such familiar phrases as 'pe settel of lufe' (p. 76), '3hernyng', 'louing', 'couaytyng' as substantives (applied to the saviour), 'ylk a dele' (1. 27, cf. ego dormio, p. 61), 'bygge & balde' (l. 51, cf. ibid.), 'wele ne wa', 'qwart', 'twyn', and the constant repetition of the name 'iesus' in the last lines. if the english poet here was not rolle, he was a person who, on internal evidence, would be as likely to write any of the lyrics as rolle himself. the quatrains here, as in rolle's signed latin poem and most of the present lyrics, are rhymed aaaa, but the number of syllables in the line is irregular, the stresses vary, and the half-lines sometimes rhyme bbbb, sometimes bbcc. 1 but v. supra, p. 298, n. u 2 300 miscellaneous english pieces wete a ins xi. 'heyle ihesu, my creatowre, of sorowyng medicyne... als thurgh pi grace art my 3hernyng, in til þi lyght me lede.' every line of the first stanza of this poem begins 'heyle ihesu', and the first line of every stanza begins either 'ihesu' or 'heyle ihesu'. the subject of the whole is ecstatic love, with special reference to the passion. thus it is a devotion to the holy name of jesus', such as rolle is always recommending. it is full of reminiscences of the lyrics of the epistles-one of which appears in the last line, above quoted (cf. supra, p. 298)-and of the lyrics of the present series. like most of the latter it is made up of monorhymed quatrains, with an irregular number of syllables and stresses in the line and rhyming of the half-lines (not always consistently carried out). alliteration is evident. this poem seems certainly to have been written by the author of the two previous ones, and if he is not rolle he is a follower of the hermit saturated in his thought and phraseology. no other copy of this poem is known. • xii. all vanitese forsake, if pou his lufe will fele... swa þat þow hafe þi keyng in ioy with-owten endyng.' this again is an exhortation to ecstatic love of jesus, with some discussion of the 'love of the world' which in the latin works of rolle so often accompanies his discussion of the 'love of god'. alliteration occurs, as well as reminiscences of the lyrics of the ego dormio-among them the ever-popular line 'wyth lufe wounde me with-in, & til þi lyght me lede'. the latin works and the ecstatic lyrics of the present series are also echoed. in quatrains (aaaa), with the stresses somewhat irregularly distributed; the half-lines of each stanza rhyming (bbbb). this lyric certainly seems to have been written by the author of the three previous ones. it is among the poems ascribed to rolle in the longleat ms., but there it follows no. xiv of ms. dd. v. 64 without a break. it is found (anonymous, as are all the lyrics there) in the thornton ms. in the same arrangement, of which the scribe of dd. v. 64 is aware, for he copies at the end of no. xiv the first line of the present lyric, with the addition 'ut supra' (v. p. 82); so the original arrangement is probably that of the thornton ms. (horstmann, i. 370-2). xiii. this is the short piece of alliterative prose discussed supra, p. 272 (gastly gladnesse). it is also found in the longleat ms. in the group ascribed to rolle, though not there in juxtaposition with english lyrics 301 6 the lyrics. rolle's authorship seems certain, and doubly so because it is at the end of this piece that the colophon occurs: expliciunt cantica diuini amoris secundum ricardum hampole.' it is on the basis of this that his authorship is assumed for others of the series. the 'cantica' should be noted at the end of the present piece, which is strictly prose, though its rhythm and alliteration have evidently seemed to justify to the scribe its inclusion with the lyrics. in the same way the melum is called 'carmen prosaicum' or 'carmen rhythmicum' (v. supra, pp. 38, 116). xiv. 'thy ioy be ilk a dele to serue þi god to pay: for al pis worldes wele, pou sees wytes a-way... ioy in pi brest es bredde when pou ert hym lufand: pi sawle pan hase he fedde in swete lufe brennand.' the four lines just quoted will show the strongly ecstatic character of the present lyric, and its consistency with those which have gone before, and with rolle's works as a whole. like the other ecstatic poems of the present series, it echoes lines from the lyrics of the epistles, uses alliteration, and is made up of quatrains rhyming aaaa with a more or less irregular number of syllables. the half-lines (of three stresses) rhyme bbbb. this poem seems to be all of a piece with the four lyrics immediately preceding, and appears to be the work of the same author. the scribe's attribution is precise ('item secundum eundem ricardum'). the present poem exists in the longleat ms. (ascribed to rolle) and in the thornton ms. anonymously (v. supra, p. 300). the attribution to rolle in the colophon of dd. v. 64 (attached to the prose poem, no. xiii) could plausibly be taken as applying to lyrics ix, x, xi, and xii; no. xiv (thoroughly congruous with the four just cited) is specifically given to rolle. these five lyrics really make up one homogeneous unit, and it may be that the scribe intended to include only these in the attribution to rolle. all (except no. xi) are included in the ascription to rolle in the longleat ms., which also includes no. vii. this is the only one of the earlier lyrics written (though in shorter lines) in the stanza-form used in the last five, and though it does not specifically treat the ecstasy of love, it gives hints of rolle's authorship. the ascription in two manuscripts need not be questioned. it has seemed to give a better chance for clear treatment of a very difficult subject for the whole series of lyrics to be treated together, but if the method had been followed here, which is used in the rest 302 miscellaneous english pieces of the present work, the six lyrics just grouped together would have been put in the canon, the other five under dubia, and no. vi among the spuria. at the same time it must be noted that, in spite of constant reminiscences of thought and phrase, none of the six lyrics entirely reproduce the type found in the epistles. in spite of a certain degree of irregularity of verse-form, the former are more conventionally constructed than the latter: however, in rolle's juvenile latin poem we have an analogy to support the ascription to him of quatrains of this general type. it may be noted that the lyrics of the epistles all rhyme now and then medially and finally on a single rhyme, which gives them a suggestion of the verse-form found in the other poems. it is possible that the contrast in metrical arrangement between the two groups is due to the fact that the lyrics of the epistles, being intended for use in informal devotions, are thought of as more informal pieces than the supposedly literary lyrics. it should be noted that the thornton ms. contains a unique text of a lyric (anonymous, as are all the lyrics in this manuscript), of which horstmann says: 'some of the stanzas occur in the poems on pp. 57, 60, 80 [i. e. in rolle's epistles]; r. rolle's authorship is beyond doubt' (i. 364). the relations to rolle's other lyrics have all been carefully traced by professor patterson in his middle english penitential lyric: the poem is really made up of two poems, the first a penitential lyric, and the second one of 'love-longing'. stanzas derived from rolle are found in the latter. it may be noted that they are somewhat regularized in metre, and not after a fashion characteristic of rolle, and what are half-lines in rolle's lyrics are here made into whole lines. it is almost certain that the present lyric is due to a disciple. the the only item given to rolle by the longleat ms. which does not appear elsewhere ascribed to him is the enlarged text of the old lyric 'ihesu swet, nowe wil i synge...' (printed by horstmann, beside texts from two other manuscripts, ii. 9 sq.). the nucleus of this poem was two lyrics appearing in harl. ms. 2253 (c. 1310). one of these is headed 'dulcis lesu memoria' (thus giving an accurate hint of the influence behind the lyric), and horstmann notes that it has just 50 stanzas, so it was probably meant to form a rosary' (ii. 11, n. 1). his conjecture was justified, for in the longleat copy (which he did not know) the first part of the 1 f. a. patterson, new york, 1911, p. 190. english lyrics 303 poem has been sub-divided for liturgical uses, and it is very likely that in all its versions this poem was largely used in private devotions. i have already' pointed out that-like the jesu dulcis memoria, on which it was founded-this lyric held in germ the english mysticism of the fourteenth century: it would be very probable that it was known to rolle, and used in his own devotions, and, if it were so used, he would be very likely to add some stanzas of his own and copy the whole for a disciple. horstmann points out truly that some of the stanzas of the vernon copy (ll. 276-87, 320-4) suggest rolle, but the authority of the longleat ms., in confirming this suggestion by ascribing the whole lyric to rolle, is weakened by the fact that 11. 276-87 are only added in the longleat copy after the ascription has been made. the insertions there made by later correction in the same hand are so extensive and systematic that it would seem likely that the omissions they corrected were not due to carelessness in copying but to a defective archetype, and that the scribe later procured the additions from a second copy. under the circumstances we cannot trust his authority very far, for, in any case, he is wrong in ascribing the whole poem to richard. his ascription at least suggests that rolle knew and loved the poem, since it was probably found in an autograph manuscript. the additions to the vernon text might be included in rolle's dubia. the fact that a number of lyrics have been assigned to rolle's dubia brings on a further discussion. it has already been mentioned (p. 200) that in the incendium and the contra amatores mundi rolle bewails his lack of a friend, and in the former he tells us something of his motives in wishing one, as follows: 2 'quis ergo mihi modularetur carmina cantuum meorum, et gaudia affectuum cum ardoribus amoris, et amorose adolescencie mee uscionem, ut saltem ex canticis caritatis sodalis subtiliter indagarem substanciam meam et mensuram modulacionum, in quibus prestabilis putarer, mihi innotesceret, si forte ab infelicitate exemptum me inuenirem, et quod per me predicare non presumo, quia nondum reperi quod exopto, in solaciis socii mei requiescerem cum dulcore. siquidem si clamorem illum canorem ab extrinsecis auribus omnino absconditum arbitrer (quod et uere esse audeo annunciare), utinam et illius modulaminis inueniam auctorem hominem, qui etsi non dictis, tamen scriptis mihi gloriam meam decantaret, et pneumata que nexus in nomine nobilissimo coram amato meo edere non erubui, canendo ac pneumatizando depromeret. . . . diligerem denique 1 in my article on 'the mystical lyrics of the manuel des pechiez' (pp. 159 sq.). 2 cf. st. augustine, confessions, ii, ii: 'quis mihi modularetur aerumnam meam.' 304 miscellaneous english pieces illum sicut cor meum nec esset aliquid quod ab ipso occultare intenderem, quia canorem quod cupio intelligere mihi exprimeret, et iubilum iocunditatis mee clarius enodaret. in hac equidem apercione exultarem amplius, aut certe uberius emularem ; quoniam mihi ostenderetur incendium amoris et sonora iubilacio euidenter effulgeret' (pp. 243-4). these words would suggest that rolle, at the time of writing the incendium, tried deliberately to get his friends to co-operate with him in expressing the 'canor'. if his plan of delegating his expression took form, we should probably have such results as we find in extant lyrics ascribed to his 'school'. besides the lyrics already accepted among rolle's dubia, such a devotion to jesus as the 'alya cantica' (eets. orig. ser., 15, p. 139) is likely to be the expression of his message from one of his more talented and cultivated followers : such rhyming of his prose and new combinations of his lyrics as we shall find in b. mus. add. ms. 37049 (infra, p. 306) must certainly emanate from a crude disciple. we know by name two of rolle's followers-margaret kirkeby and william stopes-and we know that the latter concerned himself with rolle's works. we have, however, no clue to connect either of these persons with lyrics. when it has been pointed out that richard in his writings gives us warrant for supposing that he encouraged his followers to write poetical versions of his message, it should, in conclusion, be considered how far his own writing of lyrics is prefigured in his prose works. this is one of the most difficult questions to be met in the present study, for it involves an understanding of the inmost experience of his mysticism, and this was something which he never succeeded in expressing, though he struggled with it in early works and in late. it has been taken for granted by horstmann that rolle expressed his 'canor' in his lyrics he says of its first appearance, 'what can it mean but the awakening of his poetical powers?' (ii, p. vii, n.); his first attempts had been private, the outcome of the canor modulated into song' (ibid., p. xvii). if this is the case, it would appear that the few lyrics that we have just discussed cannot be all which richard wrote; lyrical composition would naturally under these circumstances have played a very important part in his life, for the 'canor' was the most significant element of his mysticism, and if he were able to express it in poetry, we can hardly imagine that he would cease doing so. less inspired forms of composition would surely have given way before the flow of his metrical utterance. at several points richard evidently found it hard to reconcile to his contemporaries his theory and his practice, and here is apparenglish lyrics 305 6 ently one of them. he mentions in the melum his 'suauissimam psalterii solucionem' (v. supra, p. 119), and at the other end of his life he gives in the form as a sign of the 'third degree' of love: 'pan pi thoght turnes in til sang & in til melody. pan þe behoues syng þe psalmes, þat þou before sayde' (p. 32). almost certainly he talked of this singing from his earliest days of ecstasy as he wrote of it, and almost certainly he was challenged to reproduce it. hence we probably have the series of passages insisting that his 'canor' is not corporal', 'noght formed in notes of men, bot in sown of heuen' (v. supra, pp. 72, 181). we see by the contra amatores mundi and the incendium that matters in the end reached a crisis, and the disapproval which was felt at his 'singing anywhere, in church or in town', and at his not joining in the mass (v. supra, p. 200), in the end drove him to attempt to explain what his song signified. so we have the struggle to analyse it running through several chapters of the incendium, but ending with the confession that it cannot be done, unless by a friend. in the course of the discussion, however, he throws some light on the subject. the worldly can know his song part, though only in part: in 'mundi quippe amatores scire possunt uerba uel carmina nostrarum cancionum, non autem cantica nostrorum carminum; quia uerba legunt, sed notam et tonum ac suauitatem odarum addiscere non possunt' (p. 278). 'dissonat autem multum ab omnibus que humana et exteriori uoce formantur, corporalibus auribus audienda' (p. 239). when he gives up the effort to describe it, he concludes: 'hic deficio pre insipiencia et hebetudine ingenii. . . . sed uobis enarrare nec potui nec potero, quia ipsum sensum meum superare non ignoro, nisi forte dicere uelim quod clamor iste canor est' (p. 243). but however chaotic its form, its origin is the highest : 'est enim angelica suauitas quam in animam accipit et eadem oda, etsi non eisdem uerbis laudes deo resonabitur. qualis angelorum, talis est iscius concentus, etsi non tantus' (p. 237). since we have the specific invitation (already quoted) to others to express the 'canor', and we have also explicitly stated rolle's dissatisfaction with his own attempts to express it, it might be suggested that all of the lyrics ascribed to him are really due to disciples. this is improbable, for, as we have seen, we have lyrics introduced into his epistles which are so reminiscent of other works, both latin and english, that we can hardly deny that they are due to the same author. their flavour seems to taste of rolle's style. and in 306 miscellaneous english pieces general there is no conclusive reason why-granted that rolle wrote the lyrics of the epistles-he should not have also written the six lyrics ascribed to him in other manuscripts, as already discussed. when thus we decide that rolle did write a certain number of lyrics, however, the quotations already made from the incendium would warn us that almost certainly he did not consider them satisfactory expressions of the canor modulated into song'-to use horstmann's phrase. we have seen that one loosely paraphrases the youthful melum (which was used in early works and late), but otherwise the latin passages which they use come from the incendium. it is possible that this means that they were composed about the time when that treatise was written, and represent a short experiment undertaken in connexion with the discussion as to expressing the 'canor' already quoted. at all events, we have no evidence from any quarter that would make us expect from richard a large body of lyrical verse. in spite of his analytical references to 'uerba uel carmina nostrarum cancionum' (which can be expressed), and the 'cantica nostrorum carminum' (which are inexpressible), it is evident that the 'canor' came to no expression which satisfied the author. the form of expression in which he takes pride, and which he continues at all ages, is evidently prose, and the significant effect of the 'canor' on his literary production is probably the rhythm, rhyme, alliteration, and general poetical contamination characteristic both of the latin prose (especially) and also of the english. evidently richard rolle was a person in whom the instinct for poetical expression along modern lines was weak, though there persisted in him strongly a less formal instinct for poetical expression along the lines of the primitive teuton. here, where he was himself satisfied, he seems to have met disappointment from without, for in the melum, that strange tumult of alliterative phrases, he tells us: 'they do not credit that i am captive to sonorous song, or write constantly, in miraculous mode, of the chant of charity' (f. 222, v. supra, p. 118). his 'miraculous mode' of writing probably, even in his own time, seemed to many not initiated into ecstasy as nothing more than a childish excursion into barbarism. additional note in conclusion, the b. mus. add. ms. 37049 (first half 15th cent.) will be noted for its quotation of english scraps from rolle in prose and verse. some pieces will be noted because they illustrate rolle's english lyrics 307 influence. his name does not appear, nor do the titles of the works which are used, and often the scribe seems to have combined or rewritten his borrowings. he is probably a carthusian, for he copies a piece on the foundation of that order (f. 22); he writes in a strongly northern dialect. the whole volume (written on paper) is filled with pictures of the crudest and most lurid sort: extremes of sensationalism (death with a spear attacking the dying; christ, dripping with blood, citing the number of his wounds) alternate with crude representations of a mystical sort, such as will be noted as possible signs of rolle's influence. this volume probably gives a good example of the influence which he exerted on the cruder aspirants to mysticism in the next century. it may be grouped with the religious diary of richard methley of the northern carthusian house of mount grace (v. infra, p. 416), who may even have been a monk of the same house as the scribe. ff. 23b-4 a piece significant for the history of the cult of the holy name, in the form of verses on the use of 'jhesus nazarenus' on the forehead, beginning with the famous vision on the subject by st. edmund of canterbury. a man is also mentioned on whose heart was written: 'amor meus inc.' f. 24 a picture of christ showing his wounds, with a cleric praying below. among other scraps is the following, which suggests rolle's influence. 'ihesu my luf, my ioy, my reste, þi perfite luf close in my breste þat i pe luf & neuer reste, and make me luf þe of al pinge best and wounde my hert in þi luf fre, þat i may reyne in ioy euermore with pe.' " f. 30b a bearded man in flowing robes lies on a tomb, with a rolled scroll in one hand, and in the other a scroll unfurled, on which is written ego dormio et cor meum vigilat', and 'i slepe and my hert wakes to pe, swete ihesu, pe sone of mary fre'. above are the virgin and child in a rayed medallion set with stars. it 1 see the life of st. edmund, by w. wallace, london, 1893, pp. 545 sq. 2 a woodcut of this picture was in 1910 in the possession of w. t. freemantle, esq., of barbot hall, rotherham, who kindly sent me a rubbing. he used it to supply an illustration in his volume (v. supra, p. 9). the block was given him by a friend who had discovered the manuscript, apparently abroad, 308 miscellaneous english pieces is probable that this picture is meant to represent rolle, parts of whose epistle beginning with ego dormio' (the motto here given) are reproduced on the opposite page. the drapery does not suggest sculpture, or we might conjecture that we have here a representation of richard's tomb at hampole. f. 31 the description from the ego dormio of the three grades of love. f. 35b: a fragment from the commandment (p. 69) on thought of the passion, followed by a fragment from the form of living (p. 48) on the two parts of contemplative life'. f. 36b a rude drawing shows a bloody heart pierced by the motto 'est amor meus', with a cleric below and a crucifix above, from which grow flowers marked 'luf'. under this picture is a lyric which derives most of its lines from that in ego dormio (p. 57). it has an introduction on the holy name, which echoes many passages in rolle, as follows: 'pe luf of god who so will lere in his hert þe name of ihesu he bere, for it puts oute pe fende and makes hym flee...' (v. supra, p. 75). f. 37 another crucifix, below which are devils reading a scroll containing 'sanctus, sanctus, sanctus' and the motto 'ihc est amor meus', which is growing out of a bloody heart. beneath is a bearded man seated, in monkish dress, with 'ihc' in red letters on his breast and his hand on his heart. he holds a book on his lap, in which is to be deciphered ‘ego... [dormio?]'. this picture resembles one later (and elsewhere) given of rolle, and probably it is intended to depict him. at the side is copied a lyric which is mostly derived from the two lyrics of ego dormio (pp. 57, 60), but with an introduction as follows: 'whils i satte in a chapel in my prayere a heuenly sounde to me drewe nere for pe sange of sanges i felt in me and my poght turned into luf dyte of þe heuenly and sweete armony þe whilk i toke in mynde delitabylly: perfore i sytt and syng of luf langyng.... and mr. freemantle believed that the cut had been reproduced in a foreign periodical. the museum purchased the volume may 13, 1905, from rosenthal of munich. english lyrics 309 here we evidently have a rhyming paraphrase of the first sentence of rolle's description of his birth of ecstasy in chapter 15 of the incendium. a second lyric appears on the same page. this begins with a rhymed paraphrase of rolle's exhortation to thought of the passion in the commandment (which had been quoted in the original prose on f. 35b). it runs as follows: 'i knaw no pinge þat so inwardly þi luf to god wyl brynge as of cristes passion and dethe deuoute pinkinge. . . .' this piece ends with the same rhymed paraphrase on the name of jesus as opens the lyric at f. 36b (on the opposite page). ff. 46-67: the desert of religion. this northern poem exists in three manuscripts, and it has been printed, with notes on the sources and dialect, in herrig's archiv, cxxvi. 58 sq., 360 sq. i pointed out (ibid., cxxvii. 388), following a note by sir frederic madden, that it is mostly taken from the speculum vitae of william of nassington (v. infra, p. 371), adapted to the allegory of a forest. some sections are taken from the prick of conscience, and the 'twelve degrees of perfect living' are the chapter-titles of rolle's emendatio vitae (except that 'penance' is substituted for 'patience' -doubtless by a scribal error). rolle also appears in connexion with the piece because he is portrayed (with his name) in the series of illustrations of the solitary life which accompany all three manuscripts. these are all reproduced in the text given by hübner in the archiv. the representation of rolle in the desert of religion here (f. 52 b) much resembles that given earlier (f. 37), where the grouping about the picture of the lyrics (one paraphrasing a bit of autobiography) as well as the resemblance to the present portrait serve to identify the subject. the name 'richard hampole' is attached to the illustration in the desert of religion in the present manuscript. this picture shows a bearded man with a downcast countenance and 'ihc' in red letters on his breast, his hand on his heart, and a book in his hand, sitting under a canopy. the appearance of the sacred monogram is doubtless an indication of rolle's devotion to the holy name, and it may be that his hand on his heart is reminiscent of the opening lines of the incendium (p. 145), where he tells us of the 'fire of love' which he feels: 'sepius pectus meum si forte esset feruor ex aliqua exteriori causa palpitaui'. the canopy probably means a claim to sainthood, but the canopy in the picture in laud misc. 310 miscellaneous english pieces ms. 528 is not the same. either picture may give a rude representation of the shrine at the burial-place of the hermit, for many of rolle's readers must have known it, and the laud volume gives a prayer from the office (v. supra, p. 54). both the other copies of the desert of religion (the cotton ms. faust. b. vi, from which rolle's portrait has been several times reprinted,¹ and stowe ms. 39-in which rolle's name is omitted) represent their subject as sitting (his favourite position, v. supra, p. 91), with a book. in the stowe ms. he is writing, and the general character of this picture is entirely unlike the others. all show the sacred monogram on his breast, and the cotton ms., like the present one, shows him ['richarde heremite'] with his hand there. the verses used to surround the picture in the two other manuscripts had been: 'a solitari here, hermite life i lede, for ihū loue so dere, all flescli lufe i flede; þat gastili comforthe dere, þat in my breste brede, aught me a thowsand zeere in heuenly strenghe haue stedd' (cotton ms.). this verse, though closely rendering rolle's life, was not derived from any of his known writings, but the scribe of the present manuscript substitutes some lines from the lyric which concludes the ego dormio (p. 60) in a slightly variant text, as follows: 'i syt & synge of luf-langyng, þat in my breste is bred, ihū, my kynge and my ioyinge, when wor i to pe ledde?' above the canopy in add. 37049 is printed the curious 'armonia odas canora', and six angels at the top hold a scroll inscribed 'sanctus, sanctus, sanctus, dominus deus omnipotens', as do three in the other manuscripts. thus, all these pictures seem to commemorate rolle's sainthood. all three pictures of rolle show different likenesses, and none, therefore, can safely be regarded as a portrait, as horstmann conjectured of the picture in the cotton ms. (ii, p. xxxiv). the same face as is given to rolle in the present manuscript appears on others of the rude portraits which it contains. the two portraits (ff. 37, 52b) which agree in attitude, etc., show different faces. f. 67: 'ihc' is written in large letters, and the motto runs around it: in nomine ihesu omne genu flectatur (phil. ii. 10). omnium optimum estimo esse ihesum in corde figere et aliud nequaquam desiderare. bonum mihi diligere ihesum, nil ultra querere.' this is the incendium (p. 276), of which an exact translation into english is given in the english psalter (v. supra, p. 100). the see radcliffe monog. 15. this picture is reproduced in colour in miss comper's fire of love. english lyrics 311 latter is quoted as an isolated tag in the thornton ms. (v. infra, p. 403), much as the present scrap is quoted here. it is evident that the scribe of add. 37049 is devoted to rolle's catch-words, both in prose and verse. we have seen, in discussing the lyrics ascribed to rolle in two manuscripts, that they are full of repetitions, both from each other and from the lyrics embedded in the epistles, and also that they sometimes paraphrase rolle's prose works (in one case to the extent of many stanzas). some of rolle's english works are also found in rhymed versions. it is evident that there was a tremendous personal use of his writings, both prose and verse, and that probably a good deal of rhyming was done by his followers to speed the circulation of some of his prose pieces. probably the rhymed paraphrases and the new combinations of lyrics which we find in add. 37049 were due to the enthusiastic scribe of this book; however, since we have decided that lyrics paraphrasing rolle's prose works (v. supra, pp. 289-91) may have been his own composition, or due to an intimate disciple, we cannot be absolutely certain of the origin of all of the altered lines found here. chapter x doubtful ascriptions part i: latin works compilations and abridgements from patristic sources super symbolum s. athanasii symboli athanasii expositio clarissima per d. richardum pampolitanum eremitam (ex edit. 1535). also in the editions of 1536, 1622, and 1677. though no manuscripts ascribe this work to richard, it is found among his works in bodl. ms. 861 and hereford cath. ms. o. viii. 1, two important collections of his works which are apparently related. beg. '[quicunque vult, etc.]. hic beatus athanasius liberum arbitrium posuit' (fol. 42). ends: nullus a fide catholica te remouere possit, nullo schismate vel haeresi. et si ista non credideris, saluus esse non poteris' (fol. 47). waterland (history of the athanasian creed, london, 1724, p. 39) first pointed out that this work was identical (barring 'several additions, and insertions') with one ascribed to the eleventh-century st. bruno herbipolensis, printed under his name by la bigne (ed. 1622) in vol. xviii, pp. 345-8, and earlier (vol. xv) under rolle's. in horstmann's list (ii, p. xxxviii) it appears among rolle's authentic writings (but his citation of ms. corpus christi oxf. 193 is incorrect). the fullest account of the commentary is found in a critical dissertation on the athanasian creed, by g. d. w. ommaney, oxford, 1897, pp. 250 sq. he shows that it is a combination of older commentaries in the version ascribed to rolle the first words are transposed, and some notes omitted: nothing is added. he concludes that 'hampole's commentary, though not an original work, is still attributable to him as his recension and abridgement' (p. 252). the alterations found in this version are minute, but it is very possible that rolle used and copied the commentary, for traces of its influence may possibly be seen in his discussions of the trinity in two works (v. supra, p. 229). excerpts from st. gregory 313 excerpts from st. gregory's morals in aliquot capita iob enarratio compendiosa ex libro moralium beati gregorij desumpta, per d. richardum pampolitanum eremitam (fol. cxiiv sq.; ex edit. 1536). no manuscript has been found. " beg. [parce mihi domine, etc.] sunt nonnulli iustorum, qui sic coelestia appetunt, vt tamen a terrenorum spe non frangantur.' ends: 'supplicia horroris euadamus' (fol. cxxiiv). rolle's only possible connexion with this, as with the preceding piece, was as a scribe. it may represent a collection copied by him, perhaps for reference in composing his own commentary on job. no borrowings from it have been noted in the latter, but a detailed comparison has not been made. the extracts chosen from st. gregory's morals are those which concern the nine lessons in the office of the dead, which are the text of rolle's commentary. some selections from st. bernard (in libro de libero arbitrio', migne, 182, c. 1009) are inserted. the excerpts as a whole contain much more or less mystical material, which would be congenial to rolle. a sentence like the following will suggest his style: 'dum enim mens nostra amore dulcedinis christi accenditur, omne desiderium praesentis vitae leuigatur' (fol. cxiv). there is nothing included out of sympathy with his own works. his commentary on job is of a character to suggest that at the time of writing it he might be in a mood to follow patristic precedent more faithfully than usual, and probably to consult patristic authority. if he made the present compilation, it means that he worked over st. gregory's text carefully, since the abridgement is drastic and systematic. perhaps he derived from this study his knowledge of the conception of contemplation as always transient, which he was to repudiate (v. supra, p. 70, n.). a passage here included expresses the opinion of st. gregory on this point, as follows: 'ecce enim electorum mens terrena desideria subijcit, cuncta quae videt praeterire transcendit, ab exteriorum delectatione suspenditur, & quae sint bona inuisibilia rimatur. haec agens plerumque in dulcedinem contemplationis rapitur: iam de intimis aliquid quasi per caliginem conspicit, & ardenti desiderio interesse angelorum mysterijs conatur, gustu incircumscripti luminis pascitur, & vltra se erecta ad seipsam relabi dedignatur. sed quia corpus quod corrumpitur, aggrauat animam, inhaerere diu luci non valet, quam raptim videt' (fol. cxiii).¹ 1 for another passage from st. gregory which expresses a conception of contemplation which may have influenced rolle, compare the following: 'contemplativa vero vita est charitatem quidem dei proximi tota mente retinere, sed x 314 doubtful latin ascriptions here we find the 'raptim' which rolle criticizes when applied to contemplation (v. supra, p. 70,n.), and the same is also found in the de libero arbitrio of st. bernard which is also used here. in the passage just quoted we also find stylistic characteristics that probably influenced rolle. evidently both in thought and style st. gregory was a formative influence for richard, and if he made the present compilation, he probably did so in youth. it is just possible that bale was referring to the present work in his index under rolle's name: 'moralia in job, li. i. nicolaus brigan in collectionibus.' however, this may refer to the commentary on job. prayer to the name of jesus (meditatio of st. anselm) manuscripts. i. b. mus. cotton vesp. e. i, ff. 96b-7, first half 15th cent. in the middle of rolle's commentary on the canticles, the hymn jesu dulcis memoria is inserted, headed: 'unde quidam verus amator ihesu dulciter dicit. nota oratio de nomine ihesu . . . secundum beatum bernardum.' after the end of the hymn, the present prayer follows without sign, and after it the text of the canticles is resumed, without comment. the words 'unde quidam verus amator. . .' are repeated from the text of the canticles a little earlier, where they introduce verses (v. supra, p. 81, n. 4). see cant. ii. b. mus. harl. 2445, ff. 20b-2b, 15th cent. hanc bonam oracionem sequentem composuit ricardus de hampul heremita.' beg. o bone jhesu, o dulcissime jhesu, o piissime jhesu, o mitissime jhesu, o jhesu fili beatissime, purissime necnon et mitissime uirginis marie.' ends: 'et in te gloriari, inter omnes qui diligunt nomen tuum sanctissimum, quod est jhesus. amen.' ab exteriore actione quiescere, soli desiderio conditoris inhaerere, ut nil jam agere libeat, sed, calcatis curis omnibus, ad videndam faciem sui creatoris animus inardescat; ita ut jam noverit carnis corruptibilis pondus cum moerore portare, totisque desideriis appetere illis hymnidicis angelorum choris interesse, admisceri coelestibus civibus, de aeterna in conspectu dei incorruptione gaudere' (hom. in ezech. ii. ii (ezech. xl. 8): migne, 76, c. 953). though dom butler states that st. gregory's mystical symbol is light, in a passage like that just quoted (with its reference to 'joining the hymning choirs of angels')as also in a passage from st. aelred (migne, 195, c. 790), quoted in my 'mystical lyrics of the manuel des pechiez', p. 189-rolle could have found the hint for his 'angel song'. dom butler mentions him as a mystic who employs the symbol of music (op. cit., p. 33). prayer to the name of jesus 315 an english translation of this prayer is also ascribed to rolle, as follows: bodl. rawl. c. 209 (sum. cat. no. 12071), ff. 21-2, 15th cent. a deuowte meditacion of richarde hampole.' this tiny manuscript is a primer (for children?) beginning with the alphabet, and continuing with the lord's prayer, creed, etc. the section from the encomium nominis jesu (oleum effusum) usually found in the poor caitiff (v. infra, p. 406) follows (completing the volume), headed: 'this is the name of ihesu.' beg.: 'good ihesu, o swete ihesu, o ihesu the son of mari, ful of merci and of pite.' ends: 'ioye in the and al þat louith thi name, the which is ihesus. amen.' the very numerous manuscripts of this prayer which are anonymous are not cited. it was in the possession of many famous persons and religious houses, present in most books of hours used in england during the later middle ages, and reference to hoskins (op. cit.) will show that it was also found in most early printed hours, including the edition by wynkyn de worde in 1494, which is used as the basis of his descriptions (p. 112). both latin and english versions occur, and many late copies (including de worde's) ascribe the prayer to st. bernardine of siena, the strong champion of the observant franciscans, and preacher of the holy name of jesus. it occurs in an orarium of 1560, reprinted by the parker society, 1851 (p. 202), and a note there quoted from the hortulus animae says of it: 'oratio quam sanctus bernardinus, confessor ordinis minorum, quotidie dicitur orasse'; his picture accompanies the text in york hours (wordsworth in ss. 132, p. 83). it is ascribed to st. bernardine in camb. caius ms. 718, late 15th cent. (ff. 38b-42), as 'oratio beati bernardini ad dulcissimum nomen ihesus multum deuota' (dr. james's catalogue here reads 'bernard '-an error elsewhere made). in spite of the amazing frequency of the prayer in english books of hours, it occurs in similar french collections very rarely: see p. lacombe, livres d'heures imprimés au xve et au xvie siècle, paris, 1907, pp. 109, 328;1 of the three english books of hours included among the very numerous french examples, one has the 1 a french poem on the holy name occurs in french books of hours with the frequency with which the present prayer occurs in english (v. infra, p. 539). beg. jesus soit en ma teste et mon entendement. . .' (ibid., p. 9). x 2 316 doubtful latin ascriptions prayer: 'o bone jesu, bothe englyshe and laten' (p. 340). in flemish books of hours it is if anything more common than in english, and here (both in latin and in flemish) it is often ascribed to st. bernardine (for examples see dr. m. r. james's catalogue of the library of j. pierpont morgan, ms. 81, mr. s. c. cockerell's catalogue of the burlington fine arts exhibition of illuminated mss., 1908, mss. 229, 240, hortulus animae, reproduced by a. oosthoek, utrecht, and m. nijhoff, the hague, 1907, p. 832). in brussels ms. 775, f. 13, it is ascribed to st. vincent ferrer, a famous dominican . 'lover of the holy name' of the 14th century. in the end it reached the roman use, and was printed (anonymously) in officium beate marie virginis, venice, in officina francisci marcolini, 1545, ff. 173-5 (with an indulgence), and in officium b. mariae virginis, nuper reformatum et pij v. pont. max. iussu editum, rome, 1571, pp. 204 sq., and elsewhere (venice, 1619, 1644, etc.). modern editions also are probably common. besides the parker society publication in 1851 (private prayers put forth by authority during the reign of queen elizabeth, pp. 202, 493) it is also found in english in three primers put forth in the reign of henry viii, ed. e. burton, oxford, 1834, pp. 166, 368. it evidently took some time after the reformation to wean englishmen from the use of this prayer. a significant sign of its popularity is the fact that (in an abridged form) it was set to music (probably more than once). the words and music (composer anonymous) are found in b. mus. harl. ms. 1709, 16th cent. (ff. 53b-4b), which is said to have belonged to henry vii's chapel. many other manuscripts of music of the 16th and 17th centuries in the british museum seem to contain the same piece (see a. hughes-hughes, catalogue of ms. music).' it is evident that rolle's name in the present instance is attached to a devotional piece famous during the later middle ages not only in england, in which country it enjoyed amazing popularity. actually the prayer is merely the latter part of the second meditation of st. anselm (migne, 158, cc. 724-5). the principal alteration is the addition of the apostrophes to jesus at the beginning, and occasionally elsewhere. sbaralea, in his supplement to wadding's scriptores 1 an abridged text was set to music as a motet for nineteen voices and edited from a scone abbey ms. (c. 1546) by j. a. fuller-maitland (year book press, london, 1926). this received an interesting review in the times (oct. 30, 1926, and see my letter, ibid., nov. 16), when the text was quoted as 'not taken from any known liturgical source... a devotional prayer of intense fervour which the musical treatment is evidently designed to heighten'. prayer to the name of jesus 317 trium ordinum s. francisci (rome, 1806, p. 133), gives st. bernardine a 'contemplatio quaedam italice: incip. o bon.', from one manuscript, but no other copy of italian origin has been found, giving st. bernardine's name.' the attachment to this prayer of the names both of rolle and of st. bernardine may mean no more than their devotion to the holy name of jesus: in neither case is the authority of manuscripts strong enough to confirm the attribution, and at all events the ascription to either can mean no more than a minor revision, for the piece as a whole is adapted from an authentic composition by st. anselm. the state of the manuscripts would indicate that the prayer reached england from flanders-or vice versa. the friars minor of the observance owed their strength at this period to st. bernardine, and they were very strong in the low countries. however, since the ascription to st. bernardine is not well supported, and since rolle may have made other adaptations from earlier works, the present piece has been put among those works with which richard may have had some connexion.³ novem virtutes (with patristic texts) bodl. ms. 861. 'admonicio valde salubris de elimosina secundum r. h.' this ascription would seem to point explicitly to rolle, since it occurs between two of his works, both ascribed to 'richard hermit'. it is written in a different ink from that of the text, but in the same hand, and the ink here found occurs elsewhere throughout the book (v. supra, p. 28). beg. hic continentur nouem virtutes quas dominus noster ihesus christus cuidam sancto viro volenti deuote facere. . . . da pauperibus meis vnum denarium.' ends: quod a deo iubetur est optimum.' bale in his index cites under rolle's name two copies of 'virtutes diuinitus reuelatas' with the incipit: 'da pauperibus meis vnum de.' three versions of the nine virtues in english have been printed by horstmann (i. 110 sq., ii. 455 sq.), two in verse and one in prose 1 i have to thank miss helen j. robins for inquiries at siena on this score. 2 see s. dirks, histoire littéraire et bibliographique des frères mineurs de [observance de st. françois (antwerp, 1885). they were also strong in england, as will be shown in my article on the cult of the holy name. the first half of the prayer occurs in magd. coll. camb. pepys ms. 2125, with the following interesting heading: 'et idem heremita (john hermyte de warwyk) notificauit istam precem inter profundos doctores et illi receperunt istam precem dicere in magna reuerencia.' the form precedes. 318 doubtful latin ascriptions (with variants). another english version in prose, which brings out the antitheses of the piece better than any other, is found in ms. ff. vi. 33 (15th cent.), etc., and printed in the reliquiae antiquae of wright and halliwell, london, 1841, i. 245 sq. the bare text in latin exists in the 15th cent. roy. mss. 7 d. xvii, ff. 269 sq. ; 8 c. i, ff. 164 sq. (both under the title novem responsiones). the date of the revelation is given in 8 c. i as 1315, which is doubtless an error for 1345; the latter date is given in ff. vi. 33; in another english metrical version, extant in dd. i. 1 (ff. 298b-300b), late 14th cent.; and in another english prose version (interspersed with latin quotations which are not those of the bodl. ms.), extant in dd. xiv. 26 (111), f. 43b, 14th cent. another english prose version (undated) is in chetham coll. manchester ms. 6690, 14th cent. ('a sely soule asked of god...'). the latin version ascribed to rolle in bodl. ms. 861 is also in bodl. 48 (sum. cat. no. 1885), ff. 23-9, early 15th cent. (see e. v., o. d., s. a.), where it comes between two of his works, though without his name (which is, however, given to the accompanying works); in add. 34807, ff. 89-93b, late 15th cent., where the speculum peccatoris precedes, here ascribed to rolle; in caius coll. ms. 140, ff. 84 sq.; in harl. ms. 206, ff. 116b-19, mid 15th cent.; and in upsala univ. mss. c. 159 (sent out to wadstena by clement maidstone, brother of syon monastery) and c. 631 (also from wadstena). it is possible that this is a brigittine compilation. the collection of texts here grouped about the nine virtues give a colourless amplification to the original: somewhat uncommon authorities cited are 'st. lucia', john beleth, and pope celestine the fifth. in ar. 288, in a mid 14th cent. insertion (ff. 122–3), a french text (with the nine points disarranged) is headed as follows: 'ci comensount (?) les ix paroles que mestre anners erceues[ke] de coloynne dyst en vn sermoun.' ms. 750 of the bib. mazarine, dated at venice 1448, is said to contain (ff. 32-4) what is apparently a latin form of the piece, headed as follows: 'hec infrascripta revelata fuerunt per os domini nostri jesu cristi beato alberto episcopo, celebranti in communione jugiterque petenti.' the same is in danzig (st. mary) ms. mar. f. 16 (another copy is in ms. q. 27). a similar heading must have been in the manuscript of the nine virtues from which sir symonds d'ewes took (as he says) the information which he noted on another copy of the work in harl. ms. 206. the following manuscripts apparently contain the french text of the ar. ms., if we can judge from the similarity of the novem virtutes 319 headings, as quoted in the official catalogues: bibl. nat., fonds français, ms. 2198, 15th cent., f. 37 (where the author is called 'maistre aubert, arcevesque de coloigne '); bibl. de l'arsenal, ms. 2109, ff. 1967-8, 15th cent. ('maistre hebert de coulongne, evesque et maistre en theologie '); épinal ms. 189, late 15th cent.' ('maistre aulbers, arsevesque de cologne'); bibl. nat., fonds français, ms. 17115, f. 195, 13th cent. ('les ix poins' of 'maistres aubers, archevesque de coloigne'). if the last-cited manuscript has been correctly dated, the novem virtutes must have been composed before rolle's time. it was popular during the 14th and 15th centuries all over europe, and whether it really had any connexion with albertus magnus (who was never archbishop of cologne) or not, it was circulated widely in germany and the low countries, and under his name. it was one of a group of similar works which were all connected with albertus.³ the group of pieces here in question were all framed to denounce formalism of all sorts. to some degree they were doubtless influential in preparing the way for a change of religion, in england as well as on the continent. in their reaction against formalism they made connexion with one of the influences emanating from rolle. 1 see bulletin de la société des anciens textes français, 1876, p. 67. 2 see w. dolch, die verbreitung oberländischer mystikerwerke im niederländischen, leipzig dissertation, 1909, p. 13, where manuscripts are cited and a synopsis of the piece is given; 'predigten u. sprüche deutscher mystiker', haupt's zeitschrift für deut. alterthum, 8, p. 217. · 3 die acht punkte und die gruppe der meisterexempel', and various altered forms of the neun punkte' are found. sometimes albert's name appears, and sometimes not. the many variations which are found in the manuscripts of the novem virtutes in england probably all find their origin in the various continental texts. it may be noted that horstmann prints an english nine points' from harl. ms. 1706 entirely different from the novem virtutes (ii. 375–7), and an unnumbered series of similar maxims from harl. ms. 1704 (i. 111 sq.). the 'six maisters' printed by him (ii. 389 sq.) is probably connected with the similar piece circulating in germany among the scraps attached to the name of albert of cologne (see dolch, p. 13, w. wackernagel, altdeutsche predigten und gebete, bâle, 1876, p. 351 n.). in spite of the general identification with albertus magnus of the albert of cologne', whose name is popularly attached to this piece, it might be worth while to investigate whether albert suerbeer of cologne, archbishop of armagh 1240, of prussia 1246, and of riga 1253-73, might be in question. this is the person who is cited as albert of cologne' by chevalier (répertoire biographique). i am informed by mr. flower, of the british museum, that a version of the work exists in irish: if this were the albert who received the revelation, the '1345' of the manuscripts might be a corruption of '1245', when the person in question was archbishop of armagh. the later circulation in germany would also be explained. 320 doubtful latin ascriptions the noven virtutes could originally have had nothing to do with rolle, though he may have known it in his early years, and added to it a compilation. the very colourless character of the texts, however, in the version ascribed to him would make his authorship improbable. on the other hand, the spirit of the original would be in one sense congenial to him: it attacks, quite in his own manner, outward holiness and the value of material observances: 'give to a poor man a penny in thy life of thine own goods for my love, and it shall please me better than as if thou gavest a hill of gold after thy death. suffer a hard and a sharp word of thy fellow-christian for my love, and it pleaseth me better than as if thou shouldst beat thyself with as many sticks as might grow in all the woods of the world. . . . when thou prayest to me, desire and ask of me thyself in steadfast faith and therein keep thee with all thy might, and it shall please me better than if my blessed mother and all the saints of heaven besought me for thee' (ms. ff. vi. 33, modernized). in spite of such practical devoutness, however, the piece is entirely unmystical. in the text ascribed to rolle (and in several other versions) one point' is as follows: 'ne instiges nec excites proximum tuum ad malum, sed omnia in meliora, et hoc mihi plus placet quam si semel in die ascenderes in celum' (bodl. ms. 861, f. 101; b. mus. add. ms. 34807, f. 92b). evidently the writer of this text classed the mystic rapture as one of the impractical and insincere elements of religion. here, however, he might not necessarily have offended rolle, who, as we have seen (supra, p. 87), set small store by some of the physical transports of the mystics. to rolle mysticism was a divine transmutation of the inner life of the individual, and such a conception of devotion was not attacked in the nine virtues. it is, altogether, not impossible that this piece was known to him and that he fitted to it the present series of texts, though the latter supposition is improbable. compilation from rolle's own works de excellentia contemplationis manuscripts. i. b. mus. egerton 671, ff. 27-47, 15th cent. the compilation is here divided into nine chapters, carefully numbered. the first page is torn out and half of the last, but a fragment of the rubric at de excellentia contemplationis 321 the end remains: '. . . atus de excellencia et dulcedine . . . e uite', which proves that it once contained the title given by the upsala mss. (see below). the e. v. (with rolle's name) immediately precedes. see e. v. " ii. b. mus. add. 24661, ff. 49b-58b, 15th cent. a colophon (f. 14b) runs: explicit tractatus ricardi hampole de emendacione uite 12 capitula. sequitur de eodem incendium amoris et de excellencia amoris dei seu amatorum dei, siue de uita contemplatiua.' miss deanesly (p. 1) calls the work that follows an 'incomplete and independent version' of the incendium (that is, not the usual 'short text'). the treatise is constantly abridged and sometimes transposed. though paragraph-divisions are frequent throughout the manuscript, none is given to the junction-point of the end of the treatise (a few sentences short of the usual ending) and the beginning of the compilation (which thus makes part of the whole). after the conclusion of the latter (abridged), two further extracts from the incendium follow, of which one is part of chapter 8 (p. 165) and one is the ever-popular chapter 15 on the conversion. both had been omitted from their usual places, and the latter is headed here (as elsewhere): 'quomodo ricardus hampole peruenit ad incendium amoris' (f. 60). the colophon then concludes the whole: explicit incendium amoris secundum ricardum hampole.' this is a book in which miss deanesly has discovered the joint monogram of joanna sewell nun of syon, and james greenhalgh, monk of shene (v. supra, p. 216). the dedication (without the name) is affixed to the emendatio (v. supra, p. 231), as in only four other copies (of which two emanate from shene). see e. v. iii. douay 396. ascribed to rolle (v. supra, p. 38). iv. upsala univ. c. 17, ff. 167-82, 15th cent. 'richardus heremita, de dulcedine et excellencia contemplatiue uite.' see incend. v. upsala univ. c. 631, ff. 1-13, 15th cent. 'hic incipit liber de dulcedine et excellencia contemplatiue uite, ricardus heremita' (a 'late hand' has written hampoli' above, with a reference to cave). see e. v. beg. 'o dulce lumen deus, illumina oculos meos interiores claritate increata' (upsala ms. c. 631). ends: 'psalmista mysterium vite contemplatiue expresse potest 322 doubtful latin ascriptions dicere: transibo in locum tabernaculi admirabilis usque ad domum dei in voce exultacionis et confessionis: sonus epulantis' (ps. xli. 5). this work was evidently seen by leland in the library of the london carmelites, for he notes as occurring there: 'de excellentia contemplationis.' bale in his index cites two copies of: 'de dulcedine vite contemplatiue. li. i. o dulce lumen deus, illumina', and he includes in his catalogue of 1557 'de excellentia contemplationis' as well (probably from leland). the later bibliographers note the work, and tanner adds the reference worsley ms. 9'. it seems unlikely that this could be either of the extant manuscripts in the museum. a note on egerton 671 states that it was ms. ccxv in the collection of dr. adam clarke, and add. 24661 belonged to archbishop tenison's library. the form of the de excellentia contemplationis makes it appear to be an independent treatise, and apparently the scribes and early bibliographers took it as such. it is, however, an elaborately formed compilation of a puzzling sort. the greater part of the piece has been traced back to its sources, and extracts have been discovered from the emendatio vitae (a quotation from the 11th chapter of which makes the incipit), the canticles, the 20th psalm, and the contra amatores mundi. all of the material chosen is highly mystical. the compiler passes erratically back and forth from one work to another, and frequently changes the order of the sentences in what he quotes. sometimes he abridges slightly and sometimes he expands slightly (especially at transition-points between the quotations). the general character of the present compilation would make easy the presumption that it was due to rolle himself. as we have seen (supra, p. 58), we know that he made one compilation from his own works, and he may have made another. the way in which the extracts are here dovetailed together, with slight alterations which do not alter the style, suggests strongly the way in which he repeats himself in portions of most of his works (see especially supra, p. 291). the many transpositions and frequent changes of source (often with a later return to the same work) would seem to imply a peculiarly erratic and laborious compiler: but if the compiler were the author we can imagine that he may have strung together such a compilation mostly from memory. ben jonson has left it on record in his note book' 1 discoveries, ed. i. gollancz, temple classics, london, p. 28. de excellentia contemplationis 323 that until he was over forty he knew by heart all his compositions, and such a phenomenon would be even more likely in the case of a writer like rolle. richard's memory must have been sharpened by lack of books, and his writings express his mystical experience; they are therefore in all probability impressed on his consciousness more deeply than any merely literary productions could ever be. we perhaps have here one reason for the repetitions in his works : his memory only too readily supplied him with fragments of old compositions. if we conclude that the present compilation is perhaps due to rolle himself, we must take into account the abridged text of the incendium to which it is attached in add. 24661. it may be argued that this text represents an amalgamation of the treatise and the compilation; it omits large sections which are authentic quotations from rolle, suitable to combine with the rest, and it is therefore less probable that it represents the original form of the work, from which the latter was later abstracted. in any case the existence of the manuscript in which the heterogeneous compilation in question is tacked on to a compilation from the incendium, as if part of the same work, makes it somewhat more difficult to decide the origin of the former. it is possible that one or both forms of the compilation were put together at syon monastery, if rolle were not himself the author. the add. ms. has been shown by miss deanesly to have belonged to a nun of syon, and the two upsala mss. were probably copied from books sent out from syon to wadstena, the brigittine mother house. the douay ms. belonged to shene, hence only the egerton copy cannot be connected with one or the other of the great contemplative houses on the thames. syon was evidently a great centre for the circulation of the piece, but this of course does not mean necessarily that it originated there. as we have seen, this house was probably in direct succession from personal friends and patrons of rolle, and if we suppose that this work had an authoritative origin of some sort, our supposition is confirmed by finding it at syon. the syon copy, in which it is attached to the incendium, contains the emendatio with a truncated form of the dedication to william, and if rolle is not the creator of the strange abridgement and compilation here found, a possible alternative would be his intimate disciple, william stopes. 324 doubtful latin ascriptions thornton prayer lincoln cath. thornton ms., f. 194, early 15th cent. 'a prayere þat þe same richerd hermet made, þat es beried at hampulle.' see ol. effus. (angl.), miscell., quot. this latin prayer of a few sentences is printed by horstmann, i. 192, n. i. beg.: 'deus noster refugium, o creator noster & virtus nostra aduersus eos qui nos persecunttur.' ends: 'perueniamus ab omnibus peccatis mundati & absoluti.' an anonymous text of this prayer occurs in corpus christi coll. oxf. ms. 155 (f. 204), 15th cent. it here directly precedes the speculum peccatoris, heading a page after a blank space. rolle's emendatio follows the speculum (both pieces are anonymous). this manuscript belonged to rievaulx abbey, which was in the neighbourhood of rolle's birthplace, and was perhaps a centre of persecution directed against him in his early years (v. supra, p. 123, and infra, pp. 476 sq.). the most that can be said of richard rolle's claim to the authorship of this short and colourless prayer is that it was written in time of persecution, and such times were frequent in richard's life, and often echoed in his writings. the mercy of god is specially dwelt on. a priori we should be inclined to trust the authority of the thornton ms., for it gives signs of being based on unusually full collections of his works. the occurrence of the prayer in the rievaulx ms. near a work of rolle's is noteworthy, but of uncertain value as confirmation of the ascription to him. it should be noted in connexion with the ascription to rolle of prayers that many passages of his authentic works could be detached and used as such, and at least two extant manuscripts (kk. vi. 20, and ashburnham) make collections of such extracts (v. infra, pp. 400, 404). the thornton prayer may prove to be embedded in one of rolle's works. regula heremitarum camb. univ. ms. mm. vi. 17, ff. 70b-6b, 15th cent. incipit regula heremitarum.' part of rolle's judica with his name immediately precedes. see judica, spur. regula heremitarum 325 this work (though anonymous in the manuscript) was ascribed to rolle by horstmann (ii, p. xxxvii), as 'probably identical with (or part of) his libellus de vita eremitarum, mentioned in job' (v. supra, p. 113). : beg. heremita dicitur quis (sic) ab hereo, quod est manere quasi herens mite, vel pocius ab heremo, in quo semotus a turbis viuere debet solus.' ends: 'in desideriis nempe est omnis ociosus.' the regula heremitarum is the only work included in the present chapter which is not given to rolle by authority of at least one copy. the reference already quoted from the job, which horstmann has connected with this piece, seems to justify its inclusion in the category of doubtful works, even in default of manuscript authority. one of rolle's works precedes it in the unique manuscript, but that juxtaposition is no safe indication of common authorship. moreover, the scribe later gives the hermit a work manifestly not his (v. infra, p. 355); the authority of this volume is therefore not of the best. as regards the reference in job, it must be admitted that the regula does not discuss the 'eminence of sanctity' which the job would lead us to expect in the 'de vita heremitarum'. the quotations to be given from the regula heremitarum, however, will show reminiscences of rolle which forbid our rejecting absolutely the possibility of his authorship. if it were to be decided that the 'de vita heremitarum' was not to be identified with rolle's piece on hermits, these reminiscences could easily be explained on the ground that rolle saw this work in his youth, and was influenced by it in shaping his ideas of the hermit's life. an edition is under preparation by r. p. livarius oliger, o.f.m., professor of history in the college of st. anthony at rome. miss dorothy ellis, of newnham college, has pointed out to me that the regula heremitarum incorporates nearly the whole of st. aelred's de vita eremitica. from this source it takes not only practical arrangements, such as the injunctions to manual labour, advice to seek as spiritual director an old man in a neighbouring church or monastery, exhortations not to send letters, or to use indiscreet abstinence, etc. ; but also various general spiritual counsels which are thoroughly in sympathy with the non-mystical part of rolle's teaching. such are the following: 'nihil ditius bona voluntate, ut ait quidam sanctus: hanc prebe' (f. 76, aelred, 326 doubtful latin ascriptions migne, 32, c. 1465). the 'saint' is probably st. anselm, for whose insistence on 'good will' and similar passages in rolle v. supra (p. 211). cum solus est, tunc enim cum christo est, qui non dignatur in turbis esse' (f. 72, aelred, c. 1454); utilius est enim sepius orare breuiter quam semel nimis prolixe, nisi orationem prolongauerit devocio inspirata. caueant etiam ne de numero psalmorum aliquam sibi legem imponat, sed quamdiu delectant' (f. 73b; cf. aelred, c. 1456). these sentiments would serve to commend to richard rolle the work in which they occurred, and his own works may be brought in comparison: 'when saynt ione was in þe yle of pathmos, þan god schewed hym his pryuytees' (form of living, p. 11). 'take na tent þat þou say many [psalms], bot þat þou say pam wele, with al þe deuocion þat þow may, liftand vp þi thoght til heuen. better it es to say seuen psalmes wyth desyre of crystes lufe, hauand þi hert of þi praying, þan seuen hundreth thowsand, suffrand þi thoght passe in vanitees of bodyli thynges' (ego dormio, p. 55).' a considerable part of the text of the regula is not found in the work of st. aelred, including two passages which suggest rolle more strongly than any other part of the work. the first occurs in the opening of the piece, as follows: 'iunior enim fui et enim senui, et non vidi iustum derelictum (ps. xxxvi. 25). heremitarum vitam commendans beatus maximinus in sermone de omnibus sanctis ex ipsa serie verborum ostendit qualis eorum conuersacio debeat esse: ait enim, anachoretarum singulare propositum, id est, heremitarum, martirio non priuatur, qui per singula heremi loca in speluncis et exiguis cellarum tigurriis, modico contenti pabulo absque deliciis demorantes, plurimis virtutum effulsere signis. itaque cum premittitur in preconio anachoritarum singulare propositum, clare patet quod heremitarum mentes in celestibus debent iugiter versari, non autem in fimo luxurie, vel in vanitate cupiditatis' (f. 70b). the notable element in this extract is the phrase 'singulare propositum', which is that used in most critical passages by richard rolle for his own assumption of the hermit's life. see for example the narrative in the canticles (f. 150) already so many times mentioned, in which he describes the supernatural temptation which led to his beginning the devotion to the holy name (quoted supra, p. 75). the same phrase appears in the incendium : 'docti enim sunt quidam diuinitus pro christo solitudinem appetere, 1 this was, of course, a common sentiment, reiterated by many writers, from st. paul down (cf. the mirror of st. edmund, horstmann, i. 234). regula heremitarum 327 ... singulare propositum tenere. recte itaque heremite singulare propositum habent, in caritate dei et proximi uiuunt' (p. 180). we have proof that richard had adopted this phrase very early in his career, for it is found in the judica a (f. 16, quoted supra, p. 99). in the treatise of st. aelred the phrase 'singulare propositum' does not occur, though we have 'bonum propositum tuum' (c. 1458). it seems likely that the regula borrowed the phrase from the sermon by 'st. maximinus' already cited, which has not been traced; no other use of it has been noted. another slight trace of connexion of the present passage with richard in his early period is the metaphorical use of the fantastic 'fimum', which occurs in the rhymed signature attached to his job: 'talentum traditum timens subfodere fimum' (v. supra, p. 130). the other passage in the regula suggesting rolle is the following: 'soli deo debet heremita obedienciam facere, quia ipse est abbas, prior et propositus claustri cordis sui. episcopo tamen in cuius diocesi habitat, vel patrono loci, si fuerit prelatus vel sacerdos bone discrecionis, debet notificare vitam suam. et si aliqua viderint in eo emendanda, libenter obediat consiliis eorum propter christum, qui dicit doctoribus (lucas 10): qui vos audit me audit. vel aliter cum consensu episcopi eligatur in vicino monasterio vel ecclesia presbiter aliquis senex sapiens, maturus moribus et bone opinionis, cui de confessione et anime edificacione heremita raro loquatur' (f. 73). the last sentence is taken from st. aelred, who, however, has nothing corresponding to the first part. though what follows somewhat tones down the effect and if viewed as using technical phrases can, as we shall see, be reconciled with orthodoxy, nevertheless, the opening here: 'soli deo debet heremita obedienciam facere', seems to offer an expression of individualism unusual in medieval writings. it is one which can, however, be easily duplicated from rolle. he writes in the canticles: 'constat itaque quia magis oportet obedire deo quam hominibus. et si multum laudabile sit etiam hominibus pro deo obedire, tamen illa obediencia precipue in eternum laudabilis permanet, que deo in omnibus per suauem et ardentem caritatem obedire suadet. frustra namque quis in alia religione vel obediencia se deum amare existimat, dum in eterno amore ad deum peruenire non festinat' (f. 147). these words occur in a discussion of the comparative virtues of the conventual and the solitary life, in which rolle denies spiritual superiority to the member of a religious community qua se, and in 328 doubtful latin ascriptions a similar and often identical discussion in his early melum he repeats the same sentiments: 'ecce enim iuuenis, zelo iusticie animatus, insurgit contra senem, heremita contra episcopum et contra omnes taliter opinantes, qui in quantumcumque exterioribus actibus supereminenciam¹ affirmant esse sanctitatis. emulamini carismata meliora: labor corporis ad modicum valet, pietas autem ad omnia. sed ait: melior est obediencia quam uictime. et vere hoc pro me est quod nichil deo acceptabilius quam ipsi obedire in omnibus. qui enim deo est obediencior, eciam coram deo est et maior, sed non sequitur iste est obedientissimus [homini, ergo obedientissimus] est deo. deo enim solo amore obedimus, ergo qui ardenciore amore in deo infigitur, deo obedientissimus probatur. potest autem quis homini obediens apparere, et tamen deo omnino contrarius esse. monachi ergo vel alii in habitu religionis constituti sancti non sunt in quantum [superioribus obediunt, sed in quantum]" feruore sancte dileccionis soli deo seruire contendunt' (f. 240). the long quotation just made shows that richard rolle made an article of faith of the obligation of obedience to god alone, and it shows that he does not accept even the bishop's right to interpret this point, as it is suggested in the regula that the hermit should do. this passage in the melum may perhaps give us a hint that richard in his early years came into collision with his bishop on this subject. the melum shows that he had already been obliged to revise his first purpose on the subject of preaching, which the strain of the contemplative life did not allow (v. supra, p. 149), and in the same way when he first became a hermit he may have thought that he could reconcile obedience directly to god with obedience to his bishop, and he may later have been tempted by the intensity of his own spiritual impulses to refuse all human obedience whatsoever. therefore the partial discrepancy of the regula and the melum at this point may mean no more than the passage of time, and (very possibly) some critical experience in which he came into collision with his bishop. both passages quoted from his works come from discussions directed against his brethren of the cloister, who seem to have been his special persecutors (v. supra, p. 123). resemblances remain in the two passages of a sort to make it possible that richard rolle either composed the regula or knew it in his early youth. the usual medieval view-point is expressed by john peckham, the late thirteenth-century franciscan who was archbishop of canterbury: 1 supereminencia c. 2 so sl., corpus christi oxf., st. john's camb. mss. 4 om. c. 5 om. c. • de c. regula heremitarum 329 " perfectius est obedire deo, et homini propter deum, quam soli deo-dico in communi statu hominum.' richard rolle from a very early stage in his career refused to consider himself as 'in communi statu hominum'. all through the melum he gives triumphant and exuberant expression to his faith that he has reached the ' eminence of sanctity', and the burden of his discourse is: 'didici quod doceo a deo dignante' (f. 218). ་ the question of the origin of the regula heremitarum is complicated by the existence of another rule of hermits incorporating much of the same substance: this piece exists both in latin and english, and in the three extant copies of the english version is ascribed to pope celestine. the passage mentioning the' singulare propositum' is not found in this rule, which may make it the more likely that it was rolle who joined this phrase (which was characteristic of him) to the characteristic passage on obedience, which is here found.' the latin version of this rule is being edited by father oliger. the manuscripts of this work are as follows. latin version. bodl. rawl. c. 72 (sum. cat. no. 11937), ff. 166-9, 15th cent. the resemblance of this text to that ascribed to pope celestine in the bristol ms. was pointed out by miss clay (p. 87). the rule here found has no title or ascription to an author. it begins with an introduction: 'quia licet status heremitarum regula careat canonica, nichilominus tamen omnibus qui viam vere paupertatis pro christo ihesu elegerunt.' the main text begins: ingredienti statum heremitarum primo oportet perfecte mundum cum omnibus blandimentis eius contempnere, propriam voluntatem pro amore dei et zelo proximi abnegare.' the end is torn off, but apparently only half a page is missing. many headings are given, but there is no numbering of chapters. the passage on obedience runs as follows: 'de obedientia quam debet deo et hominibus. soli deo debet heremita obedientiam facere, quia ipse est abbas, prior, et propositus sui claustri, id est, cordis sui,' etc. (f. 166). all that is in the cambridge regula, up to the point where st. aelred tractatus tres de paupertate, brit. soc. francisc. stud. ii, 1910, p. 39. 2 father oliger points out to me that 'propositum' sometimes means simply 'rule', as in the bull of confirmation of the rule of the third order of the italian humiliati, 1201 (tiraboschi, vetera humiliatorum monumenta, ii, mediolani, 1767, p. 128), and in the title of the oldest rule of the third order of st. francis (archiv. francis. histor., 14, 1921, p. 114). y 330 doubtful latin ascriptions is quoted, is to be found here in a slightly expanded form, and the next heading follows: 'de voto suo faciendo. omnipotenti deo faciat votum paupertatis et caritatis cum dei adiutorio. votum huiusmodi non debet fieri per preceptum alicuius hominis sui status, sed soli deo, cui seruire regnare est, faciat votum suum' (f. 167). exact directions are given for all the details of the hermit's daily life. english version. i. b. mus. sloane 1584, ff. 89-95b, early 16th cent. on f. 12 the scribe writes: 'scriptum per me johannem gysborn, canonicum de couerham' (north riding, yorkshire, a premonstratensian house especially befriended by the scropes, v. infra, p. 513). premonstratensian documents occur, as well as personal documents connected with gysborn and dated at various dates in the reign of henry viii. the work in question begins with an introduction: 'p[eter] off rome that hyght celestyn mad this maner off lyff ffor lyffyng off hermetts þat lyffs alone with owttyne certan rewle gyvyne off holy kyrke, ffor that skylle shewys he att his begynnyng and says, thosse all patt be so that the state off hermetts be with owtene rewle maid off holy kyrke, neuer the lesse ytt ys... it is an abridged form of the work, and the first lines, and the details of shrift, hours, etc., differ from those found in the other manuscripts. the passage on obedience appears in a somewhat softened form, as follows: and therfore ylke a hermeytt owght ffyrst to be buxum to god allmyghty and to his commaundementys (f. 90b). either the translator has altered his text, or he had before him a manuscript which gave 'primo' instead of 'soli'. ii. b. mus. add. 34193, ff. 131 sq., late 15th cent. this text is prefaced by an elaborate table of contents, giving the headings of the seventeen chapters into which the work is here divided. the heading to the whole is: here begynnys þe reule of heremyts made and compiled of the blessed pope celestine pe v, the wylke pope celestine whas an heremyte or he whas pope.' the work begins: 'yt behovys hermyts to dyspise and forsake þe worlde with all his mylde spech' (as in the latin text supra, p. 329). the chapter on obedience is translated literally: 'an hermite also owes to make his obedience all only to allmyght god' (f. 132). whereas the sloane text orders shrift four times a year, this orders it every week, but in regula heremitarum 331 the matter of the pater nosters, etc., said by lay hermits in lieu of hours the sloane text is more exacting than the add. some northern forms ('kyrk', 'mykell ') may be noted. iii. bristol reference library no. 6*, ff. 137-40, written in 1502 at the hospital of st. mark, bristol. i learned of this copy through a reference in miss clay's hermits and anchorites (p. 87). it is described in the catalogue of the library by n. matthews, bristol, 1899: thyes are the notalle rewles of the lyfe heremiticalle as they folow here after made be pope celestyne whych was an heremyte and chosyn for hys holynes out of wyldernes to be pope.' the ascription to pope celestine v is perhaps due to an unscrupulous scribe who wished to increase the circulation of his work. no trace of this rule of hermits can be found on the continent ascribed to celestine v, and the whole character of the piece is such that it could hardly be connected with him. as we have seen, it is composed for the use of hermits living in solitude as individuals, without communal life, and pope celestine, before he became pope, was the head of a regularly constituted order of hermits, with an organization approved by the papal see. as the bull of his canonization puts it, 'congregationem monasticam sub b. benedicti regula, superadditis ei statutis arctissimis, ordinavit' (acta sanctorum, may, iv, p. 434). the celestine order thus founded spread to france, saxony, bohemia, and the netherlands.¹ the french houses (which numbered twenty-one out of the total of one hundred and fifty) came into prominence at the end of the 14th century, because philippe de mézières became a celestine, and gerson retired for four years to their house at lyons (where his brother was prior). it is perhaps because of the fame of the order in france at this time, that when henry v founded the great brigittine house at syon and the great carthusian house at shene, he also intended to found, in the neighbourhood of his other two foundations, a celestine house (enclosed, as were syon and shene, and hence also dedicated to contemplation). he went so far as to enter into negotiations with the french order. the plan fell through, but it may have served to bring the celestines before the english public.³ father oliger has been kind enough to examine in rotographs the 1 see m. heimbucher, die orden und kongregationen, paderborn, 1907, i. 279 sq., hélyot, histoire des ordres religieux et militaires, paris, 1792, vi. 180 sq., vii. 43 sq. a. l. masson, jean gerson, lyons, 1894, p. 312. j. h. wylie, henry v, i. 229-31. y 2 332 doubtful latin ascriptions bodl. latin text of the rule in question, and he reports in a private letter that it 'is perfectly orthodox, without any trace of schismatic tendency. if one or two facts suggest the contrary, the context leaves no doubt about the real meaning.... "facere obedientiam soli deo" cannot be translated "to obey only god," but means "to make the vow of obedience only to god", and not to any man, which is quite natural in this case, since the hermit has no immediate regular superior. only in a general way he is bound to obey the bishop of the diocese, but not by virtue of vow. this is precisely what is said in the bodl. rule when, immediately after these words, obedience to the bishop is enjoined.' in spite of this opinion from so distinguished a specialist, i have ventured to point out above that if the work were known to rolle the passages quoted from the melum on his own conception of obedience would suggest that he was likely to take from the regula a literal meaning rather than the orthodox, quasi-technical meaning pointed out by father oliger, even though the latter is the interpretation of the usual orthodox-minded churchman. rolle was formally orthodox, but, as we have seen, the natural trend of his mind was not altogether orthodox, and it may be that if in early youth he saw the rule in question, by a perhaps instinctive misreading he took from it a sanction for his individualistic way of life.' the ascription to pope celestine in the english versions of the rule had suggested that it might be due to the branch of the stricter franciscans who (because of his approval when pope) took their name from him and were finally, after many persecutions, merged in the spirituals. these were hermits (subject only to the bishop), of whom their leader angelo da clareno said in 1317: 'quia nec dicebamus nos fratrum minorum regulam observare, nec dicimus, sed pauperes heremitas viventes, sicut concesserat et voluerat dominus celestinus papa. ... nec confessiones audiebamus nec audimus, nec auctoritate nobis concessa nec modo aliquo, nisi forte hoc episcopus, cui obedimus, preciperet.'2 father oliger's examination would seem to dispose of the possibility of a connexion of this rule with the fraticelli. he not only 1 cf. also piers plowman: 'y-habited as an hermyte, an ordre by hym-selue, religioun sanz reule and resonable obedience.' (b text, passus xiii. 285-6.) 2 f. ehrle, die spiritualen, archiv für litt. u. kirch, gesch. des mittelalt., i, berlin, 1885, p. 522. a letter to the pope is quoted. regula heremitarum 333 shows the piece not to be schismatic (as already noted), but also not to be even indirectly franciscan, since the rule of st. francis is hardly alluded to. he also believes that it must have been written either in england or france: 'there is not one particular italian expression in the whole text.' on the other hand he points out such forms as 'heremitagium', 'potagium', and perhaps 'temporalitates' as well as references to a 'regnum', all of which suggest a french or english origin. evidently this piece is of uncertain derivation, but the testimony of two of the three manuscripts of the english text seems to indicate that it circulated in the north of england and thus to increase the likelihood that it was known to richard rolle. additional note e. gebhart in his brilliant l'italie mystique (1st edition, paris, 1890) describes the heresies (and kindred movements) of the thirteenth century. he quotes angelo da clareno, leader of the hermits of st. celestine', as announcing: nous obéirions à dieu plutôt qu'aux hommes' (10th ed., no place or date, p. 189). hermits abound in connexion with the movements which he describes (p. 227), and many of them are illuminating for rolle's early development. his rationalization of his wandering (which does not proceed from instability of mind) might suggest some of the apologies of the orthodox franciscans (v. peckham, op. cit., p. 24): 'quidam quiescunt corde et corpore, sicut professores sancti vite monastice et ecclesiarum rectores aliqui. alii quiescunt corde sed non corpore.' rolle's hatred of riches is almost franciscan (in the literal manner of the spirituals, v. supra, p. 99). his elevation in the next life of the contemplative above all others, and his ardent faith in the mystic meaning of scripture, may suggest the prophecies of joachim of flora, which had so deeply stirred the spiritual franciscans (see gebhart, passim). as miss evelyn underhill has said in her jacopone da todi, richard rolle is a mystic whose temperament has much in common with that of jacopone' (the poet of the spirituals). we may note that bodl. ms. 57, sum. cat. no. 2204 (see new catalogue), containing french versions of some of jacopone's poems, was written in england during the last years of the poet's life (that is, about 1300). it is possible that rolle when at oxford (or paris?) came in 1 london, 1919, p. 124. 334 doubtful latin ascriptions contact with obscure influences from other continental heresies. we are told that also the waldensians 'were never weary of repeating that it is better to obey god than man'. the importance of the subject of obedience at this time may be judged by the fact that the pope felt it necessary to reassert its pre-eminence above poverty and chastity in 1317 in connexion with the troubles of the spiritual franciscans. at the council of vienne (1311) also, the errors were condemned of the german beguines and beghards. they asserted that man may become perfect in this life, that 'illi, qui sunt in illo gradu perfectionis & spiritu libertatis, non sunt humanae subjecti obedientiae... quod homo ita potest finalem beatitudinem secundum omnem gradum perfectionis in praesenti assequi, sicut eam in vita beata obtinebit '(j. d. mansi, sacrorum conciliorum ... collectio, venice, 1782, vol. xxv, p. 410). some operation of the 'time spirit' possibly gave rolle some remote spiritual kinship with these heretics. similarly they show some remote relation to the highly orthodox author of the cloud of unknowing, for like him they speak of 'descending to meditate on the passion' (ibid., cf. cloud, ed. underhill, p. 91, et sq.). as we have seen (supra, p. 137), rolle felt it necessary to guard (somewhat lamely) against implications of 'perfectionism', but he is likely for all that to have been subject to influences from the heretical sects of the time— and this probably through franciscan influence in part at least, since the spirituals of that order were in touch with heretical movements. we have no record of any 'fraticelli' in england, but their fame must have reached such centres as oxford, and rolle may have been at paris (v. infra, p. 490). we have record of various heretical english hermits who were also friars. it has been suggested by horstmann (ii, p. xxiv) that the 'friar henry de staunton hermit', whose preaching was forbidden by archbishop melton in 1334, was a follower of rolle. we cannot be certain that this yorkshire schismatic hermit was a franciscan. in 1336 ' venit londonias quidam haereticus nomine frater ranulphus, in habitu heremitico; qui prius fuerat de ordine fratrum minorum et apostatavit. hic multa contra fidem catholicam et sacramenta ecclesiae superstitiose ac pertinaciter proponebat coram magistris theologiae', etc. (rs. 76, i. 365). 1 gebhardt, p. 33, and compare also rufus m. jones, studies in mystical religion, london, 1909, p. 139. 2. rené de nantes, histoire des spirituels, couvin, belgium, 1909, p. 402. regula heremitarum 335 he was imprisoned, but died before trial. in 1360 a hermit disputed in st. paul's that the sacraments of the church were not those of christ, but we are not told that he was a friar.¹ it will be seen in the 'defence against the detractors of richard' by the hermit thomas basset, appended (infra, p. 534), that a learned carthusian had said that richard's influence had 'destroyed as many men as it had saved': that it 'made men judges of themselves', and taught them the superstition of the material fire of love. some disturbing influence therefore (in some opinions, at least) did emanate from rolle, and this we can hardly wonder at, considering the tendency of works like the melum. hints of excesses caused by his influence are given in the present work (v. infra, pp. 352, 361, 368, and cf. p. 538). however, the whole question of applying to contemporary life references in contemporary treatises has to be approached with caution, because of the medieval habit of quoting verbatim from earlier authors. dom noetinger has shown (as already noted, p. 19) that the vivacious passage in the cloud of unknowing as to the vagaries of contemporary aspirants to the contemplative life is really founded on hugh of st. victor, and therefore of doubtful value as evidence for contemporary conditions. some first-hand meaning it probably did have, but we cannot say how much. the same must be said of the long and spirited account of schismatics in the treatise the chastising of god's children (v. supra, p. 218). i have under preparation a note showing that this is in large part literally translated from a sermon of tauler, where he is treating the continental sect of the free spirit. how much, therefore, the passage tells us of english conditions is doubtful, and in any case the delicately sarcastic phrases mean nothing for english style, since all are translated from the german. part ii. english works the abbey of the holy ghost lambeth palace ms. 432, ff. 37b-68, 15th cent. 'here begynneth richard hampspull (?) of the abbay of the holy goest full nessessarys.' at the end of the abbey the title is given: abbathia spiritus sancti.' after the charter of the abbey of the holy ghost (here divided into sections, each with its own explicit): explicit 1 foxe, martyrs, london, 1877, ii. 782. 336 doubtful english ascriptions the abbay of the holy goest. quod ffuller.' the scribe, richard fuller, signs his name several times throughout the book. it has not been thought necessary to cite here the very numerous manuscripts of the abbey which do not ascribe it to rolle. they have not been examined. the copy in the possession of dr. w. w. greg should, however, be noted (no. 153 in the catalogue of the huth library, written c. 1400). in this text the charter is put first, then the abbey (in a much abbreviated form), then the narrative which follows the charter in the treatise of that name (horstmann, i. 340 sq.). the same version of the work (though less abbreviated) is found in the early printed editions: thus dr. greg's copy proves that it existed much earlier. the first edition was brought out by wynkyn de worde in 1496 (reproduced camb. univ. facsimiles 1907); he reprinted the text in 1531. both editions are anonymous, but the early bibliographers (bale, pits, etc.) name as author john alcock, the late 15th-century bishop of ely. the dates make this impossible. the abbey of the holy ghost was printed by horstmann (i. 32137) with the charter (ibid., 337-62); the former from the thornton ms., where it occurs anonymously (as in all other copies except the lambeth). it does not contain the charter. he states (p. 321) that this is the only northern ms. known, though 'a few [including the lambeth ms.] show, in their readings, the use of a northern ms.' abbey. beg. a dere brethir and systirs, i see þat many walde be in religyone bot pay may noghte' (horstmann, i. 321). ends: and ze sall be delyuerde thurgh þe mercy of oure lord ihesu criste there, blyssede mot he be with-owttene ende. amen.' charter. : beg. here is þe book pat spekip on a place pat is i-clepid pe abbeye of pe holy gost. . . . wetip ze pat ben now here, & pei pat schulen comen after zou.' ends: almihti god for his deore merci zif vs grace forte kepe feire and clene pis abbey of pe holygost... þat for loue of monnes soule dizede on pe roode-tre. a.m.e.n.' the charter of the abbey of the holy ghost follows the abbey in the manuscript ascribing the work to rolle, but not in the thornton ms., which is the only pure northern text; its general character forbids our assigning it to the same author as the abbey. no french or other original is known, and the author has perhaps expanded www abbey of the holy ghost 337 a hint as to a 'tyrant' and his four daughters found in the last paragraphs of the abbey. this author is a commonplace person, without mystical interests. the ascription to rolle of the charter will not even be considered here, for no possible evidence supports it. the ascription to rolle of a single copy of the abbey of the holy ghost (not northern) would mean little, if it were not evident that the work must have emanated from his school. it is perhaps not likely that he was the author of a piece which became so generally detached from his name and which appeared anonymously in the thornton ms., usually well-informed on his canon. however, it is not quite impossible, considering the carelessness for authorship manifested in the middle ages. at first sight it would appear that the work could not possibly be rolle's because of its character: it is in the form of allegory, which he uses only in the misericordia; and the allegory is founded on the conventual life, of which he was generally critical. these uncongenial elements, however, are found in the french original from which the work is translated: its prime purpose, in spite of them, is to stimulate the religion of the heart, outside of all observances and institutions, and this was a purpose very dear to rolle. the translator has reinforced the spiritual character of his message by interpolating a good deal of mysticism, and on the whole the work emerges from his hands as a protest against formalism, and an incentive to mysticism-a very good example of the type of religious literature which was the product in england, in the late fourteenth century, of rolle's teaching (as at least a strong influence). it must have been originally written for women, since the personages are all women, and the original french text was perhaps composed for lay women of high position. several copies still extant were owned by royalty. by the irony of fate, the allegory, which was probably composed to comfort the worldly with the assurance of the holiness possible in lay estate, was in the end utilized by the contemplatives at the other extreme of the church, who lived a life more strict than that of the cloister. horstmann says of the attribution to rolle in the lambeth copy: 'as no other ms. ascribes it to him, a direct proof of his authorship is wanting; yet, as we find references to the treatise in other works of his, his authorship is very probable. a latin treatise, abbacia de s. spiritu, exists in several mss.' (p. 321). my own investigations have brought no latin original to light, nor have i found any 338 doubtful english ascriptions references in rolle's writings which can be construed as connected with the abbey of the holy ghost. on the other hand, several copies, representing three texts, exist of a french 'sainte abbaye' prior to rolle's time. what appears to be the original french text begins: 'la sainte abbaie et la religion doit estre fondee esperituelment en la conscience' (b. mus. add. ms. 39843, c. 1300). this exquisite manuscript belonged to marie de bourbon, daughter of charles v of france, who in 1408 became a nun: it had previously belonged to her uncle, jean, duc de berry. it was shown to me first by mr. henry yates thompson, from whom it passed to the museum. the text which is found here also appears in add. mss. 20697 (a 14th-cent. fragment, which once belonged to the confessor of the widow of philippe de valois) and 29986 (ff. 149b sq., late 14th cent.: 'cy commence le liure du cloistre de lame que hue de saint victor fist'). paul meyer noted the first two of these copies, and added a brussels ms., also once belonging to jean de berry, which also gives the attribution to hugh of st. victor. this attribution, he pointed out (n. 2), doubtless comes by confusion with the de claustro animae often ascribed to the victorine, but more probably by hugh de fouilloi. he is here dealing with the text of the abbaye du saint esprit in the b. mus. roy. ms. 16 e. xii (mid 14th cent., of paris or thereabouts), in which the cataloguer of the royal mss. finds the initials 'h.r.'-' of henry vii or henry viii (?)'. it begins: 'mout de gent voudroient entrer en religion et ne pueent', and p. meyer calls this text 'à peu près semblable dans le fond, mais assez différente dans la rédaction', in comparison with the group just cited. the cataloguer of the royal mss. notes that this text is closer to the english translation than the other. it is in all probability its source, as already mentioned. the early origin of this version is proved by p. meyer's discovery of a copy at metz, written in the late 13th or early 14th cent. (bulletin, 1886, p. 49). the two versions just discussed do not vary greatly in length, but a text founded on the latter, with elaborate interpolations, is found in douce ms. 365, a volume written in 1465 for marguerite of york, duchess of burgundy, sister of edward iv of england. the scribe is the famous david aubert, copyist and 'grossoyeur' of the duke of burgundy. the douce version begins with the same 1 bulletin de la société des anciens textes français, 1912, p. 52. he notes the group of works with similar titles, which have never been studied. 2 see paulin paris, les mss. françois de la bibliothèque du roi, paris, 1836, abbey of the holy ghost 339 words as the roy. ms., and gives an enlarged form of the epilogue found in the english text ('now i pray 30w all in charite of god. . .), which is absent from the other two french versions; showing here and at other points that it is founded on a copy of the second version closer to that used, by the english translator than the roy. ms. the relation of the english abbey to the first two versions of the french text will now be illustrated. be cited also: iubilation ... est vne tres grant ioie qui est meue en lame (douce ms. larmes) par grace apres oroison; ferueur desperit, qui ne puet estre du tout monstree, ne du tout celee; si comme il auient aucune foiz a genz esperitueus apres oroison, que il sont si lie et si ioiant, si feruent et si ardant que li cors ua chantant et murmurant une chancon par la ou il uont et aucune foix la langue ne se puet tenir que ele ne chante' (roy. ms., f. 135. the douce ms. gives the same in a superior text, f. 11v). 'iubilacion est vne granz ioie qui est conceue en lame apres oroison par ferueur desperit, qui ne puet estre du tout monstree ne du tout celee, si comme il auient aus genz esperituels' (add. 39843, f. 3). 'quant cœur est espris et esleuez en oroison il ne puet riens dire, tant a penser a ce quil sent et uoit et ot, quil ne puet riens dire et parole li faut, si se repose por miex crier, si se test pour miex parler' (roy. f. 137, douce, f. 13). 'li cuers en meditacion se repose pour mielz crier et cest pour mielz paller' (add. ms. 39843, f. 4). the douce text will sometimes 'iubylacione es a grete ioye pat es consayuede in teris thorow brynnande luffe of spirite, pat may noghte be in all schewede no in alle hyde; als it fallis somtyme of tho þat god hertly lufes: pere efter þat þay hafe bene in prayere and in orysone, þay are so lyghte & so lykande in god, þat whare so þay go þer hertes synges murnynge songes of lufe-longynge to paire lefe, pat þay gerne with armys of lufe semlyly to falde, and with gastely mournynge of his gudnes swetly to kysse; and it vmwhile so depely pat wordis þam wanttis; for luf-longynge so ferforthe rauesches thorow hertis þat somtyme pay ne wote noghte whate pay do' (pp. 328-9). 'ffor pe holy thoghtes in meditacione cryes in goddis eris. ofte it falles þat þe herte es so ouer-tane and so raueschede in holy meditacyone þat it wote noghte what it dose, heris nor sayse, or seys, so depely es pe herte festenede in god and in his werkes þat wordis hym wanttis; and pe stillere þat he es in slyke meditacione the luddere he cryes in goddis eris' (p. 331). i. 106. the note at the beginning here ascribes the work to gerson, an ascription which (at most) can only refer to the interpolated material. 340 doubtful english ascriptions the english text twice introduces a direct address to 'jesus': once, 'a ihesu mercy' (p. 321), where the douce ms. has 'haa, beau sire dieu' (f. 1), and the other texts have no equivalent; once 'a ihesu' (p. 326), where douce has 'doulce fille' (f. 11), and the other texts again no equivalent. it may be noted that alliteration is occasionally found in the english abbey, and the following parallel quotations show its use in passages almost wholly derived from the french: 'auloge de contemplacion et de saint beguinaige¹ cest ialousie et amor de perfection. si est mainte foiz auenu en religion que auant que lauloge de matines sonast, que maintes persones auoient ploure maintes larmes deuant deu de doleur et de contriction quant a soi, de pitie, et de compassion quant a leur prochien, damour et de deuocion quant a deu, car li auloges damour les auoit esueilliez. he! beneoîte soit lame que amour esueille, car ele nest pereceuse, ne endormie' (add. 39843, f. 4b. both roy. and douce here give the same text). 'and þer es orloges in relegione, of contemplacione. and this es of this holy relegyone þat es fundede of pe haly gaste, and þis es lelosy, and this es sauoyre of perfeccione. & ofte it falles in relegione, before þat þe orloge falles or any belles rynges, goddes gostely seruandes are lange wakenede be-fore, and hase wepede by-fore god, and hase waschene pame with paire teris.... a, dere breper and systers, sely ar tho sawles þat þe lufe of god and longyng till him wakyns, and slomers noghte no slepis noghte in slowthe of fleschly lustes' (pp. 334-5). these quotations show that a certain amount of the mystical material found in the english version has been carried over from the french source, and that part of this was not found in the original french text, but was added in the redaction represented by the roy. ms. at the same time it must be pointed out that neither french text contains all the mystical material given by the english, and quotations will now be made of two passages entirely due to the english translator. '(god) so enflawmes pam with pe blysse of his lufe þat þay taste somedelle & fele how swete he es, how gud he es, how luffande he es-bot noghte alle fully. i wote wele pat none may fele it fully bot if his herte solde bryste for lykynge of ioye' (p. 333). contemplacione es a deuote rysynge of herte with byrnynge lufe to god to do wele, and in his delites ioyes his saule, and somdele ressayues of that swetnes pat goddis chosene childir sall hafe in heuene' (pp. 324-5). 1 since béguinages are not found in england, the use of this phrase (if original) disposes of the possibility of an anglo-norman origin. abbey of the holy ghost 341 the definition here given of contemplation may be compared with those given by rolle: 'hinc igitur colligitur quod contemplacio est iubilus diuini amoris, suscepto in mente sono celice melodie vel cantico laudis eterne' (canticles, f. 147). 'si quaeratur quid sit contemplatio, difficile est diffinire. dicunt quidam quod vita contemplatiua nihil aliud est, quam rerum latentium futurarumque notitia, siue vacatio ab omnibus occupationibus mundi, siue diuinarum studium literarum (julianus pomerius, de vita contemplativa, i. xiii). alij dicunt, quod contemplatio est perspicatia in sapientiae spectacula, cum admiratione suspensa (richard of st. victor, benjamin major, i. iv). alij dicunt, quod contemplatio est libera & perspicax animi intuitus ad vires perspicandas circumquaque diffusus (ibid.).³ alii dicunt, & bene, quod contemplatio est supernorum iubilus. alii dicunt, & optime, quod contemplatio est per subleuantis mentis iubilum mors carnalium affectionum (st. austin', v. infra). mihi videtur quod contemplatio sit iubilus diuini oris, suscepta in mente suauitate laudis angelicae' (emendatio, fol. 16). 'in þis gyfte (wisdom) schynes contemplacyone, þat es, saynt austyne says, a gastely dede of fleschely affeccyones thurghe pe ioy of a raysede thoghte' (seven gifts of the holy ghost, p. 197). 'pan may i say þat contemplacion es a wonderful ioy of goddes luf, þe whilk ioy es louyng of god, þat may noght be talde, & þat wonderful louyng es in þe saule; and for abundance of ioy & swettenes it ascendes in til þe mouth: swa þat þe hert & þe tonge acordes in ane, and body & sawle ioyes in god lyuand' (form, p. 48). it will be seen that the definition of contemplation inserted into the abbey of the holy ghost bears some relation to those quoted from rolle. it emphasizes the joy, rather than the revelation, in the experience, and gives the joy a celestial character. moreover, it stresses the 'rising of heart' (like 'subleuantis mentis iubilum ') which recalls the definition specially approved by rolle in the emendatio, and quoted by him in the seven gifts: something of the same idea is implied in the form, which speaks of 'the wonderful louying in þe 1 migne, 59, c. 429. 2 though richard of st. victor cites this definition with his own just quoted, he has probably derived it from his master hugh, in whose works it will be found (with slight variations) twice, as is kindly pointed out to me by dom noetinger (see migne, 175, c. 117; 176, c. 879). dom noetinger also points out that it is used by 'master hildebrand' (c. 1150), who has probably taken it from the victorines (see migne, 181, c. 1698). the source of the last two definitions quoted by rolle cannot be traced, though he believed that the last one (his favourite) was derived from st. augustine. 342 doubtful english ascriptions saule', which 'ascendes in til þe mouth'. traces of alliteration appear, and of the metaphor of the 'fire of love'. the quotations made will have shown, introduced at several points into the english version of the abbey of the holy ghost, original matter which suggests that it emanated from the contemporary school of english mystics. the characteristics of the mysticism shown in the new material are, however, common to a group, and good manuscript authority would serve to establish the authorship of any one of several fourteenth-century mystics, beginning with rolle, who first expressed in english the type of devotion here exemplified. the personality of the later mystics was very different from his, and their interests were far wider, but the individual characteristics of fourteenthcentury english mystics do not appear in this piece it is typical of the whole movement. it is, however, evidently not the work of a mere copyist: the swing of the style and the effectiveness of the diction would suggest that it is to be assigned to one of the leaders. as we have already seen, rolle's english psalter may be called a translation from the latin, elaborately interpolated with mystical passages after the manner used in the present work. but richard was not the only mystic of his time who made translations: 'dionise hid divinity' is a 'paraphrase of the mystical theology of dionysius', 'apparently by the same hand' as the cloud of unknowing (gardner, cell of self-knowledge, p. xxiv); and walter hilton translated into english not only the religious classic stimulus amoris (mss. hh. i. 12, harl. 2254, etc.) but also one and probably two treatises of contemporaries. in many manuscripts, in eight chapters is the 'tretes necessarye for men þat zeuen hem unto perfeccion, whiche was foundyn in maister lowys de fontibus boke at cambrigge, and torned into englisshe be maister water hilton, chanon of thorgortone' (mss. b. mus. add. 10053, lambeth 472, paris, bibl. nat., anglais 41, etc.); the note just quoted appears 1 'mentis subleuatio' was recognized by richard of st. victor as one of the highest elements of contemplation (benjamin major), and he, more perhaps than any other writer on mysticism, seems to have influenced the 14th-century english mystics, from rolle on. the author of the cloud of unknowing, probably writing a decade or so after rolle's death (since he appears to attack the earlier stages of lollardy), bears indirect testimony to the widespread effort to achieve the mentis subleuatio' in his sarcastic reference to how these young presumptuous ghostly disciples misunderstand this other word up. for if it so be, that they either read, or hear read or spoken, how that men should lift up their hearts unto god, as fast they stare in the stars as if they would be above the moon, and hearken when they shall hear any angel sing out of heaven' (ed. e. underhill, p. 254). abbey of the holy ghost 343 authentic, and the manuscripts which credit hilton with the authorship are almost certainly in error (roy. ms. 17 c. xviii, etc.). another work ascribed to hilton in the manuscripts (bodl. ms. 43, strongly northern, as is the anonymous bodl. ms. 131) is called in harl. ms. 2409: a deuoute matier be pe drawyng of m. waltere hylton.' it is likely that (as here stated) he was the 'drawer' rather than the author of this piece also, for it exists in a latin text in ms. ii. vi. 30 as 'tractatus compositus a fratre willelmo flete de remediis contra temptaciones' ('quamuis sicut ait apostolus, sine fide impossible est . . .'). flete is probably the augustinian hermit (a graduate of cambridge) who was one of the principal disciples of st. catharine of siena.¹ thus we have abundant evidence that the mystics after rolle were as zealous as he to teach mysticism by translations as well as by original works, and others may have introduced mystical passages into their translations: we know that one other translator did so (v. infra, p. 365). it would therefore be rash to conclude that rolle was the translator of a widely distributed piece which is given to him in only one copy. o bone jesu (in english), v. supra, p. 315. lambeth devotion lambeth palace ms. 546, ff. 53b-5, late 15th cent. the whole of this devotion will be quoted. there is a prologue (apparently by the scribe) beginning and ending 'if thou wylt be good and holy thes viii rules kepe thou truly', 'thes be the viii rules. doo well, greue not, suffyr, fflee, wake, wepe, pray, and loue.' the rubric follows: thys ys hampul doctryne and her folowyth hys prayer.' after the prayer, an epilogue follows: 'good syster, of your charyte i you pray, remember the scrybeler when that ye may, with on aue maria or els thys swete word ihesu....' on f. 20b is 1 he was appointed by her to continue her work in siena (gardner, cell of self-knowledge, p. xviii). some slight support for his authorship of the latin text, as stated in the camb. ms., may be found in the fact that in the harl. ms. of the english version the piece immediately following takes up the revelations of st. catharine of siena. 344 doubtful english ascriptions the signature master john warde', and on f. 56 'sister e. w. (?)'. a renaissance hand has written on f. 52 'robart davemport your pore bedeman miserrimo peccatori. jhesus mercy, lady helpe.' " the prayer is as follows: swete ihesu cryst, for thy blody wounds kepe me fro synne and fendys ylle and to lyue aftyr thes viii rulys geue me grace and hartely wyll. swete ihesu cryste, for thy holy wounds geue me grace to doo well in all my dedys doyng. swete ihesu cryst, for thy blody wounds geue me grace nother to greue god ne man in all my lyuyng. swete ihesu cryst, for thy blody wounds geue me grace to suffer all wrongs and dysesys wyth true pacyens withoute grucchyng. swete ihesu cryst, for thy blody wounds geue me grace to flee alle ylle company and alle synnes in thoght, dede and spekyng. swete ihesu cryste, for thy blody wounds geue me grace to wake well in perfyte occupacyons of holynes to the plesyng. swete ihesu cryst, for thy blody wounds geue me grace to wepe for thy paynes, and all mennys wyckydnes, true compassyon hauyng. swete ihesu cryst, for thy blody wounds geue me grace to pray with deuocion hartely to the gode, holy prayers seyng. swete ihesu cryst, for thy blody wounds geue me grace to loue in thes iii degrees of loue ouer all thyng. in the fyrst degre that ys insuperable, that with no euyl temptacyon i be ouercome. in the ijde degre that ys inseparable, that whyl i wake y neuer forgete the. in the iiide degre that ys synguler, that makyth thy seruants to tast of thy loue whych saynts and angels haue aboue. amen.' it would seem that this little devotion may be by rolle, but is perhaps more likely to be due to an imitator. a scribe who recognized the three degrees of love as preached by the hermit of hampole probably ascribed to this writer the prayer in which they occurred. the rhymes with which all the phrases end, and the frequent use of 'sweet jesus' may also have suggested his authorship. lyrics for english lyrics of which the connexion with rolle is possible, though doubtful, v. supra, p. 302. chapter xi false ascriptions (latin) none of the following ascriptions is supported by serious manuscript authority. balliol prayers balliol coll. oxf. ms. 224, 15th cent., a large collection of richard rolle's works, contains on ff. 56-7 a prayer to god and one to the mother of god, which seem to be ascribed to rolle in the later index as 'tractatus eiusdem qui incipit domine deus meus'. see cant., contra am. m., e. v., incend., job, judica. i. beg. domine deus meus, quomodo ausus sum te alloqui.' ends: 'aperiantur vulnera, iungantur intima, et sim unus cum christo. amen.' ii. beg. o domina glorie, o regina leticie, o fons pietatis.' ends: 'o ffelix et beata domina, misericordia mea, totam animam meam et corpus meum commendo et totam vitam meam et mortem et resurreccionem meam, et tu sis benedicta in eternum et ultra, cum ihesu christo filio tuo benedicto, qui cum deo', etc. leland in his commentarii cites among rolle's works 'domine deus meus', and his collectanea shows that the balliol ms. was the source of this entry, for he there gives the contents of this volume, and quotes the mention of the present work in the index, as already quoted. bale (probably following leland) apparently takes this work as a commentary on ps. vii. 1 (domine deus meus in te speravi) -against persecutors, which would have been very congenial to rolle for he notes among rolle's writings in his catalogus of 1557: 'in psalmum, domine deus meus'; and pits cites: 'in psalmum, domine deus meus, librum vnum ms. oxonij in collegio balliolensi, magdalenensi.' tanner makes the reference of pits more explicit: 'in psalmum, domine deus meus lib. i. ms. oxon. in colleg. magdal. 115, et baliol l. 22' (note b: v. note q-twice). actually the balliol prayers have no connexion with the psalm cited, but the latter makes the subject of an exposition in magd. coll. z 346 false ascriptions (latin) oxf. ms. 115 (f. 177), of which pits and tanner have caught only a glimpse, or they would not have identified that item with the balliol piece. the magd. ms. is a collection of materials for the exposition of scripture; it contains rolle's cantica from his latin psalter, but the document in question treats the exposition of the psalter.¹ the first of these prayers is pt. ii, cap. 18 of the stimulus amoris, a work certainly a favourite with rolle, and sometimes ascribed to him (v. infra, p. 354). the balliol text is much abridged, but not at the beginning and ending. this chapter of the stimulus is derived from st. bonaventura's de instructione sacerdotis ... ad celebrandum missam, where it makes the 'oratio' (opera omnia, ed. peltier, paris, 1864, xii. 290-1). the second prayer in the balliol text is only a colourless fragment, and unidentified. the prayers are followed in the balliol ms. (ff. 57-62) by the 'merita visionis corporis christi', and 'tabulae' of the seven virtues, the seven sins, etc. these are noted by tanner tentatively in the long note at the end of his account of rolle, probably because he assigns everything else in the volume to richard-and, in general, rightfully. de diligendo deo peterhouse camb. ms. 263, ff. 1-15, 15th cent. the ascription only occurs in the following early correction to the index on the fly-leaf, which had given the piece to st. bernard: 'neque sic sed ricardi hampole.' this piece is printed by migne (40, cc. 847 sq.) among the spurious works of st. augustine. beg. vigili cura, mente sollicita, summo conatu.' ends: ut pro eis unigen[i]tum suum daret. amen.' an editorial note in migne points out that this work borrows from st. anselm, st. bernard, hugh of st. victor, etc., and can certainly not be by st. augustine. nothing about it suggests rolle, and the 1 it has the following interesting beginning: 'memorandum est de diccionibus rasis contra primam scripturam in psalterio antiqui antiphonarii cathenati retro magnum altare et correctis in domo capitulari [ecclesie cathedralis] sarum per venerabilem dominum decanum et magistrum in theologia succentorem ac viginti vicarios seniores ecclesie predicte per multos libros in dicta ecclesia antiquitus (magd. ms. per idem) correctos, die veneris proximo post festum ascensionis domini anno domini m° cccc xi. nocturnus beatus vir. in primis, in psalmo, domine deus meus in te speraui.' for the same piece see bodl. ms. 32 (sum cat. no. 1881), f. 72, from which the text of the heading just quoted has been corrected. for another incident at salisbury in 1411, v. infra, p. 350. prayers 347 ascription to him is not such as to suggest authority. it is evidently one of the many foundlings of the middle ages, of general european distribution, and ascribed to many writers, several of whom would have a better claim to its authorship than the yorkshire hermit. meditationes of st. anselm " durham cath. ms. b. iv. 35, ff. 113-113, 14th cent. incipiunt meditaciones ricardi heremite de hampole.' see incend., contra am. m., and supra, p. 28. beg.: 'euigila, anima mea, euigila. exure spiritum tuum.' ends: et hic iusticiam et ibi beatitudinem.' this is part of the first meditation of st. anselm. see migne, 158, cc. 709-11. for a recension of part of the second also ascribed to rolle, v. supra, p. 316. meditationes of william rimington oxf. ashmole ms. 751, ff. 24-9b, late 14th cent. item venerabilis ricardus heremita de 3ci (for tristi? )' statu hominis' (f. 24), ‘meditacio diuine laudis et spei venie secundum ricardum heremitam' (f. 28). see quot., magn., judica, job, 20th ps. etc. beg. memento, miser homo, quod cinis es.' : ends: 'sed a culpis omnibus emunderis. memento, miser homo', beg. memor fui dei et delectatus sum.' ends: 'si pro sua superbia resiliens, pro venia exoraret', etc. the ashmole manuscript gives to rolle the first two of a series of three meditations which occur in mss. bodl. 801,2 hh. iv. 3 (more 475), and trin. coll. dublin 321 (all 15th cent.), with a rhymed prologue giving the title as 'stimulus peccatoris' and the name of the author as 'w. ritmica villa'. the camb. ms. gives the name of the author in a colophon as william rymtoun', the dublin ms. as magister william remington'; jesus coll. camb. ms. 41 (15th cent.) gives the three meditations (ff. 145-56b), and the second is introduced as by 'dicto magistro willelmo monacho et doctore', of whom, however, no other mention is found. william rimington, monk of sawley, has left works against the lollards in bodl. ms. 158, " 1 kindly suggested by the clarendon press reader. 2 this volume was given to the charterhouse of witham by john blacman (v. infra, p. 407). these meditations occur in b. mus. mss. harl. 3363 and 3820; add. 20029 contains the first meditation only. z 2 348 false ascriptions (latin) " and a sermo magistri willelmi de rymyngton, monachi de salley, cancellarii oxon., in synodo eborac. anno christi 1373' is found in the univ. of paris ms. 790.' bale in his index gives the meditations to guilhelmus rymston', with a double incipit (both of the work and the prologue). since the prologue gives the name of the author, it is curious that he also gives the meditations with the prologue (and double incipit) to rolle (p. 352). he cites them among rolle's works also once as 'meditationem ex scripturis' with the incipit of the prologue, and once as 'meditatio diuini amoris post carmina incipit “ memento miser homo quod cinis es" (p. 349). still another copy is perhaps the 'meditationem diuini amoris. li. iij.' (without incipit) which he cites as rolle's (p. 350). it is perhaps by confusion with rimington that he calls rolle 'richardus remyngton, de hampole, heremita' (v. infra, p. 422). the heading to the prologue states that the meditations are written for an anchorite monk', and compiled principally from st. augustine, st. anselm, and st. bernard. no quotation from rolle has been noted, but the same portion of the stimulus amoris as is used in his meditations on the passion is drawn on here (v. supra, p. 285), which may have suggested his authorship. syon monastery must have contained the same two meditations as are given to rolle in ms. m. 34, as 'remyston monachus & doctor cuidam anachorite de meditacione scilicet memento homo quod miser es.... meditacio diuini amoris desideratissima per eundem.' the next item in this manuscript is duodecim capitula eiusdem de regula viuendi', and this is certainly rolle's emendatio vitae ascribed to rimington (for it is cited among the copies of that work in the index). horstmann cited the ashmole meditations, which are given to rolle, among the works which have been ascribed to him, but are more or less doubtful' (ii, p. xxxviii). ¹ this volume (dated 1373) was owned in 1622 by t. allen (see appendix to catal. cod. mss. bibl, bodl. ix, digby, ed. macray, p. 251). its present location was pointed out to me by dr. craster. rimington's tomb is still extant in the ruins of sawley abbey (see j. e. morris, west riding of yorkshire, london, 1923, 2nd edit., p. 441, and salley abbey in craven, by j. harland, london, 1853, pp. 68, 83). a document in which 'frater willelmus de rymyngton, monachus de salley,' appears as chancellor of the university is printed by mr. salter (munim. civ. oxon.', oxf. hist. soc., 71, p. 149).—cotton faustina a. v. also belonged to t. allen (fly-leaf: 'tho. allen ex dono m. henrici savelli 1589'), v. supra, p. 235, infra, p. 408. cursus de aeterna sapientia 349 works connected with the name of jesus cursus de aeterna sapientia camb. univ. ms. kk. vi. 20, ff. 1-7b, 15th cent. 'hic incipiunt matutine in veneracione nominis ihesu edite a beato ricardo de hampole.' see quot., spur. for an ascription of the service for vespers and compline in this work to rolle in wynkyn de worde's primer of 1503, repeated in many later primers, both of sarum and york, v. supra, p. 9. beg. salutem mentis et corporis.' ends: 'eterna sapientia benedicat et custodiat corda et corpora nostra.' this work was composed about 1340 by the german dominican mystic henry suso, and printed among his works (d. henrici susonis... opera, ed. laurence surius, cologne, 1588, pp. 628 sq.). it is referred to in his horologium sapientiae (a work popular in england, also mystically personifying 'sapientia', v. infra, p. 423), which it often follows in the manuscripts (see g. thiriot, œuvres mystiques du bienheureux henri suso, paris, 1899, i, p. xxiv, and histoire littéraire de la france, 24, p. 357). like other devotions to the holy name (v. supra, p. 317), it was very popular in the low countries, where it is usually present in the books of hours of the fifteenth century (see w. dolch, op. cit., p. 73). it was translated into the vernacular by gerald groote between 1380-4. it will be found in most of the manuscript hours of dutch origin in english libraries, and in many of the hours printed in england in the early days of the press (see hoskins, op. cit., and julian's dict. hymnol., under the hymn jesu dulcis memoria). it was early printed in an english translation as 'jesus matins' [etc.]. it is evident that the cursus could have no connexion with rolle, though it was associated with the mystical movement in england which he had done so much to build up. the manuscript ascribing it to him contains a collection of works concerning the holy name of jesus, all of which it gives to richard. suso was devoted to the cult even more extravagantly than rolle (see thiriot, i. 26, 239; ii. 322). it was therefore natural that the cursus, which shows his devotion, should be sometimes ascribed to ne greatest english 'lover of the name'. this piece was cited with rolle's works by bale in his index as 'officium nominis iesu' (with incipit as above). 350 false ascriptions (latin) missa de nomine jesu camb. univ. ms. kk. vi. 20, ff. 7b-10b, 15th cent. 'incipit missa de eodem (viz. nomine ihesu) et ab eodem (ricardo de hampole) ut creditur edita.' a note follows giving indulgences granted by robert [hallam], bishop of sarum, in castro suo shirbourn', july 19, 1411, to all saying or hearing 'in viª feria prescriptam missam de nomine ihesu'. see spur., quot. beg. in nomine ihesu omne genu flectatur... oratio: deus, qui gloriosissimum nomen ihesu.' ends: ad iubilacionem in ihesu saluatore nostro dulcissimo, tota mentis intencione promoueant per eundem.' this mass was printed (ex. edit. 1526) in the burntisland edition of the sarum missal (ed. f. h. dickinson, 1861-83), for the festival on aug. 7. a note (c. 845) states that it appears among the votive masses in the editions of 1492 and 1494. numberless manuscripts exist, many of which give the note as to the indulgences granted by robert hallam, bishop of sarum, in 1411. indulgences from other prelates are added in some copies: for example, in hh. i. 11 (ff. 9-12), from pope boniface iv' and cornelius, archbishop of tuam' (in ireland, 1411 (?), a franciscan); 'john, bishop of elphin' (in ireland, 1405-17); and 'john, bishop of llandaff' (in wales, 1408-70, when three successive bishops were named john). hh. vi. 15 (f. 9), stowe 13 (f. 115), and rawl. c. 142 (f. 261 and cover) all add the name of 'pope boniface' to that of the bishop of sarum ; bishop robert's indulgence occurs preceded by that of pope boniface iv' in harl. 5444. the mass occurs with the indulgence of pope boniface iv in a later hand in the manuscript (14th cent.) of the hereford missal (ed. w. g. henderson, 1874, pp. 453 sq.). probably the ascription to rolle of the present liturgical work means only the general connexion with the hermit of all works treating the holy name, which is exemplified in the ascription to him. in the present manuscript of suso's well-known cursus. as we have seen (supra, p. 125), rolle showed a general indifference to liturgy that would seem to forbid our ascribing to him a work like the present. no traces of his style appear. moreover, some further evidence may weaken the possibility of his authorship. this mass is probably of general european distribution, and though any connexion with pope boniface iv (a. d. 607-15) is of course impossible, it is perhaps earlier than rolle's time. victor le clerc missa de nomine jesu 351 notes in the histoire littéraire (on the authority of a douay manuscript) that un pape boniface, qu'on ne désigne autrement, passe pour avoir institué la messe du "nom de jésus ", qui vaut trois mille ans d'indulgences; mais le missel romain dit que c'est boniface vi' (t. 24, p. 351). though nothing is here quoted to identify the mass in question, it is probable from the connexion with 'pope boniface' that it is the same which also passed current with his indulgence in england; but it may have come from england, since the copy in question is probably that cited in the catalogue as in douay ms. 843, which came from an english religious house in douay. however, the mass of the holy name of jesus', substantially as found in kk. vi. 20, in other english manuscripts, and in the early sarum missal, appears in the roman missal printed at venice in 1508, and reprinted at venice in 1509, 1543, 1558 (two editions), and 1561, and at paris in 1515, 1530, and 1540. for a modern reprint (together with texts of other 'masses of the holy name') and bibliography, see the collation of early editions of the missale romanum, by dr. r. lippe, henry bradshaw society, 33, london, 1907, pp. 334 sq. in the roman form of the mass an indulgence is added from 'pope boniface vi' (a. d. 896). it is therefore probably that referred to by le clerc. nothing is available as to its origin or as to the origin of the tradition of an indulgence granted by a 'pope boniface' of uncertain identity. the latter is probably a fiction: boniface was perhaps a pope's name that was often seized upon for fictitious ascriptions; for example, vienna ms. 480 (13th cent.) contains (according to the catalogue) 'bulla ludicra, bonifacio iv tributa, de vini laudibus'. his name is again made use of in the cult of the holy name, for brussels ms. 845 (15th cent.) contains a 'prière au saint nom de jésus, prière indulgenciée par boniface iv'. the scattered facts just enumerated concerning the 'mass of the holy name' will be sufficient to prove that, though its author is uncertain, there is very little likelihood that he was richard rolle, and no certainty that he was an englishman. it will be shown in my article on the cult of the holy name, however, that the growth of the cult in english liturgy shows distinct yorkshire influence. scala perfectionis: chapters 9 and 4, book ii st. john's coll. oxf. ms. 77 ff. 97-100, 15th cent. contemporary table of contents: 'tractatus ricardi hampol. quomodo spirituales temptaciones prosunt peccatrici anime. item de cautelis 352 false ascriptions (latin) diaboli contra timidam conscienciam per eundem ricardum hampol.' 'incipit bonum notabile secundum ricardum hampol heremitam' (f. 97). aliud notabile dictum per eundem ricardum' (f. 98). 'expliciunt duo notabilia dicta secundum ricardum hampole' (f. 100). see mul. fort., contra am. m., incend., cant. beg. 'sicut tenebre eius ita et lumen eius' (ps. cxxxviii. 12). ends: non potest in sensacione aliter reformari.' beg. paue tu qui timide es conscientie.' : ends: 'in uno tempore, in alio promouebit.' horstmann remarks that 'these 2 pieces are more probably by w. hilton' (ii, p. xxxviii). they are a latin translation from the scale of perfection of walter hilton according to the version made by the carmelite, master thomas fishlawe (see the text of that work in harl. ms. 6576, ff. 181–3, 159-63). for an ascription to rolle of one (perhaps two) manuscripts of the original english treatise, v. infra, p. 361. hilton's authorship is supported by the testimony of numerous copies (both of the original and of fishlawe's translation), by quotations with his name in the speculum spiritu alium (v. infra, p. 405), and by the edition by wynkyn de worde in 1494. 6 in the thornton ms. what is in some manuscripts of the scale chapter 44 of book i (see scale of perfection, ed. e. underhill, london, 1923, pp. xliv sq., 103 sq.) occurs separately, as printed by perry and by horstmann. the latter entitles it: an epistle on salvation by loue of the name of iesus' (i. 293). he declares (n.) : 'the authorship of this piece is doubtless' (i.e. he assigns it to rolle), but in his addenda (ibid., p. 443) he notes that it is found in the vernon text of the scale, and says: 'the author of the epistle is more probably w. hilton.' nevertheless, miss hodgson prints it as rolle's (minor works, pp. 56 sq.). it is a rationalization of the devotion to the holy name probably directed against fanatical followers of rolle. soliloquium castle howard ms. (last article), 15th cent. 'ricardus de hampole.... see e. v., spur., mel., incend., contra am. m., cant., job, judica, mul. fort. " beg. flecto genua mea ad patrem.' ends (imperf.): 'veniemus et mansionem [apud eum faciemus, joh. xiv. 23].' soliloquium 353 this is the prologue and first section, and part of the second section, of the soliloquium de quatuor mentalibus exercitiis of st. bonaventura (s. bonaventurae opera omnia, quaracchi, 1898, viii. 28-31). speculum peccatoris i. camb. peterhouse ms. 218, ff. 151-4b, 15th cent. 'explicit hic speculum peccatoris secundum sanctum ricardum heremitam de hampole.' the small value of the attribution may be seen from the fact that a second copy of the work in the same hand occurs farther on (ff. 190b-4) ascribed to st. augustine. see job, e. v. ii. b. mus. add. ms. 34807, ff. 82b-8b, late 15th cent. 'explicit speculum peccatoris secundum ricardum hampole.' see e. v. iii. castle howard ms. (second article), 15th cent. 'incipit speculum peccatoris compilatum a ricardo heremita de h.' see e. v., mel., incend., contra am. m., cant., job, judica, mul. fort., spur. iv. trier (stadtbibl.) ms. 685, ff. 140-4, 15th cent. in a later index: 'speculum peccatorum eiusdem (richardi hampol).' 'speculum peccatoris secundum r. h.' (f. 140). from the carthusians of trier. see incend., contra am. m., mel. v. trier ms. 689, ff. 197-201, 15th cent. " 'codex monasterii sancti mathie apostoli sanctique eucharii primi treverorum archiepiscopi' (benedictine). incipit specula (sic) peccatorum magistri richardi de hampol heremite de anglia' (the name added, perhaps later, above the line). beg. quoniam, carissime, dum in via vite huius fugientis sumus, dies nostri sicut umbra pretereunt.' (add. ms.). ends: quomodo recte intelligas, quomodo nouissima tua prudenter prouideas.' bale in his index gives the speculum (with incipit as above) to rolle. this very popular work occurs in all the libraries of europe, ascribed to a large number of patristic writers, as for example, to st. augustine, st. anselm, st. bernard, st. gregory, st. basil. it is printed by migne (40, cc. 983 sq.) among the spurious works of st. augustine, where it is noted that it quotes from hugh of st. victor and other writers later than st. augustine's time. the authorship is called uncertain, and hauréau comes to the same conclusion (not. et extr., paris, 1893, ii. 346). 354 false ascriptions (latin) it is very unlikely that rolle should be the author of a work of such immense and general european distribution, especially since it is given to him in only five manuscripts and to several other authors in many more. there are no internal signs of his authorship. it is a severely ascetic work entirely without mysticism, dwelling on the gloomy side of religion to the total exclusion of the joy. horstmann (ii. 436, n. 1) suggests that an existing abridgement is perhaps due to rolle, but no such text gives his name. the attachment of rolle's name to the piece doubtless means no more than that it often occurs with his works (v. infra, p. 355), and he had become an outstanding figure in literary history, on whom foundlings like the speculum peccatoris were naturally fathered. stimulus amoris i. caius coll. camb. ms. 216, ff. 25 sq., early 15th cent. 'iste liber intitulatur stimulus amoris, quem composuit ricardus hampol heremita.' see e. v. 6 beg. currite gentes undique.' : ends: omnis spiritus.' ii. b. mus. harl. ms. 3820, ff. 169b-171, 15th cent. original table of contents: meditacio de sancta maria excerpta de quodam libro ricardi hampol, fo. 169.' below: 'liber magistri hugonis ffraunce.' the ascription to rolle does not appear with the work itself. iste liber est reclusarii de schene ex dono magistri hugonis ffraunce.' a compilation begins the volume with a quotation, de hoc nomine ihesu ricardus heremita de hampull... the donor was apparently a fellow of eton in 1469, and the donor of books to queen's college, oxford, and to syon and shene monasteries (see bateson, pp. 188-95). this volume contains (ff. 34-55) rimington's meditations (v. supra, p. 347). see quot. (infra, p. 399). " beg. stabat iuxta crucem.' ends: non recedam.' this manuscript contains only an extract (that which is used in rolle's meditations on the passion, v. supra, p. 285). an abridged form of the stimulus, pt. ii, cap. 18, may be ascribed to rolle in one manuscript (v. supra, p. 346). in b. mus. add. ms. 20029 an early index on the fly-leaf notes: 'stimulus amoris ricardi hampole.' this ascription is not found in the work itself. bale in his index ascribed to rolle another extract from the stimulus amoris (super salue regina...). v. infra, p. 422. a manuscript stimulus amoris 355 formerly in the savile library gave the puzzling item: 'stimulus amoris de passione domini sive de emendatione peccatoris per richard hampole.' v. infra, p. 410. this very popular and widely distributed mystical work commonly circulated during the middle ages under the name of st. bonaventura, but his authorship is now discarded (see quaracchi edit., x. 23). it occurs ascribed to many authors, and the number of manuscripts and ascriptions will be discussed later (p. 395). the existence of a thirteenth-century copy disposes conclusively of any claim that rolle might have to the authorship. it was one of those medieval works of sensational popularity which seem to have been written by obscure persons whose names were soon lost, after which the names were everywhere attached of the most popular local writers. rolle incorporated in his meditations the extract found in the harl. ms., which may account for the ascription to him of this section, or of the whole work. another ground for confusion may come from the fact that his form is once entitled the 'prick of love' (v. supra, p. 258). de tribulatione camb. univ. ms. mm. vi. 17, ff. 125b sq., 15th cent. 'hampul de tribulacione.' see judica, dubia. horstmann (ii. 389, n. 3) states that the attribution to rolle is also found in the copy of this work in corpus christi coll. oxf. 193, but this is an error. the fact however that everything in this volume is by rolle except two pieces might (other things being equal) suggest his authorship also for these. but they are the present work and the speculum peccatoris, neither of which can (on general grounds) be rolle's. : beg. anima tribulata et temptata.' ends: oportet nos intrare in regnum celorum. quod nobis concedat qui sine fine viuit et regnat.' this work, which is generally called de xii utilitatibus tribulationis, is a very popular and widely distributed medieval piece, which has been printed among the writings of peter of blois, archdeacon of bath (migne, 207, cc. 989 sq.). horstmann prints two middle english translations (ii. 45 sq., 389 sq.), and a french text exists in b. mus. add. 39843 (c. 1300), roy. 16 e. xii (mid 14th cent.), lansd. 300,¹ and add. 28549 (both late 15th cent.), etc. 1 see bull. soc. anc. textes fr., 1912, p. 51. 356 false ascriptions (latin) horstmann mentions (ii. 45) 'a southern transcription (but with many northern forms remaining)' of the translation which he is there printing; and concludes that it is, no doubt, a work of r. rolle (cf. neuer þe later etc.)'. the presence of northern forms can hardly be a valid reason for ascribing to rolle a translation which there is no manuscript authority for connecting with him. it shows some traces of his influence ('loue & lyking', pp. 50, 54; 'brennandly', p. 57), but nothing on which to found an attribution. it is even more impossible that rolle should have been the author of the original latin text given to him in the camb. ms. it was written before his time, since a french version goes back to the early fourteenth century (v. supra). hauréau has shown that it is found all over europe, and he concludes that it is not the work of peter, the famous archdeacon, but probably of a writer of a century later, perhaps of the same name (op. cit., iv. 125–8). this work was probably found in the very important volume of rolle's works in the savile library (a close relative of the corpus christi coll. oxf. ms. 193, in which it occurs also). chapter xii false ascriptions (english prose) contemplations of the dread and love of god beg. in the begynnynge and endynge of all good werkes.' ends: these fewe wordes in helpynge of thy soule.' printed by wynkyn de worde in 1506 (and in an undated, probably earlier, edition) as 'opus ricardi heremyte de hampull, qui obiit anno christi mcccxlix'. reprinted by horstmann (ii. 72105). none of the numerous manuscripts gives rolle's name, and horstmann has proved the impossibility of his authorship by pointing out (ii, p. xlii, n. 2) that it quotes (pp. 74 sq.), as from ""ful holy men of ryght late tyme", the 3 degrees of love found in r. rolle's form of living, and the 3 degrees found in ego dormio, in nearly the same words. so, by the "ful holy men of ryght late tyme ", r. rolle is meant.' horstmann (ii. 72) notes that in ms. ii. vi. 40 this work is called 'xii chapiters', and remarks in a foot-note (ibid.) that this title is 'given to several treatises of r. rolle'. manuscripts of the emendatio with this title were certainly common, and may have been the reason for attributing the contemplations, to which it was also attached, to rolle. moreover, ms. ee. ii. 12 (a 16th-cent. scrapbook, formerly more ms. 390) contains a table of contents of the contemplations headed 'incendium amoris' (f. 17b), and bale cites among rolle's works in his second catalogus a work of the same incipit as this with the title 'regula bene viuendi' (which suggests the emendatio). curiously enough, in his index he supplies the incipit of the contemplations only for the uncertain 'de divino amore', which he cites from boston of bury. in both cases the incipit is given in latin. epistles of ar. ms. 286 (st. bonaventura and st. anselm) b. mus. ar. ms. 286, ff. 82-92, 92-9b, 15th cent. 'here bygynnep a pistle maad of richard hampul as somme men supposen, but whoever made it myche deuout pinge is perinne. . . . here endip 358 false ascriptions (english prose) þe first pistle and here bygynnep pe ij pistle of þe same autour.... here endip pe ij pistle maad of ricardus hampul eþer somme oper deuout man in whiche pistle ben many deuout þingis and excellent and profitable. pe latyn book by which y translatide was ful fals in þe lettre and poyntinge also and perfore i had pe more trauel to come to be open and trewe sentence.' (1) beg.: 'tot. d. his derworpe broper in crist, his euenbroper in pe lord desirip pis pat t. d. do awey now be elde man, þat is viciouse conuersacioun.' ends: 'pu schalt haue glorie wip hym in tyme to commynge, which pinge he graunte þat lyuep and regnep into worldes of worldes. amen.' (2) beg.: a priuy word to me is to pee: pu lord of vertues, kyng of kyngis and lord of lordis.' ends: 'vndefoulable fairnesse and sad rewme dwellinge into worldis of worldes. amen.' the first of these epistles is a translation of the epistola continens viginti quinque memorialia of st. bonaventura (quaracchi edit., viii. 491-8); the second is a translation of the meditatio xiii, usually ascribed to st. anselm (migne, 158, cc. 773 sq.). both translations closely follow their originals. pater noster westminster school ms., ff. i sq., c. 1420. 'here bigynnep pe pater noster of richard ermyte' (rubric). r. cloos, 1472' appears at the end of the volume. see form, ego d. beg. to his dere sister in god goddis hondemayden and his spouse. ... dere sister pou wost wel þe more a man hap vndirstondyng of riztwisnesse.' ends: now may pou see how sorewfully we fayle in alle pese þingis bope anentis pe soule and anentis pe lyf. and zit ouer alle oper pen is per oon þat wondirfully greuep þat noon may wyterly vndirstonde if he be in charite, ffor alle pe werkis þat he doip he may do hem poruz pride. fforpi seip job þat was so hooly pat he hadde drede of alle his werkis. now god for his mercy graunte vs pis drede here in þis lyf so we mowe haue sikernesse withouten drede in euerlastyng blysse. amen.' this is the only manuscript in the possession of westminster 1 this is assigned by dom wilmart to ekhart of schoenau (op. cit., p. xvii). pater noster 359 6 school. its provenance is unknown. in the catalogue of the library an index is given said to have been supplied in mid-victorian times. here it is stated that this, the first piece, is written to elizabeth kirkby, prioress of hampole'. 'elizabeth' was the name of the servant of that recluse of hampole who may have been rolle's disciple, margaret kirkeby (v. infra, p. 507). no name, however, appears on the manuscript, so that the statement can hardly be explained as a confused reference to the serving-woman who was 'elizabeth of hampole'. it is probably a confused reference to margaret, to whom the form, which follows later, is directed. the indexer has given the first eleven pieces to richard, but the last two only are his. the others include the benjamin minor, poor caitiff, several tracts usually ascribed to wyclif, several anonymous pieces printed by horstmann, etc. the whole manuscript is english. the ascription to rolle of the exposition of the pater noster can be decisively rejected, for it is a long diffuse piece treating, without a sign of his manner, subjects near enough to those which he usually chose; so that if he were the author he would surely have been tempted into some of his characteristic effusions. the following quotation will illustrate this statement : 'charite is pat oon weizte þat on þe day of doom liep in þe weize þat schal weizen oure mede þat we schulen haue. a solis ortu usque ad occasum, laudabile nomen domini (ps. cxii. 3). pe vndirstondynge of pese wordis is þat men fro þe bigynnynge of þis lijf vnto þe eendynge schal preise pe name of god þat is his goodnes. . . . now hast pou seen þat þe name of god is goodnes. . . . and þou may vndirstonde on anoþer maner þat þe name of god is jhesu crist.' all through this piece the full 'jesus christ' is always given, which would seem to indicate that the author did not know the familiar form of address of the devotees of the holy name. there are in general no signs of mysticism, though, as the quotations already given show, the author is devout after a sincere manner that would be congenial to rolle. remedy against the troubles of temptations trin. coll. dublin ms. 154, c. 1400: 'here after folowes a deuoute counseyl and tretace made by pe holy fader richarde rolle hermyte of hampul, marvelous comforthable and necessary to all 360 false ascriptions (english prose) suche that have takyn upon thayme gostly lyffe. whiche mater is called pe remedys againe pe trowbylls of gostly temptatyouns.' after an index, the treatise is preceded by a quotation on time from rolle's form of living, given with his name. this quotation is apparently considered to be the first chapter of the treatise, indicated as follows: 'the first chapiture of tyme, and howe we moune straytly gyue accompte as we spende it.' after the remedy comes the conclusion: thus endyth thys treatyce of pe forsayd deuoute fader.' two chapters from the form of living follow with rolle's name. beg.: 'oure mercyfull lord god cryst . . .' ends: hayth bought all true crysten people to be and regne with hym in his euerlastynge ioyes of hewyn withowtyn end.' printed by wynkyn de worde in 1508 and again in 1519, and reprinted from his text by horstmann (ii. 106-23). the excerpt from the form of living precedes, ascribed to its source (as quoted above, p. 11). the editor seems to have regarded rolle as the author of the whole treatise, but he gives no such explicit ascription as occurs in the dublin ms. in the edition of 1519 de worde binds the contemplations in the same volume, and the latter work he gives explicitly to the hermit. the remedy occurs in two manuscripts noted by horstmann, and both preface the treatise by the excerpt from rolle, ascribed to its author, though he is not credited with the authorship of the tract. the edition is said by horstmann to differ greatly from the manuscripts. no northern text is known. the occurrence of the quotation from rolle with the treatise in so many manuscripts gives an easy explanation for the attribution to his authorship. the remedy appears to have been written in a southern dialect later than rolle's time: though it treats contemplation, not a trace appears of his characteristic manner, even though it seems to show his influence by treating some of his characteristic subjects. there is an exhortation to the 'remembraunce of this name ihesu' (p. 121), and there is considerable alliteration, especially in the first page. however, the whole personality, as it were, of the piece is unlike rolle, and this difference appears in the more subjective elements of the style. whereas rolle's english prose is remarkably varied, with a pleasing interchange of sentences of different lengths that gives vitality to the whole style, the remedy is almost entirely written in long and very stiff sentences, which are only too congruous with the systematic reasoning of the subject-matter. the following sentences remedy 361 would seem to show that the author was not a solitary, nor in sympathy with the solitary life: 'and for as moche as many men can not nor wyll not in tyme of temptacion se or perceyue it but haue a dredefulnes and a sorynes in themselfe by sterynge of theyr compleccyon/therfore to all suche men thre thynges be nedefull & necessarye. the fyrst is that they be not moche alone.... the seconde whyle and colour that the fende maketh to withdrawe goodnes is this, whan a man or a woman by deuout sterynges of thoughtes haue felynges of contemplacyon and medytacyon as perauenture some solytarye persones hath: and he maketh them to thynke that to holde & kepe that medytacyons is to theyr moost proufyte to thentent they sholde leue theyr dyuyne seruyce that they be bounde to/and . . .' (pp. 116-17). the last words suggest the passages in the melum and the incendium in which rolle tells how external song' in religious services interfered with the 'canor', and how he therefore, at the risk of appearing irreverent, as far as possible avoided it (v. supra, pp. 124, 200). it is possible that they may refer to his experience or to that of his followers, and in any case it is evident that he himself could not have written them, since in his case his 'canor' was so all-absorbing. the remedy could not be ascribed to rolle without violating consistency at vital points. the scale of perfection bodl. laud misc. ms. 602, ff. i sq., early 15th cent. 'here begynnep þe vij partie of þys boke maad of rycharde hampole heremyte to an ankeresse.' 'robert hedrington his bookes. 1577.' at the end: 'raynes. ihesus est amor meus' (in a medieval hand). miss clay (p. 177, n. 1) notes a manuscript in private hands which gives the same ascription. for the ascription to rolle of two chapters of the scale in fishlawe's latin translation, v. supra, p. 351. beg. gostly syster in ihesu crist.' : ends (imperfectly, in last paragraph): 'pis is pe voice of ihesu.' sermons of wyclif sotheby's (nov. 6, 1899, lot 268*) sold a manuscript containing 'exposicio super dominica per ric. heremitam: we take als bileve yt epistelis of apostelis er gospelis of criste, for he spac yem alle in а а 362 false ascriptions (english prose) yaim... howre in whilke yai sal be deed.' this volume is pointed out by f. liebermann in herrig's archiv, civ. 361, to which i was directed by miss paues. it had belonged to sir a. t. c. constable, and originally to sir w. aston, afterwards first lord aston (temp. jas. i). the work evidently given to rolle in this copy is the series of sunday sermons which are proved by quotations made from them by thomas walden with his name to have been written by wyclif (see edit. arnold, ii, p. v, printed pp. 221 sq.). speculum of st. edmund 6 camb. univ. ms. ii. vi. 40, ff. 207b sq., 15th cent. her byginnip a deuout meditacioun of ricardus hampol.' see command. beg. first pou schalt pinke how pis world is passing & nat duryng.' ends: ziue vs grace to loue him and drede as we feble wrechis and frele auztyn for to do.' this is a translation of part of the highly popular speculum of st. edmund of canterbury, and it was printed by dr. h. w. robbins (pub. mod. lang. assoc. of am. xl. 240-51). horstmann prints two other english translations (i. 219, 240). he speaks of the present copy as a 'partial translation in a very corrupted text' (p. 219): as if, that is, it gave the same translation as the two manuscripts from which he prints (one of them the thornton). as a matter of fact, all three certainly represent different translations (as was pointed out by konrath, in his review of horstmann, herrig's archiv, xcvi. 390). horstmann says that 'the speculum is the great storehouse from which r. rolle derived some of his favourite subjects and ideas; and though the translator's name is not given in either ms. [printed by him], it is highly probable that r. rolle himself is the translator; at least, its northern origin is beyond doubt. the text in ms. ii. vi. 40 is ascribed to r. rolle.' the only other copy of the present translation noted is in longleat ms. 32, 15th cent. (ff. 29b-39b), where it is introduced, as 'a tretice of contemplacion', between rolle's commandment and an english version of his emendatio, and probably the ascription to him in ii. vi. 40 (where again it is preceded by the commandment) is due to the scribe's having found it thus copied beside his works. our experience of his translations is such that we can hardly believe him to be the translator in the present case. though horstmann speculum of st. edmund 363 has exaggerated the influence of the speculum on rolle, there are in that work pious exhortations to sincerity of devotion, against the mere 'habit of holiness', etc., which would be sympathetic to him and would naturally start him on interpolations of his own doctrine, such as we find in his expositions of the psalter which are founded on the lombard. the thornton text gives a long interpolation, but nothing in it suggests rolle, and dr. robbins prints in italics long interpolated passages in the camb. text, but they give no reminiscences of the hermit. possibly horstmann's idea of his indebtedness to the speculum is partly derived from the prick of conscience (which he accepted as richard's). that poem has perhaps some points of contact with the speculum, which inculcates knaweynge of pi-selfe . . . what pou erte, what pou was, and what pou sall be' (thornton text, p. 220). my earlier article on the prick of conscience will have shown how these words would summarize much of that work, but they do not describe rolle's usual subjects. as a matter of fact, the style of the speculum probably influenced him more than the substance. dr. robbins' has recently pointed out the many passages of rhyme and rhythm in the french form of the speculum, which he therefore plausibly decides to have probably been the original. here may be an influence in the formation of rolle's style, but this fact would hardly strengthen the case for his translating the work in a version so uncharacteristic. though there are no traces of rolle's doctrine in the english speculum in any of the extant translations, the thornton (northern) text follows his tradition in style, for (like the french text) it introduces traces of rhythm and alliteration, and this principally in the interpolated passage (cf. pp. 229-32, passim, and p. 234: hippynge, homerynge of medles momellynge', also interpolated, v. n. 4). the text in li. vi. 40 may seem to show a solitary trace of romantic phraseology in the phrase 'a my lord god, my jhesu, my likynge' (cf. p. 221, last two lines), but the characteristic style of richard is almost destroyed in the same passage in the longleat ms., which reads: a my lord, my god, my jhesu, my kinge' (f. 32). the longleat text is here at least as likely as the cambridge to represent the original, which reads: domine iesu christe' (la bigne, magna biblioth. xiii, c. 357). ¹ saint edmund's' merure de seinte eglise, university of minnesota dissert., 1923. a a 2 364 false ascriptions (english prose) of three workings in man's soul trin. coll. camb. ms. 1401, ff. 73b-8, 15th cent. oft thre wyrkyngs in mans saule, richard hermyte.' this manuscript was 'no doubt written for a carthusian'. it contains carthusian material, and a list of the writings of 'johannes rusbroke'. see quot. horstmann prints (i. 82) the first few sentences of this work from dd. v. 64, directly after rolle's epistles and lyrics, which it follows in the manuscript. the following leaves are torn out, and we have no information that rolle's name was ever attached. though he does not mention the trin. ms., horstmann (ii, p. xl) cites this among the works bearing rolle's name. magd. coll. camb. pepysian ms. 2125, 15th cent., contains an anonymous text. see form, ego d. b. mus. sloane ms. 1009, 15th cent., contains (ff. 25b sq.) an abridged form of this work, which is anonymous. 6 beg. a grett clerke pat men calles richard of saynt victoures settes in a boke þat he made of contemplacioun.' ends: apperyde pe awngell gabriel in a body, knelande sydelynges by hyre, sayande pise wordes. aue gracia etc.' this work was evidently written by a person interested in the contemplative life, but the writer appears to belong to the later mystics, such as the followers of walter hilton, who are less ardent and less colloquial in expression than rolle. the northern dialect found in the copy giving the hermit's name is common in religious treatises (v. supra, pp. 286, 343), but the type here suggests the second half of the fourteenth century. the adjective 'souereign' (quoted below) is a favourite with the later mystics (cf. hilton, angels' song, horstmann, i. 176, 178; mixed life, ibid., p. 275; and supra, p. 197); so also is 'busily', here common (cf. ibid., passim). the piece is an epistle, as horstmann notes, but no evidence is given to whom it is addressed. the reference to richard of st. victor (benjamin major, i, cap. 3) with which it opens is soon left behind, but the subject derived from it-the 'three workings', 'thought, thinking, and contemplation '-makes the text of the following discourse. the joys of contemplation are constantly touched on, but in somewhat set terms: 'and in tyme to cum þu schall fynde swylke frutfuil swetnes in itt þe qwhylke no tong may tell' (f. 74b); þis swete gyfte of þe grace of godd is noght geuyn to be perfore bot of þe free gyfte of godde, qwhen and howe of three workings in man's soul 365 he wyll do and take it away as hym selfe lyste. . . . and yf þu be visytt any seldum tyme with þe souereyn sweteness, gyffe perfore grett louyng to godde' (ibid.); 'yf þu haue noght zitt þis hegh swetnes of god, þen lyghtly pin enmy wyll make a suggestyon vn to þe, and say þat pow trauels in vayne' (f. 75b). what is really a second part of the work begins as follows: and yf þu wyll vse þe in thynkyng, i wyll tell þe a maner of thynkyng qwylke bu hase prayed me of before tyme. and it is bothe thynkynge and prayer, and it is of pe ioyes of owre blyssed lady saynt mary. and howe þu schall thynke qwhen pu sayes þi fifty aues. ffyrst þu schall ymagyn in þi saule a fayre chawmbyr and in þat chawmbyr þu schall see sitting at a wyndowe redande on a boke owre lady saynte mary. and þu schall sett þi selfe in sum cornere of þis chawmbyr, besyly behaldand hyre' (f. 76). this meditation is pursued to the end of the piece: the virgin is reading the prophecies on the birth of the messiah:1 'and behalde þer wyth how pale sche is, and no blode ne rude in hir vysage. and pis þe skill qwhy: ffor sekyrly wate tyme þat a man saule is full rauyschyde in desyre of anythyng, þen all þe blode of hym is gedyrde in tyll a place of hym þat þe saule moste regnes, and þat is in þe harte' (f. 76b). a work with the same inapit as this is the anonymous translation of richard of st. victor's benjamin minor, printed by horstmann, i. 162 sq. professor edmund gardner, in editing the benjamin minor, has already pointed out that 'the beautiful passage with which the version closes, so typical of the burning love of christ, shown in devotion to the name of jesus, which glows through all the writings of the school of the hermit of hampole, is an addition of the translator' (cell of self-knowledge, p. xvi). many other mystical sentences and some alliteration have also been added (cf. pp. 164, 166), and much speculation and allegory (amongst other material) omitted in other words, the work as it stands is an excellent example of what the english fourteenth-century mystics received from richard of st. victor, though his whole work is not here.2 the benjamin minor pursues a method of translation similar to 1 a meditation on this scene ascribed elsewhere to st. anselm is inserted in st. aelred's de vita inclusarum (migne, 32, cc. 1465 sq.). dom wilmart believes st. aelred to be the author (op. cit., p. xv). 2 the benjamin minor is found anonymously in the northern thornton ms., in all the other numerous copies, and in the edition of pepwell of 1521. the last was reprinted by professor gardner, who in doing so expressed his opinion that the work appears to me undoubtedly from the same hand as that of the divine cloud' (p. xxv, n.). this was also the opinion of horstmann (ii, 6 366 false ascriptions (english prose) that used in the abbey of the holy ghost. it is a much more interesting piece than the present one, which appears to be a somewhat dilute work of mysticism, written, it would appear, either by a 'second-hand mystic' or by an original mystic in an off-moment. what is signified by the coincidence of its first sentence with that of the benjamin is hard to determine, but it would seem to make rolle's authorship even more unlikely than it would otherwise be, by grouping the piece with the later mystics, for with them the benjamin has usually been connected. commentary on two commandments of the new law trin. coll. dublin ms. 155, early 15th cent. 'diliges dominum deur tuum (math. xxiiº two—sic, for 37?). þe first comaundmentes after seynt richard.' see ego d. (where the text especially of the lyrics varies considerably, and a new lyric is introduced), form (extracts only, sometimes enlarged), ol. effus. (angl.), stim. consc. it will be seen that the scribe is erratic. he does not give rolle's name except as above. this manuscript was described and partly printed in brit. mag. ix. 499 sq. an anonymous copy occurs in the ingilby ms., formerly at ripley castle, yorkshire, sold at sotheby's oct. 21-2, 1920, lot 137. after northern texts of the gratia dei (v. supra, p. 286) in another hand (and perhaps originally another volume), and of rolle's english psalter and his commandment, the present work follows, and after it the pistel of st. machary, the treatise against boasting and pride, p. xli, n. 2). the question cannot be settled until all the works of the authors in question are investigated in the manuscripts, but it should be pointed out that the benjamin displays some small verbal coincidences with angels' song, such as repetition of 'god and ghostly things', 'sweetness of love in the affection and light of knowing in the reason', 'fleshly, kindly and worldly delights'. these phrases are to be sure all commonplaces, and perhaps solely derived from richard of st. victor, who has influenced the angels' song strongly. since, however, we have no manuscript evidence as to the authorship of the benjamin, and noticeable reminiscences of the latter do exist in the english style of angels' song, it would appear that the identity of the translator should not be settled too easily. angels' song is given to hilton by pepwell, and it gives (horstmann, i, p. 179) some reminiscences of the scale of perfection (p. 63), but the cloud also gives reminiscences at the same point (p. 238). angels' song appears likely to be by hilton, however, for (like his scale and mixed life) it tries to moderate extremes which have come into mystical practice by the somewhat unguarded expressions of his mystical contemporaries (including those found in the cloud). v. infra, p. 368. 1 now huntington ms. 148. commentary on two commandments 367 printed from rawl. c. 285 by horstmann (i. 122), and sayings from fathers, which resembles a similar collection printed by horstmann (i. 125) from the rawl. ms. (following the treatise just noted). all the works in the ingilby ms. are anonymous. see eng. ps., command. beg.: 'pou shalt loue pi lord god with al þi hert, with al þy soule, with al pi pout. to loue god with al pi hert is nouzt elles but þat þi hert be nouzt louyng ne worschipyng no þing þat may be so muche as hym' (from a copy made at dublin by miss deanesly). ends: 'pes byn þe werkes of mercy þat makes loue bytwene god and man and bytwene man and man to come to ioye and rest: evermore to wone wip hym þat ys kyng of ioye and pees, world wiþouten end. amen.' this work is a simple, earnest exposition. in the comment on the second commandment a lengthy account is introduced of the seven works of mercy. a few northern forms occur. there are no passages in rolle's manner. the commentary seems to show in some ways his influence, but in ethical earnestness, and not in mysticism. it follows him in urging the contrition of the heart and conformity to the divine will, and it speaks as strongly as he on the necessity of teaching the people. however, these are commonplaces, and probably its agreement with him at these points means in part that it is derived from a later generation, on which his influence had had its effect. the present work has affiliations with the more moderate compositions connected with the lollard movement. it often refers to 'god's law' (v. infra, p. 393); quotations may illustrate its character: 'whan a mannes conscience is rewlet and levyng to þe lawe of god þat is holy writte, pan ordeyres it a man to be blisse of hevene. and whan a mannes conscience or his conseyle is nou3t grounded in holy writte and acordyng to goddis lawe, it is noo drede it ordeynes a man to be dampned in helle withouten ende.' 'pus man schal be saved or dampned by hys conscience, for mannes conscience is but þe ryztfu knowyng of hys hert, and zif it be unresonable rewled, it is no conscience but erroure, and perfore man schuld be weel ware þat hys conscience were rewled by goddis lawze, and þat he lyfe with al his conyng þer after.' 'and it is certeyne þat muchel of pe synne of þe world is for defaute of feith, þat mene trowep nouzt trewly as goddis lawe techep hem.' god wole rewarde pe for pi gode wille, for þat is pe princypal þing þat god taketh hede too.' 'goddis lawe byddis pe teche pe unconynge frely for charite to know pe lawe of god, and to flee synne, for god þat zefes alle wysdome and conyng frely to alle men, wole pat alle men frely teche it oper pat byn of lasse conyng.' 368 false ascriptions (english prose) 'but specyaly all pristes pat have taken þe governynge of puple byn holden trewly to teche men goddys lawe.' though no signs of heresy or of special lollard bitterness appear, passages like those just quoted show the writer emphasizing points always stressed by the wyclifites, suggesting a development later than the time of rolle. the language suggests the same date. probably the ascription to him is due to the work being copied in northern manuscripts beside his works. additional note miss g. e. hodgson in her recently printed sanity of mysticism (v. infra, p. 431, n.) refers to our daily work as rolle's, but it has been shown above (p. 286) that this attribution rests on an unfounded conjecture of horstmann's. she also prints (appendix i) the oneness of god with man's soul (more generally known as angels' song), which she is inclined to believe is rolle's, though she quotes professor edmund gardner and horstmann, both of whom ascribe it to hilton (to whom it is given in the edition of 1521, v. supra, p. 366, n.). miss evelyn underhill cites it as an 'unquestionably authentic' work of hilton (scale, p. xxiii), and comparison with hilton's other works supports this strong assertion. on the other hand, decided differences separate it from rolle's works, and it appears to represent at some points a reaction against his teaching. the following parallel quotations will illustrate this point: the holy soul has great comfort ' in psalmys, & ympnes, & antympnes of haly kyrke... in þe same toune & notes þat haly kyrke vses' (horstmann, i. 181). 'mundi quippe amatores scire possunt uerba uel carmina nostrarum cancionum, non autem cantica nostrorum carminum; quia uerba legunt, sed notam et tonam ac suauitatem odarum addiscere non possunt' (incendium, p. 278). the whole paragraph of angels' song which is here quoted from appears to urge the friend to whom this epistle is directed against fanatically following rolle's teaching as to the devotion to the holy name, and the next one appears to give warning against fanatically following the author of the cloud of unknowing in his directions as to a 'naked intent' towards holy things (cloud, p. 93). this rationalizing is typical of hilton, as is the conclusion of the piece: it suffys to me forto lyfe in trouthe principaly, & nouzt in felynge' (p. 182). horstmann justly pronounced these words totally unlike richard (i. 173). chapter xiii false ascriptions (english verse) lyrics (v. supra, p. 296) pety job cited in the coni. bodl. douce ms. 322, ff. 10 sq., 15th cent. temporary index as 'the ix lessons of diryge in balade'. 'here begynneth the nyne lessons of the dirige whych job made in hys tribulacioun lying on the donghyll, and ben declared more opynly to lewde mennes vndirstandyng by a solempne worthy and discrete clerke rychard hampole and ys cleped pety job and ys full profitable to stere synners to compunction.' see e. v. (angl.). ii. trin. coll. camb. ms. 6or, ff. 38 sq., 15th cent. same heading. iii. b. mus. harl. ms. 1706, ff. 1ob sq., 15th cent. same heading. like the douce ms. this copy purports to be copied from 'john lucas' book' (v. infra, p. 424). printed by horstmann. see e. v. (angl.). on the probable ascription of this work to rolle by bale, v. infra, p. 423. : beg. 'lyeff lorde, my soule thou spare' (horstmann, ii. 381). ends: so that i may euer with the dwelle, 6 thorough parce michi domine' (p. 389). the pety job was printed from the harl. ms. by horstmann and by kail (eets. orig. ser., 124, pp. 120-43) from the douce. horstmann states (ii. 380) that it is made on r. rolle's parvum iob sive lectiones mortuorum, by a later, east-midland poet, perhaps richard maidestone'; but in his list of rolle's works (ibid., p. xliii) he speaks more accurately: 'it is made on the verses of job commented in r. rolle's postillae super 9 lectiones mortuorum.' ¹ 1 selected portions of job went commonly under the title' parvum job', but these were generally a bare summary of incidents (les traductions de la bible en vers français au moyen áge, par jean bonnard, paris, 1884, p. 7). 370 false ascriptions (english verse) actually it bears no relation whatever to rolle's job, except that it comments on the same texts. dr. kail states that the piece belongs neither to rolle's time 'nor to his dialect', and he supports his statement by a few observations as to the latter (p. xxiii). no northern manuscripts exist. professor brown cites two anonymous copies. the three manuscripts of the pety job with rolle's name all give the same elaborate heading, and are probably therefore derived from the same original. the manuscript authority for his authorship is therefore less than at first appears. the ascription may be explained as a confusion with his latin commentary on the same portions of scripture, which is often described in terms that would apply equally well to the pety job. dr. kail might have added that the pety job did not belong to rolle's manner any more than to his time or dialect. it is a very beautiful lyrical commentary, of a sustained poetical and metrical power quite beyond what rolle has shown in any other work; and, though very devout, it is quite unmystical. it seems to speak in a detached way of those sanctified in this life (among whom rolle ranged himself): 'and though i dyede thane as doth a seynt' (p. 386). the pety job from beginning to end preserves the tone of proud, and even bitter submissiveness found in the original texts. 2 metrical expositions of the dirige of very much the same verseform and manner as the present one were very popular in france in the beginning of the fifteenth century, and that by pierre nesson,¹ a poet conspicuous in the higher circles of his time, exists in many manuscripts. reference to catalogues of french libraries will show that elaborate rubrics such as we find attached to the pety job were also popular in france during the same period, and these 'gossipy rubrics' were used in england by such a scribe as john shirley. it is probably to such a world as shirley lived in-in which french fashions were current-that we must refer the pety job, which by its subject and its rubric seems to follow french fashions. it seems to be a product of the same environment as other poems (one of them with the same refrain) copied next to the pety job in the manuscripts, and printed by kail. these works resemble each other in dialect, style, metre, and cadence, and they probably all emanate from the same source. 1 roman. xxxiii. 540. cf. angl. xxvii. 387, 393. seven penitential psalms 371 seven penitential psalms bodl. digby ms. 18, ff. 38-64, 15th cent. 'here bigynnep pe prologe of pe seuene salmys in englysche by richard hampole heremyte.' rolle's e. v. (angl.) had preceded, with his name. also form. see a copy of this work ascribed to rolle evidently existed in the 16thcentury savile library, where ms. 203 is described as follows: 'septem psalmi paenitentiales quos richardus de hampol in anglicum sermonem transtulit in versu.' the note ascribing the work to rolle in longleat ms. 30 is of no significance, for it is written in a modern (17th century?) hand. professor brown cites in all twenty copies of this work (nos. 1215, 2421, vol. ii. 'afterword'). beg. to goddis worschipe pat dere us bouzte.' ends: graunte us oo god and persones pre.' an extra stanza in another manuscript gives richard maidstone, carmelite, as author of this poem: this is usually taken as part of the original piece, and maidstone is credited with the work by professor brown. no northern manuscript is known to exist, and it seems impossible that the poem could have had a northern origin. it contains no mysticism, nor anything connecting it with rolle, and the metrical form is better than we find in poems more credibly ascribed to him. the ascription is probably due to some one who connected with rolle all english expositions of the psalms. speculum vitae camb. univ. ms. ll. i. 8, ff. 1 sq., late 14th cent. 'explicit quidam tractatus super pater noster secundum ricardum hampolem qui obiit anno domini millesimo cccmo octogesimo quarto. reynoldus cognomen scriptoris possidet omen.' the meditations on the passion follow (in the same hand), also ascribed to rolle, and here the date of his death is given as 1348. more ms. 215. see miscell. beg.: ends: 'almy3ty god in trinite, in whom is only persones three.' 'to be whyche blysse he vs alle brynge þat on pe croys for vs wolde hynge.' rolle's authorship of the present poem was urged by j. ullmann in an article (eng. stud. vii. 415 sq.) in which he made elaborate comparisons between the style of this work and that of the prick of conscience, then universally given to rolle. in my article the 372 false ascriptions (english verse) authorship of the prick of conscience (pp. 163-70), i suggested that since ullmann seemed to have shown a distinct similarity existing between the style of the two works, they might have been written by the same author; since rolle could not be the author of the prick, ullmann's investigation proved nothing for rolle's authorship of the speculum, but it might prove something for the authorship of both works by william of nassington, to whom the speculum was given in two copies (as translated from the latin of freere johan... of waldby'). however, in an article speculum vitae: addendum (pub. mod. lang. assoc. of am. xxxii. 133–62), i showed that ullmann had borrowed most of his classifications of style from dissertations on the style of old french writers, which invalidated them as tests of authorship in the present case.¹ an examination of all the manuscripts of the speculum vitae did not elucidate the problem of its origin, for of the thirty-one examined, the only ones giving information as to the authorship were the two giving the name of william of nassington, and the present manuscript giving rolle's name. three copies state that the speculum was examined by the university of cambridge in 1384, and proved free from heresy. the speculum vitae is a northern poem, in dialect and manner strongly suggesting the prick of conscience, though compounded of somewhat less sensational materials (perhaps due to the fact that it is founded on la somme le roy by frère lorenz). it gives no hint of rolle, and is on a large scale-a work alien to his writings. william of nassington, on the other hand, is a person to whom it could be plausibly attributed. he was, apparently, a resident of york (an advocate at the archiepiscopal court), and another work is ascribed to him sufficiently like the speculum in style and sentiment. the manuscript evidence for his authorship is stronger than for rolle's, not only because it occurs in two copies against rolle's one, but also because it occurs in the text, whereas the attribution to rolle is given in a verse tag by a scribe who, by his transposition as to the date of rolle's death, proves himself to be careless. stimulus conscientiae beg.: 'the myght of pe fadyr almyghty þe wytt of pe sone alle wytty.' (lambeth ms. 260, f. 101.) 1 see my article under preparation on the literary affiliations of the prick of conscience. stimulus conscientiae 373 ends: 'vnto whylk place he vs bryng, at for owre hele on pe rode wald hynge' (f. 130b). it has been shown by the exhaustive register of middle-english religious and didactic verse brought out by professor carleton brown that the prick of conscience was incomparably the most popular work falling within the limits of his investigation: he cites ninety-nine copies and four fragments (under four incipits, nos. 314, 723, 2206-7); the nearest rival, piers plowman, only exists in forty-seven copies. five manuscripts and one fragment of the prick of conscience have come to light since professor brown's volume was printed, and doubtless others still lurk in private libraries. the immense number of copies available will not all be cited in the present work, since professor brown includes them in the register; only those will be described which present significant features, such as indications of authorship, variations of title, etc. in the rare cases where the poem has occurred in the same manuscript with authentic works of rolle, a cross-reference, stim. consc.', has been given, but the copies in question have not been especially noted here, since they throw no special light on the problem of the authorship. brief mention will be given of those copies of the poem not mentioned in the register, most of which have been pointed out to me by mr. herbert of the british museum. altogether, ninety-six manuscripts of the english poem the prick have been examined for the purposes of the present study, that is, all except thirteen of the extant copies.' the volumes seen have been examined solely for the light they throw on the origin of the poem, and it should be noted that at least half are imperfect at both ends. no attention has in general been given to the text. in the case of the copies not seen, the available information does not hint that they offer any aid in the solution of the origin of the poem. three are imperfect at both ends, and three others are certainly anonymous. the five copies of the translation into latin have also been examined (v. infra, p. 376). 1 the manuscripts of the stimulus which have not been examined are as follows: brown, register, no. 723, ms. 3 (holkham hall, which, as i was kindly assured by mr. napier, the librarian, contains no ascription); no. 2206, mss. 16 (2 leaves only), 57 (imperfect at both ends), 68, 71, 73–7 (ms. 77, 13 leaves only), 81 (garrett ms. at princeton university, formerly the yates ms. mentioned by dr. morris in his edition, as i was told by mr. henry yates thompmr. clemons, librarian at princeton, kindly confirmed its anonymous character); no. 2207, ms. 9 ; the peterborough ms. below. see addenda. son. 374 false ascriptions (english verse) additional mss. i. peterborough publ. lib. ms.* this volume was brought to my attention by mr. c. j. robson, who informs me that it is anonymous. he is editing it. v. infra, p. 386, n. 4. v. infra, p. 377ii. sotheby's, oct. 27, 1919, lot 2698. iii. sotheby's, jan. 30, 1920, lot 116. iv. sotheby's, dec. 21, 1920, lot 515. fragment of nine leaves only, beginning with the first of bk. iii, 15th cent. from the library of j. o. halliwell. v. sotheby's, nov. 14, 1922, lot 376, ff. 12-247, 15th cent. 'here begynnes pe langer pryck of conscience.' 'explicit liber qui dicitur stimulus consciencie.' 'iste liber constat ricardo gardner.' the date 1534 and a name of 'skeibey' (skeeby, near richmond ?), co. yorks, appear on the last page: the arms on the cover are those of 'william blakiston bowes, arm. de streattlam castle in com. dunelmensi'. the title here given doubtless distinguishes the poem from 'stimulus consciencie minor' (register, no. 156), a much less important and popular work. vi. sotheby's, april 15, 1924, lot 378. v. infra, p. 394. a. mss. ascribing the work to rolle. i. bodl. ashmole 60 (sum. cat. no. 6922), c. 1400. this date was given to professor craigie by the bodleian authorities in 1916, but the catalogue had given 'xiv century', and dr. furnivall, in quoting from the volume (v. infra, p. 391), dates his quotation about 1350:-if we may take this to be the date of the fourteenth-century ms. of hampole's pricke of conscience, ashmole 60, to which mr. black draws attention in his catalogue of the ashmole mss. col. 105.' internal evidence, as we shall see, would make an earlier date than the last quarter of the 14th century improbable. however, this manuscript is certainly as early as any extant copy bearing rolle's name, if it is not the earliest. it is a small folio, vellum. the beginning of the work comes on f. 8: 'incipit stimulus consciencie a ricardo heremita de hampole compositus gracie dei subdito terminatur' (rubric). the end of the text is imperfect, and possibly the meaning of the last words of the heading would be clear if we had the original conclusion. this copy is not northern, and large insertions have been made both in prose and in verse. this type of the poem is perhaps that in which the ascription to rolle originated, for some of the material inserted is almost lollard, and rolle's stimulus conscientiae 375 name was perhaps added to give it safe-conduct. the text of ashmole 60 will be discussed later. ii. caius coll. camb. 386, 15th cent. 'hic incipit stimulus consciencie compilatus per ricardum heremitam' (rubric). 'explicit stimulus consciencie.' not northern. cited as evidence for rolle's authorship by pits and oudin. iii. lambeth palace 260, ff. 101 sq., first quarter 15th cent. the date was given by sir george warner after examination of the watermarks. explicit tractus qui vocatur stimulus consciencie interioris per sanctum ricardum heremitam de hampole' (f. 130). this is the only northern ms. in which the prick is ascribed to rolle: the northern homilies begin the volume. it was noted in the bibliography of wharton. iv. gurney ms. (in the possession of the gurney family of keswick hall, keswick, norwich), c. 1400 ('probably before 1400, but not very long before'). the date was given by dr. m. r. james, when the late mr. j. h. gurney was kind enough to send the volume to cambridge for my purposes. this and the ashmole copy are the only ones bearing rolle's name which can be dated before 1400, and neither is northern. the ascription is in a rhyming colophon (in red): 'here endip as ze may see stimulus consciencie aftir richard þe holy ermyte that soply pus gan þis book endyte' (f. 153). this volume was purchased by hudson gurney, esq., at the sale of the manuscripts of dr. macro, and it was described in the catalogue of the manuscripts of the latter as follows: quarto ms. no. 18. stimulus conscientiae (hampole). in old english verse wrote on vellum about ye time of henry ye 6th. this probably belonged to the nunnery of hampole in yorkshire." this entry suggests that when ritson said that dr. munro' owned a copy of the prick which was left after the death of hampole and his brother to the society of friars minor at york' (v. radcliffe monog. 15, p. 169), he was amplifying the description of the present volume in the catalogue of the library of dr. macro. sir f. madden, in the manuscript notes in his copy of ritson, now in the harvard library, identifies the mysterious volume cited by ritson as 'dr. munro's' with that 'penes hudson gurney' (which was originally 1 'collectanea hunteriana, catalogue of the library of cox macro, d.d., 1766', b. mus. add. ms. 25473. 376 false ascriptions (english verse) 'dr. macro's'). it should, however, be noted that dr. thomas monro, a well-known connoisseur of art of the early 19th century (v. d. n.b.), possessed manuscripts, for no. 8007 of the chetham coll. library, manchester, is said to have been purchased at his sale. an inquiry was put in notes and queries (3rd ser., ii. 386) in regard to the fate of dr. munro's' manuscript mentioned by ritson, but no reply seems to have been forthcoming. v. merton coll. oxf. 68, ft. 74 sq., 15th cent. 'hampole heads the first page. 'explicit tractatus qui vocatur stimulus consciencie secundum hampole' (f. 88v). this is not the english poem, but the latin translation from it which exists in five manuscripts. it was noted by bale in his index. three other copies refer to the work as 'tractatus qui vocatur stimulus conscientie qui ab anglico translatus est in latinum' (magd. coll. camb. 14, 15th cent.; dd. iv. 50, 16th cent. ; and pembroke coll. camb. 273, 14th cent.). this text also exists in bodl. 159 (sum. cat. no. 2009). it is much shortened and systematized. richard methley of mount grace could not have been the translator, as was conjectured by dr. james in describing the magd. ms. his reason for so doing, as he stated in reply to an inquiry, was because he found methley in a pembroke ms. translating english into latin (v. infra, p. 417). however, the work in question is dated 1491', and the existence of the pembroke 14th-cent. copy of the latin prick disposes of methley's authorship. the 15th-cent. scrap-book b. mus. harl. 106 contains a latin extract e tractatu qui intitulatur stimulus consciencie' (f. 138b). beg.: 'timenda est mors . . .'. there is a very slight possibility that an ascription to rolle may have occurred in st. john's coll. camb. 137, early 15th cent. α note on the manuscript states: 'an old catalogue gives this "6. 27. richardi hampole stimulus conscientiae metris anglicis, cum praefatione richardi spink qui librum donavit". "a. 6. 27" is within the the preface and name of donor have disappeared. also first leaf of ms.' this information is not explicit evidence for rolle's name having once appeared in the volume, for cataloguers of all periods have been so certain of his authorship that they include a reference to it very often when it is absent from the manuscript. a volume in the library of henry savile (1568-1617) of banke, co. yorks, apparently (though not certainly) contained a copy of the prick with rolle's name (v. infra, p. 385). there is a discrepancy at stimulus conscientiae 377 this point between the two catalogues of the library. this may, of course, be one of the copies here cited. b. mss. ascribing the work to grosseteste. " i. bodl. digby 14 (sum. cat. no. 1615), early 15th cent. hic incipit quidam tractatus magistri roberti grosthed episcopi quondam lincolniensis doctorisque egregii in theologia et vocatur stimulus consciencie.' not northern. ii. bodl. laud misc. 486, late 14th cent. bernard ms. g. 21 (sum. cat. no. 1186). explicit tractatus venerabilis lincolniensis qui dicitur stimulus consciencie' (f. 122). not northern. " iii. sotheby's, jan. 30, 1920, lot 116, now in the possession of sir leicester harmsworth, c. 1430-50. hic incipit quidam tractatus roberti '[grost]hed episcopi lincolniensis, qui nominatur stimulus conscientie.' not northern. once belonging to t. c. neale. i owe my knowledge of this copy to the kindness of mr. j. a. herbert, from whose notes the above description is taken. sir frederic madden, in the notes to his ritson already mentioned, cites a manuscript of the prick as in the possession of 't. c. neale, springfield, essex'. all three manuscripts above noted seem to present the usual text. tanner notes the two volumes of the prick in the bodleian which give the work to grosseteste (art. hampole, note q; art. grosseteste, p. 350 n.); and speaks of laud ms. k. 65 as giving the same. ascription. he is followed at this point by warton (hist. eng. poetry, ii. 240). laud ms. k. 65 is now laud misc. 601 (sum. cat. no. 1491), a copy complete at both ends which does not give any sign of ever having contained an ascription. perhaps the neale ms. was the third copy in question, and a wrong reference was given by tanner and repeated by warton. bishop grosseteste was the author of a french poem, the château d'amour, which in many respects was the prototype of such a piece as the prick of conscience. both provided a compendium of theology for the laity, and, in spite of the difference in language, many of the same tricks of style appear in the two works. the prick, moreover, was not the only work of its sort to which the name of the bishop was attached; both of the manuscripts collated for the edition of handlynge synne, the english translation of the manuel des pechiez, 1 this will be illustrated in my article on the literary affiliations of the prick of conscience. b b 378 false ascriptions (english verse) ascribe the authorship of the french original to grosseteste, and his name is also attached to a copy of french verses on the. nine daughters of the devil, much in the same manner. we know that he was extremely active in stimulating greater efficiency in the parish clergy, and it is possible that his name is connected with so many works of a popular religious character because he was associated in the popular mind with providing more religious instruction for the people.¹ 3 in the case of the prick of conscience there was probably a special reason for attaching grosseteste's name: as the catalogue of the royal mss. in the british museum points out (ii. 245), the prick of conscience bases book iv (on purgatory) on a prose treatise 'de poenis purgatorii' often ascribed to grosseteste. this attribution the cataloguer terms 'improbable', but it was frequent, and is found in the latin texts in b. mus. harl. 3673 and add. 33957 (both 15th cent.). the late 13th-cent. french text in b. mus. ar. 288 (ff. 84-91b) is anonymous. without a line-by-line comparison it is not possible to determine positively whether the latin or the french text is the original, or which is that used in the english poem. so large a part of the prick of conscience is founded on the de poenis that it is not strange that grosseteste's name should be attached to the poem, if it were to the treatise. the english does not always follow the order of its source, but in one order or another most of the treatise is to be found in the poem, generally in a much expanded form. parts of book iii (ll. 2386 sq., 2656 sq.) and much of book iv are founded on the treatise (ar. ms., ff. 84 sq.). not only the general subject-matter is the same in the two works, but the latin quotations are also often repeated. the indebtedness, however, does not end here: though the treatise announces the pains of purgatory as its principal subject, the last four books (iv-vii) give general references to the judgement day and to hell and 1 see my articles rom. rev. viii. 447-8, and pub. mod. lang. assoc. of am. xxxii. 133 sq. the relation is also noted by miss r. g. j. murray in her edition of the château d'amour (paris, 1918, p. 84 n.). 3 the following parallel quotations illustrate the close relation between the three texts: harl. 3673. 'in anglico ydiomate dicitur: si spes ar. 288. prick of conscience. non 'len dit en engleis: if hope ne were: herte to broste' (f. 88b). 'and men says, warn hope ware it suld brest' (bk. vi, i. 7266, p. 196). esset, cor creparet' (f. 167). stimulus conscientiae 379 heaven. these are the subjects of the last three books of the poem (v-vii), and each of these has taken (and immensely enlarged) something from the treatise (cf. ar. 288, f. 87b with pp. 134-5, 143; f. 88b with pp. 196-7; f. 88 with pp. 188, 192; ff. 89-91b with pp. 213-32). c. mss. giving hints of other ascriptions. none of the copies here cited appear, on a cursory examination, to present any peculiarities of text. 6 the following i. b. mus. cotton app. vii, ff. 3 sq., 15th cent. notes appear: thomas asheburne ex ordine fratrum b. mariae de monte carmel (?) conventus northampton (?) scripsit anno 1384 de contemptu mundi (hujus tractatus non meminit balaeus, vid. p. 404)' (fly-leaf). scriptus a fratre tho: de ascheburne ordinis. fratrum beate marie genitricis dei de mo[nte] carm. conuentus northhamptoniensis anno 1384 congestus ex inno[centio] de contemptu mundi' (f. 3). the latter note is the earlier by about fifty years, and probably belongs to the beginning of the sixteenth century. these dates and that of the manuscript were kindly given by mr. herbert. the last leaf of the prick is lacking in this copy. some northern forms persist in this text. e. guest, in discussing the cotton app. ms. (history of english rhythms, london, 1882, p. 693), conjectures that there were two forms of the prick, and that ashburne was the author of one. later research proves that there are many versions of the poem, but the differences are minor ones, due to variations in dialect and corruptions of text. there is no reason to believe that there were ever two fundamentally different recensions of the work. a friar, thomas ashburne, was a prominent controversialist at the end of the fourteenth century: 'claruit 1382' (pits, art. ashburne). he appeared at the london synod of 1382, debated the temporal power of the pope, and wrote treatises against the lollards. he was, however, an augustinian,' whom bale and pits derive from staffordshire, tanner from derbyshire. ashbourn, from which thomas may have taken his name, as a matter of fact lies in derbyshire on the borders of staffordshire. it cannot be more than about forty or fifty miles from hampole. bale quotes walsingham on ashburne's interfering to save his monastery from being burnt by a mob (catalogus, edit. 1557, p. 494). tanner refers to an english poem ascribed to a 'thomas ashburn, ¹ mr. herbert suggests that the augustinian may have become a carmelite. b b 2 380 false ascriptions (english verse) carmelite,' in cotton ms. vitell. f. xiii, and raises the query whether this is really the augustinian. sir frederic madden, in the note on the present manuscript (in which he identifies it as the prick), points out that tanner has apparently given a wrong reference, since vitell. f. xiii has no connexion with ashburne. apparently no explicit reference to a carmelite ashburne occurs outside the notes above quoted, but about 1383 one 'thomas assheburne, scholar of the charity' of a great personage (unnamed), taught in the college of st. benedict at cambridge' (as we learn from the household accounts of the anonymous patron), and in 1392 richard, earl of arundel (brother of thomas arundel, the archbishop), remembered in his will his confessor frere thomas asshebourne'.? neither of these references is tied to the augustinian, and either or hoth may refer to the carmelite. miss mary bateson in her article on ashburne (d. n. b.) conjectures that the cambridge scholar became the carmelite, and wrote english verse. since no sign of ashburne's name occurs in vitell. f. xiii, with which tanner connected it, and she recognizes that the poem ascribed to him in cotton app. vii is the prick, she conjectures his authorship for the short poem which precedes the latter (the four daughters of god). however, the notes as to ashburne occur only in the text of the prick, and the reference to 'innocent, de contemptu mundi”,³ applies to this and not to the preceding poem. it would appear that ashburne's claim to authorship rests on the prick or nowhere. since the last page of cotton ms. app. vii is missing, we might conjecture that the attribution to ashburne was copied from there, and rested on information of real value. however, the manuscript is not consistently northern, and the dates of his life seem to place the composition of the poem a generation too late, though of this we cannot be sure all that we know of its date is that more than two dozen copies go back to the late fourteenth century, and a date about the middle of the century would fit better than a later one. but the poem is one which might have been written in early life by a man : 1 cf. camb. antiq. soc. commun., 9, p. 401. 2 see testamenta vetusta, ed. n. h. nicolas, london, 1826, i. 129. it might be worth inquiring whether the mysterious magnate, who was the patron of a thomas ashburn about 1383, might be one of the arundels—either the earl, who in 1392 had a thomas ashburn as confessor, or his brother the archbishop. 3 this work is a principal source of the prick (see r. köhler, jahrbuch für roman. und engl. lit. vi. 196-212). bodl. rawl. poet. 175 has been cited as a copy that goes back to c. 1350 (see mod. lang. notes, 1905, p. 210). dr. craster and mr. madan kindly stimulus conscientiae 381 of prodigious energy and some literary resources, and we cannot be certain that the present copy (which contains northern forms) is not copied from a pure northern original. ashburne, the carmelite, may have been a northerner by birth, though his life in religion was passed in northampton. moreover, the exact locality in which the prick of conscience was written must be a matter of conjecture. it has so long been taken for granted that it was written by rolle, whose yorkshire origin was known, that its yorkshire character has never been questioned, and it has perhaps been taken as one of the principal sources of the yorkshire dialect of its time. but the poem exists in many dialects, and i pointed out in my earlier article (p. 137, n., v. infra, p. 396, n.) that even the northern version printed differs in dialect from rolle's works in some important particulars. original text was almost certainly northern, but ashburne may have derived his name from ashbourn in derbyshire, and at this date it would be difficult to be certain that the speech of derbyshire was entirely different from that of southern yorkshire not many miles away. altogether, ashburne's claim to the authorship of the prick cannot be absolutely denied, though there is little to support it. mr. j. a. herbert has pointed out to me an indenture in b. mus. wolley charter vi. 38 between sir thomas russell, rood prest' of 'assheburne', co. derby, and john knyvetone of morcaston, gentleman, 'patrone of the same servyce and chantre', and sir 'herre' hudson, vicar of ascheburne', witnessing the delivery by the said vicar to the said sir thomas of certain mass-books, chalices, vestments, and other goods for the same chantry, 15 jan., 1516. among the articles cited is 'a boke of pe pater noster' (which might be the speculum vitae) and ‘a boke namyd stimulus consciencie'. it may be thought barely possible that we have in a mark of ownership by thomas, priest of ashbourn, the origin of the note as to 'thomas ashburn', but in that case the explicit details as to 1384, northampton, etc., are strange. ii. trin. coll. dublin 156, 15th cent., contains the prick of conscience, with notes in what appears to be a 17thor 18th-cent. hand: johannes fleming hunc librum composuit' (f. 3); 'johannes fleming composuit hunc librum' (in bk. iv). the hand is very similar to that in which appears at the beginning the name 'miles symner, 1652'. the first page, and part of the second are defaced examined this volume and assure me that 'circa 1350 is probably too early, and the ms. should be assigned to the second half of the 14th century'. 382 false ascriptions (english verse) by gall-stain, but this injury can hardly have covered the source of the reference to fleming, since it is referred to in a note on the fly-leaf in what seems the same hand as that of the other notes (or a contemporary one). what the source may be, must remain uncertain. it may be noted that 'jon flemmyn' signs his name to ms. e musaeo 232 (sum. cat. no. 3657), of which he is apparently the scribe (v. supra, p. 279). the trin. ms. has been long in ireland, for scribblings occur concerned with dublin in the reign of henry viii. it is not northern. the epilogue is omitted. this copy was probably the source of tanner's reference to john fleming as 'poeta antiquus anglus' who wrote 'anglice poemata varia in bibl. coll. ss. trin. dublin, 3°4'. iii. greg ms. (in the possession of dr. w. w. greg, formerly phillipps 8343), 15th cent. a late note on the fly-leaf entitles the work: a religious poem callid thomas of arundel's legend in english verse'. the first leaf is lacking, and a possible explanation of the note quoted is that the first page contained a note as to a licence granted for reading the work by thomas arundel, archbishop of canterbury, according to the constitutions of oxford instituted by him in 1408 (v. supra, p. 191). such a licence is appended to nicholas love's paraphrase of the meditations on the life of christ, and a note as to a formal examination at cambridge appears on three copies of the speculum vitae (q. v.). the present volume had lost its first leaf before it came into the possession of sir thomas phillipps, for the imperfection is noted in his catalogue, as well as in that of heber, its previous owner. earlier it had belonged to beauclerk. sir thomas phillipps enters this volume in his catalogue with the cryptic credo hanc esse paraphrasim per thomam, comitem de arundel.' for a possible remote connexion of the prick with archbishop arundel, see above, p. 380, n. 2. iv. bodl. rawl. c. 35 (sum. cat. no. 11901), 15th cent. a note is pasted on the fly-leaf: 'yr book is complete tis wrote in the stile & maner of [occ]leve chaucers scholar tho' in my coppy 'tis said to be "mr. thorntone one of the grooms of the princes chamber" which i understand of hen. 5.' this is signed in pencil 'e. umfreville'. 'edw. umfreville' owned the text of the poem in bodl. douce 157 (sum. cat. no. 21731), second half 14th cent. in the latter volume he adds notes in which he states that rolle is author of the work, and gives details of his other pieces which 'dr. rawlinson hath'. no word of 'thornton' appears. possibly the mention. stimulus conscientiae 383 quoted refers to a copy (now lost) written by robert thornton. thornton was, as we have seen, in all probability a country gentleman (holder of several manors). as such he may at some time have been in some position at court (v. supra, p. 36). d. quotations and references. the prick of conscience seems once to be referred to as written by rolle, as follows: 'in moral mateer ful notable was goweer and so was stroode in his philosophye, in parfight lyvyng which passith poysye richard hermyte contemplatyff of sentence drowh in ynglyssh the prykke of conscience' (lydgate's fall of princes, b. mus. harl. ms. 1766, f. 262). these lines occur in the final epilogue addressed to the duke of gloucester attached to some copies of the poem. since the fall, according to professor schick (eets. extra ser., 60, p. cxii),' was not written till 1430-8, they must be dated in the e. midlands nearly a century after the composition in the north of the prick of conscience. they can therefore bear no special authority. probably lydgate had seen or heard of one of the copies of the poem which were circulating from about 1400, in which it was ascribed to richard, but it may be noted that the work is ascribed to' richard hermyte', an ambiguous title (v. supra, p. 61). the qualification 'contemplatyff of sentence', however, seems to clinch the identification. various medieval references to the prick of conscience occur, in all of which it appears anonymously, as follows. northern wills. north country wills (ss. 116). these are northern wills registered at somerset house and lambeth palace. agnes stapilton, widow of sir brian stapilton of carlton, in 1448 leaves monialibus de arthyngton... librum meum vocatum prik of conscience' (p. 48). the stapiltons probably were in a position to have known that the work was rolle's if it had been, for in 1394 a sir brian stapilton bequeathed an alabaster image of our lady qui fust al ankerer de hampoll (v. testamenta eboracensia, i. 199, and infra, p. 506). 1 miss hammond (angl. xxxviii. 136) dates the prologue 1431-2, ' a date not far from the 1430 long ago conjectured by professor schick'. 384 false ascriptions (english verse) testamenta eboracensia, i-iii (ss. 4, 30, 45). these are wills registered at york. in 1399 thomas roos of ingmanthorpe leaves 'domino willielmo de helagh . . . librum stimuli conscienciae' (i. 252). in 1446 dominus william revetour of york, chaplain, leaves 'aliciae bolton, seniori, j librum de oracione dominica et stimulus conscientiae in anglia (sic)' (ii. 117). revetour disposed of a large collection of books. we may suspect that the 'de oracione dominica' here bound with the stimulus was the speculum vitae. will of lord scrope of masham, 1415 (rymer's foedera, london, 1709, ix): 'item lego sorori meae matildi, minorissae londoniae ...unum librum in anglicis, qui vocatur stimulus conscientiae, coopertum in albo corrio' (p. 277). lord scrope was in an exceptional position to have known of richard's authorship of the prick of conscience, and, as we have seen, he bequeathed two authentic works of rolle, both carefully ascribed to their author, of which one at least is an autograph (v. supra, p. 98). his silence, therefore, in regard to rolle's authorship of the prick of conscience is notable, when he is so specific in regard to the other works. it may be also taken as possibly significant that robert thornton, the scribe of the thornton ms. (c. 1440), includes (f. 276b), without indication of authorship, a piece of the prick of conscience (see horstmann, i. 185). he is careful to affix rolle's name to the short prose pieces which he includes (both english and latin). it may be argued that he omits richard's name from an authentic lyric and a rhyme-tag (v. supra, p. 300, infra, p. 403), and that the extract from the prick is not much more than a hundred lines. however, the lyric and tag are rare, insignificant pieces, of which the connexion with rolle might easily be forgotten (especially since the former occurs in a series in which the other pieces are not by him). the prick of conscience, on the other hand, was, as we have seen, the most popular english theological poem of its time, and if rolle were the author we should expect its authorship to be known to his fellow northcountrymen who were interested in his work, even in the next century. wills, etc., from other counties. newstead, 1396-7. the prior of newstead brought action against john ravensfield for the detention 'unius libri vocati stymylus conscientiae' (records of the borough of nottingham, london, 1882, i. 335). great yarmouth, 1434. in the will of robert cupper, burgess : stimulus conscientiae 385 'i give to robert, my son . . . a certain book called stimulus consciencie, and which book is now in the custody of agnes, wife of william paston of paston, until the said robert comes to years of discretion' (norf. and norw. archaeol. soc., 4, p. 326). an important collection of manuscripts was owned by henry savile of banke, yorks (1568-1617), many of which came from the monastic houses of yorkshire, especially byland, rievaulx, and fountains-the first two neighbours to rolle in early life (see j. p. gilson, trans. bibliog. soc., 9, p. 137). two catalogues of this library exist, not always in agreement. a puzzling discrepancy occurs in the case of ms. 42 (p. 163), where the first catalogue cites 'stimulus conscientiae per richardum heremitam de hampole eboracensem in anglicis rhythmis cum indice alphabetico', and the second: stimulus amoris in englishe verse per r. hampole.' some of the other items in this volume agree in the two catalogues, and others present an approximate agreement. the famous stimulus amoris, so long ascribed to bonaventura, was evidently a favourite with richard rolle, and it is ascribed to him (v. supra, p. 354): this however is not 'in english verse'. neither (except in one copy, supra, p. 262) is rolle's form of living in verse, which is called the 'prick of love' in one copy (supra, p. 258). however, a poem in the mss. vernon and simeon is entitled the 'spur of love' (eets. orig. ser., 98, p. 268); in both it directly follows the prick of conscience. it is possible that the savile ms. contained this poem, following a text of the prick, that one or both were ascribed to rolle, and that a careless cataloguer jumbled the two. but v. infra, p. 410, for a stimulus amoris (not in verse) ascribed to rolle, also in the savile library. the 'spur of love' cannot have been written by richard: it is a colourless piece of the type of the prick of conscience and mirror of life. horstmann (i. 219) refers to it as a metrical translation of the mirror of st. edmund. it may be noted that the description of the simeon ms. in the b. mus. cat. of additions 1854-60 (london, 1875), p. 624, ascribes the poem in question to 'richard hampole'; but this is probably because it follows the prick of conscience, which is catalogued as by rolle (in accordance with the then generally accepted attribution). both poems are anonymous in the manuscript. savile ms. 237 (p. 205) is noted as containing an anonymous 'stimulus conscientiae versus in anglicis metris'. the strong ms. of the prick (v. infra, p. 386, n. 2) contains at the end a fifteenth-century scribbling evidently giving the contents of a manuscript. stemulus 386 false ascriptions (english verse) conciencie' is noted, but it is uncertain whether the 'in latyn' preceding refers to this work or an earlier one. foxe notes in his book of martyrs (iv. 235) that ‘richard colins of ginge was accused before the bishop of lincoln of having certain english books, among which was a book called the "prick of conscience" (c. 1521). colins and his family were leading heretics of co. berks. one of the most interesting memorials which have come down to us of the popularity of a medieval literary production is the window' in all saints' church, north st., york, which illustrates the fifteen signs before the day of judgement by pictures bearing as legends couplets from the prick of conscience. the title of the work does not appear, nor does the name of the author. praying figures are pictured at the base of the window, from which it is sometimes called 'the bede window': probably it was a votive gift in the fifteenth century. for a sale of the work, as anonymous, by one priest to another in 1516, v. supra, p. 381. e. evidence of wide circulation. nine manuscripts, unattributed, present variant titles. two 15th-century manuscripts add the title 'flower of conscience' to the usual one. the new title is that described in the epilogue, but in each case the title 'prick of conscience' is added alone at the end of the whole. one 15th-century manuscript adds the title key of knowing' to the usual one. two 14th-century copies and two of the 15th make a complete substitution of the title key of knowing' for the usual one. two manuscripts (15th cent.) 1 see an old york church, all hallows in north street, ed. p. j. shaw, york, 1908, p. 33, and yorks. archaeol. journ. xxiii. 313 sq. the window is reproduced in miss clay's hermits and anchorites, p. 176. 2 b. mus. add. 11305 and the strong ms. (formerly phillipps 2734, now in the possession of the bishop of oxford). i owe my knowledge of the latter manuscript to the late professor napier. 3 st. john's coll. camb. 80. the variant title is that described in the epilogue, but both follow in the colophon. b. mus. add. 24203, written' per fratrem johannem de bageby commonachum monasterii beate marie de fontibus'. it was apparently that described in print in 1816 by w. walter as 'clauis scientie or bretagne's skyll-key of knowing by john de wageby, monk of fountains abbey' (see radcliffe monog., 15, p. 125 sq.). bodl. digby 87 and b. mus. harl. 2394 (imperfect at the beginning) give an epilogue almost identical with bageby's, and the title key of knowing'. a copy of the prick of conscience (14th-15th cent.) sold at sotheby's in the stimulus conscientiae 387 present a much abbreviated text and (as a heading) the title 'speculum huius vite '1 thus, nine manuscripts can be cited, in which scribes have tampered with the title of the work, and given at various times three other titles. other evidence of the enormous circulation to which the poem must have attained comes from the immense variations in the text, as was discovered when thirty-one copies of the poem were examined with a view to establishing the text. as was described in my earlier paper (p. 123), no copy was found to be the source of any other, and the groups into which all were divided were badly confused. the scattering attributions of authorship already cited may also be said to point to a large circulation over a wide area. evidently the manuscripts that survive are but a small proportion of those that were copied. f. the interpolated text. it has been noted among the medieval references to the prick of conscience that a book of that title was one of the suspected volumes in the possession (c. 1521) of a notorious lollard of berkshire: the b. mus. harl. ms. 1731, moreover, a fifteenth-century copy of the usual type, contains the following note: 'memorandum quod quinto die julii anno domini mlo ccccmo lxxiiio ricardus reder de petyrsfeld deliberauit commissario diocesis wintonie iii libros tercii libri, 2 fo. and also how merciful' (fly-leaf, cf. f. 2). the present volume is thus identified as the third book in question, and since the prick begins imperfectly in this copy, it must have lost its first leaves before 1473, when its pagination was evidently the same as at present. thus we have two 2 instances in which an owner of the prick of conscience was deprived of his copy apparently because of a suspicion of lollardy. since one type of the prick of conscience did contain lollardist material, possibly the suspicions of . . leighton sale, oct. 27, 1919, lot 2698, and now in the possession of sir leicester harmsworth, gives both in the colophon and in the concluding passage of the poem itself the title keye of knowyng'. it is anonymous, but imperfect at the beginning. 1 bodl. add. 268 (sum. cat. no. 29387) and trin. coll. dublin 155 (imperfect at the end). 2 in connexion with my conjecture that william of nassington may have been the author of the prick (v. supra, p. 372), it should be noted that the present volume contains after the colophon in rubric willelmus'. the colophon is partly erased, but the words erased seem to be merely 'stimulus consciencie nominatus'. the name that follows is probably the scribe's. 388 false ascriptions (english verse) the church had been raised on the work in general. the action of the ecclesiastical authorities, however, may have been due merely to the suspicion felt in the fifteenth century towards all religious books in the vernacular until they had been examined. this is the usual text, and we know that even english books such as the canterbury tales were noted in the fifteenth-century heresy trials (deanesly, lollard bible, p. 363); as also that these trials continued through the second half of the century (ibid. et sq.). probably reder, the early owner of this book, was accused of heresy. the ashmole ms. already cited, in which the prick (interpolated) is ascribed to rolle, gives no sign of provenance, though its dialect would place it in the midlands. however, the rylands lib. manchester ms. r. 16586, which contains the interpolated text complete, belonged in the time of queen elizabeth to 'hugo chettock tailor of st. albans, and bayly in the same town', and the bodl. ms. e musaeo 76 (sum. cat. no. 3679), which contains most of the interpolations, has on the fly-leaf a copy of an essex deed. two, therefore, of the interpolated copies of the prick came from the home counties, that is, from the same general region as buckinghamshire and berkshire, which foxe believed to be full of lollard heresy. petersfield, where we hear of an orthodox prick being a subject for persecution, is in the south, perhaps forty miles from ginge, the berkshire village where a heretic was said to have been prosecuted for owning the poem. manuscripts. " i. the rylands ms. of the prick of conscience, already cited, belonged to sir philip mainwaring (1589-1661), secretary to the earl of strafford; it is best known as the 'corser ms.' it came to manchester from the ashburnham collection, and was sold with the ashburnham appendix' mss. at sotheby's may 1, 1899, lot 165 (v. infra, p. 404). it is not included in the catalogue of the ashburnham mss. (1864), but appears in that of the corser collection (sotheby, july 28, 1868, lot 697). when in the possession of mr. corser, it was examined by dr. furnivall, who took full notes of its peculiarities. these he lent to professor bülbring, who used them to bring the text into the classification which he and dr. andreae together made of thirty-one copies (see eng. stud. xxiii). bülbring notes that the same text occurs in ashmole 60 (which he also classifies), and he discusses (pp. 27-8) the question which was the original, but without reaching a conclusion. it should be noted that stimulus conscientiae 389 the rylands ms. is assigned to the fourteenth century, and is therefore presumably earlier than the ashmole, which is dated 'c. 1400'. it is complete at both ends, and no title or name of author appears. it is perhaps significant of the circles in which this type of the prick was read that the english exposition of the pater noster ascribed to wyclif follows, and completes the volume. ii. bodl. e musaeo 76 (sum. cat. no. 3679), 15th cent., contains only the prick of conscience, and gives no name of author. the colophon gives the title: 'here endith the pryk of conscience.' of the interpolations characteristic of the other two texts of this group, this omits the first, but the scribe evidently had before him a manuscript containing this also, for in its place (after 1. 192) he inserts an 'etc.' with the latin text which introduces the interpolation here in the rylands ms. (and once did that in the ashmole, v. infra): 'qui bona egerunt ibunt in vitam eternam, etc.' he then continues with 1. 193 of the usual text. the second interpolation is considerably shortened, but the lollardist passage to be quoted appears, as well as much of the latin prose. the eighth book made in this type of text is not indicated in the index in the prologue, but appears in the index in the epilogue. iii. ashmole 60 opens imperfectly. the binding follows the original order, but the first interpolation (which we have noted as indicated, though lacking, in the other bodl. copy) is here inserted. as by an afterthought, and written on some pages which have been bound in front of the opening of the poem. the note already quoted opens the work (f. 8), and after 1. 192 of the prologue the marginal note is given: 'qui bona egerunt ibunt in vitam eternam. qui vero mala in ignem eternum. quere istum versum in þis vers þat is here writen and said in principio libri per istud signum' (f. 10). the cross here indicated does not appear at the beginning of the volume, nor do the latin and english lines noted. a leaf has evidently been lost, for bülbring notes (p. 24) that the line of verse quoted begins the first interpolation in the corser (alias rylands) ms., and that the first lines on f. 1 of the present copy are 11. 63 sq. of the addition to the prologue in question. the rylands ms., therefore, gives the only complete text of this first insertion. bülbring notes that in that manuscript four hundred and forty-two english verses and at least as much latin prose are added at this point, and he identifies fifty-six verses of the former as borrowed from the cursor 390 false ascriptions (english verse) mundi. what has apparently started the interpolator on his enterprise is the passage in the original prick beginning: 'many has lykyng trofels to here, and vanités wille blethly lere' (ll. 183-4). this suggests the very popular motif in introductions in which romances are put in contrast to edifying works (many examples of which in french and in english are given in my paper on the speculum vitae, pp. 140-1). lines from the prologue of the cursor mundi are then inserted, in which a long catalogue is given of popular romances which distract the attention from works of instruction. the interpolator continues the same subject in the latin: 'non reprehendo eos qui gesta imperatorum, regum et aliorum virorum nobilium scribunt et legunt . . .' (ashmole ms., f. 5). this addition is not without its anti-clerical outburst, as follows: 'i leue þat false cristene men now ben worse pan eny hepene or eny jeow. they lyuen in blynd ypocrisie as iudas disciplis wytterlie. 3if lerid and lewid pus cursid be, ffor defaute of kunnynge, as we may see, dowble curs panne haue þei that leden hem þe wronge wey whanne hemsilf arn alle blynde and can nouzt þe rizte way fynde, and it may noman it forbede that pe blynde pe blynde wole lede, ffor 3if þei wenten hem alane, fforsope bei weren lesse to blame. sip þei willen lede a compayny, the more shal ben her vilany nout to lyuen in goddis seruyse but for here falce coueitise, ne zit for loue of cristene men goddis lawe hem to ken' (ashmole ms., ff. 1-2). in this passage the northern rhyme 'alane: blame' may be noted, and another appears soon— 'and suffre perfore penaunce hard as þei diden sumtyme for þe warld' (f. 2). such examples would indicate that the interpolated text originated in the north, though none of the extant copies is northern. a northern origin would also be suggested by the use of the cursor mundi. it is hard to determine why the first interpolation appears stimulus conscientiae 391 in the present copy only by later insertion, and in another copy is only indicated. it would seem to be due to the same hand as the later interpolations (both english and latin): all show (where they are not copying a source) the same intrusion of the first person, and sententiousness; the english verses expressing anti-clerical bitterness, however, may be derived from another source (for a manuscript in which they occur alone and-abridged-in another order, see infra, p. 393). the second interpolation is thus characterized in the description of ashmole 60 in the catalogue: there is a large addition of 32 pages (ff. 88-104) of sermonizing latin prose, chiefly consisting of quotations from the scriptures and the fathers and interspersed with english metre. . . . it contains a remarkable invective against bad clergymen.' this interpolation is said by bülbring to contain five hundred and seventy english verses, and the latin prose goes at length into a 'pain of hell', of which the writer finds nothing in english. he thereupon quotes concerning it from bede, and translates. he is not primarily a lollard propagandist; the greater part of his additions concern general theological matters, but with special emphasis on clerical abuses and 'god's law'. the text printed by dr. furnivall from ashmole 60 runs as follows: 'gif lorel lordis þis vnderstode and pise bischopis þat kunnen litil goode, and pise vnkunnynge abbotis and priouris, and many othere rekles doctours, and al-so pise falce erchedekene þat aboute pe cuntre wake and maynteynen falce preestis in euery halke,' and also officialis and denes in her chapitre and constory that meyntenen falce preestis in her lecchery : wherfore pise chief herdis of holichirche, shulden take hede how synfully þei wirche, and how þat her sugetis vnder hem taken mede of falce pardones and preestis for her mysdede; and for a litil moneye þei geuen hem leeue in lordis courtis þanne to bileue, 1 cf. the complaint of the ploughman: 'how wrongfully they werch and walke; o high god! nothing they tell, ne how, but in god's word tilleth many a balke ; in hernes hold hem and in halke.' (wright, political poems, rs., 14. i. 318.) this poem is rank lollardy, attacking the use of images (p. 331). 2 ms. persones. 392 false ascriptions (english verse) and bicomen pere lordis stywardis, and so leeuen þe office of goode herdis; and so pe charge þat þei taken of her bischop thanne þei de yueren it vnto a lewid iop that ne can neiper reule his flok ne hymsilf wel, and so he bryngeþ his folde in gret perel ... and pus bei ben lorne al-so sket, bischop, personne, preest, and sheep; and so þei wenden alle foure to helle, eueremore per-inne for to dwelle for her falce kepyng and gouernaile, that þei laten so þe fend her flockis assaile. and al pis comep thurgh pise falce personnes, that seruen lordis in dyuerce tounnes, and laten her chirche and her charge stonde in a ful leccherous foolis honde, and hymsilf serue lordis in kechene and in halle and bicomen clerkis of a-counte and mareschalle' (f. 97).¹ it might be argued that the foregoing passage and the earlier attack on the clergy are not necessarily lollard, since complaints of abuses among the clergy have been frequent in all ages, even among the orthodox (as examples from rolle's authentic works have shown). certainly no doctrinal heresies appear in the interpolated prick, and long before the time of the lollards every abuse here condemned had been attacked by orthodox churchmen, as, for example, in the following, from the notable poem on the evil times of edward ii: 'and erchebishop and bishop, that ouhte for to enquere off alle men of holi churche of what lif theih were, summe beth foles hemself, and leden a sory lif... and thise ersedeknes that ben set to visite holi churche, everich fondeth hu he may shrewedelichest worche; he wole take mede of that on and that other, and late the parsoun have a wyf, and the prest another at wille. coveytise shal stoppen here mouth, and maken hem al stille.... and whan this newe parsoun is institut in his churche, he bithenketh him hu he may shrewedelichest worche .. and whan he hath i-gadered markes and poundes, he priketh out of toune wid haukes and wid houndes into a straunge contré, and halt a wenche in cracche ... ¹ ballads from manuscripts, vol. i, ballad soc., london, 1868–72, ed. f. j. furnivall, p. 63. these are the first lines where the interpolations occur as a separate poem (v. supra, p. 391). stimulus conscientiae 393 he taketh al that he may, and maketh the churche pore, and leveth thare behinde a theef and a hore ... for thouh the bishop hit wite, that hit bename kouth, he may wid a litel silver stoppen his mouth.'¹ this attack will be seen to be comparatively simple and concrete, but by the last quarter of the century the lollards had developed a jargon, as it were, in which they phrased the immemorial complaints against the clergy, and some of their jargon appears in the prick. in the graphic account of the lollards printed as book v of the chronicle of knyghton, canon of leicester, we read: 'talem enim habebant terminum in omnibus suis dictis semper praetendendo legem dei, goddis lawe.' the extant wyclifite tracts abundantly bear out this assertion, and gairdner speaks of the contrast between 'god's law and man's law' as making the whole basis of lollardy. it will be noted that 'goddis lawe' appears in the extract given from the first insertion. here also appears 'false cristene men', and in the second insertion we have 'pise vnkunnynge abbotis', 'rekles doctours', 'falce erchedekene', 'falce preestis', 'falce kepyng', 'falce persounnes', 'ful leccherous foolis'. 'calling names' was one of the special methods of the wyclifite line of attack, and they dealt specially in adjectives of vituperation. the influence of the lollards here evident may serve to date the interpolations as not earlier than the last quarter of the fourteenth century. we cannot be sure that the ascription to rolle is due to the author of the interpolations, for it may have been added by a scribe who recognized that the hermit's name would be a convenient protection for a text in which some lollard matter was found. the interpolator, as already noted, is very discursive, and it is possible that the last page of the ashmole copy (now missing) gave a colophon which would explain the puzzling rubric at the beginning. a third alteration made in the manuscripts of the present group implies no use of new material. an eighth book, of the world after the judgement day, is made by transferring ll. 6348-401 to 1. 9472 (where the epilogue ends). this eighth book is indicated in the indexes at both ends of the poem in the ashmole and rylands mss., but only in the conclusion in the ms. e musaeo. professor brown notes in his register the occurrence of the english verse interpolations of the present group (joined and abridged) as 1 thos. wright, political songs, camden soc., 6, pp. 325-7. 2 rs., 92. ii. 186. lollardy and the reformation in england, i. 191. c c 394 false ascriptions (english verse) a separate poem in bodl. e mus. 198 (sum. cat. no. 3712), latter half 14th cent. (see vol. ii. 'afterword' and 'further addenda '). he refers to it as 'a treatise in reproof of worldliness in the clergy, and against the reading of romances-126 lines', and notes its identity with the interpolations in the ashmole ms. he believes it to have originated as a separate poem (p. vii). a manuscript of the prick sold at sotheby's april 15, 1924, lot 378, anonymous, and defective at the end, contained long latin prose insertions, some of which were identical with those found in bk. vi in the ashmole ms. a complete examination of the text was not made, but from notes kindly sent me by the present owner, mr. allan bright of barton court, colwall, malvern, i gather that the usual interpolation found in manuscripts of this type is present--perhaps enlarged, since there are more than forty-five pages of latin prose mixed with english verse. g. summary. as already noted, it is a strange fact that most of the popular religious works of the middle ages in all countries appear ascribed to many authors, and the authorship of most is in the end uncertain. it would appear that medieval works popular with the multitude were often written by persons belonging to the multitude. the imitation of christ, the meditations on the life of christ, stimulus amoris, jesu dulcis memoria and other hymns, are cases in point. the researches of the quaracchi editors of st. bonaventura have brought to light interesting facts on this question, for their author was one upon whom a great many popular religious works of uncertain origin were fathered. for the religious poem philomena, for example, they cite seventeen anonymous copies, two which give the name of st. bernard, one giving that of alan de insulis, two that of peckham, four that of st. bonaventura. the editors therefore conclude as to the authorship: 'hinc auctoritate codicum nihil certi constare potest' (op. cit. x. 20). peckham's authorship is supported' by the latest editors of his works. in the case of the stimulus amoris (also a favourite of rolle) the quaracchi editors give facts even more illuminating. they can cite two hundred and twenty-one manuscripts in which the work is practically complete, and one hundred and forty-seven fragments; the oldest ascribes it to 'a cistercian abbot', ninety give the name of st. bonaventura, thirty-two that of st. ber1 brit. soc. francis. stud., op. cit., 1910, p. 7. stimulus conscientiae 395 nard; henry de baume and fr. james of milan have four each. in the face of these facts the conclusion of the editors as to the author is: et quis ille sit, nondum exploratum est' (ibid., p. 23). as we have already seen, in england one complete copy and one fragment give the name of richard rolle, and probably in every country a copy or two might be found in which the stimulus amoris was given to a local celebrity. in comparison with the statistics just given, the stimulus conscientiae may be said to have preserved its anonymous character well. out of a hundred and fourteen copies (perfect and imperfect, english and latin) only eight certainly gave an ascription of authorship, though a hundred and thirty of the three hundred and sixty-eight copies of the stimulus amoris contained the name of one author or another. we are told that only one copy of the stimulus amoris goes back to the thirteenth century, and eight to the fourteenth, and the absence of early copies giving bonaventura's name is probably a vital factor in its rejection, despite the large number of manuscripts in which it appears. as we have seen, two of the five copies of the stimulus conscientiae giving rolle's name can probably be dated a few years before 1400, i.e. within fifty years after rolle's death, and one of the three copies giving grosseteste's name belongs to the same period. about two dozen anonymous copies probably go back a few decades earlier. we have to assist us in determining the authorship of the english poem the evidence of the dialect, and the fact that no copy in the northern dialect which rolle used gives his name earlier than the first quarter of the fifteenth century goes far to neutralize the evidence for his authorship to be drawn from the mere number of copies giving his name. it is also significant that the poem occurs very rarely with his authentic works, though the latter usually circulate together. we also have to take into account the fact that a copy certainly as early as any bearing the name of the hermit is interpolated with material of such a nature as to give the scribe a motive for attaching the name of an orthodox pre-wyclifian writer. the fact is also highly significant that the work is anonymous in wills, etc. the value of the external evidence for rolle's authorship of the prick of conscience will be seen on the whole to be negligible, when the circulation of the work is considered. in the end, the essential factor is the internal evidence. when the quaracchi editors of bonaventura reject the authority of ninety copies of the stimulus amoris which give the work to their author, they remark: 'ipsa sua indole et orationis forma se manifestat сс 2 396 false ascriptions (english verse) alienum a bonaventura, licet auctor multa e scriptis illius vel illi tributis acceperit' (ibid.). it is even more reasonable to reject the authority (out of more than a hundred) of five copies of the stimulus conscientiae which ascribe that work to rolle, and all the more since special causes diminish the significance of even these ascriptions. the internal evidence against richard rolle's authorship of the prick of conscience is, for any one who knows his authentic writings, overwhelming. we have seen that his mysticism has left at least hints in all his undoubted works, and in most of them appears as the principal subject. as was pointed out in my monograph on the authorship of the poem, the most significant evidence of his prepossession with mysticism is given by the constant use of his favourite mystical doctrines in his english psalter, which is on the whole a translation. since writing the monograph i have gone over all rolle's writings and manuscripts, but nothing has come to light to invalidate any of the conclusions there offered. it is a striking proof of the consistency of his works that an article written from materials drawn from only about a quarter of his writings is valid for all. the prick is an immense poem covering very nearly the whole theology of the time, but it nowhere gives a trace of mysticism; it is composed for persons aspiring to only a rudimentary knowledge of spiritual things, whereas rolle, through most at least of his writing, wrote for the aspirants to religious study, if not to contemplation. the methods which the poem uses, the abundant use of patristic authorities, and the systematic construction, are not found in any of rolle's authentic pieces. the dialect, as i have shown in my earlier study,' though northern, is apparently not at all points that of his psalter and mystical english pieces, and the verse-forms of the lyrics ascribed to him are at the very opposite pole from the jingling couplets of the prick. it gives no examples of the 'ecstatic' style which we find both in his english and his latin, at all ages. rolle's personality, as it appears through practically all his writings, is such as would not easily be quenched, especially not in a long work. no personality is to be discerned in the prick; it is exactly such a poem as would be compiled by an obscure clerk whose name was not of enough importance to be remembered. many of the popular anonymous pieces of the middle ages were 1 see p. 137 n. some important divergences occur, as, for example, the frequent use of 'gar' in all rolle's english works and its entire absence in the prick; the use of 'nevertheless' always in the prick except once, when 'neverthelatter' is used. the latter is always used in the other works. stimulus conscientiae 397 founded on authentic works of famous writers, whose names in time circulated as the authors of the derivative works. thus the ascription to bonaventura of the stimulus amoris can be explained, and the corresponding ascription in the case of the prick is that in which the work is given to grosseteste, partly from the fact that sections of the poem are founded on a work ascribed to him. the ascription to rolle could not have arisen in this way, since no writings anywhere ascribed to him bear the slightest relation to the prick of conscience. neither, as we have seen, does the poem circulate often enough with his authentic works to give a presumption of his authorship. fortunately, the ashmole ms., which gives his name to a text interpolated by a lollard sympathizer, exists to give a plausible explanation for what would otherwise be an enigma. another possible explanation for the ascription of the prick to rolle's authorship should also be noted. the quaracchi editors describe all the numerous manuscripts of the authentic work of st. bonaventura (usually known as de triplici via) to which rolle's prologue to the incendium was attached in three late copies (op. cit. viii. 1 sq.). this work was in these copies entitled ' incendium amoris', but in many more 'stimulus conscientiae'. the former title has passed into the editions. here may be a cause for the attribution to rolle of the poem: a title which alternated with one well known to belong to his treatise was also connected with him. the title 'stimulus conscientiae' has good reason to be attached to st. bonaventura's work, for the phrase is used there (see my monograph on the authorship of the prick of conscience, p. 129 n.). it will be seen that the present investigation has strengthened the case against rolle's authorship of the prick in more ways than one. it has shown the slight manuscript authority for its support; the great contrast in the manuscript evidence for his authentic writings, most of which are ascribed to him in the great majority of the copies; the great number of laborious compositions which are to be crowded into a short life, as it is, without the prick of conscience, of close on ten thousand lines; by illustrating with every work the extraordinary consistency and persistence of his mysticism, from the beginning to the end of his life, through several types of composition. when all the evidence is presented, rolle's authorship of the prick seems more than ever impossible. 1 probably four (v. mss. 167, 171, 174, 196). chapter xiv quotations and references a. rolle is quoted in medieval treatises and compilations as follows: manuscripts. oxford mss. ashmole 751, ff. 5-13, late 14th cent.: 'item ricardus venerabilis heremita super id, osculetur me osculo oris sui . . . et infra dicit idem ricardus . . . item super id, meliora sunt ubera tua vino? this continues as a series of highly mystical extracts from the cant., with the exact reference in each case and often richard's name. 'de hoc nomine ihesu' heads f. 10, which quotes from ol. effus.; f. 13: 'item idem ricardus super id psalmi, domine in uirtute tua... (20th ps., from which two quotations also follow, f. 61, after the full text of the job); f. 14: 'item idem ricardus super id, judica me deus et discerne c. m.' (judica a). see spur., magn., judica b 3, job. hatton 97 (sum. cat. no. 4070), ff. 68-72, early 15th cent.: 'ricardus heremita in incendium amoris capº 28...hec ricardus ibidem. item in tercia leccione mortuorum super hiis uerbis: memento queso... in psalmo domine in uirtute tua et cetera super uersum fructum eorum. ... hec ibidem in psalmo. item iob... item in libro de amore dei contra amatores mundi capitulo vjº. . . . item in primo uersu canticorum super osculetur... hec supradictus compilator intitulauit per beatum ricardum heremitam et sunt sparsim collecta de eadem materia.' this compilation, with the conclusion, makes part of one found in ff. i. 14, infra, which seems to have belonged to 'robertus wasselyn capellanus', who was probably the 'compilator' here mentioned. the quotations are more ascetic than mystical. rawl. a. 372 (sum. cat. no. 11255), f. 94, 15th cent. 'qualiter deus amandus est. ricardus heremita . . . idem' (incend., pp. 209, 201). quotations and references 399 rawl. c. 19 (sum. cat. no. 11886), ff. 96-103, early 15th cent. in a compilation beginning: 'duo sunt necessaria ad salutem': 'de hoc nomine ihesu ricardus heremita de hampull sic scribens ait . . . (cant., f. 150); idem ricardus: nomen autem ihesus . . .' (ibid., ff. 149-50v); f. 101: a quotation as to the three grades of love (e. v., fol. 14); f. 103: 'secundum ricardum heremitam de hampull...' (incend., p. 175). this compilation occurs also in univ. coll. 60, 15th cent., ff. 370-4 (signed 'hugone halle'), b. mus. harl. 3820, ff. 1-6 (in part-a volume once belonging to 'the recluse of shene '), and roy. 5 a. vi, ff. 13b-30b (dated 1446, scribe john celstan). in the last, at least, a quotation is given from rolle's 20th ps. ('de quo per psalmistam dicitur: domine in uirtute tua...). the quotation which concludes all copies of the compilation (incend., p. 154) is headed here: 'idem ricardus dicit ' (f. 30). rawl. c. 285, f. 39, 15th cent. 'ricardus heremita.... this quotation is printed by horstmann (i. 130) from the present ms. and also from dd. v. 55. he quotes from the e. v. (cap. 6) as the source, but later (p. 443) says that it is derived from the form. actually it is a free translation of the sentence in the e. v. which he quoted, followed by a few sentences from the command. (p. 69). horstmann also quotes (p. 106) from ms. rawl. a piece on the name of jesus derived (in general) from the form and ol. effus. see form. rawl. c. 397, f. 78, early 15th cent. after rolle's cant. am.: 'ricardus heremita de languenti dei amore et de condicione et proprietate philomene et assimilat se predicte aui propter amorem eius languentem et habetur in incendio amoris capitulo quadragesimo secundo.' after the quotation in question peckham's philomena follows (v. infra, p. 420). see magn., judica b, cant. am. exeter coll. 7, f. 162, 15th cent. 'dicit enim ricardus hampolle in libro de incendio amoris capº 22.' jesus coll. 39, f. 295, 15th cent. in an english treatise entitled disce mori: 'richard hampol writep in pis mater of loue and seith...' (the 'three grades of love' from the e. v., here translated). this treatise is also found in laud misc. 99, where the sister addressed is called 'alice'. 400 quotations and references cambridge mss ff. i. 14, ff. 109-25, 15th cent. a compilation containing a great many quotations from rolle, carefully referred to their sources. the scribe is 'robertus wasselyn capellanus'. the first section is the same as is found in the hatton ms., with the addition of many exact references to job and of two quotations from the e. v. ('in tractatu de xii capitulis capitulo iio'). the rest of the piece quotes many times rolle's job, incend., cant., 12 capitula', contra am. m. (once in 'co vii et ultimo '), 20th ps., 'item in tractatu super psalmum iudica me deus'. since the exact method of reference illustrated by the quotations from the hatton ms. continues throughout the whole compilation in ff. i. 14, it is probable that the former is derived from the latter. in both manuscripts a quotation from 'bonauentura' (the meditations on the life of christ) precedes the quotations from rolle, and gives the title 'bonauentura de libro de vita christi'. ff. i. 14 concludes the whole: explicit bonauentura de superbia et elacione mentis et de multis aliis notabilibus ut patet in principio huius tractatus', conflicting with the express citations of rolle already quoted. his name also often occurs with the citations, as 'hampule', 'beatus ricardus heremita', etc. deeds from yorkshire occur on the cover of this volume. ii. vi. 55, f. 24, 15th cent. in a treatise on maidenhood, beginning: 'suster in crist we greten zou,' occurs the following: 'richard hermyte þat expowned pe sauter on englissh seip pus in þe same. noli emulari on þis verse non confundentur in tempore malo, etc.' 'noli emulari' occurs in vv. 1, 7 of the same psalm from which the text here comes (ps. xxxvi. 20). some corruption must occur in the treatise: perhaps an omission of some lines; or the quotation that follows comes from an interpolated version of rolle's psalter. 6 kk. vi. 20, ff. 11-27, 15th cent. 'orationes iste que sequuntur excerpte sunt de diuersis tractatibus quos composuit beatus ricardus heremita ad honorem nominis ihesu.' the same volume ascribes to rolle the mass of the holy name and the cursus de aeterna sapientia (sometimes called the matins [etc.] of the holy name'). the extracts are authentic, though no titles of works are given; quotations have been traced from the following: e. v. (cap. 11), cant. (f. 155), incend. (capp. 17 and 12), cant. (f. 149), job (fols. lxxxix sq., xciiiˇ, xciv▾, xcv sq., xcviiiv), mel. (ff. 234, 233, 248, 210). the conclusion to the whole is: explicit de ricardo h.' see spur. (2). " in medieval treatises and compilations 401 corpus christi coll. 194, f. 4, 15th cent. 'beatus ricardus heremita': the section from the mel. regarding rolle's initiation into love of the saviour through love of his mother (supra, p. 92). the scribe is 'corf'. the same is in b. mus. harl. 2439. see e. v. jesus coll. 59, ff. 6b-7, 15th cent. quisquis namque in eterno amore apparens. hoc ricardus heremita.' (contra am. m., ff. 175-7). from durham. ... trin. coll. 333, f. 25b, 15th cent. 'hampoll.' an anti-clerical passage from job (v. supra, p. 142, 'vae presbiteris...'); ff. 26 sq.: a controversial treatise on vernacular bibles, which is ascribed by miss deanesly to purvey, and printed by her from this copy (lollard bible, pp. 291, 437 sq.). i quote the following from her text: 'also a nobil hooly man, richerde e[r]myte, drewe oon englice the sauter, with a glose of longe proces and lessouns of dirige and many other tretis, by wiche many engliche men hau ben gretli edified.... but wel touchith this holi man richad hampol suche men expownyng this tixte: ne auferas de ore meo verbum veritatis usquequaque (ps. cxviii. 43), ther he seith thus: ther ben not fewe but many wolen sustene a worde of falsenes for god, not willing to beleue to konynge and better than thei ben' (pp. 442-3). rolle's job was not written in english, as here stated. his latin psalter is here being translated: 'nonnulli pro deo volunt sustinere verbum falsitatis, alijs credere nolentes, quamuis melius literatis ' (fol. lxix). as miss everett notes,' usher refers to an exposition by rolle of the text in question, in which he is said to urge the need for vernacular bibles. as she points out, no such mention is to be found in the english psalter, and she suggests that it was found in an interpolated text, though she has not seen it in any that she has examined. she shows that wharton, who had quoted usher on this point, later notes that the passage is not to be found in rolle's english psalter. no reference to vernacular scriptures has been noted in his latin psalter. it seems likely that usher may have derived his reference from the tract already quoted, which as a whole treats the subject of vernacular scriptures, though the text in question does not touch on that point. the tract was widely circulated, and miss deanesly notes the early editions as well as the manuscripts. in a mangled version it is to be found in foxe. trin. coll. 1401, ff. 99b-100, 15th cent. 'richardus hampole de contricione.' a lollard extract possibly derived from an interpolated 1 mod. lang. rev. xvii. 337. 402 quotations and references psalter, though it has not been traced (v. supra, p. 173). begins: 'i say þat no man is assoyled of any prest to þe hele of his saule bot he be fyrst assoylled off god. and god assoyles no man bot hym þat is sorowfull for his synnes.' see spur. (p. 364). other mss. b. mus. roy. 8 c. xv, ff. 1 sq., late 14th cent. 'liber meditacionum de uita domini et saluatoris nostri ihesu christi et venerabilis matris eius virginis marie' (f. 269). an elaborate table of contents at the beginning gives the sources of this devotional work seriatim. rolle is cited as follows: 'ricardus heremita super simbolum' (f. 2); 'de laude nominis ihesu. ricardus hampul libro de incendio amoris' (f. 3-the section in question is actually an invocation of jesus and the holy name from the cant., and a short text of the incend. has evidently been used, to which the piece in question is usually attached); 'ricardus hampul in suo tractatu de passione domini' (f. 7); 'item hampul in suis meditacionibus de passione' (f. 7b). the latter work, 'de passione', is many times cited. st. bridget is often quoted in this compilation. it contains twenty-five sets of meditations (fifteen each). this work was perhaps intended for use in daily meditations. it is full of invocations, and certain parts seem to be assigned in marginal notes to certain days of the week. trin. coll. dublin 159 (ii), ff. 1-37b, 15th cent. a compilation which quotes rolle often, with such headings as 'ait hampol', 'inquit hampul', 'hampul'. the quotations are as follows: ff. 2 sq. (incend., pp. 260, 271); ff. 6b-7 (ego dormio, p. 55, in latin; cant. ff. 150 sq.); f. 7b (incend., p. 190); f. 12 (ibid., p. 149); f. 15 ('hampul' on fleeing the praises of men, unidentified); f. 17b (contra am. m., f. 173b); f. 20b (incend., p. 183); f. 23 (ego d., p. 55, in latin-'inquit hampul ad quandam solitariam '); ff. 30 sq. (incend., pp. 172, 254); f. 37b (cant., ff. 1517, 154). some of rolle's most characteristic passages are here (including several on the holy name). the compilation is headed 'jesus', begins: 'iuxta sancti johannis vocem: diligamus deum', is ascribed in a rhyme at the end to john walsingham, and entitled 'incendium diuini amoris'. see mel. trin. coll. dublin 277, f. 542, 15th cent. 'ricardus heremita de pastoribus': 'ricardus hanpule in libro vocato melum co viiº contra pastores.... item ricardus heremita in quarta leccione mortuorum super clausulam sequentem, scilicet, posuisti in neruo pedem meum'. several other quotations directed against the clergy in medieval treatises and compilations 403 from the job follow, with exact references. 'richard hampole' is also quoted 'super ieremiam (sic) lamentationes'.¹ trin. coll. dublin 432, 15th cent. among quotations from fathers, 'hec ricardus heremita' (an invocation to jesus from the cant., f. 155). see e. v. (angl.). lincoln cath. thornton ms., 15th cent. see horstmann, i. 192 sq., for full texts of the following. horstmann's texts are quoted here. f. 189. an anonymous tag at the end of the privity of the passion (p. 218): 'of all thynge it is the best ihesu in herte fast to fest and lufe hym ower all thynge' (cf. rolle's eng. ps., p. 215). f. 194 (p. 192): 'de in-perfecta contricione. rycharde hermyte reherces a dredfull tale of vn-perfitte contrecyone pat a haly mane cesarius tellys in ensample' (from judica b 3, as is pointed out by horstmann, i. 443). ibid. (p. 193): 'all-swa he reherces anothyre tale of verraye contrecyone þat þe same clerke cesarius says.' this tale is not found in any extant work of rolle's, but it occurs also anonymously in english in ashmole 751, f. 45 (a volume which contains latin works by rolle, including part of the judica). (p. 194): 'de vita cuiusdam puelle incluse proptter amorem christi. alswa heraclides þe clerke telles ... richard herymyte reherces pis tale in ensampill.' this tale also is not found in rolle's extant works. ibid. richardus herymyta. meliora sunt vbera tua vino' (cant. f. 146, in the original latin). richardus. o quam delectabile' (contra am. m., f. 177). ibid. item inferius idem : the two tales here ascribed to rolle, which are not to be found in his extant work, may be derived from lost writings, or from copies of the judica in which extra tales are added to the three already given (as in one copy, supra, p. 97). as we have seen, robert thornton's authority is not lightly to be set aside in the case of his ascriptions to rolle. see ol. effus. (angl.), miscell., dubia. rylands lib., manchester, 18932, 15th cent. among quotations from fathers: ricardus hampole heremita' (judica a, f. 115). see cant., incend., contra am. m. upsala univ. c. 621, c. 1400. in a defence against the detractors of richard, which will be printed in the appendix, thomas basset 1 this citation had escaped me: i owe the knowledge of it to mr. de burgh. 404 quotations and references (hermit) quotes from the incend. and contra am. m. see e. v., incend., office. sotheby's, may 1, 1899*, lot 14 (ashburnham app. mss.), ff. 118-25, 15th cent. quae sequuntur excerpta sunt de libro ricardi heremite qui dicitur melos amoris.' beg. 'o deus piissime penetrasti pectus pingendum profunda purificans petis pusillos... 'liber iste pertinet domuj salutacionis matris dei prope londonias iuxta smyffeld, quem dominus wilhelmus rolbst attulit secum ad domum de witham per licenciam reverendi patris dompni willelmi tynbyth prioris tunc existentis... cartusienses ibi....' dates tynbigh 1499-1529. dugdale the sale just noted was that at which the rylands copy of the prick of conscience was sold (lot 165). lot 174 (containing the meditations on the life of christ translated by nicholas love) also contains a pistyll on the luf of god' (no. 3, ff. 235-69). at the foot of the page is written in an ancient, but more recent hand, "hic liber secundum quosdam ascribitur roberto rooll heremite de hanpoll deuotissimo" (sale catalogue). no clue is given as to the character of this piece. three quotations from rolle's works occur in the office prepared for his canonization (v. supra, p. 58). rolle was quoted in three compilations which exist in innumerable manuscripts, and are probably the most popular works of their kind circulating in england during the last century of the middle ages. i. speculum christiani. the manuscripts and texts of this work are discussed in the catalogue of the royal mss. of the british museum, i. 252-3, where an attribution to 'iohannes morys wallicus' is mentioned as having probably occurred in a copy now lost. it is noted that the colophon in an oxford ms. names 'john watton', probably only as the scribe, or possibly by an error for 'ioh. wallensis'. the speculum is a theological compendium, avowedly composed to fulfil archbishop peckham's directions as to teaching the people, and in most copies english verse and prose are intermingled with the latin. it exists in several early printed editions, of which the earliest was by machlinia, london, c. 1485. a quotation made by this work from rolle appears in this edition as follows: 'ricardus 1 others were brought out at paris in 1500, 1502, 1513, and 1521 (see f. a¸ gasquet, the bibliography of some devotional books printed by the earliest english printers, trans. bibliog. soc., 7, p. 183). in medieval treatises and compilations 405 de hampole. ille deuote orat qui non habet cor vacabundum' (tab. viii', between the discussion of the sacrament and that of tribulation). this quotation is from the incend., p. 225. dr. g. r. owst (preaching in medieval england, cambridge, 1926, p. 291) follows horstmann in stating that english passages of the speculum christiani are derived from the form of living. there is a general resemblance between the description of 'what files a man and what makes him clean' in the two works, but the connexion seems to me to suggest a common source rather than a direct borrowing (see speculum, b. mus. add. ms. 22121-a volume from the carthusian library at shene-ff. 53 sq., 'tab. v', and compare horstmann, pp. 21 sq.). rolle uses much the same material as is found at this point in the form also in the emendatio (v. supra, p. 245). he will almost certainly not himself have created the elaborate classifications found in the passages in question, and they must therefore come from some patristic source which may also have been drawn upon for the speculum christiani. ii. speculum spiritualium. this is a mystical, not a popular compilation (as was the preceding work), and the only english which it contains is the quotation already cited from rolle. the author states in his preface that he withholds his name, and that he wishes to provide a compendium for those who cannot afford many books: it is composed with the contemplative specially in view, but the active will also find it useful. the work is on the whole an excellent example of the english mysticism of the late middle ages, which rolle did so much to build up: it treats the holy name at length. a copy in the catalogue of syon monastery is said to be 'ex compilacione dompni henrici domus cartusiensis de bethleem monachi' (p. 107),¹ and the three copies in the original index appear under his name, but also under that of 'adam monachus cartusiensis', under whose name alone the copy added later is given. this adam is apparently the person of that name of whom we hear from several quarters, but what his writings were or when he lived has never been worked out.² 1 a fine copy in york cath. ms. xvi. t. 9 belonged to the charterhouse of mount grace, as did also another (bk. ii only) in harl. 237 (v. infra, p. 409). the work is quoted in the syon mirror of our lady (eets., extra ser., 19, p. 28). 2 a latin scrap on mary magdalene in harl. 1706 (f. 54º) is given with the name (in large capitals): 'hec magister adam cartusiensis doctor'. a manuscript containing works ascribed to 'adam the carthusian' has been presented to charterhouse school by mr. e. h. dring. the shene scribe, w. mede (v. supra, p. 237), gives a description, biography, and bibliography of 'magister 406 quotations and references the speculum spiritualium was printed in paris, 1510, at the expense of w. bretton, a london citizen, to be sold in st. paul's churchyard, london (v. supra, p. 11). an enlarged text of rolle's e. v. was included, as well as miscellaneous pieces in english and latin. freemantle cites a second edition (of the same date). it is an extremely systematic work, with many references indicated to the writings of rolle, hilton, etc. the specific works quoted are not generally noted, and the quotations usually appear 'secundum richardum hampol', 'hec prefatus ricardus', 'hec ricardus', etc. however, we find once: hucusque prefatus ricardus hanpole in quodam tractatu qui est de emendatione vite xij. continens capitula' (fol. xxxviiv). actually most of the highly mystical passages in the e. v. are cited, at one time or another. the very interesting citation from the form in english has been noted (supra, p. 263). two highly characteristic passages on the holy name, and the narrative as to the supernatural temptation are also quoted, with rolle's name, from the encomium nominis jesu. iii. the poor caitiff. as i have elsewhere pointed out (mod. lang. rev. xviii. 3-4), this highly popular english work seems to be a compilation of the late fourteenth century (v. supra, p. 63). a tradition states that the author was a friar minor, who 'compiled this book in his defense'; he calls himself merely a poor caitif', and seeks to provide a practical compendium of piety, without special bias. though he borrows one chapter from the ancren riwle and many passages from rolle, he does not refer to authorities, and his quotations from the latter, therefore, give no evidence as to the authenticity of the works used. however, by this means some of the most characteristic passages in rolle's latin works reached a very wide public in an english translation. the english form is quoted as to the three grades of love, the name of jesus, meekness, and the contemplative life, but the other quotations are from the latin e. v. and ol. effus. the chapter on patience is taken bodily from the e. v. (cap. 6), with the conclusion: all this sentence saith a saint in his book.' the chapters on the name of jesus' and 'the love of jesus' are entirely rolle. all these borrowings occur in the latter half of the work. compilations almost or entirely made up of quotations from rolle's works, and usually attached to his incend., have already been discussed (p. 212; and see dubia, p. 320). a collection of extracts from adam cartusiensis' in b mus. cotton ms. vesp. d. ix, ff. 167-8, but none of the works here cited is mentioned. in medieval treatises and compilations 407 rolle's works occurs with his name in the heneage ms. (v. supra, p. 43). b. rolle's works are cited in various early lists as follows: cambridge, 1439. thomas markaunt gave many books to corpus christi college, of which he was a fellow, and among them was 'liber de amore cum aliis tractatibus ricardi heremite. 2nd fo. mori pocius descatur. penult. fo. cipiam in uidō (?).' (price, 'vjs viijd', camb. antiq. soc. 8º, 32, p. 79.) the 'liber de amore contra am. m.¹ " was the cambridge, c. 1440. in a list of books in the univ. lib. (camb. antiq. soc., antiq. commun. 2, p. 248): melum contemplatiuorum per ricardum hampoll, ex dono eiusdem, cuius 2m fo. incipit caligine, et in penultimo ventores.' the donor, robert alne, died 1440, and the bequest in question appears in his will (v. infra, p. 415). he was an official of york chapter, and he inherited his copy of the melum from a yorkshireman who was an official at the episcopal court of durham. both were 'magister', and it is interesting to find the audacious melum propagated by men of this type. perhaps from one of them emanated the glossary drawn up by 'doctors' (v. supra, p. 116). john blacman, c.1457. ms. 23, among books given by blacman to witham, was '12 capitula hampol'. he was successively fellow of merton; fellow and cantor of eton; b.d. and warden of king's hall, cambridge; carthusian of witham. he was at some time confessor to henry vi, of whom he wrote a memoir (see the edition by m. r. james, cambridge, 1919, p. 59, reprinted from the edition of 1510). 6 dr. john dee, d. 1608. in the catalogue of the books of the famous elizabethan astrologer, ricardi hampole liber, qui dicitur incendium amoris, anglice, pergamento. fo' (camden soc., 19, p. 75). dr. james in his new edition of dee's catalogue (supplement to bibliog. soc. trans., 1, 1921, p. 24) identifies this as corpus christi coll. oxf. ms. 236. leicester abbey, 1492. bodl. laud misc. 623 (sum. cat. no. 1415) contains registrum librorum monasterii beate marie de pratis leycestrie renouatum tempore fratris w. charyte, tunc precentoris '. see j. nichols's history and antiquities of the county of leicester, 1 mori pocius delectatur, f. 172. 408 quotations and references london, 1815, vol. i, pt. ii, 101-8, where, however, the catalogue is only described. the work is very systematically drawn up, with the works classified. walter hilton and 'johannes hampol' are among the authors of 'specula' noted at the beginning (f. 2), and the full reference later given to the volume of the works of the latter shows that rolle is in question : 'speculum johannis hampole de incendio amoris. 2º fo. claritatis. item melum eiusdem. idem super versum judica me deus. idem de amore dei et contra amatores mundi. cantus amoris de beata virgine. item de conuersione peccatorum. tractatus valde utilis johannis hampole super leccionibus de dirige' (f. 31▾). these works are all easily identified as works of rolle; this must have been an important volume. earlier on the same page rolle appears with his full name correctly given: libellus qui dicitur xij capitula ricardi heremiti (sic) hampole.' henry savile of banke (yorks), 1568-1617 (see j. p. gilson, op. cit.). this library contained many volumes from the yorkshire monastic houses (especially byland, rievaulx, and fountains); two catalogues exist, not always in agreement. intelligible references to rolle's works occur as follows: ms. 56. 'expositio psalterii secundum richardum de hampoll. item postillae ejusdem super novem lectiones mortuorum. postillae super threnos hieremiae. postillae super 1 et 2. versiculum in cantica canticorum. tractatus in ps. xx. tractatus super orationem dominicam. expositio simboli. libellus de emendatione peccatoris. liber de amore dei contra amatores mundi. melos contemplativorum ardentium in amore dei. modus confessionis audiendi (sic; probably judica b 2). de novissimis providendis (possibly judica b 3). de utilitate tribulationis (probably the well-known work of that title, in one copy ascribed to rolle, v. supra, p. 355). expositio in apocolypsim. tractatus de vita activa et contemplativa (probably mul. fort., v. supra, p. 160). officium de sancto richardo heremita. miracula ejusdem. perg. fol.' mr. gilson remarks: the last four articles (hampole) might possibly represent cotton ms. tiberius a. xv, ff. 181-end (much in various early lists 409 burnt), but the identification is very doubtful' (p. 166). since the earlier items in the two books did not coincide (the cotton ms. containing no other theology), it follows that they cannot have been the same, though the cotton ms. may be related to the savile. however, as now bound, the works that precede rolle's works in the former are in a different hand, and it is possible that this was a composite volume, and that the last four works (all rolle) as they now stand were a detached portion of the savile ms. it should also be noted that the savile volume must bear a close relation to corpus christi oxf. 193, one of the largest extant collections of rolle's works (v. supra, p. 45); the contents of the latter book exactly coincide with those of ms. savile down to the last four items (which are reproduced in the cotton ms.), except that the corpus volume contains rolle's incendium and the anonymous speculum peccatoris, and does not contain the judica b 3 (apparently present in the savile). the whole of savile ms. 56 (with the exception of de utilitate tribulationis) is almost certainly taken up with rolle, and it must have been an extraordinarily important manuscript for the study of his writings. it gives apparently only one text less than bodl. 861, and the office and miracula besides. we may hope that it may be hidden in some country-house library and may some day be found. ms. 117. 'tractatus valde utilis super psalterium per richardum de hampole heremitam' (p. 180). ms. 130. 'tractatus richardi heremitae super primum versiculum canticorum.' as mr. gilson points out (p. 183), savile ms. 130 is now b. mus. cotton ms. vesp. e. i (v. supra, p. 65). ms. 179 (in the second catalogue). 'extracta quaedam et scripta de tractatu richardi hampole. paper. fol.' mr. gilson (p. 195) identifies this as b. mus. harl. 237, a volume from the charterhouse of mount grace, co. yorks, which later belonged to sir symonds d'ewes. actually the quotation from rolle is the section from the form which is incorporated (in english) in the speculum spiritualium (v. supra, p. 263). ms. 203. 'septem psalmi paenitentiales quos richardus de hampol in anglicum sermonem transtulit. in versu. papyro. 8°' (p. 200). d d 410 quotations and references for an example of this erroneous ascription in an extant manuscript, v. supra, p. 371. ms. 206. 'litera missa a magistro waltero hilton ad dominam sacerdotissam quandam ordinis sancti gilberti in qua ordo et regula vivendi est descripta quam ricardus de hampull rogatu ejusdem dominae a latino in anglicum idioma transtulit. papyro. 4°' (p. 201). the second catalogue describes this item as 'walter hilton's letter in latin and english to a lady of an order'. we have no clue as to the identity of this highly puzzling and tantalizing piece. the heading seems to say that it was an exposition sent by hilton of a rule of life which had been translated by hampole from latin into english: the lady to whom hilton sent the exposition was the same for whom hampole made the translation. thus it is implied that one of richard's disciples lived to become a disciple of hilton's. there is nothing impossible in such a supposition. though rolle died in 1349 and hilton in 1395-6, as many manuscripts state, we shall see that rolle must have died in middle life. hilton may have lived to a good old age, and in early years known margaret kirkeby and other friends of richard, as well as richard himself. we have already seen that margaret kirkeby did not go to ainderby till 1357, and that she probably went to hampole still later, when in extreme old age. she, however, cannot be the nun in question here, who is a gilbertine. watton priory was a double gilbertine house in yorkshire (east riding) to which the latter may have belonged. however, lincolnshire, the home of the gilbertines, was not far from hampole. thurgarton (co. notts), hilton's own home, was also near. ms. 260. 'stimulus amoris de passione domini sive de emendatione peccatoris per richard hampole in parchment, written. 4°' (p. 208). one of the volumes described only in the second catalogue. it is hard to understand how 'stimulus amoris de passione domini ' can be a title for rolle's emendatio, which the second part of the phrase would fit the form actually appears once as 'the prick of love' (supra, p. 258). stimulus amoris de passione domini' is a title which would fit perfectly the famous stimulus amoris, often ascribed to bonaventura, and sometimes to rolle, with whom it was a favourite work (v. supra, p. 285). perhaps the heading above quoted has omitted something and is derived from a text in which the latter is in various early lists 411 followed by rolle's e. v. in a manuscript which ascribes the stimulus to richard the e. v. follows after an interval (v. supra, p. 354). for 'stimulus amoris in englishe verse by r. hampole' also in the savile library (according to one catalogue), v. ms. 42, supra, p. 385. st. mary's church, scarborough, 1434 (archaeol., 51, p. 66). the inventory cites: 'unum psalterium ricardi de hampole'. syon monastery, 1504-26. the late catalogue of the brothers' library at syon was edited by miss mary bateson (cambridge, 1898), and it offers abundant evidence of the interest in rolle at that house. since he wrote several of his works for women, the library of the sisters would probably have shown at least as many of his writings as the brothers'; unfortunately, no catalogue of the former has survived. in the original index the following works are registered under 'hampole heremita' (p. 226): 'de regula viuendi siue de emendacione vite', thirteen copies, of which three are lost and replaced by new books in the catalogue; 'idem super aliquos versus canticorum', one copy, lost (it gave the work in two pieces); 'idem in libro de amore dei contra amatores mundi', four copies, of which two are lost; 'idem de successu eiusdem & de alteracione vite vsque ad summum gradum contemplacionis', one copy, lost; 'idem super lecciones mortuorum cum 10 versibus eiusdem', six copies, of which two are gone; 'idem de visione eiusdem, de tempore mortis sue', one copy; 'idem in epistola contra sibi detrahentes', three copies (one lost); 'idem de incendio amoris', five copies (one lost); 'idem in tractatu qui dicitur melos contemplacionis', one copy; 'idem in cantico amoris de beata virgine metrice', one copy; ' idem super apochalipsim vsque ad vim capitulum', one copy. as we have seen, the list of rolle's works can be amplified when we go through the catalogue (compiled about 1504 and corrected about 1526). seven manuscripts containing rolle's works were lost by the latter date, and two were added, viz., m. 113 and 118. m. 113 contained richardus hampole de conuersione ad deum, et incendio amoris cum aliis'. the first item here is evidently another copy of the e. v. (in which conversion' makes the first chapter): the donor strangely enough is 'anna de suecia', which would seem to indicate a swedish sister. m. 118 contained 'hampole ad reclusam de vita perfeccionis cum aliis', with the incipit of the second folio: 1 miss bateson notes that the references to ms. ' m. 96' appear in the index as 'm. 97'. in the same way 'm. 94' is wrongly indicated as 'm. 95'. d d 2 412 quotations and references 'some he'. this is the form (p. 5: 'somme he takes with errour '). various matters of interest come to light when we go over the catalogue. the single copy of the melum was a great treasure: 'melos contemplacionis ricardi hampole & dicitur manu propria hunc scripsisse librum' (m. 27). the 'canticum amoris de gloriosa virgine per eundem metrificatum' follows in the same book, 'cum nominibus in marginibus eiusdem'. we cannot be sure whether the second work was also in rolle's hand, and the accompaniment of ' names' is curious and probably refers to an enumeration of names of the blessed virgin : however, it cannot be connected with any existing manuscript. ms. m. 86 (like m. 118) may have contained unrecorded works of rolle; one item is 'hampole de conuersione peccatoris cum aliis' (correctly noted among the copies of the e. v. in the index). an unattributed work of rolle's probably occurs in m. 102 as 'tractatus de nomine ihesu, scilicet oleum effusum' (the e. v. with rolle's name had opened the volume). the only english biblical text noted in the catalogue is f. 48: 'psalterium glosatum & expositum in anglice.' the first words on the second leaf are 'seynt austyn’, which probably identify the text as rolle's eng. ps., where those words occur in the commentary to ps. i. 1. it was natural that the brothers' library should have contained a copy of this work (v. infra, p. 417). in view of the enthusiasm manifested at syon for rolle's works, it is remarkable that no large collection is cited in the present library. no volume explicitly noted contains more than three of his works, and most contain only one or two. there is no mention of rolle's surname, or of his office, or of basset's defence, though the copies of those works now in sweden were probably copied from texts sent out from syon. other works of rolle also now in sweden are not noted in the brothers' library at syon, and were probably copied from volumes in the sisters', or from books already worn out or lost. since no part of the catalogue is earlier than the 16th century, it cannot be said to give us certain information on what was in the library during the early years of the house. in the days of the founders the collection of rolle's works in the brothers' library may have been even larger and more interesting than it is shown to be in the extant catalogue. for the sisters' library, v. supra, p. 49. we know that the sister joanna sewell alone possessed at least two volumes of rolle's writings. in various early lists 413 st. mary's college, winchester, late temp. hen. v (see archaeol. journ. xv. 67). among the psalteria glosata in the catalogue of this house: item ricardus hampole super psalterium, 2º folio in textu semper prosperabunt, ex dono magistri johannis morys, primi custodis istius collegii, et domini nicholai north, quondam socii collegii supradicti.' ¹ 1 peterhouse camb. 203, early 15th cent., contains a list of books scribbled on the margin of the last page but one, in which is found: 'hampole super parce mihi.' prices are affixed to some items, but where the books are does not appear. c. rolle's works are mentioned in various medieval wills, as follows: " lincoln, 1391 (early lincoln wills, ed. a. gibbons, lincoln, 1888, p. 80). william de thorp, knt., leaves to henry hammond, his chaplain, that book which richard heremit composed'. he is to be buried in ely cathedral and has connexions with cambridge. the will is also printed in london wills, ed. r. r. sharpe, 1890, pt. ii. 326. bedford, 1415 (beds. hist. rec. soc., 2, p. 33). edward cheyne leaves to his son certain heirlooms (to be entailed), among which is 'a psalter glossed by richard the hermit'. 2 east hendred, berkshire, 1417 (east hendred, a berkshire parish, by a. l. humphreys, london, 1923, p. 334). richard southworth, rector of east hendred, bequeaths 'to my dearest master henry kays, a book of mine of richard the hermit, being in his keeping '. oxford, 1457 (munimenta academica, ii. 666, rs., 50). john seggefyld, m.a., fellow of lincoln, leaves 'magistro johanni chylde unum librum vocatum "hampole". seggefyld was probably a north-countryman, since reference is made to tenements belonging to his father in kingston-upon-hull. north country wills. lord scrope of masham, 1415 (v. supra, p. 384). this will is significant for the interest in the solitary life which it shows on the part of a nobleman of rolle's home country two generations after rolle's death. lord scrope's brother is archdeacon of richmond 1 this reference was kindly pointed out to me by professor laura hibbard, of wellesley college. 2 kindly pointed out by mr. humphreys. 414 quotations and references (p. 276), and his sister (to whom he leaves an anonymous copy of the prick of conscience) is a minoress of london. he asks prayers for the soul of 'dominus robertus thornton' (p. 274), perhaps a relative of the scribe of the thornton ms. he leaves several legacies to nunneries, including one to hampole (which is, however, smaller than the other bequests, ibid.). money is also left to the 'former servant of the anchorite of hampole' (p. 275, and v. infra, p. 507). very many anchorites and hermits are remembered by name. a large legacy of books goes to the abbess of syon monastery, only just founded (ibid.). there is also a general bequest to 'every anchorite and hermit in london or york and the suburbs', and to 'every anchorite and anchoress that can be found easily within three months of my death' (p. 276). the carthusian houses are also remembered. lord scrope had evidently come under the influences so strongly stimulated by richard rolle. he was perhaps brought up among persons whose interest in the hermit and his writings was a hereditary tradition, reaching back to those who had supported him in life. slight confirmation of this conjecture comes from the fact that lord scrope possessed one of rolle's autographs (v. supra, p. 98, and infra, pp. 506 sq.). wills and inventories from northern counties (ss., 2). 1427. will of dominus johannes newton, rector of houghton, co. durham, master of sherburn hospital (1409), 'originally of the diocese of lichfield': 'item lego domino nicholao hulme unum librum de duodecim capitulis ricardi ermet' (p. 77). for hulme's will, bequeathing this book in his turn thirty years later, see below, p. 415. it might be thought that we have here another candidate for the tabula supplied to the emmanuel ms. by 'magister john newton', if it were not that miss deanesly has found that the hand there annotating appears to be the same that appears in the york episcopal registers. the york treasurer also shows elsewhere his fondness for tabulae (v. supra, p. 215); he is 'magister', a learned title which the master of sherburn hospital does not here at least receive. testamenta eboracensia (v. supra, p. 384). 1414. master john newton, the treasurer of york minster, already mentioned, bequeaths (with many other works) to york chapter: libros johannis howeden, ricardi heremitae, domini walteri hilton canonici, willielmi rymyngton et hugonis de institucione noviciorum, in uno volumine' (i. 366). in medieval wills 415 1440. master robert alne, 'persona in choro ecclesiae cathedralis ebor. ac curiae eboracensis examinatoris generalis', bequeaths to the univ. lib. of cambridge (with other works): 'ricardum de hampull vocatum melos' (ii. 78). v. supra, p. 407, for a mention of this book in an early catalogue of the univ. lib. 1458. nicholas holme, canon of ripon, who died in the monastery of st. mary's, york, bequeaths to nicholas blakwell 'unum librum in quo continentur xij capitula ricardi hampole' (ibid., p. 219). 1431. william gate, chaplain and 'persona in ecclesia ebor.', bequeaths 'domino ricardo drax. . . j librum de papiro vocatum lectiones mortuorum secundum ricardum heremitam' (iii. 58 n.). 1446. thomas beelby, 'persona in ecclesia ebor.', bequeaths 'magistro willelmo duffeld, domino meo, j psalterium de tractatu ricardi hampole' (ibid., p. 59 n.). 6 1432. robert semer, sub-treasurer of york, bequeaths domino. roberto helperby, vicario, librum meum de placebo et dirige, secundum ricardum heremitam, cum aliis libris ejusdem contentis in eadem' (ibid., p. 91). 1452. in the inventory of the goods of william duffield, canon. residentiary of york, southwell, and beverley, de xiij. iiij d. de pret. psalterii glosati, nuper domini thomae belby' (v. supra); 'de viij. de pret. libri ricardi hampole de expositione novem lectionum mortuorum' (ibid., p. 133). 1467. robert est of york (probably 'a chantry priest in the minster at the altar of st. christopher ') bequeaths 'domui sanctimonialium de hampaule psalterium glosatum, de propria scriptura beati ricardi, heremitae, ibidem jacentis' (ibid., p. 160). v. supra, p. 169. 1468. in the inventory of the goods of elizabeth sywardby, widow (of sewerby, near bridlington, daughter of sir henry vavasour of haslewood): 'de alio libro de meditatione passionis domini, compilato per ricardum rolle, iiijd.' (ibid., p. 163). this volume was one of those kept in the chapel. the name rolle should be noted (which is also found in two extant copies of the meditations). 1479. thomas pynchebek, 'persona in eccl. ebor.', bequeaths 'librum ricardi de hanpole cum novem lectionibus et dirige' (ibid., p. 199 n). 416 quotations and references it will be seen that the great majority of rolle's works above noted belonged to the clergy. this may be considered a triumph for their intrinsic interest, since many of them contain passages condemning the abuses of the contemporary clergy. it will be noted that no work is given to rolle erroneously (except some doubtful items in the savile library), and it is a significant contrast that the mentions of the prick of conscience in wills, already given, are all anonymous. d. some general references to rolle's works found in medieval sources will now be cited. notes on a vienna ms. above quoted refer to rolle's works, but erroneously imply that all were originally written in english; the e. v. seems to be specially noted (v. supra, pp. 40 sq.). thomas basset, hermit, in the defence against the detractors of richard (c. 1400), makes the following general reference: 'ecce occurrit predictus ille venerabilis ricardus sic dicens. . . . et cum (for tum) hunc virum gloriosum iuste, vt michi videtur, in exemplum prius profero, quia sicut archus refulgens inter nebulas glorie, sic et ipse velud homo seraphicus in abyssum diuine claritudinis absorptus inter ipsos resplenduit, qui gloriosa carmina ediderunt de eterna dileccione' (upsala ms. c. 621, f. 69′). the influence in general of rolle's works is discussed in this most interesting epistle. since the unique copy belonged to wadstena, the mother house of the brigittine order, it was almost certainly sent there from syon monastery, along with other volumes of english origin. it will be printed in the appendix. richard methley, a carthusian of mount grace, co. yorks (b. 1451, professed 1476), has left a curious series of autobiographical and mystical tracts in trin. coll. camb. ms. 1160. they are often dated (1483-7), and seem to be a kind of diary. they are dominated by the influence of rolle in its more romantic aspects, and the carthusian is evidently trying to induce his master's ecstatic experience, with all its 'canor, calor, dulcor', and absorption in the holy name. rolle's name, however, appears only once, and methley seems to attempt to show his own originality. in the piece called 'refectorium salutis' occurs the following : 'nam vita mea consistit in amore, languore, dulcore, feruore, canore; rarius tamen in sensibili feruore, quia dilectus michi promisit quod frequentius in languore; sicut et ille alius ricardus (dictus de hampol) frequentius in calore, de quo non legi quod tam frequens fuit in languore' (f. 56). some general references 417 methley's translations into latin of the english cloud of unknowing and mirror of simple souls are to be found in pembroke coll. camb. ms. 221, dated 1491.¹ the colophon to the mirror entitles the translator 'dominus richardus ffurth alias de methley domus assumptionis eiusdem beate virginis marie ordinis cartusiensis ' (f. 107). furth' is probably the monk's family name, 'methley his surname in religion drawn from his family home (methley, between pontefract and rothwell, in the west riding?). in the myroure of oure ladye (eets. extra ser., 19), written to explain the church service to the nuns of syon (1421-50), we find the following: 'of psalmes i haue drawen but fewe, for ye may haue them of rycharde hampoule's drawynge and out of englysshe bibles if ye haue lysence therto' (p. 3). this reference puts rolle's english psalter into a position of special orthodoxy, since the author of the mirror, in giving it, states (p. 71) that it is forbidden to translate scripture without the consent of the diocesan bishop. already noted, a copy of the english psalter is still in existence, once belonging to one of the compilers of the local additions to the brigittine rule in use at syon (v. supra, pp. 171 and 412). as the quotation has already been given (supra, p. 401) from the treatise on vernacular scriptures ascribed to purvey, in which a general reference is given to rolle's english works (for propagandist purposes). the contemplations of the dread and love of god have already been described (supra, p. 357). horstmann pointed out that they quote as from 'ful holy men of ryght late tyme' the three degrees of love found in rolle. additional note quaritch ms., 14th-15th cent. after the e. v., 'de beata maria virgo' (sic): from the mel., as in two copies supra, p. 401. later citations end: ricardus heremita. qui, pro christo, pauper fieri in mundo, despici et confundi renuit, profecto cognoscas quod suauitatem eterni amoris non gustabit. nemo numquam in amore dei gaudere potuit qui prius uana istius mundi solacia non reliquit ' (contra am. m., s f. 57, cf. c f. 176). see e. v., mel., and infra, p. 537. 1 the former is said to be undertaken because difficillime maxime modernis diebus, refrigescente caritate, non dicam solum multorum sed pre nimietate malorum fere omnium christianorum, difficillime, inquam, intelliguntur libri contemplatiuorum super splendidioribus theoriis theodoctorum' (f. 1). this piece is dedicated 'o frater mi thurstine', who has requested its execution. chapter xv early bibliographies the lists of rolle's works given by the early bibliographers will not be given entire. to a large extent they repeat each other, and in so far as their information coincides with that given by manuscripts now extant, it can easily be checked by reference to the preceding lists: where it is not supported by any manuscript found in the course of the present investigation, the ascriptions in question will be fully discussed here, but only in relation to the originator of the ascription. the bibliographies will therefore be treated in chronological order. at some points the connexion between the information given by the bibliographies and that given by the extant manuscripts is not immediately apparent, but such cases have already been discussed when the manuscripts were enumerated. the descriptions of the works can, if necessary, be resorted to for references to the early bibliographers which are not found in this place. boston of bury (c. 1410). · all of the works of rolle noted by boston, of which the location is mentioned, are cited from his own library of bury (which he numbers as 82). his whole account of rolle (quoted from the preface to tanner, q. v. infra) is as follows: 'ricardus, heremita de ampole, floruit circa a. c. et scripsit incendium amoris, lib. i. 82. melos amoris, lib. i. 82. de amore divino. 82. de timore domini et contemptu mundi. 82. vehiculum vitae sive xii capitula. 82. super lectiones de officio mortuorum. 82. super psalmum, domine, in virtute. 82. super psalterium . . . in latin. et angl. super lamentationes jeremiae. super quartum librum sententiarum: pr. secundum quosdam. de glorificatione sanctorum' (tanner, p. xxxviii). since the last four items are given without references to a library, boston is here perhaps quoting from memory. in this list the work on the sentences (one of those given without a reference) is unknown, and rolle's authorship of such a work must appear unlikely. some peculiarities of title appear (v. contra am. m. early bibliographies 419 and e. v.): the title 'de amore divino' does not occur in any extant manuscript, though it would be appropriate to many of rolle's works. bale in his index twice applies it to the incendium (and v. supra, p. 357). john leland (d. 1552): commentarii, oxford, 1709, pp. 348-9, 'de richardo hampolo'. collectanea, oxford, 1715. leland gives a short estimate of richard's work (mostly an excuse for its bad latin), which was copied by most of his successors. richard appears as 'eremita ejus sectae quam vocant augustinianam', an error which was also consistently copied, though it could be refuted by many passages in the writings. it is evident that leland has no more than glanced at them, for he makes no reference to their mysticism. the only fact which he gives as to his author's life is the date and place of death: 'anno domini 1349, in festo s. michaelis, ut scriptum erat in codice mariano. sepultus est honorifice in hampolensi monasterio virginibus sacro.' he admits that of richard's writings he records 'non omnes, scripsit enim quamplures, sed . . . illos, quos ego novi extare eboraci, in bibliotheca mariana'. he then notes (without incipit) ten works, all of which can be easily verified as authentic by reference to extant manuscripts. he follows this by the following entry : 'londini in bibliotheca carmelitana: de excellentia contemplationis (v. supra, dubia). carmen rhythmicum nomine meli (v. supra, mel.). philomela, carmen rhythmicum.' this entry is derived from one given in leland's collectanea (iv. 54), where the titles appear exactly as above, with no name of an author. immediately preceding them (also found in the carmelites' library) is 'richardus hampoole de incendio amoris', which was probably not carried over into the bibliography because the incendium had previously been noted from york. it is probable that this ascription of the incendium to rolle was conjectured by leland to apply also to the three works which immediately followed it in the manuscript. in that case his attribution of the philomela to richard would mean nothing; there are reasons, however, which suggest that rolle might have written a poem of this title. the third work here may be one of two well-known latin poems, of which the better known (beginning 'philomena, praevia temporis 420 early bibliographies amoeni') is often ascribed to st. bonaventura and printed under his name (v. supra, p. 394), though it is probably the work of john peckham, archbishop of canterbury (d. 1279). the other of the same title (beginning ave, verbum, ens in principio') was probably written by john hoveden, chaplain to queen eleanor (mother of edward i), to whom an anglo-norman poem philomela is also ascribed (corpus christi coll. camb. ms. 471).¹ the popularity of the nightingale as a symbol for the mystic lover of christ, which was thus notable in england during the generation preceding rolle's birth, certainly affected his youthful imagination. he says in his early work, the melum: fio ut philomena, que, continens continue ad mortem in melos, diligit dulcissime' (f. 248), and in the late incendium: 'in principio enim conuersionis mee, et propositi singularis, cogitaui me uelle assimilari auicule, que pre amore languet amati sui.... fertur enim philomena tota nocte cantui et melo indulgere' (p. 277). in the form of living (p. 33) he writes of 'singuler' love: 'pe sawle pat es in þe thyrd degre, es als byrnand fyre, and as pe nyghttyngale, pat lufes sang & melody, & fayles for mykel lufe.' such passages probably mean that rolle had come under the influence of the 'nightingale group', and horstmann has described his poem to the virgin, which is probably his earliest work, as an imitation of bonaventura's (or peckham's) famous "cantus philomenae", and in the same metre, but with frequent alliteration' (ii, p. xviii). this description probably exaggerates the degree of influence, but the metre in the two poems is the same to some degree (v. supra, p. 90), and rolle has in his prose echoed the older works (especially hoveden's); though with his own strongly subjective accent.³ 1 see d. n. b., hoveden and peckham. 2 rawl. ms. c. 397, one of the two extant manuscripts of the canticum amoris, appends to that work rolle's reference (just quoted) in the incendium as to his early wish to emulate the nightingale (here given at length, and with the exact reference to the chapter and work, and at each end the name of 'richard hermit', v. supra, p. 399). the 'cantus philomenae' of peckham then follows anonymously. 3 such lines as the following might have given hints for his type of devotion and of style: 'totum, quidquid habeo vel sum, tibi dedo ... o praedulcis parvule, puer sine pari.' (bonaventura, edit. quaracchi, viii. 670.) on the whole, however, this poem shows no relation to rolle. the following extracts from the yorkshire prebendary hoveden's poem (selected and not early bibliographies 421 on the whole, the fondness for the symbol of the nightingale, which rolle shows in his writings, forbids us to say categorically that leland did not see an authentic poem on that subject, now lost. the omission of an incipit in his reference does not allow us to identify it positively with any one of the extant poems on the same subject. leland adds to the works of rolle found in st. mary's, york, and the carmelites' library, london, only the following: 'scripsit etiam libellum, cui titulus ab exordio ne tardas, & alterum hac inscriptione domine deus meus.' leland's collectanea (iv. 63), proves that he had before him here balliol coll. ms. 224. at present the book is misbound, and it gives (ff. 31-97) the text of the emendatio vitae without any sign of beginning or ending. the piece entitled domine deus meus does not follow till f. 56, but the table of contents (added in a later hand) is the same which is copied in the collectanea, and here the two works mentioned by leland occur together. probably the balliol ms. has been seriously altered in modern times: a reference by tanner (note b) seems to imply that it once contained rolle's latin psalter. in the collectanea (iv. 58, 156) 'hampole super psalterium' is noted at 'oxoniae in bibliotheca publica', and 'richardus hampole super psalterium' at wells (with the incipit of the latin version given). very characteristic) will show that this was probably richard's early favourite, from which he took the image of the nightingale : 'ihesu, iuge melos angelicum, quis dolebit te canens canticum ?... quem amoris eius inebriat, nectar dulce nouit quod sapiat, tam ardenter eo se saciat, quod seipsum oblitus nesciat. tot amoris sentit incendia, dulces flammas et desideria, quod tormentum habet ut lilia, et exoptat ut fiat hostia.... christi dulcor sic mentem saciet quod a carne dissolui siciet... sola ihesu rememoracio fit dolorum alleuiacio' (cotton ms. nero c. ix, f. 201). 'melos meret, uel meror mulceat' (f. 200). the 'calor, canor, and dulcor' could all be developed from these lines, as well as the cult of the holy name (in the broader sense). 422 early bibliographies john bale: catalogus, ipswich, 1548. index (c. 1548-51), ed. r. l. poole and m. bateson (anecdota oxoniensia, 1902). catalogus, bâle, 1557-9. bale in his index (pp. 348-52) ascribes to rolle a long series of works found in various collections, most of which can be identified. many of his attributions are correct, but many are incorrect, and have been discussed in connexion with extant manuscripts which give the same. there remain to be noted here references to works which are unknown or, if known, do not now exist in manuscripts giving rolle's name. in no case where bale gives to rolle a known piece not anywhere found with his name does its character confirm bale's attribution. he cites his author as 'ricardus hampole', 'ricardus remyngton (v. supra, p. 348) de hampole heremita' (twice), 'ricardus de hampole', 'ricardus heremita', 'ricardus hampole, heremita vir eruditus'. he notes (probably from the manuscripts): obijt a. d. 1349, apud moniales de hampole iuxta doncaster' (repeated without the 'iuxta doncaster'). no other information is given as to rolle's life. the works given by bale to rolle not heretofore noted are as follows: (1) 'super salue regina, li. i. "ad salutandam virginem gloriosam principio". ex domo ricardi grafton. this title and incipit coincide with the stimulus amoris (pt. iii, cap. 19), other parts of which are ascribed to rolle in manuscripts still extant (v. supra, p. 354). (2) 'de spiritualibus ascentioni. bus, li. i. "beatus vir cuius est auxilium abs". this is the incipit (after the prologue) and a frequent title of st. bonaventura's de gradibus edit., v. 296 sq.). (3) 'de poenitentia, (4) sermones quadragesimales, ascensionis in deum (quaracchi li. i. "poenitemini vt deleantur peccata ". li. i. "puluis es et in puluerem reuertes (p. 350). 993 these two works i have been unable to identify. it may be noted that in rolle's early work on the duties of a parish priest (judica b) he is enough interested in the subject of lenten sermons to add to early bibliographies 423 his source on this question (v. supra, p. 104). it is not impossible that he wrote a set now lost, in which may perhaps have occurred the exempla quoted from rolle in the thornton ms. which cannot now be traced (v. supra, p. 403). (5) orilogium sapientię, li. i. "quoniam ita res habet quod mors". as the editors of the index point out (perhaps following tanner), this is a translation into english from suso's well-known work (o. supra, p. 349). they cite a cambridge manuscript, and refer to horstmann (ii, p. xliii), who notes that this is merely chapter 5 of an english version of the orologium, which he has printed in anglia, x. 323 sq. the translator has added a preface, in which traces of rolle's influence may be seen in the use of rhythm and of the metaphor of the 'fire of love'; but he is evidently writing long after rolle's day, for he apologizes for adding another english translation to the 'multitude of bokes & tretees drawne in englische' (p. 326). li. i. "quia mortis passagium ex hac". (6) 'de arte moriendi, (7) de bello spirituali, (8) meditationem ex augustino, atque alia plura.' li. i. "frater aut soror, qui desyderas ". li. i. "augustinus sanctus doctor in declaratione" (pp. 350 sq.). horstmann has printed (ii. 377-80, 406-36) english works with the three preceding titles and incipits. he notes for each a large number of manuscripts still extant, but none giving any information as to authorship. it is probable that bale is here referring to these english pieces in the case of the first and third, horstmann notes manuscripts of latin originals, but in both cases the incipit mentioned by bale reproduces the english incipit rather than the latin. the incipit which bale gives for the 'paruum iobum' (immediately preceding the orologium) was latin, though it hardly seems possible that anything can be meant except the english lyric pety job' (v. supra, p. 369), of which the first line exactly translates bale's latin incipit. probably bale both here, in the case of the orologium, and in the other three cases just cited, was referring to english pieces, though his entries gave no hint of the fact. in harl. 1706 and douce 322 there occur in english, in the same order in which they appear in the index-though other pieces intervene-the five pieces just mentioned, viz. pety job, the orologium (chapters 5 sq.), 424 early bibliographies and the three pieces now under consideration.' both manuscripts were written in the fifteenth century, and both quote as their authority for some 'balades' 'the book of john lucas'. the presence in order, in two extant english manuscripts, of five latin titles and incipits noted by bale would make it likely that he saw all five in one book, whether one of these two or another like them. his reference is simply: 'ex nordouicensi et londinensi bibliothecis.' though bale may possibly have seen a manuscript resembling the two now extant, but with rolle's name attached to the pieces in question, it is very unlikely that this ascription was correct. we have already seen that the ascription to rolle of the pety job was erroneous (supra, p. 370), and obviously that of the orologium; the ascription of the three following pieces appears no less impossible. not a characteristic of rolle appears in any of the three, unless it be the rhythmical prose' of the third, which appears to be the ground of horstmann's remark that 'the translation . . . is possibly by r. rolle' (ii. 377). it has already been shown that rhythmical prose was both older and younger than rolle, and quite insufficient evidence alone for his authorship (v. supra, p. 78). all three pieces are made up of ascetic commonplaces which might be fathered on almost any medieval writer, though less probably on a mystic than on any other. the boke of the craft of dying' (de arte moriendi) probably belongs to the fifteenth century, for, as miss f. m. m. comper has pointed out, in editing a modernized version of the text, it makes one of a group of works immensely popular in the fifteenth century all over europe. horstmann refers to 'the tretyse of gostly batayle' (de bello spirituali) as 'made up from a chapter... of the pore caitif... and other ill-connected ingredients' (ii. 420), but since, ¹ horstmann (ii. 377, n. 1) states that harl. 1706 is a copy of douce 322, and a note in the latter volume mentions that harl. 1706 was formerly h. worsley's book'. it belonged in the latter years of the reign of henry vii to elizabeth, daughter of sir richard scrope, and successively lady beaumont and lady oxford (her signature appears in the book with both surnames). for the douce ms. v. supra, p. 240. 2 one john lucas was a hermit in royston cave, in bassingbourne, cambs., in 1398, and a person of the same name was hermit on whittlesford bridge, cambs., in 1401 (clay, p. 206). we have seen that the hermit of tanfield' possessed a copy of rolle's judica which was copied in at least two instances (v. supra, p. 29). john lucas may also have been a hermit possessing a book which was widely copied. 3 london, 1917, p. 49. on the relations of the group to art see e. mâle, l'art religieux de la fin du moyen âge en france, paris, 1908, pp. 415 sq. early bibliographies 425 as we have seen (supra, p. 406), the poor caitiff is itself a compilation, there is no reason why the loan may not be the other way. in any case, all three works appear to have been written in a southern dialect considerably later than rolle's time, and even if any manuscript gave his name it would be very difficult to accept his authorship on grounds of language no less than of subject-matter. in his catalogus of 1557 bale adds the surname 'rolle' to his account of richard as repeated from his earlier catalogus. the only additions which he makes to what he has collected in his index regarding rolle's canon are copied from leland, along with (in part) leland's general remarks on the hermit's writings. he omits all reference to the hermit's belonging to the order of st. augustine. the catalogus of 1548 dismisses rolle shortly, but states that he is said to have been a doctor of theology before he became a hermit, and to have been venerated as a saint after his death. his date is given as 1430. both works quote from the job the anti-clerical passage 'vae presbiteris', etc. (v. supra, p. 142). john pits: de illustribus angliae scriptoribus, paris, 1619. 6 pits rejects (p. 465) the strange cognomen 'pampolitanus' which had been foisted on rolle by continental bibliographers. he states (without giving his authority) that rolle was doctor', and wrote. some of his works before he became a hermit (v. supra, p. 19, and infra, p. 490). pits seems to some extent to have worked over with extant collections of manuscripts the bibliographies of richard given by leland and bale, for he repeats the attributions given by them, with a considerable number of manuscript references added. he adds five items, as follows: (1) in symbolum s. ambrosij. librum vnum.' this work is unknown to me. (2) 'de mysterijs rerum quae sunt in ecclesia. librum vnum.' this work cannot be identified with any piece now extant, and it might appear unlikely that rolle should have written a work on this subject. bale's index (pp. 357-8) gives works of similar title to a medieval english richard, as follows: 'ricardus abbas ordinis premonstratensis, scripsit de canone missę... carmen de mysterijs sacrorum.' (3) 'de reparatione lapsi. librum vnum. ms. oxonij in collegio mertonensi.' no clue is given as to the character of the work which pits had e e 426 early bibliographies before him here, but the mention a little farther on of a manuscript at 'st. benedict's, cambridge' (still existing at corpus christi college), makes one wonder if he is here referring to the work 'de lapsi reparacione et redempcione hominis' in corpus christi coll. camb. 63. oudin cites merton ms. 242 as the work in question, but this volume contains no work with this title. the piece in the corpus ms. is otherwise called 'electuarium', and dr. james in his catalogue ascribes it to 'radulphus de londonia' and cites another copy. (4) 'scalam mundi. libr. j. ms. cantabrigiae in collegio s. benedicti.' there is a work of this title in corpus christi coll. camb. 194, but it is a chronicle having no possible relation to rolle, and giving no sign that it was ever associated with him. it is preceded, however, by a quotation from rolle with his name (v. supra, p. 401), and pits has almost certainly derived his attribution from this fact. (5) 'formulam componendi sermonem. libr. j. ms. in bibliotheca lumleiana.' this is probably the forma praedicandi, beginning 'predicatio est thematis assumptio', which is found in roy. 5 c. iii, ff. 317-17, 15th cent., where it directly follows rolle's incendium, the explicit of which has given his name. this is a manuscript still marked 'lumley'. no sign of authorship appears with the forma, and it is perhaps a reference to pits which prompted casley in his catalogue of the royal mss. (1734) to say of this item: 'dicitur esse ejusdem ricardi.' the same work follows the incendium also in sloane 2275, and the identity of the explicit of the latter in the two manuscripts makes it probable that one is a copy of the other. the forma occurs between rolle's job and his incendium in a manuscript sold at sotheby's mar. 1, 1921 (lot 309), and now in the possession of sir r. l. harmsworth. the colourless academic character of this short piece makes it difficult to believe that its circulation with rolle's works could imply common authorship. in univ. coll. oxf. 336, f. 237, and bodl. 630 (sum. cat. no. 1953), early 15th cent., the forma occurs alone; the latter was ms. 64 in the brothers' library at syon (given by joanna buklonde, widow of a london fishmonger). henry wharton, appendix to william cave's scriptorum ecclesiae historia, geneva, 1694. wharton takes up rolle's works (secl. wick. 24 a), though without early bibliographies 427 contributing new material. he adds some manuscript references, however. c. oudin, commentarius de scriptoribus ecclesiae antiquis, leipzig, 1722. oudin has evidently used to good purpose the catalogues of manuscripts in english libraries printed at the end of the seventeenth century, for he cites (iii. 927) manuscripts for many of the works. he also cites copies in the french royal library, and in that of the sorbonne, all now in the bibliothèque nationale. he corrects rolle's date from the colophon of the sorbonne ms. he adds one attribution: commendatio castitatis.' beg.: 'cum enim secundum beatum hieronymum.' this piece he found in the sorbonne ms. containing other works of rolle's. it is probably the speculum b. m. virginis, beginning: 'quoniam, ut ait hieronymus . . .', which is sometimes ascribed to st. bonaventura, but almost certainly belongs to conrad of saxony (see quarrachi edit., viii, p. cxi, x. 27). thomas tanner, bibliotheca britannico-hibernica, london, 1748. bishop tanner (pp. 374 sq.) quotes entire leland's account of rolle, which he supports by lists of manuscripts of each item in question. the value of his work is often reduced by the fact that he has evidently included many pieces only on the authority of earlier bibliographers, but he often refutes the attribution which he is perpetuating by citing manuscripts which can still be traced and which give no sign of connexion with richard. when he cites volumes in collections such as the worsley or lumley, which have since been dispersed, it is not probable that he found there ascriptions to an author, since these are not present in the still accessible manuscripts which he uses. he brings to light for the first time important material such as the laud prologue to the english psalter, the references to rolle's works in the catalogue of syon monastery, est's legacy of the autograph of the psalter, rolle's office, etc. tanner, more than any other bibliographer, shows a beginning of critical method by noting where the same work as is given to rolle appears with names of other authors as well. he gives no more evidence than the others, however, of ever having read the works that he is treating. it is a sign of his superior scholarship that he adds no attributions positively, but he throws together, in a long note at the end of his account, references to manuscripts which he seems to suggest may contain the works signified by the titles noted by the e e 2 428 early bibliographies early bibliographers which are difficult to identify. he does not assert rolle's authorship for these pieces, but as it were gathers together the raw material for the investigation of the identity of the works in question. his own method is thorough and painstaking. the value of his bibliography has been much under-estimated by horstmann, who condemns him beyond the other bibliographers for baseless attributions (ii. 367); as a matter of fact, many of tanner's ascriptions condemned by horstmann (passim) are copied from bale. joseph ritson, bibliographica poetica, london, 1802. ritson in his account of rolle (pp. 33-7) adds nothing new. a word should be said in regard to works of rolle which appear in the early bibliographies under the name of wyclif. in bale's index (p. 265), under the name of the latter, appear the following: 'commentarios in psalterium, de dilectione, habundantiam li. i. "magnam consolacionis diuine ...". li. i. "in quolibet homine peccatore "." the first item here is probably a wyclifite psalter to which rolle's prologue is attached, as in extant copies (v. supra, p. 176). the second is the form of living; this work exists in a latin translation (supra, p. 262). however, bale almost certainly sometimes cites. latin incipits for english works, and it is possible that he has done so in this case. in tanner notes that a piece beginning contemplatio vel vita contemplativa habet tres partes' is given both to rolle and to wyclif. it is chapter 12 of rolle's emendatio, which in hereford cath. ms. o. i. 1o appears alone, following extracts from the incendium. shrewsbury school ms. it is given its own title in the index. richard's name is included in a large number of continental bibliographies of early date, which derive their facts from the continental editions of his works, generally with some reference to bale's earlier catalogus (since, like that, they put him in the fifteenth century). leland's guess that he belonged to the hermits of st. augustine, which was followed by many later bibliographers, ensured his inclusion in the bibliographies of that order. none of the continental descriptions of his work add to our knowledge of his canon. early bibliographies 429 in conclusion, thomas fuller may be quoted. he says of rolle in his history of the worthies of england (london, 1811, ii. 498): 'he wrot many books of piety, which i prefer before his propheticall predictions, as but a degree above almanack prognostications. he threatened the sins of the nation with future famine, plague, inundations, war, and such generall calamities, from which no land is long free, but subject to them in some proportion. besides, his predictions, if hitting, were heeded; if missing, not marked. however... let him pass for a saint. ... if hampole's doctrine was of men, why was he generally reputed a saint; if from god, why did they not obey him, seeing he spake much against the vitiousness and covetousness of the clergy of that age.' evidently fuller has read a little in rolle's commentaries in the cologne edition, though not enough to note that the ancient hermit uses at times a style somewhat akin to his own. 6 richard ermite' is also included in the english martyrologe, by 'a catholicke priest' (john wilson, s.j.), st. omer, 1608, 2nd edit. (enlarged), 1640 (and 1672). a' counter-poyze', the fierie tryall of gods saints and the detestable ends of popish traytors, was printed at london, 1611 and 1612. in wilson's first edition the' commemoration' of rolle is arbitrarily set at nov. 1, in the later his 'deposition' (a phrase often substituted here for 'commemoration') at jan. 20. this date may represent a tradition as to his translation, which might have been celebrated rather than his death (on st. michael's day, when local cults would be difficult); wilson cites sixtus senensis and 'ms. in coll. angl. duacens.'. conjecture may be mixed with genuine tradition and authentic information in his account of 'blessed richard confessour & ermite, whose singular spirit of piety & deuotion, is left written and manifest to the world by his own workes yet extant. he was first a doctor, and then leauing the world became an eremite, and led a solitary life¹ neere to the forsaid monastery of hampole: to which place he was wont often to repayre, to sing psalmes and hymnes in honour of god, as himselfe testifieth in his workes. and after many spirituall bookes and treatises by him wrytten, full of great sanctity of life and venerable old age, he finally rested in our lord, about the yeare of christ, one thousand three hundred fourty and nyne and was buryed at hampole' (edit. 1608, p. 301). 1 the enlarged edition adds 'in a wood' (cf. the information given by the vienna ms. that rolle lived 'in solitudine campi ', supra, pp. 42-3, infra, p. 511). chapter xvi materials for rolle's biography date of birth innumerable manuscripts fix rolle's death at 1349, and this is the only absolutely sure date that we have in tracing his life. the extraordinary frequency of notes and colophons giving this information probably arises from the agitation occasioned by lollardy; our extant copies of rolle's works all belong to the lollard period, when it was probably safe, where possible, to fix the date of a religious author before the rise of heresy. however, though a motive of policy thus probably dictated the abundant testimony as to the date of rolle's death, there is no reason on that account to doubt its accuracy. to be sure, the valuable marginal notes in the vienna ms. (apparently written in bohemia) state that he died 'citra 1380', but this need not conflict with the usual date, and the notes contain some signal errors (v. supra, p. 43). the only other scribe who gives a variant date assigns the death in one place to 1348, and in another place to 1384 (the latter, no doubt, by an inadvertent transposition, v. supra, p. 371). bale in his catalogus of 1548, for some reason that has never come to light, dates richard at 1430—which is manifestly impossible and it is his authority which is probably the basis for the dates given by some continental bibliographers and editors. leland, however, had correctly given the full dáte (as given in some extant manuscripts), 'anno domini 1349 in festo s. michaelis'. bale in his index and in his catalogus of 1557 has amended his error. all the later english bibliographers agree in the date 1349. the date of rolle's birth, unfortunately, is a matter of conjecture, though we are given clues which must keep us from going far wrong. what seems in any case to be clear is that richard could not have lived to old age. his disciple margaret lived till past 1357, and probably much later (v. infra, p. 508). archdeacon neville, who had maintained him at oxford-whence he returned by the age of eighteen-outlived him by thirteen years; and neville could not have lived to extreme old age (v. infra, p. 445). the john de dalton date of birth 431 who was almost certainly rolle's first patron was active in 1334, though the father of sons who were rolle's contemporaries, and almost certainly he was still alive in 1341 (v. infra, p. 450). a person said to have been dalton's elder brother was active till his death in 1350 (infra, p. 451). as horstmann points out (ii, p. v n.), rolle's writings make no reference to his own old age, though the early ones are full of references to his youth. moreover, in his writings he gives indications that point to about 1300 (or slightly earlier) as the approximate year of his birth (v. supra, p. 113). this date would fit the relative dates of his contemporaries, archdeacon neville, john dalton, and margaret kirkeby. birthplace and family our only information as to the place of rolle's 'origin' comes from the office, which, as we have seen, gives it as 'in uilla de thornton eboracensis diocesis' (the bodl. ms. adds 'iuxta pickering' in a hand of c. 1450-75). the lateness of the hand in which this reference to pickering occurs, and its omission from the other manuscripts, seemed to throw doubt on its validity. horstmann (ii, pp. v-vi) accepted the identification with thornton dale (near pickering), though without investigating the question, but strangely enough he accepted bramley's suggestion (p. vi n.) that the estate of dalton where rolle met him was near topcliffe, though this conjecture arose merely from the fact that a dalton was near-and yorkshire contains other townships of that name. bramley's conjecture was further developed: it was suggested that rolle may have been born at thornton-le-street, in the general neighbourhood of topcliffe and dalton (eets. orig. ser., 20, p. vi n., camb. hist. eng. lit., ii. 44).¹ mr. william brown, to whom mr. g. g. coulton was kind enough to refer me, pointed out that the existence of a dalton near 1 while this book has been at press a volume by miss g. e. hodgson has come out, entitled the sanity of mysticism, a study of richard rolle (for two volumes of modernized texts of middle-english treatises partly drawn from rolle's writings brought out earlier by miss hodgson, v. supra, pp. 17-18). in her last work miss hodgson devotes a long chapter to 'the scenes of rolle's birth and early life', in which she gives many details from mr. turton's records of pickering—especially incidents of the forest eyre of 1334, etc. it is her declared intention, in so doing, to trace rolle's 'response to his wild environment' (p. 39). in the course of turning over mr. turton's records she has come upon john de dalton of pickering, but she refuses to identify him with rolle's patron of the same name. following horstmann, etc., she accepts thornton dale as his birthplace, but believes that, when he left home, his stopping-place is generally thought to have been topcliffe' (p. 80, cf. also 432 materials for rolle's biography thornton and topcliffe was of no significance in the present case, since no one of the name of dalton was resident there in rolle's early years.¹ since that time miss clay (p. 134 n.) has pointed out that the name john de dalton (in two generations) is found at kirkby misperton near pickering, c. 1371, and my later researches show that these persons must belong to the family of rolle's first patron. the name of the hermit can also probably be connected with the village of thornton dale. richard's surname, which is given in the office, is also supplied by eight manuscripts, one early edition, and one will. unfortunately, mr. turton, in editing the pickering records, has omitted many lists of names (ii, p. xxxiii), among which the name of rolle's family might be expected to occur. horstmann says that 'the name, probably norman, is not found in northern registers of the time' (ii, p. v, n. 2), and mr. william brown (who had edited more yorkshire documents than any one else) when he first wrote to me said that he had never met 'rolle' in the county. it does not occur in kirkby's inquest (1284-8, ss., 49). the north riding is not represented in the existing records of the lay subsidy of a ninth granted in 1297 (yas. rec. ser., 16), but we have the complete documents of the north riding for the fifteenth granted in the spring of 1300-1 (yas. rec. ser., 21). this subsidy was contributed to even by some of the very poor (having no more than half-a-crown's worth of property all told), and the editor (mr. william brown) says that 'the number of persons in the humbler ranks of life mentioned in this roll makes the return almost as full as a poll-tax' (p. xv). here our only mention of a name resembling rolle's is of one 'hugo rol', who contributed xvijd at slingsby (perhaps a dozen miles to the south-west of pp. 57, 107). she therefore writes: 'whatever sympathy one may come to feel with john de dalton, as one follows through the coucher book his chequered career... it still does not seem possible that he could have been the "squire" near topcliffe, the friend of william and patron of william's son, richard rolle. there was a small place called dalton quite close to topcliffe: its squire and rolle's may have been another man of the same name' (p. 28). 'rolle's father was, we know, on friendly terms with john de dalton, the squire living near topcliffe' (p. 65). v. supra, p. 368, for an 'additional note' added while the present volume was at press. 1 he later found a 'ranulph de dalton' in dalton in 1314-15 (v. cal. ing. p. m., v. 322). 2 the manuscripts are: bodl. 66; e mus. 232; rawl. a. 389; univ. coll. oxf. 56; camb. univ. add. 3042; trin. coll. dublin 154; longleat 32; douay 396. see also supra, pp. 10, 415. two manuscripts and the will connect the name with the same work (the english meditations on the passion). birthplace and family 433 pickering. hugo rol alienated his messuage in slingsby in mortmain to the prior and convent of malton in 1316 (pat. rolls, may 17, 1316). this does not look as if he had descendants. there are no lay subsidy records for the reign of edward ii, but in that for i edward iii (1327), though no rolle appears in the return for thornton dale, there is a gap where has been a name beginning with 'w' (turton, iv. 140). in the subsidy roll of 1333 thornton is complete, and here the only 'william' is simply designated as 'the son of robert' (ibid., p. 156). this is not conclusive proof that a william rolle did not figure in the earlier return, however; for horstmann has pointed out (ii, p. xxv, n. 1) that rolle's parents seem to have been dead by the time he wrote the job (that is, when he was probably about thirty, which, if he were born about 1300, would fall between the dates of the two subsidies). the job contains the following: '[quasi putredo consumendus sum.. .] hanc conditionem omnes homines habent. non enim haec necesse est exponere, quae omnes iam in visu parentum didecere (sic): ossa viderunt mortuorum, vsque ad putredinem consumpta cognoscunt corpora parentum' (fol. cv). whether hugo rol was nearly connected with the hermit or not, there is at least a strong chance that he also took his origin' from thornton dale. the principal landowners in slingsby were the de wyvilles, lords of slingsby castle, and they at the time of kirkby's inquest owned land in thornton dale. their claim to this land was opposed by the abbot of rievaulx, and an action was brought on this subject in 1278-9.2 the abbot made the claim that the land in question was part of the 'waste below pickering' granted to rievaulx by henry ii. a document of c. 11603 is cited in this connexion, which gives the boundaries of this waste in thornton dale (pp. 135 sq.). one of the jury whose names are appended is 'ricardus rollevillain'. there can be little doubt that this name indicates a 'richard rolle, villein,' living in thornton dale nearly a hundred and fifty years before the birth of the hermit richard. the extreme rarity of the name rolle' in medieval yorkshire would make it likely that this person was the ancestor both of hugo rol (who may have " 1 the poem on the evil times of edward ii complains because the king takes money from such poor persons (camden soc., 6, p. 337). mr. brown in editing the subsidy, however, notes that in practice the very poor were sometimes passed over (p. xv). yas. rec. ser., 21, p. 46 n., ss., 83, pp. 402-3. this date was supplied by professor hamilton thompson from the comparison of dates of other related charters (cf. ibid., pp. 51, 185-8). 434 materials for rolle's biography followed the wyvilles to slingsby, when the suit went against them and they lost their land in thornton) and of the hermit richard rolle, whom good medieval evidence associates with this village. some objections to this interpretation of the evidence in question should be noted. the rievaulx chartulary gives the name clearly as 'ric. rolleuilain' (b. mus. cotton jul. d. i, f. 129b), but in the copy of the same charter given in the lancaster coucher book the same name is given as 'ricardus filius rollemylans'. this difficult form can be discarded, for the editor points out the great carelessness of the scribe evident throughout the volume (ii, pp. xxx, xxxiii). in any case this scribe could not have had access to the original charter as the rievaulx scribe must have had. it might appear that the name found in the rievaulx chartulary was a surname. as professor hamilton thompson points out to me, a 'stephanus manievilain' also witnesses the document in question, and a family of this surname survived in thornton dale to the fourteenth century (v. rievaulx chartulary, passim). moreover, in the same chartulary (p. 51) is mentioned a dean of york whose surname is botevilein or butevilein'. such analogies may bring some uncertainty to the interpretation of 'rollevillain' in the document in question, but the fact that this form (though analogous to the others) is never registered elsewhere as a surname would seem to make the interpretation here proposed not unlikely. professor hamilton thompson points out that a villein probably could not witness a charter, which might make it difficult to interpret 'rollevillain' in the present case as a sign of social condition rather than a name. however, the charter relating to thornton is a sort of 'perambulation', where testimony is given as to boundaries. for such a purpose, villeins who had worked on the land all their lives would be the most suitable witnesses. altogether, whatever the significance of the strange 'rollevillain', the richard rolle connected with thornton c. 1300 is likely to be the modern representative of the 'ricardus rollevillain' in the same village a hundred and fifty years earlier, and hugo rol, whom we find c. 1300 in the village of the 1 turton, iv. 120-1. this might be interpreted as a corruption of ‘filius rolle villani' or 'rollemylans' might be a personal name. both explanations are difficult. bardsley (english surnames, 2nd edit., london, 1875) cites among surnames which originated in nicknames 'beauvileyns' and 'mangevileyns', both of which are obsolete (p. 507). lower (english surnames, 4th edit., london, 1875) notes that 'butvillaine' became in some cases 'butwilliam', 'boutevilein', 'butvelin', and 'butlin' (ii. 35). neither volume notes 'rollevillain'. birthplace and family 435 former owners of the very piece of land in question c. 1160, may well have belonged to the same family. perhaps the omission of rolle's father from the records of 1284 and 1301 means that at those dates he was as poor as the poorest villein. though, as we have seen, we find no record of the hermit's father, william rolle, in thornton dale, mr. william brown pointed out to me the following entries in the unpublished portion of the lay subsidy of 1327: p. r. o. ex. lay subsidies 211. 1 edward iii. i 6 (m. 11) ayhescoh' et leming' (aiskew and leeming near bedale). de willelmo roule ijs. (m. 13) jafford (yafforth, two miles west of northallerton). de willelmo rolle ixd. the same names reappear in the lay subsidy of 1333, as follows: p. r. o. ex. lay subsidies (m. 2d) aykescogh. 211 7a 6 edward iii. de willelmo roule vis. (m. 6d) jafford. de willelmo rolle ij". it is very possible that one of the persons appearing in the records just quoted was the father of richard rolle, or (if the reference from the job already quoted be considered valid evidence for his father's death before this time) it may be his brother. as a matter of fact the office does not explicitly tell us that rolle was born at thornton: it says that he received the origin of his propagation' there, and a similar phrase ('originem duxit') used by leland in connexion with the village of wycliffe and the reformer of the same name, is interpreted as meaning only that wyclif's family took their origin there, since elsewhere leland says that he was born' at a village that has been identified as hipswell, near richmond.' it hardly seems possible that rolle's family could have been many years out of thornton at the time when he became a hermit-certainly not long enough for him to have been born elsewhere-for, as we shall see, in that case it would be unlikely that his father should be so well known as he seems to have been to the john dalton who was almost certainly a chief official of pickering c. 1306-22. it is however possible that they moved from thornton to richmondshire in rolle's boyhood, and that when he became a hermit he started from 1 see d. n. b., art. wycliffe, eets., orig. ser., 54. 436 materials for rolle's biography the new family home for the region of the old, which he would thus have known well to be suitable for a hermit. it has been said that until the enclosures act it was even in modern times 'one of the most extensive stretches of uninhabited country in england'.' in rolle's time not only the high moors to the north of pickering but also the marshes to the south must have surrounded it with lonely places. it is a strong argument in favour of the conjecture that when he ran away from home at eighteen (or thereabouts) he started from richmondshire, that only thus (it would seem) he would effectually be 'fleeing from friends and acquaintances' as the office tells us that he was. pickering, the home of john de dalton, lay thirty or forty miles to the east of the district of aiskew and yafforth, but both places where we know that dalton owned land were not more than four or five miles from thornton dale, and it would seem that rolle's father (if living in that village) could readily find him in the neighbourhood of either and defeat his purpose. moreover, it may be that when after many tribulations richard went to richmondshire, he was returning to the neighbourhood of his family there. it is perhaps noteworthy that both of the villages in question must be about twelve or fifteen miles from east layton, where his disciple margaret was enclosed when he lived twelve miles from her cell, and aiskew cannot be more than five miles from ainderby where she was later transferred, and yafforth no more than two. perhaps rolle's movements and margaret's depended on old rolle family friends. ments. yafforth is likely to have been the home of rolle's family if either entry in the subsidy of 1327 refers to his father. since the record of a name in this subsidy (being a tax on personalty) meant that the holder kept an actual establishment in the village in question, two separate persons are likely to be indicated by the entries, for persons of the narrow means implied are not likely to have kept two establishthe 'william rolle' at yafforth spelt his name exactly as did richard's father, and as the hermit's is uniformly spelt. 'william roule' spelt his in a way that may indicate another origin of higher social condition (as would agree with his larger fortune). in view of the extreme rarity of names anything like this in medieval yorkshire it is likely that the roule in aiskew of 1327 belonged to the same family as the 'robert de roule' who was living in 1295, having 1 g. home, evolution of an english town (pickering), london, 1905, p. 266. birthplace and family 437 1 married a granddaughter of the eskelby family of exelby, parish of burneston, only about two miles south of aiskew. the history of exelby and that of leeming ... are very closely interwoven ' (v.c.h., n.r. ii. 358). it is possible that robert roule came from lincolnshire. as we have seen, no rolles or roules appear in 1301 in aiskew or yafforth (for which the lay subsidy rolls of that date are complete); the blood of one or both families, however, seems to have continued in the neighbourhood after the time in question. in 1381 one 'robert rolle of gillyng' (ten or fifteen miles to the north) was sued for cutting down trees at aske near richmond. in 1517 one 'william roolle of hakford' (not more than three miles from aiskew and five from yafforth) appears in legal documents. what is very tantalizing is that one 'richard, son of nicholas rolle' is a plaintiff in a plea of trespass in 1349 in a coram rege roll, and though the case is clearly marked co. lincs.' it is a strange coincidence that the case immediately preceding concerns the hamlet of yafforth, co. yorks. we may wonder whether some error has crept in at this point, in view of the fact that a william rolle lived at yafforth just before 1349, and we know that one branch at least of this very rare family alternated the name william with the name richard. if both the two names were to be connected with the rolles of yafforth, we should be given fair evidence for believing that this was the family of the hermit. some general information as to persons named rolle should be given in order to test the comparative value of the evidence just 1 this person is identified with the 'robert de rowelle' in whose inquest post mortem of 1303 we read that his lands are confiscated by reason of the felony of his son john, an outlaw in co. lincs. (yaj. x. 273). the richmondshire family of rollos, who had also had their lands confiscated, are here cited as probably being of the same stock, but we shall see that the rollos' confiscation took place much earlier and that there is no reason to connect the two families (v. infra, p. 440). in 1268 three priests surnamed 'de role' were ordained by the archbishop of york from the diocese of lincoln 'de gratia': 'rog. de role, ivo de eadem... will. de role' (ss., 109, p. 193).—the spelling roule', 'rowelle' may suggest a derivation from 'rothwell' (co. yorks, near leeds, and co. lincs.). the name spelt in this way seems to have persisted near thirsk (v. infra, p. 439), and 'rowell' may be seen to-day among the names on the war memorial of the great war in the churchyard of ainderby steeple. miss joan wake points out to me that the village of rothwell in northants is locally pronounced' rowell '. 6 2 cited in plantagenet harrison's extracts from the de banco rolls, vol. v, p. r. o. 3 yaj. xii. 252. cited by plantagenet harrison, extracts from the coram rege rolls, vol. xv (p. r. o.), roll 85, trin. 22 edward iii, m. 70. 438 materials for rolle's biography presented. it is said (lower, i. 163) that this surname is derived from the personal name 'raoul' (ralph), which would naturally give a wider range of origin than a place-name. as a matter of fact, as late as the time of dunbar we find 'roull' for ralph.' the only rolles who reach the heraldic records are those of oxfordshire and of devon, who, however, do not appear till the beginning of the seventeenth century. their early history is not recorded, but it is a sign of the confused spelling of this surname that (late as the records in this case are) we find the forms rowles, roll, rolle, and rolles, all applied to the same family. the founder of the oxfordshire family (c. 1600) was richard rowles, and 'richard' was passed on to his descendants (harl. soc., 5, p. 328). in the index of early persons in the library of the society of genealogists in london, the spellings are even more various (though no 'rollevillain' appears). not a single yorkshire or northern person of the name is cited. most of the entries concern the extreme south, but there is also a norfolk family. from the british museum catalogue of printed books we learn that persons named 'rolle' have written in france, germany, and poland, as well as in england. a fairly exhaustive examination of the accessible yorkshire records adds no persons named rolle from the north riding to those already cited, and from the rest of yorkshire only the following: east riding. henry roll (or rolle) was master of a ship, sailing from hull 1391-2 (early yorkshire woollen trade, yas. rec. ser., 64, passim). in c. 1182 william de rule, parson of cotyngham and of 'rule', built at his own expense the refectory of meaux abbey; he was apparently the son of a father of the same name (rs., 43, i. 217, 233). this name may be derived from the parish of rowley, about eight miles from hull, and the same village probably gave the name to william de roulee of hull, whose inquest post mortem of 1294 still exists.3 c 1 lament for the death of the makkaris, quoted by h. harrison, surnames of the united kingdom, london, 1918, ii. in 1650' roule' alternates with rawling' (v. p. 439, n. 2). 2 see harl. soc., 5, p. 328; 8, p. 30; 9, p. 290; 17, p. 214. we have also william de roulay (or reulay), to whom a york scribe bequeathed twelve arrows and a bow in 1391 (te. i. 145). the coucher book of selby abbey, c. 1263, gives as a witness william de roleya (yas. rec. ser., 13, p. 253). these names would of course all give 'rowley' in modern times. adam de roule is a scot, arrested by john de dalton dec. 28, 1320 (close rolls). birthplace and family 439 west riding. in 1309 alice rolle of west bretton (perhaps fifteen miles from hampole) is accused of theft (yas. rec. ser., 36, p. 212). this is perhaps the 'alice le roller' who was fined 2d. at wakefield in 1313 (ibid., 57, p. 4). in 1560 richard rolles bought and in 1576 sold the rectory and other property at 'waddisworth', which is probably wadworth, south of doncaster, again near hampole.¹ robert rouel brought a suit of 'mort d'ancestre' in 1325 concerning land in 'blusseburn' (sic, probably glusburn between skipton and keighley, since the other party to the suit lived in cononley, which is near) (p. r. o. assize roll 1119, 18 edward ii, m. 2). here the christian name and the spelling of the surname may suggest a connexion with the family at aiskew (which cannot be more than forty miles distant). an examination of the volumes of the yorkshire parish register society shows the rarity of the name rolle in post-medieval york. shire. it is only found in the following instances: a martha role is cited from wath-upon-dearne (about ten miles from hampole) (vol. 14, p. 255); numerous persons named rowell, rouel, rouill, rowil, rowill, from thirsk, about ten miles from yafforth and aiskew (vol. 42). the facts just enumerated show the rarity of the name rolle in medieval yorkshire, and suggest that the evidence connecting this name with thornton dale is not to be lightly discarded. no other place can offer a better claim to being the family home of the hermit, nor is any other person so likely to have belonged to his family as the william rolle of yafforth. the persistence of the names richard and william rolle in yorkshire in the sixteenth century suggests that the family of the hermit did not die out.² 1 yas. rec. ser., 2, p. 242; 5, p. 106. no other parish in yorkshire of a similar name has a church, and this town is elsewhere cited under a spelling giving the medial 's' (see ss., 49, p. 532). 2 in 1310 richard rolle was one of many (headed by the abbot of bury st. edmunds) who were accused of impounding cattle in suffolk (pat. rolls, june 16, 1310): at this early period it is singular to find the hermit's name thus exactly repeated. richard rolle is one of those to whom a cellar and a loft in sussex were bequeathed in 1500 (cat. ancient deeds, iii. 35). in 1650 a reader in a chapel-of-ease in lancashire (ulverston) is sir richard roule (or rawling) (v. c. h. lancs. viii. 369, et n.). the index of early persons in the library of the society of genealogists in london cites six other persons of names similar to richard rolle', as well as dozens named william (by far the commonest christian name found with this surname). 440 materials for rolle's biography the continuity of christian names found with the rolle surname might suggest a common origin for the family, and in this connexion it is worth noting that a great yorkshire twelfthand thirteenthcentury family bore a surname which (judging from the variation of spelling actually found) might be corrupted into 'rolle'. we find, during its entire life in the county (four generations), only richards and williams in the great norman family of de rollos, who acquired by marriage soon after the conquest eight manors in richmondshire and thirteen knight's fees in yorkshire. their estates lay in part immediately adjacent to the part of richmondshire where we find the name rolle in the fourteenth century, but they seem to have held nothing near pickering. the first of the name was william, whose son richard lost the estates under stephen for taking the part of the empress, but recovered them under henry ii. his heir was also richard, whose son william finally lost them for good under john. it is uncertain whether it is the first william or his greatgrandson of the same name who is referred to as 'william de roulous, a stranger', who held some of the richmondshire lands of the rollos.' it must be the second richard who is referred to as 'richard rolous' in 1184.2 it is hard to tell whether this family ever actually lived in yorkshire; the writer in the victoria county history (n.r., i. 129) believes that they returned to normandy in the reign of king john, when their english lands were forfeited. in 1207 one robert cotele (grandson of the second richard) sought to regain them, but it is found that william left no lawful heirs. 3 at this time, english surnames had hardly become established. we can find a richard in sandal near hampole in the thirteenth century who is at various times known by three surnames—his father's (butler), his mother's (savile, which is generally given to all her children), and his own patronymic (son of hugh). as late as 1329 we find a father and son appearing in a yorkshire fine with 1 yas. rec. ser., 12, p. 266. the descent of the rollos and their estates is given by p. harrison, history of yorkshire (gilling west), london, 1879, p. 74. r. gale, richmond, london, 1722, pp. 21, 23. there is confusion about 3 v. c. h., ibid., pp. 61, 164, 233, harrison, p. 74. this family, for in the red book of the exchequer 'ricardus de roules' as late as 1211-12 is said to hold six and a half knight's fees in the honour of richmond (rs., 99, p. 587). a nephew arnold appears as a benefactor to easby abbey with richard de rollos (harrison, p. 61). perhaps the ' radulphus de rolliaco' or 'radulphus de rolli', who was an early benefactor of holy trinity priory at york, belonged to this family (dugdale, monasticon, iv. 682-3). yas. rec. ser., 30, p. 404; cf. pp. 401, 446. birthplace and family 441 different surnames,' according to the property which they held, and surnames are still taken from offices.2 in several of the noblest families of yorkshire the patronymics which were to be their surnames were first assumed at this period, and in some noble families of the realm in the late thirteenth century the patronymic still changed with every generation. under these circumstances the persistence in yorkshire during a long period of the christian names william and richard with the surname rolle (with slight variations) is noteworthy, and might suggest that somehow the later humble persons named william or richard rolle may have derived their singularly stable surnames from the great yorkshire family de rollos, possibly by illegitimate descent, or because they had been serfs of the rollos. a family who had suffered a confiscation of estates every other generation might find it hard to provide for their younger sons, and it might even be that the rolles of humble position belonged to the legitimate line. any conjecture, however, must be adjusted to the fact that an ancestor of 'rolles' probably lived in thornton dale c. 1160 under the name 'richard rollevillain'. this person would be a contemporary of the two great lords richard de rollos. 1 yas. rec. ser., 42, p. xix. the sir robert de dalton, who was probably brother of rolle's patron, once seems to appear as 'robert de bispham' (from his estate. v. c. h., lancs. vi. 101, n. 1). 2 in 1339 the 'bedern butler of beverley' (a rich corrody), terms himself 'johannes le boteller' (ss., 108, p. 130). long before this time the continuity of the title 'butler' with the sandal family (v. supra) would seem to indicate a surname. 3 the first of the lords of ravensworth to take the name fitz hugh was rolle's contemporary (d. 1356). see v. c. h., n.r. i. 89. who was the first of the lords of sprotborough (founders of hampole) to take the surname fitzwilliam is hard to determine, for they were all (during the fourteenth century) called william. the lords of middleham (from whom thomas neville's father inherited) never had a surname (yaj. xxv. 276). the richard fitzjohn who is said to have been overlord of skelbroke, near hampole, was the son of john fitz peter or fitzpiers, alias fitzgeoffrey, chief justice of england (t. d. whitaker, craven, 3rd edit., london, 1878, p. 312). v. infra, p. 510. the lincolnshire roules already cited may come from the same source, for professor hamilton thompson informs me that richard de rulos' owned 'property in s. lincolnshire in the twelfth century, and an effigy of a knight in the church at st. james deeping is traditionally (though not very probably) supposed to be his'. we may have the same family here, but in a twelfth-century charter in the possession of mr. stopford sackville, of drayton house, northants (photograph no. 99 in the series made from drayton charters for the northamptonshire record society), his name is 'de rodlos'. his daughter adelina grants this charter (wife of baldwin wake). in kingsley's hereward the wake he appears as the husband of hereward's granddaughter. f f 442 materials for rolle's biography as we have seen, part, if not all, of the hermit's early life is likely to have been spent in thornton dale. it is therefore of interest to know that in 1335, when the inquest was held on the estate of william latimer, lord of the manor of thornton, it was found that ' in the manor there is a chief messuage worth in garden produce and herbage 13s 4d', arable lands and meadows, a water-mill, a fullingmill, a common oven. the land is held by 'tenants-at-will, freeholders, bondmen, and cottars' (turton, ii. 273). 'thorntondale wood' is mentioned (1335, ibid. iv. 42), which (if the rolles were living in thornton at the time) may have been the 'nemus uicinum' where rolle met his sister. we are also told that at thornton every year the abbot of whitby delivered three thousand red herrings to the master of the hospital of st. peter's at york.¹ the lords of the manor held a court in thornton, a market, and (twice a year) a fair. the modern village of thornton is sometimes called 'the prettiest village in yorkshire'. a very rapid stream, flowing over stones, runs alongside the village street (and in medieval times probably turned the water-mill and fulling-mill already mentioned). at the lower end, the hall flanks it on one side and a picturesque range of almshouses on the other. the stream comes curving down into the village-again past picturesque buildings, with bridges leading to some houses-from the high wooded moors which closely overhang the settlement at the back. the appearance of the stream and moors can hardly have changed since rolle's time, and a short distance up the course of the stream, on the moor, is a very primitive small church. it would be of interest if we could know to which of the classes of tenants in thornton william rolle belonged during his residence there. it has been taken for granted that he was, according to the cambridge history of english literature (ii. 44), 'a man of some substance'; to use horstmann's words, 'apparently of respectable position, being called an intimate friend of john de dalton (iste 1 g. young, hist. of whitby and streonashalh abbeys, whitby, 1817, i. 333. this custom began in 1225. yas. rec. ser., 39, p. 170, ss., 49, p. 147; in the records 'alan of thornton' and his descendants constantly reappear (turton, passim, etc.). mrs. richard hill, whose husband's family have been lords of the manor of thornton since the seventeenth century, and miss ethel priestman, whose family have been there very long, have both been kind enough to write to me about any possible records of the family of rolle in thornton. none seem to be forthcoming, though miss priestman tells me that the late joshua rowntree, whose mother was a priestman, and who was a keen antiquary, had all the family deeds searched for the purpose. birthplace and family 443 armiger patrem suum veluti sibi familiarem grata affectione diligebat)' (ii, p. v). in the last edition of the office these words led the editor to suppose the rolles to have 'belonged to the squire class' (p. 5); here this sentence appears without the 'sibi' (as 'patrem suum ueluti familiarem '). these words do not seem unequivocally to bear the meaning assigned to them. familiaris' is the usual term for members of the household of the great, from the king's household down.' john dalton, whom we suppose to have been rolle's first patron, was 'familiaris' of earl thomas (v. infra, p. 455); rolle's father may have borne the same relation to dalton. the phrase is used earlier in the office in the technical meaning; we are told that 'familiares de domo armigeri' appeared in church with dalton's wife. however, it is also used somewhat in the sense of 'friend', heretofore ascribed to it in this passage, when we are told that richard was accustomed to be 'multum familiaris' to recluses. it it perhaps more likely that in the instance under discussion it bears the usual almost technical meaning of a 'member of the household'. we have seen that though dalton has a special affection for the father he does not recognize the son, which would seem to imply an official connexion (possibly a past one, if the rolles had moved to yafforth). we are told that richard was sent to learn his letters 'de industria parentum', which might suggest narrow means, and working people; though an idiom, 'de industria', is in question, the meaning here is probably nearly literal-' by the efforts' (or the intention) of his parents'. we have seen that neither the william rolle nor the william roule of 1327 contributed much to the subsidy-he of yafforth, who was much the poorer, contributed ixd, and hugo rol in slingsby in 1301 contributed xvijd and owned a messuage there. these would be the kind of small householders who (as we shall see) must have been employed in large numbers by john dalton (for the first quarter of the fourteenth century probably the largest employer of labour in the neighbourhood of pickering). these would be people who might by the effort of their industry set a promising son to learning. we find a century before this time the case of a yorkshire serf whose son is magister' (chronicles of meaux, ii. 34), and there would certainly be nothing improbable, therefore, in a small freeholder or tenant sending his son to school, ( 1 see for the king's household t. f. tout, chapters in the administrative history of mediaeval england, manchester, 1920, ii, passim. this translation (suggested by mr. herbert) is also given by miss comper (p. xlv). f f 2 444 materials for rolle's biography even supposing that he may have been descended from villeins a century earlier, and still very poor through his early years, as it is possible that william rolle may have been. we have no clue as to where richard rolle was sent for his first schooling. schools were at this time flourishing at york and beverley, but there were doubtless others springing up here and there in the county: unlicensed competitive schools at kelk and dalton near beverley were censured in 1304-6.¹ thomas de neville, rolle's patron at the university it is possible that richard was brought to the notice of thomas de neville through his schoolmaster or some patron of his family. he gives the signs of such precocity as is likely to have made an immediate impression at school. since, however, neville belonged to a great family holding estates all over the north, he may have heard of the boy through his kinsfolk and a visit to a country estate rather than through ecclesiastical connexions. as a matter of fact, his family were lords of snape and well, about fifteen miles from yafforth and half that distance from aiskew (v. c. h., n.r. i. 351). as we have seen, the age of thomas neville, who maintained rolle at oxford, is one of the determining factors for rolle's own age, since he lived till 1362, thirteen years after rolle's death, though obviously he must have been the senior of his protégé. his will is in print (te. i. 74). thomas was so highly born that all sorts of privileges were possible in his career, and we know that his twin nephews, his namesake thomas, and alexander (afterwards archbishop of york), were (in 1351) by papal dispensation beneficed at fifteen, and allowed to become pluralists at nineteen (papal petitions, i. 214). we may therefore suppose that rolle's patron began his professional career in his early teens, and was perhaps only a few years older than the boy whom he assisted at oxford. dr. rashdall has reminded us that it may be laid down as a general principle in all spheres of medieval life that rich and noble persons enjoyed in practice exceptional privileges'. robert de sorbonne, he says, 'tells us that many magnates were licensed without any examination at all' (p. 457). twenty was recorded as the minimum age for mastership, and the full course in the arts was seven years. thirteen was therefore the normal age for admission, but at paris 1 a. f. leach, yorks schools, yas. rec. ser., 27, pp. xlii-iv. 2 universities of europe in the middle ages, oxford, 1895, i. 461. rolle's patrons: thomas de neville 445 the regulation is made that 'determining bachelors' must be at least fourteen, which 'distinctly implies that some went up much earlier than this'. many would naturally be older (ii. 604). we are told that the system of teaching was exactly the same in oxford as in paris (ii. 460), and therefore neville may have been a master by twenty, and able to give effectual support to a boy of thirteen just coming up. rolle, as we have seen, probably called himself 'juvenis ' in 1326-7, and for some years later, and is likely to have been born at about the turn of the century or a little earlier. neville was probably born somewhere in the nineties, for the relative ages of his family would seem to forbid his having lived to a great age. though his grandfather died in 1271 (at a very early age), his grandmother lived till 1320. he was the fifth son of his father (ralph, first lord of raby), who did not die till 1331, and his older brother, the second son (ralph, second lord of raby), outlived him by five years, dying in 1367. at most, therefore, when he died in 1362 he is not likely to have been more than about seventy, for even so his brother (who must have been three years older at the very least) would have lived till almost eighty, which was in the middle ages very old. as late as 1360 the latter attended the king to france. as a matter of fact, his birth is conjecturally put in the d. n. b. as 1291, which, if accurate, would put that of thomas after 1294. both dates are more likely to be too early than too late. we should like to know many details of the career of thomas neville, for through them we might learn interesting facts concerning rolle. unfortunately our data as to neville are confused and fragmentary. there was at least one other cleric of the time with his name besides his nephew, whose career runs into his in a puzzling way towards the end of his life: there was also at least one prominent layman of the same name who appears in the records of the same time. in view of the other clerics of the name 1 daniel rowland, family of nevill, london, 1830, table i. 2 de nova villa, h. j. swallow, newcastle, 1885, p. 14. we find the institution as rector of gisburne in craven in 1318 of mr. tho. de nevill', but he was son of sir john (whitaker, craven, p. 46). he was recommended by the pope to the archdeaconry of bedford in 1319 (papal letters, ii. 193). the thomas de neville who was rector of elsdon, dioc. durham, and of ainderby, co. yorks, in 1313, when he tried to become archdeacon at lichfield (reg. palat. dunelm., i. 365, rs., 62), was also older than archdeacon thomas, for he was supported by walter langton, bishop of coventry and lichfield (winchester reg. sandale, hants rec. soc., 318), which suggests that this is the thomas de neville who in 1301 was appointed an attorney for this bishop (pat. rolls, sept. 27, 1301), and who as 'thomas de neville clerk' was granted 446 materials for rolle's biography at the same period, we cannot assign to rolle's patron with certainty any benefices which cannot be connected directly or indirectly with the thomas de neville, archdeacon of durham, whom we know to have been the son of ralph, first lord of raby. even so, the records show that thomas used his high connexions to build up a fortune in the ecclesiastical world. on january 4, 1332–3, 'master thomas de neville, king's clerk', had provision of a canonry of york with expectation of a prebend: he was then rector of stanhope, diocese of durham (which he is to resign), and had a canonry and prebend in the church of chester-le-street (cal. papal letters, ii. 385). the benefices here cited are all mentioned when he had provision of a canonry of beverley, with expectation of a prebend, in july 1333; it is then noted that he is the son of 'ralph de nevile, knight' (ibid., p. 376). the archdeaconry of durham was granted to 'master thomas de nevill, king's clerk', march 31, 1334,' and on february 22, 1335, 'master thomas de nevill, king's clerk ', received the prebend of swerdes in ireland, which was confirmed to him august 25, 1340, out of regard for his brother, and on march 22, 1337, february 8, and april 18, 1340, he was allowed to bring crops from his prebend, in spite of the general prohibition, again at the request of his brother, lord of raby (pat. rolls). he was enfeoffed with land in 1345, again at the request of his brother (reg. pal. dunelm. iv. 340), and in 1340 he was allowed to choose a confessor even in cases reserved by the canon law (ibid. iii. 309). the same year he became master of the hospital of sherburn (ibid., p. 275), and in 1341 he was one of the special commissioners appointed to appropriate a church to balliol college (ibid., p. 397). other beneindemnity for money held for bishop walter (ibid., nov. 15, 1307). the same person is probably the thomas de neville who was one of the many in knapton, co. yorks, etc., who were accused in the patent rolls (c. 1310) of assaults, breaking into a chest of books, etc.; 'henry de lichfield' and bishop walter were also offenders. in 1311 the king sent two writs to the bishop of durham, ordering his clerk, thomas de neville, parson of elsdon, to appear to reply to henry de lichfield for a debt (reg. palat. dunelm. ii. 838, etc.). we seem altogether to have evidence to connect the neville of elsdon with the attorney of 1301. this may be also the thomas de neville who was rector of sheriff hutton in 1274 (charter rolls, march 30, 1310). many references to thomas de neville in the rolls at this period may indicate either a layman or a cleric, but there was a conspicuous layman of the name, for we read in the patent rolls (oct. 30, 1333) that exemption for life was granted at york for thomas de neville from being put on juries, assizes, made mayor, sheriff, coroner, etc. most of my information in this note i owe to professor hamilton thompson. 1 pat. rolls. le neve seems to imply that a foreigner held on to the archdeaconry for some years (fasti, iii. 303). he gives no references. rolle's patrons: thomas de neville 447 fices are on record as having been given to him after this time, but enough have been cited to show the character of his career.¹ it will be seen that none of the documents cited for rolle's patron are dated before 1333, which would again confirm our conjecture that he could not have been born many years before the turn of the century. he is probably the 'thomas de neville, clerk,' who on march 3, 1318, is enfeoffed with land in co. warwick (pat. rolls). at this time rolle was perhaps still under his patronage at oxford. he is probably the 'master thomas de neville, professor of civil law,' who in 1327 was appointed by the archbishop of york on a commission to make an inquisition about a claim to the rectory of fishlake,' and who in 1328 was one of those deputed to make a new taxation of the property of guisbro' priory after the scotch invasion (ss., 89, p. 399). these appointments would suggest that neville was a lawyer of some learning and eminence, and that his high birth, though he used it to advance his fortune, had not made him take his academic honours entirely as sinecures.3 as we have seen, it is very likely that his dependence on a worldly ecclesiastic had something to do in bringing about richard's early and violent revolt against the world, and in instigating the attack on worldly clergymen with which he opened his literary career. it is 1 may 21, 1355, 'master thomas de nevill' is cited with three others (all cherletons), as regents of the university of oxford at the time of the great town and gown riot of st. scholastica's day, 1354 (pat. rolls). the person in question here must be the archdeacon's nephew, who at the time of the riot was twenty-two years of age, and therefore probably a regent. we are told that all masters should be regents (that is, should actually lecture) for two years after gaining their degrees (rashdall, i. 403, ii. 460). 2 yaj. xvii. 415. 'the three titles, master, doctor, professor, were in the middle ages absolutely synonymous' (rashdall, i. 21). 3 the year before his death (1361) he bought (as 'archdeacon of durham') for 200 marks land in masham, with remainder to john boteler of layburn, some clerics, the heirs of the original owners, and those of john (yas. rec. ser., 52, p. 81). boteler was one of the executors of his will (te. i. 74), and was perhaps known to thomas because layburn immediately adjoined the great neville castle of middleham. the list of archdeacon thomas's benefices given by the editor of his will includes some which really belonged to his nephew thomas, as was pointed out to me by professor hamilton thompson. such are the prebend of bole in york, and the rectory of thorpe basset (e.r.). see cal. papal petitions (i. 214, 374-6), and torre's list at york (institution, feb. 20, 1354-5). until professor hamilton thompson discovered that the rector of thorpe basset was the nephew, i had thought that this benefice might have been the means of bringing rolle to the knowledge of neville, for we are told that the church of thornton dale was affiliated to the church of thorpe basset (v. c. h., n.r. ii. 497). 448 materials for rolle's biography also perhaps likely that archdeacon neville took an active part in the effort made to force the young hermit into more conventional ways. richard tells us that those who had been his best friends in secular life were afterwards his worst persecutors (v. supra, pp. 110, 141, 182), and neville was (for one) probably in question. it could hardly have been pleasing to the archdeacon when his one-time protégé condemned vigorously hirdes of haly kirke... that sekis noght bot riches and honurs' (english psalter, p. 283); nunc ubi invenitur vel unus pastor qui quaerat salutem animarum?' (latin psalter, fol. xlv). we do not know when richard was sent to the university, but it seems that he must at some time have been under academic discipline for a considerable period, for, though his method is never scholastic for long, his expositions show learning. the job, which was early, the latin psalter and the short commentaries the pater noster and the apostles' creed (the last three of uncertain date) are especially notable for their occasional careful reasoning on theological subjects. his learning has lately been emphasized by dom noetinger (v. supra, p. 19), who believes that rolle's university training was continued at paris some time before he became a hermit (v. infra, p. 490). it seems possible that he was at oxford as long as four years, for a very uncharacteristic theological argument in his incendium may be an echo of a controversy in the schools in 1314 (v. supra, p. 229). it would be likely that he went up as early as this, for, as we have seen, thirteen was the normal age for admission, and he was born about 1300. a successful academic career seems to be implied in the incendium (cap. 15), which says that when he became a hermit he was flourishing unhappily' (that is, in the worldly sense). an objective reference to the 'scolas disputancium', and to those who had attained there 'nomen magistri', already quoted from the canticles (supra, p. 69), would seem to imply that rolle himself did not attain this honour, in spite of the learning which dom noetinger would take as implying that he had. it may be noted that the office tells us that rolle preached his first sermon as a hermit at the time of the feast of the assumption (august 15), which would fall during the summer vacation of the university. we have therefore no reason to believe that he broke 1 'a date about july 5 or 6 was recognized as the date for the cessatio, and october 10 as the date for the resumpcio magistrorum regencium' (before 1350) (c. e. mallett, history of the university of oxford, london, 1924, i. 151 n.). rolle's patrons: 449 thomas de neville off his university career abruptly. apparently what happened was that he did not return to oxford at the beginning of a new academic year. john de dalton, rolle's first patron after becoming a hermit the name john de dalton is not an uncommon one in the medieval records of yorkshire (county of the 'dales '), where parishes named dalton were naturally frequent. therefore we may say that the identification of the 'servant of the earl of lancaster', who was a person of such authority about pickering in the first quarter of the fourteenth century, with the 'armiger' who was rolle's patron cannot be absolutely final. it rests only on circumstantial evidence, and therefore can never be beyond error. however, it may reasonably be accepted: a careful examination of contemporary records shows no other person of the name who fits the case, and the keeper does fit it excellently. the records give us data as to his life and character, and echoes of both seem to occur in rolle's writings.' the first episode of rolle's life was his connexion with thomas neville, a learned cleric, younger son of the highest aristocracy of the north, who used his family influence to accumulate riches and honours; the next seems to have brought him into contact with the 'hangers-on' of families like the nevilles, with what may be called the nouveaux riches of that day, whose love of worldly goods was even more active than the archdeacon's. the first patron of richard the hermit, john de dalton, the follower of thomas, earl of lancaster, was constable of pickering castle, bailiff of the liberty of pickering, and keeper of pickering forest from at least 1306 (turton, iii, pp. xii-xiii, 94; iv, p. xxxii, etc.). he took part in the rebellion of his master, and on the execution of the latter, march 22, 1322, he was deposed from his offices, and his estates were confiscated. on april 5 henry de percy was 1 there are john daltons mentioned during the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries in the wapentake of gilling west (see the history by p. harrison, pp. 122, 130, 160, and cf. lay subsidy 1300-1, pp. 24, 112). but these belong to a family 'dalton of dalton in broghtonlithe', etc., settled in richmondshire, where rolle evidently did not spend the early years of his hermit's life, since his removal there in his middle period is spoken of as something of an event. john, filius roberti de daltona,' in 1297 was one of the 'taxatores noni denarii de libertate capituli beverlacensis forinseca' (yas. rec. ser., 16, p. 156). since the keeper john does not appear at pickering till 1306, this may refer to him; probably, however, his father's name was richard (v. infra, p. 451). " 450 materials for rolle's biography ordered to deliver 'john de dalton, late servant of thomas, earl of lancaster,' from the prison where henry detained him. this was done at the request of eleanor, mother of henry (under whose husband dalton had besieged gaveston in scarboro'), and of henry himself, who (with his mother) mainprised that he would appear before the king to answer. the new constable of pickering was ordered to deliver to dalton his lands, and his goods and chattels to eleanor and henry. on june 13 he was pardoned, 'at the request of eleanor percy, the king's kinswoman', and on payment of a fine of 100 marks. henry percy was bidden to restore his lands and goods, and the escheator and new constable of pickering castle were ordered not to harass him (fine rolls). there still exists the 'informal warrant for a writ under the great seal' in which edward ii ordered that henry de percy be asked 'qil certifie le rey si il eit arestut johan de dalton e si il soit arestuz le qele larest e et set par cause de son prospre fait ou pur sa aerdaunce as autres e si pur son prospre fet adonkes pur qele fet ', etc.¹ dalton had a speedy release, but many other followers of lancaster lost their lives, and restitution of property was in many cases delayed till the accession of edward iii (parl. rolls, ii. 420–2). in 1323 land in kirkby misperton and knapton (east riding, near scampston) was settled on dalton, with remainder to his sons, john, thomas, and nicholas. in 1324 he bought the manor and other property in kirkby misperton.' the daltons' title to some of this was challenged in a series of lawsuits 1341-6: in the first (1341) on the one side is 'john de dalton, senior', whom we may take to be the ex-keeper (since, as we shall see, he was active in 1334). in 1346 the omission of the 'senior' probably means that his son is in question, and that he himself is dead.' the daltons, in spite of this litigation, held their estates in kirkby misperton at least till the time of queen elizabeth, when they appear in heraldic visitations of yorkshire. we are there told that the john de dalton who was the first of the name at kirkby 1 the baronial opposition to edward ii, j. conway davies, cambridge, 1918, p. 581. 2 p. r. o., feet of fines, yorks, 16 ed. ii, no. 74. ii. 445 n. noted v. c. h., 3 p. r. o., feet of fines, yorks, 17 ed. ii, nos. 63, 93 (v.c.h., ibid.). n.r. 4 see p. r. o. de banco rolls, 14 ed. iii, michaelmas, m. 483; 18 ed. iii, easter, m. 305; 19 ed. iii, michaelmas, m. 333. references from the index of plantagenet harrison (p. r. o.). rolle's patrons: john de dalton 451 misperton was the second son of sir richard dalton of bispham in lancashire, and that his elder brother was sir robert dalton of bispham.' sir robert dalton of lancashire was a person whose name appears in the records even more frequently than does that of 'john dalton of pickering' (to use the title often applied to the keeper in the documents). he is brought into prominence especially because his son (sir john) abducted an heiress in 1347 under peculiarly outrageous circumstances, a notorious escapade which involved the whole dalton family: the fugitive couple came to lancashire, and then went on to yorkshire. both father and son were important soldiers, who received annuities from the exchequer (pat. rolls, nov. 4, 1339), and sir robert was at one time constable of the tower of london (ibid., july 2, 1345); he died in 1350 (v. c. h., ibid.). though we cannot be sure that the two daltons were elder and younger brothers, some relationship is likely, as professor tout has pointed out to me. since robert seems to have been a landed proprietor from youth, he was probably heir of his house. sir robert was (like john) also a servant of the earl of lancaster, and he also had his property confiscated on the fall of the latter. when (more than a year after the fine and release of john dalton) he also paid a hundred marks and was released, one of his mainpernors was 'thomas le taillour of pickeryng' (fine rolls, aug. 17, 1323). another (john de bulmere', also of yorkshire) is probably the local squire of that name who appears often in the pickering records (turton, iv. 130, 213, etc.); only the third comes from dalton's own county, though he is here designated as 'robert de dalton, knight, of the county of lancaster'. he must have had a close relation with pickering of some sort, and his son's flight to yorkshire suggests friends there, if not relatives. it may also be noted that he 1 visitations of yorkshire, 1563-4 (harl. soc., 16, and ss., 133) and 1558 (ss., 122), roger dalton then holding the estate. there is some difficulty about the pedigree, because the heir of the first john dalton of kirkby is given as peter, and, as we have seen, he was john. as a matter of fact, the first john is in ss., 133, put in tempore richardi secundi' (p. 6). in this form of the pedigree the yorkshire family only is given, and the others, which add the lancashire, have probably put the connexion two generations too late (being doubtless misled by three generations of johns into choosing the wrong one as the yorkshire progenitor). 2 on the whole affair see v. c. h., lancs. vi. 101 n. this was evidently one of the great scandals of the day. references abound. 452 materials for rolle's biography held a position similar to john dalton's, for he is probably the robert de dalton who was keeper of the woods and chases of the king in blackburnshire (pat. rolls, april 7, 1326). the identity of his son's name with the keeper's may also indicate the same family. mr. william brown pointed out to me that horstmann and earlier writers were wrong in translating 'armiger' as applied to dalton in the narrative of the office as 'sir': it was 'esquire'. in general in the records he appears as the 'familiaris' or 'servant' of the earl of lancaster, or as 'john dalton of pickering' (whereas robert dalton is generally 'sir', or 'knight'). however, it is probably he who heads the 'milites' (i. e. 'knights') after two 'domini' among the witnesses to a charter of 1321 in the chartulary of whitby.' if so, he may have been knighted at the very end of his period of power, but his title does not appear in the records forthcoming from his later years. 6 thus, dalton's lancashire extraction would imply that he began life as a penniless younger son, though of good family (qualified to become an armiger'). rolle's words in the incendium (cap. 15) as to his first patrons would apply well to the daltons: mansi tamen inter eos qui in mundanis floruerunt' (p. 187). such a reference would seem to imply newly won riches, and it is evident that the money with which dalton set himself up as a country squire on his fall from power must have come from the spoils of office. this supposition is supported by an ancient petition' (c. 1323-7) which has already suggested to mr. turton that dalton came to pickering as a stranger from lancashire (iv, p. xxxii). it gives interesting evidence as to his character and conditions around pickering, and some confirmation of his identification as rolle's patron. i quote mr. turton's translation at length. it begins by recounting that pickering castle, honour, and forest had been part of the crown lands, till given by henry iii, first to simon de montfort, and later to his own son edmund : 'all this time and even before it, from time immemorial, ralph de bolbeck and his ancestors were stewards of the forest and foresters in fee. . . . after the decease of earl edmund he was succeeded by thomas, late earl of lancaster, in whose time many strange things were done by the bailiffs, foresters, and verderers in prejudice of the rights of the crown, such as purprestures and enclosures, contrary to the assizes of the forest, to the great destruction of the game, and to the injury of the king 1 ss., 72, p. 650. the charter concerns the nunnery of wykeham, which was near to his manor of foulbridge. rolle's patrons: john de dalton 453 and those of his subjects who are commoners there. moreover, the bailiffs, foresters, and verderers have committed forfeitures whenever they could against the king, often rebelling against him, and making others who are the king's tenants rebel, to wit, first, when they besieged scarborough castle with three hundred men clad in green jackets, who were arrayed and led by john de dalton, then bailiff of pickering, and kept up the siege until the then earl of cornwall [gaveston], who was there by the king's order, surrendered himself into the hands of the great men who were there. afterwards, by their violence and imprisonment, they made the king's liege subjects go, at their own cost, with the earl of lancaster's people, into the west country. . . . afterwards they [the subjects] have many times been arrayed by the bailiffs, foresters, and verderers to go with force of arms against their liege lord at york at the time of several parliaments, at pontefract when the king was opposed on his own land, at newcastle-on-tyne, when the earl of lancaster rode against the king, and at the siege of the castle of tickhill, but against the enemies of scotland they would not array, or allow to be arrayed, one man. moreover, those that claim to be foresters have felled oaks without number in the time of the earl of lancaster, made arrays and indicted and ruined the people of the country by their power, so that the latter are beggared, while the former are rich in lands, tenements, and fine manors, though, when they came into the country, they had nothing but their bows and arrows and the clothes they walked in' (turton, iii. 242 sq.). there can be no doubt that this petition directly attacked dalton. his is the only name mentioned, and, from at least 1306 to 1322 (we do not know positively when he came into power), that is, for all except possibly the first eight years of earl thomas's possession, john dalton was the person responsible for the castle, honour, and forest of pickering, in connexion with which, in the time of earl thomas', all the abuses here mentioned have occurred. he was therefore responsible, indirectly if not directly, for them all, and we see probably why he was not reinstated after his pardon. the whole country was in a turmoil by reason of misrule, famine, and pestilence, the north had suffered specially because of the invasions of the scots during twelve continuous years,' and pickering (which had bought its safety when the scots nearly captured the king at byland or rievaulx in 1322, and sacked those abbeys, turton, i. 3-4) had suffered in particular because of the rebellion in which its lord, earl thomas, had been executed, and its principal men imprisoned and fined. during the troublous years john dalton had evidently shown violence, avarice, and lack of public spirit, and the hatred which he had accumulated was probably the greater because he was a stranger, 1 chronicles of meaux, ii. 332. 454 materials for rolle's biography and evidently of lower birth than keepers of pickering forest had usually been. henry de percy, one of the greatest landowners in yorkshire, received the succession after dalton (though he did not keep it),' and a later nobleman who held dalton's office was henry fitz hugh, lord of ravensworth, the founder of syon monastery, constable of england at the coronation of henry v, chamberlain of the king's household, treasurer of england, etc.? the extant records would prove that there was some truth in the charges implied against dalton in the petition. as mr. turton remarks he' does not appear to have been a model administrator... there are numerous charges against him. . . of wasting wood, and giving presents to men who were not entitled to it, of hunting game and taking does and hinds' (iv, p. xxxiii). the petition was in all likelihood drawn up after he had made the purchases of land in 1323-4 already mentioned. at his fall he had lost foulbridge (a manor given to him by the earl), as well as his lucrative offices, and paid a large fine, but he evidently did not sell his home in pickering to provide funds for his new property. he appears as one of the largest taxpayers in the 'soke of pickering' on the lay subsidy rolls of 1327 and 1333. only six contributors appear for the 'soke': perhaps it lay at the south-west of the town, by the costa', as the hospital of st. nicholas, the largest contributor from the soke, is said to have done (v. c. h., n.r. ii. 462). the means by which he had amassed his estate can to some extent be judged by suits that were brought against him at pickering at the assizes of 1324 (at which the confiscation of his property was also reviewed, v. infra, pp. 459, 461). at that time he, with others, all 'quondam ministri thome comitis lancastrie de libertate de pykeryng', is accused of taking john crowel and imprisoning him at pickering, and later at clitheroe and at lancaster. dalton, it is said, obliged him 'se teneri predicto comiti in ducentas libras soluendas eidem comiti si contigisset ipsum leuare contra predictum comitem vel ipsum implacitare causa imprisonamenti predicti, et causa imprisonamenti predicti procurata fuit per predictum johannem, eo quod idem johannes cruel noluit permittere quod predictus johannes de daltoun faceret maliciam suam in patria sicut solebat, etc.' 1 probably on account of his youth, see turton, ii, p. xxiv. 2 j. h. wylie, henry v, i. 15, n. 2,; ii. 70. turton, iv. 145, 160. he contributes vs both times. 4 p. r. o. assize roll 1117, m. 1. here and later i quote from a copy made by miss powell. this is evidently one of the cases of taking natives of pickering against their will to the west country, mentioned in the petition. rolle's patrons: john de dalton 455 dalton was on this occasion apparently summoned to york, where he produced a general pardon given him by the king to cover all his offences up to 1319-within which period the deed in question fell. the pardon is granted 'johanni de daltoun familiari dilecti consanguinei et fidelis nostri thome comitis lancastrie'. at the same assizes of pickering dalton is also sued by his neighbours (in the soke of pickering) the hospital of st. nicholas, who say that in 1310 he took ten of their sheep to his house without payment; he made them receive one emma, daughter of john, son of hugh, of pickering, as a permanent inmate without payment 'potestate balliue sue'; he made them exchange a good meadow for a bad one, in consequence of which their animals died the following winter. he urges that all the acts in question were done by their will, in return for favours received, and he is acquitted of the first two charges, but on the third is sent to prison, from which he is released on payment of half a mark to the king.' we do not know the outcome of the complaint made in 1322 by one nicholas au pount de pikering' that in 1319-20 'johan de dalton, jadys baillif le count de lancastre a pikering', ' a la meson le dit johan en preson luy detient', 'par colour de son office' (on the excuse of deficits in his dues to the earl), but in truth 'pur covatise de sa tere', 'par quei qe mesme cesti johan l'avantdit nicholas fist bailler sa terre, avaunt q'il pout de sa gard & de sa presoun aler' (parl. rolls, i. 399 sq., turton, iii. 240). it has already been remarked that richard rolle castigated the rich and avaricious with special bitterness, even for a medieval ascetic. a more particular reference to dalton may lie in the following passage: 'quippe inter cunctos qui mundi uiciis alligantur, de nullis, ut arbitror, tam parua spes est habenda saluacionis, quemadmodum de istis quos uulgus terre perpetratores appellant. cum enim omnem fortitudinem ac iuuentutem suam in alienis possessionibus adipiscendis per fas et per nefas effundunt, postea in senectute sua quasi secure quiescunt, retinentes que illicite habuerunt. sed quia consciencia timida est, nequicia dat testimonium condempnacioni. quando solum ab iniustis exaccionibus cessantes, alienis bonis tamquam sua propria essent uti non formident' (incendium, p. 231). this strangely intrusive passage (unparalleled in rolle) would very well suit the old age of john dalton, who appears to have 'come 1 ibid., m. 10, par. ii. at the same assizes he appears as surety for the two tax-collectors of thornton dale, who are convicted of fraud (ibid., m. 4, par. 3). apparently he often stood by old associates in this way, for he appears frequently as surety in the records printed by turton. 456 materials for rolle's biography into the country''with nothing but his bows and arrows and the clothes he walked in, and become 'rich in lands, tenements, and fine manors'. miss deanesly points out that the strange word 'perpetratores' (the 'terre' should be added, as mr. herbert points out) is translated by misyn in the fifteenth century as 'purchesurs' (the full phrase is 'fals purchesurs '-misyn, p. 68). she interprets this as 'probably those who bought to sell for exorbitant profits, offending against the medieval doctrine of the just price' (p. 43). 'purchaser', however (as miss comper notes, p. 254), in the oxford dictionary is given the meaning, 'one who acquires or aims at acquiring possessions; one who "feathers his nest ",' and 'to purchase' is described as 'to acquire (property, especially land) otherwise than by inheritance or descent'. these meanings perfectly suit the present case, if the passage in question is applied to john dalton, and mr. herbert points out to me that 'purchasers' in medieval latin is 'perquisitores', of which 'perpetratores' may conceivably be a corruption. it is nowhere recorded. 'land-grabbing', according to the ancient petition, was a means used by john dalton and his dependents to build up their fortunes. another is referred to in the incendium (ibid.), as follows: 'potentes autem et diuites seculares qui in alienis possessionibus adquirendis insaciabiliter estuabant, atque ex illorum diuiciis et bonis in terrenam magnitudinem potenciamque mundanam succreuerunt, ementes paruo precio quod secundum transitoriam substanciam erat magni ualoris, aut in officiis regiis seu magnatum constituti, donaria plurima sine merito et remuneracione acceperunt, ut deliciis et uoluptatibus ac honoribus potirentur, non me sed beatum iob audiant. ducunt, inquit, in bonis dies suos, et in puncto ad infernum descendunt' (job xxi. 13). it is worthy of note in connexion with dalton's career that his predecessors, the 'sheriffs and bailiffs of the forest of pickering', between 1243-57 extorted nearly a hundred pounds in bribes from malton priory alone (see v. c. h., yorks, iii. 253). in july 1326 king edward ii sent a writ from the tower granting dalton two oaks from pickering forest of the king's gift (turton, ii. 131, iv. 129). some political overture was probably involved, for it was only about two months later that isabella and mortimer landed from france and received the assistance of henry of lancaster. dalton evidently did not seriously implicate himself with the old king, for (at the worst moment of edward's captivity) august 5, 1327, he was granted a 'general pardon', on condition of his serving against the scots (pat. rolls). rolle's patrons: john de dalton 457 it was probable that the petition already quoted had some influence in leading up to the great forest eyre held in pickering in 1334, when the misdemeanours against forest law of the whole district during a generation were brought to justice, and the highest nobles (such as henry percy) and ecclesiastics (such as the abbot of rievaulx) were found guilty, along with dozens of lesser persons (v. turton, passim). this great occasion in a sense brought at last to an end a significant epoch in the history of pickering, that is, the period when under the rule of earl thomas, even more than other parts of england, it was a hotbed of misrule, political intrigue, and suffering of far-reaching consequences. john dalton, as a protagonist in the drama, attended the eyre with his rolls of office, and his evidence (as well as that of his clerk for fifteen years, roger long) gives picturesque illustration of the lighter side of the politics of the time. an elaborate organization of foresters, verderers, regarders, and agisters supplied the earl with resources with which (we may guess) to encourage political projects. mr. turton (ii, p. xviii) has already wondered what was the effect of the venison sent by dalton for lancaster to the parliament sitting at york in 1314. fourteen harts (and much else) were sent for several years to the abbot of st. mary's, york, there were also gifts to the bishop of ely and other ecclesiastics. dalton accounts for one hundred and thirty-four harts and one hundred and fifty-eight hinds, bucks, and does, 'not counting five hinds which henry percy took by his leave and three hinds, three calves, two fallow-deer, and two roedeer which he took himself, and gave away as he pleased'; 'when he was hunting game in the forest his gazehounds took two calves and two roedeer and he was not able to rescue them alive; on this point he throws himself on the earl's mercy' (turton, ii. 121, 124). some of the oaks,' which he is accused of taking, he says were old, and he sold them to buy new trees one hundred and ten oaks were used by the earl when residing at the castle. in the end, dalton was convicted of taking twenty oaks, and of carrying to 'kirkby misperton beyond the forest boundaries contrary to the assize of the forest eight cartloads of wood which he claimed as livery wood appurtenant to his freehold in pickering for housebote and haybote' (ibid., p. 137). here we evidently have to do with an offence after 1323, when he bought his property in kirkby misperton. hints of another property perhaps appear in the fact that (as tenant) he is fined for unagisted pigs in fence-month in blansby park (ibid. iii. 52, cf. iv. 46). we probably 1 the forest is oak and ash (turton, i, p. xxxvii). g g 458 materials for rolle's biography have to do, however, with land which could be operated from his freehold in pickering, already mentioned, for blansby park (two miles beyond pickering castle) must have been near enough for animals to be driven to and from pickering for grazing. the question of john dalton's establishments becomes of interest to the present study because when at church near a 'manerium'¹ in his occupation he first met the young hermit richard rolle. it would be of interest to know where this was, and also where he later took the young man under his protection. evidently dalton (unless the confiscation of his property was continued from another assize roll now lost, which is improbable) at the time of his fall only kept establishments in his manor of foulbridge and his freehold in pickering (the latter two and a half miles from thornton dale, the former perhaps four or five). after that time he lost foulbridge, but bought kirkby misperton. since almost certainly he met richard before 1322, the meeting must have taken place either at foulbridge or in pickering. as we have seen, it is possible (perhaps likely) that rolle's family were at this time living just over the line into richmondshire, having moved from thornton dale. in that case it is probable that the young man (coming from a really safe distance from his father) chose the important parish church of pickering (now famous for its frescoes) in which to preach his first sermon as a hermit. he would there doubtless find the 'multitude' of listeners which the office tells us that he had, and this phrase must probably be taken as rhetorical if, on the other hand, he appeared at any church likely to be attended by the daltons when in residence at foulbridge. this manor was in the parish of brompton (which lay entirely in pickering forest), but residents at foulbridge are not likely to have gone to the distant parish church of brompton (that in which wordsworth was married). a chapel of ease (built in the twelfth century and so rebuilt as to be practically destroyed in 1835) lay so near as snainton (v. v. c. h.). the manor of foulbridge (about one mile east of the priory of yedingham where late in life rolle had a friend among the nuns) was an old preceptory of the templars. in 1338 it is called 'una placea destructa' (ss., 49, p. 141 n.), and in 1327 'the demesne lands were said to have lain fallow since the conquest' (v. c. h., n.r. ii. 427). the place is now very isolated, lying in the broad vale of pickering' with the great ridge of the moors running in the distance on one side, 1 v. ducange, 'habitatio cum certa agri portione'. rolle's patrons: john de dalton 459 and that of the wolds (e.r.) on the other. this locality must in rolle's day have been very marshy. the 'domus' abiecta et antiqua' in which rolle hid when he first entered the 'manerium' of the daltons might suggest the broken religious establishment at foulbridge, which (considering that the estate was not cultivated) was doubtless imperfectly adapted for use as a private house. if the family of the owner were ever in residence, it was likely to be in the summer season (august 14-15) in which rolle met them (when their sons also were home from the university). the property of dalton's which was confiscated at foulbridge in 1322 suggests a residence, though not a farming establishment: it consisted of 'equos, boues, iumenta de equicio cum eorum exitu, carrectas carcatas de diuersis pannis, jocalibus, lectis, vasis argenteis, ciphis argenti et aliis diuersis bonis et catallis' (assize roll 1117, m. 1, par. 1, reference from v.c.h.). it is possible that it was through residence at foulbridge that dalton came to the personal attention of the dowager lady percy, through whose intercession he made his speedy escape from the penalties of the rebellion. she apparently lived at the percy dower-house in the adjoining manor of seamer (v.c.h., pp. 484, 488). foulbridge would probably be an attractive summer residence for sportsmen. for the same reasons the district might be attractive to a hermit, and if rolle were starting from thornton dale, in no direction could he have hoped to find solitude and escape from his father nearer than in this. whether rolle preached his first sermon at pickering or at snainton, and met the daltons at pickering or at foulbridge, it seems likely that when he settled under their protection it was at pickering. from what we know of dalton's character it is likely that he did not expect to give the young hermit sustenance for nothing. probably dalton hoped to attach to himself an eloquent young preacher-for who knows what half-political purpose? we know that in rolle's early days the reform of the parish clergy was an absorbing interest with him, and it may be that he gained dalton's support on the strength of this, and that dalton hoped to use him as a lever of some sort. if these were his motives, we must imagine that he would carry the young man with him to pickering, where his duties 1 'domus' here and later in the office is translated by miss comper as 'room', a meaning supported by medieval usage, as i am informed by miss b. h. putnam, on the authority of mr. charles johnson. dalton may have been in feud with rolle's enemies at rievaulx (v. turton, iii. 94). gg 2 460 materials for rolle's biography would keep him most of the year, and other reasons may also suggest this as the scene of rolle's life with the daltons. the office explicitly tells us that dalton gave richard a cell in his house ('ipsum in domo sua diu retinuit, dans sibi locum mansionis solitarie '): it is probably (from the sequence of the narrative) dalton's wife who so easily takes a large company into the hermit's cell after dinner. the public position of his cell as thus arranged is probably why, as rolle tells us in judica b 1, 'some do not fear to assert impudently that i am not a hermit' (v. supra, p. 101), and it is perhaps in justification of his own recent practice that when announcing himself as a hermit in the latin psalter (which i believe to be early) he explains: solitudinem mentis magis debetis intelligere quam corporis,... quamuis inter homines moretur, longe tamen a vita eorum distet' (supra, p. 179). the important passage as to his first change of cell which opens judica a gives further information as to its character, which can be best connected with a cell in dalton's house in pickering. it will be quoted in full, as follows: 'judica me deus, et discerne causam meam de g[ente non sancta (ps. xlii. 1). a deo qui scruta]tur cor et renes volo iudicari, non ab homine qui solummodo videt¹ea que exterius apparent. quoniam qui de alienis cordibus iudicare presumit, indubitanter sciat quod in errorem cadit, et qui per motum corporis instabilitatem pronunciat mentis, absque dubio graue pondus super se posuisce cognoscat. quamobrem ut ab inuidentibus et maliciosis de me incaute cogitantibus ac loquentibus clemencia christi me liberet, necesse michi superuenit clamare cum propheta: domine, libera animam meam a labiis iniquis et a lingua dolosa (ps. cxix. 2): quoniam tu, domine, probasti me, et cognouisti me: tu cognouisti sessionem meam et resurreccionem meam (ps. cxxxviii. 1-2): et tu solus intellexisti cogitaciones meas (ibid., 3). ideo de vultu tuo iudicium meum prodeat, oculi tui, o bone ihesu, videant equitates (ps. xvi. 2). si heremita dicerer, cuius nomine indigne vocor, non erit nec merito esse poterit scandalum audientibus si corporalem habitacionem mutarem aliquando, vel ab una cella ad aliam transirem, cum non plus sim obligatus in uno heremo quam in alio moram meam stabilire. unde non inutile arbitrandum est si in iuuentute mea plura loca viderim, ut de melioribus statui meo conveniencius unum eligere possem. nam vos scitis et a me sepius audistis me ibi velle morari, et certe de hoc mentitus sum nequaquam, quia statim,³ ut deus scit et vos cognouistis, mutati fuerunt quantum ad me qui michi ministrare assueuerunt. propter quod michi grauius fuit: moram meam, ut putabam antequam ibi venirem, habere non potui propter colligentes 3 om. l. 2 transire l. 1 vident l. bodl. ms; also mss. viii-xiv (inclusive), xvi, at least. cognoscitis, et qui mutati fuerunt michi monstrare hoc assueuerunt l. rolle's patrons: john de dalton 461 2 fructus, quorum causa ita locum abhorrui ut in illo numquam a festo pentecostes usque ad festum sancti martini manere cogitaui. et quid proderit michi in hyeme locum tenere et in estate propter incommoda compelli recedere? melius puto ibi sedere in hieme¹ ubi eciam quiete valeam in estate esse. verumtamen non dico totum quare recessi, nec alicui viuenti indicare volo. porro, ut michi videbatur, paruum vel nichil de me curauit. adquirat ergo sibi alium quem amplius amare disposuit. in omnibus enim dictis et promissis meis condiciones subintelligo generales huiuscemodi, videlicet: si vixero, si potero, si hoc melius pro me visum fuerit michi, et super omnia si deus sic voluerit. si condiciones ergo sint mutate, in quo culpandus sum si non persistem in ea qua prius vellem³ voluntate persistere ? numquid non in frustra vellem si quod volo me non posse habere cognoscerem. optimum est tales voluntates penitus dimittere, quarum effectum facultas nostra non sufficit perimplere. (ad ea que imperauit michi in littera sua non respondeo, quia) iuste judicantis sentenciam gaudens expecto. quicquid de me dicant uel faciant non nocent cor meum, quia etsi hic modicum pro christo sustineam, spero tamen eternam in celo percipere leticiam, illud verbum recolens propheticum: paciencia pauperum non peribit in finem (ps. ix. 19). hec scribo vobis, ut non iudicetis quemquam priusquam iudicauerit eum christus. nescitis enim que geruntur in mente, quamquam cernitis hominem ambulantem in carne ; unde nec laudes secularium cupio, nec illorum maliciam pertimesco. veniet dies', etc. ( judica a, f. 13, v. supra, pp. 98, 106). 4 this passage would suggest that the cell which the young hermit was leaving was near a store-house, which, from pentecost (some time between may 10 and june 13) to martinmas (november 11), was humming with activity 'propter colligentes fructus'. this phrase can in all likelihood be safely taken in a general sense as referring to the whole process of gathering in the fruits of the earth. it would include not only the hay harvest and the corn harvest, but perhaps also the killing of animals to provide bacon and salt beef for the winter (which was so important a part of the medieval domestic routine). altogether, the season of activity for these operations would have fallen in the period when rolle says that his cell is too noisy for comfort. as we have seen, the demesne lands were fallow at foulbridge (which we have good reason to suppose was dalton's only other home at this time), and the goods confiscated in 1322 would suggest that no agricultural operations were carried on there: it was perhaps a summer home and a hunting-box. on the other hand, at the same time stores of all sorts belonging to dalton were confiscated at 3 om. l. 1 heremo l. 2 om. l. 4 om. l. "this important sentence is omitted in the two copies derived from tanfield. • this interpretation was pointed out to me by dr. frere, the bishop of truro. 462 materials for rolle's biography pickering in the castle, the church (to which they were probably removed in the hope of claiming sanctuary), and his house. it was asserted in 1324 that in 1322 there was taken property of dalton in these three places as follows: 'triginta quarteria frumenti, viginti quarteria mixtilionis, viginti quarteria brasei ordeitei, triginta quarteria brasei auenatei, sexaginta et decem quarteria auene, decem carcosia bouum, viginti et quatuor bacones, septem milia alleccia, vnam copulam fructus, decem lagenas mellis, quadraginta petras ferri, vasa enea et lignea et vtensilia domus, sex quarteria fabarum et pisarum, etc.'¹ it is likely that dalton brought to his house at pickering the products of all his lands (owned and perhaps also leased or trespassed on), and there had them prepared for use. as we have seen, it is here that 'nicholas au pount' was imprisoned in 1319 (apparently, that is, after rolle came under dalton's protection). a prisoner would imply a large establishment, and there is no reason why a resident hermit could not be kept somewhere on the premises also. as we have seen, the visit of the lady of the house with a large company to the hermit after dinner probably took place when rolle was living with the daltons, and though (by what the author of the office evidently intends shall be taken as a miracle) the hermit did not stop his writing while he talked to the visitors, the strain of such interruptions must have been considerable, especially at the time when the young man was passing through the penitential period which (probably not long before he left the daltons) passed into the ecstatic. a passage quoted from the judica (supra, p. 99) would suggest that at the time of writing his thoughts were ardently fixed on the 'angelic choirs' and their 'song of love'-images that usually accompany his references to the 'opening of the door' (v. supra, pp. 87 sq.). these passages may have been added later, but we have seen that they are not likely to be much later (v. supra, p. 107). probably they date the judica at about the period of the opening of the door', three or four months less than three years after rolle became a hermit. he met the daltons in the middle of august (presumably at once after his conversion), and he will therefore have seen the 'opening of the door', two years and nine months later, at exactly the season (may-june) when the discomforts of his cell became intolerable to him. this would in any case be the most likely time for 1 assize roll 1117, m. 1ª, par. 4. cf. also m. 6ª, par. 1. at york. the case is resumed rolle's patrons: john de dalton 463 him to change his abode, since he tells us that it is comfortable in winter. hints from two sides, therefore, may be said to coincide in indicating the early summer as the approximate date of the judica. probably at the time of writing it he had experienced the discomforts of the cell he was leaving two summers through, and part of another (from august on, the first year). as we have seen, it is likely to have been with the daltons that (as we are told in the early melum) rolle was given mouldy bread and suffered from hunger, heat, and cold, while his patrons enjoyed every comfort (v. supra, p. 121). such treatment would be expected from dalton, who, as we have seen, had a bad record for exploiting the poor. it was probably what rolle had in mind in the opening of judica a just quoted, when he said: 'they were changed towards me who were accustomed to minister to me', but this change is likely to have taken place partly because of actions on his side. as we have seen, he found more and more that he had to withdraw from preaching and from public life for the sake of his contemplation (v. supra, p. 149), and dalton (who had been drawn to him because of a sermon) was doubtless disappointed. moreover, now that we know that dalton evidently might be described in modern phrase as a 'grafter' and a 'land-grabber', we see that exhortations to give up some of his property may have had something to do with the final break between the hermit and his patron. the passage as to 'perpetratores' in the incendium goes on: 'forsitan si totaliter aliena redderent, pauca sibi remanerent; sed quia superbi sunt, mendicare erubescunt, uel pocius ab honore pristino cadere non sustinent. unde et dicunt se fodere non ualere' (luc. xvi. 3) (p. 231). with this may be compared the following from rolle's english psalter, which, like all his expositions, seems often to echo actual experience : 'my hope is in god, but ye men that lufes this werld willes nought hope but in wickednes, that is, in goods of this life, that are wickedlie gotten, or wickedlie holden, but make restitution... it is a harmefull winninge to win cattell & tine rightowsnes, whiles ye halde other mens goods, the divill haldes you : & if riches habounde in grete plentie rightwislie, wills nought sett to your herts to lufe theym, & to hope in them: he dames not men that haves riches, for thei maye winne heven with thaym, but theim he damnes that setts ther herte in them, to halde them' (p. 217). it is significant that this passage is literally translated from the lombard (c. 568), but the phrase 'make restitution' is added. 464 materials for rolle's biography in the passage quoted from the judica (after saying that he will not tell the whole reason for his move) the young hermit goes on: 'moreover, as it seemed to me, he cared little or nothing about me; let him take to himself another.' this (in spite of the change of number from 'they who ministered to me' to 'he cared little') probably refers to the same event. here dalton (the head of the family) is probably in question, who has lost interest in the young richard, whom he had taken under his protection with the co-operation of his wife and sons. a rival is perhaps hinted at. here we may note that the hermit william de dalby, hermit of dalby, was brought to the attention of the king on his visit to pickering in august 1323. edward ii at this time, volentes dilecto nobis in christo... gratiam facere specialem', confirmed the pasturage which this person had been enjoying in the forest for two cows and their issue, and granted the same privileges for a third (turton, ii. 256). in other words he confirmed and amplified a benefit which this hermit had been receiving under earl thomas, when the favour must have passed through the hands of john de dalton. evidently we have to do with a very practical sort of hermit, probably very different from richard rolle and more to the taste of the competent executive dalton. " in the opening of the judica already quoted, reference is made to a letter: 'ad ea que imperauit michi in littera sua non respondeo.' this is one of those passages which are missing in the text of the work found in the two copies derived from tanfield, but, as we have seen, other portions omitted there must certainly be genuine, and there is no reason why this may not be. it is difficult to imagine a reason for its interpolation. at the same time, it is not altogether clear the change of number from 'they who ministered to me' to 'his letter' again makes it not absolutely certain that it was the patron who wrote the letter, though the reference in the singular just quoted makes it likely, and the reference in the plural could easily apply to the patron's family. on the other hand, some person in ecclesiastical authority may have written it-or perhaps neville, a highly placed ecclesiastic to whom rolle was under obligation. it will be noted that the young hermit explains with some care the nature of the purpose which he had in taking this cell it is as if in coming there he had definitely made a prediction as to his remaining, which he fears might have been interpreted by some people as a vow. it was suggested by horstmann (ii, p. xvii n.) that judica b, addressed to a young priest, might have been written for one of the rolle's patrons: john de dalton 465 young daltons who had studied with him at oxford'. what evidence we have goes against this conjecture. no son of dalton's can positively be traced, except the john who succeeded to his landed estate, but he had (as we have seen) three sons, of whom one was thomas, and about this time a thomas dalton appears at oxford as a lawyer, who might be john's son. the ex-keeper may have sent one or more of his sons to oxford for a legal training. daltons appear as prominent lawyers during the next two generations. horstmann has said that it was probably lady dalton (" domina quaedam in cuius manerio idem ricardus cellam habuit longe a familia separatam ubi ipse solitarius sedere consuevit et contemplationi vacare"), at whose death he drove away a troop of horrible demons, as the vita relates (lect. 8); and we may suppose that it was this same lady ("matrona quaedam in mundo magna quae me una cum marito suo per annos nonnullos sustentaverat ") whose aspect in death produced in him that great horror described in "contra amatores mundi"' (ii, p. xv). if the two incidents in question are the same, we have testimony as to the crude misunderstanding of rolle's meaning by the author of the office. a sensitive account of his horror at the sight of death, both at the time and afterwards, is turned into a sensational narrative of demons only. however, rolle mentions: 'antea plura noccium fantasmata apparuerunt' (f. 177), and it is likely that the same incident is in question, which was probably embroidered by reminiscences from onlookers. in any case it is not likely that the death of dalton's wife is referred to, for the office mentions 'quedam domina', which would not seem to belong in the sequence of the narrative of rolle's life with the daltons, as had the episode as to 'domina domus'. if the same incident is echoed from the contra amatores mundi, the 'matrona... in mundo magna' may be noted, which is probably too magnificent a title for the wife of the keeper. it is such as would fit the lady eleanor percy, or one of the scropes or nevilles. moreover, richard tells us that in this case he had his cell far distant from the family, whereas his cell with the daltons is in their house. it is of course possible that he patched up his quarrel with 1 in a concord between the town and the university in 1348 one of the witnesses is 'thomas de dalton in iure ciuili doctor' (h. e. salter, mediaeval archives of the university of oxford, oxf. hist. soc., 70, p. 146). in the same year he appears elsewhere as a 'procurator' of the university (rs., 50, p. 167). 'magister johannes de dalton bacc. in decret.' is the vicar-general of the archdeacon of richmond in 1390 (yaj. xxv. 190). 466 materials for rolle's biography them and took a new, more quiet, cell under their patronage, but it is hardly likely. what is probable is that here we find a reference to another period in rolle's life when he lived for a considerable time with one patron. an early critical temptation in rolle's account of his change of cell in the judica he follows his complaint as to its discomfort in summer by the remark: 'verumtamen non dico totum quare recessi, nec alicui viuenti indicare volo. porro, ut michi videbatur, paruum vel nichil de me curauit', etc. it might be that the private reason which he is concealing here was some painful association with his cell, which he wished to keep secret. at first sight this might be supposed to be the memory of the death-bed just discussed, for he tells us of that in the contra amatores mundi: 'et cum spiritus eius, me presente, transiret, inhorruerunt pili carnis mee (job iv. 15), non ¹obstante quod cum² antea plura noccium fantasmata apparuerunt, continue in eternitatis amore iubilans, talia penitus non recolui reputanda. verum tantus horror cor meum et carnem circumuoluit quod cellam meam intrare michi apparuit horridum, quod prius erat oblectamentum ' (ff. 177, 177). the fact that this incident does not seem to belong to rolle's life with the daltons is not the only argument against the hypothesis that this is the secret reason which he had for changing his cell. the horror seems in time to have left rolle naturally: 'quousque cadauer illud terre datum fuerit, horror a me non recessit, et postea paulatim euanuit funditus' (ibid.). it is not likely, therefore, that he was obliged to change his cell to escape it. the sequel of this narrative, however, shows that he was troubled by the significance of the incident as much as by the incident itself. 'attamen inter hec non abstulit a me amoris sui iubilum, sed permisit me exterius sentire horrorem. hinc, utique considerabam diligenter quomodo poteram alium a timore nocturno defendere,³ qui meipsum eciam in die ab horrore nesciui conseruare. huius rei causam ignoro, nisi ut forte ut meipsum cognoscerem, qui non me potuisse putabam terreri. unde pensandum est nobis, quod dum mortales simus miseri sumus, et dum peccare possumus vel venialiter, ab omni timore libertatem non habemus. non loquor quin deum timeamus, qui virtus est et consolacio, sed de aliis timoribus, qui penales sunt' (ibid). 1 omnino c. 2 om. c. 3 descendere c. 4 om. c. an early critical temptation 467 this passage would show that rolle was in the habit of freeing his friends from quasi-supernatural visitations, and it suggests that when he had such himself he would be tempted to conceal the fact. it seems to me possible that the secret reason which made rolle wish to change his cell was the temptation by the apparition of the young woman who loved him in good love not a little' (v. supra, p. 75). the 'good love' would seem to indicate a friend of his religious life. this incident was told years later in the canticles, but probably it is hinted at in the melum, not many years after the event, as follows: 'porro dum pergere in pace putabam, inopinate impulit inimicus et irruit in animum (adhuc non in affluencia amoris occupatum), vt euerteretur, ac inde autuma[n]s auferre omne quod unquam (ms. nunquam)' operatus sum ad honorem omnipotentis arguebat me vt aut illectus in leticia libidinosa abirem in errorem et assumerem michi amicam in mundo amantissimam et non parcerem persistere a[d] peccandum dum [h]alitus esset in ore et donec putresceret prorsus caro in cadauer collata, aut promisit quod sine pietate peius me pungeret vndique obsistens et vsquequaque aduersarius existens dum in presenti potuero pernoctare. et elegi extimplo felicius fore afflictum cum dilectis dei et deinceps deduci a desolacione quam demones dabunt, quam gaudere cum gentibus qui modicum molliter morantur in mundo et postea, ad patibulum porrecti, non gloriabuntur, sed in ensibus quos operabantur et euaginauerunt iugulati iugiter gemebunt, cum coram iudice iudicabuntur. et cum hoc vtique exploraui, vt intimam et intemeratam acciperem intelligenciam et non incassum concupiscerem amorem auctoris. neque irriderent me inimici eterni: vniuersi qui illum sustinent, non confundentur (ps. xxiv. 3). sed siquidem scitote quod tanta seueritas inseuit, quod nisi sanguinem saluatoris michi in subsidium semper sumpsissem, et mortem amaram medullitus meminissem in mente, illam continue cogitans sine contradiccione, ceciderim subito in scelus, nec subsistissem vsque ad sanacionem, quia princeps putredinis, qui pectus pulsauit in pulcritudine parente, putauit me premisse. nimirum hoc volui (nam in nomine nectabar) quod nocumentum nudauit, et spernens spurciciam spiritus, spiratus constanter cucurri ad carmen canoris, a plebe procedens perhenne palacium protinus penetraui. deinde deuocio diuinitus dulcessit, et mox mundialis malicia migrabat, nec profecit predator vt prenderet pregnantem, quia oppidum obtinui quod caros conseruat, senciens similiter solacium suaue. et cum temperatus essem inter temptantes, non terruit me turbo qui trucidat turbatos, nec temporis torret tenebrosa tempestas, cum taliter transcenderam terminum tyrannorum. o dulcis domine, qui diligis deuotos, quantum tibi teneor, qui teipsum tradidisti vt me tuearis a tantis tormentis et 1 vmquam s. 2 vaginauerunt c. optimi c. 468 materials for rolle's biography seruum susciperes, dimisso dolore ad dulcissimum diligendum. proinde percepi quod pertinax pugnator profuit parum, nam dum institi insidiis immundi inimici, et ihesum memoriter ad mentem inmisi, non obliuiscens ardorem amoris quem christus ostendit patibulo suspensus, concito contabuit callidus captiuator, et hamo absconso seipsum apprehendit ' (f. 227-227). this cryptic narrative can, with the aid of the evidence given by other works, be interpreted as giving a rough outline of the whole critical period of rolle's early development. he would seem to say here that when he thought himself well established in his religious life ('dum pergere in pace putabam'), though he had not yet been initiated into mystic joy ('animum adhuc non in affluencia amoris occupatum '), he had a time when he was tempted by the devil to forgo his religious purpose and take an earthly love ('arguebat me vt aut illectus in leticia libidinosa abirem in errorem et assumerem michi amicam in mundo amantissimam '). however, he held to his religious resolution ('elegi ... fore afflictum cum dilectis dei'), and evidently he thought long and seriously on the subject ('hoc vtique exploraui, vt intimam et intemeratam acciperem intelligenciam et non incassum concupiscerem amorem auctoris '). it is perhaps the subconscious effect of this prolonged conflict that the adversary tempted him, appearing in an apparition of beauty ('in pulcritudine parente'); and he would have fallen if he had not called on the blood of the saviour (nisi sanguinem saluatoris michi in subsidium semper sumpsissem . . . ceciderim subito in scelus'). here we have the devil in the form of the fair young woman, dissipated by the words 'jesus, how precious is thy blood', as we are told in the canticles. he goes on to say that he was 'bound in the name' (the devotion which we believe him to have begun in connexion with the temptation in question), he 'ran constantly towards the song of the "canor"; detaching himself from the populace, he penetrated the eternal palace. then his devotion was divinely sweetened, and soon the worldly malice departed.' these strange sentences would seem to tell us that he then (already devoted to the name) began the development of joy which culminated in the 'canor': the reference to penetrating the eternal palace' is probably equivalent to the 'opening of the door of heaven' which we have seen making an integral part of the growth of mysticism in other descriptions (v. supra, pp. 87 sq.). the divine 'sweetness' is then mentioned. it may even be (considering what we are told in other works) that the 'detachment from the populace' is a dark reference to his change an early critical temptation 469 of cell discussed in the judica. the end of the worldly malice' may signify a cessation of persecution, which may have come about the time of the completion of ecstasy (v. also infra, p. 477). it is also possible that the following sentence, mentioning the turbo qui trucidat turbatos' and the 'temporis . . . tenebrosa tempestas' which rolle was fortunate enough to escape, is a rhetorical reference to the troubles of 1322, in which rolle's former friends and present enemies suffered so much. at the very end, the 'fire of love' is mentioned (as following on the use of the name), and with this (as we are also told in another passage of the melum, supra, p. 122) the adversary lost his power over the young hermit. the passage just discussed is probably a veiled narrative linking up what rolle was to tell in later life more plainly in the canticles (as occurring in the beginning of my conversion'), with that told in the incendium (where his mystical development during his first four years as a hermit is carefully described in chapter 15). the context shows that the diabolical temptation as to the young woman came some time before his attainment of the 'fire of love', at a time when it was the woman in question who was, in all likelihood, a conscious temptation, which was even tempting him to give up for her sake his religious career. in fact the apparition apparently came after he thought that he had put away the thought of her. the significance of the episode of the temptation is increased by the passage just quoted, and we have in the incident just such a circumstance as would make him wish to change his cell. he would not wish, however, to disclose this motive, partly because the diabolical persecution would have seemed to cast a reflection on his spiritual proficiency (judging from his thoughts when morbidness overtook him after the death of his patroness): partly he would be silent because he would be unwilling to throw on the woman in question the suspicion of his affection. the situation may however have been guessed by those around him, and been a cause contributing to the daltons' change towards him, and also responsible for some of his later persecution. some support is lent to this conjecture by the fact that it puts the change of cell at the point in rolle's mystical development which is indicated in judica a. as we have seen, this work seems to have been written after both the diversion of devotion from the mother to the son and the beginning of joy, but before any sensuous endowment of mysticism. the temptation in question instigated rolle's devotion to 'jesus', and we have already been led to think that at the 'opening of the door (probably soon after, while the temptation and escape 470 materials for rolle's biography were still fresh) that devotion was given a celestial sanction (v. supra, p. 87). the passage just quoted would suggest that the temptation occurred far on in rolle's penitential period, for (though ecstasy had not been gained) he had reached some sort of confidence ('i thought i was going in peace'). as mystic joy developed, it can be imagined that the young man would be more eager than ever to leave his noisy public cell, with its memories of a critical temptation. perhaps he feared its recrudescence, since the woman in question is likely to have belonged to dalton's household, or, in any case, to have belonged to his circle. there is, of course, always the possibility that under rolle's influence she took up a religious life, but there seems no chance that she could have been margaret de kirkeby, who must have been very young at this time. references in the melum to persecutions our knowledge of the personalities of rolle's life is mostly derived from the office, which concentrates curiously on his early years, as if associates of that period had assisted in its composition. the later years cannot be discussed with anything like the same fullness of detail. however, we have some cloudy images of the happenings of that tumultuous period between the writing of the judica and of the melum, when crises in rolle's inner life coincided with tumult in the world around him. the melum probably contains much more autobiographical matter than will ever be elucidated, for the alliteration offers an instrument for darkening counsel. bold as the work is, the young hermit has often succeeded in completely hiding his meaning in a strange welter of phrases, and some of the passages now to be quoted may appear in part meaningless. any passage of possible autobiographical significance in the melum will be quoted, for the work is hardly likely to be printed as a whole, and though the interpretation of some sections may not at present be clear, later research may be able—once these sentences are in print-to discover their significance. the following passage will show that the young hermit hasapparently after a considerable period of silence-only just received a new impulse of courage which forces him to write this work : 'quamobrem correpto corde vt curetur, calor continuus castificet canentem, et clausus in carne capiar et canendo ad claram coronam. interim ereptus a retibus ruine, protinus ad populos proferar placatus per precem pacatam pacis preceptor spinis pungendo principes peruersos, references in the melum to persecutions 471 quorum peccata perpetuo patebunt inter punitos. positus in presenti paciens pressuras, pro pane perhenni puto quod potero ad plenum pertin gere pascum paradisi et in publicum procedere, probatus postillator, scrutinii' scripture masticans medullam, vt degam delicate dulcoribus diuinis. qui latui libenter, tamen non liber a linguis, occulte ludendo in laude letabundus, propter inuidiam impii errantis in abditis aiebam, et hactenus exterius uix semel ad alios erumpere audens. nunc christus quesitus, quem carissime cupiui, quem amans inueni, veniens vt viuam in a[n]im[um] assumtum, dum mens moderata in melos moretur, clanculo compellit vt scribam clamando quod concito carnales cadunt in chaos, et cupidi incassum querunt conscendere culminis caminum; dilatari deside rant diuiciis ditati, de quibus decepti digne a deo dure delebuntur. pusillus, profecto plangendum non petens, potenciam percepi vt porter ad polum pietatis propagine, impuris proiectis in puteum penalem, fetentes vt in fulgure funeris feruentis. denique et deus dedit michi donum quo ducar a dampno deliciis delibutus... letor leuissime in laudibus liquescens, vt loquar luculenter leuiter laborans et dictem deuocius quam ceteri solebant more mirando, diuisus diuinitus ab hiis que decipiunt, dolo ne deprehendar. audacter introeo in ostium apertum, hauriens ab altis sonum celestem. vtique non omnes hoc habuerunt, hinc et operibus altis obstupescunt, nam inaudita veraciter viderunt, dum vixi visibiliter vernans virtute' (f. 221"). like most passages which will be quoted from the melum, this extract hints at rolle's whole mystical history, but it also adds some new statements to the usual resonant commonplaces of his ecstasy. it distinctly says that he has been interpreting scripture, that he 'exterius uix semel' dared to address others. later (infra, p. 486) he tells us that his enemies have tried 'ut me mergerent in multiloquio et deprehenderent in documento indisciplinato'. as we have seen above, his commentary on jeremiah and his latin psalter both give signs of belonging to his early years, and it may be that they were at least begun at this time. we know that at this time he had already written the canticum, judica, and a work on hermits. now he says that he is forced to write, apparently in order to prophesy immediate disasters impending ('concito carnales cadunt in chaos'). this motive would fit the date (1326-7) which seems to be indicated for the composition of the melum. if, as seems possible, he had recently been a student at the sorbonne, some of his literary labours in question here (perhaps part of his latin psalter) may have been composed there. we have also (as in other passages later to be quoted) a hint that the young hermit has enjoyed some unexpected escape from danger ('diuisus diuinitus ab hiis que decipiunt, dolo ne deprehendar'). 1 strictum c. 472 materials for rolle's biography his joyous confidence that he has found a new miraculous style of writing ('more mirando') is also expressed, as in a passage earlier quoted from the melum (supra, p. 118). already from the opening of the melum (quoted supra, p. 117) it was evident that with the writing of this work a new epoch of selfconfidence was beginning. the first words, though commonplaces of mystical phrase, evidently in this case are to be taken literally: 'amor utique audacem efficit animum quem arripit ab ymis.' in the same first chapter his flight to solitude is touched on: 'siquidem superuenit spiritus spirans a patre pietatis, et subito submisit vt in solitudinem me separarem a solacio seculari. deinde mentem tam mirifice mutauit a merore in melos quod metuo¹ monstrare munus et multiplicare magnificenciam, ne multiloquium me minuerit' (f. 206). as we have seen, he is already a hermit in the judica, but no such explicit reference to his flight to solitude occurs, and in judica b we are told that some 'impudently' deny that he is a hermit. in the account of his growth of ecstasy in the incendium, we have seen that the 'calor' and the 'canor' (at an interval of nine months from one another) first came to him when he was sitting in the same chapel, and this might (though not necessarily) indicate that he was during that period living in the same cell. as we have seen, we believe him to have left the daltons midway in the development of his ecstasy. no name of a later patron has come down to us, though (as we have seen, supra, p. 465) an incident is recounted which almost certainly shows him at one time to have lived under the protection of another family for some years. it is altogether likely that he found assistance from other patrons after leaving the daltons. the chapel in which his ecstasy was consummated might be a chapel of ease or a private chapel. chapels in the houses of the great were common at this period, as is shown by the licences granted and recorded in the bishops' registers." the description of love in four stages already quoted from the melum (supra, p. 84) is almost certainly reminiscent of rolle's own life. we have seen that it arranges the steps in the mystic's experience according to what had been richard's, and the following 1 nemo c. 2 meminerit c. 3 ss., 49, p. 146 (a chapel in the parish of brompton, 1300), v. c. h., n.r. ii. 488 (in the dower-house of the percys at seamer, where mass is to be said for the lady eleanor), ibid. i. 97 (of the fitzhughs at ravensworthı), etc.— the chapel in question might be that of the sorbonne (v. infra, p. 494 n.). references in the melum to persecutions 473 quotation suggests that it also gives us valuable testimony on the subject now under discussion. the chapter begins as follows: 'ecce elongaui fugiens; et mansi in solitudine (ps. liv. 8). solitarius iam' sisto securus salute sufficit solacium quod sencio ex summis, nam suauitas sonora sustentat sedentem, vt lugubris non laberer dire desolacioni, nec ad ocium inducerer aut cure carnali, sic ardoris opulencia alligat amantem. et nota diligenter acciones sanctorum, quomodo transmigrant a babilone in ierusalem. primo... quarto, pre nimietate gaudii et magnitudine amoris qua implentur, sonum in se suscipiunt celestem, a diuina armonia obumbrantur, et fugiunt in solitudinem,2 ne ab illo spirituali canore impediantur' (f. 240). enthusiastic praise of contemplative men follows, succeeded by an argument as to their superiority to monks (v. supra, p. 124, and infra, p. 480). the next chapter begins: 'ducam eam in solitudinem et loquar ad cor eius.' we have already seen that rolle usually derives even his more impersonal descriptions of mysticism from his own experience (v. supra, pp. 83 sq.), and there is every probability that he is here echoing what has happened to himself. the four stages directly follow references to his own solitude. in the ordinary course, we should expect him to make the retreat into solitude coincident with the conversion from worldly concerns which makes the first stage. the fact that he does not do so would suggest a reminiscence of special circumstances in his own life. what has probably happened is that his early years as a hermit were passed so closely in association with patrons that his real flight to solitude came later, when he sought refuge in an isolated cell. the abode to which he moved after his removal from (as we suppose) the midst of dalton's establishment was doubtless more quiet than that, but it was probably still not thoroughly solitary. for some years he apparently lived among people in the country districts of yorkshire, and perhaps in paris (v. infra, pp. 477, 490). he could not have fled to complete solitude at once even on receiving the 'canor', for the melum seems to review a long period when he was struggling to enjoy it in adverse circumstances. there seems to lie behind him, when he wrote that book, not only the whole development of his mystic joy (partially complete when he wrote the judica), but also a considerable lapse of time during which he tested the conditions which his mysticism, as it were, brought into being. he knows now, not only the fullness of mystical sensation, but also its practical consequences for his daily life. the latter 2 solitudine c. 1 non c. hh 474 materials for rolle's biography realization will have taken time, as he describes it, no less than the former. altogether, therefore, the flight to solitude in richard's case probably came under pressure of the 'canor', as soon as he realized the full potentialities of his life and could arrange a change in his manner of living. in the judica rolle has exulted in the beginning of joy (beyond his power to describe) which he feels 'sub heremitice habitacionis voluntate', in 'illud nomen heremiticum et illud singulare propositum' (supra, p. 99). now, at least five years later (as we believe), with his mystical joy complete and overflowing : 'sentitur suauitas dulcoris diuini, amoris eterni ardet ex igne, mollicie melliflua in mente mulcetur, et cor vt sit capax hanc in se amplecti totaliter se stringit vt incomprehensibilem continue comprehendat, et magis ac magis se semper dilatat' (f. 237). under the pressure of this experience it would not be strange if the young man should seek a deeper solitude, and some vivid passages in the melum would suggest that he had done so recently. he speaks as if he had sought solitude for the sake of the 'canor' (as hinted in the passage already quoted): 'igitur abducor ab hiis qui ignorant organum orando, et sessio silencii me segregat a surdis qui citharam non audiunt altissimi amoris' (f. 223). in the discussion already quoted (supra, p. 149) as to the duties of the preacher and the difficulty of combining them with contemplation, he touches on his own case as follows: 'hec qui intelligit que pagina panguntur infirmum me agnoscens, et mortuum mundo, coram causantibus aliqualiter excuset. racionem nam reddidi, et intime attendis cur interius me tenui, non visitans villanos, fugiendo a ¹festis psallencium cum sono.2 huic heremus non horret ardenter amanti, solus suscipiet quo coniunctus carebit' (f. 241). this indicates a very different manner of life from the chatting in manor-houses elsewhere echoed in the melum-probably from his first days as a hermit (v. supra, p. 121). here again we find a prominence given to his writing that would suggest that he was now undertaking the commentaries already mentioned, and was on this account also desirous of solitude. the difficulty which he would now find in living in such a cell as he describes in the judica appears from the following: 'reuera recte relinquerem tantorum tumultus turgencium, et heremum apte affectarem ad inhabitandum, presertim cum penales michi sint 1 om. c. 2 que sonoro c. references in the melum to persecutions 475 uociferantes, et crucior quasi per incomodum quando clamor clangencium me tangit tediosum. insuper et exuta vetustate virtutibus uiuere uolui in solitudine sustinere apud memetipsum deliberaui, et nunc quidem ita me diuina benignitas' disposuit quod etiam si uoluero, secularibus me2 nequeo iungere, ne occupacio auditus corporalis in nimia me precipitet perturbacione' (f. 208). 3 this passage follows that in which richard describes himself as a 'wanderer like cain' (supra, p. 77), and the indications there given as to his nomadic existence are reinforced by the following more explicit statements: 'in presenti non pocior potencia, nec habeo quid accipiam si esuriero nisi quando alii erogant indigenti, et non datur michi cum voluero, sed in voluntate virorum uescor, profecto non puduit michi propulsari a potestate inter pauperes, fame affligi cum florentes ut fenum facerent festiuitatem, ac siti sine compassione carnalium cruciabar, nec quidem aquam habui ad hauriendum dum breuiter benedicti vsque ad balbuciem bibebant' (f. 235). another passage complains of the ignominious position of a hermit, with references that again hint that he must have written before this time what bulked large in his own opinion, at least: 'attamen hoc comperi quod uirorum uolumina moderne manencium minime cum multis magnificantur, qui putant quod spiritus in istis non assistat, quemadmodum affuit antiquos inspirans. et racionem reddere aliam non habent quam quia ipsi uacuos se uident a flatu felici, eciam sic omnes esse suspicantur. pro religione quam se iactitant intrasse, plerique profecto decipientes audent arguere quod omnes excellunt in meritis magnificis alios in orbe. solitarii siquidem despecti ducuntur in omnium obprobrium iam abierunt ubi alii in aulis honorifice assistunt et ad mensam magnatum precedere ponuntur, illi ad ostium mendici morantur et hiis de micis mittunt multi magnates et reputant vt reprobos quod plane penitebunt. verum non timemus torqueri et despici inter tyrannos, nam spes nostra ponitur in patria perhenni. tanto acceptabiliores cum angelis et almis apparebimus ante auctorem, quanto inter homines minus acceptamur. odium et inuidiam tantam non inueni nec habui inter omnes mortales sicut sustinui ab hiis qui se dicebant discipulos ihesu christi' (f. 239). it is evident that rolle's life is now very different from what his beginning promised, when dalton invited him to dinner and seated him at table above his own sons. we can get a notion of what his life was now from a custom recorded at the reformation for jervaulx abbey. 'among the alms distributed were bread and white 3 uigere c. 1 benignitatis c. 2 om. c. 4 om. c. discipuli c. hh 2 476 materials for rolle's biography and red herrings, given to poor hermits and boys (pauperibus hermitis et pueris)' (v.c.h., yorks, iii. 141). this was the burial-place of henry fitz hugh, lord of ravensworth and founder of syon monastery (v. infra, p. 505 n.). the abbot was one of those who transferred margaret kirkeby to ainderby in 1356-7. it is very possible (if the alms were given to hermits here in rolle's day) that he was at times one of the recipients. the opening of the melum has already been cited for giving hints of the new self-confidence and the new solitude which seem to be landmarks in rolle's life at the time when he wrote this work. a similar hint of great significance directly follows the reference to his retreat into solitude already quoted, which proceeds: 'subito submisit vt in solitudinem me separarem a solacio seculari. deinde mentem tam mirifice mutauit a merore in melos quod metuo monstrare munus et multiplicare magnificenciam ne multiloquium me minuerit. attamen inter hec alii in habitu obedienciariorum michi apparuerunt in argumentis quod ardencius amant quam aliquis inter eos non assumptus, et maioris meriti coram magestate mittunt munificenciam. quippe non cognouerunt qualiter cucurri, et a contenciosa conticui collocucione, contineri cupiens in hoc quod creator michi copulauit' (f. 206▾). as we have seen, this prominent statement in the opening of the melum is followed by others in which we seem to be told explicitly that the work is written in consequence of the feud with monks here recorded (v. supra, p. 124). this quarrel has been hinted at in the extract given in the last paragraph, and a very important quotation made earlier (p. 123) seems to give us clear testimony that the monks in question were those either of rievaulx or of byland. both monasteries lay adjacent to the wild stretch of elevated moorland north of pickering, formerly known as blackamore, which is still one of the wildests spots in england. 'leland, writing about 1534-43, tells us that the circuite of the paroch of pykering goith up to the very browes of blakmore "... camden informs us that "further in among blackamore hills we find nothing remarkable but winding streams and rapid brooks ".'1 to the north are the cleveland hills; 'a country scored so deep by long, narrow, winding valleys is scarcely to be found elsewhere in england . . . [in] this rugged district. . . a man may even now lose his way and perish on the moorside if he be not very wary on a winter's night'. to the west were the hambleton hills which, near rievaulx, are still 66 1 morris, north riding, pp. 68-9. an 2 a. h. norway, highways and byways in yorkshire, london, 1899, p. 112. references in the melum to persecutions 477 intricate network of deep hollows, fringed with woods, and musical with running streams'. the wild and isolated character of some of this country to the present day is attested by the superstitions lingering there among the people till the last generation, as recorded by canon atkinson.2 it is evident that the neighbourhood of byland or of rievaulx would be a district most tempting to a young hermit wishing for solitude. after his quarrel with dalton it is possible that he came in this direction, and that his irregular mode of life there brought him to the attention of the monks in question. as we have seen, there is no hint of animosity against monks in the judica, nor even of arguments conceivably directed against them: only with the melum do we find this preoccupation (echoed in later works, though generally from a distance). it is therefore probably a new quarrel, quite distinct from that in regard to his change of cell discussed in the judica. disaster befell the abbeys of rievaulx and byland seven months after lancaster's execution, and if richard left the daltons any time before the rebellion (march, 1322), his contact with the monks would have had time to reach the point of friction before the battle in which they suffered indignity (october, 1322). it is possible from the several references to disasters that have befallen rolle's enemies that their misfortunes lightened the pressure of persecution on him, and thus gave him what he doubtless considered a miraculous deliverance. if he went to paris some time before writing the melum, his quarrel was probably resumed on his return, though possibly from a distance (if he went to richmondshire). the power of the abbot and convent of rievaulx (or byland) must have reached far, in yorkshire, and their animosity in the present case would be probably the more permanent if they had known the young hermit in question from infancy. even though the miseries of his enemies did not have any direct effect on rolle's fortunes, they must surely (considering how closely they followed on his persecutions) have seemed to some degree divine rebukes delivered on his behalf. dalton's misfortunes in the spring of 1322 have already been described. what was suffered in the autumn of the same year by the two religious houses may be understood by a quotation from the chronicle of their neighbours, the monks of meaux : 1 ibid., p. 102. forty years in a moorland parish, london. (801. 478 materials for rolle's biography 'scotti vero, praedicta monasteria ryevallis et bellalandae violenter ingressi, religiosos omnes indumentis suis, remota pietate, usque ad carnem exuerunt, et omnem ipsorum monasteriorum supellectilem, vestesque divino servitio consecratas, calices, libros et universa sacrorum altarium ornamenta, secum portaverunt' (rs., 43, ii. 346). such events must have made a great commotion, even after the many years of scottish raids suffered by the north. many other religious houses had been raided, but never were the circumstances so sensational as in the case of these two great neighbours. not only the physical danger of the occasion in question must have struck terror to the hearts of the monks, but also, we may believe, the material loss. these yorkshire cistercian houses held great manorial estates which they cultivated themselves as sheep-farmers and horse-breeders, and they were famous for the store which they set on their material possessions, as illustrated by the unending litigation in which they were involved.¹ it seems to have been this attachment to worldly concerns which especially made rolle doubt the spirituality of contemporary monks, and a similar entanglement in worldly interests disgusted him (as we have seen, supra, pp. 142, 147) with the secular clergy. it is likely to have made a deep impression on his mind that in his early days as a hermit the secular clergy of yorkshire also suffered a striking rebuff in the material fortunes on which they set such importance. at the battle of myton in september 1319 (ironically called the 'chapter of myton') the archbishop of york coming to battle in state with his pastoral staff was ignominiously defeated by the scots, and hundreds of clerics were left as corpses in the swale (raine, fasti, p. 403). altogether, in the very years (1319-22) when we conjecture the young richard to have begun his hermit's life with attacks on the secular clergy and soon to have incurred persecution by the regular clergy (whom he then attacked likewise), both these important classes in yorkshire society had suffered sensational calamities in worldly affairs. these must have done much to lower their prestige among the people. the young hermit who had denounced both seculars and regulars for their pursuit of worldly fortune would 1 see j. s. fletcher, the cistercians in yorkshire, london, 1919, pp. 114 sq. and passim. cf. the poem on the evil times of edward ii: 'religioun was first founded duresce for to drie; and nu is the moste del i-went to eise and glotonie... i wot non eysiere lyf than is religioun' (p. 330). references in the melum to persecutions 479 doubtless therefore have found it all the easier to drive home his message. he tells us that his clerical adversaries feared his popularity among the people (v. supra, pp. 77, 123, and infra, pp. 485-7), and we see that events probably assisted to increase that popularity. by the time that rolle wrote the melum (apparently directed against monkish enemies about 1326-7) he probably also drew support from a general hostility against monks that was stirring throughout england. it is a striking fact that the 'year 1327 marked the culmination of a period of secret discontent and conspiracy on the part of the townsmen under monastic control'.¹ revolts occurred at st. albans during the first three months of the year, when just on the eve of the outbreak the earl of lancaster (lord of pickering) came to the town with a powerful retinue; also at the beginning of the year at bury st. edmunds (where the parish priests and friars joined against the regulars); in may at abingdon; in the same year at dunstable, faversham, winchelsea. pickering, in the neighbourhood of which rolle was, or had recently been, living (as we believe) at this time, must have been au courant of so widespread a movement. as a principal seat of a royal earl it must have been visited by persons from all over england. the local patrons of the young hermit richard are likely to have taken courage from learning of these events, and to have been more than ever ready at least to condone his animosity against monks. it is perhaps rash to decide whether rolle's quarrel was with the monks of rievaulx or of byland, but the abbot of rievaulx was the principal landlord in thornton dale (turton, iv. 140), and the perambulation of c. 1160, to which ricardus rollevillain was a witness (since it marked the boundaries of land which was given to rievaulx), would indicate that this person was in the service of the monks or lived on their estates. rolle's family may have continued in that situation, and (as a promising boy) he himself may even have come in early years to the notice of the abbot or some monastic official (it may be noted that 'obedientiaries' are mentioned as his opponents at the opening of the melum). it is possible that an introduction. from rievaulx was the beginning of richard's connexion with neville. though none of these conjectures are established, they are worth noting in view of the fact that rolle more than once tells 1 see amer. hist. rev. vi, n. m. trenholme, the risings in the english monastic towns in 1327, p. 669. • the revolt did not break out till the day after his departure (by the collusion of the abbot and burgesses, who kept him in the dark as to the danger), ibid., p. 652. 480 materials for rolle's biography us that those were his fiercest persecutors who had in secular life been his best friends (v. supra, pp. 110, 141, 182). we know that an abbot and convent were perhaps rolle's worst enemies, and that almost certainly they were either the abbot and convent of byland or those of rievaulx. since the latter were the principal landlords in rolle's family home (and possibly the masters of his family), we have some reason to believe that these are likely to have been among the persecutors who were also early friends. also, whereas byland lay at the foot of the moors, rievaulx lay in a narrow valley thrust into their midst, in a neighbourhood, that is, presumably more attractive to a hermit. parts of the melum earlier quoted show that the persecution of rolle in the end reached such lengths that his friends had had to hide him (v. supra, p. 122). it is possible that to do so they sent him to paris, where one report places him in 1320-6 (v. infra, p. 494), or into richmondshire, from which the melum would then have been written c. 1326-7. the district about rievaulx and byland, in which we imagine him to have been living for some time in the period 1320-6, is in any case a considerable distance on the way from pickering to richmondshire. but whether he actually wrote the melum near his old home or in richmondshire, it is likely that the stormy period echoed in that work was mostly passed before he made his change of abode. this follows from the fact that a passage already briefly cited (p. 328) indicates that he has received direct reproaches from his bishop. the chapter beginning 'ecce elongaui fugiens', already noted (p.473), continues with the classification of the four stages of love (evidently founded on his own experience), which passes into a discussion of the relative values of obedience and solitude, evidently directed against his monkish adversaries. the concluding section of this discussion, in which he contrasts his heavenly song with their liturgical song, has already been quoted (pp. 124 sq.). he continues: 'parum vel nichil curant de sono spirituali aut de solempnitate mentis. siquidem et (quod peius est) in ociositate indurantur in tantum quod in deuocionem nequeant assurgere nec putant se posse maiorem graciam inuenire. erubescite deinceps et tacete: confundimini enim in argumentis vestris, ostendentes uosmetipsos amantissimos ¹ dei penitus non cognoscere, et altum diuinum amoris archanum funditus ignorare. quid agitis cum omnibus uestris litteris quas a primeua etate didicistis? quid prosunt uobis dum nescitis quid loquimini? omnes uos consolatores onerosi 2 primeno c. 1 om. c. references in the melum to persecutions 481 estis (job xvi. 2). sciencia inflat, caritas autem edificat (1 cor. viii. 1). ecce enim iuuenis, zelo iusticie animatus, insurgit contra senem, heremita contra episcopum. . . . qui enim deo est obediencior, eciam coram deo est et maior, sed non sequitur iste est obedientissimus [homini, ergo obedientissimus]¹ est deo. deo enim solo amore obedimus, ergo qui ardenciore amore in deo infigitur, deo obedientissimus probatur' (f. 240, v. supra, p. 328). this passage would seem (from the context) to indicate that rolle's conflict with the bishop was involved in that with his monkish enemies probably his irregular life was reported by the monks to the bishop. such an incident, however, was almost certain not to have occurred in richmondshire, which was 'virtually extradiocesan'. in the whole of richmondshire the authority of the archdeacon was paramount. an agreement drawn up in 1331 between the archbishop of york and the archdeacon of richmondshire confirms their relative responsibilities, and jurisdiction over hermits ('omnium anacoretarum et herimitarum dispositiones') is explicitly allowed to the archdeacon. a controversy on the division of power is mentioned (rs., 71, iii. 248), and this might have arisen from the archbishop overstepping his authority in the case of rolle and exercising discipline over him even though in the county of richmond. such a supposition is not, however, very likely. generally speaking, the interference of the archbishop in the present case would mean that rolle had not yet gone into richmondshire. however, no records as to a formal action taken against rolle have come to light. there is perhaps some slight uncertainty where they would occur. at this time jurisdiction similar to that held by the archdeacon of richmond was held by the bishop, prior, and convent of durham over howdenshire and allertonshire (hamilton thompson, loc. cit.). allertonshire is perhaps near enough to rievaulx to have been possibly in question. however, louis beaumont, the bishop of durham 1316-38, could not have been the learned bishop in question here, for his illiteracy was notorious 1 om. c. 2 a. hamilton thompson, archaeol. journ. lxxi. 101, and yaj. xxv. 129 sq. ('the registers of the archdeaconry of richmond, 1361-1442'). 3 the archiepiscopal registers at york were searched for all hermits and anchorites by miss r. m. clay, when she discovered the important mentions of margaret kirkeby later to be discussed. canon raine, during a long life in touch with the registers, found no material as to rolle, though he noted the prohibition of a friar, henry de staunton, hermit, from preaching, 1334 (fasti, p. 421). this person, horstmann suggests, may have been a follower of rolle (ii, p. xxiv). 482 materials for rolle's biography (v. d.n.b.). in any case, any records regarding this district would be found in the registers at durham, but these are lost for the period in question.¹ the registers exist for the episcopate of archbishop melton (1317-40), which falls within this period at york, but the fact that they apparently do not give any information on the incident does not necessarily mean that no formal action as to rolle was taken during this period. as canon raine points out (fasti, p. 422 n.), the documents regarding ecclesiastical actions were copied into the registers from separate slips, and some of these were often lost. we can only say that archbishop melton might be considered a likely person for the tirade already quoted to be directed to. he must have been advanced in years compared to rolle, for his first benefice dates from 1299 (d. n. b.). though of humble birth, he had already risen to be controller of the wardrobe and keeper of the privy purse when he was appointed to the see by the king in 1317.2 his education is unknown. he was of conspicuous purity and integrity, but he must have been an extreme example of the worldly cleric attacked by rolle, for he was a great pluralist, with benefices in every part of england at one time or another. at his death (though he rose from nothing), he left many manors. in other words, he made a fortune in the church. the passages in the melum that hint at rolle's persecutions suggest that they came from more than one quarter. three sources have been noted, viz.: dalton (probably the adversary of the judica and heard of afterwards only from a distance), monks either of rievaulx or of byland (more probably the former), and a bishop. we have been told that grave scandals have been brought against the young hermit, that he has been publicly preached against, and that his friends have had to hide him (v. supra, pp. 121 sq.). other passages also seem to touch on the same matters. after an indictment of worldliness of rolle's usual type, a chapter ends as follows: 'hec intellexi dum essem etate aptus amori, et spiritu spirante spurciciam spernebam; ac postquam perceperam propositum, hoc placens porro perseuero, penitudine proiecta,³ pure et pacifice pergens ad polum vt puer a principe predestinatus, quem pellere non potest penitus peruersus a prece polente per preceps vt putat. temperandus tetendi tempus ter1 rs., 62, iii, p. cxxxviii. 2 raine, fasti, pp. 397 sq.; t. f. tout, chapters, etc., ii. 283. 3 proiecto c. references in the melum to persecutions 483 renum vt terminer tutissime sine tormento, fugiens a feminis ne fallerer in fictis, corde conscendi maxima montana. quippe sic carnem modo maceraui, et caput contunditur dolore deducto, quod consistere non queo, ita grauatur, nisi corroborer cibario sanante; quamobrem iam quamquam iubilem ingenter ¹ et currem comprobabilis [for comparabilis ?] celestibus et summis eciam in sono superno suaui. attamen ab aliquibus aspicior abiectis, et dicunt derogantes deliciis deducor que diuites delectant, vnde et debellant, dictum differentes, quod indignus sum deo' (ff. 230, 230v). the following chapter contains important echoes of rolle's external experiences, mixed with descriptions of his inner life of the type found in infinite abundance in all his works. the latter will be omitted and the former quoted. the chapter begins: 2 'conditor carissime, quem cupio constanter, tui desiderium in me descendebat, vt dulciter diligerem te sine dolore, quemadmodum cucurri capere consolamen creantis caloris, non cantici carnalis. ita cum recessero a lingua loquaci et labii labore, non caream corona in illa claritate cui conformari continue cupiui. iustus es, o ihesu, qui iudicas gentiles, gerens iusticiam, in te iubilaui et amor arripuit animam herentem epulis eternis, nam nisi pro necesse vtor hiis escis, cum nouerim naturam persistere non posse si non sustinetur. ergo cum habeam vnde excuser, cesset seueritas insipientum, fabulantur frustra sine frenis frendentes, quia non fallor ut infames fingebant, ac pocius puta quia praui perdurant vsque puniantur piissimum precari, vt liberet animam meam a labiis iniquis et a lingua dolosa (ps. cxix. 2). clementissime creator, qui inspicis archana et vniuersa attendis que hic operamur, tu cognoscis cautissime quomodo calcaui carnem calentem et caput callidum captiuatoris quod captus in cantum caritatiuum, non cogitaui clanculo corrumpere quemquam, quamuis comparui inter carnales. . . . quapropter, quamuis miser manens cum magnis, tamen multi de me menciebantur, quod ignosco vtique vsque ad iudicium generale quia vindictam non volo donec videro veritatem si deus, quem diligo, debitoribus donauerit, reuera non repetam redarguciones, sed ero amicus eis in euum, oblitis obprobriis atque iniuriis quas erogauerunt.... o miser sine modo, non metuis mensuram que tibi mecietur? cur es sic captiuus? non tremis pro tormentis quibus traderis tu iniq[u]us et impius? hic iudicas iustum, qui postea probatus ex tuo ore teipsum condempnabit. denique tu deuias, tu funeris fundator,dum dei dilectis detrahis indigne, arguens alios, quos intime ignoras, et putans quod peccant quando preparantur ad paciendum propter puritatem, nam sancti sepius inter seculares eciam solitarii sedebant, ideo tu dicis quod de domino dicebatur: quare cum peccatoribus et publicanis manducat magister uester? (matt. ix. 11). et iterum uocabant veritatem uiuentem, que angelos alit in sola visione, uini potatorem. exinde infelix, excidis ab alto, vnde te ab ymo erigis elatus, non putes quia pereo quia michi maledicis, et predicas quod in penis peren3 oblitus c. 1 ingentem c. 3 2 conformare c. 484 materials for rolle's biography dinabo: en ego assumor extra terrena, temporale non tangens, teneor tranquillus ac vror interius, affluens amore, in latitudine leuatus, laudifluus in luce experiensque ardorem increati caloris ; gaudium gusto in quo nunquam gloriaberis, quia omnibus obsistis qui optime operantur.... inuidebant autem eo quod in magnis muneribus munitus¹ mirabilis manebam, et seipsos mordebant morsibus malignis quia magnifica maiestas me mirificauit in mente per musicum in melle melodis. dum tales transcenderam intemperatos, et fama fructifera floruit fulgendo, tempestuosi et territi tormentabantur, ac sese trucidantes vt titubem, temptabant ardentes aufferre quod interim habebam, quos non conspexi, nam callidus quassatur in opere quod agit, et ictum accipit quem aliis ostendit' (ff. 230°231). here again we have a single opponent attacked, this time one who has evidently upbraided the young hermit for his lay associations, and preached against him publicly. it would hardly seem likely that the bishop would find time to give a public pronouncement against a nobody like richard, even though he may have condemned him. the antagonist in question was evidently a cleric, but we have no positive evidence who he is. however, the change of number to the plural, very shortly before the subject is changed, might suggest that he was the abbot (or at any rate the spokesman) of the persecuting monastery. they' were envious of rolle, and this charge (often repeated) probably refers to the monks whose claims of spirituality he is bent on combating in the melum. whenever rolle refers to his enemies as 'envious', clerics (regular or secular) are probably in question, who (in richard's opinion) claimed a spirituality which had really passed from them to him. they therefore resented his endowment of mystical joy, such as long since ceased to visit any among their numbers. the whole passage probably hangs together: the persecuting abbot (?) and his jealous monks are doubtless in question. this conjecture is supported by the last sentence, which hints that the adversaries have suffered rebuffs: tempestuosi et territi tormentabantur . . . callidus quassatur in opere quod agit', etc. it is hard to determine whether 'callidus' here is rolle's own special adversary, addressed immediately before, or the general human adversary. it is clear, however, that on the whole the persons and incidents involved here are probably the same as those involved in the passage quoted above (p. 123), which we associate with rievaulx or byland. there also we are told that the young hermit has been preached against ('populis ut placeam plerique pauentes, publice 1 munitis c. references in the melum to persecutions 485 predicabant penitenciam me pati'). in other words, that passage (more clearly even than this one) implies that the persecutors are monks, have preached against richard, and have suffered disaster. a third passage in the melum probably reiterates the same arguments, applied to the same circumstances. other subjects also intervene. ... 'siue forte iam frendent falsi fideles et in factis firmatis effundunt¹ furorem, inuidia vruntur quia lucide loquor, torquere temptantes non tangunt tranquillum, fruor tam fortiter feruore factoris. putant quod non potui pure predicare, nec sapere vt ceteri qui sancte subsistebant, sed sciant simpliciter quod auctorem amaui, qui animam ardore olimpi impleuit vt proferam precipue sermones amoris, scripturam scrutans que latet carnales. quid arguis, o impie, quem approbat auctor? non poteris tu perfide destruere in dolo quem deus dedicauit. tota die iniusticiam cogitat lingua tua, sicut nouacula acuta facis dolum. diligis maliciam super benignitate[m], iniquitatem magis quam loqui equitatem (ps. li. 4-5). vt quid erras, inuide? frustra furis, infelix, tabescens in tenebris, quia trinitas me temperauit et dedit michi quod te doceo: non enim accepi illud a seculari solacio, nec sanguis sustulit me, sed saporem sumpsi celestium per sapienciam sempiternam. . . . o miser sine miticia, adhuc beata bonitas benefacientibus benedicit, et magnifica maiestas mirabiles facit in mundo. non minus mirificat multos, quamuis perpauci bublicentur ad populum, quam pueros suos quos in primordiis preparauit ad pacem.... hoc attamen excipitur in istis terminacionibus temporum quod exterius ita omnino non operantur vt antiquitus agebant, et nimirum nec est necesse nunc vt miracula monstrentur, cum per totum orbem terrarum multiplicata maneant memoriter, sed exemplum electi operis indigetur. ostendi in oculis omnium vt luceat lux luminarium inter leues. ... non propter hoc iam non sunt sancti quia signa eos non seq[u]untur, immo pocius putandum est pro tanto eos perfecciores esse quia non procedunt ad potentes nec honorificantur inter homines vt presideant in prelacia. ergo pro eo quod non capiuntur ad dignitatem inter ditatos (que non est desideranda) amplius vruntur eterno amore et habundancius consurgunt in contemplacionem suauissime, sencientes celicum sonum, cythara supernorum se non celante. quod vtique optimum est sic amare in abscondito altissimum, et acceptabile amplius amatori eterno assidue interius ardere incomparabiliterque capiet canticum caritatis quam aliquis in externis nodatus negociis. ... siquidem sancti non ideo in supernas sedes sublimius sustolluntur, quia mira ostendebant in terris, nam et nonnulli mali huiusmodi optinuerunt, sed veritas hoc uoluit quod amans ardencius alcius assumatur, honorabilius assideat inter angelos, et in deliciis deitatis delicacius depascatur. porro pauper solus scincerus in simplicitate adhuc ordinem amoris pertingere poterit, quia nec habet 5 1 offendunt c. 2 furor c.. 3 om. c. ♦ ascendi s. 5 sublimatus c. 486 materials for rolle's biography aliquid inter homines nec ad habendum arripitur. diues denique quamuis sit dignus, diuinis deditus, et princeps populi ab imperatore predestinetur, eo quod in diuersa distrahitur, nec ad unum omnino se extendit, ita alte non ascendet in amplexibus amoris sed reuera uix raptim ad requiem rapietur' (ff. 233-233). a new chapter begins: 'deus meus, o ihesu, iudex iustissime, te deprecor deuocione quam michi dedisti, non me¹ delinquas inter detractores, ne dentibus dilacerer dolorosis.... singularis sum ego donec transeam. nam multi meditati sunt maliciam vt me mergerent in multiloquio et deprehenderent in docume[n]to indisciplinato.... ergo non deberet eciam deuotissimus dicere dignior denique sum ante deum quam plures qui inter populos pernoctant, presertim cum non potuit preuidere pectus progredientis, quanta caritate concaleat. nescit nimirum si alius amplius ardorem habeat eterni amoris (cuius memoria non magnificatur in hoc mundo) quam sanctus, cuius inter christianos commemoracio celebratur, et de eo fit festiuitas, quia feliciter finiuit. nempe siue natalicia nominentur nobilium, siue taceantur (uelut totaliter terre traditi), siquidem scitote quod inter angelicos ordines excellencius ac reuerencius residet, qui in² presenti positus penuria habet habundancius ardorem amoris auctoris et prestancius prelibat dulcedinem diuinitatis. quoniam hoc absque ambiguitate condiciones considerando comprehendi quod mortales merita magnificorum et mirabilium nesciunt diiudicare, quia diuisiones graciarum sunt idem quod spiritus diuidens singulis prout vult, nam vnicuique nostrum data est gracia secundum mensuram donacionis christi (ephes. iv. 7); alii autem sic, alii quidem sic. ego vtique in hac habitacione altitudinem inter homines non elegi, sed vtinam hoc haberem quod anhelaui, non honorem humanum, non laudem labilem, non miraculorum magnificenciam, non prelacie principatum, sed deo seruire desideraui amore deitatis, christum concupiui, et ad hoc auidissime animum extendi incessanter, aspirans in auctorem, vt ardentissime amorem altissimi amplexarer. hoc vtique optimum esse opinatus sum. . . . sciui solicite subinde, propter iubilum qui ingeritur et canorem quem carpsi, quod sanctitas non sistit in cilicio et cinere, nec in aliquo quod exterius operamus, sed in gustu gaudii amoris eterni, in contemptu corporalium. . . . quamobrem cogitaui in claustro cordis constans esse in caritate, et despicabilius deduci inter diuites, ne ad dignitatem deportarer. amicam autem', etc. (ff. 233-4). the reference to his early love for the mother of god already quoted (p. 92) then follows, but his persecutions soon reappear : 'inuidi vndique obsistebant aduersum me, qui si lapsus ligarer in lacum lat[r]arentur, et synagoga superborum ceciderunt a sapiencia, cum me cernerent adhuc subsistentem vtique et impii obturauerunt aurem ne 2 om. c. 1 ne c. references in the melum to persecutions 487 audirent quod ego acceptabilis essem inter homines, et irruerunt ipsi in ignomeniam, qui me oderunt. inter hec et qui obnubilati erant operibus obscuris aperuerunt auditum ad obprobrium meum, et confusionem meam cupierunt quia non cucurri quemadmodum qui adhuc carnalitati coherent. insurrexerunt in me iniqui ambulantem in eterno amore, et tribulantes temptauerunt vt non tenear nisi trutannus, et deicerer a domibus in quibus diligebar. itaque in hiis non florui, sed fuscus fueram, et sole decoloratus, estu scilicet improperii,' quia horridum me habebant omnes insensati.... quoniam, o conditor, te concupiui, non discedens a dulcedine quam dedisti, sed et dilexi eos qui me despexerunt ac derisores? cum detractoribus non diuulgaui ad da[m]pnum, necnon et amaui eos qui me arguerunt et ostenderunt odia vt ab omnibus abhominarer. . . . quippe confortatus in caritatiuo calore transiui per ignem et aquam, et eduxisti me in refrigerium, ut audacter effectus altissimi amore requiescens referam refeccionem' (f. 234). in this passage we are not definitely told that the adversaries are monks, but probably they are, and the same as those addressed in the former passages quoted: they are described as 'inuidi', 'synagoga superborum', they seem to be jealous of the hermit's popularity among the people, and they have met some striking disaster (irruerunt ipsi in ignomeniam qui me oderunt'). the young hermit is apparently studying scripture (' que latet carnales '), and his enemies are watching to take him in some indiscreet speech or writing ('ut me mergerent in multiloquio et deprehenderent in documento indisciplinato'). jealousy of rolle's popularity among the people, envy of his mystic joys, and authority to check his preaching or writing, would suggest that his opponents in question here were clerics rather than laymen. the identity of the charges brought against the clerical adversaries here with those brought against the monks (of rievaulx or byland) in other quotations would suggest that the whole group concerns the same persons and incidents. the melum would seem to have been instigated by a quarrel with monks, and that quarrel gives the background for most of the personal passages. in the last quotation, as in that preceding, one special enemy is singled out, but this again is probably the abbot (or spokesman). the bishop does not apparently reappear in this work after the mention already quoted. neither have we any reason to connect these special passages on persecution with lay persecutors such as dalton (even though some details might apply to him). he (and perhaps neville) may however be included in the general chorus of detractors which richard indicates as the accompaniment 3 tetractoribus c. 1 sed imperii c. 2 derisiores c; derisionem s. 488 materials for rolle's biography of his life at this time. the last passage quoted would imply that the monks who hated him had instigated his expulsion from the houses of later patrons. the reiterated charge that he loved the houses of the rich would indicate the usual source of his support. claims to sanctity in the passage just quoted a new subject has been touched on, which probably bore directly on rolle's life at this time. the young hermit announces to the single adversary ('miser sine miticia'): 'magnifica maiestas mirabiles facit in mundo', and soon after he proceeds with a discussion of saints and miracles, in which he concludes that not all are saints whom miracles follow,' for even some who were bad have worked miracles. those who have loved most will receive the highest place in heaven, but among these will never be included a rich man, who is predestined by his riches to be diverted hither and thither (v. supra, pp. 485-6). in the job (apparently his next work) he tells us 'et non obstat quod multa corpora sanctorum transferuntur et in auro et argento ponuntur: omnia tum putredini dicunt [pater meus es tu, etc.]' (fol. xcvii). this discussion should be taken in connexion with the two following passages in richard's latin psalter, which would seem to indicate that his detractors alleged his failure to produce miracles as ground for refusing to believe his claim to sanctity (according to his own new, passionately held conception of sainthood). ps. lxxxvii. 10-11. '[clamaui] desiderio & canore in corde concepto [tota die] vsque ad noctem mortis [expandi ad te] id est, leuaui a vana gloria ad honorem tuum [manus meas] id est, opera mea, quamuis detractores mei aliter aestiment. et ne quis opponeret dicens: si sancti sunt, quare non miraculis ostendunt vitam suam? subdit, o deus; [nunquid mortuis] scilicet corde, id est, coram non intelligentibus [facies mirabilia] scilicet signa' (fol. lii). ps. cvii. 12. [nonne tu deus... qui repulisti nos: . . . & non exibis deus in virtutibus nostris] id est, non apparebis manifeste, ostendens nostras virtutes per miracula: sed magis latens in nobis, permittis nos tribulari et opprobria multa pati, & dicunt nos sanctos non esse, & ideo indignos imitatione, quia non facimus miracula ; & tu scis, domine deus, quod totum desiderium, amor ac studium nostrum tu es' (fol. lxivˇ). the date of writing of the latin psalter is not certain, but i suspect it to be early (v. supra, pp. 184 sq.). the incidents here 1 cf. also incend., p. 153. for a passage which contradicts this v. supra, p. 149n. claims to sanctity 489 hinted at might refer to almost any period of richard's life, for, from the melum on, he announces himself as a saint in practically all his writings (except his last works, the four epistles). thus through most of his mature life he lays himself open to retort from the literal-minded. however, in no work does he make so determined and exuberant an attempt to prove himself a saint as in the melum, which takes from that purpose the title given to it in the text. thomas of lancaster was executed march 1322, and by the following october archbishop melton was issuing a mandate forbidding the people to worship at his tomb (raine, fasti, p. 406). edward iii, in 1327, authorized the collection of alms for a chapel on the site of thomas's execution, and he had then already made his first application for the canonization of the earl, in which the archbishop joined (art. lancaster, d. n. b.). at the same time higden tells us: 'de cujus viri meritis an inter sanctos sit annumerandus crebra in vulgo disceptatio est' (rs., 41, viii. 312 sq.):¹ some believe that because thomas was a man of impure life, no miracles at his tomb can make him a saint. this discussion (which is continued somewhat at length) also occurs in other chronicles of the time (see the yorkshire chronicle of meaux, ii. 344). it is resumed (rs., 41, viii. 324) in connexion with the attempt to canonize edward ii. it is possible that some reference to these circumstances is to be seen in the passage from the melum last quoted-when taken in connexion with the extracts given from the latin psalter. the subject of saints and miracles was probably, in the regions affected by the lancaster rebellion, a burning one at the time the melum was written, and if (as the chroniclers from all over england state) there was much discussion in these years of whether evil men could be numbered among the saints, the hermit richard (who had violent preconceptions on the subject of saints) was probably one of the most uncompromising adherents of the stricter view. it will be noted that his argument already quoted might (though not necessarily) be framed to cover earl thomas's case. richard admits that evil men may work miracles, but not that they are therefore saints: no rich man in any case, however virtuous, can attain to sainthood. whether there is or is not contemporary allusion in this passage, it is at least 1 trevisa thus translates higden's explanation for the rise of the cult : 'likynge and wille þat wyves have to wende aboute make tydinges springe and sprede hugeliche of suche worschippynge' (ibid., p. 327). the alliteration characteristic of the time should be noted. 2 so he denies that visions necessarily make saints (v. supra, p. 207). i i 490 materials for rolle's biography probable, from the references in the psalter, that rolle at this period was attacked for his failure to produce miracles when he professed to be a saint, and the melum would suggest that the charge came from the spokesman of the hostile monks (perhaps the abbot). possible sojourn in the sorbonne m. l'abbé feret,' as i noted in my article on the prick of conscience (p. 117 n.), takes up rolle among the 'sorbonnistes anglais' because the note vixit in sorbona 1326' is found in the compilation on the history of the sorbonne in bibliothèque de l'arsenal, paris, ms. 1022 (iii, f. 122). dom noetinger, monk of solesmes, who, as already noted (supra, p. 19), is preparing a french modernized version of rolle's works, has recently discovered another reference to rolle in the companion compilation on the sorbonne in ms. 1021 of the same library. this note runs as follows: 'richardus de hampole, cujus mentio inter socios sorbonae in libro prioris circa annum 1326, videtur jam ad sodalitium admissus ante annum 1320... diciturque obiisse anno 1349 apud sanctimoniales de hampolo juxta dancastre in comitatu eboracenci. moritur autem eremita cum opinione sanctitatis ' (f. 79, in art. 2, 'provisorum et magistrorum omnium, tam sociorum quam hospitum, quotquot a primordiis domus sorbonicae reperiri potuerunt nomina"). also mentioned as occurring in ms. 1228, to be cited. dom noetinger writes to me that he has been struck by the 'sound theological science and accuracy' which do not seem to him to agree with rolle's leaving oxford at eighteen, and having no further scholastic training. he points out that pits has already called rolle a doctor-and, as he might have added, bale in his first catalogue. dom noetinger writes in a private letter: if it is true that he was docteur de sorbonne, then everything is clear. there is a (wilful) gap in the legend. rolle left oxford at eighteen, but went to paris and took his degree. it is after his coming back home, that, sick of the world, he determined to become a hermit.' dom noetinger later developed the point in his article in the month, where he urges 1 la faculté de théologie de paris et ses docteurs les plus célèbres, iii. 247-50. my attention was called to this reference by my friend miss m. e. temple. 2 i owe it to dom noetinger that i have corrected my slip in identifying rolle's 'nineteenth year' with 'nineteen years of age', found in my monograph on the prick of conscience (p. 117), and perhaps derived from bramley (p. 5) and the camb. hist. eng. lit. (ii. 44). possible sojourn in the sorbonne 491 that rolle's doctoral dignity would explain both his learning and some improbabilities in the office. dom noetinger feels that richard gained his patronage too easily, according to the narrative of the office, if he was a mere boy when he became a hermit, as that work implies. his career, however, becomes plausible if we suppose that he had been a fellow at the sorbonne, and become a doctor at paris before he entered on his hermit's vocation. dom noetinger quotes m. léopold delisle as giving the opinion that the arsenal mss. in question are authentic and important sources of information (v. month, loc. cit., p. 6), and m. louis batiffol (administrateur de la bibliothèque de l'arsenal) writes to me as follows of the collection on the history of the sorbonne (in four volumes), to which mss. 1021-2 belong: 'il me paraît que les notices contenues dans ces manuscrits sont precises et consciencieuses.' the books come from the library of the sorbonne, and were given by s. m. n. ladvocat, the librarian there (1742-65), whose own monograph on his house makes it a matter of regret that he did not write its complete history: perhaps the manuscripts in question (compiled by sorbonists of the preceding century) were acquired to assist him in his monograph. such is the conclusion of m. gréard, rector of the university of paris, in whose work on the sorbonne they are used as a principal source,' as they are in a work on the same subject by m. franklin, librarian of the bibliothèque mazarine. m. franklin, in his preface, especially points out the list of the sorbonists from earliest times, which he prints in an appendix from bib. de l'arsenal ms.-in-folio 133 (ff. 336 sq.): this list he calls 'un document précieux pour l'histoire littéraire du moyen âge' (p. viii). it gives the names and dates of the 'provisores' of the sorbonne, after which follows in each case a list of names, headed : 'hujus tempore fuerunt sorbonae socii hospitesve qui sequuntur ' (p. 222). in the time of the 5th provisor (1315-20) only ten names are given, among which the seventh is richardus de hampolo' (p. 224). nothing indicates whether he is a 'socius' or a 'hospes'. m. franklin does not describe or date the manuscript which he is using, but it seems to be that which is now designated as ms. 1228, a miscellany on the history of the sorbonne (17th-18th cent. ?) ³ 1 nos adieux à la vieille sorbonne, by oct. gréard, paris, 1893, pp. viii-ix, n. 1, where the arsenal mss. are described, and their compilers named. alfred franklin, la sorbonne, 2nd edit., paris, 1875. 3 this date (given in the catalogue) does not agree with héméré's ownership. i i2 492 materials for rolle's biography 6 bearing on the cover the name of héméré (librarian, 1638-46), whose manuscript history of his house is used by all writers treating the subject. gréard states that héméré gives 'un grand nombre de renseignements précieux; ... alors que l'auteur . . . avait entre les mains toutes les pièces, il le declare, on dirait le plus souvent qu'il travaille de souvenir' (pp. ix-x). it may be that ms. 1228 (made up of sheets of all sizes) was a collection made by héméré as a source for his history, and that the list already cited was copied from a medieval document, for which he neglected to give the reference. the library of the sorbonne has suffered serious losses of medieval documents since his time (v. gréard, p. ix n.). the house must have kept in close touch with its archives, for we are told that until almost modern times it had no constitution. c'est la tradition qui servait de base aux délibérations de la maison' (gréard, p. x). héméré, perhaps more than other librarians, will have known his archives, since he wrote the elaborate history already cited: also, he was (with another) appointed to catalogue the library of cardinal richelieua task which he did not live to execute (franklin, p. 157). in this library (which after his death was turned over to the sorbonne) rolle will have been brought to his attention, for a volume of richard's works was included (v. supra, p. 135). probably the acquisition of this book started the sorbonist seventeenth-century compilers on the study of rolle, whom they were including among sorbonist writers: information derived from pits as to his life and works is to be found in all the arsenal mss. in question. however, they may have followed, in their claim on him, a genuine tradition, supported by honest use of documents. most, at least, of the material concerning rolle found in the compilation in four volumes is also present in the volume assigned to héméré's ownership (v. noetinger, p. 7). it is uncertain which gives the original form, but all are contemporaneous, and date from approximately the period when the library of the sorbonne acquired richelieu's copy of some of rolle's works. up to now all hypotheses as to rolle's life and writings have been vitiated by the fact that all his writings had never been read, even by the scholars who had studied him. middendorff, as we have seen, knew no works in manuscript. horstmann's remarks showed that he had not read both psalters. now that the works have been read, it will be seen that dom noetinger's whole conjecture cannot be accepted. in even the two earliest of rolle's compositions he already calls himself a hermit, and they are so crude (compared to the later ones) that they must have been written in extreme youth. if (as dom possible sojourn in the sorbonne 493 noetinger believes) he did not become a hermit till after a return from paris, some time later than 1326, all the writings whatsoever must have been written between his return and 1349. the judica (written after he became a hermit) seems to have been composed before 1322. the objections raised by dom noetinger as to the probability of rolle beginning his hermit's life under the circumstances described in the office if he was then a mere boy, do not seem to me valid for the middle ages, however reasonable for our own more regularized times. the whim of high-handed medieval persons like dalton might, one would think, allow unconventional behaviour in parish churches near their property: it is evident that rolle interested dalton's wife from the first moment when she saw him praying in her seat. moreover, we are never definitely told that rolle had a recognized position as counsellor to hampole priory (v. month, p. 4): we are merely told that he lived near, and had at least one friend among the nuns. the motives therefore for believing that rolle is likely to have been 'doctor', in view of his privileges described in the office, are in my opinion not so strong as dom noetinger would believe them to be. the note which he quotes, however, is of great importance. it is supported by others, and the whole question of rolle's possible sojourn in the sorbonne must be gone into in detail. 6 the note which dom noetinger quotes is more significant than those quoted by feret and franklin, for it cites a medieval source for the information given, which must be searched for. the 'liber prioris' is said to be much the most important source for the history of the sorbonne' (gréard, p. xii), and though it is not extant as a consecutive record till later than rolle's time, fragmentary documents relating to the earlier period still exist in bib. nat. lat. ms. 16574, paris (gréard, ibid. n). i am kindly informed by m. omont, conservateur du département des mss. de la bibliothèque nationale that no mention of rolle is to be found in this volume. it may be, however, that the seventeenth-century compiler, to whom the note quoted by dom noetinger is due, copied it from an authentic medieval document now lost. but we do not know how much he amplified the original note. it would seem that the original information may have been merely what is given in the notes quoted by feret and franklin, viz. that rolle 'lived in the sorbonne in 1326', and that he was in the sorbonne, for some time at least, in the period 1315-20. for several reasons the tradition that rolle was once a resident at 494 materials for rolle's biography the sorbonne deserves consideration. it is supported, as we have seen, by several entries in compilations of recognized value. moreover, the dates in question would up to a certain point fit curiously the chronology of his life already conjectured in this work. we have seen (supra, pp. 112, 462) that the judica was almost certainly written before 1322, in about the twenty-first year of his life, and probably in the early summer, and that the early part of the melum (so far as we know, his next work) was probably written towards the end of 1326 (v. supra, p. 127). so far as the dates go, therefore, rolle might have been in paris in the latter part of 1320, and also in the early part of 1326. it would seem practically impossible, however, that he should have been continuously in paris from 1320 to 1326. the melum recapitulates a long period of wandering, apparently in england, where he is at home in manor-houses, and comes into collision with monks, and under condemnation by a bishop and perhaps other clerics: some of this experience is echoed from his life before he wrote the judica, but at least the whole episode of his quarrel with regulars seems to have taken place after the writing of that work. if rolle lived in the sorbonne, therefore, he is likely to have gone there twice, once in 1320, and again six years later. there is nothing, in the two entries which seem to represent the original material, to make such an assumption impossible. the conjecture that rolle made two journeys abroad could fit what we know of his life. at the time of writing the judica he is in a mood for study, especially in order to assist in the pastoral office. his mysticism is still undeveloped, and there is nothing in his inner life to inhibit him from undertaking residence in a community of scholars he has just been living in the midst of a manorial establishment. at this time, therefore, if a patron had offered to take or send him to continue his education in paris, we can imagine that he would have accepted gladly, and we are told that the secondary purpose of the sorbonne was his favourite 'évangélisation des paroisses' (feret, ii. 12). if he went, it will have been there that his ecstasy was consummated, since we believe 'fire' to have come less than a year after he wrote the judica. about nine months later he heard 'canor', in the same chapel¹ in which he had received 'heat'. if therefore he went to paris after writing the judica, he would be likely to have stayed there at least through the completion of his ecstasy, that is, about a year and a half. we have already seen from the melum (supra, pp. 473-4) that the coming of the 'canor' 1 the sorbonne first had a separate chapel building in 1322 (gréard, p. 78). possible sojourn in the sorbonne 495 ultimately drove him into the wilderness, and the state of mind revealed in the melum was very different from that manifested in the judica: complete solitude was what he craved now. his movements were not entirely under his control however; his life and opinions had involved him in serious difficulties with the ecclesiastical authorities, and he had had to flee and his friends had had to hide him (v. supra, p. 122). at this juncture it would not be impossible that he might again go abroad, to seek the refuge of the sorbonne, where (as a poor scholar) he perhaps had been received some years earlier. now, however, life in community would be difficult to him from the outset, and at the earliest possible moment we can believe that he would return home. we have seen that the cataclysmic melum was written in a mood of savage and desperate exultation in which he expected to die soon: it might have been written just after some precipitate action on his part, that brought a great change into his life. such may have been a return from paris, in spite of the dangers at home, and his expectation of dying may mean a determination to be a martyr, if such were the price of return without compromise. rolle's commentaries probably played a practical and important part in his life. in spite of their partisan tendency, which would have been unpopular in some quarters, their solid theological merits gave his friends new weapons with which to defend him against his accusers, and the elaborate, learned, and spiritual latin psalter (which was probably early), especially, must have done much to strengthen his position in the church. the tremendous interest in commenting scripture which we see developed in rolle between the time of composing the judica and the melum (v. supra, pp. 145 sq.) is a further important reason for taking seriously the tradition that rolle was a student at the sorbonne. in his juvenile years at oxford we can hardly see how he could have gained either the training or the materials for the elaborate commentaries which seem to be a dominating interest in his years twenty-five to thirty-five (or thereabouts). study of the scriptures was a post-graduate course (deanesly, lollard bible, pp. 162-3). the interest in the pastoral charge which dominated the judica might have sent him to the sorbonne; once there, however, the daily or twice-daily study of scriptural commentary (gréard, p. 48) will doubtless have introduced him to a new interest. he may have found here the source of his expositions on the psalter-the catena of commentary by peter the lombard (whose sentences-as well as the scriptures-were the daily study of the house). 496 materials for rolle's biography the office speaks of rolle's special desire for theological study, and implies that he scorned other subjects-which actually, at oxford, dominated the field. the sorbonne was founded for theological study above all (as much as possible divorced from dialectic); and to provide free instruction for secular clerks in a hostel such as the monastic orders provided for their members (gréard, pp. 20, 52). gréard calls it the 'chef-lieu de l'enseignement théologique' (p. 87), and in the end it gave the title to the theological faculty of the whole university of paris. the library was a most important feature of the establishment, and a catalogue of 1338 fortunately allows us to appreciate its magnitude at near the period of rolle's possible sojourn in paris. the poverty and the equality of the society of the sorbonne were notorious: the fellows are usually termed in legacies 'pauperes magistri de sorbona' (delisle, passim), and the poor scholars, who as guests received their keep and free instruction here for months or for years (gréard, p. 29), associated on equal terms with the fellows, except that they did not have a vote in the affairs of the house (ibid., p. 34). young secular clerks were sent here by their bishops from all over europe (gréard, p. 68); beneficiaries derived their support either from the house, or from their local patrons. here were many of the conditions which rolle craved throughout his life: freedom from worldly entanglements, security as to necessities, a simple (but a dignified) manner of living, freedom and materials for study. the only thing lacking from his point of view will have been solitude, with its opportunities for contemplation, but we have seen that when he wrote the latin psalter, though he called himself a hermit, he rationalized the hermit's solitude by saying that solitude of mind' may be meant (v. supra, p. 179). this passage has made us suspect (for one reason) that the latin psalter was an early work, and that he echoed in it the early period of his hermit's life, when, first with the daltons, and later perhaps at the sorbonne, he cherished his solitude even while living among men. after rolle had attained 'song' he interpreted 'solitude' more literally, and since his entire ecstasy appears well established in the latin psalter, it is unlikely that he wrote the whole work in paris. he probably at least collected his materials there, and his residence among scholars may explain some very scholastic passages (v. supra, p. 185). he certainly brought his interest in commenting scripture home with him, for in the melum he not only hints that he has published scriptural commentaries (v. supra, pp. 474-5, 487), but 1 see l. delisle, le cabinet des mss., paris, 1874, ii. possible sojourn in the sorbonne 497 suggests that his gift for interpretation is divinely given, though now it is suspect (v. supra, p. 147). the job, which we know was later than the melum, proves that rolle's interest in scriptural commentary continued its theological character may again be the result of his life in the sorbonne. his commentaries, romantic (like all his work), but addressed to the learned, and thus less perversive than preaching, took the fancy of many academic and ecclesiastical persons, and probably in the end afforded him a bridge by which he passed from the dangers of his early irresponsible propaganda to the safer and quieter period when he wrote the balanced compositions of his middle and later years. it is likely that he owed this service to the sorbonne, though in default of original medieval evidence his residence at paris cannot be proved. what rolle tells us of his early vicissitudes, both spiritual and temporal, would seem to make it impossible that he could ever have been admitted 'socius' of the sorbonne. candidates were subjected to rigorous 'enquête' (as to character and doctrine) as well as 'examen' (as to learning), and, once accepted, they were fellows all their lives (gréard, p. 30). such an honour can hardly have come to the impetuous richard, who (as we know positively) came under severe ecclesiastical displeasure in his early years and led a wanderer's life always. in the same way it is very unlikely that richard ever became master (or doctor). the milan ms. calls rolle 'ricardus parisiensis sacerdos secularis et magister in sacra theologia' (v. supra, p. 220), but it is probably guessing (as may be also those manuscripts which call him 'magister'). at the other extreme, the vienna ms., which says that he is 'laycus', and that his latin works are translated from english, must also be in error (v. supra, p. 41). rolle was far from being a rustic ignoramus, as we have seen, but he seems to speak objectively of those who have attained the title of master (v. canticles, quoted supra, p. 69). moreover, he left oxford too early to have attained more than the baccalaureate (a rank usual to those who were received in the sorbonne, v. gréard, p. 31). by the time that he would have gone to paris, he was midway in his development of mysticism. those who were admitted were expected to study to be masters, according to the statutes (pp. 596–7) printed by feret (ii, app. i), also from arsenal ms. 1021 (for which he accepts, p. 4 n., the statement of the compiler that they are derived 'ex veteribus membranis '-assigning them to a date before 1321). as we have seen, at the time of writing the judica rolle might undertake to subject himself to the disciplined study necessary for the 498 materials for rolle's biography doctorate, but it can hardly be believed that he would be able to fulfil his intentions. as a matter of fact, the sorbonne provided that those who after seven years did not show proficiency to complete the course (of ten years) must leave (feret, ii. 12). rolle is likely to have been one of those who fell by the wayside, but in a community such as this, preoccupation with mysticism is likely to have been recognized as conferring certain privileges of irregularity. rolle's commentaries will in any case have shown his scholastic proficiency in his own line. it may be noted that the supposition that he remained 1320-6 gives him about the term of residence to be expected from one who fell out of the race for a degree. however, we have seen that evidence drawn from his writings makes so long a stay practically impossible. in the list printed by franklin, fellows and guests are cited together without distinction, and from this document at least we are given no reason for believing that rolle was a fellow. as a guest it would be likely that he might come and go. in concluding the present discussion one point should be noted, which to some extent diminishes the value of the three entries relating to rolle in the compilations on the history of the sorbonne. he is designated as 'richardus de hampole', a name which we can be certain he never used in his early life, and which was probably never applied to him till after his death at hampole had made his connexion with that place famous. this title must, it would appear, be due to the seventeenth-century compilers (perhaps deriving it from the sorbonne ms.). any contemporary records are likely to have noted him as 'richard' or 'richard rolle '. in this connexion an entry should be pointed out in the earliest extant list of students of the university of paris, printed by denifle and chatelain in the chartularium of the university (paris, 1891, ii. 670). among the students cited in this 'fragmentum computi receptarum bursarum ab universitate paris., suppositis, quorum nomina afferuntur, impositarum' we find in the 'vicus sarbone', 'ricardus filius rodulfi cum discipulo suo, 15 solid. solv.' the date of the document is put between september 15, 1329, and march 7, 1336, but it is not certain that anything positively forbids a date a few years earlier. the entry seems to designate some one not in direct connexion with the sorbonne, since the 'bursales' as well as the 'non bursales' of that house are cited immediately before. the fact that the person in question lives in vicus sarbone', however, might suggest some sort of connexion (perhaps old familiarity). we possible sojourn in the sorbonne 499 are told that the poor students supported by the house lived in the whole surrounding neighbourhood, as did even some of the fellows (gréard, pp. 29, n. 4, 30). it is not impossible that the entry in question represents a crude foreign latinization of 'richard son of rolle (raoul)'. in that case richard (at his stay in the sorbonne c. 1326) must have lived outside the house with a disciple, and perhaps at the charge of a secular patron (for example, the 'great lady' who, with her husband, supported him for some years). one further fact may be noted as suggesting that northern englishmen may have been welcomed at the sorbonne in the years suggested for rolle's stay there. in the list in which rolle is cited, in the period 1315-20, the second name is 'alanus de pemuech', and this is probably the alanus anglicus', alias alan de penrith', who was prior in 1318 (delisle, p. 143). we are told that the priors (the active heads) were chosen yearly from the youngest fellows (franklin, p. 19). alan may therefore have been not far from rolle's age. a warm friend of boyhood days might have done much to smooth the way of the erratic richard if he did live for a time in the sorbonne, and-to indulge in conjectures-he might have crossed to france with alan, and, for all we know, earlier have known him in oxford. the fact that in the middle ages students lived in 'nations' will have thrown fellow-countrymen in close association. northerners at first ranked as a 'nation' at oxford (rashdall, ii. 368, 371, etc.). in conclusion, one objection to the foregoing discussion may be forestalled. it may be argued that since the date of the melum is only very conjecturally put at 1326, it is not this outpouring of egotism but the theological job which directly followed richard's return from paris. this supposition seems to me on general grounds less plausible than that just discussed. after rolle's ecstasy was complete we cannot believe that he would willingly have lived in a community, however like-minded: but the melum may give us a reason for his being obliged to do so, since it tells us that he has been in hiding. the persecution (inspired by monks) which made him a fugitive might not be so bitter and official that the society of the sorbonne would have withdrawn their patronage, and, as a matter of fact, he might have found in this community sympathy for his feud. gréard quotes héméré as saying of the founder: 'les moines n'avaient pas d'adversaire plus actif que robert' (p. 27); we are told that he founded his college because the study of theology in the university was in danger of deteriorating under monastic influence. 500 materials for rolle's biography a sorbonist contemporary with héméré is said by gréard to give 'le fond de la pensée de robert' as follows: 'le goût de la théologie ne pouvait que dépérir dans l'ombre des cloîtres, s'il n'était stimulé du dehors par une libre émulation. aussi bien la règle commune des vœux risquait d'éteindre les plus nobles ardeurs : tous les hommes ne sont pas nés pour se soumettre à la volonté d'un seul et dieu n'a pas promis son paradis à ceux-là seulement qui revêtaient la bure.... que moines et séculiers travaillassent chacun de leur côté, et l'on verrait à qui devaient appartenir la maîtrise des lettres et la direction des esprits' (ibid., p. 20). a society conceived in this spirit might be very likely to receive a talented young man fleeing from monastic enemies (who have argued that theirs is the holiest manner of life): and if earlier also he had lived under the patronage of the sorbonne he might in the first place have imbibed from there some at least of his prejudice against conventuals. after the melum was written, we can hardly imagine any responsible religious institution immediately giving rolle support. the job, evidently written after some time had passed, and partly in reaction from the melum, will have proved his talents as an eloquent and very energetic expositor, who, addressing himself to the learned, in tempered language, was a publicist to be tolerated by the church, and perhaps encouraged. in that work the benefits he derived from the sorbonne will have been manifest, as it may have been in the latin psalter, which, for all we know, was almost contemporaneous with the melum. rolle in these formative years was a curious wild mixture of strong impulses, and his scholar-prophet instinct to interpret scripture is as clearly visible in the tumultuous melum as in the theological job. at the moment of writing the melum, however, the careful labour of exposition could have no ultimately quieting effect on his nerves, because he has evidently been so oppressed and goaded by a long experience at once of opposition and of gregariousthe violence of that work may be due not only to the feud with his monastic enemies, but also to the (now) uncongenial life in a community, to which he was driven by his necessity for flight. in other words, we may see the influence of his recent stay with the society of the sorbonne in the very fury of the anti-social tendencies there expressed. these, however, are only conjectures. ness. incidents of later life 501 incidents of later life the office, after describing rolle's life with the daltons, tells us that ('post hec') richard removed from his early home 'ad alias partes' (p. 39), and thereupon gives an extended apology for his change of abode, which, considering the discussions on the subject found in his judica, melum, canticles, and incendium, may be derived from them, and not indicate any tradition of his persecutions on this score. it goes on: 'cum itaque sanctus iste ex causis necessariis et multum utilibus se ad morandum in comitatu richmundie transtulisset', etc. thus we are not explicitly told whether he went to richmondshire straight from the protection of dalton, but, as we have seen (supra, p. 481), it is probable that he did not, and the reference to 'alias partes' before the reference to richmondshire may indicate the same. the removal some time to richmondshire, his connexion with margaret kirkeby, and his death at hampole may be said to be the only primary facts which we have concerning his later life. the statement that rolle removed to richmondshire cannot be said to localize him very narrowly, for a large area is in question. the archdeaconry of that name included 'the old district of richmondshire, now included in the north and a portion of the west riding, together with lancashire, n. of the ribble, and those southern deaneries of westmorland and cumberland which had not been united with the diocese of carlisle, when it was formed in the twelfth century'.¹ it is therefore, strictly speaking, possible that rolle wandered for a time in england outside of yorkshire, though we have no proof that he did so. it is clear, however, that there is more uncertainty about his movements than is usually recognized. horstmann, for example, says that he never-'excepting the years of his studentship-left the precincts of yorkshire' (ii, p. xxxix): 'his remove into richmondshire seems to have taken place in the earlier half of the third decade of his age. he stayed there for a considerable time' (p. xxxi); 'at last-presumably in the beginning of the fourties [sic] of his age-he removed to hampole, and there stayed during the remainder of his life' (p. xxxiii). these statements would make it appear that rolle's movements were more final than was the case. it is certain that he moved back and forth from richmondshire to hampole, and (since he almost certainly wrote one of his english ¹ a. hamilton thompson, archaeol. journ. ixxi, 100 sq. 502 materials for rolle's biography epistles for a nun of yedingham, v. supra, p. 247) he probably also returned at times to his old home in the neighbourhood of pickering. the vienna ms. doubtless describes rolle's early life accurately when it says: 'in principiis sub delibacione (?) locorum vbi eum gracia admonuisset, siue in heremo, siue in seculo, vel in peregrinacionibus vixit' (supra, p. 42). probably he kept up the same wandering to the end. margaret de kirkeby we can speak positively in denying that when rolle went to hampole he left richmondshire for ever, because of the unexpected records discovered by miss clay in regard to margaret kirkeby. it had been taken for granted from the terms by which she is designated in the office ('olim' recluse at ainderby) that it was when she was enclosed at ainderby that richard lived twelve miles from her cell (as the office relates). two records in bishop zouche's register, however, discovered by miss clay, show that she did not reach ainderby till some years after rolle's death. on december 12, 1348 (ten months before rolle died), the archbishop issued a commission to the abbot of eggleston to enclose 'margaretam la boteler sororem domus monialium de hampole . . . que salubri ducta proposito anachorita effici plurimum concupiscit ac vitam ducere solitariam ut eo liberius et quietius piis oracionibus et vigiliis dedita conditori omnium valeat famulari'. she was to be enclosed 'in quadam domo capelle de estelaton' archidiaconatus richem[undie] dicte nostre diocesis contigua, in qua pro suo perpetuo se disposuit moraturam'' (reg. zouche, f. 72). in bishop thoresby's register we learn that on january 16, 1356-7, he gave letters to the abbots of jervaulx and eggleston 'pro parte dilecte filie deuote mulieris margarete de kirkeby anachorite apud laton' nostre diocesis iam recluse'. where she is she 'cannot see the sacrament of the altar or hear, and permission is granted for her to be transferred 'vsque locum vicinum ecclesie parochialis de aynderby... inibi ponendam et more pristino includendam'. she is absolved from her vow to remain perpetually at 'laton', as her place of former enclosure is spelled here (reg. thoresby, f. 287). there seems to me no doubt that both these records refer to the same person, who was richard rolle's disciple. miss clay diffidently ¹ i quote from transcripts made for me with the greatest generosity by the late mr. william brown. margaret de kirkeby 503 suggested: 'possibly she was margaret la boteler of kirkby' (p. 143 n.), but she first appeared to take the two entries as concerned with two persons, and (after noting the removal to ainderby of 'margaret de kirkeby', who was obviously the disciple of the hermit mentioned in the laud prologue, the office, etc.) remarked: 'there was some connexion between the east layton cell and hampole, for in 1348 margaret la boteler, nun of hampole, was enclosed there' (ibid.). her later conjecture gives the more plausible explanation. we are told in the office that margaret, the recluse of ainderby, removed to hampole after the death of the hermit who had directed her spiritual life; the records show that less than ten years before a recluse margaret was removed from layton to ainderby, a recluse of the same name had been enclosed at layton who had earlier been a nun of hampole. it is extremely unlikely that a connexion with. hampole (a very small nunnery) should exist in the case of two women named margaret who at practically the same date were enclosed in remote layton. we can surely identify them as one and the same. the vienna ms. speaks of margaret as 'adherens predictis sanctimonialibus' (supra, p. 43). the variation in her name in the episcopal registers ought to offer no difficulty, for 'la boteler' was probably her family name, and 'kirkeby' the name of her family parish. thus, even sons of great families exchanged their family names for place names when they entered the church : a percy became bishop alnwick, a bruce became dean pickering.¹ the records discovered by miss clay, as already discussed, change the outline of rolle's life at several points. margaret kirkeby could not have become a recluse till his very last year, and the form, written when she became one, must therefore be dated in 1348-9, for the register seems to be explicit in indicating this as her first enclosure. the cell from which his cell was distant twelve miles must have been that at east layton, and not at ainderby. in fact ainderby (and yafforth, perhaps the home of rolle's family) must have been near the circumference of a circle drawn from layton as a centre at a distance of twelve miles. since east layton cannot be more than three miles from the border of co. durham, that circle must include a large area in durham, where therefore rolle may have lived. it is also evident that rolle returned to richmondshire after having known hampole. he would almost certainly have met margaret first when she was a nun of hampole, and the incident ¹ leach, yas. rec. ser., 27, p. xxxii. bishop rotherham's family name was scot (historic notices of rotherham, by john guest, worksop, 1879, p. 88). 504 materials for rolle's biography recounted in the office (when he healed her on one april 9) must have occurred on a pilgrimage which he took to her neighbourhood in the last spring of his life-unless, indeed, it was when on a visit to hampole that he died in the autumn, and he had then no settled home, or had one near 'laton'. we have no sure clue as to what led the disciple of richard rolle to take up her enclosure so far from the religious house of which she was a member. we have no medieval evidence as to a chapel at east layton except what is given in the record just quoted, but 'east layton chapelry is mentioned in 1619' (v. c. h., n.r. i. 134). the place is only a township, which lies partly in the parish of melsonby and partly in that of stanwick. this whole region was originally held by the rollos; later, the fitzalans were lords of the manor of melsonby, and during the thirteenth and part of the fourteenth centuries lived in the manor-house there (v. c. h., n.r. i. 105). in 1306 the manor passed to the stapletons (ibid., p. 106), and in 1373 when their heir died (who had married a fitzwilliam), a daughter inherited who had married a metham, also of the neighbourhood of hampole (yaj. viii. 115, and v. infra, p. 512). during the latter years of margaret's enclosure at layton, therefore, the lords of melsonby may have had a connexion with hampole. in the part of east layton which lay in the parish of stanwick, fitzhughs, scropes, and nevilles had territorial connexions (v. c. h., n.r. i. 127, 131). we know that rolle was in direct contact with the nevilles in his earlier years at least, the interest in his works in the early fifteenth century on the part of the then scropes and fitzhughs (and at the great religious house founded by henry fitzhugh) has already suggested a tradition from ancestors who were his patrons in life. possession of a personal relic of the 'ankerer de hampole 'gives a possible sign of connexion also with the stapletons, some of whom were at melsonby (infra, p. 506-7). it is probable that since margaret was being enclosed under rolle's influence the owners or patrons of her place of enclosure were patrons also of his. none of the great families mentioned as holding land in east layton in the parish of stanwick lived on these lands, but the laytons, sub-tenants, did live there, and the heads of the family in rolle's time were famous soldiers.¹ 1 p. harrison, gilling west, pp. 525 sq. sir thomas de laton chiualer' was one of the lords of the townships of east and west laton 9 ed. ii, and still alive 12 ed. iii. his son, sir john, fought in the scotch and french wars. here was a channel by which rolle's works might travel to hainault, for example (v. supra, p. 219). margaret de kirkeby 505 the parish church of stanwick is full of monuments of the pigott family, lords of manors adjacent to east layton. they were also lords of melmerby, near coverham, where sir ralph pigott in 1328 founded a chapel to be served by a hermit appointed by coverham abbey (the burial-place both of nevilles and of scropes of masham, v. infra, p. 513). thus, altogether, though we have no certain clue as to why rolle's disciple took up her enclosure so far from her convent, the personnel of the neighbourhood to which she went gives us opportunity to conjecture all sorts of personal connexions which might have brought her here: many of the surrounding gentry we might suspect on other grounds to have been patrons of rolle. perhaps margaret came here to be near her master. it may be noted that when margaret was transferred in 1356-7 the commission was issued to the abbot of jervaulx as well as to the abbot of eggleston. the first commission had, it would seem, naturally addressed the abbot of eggleston, as the nearest monastic neighbour (no more than six or seven miles distant): jervaulx abbey, however, was more than twice as far away, and perhaps the abbot of this house was enlisted in the service of margaret at the request of the fitzhughs of ravensworth, her neighbours, two miles across the valley from layton (from which their castle must have been a conspicuous landmark). whether she knew them before she came to layton or not, she is sure to have known them afterwards, as would (almost certainly) rolle. this great family were reckoned founders of jervaulx, and henry fitz hugh, the founder of syon, was buried there.' his uncle hugh fitzhugh had married a niece of thomas neville (v. c. h., n.r. i. 89), his mother had been a scrope of masham. name. it has been suggested to me that margaret might have taken up her enclosure in distant layton because she came originally from kirkby ravensworth, from which she would then have derived her no la botelers are recorded in this parish, and we shall see a more likely origin for her family. however, it seems to me possible that she had the patronage both of the great family at ravensworth, and (in the end at least) of their near relations, the scropes of masham. not only did she migrate in 1356-7 to a a headless fragment is said to be part of fitzhugh's tomb, lying before what was once the high altar in the midst of the red gravel level, which is now all that marks the nave of jervaulx. its position is extraordinarily impressive, in the carefully excavated foundations of this great house, which now lies in a pasture among old trees. k k 506 materials for rolle's biography manor of the scropes: some other evidence also seems to connect her with this family. the office states that she retired to hampole after rolle's death, and the vienna ms. tells us that after that event she entered the enclosure at hampole in which he had lived, where she died ten years later. since we now know that she was originally a nun of hampole, it might be likely that she would retire there in the end, either because of old age, or because it was hoped that she, the favourite disciple of the hermit, would be a nucleus for his cult. when she went, it is certain that she would continue to fulfil her vow of enclosure, for, as a matter of fact, hers is one of the very few cases recorded by miss clay (pp. 141-4) where a recluse was allowed even to leave one place of enclosure for another. when syon monastery was founded, 'several solitaries left their dwellings and entered the community' (ibid., p. 144), but this was doubtless, as miss deanesly points out (p. 124), because syon was an enclosed house, of which a nun could sign herself 'reclusa'. hampole was a cistercian house (apparently of easy discipline, v. supra, pp. 255 sq.), where therefore almost certainly no nun who had been enclosed would be allowed to resume her place in the ordinary conventual life. margaret kirkeby, therefore, when she returned to hampole is likely to have been enclosed there, whether in a cell in which richard rolle, her spiritual father, had formerly lived (though we may feel sure without strict enclosure) or in another. she probably ended her days as the recluse of hampole'. miss clay (p. 256) has brought to light three wills which mention such a person, and two other legacies may be cited in the same connexion. of these five legacies, three (all large) occur in the wills of prominent members of the scrope family. in 1382 geoffrey le scrope, rector of great bowden, leaves 'anachoritae de hampole xx', and to the anchoresses of kirkby wiske and doncaster, thirteen and six shillings, respectively.¹ his will included legacies to 'lord henry' his brother (grandfather of lord scrope of masham who owned rolle's autograph), and henry lord fitz hugh' (his brother-in-law). in 1394 sir brian stapleton (of the same family as we find at layton) left to his niece 'aniste de medilton, j basyn rounde d'argent, ove un image de nostre dame de alabauster, qui fust al ankerer de hampoll' (te. i. 199). was a connexion both of the fitzwilliams and of the methams (then 1 market harborough records, ed. j. e. stocks and w. b. bragg, london, 1890, p. 50. margaret de kirkeby 507 lords of melsonby).' 'monssire richard le scrop' is the 'surveyour' of his executors (probably the head of the elder branch of the scropes of bolton). in 1401 master peter dalton, canon and treasurer of lincoln cathedral, left xs each to the anchorites' of hampole, kirkby wiske, etc. (early lincoln wills, p. 97): anchoresses are probably meant. in 1415 henry, third lord scrope of masham (owner of one of rolle's autographs), included in his will a legacy to 'elizabethae quondam servienti anchoritae de hampole' (rymer, p. 275). it is therefore likely that it was the same person appearing in 1405 in the will of his father, sir stephen le scrope, second lord scrope of masham, as follows: 'elizabethae de hanpole xxs' (te. iii. 32). it is noteworthy that (separated only by a legacy to another recluse) the same sum is left to the recluse of kirkby wiske. the latter is probably also the 'anachorita de kurkebisk' to whom lord henry left xiis in 1415. the dated miracles in the office of richard rolle would suggest that his cult began to flourish around 1381-3, and it might be conjectured that margaret kirkeby (having moved to ainderby in 1356-7) was enclosed at hampole about the time of the miracles. in any case we cannot think that episcopal authority would allow her to move again soon after 1356-7. all the records above cited could (so far as the dates go) belong to the same person, except perhaps that relating to the bequest by stapleton in 1394. however, the article in question may have been given away in the lifetime of the recluse: its appearance here does not prove that she was dead. moreover, the phrase 'ankerer' may imply a man, and refer to rolle. confusion with 'ankeres' is easy, and too much should not be built on the masculine form in the present instance. but it would seem to be easy for a country gentleman making his will fifty years after richard rolle's death to refer to him as an 'anchorite' (vowed to enclosure as well as to solitude) rather than as a hermit (vowed to solitude but not enclosure). the annotator in the vienna ms. has possibly in the same way confused the two types of the solitary life. it is possible, therefore, that the treasure here in question had been really a possession of rolle himself. if the record of 1394 is withdrawn from the series, the sequence of dates and the continuity in the patronage would suggest that they all refer to the same person, and that she was an object of special 1 yaj. viii, 223. in 1376 he seems to hold land in skelbroke near hampole (ibid. xii. 70), which we suspect to have been margaret's family home (v. infra, p. 509). k k 2 508 materials for rolle's biography interest to the scropes. in this case we would seem to have evidence that she died between 1401 (when she appears in dalton's will) and 1405 (when her servant is probably remembered in that of stephen scrope). if she were margaret kirkeby, there is nothing impossible in her thus outliving richard rolle by fifty years. she would then probably have lived twenty years at hampole, instead of the ten mentioned by the vienna ms. as we have seen, rolle died in early middle life, and he says in the form (written in his last year) that the margaret whom he addresses there is young. the consistency with which the recluse of hampole is mentioned with the recluse of kirkby wiske would perhaps mean that they were somehow associated. if margaret were the recluse of hampole in question, this might be explained by the fact that she had been earlier enclosed at ainderby, five or six miles from kirkby wiske. this whole district must have been a centre of piety in the first part of the fourteenth century, for 'the early years of edward iii's long reign were marked by very extensive church building in this district. masham and well afford parallel instances of churches almost entirely reconstructed between 1330 and 1350.' kirkby wiske was entirely built over in the second quarter of the fourteenth century. the fine (and similar) chancels of patrick brompton, kirkby wiske, and ainderby were all built about 1320-5 (ibid.). perhaps the religious enthusiasm which made possible the great building activity in central richmondshire at this period overflowed also into generosity to hermits and anchoresses like richard rolle and margaret kirkeby. it is likely that rolle had friends here during his hermit's life, and, as we have seen, he may have spent part of his youth at yafforth, in the same district. we have seen that some possibly topical allusions might place the composition of rolle's english psalter about ten years before his death, and such would be a likely date in any case, for it was a long work, and the awkwardness of its english suggests that it was the first written of all his english pieces. we are told that he wrote it for margaret kirkeby, and if she were young at her enclosure in 1348, he can hardly have known her then more than ten years. we are told that the age of profession was sixteen, but much younger children were received as novices and prepared for the veil'. as a matter of fact, a girl was admitted to hampole at eight in the early fourteenth century (power, op. cit., pp. 25–6). " 1 mccall, op. cit., pp. 64, 110, 113. the scropes were lords of masham, the nevilles of well. margaret de 509 kirkeby it is perhaps more likely than not that margaret came from the neighbourhood of hampole. we are told that many of the names of the surrounding gentry appear in the lists of prioresses and nuns available,' and among the local great people none could have been nearer neighbours than the le botelers who lived at skelbroke, a mile and a half to the north, a township which is actually in the parish of south kirkby. a daughter of this le boteler family might therefore be designated in religion by the name of kirkeby. this family founded a chantry in the chapel at skelbroke,' where arms (bearing covered cups, as was common with 'botelers ') are still to be seen over the porch. in 1336 agnes, widow of edmund le botiller, and john his son, alienated in mortmain lands in skelbroke and other places for the endowment. no later heirs of the name are mentioned, but some children may have been in religion. nuns could receive legacies of money (power, p. 326), but they do not usually at least claim their inheritance in land. if perchance, therefore, margaret la boteler de kirkeby, nun of hampole, were a daughter (or sister) of the john le boteler of skelbroke, her name would be likely to drop out of the legal records of the family. we have record in a neighbouring parish at this time of a margaret who was daughter to a john le boteler. in 1332 a man so named, with agnes his wife, bought land in kirk sandal and bentley (both near doncaster, two or three miles from hampole), with remainder to isobel and margaret, daughters of john. in 1334 the wife of john le boteler of skelbroke was joan, but it is probable that they were then newly married." the two records as to john le boteler in the same neighbourhood, however, probably refer to two persons, for he of skelbroke died in 1346, and 'john boteler de sandal iuxta doncastre' is recorded in 1349. therefore we cannot prove that 1 j. hunter, south yorkshire, london, 1828, i. 357. 6 2 see yorks chantry surveys, ss., 91, i. 174; hunter, ii. 459. 3 'where a number of estates tail are given in succession to named children, generally the whole of the family is mentioned, with the possible exception of priests, monks, nuns, and the like' (yas. rec. ser., 42, p. xii). cf. power, p. 34. ibid., p. 44. the phraseology suggests that they 'were the issue of a previous marriage' (p. xvi). 5 ibid., pp. xiii, 71, 74 (where the manor of skelbroke is conveyed to agnes, 1337). joan is probably the daughter of nicholas de sutton, and the fact that he (with his wife) and agnes le botiller of skelbroke both settle property on john and joan on the same day suggests a marriage settlement. • yaj. xii, p. 71, coram rege roll, 354, m. 5′ (p. r. o.). 'john le botiler of sandale' also appears in 1330 (placita de banco, p. r. o., 2 ed. iii, e. mm. i, 135, v. index, pp. 752, 823). 510 materials for rolle's biography the boteler of skelbroke had a daughter margaret, though he may have had. the family is likely, however, to have had a connexion with hampole. in 1313 'archbishop greenfield granted the convent licence to receive a young girl, agnes de langthwayt, as a boarder, at the instance "nobilis viri ade de everyngham "' (power, p. 579).¹ this is very likely to have been agnes who was widow of edmund le boteler in 1334-6. when the chantry is founded at skelbroke, prayers are to be said 'for the souls of edmund le boteler, the said agnes, william de langethwait, william le boteler, their ancestors, and the faithful departed'.2 in 1302 william de langewath' (probably the father of agnes) was lord of the near-by manor of langthwait (wapentake of strafforth), and when the chantry was endowed at skelbroke this manor was in the possession of agnes le boteler.³ since there is a chance that richard rolle's favourite disciple may have belonged to the botelers of skelbroke, an error that is current regarding that family should be corrected. it is stated that edmund le boteler of skelbroke was the great edmund le boteler of ireland (styled earl of carrick), warden of ireland, who was the son of one of the greatest heiresses of england (v. c. h., lancs. i. 350 n.). this is certainly a mistake, for edmund le boteler of skelbroke (a local landed gentleman) was alive in 1327, and his great namesake died in 1321 (see d. n. b.). moreover, the family at skelbroke can be traced for a considerable distance before edmund.³ the confusion has arisen because edmund boteler of ireland was the nephew and his mother was one of the co-heiresses of richard fitz john, a very rich and great person (allied to the glanvilles and other of the highest families of the realm). edmund le boteler of skelbroke at about the time of the death of the latter is recorded as 1 a great landowner, overlord of the prioress of hampole (v. hunter, ss. 49, passim). he also held land in kirkby misperton (v. c. h., n.r. ii. 446). in the index to the placita de banco (p. 796) he is erroneously cited as of layton (for laxton). 2 william le boteler must have been uncle of john (yaj. x. 352). 3 list inquis. ad quod damnum, london, 1904, p. 344. hunter, south yorkshire, ii. 457. after lancaster's rebellion (later than the death of his namesake), his goods were confiscated, but for this injury he got redress (assize roll 1117, m. 9, p. r. o.). 5 he was the son of robert (yaj. xii. 71, and placit. abbrev. ric. i-ed. ii, 1811, p. 323), who was the grandson of simon, etc. (yaj. viii. 5 sq., where some relatives are said to have been in ireland at the conquest). chartulary of st. john of pontefract, passim (yas. rec. ser., 25 hugh pincerna' of armthorpe and skelbroke, and hunter, i. 87. " see also the and 30), for perhaps this is the stock of the sandal family of butler, most of whom took their mother's surname and became savile (see yas. rec. ser., 30, pp. 399 sq., 23, p. 51). margaret de kirkeby 511 holding his land in skelbroke of 'richard fitzjohn' (yas. rec. ser., 31, p. 86). the juxtaposition of the two names has led to the error.¹ hampole just as we have no names of patrons (unless it be-very tentativelythe scropes and fitzhughs) to connect with rolle's life in richmondshire, so we also have none to connect with his life in the neighbourhood of hampole. it is hard to imagine that episcopal authority would allow him to reside in any very close contact with the nunnery, being, as he almost certainly was, still not an old man at the time of his death. some lay patrons are therefore likely. the vienna ms. says that he lived 'in solitudine campi', and the english martyrologe (2nd edit.) that he 'led a solitary life in a wood near to the monastery of hampole, to which place he was wont often to repaire and sing psalmes', etc. (p. 17). it lies just off the great north road, which runs near also to yafforth and layton. it is a strange coincidence that, about fifty years before his birth, another 'richard the hermit' held land at cudworth (about ten miles to the west). no evidence proves that this landed hermitage was perpetuated, but it may have been. as hunter points out, there were at the reformation two endowments near hampole which were then (or had been earlier) granted to solitaries. both were in the parish of sprotborough: one was a hermitage actually very near conisborough, the other was the hospital of st. edmund, by the bridge near doncaster.³ here, in the late thirteenth century at least, were anchoresses, and it was perhaps the 'house of anchorites near doncaster' where a nun took refuge during the scotch raids in 1310 (raine, fasti, p. 380). the neighbourhood of hampole was apparently something of a centre for the solitary life, and it may be this fact which brought richard rolle here. 1 it may be noted that butler is said to be one of the commonest names in the middle ages, occurring on nearly every roll (bardsley, p. 397). at the time of kirkby's inquest (1284-5) one john le boteler was lord of stainton, about ten miles south of hampole, and his mother's name had been margaret (ss., 49, p. 3). 2 clay, p. 256, and yas. rec. ser., 39, p. 58. see clay, pp. 93-4; archaeol., 42, pp. 398 sq. (where a roll of the hospital in the possession of the owners of sprotborough hall is printed); ss., 91, pp. 155-6; hunter, i. 336, 348, and b. mus. add. ms. 24493, f. 19 (where hunter suggests that since robin hood is associated in rolle's time with the famous 'robin hood's well' near skelbroke, in the vicinity of hampole, richard may have been the author of the ballads !). 512 materials for rolle's biography the founders of the hospital and hermitage at sprotborough were the fitzwilliams, lords of sprotborough. the surname fluctuated in the early history of this illustrious family (deriving from the marshal of the conqueror), and it was the head of the fitzwilliams of his time, the sir william surnamed clairfait, who was also the founder of hampole. many grants were made to the nunnery by this family, as is shown by a confirmation given to the hampole nuns in 1331, which is one of the sources for the fitzwilliam pedigree. we learn from this and other sources that various fitzwilliams were buried in the nuns' church (hunter, i. 334), and altogether the relation between the nuns and the founder's family seems to have been continuous. the house was granted to the fitzwilliams at its surrender. it is conceivable, therefore, that records concerning richard rolle might be some time brought to light either among the muniments of the fitzwilliams at milton, or among those originally at sprotborough hall (which was separated from the elder line of the fitzwilliam property generations ago). dugdale (following burton) cites for the history of hampole metham's register, an old book of evidences belonging to the family of metham, then in the possession of alderman constable of york' (p. 486). this has now unfortunately been lost to sight. the methams lived for three or four hundred years at marr, adjacent to hampole (of which the church was granted to the nunnery): the mother of the fitzwilliam who granted the charter in 1331 was a metham (hunter, i. 336), and the then head of the methams was a witness. from 1373 they were lords of melsonby (which included part of east layton). the metham book therefore might be of great interest for the history of hampole. we cannot be sure how long or how intimate was richard rolle's connexion with the house of hampole; the fact that the nunnery evidently wished to profit by his sainthood might lead to its claiming him after his death to a perhaps unwarrantable degree. his connexion was probably never in any way official, but it may have been long standing: the discovery that margaret, his favourite disciple, was originally a nun of hampole increases its significance. in any case it is of interest to discover the character of the house which was to some degree the custodian of his fame. the great monasteries of yorkshire (with one of which rolle was probably in early days in deadly feud), were most of them cistercian. 1 j. foster, pedigrees of the county families of yorkshire, london, 1874, i. 2 hunter, i. 337; dugdale, monasticon, v. 487. the yorkshire post kindly inserted an inquiry for me on this subject. hampole 513 with these great landed proprietors, we can imagine that he would always have been at enmity, since they were in general absorbed in material affairs. in this connexion we may note that at hampole (as at other cistercian nunneries of yorkshire) the confessor was a franciscan (v. c. h., yorks, iii. 163). we can imagine that there would be some spiritual kinship between rolle and a good franciscan, and some indications may even go to show that he came in early days under franciscan influence, perhaps of an even schismatic sort (v. supra, pp. 333 sq.). it is perhaps significant that it was the abbot of eggleston, a premonstratensian house at all times borne down with poverty',' who enclosed margaret, rolle's disciple (and was therefore by implication friendly to rolle). other premonstratensian houses in this district were closely associated with the scropes: easby was the burial-place of the scropes of bolton, and (besides thomas neville's father) two generations of the scropes of masham of rolle's day were buried at coverham. there was a hermitage in the patronage of this abbey, founded in rolle's time by a pigott who was also lord of manors near layton. perhaps the extant manuscript on the life of hermits written at coverham might have been written for the melmerby hermit (v. supra, p. 330). in the extant ruins there are several fine designs of the sacred monogram carved in stone (dated 1508), which might imply at least the indirect effect of rolle's influence. in 1330 the abbot was 'galfridus de scropp', whom (from his name) we may suppose to have been son of the justice geoffrey le scrope (founder of the scropes of masham, lords of the manor of coverham), who was buried in coverham abbey 1340 (see d. n. b.). as has already been quoted (p. 255), miss power in her medieval english nunneries has remarked that the yorkshire nunneries were in constant need of correction over their fine clothes, but this was only one sign of their demoralized condition as a whole. she devotes an appendix (pp. 597-602) to the moral state of the yorkshire nunneries in the first half of the fourteenth century' (in other words, in the very years of richard rolle's ministry). 'there were no more quarrelsome nunneries in the kingdom, witness 1 raine, fasti, p. 420 n. in 1330 it is said that before the scotch wars they had 7 marks a year and now have nothing: in 1348 the archbishop had to come to their relief (archaeol. journ. lxxi. 120). 2 harrison, gilling west, p. 519, cf. p. 490, and supra, p. 505; morris, north riding, pp. 120 sq.; yaj. xxv. 278-9. 3 camden soc., 3rd ser., 10, p. 128. 514 materials for rolle's biography their election fights, and none in which discipline was more lax' (p. 597). for these conditions she suggests some valid reasons: 'they (the nunneries) were most of them both small and poor and, what is of greater significance, they lay in the border country, exposed to the forays of the scots, and continually disturbed by english armies or raiders, riding north to take revenge. life was not easy for nuns who might at any moment have to flee before a raid, and whose lands were constantly being ravaged; they grew more and more miserably poor, and as usual poverty seemed to go hand in hand with laxity' (ibid.). hampole did not lie on the direct battle line of the scotch wars but, like other religious houses which escaped invasion, it received fugitive nuns from nunneries that were sacked: three were sent there by archbishop melton after the troublous events of 1322 (power, pp. 427-8). long before this time, however, it was in difficulties of various sorts. in 1267, 1308, and 1312 (like many sister houses) it was forbidden to receive more nuns, whom it could not sustain (power, pp. 213-14). in 1302 'no nun except the hostillaria was to eat or drink in the guest-house, save with worthy people' (ibid., p. 401 n.). in 1311 eating in private rooms was condemned (p. 320 n.). in 1320 the nuns were forbidden to permit male children over five to be in the house, 'as the archbishop finds has been the practice' (p. 579, cf. p. 329 n). a nun was guilty of unchastity in 1324 (for which the penance by the man in question had not been done in 1326), and another was similarly guilty in 1358 (v. c. h.). it was not perhaps astonishing that the convent was brought into temptation to worldliness of all sorts, for they must have been somewhat burdened with material affairs. the three churches in their gift (all in the near neighbourhood) were served by their chaplains: no vicarages were established. there is a long list of lands in their possession at one time or another, and they had a steward (sir w. percy, brother of the earl of northumberland) at the reformation (power, p. 146), and a 'custos' in 1268, 1280, 1308 (ibid., p. 230 n.). at the end of the thirteenth century they are cited in an italian list of english religious houses which produce wool, as supplying from six sacks (ibid., p. 111 n.). their relations with lay-folk were also sometimes incidental. in 1415 there is 1 one of these at the end of the middle ages, robert parkin, was a writer of a 'ritual' and of a verse life of christ (v. hunter, i. 354). the manuscript of the latter was later in the library of sir thomas phillipps, but was sold at sotheby's march 21, 1895 (lot 756), and its whereabouts is now unknown. the portions quoted in the sale catalogue give no signs of rolle's influence. they strongly suggest the renaissance and date the works 1542-54. hampole 515 bequeathed to a chaplain a garment which is at hampole (te. i. 383), and in 1250 a charter is spoken of as 'in safe custody with the holy men (!) of hampol' they received a pension from sawley abbey." in 1411 the inner guest-house' is mentioned; that for secular guests was perhaps near the lower gate', where the hostillaria is to give their linen to the porter (v. c. h.). the nuns of hampole in all probability venerated their saint with some degree at least of sincerity and understanding. the new matter added in the office (perhaps inspired by them) is somewhat childish, and the selections made from richard's own writings are evidently chosen for their bearing on his fame as a miracle worker; nevertheless, they also give a complete and well-proportioned view of his message. what may be called the landmarks of his mystical writing are all included. at the same time, the motive behind the effort to canonize rolle must have been unconsciously commercial. the facts enumerated by the victoria county history are illuminating at this point. in 1312 the house at the visitation of the archbishop (as it had been in 1267) was in great poverty and debt, and in 1353 (four years after the death of the hermit of hampole) archbishop thoresby appointed a commission to inquire into the state of the nunnery, which 'through unwise rule and other causes' was in such a condition of financial collapse that dispersion was threatened. the correction and reformation and, if necessary, deposition of the prioress was urged. this was the period after the black death, and other religious houses were obliged to receive the same commission.³ archbishop thoresby perhaps had a personal interest in the house, for his will contains a legacy of cs to a nun there (te. i. 90). his efforts may have assisted the reconstitution of its fortunes. we do not know at what date the 'paterfamilias rogerus nomine' ' in uilla uicina domui sanctimonialium de hampole' had visions of 'beatus ricardus heremita' (led by the blessed virgin). for nine nights the hermit 'de multis secretis eum aperte edocuit et in amorem dei et conceptum sancte deuocionis accendit. statuit igitur in corde suo quod deinceps uoluit eundem sanctum gratis obsequiis uenerari. credebat autem quod in hoc ei specialiter complacere posset si labore suo et iumentorum suorum adueheret lapides pro tumuli sui construccione in ecclesia sanctimonialium de hampole. ubi nunc 1 j. h. aveling, history of roche abbey, london and worksop, 1870, p. 125. we are reminded of the injunction upon the sisters of the ancren riwle not to receive valuables for safe keeping (camden soc., 57, p. 418). 2 whitaker, craven, p. 68; dugdale, p. 488. 3 archaeol. journ. lxxi. 123. 516 materials for rolle's biography sanctum ipsius corpus reconditur' (office, p. 82) this appears to be the genesis of the cult. the first miracle recounted occurred when roger 'ad portam cimiterii de hampole' was miraculously saved when about to be crushed by the stones which he was bringing for the tomb. one stone which fell on him was put at the gate as a memorial, the other at the tomb. evidently that which he built was in the nuns' cemetery, and we have seen (supra, pp. 231 sq., etc.) that several manuscripts refer in colophons to richard's burial 'in the cemetery'. it is not uncommon for 'ecclesia' (which is first mentioned as the place of the tomb)' thus to include the whole monastic enclosure. later, however, 'aput morehows eciam eboracensis diocesis quidam uocatus thomas belle', who had been long ill, heard at night a voice saying, 'thoma iube fieri candelam de cera ad pondus dimidie libre. quam statui facias coram ymagine beate uirginis in choro ecclesie sanctimonialium de hampole. ubi sanctus heremita ricardus translatus iacebit' (p. 85). evidently, therefore, the relics of the saint were translated, as his fame grew, and the translation evidently took place before 1393, when a legacy refers to the 'haly corsand' as before the high altar (v. infra, p. 522). the analogy of the boy saint, william of norwich, may be remembered in this connexion. he was buried in the monks' cemetery at the cathedral, then (in response to a direction supernaturally delivered in a dream) moved to the chapter-house, later to the side of the founder's tomb at the high altar, and (when the crowd of worshippers made this position inconvenient) finally removed to a chapel of his own. richard rolle also reached in the end the final resting-place of a successful saint (infra, p. 523). we cannot, however, be absolutely certain that he was buried in the precincts of the nunnery in the first place. many colophons imply that he was, but, as we have seen, the nuns of hampole had every reason for wishing to stretch their claim to a share in him as far as possible, and the douay ms. states that his body was 'sepultum et nuper de loco sepulture in ecclesiam assumptum quiescit in monasterio monialium de hampolle' (v. supra, p. 38). this may imply that he was not originally buried in the nuns' precincts. he died in the midst of the plague, which may have brought about temporary burial arrangements. the douay volume, as written by the carthusians at shene, would have better claim to authority than most unsupported 1 see g. g. coulton, mod. lang. rev. xv. 99. 2 william of norwich, by thomas of monmouth, ed. m. r. james, cambridge, 1896, pp. xi-xii. on the possible date of the translation, v. supra, p. 429. hampole 517 manuscripts, for there was always the chance that they had learned authentic facts about rolle from their brigittine friends across the river. it has been supposed that richard rolle died of plague, since he died in the midst of the epidemic. this is likely, though not of course certain. at the date of his death (september 30, 1349) the plague was on the wane in yorkshire as a whole, but still violent in the doncaster district, which had the highest percentage of deaths but one in the diocese, so far as the records can be made out from ecclesiastical¹ sources. it is perhaps hardly to be reconciled with the raging of the plague that margaret kirkeby in september 1349 should be able to send a 'paterfamilias' from layton in the extreme north of the north riding to hampole in the extreme south of the west riding ('qui locus multum a sua habitacione distabat ubi sanctus ricardus illis diebus solitariam uitam egit', office, p. 41). possibly, therefore, this incident is a fiction, which grew up from the desire to make richard's connexion with margaret as explicitly miraculous as possible. we have already seen that the cold facts of the episcopal register show that not years but months elapsed between the enclosure of the disciple and the death of the master. in the frightful emotions of the year 1349 we can imagine that memories were deeply disturbed, and that in years to come imagination had more than ever free play over incidents of this period. the whole episode as to the sending the 'paterfamilias' south may therefore be due to later hearsay. the visit of richard himself to margaret in the last spring of his life seems more likely to have happened. it is perhaps hard to see the motive for fabricating the incidents where she goes to sleep with her head on his shoulder, which were sure to make evil-thinking, and the specific reference to his cell as twelve miles from hers sounds veracious. if this part of the narrative, however, is derived from the reminiscences of margaret kirkeby as an old recluse at hampole, this also may be a fiction, though the reference to richard's cell is likely to be roughly correct. the office elsewhere tells us that he spent time in richmondshire, and the fact that his disciple was (almost certainly under his influence) enclosed there probably means that he had friends in the district. if perchance the visit of rolle to margaret's place of enclosure were a fiction, one obstacle would be removed to believing the vienna ms., which says that richard himself was finally enclosed ¹ a. hamilton thompson, archaeol. journ. ixxi. 112. 518 materials for rolle's biography (v. supra, p. 42). it seems unlikely that richard rolle could ever have confined himself to a cell, but it is of course not impossible: perhaps he entered an enclosure loosely interpreted (as had been his early hermit's solitude). he may in any case during his later years have greatly reduced his wanderings, and it is very possible that margaret was afterwards enclosed in a cell in which he had lived and from which he had occasionally come forth. it is possible that his health was changed in his later years, so that he craved even more quiet than in earlier days, and it is also possible that by this time he no longer ate whatever was set before him,' whether simple or rich, as in his earlier years (v. incend., p. 175, supra, p. 227). years of mystical joy are likely to have changed his physique profoundly. the scanty diet, therefore, which the vienna ms. says that he lived on in his last years (v. supra, p. 43), may have been accurately reported. altogether, fact and misapprehension seem to be strangely mixed in the notes found in this volume, as would be likely in the case of memoranda derived from what was reported by englishmen to a bohemian, at least a generation after rolle's death. as we have seen, it would appear that as we have them they are copied from another volume. william stopes the occasional accurate explicitness of the vienna notes is illustrated by their mention of william stopes, the disciple whose existence is otherwise testified to by the colophons of the emendatio in a few copies (and those mostly of specially interesting provenance). it is unfortunate that no record appears of this person from any other source. we are told that he was a doctor of theology for forty years, and the phrases 'optime prefuit' and 'prius vocatis fratribus' (in the account of his death) would suggest that he was the head of a religious house. apparently he was a sort of literary executor to rolle, for though he certainly did not (as the vienna ms. says) translate rolle's latin works from english (for the alliteration in the latin and other stylistic graces forbid that), he probably took down some of rolle's works from dictation (as he is said to have done the oleum effusum), and propagated rolle's influence (since he commended himself to the hermit when dying 'quasi in nomine ihesu plus deuoto'). he is probably the person referred to in the second 1 one austerity, on which his practice is likely to have been always stiff, is early rising. he says in the english psalter: 'it is shame if the sunn beme fynd men ydil in thaire bed' (p. 432). william stopes 519 note: 'alius (in contrast to iste ricardus), amicus suus sibi carus scripta collegit et in hanc formam libelli conscripsit ex pluribus huiusmodi iteratis. patet legenti et creditur is qui hec collegit eciam alia capitula sequencia pro robore dictorum addidisse' (v. supra, pp. 41 sq.). as already noted, the person in question here may have compiled the 'short text' of the incendium, with its accompanying compilation. it is evident that william stopes played an important part in the tradition of richard rolle's writings. it seems almost certain that he was a friend of later life, for, as we have seen, the emendatio, dedicated to him, must be one of rolle's last productions. it is such a piece as would be more likely to be addressed to a young man beginning his religious life than to an old one: it begins, as we have seen, with 'conversion'. if, as the vienna note says, stopes were a doctor of theology for forty years, he is likely to have outlived rolle by a considerable period, and his interest is likely to have been a powerful agency in keeping richard's works alive. he may even be the author of the office, though no evidence supports this conjecture except the fact that he himself-important as he evidently is in rolle's career—is not mentioned there. the three quotations from rolle used in the office all take prominent positions in the compilation possibly made by stopes (v. supra, pp. 64 sq., 210 sq.). the emendatio contains with extraordinary frequency elaborate colophons stating that rolle was buried at hampole, as if that work were propagated by some one interested in rolle's cult there, and the elaborateness of the headings suggests that they are due to a learned person like stopes. he may have been a monk, a friar, or a canon. it has been shown that the manuscripts of the office are not arranged for a monastic community (v. supra, p. 51), but friars (the confessors of hampole, v. supra, p. 513) or augustinian canons would use the nine lessons found in this liturgy, or it may have been rewritten (v. supra, p. 55). walter hilton, of course, was an augustinian canon of thurgarton in nottinghamshire, near southwell, which was only about thirty miles south of hampole. we have had a confused hint that rolle and hilton may have been known to each other (v. supra, p. 410), and it is therefore even possible that personal intercourse accounts for the signs of rolle's influence (in the form both of action and reaction) manifested in hilton's work. rolle must have had learned followers, or he would not have written the series of learned works that he did; among these stopes certainly and hilton possibly were counted, but there are sure to have been 520 materials for rolle's biography others, and the office may be due to some one quite unknown to us, who had at heart both the fame of richard and the prosperity of hampole. later history of hampole priory after 1353 we have no more reports of the poverty of hampole. soon building operations had begun (at least restorations), for in december 1400 the papacy gave (as to other houses) the indulgence of the portiuncula for the conservation and repair of the church to penitents for visits and alms 'from the first to the second vespers of the annunciation and following day, and the exaltation of holy cross, for the church of st. mary the virgin, of the cistercian priory of hampull, in the diocese of york' (papal letters relating to england, v. 375). from the year 1411 we have explicit evidence as to a state of affairs at hampole which would suggest that it had grown prosperous but at the same time worldly. the archbishop's registers have been drawn on in this connexion by the victoria county history and by miss power, but the full impression to be gained from the documents has hardly been conveyed. on july 3, 1411, archbishop bowett writes to the convent that 'clamore tamen valido famaque publica ad nos ascendentibus nostris auribus nouiter est deductum quod quamplura dissidia lites (or lices) iurgia & contenciones inter moniales dicte domus emergebant & indies emergunt, necnon crimina & excessus enorma (sic) per moniales dicte domus notorie citra visitacionem nostram predictam sunt commissa & notorie perpetrata, & peiora committi inibi verisimiliter formidamus, nisi visitacionis nostre officio celerius occurratur...' (register, f. 99▾).¹ the archbishop thereupon set a day in august for his visit. the articles of his visitation closely fill four pages of his folio register (ff. 101-2). the prioress was apparently harsh and unpopular, as well as slack about her financial duties, and the house was full of strife (v. power, pp. 339, 477, etc.). certain definite penalties had evidently been inflicted on certain persons (f. 102), but neither sins, penalties, nor persons are here specified. the articles of the visitation were to be read quarterly to the convent in lingua materna' (ibid.). on the whole, the impression given is that the crisis arose because the convent had too much mixed with the world, both at home and abroad. visits, letters, and messages to relatives were 1 i quote transcripts from the register very kindly made for me by the rev. f. harrison. i wish also to thank the rev. a. raine, vicar of dringhouses, york, for assistance with the york mss. later history of hampole priory 521 complained of (f. 101), corrodies and other alienations were not to be multiplied: 'item iniungimus quod discursus secularium a confabulacionibus in claustro refectorio & infirmaria non sint in qua non fiant commessaciones, nec sit ibi nimis frequens aliquorum excessus, nisi eorum qui necessario venire debeant' (f. 101). some injunctions suggest that the guest-house was well patronized (power, p. 83 n.), and an influx is condemned, not only of guests, but of 'secular servants and corrodiarii, who attracted to themselves other secular persons from the country, by whom the house was burdened' (ibid., p. 413 n.). no males in any capacity were to spend the night within the inner doors of the house, or to be retained as servants by individual nuns (v. c. h., yorks, iii. 164-5). at this time, the significant item appears: 'portions allowed the nuns were to be augmented according to the means of the house, with the consent of the majority, and wiser part of the convent' (ibid.). this visitation makes us wonder whether it was for the spiritual benefit of hampole that the tomb of the hermit had become a place of pilgrimage. as we shall see, however (p. 523), at the reformation we hear nothing but good of this house. in spite of the failure to grant richard hermit the formal canonization sought for, the little house of hampole treated his sainthood as a fait accompli-that method which had with time brought so many local saints into the calendar. they are humble folk who figure in the miracles of the office. a child is brought to life after being buried in a haystack, choked by an apple, bitten by a snake, or drowned in a pond, village men and women enjoy all sorts of miraculous restorations, and though the miracles are granted to persons coming from as far distant as durham and leicester, no indication is ever given that any pilgrim was of notable rank. the reference to the hampole miracles in the douay ms. which was written at shene, and the fact that the original of the upsala ms. of the office was apparently sent to sweden by syon, will prove, however, that rolle's miracles were accepted in high quarters. not only the subjects of rolle's miracles, but the instigators both of the beginning of his veneration and of his translation appear to have been humble men, who probably could not read or understand his writings. we know that by the end of the fourteenth and the beginning of the fifteenth centuries rolle's works were in the possession of persons of education and position, both lay and clerical, such as the minister of the friars minor, lord scrope of masham, l1 522 materials for rolle's biography henry fitz hugh, lord of ravensworth, john newton, treasurer of york cathedral, but (except lord scrope, who left a small legacy among others to other nunneries) none of these readers of rolle's writings left in his will an offering to richard's tomb, or a legacy to hampole. among the northern wills printed, the little nunnery received several legacies, but no more, apparently, than other small houses which had not harboured a saint. in 1446 the countess of cambridge (who for many years kept royal state at conisborough castle near by) bequeathed xxº. to hampole (te. ii. 121, cf. p. 119 n.). archbishop thoresby in 1373, and sir thomas harrington of hornby castle (co. lancs.) in 1459, made testamentary mention of a nun of hampole (i. 90, ii. 252). in 1415 isabella de wyleby (from co. notts) left (in a will made at raby) to the prioress and convent of hampole xls., and money and other articles to a nun there. her will also mentions a garment 'which is at hampole' (i. 383). a clergyman remembers the convent and each nun (i. 82); the date should apparently be 1366, and not 1346, as written. three persons designated as 'dominus' and 'miles' remember hampole in their wills (i. 296, 349, ii. 138), and we are reminded of the 'religious woman of the nunnery of hampole, the which had a brother, a squire of yorkshire, wounded to the death in the battle of shrewsbury,' concerning whose vision in regard to the prayers that would save him from purgatory there is an account in ms. ii. vi. 43 (15th cent.).¹ three legacies to the tomb of saint richard hermit have come to light. the first is that of john of croxton, chandler of york, in 1393, who by a naïve loyalty to his craft provided in his will (the first in english in the york records) for the use of a great quantity of wax. he bequeathed to 'the nunes of hampull ij torches, ayther ix fote lang ather hegh auter in the wirschip of the haly corsand, and an ymage of iiij pund of wax & xxiiijlb. of wax to the segirstane to the fyndyng of the hegh auter' (te., i. 186). his will breaks off abruptly with: 'also a leg. of di. lb. to ampull, etc.' this is evidently the period when richard was lying in the choir (v. supra, p. 516). the will remembered many anchoresses (including the 'ankres of wisk' though not the anchoress of hampole). 1 this manuscript is full of prayers to the holy name of jesus-including 'o bone jesu', which is ascribed to rolle, v. supra, p. 314. the composition of this manuscript, which, though not northern, may be copied from a hampole book, makes one wonder whether hampole were not perhaps as devoted to the cult of the holy name as was its saint. later history of hampole priory 523 the other legacies to rolle's tomb indicate that his cult was flourishing at hampole on the eve of the reformation. in 1506 richard marreys, citizen and vintner of london (born at kyrkeby in the countie of york '), bequeathed 'to the nonry of hampoll, to thentent that the nones cawse a masse to be song for my soule afore the ymage of seynt richard ther, and that they also pray for my soule and doo a dirige for the same, vjs. viijd.' (ss., 116, p. 270). in 1508 robert royden of leverington, gent. (who is to be buried at cambridge, though he left many legacies in yorkshire), bequeathed 'to the priores and nunes of hamepoll xs. to the church reparacons and monastery of the same place, and the chapell of seynt richard xs.' (ibid., p. 271). the first of these legacies implies that there was a statue of rolle at hampole; the second, that his remains now rested in a chapel of their own. evidently his cult went on gaining in strength and fame up to the very time of the reformation, and if that change had not taken place he might finally have been given a place in the calendar. this was all the more likely since at the same time his writings and favourite doctrines were growing in popularity. sir brian hastings of fenwick, on 13 april, 1537, wrote on behalf of one pore house of nunes called hampole, whiche are neare neighburs unto me and of good name, fame and rule, and so reputed and taken amonges all the cuntrey aboute me'. the king has said that they are to remain and have more religious women assigned unto them', but they now ask for confirmation. he uses the opportunity of this letter to cromwell to ask for favours for himself. earlier, sir john neville had asked for hampole (if dissolved) for his son-in-law clifton, the king's ward, whose ancestors, he says, were the founders. he has heard that sir john wentworth has it. in the itinerary of the commissioners of 1536 it is said to be 'of the furst fundacon off master crescey, jentyllmanne, now clyfford & markam ther fundeers'. it was in the end (1540) given to the fitzwilliam family, who were truly the founders (ibid.). it had been dissolved, 19 november, 1539 (ibid., p. 74). it is evident that there was a good deal of juggling with history at this time, since it was considered an advantage to be descended from a founder, at the time when the spoils were to be divided. there was, however, no scandal put on the nuns, for in the public record office is a list of the thirteen nuns who surrendered, headed: 'al of good conuersacion' (v.c.h., yorks, iii. 165). 1 yas. rec. ser., 48, pp. 16, 27, 37, 118. l 12 524 materials for rolle's biography in 1573 there was only one nun of hampole left to be paid her pension (yaj. xix. 102). the dispersal of the nuns was evidently the ruin of the place, for there are now not a half-dozen houses there, and no church. in the middle ages at one period, three 'merchants of hampole' are mentioned (hunter, i. 358). the nunnery brought distinguished visitors as well as trade: for example, bishop cobham of worcester, when on his way to york to pay a visit to his friend archbishop melton, in 1318, dated a letter here.¹ the indulgence of the portiuncula gave to the house of hampole another new source of income than the cult of st. richard, but we have no evidence that new buildings were begun. there are now no remains of the priory standing, though some of the sculptured stones have been built into the chapel and cottages on the site. in 1910, however, mr. kitson, the postmaster, who lived in one of the latter, showed me, lying on the ground in his hen-yard, the stones making up a fine late norman doorway, which he had recently found in situ, walled over in his barn, and was carefully preserving for the squire, mr. thellusson. he told me that an ancient structure was evidently utilized for his barn, for the lower part of the walls were six feet thick, the upper, which were thinner, were apparently a more recent addition, as if the structure had been built up after having fallen into partial ruin. in his belief parts of the small manor-house across the road, known as 'the priory', were also very old. in 1925 the norman doorway had completely disappeared, without leaving a sign, but its discovery shows that some of the original norman buildings of the priory must have survived to the reformation. in the church at south kirkby is a tomb with arms of henry, lord fitz hugh, and alice his wife (of the fifteenth century, son of the founder of syon), which is said to have come from hampole priory. hunter, however, in recording this tradition, points out that the lady's brother was lord of a manor in the parish of south kirkby (ii. 451). perhaps a canvass of the neighbouring churches might reveal other relics of hampole, and a systematic excavation on the site would certainly be productive. stone is abundant in this district, and there was not the motive for carrying the stones of hampole far away which existed in the case of a religious house in the fenland (like sempringham, for example, of which hardly a stone is left of the buildings which fell into disuse). at hampole the fragments now lying in cottage gardens could perhaps be pieced 1 e. h. pearce, thomas de cobham, london, 1923, p. 164. later history of hampole priory 525 some together to give interesting bits of medieval hampole. excavations lately begun on this site are thus described by mr. a. blackmore of hamphall stubbs : 'mr. thellusson's agent has now made some excavations at the back of a cottage in hampole village, where there were indications of archae ological remains. he has laid bare a portion of a strongly built wall with what may be a pointed doorway or large window (they have not yet got quite deep enough definitely to judge), also a small lancet window, splayed inwards, the whole being of good early english workmanship, the stone being well worked and finely jointed. also some stone steps have been partly uncovered. numerous pieces of coloured plaster were found, which may be the remains of frescoes or wall paintings.' unfortunately the excavations thus begun were stopped, and the work was filled up, because of an accident to a village woman. thorough excavations will be difficult, because the priory evidently lay across what is now the street the remains now evident are all to be found on the edges of this area. a cottage behind the manor-house shows, built into its gable, a fine tomb slab with a cross. behind where the excavations have been made, the ground slopes. down to a small stream, and it is easy to imagine the group that the monastic buildings must have made above. lately interest in rolle seems to be reviving locally, and a cell is even shown near hamphall stubbs where he is said to have had his hermitage! the future of the whole district is, however, in doubt. it is still charming rural country about hampole, rolling, with rich woods and fertile fields, but the collieries have ruined villages very near, and approach on every side. sprotborough, which had been protected by lying in a hollow out of sight of the devastation, is about to lose its ancient character, since sprotborough hall, which has been continuously held by descendants of the founders of hampole, is now (from its proximity to the collieries) less desirable as a residence, and has been sold. in the times for august 20, 1926, it is stated that a townplanning scheme has just been completed by the doncaster corporation, which was begun four years ago. 'doncaster has 5,000,000 tons of coal beneath its surrounding coalfield, and the regional survey was undertaken in order that when doncaster becomes a great coal centre it shall not repeat the mistakes made by the older large cities.' hampole lies not far outside the limits of this survey, and let us hope that doncaster will some day count the excavation of hampole priory among its enterprises. 526 materials for rolle's biography rolle's costume the frontispiece in the laud ms. already described (supra, p. 54) shows a man in an ecclesiastical costume similar to that which the young richard rolle attempted to fashion from the grey and white kirtles supplied by his sister (v. supra, p. 56). when john dalton, as the office tells us, fitted out the young man with a more orthodox set of hermit's clothing, it is likely that this was also grey and white. grey, at least, seems to have been the distinguishing feature of his costume in later life, for in one of the miracles recounted in his office (p. 84) we are told that a woman who lay ill saw sanctum heremitam ricardum in habitu heremite griseo ad eam uenientem'. such was perhaps a common dress for hermits, for we read of a vision of the end of the thirteenth century in a french manuscript that pope celestine v appeared 'avec sa robe grise, sa robe d'ermite, qu'il avait imposée violemment aux moines du mont cassin' in ms. dd. i. 1 the lamentation of st. mary ends with an extra stanza beginning: 'this ryme mad an hermyte... barfot he wente in grey habyte he werid no cloth þat was of lyn' (f. 29b).² however, there was evidently not a consistent tradition concerning the dress of hermits, for rolle is represented in various garbs. as we have seen, in one manuscript of his works (formerly belonging to norwich cathedral) a hermit (?) is depicted with russet garb, grey under-tunic, and white under-vest (v. supra, pp. 114, 216), and of the three representations named richard hampole in the desert of religion (v. supra, p. 309) the stowe ms. shows him wearing a bright green cassock, with a dark blue cap and white under-tunic; in the add. ms. he is all in white, with a dark cap; and in the cotton ms. he is all in white. all the pictures which may conceiv ably be intended to represent him show a man bearded, as do the black-and-white cuts in the early editions (v. supra, pp. 9-10) and the mysterious drawing on an inner page of the laud volume (v. supra, p. 95). 1 histoire littéraire de la france, 30, p. 394. 2 horstmann assigns this reference to rolle (ii. 274 n.). for the bare feet v. supra, pp. 28, 54. 'moreover, the details vary in the initials in question. appendix the defence against the detractors of richard', by thomas basset, hermit as s already noted, the unique manuscript of this work is to be found at upsala, which would indicate that one was once at syon monastery. the copy of rolle's office found in the same book seems to have been written in sweden (v. supra, p. 53): the whole volume appears to be in one hand, apparently the same as that of upsala ms. c. 17, containing other works of rolle (as well as a piece entitled 'magister johannes berton. confutatio lollardorum '). the upsala ms. c. 621, which contains the unique copy of the defence, contains also extracts from rolle's incendium amoris, among which are to be found several quoted in basset's work. probably, therefore, they are also derived from a volume in his possessionperhaps from the poor autograph compilation (set down from what he has heard or read) which he describes as being the main part of his library. his epistle is eloquent on his poverty and obscurity, but gives no details by which he can be traced. a hermit of the same name is recorded by miss clay as having lived in a hermitage at st. stephen's gate, norwich. his will is included among the l'estrange copies of wills owned by mr. walter rye, who has kindly sent me a transcript. it was proved may 3, 1435, and bequeathed several small sums of money, an image of st. anthony, and some furniture: two hospitals (one of lepers), a woman friend, and a parish church, are remembered, and there are legacies 'duabus paruiculis neptibus meis', and 'eleni [sic] nepti mee'. the testator calls himself 'thomas bassett heremita de parochia sancti stephani in norwico'. he is to be buried in the churchyard of st. stephen's. citizens of norwich (both men and women) are made his executors (v. reg. swiflete, p. 169). nothing in this will suggests a connexion with the hermit thomas basset who writes the epistle here printed. the norwich man is possessed of some small property, and is perhaps a widower. he 528 appendix has no books, and nothing suggests that he is learned. the apologist for rolle calls himself poor and obscure, but obviously he has some learning. the fact that a learned carthusian (probably eminent) has engaged him in controversy would indicate that he had some sort of position. the date of the upsala ms. is put at c. 1400, and the hermit thomas is there cited as 'sancte memorie'. it is difficult therefore on grounds of date to identify him with a person who lived till 1435, since 1420 would seem to be the further limit indicated by the date of handwriting of the upsala manuscript. the identification should, however, be tentatively suggested, since palaeographical evidence is notoriously uncertain, and, in any case, a date in the first quarter of the fifteenth century is on other grounds indicated for the volume in question. we have seen that it would appear to have been copied in sweden from a copy sent out from syon, but syon was not founded till 1415. it may be argued that the original may have been taken to sweden by fitzhugh, on the journey in 1406 when he visited wadstena and promised to establish a brigittine house (deanesly, p. 97), or it may have been sent over by the brigittine settlement which may have been a forerunner of syon about 1409 (ibid., p. 100). these suppositions are, however, less plausible than the conjecture that it was sent from syon monastery, in which case it cannot be dated before c. 1420. the great mystic julian was enclosed at norwich from the time of her revelations in 1373, at least, till her death in 1413. norwich, therefore, might have provided a congenial home for mysticism. we have seen that norwich cathedral owned an important volume of rolle's works (v. supra, p. 96). it may also be noted as a possible source of infiltration of his influence into this neighbourhood that the yorkshire stapletons in the fourteenth century inherited the manor of ingham (about twenty miles from norwich): sir miles stapleton of ingham (d. 1414) was one of the executors of his relative sir brian who owned the personal relic of the 'ankerer of hampole', already cited (norf. and norwich archaeol. soc., 4, pp. 321, 322 n., v. supra, p. 506). basset's defence has been prepared for the press by mr. j. a. herbert, from a transcript made from photographs by mr. bernard schofield. thomas basset's 529 " defence incipit defensorium contra oblectratorens (for oblatratores) eiusdem ricardi quod composuit thomas basseth sancte memorie. (upsala univ. ms. c. 621, ff. 67 sq.) paternitati vestre (eo quod sacerdotalis dignitatis insigniti titulo) et venerande cartusie, cui pro innumeris beneficiis multiplici caritatis vinculo astringor. professor facti estis, notifico ego talis qualis quod videre meo verus ille religiosus, quem ex parte nostis, secundum influenciam increate bonitatis, que solet secreta sapiencie sue a sapientibus et prudentibus abscondere et ea paruulis reuelare, verbum illud quod dominus super terram abbreuiauit ex magna parte secundum modum viatorum percepit. quem eciam, tamquam virens virgultum in celesti viridario plantatum, a morsu bestialium sua solita pietate paterna protexit, et vsque in arborem proceram non foliis verborum sed virtutum fructu oneratam, nec (vt estimo) deinceps vento vane loquacie vel malicie turbine funditus prosternendam miro modo sublimauit. et quia non decet tantam paternitatem, presertim contra scripture decretum, iudicium temerarium in tam simplicem et innocentem proferre vel cornibus arrogancie, sicut hactenus incepistis, ventilare, consultum videretur deinceps talia non agere, ymmo pocius de preteritis excessibus veniam postulare, si forsan quoquo modo posset reperiri in conceptibus vestris flexibilitas humilitatis. mirum vobis videbatur, quomodo tanta simplicitas quam subito de tam arduis et subtilibus, sicut apparebat in cedula illa vobis per ipsum directa et michi per vos ostensa, luculenter et audacter disser[er]et. nec mirum, quia non est[is] dedignati discrete et mature ad veritatis lineam illam examinare, nec intelligere quod eterno doctori, qui linguas infancium facit disertas, cordis (altered from cordibus) sui auribus secrete voluntatis sue occulta susurria spirare placuisset. sed vere pater pietatis, qui secundum diuicias glorie sue abiecta mundi elegit vt forcia queque confunderet, mirando modo operatur in pueris probitatis, qui etatem moribus transcendunt, vt verificetur illud scripture: ego confundam sapienciam sapiencium et prudenciam prudencium reprobabo (1 cor. i. 19), et humiles exaltabo. et iterum protestatur veritas in libris reuelacionum celestium, dicens: venite ad me, ydeote et simplices, et ego dabo vobis os et sapienciam, cui linguosi non poterunt repugnare (cf. luc. xxi. 15). 530 appendix ceterum quia homo es, frater et amice, nosti philosophum dixisse quod amicicia vel pares facit vel pares inuenit. propterea neque in spiritu ire vel contumelie, sed in spiritu humilis libertatis et veritatis, quoad hoc quod et me et meum modum viuendi licet detractorie dampnasti respondeo, frater, admodum est michi mirum, quomodo hoc sana consciencia facere posses, nisi forsan caritas, quam te putas habere, vel rueret vel grauiter claudicaret, presertim cum constat conuersacionem meam vsque modo vel ad vnum diem tibi penitus fore ignotam. verumptamen cum non sis iudex constitutus super me, pro minimo est michi iudicari a te. sufficit enim michi ab eo tantum et iudicari et laudari a quo spero remunerari. quod si ipsius amabilibus oculis placere me conti[n]gat, cuius non sum dignus vocari creatura, tanto michi in hac parte quantum in me est plus placeo, quanto tibi et tui similibus displiceo. sed quia scriptura suadet proprias iniurias dissimulari, iniurias autem dei non vsque ad auditum, quoad hoc quod videbaris affirmare in nostra penultima collacione, videlicet quod ardor diuini amoris, licet a purgatis cordibus, in presenti realiter non sentitur, nec te esse obligatum ad aliquid tale credendum: ego vero, licet fuerim simplex et indoctus et omnino indignus de tam profunda materia disputare, que eciam naturam excedit, respondeo tamen pro modulo meo, zelo dei stimulatus, et dico: licet a nullo mortalium poterit hec materia pene quasi incognita ad plenum declarari, potest tamen tripliciter persuaderi, videlicet racione, auctoritate, exemplo. et primo quantum ad racionem... [summary of omitted passages. we know by reason and experience that as the sun gives light and heat to the body, so god, the sun of righteousness, is the source of light and heat for the soul; and reason demands that when the intellect has been completely purged ('non solum a formis et ymaginibus sensibilium, verum eciam ab omni absoluto'), and the affection, detached from all creatures (so far as can be), has long ('per multorum temporum curricula ') yearned insatiably for its true object, god should then freely grant illumination to the intellect ('supersplendentibus diuine claritatis fulgoribus illustretur') and the fire of eternal love to the affection ('eterni amoris incendiis, quantum mortalibus fas est, sensibiliter inflammetur '). moreover, since god and nature do nothing in vain, and the rational soul is capable, through its cognitive and motive powers, of receiving uncreated truth and heat; it follows that if the soul be directed ardently and immediately to god, it will become fit to receive him, and he of his infinite condescension will come to it. (this is supported by a quotation from st. augustine, de spiritu et anima, cap. 7.) finally, since created truth is nothing in respect of uncreated truth, thomas basset's 531 defence' which in its simplest, noblest essence can enter the secret substance of the inner man; it follows that since the soul is more subtle than the body, it is more sensitive to good or evil, and what is perceived through the bodily senses may be called vanity rather than verity in respect of the truth which the purified soul possesses through the mental senses.] ... in tantum enim habundat ardor caritatis obiectiue affectum concremando in quorundam viatorum mentibus purgatissimis, quod eciam inexcogitabili modo redundat ad realem inflammacionem ipsius cordis corporalis. inde venerabilis ille ricardus heremita sic inquit: feruorem voco quando mens eterno amore veraciter incenditur, et cor eodem amore ardere non estimatiue sed realiter sentitur (incendium amoris, p. 185). deuociores ergo in degustacione diuine dulcedinis a tempore quo inceperunt habiles experiri amoris electuarium non fuerunt, quam adhuc inter homines piissimi conditoris dono licet occulti existunt. numquam enim ecclesiam suam desolatam relinquit veritas, que per semetipsam ait: ecce ego vobiscum sum omnibus diebus vsque ad consummacionem (matt. xxviii. 20). per multiplicem eciam scripture sacre auctoritatem reale diuini amoris sentimentum probari potest. et vt de multis pauca eliciam, adducatur sponsa ignito amore inflammata in canticis dicens: anima mea liquefacta est; vt dilectus locutus est (cant. v. 6). cum enim preter naturam visibilium spiritalis liquefaccio in resoluentem liquescere faciat resolutum, quis digne sufficiat cogitare, quantis eterne caritatis incendiis beata mens illa in dilectum absorpta fuit, que a se penitus velud deficiens in amorosis dilecti amplexibus ruere potuit, eius tamen manente substancia, licet mirabiliter transformata? predicte eciam sponse quasi iocunde alludunt duo illi ewangelici discipuli, dicentes: nonne cor nostrum ardens erat in nobis, de ihesu, dum loqueretur nobis in via? (luc. xxiv. 32). idem eciam psalmista clare preaffirmare videtur, dicens ad deum : ignitum eloquium tuum vehementer (ps. cxviii. 140), vt eciam ipsum corpus vrat, prout dicit doctor super psalterium. hanc amantissimam et inenarrabiliter iocundam inter sponsum et sponsam collacionem (ms. collocionem), si quis semel experimentaliter gustu pertingeret, numquam deinceps sine dubio ad predictorum contrariam affirmacionem aperiret os suum per diffidenciam, neque ganiret per stultam loquacitatem; sed pocius fateretur cum prudentissima illa orientali regina, dicens: maior est gloria tua, o dilecte mi, quam rumor quem audiui et decima pars non est nunciata michi (cf. 3 reg. x. 7). quod eciam realis ardor diuine caritatis, inestimabilem secum importans dulcoris diuini exuberanciam, quibusdam viatoribus eciam in presenti realiter infundatur, viuis ac 532 appendix multiplicibus exemplis probari potest; et vt de multis, gracia exempli, pauca proferam, ecce occurrit predictus ille venerabilis ricardus sic dicens: priusquam, inquit, infunderetur in me calor ille consolatorius et in omni deuocione dulcifluus, non putaui talem ardorem aliquibus euenire in hoc exilio: nam ita inflammat animam ac si ignis iste elementarius ibi arderet (incendium amoris, p. 145). et cum (for tum) hunc virum gloriosum iuste, vt michi videtur, in exemplum prius profero, quia sicut archus refulgens inter nebulas glorie, sic et ipse velud homo seraphicus in abyssum diuine claritudinis absorptus inter ipsos resplenduit, qui gloriosa carmina ediderunt de eterna dileccione. videamus eciam quid deuotissimus ille discipulus in horologio sapiencie de hac materia dicat: contigit, inquit, frequenter quod cor suum pre amoris vehemencia sensibiliter feruere inciperet, et motu ac pulsu vehementissimo amoris vim proderet, et per alta suspiria ardorem ignite caritatis aperiret. et cum hoc denique manifeste fatetur, verus ille amator christi in stimulo amoris dicens: adamantina, inquit, quondam erat anima mea, et eius intima nimium solidata; sed nunc amore liquescit, nunc extra se exit, proprium locum relinquit, absorbetur a deo et obliuiscitur sui. et iterum in eodem ait: si quis in summo mentem suam deo applicare posset, vt penitus oblitus omnium preter ipsum toto anime conamine in ipsum tenderet ibique quiesceret, non statim a tanto bono resiliens; tunc credo quod absorptus dulcedine consumaretur in statu, tunc inter consolaciones et tribulaciones, honores et vituperia, blandimenta et obprobria, insensibilis pertransiret, nichil senciens preter deum, solum suum affectans honorem, hic (cancelled?) comprehensor dici posset pocius quam viator. hec ille. predictam ergo materiam supernaturalem et propter spiritalis dilicionis carenciam, protdolor! quasi incognitam tripliciter vtramque persuasi videlicet, racione, auctoritate, exemplo, vt superius patet. nam scriptum est: triplex funiculus de difficili rumpitur (eccles. iv. 12). et licet quidam contemplatiue vite ignari (prout dicit predictus venerabilis ricardus) in quadam dulcedine falsa et ficta fallantur per demonium meridianum, quia putant se summos cum inferiores sint (incendium amoris, p. 186): veraciter tamen intelligas, amice, quod anima, in qua prefata dona sancti spiritus realiter concurrunt, imperforabilis manet sagittis inimici; quia non sompniat vel putat aliquid tale, sed veracissime et actualiter spiritum dei in se manere sentit, et propterea non estimatiue sed veraciter cognoscit; et quanto verius hoc agnoscit, tanto profundiori humilitate desiderantissimo (sic, for desideratissimo?) dilecto se substernens in eius amoris amplexibus thomas basset's defence' 533 amabilius ruit. et quia dyabolus numquam potest dare quod non habet, sequitur quod in illa supernaturali et sensibili diuine caritatis. combustione non potest esse aliqua decepcio, sed pocius, quantum ad viatores et mortales pertinet, omnium virtutum consumata perfeccio. scriptum est enim: qui diligit deum non experietur quicquam mali (cf. eccles. viii. 5). quod eciam clare affirmat saluator in libris celestibus ad sponsam suam beatam byrgittam, sic dicendo: tunc autem non dubites spiritum dei bonum tecum esse, cum tu nichil aliud desideraueris nisi deum, et ab eo totum inflammaris. hoc ego solus possum facere; et impossibile erit dyabolo appropinquare tibi. amice, parcat tibi deus eo quod coegisti meam simplicitatem et ebetudinem de tam ineffabili et profunda materia quasi balbuciendo diss[er]ere; presertim cum ditissimi et eloquentissimi inter omnes orientales aureas et fulgentissimas sentencias celestis sophie in hanc sacratissimam materiam, tamquam in celestis thesauri gazophilacium, quasi nobiles vestentes in croceis habundanter proiecerunt. ego vero inter tot diuites quid possum conferre, cum ad instar paupercule vidue prophetice non habeam nisi parum olei quo ungar et quantum potest continere pugillus farine in lechito (sic, for lecytho)? noueris pro certo quod ego non habeo libros commentariorum, nisi tantum paucula veritatis verba, que antea vel legi vel audiui; que diligenti admodum reuolucione trita, et in lechito memorie collocata [sunt]. et quia aliam omnino librariam non habeo, nisi tantum psalterium dauid, queso, pensata penuria mea, ne indigneris si ad presens cum vidua paupercula saltem offeram duo minuta. verumptamen quoad hoc quod dixisti, te non esse obligatum ad credendum si huiusmodi spiritualia sentimenta essent annon, respondeo: amice, eciam si hoc verum sit, non tamen obligatus es ad spernendum; ymmo quia spreuisti, forsan obligacior es quam putas, eo quod dona celestia que pater pietatis electis inspirauit, quos spectaculum mundo, angelis et hominibus posuit, humiliter sequi noluisti, verum eciam in contumeliam creatoris, a quo omne donum perfectum descendit, audacter contraire non timens, tanto te statuisti debitorem in tolleranda pena, quanto plures simplices resilierunt a laude creatoris et a spirituali profectu ex tua indiscreta ammonicione et doctrina. sunt enim quidam, quod dolendum est, qui maioribus inuident, minores contempnunt; et cum constet eos a spiritualibus donis vacuos existere, audacter tamen donis dei in aliis virtuosis simplicibus non metuunt derogare. isti quantum in ipsis est spiritum sanctum persequ[u]ntur per apostolum dicentem, spiritum nolite extinguere 534 appendix (1 thess. v. 19). tales gaudent quando alii suas adinuenciones imitantur, et illorum discipulatum assumunt; et quia gloriosi in oculis suis sunt, valde contristantur, et dehonestatos se estimant, si ab aliquo in dictis, in factis vel conceptibus resistenciam habeant ; et quia aliquid preter deum indebite diligunt, frequenter in semetipsis turbidi et auari existunt. istorum eciam solet esse consuetudo proprias opi[n]iones et phantasticas ymaginaciones pertinaciter preferre, et alios, qui eis acquiescere nolunt, quantumcumque sint virtuosi vel vituperare vel contempnere non metuunt. sed quia feruencius appetunt preesse quam prodesse, et virtuosi apparere quam existere occulto dei iudicio, magna quandoque in exterioribus agunt et miram famam et opinionem penes homines assumunt. semper tamen timendum est eis, quod scriptum est: qui facit regnare ypocritam propter peccata populi (job xxxiv. 30). verumptamen incredibile tibi non foret, si vel minima amoris christi sintilla tactus esses, quod christus, qui verus amator est et vere amari desiderat, et nil est quam (sic, for quod) tam de nobis quam amari appetit, eciam ineffabilia spiritus sancti carismata electis amatoribus suis in presenti largiretur. quod si tibi difficile videatur vt christus tantum optaret nupciali veste nos indui, iam regnando in celis, cogita, obsecro, quomodo ex nimio amore facta sunt vestimenta eius quasi calcancium in torculari (is. lxiii. 2), quando in cruce congregabat dispersiones israel; et forsan facile videbitur. tantoque de iure frigida mens nostra ardencius in conditoris desiderium se erigeret, quanto conspicit quod electos suos in hoc infimo emispereo laborantes mellifluis donis dignatur inuisere, et effugatis viciorum tenebris secreta et incognita gaudia illos supra visibilia sustollendo facit penetrare. cuius admiranda bonitas in hoc singularitas (sic, for singulariter) apparet, quod frequenter tantam graciam infundit cordibus humilium, vt eciam fidem et estimacionem excedit superborum. sed scriptum est: ante gloriam humiliabitur spiritus, et ante ruinam exaltatur cor (prov. xviii. 12, combined with xvi. 18). preterea quoad hoc quod dixisti de prefato venerabili ricardo, cuius memoria in benediccione est, videlicet, quod fuit materia quasi ruine et decepcionis, quia, vt tibi videbatur, fecit homines iudices sui, et quod tu non nosti tot homines in libris eius profecisse, quot in eis miserabiliter decepti sunt; respondeo tibi ad primum: amice, acquiesce sano consilio, et quandocumque talis pestifera cogitacio obtenebrat mentem tuam, memento quomodo fecit vidua ad quam helias propheta mittebatur in sarapta, et colligens tibi duo ligna festinanter erige vnum in transuersum. nam ecclesia canit: crux pellit omne crimen, thomas basset's 535 defence' fugiunt eam tenebre.¹ quod si contempseris, tunc scias indubitanter quod tu ipse es vera materia ruine et decepcionis tam tui ipsius quam omnium tue supersticiose pertinacie in hac parte adherencium. cessa ergo, frater, obsecro, a blasfemia tua. nimis enim crudelis est, qui seipsum suffocare non metuit. alioquin non putes te euadere impunem. ymmo satis est tibi formidandum, ne venerandus ricardus lugeat super te. mirandum enim est quomodo adeo timorem dei ad tergum proiecisti, et quomodo non pudeat te ita alienum a virtute ostendere, vt os tuum in ipsius detraccionem aperire non timeas; quem non solum christus, prout pietas fidelium sperat, ad eterne glorie tronum sustulit, verum eciam dum adhuc in terra viueret tam exemplis quam scriptis ad inflammacionem ecclesie sue seraphice miraculose illustrauit. sed infirmis oculis odiosa est lux, que sanis est amabilis. et psalmista ait: supercecidit ignis, et non viderunt solem (ps. lvii. 9). quoad secundum, videlicet, quod videre tuo facit homines iudices. sui, respondeo: nullus practicus vel theoricus hoc sapere potest, presertim cum in libris suis, vbi loquitur de spiritualibus sentimentis, et reali gustu clare protestetur, dicens: ista verba in illorum persona dicta sunt, qui spiritu sancto pleni taliter sine ficcione et presumpcione de se senciunt, qualiter in hoc volumine scripta legunt (contra amatores mundi, f. 174). qui ergo sine ficcione et presumpcione spiritum dei in se sentit veraciter et humiliter, spiritum dei habere se cognoscit. nec ideo quia cognoscit dicendus est iudex sui; sed pocius est affirmandum quod veritas cognita cogit ipsum acquiescere veritati. quod si quisquam veritatem agnosceret, et ei acquiescere nollet, tunc pocius inimicus veritatis quam amicus dici deberet. libri ergo venerabilis ricardi, si fuerit in homine spiritus dei, non faciunt eum iudicem sui, sed cum spiritus dei veritas est, necessario compellitur consentire veritati, alioquin nichil sibi et libris ricardi. et quia scriptum est, vbi spiritus domini, ibi libertas (2 cor. iii. 17), et per consequens vera humilitas, nam quanto quis spiritu sancto fuerit plenior, tanto est in vera humilitate profundior, arguendus vtique non esset, si ad gloriam dei et fraternam vtilitatem se spiritum dei habere affirmaret. quod plane diuinus paulus denunciat, dicens : an experimentum eius queritis, qui in me loquitur christus (2 cor. xiii. 3)? et iterum: viuo autem, iam non ego; viuit vero in me christus (gal. ii. 20). et iterum quoad tercium, videlicet, ad hoc quod dixisti te non nouisse in scriptis suis tot proficientes quot 1 from the hymn beg. 'cultor dei, memento' (chevalier, rep. hymn, 4053, from prudentius), as the bishop of truro points out. 536 appendix deceptos, respondeo: qui imprudenter et male contra magistrum excederet, verisimile esset quod in peius penes discipulum erraret. et quia probasti te in prescriptis acta magistri penitus non agnoscere, verecundum tibi forsan non esset vt quoad profectus vel defectus discipulorum humiliter te agnosceres ignorare. amice, videtur michi in verbis tuis apparere quasi aliquod monstrum. nam superius videbaris in verbis tuis spiritualis magistri profectus non credere, et hic pretendis te de suis proficientibus discipulis iudicare. sed liquet plane quod ille qui non credit, a multo forciori non intelligit. nam scriptum est: nisi crederitis, non intel[li]gitis. sequitur ergo quod sentenciam diffinitiuam proferre, et non intelligere, non est verum iudicium; sed pocius nominandum est ridiculum. verumptamen quia tu homo magne literature es, discute, queso, diligenter in consciencia propria quomodo ista stant in figura. preterea, cum de proficientibus discipulis [iudices], quantum ad eorum realia sentimenta sibi diuinitus inspirata, scriptum est: nemo scit nisi qui accipit (apoc. ii. 17). nec quisquam veraciter iudicat de hoc quod ignorat. mirum est quomodo consciencia tua tam absolute de eis permisit iudicare, ad quorum vel extrema virtutis, vt patet manifeste in propriis verbis, vsquemodo non potuisti pertingere. an excessit a memoria tua quod apostolus dicit: animalis homo non percipit ea, que sunt spiritus (1 cor. ii. 14)? sed vere proficientibus idem plane testatur, quia: spiritualis omnia iudicat; et ipse a nemine iudicatur (1 cor. ii. 15). cessa ergo de cetero inniti baculo tuo arundineo, sciens pro certo quod si inflaturam illam, quam de literali sciencia concepisti, deserere nolueris, ad illorum virtutes, quos iam quasi deuorare non metuis, viuens in mortali carne numquam attingere valebis. scriptum est, sciencia inflat, caritas autem edificat (1 cor. viii. 1). ceterum quoad discipulos illos quos, vt dixisti, nosti deceptos, mirabile est, quomodo hoc nosti. nam ex quo plane liquet quod proficiencium discipulorum virtutes quanta (sic, for quantum ?) ad prefata practice non habeas, frustra vtique discretum et maturum iudicium deceptorum defectus vel decepcionis examinando habere te putas. semper enim in spiritualibus practica precedit veram theoricam. sed vide caute, ne forsan ipse decipiaris. nam predictus ricardus dicit: vicium quo quisque cespitat eciam alium habere putat. et actus presumptuosi quod si quis eius vitam non imitatur, estimat eum deuiare et decipi. et hoc ideo in eo fit, quia humilitatem dereliquit. hec ille (incendium amoris, p. 170). et licet quibusdam indoctis videatur quod libri ipsius, vbi loquitur de arduis et thomas basset's 537 defence' incognitis, prebeant intuentibus materiam elacionis, ego vero estimo quod non regnat tanta elacio in mortali homine, si scripta illius intelligeret, et ea intencione pura imitari vellet conscienciam propriam distincte inuestigando; quod non solum in elatam sui ipsius estimacionem inaniter non erigeret, verum eciam in profundum sui ipsius contemptum virtuose inclinarent; quia, sicut scriptum est, vox domini in virtute (ps. xxviii. 4). quod si quisquam (quod absit) intencione aliqua distorta ea sequi proponeret, vel ad suum carnalem intellectum violenter retorqueret, non propterea sacra verba essent reprehensibilia, sed ipse pocius dignus vituperio iuste corruit, quia bonis male vsus fuit. hinc scriptum est, spiritus sanctus discipline effugiet fictum, et subtrahet se a cogitacionibus que sunt sine intellectu (sap. i. 5). finaliter et conclusiue, quoad hoc quod michi affirmasti, videlicet, ego ipse, qui ista tibi notifico, non habui illud bonum, quod vel dixi vel putabam me habere: certe, frater et amice, tu verum concepisti de me, qui sum purgamentum huius mundi omnium peripsima vsque adhuc. idcirco in caritate non ficta ego inprecor tibi illud scripture, benediccio domini super caput iusti (prov. x. 6), eo quod iuste improperasti michi. et quia deus dedit tibi oculos apertos in me, ideo fateor tibi, coram christo non mencior, triplicem veritatem de me. primo, quod in consciencia non ficta nullum bonum est in me; secundo, quod ego simpliciter numquam feci aliquod bonum; tercio et vltimo, quod ego nullum mereor habere bonum. pereat ergo deinceps dies in qua natus sum; et moriatur anima mea morte iustorum; presertim cum vas eleccionis clare protestetur, dicens: qui se putat aliquid esse, cum nichil sit, ipse se seducit (gal. vi. 3). amice, deus nouit quomodo tu capias verba ista, quia ego non sum ausus iudicare quemquam, nisi de puris manifestis et hoc solo animo compaciendi. parcas tamen michi eo quod tam rudi et inculto stilo tibi scripserim, cum sis vir magnus in literatura et eloquens. sed nosti me virum esse simplicem et quasi ydeotam. nouit tamen christus si non caritas sua vrgeat me et ista et isto modo eciam manu propria tibi scribere; que si tibi profecerint, gaudeo. alioquin scias quia volui profecisse, et pax tecum. amen. explicit epistola thome basseth heremite (f. 72º). m m 538 additional notes a 14th-15th cent. quaritch ms. (v. supra, p. 245) ends a series of quotations with one from 'ricardus heremita' and the following: 'numquam de uerbis faciam questionem de qua facultate sumantur, dummodo edificentur ad salutem. nam nec de herbis queritur, qua terra uel cuius ortolani cura uel cultura adoleuerint, dummodo uim habeant sanatiuam. nam et de fabularum gentilium mortalitate quandoque per doctorem forma erudicionis elicetur, quoniam fas est eciam ab hoste doceri hec petrus blesensis. pro ricardo dicto heremita contra eos qui dicunt quod dictus ricardus non sua dicta per doctores fundat.' peter of blois is here evidently being quoted against 'detractors of richard'. see e. v., quot. in the catalogue of manuscripts in the lincoln cathedral chapter library by r. m. woolley (oxford, 1927), the following is quoted from the end of ms. 60: 'scriptus per manus peter caderwalt nacionis alma nice]... treuer. londini in anglia.' a note following states that the volume was given to syon monastery, august 8, 1478, by master edward lupton. here we may have the source by which rolle's manuscripts reached trier: caderwalt may have taken them home after a stay in england-a supposition which is the more plausible in that he may have had a connexion with syon monastery. canon woolley notes as in the possession of the chapter a series of transcripts from rolle's mss. made by the 'late revd. f. proctor of witton vicarage, and given to the library in 1891. all of rolle's works in lincoln ms. 209 have been transcribed, and the melum (one of the works copied from that source) is also copied from st. john's coll. camb. ms. 23. texts in camb. univ. dd. v. 64 are also copied, and in some cases used for collation with lincoln texts. 539 addenda p. 13. dr. goswin frenken informs me that the stadtbibliothek at cologne possesses a copy of faber's edition of rolle's works of 1536 printed by arnold birckmann. birckmann succeeded his brother franz in the book business at cologne about 1532. the latter for the first years of his career had his printing done by others (among whom were hopyl and rembolt, both of whom printed rolle in 1510). he did business also in st. paul's churchyard, london (heitz, pp. xxii-xxiii). p. 81, n. 4. to identify these verses would give a valuable clue to rolle's early influences. they run as follows: 'satis amicicie dei non est pie / quod affuit delicie amoris in die / set obscuram seriem noctis agonie / vertit in meridiem clare melodie / quicquid fatagacio aggrauat diei / tollit exultacio noctis requiei / de dulcore fruitur virginis et dei / mens in laudem rapitur cantus iubilei/quem depascit caritas es sine dolore / mori iam desideras diues in dulcore / nam stabit dilectio mortis cum amore / moritur cum gaudio qui viuit cum amore' (bodl. ms. 861, f. 85). reminiscences of the phrases of this poem recur in rolle's works: cf. incend., p. 267 ('noctem uertit in diem '), and a lyric founded on rolle's latin, supra, p. 299. father oliger writes to me of the verses: if they were not in rhymes, i would say they are translated from some italian laude, say of jacopone. even the latin words seem to suggest it. i looked through jacopone, but did not find the correspondent verses, though here and there similar ideas, especially in laude xc and xci.' v. supra, p. 333. p. 109, n. mr. coulton sends me from dr. e. f. jacob a reference to a valuable article on 'puer, iuvenis, senex', by a. hofmeister in papsttum und kaisertum (presented to p. kehr), munich, 1926, pp. 287 sq. p. 115. ms. vi. the scribe signs the 'melos': 'quod m.’ p. 315, n. i. father oliger has printed this poem (arch. franc. hist., v, 1912, p. 148). p. 373. from details kindly supplied by capt. r. b. haselden i learn that the huntington library possesses four copies of the prick viz. brown 2206, mss. 68 (the first lines, however, would classify it with 2207), 73-4; also a copy of the type 2207 (slightly imperfect at the end) which was item 376 in the grove sale, m m 2 540 addenda anderson catalogue 1917, dec. 12, and seems to be a sixth copy not cited by professor brown. p. 437. there was a medieval writer william de rothwell or de rowell who wrote commentaries on the epistles and on the sentences (see bale, index). the latter work exists with his name in copenhagen roy. lib. ms. gl. kgl. s. 1363 (14th-15th cent.). p. 445, n. in ss. 139 (fasti dunelmenses), thomas neville of elsdon is separate from the archdeacon. p. 502. the rev. j. gregory, vicar of stanwick, sends me from the rev. j. v. bullard, rector of melsonby, the information that 'the burial fees at ainderby were 1/1, the penny being for the ancress, and at bedale 1/2, 2d. for the ancress '. p. 515. in the chartulary of monk bretton priory (yas. rec. ser. 66, 213) there is an undated confirmation of a gift to 'god, the blessed mary and the canons (sic) of hampole'. indexes the index of incipits has been supplied by mr. j. a. herbert. in the following indexes all titles in foreign languages are standardized in spelling. in the many cases throughout the work where a series of crossreferences is given on any particular subject, only the key-reference is given here in some cases, therefore, the most important pages are not indicated here, but will be found by following the cross-references indicated in the text. the spurious works are covered by the general index, the doubtful ones (marked by a question mark) by the index for rolle. no cross-references are given from one to the other of these indexes unless the subject in question receives references in the one index significant for the other (which, for economy of space, have not been repeated). the index is not complete as to books and periodicals cited: all works used more than once are included (at least at the first mention), but some once cited, and most well-known periodicals are omitted. 'magister' is abbreviated as 'm.' and 'dominus' as 'd.'. index for richard rolle abbey of the holy ghost, 286, 335-43, 366. adolescentulae (= 5th sect. cant.), 1213, 63, 65, 220, 222. and st. aelred, 79, 88, 325-7, 329. aggressiveness of, 270, 275. alliteration of, 7-8, 72-81, 90, 99-100, 118, 127, 140-1, 152-62, 183, 193-5, 207, 244-306, 340, 360, 467-87, 518 (often passim); v. prose (ornamental), and gen. index. amanuensis of (?), 226. de amore, 407; de amore dei, 205; de amore dei contra amatores mundi, passim; v. contra am. m., and cf. 224 (incend.). de amore divino (= incend.), 224, 418-19. amore langueo (= form), 259. de amore summo eodemque singulari (= 5th sect. cant.), 13. analytical power of, 87. on angel choirs, 76, 88, 539. and st. anselm, 73-4, 78-9, 142, 285, 290, 326, 347, 358. apocalypse, 31, 89, 107, 147-8, 152-5, 271. apologist for, v. gen. index, basset. apostles' creed, v. super symbolum apostolicum. aristotle's history of animals used by, 270-1. and st. augustine, 228 n., 265, 290, 303, 341. autobiography of, 2, 12, 35, 75-7, 823, 129, 141, 146, 182, 200-1, 208, 226-7, 245, 273, and v. mel., job. authorities, use of, 73, 81, 104, 145, 158, 163, 265, 396. baccalaureate of (?), 497. baker, augustine, ignorant of, 4. and bâle, 49, 239. the bee, 269-71. and st. bernard, 73-4, 265, 294,313-14. and bestiaries, 271. and bible, authorized version of, 148, 184. birthplace of, 55, 431-9. and a bishop, 480-2, 484. blood of saviour invoked by, 75, 467 sq. and bohemia, 47-8, 168; v. mss. index (prague and vienna). and st. bonaventura, 210, 265, 355, 397. brigittines, v. syon monastery, wadstena. burial-place of, 516, 519. and byland abbey, v. rievaulx. 542 index for richard rolle • caesarius cited by, 403. called anchorite' (?), 504, 507; augustinian hermit, 419, 425, 428; 'hampole', 61, 498; hermit', 61; johannes hampol', 408; 'juvenis', 89, 142-3, 538; 'laicus', 497; magister' (?), 19, 219-21, 234, 239, 425, 429, 447, 490-3, 497-8; pampolitanus', 12, 425; 'remyngton', 422; 'robert rooll', 404; saint', 54-5, 233; a youth, 90, 101, 117, 125, 129, 142, 151 (?), 460, 471, 481-2; v. hermit. 'calor, canor, et dulcor', 27, 57, 60, 71-4, 84-92, 108-10, 114, 117-19, 123, 140, 152, 154, 160, 179-81, 195, 207, 225, 244, 249, 254, 264, 283, 416, 421, 467-8, 494; 'calor', 58, 291, 469-70, 531 sq. (often passim); 'canor', 71-2, 129, 195, 199–200, 226, 288, 303-6, 314, 361, 468, 473-4, 494-5; dulcor', 84. and candet nudatum pectus, 295. canon of, 1, 3, 6, 15, 52, 62, 287, 302; • causes of confusion, 15, 80, 289, 317, 344, 348, 355-7, 360, 368, 371, 376, 393, 397, 424, 426. 'cantica' of, 301, 305-6. super cantica canticorum (= o.t. canticles attached to psalter), 66, 166. canticles, comment on the, 2, 40, 6283, 88, 92, 100, 107, 115, 117, 120-1, 124-5, 193, 199, 202, 210-11, 213, 225, 227, 244, 265, 275, 281, 322, 326, 448, 468-9, 497, 501; method of, 146, 160, 194; quoted, 62–3, 6983, 100, 105-6, 164, 282, 327, 341; v. ol. effus. canticum amoris, 22, 76, 89-93, 109, 116, 130, 297-9, 302, 420, 471. cantilenae amoris (= lyrics), 35. on caritas', 85, 104, 106, 113, 140, 149, 154, 160. carmen prosaicum, or rhythmicum (= mel.), 301; 'carmina', 301, 3056, 532. carthusian, detractor of, 529 sq.; v. mss. his cell, 41-3, 429, 460-6, 472-5, 503-6, 511, 517-18, 525; change of, 98, 107-12, 121, 178, 460-70, 477, 501-2; with dalton, 460-1, 496. chapel where ecstasy completed, 472. character of, 3, 7-8, 73, 106, 120, 129, 137, 139, 145-7, 178, 187, 198, 208, 226, 249, 270, 275, 332, 367, 396; development of, 144, 162, 186-7, 328; v. rolle index, passim. church, relations with usefulness to, 149, 495, 500; v. bishop, ecclesiastical proceedings, persecutions. and church of england, 4; calendar of, 4; prayer book, 184. 'clamor' of, 123, 303, 305. and clergy abuses of, 47, 81, 108, 135, 147, 150-1, 266-7, 402-3. 4478, 475, 478, 480-1, 487 (and v. mel.); quarrel with, 147-8, 151, 182-5, 494; v. bishop, church, monks, popularity. commandment, the, 75, 104, 251-6, 264, 266, 268, 282, 308-9, 362. commendatio vitae eremiticae (= incend., cap. 13), 224-5. in community, 494-5, 498, 500. compendium theologicae veritatis used by, 265. compilations from, 44-5, 320-3, 398, 400 (and v. incend.). complaints of christ', 294. confessions (= judica), 95. consistency of, 3, 83, 88, 91, 106, 196, 206, 304-5, 396-7. on contemplation, 69–72, 76–8, 83–92, 100, 119-20, 124, 136-8, 149-55, 160-4, 183, 195, 225, 244, 249, 257, 271, 283, 321, 333, 396, 485, 496; continuous, 70-2, 119, 123, 160, 287, 466, 470; defined, 6, 69, 275, 341-2; is labour, 120; v. contemplative men, ecstasy. 'contemplation', titles containing, v. mss. of epistles, passim. de contemplatione dei (= incend.), 221, and cf. titles mss., eng. epistles, passim, and 236. contemplationis, de excellentia (?), 213, 320-3. on contemplative men: happy death of, 85, 120, 140, 198: pre-eminence of, 69-72, 84, 115, 120, 124-5, 146, 207, 244, 277, 485-6; in scriptural commentaries, 148; v heaven, joy, judgement day, seraphim. de contemptu mundi (= contra am. m.), 204. continental editions of, 4, 11-14, 135, 428. and continental heresies, 333-5. contra amatores mundi, 78, 108, 120, 125, 186, 198-212, 221, 226, 275, 281, 303, 305, 322; quoted, 100, 104, 163, 198-200, 203, 206-9, 282, 417, 465-6, 535. on contrition, 103-5, 367, 403. on conversion, 84-6, 230, 242-3, 2667, 519. de conversione ad deum et ejus amore (= form), 259. courage of, 129, 139, 146, 455, 463,495. index for richard rolle 543 criticism of, 106. 6 cult of, 38, 43, 51-61, 173-4, 429, 507, 512, 515-16, 519-23; chapel of. 523; deposition' of, 429; shrine of, 310; statue of, 523; translation of, 516; v. miracles of. and dalton, john, v. gen. index. date, v. hermit; of birth of, 33, 11213, 125-9, 430-1; of death of, 430; revelation as to, 211-12, 228-9, 2734; of works of, 3, 109-13, 125-9, 143, 151-2, 184-8, 266, 273-4, 508 (and v. periods). death, desire for, 81, 119, 129, 198, 228-9, 250, 264-5, 273-4, 495; his horror at, 465-6. death of, 102, 184, 504, 506, 515, 517 (v. date); of parents of, 433, 435. desyre and delit, 271-2, 275. 'detractors' of, 44, 77, 110-12, 141, 153, 538; v. persecutions. devil, the, temptation by, 75, 122, 467-70, 484. devils exorcized by, 59-60, 465-7; feared by, 466-7. dialect of, 15, 259, 279, 285, 370, 381, 396. disciples of, 78, 99, 101, 104, 122, 203, 246, 250, 255-6, 304-5, 410, 464-5, 481, 493, 499 (?), 501-2; learned, 149, 500, 519-20; v. school, and gen. index, margaret kirkeby and wm stopes. diversion from virgin to saviour of devotion, 87, 92-3, 109, 469. de divinis mandatis tractatus (= command.), 252. on dress of women, 108, 207. du péché à l'amour divin (= e. v.), 19. 'dulcor', v. calor'. duodecim capitula (= e. v.), 44, 230, 348; cf. 274. in co. durham (?), 503. early life of, 55-8, 75-6, 82-3, 92-3, 107-13, 121-4, 127-9, 137, 141-4, 148-9, 151-2, 155, 164, 182, 430-9, 442-5, 447-9, 458-500; not solitary, 460-1, 470-4; v. incend., cap. 15. early works of, 82-3, 89-144 (cf. 108, 113, 136), 151-5, 161-5, 198, 314, 325-33, 421-2, 471, 474-5, 487, 492-3, 495-500. ecclesiastical approbation to incend., 42-3, 221. ecclesiastical proceedings against, 78, 108, 129, 137, 148, 208, 227, 464, 480-2, 495, 497. ecstasy of, 57-8; 108-12, 466-8,472-4, 494-6; consequences, 162, 473-4, 494-5; under difficulties, 119, 123, 473-5; known by experience only, 69, 71, 85, 125, 181, 198; literary sources of, 109; v. calor, canor, et dulcor', contemplation, joy, suggestion, incend. (cap. 15). and st. edmund, 362-3. education of, 55-6, 443-5, 448, 490500. and edward ii, 128. edwards, jonathan, compared to, 105. ego dormio, 86, 88, 106, 186, 201, 246-51, 255, 268, 275, 277, 282, 293, 326; lyrics from, 265, 290-3, 297300, 301. on the elect, diverse gifts of, 148, 252-3, 263-4, 275, 486. de emendatione peccatoris (= e. v.), 11-12, 230. emendatio vitae, 43, 46, 54, 106, 120, 130, 186, 199, 201-2, 230-45, 249, 268, 273, 281, 289, 294, 296, 322-3, 348, 357, 428, 518-19; quoted, 138, 230, 244-5, 282, 288, 341. enclosure of (?), 42-3, 506-7,517-18. encomium nominis jesu (= ol effus.), 13, 16, 63, 67, 73-6; v. ol. effus. on end of the world, v. prophecies. english prose, v style, and vernacular. english psalter, 14-15, 46, 49, 75, 78, 106-7, 138, 146, 169-93, 196-7, 246, 254, 271, 277, 342, 396, 427-8, 492, 508; quoted, 100, 103-4, 148, 163, 169, 179-86, 272, 275, 448, 463, 518. epistles of, 46, 203; v. judica, e. v., and chap. viii. epistola (= judica), 97. eulogium nominis jesu (= ol. effus.), 12. and euphuism, 20, 78. exhortations of, 58, 246; v. preaching, propaganda. extravagances of, 8, 80, 90, 306. exuberance of, 8, 73, 178, 203, 329, 489. on false brothers', 153, 155. family of, 55-7, 431-44, 479–80; v wm. rolle, rolle, in gen. index. family home of; v. thornton dale, and yafforth. on famine, 144. on fasting, 103, 266, 271. at feasts, 119, 122, 129, 140, 474-5. flight from family of, 56-7, 436; v. hiding. foolish appearance of, 77-8, 200, 208. form of living, 46, 75, 87, 91, 188, 231, 245, 254, 256-68, 283, 288-90, 355, 428; addressed to margaret, 544 index for richard rolle 34-6, 46, 246, 256, 265-7, 359; to cecil, 258; date of, 186, 201, 2734, 503; quoted, 76, 86, 92, 104, 106, 263-6, 270, 272, 275, 288-9, 293, 297, 305, 326, 341. forma sive regula de modo confitendi (= judica b 1-3), 95. forma vivendi (= form), 257. and formalism, 319, 337; difference to external acts. four profitable things (from the form), 359-60. v. inand franciscans, 54, 261, 513, 539. friends, desire for, 200, 203, 303-5. gastly gladnesse, 250-1, 272-4. gilbertine nun, disciple of (?), 410. de gloria et perfectione sanctorum (= mel.), 113, 116. on 'god's house', 160, 184, 206-7, 321-2. and st. gregory, 78, 88, 142, 202, 251, 313-14; excerpts from morals, 89, 313-14. habits of concentration, 58, 177, 225; dictation (?), 225, 518; diet, 483, 518; early rising, 518; memory, 323; prayer at meat, 288; sitting in contemplation, 195, 309-10; use of scriptures, 146. hainault, link with, 49, 504. hall-marks of his work, 15, 72-3, 78. and hampole priory, 43, 60-1, 173-4, 255-6, 267, 429, 493, 498, 501, 503-4, 506-7, 511-12; v. burial-place of, cult of. hardships of, 121–3, 227, 460-3, 474-6, 483, 488. heaven, mystic's foretaste of, 69–72, 78, 81, 85-8, 100, 117-19, 124, 138, 149, 154-5, 157, 160, 180-1, 183, 195, 206-7, 244, 249, 270, 305, 341, 473; mystic's seat in, 104-6, 140, 160, 184, 255, 264, 293, 485-6; v. contemplative men. heraclides cited by (?), 403. and heresy, v. continental heresies, lollardy. a hermit, 75, 99, 101, 117, 119, 141, 151, 153, 160, 179, 195, 225, 227, 244, 249, 254, 263, 289, 328, 460, 465, 472-6, 481; date of becoming, 55-6, 109-110, 462, 490-3; signature as, 69, 71, 89, 130, 136, 179, 206. a hermit, a treatise written for, 262. in hiding, 482, 495, 499. and hilton, 351-2, 368, 519. and john hoveden, 420. on hypocrisy, 98, 103, 105-6, 150, 255, 266, 270-1, 277, 363. on idleness, 84, 101, 142, 270. de incendio amoris (= incend., cap. 15), 12-13. incendium, 19, 27, 47-9, 64, 71, 82, 84-8, 91, 100, 106, 115, 138, 149, 168, 184, 186, 199-200, 208-29, 246, 250-1, 290, 294, 299, 305-6, 323, 448, 488, 501, 518-19, 527, 539; compilations attached to, 210-13, 519; quoted, 84-5, 100, 104, 109, 140, 158, 200, 282, 288, 290-3, 303-4, 309-10, 326, 455-6, 463, 531-2, 536; short text of, 64, 21012; cap. 15, 12-13, 27-8, 60, 63-4, 71-3. 83-8, 93, 107, 109-11, 122, 129, 199, 209, 211, 222, 448, 452, 469, 472; rhymed, 308-9; tabulae to, 213, 215, 219-20; v. compilations. indifference to dignities, 291, 448, 485-6; to external acts, 69-70, 104, 106, 136, 140, 155, 227, 255, 271, 277, 328, 337, 485-6 (v. hypocrisy, purgation); to liturgy, 350, 361, 480; to penance, 104, 264; to sacraments, 99, 103-6; to worldly events, 144. individualism of, 327-9, 332. individuality of, 3, 7-8, 62, 70, 110, 162, 178, 195, 396. indulgences for incend., 214. influence of, 4, 80-1, 90, 118, 145, 196, 253, 289, 307-11, 319, 337, 356, 360, 365, 367, 398-407, 414, 416– 17, 423, 513, 518, 523; heterodox, 335, 531-9; v. jesus, holy name of information (= form), 259. inspiration of, 71, 120, 145, 147-9, 226, 328-9; poetical, 303-6; perfectionism, sanctity. v. de institutione vite (= e. v.), 37. interruptions to, 58, 462. irreverence, accused of, 208, 305, 361. and jacopone da todi, 333, 540. jeremiah, comment on the lamentations of, v. thren. and jesu dulcis memoria, 65, 74, 90, 100, 117, 289, 292, 302-3. jesus, devotion to holy name of, 4, 41, 72-7, 84-92, 100-1, 109, 118-19, 140-1, 152-4, 160-4, 181-4, 195, 203-7, 225, 244-64, 284-317, 34068, 398-421, 468, 513 (often passim); v. jesu dulcis memoria. and joachim of flora, 148, 333. job, 82-3, 106, 129-46, 165, 169, 227, 281, 313-4, 325, 369-70; autobiography in, 136, 141-2, 151; date of, 82, 89, 125, 142-4, 185-7, 209, 499-500; learning of, 137-9, 158, 163, 165, 185, 448, 497, 499-500; purpose of, 129, 137; quoted, 113, index for richard rolle 545 136-44, 163, 250, 433, 488; signature to, 116, 146, 209, 235. on joy of the mystic, 6, 69-70, 91, 103, 109, 117 sq., 129, 179 sq., 193, 195, 198, 200, 206-7, 244-54, 26493 (cf. 282), 341, 466-74, 483-6 (often passim); v. 'talis... tantus'. 'judgement', titles containing, v. mss. judica. on judgement of god', 105-6, 460-1. on the judgement day, 104-5, 297 (?); mystic's place thereat, 71, 104-6, 119, 155. judica, 28-9, 46, 49, 83, 88, 93-113, 120-2, 124, 129, 142, 163, 186-7, 327, 409, 462-4, 469-74, 477, 482, 495, 497; addressee of, 98-9, 101, 103, 105, 464-5; change of cell described in, 98, 107-8, iii, 121, 460-1, 469, 501; date of, 108-12, 474, 493-4; quoted, 91, 93, 98-104, 106-7, 146-7, 282, 460–1, 466. lambeth devotion (?), 343-4. in lancashire (?), 61. 'languor' in, 282, 289, 291-3. last works of, 8, 76, 86, 144, 184, 186-7, 203, 244-56, 263-77, 281-2, 497, 519. later life of, 184, 203, 466, 470, 501-8, 511-12, 516-19. latin psalter, 23-4, 47, 64, 75, 78, 107, 138, 165-9, 172, 177-87, 192-3, 196, 209, 254, 460, 471, 489-90, 492, 495-6, 500; quoted, 163, 165, 179-85, 448, 488; theology of, 144, 158, 185, 448, 496. latinity of, 8, 306, 419. learning of, 78, 144, 157, 490-500; on learning, 69-70, 226; v. mel., job, latin psalter, scholastic influence. super lectiones job in exequijs defunctorum, v. job. and leicester, 189. lenten sermons of (?), 104. life desired by, 496. life of, v. autobiography, early life of, office, later life of. literal-minded, attacked by, 304-5, 489. literary history, position in, 8, 354. liturgy, v. indifference. and lollardy, 142, 145, 170-7, 187-92, 197, 374-5, 387-97, 430. lombard, peter, use of, 20, 145, 172, 177 sq., 181, 185, 187, 196, 271, 363, 463, 495. loneliness of, 200, 203. lord's prayer, v. oratio dominica. lost works of (?), 113, 272, 280-1, 287, 325, 403, 410, 423. on love: compels to speak, 71, 117, 199; defined, 299; diversity of, 267; gives seat in heaven, 104, 264, 485-6; grades of, highest, 69, 124; grades of, four, 203, 472-3, 480; three, 76, 82, 201-3, 245, 247, 251, 254, 258, 260, 264, 268, 277, 308, 344, 357, 399, 406; second grade, 76, 249; third, 86, 249; relation of grades to calor, canor', etc., 203; invoked, 202, 244; known only to god, 106; more than learning, 69; preached, 121, 147, 485; special to solitaries, 264; test of, 195; theology of, 139-40; writers on cited by, 70, 81, 85, 109, 282, 303; v. contemplation, ecstasy, joy, mysticism. 'love', titles containing, 252-3, and cf. mss. eng. epistles. and 'love-longing', 289-91, 298, 302, 310. lyrics, english, 17-18, 20, 34, 120, 163, 184, 228, 287-311, 370, 540; of epistles, 250, 264-5, 287-94, 302, 308, 310; variants of, 248. magnificat, super, 192-4. manuals, v. judica, and last works. mss. of: autograph, 35, 46, 49, 94-5, 113-14,174,211-12, 215-16,256,258, 303, 414-15; carthusian, 4, 48-50, 157, 214, 307-11, 347, 364-5, 404-5, 407, 409 (v. bâle, hainault, shene, trier); not early, 46; handsome, 44, 54, 131, 189, 219, 223, 279; signatures to, 46; transcripts from, 538; v. chap. ii, iii-xiv, passim, readers, syon monastery, and mss. index. and martyrdom (?), 495. on mary the virgin, 55, 63, 81, 89-93, 100, 109, 115, 138, 162, 192, 285, 298, 401, 417, 469, 486. meditatio de passione christi (= eng. lyric), 290. meditations on the passion, 278-87, 432. meditations advised by, 85, 245, 282-3, 289, 294; elasticity of, 289. melodia amoris (= incend.), 16, 218, 224 (?). melos, v. melum. melum contemplativorum, 27, 83, 1089, 113-29, 136-7, 144, 146, 185-7, 195, 198-203, 227, 246, 294, 301, 332, 335, 361, 495, 500-1, 538-9; anti-clerical, 44, 116, 119, 123-4, 142, 151, 182, 267, 477, 479-88, 490; autobiography in, 2, 82, iii12, 119, 121-4, 152, 228, 463, 46788, 499; autograph of, 49, 114; conclusion to, 71, 86, 114-15; date 546 index for richard rolle of, 89, 125-9, 143, 185-6, 474, 494, 497, 499, 500; effect of, 129, 137, 500; glossary to, 47, 116, 407; purpose of, 82, 112, 124-5, 137, 226, 476, 489, 500; quoted. 84, 92, 100, 117-26, 147-9, 202, 267, 283, 28990, 293, 305, 328-9, 420, 467-76, 480-7; repetitions from, 77, 82, 120, 124-5, 199, 202, 244, 281, 299, 306; scriptural commentary in, 82, 119, 146-9, 184, 471, 487, 495-7, 500; style of, 91, 117-18, 140, 184, 226, 250; titles of, 113-14. on mercy, 297 sq., 324. miracles of, 38, 43, 51-61, 507, 515-16, 521; demanded by enemies, 48890; v. cult. on miracles, 136, 488-90. misericordia, de dei, 22, 89, 161-5, 337. modernism of, 117, 136, 475, 485. modo vivendi, de (= form), 262. on monks interest in liturgy of, 480i; quarrel with, 77, 82, 112, 117, 123-5, 142, 328, 337, 476-88, 494, 499-500; spiritual position of, 69, 117, 123-5, 136, 161, 267, 328, 4801, 484; v. persecutions. morbidness of, 466, 469. mulierem fortem, super, 22, 82, 15961. mystic, the, v. contemplative men. mysticism of, 5-6, 21, 70, 79, 83-8, 100, 103, 108, 144-6, 162, 203, 256, 263, 292, 298, 304, 320, 323, 341-3, 396-7, 473, 494. mysticism in england after, v. religious literature of medieval england after, and gen. index ('mysticism '). and neville, archdeacon, v. index. gen. and nightingale' poems, 90, 164, 419-21. pe nyne ordris of angel, &c., a tretis which tellith of (= ego d.), 248. de nomine jesu (= ol. effus.), 39, 67; nominis jesu encomium, v. encomium, ol. effus. non-mystical part of his teaching, 108, 325-6. and norfolk, 527-8. novem lectiones mortuorum, v. job. novem virtutes (?), 134, 317-20. on nuns, 250, 255-6, 265-7. o bone jesu (?), 37, 65, 74, 314-17, 522. on obedience, 96, 123-4, 161, 327-8, 480-i. " and obedientiaries', 476, 479. office of, 2, 51-61, 287, 427, 521; biography in, 2, 77, 108, 122, 188, 205, 225, 246, 431-2, 435-6, 443, 448, 452, 458-60, 465, 470, 491, 496, 501-4, 506-7, 515-17, 526; character of, 52, 470, 515; compilation used by, 211, 519; copied in sweden, 5278; dates in, 109, 507; disarrangement in, 55; discrepancies in, 61, 491, 493, 517; liturgical form of, 55, 519; origin of, 51-2, 55, 470, 51920; at syon monastery, 53-4, 521, 527; writings of noted in, 58, 26970 (?), 501; quoted in, 12, 73, 211, 519. and older english devotions, 80, 290, 292, 295, 303. oleum effusum (= 4th sect. cant.), 40, 65-9, 210, 212-13, 215, 217, 222, 315, 518; v. encomium. 'opening of the heavenly door', 27, 75-6, 84-8, 93, 109-10, 462, 468. oratio dominica, 37, 73, 155-7, 165, 275, 448. in oxford, 55-6, 102, 109, 137, 229, 333-4, 444-9, 490, 495-9. parce mihi domine (= job), 132. in paris, v. sorbonne. and pars oculi, 97, 101-4, 142, 147. on the passion, 253, 282-3, 290-2, 295, 298, 300, 309. and pastoral office, 81-2, 93, 98-105, 108, 124, 142, 145-7, 151-2, 162, 494-5; v. preaching. fater noster, v. oratio dominica. on patience, 406. patrons of, 59, 121-2, 208-9, 449, 460-6, 472-3, 479-80, 494-5, 499, 504-8 (?), 511 sq., 517; magnates, 413-14, 444, 452, 465, 483 ; rich, 557, 121, 153, 227, 452, 475, 483, 488; v. quarrels and gen. index, dalton, neville. and john peckham, 333, 420. penance, v. indifference. penitential period of, 58, 99, 122, 129, 142, 281-3, 462, 467-8, 483; v. temptations. perfectio vitae (= command.), 252. perfectionism of, 120, 137, 334 (v. sanctity); on the 'perfect', 70-1, 85, 99, 140, 282; on 'perfection', 113, 119, 227-8, 244, 277. periods of writings of, 81 sq., 89, 187, 203, 249, 273-4. persecutions of, 19, 91, 98, 101, 106– 8, 121-5, 129, 145, 149, 153-4, 200, 324, 460-1, 469–90, 494–501; cessation of, 469, 471; by former friends, 448, 480; by 'invidi', 123, 136, 141, index for richard rolle 547 154-5, 182, 471, 475, 484-6; place of, 480-2; three sources of, 482; v. clergy, detractors, ecclesiastical proceedings, monks, quarrels. his persecutors: disasters to, 112, 469, 477-8, 484-5, 487; letter of, 461, 464. personal relic of (?), 507. physical changes in, 473-5, 494-5, 518; physical weakness of, 123, 474-5, 483. at pickering (?), 458-62. pictures of, 309 sq., 526. pliny used by, 270. poetical inspiration of, v. inspiration. on the [holy] poor, 106, 126; v. poverty. popularity of, personal, 479; of works of, 3-4, 7-8, 46, 49, 58, 311; with clergy, etc., 3, 130, 149, 407, 416, 497, 521-2; international, 39 sq., 47-9, 168-9, 209-10, 213, 219-22, 239-40, 538. popular writings of (most), 12, 73, 201. 'postils' of, 114. poverty of, 136, 227, 435, 475; urged by, 84, 98-9, 140, 144, 207, 417, 485-6. preached against, 482-5. preaching of, 101, 108, 121-2, 147-9, 328, 459, 463, 485; v. pastoral office. prick of love, the (= form), 410. promise of (early), 55, 130, 144, 444, 448, 459. propaganda of, 78, 145, 148, 187; v. exhortations, preaching. prophecies of, 83, 106-7, 155, 429, 471. prose of, ornamental, 7-8, 15, 71, 7881, 99-100, 118, 183-4, 286, 292, 301, 306, 344, 363, 424, 429, 518; v. alliteration, style. st. prosper of aquitaine (de vita contemplativa) used by, 265. psalter, english, v. english psalter; latin, v. latin psalter. psalter, love of, 146, 163, 371; favourite psalms, 161. psalterium, tractatus super (= de m.), 161. on purgation, 76, 85-6, 99, 103-4, 136-7, 141-2, 165, 179, 254, 266, 281-3, 295, 483; v. penance, penitential period. quarrels with dalton, 111-12, 45964, 469, 477, 482, 487 (v. gen. index); with lay patrons, 208-9, 226-7; with neville, 108, 447-8, 464, 487 (v. gen. index); v. clergy, monks, persecutions, rievaulx. quoddam notabile de spirituali aedificatione, 65. quomodo perveni ad incendium amoris, 27-8,210-12, 217; v. incend., cap. 15. 'raptus' in, 70, 78, 87-8, 199, 207-8, 225, 244; v. ecstasy. readers of, 72-3; v. popularity, and gen. index, basset, methley, newton, sewell, and mss. index, owners. regula bona confitendi (= judica b 13). 95. regula heremitarum (?), 324-33. regula vivendi ( e. v.), 31, 230; titles containing 'regula', 43, 252, 259, 357. religious literature of medieval england after, 3-4, 8, 80-1, 128, 252-3, 270, 275, 303, 337, 342-3, 349, 3567, 360-1, 364-8, 404-7, 423-5; v. gen. index, french influences, german, low countries. and respice in faciem christi, 290. reticence of, 99, 129, 198–9, 476. on the rich, 108, 117, 455-6, 463, 486, 488; v. patrons, poverty. and richard of st. victor, 79, 199, 251, 265, 341-2, 364-5. in richmondshire, 435 sq., 458, 477, 480-1, 501-4, 508, 517. and rievaulx (?), 123-4, 324, 459, 476-7, 479-80, 482, 484, 487. and rising of the heart', 341-2. romanticism of, 7-8, 137, 298, 363, 416, 497. on sacraments, v. indifference. on sanctity, 70, 195, 227, 251, 325; v. indifference to external acts, perfectionism; claimed by, 71, 117, 120i, 129, 139, 329, 370, 471, 488-90. scandals attached to, 121-3, 154, 226-7, 469, 482-7. scholastic influence on, 80, 146, 1578, 163, 185, 448, 495-7. school of, 196, 296, 302, 304, 311, 337, 342, 361, 365; v. influence. scribes of works of, 3, 6, 24-34, 311; v. mss. index. scriptural expositions of, 78, 103, 119, 137-8, 141-2, 144-196, 226, 275, 333, 47, 474, 485, 495-500. and secular poems, 90; songs, 122, 267. self-analysis of, 198 sq., 305-6; confidence of, 70, 145, 227, 249, 470-6. super quartum librumsententiarum(?), 418. 548 index for richard rolle seraphim, mystic likened to, 70, 88; taken to, 293. 'sermones amoris' of, 485. seven gifts of the holy spirit, 272, 274-5, 341. and shene charterhouse, 4, 37-9, 50, 213, 237, 323, 354, 516-17; mss. of, 37-9, 50. and sincerity, 124, 320, 359, 363, 367; v. hypocrisy. single-mindedness of, 145, 178, 184. supra sirasirin (= cant.), 26. social connexions of, 127-9, 143-4, 442-4, 456-7, 475-6; v. patrons, feasts. on solitaries, 69, 71, 82, 84, 136, 151, 206-7, 244, 483; low position of, 475. on solitude, 85, 103, 108, 120, 124, 149, 263-4, 472-6, 495-6; v. hermit. and song of love', 99-100, 104, 1089; v. calor, canor', etc. in sorbonne (?), 19, 229, 333-4, 477, 480, 490-500; commentaries initiated in, 162, 185, 448, 471, 495-7; date of stay, 494-5; ecstasy completed in, 494-5; hospes ', 498; influences in, 495-7, 500; magister', 19, 497-8; 'socius', 497; two stays, 494. 'speculum', titles containing, 134, 234, 408; cf. 353, 362, 371. and stimulus amoris, 285, 354-5. style of, english, 8, 183-4, 253, 263, 270, 272, 305, 360; v. mel., alliteration, prose, ornamental; latin, 8, 118 (v. latinity); allegory in, 337; apostrophes in, 99-100, 202, 244, 291-4, 363; categories in, 70, 163, 265, 275, 296; diffuseness of, 62, 117, 253; exempla in, 105, 163, 265; fantastic similes in, 280-1; obscurity of, 121, 126-7, 470; opportunism of, 117-18, 288, 306; participles (rhyming) in, 249, 264, 270; prayers in, 324; repetitions in, 20, 73, 144, 1778, 281, 311, 322-3; examples of, 75, 117, 120, 161, 254, 289-93, 299301 (v. mel.); teutonic, 8, 118, 306. and suggestion', 88, 108-9, 228, 274. surname of, 53, 56-7, 61, 432-41. symbolum apostolicum, super, 104, 143, 157-8, 448. symbolum s. athanasii, super (?), • 33-4, 312. and syon monastery, 4, 47-50, 216, 323, 416-17, 427, 517, 521, 527-8, 538; mss. of, 50, 233, 411-12. 'talis... tantus', 88, 180, v. joy. temptations of, 122, 138, 141-2, 153, 155, 482-3, 486-7; by enemies, 117, 122, 151, 487; by young woman, v. devil. ten commandments (angl.), 276–7. theology of, v. learning, scholastic influence, latin psalter. and thornton dale, 52-5, 431-6, 439, 441-2, 447, 458-9, 479-80. thornton prayer (?), 324. three workings in man's soul (?), 364-6. threnos, super, 89, 108, 142, 147, 150-2, 471. de timore domini et contemptu mundi (= contra am. m. ?), 206. tomb of, 308, 515-16. topical references of, 82-3, 106-7, 112, 123, 125-9, 143-4, 152, 185-6, 455; . persecutors (disasters to). translations by, 72, 177-87, 342, 363, 396; his english translated into latin, 249, 262, 270 (?), 280 (?), 402, 416 (cf. 263); his latin into english, 68, 223-4, 240-3, 399, 401, 406, 518. tres gradus amoris (= ego d.), 247and trier, v, 48, 538; v. mss. index (ghent and trier). on the trinity, 312, 485. 20th psalm, 84, 91, 146, 163, 194–6, 200, 322. upsala, v. wadstena. vehiculum vitae (= e. v.), 233. de vera amicitia (= incend., cap. 39), 223. vernacular, use of, 8, 178-9, 184, 1867, 246, 285, 401, 417. verse-forms of, 90, 288, 290, 295, 297302, 396. verses quoted by, 81, 540. violence of, 8, 129, 137, 495, 500. on visions, 87-8, 199, 207, 320, 489. visions of, to one roger, 515. 'vita contemplativa ', titles containing, 34, 159-60, 238. vita eremitarum, libellus de (unidentified), 136. vita inclusarum (= form), 261. vita perfectionis (= form), 263. vocabulary of, english: 270, 272, 275, 293, 299, 306; 'comers and goers', 270; il eggyng', 275; il stirrynge', 272; 'layry lustis', 272; settles', 293, 299; 'tagyld', 275; 'wele ne for waa', 275, 299; latin, 91, 118, 306: 'anima penitens', 165 (cf. 139, 141); 'colligentes fructus', 460-1; 'discipuli christi', 98; 'fimum', 327; 'in deum pergere', 207; 'invidi', 155, 484 (v. persecutions); 'jubilatio', 85-6, 1 index for richard rolle 549 165, 180, 304; 'jubilus', 282, 341 (v. joy); 'melos', 57, 72, 91, 113, 117, 206, 421; 'o bone jesu', 101, 140, 142; perpetratores terrae', 456; 'propositum', 103, 124, 136, 329, 482; sapientia', 207, 485; 6 singulare propositum', 326-7, 420; v. latinity. and vulgate, 7, 179. and wadstena, 16, 47-9, 53-4, 527-8; v. mss. index (upsala). wanderings of, 59, 82, 121, 333, 460, 475, 494, 497, 501-4, 518. on the will, 140, 326, 367. women friends of, 34-5, 37, 121-2, 225, 227, 246, 250-1, 255-6, 265–7, 410, 465-70; v. gen. index, margaret kirkeby. writings of: informality of, 1, 62, 97 ; miraculous, 306, 471-2; for novices, 281-3; suspicion of, 7-8, 471, 5345, 538; tradition of, 49-50, 519; unread by scholars, 427, 492; v. early works, last works, lost works, periods, style. in yafforth (?), 435-7, 439, 443-4, 503. and yedingham, 247, 250, 458, 502. select general index adam cartusiensis, 405. st. aelred, 365; v. rolle index. ainderby (co. yorks.), 35-6, 437, 5023, 508, 540. aiskew (co. yorks.), 435-7, 439, 444. alan de penrith, 499. st. albans, 388, 479. albert [albertus magnus or albert suerbeer?], 318-19. albert of cologne, 319. alcock, john, 336. allen, h. e., authorship of the prick of conscience' (radcliffe coll. mon. 15), 15, 21, 178, 363, 372, 375, 387, 396-7, 490; 'the manuel des pechiez and the scholastic prologue' (romanic rev. viii. 447-8), 378; mystical lyrics of the manuel des pechiez' (romanic rev. ix. 154-93), 21, 79– 80, 100, 108, 290, 295, 303, 314; 'some fourteenth-century borrowings from ancren riwle' (mod. lang. rev. xviii. 1 sq.), 218, 286, 406; 'origin of the ancren riwle' (pub. mod. lang. assoc. of am. xxxiii), 292; 'speculum vitae: addendum (ibid. xxxii), 372, 378, 390. allertonshire, 481. alliteration, 78-81, 259, 340, 360, 363, 365, 489; v. prose (ornamental, and rolle index. alya cantica, 304. anchoresses (or anchorites), 30, 414, 481, 506-7, 511; v. margaret kirkeby, margaret heslington, hampole. ancren riwle, 80, 218, 268, 286, 292, 406. andreae, p., 388. anonymous authorship, 337, 347, 3545, 394-7. st. anselm, 316, 346-8, 353, 365; v. rolle index. arnold, t., 170. arundel, archbishop, 189-90, 382. arundel, richard, earl of, 380. ashbourn (co. derby), 379. ashburne, thos., 379 sq. aubert, david, scribe, 338. augsburg, 13. st. augustine, 9, 11, 290, 346, 348, 353; on psalms, 168; v. rolle index. augustinian canons, 519 (and v. mss. index, owners); hermits (friars), 165 (and v. rolle,' called '). bale, john, 14, 28, 422 sq., et passim. ball, john, 296. balliol prayers, 345-6. basset, thos., hermit, 335, 403-4, 416, 527-37; books owned by, 533; humility of, 537; identity of, 527-8. bateson, m., xii, 380, 411 sq., 422, et passim. batiffol, l., 491. beaumont, bishop louis, 481-2. bedford wills, 413. béguines and beghards, 334; béguinages, 340. belgique, mémoires de l'académie de, 13, 80. belle, thos., of moorhouse (co. yorks.), 516. bellew, nicholas, 279. benedictus (angl.), 197. benjamin minor (angl.), 262, 359, 365-6. benson, r. h., 16-17. berkshire, 101-2, 388; wills of, 413. bernard, st., 67, 70, 203, 294, 346, 348, 353, 394. bernardine of siena, st., 315-17. berton, m. joh., 527. birckmann, a., 539. bispham (co. lancs.), 441, 45г. blackburnshire, 452. blackfriars, 19. blansby park (near pickering), 457-8. boasting and pride, against, 366. bokenham, osbern, 279. bonaventura, st., 201-2, 346, 353, 355, 357-8, 385, 394-7, 400, 420, 422. boniface, pope (iv?), 350-1. bookbinders' notes, 22, 31, 33-4. boston of bury, 418–19, et passim. le boteler, families of, 441, 509-11. 'botevilein' (or 'butevileine'), 434. boutroux, e., 87. bramley, h. r., 14, 431, et passim. bretton, west (co. yorks.), 439. bretton, w., london citizen, 11. brigan, nicolaus, 314. brigit, st., 533. brilioth, dr., 47. brompton (co. yorks.), 458, 472. brown, carleton, v-vi, xii, 290, 294, 370-1, 373, 393, 540. brown, w., 431 sq., 452. bruno herbipolensis, st., 312. buckinghamshire, 388. select general index 551 bülbring, k., 388-9, 391. burton, edwin, 17, 286. butler, v. le boteler. butler, cuthbert, 70, 314. byland abbey, 123, 385; battle of, 152, 453, 476-8. cambridge university, 372; library of, 407. cambridge, countess of, 522. catharine of siena, st., 343. celestine v, pope, 329-32, 526. celestines, 331-2. chambernoun, fr. henricus, m., 261. chapels, private, 472. chastising of god's children, 335. château d'amour, v. grosseteste. chaucer, 80, 388. chevalier, xii, etc. the church and its members (angl.), 134. cistercians, 51, 55, 478, 506, 512-13. clareno, angelo da, 332-3. clark, a. c., 79 sq. clergy, abuses of, 36, 44, 390-3, 478; v. rolle index. cloud of unknowing, 18-19, 80, 334-5, 342, 365-6, 368. cobham, bishop, 524. colins, richard, lollard, 386-7. cologne, 12-14; university of, ibid. 'common profit', the, 176, 197. comper, f. m. m., 17, 424,443, 456,459. completorium nominis jesu, 10. cononley (co. yorks.), 439. constance, 48-9. contemplation, 50, 70, 123, 313, 331, 340-2, 360; v. rolle index. contemplations of the dread and love of god, 357. contrition, lollard fragment on, 401. cotele, robert, 440. counter-reformation (16th century), 4, 12-14; 15th century, 3, 36, 430. coverham abbey, 330, 505. cressy, father, 4. croll, m. w., 78. crowel, john, 454. croxton, john of, 522. cudworth (co. yorks.), 511. cursor mundi, 389-90. 'cursus', 79-80. cursus de aeterna sapientia, 349. daily work, our, 286-7, 368. dalby, wm. of, hermit, 128. dalton (co. yorks.), 52-3, 431-2, 449. dalton family, 449-52; john, 52-3, 56-7, 11-12, 127-9, 430-2, 435, 438, 441-3, 449-66, 470, 472-3, 475, 477, 482, 487, 493, 501, 526; lands of, 458; meeting with rolle, 458-9, 462; origin of, 449-56; rank of, 452, 454; sons of, 156, 450, 459, 464-5, 475; wife of, 56, 460, 462, 465, 493; john, jr., 450-1, 465; nicholas, 450; peter, 451, 507-8; sir robert, 431, 441, 451-2; thomas, 450, 465. davies, j. conway, 450. davis, h. w. c., 101. deanesly, m., vi, xii, 15, 18, 176, 388, 401, et passim. death, 424; v. rolle index. denis the carthusian, 48, 221. denis, l., 19. derbyshire, 29, 379, 381. delisle, l., 491, 496. desert of religion, 54-5, 526. devonshire, 438. devotions, daily, meditations for, 279, 303, 402. d'ewes, sir s., 318, 409. de diligendo deo, 346-7. dionise hid divinity, 342. dirige, 370. disce mori (angl.), 399. dissolution of monasteries, 523. dolch, w., 3 " 319. domus', 459. doncaster, 232, 511, 517, 525. douay, 37-9, 351, 429. drawings in manuscripts, 23-4, 38, 54, 95, 114, 216, 218, 307-10. easby abbey, 440, 513. ecstasy, 87; v. contemplation, mysticism, and rolle index. edmund, st., of canterbury, 307; v. mirror. education of the poor, 443-4. edward i, 420; edward ii, 127-9, " 143, 151-2, 185, 450, 456, 464, 489 (v. rolle index); edward iii, 128, 151, 186, 489; edward iv, 338. eggleston abbey, 502, 505, 513. eight rules', 343. ekhart of schoenau, 358. eleanor, queen, 420. elizabeth of hampole, 359. ellis, dorothy, 325. elsdon (dioc. durham), 445, 540. episcopal registers (york), 481-2, 502, 520-1. epistles of ar. ms. 286: 357–8. eton college, 172, 354, 407. everett, d., 21, 170, 172-8, 187-8, 190, 401. everingham, adam de, 510. evesham, monk of, 61. exelby (co. yorks.), 437. external acts, 320, 358; v. rolle index ('indifference'). 552 select general index faber, j., 12 sq., 539. 'familiaris', 443, 452. feret, l'abbé, 229, 490. 'fire of love', 342, 530; v. rolle index (calor, canor', etc.), fishlake (co. yorks.), 447. fishlawe, thos., carmelite, 45, 352. fitzalan family, 504. fitz hugh family, 441, 472, 504-6; bishop, 49; henry, 29-30, 48-50, 98, 454, 476, 504-5, 522, 528. fitzjohn, richard, 441, 510. fitzwilliam family, 441, 504, 506, 512, 523. fleming, john, 381 sq. flemish, v. low countries. fletcher, j. s., 478. flete, wm., 343. flower of conscience (= stim. consc.), 386. fontibus, de, v. louis. forshall and madden, 170. foucher, j., 14. foulbridge (co. yorks.), 452, 454, 4589, 461. fountains abbey, 235, 385-6. four daughters of god, 380. foxe, john, 335, 386, 388, 401. franciscans, 54, 134, 229, 315-17, 332-5, 406, 513, 519, 539. franklin, a., 491. freemantle, w. t., 9, 307. french influences, 337-40, 370, 372, 377-8; wars, 186 sq. frere, w. h., 17, 461, 535. fuller, t., 429. furnivall, dr., 388, 391 sq. furth, richard, 417. gairdner, j., 81, 189, 393. gardner, e., 80, 342, 365, 368. gasquet, f. a., 177, 404. gaytring, monk, 190-1. gebhart, e., 333-4. genealogists of london, society of, 438-9. german influences, 296, 319, 335. gerson, j., 331. 339. geytrington, thos. of, 232. gilling (co. yorks.), 437. gilson, j. p., 385, 408. ginge (co. berks.), 388. glosses, o.e., 178. gloucester, duke of, 383. glusburn (co. yorks.), 439. 'god's law', 265, 367-8, 391. gower, john, 383. gratia dei (angl.), 272, 274, 286-7, 366. gréard, o., 491. greenhalgh, james, of shene, 50, 216– 17, 321. gregory, st., 353; v. rolle index. groote, gerald, 349. grosseteste, 377-8, 395, 397. de guibert, r. p., 87. guisbro' priory, 447. hackford (co. yorks.), 437. hahn, a., 20, 265, 294. hallam, bishop of sarum, 350. hamilton thompson, a., 433-4, 441, 446, 481. hammond, e., 383. hampole, 29, 33, 379, 410, 441, 501, 509-25, 540;'ankerer of', 507; recluse of, 267-8, 506–8; v. rolle index. handlynge synne, 377. hanneton, j., franciscan, 134. harford, d., 17, 539. harrison, plantagenet, 437, 440. harvey, r., 15, etc. hastings, sir brian, 523. hauréau, b., 294, 353, 356. heilbronn, 12. heitz, p., 13, 539. héméré, c., 492. hendred, east (co. berks.), 413. henningsen, h., 20. henricus cartusiensis of shene, 405. henry v, 128, 331; henry vi, 407 ; henry vii, chapel of, 316. herbert, j. a., v-vi, xii, 10, 373, et passim. hereford missal, 350. heresy, 36, 188-92, 229, 332-5, 372, 388, 392, 430; v. lollards, and rolle index. hermits, 28-9, 324-35, 475-6; bare feet of, 526; dress of, 526; flemish, 128; heretical, 333-5; at bassingbourne, 424; at cudworth, 511; at dalby, 128; at knaresborough, 128; at melmerby, 505, 513; at norwich, 527; at royston, 424; at whittlesford, 424; in piers plowman, 332 ; v. basset, lucas, richard, warwyk, and rolle index. heslington, margaret, recluse, 223. heuser, w., 296. higden, r., 489. hilton, w., 364, 366, 406, 408, 410, 414; angels' song, 364, 366, 368; commentaries on pss. xc-xci (?), 196; mixed life, 36, 197, 364, 366; scale of perfection, 18, 197, 216, 361, 366; scale in latin, 45, 47, 351-2; translations by, 197, 342-3. hipswell (co yorks.), 435. historical mss. commission report, 34 sq. hodgson, g. e., 17-18, 286, 352, 368, 43i. select general index 553 hopyl, w., 11, 539. horologium sapientiae, 532, and v. suso. horstmann, c., 4-6, 14-15, et passim. hoskins, e., 10, 315, 349. hours, books of, 9-10, 315-16, 349. hours of the name of jesus, 9-10. hoveden, john, 414, 420. howdenshire, 481. hugh of st. victor, 139, 335, 338, 341, 346, 353. hull (co. yorks.), 413. hulme, w. h., 17. hunter, j., 509, etc. hussites, 39, 168. imitation of christ, 394. incendium divini amoris, 402; cf. 38. indulgences, 350-1. 'de industria', 443. inge, dean, 18. 'innocent, de contemptu mundi', 380. innocent vii, pope, 39, 48, 209, 221. introductions, motifs in, 390. isabella, queen, 126-7, 143, 185, 456. jean, duc de berry, 338. jean of fécamp, 79, 290. jervaulx abbey, 475-6, 502, 505. jesu dulcis memoria, 38, 314, 349, 394. jesus, holy name of, 4, 65, 72-7, 221, 307-10, 349, 359-60, 365, 405-6, 522; cult of, 4, 349-51; fanatical devotion to, 76, 352, 368; scribes' devotion to, 23, 34, 54, 67, 236, 241, 251,343,361; v. jesu dulcis memoria, 'o bone jesu' (in rolle index). jesus matins, 349. jones, rufus m., 334. jonson, ben, 322. jubilus de nomine jesu (= jesu dulcis memoria), 100. judgement day, 297, 386 (15 signs before). julian, j., xii, etc. julian of norwich, 223, 528. julianus pomerius, 341. 'juvenis', 109, 143, 539. key of knowing (= stim. consc.), 386. kingsley, hereward the wake, 441. kirkby, elizabeth, 359. kirkby's inquest, 432. kirkby (co. yorks.): misperton, 450, 457-8, 510; ravensworth, 472, 505; south k., 509, 524; wiske, recluse of, 506-8. kirkeby, margaret, 34 sq., 43, 51-3, 59-61, 174, 187-8, 256-63, 265-8, 271-4, 304, 359, 410, 430-1, 436, 470, 476, 481, 501-13, 517. knaresborough forest, 128. knyghton of leicester, continuator to, 189, 393. köhler, r.. 380. konrath, m., 15, 286, 362. kühn, f., 20. de la bigne, m., 14, etc. lacombe, p., 315. ladvocat, s. m. n., 491. lambert le fleming, 128. lamentation of st. mary, 526. lancaster: coucher book, 432, 434; henry of, 127-9, 456, 479; thos. of, 111-12, 127-9, 449-57, 464, 469, 477, 510; sanctity of, 489. langthwait, agnes de, wm. de, 510. latimer, wm., 442. layburn (co. yorks.), 447. lay folks mass-book, 288. layton (co. yorks.), 36, 267, 436, 502-5, 512-13, 517. layton family, 504. le clerc, v., 350-1. leach, a. f., 444. leeming (co. yorks.), 435-7. leland, j., 419 sq., etc. liebermann, f., 362. n n lincolnshire, 29, 437; wills, 413, 507. lindkvist, h., 16, 279. lollards, 81, 342, 367; attacks on, 237, 347, 379, 527; jargon of, 393; writings of, 265, 401; v. 'god's law', north, wyclif, and rolle index. london wills, 413. long, roger, 457. louis de fontibus, 197, 342. love, highest path to heaven, 252-3; invoked, 261; v. rolle index. lover of christ, nightingale as symbol of, 420. love, nicholas, 382, 404. low countries, influence of, 128, 317, 319, 349. lower, english surnames, 434. lowes, j. l., 118. lucas, john, 424. lydgate, j., 383. st. machary, pistel of, 366. madan, f., 9, 22, 41, etc. madden, sir f., 309, 375, 380. magnates, privileges of, 444, 446; v. rolle index (patrons). malton priory, 433, 456. 'manievilain', 434. marreys, r., 523. 554 select general index mary the virgin, 4, 90-1, 345, 365; v. rolle index. mätzner, e., 14. mccall, h. b., 30, 508. mccann, justin, 80. maidstone, richard, 369, 371. maidstone, clement, of syon, 47, 318. mâle, e., 424. manuel des pechiez, 377; v. h. e. allen. marguerite of york, 338. marmion family, 29-30. masham (co. yorks.), 508; v. scrope. maximinus, st., 327. meaux abbey, 438, 453, 477, 489. medilton, aniste de, 506. meditations, v. st. anselm, rimington, devotions, and rolle index. meditations on the life of christ, 32-3, 214, 261, 394, 400, 404. meditations on the passion, 286–7, 290 ; v. rolle index. meditation on saying devoutly the psalter of our lady, 11. meditation (speculum of st. edmund), 362-3. melmerby (co. yorks.), 513. melsonby (co. yorks.), 504-5, 512. melton, archbishop, 255, 334, 482, 489, 524. 'mentis subleuatio', 342. de mercenariis sacerdotibus, 47, 96, 102. metham family, 504, 506, 512. methley, richard, of mount grace, 292, 307, 376, 416-17. meyer, p., 338. middendorff, h., 20, 108, 170, 178, 6 184-7, 492. middle english literature, v. french influences, german, low countries, and rolle index (passim, and cf. religious literature after '). middleham (co. yorks.), 441, 447mirror of st. edmund, 286, 326, 362-3. mirror of our lady (for syon), 405, 417. mirror of life, v. speculum vitae. mirror of simple souls, 417. misyn, r., 15, 17-18, 223-4, 241-2. monks, 478-9, 499-500, 512-13; v. rolle index. montfort, simon de, cult of, 61. month, the, 19. morris, j. e., 30, 348. morris, r., 15 et passim. mortimer, roger, 83, 126-7, 143, 185, 456. mount grace, charterhouse of, 50, 307, 405; v. methley. music, tudor, 316. myton, battle of, 478. mysticism, 5-6, 87; english, 21, 292, 342-3, 349, 364-5, 405; flemish 80, 128; french, 340; and rhythm, 81; v. contemplation, and rolle index. mysticism, middle english; v. cloud of unknowing, mirror of simple souls, hilton, rhapsodies, speculum spiritualium, and rolle index ('mysticism' and passim). nassington, wm. of, 262, 309, 372, 387. 'nations' (of students), 499. nesson, p., 370. von neuss, 12-13. neville family, 441, 444-5, 504-5, 508, 513; sir john, 445, 523; thos., archdeacon, 55, 108, 430-1, 444-9, 479, 505 (v. rolle index, quarrels); thos., jr., 445, 447newstead, prior of, 384. newton, m. j., 47, 49, 94, 114, 213, 215-16, 414. nicholas au pount of pickering, 455, 462. nightingale, v. lover of christ. nine daughters of the devil (french poem), 378. nine lessons of dirige in ballad (= pety job), 369. noetinger, dom, 18-19, 335, 341, 490-3. nomine jesu, missa de, 350-1. norfolk, rolles of, 438; wills of, 385; v. rolle index. north dialect of, 356, 363-4 (v. rolle index, dialect); disaster to, 453, 478, 514; lollards in, 189-91; 'nation' of, 499; nuns of, 255-6; v. yorkshire. northerners, 50, 499. notary, julian, 10. nottingham, 29, 384, 519. nuns: age of profession, 508; finery of, 255-6; inheritances of, 509; v. rolle index. obedience debated, 334; v. rolle index. oliger, father, vi, 325, 329, 331 sq., 540. olivi, peter john, 229. st. omer, 429. on ureisun of oure louerde, v. rhapsodies. omont, h., 493. the oneness of god with man's soul, v. hilton, angels' song. oudin, c., 375, 427. owst, g. r., 97, 405. select general index 555 oxford, constitutions of, 382; press,9; queen's college, 354; riot of 1354: 447; wills, 413. oxfordshire, rolles of, 438. pagula, william of, 101-2. parkin, robert, 514. pars oculi, v. rolle index. paston, agnes, 385. pater noster (angl.), 358-9. pater noster (= sp. v. ?), 381, 384. patterson, f. a., 302. paues, a. c., v, 16, 20-1, 170, 173, 175-6, 196-7. paull (co. yorks.), 102. peckham, john, 328, 394, 404. peebles, r. j., 80. percy family, 503; eleanor, 450, 459, 465, 472; henry, 449-50, 454, 457perfectionism, 334; v. rolle index. perry, g. g., 14, 16. peter chrysologus, of ravenna, 73-5. peter of blois, 355, 538. pety job, 369-70. philomena (or philomela), 394, 419-20. pickering, 52, 127-9, 431-3, 436, 449, 451-5, 457-62, 464, 476, 479-80, 502; forest, 129, 452-3, 456-7; st. nicholas, hospital of, 454-5; soke of. 454. piers plowman, 332, 373. pigott family, 505, 513. pits, j., 19, 375, 425-6, 490. plague, the, 516-17. de poenis purgatorii, 378–9. poole, r. l., 422 sq. poor caitiff, 63, 68, 218, 315, 359, 424-5. popular religious works, 394-7; v. vernacular. possevinus, antonius, 14. power, eileen, 255, 508-9, 513-14. prague, genzenstein, j., archbishop of, 43, 47, 168, 221. prayer (alliterative english treatise on), 81. premonstratensians, 513. prick of conscience, 15, 19-20, 309, 363, 371-97, 416; dialect of, 381; interpolated, 171, 191-2, 374, 38795, 397; mss. of, 115, 247, 262, 373-83, 386-9, 540; sources of, 378-80; variations of, 386-94. prose, ornamental, 78-81, 424 ; anglofrench, 363; anglo-saxon, 8, 80; early english, 80; flemish, 80; middle english, 81, 259, 424; v. rolle index. psalms xc-xci, english commentaries on, 196-7. purvey, j., 401, 417. quaracchi edition of st. bonaventura, 353, 355, 358, 394-7. raine, canon j., 90-1. 'raoul', 438. rashdall, h., 444 sq. ravensfield, john, 384. ravensworth, v. fitz hugh. rebellion of 1322, v. lancaster, thos. of. recluses; v. hampole, heslington, kirkeby, anchoresses, and rolle index (enclosure of?). reformation, influences on, 4, 319. refrain with i and e', 296. reinhausen, 240. reliquiae antiquae, 318. rembolt, b., ii, 539. remedy against the troubles of temptations, 4, 359-61. revelation respecting purgatory, 17, 36. revue d'ascétique et de mystique, 87. rhapsodies, early english, 80, 292. ricardus filius rodulfi', 498-9. ricardus premonstratensis, 425. 'richard hermit', 61, 51i. richard of st. victor, 364-5; v. rolle index. richelieu, 492. richmondshire, 501, 508; archdeacon of, 413, 481; v. rolle index. rievaulx abbey, 385, 433, 453, 457; v. rolle index. rimington, wm., 347-8, 414. rishanger, 61. ritson, j., 375, 428. robbins, h. w., rol, hugo, 432-4. 362-3. 434. 'rollemylans', 'ricardus filius', rolle, family of, 432-41; william, 56-7, 432-7, 441-4. rolle, roule, rowell, etc., persons so-named, 432-41. rollevillain, ricardus, 433-4, 441, 479. rollos, family of, 437, 440-1, 504. romances, 390. romanic review; v. allen, h. e. rood, theodoric, 9, 13, 539. rothwell [or rowell], wm. de, 540. roule, family of, 435-8, 441. rowell, family of, 437. rowley, family of, 438. royden, robert, 523. rubrics, gossipy', 370. rulos, richard de, 441. 'rusbroke, johannes', 364. russell, sir thos., of ashbourn, 381. rymer's foedera, 384. saints, cults of, 4, 489; v. rolle index. salvation by love of the name of jesus, an epistle on, 352. nn 2 556 select general index sandal (co. yorks.), 440, 509-10. sapientia', 207. sarum, 346; calendars, 4; primers, 10: missal, 350-1. savile family, 440, 510; henry, 348, 385, 408-11. sawley abbey, 348, 515. sayings from fathers, 367. schneider, j. p., 20, 78. scone abbey, 316. scotch wars, 123, 128, 152, 185-6, 453, 477-8, 511-14. scrope family, 465. 504-8, 513; scrope of masham, lord, 29, 94-5, 384. seamer (co. yorks.), 459, 472. sermons (of wyclif), 260, 361-2. seven penitential psalms, 371. seven works of mercy, 367. sewell, joanna, of syon, 50, 321. shene, charterhouse of, 128, 331, 354, 405; v. greenhalgh, henricus, and rolle index. sherburn, castle of, 350. shirley, john, scribe, 370. shrewsbury, battle of, 522. sixtus senensis, 14, 429. skeeby (co. yorks.), 374. skelbroke (co. yorks.), 509-ii. slingsby (co. yorks.), 432. smith, wm., lollard, 189. snape (co. yorks.), 444. socialism (14th century), 176, 296. soliloquium (of st. bonaventura), 352-3. solitaries, 511; v. anchoresses, hermits, rolle index. la somme le roy, 372. sorbonne, chapel of, 472; northern english connexions of, 499; prejudice of, against monks, 499-500; v. rolle index. speculum christiani, 404-5. speculum huius vitae (= stim. consc.), 387. speculum peccatoris, 44, 318, 324, 3535, 409. speculum spiritualium, 352, 405-6. speculum vitae, 262, 309, 371-2, 381-2, 384-5. 390. spofforth, bishop, 214. sprotborough (co. yorks.), 511-12, 525. stainton (co. yorks.), 511. stanwick (co. yorks.), 504-5. stapleton, family of, 504, 528; agnes, 383; sir brian, 383, 506, 528; sir miles, 528. staunton, henry de, friar and hermit, 334. 481. stimulus amoris, 342, 348, 354-5, 385, 394-7, 532; v. rolle index. stimulus conscientiae, v. prick of conscience. stopes, wm., 40-1, 212, 226, 230-1, 304, 323, 518-20. strode, 383. sunday gospels and epistles (angl.), 134. surius, l., 349. surnames, fluctuations of, 440-1; in religion, 503. surtees psalter, 178-9. suso, henry, 10, 207, 221, 349. sutton, nicholas de, 509. syon monastery, 128, 331, 354, 414, 426-7, 476, 505-6; v. rolle index. a talking of the love of god, 80. tanfield (co. yorks.), chamber in church, 30; rector of, 30. tanfield hermit (co. yorks. ?), 28-30, 94-5, 424, 461. tanner, thos., 64, 418, 427-8, et passim. tauler, john, 335. temple, m. e., vi, 176, 490. testamenta eboracensia, xii; v. yorkshire wills. thellusson family, 524-5. theological study, 495-6, 499–500. thoresby, archbishop, 90-1, 190, 515, 522. thornton (co. yorks.), 52-3. 431. thornton dale, 455; v. rolle index. thorpe, wm., lollard, 190-1. thorpe basset (co. yorks.), 447. thurstin, 417. topcliffe (co. yorks.), 431. tout, t. f., 127-8, 443, 451. translations by medieval english mystics, 342-3; v. french influences, german, low countries, and rolle index. trevisa, 489. tribulatione, de, 355-6. turton, r. b., xii, et passim. two commandments of the new law, commentary on, 366-8. ullerston, d. richard, 166. ullmann, j., 16, 278, 371-2. underhill, e., vi, 17-18, 80, 333, 352, 368. university regulations, 444-5, 448, 495, 497; v. rolle index (sorbonne). vaughan, r. a., 18. vavasour, sir h., 415. vernacular religious literature, 377-8, 388. vernacular scriptures, 401. vespere in veneratione nominis jesu, 9. select general index 557 vienne, council of, 334. villeins, powers of, 434. vincent ferrer, st., 316. vocabulary: 'purchesurs', 456; 'souereign', 364; 'armiger', 452; 'perquisitores', 456; stimulus conscientiae', 397. " wackernagel, w., 319. wadworth (co. yorks.), 439. wageby, john de, 386. waldeby, john, 165, 372. walden, thos., 362. waldensians, 334. wallensis, joh., 404. wallicus, joh. morys, 404. walsingham, john, 402; thos., 379. walter, w., 386. warton, thos., 175, 377. warwyk, john, hermit of, 260, 317. watton, john, 404. well (co. yorks.), 444, 508. werintone (warrington ?), 61. wharton, h., 375, 401, 426-7. whitaker, t. d., 441. wiche, richard, lollard, 189. william of norwich, st., 516. wilmart, dom, 74, 358, 365. wilson, john, s.j., 429, 511. wimpfen, 12. witham, charterhouse of, 347, 404. pe wohunge of ure lauerd, 292. woolley, r. m., 16, 52 sq., 538. de worde, wynkyn, 9-10. wright, t., 318, 391, 393. wyclif, j., 63, 170, 176, 191, 239, 359, 389, 428, 435; v. lollards, sermons, and rolle index (lollardy). wyleby, isabella de, 522. wylie, j. h., 50, 331, 454. wyville family, 433. xenia bernardina, 47. york: all saints, north st, 386; st. mary's abbey, 419; breviary, 16; hours, 10; as national centre, 128; v. north. yorkshire: cistercian houses of, 51213; influence, 351; lay subsidies, 432-3, 435; medieval schools of, 444; nunneries of, 513-14; parish register society, 439; wills, 383-4, 413-16. yorkshire post, 1, 52, 512. ypres, 128. zeitschrift der savigny-stiftung für rechtsgeschichte, 101. zupitza, 16. index of initia a deo qui scrutatur cor. judica a, 93, 460. a dere brethir and systirs, i see þat many walde be in religyone. abbey of the holy ghost, 336. a grett clerke þat men calles richard of saynt victoures. of three workings in man's soul, 364. a priuy word to me is to pee. transl. of st. anselm, medit. xiii, 358. a sely soule asked of god. transl. of novem virtutes, 318. a solitari here, hermite life i lede. verses on rolle's portrait, 310. ad salutandam virginem. r. rolle (?), super salue regina [stim. amor. iii. 19?], 422. admirabar amplius quam al perisches & passes. all synnes sal pou hate. enuncio. incend., 31, 209. verses in ego d., 250. lyric by r. rolle, 297. all vanitese forsake. lyric by r. rolle, 300. alle men þat wil leuyn cristenliche. w. hilton (?), comment. on ps. xc, 197. almyзty god in trinite,/ in whom is only persones three. speculum vitae (spur.), 371. amantibus autem eterne hereditatis. extr. from incend., 217. amor utique audacem. mel., 113, 117. anima exuta. addition to incend., 218. anima tribulata et temptata. de tribulatione (spur.), 355apocalipsis ihesu christi ... beatus iohannes in exilium. apoc., 152. attende, quod ait crisostomus. judica b 3, 95. augustinus sanctus doctor in declaratione. augustino, 423. r. rolle (?), meditationem ex ave, verbum, ens in principio. j. hoveden, philomela, 420. beatus iohannes in exilium. apoc., 152. beatus vir cuius est auxilium abs. r. rolle (?), de spiritualibus ascentionibus [st. bonaventura, de gradibus ascensionis in deum], 422. benedictus... the hooli man zacarias. w. hilton (?), comment, on benedictus, 197. bonum confiteri... noman may liue. w. hilton (?), comment. on ps. xci, 197. ci comensount (?) les ix paroles. transl. of novem virtutes, 318. contemplatio vel vita contemplativa habet tres partes. e. v., ch. 12, 428. cum christus qui est veritas. 20th ps., 194. cum enim secundum beatum hieronymum. commendatio castitatis [speculum b. m. v.], 427. cum ergo singulare. extr. from cant., 40, 42. cum laudasset sponsa. cant. (3), 63. cupienti mihi peticioni. curremus in odore... currite gentes undique. judica b 1, 93. ecce, fratres, mira. cant. (7), 63. stim. amor., 354. da pauperibus meis vnum denarium. novem virtutes, 317. decimo die post ascensionem. s. a., 157. dere sister pou wost wel. pater noster, 358. desyre and delit in ihesu criste. desyre and delit, 271. deus noster refugium, o creator noster. thornton prayer, 324. index of initia 559 diabolus mille. transl. of form (fragm.), 262. domine deus meus, quomodo ausus sum. ecce, fratres, mira amatoris. cant. (7), 63. balliol prayers (i), 345. ego dormio... þou þat lyste lufe. ego d., 246. et factum est postquam. thren., 150. et quia tale est nomen tuum. cant. (5), 63. euigila, anima mea. extr. from st. anselm, medit. i, 347. ex magno amoris incendio. extr. from incend., 64. exprimitur autem in his verbis. job, 130, 143. expulsus de paradiso. cant. (4), 63. speculum of st. edmund, 362. soliloquium, 352. fidelis et delicate depasta. cant. (2), 62. first pou schalt pinke how his world is passing. flecto genua mea ad patrem. st. bonaventura, for encheson þat loue mai al do. doctrina fr. henrici chambernoun (?), 261. fragrancia unguentis... cum laudasset sponsa. cant. (3, 63. frater aut soror, qui desyderas. r. rolle (?), de bello spirituali, 423. give to a poor man a penny. transl. of novem virtutes, 320. gloryouse lord so doolfully dyзte. verses in medit. on the passion, 285. good ihesu, o swete ihesu. prayer (from st. anselm, medit. ii), 315. good syster, of your charyte i you pray. lambeth devotion (epilogue), 343. gostly gladnesse in ihesu. gastly gladnesse, 273. gostly syster in ihesu crist. w. hilton, scale of perfection, 361. gracia dei... grace pe appostille settis. gratia dei', 286. grete haboundance of gastly comfort. eng. ps., 169. haec oratio priuilegiata est in duobus. o. d., 155. here er þe ten comaundementis. 276. eng. comment. on the ten commandments, here is þe book þat spekip. charter of the abbey of the holy ghost, 336. heremita dicitur quis (sic) ab hereo. regula heremitarum, 325. heyle ihesu, my creatowre. lyric by r. rolle, 300. hic beatus athanasius liberum. super symbolum s. athanasii, 312. hic continentur nouem virtutes... da pauperibus. novem virtutes, 317. i knaw no pinge pat so inwardly. lyric, 309. i say þat no man is assoyled of any prest. lollard extract, 402. i slepe and my hert wakes to be. couplet, 307. i syt & synge of luf-langyng. verses on rolle's portrait, 310. i wate na thyng. extr. from command., 253, 282. ideo adolescentule . . . et quia tale. cant. (5), 63. jesu dulcis memoria. hymn, 65. jesus soit en ma teste. poem on the holy name, 315. if thou wylt be good and holy. lambeth devotion (prologue), 343. lyric by r. rolle (?), 295. lyric by r. rolle, 298. verses, 307. ihesu, als pow me made & boght. ihesu god son, lord of mageste. ihesu my luf, my ioy, my reste. ihesu swet, nowe wil i synge. in die iudicii resurgent. judica b 3, 93. in ilk a synful man. form, 256. lyric by r. rolle (?), 302. in nomine ihesu omne genu... or. deus qui gloriosissimum. missa de nomine iesu, 350. in nomine ihesu... omnium optimum estimo. extr. from incend., 310. in quolibet homine peccatore. de dilectione (transl. of form?), 428. in the begynnynge and endynge of all good werkes. contemplations of the dread and love of god, 357. 560 index of initia ingredienti statum heremitarum. regula heremitarum, 329. istis iam dictis ad utilitatem. judica b 2, 93. istum psalmum benedicte virginis. magn., 192-3. judica me deus... a deo qui scrutatur cor. judica a, 93, 460. iuxta sancti johannis vocem. compilation entitled 'incendium diuini amoris', 402. la sainte abbaie et la religion doit estre. samte abbaye, 338. lo lemman swete, now may pou se. lyric by r. rolle (?), 294. lord þat madist me of nou3t. medit. on the passion (b), 278. loued be pou keyng. lyric in form, 288. luf es lyf þat lastes ay. lyric by r. rolle, 299. lyeff lorde, my soule thou spare. pety job, 369. magna spiritualis iucunditatis. lat. ps., 165. magnam habundantiam consolacionis diuine. j. wyclif (?), commentarios in psalterium, 428. man þat wilnep for to profite. doctrina fr. henrici chambernoun, 261. memento, miser homo, quod cinis es. w. rimington, meditationes, 347memorandum est de diccionibus rasis. on the exposition of the psalter, 346. mercy es maste in my mynde. lyric by r. rolle (?), 297. misericordias domini... misericordiam domini in eternum cantare. de m., 161. mout de gent voudroient entrer en religion. abbaye du saint esprit, 338. mulierem fortem. . quanto aurum argento. mul. fort., 159. [m]y fulle dere and wel loued frende in god. form, ch. 2, 268. my keyng þat water grette. lyric in ego d., 290. my sange es in syhtyng. lyric in ego d., 291. my trewest tresowre sa trayturly. lyric by r. rolle (?), 295. transl. of e. v., 242. transl. of e. v., 242. ne lette pou noth to turne azen to thine lorde. ne tardes conuerti ad dominum. e. v., 230. ne tarie pou nouzt to be conuertid to be lord. nihil enim tam suaue. extr. from incend., 223. noman may liue in þis liff. w. hilton (?), comment. on ps. xci, 197. nomen ihesu venit in mundum. cant. (4), 63. now i pray 30w all in charite of god. abbey of the holy ghost (epilogue), 339. now open þi hert wyde. medit. on the passion, 286. o bone ihesu, o dulcissime ihesu. 65, 314. o deus piissime penetrasti pectus. prayer (from st. anselm, medit. ii), 37, excerpts from mel., 404. o domina glorie, o regina leticie. balliol prayers (ii), 345. o dulce lumen deus, illumina oculos meos. de excellentia contemplationis, 321. o parvulorum pater . . . deus funditus finito. carmen prosaicum, 38. oleum effusum. . . expulsus de paradiso. cant. (4), 63. omnis actio laudabilis. st. anselm on the will, 64, 211. omnium optimum estimo esse ihesum. extr. from incend., 310. on foure maners may a man wyt if he be owte of dedely syn. short piece ascribed to rolle, 296. osculetur me osculo... suspirantis anime deliciis eternorum. cant. (1), 62. oure mercyfull lord god cryst. remedy against the troubles of temptations, 360, parce mihi... exprimitur autem. job, 130, 143. parce mihi. sunt nonnulli iustorum. excerpts from st. gregory's morals, 313. pater noster... haec oratio priuilegiata. o. d., 155. paternitati vestre . . . et venerande cartusie... professor facti estis. t. basset, defence against the detractors of richard, 529. index of initia 561 paue tu qui timide es conscientie. extr. from fishlawe's transl. of w. hilton, scale of perfection, 352. p[eter] off rome that hyght celestyn. regula heremitarum, 330. philomena, praevia temporis amoeni. j. peckham (?) or st. bonaventura (?), philomena, 419. poenitemini vt deleantur peccata. r. rolle (?), de poenitentia, 422. prayng es a gracyous gyfte. treatise on prayer, 81. predicatio est thematis assumptio. forma praedicandi, 426. puluis es et in puluerem reuertes. r. rolle (?), sermones quadragesimales, 422. quandoque tribularis memento. transl. from ancren riwle, 218. quanto aurum argento. mul. fort., 159. qui habitat... alle men þat wil leuyn. w. hilton (?), comment. on ps. xc, 197. qui, pro christo, pauper fieri. extr. from contra am. m., 417. quia licet status heremitarum. regula heremitarum (introd.), 329. quia meliora sunt ubera ... fidelis et delicate. cant. (2), 62. quia mortis passagium ex hac. r. rolle (?), de arte moriendi, 423. quicunque vult... hic beatus athanasius. super symbolum s. athanasii, 312. quomodo sedet... et factum est. thren., 150. quoniam, carissime, dum in via vite huius. speculum peccatoris, 353. quoniam ita res habet quod mors. r. rolle (?), orilogium sapientig [transl. from h. suso?], 423. quoniam mundanorum insania. contra am. m., 203. quoniam, ut ait hieronymus. radix cordis nostri. speculum b. m. v., 427. cant. (6), 63. riht as þe werkys of men. command. (introd.), 252. salutem mentis et corporis. h. suso, cursus de aeterna sapientia, 349. sicut tenebre eius ita et lumen. extr. from fishlawe's transl. of w hilton, scale of perfection, 352. stabat iuxta crucem. extr. from stim. amor., 354. studium cuiuslibet religiosi. judica b 3 (addition), 95. sunt nonnulli iustorum. excerpts from st. gregory's morals, 313. suspirantis anime deliciis eternorum. cant. (1), 62. suster in crist we greten zou. treatise on maidenhood, 400. swete ihesu cryst, for thy blody wounds. lambeth devotion, 344. swete lord ihesu cryst, i thanke þe. medit. on the passion (a), 278. talentum traditum timens. job (signature), 130. tarye not for to turne pee to god. tarye not to be conuertyd to be lorde. tarye the noght man to be conuerted vnto thi lord god. transl. of e. v., 242-3. tarye pou nouth for to turne to god. tarye pou nouth to oure lorde to be turnyd. the bee has thre kyndis. the bee, 269. pe comawndement of god es þat we lufe oure lorde. command., 251. the hooli man zacarias. w. hilton (?), comment. on benedictus, 197. pe luf of god who so will lere. lyric, 308. the myght of pe fadyr almyghty /þe wytt of pe sone alle wytty. stim. consc., 372. pe seuene gyftes of þe haly gaste. seven gifts of the holy spirit, 274. pou shalt loue pi lord god with al pi hert. the new law, 367. comment. on two commandments of pou þat lyste lufe, herken. ego d., 246. thy ioy be ilk a dele. lyric by r. rolle, 301. to goddis worschipe þat dere us bouzte. seven penitential psalms, 371. to his dere sister in god. . . dere sister pou wost wel. pater noster, 358. to t. d. his derworpe broper in crist, his euenbroper. transl. of st. bonaventura, epistola continens xxv memorialia, 358. trahe me post te . radix cordis nostri. cant. (6), 63. 562 index of initia vigili cura, mente sollicita. de diligendo deo, 346. virgo decora pari sine. cant. am. (signature), 89. vnkynde man, gif kepe til me. lyric by r. rolle (?), 294. vox languentis extr. from incend., 223. we, pore men, tresoreris of cryst. twelve conclusions' of the lollards, 81. we take als bileve y' epistelis. sermons of wyclif, 361. when adam delf & eue span, spir, if þou wil spede. lyric, 296. when will pow com to comforth me. lyric in form, 289. whils i satte in a chapel. lyric on portrait of rolle (?), 308. yt behovys hermyts to dyspise. regula heremitarum, 330. zelo tui langueo. cant. am., 89. index of mss. as mentioned earlier, the cross-references given throughout the book are intended to be utilized in connexion with the indexes: key-references only are given here in the case of volumes containing several works, which have not been specially commented upon. in regard to the cross-reference' cant.' given in nine cases, v. supra, p. 64. manuscripts which have changed ownership appear usually several times, i. e. under the names of their successive owners. all manuscripts which have been mentioned are included, whether containing works of rolle or not. the asterisks indicating that i have not seen a volume are omitted. oxford bodleian mss. pages ashmole 60 374, 388-97 oxford bodleian mss. douce 157 pages 382 751 94 258 176 1524 257 322 240, 424 bodl. 16 67 365 338 sq. 32 346 hatton 12 171 43 231, 343 26 232 48 156, 318 86 131 52 131 97 398 54 231 laud lat. 94 131 57 333 misc. 99 399 61 232 iii 95 66 ιιο 213, 432 202 210, 213 257 210 258 117 237 268, 321 173 122 232 448 171 131 343 486 377 158 347 497 232 159 376 524 233 288 173, 175 528 45, 54, 210, 309315 130-1 456 232 10, 526; quoted, judica 467 171 601 377 525 131 602 361 549 156 623 407 630 426 e musaeo 35 81 769 204 76 388-9, 393 801 347 130 131 861 22-34, 45, 47, 107, 21012, 273. 312, 409; collated, cant., judica a; quoted, apoc., and 320 193 52 198 394 232 382 rawl. a. 372 398 877 938 953 174 389 45, 214, 246-7 258 c. 19 399 171, 189 35 382 digby 14 18 87 douce 25 107 377 72 329 240 84 102 386 142 350 197 209 315 95 269 233 564 index of mss. oxford bodleian mss. rawl. c. 285 397 pages 134, 258, 272. 367 89-90, 420; quoted, cant. am., magn. cambridge university mss. pages ff. v. 36 132 v. 40 241 v. 45 259 d. 1229 131 vi. 31 197 poet. 175 380 vi. 33 318, 320 tanner i 16 171 gg. i. 6 75 173 i. 32 vernon ms. 247, 257, 294, 303, 385 hh. i. ii i. 12 add. 268 387 iv. 3 iv. 13 234 196-7, 350 259, 342 347 54, 234 vi. 15 350 oxford college mss. ii. i. 2 294 i. 26 133 balliol 224 45, 64, 210, 345-6, 421 iv. 9 259 brasenose 15 233 vi. 30 343 corpus christi 155 233 vi. 40 252, 357, 362 193 23-4, 38, 45, 64, vi. 43 522 312, 355-6, 409; vi. 55 259 quoted, cant.,mel., kk. vi. 20 324, 349-51 contra am. m.; collated, job ll. i. 8 mm. v. 37 278, 371 214 236 223 vi. 17 96 exeter 7 399 add. 3042 278 jesus 39 399 st. john's 77 159; collated, mul. fort. cambridge college mss. 127 65 caius 140 214, 318 147, 195 132 216 235 lincoln 89 114 223 67 magd. 6 132 43 168 332 215 353 235 52 171 71 54, 161; quoted, de m. 386 375 669* 241 115 166, 345-6 merton 16, 67-8 718 315 234 94 175 corpus christi 63 426 216 137 new 93 132 194 426 univ. 45 132 365 45, 133 56 171 387 171 60 64 74 97 336 399 emmanuel 35 47, 96, 209-10, 171 215-16, 414 173 258 jesus 41 347 46 65 426 59 401 st. john's 23 96, 538 cambridge university mss. 80 386 137 376 v. 55 dd. i. i iv. 50 iv. 54 196, 318, 526 magd. 14 376 156, 376 pepysian 2125 252 132 pembroke 273 376 252 peterhouse 203 413 v. 64 34, 36-7, 45, 47, 116, 255-7, 272, 274, 294301, 364, 538 218 263 133 346 sidney sussex 89 172 xiv. 26 318 trinity 14 133 ee. ii. 12 357 17 235 ff. i. 14 400 171 173, 175, 189 260 v. 30 241 322 index of mss. 565 cambridge college mss. pages british museum mss. pages trinity 333 401 roy. 2 d. xxviii. 166 354 216 5 a. vi. 399 374 252 5 c. iii. 96, 426 601 369 7 d. xvii. 37, 318 792 1053 1160 1401 133 252, 268 416-17 364 7 e. ii, 8 a. vii. 133 8 c. i. 8 c. ii. 318 101-4 8 c. xv. 402 8 f. vii. 97 12 e. xvi, 13 e. ix. 236 british museum mss. 16 e. xii. 338, 355 arundel 158 17 b. xvii. 223 172, 197 286 17 b. xxi. 175 357 288 318, 378-9 17 c. xvii. 290 17 c. xviii. 507 222 343 18 c. xxvi. burney 356 96; collated, judica 175, 189 18 d. i. 173 359 97 cotton faust. a. v. sloane 1009 364 235 b. vi. 54-5, 310, 526 1584 330 julian d. i. 2275 434 nero c. ix. 45, 47, 115, 426, 539; collated, mel., contra 421 tiber. a. xv. am. m. 45, 53, 408-9 e. vii. 262 stowe 13 350 vesp. d. ix. 38 68 237 e. i. 39 65 54-5, 310, 526 vitell. f. xiii. add. 10046 380 176 app. vii. 379-80 10053 342 egerton 671 11304 133 235 harl. 106 216, 376 11305 386 206 318 16170 236 20029 347, 354 237 405 268 20697 269 338 21202 275 216 97 22121 330 67 405 1022 22283 68 252 24203 386 1035 133 24661 210, 216, 322 1704 319 1706 28549 355 241, 405, 424 29986 1709 316 338 1731 387 33957 378 1806 34193 330 172 34763 236 2254 342 2336 34807 237, 318, 320 197 2361 37049 156 54-5, 306-11, 526 37790 2394 386 223 39843 2397 196 338 sq., 355 2406 40769 176 156 2439 236 2445 314 other mss. (british isles) 3363 347 aberdeen univ. ms. 172 3673 378 amherst (of hackney) 135 262 3820 347, 354, 399 ashburnham app. mss. 388, 404 4012 294 bright ms. (malvern) 394 5235 65 5398 236 5444 350 6576 352 bristol reference library 6 burlington fine arts club exhibition, 1908, mss. 229, 240 castle howard ms. 45,65-6, 114, 331 316 lansd. 300 355 210 455 241 corser ms. 328 566 index of mss. other mss. (british isles) pages other mss. (british isles) pages dublin trin. coll. a. 1. 10, 71 176 longleat 30 153 29, 45, 66, 94; quoted, mul. fort. 32 manchester chetham coll. 6590 261 rylands lib. r. 16586 388-93 371 242, 362-3 154 260 18932 66 155 68 newcastle cath. ms. 172 156 381 peterborough publ. lib. ms. 373-4 159 115 phillipps 2734 386 277 402 3849 175 281 237 8343 382 321 347 8884 172 432 241 quaritch cat. 344, ms. 10 81 durham cath. b. iv. 35 cosin lib. v. i. 12 204, 212 dec. 1912, ms. 278 135 269 ms. (spring of 1927) 245 edinburgh univ. 93 107 114 242 salisbury cath. 56 238 261 shrewsbury school 25 156 296 sotheby's, july 28, 1868, lot 697 388 eton coll. 10 172, 197 mar. 21, 1895, lot 756 514 exeter's (earl of) ms. 197 may 17, 1897, lot 623 172 greg mss. gurney mss. harmsworth mss. hatfield ms. heneage ms. hereford cath, o. viii. i 336, 382 241, 375 66, 135, 262, 377, 387, 426 197 43-5, 67 nov. 6, 1899, lot 268 oct. 27, 1919, lot 2698 nov. 14, 1919, lot 87 lot 187 jan. 30, 1920, lot 116 may 1, 1899, lots 14, 165, 174 404 361 374 205 67 374 262 26-7, 45, 66, 312; collaoct. 21, 1920, lot 47 ted, apoc., magn. dec. 21, 1920, lot 515 lot 137 172, 286, 366 374 p. i. 9 261 jan. 17, 1921, lot 629 262 holkham hall ms. 373 mar. 1-2, 1921, lot 275 66 huth 153 336 lot 309 135, 210, 426 ingilby mss. (ripley castle) 172, 262, 286, 366 june 21, 1922, lot 639 nov. 14, 1922, lot 376 175 374 kingston 475 167 mar. 20, 1923, lot 327 262 942 237 apr. 15, 1924, lot 378 374 lambeth palace 34 173, 175, 189 stonyhurst coll, ms. 238 124 102 strong ms. 386 260 372, 375 westminster school ms. 262 352 166 dr. williams's library ms. 238 357 134 432 335 f. 166 472 197, 342 f. 172 500 237 536 65 worcester cath. f. 158 wrest park 6 wyggeston hospital, leicester 6, 172 176 242 175, 189 546 343-4 12, 15 134 843 299 york cath. 5 238 538 xvi. t. 9 405 lincoln cath. 60 91 (thornton) 92 188 209 218 b. 6. 6 longleat 29 34-7, 68, 81, 26977, 297-301, 311, 324, 336, 352, 3625, 384, 403, 423 173 210, 217 53, 538 other mss. (continental) bâle (öffentliche bibliothek der universität) a. iv. 24, a. vi. brussels (bib. roy.) 775 29 67 214 34-6, 256, 271-3, 294, 297, 299-303. 845 1485 2103 239 316 351 67 219 index of mss. 567 s. 1363 other mss. (continental) pages copenhagen roy. lib. gl. kgl. prague cath. 293 331-3 other mss. (continental) pages 239 540 167 cracow univ. 1628 167 univ. 681 167 danzig (st. mary) mar. f. 16 318 814 67, 210 mar. f. 152 168 872, 1882 168 mar. q. 27 318 schlägl premonstratensians douay 396 (bib. de la ville) 37-9, 48, (austria) 105 168 54, 51617, 521 stockholm, roy. lib.* a. 68 trier (stadtbibl.) 296 239 221 843 351 683 239 épinal 189 ghent (bib. de la ville) 291 madrid (escorial) b. iii. 5 metz (bib. de la ville) 361 ms. milan, ambrosian lib. g. 43 inf. e. naples, biblioteca nazionale vii. 319 685 115 219 689 353 219 690, 774-5 240 220 upsala univ. c. i 115 338 c. 17 223 c. 159 47, 318 210, 220, 497 c. 494 279 c. 621 53, 527-8 f. 35 239 c. 631 240, 318 paris, bib. de l'arsenal 1021-2, 1228 (ms.-in-folio 133?) 490-2, vatican reg. 320 172 vienna (national-bibliothek) 480 351 497 2109 319 3936 4483 190 39-43, 210, 222, 416, bib. de ste. geneviève 3390 429, 430, 502-3, 506, 261 511, 517-19 bib. mazarine 750 318 bib. nat. angl. 41 342 american mss. fr. 2198 319 17115 lat. 431 319 anderson cat. 1917, dec. 12, 167 grove sale, 376 539 lat 543 97 huntington mss. 135, 172, 268, lat. 15700 lat. 16574 univ. of, 790 205, 245, 427 366, 539 493 348 morgan ms. 316 princeton univ. ms. 373 scribes bageby, john de, 386; of bodl. 861 (fantastic, but scholarly), 2234; a bohemian, 168; brede, wm., carthusian of ruremunde, 221; a northern carthusian, 307-11; cok, j., of st. bartholomew's, 241, 539; corf, 246; fleming, john, 381-2; fuller, richard, 336; gysborn, john, canon of coverham, 330; j. h.', 204; kent, r., 258; lambert trurnicht de unna, carthusian, 240; london, j., of shene, 37; maynsforth, j., of merton coll., 131; mede, w., of shene, 405; mertth, 204, 539; a monk, 96; norton, 161; 'j.p.', 166; raynes, 361; reynoldus, 371; roulle (?), j., 268; stoyle, 236; symon heremita, 168; thornton, robert, 36-7, 382-4, 403, 414; wade, 133; wasselyn, r., chaplain, 398; wodeburgh, j., 53; wolfgang, chaplain in budweis, 168; v. gen. index, drawings, and jesus, holy name of. owners of mss. of rolle (corporate): bâle, canons regular and carthusians of, 239; beauvale, charterhouse of, 214; brasenose coll., 133; brent eley parish church, 279; bury st. edmunds abbey, 418; camb. univ. lib., 415; carmelites of london, 419; chipping campden parish church, 236; christ church, canterbury, 233; corpus christi coll., camb., 407; 'deptford' nunnery (for 'dame pernelle wrattisley, sister'), 240-1; dover priory, 133; ely priory, 96; enghien, charterhouse of, 219; exeter cath., 131; fountains abbey (by wm. coutton, monk), 235; leicester abbey, 407-8, wyggeston chantry, leicester, 134; london, charterhouse of, 404; norwich cath., 96; reading abbey, 67; rievaulx abbey (by abbot spenser), 233; scarborough, st. mary's church, 411; shene, charterhouse of, 50; sierck, charterhouse of, 220; sorbonne, 135, 492; southwark, st. mary overy, 66; stafford, austin canons 568 index of mss. of, 131 (?), 232; syon monastery, 411-12; trier, benedictines of, 219, 221, 240, 353; carthusians of, 115, 239-40; wadstena monastery, v. upsala mss.; wells cath., 421; westminster abbey (by brothers grant and grene), 132; winchester, st. mary's coll., 413; witham, charterhouse of, 404; worcester cath., 24; york, st. mary's abbey, 419; v. also supra, gen. index (methley), scribes, and infra, owners (individual). owners of mss. of rolle (individual): aglionby, j., esq. (1699), 134; allen, t. (1622), 348; alva, lord, 261; ames, joseph (1760), 242; appiltoun, d. john. 238; aston, sir w. (temp. jas. i), 362; audley, thos. (1668), 242; baron, wm., esq., 240; berkeley, thos., lord, 171; braystones, c., carthusian monk, 210, 214; brocklebank, r., 245; burscough, r., 65; camyl, d. w., chantry priest, 257-8; carthom, d. robert, chantry priest of beverley, 238; chelmynton, r. (1454), 233; chester, john (1524), 173; christina, queen, 172; clarke, dr. adam, 172, 322; cleue, w., rector of 'clyveden ', co. kent, 257; cloos, r. (1472), 358; colman, j., abbot of lesnes, 171; constable, sir a. t. c., 362; crawshaw, w. (1635), 96; dryden, john (1663), 133; est, r., chantry priest (?), 415, 427; eyton, d. h., sub-prior of st. albans, 171; fetherston, alexander, prebendary of lichfield (1680), 279; forman, simon (1600), 233; forrest, wm., of christ church, oxf.. royal chaplain, 235; france, m. hugo, fellow of eton (1469), 354; frunburk (?), 41; gardner, vicar of lynton (1582), 245; gray, bishop of ely, 64; grafton, richard (16th cent.), 159; gybbes, archdeacon (16th cent.), 28; hanton, john, monk of york, 64; hedrington, robert (1577), 361; holt, aylot, of bury (16th cent.), 98; jean d'angoulême, 167; johnson, d., 156; keys, m. roger, 131; knyght, d. john, rector of plumstead (1527), 237; lacy, robert, founder' of ponte. fract priory, 65; laing, david, 242, 261; lloyd, m. owyn, canon of hereford, 27; lucas, john, 424; macro, dr., 241, 375–6; mary, princess (afterwards queen), 166; may, j., rector of all saints the great, london, 166; friars minor (john, minister of), 54; more, bishop of norwich, 241, 278, 347, 357; newton, m. john, 215-16, 414; nicolson, wm. (1699), 134; nod, m. robert, 238; norton, robert, chaplain in malling abbey, 167; odlyne, m. john (1503), 156; parker, henry, lord morley, 166; raue, prof. c.. 280; richelieu, cardinal, 492; rivers, earl, richard woodville, 232; rolbst, d. wm., carthusian, 404; ruschman, d. anthony, dean', near bâle, 239; samson, tobias (?), 135; savile, h., 385, 408-11; scrope, elizabeth (lady beaumont and lady oxford), 424; scrope of masham, lord, 29, 414; shirley, j., scribe, 241; smith, d. wm., of brasenose, 133; southampton, thos., earl of, 96; sparwenfeldt, j. g., 280; stevens, j., canon of exeter, 131; steyke. m. john, priest, 133; ston, john and agnes, 54; stuerd, domina matilda, 156; tenison, archbishop, 322; verney family, 67; wales, john, 241; wencelagh, m. thos., parson (rector of middleton ?), 238; woodrest, d. wm., 97; worsley, h., 322, 424, 427; for other owners v. 407, 413–17, passim. • owners of mss. (not rolle): bolton, alice, sr., 384; chettock, h., of st. albans, 388; colop, richard, 'parchemanere' of london, 197; cupper, r., burgess of yarmouth, 384; graunt, d. john, 197; gurney, hudson, 375; helagh, d. wm. de, 384; hudson, sir herre, 381; kilbroin, john, 197; knyvetone. john, 381; lumley, 426-7; macro, dr., 375-6; mainwaring, sir philip, 388; mordan, 197; munro, dr.. 375-6; neale, t. c., 377; reder, richard. 387; revetour, d. wm., 384; roos, thos., of ingmanthorpe, 384; spink, richard, 376; symner, miles, 381; umfreville, e., 382. printed in england at the university press, oxford by john johnson printer to the university ind chio and ind city und mic emio chig an an michis chig chic the university of michigan feb 28 1983 jan 27 04 date due sep 1 5 1986 jun 12 1996 4-14-06 michigan and famic ga mi chic an an univer mic mis his an heain fans chic and an an gan an m chig chig mic chic an mich mic an an an famich an mic mich university of michigan bound jul 14 1831 univ. or..... library 3 9015 01044 1353 i vitas patrum ¶ here followeth the right devout/ moche lowable/ & recommendable life of the old ancient holy faders hermits/ late translated out of latin in to frenshe/ and diligently corrected in the city of lion/ the year of our lord. m. cccc. lxxxvi. upon that which hath be written and also translated out of greek in to latyn/ by the blessed & holy saint saint jerome right devout & approved doctor of the church/ & other solitary religious persons after him and after in the year of our lord. m. cccc.lxxxxi. reduced in to english following the copy/ alway under correction of doctors of the church. ¶ the prologue of the translator. for as much as daily among the infinity multitude of mortal people/ is seen but few of them that live virtuously. and the contrary many in great number lyven voluptuously/ and in that manner passen forth their tyme. this considering i have holden & reputed. and yet repute & hold well happy them among other/ which of our sovereign lord and god ihesu christ maker & conductor of all things/ have obtained that singular grace that they may veritably say that they have lived virtuously. and that i see some to happen in our time the which by their mellyflue & sweet eloquence have administered healthful doctrine/ by the moyen of their excellent books in latin. and other which have written & translated to our profit and understanding/ whereof in so doing they h●●e merited & deserved to be greatly thanked & recommended. the which thing i believe hath not been over difficile ne hard to do/ seen the sublymyte & hyenes of their sharp understanding & the fructuouse instruction which they have had in letters greek & latin. by the aid of whom they have gotten the sovereign manner well to persuade & say. but i which in any science am not sufficiently instruct. and also i have not in me any beginning of eloquence/ find myself all afraid/ doubting to be reproved of over hardy presumption to have so indyscretely enterprised the translation of this present work. nevertheless reducing to remembrance the proverb of the prophet saying/ that fortune helpeth the hardy/ have in myself judged to be a thing lycyte and reasonable/ to tempt & assay if to the utility & common profit i might make any work. by the which if i have not virtuously lived/ at lest i may say that i have not alway passed my time unprofitably. and by this consideration also/ that i see but little or few persons apply them to lead solitary life/ i have enterprised to translate out of latin in to the french tongue the right devout & solitary life of the ancient or old holy faders hermits sometime dwelling/ as well in the great deserts of egypte/ of thebayde/ & of mesopotamy/ as in other places/ upon which have written saint jerome/ the much auctorysed doctor of holy church/ & some other reverend faders after him. and how well that i suppose that this work ought not to be agreeable to the redars by reason of the fair & ornate language/ wherein is none. nevertheless i believe that many that shall see the great penances/ & marvelous straightness of living/ in which have persevered all their life the said holy faders together/ the fair & healthful example that been therein contained/ shall employ gladly a part of their time to read or to here it red. and further more by cause that i doubt not/ that many that shall see this book/ shall mow veritably say/ that i have not well elygantely ne directly written in this present translation. i meekly beseech them that they take no regard to the defaults & mepconns that they shall find but that they consider that my little & ●eble engine hath mow here in it doing. for my regard or affection hath not be to employ myself for to receive any temporal profit or thank/ but only to th'end to do thing the some may find profit thereby. or that they that can do better/ that it please them to correct and amend/ be it in augmenting or diminishing/ like as they shall see to be done. and under this confidence. i call first the aid of the holy ghost/ by whose help i shall begin the declaration of the chapters of this present book. and after i shall proceed to the translation of the prologue. and consequently of all the book/ as if shall be seen by each party of the same. ¶ here followeth the declaration of the table of the chapters of this present volume containing in it four parties. in the first of whom been the chappytres here after declared. ¶ prologue of saint iherom. ¶ of saint johan the hermit/ which beginneth in latin. primum igitur. caplm primum. ¶ of the life & deeds of an holy abbot named hor. to whom by grace divine was showed the gift of science of holy scripture/ & beginneth in latin. vidimus et alium. caplm. two ¶ of saint amon abbot of three thousand monks/ & beginneth in latin. vidimus autem. caplm. three ¶ of saint benon abbot leading an angels life/ beginning vidimus et alium. caplm. four ¶ of the city of ex●rynque/ in the which dwelled never heretic/ beginning vidimus autem. caplm. v. ¶ of saint theon which was xxx year without speaking/ & beginneth vidimus & alium. caplm. vi ¶ of saint appolonyen confessor & of his virtues/ beginning vidimus et alium. caplm. vij ¶ of saint ammon thermit/ which slew a dragon/ & converted the thieves/ & beginneth in latin. que audivimus. caplm. eight ¶ of saint coprett priest & hermit and beginneth in latin. erat quidam. caplm. ix ¶ of saint cyr. isaiah & paul/ which beginneth adhebat adhuc caplm x. ¶ of saint helayn which beginneth in latin. fuit & alius vir. caplm. xi ¶ of saint helye which beginneth vidimus & alium senem caplm. twelve ¶ of saint pithuyon/ which beginneth. redeuntes caplm. xiij ¶ of saint eulogyon/ which beginneth in latin. vidimus et alium etc. caplm. xiiij ¶ of saint appellen/ and beginneth in latin. vidimus et alium presbiterum caplm. xu ¶ of saint paphunce/ & beginneth in latin. vidimus et alium monasterium. caplm. xvi ¶ of the monastery of saint ysydoee beginning in latin. vidimus apud thebaida caplm xvij ¶ of saint serapyon abbot/ which beginneth in latin. sed & in regione. caplm. xviij ¶ of saint apolonyon religious & martyr/ beginning in latin. tradebant ergo caplm. xix ¶ of saint dioscore abbot beginning vidimus & alium caplm. twenty ¶ of the monasteries of nitrye/ & beginneth in latin. venimus caplm. xxi ¶ of another place called cecylya & beginneth in latin. post hunc vero. caplm. xxij ¶ of saint ammonyon abbot/ beginning. vidimus quedam caplm. xxiij ¶ of saint dydyme/ which beginneth in latin. vidimus inter eos etc. caplm. 24 ¶ of saint crenyon which beginneth in latin. vidimus caplm. xxv ¶ of saint orygene/ beginning in latin. erat autem caplm. xxvi ¶ of saint eungryon which beginneth in latin. vidimus ibi et cetera. caplm. xxvij ¶ of saint macharye egypcyen/ beginning in latin. narrabant autem caplm xxviij ¶ of the virtues of that other saint machayre of alexandria/ and beginneth in latin. alius vero sanctus etc. caplm xxix ¶ of saint amon first religious in nytrie/ which beginneth in latin. inicium sancti. caplm. xxx ¶ of saint pyamon/ which beginneth in latin. non autem michi etc. caplm. xxxi ¶ of an other holy father that which was named johan/ beginning in latin erat in ipis locis. caplm. xxxij ¶ of the peryllis that been on the way for to go to the hermitages/ & beginneth in latin. sepcies namque caplm. xxxiij ¶ prologue of saint iherom upon the life of saint paul the first hermit/ beginning. inter multos caplm. xxxiiij ¶ of the life of saint paul first hermit/ beginning. sub decio caplm. xxxv ¶ the life of saint anthonye abbut & beginneth in latin. igit antonius etc. caplm. xxxvi ¶ of saint hylaryon hermit/ and beginneth in latin. hilarion ortus. caplm xxxvij ¶ the life of saint malachi/ and beginneth in latin. caromas etc. caplm xxxviij ¶ the life of saint poull the simple hermit/ and beginneth in latin. fuit quidam et cetera capitulum xxxix ¶ the life of saint paula or pauline/ and beginneth in latin. si cuncta corporis mei membra et cetera. caplm. xl ¶ the life of saint pelage. and beginneth in latin. quid factum est etc. caplm. xli ¶ the life of saint mary egypcyen which in desert lad a solitary life & beginneth in latin. fuit quidam senex caplm. xlij ¶ the life of saint marine/ beginning in latin. fuit frater quidam etc. caplm. xliij ¶ the life of saint eufrosyne/ and beginneth in latin. fuit vi● et cetera. caplm. xliiij ¶ of saint froutynyan/ which beginneth in latin quoman leap desideratis. caplm. xlv ¶ the life of saint simeon hermit/ & beginneth in latin. sanctus simeon etc. caplm. xlvi ¶ of saint eusra●e virgin/ which begynyth in latin. in dich● theodoo● caplm. xlvij ¶ of saint machayre roman which was found nigh by paradise s●●●eltre/ & begynyth in latin. 〈◊〉 & magnificu●● etc. caplm. xlviij ¶ the life of saint pastumyen/ which beginneth in latin. qui delider●. caplm xlix. ¶ of saynth qnuffryens hermit/ & beginneth in latin. ●ea●e memory pa●honeius etc. caplm. l ¶ the life of saint abraham the hermit/ & beginneth in latin. cupi● etc. caplm. li ¶ of saint pachomyen abbot/ & beginneth in latin. d●s noster ihus etc. caplm. lij ¶ how & in what time religion was instituted/ & beginneth in latin. erat per idem tempus caplm. liij ¶ how the said pachomyens would be christian/ & beginneth in latin. per idem tempus caplm. liiij ¶ how in his young age he destroyed the idols/ & beginneth in latin. hic enim etc. caplm. lu ¶ how the said pachomyen was taken for to go on were/ and beginneth in latin. eodem tempe et cetera. caplm. lvi ¶ how pachomyen received the holy sacrament of baptism/ & beginneth in latin. igit constantinꝰ etc. caplm. lvij ¶ how saint pachomyen desiring to be an hermit or religious/ went to the holy father palemon dwelling in desert/ and beginneth in latin audivit autem. caplm. lviij ¶ how palemon the hermit gave to pachomyen the habit of religion/ & beginneth in latin. tunc sanctus palemon. caplm. lix ¶ of his abstinence/ & beginneth in latin. per idem tempus caplm. lx ¶ of a proud religious man which came for to visit them/ and beginneth in latin. una vero dierum et cetera. caplm. lxi ¶ how pachomyen went thorough the deserts/ & beginneth in latin. igitur pachomius caplm lxij ¶ how a voys from heaven spoke to pachomyen/ & beginneth in latin. quodan vero tempe etc. caplm. lxiij ¶ of the death of saint palemon/ & beginneth in latin. inter hec venerabilis etc. caplm. lxiiij ¶ how the said saint pachomyen & one his brother named johan converseden together/ & beginneth in latin/ quo peracto. caplm. lxv. ¶ of the great repentance & dysplaysaunce that had the said pachomyen for indignation and anger that he had against his brother/ & beginneth in latin. inter hec etc. caplm. lxvi ¶ how saint pachomyen resisted the temptations of the devil/ and beginneth in latin. tunc infatigabilis etc. caplm. lxvij ¶ of the illusions that the devil made to the said pachomyen/ and beginneth in latin. quadam vero die etc. caplm. lxviij ¶ how saint pachomyen was grievously beaten of the devil/ & beginneth in latin. alia quoque etc. caplm. lxix ¶ of the surety and puissance which saint pachomyen obtained of god and beginneth in latin. tantan vero caplm. lxx ¶ how saint pachomyen prayed god that he never should sleep/ to the end the he might the lightlier resist the temptations of the devil/ & bgynnyth in latin cunque se videret etc. caplm. lxxi ¶ how changell spoke to pachomyen familiarly/ & beginneth. quodan vero tempe caplm. lxxij ¶ the rules of the religious hermits delivered by an angel to saint pachomyen/ & beginneth in latin. singulis tu●ta vires. caplm. lxxiij ¶ of three men that came to saint pachomyen/ & beginneth in latin. oranit autem caplm. lxxiiij ¶ how he received many one to the state of religion/ & beginneth in latin. regulas igit etc. caplm. lxxv. ¶ of the humility of saint pachomyen/ to the chapter the beginneth in latin omnes autem etc. caplm. lxxvi ¶ of the charity of saint pachomyen/ to the chapter which beginneth quodam vero tempore et cetera capitulum lxxvij ¶ of the condemnation of some scriptures of orygenes/ the chapter beginning. periaden tempus caplm. lxxviij ¶ of the monastery that saint pachomyen died build for his sister/ & beginneth in latin. comperit igitur. caplm lxxix ¶ of the conversacynn of theodore to the chapter which beginneth in latin. hec talis caplm. lxxx ¶ how theodore was received of saint pachomyen/ to the chapter beginning in latin. quodam vero. caplm lxxxi ¶ how theodore refused to see his mother/ & beginneth in latin. denique tam preclaram caplm. lxxxij ¶ of many reproved religiouses/ to the chapter beginning in latin. igit sicut caplm. lxxxiij ¶ how religiouses of other monasteries coming to visit the monastery of saint pachomyen were not received in to the said place among the dwellers/ & beginneth in laty. confessor caplm lxxxiiij ¶ how the gown of saint pachomyen heeled folk of the bloody flux/ and beginneth in latin. mulier et cetera. caplm lxxxiiij ¶ how saint pachomyen by his debonairty was cause of the good life of a religious/ & it beginneth in latin. aliqn vero etc. caplm. lxxxv. ¶ how saint pachomyen delivered a woman sore traveled of the devil & beginneth in latin. adhuc autem etc. caplm lxxxvi ¶ how he healed a child that was traveled with the fiend/ & beginneth in latin. tali igit etc. caplm. lxxxvij ¶ of the conversion of saint syluayn & beginneth in latin. taliter igit etc. caplm lxxxviij ¶ how the holy man commanded that a deed body should be unclothed of his vestymentes/ & beginneth in latin. eodem vero tempe caplm. lx●xx ¶ how the holy man pachomyen saw the angels bear a way the soul of a religious in to paradise/ & beginneth in latin. moratus e● caplm. lxxxxi. ¶ how some were brent by fire divine because they letted the building of a monastery/ and beginneth in latin sanctus ergo caplm. lxxxxij ¶ of the inquisitions of a philosophy/ & beginneth in lacyd. ●nterea. caplm lxxxxiij ¶ of the abstinence of the religiouses & beginneth in latin. provide pachomius caplm. lxxxxiiij ¶ how saint pachomyen law & corrected by revelation of god the evil thoughts of chanachorytes that were religious heretyl●es & beginneth to latin. he in pachomius caplm. lxxxxv ¶ of the revelation the saint pachomyen had of the governing that his religiouses should hold after his death/ & also the prelate's that were to come after him/ & beginneth in latin. monacis vero etc. caplm. lxxxxvi. ¶ an exhortation for to withstand the devil/ beginneth in latin. tune pachomius etc. caplm. lxxxxvij ¶ how saint pachomyen by his meryces knew the thoughts of men/ beginning. cunque perg●rent caplm. lxxxxviij ¶ how the devil showed himself to saint pachomyen/ beginning. alio ve●o tempe caplm. lxxxxix. ¶ how the might of the devil was showed to the holy man pachomyen/ & beginneth in latin. in hoc ecian etc. caplm. c. ¶ how the holy man pachomyen healed a man that was bit of a scorpion/ & beginneth in latin. interra etc. caplm. c.i. ¶ how likeness profiteth oft to the salvation of the soul/ beginning. tali quoque etc. caplm. c.ij. ¶ of the patience of zacheus that was a religious/ & beginneth in latin. zacheus qdan monachus caplm. c.iij ¶ of the death of saint pachomyen/ & beginneth in latin. certus ●taque pachomius caplm. c.iiij ¶ of the life of saint christian the religious/ & beginneth in latin quidā●enomanensis caplm. c.u. ¶ of saint johan the almoner patriarch and bishop of alexandria/ after that it is rehearsed in the life of the faders by saint ●eonce/ in his time bishop of naples/ to the chapter beginning in latin. cumque pervenissem etc. caplm. c.vi. ¶ how the said saint johan ordained to the poor ●olke of the city of alexandrye their sustentation & daily food ordinately calling them his lords/ beginning in latin. promotus ergo caplm. c.vij ¶ how he stablished in the city weight & measure equal/ & beginneth in latin justum vero caplm. c.viij ¶ how he corrected them the receiven any yetres & beginneth in latin. relatum est autem caplm. c.ix ¶ how he gave licence & leave to them that would come to him/ beginning in latin. discens vero etc. caplm. c.x. ¶ how the holy bishop received meekly the folk that were fled for to schewe the woodenness of them of percy & beginneth cuius sancti caplm. c.xi ¶ of the shape of a woman that appeared to saint johan the almoner patriarch of alexandria/ & beginneth in latin/ cunque illis etc. caplm. c.xij ¶ of a pilgrim that would tempt saint johan the almoner/ beginning in lytyn. adorione etc. caplm. c.xiij ¶ of a mariner & of the tin that was turned to silver/ beginning in latin. nauclerus quidam etc. caplm. c.xiiij ¶ of a rich man that was fallen in great poverty/ and beginneth in latin. descendence sanctissimo & cetera caplm. c.xv. ¶ of nyceta patryce & ruler of the common we'll in alexandria/ beginning in latin. intuens niceta et cetera. caplm. cxvi. ¶ of the scarnesse and dearth of corn and such goods. and of a man that required to be made deacon/ & beginneth in latin. qui abraham etc. caplm. c.xvij ¶ of two clerks that died fall in to sin/ & beginneth in latin. quibusdan caplm. c.xviij ¶ of the noise that the holy patriarch johan had against the ruler nyceta/ & beginneth in latin. deifri quidam caplm. c.xix. ¶ of gregory the nephew of the holy patriarch/ & beginneth in latin. isle memoriabilis caplm. c.xx ¶ of the dyaconn of the said holy patriarch named damyen/ & beginning in latin. nunciatum est et cetera. caplm. c.xxi & xxij ¶ of the tomb of saint johan the almoner/ the which he would not suffer to be full made/ & beginneth in latin. diffinicomem&c caplm cxxiij ¶ of the yefts that saint johan the almoner sent to the patriarch of iherusalem for a succour against the paynims/ & beginneth in latin. duno etc. caplm. c.xxiiij ¶ how a merchant gave to saint johan the almoner a rich coverlet for to cover over his sorry bed/ & begynnyth arripuit sanctus caplm. c.xxv. ¶ of a changer named peter/ that made himself to be sold by his servant as a bond man for to succour the poor people/ & beginneth in latin. dignum. caplm. c.xxvi. ¶ of saint cerapyon/ and beginneth in latin. omnibus et cetera. caplm. c.xxvij ¶ how the holy patriarch would not hearken to the accusations that men made against the religiouses/ and beginneth in latin. semper quidem etc. caplm. c.xxviij ¶ how the holy patriarch visited the sick labouring to their dethewarde/ & of him that was brought prisoner in pierce/ & beginneth in latin. moralitate etc. caplm. c.xxix. ¶ of him that prayed for his son/ & for his ship that was upon the see/ because it should not perish/ & beginneth in latin. quod in actibus apl'orum. caplm. c.xxx. ¶ of a covetous bishop/ the which loved money inordinately & overmuch/ & beginneth in latin. vrgebat etc. caplm. c.xxxi. ¶ of the ships of the church/ and how all the goods that were therein were lost/ which chapter beginneth in latin. dominus qui divicias et cetera caplm. c.xxxij ¶ of a servant to whom he gaaf two pound of gold/ & beginneth in latin/ ad extreman etc. caplm. c.xxxiij ¶ of a duke that refused to leave thirty pound of gold/ beginning in latin districtis. caplm. c.xxxiiij ¶ of a woman that forbore wrongs of her son in law/ and beginneth in latin vergente caplm. c.xxxv. ¶ of saint iohn & saint sophronyon/ which beginneth in latin. ad voluntate igil etc. caplm. c.xxxvi. ¶ a sermon made by the foresaid holy patriarch against the hearers of folk followeth & beginneth in latin. si vero alicub● etc. caplm. c.xxxvij ¶ of the child orphenym the which was made ●●che/ & beginneth in latin audicus etc. caplm. c.xxxviij ¶ of a beguiler that borrowed chy●ty pound of gold of the holy patriarch & beginneth in latin. impretermisse caplm. c xxxix ¶ of ●habbot vytalyon/ & beginneth in latin. sene● quidem magnus etc. caplm. c.xl ¶ of a beggar which in asking an all mess of the said patriarch spoke great worden against him & beginneth in latin. precipiens caplm. c. ●lt. ¶ of the questions that the holy patriarch made unto the poor people beginning in latin. si vero et cetera. caplm. c.xlij ¶ of a prince the hated another prince beginning. malician. caplm. c.xliij ¶ how the holy patriarch constrained by his humility the proud to be meek/ & beginneth suꝑbun autem caplm. c.xliiij ¶ a sermon that the holy patriarch made to y●ue ensample of meekness/ beginneth. et hec. caplm. c.xlv. ¶ how he corrected by fair words & sweet language them that went out of the church after that the gospel was said & beginneth in latin. mittam autem caplm. c.xlvi. ¶ how he forbade the folk should not speak in the church/ & beginneth in lalatyn. loqui autem etc. caplm. c.xlvij ¶ how he ordained two ordres of religiouses/ & builded theym two churches/ one in the name of our lady/ & the other of saint johan/ & beginneth in latin. volens autem etc. caplm. c.xlviij ¶ how men ought to eschew the company of heretics/ & beginneth in latin. et hoc beatus caplm. c.xlix. ¶ how the holy patriarch judged nor condepned never no body/ beginneth in latin. eun oibus caplm. c.l. ¶ of two clerks that made shone/ & beginneth in latin. duobus clericis etc. caplm. c.li ¶ how the holy patriarch was called of god for to decease out of this world find beginneth in latin. et quidem. caplm. c.lij ¶ the form of his testament followeth & beginneth in latin. adueniente. caplm. c.liij ¶ of the woman that gave her sin in writing to saint johan the patriarch/ & beginneth in latin. aluid auten caplm. c.liiij ¶ how the death of the foresaid holy patriarch johan was showed to a relylygyous named savyn/ & beginneth in latin. eadem any die. caplm. c.lvi ¶ of another vision that a cytezyn of alexandria had/ touching the death of this holy patriarch johan the almoner/ & beginneth. cum autem. caplm. c.lvi ¶ how out of his sepulchre flowed and ran oil/ and beginneth in latin/ hymnodia etc. caplm. c.lvij. ¶ of the life of saint eugene/ whose feast is hallowed the day after the feast of the nativity of our saviour ihesu christ/ & beginneth in latin. in septimo igit etc. caplm. c.lviij. ¶ of saint basylle bishop of capadore/ & beginneth in latin. basillius itaque etc. caplm. c.lix. ¶ how eubole was crystened in the flumme jordan/ & beginneth in latin. apprehendentes' autem etc. caplm. c.lx ¶ how saint basylle being a bishop composed the mass/ in composing of which he saw god & his apostles/ beginning convenientes etc. caplm. c.lxi ¶ of an hebrew man that saw a child between the hands of saint basylle when he divided the body of our lord & beginneth in latin. divino quidem etc. caplm. c.lxij. ¶ of one that forsook god/ & gave a writing thereof sealed with his own hand/ & beginneth in latin. illudius' autem. caplm. c.lxiij. ¶ of a woman to whom her sins were forgiven by the prayer of saint basylle/ & beginneth in latin. mulier quidam etc. caplm. c.lxiiij ¶ of joseph the hebrew/ which history is annexed to the said chapter. ¶ of the holy father effrem/ & beginneth in latin. fratres enarracionem volo facere etc. caplm. c.lxv. ¶ here followeth the declaration of things contained in the second party of this present volume/ the which is divided in some small treaties/ chapters demands/ & quodlybeths'/ as hereafter shall appear. ¶ first is the prologue of saint iherom by him made upon the second party or chapter/ beginning. vere munndun etc. ¶ diverse exhortations here followen which begin in latin. quiden sanctorum senior etc. ¶ other exortations followen for to acquire the virtue of patience & humility beginning in latin. dicebant sancti seniores etc. ¶ here after consequently followeth a little book or treatise containing many instructions for folk of religion & other contemplative/ how they own to behave themself the one with the other/ & to profit in religion/ which beginneth in latin. interrogavit etc. ¶ an other little treatise which teacheth to find the rest of conscience/ and beginneth in latin. dixit abbess antonius. ¶ an other treatise teaching how men ought to stir them to compunction/ and beginneth in latin. dicebant de abbate arsenio. ¶ an other treatise followeth of continence & sobrence against gluttony and other vices. and beginneth in latin. fratres aliqui etc. ¶ another treatise against fornication. ¶ an other treatise followeth/ wherein is contained that folk of religion ought not to possess nothing/ & beginneth in latin. frater quidam etc. ¶ an other little treatise hereafter consequently followeth of the virtue of force & of patience/ & it beginneth in latin. sanctus abbess antonius etc. ¶ an other little treatise containing that nothing should be done for exaltation or vain glory. ¶ an other little treatise teaching how no man ought to judge any other ¶ an other treatise followeth here showing how one ought to have discretion. ¶ an other little treatise followeth here after teaching how a man ought to live soberly/ and beginneth in latin. frater quidam ¶ another treatise how one ought to pray without intermission and without ceasing/ & beginneth in latin. dice●ant de abbate ¶ an other little treatise containing how a man ought to do mercy. and beginneth in latin. preceperunt aliquando ¶ another little treatise of obeyssaū●e or obedience ¶ an other little treatise encyting the people unto the right necessary virtue of humility and meekness. and beginneth in latin. abbas antonius ¶ of the virtue of patience ¶ an other bystowe followeth of contemplation ¶ here after followeth the second chapter of contemplation. ¶ an other treatise where in been recited and rehearsed the signs and miracles which were done by the holy faders. ¶ the book of the good conversation of diverse holy faders. ¶ here begin seven chapytres/ the which the abbot moses sent to the abbot permenius. and who that keepeth them well. shall be delivered from pain eternal. ¶ here after followen the chapters of the third part of this present volume in the which is made mention of the rule & conversation of other holy faders. ¶ first the prologue of chauctour/ beginning in latin. frequenter ¶ of a solitary religious that dwelled in cyrene in a little house/ beginning ante hoc triennium. caplm primum. ¶ of the signs of orygene which been against the faith/ beginning. prospere igit caplm. two ¶ of the conversation of jerome iherosolymytayn/ beginning in latin. agitur inde caplm. three ¶ how the abbots were bound to give their living to the brethren which they receiveden in to their covents/ beginning. haud long caplm. four ¶ of a religious brother which in his hermitage was fed with heavenly breed/ beginning. casu super illos dies. caplm. v. ¶ how a lioness e●e out of the hand of an holy man/ like as she had be tame/ beginning in latin. ego ubi. caplm. vi ¶ how an holy man nourished a wolf the which demanded of him pardon beginning in latin. alium eque. caplm. vij ¶ how five little lions being blind were enlumyned by an holy man beginning in latin. habitabant. capitulum eight ¶ how a brother by a stork knew what herbs he should eat/ & which not/ beginning in latin. fuit et alius. capitulum ix ¶ of a brother dwelling in the mountain of syna the which spacke to no person by the space of thirty year/ beginning. sed longum. caplm. ten ¶ here follow the great miracles of obeisance/ and beginneth in latin. referam etc. caplm. xi ¶ of the second miracle of obedience beginning in latin. quidam frater etc. caplm. twelve ¶ of him the chased the devils out of the bodies of men/ whereof he was after overcomen & finably purged beginning quidam autem. caplm. xiij ¶ of an hermit desiring to return to the world was punished/ beginning in latin. adolescens. caplm. xiiij ¶ here followeth the manner of ●habyte and vestment of the religious egyptians/ beginning in latin. sunt preterea etc. caplm. xu ¶ of the manner regular to pray god among the same brethren. and how they have renounced the world/ beginning in latin. itaque. cplm xvi ¶ of the place in which the holy faders saw an angel sing twelve psalms/ beginning in latin. jam cum etc. caplm. xvij ¶ what discretion & nature ought to be kept in orison & prayer/ beginning in latin. cum igit. caplm. xviij ¶ of their handy work/ and wherefore prime/ tierce/ sext/ none/ & the other hours been sungen in the church/ beginning. ita namque. caplm. xix ¶ how in a monastery ought to be received a secular that will enter in to religion/ beginning in latin. cum igitur. caplm. twenty ¶ how a monk to th'end that he do not his own will/ aught not to do any thing without the commandment of his spiritual father/ beginning in latin. post hec. caplm. xxi ¶ of a monk the son of an earl/ the which by the commandment of his abbot bare for to sell openly panyers and hotties/ beginning in latin. novimus. caplm. xxij ¶ of th'abbot pinuphus'/ beginning vidimus. caplm. xxiij ¶ a right good admonition for annovyce/ beginning in latin. habent igitur caplm. xxiiij ¶ of a monk that made the pilgrims to eat to fore the hour accustomed when men fast/ beginning in latin. cum desirie partibus caplm. xxv ¶ of a monk which never eat alone/ beginning in latin. vidimus & alium in solitudine caplm. xxvi ¶ of a devout religious named machetes/ beginning in latin. vidimus et alium senem caplm. xxvij ¶ of th'abbot theodore/ beginning vidimus & alium abbaten caplm xxviij ¶ of an holy hermit in a marvelous desert/ beginning in latin. itaque etc. caplm. xxix ¶ of two young children the which bearing figs to a seek religious & died by the way/ & beginneth in latin. quidam etc. caplm. xxx ¶ of the monks of egypte and of their diligence/ beginning in latin. per totum. caplm. xxxi ¶ of a brother which was a blasphemer of god/ the which by punition divine was embraced with secherye. capitulum xxxij ¶ of discretion the which is mother of all virtues/ beginning in latin. quodam caplm. xxxiij ¶ of heron an ancient father capitulum xxxiiij ¶ of twain religiouses which would not eat/ but if god sent to them their refection/ beginning. quid dic●m. caplm. xxxv ¶ of a religious which would sacrify his son to the devil/ beginning in latin. quid dic● etc. caplm. xxxvi ¶ of a religious to whom the devil showed the army of christian men and of the sarazens/ beginning. fuit etc. caplm. xxxvij ¶ how for to be confessed of his sins it chasseth away the devil more than other thing beginning in latin. abbess etc. caplm. xxxviij ¶ of religious people slain by the intydeles beginning in latin. in palestine etc. caplm. xxxix ¶ of th'abbot danyell beginning in latin. inter etc. caplm. xl ¶ of th'abbot serenus beginning/ sum etc. caplm. xli ¶ how the devils have not so much power now against the monks as they had in old time beginning in latin. satis tamen. caplm. xlij ¶ of th'abbot paul beginning in latin. hic igit abbess etc. caplm. xliij ¶ of th'abbot moses' beginning secundus. caplm. xliiij ¶ of a religious which saw by night a multitude of devils beginning in latin. quidam autem frater etc. caplm. xlv ¶ of two philosophers which went to saint anthonye beginning in latin quodan vero tempe etc. caplm. xlvi ¶ here beginneth the prologue of saint paschayse upon the fourth part of the life of holy faders as well of egypte as of grece. ¶ the book of admonitions/ & first against gluttony. ¶ how for thendure ponerte causeth to come to the rest of heaven. ¶ of parfyght patience. ¶ how one ought to serve the seek men. ¶ of the dread of god. ¶ of the temptations of th'enemy. ¶ how a man may mortify the vices. ¶ of perseverance. ¶ of the pain and labour of the old holy faders. ¶ of exhortation of doctrine. ¶ how curiosity ought to be eschewed. ¶ how one ought t'eschew noise. ¶ how one ought to keep silence. ¶ here is made mention of the meditations of twelve devout herenytes. ¶ here after followen some small treatise & the fifth part. ¶ here followen some small treattyes of the praising of virtues/ as well moral as theologycall. upon which saint macharye made his prologue/ which was author & compylatour of them ¶ of the praising of charity/ beginning in latin. cum igitur et cetera. caplm primum. ¶ of the binding together & connexion of charity & of humility/ beginning in latin. certissime. caplm. two ¶ of the virtue of continence capitulum three ¶ of the continence of the sight. caplm. four ¶ of continence of speech caplm .v. ¶ how ●yle clothing ought to be desired. caplm. vi ¶ how all things ought to be done by reason & measure. caplm. vij ¶ of the weal of compunction which principally cometh for a man to mortify himself. caplm. eight ¶ of the quality of compunction. capitulum ix ¶ of the manner to pray to god our maker. caplm. ten ¶ of the battle of vices against the virtues. caplm. xi ¶ of the affection for the study well caplm. twelve ¶ how one ought patiently to endure the adversities and maladies. capitulum xiij ¶ here followeth th'history of theododosius of whom is spoken in the chapter to fore. caplm. xiiij ¶ how one ought gladly read the scriptures/ begynnyn in latin. sanctarum etc. caplm. xu ¶ of the yefte of peace/ beginning in latin. salvator et cetera. capitulum xvi ¶ of the epistle of saint macharye to the monks/ which beginneth in latin. in primis etc. caplm. xvij ¶ here endeth the table of this present volume called in latin vitas patrum/ that is the life of old ancient faders. ¶ explicit. ¶ here followeth the first part ¶ prologue of saint ihero● blessed be god our sovereign creator & dyrectour infallible. which will that all mankind should be saved. and come to the perfect knowledge of trouche/ which also to us hath addressed our way for to go in to egypte/ where we have seen great things & merueyllous. terrible and profitable to them that in time coming may come to the knowledge of them/ and the which things been not to us alonely cause of the seeking of our health. but also they have give to us occasion and matter for to write history right covenable to doctrine of pity/ the which doctrine by the faith of things passed and told in the same/ shall show way right ample & large to them that will walk therein. and how well that we been not covenable ne luffisaunt to tell & recount so great things/ and is seen not to be thing dign ne worthy that folk of little capacity ought to entremete to recite in their so little & feeble style such histories which consist in the excersyte of right high virtues/ nevertheless by cause that the fervent charity of the fretes dwelling in the holy mountain of olyuete/ have oft times required us to write to them and explyke the lives of holy hermits and religiouses resident in the deserts of egypte. the y● great virtues & verkes of pity. and the marvelous strength of their abstinences. which we manifestly have seen. hoping to be holping in this matere. by the right holy and devout prayers & orisons of the laid requyters. the which been to us in stead of commandment. have enterprised this work/ in which we desire not so much the laud of the style. as we hope the edification in time coming of them that shall read this history/ by this the each of them inflamed by th'examples that herein been contained shall be moved & excited to have error of the wicked ordures. filths & vain labours of this worlde· and to excite him to rest. of conscience. and to the works of pity/ then may we say thus saith the noble clerk saint iherom. in speaking of the said holy & devout religious of egypte. which we have seen and verily have seen the noble treasure of ihesu christ hid in vessels human/ the which treasure after we had found it. have not willed as envious to hide ne cover it. but the same so found to the utility & profit of many/ we have will to manifest & make common/ veritably ascertained that of so much that many shall be thereby enriched. of so much more shall they mow have great meed & merit/ ¶ then at beginning of this narration we supply right humbly to our worthy savy our ihesu christ that his prompt grace may be to us presented in virtue. of the which the same works of pity have been done by the said religiouses of egypte/ furthermore we have seen in the said country of egypte many holy faders living in earth. not the life human. but heavenly life. as new prophets raised for to show things for to come· so moche were they full of virtues/ in the which was all efficace of verytee. as well for to bear witness of the merits. as for to do miracles/ and no thing without cause had they such prerogative of god/ for he that in all contempnyth or despisyth the worlde· and all his alliance/ wherefore should he not have might & puissance celestial & divine/ we have seen also some other the which were so ignorant of malice. that they knew not that any evil were done in the world. ne also what sin was/ but they were all utterly inculpable/ in them was so great tranquillity of courage & virtue/ and so extreme affection of bounty. that not without cause might be said to them/ pees be abundantly to the very lovers of the name of ihesu christ/ they dwelled in desert dispersed & separate that one fro that other in diverse ●elles & little houses/ but by very ●harite were they ensembled. alred & unied/ and the reason for which they were separate was this/ by cause that by idle winds unprofitable. walking in their urages. or by communications not truytfull. their divine & holy contemplacön of that one or of that other be truwbled or letted/ and with all their heart. and as intentive to their devotion in their secret places fro day to day they abode the coming of ihesu christ. that is to say the death. in the which e●he one shall be judged after his merits/ and there like as very knights armed of all pieces of hameys abode the adversary of all mankind the fiend of hell/ they had no manner solyeytude ne business of the life naturel ne of bodily necessities. considering the great promise chartable of our redeemer/ by that which he promysyth to all them that by very justice with all their heart shall take pain to get the ream of heven· that they shall have no need ne necessity/ and for this consideration many among 'em when they had any necessities they returned to god· as to the very conductor infallible of them that run to him. and anon they have that. which they demand/ some of them went upon the water like to saint peter/ some of them with their hands sle●ve and put to death horrible beasts for to see. and they died not only such miracles but other infinite/ and such as by the prophets & apostles had be done/ then it is to believe that sith the time the world hath be maintained as it is now by the holy & devout relygy onses, which day & night pray for the universal health/ but as it is so that the things right good been oft in little quantytee & right dyffycile/ nevertheless all they were in the same ●●. condyconus/ for they were in great multitude. and also they were perfit. & of ryight holy life/ some were nigh dwellers by cities. and other places in champestres'/ and other garnished with virtues were separate & dysperded in the deserts/ and as the exercise of men of arms of some prince is one. they were unied in charity in their tyguryes orcelles/ and steadfastly armed with prayer bearing the shield of faith for sovereign defence were redi & appareled to fight against the adversaries of our fragylytee/ by which they took by assault the ream of heaven/ all generally were aoumed and arrayed with virtues sweet and peaceable/ but all were together allied and bound with the bond of charity. and for jealousy and desire for to get virtues they led & died diverse battles for every man laboured and took pain. that one to be more sweet and soft. or more benign than the other/ that one to be more peaceable. and that other right patient/ if any were more wise than tother/ of so moche he rendered himself, more humble/ and servant of all the other. in such wise as he seemed to be most ignorant/ and so moche saith saint iherom that god hath done to me such grace to see their conversation. i shall set my pain after that god shall give me the mind. for to recount by writing their fair & laudable manner of living/ to the end that they which have not seen corporally them. may know their holy conversation and good works/ by the which they may ensue and lead such a life like to them/ and finably may get by very patience triumph and victory in this world and in the ream of heaven glory perdurable/ amen/ ¶ of saint iohn the hermit the first chapter/ which beginneth in latin primum igitur/ the noble and blessed doctou saint iherom recountyth of saint iohn of egypte. the which was an holy hermit and an exemplary of all virtues. dwelling in the parties of thebaydes in an hermitage set in an high roche nigh to the city of lyto/ to which hermitage might no man go but in great pain and labour/ the church of that hermitage was closed and shut/ and therein was the said hermit so long tyme. that fro his lx. year of age till he was lxxx. year old that no person entered in to that church till saint iherom visited him/ nevertheless to them that came thither for to visit him. he spoke to them thorough a window only in comforting them/ and giving to them spiritual refection/ he was never seen of woman in the said hermitage/ there were but few men that saw him/ and that not alway/ but at certain hours & days: he suffered well that a little house was made without his monastery for to lodge & rest them that came fro far regions & countries for to see him/ and he himself alone with in his monastery occupied him day & night without any intermyssion with all his thought & might to denowte o●yson & prayer/ and he was so agreeable to god. that not alonely he had the science of things present. but also of things to come/ and so had he the yefte of prophecy as well in the provinces & cities nigh by. and also in far countries. in which he had never be to the emperor theodos●en he showed oft times of his fortunes that he should have of his adversaries/ & how he should have victory of some tyrants his enemies ¶ in a time it happened that the ethyopyens night a city named cyrene. the which is the first of the parties. the baydes in the country of ethyopye had assieged a knight roman the which had lost many of his people in battle. some slain. & some take and brought in capryvyte the said knight had little peple· & great multitude of enemies. fearing for that cause to assaylle the ethyopyens/ ●ame to the said holy hermit for to counsel what he should do/ the why the ordained to him day of battle against his enemies/ saying to him that if he so died he should obtain victory. and have domination of his enemies/ as well of their bodies as of their goods/ and so it happened to the said knight ¶ another knight of rome excercising the office of a tribune came to the said hermit. praying him that he and his wife might speak with him. to whom he answered that his wife might in no wise speak with him/ and that sith he had be hermit never woman had seen him ne spoke with him/ the said knight abode still in his prayers/ in swearing if she saw him not. that she were in danger of death/ and when the said hermit considered his inportunytee. and also her faith said to him/ go● to thy wife: and say to her. that in this night she shall see me but that she come not hither/ but in her bed and in her house i shall speak to her/ then went the said roman/ and considering in his heart the doubtous answer of the said hermit showed it to his wife/ the which of the incertayntee of that answer was strongly grieved and annoyed/ but in the same night she sleeping saw a vision of a man speaking to her. which said to her these words/ o woman of great faith for to satisfy thy desire and will i am come hither for to speak to thee/ nevertheless i admonest and warn the. that frohens fourth thou desire not to see the bodily visage of the servants of god/ but alone have thou desire for to have contemplation in thine heart of their virtues in good manners/ the spirit only giveth life. and the flesh prouffy tithe in no thing/ i am not hid come to the as just ne prophet like as thou weenest of me. but for the faith of thy husband and of thee/ i have prayed unto almighty god for to give to the health of all thy sickness and maladyes·s thou shalt be hole and guarished/ and thou and thy husband and your household shall be blessed of god/ and be not unkind of the benefits that god hath give to you/ but dread ye him frohenforth/ and demand not of him but the sustentation of your life. without any other richesse/ let it suffice to the that thou haste seen me in sleeping/ and in time coming hereafter desire not to see my body/ then when this woman was awaked she· recounted all the caas to her husband. in exposing to him very ensigns of his visage. and clothing and habyllements of the said holy father. with many other tokens/ by the which her husband knew certainly the said vision to be true/ wherefore he sore amerueylled returned to the said holy father for to render. and give thankings of the things afore said/ the which rendered he demanded of him his been diction/ and after came joyously home to his house/ ¶ in another time a provost or capitain of men of war left his wife nigh her time for to child. came for to see the said holy father/ and in the time that he arrived in the place where as he dwelled and the same day she was in great peril for her childing/ then the holy father foresaid advertised the said provost. and showed to him how she was delivered of a fair son. and brought fair a bed. in saying to him thou art bound to give thankings sovereign to god/ for thy wife which was in great danger. is delivered out of peril/ but haste the to return home. and thou shalt find her hole and guarished with her child seven days old. whom thou shalt name iohn/ and thou shalt nourish him seven year in thine house. without to have any comynycation with the paynims. to th'end for to keep him from their vices/ the which seven year so passed thou shalt deliver him to some holy religious man. for to instruct and teach the crystyn faith and doctrine/ and thus the holy man as well to people of the provinces nigh by him as to strangers. if they required him gave good counsel. in repreving them of their vices and secret sins. ¶ he prophesied the famine to come/ for the sin of the people. and other persecutions coming. in excyting the sinners to penance. and amendment of life. and as to inpotents and paralytyks when they were brought to him he blessed 'em with holy oyle· of which when they were ennoynted. they recovered health and garrison of all their maladies/ ¶ a senator of rome had a wife blind. which exhorted him to lead and bring her to the said holy hermit/ to whom the said senator her husband answered. that he would never see any women/ thenne she prayed him. that he would go to him/ and pray him to make his orison and prayer to god for her/ for by this moyen singularly she hoped to recover her sight/ the same senator came to this said holy man/ and after that he had made his request he blessed a little oil/ and sent it to the said blind woman/ with which she ennoynted her eyen three days and incontinent she received her sight in giving thankings to god ¶ many other deeds worthy to be remembered died this holy man/ ¶ the which should be over long to write ¶ but saint iherom hath yet written one in this book/ by cause he himself was there present with six other brethren/ the which together came for to see the said holy man/ ¶ and after they were arrived/ and that they had salwed each other/ he received them with great gladness/ and spoke to each of them humbly/ in admonesting them to pray to god with him/ as it was accustomed to the holy faders of egypte/ when any came for to vysy●e them/ ¶ then he demanded them if any of them were a clerk/ the which answered to him ●aye ¶ nevertheless he knew in spytyte of prophecy that one of them was a deacon/ ¶ and by humility he reputed himself unworthy to be with lo great and persyghte men as his fellows w●ee/ and hid him behind them/ ¶ the holy man seeing the said deacon. which was the youngest of them. and showed him with his finger and said/ loo this is the deaken the which answered that he was no ne/ ¶ then the holy man took him by the hand and kissed him and said/ haa my son deny not the grace that god hath given to the. to the end that thou take none harm for good/ and for humility to lie/ ¶ for above all things ●●synges ought to be eschewed. be it for good or for euyll● the which deken received benygnly his correceyon/ ¶ and this done they together praying god/ one of them had a great fever· in such wise that he supposed to have died/ ¶ then he prayed the same holy man that he might by him be heeled and guarished/ to whom he answered/ ¶ my friend thou desirest to put from the that thing which is to the necessary to have/ ¶ for like as the body is purified and washed by the nytree. which is a spece of salt puryfycatyff/ or by other washings/ ¶ in like wise also is purified and heeled the soul by maladies and other infirmities corporell/ ¶ nevertheless after that he had informed and taught him of many enscynements and doctrines. he blessed a little oil/ and gave it to him to drink/ by the moyen of which. he cast out suddenly of his mouth the humour causing the fever/ and returned all hoole· and guarished of his fever/ ¶ this miracle done thus and after many other instructions. and spiritual refec●yons to them given by the said holy father/ he died administer to them that was needful/ for their refection corporell/ ¶ and in the mean while he withdrew him in to his cell/ there being solitary by reason/ ¶ for to write his abstinence it sholne be a thing marvelous/ for he never eat tofore even/ and if he therm eat. it was right little/ ¶ of corpulence he was lean by his abstinence/ and he had but little here of his heed & also of beard/ as he that was in languor/ by cause he ere no thing whereof his nature might be sustained/ he being of age four score years eat no meet that was boiled. ne by fire ne other wise/ ¶ when they had take their refections they returned to him ¶ and they being set tofore him/ he demanded for what cause they were comen thither/ the which answered that for the health of their souls/ they were comen from iherusalem to him/ and also for to see him bodily. by cause of the marvelous things which were of him to them recited/ ¶ for more formely is retained and reduced to remembrance. that which hath be seen. than that which hath been herd. told or spoken/ ¶ then the holy man replenished with joy. in smiling answered/ i marvel of you my children. that ye have enterprised so great a way. for as ye may see to me is no thing dign ne worthy of praising/ certainly i am a man little and pooer/ having no virtue that ye ought to desire/ ¶ and when it so were that after your opinion ye might take in us other hermits any good ensamples yet shall not they be such ne so great. as been thoos of the holy prophets. and holy apostles of god/ which every day been recited in the church catholic/ no thing for to give ensample of good life to strangers of far countries/ but to the end that each person in his own place and residence have and may have within him that which he ought to do and ensue. certainly yet i marvel moche more of the intention and great affection of your labour. when for the pro●ffyte of your souls ye have have go ne so long away. in passing diverse regions so much dangerous to walk in/ and we other been so sloth full. that we will not part out of our habitations accustomed/ ¶ but to the end that they should not return with out to bear with them some fruit/ for the health of their soul's/ he informed and taught them some enseynements/ by which they might eschew the sins of this world/ ¶ first he defended them. that they should not glorify themself. to have been in so far countries. for to see the holy faders of egypte/ of which vain glory or jactaunce. he gave them by two manners/ ¶ the first when any died any abstinence. or enlarged by alms his goods to the poor people/ and of the said good deeds is oft glorious/ weening to be more just than the other/ in condemning or despising them that been not like to him/ ¶ the second manner that the holy father gave to theymis this/ when a man weeneth for his labours and virtues to be worthy to have the ream of heaven/ and believeth to have gotten the gifts of grace. and that by his proper merits. and not by the providence and bounty divine/ ¶ now he must believe that who some ever sechyth the glory of the world. he loseth his merit and reward/ and therefore said the holy man/ let us flee vain glory. pride and avaunterye/ to then the that we fall not from heaven in to hell/ as died the devil enemy of nature human/ ¶ and after he said my children be ye diligent in eschewing slowthe and ydlenesse· without having any concupisbence ne fleshly voluptousytee/ to th'end if any thing be against god. that it take no rote in you/ for of those roots might come little branches/ and in the end great trees/ that is to say vain and unprofitable thoughts/ the which when they shall be in your prayers. shall give to you heaviness and letting to serve god devotely/ and your thought shall be wavering and vacant in worldly vanities/ the desires unprofitable and evil wills saith the apostle bringeth a man unto the death if in our hearts thenne be any sins/ and the devil which is prince of them come to them as the y● master/ the sins shall give hy place/ if one demand wherefore it is that some have no peace in their cons●yences. it is by cause that now they been troubled with one passion and a none after who another. then the reason to this for they have received the prince of tribulation/ the which hath he lodged by his herbeger. that is sin/ if then we will that god be lodged in our hearts. we shall renounce all concupisbence carnal & flee all sin to the end that when the devil our adversary and enemy shall come for to lodge/ he shall find the lodges taken up/ and that we may say the lord is lodged within/ the varlets may not be here/ and when by virtues we have lodged him/ we alway shall have joy. charity. patience. longamynyce/ and shamefastness/ and we shall here all fruit of life. so that we been good/ ¶ and to this purpose saith our lord to his disciples in a parable/ ¶ a good tree may bear no evil fruit/ ne an evil tree no good fruit/ and by the fruit is known the tree/ ¶ some say that they renounce the world. but they renounce not the sins/ in having the heart clean. and the soul purified from all spot of sin/ and if some time they go visit the holy men. to the end to learn good words and histories. this is not to th'intent to be the better. but for to recount them to other/ ¶ and they been over presumptuous. by cause that they vaunt them to know of their proper wit. that they know of the holy and devout men/ and desire to be reputed doctors and well manerde. by cause they frequented the good men as done hypocrites and papelars feigning without fourth by their convert manners and simple habyllemens' to be innocentes like unto sheep/ and within fourth they been like unto foxes and ravishing wolves ¶ it behooveth then to consider. that he is more to be praised that shynith in virtues and dare not show them. than he that teacheth them/ and will not use them ¶ thus thenne my children said the holy hermit. i counsell you not. that ye utterly flee the orders of priesthood/ ne also that overmuch ye desire them but i counsel you that ye labour in getting vertues·s and to leave vices/ he is not to be praised that labouryth to have the order of priesthood/ but he whom god calleth thereto/ ¶ the property of a religious man is to offer to god pure prayer/ without to have in his heart any spot of sin/ for otherwise religion is no thing/ ¶ after many enseynements and good doctrine by him given. for to keep them from vain glory/ the holy man admonished them not only to flee and contemn delicious meats/ but also commanded them that they should be well waar in taking their refections for falling in to desire. or appetite disordinate. but eat soberly to the sustentation of their bodies only/ for in eating of breed and water a man may sin/ as to eat without hungres and thirst for to accomplish his appetite. in obeying to his dysordynat will/ ¶ and this teacheth us our saviour for to keep us from voluptuous desires saying/ entry by the little gate/ for the way is large that ledyth to the death/ that is to say that to him that will obey to his sensuality. the way is great and large/ but to him that will resist the fleshly affections. the gate is straight/ and this for to do is business and solicytude necessary/ for who that giveth him to the world. he hath in fynyte occasions by companies and otherwise. for to be abandonned to sin and therefore said david/ i have withdrawn me from the world. and have dwelled in solitude and in place secret: in abiding my god. which may save me. and cast me from my pusyllanymyte/ ¶ after that the holy man had admonished them that they should keep them from jactaunce & vainglory/ he recounted to them an history happened to one of his brethren nigh to his hermytage/ the which was a monk having only but one caverne or cave for his house/ he was much sober. and lived only of the labour of his hands/ waking day and night in orisons and prayers. flowrysshing in all virtues ¶ it happened by succession of tyme. that he was proud in himself. glorifying his person/ without to have consideration. that his bounty proceeded of god but supposed to have been virtuous of himself and perfyghte/ ¶ the enemy of nature which slepyth not. seeing his pride on a day laid out his net putting himself in the likeness of a woman. walking thorough the deserts/ the same devil in said likeness came in the night. and kneeled down on her knees within the caverne of the said hermit saying/ ●llas my friend i am so weary/ i pray the that thou wilt herberough me for this night/ the night hath surprised me/ have pity on me. for the wild beasts shall denoure me. if thou suffer me to go hens from thee/ and b● th●se words the devil constrained the said hermit to have pity of him/ and by cause he was in likeness of a woman by his sweet and venomous words/ he embraced the said hermit to disordinate love/ in such wise that the devil moved the poor man to laugh and to play/ and finably the devil approached so nyghe· that he touched the beard. the neck and the chin of the monk/ and at last for to leave the cyrcumstaunces. which is here no need to recite. the monk consented & purposed in his thought to accomplish the sin of the flesh/ and after the consenting he would have proceeded to the deed/ then the devil cried a terrible cry and left the monk confuse and in great derision/ ¶ anon after came a multitude of devils crying about the house. o monk which enhaunselte thyself to heaven. thou art fallen into hell. ¶ consider that he that humblyth him shall be enhanced/ and he that himself enhaunsyth shall be meek/ the poor monk seeing this illusion made to him by the devil. as a fool and inconstant. and not thinking on god. which is all god/ and that pardonyth lightly him that will refoume toward him by penance: beguiled himself yet more/ for he left his hermytage. and lad fourth a secular life/ and was made a proye for the devil/ the which thing he ought not to do/ but he ought in his courage to weep and wail in doing penaunce· for to obtain remission of his sin. for if he had so done without doubt. he had gotten the ye●te of grace and pardon of his wickedness/ ¶ also the said good hermit recounted another history of a man dwelling nigh the city of ●yto. in the parties of thebaid. the which after he had lived a lewd life. and infamed as toward god and to the world he went and put himself in to a secret place. for ●o do penance in weeping and tears. in which he continued day and night for to have remission of his sins/ and maintained himself so humbly. that he durst not lift up his eyen to heaven/ ¶ after that he had thus continued a week in this penance/ by night came the devils in to the place where he was. in crying against him/ what dost thou here man infamed. which haste been all thy life lewd and lecherous/ wilt thou be now chaste and religious/ thou which haste all thy life lived in slythernesse of the world/ weneste thou to have space to do penance condygne for to have forgiveness of thy sins/ thou art all ready a devil like to us. return and achieve the remnant of thy life in voluptuosytee and pleasance/ we have made ready for the delyces enough. wilt thou flee thyself in the torments which thou haste begun/ come again with us in to the world/ thou shalt have no more pain in hell than thou haste now/ and all this the poor man heard. as unmovable without any thing to answer. anon the devils this seeing buffeted and beat him with diverse strokes/ and left him as half deed/ but notwithstanding all this he departed not fro his place/ ¶ on the morn some of his friends that sought him found him tormented thus/ and demanded of him from whence proceeded this affliction and punishment which he had received/ and after that he had told to them all the ●●as/ they prayed him that he would let and suffer him to be brought by them in to his house. for to recover his bodily health to which he would not consent/ but abode still in his proper place. ¶ anon after. and the night following the devils came again/ and beat him more than before/ and nevertheless he departed not/ considering that more it should avail him there to suffer the death/ than to obey to the devils/ ¶ the third night came again a greater multitude of devils than any time tofore/ and of them he was vexed and beaten/ that there abode no more but only his spirit. which resisted them/ the which they seeing began to cry with an high voice. thou haste overcome us. thou haste vanquished us/ and incontinent. as they had been hunted. by the virtue of god they departed/ and after they never returned to him/ and after the good holy man profited so moche. that he was replenished with grace and virtue. in such wise that all the region reputed him so holy. as if he had descended from heaven. in saying/ loo this is the mutation or change of the right hand of god. ¶ and thus by the examples afore said we may know how humility and conversion is cause of all good/ and by the contrary exaltation and pride. of all evil/ and finably of desperation/ ¶ and for to observe more lightly this rule/ the said holy man told another example of a monk/ the which dwelled in a place more dark and obscure than all the other/ in which he passed his youth and age in penance in such wise that he was flowering in all virtues/ and was so agreeable to god. that he being in this mortal world. the angels were by the commandment of god obeying to/ and administered to him by his life/ that is to wite refection corporell/ ¶ for when his nature was grieved by hungres/ he entered in to his caverne/ and there by providence divine/ the breed was ready set on the table/ of much more greater sweetness than the breed material/ which is made in the world/ and when be had taken for to sustain nature/ he returned to prayer. for to render and give thankings to our sovereign lord god/ ¶ to which hermit many revelations of things to come were showed/ but after he fell in to vain glory for his demerits/ and became slow and negligent in his prayers/ and prayed not to god so much devoutly as he had been accustomed/ ¶ and as he was annoyed to continue his prayers. he thereby ran in to slowthe and infamy. and in to lecherous thoughts/ and nevertheless he so being made his prayers. as he was accustomed to do/ and entering in to his cave he found breed as tofore/ the which was not so fair. but fusty and spotted. then he admarveled and was heavy and sorry/ by cause this breed was not like ne so good. as it had been before/ and the third day after he being maculate by vain thoughts/ supposed verily in his mind to have seen the image of a young woman: ¶ and thenne him seemed that he embraced and also kissed her. in making fowl attowchynges/ ¶ this notwithstanding/ the day following he returned in to his prayers/ but saint iherom saith. that he saw another holy man much honourable. nigh unto the region of thebaid named hor/ which was father and abbot of many monasteries. and was four score and ten years of age/ having a long beard and white hairs. and joyous after the judgement of his face/ and to th'end that the brethren dwelling in the foreste had none occasion for to go far for to seche their bodily necessities/ he planted in places nigh the monasteries trees bearing fruit. in which places tofore he dwelled there had never tree be planted/ and if he was moche busy for their refections corporell/ moche more without comparison had he more affection unto the spiritual refection/ it is said that charity beginneth at himself/ he eat not of that which his brethren eat/ for only he used roots and herbs for his meet. and for his drink only clear water/ if he fond it in ocupyenge himself all day and night in fastings and prayers/ ¶ when he was come to maturytee and ripenesss of his a●ge/ an angel appeared to him in a vision. saying to him/ many men to the obeissaunte shall believe the/ great multitude of people as thousands shall be saved by the and after the angel said to him. that in time to come he should have domination. upon as many men as he had converted/ and that he should dread no manner thing/ for all that he should demand of god he should obtain/ ¶ when the holy man had heard all thys· he went in to a ●elle the which he had made for himself/ and there he used for his sustentation but cool wortes after that he had long fasted and notwithstanding that he ne could read ne write/ nevertheless his brethren whom he visited in places adjacent and nigh to his hermytage. presented to him a book/ in which as he had known all by heart he read lyightly/ he had puissance upon the devils. in chasing them out of the bodies of men/ and by virtue of his prayers he guarished and heeled them/ ¶ many other hermits and religious men came to him/ among which saint iherom came. whom he received benignly. and prayed him that he might wash his feet. like as he had be acustomed to do to his ghestis his custom was never to receive his refection corporal. till that he had received his maker/ ¶ on a time among other after that he had received his creator. saint iherom arrived/ he exorted his brethren and saint iherom to take their refection corporell/ in which refection he spoke of god and of his works. without to speak of any vanities. like as we do. after the refection take he recounted many histories of holy hermits/ and first of an holy man which was three year continually without eating of any meet/ of this world/ but from three days to three days. an angel brought to him heavenly meet/ of which only he was sustained and fed. without taking of any other thing/ ¶ after this he recounted to them another history/ in saying that he had seen so holy an hermit. to whom the cruel devils came in likeness of angels bringing a charyott a●urned and arrayed as for a great lord/ in which charyott was one of the devils habyl lid like a king. the which said to him/ come now hither good man thy penance is accomplished/ there is now no more to do but thou adore & worship me/ to the end that i enhance the in this charyott. like as hely was/ but the good religious heron thinking was admerueyled/ & said to himself/ eevery day i adore my god/ and now he will pray that i adore him/ he knoweth well that i serve him day & night with all my power/ i believe that this is not my god/ and therefore he said to the same devil i have my king whom continually i adore/ wherefore i believe that thou art not my lord sovereign/ then the devils saw his constance & humility went all away confused/ saint iherom saith notwithstanding the holy man hor in recounting this history applied it to be happened to another person than to him/ nevertheless the brethren affirmed the same hor. to be it himself/ but by his great humility. he atrybuted his perfection to another/ when any men came for to dwell with him/ he was so pytevouse of them that he called his brederrn. and died them for to make an house for them. there some made mortere. other made tiles/ and by cause his brethren seeing his charity. enjoyed them to be with him/ he died not as some done in these days. which demand great quantity of money for to receive some religious in their house. but he delivered to them at his dispense and his brethren house and utensyles/ ¶ on a time it happened that one of his brethren a stonge liar came to him. the which had rent his rob/ to the end that the good abbot should see him naked. for to have one new/ thenne the holy man knowing by inspiration his inyquite & falseness reproved him tofore all his brethren/ and never after durst he lie tofore him/ and for final conclusion. he was of so great virtues & me rytes·s that from all parties came to him holy and devout religious men for the excellence of his virtuous life. in which ought to take ensample all men of religion/ ¶ of saint amon abbot of three thousand monks/ and beginneth in latin. vidimus autem/ caplm iii. reciteth saint iherom of an other holy father dwelling in the said region of thebaid. the which was abbott & father of three thousand religious persons of marvelous abstinence. called thebenesiens'. he commanded to the religiouses to here the vestiment large of which they covered their heed. and was called scapulari and to have an other vestiment. which was called frock. which in likewise covered their face when they should sytt at table. to the end the one should not reprove that other if any eat more or less/ those religiouses held so great silence in drinking & eting. that it could not be know that if any person were in the place where they took alway their refection/ and notwithstanding that they were in great multitude/ they were so secret in than works. that the one knew not the abstinence of that other/ nevertheless they were more abstynent of the meats set tofore them. than to have affection to eat ne to drink. without to make of their belly their god/ ¶ hereupon we ought to consider. that it is more great abstinence to see meet. and little to eat of it than to be without me●e. & not desire it/ in like wise they that been now religious ought to rule them in soberness & in abstinence. in eschewing envy reigning in cloister/ also their abbot ought to restrain them/ and himself ought first to refreyne himself for to give ensample to his religiouses ¶ of saint benon abbot leading an angels life. beginning vidimus & alium. caplm iiii. saint iherom recountyth after this. that he & his fellows saw an other abbot ancient the which surmounted all men in sweetness and humility named benon. of whom his brethren witnessed that he had never sworn. ne made losing/ also a thing which is moche to be marveled/ he had never be angry against any person living. ne never had spoke idle word/ his life was so peaceable. & of so great humility. that he was living as angels life/ and as saint iherom writeth when he & his fellows required him to have of him some words edyficatyff for the soul. with great difficulty might they get of him some short words. which he recited to them of the virtue of clemence & sweetness/ ¶ on a time he was required of the labourers of the country there by his monastery to pray god. that it pleased him to chase away a beast. the which destroyed all their labours/ anon he came to the place where as that beast was/ and commanded him in the name of god to depart and go fro thence/ and that he should never after do harm to the grains of that country/ and incontinent like as he had be chased away by an angel of heaven. he fled away/ and never after he returned in to that country/ ¶ here upon aught to be noted that silence is good for to eschew many sins/ and principally unto religious persons and to abbots/ ¶ of the city of exirynque· in the which dwelled never heretic/ beginning vidimus autem. caplm v. saint iherom saith after. as he and his fellows came in to the city of exirynque. in the region of thebaid/ wpyche is a city full of virtuous men. that no man may recount/ and there were so many religious within and wythouth the none might number/ and so many monasteries that they exceeded the houses and there were found xii. coventes without other places of devotion. the which frequented in certain days in such wise we fond. that there ne was gate. tower. ne so little a place in the city. but there was therein an oratory of religiouses & monks singing night and day hymns & praising to ihesu christ/ there was found in the town never heretic ne paynim. all the town was so full of oratories: that there was no difference in praying. aswell in the streets as in the church/ for all were as one church & one oratory/ all the cyteyzyns were good christian &. catholic men/ for the principal masters & governors of the said city by all the yates of the city had also founded oratoryes. to the end that when pilgrims or strange folk came thither. the. religiouses being in them should receive them. & administer to them their necessities/ furthermore said saint iherom. that he could not recite yt. which was done to him & to his fellows when they entered in to that city for they came to hem like as they had been angels. doing to them great honour. & right human service. he saith also that they demanded of the bishop of that place the number of the religiouses of the city. & also of the virgins. the bishop answered that there were x. m. men/ & xx. m. virgins in the cite religious & religiouses. of whom it was inpossible to recount th'honour & service that they would do to pilgiyms passing thereby/ for in likewise as saint jerom writyth they rend their mantles & vestyments for to lead them by force in to their houses/ for to refresh them/ in the city were people full of divers virtues. there some in words. other in abstinences·s tother in signs & miracles/ alas now been there few cities. which study to make monasteries. but everich enforcyth him to destroy them. it is great profit in a cite to pray god for to have there in many churches/ ¶ of saint theon whythe was thirty. year without speaking/ and beginneth vidimus et alium/ caplm vi. saint iherom saith that he saw another man named theon nigh to the said city in the way which lieth toward the desert. the why ●he was an holy man. & bade be enclosed thirty. year in his hermitage. without speaking to any man of the world/ he was so full of virtues. that he was reputed in the city for a prophet/ and when the malades & seek people came thither fro strange regions. vexed & travailed of divers maladies. he only laid his hand upon their heeds. and of what maldy they were seek. anon they recovered her health/ he was of so fair manner. so sweet a vysage· & of so joyous reverence & so full of all grace that he seemed to be an angel/ some evil thieves entered in to his hermitage/ supposing for to have fond there some money/ but incontinent as the holy man put himself in prayer. the thieves abode at gate arrested as they had be bound with cords. on the morn many persons came to him as they had been acustomyd· & would have brent those thieves/ thenne the holy man was constrained to speak. & only said to them/ my friends let these men go without doing to them any harm for else i should lose the grace the god hath give to me to guarish & hele the seek people. & they durst not ayensay him wherefore god suffered the the thieves went their way without any harm/ the which thing considered by the same thieves & the great horror & enormity of their life. went & rendered themselves religious in a monastery. & there lived in penance unto th'end of their days. that same holy man was instruct & expert. not only in egipcyen tongue & greke· but also in latin tongue/ and for to comfort saint iherom & his fellows he wrote to them in a table the graces & doctrine: that he had/ his life was much straight. for the meet that he eat was ordained & prepared without fire/ & when by night he went in to desert. many beettes accompanied him. & for to reward hem after that he had draw water. he gave to them for to drink/ and for experience hereof men might see the paas & way of the wild beasts. as chievers. bezes & other about his hermitage. ¶ in this history we ought to note two. points/ the one is that a man ought not to take vengeance of his enemy. when one may well do & take it/ and that other is that in eschewing the sin of ingratituding or unkindness. a man ought to give & render thanks to them that have done to us service & good/ ¶ of saint apolonyen. confessor & of his virtues. beginning vidimus & alium ¶ caplm seven. saint iherom saith that he saw another holy man named apolonyen in thebaid. nigh to a city named hermopolis/ in that which city as we read after the prophet isaiah our saupom with his intemerate & holy mother & joseph came for to dwell. leaving the parties of judee/ in the city saw saint iherom the temple in which there had be many idols. when our lord entered therein. but at his coming all fell in to ruin/ the same holy man had his hermitage in a mountain. about which were many monasteries settnye to the said city. & the said apolonien was sovereign of v. l. religious men full of virtues/ by him were made every day in the virtue of our lord many great marvelous works. from the time of his youngth he was nourished in abstinence unto th'age of lxxx. year. in which age he was when saint iherom came to see him/ his conversation was so good that by the moyen thereof & of his merits toward god. that his disciples were also perfit as he himself/ and when he had be by the space of xl. year in th'hermitage. he heard a voys fro heaven saying to him/ o apolonyen by the shall be lost the science of the sages of egypte. that is to say/ that they that been reputed sage & wise among the babilonyens & all their idolatry shall be by the brought to nought & confounded/ go in to the country habitable in leaving thy hermitage/ for thou shalt convert the people forto serve god. to ensue good manners/ & leave their detestable vices & damnable ydolatries/ thenne the holy man prayed to god that he should not be tempted with no vainglory/ when he shall have converted so much people/ the voys answered i command the that thou lay thihonde upon thy heed. & that thou cast in to the dust the which thou shalt find there the which thing he died/ and anon he took a little monster like a black ethiopien. & cast him in the dust. the which monster cried/ i am the devil of pride prince. & by that he knew the he had lost all pryde· like as he had put it under his foot. this thing thus done the voice of heaven said to him now go with the men. for all that thou shall ask of god shall be granted to the without fault. then he went unto the places where as dwelled other hermits/ and these things happened in the time of julyan the tyrant/ now he had a fosse or a pit nigh by an hermitage. in which he abode then in praying god incessantly/ and at least a hundred times a day he kneeled on his knees/ & asmany times by night there he lived more by heavenly meet/ than by bodily. his vestiment was only of linen like the frock of a monk. & that whereof he covered his heed & his neck was of another manner like a scapulary/ that which vestymentes never paired in desert. but were all his life all hole/ the holy man was in that place as a spirit living in poverty/ doing so many miracles the no tongue can recount. for his holiness he was hold & reputed of the people of the country as an apostle· or an holy prophet/ all the religiouses & hermits of the regions adjacent came to him as to their father. & gaaf to him their souls for to govern/ he taught 'em to do well. to estudie. & to abstinence after her possybilyte/ but first in ensuing the doctrine of ihu christ he observed them such as he would be for to keep 'em. to th'end yt. they should not refuse. but live after his example/ sometime the religious persons been evil. by cause that her pastor is of evil life. right at thaposyte. the good shepherd maketh his sheep good & clean/ in the time aforesaid of julyan the tyrant. the holy man apolonyen herd say the one of his brethren was hold prisemer/ thenne he & his brethren came to visit him. & to comfort him/ and also admonest that in his tribulation he should be constaunt· & that in the daugeour that he was in he ought to rejoice. in giving him to understand that in adversity the virtue is showed/ a centuryon. the is to say a captain having a c. men under his charge. came as all enraged to know who had suffered the holy man & his fellows to enter within his prison/ and he put & closed within his prison the said holy man & his fellow. & commised many men to keep hem/ but god the leaveth not his servants in danger sent at midnight an angel marvelously shining/ of whom all the keepers were so abashed that they witted not where to be come. & anon they kneeled down on her knees tofore the holy men. saying that they should go when it pleysed them for certainly they had liefer die for hem than to keep hem against the will of god in like wise the said centuryon on the morn eerly came with his principal knights in to the prison/ in praying the said holy men for to depart. & gaaf them leave for to go where they would by this we see that what soever infamy that is done to the ryghtfull.. if he hath faith & hope in god with charyter. god shall help 'em always. when the holy men saw the grace the god had done to 'em. all unyed together returned in to th'hermitage thanking our saviour & redemptour. the good holy man after admonested always his brethren to resist the temptations of the fiend/ & said to 'em/ if ye resist the devil which is heed of all sin. ye shall resist all vices/ for who resystith the herd he may lightly resist & gainsay the members/ with this he exhorted 'em to vaynquisshe each other/ in surmountyng everich his brother in virtues/ for he said the everich ought to desire to be more perfit than his neyzbour. & also he said that the man is more perfit in virtues that is not subdued ne vanquished by worldly temptations: for to resist the sins & fowl wills is the beginning of the yefts of god/ and after he said to hem. if any of you do any miracle/ therefore he ought not to glorify himself. ne to repute him more worthy than his fellows/ also he ought not show to the people the god hath give to him such grace. for otherwise he seduceth. deceyvyth himself. & loseth his reward/ & if the said holy man had excellent grace in doctrine yet more great had he in operations. all that he demanded of god. was to him acorded & granted. with this many revelations were showed to him. ¶ among the which of one of his fellows with whom he had long time used. his life was showed to him that he was in heaven in the seat of th'apostles. & in like glori another time he praying for himself to god that it would please him tabrdge his days. & to bring him in to the ream of heaven. god showed to him that he should be yet a little time in the world for to be an example of virtues to many other hermits. which by him should be informed in holy conversation & as it was showed to him. so it happened/ for after that came to him many hermits fro divers places & countries. which ensued him in doctrine & in virtues. in such wise the many renounced the world for to follow him. & made a monastery in the said mountain. where as they lad a life common/ and those religious men were clean of body & of soul. & notwithstanding that they were in egypt. where as abounded sin & malice. yet were they virtuous & reputed as angels/ and thereby is verified the saying of th'apostles. saying that where as haboundith sin there also aboundeth grace. now ought to be noted that thabycaunts of the said egipte. by their great idolatry worshipped the oxen. by cause they laboured the fields by which they lived/ & also they worshipped the water of the river of nile by cause it watered & aroused the regions of egypte/ in like wise they adored the earth as the most fertile of all other. the dogs also. apes. & diverse herbs/ and the reason why moved hem so to do. was by cause they said. that the divers occupations that they had. some to ere the land. & other to nouryssh her dogs & apes. other to plant herbs/ & so of other operations had be cause that they in business had be & impeached that they went not with pharaoh & were not drowned with him. when he entered in to the reed see. weening to have persecuted the chyldner of israel. which had happened to them. if they had not be tarried by the moyen of the said operations/ and for asmuch as that had be cause of her preservation & health they worshipped 'em as gods/ after this the afore is written of the doctrine of the holy man. now resteth tosee of his works & operaconns' ¶ thenne it is to be noted that among his other works. he saw in a temple of a city nigh by his hermitage an ydolle· which sometime was by priests & other people born in procession for to obtain vberte & abundance of rain/ the which thing seeing the holy man & moved with pity made his prayed to god for to take this foul creance & misbelieve fro them. his prayer so made they & their idol abode all unmovable in such wise that they might not move ne go froward ne backward/ and were there all that day with out departing frothens/ in suffering & sustaining the brenning of the son/ thenne the priests said that the orisons & prayers of the holy christian man that dwelled there by their city named apolonyus was cause that they might not moevene depart thence/ and if they were not lo●ourd by him. they should long time tarry & abide there/ and thenne some of them said. that it might well be truth by cause that thenne he passed forth by. nevertheless they brought many oxen weening for to move thidol. but they could not make him for to departed fro the place. finably they sent to the holy man. & promised by that if he would deliver them fro the pain in which they were. they should renounce their gods & believe in ihu cryst/ thenne came the holy man to them. & made his prayer. the which made they were all delivered fro their tribulation/ and for this miracle some of them abode with him in his hermitage. & other went in diverse places showing & publishing this miracle. by cause whereof they converted hem to the christian faith/ and anon but right few dwelled in that regron/ but they were converted to the faith ¶ another miracle worthy to be remembered died the said holy man as here followeth/ two towns on a time had war one against another. by cause of the bounds & limits of their lands. of which that one was christian & that other paynim/ by cause of this division were assembled of that one part & that other man/ men of war the which thing seeing the holy man was moved by charity. enforced him tacorde & appease them together/ thenne one which was named for chief of the said paynims/ & cause of the war. said that never he would accord unto the death/ the holy man answered. thenne be it so in such wise as the demandest/ none shall die but thyself. & thou shalt have sepulture such as aperteyneth to thee/ for thou shalt be buried in the belies of beasts & birds. & so it befell/ for he was found deed alone upon th'earth. all detrenched & devoured with bestes·s & all tother were abashed how the word of the holy man was so veritable/ and for that cause they began to dread the god of the holy man. & were all converted to the christian faith leaving their idolatry/ ¶ now shall we speak of another miracle. which he died at the beginning when he rendered himself in to a cavern or cave with certain brethren/ in an holy day of ester. he being at the table with his brethren. after the service acomplisshed. in stead of delicate meet he had a little dry breed & wortes of chool made with a little salt only/ and the seeing the homan said/ if we been the true servants of god & have very faith. we shall obtain by our prayers/ that which we desire to eat in this holy solemnity/ thenne the brethren by humility answered that he alone as the most worthy & virtuous should make the prayer/ & so he died at their request in praying devoutly/ his orison accomplished. & after that they had answered amen/ came suddenly to that of their hermitage men vnknowe/ & as it seemed of strange country charged with all meats that they might desire/ there some had apples of divers sortes·s raisins nots & figs in great abundance/ tother had honey tofore the time that it could be made naturally/ milk great quantity. with hoot breed & good. and when they had presented their years. incontinent they went a way as if they had be sent fro some great lord. ¶ here ought to be noted. that such things were none in egipte. & also they that brought them were also vnknowe/ & were not of the maintain ne of the language of the country/ wherefore it may surely be believed that it was a very miracle/ when the said religious men had eat sufficiently. they rendered thanking to god/ & kept the residue. which endured for their refection fro that day of ester till the feast of pentcost/ it is no sin thenne to eat delicate meats/ when it is take soberly/ and by that one is not moved to sin/ it happened afterward the one of his brethren prayed him to make a request to god. that it would please him to give to him very humylytee/ by cause he was proud & without clemence/ the holy man anon made his prayer devoutly for him. & incontinent he was so humble & meek that all his brethren merueyiled. in the time it happened that there was great famine & hunger in the parties of thebaid. so great that they wist not what to eat. some with their wives came to the holy man/ for they knew well that oft-times by the grace of god with out meet the religious were fed & sustained/ and when the holy man saw hem he doubted no thing/ but had confidence in god. which had enough for to nourish them/ now there he had three baskets with breed/ which was suffisaunt for the bodily sustentation of the religious men there only for one day/ which baskets & breed. he died do set in the mids among them/ & the benediction made. by the grace of god they lived by the said breed/ by the space of four months all they that by the constraint of the famine were come thither/ an other time he died a like miracle/ on the oils & in wheat/ in multeplyenge above the th'earth had brought forth/ the devil seeing this. said to him. i ween perfitly that thou art helyas or th'apostle of god/ the holy man answered/ wherefore sayest thou such words/ th'apostles & prophets. were not they men as we been/ the which have left us in their place. we nest thou not the god was with them. and now he is with us. he is & shall be almighty. if god be good. wherefore art thou evil. let us remember the things tofore writ/ how they been worthy of great remembrance. the which been verified by the witness of the holy man/ thenne restith now to write of the miracles of the said holy man/ which saint ierom saw/ ¶ on a time in the presence of the said saint jerom. the holy man died do bring to the table the baskets full of breed/ but when he had distributed & set it upon the table/ and that every man had take his refection the said baskets were again filled. and full as they were before/ ¶ another time the religious brethren walked for to see the said holy man. among whom was saint iherom/ and three days tofore the said brethren came to the place where as the holy man was. the said holy man showed to bis bredern religious. that the brethren were coming fro iherusalem in to their house/ & wha they knew their approchyng· they came against them in singing. some before and some after/ and in like wise died the holy man the which also washed their feet. and died to them many other services. like as they were accustomed. ¶ and saint iherom saith that they never eat till that they had received their maker and after their re●●●● take/ some went in to desert/ the other abode in waking/ and ocupyeng themself all the night in holy scripture. and notwithstanding that they were out of worldly joy. yet had they more e●●ltacon/ than any man living in the world/ for where as is joy in to science. there is alway joy/ ¶ never was there any of them heavy ne sorrowful/ the holy man said to them oft it is of necessity. if ye he just & rightful that ye be alway joyous/ let the paynims laid he weep and the heathen men & sinners/ also know ye for certain that they the love worldly things rejoice them in getting lands & possessions/ we thenne that get. and have hope to have the glory eternal. aught alway to be joyous/ for the glory & goodness that we intend to have shall be without end/ and they that intend the worldly things. is but of little enduring/ wherefore we ought to be more joyous than they that been worldly. thus counseylith the apostle. that saith that we ought to rejoice us continually in giving thankings to god with all our thought/ ¶ he gave also counsell that if any brother religious goeth to see one that other/ he ought not only to pray him to abide & tarry/ but to constrain him/ like as abraham in receiving the pylgryms constrained them by charity to sojourn in his house/ ¶ he commanded also to his brethren to receive their maker/ to the end that they should not withdraw them fro the grace of god/ for in so doing they should continually remember the passion of ihesu christ in like wise he commanded them expressly to fast the wenesdaye. by cause that the same day judas machyned the death of ihesu christ/ and in like wise the friday/ for that day he received death & passion/ ¶ the holy man blamed much the hermits. which had long here & beard. and irons on their necks/ for he said that they died not that. but for the glory of the world/ and also the commandment of god is. that fasting & prayer be done privily/ for god only ought to know the good deeds that we done/ ¶ and after saint iherom & his fellows took his benediction/ and he delivered to them some of his burderns for to conduyce them thorough the deserts/ ¶ of saint ammon thermit/ which slew a dragon. & converted the thieves. and beginneth in latin ¶ queen an divimꝰ/ caplm viii. saint iherom writeth that he & his fellows came to a place/ where as dwelled saint amon in walking through the desert toward the south/ they saw in their way the trace of a great serpent merueylousli of xv. cubytes of length. the which feared them greatly/ but the brethren that conduited them comforted them in exhorting them to have good hope saying/ ye shall know what is our faith. when ye shall see the dragon slain by us/ we have slain many beasts. be ye no thing afride. we have credence in god. which hath said that we shall have domination upon the serpents & dragons. & upon all our enemies/ & what somever thing that the brethren said. saint iherom & his fellows were afeard. in praying them that they should go no more by the way of the dragon/ but should go seek another way/ nevertheless one of 'em without dread went fourth the same way/ another brother came the which warned hem & also the brother that followed the dragon that they should go no ferder. for he was so fearful the uneath durst any behold him. finably all they went in to the monastery of the brother that was thereby/ the which told to them that nigh to his house was a devout man much famous/ of whom he was disciple. & by whom many miracles had be done & showed. that same man was named amon/ & by cause some thieves had done to him much pain. in robbing fro him his breed & his sustenance/ commanded to it. dragon's that they should keep the door of his monastery to th'end that the thieves should have no power tentre in/ the thieves came like as they were wont to do/ & when they saw the dragons. they would have slain them/ thenne the holy man apperceived that the beasts were almost deed· & blamed the thieves saying that there were of hard & evil nature. for they dradd not god ne his servants. by cause that they had put to death the beasts that he had commised to keep his house after he died do enter the thieves in to his house. & set 'em at the table & in time while they eat. he amonested 'em of the health of her souls/ in such wise that he converted 'em/ and at last they were as perfit as the holy man which had preached to hem/ ¶ another time there was a dragon that destroyed all the regions nigh by about him ¶ and the inhabytauntes neighbours to the holy man came to him/ and brought to him the son of a heerd man/ the which was as deed only by the sight of the said dragon/ and prayed him that he should pray to god heartily/ to the end that by his prayers & merits the child might be raised to life/ thenne the holy man blessed him. & gaaf to him of the holy oil and anon he revived & came again to life/ and after the holy man went to the place where that foresaid dragon was and when he had fond. him he kneeled down on his kne●s for to make his prayer/ & incontinent that the dragon apperceived him he came to him siflinge. and enforcing him by great impetuosite for taproche the said holy man for to devour him/ but as he the dread him no thing said to him. the son of god at this time come for to slay thee/ and incontinent the dragon cleft in the mids. and died suddenly/ after he was deed he stank/ and enfected all the country/ the habytauntes assembled them. and brought a great mass of either to lay on him/ but yet they durst not approach the place where he lay deed. but that the holy man we represent. ¶ hereupon we ought to note. that when any do to us displeasure. we ought not to take vengeance, but wrought to labour for to convert our enemy and adversary. like as this holy man died to the thieves/ ¶ secondly that every man ought to labour for to conserve and keep the common weal unto the death/ like as this holy man died when he adventured himself to slay the dragon/ ¶ of saint coprete priest and hermit/ and beginneth in latin ¶ erat quidam/ caplm ix. there was an holy man in the same hermitage named coprete of lxxx. year of age. the which in his sayings & deeds was much virtuous. he healed 'em that were seek. & chased the devils out of men's bodies. & died many miracles/ some he died us the presence of saint iherom. which for his great renomee went to see him. and was of him moche humaynly received after that saint iherom & his fellows him prayed that he would recount to hem of his faytes & his deeds. & also of his merits for which he made so many miracles & works/ thenne he recounted of himself & his predecessors/ but as touching himself he nas as touching to virtues but a disciple of chaūciens. and that said he by humility/ first he told of a father named mucins. which first had he heremyts in the said hermitage. & had beg●n first to show the way of health/ but at he was hermit he had ●e the strongest theyf in s●tree. & such was his conversation/ it happened on a night that he supposed to have pilled & rob the house of a virgin sacred/ and by cause he might not lightly enter in. he mounted upon the coverture & tyling of the hous· & was the ●●soo long that he slept there/ he being thus a sleep heard a voys which said to him/ less evil man of thy murders & pylleries. & convert the to lead a solitary life/ and if that so do i shall make the prince & lord over many knights/ & he being yet a sleep in his dream/ was showed to him a great multitude of hermits/ and the voys commanded him that he should be their governor/ after the said thief awoke & saw tofore him the maid which he would have rob. thenne the maid said to him. alas ●m friend who are ye. fro whence come ye. & wherefore be ye here come/ and the man as without any intendment answered no thing/ but only demanded that she should show him the way to some church. for he demanded only to be in a monastery/ the maid thenne knew that this came fro god/ and brought him to the church. & delivered him to the priest/ to whom the said man prayed that he might be christened kneeling down on his knees tofore the priest/ and requiring place in which he might do his penance with this he demanded the commandments. by the which he might walk in the way of hell the/ the priests seeing this were abashed. by cause they knew him to be a thief & full of all sin. marveled of this thing/ and this notwystonding they delivered to him three the first verses of the first psalm of the psalter that is to say beatus vir. sed in lege dni. et erit tanquam lignum/ the which verses by him considered said. that they suffysid to bring a man to everlasting life/ after that he had be three days with them he went in to an hermitage. & when he was in desert. he eat no thing but roots. & kept right diligently the virtues which the priests had delivered & give to him. & not only in wordes·s but also by effect & operaconns'/ and after this he returned to them. which were much abashed how suddenly he was become so virtuous. in leading so hard & straight a life/ & they constrained him for to dwell among them/ thenne he willing not to disobey soiournod with them a weke· that which passed he returned in to desert/ and was there vii· year in great abstinence. & in keeping holy scripture/ & eat no thing but breed/ & that on the son day/ which breed was ministered to him by grace divine/ for when he rose fro prayer. he fond the breed all ready without bringing of any person/ his refection take. he eat no more till the next sunday following. after long time he returned fro desert/ & many were by him converted to penance. among whom a young man came to him for to be his disciple/ thenne clad him the holy man with thabyte of hermits. which was of the skyune of a ghote/ & after informed him with the rules of hermits hrewith he had great business to bury the deed bodies if any had passed out of this world/ when the child that was his disciple saw his spiritual father thus bury the deed men. in clothing them honestli thenne said he i would well that my father should cloth me thus when i were deed and the holy man said to him. so shall i do. & shall give to the asmuch as that shall say it sufficeth/ after a little time the child died. & was buried with his fair father/ and when he had wrapped him in fair vestyments. he demanded him if it sufficed/ the child that was though deed answered tofore all them that were presence there ye/ & that he had ynouz. & that his promise was acomplysshed/ thenne all they that were present were moche admerueylled/ after that the child was buried. the holy father returned in to his hermitage/ & whä he had be long time there. he came again to visit his brethren. & in coming it was showed to him that one of 'em was in dying and by cause it was late. he hasted him for to see him at least or he died. for he was far fro the place where the seek man lay/ & that died he considering that our lord saith/ that we ought to walk while we have light. for who that walketh in light/ that is to say in instyce. he offendyth not god/ & therefore by cause the the son declu●ed & thieving came on. he commasided to the son in the name of god that he should carry & give his light. unto the time that he were come unto the place where the seek man was/ and anon the son tarried & abode unto the time that he was come/ thenne the brethren were abashed & demanded at his coming frowhens proceeded the tarrying of the son/ and he answered ne remember ye not that our lo●ue saith/ that who somever hath so much faith as the greyne of mustard/ of which of one grain come & proceed infinite greynes. & c· anon the brethren understoden. that it was by his merits that the son had be fixed in his siege and throne/ and when he was entered to to the place where as the seek man was/ for whom he had so hasted for to come. he fond him deed/ and incontinent the holy man mucyns kissed him. in demanding him/ answer to me my brother/ whether hadst thou liefer ●e deed with ihu christ. or to come & live again in this world/ and the brodder answered/ alas my father wherefore demandest thou me this question/ thou knowest well. that it is of necessity. that i be with my god/ for. for to be in the world nies but misery/ father hermit said he then to him/ now go thy way thenne my son/ and pray for me thenne the brother laid him down again in the bed. as he had slept/ of which thing they that were present were moche abashed/ for they knew well that he was a man of god & of holy life/ and this done the holy father clad the corpse like as he was acustomed to bury them that were deed/ & walked all the night in prayers/ and after the said holy man went to visit another brother that lay on dying/ and by cause that this brother doubted to be reproved of his life tofore god/ prayed the holy man that he would get of god that his days might be prolonged/ to th'end that he might amend his life/ the holy father answered/ what hast that do all th● life/ hast thou had no space to do penance. thou wouldest never lass thy sins. but always haste augmented hem. notwithstanding said the holy man i● thou wilt promise camende thy conscience & satisfy for thy sins we shall pray god for ye. & they put been all to prayer. & anon after the holy man had prayed the life of the brother to be prolonged three year thenne the holy man raised him out of his bed. & the frere being all hole went with him in to desert/ and when the iii. years were accomplished he brought him again in the place where he had take him. leading mo●e the life of an angel than of a man. whereof all the brethren were admerueyled that he was become in so perfit life/ after that the freres were assembled he being in the mids among hem/ the holy man began to preach of the penance & conversation of the said brother all the night and in making the said sermon. like as the brother had be a sleep/ he rendered & gave up his spirit unto the holy saints to heaven. & his body was buried/ and after the service done the holy man returned in to desert/ & in going thither oft-times he passed the river of nile/ which is a river marvelously great & deep/ & yet he never entered therein depper than to his knees. which is a thing much marvelous/ another time the devil presented to him treasures infinite. which he said that they had be longing to king pharaoh. & were hid in th'earth/ the holy man mucyns answered to him/ the and thy money be in perdition perpetuel/ oft-times he entered in to the house of the brethren there where all the doors were shytt & closed/ & when he would in a moment he made a great way. and as saint copret recounted of the holy men tofore said. one of the fellowship of saint iherom slept/ & might not believe this that the holy man said/ & in sleeping he saw a book full of letters of gold. which the holy father held. in which was wrote all the he said/ with that he saw a man full of great liȝt which said to him/ why hearest thou not & takest heed of that which the holy father sayth· why sleepest thou/ anon he a work & exponed in latin to his fellows/ that which he had seen/ after this came a labourer holding a vessel full of earth. & a waited that the holy man should speak to him/ that seeing saint iherom & his fellows. prayed him that he would say to hem what signefied the vessel full of earth the holy man answered/ that it was not necessary thenne to hem for to know it/ doubting him to fall in to that sin of vainglory if he told to hem the signification/ that which nevertheless he declared to hem by cause they were come to him fro so far a country in saying thus. sith that we other faders become in to the land of egypt. the land hath be fertile & full of goods. & tofore all that was sown the worms eat it/ for the labourers were paynims & infidels. that which been by us converted to the faith/ & come to bring every year of th'earth. to th'end that we should bless it. & after they meddle it with their seeds. & say to them in blessing it·s go forth. be it to the like as thou believest in god/ ¶ he recounted also a thing more marvelous by him done to thexaltaconnexaltation of the name of god. like as it followeth/ also as he descended in to the city nigh to his hermitage. he fond in the said city a manychien· a deceiver of the people. with whom he disputed of the faith. but by cause the said manychien was cautelous & subtle in words. to the end that the hearers should not be skaundred in the christian faith/ the holy man said. all ye make a fire in the myddyl of the place/ in which we shall put us twain and i believe that he shall be brent that hath the worst faith and law/ so it was made. and incontinent the holy man took the manychyen by the hand to lead him with him/ the which answered that he should come after/ and that it was reason sith he had do make the fire. that he should go before/ then the holy man in the name of god divided the flame. in which he entered in. & abode there the space of half an hour without taking of any harm/ & that seeing they that were assistant began to say/ o lord god how moche marvelous works & things dost thou in thy saints/ thenne they constrained the said many chyententree in to the fire/ but he always recoiled & drew aback/ finably they put him therein. & incontinent he began to burn/ yet that notwithstanding he was draw out again/ & after driven out of the city shamefully. in crying that the deceynour should be brent all quick/ another time he passed by a temple whereas the paynymns sacrifyed their god/ & he said to them/ wherefore sacrify ye to things infused/ how well truth it is that ye been more worthy than your gods. for ye be or may be reasonable/ and thus saying god inspired them & came after him in to desert. & believed in god ¶ there was a paynim which rob cule wortes nigh to th'hermitage of the holy man. & bore 'em away to boylle in his house/ but when he had boiled 'em in hours. there were also grieve as they were when he gathered 'em/ then he came & cried mercy to the brethren. & so he was converted to the faith/ wherefore how evil o● sinful one be: he ought not therefore to have despair of his helth·s for if he return to god. he shall receive him to penance. like as he died the holy man mucyns/ of saint cyr. isaiah. & paul. which beginneth adhebat adhuc/ caplm x. the holy saints. cyr. isaiah/ & paul were of life much solitary & religious. as they three togrder went in a voyage for to visit one of her bredern/ when they had gone three days journey nigh to the monastery where he was they were constrained to pass a river. on which was no boat to pass with. then they said let us pray together to god. that he will give us grace to pass this flood. to th'end that we may achieve our viage. & there prayer made god sent to hem a boat. and they made asmuch way in an hour as they had do in three days/ & when they were arrived alonde/ isaiah said. god hath showed me the man which we go to see. he cometh to meet us. for he knoweth our coming. also paul said god hath showed me that after three days he shall pass out of this world in to that other/ in saying these words and in walking for to go to the monastery. where as they hoped to find their brother. they encountered & met him & salued 'em saying/ blessed be god that this day hath showed to me in spirit that. which i see with mine eyen and thenne he showed to them all their cogitations & the merits that they had anent god/ anon saint paul thus said god hath revealed to us that within three days thou shalt die/ & therefore declare to us by what virtue thou hast be agreeable to our lord. to th'end that thou which art ready to go to him. leave to thy successors some rule & manner. by that which they may have merit in their operaconns' thenne the holy man answered in this manner. i died never thing of great merit/ but i have called alway the name of god in my tribulations/ & the grace of god never left me/ for i had never necessity/ all that i would eat changels have brought to me. & also i have had by the bounty of our lord revelation of many things which have be done in the world/ the light of my soul was never quenched. i have seen th'angels assystaunt with god many times/ also the reward of the merries of religious people. & generally of all the heavenly court. i have seen also the devil & his complyces put in fire perdurable. & the rightful men in to glory eternal/ and after when he had by the space of three days comforted them. he rendered & gave up his spirit to god/ and forthwith they saw the angels which bore his soul in to heaven/ ¶ of saint helayn which beginneth in latin/ fuit et alius vix/ caplm xi saint helain sin the time of his youngth was instruct in the service divine in all chastity & continence. and in the time that he was a child. when the fire was failed in the church. incontinent he went in to the next house. & brought fire in his rob without brenning of it. the which thing his brethren seeing were greatly amerueyled in desiring the perfection of his life/ on a time he being in desert had desire to eat any and anon after he saw some on a stone/ but he considered that it was by the fallace of the devyll· & eat no thing thereof/ but said to himself/ o dangerous concupiscence· go far fro me. for it is written that we should walk in good hope & spirite· & put fro us fleshly desires/ after this he left that place. & went ferder into desert. where as he died many sastynges. & a terhe fond an heap of apples in the way. but he eat none. for he knew the devil had laid them there. and said to himself it is writ. that a man not only liveth by meet. but also by the word of our saviour/ and after that he had● fasted yet another week. an angel appeared to him in saying/ eat that which thou shall find. after that thou shall be awaked. & trow no thing that this is by the devils craft/ and when he aroos he saw a fountain clear and herbs by. whereof he eat. and after he drank of the fountain/ those herbs him thought & seemed of so great sweetness. that never had be eaten better meet ne more sweet/ in that place he fond a cave. in which he abode a certain time/ and all that he demanded of god he had ¶ on a time he went for to visit his brethren. & for to help them in their necessity he bore to them so much meet/ that he bore so heavy that he might unethe go and as god would he saw wild asses. passing by the desert/ to whom he made an exclamation saying. i command you wild asses in the name of ihesu christ & adjure you that one of you come to me & receive my burden the which words said one of the asses came to saint helen offering himself with all meekness & debonairty. who anon laid his faidell upon his back & sat upon it/ and that done he bore him promptly unto thermitages of the brethren which he went for to visit/ ¶ on another day/ which was on a sunday he came in a monastery for to visit the brethren being them. & in vysiting he knew that they kept not the solemnity in their church or chapel as they ought to do on that day/ anon he inquired the cause of the negligence/ they answered that they had no priest there/ and that he which was acustomed to sing there was beyond a river. which was between them & the cell wherein the priest dwelled/ to whom none of them durst go for dread that they had of a terrible serpent named coquodrille. which held him about the said river/ thenne the holy man said to them. if ye will i will go fetch him/ and incontinent he came to the rivage of the river. upon which he called the name of god & anon the serpent was by him/ and he which had be acustomed to devour men. yielded him subject & tame unto the holy man. and bore him upon his back over the river, & set him on the rivage/ then the holy man departed fro him & came to the priest for to pray him to come to the brethren/ now was the holy man clad with old & fowl clothing. of whom the p●●est which never had seen him before was greatly admerueyled. and demanded of him who. & frowhens he was. and for what cause he was come thither/ and after that he knew by his answer that he was an holy man of god. he followed him to the river/ and the priest said that there was no boot ne vessel to set them over/ the holy man answered/ be no thing in doubt ne afeard. i shall make ready to the a good message●/ thenne the holy man called the serpent. that which approaching to him presented his back to bear him/ and he mounted thereon. & after bad the priest for to come by him. saying that he should no thing be afeard. but he seeing the terrible be'st began to flee & go a back/ the other brethren which were come thither see●ge that were marvelously afraid/ and after that the said be'st had brought him over the water again he said to him/ it is better to the cruel be'st to die now presently. than to do any more displeasure to the people. like as thou haste been accustomed/ ¶ the which words said. he fell ●●wne deed/ the holy man helayn abode three days to the said monastery and taught the brethren/ and also excited them to ●●●yste and withstand diverse 〈◊〉. of which they were defoiled 〈◊〉 ●spyracōn divine he 〈…〉 were replenished with 〈◊〉/ some with ire/ other 〈◊〉 avarice and vain glory. and 〈◊〉 other had justice · humylytee 〈…〉. ¶ and they seeing that he 〈◊〉 their thoughts began to amend thereto/ ¶ after this he forse●●ge that certain brethren should come thither said to the brethren/ make ready some wottes for 'em that shall anon come hither/ and so they died ¶ and assoon as they were come he received them honourably/ and after he returned in to desert/ ¶ another time came to him a young man. which prayed him to be his disciple/ the holy man showed to him his labours which he should do and bear. if he would be religious/ and how with great pain might he resist to the temptations of the devil/ but of asmuch as he dyscounseyled him to leave it. so much the more the young man was inflamed. and encouraged/ promising to endure and suffer all in patience/ thenne he delivered for all his richesses to him a cavern or a cave fast by his and incontinent as he was put in/ the night after came the devil/ and tempted him in fowl and infamed cogitations/ and with that they enforced them to hurt and to slay him/ this seeing the young man. returned to his fair father helayn. which comforted him/ and brought him to his cavern and made about it an hedge. in defending the devils. that they should not come night to his lodging/ and never after died they to him more violence ¶ and it is rad of him. that he eat never but heavenly mete. and such as god sent to him ¶ on a time his brethren came to see him/ but he had nothing to give to them/ and incontinent came a young man which brought miraculously that which was necessary for their refection/ furthermore saith saint iherom that saint coprett. of whom is written here tofore brought the same saint iherom/ his brethren & his fellows in to a garden. after that he had told to them all these divine operations/ in which garden he had palm trees·s apple trees. & many other trees. that he told them that he had planted there and said saint coprett that he had do this to thensampleensample of the labourers his neighbours. which were accustomed to come fetch of the dust & powder & dry earth in the places. where as the holy faders dwelled/ & sew/ & threw abroad the same earth upon their land/ believing firmly that it should be thereby the more fertile & abundant/ he said furthermore that it should be great shame to the holy faders there dwelling. if the labourers should have in them greater faith than they seeing that the same faith was in them by the holy faders confirmed/ ¶ of saint helye which beginneth ¶ vidimus & alium senem/ caplm xii. saint iherom saith that he & his fellows saw another holy father named helye nigh a cite named anthinos· which was metropolytane in the parties of thebaid/ & this holy father was of phage of an. c. & x. year or there about/ which in virtue & holy life seemed to be equal to helye the prophet/ this holy man was much solitary. for he was by the space of lxx. year in a desert so horrible that it may not well be written/ and there be was in passing his life solitary in such wise. not where the people of the world dwelled/ the way was so hard & sharp. that they that came thither might not pass it/ the place where he lay was so terrible. that no man might behold it without horror/ and when it came so that his membres began to tremble for a●ge. he used for his meet a little breed & oil olive moche soberly ¶ but in his youth he had fasted many times a●● hole week without any eating/ the● was never man saw him go out of his hermitage. like as other hermits witnessen/ he had that year of god that all they that went to hym· returned never without to have that which they demanded/ and also he healed & guarished hem of all sickness & maladies/ & at last finished in glory eternal his day/ ¶ of saint pithiryon. which beginneth ¶ redeuntes/ caplm xiii. in such wise as saint iherom & his fellows returned fro the hayde they saw a mountain/ unto the which no man might go without great difficulty & pain/ in the said mountain were diverse hermit. of whom saint pithyrion was father & abbot. the which had be disciple of saint anthonye/ and after had dwelled with saint amon. of whom is af●●r written/ ¶ this same saint pythiryon was of so great virtue/ aswell in helping the seek people. as in fighting & resisting the devils/ which had double the virtues of the said two faders/ that is to wite of the said saint antony. of whom we shall speak hereafter. and of the foresaid saint amon of whom he had be successively disciple ¶ saint iherosme was enseyned & taught of the said saint pythiryon how he might resist & eschew the temptations of the devil of hell/ ¶ who some ever will have domination & puissance upon the devils. him behooveth first that he resist against his sins & passions/ and when we shall have take a way one vice or one sin fro our soul/ the devil that tempteth a man of the said sin. incontinent shall depart fro the body where it hath been. his life was much straight/ for two times in a week he eat but only/ ne drank but a little browet made with meele. without to take any other refection. in what age he was/ but our lord which knew the right great and singular devotion that he had in him and to his service. gave to him above nature strength and courage to bear & sustain those right straight and marvelous penances/ ¶ of saint eulogyon. which beginneth in latin ¶ vidimus et alium caplm xiiii. after this speaketh saint iherom saying/ that he saw an other holy father named eulogyon/ ¶ the which among other graces that he had. he knew all the thoughts good & evil of all them that in his presence came to the altar. for to receive their maker or creator/ ¶ so it happened on a time that some religiouses would receive their saviour/ but the holy man kept them fro it, saying to one of them these words/ o myschaunte man art thou so foolish to come for to receive thy god. and thou hadst this night will for to accomplish the sin of fornication/ and he said to that other/ & thou haste said in thine heart. that it is no more danger to administer himself to the table of ihesu christ in deadly sin. than in the estate of grace/ and that is all one. being good and evil/ and after he said to another/ thou haste said in thyself that the sacrament of the altar may not justify thee/ ¶ and then sent them again for to do penance/ reputing them unworthy to receive the sacrament of the altar/ ¶ here upon ought the priests to take ensample. when they prepare and make them ready to say mass/ and also all other creatures that gone & purpoos to receive the holy sacrament of the altar/ ¶ of saint appellen· and beginneth in latin ¶ vidimus & alium presbiterum/ caplm xv. saint appellen was a forgeur of ●ren/ and that which was necessary to the brethren he forged it to them/ ¶ on a night as he was forging the devil came to him to likeness of a fair woman. and brought him work for to forge/ then the holy man took out of his furnaces a ba●●e of iron and cast it in to her visage then the devil made so terrible a cry that all the brethren were awaked/ & thereof he had such a yefte of god/ that frothan forthou he might take in his bare hand without to be brent the iron all hot & hrenning reed. ¶ and when saint iherom & his fellows came to him he received them benignly. and told to them of the manners & life of some of his brethren/ ¶ and first of one named iohn. the which was much old & auncyen. surmounting the other in holiness of life and of good manners/ and told to them that at the beginning. that the said iohn came in to desert. he was three year under a toche in orison & prayer without dying on the ground ¶ the said iohn slept not but leaning/ and eat not but on the sunday/ on. which day the pressed administered to him the holy sacrament of the altar. of which he lived only/ ¶ on a day the devil weening to deceive him. transfigured himself to the semblance of a priest/ and came tofore him the hour acustomed in feigning to give to him the holy sacrament of the altar/ but the holy man seeing that it was the devil said to him/ ¶ o cursed devil why cessest thou not to trouble the devout soul's/ how art thou so hardy to play & jape with the holy sacrament of thaltar/ the devil answered that he supposed to have deceived him. as he had done another/ the which after that he had obeyed to him. he became foolish. and out of wit/ in such wise that with pain and uneath many holy men might by prayers and orisons reduce him again unto his place. & to his former health/ and when the devil had said so. he vanished away fro the holy man. ¶ of whom it is radd that by over long being in prayer. his poor feet which were continually in rest were broken & rotten/ and after that he had done this penance by the space of three year. th'angel appeared to him & said/ god hath received thy orisons & prayers/ and sendyth to the word that all thy soores shall be heeled & guarished/ then the angel touched him by the mouth & by the teeth· and incontyvent he was all hole & guarished/ of all his soores. and replenished with science & with all graces in such wise. that he never after had hungres ne thirst/ ¶ thangell commanded him after that he should go to other places. visyting his brethren for to comfort them. and tenseyne & teach to them holy doctrine ¶ and on a time it happened that a man crokebacked came to him to the end that he might recover health/ & would mount upon a mare for to ride thither/ the which was gird with one cengle which the holy man had made/ for gladly every day in the week ●auf the sandaye he made cengles/ & coverynges of leaves of palm woven after the custom of the country/ and so as the said crokebacked was mounted on the mare. he was forthwith all hole/ by cause his feet had touched the said cengle ¶ the holy man was of so great merit & virtue/ that when he sent to any seek people of the breed which he had blessed with his hand/ if they eat thereof/ they were heeled of all maladies and sicknesses ¶ he had also this grace that he knew all the thoughts of his brethren/ and incontinent wrote to their faders and abbots. how there some ruled them in sins & uncleanness/ and other profited in science and virtues/ some were inpacyente & set nought by their brethren/ the other were constant and in charity/ ¶ he preached to us to torn our eyen fro things transitory. and to fix them in goods in fallyble & eternal/ ¶ also said the holy father. that is of necessity to a man to have courage manly or vyrile. in leaving the manners & conditions of evil children. which of their nature been vicious. variable and in constant/ ¶ of saint paphunce/ and beginneth in latin ¶ vidimus et alium monasterium/ caplm xvi. saint iherom writeth of a monastery after. where in was an holy hermit named paphunce strongly renowned among thermites'hermits of the deserts/ he had dwelled in thut terest or last deserts of heracleos. a city renowned in thebaid/ of whom saint iherom saith. that on a time he prayed god that he would show to whom of the saints of heaven he should be like or semblable/ thangell of god answered to him. that he should be like to a player upon a symphony, the which by the streets sought his living in singing/ thenne he was much abashed of th'answer. & went forth incontinent for to seche him where he might find him/ when he had fond him/ he asked by of his life & of his works/ and he recounted to him how he had alway lived simply in commising many thefts & other sins/ paphunce yet asked him more fe●der. if in doing those thefts he had ever done any operation. or work virtuous/ the said man answered that he knew in him no good. save on a time his fellows. which were thieves as he was had take by force a virgin. which was sacred to god. and when he saw/ that they would have defoiled her/ he thrested among them. & preserved her fro corrupting/ ¶ after this he sayde· that on another time that he fond a woman married walking within deserts. the which was all desolate. & was nigh deed for hunger by cause she had not eat in three days. thenne he demanded her for what cause she went so alone in the woods. to whom she answered. that her husband was prisoner & three of his children by his evil governance/ and for to eschew that she should not be take. she so fled. & not withstanding that she gaaf over herself to the said thief. yet nevertheless he died to her no dishonour. but gave to her iii c. shilinges. of which she bought her husband & the three children out of prison/ and the thief said that he had done none other good than this which he had said/ then the good father paphunce answered/ that he himself never had done such works of charyte· saying to him more over that god had showed to him that he should have asmuch joy in heaven as he/ and therefore he counseled him that he should leave his evil life/ and convert him to do well. and incontinent he cast away his ●oytes & his symphony. & turned all his art of music in to spiritual songs. in such wise that he was three year in th'hermitage with the said holy father in fastings & marvelous abstinence/ and at last rendered & gave his spirit with th'angels in to heven· ¶ and after the said saint paphunce put himself to do more penance & greater than he died tofore/ and yet again he demanded of god/ to what man in earth he was semblable. the voys of heaven answered to him that he was semblable unto the lord of a brugh nigh to his hermitage the which thing heard/ he went incontinent for to know of the governance of the said lord/ & came in to his house/ anon as the lord had received him benignly/ the holy father demanded of him of his merits. and virtues/ the which lord willing to he ●le and hide his bounty: answered to him humbly. that he never had done any good deed. the holy father suffered it well saying. that he had revelation that he was semblable & like in virtues to the holy hermits. dwelling in desert/ the lord knowing the revelation made of his life. began tex pose the manner of his living/ the which was greatly to be marveled/ ¶ first he said how well that his wite sith the time of their waryage was excellently fair & of young age/ nevertheless for the great loanges that he had other time recited of the lovable virtue of chastity/ he had to the same desired and persuaded her thereto sith and after that she had had by him three children/ that by the space of thirty. yere· during the which they had continually been playsauntly in marriage that one with that other/ yet had they never touched fleshly that one with the other/ ¶ but at such time as they were pricked & desired tacomplysshe their fleshly delectations/ they have mightily withstood and resisted them during the time aforesaid/ as they yet done/ ¶ secondly he said that all his life he had not cessed to lodge pylgryms and that he himself went first to receive them in/ he had never despised the poor people. but had benygnly ministered to them their necessities/ in doing justice he spared no more his children than the estrangers/ the gods of other he never retained/ if any discord had be moved among his men/ he never cess till he had made them acorded/ never man found his servants doing any evil to other. & his beasts had never done any damage to the grains or corn of his neighbour ¶ who some ever would sow any corn on his land. he would never for bid it him. ne also to gather & take the profit/ ¶ and more over he would never suffer the rich to offend ne hurt ne grieve the poor/ but had always studied to do pleasure to other/ and also of all them that had pleeted tofore him. he never condemned one/ but had constrained them tacorde themself/ ¶ and this seeing the father hermit bowing his heed/ gave to him his blessing/ the blessing of god of zion be give & granted to the. to the end that thou mayst eternally see the goods of iherusalem all thy life/ ¶ and for asmuch said saint paphunce that thou haste accomplished thy days in virtues works & good manners/ there abideth one thing. which is necessary/ that is that the leave all thy movable goods & heritages/ and renounce them in following thy lord & instructor ihesu christ/ and incontinent without to dispose his gods the said lord with the said holy father went so far. that they came to a river where never any person had passed without boot/ the holy father constrained him to enter therein/ and notwithstanding the water was much deep. nevertheless they passed it lightly. without to entry more deep than their sides/ ¶ after they went so long that they came to the desert/ where saint paphunce delivered to him a little cell & a little house nigh unto his monastery/ in exposing to him the rules of holy conversation and the excersyte of perfyghtnesse/ ¶ and after that he duly and sufficiently instruct/ the said holy father paphunce went his way. and constrained himself to lead a more straytter life than he had done before/ and also to do & make greater abstinences/ and the pain that he had to for suffered and the penance that he had borne & suffred· he reputed over little. seeing that they that were in the world died things of so great virtue/ like as died they two aforesaid/ ¶ after that the lord of whom is tofore spoken had lived the space of long time in the hermitage. in augmenting & multeplyenge his perfection/ the said paphunce being there in his cell or little house saw the soul of the said lord borne by angels in to heaven saying/ blessed is he whom thou hast chosen/ for he shall dwell with thee/ and by that knew the holy father. that the said lord was saved/ ¶ wherefore the said holy father constrained himself to do yet more great abstinences than he died tofore/ and in like wise prayed he yet god again that he would show to him to whom he was semblable among the men/ to which request a voys answered/ thou shalt be semblable to a merchant which anon shall come hither for to visit thee/ wherefore arise and go to meet him/ ¶ anon the holy father aroos and went down for to meet the said merchant. that which came fro alexandria. and brought fro theybayde many merchandises the which he had in three ships which was worth of their money iii thou sand shillings or there about. and by cause he was a good man: & loved well relygyon· be brought to the said holy father ten sacks full of peasen and beans for to make with pottage/ and when paphunce saw him. he said to him/ what dost thou man of god/ what life leadest thou in earth. or what consolation hast thou with them that been celestial/ leave unto earthly & worldly people the goods of the world. and do so much that thou be merchant & solicytour of the ream of heaven. and follow thy saviour/ the which shall call the in short time ¶ the which thing so happened/ for the merchant following the good admonitions of saint paphunce made to be give & dealt his goods to poor men/ servants of god/ and led a life solytarye/ and soon after he passed fro this corruptible world/ in to the glory of heaven/ ¶ and in like wise after died the holy father paphunce/ but yet the angel showed to him his death saying/ ¶ come thou holy man blessed of god loo here the prophets which hen with me for to receive the. the which grace i have not showed to the before/ to the end that thou shouldest not be proud/ ¶ the holy man lived one day after. and recounted this that said is to some priests. which were come thither for to visit him. ¶ and after he gave to them many teachings/ ¶ among all other he showed to them/ that they should never despise other. of what estate or what vocation he was. though he were vicious/ ¶ for in every ordie of man's life. there been two souls play saunt to god. by doing some things secretly and unknown/ ¶ and thus may be concluded/ that the habit maketh not the man pleysaunt ne agreeable to god/ but only the cleanness of life ¶ after that the said holy father papounce had give to his brethren enseygnements and many other teachings and that he had take leave of them in great humility/ he rendered his soul to god/ which the holy angels bare in to heaven in the presence of the assystences. in singing songs and dyctees celestial/ ¶ of the monastery of saint ysodore beginning in latin ¶ vidimus apud thehaidam/ caplm xvii. in thebaid was a monastery and covent of saint ysodote. pleasant and greatly renowned/ ¶ the religiouses that were there within had much great and large houses/ ¶ there were many ponds. gardens. and trees bearing fruit/ with this there were all things necessary for the bodily life. in such wise that they had no need to go out for to such their necessities to live/ ¶ tofore the gate of the said monastery was an old man moche prudente/ the which said to all them that would entry/ that if they would entry one's in they should never come out/ and that such was the law/ ¶ now there was one thing therein moche marvelous/ for incontinent as one was entered. the said law took none effect/ by cause of his proper will without constraint he was content to abide there/ in such wise that he was ravished in contempling his perfection and holiness that was within the said monastery/ ¶ and that same old man that kept the gate had a little house· in which he received all them that came thither. and treated mannerly and well. ¶ furthermore saith saint iherom that when he arrived there. he might not enter therein. but inquired of the portyer the manner of living in the said monastery/ the which said to him and to his felyshipp/ that there with in were two ancient and old men which only had power to go out and entry in again/ the which were purveyors. for to purvey for the poor life of the brethren that were within/ which alway weren in silence. making their prayers. and occupying all their life time in virtuous occupations to serve god/ ¶ yet was there more marvels/ ¶ for never was there any of the religiouses that were seek there within/ ¶ but when they should die they showed their death that one to that other in the presence of their fellows/ and rendered their spirit joyously to god/ ¶ of saint serapyon abbot/ which begynnynth in latin ¶ sed et in regione, caplm xviii. saint iherom saw in the region a●senoitte another devout religious man. named serapyon· abbot and father of many monasteries/ in which were nigh by ten mill religiouses and hermits living of their proper labours/ and of that which they wan in the season when they gathered the corn & grayne●/ ¶ and they gave to the said abbot the most part of their gain. by which they were nourished. and sustained the poor people/ ¶ the custotome was such. not only in that religion. but also in all egypte. for to hire the said hermits and religiouses in the time of harvest/ and each of them wan about a four score mews or combs of grain. after the measure of the said country of egypte some more and other lass. after that the seeson was more abundant. plenteous or sharpness & scarsytee/ and of the same the most part was give to poor people after the ordinance and discretion of them that were ordained to make distribution of the same corn & grain/ ¶ their charity was so great. that they gaaf not only to the poor of the same country. but they sent ships full charged & lad in to alexandria for to give to prisoners & needy of the country. for in egypte were not poor people enough for to give in alms the said corn & grains. ¶ saint iherom saw also in the cities of mempheos & babylone a multitude innumerable of hermits. the which were all full of virtues & graces to god agreeable/ ¶ in that country it is said that the places is. where as joseph made his grenyres for the famine/ and therefore that place is called the place of the treasures of joseph/ other call it pyramidas. by cause they had such credence that such where should be there assembled by joseph in that manner. ¶ of saint apolonyon religious & martyr. beginning in latin ¶ trade haunt ergo/ caplm nineteen. the ii holy old faders of whom is tofore written in the chapter precedent recounted & told to saint iherom & his fellows. that among the said hermits and religiouses there was one named apolonyon/ which for his right honest life was ordained in the order of deacon/ in which estate he was strongly persecuted/ ¶ and during the said persecution. the said apolonyon admonested alway his brethren to receive martyyrdom ¶ anon after he was take & put in prison/ and he being therein. came to him the persecutors. which were paynims/ which in mocking him died to him many injuries/ and specially one named phylemon. which was much amiable & debonayr to the people. & called himself seductour & deceyour of the people/ and said more over the he was worthy to be in the hate of all the world/ when saint apolonyon had heard all this. he answered much courteously & said/ ¶ alas my friend. i pray to god our maker. that he have mercy & pite on thee/ and that he not impute to the thinjuries & shames that thou dost to me presently/ the which answer heard by phylemon. he was heavy & sorrowful in his heart/ and moved with such contrition & conpumption. that incontinent he declared himself christian/ and with as ardaunte desire inflamed of great charity came to the judge. to whom tofore all the people he began to cry/ o wicked judge thou trayveyllest injustly the poor servants of god that been christian. for they ne do ne say any evil/ the judge hearing these words had supposed at first that he had proposed such words in jape/ but after by cause he saw him persevere in the same/ he said that suddenly he was become a fool/ phylemon answered/ hark & take heed judge i am no fool. but thou art enraged and out of thy wit when without reason. and unrightfully haste put to death the good & true christian people/ know thou that now i hold & shall hold the christian law. the which is necessary to all men living in this world. ¶ thenne the judge supposed to have repelled him by fair words. but by cause he saw him constant/ he menaced him with infinite torments/ ¶ the judge also moved with wrath against the holy father apolonyon/ knowing that it was by his exhortation. that the said phylemon had renounced his law. made him to suffer many torments. & called him deceiver & beguiler/ saint apolonion said to him. ha judge know thou thy maker. certainly i desire that thou and all the assystents should keep the error that i keep & hold/ that is to say that they were christian/ and incontinent that said the judge commanded that they should both two be put in to a fire tofore all the people/ and so doing they two together began to pray god so high that every man might here in saying/ o sovereign god ihesu christ our protector suffer not the souls to be lost that confess the openly/ but show to us evidently our health/ and incontinent these words sayd· descended a cloud full of water. the which quenched all the fire/ of which the judge & the people were marvelously abashed. and began to cry in saying/ o god of christian men. now we confess that thou art almighty and only immortal/ anon after came these tidings to the great provost of alexandria/ the which as enraged sent for to fetch the said judge & the two holy faders/ that is to wite apolonyon & phylemon. ordening that they should be brought straightly bound like prisoners/ but in leading them the holy man converted them that were come to lead them/ which all they together presented themself as christian to the said provost of alexandria/ then the cursed provost seeing that he might not revoke them fro the christian faith. he made them all to be thrown in to the see/ and in that wise they were baptized in the water/ anon after the see brought them to the rivage all hole & without corruption of their bodies/ then were they buried all together in one sepulture and god showeth there every day many diverse miracles on them that serve & require them/ ¶ of saint dioscore abbot beginning vidimus & alium/ caplm xx. after speaketh saint iherom of saint dyoscore. which had in his monastery night unto thebaid i c. religiouses or there about. to whom he commanded expressly that they should never receive their maker. if they had any sins in their consciences/ not only sins actual: or in thought. but also of them that sometime hap by dremynges. of which they fall in pollutions nocturnal/ were it by fantasies or by operations of women or by abundance of humours naturel/ and he said if sometime such pollution came without to have any fantasy of any woman in the manner/ that is no sin. but that he take therein no pleasance after the said dream/ for that pollution cometh by cause of th'abundance of thumour which is within the body of the man. ¶ for to eschew such pollution is necessary fasting & to live soberly/ ¶ he gave to his disciples a similitude such/ when a man is seek. and the fylicyen defendeth to him any meet/ he kepyth his commandment/ then the religiouses & all manner of people that will live virtuously ought to keep them to do thing that is contrary to the medicine of the soul/ that is to say that he must keep him fro sin: the which maketh the soul seek/ and in the end maketh it to die. ¶ and to the contrary if we keep it clean without deadly sin. we shall have joy perdurable/ ¶ of the monasteries of nitrye. & begynnyth in latin ¶ venimus/ caplm xxi. after saint iherom and his fellows came in to nytry. a place the most fair & most renowned of egypte. distant fro alysaundrie xl. mile or there about. which been escryved to thirty. leukes of france/ there was a city named nytry taking his name of the said region. in which groweth the nitre. like or semblable to sonde/ whereof been washen there the clothes/ and otherwise it is called an esspyce of salt after papye/ & it is made of water & of th'earth in egypte/ and in palestine it is made of great heat of the son/ ¶ in the country were about .v. c. monasteries th'one nigh unto that other under one abbot/ of whom there some lived & dwelled together. other held them solytarily each by himself that notwithstanding they had alway charity together/ ¶ and when saint iherom & his company approached to them all in a great company. like to a multitude of bees came against them bringing breed & botelles full of water. and after they brought them all singing in to the church/ after washed their feet & wiped them with to waylles/ ¶ and they were not only served of bodily necessities/ but also they were instruct in humility & clemence/ ¶ and saint iherom saith that he never had be in place where he had seen flow so abundantly charity & mercy. ¶ their oratoryes were full of books in science divine/ and they used none other things in all their days/ ¶ of another place called cecylya & beginneth in latin ¶ post hunc vero/ caplm xxii. there was another place toward that desert dystaunte fro that place tofore said x. mile or there about/ the which was called cecylia for the multitude of cells and little houses that were there/ ¶ the custom of the religiouses that there dwelled was such. that they spoke not th'one to the other but the saturday & sunday and if that one came not on that day incontinent they thought that he was seek/ wherefore that one after that other went for to see him/ and brought to him some thing for to sustain & help him to his bodily health/ they never spoke together but the days tofore said. but if it were in preaching. or in giving doctrine/ when any of them was greater clerk or inspired more than another/ and if any would go dwell with any of them/ they were so replenished with charity. that they lodged them incontinent in their houses or cottages/ ¶ of saint amonion abbot. beginning ¶ vidimus quendam/ caplm xxiii. amongs the same hermits & relygyouses saint iherom saw one named amonyon. to whom god had given all plenitude of graces/ & principally he had merueyls us charity. humylite none like. & generally asmuch in patience. clemence & benignity/ also in science & prudence he was most perfit of them all/ the said amonyon had ii· brethren. that one named eusebius & the other eu●imius/ that which were not only brethren carnalle. but also in life. in religion & in virtues they were germans/ these three brethren solycyted in their time the other brethren as the mother thinketh on her children in helping them not only to their corporal life. but also to the spirituell. as enscyning them to virtues & good manners/ the same saint amonion dwelled in a monastery closed with walls in which he himself had made a pit and it happened that a brother transported himself toward him for to have a little house to dwell in th'hermitage/ the which answered to him that he had none. but he made him to dwell in his monastery. unto the time he had found one/ ¶ soon after he delivered to him a little one. the which he fond nigh the said monastery/ and if by adventure had many come. he had incontinent gathered together his brethren. and in little time had made a monastery/ ¶ of saint dydyme why the beginneth in latin ¶ vidimus inter eos caplm xxiiii. saint iherom recounteth of another named didyme. the which was among the faders named much virtuous & debonayr/ like as his visage showed well/ and such grace had he of god. that he rood upon the scorpions & other venomous beasts. which were there in great abundance/ by cause of the great heat of the son/ and slew them with his feet as little worms of the earth. without that they died to him any harm/ wherefore in him was accomplished the word of the prophet saying/ thou shalt make thy journey upon aspydes & basylyks/ and under the foot thou shalt put the lion & the dragon/ ¶ of saint crenyon which beginneth in latin ¶ vidimus/ caplm xxv. a nother also which was named crenyon of moche ancient age. as of an. c. & x. year old/ and was disciple of saint anthonye/ the which among all other virtues that he had. he was humble pe●f●ghtly/ the which virtue sufficed to get the ream of heaven/ and without this virtue none other virtue may profit to the soul/ for by that all other virtues been required/ ¶ of saint orygene. beginning in latin ¶ erat autem/ caplm xxvi. also there was another called orygene disciple of saint anthonye marvelous in all operations/ his word was edyfycatyff that they whom he endoctrined put in effect by operations all his doctrine/ ¶ of saint enagrion. which beginneth in latin ¶ vidimus ibi/ & cetera caplm xxvii. after he saw also in the same place another named enagrion. a man right wise/ the which was instruct of saint machairy/ which was strongly possessed with all virtues/ ¶ and above all thing he instructed his brethren to live soberly saying if they would eschew the fantasies and illusions of the devil. that they should not drink so moche water as they well might drink/ because that great replection of water causeth diverse fantasies in man's body/ by the moyen whereof the devil with sin entereth more lightly/ ¶ inenfecte the said holy hermit enagryon and his brethren eat not for all meats but only a little breed and salt/ whereof they were more content than we been of meats. delicious and curious/ ¶ of saint machayre egypcyen/ beginning in latin ¶ narrabant autem/ caplm xxviii. after saint iherom recountyth that some of the ancient faders recited to him among their other brethren. there were twain named machayre that one egipcyens & disciple of saint anthonye & that other of alexandria/ & notwythstonding the they were of divers regions yet were they equal in virtues. and so great that they shone in edify caconn of manners & of good life like unto two. shining steires. how well the machary egypcyen had by singular grace the virtuous manners of saint anthonye. he being on a time in his cell or little house was perpetred & commised a murder by some homycides/ by reason whereof he was acused & pursued a simple man innocent of the case the which seeing be might none otherwise escape went for refuge to the said machaire. affirming by his oath not to be culpable of the case thenne they that pursued came upon him & would have take him there & have lad him for to have condemned him to death/ this seeing the holy man prayed & required them that or they proceeded any ferder against him which said himself to be innocent. would lead him to the place where as the man that was slayed was buried/ he being come thither made his prayer upon the burial/ in prayers god devoutly that it would please him to show & manifest the troth of this thing/ his prayer made he commanded the deed man in the virtue of the passion of our blessed saviour ihu christ. the he should declare if he that was accused which there was hold & take had slain him or none to whom he the was deed answered the he had not done it/ ne therein was guilty thaccusers hearing this answer were much marveled. & kneeled on their knees to for the holy father machairy. in praying him humbly the he should demand of the deed man who had slain hy/ the holy man answered the he would not in saying these words. it sufficeth to me that thinnocent be delivered. for it longeth no thing to me that the culpable be acused/ ¶ another time came to by some parents or friends of a young damosel. the which b●arte magic was converted in to a jument or a mare. as it seemed to all them the law her/ incontinent as he law them/ he demanded for what cause they were come to him thenne they auswerde that by their coming to him. they hoped that by the moyen of his prayers & merits to obtain the said damoysel to be remised in her first strength & semblance/ thenne he excited them to pray. & also he made his orison unto god. that which orison achieved he anointed the maid/ which as said is was like a mare/ the which incontinent after apexed to the men in her first form. that is to wite in the semblance of a maid/ ¶ another maid which had the members so rotes & infect the worms might be seen cringe he flesh unto the bones. was brought tofore this holy man· to whom he said/ o daughter be constant. for god hath not ye●e to the this sickness for to die. but for thy health/ ¶ then was the holy man machaire seven. days during in prayers. and anointing her every day and the said vii days passed she was all hole & sound/ ¶ of the same wrytyth saint saint iherom. that an heretic jerasitain/ which is to say in language egypcyen heresees by his art had deceived & mocked many brethren of the desert/ and at last he came to the holy father machaire/ to whom he made many questions & arguments/ for he supposed to have turned & deceived him/ ¶ the holy man by fair words answered to his arguments which were subtle/ but by cause the the holy father saw. that by him the faith of the brethren perished/ he said to the same heretic/ wherefore dysputest thou thus against me. for to torn by thy heresy them that herkene thee/ ¶ let us go to the sepuleres of our predecessors which been deed/ to th'end that to him which our lord shall give grace for to raise the deed may by this thing make clear appear to all them that shall be present that his law is the best/ then they went to the sepulchres ¶ thenne said saint machaire. now call a deed man. and raise him/ the heretic answered that it appertained to him first for to call to his god/ thenne saint machaire fell plat down in prayer saying/ o my sovereign lord and god i beseech and require the meekly that it please the in this hour in the reysyuge of this deed man here buried to show openly the which of us twain hath most rightful faith. not that i presume so moche of myself/ that my orison or prayer be of the enhanced/ but for to increase and make open the holy law/ and also for to confirm thoos that been here present/ and to bring them out of the heresy of this heretic ¶ incontinent these words said. he called the deed man by the name that he had in his life/ the which anon answered and rose/ ¶ and after that the brethren unwounde his covering. he showed him all living to thoos that were there present/ the heretic this seeing was moche admerueyled/ and fled a way for dread of all the brethren/ which chased him out of the country/ ¶ therefore ought no man dispute the faith against the heretics. but if he be inspired and taught of god/ by the help of whom he may by miracles more than by reasons veritably prove that which he will maintain/ ¶ of the virtues of that other saint machayre of alexandria/ and beginneth in latin ¶ alius vero sanctus. etc. caplm. xxix saint machaire of alexandrye sovereign & more than all tother loved solitude. he inquired curiously of the most far hermitages. till that he was at the ferthest place of all the desert/ where he fond all plentenousnes & abundance of divers fruits & all other good things/ ¶ there were ii brethren. to whom he prayed that they should bridge of the other hermits thither by cause the place was much fertile & abundant/ the same brethren dreading/ & not without cause them the they should bring to be deceived with temptations of the devil. by cause that in the same desert there were many devils. & horrible monsters/ and answered to him that they might not be brought thither/ but that they should be in dangeour to be beguiled & deceived in coming/ thenne the holy father returned to his brethren/ to whom he showed these things. which he had seen/ and by this cause they were moved for to go with him for to see that same deserte· ¶ the aeged & ailcyent men considering the daungeours of the said temptations. counseled the young men that they should not go thither for the place after their opinion might more be cause to deceive 'em than to move them to devotion. and more over the holy father said to them that the places is full of delyces. & if we used them/ what hope ought we to have of the other world/ when we in this world shall live at our pleasure/ the young brethren hearing these words & fair remonstraunces. anon concluded not for to go thither/ the place thenne wherein as dwelled the holy father machair was called sycheon. to which place was neither way ne path/ and was as far from the monasteries of nytry about. ii· journeys/ they had but little water. & yet it was noyous & bitter to drink/ ¶ on a time was presented to him a cluster of grapes/ the which incontinent by charity he sent to one of his brethren which was seek. & he gave it to another. and that man gaaf it another. & he to another/ and fro hand to hand it was so oft yeven. the finably it came again to him fro whom it first was departed/ and saint machair knowing their great love that they had together. & for to confirm our faith saint iherom rehearseth of the said saint machaire. the he heard say of the mouth of the said saint machaire/ that the devil came to him on a night saying/ machair arise thou and go we where as the brethren been assembled in prayer/ & incontinent by the grace of god he knew that it was the ●●yll. and answered to him/ o liar en●●e of troth. answer to me presently ●●at haste thou to do with the congrega●● of the holy brethren/ the devil answer to him/ knowest thou not well that thassen 〈◊〉 of religious people ne their deeds 〈◊〉 never made. but that we devils been ●●ed thereto. come & thou shalt see our de●●/ thenne saint machaire put him to ●●yer/ in praying god that he would lete●●n know if his word were true. & in ●●ynent he saw like little black chylle go & flee by all the parties of the chir●●/ now was the custom there such. that 〈◊〉 alone said the psalms. & the other ●●d· or they answered/ he saw thenne ye●●●e children black as ethyopiens. whi●●● deceived & mocked all the brethren. in ●he wise when they touched some bi●yen. anon they were a sleep. and if ●●●y touched them on the mouth they ●●yd to sing tofor some they showed ●●●m in likeness of a woman/ and in ef●●● by divers scorns many brethren were ●●●eyued. in such wise that some might ●●t abide in the church/ to other brethren ●●y sprang upon their sholds. by can they had none affection ne thyn king 〈◊〉 their prayers/ & this seeing saint ma●aire. made his prayer to god. saying ●●y god arise thou and chase a way the fen●●s. to th'end that they appyere not tofore 〈◊〉 face/ ne tofore my brethren. for our sou●● been all full of their socrnes. like as ●●w i apperceive/ his orison made. he ●●lled the one after that other all the brethren/ ●●fore whom he had seen the devils/ & ●●ed them if in making their orrsons' ●●●i had been in will to do any works thorell. like as the holy man had seen/ ●●ey answered ye/ thenne the holy man knew that the vain thoughts that they had. came of the scornynges of the devil. and to this purpoos saith saint iherom. that when the thought of the man is well set in the love of god. it never taketh any fantasy which is grievous to him or cause of sin/ ¶ another thing more merueylouus of the said saint machaire saith saint iherom/ that is to wite. that when any of his brethren came to receive the holy sacrament of thaltar/ if they were not clean in their consciences it seemed to the said holy father/ that the body of our lord returned to thaltar. but when the good men came for to receive their saviour. the devils incontinent returned backward & far ¶ on another time the same saint machayire. & that other machaire his brother. of whom is to fore spoken. put them in a boot for to go visit one of their brethren. & with them were some noble officers/ called tribunes right puissant & rich/ having with them many children. great number of horses & innumerable quantity of silver with other good/ when one of them saw them in the boat clad with poor clo●hes. he said to them/ alas bredern that ye been happy/ which thus despise the world. & in it so despising were so vile & poor clothes/ verily it appeareth that ye mock yourself of them of the world thenne the one answered to him. truly thou sayest well. for they that follow god by virtues mock themself/ but the contrary we have pity of you. by cause that the world deceiving you mock you/ thenne he that had aresoned them when he was returned in to his house gave for god's love all the he had/ and after became himself religious with the holy hermits/ ¶ of saint amon first relgious in nytrie. which begynynnth in latin ¶ inicium sancti/ caplm. xxx the first hermit in nytry was called amon. the soul of whom incontinent after his death was seen by saint anthonye borne by angels in to heaven/ but for to write of his right holy life we shall begin at his nativity ¶ he was of noble & rich friends. the which against his will died him to be married to a noble woman of the country of nytry. he being laid a bed with her the first night of their espoussaylles. he made to her many fair exhortations. in ercyting her to the noble virtue of chastity and of virginity under such or like words/ my love by cause the without fault thing corrupt shall find corruption/ and by the contrary. thing not corrupt ought to hope incorruption/ therefore it is more available to us twain together hole to dwell & entire without fleshly touching us. than the one were corrupt of the other/ these words heard by the dyrgyne/ she consented thereto lightly. & lived together in honest chastity & virginity long time after the death of their friends. and after the holy man went in to the next desert to his dwelling. & assembled many hermits/ and the said virgin abode in her house. accompanied with many virgins/ after that he had be a certain time solytarily in the desert some men brought to him a child enchained/ the which had be bitten with a wood hand beseeching him to pray for the health of the said child/ the holy man answered that he had not deserved so much anent god. that should enhance his prayers/ but nevertheless he said to them that the health of the said child was in their hodes/ for when they would render to a poor widow an ox which they had rob fro her. their child should have health & shall be all hole/ of which words they were much abashed. marveling by what manner the holy man might know the theft that they had done so secretly/ thenne they went home & rendered to the widow the ore that they had stolen/ & by the prayer of the holy man the child was made hole again and had his health/ ¶ another time came some other to him/ of whom he would prove the courages/ ¶ he said to them that he had great necessity of a ton full of water/ for to give drink to 'em that disyted him/ and prayed & required them that they would bring to him a ton full/ which they promised for to do and to fulfil/ ¶ and after that they were departed fro him. the one said to his fellow the haste promised the water aswell as i wherefore thou shalt do it be borne to him. if thou wilt that it be borne/ for i have not but my camel. that which shall never bear it/ that other answered. thou knowest well the i ne have but an ass/ the which may not bear so moche as thy camel may/ for the one is more stronger than the other/ to whom that other answered/ do what thou wilt. for i will not slay my camel/ thenne the other said/ & i shall lay it on mine ass that which thou darest not lay on thy camel/ but i hope that the merit of the holy man shall make possible. that which is impossible to a creature/ the ass anon after the he was charged with the ton full of water. bore it to the lodges of the holy man amon. also lightly as he had borne no thing on him/ and thenne the said saint amon in receiving the said water. said to the good man which was come thither for to guide his be'st thou haste done well for to bring the ton upon thine ass. for the camel of thy fellow is deed/ and when that other was returned he fond. that it was true ¶ the said amon was so much beloved of god. that he gate of him singular graces/ & among tother when he would pass & go over the river of nile. because he was shamfaste to unclothe himself suddenly he fond himself set over the river on that other side of the rivage/ therefore we ought faithfully to believe/ that to just and good men is no thing impossible/ ¶ of saint pyamon. which beginneth in latin ¶ non autem michi. etc. caplm. xxxi saint iherom recountyth in proceeding ferder in this work. that this is not a thing worthy neresonable that any should eschew or leave to write the faytes & deeds of the holy faders dwelling in desert nigh the see parthenie. nigh to a castle named dyolcho which among the holy faders he saw an holy man named pyamon. which had the yeft of all humility & benygnytee. & of revelation/ ¶ on a time when he sacrefysed to god. he saw an angel nigh his altar. holding a book in which was written the names of some religiouses assistant to his altar/ & some he wrote not/ after the sacrefyce done he axed of them of whom the names were not written/ but by their answer he fond that they were all in deadly sin then he admonested them to duo continual penance/ and he himself also like as he had be culpable as they were· wept & wailed. and continued so long. and unto the time that in calling them unto the holy sacrament of thaltar. he knew by the angel that he had written them in the book/ that they had done penance agreeable to god/ ¶ another time he was beaten of devils. that he might not remove fro the place/ then it happened that on a sunday that he had a custom to receive his maker/ & he was constrained to be horn of his brethren to thaltar/ tofore which he lying flat on th'earth/ he saw th'angel the caught his hand for to life him up/ & forthwith he was hole/ ¶ of an other holy father that which was named iohn. beginning in latin ¶ erat in ipis locis/ caplm. xxxii there was in the places aforesaid an holy man named iohn. another than he of whom tofore is spoken· fulfilled with all grace/ among all other he had one such. that all they that went to him. of what tribulation they were troubled. by his word in continent they were comforted/ with that he heeled many persons of divers dyseses/ and saint iherom saith after all these histories by him wreton. that for doubt of great peryllis & dangers which then were in the way. he durst not go in to the high region of thebaid by serene. whereof it is written here tofore/ in the which region like as it is said. there were many holy faders more perfit in virtues & graces that in them of when is made mention here tofore/ ¶ of the peryllis that been on the way for to go to the hermitages. & begynnith in latin ¶ sepcies namque/ caplm. xxxiii saint iherom in going to the hermitages was vii times in danger/ and in the eight god delivered him/ ¶ on a time he & his fellows were five days and five nights in going. without to have any thing to ete· or to drink. for to sustain and maintain their bodily life/ ¶ also they were in a valley out of which issued a salt humour/ the which by the heat of the son incontinent was harded as ice/ and that ice turned in to salt so rude and so sharp. that it pricked in manner of needles/ of which the ways were so asper or sharp and so divers. that not only the bare foot men that some so went/ but also they that shoed with good and strong shoes were cut & broken/ ¶ the peril of which way saint iherom might unneath escape/ ¶ the third peril was in a valley. where as they were in. in the which the ground was so soft and moryssh. that they entered up to the reins/ they seeing themself so sunken and let within th'ordure began to pray god. in saying each by himself/ my god god save me/ for the waters have environed and closed me unto the death/ i am drowned unto the bottom of the slime of the earth. and have no strength for to succour my life/ ¶ the fourth was when three days during they were in great inundations & overflowenges of waters that were flowed over the banks out of the river of nile/ ¶ the fifth peril in going by the see side/ where as they were chased of thieves about of ten mile way/ and notwithstanding that the thieves died to 'em none harm nevertheless they made them to run/ that they were almost deed for travail/ ¶ the sixth was in passing over the flood of nile. where as they were in great & marvelous danger to be slain ¶ the seventh was upon the rivage of a lake or pond called marethse. for they were born by impetuse & terrible winds in a marvelous isle. in that which they were in a trance for the great cold that was there/ the which thing happened to them in the days of that so lempnyte of thepiphany/ ¶ the viii was in coming to the monasteries of nytry. in which place they found a great stagne or pond coming out of the water of nile. in which place were in fynyte number of marvelous beasts. & principally serpents venomous. named cokadrylles/ the which beasts when the son shone came to the rivage of the said stagne. & lay there like as they had been deed/ and when they camnnye for to see them. weening that they had been deed/ incontinent they aroos for to devour them. & they wist not what to do but call the name of god that which incocation made. the said beasts incontinent fled to within the pond as they had be chased by an angel of heaven/ ¶ after that they were escaped fro the said places. they went to the monasteries of hermits & religiouses for yield thankings to god. which for so great perils & dangers had delivered them/ in considering the said perils may clearly & openly be known that saint iherom ne the other gloryons saints have not without to suffer great & merueyllous pains & tribulations come to the ream of heaven/ but desiring to come to the same/ have been content not only to forsake the vanities & delectations of the world/ but also some to expose their bodies to bear terrible and straight penances. and other to suffer horrible torments unto the death abiding the retribution of the sovereign rewarder ihesu christ/ to whom be attribued glory/ honour. & puissance eternally/ amen/ ¶ here followen the lives and fayttes of holy faders of egypte that dwelleden in syrye and thebaid/ like as saint iherom fond them antentyely written in greek/ and after by him translated in to eatyn/ to whom he adjusted many other deeds of the said holy faders/ which by other translators had be veritably translated/ and first followeth shortly the prologue of saint iherom in the life of saint paul the first hermit/ & the foresaid prologue begynyth in latin ¶ ini multos/ caplm. xxxiiii many ask saith saint iherom who was the first hermit/ some say helye· & other say saint iohn. which began to prophecy tofore he was borne/ other say saint anthonye/ but saint machaire & amathas disciples of saint anthonye sayen that a thebaien named paul was the first. which began the life of an hermit. not only that in him was begun the name. that which opinion approveth saint iherom/ but nevertheless for asmuch as it seemeth to be a vain curiosity for to will & desire to know who was the first. & also that in that lieth no thing that is so much healthful. it is moche better & more vailable to dispose & applin him to follow tother good manners & virtues of the holy faders. than to tarry of a thing of so little value/ ¶ of the life of saint paul first hermit beginning ¶ sub decio/ ca·. xxxu· in the time of decyen & valeryen persecutors of the faith of christ. & that cornelius a●t rome & cyrpian at cartage excersyced their wood tyranny/ many holy & devout christian men were martyred in egypte & in thebaid. in such wise that the church was for that cause marvelously persecuted/ & the name of our blessed saviour ihesu christ horribly despised & defouled/ ¶ then to this purpose saint iherom recounting ii tyranyes among the other. commised & perpetred by the said cyprian telleth of a martyr. whom he enforced to endure many torments of fire. which could never hurt him ne do to him any gryef or harm. the which thing the said cyrpian bore aygrely/ ¶ and by great cruelty he died him to be anointed with honey. and died do bind his hands behind his back. to th'end that the bees & flies should sore and long sting & prick him/ ¶ to another young man whom he could not overcome by torments/ he died do make a featherbed well arrayed in a fair garden full of reed rooses & flowers de lys/ nigh to affair running water/ to which bed he made him fast. without to do to him any grief. in such wise that he could not rise ne torn on the one side ne on that other. ¶ and after that each man was departed. made a common woman. which was excellent & was perfect in bodily beauty/ which embraced him. and making to his body foul to wchynges & dishonest. which should be abominable. stinking. & shameful to rehearse. and all for to move him to the sin of lechery/ ¶ the which thing seeing the good knight of ihu christ wist not what to do. to th'end that he which had vanquished the devil by so many torments were not overcome by a woman/ ¶ and by cause he might not put her from him/ ne had power of no member to put her from him/ he put out as much as he might his tongue. & boat it a sondie with his teeth. and spit it in the visage of the fowl & ill woman/ which dishonestly kissed him. to th'end that the pleasance of her should not move him to sin/ but for the pain and anguisshe that he felt/ he might conserve & keep his virginity/ and hold it against the violence of the said fowl and evil disposed woman/ ¶ in that same time was saint paul in the low region of thebaid. of the a●ge of sixteen years/ ¶ but nevertheless he was well instruce in letters greek and egypcyen/ he abode and dwelled fatherless and moderles. with one his sister thenne married ¶ he seeing the persecution of the true christian men· went in to a town much far fro his country/ and from thence in to a mountain full of roches/ at foot whereof was a great and a marvelous pit covered with a stone/ ¶ the which he took away and looked therein. and found there a moche fair fountain/ with this there was in the said mountain diverse habitations and dwellings/ wherein he fond many manners of instruments/ with which had be made in time passed secretly and forged false money. like as it is wretch in histories of egypte in the time that anthonye was with cleopatra/ ¶ saint paul loved thene marvelously the said place. eyke as god had given it to him/ ¶ and there he lad a solitary life/ in o●cupyenge devout prayers and abstyn●nces marvelously/ ¶ his vesture was only of leaves of palm/ and other meet also he eat not/ ¶ in the same place on the side of syrye nigh by the sa●asyus law saint iherom an hermit the which had be there shit & enclosed thirty yere· without to eat any other thing than barley breed & to drink water full of ordure & filth/ ¶ and another within a cistern. the which eat but every day .v. figs for his sustentation/ & that this is true saint iherom calleth god & his angels to witness/ ¶ then for tachieve of saint paul/ we ought to know that when he was come to th'age of. c thirty year in living an heavenly lyf· in another party was saint anthoaye. the which had lived. lxxxx. years/ and by cause that he was tempted of vainglory/ weening that in the hermitages had none be better than he/ by the will of god it was showed to him by night that there was one more perfit than he/ ¶ and assoon as it was day saint anthonye departed/ and how well that he was sore feeblished in his body/ he went fourth with a staff in his hand/ and put himself in diligence for to seek saint paul/ ¶ for it was he of whom he had had revelation/ ¶ and when he had walked unto midday/ not knowing what way he should take and hold. he found a monster half horse and half man/ whom the poets name centaur/ of whom he was greatly abashed/ ¶ and he blessed him with the sign of the cross/ and asked of him in what place saint paul inhabited and dwelled ¶ to this demand or asking the said centaur answered some words/ which saint anthonye understood not/ and after he showed him the way on the right hand. and incontinent as he had fled he vanished a way fro the sight of saint anthonye/ the which beast saint anthonye doubted strongly/ for we find not whether it was a monster or a devil. but nevertheless he went forth/ and anon after in a valley full of stones. he saw a little man having his nostrils turned outward. the forbid full of fearful horns/ and his feet like to the feet of a ghoe●/ ¶ to whom saint anthonye replenished with the shield of faith. and with the habergron of hope as a good champion addressed himself. questyoning him what he was. the which answered/ ¶ i am said he a mortal dweller in this hermitage with the other/ which have be there deceived by many temptations/ ¶ we pray the that thou pray for us one god only/ the which is descended in to the earth for our health/ ¶ then saint anthonye hearing these words wept and all by wet his fare with tears/ ¶ for he rejoiced him of the glory of god/ and of the contrary of the destruction of the devil/ ¶ also he was much admarveled how he understood the language & speech of the same beast/ ¶ and after he began to smite with a staff upon the earth saying/ accursed be alexandria/ the which adore and worship for their god th'idols/ in which the devils inhabit and dwell/ ¶ ha region. what mayst thou say/ the beasts confessen the name of god/ and thou worshippest the devils/ ¶ in saying these words/ the same beast vanished away like as it had flown in the air/ ¶ after this saint antony abode in his enterprise. in following the way of wild beasts/ and not knowing what way he should take. ¶ thus continued the second day/ without to know whether it were day or night/ ¶ and finably he found a wolf going upward toward a mountain/ the which had great thirst/ ¶ and when he saw him gone up/ he went after unto a fosse or a dyche. the which he beheld/ but nevertheless by cause the place was tenebrous or dark. he apperceived no thing/ ¶ alway like as he had perfect dilection/ and feared no thing/ he went peaceably in to the dyche or hole/ herkening if there were any thing/ ¶ so abiding by fervent charity which putting from him all feere· and dread/ went so far fourth and so long/ that he saw the door of a place. in which was saint paul/ ¶ and in approuching or coming nigh to the same/ he knocked with his foot against a stone. which made a little noise/ ¶ the which hearing saint paul incontinent shit his door ¶ and when saint anthonye saw his door shit/ ¶ he abode there by the space of six hours/ ¶ and finably he said to him these words/ paul my brother/ thou knowest by revelation of god whom that i am/ and fro whence i come/ and wherefore i am common hither/ ¶ i knome well that i am not worthy to see thee/ but nevertheless i pray the open to me thy door/ ¶ for surely my friend i shall never depart fromhens till i have seen that/ thou susteynest well that brute beasts wherefore thenne openest not thou thy door to me that am a be'st reasonable. i have sought the. & have found that/ and have knocked to th'end that thou should open the door to me/ the which thing if thou do not i shall dey-here in abiding that/ and thus tofore the door of saint poul· the blessed saint anthonye sorrowed/ ¶ thenne saint paul answered to him/ o knight of god no man threnyth that/ in desiring like as the desirest/ & thou thretnest mein wailing & saying that thou shalt deye· if i open not to the the door/ and thus in smiling saint paul opened the door to saint anthony/ & when it was opened. that one saluted that other by their names/ and yet had they never seen each other/ and after that they embraced and kissed together a long while/ ¶ now let us think what welcomynges and thanks full of devotion were thenne between them twain. certainly it should be long to rehearse/ ¶ after saint paul began to say/ alas my brother thou haste taken great labour for to see me/ and i am no thing but a wretched carrion all rotten for age/ thou seest a man the which anon shall be come ashes or dust/ but charity enduryth. and suffereth all manner travail. how great somever it be/ ¶ now say to me my brother. how men been governed in the world/ if any be deceived by the temptation of the enemy the devil/ & under what domination is the world governed/ and in saying such words together. came a crow or a bird which let fall a loof of breed tofore these two holy men/ ¶ thenne saint paul said/ my right dear & beloved brother. le●e us think on the goodness of our lord. the which hath sent to us our dyner/ helas he is much merciful & lowly/ it is now sith lx years that every day i have had half a loof of breed. but now at thy coming god hath multiplied the por●dern. and hath sent double pytaun●e/ thenne by a well or fountain which was there. they rendered & gave thankings unto god/ and after they were by two hours in doing honour that one to that other· which of them should depart the breed/ saint paul said it was saint anthony's part to do it by cause he was his guest saying that honour ought alway to be given to the guests/ saint anthonye said the contrary/ but that it appertained to saint paul/ by cause he was more ancient and more perfect/ ¶ for unto the perfect and virtuous is honour due/ ¶ and at last they holding the same breed between their hands/ it was departed and divided by the grace of god. that to each of them abode his portion/ ¶ and after that they had eaten they drank a little water of the fountain in rendering and giving graces and thanks to god/ ¶ that done they put them both together in prayer. and work all the night in praying to god devoutly/ ¶ o devout soul. think what prayer every man now maketh on his party/ ¶ they had no fantasy of the world in thinking what they should eat or drink/ clooth. or to hose. or them/ ¶ alas we that been in the world can not say an (ave maria) without to have lettings without nombre· or empesshements. as every man knoweth in himself/ ¶ on the mo●●e when it was day saint paul said to saint anthonye/ it is long sith i knew that thou dwelledest in these regions. ¶ for god hath promised to me long sith: that i should have one his servant with me/ but because that in following the apostle. it is long sith that i desired to be with ihu christ/ thou art by him sent byder to th'end. that thou put my body which is but earth within the belly of his mother which is the earth/ & with his brethren which hen the worms the been of the earth/ thenne saint anthony began to wail & weep so abundantly that none can write. in praying him that he might hold him company in this mortal way of the world saint paul answered/ thou oughtest not to seche that thing which is in thy possession/ but the strange things/ ¶ it is necessary to the to leave thy carrion and follow ihesu christ/ and to thine other brethren that they govern them by the ensample of thy life/ wherefore thou shalt go to thine house/ and thou shalt bring the mantel which the bishop athanase gaaf to the for to cover my body when it shall be deed/ and these words said saint paul to saint anthonye. not for dread that his body should be without coverture/ for never in his life he had not covered it. but with leaves of palms/ but he said this to the end/ that saint anthonye should depart. and that his death should not be to him sorrowful/ ¶ o how great charity is soon come among them that been perfect for one day only that they had been together/ ¶ saint paul dread to anger saint anthonye/ his request herd. saint anthonye was marvelously abashed how he knew that saint athanase had given to him a mantel/ and by that he knew that he had god in his hert●● and therefore he durst not answere· b●● kissed him so sweetly & so brotherly/ both his eyen & hands in weeping great tears. that he might not well depart from him/ ¶ and after he came again in to his hermitage/ and by cause that saint anthonye was much feeble by cause of his abstinences. might not so soon come as his courage constrained him/ ¶ and thus as he came in to his little house/ two of his disciples came meeting him/ and said to him ¶ where haste thou be so long father what haste thou be so long from us helas we supposed to have lost that/ and doubted that thou hadst been deed/ thou art tight welcome/ for the heaviness that we had for thy departing thy coming again hath rendered to us joy without melancholy/ ¶ he answered to them/ helas i am a poor synar unworthy to be named religious/ ¶ i have seen helye and johan in desert/ ¶ and verily i have seen saint paul in heaven/ ¶ and incontinente he took in his cell the mantel for to return toward saint paul/ ¶ then the brethren demanded of him the cause why he was so heavy & so sorrowful/ ¶ and he answered to them/ that there was a time to speak. and a time to be still/ ¶ then he took a little meet/ and returned by the way that he came/ desiring singularly to see the holy hermit paul. doubting also that he should render his soul to god in his absence/ ¶ and after finably he went with so great diligence as was to him possible/ and in such wise. as that he had not walked but three hours/ ¶ when he saw 〈◊〉 ●●ule of saint paul among the an 〈◊〉. apostles/ prophets. and martyrs pure. clean and white as snow borne up in to heaven/ and incontinent he fell down to the earth/ and covered his heed with sonde in saying/ ¶ wherefore paul leavest thou me/ helas wherefore ghost thou without saying to me adieu/ or farewell/ helas i have overlate known thee/ and over soon thou ghost/ now have i lost all comfort helas if i had not seen the ne known i should not now have the harm ne evil that i have/ ¶ o man of god. make thy request now in that high place/ where as the angels have borne the to/ that i may by very faith go soon and follow thee/ ¶ after that he had well eagerly wept & wailed. he was and found himself also light as a bird or a fowl fleeing and not without cause/ for he being arrived at the hermitage of saint paul/ he fond him kneeling on his knees unmoevable. his heed being life up on high and his hands joined in such wise as saint anthonye had supposed as he had been yet alive/ but by cause he drew no breathe. he wist well he was deed/ he was about to bury him. in saying psalms and ympnes/ like as then was the custom to bury the faders of egypte/ he supposed to have put him in to the earth/ but he found neither pykeys ne shovel for to make a pit or grave/ whereof his heaviness was increased. considering that he might not lightly make it/ for it was four journeys unto his monastery/ and of that other part. he thought in himself. that without pyk●oys and shovel he myghte●e do no thing/ ¶ he being 〈◊〉 melancholy. concluded in himself bide there till he should die nigh to the laid body. ¶ and thus thinking came two lions suddenly. which made saint anthonye sore afeard/ but he anon returned toward god by devout orison/ and anon was assured. and had no more fere ne dread/ ¶ and he beheld the lions. which began to wail. and lament by the corpse of saint paul/ like as they had had understanding reasonable/ and after their wailings/ they made a deep pit of the length of the holy saint paul/ the which made they came to saint anthonye/ and licked his hands and feet like as they had axed his benediction for their reward that they had there done/ ¶ then saint anthonye in praising god said/ o my lord & my god without the providence of whom one only leef of the tree falleth not to the ground/ give to these lions that which thou knowest that aught to be given to them/ ¶ and after blessed them with the sign of the cross. to the end that they should go their way/ and after when they were departed. he put the body in the earth the best wise he might/ and on the morn came again/ and as his heir brought his rob of leaves/ the which he ware or easter day and whitsunday only/ ¶ upon this matter for to excite them that have so moche pain. for to hope and to assemble by negligent ways towns. castles. lordships. and other temporal gods in so great quantity. and the which some time beg in the end of their days/ saint iherom knowing the holy life of the said glorious saint paul/ which never had sufferance ne indigence. maketh to them such an exhortation/ ¶ think thou prow man that drinkest and etest in vessels of gold and silver. and gayely made fair and rich with precious stones/ think that to the devout and holy man. which had not but only one rob of leaves of palm was heaven opened. and to the proud is hells made ready ¶ think in like wise of thy sepulture composed of stones. of marble. or of silver & gylce/ or that is covered with velvet. with which thou mayst be brent/ ¶ helas the holy man had not but a little of earth/ helas ye worldly men deport or forbear you/ and take not so much pain to gather and heap richesses/ ¶ alas how is a man so much a fool for to bury another in cloth of gold or of silk/ for incontinent and as soon as a man which hath lived evil and sinfully is out of this world/ he is but in weepings and in wailings/ ¶ the sepulchre of gold ne the doth of parement may not raunsone him fro the pains that he suffereth/ ¶ alas poor proud man. wilt thou die in thy pride. that desirest to be buried so costle we/ ¶ from whence cometh this folly/ when thou haste be ambitious in thy life. and that hath be made to the so many vain honours/ thou desirest yet. that they yet should be made to thy carrion after thy death/ ¶ and oft peradventure some have fair and rich sepulture. of whom the soul suffereth hard pain/ ¶ here followeth the life of saint anthonye abbot/ which first was brought in to writing. and sent by saint anathase to the bishop of alexandria/ and after by saint enagrion priest translated out of greek in to latin. and put it to this present book. which is made of holy faders/ and beginneth in latin ¶ igitur antonius. etc. caplm. xxxvi saint anthonye born in egipte was come of right noble parents. as was of noblesse of lineage. as of holy conversation/ he was nourished so solitarily that he knew no man of the world/ but only his friends. ¶ when he was a little great that is to wite in his infancy. he would not go play with little children. but he went in to the church. hearing the service of god/ and notwithstanding that the children of rich houses had a custom to be delicyously nourished with divers meats/ nevertheless saint anthonye desired them never/ but was content with such as men gave to him/ ¶ after the death of his friends he abode fatherless in th'age of xix or twenty year. & with him dwelled his sister. whom he governed & taught in good deeds & works. & thus passing the tyme· vi. months. haunting the church. he thought how th'apostles left all their substance and goods for to follow their sweet lord and master ihesu christ/ ¶ on a time he being in the church heard one read a gospel/ which made mention how our lord said to a rich man/ if thou wilt be perfect sell all that thou haste & give it to the poor. and come follow me. and for that thou shalt have treasure in heaven/ ¶ and incontinent like as the holy scripture makych mention. he gave over all his possessions/ and three hundred mesures or acres of land. which appertained to him. he left to his neighbours/ to th'end that he would no thing of theirs. ne of his sister/ all his other movable goods he sold. and took the money. and gave it to poor people. except a little which he gaaf to his sister. which was of ●as●e age & more f●ble of complec●nn than he was ¶ and after again he returned to the ●hy●●he/ and heard ●adde in the gospel that no man ought to think how he should live on the morn/ and then he distributed the rysydue of his gods to poor people. and after that he would no more return home to his house/ but recommended his sister to the virgins/ to th'end that by their good ensamples she should be the better informed in good manners ¶ all his desire was to inquire where he should find any holy men for to visit them to the end that he might receive some fruit/ like as the be gooth fro flower to flower for to gather some thing for to make his honey & ware/ ¶ among the other there was one solitary man not far fro his house/ whom he oft visited/ after that he was returned to his hermitage. he gate his living by the labour of his hands/ considering that he which labourith not is not worthy to eat/ ¶ helas he had so much riches which he had given for god's sake/ for the honour of whom. and in obeying his worthy instructions. he was content afterward to labour/ & to beg/ ¶ what shall thou do · thou cursed avaricyous man. which wilt no thing give for god's sake/ uneath & with great pain wouldest thou nourish a poor person one hole day/ ¶ take ensample on saint anthonye/ which left all for to be a poor beggar/ yet of that he wan with his great labour/ he kept for him but breed for his sustenance/ and the remnant he gave to the poor/ he governed him so honestly. that he was marvelously beloved of all his brethren/ ¶ of all them that he visited he held to himself some virtue/ of that one he wan continence & chastity. of an other gladness. of an other meekness & lowliness: of another study & patience/ and finably he had the fair virtue of charity/ which is the mistress of all virtues/ and in such wise he profited fro virtue to virtue. that among all his brethren there was none like to him/ ¶ the devil of hell envy to mankind. seeing the holy life which saint anthonye began to lead. was enuyvous. and enterprised to tempt him/ ¶ first he laid tofore his eyen to th'end that he should depart out of his hermitage the noblesse of his birth. his sister whom he had left alone. th'abundance of his gods. & of the goods that he might get/ the diverse meats that he might eat. & generally he presented to him all things playsaunt to nature/ ¶ and after he showed him how it was hard to get virtue. seen & considered the freelte of his bddy·s and that he might yet live long time/ wherefore then should he be then long in desert/ ¶ all these things put he in his mind for to have revoked him from his good purposes/ but this notwithstanding he overcame alway the devil by devout prayers and firm constance. ¶ often times he tempted him in the sin of the flesh. & that was by cause he was in his young age but by long fastings and continual abstinences he withstood it manly/ ¶ some time by night the devil appeared to him in the likeness of a fair woman/ but incontinent for to withstand it. he remembered how his flesh should rote in worms hastily/ ¶ another time the devil moved & stirred him to live joyoeusly in lusts of his flesh and of the world/ and thenne anon he would bring to remembrance the pains and torments of hell. and the joys of heaven/ and by this manner he withstood all the temptations of the devil/ ¶ finably when the devil saw that he might not overcome the good holy man/ he kneeled down to him in the semblance or likeness of a little horrible child black and howling/ and also in crying said to saint anthonye/ ¶ i have deceived many hermits and holy men but by the i am overcome and put under foot/ ¶ saint anthonye thenne asked him what he was to whom he answered/ i am the great solycytour of lechery. the deceiver of young peple· called the spirit of fornication. which oft times have tempted the. & alway thou hast overcome me/ and when the good knight saint anthonye herd this answer/ he began to yield thankings to god. of this that he had put him under foot. and said/ my god be thou my aid and my protectoure/ and i shall never fere ne dread mine enemy. ¶ and incontinent the devil which was seen by saint anthonye as a fantasme. vanished away/ and he saw him no more/ and thus was the first victory given to saint anthonye/ ¶ but this notwithstanding he was not well assured/ for he knew by holy scripture. that the devil had diverse manners for to tempt men/ wherefore he kept him more strongly thenne. and put his body in great sufferance. to th'end that if he had victory in any things against the devil. he should not be overcome by other and for this cause he occupied his time in prayers & orisons more than any of his brethren hermits ¶ the most part he work night & day/ he eat but one time on the day. and that was after the son going down/ some time in three or four days he eat not but ones. and that was breed & salt. & a little water/ his bed was of jonckes. and his vestiment of hair/ ¶ oft times he lay all naked upon the ground/ and how well that he had long time such abstynences. yet were they to him no thing grievous/ but thought alway to be at the beginning of his penance in increasing always his said abstinences/ ¶ and for t'eschew vainglory/ he died pain to forget them/ and in deed he forgot all the good deeds that he had done: and enforced to do more than he had done tofore/ ¶ he remembered alway in his heart the prophet helye. that said/ my god seeth to whom we ought to be clean and appareled to obey him with ready will/ ¶ he considering alway also how he ought to govern himself every day while he lived/ and having no regard to the time passed/ at all hours he prepared to be in such estate as it appertaineth to a veryry christian man and catholic/ ¶ saint anthonye thenne thus living departed from his hermitage/ and wence ferder from the city/ ¶ and sense to one his kinsman that in certain days he should send him for to live for the sustentation of his life/ which kinsman and friend died it gladl●/ ¶ on a time it happened that he hyselfe came for to v●syte him/ ¶ and after that he had visited him. he left him alone fast shit/ ¶ and the devils came in great multitude. which broke up the door/ and beat him so much that he had lost his voice/ and his hearing/ ¶ and he being left so fore hurt and wounded/ that the pain of his wounds surmounted all torments of mankind/ ¶ when he that brought him to eat returned to him/ and found his door broken. and himself half deed. he took him on his neck. and bore him unto his house/ he being there. the neighbours & friends came to/ and saw him almost dede· began marvelously to weep/ and so long endured that finably for grief they fell a sleep. except he that brought him/ ¶ the night being come/ saint anthonye lift up his heed and saw him that brought him thither slept not/ ¶ then he prayed him that he would hear him again to his hermitage/ and he so died in obeying his great prayers/ ¶ and when he was in his hermitage. he put himself in prayer. the which done & finished he began to cry with an high voys in speaking to the devils/ ¶ o ye enemies dampened & wicked i antony an here. and am not fled/ and though ye do to me more martyrdom & pain yet shall ye not con depart me fro the love of ihesu christ/ ¶ and yet more over he said if all the world were against me. i shall dread no thing/ the devil seeing that he had suffered somany torments. marveled how he was so hardy to return/ ¶ then the devil called his cursed dogs & said/ ne see ye not how this foolish hermit agryth & scornyth us. by cause he hath not be overcome neither by the spirit of fornication ne also by beating ne by the pain that we have done to his body/ ¶ make ye ready. for he must by us be more pugnisshed than he was before/ he shall right soon ●ete what we been/ and incontinent was made a great tempest. that the house was broken on all sides/ and therein entered a innumerable multitude of devils in divers forms/ some in likeness of bulls. and other of lions. of dragons. of wolves. of address. of serpents & scorpions. and the other in other diverse forms. as of liepardes/ tigers & be●es. each of 'em cried after his nature/ the lion cried in his cry. willing to slay him/ & the bull threatening him with his horns./ and so every beast tormented him in his manner/ ¶ as touching his body he was much feebled. but as to wching the soul. he was constant & a biding in the love of god. & mocked them all and said to the devils/ if ye have strength there needeth but one to assaylle me/ & yet more over he said to them/ if ye been puissant & god hath give you power over me. i am ready that ye devour me/ & if he hath yeven to you no power/ wherefore enforce ye so yourself/ know ye not well that the sign of the cross is the shield of faith and a wall inexpugnable for to defend us against you/ ¶ and hearing they grunted with their teeth of the despite that they had of that they were mocked of him. without to have any power over him/ ¶ wherefore our lord why the leaveth not his servants in danger/ seeing the victory of his good knight saint anthonye/ came for to visit him/ descending as a light in to his habitation/ ¶ after which light received. all his pains and soores were heeled/ and his house which was all to broken was incontinent made again ¶ saint anthonye knew then that god was come to comfort him/ and began to cry/ o my god/ o good jesus' where were thou when i was thus scourged all this day why camest thou not at beginning for to heel my wounds and soores/ ¶ the voice answered/ anthonye i was here/ but i tarried thy victory/ ¶ and now by cause thou haste strongly fought. i shall alway help thee/ and shall make thy name be renowned thorough out all the world/ the which voice heard. he aroos up. and was more strong and constant to pray god than he was tofore/ ¶ and he was at that time xxxv year old ¶ and after when his virtues began to grow/ he came to an aeged father which dwelled nigh to him/ of whom is spoken tofore/ praying him that they might dwell together/ ¶ nevertheless by cause that he should not complain of his old age/ and also because that he had not be accustomed to be conversant with any person/ saint anthonye desiring to live solitarily/ and taking example of the said holy father. went all alone unto a mountain/ ¶ and in going thither the devil which ceased not to tempt him. laid in his way a platter full of silver/ ¶ the which saint anthonye seeing overthwartly. in thinking that the said platter had be laid there by the devils craft/ by cause that in the way came not but birds and wild beasts/ ¶ and then said saint anthonye/ go thou dampened devil/ thou and thy silver in to eternal perdition/ and that said the platter vanished awaye· as fume or smoke departeth from the fire/ ¶ and after that he saw a great mass of gold/ and for fere thereof he fled to the mountain/ like as he would have eschewed a great fire/ ¶ and after that he had passed a great flood. he found a castle in desert full of venimouse beasts/ in which he abode as a new host/ ¶ and incontinent as he was lodged. all the beasts fled away/ ¶ thenne he stopped then tree with stones and laid as much breed therein as should suffice him for vi months/ ¶ now it was so that the breed of thebayde endured long as the space of a year or there about/ never after he would not depart ne speak to man of the world but twice only in the year/ and took his sustentation under cowerture without to speak to them that brought to him the said sustentation/ ¶ many freres desiring to see him. waked all the night at his door/ the which oft times heard voices saying to saint anthony/ wherefore puttest thiselfe in our habitacles go out of our bounds/ for thou shalt not mow suffer our temptations/ and they had supposed that it had been men that had entered by ladders/ wherefore they looked within the cave through the c●euyces/ and by cause they saw no person. they esteemed that the● were devils that so spoke to him/ ¶ then they were afeard in such wise that they cried for help to saint anthonye. and thenne he came night to them. & with his word be comforted them in saying/ ¶ bless ye you and be assured. let the devils deceive themselves/ ¶ saint anthonye alway lived in increasing his virtue & prudence/ ¶ on a time came some persons to him. of which some supposed to have found him deed. but by himself he said singing to my will god enhaunsyth himself and all his enemies been destroyed/ and all they that hate him fleetofore his face. like as smoke is consumed soon. so soon fail they/ and like as aware mel●yth against the fire so perish they that been sinners tofore god/ and more over he said/ all folk have assailed me in the name of our lord. and i have vainquysshed them/ and thus in that wilderness he was by the space of twenty year/ ¶ and by cause that many desired to see him for to follow his manners & his doctrine. came some in to his house and broke it by force/ but when they saw him they were amerueylled how he was so whole of his membres/ for he was not swollen by his long abiding enclosed. ne by his fastings. ne by torments of the devils/ and his visage was not pale ne changed but he was as a young person. also clean of all his membres. as he never had any harm/ he never laughed/ and with all his might he kept him fro sin/ he never for any praising of the people was the more proud/ ¶ many by his prayers were delivered fro devils & their power. his words were alway vertuouse· he comforted the desolate. he taught always the simple & innocentes. he appeased always they that were angry to all he showed that no person should love any thing more than his creator or maker/ ¶ to good people he showed the glory eternal and the meekness of god/ and how god the father had no fear to send his son to take our nature to the end for to redeem us froth pains of hell/ ¶ also he counseled every man not to leave temporal things/ ¶ on a time in the conntree of a●senoytayns. as he would go and visit his brethren and his fellows/ he passed the river of nile/ without having any harm of the cokadrylles and other beasts that were there/ ¶ in that place he confirmed in virtue great number of his brethren. in such wise that many monasteries were re-edified/ ¶ on a day he being with his brethren/ they required him to give to them some rules for to govern them in virtue/ which he gave to them many/ ¶ first that they sold comfort each other/ and that which they had gotten by science. they should show each to other/ ¶ also that they should never have will to leave their estate of hermit. but to keep it in increasing of virtues/ ¶ for man's life was but an instant/ as to the regard of the life eternal ¶ after that he had proposed this/ he made by a manner of tarrying a little silence/ ¶ and after in merueylling of the bounty and largesse of god. he began to say again these words/ ¶ o my brethren consider ye that in this mortal life. merchandises and rewards been equal/ for the seller receiveth for his merchandise but thing just of the byar/ ne in like wise the servant but his just deserving of his lord/ ¶ but the glory of the everlasting life may for vile and little price be bought/ ¶ it is not wreton that our days exceed not three score and ten years. or four score years/ and if we live longer. it is but labour and sorrow and misery ¶ for in that age. a man returneth to the state of innocency/ ¶ but in that other world we shall live perpetuelly/ thenne we shall not inhabit the earth. but the heaven/ and the body that we shall leave corruptible we shall take again incorruptyble/ therefore my brethren be no thing grieved ne annoyed/ for the short passions of this world been not condygne ne worthy to the perpetuelly of heaven/ ¶ if ye have left any lityll land or possessions/ be not dysplaysaunt ne sorry therefore/ for god shall yield to you for it an hundred fold more/ ¶ they that shall have left the gods of this word for to serve god. shall have an hundred fold more in that other world/ ¶ also ought they to consider. that will set their heart in over much loving the richesse of this world/ that in th'end they shall lead them in to hell/ ¶ we ought no thing to love. but that only which we may here with us after our death/ ¶ ought we not then to love that thing that shall cause us to go to heaven/ that is to wit. sapience chastity. justice. fasting. prayer. ●esynesse on the poor. farm faith. patience against ire/ and generally to love god and our neighbour as ourself/ ¶ consider that we been the servants of god/ and that we own to him service. as to him which hath created us ¶ let us not rejoice us of our life. for if we been in health in the morning/ yet we be not sure to live to even/ and if in this manner we been busy for our health. we shall never sin/ ¶ we ought also to flee hate and evil will again all persons/ and above all things love of women/ ¶ we ought promptly and benignly to forgive and pardon each other/ ¶ tofore our eyen we ought to set two things/ that is to wite the last day of our life. which is the death/ and the nigh judgement of god/ ¶ and if for the love of god we will keep us from sin/ or at least for dread of these two things we ought to abstain us/ ¶ furthermore said saint anthonye. i pray you my brethren. look never behind you/ but go always right fourth the good ways/ that ye have begun/ ¶ for he that putteth his hand to the plough/ and lokyth behind him/ he is not worthy to have the ream of heaven/ ¶ leave the greeks which gone in to strange lands/ and passen over the see. for to get the science & cunning of vain things/ ¶ we have no thing to do. to go hythernes thither/ ¶ for the ream and region that we pretend to have/ like as god witnesseth in the gospel is within us/ ¶ ne doubt not that if our soul be not maculate or spotted. ne defoiled with sin/ that in her shall be the fountain of all virtues/ ¶ thenne it is of necessity that it be good/ for it is created or made of a master/ which is sovereign good/ that is god out creature and maker/ ¶ let us consider the words of our saviour ihesu christ. saying ¶ do ye so that ye have the heart clean to the god of israhel/ ¶ and in like wile saith saint johan/ which saith/ ¶ do ye so that your ways be rightful pure and clean/ governed by the faith of god/ ¶ now for to do so it behooveth us for to keep us from the spot of sin/ ¶ we ought sovereignly and ●●atly for to keep us from ye or wrath/ ¶ for when the man is angry/ with right great pain may he do any work agreeable or pleasant unto god/ by cause that ire or wrath empessheth and letteth virtue/ the which is none other thing but god/ ¶ yet after also said saint anthonye to the religiouses/ my little children keep you from vain words. and fro pride/ ¶ some there been that enterprise and avaunt them to do well/ but they follow not the deed which they enterprised and purposed/ ¶ other there been that cloth them and array them with vestiments of religiouses/ and follow religion/ to the end to seem and appear good/ but within their hearts they been wolves enraged/ and been worse than devils ¶ for under the shadow of good/ they done infinite harms and evils/ ¶ after the holy father saint anthonye showed to them some fallaces or deceits which the devils done in diverse manners and mockings/ in saying that often times the devil showeth him to the holy men in likeness of men/ in blaundysshing them and flattering them with fayte and sweet words/ and in praising their estate and constance/ ¶ and often times promiseth that/ which they may not give/ that is the glory and joy of heaven/ ¶ for to eschew such illusions and mockings/ when they been felt coming ought men to ensign and bless them with the sign of the cross/ and incontinent it shall turn in to nought/ ¶ for by the merit of the passion that our sovereign lord and redeemer ihesu christ suffered in the cross/ alle such illusions or mockings sha●●lese their strength and virtue/ ¶ he said also that some time come some illusions or deceyvynges. which cause terror & dread to them that the devils administer them. and that done they for to taken away from men their mind ¶ but against such illusions or scornynges behooveth to have steadfast faith/ and so shall it be withstand lightly/ ¶ for to know then the difference of good and evil angels/ it ought to be known/ that when the good angel cometh/ his cheer and regard is sweet and amiable or lovely ¶ and by cause he desireth but peace/ he maketh none noise ne clamor/ and his voice is not herd/ ¶ he giveth joy and exultation to synnars/ ¶ for our lord is with him/ which is well and fountain of all good/ incontinent also as our soul seeth him/ if it were to him possible. he should break the membres of the body/ and would go with the good angel when he is there present/ ¶ the benignity of the same angel is so great/ that if he caused any dread at the beginning for his great light. incontinent he taketh away from the man all dread and fere/ ¶ right so died gabryell to zatharye being in the temple/ & also with the shepherds/ when he showed the nativity of ihesu christ. ¶ but of the evil angels/ the countenance and cheer is crimynell & dreadful/ ¶ his entry horryble· their motion and way is inconstaunte/ as of fools or of thieves/ ¶ and incontinent as they been tofore men. the soul feedeth and dreadeth/ ¶ all the five wits been trowbed/ and fear of death followeth/ ¶ desire of shrewdness: lachednesse of virtue/ and weakness of courage. ¶ then when to the understanding cometh a thought or a presentation in likeness of an angel after the dread. presentyth him joy hope in god. and charity/ ¶ we ought veritably to believe that this cometh from god/ which sendeth to us his aid and succour/ ¶ in such wise abraham the patriarch seeing god. rejoiced him/ ¶ in like wise saint johan baptist being in the womb of saint elyzabeth his mother/ when the glorious virgin mary mother of our saviour ihesu christ came to visit her/ he which was not yet borne· rejoiced him marvelously/ ¶ by which it appeareth that the good angel atte his coming giveth consolation and comfort/ and maketh the person to be assured. as he died when he showed the right joyeous nativity of our saviour ihesu christ to the same glorious virgin mary. in saying to her/ ¶ mary be not afeard. for thou haste found great grace toward god/ ¶ and the contrary by appearing and representations of evil angels have be many times deceived the gentiles and paynims/ ¶ but we christian men been preserved. by cause that god hath taken away from the devil the domination and power that he had upon us. when he said to him ¶ go thou aback sathanas/ it is wreton that thou shalt adore and worship thy god/ and only shall thou serve to him/ ¶ by these same words which god said to the devil he took his power from him/ ¶ there is also given to us power to say to him when he would tempt us go aback sathanas ¶ and incontinent he shall be vanquished/ and shall depart from us/ ¶ after saint anthonye prayed they that they should not be curious to do miracles/ to the end/ that if they or one of them by the virtue of our lord made any/ they should not run for that cause in to damnable vice of pride and of vain glory/ ¶ in like wise he defended to them: that they should not despise that one the other. but exhorted them that they should pain themself to lead together good life and honest/ ¶ also said he for to do and make miracles is not in our power/ but in the power of god/ ¶ for he saith in the gospel in speaking to his disciples/ ¶ glorify ye not if the devils been subgett to you. but reioyece ye you that your names been wrete in heaven. ¶ here it is to be noted. that they that done miracles and prodygees by art magic/ without to have the gift of the grace of god. when they shall cry to god ¶ have we not driven away the devils in thy name/ and many other virtues have been done in calling thee/ and making invocation to god the blessed and very judge/ ¶ to them that he knoweth that heareth not his sign/ he shall answer to them/ certayne i know you not/ for ye ha●e never mine ensign/ ¶ after god shall say to them/ go ye a back from me for ye have been alway evil children of iniquity/ ¶ saint anthonye said afterward/ by cause it is hard to know the coming of the good angel or evil/ ¶ we ought to pray him that it please him to give to us science to con discern/ ¶ for after the scripture we ought not believe every spirit/ ¶ on a time the devils came to saint anthonye/ which said to him. ¶ anthonye we come to show to the our light/ and incontinent saint anthonye closed his eyen. and would not see them/ but put himself to prayer his even closed/ and anon the light of the devils quenched/ ¶ another time they came and song tofore him/ and spoke together of holy scripture/ but that notwythstonding saint anthonye stopped his eeres/ ¶ another time they made his monastery to tremble and shake/ but he in his thought abode unmoevable/ and prayed to god constantly/ ¶ oft times they came springing and syfling tofore him with an high voice. ¶ but incontinent as he returned to god. their noise and tempest turned into little noise/ that uneath said saint anthonye might here it. ¶ on a time came one which had his body wonderly great and said he had the virtue of god/ the which demanded of saint anthonye what he would have of him/ ¶ and when he saw him so great. he armed him incontinent with prayer/ and took the shield of faith/ by which anon he became as little as half a foot ¶ a notherey me came the devil in form of a religious man & brought to him and said to him/ it is time that thou eat/ thou haste overlong fasted/ take corporell refcceyon. to th'end that thou be not seek/ ¶ anon after saint anthonye beheld him. and saw that his face was pale/ and put himself to prayer/ and then the devil went his way by the window. like unto fume or smoke/ ¶ another time he presented him gold for to deceive him/ but he never would look on it/ ¶ another time came the devil & knocked at the door of his monastery. & when saint anthonye went out. he saw him so great. that him seemed that his heed raught to heaven ¶ thenne saint anthony demanded him what he was. and what thing he sought/ and he answered that he was called sathanas/ and that he came thither. by cause the religiouses despised him/ and all christian men cursed him/ ¶ and saint anthonye answered that it is well right and requisite that all christian folk despise & curse him/ ¶ for oft by his temptations he brought them in hate/ the one against another/ ¶ where upon the devil ansuered· that he died not. but they themself were angry together/ ¶ and more over the devil said to him/ that the might and puissance of the devils was failed by the moyen of the passion of ihesu christ/ and that they had no more no city ne other place for to inhabit in/ by cause the name of god was reclaimed and named in all towns and cities/ and also in deserts. which been inhabited by religiouses and hermits/ then saint anthonye having the grace of god with him answered prudently/ ¶ i believe not that thou weenest to say truth/ for thou art the captain of losing and of fallaces ¶ but thou art constrained to say this sentence. which is true/ ¶ certainly ihesu christ prived the of all thy strengthest and virtues sith the time that thou lostest thy beauty of an angel by the spot of thy sin/ ¶ and incontinent that saint anthonye had achieved his prayer/ the said devil vanished away ¶ saint anthony said then to his religiouses/ my brethren dread not the illusions of the devil/ ¶ for god which hath put from us the devils/ and that aybdyth with us/ as long as we been in grace/ he shall keep us from their diverse temptations/ ¶ let us set our charge to resist & withstand their titulations and cavillations as much as we may/ for when they know that our thoughts been vain. freeyll and inconstant they put them in. to the bodies of men/ ¶ and as thieves. hounds. & wolfs enraged. they ravysshe body & soul/ ¶ job by his steadfast faith overcame the devil/ ¶ and judas was the contrary/ ¶ the principal thing and most necessary for to vanquish and overcome the devil. is to take pleasance in spiritual things/ and to have continually his heart to god/ ¶ this virtue maketh the devils to flee. as the smoke vanysshyth away/ ¶ therefore my brethren said saint anthonye if any vision come to us/ it must hardly be demanded. who is he that presentyth him tofore us/ & whence he cometh/ ¶ and if it be the angel of god/ the dread that we had shall to urn incontinent in to joy/ ¶ but & if it be the devil/ and if he be demanded of a devout soul/ incontinent he shall depart/ ¶ after that saint anthonye had made his exhortations/ eevery one of the brethren was marvelously enjoyed/ and after they enforced them to get virtues/ ¶ and they that had had tofore but little faith were confermyd· and had perfy●ghte faith/ ¶ and the other took away all foolish opinions from their thoughts/ in such wise that after they dread not any temptation of the devil/ but were more abashed how saint anthonye had them so highly instruct or taught them to know difference of the good angel and of the wicked and evil/ ¶ in the time that maximian persecuted the christian people/ saint anthonye left his monastery. saying to his brethren/ let us go with our brethren martyrs/ to th'end that we been martyred with them/ or at least that we see them suffer martyrdom/ ¶ by the which words it appyereth many fest that then was saint anthonye martyr in will/ ¶ and when any was brought tofore the judge. he comforted them in saying/ that they should not fear the death/ but should be constant or steadfast in the faith/ ¶ the judge seeing the constance of saint anthonye & of his fellows. was hon●●bly an angered. and died do forbid that no religious should abide in the town but if they should keep the law/ ¶ then all the religiouses went away/ but saint anthony set no thing of his menaces and threatenings/ and showed his scapularye/ to the end that he should be the better known for a religious man/ ¶ and on the moune he showed him in a white vestment tofore the fa●e of the tyrant/ to the end that he was desiring to be of the number of the martyrs/ that which by the will of god was kept and preserved from the y●e of the tyrant/ and returned to his monastery in making lean and castising his body of more sharp fastings & prayers continually than tofore/ ¶ next his flesh he ware the hair/ and there upon a vestment of hair named melote. ¶ he bayned never his body ne never wish his feet/ but by necessity when he passed and went thorough the water/ ¶ never man saw his body naked/ but when he was deed. ¶ long time after that saint anthonye was closed in his monastery. not willing to speak to any person/ ¶ a prince of chivalry. named martynyan had a daughter. which was meveyllously vexed of the devil. ¶ so would the said maximian go to saint anthonye. for to pray him that he would make his prayer to god. that it pleased him to heel and guarish his said daughter/ the which martynyan arrived there and prayed him that he would open his door/ ¶ but for what prayer that he could make/ he would never open it/ but went upon high/ and saint anthonye said to him/ ¶ o man wherefore demanndest thou aid or help of me/ when i am mortal as thou art/ if thou believe in ihesu christ. whom i serve pray to him. and after thy faith thy daughter shall be guarished and heeled/ ¶ the said martinyan giving faith and credence to the words of saint anthonye called unto the name of god ¶ and incontinent his daughter was heeled and guarished/ ¶ many folks also which went and slept tofore the door of his said monastery were guarished of divers maladies ¶ and saint anthonye seeing that from all parties people came to him/ for to recowere health. he went from thence in to the hyhest parties of thebaid/ where as he was not known/ ¶ and by cause that by the occasion of the great miracles and wonders that he died and wrought by the virtue of our lord/ he should not enter in to the sin of exaltation and vain glory/ and also that men should not repute nor judge him for an holy man/ he took of the breed of his brethren/ for to go in to the highest parties of thebaid/ ¶ and went till he came to a great river. on the rivage or bank whereof/ he heard a voice coming from heaven/ which said/ ¶ o antony whether ghost thou/ ¶ saint antony as accustomed to here such voices/ answered. that he went from his monastery/ by cause that the people left him not in peace/ ¶ and the voice answered unto him/ ¶ if thou go thither as thou haste enterprised for to go. thou shalt have more pain by the half than thou haste had ¶ but and if thou wolte have peace/ go in to the desert which is here within/ ¶ saint anthonye answered that he knew not where it was/ and then the voice said to him. that there were sarrasyns. which have been accustomed to lead marchaundyses in to egypte ¶ anon after saint anthonye apperceived them. and prayed them to lead him with them in to the said desert/ the which they died gladly/ ¶ and when they had goon three nights/ they fond a moche high mountain/ atte the foot whereof was a fair well and fountain/ and about the same was a little field in which were palm trees in little quantity ¶ and when saint anthonye saw that place/ he knew well that it was the place. which was showed to him by the voice on the rivage or brink of the river. ¶ then he took the breed of his fellows/ in recommaunding them to god/ and abode there all alone/ ¶ after that his brethren had knowledge of the place where he was/ they sent him alway his pytaunce/ and by cause he saw well that it was great pain for to bring to him his sustentation/ sent to one of his religiouses that he should bring to him a shovel or a spade. with two forks of iron. and some wheat/ ¶ the which brother so died ¶ and anon after/ he found cowenable land to labour in the mountain/ the which he sew with wheat/ ¶ and it multiplied so greatly/ that he gathered enough for to sustain his life/ whereof he was much joyeous and glad/ seeing that he might live without giving to any person any pain or travail/ ¶ and by cause that some folks came thither/ he augmented and increased his labour in the little land for to give refection to the comers to his hermitage/ ¶ and when the corn was great/ the beasts that were there eat it ¶ he died so moche that he took one/ ¶ and in speaking to all the foresaid beasts he said to him/ ¶ wherefore do ye to me displeasure. sith that i do none displeasure to you/ go ye fourth in the name of our lord ihesu christ/ and come no more hither/ to the which words the said beast and all the other obeying departed all fro there abowtes/ thus lived saint anthonye long within the pits & fosses in the same mountain/ ¶ and when sometime his brethren sent to him olives. or of the oil. or other fruit. for to sustain his old age/ he would none/ ¶ in the mountain he had many battles. not oonli against the flesh. but also against the devils which oft brought to him such tempest. that it seemed that all the mountain were full of men of arms/ ¶ who well considereth the wonderful life of saint anthonye he is worthy of great praising/ seeing his perseverance in abiding so long time in one place solitary without seeing any person/ but on that one side wild & cruel beestes·s and the devils on that other side/ which came to beat & torment him/ ¶ and nevertheless he was never in will to leave his hermitage/ but abode alway in his fe●me purpoos to serve god· considryng the saying of the prophet david/ who somever shall have very faith & steadfast hope in god. shall never have empeshement ne letting that may noye high/ ¶ on a night as he work in saying his prayers came about him all the wild beasts of the desert. which enforced them for to bite him/ thenne saint anthonye said to them. if ye have licence to noye me/ come to me & devour me/ and if ye be come hither. by thenticement of mine adversary go fro me· i am the servant of god/ and incontinent like as they had been hunted they fled away/ ¶ another time as saint anthonye made a tress for to make a little basket/ for his custom was to give something to them that brought to him of their goods/ a beast having the face of a person. and the residue of an asse· drew from his hands the said tress/ and incontinent as he saw that/ he blessed him with the sign of the cross/ and said i am the servant of god/ if thou be sent to me in his name/ i shall not flee from thee/ & anon he vanished a way/ ¶ other moo great things died saint anthonye. as it shall appear here after/ ¶ his brethren on a time prayed him that he would come and see them/ and by cause that upon the way being between his hermitage and the place where as were his brethren was no water/ he died do charge meet & water upon a camel for to sustain the necessities of him and them that were with him/ ¶ when they were at the myddyll of the way/ their water failed/ ¶ and they had so great thirst that they were well nigh deed/ by cause of the great heat that there was/ ¶ and let their camel go act the adventure of god/ ¶ and the good saint anthonye moved with pity went behind his fellows and put himself to prayer/ the which done/ suddenly appeared a fountain/ of which they were all refreshed and eased ¶ and anon after they seeking their camel for to give to him drink fond him casually bounden with his cord to a great stone/ ¶ their way accomplished & at end/ saint anthony & his brethren came to the monastery where as were his brethren/ ¶ and anon they came hastily to him. in embracing and kissing him/ like as he had be their own father/ anon after he began to comfort their soul's/ in praising the ancients and aeged/ and in exhorting the young to virtuous living/ ¶ and among other things he said to them they should oft read the lives of the good ancient or aeged faders/ to the end that by their virtues they might be encyted and stirred to live well. and to withdraw from doing any manner evil/ ¶ one named froncho the which was of palestine was tormented of a devil in such wise that with his teeth he detrenched and boat his tongue/ and with that he enforced him to put out his eyen/ ¶ he was brought to saint anthonye. to the end that he might recover his health/ saint anthonye said unto him that he should go in to egypte/ and anon he should be guarished and heeled/ ¶ he gaaf no faith to his answer/ but abode. praying that he would heel him ¶ then he said that there he might not be heeled/ ¶ froncho believed in his words and as soon as he came in to egypte he was guarished and heeled/ ¶ a virgin of the region trypolytane was seek of a sickness the most horrible that hath be seen/ from her nose thrills. her eyen. & her eeres came out incessauntly humours & ordures so stinking. that it was an horrible thing to behold and see/ for the said filths as soon as they fell on the ground they turned in to worms/ ¶ her friends and parents desiring her health and hoping to obtain the same by the moyen of saint anthonye. put them on the way for to lead her to him/ and in going they found soon some religiouses. which went for to see saint anthonye/ ¶ and so they prayed them that they might go with them/ ¶ and so long they went together that they came unto a good man named paphonce/ to whom maxymyen had do pulled out his eyen for the name of ihesu christ/ ¶ they being there arrived. the religiouses made the parents & the maid to abide there with the good holy man/ and they went forth to saint anthonye. & recounted to him the caas of the poor maid/ in praying him that she might come & entry in to his monastery/ ¶ saint anthonye would in no wise that she should entry. but said to the religiouses/ ¶ go ye forth thither. if the maid be not deed. ye shall find her all hole & guarished/ ¶ and yet he said/ none aught to come to me for to recover health/ ¶ for to give health to seek men appertaineth to the saviour of the world/ nevertheless he said. as i prayed unto god. the health of his daughter was showed to me/ ¶ thenne they went where as the maid was with her friends in the house of saint paphunce/ & there found her all guarished/ ¶ two brethren walking for to go see saint anthonye. in walking that one died for thirst. & that other lay stratched on the earth. & abode the death ¶ saint anthonye that knowing by revelation of god. called twain of his brethren/ which were comen thyde to him/ and said to them thus/ ¶ go ye hastily in the way that leadeth men in to egypte/ and also take with you a bottle with water/ for ye shall find a brother deed for thirst/ and another nigh exspyred/ ¶ the space of the way was well a journey thence/ ¶ incontinent they went and found all true that saint anthonye had said/ ¶ they buried the deed man/ and brought that other with them/ ¶ if any demand or ask wherefore saint anthonye showed not the revelation tofore the death of the brother/ it may be answered that the question is inpropre/ ¶ for the judgement proceeded of god. and not of saint anthonye/ in so much that god would that the one should die/ and that other should by saint anthonye be restored to his health/ ¶ on a time as saint anthonye was praying to god saw the soul of saint ammon religious in nytry borne in to heaven by many angels. singing melodiously/ ¶ another accompanied with a good man named theodore would pass the river called licuim/ and by cause they might not pass the river without they should do of their clothes & be all naked/ saint anthonye prayed the said theodore. that he would go aback. to the end that he should not see him bare/ that notwithstondyng saint anthonye being ashamed for to unclothe him. by the grace of god. he was set over on that other side of the river/ theodore passed the river after him. & was much admarveled how so hastily saint anthonye was passed over/ and took him by the feet. & swore that he would never leave him. till he had told to him how he had passed without to be wete/ saint anthonye seeing that saint theodore constrained him. and made him to swear that he should never show to none before his death/ ¶ then he said to him. that by the grace of god he had be so set over the river miraculously/ ¶ another man named archelaus a knight required him to pray god for one named polycrasse daughter of publius. a devout virgin. the which had a passion in the stomach and in the reins comen to her by over moche fastings & long orisons. saint anthonye prayed god for her. and incontinent she was guarished & hold/ ¶ another time he was prayed to go in a ship with his brethren. in the which he alone felt a fowl stinking stench/ all the religiouses said that the infection proceeded of fish and ●oten figs that were in the ship/ but saint anthonye said that it was another thing/ ¶ and thus as they spoke began a child to cry. which was bid within the ship/ having a devil within his body. ¶ anon in the name of god by saint anthonye he was chased out of his body/ ¶ then knew all the religiouses that it was the devil that he felt so stinking/ ¶ another was bronghte to him so seek that he eat his superflue digestion and ●e wist not whether he was tofore saint anthonye or not/ ¶ saint anthonye made them to go to prayer that had brought him/ and he himself also prayed all the night unto god for the health of the poor patient the which seek man at the beginning of the day for the great pain that he felt/ smote and beat fowl saint anthonye. which all the night had had compassion nigh by him in prayer/ ¶ the religiouses being thereof much angry. reproved sharply them that had brought him/ ¶ but saint anthonye sweetly and meekly answered/ that the young man which was like had not done it/ ¶ but the devil which by the commandment was so constrained to depart from him/ had so smeton him/ ¶ anon after the seek person was all hole. and guarysshed/ and came and embraced & kissed saint anthonye/ ¶ a miracle. ¶ on a time saint anthonye being in prayer like as he was alway acustomed to do. tofore that he took his refraction was ravished of angels/ & was born more high than the region of thayre/ the devils following after strove by cause he was born higher than the said region/ and the angels seeing the said contradiction. asked of the devils wherefore they enforced to let him seen that in him was no sport of sin/ ¶ then the devils began to recount the sins that saint anthony had done in the time of his young age/ incontinent the angels made them to be still. in saying that they should no thing speak of the sins of his youth. but if he had done any sith that time that he was relyygyous and professed & consacred to god. that they should say them and none other/ the devils accused him of many false accusations and lies/ ¶ and the angels seeing that the devils accused him only of fallaces. bore up saint anthonye more high than the devils were/ ¶ and anon after they brought him again to the place where they had taken him/ ¶ then saint anthonye considering the multitude of enemies that we have in this world. & so many in the air. as in the earth/ the which alway a wait to hurt us. began to wail and weep/ and so continued all the night without to eat or drink/ ¶ and to this purpose saith saint poule th'apostle/ we have not only battle against the flesh only/ but also against the devils. dwelling in the regions of the air. ¶ let us thenne take the arms of god to the end that we may resist and withstand our enemy when he shall assaylle us/ that is for to say/ that we live without sin/ and so the devil shall not mow accuse us afore god/ ¶ the night after following saint anthonye heard a voice the which cried. anthonye. anthonye come out/ and see what that i will show to thee/ incontinent he aroos/ ¶ and when he was out of his cell. lift up his eyen to heaven/ ¶ and so doing he saw in the air a monster so horrible great/ that his heed seemed stretching up to the clouds/ ¶ he saw also some having wings the which would flee upward on high/ but the great monster smote them down with his hands. & threw them to the earth. of whom some he broke all in pieces/ and other against his will flew up in to heaven/ ¶ and anon as he had seen this. the voys said to him that he should consider well what this vision signified/ ¶ anon he knew well that it was the devil which made them to fall that had sinned in this world/ ¶ the other were good souls which stied up in to heaven. whom the devil might not grieve/ ¶ saint anthonye seeing the said vision. and many other moo increased and augmented alway his life from good to beteer/ ¶ and how be it that he showed these revelations to some right good persons/ he died it not by no vain glory/ neither for avauntry/ but was so meek. that in exhorting the clerks. the deacons and the priests to pray god/ ¶ he desired to learn of them/ and to that intent oft times he demanded or axed of them counsell/ ¶ to all bishops and priests/ in bowing his heed by humility he demanded their be nedyccyon/ ¶ and like as it is comynly said/ from a joyeouse heart proceedeth a joyeouse visage/ he had a pleasant visage and agreeable to every man/ in such wise that among an hundred religious persons. by his honest manners he should lightly have be known/ though a man had never seen him/ ¶ his face was alway in one estate. as well in prosperytee as in adversity/ ¶ above all other things he hated the conversation of manychyens/ heretics scysmatikes/ and ar●yens/ as to them that were enemies and adversaries of the faith of god ¶ and if of their se●te came in to the mountain/ he made them to be chased thence saying/ that they were wrose than the serpents of the desert/ ¶ also the company of light/ that is to say of christian men/ ought not to be accompanied with darkness. that is to wite with heretics and infydelis/ ¶ a woman came on a time to him/ requiring him that he would pray to god for her daughter/ which was traveled with a devil/ and in continent that he had made to god his prayer/ the devil left her daughter peaceably/ ¶ another time came to him two philosophers on high on the mountain/ the which by subtle disputations supposed to have overcome him and deceived/ ¶ when he saw them. he judged them to be paynemes. and said to them/ i wonder of you that been so wise how ye come to me from so far/ for to see a man foolish/ to whom they answered that he was no fool/ but he was right wise/ ¶ saint anthonye answered to them that he was a fool/ by that they had lost their labour and way/ and if it so be that i be wise like as ye say/ and for to love wisdom it is utility & profit/ follow ye that ye allow and praise and so ye shall do your duete/ ¶ for thoose men been to be praised when they ensyewe the good and wile men/ if i had goon to you. i would have followed your law/ then sith ye been come to me. come and follow my faith and be ye christened/ thenne the philosophers went their way/ ¶ other came to him in mocking him by cause he was no clerk ne lettered/ to whom he asked the which had be first or the wit. or the scripture/ and if the scriptures were by the wit and understanding/ or if the wit and understanding came of the scriptures/ ¶ they answered him· that all the scriptures proceeded and were made by the understanding/ then said saint anthonye/ he that hath understanding good and hole. needeth not to be lettered by scriptures/ ¶ and in this manner he delivered them all confused/ ¶ constantyn the emperor and his two sons. constant & constanciyus wrote to him on a time in salewing him. to the end that it might please him to write some thing to them for their comfort & consolation ¶ saint anthonye seeing the letters was not abashed/ ne changed no thing for the salutation of so great lords/ but as inmobyle & canstaunt. not willing to behold the said letters. called to him all his brethren. and after said to them/ ¶ the kings of this world send to us letters. which seemeth to be thing marvelous. and hereof we may be glad/ ¶ for all men notwithstanding they have divers dignities & lordships been borne and die the one with that other/ ¶ and therefore we ought to honour the scriptures & letters principally such as god hath written to men/ as been the commandments of the law/ and by cause there is none convenience among kings and religiouses/ i will not take the letters that the kings send to us/ for i know not the science & manner to salue them be letters/ ¶ in the end the brethren prayed him that he would write again to the said kings/ in admonesting them to flee the vices. and to ensue the virtues/ and so he wrote to them in this manner/ ¶ ye kings i counsell you that ye keep the christian law/ but i pray you/ ween ye not that your puissance temporal be great/ for that is but a little thing to the regard of the puissance of god/ ¶ and therefore ye ought not to be proud/ ¶ esteem of yourself. that ye be no thing more than other/ for assoon and as well shall ye be judged of god. as the most poor of the world/ ¶ with this i pray you that ye been piteous and debonayr toward your subgettes/ having cure and business to do justice as well to the poor as the rich/ ¶ consider ye that there is a king above you eternal. not only upon you but upon all mankind ¶ these letters seen by the said princes tofore named. they were greatly comforted. ¶ and the fame & renomee of saint anthonye was over all the country published and known/ ¶ after that the paynims & gentiles were confused of their arguments and the kings comforted by his letters/ he returned in to the mountain/ in which he had many visions/ by that which he knew and by revelation all that was done in egypte/ and sent to the bishop of egypte. named serapyon/ among the which he saw a moche pyetable caas/ and worthy of sorowfulness/ which was this/ ¶ he being with his brethren set/ lift his eyen up to heaven wailing and weeping/ ¶ and a little while after that he had seen the revelation. which was showed to him/ ¶ he set him on his knees. praying to god that it should not come ne happen/ ¶ and so doing he shed out great tears in marvelous abundance and plenty/ ¶ wherefore the brethren that were there present trembled and quoke/ ¶ and questyned him what revelation he had had/ ¶ ha haa my children said saint anthonye/ the faith of christendom shall in short time be subverted/ the men semblable or like to beasts/ jumentes or fools/ which shall destroy the gods of the church/ ¶ i have seen the altar of our lord environed or closed with mulettes/ the which with their feet have broken the altar/ and these things been cause of my wailing/ ¶ two years after was published and showed the cursed sect of the heretics arians/ the churches were pilled/ and the sacred vessels vilypended or despised with the sacraments of the church/ by the pollute or defoylled hands of the ethnycyens & iu●ydelis/ and paynims died and made in alexandria sacrifices to idols/ made with their hundes/ in making to them adoration and prayer. as to their god's/ in offering to them bows of palms/ which been in the said country a right great idolatry/ ¶ and the christian men were constrained to dod in like wise such insolences with the a●yens/ in such wise that there was no difference between the one & the other/ ¶ the courage said say antony should have abomination and horror to rehearse the horrible and detestable sins that were done/ ¶ is it not a thing well abominable afore god. that the virgins and matrons were shamed and vylonyed/ and were not ashamed to lose their vyrgynyte/ ¶ the blood of christian people was by cruel occysion shed within the churches/ in such wise that the altars were all died and sprynkcled with the blood/ ¶ a little while after this heavy and desolate revelation. saint anthonye had another revelation right joyous/ of which he comforted his religious saying/ ¶ my children be not sorrowful/ for after this persecution of the church of god/ the christian people shall be relieved/ and the church shall be brought hole in his honour/ and all they that shall keep well the faith. in this persecution. shall be tofore god more shining than the brightness of the son/ ¶ false satellytees persecutors of the faith of god shall be chased a way/ and religion shall be increased and augmented/ ¶ and therefore my brethren and friends take to you and have strong and great faith/ to the end that ye be in any wise subverted/ ¶ for their doctrine is not of the apostle/ but of the devil semblable or like to jumentis or fools & bent beasts/ ¶ so many revelations were showed and made to saint anthonye/ and so many men guarished & heeled by his prayers/ that with great dyffycultee may not well be put in writing/ ¶ and therefore we ought well to consider the great faith that he had to god/ when he suffered by him so great quantytee of miracles to be made/ ¶ it is wreton if we have firm faith and we say to one mountain that he depart and move out of his place/ it should remove and do it/ ¶ no thing is to us impossible. as far as we demand or ask things lawful and healthful/ ¶ never for any prayer was it of duke or any prince saint anthonye abode not long out of his monastery/ ¶ and he said to his religiouses/ that like as fishes upon the dry earth. anon deyen right so the religiouses by long abiding with the seculars. anon shall be deed by deadly sin ¶ saint anthonye wrote to balencuis heretic arryan/ the which was governor of the country of egypte under nestor/ that he should not trouble ne vex the christian people. but to cease of his tyranny/ ¶ balancuis despised his letters/ and died many outrages to the messenger/ ¶ and with that he commanded that he and his religiouses should receive his discipline/ ¶ anon after he being with the said nestor in the principal town of alexandria. called cher●um. an horse the most meekest of all the other/ and upon which the laid nestor. which was lord of egypte road most upon. smote the said balancius down to the ground/ and eat his thigh/ and three days after he died. whereof all they of alexandria were admarveled/ and said that it was by cause he had despised the enseynementes and teachings of saint anthonye ¶ some other knights came to him/ the which he admonested to leave the honour of the world/ and that they should go well far for to get blessedness and honour eternal which never shall have end/ ¶ he counseled the judge/ that for love ne hate they should nor judge/ but they should have always the dread of god tofore their eyen/ in considering the common proverb/ ¶ such judgement as they judge. like judgement should they have/ ¶ then who that shall judge rightfully after justice/ he shall have the reward of justice/ ¶ saint antony after that he had lived an hundred and five years. showed his death to his religiouses/ which were therefore so heavy and sorry that they began to weep in kissing him and enbracing by great charity/ and after he began to inform them with many eseynementes & doctrines/ and among all other/ that they should not be annoyed ne grieved to have begun the estate of religion/ ¶ but alway should be constant. and persevere in virtues/ ¶ secondly he said to them that they should have alway in their intendment and remembrance the hour of death/ for by that they should dysspyse the world/ ¶ thirdly when they should see the arriens persecute the church/ like as it hath be showed by revelation/ that they should have stead fast faith. in following alway the tradition and life of holy faders/ ¶ after he returned in to a place solitary with one his friend/ and took leave of his religiouses. in salewing them and giving his benediction/ ¶ and it is to wite that he died not in egypte/ where as was the custom to bury the deed bodies in clothes of noble martyrs and other persons. without to put their bodies in th'earth ¶ of which custom saint anthonye had oft reproved the bishops of the country/ to the end that they should correct their subjects. in saying to them/ that our lord had be buried unto the third day in a tomb closed/ ¶ for which saint anthonye dredinge that they would not so do to him would not die in the said country of egypte/ ¶ he seeing the hour of his death to be nigh/ he called two of his religiouses. and said to them/ my children/ god hath late boden me to come to him/ wherefore i go the way that own to go/ that is to the death/ ¶ it is long time sith i desired to see the heavenly things. i recommend me to your prayers/ ¶ after he admonested them in this manner/ know ye the estate that ye have taken/ ye have seen many temptations of the devil/ and they may be overcome/ ¶ desire ye alway to be with ihesu christ. ¶ remember ye of mine admonitions and doctrines/ and flee ye the cursed heretics/ for they been enemies of ihesu criste/ ¶ busy ye yourself to keep the commandments of god ¶ and see ye well to if ye love me that my body be not borne in to egypte to the end that it be not kept vainly in honour/ ¶ for. for this cause i am to men to die with you/ but ye shall cover my body so privily in the earth/ that none know my sepulture but ye only/ ¶ after he made his testament & ordinance of his last will/ by the which he left to saint athanase bishop a vestiment of heir named melote/ which couuered him from the shoulders unto his thighs/ ¶ upon the which he had oft times lain with a mantle. in manner of a sclavynt/ the which the said bishop had given to him all new/ ¶ serapyon another bishop had that other vestiment like to the other/ and the brethren religiouses had the heir/ ¶ his testament accomplished he said to them/ far well my friends/ anthonye gooth his way/ he shall be no longer with you in this world/ ¶ and these words said/ all his brethren religious being there present. and weeping bitterly for the occasion that they saw his death so nigh kissed him/ ¶ and incontinent he rendered his spirit to god/ the aungellis that were there received it singing me lodyously/ ¶ and notwithstanding that ever he had frequented or used by the space of an hundred year. or there abowtes the deserts/ and never had be bayned ne washed/ and that he had not eat any delicate meats/ yet nevertheless his flesh and skin was as precious & as fair/ and more clean than any might be seen/ ¶ by the ensample of him ye see how god enhaceth them. which devoutly serve him/ ¶ notwithstanding that he had dwelled in desert his fame & renomee was so great in yytalye. in spain and in france. that none was like/ ¶ and in him hath be verified the word of our blessed saviour and redeemer ihesu criste/ saying that he that mekyth him. shall be exalted/ as he hath be thorough all the world/ in which in diverse parties and regions been yet done miracles without number. to the praising and exaltation of his glorious name/ as well upon the bodies of mankind/ as upon the brute beasts and unreasonable/ in such wise. that among all the other glorious saints/ he is right devoutly adored and prayed unto/ ¶ let us then pray him devoutly that it please him to pray to god for us miserable synnars/ to that that his worthy pleasure be to give us farm & constant will and affection. to despise by his ensample this present world in such manner/ that finably we may obtain the ream of heaven/ ¶ thus endeth the life of the blessed saint anthonye. and after followeth the life of saint hylaryon hermit/ and beginneth in latin ¶ hilarion ortus caplm. xxvii saint hylaryon was borne in the country of palestine. in a town named thabatha five mile fro a city called gasa. or there abowtes/ ¶ he was as a rose flourishing among the thorns/ for his father was a paynim and served th'idol/ but hylaryon served god ¶ his father sent him in to alexandria. for to learn the science of gramaire/ in the which he was sufficiently instruct after his young age/ but that more is of value he learned the very science of the faith of christ/ ¶ for he believed in ihesu christ/ ¶ he being a scholar fled all vices and sins. despising generally all the vanities of the world/ and occupied himself only to serve god and holy church/ ¶ when he heard the renomee of saint anthonye/ which was strongly spread in all egypte/ he went to see him/ and he being there arrived/ changed his habit/ and was there two months with him in contemplation. and joying the great humility of saint anthonye/ ¶ and as he received humaynly the brethren that would be religious with him/ in like wise as he was himself hard and sharp to correct them. & so he was ready to admonest them ¶ he was sober in meats/ and he was never sick for what somever abstinence he died/ ¶ when the holy father hylaryon had seen his holy conversation/ he returned with some religiouses in to the house of his father/ whom he found and his niece also deed and departed out of this world/ ¶ and in continent as touched of the holy ghoste· he distributed his part of their gods to poor folk/ and reserved no thing for himself/ in considering the scripture that saith/ that he which renoucyth not all that he possessyth. may not be disciple of ihesu christ ¶ and how well that he was not but fifteen years old/ ¶ nevertheless he went all naked about seven miles far from the foresaid city of gaza in to a place full of thieves. and when his friends told him the peril/ to which he went to/ ¶ he answered. that he that would eschew the death perdurable ought to despise the death naturel/ ¶ all men marveled of his life. considering/ sydering his age/ which was yet so tender/ and nevertheless endured somothe pain/ ¶ his clothing was only of a sack and a mantel of pellycon. which saint anthonye had given to him/ ¶ the devil seeing the life of this child. by cause he might not call him again to the world/ tormented him strongly. to the end to overcome him. and bring him under his rule/ ¶ he beat him with fists on his breast saying to him/ ¶ little ass i shall well keep the from going back/ thou shalt not have only barley breed for to eat/ but shalt die for hunger and thirst/ ¶ in summer i shall make the to have cold/ and i shall put the in such estate that thou shalt not remember but for to eat and drink. without to think on god/ ¶ the holy child eat not in three or four days. but a little herbs and figs ¶ yet for to augment & increase his penance in fasting he laboured the earth/ and made fyscellis woven with rede and junks/ in considering that he that taketh no pain to labour is not worthy to eat/ ¶ on a night he heard many diverse voices. like the voices of a child/ the bleting of sheep/ the lowing of oxen the clamour of women. the cry of lions and many other diverse voices/ ¶ and all this died the devil which supposed to have brought him out of his wit by the fear of the hearing/ and after by his eyen/ ¶ and he anon kneeled down. and marked his forehead with the sign of the cross/ and after he looked on that one side & that other/ weening to have seen the beasts and the other things/ whereof he had heard the voys/ and incontinent he saw them in a cart which horses drew running as they had been wood/ ¶ then he began to cry and call the name of ihesu/ and anon the earth opened/ ¶ and all the company so crying and howling sunk down in to the pit of hell/ ¶ then began he to say these words written in the canticle of the cursed pharaoh. which saith thus/ ¶ the horse & the man that was upon him/ god hath thrown them in the see/ the devils goon in the likeness of horse & chariots/ but we shall be borne in the name of our lord/ the enemies of hell envious of our redemption present to us so many of divers and cursed temptations/ that with great pain it is possible to recite them/ ¶ often times when the blessed child hylary on slept/ the devil in likeness of a woman all naked showed him to him ¶ when he eat he presented to him the remembrance of diverse meats/ ¶ some time when he was in prayer he passed before him like a wulffe howling/ another time like a fox/ another time like a battle of men armed. in such wise that one let himself fall tofore him. in demanding him sepulture/ ¶ on a time as he lay flat upon the ground. making his prayers to god/ came the devil behind him/ which smote him on the heel's. and on the back. and on the heed saying/ arise thou hylaryon/ wherefore sleepest thou/ ¶ but not for all that he moved him no thing/ he was so much ravished in his prayers/ ¶ from that time as he was sixteen years old. he withdrew him in to a little house made of junks and bows wherein he endured till he was twenty years old. cold and heat. rayne. and snow. and other great necessities/ and after he dwelled in another little houses·s which was four foot broad and five foot high/ but it was a little longer than his body/ ¶ this little house seemed better a sepulchre than an house/ ¶ he clipped of his hairs ones a year/ that is to wite tofore the solemnity of ester/ ¶ he lay bare upon a bed of junks/ and so continued to the death/ and never was he covered but with one sack/ the which he never washed/ saying that in an hair ought not to be sought cleanness/ ¶ he never changed rob ne cote. till th'old was rotyn/ his felycytee was to remember holy scripture/ ¶ and among his orisons he song devout psalms to god as he had be present/ ¶ after that he was xxi years old. unto xxvi he lived soberly/ ¶ and in three year he eat not but only a syxter of wortes meddled in a little cold water/ in the other three years he eat but breed & salt with a little water/ ¶ after seven and twenty years till five and thirty. he eat not but six ounces of barley breed and for his pottage a little cool wortes without oil. ¶ but when he saw his body by straightness of life became scabby and ronyous/ alytyll for to recomfort himself/ he put a little oil in his pottage ¶ and he lived in this life soberly unto tha●ge of three and forty/ without eating apples ne other fruits/ ¶ when he came unto the age of three score & four year. and the death drawing nyghe· he eat no more breed till he was four score year old. but only eat meele and schools brayed/ ¶ all that he eat and drank weighed not all but five ounces/ ¶ and thus finished he his days in such abstinences/ ¶ alas we that eat some more than thirty. other more than four score ounces of weight. five or two times on the day. yet been not well content/ and he that eat not but only when at the son was gone down one time on the day/ and all his meet & drink weighed not but five unces'/ yet he lived unto the age of four score years/ ¶ let us then be sober. unto the end to be chaste by the ensample of the good holy father hylaryon. which in his life would suffer. and endure so much evil and pain/ for the honour of ihesu christ/ ¶ he being in the age of xviij years thieves came to him. weening to affray him by cause of his young age. or for to rob some thing fro him/ ¶ and how well they made great diligence to find his little house. nevertheless they went round about it an hole day and a night. & could not find it/ and on the morn they fond it and him therein/ ¶ and they demanded of him this question/ if the thieves came to the. what shouldest thou do thou little man/ he answered to them what may they demand or ask. seen that i am all naked. and have none movable goods/ ¶ then they said to him/ thou mightest be slain/ ¶ the child answered/ i may well be slain truly/ but for that i drede-not/ for i am ready for to die/ ¶ the thieves were much admarveled. and recounted to him how they had sought him/ ¶ and after they amended their lines ¶ he was not yet but two and twenty years old/ when his fame & renomee sprang over all the country of palestine. by cause of the holiness of his life/ ¶ and in that time was a woman in the town of lent●opolytane. whom her husband despised and had in hate/ by cause he could not con have of her in fifteen years any child/ ¶ wherefore she came to saint helaryon demanding or aryng counsell of him how she might do ¶ and by cause that at the first time he would not speak to her. but spit. by cause he would not speak/ then she fell down on her knees. saying to him ¶ father hylaryon let it please the to hear me/ & torn not away thine eyen from me/ but behold me not as a woman but as one unhappy and cursed ¶ at last he spoke to her. in demanding her the cause of her sorrow/ the which by her recited and opened/ saint hilaryon said to her. that she should go home and have alway steadfast hope in god/ ¶ and after for the py●e that he had in her. he prayed god often times in great abundance of tears. so effectuously that in the end of the year. she had a child/ and that was his first miracle/ ¶ the wife of one named elypydius coming to see saint anthony. abode in the town of gaza. with threof her children and her husband/ in which town died the said three children ¶ the mother being in the middle of them three so desolate. that she wist not whom most to bewail/ ¶ and advised her of saint hylaryon which was nigh by/ and took the way with her chamberers. and left all her estate for to come to the place where he was ¶ to whom she said. i require and adjure the in the name of our lord ihesu christ/ of his glorious passion. and of the effusion of his precious blood. that it please the to pray for my three children. that they may by him be raised from death/ to the end that his name be praised and magnified in the city of paynims/ ¶ and also i adjure the in like wise that for this cause thou come out of thine hermytage. and come in to the city of gaza ¶ then answered saint hylaryon. that he would never come out of his cell/ ne also would entry in to towns ne cities. ¶ she no thing content of his answer fell down prostrate or flat to the ground. and began to cry/ hylaryon raise my children by thy prayers/ the which saint anthonye hath so long kept and governed in egipte/ to the end that of the they should be kept in syrye/ ¶ all they that were then present wept/ ¶ and how well he differed his going/ nevertheless she said to him: that she should never depart/ but he should first promise to go visit her children with her/ ¶ and so he was constrained by her words for to go thither/ ¶ he being comen thither/ and seeing the children all cold. as they which had no sign of life/ in the presence of great multitude of people thither comen. by cause of him/ he made his prayer devoutly to god/ ¶ the which made the said children cast out great abundance of water out of their bodies/ and after knew their father and mother/ and thanked humbly the good father hylaryon/ and began to drink and eat/ like as they had had never greyt· ne had lost the life/ ¶ this miracle was so spread. and renowned openly in all the country of egypte & syrye/ in such wise manifested or known that the people came to him from all parties/ of whom many went in to religion for to lead solitary life/ ¶ a woman named fatydya borne of the city of rynocorne in the country of egypte. which had be blind by the space of ten year/ came to him in saying that she had dispended all her haviour to leches for to recouure her sight/ ¶ the holy man said to her if thou hadst given for god's sake that which thou haste given to fisicyens and leches. thou shouldest much sooner have recovered thy sight/ for god should have given it to the again/ ¶ nevertheless she began to cry mercy/ and anon by his prayers her sight was restored to her/ ¶ there was a man in his time named messicas born in iherusalem. the which was stronger than any other of that country/ ¶ for by his bodily strength he bore also great a burden or more than an ass/ ¶ and the burden that he bore was esteemed or thought at fifteen muys of the measure of that country the burden that he bore/ ¶ it happened by the sufferance of god that he was possessed of a devil/ and became enraged and mad/ in such wise that he must be bound with chains by the strength of many men/ and yet could they not hold him so much for his strength and greatness. that for the violence of the devil which tormented him that he by extreme woodness rented of their noses and other membres. ¶ when he was brought to the church. he foomed at mouth and tormentrd himself as a wood bull ¶ his parents and kinsmen. to the end that he might recover health they brought him to this holy man hylaryon/ ¶ and thus as they were tofore this holy man. where as his brethren trembled for dread of his marvelous greatness and woodness/ the good holy father commanded to unbind him and that no man should be afeard of him/ so it was done/ ¶ and miraculously there where tofore he might not behold/ he became so soft that sweetly he kissed the feet of the said saint hylaryon/ and the seventh day after he was all hole and guarished/ ¶ another named oryon the most rich and chief in authority of the city of achylle by unto the reed see/ was also in like wise tormented of a legion of devils/ ¶ wherefore he was strongly bounden with chains by all the membres of his body/ ¶ thus as saint hylaryon went with his brethren/ the same demonyak with his two hands bounden with iron took him. and lift him up all on high from the earth/ whereof the people being present began to cry/ doubting that some inconvenient might come to him/ by cause he was much feebled and week by fasting and straightness of life/ ¶ but the holy man began to laugh and strain the hands of the seek man/ whom he held so subject. that he might not grieve ne enoye him/ ¶ and after by adjurations he moved the devils that were within his body/ in such wise that by the mouth of the seek man· the people heard horrible and diverse voices crying and howling. like strange beasts/ ¶ and after the seek man began to cry/ o good jesus' unbind me that am thus poor and so meschant. and unhappy/ and i shall say things which were never herd/ ¶ anon he was all hole and guarished/ ¶ and a little time after he & his wife put themself to go unto the monastery of saint hylaryon. in than king him/ and in offering to him great gifts and treasures for the health that he had recovered by his merits/ ¶ to whom the good father saint hylaryon said/ haste not thou read what giezey and simon magus suffered some time/ ¶ giezey sold the health made to naban by his master helisee/ ¶ and simon would have give moche money to saint peter for to have had power to give the grace of the holy ghost/ ¶ then oryon all we ping said to him/ fair father take that i offer to thee/ and give it to poor people/ ¶ and hylaryon answered/ thou shalt distribute and deal it better than i/ for thou ghost thorough the cities. and knowest better them that been poor than i do/ ¶ it should not be a thing proper ne well dreaming. that i that have renounced all temporal things. should take the goods of another/ ¶ oryon fell down to the ground prostrate & flat. and began to weep for the displeasance that he had of that. that saint hylaryon would not receive his offer/ ¶ but saint hylaryon comforted him saying. my son and friend be not wroth for that i have refused thy money/ it is for thy profit and mine/ for if i took it i should offend god/ thou shalt be yet tormented of the devils. which shall re-enter in to thy body/ but thou shalt take it in patience/ and in so doing their torment shall be to the healthful. wherefore content thyself. and be from hens forth good and just/ ¶ a massonne named zazanus in hewing stones was taken with a paleseye/ and by his servants was brought to saint hylaryon/ and anon was ●eelyd and guarished/ ¶ a young man amorous of the daughter of his neighbour. which was virgin/ the which by no wise of atowching. ne otherwise could deceive her/ ¶ and desiring to accomplyssh his inordinate will on her. went to a city named memphyn for to inquire & wite of a magycyen dwelling there. how by art magyqne he might deceive the said maiden/ ¶ and for to bring this about he was a year under esculapius magycyen/ by the moyen of whom were souls without number dampened/ ¶ finably this young man after the instruction of the said magycyen went to the houses of the said virgin/ and put under the cell or enter of the gate certain images of coper. saying certain words of the devil. which he believed should serve to his caas/ ¶ and forth with the said maid became all foolish/ and by great woodness she took of her keverchief of her heed. and drew her here/ straining her teeth. and calling the said young man/ ¶ she was brought to the holy man/ in the presence of whom. incontinent the devil whom she had in her body began to cry and howl/ in declaring how by force & art magic he was entered in to her/ ¶ after that he hadh said these words/ he said to saint hylaryon/ wherefore commandest thou hylaryon to me that i should go hens and depart/ knowest thou not well that i am holden under the zelle and entry of the house of the maid/ and i am by art magic bounden with chains/ and may not depart/ but if the young man that loveth her· which by his art hath bound me. unbindeth and letteth me go ¶ the holy man said to him/ thy force is not great. sith that thou art bounden with so little bonds/ say to me false enemy how thou art so hardy to entry within the body of this virgin/ ¶ the devil answered. to the end that i would keep her a virgin/ ¶ how said saint hylaryon. sayest thou thyself conservator of virginity. and thou art traitor to chastity ¶ now say to me wherefore haste not thou entered in the body of the young fool amorous. ¶ the devil answered. by cause that an other devil my fellow named the devil of love is there ¶ these words said saint hylaryon commanded the devil to void out of the body of the said maid/ the which incontinent and by evident miracle was heeled and guarished/ ¶ after this saint hylaryon reproved the young man of that he had given sign of love to the young maid/ by the which he deserved to be possessed of the devil/ ¶ another named candydalus. that which was judge under the emperor constantyne of the province of germany/ the which after the histories standeth between the countries of saxonne and of almaigne/ and was brought to saint hylaryon in to the cite of gaza in syrye. for to be delivered from the puissance of the devil. of which he was tormented every night/ ¶ and incontinent as he was tofore saint hylaryon he was hole & guarished/ ¶ this was a thing well marvelous. how in so far country was known his renomee/ ¶ that is to wite in syrye. palestine. egypte. and germanye/ ¶ when the said candydalus was heeled/ he would have given to saint hylaryon ten pound of goloe/ but he took but only a loof of barley/ considering that who somever should be nourished of such meet. should consider gold and silver for dung and ordure/ ¶ the holy man heeled not only the beasts reasonable/ but also brute beasts/ ¶ a marvelous great camel/ the which had slain many persons/ and in the end he was take by thirty men which brought him bounden to saint hylaryon/ ¶ his eyes were reed as fire. and scumed in such wise. that men were greatly afeard to beholde· him ¶ but the holy man commanded him incontinent. that he should be loosed and let goon/ ¶ and anon they that were there fled much far from the camel/ except one that abode by him ¶ thenne he began to say to the devil that was within the camel/ o dampened devil. thou makest me no thing afeard/ for so much as t thou art in a great beast/ ¶ for thou art as mighty in a little fo●e. as thou art in a great camel/ ¶ after he laid his hand tofore the said camel/ which came all wood and enraged/ ¶ and anon he bowed his heed unto the earth/ whereof each man was abashed. how in so little while the said beast so enraged or wood was become so mild and came/ ¶ in effect saint iherom saith that he would not write all the deeds of saint hylaryon/ for the time should not be short/ as he would say that they were innumerable ¶ when some of syry● came to saint anthonye he said to them/ ¶ wherefore come ye fro so far/ have ye not my son hylaryon with you/ the which shall aid and help you by his prayers/ ¶ in the name of the same hylaryon in palestine were many churches made ¶ his humility was marvelous great. ¶ and for in the same and in all other virtues to give and show good ensample to the holy and devout religiouses/ often times he went to visit them in their hermitages/ the which knowing his great virtues followed him well oft in so great number. that they were often times with him nigh by a two thousand men/ ¶ thus as the holy man went visiting the deserts of cades/ ¶ he came in to heluse a city. where all the people were assembled for to do sacrifice to the temple of venus/ ¶ in that temple were many paynims/ the which had been delivered of the devil by the intercession & prayer of the holy man hylarion/ ¶ and when they apperceived him to pass tofore the temple aforesaid. they and their wives sprang out of the temple/ and said to him in language syryaque/ bareth/ which is as much to say as give benediction to them that prayen the/ meekly he heard them/ and praying them that they should not adore him by prayers/ but one god only eternal/ ¶ marvelous grace of god happened to them/ for by his coming and by his prayers they were in such wise inspired that from that hour they made them christian. and held him for their bishop/ ¶ another time as he would depart for to go visit the religiouses to him subgettes/ he sent his letters to some religiouses in to lodges. in which he would lodge/ ¶ and among the brethren there was one. which was marvelously scarce and nygardouse/ and would no thing give/ ¶ wherefore the other prayed to the holy man. that he would lodge in his hermi●age· to the end to correct this cursed vice/ ¶ he answered to them/ what would ye should be done to him/ he should slander us/ and we should but travail him/ ¶ ten days after the religiouses had knowledge. that the holy man should pass by his vine yard/ sent keepers in to the vine yard/ ¶ in commanding them that if any would entry in to it/ that they should cast stones at them/ the holy man this seeing and knowing what there should come thereof. began to laugh at the folly of the said religious/ and went in to the house of another much liberal. named sabbas/ the which by cause it was sunday/ desired them all to go eat of the grapes and raisins in his vine yard/ and that they should take their refections/ ¶ but saint hylaryon letted them to so do saying cursed be he of us that eateth tofore that he hath had refection spiritual/ ¶ let us serve god first. and after ye shall go in to the vine yard and so they dieden/ ¶ now was three thousand that entered in to the vine yard/ ¶ and after that they had eaten after their appetites/ there was then esteemed fruit enough for to gather an hundred mues. or tons of wine/ ¶ but twenty days after. the liberal religiouses gathered there three hundred/ ¶ and that other that was scarce and nygardous gathered not half so moche/ and yet what he had gathered. it turned in to vinegar/ and so lost it/ ¶ saint hylaryon then reproved all religiouses that were curious of things transitory/ ¶ in like wise another religious avaricious dwelling nigh by the space of five miles to saint hylaryon had a little gardyne/ which he caused a man to keep ¶ this avaricious man. for to take the benevolence or good favour of the holy man. came oft to visit the brethren/ and principally one named esicius. to the end to have habytude and famylyertee with the said saint hylaryon/ ¶ and brought on a day among other things green cools. which he had gathered in his garden/ and delivered them to the said esicius/ the which presented them to the holy man hylaryon being at table/ ¶ and when he saw them/ incontinent he commanded that they should be taken away saying that they were so stinking that he might not feel the savour/ ¶ and after demanded or asked who had brought them thither ¶ esicius named to him the brother/ smell ye not them said the holy man/ how avarice is rooted in these cools/ if the beasts had them tofore them. they would not eat them/ ¶ anon esicius bore them to the oxen & kine/ which would not eat them/ ¶ the holy man had this grace/ when only he saw the vestiments of a man. or that he had touched it/ he knew what sin that man had commised/ ¶ when he was lxiij year old in contempling the multitude of brethren that were come to him in desert & also that by him infinite seek men were heeled & guarished/ ¶ he began to weep saying to his brethren/ alas my brethren i have well lost my reward. i supposed to have renounced and forsaken the world/ and i am returned. considered the multitude of you that be with me. ¶ for i ought to be alone in a pit or fosse for to do penance/ and to live solitarily/ ¶ in this lamentation he was by the space of two years/ the which passed/ he had revelation of the death of saint anthonye. ¶ the which death he showed to the good woman of arystene/ of whom here above is made mention/ and that it was true/ two days after the said revelation came messengers. which witnessed the said dethe· ¶ which happened at the hour that he had showed it to the said woman/ ¶ his life was so holy. that every man marveled/ ¶ as well for reason of his miracles. as of his abstinences/ science. and humylytee/ ¶ bishops. preestes. clerks relygyouses·s matrons. and other christian people/ as well nobles as other in great multitude went to him/ and held themself well happy/ when they had of the breed and of the ●ylle that he had blessed with his hand/ ¶ by cause and above all things he desired solitude/ and had appetite to be alone/ ¶ on a time he purposed to leave his hermitage. and to go few from his brethren ¶ and he declared to some of them/ the which according to his will. and to the end that more art his case he might pass by the fields. brought to him an ass for to bear him/ but with great pain might he sit on him/ by cause of his debylite and of the great abstinences that he made/ ¶ and when he began to pass by the deserts of palestine moo than ten thousand persons enforced them to have supposed to tarry him/ that he should not go/ but nevertheless they could not let ne tarry him/ ¶ and in smiting against the ground with his staff said for to content them/ ¶ i know well that my god is no liar/ ¶ also i may not see for to destroy the churches ne to shed the blood of my children ¶ al they that there were present knew by his word. that he had had some revelacyon· which he would not show but always they would have tarried him ¶ thenne he said to them that he would never eat till they would let him go ¶ seven days after he took his lean of his brethren. in commanding them that they should return in to their monasteries/ and after he went in to bethirion/ ¶ five days after he came in to pelusus. and there visited all the brethren dwelling in lychone/ ¶ and three days following he went in to a place named thobaston. for to see dracone bishop and confessor the which had been sent thither in ●ryle/ ¶ when the said bishop saw him/ he was strongly comforted with his presence/ ¶ three other days after he went in to babylone. for to see phylon the bishop/ ¶ these two bishops had be sent in to exile by the king constancyus. the which gave favour and good will to the arriens heretics. ¶ he departed from thence. and two days following he came to the castle of affrodyton/ where he found bysano deacon/ the which had be accustomed to carry water upon camellis and dromedaryes in to desert to saint anthonye. by cause there was none in the place where he abode/ ¶ he recounted and showed to the said hylaryon how at hour that saint anthonye should die/ it was commanded to him. how he should wake all the night/ ¶ saint hylaryon and the said bysano were by the space of three days walking by diverse places/ ¶ and in the end came in to an high mountain/ where they found two religious men/ that is to wite ysaac and plusyano/ ¶ his ysaac had written the life of saint anthonye/ ¶ the good holy man hylaryon. went there from place to place/ to the end to visit the places where saint anthonye had conversed and used. and prayed to god. and had done other virtuous works/ and in visiting those places. he found a garden. in which saint anthonye had planted and set many trees. and also had made many piscynes for to water them when it was need/ ¶ he found also the place where he lay for to sleep/ which was no greater than the body of a person ¶ and after returned saint hylaryon with two of his brethren to the next hermitage/ called affrodyton/ in which place saint anthonye lived a space of tyme. solitarily/ ¶ now had it not rained in that land in three years/ like as the elements should have complained the death of saint anthonye/ ¶ but at the request of saint hylaryon they had then great abundance of rain/ ¶ after the which a multitude of serpents and venymouse beasts roo● up. against the people/ of the infection of whom they died in dyfferently without remedy. if incontinent they had not be brought to saint hylaryon. which gaaf them oil blessed. of which anon as their wounds were touched were hole & guarished/ ¶ and by that cause that in those parties he was so much known/ and that there was done to him overmuch great honour. he went in to alexandria. and came in to a monastery named oason/ ¶ furthermore by cause he had not dwelled in no town walled sith he had be religious he went to brynchion by alexandria with some of his brethren that he knew where he was received benignly/ ¶ but anon after by cause that they saw the disciples of the holy man make ready his ass for to depart/ they prayed him with joined hands that he would abide/ for they had liefer have died than he should depart fro them ¶ thenne the holy man for to comfort them. said that he was constrained hastily to departed/ to th'end that by his overlong tarrying there with them. he should be cause of heaviness/ ¶ saying to them furthermore that for some things that they should see after come they should well know that not with out great cause. he should not depart so hastily from them and their monastery/ ¶ and the day after it happened that the principal of the city of gaza/ a cytee nigh by wherein dwelled paynims and enemies to the law of our lord ihesu christ/ which were advertised of the coming of saint hilaryon to the said monastery/ knowing that their law was in way and danger to be all destroyed by the moyen of the said saint hylaryon/ and for to eschew the same concluded to go to the said monastery. for to put him to death/ ¶ and so incontinent they went thither. ¶ and they finding that so hastily was departed from thence/ and without to be advertysyd· ne warned of their enterprise and purpose/ imposed and put to him that he was a magycyen/ saying among them that that they might clearly know. that he saw before things that comen after/ ¶ now it ought to be understand that when saint hylaryon was departed from palestine/ they of gaza demanded of julyan which then was emperor licence for to slay his disciple esicius/ ¶ and for more lighter to take him/ they had wreton to all the lands there about ¶ his church was then destroyed & beaten down/ and his religiouses slain/ ¶ the which thing he had perceived by revelation/ wherefore he was departed. by cause he would not see that destruction/ like as tofore is said/ ¶ saint hylarion so departed from bruchyon and the deserts returned in to oason/ where he was a year or there about. ¶ but by cause his renomee and fame was through that land spradde· he would go to places where he should not be know/ ¶ and went for to pass over the see/ and to dwell in yles where he should not be known ¶ in that time adryan which was his disciple coming from palestine arrived to him. saying/ that julyan the emperor was slain/ and that in his place regued an emperor that was christian/ ¶ when the holy man heard his purposes. he blamed him/ ¶ and nevertheless he would not return/ but he and zazanius one his disciple went in to a ship for to come in to cecyle/ ¶ and when they were in the myddill of the see/ the son of the mariner was ravished of a devil. which entered in to his body ¶ and by cause that saint hylaryon by force of conjuration would have constrained him to depart out of the said son. he said to him. ¶ o servant of god why sufferest thou not me to be in peace within the water/ give me spase to go to the land/ ¶ for if i depart here/ i should fall in to the abysm/ ¶ the holy man answered to the devylll. if my god hath given to the puissance and power to abide/ abide thou. and if thou haste no might. i shall cast the out/ ¶ anon after the child was hole and guarished/ ¶ after this saint hilaryon to the end that he should not be known made the mariners to swear. & other that were there. that they should not show his name/ ¶ and when he was arrived in an high mountain in cecyle named pachumum. he would have given to the mariner for his solaire a book of the gospellis. which he had do make in his youth for him and his disciple zazanius/ ¶ the maronner seeing that he had none other thing would no thing have/ ¶ and to th'end that he would not there be known of the merchants of the east parties/ he went far in to the myddyll of the land. well twenty mile from the see/ ¶ and there in a desert he made of the broken bows and wooed faggots. and brusshes/ and charged and laid in the neck of his disciple for to bear to the market in the next town/ to the end that he should bring breed for their sustentation/ ¶ alas let us consider the poverty of this holy man/ and how moche evil he suffered for to come to heaven/ we that have so much good/ how suppose we to have it/ i believe that it shall be with great pain/ ¶ and how well that the holy man was goon in to a strange country. by cause he would not be known/ ¶ nevertheless anon after by the moyen of his marvelous werkes·s his fame was great thorough all the country of cecylle/ ¶ and the first knowledge of him was by a a man. which had a devil within his body/ the which man was brought in to the church of saint peter of rome/ ¶ and on a day among the other/ the devil cried by the mouth of the seek man. with in short time hylaryon shall enter in to cecylle. the which weeneth to hide him/ but i shall go to him. and shall manifest and show him thorough out the land of cecylle/ for such is the pleasure of god/ ¶ anon the same man with his servants went to the see. & came a land in pachumium/ ¶ and like as the devil brought him tofore the hermitage of saint hylaryon. and incontinent was all hole/ ¶ the which curation was the first miracle that he made in cecylle/ ¶ and after came to him innumerable seek people/ of whom he refused many great gifts which they would have given to him/ ¶ considering by him that which our saviour said to his disciples/ ¶ i have given to you grace/ without any thing to give therefore. give ye in like wise without taking of any thing/ ¶ esicius disciple of saint hylaryon sought him in diverse places/ and was there three year in deserts and mountains for to seche him/ ¶ and finably in a city named mathone he found a jew/ the which said to him that there was descended in to cecylle a prophet which died infinite miracles. in such wise that he was reputed and taken for an holy hermit ¶ esicins asked him of his habit. of his tongue/ and of his age/ whereof he could no thing say to him/ for he had not seen him/ but he said so by hearing say/ ¶ esicius came by adventure in to pachumium in a village/ in which he demanded and inquired for the holy man/ whom every man told where he was/ for he was known of them all. for the great miracles that he died/ whereof they had great wonder/ and never took any thing of them but a piece of breed/ ¶ esicius by great diligence found him/ and kneeled down tofore him/ weeping and kissing his feet/ ¶ saint hylaryon took and relieved him up/ and a little while after they went in to a castle/ named epidarium in dalmacye. where by in a field there being. he dwelled a little time/ ¶ but he was incontinent known. as he before had been in other places and countries. where he had conversed and dwelled/ ¶ in the said place was a dragon marvelously great/ the which only destroyed not the goods. but also he devoured and slew the herd men that kept beasts/ ¶ then the holy man caused to be brought a great heap or stack of wood/ and caused to be set fire therein/ ¶ and after made his prayer to god. the which made. the same dragon in the presence of all the people came and brent himself within the said fire/ ¶ in that same tyme. and anon after the death of julyan the emperor all the land trembled/ ¶ and the sees sprangen out of their places. in such wise that it was supposed that the world should perish. and be drowned by a second deluge or flood/ ¶ and the ships were lift up to the mountains/ ¶ and this seeing the epydanytayns. came for refuge and socoures to the holy man/ and brought him to the rivage or cooste of the see/ ¶ the which incontinent after that he had made three signs of the cross in the sonde/ suddenly the see descended and became low/ and came in to his usual custom/ ¶ here ought we to note the words that our lord said to his apostles/ which been these/ ¶ if ye have very faith/ and ye command to a moutayne. that it go in to the see infallibly and without faylling it shall go/ ¶ hylaryon died no less miracle. when the see that was in the parties so haunsed. that it covered all the land/ incontinent was withdrawn and becomen low/ ¶ of which miracle all they of the city were admerueyled/ ¶ but by cause that men began to honour him there/ he departed by night in a little ●essell of the see/ ¶ and two days after he fond a great ship which was laden/ by the aid and help of which he went in to cypre/ ¶ but so as they of the said ship would have arrived and comen to an haven/ ¶ the marronners saw coming two ships well garnished with men of arms/ which men called rovers of the see/ which enforced them to approach or to come aboard to them/ in intention to rob and pill them/ wherefore the mariners and the disciples of saint hylaryon began to tremble and quake for fear/ and the holy man died no thing but laugh/ and said to his disciples/ ¶ ye been of little faith/ these thieves here which comen against us/ been not in so great multitude as was pharaoh/ ¶ and nevertheless he and his company were drowned in the see/ ¶ and when the ships of thieves were as nigh as the cast of a stone/ the holy man said/ hola/ hola/ ye been nigh enough/ ¶ and incontinent happened a marvelous thing/ for the ships of the said thieves returned backward. would the paciones and mariners or not/ ¶ after he entered in to a city named pafun being in cypress a noble city and moche flowrysshing in poetry/ of which the edifices and buildings were some time fallen down. because that the land trembled oft/ ¶ there were moche people tormented of devils. which were within their bodies/ ¶ but the holy man had not been there inhabited twenty days but that they cried with an high voys/ hylaryon the servant of ihesu christ is in this land/ to whom we must all go/ ¶ in like wise there was in the city of salomnocurium laphyte/ and many other which also cried saying/ that they must go to the holy man hylaryon/ but they knew not where he was/ ¶ thirty days after or there about came to the holy man hylaryon many seek men/ unto the number of two hundred/ which were guarished and heeled in eight days/ ¶ he dwelled two years in that place there in abiding esicius his disciple/ whom he had sent in to palestine for to visit the brethren of the monastery/ ¶ after that esicius was come again to him/ he returned in to egypte. in to a place named botholya/ by cause that there ne dwelled any christian man/ and the place was so enhabytable/ that uneath any man might go there a foot/ ¶ and was dystaunte or being from the city two miles or there about/ ¶ there were many trees and fair gardens/ but of fruit of them he never eat ¶ there was also an old monastery. the which was all in ruin or fallen in dekeye/ by the which was herd the ●oyses of some spirits/ like as there had been a great exercise or rout of men of arms/ ¶ whereof the holy man hylaryon was right joyeous/ considering the merit that he might get/ in resisting and withstanding the spirits that were so nigh him/ ¶ there dwelled he five years/ where few people went for to see him: for the great asprete or sharpness of the place. and for the dyffycnltee or doubfulnesse of the way to go thither/ ¶ on a day the holy man hylarion coming in to his garden apperceived a man paralytyke· or taken with the palsy being tofore the gate/ ¶ thenne escius aryd him what he was/ and who had brought him thither/ ¶ he answered that he was the procuroure of the town/ to whom the garden in which he was appertained unto/ ¶ then he took him by the hand and said to him/ ¶ in the name of god my friend arise thou and walk/ ¶ a marvelous thing in saying these words. the membres of the seek man were restored in their strength and health/ in such wise that he went upon his feet/ ¶ of which thing and miracle the fame sprang and spread there all about/ ¶ wherefore the holy man hylaryon would no longer abide there/ not for to depart from thence for any mutability or changing of thought/ but by cause he desired to live solitarily. without to have knowledge of any person/ ¶ when he was four score years old. he felt himself much feeble/ and by cause that esicius his disciple was then absent/ he made a cedule or letter of his hand/ by the which he left to him all that he had/ ¶ that is to wite his rob. which was made of a sake/ his frock. his pelycon. and his gospellis/ ¶ all these were no grete●ychesses/ ¶ many devout religiouses of the city of pafun. and with them a notable-woman named constance. at prayers of whom he had heeled her son and her daughter/ camen to him. by cause he was in disposition to deyeed / and spoken with him as he had to whom he required. and nevertheless commanded. that incontinent as he should be deed. they should put him in to the earth in a garden nigh to his house/ ¶ and tofore that he died. there as he had no more charity he said to his soul/ what dreadest thou my soul/ go out of my body/ wherefore art thou afeard/ ¶ it is now gone three score and ten year. sith thou seruedeste ihesu christ/ and now thou dreadest to die/ ¶ and thus saying he rendered his spirit to god/ & incontinent they buried him within the gardyne ¶ anon after his disciple esicius which was in palestine knew his departing/ and then he came in to cypre/ ¶ and when he was in the garden where as he was buried/ he feigned that he would dwell there/ ¶ to the end that they that kept him should have no suspicion ne mysdeming that he would transport and carry away the body of saint hylaryon/ but he wrought so privily. that ten months after that he steel him a way. & transported or carried him to maxymian his auncyens and old church. in the which the same esicius. and also all the men and religiouses there about buried him in his frock and his pelycon/ which as it is said is there alhoole/ ¶ and saint hylaryon is yet as he was in plain life/ giving out odours & savours marvelously smelling sweet/ ¶ the good woman constance/ which had be acustomed in curious wakinges to pass the time in making her prayers. there as he had be burybe alive/ ¶ when she knew that he was transported and taken from thence she wing the great love that she had to him: rendered and gave incontinente her spirit unto god/ ¶ and yet presently by this occasion is there great question between them of cypre and of palestine/ ¶ by cause they of cypresayen. that they have the spirit/ ¶ and they of palestine say to have the body/ ¶ nevertheless in cypre at this day been done to the praising of him moo miracles. than in palestine/ ¶ and peradventure for almoche as he loved more the place ¶ or by cause only that it playsyth god that so it be done/ ¶ thus endeth this prossesse of the right holy and devout man saint hylaryon/ ¶ here followeth the life of saint malachi/ and beginneth in latin ¶ caromas/ caplm xxxviii caromas is a city in syrie distant or being of fernesse fro anthyoche about thirty mile/ in the which dwelled malachi. a man so named/ ¶ malachi is a saying syryaque/ the which in latin tongue is asmuch to say. as king/ ¶ this same malchus or malachi was an holy man borne of syrye. with him was alway an old woman. the which was so old. that she seemed alway ready to die ¶ they two were so continually in the church that they might be lykenye to zacharye and elysabeth in devotion/ ¶ saint iherom being in syrye. some cyteyzyns of the same city, axed if the said malachi. & same woman were married. or kynnes folk/ by cause he saw them so continually together/ ¶ to whom was answered that they were holy and devout persons toward god/ then saint iherom went to visit the holy man for to demand and inquire of his life/ ¶ the holy man malachyas said to him. that he was born of a place named nyzibam/ and only heritor of his father and mother/ ¶ the which for to continue their lineage. would have constrained him to take the sacrament of marriage/ and nothwythstonding that he was by his father strongly menaced and threrenyd/ and of his mother affectuously required for to mary him/ ¶ nevertheless he loved better to these the state of religion. and to renounce and forsake the world/ ¶ after he said to him. that for doubt of the romans that made watch upon the passages. and of other men of the said country/ he durst not go in to the eeste/ but went him in to the west ¶ he said to him also that he had be in an hermytage. which was named calcid●s and stood toward the south between mynas & heroas/ ¶ and that he had found there good religious under which working and labouring he had lived long tyme. ¶ after he was in will to return in to his country/ by cause that he wist well that his father was deed ¶ and for this cause he would have the goods that were left for to give a part to poor people/ another part to make a church. & the residue for to sustain his life/ ¶ the which thing he had declared to his abbot as he said/ and he incontinent blamed him/ saying that it was temptation of the devil/ ¶ and alleged and showed to him for the same many fair histories of some religiouses. which in like caas had be deceived / ¶ for the devil under the colour of good thing. temptyth alway the person for to make him to accomplish and do some evil/ ¶ he said furthermore that his abbott had said to him/ that he resembled and was like the hound. the which after he had made his vomit. returned and received it again/ ¶ and for prayer that the abbot could do. he would not consent to abide ¶ how be it that he kneeled down on his knees tofore him/ praying that he should not go/ but abide with him in praying and showing that he that putteth his hand to the plough·s that is to say that entereth in to religion and he look backward/ is not worthy to have the kingdom of heaven/ ¶ alas said malachi to saint iherom. i was well melchaunte and unhappy/ when by his exhortations i would not abide with him/ ¶ which thing i would not do/ weening that he said so for none other thing. but for to hold him company/ & for his right singular profit/ ¶ and to me departing and taking of him leave. he said to me/ ¶ ha a my son i ought well to be angry/ for i see the devil which markyth the with the sign of dampened men/ ¶ and like as the sheep that lep●th out of the fold. is of the wolf ravished/ right so was i and my company/ ¶ for in coming from heroa for to go in to edysle we were robbed of thieves/ and we were between three score & four score in a company/ ¶ among whom was taken a wife of one of my company/ ● and we were carried upon two camels unto the house of a lord/ ¶ and in going thither we eat no thing but raw flesh. and drank milk of camellis ¶ finably we arrived and came to the house of the said lord/ where i was constrained for to save my poor life to adore him with his wife and his children/ ¶ and so doing i must kneel down on my knees tofore them/ ¶ and after for to increase my sorrows i was put for to keep his sheep. the which i kept in such wise that they multiplied in great foison/ ¶ there i eat no thing but soft cheese and milk/ ¶ but alway i prayed to god and said such psalms as i have learned. with the religiouses that i had left/ ¶ the lord of whom i had kept the sheep for to reward me by cause that i had kept them so well. would have constrained me to take in marriage this woman. the whywhiche was prisoner with me/ ¶ and by cause i would not take her/ but in excusing me i said that i was christian and not she/ & also that her husband was yet living. which was prisoner with another lord/ ¶ he drew out a sword. and would have slain me if incontinent i had not promised to espowse the same woman prisoner ¶ that night we were shit both in a great pit/ in which i said to myself/ ¶ alas what hath it profited to have left father and mother/ and also my country/ for to eschew marriage. if now i mary myself/ ¶ i suppose this adversity is comen to me because i have desired to return in to my country ¶ ha my soul what shall we do/ alas i shall slay myself/ it is better that i slay myself and be saved. than for to take a wife in marriage and be dampened in hell everlastingly/ ¶ after i had said these woods i took a sword/ and set the point against my stomach. in saying to this said woman/ ¶ o poor woman take me now martyr in marriage otherwise shalt thou never have me to husband/ ¶ then the good woman prisoner kneeled down on her knees tofore me/ and began to cry/ ha my friend. i pray the in the name of god slay not thyself/ to the end that thy blood be not cause to lose mine/ o if thou wilt slay thyself/ slay thou me first/ and so as martyrs we shall be married/ ¶ i say to the for truth that when my husband shall be frohens forth with me· he shall never touch me/ ¶ for from this hour forthon i make a promise to keep chastytee ¶ wherefore then wilt thou slay thyself. if thou take me in marriage/ if it so were that thou wouldst have me otherwise/ i should rather slay myself than to consent to be thy wife/ ¶ but i pray the that thou take me as to thy wife/ and i shall taketh as my husband in cleanness. in loving my soul. and hating my body/ they shall lightly believe that we been married/ and also we shall hastily be married. when they see us love that one that other/ ¶ then was i much admarveled of her constance and wisdom. and loved her better/ than if she had be my proper wife/ ¶ and how well that we have sithen lived as husband and wife together long time/ ¶ nevertheless i saw her never naked. ne she me ne never touched the one the other/ ¶ the said malachi recited and told also to saint iherom. that on a time among the other like as he went to pasture and feed the beasts/ he saw a molle hill full of aunts/ and long time i took heed to the manner of their living/ in considering how some of them bare for to sustain and to continue their life more greater paste. and more heavier by the half than they were themself/ ¶ and he saw some draw after them. that which they might not bear/ ¶ considering also how they were never idle/ ¶ and when one of them came out of his hole for to bear to eat/ that other would never part unto that he had helped to discharge and unlade his fellow/ ¶ the condition of the aunt is such/ that when he beareth any herb having grain/ by cause it should not grow within the hole in the earth he taketh away the said grayne· for in the garner it should he incontinent green/ ¶ with this considered malchus the saying of solomon/ the which sent the slothful to the formices or aunts/ ¶ and in thinking on these things/ he said to himself/ like as saint iherom rehercyth/ that he was the most slothful of all mankind/ ¶ and by this cause he imagined how he might escape from the servitude where he was in. for to find some monastery/ in which he might in serving god profitably finish his days/ ¶ upon this purposes he returned home/ and could not hide from his wife this heaviness of his courage/ the which after that he had declared and showed to her his case/ ¶ admonested and counseled him to flee by night ¶ then said the said malachyas. that he had in his flock two beeres. the which he would first slay/ ¶ and of their two skins he made two sacks for to bear the flesh of the two beeres/ ¶ and when this was done/ he and his wife awaited that all they of the house slept/ and then departed and went their way without making great noise/ and after that they had gone ten mile or there abowtes/ they found a river. the which they passed prudently/ ¶ for when they were within the river. they went within the same. in descending well low fro their first way for to take another/ to the end that if any came for to seek them that they should not find the stappes of their feet/ ¶ and by cause that they dread the deepness of the said river they passed the water upon their sacks which weren full of their beeres flesh/ the said flesh was so hurt. that they might keep it no l●nger channe three days/ but they recompensed it in drink/ ¶ for in that water they drank for the thirst that was to come/ ¶ after that they had passed the said water/ they ●anne in beholding always behind them. for to know if any followed them/ and more by night than by day by cause they feared the sa●ralyns and also for to eschew the great here of the day/ ¶ yet when he told these things to saint iherom/ he said that he was not yet well assured of the great fear that he that time had/ ¶ and after that he and his wife had gone three days they saw two men come tofore them. riding on two camellis/ and supposed as it was true/ that it was the lord that they had left/ of whom they were so afeard. that they abode no thing but death/ ¶ thus as they were in this anguish. they saw a great pit by them/ in which they went to hide them/ ¶ but weening to eschew a great peril. they put themself in a greater/ for in the same pit were innumerable venymouse beasts the which had put themself in for the here of the son/ ¶ and thenne they said if god help us unhappy we shall be safe/ and if he despise us synnars/ we shall die here/ ¶ after said malachyas to saint jerom/ now think fair father what dread we had. when we saw the lord & his servant upon the brink of the pit/ the which we had by adventure thus founden/ ¶ in proceeding ferder to the end of his caas/ malachyas rehercyth that incontinent as the lord & his said yeoman were comen thither upon the brink of the said pit/ the lord made his servant to go down in to the pit/ ¶ and because he was troubled in his sight. because he was come out of the clearness of the son/ he could not know them within/ ¶ and when he was entered within the height of three cubytes/ ¶ he began to cry. come out ye meschaunt thieves. ye shall anon be slain/ ¶ but incontinent he was taken of a lioness by the then●e and strangled him/ ¶ the lord seeing that his yeoman carried long/ and strongly enangred came to the said pit/ ¶ but anon after he was entered therein/ he was in like wise strangled of a lion/ ¶ after recited and told malachy as that when he and his wife saw the lord & his yeoman so slain. they were afeard that the beasts should slay them/ and durst not move fro thence ¶ but they were armed of the wall of clean conscience/ ¶ a marvelous thing/ the brute beasts were more ready to defend them. than they were themself/ ¶ on the morn tofore day the said beasts departed from them and left malachyas & his wife thereto/ ¶ but that notwithstanding they durst not go out for the great dread that they had/ ¶ and when the even came they went out of the pit aforesaid/ and found the two camels on which the lord and his yeoman road road upon/ ¶ and so they both anon light upon them ¶ and the tenth day after they came to rome/ there they being comen thither/ recounted all their caas to a tribune roman/ ¶ and after they were sent to sabituan duke of mesopotamy/ and there they sold their camels/ ¶ and by cause that the abbot malchus was deed in the town of caromas in syrye/ he dwelled with the religiouses and set his wife after with the virgins/ ¶ think ye now ye that been chaste and vyrgines. observing and keeping chastity and vyrgynytee/ that never in that estate ye shall not long be in captyvytee/ ¶ ne also wild beasts mown not noye ne grieve you/ ¶ and known ye for certain that how well that we been all mortal/ nevertheless ye shall never see chaste person and clean of heart to be overcome· ne put under of his enemies/ ¶ thus endeth this prensent treatise of saint malachi/ ¶ here followeth the life of saint paul the simple hermit/ and beginneth in latin ¶ fuit quidam. et cetera caplm. xxxix saint paul surnamed the simple was one of the disciples of saint anthonye/ made himself an hermit. by cause that his wife had given herself to another man than him/ of which thing when he was advertised/ he was marvelously troubled/ ¶ nevertheless he told it to no body/ but went in to the deserts ¶ and after that he had long gone in the same/ he rendered and put himself in to the monastery of saint anthonye/ ¶ to whom in arriving there/ he demanded and asked first the way. by the which he might be saved/ ¶ saint anthonye said to him that for to get his salvation. it was of necessity/ that he should do and accomplish all that should be commanded to him/ ¶ the which answered that he should so do/ ¶ and thenne saint anthonye willing to prove his constance said to him/ ¶ abide here at this door unto the time i have prayed god in mine oratory ¶ saint anthonye was there a night and a day all hole/ but nevertheless saint paul departed not ne removed not/ but he beheld oft by the window what he died within/ and knew that continually he prayed without moving himself/ ¶ on the morn saint anthonye preached to him of many enseygnements and teachings/ in shewing to him how some time he must labour and refresh his spirits/ whereby he should after be more prompt and ready for to pray to god/ ¶ also with all his thought and strength be ought to keep the commandments of god/ ¶ and at even in taking his refection he should eat and drink little and he should drink but water/ ¶ after this that he had instruct and taught him in all teachings necessary for his health ¶ he delivered to him a little hermytage standing three miles from him/ to which saint anthnoye went oft for to visit him ¶ and alway he found him in fervent devotion. in observing and keeping the rules and commandments that he had said to him/ ¶ on a day came to saint anthonye some brethren right perfighte and of moche straight life/ ¶ among whom was saint paul the simple/ ¶ and as in an eventide they spoke of the holy scripture. in reciting & telling the deeds of ihesu christ. and of the prophets/ ¶ saint paul by his syplenesse demanded/ if god had be tofore the prophets/ ¶ saint anthonye seeing his imbesilyte and simpleness/ commanded that he should hold his peace. and depart incontinent. ¶ so he departed by obedience with out to answer any thing/ ¶ and when saint anthonye saw that he was so humble and obeissant/ ¶ he was moche admerueylled/ ¶ and after he commanded him that he should speak/ and that he should say wherefore he spoke not/ ¶ to whom he answered. that he had so done by cause he had so commanded him/ then saint anthonye was much joyeouse and glad of hy● answer ¶ and yet again he admonested him tabyde alway and pe●ceuere in obedience/ ¶ and oft times he commanded him to do things against reason/ ¶ as to draw water out of a deep pit all day a long/ and to cast it on the earth/ and sometime to unsowe his gown/ and after to sow it again/ and so of many other things/ ¶ but in all he was much obeyssaunte and lowly/ ¶ and by that manner he came to perfection/ ¶ and therefore said saint anthonye who some ever will be perfit/ he ought not to be master. ne obey to his own will/ been they reasonable or none ¶ for our saviour saith that tofore all things/ one ought to renounce his own will/ ¶ and with that he saith in another place/ ¶ i am not descended and comen in to this world for to do and fulfil mine will. but the will of him that hath sent me/ that is my god almighty/ ¶ nevertheless the will of the son was never contrary to the will of the father/ ¶ also he that was doctor of obedience when he had done his will. he had not be inobedyente/ ¶ alas then sith that god would not use his own will/ but was so much obedient/ ¶ wherefore been not we obedient to him/ without to obey to our sensuality/ in leaving all things contrary to equity and reason/ ¶ the virtue of obedience is more agreeable to god than any sacrifices ¶ for this virtue god showed moo greater miracles for saint poule than for saint anthonye/ ¶ from all regions came seek folks to him/ for to recover health/ ¶ the which thing saint anthonye seeing. and dreading that he should be overmuch let/ for that cause he made him to go in another secret place/ where as he might not be found/ to the end that saint anthonye should receive them that should come/ ¶ and if any fayllyd to recover their health by the prayers of saint anthonye/ he sent them to saint paul/ and anon they were hole and guarished/ ¶ among other there came one to the which was mad. and so far from himself/ that by the reason of his malady he boat all them that came to him/ ¶ saint paul began to pray to god/ and commanded the devil which tormented him/ that he should depart out of his body. ¶ but by cause the devil departed not. & went not only incontinent after he had commanded him/ ¶ saint paul began to speak to god as little children done/ saying/ ¶ truly my god/ i shall not eat this day/ if thou heel not this seek man/ ¶ and anon he was heeled/ ¶ all the miracles that he died. god had granted to him the power. for the great obedience that was in him/ ¶ then ought every person to enforce him to be obedient to god in observing and keeping his commandments/ ¶ thus endeth the life of saint poule the simple hermit. ¶ here followeth the life of saint paula or pauline/ and begynnynth in latin ¶ si cuncta corporis mei membra etc. caplm. xl saint iherom saith/ if all my membres were turned in to tongues/ and all they longen thing worthy of praising/ yet could they not say sufficiently of the venerable saint saint paula/ she was noble of parents/ but moche more noble of holiness of life/ rich of patrimony/ but more rich for as much as she had renounced and forsaken the goods of this world ¶ all the days of her life she complained to god saying/ ¶ alas poor sinner what shall i do my life is lengthened i dwell over long in this corruptible world. in which is no thing but sin and filth/ ¶ and for asmuch as she said herself a pilgrim in this world. often she desired death/ and to be with ihesu christ/ ¶ the most part of her time she was like by the great abstinences that she made/ ¶ nevertheless armed with patience she said/ i chastise my body. and put it in servitude/ to the end that by myself i be not reproved/ when i reprove other/ ¶ and in this great patience she saw heaven open for to receive her/ and said/ ¶ who shall give to me wings that i may flee. and rest myself in paradise/ ¶ she loved all the time of her life the sure estate of poverty/ ¶ for when she died she was more poor than they whom she gaaf her alms/ ¶ her father was called topocius/ the which was of the lineage of agamenon/ which ten years during held siege tofore troy the grant/ and at last by him it was destroyed ¶ her mother was named basil extract of the lineage of scypyons greeks/ ¶ this which saint iherom ●ee●tyh and speaketh of. no thing for that he will say that the man ne the woman ●en to be praised. for asmuch as they been comen of great parentele and lineage in worldly honour ¶ but for asmuch as when some been come of high birth and of great place/ and they despise the richesses of this world/ they show themself in so doing to be of the very lineage of ihesu christ/ and to have toward him gre●ter love/ then to them which have nought or little thing in value ¶ and say that they renounce and forsake all/ ¶ as some done which put themself in to religion. for to have provision & surety of their living ¶ without to have regard to our saviour ihesu christ/ saying that who that shall leave all for the love of god. he shall have an hundred times more in the end/ that is to say the ream of heaven/ the which is true in saint pauline/ ¶ for for the city of rome which she left with all richesses and vainglory of the same city/ ¶ she is right marvelous renowned as among many precious stones the most precious and in excellent virtue shining/ ¶ like as the son giveth greater light than the moan/ in like wise saint paula among all holy women most excellently she shynyth/ ¶ she fleeing and eschewing the glory of this world/ ¶ and therefore it is to be noted that after the death of her husband toxocius/ she distributed and dealt that one half of his gods unto the poor people/ of which some were nourished. and other clothed and other after their death buried/ ¶ and when a poor body was sustained and helped of another than of her/ anon she was sorry. as though she had lost much good/ ¶ when she had long time lad such holy life/ she would not endure and suffer the praising of the world ¶ for by the occasion of that she was of noble lineage many lords came to visit her/ ¶ then she began to despise the honour temporal/ in desiring to go to desert for to do penance/ ¶ in that time it happened that the bishops of the east and of the west came to rome for the decension and strife of some churches. ¶ among whom saint paula saw a notable & a good man named paulyn bishop of anthyoche/ ¶ and another named epysanus bishop of the city of salamonye in cypress/ the which city now is called constance ¶ and the said epifanus was lodged in her house ¶ and for the great virtues of the same bishops. she was inflamed with love of god more than tofore/ ¶ and concluded in herself to leave her house in such manner/ that for children ne for the noblesse of her howsene for possessions that she had. she might never be withdrawn from her holy purposes/ ¶ and after that the winter was passed. the same bishops put them to the see for to return to their churches ¶ then she went with them for to go to the hermitages of saint anthonye. and of saint paul hermits ¶ after that she had sailed by the see/ she descended at a port named fratre/ and there came to her all her parents and friends/ ¶ and that was more pietous came thither her children. & whiles they arrived and came a land the ships being then ready for to sail and take the see/ her children were at rivage or haven/ ¶ the little toxocius held up his hands to his mother saint paula/ and her daughter ruffian which was ready to be married wept. and prayed her that she would tarry & abide till the wedding were done/ but the good lady garnished with firm constance held up her hands and eyen unto heaven/ in having more great pity on her soul. than of her children/ ¶ to whom she showed no more affection/ than if they had not been her children/ ne she their mother/ ¶ now ought it here to be noted that nature ought to be strongly moved to pity and compassion whanue she saw her children thus strongly weep after her. ¶ but nevertheless she was constant and steadfast. and returned not/ ¶ alas there is no martyrdom more sharp. than to depart from friends/ ¶ alas is this not a work against nature. to leave. forsake and abandon thus her children. ye may well think that she had great faith/ and singular love to god/ ¶ and it may well be believed that she was so wise and prudent that she loved them of a fervent love well ordained/ ¶ for tofore or she departed she had given to them all her good/ ¶ alas she was disherited in this world for to make her rich in another world/ ¶ the ship then ceased not to sail. for any prayer that her children made/ ¶ but by cause she might not see them without some heaviness. she turned her eyen from them/ and from the rynage or cooste where as they were/ ¶ in effect the ship sailed so scire that after many days they airyved and came a land in thyles of pounce/ ¶ and by cause the wind was not great. but over calm among the stony see and many perilous passages of which that one was named scylla/ carthdis. another adriaticus. which been daungeours in the see. for the rocks that been there/ they descended and came a land and in going a land. she felt her membres so weary and overmuch travailed as she should have died. ¶ there she took a little refection for to comfort her/ ¶ after that she had be in citharee, in rhodes. and in other many yles. she came in to the isle of cypre/ in which place she sojourned by the space of ten days with the said bishop epyfanius/ ¶ then when she had visited all the monasteries there she took the see. and came on land in silence ¶ after she came in to anthyoche. & there she was a little time with the bishop pauline/ ¶ alas the good lady which woned to be borne with ten emuches'. had not in walking all these ways. and other here tofore declared but a poor asle. upon which she sat ¶ and she visited not only the holy places in the isles tofore declared. but also she was in them of syrye & of fenyce/ ¶ how well that of them saint iherom maketh no mention/ ¶ for he hath written only that which hath be found in holy histories/ ¶ after that she had passed iherico. roman and colugne/ she entered in to a little town named sarepta between thyrye and syrye/ ¶ and by cause she went about all that land. it were a long thing to recount what she died in that viage/ ¶ finably she came in to iherusalem. the which city hath three names/ that is to wite jehus. salem. and iherusalem/ when she was comen thither/ the principal of the city/ having the office of proconsul made to be arrayed for her a little place like an hermitage/ ¶ but tofore ere she sojourned there she went to visit the holy places/ and to worship the holy cross. whereon our lord was crucified for the redemption of man kind/ ¶ now think we how many tears she let there then fall. when she beheld by a marvelous compunction/ as if our lord had yet been there/ ¶ in like wise she came to the sepulture/ which was not without kissing and worshipping devououtly/ ¶ after in to the mount of zion/ which david re-edified/ where she saw the pillar bysprente with the precious blood of our lord/ to the which he had be bounden for to be beaten before pilate/ ¶ there also she saw in the place. in which after the prophecy of joel. the holy ghost descended upon six score persons/ ¶ after she went to betheleem/ and on the right side of the way she tarried to see the sepulchre of rachel in the place where beniamyn was borne/ ¶ after she came in to the place where our lord was borne in the stable/ where she began to be in contemplation/ and remembered how the child was laid and wrapped in little clothes by his blessed mother/ ¶ and like as she had be there drawing out her paps or teetes to give him suck/ ¶ she saw also in her faith the three kings worshipping the little child/ and the star that conduited and lad them/ ¶ also she contempled and bywaylled the innocentes there slain/ ¶ and how the blessed ●vrgyne mary fled in to egypte with her sweet son jesus'. which joseph and she bore/ and in these contemplations she wept saying/ ¶ o city of bethleem. said city of breed in which is borne the breed which is descended from heaven/ that is the son of god/ ¶ and of whom micheas the prophet hath prophesied/ thou bethleem house of eufrates thou art not the little city/ but the noblest of the cities of judee/ ¶ also saint paula said to herself ha unhappy sinner that i am. god hath showed to me more than appertaineth to me/ ¶ when now i may kiss the crib wherein my lord god lay after he was borne ¶ also to pray in the place where the virgin bare. and was delivered of a child/ ¶ here shall my body rest perpetuelly. like as david saith in the psalter in the hundred and one and thirty psalm/ ¶ then after this said saint paula/ now i am in the country where the saviour of the world hath chose for to make redemption of mankind/ ¶ my soul and all my lineage shall serve him/ ¶ and after she descended to the tour of ader. nigh by to the which/ jacob died do pastor his sheep/ ¶ and the shepherds also heard the aungellis sing at the nativity of our lord saying (gloria in excelsis deo. et cetera) that is to say glory be to god in heavens/ and in the earth peace to men of good will/ ¶ from thence she went to gaza and took the way on the right hand. and came to bethsur and to eschol/ ¶ after she went to sare/ and from thence she came in to ebron. which is called cavatharbe/ which is as much for to say as the castle of four men/ abraham. isaac. jacob. and adam the grant/ for after that which is written of jesus' name the hebrews say that they were there buried/ nowythstonding that many say that the fourth man was called caleph ¶ she came after to the place where that lazare was raised in to the house of mary mawdeleyn and martha/ ¶ in following the same way to iherico/ weening yet to find the good man which was hurt with thieves/ of whom is made mention in the gospel/ and the which had be left of the priests and ●cuites as deed/ without having pity on him/ ¶ but a samaritan put him on his beast. and brought him in safeguard/ ¶ when she came to iheryco she saw there the city which ayel founded in ab●ram for his first child/ she saw also the castellis of galgala. and the mystery of the circumcision/ ¶ the twelve stones brought from ●●om jordan. sygnesyeng the fundament of the twelve apostles/ in like wise the fountain of taby. which some time had he so bitter that no man ne person might drink of at/ the which by helysee was corned in to sweetness/ ¶ tofore the night was passed she came to jordan the river/ upon the rivage or brink whereof she arrested/ ¶ and at the son rising she remembered the son of justice/ and how the priests passed the same flood/ ¶ how also by the commandment of helye and hely●ee the waters tarried for to make to them way ¶ she remembered also the purification of waters made by the baptism of our saviour ihesu christ. by cause that all the waters were fowl and stinking of mankind/ ¶ a long thing it were to recount the mysteries of the valley of anchor/ in the which were avarice and theft condemned ¶ and of bethel for the flood. and also for thoccasion of the house of god where jacob slept. having a stone under his heed/ ¶ she passed by syllo. and came to sychen/ and after to the side of the mountain of gaazym night to the pit of jacob/ and there she entered in to a church. where god tarried/ and demanded drink of the samarytane/ ¶ after from thence she departed. and went for to visit the sepulchres of the twelve patriarchs. and sebasten named samary/ which land was called august by king herod to the honour of august the emperor/ ¶ there were helysee. abdias the prophet. and saint iohn baptist/ ¶ in that place saw saint paula marvelous things/ ¶ for she saw devils tofore the sepulchres of helyzee and abdyas torment men. the which men howled as wulu●s/ barked as dogs. brayed as lyens. syfled as serpents. cried like bulls. and ther●e them to the ground/ ¶ and finably she saw many miserable & wretched women inhumaynly hang by the feet/ ¶ then she having pity and compassion of them began to wept tenderly. in praying for them the clemence and meekness of our saviour ihesu christ/ ¶ and how well that she was much weary. she went up in to the mountain. and saw the two fosses. in which in the time of persecution and of famine abdias the prophet nourished an hundred prophets with breed and water ¶ and after she went ferder and came in to nazareth where our lord was nourished/ also to canaam and capharnaum/ where god showed many miracles/ ¶ and to the lake of thiberiadis hallowed by our lord/ which sailed over the same in to desert/ ¶ in which with five loves & two fishes were five thousand men fed and sustained/ ¶ and twelve baskestes weren filled with the fragments and residue/ ¶ and after she went up in to the mount of thabor/ in the which god transfygured himself/ ¶ and from thence she saw the mountains of hermon and hermonium/ and the country of galilee/ where the excercyte of cisara was by baruth vanquished and put under/ ¶ she saw also the torrent of the flood of cyson/ the which devydyth all galilee/ and the castle by naym/ in which was raised the son of the widow/ ¶ she came also in to egypte and in sochot/ where samson made to sourde or spring a fountain out of a great tooth of a joywe/ and after she came to the flood of syor/ which is to say trouble and to the sepulture of micheas the prophet then being there a church ¶ she passed also by choreos. gethe ●s. marsea. ydumeum. and lachis/ ¶ and generally by all the deserts of egypte/ ¶ by the five cities of egipte/ in which is spoken the language of chanaan/ and by sychen and chanaos/ where as god died marvelous things/ ¶ and to the city of no/ which after is called alexandria/ ¶ in that long viage saint isodore confessor acconpanyed with innumerable religious people came and met with her/ ¶ and how well that she reputed or judged her indygne or unworthy of so great honour/ nevertheless she enjoyed for the honour of god/ ¶ she was so fervent in charity and in the love of ihesu christ. that she and her virgins were content to abide together with all the religiouses of desert/ ¶ and peradventure she had abiden there ne had be the great affection and desire that she had to see the holy places. and for the great heat that was then in the country/ ¶ she took after the see and fro pelusio came anon after in to bethleem. and took her lodging/ where as she dwelled three years/ ¶ o glorious paula/ mary & joseph could find no lodging. & thou found it well/ ¶ god doth more honour in this world to his servants/ than he died for himself/ ¶ there died saint paula do make many celled and monasteries for to lodge the pilgrims/ ¶ hither to is written of her pilgrimage. ¶ here followeth of her deeds and virtues/ the fairest of which is humility. which was in her so perfectly. that she held and reputed herself in virtue lass than her chamberers/ and nothwythstonding that she had by her many virgins/ alway in clothing. in language. and in walking she was the least of all other/ ¶ after that her husband was deed. unto her last day she eat never with man. what some ever knowledge or imagination that she had of his holiness or dignity approved/ ¶ ne never she bayned her but for necessity of sickness/ ne never had she also any soft bed. for what some ever fever or sickness that she endured/ but lay on the ground, laying under her the hair. or her rob made of skins/ ¶ and she considering the psalmyste/ that saith in his eight psalm/ ¶ i shall wash all the nights my couch and my bed with tears/ right so died she/ for night and day continually she was in prayers/ ¶ and when she was enforced to rest from prayer. by cause of hurting of her sight/ by cause she wept continually/ ¶ she answered saying. it behooveth well to chastise and to defoylle the face/ the which i have so curyously made fair/ ¶ is it not well reason that i chastise my body by penance/ the which hath been so much nourished in worldly delights and fleshly playsaunces/ ¶ long laughings and joyful games own to be changed in to weepings and wailings ¶ and for the clothes of silk that i have wome/ i shall doth me all my life with the hair/ ¶ and in so much as i have pleased my husband and the world. i desire now to please god ¶ for to declare her chastity and the virtues of her. it should never be possible/ therefore it behooveth to write of other. ¶ there was never none more debonay● nor meeker than she was. ne more soft to them that were meek & humble. she fled from them that were mighty and rich ¶ and if she saw a poor body. he was by her sustained and helped/ ¶ if she knew one that was rich. she admonested and desired him for to do well/ ¶ and never the poor departed from her. but if he had her alms/ ¶ in having alway in her remembrance the word of our saviour saying. that well happy and blessed been they that accomplisshe and fulfil the works of mercy/ for they shall find god merciful/ ¶ and also like as the water quenchyth the fire. so doth alms the sin/ ¶ wh● that ever shall do alms. he shall be made clean from all filth/ ¶ danyel the prophet admonested and warned nabugodonosor. saying then to him/ ¶ buy thy sins by alms/ her money was not attached not put to buy precious stones for to make rings of gold to put on her fingers/ as now done burgesses wives/ but she turned it in to fair margarytes. that is to say in to virtues. making fair the soul. and no ching the body/ ¶ it sufficeth not only to do alms/ many there been that done great almesses/ and semen without for the like people full of the grace of god but they been oft overcomen and vanquished by the temptation of the flesh/ and within forth in soul they been rotten and mortified/ ¶ it behooveth not only to give houses gold silver/ ne other revenues for the honour of god/ but also it is of nececessyte to give his skin/ ¶ the good job was not only persecuted in his goods and his children. but also in his body/ ¶ right so died the devout saint paula/ for with this that she gaaf her goods for the love of god/ she gave and abandonned her body to penance by fastings and prayers. and to were the hair. and other macerations of the flesh/ ¶ uneath and with great pain. but if it were a day of great feast. would she take any oil for her meet and refection/ ¶ as the thunder & tempest is much inclined by his nature to torment and cast down high places and mountains enhanced and raised on height/ ¶ right so is envy of his cursed inclination more active and obstinate to quench and bring to nought the loos and good fame of virtuous persons and well renowned ¶ the which thing happened to the holy and devout paula/ ¶ no thing to the detriment and hurt of her fair virtues/ but to the exaltation and sovereign perfection of them/ ¶ she thenne fructefyenge in good works was envy of an evil papelart and ypocryte/ ¶ which by envy continually tempted and detracted her weening to bring her to impacyence/ ¶ but she died right prudently and wisely her utility and profit/ for in gathering and heping virtue upon virtue against the said detractions. she meked and humbled herself as much as she might/ like as she had be greatest sinner of all the other women ¶ and when she was counseled that the should go her way. like as david. by cause saul pursued him and as jacob for his brother esau/ which would have slain him/ ¶ she answered i know that the devil giveth alway battles to the creatures of god/ in what some ever place that they been ¶ and therefore if i go away. yet he should give in other places empesshemen or lettings and battles. peradventure greater than thighs that he giveth me now/ ¶ on that other side. by cause that i know well/ that there is no country so holy. as this is of bethleem/ ¶ i have concluded not to depart fro the place wherein i am/ ¶ the enemy is overcome by patience/ and by humility. pride/ ¶ saith not the holy scripture/ that who that shall be smeton on that one cheek. he ought to proffer that other/ ¶ the apostles also went joying when they should be martyred. for the honour of ihesu christ/ ¶ our saviour meked himself in taking our nature. when he took man kind/ ¶ if job had not been in patience in his adversities. he had not heard the voice of our saviour in saying to him/ ¶ think job that i have sent the persecution and trouble but to the end that thou shouldest be reputed and holden just/ ¶ they that endure tribulation been reputed & thought well happy in the gospel/ ¶ she considering these things/ and for to fructify her patience. ¶ when the envious adad some time boat her by words injurious and wrongful/ she said with the psalmist/ when the sinner addressed him to me for to do me wrong/ i have restrained or hid my word. as i had be muette or dumb/ as a deef man i heard no thing/ and as a dumb man opened not my mouth/ ¶ the temptations come not to the persons but for to prove them if they love god with all their heart. and with all their soul/ ¶ she reduced and called to her mind the word of isaiah. which saith/ ¶ ye that been now out from the paps. that is to say in age/ abide tribulation upon tribulation/ ¶ hope upon hope ought to be had against an evil and serpentine tongue full of venom/ ¶ for patience is proved in tribulation/ ¶ by patience is gotten strength by that virtue is gotten hope ¶ and who that hath steadfast hope/ shall never be confounded/ ¶ who that is in adversity. he ought to arm him with strength. with patience. & with hope/ ¶ but some time they that been impatient sayen/ i endure enough/ and take the best wise i may in patience/ ¶ nevertheless god helpeth me not/ ¶ i have hope he shall help me/ but it is long ere it come/ ¶ such murmurers done great wrong. and be not patient. but full of all impatience/ ¶ for god hath said in time due and opportune i have enhanced the and in the day of health i have helped thee/ ¶ it behooveth not then to dread in any wise the venymouse and wicked tongues/ ¶ but we ought to rejoice if we been wrongfully blamed in requiring alway the help of god ¶ yet what some ever adversity that we have. yet we been not worthy to have the glory of heaven/ ¶ when saint paula was moche seek she said that she was more stronger than when she was hole/ for by adversities and maladies/ her body gate inmortalytee/ ¶ and yet she said/ like as the passions of ihesu christ abounded in me. in like wise by ihesu christ. in abundance cometh to me consolation and comfort/ ¶ they that been fellows of passion/ shall also be fellows of consolation. ¶ in heaviness. weeping and wailing sang saint paul saying/ wherefore art thou heavy my soul/ wherefore trowblest me/ have hope in god. for yet i shall confess him as my god and saviour of my soul/ ¶ when she was in peril she said with our lord/ who that will keep his soul. and save it. he must lose it and who that will lose his soul for the love of god. he shall save it/ ¶ when it was said to her that she was over liberal/ and that by this moyen all her patrymonye was dysspended. she answered/ ¶ what profiteth to win all the world. if one lose his soul that it be dampened. what merchandise may a man take in recompense of his soul/ ¶ as if she would say/ like as the richesses of this world been cause of the damnation of the soul ¶ she said also i am borne in this world all naked/ and all naked i shall return/ ¶ never ought to be desired any thing in this world/ for all that is in the world is none other thing but fleshly desire/ and the evil concupisbence of our eyen/ ¶ and in the end all shall pass/ but the good virtues that we get in this mortal world shallen be continually with us and tofore the death/ and in like wise shall accompany us our evils and fowl sins/ ¶ on a time came to the said good lady saint paula a good religious man. the which said to her· that for the right great abundance of he● good virtues/ and that for the right great love that she had to god/ she seemed to much people to be as a fool & yd●ote/ ¶ and that for that cause/ it were full necessary and great need to take medicines for her brain/ ¶ to the words and propositions of which good religious man the good lady answered/ ¶ my brother in god we been all semblable and like/ that is to say in a place common where as all the men in this world shall be assembled ¶ and we all been called fools for the love of ihesu christ/ ¶ by cause that we have in him set our love and devotion/ ¶ and therefore i recomfort me in the sayings and words of god our maker/ which saith to his apposles/ ¶ for this cause the world hateth you/ for ye been not of the world/ and if we were of the world: the world should love you/ ¶ the jews said to our sweet saviour and redeemer ihesu christ. that he was a samarytane/ and that he had a devil with in him in his body/ ¶ and that in the name of belzebub. which is the prince of devils. he chassed and cast out devils of the bodies of creatures. the which ought to require of him his mercy/ ¶ after which words the good and devout saint paula addressed her words to god our saviour and redeemer ihesu christ. in saying to to him in this manner/ ¶ ha my god my saviour and redeemer ihesu criste/ thou knowest the affection and desire that i have toward thee/ and the great love that i bear/ and how i am ready and appareled to obey and accomplyssh with my little power all thy commandments/ ¶ thou wottest & knowest all the thoughts of mine heart/ ¶ on that other side thou seest well and knowest all the injuries which have been done to thy servants/ ¶ and nevertheless they remember alway thee/ ¶ if we keep all thy commandments/ and have our heart on any other than on thee/ we been like and semblable to beasts. the which be brought to sacrefyce/ ¶ my lord god i count no thing in. such frivolous words and deceivable/ ¶ for i have hope that thou shalt be alway mine helper in all mine affairs and deeds/ ¶ and for that cause i dread no thing that any man do to me. ¶ for every man that shall honour the shall alway be comforted/ ¶ and also there ought no person of the world be adread of what authority or estate that he be of/ but only thou/ ¶ the said good lady saint paula also observed and kept good patience in all her tribulations unto her death/ ¶ in considering that all they thenne enforce them to do displeasure to their enemies in desiring vengeance/ they done again themself/ and all their ferocyte and wodnesse retournyth against themself/ ¶ here after followeth of the order of the monastery of the good lady saint paula/ and also of the continence of the devout good and holy religiouses/ as well of them as came to visit her as of other/ and how she laboured and died pain in the acquisition and purchasing of their health of their soul's/ the said good and right devout lady saint paula had right great virtues in her/ and so right great charity. that she gaaff for the love of god all her goods/ and abandonned and forsook all temporal things/ for to get heavenly things. ¶ her vyrgynes were much noble. benign. soft. gracious. amiable. and debonayr or meek marvelously/ the which she had assembled of diverse provinces/ whom the devout lady saint paula had divided in to three companies/ and on every company she had ordained a mistress over them/ ¶ and notwithstanding that they were separate and alone touching their eating and drinking/ yet were they together for to pray to god/ ¶ they had among them a sign to sing alleluya/ and incontinent as it was song/ she came the first herself for to move the other virgins to come to prayer/ ¶ on the morning at hour of tierce. at sixth. at none. at evensong. and at midnight. that is to wit at hour of matins they song the sawter/ and they were all constrained to come to it/ ¶ and every day they learned somewhat of holy scripture/ ¶ on the sunday each company of the said virgins. with their mistress came to the church to pray and serve god at all the hours aforesaid/ ¶ and all the other days of the week they laboured. and wrought to make robes and other vestiments for poor people. or for themself/ ¶ and if any were that came late at● the hours for to psalmody. or slothful to do their work. she corrected them by soft means/ ¶ and if any of her said virgins were hasty or wroth/ by good love and sweetness she corrected them and brought them in the way of health/ ¶ and if she were soft. humble and patient. alway notwithstanding she showed and corrected her by good manner. no more ne lass than if she had failed herself/ ¶ in following the words of saint paul the apostle saying/ what will ye that i do to you/ shall i correct by rod or by fairness and debonayrte/ alle were equal/ for they had none other thing but their living and clothing/ ¶ and if among them were moved any complaint or debate/ by fairness she brought them again in to love/ ¶ she constrained the virgins to fast to chastise the flesh/ ¶ and when they saw they had pain in the stomach/ she answered to them that is ●●●e availed to them to be evil disposed/ than that their souls should be like by the sin of the flesh ¶ if oony were more worldly or more curyously arrayed than the other/ ¶ she reproved her in saying/ that the curious array of the body was the filth of the soul/ ¶ and that never from the heart of a virgin ought to proceed any fowl word/ ¶ if any were a jangeler. a lyar. or chyder/ she warned her for to amend her ¶ and if she amended her not/ she made her to abide tofore the church door for to pray to god/ and to eat and drink out of the company of her sisters/ to the end that she should correct herself by shame/ ¶ she defendeth theft as sacrylege/ and that which the worldly men said to be venial sin/ she reputed and held it a right great deadly sin/ ¶ for to recount of her clemence and lowliness. it is a thing marvelous/ ¶ if her sisters were sick she served them/ and gave to them to eat flesh/ ¶ but when she was in sickness she eat none/ and in that principally she was not like to other. ¶ she that was old died more abstinences. than her young virgins/ ¶ on a time in the month of evil for the great heat of the son. she had the febres or axes/ ¶ the physicians counseled her that she should eat meats more nutrytyf than she had be accustomed/ and also that she should drink wine/ ¶ for the water that she drank might cause her to have the ydropesye/ ¶ but neither for the bishop epifanyus. ne for any other she would not eat any other thing than she had been accustomed/ ¶ alas if we take heed to her life/ we shall find that she made good commutations and merchandises/ ¶ and she wept in this world. to the end that she might laugh in that other/ ¶ she ware the hair/ to the end that she might have fair vestiments and precious in heaven/ ¶ she fasted devoutly for to have spiritual refection. and she for soak all the goods of this world. for to be rich in heaven/ ¶ and despised the worldly glory. for to have glory everlasting/ ¶ on a time she went to an heretic. which proposed many questions ¶ the first question was/ what sin might a child do. that was tormented with the devil/ ¶ the second. in what age men and women shall arise from death to life/ ¶ adiousting to this demand or question/ if she said in the age in which we die/ then it behooveth to have nurses for to nourish the children which died in young age/ & also tofore the time that they were sure of the paps/ ¶ and if she said that they should arise in other age/ then it should not be resurrection/ but only transformation out of one body in to another/ ¶ after he demanded if women should arise as women. and the men in form of men. or otherwise/ ¶ concluding if they aroos in form of men and women/ that they should be married in paradise/ ¶ and if all should arise in form of men/ that the resurrection should not be of those bodies that were deed/ ¶ and when such questions were to her proposed/ ¶ she recounted them to saint iherom/ ¶ the which in speaking to the said heretic. and in informing him other questions. confounded his in this manner/ ¶ first saint iherom demanded him if he believed the resurrection general/ ¶ the heretic answered ye/ sow ought to believe/ ¶ for it is an article of the faith/ ¶ secondly he demanded if the same body that died should rise again/ ¶ he answered. ye for it is also troth/ ¶ thirdly he demanded. if the bodies should arise in the sex or kind in the which they should be deed/ that is to wit. if the man shall arise in the likeness of a man/ and also in like wise the woman in likeness of a woman/ ¶ to this demand or question the heretic answered nought/ ¶ saint iherom said after to him/ ¶ sith that thou wilt not ansuere. i shall say to the by manner of ansuere/ ¶ that if a man rise not in likeness of a man/ and a woman in likeness of a woman/ then it should not be resurrection of them that died the which resurrection thou grantest to be/ and also it is true/ ¶ we have prouff hereof by our lord ihesu christ/ the which when he was arisen showed his wounds which he had received in the cross/ ¶ and also when saint thomas touched him in his worthy side/ ¶ said not our lord to his disciples/ behold and see my wounds/ to the end that certainly ye believe that i am he that hath be crucified. ¶ then that sith our lord after his resurrection was seen and touched/ and that his disciples heard him speak/ ¶ it appeareth clearly thy his membres that he arose in likeness of a man. and not of a woman/ ¶ for by his membres it appeareth that he had a body/ ¶ by cause that the body is not without membres. ne the membres also without body/ ¶ therefore it must conclude that the men shall arise as men/ and women as women/ ¶ as touching the conclusion that the heretic made. in saying. that marriages ought to be made in heaven/ ¶ saint iherom answered that there should be none/ ¶ for our lord saith that after the resurrection general. shall never be marriage made/ ¶ and by this the scripture saith. that there shall none be married/ and if it be argued to be written. that we shall be like to good angels. the proposition ought to be understand that we shall be semblable or like to them in conversation and blessedness/ as is promised to us. not by nature/ ¶ saint johan baptist tofore that he was beheaded was called an angel but for that he had not the nature of aungellis/ ¶ the similitude or lylenesses of angels is only promised in holiness of life/ ¶ but the nature not for that shall be changed/ ¶ if any argued in saying. that god eat after his resurrection. then we shall eat after that we were raised/ ¶ the argument is not profitable/ ¶ for that which was done was for the approbation and veryfyenge of the sayyd resurrection/ ¶ he also when he had reysyd the said good lazare/ which had be deed four days. eat with him/ ¶ also the daughter of the synagogue anon after that god had raised. commanded that meet should be given to her/ to the end that they that saw these. and heard of these reysinges should. ne might not say. that they were bodies fantastic/ but were very bodies which had been deed and raised again/ ¶ as touching the question of the child vexed of the devil. which had not sinned/ ¶ and also in what age we shall arise/ ¶ saint iherom first saith that the judgements of god aren as a great swallow/ ¶ his science is also to us unknown/ ¶ never man knew what god hath in his intendment and purposes/ ¶ secondly aught to be noted with saint iherom/ that a man when he is ten or twenty. or thirty. or a hundred year old is none other than when he is but two or three. or four year old ¶ and nevertheless after the traditions and sayings of the church. and the doctrine of saint paul/ we shall rise in the age of perfection. in which our lord aroos fro thirty to two and thirty years/ ¶ and in which age was adam formed after that the jews witness/ ¶ in returning then to saint paula/ and for to speak of her intendment. saith saint iherom that oft she kept and observed the commandment that saith (andi israhel ettace) that is to say ¶ man here and bestylle/ for the good lady paula was well light to here/ and slow to speak/ ¶ she was curious and besie to have books of holy scripture/ and radde them gladly/ ¶ and for better to profit in them/ she constrained saint iherom to expone to her the old testament and the new/ ¶ but when for any doubts he differred to expone to her certain propositions/ saying to her that he could not expone them/ she would not believe him/ ¶ but by continual interrogations and desires she constrained him to expone them after the sentence most apparent or likely. and after truth and good sense/ ¶ her understanding was so great. that she learned of saint iherom the hebrew tongue/ in such wise that she song the psalms of the psalter in hebrew tongue/ and song no more in latin/ ¶ after that we have recited of. her holy life & conversation. that is to say of her glorious departing out of this world. ¶ when the good lady saint paula felt that she had no more heat. but a little in her stomach/ ¶ she began to say these words that follow in weeping and wailing bitterly. ¶ o my god i have desired the beaultee of thy heaven and glory/ ¶ o lord that thy tabernacles and dwelling places been fair & shining/ o lord god i have more desire to be in thy house. that is in the church than to dwell with them of the world ¶ anon after she cess to speak & saint iherom seeing that she answered not to any thing that he demanded or asked of her/ ¶ he asked why she answered not/ ¶ and if she had in her heart any heaviness or grief/ ¶ the good lady answered in greek/ nay/ but she saw all joyousete and gladness/ ¶ after she spoke no more/ but signed her with the sign of the cross/ ¶ there were diverse bishops. as well of iherusalem as of other places and with them were great number of priests. and innumerable companies of virgins. and religiouses/ ¶ in presence of whom she heard our lord/ which called her saying/ ¶ come to me my spouse my culver or dove/ ¶ for the winter and the rain been passed/ ¶ to whom she answered/ ¶ the flowers been on the earth/ the time of harvest is come/ i believe to see the goods of our lord in the land of living people/ ¶ and in thus saying she rendered to god her blessed soul/ ¶ but in so doing the people being present were not moved to weeping ne wailing/ like as men of the world now a days done for their parents and friends/ whom they have soon forgotten/ ¶ but the bishops set hand on the bier/ the other hearing lamps and tapres·s and other singing devout ympnes and psalms in the middle of the church/ and in the sepulture of our lord where our saviour ihesu christ was buried/ ¶ all the people of the cities of palestine came to her entyerement/ ¶ and so many of religiouses men and women were there/ that it was marvelous to see and behold· ¶ and in effect if any defailed there that had not been at their last service. they were reputed. and holden. as sacrileges/ ¶ the widows and poor widows to the example of dorcade sheweden there the vestiments. which the good lady saint paula had made/ ¶ and generally all poor persons crieden after her/ as after their mode: ¶ let us think then we miserable synnars/ ¶ and principally they that amass and possess great riches & treasures/ ¶ how the good lady paula abandouned and forsook all her treasure for to give for god's sake/ ¶ he 'las what could one more give/ she retained and kept no thing for herself/ ¶ think merchants what merchandises she made/ when she changed all her gold and her silver in to things incommutable/ ¶ she forsook all for to have all. and she would be right poor for to be rich/ ¶ saint iherom after this addressed his words to the daughter of saint paula which was moche devout/ ¶ for she followed the good & virtuous manners of her holy mother/ ¶ o eustochium rejoice thyself my daughter/ for i know that thou haste but little good in this world/ but thou oughtest to enjoy the for thine holy mother/ ¶ which by long martyrdom is crowned in the glory of heaven ¶ she hath spared to the great richesses/ ¶ for thou shalt have by succession thy god. which is more rich treasure than all the gold in the world/ ¶ thus in bethleem where god was born died gloriously the good saint paula/ ¶ of whom the glorious soul flew in to heaven in to everlasting glory and bliss/ ¶ the which grant to us the eternal god in one essence and three in persons/ by the merits and prayers of the glorious saints. saint paula and saint iherom her singular and most special friend in this world and in the other/ amen/ ¶ thus endeth the life of the right devout & holy woman saint paula/ ¶ here followeth the life ' of saint pelage/ and beginneth in latin ¶ quid factum est. etc./ caplm. xli among you that will know. that god our maker will not lose a christian man/ how great a sinner that he be/ ¶ hark. and oft read the life of saint pelage/ and ye shall know if ye will return to god our maker by penance. that ye shall have remission/ and in the end forgiveness of your sins/ ¶ then synnais ye ought to rejoice yourself of that ye here/ ¶ for it is all aid and comfort that cometh to you. and also cause of lamentation/ ¶ an holy bishop of anthyoche for certain cause called together for certain causes althe bishops nigh about him/ which came to him to the number of eight ¶ among whom was an holy bishop called nonnus/ that was a religious man of the monastery of the benesyens/ ¶ and by cause that he was of right holy life. he was violently and by strong hand ravished from his abbey and elect bishop/ ¶ the which bysshoppis assembled. were commanded by the said saint nonnus and his seruytours/ and they should assemble in the church of saint julyan the martyr/ ¶ and to the regard of other they were put in houses nigh the church/ ¶ they being there prayed the said holy bishop nonnus that he should say to them some thing for the health and comfort of their souls ¶ the which thing he granted to them benignly/ ¶ and desiring sore to profit himself and them also. ¶ began to induce them. and teach them after the doctrine of our redeemer ihesu cryst/ ¶ on a time among tother as he preached to them of the holy gospel/ ¶ he saw pass tofore him upon a little mulet the most excellent jougleresse or daunceresse that was in the city of anthyoche. so richly and worldly ornate and arrayed/ that upon her was seen no thing but gold and silver and rich pyerrerye/ ¶ and with that she had a coler of gold about her neck/ and also was accompanied with servants and chambryeres in like wise arrayed/ ¶ in passing thus in the way. she filled the air with marvelous sweet odours and savours/ ¶ when the bishops saw her so pass. considering the beauty of her/ turned their eyen to the earth/ to the end that they should not by her commyse or think any deadly sin/ ¶ saint nonnus beheld her right affectuously. and after demanded the other bishops if they had any delectation o● pleasance in the beauty of the said fair woman/ the which answered no thing/ ¶ then the said nonnus began to weep and wail. in such wise that his bosom was full of tears/ ¶ and yet again he demanded them if they rejoiced not them in beholding of the same woman ¶ and like as afore they answered not/ ¶ then he said to them/ truly i have strongly delighted me. and her beauty hath marvelously pleased me/ for god hath ordained her to set her tofore his feet. which is marvelous when he shall judge us. and them of our bysshopryche/ ¶ and yet he said to his fellows the bishops/ my right well beloved friends. think how oft she hath kembed: washed. & made fair herself for to please her amourouse or loves. which this day been/ and tomorn shall not be/ ¶ she appointed herself so honestly. that there failed not a pin. as touching to the world/ ¶ and if she for to please the world taketh so moche business ¶ alas we that have god our father god king of heaven and of earth. what shall we do/ ¶ and who shall give to us the heavenly goods. which may not be esteemed nor thought/ ¶ what shall we do/ truly we ought to have sovereign cure and business to be alway arrayed & made fair with cleanness of heart and of pure conscience ¶ and in like wise ought we for to wake for to find the ways and means by the which we may please him in doing to him service agreeable/ ¶ these things said saint nonnus took his deacon by the hand. and went in to the house/ which was ordained for them to be lodged in/ ¶ after he withdrew him in to his chambre. in which he fell down to the ground/ in weeping and smiting his breast and began to say/ ¶ o my god that knowest the things hid. i may not hide how that by the deceivable a raiment and dishonest clothing of a sinful woman/ the beauty of my soul hath be maculate and defouled/ in what manner o my god shall i mow pray to thee/ ¶ or how shall i mow justify me tofore thee/ ¶ thou knowest all my thought/ maledyccyos or cursedness shall come to me. for i offer to the sacrifice. and also make fewle my soul b● sin/ the sinful woman thinkyth on no thing but to please the world/ ¶ and i have promised to the faith and loyalty/ and have not kept it to the ¶ o my lord god i am out of thy grace/ ¶ alas i have no more hope of my good works. but only in thy mercy/ ¶ by the which i hope and intend my salvation. ¶ the good saint nonnus abode by long space of time in such heaviness ¶ and the sunday following after that he had said his hours with his deacon/ ¶ he recounted and showed to him a dream/ ¶ but he could not erpowne it/ ¶ this dream was of a black dove fowl of moche filth/ ¶ the which as it seemed to saint nonnus that in singing his mass it came to the corner of the altar. ¶ and after came fleeing all about him/ and gave so great a stench/ that he might not abide to feel it/ ¶ and after that he had song the mass in coming out of the church/ the same dove came again. fleeing about as she died tofore. in giving to him so great a stench that he might not endure to smell it/ ¶ then he raught his hand upon the same dove so diligently that he took it/ and threw it in a vessel full of water/ in which she left all her ordures and filths ¶ and flewh a way also white as a swan/ and so vanished from his eyen/ ¶ and all this said the holy man that he had seen in his sleep/ ¶ these things thus said they twain went in to the great church where as the bishop was/ whom they salued/ ¶ when the gospel of the great mass was said/ the bishop commanded to saint nonnus. that he should go preach/ and make a sermon to the people/ anon he went in to the preaching stole/ introducing and informing the people being there at the said church in the faith of god/ ¶ and singularly preached of his great judgement to come/ and of the glory of heaven/ ¶ and by his fair introductions and exhortations was the people moved to penance. and to contrition/ in such wise that all began to wail and weep for the horror & great displeasance that they had of their sins/ ¶ now it happened that this sinful woman pelage. which had passed fore by. and arrayed as afore is said came to this sermon/ the which hearing the words of the right good holy man/ and notwytstonding that she never had served god. but all only the world. ¶ she had so great contrition. and so bitter displeasance of the enormity of her sins. that she foundered all in tears. in such wise that she seemed that she mistrusted the mercy of god/ and had none other countenance but continually to wail and weep/ ¶ nevertheless she commanded to twain of her children that were at that time with her. that they should abide in the church/ and take good heed whither the holy man went. & where that she might find him/ ¶ the children died soo· and followed the holy man unto the church of saint julian the martyr/ and after came and told it to their mother/ ¶ and then she wrote to him a letter in substance/ ¶ to the right reverend holy man disciple of ihu christ thou holy man haste preached that thy god is so moche and low meked himself. that he hath taken mankind principally for to save the synnars and plublicans. ¶ and he whom the angels dare not behold hath willed to converse and dwell with the sinners in this world/ ¶ o my right dear lord. i have oft heard said of thee/ that thy holiness is much great/ and that thou leadest a right perfect life/ ¶ and how well that thou haste not seen him thy said god with thy bodily eyen. the which showed himself to the samarytane/ nevertheless thou servest him/ dredeste. & worshippest sovereignly. as the christian people publisshen and say/ therefore i beseech the that thou will not despise me/ notwithstanding that i be a sinful woman/ and that it may please the to teach. and inform me in such wise that i may perfectly know mine everlasting god/ without whom i may have no pardon/ ne remission of my sins/ ¶ the which letter seen by saint nun. he wrote to her again in this manner/ ¶ o woman what some ever thou be/ thou art known of god/ the which also knoweth thy will/ i pray the that thou tempt not mine humility. in foolily praising me/ for i am a sinful man/ and unworthy servitor and servant of god/ ¶ but if thou have will to see me/ and by me know and receive our good faith/ ¶ there been in this city other bysshoppis & notable prelate's with whom thou shalt see me/ ¶ for it is no thing leeful that thou alone should speak to me/ ¶ when the poor sinful woman had seen this letter/ ¶ she incontinent departed and went in to the church of saint julian/ ¶ in the which were present all the bishops/ ¶ and she died to saint nonnus to have knowledge of her coming/ ¶ which incontinent assembled and brought together the said bishops/ ¶ and that done made her to come to him/ ¶ anon she fell down to the feet of the holy bishop saint nun saying/ ¶ i pray the my lord that it please the in following thine doctrine. to stretch upon me thy mercy/ and make me a christian woman/ ¶ i am the see of sin. and the swolow of wickedness which asketh and requireth to be baptized/ ¶ saint nonnus made her to stand up/ and said to her/ my friend the holy decretes been such. that a public and coming sinful woman ought not be baptized/ if she give not pledge never to return to her sin. ¶ this answer herd she fell down again to his feet/ in washing them with her tears. and wiping them with her here/ and said to him/ ¶ o nonnus i pray humbly to the god that my sins & wickedness be to the imputed. if thou defer to baptize me/ ¶ and also i pray with this that thou never have part ne portion with the saints in heaven/ if thou make me not now christian/ ¶ and ferder more that thou be constrained to forsake his law/ and adore and worship the idols/ if thou espouse and wed me not this day unto him/ by the right holy sacrament of baptism ¶ thenne all the bishops and other that were there. saiden that they had never seen any sinful woman have more bitter displeasance of her sins/ ¶ then they sent the deacon of saint nun unto the bishop of the city/ for to recite and show to him this caas/ ¶ to the end that he should send one of the abbesses which were to him subject/ for to inform and comfort this said poor sinful woman/ ¶ the bishop hearing these things was much joyful and glad ¶ and scent thither saint roman the abbess. which was chief in virtue and dignity/ ¶ which found the said sinful woman weeping in great abundance and plenty of tears at the feet of the holy man saint nonnus/ ¶ which uneath might make her to arise/ ¶ but nevertheless she said to her/ ¶ my daughter arise up and confess and utter all thy sins/ to the end that thou be baptized/ ¶ then she answered/ ha madame if i should well examine and search my conscience/ i should find that i never have done any good ¶ but have given and abandoned me to all malediction and wickedness/ ¶ and know that my sins been more great in number than the gravel of the see/ ¶ but i trust in god/ and having confiaunce in thee/ he shall efface and put away all my filths of sin ¶ thenne the holy man saint nonnus asked what her name was/ to which she answered. i am named pelage/ ¶ how well they of anthyoche call me margaryte by cause of the pyerrye or nice and dissolute and wanten ornements and raiments of which late i arrayed mine vile and detestable caroyne/ ¶ in making of the same openly and maddely the work and boutye of the devil of hell/ ¶ anon after saint nun baptized her ¶ and named her by her name pelage/ ¶ and after ministered unto her the body of our lord. and that done he left her in the governance of saint roman/ and gaaf to her his benediction/ ¶ after saint nun said to saint iherom/ my friend & brother we ought this day to rejoice us/ and to eat oil and drink with spiritual gladnesse· more than we have been accustomed and used. in taking consolation and comfort of the health of this sinful woman/ and so concluded to dine together/ ¶ and thus as they took their refection. they heard the devil cry at their gate. like unto the voice of a man. saying/ ¶ o malediction/ o malediction/ wherefore is that i suffer so moche of this old man here/ ¶ sufficed not it enough that he hath converted thirty thousand sarrasyns to the christian faith/ ¶ and in like wise the noble and great city helyopolis. the which adored and worshipped me. and all they that conversed and dwelled in it/ and sith hath take a way from me mine hope/ i shall no more endure his machinations/ accursed be the day that th'old man was borne/ ¶ such words or semblable in substance cried the devil tofore the gate/ & yet again in adressynge his words to saint pelage said to her ¶ ha mi damoysel thou makest to me the pain that i suffer & endure/ thou resemblest to judas that sold his master which was one of the number of his disciples/ ¶ thou haste in like wise sold me to this old man nonus/ ¶ then saint nun said to her/ that she should bless her with the sign of the holy cross/ which she died/ ¶ and incontinent and without tarrying the devil vanished away. ¶ two days after she sleeped with saint roman. the devil appeared to her and awoke her/ ¶ and after said to her/ my friend margarete what thing have i done to thee/ i have enriched the with gold and silver/ and have done to the all that. which thou haste demanded o● desired of me/ ¶ wherefore dost thou to me so great dishonour to become christian/ ¶ then she blessed her and said to the devil/ my god which hath preserved me from the devoming of thine horrible teeth hath set me in his heavenly chambre/ ¶ and yet i hope that he shall fight for me against thee/ which demandest and desirest no thing but mine perdition/ ¶ and after the devil came no more to her/ ¶ the third day after that she was baptized she sent for her son/ to whom she said/ that he should go in to her garderobe/ and to put in writing all that she had/ as well gold and silver and other goods/ ¶ and that he should bring all to her/ without to leave any thing/ the which child died so/ ¶ after she went for saint nun & for her ghostly mother/ ¶ and when he was come she said to him/ my lord and friend. loo here the richesse of which satan hath enriched me/ ¶ now i put them in to thy power and discretion/ ¶ and i ask never any thing. but the richesse of ihesu christ/ ¶ the said saint nun called the eldest of them that kept the church/ and delivered to him all the same richesses. in saying to him/ i command the in the honour of the trinity of heaven that thou never entry in to this church/ till that thou haste distributed all these goodes·s as well to poor widows and orphelyns as to the suffretous. poor and needy/ to the end that the goods gotten by sin. be made treasure of justice/ ¶ with this the holy man cursed & excomyned all them that should do● the contrary and their houses/ if they received and kept any thing/ ¶ after she called all her children. and said to them/ ¶ my children i pray you to depart you from this world. to the end that as we have been together/ we may be in like wise together in heaven. ¶ for here ye may get no thynge· but sin and wickedness/ ¶ the eight day after her baptizing/ the said pelage aroos up at midnight/ and saint nun clad her with the here/ and a grows and course rob of a man/ and after the said day she never entered in to the city of antioch/ ¶ when saint roman knew it she began to weep/ by cause she had lost her company/ and saint nun comforted her in saying that she had chosen the right holy way. like as the gospel containeth/ ¶ in the which is found that our lord preferred mary magdalene. leading contemplatyff life. tofore her faster martha. which lad active life ¶ the good pelage in this habit dissimuled went to iherusalem. in to the mount of olyuete/ where our redeemer prayed to god his father tofore his sorrowful passion/ ¶ and there she made a little house. where she determined to dwell/ ¶ a little time after the bishop of anthyoche. called together all the bishops that he had assembled/ and sent each of them in to his bishopric/ ¶ three or four years after the deacon of saint nun had a will to go to iherusalem: for to visit the holy sepulchre of our lord/ and the other holy places. in which our lord suffered for us so many torments and miseries/ ¶ and asked leave of his bishop/ which liberally granted to him/ ¶ charging him for to inquire in the said place of a religious named pelage/ which was departed afore time from him/ ¶ and how well that the said bishop named the said religious pelagius/ ¶ nevertheless he meant the good servant of god pelage the which was clad in thabyte of a man & secretly departed as to fort is said/ and for that cause he named her by the name of a man/ image ning that by cause of her clothing she had changed her name/ this deacon then went to iherusalem/ and after that he had accomplished his pilgrimage/ he fond the good religious in the mount of olyvete in which she had be all way closed and shut in her little house/ which had none opening but a little window/ at which the said deacon knocked. and anon she opened it/ and how be it that she had never be seen but once sith that she had be in her great beauty and pomperye/ yet nevertheless she knew him but he could not know her by cause she was so deffayted and disfigured by the great abstinences that she made in such wise that the bones pierced the skin/ and had her eyen within her heed so deep and hollow/ hat she seemed better to present a deed body than a living woman/ she saying this deacon she demanded him of whence he was/ ¶ to whom he answered that he came fro antioch/ and was thither sent by his bishop nonus for to visit her/ ¶ then she said to the same deacon. my brother and friend say to him that i pray him that it may please him to pray to god for me/ i hope that his prayers been to me much profitable/ for he is a devout man and of an holy life/ and incontinent she shit her window/ and began to say her tierce/ and the deacon in like wise nigh to the wall said with her/ and after returned in to iherusalem much comforted of the sight of one so holy woman. ¶ from thence he went to visit all the monasteries and holy places of the city and for to see the religious people with whom he being there he heard say things marvelous of the holy religious pelagius/ in devising of whom they spoke of the said pelage ¶ for they supposed that she had been a religious man/ by cause she feigned her allway to be a man/ and named herself pelagius/ ¶ the same deacon for the great virtues that he heard say of her/ would ones go to visit her/ and came and knocked at her window/ as he had done to fore/ and by cause that the said pelagyus answered nothynge· he called him by his name/ but nevertheless she answered not wherefore he fearing to offend her returned thence by the space of three days/ the which passed and weening that he had be departed out of that place knocked again at the window so hard that he opened it/ and looking in to the little house he saw pelage which was deed/ ¶ then he came in to iherusalem & showed it to the religious people of the city/ the which in great multitude came thither for to fetch the corpse/ ¶ and after that they had brought it out of the ●elle or ytyll house. ¶ and by cause it was the custom to anoint the deed bodies with myr●e/ in anointing the body they knew well that she was a woman ¶ then they began to sing and render graces and thankings to god/ in praising and magnyfing his louer●●yn bounty/ for contemplation of his noble ●●clours which been hid not only in holy men but also in vertuoule women/ which by straight and hard penances have gotten the royame's of heaven. ¶ and after they put the body in a rich tomb garnished with gold and precious stones. ¶ thenne late us pray unto this holy woman pelage that by her intercessions and prayers we may come to everlasting bliss in heaven amen/ ¶ thus endeth the life of saint pelage ¶ here followeth the life of saint marry egypcyen which in desert lad a solitary life. and beginneth in latin. fuit quidam senex et cetera/ ¶ capitulum xlii. saint jerome recounteth. that in the country of palestyn in which is the city of iherusalem was sometime a right prudent man of notable life in deeds and word named zozymas ¶ and we find that there was another in like wise so named which was an heretic of whom at this time we shall make no mention/ but only we shall speak of him that we have first named/ he walked through all palestyn● in visiting devoutly all the holy places and monasteries that were there/ ¶ of himself he fond many manners for to chastise the flesh. and for to make it subject to his spirit/ ¶ and in effect he was of so great renomee that there came to him from far countries for to here his doctrine ¶ and every man marveled of his great abstinences/ ¶ his mother in his infancy and youth put him in a movastery. in which he lived by the space of fyfthy year/ ¶ during the which for the most part he was greatly persecuted with deign cogitations and thoughts/ in resisting of whom he had in such wise fought against the devil by great and hard abstinences/ that him seemed that in all the deserts. there was no man that exceeded him in doctrine ne in penance. as he that in his person had experimented. ¶ and in such wise that by that the devil had made him to fall in to vain glory ¶ and thus as he was in this same fantasy/ a ancient father came and said to him/ ¶ my friend i wot well that in all thine operations and works thou haste overcome the devil. saut only in this that thou weenest that in these parties been none religious persons living more perfit than thyself. ne that better known the ways of health than thou dost/ ¶ but for as much as i know the contrary/ if thou wolte come with me/ i shall lead the in to a monastery. fast by the flood of jourdan/ in which for to take from the this folly/ thou shalt mow see of religiouses more perfit than ever thou were/ ¶ then went forth the good man zozimas in folowenge the holy father/ ¶ now it is to be noted that it was the angel of god. which in the likeness of an holy father conduytted him. the which incontinent as they were at the said flood vanished a way/ neverthesse's zozimas being by the flood jourdan heard a voice resowning/ ¶ and in coming nigh to the same he arrived at a monastery ¶ and after that he had knocked at the gate/ he that kept it showed it to the abbot which for contemplation of his habit/ and also by cause that he seemed to be a man of holy life. made him to entry in. and received him honestly/ ¶ after that he had made his orison the abbot demanded of him the cause why he came to visit them/ and zozimas answered. for to learn the health of his soul/ ¶ for he had herd say that great miracles and signs of virtues were made there within/ ¶ the abbot said to him/ my brother a man may not teach another of himself. if he help not himself in praying god his conductor in all his works/ and therefore i pray to god that he make us such that we may observe and keep his commandments/ ¶ but sith it hath pleased the to visit us. thou shall abide with us if thou be for that cause come hither/ ¶ and i believe that god shall accompany us together all in his grace/ ¶ for he is the pastor of pastors/ which hath put his soul/ that is to say his proper life for to redeem and save us/ ¶ zozimas being in this same monastery saw some religiouses shining in virtues/ ¶ and in esperyte incessantly waking day and night in orison and prayer/ ¶ and never proffered they one vain word/ ne occupied them in any things temporal/ but as they had been deed their names were unknown/ ¶ their life and passety me was of holy words/ ¶ and for to sustain nature eat but breed and water only/ ¶ this considering zozimas he profited much greatly in following their holy life/ ¶ after that he had been there a certain time/ the holy time came the which they must fast the lente/ ¶ wherefore all they made them ready to saynctefye and make them holy against the time of the passion and resurrexion of our lord/ ¶ now it was so that the gate of the said monastery was never open/ to th'end that no man should entre· which should let them to pray to god/ ¶ for to know then how they proceeded in their fastings/ it is to be noted that the first sunday of lente. all together came to the church/ and there received their maker in great & seruente devotion/ ¶ and after that they had done and accomplished their orisons/ the auncyentes embraced and kissed e●he other in sign of singular love/ ¶ envy for to obtain benefices and pryouryes for to have occasion to leap out of their monastery was not lodged there/ ¶ and they resembled not the bird that fleeth alway about the cage for to find an hole. that is to say an abbey or pryorye. for to flee thorough the fields and country/ ¶ for to return then to our purposes after that they had kissed each other they prayed humbly to th'abbot that he would make to god devout prayer for them/ to the end that they might strongly fight against the fiend/ ¶ these things done all the yates were opened/ and all together sungen the song or psalm (dominus illuminacon) psalmo xxvi ¶ and when they were out of their monastery for to go in to deserts/ two of the religious men abode within the church/ not for doubt ne fere that they should lose any thing/ but to the end that their oratory should not be without prayer ¶ eeveryche of them bare. his necessities for to live by/ ¶ some a little breed other figs or dates. or peasen or beans for to make pottage with a little water/ ¶ some other bore no thyge but her mantellis with which they were clad/ ¶ and in the deserts eat but herbs that grew there/ each after his appetite and will/ ¶ for being there they lad such rule as they would. by cause they went not one with an other/ ¶ thus passed they the flom jourdan separate and far from the city. in going by the deserts/ ¶ and if by adventure one saw another come against him. he took anon another way. without speaking one to another/ ¶ and in this wise lad they a life moche solytarye/ and their fastings thus continued till palm sunday/ ¶ at which day they all were returned to their monastery/ ¶ and everich brought the fruit of his abstinence / ¶ neither never asked they one of another how they had lived in the desert/ to the end to eschew vain glory/ ¶ for some of them lad a life full hard and sharp. ¶ and if the other had known it/ they had praised him/ and would have told it each to other/ by which the devil might have tempted them by vain glory/ ¶ and by this it appeareth that they fledoe the praising of men/ which might bring forth no profit/ ¶ but it is right perilous and damageable to the soul/ ¶ zozimas then passed the flom jourdan by the example of the other. and bore a little breed with him for to sustain his poor body/ ¶ and if he was sober in eating. yet he was more in sleeping/ ¶ and so passing thorough the desert/ alway he desired to find some holy man/ by whom he might be the better informed and instruct. than he had been tofore/ ¶ after that he had walked by the space of twenty days/ about the hon i● of sixth. he tarried to pray and to make his orisons to god/ as he had be accustomed/ ¶ for his custom was at the hour of tierce. sixth. and none for to cease of walking for to make his prayers/ ¶ and as he lift up his eyen. beholding on the right side. he saw the shadow of a body of mankind/ ¶ wherefore he was moche abashed/ weening that it had been a thing fantastic and blessed him with the sign of the cross/ ¶ and his prayer finished saw a person all naked go tofore him toward the south/ the which was all black of the great heat of the son ¶ having her hairs white as wulle which hinge about her neck/ ¶ thenne he much admarveled and replenished and fulfilled with great joy began to run to the place where as the person was/ ¶ the which also in seeing him was greatly abashed/ ¶ zozimas merueylling in himself thought that it was some holy person/ ¶ and when she saw that he came nigh her/ she began to run in to the wood/ and zozimas alway after. till he was so nigh her that he might lightly call her/ and spoke to her saying/ ¶ wherefore fleest thou tofore a poor old man full of sin. and unworthy servant of god/ ¶ now supposed zozimas that it had be a man/ but it was saint mary the egypcyen. or egypciaca. to whom he said/ i adjure the in the name of god/ for the honour of whom thou holdeste the in these deserts that thou tarry and speak to me/ ¶ as soon as zozimas had preferred and spoken these words/ they came nigh togethers/ in a place where as ran a little broke or water/ ¶ but alway the same person fled forth from him/ ¶ and zozimas passed over the water went after on the other side of the broke/ ¶ and seeing that he could not attain ne overgete her began to weep. praying her that she would speak to him/ ¶ then she spoke and said/ father zozimas wherefore chacest thou me let me alone i pray the in the name of god. ¶ for i may not turn my face toward thee/ for i am a naked woman/ ¶ wherefore give to me thy mantle for to cover my poor and my serable nature/ and thenne i shall speak to thee/ ¶ when zozimas saw that. she called him by his name/ he esteemed & trowed that it was showed to her by revelation of god/ seen that she never had had tofore seen him. ¶ and anon he took of his mantell·s and threw it to her/ in turning his face a way from her/ ¶ and anon as she had covered herself the best wise she could. she said to zozimas/ what weenest thou to see but a sinful woman/ ¶ zozimas kneeled down thenne on his knees and asked of her hy● benediction & blessing/ ¶ in like wise died she to him/ ¶ and long were they both in this state on their knees/ ¶ zozimas saying/ dame give to me thy benediction/ ¶ and she said semblably and in like wise/ father give to me thy benediction/ for thou art a priest/ and therefore it apperteynyth better to thee/ than to me/ ¶ zozimas strongly abashed said to her/ ¶ truly my friend thou art full of the grace of god/ for thou knowest mine name and mine office/ ¶ the spiritual grace is not given only for the order of dignity of priesthood/ but by the good works that the person doth/ ¶ and therefore it appertaineth to the first to give the benediction/ ¶ the good woman consented and said/ ¶ blessed be the redeemer of our souls/ ¶ zozimas answered/ amen. ¶ anon they aroos up ¶ and after saint mary egypcyen said/ i demand and ask the. wherefore haste thou take so great paint for to see a syfull woman/ ¶ zozimas answered. this hath not be only by my will/ but also by sufferance of almighty god/ if it be so said she. i pray the that thou recount and tell to me of the conversation of the lineage of mankind & of the princes and pastors of the church/ ¶ in two words zozimas answered/ god almighty hath given peace to all his people/ ¶ but i pray the that thou pray for the confirmation of the peace. and for my sins/ and she answered saying/ ¶ thou that art a priest ought to pray for all the world. and for me poor sinful woman/ for that is thy vocation. ¶ but for to please the i shall make my prayer to god in such wise as thou haste commanded me/ how be it that i am an unworthy sinner/ ¶ then she lift up her eyen and her hands to heaven/ and was long in prayer/ ¶ during the which zozimas saw a thing moche marvelous/ ¶ for be the grace of god. she was elevate and lift up on height a cubit above the e●the/ ¶ zozimas seeing this vision began to sweet and tremble for fear/ ¶ and wist not what to say save lryricleyson weening that she had been a spirit fantastic ¶ the blessed woman seeing that/ comforted him saying/ ¶ wherefore tremblest thou/ thinkest thou that i am a spirit fantastic/ ¶ wherefore art thou scandalized in me/ ¶ believe hardly that i am a poor sinful woman/ baptized with the holy sacrament of baptism/ ¶ and am no thing fantastyque. but a sparkle of fire/ ashes. and flesh/ ¶ and when she had said this/ she began to bless her forehead. her eyen. her lips. and her breast with the sign of the cross/ saying after/ i pray god that he will deliver us fro the hands of the fiend/ the which hath great envy upon us/ ¶ zozimas hearing her propositions kneeled down atte her feet/ ¶ and prayed her saying/ in the name of god that was borne of the holy virgin. for the honour of whom thou dost here penance/ say and tell to me what thou art. and of what place ¶ and for what cause thou art come to dwell here/ ¶ for i require not to have vain glory of thy visitation/ but only for to be taught and ensigned of the which am a poor sinner/ ¶ i believe in god. by whom thou livest and conversyste in this desert/ ¶ and for to know him i am come hither/ to the end that thou tell to me thy virtues & abstinences/ for if it pleased not him that thou shouldst show to me thy fayttes and deeds/ never would he have suffered that i should have seen thee/ ¶ she answered in this manner/ truly my father i am ashamed to say to the the lechery and poverty of my body/ ¶ i know well that incontinent that i shall recount and show to the the sins that i have commised and done/ thou shalt flee from hens/ ¶ but for that i pray the that thou leave not to pray for me/ to the end that i may have mercy at the end of my days/ ¶ zozimas harkening wept moche strongly/ ¶ and she began to tell how she was born in egypte/ ¶ and how in forsaking her father and mother. and their fair instructions and shewynges/ she being twelve year of age. transported & put her in to alexandria/ ¶ after that age. and during the time of seventeen years and more. she had continually made residence atte the open bordello of the same town with other common women there being. in abandoning and using 〈◊〉 be proper body to all that came/ ¶ and with no other thing gate her living. in passing so her youth. ¶ on a time she living in this folly saw a multitude of people of lybye and of egypte/ which saiden would pass the see ¶ then she asked one of them. whither they would go/ and wherefore they made so great haste/ ¶ to whom he answered. that shortly should be in iherusalem the feast of the exaltation of the holy cross/ on. which god had be crucified/ ¶ and therefore they made them ready for to go to the said solemnity. ¶ upon that she demanded and inquired of them if they would take her in to their company. to whom was answered ye/ so that she had money for to pay the maronnar/ ¶ she said that she had no thing/ but if she went in to the ship/ and for her freyghte she said that should abandouned to him her body/ ¶ and this said. she required zozimas that it should please him that she should tell no more/ for the air and he were thereof enfected/ ¶ zozimas answered/ ha my friend say hardly without hiding any thing/ ¶ then began she to recount to zozimas this that followeth/ ¶ when the young man had heard all these words. he began to laugh and went his way/ ¶ then she threw away her spindle that she held/ & went toward the ship to sail fourth with the other/ ¶ then saw she x. young men at ry●age of the see. after her judgement good and honest/ the other were then goon to the ship/ ¶ and she prayed them that she might go with them in to the ship and that they should not refuse her/ ¶ and by many lewd and fowl words she moved them to laugh/ the●e they took her in to their ship/ ¶ as touching the insolences by her done in the said ship. she would no more recount to zozimas/ but prayed him that he would be content with that she had said. without to recite and show any more/ ¶ she in like wise arrived in iherusalem. was abandouned to all sin/ ¶ and was not only content to do sin with them of the ship but also with many other pilgrims ¶ when the day of the feast of the holy cross was come/ she went tofore the young pilgrims. for to excite them to the sin of secherye/ ¶ but nevertheless she went with the other in to the church. for to worship and adore the cross. and came unto the porch/ weening to enter in/ ¶ and notwithstanding that she was borne with great pain unto the gate of the church/ yet might she not entry/ how well that all the other entered lightly that would enter. ¶ but by the power of god which withstood her. she was reject & cast aback from the gate/ ¶ and first she supposed that the cause why she might not entry. was by cause that she was feeble. as women been. which be not so strong as men. ¶ then she enforced her for to entry more asperly than she died tofore/ but all her enforce availed her not/ ¶ for she was oft rejected and cast aback/ in such wise that her body was shoven and bruised/ ¶ then she abode long tofore the gate/ in beholding all the world which entered in without any force or violence/ ¶ and began to think that the great multitude of sins which she had commised and done. was the cause and letting for which she might not entry/ ¶ and then she began to wail and weep bitterly. and smote her breast with great contrition and displeasure of her life/ ¶ and beholding on high. she saw an image of the virgin marye· which had borne the god of heaven and of earth/ saying that for my horrible sins which i have done and commised. i am not worthy to behold only thine image/ for thou art a virgin tofore thy childing and after/ ¶ and therefore it is no thing just ne rightful. that a poor and a lecherous detestable make prayer unto thee/ ¶ nevertheless by cause thou haste conceived and engendered him that will alway call again sinners to penance/ i beseech the that it may please to help to convert me to him/ in giving to me aid and comfort for to entry in to his church/ to the end that i may worship and adore his right worthy cross/ in which he shed his precious blood for to redeem me from the pains of hell/ ¶ command blessed lady and vyrgygyne. that the gate be open to me/ and i promise to thy deer son. which is my god. and to the also. that i shall never return to sin/ but incontinent that i have adored and worshipped this precious cross. i shall forsake all the world/ ¶ she recited and told furthermore to the said zozimas. that in continent after her prayer made as said is/ she trusting in the grace of our lord ihesu christ and of his blessed mother went to the gate/ where tofore she could not entry/ and in great fere. as half deed she entered lightly with out any dyffycultee/ ¶ and after came to the place where as was the right worthy cross of our saviour/ to fore which she kneeled on her knees/ ● and in fervent devotion she adored like to other/ ¶ and after came to the image of the virgin mary mother of god. for to give thankings to her the best wise she could. of that which by her intercession she had so great a privilege to worrhyppe his precious cross/ ¶ in saying/ o glorious virgin mary. glory be to god almighty. which by thine worthy intercessions hath willed to receive me sinful woman to mercy/ ¶ what ought i more to do than to accomplish that which i have promised/ ¶ and yet again i pray the that thou help me to conduit me and set me in the way of salvation. for to the i yield me. as to her which may help & succour me ¶ anon she heard a voice which said to her/ woman pass over the flom jourdan/ and thou shalt find there thine health and rest of thine soul/ ¶ inconcynent she prayed the blessed lady that she would be alway helping at her need/ and so went from the city/ ¶ and in going she found a man which gaaf to her iii pens. with which she bought her three loves of breed/ ¶ and after asked of him that sold the breed: which was the way to go to flom jourdan/ ¶ and when she knew the gate by which she should go/ alle the day she went weeping and wailing/ ¶ and from the hour of tierce unto the hour of sixth. and about the son going down she went and arrived at a church of saint johan baptist by the said flom jourdan/ in to which church she entered for to make her prayers· the which accomplished she descended in to the flood aforesaid & wish her face & her body with the holy water of the said flom jourdan ¶ and after that she had administered the holy sacrament of th'altar. she eat half a loof. & the same night she lay all naked upon the earth/ ¶ on the morn she made her prayer to the glorious virgin mary/ praying her that she would address her for to go. where as should be good for her health ¶ finably she was come to the place where as zozimas had found her/ ¶ and as she said she had been there forty year/ ¶ zozimas furthermore demanded & questioned of her what thing she had eaten/ ¶ she answered. two loves and an half of breed/ which were becomen as hard as stones as soon as she was passed over the flom jourdan/ ¶ zozimas said to her/ haste thou thus passed thy life so long time without pain or sickness/ ¶ she answered my father i dare not tell the the perils that i have endured/ ¶ zozimas said. leave no thing. but say all/ ¶ truly my father said she i have be seventeen year that i had continually desire to eat and drink such meet/ as i eat in the world/ ¶ and by cause i might not have it· i was in so great heaviness that i might not endure it/ ¶ in like wise the fleshly thoughts and devyllyssh songs came to my mind/ by the which i was greatly tormented/ ¶ but incontinent i wept and smote my breast. in saying to fore mine eyen the promise that i had made to god and to the blessed virgin mary/ ¶ when i departed from the church of iherusalem/ principally i came for succour to the holy virgin mary ¶ and in weeping and lamenting i prayed her to have consolation & comfort/ ¶ touching the fleshly temptations that came so moche tofore me that i can not express ne tell ¶ for they made me so inflamed of my first sin. that i might not bear it/ ¶ but when i was in these passions. i fell down to the earth for to weep and wail abundantly/ ¶ and in so doing i knew spiritually that the blessed virgin mary which had helped me came for to succour me/ and i never lift up mine eyen from the earth till i was out of these cursed thoughts/ in having alway mine heart to our lady. tresorye of grace. comfortress of desolate/ ¶ and the very adresseresse of them that been out of the way/ ¶ zozimas after demanded of her. ●aste thou had no meet ne clothing. the holy egypcyens answered/ i have eaten the two loves and an half. as i have told/ ¶ and the residue of the time i have eat herbs of the desert ¶ by cause that my clothing was all to torn & in pieces. i have left them. and am all naked/ ¶ let us think here how many alte raconns. as well by reins and great colds. as by extreme hetes of the son that she endured/ ¶ think we also how many carnal temptations she threw fro her/ which been so much difficile to overcome to them that have been accustomed therein more than any other temptation/ ¶ after she said to zozimas/ alas my friend i am nourished and clad only with the word of my god. which hath done to me so many graces/ the which saith. that one liveth not only by breed. but also by his word. which quykenyth more than the bodily meet/ ¶ zozimas hearing that she spoke of holy scripture said to her ¶ mother haste thou learned the books of moses'/ the psaulter. and other holy scripture/ ¶ she thenne smiling said to him father believe me certainly. that sith i passed the flom jourdan. i saw never man living but the. ne other be'st of the world/ ¶ i never learned book ne never heard the psalter radde ne sungen/ ¶ but the word of god which hath so great virtue hath informed mine intendment/ ¶ and this sufficeth to the. that i have told to the ¶ and from hens forth pray for me poor sinful lecherous woman/ ¶ and when she had said these words/ zozimas kneeled down on his knees. and began to say/ ¶ blessed be the only god that doth things so marvelous. and in so many persons ¶ blessed be thou my god. which haste showed to me the goods that thou dost to them that dreaden the. and keep all thy commandments/ ¶ verily my god thou leavest never them that sechen for to serve thee/ ¶ the good woman suffered him not to lie on the earth/ ¶ but prayed him that he would never show that she had said to man living/ ¶ and after said to him/ my father go now forth on thy way in peace/ ¶ and within a year hereafter i shall come again. & show me to thee/ if god give us the grace ¶ with this i pray the to do that which i shall ordain/ ¶ by cause that in your monastery when ye make your holy fastings. which is called lente/ your custom is to go in to desert each by himself for to keep his fasting. ¶ when that time shall come. thou shalt not go out of the church. but keep the monastery/ ¶ zozimas was more abashed than tofore. of that she knew the rule of the monastery/ and began to cry ¶ o my god glory be given to thee/ i know that thou givest more grace with out comparison to them that serve the truly than they demand or ask/ ¶ the holy egypcyen reprysed his word and said/ father hearken/ ¶ for when thou wouldest depart from the monastery. thou shalt not mow. ¶ but the holy thursday of cene. thou shalt take the precious body of our lord ihesu christ. and his precious blood in like wise in an holy vessel and shalt come to me on that other side of flom jourdan. without to pass over/ ¶ and then by the grace and mercy of my god and of thine. i shall receive him benignly/ ¶ for i never received him sith i was administered in the church of saint johan in iherusalem/ ¶ i pray the that thou despise not my request/ but do as i have said to thee/ ¶ with this thou shalt say to iohn abbot of thine monastery: that there been some things to be corrected in his church and abbey the which i will not tell to the now/ ¶ but nevertheless thou shalt advertise him to take heed to his religiouses/ ¶ these words said the good woman returned in to her cave and dwelling place accustomed. ¶ the good zozimas returning to his monastery. kissed the ground where as she had marked/ in praising god/ and said non thing all that year of that he had seen/ ¶ for by cause he durst no thing say/ he entertained with his brethren when they were returned from the deserts after their custom/ ¶ all the year sighed zozimas. so much desire had he that it were passed ¶ when the time was come that the brethren should depart. for to go in to desert. to make their fastings as they had been accustomed/ ¶ zozimas was taken with a fever/ and therefore he abode in the monastery/ ¶ thenne he remembered that she had said to him. when he would have gone with the other. he might not ¶ the day of the cene comen/ and after that all the brethren were returned from deserts/ ¶ zozimas in obeying that which that the good lady saint mary egypcyen had said to him/ ¶ he took a chalices and the precious body and blood of our saviour ihesu christ/ ¶ and after he put figs and dates in a little pannier. and in a little pot. pottage with water/ ¶ and so went forth as he had been cauz●e unto the rynage of the flom jourdan/ in abiding the good woman mary egypcyen/ ¶ and notwithstanding that it was long ●● she came thither/ yet zozimas slept not/ fearing that she had been there tofore his coming/ ¶ wherefore he wept. and prayed god in saying/ my god which haste willed to give to me the grace to see this holy woman/ i beseech the that it may please the to grant to me again that i may yet once see her/ ¶ and in praying and making his orisons. came to him another fantasy/ ¶ and after he said/ alas what shall i do when she shall come/ how shall she come over the river. ¶ alas i have no boot to row her over/ alas that i am unhappy/ ¶ and thus saying the holy woman came and tarried on that other side of the flom jourdan/ ¶ when zozimas saw her he was replenished with joy. and thanked god/ alway thinking how she might come over wychoute boot/ ¶ and he beholding her what she died. he saw her make the sign of the cross upon the water/ ¶ and after she began to walk upon the water/ in passing over as steadfastly as she had walked upon dry land. ¶ she being yet upon the water said to zozimas/ what dost thou faint father which art priest and servant of god keeping the holy things/ ¶ and thus saying she came unto the other rivage of the flood. where as was the holy man/ whom she salued right humbly/ ¶ then he answered. i was so admarveled of this miracle that i was in manner of a asleep/ now i know/ that alway it is troth that god saith. which hath promised to them that purify them by penance/ that they been agreeable to him ¶ alas i know now/ how well i be lass in perfection than they that been in this place/ ¶ and i held me the most perfect in my former monastery. ¶ this done the holy mary egypcyen said to him that he should begin the symbol (quicunque vult saluus esse) et cetera. ¶ after they said the orison domynycall/ that is to say the pater noster/ the which achieved she kissed the holy father zozimas/ ¶ and after received the holy sacrament of the altar her maker and ●●res/ ¶ and after lift up her hands to heaven and said/ ¶ o my god suffer now thy hand maid and poor servant in peace after thy word/ ¶ for mine eyes hath seen thy health. ¶ after she said to zozimas. go now in to thy monastery. and live in peace with god/ ¶ and when this year shall be passed. thou shalt come again unto the little broke where i first spoke to thee/ and yet thou shalt see me again. if it please to my god/ ¶ zozimas answered/ would god that i might alway be with thee/ ¶ my mother i pray the that thou moat eat a little of the meet that i have brought to thee/ ¶ then she took three grains of his lentylle. and put it in her mouth. saying/ ¶ it sufficeth to have the grace of the holy ghost for to sustain the soul undefoylled of sin/ ¶ then said zozimas pray for me/ and remember mine infelycyte/ ¶ zozimas took her by the feet. in praying her that she would have the state of the poor sinners and himself for recommended/ ¶ these things thus done. the good woman made the sign of the cross upon flom jourdan. and went upon the water as she died tofore/ ¶ zozimas dreadful and joyeous returned again in to his monastery/ ¶ but he was dysplaysed by cause he had not asked her name/ ¶ the year passed he came again in to the place afore said/ ¶ and beholding on all sides if he might see her. ¶ but he could fyude none appearance nor knowledge. ¶ and lifting up his eyen to henen made his prayer saying/ ¶ o my god playsyth it that to show to me the angel. to whom all the world is not worthy to be compared or likened/ ¶ and these words thus proffered and uttered/ he saw over the said broke a clearness shining as the son/ ¶ under which brightness lay deed the body of the holy egypcyen/ having the face toward the east and her hands joined upon her breast/ then zozimas aroos and went unto the said body/ ¶ by which he wept a long while/ washing her feet with his tears without touching any other part of her body/ ¶ thinking in himself that he was not worthy to touch her/ ¶ but by the providence of god he found a letter in which was wreton this that followeth/ ¶ father zozimas put in sepulture the poor body of mary egypcyen. to the end that in so doing thou render to the earth that which is his/ and powder to powder/ in praying god for my soul/ ¶ zozimas was much admarveled. in thinking how these letters had been written/ nevertheless he rejoiced him of that he knew her name/ and praised and thanked god. ¶ and disposed him for to make and begin to dig a pit or a sepulture to bury her in/ ¶ but for as much as he had neither pykeys ne shovel for to make it/ ¶ he found a little bowhe. with which he began to delve in the earth/ the which was so hard/ that he was a long space of tyme. without to make any thing. ¶ first he was old and feeble ¶ secondly the ground was hard. ¶ thirdly he was strongly annoyed and wept continually/ ¶ and in like wise resisting. he beheld the corpse of the good mary egypcyen/ he saw a marvelous great lyon. which licked the feet of the blessed corpse/ ¶ then he was somewhat afeard/ for never tofore had he seen such a beast. ¶ also she had said to him that she had none seen in all the time that she had been in desert/ ¶ then zozimas blessed him with the sign of the cross. in beholding the said lion/ which made to him a sign of salutation/ ¶ that seeing zozimas commanded him to make the sepulture for the good holy woman/ the which he died according to the quantity of her body/ and after in way lynge and weepings zozimas covered the said body. which was all naked in like wise as he had found it in the presence of the said lion/ which anon after departed/ ¶ and zozimas returned in to his monastery. and recounted and told to his brethren the caas in such wise as it happened/ wherefore they were moche admerueylled/ ¶ and after that time they solempnysed and worshipped the day of her departing out of this world/ ¶ the abbot johan corrected them which had trespassed and sinned like as saint mary egypcyen had said to the said zozimas/ ¶ the which lived in the said monastery unto the age of an hundred years/ ¶ after which time he died in rest/ and his soul went in to the glory of heaven/ ¶ to which he bring us that died on the cross/ amen/ ¶ thus endeth the life of the holy & blessed woman saint mary egypcyen/ ¶ and next followeth the life of saint marine/ beginning in latin ¶ fuit frater quidam/ et cetera caplm. xliii sometime a secular man which had but one only daughter/ whom he delivered to govern to one of his friends/ and after he put himself in religion/ where he died with a good will/ all that th'abbot commanded him/ after that he had be there a long space of time/ he oft remembered his daughter/ insuche wise that he became all melancolyus/ ¶ thabbot seeing his courage changed/ and that he was not so joyous as he had be accustomed/ demanded him the cause of his heaviness/ ¶ then he answered in weeping/ that he had left in the city an only son. whom he much loved. and for that cause he was melancholious/ and also by cause he wist not how he died/ the abbot said to him/ go & fetch him and bring him hither to th'end that he may dwell with thee/ and nevertheless the said religious had no son. but only a daughter. as afore is said/ the which had to name marine/ but he would not tell so to the abbot/ by cause he had concluded to bring her in/ in abyte dissimuled/ and went to the city/ which was distant fro his monastery xxxii. mile or there about/ and brought his daughter clad like a man/ and called her maryn/ in which estate she was therein unto the age of riu●· year. and was sufficiently instruct/ as well in letture as otherwise in the way of health/ her father showed her how virginity was a fair estate much agreeable to god/ in praying her right affectuously to keep it well/ and that she should be ware and wise from the grins of the fiend. and that she should never late be known that she was a woman/ she comen to the age of xvii. year/ her father died and departed out of the world. ¶ after she became much obeissant to th'abbot and to all them of the monastery/ in such wise that she was marvelously loved of th'abbot and of all the religious weening allewaye that she had be a man. ¶ the said monastery had ii oxen and alytyll cart serving for the religious for to fetch their necessities at the see which was by them a three mile of. ¶ on a time the abbot called maryn/ and asked him why he went not sometime like as the other brethren died for to fetch vytayllies for the covent. maryn which was much oberssaunt went incontinent thither/ now it is to be noted that on the way there was a man named paudoux. in whose house the said maryn otherwhile abode all night with his other brethren/ when it was so late that they might not return to the monastery. and it happened that the daughter of the said paudoux was with child gotten by a man of war ¶ the father saying his daughter great with child began to reprove her angrily and threatened her for to know who hadde-goten it/ ¶ then by thinstruction of her love. answered that maryn the religious had done it ¶ the father then accompanied with his friends came to th'abbot/ ¶ recounted to him the case. whereof th'abbot was greatly admarveled and sent anon for maryn/ and demanded of him if he had commised this great sin/ maryn began to weep & said father abbot i have greatly sinned/ the which dyspleasyth me sore-wherfore i pray you that ye will charge me with penance such as ye shall think to be appertaining to the correction of my great offence/ ¶ thabbot in a great fury droof him out of the monastery/ to fore which without entering in again she was by the space of four year/ lying under the gate upon the bare ground/ making there sharp penance for the sin which she had not commised/ and when the brethren went for provision of the covent/ she asked of them breed for the love of god and such penance she endured by the space of iiii. year in which time she endured not only great indigen●es/ but also many rebukes and shames/ as well of the parented and friends of the daughter which had laid to by the said case/ as of other folk thither coming/ which called her paper la●d and hypocrite and yet that worse is/ ¶ after that the said daughter had leyen in a certain time for to no●●●ysshe her child with her paps/ ¶ she brought the child to him sayenge● hold maryn take this child/ and nourish it like as thou haste made it. ¶ she received it benygnly/ and two year during she nourished it sweetly with such as was given to hi● for the love of god/ ¶ the religious brethren saying her great patience and humility/ moved with great pity and compassion prayed th'abbot that it would please him in preferring mercy tofore the rigour of justice to call again brother maryn/ which thing he would in no wise do/ having allway against him marvelous indignation because of the said trespaas/ ¶ finably he being vanquished by continual prayers of his brethren/ called him in again and said to him/ maryn i have great conscience/ seen the grant of thy sin/ yet i admit the nevertheless to come in for to please my brethren which have humbly prayed me for the many times/ i suffer that thou and thy miserable child which hast gotten in adultery be lodged her wythyn as strange persons/ ¶ and by cause that thou art not worthy for to fellowship and commynyke with the brethren. but in doing to them scruple like as the caas shall require/ i ordain that thou be allway subject to make clean all the places of here within/ & take & here away the filth and unclean things/ and also in like wise to fetch water for to wash the pots & dishes and to help the needs of the brethren/ ¶ the which penance she accepted with good will and good heart/ and so long she continued that ●he departed out of this world fro life to death/ ¶ this thing pronounced by the brethren to their abbot/ which said to them/ my brethren ye know well the enormity of his sin of which he hath not made condign penance/ and therefore it is not decent ne covenable that he be buried in our monastery but nevertheless seen his obedience/ i am content that far in the manner accustomed he buried by you out of the monastery/ the brethren for to do that which was permitted to them came in to the little chambre where he was deed/ ¶ and in dyspoylling and taking of his clothes for to ennoynte him/ they knew that she was a woman. and were marvelously abashed ¶ and began to wail bitterly with great abundance of tears/ ¶ and incontinent camen and showed to the abbot/ who for this thing was greatly ●oenyd. and touched of a marvelous contrition and displeasure/ ¶ and tell there to the ground. smiting with his hands against his breast and his heed saying/ ¶ o glorious maryce i beseech the that of the afflyccy●●s which i have given to thee/ that thou accuse me not tofore god/ for by ignorance i have done it/ ¶ alas if thou hadst told to me the troth/ i had never commised toward the this marvelous faw●e/ ¶ after that he had much lamented and wailed. he died do bury her solemnly within the church of the monastery/ ¶ and that same day came she which had untruly accused her of the caas. for which she had done so great penances/ the which vexed and tormented of the devil confessed openly her sin/ declaring the name of him which had gotten the child/ ¶ all the relygyouses' persons of the monasteries nigh by advertised of this mystery/ in the honour of the glorious virgin came to the monastery with their crosses and tapres light and brenning/ in singing nymphs and psalms/ in praising the name of god/ to whom they thanked and rendered graces of that which had pleased him for the edification of their souls to show to them this marvelous fayte. ¶ and after in the said monastery were showed and done many miracles by the prayers of the holy virgin saint marine/ ¶ thus endeth the life of saint marine/ ¶ the life of saint eufrosyne/ & beginneth in latin ¶ fuit vir. et cetera. caplm. xliiii in alexandria was a man named pafunce moche honourable. and keeping the commandments of god/ he took a wife which was of moche honest life/ as she that was extract of noble parents & virtuous/ ¶ but she was barren & steryle. and much sorrowful. by cause she had no children ne lygnye/ ¶ the good pafunce was much sorrowful by cause he had no children/ that might succeed to his possessions/ his wife had great solicitude to nourish the poor people. ¶ she served god day & night. continually she prayed him. that it might please him to give her a child by generation. principally by cause that her husband was so dysplaysaunt that he might have none ¶ and he himself semblably prayed/ and forced himself to find some devout man that would pray god for him that he might obtain his desire by the moyen of his prayers. and to that end he enlarged to the poor great quantity of his goods temporal/ on a time he entered in to a monastery where he found a good father. loved of god after the renomee of the country for the contemplation of whom. he frequented in the said monastery divers times. doing there his alms tofore e●he declared his will & desire to the abbot ne to the religiouses ¶ finably he said to them that he had all his life desired to have generation. but nevertheless he could not have it/ ¶ thabbot & the religiouses desiring to help in his adversity. prayed god for him in such wise. that by the will of god he had a moche fay● daughter. the which after that she was vii years old was baptized. and called eufrosyne ¶ and when she was of iii year age. her mother departed out of this worlde· leaving her husband alive. the which informed the said daughter aswell in letture as in good manners/ and in such wise profited. that not only her father & her parents. but also all thynhabitauntesinhabitants of the city. or the most part marveled them: & also of her bodily beauty ¶ so it happened that for her great virtues & perfections she was of many desired in marriage. but all were forsaken except one. which passed all other in richesse and in honours/ ¶ in right young age she was thereto acorded/ ¶ when she was xviii year old. her father lad her to the monastery where he had been accustomed to pray god. and there gave great quantity of money/ & said to th'abbot/ ¶ father abbot loo here the fruit of thy prayer/ nevertheless i am constrained to mary her i require the to pray for her/ ¶ thabbot admonested her to live in honest. chastity & patience. and also sovereignly to dread god/ ¶ and she bēynge in this monastery. where she sojourned with her father by the space of three days began to have contemplation in the good & honest conversation of the religiouses and thought in herself that well happy were these men religiouses/ which in this world were semblable to angels. and in the end of their life should deserve the glory eternal/ ¶ the three days passed pafunce required at the abbot that he would give the benediction to his daughter. and they would return in to the city/ ¶ and thus saying she kneeled down on both her knees tofore him in saying/ my father i beseech the that it may please the to pray for me. to the end that god will save my poor soul/ ¶ these words said the abbot laid his hand upon her ¶ the god that knoweth the creatures tofore they were born bless the and make the to have part in his ream/ ¶ after that time as oft as her father found any religious persone· he lad him in to his house. and prayed him to pray for her/ ¶ the abbot had a custom to make feast and solemnity the day that he was instituted abbot of his monastery/ ¶ that day coming he sent to the house of pafunce. for to pray him to come to that solempnytee/ ¶ the religious that came found not the say-pafunce at home/ ¶ but it was told him by his servants. that he was gone out/ ¶ eufrosme that seeing called the religious. and axed of him many things/ ¶ first how many brethren were in his monastery/ the religious said that there were three hundred & two and thirty/ ¶ after she axed if there were any dyffyculte to receive in to the religion of any that would render him religious/ ¶ to whom he answered that nay/ saying that our lord god had said that who so ever would come to him. he would not cast him out from him/ ¶ thirdly she demanded if they song the psalms all together and also how they fasted/ he answered that everich fasted after his power/ but they song all together. ¶ and also she asked of all the rules of the said monastery/ and he told all to her ¶ after she said to the said religious that her will was to lead the state and life of religion/ but she dread moche to offend her father. which would do her to be married/ ¶ the religious said to her/ my sister deliver not thy body to a man mortal. but to god which is immortal give thy beauty/ and secretly take the habit of a man/ and make thyself religious in some monastery. where some ever it be/ ¶ which thing hearing the said daughter was greteli comforted and rejoiced/ ¶ but nevertheless she had in herself some heaviness/ by cause that she could not advise her by what moyen she might do and accomplish this thing/ for she durst not trust in any lay man/ ¶ the religious said to her/ thy father shall be three or four days in the abbey/ ¶ and therefore send for some devout religious man/ which right gladly shall purvey for thy caas/ ¶ and thus as they devised together. came her father/ which demanded of the religious the cause of his coming thither/ ¶ the which said to him that his abbot prayed him that it would please him to come to the solemnity of his feast/ ¶ pafunce much joyous of his coming went in to a ship with the religious. and came to the monastery/ ¶ incontinent that they were departed/ saint eufrosyne desiring to accomplish and fuldoo her purposes and intention. sent for to seche a religious of the monastery of the abbot theodocyen/ the which being comen to her. she anon recited to him. and told her caas and intention/ ¶ and that which she had enterprised to do and accomplish/ ¶ and then he hearing these fair and devout words said to her/ ¶ my love and friend god hath taught us. that who that renouncyth not father and mother. their children and themself by their free will. is not worthy to be disciple of our lord ihesu christ/ ¶ and therefore i say if thou mayst. thou oughtest to renounce thy parents and kinnesfolke. for to ensue and follow ihesu christ/ ¶ remember the not· ne take no thought for the heritage of thy father. for there ●en enough of poor widows and of poor monasteries. to whom he may distribute and deal his goods/ ¶ saint eufrosine answered. i trust in god and· in thy words/ and pray the that thou wol●e pray for me/ ¶ and that incontinent. thou cut of and take a way mine hairs/ ¶ the religious his orison made in praying said/ ¶ our lord god which hath delivered from peril all his saints will keep and preserve the from all evil/ ¶ anon after he cut of her hairs/ and that done departed from thence. giving praysinge to our lord god. and considering in herself what she had to do for to entry in to the religion of women. ¶ ●nowynge that her father in seeking her might happily find her there/ ¶ and therefore in leaving the habit of a woman clad her with the habyle of a man/ ¶ and after departed from the house of her father. and went in to the monastery. thither as he was gone. ¶ and incontinent that she knew that her father was departed she found the manner to speak with the abbot/ giving him to understand that she was a man that gladly would be there religious. and named herself smaradyn/ ¶ the abbot received her gladly/ and for as much as she seemed a child of young age. ¶ she was delivered to be endoctrined and taught in the rules of the religion to another religious man. named agapyton/ ¶ she being there. by cause she was much fair. and principally of visage/ many of the religiouses began to murmur in saying/ that it was a devil in likeness of a religious/ ¶ and that by her beauty many of them were fall in sin/ ¶ finably they said it to the abbot/ the which that knowing commanded to smaradyn. that he should make his prayers alone in his little chambre/ and that he should no more come in to the church/ ¶ which thing she died gladly and held her there so solitarily. that all the religiouses marveled of the great constance that she had in so young age/ ¶ her father pafunce returned fro the said monastery/ and when he was comen home. he found nought his said daughter and anon was surprised and taken of a great and marvelous sorrow and heaviness. ¶ and began to ask all his servants and chamberers where she was become. and wh●ther she was goon/ ¶ to whom they answered that in the morning she departed out of the house as they supposed. for sith they had not seen her. ne knew not where she was become. in continent and without tarrying he sent his messengers to all parties. and fro religion to religion: as well in alexandria as in egypte. but he could here no tidings. whereof he was full of heaviness. and so right sorrowful that uneath it may not be said. he made so lamentation and sorrow. that he said these words/ ¶ alas my sweet d●ughter mine only consolation. and all the pleasance of mine eyen. which is he that rob & took the away from me/ and that hath quenched my light and all mine hope/ ¶ alas now is defoiled the beauty of thy face/ ¶ a cursed be the wolf that hath borne away my sheep/ ¶ alas in what set or in what land may she be hid ¶ o land hide not from me my dou●ghter eufrosyne. but do so moche that she may be rendered to me again ¶ such words and other moche marvelous and piteous said pafunce. in wailing so moche· that the assistants and dwellers of the city were excited and stirred to make lamentation and cries/ ¶ and after he returned to his holy abbot. to whom in weeping he declared the cause of his great sorrow and discomfort/ to the end that he & his religiouses should pray to god that he might have hasty and shortly tidings of his daughter/ ¶ and that they disposed them to fast and make denowte orisons du●ynge an hole week/ but nevertheless they heard of her no manner tidings/ ¶ saint eufrosyne prayed in like wise to god. that never her conversation should be showed to man ¶ after came the abbot to her father pafunce and said to him/ my son rejoice the sith we have no revelation of her/ ¶ we believe steadfastly that in what place that ever thy daughter be. she is in the honour of god/ and hath no dystrowbling ne empeshement/ ¶ that hearing pafunce was a little comforted/ and after that he had thanked the brethren he returned in to his house/ ¶ certain days after passed the said pafunce returned in to the abbey/ and recommended him to the brethren in requiring them much humbly that they should pray for him and for his daughter. and singularly to the abbot to him saying. ¶ alas good father my sorrow renewyth from day to day more and more/ ¶ truly i may no longer bear it without death/ ¶ the abbot seeing that he was so much sorrowful. brought him in to the chambre where as saint eufrosyne was. not knowing that she was his daughter/ ¶ and called the religious that had the charge of her. named agapyton/ ¶ saint eufrosyne hearing her father was moche abashed/ and weeping with great tears began to comfort her the best she might. as she had not be of his knowledge/ ¶ her father beholding that her face was all covered with her habit. and greatly changed for her fastings and abstinences. which she continuelly made. knew her not ¶ after the lamentations and wailings/ saint eufrosyne began to speak to her father. of the excellence of the glory eternal/ ¶ and how by abstinence. charytee alms. chastity. and also in like wise by the virtue of humility might begotten the sovereign be atytude or blessedness/ ¶ after she admonested him to despise and contemn all worldly things in showing to him. that a man ought not so moche love his children as god/ ¶ but by cause that she saw her father in moche great tribulation. she would comfort him at last. and said to him. ¶ know my friend for truth as i believe. that thou art beloved of god/ ¶ and that if thy daughter were in way of perdition god would have showed in what estate she were in. ¶ i believe that she hath chosen the way of health/ ¶ for he that forsaketh not all that he hath. may have no part in heaven/ ¶ leave then thy malencolye. and be not cause of thy perdition and loss/ ¶ have patience and steadfast hope/ ¶ i have herd oft my master agapyton speak of thee/ ¶ and how thou haste prayed the religiouses for to have tidings of thy daughter. ¶ but i have oft prayed to the end that thou sholdeste have patience. and have desired for to see the for to comfort the. with the least harm that i might/ ¶ and after the said to him/ my lord and my friend go thy way i pray thee/ ¶ and notwithstanding that she desired him to go his way. nevertheless she wept and had compassion of him/ ¶ for nature might not lie/ ¶ pafuncyus her father by her words/ was moche comforted/ and nigh as moche as he had found his daughter/ ¶ after he recommended him to the prayers of the abbot and covent/ and returned home to his house/ ¶ saint eufrosyne in the habit of a man lived eight and thirty years ¶ and anon after came to her a sickness and malady. of which she died/ ¶ and duting the said malady. her father came to the abbey for to visit her/ notwithstanding that he wend alway that she had been the religious smaradyn/ ¶ and entered in to the chambre where she lay sick. and found her almost deed/ ¶ then he began to weep saying/ alas and what shall i do/ ¶ where been the promises which thou haste made to me smaradyn/ ¶ where been the sweet consolations and the pleasant words. by which thou promysedest to me. that i should see my daughter. ¶ alas i have not only lost my daughter. but also i shall lose the. the which haste given to me so moche comfort/ ¶ alas who shall comfort my poor old age. and whither shall i go/ ¶ who shall be helping to me in my heaviness/ now am i constrained to weep my double evil and harm of the and of my daughter/ ¶ it is eight and thirty year go sith i lost my daughter/ now i return in to like sorrow. ¶ alas where shall i now find consolation and comfort/ ¶ i shall descend weeping in to hell if god have not pity upon me/ ¶ smaradyn seeing his heaviness had compassion on him/ ¶ and recomforted him saying/ wherefore tormentest the thou thus/ wolte thou flee thyself/ ¶ ne thynkesse not thou that god is almighty for to comfort thee/ make an end of thy heaviness/ ¶ think how jacob wept for his son joseph as deed/ and yet after our lord god showed him to him/ ¶ i pray the for the honour of god. that thou leave me not by the space of three days/ ¶ thenne her father pafunce supposed that the noble religious smaradyn without fault should show to him some thing in some manner that he shall have knowledge of his daughter/ ¶ the three days passed incontinent came again pafunce to smaradyn/ and said thus ¶ my right sweet friend the three days been now passed/ i have tarried. like as thou saidest to me/ ¶ then saint eufrosyne knowing that the day approached and drew nigh in which she should deye· said to her father/ ¶ my lord and my friend i know that i shall not live long and that god hath helped me to fight against the devil unto now/ it resteth only that i give the consolation of thy daughter eufrosyne/ ¶ believe surely that i am she/ and therefore be constant and mighty without in any wise to anger the ¶ and this that i show to the. ne show ne declare it to any man living/ ¶ but thou alone tofore that i be put in the earth. shall wash me. to the end that no man know that i am a woman/ ¶ i have promised many lands and possessions to the church here within/ ¶ and therefore thou shalt accomplish and fulfil my promise. it is a place of great devotion/ ¶ pray for me. i command the to god. and my body and my soul/ ¶ and in saying these words she rendered and gave her spirit to god ¶ when pafunce the father of the good lady had herd these words/ seeing that she was then deed. fell down to the earth as deed/ ¶ after this ran agapytus. and he seeing that smaradyn was deed. and pafunce fallen down to the earth. casted water in to the visage of pafunce. in saying/ ¶ what eylest thou my lord and friend. arise up/ ¶ pafunce answered. alas that i die not right here/ this day have i seen things enarrable/ ¶ after he rose up and fell upon the face of his daughter. & wish her with his tears/ ¶ and when he had long wailed and wept upon the body/ he said with an high voice. ¶ alas my sweet daughter. why haddest not thou more sooner showed and manifested thyself to me. to the end that i had died gladly with that ¶ vnhappynesse is comen to me. sith that· thou haste hid thyself so long from me. ¶ alas how haste thou vanquished and put under thy feet. the adversities of this world. and now thou art in eternal glory/ ¶ agapyton that hearing went to the abbot and showed him all the caas/ ¶ when the abbot was comen/ in like wise he began to weep with pafunce in saying/ ¶ o eufrosyne spouse of ihesu christ/ the time is comen that thou oughtest to remember thy brethren/ ¶ pray for us. to the end that we may come to the port of health/ ¶ all the bredern there assembled and seeing this miracle. glorified & worshipped god in saying. ¶ honour and praising be to god of heaven and of earth/ which that maketh not only to men marvelous things. but also to women/ ¶ and thus as all were there assembled for to bury the corpse/ a brother which had but one eye. kissed her. and incontinent he saw clearly with that other eye/ ¶ her father distributed and dealt all his possessions and livelihood to the said church and monastery. and rendered and became himself religious in the same place and monastery/ where as he lived ten years after/ and after his death finably was buried by saint eufrosyne his only daughter. and saved in heaven/ ¶ to the whrche by their intercessions and prayers it may please god that we may all come at the end of our days/ ¶ the which grant us the father. son. and holy ghost/ amen/ ¶ thus endeth the life of the glorious saint eufrosyne/ ¶ of saint frontynyan. which beginneth in latin ¶ quomam sepe desideratis/ caplm. xlv ¶ those been the conditions of them that lyven in the world/ ¶ let us demand and ask first the ream of heaven/ ¶ and let us do after justice ¶ and by this moyen all good things shall come to us/ ¶ after that ever each of them. after his power intended to prayer the best wise they might. ¶ but the good father prayed not only for himself. but for all the other ¶ long time after that they had lived in the said desert/ the enemy of nature. which is alway envious/ principally of them which done penance/ tempted theym· and assailed with many assaults/ in such wise that he made them all to murmur. and to grudge against their abbot/ and said that one to that other/ wherefore is it that our abbot hath made us to come in to this desert/ ¶ they that been in towns and castellis: shall have as well heaven as we. so that they done good works. ¶ and we slay ourself here by fastings. and by abstinence we dyen for hungres/ ¶ and thus the most part of them were moved to return to the world/ ¶ this knowing saint frontinyan came to them. and said/ wherefore ally my brethren come ye hither with me for to murmur and grudge against god/ know ye not well by holy scripture. that a just man shall never die for hunger/ ¶ and if he have not for to eat. god shall send him some by his angel. like as he hath done to many of whom we read/ ¶ think that god hath alway his eye upon the devout souls/ think also how god nourisheth the ravenns within they neest. when the father ne the mother will not nourish them by cause they been white/ ¶ when they been first hayghte or borne/ ¶ my brethren have ye alway the love of god in your hearts. and i assure & certify you for truth. that ye shall never have default of meet ne of drink/ ¶ and if it so happened/ which i believe shall never come. that ye should have hunger or thirst/ and when it so were/ then might ye have cause to accuse god of the words that he hath said in the gospel/ thus saying to him/ ¶ o god we have kept thy commandments. and have believed that thou haste said. that is to wite that thou shalt nourish thy servants with heavenly meet/ we have had in the hope. nevertheless thou haste left us/ but i pray you all ne murmur ne grudge no more thus in likewise as our faders ancient died in desert. when they were delivered from the hand of king pharaoh/ ¶ abide ye. and tarry a while. and ye shall know how god pourneyth to them that dreadeth him and loveth him ¶ after these words of saint frontynyan all they ceaseden their murmurations and grudgings/ ¶ and of that they had so done they were much sorrowful and dysplaysaunte/ ¶ on a night after that they had so been corrected/ an angel appeared to a rich man/ ¶ and said thus to him/ ¶ thou man that livest in great delyces & worldly playsures. and having abundance of goods. and the poor servants of god been in desert which have great hungres/ ¶ i advertise and counsell the that thou arise up. and that thou send them some meet for to eat/ ¶ or else thou shalt run in to the indignation of god/ ¶ the man sleeping was greatly admerueyled/ ¶ on the morn early he called together all his friends. and recounted to them all that the angel had showed to him/ ¶ but he knew no thing in what place the holy faders were/ ¶ wherefore he could not do that the angel had said to him/ ¶ on the morn he was yet again menaced threatened and beaten by th'angel/ by cause he had not accomplished and fulfilled his commandment ¶ in like wise as he died tofore he died do assemble all his friends. for to have counsell how he might do that. which the angel had commanded him/ in showing to them the wounds that he had received of the angel/ ¶ and notwithstanding none of them wist not what to say/ by cause they knew not the place where the religious were in desert/ ¶ among the other there was one wise man. that counseled him that he should lad and charge three score & ten camellis with victual/ and to let them go there as they would. without to be lad ne conduited of any person/ ¶ for if it were so that such revelation came of a good angel. he should pourney for them/ and if it came of an evil angel. he should take it in patience/ this counsel pleased to all them that were present/ ¶ and it was so executed in lading three score and five camellis with victual for the religiouses/ and five other with victual for the said camellis/ ¶ after they were thus laden. he made his prayer to god thus saying/ o my god i require the. as provyder of all them that lyven/ that it may please the to address and to govern all these camellis to go to the place where thy servants been/ in such wise as it shall please thee/ and also to bring them home again. if it so please the. without empeshment or letting in to mine house/ ¶ then he made them to depart without any person to go with them for to be their guide/ ¶ and so they went along by a mountain by the space of four days/ and finably came to the gate of their monastery/ ¶ and by cause that they song their service. they might not here those said camellis. ne their great sownettes ne bells/ ●auf only the abbot. which was nigh the gate/ which was first advised and had knowledge of them to his great joy and exultation. by cause that god himself had purveyed to his needful petition and prayer ¶ the said abbot frontynyan said no word unto the time that all the service was accomplished and ended/ ¶ and after the end of the said service. he called together all his brethren to whom he said/ ¶ o my brethren where been now your murmurations and grudgings/ ¶ see ye now how god hath sent miraculously these camellis laden with victual/ ¶ all they together rendered and gave thankings to god. in praising and magnefyenge his name/ ¶ and after dischargeden and unloaded the said camellis·s and wish their feet/ and that done. they gave to them to eat such meet as they had brought with them/ ¶ and with that also went to the mountain for to fetch grass. for to refresh them more largely/ ¶ on the morrow the abbot departed ail the victuals/ and laid again on the camellis half their lading/ to the end to eschew the sins that they might commyse and do by over great abundance and plenty of those goods/ ¶ and scent them to him agaynt that had sent them/ ¶ in praying to god/ that from all harm and evil he would keep them/ and also their master and lord/ ¶ seven days after they of the house of the said rich man which had sent forth the said camellis/ ¶ one of them heard the sownettis and bellis. & sawenge them coming together. and and advertised and told the other/ ¶ then all they all together went to meet them/ and found them all together all hole/ and not lener ne in worse point than they were at the it departing. for all their far and long journey/ ¶ the rich man which tofore was heavy. doubting the loss of his camellis. received them joyously. in loving and praising the name of god/ ¶ and after that same time during the life of the said saint frontynyan continued to send to him oft of his goods. as well for him as for his religiouses. by which the said had no sufferance of hunger. ne necessity of any thing/ and this thing happened the thirteenth year of the empire of anthonye emperor of rome/ ¶ saint iherom saith upon this paas/ that who some ever shall do alms unto the servants of god. and have toward them a piteous heart. in enlarging to them of his goods for their necessities. he shall be rewarded of god in this life or in everlasting life/ ¶ the which give us the father. the son and the holy ghost/ amen/ ¶ thus endeth the life of saint frontynyan. which was a devout and holy religious/ ¶ here followeth the life of saint simeon hermit/ and beginneth in latin ¶ sanctus simeon. et cetera caplm. xlvi saint simeon was not he the received in the temple our saviour and redeemer ihesu christ. ¶ forty days after he was borne. the which made the psalm nunc dimittis/ ¶ but this holy man of whom presently we shall read. was hallowed of god in his mothers womb/ ¶ he was sweetly nourished of his parents and friends/ and kept and drove the beasts of his father unto thirteen years of his age/ ¶ thnne it happened as he kept those beasts. that he apperreyved a church/ in to which he entered leaving his beasts in the fields/ and in that church then was radde the epistle of saint paul/ ¶ incontinent saint simeon a●yd an ancient man. what signified that. which was then read/ ¶ the which answered to him. that the epistle signified/ how a man ought to love and dread god with all his might and thought/ ¶ saint simeon asked what it was to lay to dread god/ ¶ the said ancient man answered to him/ my son why mockest thou me/ ¶ the child answered to him/ my father i ask the as him which may comfort me. i am as a ●ude ass and ignorant which knoweth no thing/ ¶ and therefore i pray the that thou wolte teach me in that which i shall demand and ask the the ancient father in hearing these words taught him in this manner and said. ¶ my son who somever fastyth and mekyth himself in keeping the commandments of god. forsakyth father and mode● friends. and all the goods of the world. in following the doctrine of holy faders. he shall have for his heritage the ream of heaven/ ¶ when the child heard these words he kneeled down tofore him saying/ ¶ thou art my father and my mother/ and with this i take the for my dyrectour of all my works and operations/ thou haste this day saved my soule· the which was in the way of perdition. ¶ now i shall go in such wise as thou haste taught me. or god shall conduit and lead me/ ¶ his will of me be done/ ¶ yet the good father informed him that he should have patience in adversity/ ¶ and after this the said simeon went unto a monastery. of a right perfect man. named thymothee. tofore the yates of which monastery he tarried five days without meet and without drink/ ¶ after the said five days. the holy abbot thymothee came out of the said monastery. and found the child simeon/ ¶ and he asked him of whence he was/ and if he had done any harm. by cause he was fugy●yf/ ¶ saint simeon answered saying sire i have not beguiled ne troubled my friends. ne none other persons of the world. ¶ but i desire to be the servant of god. if it please him/ ¶ to the end that i may save my soul the which is lost/ ¶ and therefore i pray thee/ that thou receive me in to thy monastery for to serve all the brethren therein. ¶ thenne the good abbot took him by the hand. as he had known his great devotion/ and lad him in to the monastery/ saying to the religiouses ¶ all ye my brethren i deliver to you this child named simeon. for to teach and inform him in the rules of our monastery/ ¶ and therefore i command you that each of you be to him as his father/ for i believe that he shall be of the number of perfect men/ ¶ the child simeon served the said religious by the space of four months/ in which four months he learned the psalter. in living alone spiritually/ ¶ for the refection that he had with the religiouses. he gaaf it secretly to the poor people/ ¶ and notwithstanding that the brethren took their refection alway at even. saint simeon took no thing but on the seventh day/ ¶ on a day among the other. he took the cord of the pit. by which they drew the water/ and bound it on his bare flesh about his reins and his shoulders/ ¶ and so fast he bound it about. that the cord entered with in his flesh unto the bone/ ¶ and for this cause his flesh rooted. and was full of vermyn the which fell from him in such wise as the good simeon walked ¶ now it happened that the brethren knew that he eat not but from one son day to another/ and they found him giving his portion to the poor people ¶ and so they accused him to the abbot saying that he broke the rules of the abbey/ and also that he was all infect. and they felt him much stinking/ ¶ the abbot made him to come speak to him. in reproving him of his straight life. by cause he eat not every day once like as he himself died/ and there was no disciple above his master/ ¶ and after he made him to be despoiled/ and then they found how he was bound with a cord. and that it was the cause why he stank so/ ¶ the abbot was greatly abashed. and prayed him that he would go out of the monastery. but first they took it from him with great pain and smart/ and died do hele him/ ¶ and that done he departed out of the monastery secretly/ and went unto a desert place. which was not far from the said monastery/ where he found a pit. which was not used/ and in which was no water/ but there were therein evil spirits. ¶ the night following was showed to the abbot thymothee. that many armed people came for to assyege the house for to have the good servant of god simeon/ ¶ and if they would not deliver him/ that they would thretene to bren them and all their monastery/ ¶ when thymothee was awaked considering this revelation/ and that he had so blamed the servant of god. was sore afeard. and recited to his brethren the said revelation/ ¶ and how he was therewith sore troubled/ ¶ the night following came about the house moche people. that cried with an high voice/ ¶ thymothee deliver to us simeon. ¶ he is better beloved with god than thou/ wherefore haste thou troubled him so hardly/ ¶ all the heavenly court is wroth with thee/ ¶ by cause for him god shall do marvelous things/ which man never died/ ¶ incontinent tymothee aroos. and went to his brethren. commauding them that with our delay they should go and find simeon/ or else they were all in way to die within their monastery/ ¶ the brethren anon went out of their church for to go seek where they might find the good simeon/ but they could not find him/ ¶ then they returned to the abbot saying. that they had searched over all safe in the pit of the desert/ ¶ the abbot which of these tidings was much dysplaysed. took with him fine of his brethren. with whom he transported him unto the said pit. wherein the good simeon was descended/ ¶ and tofor ●r they would go down in that place. they made their prayers to god to have grace for to find the good religious simeon/ and that he would keep them from inconvenient/ and that done they descended in to the pit ¶ the holy man simeon seeing them there said to them/ o ye servants of god/ i pray you suffer ye me to abide here. that i may yield my spirit to god/ for i have but a little while to live/ and my soul is yet all grieved of that i have infect your house/ ¶ the abbot answered/ certainly my friend we shall not leave the here/ but thou shalt come with us in to our monastery/ for we know that thou art loved of god/ ¶ these words said they brought him would he or no into their church/ in which all they fell down to his feet. and cried him mercy of the offence that they had done to him/ ¶ saint simeon weeping said to them/ helas my brethren ye grieve me to exalt me thus that am a poor sinner/ and ye been so holy faders/ ¶ a year after dwelled saint simeon in the said monastery/ and after he departed secretly in to a solitary place which was not far from the said monastery/ ¶ and there edified a little cloisture of stones/ and there dwelled he three years/ ¶ in that time began his fame to grow in the places nigh unto his habitation in which he dwelled after by the space of xvi years/ ¶ then it happened that his said fame and renomee spread over all the country/ ¶ and was so agreeable to the people. that they made to him two churches. in which he dwelled yet by the space of four year/ ¶ the which years passed. he di●e many great miracles. in healing by his prayers many that were dumb/ some demonyakes. blynde· deyf. lazars. and other sicknesses/ ¶ moche people. as well sarrasyns as persauns. and of other far regions hearing the bruit of his virtuous renomee camen to him/ as well for to serve him and honour him/ as for to receive the faith catholic of him ¶ he being in the said place. the devil appeared to him in the form of a shining angel·s being in a chariot which was conduited & lad by the strength of horses all inflamed. the which lighted all the place. where as saint simeon was/ to whom the devil began to say these words. simeon take heed to that which god sendeth to the by me/ i am come hither for to ranyssh that in this chariot/ as was the good prophet helye. thy time is comen/ come up with me her in/ to the end that thou come in to paradise/ ¶ where as been the angels accompanying the mother of god/ the apostles. and all the heavenly court/ ¶ and defer it not/ for i will return to heaven/ ¶ saint simeon full of humility & prudence. that somewhat was deceived made his prayer to god in saying/ helas my redeemer. me that am a poor sinner. wilt thou ravish in to heaven ¶ and in saying these words. he lift up his right foot and his hand also. for to mount and go up in to the charyott/ ¶ but first he made the sign of the cross upon the said chariot/ ¶ and incontinent it vanished all away/ where by he knew that it was the devil. which would have deceived him/ whereof he was moche abashed/ ¶ and by cause that his right foot was over ready to ascend in the said chariot/ he made it to bear penance. ¶ for he was an hole year upon a pillar having only one foot on the earth/ and there sustained him but one foot/ ¶ there engendered a postom in his leg. out of which fell down great multitude of vermyn. aswell upon the pillar. as upon the ground/ ¶ now he had with him a young disciple named anthonye. which after wrote his life. the which in obeying the commandment of the said saint simeon. gathered & took to him the said vermyn that fill fro the said apostome/ that which he putting them in to the sore. saying to them th'example of job ¶ take ye & eat that god hath sent to you/ ¶ bazylle king of the sarrasyns' hearing the fame of his holy life transported himself for to see him. ¶ and he being comen found him praying to god. ¶ but in so doing fell down a worm from his sore upon the same king/ ¶ the which moved of a fervent devotion that he had to the holy man. took the same worm and laid upon his eyen/ ¶ saint simeon reproving him asked him wherefore he had so do. saying to him that it was no thing but a worm/ to whom the same king answered that it was no worm. but it was a precious stone/ and so it was verily/ ¶ for by miracle. and by the great faith of the said king. the said worm in his hand was converted in to a precious stone named margaryte ¶ and therewith departed the good king replenished in good faith/ ¶ and took leave of the holy father simeon/ ¶ long time after his mother heard tidings of him. and came to his church for to see him/ ¶ but by cause that women never entered in where as he was/ the good holy man which had herd and well understand the voys of his mother. died do say. and prayed her/ that she would have a little patience. and that in short time by the pleasure of god. they should each of them see other that seeing his mother begun to weep saying to him/ helas my son this is the receiving & reward that thou dost to me. for to have born that in my beli. & have yeven the sweet milk out of my paps. & after so sweetly have nourished/ certain i have done poor nourysshing. when in stead to receive me. thou yevest to me weeping & wailing/ helas who should not weep that heareth her son thus speak to his mother/ ¶ when the holy man heard the lamentations of his mother/ he began to weep as strongly as she died/ and after he said to her sweetly without to see her face/ ¶ my lady & my mother weep no more. for i promise you that within short time we shall see each other/ ¶ his mother not content of his answer. prayed for to see him more than tofore/ saying/ ¶ my son i pray the in the name of him that hath formed the. sith that i have be so long out of thy presence. that now i may see the. or that i may more plainly here thy voys/ or else i am deed/ ¶ think how thy father is deed for love of thee/ helas my sone· do not so that i die in this heaviness/ ¶ these words said. she slept as heavy & sore grieved/ for three days & three nights she had continually prayed for to see him/ ¶ thenne saint simeon began to pray god for her/ and incontinent she rendered up her soul to god ¶ that done the deed corpse was born tofore the holy man/ that which made his prayer to god for her saying/ ¶ my god i pray the to take the soul of my good mother/ the which hath endured so much sorrow for me. & anon the body of his mother began to move in the presence of all the assystentis/ ¶ and after saint simeon made an other prayer saying/ my god which syttyst in throne above cherubyns. and that seest clearly all things. unto thabysms & lowest places/ and adam tofore he was born. which haste promised thy ream to them that love the. the spakeste to moses in thenflammed bush. & gavest thy benediction to abraham which puttest the souls of good persons in eternal glory & them of evil life in perpetual fire. ¶ and also that gavest refection to helye by two crows now receive the soul of my mother with the holy faders. like as only thou mayst do. & none other/ ¶ after this prayer accomplished. he ne lived but xvi year/ ¶ in the time nyhe unto his monastery toward the parties of the north dwelled a dragon. which was so venomous. that there about as he was grew no grass ne herb ¶ that dragon by caas of fortune or otherwise. was put in his right eye a stake of a c●byte long/ & so came tofore the place where as the holy man was. ¶ and by a sign only that the said simeon made upon the said dragon. the stake fell out of his eye/ the relygiouses' then being present seeing this miracle. with drew them together to their monastery & gaaf devoutly thankings to god ¶ the said be'st thus guarished & healed as said is withdrew him from them. without doing any displeasure in any wise/ ¶ and after that all the brethren religious were withdrawn in to their church the same dragon fell down humbly tofore the door of the said church. for to give thankynges to the holy man simeon of the good that he had done to him by his prayers/ ¶ in the time a woman drinking out of a stone pot. received drinking in to her body a little serpent. being in the same pot/ whereof she was so● grievously seek. that the physicyens ne the magycyens could find no remedy/ ¶ then was she brought unto saint simeon/ the which incontinent set her on the ground/ ¶ and without to give to her any medicine made her to drink of the water of his monastery/ ¶ and as soon as she had drunken thereof/ the serpent sprang out or her body. as long as three cubytes or there abowtes/ and the woman was all hole and guarished/ ¶ and the same hour the said serpent cleft asunder/ and was hanged up in the same place by the space of seven days for a perpetual remembrance/ ¶ it was so that in the said place there was no water· in such wise that not only the men. but also the beasts ●eyed for thirst ¶ thenne saint simeon was required to pray god that he would give to them water/ ¶ and incontinent the ground opened. and cast out water abundantly/ ¶ and after he died delve in the said place to the deepness of seven cubytes/ and never after they failed water/ ¶ in that country there was a beast named pard/ of which be'st when the lion had to do with her. he engendered on her. another be'st called a leopard/ ¶ for the cruelty of that be'st durst no person go thorough the fields/ ¶ that seeing the dwellers in that country. for to have aid & comfort came to saint simeon/ ¶ the which commanded them that they should sow and spring on the ground the water of their church. in the places where as the said be'st haunted. and so they died/ and anon they were of him delivered. ¶ and anon after they found the be'st miraculously deed/ ¶ then they thanked god. in the name of whom saint simeon made so great & evident miracles/ ¶ and when he died any on any person. he deffended them that he should never show any thing. but only they should thank god. and nothing him/ giving to them to understand. that god had healed them. and not he/ ¶ above all things he forbade them that they should not swear the name of god/ but only for just cause ¶ and for unjust they should swear by the name of simeon the poor sinner/ ¶ and saint iherom saith. that yet in the parties of the east and other strange regions. they of the said parties and regions swear only and comynly the name of saint simeon/ ¶ a thief named jonathas for the great and mischievous evils that he had done. was so strongly chased that he was constrained to entry in to the church of saint simeon/ and embraced a pylar by the which he stood/ ¶ saint simeon demanded him what he was/ ¶ and wherefore he was there entered/ to whom he answered. i am jonathas. which have done so much evil in the world. but i will repent me. and do penance/ thenne the holy man said to him/ thou art right welcome my brother. for the penitentis is the ream of heaven/ but come not hither for to tempt me. ne also for to return to thy sin/ ¶ and thus saying came the officers of anthyoche that said to saint simeon/ ¶ deliver to us the thief jonathas. or else all the city shall arise and move them against the. for the beasts been red● for to devour him/ ¶ saint simeon answered. my friends i have not brought him hither. it is a greater master than i ¶ and therefore if ye may take him with you/ for as touching to me i dare not touch him. by cause i dread god. which hath sent him hither/ ¶ then they returned and said to the lords of the justice/ where they had fond him/ and that which simeon had said to them wherefore they durst not touch him/ ¶ the thief jonathas which thenne was converted. and contynuenge in lamentations and weepings/ after that he had been there seven days. in holding the said pylar. said to saint simeon/ ¶ my lord and friend if it please the i am ready to go hens/ ¶ simeon answered/ arte thou now weary to do penance. and wilt thou return to thy malice accustomed. jonathas answered/ nay my lord i am not but the time is come that i must die/ ¶ and in saying these words. he yielded up his spurt to god. thenne as they would have buried him came the justyces of anthyche. weening to have taken him/ ¶ saint simeon thenne answered. ¶ my friends he that sent him hither cometh to fetch him with all the celestial cour●e. the which may you and your city make to sink in to hell/ and the poor jonathas thief make to ascend in to heaven ¶ and know ye that i myself. if i had known that god would not have be dysplaysed with me. i would have delivered him to you/ and therefore travail ye no more/ ¶ the lords of the justice hearing these words returned again. and recounted and told all that they had seen/ ¶ a little time after one named anthony. of whom is tofore spoken. and the which had long served saint simeon found him in prayer/ and by cause he had be so three days. that is to wite. the friday. saturday. and sunday. during the which he had not spoken. but was there as unmoevable/ the good religious anthony was moche abashed/ ¶ and said to him. my lord and my father. it is time that thou arise/ for it is three days now sithen the people have tarried for to have thy blessing/ to whom saint simeon answered no word/ ¶ then said anthony/ alas what may i have trespassed to the. that thou speakest no thing to me/ and seeing that he spoke not/ he durst not awake him/ for he dread him moche/ ¶ nevertheless he abode by him by the space of half an hour/ ¶ and after he approached near to him/ and laid his ce●e to his visage. for to know if he were deed or a live/ ¶ but he felt no thing but an odour so sweet that all the place was replenished with all/ ¶ thenne knew he well that he was departed out of this world/ ¶ then incontinent he began to kiss him. his eyen. his beard. weeping bitterly. and said. helas' my lord and my master wherefore leavest thou me/ who shall be he that shall give to me doctrine. as thou hast done. ¶ what shall i say to the malades and seek people. that shall come hither to have health/ ¶ helas now i see the. and tomorne i shall lose thee/ ¶ after many lamentations the good anthony slept/ and as he slept he be●de a voice that said/ anthony i shall not leave the here in this place. ne in the mountain in which i am illumy●ed with the grace of god/ ¶ thou shalt go secretly in to anthyoche/ to the end that the people moeve them not/ and shalt tell the tidings of my death/ ¶ for now i am departed like as it hath pleased to my redeemer/ ¶ thou shalt never cease to pray god in this place here/ and he shall reward the in heaven/ ¶ when anthony was awaked. he marveled moche saying ¶ o my lord and master. remember thou me in the glory in which thou art now ¶ after he kissed his feet. and laid his hands upon his eyen. saying/ ¶ my lord i pray the give to me thy blessing/ ¶ and began again to weep saying/ helas for to have mind of the. what piece of a relic shall i take of thy body/ ¶ and so saying the body began to move. wherefore he was afraid that he durst not touch it/ ¶ and by cause none should know thereof/ he sent secretly one of his brethren to the bishop of anthyoche the which accompanied with two other bisshoppis and also with ardahoruis prince of the chivalry of anthyoche transported them thither. and died lay the holy corpse tofore the altar of his church/ ¶ and th'history saith that the birds fledden about the place where as he was. making great cries and chattering in manner of weeping and wailings/ ¶ the people also and the beasts assembled in so great number. that they were esteemed well at seven thousand. demeaning for his death a marvelous heaviness/ ¶ the mountains. the fields. trees. and also herbs of the places nigh by suffreden for his death/ ¶ for over all there about they were environed with a dark cloud testefyenge and witnessing the bitterness that they had. ¶ also the good antony abode seven hours the angel of god. shining as a lightning and his clothes white as snow with whom were seven ancient faders. which long time were by the corpse/ but what they died ne said. knoweth none like as saith saint iherom/ ¶ during the time that the body was in the church. the patriarch of anthyoche would have taken of his beard. by cause he knew that he was a man of holy life. but incontinent thonde with which he would have touched it. waxed dry/ but after by the prayers of them that were present and by the evident miracle he was heeled/ ¶ then swore he that neither man ne woman should touch it/ ¶ these things thus done in great solemnity. torches and tapres being light/ the body was borne to antioch/ ¶ but when he was withdrawn five mile to a place called mere. might never man make him depart from that place/ ¶ there was a man that had be forty year deyf and dumb. and began to cry/ ha servant of god thou art right welcome/ thy coming hath yeven to me hearing and speaking/ ¶ i promise the if i live long· that always i shall serve the with body and soul/ ¶ after he aroos and took one of the beasts that lad the corpse of the holy man/ and anon he was healed/ the cause of the accydente of this deyf and dumb man was this/ ¶ he had been amorous of a fair young woman married. the which he had strongly solycited for to have her company. to the which he could not come/ ¶ and after it happened that she died. which death came to the knowledge of this man all enraged for her love/ ¶ and after that she was buried. he went to her sepulture. and there deffoyled her. and forthwith he was deyf dumb. & lame/ and so abode in the same place during forty year/ ¶ all the cyteyzyns of antioch came in great triumph. and meet with the body. and bore it in to the great church/ ¶ and there in the church. which is named penitence. in the which after his burying. to the exaltation of his glorious name been showed & done infinity miracles/ and more marvelous than the● that have be done in his life/ ¶ many princes & lords have laid out of their treasures to the laid church for to have of him some relic. but none might ●e had be cause of the oath that the bishop made/ that his body should never be touched ¶ of saint simeon believe ye steadfastly. that who somever for the honour of god & of him shall have the life of him by writing. and shall read it devoutly. and serving him with good devotion. he shall be rewarded for his merits in the celestial glory. ¶ to the which by his int●essions. let us prays almighty god. that we may obtain/ amen/ ¶ of saint eufraxe virgin/ which beginneth in latin ¶ in diebus theodo●u/ caplm xlvii in the time that reigned theodocyen the just emperor of the romans. there was at rome a senator named antigonius the which had a daughter named eufrare/ ¶ the said antigonius was a man so prudent and of so god● counsell. that he governed after the law of the romans all the country of ●●●ye/ ¶ he was so moche human that he had compassion of each person and administered to the poor all they● necessities/ ¶ the emperor loved him not only by cause he was his kysnesman· but also by cause he was of right good & profitable counseylle/ ¶ he h● bounded in richesse & goods temporal asmuch as any man of the city/ and he had a wife descended of the proper & very lineage of emperors the which also was called eufraxe a woman just & merciful. and garnished with all other virtues/ ¶ antigonius after then certain time that god had sent him his fair daughter eufraxe. thinking the salvation of his soul/ devised with his wife eufraxe of holy words & devout/ ¶ and among all other he said to her/ ¶ eufraxe my sister and love thou knowest that this life is transitory. and may no longer dure than four score year/ thou knowest also that the worldly richesses. and the vanity of this world arn no thing but a little wind/ ¶ but the richesses of heaven been alway durable & perpetual/ ¶ now my sister thou oughtest to know. that all they that loven disordinately the honours of this world. been prived from the goods of heaven/ ¶ and oft the richesse & worldly possessions been cause of the confusion. and utterly destruction of them that have them/ ¶ his wife hearing these words said to him/ what playsyth that that we do/ command thy good pleasure and i shall accomplish it ¶ for thy will is mine. that which thou wolte. i will/ ¶ antigonius answered we have a daughter god be thanked/ and we ought to be content that one with that other without to have affection to live among the voluptuosytees of this world/ ¶ then his wife lifted up her hands to heaven in saying/ o my lord & love blessed be our lord that hath made the worthy to know thine health/ ¶ truly my love i have many times prayed god/ that he would humble the. and torn thine intendment to will to flee thy fleshly concupyscences & worldly/ but i never durst declare to the any thing thereof. for the great fere & good love that i had to thee/ ¶ and for asmuch as thy will is such/ let us depart of our temporal goods to the end that they be not cause to make us descend in to hell/ ¶ other wholesome reasons. the lady gave to antigonius her husband. the which hereof praising. & thanking god with all his heart. distributed the greatest part of his goods to the poor people/ ¶ and after lived not but one year with his good life holy & virtuous in perfect devocyon· chastity & continence/ ¶ of his death was much sorrowful the emperor. which was of his kin and also all the romans for the great virtues that were in him/ and also for the pity that they had of his wife eufraxe. which had not b● but two & iij months with him/ ¶ after that he was buried. the good lady eufraxe took her daughter also named eufraxe and presented her to the emperor. & to her friends. saying. ¶ o sovereign emperor. and ye all my lords & friends i put in to your hands this poor orphelyne. humbly you supplyenge. that in favour & contemplation of the good & very love that ye had to her father antigonius. it would please you to do her to be instruct and taught in good manners & virtues. and to be to her good faders & conduytours/ ¶ the lords hearing this piteous request. were in continent moved to weeping & wailing/ ¶ and a little after that they had resprysed their spirits. the emperor desired & counseled the good lady that she should consent to the marriage of her fair daughter/ & of one of the senators the richest of all the other/ ¶ to the which she accorded/ and the said daughter received earnest of the marriage/ ¶ but after by cause that the said daughter atte that time that the said marriage was treated/ was but five year old/ and that the senator was grieved to abide till that she were suffysaunte of age. for to accomplish the said marriage/ ¶ he concluded to demand the mother to his wife/ ¶ and for to come to his intention/ he sent notable ladies to the empress for to labour that the mother would take to husband the said senator/ the which thing the said empress and the said ladies supposed to have made and accomplished it ¶ but the good lady widow would never in that manner leave her ●e●e to here it/ but repre●yd them angrily. in showing to them the great inconvenient in which they would bring her that is to wite in desiring her to leave the way of health. for to take the worldly way. for to bring her to eternal damnation/ and among other words she said to the empress/ ¶ a madame. to what thing will ye induce me. alas when i was with my husband that was. i kept chastity. and ye labour to me that i should follow the amorous women. i shall never do it/ ¶ the emperor induertysed of the enterprise of his wife. was evil contentent with her. saying these words ¶ come hither my wife. ye be well presumptuous to will break the marriage which hath be so honestly begun ¶ ne know ye not that our cousin & kynnes woman eufraxe will lead a solitary life/ ¶ have ye now forgotten the love that ye had to her husband when he lived/ wol ye now do him injury/ ¶ alas if ye have loved him while he lined. ye ought after his death to love his wife. which is so good and just/ ¶ the empress hearing these words was so much troubled. that she was two hours without speaking. and seemed to be deed/ ¶ the good eufraxe knowing these tidings/ was in like wise wroth. doubting that it should be laid to her. that she should be cause of the dissension of the emperor & of his wife. in such wise that she might be in danger of death ¶ and in wailing & weeping she said to her daughter ¶ let us go in to egypte my dear daughter. we have there many lands and possessions. which i shall leave unto the. for all that i have is thine/ and so they went in to the land of egypte/ ¶ they ●eynge there arrived. visited her lands & possessions. and finably came in to the parties of thebaid. where they died many almesses to the monasteries & relygyons'/ ¶ and among all other they came to a religion of women in a town wherein were an hundred & th●●ty monasteries of religiouses/ ¶ there some eat no apples ne figs. ne drank no wine. the other eat no oil ne other liquor. other fasted an hole day other wish no feet/ and when any spoke to them they were abashed ¶ they lay on the earth. and ware every day the heyt/ ¶ and if by adventure one of them were sick/ there was no medicine given to her. ¶ but the sickness that she had. was reputed for a benediction of god. ¶ they went never out of the monastery. but they had a portiere. the which gave answer to all them that came thither/ eufraxe knowing the honest and devout conversation of the said religiouses visited them oft. and gave them light to the church. for to do the service of god/ ¶ on one day among the other eufraxe spoke to th'abbess. and to the prycypallis of the monastery. and said to them/ my good ladies i will give to you twenty or thirty pound of gold of revenue. for and to the end. that it would please you to pray god for antigonius and his daughter. the which i present you tofore your faces/ ¶ the abbess answered/ my dear and right pleasant lady. your servants have no need of your rents and revenues/ ¶ for for to despise worldly goods they have put themself in to this monastery. and will be poor in this world for to be rich in that other/ ¶ but to the end that ye be the more content. we pray you that it may please you to give to us some oil and candles for to accomplish the service of god. and that shall comfort us more than other goods/ ¶ thus died eufraxe. in praying them humbly that they would pray devoutly for her husband and her daughter/ ¶ on a day it happened as the good mother brought her daughter with her in to the abbey/ ¶ the abbess for to know the will that the little daughter eufraxe had. asked her first if she loved their monastery/ ¶ the daughter answered that ye. and all the sisters in like wise/ ¶ the abbess after said to her in manner/ for to pass the tyme. my love sith that ye love us well wool ye dwell with us for to serve god ¶ the child answered. that if it were not for dread of her mother. she would never depart from them/ ¶ yet again the abbess said to her/ my daughter whom love you better your husband or us/ she answered. i knew him never. ne he me. but i know you and love you. ¶ and ye whom love ye best of us. or him or me/ and they answered/ that they loved best god their maker. ¶ the maid answered. certainly i love you and god also/ ¶ the good mother hearing the daughter/ which answered so prudentely. seen that she was not yet seven years old. fell in to weeping of great abundance of tears/ ¶ and after said to her daughter. come now hither my daughter it is time that we return home to our hous· for it is nigh even and late/ ¶ the child answered that she would abide with the abbess. to whom the abbess said. that she might not dwell there in their monastery/ but if she avowed her to ihesu christ/ ¶ the maid thenne asked her where is ihesu christ. the abbess showed to her. the image of the crucifyxe ¶ the maid incontinent went and kissed the same image. and said to the abbess/ ¶ certainly madame i give myself to my saviour ihesu christ/ ¶ the abbess said after to her. that she had no place for her. ne wist not where to put her/ ¶ the child answered that she would abide with her/ ¶ when the abbess saw that she was so constant she knew well that she was espyted with the holy ghost. ¶ and said to her mother/ that she should leave her there in the said monastery. ¶ the mother being strongly comforted in her spirit. took her daughter and lad her before th'image of ihesu christ/ tofore which she made her prayers. in saying/ ¶ looved and thanked be thou my god. for as much as it hath pleased the to inspire my daughter. in giving to her such affection/ that she hath given herself to the in her youth/ ¶ alas my god take the charge of her body & of her soul sith that she desyryth to serve thee/ ¶ after she turned her toward her daughter and said to her/ ¶ my dear daughter. god which hath made the mountains unmoevable. make the so farm in his love. that the world have never power to move thee/ ¶ and when she had said these words. she delivered her in to the hands of the abbess/ in weeping and wailing so habundantely/ that all the religiouses wept with her/ ¶ the day foloweng the abbess clothed her with the vestiment of the religion/ and prayed our lord for her saying/ ¶ o king of kings which haste begun so great a work in this child/ i beseech the meekly that it may please the. that this beginning may achieve fro good to better/ to the end that alway she may praise. and glorify thy right holy name/ ¶ the mother then being by the daughter asked her in saying/ ¶ my child lovest thou well this vesture which thou haste now/ the child answered. truly mother ye/ ¶ i believe that the vestiments and clothing of this religion. been to me the earnest penny for to have god in marriage/ ¶ then said the mother/ i pray to him that thou now haste chosen to thine espowse. that he make the worthy to be chamberer in his heavenly chambre/ ¶ these words said. the good mother took leave of the religiouses and kissed her daughter. and returned home to her house/ ¶ thorough all the land were the tidings. how the said good mother distributed her goods unto poor people and to churches/ ¶ and also the tidings came to the emperor and to all the senators/ the which were much joyous of her virtuous conversation/ ¶ every day she eat but coal wortes or pe●e pottage. and but one time on the day. and drank no wine/ ¶ a little while after the abbess saw in spirit. how antigonius husband of the same good widow prayed god that she might depart out of this world. for to be with him in heaven/ ¶ and she showed it to the good eufraxe/ the which was thereby greatly comforted/ and put herself to prayer/ and she had like revelation/ ¶ and then she took all her goodes·s & put them in the hands of her daughter/ for to dispose in such wise that she might get everlasting rent/ ¶ after she said to her how our saviour ihesu christ had called her for to go to her husband in heaven/ ¶ the good daughter began to weep sorrowfully in saying/ ¶ alas what shall i do that shall be now an orphelyne stranger ¶ her mother comforted her and said/ ¶ my daughter thou art with thy ihesu christ/ ¶ thou art no stranger to him/ ¶ also thou haste thine abbess. which shall be to the a mother/ by which thou shalt be none orphelyne ¶ it behooveth to my love to dread god and honour him/ and worship all the sisters. in serving them benignly/ ¶ and thou shalt accomplish and perform that which thou haste begun/ ¶ i pray the that thou think not on thy temporal noblesse. and esteem nor think not that they. shall do to the any service/ ¶ be poor and humble in this world/ and thou shalt be rich and a great lady in heaven. ¶ thou shalt give all our possessions to the church for thy father and for us twain/ to the end that we may have mercy tofore god/ ¶ the third day after died the good mother. and was buried in the monastery where as her daughter was. ¶ the emperor had tidings thereof/ and called the senator that had promised to take the young daughter eufraxe/ and said to him that she was a religious/ ¶ then the senator was much abashed thereof ¶ and died do so moche. that at his request and desire. the emperor wrote to her. that she should come to rome for to accomplish and fulfil their marriage. ¶ the letters being by her radde. she answered in this manner/ ¶ lord emperor i have received thy letters/ and me seemeth that seen the love that in time passed thou haste had to my father and mother. ¶ if i should of the demand and ask counsell of the thing of which thou haste written to me. thou wouldest not counsell me so to do. for also it is not lawful. sith that long agoon i have given myself to my god immortal ihesu christ and desire to be his spouse. whereof i have given to him my faith. ¶ should i give him over for to have a man mortal and incorruptible. the which shall be eaten with worms/ ¶ ne knowest thou not well. that if i be here this day. i shall not so to morrow. god forbid that i should do to god and to me such innyquyte and wickedness/ ¶ wherefore i pray the that thou send no more for me/ for thou shalt lose thy travail and labour. by cause that i know to be to me inpossible to leave my espowse ihesu christ/ ¶ with this i pray the that thou have mind of my parents and kinsfolk/ in giving for the health of their souls. and for the honour of god all the goods temporal which they have left to me/ ¶ i know well that my father all his life hath well and truly served the. whereof he accepted thy love and benevolence ¶ thenne in distrybuting his goods thou shalt have remembrance of him. in favour of whom if it please the and i pray the also. that thou wilt put all thy bond men and prisoners in franchise and plain liberty/ ¶ and that the thou will send for all the receivers of my father/ and quite and forgive them peaceably all that they owen of rents and revenues/ to the end that i may without solicytude or business serve my god and espowse/ ¶ the emperor radde these letters many times and all most all the night/ ¶ and on the morn by times he assembled all the senators and the father of him that had fianced her. ¶ and in the presence of them all were the letters radde/ whereof all they began to weep for joy ¶ and of common assent they said. verily lord emperor. eufraxe is daughter of antigonius. and of holy eufraxe her mother/ which weren of thy lineage and generation. ¶ and now she showeth it well certainly. for of an holy rote procedyth and cometh fourth gladly an holy branch. ¶ all they praised and glorified god in praying for her/ ¶ and after the emperor dystrybuted all the gods of the maiden. according to that she had written. ¶ and after the emperor died. and was buried with his parents and kinsmen/ ¶ saint eufra●e then lad a moche straight life. ¶ for at one time was that she eat but ones on the day/ and after she constrained herself to eat but ones in two days ¶ and after that ones in three days/ ¶ she alone made clean the chambers of the sisters/ made their beds. and bare water in to the kitchen/ ¶ the custom of the same abbey was if any of the sisters were tempted with any temptation of the devil. she told it to the abbess ¶ the which prayed and died do pray god. to the end that the devil should depart fro her/ ¶ on a day it happened that the good eufraxe was tempted of the fiend/ and for to resist & withstand him. she put ashes on her couch/ ¶ and she lay on them. and slept/ the which thing seeing the abbess. knew that she was vexed with some temptation/ ¶ and prayed for her. in saying to god/ ¶ o my god which haste created and formed this maid after thy divine bounty and goodness/ ¶ i pray the that thou wilt confirm her in thy dread/ ¶ after the abbess called her and said to her/ wherefore haste thou not showed to me thy temptation given to the by the devil/ ¶ incontinent she fell down to her feet. and cried her mercy in sayenge· ¶ pardonne me madame. for i durst not notyfye and show it to you/ ¶ the abbess said to her my daughter thou haste begun to fight against the devil/ be strong and constant. to the end that thou be crowned with laureo● with the virgins gloriously. ¶ a little while after she was again tempted/ and showed her temptation to out of her sisters named julyan/ the which counseled her. that she should show it to the abbess. to the end that she should pray for her/ ¶ after she said to her/ ¶ we all been tempted of the devil/ but when we have good hope. we overcome the devil our temptatour/ ¶ eufraxe thanked her of her good counsell that she had given to her. to the edification of her soul and went to the abbess. and showed to her her temptation. ¶ the abbess comforted her in saying/ my daughter fere the no thing but enforce & put thyself to withstand him/ ¶ for it is the devil. which doth this evil/ ¶ and if thou withstand him constantly and steadfastly/ thou shalt overcome him always/ ¶ know thou my daughter. that thou shalt have many other temptations/ for to resist and withstand. to which if thou feel the feeble of spirit. it behooveth the to do more abstinence. than thou haste done here tofore/ and in so doing thou shalt be right well beloved of thy spouse ihesu christ/ ¶ another time the abbess asked her how long it was sith she eat any meet she answered. three days/ ¶ then said the abbess to her. that she should yet abide another day or that she should eat/ the which she died with a good will in rendering herself ready and prompt in obedience/ ¶ when she was twenty years old. like as her years grew. so she augmented and increased her penance/ ¶ she was fair and curteyes/ by her manner she showed evidently that she was descended of noble folk/ but that notwithstanding she was humble and obeissant ¶ in a place of their monastery was a great multitude of stones/ ¶ and the abbess for to prove her humility commanded her that she bear them unto an even. by the church which was far from the place where as the said stones lay/ ¶ among the same stones there were great. and so heavy/ that two of the religiouses. with great pain should have borne them/ ¶ nevertheless without murmur and grudging. and without calling any help/ and also notwithstanding that she had long fasted/ she bare them all. desiring to obey to her abbess/ ¶ another day she said to her/ my daughter these stones that thou haste borne nigh to the church been not well there ¶ wherefore thou must bear them unto the place where as thou haste taken them ¶ to which thing she gladly and with good will accorded and th'abbess made her to do this penance by the space of twenty days for to prove her patience/ which was so great that all the sisters marveled thereof/ ¶ some of them mocked her. and other admonested and stirred her to persever & increase in virtues/ ¶ she continued this penance unto thirty days. ¶ and yet cess not the abbess. and she seeing her great humility said to her. that should return and here no more those stones/ saying/ ¶ leave this craft my daughter. and take meal and make thereof breed. and bake it in the oven. to the end that thou serve thy sisters. wyche she died with good courage. ¶ on a day the devil found her sleeping. and he put this temptation in her mind/ that the senator of rome. which had promised to have her. should come with a great multitude of men of arms for to take her out from her monastery/ whereof it happened. that she being in her bed began to cry with an high voice so sharply. that all her sisters awoke/ ¶ for which cause they came to her. and awoke her/ demanding and questyoning whereof proceeded the cause of the great cry that she made ¶ eufraxe thenne recited incontinent her dream/ ¶ and thenne all her sisters put themself to prayer for to pray god for her/ ¶ now let us think what systerhede was there/ in so much that they ne loved. not only together corporally/ ¶ but more wythonte comparison spiritual/ ¶ yet again the devil tempted her/ and gave to her assault of her flesh/ ¶ and incontinent she showed it to the abbess. and to her sister julyan/ which comforted her. and prayed for her/ ¶ and after said to her sister/ my love it behooveth the to resist and with slonde otherwise. or else thou shalt lose all the merit that thou haste gotten/ ¶ also if we resist and withstand not in our youth/ how may we resist in our age/ ¶ eufraxe answered to the abbess/ madame if it please you to command me. that i fast an hole week. to the end that i may overcome the tend with the help of god. i w●ll do it with a good will. ¶ julian said to her/ my love it thou mayst do that. thou shalt ●e well happy ¶ for in all out religion none of our sisters may do it. ●auf ●●nly our abbess/ ¶ then eufraxe demanded licence of the abbess. for to fast an hole week. ¶ to whom the abbess answered. that she should do after her power/ ¶ and that it should well please to her. in saying my ●one god which hath created and formed the confirm the in thy good will ¶ after that time eufraxe eat but ones in the wyke/ ¶ and nevertheless she left not to appoint the chambers. ne to sing and do the divine service/ ne in like wise to serve all the sisters like as she had been accustomed. as tofore is said/ ¶ when her sisters knew her great humility. and considering that she was of the lineage of the emperor of rome. they praised and honoured her more than tofore/ and prayed god for her. to the end that she might persevere and continue ¶ among the other religiouses there was one which was amorous. the which as the evil prickings of the enemy have more envy on the good manners than of their semblable or like. not for to take good ensample. but for to find if they might find occasion for to slander them/ found eufraxe in the kitchen/ and secretly said to her. ¶ come hither my sister i marvel me of the how thou mayst fast all she week like as doth our abbess/ and i doubt me sore that our abbess command us to fast like as thou dost/ ¶ eufraxe answered to her humble saying to her/ my sister doubt ●● fer●ye not for our abbess shall command us no thing. but that we may well do/ ¶ but know ye that i do that which is to me necessary for to resist and withstand the temptations of the devil. which comen to me. ¶ germayne ●erynge her answer/ and weening for to make her leave be fastings/ said to her in●●ryously and wrongfully. i know well wherefore thou dost so much fasting. it is to th'end that after our abbess shall be deed/ that thou wouldest be our abbess. ¶ then saint eufraxe not willing to excuse her of that. that the foresaid germayne imposed to her/ but kneeled down on her knees tofore her. and cried her mercy/ in praying her to pray god for her/ ¶ the abbess which was advertised and had knowledge by them that germayne had told it to. sent for her to fore all her sisters/ and said to her/ ¶ o cursed servant full of envy. what grieveth the this maid eufraxe/ ¶ wherefore wolte thou withdraw her from penance/ i assure the that thou shalt be no more with the sisters. thou art not worthy to be in their company. but thou shalt live alone as one that is excomyned or accursed/ ¶ saint eufraxe then kneeled down on her knees tofor the abbess. in demanding and requiring pardon for the same german/ but not for all that. the abbess would not pardon her/ ¶ and was so thirty day in the same penance ¶ the thirty day eufraxe and her sister familiar julyan came again to pray the abbess. for to have pardon for germayne/ ¶ then she was sent fore. and corrected. ¶ and at the request and petr●ōn of her sisters was put again in their company/ ¶ the devil more and more enforced him to make the good eufraxe to fall in to sin/ and weening to make an end of her/ on a time as she drew water out of a pit the devil took her and threw her in to the pit. in such wise that her heed touched the bottom/ ¶ after she came up on the water. and with her bond caught the cord/ and began to cry in saying/ ¶ o my god help me/ ¶ thabbess and the sisters ran thither. and drew her out of the pit ¶ when she was out of the pit. she began to laugh in saying ¶ o my god blessed might thou be. which haste given to me strength and courage to withstand the temptation of the devil. which so moche enforcyth him to overcome me/ ¶ all the time passed here tofor i have born but one pot to the water/ ¶ but from henceforth in despite of him. i shall bear twain. & so she died/ ¶ the devil seeing that he could not make her to die by sin/ supposed oft to slay her/ and make her to die bodily/ ¶ on a time as she hew wood for the kitchen/ the devil took & held her arm in such a manner. that when she supposed to have smitten with her are upon the wood. she smote her leg. and hurted herself to great effusion and shedding of blood/ ¶ the good eufraxe seeing the blood running out of the wound by marvelous abundance and plenty/ ¶ promptly she kneeled down saying/ o my good god i beseech aid and strength thy poor servant. which suffereth somothe harm for to serve thee/ ¶ and anon after she fell to the earth ¶ her sister julyan suddenly advertised. and having knowledge of this adventure. began to cry so high. that the abbeise and all her sisters came to them & began to weep/ ¶ the abbess spoke to her and said. my daughter rejoice the. and speak to thy sisters/ ¶ then she took her by the hand and lifted her up/ ¶ after that she bound her leg with a piece of hay●e/ ¶ which was of such linen cloth as she was at that time clothed with/ she was not done to. as is done to us when we been hurt. ¶ for to us been given ointments. soft and linen kyverchyefs. and yet we been not content/ ¶ the abbess would have lad her to the church. but the good eufraxe seeing the wood dying there said to her sisters. that she would not go to the church. till she had borne the wood to the kitchen. as she had be acustomed/ ¶ her sister julyan an ●ucred to her. my love ye may not so for ye be oversore hurt/ nevertheless she would none otherwise do. but laid the wood on her neck/ ¶ the devil seeing her great constance hurted her more than he died tofore/ for in limping up she fell upon the wood. and in falling entered in to her eye a stick so deep that the sisters supposed that she had be lost/ ¶ then her good friend julyan began to cry/ and said to her/ alas my sister. i said to the well that thou mightest not be●e the wood/ ¶ eufraxe said to her/ my sister draw hardly the stick our of mine eye. for it is whole/ then julian drew it out. and incontinent sprang out great abundance of blood/ ¶ the abbess came thither. which putted oil upon the wound. and commanded her that she should go lie upon her head/ ¶ and commanded after that the other sisters should do that that she was wonned to do/ ¶ but what commandment that the abbess made. eufraxe entremeted always to serve god continually and all her sisters/ ¶ notwithstanding that the blood ran out of her wounds. ¶ another time she went up in to a solyer with her sister julyan/ ¶ and in going up the devil threw her down from the highest grece to the lowest. ¶ her sisters had supposed to have found her deed/ but she aroos and came to them all hole/ ¶ another time the devil supposed to have slain her. she being in the kechym/ ¶ for in holding the pot full of wortes. made her to fall backward/ ¶ and after threw boiling water upon her visage/ ¶ whereof her sisters were moche admerueylled/ ¶ but she began to laugh. saying that she felt no thing but cold water ¶ the abbess seeing these things. assembled and brought togethers all the ancient sisters for to glorify the name of god/ ¶ and then they knew anon right well that she was well beloved of her espowse ihesu christ. ¶ the custom of the country was that when children were seek of any maladies or sicknesses. they brought them to the said monastery/ ¶ and anon by the prayers of the sisters they were healed and guarished/ ¶ among all other there came a woman that brought her child/ which was paralytyke. deyf and dumb/ ¶ the port●er saw it/ and forthwith went and told it to the abbess/ ¶ the which sent it to saint eufraxe/ ¶ whom seeing the child trembling and quaking. and so seek. was mo●uyd with pity and compassion. ¶ and made her prayers for the chiylde saying/ ¶ my child he that hath made the. give the sanation and health atte this present time/ ¶ then she took the child being all hole. and bore it in her arms/ ¶ and anon the child began to speak. and to cry after his mother. ¶ when eufraxe heard it. she was afeard. by cause it was tofore dombte. and might not speak. and laid it down on the ground/ and in continent he went his way to his mother/ the which thing was showed to the abbess by the portyere/ ¶ the which yet not knowing how the child had healed/ came to the mother/ saying to her angrily. that she died evil so to mock the religiouses/ ¶ the mode swa●e that her child had never goon. spoken. ne herd. but sith that the good eufraxe had borne it in her arms/ ¶ in the said monastery was a woman which had be longetourmented with a devil/ ¶ and her sickness was so terrible and marvelous that continually she scumed. or cried so terribly and so fearful. that none of the sisters durst go to her for to give to her mete. but from a far in a vessel bound to a cord. they delivered to her and administered that which she should take for her refection/ ¶ on a time among the other/ the abbess commanded to saint eufraxe/ that she should bear to her meet/ and so she died/ ¶ and in approaching to the poor pacyente/ the fiend of hell which was within her body tormented not her/ and the poor patient died all that she commanded/ ¶ and yet more there was/ ¶ when the other religiouses went thither/ if they brought not with them saint eufraxe. what some ever they died. she would neither drink ne eat ¶ but oft she casted the vessel at their heeds/ ¶ it happened that german. which alway had envy on her/ said that she would as well bear to her mete. as saint eufraxe/ ¶ when the unhappy germayne came nigh to the patient/ she took her and rent all her vestiments unto the bare flesh/ and began to eat her membres. ¶ thenne came some of the good sisters. and showed it to saint eufraxe/ the which anon ran thither. and took her by the neck & hands. and took her away from her/ and after threatened her to beat her/ and said to her. if she ever died insolence to the sisters she should beat her without mercy/ ¶ and thenne the poor demonyake held her still by the word of saint eufraxe. ¶ on the morn after the service done/ came saint eufraxe for to visit the poor patient. and found that she had rented her clothes. and eat that which departed from her beneath out of her body/ ¶ then saint eufraxe having compassion and pity of her. made her prayer to god her maker by the space of an hole hour. in weeping and wailing for her health/ ¶ on the morn the abbess sent to seche saint eufraxe and said to her/ ¶ wherefore haste thou not showed to me that thou madest thy prayer to god redeemer our lord ihesu christ for this poor patient/ ¶ eufraxe cried her mercy. and said to her/ ¶ certainly madame i pray you to pardon me/ ¶ for i found her in so piteous estate and condition. that i could not longer tarry without to pray then for her/ the abbess after said to her/ ¶ my love i shall say to the one thing in secret/ but keep that the fiend deceive not thou by vainglory in any manner/ ¶ i have had by the revelation of god. that god our creature hath given to the puissance to chase a way the devils out of the body of this patient/ ¶ eufraxyne hearing these words casted ashen upon her heed. and fell down to the ground saying/ ¶ alas me which am a poor sinner. what shall i do for the my god/ which haste give to me puissance and might to hele & guarish this poor patient/ ¶ and my sisters have so long time prayed for her. without to obtain and purchase her health/ ¶ the abbess answered my daughter the time hath abiden the be thou suffy●ed. for thy reward is great in the ream of heaven. ¶ then she entered in to the church. and prayed god. in requiring his aid/ to the end that by her prayers the seek sister might be guarished and healed/ ¶ after the aroos/ accompanied with all her sisters/ and came to the patient/ to whom she said ¶ o poor woman. god which hath created and fo●urmed the make the by his mercy now hole and guarish thee/ ¶ and after she made the sign of the cross on the front or forehead of the said patient ¶ thenne the devil which was within her body began horribly to cry/ ha a must i depart from this miserable body. wherein i have be so long ¶ and after said to saint eufraxe/ wherefore thou payllaide and infamed suffreste thou not me here as i have be accustomed. without to persecute me ¶ eufraxe answered to him. i persecute the not. but it is my god and my maker. which commandeth the to void/ ¶ the devil answered/ o meschaunte and infamed. i shall never depart hens for thee/ for thou haste no might to cast me out/ ¶ eufraxe said i know well that i am poor and a miserable sinner/ but nevertheless if thou depart not from her. i shall torment the with the pastoralle staff of my lady the abbess/ ¶ finably she took the staff. and smote three strokes upon the patient/ ¶ by the mouth of whom alway the devil answered that he might not depart/ ¶ and said thus. where will thou that i go. eufraxe said to him. go in to darkness and everlasting fire/ ¶ all the sisters were there. which durst not approach ne come nigh to her/ ¶ after that she had long fought against the devil she made her prayer to god in saying. ¶ o my god i pray the that i be not confounded by the fiend/ but that it may please the to preserve me. in such wise that he overcome me not ¶ and in this present hour command him that he depart and go his way/ leaving peaceable this poor patient/ ¶ and the devil incontynent● departed. scuming and grynting the teeth of the said pacyente/ the which at the same hour was guarished and healed/ ¶ then all the sisters lad and brought her humbly and in great reverence to the church. loving and magnefyenge the name of our saviour ihesu christ/ ¶ after the said miracle. saint eufraxe humbled and meked herself more than tofore. and durst not sleep. dreading the temptation of the fiend of hell/ ¶ and ever she continued to fast all the week/ without eating any more than ones in the week. ¶ certain time after the abbess saw in her sleep that saint eufraxe should depart out of this world. whereof she was much heavy and sorry/ ¶ her sister's seeing her great heaviness. prayed her by great humility. that it might please her to show to to them and tell them the cause of her sorrow/ but in no wise she would tell them. ¶ and by cause. that more and more they exhorted her to tell it to them/ ¶ she was constrained to say it to them and declared to them in the manner that followeth/ ¶ my denowte daughters tomorne we must leave the good lady eufraxe. whereof i am much joyous on one side. by cause she shall be in eternal felicity/ ¶ and on that other side i am heavy and sorrowful. ¶ for we shall be pryvated fro her gracious sight corporal/ ¶ but of this revelation say ye no thing to her. least she should take any fere or dread/ ¶ then all the sisters made lamentations so great. that thayre resouned of their weepings/ ¶ one of them came to eufraxe where as she made breed with julyan. and said to her. my sister the abbess and all the covent make for the so great lamentations that it is marvel/ ¶ they were much abashed both two/ julyan said then. that peradventure the abbess might have had tidings. of the senator/ which would come fetch for to ravish her by force out of their monastery/ ¶ eufraxe answered to her. by the living god fro the love of whom. if all the foundemen of the earth should founder and fail/ i shall never depart ¶ but my sister julyan i pray the go see if thou mayst know in any wise the cause of their weepings and wayllinge. to th'end that my soul be not troubled/ ¶ julyan went for to speak to the abbess/ and she being tofore the yates or doors of the chapter hearkened the abbess. and heard how she recounted her vision in this manner/ ¶ i saw two men coming in hither which sought eufraxe. and have said to me/ abbess ensign and counsel eufraxe. for she hath need/ ¶ after came some other. which said to me. take eufraxe and lead her tofore thy lord god/ ¶ then we took her. and went to a gate so noble and so fair that i can not declare/ ¶ and after that the said gate was opened to us. we entered in to a palace wherein were made & solemnized wedding marvelously honourable/ and ferther we might not entry/ ¶ but eufraxe was taken and presented afore the lord imperial of the said palace/ and when she was tofore him/ she kneeled down humbly to the ground. and kissed the feet of the said lord/ ¶ and in the same place i saw ten thousand angels with innumerable multitude of saints. the which there were awaiting/ ¶ after came the mother of the said lord. the which made ready a moche fair crown in the chambre of marriage/ ¶ in which chambre the said mother so fair/ so pleasant and so amiable made her to entry. and say to her in delivering to her the said crown/ ¶ eufraxe my love/ hold. loo here thy reward which thou shalt have. by cause thou hast vanquished all thine enemies/ ¶ now go thy way. and after ten days thou shalt come again in to the glory and selycytee of heaven/ ¶ and yet said more after the abbess. alas this day is the ninth day/ ¶ and therefore i believe that ●omorne eufraxe shall mount in to heaven. ¶ julyan which harkened all this purposes. began marvelously to weep and wail. that she bywepte all her body with tears/ ¶ and thus weeping she came again to the oven/ where as eufraxe was knedinge the breed ¶ when eufraxe saw her. she adui●ed her saying/ ¶ i command the in the name of god that thou say me the cause wherefore thou weepest/ then julyan r●counted the ●aas like as the had understonden/ ¶ and when the holy lady had he●de the narration/ she fell down to the earth all full of anguish and of heaviness/ ¶ julian la●e by her weeping strongly. ¶ and eufraxe said to her/ my sister give to me thine hand & life me up fro heirs and bring me where the faggots or brusshes he● and leave me there ¶ take also the breed which is in the oven and he●e it to the sisters/ ¶ julyan d●de like as eufraxe had said to her and told no thing thereof to the abbess/ ¶ eufraxe being laid on the pament. and adressynge her words to god said to him ¶ my god my maker. why haste thou me now in abomination/ or wherefore dyspyses●e thou me/ which am a poor pilgrim & orpheline. ¶ alas now is the time in which i ouhte to fight against the devil mine enemy. ¶ i pray the moche affectuously. & as much as i may that thou be to me pytevouse. and let me live yet by the space of a year/ to the end that i may by waylle. and lament my sins/ for yet never in my life have i done suffisant penance/ ¶ alas they that been in hell may not praise the. but only they that been living/ ¶ one of the sister's herd eufraxe weep. and went incontinent to the abbess for to show to her what she had heard/ ¶ the abbess blamed the sisters. by cause she had deffended that none should tell her thereof/ ¶ and commanded that eufraxe should be brought to her/ the which thing so done/ the abbess demanded her/ my daughter what eylest thou that weepest thus/ ¶ madame i weep by cause that thou knowest my death. and nevertheless thou haste told to me no thing thereof/ if i had known it/ i would have by wept the great sins of which i am maculate and defoiled. ¶ alas madame have pity on me. and pray to god with me that he give to me yet a year of respite to do penance/ ¶ then the abbess answered to her/ certainly my daughter god our redemptor rewardeth well in heaven/ but i pray the that thou wilt pray for me. to the end that by thy merits and prays i may have with the participation in the heavenly glory/ ¶ anon after the strong fever took the good lady eufraxe/ ¶ and that seeing the sisters bore her in to the oratory/ and there kept her till even/ ¶ the even comen/ the abbess commanded to her religiouses that they should go and take their refection/ all safe julyan/ which abode with the abbess. ¶ and they two shit the door to them. and abode with eufraxe. ¶ think ye that here this history. what lamentations they made together/ ¶ julyan said/ my lady my sister. my friend. and my dear fellow/ i pray the remember me/ and like as i have alway holden to the faithful company here in earth. that i may accompany the in heaven/ and pray to god that i may die with thee/ ¶ alas i have so moche loved the bodily & spiritually. and now thou leavest me/ ¶ the morn comen/ the abbess sent for all the religious systers·s to th'end that they should come and take leave of saint eufraxe/ ¶ incontinent as they were comen they said to her/ o our good sister. have in heaven mind of thy sisters. ¶ and after came the other whom she had guarished and healed by her prayers and intercessions so much desolate and tormented that uneath she might speak/ ¶ she kissed the hands of saint eufraxe. which had chased and put out the devil of her body/ ¶ and by cause that eufraxe answered not to the words that she said to her/ the abbess said to her/ ¶ my daughter my love. thou speakest not to thy sister. which is so much sorrowful and desolate/ ¶ then she said/ wherefore sister weepest thou. let me alone. for i die. pray to god with all thine heart. and he shall save the. also pray for me/ for at this hour suffereth my soul a great battle/ ¶ then the abbess and all the sisters put them in devout prayers. during the which. the good eufraxe being in the age of thirty years rended to god her benign spirit/ ¶ and after was buried by the devout sisters in the tomb of her mother/ in loving the name of god of that they had an espowse so holy. and so agreeable to god/ ¶ the good julyan which had he mastresse· and after fellow of saint eufraxe. was three days long upon the tomb. weeping there great abundance of tears. without thinking to eat or drink/ ¶ the fourth day she came to the abbess. and said to her. madame pray for me/ for our lord ihesu christ by the intercession of his ●izte holy spouse eufraxe hath summoned me to his wedding/ ¶ and the fifth day she died. and was buried by saint eufraxe/ ¶ in like wise twenty days after the death of saint eufraxe the abbess was by the prayers of the said eufraxe summoned to her marriage/ ¶ and died do assemble all the sisters for to cheese an other abbess/ and they chose one named theogenye/ ¶ and after that she was made abbess/ she called her and said/ my sister thou seest that the sisters have made good witness of the. and therefore i command the in the name of the trinity. that thou think not on temporal gods ne on vain playsaunce of this world/ ne suffer thy sisters be occupied on earthly things. but make them to exercise fastings. prayers. and other virtuous works/ to the end that they may by their merits get the glory of heaven/ ¶ after she said to her sisters. ye my good sisters have seen the holy conversation of the right devout eufraxe/ doo ye like as she hath done/ to then the that ye may accompany her in heaven/ and have with her the fruition of everlasting blessedness/ and when she had thus said. she entered in to her oratory/ and shit the door/ and after defended. that none should enter till on the morn. ¶ on the morn they came unto the said oratory. and found that she had rendered her spirit to god. ¶ and they buried and said her solemnly by the said holy saint eufraxe/ ¶ and after that time there were none moo of them buried in their sepulture/ ¶ ma●ty demonyakes we●en guarished upon the comb. where the devils cried ¶ o eufraxe what shall we do/ thou dost us more harm after thy death than in thy light ¶ by th●se things we ought to enforce us to ensue by virtuous works the right persyghte light of saint eufraxe and in so doing finably we shall have the glory eternal. the which by her intercessions we may get. amen. ¶ thus fynysshyth the story of saint eufraxe/ ¶ of saint machan● roman which was found night by paradise terrestre/ and beginneth in latin ¶ gloriam et magnificentiam. et cetera caplm. xlviii after the report and witness of three devout religious men theophyle. serguis. & thymus. we shall see of the life of saint machaire/ ¶ the said three religious men met together by a monastery in mesopotamia in the country of sy●t between two floods/ of which that one is named eufraxes. and that other tigris/ ¶ the abbot of the said monastery was called asclypyon. the which received them benignly. for to make there their profession. after the rule of the said monastery/ ¶ long time after that they had lived comynly with the brethren/ ¶ on a day about nine of the clock in the morning. they met together upon the river of eufrates. in disputing of the conversation. and of the great labour of the brethren of the said monastery/ ¶ and thenne came to theophile a thought. which he said to his two fellows. sergius. and th●mus ¶ my brethren i shall say to you/ truly it play sith me/ and i have great desire to walk. and go so far unto that i may find the heaven and the earth join together/ ¶ the other said/ we have hold the alway company/ and yet we shall not leave thee/ for thy manners and thy words please us. we shall go with the. and not forsake the unto the death ¶ these words said. they departed from thence. ¶ and after that they had gone by the space of ten days journey they arrived and came to the city of iherusalem/ and worshipped the places where our lord jesus' christ had be. ¶ his cross. his sepulture. and other sayntuaryes ¶ and after came to bethleem. in which place they also worshipped the crib where in our lord had lain. and were also in the place where the aungelus speaking to the shepherds sungen gloria in excelsis deo the which place standeth two mile from bethleem ¶ and after they went up in to the mount of olyvete where as our lord ihesu christ ascended in to heaven when he was received in a cloud the day of his glorious ascension/ ¶ they came again in to iherusalem. and there adoured and worshipped god. ¶ and after they departed as people giving over & refusing all delyers temporal. without to have any regard ne thought to the world/ ¶ the fifth day they passed the river of tigris/ and entered in to the land of pierce. ¶ they came in to a great field named assya/ in which saint mercure martyr slew julyan the apostata/ ¶ after they re-entered in to a city named catyssefodo/ in which the bodies of the three children. anany as. azaryas. and mysaell been buried/ ¶ and there they sojourned many days/ ¶ four months after they passed the land of pierce/ and entered in to the land of ind/ and arrived in an house in which no man dwelled/ ¶ and there they abode two days/ ¶ and the third day they saw come to them a man and a woman armed/ of whom they had great dread/ ¶ but by cause that the said man and woman had supposed that the religious men had been spirits or espies. and returned again/ and assembled almost a three thou sand ethyopyens/ the which arrived there. and bylette the house all about. where as they weren on their knees praying to god/ ¶ and the other set fire atte the four corners of the house ¶ the which thing known by the religious men were much afeard and not without cause/ and sprungen out in to the mids of them. in calling the name of ihesu christ saviour of all the world/ ¶ the said ethyopyens after that they had long parlemented together in their language which. the said freres understood no thing/ ¶ finably they lad theym· and brought them in prison obscure and dark/ ¶ alas when they weren in prison none gave to them neither meet ne drink/ and had no comfort of any man living. but began to weep. and required the mercy of god/ ¶ when the cursed ethyopyens saw that they were in continual prayer/ they let them go out: in chasing and betinge them vylandusly & rygoryously with great staves. till they were out of their province/ ¶ and they said that they were four score days without mete. and hereof the recytour calleth god to witness/ the which for the honour of god we ought pytevously to believe ¶ finably they departed out of their regions/ and went toward the country of the east. where they found a field delicious all full of trees bearing savourous fruit and marvelous sweet whereof they thanked god/ and eat all their fill of the fruits of the said trees/ and after passed the said land of jude. and entered in to the land of chanane ¶ when they saw the visages of the inhabytauntes of the said country/ they were moche admerueyled ¶ in that country the men dwelled with the women in caves being under the ro●hes. they died to them no displeasure. for god kept them/ ¶ after they went an hundred days toward the east. and entered in to the land of epythrens'. there as the men have not but a ●ubyte of length/ the which when they saw the three religious men. they fled for fere/ ¶ after they came toward the mountains high and marvelous terrible on which the son shynyth not. ne on them grown no trees ne herbs/ but there been many serpents. aspy●es. basylycoks. and dragons on them. and other infinite beasts marvelous and venomous/ the which they had never before seen/ ¶ god being their help. they were there by the space of twenty days among the same beasts without having any harm. safe only that they heard their ferdefull syflyyges/ ¶ after they descended in to a place the most teryble and terdfull the ever they had seen full of roches. some low and the other high/ ¶ and journeyed by the space of seven days in the said region/ in the which they rested them by cause they might go no ferther/ ¶ and the seventh day there came an heart. which passed tofore them. whom they followed in great travail and pain ¶ for they found more sharper roches than tofore. and nevertheless they passed that terrible country/ ¶ and after they found a scide full of olyphauntes'/ the which by god's grace died to them none harme· but they lost their way. and there began to weep in calling to their aid the name of our lord. ¶ and a● they walked nine days without way and without to have meet or drink. ¶ after by the aid of god they arrived in a field habounding in fruit ¶ and after they entered in to a country. where the son ne the moan died not shine. but there were dark tenchrees and obscu●ous/ ¶ then they fell prostrate to the earth/ in praying and requiring the grace of god/ and there they were seven days sore troubled with out meet or drink. and without seeing of any light/ ¶ they being in continual prayer. came a culver or a down fleeing about them for to move them to go ferther/ they rendering graces to god aroos up. and followed the said down. till they came in to a place. where as was thus wreton on a large stone) who that will entry in to this land. he must take the way on the lift hand/ for on the right side there is no thing but roches and valleys. and the country is inhabitable ● ¶ this scripture had made alexandre the great in fighting against da●e the king of pierce/ ¶ then they went on the lift side many journey is/ and forty days after they came in to a place where as was so great a stench and filth that uneath they might live/ but dread to die suddenly/ ¶ they recommended their souls to god/ for they supposed never to have departed from that stinking place. and a little while after they espied a lake full of serpent's casting fire. the which made marvelous howlings and wailings within the said lake. whereof the resownaunce or sown was so porryble that it seemed it went up to heaven/ ¶ they heard after a voys fro heaven the which said. know ye that this place here that ye see. is the place where they that renye and forsake god be crucified & tormented/ ¶ the which voys heard. they smote on their breasts/ ¶ and in great dread of god they passed the said lake/ and descended between two mountains right high. in the middle of whom they saw a man fearful of long stature. as of an hundred cubytes. bound and chained with great chains of iron/ ¶ two chains he had on one of his sides at●atched to one of the mountains and two other chains in like wise fixed to that other mountain/ ¶ with this he had a great fire. which environed and was about him on all sides ¶ and the same monster cried so horribly. that the voys might be herd forty mile ferre· ¶ and when he saw the said religiouses come/ he cried more than tofore/ wherefore it was no marvel though they were afeard ¶ and they covered their faces. & passed on that other side of the same mountain. ¶ after they passed in to another place full of roches and caves marvelously deep/ and then they saw a woman. which had no thing but her here hanging unto the ground/ upon which was a dragon/ ¶ and when the said woman would speak the same dragon boat her tongue. and put his heed within her mouth/ and if they were abashed afore. yet weren they more after ¶ with this herd they voices in the said caverns. which cried and said/ o ihesu christ the son of god omnipotent. have pity. have pity on us/ ¶ then the said religious put them to prayer. and prayed god that he would take their soul's/ for they had seen his jugemens. which been moche to be feared and redoubted/ ¶ from that place they departed. and anon after they founden another place full of trees. like to fig trees. upon which trees they saw in four me of birds many beasts. which cried in saying with an high voys/ ¶ o our saviour and redeemer. which haste formed and created. forgive to us our sins. give to us mercy as thou art merciful. for we have sinned upon all the face of the earth/ ¶ thenne the said religiouses began to make their prayer to god that they might have revelation of that. which they had seen. by cause that they might not know it/ ¶ they heard then a voice which said to them/ go on your way/ for it appertaineth not to you to know the divine secrets/ ¶ and soo· they went forthon. and found a place moche pleasant and delectable/ ¶ in which were four men having faces fair and marvelously pleasant/ ¶ also upon their hedes each a crown adorned & set with precious stones ¶ and in their hands they helden great palms all of gold. and also swords all naked/ but with this they had afore them a great fire much great and enflammed: ¶ the said religiouses seeing these began to cry in saying/ ¶ o lords and servants of god. have pity on us/ to the end that these swords and this fire do us none harm/ ¶ then they answered to them. friends dread ye no thing/ but go ye the way which hath be showed to you by god/ the which hath set us in this place for to keep the passage unto the day that he shall come to judge the universal world/ ¶ after they passed and went forty days without any mete. but they drank only water. ¶ and as they went they heard melodyouse songs and armonyous as of infinity number of people/ symphonysing more swetter than any other instruments/ ¶ after they felt an odour more sweet than bame. and also than any other spices aromatic in all the world/ ¶ and by the virtue of those armonyes and sweet savours they slept/ anon after they awoke. ¶ and in beholding before them/ they saw a church decorate and ornate above all puissance human/ for it seemed all to be made of crystal/ ¶ in that church was an altar moche well arrayed/ by which and by a fountain there being. sourded and sprang a water white as milk/ about which fountain weren people which sungen songs of cherubin/ ¶ now for to describe the form of the said church/ the party without for the on the side of the south was of the colour semblable or like to a precious stone named prasym. the party toward the north was red as blood/ and toward the east white as milk ¶ there was also upon the same church many stars. more shining than they that shine in this world/ ¶ the son shone and was more hotter seven times than in our land/ the mountains and the trees were without comparison more higher than they of this region/ and the fruits of the said trees were moche fairer. and also much swetter/ ¶ the song of the birds that flew there resowned up to heaven ¶ the earth of that place had two colource/ of whom that one was white and that other reed/ ¶ these relygyouses then all abashed. salewed the enhabitauntes of that place. and went forth their way/ ¶ and they went an hundred days without mete. but of water they drank enough/ ¶ and suddenly they saw come toward them a multitude of men & wy●●men. which were but a cubit buy. which made them sore afeard/ but they set their lives in the hand of god. & went against them/ ¶ and incontinent by the virtue of god they fled ¶ then the said religiouses took their refection of herbs which they found in that place. and rendered than kings to god. which had delivered them from so many perils/ ¶ and after by the will of god they found a fair way to walk in/ by which they went many journeys/ and in walking they found a cave pleasant enough/ and cleanly within/ in to which they entered/ ¶ after that they were within. they marked them with the sign of the cross. but they found there no person ¶ and by cause they found the place so clean. they imagined that some man dwelled there/ and so abode there till even. for to know if he that dwelled there would come/ they being there within slepten/ ¶ and after that they were a waked. they went out of the cave. and incontinent they saw a man having his hairs as white as snow/ the which covered all his body/ ¶ when the said man saw them. he fell down to the ground/ ¶ and after he aroos & said to them. if ye been on god's half/ mark ye with the sign of the cross. or elliss go ye your way out from me in the name of god/ which saiden to him. that he should no thing be afeard/ and that they were the servants of god as he was/ this seeing that good man. was long in his prayers ¶ and notwithstanding that he had be long in that place. yet was his face as shining as the visage of an angel/ ¶ his brows covered his eyen by force of old age. the ungles or nails of his feet and hands weren marvelously long. his beard and his hairs covered also all his body/ and his skin was as hard as the shell of a lymace/ ¶ the said holy man also weeping demanded of the three religiouses pylgryms of whence they were/ and wherefore they weren thither come/ and of the estate of mankind. and if the sarrazyns and ethnycyens persecuted more the faith/ ¶ the said pilgrims recounted to him all their adversities/ and how they sought to find the place. where as heaven and earth joined together/ ¶ the holy man said then to them that fro the place where as they were. it was no far way to paradise terrestre/ but no man might go thither. but if the angels bore him. like as a voice had said to him when he himself would have goon thither/ ¶ he told to them also as the angel had told to him. that it was but twenty miles to the place where as adam was created and formed. and to the said paradise terrestre. where as the earth joynyth to heaven/ ¶ the said pilgrims hearing these words. were moche enjoyed/ and entered in to the cave with the said holy man/ ¶ when the even was comen he prayed them and said: that they should not hold them within the said cave/ by cause that there were with in a little space thereby two lions. which camen every night to lie with him ¶ and he feared them sore. least they should do to them any harm or displeasure/ ¶ anon after they saw the said two lions come. but the good holy man went and met with them/ and deffended and forbade the said lions to do them any greyf/ the which defence made. they sojourned there surely/ ¶ on the morn they asked of the holy man. of his estate and conversation/ and also of his name/ and of what place he was/ ¶ to whom he answered/ first that he was named machaire/ and was borne at rome. son of a noble roman flourishing in good renomee and fame thorough out all the empire/ ¶ after he recounted to them of his life and conversation. and the cause wherefore he was departed from rome. ¶ and began to recite & show to them/ that he being young/ his father would have married him. and in deed was fyaunced and troth plyghted. and a day accepted to be wedded ¶ at which day after that all things necessary for the wedding were made ready/ and the lords romans boden for to go to the celebration and so lempnytee of the said wedding/ ¶ the holy man seeing the same preparations and ordinances/ and that the hour approached and drew nigh secretly he departed from the house/ of his father. and hid him in the ●ous of a woman a widow with whom he was familiar/ ¶ in her house he was seven days hid without to be seen of any person of the city of rome/ ¶ that same widow went every day in to the house of his father. and knew all the was said of him sith he came to her house and showed all to the said holy man ¶ his father seeing that he might not find him was much angry and also his mother with all their friends/ ¶ the eight day after which was sunday. he took leave of the said widow. and went openly thorough the street/ ¶ and in going he found in his way. a man much old/ whom he salewed demanding whether he went and if he would hold him company ¶ to whom the old man answered that he would do as it should please him/ ¶ and so they went together out of rome in seeking their meet fro door to door/ ¶ and long time they went together by the ways. the which the threpilgryms tofore named had holden/ ¶ and after the good machaire recited that when he came a xxx mile nigh to the place where as he was/ and recited these things. that same old man which had acompanyed him sith he departed from rome vanished a way and wist not where he became/ ¶ then was saint machaire sore troubled. in so much he wist not what to do/ ¶ but laid him down on the earth/ and there wailed and we●te abundantly/ ¶ and he being in this point wailing and weeping. the same man that was in his company/ appeared to him again. and said/ ¶ right dear brother anger the no thing/ ¶ for i am the angel raphael sent from god. for. and to help the in thy necessities/ ¶ and know the that by the commandment of god i have brought the hither ¶ our lord hath alway helped the in giving way prosperous/ by the which thou haste passed all the der●e places/ and them where as been the torments of souls/ now thou art in light/ and therefore thou oughtest now to dread no thing. but go forth in the way that thou haste begun/ ¶ these things thus said. the angel departed from him/ then reprysed and took again saint machaite his strength. and went forthon/ ¶ and right soon after he found a wild ass/ the which he adjured in the name of god that he should address and govern him the way. by which he might surely go/ ¶ after the say conjuration. the ass went forth by a little path/ and so following him saint machaire went with him two days/ ¶ and the third day he found an heart without comparison more greater than any of the country/ ¶ the said ass seeing the said heart/ had great dread. and left the holy man. which was then sore troubled. by cause he might not know ne see any wain path. ¶ he thenne so abashed that he wist not what to do/ he adjured the heart that had be cause to make him to lose his guide/ that he himself should guide him. and lead him surely ¶ and incontinent the said heart came to him. like as a good came be'st/ ¶ and in a straight way he began to go to fore the good holy man/ in looking be hind him if he followed him alway ¶ and so they went together three days/ ¶ the fourth day they found a dragon marvelous: which lay along in the way/ ¶ and when the heart saw the dragon. he fled a way. and the good man abode alone/ and wist not what to do. but to call on the name of god/ and fell down prostrate to the earth for to make his prayer/ ¶ after he blessed him with the sign of the cross/ ¶ and commanded in the name of god the said dragon that he should do to him none harm. ne letting/ ¶ and thenne it haped by miracle. and against the common usage of nature. that the dragon spoke. and said to him/ ¶ come on hardly. come on well happy and servant of god machaire. ¶ the angel raphael showing me thy face. hath commanded me that i should come to thee/ for to lead the to the place which is arrayed for the by the commandment of god/ ¶ it is four days sith i have abiden for the without meet or drink/ ¶ in this night i have seen the in a cloud right shining/ and have heard a voice which said to me that i should haste me for to lead the and conduit. by cause thou were not far from/ ¶ wherefore come on promptly & follow me. and dread the no thing/ ¶ for by the aid and help of god i shall lead the to the place. which by him is made ready to thee/ in which thou oughtest to love and praise god/ these words said by him that seemed to be a dragon/ suddenly he transfygured and changed himself in to likeness of a young man/ as the same holy father said/ & brought him unto the holy place. where he recited all these things/ and where as the said pylgryms had founden him/ ¶ and he said yet furthermore. that he being arrived in the said cave/ the said young man vanished away/ ¶ and then he humbly thanked god. in glorifying him of the graces that he had done to him/ in preserving him fro the great dangers. wherein he had been. ere he was comen unto the said place/ ¶ nevertheless he said that he had be oft tempted of the devil/ which oft came to visit him. for to give to him empeshment and letting in his contemplations. ¶ and among his other temptations. he had presented him a little bend. to swadle a little child bring in his cradle/ the which bend the holy man had taken. and put it in his cave forgetting to bless him. ne to make prayer in taking it/ ¶ another time he had laid tofore his cave a payr of shoes of a woman/ which semblably and in like wise he had taken and laid by the laid bend/ ¶ and the third time the devil appeared to him in likeness of a woman. clad with rich habyllements. and was adorned & arrayed with precious stones/ ¶ when the said holy man saw that/ not imagining that it was the devil. spoke to her familiarly. & demanded what she was/ and how she was comen in to his ●aue/ ¶ then she as heavy and sorrowful began to weep and cast out gre●e sighings/ ¶ the holy man seeing that she wept. moved of pity and compassion began to weep with her/ ¶ and thenne the devil began to speak to him saying. o holy man servant of god. i am the daughter of a noble roman/ which some time was fyaunced and trouthplyght in marriage to a noble man of rome ¶ but when the day was comen. in which we should have made the marriage. he to whom i should have be spoused and married went his way secretly. that never sith was seen/ ¶ and when i saw that he was departed from rome and that his parents and kinsmen and friends sought him in great heaviness/ i was not joyous. but the same night departed also privily. with out taking leave of any person. and have passed as well by mountains and valleys. as by many other dangerous places without guiding of any living person/ ¶ and thus all alone am i comen hither/ ¶ saint machaire weening that she was his wife/ took her sweetly by the hand and lad her in to his cave/ ¶ but the devil continually wept/ wherefore the holy man was the more ready to believe that it had been his wife/ and wept semblably and in likewise with her/ ¶ after their lamentations and weepings the holy man took akehornes & herbs. and would have made her to eat. weening that she shel●e cease her sorrow/ ¶ now the holy man machaire understood not the cautels and deceits of the devil/ the which at beginning were over subtle and strange for to be understand ¶ and so they devyseden long with in the said cave. that one sitting by that other/ ¶ and in speaking together the foresaid woman touched his hands. by manner of flattery. as now many done for to move the men to us ●●●ouse and fowl sin of lechery/ ¶ and in thus doing the poor man without to bless him ne commanding him to god. fell a sleep/ as if he had be traveled of many labours/ ¶ now it happened in sleeping. by or subtlety and shrewdenesse of the devil/ that he dreamed to be with his wife and to have her company. in such wise. that when he awoke. he found himself all discovered and punished o● defoiled/ as he had fleshly done with his wife/ ¶ then knew he that it was the devil. by cause that after he had slept. he saw ne apperceived her no more/ ¶ then he began to lament and make sorrow. and make many exclamations and cries to god. in requiring him humbly of pardon and mercy/ ¶ now it is to be noted that the two lions which he had found in his cave when he there first arrived. after he had done this sin. forsoken him and departed fro him. the which thing by him known. and for the great displeasance that he had for his sins. he put him again to prayer praying god that he would ensign and show him/ what suffisant penance he ought to do/ and that it would please him to send again to him his two lions/ ¶ and incontinent after by the will of god which heard his request and petition. would reduce and bring him to the way of helthe. the said lions returned/ and began promptly to make a fosse. or a pit of the largeness & deepness suffisant to the common stature of a man ¶ the holy man that seeing/ thought that god would: that he should do his penance in the said pit/ ¶ and commanded the lions that they should cover him in the same/ and so they died/ ¶ he being in the said pit by the space of three year/ happened that by the great inundation and flowing of waters the which descended there. the said cave was broken. and a part fell upon his heed. in such wise that by the moyen of the said rumpure and breaking where as he had not seen no light in three year. he saw the son clearly shine and giving light/ ¶ then he took the herbs. which he found beside him. and eat of them/ ¶ the lions after came again. and they seeing the cave broken and dysconuerte. they dyffeated the pit/ and brought him out all hole without any gryef or brusure/ ¶ then he came out of the fosse or pit/ and rendered than kings of that he had lived so long without seeing of son ne moan and also without to have any harm of his body he was delivered from the same cave/ ¶ and kneeled down to the ground. and was forty days and forty nights without moving himself. like as he had he inmobyle in glorifying the name of god/ ¶ the said forty days passed. he came again in to his cave. ¶ and there he saw four angels which shone so marvelously that all the cave was enlumyned ¶ and in the middle of them was our lord and redeemer jesus' christ in form of a man. holding in his hand a rod of gold/ & made a sown so strongly resowning like the voys of ten men/ ¶ the same noble company sungen long/ ¶ and when their song was accomplished and fulfilled/ three voices together answered (amen) ¶ and incontinent our saviour ihesu christ with his angels which accompanied him vanished away. and went in to heaven/ ¶ and after in a voys descended a dove within the said cave/ and incontinent was heard a noise rambling as thunder/ and also lyghtnynges innumerable/ ¶ he heard also many voices from heaven. which songen● sanctus. sanctus. sanctus. dominus deus/ etc. thenne the holy man hearing and seeing the said woundres. was all taken in a trance. and ravished in spirit. and fell down to the earth. on which he was right days without moving hand ne foot/ the which passed he awoke/ ¶ and then he knew that god had sanctified and hallowed that place/ and given there his benediction and blessing/ and then he recu●ned in to the said cave and praised the name of god/ in giving to him thankings and lovings of his visitation. and that his grace had made him worthy to have his company/ ¶ atte the time of the same vision: he was in the age of forty year. and had dwelled but seven years in the said cave ¶ when he had recounted and told all these things to the three religious pilgrims/ that is to wite theophyle. sergius and thimus/ ¶ he instruct and showed to them the manner. how they might void the cursed temptation and deception of the devil of hell/ in saying to them. that they sholden remember and have in mind alway how the devil had deceived him subtilely/ ¶ and after he admonested and desired them to abide with him. or if it pleased to them not to abide there. that they should return in to their monastery/ ¶ all these considered by the three religiouses/ they were much abashed and fell down to the earth in glorifying the name of god/ which only doth so many marvelous things/ ¶ and also they rendered to him thankings of that he had brought them to the knowledge of the holy man/ ¶ their orison finished they prayed to the glorious saint machaire that he would pray for them to the saviour of the world/ that he would save and keep them in returning in their abbey/ to the end that by all the monasteries where as they should go they might also well recite and tell that which they had seen/ for to ercyte and move all religious men to live virtuously/ ¶ for they believed framely that god had brought them to the said place/ for and to the end to know the holy man/ and also for to show and manifest his holy life and conversation/ ¶ the holyman machaire made humbly thenne his prayer to god for them ¶ and after gave to them his blessing and after kissed them in recom●undynge them to god/ ¶ to the end that they might make their voyage in peace after his good pleasure & will ¶ finably he commanded his two lions that they should conduit them till they were passed the dark places: where as they were seven days and seven nights. without departing from the place. like as it is tofore written/ ¶ the which lions after that by sign they had taken leave of the holy man brought them unto the place. where as alysaundre had made the writing making mention of the ways. like as it is declared tofore ¶ and when they came to the said place. the lions little humbled them/ and took leave of them/ and returned to the holy man/ ¶ and after they went with the grace of god so long. that they entered in to the land of pierce. without to have any letting/ and camen to the city of catessodo. in which been the three children that were put in the furnaces of fyte nigh by babylon/ and after they passed the river of tiger. ¶ and the fifteenth day after they re-entered in to iherusalem. and there visited the holy places. as they had done before/ ¶ and finably they came again in to their monastery/ in which when they were arrived/ recounted all that which they had seen/ and principally of saint machaire/ and then all the religiouses glorifyeden the name of god/ to whom be given laud and glory eternal. amen/ ¶ if any will repute this history far apocryphum tofore or he impute any blame to the rude and uncunning translator. which supplieth much affectuously. that first he see saint jerom in his writing/ in the book of the life of holy faders. upon the which hath be made this present translation. in such wise as the intitulation conteynyth of this present history/ to the end that the greater faith be thereto yeven and adjusted. ¶ here followeth the life of saint pastumyen. which beginneth in latin ¶ qm desidero. etc. caplm. xlix ihesu christ our saviour. like as hath written saint iherom hath not manifested nor showed his ream ne his glory only to great and excellent clerks of this world. but to simple and ignorant of all science & cunning/ ¶ as now now ye shall see in the life of saint pastumien/ the which was of the lineage and kindred of mempheus. that was a paynim/ and was in his youth much simple. and uncunning of letters. ¶ not defouled with vices of paynims but lived by embraiding and giving of cords of junks/ ¶ he never pronounced fowl word out of his mouth. ¶ and yet when he was in the world. he fled busily and oft the conversation of women/ ¶ ever more he lived in charity. and had peace with every person. without to move with his neighbour any discord ne dissension. applying himself to all virtuous werkts. notwithstanding that he was not yet christian ¶ he being in the age of thirty year god would take from him the corruption of sin for to make him to have the life eternal/ ¶ on a time the angel came and said to him/ pastumyen haste thou not known god of heaven/ and he answered. nay/ and that only he died his ●●at●. but if god were in heaven or not he had not herd say. ¶ for he was not a clerk for to know the things divine and celestial/ ¶ the angel then said to him/ now pray god/ and he shall give to the sapience/ to whom answered the holy man/ that he could not pray/ ¶ for he knew not what prayer was/ ¶ then the angel took a lief of the laurel tree. and set a prayer thereon. saying to him/ that he should eat it/ ¶ and how well that it seemed him bitter yet nevertheless it gaaf him the form and manner to pray god/ ¶ the said holy man incontinent eat it/ ¶ and it was bitter to him in his mouth. but all his heart was replenished with sweetness. ¶ thus then he began to praise and magnify the name of god. ¶ the angel after touched his lips/ and took from him the bitterness of his mouth. ¶ and anon after saint pastumyen knew high things of holy scripture. like as he had estudyed therein all his life/ ¶ after the angel said to him that he should set his knees to the ground and his face in to the east. ¶ and that incontinent he should have without default all that he would demand of god/ ¶ so he died. and that done he began to say i shall love & praise all my life the name of god. which is so benign to teach them to know that been ignorance. ¶ and byscyence infused maketh suddenly by them his name. his law and his glory to be manifested/ ¶ o my god my maker thou haste sent to us fro heaven thy proper son for to redeem us from the pains and tribulations of hell by his sorrowful passion/ ¶ in the name of the same thy son which is god and man i require the and pray as humbly as i can or may that to me which am here in darkness will give light and clearness. ¶ my god my redeemer/ thou wottest and knowest. that i could not say one word that was to thy praising. if thou hadst not taught me/ ¶ now i believe steadfastly that the blind by illumination and leaded seen clearly/ ¶ the deyf have hearing. the dumb have speaking/ the crooked go on right/ ¶ poor and simple of understanding have knowledge of great sciences and enseignementes. ¶ and also the poor and miserable sinners been of the called ¶ alas my god my maker what was i ¶ what might ne what ●●●gthe have i had by which i that was so simple. was worthy to be called of the. for to praise the. magnify. and serve. by which i dare require & demand for to be purified and clensy● of my spots and filths of sin ¶ i have lived alway like unto the paynims. which been as brute beasts ¶ and now i know that the sinners shall never have joy after their death if they convert them not to the faith ¶ and for so moche as thou which act my redeemer wilt not that i be lost by my poor freyltee/ ¶ i supply the that it may please the to ensign and teach me better and better/ to the end that i may know the as my only saviour & protector/ and as right puissant king sovereignly reigning in heaven and in earth/ which better than any other mayst inform me in thine holy law. ¶ and finably will give to me the glory eternal/ ¶ and from thence forth on pastumyen busied him in devout contemplations/ alway awaiting that the angel of god should come again to him ¶ but that notwithstanding he went again to his craft/ which was as tofore is said to make cords of ion●es/ ¶ and finably the angel appeared to him and said/ pastumyen wilt thou that i lead the to a priest/ which shall baptize the in the name of the father & of the son and of the holy ghost/ to whom he answered that it was the greatest joy that might come to him/ and that he desired none other thing ¶ anon the angel took him by the hairs/ and bore him unto a place where as was an an holy man named prisce/ to whom the angel commanded that he should ensign: and teach him the faith and law/ and to live as a good christian/ ¶ the holy father seeing the great brightness of the angel. suddenly he was abashed in such wise that he fell down for fere/ but the angel relieved him and comforted him saying. ¶ be not afeard/ for i am the servant of god as thou art/ ¶ and in saying these words the angel changed his form unto the semblance or lickenesse of a man clad with white. and of a pleasant face/ ¶ after again he said to him/ doubt the no thing/ i come to the for to show to the fro god/ that it is his pleasure that thou take to the this good man pastumyen/ and that thou inform him in the faith of holy church. to the end that he may deserve the glory eternal/ ¶ and incontinente the angel departed/ ¶ saint prysce then took pastumien. and informed him in the faith/ and to fast and to do other virtuous works/ ¶ after he baptized him. and this done he made a prayer unto our lord saying thus. ¶ o son of god i yield to the humbly thankynges of this that it hath pleased the. by thine holy ghost to reconcile me to god thy father and thou haste redeemed me from eternal death/ the which death suffren perpetuelly all they that believe not in thy name/ alas i knowledge now that all things. the lass ought to obey the greater. and the simple to them that been wise/ ¶ the second commandment that ye ought/ for to keep is subjection to the end that in reverent dread ye may serve god with a chaste heart pure and clean/ ¶ the third is that ye ought to live soberly and justly. in having compassion on your souls and of others/ ¶ the fourth that ye ought to chastise your bodies by fastings and abstinence after your possibility/ for to the spirit desiring to get virtue. it is a singular delectation and pleasance. to be and inhabit in a body lean by penance/ ¶ the fifth is for to be oft in oryryson and prayer in ens●ewyng the doctrine of the apostle. which commaundyth us to pray god without ceasing/ for after his doctrine all they that continually fast and pray to god lightly they put under by the virtue of the faith all the cautels and subteltees of the devil of hell/ and causyth also to resist and withstand all vices and sins/ ¶ first and principally to pride/ for of that sin proceden all evils. and every day as one seeth by experience/ pride is the original root of all sins/ ¶ by pride been the angels cast down in to hell/ by cause that adam desiring to know the good & evil. eat of the fruit foreboden in transgressing and breaking the commandment of god/ ¶ by this concupiscence he deserved and bound him and all his posterytee and offspring unto the death eternal/ whereof we had never be quite. if the blessed son of god. by his great mercy. and by his worthy death and passion had not quited & redeemed us/ ¶ the virtue opposite and contrary to pride is humility root of all good/ and the beginning and get●nge of all virtues. without the which was never none ne never shall person be perfect/ ¶ and the cause that most moved our blessed saviour to take our humanity in the womb of the virgin of the intemerate and most clean and right blessed virgin mary. that was her humility. for in so doing is written in the canticle/ god hath beholden the humility and meekness of his hondmayde (qu●a respexte humilitatem ancille sue etc.) ¶ after the holy man pastumien commanded them that they should have charity fraternal together in having perfect faith/ saying that the principal rule and most greatest charge that religiouses ought to have. is for to have one with another perfyghte love and charity/ without the which none relygyouses in the cloister may not well govern themself/ ¶ when many brethren been together without love. each entendyth to his singular profit/ and so their comynte is divided/ ¶ so every ream and other government of multitude and of subgettes. if it be divided. without doubt it is desolation/ ¶ alas now the most part of religiouses in this present time intend to be abbots. priors and to offices. desiring to be out from their brethren/ ¶ like as the bird sechyth. but to escape out of the cage/ ¶ and who should demand or wite the reason wherefore. i trow that there should be default to have love with their brethren/ ¶ for by cause that they been overmuch replenished and fulfilled with the dampened vice of pride. they can not be compatyble and felyshypped with the other/ but will be alone ¶ a lord god well is changed the time that the holy faders fled in to desert seding there a solitary life. for to renounce and leave the world/ and to lead a life contemplative/ ¶ and as it is said the religiouses when they be closed in an abbey. where as they have been put for to be out of the world/ they think on none other sin but to obtain and get pryeryes and other benefices/ whether it be by sin or no sin. to the end to return again to the world/ for the which things all devotion is lost/ ¶ peradventure if the priors were unied and oned with the abbeys/ and that such religiouses had none occasion for to depart with out licence/ it should be better. and lightlier for their health/ than for to seek their lodges from village to village/ ¶ it hath be seen in time passed that the children of kings for to serve god have renounced and utterly forsaken all their richesses/ ¶ but now when there been many in a noble house/ they been made abbots. tofore that they been religiouses. ¶ no thing for devotion but to the end for to enrich them with goods and richesses of the church for to live at their pleasure god knoweth what shall be the end and following then the doctrine and tething that pastumyen gaaf to his religiouses ¶ he commanded them furthermore to love not only the one that other. but to love god principally with all their heart/ that was the first commandment. that god gave to moses in the moutayne of synay/ ¶ but with the same commandment must be joined the lone. that we ought to have that one with another/ ¶ when all religiouses loven each other/ and god principally and first/ yet must they have the virtue of obedience/ ¶ love without obedience is no thing. ¶ for like as the grass letteth the corn to fructify and increase/ in like wise who that is in obedient and fastyth and prayeth/ bryngyth fourth no fruit for fault of obedience/ ¶ after he commanded them to exercise the nights in prayers/ ¶ for by night the devil maketh moo lettings to devout persons. than he doth in the day. like as the gospel saith/ ¶ who will do evil. hatyth light/ ¶ and to this purpoos saith the gospel. awake. awake. for ye know not the hour when the thief of the souls will come/ ¶ he commanded them also that they should write in a table of their consciences all the commandments of god/ and that oft they should lay the cloth for to take refection spiritual. in savouring and eating the ten loves composed of the ten commandments of the faith ¶ the twelve articles of the law/ and the works of mercy/ ¶ more over he said/ o ye my brethren/ which desire to be very obedient and chartable to love each other/ believe ye after the sentence of baruth the prophet which saith/ that ye been now the fellows of god/ ¶ and in another place the holy scripture saith well happy ●en the peaceable. for they been the sons of god/ ¶ now they that been peaceable been obedient and chartable/ ¶ they thene that shall desire in this corruptible world to enjoy the fruits of heaven/ he must renounce and forsake his proper will. in having perfygh●e charity/ ¶ after he commanded them. if they had among them any dissension. or debate/ that incontinent it should be appeased/ for god our lord dwelleth ne abideth but in one place of peace/ ¶ and the contrary where as is dissension. the devil regnyth. ¶ and furthermore he deffended them that they never should be angry ne wroth ne to their brethren. ne to straungeres/ ¶ and that for any gain of the world that they might get. they should not occupy them with temporal things. but only in works spiritual. by the which they might lightly get the heritage of the ream of heaven/ ¶ and when any temptations should come to them. the which with great pain the ymyghte eschew/ ¶ he admonested them to torn to god/ in life ting their hands to heaven. and saying ¶ o my god i pray the that it please the to help me/ and to enforce my poor freyltee. to the end that i may vanquish and surmount my mortal enemy/ ¶ and he said that anon after our prayer made to god. comen his aungellis to our aid for to comfort us/ ¶ and for to prove this thing to be true. he told thenne to them. that on a tyme. he being on a mountain came tofore him a great company of devils in likeness of men human. and by cause that by the will of god he knew well that they were devils/ he all resolved/ and without having any dread. kneeled down on the earth. in praying god. that it would please him to make the same devils to depart/ ¶ and incontinent they vanished away as a fume or a smoke tofore the wind/ ¶ many other temptations the devils made to him. but god delivered him alway by the devout prayers that he made/ ¶ therefore in concluding he said to his religiouses/ my children be ye farm and stable in the faith. in resisting the devils temptations/ and that ye been climbing by fervent charity to the love of god/ the which in so dooenge. he shall to you be alway a protector/ and by his help ye may get the ream of heaven/ ¶ thus endeth the story of the right holy man pastumyen. ¶ here followeth of saint onuffryen hermit/ and beginneth in latin beat memory paphoncius. et cetera/ caplm. l saint phaphunce having desire for to visit all the religiouses that weren in the hermitages. for to accomplish the health of his body more lightly his way. bare with him a little water and breed/ ¶ and when he had walked by the space of four days. his victual failed him/ and became all confused and half deed. by cause he was so feeble that he had neytheyr foot ne leg that might sustain him/ by cause he had neither to eat ne to drink/ ¶ but nevertheless he was by the help of god made all hole and guarished/ and had as much strength. as though he had well eaten and drunken/ ¶ and then began to walk again. and continued so four days without meet and drink ¶ the said four days passed/ by cause he felt himself feeble/ he was constrained to lie down on the earth. as he had be deed/ ¶ and he dying on the earth. suddenly saw by him a man in marvelous glory. fearful and terrible in shining/ worthy of praising in beauty/ long of corpulence. and right clear of regard/ whom paphunce seeing had great fere. but anon after he comforted him/ ¶ for in approaching touched his lips and his houdes/ and restored and gauf to him strength/ ¶ and incontinent aroos up and walked seventeen days. after. till he came to a place where as god would bring him. ¶ to which place he came and saw a man as he rested. having his face terrible all covered with here like as a brute be'st/ ¶ and fro the reins down allow he had a vestment of leaves and of herbs/ ¶ when paphunce saw this man so deformed/ he was sore abashed/ and not without cause/ ¶ for he had never seen such likeness of man ne of woman. and wist not what to do. but fled in to a mountain. which was nigh to that place. and there hid him under the branches of the trees/ he was so sore afeard/ ¶ and there he began to sigh marvelously. ¶ knowing that by cause of his age and abstinence. he might go no ferther/ ¶ this man seeing that paphunce was fled tofore him/ and that he was afeard came nigh to him. and calling and crying with an high voys said to him. ¶ o man of god come down from the moyntayne/ and be not afeard/ for i am a man mortal as thou art/ ¶ when paphunce heard these words he was glad and comforted/ and took again his mind and courage. and anon came down from the place where he had been/ ¶ and after that he had salued the holy man he fell down on his knees tofore him ¶ the holy man anon defended him that he should not kneel to him saying so him/ a●yse thou my friend thou art the servant of god named paphunce. loved of all the saints of heaven/ ¶ then paphunce aroos up. notwithstanding that he was weary aswell for his long fastings. as for his old age ¶ after he made him to sit by him. desuing to know his name· his conversation and manner of living. ¶ he said to him/ know thou servant of god that by long journeys i have walked in these deserts and have endured great hungres and thirst/ but now my viage is accomplished and fulfilled. ¶ and i feel a solace in my membres/ like as they were all filled and quite of all pain/ and therefore i pray the my lord and my friend for the hononore and love of him. for the name of whom thou hast dwelled in these deserts thou tell me whence thou art. and thy name/ ¶ and also when thou camyst in to this place to inhabit here/ ¶ the holy man seeing the great affection of his desire. and also the travail that he had taken. to find. answered to him of that he had asked. and demanded him in saying to him. first that his name was onuff●en. secondly that it was three score and ten years that he had dwelled in that desert/ living with brute beasts. eating grapes and herbs in the mountains and valleys and sith that he came thither he had never seen man ne woman save him only/ ¶ nevertheless he said that in his youth he had be nourished in a monastery named her●mopolyn in the province of they/ in which monastery were an hundred religiouses/ ¶ after he declared to him how the religiouses of the said monastery liveden in e●ynge and drinking all together. and died then penances that one like to that other/ ¶ and that which was pleasant to that one. was to that other agreeable and yet that was more they had all one will. one heart. and one thought/ ¶ in the said monastery was so great ta●ytu●ytee and silence among the religiouses. that none durst once speak without a just cause/ ¶ he being in this said monastery. heard recount the life of an holy father named helye/ ¶ and how he had lived in great abstinence in desert. in great straightness of life/ ¶ and how he had many privileges above the power of man kind/ ¶ in like wise of saint iohn baptist which lad so holy & marvelous life in desert. till that he had baptized our lord ihesu christ in the flo● jordan/ ¶ then hearing. told of the religiouses the glorious lives of theym· and many other/ ¶ the said onuffryen required of the said brethren. that they would say to him. if the ancient holy faders of the desert had been more strong than they or more feeble/ ¶ they answered that they had been more strong. for without man's comfort and with out meet and drink they lived in desert ¶ but they said. that in speaking as they had been the holy faders of the said deserts. we have consolation the one of an other/ ¶ for when we have hunger. we find the meet ready/ when we been seek/ we think incontinent and done penance to get us health ¶ we have fair houses and great edifices/ and they that been in desert have no consolation/ ¶ they have hunger. cold. and heat. and in all tribulations have no socours but of god ¶ and therefore whom some ever will dwell there· him behooveth to be constant and steadfast for to endure all such penances/ ¶ yet more the devil giveth to them without comparison more settynges and temptations for to divert them from their good will/ that to them comynyke by the world/ ¶ but when they have very faith alway they overcome the fiend by arms spiritual/ ¶ the angels comfort them oft/ and deliver to them that is necessary for them/ ¶ for it is written/ that they that shall put their hope in good. shall have the virtue of strength for to endure all thing/ with feathers as an eagle for to flee to heaven/ ¶ and yet more. they that shall have thirst. shall drink in the fountain eternal/ ¶ and the herbs that they shall eat. shall give to them also great sweetness as honey/ ¶ when the religiouses been tempted of any temptations/ they ought to put them to pray god. lifting their hands to heaven ¶ and incontinent the angels descend and come down for to help them to fight against the devil/ ¶ thus also saith the prophet david. that in the end the poor people shall not be forgotten. ne their patient shall not perish/ ¶ and also god enhauncyth alway the poor of spirit and delyveryth them from all tribulations. ¶ finably the same faders said to that right holy man saint onuffryen that the angels continually serve the just and good. which be pe●fyghte in the love of god/ ¶ and their souls been illumined and kindled with the light of grace and of troth ¶ saint onuffryen when he had heard the fair instructions of these holy faders. had the heart all embraced with great desire for to do penance. and to fight against the devil/ in suffering all poverty. to the end that he might come to the glory eternal/ ¶ and thought in himself to accomplish and perform the counsel of the said prophet david. ¶ teaching and saying that it is a good thing to join himself for the love of god/ and to set in him his hope/ ¶ when saint onuffryen had althyse things considered. he took a little breed and a few peasen or beans to make pottage with all. for to live about a four days. ¶ after he departed by night secretly out of his abbey/ making his prayer to god. that it might please him to ensign and show the place where he should do his penance/ ¶ and came in to a mountain. the which he passed over for to come in to desert. ¶ and he being there arrived and to men saw in a place tofore him a great light the which as him seemed came straight to him/ whereof he was atrede ¶ and supposed that it had sygn●fyed that be should return in his monast●rie/ ¶ in the said light he saw a man right pleasant saying to him. that he should no thing be afeard. for he was an angel commised and sent by god. and departed for to govern and lead him in the desert/ ¶ and after he laid to him/ see that thou have thy heart right and just/ and be thou laborious in good works. for the angel said i shall not leave the unto the death ¶ atte the hour whereof i shall present the to the majesty of god. ¶ after that they had walked about seven mile they arrived and came in to a cave fair enough/ in which saint onuffryen found another holy man/ ¶ and seeing him/ he fell platt down to the earth. demanding of him humbly his benediction and blessing. the which demanded/ the same holy man took him up/ and kissed him in token of peace. ¶ after he said to him thou shalt be my brother in this desert/ ¶ and therefore come and enter in. in the name of god. which give to the grace to have to him ●euerente dread. in such wise that all thine operations and works be to him greble/ ¶ with this brother he abode many days forto inquire of his virtues and of his manner of living. the which gaaf to him many enseynemen & exhortations how he should live solitarily and by what mean he should resist and withstand the temptations of the devil/ ¶ some days he made him to arise and to go out of his cave. saying to him my son it is time that thou go bens. for thou mayst not dwell here/ but thou shall go in to another ●ue. in which thou shalt dwell all●ne/ ¶ and if thou be strong and steadfast in the faith. thou shalt put under thy feet all the temptations of the devil/ ¶ they twain together walked four days/ and the fifth they arcyved in a place called calidonia. by which were palms abundantly/ ¶ when their weren in the said place. he said to him. ¶ now come hither my friend ●● here the place that god hath prepared & made ready for the to serve him and to do thy penance/ ¶ after that they were they arrived/ the holy man was with him by the space of thirty days. in informing him alway/ ¶ and showing to him the rules and manners of living holy it/ in keeping the commandments of the church/ ¶ after all these things/ the said holy man made his prayer to god for saint onuffryen/ ¶ and after took leave of him. and went again in to his cave/ ¶ saint onuffryen kept him. and abode in this said place· in doing straight penance/ ¶ and the holy hermit which had brought him thither. came for to visit him every year. for to know of the conversation of his living/ ¶ and on a time among the other in going as he was accustomed for to visit saint onaffryen/ ¶ he fell to the ground and gaaf up his ghost to god/ whereof saint onuffryen was marvelously troubled and vexed/ ¶ finably after that he had long wept upon the corpse. he buried it in the same place/ in the most honest wise that was to him possible after his little power ¶ paphunce which was also walking by the deserts when he had heard all this that saint onuffryen had recounted and showed to him/ he said to him ¶ ha holy father i know that many labours and pains thou hast endured in this desert/ ¶ certain my brother said the holy man thou mayst believe that i have had so moche poverty in this desert/ that oft times and for the most part i esteemed myself to be at the term of my death/ ¶ felt no strength in me. ¶ some time of the day i have been brent with heat of the sonne· ¶ in the night i have be wasted with vapours and humyditees of the earth ¶ many times i have had great hungres and great thirst ¶ and shortly to say i can not declare the marvelous sorrows and afflictions that i have endured/ ¶ but i have hope that god shall reward ●e my reward/ in giving to me spiritual richesses. which increase & augment every day. and never m●nysshe ¶ and for to notefye to that the bounty of god which never leaveth his servants. he hath sent to me oft times by one of his aungellis breed and water/ of which and also of dates. which grow nigh by to my cave. and of some herbs i have had suffisauntely my bodily refection/ ¶ after this he said to the holy man paphunce/ my friend if thou wilt accomplisshe the will & commandment of god. note and mark that he himself hath said. that we should not have any cure or business to eat. ne to drink. ne also of our vesture ne clothing/ ¶ for god our father wotyth and knoweth all the which to us is necessary/ & therefore if in serving him well we demand of him the ream of heaven. without any fault we shall have all those things that to us been necessary/ ¶ after paphunce asked of saint onuffrien if he received oft his maker. & how he received him. ¶ to whom he answered. that the saturday and the sunday. thangel of god brought to him the right precious body and blood of our lord/ ¶ and know ye for certain said saint onuffryen. that all they that virtuously usentheyr life in desert and wilderness been partners of such joy as i have/ ¶ all these things heard and considered by the holy man paphunce ¶ he was so perfightely rejoiced. that he remembered no more of all the sorrows and evils that he had endured and suffered in the deserts/ ¶ so much him seemed the word of the said holy man was sweet. and pleysaunt. wherefore he might with the psalmist well say/ ¶ o my god thy words been to me more swetter than honey, o● other savours and sweet liquor/ ¶ saint onuffryen after brought him unto celydoyne. three mile night to the mountain where he had found him ¶ and when they were in the place where he dwelled/ onuffryen & he together put them in orison and prayer/ the which done/ onuffryen said to paphunce/ ¶ o servant of god i see and know that thou art in danger of death/ if thou take not thy refection a●yse thou and eat/ ¶ paphunce would not eat ne drink. but at last he was constrained by the said onuffryen for to eat breed/ ¶ they twain then together dranken and eaten/ ¶ and after passed fourth all the night without sleeping. in speaking continually the words of god/ ¶ on the morning early saint paphunce beholding the holy man onuffryen saw his visage. which was also pale and dyffeated as of a deed man/ ¶ then he demanded what thing he had/ the holy man answered to him and said/ ¶ my brother & frere paphunce be no thing afeard/ and know thou that by the will of god thou art comen unto this place/ to the end to bury me. & lay my body in the earth/ ¶ anon my soul shall depart fro my body. & shall be borne in to the heavenly ream/ ¶ my brother i know thy desire and thy will/ ¶ and therefore when thou shalt be returned in to egypte· i pray the that thou remember me and of my name/ ¶ and to the end that thou and all thy brethren be desiring to have of me remembrance. i shall say to the the prerogatives and special gifts that i have obtained of my lord and god rededemer of all the world/ ¶ first every person that shall make to him immolation or sacrifice be ● in messes or otherwise. in so doing have mind of my name. he shall be preserved and kept from all frawdelous deceptions. and temptations dyabolyke and worldly/ ¶ and at last be shall have partycipation with the angels in the ream of heaven/ ¶ and if any have no power to make the sacrifice/ and in giving only for the love of god and of me an asmesse to some poor man. without fa●●e i shall pray for him in heaven. to than de that god make him worthy to have part of his excellent glori. ¶ & yet if he may not do neither that one ne that other in giving a candle. or in making a little oblation. as encencing with ●●ence. or other offering/ certainly i shall so make prayer to god. to the ●●●e that he have everlasting joy/ ¶ paphunce hearing these all these ●●ynges. made to him this demand ●● question. now father if some or any person have no power to do any of these three things/ by what moyen may he do for to be in thy recommendation and prayer/ to the end that as what tribulation he be in/ thou make thine orison for him/ ¶ the holy man answered/ my brother and friend if it happened as thou sayest/ that the suppliant have no faculty ne power to do any of the things aforesaid. if he kneel down on his knees. in lifting his hands joined to god and saying devoutly three times the (pater noster & ave maria) in the honour of the glorious trinity of heaven/ and remember my name/ surely i shall do so moche anent the same right holy trinity that he shall have part in the rea●e of heaven. with all the saints that been there/ ¶ or if any be in doubt or hesitation of the things tofore said he may read saint iherom in his book which he hath composed in latin entitled of the life of faders/ of the which hath be made this present transsacyon. as in other places hath be said and there he shall see along this that is said here tofore/ ¶ in returning to purpoos. the holy paphunce was greatly content with the words of saint onuffryen ¶ and for asmuch as he reputed the same place where as they weren to be holy/ he prayed to the said onuffryen that he would give him licence to dwell there after his death/ the which thing the good holy father would not but commanded him that he should return in to egypte/ and there persevere in good works/ for in the end he should have felicity eternal/ ¶ when paphunce had heard his answer. he kneeled down tofore the holy father onuffryen. and said to him this that followeth. ¶ alas my dear father & friend i know. and believe that all that thou shalt demand of god. for the love of whom thou haste be. lxx years in this desert thou shalt lightly obteyne· ¶ then give to me now thy blessing. to the end that i be also perfect as thou/ ¶ the holy father ansuered/ my brother paphunce be not angry for thy demand shall be obtained/ be thou steadfast in the faith in serving god with all thine heart. and with all thy thought/ and by this moyen thou shalt have eternal life/ ¶ i pray to our lord that thou be kept alway of his worthy angels in all thy cogitations and wills. to the end that thou be clean and purified tofore the face of ihesu christ ¶ when the holy man had said all these words. he kneeled down to the ground/ and in weeping said ¶ o my god now in to thine hands might puissance and streyngthe i commend my spirit/ and these words said suddenly came a great light/ which environed all his body/ ¶ thenne after came many angels to great multitude/ which sungen songs melodious. whereof all the air resowned. and bore the soul unto the ream of heaven/ ¶ paphunce which heard those angels sing/ began to weep and drown in tears. saying/ alas i have well cause to make lamentation. when with so great pain i have found the holy man onufryen. and have be so little whyse with him/ ¶ after when he had long wailed & wepte· he departed his garment in to two parts/ and of that one he clad himself/ and in that other he wound the body of the holy man. & put it in a sepulture of stone which was there/ ¶ paphunce seeing that he was there alone. wept more than he died before/ ¶ and supposed to have entered in to the cave of the holy man/ but when he was at the entry a great part of the roche fell down/ by which he knew that god would not. that he should use the residue of his life in the said place/ ¶ and so thenne he came again in to his monastery in egypte/ where as he recounted this bistorye like as tofore is wreton/ ¶ and the holy man saint onuffryen died the twellyfth day of juyn. the day of saint barnaby the apostle/ ¶ here followeth the life of saint abraham the hermit. and beginneth in latin ¶ cupio. et cetera caplm. li ¶ so it happened that the time to hallow the sacrament of marriage approached and drew nigh/ but by cause that he would not abide thereby and persist/ his parents and kinsmen were angry with him so greatly that for the greyf that he had of their heaviness. he concluded in himself to proceed forth therein/ ¶ then the marriage of them solemnized/ and he being in his chambre. and laid a bed with his spouse and wife/ ¶ suddenly there came upon him a fervent will for to depart. and go out of the city/ ¶ and so departed from thence. that he was well two mile from the city/ where he found a little house. wherein no man frequented nor used/ and entered in. and kept him there a certain time praying and making devout prayers to god/ ¶ when his parents and kynnes●es knew that he was goon. they were much angry/ and for to seche him they sent messengers thorough all the ●●untrer/ which sought him by the space of ryghtene days/ ¶ and at las●e some of them in returning. entered in to this little house/ where they found him on his knees praying to our lord. ¶ when the holy man saw them by him. and they beholding him. he said to them/ ¶ wherefore be hold ye me so/ praise ye with me the name of god/ which hath delivered me from the ordure and filth and wickedness of the world/ pray ye him for me. that he will give me might & strength for to bear the faytes of penance. which i have begun/ ¶ after he prayed them that they would do to him none empeshment ne letting and that no more they should come for to visit him there/ ¶ then took they their leave and went their way/ and incontinent the holy man stopped all the holes and openynges of his little house. except a little window which he stopped not. to the end that by the same he might receive his sustentation bodily/ ¶ and fro than forthou he dwelled there longe· excercising himself with virtuous works. and living in clenuesse and chastity. in devout fastings. orisons. lamentations and weepings in all humility/ ¶ his renomee began to grow and to spread thorough all the country/ by which many devout persons came continually and without ceasing there as he was. as well for to have of him consolation in their sorrows and adversities. as to be instruct and taught in doctrine & example of good life/ ¶ now god had given to him such a grace. that all the words that he spoke. were so marvelously agreeable to them that heard him/ ¶ and lighted them. as the rays of the son light the world/ ¶ twelve year after his conversation to god died his father & mother/ which left to him gold and silver a marvelous quantity of the which he being advertised sent anon incontinent. to one his familiar friend. that he should distribute it for god's sake to poor orphans. and to other simple miserable persons. to the end that the thought that he might have thereof. should not empesh ne let him in his devotions. orisons and contemplations ¶ he was advertised that it was so done. whereof he was greatly comforted. as he that after great travail/ found himself in rest and peaceable tranquillity/ ¶ he appetyted not only to flee the world. but also the goods of fortune/ ¶ and for all earthly goods he had but one rob or gown. cours and unthryfty cloth full of great here. with a little dish in which he eat and drank/ and a little pay whereon he lay. ¶ his custom was to love as much the poor as the rich/ and the villain/ as the noble/ ¶ and generally in all the estates of the world he loved asmuch one as another/ ¶ if he corrected any he died it not with rude words/ but in great benygnytee and sweetness ¶ all they that heard him speak. or so kid on him/ alway more and more they desired to see him/ ¶ never changed he the rule that he had begun ¶ and was continuelly by the space of thirty year without to have any report to the world/ ¶ right nigh to the city where he had be nourished there was a town where as dwelled paynims and sarrasyns/ unto whom had been sent many deacons and priests by some sovereign bishops for to convert them unto the christian faith/ but all they were returned without to have done any fruit/ ¶ for the said paynims weren obstinate in their idolatry/ ¶ and it happened that the principal of the said bishops. being with his clerks had knowledge of the holy man abraham/ ¶ and said to them that it was needful to send him in to the said town. for by his patience and holy life he might convert them/ ¶ the same bishop then desiring to increase our holy faith accompanied with his clerks came in to the little house of this holy man/ ¶ and when he was there arry●●d/ he salued him. after he admoneste● and desired him to go in to the said town saying/ ¶ o my friend i know that thou art agreeable to god. which never refusyth to the no thing that thou of him demandest/ ¶ also thou knowest enough the paynims dwelling in this next town. and how we can not find manner to convert them. ¶ wherefore it behooveth that thou go for to admonest and stir them ●●ke as god shall ensign and 〈◊〉 the. ¶ the holy man was much ●●●●bled of the office that the bishop ●●de give to him. and answered to him. ¶ o my lord i pray that the thou 〈◊〉 suffer me to bywepe my wyckidnesse & that i depart not from here. ¶ i we●e well said the bishop that thou ●●ste left the world. and renounced all earthly goods. for the bliss of heaven. ¶ but nevertheless if thou hadst all the virtues of the world. and thou have none obedience. they should nottage profit thee/ ¶ the holy man answered to him/ alas my lord i and 〈◊〉 other thing but a deed bound. what thinkest thou to be my life/ wherefore saist thou so much good of me/ ¶ then said to him the bishop. i say the to be servant of god. which sechest in this place where thou art in but thy health only/ but thou go where i will send the. thou shalt be cause of the health of infenite persons by the grace that god shall give to the ¶ ne think not only to do thine health/ but also that which bylongyth to thy neighbours/ and then shalt thou have very charity/ ¶ and by this moyen thou shalt get more great merit anent god. in so much as thou shalt bring with the many souls in to heaven/ ¶ the holy man hearing the bishop and desiring as very obedient to confirm him to his good pleasure. answered to him. that he was all ready to go where as it should please him/ ¶ wherefore the bishop seeing his right good will. laid his hand upon his heed/ and constituted him a priest/ and after he brought him to the said town ¶ and in entering in the which he said/ o my god right pytevous i beseech the. that it may please the to behold my great poverty. freelte. imbecyllyte and the debility of mine ignorance/ ¶ enlarge upon me thy grace. and that now thou help me to glorify thy holy name. ¶ when he was arrived there. seeing their foolish idolatry/ he moved with pity. began to wail and weep in making his prayer to god inlthies manner/ o my god which art only without sin. now i praise the that it please the to have mercy on these miserable synnars/ ¶ helas my god these been thy creatures. they been the work of thine hands. suffer them not to be lost/ ¶ these things thus said. beholding that he might not have them by prompt predication. ¶ he sent to his familiar friend. that he should sell all his patrimony/ which was of great revenue and that he should send him the money thereof. which he so died/ ¶ and with the money that he received/ died do make a fair church. honestly arrayed. and made fair the best wise that he might. ¶ during the time that the church was in making. from day to day he walked by the temples of th'idols of the said towne· making in his heart prayer to god and no thing to idols/ ¶ and after that the said church was achieved and made. he made in the same his orison saying/ ¶ o my god which haste by thy presence and predication destroyed all idolatry of the world. when at thy nativity the idols of the temples fell down. thou seest the people of this town far from thy very faith. setting their hearts and thoughts to serve the devil. in making to him homage/ ¶ vouchesauf thou now my god in such wise to ensumyne them. that they may leave their symylacres and idolatries. to the end that they may know the one oonli god of heaven and of the earth/ ¶ incontinent his orison achieved and ended as he had had an hundred thousand men with him he entered in the temple of the paynims idolaters. and broke and died to fall down their altars and idols/ ¶ and they seeing his manner of doing. as hounds enraged beat and hurt him. in such wise that he was all full of wounds and of hurts. and so came again in to his church. ¶ and how well he was hurt and tormented/ he thought no thing on his wounds. but all the night with all his heart prayed to god devoutly for the conversion of the poor infydelis and ydolatrers'/ the morn comen. thiwente in to his church. where they found him in orison and prayer. but they could not do to him any harm ne displeasure/ ¶ and beholding the ornaments and decoration of the said church. suddenly they took pleasure to see and behold them .. in such wise that thoue & the other came chyder every day in manner of pass time/ by cause the said church seemed to them moche honest and pleasant/ ¶ on a day among the other he prayed them. and admonested to leave their idols and that they should know their maker. which might save them and damn them. in making to them many fair exhortations for to endure them in the saith but in hearing that thee were more enraged than tofore/ ¶ and beat him so much. that they supposed to have slain him. and after they bound him with i● cord. and drew him out of their ●●te. and left him in the field. where he abode so bounden unto midnight ¶ then he returned toward god. to whom in wailing and weeping he said/ o my god. why haste thou forsaken thy poor servant. alas my saviour. now behold thou with pity thy poor disciple/ and give to me strength to fight against these infydeles'/ ¶ with this my god i pray the. that it may please the to give to them a little of thy grace/ to the end that they know the as their god. ¶ his prayer achieved. he returned to his church. & said his psalms and orisons accustomed/ ¶ the paynims in like wise as they had been accustomed returned in to his church. ¶ but when they saw that he was returned. without mercy they beat him more than tofore. and drew him again out of the city/ ¶ the holy mass was by the spa●e of three year suffering all such pains as the said infydelis died to him/ but all their torments and hungers & thirst he bore patiently. without trowbling himself/ ¶ and so much as they martyred him. so moche more be loved them/ ¶ and alway he admonessed the most ancient of them as his faders. how be it they were against him much furious. and the young men as his brethren/ and the adolocentes as his children/ ¶ and notwithstanding all this. they all mocked him/ ¶ now it happened upon a day. that by the grace of god. all they of the town assembled. for some of their affairs & business/ ¶ and after that they had delivered and concluded. they began to speak of the holy man abraham. in wounding how patiently he endured without murmur all their repreves and injuries that they died to him ¶ and furthermore they said that he was necessary for to endure for the honour of his god. whom he preached to be only lord of heaven and of earth. ¶ they thought also how he himself alone had broken and destroyed all their idols. without that their god's had done to him any greyf or letting/ ¶ and finably concluded that his faith was true/ and that they ought to believe all that he said/ for he was the very servant of god/ ¶ and this conclusion thus made· all together unto the number of a thousand. or there about came in to his church/ and with one voys began to say. glory rybe to god of heaven/ which hath sent to us his servant for to deliver us from our error/ the holy man this seeing was replenished all with gladness/ ¶ and adressynge to them his words said to them. ¶ o my faders my brethren and mi children draw ye nigh to me/ and give glory and honour to god our maker/ which by his grace hath illumined you in such manner as ye may lightly know him/ ¶ and to the end that ye been clean for all the spots of idolatry. i pray you to believe in him/ ¶ and love him with all your heart and all your thought. as him which that is very god and only lord of all the world. which is without end and beginning/ inestimable. inenarrable. incomprehensible. almighty. giver of light. lover of men. terrible to sinners. and sweet to just and rightwise men/ ¶ believe also on the son. which is the sapience and wisdom of the father. and of the goly ghost/ which quick nyth all things/ to the end that ye that are poor. which been no thing else but earth may be purified and enhanced to the ream of heaven. ¶ all they answered that they believed like as he had said/ ¶ and incontinent he baptized them all. in the name of the father. and of the son. and of the holy ghost/ ¶ after that they were baptized. every day he taught and endoctrined them in the good holy scriptures. in speaking of the joys of heaven. and of the pains of hell/ ¶ after he excited them to get the virtues of faith. hope. charity. prudence. and other. ¶ and for to induce to get them he lived with them like an angel. in making to them diverse predications. the which he continued an hole year/ ¶ and after that he knew them confirmed in the faith/ ¶ one time among the other. he being at hour of midnight in contemplation made unto our saviour ihesu christ such a prayer saying. o thou illumyner of all the world. which haste enlumyned this little people. and haste losed them from the bonds of the devil in giving to them science for to know thee/ i humbly require the my god that thou wilt keep them unto the end. holding them in thine holy faith to the end that they may do such thing always. that may be to the agreeable and to me also by thy mercy it be not imputed that i depart from them ¶ for my lord god thou knowest that do it to th'end that i be not withdrawn from dooenge penance. ¶ his orison accomplished and made an end. he made three times the sign of the cross upon the said town. and departed thence. ¶ and went in to a place where as no body dwelled/ ¶ on the morn the inhabytauntes & dwellers of the said town came in to his church like as they were accustomed but they fond him not. whereof they were much sorrowful and angry. and went weeping and wailing sechinge him/ ¶ and weening to find him sought him in many places/ but they could not after he was departed find him. ¶ after word of his departing came to the bishop. whereof he was as much dysplaysaunt as they were/ ¶ and for as much as sheep without pastor been in danger of the wolf/ he would not leave them without a conduytour and guide/ ¶ so came he himself in to the said town for to comfort them. ¶ and after that the said bishop had the most sonyngly that he could comforted them ¶ he choose some of the most notable men among them whom he constytuted in holy ordres. making some of them priests. and some deacons. ¶ and if they had any tribulations or empesshements in their cons●yences they went to the said men so ●a●●ed/ ¶ the holy man abraham when he knew how the bishop had given to them socours for their health/ he rendered thankings to god/ in loving and glorifying his name. and held him close in a little house. there praying and thanking god in great joy and cru●tacyon. ¶ o man of great perfection. in what manner may any man praise thy charity and thy great constance. when for the health of thine neighbours. thou haste endured so many evils. and nevertheless thou haste not left to make thy prayers and say thine orisons accustomed. ¶ thou haste not varied for all their menaces and torments. but haste persevered unto the end/ ¶ o chartable man which haste put thy body in danger of thine enemies for to make to them health. ¶ well mayst thou be fellow to saint stephen the first martyr. which prayed to god for them. that mart●rd him ¶ the enemy of all good men seeing the conversation of the holy man. and also that for tribulations he cess not from his good purposes but always he purified himself. as gold in the fr●nays. came to assaylle him on a time at mydnyghte. as he was in his prayer. and concluded to tempt him by such temptations. that he should no more be in wilderness. but should return in to the world. ¶ then came the devil suddenly with a great light. clear as the son. wherewith he enlumyned all the little house/ ¶ and in the light was a voys which said/ ¶ o holy man abraham thou shalt be well happy. for in all thy works thou haste be true. and haste all done after my will/ ¶ the holy man knew that it was the devil. ansuer●d with an high voys. ¶ go hens thou wicked and perverted admynystrer of malice. comest thou now hither for to tempt me with vain glory/ ¶ i knowledge that i am a great sinner/ ¶ and thou weenest that i repute myself just ¶ away and go cursed spirit in to the uttrest darkness/ in to which thou art condemned/ ¶ by the grace of my blessed god i shall no thing fear thy falaces/ and dysceytful mockings and lesynges/ ¶ the name of ihesu christ whom i honour and love. shall be my defence and wall against the. when thou shalt come for to assail me/ ¶ and incontinent the devil departed/ ¶ the devil came again and brought with him a club for to break down his little house. ¶ and when he had made open that one side/ the devil said feigning that he had with him many evil knaves. to whom he said/ come hither my friends. haste you. let us entry in· and slay this papelart/ ¶ the holy man began to say: o my god all folk have environed me but thy name be praised. by which i shall overcome them. and shall bring under my feet all mine enemies/ and incontinent the devil vanished away/ ¶ a little while after the devil returned/ and put fire in to a little mat on which he kneeled making his prayers ¶ and when he saw the fire without fear he quenched it saying/ ¶ i shall by the might of god walk upon aspydes and venymouse beasts/ and tread under my feet the lion and the dragon. and all the power of mine enemy/ ¶ for my god shall give to me alway aid and strength for to fight against thee/ ¶ sathanas seeing that he was condemned of the holy man cryeed with an high voice saying/ ¶ i shall vanquish the. and make the to die and evil death/ for i shall find so many cautels and disceptions that thou shalt not cunue endure them/ ¶ it happened on a day like as the holy man should eat/ the devil transformed him in to the form and shape of a little child/ ¶ and entered in to the little house/ and supposed to have turned the platter up sodoune/ ¶ the holy man took him by the hand and held him fast till he had taken his refection/ ¶ anon after the devil went his way/ ¶ and a little while after returned and brought a candlestick. under which was a candle light. and presented tofore the holy man/ which took his refection/ ¶ and the devil singing said/ well happy been the walkers of this world that walken without spot of sin/ ¶ and sang so many verses of the psalm that beginneth (beati immaculati i via qui ambulant in lege dni) but the holy man answered no thynge· till that he had taken his refection/ ¶ and when he had taken his refection. he armed with constance spoke to the devil saying these words/ ¶ thou hound infamed right miserable and liar of all liars/ sith that thou knowest them that been happy & humble servants of god. wherefore ye veste thou to them heaviness and lettings that they may not do their penances such as they desired/ ¶ the devil answered that the cause wherefore he trowbled the servants of god/ was to th'end that they should leave their good conversations. and pardon and give them to sin/ ¶ thenne the holy man said to him/ thynkeste thou spirit infamed. that they that been farm in the love of ihu christ may be deceived by thy suggestions. thou deceivest none. but them that been unhappy and been content to do thy will/ and that worse is they done pain to sin mortally/ ¶ thou knowest when the servants of god been assailed of thee/ that by one prayer that they make to god. thou art constrained to flee/ and incontinent as the holy man had said these words/ the devil fled away as a ray or beam of the son. ¶ yet again five days after came the devil. and made in the air a noise/ as he had had a great multitude of people/ that one saying to that other ¶ let us go and throw abraham into a dyche. and put him to death/ ¶ the good holy man when he heard these words sayede/ ¶ the enemies of god have gone round about me as flies or bees. and been enforced against me as fire in thorns ¶ all be done in the name of god our lord ihesu christ/ for by the puissance divine i shall vanquish the cursed devil/ ¶ after that the enemy had herd these words of the said good holy man/ he began to cry. saying/ helas. helas. i know no more by what manner ne by what moyen the to deceive. i know now that i am deceived/ nevertheless i shall never depart fro the unto the time thou render thyself to be my subject/ ¶ then the holy man answered to him. malediction come to thee/ glory be given unto god. and no thing unto thee/ ¶ thou knowest that our saviour and redemptor jesus' giveth to all his true servants strength to fight against the. and knowledge of thy deceivable temptations and mockings. for to keep them from thy mortal and damnable grins. ¶ by many assawtes was assailed the holy man abraham of the devil our enemy. but of what some ever temptation that he was tempted with. he never feared ne doubted/ but had alway steadfast faith/ ¶ and of so much more as he was tempted. vexid. and traveled of the devil/ of so much more he augmented his charity toward god/ wherefore fro day to day increased his grace/ ¶ and by that lightly by the help of god. he suppedyted and put under foot the devil/ ¶ when the holy man apperceived that the treasure of grace was to him ottroyed and given. he took three precious stones/ of which the first was faith. the second hope/ and the third charity. to the end that by these three. the other virtues might be decorate and made fair/ ¶ his charity was so great. that it stretched not only to good men/ for whom he prayed affectuously/ to the end that the devil should not grieve ne noye them/ but also he desired the conversion of the evil people. in praying in like wise for them. and in weeping great abundance of tears/ ¶ to the end that god would divert them from their evil life/ and turn them to the way of health/ ¶ he never laughed/ and never after his conversion wish his feet ne his hondes·s ne his visage/ esteeming every day that he should die./ ¶ he had his visage not like the flower that never drieth/ ¶ and in seeing him by his vysage· he should be judged to be a vessel full of all vertues·s ¶ alway he was joyeous without heaviness/ ¶ and for that cause at hour of his death he was judged never to have do penance so moche was his visage fayte and rodye/ ¶ and that more is. in thirty year he changed not his garment of hair/ which he took and had worn sith he began to do penance first/ by the which things it appeared evidently that he was strongly the friend of god/ ¶ another miracle died the holy man abraham in his old age/ he had a cousin german/ which departed out of this world. and died. leaving after him a daughter seven year of age/ ¶ the friends of the said child secuge that she had neither father ne mother/ brought her to the holy man/ where as she was enclosed nigh by to a window. which was on the side of his little house. and by the same window he taught to her the psalter. & other holy scriptures/ ¶ and there in so doing and saying ympnes and psalms they were long together/ in such wise/ that in all abstinences the young maid ensyewed her uncle abraham/ the which seeing the good way and will by her begun/ he devowtely & without ceasing prayed god for her/ to the end that he would give to her such grace that she never sold return to the world. and that her thought should have none affection to worldly things/ ¶ for he had thereof great doubt. by cause that her father had left to her great plenty of goods temporal/ ¶ the which goods abraham seeing her great prudence and perfection. made them to be distributed to the poor people/ in praying god that the devils by their subtle suggestions might have no power to change her from her good purposes/ ¶ so continued long time the good maid in the rule that her uncle had given to her/ ¶ and she had in her so great constance. that in twenty years he found not her variable/ but obeyssaunte as a young lamb or sheep/ ¶ during this tyme. the devil which slepyth not. imagined many subtle means. by which he might deceive them/ ¶ and by cause he cow ●e in no wise come to his intent/ he died do beguile and deceived her by a miserable religious/ the which were oft to visit the said good man abraham. feigning so to do for the salvation of his soul/ ¶ but the cursed religious man tempted of the devil under the shadow of devotion. he went for to defoil the said virgin/ and so long he continued by the space of a year. that he drew her out of her oratory/ ¶ and by cause that in such case the lass to know and express is best and most honest/ it sufficeth to write that the poor daughter was defoiled/ ¶ and that after the sin commised and done/ she became so sorrowful and desolate. that uneath may be expressed and written her lamentations and wailings. ¶ and then she began to tear her hair. and to beat her breast and her visage. enforcing herself for to slay herself by despair. ¶ and thus in lamenting and bewailing. she bewailed marvelously her virginity so lost/ ¶ and furthermore/ she said alas me poor sinner i have lost all the time in which i have done penance/ alle mine orisons/ fastings. and good operations and works been by me sinner lost. ¶ o ye tears and w●pynges may not redememe/ ¶ o my uncle which is so moche so perfighte what shame and dishonour have i done to thee/ ¶ certainly i now fear me that the wrath of god shall hastily fall upon me/ that am made illusion and mocked of the devil ¶ alas what shall profit me from henceforth to do penance/ it were better for me to die than to live/ ¶ o very god. what sin have i done. alas my maker how have i commised and done against the such offence how have i be so blind in my thought ne how have i be so ignorant ne had no knowledge of that which i ought to do ne where or what shall come of me. ¶ alas where been the good mony●sons and warnings that mine uncle said and warned me of when i was virgin and that i had purposed to have kept my soul inmaculate and undefoylled to ihesu christ my spouse/ ¶ alas i am not worthy to behold the heaven. for i am deed as touching the world/ ¶ and as toward god i dare not return to my window/ by which i sprang and came out/ ¶ alas how i that am full of iniquity & wickedness. shall i be hardy enough to speak to mine uncle/ i suppose if i return to my little house/ incontinent if i come and approach and come nigh to the window. by miracle shall fire to me that shall burn me/ ¶ after these piteous by wailings the poor sinner out of her wit as deed and far from her health went her way in to another city/ and changed her habit/ and after went to an house where as dwelled common women. ¶ now it happened that her uncle knew her sin/ by a revelation which was such/ ¶ in his sleep he dreamed that he saw a dragon marvelous great and so ferdful that he durst not behold it/ the which in syfling enforced him to approach & come nigh his chambre or little house/ and him seemed furthermore that in coming nigh the same place the same dragon found a down. the which he devoured/ and after he had devoured it. he returned thither fro whē● be came ¶ and when the holy man abraham a work he began to weep esteeming that the devil would set schism & division in the church. or that many christian men should be turned fro the holy faith. ¶ and so the good holy man wist not what to do. safe to pray to god. that it might please him to let him have knowledge what the said vision betokened ¶ and two days after he had another dream like/ and him seemed when the said dragon came nigh to his house. he put his heed under his feet. & was divided in two parties/ ¶ after the which vision the holy man saw within the belly of the said dragon the said down. which he had devoured. and him seemed that the dove was alive/ and then incontinent the holy man put his hand in the said belly/ and drew out the down a live/ ¶ thenne he a work after that/ & weening to have found his niece mary in her oratory. came smiting at her window. and called her two or three times ¶ and by cause that sith two. days he had not heard her in her oratory and prayers. he imagined and believed that the vision was of his niece wherefore he fell down to the ground in making marvelous lamentations and wailings. and said. ¶ alas what is now happened to me/ my daughter is now prisoner in the prison of the devil/ o cursed wolf ravishing. thou haste ravished my sheep/ o saviour of all the world give to me a gift. that is that my sheep may come again in to her fold. tofore ere i die/ to the end that in perpetual annoy i finysshe and end not mine old age/ ¶ my god despise not my prayer but hastily good lord enlarge upon me thy grace. to th'end that she may be delivered from the golette of the dragon. ¶ the poor daughter was two year living in lubrycyte and lechery. bounden with the bounds of the devil. and englotted in his belly/ ¶ during the which two year. the holy man abraham prayed continually to god. that it pleased him to reduce and bring her again to penance/ ¶ i these two years the holy man send a familiar friend of his for to search and seche in what place she might be the which went and fond her. and brought word where she was. and had seen her in an open house with common women/ ¶ the holy man anon died do open his house. and went out of it secretly/ to the end that he should not be known he took the habit of a secular man/ and died on a great hood. and muffled his visage. by cause he would not be known/ ¶ now let us consider the comparison and similitude of the first abraham. and of the second. of whom this present history maketh mention/ ¶ the first went in to the battle against four kings/ and rescued and brought home his nephew loath which was prisoner/ ¶ the second went also to battle against the devil. for to redeem his niece. which was prisoner. and kept and holden in thraldom and capty●●te of sin. to which she was submised and given/ ¶ for to return then to this present history. the holy man abraham thus habilled and arrayed as said is. leap upon an horse that he had borrowed for to make this viage and so long road by his journeys. that he arrived in the house where as his niece was. and he being comen thither by cause he saw her not among tother young women which were there demanded of the host if there within were any young woman named mary/ ¶ the which host weening that the holy man were come for to commyse and perform his lechery. answered to him that there with in was such one. which he said was as fair as one might see/ gentle & honest of body/ and that she had in her body none deformyte/ ¶ the which words hearing the holy man was marvelously joyous/ and prayed him that she might come forth. for he would eat and drink with her. ¶ incontinent the host brought her tofore her uncle. proudly and worldly arrayed & clad. as comynly been these unthrifty common women/ ¶ the holy man when that he saw her in that estate. was much heavy and sorrowful/ but nevertheless he dissymyled his anger the best wise he might without to make any knowledge. dredinge that she should have known him. ●eest incontinent she should withdraw her. and hid herself/ ¶ after they withdrew them in to a little chamber. where as they began to eat/ and in taking their refection together. the holy man began to play with her. in beholding her benignly and lovingly/ ¶ and by cause that in so doing she had some remembrance of her uncle. she that was set tofore hym· and knew him not. aroos suddenly and came and colled him with both her arms. having remembrance of time passed. in which she had in so great and perfect devotion toward our lord ihesu christ/ ¶ and knowledged to him her courage. the which she might no longer hide. ¶ and began incontinent to weep and to sorrow. in casting out of her eyen great abundance of tears. and in cursing her miserable and wretched life/ ¶ then the hoosteler all abashed began to say/ ha lady mary what causeth you to weep now. it is two years sith ye came hither/ and i saw you never angry/ ¶ to whom she answered/ alas i had be well happy if i had be deed three years gone/ ¶ the holy man seeing her lamentations and weepings. began to say to her/ ¶ ha ha my daughter. thou were right now so joyous/ and now thou weepest the sins that thou haste done/ i pray the leave this purpoos/ and make me good thyere/ ¶ how moche is the great goodness of our lord which never will lose the synnars. but by his great mercy will call them again/ ¶ the poor mary seeing the holy man/ how be it she had in her imagination and deeming. that it was another which resembled and was like him/ ¶ nevertheless she had never believed that it had been he. considering that he that was a man of right holy life. and would never have entered in to that place so much dishonest ¶ now let us consider fro whence came this contrition so sudden to this poor sinner/ truly we ought to believe that it proceeded fro the benign mercy of god. which beholding the great wailings and devout orisons. which the holy man abraham made for her that he should not lose his pains ne laburs/ ¶ the holy man thenne required of th'host. that he should make them good there/ as took to him a piece of gold. whic● was of good value that he had broghte with him/ for he was comen●om far for the love of the poor may/ ¶ o marvelous prudence o di●●ecōn inenarrable. the good holy man ad be thirty year without eating of any read/ nevertheless for to with draw is niece from that place public. he ●as content to eat flesh & to drink ●●ne ¶ after that they had supped the poor daughter mary prayed the holy mn to go to bed. to the which he agreed & acorded/ ¶ but when he saw theedde so well arrayed & high lift up fr● the ground. he was much abashed notwithstanding he sat thereupon/ ¶ after came to him mary for to draw of his hosyn & shone/ and by cause t●e door was open of the chambre he cō●aunded that she should go shut it fyrte/ after that she had shut the door. he made her to come to him/ & took her by the ho●de. as he would have kissed her/ the ho● man which might no longer hither & cover his thought demanded her/ ¶ come hither my daughter knowest tho● me noughte.. am not i he that so long have nourished the. o mi daughter what hast thou done. who hath plunged them sin. where is now thine angelic habit/ where been now thy long and worthy prayers. alas thou were a●haūsed up in to heaven. and now thou art descended in to hell/ ¶ wherefore my daughter incontinent as thou hadst commised the sin camest thou not to me/ and let me have knowledge thereof. certes i would then have done penance for the. alas what dreadest thou. no man may be without sin but only god our sovereign protector ¶ in hearing these words mary became as unmovable ¶ and when the holy man saw that she answered not again. he said yet to her/ mary my right daughter which art of my blood speak to me if it please to the. and take consolation & comfort/ for i promise to the that i shall take thy sin upon me. and shall take on me the penance for to render account. and discharge the tofore god the right merciful redeemer of all the world/ ¶ there were they two together to midnight in she wing of the good holy man to mary his niece the great mercy of god ¶ and after that she had long heard him. she began to speak in weeping great tears. & said to him/ ¶ a my father & my uncle i am not worthy to be present tofore thine eyen/ alas how may i have remission/ what prayer shall i make to god. that am so horrible defoiled & maculate of so many sins/ ¶ thenne yet the holy man for to comfort her answered saying/ ¶ my daughter and my love. thine iniquities be upon me and no thing upon the. i have prayed to god that it may please to take the punishment on me. and truly i make no doubt but that he shall so do therefore come with me. & return we to our place in which we have lived so long together virtuously/ thou shalt see effren thy friend which is full of sorrow of thy perdition/ have no mistrust of the mercy of ihesu christ/ how be it that thy sins been greater in enormity than the great mountains and hills/ yet his mercy is much more great/ ¶ take then hope in considering/ that it is no new thing to fall in to sin but it is a right great danger to abide therein long/ ¶ when one is fall in it. i believe firmly that the fiend which hath the feeble in falling. he shall find the strong in relieving & rising/ ¶ my daughter thou seest that i am aunceyen and old/ wherefore i pray the that thou have pity on mine old age. and that thou come out of this public place. and return in to thy first lodging for to do there thy penance ¶ god will not that the sinners should die eternal death. but desireth that they should live perpetuelly ¶ then she said to him. ¶ if thou know well my father that i may do suffissant penance in such wise that i may deserve to have remission of my sins i will well that we return where it shall please thee/ ¶ in such devices and lamentations was mary all the night at the feet of the said holy man her uncle/ ¶ to whom also she said. alas my lord what shall i mow give or reward the for thy good grace and mercy that in so great desire and affection thou purchasyst to me/ ¶ on the morn by time when they should depart and go their way she said to him/ mine uncle i have spared & have here within a little gold and other vestures say to me what it playsyth the that i shall do withal to whom the holy man said i will my me●e. that thou leave here in this place infamed all those gods that thou hast gotten by sin and infamy for they benot worthy to be give for go● is sake to the poor people/ ¶ so thene they departed from that dishonest p●ce/ and so much exploited their ●ye/ that finably they came to the place here afore she had be nourished/ an was remised in to her little chambre clad with her old cote/ ¶ think now what sorrow & complaints they made after that/ me weeping every day the holy ma for the sin of his niece. like as h● had commised himself/ and showed ●e great enormity thereof more bitter than he durst have done. or he had brought her thither/ ¶ o merueyllus and inestimable charity. that ●● to redeem the soul of his niece. he wa●●ontent to bind himself to do penaun for her/ who shall be he that without wailing & weeping shall rememb● the marvelous lamentations that they died after her reduction fro sin to penance/ ¶ who is also he th● would not render also thankings to god of such a conversion/ ¶ she was after that of so honest a life and conversation that many notable people from divers places came to her ●or to be comforted in their adversities ●●y the moyen of her prayers and orisons. ¶ ten year after lived the devout ●holy man abraham. the which seeing the great penances ●● his niece. loved her better & more herte● than he had done before/ & of her virtuous life rendered continually thankings right devoutly to god/ ¶ and when he had attained tha●ge of lx. year/ and his ●● year thirty. ¶ they rendered their souls to god which gaaf to them his glory & felicity eternal/ the which give to us. the father the son and the holy ghost/ amen/ ¶ of saint pachomyen abbot. and beginneth in latin ¶ dominis noster thuns. etc. caplm. lii in reciting of saint pachomyen and of many other saints. and holy faders. ¶ saint iherom saith in substance/ ¶ our lord jesus' fountain of all sapience and light of very doctrine son of god the father/ by the virtue and puissance of whom all hath been created and made. willing to show our poor freelte of the enormity of sin. which is so much inclined to us hath showed by his right worthy pite & meekness many ways and manners to seche our health. ¶ considre we thenne the grace that he gaaf to abraham our ancient father. when in obeying to his commandment. he would have offered ysaac his first son. ¶ he was content with the obeisance of abraham. which had meed and merit of his sacrifice/ ¶ and yet abode his son alive. all the prophets which have had so many revelations/ and that knew that god might not lie. have showed to us that there should come a medicine. or leche which should heel all our sores & wounds that is our lord ihesu christ. which by his passion hath bought and redeemed us from the pains of hell/ ¶ he is so humble that never he dyspisyth our petitions/ so that they been reasonable and healthful. and also that they been demanded with a contrite and humble heart. ¶ considre we also the grace that we have when by the sacrament of baptism we been regenerate and purified of original sin of our first father adam/ ¶ and also we have heard the apostles which have endoctrined us in the holy faith/ which we hold and keep/ ¶ when the same our faith began to be published. the devil our great enemy supposed by his temptations to have brought to nought all cristyante. but so as we readen many saints by prayers & other afflictions lightly put them under/ ¶ some paynims emperors romans after the passion of our lord enforcid hem to persecute crysten men of whom many went in to egypte. the which unto the death endured great martyrdom for the honour of ihesu christ/ ¶ and from day to day the churches were augmented. edified and made in the name of the martyrs. ¶ some other forsook the world/ and useden all their life in wilderness in deserts/ as of many is written here tofore/ ¶ the some were clad with heyrof ghotes/ ¶ other died penance in fasting an hole week without eating: enduring all their life in cold and heat. and other necessities innumerable/ ¶ and in so doing have obtained of our lord singular prerogatives as it hath enough be declared in the lives of holy faders here tofore wreton ¶ how and in what time religion was instituted. and beginneth in latin ¶ e●at p●ide tempus/ caplm. liii during the persecution which themperours of rome made so christian men dwelled in the desert saint anthony. where as he lad a life semblable in perfection unto the life of helye. helyser. & saint iohn baptist/ ¶ of the manners & conversation of saint anthonye/ saint anathase bishop of alexandrie hath made many great & fair witnesses. which been things much profitable to all people of devotion to see them. and in them to have contemplaconn· ¶ also the said athanase hath wreton of saint ammon & of his merits. as here tofore is wreton & recited. and semblably of saint theodore. the which holy faders were the fonndement & beginning of religion/ and of whom in their living the great fame flourished in divers regions. ¶ in that time were a few religious people in thebaid. but after the persecution of dioclesian and maxymyan emperors & tyrants inhumayn. many persons of divers sets followed the law of ihesu christ/ ¶ for some went into desert. and other in to religion/ and then began the church to flourish & multiply. ¶ how the said pachomien would be christian/ and beginneth in latin ¶ peridem tempus/ caplm. liiii in the same time dwelled pachomien in thebaid the which was a paynim. holding the law in which his father and mother had informed him. but after by the grace of god he would be christian and how well that in his adolescennt he was paynim/ as tofore is said nevertheless he was much virtuous ¶ and also sith his conversion he profited marvelously in acquisition of virtues. in such wise that by the moyen of his right holy life he was moche renowned in divers countries and regions in like wise as more amply shall be declared hereafter. ¶ how in his young age be destroyed the ydollis/ & begynith in latin/ ¶ her enim. etc./ caplm. lu this said pachomyen in his young age. being yet a child was brought by his parents as to a temple of idolatry. being by the river of nile. for to adore and sac●rfye the idols/ ¶ the priest sacrilege would make sacrifice when they were come after their damnable and wicked law/ ¶ but the devil would not give answer as he had be accustomed to do. whereof the foolish priest was moche abashed/ ¶ and finably the devil showed to the cursed priest/ that the god's would give none ansue ●t. but it pachomyen were expulsid out of the same temple/ ¶ his parents were much angry when they saw him constrained to depart from them. and wist not what they should do ¶ another time he being replenished with the grace of god/ as one gave him to drink of the wine that had be sacrified to the idols/ incontinent he casted it up again by manner of vomit. like as it had be poison. notwithstanding that he was not yet christian/ ¶ how the said pachomyen was taken for to go on were. and beginyth in latin ¶ eodem tempore. et. cetera caplm. lvi in the same time constantyn obtaining the empire of rome died constrain all the young men of his country for to habylle & put them in arms for to serve him in his war/ among whom he was retained to wages/ ¶ the said pachomyens which then was in the age of twenty years/ after that he was put upon the see/ the wind aroos/ and made them to arrive in a city in which dwelled christian men/ ¶ when they of the city saw them come. liberally they received them/ and honestly they administered to them all their necessities/ ¶ pachomyen seeng●●●yr charity and humanity inquired ●● his fellows. what men they were/ which answered to him that they were christian men/ and that their custom was to be so humble and chartable to all the world hoping to have therefore reward of their god. ¶ pachomyen hearing this was much heavy in his heart for that he might not have none other knowledge of them ¶ wherefore he made his prayer to god in saying/ o god almighty which haste made heaven & earth grant thou to me my prayer. that is. that it please the to give me perfect knowledge of thy name/ and that i be delivered of the obligation in which i'm bound. and i shall be thy servant all the time of my life/ ¶ and i promitte to the that i shall renounce the world for to beye the only/ he thenne returning froth war with his fellows they passed by diverse countries and regions in which some time pachomyen was tempted with the sin of the flesh/ but nevertheless rmembring of the promise that he had made to god. he resisted the temptation. and would never commise the said sin desiring for the love of our lord to live chastely/ ¶ how pachomyen received the holy sacrament of baptim/ and bgynnyth in latin ¶ igitur constantinus. etc. caplm. lvii· it happened that constantyn the emperor of rome after that he was christian. and that by the faith & credence that he had to god he had obtained victory against his adversaries. concluded for to discharge his subgettes of the great exactions and charges that they bore by cause of men of war. and to give them leave and to send them home. and so he died/ ¶ pachomyen then seeing himself delivered of his service. incontinent came in to a town called smobostrum being beyond the parties of the haydes/ ¶ and there in the church in acomplysshinge the promise that he made to god promtly he was baptized but a marvelous thing happened after his baptism/ ¶ for in the same night that he was crystened. he saw in his dream/ how in to his right bond descended a dew. the which miraculously converted in to honey/ ¶ after he heard a voys which said to him. o pachomyen consider well this that is happened to the. for this is the sign of the grace that god hath given to thee/ ¶ pachomyen was after inflamed with the grace of the holy ghost/ and rendered himself with the religious men. for to learn the state of holy and perfect life/ ¶ how saint pachomien desiring to be hermit or religious/ went to the holy father palemon. dwelling in desert/ and beginneth in latin ¶ andivit autem/ caplm. lviii after that pachomyen herd say that in deserts was an holy man named palemon much devout. continually serving god: he went to him. and knocked at his door/ ¶ and he opened half his door/ and demanded of him what he would. ●● what he sought. ¶ now the holy man palemon was terrible to beholde· by cause that by long time living solitarily he had lad a straight life and hard in the desert/ ¶ pachomyen answered to him much humbly/ fair father i come to the by the commandment of my god. to the end that i ●e made and constituted relygios ¶ the holy father said to him. thou mayst not be religious here/ it is not a little thing to be made religious but he ought well rypely to think the holy conversation in which he ought to live/ ¶ for many have been in deserts said the holy father which have not persevered in their beginnings/ ¶ pachomyen answered. that the manners in all persons been not semblable/ ¶ and therefore he prayed him/ that he would receive him. and by succession of time he should know his courage and affection/ ¶ the holy father said to him/ my friend i have said tofore. that here thou mayst not be religious/ and therefore go in to some monastery of religion/ ¶ and when thou haste h●●d in chastity and continence in obeying the rules of religion/ thenne shalt thou come again to me. & gladly i shall receive thee/ ¶ but take heed what i shall say to thee/ and way it well tofore thou proceed any ferther/ and i shall say to the what thou shalt do to get the health of thy soul/ i live here compentli enough/ ¶ for my custom is to eat only breed and salt. i use none oil ne wine/ and i wake ordynarily till mydnyghte/ and somtyne all the night/ bisye some time in prayer. another time in contemplation. or otherwise ocupienge myself. in some healthful work/ ¶ pachomyen when he had all herd. like as the disciples been abashed in the presence of their master/ so he was somewhat abashed in hearing the words of the holy man. but this notwithstanding he trusting in the grace of god. he purposed all to endure/ ¶ and answered to the holy man. fair father/ i have firm affiance in our lord ihesu christ. in whom i believe firmly. that he shall give to me strength and might to do the penances that thou haste showed to me/ and that in the same by the aid of thy prayers i shall persevere constantly all the time of my life/ ¶ how palemon the hermit gaaff to pachomyen the habit of religion and beginneth in latin ¶ tunc sanc●●s palemon/ caplm lix palemon· seeing the faith of pachomyen finably received him. and gaaf to him the habit of religion. and dwelleden together doing great abstinences with devout orisons and prayers. passing there the time of their life/ ¶ some time they made robes of heir. not only for the enterteyning of their life/ but also for to succour the poor/ ¶ when they were in prayer/ and that palemon saw sometime pachomyen a sleep/ by cause of the labour that he tooke· for to eschew that he should not sleep made him for to bear sonde from one place to another and by the moyen of that excercyte. he being heavy of sleep. made him to eschew the sleep. which is the nourysshment of all vices and sins. ¶ after he admonested him that he should be always constant and persevering in his good purposes/ and of all thing died the good pachomyen his profit. receiving humbly & benignly his charges. & correction of the said holy man palemon/ by which he augmented fro day to day the perfect love & charity that he had to the majesty divine/ ¶ here followeth of his abstinence. and beginneth in latin ¶ per idem tempus etc. caplm. lx in the same time happened the solemnity of ester. the which is hallowed in great devotion & & spiritual joy of all good & true christian people. by cause that in the same day many have a custom to rejoice themselves soberly. ¶ the holy man palemon commanded to pachomyen that he should think of their refection for the supper/ ¶ now as tofore is said their custom was to eat only breed & salt/ and to drink water. but for the reverence of the solemnity of the day. pachomyen set on the fire of these wild coals with other herbs. ¶ when palemon had made his prayers. he came in to his chambre for to take his refection the which he fonde all ready/ for it was then even/ ¶ he perceived that pachomyen for the solemnity of the said day had made ready coals with oil the which thing seeing the holy man palemon for a displaysure began to rub his face with his hands in saying such words/ ¶ o my god & my maker thou haste had so moche harm & pain on the cross. should i eat oil. certainly i should none eat/ ¶ pachomyen seeing that he was angry set it down in saying that he had made it like as he had commanded/ ¶ and that he might well eat a little/ nevertheless palemon would none eat/ but was content with a little breed and salt ¶ and after said graces to god like as he was acustomed/ ¶ of a proud religious man which came for to visit them. and beginneth in latin ¶ una vero dierum· etc. caplm. lxi it happened on a day the a proud religious man & superstitious came for to visit them/ now had they made a fire for to warm them. for gladly devout persons being occupied in contemplation be sooner cold than they that done other occupations and works temporal. if they been not kept and conserved of god ¶ the brother being with them. seeing the fire began to say/ if one of you have very faith. let him lie upon these hot coals. and say his (pater noster) all a long. and i believe certainly that he shall not burn/ palemon which knew his surquidry said to him. brother say no more such idle words & out of reason. for it should more avail the to be still. i see well well that thou art full of pride & of ●lacyon/ ¶ the brother would not be correte for any thing that palemon said to him. but was more in pride than tofore/ and without necessity laid himself upon the hot coals/ ¶ and by sufferance of god it happened that the devil prince & master of all proud people for more to deceive him in time coming. kept him from brenning/ ¶ and after he departed from them more fierce & proud than he had be tofore/ ¶ on the morrow he came again to the said holy men. and again said to them in reproving them by his pride saying. habretherns where is your faith/ the devil seeing his elation knew that lightly he should make him to fall in to what sin that he would/ ¶ and changed him in likeness of a right fair woman adorned & arrayed worldli. and came and knocked at the door of the proud religious. and he opened it and when he was within said to him ¶ o my good brother i shall tell the wherefore i am come hither/ it is troth that i am bound to many my creditors the which for fault of good it to me not possible to pay & satisfy ¶ and if by adventure they fond me. i might run in to great damage/ wherefore i am come hither for to hide me. to th'end that they shall not find me/ wherefore i pray the in good charity that thou wolte suffer me to so journey here a little time for to eschew this inconvenient. and god which hath addressed me to come to the for refuge shall thank thee/ ¶ the religious man was much proud/ wherefore god gaaf him not the grace to know that it was the devil that spoke to him/ ¶ and so received him to his dampnaconn·s for incontinent the devil tempted him to the sin of lechery. thenne he lightly suffered to be overcome/ and would have embraced the devil in likeness of a woman/ ¶ and thenne the devil threw him down to th'earth/ and lay there long as he had be deed. but after certain days he came again to himself in his good mind. and knowledged his sin. and went and told it the holy father palemon/ saying. a. a holy father i am cause of my perdition thou warnedest me well. but i poor unhappy have despised thy words. wherefore i pray the that thou wolte pray god for me. to th'end that i may have remission of my sin. ¶ palemon & pachomyen seeing his lamentation could not hold them fro weeping for pity & compassion that they had of him ¶ but the devil seeing that his contrition was not consonant to his words. the which were feigned & full of ypocresie. brought him incontinent out of their presence/ ¶ and so thenne the poor miserable ran thorough the deserts as a fool out of his wit/ and finably came in to a city named panos/ and there as enraged. threw himself in to a deep cave full of hot water. in which suddenly he died/ ¶ how pachomyen went thorough the deserts. and begynnith in latin ¶ igitur pachomius/ caplm. lxii pachomyens after went bare foot thorough the desert. and by mountains. enduring patiently the prickings and hurts of thorns. whereof his feet were swollen and much so●e/ ¶ and he enjoyed in himself reducing to remembrance. how our lord had in his feet and his hands holes per●yd by fo●e of great nails recourbled & blout/ which were more grievous than if they had been sharp pricking ¶ all his heart and desire was for so dwell in place solitary for to pray god by great desire/ to the end be and all the world might be preserved and kept from the trawdes. deceptions and temptations of our ennuye the send of hell/ ¶ how a vo●● from heaven spoke to pachomyen and beginneth in latin ¶ quodam vero tempore. et cetera/ caplm. lxiii it happened on a time that saint pachomyen entering in a town named thebayde far enough from his hermitage/ in which town when he entered dwelled no person ¶ he put himself in prayer/ and was there long/ ¶ so heard he a voys from heaven. which said to him pachomyen abide in this place where thou art. and edefy● here a monastery many shall come to the. desiring to profit by thy instytutions ¶ and thou shalt give to them the rule which i shall desyner to thee/ ¶ after that appeared the angel which brought to him a table. in which was written the rule which be should te●he all them that should come to the said place for to be religious under him/ ¶ the which rule yet keepen the tabenesiens'. ¶ saint pachomyen right affectuously all that. which th'angel had brought to him/ ¶ and after came again to the holy father palemon/ to whom he recited all that which was happened to him. in praying him that he would go with him to the place. where the angel had spoken to him as said is/ ¶ palemon which was humble & would not trouble his disciple/ went in to the town with him/ and there arrived incontinent after the commandment of god made a little house/ in the which long time they prayed to god devoutly/ byseching him that they might perform the church. like as the angel had warned pachomien. ¶ long time after palemon said to pachomyen. now i know that the grace of god is descended upon the. & that thou art disposed for to dwell in this place where thou art/ wherefore i pray thou that we make this paction & covenant together. that during all the time of our life we be not separate in courage ne divided/ but by visitation fraternal we give consolation each to other the which paction they made and entrehelden/ for after oft times they visited each other/ ¶ of the death of saint palemon. and beginneth in latin ¶ inter he● venerabilis. etc./ caplm. lxiiii a little time after palemon strongly enfeebled of nature by the extreme abstinences that he made fell in a great malady/ by cause of the which well oft he eat without drink. and sometime he eat not/ but his refection was either to eat or to drink only/ ¶ some brethren came thither for to visit him/ and prayyed him to enforce to take refection suffisauntly for to sustain his body/ but the holy man hearing their request took only meet for to comfort his membres. which were much enfeblysshed by his said abstinences. but nevertheless that availed no thing/ ¶ for his malady was to him more grievous when he eat more than he was accustomye. ¶ and therefore he would not eat but after his appetite. and suffered patiently his malady. considering that many martyrs had been despieced in to pieces. ¶ some had their heeds smitten of. the other have been brent in fire. and alway they persevered unto th'end for the love of ihesu christ/ ¶ and the holy man said he had by their examples farye & ample matter of patience. and that he ought not for a little malady corrumpe by gormandyse his little penances and fastings acustomed/ ¶ he said ferther that they had given him more pain by the meats that he had eaten in his malady. than the abstinences that he made. and so returned to his first penance/ ¶ and a month after in persevering in fastings he died & rendered his soul to god ¶ but tofore his death came to him saint pachomyen. which beheld him as his father in kissing & enbracing him as he had said to him. far well. and after he buried his body in the earth/ & his soul was enhanced gloriously with changelliss in to the joy & glory of heaven/ the which grant to us the father the son the holy ghost/ amen/ ¶ how the said saint pachomyen & one his brother named john converseden together. and beginneth in latin ¶ quo pe●●o/ caplm. lxv. after the saint palemon was by saint pachomyen buried. the same saint pachomyen came again in to his monastery where god had instituted to him/ ¶ and after came to him his brother german named iohn. which long time had sought him/ ¶ the holy man seeing his brother was much joyous. for sith he had be christian he had seen none of his friends. ¶ the good iohn dwelled with his brother/ & if they were brethren carnally. yet were they much more brethren spiritually/ they two had but one will & one self desire. night & day they thought on the faith of our lord. renouncing all worldly richesses. ¶ they wan their living only with making of cells/ & if they had any thing superflue of their labour/ incontinent it was distributed unto poor for thono in of god/ ¶ all their clothing was of one vesture made of linen cloth/ as the religiouses were then robes/ ¶ but the holy man pachomien aware thayre. for to keep his body in servitude/ & when sometime be slept by night. he lay not on the earth. but leaning/ fearing that if he lay down. that he should rest over moche at his case. & thereby he might fall in some ●ynne or evil temptation/ ¶ of the great repentance and displeasance that had the said pachomyen for indignation and anger that he had against his brother/ and beginneth in latin ¶ inter hec et cetera caplm. lxvi saint pachomyen by the grace of god died increase the place where he & iohn his brother dwelled. to the end that they that should come to dwell in the said place like as th'angel had showed. should find place for to dwell in/ ¶ iohn which was th'elder was wroth with him. by cause he made thedifice so great. & said to him. my brother leave this that thou haste begun. it is a thing superfluous to make so large this place that we dwell in/ the holy man pachomyen hearing these words. answered to him no thing. but endured in his courage. how well that he was evil content with him. esteeming to be eniuryed by the words aforesaid/ the night following pachomyen descended in to a low place that he had begun to edify. & fell down place in prayer weeping & waylyng· by cause that for thoccasonn aforesaid he had be wroth against his brother/ & in his lamentations he said/ helas malediction is happened to me. i walk yet in obeying to the flesh/ lord god have pity on me. to the end that i perish not/ & also that by deception of the devil i be not deceived alas lord if i be withdraw fro thy grace/ & the devil find any vice in me he shall subdue me sore in his vile servitude. for it is written that he that is of any put under he is made his serfe or bond man/ and yet again it is written that he that shall have entirely kept & observed the law/ & after in one only sin shall have offended he shall be as toward god reputed of all culpable. & out of his health/ notwithstanding my lord god i believe that thy mercies been so great. that they shall help me how somever poor & miserable synnar i be/ for so have been thine servants by thy sure protection preserved fro the power of the devil. & in th'end enlumyned with thy glory & felicity eternal ¶ then have i hope by that. thou shalt give me knowledge of thy name that after my death i shall be of the number of them that shall be saved/ ¶ ellis my lord god if thou give me not science and cunning like as thou haste promised to me/ i shall not ken teach ne ensign the religious people which thou haste commised and given the charge and governance to me seen and considered that i have not curyously overcome the voluptuosytee and passions of the flesh/ ¶ ne also observed and fulfilled thy right worthy law with undefoylled thought. as i ought to do/ ¶ wherefore i am not worthy to be ruler and governor under thy hand of so many religious men. which shall come to me/ ¶ and therefore my lord my saviour and my protector i beseech the that it may please the to pardon and forgive me. in granting to me absolution of all my sins/ ¶ the holy man was all the night continually in weepings and lamentations/ in such wise that his rob or vesture and his body was all bayned and bydewed in tears and water/ and how well that he was replenished and endowed with all virtue. nevertheless he rendered himself all obeyssaunte to his brother germayne unto his death and ending of his life/ which happened soon after. ¶ in burying & making sepulture of whom he was an hole night/ weeping upon his body. making for him prayers and devout orisons. how well that his soul was in heaven/ ¶ how saint pachomyen resisted the temptations of the devil/ and begynnith in latin ¶ tūcinfatigabilis. etc. caplm. lxvii saint pachomyen incontinent as one affliction came to him suddenly by the grace of god he put it aback/ for he was alway in the deed of god/ ¶ now who someever dreadeth god. he employeth him in good works oft remembering on the pains of hell. like as fire which is eternal/ ¶ and on the worms which written the dampened souls. which never shall die/ ¶ the devil envious of all good/ supposed to have bended his grins to have caught and taken him in some sin/ ¶ but nevertheless by cause he was armed with the shield of steadfast faith. he overcame alway his adversary/ ¶ of the illusions that the devil made to the said pachomyen and beginneth in latin ¶ quadam vero die. etc. caplm lxviii. on a day as the holy pachomyen came fro saying of his devout orisons & prayers a good way fro his little cell. like as he had be acustomed. came tofore him many devils in great number saying one to another. like as they had be tofore a judge make place to the servant of god· but the holy man having in our lord full hope despised all their machinations. like as it had be barking of dogs/ & when the devils saw the great constance of him they enforcid them to beat down that is undement of his edifice which he began/ then began to say the holy man o my god whihe art only refuge & the defence of our good people. whom thou comfortest in all their tribulations/ if our enemies move and take the earth away tofore v●. ye for that we fear ne dread them no●. ¶ and incontinent their impetuosyte ceased. and as a fume or smoke vanished away/ ¶ but yet they came again after as wood hounds/ ¶ and in the same wise an other time as he came from his prayer/ the devil appeared to him in likeness of a capon. making a cry so marvelous/ that all the place redounded/ the which thing seeing the holy man/ he blessed him with the sign of the holy cross/ and bleugh against the devil. and incontinent he departed/ ¶ and thus he held him as as a strong tower inexpugnable. tofore his enemies/ ¶ oft times he much thanked god. as here after shall be showed/ and after the devil showed him to him in likeness of a fair woman. enforcing him by looks dissolute. & subtle yllusyons. to excite and move him to the dishonest & detestable sin of lechery ¶ but the holy man seeing tofore his cursed temptations. and for to eschew them closed his bodily eyen. opening the sight of his intendment toward god. which enseyneth us to get the virtue of strength and of charity saying to the rightful men/ ¶ my friends dread ye not. for i am with you for to keep you/ ¶ how saint pachomien was grievously beaten of the devil/ ¶ and beginneth in latin ¶ alia quoque. et cetera caplm. lxix the devil took him another time/ and beat him so much that he was constrained by feebleness to lie down fro the morning to the evening without to cunne speak/ but notwithstanding that he made no mention by words of god. nevertheless his heart work and called upon him. as he which never leaveth the good in temptations/ ¶ then came there a religious man named apollo for to visit hy· to whom the holy man exponed his deceptions of the devil. & how he had be beaten ¶ the holy father apollo said to him in this manner/ a holy father it is need that that thou take in the good courage to resist their battles/ for if the devil which knoweth our feeble courages. in the hope by his deceivable temptations he might overcome the. lightly should he put us under which been thy humble disciples. and should enforce him to bring us in despair/ wherefore he desireth to overcome the. but god shall give the strength to resist him. to the end that we take ensample of the. ¶ and know thou that if thou falle· and that the devil vanquish thee/ thou shouldest be cause of the ruin of us all/ ¶ saint pachomyen hearing these conclusions was moche stronger than he was tofore/ and took courage marvelously. in prasing the name of god/ ¶ after he prayed the holy man apollo that he should not depart fro him/ after the said time apollo visited the said holy man pachomyen· but he lived not long after/ and was buried by the said saint pachomyen with ympnes and devotion as in such ●aas is a customed/ ¶ of the surety and puissance which saint pachomyen ●p●●yned of god and begynnyth in latin ¶ tantam vero/ caplm. lxx sith the said time saint pachomyen was so farm and constant in our lord ihesu christ. that with his feet he went upon the serpents and scorpions. without to be hurt/ ¶ and when some time he must needs pass over the flood the serpents named cocodrylles. which devoureden the men. hare him to what port he would go. without doing to him any oppression and noyance/ ¶ all things noyenge the creatures died to him honour and worship/ ¶ whereof he rendered to our lord god thankings saying/ blessed be thou my god which haste not despised my humility and meekness/ ¶ and which haste not suffered me to be deceived by the fraud and deceit of mine enemy. ¶ and i being afeard thou haste addressed to me the way of health/ by the which i shall mow eschew the utter darkness/ and to know the which art very light and glory yet durable/ ¶ how saint pachomyen prayed god that he never should sleep. to the end that he might the lyghtelyer resist the temptations of the devil/ and beginneth in latin ¶ cunque se, vsde●er. etc./ caplm. lxxi saint pachomyen seeing that the devils persecuted him so sharply that he never might have rest. he prayed to god that he would give to him this privilege. that he never might sleep. to th'end that night & day he might in waking over come the machinations & deceptions that the enemies of hell laid against him to the which he desired to resist as the strong & valiant champion which saith/ ¶ all the time of my life i shall persecute mine enemies. and i shall never less unto the time that they been in my subjection. i shall give to them so much pain/ that they may abide in no place. and i shall make them to fall under my feet. sith that god giveth me strength for to go in battle against them/ & i shall never cease to pray. to th'end that the will of our lord be accomplished ¶ how th'angel spoke to pachomyen famylierly/ & begynnyth ¶ quodam vero tempore. caplm. lxxii it happened that the holy man being in prayer. the angel came to speak to him & said. ¶ pachomyen thou knowest the will of god to be such. that in serving him with pure thought. thou govern all them that been or shall be under the after the rule which is delivered to thee/ ¶ now had he received long time tofore a table. in which was written this that followeth/ ¶ the rules of the religious hermits delivered by an angel to saint pachomyen/ and beginneth in latin ¶ singulis juxta vires. caplm lxxiii first it was commanded to saint pachomyen. that he should suffer his religiouses to eat & drink after them comple●yon/ and that he should make them to labour/ after that they eat little or moche ¶ also he should not defend them for to fast. and to them that should eat best he should impose most greatest charge/ but to the feeble & wryke he should commise the little charges ¶ also the angel charged him that he should make for his religiouses divers habitations in which should dwell three together. & their meet should be made ready in one place only. and that all together should take their refection. and that in the night they should take & were an habyllement of lyunen. which should strain their reins. & with that they should have skins of ghotes. and that without vestiments or clothes. they should not eat drink ne sleep/ but when they would receive the sacrament of the altar. a●synge & say mass. they might all d● of safe only their gewne. and when they should take their refections. that each of them should cover his heed with his gown. to the end that none of them should see another eat/ ¶ also that none of them should speak while they eat. by cause they should not torn their mind on other part. ¶ and furthermore that they sing or say every day in the morning twelve orisons. and as much at even. and in like wise at midnight twelve/ ¶ and how well the pachomyen said to the angel that it was well lityll if they said not moo prayers. nevertheless the angel said to him that he would not command them any more. to the end that they that should be feeble & little devout might lightly do it without exculaconn of their feebleness. but they that were mighty & strong were not to be excused by this law in manner. but that they were ●ounde to say more ¶ when th'angel had der●●red all this aforesaid. suddenly he vanished away fro him. & the holy man which fond himself certain of the said vision the which he had seen three times rendered graces to god/ ¶ and after he induced his religious monks to live after ye●hangell had showed unto him/ & with that he gaaf unto them many other doctrines and among all other he said to them. that sith they were religious it were necessary to them to leave the world. their parents. & also themself. to th'end that they might lightly bear the cross & follow their good master our saviour & redeemer ihan christ/ and by his good words & ensamples all the religious bare before them the frnytes of holy penance for how well that he was right old/ yet for that abstained he not to do. & notwithstanding he died many abstinences. and more than any of the other/ yet he took upon him the business & charge of all tother in serving them after his power/ ¶ at the hour when they ought to eat he covered the tables. and served them like as the custom was in their religion/ in like wise he laboured the gardens. sew the seeds for cabochiss & coleworts/ & watered them/ ¶ and if any knocked at the door of the church. he was the first ready to open it/ ¶ he served them that were seek. and administered to them their necessities/ ¶ in doing these things he gave ensample of humility to all his disciples/ and occasion to serve not only to their ancients and elders. but also to them that came after them to the religion/ ¶ also he admonested to exercise them after their vocation & calling/ and commanded them to make continually praises. and estudye hesyly in especial in the holy gospels/ to the end that thereby they might acustome them gladly in the commandments of god and to love him above all things heartily. and pain them for to accomplish them in getting of virtues for finably to obtain the joy & felicity eternal/ ¶ of three men that came to saint pachomyen. and beginneth in latin ex●●nt autem. caplm lxxiiii. it happened that three men/ that one named postentesus. that other suries. and the third oblys came for to visit the holy hermit pachomyen. the which by his words & by ensamples of holy life moved them to do penance/ ¶ and when they had contempled his bounty. that one of them said to the other/ ¶ certainly we know now that they err openly. that say that the children ensiew & follow the manners of their faders & moders/ and say not well/ for oft-times of evil father & evil mother descend right good children: as it appeareth by this holy man pachomyen. which is so just. that in his life he never broke any of the commandments of god/ and nevertheless he is extract & descended of the lineage of paynims & idolaters all contrary to the law of god/ and against them that have foolish imaginations. saying that they have good to do. well or evil/ for if they ought to be saved. they shall be saved/ and if they ought to be dampened they shall so be/ these been fools and enraged/ for we find in holy scripture. our blessed saviour to have said/ ¶ come to me ye that been charged with many evils. and i shall discharge you/ and in this saying. he excepted not one/ ¶ also he will not the death of a sinner/ and therefore every one ought to persevere in his goodness to his lives end/ ¶ these three men came again afterward to the holy man. praying him that he would tell them the cause wherefore he took that pain upon him to serve all his religiouses/ whereat he answered. saying to them in this wise/ ¶ when men will learn a mare or some other be'st for to bear a great burden. they give her first a little charge and after by continuance men increase her burden/ for who should first give her almoche as she might bear. she haply would not endure with it. but should be rebel/ ¶ all thus must i do to my brethren. which god hath give me to keep in a good rule/ ¶ first i give them a little charge. and after by example i show to them how they ought to do. when they have seen the burden that i have borne now/ i have be long ●●fore them in this monastery/ and they been come them but a while agoon/ wherefore i ought to bear a more charge than they done now/ ¶ how he received many one to the state of religion/ and beginneth in latin ¶ regulas igitur et cetera. caplm lxxvi afterward by the grace of god that benygnly calleth every one to do penance/ came many devout persons to the holy man. for to live solitarily with him/ among which came paul/ another pachomyen. and one named johan. the which lived there a holy life and honest without any spot of sin/ after this he stablished some for to have the governance and rule of the monastery/ and principally the most virtuous & humble above the other/ ¶ and said the holy man. that like as a sp●●cle of fire that falleth among an keep of sheaves of corn may not be but with great paint quenched. and often times it is seen that it burneth all the hoo●e heap/ in like wise if in a religion be some religiouses that change there thoughts to that cursed vice of ambition/ desiring to be first and principal in the order/ and to have there great offices/ ¶ if from their heart thus inflamed they put not away soon the bronde of this evil suggestion rihtlyghtly/ they lose incontinent that they have sought by long time afore ¶ and for this cause the holy man would not consent nor suffer that the one should have any lordship or premynence over the other/ and namely upon a solemn. feeste/ ¶ and to the end that this inordinate affection were take fro them. and will to precede that one the other/ he made a priest to come that was not of that monastery. for to do there the office and service. that should administer them the sacraments/ ¶ and more over he said. that it is better to live in charity and in humility. than in disordinate worship/ ¶ and if some clerk or priest came to him for to be religious. he made to him honour after his estate/ and like as it aperteyneth to a man of the church/ ¶ of the humility of saint pachomyen. to the chapiter that beginneth in latin ¶ omnes autem et cetera/ caplm lxxvi. the humility of the holy father pachomyen was so great. that all the servants of god he honoured and loved ¶ to the old to the seek. and to the little he died all ghostly and bodily services/ counseylling and comforting them for the salvation of their soul's/ ¶ and so he seeing that the number of his religiouses increased/ he made and constituted some of them his coadiutours and helpers/ and other he ordained as priors for to help him to save their soul's/ and teaching them the rules to him given by the angel ¶ he constrained them all to be very obedient: and to have the dread of god in their hearts ¶ and when he that had the governance and charge of the works of the monastery was faylling in any thing/ the good holy father pachomyen took the charge upon him/ and amended the fault. as servant of all the other. not for to seem meek by vainglory/ but by very affection and good love/ ¶ of the charity of saint pachomyen/ to the chapter which beginneth ¶ quodam vero tempore et cetera caplm lxxvii. saint pachomyen was much pitiful. and chartable/ he seeing that in the places being night to his monastery were many folk that occupied them in none other wise but to keep the beasts/ without coming to church/ and without receiving of their creature/ came to one named pyceryen. bishop of the cen●●ryens/ and gaaf him counsel that he should do build a church in the same place/ where as thighs pastors or shepherds dwelled/ to the end that they should be for this cause more inclined. and devout to pray god/ and to receive there their rights and sacraments of the church/ and thus made the bishop to be done/ ¶ but by cause that there were no clerks not yet. that died the service of the church/ he and some of his religiouses came to visit them/ and showed them some histories of the holy scripture/ ¶ and by this he excited and moved the good persons to devotion so that by his doctrine many were converted to the faith. and his charity was spread aswell upon the misbelieved people. as upon the christian folk/ ¶ for when he saw any men or women that were heretics. or out of the true believe. he wept/ praying god for them that he would torn them/ ¶ of the condemnation of some scriptures of origenes/ the chapytre beginning ¶ per idem tempus et cetera caplm lxxviii the same time achanase that perfect was and replenished of all virtues. was bishop of alexandria/ the which as he visited the churches/ preaching the christian faith/ came to the place where saint pachomyen was/ ¶ which knowing of his coming acompanyed of all his religiouses/ came with great gladness against the said achanase. singing ympnes and orisons/ and was received of him and of his religiouses right gladly/ ¶ but the good holy father pachomyen showed not himself to him/ but bid him among his religiouses/ by cause that the bishop of the centiryens. of whom i● spoken above had said much good of him unto saint athanase. which had be strongly persecuted of the heretics arians/ ¶ and by cause the said holy man pachomyen was very devout & a good christian man. also that he knew well the persecutions that the said athanase had suffered by the arriens this pachomyens which with all his might bare and maintained the true christian folk/ approved strongly the conditions and holy living of saint athanase/ and heartily levied him/ and had the obstinate heretics in fore great indignation/ and principally orygenes. that was chased out of the church by eraclius bishop of alexandria/ ¶ orygenes by his false doctrine had given many untrueful teachings contrary to the holy scripture/ ¶ for like as they that will give poison to drink. put honey among it for to have away the evil taast. and the bitterness thereof from the tongue/ to the end that it may be drunk more lightly/ ¶ so died the said orygenes. the which said and brought forth fair and honest propositions but he corrupted them by false expositions. that was cause of the loss of moche christian people/ ¶ wherefore the holy man pachomyen deffended. not only to his religiouses that they should not read in none of this orygenes books/ but also he would that if some other died read them. they should not here them by no means. what somever sentence it were/ ¶ one time among his books he found of the said orygenes volumes/ which incontinent he died cast in to a water saying/ if it were not by cause that the name of god is writ in the books of orygenes. i should brene them all/ ¶ by this appeareth the charity which he had to the holy believe and faith of christendom/ ¶ when some religious blamed his fellow. he would not hear him/ but fled from him as much as he could/ considering the word of the psalmyste saying/ i shall persecute him that shall bakbyte his even christian/ ¶ and he said that a good person should never speak none evil word ¶ and to this purpoos he alleged many histories. principally of one machayre. which in blaming moses was incontinent punished by the hand of god/ ¶ of the monastery that saint pachomien died build for his sister. and beginnyth in latin ¶ comperit igitur caplm lxxix. the sister germayne of the said holy man pachomyen desiring to see him. went to his monastery/ weening to her that he as glad of her coming. should receive and treat her humaynly/ but he sent word to her by the porter/ that he was hole and sound/ but he would not see her with his bodily eyen/ and more over that if she would forsake the world. and serve god/ he should do build a house for to lodge her. where she should do penance/ and that he doubted not if she would begin to live there a holy life regular that many other women should yield themself to serve god with her/ ¶ and she hearing these words from her brother. she was replenished at heart with so great compunction and such contrition that she promised to serve god all her life/ ¶ wherefore the holy man seeing that she was all ready turned. gave graces & thankings to our lords ¶ and after he commanded his brethren that they should make her a chapel far enough from his monastery/ ¶ so it happened soon after by the grace of god that from all provinces & countries came women that yielded themself to religion with the said sister of saint pachomyen the which he admonested to resist always against the fleshly temptations ¶ and in like wise after the cunning that god had give him he foreyd him to excite them to virtues & good manners/ praying god that it would please him to preserve them in his grace/ ¶ more over he gave to them such and like rules as his religiouses died keep/ save that they should not were no gretes fellis/ and if any religious had a sister. or some other kin. which she would visit/ she should not go there. but that she took with her one of the eldest of the religion/ ¶ and they ought not to speak together/ but in the presence of the abbess. or else of some of th'elder religiouses/ ¶ nor she should not bear ne give no thing out of their houses ¶ for the religiouses aswell the men as the women ought not fro that time to have no thing of their own ¶ and if by adventure they should of necessity make some reparations. they chose the most perfect and of most honest conversation for to see that that was of need should be do/ but they eat not drank with the other/ ¶ and when by the will of god some nun derparted from life to death/ her fellows brought her unto the rivage of a river that parted the two monasteries and then came the monks against them there/ which took the corpse of the nun for to be buried within their church/ and the women of the religion returned to their abbey/ ¶ of the conversation of theodore/ to the chapter which beginneth in latin ¶ her talis/ caplm lxxx. thorough all the country and about it. the conversation of saint pachomyen was so re●ōrned. that many act the example of him forsook the world. for to live a religious life/ ¶ and among the other a young child named theodore. borne of the land of egypte. extract and come of noble parent's/ christian folk and of the age of xiiii. year or there about/ from the which age upon a twellyfth day. that some egepcyens made great feast and great divers. the good theodore seeing the house of his father and mother full of goods/ said by great compunction of heart in himself/ ¶ what prouffytyth the unhappy if he getyth all the goods of this world. and he loseth the joy of paradise/ ¶ none with great pain the will use at his pleysure of the good of this world. can not get the heavenly glory ¶ this thinking in his heart he began to weep and sigh. saying to our blessed saviour ihesu christ/ ¶ o god almighty thou knowest all things secret/ thou knowest that i love not so much worldly thing as thyself/ i pray the my god that it please the to kindle my poor simple soul. so that she that is maculate with sin be not dampened/ but she which was bought with thy bitter passion he attendaunte and ready in all her works to worship and love the perpetuelly/ ¶ and during the time that he was in his oryson· and that he wep●e in this wise. came his mother to him that said. ¶ my son what is he that hath made the thus sorry/ thy father & i have sought the long time in great heaviness for to come take thy refection with us/ ¶ he answered my mother go your ways. i may not eat now. ¶ and finably forgetting himself. and awaiting about devout contemplations. he went not to dyner/ ¶ from the time of his childhood. & that he went to school he eat no meetetyll even was come/ ¶ some time he fasted two days without any meet/ ¶ he was two year without delicate meets. living in perfect continence/ ¶ and fromthens fourth he purposed to leave the world. and yielded himself to be shorn a monke· and forsook and left all temporal goods/ and after put hymselff with some religiouses. living holily & devoutly with them in great dread & love of god/ ¶ how theodore was received of saint pachomyen/ to the chapter beginning in latin ¶ quodam vero caplm lxxxi. it happened one day among other. that the brethren and religiouses of the monastery where as was theodore/ after devout orisons disputed of the old testament of the ark of noe. of the rod of aaron/ and of the tables that were given to moses in the mountain of synay. where the body of saint katherine lieth/ and thenne one of the same religiouses said. that many times he had heard speak of it well along to the holy man pachomyen/ and with this they rehearsed of him. and of his holy living marvelous things ¶ theodore hearing this that they said of him these religiouses prayed to god in his heart. and said ¶ my god if it be true that my brethren say of saint pachomyen. give me grace that i may see him/ to th'end that i may keep all thy commandments and afterward to be saved/ as thou haste promised to them that shall love and dread thee/ ¶ certain days after came to the said monastery a man named pecusus that came for to inquire of the good behaving and devotion of the said religiouses/ ¶ and by cause that theodore was informed that he went to the monastery of the holy man pachomyen/ he prayed him be silly to take him in his company/ this pecusius seeing his affection entreated him meekly. and brought him unto the said monastery of saint pachomyen/ ¶ then this theodore coming night the said monastery. thanked god of that it had pleased him to here his prayer so readily/ for he desired no thing so much as to see saint pachomyen/ ¶ and as they were come to the gate he and his fellow/ there fond him there/ so began theodore to weep sore in the presence of the holy man pachomyen. of the great joy that he had to see him/ the holy man said to him my son. thou art well simple to weep so/ for i am a sinner as thyself/ how well that god hath take me in to his service/ and in saying this he brought him within his monastery/ ¶ and when he saw the great multitude of religiouses that were there/ his heart was inflamed and take of a love so perfectly/ that he was as in a jealousy to use his life in that place/ ¶ he was discrete and prudent in his words & works plenteous in humility in compunction of heart and in operaconns' virtues. as in fastings. watchings. & orisons in which he spend his time continually. ¶ and with this he comforted the sory· and the sinners by humbly correction friendly he admonested and warned/ ¶ how theodore refused to see his mother/ and beginneth in latin ¶ devique tam preclaram/ caplm lxxxii. saint pachomyen when he saw the holy conversation of theodore. he loved him with all his heart. ¶ the mother of this theodore having knowledge that he was with the said saint pachomyen came anon there for to see him bearing with her letters fro many bishops/ by the which they wrote well pressyly that her son should be delivered to her again ¶ so came she first to the monastery of the women/ that was nigh ynouh the monastery of saint pachomyen/ & by cause that the women went never to his monastery/ she wrote unto him that he should send her her son again/ and with this she sent him the letters that the bishops wrote unto him that they should do so/ ¶ the holy man seeing the said letters. sent for theodore/ to whom he exposed the tenor of the same/ and commanded him to go his way aswell for to please his mother. as for to obey the bishops commandment/ theodore answered unto saint pachomyen/ ha my father i demand the if now i leave the estate of religion. which is so much fruitful/ and without which with great pain any can not be saved/ shall i not be thereof reproved at the day of doom afore god/ ¶ we have in the gospel/ that who some ever shall love his father or mother more than god/ he shall not be worthy to be made his servant/ saint pachomien answered/ my son. if thou seem that thou dost against thy conscience to speak with thy mother/ i will well that thou abide here/ but also if thou be otherwise disposed/ i will not keep the by force. ¶ the rule of the very religiouses is for to forsake all together the world. and to flee all worldly conversations/ ¶ and therefore he that would say my father & my mother arn my blood i ought to love them/ he must take heed to saint paul that saith/ whosonever that shall be overcome by the flesh. he shall be servant to the flesh/ and in effect every body become thrall unto him of whom he letyth himself to be brought under foot/ ¶ his mother seeing that she might not speak with him purposed to dwell with the virgins that had their place nigh the said monastery where her son was a relygouse. hoping by god's grace that she should see him among the other religiouses/ and also that in this doing she should purchase some meed to the salvation of her soul/ during the time that she were in the monastery with the said vyrgynes/ ¶ and by this that is said appeareth openly/ that to keep some time rigour in the worship of ihesu christ and not for no praising ne vainglory. is oft cause of great goods to them against the which men been rigorous. how be it that for a short space of time it seemeth them that men have offended them/ ¶ of many reproved religiouses/ to the chapter beginning in latin ¶ igitur sicut/ caplm lxxxiii. aafter that we have seen of the manners and virtues of many virtuous and holy freres. consequently we shall see the negligence of some reproved religiouses that followen after their fleshly appetite out of all good rule/ the which gave great malencolyes to saint pachomyen/ by cause that for no manner of monition ne warnings that he made to them. they would not return them/ whereby the holy man was wonderfully sorrowful and heavy/ ¶ and complaining him to god. he said/ ¶ o my god that haste lordship over all the world/ thou commandest us to love our even christian/ and therefore my god that knowest my will and the secret of my conscience/ i pray the that thou wilt not despise my orison. the which oft i have made unto the for these wretchydfull religiouses. to the end that thou have of them pity and mercy. in giving to them thy dread reverently/ and grace to know thy divine puissance. for to obey and serve thee/ having in the only without any other the steadfast hope of their salvation/ ¶ truly my soul is feebled and tormented so moche. and all my w●ttes troubled. of their abominable living and innyquyte/ ¶ the holy man seeing they would not amend them/ he made yet again prayers unto god for them/ and after gave to them certain small & easy rules. to learn them to honour & pray god/ to the intent that little and little they might accustom them to do well/ and amend their life/ ¶ furthermore seeing that they could not accomplish their delectations and playsures withstanding the continual denying of saint pachomyen/ that suffered them never go out of the monastery. for to please their wicked wills/ they for look the monastery. and ensyewed the devil their lord and master/ ¶ and after that the other relgyouses were more desirous in the love of god than afore/ ¶ for thus as the corn when it is wedded from the evil herbs groweth and multiplieth the better/ ¶ in like wise when in a fellowship of folk peaceable are some vicious men/ it is of necessity to throw them out from the other/ ¶ and by this it is seen that to a man given to the world. avayllyth him not to be a religious/ for his profession shall do him no profit. if he be negligent to keep the rules of his religion/ ¶ in like wise a prayer profiteth not that is made for them that been asleep in their sins if they help not to awake themself/ ¶ how religiouses of other monasteries coming to visit the monastery of saint pachomien were not received in to the said place among the dwellers/ and beginneth in latin ¶ confessor etc. caplm lxxxiiii there was a priest named denys. that was confessor provysor and admynystratour of of the church of the centyryens/ and well beloved of the holy man pachomyen/ ¶ the which denys knowing and aperceyving that this holy man deferred and put of for to gather within his monastery with his brethren. the religiouses that camen to him from other monasteries/ but made their necessities to be administered to them by themself. and without the gates of his monastery/ reproved him sharply in saying to him/ that he died not well to do so/ ¶ the holy man took and received benignly his correction/ and answered to him ¶ my brother and friend. god knoweth my will. and mine intention/ and also he knoweth well how i desire the salvation of all souls/ and none i would despise ne provoke to wrath/ ¶ i know also that god hath said in his gospel/ that this that men shall do to the least of his servants/ he shall take it in like wise as it were done to himself/ ¶ and therefore wite it. that i do not so for to contemn them ne despise them/ but only by cause that i know some religiouses in my church so simple that they should not con put difference between their right hand and lift hand/ ¶ and yet some other there been also that bear not the habit of religion/ wherefore me seemeth good and needful that they that been coming to us from other places be received honestly in another house by ours/ ¶ and when they will come to the church to serve god. they may come there with us/ and after the service divine done. to return in to their lodges/ for to do there their secret orations or other virtuous works after their devotion ¶ the priest hearing his answer was content of him/ and went again away. all recomforted and with good counsell/ ¶ how the gown of saint pachomyen heeled folk of the bloody flux/ and beginneth in latin ¶ mulier et cetera caplm lxxxiiii. in the city of the centiryens a woman had had & suffered by a long space a sickness called the bloody flux/ so came she to the good priest above named/ and by cause he was familiar friend of saint pachomyen· prayed him humbly that it would please him to send for the holy man pachomyen that was in his chamber. saying that he had certain necessary things to tell him/ ¶ saint pachomyen came to the sending of the said priest/ and when he was come with in the church. he made his prayer & after he salved the good priest denys/ & as they spoke together. the poor woman having a steadfast believe in god the saith in the gospel/ have confidence & thy faith shall save the. took fro behind of the vestiment that the holy father had upon his heed. & touched it with great dread/ whereof it happened merueilousli that she was anon heeled hole & sound/ so fell she down upon her knees afore saint pachomyen & thanked god of th●● that he made so great miracles by his servants that have to him a steadfast hope ¶ the devout priest knowing yt●o man hole praised the name of god/ & went again homeward/ ¶ how saint pachomyen by his de●●nay●te was cause of the good life of a religious/ and it beginneth in latin ¶ aliquando vero et cetera caplm lxxxv. certain days after a religious that would be a priest. was brought to saint pachomien by one his friend/ that was minister at abbot of many religiouses/ ¶ and the which minister or abbot was oft vexed by the same religious/ for by cause he would not confirm ne grant the clerkly shearing/ the which then he deferred long/ by cause it seemed him not the said religious to be able ne suffysaunte for to be promoted there unto/ ¶ finably by cause he could no longer resist to his importunyte/ brought him to saint pachomyen/ trusting that he should well content him/ ¶ saint pachomyen when he had understand the intention of the said abbot he said to him ¶ my brother thou art come to me for as know the will of god/ i counsel she that thou give to him that that he asketh/ and by adventure thus doing his soul shall be delivered fro the thraldom of the devil ¶ for some time the wicked so constituted in office or benefit turn themself and take good manners/ ¶ and therefore the will of god is. that we shall have pity the one of that other/ ¶ the answer well understand/ the said abbot confirmed and gaaf him that that he asked. ¶ after that the said religious was constituted to a clerk. he began all together to bow to all good conditions/ and afterward he came again to the holy man pachomyen/ and kneeling down afore him said/ ¶ o man of god i know that thou art much agreeable to god/ when he doth grant the power for to discern & know of the salvation of men/ ¶ thy bounty hath vanquished my malice/ for if thou had not be piteous and sweet i should have left the habit of religion. and should have gone again to the world to finish my days wretchedly/ whereof blessed be thou of god/ by the which thou haste given salvation to my soul/ ¶ the holy father took him up from the earth and said to him/ ¶ my brother i pray the that thou continue always in works behoving and appertaining to thy dygnytee/ and so kissed him/ and commended him to god/ ¶ how saint pachomyen delivered a woman sore traveled of the devil and beginneth in latin ¶ adhuc autem & cetera/ caplm lxxxvi. saint pachomyen being yet in the said place. came a man to him that prayed him sweetly that he would have pity of his daughter/ the which was vexed and traveled with the devil/ ¶ the holy man entered within his monastery. and left this man at the gate/ and after he sent him word by the porter. that he not his religious were not wont to visit any women/ ¶ and if he had any of her raiments that he should send it to him/ and it should be hallowed and blessed/ and after in putting the same upon her/ if he had in god faithful believe and hope/ his daughter by the grace of god might be delivered of the send. and brought to good recovering of health/ ¶ the father brought the gown of his said daughter and when the holy man saw it/ he said to him that it was not hers/ the father answered. and said it was ¶ then said the good holy father to him/ ¶ by cause i know that she keep not her chastity/ therefore i said. that it was not her gown/ for she ought to live chastely/ so must she promise to live in continence/ and after god shall help her/ ¶ the father questioned his daughter/ and she answered that the words of the holy man were true/ ¶ but notwithstanding she promised. that she should never return to her sin/ ¶ then took saint pachomyen an oil and blessed it. and gave it to her father/ ¶ and after that she was anointed with the same oil. she was hole and sound/ and so she lived afterward holily in great chastity and continence/ ¶ how he healed a child that was traveled with the fiend/ and beginneth in latin ¶ tali igitur et cetera caplm lxxxvii. after this another man that had his son seek. having the devil in his body. purposed to lead him for to recover his health to the monastery of saint pachomyen/ but he could not/ for the devil letted him/ wherefore he desired me●● the holy man that he would pray go for his son. and he died so/ and 〈◊〉 he sent him a little of hallowed breed and commanded that men should give it him to eat afore all other meet ¶ the spirit dampened that was within the body of the foresaid child. would not suffer him to eat of it. how well that he let him eat of the other breed his fill/ ¶ then the father weening to make his son eat of this hallowed breed. broke the crumbs in his hand/ but it availed not/ for he would not take it in his mouth ¶ the father advised him that he should let his son fast long/ and after he gave to him of the said breed/ and then for great hungres he eat of it/ ¶ soon after he fell a sleep. and was heeled. and all together delivered of the passion of the devil/ ¶ so came he and yielded graces and thankings to the holy man pachomyen. in glorifying the name of god. that doth so many miracles by his servants/ ¶ always the holy man for no miracle that he died in the name of god/ never glorified himself for it ¶ and whereof he is more to be praised/ when he made some request to god. notwithstanding it were not granted to him men should never have known in him any sign of sorrow or displeasure/ but said by his great meekness. that god would not grant him that which he axed/ by cause that his asking might be contrary to his salvation/ ne to the salvation of them. for whom he prayed/ notwithstanding that he trowed to asked that that was good for the soul/ ¶ of the conversion of saint syluayn/ and beginneth in latin ¶ taliter igitur et cetera/ caplm lxxxviii. saint syluayn willing to torn him out of the filth of sin for take clean poverty/ came and yielded himself to saint pachomyen/ which friendly received him but this notwithstanding he would not keep the rules of the religiouses ¶ for it was over hard a thing to him for to forget his evil customs/ of the time passed/ by the which he perverted many brethren/ and bowed them to his wicked will. ¶ some religiouses were right sorry of that they saw the other religiouses consenting to the detestable will of syluayn/ ¶ so came they and showed it to the holy father pachomien· that which prayed god for the said syluayn. to the end he should have contrition for his sin: and that he should do penance but for no prayer he would not plyene consent thereto/ and for this cause they all would have chased him out of the monastery/ the holy father defferred it & lad him with him/ and sin after corrected him with sweet words teaching him always in the christian faith/ whereof it happened sin that the poor syluayn/ as by singular grace amended his wicked life. & had it in so great displeasure. that he was never without tears in all his works/ ¶ some seeing his great contrition. showed unto him that he angered himself to bitterly. and exhorted him to be moderate in his weepings. taking in him attemperance/ but he answered that he could not/ for his heart was so sore taken with great displeasure/ that he might not contain himself/ and moreover by cause he could not abstain himself fro weeping/ as well at the board as else where/ the brethren said to him that he should weep in making his holy orisons. & not at the table/ for it was no place p●op●e ne covenable to weep ne weyle/ and that a religious might well have sorrow & displeasure for his sin by himself alone. without to show it thus openly/ and admonested him to abstain himself thereof/ by cause the brethren might not eat. when they saw him weep so/ ¶ such and semblable words they said to him. for to constrain him to tell the cause. for which he continued so long in his weyllynges and lamentations/ ¶ and thenne he said to them/ my brethren. why should not i weep in joying myself of the grace that my god hath done to me/ ¶ i was wont to be full of sins. and so many benefits are now given unto me for the salvation of my soul/ ¶ dathan and a●yron been continually in my remembrance/ to the confusion of the which. by cause they were defoiled and polluted with sin and would have touched the holy sacrifice. the earth opened and swallowed them in/ ¶ and i that have despised so much my salvation. i fear yet right sore such a sentence of god/ alas though i should weep and weylle mine innyquyte all my life days. and that i were in continual lamentations/ yet should i be unworthy to have the felicity eternal/ ¶ the good ●yluayn continued in his humility and continence so that he was more perfit than all the other/ ¶ and saint pachomyen seeing his holy conversation said in the presence of all the other such words. ¶ my brethren i call god to witness. the angels. and all the ●urt of heaven. that sith our monastery was founded i have not known no brother of ours. that hath be so much obeissant to me. as hath one about all the other/ the brethren thought that it had be theodore. or pe●ronyen ●or orose/ ¶ theodore prayed saint pachomyen that he would tell. what he was that he loved so moche/ but the holy man deferred to tell it him/ nevertheless when he saw that theodore can strained him so sore/ he said to him ¶ if i crowed that he should ar●yse himself in vainglory therefore. i should never declare it to him/ but by cause i know that the virtue praised. often times encreacyth. and that he shall be more humble for it than he was before ¶ also to the end that other take ensample at him. i shall name him unto thee/ so i tell the. that how be it thyself and thy semblable have battled strongly against the devil. so that by the grace of god/ ye have overcome. & brought him under your feet/ nevertheless syluayn young of age. that thy brethren and thyself would put out of our monastery. hath fought in such wise against him. that he hath this gift of god. that the devil dare never show himself afore his face/ and by his great humility he hath overcome him in all things/ ¶ ye other have confidence in your virtues/ but he. the more that he batayllyth. he yeldyth himself the more meek & unprofitable/ and if thou demand why he wept so continually/ i tell the that it is by cause he is perfectly meek/ and for this cause he can not forbear his tears/ ¶ so wit it that there is no virtue. that maketh the devil more confuse/ than the virtue of very and perfect humility ¶ the good syluayn was by the space of viii. year in befighting his enemy satan/ and after he died/ and saint pachomyen witnessed. that at his passing were present many angels. that with great joy bore his soul away in to the glory that ever shall last/ the which by his prayers we may purchase. amen ¶ how the holy man commanded that a deed body should be unclothed of his vestiments/ and beginneth in latin ¶ eodem vero tempore/ caplm. lxxxx. in the city of panos was a bishop. named varus that was right devout & fervent in the love of ihesu christ: the which heard speak of the conversacoyn of saint pachomyen/ so wrote he to him many letters by that which among other things he desired & prayed him to come toward him. for to give him counsel & aid to build a church nigh to his city/ and for to lodge there some religiouses that were of good life & of conversation good/ in obeying to the which request he took on his way toward the said bishop/ and as he was come nigh a monastery. which he visited by the way. he met with many religiouses that conveyed the corpse of one of their brethren that was deceased. which his friends bare to the earth. clothed with rich raiments. which were after the manner doing. that the secular had there acustomed/ when they saw saint pachomyen come. they tarried incontinent for to pray him that he would make devout prayers & orisons to god. aswell for the deed. as for them. which he died gladly/ and his orison done he commanded that men should take away fro the religious that was deacessed the raiments of the which he was clothed/ it was done as he commanded/ and incontinent in the presence of them all he made the vestyments to be burned and after he made the corpse to be borne to the grave without any singing of any psalmody/ ¶ the religiouses & also the friends of the deed seeing his commandment to be contrary to their custom. were sore abashed/ and notwithstanding his commandment they prayed him that he would suffer the said religiouses to say the orisons & psalmodies in such case accustomed/ to the which petition the holy man would not consent/ whereof the friends seeing his will blamed him asking him whereof the folly came/ the● after said the religiouses/ what is that man but he ought to have pite on a deed body/ though it were his enemy. what will thenne do pachomien. a be'st unreasonable would not be so unkind/ what may men say/ that it were to us a great reproof if we died this that he saith/ would god that we had never come here/ & that pachomyen had never be religious we should not have had such a shame. so said they to him again we pray the fair father that it will please the to consent the men sing over this corpse as it is of custom/ the holy man answered certes my brethren ye think not but to the things visible/ & i consider thinvisible/ the worship that ye would do to him should sooner be to him more cause of torment & labour than other help or rest/ & thinjury that ye say i will do to him shall be cause of his salvation/ wherefore i will not procure ne assent that men make honour to the body that is all ready deed. but to his soul which is immortal. god that is fontayne of all sapience/ saith in his gospel. who soever shall sin against the holy ghost· he shall never have remission in this world nor in the other/ by this is give us to understand that there be some sins. of the which men have pardon after the death through the prayers of other/ & therefore i pray you that ye do as i have told you/ for god is almighty to take him in to the felicity eternal at our prayers & without his presence/ and thus they made him to be buried in a mountain there they were wont to berry. ¶ how the holy man pachomien saw the angels bear away the soul of a religious in to paradise/ & beginneth in latin ¶ moratus est/ caplm lxxxxi. in the said city of panos & in the monasteries about. by the commandment of the bishop of the said city. during the space of two. year dwelled saint pachomyen. acompanyed of two religious/ hanging the which time he taught the people. exciting the folk to dread god. & to fight against the devil by virtuous works/ ¶ in this mean while was showed to him. that a religious of one of his monasteries was take with a grievous sickness. and was asking after his last blessing/ and incontinent he came to them that had brought him these tidings/ & took his way with them for to go visit this poor religious/ ¶ when he was come three mile nigh the monastery/ he heard in the air a song much melodious/ and heaving his sight toward heaven. he saw the soul of the said religious borne by the angels in a cart compassed with a marvelous light/ the fellows of the holy man that heard no thing. seeing that he had his visage toward the east/ & had fixed his sight so long thitherward. asked him why he tarried so long in one place/ saying to him that he should come fourth a pace as goodly as he might/ to th'end he should succour the poor patient/ whereat he answered. we shall do no thing there/ for i see his soul with th'angels that bear it in to heaven/ ¶ the which words said ●●re of the said felyshipp went to the said monastery. and inquired the hour of the death of the said religious/ and by his inquisition/ he fond that the same religious was deceased in the same hour that the same holy man had said it/ ¶ how some were brent by fire divine by cause they letted the building of a monastery· & begynyth in latin ¶ sanctus ergo/ caplm lxxxxii. the holy man pachomyen accompanied of some of his religiouses. went toward the said bishop of panos. that received him honourably making great solemnity of his coming/ and after many devout words said between them. the bishop gave him certain ground & places for to build monasteries after his good discretion/ he began to build one. round about the which he caused to be made a great wall. to th'intent the men should not enter in it lightly/ so happened that some wicked shrews tempted by then mye of hell came to this place/ weening to break that that was begun/ but the angel of god suddenly embraced them with fire divine & wasted them as small as ashes/ and after this the freres builded there at their will and no man was not sith so hardy. that durst let them in making their edifyces ¶ the holy man after they were achieved. ordained there religiouses. to the which he preposed & gave for abbot the holy man samuell· that was right wise. meek & recicatyf/ but nevertheless by cause that the said monasteries were builded in the fields. the holy father would dwell there till that he could know/ that there that he had ordained for to dwell there were somewhat disposed to receive the grace of our lord ihu christ/ ¶ of the inquisitions of a philosopher/ and beginneth in latin ¶ interea/ caplm lxxxxiii. hanging this time was a philosopher in the said city of panos that would inquire & wite of the conversation of the religiouses/ so he saw some. to that which he said call me your father abbot. i w●ll appose & dispute with him of some necessary things/ ¶ the holy man seeing that it was a philosopher. he would not go. but sent to him cornylle & theodore his religiouses/ to whom he commanded that they should answer prudently to his questions & answers/ when they were come to the phylosophre. he began to say ye have great rendmee & are wise and prudent/ and so ye keep besily the rules of your religion/ & therefore i will appose you of that ye read every day whereat theodore answered him/ now say what thou wilt/ ¶ thenne the philosopher asked him if he had science enough for to answer to the questions that he should ask him/ and theodore said unto him. that he should declare that which seemed him good/ ¶ the phylosophre asked him. who was. that never was born. & yet he died/ who was that was born. & yet death could never overcome him/ who was that was deed. & yet he never rooted/ ¶ the holy man theodore answered/ o phylosophre thy questions been light to soylle. and light to be answered/ ¶ as to the first. i answer the that it was adam/ to the second it was enoch which is in paradise in earth/ and to the third i say/ that it was the wife of loth that was turned in to a mass of salt/ the which is yet there as she was so turned. for the confusion of them that would not believe it. ¶ and therefore said theodore/ my friend think no more to such foolish sciences/ for the science of this world is but folly afore god/ butler worship & believe the god that we believe/ ¶ when the phylosophre had heard his answer. he was sore marveled/ and after that he aposed him no more/ ¶ of the abstinence of the religiouses/ and begynnynth in latin ¶ provide pachomius/ caplm lxxxxiiii. the holy father pachomyen after he had be long in the said monastery. nigh by the said city/ he went to another that was governed under one of his disciples/ the religiouses well glad of his coming came against him in great joy/ & among them was a young child. the which seeing the holy father. began to cry: & said/ ¶ o father abbot sith that thou departed from our monastery. we have not eat no caboshe. neither other pottage/ the holy man said to him/ my son anger not thyself/ for i shall make some to be sudden for thee/ ¶ he went from thence to the church. where he made his prayer/ the which done he went to the coke & asked him. how long it was ago that he made any pottage for the freres & he answered that it was well two. months paste/ thenne axed the holy man of him. why he had not entreated his brethren after the rule that he had give him/ whereat the coke answered meekly. that he had done so. but that which he sod & made ready was lost. by cause none eat thereof but only the small religiouses/ and to th'end he should not be idle he with some religiouses had made about l pieces of mats/ ¶ the holy man commanded him that all the said mats should be brought afore him/ & incontinent that they were set there in an heap. he made fire to be put among them/ ¶ and thenne said to the said coke & to the other brethren/ like as ye have despised the rule that i had give to you so have i bren̄ed your labours. to the end that ye shall know what labour ye doo· when ye hate & despise the commandments that been give to you by your father abbot for the salvation of your souls ¶ wit it that they that for consideration of the godly things abstain themself to do this that is in theryr power/ they deserve great meed of god/ & by the contrary. he that absteynyth himself to do that thing. which is to him defended & forbade. not only for the defence & in terdycconn. but by some constraynyng. for nought he waiteth for any reward the refor/ ¶ but they that have many meats before them. & there as they have good appetite to eat of them. & abstain themself therefro for the love of god/ they deserve great meed/ and so do not they that forbear them only. by cause that they have none/ ¶ how saint pachomyen saw & corrected by revelation of god the evil thouztes of thanachorites that were religious heretics/ & beginneth in latin ¶ hec cum pachomius/ caplm lxxxxv. in this mean time he correcting by words some of his religiouses. the porter came to him & showed him how many religious he remytes desired to speak with him/ so he commanded that they should be let in/ & brought afore him/ ¶ after that they were entered. & by him honestly & reverently received. and their orisons done in the church. they were brought fro chamber to chambre. & saw all the oratoryes of the brethren/ ¶ and after prayed the holy man that they might speak with him secretly/ he brought them in to his own chamber/ in the which by long space. & in manner of a collation or refection spiritual. they disputed between hem of the holy scriptures/ and hanging the said collation or disputation. the holy man felt & smelled a wonderful stench & so abominable. that with great pain he might endure it/ but nevertheless by cause him seemed by their words that they were willing to speak of the holy scriptures he suffered the stench. & would not inquire whereof it came/ and they continued in this disputation so much & so long that the night drew nigh. where by these hermits were constrained to departed/ ¶ incontinent after saint pachomyen set himself to prayer & besought our lorde· that he would show to him from whence this stench came that he had felt/ so was it showed to him by the grace of god. that theresies in which they were obstinately abiding caused them so stinking. of the which thing the holy man this knowing. went anon after them. & so besily sped his way that he overtook them/ and this done he asked theym· if they had not studied in the books of orygenes/ wheratt they answered nay/ ¶ and after he said to them/ i ensure you that all they that shall red the things by him written & that shall seek & give faith thereunto they shall have hell for their dwelling places the which thing i ensure you to be true. & ye shall know it/ therefore if ye will see for the salvation of your souls. cast all the volumes of orygenes in to the river/ ¶ after he returned to his monastery. & fond his religiouses in prayer/ ¶ of the revelation that saint pachomyen had of the governing that his religiouses should hold after his death/ and also the prelates that were to come after him/ and beginneth in latin ¶ monachis vero. et cetera caplm lxxxxvi. saint pachomyen upon a time that his religiouses took their refection. he closed himself with in his oratory. serving there god in devout orison unto thour of mydnyghte/ beseeching him that he would show unto him what thastate & rule of his religiouses should be. that that was to come to them/ and who should hold his monastery after his death/ so was to him showed of god that the said monastery should be increased/ & there should be religiouses that should live devoutly & holily. and also other that should be negligent of their salvation/ ¶ after he saw with his ghostly tie a great number of religiouses in a valley sore dark & deep/ whereof some would have stied the mountain. & tother ran a travers. & letted them so that they could not departed fro the bottom of the said valley/ some forced them to climb up. but anon they fell down again to the lowest part of the valley/ some other wept beneath/ and some came up. the which gave thanks to god of the peril that they were passed/ ¶ and therefore the holy man thought that there should be some religiouses blind/ that which should not know their estate/ the other should bear the habit of religion. but they should not do the works that long therto· namely they that should have the rule over them. should not know theimself/ whereof should follow great schisms & divisions in the church/ ¶ then saint pachomyen full sorry in great heaviness. made his calling unto god/ saeng. o my god almighty. if these things hap to come so/ why hast thou granted that so many torments should be edified & done/ ¶ alas if the prelate's been evil. what shall the religiouses do that shall be in their governance/ truly when a blind leadeth the other. they fall in the pit both at once ¶ alas that i am well unhappy. i have well laboured in vain/ my god alas remember the of the labours that i have take in building so many monasteries to th'honour & reverence of thy holy faith/ ¶ thou knowest that sith the time that i received thabit of religion. i have meeked me afore the· ¶ and saying thises words he heard a voys that said to him/ pachomyen praise not thyself for thou hast need of the grace of god. & not only thyself but also all his creatures/ anon he cast himself to the ground/ and made to god this request/ ¶ o mi god almighty i beseech the that thy meed fullness come down now upon me to th'end that i live & distourne not away fro me thy meedful face/ for thy truth & mercy hath ever received me meekly / i know sire that all things risen & fall. but if they be hold up with thine aid & defence/ ¶ and in saying this orison descended upon him a multitude of angels. among whom was a child crowned with thorns/ & seeing this vision/ the holy man pachomyen was life up by the said angels well high fro the ground in to thayre/ the said to him/ pachomyen by cause that thou hast axed the medfulnesse of god meekly. thou shalt have it even now/ behold the very redeemer ihesu cryst· that hath be sent in to this world. & crucified for the salvation of mankind/ bearing in his heed a crown of thorns/ ¶ then said the holy man. o my god. have i not crucified thee/ and god sweetly answered to him/ nay. not thyself. but thy parents. nevertheless comfort thiself/ for thy posterytee shall abide unto th'end of the world/ all they that after the shall come so that they live in devout abstinence shall be delivered of the pains of hell/ and all they that follow the & shall follow hereafter. shall shine in the light everlasting/ and the said our lord ascended again to heaven. compassed with so great a brightness that no tongue might tell/ ¶ an exhortation for to withstand the devil/ begynnyth in latin ¶ tunc pachomius etc. caplm lxxxxvii. the holy father after this gathered his brethren. and made together a service well solemn/ ¶ and after the ending of the same. they came all about him for to here his holy preaching/ ¶ so he exhorted them for to battle with all their strength & virtues against the devil so courageously that they should not be overcome showing to them that they that during their life had be slothful & negligent. should never have but weeping & wailings/ ¶ after he said to them my children let us not lose our days in vain. but in eschewing the dangerous vice of idleness. let us labour & seek virtues for to save our soul's/ i tell you plainly these words/ for if ye knew the rewards that ye shall have in heaven. if ye overcome the devil/ and to the contrary the great torments that ye shall suffer in hell. if ye be overcome of him ye should never cease neither day ne night but forge armours·s spears & shields/ and ever ye should be armed & disposed to go to the field of battle against him/ ¶ torn your days thenne better & better. & meek yourself. to th'end that when your souls shall departed fro the body. that thenn●ye have no cause to accuse it/ ¶ what profiteth to a man to raise himself by vainglory. sith that we been but ashes/ ¶ alas why are we proud/ i would fain wite sith that we be but earth & ashes/ fro whence may come our pride/ ¶ weep we my brethren weep we our great sins. during the time that we have space & time to do so/ ¶ alas let us consider the short time that we have here to abide/ and keep ourself besily in withstanding the temptations of the devil. in such wise that we have the joy which is without end/ ¶ the devil watchyth continually for to take us by stealth/ watch we thenne like as he doth/ to the end that he sleeth us not by treason/ ¶ let us all ●●ye have afore our eyes our last day which is the death. & we shall never do sin/ ¶ for who shall think well upon these things. he shall have the heart meek. & the thought pure & clean. and so shall despise pride & vainglory having away from his thought the curyosytee of the earthly things. that are perishing & corruptible/ ¶ chastise we thenne our flesh by fastings & abstinences/ and constrain our sensuality to obey in all things to reason. in restreyning our inordinate wills. in such manner that we been not inclined ne ready to do evil. but busy to live virtuously/ without to trespass one only minute/ but that it be done to the service of god to th'end that after the short pains & wretchedness of this world. we may have the joys unspeakable/ to that which for to come. let us put our eyen to tears & wailings. in watching ever more in good works/ ¶ for if we do otherwise/ certainly we shall have pains without number/ ¶ but & we will think well to it. we shall be the temple everlasting of god. & in us shall dwell the holy ghost. whereby the devil shall not give us so many assawtes/ but that we shall be more stronger than he/ for we shall have good defence. that is the kings of kings. the which suffereth never the just to perish/ ¶ after that he had comforted his religiouses. he made a little orison/ praying god that he would confirm them in peace. & keep them in his worthy grace/ and this do ●● he departed fro them/ ¶ how saint pachomyen by his merits knew the thoughts of men/ beginning cunque ꝑgerent/ caplm lxxxxviii thus as saint pachomien was going toward another monastery. named thebennense with theodore. corneylle. and many other/ he rested him in the mids of the way. as he would have spoke with some of a secret matere/ ¶ and he being as ravished/ he knew at his ghostly eye. that the religiouses of his monastery had broken one of his commandments that he had enjoined them to keep/ ¶ the which commandment was. that they that made the breed. should not speak no vain thing in making the oblations/ ¶ and for to verify that. that he knew of it in his thought/ he sent theodore/ that was admynystratour of the said monastery for to examine him of that the brethren had said at even making these offerings/ so came there theodore & knew that they had broke this commaundement· weening that the said breaking was no great sin. by cause that the said commandment seemed to be of no great thing/ ¶ theodore showed it to the holy man pachomyen that said to him/ how be it that the ordinances that i have give to them for to keep. been manly in asmuch as i that am a man have enjoined them to keep them/ nevertheless they consider not the peril that may come to him that dispysith one of the least commandments that are ordained for to be kept for the worship of god/ ¶ it is not found in holy scripture that the children of israel being afore the city of iherico kept during seven. days the silence that was to them boden & ordained for to keep/ and after the seven days passed the said silence so kept. they took anon the said city of iherico/ the which thing was to them granted of god. by cause they despised not tho● denaunce or commandment that had be given to them by his servant in the honour of him ¶ anon after saint pachomyen came there as the religious were that made mats so began he to work with hem & in this doing came there a young religious novice that was set for to serve him. the which said to him father pachomyen. thou dost not as our father theodore doth the holy man pachomyen hearing the words of this novice. sweetly & lovingly prayed him. that he should show him how he should do/ and after that he had showed to him the manner how he should make the mats. he continued about it. working with the other. forcing himself to do as he was taught by the child/ whereby he gaaf great ensample of meekness to all his brethren. in so much that he bore the correction of the said novice/ the which if he had be proud. he would not have endured. but to the contrary should have rebuked him for it fiercely/ ¶ how the devil showed himself to saint pachomyen. beginning ¶ alio vero tempore/ caplm lxxxxix. the holy man after this upon a day put himself in to a secret place/ the devil anon came to him in disguised array. & greeted him honourably/ the holy man thought anon that it was some wicked spirit/ for when the good spirit cometh to a man. all heaviness departeth fro him. & his seeing is free of all dread. and is full of marvelous joy. and so departen fro ●● all worldly thoughtes.. in stead of which cometh to him an affection & a desire of the sovereign things/ so said he in himself/ ¶ sith that this vision is happened to me. i have be troubled in mi mind/ he rose & anon blessed himself with the sign of the cross/ ¶ and with his h●nde he wend to take the devil that was in his presence. and said to him/ ¶ o cursed devil go fro me. thy vision & thy crafts been but deceivable thou hast not ado with the servant of god/ ¶ and incontinent as dust he went away saying ha pachomyen if thou had obeyed me. i should have yielded the my subject/ but the virtue of the sovereign god is togrete. this notwithstondyng i shall befyghte the without ceasing. to th'end that i may acomplysshe my work without delay. so took the holy man him to give thanking to god of the great fortunes & yefts that he died to him every day/ ¶ how the might of the devil was showed to the holy man pachomien. & beginneth in latin ¶ in hoc eciam & cetera/ caplm. c. the holy man pachomyen going by night with theodore to the said monastery. had such a vision/ ¶ a devil appeared unto him in likeness of a woman more hi● than other been comynly/ and with this she showed to be of so great beauty of body & of visage. that it semid as a thing inpossible to bebrought forth/ the said theodore that also saw him was sore troubled with all in his mind/ but the holy father said to him that he should have hope in god. and that he should not abash himself/ ¶ thenne they set themself to prayer. & besought our lord that it would please him by his godly virtue to take away this vision fro them/ nevertheless came the devil more near hem in that self likeness. & before him were a great number of devils/ thenne said the devil to the holy men pachomien & theodore/ why do ye pray god against me in vain. ye can not always withstond me/ for i have might & power of god to tempt 'em that i will/ thenne the holy man pachomyen axed of him what he was fro whence he came. & which of hem he would tempt. to whom he answered/ i am the mighty devil. having lordship upon a great number of devils/ judas was sometime deceived by me. & cast out of the company of th'apostles. i am she that soweth in earth the seed. of the which all persons that taast of it are in danger to die/ ¶ and that more is. god hath give me might for to tempt his servants without ceasing/ so am i commanded by the court of hell for to put the in her danger. never man overcame me. but thyself/ thy doctrine giveth me subject both to the young and to the old. and namely to a heap of foolish religiouses that thou hast gathered together/ the which by thine example are obstinate against me/ as folk unable to be overcome/ ¶ for of all the wiles of the devil they have been tempted. & yet they could not be overcome and all this evil cometh to us by the son of god/ that hath be made a man. of the which ye other have so great might/ ¶ thenne said to him the holy father pachomyen/ thou comyst thenne for to tempt me only. seeing that that thou hast told me/ ¶ whereat the devil answered to him. i am come for to war against the & theodore. and against all though that been thy like/ but i may not touch you. by cause that my strength is only to tempt you/ ¶ so axed him the holy man/ why he had no might over their bodies/ and he answered that if he touched them they should have more meed of god for it. for the great victory that they should win/ and principally thyself pachomyen. that hast be worthy to see with thy bodily eyen the joy of heaven ¶ with this he threatened the said religiouses. saying that after the decease of the holy man/ the devils should do all at their will with them ¶ thenne the holy man that might not forbear these words said to him/ go unhappy wretch/ what canst thou tell of the things that been to come. the religiouses that shall live after us shall be more perfit than we been/ and the devil answered/ i know now. that thou hast made a lie/ that hast thou thyself prince of losing said the holy man/ thou canst no thing know of that that is to come for none knoweth it but god only. to whom all things passed & to come are present/ ¶ thenne the devil said to him steadfastly that it was truth. but by the things passed he had some crowing of those that were to come/ ¶ soon after the holy man axed him/ if it is so that thou ceasest not to tempt the good men and that by thy crafts over subtle. that by cause of the loss of the souls/ whereof cometh. that thou can not bring under foot the very servants of god/ ¶ and he answered/ i have told that by the incarnation of the son of god all our strength hath be brought under/ ¶ we cease not to give troubles & lettings to the servants of god. ¶ and when we know that they consent to some temptations thenne we assail 'em more strongly than ever we died/ bringing a for hem foul thoughts so much till we have brought 'em subject to our will & thought. & the contrary if they obey not by no wise to our entysynges·s but continue steadfastly in their virtuous works. anon depart all temptations fro their hearts & thouȝtes ¶ but we have not that might to tempt all persons so sharply as we should well do. for some there been that could not suffer all our temptations/ ¶ and if it were so that god would let us continue many are in thy keeping that should fall oft. the which be preserved & kept by thy prayers/ ¶ thenne saint pachomyen began to cry with a high voice saying. cursed serpents & e●u●yous. and that cease never to give infinite lettynges to the servants of god. till that the might of god bringeth you down/ ¶ he may well call himself happy that can withstand to your cursed entysynges/ after he conjured in the name of god all this multitude of devils that soon went away as the smoke doth/ the next day in the morning he called to him his brethren. & rehearsed to them all that he had seen in the night of the devils. and to them that were absent he made it to write by writing. warning them that they should ever withstand against their temptations/ the which religiouses seenge the grace the god had do to the holy father abbot & to them/ they were confirmed in the faith. ¶ and afterward withstood more besily against the temptations of the fiend. encreacing ever in virtuous works/ ¶ how the holy man pachomyen healed a man that was bit of a scorpion/ and beginneth in latin ¶ interea etc. caplm c.i. a brother being in his prayers was bitten of a scorpion in the foot/ so that the venom was come up all ready to the heart ¶ and how well he suffered great sorrow and pain/ he continued always his prayers/ ¶ then saint pachomyen seeing his great steadfastness. made to our lord a devout orison for him ¶ and incontinent his health was to him restored/ ¶ how sickness prouffiteth oft to the salvation of the soul/ beginning ¶ tali quoque/ etc. caplm c.ii saint theodore in his young age bore often great sickness in his heed. which was cause to him of sharp sorrows/ so prayed he to saint pachomyen that it would please him to pray go for his health/ ¶ to whom he answered/ my child thou ought to believe that the passions that we suffer. come not to us but by the will of god. & therefore have patience in thy sores. & god shall give the health when it playsith him/ ¶ be thou remembered of job that was so much perfit & pacyente the which in all his passions. he blessed the name of god/ ¶ certainly it is a good thing of abstinence. and continuing in prayer/ ¶ but alway the seek axyth a great reward. when he is fond patient and of steadfast courage. ¶ and by cause that we have spoken of that men of steadfast courage/ i have thought to the profit of many one to show the marvelous steadfastness and sufferance of a man. that is so much to be commended that it may as to this exceed all manly praising/ ¶ of the patience of zacheus: that was a religious. & beginneth in latin ¶ zacheus quidam monachus/ caplm c.iii sometime was a religious named zacheus that which after great continence. by cause of a great sickness that god send him. was had in an house f●●re fro his biedern/ in that house he eat but only breed & salt. but notwithstanding the said departing he was continually in the church at all hours of the day/ his custom was every night afore he go to bed to read some histories of the holy scripture. & after be armed him with the sign of the cross. & slept till midnight/ to the which hour he rose/ ocupyeng himself in orison fro that same hour unto marynes/ ¶ and to this surplus for teschew idleness. he wrought mats with such great might & diligence. that in giving of them. he claaf & broke all his hands that the blood came out so sharply he drew the cords/ ¶ one of the brethren seeing his hands thus broken asked him why he was so greedy in his work. seeing that he was so grieved with sickness. saying moreover to him/ thinks thou my brother if thou wrought without to force thyself so moche. that thou shouldest be holden fo● idle as toward god· truly nay/ for he knoweth well not only thy might but also that thou art sore grieved with sickness/ wherefore i ensure the that it is not need that thou work so continually as thou dost/ then answered zacheus/ my brother it is possible that i could forbear me thereof/ the brother bearing his answer said to him/ sick that it playsyth the to do thus/ at least suffer that thy hands be anointed with oil to the end that thou mayst help thyself more longer with them/ zacheus in granting to his request anointed his hands for to recover health/ ¶ the which thing seeing the holy father pachomyen. he said unto him/ ¶ now come hither brother. thinkest thou that the oil that thou haste put in thine hands can help the for to have health/ haste thou more trust in this anointing visible. than in god that is inuysible/ ¶ believest thou not that he which is so medeful hath remembrance of us without that we do pray for our health/ when him shall please he shall set an end to our sorrows & passions ¶ certainly we ought to believe that the sicknesses that we suffer shall be cause to make us have everlasting rewards in the glory of paradise/ then zachius answered/ alas my father pardon me. and pray god for my wretchedness. to th'end that it ●oll please him for to pardon me my sin/ and from that hour he took such a displeasure of the sin that he thought to have done in using of the said oil. that he continued in lamentac●●● & weepings a hole year/ & with this he fasted two year/ and in fasting he took a small refection/ ¶ the holy father pachomien knowing his great patience/ when he would excite his religiouses to be steadfast & patient. he laid to them the good father zacheus. the which gate & deserved by his right great forbearing to have heaven at the end of his days/ ¶ of the death of saint pachomyen/ & beginneth in latin ¶ certus itaque pachomius/ caplm c.iiii soon after a solemnity of ester. the holy man pachomyen felt himself sore seek & feeble. with him was theodore that full besily served him/ and he being in this great sickness. he had always the face well coloured & merry. & two. days before that he died. he assembled all his brethren/ in the presence of whom he made such a proposition/ ¶ ryȝt dear brethren i know the god will call me. & that i shall soon go out of this world after the holy faders/ so i beseech you heartily. that ye will remember you alway of the rules & charges that i have give & done to you afore this time/ & that ye will keep yourself well fro the sect of tha●ryens & of tother overleders & deniers of the faith of ihu christ/ but acompanye & haunt with them the dread god & that love him perfitly/ i see the time of my life that cometh to an end. & my death is nigh/ and therefore chose in my presence a pastor that shall be father & teacher of the salvation of your souls and asmuch as i can know petronyen seemeth me wise enough for to teach you. & to keep you fro evil doing. but what somever i say of it. ye may choose after your good discretion him that shall seem you good/ ¶ they all together among them chose petronyen sweetly. and with their good will/ the which was constant & steadfast in the faith meek of conversation/ wise of understanding. and perfyghte in conditions/ ¶ saint pachomyen knowing that this petronyen was that time sick in the monastery of the thebenesyens. prayed devoutly our lord for his health/ & to the religiouses that were absent was sent word. that they should come to the decease of their father abbot pachomyen/ the which in blessing himself with the virtuous sign of the cross. deceased upon the translation day of saint nycholas. in the month of may and yielded his soul in the hands of an angel of heven· that was come for to receive it/ ¶ and at his death were present divers religiouses in great number. which all the night continually said psalms about his body. and on the morrow he was buried in the mountain where his grave was ordained ¶ soon after was the holy father petronien sent for by some that brought him but he was yet sore feeble. & lived not long after pachomyen leaving his successor another holy father. named orsiscum/ ¶ of the life of saint christian the religious/ and beginneth in latin ¶ cuidam cenomanensis/ caplm c. ●● following the manner that is begun/ restyth to write & she● of saint christian. borne of the country of maine. the which in his young age was hermit in that church bishopric. of tours. in a place called gastineton ¶ he was in his young ●●yes sore pricked & styng●ed of the sick of the flesh/ but by fastings & abstynences he made lent & subdued his body. in such manner that he rendres & brought it. in thraldom/ ¶ during the time of lent he fasted without drink. but only one day of the week/ in winter for to bring his flesh the mere down & low/ he put himself in cold water to the neck/ ¶ and he being on a time in the water. he heard a voice toward the west that said unto him o christian all this that thou dost profiteth the no thing/ for the god that thou callest upon shall not help the to have that thou askest· but & thou 〈◊〉 return to me. i shall make the have thy will incontinent. ¶ christian knew that it was the voice of the devil/ so● took himself to pray god humbly that he would help him against the temptations of the devil/ ¶ after this he purposed to use his life in pilgrimages. ●s visiting the holy places/ and finably he took a staff. and so long he went barefote. that he came nigh a church. in which he kneeled on his knees. praying our lord that he would give him good counsel for to perfourne that which he had begun/ and incontinent he smelled a marvelous stench nigh ha● in smelling of the which he knew that it was the devil that had tesyd him to leave his brethren & the habit of relygius. ¶ so gaaf he thankings to god & retoured again to his abbey/ ¶ one day upon the feast of saint steven he asleep in the church. in the time that men read these words ¶ et lapidaverunt stephanum/ which maketh mention of the stoning of saint steven/ ¶ and after suddenly he work. saying & crying with an high voys/ ha i am well negligent to sleep at this hour. when men stonied saint se●uen. he was in orison praying god for them that stonied him/ and i unhappy should now pray him/ to the end that he should pray god for me/ ¶ then he began to pray saint steven/ and on the morn as he was is the refectoire with his brethren for to take his refection. or ever he had take any mete. he herd a voys that said to him ¶ christian the waytest after earthly meats & thinkest not upon the first martyr saint steven that prayeth god for thee/ ¶ thenne he lift up his eyen toward heaven. & saw saint stephen that prayed for him/ as the voys had showed to him/ so departed he & went in a secret place where he made his prayer/ saying/ o my lord saint steven the first martyr. what thanks shall i ye●e to the. i have no thing of mine own that i might give thee/ but from hen's f●rthon i promise the. that for the love of the. i shall never were shirt of lyuen. but of wulle only/ ¶ this christian on a time as he was laid upon a bed of straw/ he felt the straw move under him. so went he & showed it to his father abbot/ but therefore ceased not the said moving of the straw under him ¶ finably he turned all the straw up sodowne and found no thing/ after he took up one of the boards of the flower/ under which he fund a great some of money. that he bare thenne to his master/ the which made incontinent all his brethren to be assembled/ and in their presence he denounced accursed him that had hid the said silver/ ¶ and there was a conuers that was afore a carpenter/ the which when he had heard cast the said sentence. confessing to have gradred there the said treasure/ came openly & asked penance & absolution of his sin/ ¶ thenne the holy father dealt the said pens to the poor and to the carpenter he enjoined certain penance for the salvation of his soul/ ¶ of saint iohn the almoner patriarch and bishop of alexandria. after that it is rehearsed in the life of the faders by saint leonce. in his time bishop of naples/ to the chapter beginning in latin ¶ cunque pervenissen etc. caplm. c.vi. for to have a beginning to tell & show the life of saint iohn the almener. it is to be known. that a man of holy conversation. named zacharye. for to visit two. martyrs holy. the one named kirrus. & the other iohn. came in to the city of alexandria/ in which place this zacharye being there with many devout & perfit men·s taking together their refection both bodily & ghostly. came by adventure among them a poor man that asked an alms/ the which said that of late he had be prisoner to the persycus ¶ and nevertheless they of whom he asked their alms excused them/ and gave him no thing saying that they had no silver to give him/ wherefore the poor departed fro them without any alms ¶ thenne one of that fellowship ran after him. & secretly gave him a little cross of silver. that he bore upon him/ saying to the poor that he had none other thing to give him/ ¶ zacharye seeing the secret medefulnesse of this man was sore marveled/ & showed it to one named mene ye●ate next him. and the which was mynystratour of the said iohn the almoner ¶ thenne the said mene beholding this zacharye that so much was marveled of the largevesse of him/ that had give his cross. said to him/ ¶ zacharye. marvel not thyself of the alms that this man hath done/ for he hath learned toyeve moche more for god dies sake of iohn that almoner/ to whom he was almoner well the space of ten year & that hath taught him this doctrine/ ¶ this iohn the almoner died infinite alms/ for he had of god many temporal goods/ that he gaaf to the poor. without any thing for to keep for himself/ ¶ and sometime when he had give so much that he had no more to gi●e he all sorry went to some taverner or other merchant. of whom he borrowed some money for to give/ ¶ and as he borrowed thus. he said that it was for them of his house that had great hungers/ and he bound himself to the person that sent him for to serve him a certain space of tyme. till that this money were paid again/ ¶ and assoon as he had borrowed if he gave it to the poor for god's take. & charged them that they should tell no thing/ ¶ zacharye hearing that ● is said was no thing abashed & to him said again/ ¶ o my brother. if thou had seen the great almesses as i have. thou shouldest be much monr merueyle● and if thou will come to my house. i shall tell the what i have known of him/ ¶ thenne zacharye went with this mene/ and after their food taken ghostly & bodily mene began to rehearse the life & the virtues of saint iohn the almoner/ ¶ saying first the he never swore the name of god nor of his saints/ ¶ then zacharye axed after ink & paper. for to write by order the life of saint iohn the almoner/ ¶ how the said saint iohn ordained to the poor folk of the city of alexandria their sustentation and daily food ●dynately. calling them his lords/ and beginneth in latin ¶ promotus ergo/ caplm. c.vii after that he was chosen bishop. aswell by the will of men as by singular grace of god/ ¶ the first deed worthy of great remembrance that he died was this/ that he sent incontinent all his dyspensatours & caterers to make provision/ & said to them/ ¶ o my brethren it is not no right thing to have sorrow & care for any person afore the disciples of ihesu christ/ ¶ his dyspensatours or catereu● hearing these words and not knowing what he meaned. harkened him busily. for to do this that he should command them/ ¶ so said he to them again/ go through all the city & bring in writing the number unto the last of all my lords that been in this town/ though dyspensatours that understood not what persons he called his lords. wist not what they should do/ thenne he exponed his words/ saying/ ¶ they that ye call poor & needy. i say & hold them to be my lords. & for such we ought to take them/ for they shall help us to get the ream of heaven ¶ after that to him were reported & showed by writing these poor that were in number moo than vii m. v c. he commanded that they should have daily their ordinary food for the sustention of their lives/ ¶ how he stablished in the city weight & measure equal/ & beginneth in latin ¶ justum vero/ caplm· c·viii: the next morrow after that he was chosen to be a bishop/ he sent through all the city of alexandrie his stywardes & other. having the rule & policy of the said city/ to whom he commanded that in one self measure & weight all manner of merchandises should be sold writing in this manner through all the region/ ¶ iohn humble & little servant of the servants of our lord to all them that been living under our poverty/ & that by the sufferance of god are submitted to our rule & governance/ hark after the saying of saint poule in his pistle/ ¶ obey to your prelate's. & yield yourself subgettes to them/ for certainly they wake as that they must yield account of your souls/ ¶ my lytylnes believeth that if ye obey to the words of god/ ye shall have your petitions. not only of men. but of god ¶ and by cause i know this that i write to you to be truth/ i pray you of your charity. that ye do no thing contrary to the commandments that i have done to you. but be obeissant/ ¶ it is written in his holy scripture that god hath in hate the great balance and the little/ ¶ after this my warning if any go against my bidding. touching the weight & the measure/ wit he that all his gods shall be dealed to the poor ¶ how he corrected them that received any yefts. & begynith in latin ¶ relatum est autem/ caplm· c.ix it was showed to the said saint iohn. that some bought men & after sold them again to an higher price than they had bought them so made them all to be assembled. & without great blame or rebuke. showed them that it was evil done/ & sith took them more money than they had bestowed in this merchandise. and charged them that they should not do in time coming such deeds/ & after this some left their taking of their price so great that they were wont to take above the common tax of their merchandises/ ¶ how he gave licence & leave to them that would come to him. & beginneth in latin ¶ discens vero etc. caplm. c.x. saint iohn the almoner knowing that some of his subgettes suffered many wrongs of their enemies/ & were afeard to come to him for to complain. by cause of his servants that continually assisted him/ ¶ he for the same cause died make a chair & i●. benches before the church. upon the which the wenesdaye & the friday in coming fro the said church he rested him. & devised with some notable persons. & other while he held the holy gospels in his hands/ and there were certain his deputes. to whom he gave power & leave to stand nigh him/ the which had the charge to keep the rights of the church. ¶ and if any body came to complain/ they showed it to the said saint iohn/ the which commanded the chapter should be called & assembled for to purvey thereto/ and they thus assembled. he proposed unto them saying. ¶ if we men have light deeds to the only god. that is above all nature for to make to him our requests. & when we pray him devoutly. we get that we ask: in like wise we ought to do to them that come to us. bringing in our mind the word of god. saying/ ¶ with such a measure as ye measure ye shall be measured/ & also in recording the saying of the prophet. that showeth to us/ that like as we do we shall be done unto/ for these causes the holy bishop made that they came to him to be sped of their matter without any delay ¶ and one time among other he was one day till .v. of the clock being in the same place where he was wont to sytt hearing the questions of his people/ and by cause no body came there the day that would require of him any thing. he departed & returned in his house weeping/ ¶ so were his folk greatly marveled whereof came this waylling. & none durst ask him the cause why. but to a holy man named sophronyen. that hereof familiarly asked him the holy man answered that he was ●●●che of this that none was come speak with him whereby he had spend the day without to have done any merciful deed/ ¶ now it is troth as it is said about that the cause which held him in the open place. was by cause he should accord all manner folk/ that in manner of process or otherwise had any discord or evil wylthe one against tother/ the which oft times he acorded & appeased at his own proper costs/ ¶ sophronyen thenne said to him. certainly my lord thou art well happy/ for the subgets that thou hast in th● governance are by thy means so prasyble & so kind. that they have no cause to have any hate or rancour the●e against tother & by this he saw & knew that this was the cause that none was came to him that day/ whereof he gave thenne 〈◊〉 ●●ynges to our lord/ & at this example. ¶ we read that constancius which was emperor. & son of heracle had this custom & manner at rome. in peasing of the romans/ ¶ how the holy bsshop received meekly the folk that were fled for to schewe the madness of them of percy & beginith ¶ cu●us sancti/ caplm. c.xi hanging the time that the holy bishop & patriarch iohn the almoner being in alexandrie they of percy had were against the syrryens in the ream of syrrye. the which ream & the subgettes of the same/ ●er brought to thraldom· by the percy●on/ ¶ wherefore many of the said sirloins/ the bare full unpatiently that they were brought in bondage· came & yielded the ymself in the subjection of the said patryarke/ the which he received meekly & sweetly/ in comforting them not as in tharldom & fleers. but as his brethren/ they that were hurt & sick. he made to be heeled/ & after suffered them go where as they seemed good. ¶ some of his servants the grudged the great almesses that were done out of his house. reported & showed to the holy patriarch. how some sirryens clothed with cloth of gold & of other precious raymentes were come to his house to fetch an alms/ ¶ but not withstanding that he was sweet of visage & of speech. yet he looked upon them as wroth saying ¶ know ye not well the god hath commanded/ that men shall give to all them. that shall ask us/ and by cause that the goods that i give be not mine but they been god's/ therefore i will in giving them keep his commandment ¶ if ye think that the alms minish in giving them to them that been richly clothed. ye have little faith/ i believe that if all the world were beggars. & that they came to alexandria. that the gods of the church should not minish therefore/ and by this he comforted his servants/ and the poor for this cause grudged & noised against the other/ ¶ of the shape of a woman that appeared to saint iohn the almoner patriarch of alexandria/ & beginneth in latin ¶ cunque illis etc. caplm. c.xii the said saint iohn rehearsed once to the hope of them that gladly give for god's sake. that he being on a night a sleep. saw in dreaming a right fair and clear woman. and shining as the son/ and crowned with a crown of lawrer/ in musing of her great beauty he a work/ ¶ and him seemed that he saw her in deed standing before him/ ¶ so he blessed him incontinent. and spoke to her. after asking what she was/ ¶ to whom she answered all smiling that she was the mother of the daughter of the king/ ¶ and after said to him/ my friend if thou wilt love me i shall present the before the sovereign emperor/ for none hath there so great power as i have/ ¶ then after she vanished a way from his sight/ ¶ then the holy man johan supposed after his advice. that it was compassion or alms that was appeared before him in likeness of a woman/ by cause she had on her heed a fair crown of lawrer/ ¶ for certainly the great compassion & benygnytee that god hath to the poor sinners/ he hath made his right dear and sweet child ihesu christ to take our kind flesh/ and suffer so many evils for us/ ¶ the holy man after this vision aroos/ without to a wake any body. and went to the church/ ¶ and ingoing thither he found a poor evil clothed man/ and as dying for cold ¶ so took he of his gown. and gave it him for to cloth him with all/ and after returned without to entry in to the church/ puttyrige in himself a doubt whether the advysion that he had seen were of god or non/ ¶ and in returning to his house ward. he met with a man clothed with white vestyments/ that gave him an hundred pennies/ saying that he should distribute them where it pleased him/ ¶ and by cause him seemed that he had be over hasty and ready to receive the said pennies. doubting to be deceived/ he went to have delivered them again to him that gave them to him/ ¶ but he could not. by cause the other was vanished away/ ¶ so had he thenne some understanding and knowledge that this vision was come to him of god/ ¶ of a pilgrim that would tempt saint johan the almoner/ begyn●nynge in latin ¶ adori●ue et cetera caplm. c.xiii in the said city of alexandria was a stranger. which hearing the great fame of saint iohn the almoner would tempt him for to understand the certayntee thereof/ and for to do this he put of his raiments & took evil clothes about him/ and after came before him there as he went toward the place where the sick people were kept & dressed/ ¶ for his custom was to go to the hospitals twies in the week. for to visit there the sick folk that were there/ ¶ this valiant man stranger said to him/ o my lord give to me your alms poor prisoner/ ¶ thenne the holy man commanded the men should give to him vi. pens ¶ when he had received the first alms. he changed his habit and incontinent went again tofore him in saying. ¶ alas sire have pity of me poor sick man/ the holy man ones again commanded to the almoner that he should give him vi. pens of gold/ ¶ after that he had taken them to the papelarde. he said all soft to the holy man that he had had twice his alms/ whereat the holy man answered no thing/ feigning as he had not heard him/ ¶ thirdly he came again in another changeable clothing/ for to have yet another alms/ and thenne the almoner drew the holy man by the gown for to give him to knowledge that it was he that had had twice his alms that day/ but the holy man commanded the men should give him twelve pens of silver saying to his almoner/ do the i command thee/ for by adventure it is god that temptyth me/ ¶ of a mariner & of the tin that was turned to silver/ beginning in latin ¶ nauclerus quidam et cetera caplm. c.xiiii. a marynar stranger/ that by tempest of the see. or otherwise had lost all his goods/ beseeching humbly to saint iohn the almoner. that he would spread upon him his mercy/ having pity upon him as he had upon the other/ ¶ so he gaaf him v. pound of gold. that he put forth in merchandise. and after returned upon the see. where he lost all. except only his ship. the which was saved ¶ so came he again to the said holy man/ & prayed him as above/ thenne he said to him/ ¶ my brother thou had dost some silver evil gotten that thou hast meddled with that of the church. therefore thou hast lost all/ nevertheless he gave him again x. pound of gold/ so went he agayen to the see/ where he had the wind so contrary that all his ship was perysshyd· & abode no thing safe but the men/ the which thing seeing the mary ner●he would have slain himself for sorrow/ but god preserved him there fro/ and showed his wrath & anger to the holy patriarch/ the which incontinent scent for him/ ¶ the mariner covered with ashes/ and his clothes all to torn. like as they are wont to do in the land. came to the sending of the patriarch/ the which in beholding upon him said to him ¶ my friend god have pity and mercy upon thee/ i trow/ that from henceforth. thou shalt not have none evil fortune/ ¶ thy ship is perished because it was gotten by wrong/ ¶ and then he made to be given to him one of the ships of the church/ that he made be filled with ten thousand razors of wheat/ ¶ and this done the marynar went to the see as he was acustomed/ but he sailed twenty days & twenty nights that he wist not whether he drew to/ ¶ during the which time the governor of the ship/ as he rehearsed to the marynar/ saw nigh him the holy patriarch/ that said to him/ marinar doubt no thing. thou sayllest well/ ¶ after the twenty days. they landed in britain. where so great necescyte of corn was. that they of the land for great dearth suffered great hungres/ whereby they were received in great joy & reverence/ ¶ the folk of the land asked of the marynar if he would sell his where for ready money or take tin for it ¶ and after he had remembered upon their asking/ he took ready money for the half/ and for the other half he take fine tin/ and after with a great gladness returned in to alexandria and were long time art the haven called penthapolis/ to the which haven the master marynar of the ship had a fellow: to whom he gaaf in a sack fyfthy pound of his tin ¶ but he willing to make a prou● if it were good/ this his said fellow found that it was right fine silver/ so he brought it again/ ¶ thenne the marynar said to him/ i promise the it is taken me for fine tin/ but i shall tell thee/ i trow he that hath turned the water in to wine. by the prayers of the holy patriarch. ha● the turned my tin in to silver/ ¶ and for to show verily that it 〈◊〉 tin. he brought his fellow to the ship where the remanant of the said tin was/ ¶ and when they were entered in to the said ship. they ●●de that all the foresaid tin was converted and changed in to silver ¶ but the miracle well to be considered and marked. was not less to marveled. than thoos that god made/ ¶ the one was when he multiplied five loves and two fishes to the sustentation and food of five thousand men/ ¶ the other when he turned the waters of egypte in to blood/ ¶ another torning the rod by the hand of moses in to a serpent/ ¶ and another when many martyrs being in the fire for to be brent/ he turned that fire in a dew/ ¶ and therefore made god this changing and turning of tin in to silver. for to make this good marynar his servant richer/ in grassting to him his mercy/ ¶ of a rich man that was fallen in great poverty/ and beginneth in latin ¶ descendente sanctissimo. etc. caplm. c.xv. the holy patriarch iohn the almoner. on a sunday going to the church came before him a poor man. that some time had be rich/ and had had much good/ but he had be robbed of thieves that had left him no thing/ whereof he might maintain his poor life ¶ so was he constrained to beg his breed for god's sake/ and asked of the said saint johan the almoner his alms/ ¶ the which having compassion of his wretched fall/ and by cause he had sometime noble father and mother. ordained that his almoner should give him the some of fifteen pound of gold/ ¶ but the said almoner complaining the great almesses that the said saint johan made was moche dysplaysed and aggrieved of that he must void out of his hands. and take to this poor man so great a some of money/ ¶ and for this cause he went incontinent to speak with the stiewarde. that was wont to give accounts of all the money that each day were spent and allowed for the necessaries of the said saint johan/ ¶ and to whom each one made his accounts/ and yielded his reckoning of the money that was taken by his hands for to be turned to the said deeds and necessaries/ they two together speaking and commoning of this foresaid matter. by the temptation of the cursed spirit mammona the tempted them of the brenning and insatiable sin of covetise. purposed & concluded that of the said xu.li. of gold. should be taken out x. li. and but u.li. given to the said poor man. the which thing was so done/ ¶ now it is troth that their lord saint johan the almoner was sore famed & renowned the he gladly died great alms/ ¶ wherefore many notable lords & other persons. desiring to please him/ and somewhat to content his savourous appetite. and the devotion that he had to recomfort the poor servants of god/ they gave & send oft times to him great sums of money for to give for god's sake. aswell for the health of the souls of some deed. as for the prosperity of them that were on live/ ¶ and thus a rich & notable widow. that had a child & no more· came toward the said holy man/ ¶ the which widow for some pytenous considerations her monyge purposed for to do certain a●messes by the said holy manes hand/ ¶ and for to do this she took him a little writing that she had written with her own hand/ by the which she let him understand that she would have dealt to poor folk the some of .v. c· li. ¶ and in receiving & opening of the said writing by the said holy man he knew by the will of god. that she had be willing for to do her said alms unto the some of xv. hundred pode/ ¶ so died be call the said widow/ and in the presence of his said almoner and styewarde/ which in like wise by the showing of god/ he knew to have withhold to their behouffe ten pound of the fifteen pound that he afore had ordained to be give to the poor man that had he rob/ ¶ he charged the same widow that she should tell him truth/ which she promised him to do so/ now hark said he my friend. by the faith that thou owest to god. haste not thou had late a will to make a greater alms than of five hundred pound. she answered ye/ and that she herself had written the writing that she had delivered unto him/ and she was well certain that by the said writing she had declared that her will was to give fyttene hundred pound for god's sake to poor people/ ¶ but by cause that soon after as she would have take the said writing. she had seen as she looked in ●●. that where she had written that her will was to give an alms of fifteen hundred pound to the poor people she found but five hundred pound only in number/ and for this cause she had restrained her first will/ and had purposed & thought that she should give only the said five hundred pound/ supposing by the returning & change of the said writing. the will of god to be/ that she should not give but this five hundred pound/ and that she should keep the remnant for her son/ ¶ these words so spoken and after that she had delivered to saint johan the said five hundred pound/ and was gone from him/ he said to his said stiewarde and almoner/ ¶ i pray to god that he call you and ask you once account of a thousand pound that this widow hath with hold. as ye be bound to give 'em again ¶ for and if he had taken to the poor man the xu.li. that i had ordained for him/ and whereof ye have withhold. x.li. our lord should have suffered. that this widow should have given to the poor people the same thousand pound that she hath withhold in her hand. ¶ thenne the said almoner & styewarde knowing their misdeeds prosterned or ●aste themself at his feet & required him mercy & amendment. and they should never do such another offence/ ¶ of niceta patrice & ruler of the common w●ele in alexandria/ beginning in latin ¶ intuens niceta et cetera caplm. c.xvi in alexandria was a provost or ruler of the city. named nyceta. fulfilled of the devil. the which came to argue and reprove the holy patriarch saint johan/ saying to him/ ¶ sire ye waste all the land. for ye deal to freely the silver that is brought to you/ better it were that ye should put it to the common treasure/ ¶ the holy man without to anger himself answered to him/ haa my lord it is not leeful. that the goods given to the god in heaven. be turned or appropered to the earthly things/ ¶ but and if seemeth the to be do/ go thou under my bed. and take the treasure of ihesu christ that is there/ so do thereof thy will/ ¶ then this patrice that had the rule and governance of the common we'll in alexandria. made all to be laden/ and left him no more than to the number of an hundred pennies of gold/ ¶ and as he was coming down from the said patriarchs chambre/ he met with men of affryque. the which bare certain bot tells full of gold/ upon some of the which was written/ honey right good and upon the other/ honey without smoke/ ¶ the said patryce or ruler when he saw these superscriptions sent word to the said holy man that he should send him some honne/ ¶ and he that was so much humble and meek. sent him the bottle. upon which was written honee right good with a letter wherein was written this that fofolowyth. ¶ our lord that hath said i shall not leave the. is without losing/ and he is very god. the which giveth both meet and life/ ¶ and no man corruptible can not by any wise constrain him/ and therefore to god i commend thee/ ¶ and after he commanded to them that bore the said battelles·s that they should make them to be opened afore them/ and that they should say that all the other that they had seen were full of silver/ ¶ the which thing done/ when the said patrice saw that he sent him but one bottle alone/ he was sore we oath against him/ and after he read his letter. ¶ and when he saw that word. that man corruptible can not constrain god/ he was full sorry and dysplaysaunt of that he had done/ ¶ and incontinent came again to the holy patriarch/ and took him again all that he had had of him ¶ and with this he gaaf him of his own three hundred penies of gold/ requiring him by great contrition that he would give him penance for his sins/ ¶ then the holy man was sore marveled of his conversion so suddenly sore/ ¶ and seeing his repentance comforted him with merry words/ and from that time there were so great friends together. that the said nicera patrice of alexandria made him his godsypp/ ¶ of the scarnesse and dearth of scorn and such goods/ ¶ and of a man that required to be made deacon. and beginneth in latin ¶ qui abraham etc. caplm: c.vii god that tempted abraham for to know his obeisance/ touching the offering up of his son ysaac/ ¶ in like wise be tempted the good patriarch johan as hereafter followeth/ ¶ it is rehearsed here above. how the assiryens that had be sore oppressed of the percyens for to eschew their woodness. forsook and left their own land/ and many of them came to alexandrie for to be succoured in their poverty by the holy patriarch johan/ ¶ they being in alexandria. happened there a great dearth and scarcity of corn. thorough the occasion of the flood of the river of nile that bedewyth and watereth the land had be so minished & lessed of water. that it might not give his moyst●es & over flowenges acustomed to the earth. ¶ so had act that time the patriarch given for god's sake to the poor people all his treasure. and wist not where to borrow more neither gold nor silver/ whereof he was right sorry. and namely by cause he might nor continue his alms/ as he had of custom/ ¶ he set himself to pray. & continued in his orisons long time ¶ in the said cite was a man bygame/ that is to wite. the which by cause he knew that the holy man was in great necessity. would constrain him to make him a deacon in his church/ and by cause he should not have durst speak to him thereof. he sent him a letter. by the which he besought him that he would make him deaken in his church/ to the end that in serving god with him he might have remyssonn of his sins. & he should give him ii c.m. razors of wheat. with a. c. & four score pound of money/ ¶ his letters seen. the patriarch sent for him & after made to go out of his chambre all his folk that were there/ by cause that he would not reprove him by for them/ ¶ after that they were gone. the holy patriarch said to him/ ¶ my friend thy proffer is much necessary. seeing the time of the dearth that we have now/ but nevertheless it is defoiled with the sin of simony. ¶ in the old testament men offered not the beasts to god· were they great or little/ but if they were pure & clean/ ¶ for of those that were bespotted man died never offering/ ¶ and therefore god had not agreeable the sacrifice of cain/ ¶ and as touching my brethren. or ever thyself or i were god had purveyed and nourished them/ and he shall yet do so to them and to me as i hope/ ¶ for all they that keep the commandments of god/ shall not have nother need nor poverty. but all plenty & abundance of goods/ ¶ our lord that multiplied the .v. loves of barley/ may well multiply also ten razors of wheat that are in my garnere/ ¶ and therefore my friend i shall tell the for an answer. that which is written in that taes of th'apostles/ that is that thou shalt not have in the church neither part nor portion ¶ and as he said these words came incontinent tidings to the holy patriarch. how two ships of the church were landed within the haven. and came out of cecyle lad with wheat/ ¶ thenne the holy man thanked our lord saying/ my god i thank the that thou would not have suffered that i should have sold thy grace for any need that i have had/ ¶ certainly my god i believe steadfastly. that thou shalt never forsake in the greatest need them that shall obey thee/ & that with good heart shall fulfil thy commandments/ ¶ of two clerks that died fall in to sin/ and beginneth in latin ¶ quibusdam/ caplm. c.xviii two young clerks. having question together. smote wrongfully each other/ ¶ and for this cause by the holy patriarch iohn they were denounced accursed/ ¶ that one of them twain knowledged his sin/ but the other abydynin his obstinacy despised the said sentence of cursing/ ¶ for he was well glad to have occasion for to flee the church. & to abide in his wickedness/ and nevertheless he threatened the said patriarch to dysplayse him in his person/ ¶ and men said comynly. that it was he that had born to the patryce niceta the money of the church that was taken under the bed of the said patriarch/ and that had be yelden again afterward. as it is said afore/ ¶ the malice of this outrageous accursed man was showed to the holy patriarch. but this notwithstanding he had of him pity/ and remembered the word of the apostle saint paul. saying/ who is he that is seek & not i/ ¶ now was the charity of the said patriarch so great/ the when he saw one in sin. he wept upon him/ and as to him was advice. he felt well his sickness/ ¶ he thenne made the said accursed man to be called to him/ and wa●tyd him of his conscience. as he was wont to warn his other subgettes/ ¶ but when he saw his evil frowardness. and that he was made hard in his sin/ he left and forsook him as a rotyn member/ ¶ this nevertheless upon a sunday. the said clerk being yet in his frowardes as the holy patriarch came to the altar for to offer his sacryce unto god/ after his custom/ ¶ he remembered him of the counsell of ihesu christ. that said/ ¶ when thou shalt bring thine offering unto the altar/ and that thou shalt think that thy brother hath some evil will and hate against thee/ thou oughtest to leave that. that thou wouldest offer to god/ and go to him thine enemy for to reconcile the with him/ ¶ wherefore the holy patriarch willing to do soo· sent incontinent for the said accursed man/ and made the messenger pray that he should come to speak with him under surety/ and when he was come/ this holy patriarch kneeled on his knees afore him and beloughte him of mercy/ ¶ whereof it happened that the said accursed person had knowledge of his sin. and he himself required mercy/ ¶ thorough his humility was the proud frow●de man meek in his pride/ ¶ and by his charity. was the hate of the said accursed man passed/ ¶ and finably he died penance of the sin that he had done/ and had of it great contrition & dyspleysaunce/ ¶ of the noise that the holy patriarch iohn had against the ruler niceta/ and beginneth in latin ¶ de●mquidam/ caplm. c.xix. never to have noise with another it is angel's life/ sometime to strive the one with the other it is manes life/ evermore to have noise & hate it is a devils life/ ¶ to this purpose is to be noted. that the holy patriarch/ for some right of the law cyvyl had on a time question with the said patrice niceta/ the question was such. that the patrice would have certain tribute to be put & set of new upon the people of the land/ the which thing the said patriarch would not consent/ by cause that the poor folk should have be hurt thereby over sore/ ¶ and for the great variance that fell thereby. they departed from each other with wrath the one against the other/ ¶ soon after at after none/ about five of the clock/ the said holy patriarch. thinking in himself. that the wise man ought never. to anger himself for no manner cause that it be. sent his archedeaken to the said ruler niceta. & sent him only these words ¶ dne sol ad occasunest/ that is asmuch for to say. my lord the son is nigh to go under/ after that niceta had heard these words. he could not hold his countenance. but as fulfilled with the fire of the holy ghost came to the said holy patriarch. the which when he saw him. he said to him/ ¶ alas thou art welcome the son of the church & obeissant to her commandments/ thenne they died embrace each other in token of great love. after the which enbraginces the holy patriarch began totake the word. & said to him in this wise/ ¶ my lord i pray the believe me/ for by cause i know the sore troubled. i would well have spoke with thee/ & for none other cause. i counseylle & warn the the in time to come thou believe no more noo reports of false tales & flatterers ¶ for if thou will lean thine eeres unto such. they shall give the a cause many evils to begin/ and they shall counsell the that thing. which shall not be neither leeful good ne profitable/ ¶ for i have found myself deceived thereby oftentimes/ ¶ wherefore to their reports. sayings. flaterynges. and false accusations. men ought never to give credence nor faith/ ¶ then the patryce considering the meekness and the fair ensamples of the said patriarch. answered. that he should never believe such men/ nor should not give faith & believe to their flaterynges ne to their words/ ¶ but he should despise them and set them all at nought/ ¶ and by this manner means was appeased that question that was bytwix them for the cause above said/ ¶ of gregori the nephew of t'holy patriarch/ and beginneth in latin ¶ iste memoriabilis/ caplm c.xx. between one named gregory which was nephew of the said holy patriarch & a taverner of alexandria moved a great debate/ in which this gregory openly was sore wronged. by shameful words to him said by the said taverner/ the which gregory consyderyng· the he that was nephew of the said holy patriarch had be thus despised or fowl spoken unto openly. & of a man infamed. began to weep right sore/ and the holy patriarch seeing the secret dysplaysaunce & sorrow that his nephew made/ would know what was the cause/ grogory hereupon examined could not for his great an●e discharge nor show his courage in ●●wyse. nor speak with the said holy patriarch/ ¶ nevertheless some that had herd & seen the debate. told him a part how it was/ the holy patriarch willing to he'll first his nephew or ever he should inquire ferder of the troth of the befall. said to him for to comfort him such & like words in substance/ my nephew i am greatly merueyllyd· & sore evil apaid how that fool hath be so hold to open his mouth against thee/ believe thou me. i ensure the. that i shall do this day a thing whereby all alexandria shall marvel/ ¶ and after seeing his anger & heaviness tempered & peasen kissed his said nephew & said/ my sweet friend if in following this meekness of me. thou will be my nephew/ i pray the that thou will be utterly agreeable & content· for to endure & suffer almanere repreyffes & wrongs of all persons/ ¶ certainly it is true that the knowledge & kindred cometh more of virtues. than it doth of blood/ and how well the be mine own nephew/ nevertheless for more great sib & kindred to have with me/ i pray the that thou be good & virtues in all thy deeds praying to god that he will help & succour the in all thine adversities & that ever he make the to increase in good works/ ¶ now they being present wend that the said taverner should have be scourged & beat ch●u●h the town for the reproving of the holy patriarchs nephew/ but by his great meekness. he died the contrary/ for he commanded that he that took tribute over all the taverners. should take in time coming no tribute of him/ ¶ and thus he was made free for the great wrong that he had done to his ●●●we ¶ thenne knew those present that this was that he would have said that he should do such a thing whereof all alexandria should marvel/ ¶ of the dyation of the said holy patriarch named damyen/ beginning in latin ¶ nunciatum est. et cetera caplo· c.xxi & xxii it was showed to the said holy patriarke· that one of his deacons named damyen had conceived hate & evil will against another/ ¶ and it happened that upon a sunday. this deacon without to be reconciled to his enemy. would receive his creature/ and to be administered by the hand of the said holy patriarch/ and presented himself afore him for this cause ¶ the patriarch seeing his presumption. rebuked him before the clergy. of the hate that he bore to his even christian/ and said to him or that he should receive the blessed sacrament of the awter· he would he should reconcile him to his adversary/ for otherwise he should not administer to him the precious body of our lord/ ¶ thenne the deacon taken with great shame. to have be thus corrected afore so many folk. durst not disobey him/ and promised that he should never have in indignation to him that he had hated so sore. but should take him from thence forth in great love/ ¶ and thenne the said holy patriarch seeing his contrition & repentance administered meekly him the said holy sacrament/ ¶ for reason of the which correction. his subgets from the time for the dread to have hate & rancour the one against the other/ fearing least they should be corrected in such wise/ whereby it appeareth that a good pastor. when he knoweth in his folk & among his subgets a wicked sinner obstinate/ & that he may not bring him to good life by secret & kind exhortations/ he ought to rebuke him sharply & openly. to the end he be constrained by force & sharpness/ ¶ of the tomb of saint johan the almoner. the which he would not suffer to be full made/ and beginneth in latin ¶ diffinicionem/ et cetera caplm. c.xxiii. in old time when an emperor was crowned/ they that made the tombs brought him four or five pieces of marble of divers colours/ and asked him of which he would his tomb should be made/ and by this was to him showed that he must once die/ and that he ought to think for his soul. and to rule well his empire/ ¶ the holy patriarch that this would have in mind. commanded that his tomb should be begun in the place where the other patriarchs were buried. but he would not have it full made. to the end that they that should see it. should have occasion to tell him that he should do make it up. in bringing him to mind. that he knew not/ what hour he should die/ and by this mean trowed to have continual remembrance of his death. as long as he was alive/ whereby of light he eschewed to sin deadly. ¶ of the years that saint iohn the almoner sent to the patriarch of iherusalem for a succour against the paynims/ and beginneth in latin ¶ domino etc. caplm. c.xxiiii. the holy patriarch iohn seeing the destruction of the temples of iherusalem the which should be made by the persyens for the sins of the people. sent to the patriarch of iherusalem a thousand penyes·s a thousand sacks full of where and a thousand hogs heeds of beeves & peasen to make pottage with/ a thousand pound of iron. a thousand ton of wine and a thousand egiptyens. cunning & good work men in making and building of churches/ ¶ and he wrote to the said patriarch in this manner/ o very dyspensatoure of ihesu christ/ i beseech the give me pardon that i go not to thee/ truly i would it were covenable that i myight go thither for to build in the place of the resurrection of ihesu christ/ ¶ notwithstanding i pray the that thou take as for a thing of nought the gift that i send to thee/ but pray god only that he give me that privilege to be written in the book of life/ ¶ how a merchant gave to saint johan the almoner a rich coverlet for to cover over his sorry bed/ & begynyth ¶ arripuit scuns/ caplm. c.xxv. in alexandria was a great merchant/ the which knowing that iohn the holy patriarch slept on a sorry bed and was covered with a coverlet of wool. sent him another coverlet. of the price & value of xxxiii. pe●● of gold. praying him as it had not be for his honesty to have a bed so evil appareled. that he would lay it upon his bed. having him in a remembrance/ the holy patriarch granted to the request of the said merchant. covered him with all the night following. ¶ and as his chambrelayns died rehearse & show. he said all night in himself/ where is he that shall dare say that the patriarch iohn is meek fyth that he is heeled with a coverlett. worth xxxvi pens of gold. and the poor people day for cold/ ¶ how many is there now that chattre her teeth for cold. which have no clothes to cover themself with/ ¶ how many holy faders in wilderness go every night to bed without supper & without light. ha●ynge double passion. the one of cold tother of hunger/ ¶ how many is there that should hold themself well fed with the leaves of the cool wortes that men cast out of my kechin. ¶ how many is there that would have of the broth that my coke castyth a way. and that would well have of the wine of my cellar/ ¶ how many pylgryinns is there in this town that wot not where to lodge/ and that change not their clothes. be it winter or summer/ how many is there that sith a monyth or two eat neither oil nor other liquor/ and thiselfe poor iohn haste thou an hope to have pleasure everlastyng· and thou etest & drinkest of the best breed. wine & fish. and liest in a bed well appareled/ and a thing that is more exceeding. thou ha●e a rich coverlet. under the which thou art warmed. certainly who that liveth in such delyces. with great pain he may get the life everlasting. alas iohn remember in thyself of the sharp word proffered & said to the evil rich man. that was such/ ¶ thou wyckid rich haste had many goods in thy life. & the poor/ many sorrows. the which thou despised in putting them fro the as foul & vile/ therefore now thou art with good right tormented/ & the poor comforted in everlasting joy/ ¶ when the holy patriarch iohn had considered all these things/ he concluded in himself. that the night following he should not beele him with the said coverlet that the said merchant had sent him/ but he died consider the more better & covenable a thing it were that an. c.lxxxiiii. poor men. the which he called his lords should be heeled with. than him alone/ ¶ it is troth that in alexandrye folk made coverlets of rede. whereof men had four for a penny/ and the coverlet that was given to him had cost xxxvi pens of gold/ the next day he sent it to be sold/ & it happened that he that had give it to the said patriarch. bought it for the said some. & sent it again to the said patriarch/ that made it to be sold three times/ and the merchant three times sent it again. praying him that he should heel himself with. & that he should have him in remembrance/ ¶ the holy man took it supposing a thing to be leeful & covenable to find a mean. by the which men may. for the saving of the rich. give their money for god's sake principally when they been covetous folk & without mercy/ for by this mean men win oft their soul's/ and also great meed withal/ ¶ and for to approve his intention. he took for a witness saint typhanye that subtilely took the money of saint iohn the patriarch of iherusalem. and dealed it to the poor people/ ¶ of a changer named peter. that made himself to be sold by his servant. as a bond man. for to succour the poor people/ and beginneth in latin ¶ dignum etc. caplm. cxxvi the holy patriarch rehearsed often another befall well like the other. that is contained in the chapter before said/ which he said it was happened in affryque/ as one of his servants being his atourneye in cypre had told him. the which was a faithful & a true man to the hour of his death/ & the which had dwelled in the said land of affryque with a rich man that kept a change/ ¶ and he said that upon a time among other. there as his dwelling place was the poor folk were gatheren at the son side in the street. and told the one to the other the houses where they most oft had almesses. & praised them moche/ ¶ and in like wise they numbered the houses where they had no thing. and said moche evil of them/ so said one of them that he oft had alms of a chaunger that dwelled next him the which changer was master of the said patriarchs servant. as he said/ ¶ that other poor man answered that never by him nor by none other of his house. was not give him no alms/ thenne another of the said poor folk said to them/ what will ye give me if i can do so much. that i get alms there/ ¶ all the poor people being there at the sun side. knowing the covetise & the cold charity of the changer/ made a wager with the said poor man. saying that he could not get no thing of him. and he to the contrary said/ he should have somewhat of him/ ¶ so came he to the door of the said chaungers place. and waited when he should come out/ and as by adventure the said changer was gone afore out of his said house and was coming homeward again/ and after him were asses coming laden with loves of breed made of rye for his main/ ¶ thenne the said poor man seeing the said changer & the breed of rye that was brought to his place with him asked him three or four times an alms for god's sake/ ¶ the changer as noyous to hear him so oft call after him for an alms. looked about him/ if he might find a stone for to cast at him/ but he fond none. & then he took a loof of breed. that which by great despite he cast at his heed/ and this seeing the poor man took up the breed and went again to his fellows. & showed it unto them. saying it was yeven him there/ ¶ it happened two days after that the said changer fell sick/ & wend well to have died/ and in the sickness he had a vision. which was such/ that he must give account of all his deeds/ the which he saw in a balance/ so came before him two great companies. whereof the one was a great main of black & dreadful persons. and sore fearful for to see. and the other fellowship was all white & full-gracious & pleasant for to behold/ they that were white said among them. that in all his works he never died any good deed. but only an alms that he had done two days afore and yet it was against his will/ but the black folk pointed and showed him evils without number by him committed & done. as well by the sin of covetise as of other/ ¶ and thenne the said white folk. desiring to save him fro daungeour· commanded him that he should increase his alms. and also that he should amend his life/ or else the black persons should evermore torment him ¶ after he was awaked he knew his vision to be true/ for he had seen thereby all that he ever he died in his youth unto that hour and the said black persons had brought the balance for to weigh his misdeeds/ but the other had no thing to bring with them except only the alms that he had do as by constraining. and against his will/ ¶ then he said in himself/ alas my god/ so much thou art meek/ ¶ if thou grantest that only an alms which i have give spitefully. to be unto me so much worth. as to deliver me out of the power of the devils. how moche good doth an alms that is given with meekness & devotion/ ¶ and from that time fourth the said changer was so great giver of almesses & so free. that he spared not his own body/ ¶ ones in a morning it befell as he went toward the chaunge· that he found a marynar/ the which by fortune had be perished & was left as naked as he was come out of his moders belly/ the which kneeled on both his knees afore the said changer. and asked his alms/ ¶ the changer seeing his poverty took of his gown. that was the best that he had. and gaaf it him/ the poor man that durst not were so good a gown. went incontinent and sold it to an upholster/ ¶ when the changer going forth by. knew his gown that heng at the upholsters door. and all ready was there to sell. he was sore wroth & angry/ ¶ so went he in to his chambre for to weep & said. alas that i am unhappi· i was not worthy that the poor man should have be clothed with my vesture/ ¶ finably he fell a sleep/ and while he slept he saw over his heed a fair & a pleasant child. that bore a cross & the gown that the said changer had given for goods sake/ which said to him/ ¶ my friend why weepest thou/ the chaunger answered/ haa my lord i weep. by cause that of the goods that thou givest us/ when sometime we give them to the poor folk. they bystow them in evil usages/ ¶ then he showed him his gown. saying/ my friend. knowest thou not this gown/ with which i am clothed/ i thank thee/ for certainly i was sore acold at that time thou gave it to me/ ¶ the changer considering the words that the child said unto him/ began to praise the poor people in this wise/ ¶ sith that the poor folk represent the person of our lord ihesu christ. i purpose that from this hour forthon. i shall do as the poor people of god done/ ¶ and then he sent hastily his notary. the which he had bought after the custom that men were bought that time/ ¶ and when he was come to him. he delivered him x. pound of gold. saying that if he died not his commandment he should sell him to the strangers & saracens/ ¶ the said changer commanded him. that he should bring him to iherusalem and that he should sell him to a christian. and that he should give such money as he should have for him to the poor folk ¶ the which thing the notary would not do. but by cause that the changer threatened him. be feared himself to be sold/ ¶ so brought he his master unto iherusalem/ and as they were common thither the notary found a friend of his. that also was a changer. to whom he prayed for to bi● his subject. the which was a good & a true servant ¶ to whom this changer answered. that he had not money enough ready for to pay him/ and the notary said unto him/ certainly i make the sure if thou take him. that god by him shall give the his blessing ¶ then the changer bought him for as much as our lord was sold/ that it to wite. the some of thirty pens/ ¶ when he had sold him and delivered him. he went again to constantynople/ and without to utter his sale gave for goods sake the money that he had received for him. as he died promise him for to do/ ¶ thenne peter the changer thus sold served the changer his master in all things to him possible/ ¶ he washed his clothes·s scoured the dishes/ and died all that a good servant ought to do and within that de made great abstinences/ ¶ the changer seeing his manner of living. & also that he was well increased in goods sith the said peter was come to him. would no more keep him as a servant. but as his brother/ ¶ and nevertheless by his great humility & goodness he made himself to be beaten and wronged of the other servants of the house/ and said no thing there against/ ¶ wherefore they held him for a fool/ and as many times and oft as he was troubled of them. he had such a vision as the same that he had seen afore in affryque. of the child that appeared to him with his gown which he had gives for god's sake/ and showed him the thirty pens. wherefore he had be sold/ saying unto him/ ¶ peter have patience. and endure yet a little. awaiting after the reward of thy labours/ ¶ that time came out of his country many changers to iherusalem the city. for to worship the holy pl●●s/ the which changers were ●●ty●ed of the said peter's master for to 〈◊〉 to dinner with him in his house/ ¶ and when they were set at the table/ they said the one to the other/ beholding the said peter/ ¶ how well is the servant like unto peter the chager/ peter died hide his visage as much as he could/ ¶ these said chaungers yet again thinking ever upon the said peter. said to zoyle the chaunger that had prayed them to dinner certainly zoyle a great thing is happened unto thee/ for if we err not. thou hast in thy service a great man/ and of a rich house they were not yet certain of his very knowledge/ by cause his face was so sore changed/ as well for the pain that he took in the kitchen/ as for the fastings and abstinences that he made/ ¶ and after that they had devised long. one of them said/ certainly it is master peter the changer/ i will/ see him better anon/ ¶ the emperor of constantynople is sore heavy that he knoweth not where he is become/ ¶ the good peter understood these words/ he let go the dish that he bore: and ran down to the gate/ ¶ to the which gate was a man that of his birth was both deyff and dombte/ the which man kept the said gate. ¶ and when the said peter came to him. he said to him/ my friend in the name of god open the gate/ ¶ then this man both deyff & dombte. that never had herd. nor spoken afore· understood peter incontinent and to him spoke twice. saying/ well master/ ¶ then he opened the gate/ and the said peter fled away/ ¶ the which thing seeing this dombte man. came to his master. and unto him rehearsed the miracle in presence of all they that were at the table/ ¶ whereof they were greatly marveled and sore abashed/ ¶ and more over said to them/ i pray you let me god after peter/ for surely he is a great servant of god/ ¶ he bad me open the gate in name of our lord/ and thus he ran away/ ¶ out of his mouth came a great flame. that hath touched mine tears/ and incontinent the hearing and the speech was yeven unto me/ ¶ they all then rose from the table. and went after him. but they could not see him no morere/ ¶ the master knowing the virtues of peter/ and the place whereof he was come. wonderful sorry of that he had bought him to be his bondman/ ¶ and yet more by cause that he had set him to the office of his kitchen/ seeing that he was so holy a person and principally they that called him fool and from his wit/ when they had knowledge of it. they were sore troubled with all/ and bore therefore great penance/ ¶ the which history rehearsed often the holy patriarch/ for to move the hearts of the christian to give gladly almesses of their goods for god's sake to poor folk/ ¶ of saint cerapyon/ and beginneth in latin ¶ omnibus, et cetera/ caplm. c.xxvii. the holy patriarch iohn that was clad with all virtues/ rehearsed & showed gladly many good histories/ and principally of them. that devoutly died their alms/ ¶ one day among other it happened. that he rehearsed and showed of saint scrapyon/ otherwise called sydomyen/ ¶ how that on a time among other in going by the way. he had given his mantel to a poor man/ ¶ and after as he went forth on his way. he found another poor man/ that was all troubled for cold/ to the which poor man he gaaff his gown/ and abode all naked/ bearing only a book of gospels/ ¶ so was he anon met of a man/ that asked him who had thus despoiled him/ ¶ to whom in showing the said book of gospels. with his finger he answered in this manner/ ¶ the same hath done it/ as he would say that she 〈◊〉 of the said gospels had constraynyd him to give for god's sake both his mantel and his gowete/ ¶ it happened after one time among other. that he sold the said gospels/ and in likewise gave the money that he had for it for god's sake ¶ so after his clerk unknowing that his master had sold the said book/ questyoned of him where were his gospels/ ¶ and the said holy man answered him meekly in this wise/ truly my son god hath commanded that men should sell all that they have. for to give to the poor for god's sake/ ¶ and therefore have i sold the same gospels/ and the money thereof. i have given for his love to the poor people/ ¶ another thing a more wonderful deed done of the said holy man/ a poor woman went toward him/ sayenenge to him in this wise/ that she & her children by great poverty and ●●ede died for hungres/ ¶ the said holy man seeing that he had no thing to give to this poor woman. but only himself/ ¶ and considering if she would sell him to the greeks/ she should well have money for him ¶ for the greeks had a custom that they bought men and women strangers fro their nation/ ¶ and said unto her these worde●./ ¶ my friend i have no thing to give thee/ but i shalt learn the how them shalt have money. for to succour the and thine at thy need/ ¶ thou shalt sell me to the greeks. and shalt take the money for ●● ¶ the poor woman hearing these words was all asharayd/ but 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. he informed her so that she 〈◊〉 ●●●ente for to sell him/ and in 〈◊〉 she sold him to merchants of g●●ke ¶ whereof it happened by the will of god. that within a short time af●● he turned all the greeks to the christian faith/ ¶ the holy patriarch this considering said to himself/ ¶ alas i wen●● to have done some good. for to gy●● that. that god had given/ but i ge●● not so great reward. as done my 〈◊〉 that give not only their goods. but also put their own bodies for the compassion and pi●e that they have of their neighbours/ ¶ we other thenne that are bywrapped with many sins. and yt●●ue neither ourself nor our goods/ aught well to dread the rightwiseness of god/ and thereto we should well take heed. considering that by almesses we may sa●e ourself lightly/ ¶ how the holy patriarch would not hearken to the acusations that men made against the religiouses/ and beginneth in latin ¶ semper quidem caplm. cxxviii· the holy patriarch left never no religiouses to have any need/ so that they were of holy conversation/ and also would not here speak nor hearken to them that said evil by them/ ¶ whereof it happened once. that a religious that went from street to street. seeking his breed with a fair young maid/ met with some evil folk/ the which came and showed to the holy man/ how that the said religious went through the city/ and how he shamed all other religiouses/ ¶ the holy patriarch weninge to correct the sin of the said religious made the said maid to be rebuked. and departed from his fellowship/ ¶ and soon after was the religious sore beaten. and casten in prison/ ¶ the night following appeared to the said patriarch in his sleep a religious. that showed him his back all rotyn. and said to him/ ¶ o patriarch it is thy will that it be so done/ i promise the that thou haste at this time erred as a man/ and believe that i say/ for the life & the death are nigh me/ and this saying he went away/ ¶ the next day following in the morning eerly the holy patriarch sent for the foresaid religious. for to understand if he could know whether it was he of whom the foresaid vision was appeared & showed unto him/ ¶ and when he was brought before him/ seeing his visage pale. he was all ashamed/ ¶ after by cause he would see his back/ for to wite if it was rotyn as that other that he saw in a vision/ prayed him that he would unclothe hym· and that he should not be ashamed/ ¶ the poor religious had all his ly●nes so sore that he had almost no power to re●eue him/ nevertheless with moche pain unclothed himself/ ¶ and it was found that he had no membres manly and his back was all rotin/ ¶ thenne the holy patriarch sent all his servants out of the chambre. and called to him the said religious/ and asked him why he lad that maid with him/ saying to him that all folk & principally religiouses ought to keep himself from slander & shame/ and above all things fro company of women/ ¶ the religious answered that it was not long ago. that he was in the cite of gazan and as he would have come thence/ after leave taken of his abbot cirus. the said maid. which was a sarrasyn was come to him about even. & had prayed him that he would not leave her by cause she would be christian/ he thenne considering her good will. and fearing to offend god/ if by his negligence she had not continued in her holy purposes. hoping also that the devil should not deceive him by her. had taken on his way with her. and had born her fellowship unto the city of alexandria/ where he had existned her. and sought a place for to have her in to religion/ and this doing they asked their breed thorough the city/ the holy patriarch seeing the holy affection that he had to the soul of the good maid. beg●● for to cry/ ¶ alas how many good servants of god 〈◊〉 is the world unknown/ ¶ and after he gaaf him a● hundred pens/ but the religious would none take/ saying that it was not that he sought/ ¶ and that all religiouses that been of good faith have no need of silver/ ¶ and if that they have need/ men may well say that they have no faith/ ¶ then the patriarch bowed his knees before him and recommended him to god/ ¶ and after loved. maintened. and lodged the religiouses more tenderly than he had done afore/ ¶ and after for the great affection and fervent love that he had to them. died build an hospital without the city of alexandria. that he named the hospital of religiouses/ ¶ how the holy patriarch visited the 〈◊〉 in ●ourynge to their death ward ¶ and of him that was brought prisoner in pierce/ and beginneth in latin ¶ mortalitate. et cetera caplm. c.xxix. a great death happened in alexandria in the holy patriarchs days/ during the which death/ for to purchase greater meed/ and also for to show a token of meekness to all other/ he went and visited the like/ and helped to wind them when they were decessed/ ¶ and often for to have a continual mind of death/ he masyd their eyen after that they were deed/ ¶ and after made devout prays and orisons. for the health of their poor soul's/ ¶ and for to show that prayers and orisons that been done devoutly. profiten to the deed/ here after is rehearsed a fair history of a man the which was taken and brought prisoner in to pierce/ and was put in a prison that is called lethe/ which is as much for to say. as forgetting or to be put out of remembrance. ¶ some that fled from thence for to go in to ethypre/ passed by the house of the friends of the said prisoner/ and they were questioned if they had not met nor seen their kinsman/ ¶ whereat they answered. that who their own hands they had buried him/ ¶ always it was not the same/ but it was another that was well like him/ ¶ and for to certify the better that it was he. they named the monyth and also the day that he died ¶ the said friends by cause they wend these men's sayings to be true. died do make three services every year for their said kinsman/ ¶ that is to wite. one at the feast of the epiphany. that we call tweluyfthdaye/ the other upon the holy sunday. that is trinity sunday. and the third at the feast of pentecost. otherwise called wytsondaye. ¶ it happened that four year after. the said prisoner came again to whom his friends rehearsed & told him/ that by cause men had reported to them that he was deed. they made for him upon these days. and every year the said services/ ¶ the which thing by him heard of them/ he affirmed to them for a truth/ that he being within the said prison/ every year. and the same days. came to him a man all in white. that loosed him his chains wherewith he was bound and preserved him from them that kept him/ and after went bearing his chains at his neck without the knowledge of any man/ ¶ wherefore he concluded that orison prouffytyth moche to the prisoners upon the turks and sarrasyns/ and principally to them that been deed/ ¶ of him that prayed for his son. and for his ship that was upon the see/ by cause it should not perish/ and beginneth in latin/ ¶ quod in actibus aplorum/ caplm. c.xxx. such another thing we read of the holy patriarch in the book of the deeds of th'apostle that many devout crystens seeing the great compassion that he had toward the poor sold moche of their goods. & brought the money thereof to the holy man for to be dreased by him to the poor/ ¶ among the other was one. that had only but vii pound of gold & an half/ that which some he brought to the said holy man. saying that it was all the gold that he had in his possessonn/ ¶ and as he took him this gold. he said that he had only a son of xu year of age. the which with a ship was gone in to affryque ¶ and by cause he was in great thought & melancholy of that he came not again so soon as he was acustomed. besought him that he would pray god that he would save him his son & bring his ship again to port salw/ the holy patriarch was marveled of the goodness and· kindness of this merchant. that had give all his gold at o●● alms/ ¶ so took he soon the said gold. and put it under a table hallowed praying god devoutly for the health of his son & of his ship/ ¶ thirty days after came tidings that his son was deceased. but three days after the said tidings. his ship came. and also his son. that nevertheless was drowned in coming within the haven & the goods within the ship lost/ & there abode only but one little boot/ all this befall was reported to the said holy patriarch and how the father was more sorry only for the death of his son. than for the loss of his goods/ the holy man considering his great sorrow durst not make him come afore him/ ¶ but nevertheless he sent him word that he should take his infortune in patience. by cause our lord made no thing without a cause. all be it that we know not the same. or will not know it/ and therefore he leaveth never those that do any good. but rather when they suffer any adversities or tribulations. if they return to him soon or late. they been comforted/ ¶ soon after the good merchant saw in his dream a man like unto the holy patriarch. the said to him/ my brother. why trowblest thou thyself. & takest so much heaviness/ hast not the prayed me. that thy son might be saved/ certainly thy prayer is hard. for surely if he lived. he were in daunge●ur to be dampened. for the evils that he should have done/ ¶ i ensure the if i● had not be by the gift that thou best done to me/ they of the ship 〈◊〉 have be perished. and so should not thy son have escaped fro everlasting damnation ¶ the merchant then w●ll comforted awoke. & came to the holy patriarch. for to show him the caas & thanked him of his prayer/ ¶ thenne the holy patriarch heaving his hands to heaven said/ o my god i thank the that thou gladly hearest & enhauncest the prayers of the poor synnars/ after he said to the merchant/ ¶ my friend believe not that this vision is come to the by my prayers. but only by the great faith that thou hast had to our lord/ ¶ of a covetous bishop. the which ●●●yd money inordinately & overmuch/ and beginneth in latin ¶ vrgehat etc. caplm. c.xxxi. oft times the holy patriarch iohn went to visit the poor that were in a place called cesarium in which place he had do make mats & bedding for to lay them upon in winter/ ¶ with him on a time among other vysiting the said poor folk was a bishop named troyle. which made thenne to be brought with him by one his attourneye. xxx.li. of gold: for to buy certain plate to serve at his board/ ¶ the holy patriarch that knew well his intention/ said unto him in speaking of the poor people/ troyle i pray the love the brethren of ihesu christ/ ¶ after which words thus said by the patriarch. and well marked by the said bishop/ as all ashamed commanded to him that bore his gold that he should give it to the poor/ and after that they came again to the city/ and as they were in the way/ the bishop troyle that was right sorry that he had given against his will the said xxx pound of gold. angered himself so sore for it that a strong fever took him so fervently that he was from himself. and the holy patriarch when he was come to his house & was set at the table. sent for the said bishop for to come to dinner & take his refection with him. but he answered that he might not go/ & that the fever was so strong upon him that he might not rise from his bed/ ¶ the holy patriarch knowing him thus sick. thought it was for great malencolye that he took for his gold that he had given against his will ¶ and by cause he knew this bishop to be sore vexed & tormented: and for this cause he might not take his refection/ ¶ he went to the bed where he lay sick. and said to him/ ¶ troyle be of good there & comfort and rejoice thyself at my coming/ didst thou imagine otherwise when i told the that thou should give thy gold to the poor people but that it was my will to give unto the again all together/ truly my will was so. hold here is thy hole some which i being to thee/ and when he saw in the holy manes hands all his gold. he fond himself aswell disposed of his coming/ as though he had brought a good medicine/ whereof he should have recovered his good heel/ and so the holy man took him his gold again/ ¶ but in this doing he asked him a letter of his hand. how he forsook the merit that he might have got in giving his money for god's sake· the which bishop made to him a writing whereof the tenor was such/ ¶ o my god give to my master iohn. patryarke of the great city of alexandria the merit of the thirty. li. of gold that i had given to the poor/ people for i have received them again/ the said holy patriarch kept well the said writing. and brought the said bishop to dinner with him/ to whom after few days. to th'end he were stirred to succour gladly the poor people/ our lord giver of rewards. would show in a dream what reward he had lost/ so saw he in this dream a great palace▪ so costelew & so fair builded that all mankind could have discern it/ and among the great richesses of the same palace was the gate all of fine gold/ upon which was written/ this palace is everlasting/ & the rest of troyle/ ¶ and as he was reading the said superscription. came suddenly a notable person. as a cha●brelayn. acompanyed of many seruaunters/ to whom he had that they should take away the same superscription/ and that they should ●●te in that place/ that which the s●●ersyn king had ordained the which thing they died/ and their writing was this/ ¶ it is the palace everlasting of iohn the patriarch. and archbishop of alexandria. bought by him for. xxx.li of gold/ the which vision the said bishop rehearsed aforesaid patriarch ¶ and from that ●●me forth he was. a great alms yo●● having ever more after strongly compassion of the poor/ ¶ of the ships of the church/ and how all the goods that were the●● were lost/ which chapter beginneth in latin ¶ dominus qui divician. & cetera caplm. c.xxxii. true it is that our lord which took from ioh all his goods for to prove 〈◊〉 patience/ 〈◊〉 for to give us ensample to have it 〈◊〉 all our adversities/ took also from the holy patriarch johan all his gods/ ¶ for as the ships of his church were in the see. laded with all the ●●●ur of the church. at a place named ephyra/ the patrons of the said ships of the church were constrained. 〈◊〉 eschew the lyckely peril and gret●● danger of their own persons and vessels to cast all their goods in to the see/ ¶ and incontinent that they were come in to the city of alexandria fearing to be trowbled· vexed and not in prison/ went all to the church for to keep there the franchise and ●● betters/ ¶ the holy patriarch hearing 〈◊〉 ●●ynges/ and the cause why they understand/ wrote to them with his 〈◊〉 ●onde. saying/ bredern be not say not anger not yourself our lord hath take from us his goods as it hath pleased him. his good pleasure be done/ come surely out of the church 〈◊〉 ●●●nysour. god shall purvey for us 〈◊〉 one day to the other/ the day following the cyteyzyns would have come to him for to comfort him/ but he came against them. and began to say to them/ ¶ o my children be not angry for the loss of the ships/ certainly i am for my sin the cause of the destruction/ by cause i was proud of the al●esses that i have done in time pass/ ymagyning to have had meed to yo●● that ● was your own/ and the ●●●oce god sendeth me now this fortune for to meek myself/ ¶ alms oft playsyth the heart of man. and maketh to glorify himself without reason/ wherefore it ought to be done secretly & in humility/ ¶ it is no fortune to have great goods in this world/ poverty is more sure for to find the way of salvation/ ¶ the holy scripture saith that poverty mekyth the person/ and david in his psalm saith to this purpoos/ i am glad my god that thou haste meek me. to th'end that i shall learn thy justifications & also the ways of salvation/ always the holy man said this/ ¶ i believe truly that the god that was in job's days is yet almighty. the which shall not fail us at our need. not for the love of me/ but for to help and succour the poor needy/ for he said himself/ thou that art just & good i shall not leave thee/ and moreover god commandeth us to seek first his ream & his justice. promising to us that all things leeful & good that we shall ask him. shall be granted to us/ ¶ ye know how to job very patient/ he gave more goods again than ever he had lost afore/ and the which job after that he was stablished again in his gods and in his astate· was more meedful than he had be afore/ ¶ of a servant. to whom he gave ii pound of gold/ and beginneth in latin ¶ ad extremam. et cetera caplm. c.xxxiii. the holy patrick knowing one of his servants to be fallen in great poverty. gave him two pound of gold. so secretly that no body knew of it/ ¶ the servant said unto him/ ¶ alas my lord i shall never dare come before thy face ¶ the holy patriarch as a wiseman answered to him words worthy of praising. saying/ my friend i have not yet shed my blood for the. like that god died for us/ & hath commanded us to do it/ ¶ of a duke that refused to leave thirty pound of gold/ beginning in latin ¶ districtis/ caplm. c.xxxiiii. a man was that ought much money and could not pay it what for cause that his merchandise was not so prosperous unto hym· as it was wont to be. as also by cause that the river of nile had failed that time for to dew the ground/ as it was wont to do every year ¶ this man went to a duke & prayed him that he would lend him thirty pound of gold upon a pledge that was worth twice asmuch/ the duke denied him first his asking/ but nevertheless he promised him after that he should have them/ ¶ this man was constrained for to pay there as he owed· and this hanging he advised himself that he should go to his socours. there as all other were received. that is to wite to the holy patriarch/ ¶ so came the poor man unto him. and showed him his poverty/ but or he had told all his befall the holy patriarch that of his nature was pitiful and might not see people weep but he must wep also took his gown of. & gave it him. & constrained the poor to take it with him/ the night following/ the duke that had refused to lean to the poor man the said some. saw in his dream many folk making offerings and oblations upon an altar/ and for one penny that they offered. they received an hundred/ ¶ and with them was the god holy patriarch behind the back of the same duke/ ¶ there came a man that showed him a sack being night by them/ saying to him in this manner ¶ take an offering that is within this sack and go offer it to the altar and thou shalt have an hundred for it/ ¶ the duke was negligent to do as he had him/ nevertheless the good holy man that was there night by him. all incontinent went and took it and offered it and was yeven to him for it as to the other an hundred times as much as he had offered/ ¶ when the duke was awaked. he could not understand his dream/ ¶ so sent he incontinent for him that had desired money of him/ and would have the●e lent him asmuch as he died ask/ ¶ to whom the said man answered truly my lord the holy patriarch hath fulfilled mine asking before you ye have lost your reward/ the duke when he had understand these words had mind of his dream. and said/ ¶ truly thou tellest me troth. he bore the offering afore me that i would not bear/ ¶ cursed be he that may ●el do it. and will not/ ¶ after he rehearsed his dream to diverse folk/ and 〈◊〉 that time forth. willing to recover the time and the reward that he had lo●● afore sorely by his over great negligence he disposed himself to be large and rewarded and gave toward the poor people in dealing freely and with go●de courage great abundance of al●mes● and charytees/ whereof he was by our blessed saviour & redeemer ihu christ rewarded to the hundred fold in the joy and blessedness o● everlasting glory/ ¶ of a woman that forbore wrongs other son in law/ and beginneth in latin ¶ vergente/ caplm. cxxxv. the holy patriarch gladly and often went to visit the church of the victorious martyrs saint cyr & saint iohn/ ¶ one time as he was gooinge thither. he met with a woman which was sore troubled. the prayed him t'avenge her of many wrongs that she said were done to her by her son in law/ one of the servants of the said patriarch. which trusted of his good will said unto him/ sire leave this woman/ when thou shalt return thou shalt do to her right/ the holy man answered to him/ thou knowest well yt. we go for to pray/ and how should god here us if we heard not first this woman/ and therefore the holy man went not fro that place. till that she had showed unto him all her befall. & that he utterly had comforted her/ ¶ of saint iohn & saint sophronyon/ which beginneth in latin ¶ advoluntatem igitur. etc. caplm. c.xxxvi. go● that will send to the will doth holy patriarch ever farm to the heavenly things. sent unto him ●o holy men/ that is to wit john & sophronyon for to be his counselors/ to whom benignly he obeyed as to his faders & teachers ¶ these ii holy faders meaning the grace of the holy ghost. disputed many times against the severyens and other heretics/ in so moche that they preserved fro their infection many monasteries & churches/ as done the good pastors that rescue their sheep fro the ravishing vulues. for which thing the holy man had them in great honour & reverence/ ¶ a sermon made by the foresaid holy patriarch against the beters of folk followeth/ & beginneth in latin ¶ si vero alicubi. etc. caplm. c.xxxvii. if the holy man wist or knew that one had smitten another he went with great humility unto him/ ● desired him saying/ my son it hath been reported to me. as to a synar. that by the temptation of the devil that art cruel & rude to thy children or servants. i pray the cease thy wrath/ so that it ne have no place within that/ god hath not give unto us children for to noye them. but for to serve us. or for to cherish & nourish them of the gods that he hath lent us/ i put a question unto thee/ what whing haste thou in thy body. foot. hand. or soul more than thy servant hath/ is he not like unto the in all things/ thou aught to know that we been all formed & made at th'image of ihu christ/ thy servants thenne are men as thou art. hark after saint paul that saith/ ¶ ye all that are christened. have ihu christ in to your possession/ be it jew or christian. free or bond/ we ne are but one in ihu christ/ thenne sith we been equal in ihu christ & that our saviour by his great humility hath take our nature/ he teacheth us that we should flee pride against our servants/ there is but one god of heaven. that beholdyth only the meek. & destroyeth the proud ¶ god hath made the heavens & then● the see & all that is in it for the man & for the woman/ and so hath he also worshipped man in taking our manly flesh/ ¶ thou art thenne well accursed the ceasest not to smite upon thy seruauntest/ thangels fere man/ & thou dost despise him/ god hath be crucified for man. and that dost no thing. but tormentest & crucyfyest thy servants that been men. i ask of thee/ wouldest that well at every time that thou dost evil. that god should take vengeance of thee/ i believe nay/ ¶ every day in saying thy pater noster. thou prayest god that he pardon the thy sins. as the pardonest to other. & nevertheless thou dost the contrary/ so ought ● to doubt. the like as thou desirest & wyllest take vengeance of thy serua●●●t or enemy. god beholding thy prayer took of the rigorous vengeance/ ¶ of the child orphenym the which was made rich/ and beginneth in la●in ¶ audience. & cetera caplm. c.xxxviii. sometime in alexandria was an almoner. the which had one only son/ the father seeing his end to draw nigh. made his son to be called. & said unto him/ my child by cause that i shall dey. i will make the well to have knowledge of all that i am worth/ ¶ wit it for truth that of all goods & riches. i have but. x.li. of gold/ and therefore chose whether thou will be mine heir. or else that the blessed mother of god be the same/ the child had liefer that the tresoresse & mother of orphans should be his faders heir than he himself. and suffered that all should be give for god's sake/ ¶ the father so deceased. the child continually night & day kept himself in the church of the blessed mother of god. making to her devout prayers & orisons/ of the which thing. the holy patriarch had knowledge/ that nevertheless made countenance as he had known no thing/ ¶ within short time after he made to be called a notary. to whom he commanded to take an old skin of parchment. therein to write a testament. for. & in the name of one named the ophente/ and that he should affirm by the testament. that the father of the said child. & the said patriarch were brethren german/ charging moreover the said notary to show the child of the same. showing to him the said testament. for & to the intent he should give him courage & boldness to ask of the said patriarch aid & socours/ the which thing the said notary died in continent. but nevertheless the child durst not go to him. ¶ so sent he twice for him/ and finably came toward him. took & kissed him saying thou art welcome my nephew. and made to be known that he was of his kin/ ¶ and when he was great he gave him an house. and all things that to him were needful/ and married him honestly/ ¶ whereby it appeareth that god leaveth never those that have their hope in him/ ¶ of a beguiler that borrowed thirty pound of gold of the holy patriarch and beginneth in latin ¶ inpretermisse/ caplm. c.xxxix. truth it is that the foresaid holy patriarch had this good & laudable custom. that men never went heavily abashed from him ¶ so it happened that a beguiler papelarde borrowed of him. xx.li. of gold/ this holy man unware that he was of thilk nice haskers/ begylets. liquorous & false butters the beguile & deceive the world. lente him gladly without any speaking therayenst/ ¶ so departed this papelaide from before him. mocking & saying. that he had lent him no thing/ the justycers prayed the holy patriarch that he would suffer him to be had in to prison/ ¶ but the said holy man said to them/ friends be merciful as god our father that maketh the sun to shine. aswell over the bad as over the good. & to rain asmuch over the just as our● the virtue/ & forbadd them to do unto him any harm/ whereof they angered themself against the holy man saying/ truly it no right that such a gnaw shall have thus your money. better it were to give to the poor/ ¶ thenne he answered unto them/ ye shall do two evils/ the first is that ye shall be holden impatient in our harms. and to other ye shall be ensample of impatience/ and tother evil shall be. that in this doing ye shall be dys● beyeng unto god. that saith/ if any take the money or thy substance fro thee/ ask it never again ¶ of that other part saint paul saith/ why do we not endure & forbear more patiently wrong deceit or wiles/ it is a good deed & alms to give to them that ask do and better bestowed it is. to them that ask no thing/ but it is a sovereign goodness to give our gown to them that from us take away our mantel/ and who that doth thus. he is of an angels and of the nature of god/ ¶ god commaudeth us that we so●ur ever our even christian. of that we truly have gotten/ and not of that we have won and gotten to the hurt of other wrongfully/ ¶ of the abbott vitalyon/ and beginneth in latin ¶ senex quidem ma●nua. etc. caplm. c.xl an old abbot named vitalion of th'age of lx year that dwelled with another holy abbot/ that hight serydon. had heard showed many good properties of the good patriarch iohn/ & of his holy life/ so would be assay if he might make him to fall in sin. and namely if he were so constant that he never condemned any person/ ¶ then for to perform his unlawful will. he departed fro his monastery & came in to alexandria/ and when he was come thither. he lad a pleasant lyfe· as to men. but unto god right agreeable/ ¶ first he wrote all the hours plainly/ and that which he could win. he gave unto one of them. & said to her/ my friend i pray the give me this night. that is to say that she should abstain herself fro fornication ¶ the said abbot for to keep her fro evil dedes·s abode with her all the night. & held himself in a corner of the chamber. praying god for her till it was day/ on the morn he went away. & prayed her that she should tell no body that he had be with her/ ¶ many days & nights he continued this going among them unto the time. that this was showed by an harlot. that nevertheless would not say that he was a lecher. but he acompanyed them only for their health/ ¶ the good abbot prayed god that his good purposes might not be let by the said discovering/ wherefore the devil anon entered in the body of the said woman. to th'end that the other should fere to say as she said in sheweng the life that he lad ¶ some that saw this woman sick said to her. behold evil woman. thou seest now how god punysshyth yt. by cause that thou hast lied upon the religious/ thou hast said that he gooth not with thy fellows for lechery/ but thou hast made a lie/ these things notwithstanding the holy abbot. when he had wrought all day/ he at even desired none other but preach the common women/ & said to himself go we go to another place. there is a woman that tarrieth after the ¶ many that saw his usual communication that he had with these women. blamed him for it/ but he answered unto them/ is not god aswell wroth with the other as he is with the religiouses. they been men as other been/ ¶ some told him that he should take a wife. & change his habit. by cause he should not be slandered/ but he kept him well that he consented not unto their opinion. & only to them he answered that they should go fro him. asking them/ are ye assigned my judges. see to yourself. & let me do my will. finably he was accused to the holy patriarch. which would not believe lightly that men reported unto him. but had in remembraunte the other religious. that in like wise had had be accused. as here before is made mention/ ¶ and for to stint the reporters. the holy patriarch told an history of constantyn the emperor. to whom was like wise reported by an accuser certain blames in writing against a religious/ ¶ when the emperor saw the accusation. he sent for the accuser & him yt● as accused and they being aforesaid to the accusa●/ truly if i saw a secular priest or a religious that died any sin. i should hide him with my mantel/ to th'end that his sin should not be known nor seen of other/ and thus the holy patriarch peased the accusers of the said abbot. ¶ during the said time the servant of god vital used as he had accustomed with the common women/ and with this he prayed god devoutly & continually. that after his death to some person should the cause be showed. by reason whereof he died haunt the common women. to th'end the people should not abide by him evil ensampled. as also they ought not to be/ ¶ for through his prayers. many persons that saw him pray god by night. ●euynge his hands up toward heaven by fervent devotion. kept themself fro fleshly desires. & namely many women. by reason of him kept themself from the sin of lechery/ ¶ it happened one day as in a morning that he came out of the house of a common woman he met with a lewd haskarde. which for to do the said sin of lechery went to the house there as the holy man came fro/ and at their meeting together this vnthryft gaaf him a buffet saying to him/ knavysshe ypocryte. why amendest not thyself of thine hypocrisy/ the holy abbot answered unto him i shall yield the ones such a buffet. that all alexandria shall come to thy cry ¶ a little while after this died the holy abbot victual/ & never during his life was the cause know why he drew to the common women/ ¶ and it is to wite that his cell or little house where he deceased all alone was set in a place a little fro the town. the which was called the gate of the sun/ ¶ anon after his death & or ever it was to oni person known. the devil came in likeness of an ethyopien toward him that had smitten him. & him gaaf a great buffet. saying the abbot vital sendeth that this offering/ the unhappy bawdy knave fell down to the ground/ fooming as a mad man/ whereof many men &. women that heard the stroke were sore marveled by cause they trowed that they had heard the thouder bolt fall/ ¶ and truly like as the abbot had prophesied it. all the city was thereof moved/ & the cyteyzyns came to the crying of the said unthrift/ which after a long space of time that he had be in this penance. his mind was restored to him again/ and anon he ●aūe to the little he●us of the said abbot for to cry him mercy. saying that he had overmuch offended against him when he met him & gaaf him the buffet ¶ many went thither with him. in presence of whom. the devil yet again smote the foresaid knave. &. cast him to the●h and they that were come with him entered within the cell of the said vital. and found him on both his knees. as he should pray god. & with this it seemed them that he had one hand to the ground. wherewith he wrote these words/ ¶ o ye men of alexandria. judge never no man nor woman. but that ye know him first. & abide till that god himself maketh the judgement/ thenne the poor lozel confessed that he had beaten him. ¶ and thus the prophecy was in him fulfilled/ ¶ all these things were by the people rehearsed unto the holy patriarch the which with the clergy & great number of cyteyzyns came to the place where the corpse of the holy abbot was all the women in like wise came thither. which he had converted to goodness and bare with them tapres & lamps brenning. saying. alas we have lost our hele & teaching/ ¶ thenne they told & showed how he companyed with them. not for reason of sin but for to exhort & stir them to do well. & leave their lecherous life & malice/ so were they sore rebuked/ that they had not uttered his holy life/ but they answered that they durst not. by cause that one of their fellows which had spoken of him had be incontinent tormented of the devil/ wherefore they durst never be so bold to speak thereof/ ¶ the said corpse was after honestly brought to sepulchre/ ¶ and he that was vexed of the devil abiding upon the grave/ was by the grace of god incontinent hole & sound/ and forsaking the world put himself religious under th'abbot seridoi●e. & desired that the little house that the abbot victual had in his life should be delivered unto him/ ¶ the holy patriarch after all things by him well considered thanked our lord god of that he had not sinned against the said abbot/ by cause he believed not lightly them that accused him of lechery/ ¶ many seeking the said holy abbot vital recovered health. & were heeled of divers sicknesses/ ¶ of a beggar which in asking an alms of the said patriarch spoke great words against him/ and beginneth in latin ¶ precipiens/ caplm. c.xli a beggar for to ask an almese came to the holy patriarch that made to be given unto him x. pieces of money: but this beggar not content began to speak evil against him speaking of him in his presence diverse wrongs. that which his servants might not endure· but would have corrected him but the patriarch would not suffer them do so/ but said to his servants & officers/ my brethren leave the poor man it is all ready lx year paste. that daily through my neclygences & otherwise i have done many offences to my god· that which he playeth meekly. in giving unto me example/ and for the love of him. i ought well to endure a wrong. if it be done to me/ ¶ after he commanded the men should open the purse to the poor where the money was put that should be give for god's sake. for to take thereof asmuch as he would/ ¶ of the questions that the holy patriarch made unto the poor people. beginning in latin ¶ si vero. ca/ c.xlii oft times the holy patriarch knowing the some of his subgettes were great alms givers/ sent for them that they should come unto him/ and aft he questioned them how they died their almesses. other naturally or by constraint/ some by symplenes answered no thing/ & the other gaaf thereof certain reasons & causes/ among which. one of them that was a changer. said unto him such words. certainly my lord i died never no good. but nevertheless that which i have give to the poor/ that was for to follow that/ in time passed i have be cruel & without mercy/ wherefore i have had many hurts/ so came to me once in mind that if i waxed an alms giver. god should never leave me vnpuru●yed/ wherefore i had of custom that i gaaf every day v. pens of silver/ but the devil tempted me. & put in my intendment. that the upens that i gaaf were suffisaunt for to nourish my main/ & by his tempting i left to give for god's sake/ after ward returning to myself/ i commanded to my son that he should rob me each day v. pens. & that he should give them for god's sake/ my son hath ever done the that i have commanded him. & over this when he perceived the gods in my house to be increased/ he died increase my alms/ and in like wise considering said to my son/ my child i know that the .v. pens that the hast given for god's sake hath profiten me much/ so will i that thou give ten pens frohens forth/ he answered to me smiling/ my father pray for my thefts. certainly if i had not be a thief/ we might well have died for hungers/ & if any thief were ever just. i have be so/ ¶ the holy patriarch knowing of this thing/ glorified god of the wisdom of this child/ ¶ of a prince the hated another prince/ beginneth ¶ malician/ ca c.xliii. sometime was great hate between ii pryces·s whereof tho●e was by the holy patriarch many times moved to have agreed with the other. but thereto he would never accord/ ¶ on a time the said patriarch called to him the said obstynat prince. & brought him in to his oratory with a servant of his/ & there in their presence he song mass/ in saying that which. & after the consecration & elevation of the precious body of our lord. where the pater nost behooveth to be said. they iii said together unto these words) et dimit 〈◊〉 his debita ●rā. sicut et nos dimitt●●● debitoribus●ris (in which words ●e pray to god our creator. that it w●ll please him to foryeve our defaults like as we forgive those that been done against us/ and afore that they began the said clause. the said patryarke cessed his speech & commanded his servant to keep his tongue still so ended the prince all alone the same clause/ the patriarch after said to him. auyse & see my brother how thou speakest fearfully to god against thyself. in praying him that he pardon that as thou pardonest the other & nevertheless thou dost thereof no thing/ the prince thenne meked himself. & promised to the said holy patriarch that he should do as he would have him to do/ ¶ how the holy patriarch constrained by his humility the proud to be meek/ & beginneth in ¶ suꝑbun autem. ca· c.xliiii if the holy patriarch knew in the city any that was proud/ he never rebuked him openly. but in one secret place. or in his house. & for to do so he drew himself nigh him/ & laid to him the meekness of ihu christ/ to him showing. how he that was god. had take our mankind/ & sometime said/ i marvel me/ sith that my god hath be so meek. how man may raise himself. other for the gods of fortune. or when he is fairer than other been/ or when he hath lordship over some other/ alas we hark not after ihu christ the saith/ my children learn of me. for i am meek/ & by this ye shall do the we'll of your souls/ we in like wise think not upon the meekness of saints/ how they held themselves to be earth. ashes & worms of the earth/ & principally how ysayas said of himself/ why am i not meek. have not i be made of the filth whereof the tiles been made/ all the pleasure of this world passeth to an end. as the flower or herb that fro the morning to the even is turned in hay ¶ when the patriarch said such words/ they that felt themselves ●ike of the grievous evil of pride/ took the words for them. & corrected theimself/ ¶ a sermon that the holy patriarch made to give emsample of meekness. beginneth ¶ et hec. caplm· c.xlv. for to stir his people to mekenes·s openly gave the holy patriarch these exortaconns'/ my children let us consider & put in our hearts the great goodness of god. & his great mercy and certainly we shall not desire to be put in great honours that been so dangeroous/ but plainly we shall desire to live in simple estate and poverty/ ¶ alas what poverty could we have for to be also poor as hath be the lord our saviour and redeemer ihesu criste. that king was both of heaven & of earth/ ¶ let us think upon his meed fullness & great goodness that hath be showed to us/ where as we never should have been. if he by his grace had not form adam/ the which by inobedience caused us subject unto everlasting death/ ¶ and always through his great mercy & painful passion. so much benignly he hath bought us again ¶ we also shall consider that at all times that we fall in deadly sin. the devil may slay us. & bring in to hell/ and in deed he should do it. ne were the perfect love that our lord hath to us ¶ for continually by his daughter that is the chyrche· he prayeth us to return to penance. to th'end we may have his grace/ ¶ o most sweetness. when he that may both damn & save us at his will. and that all things may without us/ and without him we may no thing/ nevertheless he prayeth us that we will love him/ ¶ how many thieves & evil doers are in the word that god punysshyth not. but covereth their sins/ how many been in the see that god preseruyth that they been not rob of the pirates/ or drowned in to the deppest bottoms. but commandeth the see that it suffereth them to come to port save/ in abiding the amendment of their life/ ¶ how many receive the body of our lord in deadly sin which he punysshyth not forth with/ how many bribers & thieves are kept from the wild beasts/ ¶ how many synnars been preserved the anon after their sin they been not take of the devil of hell. how many lurdens lie by harlots & adulterers. dronkelew. glos●ets. and other to all vices been wrapped/ & nevertheless god abideth them to give unto them his mercy. if they will ask it. ¶ the bee fleeth in summer in hills & val●es for to make honey sweet for our months, that have uttered & said so many fowl words and shameful/ the flowers show them for to rejoice our eyes which enforce them for to look on common women/ or deceive a manes wife/ ¶ we thenne that done such deeds/ and have so many rewards of god/ what dread ought we for to have when only we consider the last hour of our death/ ¶ diverse ensamples of death gave the holy patriarch. to the end that they that were proud & foolish lovers should meekly and lowly obey themself for to have contrition/ taking sorrow for their sins ¶ this holy man said. it suffysyth me for to be saved. to have a continual mind of death/ for at the self hour none shall acompany with us/ but only our good & bad deeds ¶ alas let us think how our good angel shallbe wroth when aft our death he shall find no good deeds done by us whereby he might keep & defend us against thacusing of our enemy the devil of hell/ alas thenne shall we pray god the he will give us space to live yet a little while to do penance. but to us shallbe answered/ poor creature that haste evil spended the time that thou hast lyven thou shalt never have no respite. & said of himself/ alas poor iohn how shall thou pass the way for to go in paradise/ when afore the thou shall see somany enemies & of horrible accusers before the rightwies judge/ ¶ alas iohn what fere and dread shalt thou thenne have. when inconty●●●e after thy death thou shalt be presents afore the judgement of god ¶ this holy man had ever in his remembrance the good simeon that had be so iusce. and that which when the hour of his death was come/ & that his soul ascended to paradise/ met with a great company of devils in divers orders/ first met the soul of the said simeon the order of proud devils. and there she was questioned if she had not be proud. after he met with the devils princes of sklaundring/ and in like wise she was there asked if she had not reported evil of other/ after this she met with other devils princes of fornication. the which would accuse him of fleshly deeds. and fleshly desires/ and when the soul is stied unto heaven and that she must needs yield account afore god/ the angels give her no more succour/ and hath then no comfort ne help but of such good deeds as he hath done in this world/ as to this time the good patriarch considered how the soul hath no comfort but only of her good deeds/ ¶ and for to move the more his spirit/ he brought unto his mind the death of saint h●larion. the which at the last hour of his death. said unto his soul/ o my soul go hardly out of my body. lxxx. year thou hast served god/ why ferest thou now thy departing/ ¶ o wonderful a thing/ o most dread. o charity unable to be cold. the good hilarion the was ·lxxx. year. & all his life had served god in doing great penance. & never had sinned deadly. but all his days was joined to the goodness of god. as he had had in earth the perfection of an angel/ this notwithstanding & that he lived an heavenly life. in making wonderful miracles. yet he feared the death. & namely the said holy patriarch that said. ¶ what shall thou my soul answer to the horrible accusers that so much been subtle/ i fear me full sore. that we shall be taken at our answers. when the devils shall give unto us somany accusations. as of leesynges. of covetise of myssayeng of unpyte. of evil mynde· of hate. and of all other sins/ thenne shall we well need to have good advocates that shall speak for us/ ¶ for the great fere that we shall then have shall keep us that we shall not answer no thing/ and therefore we must pray god that we may have good angels for to lead us in all our deeds. when that we only go fro one city to another. we take our guides/ to th'end that they lead. us the straight way/ ¶ thenne must we well pray when we shall departed from the earth to heaven/ that we be not lad from our straight way. but led & guided by good conduytours/ this holy patriarch laid such mediations afore his eyen for to meek himself/ and who that should well think thereat. he should well have cause to become humble and meek/ ¶ how he corrected by fair words & sweet language them that went out of the church. after that the gospel was said/ and begynnith in latin ¶ mittan autem/ caplm. cxlvi. by cause that some seculars or lay people had of a custom that they went out of the church after the gospel was done/ the holy patriarch died correct them of this sawe●/ ¶ and desiring to move them unto devotion/ one day among other departed out of his palace and came and set him among them in the church/ whereof they were greatly marveled/ ¶ then for to answer to their thoughts said unto them/ my children it is exspedyent and needful that the shepherd be there as his sheep been/ and therefore if ye abide in the church of god there out. i shall do as ye done ¶ for your love i am come to the church/ and ye go there out/ ¶ and always if i had would i might well have song my mass in my chapel of my bishopric/ and should not have come to you ¶ by this manner of mean. they all corrected themself. ●●●fered to do as they were acustomed/ ¶ whereby men may evidently and openly know. that the good manners of a prelate and his holy living. is oft times cause of the amendment & correction of his evil subgets/ the which at his ensample enforce themself to live virtuously/ by mean of which good life they get the glory of heaven/ which largely is yeven by our blessed saviour & redeemer ihesu christ. to them that fleeing the likings and worldly playsures purpoos themself to live a life honest and holy after the techynges of his true doctrine/ ¶ how he forbade that folk should not speak in the church/ and beginneth in latin ¶ loqua autem. & cetera/ caplm. c.xlvii. and when the holy patriarch heard any speak in the church/ incontinent he made them to be put out/ and said to them/ ¶ sith that ye been come in to the church for to pray god. i command you that all your thoughts be turned unto prayer/ ¶ for it is written: that the house of god. is a house of prayer/ and ye clatterers and janglers make thereof a pit of thieves/ ¶ how he ordained two orders of religiouses. and builded them two churches/ one in the name of our lady & the other of saint iohn./ and beginneth in latin ¶ volleys autem. & cetera caplm. c.xlviii. this mean time the holy patriarch ordained two ordres of religiouses/ and builded two monasteries for them/ one in the name of the most holy mother of god. and the other of saint iohn/ and died do make for them little houses for to keep themself therein solitary/ by cause they should have none occasion to go out of their religion/ ordained also certain men in the city that bare them all their necessities/ sending them word that they should have business of the life spiritual/ and he should see for their bodily life/ and he would that the charge of the service of the church both by day & by night should be put unto him/ to th'end that which they should do in their cells or little houses should be for the health of their soul's/ to that which life this holy man by the said entysynges continued them/ ¶ how men ought to eschew the company of heretics/ and beginneth in latin ¶ et hoc beatus/ caplm. c.xlix above all other things this holy man defended unto the christian. that they should neither common nor acompanye with the heretics/ saying that it was more worth to a christian to be all alone/ than to be acompanyed with an heretic/ and more over he said. that like as a wedded man should be punished if he left his wife. and wedded another somewhere in another land/ so should a christian be punished/ that should leave the communication with his like for to acompanye with the heretics/ ¶ and more over sith that we been married to a wife sure & chaste. which is the holy church christian/ if we leave it for the communication of heretics/ we ought as fornicators to be grievously punished & stoned of the devils of hell/ asmuch as we should be if we had had the fleshly company of another woman than our own wife/ ¶ how the holy patriarch judged nor condemned never no body/ begynith in latin ¶ cum omnibus/ caplm. c.l. among the other great virtues that this holy patriarch had· namely he had one right great. which was such/ that he never judged no person. nor also would not hear them the said any evil by another/ to this purpose is to be know. that he being in alexdrye. a young man ravished a right fair regyous maid. and lad her with him unto constantynople/ this thing came to his knowledge. & considering the loothnes of the befall. and for the great charity that he had to the health of man/ he was so sorry for it. that it seemed he should have died/ ¶ and a little while after that this caas was so happened/ he being with some clerks/ and disputing of holy scriptures/ came in his remembrance the said befall/ ¶ in speaking of the which by cause all those present. judged this foresaid man a right great & abominable sinner they would have him accursed but the holy patriarch would not perform the same saying that there should be cause of two evils/ ¶ first in that they should do as he said against the commandment of god. and should break it/ by cause it is written. that we ought not to judge any body/ and we shall not be judged/ ¶ the second evil for that they wist not if the said clerk had withdraw the said religious woman out of her monastery/ for to do evil with her/ and was not yet known whether he had defoiled her or not/ ¶ wherefore they ought not to cast upon him the said sentence of cursing/ ¶ for men ought not to judge but this that men see to be evil done/ ¶ and for to confirm his word. he rehearsed of ii religiouses. among whom was one/ which passing thorough the city of there met with a strompett common. named porphyre/ the which cried after the abbot/ o father save me like ihesu christ saved the woman sinner/ ¶ the abbot that feared not the speech of the world said unto her that she should come after hy· and she died so ¶ the same abbot brought her by the hand afore all the people out of the city of thyr/ the which thing was anon told/ but this notwithstanding the abbott turned never from his good purposes/ ¶ but in going by the way the one with the other/ hoping this holy man to have her in to some monastery of religious women/ walked together so long that they came to a church. at the entry of which they fond a moche fair child that lay on the ground/ ¶ the which this porphyre moved of pity & compassion. took & bare betwixt her arms. and sith nourished him in the said abbots monastery/ that which soon after made this porphire a woman of religion. and made her to be called pelage/ ¶ afore that she● was religious. & she being yet in the said abbots monasteri. merchants came thither of the city of there. that well knew the said pelage/ and seeing that she had a child. said to her/ ¶ haa d●me ye have brought forth a fair child to the abbot/ ¶ many other dyspytes the said to her. and to the abbot also/ vi. or seven. year after that the child was great. the abbot knew by the will of god that in short time he should die/ & for this cause he gave to understand unto this. pelage. that he must needs for certain causes go unto the said city of thyr/ & so commanded her to make ready herself thitherward with him: and that she should take her child with her/ ¶ pelage that would not disobey him. took the child. & they three together went in to the said town/ ¶ and when they were came thither. the abbot lay incontinent sick in his bed/ ¶ thenne were tidings showed through the city. how the abbot that had lad away porphyre the ●●●yn woman was at point of death. and anon went and visited him more than a hundred persons in number ¶ in presence of whom. and also of pelage and of the young child/ the abbot called after cools quick glowing/ ¶ and incontinent that they were brought to him/ he put them upon his gown/ and said this/ my brethren believe. that like as god kept sometime before moses the bush brenning without to be appaired nor brent/ and as at this present hour he keepeth my gown from harm of these cools glowing/ ¶ thus for very certain i tell you. that i never knew the sin of this woman· whereof i am accused/ showing to them being present the same woman and the child/ ¶ all they were marveled. and glorified god of the miracle/ ¶ and anon after that the holy abbot had taken away the false opinion that they of thyr had over him. he betook his ghost in the hands of our lord/ ¶ for this cause the holy patriarch for said deffended that folk should not give no sentence over the young man that had brought the woman of religion out of her monastery. as it is above said/ ¶ more over said the holy patriarch that how well men seen oft the sinners perform the sin of fornication/ nevertheless men ought not to despise them. nor report synnars/ ¶ for men know not what secret penance they have done for to decerue the grace/ ¶ and in like wise this he said of all other synnars/ ¶ such been playsauntly clothed. and well arrayed that who so should take his vesture from his back. dame penance under his clothes should be found/ ¶ of two clerks that made shone. & beginneth in latin ¶ duobus clericis & c· caplm. c.li during the time that the foresaid holy patriarch dwelled in alexandrie. two clerks were there that made shone for to get their living ¶ th'one had many children to feed/ and beside this he nourished his father & his mother/ ¶ and how be it that he was constrained to work contynuelli for cause of the great charge that he bore/ nevertheless he served god daily and herd mass. saying many prayers and orisons/ but that other had his thought all set upon his work/ ¶ and not only the days that were suffered and assigned to do lawfully all manner of hondwerke. but also he wrought upon the sundays/ & upon all other solemn days. wherein is for boden that no manner of hondwerke should be used/ and namely through the great lust that he set to his work for lucre of money. he slouthed the service of god. and heard never mass/ ¶ but what soever pain that he took. he might not live nor maintain himself. where by he fell in envy against his fellow and asked him how it might be that he was richer than he· seeing the great charge that he had. and also that he wrought not so much as he died/ this other desiring to stir his fellow toward god. and to serve him. said unto him/ that he had found a treasure in the ground/ whereof he was become rich/ and that if he would keep him felyshypp and go with him. he should give him part of that he should find/ where unto he was agreed/ promising to hear him company and to go with him where some ever he would lead him/ ¶ under shadow of which promise. the servant of god set him many days for go here mass/ and so much he used him therein/ that he could not leave. but that he went every day to the church for to here mass. and serve god/ and afterward he waxed so rich. that lightly without need he had from that time forthon to live more honestly without comparison than he died afore/ ¶ whereby it appeareth that we ought first to seek the ream of heaven/ and god shall succour us in our deeds/ ¶ the holy patriarch foresaid when he knew how this good faithful had converted his fellow to serve god/ by cause also him thought he was worthy to be a priest for was he ●●tred enough & of good manners/ he ordained him to the holy order of priesthood/ ¶ how the holy patriarch was called of god for to decease out of this world and beginneth in latin ¶ et quidem caplm. c.lii. it happened by the sufferance if god that alexandria was subdued of them of pierce by force of arms/ the which adversity ser●ge this holy man/ and considering the godly counsel. which is written in holy scripture. saying/ ¶ if one regyon is contrary/ go to another/ he made his purposes to return in to ethyper. in the city where he was borne/ ¶ the which thing knowing the patry●s niceta required him busily that he should go to the chief city of the cities for to exhort the emperors to live virtuously/ ¶ the holy patriarch that never refused no thing that was leyfful & good to no manner of person/ consented for to go with the said patryce/ the ships were incontinent made ready. and they took the see/ ¶ it happened by the will of god that the ship wherein were these patriarch & patrice. was in danger to be drowned/ the holy patriarch thenne took upon him for to comfort the poor folk that were in the same vessel/ and with them he called the grace of almighty god ¶ so saw he in this stormous tempest a man upright before him/ having the face of a wonderful brightness holding in his hand a sceptre all of gold/ the which man said to him/ patryarke come on. for the king of. kings askith for thee/ ¶ then the holy patriarch thinking upon the said vision/ incontinent he called the patrice niceta unto him and with great sighs & tears he showed it unto him saying how the emperor of emperors reigning in heaven had called him and that without fault he might not go to th'emperor of the earth. to whom the said niceta would bring him/ ¶ the good patrice hearing the words of the holy patriarch. was much sorry of his departing. and glad of his health/ so sent he him again there as he would go/ that is to wite in the ream of chypre in the city of amathanque/ where he had taken his ●●tynite/ ¶ the form of his testament followeth/ and beginneth in latin ¶ adueniente/ caplm. c/ liii. after that the holy patriarch was come in chypre in the city named amathūque where he was borne/ he asked after pen & ink & for a skin of parchment/ and in continent he made his testament to be written in manner as here followeth ¶ i iohn. first bond & sith afraunchised & made free by the dignity of priesthood: of the grace of god to me yeven to the my god i yield graces. of that it hath pleysed the to enhance my prayer to the we'll of my soul/ it is that at the hour of my death men shall find in my treasure but only do piece of money/ ¶ when i was promoted to the dignity of archbishop ensacred & received in the holy church of alexandria/ the which dignity by the leave and inspiration i have obtained. i fond there treasures without number/ i thenne knowing that the said treasures were belonging to god purposed to yield unto him again that that was his own. & by cause that now of all the said treasures is to me in remaining but only the piece of money foresaid. which bylongyth unto god· i command that it be give unto him again in to the hands of the poor folk his servants/ ¶ o thing right glorious & worthy to be rehearsed. o ye rich that haply have gathered your money & treasures unjustly. the which ye will keep & hold as your own. & no thing will give for god's sake. but hide & keep them as. ye might bear them with you/ look now with me in this mirror. considering how the holy patriarch gathered a treasure that never can be minished. as worldly riches is/ ¶ certainly we ought to believe that he is worthy to be glorified/ for our lord saith in his gospel/ who soever shall honour or glorify me. i shall glorify him/ ¶ it is so that for the worship of our lord. & for to exalt his praising. he founded many monasteries. in which he ordained great multitude of religiouses/ that continually gave laud & praising to god for which cause is to him rewarded that merit of all the orisons there made of the said religiouses/ ¶ and to the end that by fable & losing. this that afore is of him written be not reputed/ we have thereof a veri knowledge. that he was of the number of the just/ ¶ for after that he had yielded his holy soul in to the hands of our lord god. as done the souls of the just that are in the hand of god/ his sepulture was by the clergy ordained in a sepulchre. wherein of long time afore two good bishops his predecessors had be buried/ ¶ but a wonderful thing happened there/ for at the opening of the said sepulchre. the two bishops that there rested their bones of long space deed & bereaved of life. withdrew themself fro their places/ making honour to the said patriarch. and giving unto him his place between them in the mids of the grave/ ¶ whereby it is to us openly showed that our lord him rewarded much largely· when he would his body in this world to be so openly honoured/ and his soul above in heaven glorified. & worshipfully enhanced/ ¶ of the woman that gave her sin in writing to saint iohn the patriarch/ and beginneth in latin ¶ aliud autem/ caplm. c.liiii yet living the said patriarch johan. he made another miracle right great. the which beginneth in his life. and endeth after his death/ ¶ a woman of the said city where he was borne. had done so horrible a sin/ that she durst never confess it/ so it happened that the said patriarch came to the city/ and she having knowledge of his coming. came and cast herself at his feet/ saying by great contrition/ ¶ o reverend lord i have done a sin the which for the great loothlynes of it i dare not confess/ but this notwithstanding i wot well. that if it please that thou shalt give me thereof remission/ ¶ the holy patriarch seeing her great contrition/ he would not correct her rygoriously/ doubting that she should never make shrift thereof to another/ and that by this she were in dangeour of her soul. but said unto her/ my friend if thou haste that faith that i may cleanse thy soul fro sin. and that i may give the remission thereof/ confess it unto me. and i shall do all that thou requirest of me/ whereunto she answered that she should not dare tell it/ for it was so dishonest & shameful that it should cause horror at the ears of the holy man/ ¶ then he said unto her thus then if thou art so shamefast of the confession of it/ give it unto me by writing/ ¶ she yet answered that she should not dare do so/ and the holy man yet again said unto her/ thou must do it. but if it seem the good/ thou shalt close the letter in such wise. that no body may see it/ ¶ then this woman consenting to the words of the holy patriarch/ wrote her sin with her own hand and after closed the letter. and took it to him/ but he ne lived but five days after that/ ¶ so it happened by casual adventure. that at his death this we man was out of the town/ when she came again. and knowing his decease/ she imagined that her sin had be showed thorough all the city/ by cause that the holy man was deed/ having toward him her scrowe/ ¶ and as for answer thereupon. she had none of/ ¶ so went she to his tomb where he was buried/ and there she kept herself three days without any meet or drink/ making there wailings without number and weepings/ having always an hope that the holy patriarch should let her understand some tidings of her sin/ ¶ she often said unto him/ alas holy patriarch i had so great an hope of thy life. the which i believe not to be ended. ¶ for god and his church. witnessen unto us. that the just live everlastingly/ and therefore i believe that thou art not deed/ but rather art more living. as to the everlasting lyfe· than thou were afore in this world/ ¶ alas my friend. i ne require of the none other thing/ but only that thou wolte let me wite. where my scrowe is become that i took thee/ ¶ o my sovereign god that said to the woman canan●e that thorough her faith she was saved/ ¶ sith that i have in the steadfast believe. that thou mayst make me at this time ascertained of my scrowe/ i beseech thee/ that thou will be pleased i to have it again/ ¶ one a day she saying such words/ ¶ the holy patriarch acompanyed with two bishops. with the which he was entered. aroos out of his gave· and said to the said woman/ ¶ o poor & needy woman why leavest thou not in rest them that been here with me/ thou hast wept so moche that we been all bedewed with thy tears/ and with this he took her again her scrowe/ and asked her if she knew it/ the which words said. he and the said two holy bishops. laid themself down again within their tombs/ ¶ and the said woman opened her letter. and found therein written the words that here follow. ¶ for the love of johan my servant thy sin is enrased out/ ¶ o what is he that could or might rehearse the power of our lord. the which is so merciful. and lovely both to men and women/ and that so freely grauntyth and doth the will of all those that dread him/ and that with good heart sekith him/ which glorifieth them that love him/ and by miracle magnifieth them/ ¶ the holy patriarch foresaid was not only glorified in one place. but in all countries of the east parties/ and now saint iherom maketh us to know him furthermore in these parties of the west/ ¶ how the death of the foresaid holy patriarch johan was showed to a religious named savyn/ and beginneth in latin ¶ eadem enim die. etc./ caplm. c.lu the day that this holy patriarch died/ a religious man named savyn. being in alexandria. saw by the will of god the holy patriarch johan/ the which accompanied with a great number of clerks. was lad by one of them tofore an emperor in his palace/ after he saw him come out of the gate/ ¶ the which vision bytokened the departing of his body from the soul when he was out of the gate. came to him a fair lady. a young maid shining brighter than the son/ having on her heed a crown of olive tree· the which took him anon by the hand. and lad him forth/ ¶ by this vision the good religious man imagined that the holy patriarch was passing out of this world at that hour unto everlasting glory. and this he gave to know unto divers persons. it happened thenne that out of chypre came many merchants in to alexandrye to whom was askid after the hour of the patriarchs foresaid death/ and by their answer was clearly know. that the said vision was true/ and that at the same hour that as the religious man had showed it. the said holy patriarch was deed/ giving steadfast faith by this that said is to this vision and namely for cause of the maid that lad him by the hand/ for they judged that is was almese/ that afore time in this world had showed herself to this holy patriarch foresaid in likeness of a maid/ and had promised him as here afore is said/ that if he would love her/ she should present him before the sovereign emperor. that is our blessed saviour & redeemer ihesu christ/ ¶ of another vision that a citeyzyn of alexandrie had. touching the death of this holy patriarch iohn the almoner/ & begynyth ¶ come autem/ caplm. c.lvi and not only by cause of the vision of the foresaid religious/ but also for a nother vision that happened to a poor man fearing god. which dwelled in alexandria. the enhabytauntes of the same city believed. the almese & mercy had presented the foresaid holy patriarch unto god/ this good poor man. that same night that the holy patriarch iohn died. saw by spiritual vision all the poor folk of the city of alexandria/ aswell children faderlees and moderlees. as women and other what so ever person in great number/ bearing in their hands branches of olive tree. the which went to the service and dirige of the holy patriarch/ ¶ wherefore it was clearly showed. almese deed presented him afore god/ as it is said above/ ¶ how out of his sepulchre flowed and ran oyle· and beginneth in latin ¶ hymnodia. etc. caplm. c.lvii if we had of the gloryfycation of the holy patriarch none other reason to show. but the same that here followeth/ yet ought we only to be certain without any doubtful deeming. that he is of the number of saints/ ¶ after that this holy body was entered & buried. our redeemer. willing to show the worthiness of hym· commanded that out of his grave should flow and run oil. of whose sweetness & sweet smelling savour by singular grace were the folk being present fulfilled. & namely all the sick folk that were anointed therewith received fully their health again/ and not only this miracle happened in the land of chypre aforesaid to the worship of the said holy patriarch/ but also in divers other. to the end that we that see how they have continued and lived holily in this worlde· set and apply our courages to ensue them in their doings/ ¶ we shall pray meekly the good saint iohn the almoner that it would please him of his large meekness for to spare for us after our mortal life the treasures that never shall have end that he hath spared for himself through his great almese & other great works. so that we ensue the same. may be with him fed in the glory of heaven/ amen/ ¶ here beginneth the life of saint eugene/ whose feast is hallowed the day after the feast of the nativity of our saviour ihu christ/ and begyynyth in latin ¶ in septimo igitur. et cetera caplm. c.lviii. sometime an emperor of the romans named chomodrus for to rule & govern the city of alexandria. & the land of egypte. under the lordship of rome. sent in to the same country one named phylyp. the which departing out of rome took his wife claudia with him. two his children/ named anitus & sergius/ and a daughter of his called eugene they together came in the city of alexandria/ this philip as great provost & governor there ruling the cite and all the country after the ordinance of the laws of rome put out and brought down the cursed sect of the magicyens. that in great number and of long time had by their fendly craft infected & poisoned all the land/ ¶ secondly he commanded that the jews should no more bear a name in all that land/ and after he ordained that the christian should abide & dwell in the country. but not within the cities. but without far enough from the same. there the said eugene was wonderfulli learned. aswell in greek letters & latin as also in the science of philosophy ¶ she had a wit so quick & so sharp. the light & steadfastly she held all that she read. or that to her was expow●●● the face of her was much pleasant she was fair & praty of body/ but more fair in thought. & in chastytyte 〈◊〉 steadfast and noble/ ¶ when she came to her fifteenth year of age. many lords considering her great perfection. made her to be asked to her father for to have her by marriage/ and among tother she was desired of one named aquylyen. the son of aquyn consul of rome/ but her father that exposed & showed unto her the extraction & nobles of the said aquylyen. for to induce her to this that she should be agreeable to marry with him/ she wisely answered. that a maid that hath a will to marry. ought to have her husband agreeable when she is noble of virtues. & not only of noble kindred/ ¶ for when a woman is wedded she is constrained to follow the manners of her husband. & not of her friends/ and finably to this aquilien & to all the other she gaaf an answer. that she would not marry. but had in her purpose that should live chastened/ ¶ and by cause that phylyppe her father had chased all the christian folk out of the city. nevertheless she desiring to common with them/ and to th'end that her father that was a panym should have no knowledge of it. nor suspicion. prayed him meekly. that he would suffer that she might go by manner of sport unto the subarbes of alexandrie for to see some of their lands & heritages there dying nigh the which thing was granted unto her of her father/ and so it happened as she went fore by a church of the christian that she had heard sing these verses) omnes dii gencium demonia. deus autem noster cells fecit (that is to say. that the gods of the paynims are but devils/ but the god that we christian do worship hath made the heavens & the earth/ ¶ when eugene heard this song. she began to weep. saying to ii emyches. that is two men that lack their membres of mankind. the one named prothus & the other jacintꝰ. that were committed to keep her & serve her/ as comynly it was done of custom to the daughters & women comen of good houses/ ¶ my friends i know that you & i have been taught & informed together. aswell in the laws of men. as in the vain science of the philosophers and have radde the falages of aristole. the ydes of platon· the sect of the epicuriens. the teachings of socrates. & of the stoyciens. and generally all the doctrine of the poets & rethoryciens but all these vain science are put out and set aside by that little verse that i have herd sing by the christian) om̄s du gencium demonia. etc. (ye call me your lady thorough the power of my father which he hath over you misused/ but i am your sister in science/ be ye thenne my brethren. and i shall be your sister/ ¶ let us go to the christian/ and as i shall command you. we shall do i know the bishop of leopolis named helayn/ in whose house men sing continually. the holy scriptures/ the said bishop hath under him many holy religiouses/ and among other one there is named theodore. the which is leader of them that done the divine service/ ¶ thorough his prayers & his orisons he maketh the blind to see. chacyth the devils out of the bodies of men/ ¶ diverse wretches in great sorrow abiding. by his prayers aren of their sickness fully healed/ and the desolate recomforted/ wherefore i have a singular desire to go unto him/ and for to do this. i will do cut my hairs. and cloth myself with the clothing of a man/ therefore i pray you as my brethren that this for to do ye will help me/ ¶ the said keepers knowing her holy devotion. and desiring as she to become christian. gave her for to fulfil her will all comfort and aid/ ¶ so leapt she out of the char/ wherein she was carried. and clothed her in man's clothing/ and by the sufferance of god incontinent as they were come in the church. they met with the said bishop helayn/ ¶ the custom was in egipte such that when the bishop went to visit the churches. a great multitude of syngers came with them (thus with the bishop helayn came more than ten thousand the song afore him saying/ ¶ the way of the just is made verity. and the way of the saints of god is made redi eugene this seeing said to her fellows/ ¶ my friends here the substance of this song/ look how the god of the christian is good to them. that will hold the faith of christ take heed how they know that we will leave our idols for to be christian/ and for this cause they are come against us in such a great multitude of devout peple· that sing so sweet a song/ ¶ let us behold which way they shall go/ and join ourself with us. so shall we synnge till that we have knowledge with them/ thenne they began to question some of that fellowship/ and asked what was he that was in the mids of them riding upon an ass/ the which answered that it was their bishop helayn that of his youth was a christian man/ and of so great merit toward god that of his young age he made diverse miracles/ ¶ in bearing of fire in his gown. which was no thing perished by it· and other also wonderful/ ¶ among the other religyouses one named eutropius rehearsed to eugene and to her fellows/ how with in few days passed that a rhetorician named zaree was come thither/ and had showed. that the said bishop was a false christian man/ and that falsely he said he was sent by ihesu christ for to deceive the people/ ¶ the which magycyen was full of wiles. and subtle/ and turned many from the faith and believe of holy scripture/ ¶ for the which things. the principal cyteyzyns of eliopolis were come to the bishop helayn/ and had told him how the foresaid magycyens said himself was sent of god. and not he. ¶ and for this cause they would have constrained the said bishop to receive him as his fellow/ or else to overcome him as a dysceyvour and beguiler in overcoming his magycall argumentations/ ¶ and upon this was a day chosen and set/ upon the which in the mids of the city were come together the bishop and zaree the magycyen. the which trusting in his cursed imaginations. hoped to have turned & overcome of light the people from the faith of ihesu christ our saviour/ ¶ but the good bishop helayn himself believing in the faith of our saviour had said to the people being present/ ¶ o christian people ye shall know this day which spirits been of god. and which been not/ the magycyen that was moche subtle sect all his cure to put the bishop under feet by force of arguments/ ¶ wherefore the bishop wisely considering the instruction of saint paul. saying to his disciple thymothee/ ¶ i forbid the to dispute by paraboles. for such arguments serve only. but to subvert thoos that here them/ ¶ for to eschew incovenient that should have now fall to the great hurt of the christian people/ hearing the sophistical disputations of the said zaree/ required afore all the people a great fire to be kindled/ and that they both together should enter. therein/ and he that should not be brent. should call himself rightfully the very servant of god/ and his law to be taken as the best/ the which request was to all being present right agreeable ¶ wherefore a great fire was anon kindled/ and that done the bishop required the magycyens that he should enter in to the fire/ the which thing he refused. saying to the bishop helayn that it was reason sith that he had first purposed/ that also he ought to entry first within the fire/ ¶ so blessed himself this holy bishop with the sign of the cross. and entered in the mids of the fire/ abiding within the same the space of half an hour/ and then came heloute of the fire without any hurt of his body. nor his clothes perished in any manner/ ¶ the people seeing this wonderful miracle. would compel the said magycyen to entry within the fire after him/ but he trowed to have fled away/ and this notwithstanding he was take. & by force was put in to the fire. of which incontinent he was be clippedd & taken all about. ¶ the holy man this seeing leapt in to the fire again. and withdrew therefrom the said magycyen. as half deed/ ¶ whereof of all them of the region he was much honoured and taken in great reverence ¶ when eugene had understand well all that eutropius had rehearsed unto her of the holy bishop foresaid/ she that as above it is said was clothed in manes clothing. fell down to the feet of the said eutropius/ giving him to understand. that she. jacintus and prothus were three brethren/ which had purposed to live and die only joined together in the christian religion/ ¶ so prayed she him. that he would present them unto the said bishop helayn/ for they would require of him. seeing their said purposes/ that it would please him to do so much for them that they should never be departed the one from the other. then to them said eutropius. that they should tarry till that he had be in the church and when he should see his hour covenable/ he should rehearse unto the bishop all these things/ ¶ when the holy bishop was come almost to the church. the religiouses came against him singing such a song/ o god we have received in the mids of thy people thy mercifulness/ and anon every body entered in to the church/ & song together the hours of the day unto sext ¶ also entered therein eugene & her fellows/ ¶ the bishop after this would take his rest a little/ and in that sleep/ he had a vision. by the which to him was showed that he would go to th'image of a heathen woman. to th'end that he should make sacrifice unto her/ & then in this vision him seemed that he said to them that kept it & that were about her/ i pray you let me speak with your goddess. and they granted him the same/ thenne he went to her & said/ ¶ o poor woman know that thou art a creature of god. come down & suffer no more that men worship thee/ when the goddess had understand his purposes. she came down to the bishop. to whom she said/ ¶ my friend i shall never leave the till that thou have restored me unto my maker/ all this vision saw the holy bishop/ & when he work. eutropius. to whom eugene had spoken came toward him/ which thought yet upon his vision/ he said to the bishop/ sire here are in your church three young children that are brethren the which of one assent have purposed to forsake the paynim law/ & desire to be of the number of the christian/ and to this intent they have followed the long this day/ desiring to have space & time that they might speak with the. for to have of our faith a very knowledge/ ¶ the holy bishop yielded graces unto our lord of that spyrituelly he had showed to him this thing or ever it was happened/ ¶ so sent he for them/ and as they were come afore him. he took eugene by the bond/ giving tears out of his eyen. and drew them aside/ after he asked them of their names. of what nation/ & of what friends they were/ ¶ eugene answered that they were brethren. born in rome. and that she was called eugenius: and her brethren were called the one prothus and the other jacintus ¶ and thenne the bishop knowing by the foresaid vision the said eugene to be a virgin/ he said unto her/ verily with good right thou art called eugenius/ ¶ for thou bereste the very courage of a man in undertaking a work. which is virtuous/ the truth whereof hath ben unto me showed this day by my god/ that by a vision hath showed the unto me/ and the which that i have thus presently known hath made ready in the his house right agreeable. by cause thou haste purposed thy vyrgynytee to be reserved unto him/ in despising all worldly delectation/ ¶ wit it that for to keep the chastity thou shalt suffer many eveles/ but that same my god. whom thou haste fully & holy given thyself shall not leave thee/ ¶ after this holy bishop helayn turned his word to prothus & to jacintus. and said to them/ ¶ ye that are servants/ and wytholden in thraldom/ ye have in your hearts great noblesse/ i may say to you that the our lord said to his disciples/ ¶ from hen's forth i shall no more call you servants/ but i shall call you my friends/ ¶ more over said unto them this holy bishop helayn/ my children understand it that ye been well happy and gracious of this that ye have consented to the holy ghost. in obeying and inclining to his holy ma●uynges ¶/ for through that mean ye shall be partners together of the joy of heaven/ ¶ in this estate abode the good eugene in the clothing or a secular man unto the time that by the holy bishop she was regenerate of the holy sacrament of baptism. and by him ●n to a monastery of religion. where she desired for to be/ ¶ but for to have very knowledge how she departed privily from her parents/ it is to be noted that in those days. when the ladies would go to sport themself. they were of a custom born in a char. governed with some young children. called emiches. or more plainly to speak. men ghelded. the which being with them. aswell for to serve them. as for to keep them/ ¶ now then with eugene going to her sport. as it is said above. were prothus & jacintus. that for to serve & keep her abode with her/ the which by mean of her desiring were content to do as she would/ and so in deed they went with her/ as above is showed/ and sent home again the lyttere by some young children that had born them company/ ¶ the mother of the good eugene seeing the young children come & the lyttere was very glad/ hoping that her daughter was coming in the same char or lyttere/ but after when she knew her daughter to be gone/ she began to cry so wonderfully that all the city was moved with it/ eevery body wept and wailed the loss of the good lady eugene/ the father and the mother sighed after their daughter. and in like wise the brethren after their sister/ the which for to find was made diligent seeking through all the province/ ¶ the diviners or soothsayers were sent fore/ and by sacrifices and deceits of the devil. the gods were meekly required that they would give an answer where eugene was become/ alle the soothsayers said that the gods had ravished her above the heavens/ ¶ the father believing this to be of troth. turned his heaviness in to gladness. & made the people to keep a feast of th'answer that the gods had give of his daughter/ and moreover for to honour & enhance the name of her deed/ died do make a figure or image after her likeness. whereto he gaaf a great & marvelous quantity of fine gold the which image he adored & worshipped it as he died his gods/ but nevertheless her mother claudia & her brethren/ anitus & sergius could not take in this folly any comfort/ ¶ all thy se●thynges notwithstanding/ the good eugene in clothing of· man & unknown abode in the said monastery with the religiouses of the same/ as it is said here above/ and so well she studied. that in a little while she comprised all the rules of the religion/ ¶ she was so kind & lovely. that all the brethren thought and held her for an angel/ her words were sweet. and her meekness so great/ that she overpassed all the other religiouses. ¶ she was ever the first in prayer. she comforted the sorrowful. she showed herself glad with those that were joyous/ ¶ they that were full of wrath she with one word made them to be patient in their behaving/ the proud by her example wonderfully she converted. like as a lion had be turned by her in to a sheep/ ¶ she had this marvelous gift of god that all persons that she visited in their sickness. felt at her coming to them no sore at all. prothus & jacintus followed her continually/ & were obeying to her/ the iii year after she was put in the said religion th'abbot of her monastery died/ so they together chose with one accord the virgin eugene for to be their abbot. she thenne considering that she was a woman & doubting to be set in authority abobove the men/ fearing also of the other part to be seen that she should despise & contemn the prayers of all the religious that so besily desired her to take upon her the authority of the abborshypp. said unto them/ ¶ o my brethren i require you in the name of god that the book of the gospels may be now presently brought & showed before us all. and anon as it was brought. she said again to them ¶ ever when any religious have for to be done some election. they ought before all things to desire & call the help of our lord ihesu christ/ ¶ let us see thenne in this your election. what thing he commandeth for to be do. to th'end that we may obey to his devout wamynges/ also to obey the commandments that shall be by you done in this behalf/ ¶ the holy eugene took thenne the book of the gospels. and began to torn a leef & sin another. till she fond a gospel containing the words that here after are written. the which she rehearsed saying/ ¶ in those days said ihu christ to his disciples. ye know that the princes & lords ought to be. & are more great in authority and power than the men upon whom they have great lordship & might/ but this thing is not like among ye other. ¶ for if any of you will be the formest. he shall be the last and if any among you will be a lord he shall be a servant/ after saint eugene said to them/ therefore my brethren considering all these things. & not willing to say against you/ i have purposed to take upon me the authority that ye give me over you/ and principally derysyring to obey the commandment of god. ordain myself the lest among ye other. that are to me much dear & agreeable/ of the which answer they were moche abashed/ but this notwithstanding she presumed not to use the dignity as the most great above all other/ but meking herself took the charge that the most low and poor person had being under that covent/ that is to wite. to here water. cleave wood/ and made her dwelling in that self place where the potter dwelled/ to th'end she should not show herself greater than he/ ¶ with this she had a continual thought. and a holy cure of the things that were necessary to be had for the refection of the b●●der●/ in saying psalms and orisons she kept sovereignly a good order/ and to all the hours of the service of god. aswell by night as by day. so curyously continued. that she thought all time to be lost that was passed without graces and praisings to be given unto god/ ¶ in this holiness of life she continued in such wise/ and so long that our lord granted unto her so great abundance of graces. that she chased out of men's bodies the devils that tormented them/ made the blind to see. & many other great miracles she died/ ¶ among the which a lady of the land of alexandrie named melance/ among other was of great power. he● he great report that every man made of the marvelous virtues of the holy virgin eugene. which was take as a right holy man. came to her for to be helped & heeled of a great fever that a year during & more had vexed her body right sore· the which eugene anointed with an oil & anon this woman cast out of her body the corrupt humours that caused within her the fever. & all hole & so side went home again to her place that was not far. where she took the great goblets & filled them with money. which she sent unto saint eugene/ the which despising the said presents. sent them unto her again forthwith/ letting her wite. that of gods she had over moche/ wherefore she counseled her that she should deal & departed to the poor needy & needful the gods & presents that she had sent to her/ ¶ the said melance hearing these words was greatly wroth. & came toward saint eugene/ praying her that she would take & receive agreatly her presents. promising to give her other more grete· but in effect she lost her tyme. for saint eugene would not take them/ this notwythstonding melance left not. but she come toward the good eugene/ & not knowing by any wise that she was a woman/ the beauty of her deceived the said melance. the which trowing that she had be a man and that by him she was heeled/ not by his holiness. but by some craft or cunning of physic. let herself fall by the tempting of the devil in to the sin of fleshly desire/ and thinking that the said eugene had refused the said presents. for covetise to have had greater. offered other unto her in more great abundance than she had tofore/ promising to give him yet more of them. asmuch as he would ask/ ¶ and where she continued praying him that his pleasure were to receive the said presents/ and saw they were refused. and to her scent again by the good eugene/ she ran in to a greater heat than she was afore/ ¶ and at this cause feigning to be sick so grievously that she should not have moved herself out of her bed/ made saint eugene to be prayed that she should come and visit her. and she died so/ and being there before the bed of melance that had made the folk to go out of her chambre that were there feigning to declare unto her some secrets in confession. as well of her conscience as of her sickness. said unto eugene such words/ ¶ my lord and my friend eugene. pardon if it please you if i over familiarly do declare my poverty unto you/ for i am thereto constrained. by the great sore which opressyth me/ ¶ certainly my lord the great and excessive love which i have conceived toward your gracious youth the right excellent beauty of the which dame nature hath so greatly & largely endowed you. tormentith my poor heart so sharply that it ne were to me possible never to have joy ne pleasure in this world but if it come to me of you/ ¶ so yield i myself and all my goods to you alone. making & ordaining your goodly person lord & master over my body. and of all my gods ¶ alas my lord what pleasure do ye take totorment thus grevousli your body by foolish and vain abstinences/ i have infinite possessions and riches. i have great treasures of gold & of silver/ i am enhanced in authority of noblesse of my cows/ and this year i have lost my children that are deceased out of this world/ alas i pray you succeed to my goods in stead of them/ & be alone master & lord. not only of me but also of all my possessions. & gods. the devout eugene hearing these fowl words & dishonest exhortations/ answered to her in this manner/ o woman dampened certainly/ thy name beareth truwitnesse of an horrible cursedness & treison/ truly thou hast made ready in the a great place for the devil/ damnable disceyver leave that will that thou haste to torn the servants of god/ i will well that thou know that we religiouses have well used to live otherwise/ ¶ the dampened spirits that are to the like/ take thy gods. and not we that have no appetite to them nor will not have them/ for it is unto us a pleysaunt thing to beg our breed with our lord ihu christ/ he is abundantly rich that is with him ¶ o melance the will of me is that such foolish concupyscences departed from the truly th●happynesse that hath assailed the shall not be cause of thy heel but of damnation/ thou that art made the house & dwelling of the venymouse dragon. shedest & spredest a wonderful venom/ but by the calling of the name of god. and by the help of his mercifulness. we have eschewed. and yet we shall eschew thinfecconninfection of thin abominable and horrible poisons/ ¶ then this cursed and wretched woman/ impatient of the repreyffe the the good eugene had said to her/ & at this cause all enswollen with bitter d●̄playsure/ knowing also that she had thus lost her honour/ and doubting that eugene should tell her sin for to quench her fear. purposed herself to complain of him afore the justice ¶ wherefore incontinent she went afore the great provost of alexandria: & showed to him in a great wodnesse and heartily displeasure/ how for to have found the means to be helped of a sickness that have kept her long. she had suffered a young religious of the religion christian. that called himself a good leech. to come toward her for to hele her/ but this religious replenished with treason. weening that she had be such. as they were of whom he had taken of a custom his foul delectations. had dare. all shame laid aside speak unto her shameful and dishonest words for to have moved her unto his abominable will/ and that worse was/ if she had not called her woman about her/ he should have ravished her and defoiled/ ¶ requiring this melance to the said provost that thereof he would do to her as right and reason requireth/ ¶ the provost hearing these words. was inflamed with great woodness. and sent to the monastery certain commissaries that charged were to bring him prisoner/ eugene and all the other dwelling in the said monastery which thing was done/ ¶ and by cause they were in such number: that they might not be all in one prison together/ they were put in divers places and under diverse keepers fether●● well hard & fast/ the said p●●●oste after giving credence foolishly to the ●●●des of the said melance. condemned them all for to die. & ordained a certain day that some of them should be take for to be devoured of wild beasts the other to be bren̄ed & tother to be put unto divers torments/ and at this cause was through all the land great no ye of the execution that should be done of the said religiouses/ the which all the dwellers of the land judged them worthy to suffer death/ ¶ for they thought that melance which was come of a noble house/ and of high kynreed/ would never have put upon them without a just cause such a charge/ ¶ finably when the day was come that the said execution should be done. all the dwellers of the towns and cities dying about/ came to alexandria the city for to see the same/ whereof some said their opinion in one manner. and the other said otherwise/ ¶ but our lord god that never leaveth his servants in their most need/ after that the hangman had made ready the torments & other things covenable to put to death eugene and the other religiouses. suffered that the said eugene for to declare the more openly her great virtues/ was by the said provostr questioned/ and for to make all the people wise of the great malice of the foresaid wicked melance/ then the said provost named philip that was father to eugene. and that knew her not. began to speak afore her saying in this wise/ ¶ come hither false christian man and the worst of tother hath thy god commanded to the to be oppressor & defoyler of the noble ladies. thou art well shameless and overseen/ what folly causeth the to pray. & would have take by folly so noble a lady as is dame melance ¶ eugene casted her sight to the ground. & fearing to be know of her father. answered mekeli/ my god whom i serve hath commanded the men shall keep his chastity & virginity/ & unto all those that done so. he promysyth everlasting life. in his joy of heaven/ ¶ and now we may declare melance to be a liar. and forger of falsehood/ but it is better that we suffer some evils than that she should be attained & convict of her sin. to th'end that we lose not the merit of our patience/ always if you sire provost will promise when she shall be proved falls & full of losing. that ye shall do her no harm. at this hour we shall approve her sin/ the provost hearing her meek words granted her request/ ¶ thenne eugene to testify the untruth of melance. required the men should her woman servant in her chamber do come/ the judge made all the servants of the said lady to be called. & brought afore him. which declared by their oaths that their lady melance with good & just cause had complained her of the religious eugene/ and that he would have constrained her as it is said above/ ¶ the provost hearing their depositions. said unto saint eugene/ ¶ what will thou say now false & wicked monk/ thou seest how thus many witness thy cursed delight/ ¶ eugene of this falls witnessing was sore troubled/ so thought she in herself. that if should hide her virgynytee/ so many religiouses as were there prisoners with her. there should allisuffre death for her and in the time to come the evil & malicious should be more bold to reprove the servants of god/ of the other part she had purposed never to discover her conversation. but only to her spouse ihu christ/ nevertheless for to save the life of her religiouses/ and to th'end that the cursed melance. and all such other. by falshed· should not be in time coming so outrageous for to charge wrongfully the christian people/ she thought to open and show her befall that was so secret/ ¶ so departed she her gown fro top to too. & showed that she was a woman and namely that the provost was her father. and claudia her mother/ and told him that anitus & sergius were her brethren/ ¶ this came anon to the ears of her mother claudia that was in her place/ wherefore she desiring to see her daughter ran anon to the bars where the justice was/ and there the provost. she & her brethren knew her/ and began to weep & make great way lynge. that long were to be rehearsed ¶ anon were brought gowns of cloth of gold unto her. of the which she clothed her as by force/ after she showed to her father how prothus & jacintus his two emiches & she had forsake the world and all the goods in earth. and had made themself christian/ then all together thanked god/ saying/ ¶ o god thy power is now glorified. that hath overcome and banished the enemies of thy servants/ ¶ eugene was lad in great worship in to the house of her father/ and the fire of heaven came down upon the house of melance/ in which abode no body alive. but were all that were 〈◊〉 in brenned and wasted all in to ashes/ ¶ then all the christian people that had be put out of the said provost were called again/ and the church was open/ the which by the space of eight year was shit/ ¶ the father of eugene provost of alexandria that in the christian had take away their franchises. restored them entirely unto them again/ ¶ and he himself through the enticing of his daughter eugene made him to be christened his wife also & all his servants/ ¶ all the city was as it had be one only church. so moche began there the name of the christian to flourish/ ¶ now it is truth/ as often it happyth. that the good are envy by the bad/ that some went and reported unto severe & anthony both emperors of the romans/ under the which/ the governance of all alexandria was ruled. and governed/ how phylyp the provost was become a christian man. and destroyed th'idols and builded churches in the name of the god of the christian/ and how he had ordained new laws. and put aside the emperors laws/ the which wrote unto him in this manner/ ¶ philip we be informed of the novelties that thou hast done in alexandria/ and we know well that our father comodius ordained the to be there/ not only as provost. but as a king. in such wise that in all thy life thou shouldest never be revoked therefro/ and no successor should not be given to thee/ ¶ wherefore we desiring some things to be multiplied unto the benefices of the same order/ we send the word of commandment that to the right mighty gods thou do make like sacrifice. as we have acustomed. or otherwise thou shalt be by revyd fro thy dignity. and with this thy goods shall be unto us applied as forfeited/ ¶ the provost phylyppe when he heard these tidings. feigned himself to be sick. till that he had caused all his goods to be dealt unto the poor for god's sake/ and to the churches. and he himself weut and comforted the crysten· to the end they should be more stable & constant. and not fearing the death/ ¶ during the said time notwithstanding that he was commanded to withdraw himself out of the office of provost/ nevertheless by cause none other was yet come that should occupy the said office. the people served and obeyed him as their provost/ and over this the priests ordained him their bishop/ ¶ so was the good phylyppe a hole year well serving god in such astate/ the year expired was ordained to the office of the provost one named perennius. which trowed to have slain him/ but by cause he was much agreeable to god & to the people he could not find the ways thereof/ ¶ finably he made to be put secretly some subtle and evil dryvels that feigned to be christian within the church where as was the good phylyppe. and slew him in doing the divine service/ ¶ these unhappy drevels & murderers were take & put in prison in the hands of the provost perennius/ the which provost feeling him self guilty of this sin/ and feigning as he would have made them to be kept surely for to speak with them. and inquire of the truth of the befall. made them to be put in to prison under good keepers/ ¶ but nevertheless in few days after he let them go free by pardon & indulgence of the princes ¶ eugene that in the said city had begun a covent of vyrgines. buried the body of her father the martyr within the church. where she held her/ ¶ also her mother claudia had begun an hospital. which she had endowed with suffisant rents & fair possessions/ for to herbrugh the poor pilgrims. was at the burying of the said blessed martyr sometime her husband ¶ when his service was done/ claudia mother to eugene & her children returned to rome & they there lo come/ one of the said children was made senator of rome/ the other consul of cartage. and tother vycarye in affryque/ ¶ eugene had many cousins both of men & of women dwelling in rome that came to see her. desiring at her ensample to be christian ¶ among other saint basille a virgin/ that was of the lineage of kings could not find the means to speak with eugene for to be christian/ so made she her to be prayed by a messenger. that she would send her some instructions of the christian faith ¶ thenne saint eugene sent her two christian knights/ prothus & jacintus toward the said basylle. for to be by them taught in the faith of holy church/ the which she received worshipfully as apostles of ihu christ/ ¶ all day & all night she was with them. speaking of the holy scripture/ and by cause they were emyches. thereof followed no slander/ ¶ in the said time one named cornille was pope of rome/ which came to her secretly & christened her/ when saint basylle was confirmed in the faith by the sacrament of baptism/ she came almost every night & visited saint eugene. & all the widows that were christened went to the covent of saint claud the mother of eugene & the virgins resorted to saint eugene/ ¶ the said saint cornyll at that time pope. went every saturday & visited them/ expownyg unto them devout ympnes & songs all the long night unto the spring of the day/ ¶ valerien & galen in though days were emperors that which began to have the christian in great indignation for by cause the saint cyprien converted them of cartage/ & saint cornylle the romans/ so was sent paternus proconsul in to cartage for to bring the●● to death cyprien that which thing he died ● by all thus he died a martyr ¶ the same time saint eugene knew by the will of god/ that saint basylle should be mart●ed for to keep her virginity. the which revelation she gave her to know & saint basil answered to eugene· that also she had understand by revelation of god that eugene should have a double crown of martyrdom. one for the merit that she had got in alexandr●e & tother for shedding of her blood. that she should suffer for to keep her faith. thenne saint eugene yielded graces to god saying/ o my god. only son of the everlastyg god the father. that art come in to this vile world within the womb of the right holy virgin. i byse●he the right humbly. that it will please that to grant unto although virgins. which that hast committed to be ruled by me. the grace that they may come to thy everlasting joy/ ¶ eugene after went with her virgins. and said to them such or like words in substance/ ¶ my sister's the vineyard is now ripe/ & the seeson is now come that the good wines shall be pressed out of the grapes with feet/ but after that the vine shall be strained & made well pure & clean/ it shall be presented for to be drunk in the rial court of the king/ and therefore said god i am the vine. and ye my disciples are the raysyns'/ my sisters that are springs & raisins of virgynytee be ever ready for to make fair & worship the law which ye hold. virgynyte is the first showing of good virtues. nyhe neighbour to god like unto angels. mother of life friend unto holiness way of surety lady of joy. leader of virtue. nourysshinge & crown of faith the socours & yelder of charity ¶ and therefore my sisters we ought to desire none other thing so much. as to live in virginity/ & yet no●e great devotion we ought to have. as to die for her in this behalf/ ¶ ye know that all earthly things come with great joye· but after departing they are cause of great heaviness & so they give a laughter & a joy sondayn for to be the cause● of weeping everlastingly/ for this life is but a moment to the regard of the life that evermore shall last/ and at the end all those that thereupon shall set their affection & love shall fall in to everlasting damnation/ ¶ thenne my daughters sith that ye have abiden with me hitherto have in you constancy & perseverance unto the last end/ weep in this world to the intent that ye shall have everlasting joy ¶ now i beseech the holy ghost that he will keep you/ and i believe he shall preserve you in your vyrgynytee/ ¶ desire not my bodily presence/ but if i have done any good works. follow me ghostly/ after that she had thus preached & exhorted them to remember the heavenly things for to flee the earthly. she kissed all them & saint basille. & commanded them to god/ thenne eugene & saint basil departed fro them ¶ that same day one of the women servant with saint basil foresaid went toward pompee. that which had trouthplyght this holy basille. & showed unto him. that she & her uncle helain were become cirsten. & that he should never wed her. beside this she said to him that she had with her ii emiches. that is to wite. prothus & jacintꝰ. that which eugene had sent to her for to torn her to the christian faith and how she served them as god's immortal in kissing daily their feet ¶ pompee as afraid went toward helayn that was uncle & governor of saint basylle/ & said to him/ wyte it helayn that now i will make my wedding & therefore show me basil. which is yeven to me by th'emperor & all the roman princes/ helayn answered/ my friend i have nourished her during the time of her yongue/ for at the time she was in my kepy●ge for the love of her father that was in kinsman/ i have done for her all that was in me possible. but nevertheless she is out of my rule & hath her free choice/ & therefore if thou will speak with her go to her house/ ¶ then was pompee more angry than afore. & went an●e to her house/ so commanded he the p●●ters that they should go tell basylle their mistress that he would speak with her/ the good lady sent him word again that she would neither see him nor meet with him/ & therefore he might well go home again/ ¶ pompee was fulfilled with wrath more than he was afore. & through the favour of all the senatours· came tofore th emperours. & said unto them/ o emperors right holy succour at this hour your subgets roman. and put from this noble city of rome the new god's that eugene hath brought in it. coming out of the land of egypte/ it is long sith that the christian are letting the common we'll. for they done done other thing. but only mock with the holy ceremonies of our law/ they despise our gods right myghty.. saying that they been idols. ravysshing devils/ they change the right of nature/ they break marriage. & withdraw unto them the young daughters in saying that it is a dangerous thing that a bird shall take her spouse by wedlock/ what shall we do noble emperors/ by whom shall the romans be honoured. & also the kings subdued/ if the women that we ought to have to be our wives be take away from us. by whom we might have issue. to whom we might command/ where shall thenne be the reparation of the strengths of the romans for the continuance of battles/ ¶ when pompee had made an end of his words. all the senators begun to weep over saint basylle. and that notwytstonding galen the emperor judged incontinent that she should take pompee to her lord & husband/ or else by weepen he should make her life to be brought at an end/ and in like wise eugene. but if she would do sacrifice unto the gods/ and beside this he ordained great punishment to be take through all the city upon though that should hide by any manner the christian people ¶ and after a messenger was sent to saint basylle/ that commanded her in the emperor galiens behalf. that she should come speak with him. or else that she should take pompee to her husband/ the good virgin answered that she would not/ and her spouse should be ihu cryst the son of the everlasting god & none other/ ¶ in saying the which words the messenger pierced through & through the body. & slew her/ ¶ after he take prothus & jacyntꝰ. & brought them in to the temple for to worship the gods/ and as they came thither ● were making their prayers to ihu christ. thyd●lle of jupiter that was in the temple was smitten to many small pieces/ ¶ nicecius that was the time provost of rome made them to be beheaded at the feet of saint basylle notwithstanding that she was deed/ ¶ after that he sent for saint eugene & asked how by her art magic she had converted so great people/ the good lady bold and steadfast in the faith/ answered holdly saying ●yn art is not magic but my believe is in that self god that hath a father without mother and a mother without father/ and the which father hath engendered him with out mother/ and she in like wise conceived him without knowledge of man/ ¶ my god & my master hath a wife a virgin. which engendereth a continual multitude of children/ ¶ his flesh is joined to the flesh of his wife a virgin· without letting their kiss each other. they shall be everlasting in love/ and so are they so perfit. that all virginity. all charity. & all ordonnez of body is there kept/ ¶ nicecius provost roman dreading the th'emperor should hear her speak/ for he doubted much least he should be turned to the christian faith by her wordes·s incontinent made her to be brought in to the temple of the goddess diana. for to do sacrifice to the said goddess. or else to suffer death ¶ the good ladi eugene put herself on both her knees. & heaving her hands toward heaven said/ o my god the knowest the secrets of my conscience/ that haste kept my virginity by thy l●ue that haste given to me thy blessed son to my spouse. that hath made to regne in me the holy ghost. i pray that now that thou wolte be with me presently. for to help me confess thy holy name. to th'end that all thoos that worship this idol may be confounded with their sacrifices/ & anon all the temple fell down/ & was all together broken. except the altar afore the which saint eugene was kneeling/ ¶ and these things were done in the isle of lych●anye in presence of a great multitude of people that there was come for to see th'end of saint basil some began to call & cry laying that she was innocent. & ●other called her magycyen ¶ all this befall was showed to the provost. which made it to be known unto the emperor/ the which commanded that she should be cast in to the river of tibre with a millstone at her neck. & it was done so/ but assoon as she was cast in the great ●●●me. the stone clave all in pieces. & the g●od lady was seen walk upon the wa●●. to th'end that the christian should know/ that the god that had saved saint peter in the see. was that time with the good lady saint eugene. to keep her that she should not be drowned within the said river of tiber/ ¶ after incontinent as she was had out of the stream/ & put in to an hot furnayse. out of which incontinent that she was cast in it. the heat waxed cold. and after they put her in a dark place. & the said emperor commanded that she should be left there the space of ten days without meet nor drink. & also without any light/ but nevertheless. within the place where she was thus kept. was seen a great light so bright. that all was light as it had be the light of the sun/ ¶ after this god that never faylyth his servants came & visited her. and brought her a loof of breed. as white as the snow/ & said unto her/ ¶ eugene my true spouse & friend take the breed that i bring for thee/ i am thy saviour that thou haste loved. & yet loveth of all thy heart/ i shall lead the in to heaven upon such a day as i came down in the earth/ & incontinent he debarred ¶ so it happened that the day of the nar●uyte of ihu christ: that hang man was sent toward her. which slew her within the prison/ ¶ her body was take of the christian. & buried in the way latin. in the same place where she had buried many crystens/ her mother claudia came oft to weep upon her grave/ ¶ and among the other. she being upon the said grave about the hour of midnight saint eugene her daughter appeared unto her. clothed in a gown of purple. covered with fine gold accompanied with a great number of virgins. and said to her/ rejoice thyself my mother. for god hath set me among the glorious saints in his paradies. & my father with the patriarchs/ & upon sunday next coming thou shalt be received with great joy in paradise/ ¶ command to thy children that they have always in their remembrance the passion of ihu christ. to th'end that they be partners with us of the sovereign joys of heaven/ and as she parted away· she gaaf such a light in the said place. that no manes eye could behold it/ wherbi men may believe that she was accompanied of the right glorious trinity of paradise/ to thou which be infinite glory. & also looving everlasting/ by all the syecles of the syecles/ amen/ ¶ here followeth of saint basille bishop of capadoxe/ and beginneth in latin ¶ basillius itaque et cetera/ caplm. c.lix. saint basil among the other of his time showed in earth as well by works. as by words a life covenable. ordaining & dysposing his said life by ghostly wisdom/ ¶ he gave unto ihu cryst his body & his soul. putting himself to divers daungeours & perils for the faith of our lord. & reproving many errors which he overcame & brought down. in his seventh year of age/ he was of his friends set to school. where he was abiding the space of .v. year/ during the which tyme. he almost knew all philosophy. ¶ after he departed out of capadoce his naturel country/ & went to the city of athenes. that thenne was mother of all sciences/ & there chastely heaved with a doctor named eubole/ whereby he had the very knowledge of all sciences/ for he studied full busily with many excellent men/ ¶ gregory the great that after the said time was pope of rome by the space of xii year. in lain also & lybanyen. they iii were disciples of the said saint basylle/ ¶ he made a promise unto god that he should never eat breed nor drink wine till that he should have by the sufferance of god know the secrets of ghostly wisdom ¶ during the time of xu year that he studied in athenes/ he knew all ppylosophye. after the informing of the greeks/ and finably he was right expert in the science of astrology. & other a●ter liberal/ but yet he had not learned the very wisdom. by the which folk learn to know their creator/ ¶ so it happened on a night as he studied/ that he was inspired with the holy ghost/ & purposed to know the holy scriptures/ wherefore he departed out of athenes. & went in to egypte. in which land/ entering the hons of a devout bishop named porphyre. the lad a life much solitary/ he required him meekly that he would common with him in the books of the holy scriptures. & divine teachings/ the which the said porphire took him unto him/ and there he studied by an hole year. taking a great delight & pleasure in the said holy scriptures/ & eat none other meet but herbs & drank water/ ¶ after he axed of the said porphire leave for to go in pilgrimage to ihrl'm. aswell for to god worship the holy places. as for to know the great miracles that were done there. to th'end he should come to a more knowledge of the faith/ porphyre seeing his devout affection gave him leave/ & recommended him to the grace of god/ and when he had done his pilgrimage/ he returned to athenes where he had studied a long season afore/ ¶ he being there among the greekish philosophers. he spoke ever to them of the holy scriptures/ & exhorted the misbelieved to believe in ihu christ/ showing unto them the way of health/ & namely haunted gladli & hourly with his master eubole/ ¶ and by cause he desired to reward him of the good that he had done to him in his childhod/ he would serve him in the faith of christ ¶ so sought he him for this cause in all places where men disputed/ & died so much that he fond him in the subarbes of athenes. disputing with the other philosophers/ ¶ saint basylle hearing his master. that proposed a conclusion fals. rebuked him of it/ whereof many at them present were somewhat abashed. and asked what he was that so b●●ly rebuked eubole/ whereat himself answered that it was god. or else basille ¶ thenne knowing that it was he. leaving all the pphilosophers. came to him & made to each other a glad knowledge/ three days they were together dysputing of divers matters/ ¶ eubole that had be master to basil. opposed him of the definition of philosophy/ & he answered th●●t his first definition was meditation continual upon death/ after he asked him. what was of the world/ & he answered that it was the same that was upon the world/ the words of the world are sweet. notwithstanding that it shall be full bitter to him that shall live in it vyciously/ but who that will be in the world. may not obey his sensualytee. & serve god/ by cause that none shall not serve well two lords. and that the naturel & manly desires are contrary to the salvation of our souls/ and therefore my master & commander said saint basylle/ i pray the let us quicken our spirits. that been deed by sins/ and for to purchase life everlasting let us follow the teachings of th'apostles of the sovereign god redeemer of all the world/ ¶ if we will put pain to obey him notwithstanding that we been all ready stricken in age. yet shall we have asmuch of reward by mediation of his grace. as they that have be in his service from the time of their youth/ ¶ for it is written in the gospel that as great a reward had he that came at the hour of sext. as he the was come at the hour of prime/ the doctor eubole hearing the warnings of his disciple basil. began to say/ ¶ o basylle. true shower & expownar of that faith of criste. through the. i believe in one god almighty. in time past that i knew. i died show the. & now all that is mine i give unto the. & put in thy possessonn purposing to lead with the thou remenaunte of my life/ & if it please to my god ihu christ. i shall receive within short time the holy sacrament of baptism/ saint basylle answered. o my master. blessed be our god that hath meekly lightened the in giving to the will & courage to forsake & leave the foul errors wherein thou were overthrown. through the vain & worldly science· and that now thou knowest his mercy. ¶ sith that thou will be with me· i shall teach the how we shall live in getting our we'll & in delivering ourself from the lettynges of this wretched world/ ¶ first we shall sell all that we have. & shall give it to the poor needy for god's sake. & after we shall go to the holy city of iherusalem/ the which thing they died/ and clothed themself in raiments like christian people/ for to receive christendom/ ¶ and in going thither they turned many paynims that they fond in their way to the christian faith/ ¶ how eubole was crystened in the flumme jourdan/ and beginneth in latin ¶ apprehendentes autem. & cetera caplm. c.lx then when saint basylle & his doctor eubole were come in ih●l'm. they went & visited all the holy places & worshipped them for the love of our lord/ after they presented themself tofore the bishop of the city named marimyen. & kneeled before him bysechyge him that he would christian them in the flum jordan ¶ the said bishop received them much meekly/ & acompanyed with many notable persons sad them to the foresaid flum/ when the● were come to the bryke of the same. saint basil sat on both his knees/ & besought god devoutly that he would vouchsafe to show some token to them of his grace after he rose up & took of all his clothes for to enter within the flood. & thenne the said bishop went & christened him/ at which crystning a moche marvelous thing happened there/ for a great light as it had be fire making wonderful shining came from heaven upon them/ & out of the fire flew out a white dove/ the which after she had troubled the water flew again in to heaven/ of which thing those present were much marveled for they had never seen so quick ne so great a light/ so began they to praise & glorify the name of god. and prycipally the bishop the continually remembered the love that saint basylle had to the redeemer of the world. they ii thenne together crystened & anointed with the holy oil. returned to ihrl'm. & there they dwelled a year ¶ after the knowledge of which. they took their way toward anthyoche/ & then was saint basylle made deaken/ ¶ how saint basylle being a bishop composed the mass/ in composing of which he saw god & his apostles. beginning ¶ convenientes. etc. caplm. c.lxi many bishops were assembled in anthyoche. the which chose saint basil to be bishop and after that he was ordained. he made his prayer to god. beseeching him that he would give him the gift of understanding by the which he might to the exaltation of the faith & his glorious name make a service or office to him agreeable in making unto him oblation of his precious blood/ and that in this doing he might receive the grace of the holy ghost ¶ the good basil after this request was by the space of six days as all changed & withdraw fro his thought/ but nevertheless he purposed to make the said service/ ¶ and on a night after the said days passed/ he had a sight of god. the which acompanyed of all his apostles. as when he wrote the words that priests proferon upon the breed. said to him/ basylle after thy desire be thy mouth fulfilled of praising. to th'end that by thy own word thou make sacrifice unto me of my blood/ ¶ saint basylle that could not abide the sight departed with great fere. and went to the altar where he began to say & write this that here followeth/ be my mouth fulfilled with loeving. to th'end that it sing ympne to thy joy/ with this he made many other orisons that been customably said when the body of our lord is to be consecrate of the priest/ the which are not to be written to any lay folk/ nor to be had in communication but only among men of the church/ and after the consecration & elevation of the host. which was of breed. he divided it in three parts/ of the which he used the one in great dread & reverence. the other he kept for to bear with him/ and the third he kept for to be put in to a down of fine gold. the which he had do make for to be hanged over the altar. in by tokening of that same down that appeared over him when he was christened in the flum jordan/ ¶ eubole & man● other clerks were then afore the gate of the temple: & beholding this mystery. they saw about him a wonderful light. which constrained them to fall to the ground/ and with this they saw a great multitude of men. all clothed in which raiments/ the which acompamed him in making the said sacrifice ¶ the mass done saint basil going out of the church/ all them present worshipped him. & putting before him their knees to the ground made him more great honour than they had be acustomed/ and at this cause he asked them what it was that had moved them to come there. & also the cause why they made him so great honour/ thenne they told him the wonderful sight that they had seen/ of the which saint basil yielded graces to god/ ¶ and certain days after he gathered all the people/ in the presence of whom he put the one of the said three parts of the host in to the said down of gold. & hanged it reverently over the altar/ and this done. he for to comfort the people. and to confirm in the holy faith of ihesu christ. made a moche fair preaching/ ¶ at which was the great abbot of whom hereafter shall be spoken/ ¶ of an hebrew man that saw a child between the hands of saint basylle when he divided the body of our lord and begynnyth in latin ¶ divino quidem. etc. caplm. c.lxii by the will of god and during the time the saint basille on a time among other song mass an e●rewe that was there saw a child between the hands of the said saint basylle/ ¶ the child as it seemed to the said hebrew was by this basil parted & divided/ and where they all after the mass said administered themself in receiving the body of our lord the said hebrew man put himself among the other crystens/ and so saint basil administered him an host as to the other/ and consequently asked to be administered with the holy chalices. that seemed him to be filled with blood/ and his asking was given to him/ ¶ and he keeping of either one part. bore it unto his wife. for to show it to her. and to confirm her in the vyson that he had seen/ ¶ and the next day after he returned to the holy bishop. and made himself to be christened with all his main/ ¶ of one that forsook god. and gave a writing thereof. sealed with his own hand/ and beginneth in latin ¶ illudius autem/ caplm. c.lxiii a holy man that had be chapelayn to saint basylle. and his sucessour in the bishopric of capadoce/ and the which wrote unto saint iherom the life of saint basylle/ ¶ rehearseth that a senator of rome. called protherius had a daughter. the which he would offer and sacrify unto god/ thinking that she should be a religious woman/ but the devil enuyvous over all goodness ¶ for to let and withdraw the holy purposes of the said protherius/ enflammed with the fire of concupisbence one of his household servants/ the which enamoured himself on his said daughter/ ¶ and by cause he knew for certain. that he was not her like for to have her by marriage/ he went to a master of magic/ to whom he showed his caas/ saying that if he could learn him any mean by the which he might have the said daughter: he should give him a great sum of gold/ ¶ the magycyen or nygramancer answered that he could not do it/ ¶ but and he would he should make him speak with the devil/ which was his procurer/ by whose working he should well now have right soon his will/ ¶ then the foolish lover answered to the said magicyen/ that he was ready to do all that he shoal command him/ so that he might get all that he desired/ ¶ then the said magycien made him to forsake his creator and to forsake his part of the joys of paradis/ and this done he made him to take him a bill containing the words that follow written only with his own hand/ ¶ my lord and my procurer/ by cause that i must withdraw out of the christian relygyon· and bind myself to thy will. to the end that thy subgettes been multiplied/ i send the this messenger bearer of my lettrers. which is desirous & taken with the love of a maid/ wherefore i pray that thou wilt do so moche for me. that his will be fulfilled/ to th'end that by him i may have joy and glory/ and power to command other/ and bring them in thy obeyslaunce/ ¶ this letter so made the magycyen delivered it to the foolish lover/ and said to him/ that at a certain hour of the night/ he should go and put himself upon the graves of the paynims and heretics/ and that there he should hold up his letter in the air. and anon certain messengers should come to him. which should bring him to the devil/ ¶ thus died this unhappy wretch/ and suddenly came to him a great multitude of wicked spirits from the prince of darkness. and of wickedness. the which in great joy lad him tofore their prince/ which was set up on hihe in a great chair/ and about him were a great multitude of devils without number/ in presence of whom he presented his writing/ ¶ and after that it was radde/ the said prince said unto him/ ¶ now come hither my friend/ dost thou believe in me/ he answered ye/ ¶ yet again questioned him saying/ ¶ dost thou forsake ihesu christ/ he answered as afore/ ye/ thenne the prince of the devils said to him/ ¶ ye christian men are false shrews/ for when ye have need to be helped of me/ ye pray me/ and after that ye have got your desire. ye deny and forsake incontinent to that ye have promised to me/ and soon after retonrne to your god which is so much good and sweet. and merciful/ that he refusyth not any synnar/ ¶ but this notwithstanding/ if thou wolte that i shall do thy will to be performed and fulfilled to thy behoof & pleasure/ thou must first give to me a letter of thine hand/ by the which thou shalt deny and forsake the sacrament of baptism. and the christian faith/ ¶ secondly thou shalt promise me that thou shalt serve me in this world and at the day of doom thou shalt hold me felishyp. for to be with me afterward perpetuelly in all the torments that i suffer/ this unhappy man promised him all the same/ and incontinent all the devils. masters of fornication were sent toward the said maid. for to tempt and stir her to the love of the unhappy man foresaid ¶ the which suddenly was so take which love of him. that she might no there eat nor drink/ and after that she had borne this woodness a little space of time/ finably she said unto her father/ ¶ o my father have pity upon me/ for certainly i am sore tormented of the love of one of thy servants/ my father i biseche the show now what a love thou haste to thy child/ for if thou incline and fall not to my we'll thou shalt see me deed within short time/ ¶ the father began to weep saying alas what is fall to the my daughter. what is he that will take fro me my treasure/ what is he that hath defoiled thee/ what is he that hath put out the light of mine eyen/ i would have married the to the sovereign king ihesu christ. and to him a●owe thy vyrgynytee. for to serve him in devout religion/ my trust was to have be saved by the and thou art now wered wood and in to idle love ybroughte. and leaveth the love of thy creature/ truly but if thou take ihesu christ to thy spouse thou shalt put mine old age in to perpetual sorrow/ ¶ the daughter would not agree to the will of her father/ but answered/ my father if thou grant me not my desire. i ensure the that thou shalt see me finish my days through bitter anguish within short time ¶ the father fearing her words purposed himself to please her/ and sent for her said lover. for to make the bridal between them/ ¶ and after that he had taken to them all his goods. he said unto his daughter for his last word to her/ ¶ go my unhappy daughter thou shalt repent the ones of that thou haste thus left god for to serve the devil/ ¶ after that they were married they dwelled together a certain space of time. during the which. the foolish lover thus wedded went never to the church and also received not his creature/ ¶ whereof some took heed. and showed it unto the said daughter his wife. saying that her husband was not a christian man/ ¶ when the wretched woman had herd these tidings. she laid herself down at the ground as comfortlees and with her nails scratched her tend visage. & beat her white breasts. trowing to have slain herself for sorrow. ¶ after she said such words/ ha my god never that person shall be saved that disobeyeth his friends/ who shall send word to my father of my confusion ha wretchedness is well happened to me in what unhap am i come. why was i ever borne. alas that i was not after my birth caught in to heaven/ & as she was thus in such sorrow. her husband came trowing to have known the causes of her wrath/ ¶ and after that he had stilled and appeased her somewhat/ she desired him to go with her to the church for to receive together their maker/ ¶ then the wretched man confessed his sin unto his wife/ ¶ the which as having force and courage of man ran unto saint basille. and said to him/ ¶ alas thou man of god have of me pity. poor and unhappy/ i have yeven my body for to be governed by the devil/ have pity of me horrible inobedient. that would not obey my father/ ¶ and after that she had rehearsed & showed all the befall of her husband/ saint basil sent for him for to wite of him if this thing was true/ whereat he answered ye/ ¶ thenne for to bring him to penance. he asked him if he would return for to serve ihesu christ/ he answered he might not/ by cause that he had promised to the devil. that he should never do to him seruyce· and had given thereof his writing with his own hand to the devil/ ¶ saint basil his answer well understand showed unto him the great mercy of god. and how he is ever ready to receive meekly our penance/ ¶ the good daughter kneeled before the said saint basylle. & said to him o thou servant of god have mercy of our sin/ the holy man inquired of the said husband. if he had any hope to be saved. whereat he answered that ye/ ¶ this hearing. he brought them in to a secret place within the church and during three days. he kept him there in continual prayers. and oft times both day and night he came. and visited him/ and asked him how it was with him. and he answered always that he had none hope more of life/ by cause of the cryings and callings that the devels made daily and nightly about him/ ¶ which showed unto him the writing that he had made upon his promise to the prince of hell/ saying unto him ¶ go unhappy man. thou art come unto us/ and not we to thee/ what we nest thou for to do/ ¶ the holy man comforted him. and moved and stirred him in saying to him/ that he should ever have steadfast faith and good hope in god. ¶ he gave him a little meet/ and blessed him with the sign of the cross/ ¶ and after he made him to entry in his place where he was before/ ¶ when he had been there ●i the space of forty days/ the holy man came to him/ and examined him how he died/ ¶ he answered that he was in good surety/ for that night he had seen the said saint basylle. that bataylled for him against the devils/ and that he had overcomen them/ ¶ then the holy man brought him straight to his chambre where his sleeping place was/ ¶ and the next day by the morning. he gathered together all the clergy. and other folk of devotion/ to whom saint basil declared and showed this that followeth/ ¶ my children ye know that i am your pastor/ and that i must yield account of your souls/ i had lost a sheep/ the which god hath sent again to me/ ¶ and by cause that the good pastor for to quite his conscience ought to pray continually for his sheep/ i enjoin and command you that ye both day & night be with me for to pray god. to th'end that this sheep so come again to me may purchase his salvation/ ¶ so began they all together to pray god. with weeping & singing) kyrieleyson (after the good pastor took the poor man by the hand. & brought him in to the church/ ¶ the devil unto whom he had done homage. & all his company. came to the assemble/ trowing to have take the poor synar out of the holy bishops hands/ & so began he to cry with an horrible voice. saying/ o thou holy man of god help me/ ¶ thenne saint basil turned his words unto the devil & said to him what askest thou the devil dampened. & the worst of all other wicked tends/ it sufficeth the not that thyself & all th● company be dampened. but art about full belie through your cursed temptations for to make the poor creatures of god to false with you in hell/ the devil answered/ basylle the dost me w●●ge to my great harm/ for i & my fellows here well the voices of them the sing kyncleyson/ saint basylle answered/ god doth this to thy harm & not i/ the devil yet again said to him/ basylle thou dost me great wrong/ for this sinner is come to me. & not i to him/ he hath forsake his creator in my presence/ & thereof he hath give to me his writing with his hand written. for a witness of the same/ the which writing i go present before the everlasting judge/ ¶ saint basylle thenne said to the devil/ blessed be god/ my people shall never cease to pray/ nor shall not bring down their hands. which are heaved upward to heaven till that thou haste given again the said writing unto this poor sinner/ ¶ all this noble assemble made after more devout prayers. than afore had done/ and ceased not till that the said writing was taken in to the hands of the said holy man/ the which after the receiving of it. he yielded graces unto god/ and said to the synan before all the people that was there/ ¶ my brother knowest not thou this letter/ he answered ye/ and that it was written with his own hand/ ¶ thenne saint basille broke it in pieces. and brought him to the church for to make confession/ which thing done. he received his creator/ and after sente-hym home again unto his his wife/ the which of his great grace she thanked devoutly our lord/ ¶ of a woman to whom her sins were forgiven by the prayer of saint basylle/ and beginneth in latin ¶ mulier quidam. etc. caplm. c.lxiiii. a woman rich & noble full of the vanities of the world· used evil of her faculties/ for she was prodyge & lecherous/ so that in all manner of her deeds she was unagreeable to god/ and as a sow doth lay herself in a fowl putdel. so was this woman wrapped in all filth & uncleanness of flesh ¶ and sometime by a singular grace that god gave her. she alone to herself made knowledge of the great multitude of her sins. and in weeping said to god/ alas my redeemer i that am a poor sinner. how shall i make satisfaction towards the of my sins/ i ought for to be the temple of the holy ghost/ and by my sins i have defoiled & hurt my soul/ i am the most unhappy of all the world/ & i believe not that ever any woman sin her christendom died so sin greatly/ and so abominable as i have done ¶ alack how shall i mow be in certain that god will receive my penance ¶ and when she had well bethought herself upon her byfall/ god inspired her to think upon the great evils and sins that she had sinned and done sin her youth unto her old age. and them she brought in mind. & wrote in a roll/ and this done/ she sealed them under lead/ and after purposed when saint basylle should come to the church for to sing mass that she should deliver he roll unto him/ ¶ the which thing she died so in crying who an high voys/ ¶ o holy man and servant of god have pity of me most wretched of all other synnars/ ¶ saint basil asked her the cause of her wailing/ and she answered/ alas my lord i have written in this roll all my misdeeds and wickedness/ i beseech the that thou wilt not look upon them/ but vouchsafe to do so moche for me by thy prayers toward god/ that they may be forgiven to me/ ¶ i wot well that he that hath given me understanding and will for to know them/ shall enhaunse the prayer that thou shalt make for me in this byfalfe/ ¶ therefore i beseech the succour me now at my great need/ ¶ the holy man took the roll of her/ and heaved his hands up toward heaven saying/ ¶ o my god it aperteynyth thy dignity. for to do that this poor sinful woman askith/ thou mayst put and enrase out within a moment all the sins of the world/ ¶ i beseech the meekly for her/ all our sins are in a certain number before thy majesty/ ¶ but thy mercy is without end/ ¶ his prayer thus done/ he set the roll upon the altar/ and there the holy man abode. praying god a day and a night continually/ ¶ the next morrow he called unto him the said woman in presence of some clerks. and said to her/ ¶ woman thou knowest well that thy sin can not be pardonned· but by the power of god the which answered/ ¶ holy father i by leave that that thou sayest/ and therefore i by seche meekly that it will please the to be mine helper toward him. ¶ thenne the roll was opened. & at opening of it· it was found that all her sins were to her foryeven. except do great sin. which was not enrased nor put out. ¶ the poor woman was sore heavy. & discomforted. & fell to the feet of the holy man & cried/ o man of god have pite upon me. and like as thou haste prayed for all my synes. yet again pray for me toward god that this sin may be also pardoned to me/ ¶ saint basylle began to weep & said to the woman/ my friend stand up. i have as great need of pardon as thyself/ for i am a sinner/ he that hath put out thine other sins may emase the same which is left behind/ and therefore if in time coming thou keep the commandments of god he shall not only forgive the this live/ but withal he shall give the the life eternal in everlasting bliss/ thou shall go in to the hermytage. where a man is named effrem. to whom thou shalt take thy roll. and ie●●st in god that by his prayers thou shalt be delivered of the same sin and shalt have of it a full absolution. to the salvation of thy soul/ ¶ the woman walked solonge through the wilderness that she fond the holy man effrem so began she to knock at his do●e crying ¶ o holy man of god have pite of me/ effrem that by the knowledge of god. knew the cause why she was come. answered unto her/ ¶ woman go thou th● way for i am a sinner as the arte/ whereby i have need of the mercy of god as thou hast/ the woman thenne cast to him her roll saying/ o holy father the bishop basylle sendeth me to the. giving to me a hope. that through thy prayers the greetest of my sins shall be forgiven unto me ¶ effrem said unto her/ nay my daughter nay/ he that by his prayers hath got remission of thin other sins may yet do that the same sin for that which thou comest toward me shall be pardoned unto thee/ ¶ torn again lightly toward him. to the end that thou mayst speak with him before his death/ the woman returned anon/ but when she entered in cezaree the city. she met the corpse of saint basille that men brought to his grave/ ¶ then she made great cryings saying/ ha poor unhappy what shall thou do now/ o holy man of god. why haste thou sent me to the holy father effrem. sin that thou might get remission of my sin/ i believe it was by cause i should not give the man letting at thy death/ ¶ the poor sinful woman laid her roll upon the corpse of the holy man/ the which thing known of one of the priests that was at the burying of him he would see & read the same roll/ and opened it in deed/ but he fond no thing written therein/ ¶ thenne he said unto the woman/ ¶ o woman what desirest thou thy roll is without any scripture thou knew not the indulgence that god had done to thee/ ¶ all the people seeing this miracle. began to thank god that hath given might to the quirk. to enrase and put out by pardon the sins fulfilled and done by the wretched synnars/ ¶ of joseph the hebrew/ which history is ann dexed to the said chapter/ joseph the hebrew was some time a leech well expert in the craft of physic. and so sure that in tasting the poulse of what somever person. he wist to say four or .v. days afore the decease of the sick the very hour that he should pass out of this world/ and by the great experience that he had in medicine/ he was sore envy of the other leches/ ¶ but saint basylle that knew by revelation of god/ that in time coming he should be regenered by the holy sacrament of baptism loved him moche/ and oft comyned with him/ desiring him to forsake his error. and to torn him to that faith of christendom/ ¶ the which joseph answered to him upon the same/ that he should die in the faith where he was borne in/ ¶ saint basylle replied against his answer saying/ joseph believe that i shall tell thee/ certainly i ensure the that without the sacrament of baptism/ neither thyself nor i shall not come in paradies. have not thine elder faders been baptized/ knowest thou not that for our redemption jesus christ hath take our nature in the womb of the virgin mary/ and for that self redemption he was crucified and brought to death/ and soon after he rose from death to life/ and now he sitteth at the right hand of his father/ and at the end he shall come to judge and yield unto every one after that he hath deserved/ ¶ then it is impossible without regeneration of the water & of the holy ghost/ and also without the communion of the sacrament of the altar. that we shall be saved/ but what soever exhortation that the holy man made unto joseph/ he would take no heed to his words/ ¶ it happened so the god/ which would call unto him the good saint basylle. made him know the hour of his death. by revelation of god/ and thenne he sent for joseph the leche foresaid. for to judge the hour of his death/ joseph after that he had tasted the vain of saint basil said to his servants. that they should make ready his winding sheet for to bury him withal/ and that he could not live long/ ¶ saint basylle that understood this judgement. asked him how he knew it/ whereunto he answered. that he knew it certainly by the feeling of his vain/ ¶ the holy man said unto him my friend thou wo●est not what thou sayest/ joseph answered to him/ this day shall the son go with the son ¶ the holy man said unto him. and if i they not till to morrow in the morning what shall thou say/ he answered. that it was not possible/ and that with great pain he should live yet an hour/ and therefore he told him that he should dispose of his business and of his church/ for he should die afore that the day should fail/ ¶ saint basil said to him/ now come hither leche/ what shall thou say if i live unto to morrow two of the clock/ ¶ he answered to him. that he should thenne die with him/ ¶ saint basil said unto him/ atte least if thou wilt die take afore the ●he faith of ihesu criste. and the sacrament of baptism/ ¶ then joseph promised him/ that if he lived as long as he had said/ without any manner delay/ he should be obeyssaunte to his will/ then the holy man made his prayer unto god/ to th'end that he would length his days. only for to torn joseph the hebrew to the faith/ the which request god granted to him and in the morning next he sent for the said leche/ the which weening that he had be deed. came incontinent to his lodging/ ¶ but when he saw that he was yet alive. he fell down at his feet. and cried him mercy/ saying that there was no god so great. as the god of the crystens/ ¶ and thenne he forsook the law of the jews. and took the christian faith/ desiring saint basille that he and all his main might be christened/ ¶ the holy man said unto him/ that he should christian them hymselfe· and then the good leech joseph took him again by the hand/ and touched the vain of his right arm/ and after that he had felt it. he said unto him/ ¶ my lord thy nature is feebled & weary that thou should not con go to the church/ the holy man answered unto him/ ¶ we have our god which is creator of nature. the which recomfortyth us/ ¶ and how he it that the holy man had no naturel strength. yet went he to the church. in which the said joseph his company & servants were incontinent christened/ and after the said saint basil brought the said joseph unto his dortour/ and there was yeven unto him a spiritual fo●e. in rehearsing unto him the joys of heaven/ ¶ soon after the holy man disposed himself for to sing mass/ ¶ and after that it was done. he kissed all the principal of the church & the lords of the town/ unto whom he recommended right busily joseph the new christian/ ¶ after he went again to his house/ in which yielding graces' and thanks unto god. betook his soul in to his hands/ ¶ when the good joseph in his science had well considered the death of the said saint basylle. he said/ ¶ truly holy father basil/ ¶ if thou had would. thou shouldest not as yet have died ¶/ and this he said. by cause that he knew well that he had lived long over naturel possybylytee. ¶ the next day with great honour was his body buried within the church/ ¶ gregory that for that time was bishop of nazance. when he wist that saint basylle was discessed/ he came to his te●ment and laid himself down over his body. making upon it great lamentations/ ¶ and nevertheless he cried to the people with a high voys/ ¶ o people rejoice now yourself and make orisons unto god/ singing ympnes and psalms/ and cease not to make remembrance of the holy man basil/ ¶ moreover after the coming of the said bishop. came there twelve other the which together laid the holy corpse in to his sepulchre/ which was of marble within the church of the glorious martyr ysichrus/ in which the good holy man leoncius his predecessor was was buried/ ¶ and saint basil died the first day of january/ the fifth year of the regne of the emperors governing valentis and valeriani/ ¶ here followeth of the holy father effrem/ and beginneth in latin ¶ fratres ena●racionem volo facere/ & cetera caplm. c.lxv. saint iherom maketh mention in the last chapter of the first part of the life of faders of the holy hermit effrem yt. was unknown of saint basylle ¶ and of the which effrem saint iherom saith to have had knowledge by telling unto him made of certain faders/ ¶ and for to show thereof. it is truth that the said effrem was borne of syrie/ he being in his hermitage a friend of his showed unto him the perfit estate of saint basylle ¶ and for to have of it some experience. he prayed god right heartily that it would please him to give him by revelation some knowledge of the holiness of saint basylle/ our lord that herd his prayer made to him such a revelation that is to wite that he being as half a sleep and half waking. he saw a pillar of fire which was so long that it retched to the heaven/ and in seeing the same. he heard a voys that said to him ¶ effrem effrem. such as thou seest this pillar. such is basylle/ then went he in to the church of cezaree in capadoce. where the said saint basil was upon a day that men made solemnity of epiphany/ ¶ and by cause that he understood no greek. he took an expowner with him. to whom he said when he saw saint basil ordained in so great honour/ we have lost our pain/ for this basil is not such as i have seen him/ ¶ the same time saint basylle was clothio in such ornaments. acompanyed of many clerks/ ¶ so was effrem angry in himself/ saying we hermits endure both cold & heat in the wilderness. and have no reward/ and this basil here which is in honour proffered is a pillar of fire/ ¶ and as he was in this melancholy. saint basil sent to the holy father effrem one of his archedeakens for to tell him that he should come. for to speak with him/ ¶ the archedeaken came to the said holy father effrem. and to him he said/ ¶ thy father archebisshopp of cezaree sendeth the word that thou come speak to him/ effrem answered to him/ ¶ my friend it is not to us that thou should speak/ we been not they that he would have/ for we been strangers the archedeaken reported this answer to saint basylle. which sent him again to saint effrem· & charged him to do his message in this wise/ sire effrem i command the to come to thy archbishop/ effrem was much marveled. & gloryfyeng the name of god answered to tharchdeacon/ truly basil it is a very pillar of fire/ for the holy ghost speaketh by his mouth/ they never had seen each other. but in spirit ¶ finably the service ended effrem came to saint basylle/ & thenne they made th'one to tother devout salutations saint basil greeted him in this manner/ o father of holy hermits thou art welcome/ thou that haste multiplied the disciples of ihu christ thou arte welcome alas good father thou haste moche pain. in coming hither for to see a poor sinner. god yield the meed after thy labour/ ¶ effrem answered to him/ & to the holy father all that thy heart desireth/ after he received his maker of the hands of saint basylle/ and when they had be long together. effrem prayed saint basylle that he would grant to him a request/ saint basil said unto him/ command me. & say what thou will for i am greatly bound unto the forth travail that thou haste take for to visit me/ ¶ effrem said unto him. i know that all that thou shall ask of god shall be of him granted unto the gladly/ for it is written that god doth fulfil the will of those that dread him. and shall enhance their prayers/ therefore i biseche the that thou wilt pray him that he will give me that grace. that i may speak greek/ saint basil consented unto his request. saying that it was honest/ ¶ thenne they set themself to prayer. & were so long enough/ and this done saint basille rose up. asking to saint effrem why he made not himself to be promoted to the order of priesthood. sith that he was worthy to be a priest/ whereat he answered. that he deferred to do the same. taking himself unworthy thereunto. by cause he was to great a synar/ saint basille answered unto him/ after my mind. would god thy sins were mine. ¶ yet again they kneeled on their knees to the ground/ & anon the tongue of the holy father effrem was informed to speak grekysshe language & readily began to speak it. as he had be born in the mids of grece/ ¶ they yields graces & thanks to god therefore in looving & praising his glorious name/ and after they were three days together/ during the which space. he that effrem had brought with him. for to be his expownar of greek language unto his mother language. was made deaken/ and the holy father effrem also ordained in the order of priesthood/ and after they commanded each other unto god giving thanks unto him of that they had seen each other/ ¶ here endeth the first part of the life of faders. and after followeth the second part/ ¶ sequitur secunda pars ¶ here followeth the second part. ¶ here followeth the second part of the life of holy faders of egypte containing in diverse books many laudable exhortations for to induce all persons/ principally men of religion to live solitarily and well with some fair histories exciting to flee vices and ensyewe virtues/ as more largely is declared in the table i set at the beginning of this present book where the chapters been declared all a long/ aswell thoos that are contained in the precedent & first part as in this second/ and in the third & fourth parts consequently following/ and all together translated from latyn in to french out of the books that thereof have be made by the right devote & approved doctor in holy church saint jerome. and first the prologue beginneth in latin vere mundum etc. what is he that doubteth/ but that the world is kept and preserved by the merit of saints/ and among other by thoos of whom the life is written in this presence volume/ the which have fled all concupisbence & in all have forsaken the world. reputing as for nought all that is in it. and for to withdraw therefrom fully their affections and them to turn unto god would inhabit & dwell in woods desert. some in ●aues/ and other in roches & high mountains/ without to have had any care or business of their meet or of their drink. and as having their only confidence in the medefulnes of god/ they have gone without silver/ without breed and without any other meet in to solitary places where as no person haunted nor no goods grew there but herbs & wild fruit. o thing wonderful. they never had hunger ne thirst but have be sustained & fed only of the grace and mercy of our lord. so ought we well to love our god when his will is that through their merits we may be assuaged of our evils by their supplications whereby we obtain the remission of our sins. ¶ ye that read this present book take no heed to the language rude and ill ornated/ but only to the substance which is fruitful. the divine science requireth not to be fulfilled with sophistications nor propositions ornate or polyshed/ but only of matter of truth. sometime ornating of words maketh the proposition to be withdrawn fro the truth. the holy lives and devote conversations of the worshipful patriarchs and prophets/ as abraham. ysaac· and jacob. moses. hely and johan been reduced and showed by writing/ not only to the end that they shall be glorified here/ for they are glorified of god in heaven right highly but also to th'end that by their virtuous works we may take doctrine of troth and ensample of good life. ¶ diverse exhortations here followen which begin in latin. quiden sanctorum senior etc. some religiouses persons questioned one of the holy faders of egypt why he died so great abstinence. whereunto he answered in this manner my children it is of necessity that we hate all the rest of this present life and all bodily delectations and replection of belly/ without to require any honours to be done unto us of men/ and our lord ihesu christ shall give us honours celestial/ life with rest eternal/ and glorious gladness with his angels. this holy man said that meet and drink are to man behoving of necessity/ but not withstanding men ought not to take them but for to sustain the body and not to the full belly as much as it could well take. sleep in likewise behoveth kindly unto man/ but also we ought not to sleep as much as the body desireth/ the reason why is/ because when we sleep as much as nature appetite is/ the body thereby waxeth slothful whereby he is not so ready for to work. and to the contrary watching yieldeth the thought & the wit of man more subtle and more clean and therefore said the holy faders that watching in good works well ordained illumineth the thought. and the watchings super flu and inordynat bring forth franesye and madness and grieve the heed and the body full fore. semblablyyre behoveth unto man not against some other for to move his passions/ but for to be angry against himself and his sins/ to the end that more easily he may put them from him in amending of his life. ¶ therefore when we see our neighbours or other do any thing against the commandment of god/ we aught to anger ourself against them for their sins/ and such sharply to correct in all diligence to th'end that after their correction and amendment they may be saved and come to everlasting bliss. ¶ another holy father being in the mids of the deserts living there in marvelous abstinence as inpossible to be borne/ was inquired and questioned of some of them that sore marveled of his perseverance/ and how he might endure in a place so dry and barren the great penances that he bore there. where at he answered that the poverty that he suffered in this world was not one hour of the pains of hell. ¶ and more he said that it was beautiful to us for so little a time as we have to abide in this mortal life to do penance and resist against the desire of the flesh/ to th'end that we may have the recompense that never shall fail/ that is the glory eternal. ¶ god in diverse manners giveth socours and aid to them that for the worship of him done and accomplish things that be above nature. and to this purpose men find that some time was a holy father in egypte/ the which by his holy conversation was wonderfully envy of the devils that oftentimes grievously beat him. ¶ and one day among other they tormented him so sore that on the morrow by the hour of prime he found himself so unable by feebleness of his body/ that him seemed he was come to his last day/ aswell by cause of the grief that they had done unto him/ as also by cause he had fasted to long/ but notwithstanding he disposed him to fast unto the hour of . ¶ soon after at the same hour to himself he said that he should carry unto the hour of se●te/ & always he died for hunger. ¶ consequently when se●te approached/ he purposed to fast unto the hour of none. and thus by many days he took upon him such penances. ¶ one day as he trowed to have taken his repast he saw a great smoke come out of the basket wherein he laid his breed/ and the which smoke went out at the window of his little ●elle. so purposed he to himself that he should not eat that day/ and by these abstinences was the said holy father so confe●ned in the faith/ that he was two days without hunger ne thrust. ¶ and by mean of which abstinences and the help of god he restrained and brought under feet the temptations of lechery and gluttony. ¶ on a time certain brethren went out of their monastery for to visit the holy hermits in the desert. and as god led them they arrived in the little house of the good holy father for said/ of whom they were right sovyngly received. and because that he saw that the said brethren were weary he made them eat before the hour accustomed & them presented of such goods as he had. ¶ coming toward even and after they had accomplished their orisons/ aswell diurnal as nocturnal/ the holy hermit departed from them. and he being in his garden he heard that the said brethren complaining them saying the one to the other what is this/ these hermits here make better there than we do that are founded in our monasteries. the hermit held his peace/ and on the morrow in the morning they took leave of him/ & went to the hermitage of another that was not far thence. ¶ the hermit that had lodged them the night afore & with whom they had taken their bodily repast prayed them that they would great in his behalf the hermit toward whom they purposed for to go/ & that they should tell him these words. beware that thou war not thy coals. and they promised him to tell him so. when they were come unto him they gave him greeting after their promise. he understood well what his father hermit meant by the greeting that b● him sent. so made he anon these religiouses that were come to him to make baskets and mands till that even was come/ and himself wrought with them. when night was come/ the hermit made his orisons not only after his custom/ but also many suffrages he added thereunto. after this he said to the brethren that were come to him. my brethren and friends/ our custom is not for to eat every day/ but sith that ye be come this day we shall soup then he took them breed and salt and a little oil over a few coals. their refection thus take the hermit set himself to orison and was thereat almost unto the day and then he said unto them. by cause ye be traveled my brethren we could not say all the service that we are wont for to say/ therefore rest yourself a little. ¶ in the morning when they were up they would go their ways but the hermit would constrain them to abide there with him two or three days. this notwithstanding when they saw his abstinence they departed at night without leave to take of their host. the which inconvenient happened to them/ because they had grudged against the first father hermit that well had received and feasted them at their coming. ¶ and by this history ought to us to be noted that it is not always of necessity to make good there to all persons/ namely when they be unkind and unknowing the services that men have done to them/ ¶ faith and perfit charity make to forget often the worldly concupiscences. and to this purpose it is here recited/ that on a time a holy father went for to visit one of his fellows which received and entreated him much lovingly and made meet ready for him but they would feed their souls afore their bodies. ¶ so went they both together for to pray god/ and rad the psalter and the prophecies where they took so great pleasure that they where in their orisons still a day & a night ¶ then they knowing to have such passed the day/ they devised together in speaking of holy scriptures/ and were thereat unto the hour of none. ¶ after they took leave of each other & went again to their cells or little houses. ¶ and he that had set the pot at the fire with meet/ he was sorrowful & heavy when he came to his house of that his fellow was gone without to have taken there his bodily refection ¶ and by all this we see how by the sustenance spyrytu●ll they forgot to take the refection corporal. ¶ where as men ought to think discreetly and by waarly delyberation/ if a thing is lewfull to be done or ever it shallbe begun/ is here recited that zenon the good abbot as he go to palestine found himself by the way so weary that he was constrained to lay himself done under a tree/ nigh which tree was a field full of a fruit that we call a gourd. ¶ so thought he for to take one of the said gourds for his refection saying that in his going he should take no great thing of value. ¶ but or that he took it he imagined that to take it without leave it were theft. ¶ so he considered in himself the torment that is ordained for thieves when they have rob any thing. and for to within draw if he could endure such torments/ he put himself in the great heat of the son/ and there so joined by the space of five days without to depart from one place. and seeing by the great heat of the son the which he might not bear/ yet should he less endure the said torments. he said to himself that he should be no thief/ and that it was better to do his work and live soberly/ than to grieve against his own self the mayest divine and to be in danger of other and of justice. considering namely that which is written/ labour with thy hands and do thy business and certainly thou shalt have meet and drink suffycauntly. ¶ humility against pride/ and abstinence against lechery are unto us necessary. ¶ to this purpose we read that sometime was a disciple of one of the holy faders/ the which was continually tempted of the sin of fornication. nevertheless by mean of the grace of god/ he resisted against it/ aswell by fasting and prayers/ as also by traveylling his body. ¶ the holy father his master seeing that he took so moche pain and travail upon him/ said unto him. ¶ if thou wilt my son i shall pray god that he will take from the this passion that thou bearest/ to the end that thou have not so much pain to resist against the temptation of the devil. ¶ the disciple answered. my father i know that this to do i have great pain/ but also i hope to gather of it more fruit. for the more that i feel in me the rebellion of the flesshe· i employ and enforce myself moche more to fast and to pray more/ than i should do if i had not the said temptation. ¶ nevertheless i beseech the that thou wilt make unto go this request/ provided always that it will please him to give me force ever to persevere in good works. ¶ the holy father then said unto him. now i know that thou art of good will and that thou puttest thine intent and thine affection sovereignly to please god. so weet it my son/ that by the patience that thou shalt have in resisting/ thou shalt acquire the salvation of thy soul. ¶ and this witnesseth saint powel that said to this purpose against the devil. i have led good battle for i have gotten the field. and because i have well kept the faith/ from bensforth i shall enjoy the crown of justice/ and not i only/ but also althose that love god and wait upon him. ¶ some time was another brother that in like wise was sore tempted of the sin of fornication. one night he roose up and went toward an holy father devout and replenysshe of all virtues to whom he confessed his caas ¶ the holy father knowing his trouble/ began to admonest him of the virtue of patience reciting unto him that which the psalmist saith in the xxv. psalm. thou that art in temptation resist with all thy strengths be thou steadfast and take good courage for to sustain the commandments of god. the brother comforted of these words went again to his hermitage / and soon he was tempted as he was before/ wherefore he returned again unto the said holy father which recomforted him as he had done afore. and with this he gave him an hope/ saying that if he persevered constantly/ god should send him aid and socours. ¶ so returned he home/ but he was more tempted than afore/ and came again to the said holy father and besought him that he would pray for him. ¶ the holy father gave him ever a good hope and recomforted him in the faith/ saying that without any fault the tempter/ that is to weet the devil should go from him all confuse if that he resisted courageously/ saying more/ that where a battle is more sharp & there as men suffer most of the party adverse/ the victory is there more noble and more dign of loing. ¶ and to this purpose said ysayas/ that the hand of god is ever strong enough for to succour us/ and his e●re is ever ready for to hear us/ but we may not go in paradise/ but by many pains and tribulations ¶ the brother saying all these fair admonitions/ would no more return to his hermitage/ but abode with the holy father ¶ and from hens forth he resisted against the temptations of the devil of hell leading a life right holy and dign of praising. ¶ the abbot moses was in likewise tempted of the sin of fornication so strongly that he might not abide within his chambre/ and for to find remedy thereto he came to seek socours and comfort unto an abbot named ysodore/ of whom he was somewhat comforted in admonesting him to resist if he would be champion and very knight of god. ¶ but nevertheless the said moses prayed him that he should not return to his chambre ¶ thenne ysodore saying that he would not go a way/ he brought him unto the highest place of his house/ and made him to look out at a window toward the part occydentall. ¶ and as he looked up to the air/ he saw a multyde of devils. ¶ thenne ysodore said unto him that they were thoos that tempt the servants of god. ¶ after that he made him to look out at another window toward the part oriental where he saw without number more of good angels than he had seen of bad. ¶ thenne ysodore said to him that they were thoo that god sent for to succour us in all our necessities/ and for to help us to resist against the devils temptations. ¶ and sin said to him such words/ wite it then moyse/ that if thou wilt help thyself/ thou shalt overcome the devil lightly. for we have more of good angels to help us to resist if we will do it/ than there is of wicked spirits for to tempt us ¶ then was the abbot moses comforted/ and went again to his hermitage utterly delivered for to resist against the said temptation. ¶ a wonderful & laudable constance had another hermit doing penance in sychye for because that afore his profession in the life heremytarye he had known carnaly a moche fair woman. ¶ the devil that ever shall mow beguile & deceive the friends and servants of ihesu christ/ brought again full oft in his remembrance the same woman putting afore his eyen the great beauty of her. it happened by sufferance divine that another brother came out of egypte that showed unto him as truth it was/ that the said woman was deed. the which thing heard by the said brother/ he went to the place there she was buried/ and sin took a way the earth that was upon her and spread his mantle over the deed body which was all rotyn/ and marvelously he began to rub and stir the same his mantle against the rotynes of the said woman's ker●as. ¶ and this done he went again to his hermitage ¶ and when any temptation of the said woman came to him/ he put a fore his eyen the said stench and enforced himself to feel it till that the said temptation was passed/ saying to himself. corrupt carrion take thy fill of the body that so much inordinately thou desirest. ¶ and by this he resisted constant●ly to the sin of fornication and lechery. ¶ who soever will keep his chastity/ be ought not to haunt in places where women be/ all be they never so perfit. ¶ two brethren hermits sometime departed together out of their hermitage for to go to the city next by them to sell all that they bad laboured with their hands in a year for to store them of some necessary things. ¶ they come to an in/ and after that they had sold all/ one of them went for to seek their provisions & necessities for all the year/ and the other tarried in the house where as they were lodged. in which house atte the entysynges and temptation of the devil he committed the abhorred sin of fornication. ¶ when the other was come to him again/ he told him that it was time to go to their home. ¶ he that had done the said sin answered that he could not return declaring unto him his sin/ and that he was all desperate for the same. ¶ that other seeing that he was in danger to be dampened/ for if he had abiden with the world/ happily he had be habaundonned/ not only to this vice foresaid/ but also to all other/ for to reduce him to the way of healthful penance he swore and affirmed unto him against truth/ that in likewise he had done such an other sin/ him giving to understand that it was better that they should return and do penance such as the holy fathers should enjoin them/ than thou they should ever contynuwe to do evil. ¶ after be recomforted him of the great mercy of god/ to him saying that he never leaveth the sinner so that he will return to him by way of penance. so went they both together out of the city. ¶ and he that had not sinned made like penance as his fellow died for to give him courage & good exemple to require & also for to have a very hope to obtain of our lord his grace and mercy. ¶ and within a while after god showed unto the holy faders by revelation divine the troth of this befall/ & that the one gafe his body to penance for the salualonn of his fellow/ how be it that he had not done the sin. ¶ men may do no fairer almose than to give his body for to save his even-christian & to pray god for his soul. ¶ an other brother there was that semblably was tempted of the sin of lechery/ wherefore by diverse times he camto one holy father that was dwelling enough nigh him & ever he besought him that he would pray god for him/ but the more that the holy father prayed/ the said brother to more busily required him to pray for him. ¶ and for this cause the said holy father was both night & day in orison for him/ but it profited him nought/ whereof the said holy father was sore discomforted knowing that his orison was not herd. ¶ but our lord for to comfort him showed to him a vision the cause why he was not heard/ & that it was by occasion of the negligence of him for whom he prayed/ the which would not help himself for to resist courageously against the temptation of the devils/ but rather took a pleasure to see the illusions that the devil presented unto him putting in his mind the remembrance of many dyshonost women. and how well that in these foolish illusions his good angel that was full heavy and sorry as him seemed of that he resisted not against the said temptations/ nevertheless he made no force for it. so said he to the said brother. my friend but if the take courage of thyself casting a backo the delectations that the devil presented to the i can not help that by my prayers and therefore thou must put thyself in orison & to fast/ to sigh & to weep/ & other abstinences to do. thou knowest that the leche when he will give to the patient some remedies against his malady/ if the seek keep not himself from such meats that been contrary to his health/ with great pain the leech shall he'll him. ¶ also thyself the art in deadly sin thou puttest no pain to recover the grace of god that thou hast lost/ but dost the contrary of that he commandeth the to do through the pleasure that thou takest in the temptations of the flesh. therefore help thyself/ & god shall help ye. for otherwise the holy faders that are leches spiritual should not con because to restore to thy soul her health. ¶ the brother by these remonstrations took at his heart so great contrition that he obtained the mercy of god/ & the slanderous & wicked passion of lechery went a way from him. ¶ for no manner of need that a man hath he ought not to suffer the any young woman serve in his house/ all be she his kinswoman or otherwise. ¶ an her mite being in his hermitage & doing there penance was by one his kins woman wretchedly deceived. for the devil stirred the same his kins woman for to see the said hermit in his hermitage where he received her benignly/ & at this cause she bode with him a space of time/ the which time/ he knew her carnaly. not far from the same hermitage dwelled a holy father right devout/ the which by many days afore the case was happened/ when he put water in a vessel of his own for him to drink/ incontynene as he would take the vessel trowing to have drunken of the water/ the vessel turned upsodonne in his hand & spilled the water & could not drink out of it. then he thought he would show this to his fellow for to know what it mente. so took he his way for to come to his hermitage/ but he was beclipped of the night and constrained for to go lie in a temple where yooles were. ¶ as he slept within the said temple/ he heard the devils that said one to the other/ how that night they had made an hermit to fall in the sin of fornication with a woman that was of his sib. ¶ the holy hermit hearing these words was thereof sore marveled. ¶ on the morrow act spring of the day he began to walk forth on his way unto the time that he was come there as his fellow was. ¶ and entering in his hermitage he found him trystefull and sore to the death. ¶ after his greeting yeven unto him told him how his water died spill out of his vessel when he should drink/ and that for to have his counsel in this matere/ he was come toward him. ¶ that other that had done the said sin of lechery answered. ¶ alas my brother i have greater need of thy counsel/ than thou of mine/ for the last night i fell in to the fowl dishonest and abominable sin of fornication/ whereof i have offended my god and my maker wickedly. ¶ thenne his fellow said to him/ that he wist it well and showed him the manner/ how he being a sleep within a temple of idols had heard the devils saying the one to the other that which is said. ¶ then he that had sinned as without hope would have gone to the world and forsake his hermitage. but that other recomforted him aswell as he could/ praying him to abide still in his tell/ and that better it was to sheve out the said woman to th'end they two together might do penance till that god had pardonned him his sin/ the which thing he died/ and sith led a life much devout and holy. ¶ when men are overmuch vexed & travailed of the devil/ and tempted of the sin of fornication/ the sovereign remedy is to occupy himself in prayers and orisons/ or in temporal works/ and flee idleness which is the rote of all vices. ¶ to this purpose we read that an holy hermit being in a place named celya/ the which by the devils was sore tempted for to accomplish the sin of lechery. he considered in himself that it was of necessity that he should set himself to some work by the which his body were strongly travailed ¶ now this brother was a potmaker/ so advised he that he should make a woman of earth/ & in deed he died so/ after that she was made/ he said to his thoughts the tormented him of the sin of fornication that he had a woman to keep. but because that this notwithstanding he was ever tempted as above/ he imagined to labour more than he had done tofore/ & made children of earth saying after to his thoughts when they moved him to lechery that he had both wife and children. moreover for to overcome his passions/ he purposed to labour more than he had done afore/ saying that needs he must travail/ aswell for to get his wife & children their living/ as also for to cloth them. finably he suaged and travailed his flesh/ so that with pain he might remove himself. ¶ and thus god seeing his great perseverance took away from him all these foul thoughts and him replenished with his grace/ whereof he glorified and gave thanks and lauds to the name of our saviour and redemptor ihesu christ nothing is more light to be brought than is the temptation of the sin of the flesh. ¶ and because that in the said sin soon take great and inordinate love. it is of necessity that the nourishing of the said sin be put away by orison and making lean of the body. ¶ to this purpose a brother asked once to an abbot named poemen what thing he might do for to resist against the sin of fornication/ whereof he suffered and endured so great pain that he lost thereby his intendment and be came as furious. ¶ the holy abbot answered unto him that the sovereign remedy had be found by the prophet david that saith. ¶ i have struck the lion/ and often i have slain the beer. that was to say/ that he took a way the woodness and the enforced anger of his heed. that was the bowing and inordinate will of this sin of fornication. ¶ and by this mean also by the labour & vexation of his body he despised & overcame the sin of fornication. ¶ here finished the exhortations how men ought to eschew the sin of fornication. ¶ other exortations followen for to acquire the virtue of patience and humility beginning in latin (dicebant sancti seniores etc. other exhortations writeth saint jerom for to have the noble virtue of humility which is the fundament of all virtues/ and also the right necessary virtue of patience. and first he putteth an exemple of an holy hermit that inhabited the deserts of sychye which was boundman and thrall to some lords dwelling in the city of alexandria. this hermit every year came done from his hermitage in to the city for to bring them the pension that he ought to them as the servants done to their lords/ but the said lords that toward him had great reverence & perfit love came him against requiring him that he would pray god for them/ when he was come his custom was to give them their said pension/ and to put water in to a bassyn for to wash their feet as holden he was to do because of his said lordship. ¶ the said lords that would not that he should serve them of so low service said unto him. ¶ o father right benign/ do not unto us so great wrongs/ as for to wash our feet. for surely thou anger'st us if thou do so. ¶ thenne the holy father answered to them. the almighty and sovereign god ihesu christ hath ordained you to be my lords and i to be your thrall whereof i thank him/ and therefore i ought to do to you this service as your bound man. ¶ i pray you right heartily that ye will take a worth this little service/ and that ye receive the pension that i own you. ¶ the lords answered that they should never take pension more of him. but he answered against them saying/ if they took not the said pension/ that he should never return to his hermitage/ but should serve them all his life. ¶ then they fearing lest he should be angry/ and to th'end he should go again to his hermitage/ they took the said pension/ and gave it incontinent to the poor folk for god's sake. ¶ ones upon a time they questioned him why he brought to them this pension as a bound man sith that they would not take it. ¶ and he answered he died so for to quite him of the obligation where of he was bound to them/ and also fearing lest he should lose the merit of his fasting watching and orisons/ if he paid not the pension that he ought unto them/ supposing in his mind if he paid it not/ that the goods that he died in his hermitage should return to the profit of his lords under whose lordship his oratory or little house was build and set. ¶ good and kind fraternity is often cause of devotion/ but yet much more the ghostly fraternity. ¶ two men were brethren german and ghostly brethren/ for they were both together religiouses. ¶ the devil envy of all bounty trowed to have departed them one from the other and would have put dissension between them. ¶ it happened once that the youngest of both lighted a candle atte even. and as he should put it in the candelstyck/ the devil inuysybly made it to fall done to the ground and put it out trowing to move noise & division among the said two brothers. so rose up the eldest brother in great wrath smote the youngest/ the which dying at ground began to say. ¶ o my lord be patient i shall go light it again. the devil seeing that the youngest had given so gracious an answer/ and that by this mean he might not bring them in dyfferente/ incontinent he went from them all confuse. ¶ and the next night the devil showed it to the prince of the devils/ saying that for the humility of the youngest religious be could not have sewed hatred nor dyuys●on among them. ¶ saying more over that our lord by occasion of his said humility had spread over him his grace/ whereof he was sore tormented. ¶ the priest of the law that hearkened the narrations of the same devil was wonderfully abashed and considering the great loss of the souls that the devil drew to him by the train of idolatry/ went to the holy faders for to be instruct of them in the doctrine of our blessed saviour & redeemer ihesu christ. reciting to them this that the devils had purposed that same night. and finably after that he was baptized he took the habit of an hermit. and sin by the mean of the grace of god of the which he was replenished/ he was a man of right holy life. and principally he was so humble/ that all the faders were marveled of his great humility. and he affirmed that the virtue of meekness is that same that most overcome the devils of hell. ¶ also by meekness god our blessed saviour and redemptor hath vyctoryously brought under foot all the puissance of the devil. ¶ more over he certified that another time he heard the devils say/ that when they tempt any by motion of injury the one against the other/ if the one suffereth patiently the injuries that be done to him/ praying him that of iniuryeth him to have patience as the young hermit died to his brother/ incontinent the devils have no more puissance to trouble nor tyse him to sin. ¶ how be it that virtue is worthy to be honoured/ always the virtuous person ought to flee the places where men do to him honour/ to the end that the devil tempt him not by vain glory. ¶ the abbot poemen to this purpose recounted to his brethren/ that in the rhyme that theodosius was emperor of constantynople. there was an hermit that had a little house without the town of constantynople nigh enough to a place of pleasure where the emperors went gladly to pass the time by manner of recreation. ¶ theodosius knowing of the said hermit and that he never went out of his said house purposed for to go visit him. and when he was nigh the said place/ he made his folk to tarry and would go there all one. so came he and knocked at the hermits door. the holy hermit rose up anon and opened the gate. after that the emperor was entered there in/ he looked all about the chambre and he found there no thing but a little dry breed. he prayed the said hermit that he would give him some mete. ¶ the holy man presented him incontinent breed/ salt/ and water. then after that the emperor asked him how the holy faders of egypte died live in the desert. where unto he answered that continually they prayed and were in their orisons for the salvation of their souls. ¶ more over the emperor asked him if he knew him not. and he answered nay. then the emperor told him that he was theodosius the emperor of constantynople. ¶ thenne the hermit kneeled done on his knees a fore him to the ground. but theodosius took him up saying in this manner. ye religiouses are right happy in this present world/ for ye live without solicitude and are ever in peace. all your labour is to do the salvation of your souls/ and to acquere the royalme of paradise. and in good sooth i tell the holy father that i that am emperor had never rest/ but i have be & am continually in labour and tribulation/ and be it in drinking or in eting. dame solicitude cometh and telleth my morsels. after the emperor salved him honestly and took leave of him. the man of god considering all the night how the emperor was come to him/ was a feared that many other lords should come in likewise to him wherefore dreading the great honour that they might have done to him/ purposed to go thence and in deed he went to the desert of egypte with the other holy faders/ to th'end that he were not withdraw nor brought from his humility by the pleasure that he might have taken in the visitations of the lords that should have comen see him. so ought we well to take heed to the exemple of the said holy father that took so moche pain upon him for to keep his humility without which we may not come to the everlasting glory. ¶ of the said abbot poemen recounted the holy faders that on a time the judge of the province where he was that had heard many things of his holiness sent him word and prayed him that he would wouchesauffe to receive him in to his house/ for he would go see him. ¶ the holy man poemen thought in himself that if the said judge should come to him/ many other might also come there/ where by his conversation should be known the which he had kept so secretly sith the time of his youth. ¶ and by this might the devil through his cautel and malice tempt him of vain glory. and thus he should lose all the merit that he had acquered. ¶ all these things considered/ the abbot poemon sent word to the said judge that he should not receive him this answer heard the judge was angry and wroth supposing that the holy father would not receive him because he was to great a sinner. always he thought in himself by what manner he might best speak with him. so he advised himself and made to be take and brought to prison the son of the sister of the said holy man/ ymagyning that when the said saint poemen should know of it he should come for to sue his deliverance toward him/ or else he should be content for to receive him in his cell or little house. ¶ and this done he sent word to the holy abbot poemen/ that he should not be wroth for the prisonment of his nephew. for as soon as he would come and speak with him he should be delivered out of prison. the sister of the said holy man all washed in tears went to the desert for to tell him these tidings/ but he had a marvelous constance/ for he neither opened the door nor spoke not to his sister wherefore she as a woman from her wit began for to curse poemen be cause of that he had no compassion over her saying o right hard hearted & evil man ●● thy heart made of iron which can not be moved through the tears of thy sister german. i have but one only son which thou leavest in danger only by cause that will not obey to the petition of the judge. the abbot poemen sent anon such or semblable words unto the judge. sir judge. poemen hath no children of his body begotten over whom he ought to sorrow ne make compassion. the judge hearing this words/ sent him a letter containing this that followeth. abbot poemen if thou wilt not come to speak with me to th'end that thy nephew may be delivered/ write unto me in form of a supplication/ & i shall grant all that thou shalt desire of me. then at the exhortation of some th'abbot poemen wrote to him in this manner. thy nobleness shall make good information of the life of my nephew/ & if he hath deserved death make him die/ to th'end that in this present world he be punished of his sins/ whereby he may eschew that pain everlasting and if he hath not done that thing whereby he should be worthy to suffer death for it/ make of him that which thou may suffer to be do after thy laws. ¶ another of the holy faders of egypt named agathon very patient & humble was of some brethren visited/ by cause they desired to know his great patience & humility that men said was in him. and for to prove him they said to him many great injuries him reproving that all his holy faders were slandered through his pride/ & that by his exaltation he setted all the other to nought in bachyting and blaspheming them/ with this they said to him/ that the cause why he blaphemed his fellows/ it was by cause he was lecherous. and to th'end that men should not suppose nor dame himself alone to be lecherous/ he continually slandered the other. the holy man agathon to these injuries & other answered humbly/ that he could not deny the sins of the which he was by them accused/ but knew to have commised them & done/ and after kneeled done before them & said. my brethren i beseech you that it will please you to pray god for me that am a right wretched sinner/ to the end that by your orisons my god will pardon me/ & that through your merits i may have thereof indulgence & remission. the brethren injuried him more than they had done afore/ saying that he was an heretic. but the holy father thenne answered. my brethren i knowledge myself a great sinner/ but the sin that ye may put upon me hurteth neither my soul nor my body/ for it is nought in me. the said brethren after that they had heard his answer/ they casted hem self down on her knees before him requiring him that it would please him to pardon them that which they had surmised upon him/ & praised him of his great humility by the which he had endured all patiently without moving of himself. then said agathon for to keep humility/ of the which groweth infinite fruits. i have will to suffer all except the accusation of the vice of heresy. ¶ our saviour ihu cryst endured all the injuries & shames that the jews deed to him for to give us exemple of humility. ¶ also he suffered the devil to tempt him. but when the devil purposed to make himself to be worshipped by him/ he might not suffer it. for that self injury reproved to the deyte always he endured unto the death the false excusations and business that the jews witnessed against him/ giving unto us exemple/ that we ought to endure & bear patiently all injuries and rebukings. but as touching the sin of heresy whereof ye have accused me for because that the said sin maketh men to be departed from god/ & joineth them with the devil i have not mow for this cause endure it. for if we were departed from god we should not weet to whom we should pray for the remission of our sins. and of the other part if we be joined unto him/ he shall be our protector and shall give us at the last his royalme so that we do our devoid toward him. ¶ at that time all the holy faders & religiouses that inhabited the desert of suchye were assembled in their church which is set in thoo desert/ for to these ysaac for their great priest & sovereign bishop in which church atte certain days they all ●omo●yd together & those the said ysaac. the which hearing these tidings fled in to egypt. then many of the brethren fled after him. but they were take of the night so that for that time they could not find him. and the good ysaac desiring to be far fro them/ to th'end that they should not find him be hid himself within a great bush. the brethren seeing that they might not go no more they unladed an ass that they had which bore their victuals for to eat by the way. and let him go to pasture where he would. but a wonderful thing happened/ for the ass went straight to pasture & rest himself at the bush where the holy father ysaac was. and in the morning when they would have gone forth on their way/ they go to the said bush where they found their ass by the holy man which they would have bound and brought by force with them. but he would not late him be bound/ but answered to them in great humility. my brethren i see well that it is the will of god that i shall obey to you. so a●● i delybered to please you and to accept the charge that ye give me how be it that i am unworthy. ¶ also in the said desert were two brethren dwelling tegyder/ the which because of their patience and humility were greatly commended and praised of the other brethren. the one of them willing to prove if they were perfit in meekness and patience went & visited them/ & he was received of them honestly & w●th great joy. after that they had done together their orisons as they were wont/ he that was come for to tempt them leapt out of their cell & little house & entered in a lytell garden where they gathered some coals/ & then for to have angered the said ●●●thern/ he took a staff & brake & marred all their coals that grew well f●●yre & high except one coal alone. but the brethren seeing his manner doing said to him no thing/ but showed to him a merry countenance & made him good cheer. soon after they withdrew to their house for to say evensong 〈◊〉 they had said evensong/ they 〈◊〉 to him that had wasted their co●●● 〈…〉 if a pleaseth the we shall 〈◊〉 at the fire 〈◊〉 coal that is left hole/ for is time for to take a refection ¶ ch●●● this other brother knowing their great charity/ humility & patience/ began to comfort them saying i thank god our creator of the graces that he hath given to you. ¶ for i knew that the holy ghost is with you and therefore i pray you my brethren that unto the death ye keep ever in you p●rfye humility & patience/ for by the same it shall be elect and chosen great lords in the joy of heaven. ¶ in a monastery was a religious the which by long season had be feebled by malady/ & the brethren wist not how to recover unto him his health because they had no delicate meats whereof he could recover his appetite to meet/ & also they were not well learned to attend upon sick folk. ¶ a devout woman considering these things/ besought the abbot that he would send to her house the said religious/ saying that more easily she might find & get in the city that that were needful for his health to recover/ than the religiouses could do in their monastery. ¶ the which request heard of the said abbot that desired right moche the recover & health of his religious/ granted to the said woman/ & sent to her house that said religious/ to whom to good intent ●●ryng the space of three year she administered to him all his necessities & made him to be tended right well. but because that he was so long sick with her/ m●●y one spoke of it/ saying that it was not to be believed that this religious might company so long with the said woman without he should sin grievously with her. ¶ the good religious being yet sick was informed of this speaking/ wherefore he made his prayer unto god saying. o my sovereign god that alone without other seest & knowest the great evils & vexations which i endure & the need in which i am in/ where it is so that i know the very rewardone of those that for the honour of the do some services to thy poor and needy servants. i beseech the humbly that it will please the by thy great and benign liberality to reward this good woman in the live everlasting of all the goods and services by her done unto me for the love of thee/ giving unto her the hundred fold reward thereof/ as thou hast promised in the holy scripture to them that shall serve the truly. ¶ the which prayer the same religious continued long time and unto the hour of his death. ¶ but afore that he deceased in the presence of many religiouses and other folk of devotion that were come to see him in that last necessity. he desired that the staff whereon he leaned in time of his sicknesses/ should be plaunted and set upon his grave/ in exhorting the assistants and other thad had spoken of him and of his good kepar/ that if they had had over them any evil opinion/ that when the said staff should spring and have flowers and should bear fruit/ they should then have steadfast believe that he never had sinned with her. ¶ and if it waxed not green bearing fruit/ that they should give credence to the words that men had said of him and of her as for a truth. the which thing was done so. and it happened miraculously that the staff after that he was set upon his grave in the earth as he had desired/ suddenly it waxed green with flowers and bare fruit/ whereof all the brethren together honoured & glorified the might of god. ¶ and saint jerom writeth that he himself saw the tree that proceeded and grew of the said staff. ¶ by this it appyreth unto us well openly that god our blessed creator keepeth curyously them that of good affection and very confidence serve him. ¶ and what some ever slander or shame that is done to us wrongfully/ we aught to hope verily/ that the truth by miracle or otherwise/ shallbe soon or late known ¶ a poor man which was vexed and thravaylled of the devil was brought to an holy abbot named appolon by some folk the which prayed him three days during affectuelly that he would deliver out of this inconvenience the poor sick. ¶ the said holy man atte their prayers and supplications answered that he was not of so great merit toward god that he should have given unto him any power or authority of the devils. ¶ but what answer that he made to them/ they more and more prayed him/ wherefore he seeing their great constance/ came to fore the said sick and conjured the devil saying. in the name of god our creator. o spirit infamed i command the that thou depart soon out of the body of this creature. ¶ the devil then answered. i never abode in place when i am commanded in the name of god to depart. ¶ nevertheless or that i shall go i ask the said the devil/ what betokenen in the gospel these words/ what are the wethers/ what are the sheep/ whereat the holy man answered in this manner. the wethers represent the injust & wicked among the which i am the worst because of my great and outrageous sins. but as to the sheep god only knoweth them. ¶ thenne the devil crying with a loud voice said. ha appolon i may not because of thy great humility abide no longer afore the. and incontinent he left the patient as half deed that he had afore tormented so sore/ and go away crying horribly/ and was herd of all them that were present/ which saw the miracle whereof they rendered thanks unto our lord that so great miracles doth by the merits of his humble servants ¶ after the rehearsal of the holy faders/ sometime was a religious in the desert of sychye/ the which desiring for to be instruct in good manners for the salvation of his soul/ he went for to see the holy faders that dwelled in a place called cely●. and when he was come there/ he wist not where to lodge himself for the great multitude of religiouses that were there. ¶ the which thing seeing one of them/ moved of compassion/ delivered him a cell or little house that he had/ and told him that he should abide there till that he had found on other. ¶ after that he had be there a little while many of the brethren came and visited him for to here and learn of him some good for the soul. for he had that gift of god that he could well teach prudently other folk. ¶ the religious that had lodged him was much envious of the worship that the other religious made him/ and said to himself. it is long a go that i first come dwell in this desert/ and now the brethren come not see me but only upon the holy days/ and every day they come to visit and see him to whom i have taken my lodges/ the which came but now late a go. ¶ then he sent him word by his disciple that he should go out of his said lodges. for he would occupy it. the disciple came to the holy father and showed him his eraunde all the countrarye saying. father devout/ my father hath sent me unto the for to wit how thou dost/ for he heard say that thou was like. ha good servant/ he was not like the servant of this time present which be more ready to bear the evil tidings than good. ¶ the holy father answered to the disciple/ that he should thank humbly his fair father and that he should recomende him to his devout prayers/ and in likewise said to the said disciple that he should pray for him/ for he felt his stomach right sore enfeebled. ¶ the disciple came again to his fair father and said to him. my father he prayeth the right affectuelly that thou give him space to avoid two days hanging the which he shall see for to be purveyed of another. ¶ after that three days were passed/ he sent again his disciple to tell to the said holy father that he should depart/ or else he should hunt him out with a staff. ¶ the disciple returned to the holy father to whom he said. fair father i come here because that my father is in great pain to know if thou art better at ease than thou were afore/ this three days were passed/ and therefore tell me how thou feleste now thyself. ¶ the holy man answered. my brother i thank god hyghely of that thou haste take so moche pain for me/ for certainly by thy prayers i have recovernd my health. ¶ the disciple came to his abbot and said to him. my fair father he prayeth the as much as to him is possible/ that it will please the to have patience till sunday/ and incontinent he shall depart. ¶ the sunday was come/ and the religious sore moved with envy went out of his lodgyse with a staff for to chase out the other from his house. ¶ thenne the disciple seeing the furor of his master prayed him that he would suffer him go afore/ to th'end if any brethren were with the other religious/ that he should not be shamed to make him any gryfe. ¶ the disciple incontinent departed and came to the devout religious and told him thus. my father and friend. my fair father cometh toward the i counsel the to go from hens against him/ for he loveth the above all other. ¶ then issued the good man out of the house well glad/ and when he was come to him he kneeled on his knees and said. o my right well beloved brother i thank the moche of thy cell that thou hast lent me for god's sake/ to whom humbly i beseech that he will reward the for it in the life that ever shall last. ¶ that other holy father threw thenne the staff from him and took him in his arms for to kiss him. ¶ after he pointed himself for to go take his repast with 'em in his cell foresaid. and when they were arrived the fair father abbot demanded of his disciple if he had done to the other his messages that he had charged him to tell him for to make him to void his lodges. the disciple answered. certainly fair father i tell the that when thou commanded me to go to him i durst not for the reverence and obeisance that i own unto the as to my father/ answer any words against thee/ but nevertheless i never told him that/ that thou had me tell him. ¶ the religious hearing the disciple speak/ and knowing his prudence. incontinent be cast himself done at his feet and said to him. i promise the that from hens for thou thou shalt be my master/ and i shall be thy disciple. for by thine attemperance and the good dread that thou hast had of me thou haste delivered my soul fro sin. ¶ and by this we see/ that servants ought to love more the salvation of their masters souls/ than to their wicked wills against their safety/ to obtempre or he agreeable. ¶ the holy faders testified to one named johan that was disciple of paul the abbot/ that this johan was very patient humble and obeyssaunte. ¶ and when his abbot commanded any thing for to be do/ how well that they were difficile/ he never said their against nor murmured against him. ¶ it happened once that in his monastery men had great need to have a quantity of dung of oxen/ so sent the abbot paul his disciple johan for to fet the said donçe where as he could find it. ¶ the disciple incontinent yielded himself ready for to go but nevertheless he told him that he had heard many persons say that there about was a lioness that devoured the folk that she met. thabbot all playing said unto him/ go go care not for it if she come to the thou shalt bind her & shall bring her with the. this said the good disciple johan departed & sought so long till that he had found the said ●onge that he sought/ but the lioness came there the which leapt upon him for to have devoured him. the young disciple desiring to do that his master had commanded him enforced himself for to take her/ but she scoup out of his hands/ he ran after her saying. o best tarry thy self/ my father abbot hath told me/ that i should bind that to th'end that i should bring the afore him. then by sufferance divine the said best tarried herself still till that she was bound/ & finably suffered herself to be led by the disciple unto the presence of his abbot/ that which seeing this miracle glorified that name of god. and his disciple said to him. my fader● have accomplished & done that the thou didst command me. thabbot dreading that the disciple should glorify himself of this work done of him reproved him greatly saying. thou art an overmuch fool to have brought hither this fearful best & therefore unbind thou her to th'end that she may go where she list herself ¶ one of the holy faders sent once his disciple to fet water at a well which was far from his cell or cottage. ¶ this disciple forgot to take with him the cord for to have his bokette done in to the well whereof he was full sorry when he found himself without it at the said well. for he wist not how to do for to draw water/ nor he durst not go home without. and finding himself thus troubled/ he began to pray god on his knees & sore weeping made unto him such a request & orison. o my god that haste made the heaven the earth/ the see/ & all the meruayllouse things that be therein/ thou knowest that thy servant hath sent me here for to bring him water. i beseech the that thou will suffer that i may bear him some. soon after he turned his speech upon the well saying. o well give socours to the servant of god mine abbot that hath sent me here for to bring him of thy water. and incontinent after these words said/ by the suffrance of god divine/ the water of the said well aryesed herself up unto the borders of the well above. and when the dycyple had filled his vessel the water went done again in her own place. ¶ and this done the disciple went & bare water to his abbot thanking and gloryfyeng the name of our lord. ¶ eulalius was a good religious full of all humility & of so great simpleness that when any thing blameful was done in the monastery where he dwelled/ they that had done it scused them/ saying that the said brother eulalius had done it. ¶ and thenne when his elders came to reprove him of the faults that wrongfully and without cause were put upon him/ the good religious by his great humility kneeled on both his knees before them and asked them thereof pardon as if he him self had commised the said faults. ¶ and because that the said elders toward whom he was often times accused/ saw that he corrected not himself for their admonyconns'/ they following the rules of the monastery set him to fast many days for his penance. and he bore it all patiently obeying to his said elders & to all their wills the which trowing by the accusations that the other young brethren made against him whereof he scused not himself/ that he ever should persever in his malice and wickedness without to correct ne amend himself in any wise/ went to their father abbot for to ask him what of the said brother eulalius was to be done/ the which they said was incorrygyble. for the wend not that he endured the said penance by his humility/ but believed that he made all such faults as he was acused of. so said they to the said abbot o father we have as much as to us hath be possible suffered & endured the great faults of the brother eulalius/ by whose wickedness sloth and negligence all the necessaries & ornaments of our church be wasted torn and broken/ he setteth nought by our corrections and will do no thing for us. and therefore we are come toward the for to wit what thy will is to be done in this behalf. ¶ the abbot then answered to them. my brethren let us abide awhile and have patience/ and thenne after we shall dispose thereof as we shall see most expedient & lawful to be do. this answer so done/ the abbot entered in his secret oratory/ & made his request unto god to the end he would instruct him what was to be done of the said religious/ which thing was to him showed of our lords divine revelation. ¶ and anon he assembled all his religiouses/ to whom he said this that followeth. ¶ my brethren believe me. i ensure you i love better the mat of eulalius with his humility and patience/ than all the works of those that murmur against him and that dispraise him and to the end that ye shall know what merit he hath toward god/ bring me here all your mats & ye shall see what i shall do. ¶ the mats that brought and set together all in a heap the father abbot made them to be fired and in effect nothing abode there unbrent/ except only the mat of the good eulalius/ the which in the mids of all the other abode hole without any hurt of the fire. ¶ all the brethren seeing this miracle humbly required him pardon of that they had spoken & lied upon him/ & sith bore him honour as to one of the greatest of their monastery. ¶ eulalius seeing that men died to him so great honour doubting to lose humility by vain glory or otherwise departed upon a night and go his way to inhabit himself in the desert within a cave for to eschew the worship and pride of the world. ¶ it is profitable & necessary that we knew the laudable virtue of patience of the holy father abbot anastasius to th'end that we considering the same/ & his marvelous magnanimity & kindness/ we enforce oureself to be such at his exemple. ¶ he had a book of fyn parchemen containing both the old and the new testament/ the which was of great price and value. for it was esteemed to be worth xviij shyling of the money that atte that time had course/ the which should draw to a right great sum of silver of the money that is now occupied in this land. ¶ a religious came toward him for to see him/ and seeing that he was not in his lodges/ saw the said book the which because that it seemed him fair he took it and bore it away as a thief. anastasius returned sought his book for to study in it/ but he found it not. ¶ and because he was told that the said religious had be in his lodges/ he thought that he had rob it/ and dreading lest he should forswear himself if he made question unto him of it/ he durst not tell him nothing of it. ¶ within a while after the said religious brought the said book with him to be sold in a city most near to the monastery of the said saint anastasius. ¶ and because that the merchant to whom the said religious would have sold the said book/ would not by it withstanding this that he knew not how much it might well be worth/ he lent thereupon the some of xvi shillings. and this done he came to the holy father anastasius for to show him the said book & to wit of him if it was well worth the said xvi shillings. ¶ the good abbot anastasius andswered unto him ye/ & that it was a good book. so went again the merchant to the said brother/ & gave him for it certain price of silver by a sale made between them/ & with this bargain he told him/ that the abbot anastasius had told him that it was a good book & that it was well worth the price. ¶ then was the brother sore afeard & asked of the said merchant/ if the said abbot had not told him none other thing. the which answered that nay. ¶ the brother herkning after these words was right sorry and asked the book again of the said merchant. and sin after in great compunction yielded it again to the bishop anastasius praying him that he would forgive him his sin. ¶ anastasius would not take again the said book/ but gave it unto him desiring him that he should take it with him/ but the brother would never depart thence till anastasius had taken it again as his own/ and sighed and wept full sore asking pardon of his sin. when the holy abbot saw his compunction/ he took this brother for to dwell with him/ with whom he abode all the days of his live. ¶ an other hermit there was sometime named pyot that which abode a space of time with saint anthony/ when the said pyot was come to xxv year of his age/ of the consenting of saint anthonye/ he went to a place much secret and far from all folk for to live there solitarily/ the which place was set betwixt the land of nitrye & the desert of sychye/ when he was come to the said place/ he was constrained to make a well for to have water out of the earth. ¶ and as he was delving and busy about it/ he purposed to drink of such water that he should find there. it happened that it was found so salt and so bitter/ that all thoo that came there to see this holy hermit were constrained to bring water with them because they might not drink of the water of his well foresaid. ¶ nevertheless the good pyot used the same water during the space of xxx year and had none other drink. and when the other brethren deed tell him that he should depart from the said place for to eschew the said water/ he answered to them. my brethren if we flee the bytternesses of this world/ how trow ye that we be worthy to have the joys of paradise. ¶ this pyot lived an hard life and a sharp. for when he went to any other place/ he bare with him but a loaf of breed as black as ashies and of figs five. ¶ in xxx year he never went out of his hermitage/ neither for death of his parents nor for any other necessity. ¶ at the end of xxx year a widow his own sister sent two of her children to pray him that he would come speak with her a fore her death/ to whom he answered that he would not go to her. wherefore this two children went toward saint antony and prayed him that he would command him for to go visit his sister. and saint anthonye died so. ¶ so took the good hermit pyot another religious with him and obeying to the commandment of saint anthonye went for to visit his sister. ¶ when they were come at her house/ he closed his eyen by cause he should not see her/ and after said unto her. i am thy brother/ behold me as much as thou wilt/ and incontinent he departed and went again to his hermitage. ¶ and this he died for to instruct the prelate's and abbots/ that they should not give leave to their religiouses for to see their parents or neighbours when they would go their for the great inconveniences that should mow happen there by. ¶ an abbot called johan dwelling in a mountain named calamys had in likewise a sister which was a woman of religion/ the which had tysed him for to forsake the world/ & all the vanities of the same. he was xxiv. year that he went never out of his monastery and without to go vilety his sister/ how well she desired sore to see him. and to this intent she sent him letters by the which she prayed him humbly that he would come & speak with her a fore the ending of her life for to be comforted of him at her last end. ¶ nevertheless he would not go there. wherefore she wrote to him again letting him to wite if he came not unto her/ that she should be constrained for to go to him herself the holy abbot was then sore on angered thinking in himself/ but if he died against the intent and purpose of his sister/ he should be cause that/ many other women atte the exemple of her should undertake in like wise for to go see their kinsmen that were of religion/ to the great hurting of their salvation/ wherefore he loved better for to go to her/ than that she should have occasion for to come to him. ¶ so took he two of his religiouses with him for to bear him company/ and went to the monastery where his sister was. ¶ and after that he had knocked at the gate/ his sister came there acompanyed with two other women of religion. but because that in xxiiij year they had not seen each other she knew not her brother/ the which nevertheless knew her well/ but he would not make him to be known. ¶ the brethren that were come with him asked of her some water for to drink/ for they were weary and chaffed of the way. ¶ and after that they had drunk they returned again to their monastery without any other word to have with her. wherefore she not knowing that it had be he/ and wrote unto him again/ that he should come see her/ or else her soul perished. ¶ the abbot her brother for an answer sent her word/ how that he had be with her by that same token that she had given them drink/ wherefore it should suffice her/ and otherwise she should not see him. ¶ and with this by his letters prayed her/ that she would have him for ever recommended in prayers toward god/ for to obtain more easily by mean of the same the salvation of his soul. ¶ an other religious died otherwise. some folk brought him word that his sister was sick/ and anon he purposed for to go to her that had not sent for him/ when he was come to the monastery where she was professed. incontinent she sent to him word that he should return again and that she would not speak with him/ but and god would she should see him in heaven. ¶ and this died the good lady for to show that the men ought not to be licensed nor suffered all be they parents or other what so ever they be to haunt in the monasteries where women of religion be. ¶ for to know the virtues of the abbot theodorus/ it is to be noted that he was disciple of saint pachomyen of whom is written here afore where it is touched how in thebayde be many monasteries and infinite religiouses under him. ¶ it happened that the sister of the said theodorus for to see him/ transported herself unto the monasteryr whereof he was abbot/ to whom some of his religiouses incontinent that she was come went and showed unto him her coming. ¶ the which thing by him known/ not willing for to speak with her/ sent her word/ that it might suffice her to know that he was in good health/ and that she should not care no more for to come see him. ¶ moreover prayed her that she should renounce the deceivable vanities of the world/ and that she should take her to the estate of religion/ to the end that she should come to the felicity and beatitude eternal/ and after that she should think in herself that if she died not so in keeping the commandments of god/ she might not in no wise be saved. ¶ and to the this purpose in having steadfast faith and hope in god/ without any doubt she should live everlastingly. ¶ when she had heard his answer/ as she had be inspired of the holy ghost/ she yielded her in a monastery of women of religion where she was of right holy conversation. ¶ the mother of the said theodorus when she understood these tidings/ made some bishops to write unto saint pachomyen father abbot of the said theodorus her son/ that he should command him for to come speak with her/ and saint pachomyen died so at the request of the said bishops that had written to him for it. theodorus after the letters of his fadr abbot seen and red that his mother had brought him/ sent her word that for fear to offend god/ he durst not speak with her. for thus to do he should give to many a religious both to men & women occasion & manner to do the same. wherefore he prayed her that she would content herself & that for that time with him she should not speak. she thenne abiding at the gate when she knew that he would not come speak with her/ purposed to herself never to return at her house. so went she to a monastery of virgins which was nigh enough by the said abbey/ saying in herself that she should see him some time when he should go out of it for the needful affairs of the same/ ymagynynnge's also/ that she might profit in the monastery of the said virgins for the holy & devout life that they led their/ whereby lightly she might do her salvation in taking example to the constance of her son. ¶ saint pachomyen of whom is written here afore died marvelous things and was almost equal unto saint anthonye. ¶ he made on a time his prayer unto god that in a certain time he might have no lust for to sleep/ to the end that night & day he should watch for to fight against the devils till that he had accomplished that which david saith in his psalm. ¶ never saith he in speaking of the devils. i shall not cease till they be overcome. the which request god granted him. ¶ and this holy pachomyen said/ that the devils have no might over us/ so that we will resist to their temptations/ by mean of that grace of god which we ought to call upon. ¶ he said also that many times he had heard the devils when they recounted their controversies together/ & how on a time one of them said these words. i give oftentimes wonderful lettings & great temptations unto an hermit/ but as so soon that i have give him one assault/ he casteth himself done to the earth & prayeth god/ wherefore i am constrained to flee away all confuse ¶ an other said. i hold another in my puissance which fulfilleth foolishly all the wicked thoughts that i set him afore. i make him often to chide & to brawl & to make noise with his neighbours. i yield him slothful to the service of god. ¶ and therefore the holy man pachomyen said to his brethren. i pray you my children/ that ye be always ready to call upon the grace of the holy g●ost when any temptation shall come upon you/ & be awaiting in orison/ as the postle giveth counsel/ & watch curyously in doing of the same. with this he warned them to have ever in their mind the name of ihus. and after that he had in trute taught them thus/ they went again to their houses/ & never they spoke words in vain the one to the other/ but always of the holy scripture/ & principally of those things that moved them to prayer/ and to love & dread god. ¶ our lord gave a singular gift of grace to one of that old holy faders/ for he saw wonderful things which his brethren might not see. when the said brethren disputed together of the holy scriptures/ he saw the angels that assisted about them. and to the contrary when they devised of vain things/ he saw the devils in likeness of hedges playing among them/ & took pleasure in their words and his custom was at any time that he saw such vision that he withdraw himself in to his chambre/ & there he wept full piteously/ considering the miseries & wretchedness in which the devil putteth us through his subtleties/ decepconns' & malicious temptations. and after he went again to his brethren/ which he exhorted to flee vain words/ & also foolish thoughts/ in showing unto them/ that by the same we slay in us the grace of god/ & run in to his indignation/ & of all the court of paradise. ¶ moreover he said that he was certain that as soon & incontinent that we proffer or within our thought purpose for to do any thing dishonest our good angel departed from us/ and incontinent the had angel taketh possession of our soul. ¶ after he warned them that they should not speak evermoche/ saying that in abundance of words/ men may not eschew sin/ & also the spirit is thereby more week ȳ withstand against the wicked temptations ¶ in the palace of theodosius themperour was an holy man named gluttony that had two children/ one was called archadius/ & tother honorius/ the which were by the said emperor holden over the font stone. the good arsenyen after that he had in his heart busily considered the estate of this world & the vanities of the same/ he forsook all & went to that desert of sychye for to use there the remnant of his life in being alone/ & to be departed from the worshypes of the world. he being yet in the world he was clothed most preciously of all other that were in the palace serving that emperor. and when he was in the said deserie/ he was that man among the other that more poorly & foully was arrayed upon a time weening to be in his chamber with many of his brethren/ he heard a voice that said to him. gluttony come out of thy chambre/ & i shall show that the vain werkynges of men. the which voice by him herd/ him seemed that he leapt out of his habitation/ & incontynente he saw a great ethyopyen that hew wood & gathered it in a heap/ & after that he had gathered moche of it/ he trowed to have lift it upon his back/ but he could not/ because there was to much of it. yet again he hew more thereof & set it upon the other. ¶ sin after he saw an other ethyopyen that took water out of a pound & put it in to a vessel which was so full of holes that it might not hold no water which was sypylled and went out at the holes. ¶ after he was brought at an other part where he saw a great building like a temple/ before the which were two men upon two horses & either of them bore a long perch upon their shoulders/ and both together atones would have entered in the said temple/ but they might not pass/ withstanding the letting of the said perches that they bore overthward when they would have passed through the gate. and neither of them would not meek himself to the other/ but either of them would be the first that should enter. ¶ the which visions were to him by the said voice exponed in the manner that followeth. first they that bore the perches overthward/ betokened thoo that have charge of religiouses as abbots & an other/ the which in their offices wax proud & will not humble himself the one toward the other/ in despising the word of god that saith. ¶ my children learn of me/ for i am humble and sweet in heart/ and by this mean ye shall find the salvation of your souls. ¶ this proud folk by their pride abiden out of the church/ & come not in/ that is to say/ that they have no part in paradise. ¶ he that assembled the wood in a heap/ signifieth those that do many sins/ & when they trow for to return to do penance/ they be so sore laden that they can not apply themself to do any good/ but be thereto slothful & negligent/ whereby continually they gather & join sin upon sin/ & finably they be dampened because that they will not leave their evil customs. ¶ that other the took the water out a pound & put it in a vessel full of holles/ betokened those that do some good but nevertheless they do more of evil than of good/ whereby they lose their merit and consequently the felicity eternal. ¶ an other abbot named danyell testified of the said abbot arsenyen/ that he aplyed himself gladly for to make baskets of leaves of certain trees/ to the which work he must have water for to wete his leaves/ & often it happened that the water wherewith he halpe himself stank right sore/ whereof his habitation was infect & marred/ & nevertheless he would not cast a way the said water/ but when there was little of it/ he put more to the same/ whereof some of his brethren deed blame him/ asking why he cast not the old water away & took of the fresh by itself. ¶ to whom he answered that in time passed he was wont to have in his chambre all manner of sweetness & liquors smelling sweet by cause it should be sweet of smelling/ wherefore in stead of the said savours full sweet smelling of that which he had delighted long/ he would have other that were rotyn & stinking to th'intent that he should not be reproved nor shent to have lived in this world overmuch daintily/ bringing again to this purpose the horrible stenches & torments of hell that they that be dampened do feel/ & the history of the wicked rich man the lived here so daintily/ the which is now buried in the pyete of hell. ¶ an other brother demanded of him how he ought to make his orisons/ saying that for no prayer that he made he could not have a very nor steadfast compunction/ namely by cause he understood not the scripture. ¶ the holy abbot arsenyen answered him/ that they the understand not the holy scripture ought continually to pray god as well as the were great clerks/ & gave an exemple of the serpent that harkeneth after the voice of the enchanter/ for all be it that he understandeth him not/ always he yieldeth himself subject to the said enchanter. ¶ also they the proferen the holy words of the faith of holy church/ all be it that they understand no thing of it/ always in saying them/ they chasse & put away by the virtue & strength of such holy worde●/ & the steadfast believe that they have in god the devils fro them/ principally because that the devil may not here the holy words that which have be said by the true prophets and holy saints. ¶ sometime not far fro the cell or habitation of saint machary was a murder done/ of the which injustly was a simple man accused/ & when he saw that by authority of the justice men would have take him for the said case. he fled away to the monastery of saint macharye. the officers the pursued him for to find the means to bring him with them/ said to the religious/ that if he were not yelden in their hands/ they & their abbot macharye should die for it. ¶ and because that this macharye wist not how to resist/ he required the sergeants that they should bring him there as he that had be murdered was buried/ & they died so. and then be made his prayer to god & anon he called the deed body/ the which answered/ here i am. ¶ saint macharye thenne adjured him/ that he should tell if he had be slain by him that men would take out of his monastery or no/ whereat he answered nay/ whereof though same sergeants were sore marveled/ and kneeled before saint macharye/ and prayed him that he would wit of the deed who had killed him. the holy man answered that he would not do it/ for it sufficed him that the said innocent should be delivered/ and that it aperteyned him not make the malefactor to be accused/ the which might do penance & save his soul. ¶ and by this that is said above/ it appyreth enough that men of the church ought not to accuse ne know of sinful befall/ at lest in manner that death follow not thereby. ¶ a brother gave a grape of rasyns to the said saint macharye the which he sent to one of his brethren that was sick/ the sick send it to an other/ & thus consequently it was sent from cell to cell so much the finally/ he that last received it sent it again unto saint macharye. the which when he knew that the said grape had be given & sent from one brother to the other/ & namely considering that the cells & habitations were sore far from each other/ he thanked god by singular affection/ of the great charytees which by this he knew was among his religiouses. ¶ of himself it is written/ that the devil for to deceive him/ transtygured him like a monk/ & came & knocked at his door saying. macharye arise & come with the other monks that long sin are in orison. ¶ the holy man knowing that it was the devil he answered to him. o false liar envy of truth/ what hast thou to do now to bring thyself with the company of the devout religiouses which enforce themself for to pray god whereat the devil answered to him. o macharye thou knowest not thenne how that they never do pray without us. now come on thy way/ & thou salt see if i say truth or not. ¶ then saint macharye set himself to orison/ & prayed god that he would show to him if it was truth that the devil had told him. ¶ after he went to the church where the brethren said matins/ & incontinent that he was within the church/ he saw a multitude of devils as black as ethyopyens or men of ind the were with his religiouses. to some they shut their eyen & to the other they closed the mouth to the end that they should not sing/ & afore the other that after matins set themself to orison/ the said fiends for to keep them therefro/ they transfygured themself in diverse speces of women. and what soever prayer that the said brethren made/ those same fiends brought again diverse fantasies in to their minds ¶ always some of them were much devout/ and in such wise they resisted against the temptations and mockings above said/ that the said fiends tarried nor arrected not nigh them/ but went away all confuse. ¶ when saint macharye had seen this scorn or derision/ he began to sigh and to weep & made such an orison to our lord. o my redemptor i beseech the right humbly that it will please the to give help and socours to our poor soul's/ the which be all full of wicked deceyvynges. after he called together all his religiouses and questioned them of their consciences after that he had seen the devils tempt them when they were in orison. some to him answered and said that they had be of purpose to forsake their monastery. and some said that they had be in will for to accomplish the detestable sin of lechery. and the other answered all after their desires and affections/ where upon it is to be noted/ that by the things above said/ we may know/ that when our orisons be not made with servant devotion toward god/ this proceedeth of the deceits that the devil giveth to us/ wherefore we ought to enforce ourself for to withstand/ & by this mean he shall depart a way from us all confuse. for when the thought by good cha●yte is joined unto god/ it receiveth not such fantasies & deceit. and therefore said the psalmist/ that his reins/ that is to say his will & his strength were full of deceits/ so that he had no health. and it should not be doubted that we that be sinners may make any prayers unto god without infinite temptatonns/ by cause that when they come to us/ we can not cast them fro us/ but we take thereat oumoch & mordynat damnable plesyrs ¶ here followen certain salutary questions that the holy faders made to each other & beginneth in latin. quidam frater. ¶ for to mean & make there the intendment/ & also to learn it for to answer shortly to the questions by manner of quolibet here underneath written/ the which be much wholesome & profitable for the salvation of the souls of the devote christian folk/ aswell religiouses as other leading the life active & contemplative/ every person ought to see & to note in his heart the said questions & answers upon them made as hereafter followeth the which men find to have bespoken by the ancient holy faders/ that in their time were abbots religiouses & hermits leading a life much wholesome & good. and without any doubt among all other martyrdoms concerning the souls salvation the same is wonderful necessary & profitable to all persons/ the desire by good living to sick the way of salvation. ¶ thenne for to enter in this matre/ be it noted & known/ that sometime was a religious that demanded of his abbot named syswyne how he ought for to live in his hermitage/ where at he answered/ that he should eat breed & salt & drink water/ for by this mean he should not need for to fethe no● make ready none other thing nor to go fro town to town for to get his living. and also he should have by this better leisure to abide and apply himself to contemplation. ¶ an other questioned the abbot poemen how and when he ought to fast. the which answered that the religiouses ought to fast ever & eat little with the same he said that though that fast without to take any meet in three or four days during are deemed to desire vain glory in this world/ & that it is better to fast in taking his repast every day once soberly/ that is to wit that men shall take their dinner not to the fill of the belly/ but so moderately that men shall always have hunger & thirst/ as the old holy faders had the which have led and continued such live. ¶ the abbot sylnam and a disciple of his named zacharye entered one time within a monastery where they eat a little of the brethren's meet of the same monastery/ and as they would have departed after dyner/ this zacharye was a little a thirst/ but the said abbot told him. my friend it is fasting day/ thou mayst not drink. ¶ zacharye answered/ what my father we have eat/ wherefore there is no daungyer. ¶ ha said the abbot/ the meet that we have taken was of necessity. for nature must be nourished/ but nevertheless we must keep our fast. ¶ some other religiouses went to the abbot joseph atte a place called panephe to the intent for to ask him counsel how they ought to receive the brethren that should come see them/ and if they should be glad of them in having their trust upon them. but or that they had made to him this asking/ the said abbot said to one his disciple. marvel not thyself of that thou salt see me do this day. ¶ then he let make two sets for them that were come to him/ one at right hand/ and the other at lift hand and made them to sit thereupon. ¶ and incontinent he went to his cell and took a vestiment upon him so old that he could not well were it and thus arrayed came and passed afore them. after he went again to his cell and took another much honest and passed again in likewise before them. thirdly he came afore them in his daily habit/ whereof the brethren and religiouses saying the same they were sore marveled. and anon he came and set himself betwixt them. and this done he demanded of these religiouses if he was not changed for the diversity of his habits/ whereat they answered nay. so said again the said abbot joseph. all thus as i am not changed for to have taken diverse habits/ thus ye ought to receive with gladness the brethren that shall come to you and to be merry with them and after when ye shall be alone by yourself/ then shall ye mow sigh and weep/ and by this mean ye shall not be changed but of habits/ so that your consciences be not turned otherwise. ¶ thenne the brethren apperceived/ that he knew well their thoughts/ wherefore they kept still their question and asked him nothing/ knowing that he had answered to it or ever that it was proposed. ¶ an other brother said that when a person is wont and naturally desireth to eat moche which he might well do/ and he abstaineth him there fro to mastery his flesh. he getteth more meed in this doing/ than he that eateth little/ and is naturally content of little food. ¶ an other brother said that we ought for to eat agreeably that which god giveth unto us without to have regard to any other meats/ and also we ought to yield unto him graces of that that we may have. ¶ and for confirmation of the same/ he said that there was sometime an hermit the which to much affectuously desired for 〈…〉 a truyte●s called but for to corr●●te his inordinate appecyce he took one & set it before his eyen that he might see it continually & not to eat of it. ¶ an other holy father was so sick that he might not eat of any mete. so was he desired of his disciple that he would be content that he should make him a little pap mixed with honey/ which thing the holy father granted unto him. ¶ it is to wit that the said holy father for all provision had number but a little honey/ whereof sometime he eat. ¶ and also he had some oil for his light to be made of/ which honey & oil were in two little pots much like to each other. so it happened that his disciple in making his said pap he took the pot where in the oil was weening to him to have taken the other where in the honey was/ and of this oil sore stynknyge he powered in to the said pap. and how be it that by mean of the said oil the pap was of an right evil taste/ nevertheless he eat twice of it/ & at the third time/ he told him that he might eat no more thereof/ wherefore the disciple desiring that he should eat more of it. he said to him. ha my father it is so good/ look i shall eat of it with you. then he took of the same for to eat of it/ & thus doing he knew that it was all stinking. ¶ then he kneeled before the holy father & cried him mercy saying. alas my father i am cause of thy death/ alas why didst not tell me thereof. ¶ the abbot answered/ my son be not angry/ if god had would that i should have eat it god would have granted that 〈…〉 have t●ken to it the honey & 〈◊〉 the city/ ¶ the abbot poemen said that if nabuzar 〈◊〉 the prince of the t●ken/ that is to wit a sovereign 〈◊〉 man in dressing of meats/ had not come in iherusalem/ the temple of god should not have be bren●e by ●yre. that is to say't/ that if the desire of the sin of gluttony is not put one in man/ his spirit may not be inflamed nor moved to fight against the devil. ¶ saint macharye had of custom/ that when he eat with his brethren/ if men presented him with 〈◊〉/ he drank of it/ but after for as many times that he had drunken thereof/ he abstained himself by as many days that he drank neither water nor win. notwithstanding he drank it joyously/ hoping that afterward by abstynen●e such as it is said/ he might therefore ●ere penance. ¶ and for this cause his disciple knowing the great affection that he bore in making the said abstinence/ forbade that none should present him with win to drink/ saying that the wine that he drank/ was unto him by cause of the said affliction more cause of torment/ than of substentation. ¶ in a congregation or assembly of religiouses eting together flesh where the abbot theodore was/ a religious among the other was there found that eat no manner of meet. ¶ and by adventure because he had brought with him some onions or herbs which he would have eat with sa●●. he called one of them that served at the table & said unto him. my son i eat nothing that is ●●st nor sudden/ but i pray the give me a little salt. ¶ the sovereign abbot of this assemble/ hearing the said brother/ he said unto the servant/ why givest that him not that he asketh/ when thou seest that he eateth nothing ¶ then the abbot theodore in rebuking him by cause he had showed openly his abstinence/ said unto him. ¶ it had be better my brother that thou had eaten flesh in thy cell or habitation/ than that thou shouldest have said these words in the presence of so many religiouses/ giving to know by the same words that rather he should have abstained himself from eating of salt/ than to show his abstinence/ which he ought to have kept secret. ¶ a brother in likewise came over to the abbot syluayn which dwelled in the mountain of syna. he seeing that his religiouses occupied themselves to temporal works said to him. ¶ father abbot/ why sufferest thou that the brethren work & apply themself to operations worldly. thou knowest well that it is written that mary magdalene hath chosen the best part for herself/ that is to wite contemplation. ¶ the abbot hearing these words/ commanded that men should take to the said brother a book of contemplation & that he should be shut within a chamber there contemplatyvely for to apply himself to devout orison. the which thing was thus done/ & the said religious was left within the said chambre all alone till that everich of them had taken his refection/ wherefore he as weary & noyous to be there so long seeing that he was not called for to eat/ he came to the abbot & asked him if he should not eat. ¶ the same abbot for to reprove him of his foolish repreyff/ say to him. thou art a man all spiritual that hath no need of meet nor drink maternal. ¶ with this the brother yield himself all confuse knowing that he had done ill to have reproved him as above it is said ¶ and thenne the holy father said again unto him. o brother thou knowest now that marthe is necessary unto mary and that by marthe mary is praised. that is to say that the life contemplative hath need of the life active. ¶ there were sometime two brethren religiouses/ every of them had to name johan. one of them which was abbot & less than that other of stature tempted with boost and vain glory/ said to the most that he would lead an angels life/ & serve to god continually without any other thing to do. ¶ so left he his monastery and all that he had & went to an hermitage where he kept him a while/ & sin returned to his brother/ & knocked at his door/ his brother asked who was there that knocked so. whereat he answered that it was his brother. that other keeping his door shut said there against. my brother is now with the angels. it may not be that he should haunt with the men. so left he him at his door all a hole night. ¶ and in the morning giving to him entering he said to him in this manner. ¶ my brother if thou be a man/ thou must labour/ otherwise thou canst not live. ¶ thenne this other brother know his great hoo● crying mercy to his brother/ and took him to his work again. ¶ an other brother was/ that was sore subject to the sin of blasphemy/ & that which right sorry for this vice went unto all the old faders that he wist any wherefore to declare unto them his mind thereupon. ¶ but incontinent that he come to them/ he was so shamefast that he durst not show his sin to them. so went he oftentimes for this cause toward the abbot poemen/ & nevertheless he came again without to tell him any thing thereof. ¶ but the said abbot seeing him pensefull & malencolyouse/ constrained him so that he opened to him his courage/ in saying unto him that he was right sorry that he was thus inclined to the said sin of blasphemy. ¶ then the said holy father counseled him/ that at all times that he should be tempted of it/ he should resist saying unto the devil. sathanas/ thy blasphemy be it upon thee/ for i ought not to blame no body. ¶ and by this mean/ the said man resisted to the said temptation. ¶ the abbot moses said that by four things the person falleth in pain travail temptation and great sickness. ¶ the first by inordynat taking of meet & drink. ¶ the second by over long sleep. ¶ the third by holding himself idle. ¶ and the fourth by over curyousely to go arrayed. ¶ also the abbot poemen said/ that even thus as they that assist any king or prince/ aught to be ever ready armed & garnished with glaives for to keep & defend his body from oppression & violence/ in likewise the soul of every crysten man willing to serve god/ aught always to be ready & garnished of virtues for to withstand against the devil. ¶ an other said that like as tryakell putteth away the venom/ so orison with fasting casteth out & shoveth aba● the foul thoughts & vain thynkynges. ¶ the abbot macharye alone dwelling in his cell/ had under him many religiouses which abode in diverse habitations one from another. upon a time as he went out of his monastery/ he met with the devil the clothed was with a garment made of linen cloth which was all full of holes/ & at every hole was hanging a little pot full of water/ when saint macharye saw him. he asked him where he was bound for to go/ whereat he answered that he go for to tempt his religiouses. ¶ after he asked him whereunto served the said pot● whereat he said that it was for to give & present temptations unto the religiouses/ & that if the taste of one of the vessels pleased not to one he presented him of an other & if the second was not to him agreeable he pnsented him yet another/ & this said the devil went his way. ¶ saint macharye tarried there till that he came again which soon appeared for him. then the said saint greeted him saying/ thou be saved. the devil thenne answered to him why flatarest thou me when all that other be countrarye to me & will not fall unto my will. ¶ then hast that no friends said saint macharye/ the sayest truth answered the devil/ but only one called theopantus/ that which bowed lightly to the temptations that i gave him. ¶ anon after saint machary departed & went unto the hermitage of the said theopantꝰ and after that he had desired him to resist against the temptations of the devil/ he desired him for to fast unto the even were come/ & that when such deceyvynges should be presented unto him/ he should have up his hands toward heaven/ & without hardness he should have socours. anon after returned saint macharye & with the devil he met again/ to whom he asked how the brothern fared/ & he answered that they died evil for him/ for there was not one that would obey him any more. ¶ and namely he said/ that he which was wont to turn there as he would have him/ was full changed & he might no more turn him from his good purpose. ¶ an other religious that which was continually tempted with diverse temptations which he might not bear/ came unto an other religiouses/ & asked him counsel how he might resist. he answered him that he had be never shamed or slandered/ when he had understand his answered he was evil apaid with it & went unto an other to whom he said that in asking counsel of an other he had be slandered because he had answered to him presumptuously & above kind. ¶ the second blamed him greatly saying that the first had not told him only that he had be never slandered of the temptations of the devil/ wherefore he sent him again to the first. ¶ and after he was come to him again/ he cried him mercy saying that he had done amiss of that he was departed from before him without reverence/ & with this he prayed him that he would expone unto his answer ¶ thenne this first religious said unto him/ that never sith that he was made monk he had not taken his fill of breed nor of water/ wherefore he had not obeyed the devil. and therefore it ought to be noted that an abstynent man/ is not so subject unto the fiend of hell/ as is a lykerouse glutton. ¶ a brother questoned the abbot poemen of his thought for to wit how he should rule them/ the which answered unto him that if he kept him from filling of belly/ & his tongue from speaking/ that he should never be idle and that his hope should always be set upon god/ certainly he should be saved. ¶ two brethren that often were turned with vain thoughts came unto the abbot helyas which when he saw them so fat/ as he would have spoken to his disciple he began to lawhe saying/ certes brother i am ashamed that thou art so fat seen that thou art a monk. a colour pale & white with lennesse wrapped in humility is the honour of a monk. ¶ a woman virgin of the nation of rome sore dreading god departed out of the said city & came to alexandrye for to see the abbot arsenyen. she being within the town of alexandria/ the archbishop theophyle wellecomed her with great honour/ to whom she prayed that he would do so moche of his grace that she might speak with the said abbot. the said archbishop made himself her supplication unto the said arsenyen/ to that which request he would not grant. and when she wist that he should not come to her/ as a woman of great steadfastness/ having her trust in god purposed in herself for to go unto him at his cell/ & not far there from she found him walking/ & incontinent kneeled before him. ¶ then arsenyen said unto her/ woman if thou art come hither for to see my face only/ look & behold me all thy fill. thou ought not to take heed unto my body/ but at my vacation if it be good. the good virgin durst not look up so moche she was ashamed. the abbot after rebuked her of that she had come fro so far over the see for to see only a man mortal. ¶ and she answered to him humbly i am not come only for to see thee/ but because that thou shall remember me in thine orations. ¶ the abbot answered. my friend i pray god that i may never remember the. when she had understand the answer of the holy father/ she went again to the city for to have died for sorrow. ¶ the archbishop comforted her saying that she ought not to anger herself/ because that many great men have be deceived & beguiled of women. ¶ the abbot moses said. if a king will take a town for to be brought unto his subjection without slaughter of any person/ late him take a way the breed & the water or the victuals whereof the enhabytantes in it do live by. in like wise also the passions & prickings of the flesh are brought under ●ote by fasting & abstinences. ¶ a young man that was rich purposed him for to forsake the world. and how well that for to do this/ he was goon in to a monastery nevertheless his thyn kings & worldly thought would many times have withdraw him therefro. ¶ on a time among other/ he being out of the said monastery/ the devils came about him & moved against him a great blast of wind & of dust for to have made him afeard. but he was thereof more steadfast than afore/ for incontinent to th'end that he should have none occasion to think upon temporal things/ he forsook not only all his goods/ but also his own vestymentes which he took of and cast them away/ & all naked went readily again to the said monastery. but in going thydrwarde/ our lord that forgetteth not his true servants. inspired one of the old religiouses of the same monastery saying unto him/ thou slothful man arise/ and receive joyously my champion. which voice thou heard/ the good religious rose up and go against the other that was coming all naked out of his clothes/ and knowing the cause of his bareness wondered him moche & clothed him again with an habit of a religious. and when any came to the old religious foresaid for to ask him counsel of their affairs/ he counseled them as well as he could/ & also he answered them upon the questions that they asked of him. but when men touched him of the nature of forsaking of the world he sent them to the young religious and said to them/ come not to me for to have counsell of this matter/ but go to that young religious. for i never died retche nor came not unto his right large forsaking. ¶ a man sometime was that which forsaking the world/ had dealt one part of his goods to the poor folk and the other part he kept for him/ and after he came to saint anthonye for to have of him the habit of a monk. when saint anthonye had known him/ or ever that he received him to be a monk/ he commanded him that he should go unto the next city/ and that he should unclothe hȳs●lfe all naked & thenne buy some fresh flesh atte bocherye/ and that he should cover him therewith/ & he died so/ whereby it happened that all the dogs & the birds followed him. and when they would have take the said flesh/ they bot in to the man's flesh. finably he came again to saint anthonye & said to him behold fair father/ how the dogs have tere my skin all about for to obey to thy commandment. then said saint anthonye. my friend all they that forsaken the world & will have money/ they shall be thus tere & bitten by the devils of hell. ¶ an other brother there was that took counsel of an holy father/ if he should keep two shilling that he had spared for to help himself at his need if he were sick. ¶ the holy father seeing that he would have fain kept the said two shilling/ he answered to him/ ye/ ¶ after that he was gone again to his house/ he was afeard that the holy father had answered him so for to fulfil his will/ wherefore he went again to him/ & questioned him as he had done afore. ¶ thenne the holy father answered him/ that he was not wise for to set his trust upon two shilling & that if he were sick/ god should purvey for his sickness/ for his goodness is so great that he leaveth never his servants in time of need. ¶ a monk there was that no thing had of the world but a book of gospels which he should for to give to the poor for god's sake/ saying to himself. i have sold that that counseled me day by day/ to sell all that men have and give it unto poor folk/ because that the same words were written in the said book of gospels that he had should. ¶ a rich man sometime offered in pure gift all his money unto the abbot agathon/ beseeching him that he would take it/ but he refused it. that other pursued him still praying/ if he would not take his silver for himself that he atte the lest should take it for to be dystrybued by him unto to the poor folk. ¶ then answered he that he should do two evils/ the first should be/ for he should receive the money whereof he had nought to do/ seen that he gate his living by labour of his own hands/ and the second evil should be/ that in dealing of the same he might hap to fall in the sin of vain glory. ¶ saint paul the hermit right worship among the holy faders of egypte/ said that a religious when he willeth or desireth to have any thing overmuch more than him need is for to live upon/ he is constrained for to go out of his monastery/ and in goyeng thereout he findeth him lightly beguiled of the devil. the which thing considering the said saint paul/ during one lente he abstained him from going out of his cell/ all be it that he had not for all provision but a little lentylle & razor of otemele and a little vessel with water for to make some podage withal. ¶ and for to eschew the evil thoughts that he might have had in desiring other things unprofitable/ also to the end that he might more steadfastly abide within his said cell set himself for to make mats. ¶ and when they were weven/ he broke them in pieces/ and sin made them again/ and had liefer do so/ than to go out of his lodges/ for to fet more matter to make other mats withal/ dreading the temptations and deceptions of the devil that might have had come to him in goyeng out/ whereby it is to us showed evidently/ that their nies no thing more contrary nor more hurtful to the salvation of a religious/ than for to desire more than to his povere life needeth/ and also to go out of his monastery and haunt among the worldly people. ¶ the abbot macharye being in egypt found a thief that bore a way his goods that he had in his chambre. ¶ and when he saw that he rob him/ he as a stranger halpe him for to bear them away/ saying such words or like. ¶ god hath given them unto us/ he may take them again as he will/ his will be done with them/ and his name be praised & blessed in all things. ¶ an other brother went often for to visit and to see a holy father a very old man of whom he s●ale his breed. ¶ the holy man supposing that this other had need of it reproved him not therefore whereof it happened that this old father fall in so great necessity/ that he had no breed at all for to eat. finally tending to dethwarde/ and seeing that his last day drew nigh/ he sent for the thief that so often had rob him afore that/ and kissed his hands saying. ¶ blessed be thy hands/ for by them i trust for to come in paradise. ¶ after the same time the thief led a holy life and was perfit in virtuous works and in all his deeds. ¶ the abbot agathon proceeded in all his deeds by sovereign prudence/ and as well in working and labouring with his hands/ as also in vestiments/ and in all other things he kept the middle assize. ¶ his vestiments were such that they never appeared neither to good no to bad. ¶ yre or wrath after that a holy father saith beginneth by four things. the first by inordinate appetite to give/ and by brenning covetise to take. the second when one is obstinate in his opinion. the third when men desire to be honoured. and the fourth when one thinketh himself more wise than all other/ whereby he will here a rule among them. ¶ ire also by four manners blindeth the wit of man. first when one oweth ill will to his neighbour. secondly when he hath an envy of the honours & goods that his neighbour hath. thirdly when men take debate for a thing of nought. the fourth manner is when men ●acbyte his even christian. ¶ and to the contrary by four manners/ men may resist to the passions that move a man to ire. first where as men can not resist/ but that ire shall enter in to the heart/ which is the first thing where of men ought to beware/ they must eschew it and keep that it come not unto the face/ & if the visage makeh any show thereof/ then must the tongue be refrained that she speak neither injury nor blame/ and if the tongue by great passion of ire prononceth any rigorous word/ men ought to beware that after that they proceed not to the way of the deed. ¶ three degrees are among the men that touch to the passion named ire. the first is when some man endureth patiently all injuries/ he forgiveth lightly the person that saith evil by him. and this man followeth the nature of ihesu christ. the second when a man will not injury no body/ & also he will not be injuried. and this man is of the kind of adam. and the third when a man iniuryeth & hindereth an other body/ and the same is of the nature of the devil. ¶ a religious was some time injuried of an other/ wherefore he went unto the abbot sysonyen for to complain him of the said injury that had be done to him. ¶ and how well that the said abbot showed unto him that for the love of god he ought to forbear lightly the said injury/ praying him that he should do so putting the vengeance in the hand of god/ nevertheless he would not thereof/ wherefore the abbot seeing his obstinate mind/ desired him to pray god with him that he would take a way from him this wicked obstination. ¶ sin after this abbot made such an orison unto our lord saying. o my god have pity of the indignation of this brother here. for it seemeth to him by his words/ that we have nought to do of thy help/ for as much that he saith that of himself & by his might he can be avenged. ¶ thenne the brother hearing his prayer/ kneeled done before the said abbot & cried him mercy. ¶ an other in likewise complained him to the said abbot of certain injury that was done to him. ¶ and he told him that he should take it patiently & that a man is never iniuryed/ but only for his sins/ & therefore we ought to answer to them that speak any harm against us. my friend it is for my sins that thou speakest so many injuries toward me & for to correct me/ wherefore i thank the. ¶ the abbot poemen said to his disciples. ¶ my brethren i pray you for your singular salvation the malice overcome never your will/ but when any body shall do to you any evil/ yield him good there against/ to th'end that by doing of good ye overcome the evil. ¶ to this purpose is rehearsed of a religious the more that he was spoken ill the gladder he was for it saying. they that injury us are cause of our perfection/ always provided that we have good patience/ but they that speak to us fair words and sweet as done flatterers/ they are unto us the cause of our loss. ¶ for it is written/ who that shall bless you/ certainly he shall deceive you. ¶ an other aeged holy father was sometime the which when any of his neyghebours had done to him any injury/ he hasted himself as much as he could to reward them with some good therefore. ¶ and if the person that so had injuried him/ was dwelling far from him/ he sent unto him some gifts. ¶ an other went for to have couseyll of the abbot sysonyn/ if any thieves came in his house that would slay him/ & that he were of the stronger side/ to wit if he should put himself against them for to slay them or no. whereat the abbot answered that he should kept him well therefro/ but should late god do. for what soever happeth to us/ it is for the punition of our sins. ¶ so ought we to give all unto the godly dysposing of ihesu christ. ¶ to this purpose it is found/ that certain thieves went toward a holy hermit/ & forced them for to do him harm by violence. ¶ the which hermit for to eschew their evil intent began to cry ¶ and thenne the other hermits his neighbours ran to his socours & took the said thieves/ & sent them to the officers of the justice/ the which kept them long in prison. ¶ the religiouses that were thereof informed were wonderfully wroth that they were not otherwise punished. ¶ so went they to the abbot poemen & showed him the caas. ¶ this abbot wrote unto the hermit in rebuking him that he had not with him the virtue of sufferance. ¶ the hermit for because of this was long time in his cell or little house that he went not out of it. and finably being sorry of the long emprysonement of the said thieves he went to the prison/ & openly delivered them out of the same. ¶ the disciple of a philosopher/ for certain offence by him made moved the same philosopher his master to so great wrath against him/ that he told him/ he should never pardon him/ till that he had endured & borne by the space of three year all the injuries of his fellows/ which thing he died so. ¶ and at th'end of the said three year this disciple came to his master again & asked him forgiveness. and he told him as in fearing him that he should never pardon him unto the time that he yet by the space of other three year should have given certain gifts to those that scorned & died him evil. the disciple suffered yet three year/ & when they were come at an end/ he came again unto his master as he had done before/ which brought him unto athenes for to learn philosophy. thenne was there at the gate of the city an old philosopher/ that made great injuries to them that would have gone within for to prove their pacyen●e. this odle philosopher thenne seeing the said disciple that would have entered within the town for to study there in philosophy/ casted at him many proud mocks & shameful words. and because that he suffered them patiently without to trouble himself withal/ the entry of the city of athenes foresaid was granted unto him without any great labour. ¶ by this gate may be understand the gate of paradise/ through which men may not pass for to seek the glory of heaven without that they endure many injuries ¶ an hermit asked an holy father how he should get heaven/ whereat he answered that more lightly he might not come thereat than for to have patience in his troubles & injuries/ & that if men do to him many/ he should have more meed in suffering of them/ than in doing of any other penance. ¶ the abbot moses was desired by certain religiouses that he would show unto them some good ensamples for to save their souls. ¶ and he commanded his disciple zacharye that he should tell them some what. this disciple then died put of his habit & tradde it with his feet/ saying that a man might not be nor ought not to be a monk but if he were in likewise tradde & tormented with diverse adversities & troubles. ¶ the abbot macharye said that he is a very religious that in overcoming himself bringeth under his own passions. none also ought not to lose him self for to save an other/ & therefore any man ought not to anger his neighbour for to prove his patience/ for it happeth oftentimes that a body in moeving of some other/ he falleth in to the sin of ire. ¶ where certain religiouses in the presence of saint anthony/ did praise an other brother & his virtues/ saint anthony after his praising made unto him some injuries for to prove his patience/ the which injuries he might not endure thenne said saint anthony/ that he was like the houses that have fair entry & strong but the thieves may come in lightly at the back side. ¶ some brethren asked of the abbot ysaac wherefore was that the devils feared him so moche/ & he answered the sith that he was made religious he was never angry in him self/ whereby the devils had him in a dread ¶ a religious came ones to the abbot achyles which casted blood out of his mouth. the religious seeing the same asked him whereof proceeded this sickness/ whereat the abbot answered that folk had reported some words to him whereof he was angry/ but notwithstanding he would not show it. so had he prayed our lord that he would take away that wrath from him/ & for this cause by mean of the same prayer he casted blood out of his mouth which was cause of the sleeyng of his wrath. ¶ diverse brethren came to a holy hermit/ & as they where come nigh his hermitage/ they found shepherds that sang dishonest songs and when they were within the cell of the said hermit/ they asked him why he corrected not the said shepherds. and he answered to them that he had be in will full oft for to do so/ but he considered that if he could not resist to the temptations that should hap to come to him by mean of such songs/ he should with great pain mow withstand to other temptations more great. to this purpose he said/ that he that shall not con refrain his tongue against his wrath. in likewise with great hardness he shall bear the movings & prickings of the flesh. ¶ the abbot johan being with all his religiouses/ they showed unto him one after an other their thoughts/ save one that said by envy. o johan my brethren do as the common women that utter sweetly their words for to get love of their bylovers. to whom the said abbot answered that his word was true. the said brother more moved with envy than afore/ said again to the said abbot/ that his body was all full of venom/ whereat he answered. if thou know that that is within my body as well as the dost that that is without thou shouldest see therein much more devils than thou speakest of. ¶ in egypte was a religious sore renowned/ the which for his great renomee/ almost all they of the region were wont for to visit him. during his said renomee/ the abbot poemen came out of sychye for to dwell within the said land of egypte. so many one left the vysyting of the said religious for to go toward the said poemen/ whereof the said religious became much envious. ¶ the abbot poemen knowing this brother to be ill content of the men died more of reverence to this poemen/ than to him which so long time had be so famous within the said land/ was full sorry & heavy of that he was cause of his anger. ¶ so gathered he all his religiouses together with him/ & went for to visit & see the said brother that which would not open his door to them at the first but because he saw that the said poemen was in his opinion praying that he would make him opening/ he made him with his fellows to come in. and after kissed each other/ & were at the same hour very friends together/ so that the said religious said unto saint poemen that he was of moche more perfection than he had herd tell. ¶ an abbot named mutues made a cell some time in a place called eracloena where so great envy was upon him of many one that he was constrained for to depart out of it. ¶ so went be to another place where in likewise he made another dwelling place for himself to dwell in/ & as afore/ he was there sore envy of a religious/ whereof he was constrained to go there out as he was fro the other. so went he again to the place from whence he was departed first & shut himself within his cell. ¶ after this the hermits neighbours to the same place of whence he was departed fro gathered themself together and took the said brother enuyer of the said abbot mutues for to bring him toward him. and when they were come nigh his hermitage/ they left the said brother in a place nigh enough to the same with the skins wherewith they were clothed/ & this done they went for to speak with the said abbot. and when they were come at him/ he opened his window for to speak to them & asked of them where their melotes were/ that is to say their habits made of skins that they were wont to be clothed withal/ whereat they said/ that they had left them not far fro thence with the brother that had be envious over him. ¶ he broke thenne open his door with an axe & ran toward the said brother that which colled & kissed in sign of peace. ¶ and after he brought them to his cell & eat with them/ notwithstanding that he was not wont for to eat nor drink at such an hour as that was. and finally he returned again with them. ¶ the abbot agathon said that he never had slept while that he had any question with some till that he was reconciled with him. ¶ in like wise he suffered never no religiouses to sleep in their obstination that had noise or debate one against the other/ till that they were peased. ¶ two brethren were in an hermitage which had never debate together it happened so that the one said to that other. my brother i pray the that we may have some question together as other have. that other said that he wist not what noise was. ha sire said his fellow i shall learn the how we shall chide and fall out together. i shall set a tile between us both/ and then i shall say that it is mine own/ and thou shalt say that it is thine own/ and by this mean we shall have strifes together. ¶ they died put this tile betwixt them both/ and that done/ one of them said/ this tile is to me belonging/ that other answered i hope it is mine. the first said nay/ it should be for him. the other answered/ if it be thine then take it and bear it with the. and thus they could not have no strife together. ¶ saint macharye being in his prayers he heard a voice that said. ¶ macharye thou rechest not yet unto the holiness of two women that are in the next city. ¶ this holy man after this voice i herd/ went forthwith to the said city/ and so long he sought after them that he found them. ¶ he was received of them gladly enough. ¶ after he questioned them of their estate and conversation where of their were sore abashed because they had say every night with their husbands. ¶ notwithstanding the holy father questioned them more desyryngly/ and so that they were constrained to tell him their conversation. ¶ they first of all said to him that they had no sib or kyndrede together/ but only of that their husbands were brethren german/ with the which and by the space of xu year they had together both of them used their live without to speak any foul word the one to the other/ and without never to have had any debate or strife/ but during the said time they had lived in peace together/ with this they had purposed sin long time ago to enter in religion/ and so they should have do if their husbands would have granted thereto. and seeing that they would not be content that they should do so/ they had lived with their husbands the best and most honest life that they could in despising all temporal things/ & desiring only the spiritual things. ¶ the holy hermit seeing their honest life/ he began to say thus. ¶ certainly god accepteth not more the virgins nor the wedded wives than the monks secular/ but only he asketh the good purpose to be steadfast in him and in his commandments. for of his goodness to all astates he giveth inspiration to lead a life/ whereby every person may purchase paradise. ¶ a brother there was that could never have peace with the other religiouses/ so purposed he for to go dwell alone in an hermitage/ to th'end he might be in rest/ & that no body might anger no move him for to laugh/ finably he went in to a great cave where he dwelled alone it happened one day that he filled a vessel with water & set it on the ground/ that which vessel forth with turned the bottom vpsodōne not once only but three times/ and at every time he filled it again. and seeing that he could not make him stand on the earth he broke it for despite in pieces. ¶ and then he knew that as well when he should be alone/ the devil that angered him in religion/ might also trouble him in solitary place. so returned he to his monastery/ saying that it was necessary for to work & have patience/ & to ask the help of god without which any virtue we can not come to. ¶ saint macharye told of himself that he being young & dwelling in an hermitage/ he was compelled by force to serve in the city as clerk/ nevertheless he would not dwell there/ but always went again to his hermitage. it happened the same time that the daughter of a secular was great with child. her parents that saw this asked her of whom it was/ she answered that the hermit macharye had done the deed. her said kinsmen then went to the hermitage of the said macharye & took and beat him & hinge pots atte his ne●ke saying/ here is the worthy hermit that hath defiled our daughter/ with that came there an aeged holy father which reproved them sharply because that they had so sore beaten him that he was all most deed. and they that had the devil with them answered to him again. ¶ thou seest the shame that he hath done to us/ thou barest witness of his truth/ but it is now well known that he is a very hypocrite. wit it that we shall never leave him in peace/ till that some body shall have given for him to our daughter lawful provision for her living. ¶ the said macharye had a servant at that time that bore to the town his ma●̄des & baskets for to be sold whereupon he lived/ to whom for to eschew the hands of the said tyrants/ he commanded that he should sell all for to nourish the said daughter. and from that time forthon/ the poor hermit was constrained to watch daily and nyghtely for to get the said woman's living/ and said unto himself. now macharye work well/ for thou hast a wife & a child which thou must find/ wherefore thou shalt now labour more than thou didst afore. ¶ but the holy hermit awaited ever thou god should help him. ¶ the time came that the said daughter should be delivered of her fruit where she was long in great martyrdom with thrawes without comparison. the matrons or myddewyfes that were come to her for to receive the child/ questyoned her & asked her whereof it came that she might not be delivered of her child. then the poor sinner confessed her sin & said that it was because the falsely she had accused the poor hermit/ for she was with child by a neighbour of hers a young man. and when this thing was come unto ye●eres of him that borough the food aswell to the said macharye as to the said daughter/ he ran apas toward him & telled him these tidings/ whereof saint macharye gave praisings & graces unto our lord/ & fro thence he departed for to go in to sychye/ where he lived long time in doing great penances. ¶ a brother asked of the abbot poemen/ what thing he might do for to eschew ire & sadness/ whereat he answered/ that he should not dispraise/ nor judge/ nor also bachytte any person/ and if he kept 'em therefro/ our lord should give him rest. ¶ the abbot poemen said of saint ysodore abbot that he only more than any other truly knew his one self/ for when he had any thoughts or illusions that he was an holy man/ he answered to himself. alas i am not such as anthonye was or the abbot pando or the other faders that have be lovers of god by this mean he lost his fantasy which presumed him over high/ when the devils said to him. ¶ abbot thou hast good to do penance/ for after that thou shalt have lived well in great sharpness/ thou shall descend in to hell. ¶ he answered unto them. yet no force if i descend there. i hope i shall not be brought in to the deppest part thereof. for ye shall be under me. ¶ the devils said often to the abbot moses that they could never make him to fall. for when they ●rowed for to have brought him done by despiration/ he was araised to god ward. and when they wend to have enhanced him by pride he brought himself done by humility/ and by this mean he brought the devils under foot. ¶ a brother questyoned ones the abbot sysonin asking of him counsel what he should do of that he was fallen in to sin. ¶ the abbot answered to him that he should put pain for to arise again. and he said there against/ that he had araised him self ones/ but he was fallen again. ¶ the said abbot answered as had done afore. and again by many times the said brother told him that often times he was fall & as many time he had arisen again by penance. ¶ so answered unto him the said abbot that he should not cease to arise himself again incontinent that he were by sin overthrown and where the said brother asked of him unto how many times he should rise again/ the abbot answered unto that time that in good or evil work thou shall decease/ for in the estate as the man shallbe caught by death/ in the astate shall he be judged. ¶ an other was tempted of certain sin by the space of ten year/ & because he could no more withstand/ as dysperate he would go out of his hermitage to the world again. ¶ thenne came unto him a voice that said. o man for to recompense that of thou ten year in which thou hast mightily fought/ wite that thou shall have thou crown of victory. by this it appyreth to us/ that we ought to continue unto th'end/ for the more evils that we have/ the greater glory shall we receive. ¶ after this he went again to his hermitage & had no more the said temptations. ¶ the abbot anthonye being in his hermitage was tempted long of sloth and of idleness/ so said he to god. my god i desire to be saved/ but the diverse thoughts that come upon me will not consent thereunto/ wherefore my lord teach me what i ought to do for my salvation. ¶ and soon after this he saw a man like him as him seemed/ that weved a rope/ & after arose from his work and made devout prayers. such a vision happened to saint anthonye. ¶ now men may believe/ that it was an angel that showed how a body may withstand to his passions. for when saint anthonye saw this vision/ the angel said unto him anthonye do as i do/ & thou shallbe saved the said abbot when he had seen the said teaching he was comforted/ & in time after he died as he had the angel see do. ¶ an other asked counsel to an aeged father what he should make because he could no manner of craft/ but only eat and drink & sleep/ and from hour to hour/ & from one thought to another passing a way the tyme. ¶ the old father counseled him that he should keep him in his chambre for the love of god & that he should do that him possible was after his understanding without to trouble ne let his fantasy with curious thoughts/ and that without fault he should have joy like to saint anthonye. ¶ an other asked to the abbot achilles whereof came that he being in his ●elle/ he had no will for to do any good work for his soul. ¶ achilles answered to him/ that it was because he had not seen the joys of paradise nor also the torments of hell/ & that if his chambre had be so full of worms & of felthe that he were there soused unto the neck/ so that his affection were let for to think upon the torments of hell/ yet should he abide therein & work there by great diligence. ¶ an other religious demanded of saint anthonye what thing he should keep for to please god withal/ whereat he answered/ that what somever thing that he should do/ were it going or coming/ he should ever have god in his thought with the exemples & doctrines of holy scripture/ & with this where so ever that he should cast him to abide he should not depart therefrom suddenly/ but what somever trouble that he had there/ he should steadfastly keep himself at it/ saying that in keeping these three things/ he should be saved. ¶ an other religious desired the abbot moses that he would give him some good sore/ the which answered to him/ that he should go to his cell or little house/ for she should learn him all that he must do so that he would continue therein his dwelling place. and he said also/ that like as the fish dieth incontinent that men take out of the water also perisheth the religious when he is out of his cloister. ¶ a brother asked to the abbot poemen if he should do bester his salvation in keeping himself all alone in his hermitage or some other solitary place/ than to dwell among company. ¶ the which abbot answered unto him/ that a man which of himself will be corrected may well dwell every where/ but he that by pride will enhaunse himself can not abide in no place/ for it is written/ he that thinketh himself to be worth any thing where he is nought/ he deceiveth himself. ¶ in likewise who that boosteth him of some good deed/ if he doth it/ he loseth his meed. ¶ a brother of egypt came once to the abbot zenon in syrye/ the which accused himself of many sins. the said abbot hearing his words was sore marveled saying/ the egyptians hidden their ●tues & show the vices which they have not/ but the syryens & greeks advance themself of virtues that are not in them & hid their own sins. ¶ an old holy father said/ that he that is sore praised & worshipped of the world loseth the merit of his soul/ & by such praysynges he falleth in vain glory. and he that is scorned of the world shall have great reward of god. ¶ yet said he more that like as it is impossible that the herb & the seed should come kindly both atones/ also it is impossible to have the glory of this world and the joy of heaven together. ¶ item all thus as a treasure which is known mynusheths & waxeth little/ so doth the virtue when it is known by him that doth it. ¶ item as the wax fleeteth afore the fire/ so the soul in this world praised taking thereat her rejoicing loseth her fairness. ¶ when the thinking of pride or vain glory befyghteth us by deming that we be good/ we aught to seek in our consciences if we have kept all the commandments of god and loved our enemies. ¶ if we have not be glad when our adversaries have had loss of goods/ & whether we have been wrote of their getynges. then shall we see that we died never no good. ¶ and by the same we shall eschew this foolish presumption to trow to be good. ¶ a holy father after he was come for to see his fellow he said unto him. brother i am all ready deed in the world. ¶ his fellow answered unto him. my friend trust on thyself till that time that thy soul shall depart out of thy body/ for if thou art deed/ the devil therefore is not so/ the which hath without number crafts & subtle for to deceive us ¶ another holy father was that had lived thirty year without breed & eat no thing but roots & drank a little water. ¶ he said once to his fellows. my brethren i thank god of that he giveth my grace that i can eschew fornication/ vain glory/ and avarice. the abbot abraham hearing these words came unto him/ & asked him if by adventure he found a woman in his cell whether he might well keep him to think that she were there. he answered nay/ but he should never consent to have her company. ¶ then said abraham/ fornication is not deed yet in the but only it is bound by the will of god for it is possible that thou might sin in it. ¶ in likewise he questioned him of covetise/ asking to him if he seeing some gold among some stones should mow keep him from thinking that it were gold/ so answered he nay/ but he should not have apetyt to take it. thirdly he asked him if two men/ of which the one hated him/ & the other loved him/ came to his house/ whether he should receive them alike he answered nay/ but he should constrain his will for to do as good cheer to the one as to the other. ¶ and what by these questions/ as by his answers/ the holy father abraham showed him clearly/ that our passions be never deed/ but only are bounden. for unto the last article of the death we all are in puissance to do sin/ wherefore we ought not to praise ourself. ¶ an old hermit dwelled in a desert wonderful low/ & with him haunted full oft a secular man for to serve him that had a child which in certain time fell sick/ that which thing seeing his father he prayed the said holy man that he would go unto his house for to see his children to th'end that by his prayers he might be made hole. this holy hermit granted him his request & went with him/ when they came nigh the said house/ the father of the child commanded that men should come against the holy man with lamps & torches. the hermit seeing the great honour that men died unto him/ he unclothed himself all naked & began for to wash his clothes in a water. ¶ thenne the father of the child said to them that came against him turn again home turn again i see well that our holy man hath lost his intendment. after he asked him the cause why in the presence of so many folk he had done so great a folly/ saying that they should ween that he were from his wit and full of the devil. ¶ then answered the hermit that none other thing he would not here. ¶ a great lord that was judge of the province where dwelled the abbot moses would go see him. when moses knew it/ he fled away/ & as by hap he met with the said lord by the way which asked him where dwelled the abbot moses. he answered him/ why he sought about for to see a fool and a wicked heretic. ¶ the judge then went again to the church & said to the clerks how he had met an hermit that had said unto him that the abbot moses was but an heretic. then the clerks asked him what manner a man it was that he had seen. he said it was a man great & black & sore old and clothed with fowl habits. ¶ then they knew that it was he whereof the judge was sore on angered & went his way for despite. ¶ the abbot sysoyns dwelling in the mo●tayne where saint anthonye was buried/ a good man acompanyed with a child of his went there for to see him & for to receive his blessing. ¶ it happened by the will of god that his child died by the way/ whereof nevertheless the father angered not himself/ but taking his infortune patiently/ he bare his child deed to the cell or little house of the said abbot. and as he came in he found him in his prayers. so did he spread afore his feet his said child/ & he himself kneeled before him on his knees/ casting himself to the earth/ as they that asked to the holy faders their blessing were wound for to do. ¶ and after that he had made his orison/ he went out of the cell of the said holy father leaving his child there. ¶ and so it happened that the holy father foresaid tending still to his prayers & contemplaconns'/ had not seen the said good man/ or at lest had not spoken to him/ in turning himself a back he saw the child thus cast afore him as afore is said/ & weening that he had be thus praying unto god he say unto him such words/ arise my son & go after thy father. and incontinent after these words/ the child marvelously arose & went toward his father/ which seeing him alive again was sovereignly marveled/ & knowing the grace that god had done to him/ he gave to him graces & than kings. and also came & thanked the said abbot that wist no thing thereof whereof he received not unto him the worship nor the glory/ but he was full sorry to here tell of such things/ ●o●●tyng that the noise that might arise thereby should be cause to make him fall in to the sin of vain glory/ wherefore expressly he defended unto the said good man that he should never tell nothing of it at lest till after his death. ¶ a secular man taken of the devil was brought sometime in to a church where were many monks/ the which made together their prayers for him/ but nevertheless the devil would not leave him. so were they purposed for to desire their abbot besaryon that he should pray for him/ but they were yet in a difficulty/ saying that if they should go tell him this in his chambre/ he should not come to the church/ wherefore bearing this man toward him they died set him done by the way where their said abbot should come/ & began again together for to pray god for the said man. ¶ and when the said abbot should have passed by each of them began for to call and cry. o father abbot awake this man. incontinent the holy man making over him the sign of the cross commanded him that he should arise & go out of the way/ & he died so. ¶ an other was in egypte that had a child which had the palsy/ the which as the pleasure of god was/ he took & bore him unto the cell of saint besaryon/ & sore weeping left him at the ●ore. ¶ this done the child began to weep & weyle. and the holy man that looked out at the window saw him & said. my child who hath brought the there/ whereat the child answered. sire it was my father that hath left me here. ¶ then saint besaryon said to him/ stand up my son & go after him/ and anon with good health he departed & went after his father. ¶ the abbot mutues said/ that the more that a man denieth himself a great sinner/ he is without comparation much more perfect and more next god than the other be that do not so. ¶ and to this purpose isaiah saying/ god called himself wretched & abominable sinner/ we have in this world but care/ and continually in danger to fall. ¶ also it is written he that is up/ lat him beware of a fall/ we row in the see/ ever in danger to be perished. moreover he said that they that are in solitary places row in safety as lightened with the son of rightwiseness. ¶ and they that are in the world row in danger/ that is to wite for doubt of the night/ that betokeneth unknowing/ but not withstanding it happeth often to them that be seculars/ how be it that they row in the darkness of the night/ that is to wite among the wretchedness and worldly troubles/ that their ship cometh to port salve. ¶ and they that be in religion because that they be assured as them seemeth/ if they become negligent and proud/ they leave their good stir and ruler/ that is to wite meekness/ whereof it happeth sometime that their ship is drowned in the see. ¶ and right so as it is impossible a ship to be sure without nails/ also it is impossible to be saved without meekness which is never angry/ nor will never consent that an other shall be angry. meekness is to forgive him that hath trespasseth against us afore that he repenteth/ that is to say as soon as he hath done to us any shame injury or wrong. ¶ the abbot macharye once well early died fet leaves of a lawrer tree for to make mats withal. and as he came homeward again he met the devil that bore a sharp secle wherewith he wend to have strike at him/ but he could not. ¶ and after as for great despite he cried loud & said. o machary thou givest me much torment/ when i ween for to trouble & hurt the i can not/ and yet always i go beyond the in all works/ for thou etest & drinkest which i do never so. thou speakest sometime/ & i have never lust to do so nevertheless thou settest me under so to in one thing/ that is in meekness. then the holy father died set himself to orison/ & the dampened spirit died vanish away. ¶ a man that taken was of the devil smotte one's one of the holy faders of egypte in the face upon his ●o cheek. and incontinent the holy father proffered him his other cheek for to receive an other stroke of him. ¶ the devil seeing his meekness might not endure the same & went out of the said like man's body. ¶ an other holy father said that all the virtues that a religious might perform/ without humility they can not profit him nothing. for humility is the message● of charity. in having the which men be with god which is the same charity. ¶ the abbot macharye as he was clymming upon the mountain of nitrye he bad a disciple of his that he should go afore him. and in his way he met with a priest of the paynemyes' law/ bearing a great log at his neck to whom the disciple calling upon him began to say. ¶ o thou devil where dost thou run now. the priest that was angry of his wrong died beat so sore the disciple that he left him for deed. anon after this priest met with saint macharye that greeted him saying. o thou man that delivered the other saved mayst thou be. ¶ and thenne the priest demanded of him/ what good haste thou see in me that thou hast so courteously greeted me. the holy man answered unto him/ that he had see him run and labour in his way full fast/ and he wist not where. and this said he to the said priest because that he was a paynim and wist not what he died as touching our faith. the priest said to him. certes i am touched with compunction through thy salutation/ by the which i have known that thou art god's man/ but i have met with one i wot not what a wretched monk that hath wronged me over moche. and also rewarding by of his scornful words i have give unto him grievous wounds. incontinent he was turned and swore that he should not let him go/ till that he made him a monk. ¶ after they two went together to the place where the disciple was hurt/ and bore him in the church. ¶ all the monks were glad of the conversion of the priest/ for by him many were turned. ¶ so said the abbot saint macharye to this purpose/ that oftentimes proud and scornful words turn and tyse the good folk for to do evil. also humble language moveth the evil folk unto goodness. ¶ saint anthonye said often/ that none can be good how well he desireth to be so/ if god be not with him for no man is good but he only/ what soever virtue is in us then/ we must ever accuse ourself and hold us for evil folk. and thus meking ourself we shall get meed. ¶ one time the good saint anthony saw all the grennes & snares of the devil spread over the earth. then began he to weep & to weyle asking to god. alas & who shall mow eschew the subtle snares of the devil. incontinent he heard a voice that said to him. anthonye humility all only may preserve folk fro the wickedness of the devil/ to the which the proud can not come by no wise. ¶ an other time as he was in his oratory/ he heard a voice that said. anthony thou hast not yet known the virtues of a man that taweth leader in alexandria. and in the morning next after/ after this voice i herd/ saint anthonye took his staff/ departed & ceased not his pass till he came at alexandrye the city when saint anthonye had found him he questioned him of his virtues. then the said holy man said to him that he did no good at all/ but that every morning when he rose first he said in himself that all they of the city should be saved by their justice. and to the contrary for the sins that he made/ he deemed that he was worthy of everlasting damnation. and in likewise when he go to bed at night/ he remembered this thing as for truth. ¶ this saying saint anthonye answered to him/ certainly my son i have be long in the deserts with great business & care/ but i had never so virtuous a consideration. ¶ a brother axed once to the abbot poemen what betokened a proposition of the postle which is such/ that is to wite that to those that be clean without spot of sin/ all thing seemeth clean. the abbot answered unto him/ that he that might come thereto in manner that he could under stand it well/ he should hold himself the lowest of all other creatures. the brother said there against/ how can it be/ shall i hold myself for a greater sinner than is a manslayer. ¶ the abbot said/ when we see a mansleer we ought to consider/ that by adventure he died never none other sin/ & we have done infinite offences/ & have be murdered of ourself sleeyng ourself through sin. ¶ and where the said brother asked him how this could be do/ he answered to him. the justification only of man is to reprove & correct himself/ & then is the man just/ when of himself he accuseth & condemneth his sins. ¶ many religiouses were once with the abbot poemen/ whereof one began to praise another saying. yond is a good man/ for he hath horror of sins. the abbot than asked him/ what horror of sins was to say. to which asking the religious not knowing what answer he should say/ required the abbot that he would expone what it mente. so the said abbot exponed it saying that he that hath horror of that is done amiss/ & the blessyth & loveth his brother/ he hath horror of his sins. ¶ a brother axed of the abbot poemen how he might keep him that he should not say ill of his even christian/ whereat he answered that he & his even christian were two images/ & when he should despise his/ he should judge the other that is to wit his neighbour to be good & fair and to the contrary in praising his own/ he should despise that other his even christian/ & when one reproveth his own self ●esyly he habyteth none other person. and he that considereth his freyltee/ he doth like as he that despiseth a virtuous body. ¶ the abbot ipictus said the like as a lion is fearful to the wild asses/ the which he enforceth him to devour/ all thus a religious that is proved & known for a steadfast man/ is fearful & corageouse to withstand against fleshly desires. ¶ moreover he be said that like as a proud horse is suddenly taken by the bridle likewise by fasting is a religious refrained from the sin of cō●pys●ence. ¶ he said also that the body of a monk dry & lean by fasting may●eth his soul from the low things unto the sovereign/ & all the delec●a●ōns sensual & carnal he dryet and sleeth. ¶ item the monk that it chaste shall be honoured in earth/ & crowned in paradise. ¶ item he that can not keep his tongue busily against wrath/ with great pain he shall con be master of his passions or temptations. ¶ item men ought not to speak of nothing but it be virtuous or longing to virtue for after the common proverb of ye●abondaūce of heart speaketh the mouth. ¶ he said yet/ that the vine beareth never no thorns & that it were better to a religious for to eat flesh & drink wine than for to eat his even christian by backbiting. ¶ and he told the sometime in sychye was made a great feast where men would have given wine to an holy father for to drink/ which making refuse of it/ said that they should have it a way/ & that the drinking of it should be his death. ¶ an other time men brought unto certain brethren some wine of the first making out of the cup/ or haply as for their thydes whereof many of this brethren drank. ¶ an old brother that saw his brethren drink of it/ fled anon to his cave/ the which incontynente fell done upon him. the other brethren seeing this inconuenyente ran thereat & found him half deed. then said some of them/ that by his sin & vain glory he was gone in to his said cave. but their abbot said to them/ lat him alone it is my son/ the cave shall not be made again whiles i live/ to th'end that the world shall know that it is fall done for a cup of wine. ¶ the abbot johan said that we that take heed to our sins we be not over lad with penance/ but when we condemn some other forsaking our own body for them/ we take then great charge up ourself. and to this purpose recounted the said abbot johan/ that sometime in sychye were many holy faders together which spoke of a religious that was a great sinner. ¶ the abbot pyot harkening after those the accused the said religious stood up & went & took a sack which he filled with sonde/ & laded it upon his back. and after he took an other little one that he bore afore him/ & thus lad he began to go. he was axed why he died so/ whereat he answered/ that the multitude of the sand that was behind betokened his sins/ the which he would not put in his remembrance nor weep for them/ & the little quantity of sand that was afore him betokened the sins of his neighbours which he said he had afore his eyen/ more than his own that he would forget/ the which thing men ought not to do. but to the contrary a body ought to put his own sins before him & the other behind. ¶ the other abbott● were much marveled thereof/ & affirmed and said that it was the way of salvation. ¶ the abbot ysaac being in the●ayde found himself among many religiouses where he condemned a brother as guilty of certain sin that he had done. after this he went again to his cell where he found an angel at the door that would not suffer him to come in/ but if he should tell him first what thing he should do of his brother that he had condemned. ¶ then he knew that he had sinned & cast himself done to the ground. but the angel took him up & said/ that he should never judge any body afore that he were judged of god. ¶ in a monastery of religiouses was a monk that committed a passing great case of which he was accused by his brethren/ but this notwithstanding he said there against with all his might/ & went unto saint anthonye. his brethren followed him for to bring him again to the monastery. ¶ and when they were come together afore saint anthonye/ they found there the abbot paphonce otherwise called shafalus/ the which in presence of them all said such words. i have seen a man upon the shories of a stream/ the which was in the mire to the knees/ some for to bring him there out are come to him/ they be entered therein to the neck. then these words i herd/ the said accusacours were all abashed/ & understood that this words were put unto them/ wherefore in humility they returned with the said brother to their abbey. ¶ one of the said holy faders said the when we see any body that doth sin/ we ought not to put it upon him/ but upon him that maketh him for to do it/ considering that the devil also may bring us to have a fall. moreover he said that none was in the world that will sin/ but we be all deceived. ¶ an hermit named thymothee despising a brother of his religious/ counseled his abbot the he should pu● him out of his abbey. after the which putting out/ the said hermit fell in to a grievous sin/ of which he made many complaints. and as he was often crying for mercy unto our lord/ he heard a voice that said to him. tymothee this shame is happened to the because of that that thou hast despised thy brother falling in sin. ¶ an other brother was which rehearsed that he had seen a vision four ordres in heaven. the first order was of folk feeble in the faith/ but nevertheless they gave thanks unto god. the second of the hostelers which were ordained to receive the other as almeners. the third was of solitary folk which forsake the world as hermits. and the fourth was of those that have withstand to their own will & were submitted unto the subgeccyrn of their faders spiritual/ as religiouses that make four vows and he said that the last had more noble estate than the other/ & for this cause they bore at their necks colers of gold. ¶ moreover said the same religious that in seeing the said vision he demanded of him that showed it unto him why the last where more worshipped than the other. he answered unto him that the hospitalers almeners & hermits that be in deserts be not subject but to their will/ but the other gave themself all together to god under the subjection of other/ whereby their merit is more greater in honour. obedience is the salvation of everichone & the mother of all virtues/ she openeth the heavens/ she listeth the man unto heaven/ she is fellow to angels & the meet & consolation of all the saints which by obedience are come to everlasting glory. ¶ an holy father said that when a brother commandeth an other for to do some good work with dread of god & with holy meekness such a commandment shallbe done/ but when men commandeth any thing without to have regard to god ward but only to his own aue●orys●. it happeth often that he which is so commanded doth no thing thereof/ wherefore it is to be noted/ that all the proceedeth of god beginneth by humility. and to the contrary that the cometh of the devil it is begun by pride or by ire & by trouble of other only. ¶ the abbot syluayn had a disciple named marc much necessary & obedient that which was well loved of his master/ this abbot had it other disciples that which were right ●ory & wroth of that th'abbot loved more the said marc than he died any other of them it happened that the old faders that were sorry of this vision/ came & showed it unto the abbot. but afore that they rehearsed any thing of the caas/ they went to all the chambers of the xi with the said abbot and knocked at every door/ but there answered no body. finably they came to the door of the said disciples chamber/ the which incontinent that he heard his master he left an o that he had begun to make whereof he made but half for great desire & haste that he had to obey unto his master. then the old faders that were with him died praise this disciple & loved him more than the abbot died ¶ two brethren of father & of mother were in a monastery/ whereof th'one was moche obedient/ & the other continent & chaste. the obedient died all that to him was commanded. he that was chaste had en●●e upon the other/ & would prove if he was very obedient. and to this intent he prayed the abbot that he might have leave to go out with his brother. the abbot gaaf them leave for to prove his obedience/ when they were come nigh a water where were many beasts called cocodrylles & of which many men been perished/ the chaste said to the obedient. go first over i pray the. incontinent the obedient passed over the flood/ & all the said beasts came to him as they should have devoured him/ nevertheless they made him worship licking his clothes about him. after the chaste commanded him that he should come again & he died so. then they went forth & found a corpse deed. the chaste said/ if we had some old thing we should cover this deed body. the obedient answered. at us rather pray god for him/ for haply god shall raise him. so began they for to pray. and anon by the grace of god he was raised fro death to life of which thing the chaste boosted him self and praised/ saying it was for his continence that god had done this miracle. all which things were showed unto their abbot/ that which after their coming again blamed them/ and the chaste he reproved sharply because that he had tempted his brother and to the end he should not be proud or foolish glorious/ he said to him/ that for the obedience of his brother the deed corpse had be raised from death to life. ¶ one of the holy faders of sychye sent his disciple in egypt for to fetch a camel for to bear in to the said egypte the baskets & the maundes that he made ¶ the which disciple desiring to obey went readily thither & brought one from these. but as he was coming again/ he found an other hermit by the way that said to him my child if i had known that thou had gone for to fet a camel. i should have prayed the for to have brought me one. ¶ the which thing the disciple reported & told unto his master that sent him to the said holy man again for to led unto him the camel that he had brought for his said master. ¶ and with that he had him that he should go with him in egypte for to help him to bring there his baskets the disciple went again to the said holy father & said to him. fair father my father sendeth the this camel for thine own use after thy necessity. for he is not ready for to go in to egypte ¶ thenne all his maundes and baskets were laden and had in to egypte. ¶ when they were come thither/ the disciple holped him to unlade. and when he would have come again he said to the holy man. my father i beseech the that it will please the for to pray god for me. ¶ thenne the holy father asked him where he would go/ whereat he answered that he would return homeward for to fet the baskets of his father abbot. ¶ the other holy father was then much wroth and angry/ and besought the disciple that he and his father should have pity of him for their great charity made him lose his merit that said he. ¶ an other hermit had many baskets and mands ready made for to go to the market withal. ¶ so it happened as by adventure/ that he heard his neighbour that said. i wot not what i shall do/ the market cometh in hand/ and i have no coverings ready for my baskets. ¶ he that had his baskets and their coverings ready all ready made/ he took of the coverings/ and said to his said neighbour/ hold here my friend some coverings/ for i have more than i need/ tha● shall be good for to cover thy baskets withal. ¶ the which charity was w●ll in heart in so much that he broke his own work for to fulfil the work of his neighbour. ¶ the a 〈◊〉 johan was so chartable/ that his great charity suffered him not to know any malice. this abbot for to have occupation to his orisons borrowed a penny of one of his brethren whereof he bought some flax for to occupy him withal/ when he had bought it/ one of his brethren came to him for to borrow some of him to make a sack with/ and he took him some with a good will. there came to him an other again that also had some thereof. and finably he lived so moche of his flax aswell to the one as to the other/ that there abode nothing for himself. he that had left him the penny desired him to pay it him again. then had he neither penny nor no flax. and here it is to be noted that a penny was then worth a s●●te or more. ¶ and because he wist not whereof he should take him again his penny that he had lend him. he purposed that he should go to the abbot james/ him to pray that he would pay a penny for him to him that had left it unto him/ because he was not of power for to pa●e if himself. ¶ it happened that as he went thydre he found one penny in his way/ but he durst not take it up. so came he again to his ●elle for to pray god. then came there again the creditor for to ask his penny of the simple man/ that promised him he should fet it for him anon/ wherefore he departed again for to go toward the said abbot james but because that he found yet again the said penny in his way/ he durst pass no ferther/ but returned again to his little house. thirdly came there the said creditor for to hau his penny. then the holy man answered unto him that without any fault he would go fetch it. and at the third time he found yet his penny/ the which he took up then/ & bore it unto the said abbot james/ saying that he had found it by the way/ but nevertheless he besought the said abbot that he would make to wit through out the city/ that if any body had lost one penny that he should come toward him & that he had found him the which thing was showed during three days/ but no body came that said it was his. then the said johan said to james/ that he should take it to him that had left him one/ for as he was coming to him for to have borrowed it/ he had found it. ¶ the abbot poemen said/ that we ought not to fulfil our wills/ but them of our neighbours. and when men prayed him for to eat more than his will was/ he wept/ because that he constrained himself over his will/ to th'end that he should not disobey his neighbour. and in many other manners/ he strained his will to the will of other. ¶ an hermit sometime nigh a monastery of religiouses made many miracles. ¶ ones among other/ the religiouses went toward him/ and made him to eat against his will. and after they said to him that he was sorry and displeasant because that he had eaten against his will. ¶ he answered that the contrary was troth/ that is to say/ that he had tribulation when he died his own will. ¶ the abbot paphonce had of custom that he drank never no wine. it happened one day as he travailed by the way that he was met with thieves/ of which the principal knew him. and because he knew well his custom to drink no wine/ seeing that he was weary of the way/ he took a cruse full of wine & a glavye in his hand/ and said unto him/ that if he drank not/ he should slay him. ¶ thenne the holy man knowing that this thing came of the will of god/ & that it should be the cause of the conversion of the said thief & of his fellows/ he took the wine & drank it. ¶ thenne the said thief prayed him that he would pardon him that he had so constrained him. to whom he answered. i have my trust in god/ that because thou hast given me drink/ thou shalt have forgiveness of thy sins & paradise atte thine ending. and thenne the thief said to him. and fro this hour forthon myself trusting in the mercy of god. i promise the that i shall never do no harm unto no body/ and by this means was the said thief and his fellows turned unto god ward and lived after honestly. ¶ two hermits were sometime where of one was older than the other. so requiring the old to the young/ that he would be content that they should do both together their residence/ that which thing the young would not grant/ but excusing himself said/ that it was not his caas for to dwell with him/ because he was to great a sinner. the old which was a man of right holy life/ hearing this answer/ he had it not agreeable. for how well that the other religious was young/ nevertheless this old hermit could not believe after that he led a life solytarye/ but that he was of good life/ & without spot of sin/ finably after many word is/ they were content for to dwell together one week/ & when the seven night was past/ the old required & asked of the young/ how he had governed himself that week. he answered to him that because that he was compelled by necessity to issue out of his own cell/ he was fall in great temptation of sin ¶ then said there against the old hermit/ asking if he would do thereof penance/ whereat the young andswerd ye. then the old moved with a fervent charity and knowing his farm steadfastness/ said to him/ that he was content to make & bear upon himself the half of his penance. and for so moche should they have need for to dwell the one with the other/ which they died so unto the hour of their decease. ¶ an ancyente holy father said/ that whosoever desireth for to be saved/ he ought curyously to see that he do not to an other/ that which he would not be done unto. and how well that some do to him any harm shame or injury/ he ought not therefore to do the same to an other. ¶ and this manner of living is suffisant enough to everichone for to have his soul thereby saved. ¶ two holy faders brethren german/ one called poemen & the other nub to his name & dwelled in the deserts/ & lived there a moche solitary life & religious. their mother affectuelly desiring to see them/ because that after that they were departed fro the world/ she had not seen them/ she went herself toward them for to see and visit them. and how well that she made all diligence for to speak with them/ nevertheless she could not find the manner to have leisure thereunto/ finably she did so moche that she found herself once before the entry of their chapel/ & in great lamentations & tears she trowed to have made them speak with her/ but they would not/ doubting that they should haply have run in to some sin by the mean. and as they had open the door of their ceile or habitation for to go to their said chapel/ when they apperceived their mother they shut their door again upon them. their mother this seeing that they would not speak to her/ began for to weep at their door with great abundance of tears. and thus as they devised them taking counsel & their advise together/ what thing they ought to do for to content her/ she took herself for to cry & weyle more than she died afore. so came to her then the holy father poemen/ & without to open the door he asked her/ why she that all ready was old/ made such complaints which might be to her moche grievable. she hearing & understanding that it was one of her children that to her spoke she answered as she had spoken unto both of them. alas my children i beweyle & weep for to speak with you/ because the singularly i desire to see you. alas why do ye refuse me your presence/ what danger is there if i see you/ am i not your mother/ have not i nourished you with this paps mine. i have waited so long for to see you that under this hope i am come unto so old age/ that i am all dysabled of my membres/ & for great desire that i have to see you mine entreylles are all troubled & sore moved. then the holy father poemen asked her which of both she had liefer other to see them in this world/ or else finably in the glory of heaven/ whereat she answered that she should be well content not to see them in this world/ so that she might be sure that she should see them after their death in heaven. ¶ after this answer/ the said poemen said unto her/ that if she might withstand her affection and not see them in this world. for certain she should see them shortly in the other world. ¶ then she hearing the words of her son/ said to him sith that thou promysesse me for certain/ that i shall see you in paradise i look no more for to see you here. and then she went her way well appayde and glad. ¶ a young religious named johan the left of the nation of the thebayens was in service with an holy father by the space of twelve year/ which old father was called amon during the said time grieved with a continual sickness/ which caused him that he was so wayward/ that he never gaaf fair language nor good to his said servant johan/ whereby he should be pliant and glad to serve him. ¶ but this notwithstanding he served him much sweetly & kindly. so it happened that when the said holy father amon came to the last hour of his life that his soul must depart/ where many holy faders were present/ he took afore them all the said johan his servant by the hand & three times he said unto him. johan saved mote that be. and then he said to the holy faders that were with him my brethren i betake you this good religious/ he is no man/ but an angel. certainly during my sickness/ he never had of me a fair word/ & nevertheless in great humility & patience he hath done to me infinite services/ so recomende i him to you asmuch as i can ¶ the holy father agathon where he once came to the city that was most nigh his hermitage for to sell some hand work that he had made for to live upon he found at the gate of the said city a man that was sore like which was forsake & left of all men. the which thing seeing that said holy father agathon he hired a little chambre where in he brought him & cheryshed him & kept him the space of four months unto time that he was recovered and was hole. and after returned this holy father in to his hermitage. ¶ an other holy father for to move to the virtue of patience a disciple of his that was sore passyoned & tormented of a grievous malady/ said unto him in this wife. my son thou must bear patiently thy sorrowful afflictions without to be wroth with them. it is a sovereign virtue to a man for to praise & thank god in his tribulations & adversities. if that be hard as is the iron thou shalt lose thy rustynes by fire/ & if thou be gold/ thou shalt also be proved by fire/ and from great things thou shalt come to things more great. if god will send us some sicknesses we ought not to grudge there against/ & if we bear them not with patience we shall have no meed for it toward him. so must we be used to be patient/ praying him humbly that he will send us all that pleaseth him/ to th'end that by the merit that we shall get in enduring patiently the afflictions & torments of this world/ we mow have the glory ever lasting. ¶ an other holy father that was often taken with sicknesses/ was ones a hole year without/ wherefore he began to weep strongly bearing his health noyously/ & saying to our lord such words. sire thou hast left me/ & thou wouldest not visit nor see me this year. as he would have said/ that god visiting his friends sendeth to them poverty & sickness for to make them to be rewarded for it in heaven. ¶ some holy faders rehearsed of one of them that died in sychye/ that they being about him/ they dothed him as they were wont to cloth the one of th'order at their decease. and doing this they began to weep sore for pity that they had to see him dey. he hearing their weeping is & sorrows opened his eyen/ & in beholding them he lough three times upon them. the which thing seeing the said brethren/ anon after they asked him why he lough when they wept/ & he answered to them i have laughed twice to mock you with all/ the first time that i lough was because that ye fear death/ & the second time was because that ye know well & can not judge otherwise but ye must once day & ye wot not when/ & yet ye dispose not yourself thereto/ & thirdly i have laughed reioysshing myself/ because that in leaving the labours of this world. i go unto the place of rest/ & these words thus said he closed his eyen & sweetly he yielded his ghost to our saviour ihesu christ. ¶ thabbot pammon at the hour of his death said to the brethren that acompanyed him. my brethren because that sin the time that i came to this solitary place where i have builded for mine usage this little house wherein i do dwell. i am not remembered that ever i eat other breed/ but of the same which i have gotten with labour of mine hands/ nor to have said nor told unto this hour any vain word whereof i ought to repences me in this manner i go now to our blessed lord ihesu cryst/ whereof i ought well to thank him. and i marvel greatly how he advantage take the last of me/ seen that i first was occupied to get my living/ & have not as yet begun to him any suffisant service. ¶ the abbot agathon going out of this world/ three days before his deces held his eyen continually open & by no manner he moved them not. the which thing seeing his brothern that were about him sore complaining & weeping asked him. o our father tell us if it please the whereat thou thinkest now/ & where thou are at this hour. to whom he answered. i am called tofore the presence of god which is in his feet for to judge me. ¶ a as said they to him again/ & ferest thou him. to whom he said again. i have ever with all my strength enforced myself for to do that commandment of god. but nevertheless i consider that i am a sinner/ wherefore i can not say if my works have be unto him agreeable. and how said the holy faders haste not thou believe in thy works which have ever be vertuoles & after his law. then he answered i not dare trust thereupon in his presence/ for there is to much difference betwixt his judgement & the judgement of men. ¶ the abbot sysonyn being at the hour of death/ many aeged faders that together were come there for to see him apperceived suddenly his face which shining bright wonderfully. and in that self case he said unto them. my brethren see to it/ the holy father antony cometh to us here. ¶ anon after he said again. my brethren/ here is the company of the postles. and saying the same his visage waxed more bright. ¶ so began he to say once again that he saw the postles that came there/ and it seemed that he should speak unto them. and whether these holy faders or some of them died require him that he should tell them to whom he spoke. ¶ he answered that he spoke with the angel that came for to set his soul/ and besought them that they should forbear a little or they should have him away till that he should have done some little penance. then said there against the holy faders to him/ thou hast no need fair father to do any penance. ¶ the which answered to them. surely my brethren. i can not remember me that ever i began yet to do any suffisant penance. by the which answer they knew that he was very perfit in the dread of god ¶ and they being in this imagination they saw his face wonderfully and more bright than it was afore. ¶ then said he to them/ see see my brethren our lord cometh. and saying these words he gaaf up his ghost in the hands of god. ¶ the holy father arsenyen was in his time so virtuous & so much inflamed with the love of ihesu christ/ that the most part of the time contemplyeng his worthy death & passion/ he wept & bewailed/ so that by continuance of weeping away the abundance of tears from his eyen all the hairs of the lids of the eyen fell of & never grew again/ when he should die he ordained to his disciples that they should not do none almose nor any chartable deed for him/ saying that if he had himself done some he should find it. & because that these his disciples were troubled of that they saw the hour of his death draw nigh/ he said unto them. my children the hour of my death is not yet come/ when it shall be nigh i shall not be still/ but always i pray you/ that if ye dese to sorn any part of my body/ ye shall thereof give account afore god in his judgement/ where i shall accuse you thereof if ye do so. ¶ then they asked him what they should do with his body/ for they wist nothing of winding of deed folk. ¶ so answered he then to them. ye shall bind my feet together with a cord & thenne ye shall draw me unto the top of the mountain where men have of custom to bury that other. ¶ after he took himself to weep as he was wont to do all the time of his life. ¶ and where the holy faders being about him saw him weep so sore/ they asked him/ what moved him for to do so/ & if he had any dread or feer. to whom he answered/ the truly he doubted much our lord as he always had done/ namely sith that he was made religious. the holy abbot poemen seeing him after his death said such words of him. o holy father arsenyen/ thou art well happy that thou hast wept so moche in these world/ for certainly he that not have wept here/ shallbe constrained to weep in the other world. and it is impossible that a man may be forborn other for to weep here with his will for to decern the joy everlasting/ or to weep by constraynte in the torments of hell for the punition of his sins. ¶ of this holy father arsenyen fold the holy father abbot danyell that how be it that he was greatly lettered & expert in that knowledge of holy scripture/ nevertheless feryn to run in to vain glory/ he would never argue thereof/ nor also write no manner of pistles/ but if he was constrained by great necessity for to do so/ & when he found himself in the covent of that company of holy faders he stood always behind a pillar if any was there/ to th'end that he should not have occasion to look nor speak unto any person/ & also because no body should see nor speak to him. his beholding was all like to an angel/ he had his hairs whit as jacob had/ & also arrayed as he was/ long & be●teful of body/ & how be it always that he was sore lean & dry/ yet came his herd done to the belly of him/ & so was he bowing forward because of his great age/ & he died when he was come to his four score & xu year. ¶ he had dwelled xl year in that palace of the noble theodosyens which was father to honorius & archadins. ¶ after that he dwelled in a place called troyn upon babylony toward the city of nemphis/ & three year in alexandria. ¶ after he returned again to troyn foresaid where he dwelled other two years/ & there he yielded his ghost to god as he that was fulfilled with very faith & with the grace of the holy ghost. ¶ saint athanasy bishop of alexandrye sent word once to the abbot pambon that he should come see him. the which obeying to his request went there with some of his religiouses. and in coming toward the said athanasy which seeing some seculars that were in their way & put not themself in purpose for to do nor show to them due reverence/ he said to them. arise up my friends & salve these good religiouses to the end that they shall give you their blessings/ certainly they spoke often with god/ & their word is holy. and in saying these words/ he saw in the street a poor sinner a common woman which was curyously arrayed ¶ so began be to weep when he saw her/ wherefore it was asked of him by them present what thing moved by for to weep. to the which being present ●e answered two things which i see cause me to do so one is the loss of that poor woman/ & the other is that i take not so great thought nor care to please god/ as she doth to please the sinners & dishonest men. ¶ it is found written of an old holy father that when he had intention to do penance of some sin whereof he was deceived & his sensuality said to him that he should defer it to an other day & that he should always come time enough for to repent him of it ●e answered that he should not l●ue for to do readily his penance/ for it ought for to be done hastily/ because that we be not in surte that we shall live do day more. and after when he should have done his purpose god should do then or the next day his pleasure of him. ¶ an other of the holy faders showed of a bishop that which because he had herd tell the two of his subgettes were adulterers/ he prayed our lord that he would given certain knowledge if they were as fowl bespotted as folk said/ & upon a day then after that he had song mass/ his subgett coming to the altar for to receive there the precious body of our lord/ he knew by divine inspiration whether their thoughts were good or bad/ & namely he knew the sinners by their faces that were black as coals/ & their eyen reed as blood. and the other that were clean purified of their sins he knew also by their visages & vestiments that showed to be white/ to all the which indifferently be administered the holy sacrament of the altar. and this done the faces of some of them seemed him as bright as the son giving a light sovereignly. and the faces of the other seemed as they had be esprised with a dreadful flame. but in giving the said sacrament to the two adulterers of which is touched above/ he apperceived that one of them had the face full bright and clear and was honourably clothed with vesture full fair & white. and the contrary the other had a black & an horrible visage and after that they had received that self holy sacrament of the altar/ he with the white face/ showed himself to have a strength of courage which made him appear to be clean and purged from all wickedness. that other showed to have his face taken with fire right horrible & doubtable. this seeing the holy bishop/ besought our lord that he would teach him what betokened this vision to whom by the will of god an angel died appear which said unto him/ that all that he had seen was true/ but as to him that had the visage black/ because he was obstinate in his sin/ having a will purposing ever more to sin/ for that cause had he seen his visage black & horribly taken with dreadful fire. but that other his fellow/ that was lightened with a bright visage/ bringing unto mind through bitter sorrow/ the sins that he had done & forsaking them with great tears & sobbings/ he had gotten and axed the mercy of god/ promitting if it pleased him to forgive quit and pardon unto him his sins by him done in time passed/ that he should never return for to do them again. and for this cause he was come to that grace which this holy bishop saw. and where this foresaid bishop marveled himself of the sovereign grace of god/ because that not only he had preserved this sinner repentant from the torments which are due to them that led a foul & wicked life/ but also with the same/ he would make him fair with so great honour the angel said to him that not without a cause he marveled/ seen that he was a man that can not comprehend the bounty of our lord/ the which is infinitely good & kind to them that forsaken their sins/ to whom also when they do penance after devout confession/ he not only forgiveth their sins/ but with this he maketh them worthy to be worshipped. and in troth the angel said/ god hath so dearly loved the sinners/ that he hath sent his only son/ and ordained him for to suffer death in this world for to redeem them from the pains of hell. ¶ sith then he would die for them how be it that they were his enemies/ how moche shall he be willing to love them when they shall be by very penance his own children. and therefore wite it said the angel/ that no sin of man can not overcome the goodness of god/ namely when he that shall have done any sin/ shallbe willing to put himself in pain for to put out & slay by penance his wickednesses & sins. ¶ for our lord which is infinitely merciful knoweth well the feebleness & weakness of the kind of man/ the strength of the passions/ & the might & malice of the devil. and there as he knoweth the sinner to be over thrawen in sin/ them pardonning as to his children he tarrieth & abideth every day after their amendment & wilful correction & he hath pity & compassion of them that be repentant as of those the sore ● vexed with sickness awayten after the physycyen. and suddenly unbynden & casting their sins out of them/ he granteth to them just rewards of their penances. ¶ thenne the bishop foresaid hearing these things marveled more than he had done afore/ & heartily he praised the name of god. ¶ the abbot paul surnamed the simple/ purchased of god this grace/ that in looking upon them that entered in to the church/ he wist to say by their visages if their thought were good or bad so it happened on a day that he saw many folk come to that church & had their faces bright and clear & were merry in their hearts/ & with them were their good angels that gladly lad them and bore them fellowship. ¶ soon after he saw one come that was wonderful black & all his body was compassed with an horrible cloud/ & with him were many devils/ the which by a train that was made fast at his nose threllies/ they drew him here & there so that he wist not what he should do/ and after far from him came his good angel which was full heavy and an angered. ¶ the which thing seeing the good father saint paul/ he began to weep full bitterly & smote his breast/ & would not enter within the church/ but he sat himself done there by for to see the end of that man that he saw in so piteous estate. ¶ the other that were entered within the said church & saw him weep thus/ desired & prayed him heartily if he had seen in them any vicious thing/ that for their correction he would tell it them/ or else that he would come in to the church with them the which thing he would not do/ but ever continued in weeping & sorrows considering the dangerous estate of him that he had seen thus withholden & bound by the dampened fiends of hell ¶ anon after the said holy abbot/ seeing all the company that he had seen go within the church come out of it after the absolution to them given/ set himself for to behold their faces/ for to know if they were such at their coming out of the church/ as they were when they went in. and principally he casted his sight upon the wretched sinner which he had seen go with so great hardness within the said church/ & he saw that his face fearful & black was waxed full fair & bright & all his body whit/ & that the devils followed him fro far & his good angel by him that made unto him a moche glad cheer. ¶ then saint paul fulfilled with a singular gladness/ rose up & began for to cry with a high voice & said. o how great is the mercy & meekness of our lord. and coming to another place a little nearer he said yet with a louder voice. come hither devout christian & see the works of god/ come & see how he will that all folk shall be saved & that they come to the knowledge of truth/ come hither & worship him with me saying. lord god/ thou art that self alone that may enrase & put out our sins. and when they were all come together with the good paul/ he showed unto them all that he had seen afore that they entered in to the church/ & also atte their coming out of the same. ¶ and after he asked after him that he had seen troubled as it is said/ for to declare unto him his thoughts & his deeds/ & how god had done unto him so great a grace & changing from evil in to good. ¶ and then the same man in presence of all the assistants began to tell openly/ how he was a great sinner & had holy given himself in time passed unto many a great sin foul & abominable. and how entering in the church he had heard the words of our lord/ saying by the mouth of isaiah the prophet. ¶ wash yourself & be clean/ & put away the malices & sins from your soul's/ for to be present purely & cleanly before my presence/ learn to do good/ & seek justice & rightwiseness. ¶ and if your sins be reed & inflamed by the bronde of concupisbence/ in doing this the said is/ they shall become white as snow. ¶ and also if ye will hear me & do that i say/ ye shall eat of the goods of the earth. ¶ and moreover said the said repentant sinner. i am a wretched fornicator which is touched with compunction through the said words of thou prophet/ entering within the church i have said unto god in my courage. sire i know that thou art he that is come for to save the sinners/ wherefore humbly i pray the that now it will please the to accomplish in me unworthy sinner that that the hast promised by the mouth of the holy prophet. and fro this time i promise the with all mine heart/ that i shall no more return in to my sin. and in witstonding to all wickedness and injustice i think me to serve the with conscience pure & clean. from this day then & from this hour will thou vouchsafe to receive me as very penitent/ worshipping thy sovereign god heed & forsaking all my sins/ the which thing thou ought not to refuse me seen that i have in myself stablished & sworn to keep all thy justyfycacyons. ¶ and under this promise the foresaid penitent said that he was come out of the said church ordaining in himself never to do sin. ¶ the which things hearing that said good old men being there/ they began to cry to god ward saying in this wise. o lord god how great & praysyngly been thy works/ that hast done all things in wisdom ¶ the abbot josephell going with some other good old faders toward the abbot poemen/ one of the friends of the said poemen brought afore his monastery a child of his/ that inconuenyentes & vexations of the devil had the face all disfigured/ the which friend sitting with his said child without the said monastery wept with great abundance of tears. and one of the said good old faders hearing that weyling & sorrows of the father of the said child/ was gone out of the said monastery for to wite who moved him for to weep so/ he axed him of the cause. whereat he answered/ that he was kinsman unto the said abbot poemen/ & was come there to the end he might have through his mean the health to the said child/ which nevertheless he feered to have brought within the church doubting that the said abbot poemen which had fear to have bruit & renomee that he should make miracles/ would have put him out again saying moreover that he seeing the said holy faders come there/ he had purposed under their confidence that he should bring there his said child. and after casting his words toward the abbot josephell foresaid/ he said thus to him ¶ holy father have mercy upon me & my child & make him to be brought therein with thee/ to th'end that the holy father poemen seeing him he will pray god for him. ¶ the which abbot josephell bearing the same child to the cell of the said poemen & using with wise counsel presented him not at first meeting unto the abbot poemen. for he would not have be well content if he had seen that the said josephell should have had so great trust of him/ as for to have heeled him by miracle/ but he presented him unto the lower brethren & said to them. ¶ my brethren bless thy child & pray god for him/ & after he required the other brothern to do so likewise/ & folowyngly he came to the said abbot poemen to whom he made like request. but nevertheless he would not entromytte him thereof and where all them being present required him to pray with them as they died/ he was content to do so. so stood he up & weeping prayed with that other in this manner. o my god thy will be for to help this child which is thy creature/ & suffer no longer that the send have any domination over him. the which orison finished & the said child blessed by him with the sign of the cross/ he was anon given hole & sonde unto his father. ¶ sometime one of the holy faders was axed/ if poverty was a perfect good/ the which answered that it was a great affliction/ but who that sustaineth it wilfully all ●e it he be tormented with it in his flesh/ nevertheless in bearing the same he findeth the rest of his own soul. ¶ a young religious made such a question to an old religious/ that is to wite/ if a brother of his ought him a little sum of money & if he should are it him or no. to the which that old answered that he might well are it with humility ones only. ¶ and the young said to him. if he will not pay me then/ what ought i to do. ¶ thou shalt said the other speak no more of it ye but said the young monk. i shall not have power to break my courage but that i shall be to him hasty or calling thereupon. whereat the old answered/ thou must be master of thyself/ & chide with thine own self only/ to th'end that thou anger not thy brother/ for thou ought to keep the there from as busily as thou canst/ seen namely that thou art a religious. ¶ an other young brother required one the was old/ that he would tell him how & by what manner he might get perfect meekness. whereat he answered that he should come to it lightly/ if he would consider his own wickedness/ & not they of other/ saying with this/ that the perfection of man is humility & of asmuch as the man abateth himself low by humility/ so moche more is he enhanced by his humility/ for like as the cursed sin of pride if it will be araised unto heaven/ is confounded & overthrown unto the betom of hell. all thus humility if it descendeth unto the lowest degree/ it is then exalted unto heaven. ¶ the holy abbot macharye walking on a time by the deserts/ found in his way upon the earth the heed of a deed man which heed he turned with his staff over all sides/ & thus doing be heard the heed that sorrowed & weyled. and because it swooned no word that be could understand/ he asked what made it so to complain. where at the heed answered/ that it was the bede of a priest of the paynemyes' law which had be a prince of the synagogue of idols that in the same place were reverenced and worshipped/ and by cause i know the fulfilled with the holy ghost. i am moved for to reqire thy grace/ knowing that at any time that it will please the for to pray for them that be in pain/ they shall feel some consolation. ¶ thenne the said holy abbot macharye said to him now answer me/ what is your comfort/ & what is your pain. whereat the same heed more strongly wailing than tofore began to say. ¶ ha holy father our pain is so great/ that we be from the feet to the heed thrawen within a feerful fire/ which is more high than there is space between the heaven & the earth/ & that more increaseth our sorrow. it is not unto us possible for to see each other/ but the faces of every one of us been joined overthward unto our backs. ¶ and when thou prayest for us/ then see we the one the other openly/ which is unto us some comfort. ¶ these words said/ the holy man macharye began to weep & said. cursed be the day in which the man hath presumed to despise or break the commandments of god. ¶ and after he inquired again of the said heed/ if in the place where they were tormented/ were any great pains. to whom it answered that in that wretched place were many one that were moche more low therein than the paynemes were. ¶ and where the holy father asked what they were/ the heed answered & said/ we that have had no knowledge of the sovereign god have some what of mercy/ but as to them that have known him & forsaken/ they be underneath us traveled & tormented with diverse torments. ¶ the which words i heard by the good abbot foresaid/ & after that he had shoved the said heed in to the earth/ he went forthon his way. ¶ an other brother axed of an aeged holy father/ why men of religion were oftentimes tempted and befought of the devil of hell/ whereat he answered. it is because that we cast away from us our armour & deffenses that are patience/ humility/ debonarete/ & wyllefull obedience. ¶ an other brother required the abbot sysonyns that he should tell him/ if the devil died persyewe so strongly the religiouses that then were/ as they died the other in time passed. the which sysonyns answered unto him that they more pricked and pursyewed them/ than they had done the older because that the devil knoweth the ending of the world which draweth nigh/ where his torments shall increase & multiply in diverse manners wherein he desireth to accompanied with infinite legions of sinners for to be burned and tormented with him in fire and in sulphur where he waiteth to burn perpetuelly. and for this cause he pursyeweth the folk/ & not only so busily the wicked folk which he knoweth to be lightly turned to obey his cursed & most greatest wiles/ but also more curyously & with more great diligence he pursyeweth the good folk where he knoweth them to be of more stable & steadfast courage. ¶ some other brethren knowing an other aeged father to be wonderful prudent and wise/ asked him by what means he had gotten so great wisdom whereat he answered/ that he had never retained nor suffer to soyourne in his heart any evil thoughts/ by the which he doubted to have provoked our lord god to be wroth against him. ¶ saint anthonye said that a religious if to him were possible aught to give accounts unto his elders/ not only of all the passes that he maketh in his cell or in his monastery/ but also of all the water that he drinketh & of every time that he taketh of it for to drink/ to th'end he should make him content & certain of his living & government for to keep himself that he shall not trespass nor take away contrary to them. ¶ the abbot poemen said that the fiend in no thing taketh so great a gladness as he doth when he may over come a sinner so that he will not utter nor show his sins by confession. ¶ a y●ng religious said to an aeged father that oftentimes he questioned the old fa●ers to th'end they should tell him & also that he should serve of them some good lore & instructions for his soul to be saved but what soever they told him he could not withhold no thing. now had this old father to who●● he spoke two vessels that were empty. so commanded ●e to the young religious that he should take one of them & wash it clean with fayte water & set it again in his place which thing be made him do once & once again. ¶ then said to him the old father that he should bring him both the vessels & he died so ¶ and then he asked him which of them two was cleaner whereat the young answered that it was that self wherein he had put water with the which he had washed it. the old said there against. my son it is thus of our soul when it herkenneth often the words of god/ for how be it that it keepeth no thing of thoo words that it heareth or of those that it requireth to be told unto it for to save the soul by/ nevertheless it is more clean thereby/ than if it heard not nor asked no thing of it/ by this namely/ that thus doing she escheweth evil thoughts and overcometh the temptations of the devil. ¶ an other said also to an old father that when a religious haunted and occupieth himself to good works/ the devil coming to him for to torn him can not have no power over him because that he findeth no place for him. ¶ and by this cause he departeth and gooth away anon & leaveth the same religious in peace. ¶ to the contrary if he suffereth and applieth himself in evil works/ the devil findeth anon a place for to keep him company. ¶ and all be it that the te●hynge of god will often show him for to do good/ nevertheless withstanding his obstinate and frowardness she departeth from him syghtely and seven him/ wherefore it is of need/ but if he will be lost/ that with all his heart he turn his affection unto almighty god. ¶ and thus doing the said showing shall soon come to him again. ¶ to an other young religious that asked of an ancient holy father/ how long a monk ought to labour/ was answered by the said holy father/ unto the time that he shall possess ihesu christ/ because that he that hath him in possession/ needeth not to labour any ferther. always he suffereth his chosen for to travail and labour/ to th'end that they shall have remembrance of the labours of tribulation/ and that they by this mean keep them fro sin feering lest they should lose so great labours. we find also written/ that our lord made the sons of ysraell for to travail and go during the space of xl year through the desert/ to th'end that having mind of the tribulations that they had there/ they should have no will for to return thereat. ¶ an other brother questioned an ancient father & asked him the cause which religiouses at this time present labouring get not thereby some grace as died the aeged religiouses. ¶ to whom the old father answered/ that charity was then so great/ that everichone by virtuous works drew his neighbour on high/ but now all the world applieth them to ill/ and every one leadeth his neighbour in to hell and for this cause there nys none that getteth any grace. ¶ by an other young religious was required unto an aeged father/ that he should tell him if he wist not that the holy men had knowledge of the grace of god when it cometh to them. where at he answered/ that they know it not always. ¶ and for an open exemple of this thing he laid unto him/ that ones a disciple of an old holy father/ had· done oo sin/ for the which the said holy father moved with ire against him/ cringe sharply had said unto him go that thou mayst die. ¶ and anon this disciple fell deed to the earth. and when the said holy father see him deed he was touched with a meruayllouse dread. so set he himself to pray god by great humility saying. o ihesu christ my lord and my god. i beseech the that it will please the to raise this poor religious. and i promise the that i shall never speak such words without great consideration. and incontinent after his prayer y made his disciple waxed a live again all sound and hole. ¶ the abbot poemen said that the man which teacheth other/ and doth not as he teacheth/ he is like unto the high well which filleth with drink them that be a thirst/ or that washeth the filth away of every one/ but it can not wash himself nor purge the filths that are in itself. ¶ and moreover he said that a man which desireth to be virtuous aught to stir and teach his soul to keep and observe those things which his tongue leaveth unto other. for it is a thing moche to be blamed and worthy of great reproving to a man whom he presumeth to correct other folk of some sin or evil deed/ whereof he is himself worthy to be rebuked for it. wherefore it behoveth of necessity unto him that well will teach or edify some other/ that first he correct his own self/ ensyewing the doctrine of our sovereign master and teacher ihesu christ/ the which living virtuously as men find it written in the truth and holy scriptures/ showed first exemple of good life/ and then after he began to preach. and for this cause his predications were so agreeable to those that after the holy faith desired to live/ that they forsake all worldly things for to ensue him and live after his holy exortations which were of a great and wonderful efficacy/ principally because of the fair and right honest live that he led. ¶ an holy hermit some time go toward the holy father poemen which received him with great gladness. ¶ and after that they had embraced each other/ the hermit began to speak and to common with him of holy scriptures/ and namely of thoo things that be heavenly. ¶ and thenne the holy father poemen hearing his propositions/ and how be it that he was well settred and sore expert he turned his face toward an other brother as though he would not here the said hermit nor give to him any answer ¶ the hermit then seeing that he would not hearken at him by no wise went out of the cell of the said poemen all on angered/ and said to his disciple. i am well sorry to have for nought and without cause entreprysed the labour of so great away when he for whom i am come and that i desired so fervently for to see wylnyth not speak to me. ¶ the disciple hearing this came to the holy father poemen and said to him. ¶ haa fair father/ that worshipful hermit that now depart from afore thee/ is come hither for to see thee/ and he hath so good renommee and so great joy in his country/ and thou wilt not speak with him. ¶ then answered the holy father poemen. ¶ he of whom thou speakest will dispute of the sovereign and heavenly things. ¶ and i that am an earthly man i can with great pain speak of the things that be earthly. ¶ if he had spoken unto me of the passions of religiouses happily i would have answered him thereupon/ but if he will speak of the heavenly things i can nought answer him thereof/ for i confess myself not suffisant thereunto. ¶ thenne the disciple returning the hermit said to him. ¶ o man of god/ our father poemen will not speak to the of these high questions/ but when men speak unto him of the wretchedness and passions that must be suffered and endured in this world/ and how patiently they must be borne/ he speaketh thereof gladly. ¶ the hermit then taken with sadness by the words of the said holy father/ came to him again saying. ¶ o holy man/ counsell me what i ought to do for to withstand against my passions/ which reign over me and keep me so wonderfully subject. ¶ the holy father hearing his words and beholding upon him joyously said unto him ¶ now thou art welcome unto me/ i shall at this hour open my mouth and shall fill it with thy virtuous goods. ¶ the good hermit taking a courage to his words said unto him. ¶ in good sooth fair father poemen/ good and true is the way that thou takest. and after that they had a long wile devised together of many things profitable & necessary to the edification & health of their soul's/ the hermit yielding unto him graces and thanks/ returning unto his own region again. ¶ men find that an other aeged holy father said to his disciple. if any body speaketh to the of holy scriptures or of any other thing/ be not therefore willing to chide nor strive against him. and if he saith well/ be thou of his opinion/ & if he speaketh evil/ thou shalt tell him in this manner. ¶ my friend look well what thou sayest. ¶ and to this purpose said the postle/ be not willing for to strive by words. and in keeping thyself fro the same thou shall be verily meek/ & also thou shalt eschew the hate of other. ¶ and by the contrary/ if striving and chiding thou suffer in thine opinion & will abide by thy word/ a slander & great inconvenience shall follow thereby. ¶ also when men praise over much a body him justyfyeng there cometh often of it question and debate. and therefore my son thou ought to be certain/ that of what somever thing that thou takest noise for/ thou shalt ever have some noyous letting for it/ and never shalt thou be in peace. ¶ so ought thou thenne above all things to set thine affection & understanding to keep silence and to be still. and by this mean thou shalt have ease of some thing. ¶ and also thou must think both early & late to that thou hast to do/ & thou shalt not dread the assault or enticing of thine enemies. ¶ for as saint jerome saith/ a man that is occupieth in good work/ is only tempted of one devil/ & a man that is idle hath about him more than a thousand devils for to beguile & deceive him/ to th'end that he may be brought to damnation. ¶ and therefore it is needful to a man that will live virtuously to occupy the time holily/ other to read or to do other thing/ & when he is noyous to reading/ he aught to set himself to orison/ & from orison to return for to read again or to weed & pluck the evil herbs out of his garden. and in this doyneg he shall overcome his enemies & shall withstand all deceits & temptations of the devil. ¶ an other brother questyned once an old father asking him how long must one keep him still. and the holy father answered to him/ till the time that he be questioned or aposed/ & in all place where thou shall be/ if thou keep silence/ thou shalt be in tranquillity and peaceable rest. the abbot poemen teaching his religiouses said/ that all thus as that be wheresoever she flieth she is occupied about making of honey. in likewise a good religious where soever that he goeth if it is for to do some good work/ he shall lightly fuldoo the sweetness of good and virtuous works/ when he shall apply himself for to know the good deeds and graces of the creator as well the spiritual as though that been temporal. the holy father mutues and a religious of his own coming from a place called ragythan/ went ones in to the parties of gebolon. ¶ the bishop of that land seeing the abbot mutues and knowing his great virtues made him for to come unto him against his will ordained him to the holy ordres of priesthood. ¶ and after taking with him his refection corporal/ to him said the said bishop. ¶ holy father i pray the pardon me that i have compelled the for to take the orders of priesthood. certainly i know well that thou had not appetite nor no desire to such a worship/ but i desiring to receive thy blessing. i have presumed in myself for to constrain the to the same orders. ¶ to whom this holy father with great humility answered/ that his courage desired it not/ but he was somewhat careful of that he must be departed from his brother that was with him which was no priest/ and himself alone could not accomplish his orisons. ¶ thereto answered the bishop and said/ that if he wist his fellow worthy to be made a priest/ he should ordain him to the holy ordres of priesthood. ¶ the said holy father answered. if he be worthy that can i not tell certainly/ but this i wot well/ that he is better and more suffisant than i am. in effect the bishop consecrated him to be a priest. ¶ and in this estate they dwelled together all their life/ but nevertheless they presumed never for to apply themself to the altar for to consecrate nor sing mass. ¶ and the said holy father said. i trust in my god my maker/ and of this i call him to a witness/ that i bylyve me not worthy to be a priest nor to consecrated him. for this thing appertaineth to be done only by them that be just/ pure/ and ' clean without greyt or infirmity of sin. ¶ and i know and perceive well that i am not such/ wherefore if it pleaseth his divine bounty/ he shall have me for excused. ¶ a religious required humbly saint macharye that he would give and grant him some good instruction/ by which he might get his salvation. ¶ to whom he answered. it is necessary to the religious which desireth to be saved to flee the company of men and to keep himself within his cell there for to weep over his sins continually/ and with this he must be garnished with a virtue which is above all other that is to wite/ to refrain his tongue and his belly. the abbot arsenyen dwelling in the palace of th'emperor/ he being yet a secular/ prayed our lord god saying. sire god creator & redeemer of the world please that to show to me a way by the which i may be saved. and he heard a voice that said to him in this manner. arseny flee the company of men/ & thou shall come to that the thou desirest & requirest. ¶ so forsook he all worldly things/ & went to dwell in a solitary place/ where daily he made to god a like prayer. and he heard again a voice that said to him. gluttony flee/ speak not/ rest thyself/ & in this doing thou shall have the principles & beginnings for to come to the way of salvation. ¶ within a certain time after came unto him a bishop named theophyle desiring to see him/ & to here of him some good word edyfycatyve to whom & to all them that were with him/ the holy father sdyd. if i tell or teach you any thing that be to your profit/ shall you keep it. certainly ye said they together. ¶ then said he speaking of him self. i require you humbly that in what soever place where ye shall know or here say that arsenyen is/ ye shall not come nor find yourself there in no wise. ¶ after this the said bishop would come there again/ so sent he first toward him for to wite if he would open to him his door and he sent him word again/ if he came alone he should give unto him opening/ but & he came acompanyed with many folk/ he should not find him in his cell. for certainly he should depart and should dwell there no more. ¶ the which thing i herd and understand by the said bishop/ he differed his parting/ fearing that if he should have gone there/ he should have be cause to make him forsake the place of his hermitage. another time he found himself with some of his brethren in a place where grew moche read/ which by force of wind moved sore here and there beating each other so that they made great noise. ¶ so demanded he to his brethren whereof grew that noise that he heard in that place. the which answered and said/ that it was the wind that made thus the reed to beat the one against the other. ¶ then he said unto them. now my brethren consider how moche hard athing it is to live in peace and tranquillity in this world. if ye were in a place where ye should here all only a bird sing/ ye should not have your courages nor entendementes with rest/ how should you have them then peaceable among the noise and tempest of this red seen the great and wonderful noise that they make because of the wind that maketh them this to smite each other. and some said that the cell or dwelling of this foresaid holy father arsenyen stood xxx mile fro the place where the said reed were. ¶ from which dwelling he went but little out/ but by some religiouses were administered unto him his needs and necessities. ¶ moreover it is found written of him that when the place in sychye where in the holy faders died dwell was them left/ and he himself coming out of the same he began to weep saying that the world had lost rome/ and the religious hermits sychye. ¶ some brethren going out of alexandria in to the parties of thebaid for to buy there some flax/ because that the holy father arsenyen dwelled that time in the said parties of thebaid/ concluded together/ sith that they had occasion to go nigh the place where he dwelled/ that they should go see and visit him. and they died so. ¶ and after that his disciple had told him that they were come toward him/ he charged him that he should ask them the cause and occasion wherefore they came there. ¶ so brought he unto him word again that the cause and occasion of their coming was such as above is said. ¶ the good holy father arsenyen hearing this answer/ said in this manner. ¶ certainly sith that they be not come here for me/ but only for their own affairs. i will not that they see me. ¶ and therefore thou shall go to receive them and shall serve them as well as thou mayst ¶ and this done and accomplished/ thou shalt take leave of them saying thus unto them/ that i should not go to them for because of my great weakness and feebleness. ¶ an other brother desiring for to see the said holy father arsenyen transported himself unto his cell & knocked at the door for to have gone in. ¶ the holy father made him openyng weening to him that it had be his disciple/ but all incontinent that he saw it was not he/ he casted himself done to the earth/ the which thing seeing the religious he was sore abashed/ & prayed him humbly that he would arise/ which he would not/ but said/ that he should not arise till that the said religious were gone again fro thence/ the which nevertheless prayed and required him many times that he would arise/ but he would never grant nor consent thereto unto the time that he were departed and gone. ¶ sometime the devils of hell came to him and made him endure many tribulations and adversities within his cell ¶ and upon a time among other the brethren that were wont to bring him such things as he had need of came there and heard this holy father that cried and said to our lord. alas my god my father creator and redeemer leave me not. and where it is so that i have not yet done any good that be worthy to be presented afore the. i beseech the humbly as much as i can/ that after thy great mercy and benignity/ it will please the at the lest to grant unto me that i may undertake the beginnings of good living. ¶ the said holy father arsenyen questioned and asked once a simple brother of the land of egypte/ asking of him how he feeled himself in his cogitations and thoughts. the which thing seeing a brother that was of understanding more ready than was the other said thus to him. fair father i marvel me of thyself that art so expert not only in greek tongue/ but also in latin tongue/ how thou aposest & questioned this brother rustic in asking of his thoughts & cogitations/ whereat he answered. i know well that i have studied and learned suffysauntely as to the world both the latin tongue and the greek/ but yet have i not con take nor learn the abc of this rustic. ¶ some old holy faders told that ones some persons gave and sent unto the brothern hermits of sychye a quantity of dates. and because there was but a few/ they died not send none of them to the father arsenyen/ doubting that he should take it an wrong or a mock to have sent him so little a gift. ¶ and when he was showed hereof/ he would not go out of his cell for to go to the dole with the other brethren as it was accustomed to be do/ but said to them. ye have excomunycated me my brothern/ to th'end that ye should not give me the charity that god hath sent unto you/ of the which i have not be worthy to have had my part. ¶ they all then understanding these words were wonderfully edified of his humility. so sent they unto him by one of them which was a priest his part of the said dates/ & brought him with him joyful in the company of the other for to take up the said dole. ¶ and some said that he was so secret in his deeds and operations/ that men could never perceive ne know the manner of the conversation of his life. ¶ he dwelling in the parties of egypte because he suffered & bore there grievously the needs of the folk that toward him came for to visit & see him/ he purposed for to give up & leave his cell or little house without to bear away with him any thing that was in it. ¶ and thus came he to his disciples whereof one was named paranytas/ the other alexander & the third zoyle. so said this holy father arsenyen to alexander. arise alexander & dispose thyself for to row. ¶ to zoyle he said/ come with me unto the flood & seek a boat for me to go in to alexandria & take also an ore with thy brother to row over. zoyle was wroth of these words & held his peace. and thus were they departed one from the other. always he went all alone unto about the parties of alexandria where he lay sick of a gryvous sickness. and his disciples that he had thus left complained together & said the one to the other. ¶ hath not one of us made our old father arseny angry/ the which for this cause should be thus departed & separed from us. and in speaking & devising together they could not know nor imagine the cause of his anger nor of his heaviness/ neither also that ever they had be to him dysobeyssaunt in any thing. ¶ after that the holy father arsenyen was heeled of his sickness/ he thought in himself that he should go visit & see his brethren the which he had left. ¶ and after rowing to & fro he came to a place the called was the stone where were the said ministers and as he walked a long the said stream there came night to him a maid of egypt that plucked out her small paps/ whereof the holy father as ill apaid for it began to rebuke her sharply. whereat she answered unto him that if he were a monk that he should go to the mountain. ¶ the holy father feeling himself stinged and pricked in his courage of the words of the said daughter/ died note and took good heed to the same words saying in himself. if thou be a monk/ go to the mountain. ¶ and he being in this compunction/ his two disciples alexandre & zoyle came toward him/ which in continent casted themself tofore his feet/ & he in likewise before them died put himself done to the earth/ & began to weep all three together. ¶ the holy father said sin to them/ have not ye heard tell that i was sick/ the which answered ye. ¶ and why said he are you not come to see me. ¶ whereat alexander answered/ because that thy departing from us had not be unto us agreeable. for many one by reason of the same have be evil pleased with us/ saying that if we had not be dysobeyssaunt unto thee/ thou shouldest never have departed thyself from with us. ¶ then said the holy father arsenyen to them. i have well known that this should be said. but yet again men shall say truly that the dove which could not fond where upon to rest her feet/ returned again toward no being within his arch. the which words heard of his disciples/ they were well content with it & peased their courages. and dwelled ever after with him unto the last time of their lives. ¶ the holy father besaryon & a disciple of his walking in the deserts/ came of adventure upon a deep pit in which they entered & they found there a brother sitting & working about the making of a cord. the which like as he had be both dumb & blind neither spoke nor looked not upon them. ¶ this considering the holy father besaryon/ said to his disciple/ let us go hens/ for this old father will not speak with us. so went they their way & went toward the abbot johan. and soon after returning to the said pit/ the said holy father besaryon said. let us go there in on●s again for to speak with that brother so shall we now wite if god had kept him that he spoke not to us. ¶ and incontinent that they were entered within the said place/ they found nothing therein but only a deed body. then calling upon his disciple/ he said in this manner. ¶ come hither my brother/ let us dress this corpse/ for god hath sent us here therefore. and where they busied them for to have put a winding sheet about him/ they found that it was a woman/ whereof they marveled greatly & said. ¶ here is a thing marvelous to see how the women fought against the devils & overcome them. ¶ and after that they had buried her they went away & praised the name of god pretoctour and defender of all things. ¶ saint mecharye told once to his religiouses/ that toward him were come two brethren the one was old & the other very young/ the which having of him no knowledge/ but only by ●enōme/ they had questioned him/ asking of him where was the cell of the abbot macharye. ¶ and he inquiring of them why they asked after it/ they answered that they having knowledge of his virtuous works & holy life desired sovereignly to see him. ¶ and where the said saint macharye confessed that he was the man that they sought they incontinent fallygh afore his feet requiring & besought him that he would suffer them to inhabit with him/ but he seeing & judging by considering of their gifts & habylymentes/ that by abundance of richesses/ they were wanton & delicate/ he answered that they might not abide with him. the which answer i heard/ they said to him that if they might not dwell with him always they had purposed to seek for their residence some other solitary place ¶ the holy father hearing their words/ thought in himself/ that if he departed or shoved them back again from him/ he might have be slandered thereby. and considering the great labour that they had take for to come to him/ he thought that he should give them no cause in this behalf to noise against him. so said he to them. ¶ come on my children/ & if ye may/ make & build here your cells & habitations. ¶ they much joyous of this answer/ required him/ that he would assign them the place where his pleasure was that they should make their lodging/ & he took unto them a tub an a●e & a sack full of breed with a little salt/ & this done he brought them upon a roche of hard stone saying to them that they should dig therein for to make there their habitation & little houses/ which they should cover with clay/ always the intention of saint macharye was such/ that they should be weary for to be busy about that work & that they for great weariness should leave it & go away. but they that had purposed to abide there/ asked of him what occupation the other brethren had of custom to do there. and he answered that they made cords. and sin pared to them both palms & leaves & of the pylles thereof/ he showed and taught to them the manner for to make & weave cords/ & also for to make baskets and mands/ the which maundes he warned them to give unto the servants for to receive breed therein. and thus he left them & went his way. and they after this with a great patience died that the said saint macharye commanded them/ and kept themself within their cells & habitations/ and went not toward him during the time of three year. but because that many religiouses of far regions came toward saint macharye foresaid/ he marveled by how these two brethren kept them so long together that they came not toward him/ seeing namely that after that he had left them in that place he was not gone to them/ & had not seen them but in the church perceiving with silence the holy sacrament of the altar as the other died. desiring then to know the troth of their conversation/ he set himself for to fast an hole week/ praying our lord that his pleasure were to show unto him their deeds and after he went toward them & incontinent that they had made him opening they cast themself done at his feet & worshipped him in silence full heartily. after they set them all three to orison as it was of custom/ & after their prayers y made/ saint macharye set him done. then the old made a token to the young that had set him done their & without any speaking made cords/ that he should go out/ & he died so/ and about the hour of none he came again. and the eldest made to him an other token as before the which i perceived departed and went out yet again and made ready such victual as they had for their refection the which was of three small loves that were baken between ashes which he brought upon the table and set himself done again there making with the other brother his work ever still without any speaking. ¶ so called them saint macharye unto him saying to them. arise and come eat. and they died so. and this saint macharye drank water out of a little vessel where out they were accustomed to drink out. the table voided and the even coming to hand/ they asked him if he would go his way. whereat he answered/ that he would rest there/ wherefore in a corner of their cell or habitation they made lightly ready a mat. and they as willing for to take their night rest in an other corn●● they died cast there their girdles a●● vestiments. and as the two brethren disposed themself for to sleep/ the holy man macharye put himself again to pray god that he would show him their works/ & suddenly the coverture of their cell opened and appeared therein a light full bright that lightened all the place as it had be fair none days/ the which light nevertheless they perceived not but anon after weening that the holy father had be a sleep/ they rose & blessed themself & after set himself to orison heaving their hands toward heaven. and in this doing the said holy father macharye beheld well their contenaunces/ so covertly that they could not perceive it. he thenne beholding them saw incontinent come a multitude of devils in likeness of flies that would tarry & set themself upon the eyen & upon the face of the young brother/ but they durst not go nigh the old. ¶ and anon came there the angel of god armed with a glavye brenning as a brounde of fire/ the which come about this young religious/ made them so wonderfully afraid that he threw them all out. and when the morning came toward/ they laid themself done again upon the earth for to rest them ¶ and then saint macharye as suddenly awaked rose up/ & in likewise died the two other brethren. ¶ and the old asked him if he would that they should sing twelve psalms/ to that which thing consenting the holy father/ the young brother sang five psalms with six verses & one alleluya. and atte every verse came out of his mouth a bronde of fire that ascended unto heaven. and in likewise out of the mouth of the old/ even as he moved his lips for to sing psalms there came as a little cord inflamed the wretched unto heaven. ¶ moreover after that the holy father had sungen a little taking his leave of them/ he required them instantly that they would pray god for him but without in any wise to speak they casted themself tofore his feet. ¶ all the which things rehearsed this holy saint macharye/ the which also said that he had known/ that the oldest was perfit in the dread of god/ & the young to be yet tempted & befought of the devils. and with this said he/ this oldest brother within a little time after to have be deceased & taken from this world in to paradise/ & that other in like wise to have followed him thereunto three days after. ¶ the abbot moses said to his brethren admonnesting them that a religious ought principally & sovereignly to keep & observe four things. the first is that he must keep his tongue. the second he must keep the commandments of god the three he must meek himself. and the iiij. he must steadfastly & perseverauntly the sharpness of poverty. and with this it is of necessity to a monk that ever he must weep/ having continual remembrance of his sins and that at all hours he have death before his eyen. ¶ many holy faders gathered together prophesied once of the last generation/ among the which one named isquyrien that was principal & the first among them said. we fulfil yet the commandments of god. the other hearing his words asked him. they that shall come after us/ what shall they do whereat he answered/ they shall fulfil haply the half thereof/ & so shall they require the god everlasting/ soon after they axed him/ & after the same/ the other that shall come after them what shall they do. he answered yet again. the men of the self generation shall not do no works of the commandments of god/ but shall forget them. and then shall overflow all wickedness/ & charity shall be cold/ & upon them shall come grievous temptations. ¶ but they that shall be approved in the same & founden steadfast & constant/ shallbe taken for better men than we and our faders have be/ and also more approved in all their works. ¶ a religious desiring for to dwell in the company of other religiouses requiring unto the holy father agathon that he would teach him how he should behave himself among them to which the holy father answered/ that he should keep above all things that even such as he should show himself at his entering with them/ he should ever show him that self man/ abiding in all humility unto his last days. ¶ some time the maziniens made war against them of sychye/ & they coming in that land/ slew many of the faders that were there. so departed there is for this cause the abbot poemen the abbot nub & five other aeged the which came to a place called therenetude/ where they found a temple old & broken wherein they dwelled by seven days & till that they knew where either of them should dwell in egypt. the abbot nub that was most old of them all said to them/ that him seemed to be good/ that they should dwell ●o week every man by himself alone without to speak the one to the other/ & they died so. and it happened this hanging that the abbot nub saw within the said temple the stature of an idol/ & every morning the said abbot nub rose & casted stones atte it/ & sin at even he required her pardon/ the which thing he continued all the same week. and when the saturday came that made an end of that week/ these holy faders coming again together/ the abbot poemen demanded of the abbot nub why he had all that week beaten thus that self ydole/ saying to him/ that he marveled moche/ how he that was a discrete man & full of very faith had done so & namely of that he asked her pardon after that he had beaten her/ whereat the holy father nub answered that he had done that for the edification of himself & of them all/ saying thus. have ye not seen how this idol when i have beaten her she hath not grudged nor said nothing there against/ & in no wise she hath not angered herself. and again when i have besought her pardon/ she hath not exalted or praised herself for it. certainly it is truth said the abbot poemen. ¶ now my brethren said the abbot nub i shall tell you/ it semet me that we seven if we dwelled together/ we should do much more fruit/ than if we were parted the one fro the other/ but it is needful that this idol be set tofore our eyen for an exemple/ in such wise/ that if the one of us is in any wise wronged/ he might not be angry for it/ & also if men ask him pardon that he booste nor praise himself thereof. and if ye will not do so. i say after mine advise that it is best that every of us go dwell by himself alone where he shall seem him most good. ¶ the other hearing his words laid themself done to the earth afore him & promised that they should do so. and by this means they dwelled together by many years in great humility & patience. ¶ they took their rest during four hours only. by other four hours they song psalms/ & during other four hours they laboured/ & after unto none time they gathered & pared palms & leaves/ & this done they gathered some herbs and made them ready for their meet to live there upon. ¶ men find also that seven other hermits right approved men dwelled sometime in an hermitage nigh the marches of the sarrasyns/ & had their cells & habitations set not one far fro the other/ but also they were wonderfully joined & knit together by the bound of charity. the one of them was called peter that other stephen/ the iij johan/ & the four george/ the fifth theodore/ the vi felix/ & the vij laurence. this hermits thenne dwelling in a place wild & barren/ & as inhabitable to men/ had of custom that they cō●noued together ones in a wyke for to see each other. and for to do this upon the saturday ever about the hour of none either of them departed out of his own place for to come unto the place common where they should find each other/ & every man brought there with him of such as he had/ the one brought some nuts/ the other some letues/ an other some figs/ & the other brought other fruits and herbs covenable for their living/ & commonly & principally they each none other thing. and as for breed oil & drink if they had at some season any/ that was over & above their customable pittance/ for they sustained their own bodies only of the fruits & herbs above said. and in that place where they were was found no water & they drank none other thing but of the dew that fell down from the heavens which in great abundance fell upon the herbs. the which dew the holy hermits going in the morning through the wood took it up & drank it. ¶ and as to the regard of their vesture/ their clothes were made of levys & palms together weved. and when they died find themself at place where they should common together every saturday as before is said/ they all took there their repast whereof they gave graces & thanks unto our lord god. this done/ unto the hour of evynsonge time they talked & devised together of holy scriptures without to speak of any fables or vain words neither of the cure of business of the world/ nor of the shewynges or deeds of the earthly things/ but busily they spoke & talked of the right desyrable royalme of paradise/ of the bliss that is to come/ & of the unspeakable glory of the just/ of the horrible pains which is ordained for sinners/ & of the rest of the glorious saints which all ready rejoice themself in the blessed setes of heaven & and remembering these things in their minds/ they gave great sobbings out of their herter/ & wept with great plentevousnesse of tears. and after this that during all the night they had song devout songs unto our lord/ the sondaye following about the hour of none they set their devices & talkings at an end for all that wyke that was next coming/ & everich of them went again in to his own cell or little house where they being alone were ocupyde both day & night to the service of god. ¶ they then in this manner of living setting their courages & affections/ the sarrasyns in great multitude ran over the desert & found them there & hunted them out/ & yet not content with this they hang them by the feet doing to them great wrongs & shameful dyspytes. ¶ and finably they being thus hanged/ the sarrasyns made a fire of herbs green & bitter under them/ whereof they were so cruelly tormented/ that of the bitterness of the smoke/ they lost the light of their eyen and after that in this manner & other moche cruel/ they had thus scourged & tormented them/ they forsook & left them as half deed. ¶ the abbot poemen was questioned by a religious asking him what be tokenen the words that our lord saith in the gospel which are such. ¶ no greater love can have no man/ than he alone that lieth his soul for his friend. ¶ how said the brother may this thing be done. ¶ to the which asking the said holy father poemen answered. if any man is wronged of his neighbour to whom he may answer in likewise ill again and yet he doth not so/ but where he is moved of courage to do so/ he fighteth against himself refraining his anger in such wise that he doth to him neither gryffe nor harm be that so doth leyth his soul for his friend. ¶ the abbot moses said. if the works of a man be not according to his orisons/ he travaileth himself for nought & in vain. ¶ and when some man prayeth for himself to th'intent that his sins be pardonned unto him he ought to keep him well that he fall not to them again. ¶ moreover when any man purposed in himself never to fall in to sin again/ & that in this will & purpose he abideth/ that same man receiveth god readily with great joy. ¶ a brother required an old father asking him/ what a man ought for to do that he may withstand the temptations that shall come to him/ & wicked thoughts that the devil his foo doth present unto him. ¶ whereat the holy father answered to him/ that he that will withstand steadfastly the said temptations and wicked thoughts/ aught to complain himself unto the goodness of god/ to th'end that in socouryng him it will help him to preserve him from the dangers of the fiend. for it is written/ sith that my god is my helper. i shall dispraise mine enemies. ¶ an other old father said that like as the flies fear to come nigh to the pot when it is chaffed & seething/ but & it be but lukewarm they set themself thereupon & breed worms thereon. in likewise the devils flee the religious when he is beclipped & taken of the love of god/ but & he be slow/ that is to say/ if he love not god with all his heart & hole affection/ they pursyewe & deceive him by their damnable & subtle temptations. ¶ the abbot syluayn sitting once with his brethren in a cave where he held himself was suddenly ravished from his spirit/ & in this ravishment he was constrained to fall done to the earth. ¶ and after long space of time relieving himself out of the same ravishing/ he full sore began to weep. ¶ his brethren questioned him & asked what him ailed/ but ever he wept still without to answer them any thing/ wherefore the said brethren prayed him so busily that he would speak/ so that by continuing of prayers he was constrained to do so. and said unto them/ that he being thus ravished & his body a ground his ghost was brought to the judgement of almighty god/ where he had seen many religiouses bearing their habit/ to have be condemned & cast in to diverse torments. and a great number of secular men to have be set & stablished in to the royalme of paradise. ¶ and this words said/ he took himself to weep again/ thinking that from the hour forth on he should not go out of his cell/ the which purpose he enforced himself a long while to keep & observe/ for he went never out/ but if he were compelled by pricking of necessity thereunto & yet when he went out of it/ he covered his face with a hood saying/ that it was no need to a religious for to see the light temporal/ in which was nothing utile or profitable. ¶ an other religious exhorting his brother/ said unto him. my brother thou ought to think every day that death is nigh/ & like as thou were all ready enclosed within thy grave/ thou ought not to have any cure or business of the things temporal/ but thou aught in thyself to be ●esy & curious to keep the dread of god/ that it departed not out of thy heart. ¶ moreover thou ought to believe that in virtues or works virtuous thou art the lest of all the other men/ & thou ought not to backbite/ nor blame any man/ for our lord knoweth all things/ & be peaceable in all thy deeds & our lord shall give the rest. ¶ some religiouses required saint macharye that it would please him for to teach them how they should pray god. to whom meekly he answered. my brethren wit it that overmuch of words is not necessary for this to do. but ye ought by fervent devotion to have your hands toward heaven & say lord god almighty/ as thou will/ & as it pleaseth to thy godhead so be it. and if any temptation or deceit assaileth you/ ye aught to say. lord god right pitiful & meek/ please the to help us for thou knowest this that to us is needful/ dispose with us to thy pleasure after thy great mercy. ¶ the abbot johan said that the monk or religious aught to be like unto a man sitting under a great tree/ that which looking upon horrible serpents & other diverse beasts cruel coming fearfully to him for to grieve & hurt him/ and where he can not withstand against them he gooth anon upon the tree/ & thus doing he is preserved & saved from them likewise the religious aught to set him within his cell and if he seeth that he can not withstand against his temptations/ deceits and wicked thoughts/ that the devil his great adversary bringeth forth tofore him/ he aught incontinent by devout orison to turn himself and run again unto our lord/ to whom all things been possible/ & he shall be saved. ¶ he said moreover/ that the good religious aught to be like a man having the fire at the lift side of him/ & the water at his right side the which when the fire taketh him with a flame/ he taketh anon of the water that is nigh & putteth out the fire therewith. ¶ in likewise it is necessary that the religious do the same at all times/ that is to wit when any evil thoughts shall be kindled within him by the devil/ he must thenne spring & cast water over them for to put out them withal. by which water be understand devout & continual orisons that he ought to make unto our lord. the which shall slay & put out this wicked thoughts. ¶ the abbot zenon being in the deserts of sychye/ go on a night out of his cell & took himself for to walk through the wood so continuing three days & three nights in such wise that he fell down to the earth as half deed for great weariness. and thenne appeared unto him a child which had some breed in his hand/ & said to him zenon arise & eat. anon he rose upon his feet again & nevertheless he would not eat but set himself to pray god for he doubted lest this appearing had be some wicked fantasy. ¶ so said to him again the child/ thou hast done well to pray god now arise & eat/ to whom the holy father would not consenttyll that he should have prayed god the second time & the third also. and where the child praised of that he prayed god so continually/ he then made an end of his orison/ and stood up & eat. and this done the child said unto him thou hast walked so long that thou art gone all ready far from thy cell/ but come & follow me. and the holy father died so/ & suddenly he found himself before his little house where he was parted fro. ¶ then said the child to the holy man that he should enter his cell for to pray god therein. and after these words said/ the good hermit entered in to his cell/ & the child vanished away. ¶ the abbot danyell said of saint gluttony that every satyrdaye/ he was so continual in his orisons that he cess not to pray till that he saw the son turned behind his back/ & yet abode thereat/ heving up his hands to heaven till that the mornyg was come again and that the son rising smote his eye sight with his beams. and yet he passed the other night waking/ but toward the morning/ when for to satisfy the freeltee of his kind/ he was constrained for to sleep a little/ he called upon sleep & said/ comhether evil servant. and thus shetting his eyen/ he took all sitting a little rest/ & anon after he rose again. ¶ the abbot lucius being within a great pit & deep/ where he held himself contemplatyvely/ came there once unto him certain hermits or religiouses that made themself to be called the bedemans'. to whom by the said holy father lucius was axed to what hand works they where wont for to occupy themself. whereat they answered/ that they died no manner of temporal work. but following the doctrine of saint paul without intermission or letting they prayed god then he asked them again if they eat not. and they answered yes. yet he asked them/ if they slept not/ & likewise they said ye. and i ask you then said the holy father abbot/ when ye eat/ or sleep/ who prayeth god for you. to that which question they wist not what they should answer. then he said to them. my brethren pardon me. i see well by your answers/ that ye do not as ye tell me/ saying that ye pray go● without letting/ but i will show unto you/ that in labouring & working with mine hands. i pray god continually/ when by the aid of god i will take me to work. i do set me done/ & by me i do lay a quantity of small palms of the which i pare of the pylles & thereof i make mats/ & while i am busy about the same i pray saying to god in this wise. sire have mercy of me after thy great mercy and after the multitude of thy great mercies forgive mine wickedness. i ask you/ if this to be said/ is prayer or no. and they answered that it was a true prayer. and sith again the holy father lucius said unto them/ when i labour thus through out the day/ & in labouring i pray god. i get with my labour twelve or xu small pennies/ sometime more/ & another time less/ whereof i put at door of my cell two pennies for some poor body that happeth to come forby first/ & with the remnant i do buy this that is unto me needful for my living. and my trust is/ that he that taketh my said almose prayeth god for me when i eat or also when i sleep/ or at lest by so much space of time as i put in my repast taking or in sleeping/ & by all thus the grace of god helping. i trust god i do that which holy scripture exhorteth saying. pray without ceasing. ¶ the abbot macharye upon a time among other bearing maundes of his making to a mart for to be sold/ found himself so sore weary because of the long way/ that he was constrained to sit done upon the earth for to rest himself saying/ my god thou knowest that i may no more go. and incontinent he found himself by a river which he must pass over/ which was yet sore far from that place where he had set him self done afore when he made his complaint. ¶ the abbot ammon departing from his cell for to go fet water at a well/ he found in his way a great serpent basylyque/ & seeing that he could not eschew/ but that the say serpent should bring him to death/ if he were not keeped there from of the grace of god/ died set himself done afore the serpent foresaid saying to our lord in this wise. my god i know that i must die or else this best. and these words said/ this basylyke by that might of god died suddenly all tere in pieces. ¶ the abbot besaryon and a disciple of his own walking together along the shores of the see/ the said disciple was sore grieved with great thirst because of the great he●e that was that day there. so was he constrained to tell unto his father in god besaryon that his great thirst tormented him right sore. the which thing hearing the holy father/ his orison unto god readily y made/ commanded him to take of the water of the see for his drink. and where he had drunken of it/ he found it very sweet and good so filled he with it a boteyll that he bore with him. ¶ the holy father besaryon seeing this said unto him/ why haste thou filled thy boteylle with the same water. the disciple fearing the holy father answered helas father i require the of pardon i have be so sore pained with thirst/ that i fear me to fall thereat yet again. ¶ to whom the said holy father said. my son god pardon the the same/ thou aught to wite that god is every where/ and he may give & grant the water good and sweet in what soever place that he will/ so that thou have a very love and affection toward him & toward thine even christian with very faith and good hope in keeping his commandments. ¶ an old father rehearsed of a young man the which having a will for to be a man of religion/ was of his mother sore letted therefrom/ but nevertheless she could not do so much there against that she might turn him from his good purpose saying that he would save his soul/ whereby finably she consented thereunto ¶ and after that he was received in religion/ he passed therein a part of his youth in great negligence of his soul. it happened then that his mother died/ and anon after her disease he fell sick with a grievous sickness/ during the which his ghost was ravished and borne out of his body for to be presented afore the judgement of god/ there to receive the punishment of his misdeeds/ but in this ravishing/ he saw his mother that was in great sorrow and torments with those that were there condemned. she seeing there her son was wonderfully abashed/ and said unto him. ha my son and what is this/ art thou here condemned for to suffer everlasting torments. alas where been the fair words/ that thou saidest/ when thou wouldest against my good will enter in to religion/ saying that in this manner thou would do the salvation of thy soul. hearing the which words and seeing the grievous torments that his mother suffered/ he found himself so overcome & so abashed that he wist not what he should answer. ¶ and after this by him seen & heard his ghost came in to his body again/ and as by the will of god it was suffered/ he returned from his sickness unto good health again. so thought he in himself that this vision was to him by god & his mercy done/ and for this cause he sh●tt himself within his cell/ thinking to enforce himself there to his souls salvation/ which for to get/ he made there great & sharp penances for his sins and neclygences passed. and in effect he was so much bowed to wery● and travail his body there by pains and afflictions/ that many one required him that he should not take so moche upon him. and namely because that ever without seassing he wept & sighed/ prayed him that he should sometime abstain himself from weeping to th'end that he should not lose his sight by it/ or that he should run in to some other inconveniences. but nevertheless he would not be comforted/ saying that sith he might not sustain no● endure the rebukes of his mother that he had seen in these wretched and horrible torments/ with more great hardness & pain he should abide or endure the wrath of god & of his saints atte the day of his great judgement. ¶ a religious was in egypte moche solytarye/ & that among the other because of his great humility/ was sore famed. he had a sister that lived wanton among men/ the which was cause of the damnation & loss of many one. so was this religious oftentimes required & pursyewed of diverse good men/ that he should go toward her in the city where she kept herself to th'end that by means of his admonitions he might do so moche that she would forbear & withdraw her from such damnable wantonness. and where he came to the place openly where she held herself/ a man of her knowledge went hastily toward her & said. here is thy brother that cometh toward the she moved with great gladness/ leueyng her lovers which she would fain have pleased/ with her heed all bare went out of her lodges for to run against her brother/ where then she enforced herself for to have taken him in her arms & kiss him/ he said unto her. alas my sister & my right dear friend. i pray the that thou will have pity upon thy soul in considering the great paryll in which thou livest where so many a wretched man through the occasion of the is perished/ whereof atte the last thou shalt & must suffer infinite pains for it and torments intolerable. ¶ she hearing the words of her brother/ and shaking horribly/ thinking upon the same/ began for to say unto him. alas my brother/ thinkest thou that after so many evils which i have done. i might yet come for to get my soul's salvation/ whereat he answered. i ensure the my friend/ if thou will do thy devoir/ that lightly thou shalt be saved. ¶ then she casting herself atte her brother's feet required him right busily that he would led her with him there as she might do penance. and then he answered unto her. my sister i will well/ but go first and cover thy heed/ and then come after and follow me. to whom she said again. go we my brother go we. it is better for me to walk and go among the men bare heed and all dyfformate/ than for to return to the sins abominable whereat i have tysed them/ ¶ and as they set themself for to walk together/ her brother excited and warned her for to do penance. and seeing that some folk met them by the way/ he said to her my friend because that every man knoweth not that thou art my sister/ and to th'end that we give none occasion to folk that go by to think or say ill/ me seemeth to be necessary that thou set thyself a little out of the way till that they be passed/ and then i shall call the again to me. the which thing she granted him with a good will. and anon after when him thought that they should not meet no more any folk/ he called her to him again saying. my sister let us go our way. and after that he had called her two or three times & she answered him not/ he went there as she was behind an hedge & found her deed/ & found also the train of her passes where she had tredde all full of blood because that she had put of both her hosies & shone. and where as her brother had showed this thing unto some of his brethren religiouses/ they had among them great doubt of her salvation/ but our lord showed unto one of them/ that because that in walking she had forsaken the fleshly desires & worldly pleasures/ & by marvelous contrition had set herself for to weep & to complain upon the gryf●es of her sins. for this cause he had received agreeably her devout penance. ¶ saint athanasye obtaining the archebysshopryche of alexandria and dwelling there/ many heretics enforced themselves for to bespotte with their errors the holy faith of christendom. and atte this cause for to have destroyed the said errors/ he made saint anthonye to come in the city/ which being there/ a old blind man named dydymus came toward him which was well lettered & wonderfully taught in holy write. in speaking and disputing of which saint anthonye marveled moche of the great engine & understanding that this blind man had them. and giving a laud to the highness of his courage/ asking him if he was not heavy & sorry that he had lost his bodily eyen. ¶ and where the same dydymus shamefast & disposed with it died not answer nothing to his asking ¶ saint anthonye the second time and also the third time questioned him as afore/ but he answered him no more than he had done at the first time/ whereby he gave to know unto saint anthonye the heaviness that he bore in his courage to have lost the bodily light. ¶ then saint anthonye this knowing said in this manner. i marvel me how a man prudente & sage may be sorry of the damage & loss of that thing which the pyssemyers the bees & the flies have where as they should be glad of that thing which the postles & other saints have deserved to have. verily it is a better thing & more great to see with the spiritual eyen/ than with the bodily eyen/ & to possess rather such eyen/ by the which a sin as little as for to take up a straw can not be done/ than the eyen that by one only look of concupisbence may make a man to fall in to the grynnes of death with torment everlasting. ¶ a religious dwelling in the deserts of nytry which was more sparing than a covetous man/ not taking heed that our lord was sold for xxx pennies/ left behind him when he was deed a hundred shilling which he had spared with weaving of clothes. the religiouses his neighbours that dwelled in the same deserts as two or thremyle one from an other/ had together counsel/ what they ought for to do with this hundred shilling. some of them said that men ought to deal it to the poor folk for god's sake/ some said that it should be given to the church/ and some said that they ought to send it to the parents of the foresaid religious that was deed. ¶ but saint macharye/ the holy father pambo/ saint ysodore and some other holy faders being at the same counsel and speaking out of the mouth of the holy ghost discerned & concluded that it should be buried with their master that had spared them/ saying. thy money be with the to thy loss and destruction. and to th'end that this thing be not thought cruelly done. it is to be noted/ that by this was moved such a fear and so great a dread among all the monks and religiouses of the land of egypte/ that every of them thought a right great and abominable sin in a man to leave only oo shilling after his death. ¶ a young strypling borne of grece became a religious in the deserts of egypt. and how well that he was sore abstynente and made lean his body with painful fastings/ great labours and long watchings/ nevertheless he could not put out in him the motions of fleshly concupisbence. and where this thing was showed unto the father abbot of his monastery/ he found the manner for to preserve him therefrom by such a mean. he commanded to a great man much huge and sore hard/ that he should go chide fiercely/ and say many great wrongs to the said religious/ and that yet after great shame said and done to him/ he should not give him leave to 'scuse himself/ but should ever continue his blames and complaints against him/ the which thing this man incontinent fulfilled. and for to move and trouble more the said young religious/ all be it that he was not guilty of the shames that he said by him/ he called some persons for to be present when he spoke unto him such shames/ the which as they had be learned afore held with the sklaunderar and bare out his deed to the blame of the poor religious & innocent. where by he considering the great outrage and shame of the wrongs that him were laid upon against all truth/ took himself for to weep and sigh so sore that it was great wonder. and continued his tears a long space of time as he that was replenished other fulfilled with moche great heaviness and put from all aid and succour and other comfort as to him seemed. but that he returned to god his creator and redeemer/ unto whom dying flat and casting himself to the earth/ he made right sorrowful and bitter complaints of the great wrongs injuries and rebukes which wrongfully and without a cause had be put upon him. and he continued this life well an hole year the which ended and acomplysshed/ this young man was questioned and asked/ how he bore himself touching his lecherous temptations/ and if he was passyoned therewith any more bycau-of them. where unto he andswered & said unto them. alas when it is not honest for me for to have aptyte to live longer/ & that i ought to desire myself deed for the great shames that have be laid upon me/ how should i remember of any lecherous appetite to be within me/ as he would have said/ that detraction which injustly had be done over him/ had taken away from him all other cogitations & thoughts and by this mean the said young religious was through the advise of the said holy father saved & kept from the said temptations/ & came sin again easily to the right way when he knew that the said wrongs had be done to him for to make him for to forget the temptations above said. ¶ here after consequently followeth a little book or treatise containing many instructions for folk of religion & other contemplative/ how they own to behave themself that one with the other/ & to profit in religion/ which beginneth in latin interrogavit etc. a religious required the abbot anthonye that he would teach him how he might soonest please our lord. to the which religious the same abbot answered/ that to what soever place that he should go/ he should always have god afore his eyen/ and that in the things that he should do/ he should ever have the wyenessing and proving of the holy write/ and that he should not be unsteadfast/ but in all places where he had to dwell/ he should perseverantly abide thereat and not to depart suddenly therefrom. telling moreover unto him that in keeping and observing curyously these three things/ he should purchase his salvation. ¶ the abbot pambo asking of the abbot anthonye/ how he ought to led himself for to live virtuously. this antony said to him/ trust not upon thy holy life. repent not of the thing that is passed where no remedy can not be had to it. refrain thy tongue from overmuch and unprofitable language & keep also that thou fill not thy belly. ¶ saint gregory said that our lord asketh three things to be principally kept by every christian man/ the first that he have a very faith & keep it with all his soul/ the second that he be true in his words/ & the third that he be content & chaste of body. ¶ saint euagrius said that the mere that is dire & without craftily saver as fruits herbs & roots is a covenable ●●ete for men of religion/ & that such meet bringeth them to the haven of salvation impassable/ that is to say to the bliss that ever shall last without end. ¶ again he said/ that a religious to whom the death of his father was told/ answered unto him that brought him this tidings. my friend leave of & blame no more my father/ saying by the that he is deed/ for thou sayest not well/ because that i know well that he is immortal. by the which words/ the said religious gave to understand/ that he reputed not himself to have an other father than god. ¶ the abbot macharye asked to the abbot zacharye what works ought a monk for to do for to be holden & taken for a very religious. and how be it that the said zacharye would not answer to it/ because that him thought that the said macharye which was his elder/ knew it better than he died himself. nevertheless he would obey him/ & said as to his advise/ that the man ought to be taken for a true religious which yieldeth himself subject & constraineth him to endure all the necessities & wrethchednesse of this world. ¶ of the abbot theodore otherwise called the farm told some men/ that among his other virtues/ he had these three which here after be declared. the first is/ that he would not keep nothing. the second that he was wonnderfully abstynente. and the third that he fled gladly the company of men & their conversation. ¶ the abbot johan nave/ for to exhort & learn all manner of folk to live virtuously/ said that a man ought to enforce himself to take & have in him some what of all virtues. and therefore he said that in rising a morning he ought to dispose him self to take of every virtue the beginning/ that is to wit to keep the commandments of god/ to be patient in his adversities/ dread & love god/ to be strong in resisting against the temptations of the devil/ to be chartable/ humble of heart & of thought/ to continue in orison sorrowing & weeping for his sins for to obtain of them remission/ to have a clean conscience without envy or rancour/ to be dumb when men should do to him any wrong lovingly without wrath/ peaceable with out to yield evil for evil/ but good forylle without vain glory/ to hold himself the lesser of the less/ to be sober of that tongue without evil to say/ clean of eyen/ to behave him self humbly as subject unto every one/ forsaking all temporal goods & to him self/ ever to fast suffer/ weep/ & to fight against the devil & to bear hunger & thirst/ to watch/ to have both cold and hot/ to keep himself naked/ & keep himself close within himself as within a tomb or sepulchre like as he were all ready deed/ & to know that death rideth night him every day. ¶ the abbot joseph thebeyn said that there be three ordres or degrees of virtuous men which be well agreeable unto god. the first is when a man is taken with some gryfe or adversity/ and during the same/ some temptations come to him/ to the which he with saith yielding of all thanks and graces unto our lord. the second degree is when all his deeds are clean afore god without to be entremed led with business or worldly doings temporal/ that is to say/ that they be not bespoted with the filth of sin. the third when a man for the worship of god entering in to religion/ giveth his own proper will unto his father spiritual forsaking all his own affections & to the desires of this world. ¶ the abbot cesyon told of an abbot named johan that was first & principal among the religiouses of his time/ & that had be a virtuous man in his live. speaking of the which he said that where he saw himself at the hour of his death/ steadfastly disposed himself for to depart with all gladness toward our lord. many religious being about him & weeping/ prayed him that he would leave to them by manner of a gift of charity some good word by the which they might ascend to the perfection which is in ihesu christ. to whom sighing he said by manner as he would show them/ that he never had done his own will/ & also he never taught nor warned no body to do any good work/ but he had done first the same himself. ¶ an other brother questioned an old father asking him what good he might do whereby he might have at the last everlasting rest. to whom the old father answered. ¶ god only knoweth what is good to be done/ but always i have herd say long ago that one of our faders questioned sometime the great abbot nestor which was singular friend unto the abbot anthonye/ & asked him what thing was to him necessary to be do for to be saved by it to whom this nestor answered/ that all works were not like/ laying unto him this that holy scripture saith/ that is to wit that abraham was an hospytaler & god was with him. helyas loved rest and life contemplative/ and god was with him. david was humble and god was with him. then do as thine own courage desireth after god/ & keep well thy heart from evil thought. ¶ the abbot named pastor said/ that to keep himself/ to consider himself and to have discretion/ these three things were the works of a good religious. ¶ a religious axed him how a brother of religion ought to entreat & behave himself/ whereat he answered we have seen danyell in whom was found no manner of accusation/ but of the service that he died and made to his god. ¶ moreover said yet the said holy father pambo/ that poverty and tribulation are covenable to a solitary man ¶ and it is written/ that he that desireth to lead such a life/ aught to have the conditions of no/ of job and of danyell. for no would no thing possess. job would here patiently wonderful tribulations/ and danyell would discern prudentely. if a man then have in him these three conditions/ he shall lightly dwell with god. ¶ yet said the said pambo that a religious that shall have in a hate the delectations of the flesh and vain glory/ shallbe lightly free and delivered of the illusions and deceptions of the world. ¶ some say of the said abbot pambo/ that at the hour of his death/ he said to the holy men that acompanyed him such or like words. sith that i have be in this solitary place & that i had build this cell where i dwell. i can not remember that ever i eat breed/ but that i had gotten it with my labour. and also i have not uttered nor spoken any word/ whereof i have repent me of. and thus i go to our lord/ as i should begin to do to him any service. ¶ the abbot sysoyns said/ care not if that be contemned and despised/ but cast thy wills behind thy back & make thyself free & sure from all worldly cure to despising & putting them to nought/ and thou shalt have very rest. ¶ the abbot james as he should decease out of this world/ said unto his religiouses/ keep yourself that ye haunt ne common not with the heretics/ & have no knowledge with the judges temporal/ & be not curious for to gather worldly goods/ but be ready & bowed to forsake your understandings to counsel your neighbours/ and your bodies to serve them. ¶ a brother questioned an old father asking him how the dread of god may come in a man. whereat he answered. if a man is wyllefull poor & that he beware that he judged not an other/ he shall then have without fault the dread of god. ¶ an other said. if thou wilt live surely have with the humility/ lack of victuals/ & plenty of tears. ¶ an other aeged father said. beware thou do not to an other that which thou wouldest not be done unto. and if thou hast hate or evil will against any body that hath said ill of thee/ keep the that thou speak none ill by him for it/ nor of none other. ¶ also if thou hatest some body/ do not to him therefore no thing that is wrongful nor to none other. ¶ moreover if thou hate any body that hath purchased some harm unto the deceiving the or doing some shame to thee/ or that taketh away thine own good fro the or that doth to the some other thing to the hurt of thee/ do not therefore unto no manner of person such a thing. and who that shall keep these instructions it ought to suffice for to get his salvation by them. ¶ an aeged holy father said/ that the life of a good religious is diligence/ obedience/ and to beware that he judge no body/ and to keep him from speaking and chiding. for it is written. ye that love our lord/ hate malice. ¶ thenne the life of a monk is this. not to acompanye with sinners/ not to behold with his eyen any thing that is ill/ and not to be curious for to do/ nor here after new things/ not to ravish with his hands/ but help largely after his power/ not to be proud of heart/ not to think upon evil things/ and not to fill his belly to much. but do all things by good discretion. and these been then the conditions that a good monk ought to have. ¶ an other holy father said/ pray god that he will give the a meek heart and a weeping for to weep and weyle over thy sins/ the which thou must ever have a fore this eyen without to judge any other/ but be the subject to all other/ & have none acquaintance with women/ children nor heretics. trust not upon thyself. refrain thy tongue & thy belly/ & abstain thyself from wine. ¶ and if any body speak to the of any thing chide not with him/ & if he saith well/ say as he saith/ but & if he saith evil/ ask him if he wot well what he saith & force not thyself to chide nor brault with him of such things that he hath said/ and then shall thy thought be peaceable. ¶ here followeth another little treatise which teacheth to find the rest of conscience. and beginneth in latyn. dixit abbess antonius. the abbot anthonye said/ that like as the fishes die anon when they be taken out of the water which is their own nourishing/ and are put in a dry place. in likewise the religiouses/ when they be out of their cells and dwelling places or when they dwell with secular folk/ they be lightly delivered and withdrawn from the rest spiritual wiche they ought to have and keep. then it is of necessity that the religiouses run again to their solitary places/ as the fishes to the see/ to th'end that because of their long being there out/ they put not in forgetting the keeping that they ought to have of their souls. & moreover he said/ that he that keepeth himself enclosed with silence and that resteth thereat/ he is preserved from three battles and great inconveniences. first from evil to here. secondly from evil to speak. thirdly from the sight of any thing that be noyful/ & hath not but one battle to abide/ that is to wite/ against his heart denying and going against his wicked cogitations. ¶ the abbot gluttony dwelling yet in the palace of the emperor & afore that he was religious/ besought right humbly & heartily to god. that he would set him to the way of salvation. the which prayer made/ our lord considering the great & fervent devotion that he had to live solitarily/ made to be showed unto him by a voice/ that he should go away & i'll the company of men & in this doing he should be saved/ the same arsenye leaving the world/ & taking the way solitary & religious made again to god such a prayer as the first saying. my god please the to set me in to the way of salvation. so heard he a voice that said. arseny flee away/ keep thy peace & rest thyself/ & in this doing that shalt take away the rotys of sin. ¶ the archbishop theophyle that was a man of holy & commendable life one time acompanyed of a judge of a city/ went toward the abbot gluttony/ & asked him certain questions/ to the which he answered not. ¶ and after that he had kept himself a little from speaking/ he demanded of the judge & the archebysshoh foresaid/ if he told to them any thing/ whether they should keep it/ whereat they answered ye. thenne he said unto them. in all places where ye shall know that arsenye is/ keep yourself that ye come not there. ¶ an other time the archbishop desiring to see him/ sent first to wit of the said holy father/ if he would open to him the door of his cell. and he sent him word again. if thou wilt come i shall open to the my door/ but & i open it to thee/ so shall i do the same wise to all other & then i shall keep me here no longer/ but i shall go my ways to some other part for to live there solitarily ¶ the archbishop hearing these words answered unto the messenger. sith that by my going toward arsenye i should trouble him or travail him. i am purposed never to go there. ¶ an other time the said holy father arsenye went for to visit some religiouses dwelling in a place where reed grew full thick which was suddenly moved by impetuosyte of wind. the which thing seeing this holy father/ axed the said religiouses where of came that sudden noise. they answered that it was the wind that beted against the said reed. and he said to them again. certainly if a man setteth with rest/ & that he heareth the voice of a bird/ he shall not have in his heart the rest that he had afore. and how may you thenne have hope upon tranquillity & rest in hearing the noise of the read/ as he would have said/ that a man that desireth for to do the salvation of his soul/ can not be to much withdrawn & parted from the charges & business of the world/ which are to him of more letting/ the more that he delighteth him to live solitarily. ¶ men find that his cellle was departed & far from all habitations of folk xxxij mile or there about/ & went not out often/ but he had folk that administered unto him his necessities. ¶ and some holy father said sometime that the land of sychye was destroyed that no body dwelled there/ the said holy father said these words. the world hath lost rome/ & the religiouses sychye. ¶ the said abbot making a while his abiding in a place called canap/ a holy matron an old virgin born of rome the city which was much rich/ & dreading god/ desiring heartily to see the said holy father arsenyen/ and came in to alexandria toward the archbishop theophyle/ and besought him that he would be the mean toward the said holy father/ that his pleasure were to grant that she should see him. and the said theophyle seeing the great affection of the said matron went toward the said holy father arsenyen/ & made unto him the said request/ to the which he would not consent. ¶ so came theophyle again & made his report to the matron/ which not content therewithal/ made all things ready for herself to go there saying. i believe & have this steadfast trust in god/ that he shall suffer me to see him/ for all be it that in our city of rome be many holy men that may comfort me/ nevertheless for his great fame. i have purposed for to under take this viage to th'end that i may see him. ¶ so laboured she so much by her journeys/ that she came to the place where he dwelled ¶ and it happened as our lord would suffer it/ that for to have by her leisure to see the said holy father/ she found him walking without his cell. she thenne laid herself incontinent to his feet/ but nevertheless he took her up again anon by great despite/ & beholding upon her ●yerlly he said unto her. ¶ now if thou wilt see me in the face behold me then enough here i am. ¶ she hearing his rigorous words/ was so sore ashamed/ that she wist not what she should answer & namely she was not too bold that she durst look him in his visage. ¶ and to her said again arsenyen/ my imagination is that sith that the wouldest see me/ thou haste heard speak of my works what needed the for to undertake so great away for to see me/ the which that haste heard say of me might have sufficed the knowest not the well that thou art a woman/ & that it appertaineth not to thine estate that the shouldest go from thy place for to go in a strange place. i believe that thou art come hither to th'end that the mayst to tell to the women of rome incontinent as that shall come there again/ that thou hast seen me/ to th'intent that by the mean the way be found in the see for to make the women to come toward me ¶ then she said unto him. i promise the holy father/ that if it please god that i may return to rome again. i shall not tell that i have been here/ nor i shall not be the cause that any body shall come to that/ but i pray the that it will please the for to pray for me/ & with this to have always remembrance of me. ¶ whereat he answered i pray god that he will put the soon out of my thought. she hearing these things went away from him all wroth & sorry. and incontinent that she was come again to alexandria the city because of the great sorrow & heaviness that she had/ a sickness took her with a sharp fever. the which thing was told unto the holy archbishop theophyle. so came he toward her for to comfort her. ¶ and he asking what she ailed/ she answered to him. alas my lord would god that i had not come here. at my departing from that holy father i prayed him that he would woushesauf to have me in mind. and he hath answered me/ that he prayed god/ that he would take away from him the remembrance of me. the which answer hath angered & troubled me so sore that i am in danger for to die ¶ then said to her theophyle/ knowest not that that the art a woman/ & that by woman the devil tempteth the holy men. for this cause the holy man hath given the this answer. but nevertheless thou ought not think but that he will pray god busily for thy soul. the good matron thenne hearing these words ceased anon her wrath/ & in great joy & gladness returned again to the city of rome. ¶ the abbot euagrius said that he that will keep him that he shall not fall in tribulation/ & to keep his ghost with rest/ ought nought to have diverse affections toward many folk. ¶ a brother came in to sychye toward the abbot moses'/ to whom visiting him he required him that he would tell him some good word edyfycatyve for to bear it in his mind to the end that he should have remembrance of him. so answered unto him moses'/ that he should go & keep him within his cell/ & it should learn him all things that be good. ¶ the said moses said/ that the man that fleeth the company of men/ is like a grape of reysyns' ripe and sweet/ but he that seeketh their fellowship & acompanyeth with them/ is like unto the grape that is sour and bitter. ¶ the abbot nile said that the man that loveth to live solitarily/ yieldeth himself so steadfast to deny & withstand against the arrows/ that is to wit against the temptations of the fiend/ that they should not touch nor enter in him/ but he that hauntyth & comynyth with the men is oftentimes dangerously wounded. ¶ the abbot pastor said/ that to apply his thought unto diverse things/ is the beginning of all evils/ & more over he said/ that to flee from the temporal things was a good & a sure live. certainly when a man dress himself nigh a place where men fight bodily/ he is like him which is upon a deep water/ to th'end that at such an hour as his adversary shall seem good he may take him & make him for to fall unto the bottom. but & if he partyth himself & goeth far from the bodily things/ he is like him that is far from the well/ & when the fiend will cast him from above to beneath/ for to do this he will draw him violently nigh to the said well/ god preserved him therefrom and giveth him socours & aid. ¶ the abbot sysoyns had a disciple the said once unto him. fair father that thou art already old/ & that thou hast discretion & wit for to withsay against the temptations of the world/ me seemeth that thou might well haunt a sytyll through the world/ to whom the holy father answered/ that he would well do so/ if he could bring him in a place where no women were. the disciple hiring this answer said unto him again/ that he wist of no place but the women were there/ but only in the solitary places. now led me there then said the holy father. ¶ an old matron which was an abbess said that many religiouses being in the mountain/ that is to wit in solitary places/ be perished there/ because that they had set their thought & affections unto thyngiss of the world/ & that it is better for to be among many one & to lead there wilfully a solitary life/ than for to be above & apply his thought to multiplication of temporal things. ¶ an old holy father said/ that a monk ought ever to buy rest in such manner that he despiseth it if he see the any bodily hurt cometh to him thereby. ¶ an aeged holy father showed that three great clerks much studious gave themself to religion/ one of which chose & took in himself this affection that he would pease & bring all persons atte one which he might know the ought evil will one to an other or that had any matter of plea or debate the one against the other. the second thought/ that he would visit the bedrid & the sick. and the third went & inhabited himself in a solitary place. the first then besyeng himself in his enterprise/ found so many noises & differences/ debates & questions to be moved among the men that it should not have been possible to him for to pease all. wherefore he fulfilled with noyance & gryse with it/ because he could not satisfy his deliberation/ ●am for to see the second/ the which also he found sore weary & noyous/ that he might not serve all the sick folk & the poor needy for the great multitude that he found of them every where. so these two purposed for to go see the third which was gone for to live solitarily in the desert. and when they were come toward him after that they had made knowledge of broderhode unto each other/ the twain rehearsed unto the third their great tribulations praying him that he would declare unto them what thing be died & how he profited in his hermitage. to the which oues●yon he died not answer readily. but after that he had keep himself still a little/ he took water in a vessel & said to them/ behold a little this water that is trouble. and they began to look upon/ & whyse they looked so/ the water began to wax clear by itself. then said he unto them when he saw that it was fair & clean/ look how suddenly this water is purified by itself. then they beholden within it they knew their own visages therein as it had be in a glass. then he told them that in likewise he that acompanyed among the world with great pain he may know there his own fawtes because of the great troubles that be in the world/ but when he withdraweth himself in to a solitary place/ than may he know lightly his sins. ¶ here followeth the treatise teaching how men ought to stir them to compunction/ and beginneth in latin. dicebant de abbate arsenio. the abbot gluttony/ as some told/ all the time of his live sitting and abiding within his cell/ labouring & working with his hands/ had ever in his bosom a hand keverchief for to wipe withal the tears that continually ran out of his eyen/ in sorrowing for his sins & for dread of god & of the pains of hell which he had ever in his mind. ¶ a brother required the abbot ammon that he would tell him some good word healthful/ to whom he answered. go to thy cell & think upon thy befall/ as the evil doers do/ that for their misdeeds be kept in prison. then questioned they that come toward them asking where the judge is/ & when he shall come/ & waiting after the grievous punition of their sins they weep & weyle over them. ¶ in likewise the religious aught ever to be supecte/ & chide within his soul/ saying. ha me wretched/ how shall i dare find me afore the great judgement of our lord ihesu christ for to yield him accounts & reason of my deffautes. and if thou thinkest in thyself so/ thou shalt may be saved through this mean. ¶ the abbot euagrius said/ when thou art within thy cell gather thy spirits within thyself & remember the of the day of death/ & then thou shalt see the mortification of thy body. think also upon the mortal wars of this world/ & be sorrowful for it. have in hatred the vanities of this world/ be temperate & curious/ to th'end thou may ever dwell in one manner rest/ & be not sick of the sickness of sin. remember the of them that be in hell/ & think in thyself how their souls been in that place/ in what bitter heaviness/ in what horrible wailing/ in what dread in what battle/ & in what waiting of sorrow/ & that without withdrawing of pains they be in infinite tears. be thou also remembering of the last resurrection/ & imagine the horrible ingement of god with the wonderful confusion that the sinners shall suffer in the presence of god the father/ & of ihesu christ his son/ & before the angels/ archangel's & postles/ & afore all the men of the world/ with this consider the torments & the fire everlasting where they shall be condemned/ the remorse immortal of their consciences/ the darkness of hell/ & above all thing the grinding of teeth/ the pains & the torments that be there. after consider & bring in to the mind the wealth & felycytees that be promised unto the just/ the trust that they shall have in god the father & his son before the angels/ archangel's & potestates/ & before the company of all the heavenly court. and in lywyse the gifts of grace/ the joys & the rest wherein they shallbe/ the recordation & remembrance of the which things/ that is to wit the evils atte do side/ & the gods atte the other side/ thou must have in thyself weeping bitterly. ¶ the abbot helye said that in all seasons he feared three things that been to come/ the first was the hour of death/ the second when his soul should be presents afore god for to be judged/ & the three what the sentence should be that should be cast upon him. and therefore the good archbishop theophyle when he was at the point of death he said of saint arseny/ that he was well happy in so much that he continually had this hour before the eyen of his intendment. ¶ the abbot james said/ that like as the lantern lighteneth the place which is obscure & dark. in likewise the dread of god lighteneth a man when he hath it within him. ¶ some brethren asked of the abbot machary how he could be so dry & of so poor of body/ whereat he answered that when men take a staff in their hand & with it they rake & stir the brands that be a fire the same staff barneth & consumeth away finably. in like wise who soever shall have in him the dread of god it shall consume the flesh of a man away unto the bones. ¶ the holy faders dwelling in the montayn of nitrye sent toward the abbot machary that was in sychye praying him that he would come to see them/ & if he came not to them/ they were purposed for to go to him/ because that they desired for to see by afore his death. and when he was come to the mountain where they dwelled/ they together asked him some consolation spiritual. thenne he said unto them that they should weep & weyle over their sins/ to th'end that they should not def●ende in to hell where men weep & weyle everlastingly. and they all together at ones began to weep & besought by that he would pray god for them ¶ the abbot pastor going through egstpt law a woman upon a grave/ the which bet herself & wept so sore that it seemed if all the joys of the world had come to her that she should not rejoice herself for it. so in likewise ought to do ever a religious in this world. another time he passed through the parties of dyolche with the abbot nub/ & they found a woman that wept bitterly for the death of her husband/ of her son & of her brother. then said the abbot pastor to the abbot nub i believe steadfastly that no man but if he slay all concupisbence of the flesh/ & but he have as great contrition as this woman/ he is not worthy to be a religious. and this he said because that all her thought was set upon weeping. and thus we ought to do for our sins. ¶ a brother axed sometime the said pastor some good conseyll for his salvation and he conscylled him that he should do as abraham died when he entered in the land of promysson/ the which made a tomb/ which signified weepings and sorrowing. ¶ the archeb●sshop athanasy prayed once the abbot pambo that he should come done from his hermitage for to see him in the city of alexandria. the which coming done to it met with a common woman/ & when he saw her he began to weep. athanasy asked him what moved him to do so/ whereat he answered the two things moved it. the first because he saw that the woman dampened herself the second because he took not so much of pain to please god as she died for to please the world. ¶ the abbot syluayn being once with his religiouses/ was ravished ghostly/ so that he fell done that face to the earth & after that he had be there a long while he rose up again weeping full sore. so axed him his religiouses what him eyled foe: to weep thus/ but he answered them nothing/ & ever he wept/ they nevertheless prayed him so much that they constrained him by humble requests to tell them that the they desired to wit of him/ & in effect he showed unto them/ that he had be ravished & born afore god holding his judgement/ where he saw many religiouses that were condemned to the everlasting pain of hell/ & many secular men that were taken & received for to go to the royalme of heaven/ whereof the poor abbot wept ever bitterly/ & for this cause he became so solitary/ that he would not go out of his cell/ & if he was sometime constrained to go out of it/ he covered his heed with a hood/ saying that it was no need for to see this light temporal where no goodness was. ¶ a man worthy of holy memory named synclyeyce/ said that they the turn themselves from sin unto virtue/ have great pain atte beginning to leave their evil life/ but at the last they shall have joy unable to be told/ even so as they the kyndlen a fire have at beginning great aching of heed with blowing/ & at their eyen with the smoke or ever the fire be kindled. also we must have many evils for to kindle within us the fire of the love of god. ¶ the abbot ypericius said that a monk ought to watch day & night in orison/ in wailing & in compunction/ to th'end that through this mean he have the mercy of ihesu christ. ¶ many religiouses seculars came together to the abbot felix/ & be diverse times prayed him that he would give them some good doctrine for their salvation/ but nevertheless he would not/ but only said unto them/ now have i no tongue for to speak. ¶ the brethren hearing this answer were sore abashed because he would not teach them. then he said to them/ sometime that religiouses required for to be taught of the aeged/ & they died that the was commanded unto them/ wherefore our lord gave to the said old faders tongue & speech for to learn them/ & because that the disciples now do no more nothing of that is commanded unto them/ god hath taken from the aeged that word of very doctrine/ for there is no more no body that doth this that the old faders command. these words heard they all together began to weep & sigh asking mercy/ & that the said abbot would pray for them. ¶ a holy father said when our lord shall come to that day of doom/ if it were possible that the souls that then shallbe brought to their bodies/ might be departed again all that world should then die of the dread & terror the every one shall have at thou said day/ therefore we ought well to weep in this world & do penance to th'end that at the same fearful day we may yield good accounts unto our lord. ¶ a brother axed a holy father whereof came that he was hard hearted & that he feared not god. the holy father answered to him that he should have dread of god/ if he would rebuke his soul saying. my soul think upon thy life/ for thou shallbe brought before the might of god for to be judged to be dampened perpetuelly or saved everlastingly. ¶ an other holy father seeing a man that loughe said to him. my friend i marvel me how thou darest laugh as thou dost seen that afore god our maker that day that we shall die we shall have to answer straightly of all our works/ & if thou were well advised forgetting to laugh/ thou shouldest consider/ that thus as she shadow followeth the body in what place that he is/ also in what place that we be we ought to have a bitter compunction of heart/ and weep continually over our sins. ¶ a brother axed an holy father some wholesome word. and he cold him/ that when egypt was punish of the hand of god/ there was no house but every body wept that was in. ¶ an other axed a like question/ that is to wit what thing he ought to do for to be saved/ whereat the holy father answered unto him/ that he should weep without ceasing/ for our lord will that our souls be tormented & scourged by contritions & wailings/ and at the last we shall have that we ask of him. and this witnesseth the psalm that saith in the psalter/ that the heart contrite and humylyed/ shall never be dispraised of him. of that other part he saith in the gospel. thoo be blessed that weep in this world/ for they shall be comforted everlastingly. ¶ here finisheth the treatise of compunction. ¶ an other treatise followeth consequently of continence & ●ohrenes against gluttony and other vices. and beginneth in latin fratres aliqui etc. ¶ the abbot danyell said to the abbot gluttony that he slept never but a little toward the morning for to succour nature/ & when sleep came upon him/ he said. o evil servant/ that nourished the man all only with vices/ why comest thou when i call not the. and anon after all sitting he took a little rest & incontinent he rose again. this arsenyen said that a monk if he be a very champion for to befyght his enemy/ aught not to sleep but an hour of the day. ¶ the abbot danyell certifieth again of the said arseny/ that a little meet which men gave hymm sufficed him for a hole year. and yet at the end of the year when the brethren visited him they eat of it with him. this arseny for to correct himself & bear penance of the odours flagraunt & sweet of smell whereof he had used in the palace of th'emperor afore that he was religious/ ones in the year only he changed the water of his vessel wherein he weted his wekker & rods for to make withal panyers maundes & baskets/ & endured the stench & the infection of the said water in stead of the said good odours that he had smelled afore. ¶ the abbot agathon bore within his mouth the space of three year a stone to th'intent that he might acustome himself to keep silence. the said agathon once walking found a boundell of fetches with their hulles/ that which boundell one of his religiouses that was willing for to take & bear it with him ar the said agathon if he should do so. and the abbot seeing this/ axed him if he had set it there/ the monk answered not. then said to him agathon/ why will thou bear away that that is not thine/ & that thou hast not brought there as thou will take it. ¶ the abbot achilles bled once atte his mouth/ a monk that saw this/ axed him whereof that came. so answered to him the said achilles/ that the word of a brother had angered him/ & that for to withstand against his wrath he had prayed god that he would take away from him the remembrance of the said wrongs/ to th'end they should not abide in his thought/ wherefore our lord had turned them in to blood & as he casted & spewed he was hole of his heaviness. ¶ the abbot amoys being syke many brethren sent unto him diverse meats/ but because he should not eat of them he shut his eyen when his disciple entered in to his chambre bearing the said meats. ¶ the abbot benyamyn told of many brethren the which went for to visit a holy father in sychye/ & bore him a little oil. to whom he said that already the space of three year was passed/ that themself had brought him some in a vessel/ the which was yet full & in that estate as they had brought it unto him/ & had not touched it sin. so wondered they much of his continence/ & how he had kept the said oil so long. ¶ some brethren rehearsed of the abbot dyoscore that he used for his eating but breed of barley/ & every year constrained himself to keep a strong rule/ as through a hole year he would not see no body. ¶ an other year he would not speak to no body/ or he wolden not cast of oo meet sudden roast or baken/ or such like abstinences he made. ¶ the abbot euagrius said that who would withstand against wrath/ all fleshly desires must be first cast & taken away the which thing he died. ¶ epyphanius bishop of cypre when he should die he sent toward the abbot hylaryon for to pray him that he should come speak with him/ for he desired for to see him or ever he should die. and after that he was come to him theyer together. the bishop made a bird to be presented afore the said saint hylaryon for his meet/ the which answered to the said bishop that sin he had taken the habit of a monk he had not eaten no meet that for his food should have received death. and the bishop said to him again/ that sin that he had taken the bishopric in his hand/ if any person had hate or question with him/ he had never suffered his enemy to s●ep in that estate/ but should first have peased him. also he never slept till that he had reconcylyed himself with his enemy. then saint hylaryon said to him that his conversacon was worthy of greater praising than his own. ¶ some said of saint paladyon that he was. ●●. year in his cell without his eyen to cast up so that during the said. ●● year/ he saw never the ●ouffe nor the covering of his cell. ¶ the abbot zenon as he walked through the country of palestine thy self nigh a place where some gordes grew & because that he was sore hungry he willing to content his appetite would eat some of them nevertheless because him thought if he eat of them that he should do theft he would prove first if he might suffer the torment that was ordained for thiefs. he took of his clothes & all naked he abode there in the heat of the son by the space of five days/ which was the punition that men died unto the thiefs and when he saw that he could not endure the said heat/ he said to himself sith that i can not endure the pain that i should suffer if i were apeched of this theeft. it is better that i fast than that i should do this deed. ¶ johan the less said/ that when a king or a prince will take a city by force & bring in to his subjection his adversaries that be within/ he find the means for to dystourne their waters for to let that they shall have no victuals/ and by this mean they be compelled for to do as his will is. and thus it is of religiouses/ when they restrain meet from their bodies/ they be not so subject unto the temptations of the flesh which be enemies of the soul/ but they make them subgete unto the soul reasonable. and if a man by fasting is turned to virtue/ the devils the enforce themselves for to bring him under fore shallbe subject unto him/ and not he to them. ¶ he said again that one's going in sychye where he was gone for to cut rods & leaves to occupy himself therewithal he found a heerde or keeper of camels the which would have troubled him but for to eschew that he should have no debate with him/ he cast down his boundell & left it behind him & so flee away. ¶ the abbot ysaac said that he knew well a religious/ the which helping to reap corn/ ared unto him for whom he wrought/ if he should dare take oon corn of it for to eat/ the which marveled of the fere and of the daungrour that he made to take of it answered to him/ that he gave him not only one corn of it/ but all the hole field. ¶ a brother axed to the abbot ysodore how it might be that the devils dread him so sore/ whereat he answered/ that sin the time he was first yolden in to religion/ he ever kept himself that he fell not in wrath/ & if oo sparkle of sin was kindled within him/ he died put it out incontinent/ & by this mean the devils had no might over him ¶ and moreover he said/ that he being atte his xl year of age & more/ he had never consent to do sin/ nor he had not be overcome of any coveting of the sin of wrath. ¶ the abbot cassanius witnessed ● on a day he went to visit the abbot johan which by the space of xl year had dwelled on the highest of a mountain with the abbot esyon which the said abbot johan loved with a love much chartable. so questioned he him by the charity that he had unto the said esyon/ saying unto him/ where he by so long time had lived with out to haunt among the world/ and without to have be grieved or troubled of our person/ what he had done during that time for the salvation of his soul/ whereat he answered that during the said xl year/ he eat never till the son was gone under/ nor he had never he on angered during the tyme. ¶ the abbot moses told of a religious named serapyon which held himself with the abbot theon. this serarapyon after that he had taken his refection in common he took always of a custom a ferding loffe and eat it secretly in the absence of his abbot/ & was so customed withal that he could not keep himself therefro/ but that after his repast he eat ever the said loffe in a secret place. ¶ it happened by the will of god that some religiouses came to visit his abbot/ which exhorted them all to have in them the virtue of abstinence/ and of sobriety/ saying with this to them/ that the devils had no thing so agreeable/ than to make a sinner that he shall not show nor tell his sin by confession to his ghostly father. for through this mean/ the shrift of him that so keepeth his sin within him still profiteth him not in no manner of wise. ¶ the said serapyon hearing these words he ymangyned that god had done his sin to be known unto his abbot. so he soon after shrove himself unto his abbot which to him said o my son thou art now out of thraldom/ wit it that the devils had the in their possession/ but by thy confession they are chased from thee/ and thou art no more under their might. ¶ and as the abbot said unto him these words/ there leapt out of the said serapyons bosom a brounde of fire that infected and poisoned all the chambre/ so that all the place stank after brimstone. ¶ the which thing seeing the abbot foresaid/ how be it that he was of it sore marveled said with a merry countenance unto the said serapyon. ¶ o my dear friend/ thou seest now by effect/ how god through his great power hath delivered the in showing of them that thy sin is forgiven of his godly goodness. ¶ the abbot machary when he was with his brethren/ sometime for to please them he drank win with them/ but nevertheless he bore afterward a great penance for it/ for as many times as he had drunk of it/ asmany days after he abstained himself from all manner of liquor were it water or other drink what soever it was. ¶ the abbot machary that called was the great in sychye/ after that the service was done in the church/ he said unto his religiouses that they should flee & some of them axed him where they should flee/ & if they should leave their monastery. then he put his finger afore his mouth/ & said. my brethren i do show you this that ye ought to flee/ & by this token they knew that he showed them to keep silence without to speak the one to the other/ at lest of thing that were vain. ¶ the abbot pastor said. if nabuzardam prince of gluttony had not be/ the temple of god had not be brent. also if the man be not brent by abstinence from meet and drink/ the soul shall not withstand against the devil. some rehearsed of the said abbot pastor/ that when he was desired of his brethren for to eat with them where as he had no will to it he constrained himself to the same/ & thither he went weeping not for to eat/ but for to show himself toward them obeissant/ & that he should not give to them matter or occasion that they should been wrath with him ¶ some also to the said abbot pastor told of a monk that drank no wine/ & he said unto them again/ the a religious ought not to drink any drink. ¶ item he said that like by the smoke men constraynen the bees to leave & forsake their honey for to take it & bear away/ also replection of belly & gluttony chasseth & putteth aback the dread of god from the soul. ¶ the abbot peter otherwise called pay/ he being taken with some sickness/ would never drink no win/ but for all substance he drank luke water. many brothern being upon a day in the mountain where the abbot anthony held him self/ after that the masses were song/ they found a vessel full of win. one of the elders took thenne a little chalice/ & presented twice of the said win for to drink unto the abbot sysoy/ which took it & at the three time he said to him the presented it to him/ brother rest thyself/ thou knowest not if the devil be in it or no. ¶ a brother axed of the said sysoy counsel because the often when he went to the church his brethren by charity withheld him for to eat with them/ whereat he answered that it was a thing overmuch dangerous & perilous for the soul. abraham which disciple was to the said sysoy/ axed him if he drank win three times upon the sondaye/ whether that was to moche or no/ he answered nay/ if that sin followed not thereby. ¶ the abbot syluayn and zachary his disciple walking on a day came to a monastery & there they took their repast/ and after took their way again zachary by the way was a thirst and would drink water/ his abbot said unto him. my son it is fasting day what will thou do. the disciple answered. father we have eat. the abbot said. ha my child/ that was a refection of charity with our brethren/ but nevertheless we must keep our fast. ¶ saint syncletyce said/ that he is not perfectly chaste that laugheth and beheldeth disordinately notwithstanding that he doth not actuelly or in deed the sin of the flesh. ¶ item he said that as the ointments chassen away the beasts venymice & the venom/ in likewise fasting & orison chassen fro man fowl and wicked thoughts. ¶ item he said that rich folk ought not for their richesses to take cure nehede to eat diverse meats dressed with diverse sauces. for they should be cause to make them fall in to many sins/ but must pass thereover as he that roweth over the water. ¶ the abbot syson said/ sith that we be pilgrims in this worla●/ let us keep our mouth from many words. ¶ ypericius said that the monk ought to be as rebel against the temptations/ as the lion against the asses. ¶ item fasting is to a monk the bridle against sin/ for he that fasteth not/ but pleaseth his desires as an horse brydelesse/ is lightly and for little thing taken with a disordinate love of women. ¶ item fasting rendereth the body of a religious lean & dry/ and arayseth his soul on high/ & bringeth to nought his vain thoughts & delectations. ¶ item a man chaste here in earth shall be of god worshipped & crowned in heaven. ¶ item he that can not keep his tongue in time of wrath/ may not be master over his passions of his body against the tempter. ¶ item the mouth ought never to speak fowl or evil word/ because that the vine beareth no thorns. ¶ again he said that better it is to a monk for to eat flesh and drink wine/ than to eat his brother by backbiting. ¶ sometime in sychye was a fest made where some wine was brought unto an holy father which said to him that brought it. brother take away that death from afore me/ as he would have said/ that wine excessively taken is death to a man. ¶ a religious priest in sychye went once to speak with the bishop of alexandria/ and when he was comen again his brethren axed him what it was of the city/ whereat he answered/ that fearing to see there any thing that should move him to sin/ he had so refrained the sight of his eyen/ that he had not seen there none other man but the bishop/ and after the other brother atte his exemple kept their eyen from looking a high. ¶ a religious went once to see a brother of his religion which at his coming made his disciple make ready a few herbs for to feast the brother that was come/ & having the time that their refection was a making ready/ they went together in to the oratory/ & there they were unto the morrow at the hour of sext devising of spiritual things/ & then came & said again to his disciple that he should make ready their repast/ the which disciple said unto him that it was made all ready sit the day before. ¶ two other brethren being together waiting after their wortes were made ready for their meet/ the one said to the other/ that they should set them to pray god afore that they should take their repast/ so took the one of them upon him for to read the psalter/ and that other two books of the prophecies & the next day they had no mind at all to their meet/ but had forget that they should eat/ & so went they away from each other. ¶ a brother having hunger from that hour that he rose out of his bed found himself constrained for to eat/ but he against his will constrained him self to fast unto the hour of tierce/ & fro tierce till se●te. then he set him for to eat/ & incontinent stood up again & said that he should fast unto none/ at which hour he made his prayer unto god/ & continuing the same he saw the devil that went a way from him like a smoke whereby he knew that by the same devil he had be tempted for to eat. ¶ a holy father being syke so that he could not eat was constrained by his disciple for to eat a little m●●cion made of oil honey & meele. and in the dressing of it he poured in it said oil all stinking weening to him to have poured in some honey/ & be gave to his master thereof for to eat/ which holy father knowing that his disciple had not done it by malice eat of it three days for to give to his body more pain & sharpness. ¶ an other holy father because he desired to much affectuelly for to have eaten of a concombre for to correct & punish his dysordynat aptyt/ he died hage one in his cell/ to th'end that looking upon it and not eting of it he should bear penance upon him of the lust and desire that he had taken thereupon. ¶ an other religious having a sister in a religion/ was showed that she was sore sick. so came he to her monastery to th'intent that he should visit & see her/ but she that was constant in faith & right holy/ and that sin she was betaken to religion was not wont to see any men/ would not give unto her brother none occasion to come under her shadow for to comonne among women of religion/ wherefore she let him wit that she would neither see him nor speak with him/ & that he should return to his own monastery again & that he would pray god for her/ to th'end the helping the grace of god she might see him in the royalme of heaven. ¶ a monk walking by the way met sometime an abbess acompanyed with some religious women which this monk made great force to look upon them for to know what they were and of what monastery/ and for this cause left his way & took theirs. to whom the abbess said/ that if he had be a perfit religious he should not have put him in pain for to look upon them so much that he should have knowing that they had be women/ as she would have said/ that in going on his way/ he aught to open so soberly his eyen that he should not see nor apperceive thoos that came against him or that passed their ways by him. ¶ an holy man which was archbishop of the city of alexandria/ and had to name theophyle required some holy faders religiouses/ that they should come toward him in the said city of alexandrye/ trusting that by their prayers & merits he should destroy some temples where were done many idolatries within the said city & in the country about it. these holy faders once among other eting with the said archbishop were served with veell where of they eat not taking heed to their meet. the archbishop which desired to make them good there took a capon that was in his dish afore him and set it before one of the said holy faders/ saying that it was good & that he should eat of it. the holy father answered unto him. certainly i have wend to this hour that i had eaten coals/ but sin i perceive that it is flesh i shall no more eat of it. after the which words said the other religiouses left their eating of such flesh that was brought before them. ¶ an other religious desired some for to eat of his little loves of new breed that he had baken himself under the ashes. and when they had eat each of them one of this small loves/ they left their eting. the brother that had boden them thereunto seeing the patience of their abstinence/ and that they should well have eaten yet more of them/ prayed them in the name of god that they would yet eat some/ till that they had their fill of them. so began they again for to eat of the said loves of breed to the number of ten every man/ which thing they died as very religiouses/ not for no necessity that they had of it/ but principally for to obey unto the request of the said religious that thereto had desired them in the name of our lord god. ¶ an other holy father was sometime sick of a grievous sickness which was such/ that out of his entrails he casted blood by great plenty. and for to succour him at his need a religious brought him some almaundes/ whereof he made him a cawdell which he presented unto the good holy father saying. fair father i pray the that thou will eat this/ for i hope that it is good for to restowre the thy health. and after that the holy father had looked upon him a long while/ he said to him. certainly my brother i died desire that god should hold me xxx year in this sickness/ & for this cause he would not obey to the request of the said religious/ neither eat of the candle the he had brought to him/ & was constrained to bear it again with him & to return in to his cell. ¶ an ancient father having his cell far within the deserts/ and departed from all folk/ was visited of a brother which found him sore sick. so he washed him his face that was all bespoted and wasted for because of his sickness. and after he made ready certain things for him to eat that he had brought there with him and the good old father seeing this/ he said unto him. certainly my brother. i had forgotten that men had taken any solace or pleasures in eating. and after he presented him with a cup of wine for to drink/ which good aeged father beholding the said cup began for to weep and said/ that he hoped not to drink of any wine till that death should take him. ¶ an other old father purposed ones in himself that he should not drink during the space of xl days continually. and there as he was in a great necessity because of the heat/ he died fill a glass full of water/ that which he hinge up before him within his cell. and when his brethren asked him why he died so/ he answered he died it to th'end that in seeing the same water within the said glass/ where as he should have a lust and desire to take of it for to stint his thrust withal & nevertheless should not cast of it/ he might by this mean receive of our lord more great reward. ¶ an other brother walking by the way with his mother that was already come to a great age/ found a stre●e through which they must pass/ which thing his mother should not have con do withstanding her old age & feebleness wherefore the brother constrained for to have her over/ took of his mantle and be wrapped her hands withal/ to th'end that he should not couch her naked flesh. and thus he took her up on his neck & bore her over the said stream. and where his mother asked him why he had be wrapped her hands in his mantel he answered that he had done it/ because that he knew that the body of a woman is likened unto fire that all wasteth. and for this cause to th'intent he should eschew that in touching her naked flesh the remembrance of other women should not be brought in his mind/ he would thus be wrap her hands. ¶ an other aeged holy father said that he knew a religious which was wont to fast all the holy passion week. and the saturday of the said week when he came to the mass with the other religiouses he waited till the mass were begun for to enter within the church. and the mass done/ after he had received the holy sacrament of the altar he departed hastily out of the church/ to the end that he should not be constrained by his brethren for to eat with them/ for he loved better to live solitarily eating within his cell alone some colles or beets sudden in water & salt than for to common with them & eat other meats. ¶ many brethren in sychye were once called together for to gather read & palm/ among which there was one that by fyn force of great abstinences was sore feeble & sick/ and began to cough & spew casting out of his mouth some fleemes/ and thus doing he happened to spew unknowing upon one of his brethren which therefore was moved in courage to tell him that he should leave his spuing upon him/ but nevertheless constraining himself to withstand against his sudden will he took with his hands that that the other had spewed upon him/ and eat it and said to himself/ tell not to thy brother nothing that may make him to fall in to heaviness/ but rather eat that whereat thou hast horror and abomination. ¶ here followeth another treatise against fornication. the abbot anthonye said that he supposed the body of every man to have his naturel moving together spread in himself. the which naturel moving can not work against the will of that heart/ but only it is signified in the body of man as a moving impassable. there is yet an other moving coming of the food of the body which is refection of meats & drinks/ by help of which that heat of that blood causeth this self blood to work. and to this purpose said the postle beware that ye make not yourself drunk of win that moveth a man to lechery and our lord again commanding to his postles said unto them. keep you that your hearts be not grieved/ that is to say i made heavy by sin through gluttony & drunkship. ¶ moreover the said abbot anthonye said/ that there is yet do other moving to those that in conversation fight against vices/ the which moving cometh & proceedeth of the watchings & of the envy of the devils. and thus it is to be noted that we have three movings corporal. one which is naturel/ that second which cometh of replection of meats/ & the third of the subjection of the devils of hell. ¶ the abbot geronces otherwise called petrense said/ that many are tempted of corporal delectaconns'/ & how be it that they sin not bodily in asmuch that they fulfil not effectually such delectations/ always they sin in thought/ as those that keep by constrayte their virgynyte/ & in their courage corrupt the same in so moche/ that if it were not by some dread seruyll the refraineth them/ they should soon be ready for to perform that disordinate aptyt of their courage. and therefore said the said holy father to his religiouses. my right well-beloved brethren. it is a good thing & profitable to do that the scripture saith/ that is to wit/ every one to keep his heart by curious keeping/ in casting from himself by fervent charity all deceits & temptations of the devil. ¶ the abbot dioclesian said that he had herd the abbot moses say/ that it was a thing good & profitable not to hide or keep close his thought/ namely that it was necessary to open & show them unto the ancient holy faders spiritual filled with wisdom & discretion/ and not only to thoo that be called old for their great age. for many one considering the great age of some faders/ & not taking heed if they were wise or discrete/ have showed unto them their cogitations & thoughts hoping to have thereof some assuaging/ the which have be deceived/ for why/ because that these old faders were not well learned/ the showers in stead of comfort and consolation/ are come finally to the last despair. ¶ a religious there was that set all his cure & business to use & live holily. and where he was sore tempted of the sin of fornication/ he came unto an old father to whom he declared his temptations. the which hearing this religious/ and because he was not well expert/ was wonderfully moved against him/ saying to him that he was myschaunt & wretched/ & not worthy for to were the habit of a religious/ in as moche that he received in his courage such thoughts & temptations. ¶ the poor brother hearing his words mistrust himself & left his cell & took on his way for to return to lead his life among worldly folk. ¶ but it happened by the will of god that he was met of apollo the abbot which seeing him thus sore troubled & sorrowful questyoned him saying my son i see well that thou are troubled in thy courage/ tell me i pray that what is the cause of thy heaviness so great. the religious act the first for the great confusion that he had taken at his heart answered him nothing/ but after that he had be prayed once again of the said holy abbot for to declare unto him his befall. he showed it unto him saying. alas my lord it is truth/ that i have found myself sore tempted & troubled of the sin of fornication/ whereof i have discovered me unto such an holy father/ hoping that he should have give me so● goo● remedy to the easing of my conscience/ but his words have put me from all hope of salvation/ wherefore all dysperate i return to dwell in the world among the secular folk. ¶ thenne the good father apollo hearing his words called him/ & as a good ghostly father & leche spiritual/ began to pray him & to desire him much affectuelly saying unto him. my child i pray the here me speak. marvel nor despair not thyself/ certainly it is troth that in the age & conversation where i am presently i find myself much troubled & sore traveled with such foolish thoughts/ be not therefore of courage more feeble for cause of such temptations/ the which be not only overcome by the power of mankind/ but principally by the mercy of god. and atte this hour i pray the grant me one thing. it is that having trust of the mercy of god/ thou will return again in to thine own cell/ the which thing he died full readily. and sin apollo the abbot departing from him/ went unto the cell of the foresaid old father to whom the said religious had showed his thoughts & temptations & whereof he had brought him in desperation. and he being night by it/ he prayed god humbly in great abundance of tears/ saying. lord god that for the profit of thy servants/ sendest to them needful temptations. i beseech the right humbly that it will please the to turn in this aeged father the battle & temptation that this young brother suffereth/ to th'end that in his present old age he learn by very experience/ that which he could not derue by long process of time/ & that by this mean he may have compassion of thoos that he trowbled with such temptations. the which orison finished by the said holy father apollo/ he saw a spytyte of hell as black as an ethyopyens being nigh by the cell of the said old father shooting atte him many arrows & darts/ with which y perced/ he soon as drunk of win resyd & fell done here & there & could not stand upon his feet. and where he might no more bear nor endure this persecution/ he was constrained to issue out of his cell & to go the same way that the said young religious first went when he would return to the world again. ¶ the abbot apollo knowing this befall/ came against him/ & in coming near him said/ whether ghost thou my brother. i see well that thou art troubled/ tell me the cause plainly of thy trouble. the old father knowing that this holy abbot wist some what of his befall/ was overcome & taken with so great shame that he could not speak nor answer to him nothing. ¶ and moreover said the said apollo to him. return return to thy cell/ & know from henceforth thine own greyff & feebleness & think in thyself/ that thou hast be unknown of the devil/ & of him despised unto this hour. for that which thing that hast not merited nor discerned after thy virtues to have any battles or wrastlynges against him. ¶ i say moreover/ that thou art he the one day alone hath not mow bear ne sustain the tempting or enticing of him. and this thing is happened to thee/ because that in receiving the young religious within thy cell & hearing his thought of the which he trowed to have be conseylled of the where as thou shouldest have given unto him a good courage & have warned him by words consolatyve to resist against the temptations of the devil/ the hast brought him in to final desperation/ not having remembrance of the right wise commandment/ by the which it is commanded to us/ that we shall take of the fiends hands those that he conduiteth & leddeth to death. ¶ and an other that saith. be not negligent to obey & save thoos that thou knewest to be in danger to be slain. also thou hast not had in thy mind the parable of our blessed saviour ihesu christ saying/ that men ought not to break altogydre a sunder the reed which is bruised or crazed nor put out the wood that maketh smoke. certainly the infirmity of mankind should never have puissance to bear the spyenges and waynting of the fiend nor to put out or withhold the fire of nature sedering if our lord god by whose healthful providing all things are ordained through his godly strength/ kept & conserved it therefro. let us then pray god together/ that it will please him to torn the flayell which he hath cast against the. for it is he that maketh the patient folk to sorrow & that restoreth them to their health/ his hand smiteth/ & after it healeth/ he meeketh the proud/ he exalteth them that be humble/ he sleeth & quickeneth/ he maketh the sinners to descend in to hell/ & bringeth them out again. and in saying these things/ the said abbot apollo ended his orison/ & anon the said old father was delivered of the temptation that to him was put. and the said apollo counseled him/ that he should ask & require of god a discrete tongue & word instructyve to be unto him given/ to th'intent that he might have knowledge when and how he should leave or counsell a good word. ¶ the abbot syrus of alexandria questioned of a religious upon this that he said/ that he had no thought or temptations of fornication/ answered unto him. if thou have not any thoughts or temptations/ thou mayst not have no hope. for it must be supposed that thou hast in the some werkynge/ that is to say/ that he that by thought fighteth not against the sins & doth not there against he sinneth bodily/ & he that sinneth bodily hath neither gryesses nor unrest of thoughts. ¶ an aeged father questioned a young religious asking to him if he was wont to speak with women/ whereat he answered ●ay. and moreover he said to him my thoughts are as painters new & old/ the which with some remembrances trouble & travail me of the likeness of women. the old father said to him. thou ought not to dread that deed/ but thou aught to flee them that he quick that is to say the consenting & the sin in execution of the deed and for to do this thou ought to spread & make thine orisons/ that is to say to tarry long about the making of them. ¶ the abbot mathoys said/ that a religious coming toward him/ among other things had told him/ that of worse condition is he which bakbyteth or speaketh wrongfully behind ones back to the harm & hurting of him of whom he speaketh than he that doth commyse the sin of fornication/ whereat the old father had answered unto him/ that this word was much hard & strong. ¶ the brother hearing this answer/ required him that he would tell him how he understood that the sin of fornication should not be worse than the sin of detraction. so answered to him the old father saying. my son it is a thing of truth/ that the sin of detraction is a wicked vice/ but nevertheless it is anon & lightly withdrawn & put out for oftentimes it happeth/ that the detractor repenteth him/ & cometh to him of whom he hath spoken evil & axed him pardon/ & then is his wrath passed/ but naturally death lieth in the sin of fornication. ¶ the abbot pastor said that all thus as they that be ordained to keep the person of a prince/ aught to be ever ready for to defend him by arms from all oppressions. likewise that soul utuouse aught to be ever counseled for to withstand against the temptations in lechery of the fiend of hell. ¶ a young religious came once to the said abbot pastor & complained to him that he was sore tempted & tormented of the sin of fornication/ asking counsel of him/ how he should keep him there from/ & yet he said to him/ that for this cause he had be toward the abbot ibyssyon that had answered him/ that he ought not in no wise suffer such thought to soyourne nor abide long in his courage. upon this the abbot pastor said unto him & answered thus/ the works & the deeds of the abbot ibystyon are continually on high, that is to say that continually he contempled the heavenly things/ where by he knew not what such temptations mente. ¶ but an other thing it was of this pastor as he himself said/ & also of the said religious/ for they were yet subgett to fornycacon. so thenne it is needful that we restrain our belies & our tongues. for the religious that this thing shall do & that shall dwell in a solitary place/ may be well sure & certain that he shall not die of the second death/ that is to say the death everlasting of hell. ¶ some told of the abbess named sayre/ that she strongly tempted of that wicked & damnable ghost of fornication/ during the space of xiij year/ had steadfastly & perseverantly withstand/ & in this doing she never prayed god/ that this temptation or battle should depart from her/ but had prayed him only that it would please him to give her might & steadfastness for to withstand their against. ¶ and moreover was said of her/ that the said ghost of fornication tempting her continually/ was unto her sometime more great adversary/ bringing before her the vanities of this world/ but she having always the dread of god byfor her eyen & in her courage which steadfast purpose of constance & abstinence/ came ones upon her bed taking herself for to pray god there. and in this doing appeared bodily afore her the ghost of fornication that said to her/ thou hast overcome me sayre. whereat she answered. i have not overcome the thou ghost abominable/ but my god only hath overcome thee/ & none other. ¶ a brother was sore stenged & pryeked of the sin of fornication/ so that he had like a glowing stenge brenning both day & night within his heart but nevertheless he bataylled there against not condescending or consenting to his thought. and after that he had fought long time/ this stenge departed from him without to do any gryef unto him/ by the mean of his great perseverance/ & anon he found himself in a courage all spread of the grace of god. ¶ an other brother sore pricked & vexed with fornication rose by night & went to an old father to whom he told his mind/ asking his counsel thereupon ¶ the holy father aeged recomforted & counseled him so well that he went again in to his cell all enough content of him/ but nevertheless he was yet again tempted of the said sin of fornication/ wherefore also yet again he went to the said old father/ not ones only but also diverse times. and this notwithstanding the holy father ancient gave him no angry words that might bring nor move him to wrath or heaviness/ but lovingly he showed to him that ● was to him necessary & profitable for his salvation/ saying that he should not give over him none authority to the devil/ & that he should not bow his courage/ & that he should say spitting at him. devil dampened come to me/ & do to me the worst that thou canst. i fear the not/ for i shall overcome the well. and he said that when a man saith thus to the despyt of him he departeth away from the person. ¶ moreover he said that there nys nothing that doth more letting to the dampened spirit of fornication/ than when he that is pricked of him revealeth & showeth his stenges & pryckynges/ nor that more reioyssheth him/ than when they be kept close & secret & not showed unto some good person. the brother then went his way/ and sin came again unto the said holy father for said xi times excusing himself of his foolish thoughts & evil mind. and synably he prayed him in the name of holy charity/ that he would give him some good counsel & teaching. then said the holy father to him. believe me my son. i ensure the that if god suffereth my thoughts of the which my courage is pricked & stenged to be transported unto the ● shouldest not con bear them/ but shouldest holy be overthrown from high to low. these things thus said & prouffered by the said holy father through his great humility the pricking ceased holy in the said brother/ & died no letting to him no more. ¶ item an other pricked with fornication took himself for to fight/ & continued his abstynen●e keeping his thought within him close by the space of 〈◊〉. year without to consent unto his concupysence the which xiiij year ended because that he found himself ever still without teasse as sore oppressed as he had he afore one day among other coming to the ●hirthe he opened & showed unto all there being present the grievous passions that he suffered requiring their help & socours. so was it ordained that every man should pray for him. the which thing was done in devout wailings & afflictions. after that they had continued for him a week in prayers & orations/ the pricking that pricked him within forth was utterly put out in him and brought to nought. ¶ an old hermit speaking of the thoughts of fornication said. thou that art inclined to sleep. if thou will be saved/ arise & work & give to thy poor body travel & affliction/ seek & thou shalt find/ wait & smite at the door/ & it shall be open to the. ¶ thou hast sometime seen and apperceived in this world some men strong as wastelers that have fought with cruel beasts as to the hairs & to the lions & other/ the which boasting themself to sore and speaking overmuch/ have showed themself strong/ and by their hardiness and worthy courages they have be crowned like men victorious. ¶ and sometime as a man that is beaten & hurt of two other men/ he comforteth himself in his wounds/ and overcometh thoos that smiteth him. ¶ now consider then what and how great virtue of strength by exercise of his body he hath gotten/ as he would say/ that it hath be to such a victorious man a moche great praising/ to have overcome two other men. ¶ and after he said. be thou thenne strong and constance and god shall befyght the fiend for the. ¶ of this thought of fornication an other aeged father said. be thou like him that passeth by the cooks or through a tavern & taketh the savour & smell of every meet or of drink that be sold there/ & there so entereth in who so ever will for to eat & drink of the same/ & he that will not thereof gooth by his ways therefrom withstanding against the disordinate appetite/ that he hath had there through the smelling or savour that he hath felt there/ the which he putteth abake. ¶ in likewise thou ought to do/ & in casting a bake from the this savour & stench of fornication/ thou aught to arise thyself & pray god saying. o god almighty help me. and this shall thou do also against thine other evil thoughts thou ought to know that we have not the strength ne the might to pluke nor enrase out of our hearts/ but we may well wrestle and fight against them. ¶ an other old father said that we endure & suffer such manners of temptations by our great slowthe & negligence. for if we died think & consider that god dwelled & enhabyteth within us when we be in the estate of grace/ we should not ordain no strange vessel within us/ that is to say/ that we should not give none occasion to the fiend of hell to lodge him there by sin/ putting our lord away. certainly our lord dwelling within us & with us/ he busily beholdeth & keepeth our life. and therefore we that bear him & contemple him in our entendementes & courages/ aught not to contemn nor despise him/ but in worshipping him hallow ourself/ as he is right holy & worthy. let us then be constant & steadfast upon the stone/ that is to say in our lord ihesu cryst/ which is the stone & the parliament of our faith/ and let us befyght the wicked spirit/ & say every one in himself that that the holy prophet david saith in his spalter. they that trust in god and that be steadfast & constant/ as the mountain of zion/ which is among all other the highest & the strongest/ & the which shall be never dysmoeved/ shall not be overcome of the temptations of the fiend/ but shall come at the last to iherusalem the sovereign city which is tokened vision of peace. ¶ a young religious questioned an aeged father saying thus. if a religious runneth in to some sin/ he is scourged and tormented in spirit/ as he that that leaveth to do his profit and falleth in to poverty/ and seeing his estate thus changed/ he ceaseth not to labour and travel till that he cometh up again from his poverty/ and that he be set again in his first estate ¶ and he that come from the world to take and live a solitary life/ he is likened unto him that forsaketh and despiseth his enemy/ and beginneth to profit for himself. ¶ then he axed him how he ought to lead himself for to eschew to these inconveniences. ¶ the old father answered unto him/ that a monk which is assailed and tempted of the fiend/ is like a house which is in danger for to fall done/ but and if in his temptations/ he leadeth himself soberly withstanding against them/ he buildeth the house up again which was in way for to fall and he findeth matters good and profitable to the building again of the same/ as good and strong prayers for to set and make withal the fundaments/ and sand to make mortar withal and other things that be necessary to the foresaid building. and in this house thus strongly builded he profiteth. but he that delveth not in the earth for to set the foundementes/ & is unpurveyed of such things that be needful to the reedyfyeng of the said building/ but liveth under a hope he passing forth the time/ if his house by some wise happeth to be fulmade/ that is a thing hard and strong for to be done and in great adventure. ¶ and all thus it is of a religious/ the which after that he is fallen in temptation/ if he turned himself to godward/ than may he have a great appetite to building/ that is to wit/ to think upon gods laws to read psalms/ to labour & to pray & to do such things that be the fundaments & buildings of holy religion. but he that beginneth of new/ & that is new in conversation/ he findeth this manner of building right strange unto time he hath learned these things. ¶ a brother religious which was tempted of the sin of fornication/ went toward an other holy father well famed/ & prayed him that he would wonthesauffe for his learning & showing that he had a love & charity toward him/ to pray god that he would give him some comfort for to withstand against the said temptation which thing the holy father died. ¶ and an other time after came the said religious again/ making unto this old father such an other request which he granted him & prayed our lord for him saying. my god i pray the that it wyyll please the to show unto me whereof this evil temptation cometh to this brother/ that he findeth therein neither end nor rest/ how be it i have prayed the so long for him. ¶ and anon after our lord made him upon his request such a revelation/ that is to wite/ that he saw the said young religious sitting idle without any work that he made/ the ghost of fornication by him & playing with him. and at the other side of him was the angel of god that was sent unto him for his help which was wroth & not content/ that he cast not himself done to the earth for to pray god/ but took delectation & pleasure in his thoughts bowing all his affection unto the same. ¶ the holy father knowing that the cause grew more of the said religious than otherwise/ died cell him that he was well informed that he was himself cause of the continuation of his temptation/ because he died set his will to lightly there unto. ¶ and sin after he taught him how he should withstand from hens forth against such temptations. finably the brother taking a courage by the prayers and doctrine of the said holy father found himself peaceable of the said temptation. ¶ the disciple of an old father was ones tempted of fornication. the holy father seeing his disciple fight with great labour and pain/ axed him/ if he would that he should pray god for him/ that he would relieve him from this unrestfulness/ whereat the disciple answered. ¶ ha my father i see well & consider/ that if i have great labour and pain for to withstand. i lose not my loan nor my reward. i know well thus doing that by the weight of my labour i profit/ wherefore it is not need to pray god for to take away this temptation fro me/ but i will well & i pray the so/ that it will please the to pray god that he will give me might & steadfastness/ by the which i may ever fight courageously there against. the holy father answered unto him. now i know my son that thou art well disposed for to profit greatly & that thou shalt pass us in all virtues. ¶ men rehearse of an old father/ that came in to the deserts of sychye/ that he had a child so young that he was not yet wended from the breast/ & from his young age he was with his father nourished in the monastery where he kept himself/ so that he wist not what women were. and when he was become a man/ the devils showed him by night diverse forms to the likeness of women/ which thing he told unto his father/ that was sore marueylled of it. and it happened that he went once with his father in to egypt/ and by the way he saw some women which he showed to his father saying that they were the same that by night came unto him in sychye/ whereat his father answered to him/ that they were the monks of the world & that they wered an other habit/ & the hermits an other. and thenne the holy father wondered sore/ how the devils showed in sychye such images of women/ & anon after they went again to their hermitage. ¶ an other religious in sychye well named & sore withstanding the temptations/ was sore tempted of the spirit of fornication/ that brought often in his courage the remembrance of a fair woman which he had known he being in the world/ & gendered within him a marueyllouse temptation/ during the which it happened after the will of god/ that a religious coming out of egypte came in to the deserts of sychye/ & went to see the said religious/ unto whom among other things he showed/ how this woman was deed and incontinent that this was comen to his knowledge/ he trussed a vestiment of his own/ & by night he departed secretly out of his hermitage/ & after walked so long till he came to the place where he had herd say that she was buried. and when he was come there/ he began to delve in the earth over her grave/ and rubbed & frotted his said habit or vestment in to the rotyn blood & in to the stench of the corpse of the said woman. and when he was comen again to his hermitage/ he laid the said stinking vestment afore his face/ and in correcting and rebuking his thought/ said to himself. o cursed thought corrupt and rotyn/ here is the desire that thou didst ask/ take it and fill thyself with it. and in this manner in smelling of that savour and stench he chastised himself sleeyng and brynghing unto nought his disordinate desire. ¶ a lay man desiring to be a religious came once in the deserts of sychye/ and brought with him a child of his own that late had be weaned fro the breast. and when he was out of childhood and in the age of youth the devils took up them for to fight with him/ and so cruel they were that he was constrained by their temptations to tell his father that he would be no more hermit/ but would go live with the world/ saying that he could no longer bear the desyrynges of the flesh. ¶ his father comforted and said to him the best that he could/ but nought availed his comfort. for his son said there against that he could no more abide the same/ praying him that he would let him go to the world. ¶ then said his father to him. my son i pray the obey me yet one's/ take with the xl loves of breed and leaves and roots for to live xl dayes-and go thy ways far within the desert soyourning there by the space of the said xl days/ abiding that god shall do his pleasure of the. ¶ the child obeying to his father arose and went in to the deepest of the deserts keking himself there by the space of twenty days continually labouring about the making of mats to keep his body occupied/ and eat dry breed. and after the said twenty days were passed/ he saw a wonderful work of the devil coming upon him/ for suddenly died appear afore him in the likeness of a woman which was black as an ethyopyen abominable in sight/ and so infect with stench/ that he might not endure nor suffer her by him but shoved her aback from him. and she telled him. i am she that feign myself within the hearts of men/ to whom i give a sweet show/ but withstanding thine obedience and the labour that thou hearest which letteth me god would not suffer that i should follow or turn thee/ though i have be constrained to show the my power. ¶ then he kneeled done and gave thankings unto our lord. and sin after came to his father again and said to him. my father i will no more go to the world. for i have seen now the deceyvynges of the devil and his fowl stench. ¶ his father also had well seen his said vision/ and he said so to him. ¶ ha my son if thou had abiden in that desert xl days as i had tell the that thou shouldest do/ thou shouldest have seen greater things ¶ another old father held himself in an hermitage far/ he had a kinswoman that of long time had great desire for to see him/ wherefore she made searching after the place where he dwelled/ & sin after she took her way toward his hermitage. ¶ she walking met in her way some carriers that led many camel/ with whom she acompanyed herself/ and went so long by her journeys that she came with them in to the deserts/ where she tyssed and tempted by the wicked spirit/ made such diligence for to find the hermitage of the said religious/ that she came soon and knocked at the door/ showing and giving to know by tokens and words what she was/ and namely required him that he would not withsay the opening of his door to her/ seen that she was his kinswoman/ and also the good and holy affection and desire that she had unto him which was her nigh kinsman. ¶ thenne the religious hearing her words/ and knowing that she was of his sib and lineage/ opened to her his door and let her in/ where she abode certain days with the said religious. it is truth that ferther within the desert dwelled an other solitary religious to the which hanging the time that this woman was with that other religious/ it happened two or three times/ as he would have taken his repast/ and namely when he would drink of the water that he had put in a drinking vessel/ that the said vessel turned in his hand the bottom upward and so spilled his water whereof he marveled sore. the which thing seeing this religious he said to himself as he was inspired of god. truly i shall go see my brethren in their hermitages/ and i shall tell them this that so often is happened to me of my water ¶ he took on his way anon and sped so moche that on a day for fault of other lodges/ he was constrained to enter and lodge himself within an old temple that was in his way where the idols had be worshipped some tyme. ¶ and he being there in the night time/ he heard many devils whereof some said to the other/ that they had made a religious that night to fall in the sin of fornication. hearing the which words/ the said religious was sore troubled in his courage. and as soon as the day was come/ he took his way in so great diligence that he came to the hermitage of that other religious of whom the devils made their boast/ the which he found much sorrowful and heavy. ¶ so died he show right well to him that that was happened unto him of his water/ and how diverse times it was spilled by itself when he wend for to have drunk of the same. asking of him what might be the cause that it so happened. ¶ thenne the other religious said unto him. ¶ o my brother thou art welcome sith it hath please the for to come hither for to show unto me thine inconveniences. ¶ truly brother mine. i have well more need of thy good counsell and comfort/ than thou hast of mine. for but late ago/ i am fallen in the sin of fornication. ¶ then answered to him his fellow. verily my brother i have well known thereof this night. ¶ alas and how answered that other. ¶ certainly said he in sleeping within the temple of idols/ which lieth by the way hetherwarde between thine lodges and mine. i have heard the devils that spaken of the and were wonderful glad of the same sin/ in which they have the overthrown. and anon the poor brother said unto him as by desperation. ¶ ha my brother i am no more worthy to be nor acompanye the holy hermits & religiouses of the hermitages/ certainly i will now go presently for to use wretchedly my life with the folk of the world. ¶ thenne the good religious required him by good charity that he should not abide in that folly/ drawing his trust aback from the great mercy of god/ but should take a good courage and purpose himself for to live ever a religious life/ living so lytaryly in the deserts/ as he was wont to do in time passed/ & that he should forsake & leave that cursed woman/ for it was through the entyting of the devil that she was come there. these words heard/ the poor religious repented him of his sin by very contrition & great penance which he continued long/ & unto the time that he found himself better than he was/ & in rest of conscience. ¶ an aeged holy father said/ that three things/ that is to wite/ to put himself from the business & solycytudes/ to be transyble & to think in his hereto upon his sins engender in a religious the virtue of charity. ¶ an other religious moved a question to an aeged holy father asking him if it happeth that a religious falleth in to some sin/ so that the other religiouses be thereby slandered/ what remedy shall they soak upon the same. answering to the which question/ the said holy father fold the history that followeth saying. at a monastery in egypte dwelled a dyaken well famed & rendured/ in whom time happeth that a man of court/ by a judge having power of the land was banished or in such wise troubled that he was constrained to withdraw himself/ which with all his many came to the monastery where the said dyaken dwelled/ this courtire in the said monastery sojourning/ the said dyaken at the said instigation enticing of the devil commised the sin of fornication and adultery with this courtiers wife/ whereof great slander & confusion moved among the religiouses there/ wherefore he moved by great shame & contrition/ went secretly unto an old father & declared to him his befall/ praying him that he would give him counsel to help him that he might arise from his grievous sin. and talking together/ the old father led him in to a secret cell that he had far within the desert/ the which cell seeing this dyaken/ he prayed the said holy father/ that he should bury him quick therein/ & that he should never tell to no body where he was. so entered he within this dwelling that was dark & obscure/ & there he made an hard & a virtuous penance by a long & a great space of time/ during the which happened in the land of egypte a great dreought & scarceness because that the water of nub that was thenne very small might not weet the country as she had accustomed/ wherefore the people began to make devout prayers/ litanies and orisons praying our lord that he would have pity of them and to send them some water for the mayntening of their poor lives. and in making these said prayers. it was showed unto an holy hermit by the will of god/ that the water of the said flood should not were nor grow unto the time that the dyaken which was hid within the cell of the said holy father in the deserts of egypt/ should come for to pray with the other for to have the said water. the which revelation this holy father incontinent showed to all the other faders/ which anon went toward the said dyaken & brought him out of the said cell. and sin after set himself to prayers and orisons with them/ & soon after the said water grew & increased in so great abundance that the dearth ceased/ whereby they had goods suffisant. and they that had be afore slandered and shamed by him/ were well praised sin of him for his great and hard penance/ whereof they praised and glorified the name of god. ¶ two brethren religious went once to a city which was nigh their hermitage for to sell there their work that they had made for to get their living. and when they were come to the said city/ after that they were departed the one fro the other for to speed more soon their deeds/ one of them fulfilled the sin of fornication. his brother came soon again toward him/ & told him that they should return to their cells/ whereat the poor sinner answered/ that he should not return thither/ & why said the other/ because i am not worthy to be there any more/ because that sin that thou departed from me. i have foolishly & dampnbly done the wretched sin of fornication. ¶ thenne his brother desiring to win his soul & keep from damnation/ said to him in this wise. in good sooth my brother/ as moche is happened unto me sin i left thee/ and therefore we shall not despair ourself/ but we shall return again to our cells for to weep there over our sins and do penance/ and god through his mercy shall forgive us our trespasses. and incontinent that they were gone again/ they showed unto the ancient faders that/ that was happened unto them/ & they gave them such penances as they seemed good. ¶ in this deed is well to be considered the great charity of the brother that had not sinned/ but for to give his brother a courage to repent himself he was content to accuse himself of a sin that he had not done & to do for him as great penance as that he had done it/ wherefore god seeing his labour and good affection/ within few days after he declared to one of the old faders/ that in favour and contemplation of the great charity of him that had not sinned/ but desiring the health of his brother/ had done as great penance as he/ he had quited & forgiven him his offence. whereby it may be said verily of him that doth in this manner/ that without doubt he putteth his soul in pledge for the soul of his brother. ¶ an other brother came to an old father/ saying that by a brother of his he had be induced to so great varyablenesse and unsteadfastness in leading him in diverse places sin here sin there/ that he was thereby sore scorged & troubled in his courage. ¶ the good father hearing his words said to him. my brother bear patiently the evil of thy brother/ and god that shall see thy good courage/ & that thou dost thy devoir for to call him again sweetly to a good life/ shall address him unto the in time covenable. ¶ certainly when a body hath conceived in him some evil thought it is not a thing to be called lightly again by sharp & bitter words/ for one devil put not out that other/ but by sweetness & meekness men may lightly & soon revoke a great sinner. for our lord hath this manner to draw unto him the men by sweetness. and after showed unto him/ that two brethren had be in thebaid/ one of which was so sore tempted of the sin of fornication/ that for to accomplish it in deed he purposed to return again to dwell in the world but the other hearing his foolish intention/ began to weep sore & said to him. my brother i shall not seat the go fro me for to go lose thy labour & thy virginity. the other answered that he should no more dwell in the hermitage/ saying to him that if he would bear him company he should come again with him/ & if he would not/ he should not come again ¶ his brother hearing his words went for to take counsel of an aeged father for to wit of him what he might best do for to keep him. ¶ to whom this father counseled that he should go with his brother/ & that god that knew his good will & the pain the he should take for to withdraw him again/ should not suffer that he should fall in sin ¶ so went he to the world with his brother & they passing by a street/ god considering the labour of the good brother that by good charity & for great necessity followed his brother for to keep him that he should not be lost/ took from him the concupyl●ence that so made him go out of the right way. and incontinent he said to his brother that they should go to their hermitage & that him thought that he had sinned all ready with some woman alas said he and what have i gotten thereby as he would have said/ that he had enterprised a way sore daungerose and damynable. so they returned to their cell & lived there solitarily as they were wont to do afore. ¶ an other brother said to an old father/ what ought i for to do for to keep me from the fowl thoughts of lechery that tourmente me. whereat the holy father answered/ that a woman when she will ween her child and keep him fro the breast/ she putteth upon her paps some thing bitter. and when the child will take the pap for to draw it as he is accustomed/ and feeleth the bitterness that is there upon/ he forsaketh it anon. ¶ likewise when such foolish thoughts and temptations shall hap to come upon thee/ consider the filth and stench that riseth thereof/ the grievous offence that thou shouldest do against god if thou didst the sin/ and the horrible pain that thou shouldest suffer everlastingly if thou deydest suddenly in that estate/ the which thing falleth every day to many one. ¶ an other brother questioned an other aeged upon a like ●aas and sin the which answered unto him that he never was pricked nor stinged with that sin. ¶ the brother hearing his answer was wonderfully slandered with it and greatly ashamed. and so went to an other father/ and told him what the other had said to him/ whereof he was ill content/ because him thought that his answer was above nature. for him seemed to be impossible but that he should have be often times troubled with the temptation of the said sin. ¶ the old father said unto him the man of god hath not told that thoos words simply & unadvisedly/ but for to have the declaration thereof/ thou shall go again to him & shall pray him/ that he will pardon thee/ the evil thinking the thou hast had upon his person/ & moreover that he will expone unto the the virtue of his words. this brother then came again to the holy father foresaid/ & repenting himself/ said unto him. good father please the to forgive me my folly/ in asmuch that i am departed fro the without leave to be taken of thee/ & moreover i beseech thee/ that thou will expone unto me/ how it can be that thou haste never be pricked nor tempted of the sin of fornication. then the old father answered unto him. my brother i shall tell it the. i ensure the the sin i died yield me first to religion. i have not eat so moche of breed ne drunken so moche of water that i could say that ever i took once my fill with it. ¶ also in likewise i never slept as long as mine appetite desired/ & so i have kept myself from meats/ whereof some other be wont to use. and in this manner travailing my body. i have brought it so low that it was not suffered me that i should feel the prickings of the flesh. ¶ then went away the brother taking leave of the holy father/ & sin profited moche in conversation & amendment of life by the ensample of the said aeged father. ¶ an other brother moved a question unto an other father ancient/ saying. fair father what own i to do. i cannot change my thought from the sin of fornication/ whereof i am so sore tormented/ that i may not have an hour only any rest. ¶ the old father answered to him. my son when the devils presented the some lecherous thought is in thy heart whereof he feeleth him somewhat pricked/ thou oughtest not to speak thereof nor to think upon it in thy courage/ for it longeth to the devils for admynyster wilily such thoughts/ & all be it so that they be sore curious & busy for to put them in to the hearts of the persons/ always it is not to them possible for to make them abide therein/ but if they will himself/ wherefore thou ought to know & not fere/ but the thou mayst receive or forsake them when thou wilt. and to this purpose may be applied this that the madyanitees did when they made fair & clad their thoughters/ & put them in the sight & before the presence of the children of israel. for they constrained not none of them for to have do carnaly with the said women/ but they that foolishly died set their love upon them/ died what they would with them/ & thenne the madyanites angered & moved against them that had defoiled their daughters/ threatened the other/ but they took vengeance of the fornicators/ which they brought all to death. and thus haste thou for to do of the lecherous temptations in casting them from thee/ to th'end that they be not cause of the death. ¶ then answered the brother. good father ye counsel me right well/ but what shall ye answer to me of that i am weak and so feeble that this passion overcometh me. ¶ thou must set all thine affection said the holy father to withstand. and when the devils shall enforce them for to move thy heart for to think evil or to speak some ill answer them not in no wise/ but arise for to pray god & do penance saying. o son of god have mercy upon me. ha good father said the brother. i shall do well this/ at lest i am well in a thought to do so/ but i have not in mine heart no manner of compunction. for i can not understand the virtue of the words of the orison that thou tellest to me. well said the holy father if thou understandest nothing of it/ thou shalt think only thereupon. for i have herd say the abbot pastor/ & also other old faders this word/ that is to wite that the enchanter knowing not perfectly what betoken the words by the means of which he maketh his incantations/ but always he knoweth that by such words spoken to the serpent that heareth them/ that self serpent is incontinent enchanted. likewise how well that we know the virtue of the words that we put forth in our orisons/ always the devils when they here them they afeard thereof and by the virtue and dread of the same/ they go from us. ¶ some ancient said that the thought of fornication is as freylle & as light for to break as paper. for if the happeth to come upon us & that we refuse her and cast her behind us/ she is of light overcome. it is then needful that we have discretion in our thoughts & cogitations/ by the which we have to know/ that they that consent to them ought not to have thus doing any hope to be saved/ but they that withstand against them may & own to wait for their reward the crown of victory in the royalme of heaven. ¶ two brethren sore assailed & tempted of the sin of fornication/ not having afore their eyen the dread of god nor the memory of the health of their soul's/ as fools and out of wit forsook and left their hermitages/ and leading each of them a common woman with them/ went and accompanied certain space of time among the worldly folk. ¶ and after that they had thus wanton lived/ one of them showed to the other their unhappy and wicked living/ and said to him such words. let us consider and take heed what goods we lose/ that living so wickedly we leave the life of angels for to accompany and us to defoil in so stinking a filth/ the which shall be cause unto us for to go in to broundes and torments that ever shall last. i pray the my brother let us go again to the hermitage and do penance for the sins that we have done so presumptuously. ¶ the which thing they purposed and were delivered for to do. and following their delyberation came to the deserts where as they found the aeged holy faders/ to whom right humbly and in great contrition they besought that they would receive them to penance as they died. ¶ and after that they had made an hole confession of all their sins/ the ancient faders died shit them within their cells/ where as they were by the space of a year where as they made to be administered to them a little breed and a little water for to sustain their life withal/ as moche to the one as to the other. for also they were both alike face and of age. ¶ and after that/ that they had done their penance and that they were loose again and let out of their celles/ the holy father seeing the one of them to be wonderful pale & heavy/ & that other moche boystouse & glad/ they wondered sore upon/ withstanding that to either of them/ & as much to the one as to the other/ there living indifferently had be administered unto them/ wherefore they moved a question unto him that so pale and heavy was/ asking him what deeds he had had in his thoughts during the time of the penance that he had been in his cell/ whereat he answered. ¶ in good sooth said he. i have had ever in remembrance the pains & torments that i have deserved/ and in which i was afeard to come/ for the great abominable and vile sins that i have done. and for this cause & for the great dread that i took thereof. i am become thus dry and lean by the continually ensyght that i had thereupon. in son moche that my bones have pierced and yet pierce my flesh as ye see. and after they questioned the other saying. and thou brother what thought hadst thou in thy cell. the religious answered. i rendered continually graces and thanks unto my god of that it had pleased him to deliver me out of the filths and uncleanness of this world/ and from the pains and tormenees everlasting/ in calling me again to this angel's life. and in remembering myself of the great mercies of my god. i waxed glad in myself as yet still i do. the which words heard of the said aeged faders/ they judged that their penance was like and semblable toward god/ and thanked them. ¶ an ancient holy father was in the deserts of sychye/ the which fill in a great sickness/ and for to relieve him therefrom/ many brethren busied them curyously for to serve and admynyster unto him all his necessities as well as they could. ¶ this holy father considering the pain and travail that they took and bore about him/ thought in himself for to go in to egypte/ notwithstanding his said sickness and gryeff and said to the abbot moses that for to discharge these brethren of the pains and vexations that he gaaf unto them he would go there. ¶ the abbot moses said unto him my brother if thou will believe me thou shall not go there/ for if thou go there/ thou shall not come again without thou shalt fulfil there the sin of fornication. ¶ the old father wroth of this answer said again to him/ why sayest thou so my brother/ thou knowest well seen that my body is already deed/ that this is not well said of the by me/ and thou showest in that saying/ that thou settest little by me and of my salvation. forsooth sith that i have purposed to go there. i shall not defer but i shall go. ¶ so he departed & went in to egypt & incontinent that he was come there many honourable persons dwelling in diverse places all enough nigh his residence/ for the love that they ought unto him & to his right honest conversation/ they offered themselves to him & made to him great services/ & among that other came there a good virgin that busied her for to serve him/ admynystring unto him such things that were needful for his sickness. and within a while after he coming again somewhat to his health/ was so wonderfully tempted of the fiend of hell/ that he enticed the same virgin/ in such manner that she consented that he should have her company fleshly/ & waxed great in deed of his work. she moved to question of them that dwelled in the places about/ of whom she had conceived she answered that it was of the deed of the old father/ but they believed it not. and he himself said that he had done the same. the time of childing came to hand that she had a child/ which the holy father foresaid prayed that he should be kept/ & after that he was weaned fro the breast/ the said old father seeing that a solemn feast should be shortly hallowed in sychye/ he took this child & bore him to the church afore a great multitude of religiouses the which thing seeing the said religiouses they began all to weep/ weening to them that he had be mad & taken from his wyetes. he said then to them. my brethren see you this child it is the child of inobedience. i pray you that in considering the great mysbehaving which i have done in mine old days ye will take heed unto yourself to th'end that ye ●enne not in to so dangerous & damnable way/ as the same where i am run unto/ and that it will please you to pray god for me that it will please him of his great mercy & bounty to pardon & forgive me my grievous sins and offences. from thence he departed & went to his cell again where he made meruayllouse & great penance for the same sin/ by mean of the which he brought him self again through the grace of our lord to the estate of holy conversation and good living. ¶ a brother was sometime tempted of the sin of fornication by diverse fiends of hell/ the which changing in to diverse manners of fair women during the space of xl days continually befought & tempted him for to withdraw him to do and accomplish the horrible & fowl sin of lechery. but he withstood their temptations & deceits so manly and so steadfastly/ that they could not move him for to do or fulfil the said sin. wherefore our lord seeing his good courage/ by the which he had bataylled so well/ died give unto him this grace/ that he suffered never more sith that time any here of fleshly concupisbence. ¶ an other there was in the low parties of egypt the which was much solitary/ & among the other well renammed/ for he kept himself alone in the church in a place desert. he being ●here/ by the suggestion & temptation of the devil/ a woman or dishonest & of evil fame that had herd tell many wonderful things of the said religious moved a question to some men that talked of him/ and said to them what thing will you give me/ if i can deceive him in so much that he shall have my bodily company in fulfilling the sin of lechery. ¶ they hearing these words/ & trusting that she could not do that she said/ submitted themself to give her some what/ as they should agree together/ the which covenant made/ she upon an even feigning herself walking toward some pelgrymage & that she had lost her way/ came to the cell of the said good holy man/ & smote so at his door that he was constrained to open it/ & seeing this woman he was sore troubled & abashed/ and said thus to her/ woman/ how art thou comen hither. and then weeping feynyngly she answered unto him/ that bycase she had lost her way & wist not where she should go because she met no body by the way/ she was come there/ praying him that for to keep and preserve her from danger & inconvenience/ he would in way of good charity receive her for that night/ which thing he died/ & closed her within a little closet or cottage which was a little from his cell. soon after she began to cry & call saying. alas fair father the beasts eaten me here. i pray the open me thy door. the good holy father hearing this cry he was more moved & troubled than he had be afore/ & fearing the wrath of god said unto himself. alas & whereof may come to me this trouble/ nevertheless having of her compassion/ he opened his door & took her within him. and incontinent the wicked fiend of hell began to prick & to shot against him the arrows of concupisbence/ & to peers & sting his heart with the thought of this woman. and where he thought in himself that it was the devil that thus tempted & stenged him/ he began to say. i see now well that these tenebrous & dark thoughts come of the fiend of hell. and by contrary thoos that be clear and bright come of the son of god. and saying this words he lighted a candle/ and when his desire inflamed him or else that by the same desire he was taken with the stinking delectation of lechery/ he said in this wise. i wot & know well that they that done such sins descenden & fall in to the horrible torments of hell. wherefore i will prove by myself/ if by the fire of this candle i may by any wise suffer the pain of the fire of hell. and this saying he put his finger in to the flame of the candle/ and because that he felt it not burn for cause of the great brounde of lechery with the which he was inflamed wonderfully/ he continued all that night brenning himself at flame of the said candle/ so that in this doing/ till the morrow in the morning he brent & bruled all his fingers. then the wretched & unhappy woman seeing that the said holy man died/ brought herself in great fere & dread & unmovable as a stone. then came thereby that morrow next thoos young persons to whom she had promised that she should do so moche that he should sin with her fleshly/ & they axed to this holy man if there was not a woman come unto him upon even byforn/ whereat he answered ye/ & pointing her with the finger said to them. yonder ye may see her a sleep/ & they went in trowing to have waked her out of her sleep/ & they found her deed. and they said again to the holy man as all afeard/ that she was decessed. then he dyscevering him self from a naughty mantle that he had on showed unto them his hands all brent saying to them. see my friends what this daughter of the devil hath done to me this night/ she hath destroyed & wasted away my fingers and after he said to them that he found in holy scripture our lord to have said that men ought not to yield evil for evil/ wherefore incontinent he began to pray god for her/ & his prayer made she anon came to live again. and from that time she turned her evil life/ & spend the remnant of the same living chastened and holily. ¶ an other brother tycyd & sore tempted of the said sin of fornication/ one time among other he went to a town in egypt where the dwellers of the same worshipped the idols. and he seeing there the daughter of the priest of the law pagan/ was taken of the love of her/ so that he came him self toward her father/ & required him that he would give her to him to a wife. whereat the priest answered that he should not give her to him till he had had the counsel of his gods thereupon. so go he to speak with the devil which he worshipped & said to him. my god here is a monk that will take my daughter to his wife/ i require & beseech the that it will please the to teach & tell me if i ought to give her unto him/ or what i ought to do in this behalf. ¶ thenne the devil answered unto him/ that if he would make him to fulfil three things/ the first is to forsake his god/ the second to for sake his christendom/ and the third to forsake & leave his religion. in this doing/ & not else/ he should grant and give unto him his daughter to be his wife. the priest thenne his answer understand & heard/ returned toward the monk/ & to him said & showed that he should give him his daughter if he would do these three things/ whereof the monk was well content of this answer. ¶ and after that he had promised him to do that he had said to him/ him thought by likeness that he saw as a white dove come out & depart from his mouth & floughe to the heaven. and after this the priest went again to the devil/ & told him how the monk had promised him for to do & fulfil these foresaid three things. then the devil defended him/ that nevertheless he should not give his daughter unto that monk/ for his god had not yet forsaken him/ but was yet to his help so came again the priest to him & said/ that he was not yet disposed for to give him his daughter/ because that his god helpeth him yet/ & was not departed from him. ¶ the religious hearing these words said to himself. if my god showeth to me his goodness so great/ all be it that i unhappy & wretched have forsaken him/ & my baptism & my religion/ & yet where i have done one so great and horrible a sin/ hath would & will yet help me now. alas & why should i go from him then he returning to himself again changed his evil purpose & came again to the hermitage toward an aged holy father/ to whom he told and rehearsed all these things/ the which i heard the holy father enjoined him that he should hold him and fast the space of three weeks during within a pit that was within the said hermitage/ and this hanging he should pray for him. and this died the religious with a good will. and sin the old father departed from him/ & prayed our lord for him saying. o my god i pray the right humbly/ that it will please the to give me the soul of this poor & wretched sinner/ & to receive agreeable his penance/ the which orison & request our lord herd. and when the first week of the three was at an end he go toward the religious doing penance/ and questioned him/ asking to him how he felt himself/ & if he had seen any thing whereby he should have a hope to be saved/ whereat the said religious answered ye/ saying moreover that in the highness of heaven he had seen a down/ being sore high over against his heed. ¶ then said to him the holy father take ever a busy keep of thyself/ & pray god busily/ and so went from him unto the end of the second week that he came again toward him as he had done afore. and axed him if he had seen any thing/ & he answered that he had seen the said down coming nigh his heed. so commanded him the holy father that he should ever have a good thought/ & that he should continue to pray god. finably the third week finished he came again to him & questioned as afore if he had seen any thing more/ to whom he answered saying. i have seen the down which is come & hath set herself upon my heed/ and moving my hand trowing to have taken her/ she raised herself incontinent and is entered in to my mouth. ¶ the which thing heard/ the holy father begins to yield graces unto our lord. and after said to the religious. my friend thou mayst by this vision know clearly/ that god hath received agreeably thy penance. and therefore from hens forth take heed to thyself/ and see that thou fall not again in sin. ¶ the religious answered. ha my father i thank the of thy good counsels/ for by the same thou hast be the cause to make me have the mercy of god/ but if it be thy pleasure/ thou shalt be content/ that from hen's forthon and unto the death i shall dwell with thee/ the which thing the holy father granted him. ¶ an old religious named thebeyen told that he was the son of priest paynim sacryfyeng idols/ and that he being a young child & in the temple with the other little children/ he saw many times his father sacrify to the idols/ and one time among other he entered secretly within the temple where he saw satan sitting in authority with all his chyvalry which of a great multitude of devils being about him/ one of the which come first and presented him afore him/ worshipping him with great reverence/ to whom satan asked fro whence he came. and he andswered to him/ that he came from a province which he named/ where as he by subtle means had moved and raised great wars divisions and battles unto wonderful shedding of man's blood the which thing i am come for to show it unto the. ¶ thenne satan asked him/ how long he was about the ymagyning of so worthy a work done by him. whereat he answered. xxx days/ which answer i heard/ satan commanded that he should be well bound and scourged/ saying haste thou wasted so long time about so fair a deed. then came an other that in likewise worshipped satan and he asked him fro whence he came. the devil answered him. i was late in the see where i have moved great storms/ by mean of which i have done perish many ships/ and there great troubles i have also made whereof great slaughter of men hath ensued. so am i now come for to show it unto the. satan asked him as he died to the other/ how long he was about the same. and he answered that he had done it in twenty days. always satan made them to be scourged & beaten as the other was/ saying that he had be over long time about the same. after this came the third that made him reverence as the other had done/ & told him that he came from a city that he named/ in which and at certain weddings that were made there he had moved wonderful noises and debates where many men and women had slain each other and namely the spouse had be slayve there/ saying moreover that he had moved and done all this great mischief there in ten days only. satan nevertheless made him to be beaten & welcomed as the other were afore/ because he had be to long about the making of the same. finably came a fore him the fourth that worshipped him as the other had done/ and laid unto him how he came from the deserts where he had soyourned and vaked the space of xl year for to have made a monk to fall in to sin/ & during the said time he could never bring him down to do it unto that night/ but the same night he had overcomen him/ for he had made him do the sin of fornication. the which thing hearing the wicked satan/ he rose incontynence from his set and came and kissed him in his fearful and horrible visage/ and sin took a crown from his heed and set it upon the heed of the wicked tend/ and made him set done in a seat by him/ saying thus to him. thou art a valiant devil/ thou haste fought worthily and hast done a great thing after all the which things thus heard and seen/ the said religious being yet a young child as he said/ he concluded and said to himself/ that the order of monks was a great and a worthy thing. so left and forsook he from the same hour both father and mother and all worldly possessions/ and went to the deserts where he made himself a monk. ¶ an other religious there was that had be a secular and a wedded man the which after his conversion to the estate of religion/ was sore tempted and pricked of the sin of concupisbence desiring ever his wife to be with him/ the which thing he rehearsed and showed unto the faders which seeing and knowing this man to be expert and able to work/ and he died often more great labours than he was charged to do/ died set him for to do great and painful works/ to th'intent that his body might be feebled and weyked so that he should not be so soon moved against his spirit and it happened by the sufferance of god that a holy father came in to sychye where the said religious held himself. and as he was come to his cell and found it open/ he went and passed by/ marveling sore that no body came out of it against him/ wherefore he returned incontynenet/ and stood still before the door of this habitation/ and feering that by adventure the brother that dwelled there had be sick/ he thought to enter there in/ and found the said brother sore sick and ill at ease. so he asked him what him ailed/ to whom for an answer he rehearsed and told/ how he was come and descended from the state of a secular man to the estate of religion. and because that the devil tempted him of the remembrance of his wife/ he had gone toward the holy faders to whom he had rehearsed and showed his caas. the which for to take away from him this fantasy or temptation/ they had or deigned and set to him diverse and sore great charges. and where he would do and fulfil the same/ he had found himself so feeble that he could not perform them/ and always this temptation left him not/ whereof he was much noyous and displeasant. ¶ the holy father hearing these words was wroth and sorry therefore/ and said to him. certes my brother/ the faders and mighty men have well set to the charges whereof thou art agryved/ but nevertheless if thou wilt believe my little counsel thou shalt yet do otherwise. and as for me i counsel the that thou leavest all hand works/ and for to bring the up thou shalt take a little meet as the time requireth/ and after fathering thy strengths together thou shalt set thyself a little to do the work of god/ that is to say/ that thou shalt set the to pray god/ and shall set in him all thy thought. for by such labour thou shall mow overcome this temptation and for to inform thee/ our body is like a gown or other raiment/ the which if it be diligently treated and kept as it ought to be/ may the better serve us/ but if he be evil kept/ and that we be negligent to dispose him as it appertaineth/ it rotyth and wasteth. ¶ the brother hearing this counsel died as the holy father had told him/ and within few days the said temptation left him. ¶ there was another religious moche solitarily/ and greatly strong in conversation/ which dwelled in the mountain toward the parts of anthynoe/ of whose holy words and virtuous works many profited greatly so was the devil of hell for his holy life and conversation moved to envy against him/ as he is wont to be envious against the holy and virtuous men. and waiting for to deceive him died bring in to his mind such an imagination/ that is to wite/ that unto him which was of such conversation/ was neither leeful nor good to let himself be served or to suffer his necessities to be administered unto him by other men/ which he ought to serve himself and administer unto them that was necessary to them. and if he might not or would not do to them no service/ at the lest he ought to serve his own self/ and not let them from their virtuous works to be done by them for their salvation/ wherefore he disposed him for to go to the next city by for to sell there some panyers and maundes that he had made/ to th'end that he should buy of the money that he should have thereof such things that were needful for his living without to give any body travail or charge wherefore he might be letted by. and how be it that in this his purpose was some likeness of good/ nevertheless the devil that was envious of the rest and tranquillity of the conscience of the said religious/ and of the byhoyffull time that he had to the service of god/ to the profit and salvation of many one had brought tofore him this foolish imagination pretending of all parts to take him in his grymes and to make him fall in sin which seemed him not to be possible or at the lest hard or not to be done lightly but if he made him to company and haunt with the folk of the world. then this religious following his purpose which served him good & just/ departed from his dwelling place and came to the city for to do that that he had supposed for to do. and because that every body had him in great marvel for his holy life by cause of the which he was sore famed and named among the worldly folk/ he held himself there more long than it was need for him to do not taking heed to the sleight and wickedness of the fiend/ which in spyeng & looking for an hour convenient and necessary for to deceive him/ presented unto him the sight of a young daughter full fair/ whereof he was incontinent taken with the fire of concupisbence. and through the business and covenable time that the devil gave to both parts/ they went together/ so that they know each other fleshly. and after the damnable sin fulfilled/ knowing this religious to have be deceived/ he departed and came to the desert/ the devil always following of nigh/ unto time that he came to a water where he let himself fall done by the shorts/ and thinking that the devil should be glad of his mishap or falling/ he would despair himself/ namely because he said that he had angered our lord and his holy angels/ and had done great slander and shame to the holy faders/ and namely to many that had used the cities/ and were yet dwelling there without to have be overcome by the temptations of the devil. and looking that he was not worthy to liken and compare himself to one of them/ was full sore troubled in his courage/ and remembered not himself of the bounty and mercifulness of god/ that giveth virtuous courage to thoos that devoutly turn themself to him. he thenne blinded and not seeing the remedy of his sin/ he would have cast and drown himself within the said flood to th'end he should reioysshe perfitly the devil of hell. and of the sorrow and great tourmentyng of his courage he was marvelously ●yke and feebled of his body whereof he was in such wise dysperate/ that if the great mercy of god had not given him counsel & help afterward/ he should have died without repentance to the great joy & perfect gladness of the wicked fiend of hell. finably he thinking in himself to return unto god/ by great labour of penance & in tears & sobbings him to beseech to have mercy of him returned again to his habitation & monastery. and as soon that he was come there/ closed his door/ shetting the same as he had be decessed & deed. and there he set himself to weep making for his sin right humble supplications & devout prayers unto our lord. and fasting & continuing in watchings & great travails feebled & wicked wonderfully his body/ but it was not yet in his courage that he had done suffisant penance. and when any brethren came toward him for to ask him counsel of some thing profitable/ & prayed him to open his door/ nevertheless he would not open it to them/ saying that it lay not in him to do it/ because that by oath he had strained him self from opening his door a year during/ & to make there all that while fruitful penance/ but he prayed them that they would pray god for him. and all be it that they were slandered in him & ill content of that they had herd say of him because they held him to be honourable & a virtuous religious/ nevertheless he enforced not himself for to lay unto them any excusations/ but set all his intent & affection to abide & continue in fastings & devout orisons that he died a hole year during making his penance. hanging the which time & on the resurrection night of our lord/ this holy father desiring to know if his sin was forgiven to him/ he took a new lantern & garnished it with a lamp & after died set it within a new cauldron and covered it with a lid. and this done/ he set himself to orison saying. o my god right merciful & piteous that will & desireth every one to be saved & to come to the knowledge of thine steadfast troth/ i at this hour come unto the to help/ as to the very saviour of thy good & true servants/ & notwithstanding that i have offended the sore/ obeying and pleasing to the fiend of hell/ so that obeying him i am fall to death everlasting. always my god/ because i wot & know that by thy great mercy thou art alway ready & willing to have pity of the wicked folk/ & of thoos that be not merciful/ when they turn themselves again toward the. i beseech the my god that it will please the to have pity of mine humility/ as thou mayst do it/ for to the is nothing impossible. and suffer not the my soul the which thou hast created and made after thine own similitude which is already by sin brought to the gates of hell/ fall nor enter therein/ but as thou art merciful & piteous of thy meek nature depart with her thy great mercy. and in that steadfast faith & believe that i have of thine endless might/ by the which the day of the general resurrection is comen/ thou shalt not only raise the bodies/ that thou hast already form/ & that now be deed/ & also all thoo that are to be born & shall yet be by the created it will please the to here my right humble request & prayer/ having pity of my ghost long sin deed/ & of my soul so much unhappy defoiled & spotted with the filth of sin/ & in likewise of mine abominable body which i have so much disguised & made foul/ that i may no more live/ because namely that i have not had in the steadfast believe. alas sire pardon me by penance my sin which is double/ aswell because of the breaking of thy commandments/ as of desperation/ & quyckening my contrition/ command sire that this lantern be kindled with thy fire/ to th'end that taking trust of thy mercy & indulgence during the other part of the time that thou shall give me grace to live in this world. i may curyously & diligently keep as i ought to do thy worthy commandments/ & without to depart from thy dread by all the days of my life i may serve the devoutly. and on the said resurrection night of our lord saying these words with great shedding of tears he arose from his orison for to see if the said lantern should be kindled/ so he took of the side from the said cauldron but he found it in such estate as when he died put it there wherefore yet again laying flat his visage to the earth he prayed god saying. o my lord & my god. i wot well that thou hast ordained that i should fight against the devil to th'end/ i might be crowned/ but i have not be steadfast ne constant in asmuch that for the delectations of the flesh. i have chosen to be tormented in hell. sire please the to pardon me. i confess yet again to thy divine bounty my filth & wickedness/ & not only before the same i confess it/ but also before thy holy saints & blessed angels/ & them i should confess before all men/ if i trowed not to slander or move them to shame in my person. my god have mercy upon me & will quicken me to th'end that i may learn the other. and in this manner praying three times the devout religious penitent/ he was of god exalted & heard/ & had very knoweloge thereof by that he rose & came to his lantern which he found brenning full bright/ wherefore reioysshing himself he was comforted with a hope/ & wondered full sore of the great grace the god had done to him pardonning unto him so benignly his sin/ & fulling his desire after his petition & said i yield unto the graces my lord and my god/ of that it hath pleaseth that in this present world to have mercy of me poor sinner & indygne of thy great misery cordye i giving to all sinners by this new token confyance & trust of the self mercy & forgiving the miserable soul's that thou hast created for to come to thy glory. in this manner persevering this holy man in his confession & yielding graces & thanks unto our lord/ the day came that he took so great reioysshing/ that he forgot himself to take his repast & food corporal. and all the days of his life he kept busily the light of the said lantern putting oil thereto when it needed & taking good heed that it should not go out/ & from hens forth the holy ghost inhabited in him/ by the help of which he profited so/ that he was reputed & holden for an holy man & of great renomee/ & to whom a little afore his decease was showed the day that he should depart out of this world to the royalme of heaven. ¶ an other treatise followeth/ wherein is contained that folk of religion ought not to possess nothing/ & beginneth in latin (frater quidam etc.) a young man sometime desiring to be a religious/ forsook the world and gaaf thou that he had to the poor/ except some small goods that he reserved to himself for his help & after came unto saint anthonye requiring him that he would receive him to the estate of religion. saint anthony knowing that which is said/ said unto him. if thou wilt that i shall receive the to be a monk/ thou must go to the next city here by/ & that thou buy flesh/ & this done that shall make fast the said flesh to thy flesh naked/ & then thou shall come to me again in that estate/ & then i shall do that thou desireth of me. the young man desiring sore for to do that saint anthonye had charged him went and bought flesh and fastened it atte his bare flesh/ as he had ordained him to do. and going again toward him the dogs and the birds followed him which by grydynes and gluttony to eat of the said flesh rented and knawed his own skin in diverse places of his body. and thus he returned to saint anthonye which seeing his skin thus turn and gnawn/ he said to him that in likewise are turn and gnawn by the fiend of hell and by his temptations/ they that forsaking the world will withhold and possess their money or other temporal goods. ¶ the abbot danyell rehearsed of the holy father gluttony/ that a great office roman came once to him/ and brought him the testament of a senator which was of kin to the said arsenyen/ and that by this testament had made him his heir leaving unto him many fair heritages and great livelihood. the holy father arsenye taking this testament would have broken it and rented in pieces/ the which thing seeing the said office/ died cast himself down before him/ beseeching him that he should not do so/ because that if he had not con exhybe and show the same again there as it appertained/ he should have lost his heed. ¶ thenne the holy father gluttony took it again to him/ saying thus. every body knoweth well that i am deed long time ago afore him that hath made this testament/ the which is but late decessed/ and how may he thenne have made me his heir/ by the which words he understood for to say/ that from the time that he gaaf himself to be a monk or religious he died hold him for deed as to the world/ & that he ought never to have nor appropre to him self any thing worldly or temporal. the said holy father arsenye was once sick in sychye/ & had great need of a little money for to relieve him from his sickness. so was he constrained to ask it for god's sake/ & receiving the same he said. lord god i yield unto the graces of that it hath pleased the to make me worthy that in thy name & for to further & help myself out of my necessity & indigence i have asked and received an almose. ¶ some rehearse of the abbot agathon that he & some of his monks & disciples were long time about the making of a cell for to make there their residence & place to dwell in. and after that they had made an end of it and had dwelled therein a while/ the abbot agathon saw some thing that to his advise was not profitable for him & said to his religiouses/ that they should depart from the place & go with him for to inhabit an other/ whereat they angry and wroth answered such words or in substance. ha fair father if ye had afore determined in your courage for to depart from hens as ye now do show it/ why have ye made us bear & sustain so great pain and labours in edyfyeng this cell whereat we have be so long/ they that shall see our departing thus sudden shall be slandered in us/ & shall blame us of the vice of inconstance/ and shall mock us/ saying that we can not abide in no place. ¶ the said holy father agathon/ seeing the said religious being wayllefull and dreadful/ said to them. my brethren ye wot not what ye say. for if there be some that will speak evil by us/ also shall there be some other that shall be edified by the same/ and shall speak good of us/ and they shall mow say/ thoos be good & devout religiouses which for the love that they have had to god they are departed and have haboundonned all their goods. and therefore who that will come with me/ let him come/ for certainly i ensure you that i will depart. then they prosterned themself before his feet done to the earth praying him that he would grant to them that they might bear him company wheresoever he would go. ¶ the abbot euagrius said that there was sometime a brother which had nor possessed nothing safe only a book of gospels/ the which nevertheless he sold/ & to the poor needy he gaaf the money that he received for it/ saying a word which is dign of memory/ that is to wite/ that he had sold the word that commanded that men should sell all that they have & give it to the poor. ¶ the abbot theodore otherwise called the farm/ had three good books & veil to be red. so was he required of some religiouses to lean them his books. wherefore he went toward the abbot macharye/ and said to him such words or semblable. my brother i come toward thee/ to th'end that thou give me counsel. it is troth that i have in books wherein i read gladly/ for in reading therein me seemeth that i do my perfect by it & nevertheless i am desired of certain brethren to leave them unto them for to perfect in likewise thereby/ so wot i not what i ought to do/ wherefore if it please the thou shall tell me thine advise/ where at this macharye answered/ that it was a good occupation to read holy scriptures & to employ him to do good/ but for a religious/ the greatest thing of all his works/ is that he shall not possess nothing/ the which answer heard he took his leave of the said macharye/ & from that hour he went & sold his books/ & gave to the poor needy the pennies that he had received for it. ¶ one of the aeged faders rehearsed of the holy father johan which was of pierce/ that among his good works & virtues he was of deep simpleness & innocency. he dwelling & making his residence in araby which is nigh egypte/ he borrowed ones one shilling of a brother religious for to buy flocks for to occupy himself with. and after that he had bought some/ came to him a brother/ praying him that he would give him a few of his flocks/ for to make a vestement to his usage. and he gaaf it him gladly. ¶ an other came anon to him that desired him for some of it for to make a coverlet/ & he took it him. ¶ likewise came to him many other to whom he gaaf of it gladly. and sin after came toward him the religious that had left him the shilling whereof he had bought the said flocks & prayed him that he would pay him again/ to whom he answered that he should go his ways & that he should pay it him within a short while. and because that he had no money to pay him/ he went toward the abbot james the dispenser for to pray him that he would leanly or give him a sheling/ but in his way thytherward he found ●o shilling/ which he touched not/ & sin made his orison to god that he would keep him from evil temptation. and so done he went again to his cell/ where the said religious came to him again which asked his shilling that he had leaned him/ & complained over him sore that he took it him not again. then the good johan said to him praying that he would have patience for a while/ & he should have it shortly again. so took he his way again toward that said abbot james for to borrow of him the said shilling. and in his way he found yet the said shilling in the said place as he died afore/ wherefore without to touch it/ he made his prayer to god as he had done before/ & returned again to his cell without to go any ferther and yet came toward him that other religious which was more worse pleased with him than he was afore/ because he had not his shilling. the holy father johan saying then to him abide me yet a little/ & i shall bring it unto thee/ departed on his way & came there as he had seen the shilling/ & seeing it yet still in the self place where he had seen him afore/ he made his prayer unto god/ and sin he took it up & so went he forth toward the said abbot james/ to whom he said. fair father in my way hitherward i have found this sheling/ if it be thy pleasure in showing thy charity thou shalt do to be published & known to all man/ that it is found for to wit if any body hath lost it and the abbot died so/ and nevertheless no body came that challenged it for his own/ wherefore the holy father johan said to the abbot james. good father if no body hath not lost it. i pray the that thou will take it to that religious to whom i own ●o sheling/ & thou shalt do to me a singular pleasure. for late i came toward the for to pray the that thou shouldest lean me one for him/ and in my way i died find the same that i have taken unto the. and thenne the abbot marveled full sore/ how the said holy father johan/ seen that he was constrained to pay again the sheling unto his creditor/ had borne it unto him straight way when he had found it. and yet of him was wonder said/ that if any body came to him for to borrow any thing/ he never took it him himself/ but said to him that he should take what he would and bear it with high. and in likewise if men brought him any thing again that he had leaned to them/ he never received it/ but said to him that brought it again/ that he should put it if it seemed him good there as he took it afore when he borrowed it. and if they brought it not again/ he complained not thereupon. ¶ some oldo faders recounten/ that ones at a congregation or assemble of monks dwelling in diverse cells/ among which was principal that abbot ysaac/ came a brother that had on a little scapulary which was over fyn & over little. to whom the said abbot ysaac said. here is the habitation of monks/ and thou a●t worldy as a secular man/ thou mayst not be here. and sin said to the other brothen such words our faders and the abbot poule used of old vestments twice sowed and patched in diverse places. and now ye use of vestymentes precious that be not appropered to folk of religion. and therefore go away from hens/ for ye desert & diffame this place. and when in time of harvest they went for to reap corn for to get there their provision for their living. he said to them/ that he gaaf them no commandments to keep/ because that he knew well/ that when he should give them any/ they should not keep them. ¶ the abbot dioclesian said that a senator of rome named symelicius willing to forsake the world/ took his richesses & dystrybued them to poor folk for god's sake/ sauffe some things that he kept for his own use/ not willing perfitly in all things receiving the humility of the forsakers nor the rule of the life in common of them that lived in the monasteries. to whom the holy father basil a man of holy memory had said in this wise. thou hast left to be a senator in rome/ but nevertheless thou hast not made thyself a very religious. ¶ a brother said to the abbot pyscamode that it was a thing that grieved him/ for to sell that that he made by labour of his own hands/ & at this cause he asked him what he should do with the works that he made. the which abbot answered unto him/ that the holy father sysoyns & the other aeged faders were wont to sell the works that they made with their hands/ and that this grieved nor letted them not in no manner of wise. and more over he said to him/ if he would not sell them that he might well say the price of every thing wrought that he delivered & if he would deduct or abate any thing thereof/ he might do it. and thus he should mow find in selling the peace of his conscience. this brother asked him again/ if by any other mean than for to work & labour he might have his necessities sufficiently/ he would wite if it was need that he should work/ whereat the old father answered unto him/ that how well that he had sufficiently to live upon without to labour/ so ought he not for that to be idle/ but aught ever to be occupied about somewhat whereof good might proceed. ¶ a brother questioned the abbot serapyon saying that he should tell him a word only of his mouth. serapion answered to hy/ & what have i to tell thee/ thou hast born away the things that longed to widows and orphans and hath laid them in a window. and this he said because he had seen that window full of books. ¶ saint syncletyce was once asked if nought to have was a good so perfect as men said/ whereunto she answered/ that it was a perfect good to thoos that might be content of nought to possess. ¶ and moreover she said that they that might live in this estate having patience with the same/ how well that they had bodily troubles/ always they should possess the rest & peace of their souls. for like as the strong raiments when the foller fulleth them & tormenteth them often under his feet. in this doing they be washed & wax white. ¶ likewise the soul that is strong & constant through voluntary poverty is confirmed in perfection of virtues. ¶ the abbot ypericius said that wilful poverty was the very treasure of a monk or religious. and to this purpose he excited the brethren to the treasure in heaven/ saying that it was the world perpetuell where the good aught to rest with on end. ¶ among the other holy faders dwelling in iherusalem there was one named phylagrius the laboured/ to th'end that only in labouring he should lake no breed for to sustain his body withal. ones among other he being in the common place where he would have sold the works that he had made with his hands/ a certain person let fall by a hap a little sack wherein were a thousand shillings/ which this old father phylagrius found & took up and nevertheless he departed not fro the place where he had found it/ but held him there/ saying in himself that he that had lost them aught necessarily to come there for to find it again. and anon after he that had lost this little sack came there for to seek after it. the which the said holy father died call unto him a side and took it again unto him with all that was in. and he that had lost it prayed the holy father that he would take a part of the money but he would not thereof. then that other began to cry & say openly how this holy father had found his sack/ & had delivered it unto him again without to take any thing of it. the holy man hearing these words fled privily away from among the people & issued out of the city to th'end that he should not be known & honoured of that he had done. ¶ an other old father was questioned of a young brother for to wite of him what thing he ought to do for to be saved. thenne the holy father despoiled him self from his own vestiment/ & girded well his reins/ and sin said stretching his arms & hands abroad/ that in this manner a monk ought to be naked from all secular matters/ & to crucify himself against the temptations and worldly thoughts. ¶ a brother religious prayed an aged holy father that he will agreeably receive of him certain sum of money that he would give him for to help him self at his need but he would not receive it/ because that the works that he made with his hands were suffisant for the entreatening of his live. the said brother persysting in his request/ prayed him more than afore that if he would not receive that sum of money for an aid to his aflaytes/ at the less that he would receive the same for to be by him dystrybued to poor folk/ whereat the holy father answered him/ that this were to him opprobre & double sin to receive it/ the one because that in receiving the same money for him/ he should do so without necessity/ & the other that in dealing it to poor folk he should mow fall in to the sin of vain glory. ¶ some greeks transported once themself in to the city of ostrace for to deal there certain almoses/ & for to do the same they called unto them the general ꝓcuratours of the church/ to th'end that they should learn & show to them thoos that were more needy. so they arrected & led them to a poor lazar/ to whom they gave an almose/ but he would not take it saying that he had no need of it in asmuch that he could get somewhat for his life to be sustained with/ in making of mats of roads & palm which he wrought with his hands/ whereof he took silver for to buy breed competently for his living/ & after they went from this lazar & led the said greeks to the house of a poor widow which was a lavender & a wassher of linen clothes that had many poor children/ and where they knocked at her door/ came there one of her daughter that was so evil clothed & poorly arrayed/ that her flesh was seen bare & naked in diverse places which told them that her mother was not with in. the greeks seeing the indigence & poverty of this widow & of her children/ & namely for pity that they had of this poor maid that to the door came/ they gave her a gown & money which she would not take/ saying that her mother had told her that she should set her trust in god/ & that he would that they should have their living in the manner as they had it/ & that moreover for the day she had found work enough/ whereof they might easily live & pass forth the day/ & in saying these words came home this widow the mother of this maid/ to whom they prayed to take this almose which her dought had refused/ but she would not/ saying that she had god which was her procurator & he that only had the cure and the charge of her and of all her children. and more over she said to them/ that they would take him away from her. then they knowing her great faith glorified & thanked our lord. ¶ a venerable man unknown transported himself once in the dysertes of sychye bearing there with him great quantity of gold & of silver/ & prayed the sovereign father abbot of the hermitages/ that he should deal this quantity of gold & silver unto the brethren of thoos hermitages/ that which answered to him/ that the brethren had no need. and where he died pray him many times to do the same/ seeing that he would not grant him his request. he set a corffe before the gate of the church & therein a great some of money to the sight of every one. the which thing seeing the said father abbot/ he said unto all in general that if any among them had need of money that they should take of it out of the said corffe/ but there was not one that touched it nor that looked once upon the corffe. ¶ and after the holy father abbot said to the said almener. my friend ye ought to be content/ for god hath received agreeably your oblation/ go then your ways & deal it to the poor. the which words heard he departed wonderfully edified of their well ruled suffisance. ¶ an other offered unto an old holy father which was a lazar certain some of money/ saying to him that he should take it for to help himself withal/ saying that he had well need of it/ his old age & malady well considered. the poor sick answered to him. alas my friend it is three score year ago that god of his benignity hath ever nourished me/ and now thou wilt take him away from me. synon that time that i have be sick as i am. i have not had no poverty nor indigence. for my god hath always fed me/ therefore i pray the that thou wilt be content of me like as that i had taken thine almose. for certainly i will not have it. ¶ some ancient holy faders recited of a good man that was a gardener & sore laborious. and all that he could get with his labour he spend it all in almoses/ & would never reserve to his own behouffe any thing thereof/ but only asmuch as sufficed to buy with his breed quotidian the devil of hell enemy of human nature seeing the great & perfect charity of this poor gardener/ & envious of the merit that he acquired in making the said almoses tempted him subtilely for to make him to leave or to mynusshe these almoses that he made/ giving to him to understand/ that he began to come in to age/ & that he might well hap to fall in some sickness or debilitation of his body/ through the which he should fall in great poverty/ seeing namely that where he might no more work nor labour/ he should have nothing to help himself with at his need. so thought he in himself to spare & set aside some money/ & in deed he spared so moche that he filled a boteylle with money. it happened after this that he fell in a malady because of one of his feet which was all infected & rotyn. and for to purvey & remedy to this sickness he made some medicines & cyrurgyens to look to his foot/ the which this doing/ & giving unto him diverse manners of ointments consumed & wasted all his money that he had spared and nevertheless they could not give him no remedy. and finably a right expert master in cyrugye came to see him/ the said unto him/ if he made not his foot to be cut of/ it should poison & infect all his body/ wherefore on even was deliberation taken to do & accomplish the same. and the same this poor man thinking upon his befall/ & knowing the fault that he had commised & done in leaving his almoses to be do by him as he was wont/ for to spare the money which was already inutylly spend/ began for to weep & sight full sore/ repenting himself that he had so offended god & the poors/ & began to say thus. o my god i beseech unto thy benign bounty that thou will not take heed upon my great ingratituding toward thee/ but please that to have remembrance of the little almoses that i have done for thy sake in time passed the time that i died labour in my garden/ & whereof i died feed thy poor servants. and saying the same the angel of god descended afore him which said to him. come hither good man i pray the tell me where the hope that thou hadst in thy money is now which so curyously thou had spared & kept the good man harkening after these words answered. alas sire i have syned pardon it me/ & from hensfortho● i shall no more do so. then the angel of our lord touched his foot which was anon hole/ & readily he stood up/ & went to labour in his garden as he was wont to do. he being in his garden the cyrurgyen came to the house of this good man bringing with him his irons & instruments for to have cut of his foot with/ but men told him that he was risen in the morning early & was gone for to work & labour his garden. the which thing heard/ & believing the same the said cyrurgyen/ he went toward the poor man which he found delving that earth his feet over the spade. and seeing in him the troth of that was told him/ & the great succour that our lord had given to him/ he began to glorify & to praise the divine puissance. ¶ a religious questioned an aeged holy father asking of him if he would well that he should hold & keep toward him the value of two shilling for to help & succour to himself against sickness if any happened to come upon him. the old father knowing the affection that the said religious had to reserve & keep this two shilling/ said that he would well that he should do so. then this religious returned to his cell & thinking upon the answer that the old father had done to him came unto him diverse cogitations & thought the tormented him all his courage & said to himself/ weenest thou miserable man that the old father hath told the troth certainly i can not say whether he said it in earnest or no/ & in effect for to pease his courage/ he departed again out of his cell & went again toward him repenting himself & said to him. good father i pray that in the name of god that it will please the to tell me troth touching that the i have asked to thee/ that is to wite if i should keep my two shilling or no for to aid to my necessity/ for i find me sore tourmen●ed of thought & cogitations which come to me because of the same whereat the old holy father answered to him. certes my brother because i died see the will that thou hadst for to keep them to the ward. i died tell the that thou shouldest keep them/ but nevertheless i will well that thou know/ that it is not well done to keep or withhold toward himself more than it needeth for the body/ & if thou withholdest these two sheling/ doubt not but that thy hope shallbe set thereupon. and if by adventure they be lost/ sin that thy hope was turned thereupon/ god shall no more have a cause to remember & think ●pon the. and therefore we ought to fix & turn all our hope & thought only in god/ & thus doing he shall see that we shall be helped & succoured in our affairs & necessities. ¶ an other little treatise hereafter consequently followeth of the virtue of force & of patience/ and it beginneth in latin (sanctus abbess antonius etc.) saint anthonye the abbot he being in his hermitage was marvelously vexed & his courage sore perturbed & confuse by the occasion of diverse thoughts & cogitations the came over him/ & began to say to our lord. alas sire i would fain be saved/ but the diverse thoughts & fantasies which come me over/ let me totally from the getting of my salvation. alas sire what ought i to do in this tribulation/ or how shall i mow save myself. and after he issued out of his cell & saw a man that sat & wrought/ which anon after rose & cessed his labours & set himself to pray & make oration unto god/ & then after he went again to his work & took labour to hand making mats or maundes & soon after went to orison again as he died afore. it is to wite that this man was an angel that had turned him self in that form of a man/ & the which had be sent from our lord unto saint anthonye for his correction/ & for to give him a good cautel & away for to resist against the temptations of the devil. so heard he the voice of this angel the said unto him. anthonye work & labour as i do/ & thou shalt be saved saint anthony hearing these words was much reioysshed taking in this vision a very hope of his salvation/ & he began to do as he had seen the angel do/ & thus doing he found the salute that he sought. ¶ a religious said to the abbot agathon that he had be sent for/ for to come to a place that was not unto him well agreeable/ because he hoped not to be there without battle nor in peace of his conscience/ but nevertheless he was purposed to go thither for to obey to that was to him commanded/ how be it that he feared & redoubted sore to go the● for the cause abovesaid ¶ the abbot ammoras said that he had dwelled xiiij year in the deserts of sychye praying god there night & day the principally he should give him virtue & strength for to overcome the passions of ire ¶ the abbot besaryon said/ that he had soyourned by xl days among the thorns without sleep. ¶ an other solitary brother that was in his works sore singular was because of the same oftentimes in his courage/ wherefore he went toward the abbot theodore called the firm/ & told him how he was thus sore troubled often. to whom he said. my son thou must humble thy courage & put thyself under the other brethren/ & thus thou shalt mow in likewise dwell with them. this religious went incontinent to the mountain/ & dwelled there with the other a certain while/ & thenne he came again toward the said abbot theodore/ & said to him that in conversant with the men/ he could not find there no rest/ whereat the holy father answered if thou canst not have peace by thyself alone nor with the religiouses/ why hast thou made thyself a monk. hast not thou done so for to bear & sustain tribulation i pray that tell me how long thou hast borne the habit of a religion. and he answered unto him that during eight year he had borne it. then said to him the holy father. bylyve me of that i shall tell the. i have lived lxx year in religion/ but i found never a day there of rest/ & thou wilt have it in eight year that thou hast be there. ¶ an other brother moved the said abbot theodore asking to him/ if it was a sure thing to dwell in a place where an other was fall suddenly. and he answered unto him. if heaven were in a danger to fall done so that it should touch the earth/ yet should not theodore be afeard of it. the which question the said religious died move unto him/ desiring to wite what he should answer unto him thereupon/ because that namely he had herd say/ that this theodore had prayed to god/ that he should take away from him dread & doubt servile from his courage. ¶ some said of the abbot theodore of saint lucy & of a nun of alexandrye/ that during thirty years they made in their cells continual residence without to have once departed out of the same/ reducing in to memory that great & marvelous constance of their old faders that had be thus constant. and when any fantasies or cogitations came to them upon for to go or transport themself in to some strange places/ they concluded together for to go there saying in this manner. when the winter is passed we shall go to such a place/ & coming the summer in hand/ they said/ when the summer shallbe almost at an end we shall go to such a place. and thus from year to year & from term to term they prolonged their such deliberations/ so long that they dwelled still in their said habitations as constant & farm during the time of thirty years as above is said. ¶ the abbot pastor said of that abbot johan the little/ that he had prayed god that he would take away from him all his sensual passions/ in such wise that he were sure that he should never do no sin. and having this imagination/ the god had granted him his prayer/ he said to an old religious that he found himself peaceable in his courage/ & not having within him no repining or battle. then this old religious said unto him. i counsel the that thou go pray god/ that he will make thy passions to be moved in the. for to have matter to fight with them resisting there against for in this doing the soul profiteth. the which prayer the said abbot johan made. and when he saw himself thus assailed as afore/ he prayed no more god that he should take from him his said passions/ but prayed him only that he would give him the virtue of force & of constance/ for to sustain them & resist to the same. ¶ the abbot macharye the great transported ones hyselfe to the mountain toward the abbot saint anthonye/ & knocking at his door/ saint anthonye came that made him opening & asked to the said macharye what he was/ whereat he answered that he was macharye/ the which answer heard saint anthonye entered again within his cell/ and as by despite/ he shetted his door again afore his face/ & left the said macharye without. and sin after saint anthony seeing that patience of this macharye he opened his door again to him & made him good cheer saying. ha my brother thou art welcome. it is long agoon that i had great desire to see thee/ for the good & laudable report that i have had ever of thy virtuous conditions. and after that they had talked & devised together/ the said saint anthonye administered unto him of his goods entreating him amiably/ & making unto him all the services of hospitality to him possible. for the said saint macharye because of the long way that he had done he was sore travailed & weary. and then coming the even toward/ saint anthonye which was never idle died lay his rods & palms in water for to wete them that he might work withal about his baskets & maundes. and saint macharye prayed him that he would deliver to him moo rods for to water for to put to work as he had done. but saint anthonye desiring that he should rest/ answered to him that he had no moo. and nevertheless he made for him a greater ferdell or bondell the which he watered for to put to work. and thus in speaking of the health. of their soul's/ they began to work for to tyssue the said rods & palms to make mats/ the which so made/ they let down by a window in to a deep pit. the morn following saint anthonye descended & went down in to the pit/ saw & beheld the great multitude of mats which saint macharye had made/ he marveled strongly & after went & kissed the hands of saint macharye/ in saying that out of his hands came great virtue. ¶ on a time the said saint macharye went down fro that deserts of sychye in to a place called therenutin/ in which place he was surprised with sleep/ & was constrained to sleep in a sepulture where of old time had be accustomed for to bury the bodies of paynims. and for to rest him he laid his heed upon a deed body/ as it had been a pillow or quysshon. the devils then seeing the great affiance that he had in god/ were sore troubled/ & willing to fere & make the said saint machary a gast one of them began to call a woman sayneg. nun come & bain the with us. in answering to whom an other devil which had entered in to the body upon which saint macharye rested/ and lay upon it with his heed/ said to the devil that called him. i may not/ for i have a pilgrim upon me/ which letteth me to go thither. the holy man macharye hearing these words was nothing afraid/ but trusting verily alway in god said to the deed corpse. arise thou and go forth if thou mayst. the which answered hearing the devils began to cry with an high voys saying ha macharye thou hast vanquished and overcome us. and these words said/ they fled away all confused. ¶ the abbot mathoys said/ when i will do any thing lightly/ anon i think how grievous it is/ and anon it fleeth away from me and is finished. ¶ some rehearse of the abbot mylet/ how he dwelling & making residence in the deserts of per●e two children of the emperor of the persyens on a time among other as they had be accustomed/ went for to hunt and for to take some best more lightly/ died do hang there their cords and nets a broad which comprised xl mesures in length and breed. and in hunting in the said place/ the holy father saint macharye with his two disciples being nigh by the cord was there founden by the said children & their people the which seeing the said saint macharye to be marvelously rough/ & had a face terrible & fearful to behold/ werof the sight of him marvelously abashed/ and began to ask and demand of him if he were a man or some espyryte. to whom he answered that he was a sinful man which believed on the son of god the which had received death on the cross & passion for the salvation of mankind/ and him worshipped with all affection/ as to him only to whom was due adoration & honour. and hearing his answer they said that they wist not what he said/ and that they had none other gods but the son/ the fire/ and the water/ and that it behoved that they adored them/ and should make to them sacrifice. saint macharye answered to them that he never should so do/ by cause that the son was a planet/ and the fire and water two clementes/ which had no puissance ne power but such as was given to them at their creation of god their maker. and by this and other reason's saint macharye showed to them that they erred marvelously wherefore he admonested them to convert them to god which had created them and all other things. the same children and their folk hearing these words of saint macharye began to mock him in saying. sayest thou not that thy god hath been crucified/ yes said saint macharye. and yet i say more/ that it is he which by his death mortefyeth sin & sleeth eternal death. after the which words so said/ they died to saint macharye and to his disciples many torments willing to constrain 'em to make sacrifice to the son/ to the fire/ and to the water/ as to their god's/ which they utterly refused and would not do it. for which cause after diverse torments they smote of the hedes of the two disciples of saint macharye/ but they would not so promptly put him to death by cause they would put him to more torments and so they died. and among other they set him in the middle of a place where they established to shoot at him/ as he had be a butt. and they shot many arrows/ some in his back and other in his breast. in suffering the said torment saint macharye said to the two children. false and untrue tyrants inhuman/ for as much as i see that of one accord and consentment ye be determined to shed thinnocent blood/ and to put to death miserably the poor servants of god. i will advertise you and notefye/ that to morn at this hour your mother shall be without children/ and shall be prived fro the sight of you/ and that ye shall more hurt and grieve yourself/ and shall with your arrows shed your own blood together. the said children despising the words of the said saint macharye and mocked him. on the morn they went on hunting as they died to forn/ and it happened that an heart was taken in their cords/ the which notwithstanding escaped. then they road after with all diligence to th'end that they might take him/ and in shooting their arrows against him they slew each other/ like as saint macharye had said to them. ¶ the abbot pastor said that a religious man is verily known to be a monk in his temptations/ that is to wite when he resisteth them constantly and mightily. yet said the said abbot being in sychye on a time to his religiouses. my brethren ye know well that we be hither come for to labour. now i see well that here is no manner labour/ wherefore i determine that we go to some other place/ where we may find to labour/ to th'end that in so doing we may find rest as who would say/ that the greatest battle that a religious man may mean against himself/ is to be idle. for in working many evil thoughts & cogitations been eschewed. ¶ saint syncletyce said in speaking to his monks/ if ye converse in the monastery with the other/ change not you●●ace/ for ye destroy your self if ye so do. and in like wise as an hen if she leave her eggs without to cover them/ she shall never have chickens/ for they may not be form for lack of heat. right so in likewise the religious man or woman that transporteth himself from one place to an other/ in leaving the place of his religion shall never fructify in virtuous works. for he or she is all cold in the virtue of faith for as much as he transporteth and changeth his own place. ¶ furthermore he said/ that when the devil may not make to fall in to sin a religious person or other by the prickings of poverty/ he admynystreth to him abundance of richesses for to make him sin by the moens of them. and in like wise/ when he may not excite him by injuries and repreves/ he maketh to be ministered to him praisings and vain glory. and there where he procureth to a person that he have all the cases of his body/ and may not beguile and seduce him by delectations and worldly pleasances. then he enforceth him to make him fall by adversities and molestations which he maketh to come contrary to his will. and oft to them that he will tempt/ he maketh to come upon them some sicknesses and maladies/ by the which he maketh the religiouses fearful/ and troubleth in them the charity that they have toward god/ but how well that the body be tormented by hot feures inflamed with thrust insatiable/ he that such afflictions sustaineth and endureth aught to have in his remembrance & mind the eternal fire/ and the unspeakable torments of hell/ and in considering them well he shall not be slow ne feeble to suffer the adversities of this world but shall bear them with great courage in himself/ enjoying of that which our lord by such adversities visiteth him/ in having in his mouth the words of david in the psalter which been these. my god which chastiseth his sinners/ hath by his grace chastised me/ and hath not condemned me to death. and if the religious thus tormented be a sinner and in rust as the iron/ he shall lose his rust by the fyte of adversity. and if he be just bearing his maladies and adversities patiently fro great perfection/ he shall be promoted to more greater. and if he be steadfast/ he shall be purified to the confusion of the devil/ which is given to a man for to tempt him with the prickings of his flesh. then he ought to enjoy him/ in considering to whom he is made semblable. for if he be tempted with fleshly concupisbence/ and if he withstand it constantly/ he shall have merit/ and deserve like to the merit of saint poull the apostle. if we be chastised by hot fevers/ or by rigour of cold/ we aught to have remembrance of the scripture that saith/ we have passed by fire and water. and there resteth no thing/ but that we be put in a place of rest/ we aught also to hope sith that we have born the torments/ that we shall have after consolations and comfort also in making and doing virtuous works we ought to cry with the prophet david in saying. i am poor/ needy/ and sorrowful. and he that patiently shall suffer such trybulacyous. infallybly he shall be in sovereign degree of perfection. then in these excersyces let us prove our works in fighting constantly against our enemy/ whom we have continually tofore our eyen. and if the malady be to us grievous/ therefore late us not be angry/ but notwithstanding the sickness or hurt bodily late us take heed to pray to god and thank him. certain all things be to us necessary for to destroy and bring to nought the bodily diseases. and fastings and labours been to us ordained against the soul thoughts and temptations. if then our sicknesses break and bruise our vicious affections and superflue/ we aught to pray god that they abide and continue in us for our amendment and correction/ and that he give to us courage and affection to bear and suffer them patiently. certainly like as by great and sharp medicine a sickness is heeled. right so by maladies of the body been cut of and withdrawn the bodily vices. and it is a great virtue when in grievous maladies/ one hath humble patience. and by so doing and giving to god thankings/ the said patient is readily addressed and sent to god/ if we lose our bodily eyen/ we ought not take it grievously/ but we ought to endure it patiently. for belesing of them/ we lose the instrument which may make us to enhance in pride. and in contrary wise/ by the eyen of our intendment and understanding/ we may the more lightly behold and have contemplation in the glory of our lord/ if we have lost our hearing and be deef/ we retch not/ for thereby we have lost the opportunyte of hearing or to herkene vain words. if our bodily hands have any passion/ or by sicknesses be enfeebled/ we aught to have our spiritual hands more ready to virtuous works/ if the sickness enfeblyssheth our body in so doing if it be vicious/ it disposeth him to withstand the temptations of the fiend. and if he be virtuous/ his virtue and health increaseth. they that in this world commyse and do any crime or trespass openly/ when they be taken they be will they or not put and set in prison for to be punished of their misdeeds/ the which punition/ if they bear it patiently may be cause of their salvation. we thenne that have done and commised many horrible and great sins toward our god and maker/ which with his precious blood hath redeemed us/ and that by cause of the said sins we been in danger to run in to damnation eternal/ we aught for to eschew the same with good will to enprysone us and to punish and to correct our self/ considering that in so doing we may get the glory eternal/ and to eschew the horrible torments of hell/ which ever shall suffer the miserable sinners that dyen in deadly sin/ when we fast we ought not to seek occasion to say that the fasting hath so much enfeebled us that we have run thereby in to some malady. for often times it happeth that they that fast not run in to such and like sicknesses as well as they that fast/ if we have begun to do some good/ we ought never to leave it without to fulfil it/ what somever letting the fiend giveth us. for by our patience he shall be destroyed. and for to persevere with constant courage to withstand his temptations we ought to rule us by example of the mariners/ the which in dysposing them to sail if they have wind that to them be propyce. incontinent they raise up their saylles/ and put them to the voyage. but if that in their saylling come unto them any wind contrary/ for all that they forsake not suddenly their ship/ but suffer a little against the tempest. and repugn to their power against it unto the time that they find the time well disposed to perform surely and lightly their voyage. we thenne that be recountered and fought with/ by the wicked and dampened spirit. address we in our courage the precious cross of our saviour ihesu christ in stead of the sail. and with out any danger or peril we shall oversaylle the perilous and miserable see of this world. ¶ some recyten of a virgin named sayre the which was reputed of holy and praised remembrance/ the which dwelled by the space of sixty year upon the rivage of a river/ during the which time she never lift up her sight for to be seen. ¶ the abbot yperycius said that we should alway sing and have in our mouth ympnes and spiritual songs/ in thinking continually on god and in his marvelous works. for by such cogitations and thynkynges is assuaged and alleged the great heaviness and burden of temptations that comen on us/ of the which thing we have an evident example. ¶ a man long going and travailing weareth weary/ but in blowing and taking his bre●h dymynyssheth somewhat his travail/ and the great charge of his way. ¶ the abbot yperycius said/ that it is of necessity that we be armed against the temptations of the devil/ for they come in many manners/ and in withstanding them when they assaylle us we shallbe by the said resystaunce be approved constant & farm. ¶ an old ancient father said/ that if upon a man cometh a temptation/ and he withstand it not constantly/ thenne shall other temptations assaylle him on all parts/ which the fiend his enemy shall minister to him/ and make him dreadful and to murmur against god. to this purpose is rehearsed an example. ¶ a brother being in his cell which was tempted of a temptation/ and desiring to withstand the same/ if any sal●wed or great him/ doubting to run in to sin if he spoke to any person/ he would not salowe him/ ne receive him in to his cell. and by cause of his great solicitude and straightness he was so estranged from other that some time/ if he had need of breed/ men gaaf him none. and as men came from harvest/ no man bade him to eat/ how well that he had be accustomed to be boden of them that came. and also in the time of harvest which is an hot season he could not so much reap and labour/ that in the end he could have any breed in his cell. but what somever necessity that he had he rendered always thankings unto god/ and had alway a constant and strong courage to support the necessities and adversities/ wherefore our lord seeing the great patience of this holy man took away from him the battle of temptations/ for in socouryng him in his necessities. ¶ of a time among the other/ he sent to him a man/ which knocked at his door/ and brought to him a great quantity of breed upon a camele coming fro egypte. the which thing seeing the holy father/ began to weep saying. ha my god i see well by the goods that over largely thou sendest to me/ that i am not worthy to bear the tribulations which thou sendest to thy seruytours. and when his tribulations and adversities were passed/ his brethren in their cells and in the chirce received him/ bidding him for to rest with them. but for all that he moved not much/ but said that neither for adversity ne prosperity/ one ought not to enhance himself/ ne also yield him feyntfully. for none knoweth when ne how long thadversity or the prosperity shall endure. and ought not to defer any good work when it is begun/ but enforce him tachyeve it/ and to be virtuous/ and not think that it be labour or pain temploye himself to get virtue. ¶ an other religious brother demanded an ancient father saying. fair father what ought i to do with my vain cogitations and thoughts/ which only one hour suffer me not to be in rest in my cell. to whom the ancient father answered. my son i counsel thee/ that thou return to withstand the temptations which shall come upon thee/ and take labour on thee/ and exercise thy body in some handy work/ and with that thou pray god incenssauntly/ in fixing and leyeng on him thy thought/ in manner that none seduce the to issue out of thy cell. and to this purpose he rehearsed how that there was a young secular child desiring affectuously to be a religious. and as he required & prayed his father humbly/ that it pleased him to suffer and let him enter in to religion. his father would not incline to his request. but finably after that many of his kinsmen & friends that knew thaffeccyon of the child/ he was so sore pressed and required that he consented thereto. then the child renounced all worldly things/ and put himself in a monastery in which he made himself religious and that done he began perfectly to do all that was requisite & the ought to do a virtuous man being in religion/ as to fast and do many other abstinences and in effect he abstained to eat two hole days in the week/ & in the other days he eat but once only. the which abstinences seeing his abbot/ marveled greatly of his great virtues/ and praised & thanked humbly our lord. alway after a certain time/ the said religious man desiring to live more solitarily than he died among the other religiouses/ required & prayed his abbot that he would give him licence to go dwell in desert in an hermitage. to whom the abbot answered. a my child think not at that/ for thou mayst not bear ne sustain the temptations of the devil/ ne the great labours that behoveth a man to have in living solitarily. remembering also thy young age/ thou shalt not mow here the frauds malices and deceptions of the devil of hell. and that wrose is if thou be in desert by him assailed or tempted of any evil temptations/ thou shalt not find about the ne night to the any that may give to the any comfort or consolation. the religious young man hearing these remonstrances. and notwithstanding them/ he required his abbot more instantly than tofore that he would let him go and the abbot seeing that he might not retain him/ he prayed to our lord ihesu christ for him/ and gave to him leave. after this he prayed th'abbot that it might please him to depute some of his monks that could show to him the way. and how walking he ought to conduit himself. the abbot according to his request assigned to him two monks which went with him. and after that they by certain journeys walked through the deserts/ they became weary and travailed by the occasion of the great heat/ and were constrained to lie on the ground/ and for great watch they slept a little they thus sleeping came to them an eygle which smote them with his wings. and that done he fled a little tofore them and tarried on the ground. the two religious monks which conduited the young brother being awaked by the touching of the said eygle/ said that he should arise and showed to him the same eygle/ and told to him that it was an angel/ desiring that he should go and follow after him. the which anon aroos and flew a quarter of a mile tofore the religious brother and after rested on the ground. and the young monk by his eye followed after so much that he came to him/ the which of fleeing/ and walking after continued by the space of three hours/ the which passed/ the eygle flew away on the right hand of the religious which followed him/ and returned after toward him. but nevertheless he followed him so long that he might aperceyve him. and after that he had lost the sight of him/ looking tofore him he saw three trees of palm/ and a well by them/ where nigh by was a little cave or hole. then he said to himself/ that it was a place/ which our lord had prepared for him to live in solitarily. and after entered in to the cave/ and concluded in himself to make residence. in the which he continued six year entirely/ without seeing of any person. and without eting of any other meet or drink/ but dates and water of the said well. but the devil envious of his devout and virtuous life/ and desiring to turn him to damnation/ came to him in likeness of an aged father having a dreadful and stern visage/ whom seeing the young religious man was greatly abashed/ and recommended himself unto god and aroos for to come to him. the devil for to deceive him said. brother i pray thee/ let us first make our prayers unto god/ and after prayer so made by the said religious. the devil in arising asked him how long he had be in that place soyourning. to whom the religious man answered that he had be there vi year. i marvel said the devil/ how it may be that thus long time i have not known that thou were my neighbour/ but within four days hitherward that to me is comen in mine imagination/ that there was some holy man dwelling nigh by me. and so i concluded to search & to come to that for to devise & talk with the for the health of my soul. and this i tell to the my brother/ that we profit nothing holding us in our cells & caves. for we live as beasts/ & receive not the body of our lord ihesu cryst/ wherefore i doubt & fere strongly but that we be astraunged from him that so long abstain us fro the holy sacrament. but i shall tell the what i think my brother. there is from hens about a two mile a monastery/ wherein been many priests whom we may go see every week ones/ or in xu days/ & there we shall receive the worthy body of our lord ihu christ/ & the done we may return in to our cells. this devilish suasyon was agreeable to the religious youngman and the saterdaye comen/ the devil came again to him saying that they should go to the said monastery/ & that it was time to depart/ & so they went forth. and in going the fond a religious man of the said monastery. after that the young man had made his prayer in that place/ he arose & looking about him he fond not him that was come with him/ the which was vanished away. and thought in himself that he was goon out of the monastery for some necessity/ & he abode for him long & seeing that he came not/ he went making diligence to find him. and after inquired of the monks after him in asking them/ if they had seen any old father comen in to the church/ the which religious men answered to him that they had seen none but him only. then the young religious man knew well that it was the devil/ & began to say in himself. loo by what subtlety & malice the devil hath made me to go out of my cell/ but nevertheless i set not much thereby. for i am comen hither for to do & accomplish a good work/ that is to wite for to receive the precious body of my saviour ihesu christ/ whom i shall receive if it please him/ and after return in to my cell. the mass said & done in the said monastery. and after that he had received the holy sacrament/ the said young man would have returned in to his cell/ but th'abbot retained & would not suffer him to go/ till that he had taken his refection. and which refection taken & graces said to god/ he took leave of the said abbot & of his religious monks for to go in to his cell. and in returning the devil came to him again in the form & likeness of a young secular man. and by a manner feigned for to come to his damnable intency on began to behold him ententyvely from the top of the heed unto his feet. and saying these words that the young religious man might well here. is this he that hath so long be sought or is it he not. and in saying these words/ he continually beheld more intentively than he died before. for which cause the brother seeing that/ said to him what moved the thus to behold me. to whom the devil answered. i believe fair father that ye know me not/ whereof i am not sore abashed ne amarveled/ for ye can not well know me/ seen the long time that ye saw me/ nevertheless i know you well/ for i am next neighbour to your house. and furthermore he named his father & his mother/ & a sister that he had by their names/ & their servants also in saying to him/ was not your father called thus & your mother by this name/ & your sister in this wise/ and thus their seruytoves. my friend i assure you/ that your mother & sister died three year agoon. and your father departed out of this world but late. and he hath ordained you his heir & made you his excecutour for to dispose well his goods for the health of his soul/ he could not leave ne set they in a better had than in yours which be an holy man/ & that have given over & forsaken the world & all worldly goods for to walk & follow the way of ihesu christ/ hoping that for the great love & charity/ that ye have to him/ ye shall be belly & diligent for to distribute & give in alms by good & type discretion his goods to the poor & needy servants of god. and for this cause he ordained the one should come to you for to do for his sake this request/ & in following the said ordinance many messengers have been in diverse places for to find you/ but they could not hear of you/ so it is happened that in coming in to these parties/ for certain things i have found you here wherefore moved of charity & compassion & consyderyg the great trust that your father hath in you. i have be moved to tell it you/ & therefore tarry not/ but for to fulfil the will & testament of your father/ & go to his house/ & sell all that he hath/ for to deal & distribute to poor people after his holy devotion. to who me the religious young man answered/ that it was not to him necessary to return to the world/ & that he would not go thither and thereupon the devil replied again saying to him/ that if by his negligence/ the goods of his father were lost & dysperpled without to be given to the poor people as he had ordained/ he should therefore give a reckoning ones to fore god. and furthermore he said to him these words/ what harm say i if i exhort & admonest the that thou come as a good & true dyspensatour & dystrybutour to the poor people the goods of thy father like as he trusted to the that his goods should not have been meschyevously wasted & consumed by vicious persons. see what charge mayst the run in by thine estimation in so doing. thou knowest that thou mayst in this thing get great merit for the health of thy soul. and when thou shalt have that done/ thou shalt mow return again in to thy cell. finably this young religious man was by the devil in such wise deceived & beguiled/ that he was content to go home to the house of his father/ for to do and fulfil that which the devil had said to him. and in deed he departed from his hermitage/ and with the devil he came in to the city/ in which he was born in the which where tofore ere be came in to his faders house the devil departed from him. and after weving that his father had be deed/ entered in to the house for to do that which he had enterprised/ but he found his father a live and in good point/ the which knew not the young religious/ but asked what he was. then this young religious man sore troubled knowing that he had be evil seducet & deceived by the devil/ could not answer to his father one word. that seeing his father that he answered not/ began to ask again of him whence he was. to whom all confused he answered that he was his son/ & thenne his father asked him why he was returned from his hermitage/ & because he was ashamed to say him the truth/ excused him & said that for great love that he had to him he was come for to see him. thus thenne this young religious man abode in his faders house a certain time during the which in conversing among worldly things he was perverted & in such wise abused by the fiend of hell that he fill in to the sin of fornication/ the which thing comen to the knowledge of his father/ he was of him right rygourously entreated. but nevertheless he set not thereby/ ne died therefore no penance. and obstinate in his sin/ not fearing god ne the shame of the world/ returned no more in to his hermitage/ but lived dyssolutely to the great peril & damnation of his soul. and this history reciteth the said old father for to counsel & persuade a young religious man which had asked of him counsel how he should resist his temptations/ & that he should never depart out of his cell for any manner temptation what somever the devil died to him. ¶ some certain secular men camen in to desert unto a venerable old father/ & asked of him how he lived & conduited him in his cell or hermitage/ & if he was well content of his estate in which he suffered so moche pain. the which old father answered to them/ that he had no cause to be ill content/ seen that in travailing and labouring he might get the glory of heaven/ & esche we eternal damnation/ saying furthermore that all the labour and travail that he had suffered in his hermitage/ and yet had intent to suffer & endure/ though it were to the death/ it were not suffisant to compare to a journey of the sorrowful torments that been prepared to miserable sinners/ the which for their outrageous crysmes & trespasses shallbe perpetuelly dampened with the horrible fiends of hell. ¶ an other old father said that the old faders transported not themself from one place to an other/ but if by adventure and principally for three causes. the first was when any was angry with his brother/ and he had done all his devour to pacify him/ and nevertheless was not content with him/ in this caas for to eschew the danger of his soul he ought to depart & leave the place. that other was when that a religious man was over moche known & praised for his works to th'end that he eschew the sin of vain glory. and the third when he is evil ruled/ & that he hath commised the sin of lechery. ¶ a young brother required on a time of the holy father gluttony/ that he would give to him counsel/ how he ought to by have him/ & said that he was in continual affliction/ because that his conscience pricked him saying thus/ wherefore fastest thou not/ wherefore labourest thou not/ & why ghost thou not to visit the seek people seen that they been the works of which been worthy to be praised & to have reward. the holy father considering the such imaginations were deceits of the devil said to him. my friend go eat & drink if thou mayst not fast/ but above all things/ keep that from going out of thy cell. for in persevering & there continuing thy residence/ thou shalt come to the state of perfection. so then thou brother went forth/ & when he had made continual residence by the space of three days in his said cell/ he found himself greatly annoyed & gryved. but nevertheless desiring to abide/ he died so moche that he found a few palms that which he tempered/ & the next day following he made mats/ & as he was in making they/ he had hungers/ & for to constrain himself to fast/ he said to himself/ that he had a few moo palms/ whom he would dispose & ordain for to set a work & after he would eat. after that be he had wrought that he said that yet he should not eat/ till that he had a little red & prayed. and when he had a little red he began to psalmody/ & soon after he being appealed of his fantasies/ he took meet & began to eat. and in this manner by the help of god which saw his good purpose/ he profited in such wise that he fond byselfe well disposed to abide & tarry in his cell/ & to do the which he ought to do after the institutions of his order/ & trusting in himself/ that the temptations the should come to him/ might be belthfull to him if be resisted them/ he took in himself so good courage/ that lightly he overcame them & surmounted. ¶ an other aeged father was demanded by a young religious brother. from whence it might proceed/ that a religious person being abiding & resident in his cell suffered & bore so great gryevaunce. to whom he answered. thou hast not yet seen ne well consider in thy thought the general resurrection to come/ ne hast not embraced the torments the then shall be made ready to them that shall be then perpetuelly tormented. certainly if thou hadst well seen & considered them/ it should nothing grieve ne annoy the to be in thy cell/ & suppose yet that it were so full of worms that thou shouldest be therein unto thy neck thou shouldest endure it/ and be never annoyed. ¶ some religious persons having compassion of the great travail and pain/ that in overmuch labouring an holy father suffered they prayed him a little for to rest/ and leave so much to travail. to whom he answered. my children i pray you to believe me of that i shall now say to you. i assure you that the holy father abraham/ which all his life continued in great lakours for to get the sovereign health of his soul/ when he shall see the great & excellent yefts of god in the eternal glory/ he shall repent him & shall be much desplaysaunt of that he hath not take on him more greater labours & pain that he hath yet had. ¶ an other brother asked an ancient holy father/ how he should byhave him with his cogitations & thoughts which made him so doubtful & inconstaunt that he was incontynuell tribulation. to whom the aeged father answered. my friend hold & keep the in thy cell/ & set nought though diverse thoughts assayllen thee/ for thou shall not perish if thou keep the therein. and if thou issue & go out as well shall they assaylle the without as within. and like as the female ass which is bound/ goeth not after her young fool/ which goth at large where it will & runneth all about/ alway it cometh again to the mother. in likewise the temptation followeth alway the religious & so lytary person. and how well that he be assailed & be made to vary/ yet hath he no cause to perish/ for seen that he depart not out of his cell/ & that for the love of god he enfore himself to abide & constantly reject them behind him. ¶ there was an old holy father which had no water nigh to him by twelve english mile. and on a time in going to the fountain for to draw and fetch water/ he found himself so feeble that when he was there/ uneath & with great pain he might return home. and considering in himself the great travail that he had for to go & come so far he said in himself these words what need is it for to go so far & with so great pain for to fetch water/ certainly i shall no more come so far/ but i shall come & dispose me to come hither & dwell here at mine ease. and after that he had so said/ he saw a young man as him seemed that followed him/ & in following numbered & accounted his steps & paas. the old father that seeing asked him what he was/ to whom he answered to him that he was an angel of god/ which had sent him thither for to number his pace & to give to him his reward. the which answer heard by the old father/ he took in himself strength of courage/ & in hope to get the greater reward for the pain that he took in going to fetch the water at the said well/ he went to make his habitation more ferther than it was afore. some old faders by manner of instruction saiden/ if any temptations come upon the in the place where thou dwellest/ thou oughtest not for that to leave it/ for if thou so do/ in what somever place that thou shalt go/ thou shalt find to fore the that which that thou supposedest to flee & eschew/ but thou oughtest to be patient in resisting it unto the time that the temptations be goon/ to th'end that thy departing he not cause of slander to other. ¶ an other religious brother there was which among his fellows was not peaceable/ but oftentimes was moved & provoked to wrath & ire/ wherefore he concluded in himself on a time that he would go dwell in a solitary place alone/ that then when i shall be without company there shall be no person that shall say any thing to mean to whom i ought to say any thing. then after licence gotten he departed fro his monastery/ he went & dwelled alone in a cave. and after that he had dwelled a little while/ he set on the ground a little pot which he had filled with water/ & suddenly the pot fill down in such wise that the water was shed/ and the religious person seeing that/ filled his pot again and anon fill down as it died tofore and yet he filled it the third time/ and the water was shed again. then he was sore moved in fury & ire that he could not be content/ but in his anger & passion took the pot & threw it against the ground & broke it in pieces and after when his passion was passed he knew that the spirit of wrath & devilish mocked with him/ wherefore seeing that in solitude & being alone as well as in company he was alway over come of this irous passion/ wherefore he concluded that he should return & abide with his brethren/ knowing that every where & over all/ labour is necessary & patience. and for to have the said patience/ every man ought to labour by the help of god. ¶ an other religious person asked of an holy father to give to him some remedy upon that he could not do any good work the appertained to do to a right good & virtuous religious/ but was detained and bywrapped in such sloth & negligence/ that he was content to pass the time in eting & drinking & in sleeping. and above this their came on him infinity thought foul & dishonest of which he was so afflict & tormented that if he began any good work/ anon he left it/ & was transported fro thought to thought/ in such wise that he had in him neither steadfastness ne constance. the aeged father said to him. brother go & abide in thy cell/ & do that the master without perturbation. certainly/ that little good that the enforcest the to do now shallbe to the as medeful for to be saved as were to the abbot anthonye the great good works that he made when he was in th'hermitage. and with this i have in god this trust & affiance/ that who somever for th'honour & love of his name keep him solitarily in his cell/ & enforceth him to keep his conscience/ he shall find himself in the place of saint anthonye. ¶ an ancient father was asked of a young religious person/ how he might keep himself from slander/ when he saw any religious person return unto the world. to whom he answered that a religious person that will be constant & not vary/ in seeing a religious person return in to the world/ aught to behold & consider a chaas or course of hounds the run after an hare. among the which oftentimes there is one/ the which all alone seeing the hare/ followeth after in running with all diligence. the other hounds that see the hound run/ how be it that they have not apperceived the hare/ yet sometime run after the hound & follow him afar/ & nevertheless they persist not but return & abide behynds. this notwithstanding the hound which hath seen the hare/ & leaveth not the sight of him alway pursueth him unto that he hath taken him/ & turneth not from his course ne from his intention. for he taketh none heed ne retcheth not though they abide behind or if they return/ for thaffecconnaffection that he hath to pursue his pray in pursuing of the which/ he feareth neither to tumble ne to fall/ but alway relyeveth himself & passeth forth without fearing of hedges or bushes/ how be it that sometime he be hurt with thorns that he findeth in his way/ nevertheless be setteth not thereby till that he hath taken the hare. ¶ in likewise the religious person or other that seeketh our lord ihu christ/ that is to wit he that desireth by good works to obtain his grace incessantly apply his intent to be scourged & tormented by penance/ & pass lightly all the sclaundres that may come to him/ unto the time that he come to the glory celestial/ & in coming to the same he take ihesu christ at that course/ that is to wite in running after him/ & in following him by good manners. and then that he come to the same joy/ he take his pray which is the fruition of his precious vision/ in the which delighteth all the court celestial. ¶ an other aged father said that like as a tree which is oft dysplaunted & transported from one ground to an other may bear no fruit. likewise the religious person that oft goth from one place to an other may not profit ne do any work that is healthful. ¶ there was a religious person which fond him strongly oppressed and tempted to leave his monastery. and for as much as he might not well withstand it/ he declared to an old father asking him hereupon some remedy/ the which counseled him that he should go to his cell/ & that he should lay his body to wed that he should not go out. and in so doing he should pain himself to cast his thoughts away & say to his body that he should think all that he would safe only that he go not out of his cell. and in so doing the said religious vanquished the said temptation. ¶ an other aged father said that the cell of a religious person is likened to the furnaces or chemyney of babylon where the three children sydrac. mysaell/ and abdenago fond the son of god which kept them from brenning. or else to the bush/ pyler/ or cloud in which god spack to moses. ¶ a religious person was tempted continually by the space of ix year for to forsake the company of his brethren. and to that end every day he died of his pilch or skin in the which after his rule he had be accustomed to lie & sleep in. and when it was even he said to himself. i shall depart & go hens to morn/ & on the morn i shall abide yet this day for the love of god and when he had continued thus in this variation by the space of ix year in doing every day as said is/ our lord took away from him that temptation. ¶ an other religious by force of temptations fond him self so troubled that he lost & left the rule of religion. and living dyssolutely/ as he would sometime set himself to do well & come again to live religiously/ his temptations letted him/ wherefore he had great sorrow. and in bewailing the time that he had lost & wasted in living myschauntly said in himself. alas when shall i find myself in such estate as i was wont to be. and in making such sorrow he purposed to amend himself. but nevertheless he had a courage so sloth/ that he could not ne would take again his religious life/ wherefore on a day he transported him unto an holy aged father/ to whom he rehearsed all his miserable life/ & how he could not put him to live well. the aged father knowing his myschaunt case for to reduce him to good life/ recounted to him such an example as followeth. ¶ there was a man sometime/ which had a fair piece of land/ the which he left by his great negligence turn in to so great ruin that it was over charged & grown with thistles/ thorns/ and great buysshes. thinking on this caas/ a certain time after he concluded that he would set again in value the same piece of land. and said to his son that he should go see in what estate it was/ & that he should make diligence to weed & take away the thistles & buysshes/ & refresh it. then he feigning to will obey his father/ went to the said piece of land. and as he beheld the great multitude of thorns buysshes & thistles that grew thereon/ he fond himself so sloth & feeble of courage/ that he could not begin to work/ sayneg in himself thus. a lord god how shall it be to me possible to stubble & make clean this piece of land here. certainly i shall never con make an end thereof/ and laid himself down on the ground by sloth & latchesse/ & began to sleep. and so continued many days without doing of any labour. and the father desiring to see what his son had done in the said loud. on a day he went thither/ & fond that he had nothing laboured/ & asked him why he had noothing done. and he answered to him weening to sense him/ that when he was come & had seen the great abundance of thistles & thorns/ he could not enterprise so great labour/ & for that cause he laid him down & slept. his father hearing his answer/ reproved him of his sloth & latchednes/ & said to him that he should begin to labour/ & should not do but a certain one day/ & as much an other day/ upon which he so died in obeying the commandment of his father. and when he saw in labouring that it began to amend/ he took therein great pleasure/ that in short time/ it was refreshed & made clean. in like wise my brother said the old father. it behooveth to the a little & little to work/ & in so doing the courage shall not fail thee/ & god by his holy grace shall restore the in to thy former estate this hearing the religious man took leave of the holy father in thanking him meekly & in good patience. and with great constance made residence in his cell/ & began to work like as the holy father had instruct & taught him. and in this manner finding rest/ he was promoted by our lord to right devout & virtuous life. ¶ there was an old father the which had be accustomed to be oft enfeebled by sickness. and it happened that it was the pleasure of god that during an hole year he was whole & in good point without to be touched ne grieved with any bodily sickness. and considering in himself that he was in over great health he entered for this cause in a great melancholy/ of the which he was strongly tormented/ & wept saying that god had left & forgotten him because that he visited him no more with sickness. ¶ an other aged holy father said that an other brother was by the space of lx year so sharply tempted of evil & dishonest temptations that he might no more withstand ne resist them. and thinking on his caas of the fere and dread that he had/ he ran in to despair/ & judging himself to be dampened said in himself. now see i well/ that my soul is lost for ever. and sith that it is so that there is no remedy i am a fool and abuse my well myself to abide and keep me here. come thereof what it shall i will return to the world/ and set himself on the way for to go. and anon he heard a voys that said to him. poor man why there ghost thou/ herkene to me/ and believe that i shall say to the. i will that thou wite/ that the temptations that thou hast these ix year born and suffered/ were fair crowns for to crown the in the everlasting glory. and therefore i exhort the and admonest that thou return in to thy cell/ and do alway penance and i shall relieve the of thy evil thoughts. by the which example that one ought never to despair of the mercy of god/ and also one ought to have good hope of retribution when he is tempted of evil thoughts/ so that he enforce him to withstand them with all diligence. for in so doing he deserveth to be excellently crowned in the royalme of heaven. ¶ in the parties of the bayde there was an aged holy father which dwelled in a deep fosse or cave/ with whom dwelled one his disciple well approved in holy life and conversation. now this holy father had a custom every day/ and also at even to enseyne and teach his disciple/ & to admonest him to healthful and profitable works for his soul. and after they put them together to pray to god and make devout prayers. and that done the holy father gave him leave to go & sleep a little & rest him. ¶ on a time among the other it happened that some persons secular well advertised of the holy life of the said father camen for to see him for to have in their adversyters some consolation and after that he had comforted them & were departed from him/ he called his disciple to talk with him for his health like as he had be accustomed to do/ & because it was late in speaking to him he fill a sleep. but that notwithstanding/ his disciple departed not tarrying till the old father should awake for to devise with him & to make their prayers after their custom. as thenne the said holy father slept/ his disciple abiding a long while by him was tempted to go to his rest nevertheless he with stood the temptation/ & concluded to abide and tarry till the holy father was awaked/ & notwitstonding this deliberation he was thus tempted unto vij times/ & all vij times he withstood it such wise that he surmounted that said temptation. so it happened that the midnight passed the holy father awoke/ & saw his disciple sitting by him/ whom he asked why he went not to sleep. to whom he answered that he had no will to go/ because he had give him no licence. and wherefore said that holy father haste thou not awaked me/ because said the disciple that i dread to trouble or do any gryef to ye. these words said/ they began to say their matins/ that which said & achyeved/ the holy father let his disciple go. the said holy father then being alone in his couch was ravished in spirit. and in this ravishment he saw a vision/ in the which appeared a fair youngling which showed to him a plain place in glory/ in which among other setes/ there was one excellent/ wherein sat no person/ & upon the seat there were set vij crowns rich & sumptuous/ the which seeing the holy father asked him that showed them to him to whom they belonged. and he answered to him/ that they were belonging to his disciple/ & that our lord for the retribution of his holy life & good conversation had given them to him/ & had assigned his place in that fair siege on which were the crowns. the which things hearing the holy father was marvelously abashed/ & all fearful called his disciple & asked him what thing he had done that night. to whom he answered. fair father pardon me if it please you i have nothing done. the holy father esteeming that the disciple by his humility would not confess that he asked of him/ said to him/ believe me. i shall not leave the in peace/ if the say not to me what thing that hast done or thought this night. to whom the disciple wist not what to answer because he had done no thing. nevertheless he advised himself to tell him the will that he had in this manner. my father i require the of pardon/ certainly i have nothing done safe only this night as thou sleptest. i being beside thee/ because it was late i had be mened & constrained by my vain thoughts and cogitations not only one time/ but unto the vii time for to have left the sleeping and have goon to rest me. but nevertheless for as much as i had no leave of thee/ as i have be accustomed. i had not willed to go/ but in observing & keeping mine obedience toward thee/ and in beating down mine affections/ died constrain myself to hold company with that unto the time that thou were awaked. the holy father hearing these words anon understood by the vision that he had/ that at every time that the disciple had resisted his temptations he had obtained a crown of god/ & therefore he had granted to him seven. crowns of gold that he had seen in the said vision/ but nevertheless he said nothing ne showed it to his disciple for his utility & profit/ doubting that if any had told him thereof/ he peradventure might fall in the sin of vain glory/ by which he might left that merit that he had gotten which tofore is said nevertheless he could not keep him from reciting to some old faders his spiritual friends to th'end to give knowledge that for such little works when they been constantly done & in good perseverance/ god which is so liberal & great rewarder promiseth first to us so greatly for to crown us with so many crowns in the glory sovereign. then is it good & moche puffytable to every christian man to refrain his passions & constrain him to line virtuously for the honour of god. for as saith the holy scripture/ the royame's of heaven would be gotten by force/ & the which been constraunt & coragyously assayllen ravysshe it & taken it by violence. ¶ an other old father solitary which dwelled alone/ was on a time strongly seek. and because that he had no person to serve him was constrained to arise for to take such refection as he fond in his ralle/ & so he died certain days after his possibility. finably he became so feeble that he might no more help himself. so xxx days during he was in this poverty. our lord seeing his right great patience/ & that none of his brothrn had none remembrance of him/ therefore he sent his angel which administered & served him during vij days in all things that to him was necessary. atte last some of the brethren of the holy father remembered him/ which had their cells & habitations nigh to him/ & had not in long time seen him/ concluded for to go & see him for to wite if he had any necessity. and when they were come to his cell & knocked at that door for to enter in. the angel anon departed from him. and the holy father seeing the began to cry to the said brethren/ he lying in his couch & said to them my brethren i pray you go your way. they hearing his answer & desiring to know how he died lift up the door from of that hengis/ & entered in and after asked him why he so cried. to whom he answered that he had be xxx days seek during that which noman had visited him. and after the xxx passed our lord had sent him his angel which had entreated him moche sweetly in serving to him by the space of vij days/ & this is then the seven. day/ but as soon as he heard you at door he departed from him. and in saying these words he rendered & gave up his soul to god/ the same brethren being present. the which merualling themself gloryfyeden the name of god in saying/ that he never faileth them that setten in him their hope. ¶ an aged father said/ if thou be taken & sufferest pain of any hodely sickness/ therefore give not thyself as overcomen & consider that if god will that thou be enfeebled in thy body/ he doth it for thy utility & profit. therefore thou oughtest not take it grutchyngly ne dyspleasauntly/ knowest thou not well that he hath oft cure & diligence for to purvey in thy necessities after that thou hast need for thy health/ wetest thou not well also that thou mayst not live without him. bear thou then patiently the infirmities that he sendeth to thee/ in praying him humbly that it please him to give to the that which is expedient & necessary. and also that thou do always his will/ without any thing to do contrary/ & hold the solitarily & in patience in thy cell eting in charity that which thou mayst get. ¶ an other old father recited that he being in the city of oxirinque on a saturday at even/ there came moche poor people for to ask alms of devout creatures/ they being & sleeping in a common place/ where as one among the other which had a unthrifty mat/ of which upon half whereof he lay/ and of tother half he covered him for the cold which was thenne extremely great/ the same poor creature being constrained to arise for to make his urine/ complained in himself of the great cold/ in saying to our lord. my god i thank the of the goods that it pleaseth the to do to me. how many rich men been now in this world that for their trespasses or other case to them happened be now prisoners/ & have their legs feathered in stocks & in great feteres of iron/ the which grieve & annoy them/ and have no leisure to do & to make their aysement when they need. and as touching to me/ thou hast do so much good to me that i am frank & free as an emperor stratching my feet to my ease/ & walking where as it please me. and these words said the holy father that had heard them. incontinent departed & came & rehearsed them his brethren which were thereby marvelously well edified. ¶ an other brother asked on a time an old father in demanding him what he should do/ if he were in any place solitary what somever tribulation or temptation came upon him/ the which he well feared as he said/ seen that he had no person that might comfort him or that he might trust to/ ne to whom he might declare his adversity. to whom the holy father answered. my brother it behoveth to the alway to believe steadfastly in god and if thou trust in him & pray to him & requiring in good charity/ he shall comfort the by his angel which he shall send to the with his grace. and further more he said to him that on a time he heard say/ that in sychye such a caas was happened of a religious person solitary that suffered many temptations/ & had noon religious by him to whom he might trust ne to confess him to/ wherefore oft-times he disposed him to go his way/ but because he had oft resist it on a night among that other appeared to him the grace of our lord in the likeness of a virgin/ which praying him affectuously said to him thus. my friend go not out of thy cell/ but sit here with me. for of the thing that thou hast herd shall come to the none evil/ the which religious brother giving faith to her words/ concluded to abide/ & anon his heart was alleged. ¶ here followeth an other little treatise containing that no thing should be done for exaltation or vain glory. saint anthonye being in desert was on a time advertised that a religious person which had alway be reputed virtuous had done a miracle by elation or vain glory in this manner/ he seeing some aged faders walking & going with great pain/ commanded some wild asses which were about by their way that they should transport them toward them & bring them to him. the which miracle the said old faders notefyeden to saint anthonye/ which said to them such words or likewise in substavene. this monk to mine advise is likeneth to a ship laden with all goods/ of the which is noman certain if it shall come to port salewe. certain time after saint anthonye seeing before in spirit of revelation or otherwise this young religious man to be soon departed by death fro thadversities of this world/ & began suddenly to wail & weep & draw his here & make marvelous lamentations/ that which thing seeing his disciples/ & not knowing the cause of his weepings & wailings axed him wherefore he wept. to whom he answered/ that a great pillar of the church was then fall/ in saying to them furthermore. go ye toward the religious brother/ which made that other day the miracle of the wild asses & ye shall see in what estate he is now the same disciples obeying to saint anthonye went forth their way & camen to this young religious man/ whom they fond lying upon a mat & weeping bitterly the great sin that he had done. and he seeing the disciples of saint anthonye said to them. i pray you my brethren say to the old father that he will pray to god for me/ that it may please him to give me respite of ten days & i hope that during them i shall do so much that he shall be content of me. notwithstanding be departed & died five days after following. ¶ some religious persons sometime made to saint anthonye many great & lowable reports of humility of one of their brethren/ wherefore saint anthonye desiring to know if he were such as they saiden/ called the same religious man & said to him many great injuries/ that which he might not patiently bear/ & said to him that he was like to an house that which before outward is much ornate & enriched of sumptuous work/ but behind all unshytte & so ruinous that the thiefs have left nothing that ought is worth. ¶ many aged faders say of the holy faders gluttony & theodore called the steadfast/ that above all things they hated vain glory worldly. alway arseny when any relygyouses camen to him/ he hasted not to go against them. but theodore died the contrary. ¶ a priest named eulogius which was disciple of saint johan archbishop of alexandria was of a marvelous abstinence/ for he fasted two days in the week without to eat any thing/ & oft he fasted the surplus of the week in eting ones only on the day & eat but breed & salt. and for this cause & for his other virtues/ he was much praised & allowed of the people. on a time he came to the abbot joseph in a place named panese/ weening that the said joseph lad a life more straight than he. the said joseph received him in great joy/ made to him for good love & charity to prepare his refection the most honestly that he might. and seeing the disciples of eulogius that he had other meet than that which he had taken to eat/ saiden that eulogius eat not but breed & salt. but nevertheless the abbot joseph which would not that every man knew his great abstinences privily eat of the meet that he had ordained for eulogius. and during three days that the said eulogius & his disciples soyourned with the holy abbot joseph/ they never apperceived that the said joseph ne his disciples psalmodyed or made any prayers. but nevertheless they prayden & said their psalms secretly/ wherefore eulogius & his disciples departed with out to be suffysauntly edified. and as they walked it pleased to god that the weather changed & became dark in such wise/ that for this cause they were constrained to return to the father joseph. and when they knocked at the gate of the monastery they heard the said joseph & his brethren which sungen and psalmodyed. they herked a long while their psalmody/ & after that they had long herked/ finably they knocked at gate/ whom again the holy father received much joyously. the disciples of eulogius for the great heat had brought a little bottle/ in which they put water of the which the holy father joseph was wont to drink/ & they gave the same to eulogius for to drink for to afresshe him but when he felt and had tasted it/ he would not drink it/ because he felt by the taste that it was salt. and for to say the truth it was not sweet/ for they were waters of the see & of the rivers meddled together. and this thing in his courage/ he required the holy man joseph that he should ensign & teach him his manner of living saying/ how is it holy father so/ that when i came first hither ye song not ne psalmodyed/ & now sith we departed ye have begun to do it. and furthermore when i would have drunken of your water. i fond that it was salt. to the which question the abbot joseph answered/ that which of all his religious brethren were any thing troubled by error should meddle salt water with the fresh. then eulogius not content with this answer/ and willing to know of that he asked prayed him again that he should say to him/ fro whence it proceeded that the said water was salt. to whom the holy father answered saying/ that this little buurage was in stead of wine the charity had purveyed to them/ but that water was the ordinary drink that the religious brethren drank/ by which words he taught eulogius how he ought to have discretion in his thoughts/ & drive away from him all mutability of courage/ & that he should make himself common with the other brethren eating fro thence forthon all meats that were set tofore him. also he taught him how he should secretly pray. and these things by him considered he said to joseph/ that certainly he knew his works & also of his disciples to be done in parfyght charity. ¶ the abbot zenon which had be disciple of the abbot syluayn said/ that a religious man ought never to desire to dwell in a place greatly renowned/ ne with a man having a great name/ ne set or make any fundament for to build to himself a cell or habitation. ¶ on a time came a brother to th'abbot theodore called the steadfast & soyourned three days with him/ praying him that he would say to him some word of edification. but he would say no thing to him. and seeing the said religious that he had no will to say any thing to him/ departed full heavy & sorrowful. the which thing seeing the disciple of the said theodore/ demanded wherefore he would not say to him some good word/ to th'end that he had not departed evil content of him. to whom the holy father answered/ that he would say nothing to him because he was a great merchant and entermeter/ the which inquired and demanded to know some new thing for to glorify himself in the words of an other. ¶ an other brother asked the said theodore in inquiring him of some things/ of which he would never entermete. to whom the holy father answered i am abashed how thou presumest to ask me of such things. thou resemblest to him which yet had not fond the ship/ ne put his mariners therein/ ne also begun to rowo nor sail. and yet is comen to the port or city where he had disposed to come/ when thou haste first done some thing/ then mayst thou well speak. ¶ thabbot cassyen said that a brother which had learned to trot from place to place came on a time toward the holy father serapyon/ the which holy father after some words willing to pray god or to psalmody with the said brother bade him begin/ & he would follow. to which exhortation the said brother would not incline/ saying by faint humility that he was a sinner and unworthy to bear the habit of a monk. and after the said holy father would wash his feet/ but the brother excusing him as he died before would not suffer him. finably he made him take his refection with him. and in so doing he began to admonest him saying my son if thou wilt profit/ it behooveth the continually to make residence in thy cell/ & to take heed of thyself/ & employ that to work/ for it is not lawful ne expedient to go so moche as it is to be resident/ the which brother hearing these words was so moche in despite & moved in ire against the said holy father that suddenly he apperceived by his visage that by the cause he changed his colour. & began to say to him. ha my son thou saidest late that thou were a sinner/ in accusing thyself as unworthy to live/ & now by cause i warn that in good charity to live well/ thou art angry with me & oughtest thou to do so/ certainly i tell to the that if thou wilt be very & humble religious/ thou must learn & bear courageously the charges & burdens that by other shall be laid on thee/ & not to say & grudge in thyself to think any rigorous or heinous words. for such conditions ought not to be founden ne to domyne in any religious man willing to come to felicity & beatitude eternal. the brother considering these words that the holy father said to him/ he departed & died great penance & amended his life. ¶ thabbot moses being in the hermitages of the desert of sychye was advertised that the judge of the province came toward him for to see him & visit/ wherefore he desiring teschue that he should not see him/ departed from his hermitage/ & put himself in the way of the palus of egypt/ in which way the said judge accompanied with some of his servants met him/ & axed of him where was the cell of the abbot moses'/ the which answered him/ wherefore ask ye after him/ he is a man foolish & an heretic. the judge arrived at the common church of the said hermitages/ & said to the clerks that he fond there/ how for the great renomee of the abbot moses desiring to see him he was come thither. and that in coming he met an old father going in to egypt whom he asked where was the cell of th'abbot moses'/ & he answered me in this manner/ wherefore seekest thou him/ he is an heretic. the clerks hearing these words of the said judge were much troubled & displeasant/ but nevertheless they asked what man was the old father that had so evil & synystryly spoken of the said abbot moses. to whom the judge answered he is long & black & clad with a lewd vestment. thenne they knew that it was th'abbot moses which had so spoken of himself/ & said to the judge that he had said those words to th'end that the judge should not know him/ wherefore the said judge returned without speaking more to him & without to see him any otherwise than said is. ¶ an other brother asked the holy father mathoys saying to him. fair father if i go & be resident in any place how ought i to govern me in the same/ if thou wilt surely dwell in any place/ keep the well for getting a name or renomee of any particular thing as to say that thou wilt not converse in the company of brethren for to lead a life more solitary/ or that thou eat not one thing or other. by such things a man getteth to him a name & fame. and after he must suffer this portunyte of the people/ which is a thing much grievous if he be a man that desireth to live virtuously & solitary. ¶ the great abbot nesteron & one of his religiouses walking in the deserts saw to fore them a great dragon/ for whom to eschew incontinent they fled/ the which thing seeing the said religious said to the said abbot/ that he was afeard. to whom he answered nay that he was not/ but it was to him expedient to flee/ seeing the dragon. for in so doing he fled the spirit of vain glory/ as who saith that if by the moyen of some conjurations divine that he had made to the dragon they had passed by him without that he had done to them any harm/ they might have run in the sin of vain glory/ wherefore for to keep him therefro/ it seemed to him better & more available to flee far from him than to conjure him. ¶ the abbot pastor said that a religious man that will well edify other for to give to them good example/ aught to keep & observe the things which he will be kept & observed by other. and furthermore he said that he marveled of many men that have no shame that will be parfyght by words/ wherein their deeds they be moche lass. ¶ thabbot adelphus which was bishop of nyl went on a time in to a montayn for to see the holy father sysoy. in a morning the said bishop would depart fro him/ but th'abbot sysoy volde first make him to break his fast/ how well that it was thenne a fasting day/ & thus as they layed the table for to eat/ came upon them two brethren/ to whom the holy father ordained to give them pottage/ because that they came fro labour. the holy bishop adelphus seeing the refection to be ready. said a part to the father sysoy/ that he should defer a little to eat/ till that the two brethren were gone/ to th'end that they should not say that he broke his fast/ notwithstanding the words that th'abbot sysoy said to his religiouses that they should give to them the pottage that he had do set on the fire for the said bishop adelphus. the which brethren seeing & receiving the pottage axed of the religious that served them if there were any strangers in the cell of the said abbot sysoy. and if the said abbot broke his fast in the morning with them. to whom he answered/ ye/ the which answer heard they were much angry and began to say. god forgive you the fault that ye do/ in suffering our abbot to eat at this hour. ne know ye not well that he hath been many days without labour/ as who should say/ that he ought not to break his fast/ seen that he laboured not. the bishop adelphus' hearing these words repented him & was displeasant of that which he had said to th'abbot sysoy for to make break him his fast saying. father abbot pardon me/ for that i have said & thought is a thing human/ but in commanding to give the pottage thou haste done a thing divine. then said to him th'abbot sysoy. if god glorify not a man/ his glory shall never be stable. ¶ the abbot amenas' said to the abbot sysoy that he should apply him to read the scriptures/ to th'end to learn to aorne & make fair his words/ & for to be ready answer to all askynges that should be made to him. sysoy said that it was no need to read for to make his words fair/ but a man ought virtuously purvey him of holiness in his words/ by cleanness of conscience/ as who would say/ that a man that liveth virtuously can not speak evil ne ill. ¶ the abbot simeon being in deserts. a judge of a province came for to see him. and in coming he fond the said simeon/ which by the aid and help of his girdle was clommen on a palmyer for to make it clean. and asked him not knowing that it was he where was the old father simeon that dwelled there solitarily. and he answered that there was noman there solitary/ the which answer heard by the judge/ he departed. ¶ an other time came an other judge for to see him/ of which thing his disciples were advertised/ & came saying to him. fair father make you ready/ for here cometh a great man for to see you & for to have your blessing. to whom the holy father simeon answered. now well well. i shall make me ready/ & went & took an old sack wherewith he covered his heed & his shoulders/ & holding in his hand breed & cheese set him down & eat at the door of his cell as he had eat no meet three days before. the judge & his people arrived there seeing his countenance set nothing by him. and returned saying as by mocquery/ is this the monk solitary of whom we have herd say so many things. ¶ saint syncletyce that in like wise that as a treasure that is published and showed is oft mynysshed and dispended. in like wise every virtue after that it is published/ lightly is put away and finished. and all in like wise as wax which is nigh the fire is melted. in like wise the soul which is praised becometh vain/ & loseth the rigour of virtue. he said furthermore that all in like wise as it is impossible a thing to be in one time both herb & seed. so it is impossible that they that have glory mondayn & delight them therein maken any fruit for to have the heavenly glory. ¶ in a high fest hallowed among the religiouses of the hermitages/ in the which they had a custom to take their refection in the church. one religious man among the other called one of the servant in saying that he eat no boiled meet/ but only breed & salt/ the which thing heard by the said servant/ he called an other in saying to him openly with an high voys bring some salt to this brother here/ for he eateth none other thing. and one of the old faders hearing the arose up & came to the religious that a●ed for salt/ & said to him that it had be more expedient to have eaten flesh in his cell than to have herd the words that had be said of him to fore so many religious people/ as who should say that he ought to be ashamed/ to have heard recited of him after his own word that he eat no thing but breed & salt. for if he had be virtuous none ought to apperceive it. ¶ on a time unto an aged father were come some strangers/ to whom for their refection he had do make good pottage & it happened that the same time came to him a brother moche abstynent/ & that eat no breed/ they sitting at table & begun to eat/ he brought chiches for himself & eat them in the company of the other/ & after that they were risen fro the table/ a aged father called secretly the brother & said to him/ brother when thou shalt come hereafter tofore any men/ keep the well fro showing to him/ or from letting him apperceive thine abstinence or conversation/ & if thou wilt do any straight abstinence/ keep that in thy cell & go not out. the said religious hearing these words/ & inclined to them/ & determined to live like to the other/ & to eat such meet as should be brought in to the company of other religious folk. ¶ an other holy father said that the human ꝓuydence taketh away & cutteth from him all fattenesse & yieldeth him dry. ¶ an other old father said if thou wilt handsomely live/ it behoveth the in fleeing the world to flee fro the men in mocking the said world & the men that been therein/ & to repute & fain thyself to be a fool. ¶ an other little treatise reching how noman ought to judge any other. a religious monk being under the charge and congregation of the abbot helye happened on a time a temptation or a cause for the which he was put out of the congregation. and he went up to a mountain unto the holy abbot saint anthonye. and after that he had abiden by a certain time/ he sent him again to the congregation from whence he was departed/ but incontinent that his fellows saw him/ they put him out again/ wherefore yet eft once he returned unto the said father antony laying to him that they would not receive him. and for that cause the holy father sent to them such a parable a ship hath be in danger for to be perished in the see/ where she hath left the charge that she bore/ and with great labour & pain she hath be brought unto land/ ye thenne my brethren will ye drown and do perish the ship that hath be delivered. they knowing by these words/ that the said holy abbot anthonye had sent him again to them/ and anon agreeably they received him. ¶ a religious monk had commised a sin/ for the which he was constrained by a pressed to avoid out of the church. the abbot besaryon at that time being present arose up and went also out/ saying to him that he was a sinner/ as was the said religious monk. ¶ the abbot ysaac dwelled in the deserts of thebaid/ and saw on a time among the other in the congregation of the religiouses/ among whom he saw one that was culpable of a sin/ for the which he judged the said religious. and in returning in to his hermitage/ weening to enter in to his cell/ he fond thangel of god which letted him to enter/ saying that he would not suffer him to enter in. and the said abbot asked of him the cause. and he answered him/ that god had sent him for to ask of him whither he would send that brother which he had judged/ & anon th'abbot kneeled down on his knees/ in repenting him of that which he had said/ & requyring of th'angel that he would pardon him. to whom he answered that he should arise/ & that god pardonned him/ but he advertised him that fro thence forthon he should beware & keep him from judging of any person/ before that god had judged. ¶ in the deserts of sychye was fond culpable one of the religiouses that dwelled there for th'offence or sin of whom behoved all the old & ancient faders assemble together/ & by deliberation they sent for th'abbot moses'/ praying him that he would come to them/ the which thing he would not do/ wherefore the principal among them sent to him/ praying him again that he would come to them all/ which had concluded to abide for him/ the which thing by him understanden/ took an old walet or sack full of sand/ the which he bore upon his back/ & so came in this estate unto the said aged faders. the which comen tofore them/ they axed him what thing it was that he bore. and he answered to them. these been my sins that run after me/ the which i may not bear/ & ye make me to come hither for to judge the sins of an other they hearing these words/ told to him nothing of the sin of the religious brother/ but voluntaryly pardonned him. ¶ the abbot joseph asked on a time th'abbot pastor in requiring him how he might make himself a very monk. to whom th'abbot pastor answered in this manner. if thou wilt in this world & in the other find any rest examine thyself in all thine affairs in saying to thyself/ what am i and with this keep the well fro judging of any other. ¶ an other brother asked on a time the said abbot pastor in demanding him if i see my brother commyse any sin/ shall it be well done for me to hide it. the holy man answered to him. as oft & as many times as we hide the sin of our brethren/ god hideth ours and also when we disclose them/ god dyscloseth ours. ¶ a religious in plain congregation of monks/ died an open offence. and nigh to the place where the caas happened was a religious monk solitary/ which then by long time had kept residence in his cell without in any wise to go out. ¶ thabbot of the same congregation transported himself toward the said religious solitary/ in showing to him the sin of the other religious monk/ & asked him what he ought to do therein. to whom he said/ that he should put him out of the company of tother. the which thing done/ the poor sinner went & put him in a cave/ where be wailed & wept long for his sin. and it happened that his brethren & fellows going toward the said abbot pastor/ fond the said monk sorrowful weep/ went down in to the cave/ and fond him there much heavy and desolate. and prayed him that he would go unto the said solitary religious man/ but he would not/ saying that he never would depart fro the place where he was in/ and that he had concluded to die therein. the same brethren thenne coming toward the abbot pastor/ rehearsed to him how they had founden the poor penitent/ moche heavy and despleasaunt and bitterly by weeping his sin. ¶ the abbot pastor considering his great contrition/ prayed them that they should go and say to him that he sent for him/ that he should come and speak with him/ which they so died/ and he came anon. ¶ the said abbot seeing him so contrite/ aroos and kissed him. and in rejoicing himself with him/ prayed him that they should take together their refection. and after the said abbot sent one of his brethren to the said religious in sending to him that for the good renomee that he heard say of his person/ he had desired of long time to see him/ how be it that for the sloth and latchesse of them both they had not yet seen each other. and prayed him that if he had then any leysyr/ that he would travail to come to him to the end that they might see each other. ¶ thenne the said religious which had be accustomed to live solitarily that he never issued out of his cell/ imagined and said in himself/ that if god had not inspired the holy abbot pastor to send for him to come to him/ he was not advised to have done it/ wherefore incontinent he came to the said abbot pastor/ which moche humaynly received him. and after that they had devised together of many healthful things/ the said pastor said to him these words or semblable. two men were in a place/ and each of them had in his cell a deed brother/ that one of them leaving his deed brother came to the cell of his fellow beweping the death of the other/ by the which words he gaaf to understand to the said religious/ that in forgetting his sins/ he was over rigorous to punish the sin of that other. then the same religious reducing to his mind that which he had done said to him. o virtuous man pastor thou art in heaven on high/ & i am a low in th'earth. ¶ an other brother that said himself to be much dreadful asked of the said abbot pastor how he might withstand it. to whom he answered/ that he should not despise nor condemn any man/ and that he should not be adversary to any person. and in this doing/ god should give him rest and should hold him in his cell without perturbation. ¶ in the deserts of sychye/ was on a time made certain congregation of religious men/ among whom was put forth and spoken of a brother/ which was culpable of some sins. the abbot pyor being in the said congregation/ held his peace & said nothing and when every man had said that him seemed good/ he departed fro them and after he came again/ and brought upon his back a great sack full of sand. and to fore he bore a little of the same sand in a little bag or walet. the other holy faders and religiouses seeing that/ demanded him what he would do with that sonde. and he answered them that it which was on his back in so great abundance/ signified his own sins which he had put behind him/ not for to remember them/ and had forgotten them in such manner that he could not sorrow nor weep for them. and that which he bore before him in so little quantity/ signified the little sins of this religious brother/ that he saith he hath set to fore him/ that is to say in his remembrance & mind/ and he said that in leaving to correct his own sins/ which he said to be great/ he excercised himself in the correction of them of the said religious that were so little which i ought not to do said he. but i ought to set mine own sins to fore me and think on th'amendment and correction of them/ and pray god that he would forgive them me. the which words heard by the holy faders/ they all said that this way was salutary and healthful. ¶ an old ancient father said that a man how well that he were chaste ought not for to judge a fornicator. for in commysing the sin of fornication/ he breaketh the law. in likewise doth he that judgeth. for our lord which hath said/ thou shalt do no fornication. in likewise saith thou shalt not judge an other. ¶ a curate or other priest admynyster of a church/ came on a time unto a solitary religious man/ praying him that he would minister the sacrament of the altar to him/ the which he died gladly diverse times. and anon after came to the solitary monk another that accused of a sin the said priest/ the which coming to the said solitary man for to be comyned as he had be accustomed. and he might never do so much that the said religious solitary man would once open his door/ wherefore the priest seeing that/ anon departed. and incontinent the said solitary monk heard a voys which said to him these words. the men have take from me my judgement. after which voys herd/ he was ravished in a vision in such wise that him seemed that he saw a pit of gold in which there was good water. and with this he saw a leper or lazar that drew up of the same water/ & put it in a vessel. and how be it that the said solitary monk desired to drink thereof/ nevertheless he drank not/ because that he the haled it up was a leper. and the said voys said again to him/ wherefore drinkest not thou of this water/ what letting doth he to the the draweth it/ he draweth it up only & putteth in his vessel without any corrupting or wasting the said water. then the solitary returning to him self/ & considering the virtue of the same vision/ called again the priest/ & ministered to him as he died tofore. ¶ in a monastery of religion were sometime two brethren leading a moche fair & holy life. each of them by his merits deserved to see & know his fellow to be in the grace of god. and it happened on a time that one of them on a friday in the morning issuing out of his monastery saw a religious monk which eat privily/ & he asked him in beholding him how he eat seen that it was not time of eting. on the morn which was that day in which after their custom that they song mass/ he was in that church with his brother & the other religiouses that which his brother in beholding knew the grace which god before had given him was departed from him/ whereof he was much sorrowful. and when he was come in his cell/ he asked him what thing he had done/ saying to him that he had not seen the grace of god in him as he had tofore. to whom he answered that he supposed not to have commised any ill/ neither in deed ne in thought/ yet again his brother asked him/ if he had spoken any idle word. and in remembering himself of that he had said the day before say to him/ yesterday i reproved a religious man/ whom i fond eting in the morning/ & i trow that it be the sin that i have commised in as much as i have reproved him without to know what necessity he had but i pray the my brother/ that thou wilt labour with me in praying god during these xl days that he will pardon and forgive me my sin. the which thing they died/ & the said two weeks passed/ the brother saw the grace of god coming again upon his said brother/ by the which they were greatly comforted and thanked god. ¶ here followeth an other treatise showing how one ought to have discretion. the holy abbot anthonye said that some there be that travail & tourmente their bodies by great & sharp abstinences. and said that in so doing because they had no discretion they deserved no merit against god. some brethren came on a time to him for to tell to him some fantasies which they had had/ to th'end that he should say to them if they were true/ or if they were mocks of the devil. now had they atte departing fro their hermitages/ brought an ass with them which was deed on the way. the which thing foreseen by saint anthonye before they arrived to him/ he went again hem & axed of them/ how their ass was deed. then in answering to him they asked how he might know that he was deed. and he said to them that the devils had showed to him then they told to him that for the fantasies that oft came to them/ of the which the some were true/ & the other not true/ they were come to him/ to know how they ought byhave them to th'end that they might keep them fro error/ of which they held them content by th'example of the ass/ by the which he showed to them that such fantasies comen of the devil. ¶ an hunter on a time hunting wild beasts in a forest came & fond saint anthonye dysporting with his religious disciples/ whereof the hunter was in himself evil content. the which thing saint anthonye willing to show to him that sometime it is necessary to a prelate to condescend him to his subjects he said that he should set his bolt in his bow/ & draw his bow/ which he so died. and after he bade him draw depper his bow/ & so he died/ & yet he bade him draw more strongly. and as he would have drawn/ he answered him/ that if he drew more than reason/ he might well break his bow in pieces/ then said to him saint anthonye/ that in like wise was it of them that alway laboured in the service of god. for if the brethren laboured more than measure/ anon they should be weary & travailed/ & might not bear the pain/ therefore it is need in like wise to forbear sometime rigour. the hunter hearing these things was greatly touched with compunction/ & prouffuted moche by the words of saint anthonye. and after departed & went his way/ & his religiouses confirmed in the excercyte of virtues went in to their places. ¶ a certain brother required th'abbot anthonye that he should pray to god for him. to whom he answered/ if thou hast no charge ne business of thyself in praying god that he keep the fro sin/ he shall have no pity of thee/ ne more shall i also. ¶ an other time said the said saint anthony of some folk that he knew to be feeble & heartless. god suffereth not this people here to have any war or battles/ because that he knoweth that they be feeble & may not be it. ¶ thabbot euagrius said to th'abbot gluttony that he marveled moche/ how it might be/ that in so great a multitude of religiouses as were there & that had so great science & instruction/ & had no virtues. saying furthermore that the labourers & work men in egypte were endowed with infinite virtues/ and said that many religiouses were not virtuous/ by cause they applied over ententyfely themself to worldly things/ but the labourers & work men of egypt had gotten the virtues by their own & proper labours. ¶ the holy father gluttony said that a religious stranger dwelling in a strange province/ if he will be in rest & tranquillity/ he ought not to entremete with any worldly thing. ¶ thabbot mark said to the holy father gluttony that it was a good thing when a religious man taketh some consolation in his cell. and that he had seen a religious man/ the which had but one only plant of a cool in his garden/ & he had plucked it up/ to the end that he should not take thereof over great pleasure/ or over great delectation. to whom the holy father gluttony answered/ that the holy father mark said well/ how well that it is necessary to some man to byhave himself after his excercitation. for if the same person that had dysplanted & pulled up the said cool/ if he had not in him this virtue to endure it/ he had noon other thing to do/ but to plant it again. ¶ thabbot peter which was disciple of th'abbot loth said that he was on a time in that cell of that holy father agathon where as came to him a religious person saying/ that he had will to dwell with the religiouses/ & for the cause he prayed him that he would say how he ought byhave him among them. to whom the said father answered/ that it was necessary/ that for the first day he entered he should take such & so good manner of living/ that he should never change it/ & that he should take in himself no trust of his works. the holy father macharye to this purpose asked him/ what doth trust. to whom he answered that it is likeneth to the great heat/ the which when it brenneth/ maketh every man to flee from him. and also it corrupteth the fruits of the trees. then said the holy father macharye/ trust is an evil thing. the father agathon answered/ that it is no worse passion than is confyaunce/ the which is mother of all other passions and it is a thing covenable & necessary to a religious person/ that he apply himself to virtuous works/ & that he take not in him self confyaunce of the same works/ how be it also that he be resident alone in his cell. ¶ we find that for the discretion of th'abbot agathon. some desiring to see him & to experiment/ if he were a man moderate & patient/ & not subject to anger or to ire/ came & transported them to him/ & said to him many injuries in this manner. thou art th'abbot agathon/ & of the we have herd say/ that thou art a great fornicator/ & replenished with all pride & ambition to whom he answered/ it is true/ where of it me displeaseth. after they said to him/ thou art agathon/ the great rayller full of riotous words & of detraction and he yet answered that he was so. and furthermore they said. thou art an heretic/ hearing the which injury/ he said without troubling ne moving him self in wrath/ that he was none heretic. and they seeing his great patience/ asked him wherefore he had suffered & endured so long so great injuries/ as were the first/ in confessing them to be true. and he had not in like wise suffered the last injury. to which asking he answered/ that as to the regard of the said first injuries he had attributed to himself/ & was profit to his soul to have endured theym. but as touching to the last/ by the which they accused him of the right enorm sin of heresy/ considering that this sin is the principal that departeth a man from the company of god. and that for nothing he would not be separate fro him/ therefore he would not endure it. they hearing his right honest answer were much marveled of his right great discretion/ & departed from him much well edified. ¶ the said abbot agathon asked that which labour was more great whether to keep his body/ or to keep his soul. he answered that the body was likened to a tree. and said that to keep his body/ was as much as to keep the leaves of the tree. but to keep the soul is as much/ as to keep the fruit. and therefore it is written that every tree not bearing good fruit shall be hewn down & put in the fire to bren/ it behoveth us for the conservation of our fruit to have busy solicitude of the keeping of our soul. and in so doing to have constance in our good thoughts & cogitations. also alway we have need of coverture & ornement which is labour corporal. ¶ thabbot agathon well discrete & sayge for well to intend & understand/ nothing slothful for to labour/ & suffisant in all things. and much strongly intentive & busy in labouring with his poor hands/ and much sober in eting & vestymentis. ¶ in a chapter general where as were assembled all the religiouses of sychye for the determination of a certain cause. after the delyberation of the same came to them th'abbot agathon/ which said to the said religiouses/ that they had not well ordained. the which hearing these words said to him/ who art thou that thus speakest. to whom he answered. i am the son of a man. certainly it is written. o ye sons of men if ye speak verily justice. judge ye right wisely. ¶ the said abbot agathon said that if a man yracundyous were so virtuous that he might raise the deed bodies yet it should not please god because of his ire. ¶ on a time came to th'abbot achilles three old faders/ among whom there was one which was much obstinate in an ill opinion. the other twain each after other required the abbot achilles that he would make a net for to fish/ to th'end that their monastery should have remembrance of him. and he answered to them that he would none make that other after made to him like request. to whom he answered/ that gladly he should make it for him the other twain some what having indignation of that he had refused to make the said net/ & nevertheless he had condescended to make it to that other which was opynate. and asked him/ what had moved him to make it sooner for him than for them. to whom he answered. i have answered to you twain that i would not make it/ & that it was not my pleasure/ for as much as i know well/ that ye be never angry ne wroth. but to this man i have grant to make it/ because that if i had not accorded to him to make it. i should have given to him occasion to say that by you or by other i had be advertised of his evil opinion/ & for that cause i have willed to make to him the said net/ and began to cut of the cord for to make the said net to th'end for to appease his courage/ & that he should not perish in that heaviness. ¶ some rehercen of an aged holy father which had been during thirty year without eting of any breed/ and with out drink safe a little water/ the which said that he had quenched and mortified in him fornication/ avarice/ and vain glory ¶ the holy father abraham advertised that he had said these words/ asked him if he had said them. the which answer/ ye/ and for to show that he had evil said the same abraham made to him such a demand. i put case that thou interest in to thy cell. and in going in thou foundest a woman upon thy mat/ weenest thou to keep the well fro thinking what she is. to whom he answered that/ nay/ but he should repugn well to his thought that he should never touch her. then said abraham to him/ then thou haste not slain fornication. for the passion is yet living/ but it is bound. and yet he said to him/ if in going by the way thou sawest stones and pieces of pots/ among the which thou sawest and apperceyvedest some to be of fine gold/ now should it seem to thee/ that thou mightest repute such and no better than the stones. he answered nay/ but he might well withstand it to his thought in such manner/ that he would not take ne gather them. ¶ and furthermore abraham said to him/ if it be reported to the of two brethren/ that the one loveth the well/ and speaketh honestly of thee/ and that other hateth the and hath the in evil will/ and speaketh evil in detraction of the and of thine honour. i ask the if they both came to thee/ shouldest thou receive them egaly & with like courage. he answered nay/ but he would well constrain himself to do as much good to him that would him evil/ as to him that loved him well. and then said the abbot abraham/ the passions lyven yet/ but they be some what bound & withdrawn by the straight living of holy men. ¶ one of the holy faders recounted that there was an old religious man living virtuously & labouring in his cell the which clad him with a mat on a time he transported him unto the holy man ammon. the which seeing him to be clad with a mat/ said to him that the vesture was not him utile ne profitable. the said religious man said that he was much molested and travailed with three cogitations and thoughts/ the which he declared to him to be such/ that is to wit that it constrained him to depart from his place/ and to go in to an hermitage. that other was that it excited him to go in to a place so strange that none should know him. and the third/ that it admonested him to enclose him in his cell in such manner that he should not see any persene/ and that from two days in to two days he should not eat. to whom th'abbot ammon answered that it was not expedient to do any of the three things/ but he counseled him that he should be resident in his cell as he had be accustomed/ & eat every day a little/ having alway in his heart the word of the publican the which is contained in the gospel/ and that in so doing he may be saved thabbot danyell said/ that when a man shall keep his heart in verdure/ he shall make his soul dry. furthermore said the same abbot danyell that when the body is strongly nourished it maketh the soul to become dry/ & when by abstinence it becometh dry/ it maketh the soul to be well nourished. yet rehearseth the said danyell that the abbot gluttony being in sychye had a monk which alway stolen and rob that which the old faders had. the abbot gluttony desiring to keep him fro doing such thefts/ to th'end that he should not be finably dampened if he persevered. brought him in to his cell saying to him/ that he should take all that were needful to him/ and that he should give him leave to take all/ foreseen always that he should no more steel ne rob any thing. and in deed he gave to him gold and silver/ and all that he had in his power. but nevertheless he could not give to him so moche/ that he could keep him from stealing. the old faders seeing that he would not amend ne keep him fro stealing/ putting him out of their company in saying/ if to any brother came any bodily sickness he must think on it and suffer it. but and if he be a thief/ and that he be warned to withstand him fro robbing/ and he will not do it/ it behoveth to put him out. for he doth the detriment of his soul. and all they that dwell with him been troubled with his vice. ¶ thabbot euagrius at beginning of his conversation/ transported him unto an old father/ and required him that he would give to him some good instruction and to help him that he might be saved. the old father answered to him/ if thou be with any persons/ keep the from speaking till thou be required. euagrius touched with compunction by that word/ repent him to have over soon spoken. and said to the old father/ that he had red many books/ but he had not found such instruction/ and concluded to profit well therewith/ and departed from him. the said abbot euagrius said that three things/ that is to wite/ oft to read/ to wake/ and to pray god/ yelden steadfast and constant the thought that is wavering and erring by vain cogitations and thoughts. furthermore he said that abstinence ob meet/ labour/ and business/ lassen & maken cold the brenning of concupisbence. and to psalmody with longanymyte/ that is to say busily and continuation in virtuous works/ and to have a piteous heart. but he must do all these things in time covenable and opportune/ and by measure and attemperance. for if inportunatly and without measure they be done/ they profit not long. and the things that little while endure/ been more noyous than profitable. ¶ i habbot effren passing on a time his way/ at thinstigation of an evil fellow/ came after him a poor miserable common we man/ and began to flatere him/ desiring to draw him to consent to know her fleshly or at less if she might not make him to do so that she should provoke and move him to ire. for never man law him thyde ne wroth to any person. and be seeing the said woman approuching to him he said to her my friend come and follow after me/ and when they were in a place public & common where as much people frequented/ he called her and said that she should come to him/ and so she died. and thenne after said to her/ now my friend lie down here to th'end that i do that which thou desirest. she seeing the great multitude of people that were there/ said to him. ha fair father we be not in a place propyce to do it/ seen the great multitude of people that is here/ for here we should be confounded. how my daughter answered the holy father effren/ if thou hast shame that the men should see thee/ how moche more oughtest thou be ashamed to be seen of god/ which showed the things hid in darkness. she hearing these words and all confused vanquished by the same/ returned without to accomplish her dampnabell will. ¶ on a time came to the abbot zenon some brethren that asked him saying fair father what sygnefye the words that be written in the book of job/ that is to wite/ that the heaven is not clean ne the world/ as to the regard in the presence of god. then said the holy father zenon/ that the brethren had left their sins/ and were curious and busy to inquire of heavenly things. as who should say/ that it was a curious demand and little necessary/ and that it had been to them more profitable to think on the edification of their consciences. nevertheless he said to them thinterpretation of the said words in this manner that is to wite/ because that god only is clean and not defoiled with any vice for that cause it is said/ that the heaven ne the world be not clean in his presence/ that is to say to the regard of his purity & cleanness. ¶ thabbot theodore the farm said if thou hast amity or friendship wish some/ the which yet by inconvenient or sin of fornication/ thou oughtest to stretch thine hand to him for to raise him up if it be possible. that is to say to enforce thyself by sweet or rigorous admonitions for to make him leave his sin/ but if thou see him to be obstinate in running in to any error in the faith. and that he will not retrne to a good way/ thou oughtest incontinent to cut of and cast away his amity behind thee/ to th'end that peraventure by commoning over long with him/ he draw the not to the bottom of the swolowe/ that is to say to everlasting damnation. ¶ the said abbot theodore came on a time to th'abbot johan which was a ghelding of his nativity/ that is to say that he never had any genitors. and in speaking together/ the abbot theodore said to him/ when i was in the deserts of sychye/ the work of the soul was our proper work/ the work of our hands was our proper passing. as who would say that the hermits or relygyouses that then were in sychye took heed principally and most long to orisons and contemplations. and when sometime they laboured with hondy works/ it was only in passing a little time for to eschew idleness. but presently the work of the soul/ that is to say all works virtuous and healthful been left and put a back/ and intend not to labour/ but for thentenement of the body and to satisfy his dysordynat concupisbence. ¶ on a time an aeged father came unto th'abbot theodore/ and as all amarveled said to him. loo see one of our brethren/ which is returned to the world. to whom the said theodore said/ that he thereof ought not to marvel. but when he heard say that any religious had so well withstanden the temptations of the fiend/ that had escaped without to be of him devoured/ then he ought to marvel. as if he had said/ that it is a thing difficile above all other things/ and worthy of great admiration when a man how well that he be virtuous can so much do that the devil may not do damn him. ¶ yet said the said theodore that many in this world have chosen temporal rest/ by the which words may be known that he would say to be impossible to have in this world certain rest or consolation temporal/ without first to have rest in his conscience. ¶ on a time some ancient faders transported them to the hermitages of sychye with the which went the abbot johan nave. and it happened that in eating on a time to gydre one of the most auncyentes aroos which was a priest/ the which entremeddled to give to them that sat at table a little vessel wherein was water for to take after their appetite. but everich of them having regard to the ancient of this holy father/ which was holden venerable/ refuseden to accept his service/ reserved only th'abbot johan the little/ the which when it came to his turn/ he presented to him the vessel/ and incontynant he receyveded it/ whereof the other marveled. and some said to him that they were abashed much/ how he which was lest of all/ had presumed to use the service of one so notable a man. that is to say that he is aeged and virtuous. to whom he answered in this manner. when i arise fro the table for to give to my brethren water to drink. i rejoice me when they drink all/ to th'end that i may get of god some reward. now i receive his water and accept his service/ to th'end that i be cause that he deserve some merit. and also to th'end that he be not some what angry/ if he had not some of us/ that would have his service acceptable. and when he had so said/ they marveled all of his discretion. ¶ the abbot pastor axed on a time th'abbot joseph in demanding him when some temptations assayllen a person/ if he ought at beginning withstand them/ or if he ought to lustre them in to his thought. to whom the holy father answered/ that he should late them enter/ and after he should fight with them and withstand them. anon after the abbot pastor returned in to sychye where as he made his residence. and certain time after a religious man comen fro thebaid in to sychye in speaking of th'abbot joseph to some religiouses/ said that he had asked him/ how he ought to conduit him in his temptations/ and if he ought promptly resist and withstand them/ or else receive them and fight against them. and that the said joseph had said that he should keep him that he received them not/ but incontinent to caste them fro him. ¶ thenne the abbot pastor hearing these words of the said religious person/ and knowing that the said abbot joseph had counseled him to do the contrary/ departed fro sychye/ and went to panese where as the said joseph held them. and when he had arrived and entresalued each other. the said pastor said to him such words. my brother i shall say to the wherefore i am come here. i have great desire to see thee/ and with this thou knowest i have manifested to the some of my cogitations and thoughts. and i demand of the on a time/ if to the temptations that comen to me. i ought incontinent resist and withstand them in casting them behind me/ or if i in any wise aught to receive them/ and then after to cast them fro me. to which thou saidest and answeredest/ that i should not readily cast them fro me/ but should receive them and after that i had fought against them to cast them fro me. now i have sythyn well heard say of one of our brethren of sychye coming fro thee/ that thou haste counseled him all otherwise to do. therefore i am comen to know of the that thou say to me for to content my fantasy. ¶ then th'abbot joseph said to him. my brother thou knowest that i love thee/ certainly that dost the answered pastor/ when the requyredest me to give the counsel in this matter vnderstodest thou not that i gaaf to the as i would have given to myself certainly yes said pastor. certainly said joseph. mine advise is such/ that if thou or i gave place to temptations when they assailed us/ and after that we fight against them/ then we have the more merit/ than if incontinent we cast them away without to fight against them. in thus doing we be the more proeved/ and therefore i spack & counseled the as i would have done to myself/ but every man hath not the constance to mow withstand the temptations when they deliver to them over great entry. therefore to him/ to whom i said the contrary. i said it for his most surety/ & by cause i knew him not ne what strength he had. ¶ the said abbot pastor said that on a time that he transported himself in to the low parties of eracleos unto the said abbot joseph/ the which had in his monastery a moche fair fig tree. and on a friday in the morning the said joseph and pastor devising together/ the said pastor beheld the said fig tree. and joseph said to him that he should eat of the figs that there were but by cause it was fasting day/ he would not eat. nevertheless he prayed him in the name of god that he would tell to him the cause wherefore he willed him to eat/ seen that it was fasting day. and how be it that he eat not as said is/ nevertheless yet he was ashamed that he had not do that the said joseph had commanded him doubting to have done evil in as much as he had not obeyed to his commandment/ ymagyning that he had done it without cause. thabbot joseph answered him that the old faders at the beginning had not acustome to command the young religiouses any thing/ that it were lawful to do/ but to the contrary commanded them to do things that seemed to be unprofitable & not decente ne covenable. and when they saw that they were ready to do all the/ which was commanded to them were it good or evil then they commanded them nothing but that which was reason. and so ought they to do because they knew that in all thing they were obeissant. ¶ a brother asked the said abbot joseph in demanding him what he had to do upon that which he said/ that he might not bear any temptations/ ne labour/ ne give alms. thabbot answered him if thou mayst not do any of these things at the lest keep thy conscience clean from all evil toward thy neighbours/ & in this manner thou shalt be saved. for god asketh no thing but the soul without sin. ¶ thabbot ysaac of thebayde deffended his brethren/ that they should not bring any children in to their monastery/ saying that in sychye by th'occasion of children four churches had been deserted. ¶ thabbot longyn said on a time to th'abbot lucius that he had three thought the grieved him/ that one was that he went in to an strange country. and the said lucius answered to him/ if thou retain not thy tongue/ in what somever place that thou ghost thou shalt not be a stranger/ but if thou refrain it thou shalt be there a pilgrim/ after the said longyn said to him the second admonesteth me to fast two days continual without eting. the holy father answered to him. certainly my brother/ when by force of fasting thou becomest so crooked that thy heed boweth to thy feet. yet for all that shall not thy fasting be agreeable to god/ if it be not done with a pure intention/ then is it need to make such fastings as been agreeable to god and to keep the fro evil thoughts. yet again said th'abbot longyn. that other thought is that i keep me from haunting with the men. and the said luctus answered to him/ if thou canst not correct thy life in conversing with other. in like wise thou canst not correct thyself living alone solitarily. ¶ thabbot macharye said if we put in our remembrance/ that is to say/ if we forget not/ & pardon the offences that been done to us by the men we take away & cut fro our thought the virtue to have remembrance of our lord. but if we have remembrance of the evils that the devils excyten us/ we shall be virtuous & inuyncyble. ¶ thabbot mathoys said that the devil knoweth not by what passion or sin he may principally overcome or subdue the soul. and therefore he soweth in us evil thoughts/ but he can not take them away again. sometime be soweth fornications/ and semblably other passions. and in the wherein he seeth the soul to be most inclined then most ardauntly he ministereth that to him. but if he knew certainly the temptation to which the soul should be most inclined/ be should not admynyster to him so many temptations. ¶ some rehercen of th'abbot nathere which was disciple of th'abbot syluayn/ which made residence in his cell in the mount syna/ he lived only with things which were necessary for his body. but after that he was made bishop of the city of pharan/ he made much more abstinence than he had do before/ the which thing seeing his disciple said to him. my lord when we were in the deserts/ we tormented not our bodies by straight & hard afflictions like as we do now. to whom he answered/ when we made in th'hermitage our dwelling/ we were in a place solitary & in rest. and for that cause i would well govern my poor body to th'end that i ran in to no sickness. but now we been in the world/ conversing with worldly things/ where we have moo occasions to sin than we had before/ the which it behoveth necessarily to cut of and cast away/ wherefore it is need to us to live the more soberly. and on that other part if of adventure i were seek. i should find here/ which should better help me/ than i should in th'hermitage/ by which i shall not lose the purpose of religion. ¶ a brother dwelling in an hermitage nigh unto th'abbot pastor/ said to him on a time/ that he was sore troubled/ & that he would forsake his place and go in to an other. thabbot pastor demanded him what moved him to do so. he answered that he heard say of a brother being there some things/ by which he was not well edified. thabbot answered to him that they were not true/ he replied to him again that they were. for the brother which had reported them to him was veritable & true. thabbot said yet again that the religious was not true/ for if he had be such/ he had never reported such things. our lord hearing the voys of the sodomites crying to him for their sin would not believe it/ but descended & would see it with his eyen. the religious answered the right so he had seen it. thabbot pastor hearing these words/ began to look on the ground/ & took up a straw/ & asking him what it was that he held/ the religious said that it was a straw. after he looked up on high toward the covering of his cell/ & looking showed to him a baulk or a beam/ & he asked him what it was. and he answered that it was a baulk that sustained the weight & charge of the cell. then said to him th'abbot. my brother hardyly set in thine heart & believe that thy sins be such & also heavy as is the baulk/ & the sins of whom thou speakest synystryly been like & as light as the straw. sysoy hearing this word was much amarveled of his great discretion & said to him. holy father as much as i may i bless & praise the. certainly thy words been virtuous as precious stones. ¶ on a time priests of the religion came in to a monastery nigh by/ in which also was th'abbot pastor. and thither came th'abbot anub/ the said to him that he should pray thoo priests to take with them in charity such as god had given to them. thabbot pastor being long without moving him or to make to him any answer. then the said abbot anub was angry & went out of the monastery they that were by the said abbot pastor axed wherefore he had give none answer to th'abbot anub/ because said he that i have no cause so to do/ ye know well that i am deed/ & a man that is deed speaketh not/ & therefore though i be here with you/ ye ought not to repute me living. ¶ a religious of a monastery of th'abbot pastor went on a time a pilgrimage/ & arrived in a place where as dwelled a solitary religious/ the which was much loved of all them there about. and for his virtues came oft for to visit him. the same brother in dyvysing with him/ received to him some of the virtues of the said pastor. and for that cause the said religious desired sore to see him. and after the said religious was returned in to his monastery which was in egypte. certain time after/ the said solitary man departed for to go thither/ and so long walked that he came in to the place/ where that the other religious had told him where he should find him. and when the said religious saw the solitary monk/ he was much joyous & made to him good cheer. and after the said solitary monk prayed him for saint charity that he would show to him his abbot pastor/ which he died & brought him unto his said abbot saying to him. o venerable father loo here is a solitary religious man/ which in his province is much honoured & praised of all men/ the which desiring to see the for the good renomee that he hath herd of the is comen only hither to see yt. after that they were entresalued/ th'abbot pastor received him joyously/ & after they had rested them together/ began the said solitary to speak of holy scripture & of spiritual & heavenly things/ but th'abbot pastor gave to him none answer/ & the solitary religious seeing that he spoke not/ all wroth departed from him and to the brother that had brought him thither said in this manner. i have well taken in vain & for nought this way that i am comen to this holy father for to see him & to speak with him/ & that he deigneth not to speak to me. the religious hearing the complaint of the other/ transported him self to the said abbot pastor & said to him. father abbot this notable religious which hath so great a fame in his country is comen hither for to see that & thou wilt not speak to him. thabbot answered to him. i am not a man for to speak to him/ he speaketh not but of buy & of heavenly things. and i which am a man can not speak but of low & earthly things/ if he had spoken of the passions of the soul/ certainly i should w●ll have answered him/ but to high & spiritual questions i can not answer for i know them not. the brother after that he had heard this answer/ returned to the other solitary man/ & said to by that the abbot pastor said to him. he thenne touched of compunction/ returned unto the said abbot/ & axed him what thing he had for to do/ of that his passions surmounted him. thabbot beholding by said. now thou art right welcome/ now i shall open my mouth to the and if i can any good word i shall say it unto the. finably after many fructuous colaconns' between them said the said solitary religious fond him self well edified/ began to say. certainly i have founden here the right way of charity. and in giving graces & thankings to god which had given to him the grace to see one so holy a man/ returned in to his region. ¶ an other brother said on a time to th'abbot pastor that he had commised a great sin/ for the which he would bear penance during three year. the holy father said to him/ that it was moche then said the brother/ command thou that i do it only one year/ he answered like as he died tofor that it was much they that were present at these words saiden that it sufficed unto xl days the holy father yet said that it was moche/ & furthermore said. i believe that if a man repent him with a contrite heart/ & that after his repentance he do no more thing whereof he ought to repent/ that god shall receive his penance how be it that it be but three days. ¶ thabbot amon required on a time that he should say to him what counsel was best to give for to eschew dishonest thought/ & the desires the engendrens in the heart of a man. thabbot pastor axed by manner of answer/ that is to wit thou if the axe may glorify hyself of his cutting/ but if it were put to work & if there were not ministered to it wooed for to be hewn & cut. certainly said he no. and in like wise may be said of foolish thought & desires dysordynat/ if thou give to them no matter obtempering to the same/ they may not overcome the. ¶ a like asking made th'abbot isaiah to the said abbot pastor/ to whom he said thus. as a cross full of vestement/ if it be long kept without opening/ the said vestment shall rote & destroyed right so foolish thought/ which engendrens in our heart/ if we accomplish them not by succession of time/ they shall mynusshe & come to nought. ¶ thabbot joseph asked on a time the abbot pastor of the same thing/ to whom he answered/ the like as a serpent enclosed in his cave/ or a scorpion in a vessel stopped by long time been suffocate & slain/ in like wise the evil thought is the which by the subtlety of the evil fiend of hell been grown & multiplied/ a little & little they dymynysshe by the patience of him that suffereth them/ in resisting them with all his courage. ¶ thabbot johan asked of th'abbot pastor how he byhaved him in fasting and he answered to him/ that he that would fast/ aught every day to withdraw a little of his meet/ in such manner that he should not be full. and thenne the abbot joseph said to him. then when thou were young thou fastest not two days without to eat every week. the holy father answered. believe me if thou wilt. i have fasted two days/ & three days/ & a week all whole. but the old faders have assayed & proeved all these things. and they have fond/ that it is a good thing to eat every day once & a little lass. and they have showed to us this regulier way which is most facyle & light. ¶ the said abbot pastor said that a religious ought not to dwell in a place/ where he seeth any to have evil will against him/ for he shall not con profit there. ¶ a brother came to th'abbot pastor & said that he should labour & sow his field that he had. and the grain & corn that he should gather/ he should distribute it to the poor people. the holy father answered him/ that he died a right good work/ and so departed with this good purpose/ & was busy to do more alms than he had done before. the abbot advertised of this thing asked of th'abbot pastor/ if he feared not that god should be angry with him for to have counsel him so to do/ because that him seemed that in suffering him so to labour/ he departed him fro his proper vocation. which was for to pray to god. thabbot pastor hearing these words said nothing. and two days after he sent to the brother & made him to come to him. to whom in the presence of the abbot anub he spoke in this manner. my brother what thing was it that thou askedest of me that other day/ when i thought on other thing. the religious said to him. fair father i said to thee/ that i laboured & sew a field that i have/ & that the grain & corn that i gathered thereof. i dystrybuted to the poor people. then said to him the abbot pastor. i suppose that in so saying thou hadst spoken in the person of thy brother/ which is a lay man. certainly to do so is not the work of a monk. he thenne hearing these words was much angry & said. i can do none other work. and i can not keep me fro sowing of my field. these words said he returned. thabbot anub hearing his answer was much displeasant of that he had said/ & said to th'abbot pastor. o my brother i pray the to pardon me. the said abbot pastor answered to him. that time that the religious spoke to me of this matter. i knew & considered well/ that this work was not covenable to a religious man/ but i answered to him after the good affection of his courage/ the which i had excited to the profit of saint charity. now he is returned heavy & always he doth the said work. ¶ the said pastor said if a man have commised any sin/ & he denied saying i have not done it & thou reprevest him not. in so doing the breakest his good courage/ but if thou say to him. my brother be not angry. and keep that from henceforth from doing evil/ thou oughtest with this to excite his courage to do penance. also the said holy father said the experience is a good thing/ for by that been the men after more constant & the more steadfast he said furthermore when a man teacheth & warneth any man to do a thing/ that he will not do it himself/ he is like a pit the refresshyth all them that come to him/ & that with his water washeth & maketh clean all ordure & filth/ but he purgeth not himself/ & is full of filth & uncleanness. also he said that he is a man that knoweth himself. ¶ item he said that if three men been together/ of which that one is in rest/ that other is seek & thanketh god/ & the third admynystreth to the other two with pure & clean will/ these three been as of one courage. ¶ item he said the shrewdenesse putteth out never other shrewdenesse. and therefore if one do to the harm/ thou oughtest to do well to him/ to th'end that thy good deed destroy his malice. ¶ item he said that the religious that is full of noise/ is no monk. he that rendryth & doth evil for evil/ is no monk. and he that is irous & angry is no monk. ¶ a brother on a time came to the said abbot pastor & said to him the many cogitations & thoughts came in his courage/ which made him almost to perish then th'abbot made to despoil him all naked & set him in the plain air & after said to him that he should open a broad his bosom/ & take the wind. to whom he answered that he might ne could do it. then said the holy father/ if thou mayst not do that/ no more mayst thou defend the fro the thoughts & cogitations/ but that they will assail the. but it is in thy power to withstand them. ¶ an other brother came & asked him how he should dispose him of an heritage that was left to him/ he answered to him. go thy way/ & come again within three days/ & i shall tell the what thou shalt do. the three days passed he came again to the holy father/ like as he had ordained. then he said to him/ what shall i say to thee/ if i say to thee/ give it to the church/ the ministers of the same shall make good cheer therewith. if i say to thee/ give it to thy kinsmen and friends thou shalt have no reward ne retribution. but if i say to the that thou give it to the poor people/ thou shalt dispose it surely. go thy way then & do that thou wilt. ¶ a brother asked of the abbot pastor if he saw any thing/ that is to wite/ if he ought to speak/ he andswered to him that it is written/ he that speaketh of any thing tofore that he hath herd it he is a fool/ & runneth in to reproof & villainy. therefore if thou be asked then speak/ & if not/ hold thy peace. ¶ the said holy father said furthermore that th'abbot amon said that there is a man which all the time of his life bore an are/ and may no hew down the tree. and there is an other that hath the usage to hew/ & with a few strokes he smiteth down the tree/ by which are he understandeth discretion. ¶ an other brother asking the said abbot pastor/ saying that he suffered in dwelling with his abbot the great hurt of his soul/ & asked him whether he ought to dwell & abide with him. thabbot pastor knowing that his abbot died to him wrong/ marveled him of that the religious asked him if he ought longer dwell with him/ to whom he answered/ if thou wilt/ abide there. the which answer heard/ he departed fro the said pastor/ & returned & dwelled with the said abbot as he died before/ and after he returned again to the said pastor and said to him that it grieved his soul. nevertheless the said pastor answered nothing to him/ wherefore yet he returned again to his abbot. finably he came the third time/ & said to the holy father/ that he would abide no longer with him. and thenne the holy father pastor answered to him. my son thou hast done thy devour. go thy way & be no longer with him/ in saying furthermore/ that a man that seeth his soul to be in danger/ aught not to ask what he ought to do for to eschew it/ when he seeth clearly that he may do it. sometime some inquire of the aeged faders things doubtous & dark for to know/ that which they know well/ & for to be the better edified of their conversations. but of the open sins/ they ought not to ask/ but they ought incontinent to destroy & throw them behind them. ¶ abraham which was disciple of the abbot agathon/ asked of th'abbot pastor in demanding him/ whereof it proceeded that the devils fought so strngly/ to whom the holy father pastor answered. sayest thou that the devils fight with us/ when we accomplish our evil wills/ for our evil wills been the devils the trouble & torment us to th'end that we accomplish them. ¶ a brother asked the abbot pastor in demanding him/ how a religious man ought to keep redydence in his cell or habitation. to whom he answered for to keep residence in his cell as to that may be known & spoken openly/ is none other thing but to labour with his hands/ eat ones on the day/ to keep silence & to take contemplation in heavenly works/ but to profit in the same privily & secretly/ is that every man have dread of god/ shame to fore him whersomever he go/ & in such wise to keep & observe the hours of his service temporal/ that in this doing he be not negligent to think on spiritual things. and if it hap the one have not to do in some handy work. it behooveth him for t'eschew idleness to put himself in the service of god & to employ the time without any perturbation. and the conclusion of all these things is to seche the company of good and devout religious persons living & conversing holily/ and flee the company of them that been evil and shrews. ¶ two religious persons came on a time unto th'abbot pambo that one of them asked him saying. fair father i fast two days together in the week/ & eat not but two little myches baken under the ashes. seemest thou that in thus doing i shall be saved/ or if i be deceived and beguiled. and that other brother said to him. i get by the labour of my hands every day two pens/ of which i retain that one for my living/ & that other i distribute in alms/ aught i be saved/ or am i deceived. and after these words they prayed him affectuously that he would give them an answer. nevertheless he would not do it. four days after the said two brethren religious having will to depart & go fro him. some of the clerks & disciples of the said abbot pambo/ prayed them that they would not be disposed of that their abbot had not answered to their askynge/ & that god should reward them. and furthermore they said that his custom was such/ that he spoke not lightly/ if god had not inspired him what he should say. thenne at their departing they entered in to the cell of the said abbot pambo/ & in taking of him leave/ they recomaunded them to his holy faderhede/ in praying him/ that it might please him to pray god for them. then he axed them if they would depart/ & they answered ye. and in beholding them in his mind/ & considering their works he began to write in the earth in saying these words. pambo fasted two days hole in the week/ & eateth two little loves baken in the ashes/ is he therefore a monk/ nay and after he wrote saying pambo receiveth of his works ij pens & dystrybuteth in alms/ is he therefore a monk/ certainly nay. and after that he was still a little he said to them that the works that they died were good but if they kept their consciences against their neighbours in so doing they should be saved. and with these words that said religious being well edified/ departed & returned in great joy ¶ an other brother religious asked the said abbot pambo/ how he might do that the evil spirits/ that is to say the devils of hell defended him to do any good work to his neighbours. to whom the holy father answered/ that he should say no more so/ for in though words he made god a liar/ but he said to him absolutely these words i will not do mercy/ & said that god purueyeng for our caas against the said enemies of hell/ had said these words. that is to wite. i have given to you power to march upon the serpent & scorpions/ & to tread them under your feet. and in like wise i have given to you power upon the strength of th'enemy. then said the holy father to the religious/ why defoulest not that the stinking and foul enemies. ¶ thabbot paladius said that it is of necessity/ that the soul that will live & converse according to the will of ihesu christ/ to learn in the faith though things which he knoweth not/ & also that he show & teach manifestly that which he had learned. and if the soul do not everich of these two things there as she may do it/ it may be said of such a soul that she is withholden with a malady enraged. for the first principal & beginning to depart him self fro god/ is to have annoy & grievance to show & teach the good that he can. and when we have appetite that the soul alway love god. ¶ an other religious axed of th'abbot sysoy wherefore it was that his passions might not depart from him. to whom the holy father answer/ that it was because that the veseels of the same passions were within him/ as who should say he received them over lightly. and furthermore he answered him that he should give to them their wages the they were worthy to have/ & they shall go their way. ¶ saint syncletyce said that they which by great labours/ & in peril of the see gather & assemble temporal richesses & have great things. then they desire to get yet more & repute little or nothing that they have. and the worse is they set all their intent & affection to have & get thoo things that they have not. but we ourself which ought to enforce us to profit in religion/ have no charge or business of things that is to say of virtues that we ought to get/ & also we will not possess them which been to us necessary for to get that love of our lord. yet said that good lady syncletyce that the theridamas be two manner of heavinesses/ that one is to the soul utile & profitable/ that other corrupteth & is right dommegeable. thenne the heaviness which is profitable is that/ when by cause of our sins we wail & weep for them/ & for thyngnoraunce of our neighbours/ & also in fearing that we fall not fro our good purpose/ to th'end that we may come to the perfection of all bound/ & this is the very spece of heaviness. that other heaviness the corrupteth the soul/ is that which the fiend sendeth to us without any reason/ that which th'old faders call it annoy or grievance/ & therefore it is necessary to us to cast it away with all diligence/ in making to god continual prayers psalmodyes & orisons. ¶ yet said the holy lady syncletyce/ that the fiend by his evil cautel exciteth sometime them that been contemplative to make great & inmoderate abstinences. and otherwhile he putteth in to their imagination that which is but reasonable/ to be hard & dyffycyle to bear/ when thenne we will discern thabstinence divine & wholesome fro the which is tyramnyke & dyabolyke/ we aught to observe & keep the things/ that is to wite/ that in all time we have one unmutable rule in fasting/ & that we determine not suddenly to fast four or five days continual/ & after we to fill the belly with great multitude of meats/ for that rejoiceth much strongly our enemy & adversary the devil/ for always that which is done without measure/ gooth to corruption/ let us not thenne suddenly cast away our armour/ to th'end that we be not found naked in the battle/ & by this nakedness taken lightly & put to death. now our armour been our bodies/ & the knight is our soul/ wherefore it behoveth us to be diligent & keep us that we be ready to succour that one & that other. ¶ on a time two old faders camen fro the parties of peluse unto the abbess sarre/ & in coming thither they said that it was need to meek themself/ that is to say/ to purpose to her some words which should give to her cause of humility. they thenne arrived to her in devising together the one of them twain said to her/ that she should take heed & be well aware/ that she enhanced ne lift up herself in her courage/ & that she should not be proud in auauntyng saying that to her which was a woman were comen solitary religiouses. to whom prudently she answered that how be it that she was a woman of sex femenyne/ nevertheless she had the courage of a man as she would say that she was not so indyscrete for tenhaunce herself by over moche vaunterye. and moreover the said abbess said to them/ if i required of god that every man should have of me good reputation either were of me well edified. i should do so moche that i would be found doing penance tofore their yates/ but i seek not this vain glory/ but pray god that my courage & my works be reputed of little estimation against all men. ¶ thabbot ypericius said that he is verily wise that by his works/ & not by worded ensigneth & teacheth other. ¶ on a time came a noble man of rome & be came & made himself religious in a church of sychye/ which had had tofore a palace much greatly renowned/ & had a servant which ministered to him his necessities. the priest having the principal ministration of the same church/ considering that this religious man had be in his time delycatly nourished/ was diligent to send to him such good as god had sent to him/ or had brought to the church. and as he had dwelled & been resident in sychye by the space of xxv year he became a man contemplative discrete & well rendermed. thenne it happened that one of the religiouses of egypt among other well famed/ hearing the renommed of the said religiouses came for to see him hoping to see him right hard & sharp life. the which in entering in to his cell/ humbly salued him/ & after their prayers made like as was their custom/ they rested & sat together/ the religious of egypt seeing him clad with vestiment more soft & better than were the other religiouses/ & himself had but a mat of junks/ & an hide or skin upon him a little quysshon of grass under his heed/ & his feet bare with small hosen/ he was in himself astonied/ because that the other religiouses of the place had not be accustomed in such wise to live but hadden alway done & born/ as yet & bore more sharp & rigorous abstinence the religious roman having the grace of contemplation & prevydence knew thestymaconnestimation that the religious of egypt had of him/ & said to his servant that he should make ready some manner meet well dressed for to feast the holy father that was come thither/ the which servant in obeying his master set on the fire a few cool word that he had/ when they were sudden & hour competent was comen for to take their refection/ they took sufficiently enough & drunken win/ thenne the said roman was purveyed for to sustain his body which was enfeebled by sickness/ the even comen they psalmodyed twelve psalms/ & after they slept/ & at midnight in like wise they psalmodyed/ the religious of egypt arising early in the morning & taking his leave of the religious roman said to him. my father to god i command thee/ & so departed not well edified of the said roman/ & as he was a little which drawn/ the said roman willing to take away fro the religious egypcyen the sinister opinion the he had of him sent for him again by his servant/ & when he was returned/ he received him in great joy. after he asked him of what province he was & of what city/ to whom he answered that he was of the province of egypt/ but he had be in no city/ & after he axed him of what craft he was before he was religious & in what place he dwelled/ & he answered that he kept the fields & kept resydence there/ he axed him also where he slept/ & he answered in the fields/ he axed more upon what bed he lay/ whereto he answered/ where should i take a bed when i was in the fields/ as who saith he had none to lie on/ & he axed thenne how he slept/ & he answered upon the bare earth/ yet he axed what meet he eat & what win he drank/ & he answered as tofore/ what meet & drink should a man find in the fields/ how livest thou then said the roman. the egypcyens said i eat dry breed and if i eat any shalt thing. i drank water/ thenne said the romaym the this was a great labour/ & yet he axed of him if he had any bain wherein he might wash him/ & he said nay/ but when he would wash him it was in a river when he would. and after that the old roman had known of the said religious of egypt/ all the things aforesaid/ aswell the manner of his first living as of his labour/ willing to ꝓuffyte with him/ told to him the life the he lived the time that he was secular/ in saying thus. my brother i will well notefye to you how i miserable sinner whom thou seest am born in the great renowned city of rome/ & in the same have had a great name in the palace of th'emperor. the which words hearing thegypcien was in his heart touched with great compunction/ considering that the life that he lad was much different from that which he had lad before/ & with great cure & besyves he heard the other things that he said that which also said to him that he had had in rome great & magnyfyke richesses as well in houses sumptuouses as other possessions & revenues/ gold silver & infinity movable goods/ & in continuing & habounding in the said goods was comen & had yoleden himself in that little cell & in the solitary place where he was. furthermore he said to him/ that he had had beds appareled & ●orned with gold/ & garnished with rich covertures/ for the which god had given to him this little couch of junks which that he had/ & the hide or skin wherupn he rested. but in stead of his robes & vestymē● which were wont to be rich & right precious/ he used poor & simple habylement wherewith he was clad. in his gardeners & banquets he dispended & consumed great sums of money/ & in stead of them he used herbs & cools/ & drank a little cup of win he had also a great sequely & rout of worldly & gallant servants/ in stead of whom our lord had inspired one only of his servants to minister & serve him/ & in stead of solemn baynes in which he had be accustomed to bain in/ he weesshe his feet in a little water/ & also used small hosen/ for to support a little the malady that he had in his legs/ and furthermore in stead of floy● haps/ melodyous instruments/ & delycyo●s songs of music/ in which he much delighted in his divers & banquets/ he psalmodyed on the day twelve psalms/ & in the night in like wise as so moche/ & for penance of his sins passed/ he took but little rest/ which he reputed to be unprofitable service to god/ & when he had said all these things/ he prayed humbly the religious egypcyen/ that seen his infirmity & malady/ that in him he should not be slandered. the egypcyen hearing these things and considering his life & cell after the said holy father roman/ began to say. alas to me my serable wretch where shall i become/ when i behold my life/ & thy life thou holy man. i find it moche & greatly dyfferente/ for in leaving the tribulations & great labours that i bear & endure in the world i am come to come solitary in religion/ where i have found more rest than travail/ & i have now that i had not tofore/ that is to wite a peaceable & casy life without any grievance. but thou roman thyself by proper will hast forsaken infinity pleasances & worldly delectations/ art come to life in this religious life/ which shall seem to worldly people/ to be to the great tribulation/ for as much as in stead of the said pleasaunces & delectaconns'/ thou hast chosen to live in humility & poverty. these words said/ the said religious egypcyen moche well edified of him/ & for his profit came after oft-times to visit him knowing that he was a man of great prudence/ & that could well discern the things doubtous/ as he that was full of the grace of the blessed holy ghost. ¶ an old father said that it was not of necessity to use so many words/ as men use now presently/ but the works been necessarily required/ that is to say/ that it be hoveth not so much to seche & search the words which have not fruit/ but the works which been profitable & fruitful ¶ a young religious man axed sometime of the old religious faders/ if any was pollute/ when he thought or dreamed some foul thought or dishonest. to the which asking/ after that the said holy faders had long disputed among them some said ye/ & some said nay/ alleging/ that if each man the thought such things was pollute/ they that be ygnorauntes & ydiot●/ & to whom oft-times cou●● many temptations with great difficulty shall mow be saved. but they saiden to be a thing much healthful/ when in thinking on vicious things/ it be resisted with all his force in such manners that it be not bodily accomplished. the brother which made this asking hearing their different answers/ the which seemed not to be suffisant for to content him/ he went to an other holy father better approved/ whom he prayed to be by him a certain of the troth of this thing. the holy father answered to him/ that every person after his measure shall render account before he shall be rewarded. by this answer the brother being in more doubt than he was before/ prayed him the more largely he would expone it to him/ thenne the holy father exponed it to him by such a similitude. there were two religiouses of whom the one was more virtuous than the other/ & departed fro their monastery for to go to do some of their affairs/ & it happened that the more virtuous man in passing his way or otherwise found a fair vessel of gold/ which was so rich & so precious that for the great richesse & precyosyte he was tempted to take it and bear it away/ but nevertheless the religious for the great virtue that was in him promptly & without great difficulty a● paint threw & rejected the said temptation/ & took not the said vessel/ certainly notwithstanding that he had be so tempted he is nothing pollute. that other religious came after which was not so virtuous as the first/ & found the same vessel/ & in beholding it he was tempted to take it like as the other was/ but he resisted not so constantly the temptation but abode more longer in that evil purpose by that the he had not the courage so soon ne so constantly to resist it as that other. nevertheless he constrained himself in such wise that he took it not/ likewise may be said that he was not pollute/ & as touching to the retribution & reward/ it may be said that in so moche that he had had more pain to refrain his disordinate affection fro thaccomplysshement of the evil purpose/ of so much he ought to have the more merit. an old father said that he which executeth his will after his sensual apetyte/ is not in the grace of god/ nevertheless if he sin ygnorauntly/ he may return to our lord by penance/ but he the will follow his will/ which is not after god/ & will not inquire of good & just persons/ how he ought to conduit him in thobservation of his worthy & lowable commaundemenn but reputeth himself so wise/ that he will not ne deigneth not to use the counsel of other/ uneath and with great pain cometh he to the way of health. ¶ an old father was axed of a religious man what signifieth the words which been red in the gospel saying/ that the way the leadeth to life is short & straight/ the which old father answered saying thus/ the way straight & short is such/ that is to wite/ thou a man be farm & constant/ in resysting violently to his cogitations & thought/ in such wise that for the love of god/ & in obeying to his commandment/ he smite of & cast away from him all his evils & dampened wills. and to this purpose is founden in holy writ/ in the acts of the blessed apostles/ that they said to our saviour ihesu christ. sire we have forsaken all things & have followed the. ¶ an other old father/ the like as th'order of the religion is more honourable than the order of seculars. in like wise a religious stranger that is to say dwelling in a strange place & aught fro his birth ought to be the mirror of other in well doing in all manners to strange religiouses & needy for he ought better to know their indygences than he that never was forth out of his cell. an other aged father said that if a work man dwell in a place where there be none other work men/ he may not their profit. for the virtue of a work man consisteth in that/ the he enforce him to work/ & that in working he mynysshe not/ that is to say/ if he make it not better/ at lest that he make it not worse in the end than at the beginning. in like wise a slothful man if he dwell with a good work man/ he ꝓuffyteth/ or if he ꝓuffyteth not at lest he doth nought. an other said that a man which aboundeth in words// & putteth them in effect by good works/ is likeneth to a tree that waxeth green by thabondaunce of fair leaves/ & beareth no fruit. in like wise also as a tree charged with fruit waxeth green when that it is garnished with fair leaves/ right so a man that is fructuous by virtuous works/ rendereth himself green & delectable by his good words/ which exciteth & admonesteth other to do well by his example. an other aged father said that on a time a religious person which had commised a sin much great/ was after strongly displeasant in his courage to do it/ wherefore moved of compunction/ & desiring to do penance went to an old father/ & with out to confess him the he had done the said sin axed him such an asking/ if a religious had commised such a sin/ might he recover the way of health. the old father which was not much discrete hearing him/ answered & said to him/ ha' brother thou hast lost thy soul/ that which answer heard by the religious/ he said as despaired/ sith that he was lost/ he had no more to do for tabyde in religion/ & therefore he returned in to the world. nevertheless in going he concluded to go & manifest his sin to an other holy father named syluayn/ that which was a man virtuous & replenished with great discretion. coming thenne to him the said religious/ he durst not say to him his sign but in this manner/ that he had asked the other old father. likewise he asked the same old abbot syluayn/ the which in aswering to hy/ began to tell of holy scripture in saying/ the a man was not all dampened of his sin for reason of his thought only. the religious hearing his answer/ & taking in him courage & hope/ confessed his sin to the said abbot syluayn/ that which his confession heard as a good leech/ ga●e to his soul a right good remedy which he took out of holy scriptures saying/ that alway he had remedy by the mean of penance that which was established for them that by very contryedern & charity converted them to our lord. and the same abbot enjoined to him healthful penance which he accomplished & died with right great courage & was afterward of right good & holy life. and it happened after some years passed that the said abbot syluayn/ as by adventure passed by the place where as dwelled the old father/ which by his rigorous answer had put the said religious in desperation/ & told to him that which was happened in saying to him/ that the same religious by the moyen of his contrition & penance had in such wise ꝓuffyted in virtuous works/ that he was among his brethren as a star shining & il●umynyng them/ that which thing ought to be noted/ specially by them the have power to correct the sins of other/ to th'end that they ought to beware to bring them in despair by fault of discretion/ & amiably to induce them to healthful penance. ¶ an other said that we be not dampened of our thoughts & cogitations for so moche as they bring us under/ & enter within us but if we use evils & resist them not/ they be thenne cause of our damnation/ & oft-times it happeth that by them when we do & obey them/ we lose our good virtues/ & by them also when we resist them/ we recover them & obtain a glorious crown. ¶ another aged father said that a religious ought not to have any famylyaryte with secular people/ ne knowledge with wȳme●ne to trust in a child. ¶ an other brother axed an old father in saying to him that many temptations came upon him/ & he wist not how to witstande hem/ & prayed him that he would teach him how he might ouerco●●●●cym. to whom he answered that he 〈◊〉 not to resist against all/ but against one principally/ saying to him fourthermore/ that among great number of temptations/ there is one that is alway the chief/ that is to said the most evil/ that is to say the wert of all the other/ & that he to whom such evil tēptacō●s present them in so great number ought diligently to think & consider in himself/ that he ought tenforce to overcome them & cast them away from him/ & in the doing/ all the other shall go away & depart lightly. ¶ an other holy father excyting his brethren to resist their temptations said to them these words. i pray you my brethren/ that like as ye have refrained & restrained your evil operations. in like wise ye refrain & restrain your evil wills & thoughts. ¶ also said an other holy father/ that he that will dwell in deserts/ or in th'hermitage/ aught to be discrete for to teach in such manner that he have no need to he taught/ & that he suffer not by default of wit any damage. ¶ an other old father was asked of a religious person/ how & by what work he might get the grace of god/ or by fastings/ or by wakings/ or having an heart piteous. to whom the old father answered/ that he might find & get the grace of god/ in doing those things that he said/ foreseen that he died them in good discretion. he said to him furthermore/ that many had given to their bodies great afflictions/ of which they had brought forth no fruit/ because that they had done them without discretion. and yet he said/ if affectuously we fast/ we learn all the holy scripture/ and let us set all our thought & affection to be true as david. and if in doing all the things/ we have not that which god willed that we had/ that is to wite charity & humility/ our fastings & other operations be stinking & abominable tofore god. ¶ there was an other brother being resident in his cell whom the devils would beguile/ & which appeared to him in likeness of angels/ warning him that he should be a serchour or enquyrer for his other brethren. after which apparition/ he transported himself toward an old father/ & said to him. fair father i am come hither to the for to have thy counsel. for the angels have appeared to me in great light/ exciting me to go for my brethren in inquest to seche theym. the holy father answered to him. my son take none heed/ for they be devils which will deceive thee/ but if they come any more unto thee/ say to them/ dampened enemies i have nothing to do with you for to here you/ ne have ye no more to do with me. i shall well arise when i will for to do my things will ye or not. the same brother thenne concluding to observe thinstruction & commandment of the old father/ returned in to his cell/ & the night following/ the devils like as they had be accustomed camen to solycyte & excite him to do that as it is afore said/ but he answered them like as he was taught by the holy father. then they said to him these words/ this evil man beguileth that as thou shall apperceive. in few days after the said brother transported him toward the said father 〈◊〉 to borrow some money of him. and when he axed him/ that other how 〈◊〉 he had it/ answered to him that he had ●●ne/ ne none would leanly him/ & he retorted to his cell/ where the said tends tempted him as they died tofore/ & saiden to him that he which had letted him to do that the they had admonested him to do/ had deceived him/ & that he was but a liar/ & he which had refused to lean him money/ saying that he had none/ how be it that he had enough to lean him/ wherefore he might know that he was a liar. the brother thenne rising early on the morn came to the said old father & told to him all that he had heard/ the which answered to him that it was truth that he had the money but he would not leanly it him/ because that he knew well/ if he had lent it him that he shoal have evil used it to the hurt of his soul/ & for the cause he had leverlye/ & in lying to break one of the cōmaūdemē●● of god/ than to be cause to make him to break ten/ in leaning him the money/ by which they both might happily have run in myscyef & great tribulation. and after said to him that he should no more give hearing to the devils which would beguile him. the religious brother comforted by the words of the old father returned in to his cell/ was better content than he was before· ¶ three religious brethren camen to an old father in sychye/ the one of them said to him/ that he had so much studied the old testament & the new/ that he had all retained it in his mind. and the holy father said to him that he had well acquitted himself/ & the he had replenished all the heaven with words. that other said that with ●●honde he had written all a long 〈◊〉 new testament. and he answers him that he had filled all the wynde●● with papyer. and the third said to him/ that he had be solitary in his cell/ that the grass was grown in the entry. to whom he answered that he had put away from him the virtue of hospitality. ¶ some faders recyten of an old virtuous man that which oft-times when any man came to him for to ask any good instruction for to be well edified in his conscience he said to him of good affection. now sith that thou comest to me for to have counsel of me. i shall say to the for to give to the good counsel what thing we have to do/ thou must imagine that i am here as god sitting in his judgement/ for to decide & judge the doubtous causes that thou askedest. now ask thou what thou wilt/ & i shall answer to thee/ if thou sayest have mercy on me i shall answer to the in the person of god/ if thou wilt i have pity on thee/ have thou pity & mercy on thy brethren/ & in so doing i shall have mercy of thee/ & if thou wilt that i forgive thee/ forgive thou thy neighbour/ wilt thou then say the god be cause to damn thee/ or to save the. certes nay. but it is in us to be saved if we will be saved. ¶ some other said of an old father being in his cell/ the which was much penyble in labour/ that on a time in labouring in his cell/ a holy man came to him. and as he entered he heard that he spack & chid as there had been moo men with him saying. ha how for one only word have i lost all these things. that other being withoutforthe wend that he had chydd●●th an other/ & knocked at his dote for to go in and to appease them/ & he entering in & seeing that there was none but he alone/ asked him where he was to whom he had chid. to whom he answered that he chid to himself/ because that he had late retained in his mind xiiij volumes of books and as he issued out of his cell a little/ he had heard a worldly word/ which had made him to forget all that which he had estudyed/ and complained him of that which in coming for to do the service divine/ that word only that he had heard/ came to him in his mind/ and for that cause he died chide against his thoughts as said is. ¶ an other said to an old ancient father/ that sometime when he was heavy of sleep/ he might not arise at hour covenable for to do his service/ & when he saw the hour passed/ he was ashamed & disposed that he could not done say his service/ and asked how he ought to do the old father answered to him. if this inconuenyent hap to him any more to sleep unto the morning/ that nevertheless when he a work/ he should arise/ and shut his door & windows/ that is to say/ he should cast from him all occupations temporal/ & do his service. for it is written that the day & the night be ours/ and in all time we ought to glorify our lord god. ¶ an other old father said that therben some men that eaten much/ and yet they have great hunger. and also there been some that eaten right little/ and have none hunger/ but been full. and alway they have ●oost merit and thank/ been they that eat and have hungres/ & more than they that eaten little and been full. ¶ an other old ancient father said/ if it so happened that between the and an other were moved any riotous words/ and thy adverse party denied to have said the said word/ beware and keep the well to enforce the against him saying that he had said it. for in so doing/ thou shouldest move him more strongly in ire, and shall mow say to the that he had said it/ where it were better that the question were suspended in saying that he had never spoken it. ¶ a religious man asked and demanded of an old ancient father/ saying. i have a sister which is right poor/ if i would do to her any alms/ is it not all one/ as though i died it to any other poor person. the old ancient father answered to him/ nay/ by cause that the blood excited him to do more to her/ than to any other person/ and in so doing he might err/ in esteeming the alms to be better employed on his sister/ than to the other person/ the which should be yet more poorer than his said sister. ¶ an other old ancient father said/ that a religious ought never to herkene any people that chyden/ ne slandered each other. ¶ an other said/ beware that thou herkene not/ ne to receive agreeably all though things that been said to thee/ ne give to every word thy consenting. ¶ an other s●●d that a man should be sloth & 〈◊〉 bylue/ & prompt & ready to 〈◊〉 ●e truth. ¶ an old 〈◊〉 ●yent father said/ that if a religious person being resident in his cell/ purpose for to do any good work/ and in that purpose he have any variation in his courage in ●uche wise that the love that he ought to have to god be so cooled that he put not in effect the same purpose/ thenne assist & present them to him the devils which trouble him in such wise/ that they make him to understand the contrary/ that which seemeth to them good. ¶ an other religious said that at the beginning the religion was instituted/ that alway & as oft that thou religiouses of any manner religion assembled them for to speak of any healthful thing for their soul's/ they departed them each of them a part/ & so departed prayed to god/ that he would to they the grace to determine well to his honour & praising the thing for which they were assembled/ but now in these present days/ when we gather & assemble together. we occupy us in noises & debates/ & draw each other in to the deepness of hell. ¶ an other said that if our soul be conduited & ruled by soberness/ lightly it shall mow keep our body fro sin and if in such wise we may not conduit us at less way we ought to enforce us with all our power & strength to keep us from evil using our tongue to th'end that we have not so great occasion to sin. ¶ an other said that for to pray god & to knowledge his be nefaytes that he doth to us/ & is necessary for to that end be we in this world/ & it sufficeth not to teach other to do well by words only/ but it behoveth us to excite them examples of good manners. for it is a strange thing to say with the mouth/ that a man will not put in effect by works. ¶ an other said that it be hoveth of necessity to the religious that will solitarily live in his cell to have alway some manner work to occupy him self/ if he purpose to serve god/ for the devil cometh oft for to put him fro his good purpose. nevertheless when he findeth him busily & virtuously labouring be it in divine service or other good work/ he is constrained to depart by cause he findeth none occasion/ that he may tarry with him/ but if of adventure by force of temptations/ & for default to persist in good works he fall in sin in such wise that he have upon him power and domination/ yet he ought not therefore to have despair. for oft-times cometh to him the holy ghost/ to th'end to reduce him to good way/ by which he ought to enforce him to open the way by good works to th'end that the devil by his malice make him to return back. ¶ on a time the religiouses of egypt came to the hermitages of sychye/ for to see the old faders the dwelled there. they being arrived & comen after that they had frequented among them/ they knew that they were much feeble of over long fasting. and they after their fasting/ took their refecconns'/ & for their great abstinences they were inmoderate in eting/ whereof the religiouses of egypt were amarveled. their sovereign abbot that knowing & willing to take away the slander/ concluded in him self to preach/ & in deed preached of this matter in the church of sychye in saying to his religiouses/ that they should fast and augment their abstinences they of egypte that were comen thither would have departed/ but the said abbot retained them and desired them to fast in like wise. and they were content to do so by two long hole days enduring/ whereof they were sore grieved & feebled. but they of sychye which had begun their fasting sooner than the other/ fasted an hole week/ & when the satyrdaye was comen the religiouses of egypt token their refections with them of sychye/ in so doing for as much as the said religiouses of egypt enforced them to eat hastily & greedily/ one of the old faders of sychye took the hand of one of them saying that he should eat soberly as religious men ought to eat/ the other put his hands fro him & said that he should let him be in peace for he died almost for hunger/ & thenne replied the old father to him in saying. if ye of egypt in fasting but ij days only/ have suffered this fast inpacyently/ wherefore & by what reason have ye wondered on the brethren of sychye though they take with good appetite their refecconns'/ after that they have fasted an hole week without eting of any thing/ like as they have been accustomed to do or dynaryly. the other hearing these words/ & considering by their great abstinences/ the great abstinences of the other/ were sorry & disposed of that they had said & dyden therefore penance/ & so well edified of the sychyens they returned with great joy unto their cells & habitations in egypt. ¶ a secular person renouncing the world took thabyte of a monk/ & went to thermitages & enclosed himself in a cell saying that he would be solitary. certain old faders his neighbours advertised that he had avaunted him to lead a solitary life/ camen to him & put him out/ & after constrained him to go about the cells of the brethren & do penance of the foolish words that he had spoken in requiring each of them that they would pardon him/ & that he was not solitary but late had take the beginning of the life of a religious person. ¶ some old faders saiden/ if thou see a young adolescente of his presumptuous will would sty up in to heaven/ that is to say enhance himself in presumption & vain glory/ thou oughtest to take & retain him by the foot/ that is to say/ to correct him sharply in refraining his foolish affocconns'/ & to make him to tumble to th'earth/ that is to say in humility/ for he ought not ne appertaineth him so to do. ¶ a brother said unto an old father/ that he desired a good brother after his will for to dwell with him. to whom the old father answered/ to him thou sayest well my lord. that other affirmed that it was all his desire/ not knowing that the old father was ill content with his folly. then the old father seeing that the said religious esteemed/ that the said old father took his words in good party/ said to him these words or likewise. then if thou fondest a religious person according after thy will/ wouldest thou dwell with him. certainly that would i answered the young religious. then answered the old father to him/ that it is not then to th'end/ that thou shouldest follow his will/ but that he should follow thine/ & that thou shouldest rest thyself in him/ the brother by these words knew what the old father mente/ & fill down to the ground offering himself to do penance therefore saying. fair father i pray that that ye forgive me my folly. verily i me glorified strongly of that which i supposed to have well said/ where as i understood not well myself. ¶ two brethren german renounced the world/ of whom he that was the lass of age had first begun to ensue thestate of religion. a little time after the they were religious/ came to them an old father for to visit them/ to whom they presented a bacy●e for to wash his feet/ & he that was youngest of age offered him to wash his feet. then the old father held his hands & put him away/ & suffered him that was oldest for to do to him that service/ how be it that the first coming to the monastery had been accustomed to do it/ the which thing seeing the brethren that were there assistant said to him. reverend father this brother which is younger of age hath been religious tofore the other. i retch not said the old father. i will take away the first entering fro the younger/ & i will give it to him that is most of age. ¶ an old father said/ the prophets have together written the books serving to our doctrine. our faders been comen after which have put to many things/ & after been comen their successors which have recommended them to their remembrance/ that is to say that they have well studied them/ & finably they been comen of the generation that we been of/ which have written them in skins of parchment and that done they have left them lyestylle in their windows. ¶ an old father said that the stock that the religiouses usen to were/ is the sign of innocency that other habit of which they cover their shoulders & bynden their heeds/ is the sign of the cross/ & the girdle by which they gird them is the sign of strength/ & therefore said he that they ought to be conversant after the sygnefyaunce of their habit/ saying that in doing all things by good desire/ they shall never fail. ¶ here after followeth an other little treatise teaching how a man ought to live soberly. and beginneth in latyn. frate● quidam. a brother moved of devotion prayed th'abbot arsenius that he would say some doctrine or teaching. to whom the holy father answered/ what somever thing that thou dost/ enforce the alway that thy will & thought be ruled after the will of god/ in such wise that the works of withoutforth/ ●e first withinforth ruled after the judgement of right & reason/ & the said holy abbot said/ if we ask for god/ we shall find him/ & if we keep him/ he shall dwell with us. for as the gospel saith ask & ye shall have/ knock & it shall be opened to you. ¶ thabbot agathon said that a religious man ought not to suffer the his conscience remorde ne grudge of any thing. the said abbot had be three days during his eyen open when he should die the which seeing his brethren/ touched him & asking. abbot where art yu. to whom he said. i am in the presence of the great judge for to receive my salayre after my meryl & deservings/ how fair father/ ye have lived alway after the law of god/ wherefore dread ye/ thenne answered th'abbot. alas my children i know not if ever day of my life i did any work pleasant to god/ for i am of frail condition/ thenne after said the brethren/ hast that not very trust & affiance that the works that be done in charity/ bryngen a man all straight to heaven. to whom he answered all that we do is on certain unto the time that we come tofore the great judge/ & therefore i presume not of my works/ for the judgement of god/ & they of the men been well different/ & as they would furthermore have axed him of some things/ he said to them/ keep ye charity among you/ & speak no more to me/ & anon after he rendered & yielded up his soul to god/ & in his death appeared a sign/ by which he showed in his spirit/ that he rejoiced him as he had saluwed his friends and this preceded of that which he had well kept the commandments of god/ without the which none may come to the port of health. ¶ it is recounted of th'abbot ammoys/ that when he went to the church/ he would never his disciple come nigh him/ & if by adventure he approached him for to ask him any thing. anon he said to him the he should with draw him far fro him/ saying the in speaking of things ꝓuffytable/ men may sometime speak of vain things & perilous for the soul/ & therefore it is better to be still and speak not/ than to speak evil. ¶ we have also of saint johan baptist/ that in th'age of his youth he fled in to desert/ to th'end the he should not defoylle him self with evil speaking. thabbot ammoys asked of th'abbot asee. fair father how seest thou me thabbot asee answered as an angel and after that yet again the said abbot ammoys asked again. how seest thou me now/ th'abbot asee answered/ me seemeth now said he the i see sathanas/ for incontynente that thou warnedest me for to make my saluing/ it seemed that thou smotest me with a glaive through the heart. by this is showed that the proud & evil persons may not endure/ till that some man correct them of their vices. ¶ thabbot alones said the if a man say not in his heart. i myself & god only been in this world/ a man shall not have rest in his conscience/ & that he understood thus. in the world arn but two manners of living/ the one is to live after the law of god/ & that other after the world. ¶ the same abbot moses said that a man if he will/ may in a day deserve by good operations so much/ that he shall win heaven at th'end. ¶ thabbot bysaryon in his dying gaaf to his brethren one such a teaching or ensignment. my brethren said he/ a religious person ought to be the very light of other/ by good life & by good example. for it is written in the gospel/ ye been the light of the world. ¶ thabbot danyell & th'abbot ammoys on a time walked together/ thenne said th'abbot ammoys. fair father when shall we go in to thy cell/ th'abbot danyell said/ who is he that may take away god fro us/ there is no person that may take him fro us/ for when we were in our cells/ he was with us/ & now that we be out of our cells/ in like wise he is with us. ¶ thabbot euagrius said it is a great thing to pray god without to have any letting/ but it is a greater thing to sing & psalmody without to have any enpesshement or letting. this same abbot also said/ remember the alway of thy last end/ & of the great judgement of god/ & the shalt never offend god. ¶ thabbot theodore said if god punish us for the neclygences that we do in singing & psalmodyeng/ we shall never be saved. ¶ thabbot theonas said that our thought is so much enpesshed & let by worldly things that we been full of concupyscences/ but we ought to withdraw us by the grace of god. ¶ some brethren camen oft for to tempt an holy abbot named johan the short because he led a straight life/ & for to give to him occasion to speak they said to him. blessed be god/ it hath rained suffysasstly this year/ in so much that the palms been well aroused & watered/ & begin to burgene & bring forth leaves green & pleasant. thenne answered the holy abbot/ my children right so is it of the holy ghost when he descendeth in to the hearts of men he arouseth & watereth them & maketh them to bring forth leaves in the dread of god/ & maketh them to renew by the plenitude of grace. some brethren said that the same abbot had made a raylle in his garden/ but because of his contemplation/ he knew not that it grew till that it was of a great height against the wall/ & had then levys well great. ¶ there was sometime in sychye an old man of good life/ but he was much forgetefull/ the which for to ask coūs●yl of his affairs/ went to johan the short & when he was there/ the holy abbot gave to him counsel upon that which he axed/ & so returned/ but anon as he was in his cell he had forgotten the which had be said to him/ & returned again & axed counsel as tofore/ but assoon as he was departed fro the place he forgot it/ & for shame he durst not return for dread lest he should let the said abbot. yet nevertheless he returned & said to the said abbot. father the knowest well that i am much forgetefull/ wherefore i am afeard to come oft to the for letting of the. to whom the said abbot said/ light this c●̄dell/ so he died/ & after he said/ now light yet all these candellies with the first candle/ & in like wise he died. after he axed him the light of this candle is it any thing lassed to have lighted the other/ the old man answered nay fair father/ & thenne said th'abbot to him. in like wise am i not lassed ne angry when thou comest to me for to counsel thee/ & therefore without to make any dyffyculte come alway hither when the shall have need/ & thus by the patience of them both/ the forgetefulnes went his way/ & by this it appyereth that they of the country comforted each other gladly. ¶ a brother feebled by sckenes said to the said abbot johan the short that he was strongly seek/ & therefore he axed when his brethren called him to labour/ if he ought to go or nay/ in saying o● the one side i have avowed obedience/ that excited me to go thither/ & on that other side the grievance of my malady agaynsaieth me. the holy man answered me. caleph the son of jenophone said to ihus the son of nane. i was xl year old when i was brought in to this country. & now i am well lxxx year old/ & not withstanding yet am i strong for to enter in to battle & to fight/ & for so moche do thou semblably/ & enter in to labour if thou mayst with thy brethren/ or else enter in to thy cell/ & bewep & wail thy sins by thyself/ & thenne if they find the weeping/ they shall not make the to come out. ¶ thabbot cassianus said that an old man prayed on a time to god/ that when he heard vain words that he might sleep/ & when he heard the word of god that he might never sleep. and to this purpose he recited this/ that one time as he preached to his brethren/ they slept all/ in such wise that they understood not his words/ but for to show them that the devil was cause thereof/ he began to speak of vain words & idle/ & incontinent all his brethren awoke & very diligent to here him & to lawhe. then the holy father wailing said/ when i spoke to you late of holy scripture ye slept & understood nothing/ but when i speak of vain things/ each layeth to his ere/ & ye be more busy to here idle words than the words of god/ wherefore my brethren i admonest & warn you that when ye ought to here the word of god/ keep you from sleeping/ for know ye that it is the devil that letteth you to here the healthful predications. ¶ thabbot pastor being in his young age went unto an holy man for to ask him three things. but when he was comen thither he forgot one of them he returned in to his cell/ took his key for to open his door/ & in taking it he remembered the thing that he had forgotten & incontinent without opening of his door he returned thither from whence he came. and when the holy man saw him/ he said to him/ thou hast hasted the sore to come again. the young man answered/ as i opened my door i remembered me of that i had forgotten/ wherefore without opening of my door i am comen to the hastily. thenne said to him the holy man thou shalt be one time a very pastor/ & shalt be renowned through all egypt. ¶ thabbot ammon came to th'abbot pastor saying/ if my neighbour come in to my cell/ or if i go in to his/ ought i to return with him. the holy man said/ that should be well done/ for youngth hath need of great ward & keeping/ the abbot ammon said afterward/ & what should the old men do. pastor answered the old men now constant/ wherefore they have not so great need of ward & taking heed to/ & thenne said the abbot ammon if i will speak to my neighbour/ aught i to speak of scripture/ or else of thou words of old faders/ th'abbot answered/ if thou mayst not be still/ it better to speak of the words of the old faders than of scripture for oft-times it is dangerous to speak of scripture to them that understand them evil. ¶ on a time one axed of the abbot pastor how a man should keep him from many filths bodily & ghostly/ & he answered/ if a man will live cleanly as touching the body & the soul/ he aught to live soberly aswell in meats as in words/ for a man glotonous may not live justly ne long/ & after the common saying/ glotonny maked & caused m● men to they than the sword or glayn ¶ it is said the th'abbot pastor made ne did ever any good work/ but if he remembered it continually an hour tofore and thenne after he achieved his work/ willing by this to show/ that in all works/ he ought first think on it/ to fore he do it. ¶ a man axed on a time of th'abbot paysyon/ how he might dread god/ to whom he answered. go & join the with a man dreading god/ and anon thou shalt dread as he doth. and hereto accordeth the psalmist. thou shalt be holy with holy men/ & evil with evil men. the same holy man said that the dread of god is the beginning & the end of all goodness/ witness of the psalmist the saith/ that the beginning of sapience is the dread of god. we have also example of abraham to whom our lord said after that he had made an altar for to sacrifice to him his son ysaac. i see well now that thou dredest god. yet also the said abbot said/ the none ought to dwell with men full of noise & debateful/ ne with them that love strife. he said also that an abbot named loath said on a time to th'abbot peter/ when i am in my cell. i am in peace of conscience/ but when any cometh thou to me recounteth worldly things. i am troubled. and this holy abbot said when one axed him of worldly things. brother thy key hath opened my door. and when he was axed what that was to say. he answered/ if any come to the that is in thy cell & the axedest him of worldly things/ the openest the gate of his thought/ & heareth oft things that profits to him nothing. ¶ a religious man ought when he seeth any brother speak to him to exhort him to weep & bewail his sins. and in so doing he shall give him good doctrine. for there/ where as is never weeping ne displeasance of evil deeds/ there may be no pure conscience ¶ an other brother said to the said abbot/ when i am alone in my cell. i by weep my sins. but when there is any with me/ or ell●s that i go out. i find none occasion to weep. then answered to him th'abbot. thus then is not lamentation alway subject to that but thou hast it only for a tyme. after this the brother asked him what was it to say/ the holy father answered/ that a man the desired to get any virtue/ he aught to seek it in time & in all hours/ yet uneath shall he mow find it. and if he search & seek well he shall find it to his profit. ¶ a brother said to th'abbot sysoys. fair father i have great desire to keep mine heart clean from sin/ to whom the holy father answered. how may we keep our heart clean/ if our tongue hath the gate open/ as who saith/ that a man overmuch speaking may not be without blame/ & thou that cessest not to speak evil/ how weenest thou to keep thy conscience clean fro sin. ¶ thabbot syluayn dwelling in the mountain of syna had a disciple/ the which willing to go in thexpedition of some of his affairs/ prayed the said abbot that he would arrouse or water his garden. the holy abbot ravished in contemplation took water & his visage watered the said garden. and in so doing came an other that asked him whyhe had covered his face. the which answered that he had done it to th'end that he should not see the flowers of the trees the were there/ that in seeing them he were not enpesshed ne let to leave his contemplation. ¶ thabbot serapyon said/ all in like wise that as the knights which been tofore their prince & captain in battle/ aught not to look here & there for to flee/ but owen to fight vayllyantly. in like wise the religiouses and other that have given themself to god ought not to behold the worldly things/ ne also to behold the bodily pain/ for if they so do/ they shallbe herteles & fearful. ¶ saint syncletyce said/ we desire all to be saved/ but by our negligence we lose oft our health/ & we will do no pain to have & get it. ¶ furthermore said saint syncletyce/ let us live soberly. for by the five wits of our body/ the thieves enter for to rob the virtues of our soul. and we see if the windows of an house be opened that the smoke entereth lightly in to it. in like wise if our five wits be opened unto the things of the world/ anon our soul is obfusked by the smoke of sin. ¶ yet said the same saint syncletyce that we must be armed on all parties against the enemies/ for they enter both within & without. and as we see sometime the ship withoutforth troubled with the wawes & flood of the water/ & oft-times it is filled withinforth without the flood without right so is it of us. for sometime we sin by works outward/ and sometime by works inward only. it should not be enough to a man of arms to be armed on the heed all only/ for he might soon be hurt of his enemy through his body. thus it sufficeth not enough to resist the outward temptations but also the inward temptations. in this party is showed to us that there is no surety in this world/ in what sonever state it be. and of this witnesseth th'apostle saying/ see well to and keep himself that standeth upright by virtue/ that he fall not ne overthrow by sin/ we been in this world as the mariners that know not where they be/ witness of the psalmist the saith that our life is like to the see/ in the which been some parties full of stones/ the other full of diverse manner of beasts. some been much tempestuous. other been peaceable/ but among them that live some sail by the stones in the stony parties/ as they that been obstinate. other by the parties full of diverse beasts & monsters/ as they that be proud. other by the parties still & peaceable/ as been the religiouses which been out of the tempest of the world. other sail by the places tempestuous & full of tempest. and nevertheless oft-times it happeth that the seculars which seylle in the darkness of ignorance/ for fere to lose their ship comen to the port of health. and the religiouses which been with god in peace and tranquillity/ by negligence drown themself in the see of all evil & sins. we have here to note what and how we ought to think. ¶ an abbot named ypericius said thus all thy thought be alway in god desiring the heavenly bliss/ & shortly thou shalt have it. furthermore the same holy man said that the life of a monk ought to be like to the life of an angel without any catch or spot of deadly sin. ¶ thabbot orsesius to us rehearseth that if a man keep not his heart from evil & abominable thought/ & put in forgetting all the good that hath be said of him. and said after if the enemy of hell find any place in thee/ incontinent he surmounteth that/ for as the lamp lighteth & shineth/ when it hath suffisant of oil ministered in to it/ & if it fail & have none/ the light quencheth & gooth out. in like wise our heart by the fire of charity profiteth/ & without the same fire/ it may do no fructuous work and furthermore if a mouse come for to eat the oil & she feel the hete of the fire/ she cometh no ner/ but if the fire be quenched in manner that it have none heat/ she shall cast the lamp down & break it. in like wise is it of our heart/ for when the fire of charity departeth from us/ the holy ghost gooth his way/ & then cometh the enemy which assaileth us/ & in perverting all our good purpose destroyeth the virtue of our soul by actual sin. but if we live after god to our power/ & it hap that we fall in any sin. god reduceth us to remembrance the pains of hell/ & by the holy ghost bringeth us again to the right way of penance/ that which may not be health full without the spiritual help of god. ¶ two old faders spoke on a time together/ of whom that one said to that other. i am now deed in the world. as who would say that he had so mortified his body by sharp & hard abstinences/ that he had none occasion to commise any great sins. and that other said/ have no great trust in thyself/ for all is incertain during this life/ therefore oughtest to be constant & vigorous against the temptations of the fiend of hell/ the seeth alway & waiteth for to deceive us. the manner after which a religious man ought to live is such a devout man ought alway at even to think how he hath lived the day/ & what goods he hath done/ & how he hath loved & thanked god/ & what sins he had commised in weeping & wailing in asking god pardon & mercy. and if he do thus he may say the he is a very religious. and in this manner lived an abbot named gluttony. ¶ for to do us to understand that there is nothing more precious than the time said an old man that he that hath lost gold or silver or other worldly richesse/ may oft-times recover it/ but he the loseth the time may never recover it/ for the time passed cometh never again. ¶ an holy man said the in like wise as the knight going to battle thynken singularly on them/ & the hunter thinketh not but on his prey. all in like wise ought it to be of a religious man/ for he ought first & singularly think on his faith & conscience without to be over busy to know what other do. ¶ an holy man said the like as we see the knights that been in an army nigh by the prince/ been better kept/ & that they may not be assailed but with great difficulty. in like wise is it of us/ for if we be nigh unto our captain the king of heaven/ the fiend our enemy shall not dare assaylle us/ for it is written. approuche ye unto me by devout orison/ & i shall approuche unto you by thynfuly on of my grace. but some there been the approuche not/ but vylaynesly withdraw them. and there been oft taken of the adversaries which thrown them down & in the end make them to die. ¶ a brother said sometime to an holy man that he had no battle in his heart. the holy man that hearing answered to him/ that be likened to a castle the which hath four yates all open/ & all they that will enter/ enter in to it/ & assaylle it as them seem good. for all thy five wits been works to the to the temptations of the devil. and if thou hadst a gate in thy castle well shut/ thou shouldest know anon the battles that been without which asked not but to take by assault thy poor soul/ if we say that we have no sin/ we deceive ourself & troth is not in us. it is found by writing of a religious/ that which when he had offended/ abode not to repent him till on the morn/ but died the same day penance saying. this same day i shall repent me/ & to morn the will of god be done. ¶ an holy man said/ if we be not sober without forth in conversation & words. it is not possible that we be just & rightful withinforth. ¶ the holy faders which had the eye of understanding enlumyned with divine grace/ knowing clearly the fallaces of the fiend our enemy/ & therefore they said that satan had three puissances principal among other upon men. the first is that he maketh to forget the sins the second is negligence & sloth/ the third is covetise. and these things proceed the one of the other/ for if a man forgetteth his sins he is negligent/ thus negligence proceedeth of forgetting & of negligence cometh concupisbence/ the which rejected/ a man shall never fall in sin/ but he shall be preserved by the help of god. the most necessary thing among the other/ is to keep silence & be still in following the doctrine of an old father the said. take heed as much as thou mayst to silence/ & think on no vain things/ but take heed to thy thoughts with the dread of god if thou thus do/ thou shalt eschew & escape the grins of the fiend our enemy. ¶ an holy man said to an other religious. the devil is thine enemy/ thou art in manner of an house/ upon which he cesseth not to cast by temptation all the ordures & filths of sin that he can find for to fill thy house & the dyches of the same/ to th'end that he may enter lightly/ but thou oughtest little & little to reject & cast out those ordures & filths so much that the house of thy conscience be clean. for if thou reckest not for to purge it/ he shall put therein so moche that thou shall not ken enter. but & if thou purge by very confession/ thy house shall be clean/ & god shall lodge therein/ & thus the devil shall not have there any access ne place. ¶ an other old father said that the horse that turneth at mylle laboured strongly when his eyen be hid & is blyndfelde/ but when he seeth he will not turn. in like wise they that been blind by sin/ turn all about & to all that temptation bring them/ but they that been enlumyned of the holy ghost eschew & put away lightly the temptations of the fiend our enemy. ¶ an other brother working on a day in his cell/ & make little & small mats/ was in thought for to go visit an holy man. and anon after came in his mind the contrary/ & said i shall go see him within a certain tyme. after he thought saying/ if he die during this time i shall never see him/ therefore it is better that i go now/ but for as much as my jonckes been now cut/ it is better that i achyeve & make an end of my mats/ and thus he was in contrary thoughts one against an other. nevertheless he took his rob which was named melote/ & departed lightly. and in walking he passed by the cell of an other brother moche wise/ that which seeing this brother go so hastily & fast began to cry saying. o man taken with intendment whither ghost thou so hastily/ return & come to me/ the which he died/ & thenne the holy father said to him return in to thy cell. then the brother said to the holy father/ alas fair father i have so terrible thoughts/ that i have be constrained to go out of my cell and this said he returned in to his cell/ and in entering in he fill down to the ground doing penance/ & asked of god mercy. then was heard a marvelous cry of a legion of devils/ saying. o monk thou hast overcomen we been vanquished by thine obeisance/ and his mat whereupon he say flat down/ was embraced with a great fire/ & the devils all confused fled away as it had be a smoke/ & by the same the brother knew the cautels of the fiends his enemies. ¶ in the region of sychye was an holy man the which was strongly grieved with sickness/ & when it came to tharticle of the death/ all his brethren presented them about him & clothed him with his habit. after they began all to weep piteously/ but the holy man how well that he was pressed with sickness opened his eyen and began to lawhe that notwithstanding/ the brethren cess not to weep unto the time that they saw him lawhe yet eft ones/ & yet another time unto the number of thrice/ that seen they cess to lament & weep/ & asked him. fair father thou art so nigh the death/ which is so much doubtable/ how mayst thou lawhe & wherefore lawhest yu. i shall tell you said he. i have lawhed three times. the first because that ye dread overmuch the death/ the second for i see that there is none of you ready now if the death came for to fetch you/ & thirdly of the joy that i have/ considering that i go fro the labour of this world unto the eternal rest of heaven/ and in thus saying he rendered his soul unto god. ¶ a brother came to one of the old faders & said to him. father i am strongly persecuted of diverse temptations/ and i can find no remedy to eschew them the holy father answered. my friend thou hast despised the dread of god/ and hast thrown it to the ground/ the which dread is strong against temptations as the iron is strong against them that will consume it/ and hast taken in stead of iron/ which is the dread of god/ a reed which is not of any resyste●t. and by this reed which turneth with every wind is understand unprofitable & vain thoughts/ for the which to resist thou shalt take the fire of the dread of god. and if the reed of the same vain thoughts come to thee/ put the fire tofore them/ & anon they shallbe consumed and brought to nought. as who should say. my brother & my friend/ against all such temptations behoveth nothing but the dread of god before the eyen of thine intendment. ¶ an holy father said/ that a man may not love any thing/ but if first he hate the contrary of the same. and therefore he that will love virtue/ aught to hate vice & sin which is contrary to virtue. and thus thenne as saith the psalmist. it behoveth us to decline from evil & take that is good/ and to do it with all our heart/ for god beholdeth more the will than the work that proceedeth. adam our first father sinned in paradise/ for he broke the commandment of god. but job being upon his dunghill kept the commandments/ & to god pleased greatly his patience. and for so much/ god ne demandeth but our affection & our heart. and he himself saith in the gospel. my child give to me thy heart & dread me/ and keep my commandments/ and thou shalt live eternally with me. ¶ here beginneth the treatise how one ought to pray without intermission and without ceasing/ & beginneth in latin. dicebant de abbate. it is all open and manifested that nature human/ that is to say mankind/ which of himself was capax and ready to receive the everlasting bliss in thastate of innocency/ hath been yoleden & made unable and not capable of himself to that bliss/ by the sin of the first man adam/ and hath been cause. and for to reconcile him to his maker. it was much necessary to have some moyen the which may not be found but by holy and devout prayer. and for this cause was orison first founden/ of which is treated in this present book/ wherein is first determined of the continuation of prayer by one such example. some holy faders saiden that th'abbot arsenius from the saturday at even/ that the son went down unto the sunday in the morning that the son aroos/ he had his hands lift up toward heaven/ & the heed life up/ & the heart inflamed in the love of god continuing in orison & prayer/ whereby is to us showed the good affection of the old faders. ¶ the brethren came on a time to the abbot agathon/ & asked him. father which is the greatest pain among the other. and he answered. my brethren i say to you that i find no such pain as to pray to god. for when a man disposeth him most to pray/ the devil bringeth tofore him many illusions to let him. for he knoweth well that by orison & prayer his power is enpesshed and brought to nought/ how well that in other operations & works men have pain/ nevertheless at end they have rest. but in prayer it behoveth to fight unto the last instant of the same. ¶ the abbot dulas which was disciple unto th'abbot bysaryon said. i have some time gone unto the cell of mine abbot/ & have founden him lying down prostrate in orison abiding there continually by the space of xiv. days and after called me to him & said to me/ follow me/ & incontinent we went in to th'hermitage. and when i was so retravaylled of walking having great thirst/ then i said to him. father i have great thirst/ & the holy man went as far fro me as a man should cast a stone/ & was there a little while in contemplation/ and after came again to me bringing water in his garment made of skins/ of which water i drank and after from thence we went in to the city of lyco for to speak to th'abbot johan/ whom we salued at our coming saying to him the cause & reason why we were come to him. then began th'abbot bysaryon to tell & show the revelations that he had had saying. it hath be showed unto me/ that all the temples shall be destroyed/ the which thing in like wise after happened. for all the temples of thidols were destroyed and brought to nought. ¶ thabbot euagrius said that a man which hath the courage failed/ aught to pray to god. for it is written/ pray with the dread of god/ & labour continually in suffrages & prayers/ & thou shalt not find thyself feeble of courage/ but strong against all temptations/ we need to pray as well for the sinners/ as for the just & true/ to the end also that we be preserved from the enemies invisible/ which seek none other but to let us from our health/ when a person is taken with an evil thought/ he ought not the hour to pray for other/ & forget himself/ but aught incontinent to fight for himself by holy prayer against the same thought/ & cast it from him. and after he may pray for other. ¶ an abbot which dwelled in palestine wrote to a bishop named epyphanius this the followeth. reverend father we have not despised the rule to pray which thou haste delivered to us/ but in keeping it busily we sing prime/ tierce/ sext/ none/ & evensong/ the which abbot was reproved of the bishop/ & the said bishop wrote to him again in this manner. after that answer that i have had of the abbot. i know well that in the other hours of the day/ thou and thy brethren pray not/ that which thing sufficeth not for a very religious aught to pray god incessauntly/ & if not with his mouth/ act lest he ought to do it with the heart. for orison vocal is not alway requesyte. ¶ here is showed to us that we may pray god over all & in every place. for an abbot named ysayas seeing the brethren the eaten together made great noise/ said to them/ hold your peace & make silence/ for i see one of you brethren eting with you/ that which pierceth & thrylleth that heavens with his prayer as if he had said/ ye let him in making this noise for he is ravished in devotion. and also how well that he eateth alway he prayed god/ & his orison as fire embraced with charity gooth upon high. ¶ thabbot loth came to th'abbot joseph & said to him. father after my power i hold a little rule & a little hard. i fast but little/ nor pray god but little/ & i think not much on his commandment/ ne on my soul/ without to take but little rest/ but alway with all my power i eschew evil thoutes/ & them i suffer not to abide in me in any wise/ what ought i to do in time coming. and the holy man without saying any word arose up/ & stretched up his hands to heaven & devoutly prayed unto god/ & incontinent for to show his brenning devotion/ his ten fingers were enlumyned & brenning like unto lamps brenning/ & then he began to say if thou wilt be embraced with this fire of charity/ thou must do as i do. in this party is showed the manner of praying with out intermission/ & how men ought to pray without ceasing. ¶ certain brethren named bedemen camen to th'abbot lucius which dwelled in hermato/ & when they were comen the holy abbot asked. my brethren come hither & tell me what work do ye & make with your hands. and they answered/ certainly fair father we put not ourself to any hondwerke/ but after that saying of th'apostle we pray unto god without intermyssion & without ceasing. thabbot said to them/ how my brethren when ye eat/ ye pray not/ also when ye sleep ye pray not/ & thus thenne it is not truth that ye say that ye pray without ceasing. then that brethren were all ashamed and wist not what to answer. then began he to say to theym. i shall show you how in working with my hands i pray alway god. for when i am in my cell set for to work i pray god without ceasing/ for i make a mat/ or some other thing/ & in so doing i say/ god have mercy on me after thy great mercy/ & put away my wickedness/ after the multitude of thy miserations & thy great bounty. and after he said to the brethren/ is not this prayer unto god/ & they answered yes. and furthermore he said to theym. i labour & pray god all day & all that night/ & i win about xvi. pens with my work/ whereof i take twelve pens to live by/ & the remnant i give for god's sake/ & he to whom i give this money/ prayeth for me when i eat/ or when i sleep. and by all thus is accomplished in my that which is said that men own to pray without intermission/ wherefore it ought to be understonden/ that it behoveth to pray without ceasing by himself or by other. ¶ some brethren asked of the abbot macharye. father how ought we pray unto god. the holy man answered/ in making orisons & prayers is not requesyte great abundance of words/ but we ought to lift up our hands unto heaven & say. lord god/ like as it shall please thee/ & like wise as thou knowest what need i have/ so do thy mercy upon me. and if in praying any evil thought come tofore thee/ say lord god help me/ & without doubt seen that he knoweth what thing is necessary to thee/ he shall help the and have mercy on the. therefore we ought to by leave/ that long prayer is not alway requesyte ne praised. for in a common proverb it is said. short prayer pierceth heaven. we have also in saint mathewe/ where as it is said/ ye shall pray thus. pater noster etc. father our which art in heavens & so forth. ¶ of th'abbot sysoys/ some relygyouses' saiden/ that if he had soon brought down his hands/ when he had left them up to heaven making his prayers. incontinent he had be ravished and in a trance. and therefore when any was with him in prayer/ he made him to take down his hands/ doubting that he should enter in to a trance/ or to be ravished/ or that he should so abide by long space of tyme. ¶ an old man said that continual prayer correcteth the thought of sin. ¶ an other said/ that as it is not possible to a man to see his own face in foul and trouble water/ right in like wise it is not possible that a man may know his own fayte and deed/ if it be not gathered in himself without to have regard/ without to think upon on the fayte & deeds of other. ¶ an holy man came on a time to the mountain of synay. and as he went he met in his way a religious brother/ the which all weeping said to him alas father we been lost in our country for it raineth not/ & there is no moistness in the earth. then said to him the holy man/ ye aught to pray god for to have some rain. then answered the brother. alas we have prayed him so long/ and notwithstanding it hath not rained. then said the holy man to him/ ye have not prayed affectuously ne heartily enough. and if thou wilt wite and have knowledge/ come with me and let us pray together thenne the holy man kneeled down on his knees/ and lift up his hands in great devotion and prayed god/ and anon it began to rain. that seeing the said brother/ was sore afeard/ and fill down to the feet of the said abbot. the which abbot fleeing the praising of the world and of men departed anon. thus thenne many pray unto god/ but they be not heard/ for they be not worthy. ¶ some freres saiden such words/ we found on a time some old faders which prayden god/ with the which we set us down in saluing them/ and spack with them long of many things. and thenne after we would have departed/ and we made to them request that they should pray to god. then answered of th'oldest of them saying. have ye not prayed/ we answered yes fair father. but when we entered in here our prayer was then done/ and sithen we have alway spoken together/ and by that we have not prayed/ for one may not pray & speak one with another. the said holy man answered. my brethren pardon me/ there is here one of our old brethren/ that which in speaking with you hath made an hundred & three prayers thus then to speak together of puffytable things and healthful/ letteth not to pray/ for that same is to pray god and this said we prayed/ and after the holy faders went their way & lest us. ¶ here beginneth an other little treatise containing how a man ought to do mercy. and beginneth in latyn. preceperunt aliquando. ¶ thabbot cassyen said when we came to palestine in egypte/ a holy father received us in to his lodges/ we being comen in to his house demanded & asked him. father wherefore keepest not thou the rule of fasting/ when thou receivest any of thy brethren/ like as they do in palestine/ the holy man answered. i have alway fasted after my power/ & alone with myself. and how well the fasting is profitable & necessary/ yet alway it is in our will/ and with that god commanded us that we be chartable/ wherefore in receiving you & many other brethren which i see not oft i ought to do diligently that which appertaineth to charity/ for when ye shall be departed from me. i shall mow thenne fast as i died tofore/ see we not that they that be boden to the wedding of a spouse they being at wedding ought not to fast/ but the wedding & the fest finished they may well fast/ thus in your presence for to exercise that work of very charity i fast not/ but in your absence i may well do it. ¶ furthermore said the same abbot dioclesian. i & my brethren went to an other holy old father/ that which made us to eat & drink enough/ & nevertheless yet he enforced us to eat more. thenne i answered to him for myself & for the other. father we thank you/ we have eaten sufficiently. it is seefull that we eat not so oft. the holy man answered i have this day laid the table six times to my friends that are come for to see me. & i have six times eaten with them/ & yet alway have i hunger. wherefore i am abashed how ye be so soon full which have not eaten but only ones. in this party say the holy doctors that we ought not to follow this rule. for that which was virtue to them/ is or shall be vice to many of us. ¶ a commandment general thenne was given in the royalme of sychye/ that every man should fast an hole week/ & that the fest of ester should be hallowed in the same week. now it happened that during the same some brethren of egypte camen to th'abbot moses for to visit him/ that which made to them a little pottage & a pittance for to sustain theym. considering that they were weary & travailed of their way. & in dyghting & dressing the said pittance/ the savour & fumee thereof spread all about. thenne the neighbours not knowing the cause. & ready to say evil sooner than well/ went to the priests & clerks of the next church saying that habbot moses that was reputed so holy a man had broken & violated the general commandment for he fasted not that week/ the which thing was enough apparent as they said/ because he had ordained & dressed diverse meats. the pres● knowing of that one side the good life of the said abbot/ & of the other side that foolish believe of the people answered/ we shall speak to him when he cometh to church. & the sabbath after when the holy abbot was within the church the priest began to say to him. o holy abbot thou hast offended as touching of men/ but as toward god thou hast kept his command right constantly. here may be noted a thing much necessary to be kept/ that is that a person of the church in time of fasting aught not to eat to fore the simple people & ygnoraū● in any manner. for by their imprudence & folly/ they judge it in to evil/ where he that so shall be noted may do it lawfully & for a good intent/ as for cause of sickness or other necessity. ¶ a brother came to th'abbot pastor the second week of lente/ & in declaring to him his thoughts/ found in him some rest of conscience/ thenne said the brother to him i had thought to have differed this day for to have come to the for little thing. the abbot asked him wherefore/ the brother answered. i doubted by cause that it was lente that the gate should not have be opened. then said to him the abbot we have not be accustomed to shut the gate/ by the which men enter herein/ but we desire more busily to close & shut the gate of that tongue. as who would say that it is more vayllable to close & refrain his tongue from speaking in time & place/ than to close and shut the material door of his house. ¶ a brother said to th'abbot pastor/ if i give any thing to my neighbour/ anon the devil tempteth me with the sin of vain glory/ wherefore i dread to do alms the holy man answered/ we aught to succour the necessity of our neighbours for the love of god. the same old father said to the brother one such a parable. two men labourers dwelled in a city/ of the which the one of that he had sown gathered but little good thereof/ & yet that which he had gathered was not very clean. that other died sow nothing/ & also he gathered nothing. i ask the then if it so happened that theridamas came an hunger or famine/ which of these might best escape this danger the brother answered that he that had sown & gathered. thenne said the holy man like wise we ought to sow good works/ to th'end that the time of famine being come/ that is to say/ that we may no more deserve/ the which thing thenne we would have done & may not recover it/ that we die not eternally. ¶ an other brother came to speak to a good father/ & in departing from him because he had supposed to have letted him said to him. father environ me/ for i have letted that in thy rule & manner to live religiously/ to whom the holy man answered. thou hast not letted me in my rule. for according to the same i ought in good charity & mercy receive all comers. ¶ a man much solitary & straight of living/ & the occupied himself in exercise of diverse works dwelled nigh by a monastery in which were a great multitude of brethren/ & sometime it happened that they that went to visit came unto this holy man which was so much solitary. & they constrained him to eat above the hour determined. after that they asked him saying father art not thou wroth because thou etest to fothyn hour/ & he answered. i am never wroth/ but when i do after mine own will. & for asmuch as i do this contrary & against my will i am nothing wroth ne sorry therefore. ¶ there was in syrye upon that way of deserts an old man which had a custom to receive all the religious persons that passed by that way. on a time among the other passed a moche so lytary man. that which for what prayer that the old father made/ he would not drink ne eat/ saying that in no wise he would break his fast/ but the holy man sore displeased by cause he would not accord to his prayer said to him. i pray the sith thou would not eat ne drink with me/ at the lest that thou wile hold me company to pray unto god under a tree which is here by/ & of it bow down at my prayer tofore thine/ thou shalt do that i shall require thee/ the which thing that holy father accorded to him. thenne began he to pray that was so straight in his fasting but the tree bowed nothing down ward thenne after that other begun to pray/ & all suddenly the tree bowed it down/ the seeing that other/ he obtempred & obeyed to his words/ & praised god both together of the case that was to them happened. ¶ two religious persons came to an holy man/ that which had of custom not to eat of all the long day/ but when he saw them he was much joyous/ and said to them/ the fasting hath his reward. for who the eateth for charity/ he accomplyssheth two commandment/ for he leaveth his own will/ & accomplisheth the commandment of god in feeding & refreshing his brethren. ¶ a religious man of thebes had received of god such a grace/ that he might give to all indigent & needy that which was to them necessary. one time among tother as he died his alms in a street/ he saw tofore him for to have some thing/ a woman clothed with old clothes all to rent that it was pity to see. the religious man having on her compassion/ took his hand full of money weening to have give it to the said woman/ but by the grace of god/ his hand closed & might give to the woman but a little part thereof/ whereby it appeared that she was not so indigent/ as it appeared withoutforth. and after that there came an other woman well clothed/ & when be saw her/ he said in himself/ this person had no need & took in his hand a little alms for to give to her/ but in opening his hand she took more than he had put in/ in sygnefyeng that this woman was more indigent than her clothes showeth withoutforth. then he marveled moche/ & inquired of the estate of these two women/ & he fond that this woman that was well clothed was of great kin/ & was fallen in poverty/ & for that cause she was ashamed for to be evil clothed/ but the other was so clad for to move the people for to give to her their alms. and now in these days over all the world be many such abusyde & therefore it is not evil said/ see well to whom that givest/ for oft-times men give to him that is richer than he that giveth/ how be it that men suppose by cause he is evil clothed that he hath no thing. ¶ there was a religious man which had a brother secular/ that which was much poor/ & all that the religious man might win he delivered to him/ but how moche more he gaf to him/ the more poor he was/ of which thing that religious marveled/ & declared it unto a good holy man/ which said to him in this manner if thou wilt believe me give to him no more/ & when he shall come to thee/ say to him. my brother why●e i had any good. i gaaf it to that/ therefore labour now/ & of that thou wynnest send to me for my dyner/ & when any thing he shall bring to the give it to pylgryms/ or to some old poor person/ & warn them that they pray for thy brother. the religious man concluded for to do so as like as the holy man had said to him. so thenne after his brother came to him desiring his help as he had be accustomed. to whom he answered/ my brother i can give to that no more/ for i am becomen all poor/ now it is need that the labour & bring to me some thing for to succour me/ the which answer heard/ the secular departed all troubled/ & a day after he brought his brother some wort cools of his garden/ & his brother gave to him his blessing/ & he gave & distributed it to the poor needy & in dygent/ praying them that they would pray for his brother. the second day after he came again/ & brought more cools & three loves of breed/ which he took & gave to him his blessing as he died tofore/ the third day he came again & brought great quantity of meet of win & of fish this seeing his brother marveled thereof/ & called a great multitude of poor people & fed theym. after he asked of his brother if he had any need of breed or of win/ to whom he answered nay in saying to him/ when thou gavest to me of thy goods/ all that i took was incontinent consumed/ like as the fire had brent it in my house/ but sith i gave to that of my goods/ they be multiplied marvelously by the benediction of god thus thenne the religious man hearing th'answer of his brother/ went & told the caa● to an holy father which said to him knowest thou not well/ that the goods of a religious man been as fire/ & over all where as they enter & come they consume all. i assure the that it is well necessary & ꝓuffytable to thy brother to live of his labour/ & to do alms to th'end that they pray for him/ and that his goods be multiplied. ¶ there was a man that died moche alms/ but that devil having envy there of/ for to let the reward to him of his good deeds/ brought in to his thought a multitude of scrupulous & remorse of conscience/ & among all other camto him a widow asking for the love of god a little wheat/ to whom he said that she should bring a measure/ & take as much as she should need/ nevertheless he measure the wheat himself/ but when it was put in the sack/ he began to say that there was more than four busshelliss & made the woman greatly ashamed. that seeing an holy man that was by/ & began to ask of the man that made that alms/ haste thou lent or should this wheat to this woman to whom he answered that he had given it thenne go say to her that thou hast given it to her all/ wherefore makest thou difficulty of a little/ for the devil would that this man should let his reward. ¶ an old man much merciful/ & another man lived to gydre a certain time/ during the which there fill a great hunger & famine. the poor people knowing the great pity & mercy of this man/ camen from all costs to him for to have his alms. and to all them that came for succour/ he gave breed/ but that other brother seeing that/ said to him. father give to me my part of the goods/ and after of thy part do as thou wilt. then this pitiful man of his part died alms as he died tofore. and for that cause infinity multitude of people came to him/ wherefore our lord seeing his good purpose/ blessed the breed of this holy man/ & multiplied in such wise that he had enough alway for them that came/ and it minished not. that other brother that died none alms/ eat all his breed/ & when he saw that he had nothing/ he said to the holy father alas if it please you let us live together as we died to fore/ to whom the holy father said that he would well/ & so they were to gydre as they had been tofore/ & anon the hunger cessed/ and was great abundance of goods/ but notwithstanding the poor people camen always for to have alms one day among the other came a poor man asking alms/ thenne the holy father said to the same brother that he should give breed to the poor man/ the brother seeing that he had no breed/ answered that he had none to give/ the holy man said to him go in & look & seche/ when he was entered in/ he saw the chests all full of breed/ & therefore praising god for this miracle/ gave to the poor what they asked/ and had ever after the holy man in great reverence. ¶ here followeth a little treatise of obeisance or obedience. the holy scripture recounteth to us the obedience is better than sacrifice. therefore in this book is determined of this virtue by many example/ of which the first is this. ¶ thabbot gluttony said on a time to th'abbot alysander/ as soon as thou hast done thy work come to me/ & we shall dine together/ but & it hap by adventure the any pylgryms come/ abide & eat with them hardyly/ the hour of dinner comen/ the holy man alysander which had not achieved his work for to obey the word of arseny/ abode till he had done/ & gluttony seeing that the hour was passed said. i believe that alysander have pylgryms with him sith that he cometh not/ & so the holy man went to dyner/ when alysander had done/ which was about midnight/ he went to th'abbot arseny which said to him. i suppose alysander that thou hast had this day pilgrims. alysander answered. father i have had none/ but i have done as much as i may for to come to that as soon as i might/ when i had achieved my work like as thou commandest me. then arsenye was much abashed how this man was so obedient/ & began to say. i command that the another time thou be not so long in thy work/ but go pray god and do thine other bodily necessities/ for there might ensue thereof some danger to thy body. ¶ thabbot abraham & th'abbot aram were on a time together & there came a brother unto them & axed th'abbot aram what thing he might do for to be saved/ to whom the holy man answered go in to thy cell/ & all this year eat only at even breed & salt/ & after come again to me at end of the year/ & i shall tell that what thou shalt thenne do. this brother went his way & died this penance all an hole year/ & after came again to aram and it happened that the said abraham was with him at the same tyme. thenne said to him th'abbot aram return again & fast yet this year/ & after the eat twice on the day/ the which answer herd/ he went his way. after this abbot abraham said in aram/ the givest but light penance to the other brethren/ but thou chargest strongly this brother here/ wherefore dost thou it/ the holy man answered to him. the other brethren be not very servants of god/ & therefore as they comen to me/ so goon they away/ but this brother is a great servant of god/ & all that i shall ●aye to him/ he shall do it and therefore because his glory be increased & augmented i give to him this penance. and here may be noted/ that he that enjoined penance/ aught somewhat to know the condition of the person/ to whom he enjoineth/ if he will that it be healthful. ¶ thabbot johan which was of little stature/ & much great in virtue went on a time in to sychye for to see an old holy father which dwelled in an hermitage/ whom in vysyting the said abbot johan took a dry stake & planted it/ & after said to the holy old father/ that he should water every day the dry slake unto the time it bare fruit. now was the water so far fro th'hermitage/ that when thermit departed on the even for to fetch water/ he could not come again till on the morrow/ & alway for t'obey that/ the which th'abbot johan had commanded him/ he went every day & fet water/ & so long continued to water the dry stake/ that after three year it began to wax green & bare fruit. then their mite took of that fruit & bore it to his brethren in the church saying. take ye here of the fruit of obeisance. here may we note what virtue hath obeisance/ for it is a thing against nature/ that a dry stock or tree should wax green & bear fruit. ¶ thabbot paulus had a disciple named iohn which was much obeyssaū●/ & the which was in a place desert & full of wood/ in which wooed dwelled a cruel lion. the holy man seeing the croces of this best nigh by his cell said to his disciple/ go & bring to me though croces there/ the disciple asked how he might take them for the lion/ & the holy man laughing said to him/ if he come to thee/ bind him there & bring him to me/ at even the disciple went in to the forest for to find the lion & to bind him as his master had commanded him. and anon this best came against him/ but the lion had so great fere that he fled away. the disciple went after crying/ abide lion/ for my master hath commanded me that i should bind thee/ thenne the lion abode & tarried & there the disciple bond him & brought him to the holy man/ the which seeing this thing was much strongly admeruayled/ & he beat his disciple saying to him fool that thou art/ bryngest thou here this wild euraged be'st/ thenne after he unbonde him & seat him go. by the which example it appeareth manifestly that obeisance is great & lowable virtue. ¶ thabbot syluayn had in sychye a disciple moche obeissant the which was called mark & was a writer/ his master for his obeisance loved him better than the other xi disciples that he had whereof they were much angry/ & in like wise were ill content all the old faders his neighbours/ the which on a day camen for to see him in his cell. and after went syluayn & they with him & knocked on the cells of his disciples calling & saying that they should come in continent for he had to do with them but there was not one that anon followed him. then after he came & knocked at the door of mark/ & incontinent as he heard that it was his abbot/ he went out to him/ & his abbot sent him forth to do some thing necessary/ and looking about him he saw none of his other disciples. after he entered & went in to the cell of the said mark/ where as he fond that in writing he had begun an. o. but he had not leisure for tachyeve it for to come to him/ & was but half written. then said the old father. certainly we love him/ that thou lovest/ for we see that god loveth him the mother of the said mark came on a time for to see him/ & required his abbot that she might speak to him/ & that she was come to see him/ the which thing th'abbot granted to her. and he went to the said mark & said to him that he should go out of his cell & speak to his mother which was come to see him. then for to obey his abbot he went out in an old rob all to broken & pyeced/ & was all black of the smoke & ordure/ in such wise that she could not know him/ & in closing his eyen he began to say to her/ god keep you in health/ his mother which supposed not that it was be. incontinent she returned again unto th'abbot praying him as afore is said that he would send to her/ her son/ to th'end that she might see him. and obtempering to the which/ th'abbot went again to the said merke & said to him/ have i not said to the that thou shouldest go speak to thy mother/ the which answered. i have spoken to her fair father & have great & salued her/ & therefore i pray you that ye command me no more that i go forth/ for fere that i be not dysobeyssaunt. this answer heard/ the holy man went out & said to the mother/ that it was her son that had salued her once in saying to her go keep you in health/ & he comforted her & so made her to return. ¶ four brethren which were clad in robes of skins camen in to sychye to th'abbot pambo/ & in declaring to him each of them in th'absence of the other their manners of living/ & asked of him which of them by his advise had most solitarily & meritoriously lived. the first had fasted long time. that other had never had any thing proper. the third had be much chartable. and the fourth had xxij year during be obeissant unto an holy man. then said th'abbot pambo that he which had observed the virtue of obedience/ had most merited/ & that everich of the other three/ had lived in using their own will/ but the fourth for the honour of god had alway obeyed the will of an other in withstanding his own. thus it appeareth that obedience is more greater virtue than abstinence/ charity/ & poverty/ & such so obedient been very confessors if they die in this manner. ¶ a secular man which was of thebes moved of the holy ghost/ came to th'abbot sysoys saying that he desired & would be a monk/ & prayed that he might be received in to his monastery the holy man asked him if he had any thing in the world. the secular answered that he had a son/ thenne said to him th'abbot tempting him in his obeisance/ go & cast him in to the water/ or else thou shalt not be a religious man. then the same man went forth for to do the commandment of the abbot/ the which after he had seen his prompt obedience/ send him word by a brother that he should not do it. and as the brother came to him/ he fond him on the bring of the river/ and he asked what he died there. i do said he that which my abbot hath commanded me. for he said to me that i should cast my son in to the water. then said to him the brother that th'abbot had sent to him word that he should cease. and so he ceased and was received in to that monastery wherein he lived right holily. we have a like example of abraham/ to whom for to see his obeisance/ god commanded to slay ysaac his son/ the which thing he would have do/ if the angel had not retained the stroke of his sword. ¶ saint syncletyce said that obeisance is more to praise than continence. for to continence is somewhat anneyed arrogance/ but very obeisance is founded in all humility. the same saint syncletyce said/ it behoveth to us to govern our soul with great discretion. and if we be with some other/ we ought not to do after our desire/ but after their will/ provided that they be well ruled. for as people bamnysshed & exiled out of their contrees/ we have given over & left for th'honour of god/ & to this end we been separate & departed from the world. and this aught to be understonden of the religious people that have renounced the world and their proper will. for it behoveth them to do after the will of their prelate. and therefore said the said saint syncletyce. let us seche no thing more of the place/ fro which we be departed/ we have in the world vain glory/ & abundance of goods/ but here with great difficulty have we breed/ like as she would say. it behoveth in religion to endure many indygences for the honour of god. ¶ thabbot ypericius said that th'office of a monk is obeisance. for a man that is obedient shall obtain of god all that which he shall demand ¶ our saviour & redeemer ihesu christ by the virtue of obeisance is come unto the cross. for the church singeth of him/ that he is made obedient unto the death of the cross/ for to redeem us fro the pains of hell. thus then may be said/ that among all other virtues a religious person ought principally to have the virtue of obedience. ¶ the holy faders saiden that/ if a man have affiance to another/ & he submitted him in his subjection/ he aught to do all that which that other shall command him/ so that it be a thing just & honest. for in so doing he shall not run in to the ire ne indignation of god. ¶ the holy aeged men saiden the god volde that we should obey to holy scriptures. for in them is contained the manner & form to live & do virtuous operations. and also we ought to obey to our sovereign prelate's. ¶ a brother of sychye willing to go to harvest/ in the season when the corn and grains be gathered in came to an holy man and said to him. father say to me what i ought to do. ¶ the holy father answered. if i tell the what thou shouldest do/ wilt thou do it. the brother said ye father. i shall obey all thy commandments. ¶ then said the holy man/ if thou wilt believe me/ go and renounce this work of harvest/ and after come again to me and i shall say what thou shalt do. thus the brother believing his counsel forsook the work of harvest and came again to the holy father. and the holy father said to him/ go and fast thirty days in thy cell/ and eat but ones on the day only breed and salt. and when that thou shalt have done that. i shall say to the afterward what thou shalt do. ¶ the brother departed with all humility and dread and died his penance. and the thirty days passed/ he came again to the holy father/ which said to him all the manner how he ought to live in his cell. in showing to him his defaults. ¶ and forthwith the said brother departed and went in to his cell. and fill down to the earth where he continually be wept his sins three days and three nights. but the fiend our enemy desiring to make him to fall in to the sin of vain glory reduyced to his mind/ how he had surmounted his passions/ to the end that he should glorify in himself/ and that he should say in himself/ that he was rightful and just. but for to take away this temptation he thought on his sins the which he had commised/ and said. helas where been all the great and terrible sins/ that i have done. and thus eschewed the first temptation. ¶ furthermore th'enemy seeing that he might not have him by vain glory/ began to tempt him with impacyence/ in bringing to fore his mind all the evils/ and sins that he had done/ to th'end that he should fall in despair. and for to eschew that/ the brother in this temptation said. i believe that god is all merciful/ wherefore i have good and steadfast hope/ that he shall pardon me/ and in this wise he overcome the second temptation. ¶ thenne after the fiends as all enraged appeared visibly to him saying/ we been vanquished and overcomen of the. ¶ thenne the brother asked and demanded them whereof/ and they answered/ if we tempt the any thing with vain glory/ thou humblest thyself all that thou mayst in reducing to fore thine eyen thy great and evil sins. and if we tempt the for to put thyself in despair. anon thou overcomest us/ and enhaunceste thyself by hope/ which thou haste in the right great mercy of god/ and thus we be alway vanquished. ¶ the holy faders saiden that god demanded no thing of man but obedience. ¶ an holy man being moche solytarye had a farmer which dwelled in a farm of his. and the farmer delivered to him that which was necessary ¶ on a time it happened that victuals taylled to this holy man/ for his farmer came not to him as he had be accustomed. ¶ the holy man some what gryeved said to his disciple/ wilt thou go to our farm for to say to our farmer that he come to us. the disciple answered. father i shall do that shall please thee/ but the holy man differed it/ and durst not send his disciple out. ¶ nevertheless after that he had abiden long/ he demanded again and asked his disciple if he would go thither that he had said. ¶ the disciple which dread to go out/ doubting to be surprised of the fiend said to him/ that he should gladly do that should please him. and nevertheless dreading to disobey him went thither. ¶ then said the holy man to him/ my friend be thou assured/ for i believe that god shall deliver the from thy temptations/ and they put them to prayer both together. and that done the disciple went unto the farm/ where he found no person to speak to/ for the farmer and all his famyllye were gone out to make good there with their friends/ and there was none left at home but one of his daughters/ the which kept her self within the gate shit. ¶ this brother knocked at the gate/ the which gate was opened to him by the said daughter. and how well that he would not enter and go in. nevertheless she being tempted of the fiend made him to enter in/ and she began to excite and to move him as much as she might by words and touching unto the dishonest sin of the flesh. wherefore he began to cry saying. a lord god deliver thou me from this woman/ by the moyen of the holy prayers of mine holy father. and those words said/ anon he was taken away/ and found himself by a river/ by the which the way lay to go to his monastery. and thus he was delivered entirely by the prayers of the holy man/ the which prayers because of his obedience preserved him from that inconvenient. ¶ two brethren german/ that is to say born of one father and one mother dwelled in a religion/ that one of them was much obedient. and that other moche sober. the first died promptly and readily all that was said to him/ wherefore the abbot had good opinion of him and loved him better than that other. ¶ thenne the devil that seaceth not but to so we cockle and discord/ specially among virtuous people/ tempted one of the said brethren with the sin of envy against his brother/ by cause that the abbot loved one more than him/ the which said to himself. i shall prove & know right soon if my brother be very obedient. and went to the abbot/ and prayed him that he would suffer his brother to hold him company in a certain thing that he had to do/ in which the abbot accorded to him. ¶ then they went together. and he that was much sober willing to proeve the obedience of his brother/ they being nigh to a river full of venomous beasts said to his brother that he should go in to that water. and incontinent he entered in to it but the venomous beasts died him none harm/ but licked his feet/ that seeing he that was sober that the beasts had done to him no grief/ said to him that he should come out/ and so he died. ¶ thenne afterward as they walked they fond the corpse of a deed man. ¶ then said he that was sober/ if we had here any old thing/ we would cover this body. to whom he that was obedient said. it were better that we prayed unto god that he would raise him from death to life. ¶ then they both fill down and began to pray. and anon the deed body was raised to life. ¶ then incontinent he that was sober began to glorify himself/ saying secretly to himself that this deed body was raised for his great abstinence/ and no thing for the obedience of his brother but god which suffereth not alway the evil to regne above the good/ and that also he will not that the troth be hid. wherefore he showed this caas to the abbot of their monastery. and how he that was sober was tempted against his brother by envy/ weening to have made him to be devoured by venom in the water. ¶ they being comen in to the monastery. ¶ the abbot demanded and asked of him that was envious/ wherefore he had tempted so his brother. in saying to him furthermore these words. i will well that thou know that for the obedience of thy brother the deed body is raised to life/ and no thing for thine abstinence. ¶ a secular man having three sons/ came and rendered him in to religion and left his children in the city wherein he dwelled. and after that he had been three year in the monastery/ there came to him infinity dyspleasyrs for his children the which he had so left. ¶ now th'abbot knew nothing that he had any children. for when he came in to the religion he had nothing said thereof. but he knew well by outward signs/ that he was disposed of some thing. and so demanded & asked of him what him ailed saying to him. ¶ my brother wherefore art thou so heavy and sorrowful. ¶ the brother answered helas father i had three children in the world when i came hither. i would well bring them hither if it were thy pleasure. ¶ then said the abbot to him that he was well content/ and that he should go fetch them. ¶ the religious brother greatly enjoyed of this answer/ went in to the city for to bring the three children/ but when he came thither he found that two of them were deed long before/ and had but one son living/ whom he brought with him to the monastery after the commandment of his abbot. and when he was come/ he demanded after his abbot/ and it was said to him that he was not there/ but was goon to the oven. and he went forth incontinent toward him bringing with him his child whom the abbot saw gladly/ and embraced & kissed him many times in sign of great love & of fervent dilection that he had in him. ¶ after he demanded and asked of the child's father/ if he loved well this child. and he answered/ ye/ and yet again he asked and demanded him lovest thou well thy son/ and he answered to him as afore/ that ye/ ¶ then said the abbot to him/ take him and cast him in to the oven whiles it is hoot. and he took his child and threw him in to the mids of the fire. but the heat of the fire was by miracle made soft and cold as a dew. and hurted not the child in any wise. ¶ thenne the said brother was renowned through all the religion/ like as was the holy patriarch abraham/ when he unto our lord would have sacrified his son ysaac. ¶ it was demanded and asked of an holy man/ that which had more merit/ of him that dwelled with the religiouses/ and is obedient in all things to them/ or he that dwelleth in an hermitage there living solitarily without any company. ¶ the holy man said that he that is with the religiouses/ and to them is obedient in all things. for he doth no thing after his owen will/ but all that he doth is at the will of other. but he that is in the hermitage/ how well that he be moche solytarye/ yet alway he useth his own will/ and is not subject to any person. ¶ an holy man said that in heaven was showed to him four ordres & manners of people. ¶ the first order was of seek men/ which had in patience their maladies and sicknesses/ and glorified god and his saints. ¶ the second was of them that had gladdly received pylgryms for the worship of god/ and they were called hostelers. ¶ the third order was of them that dwelled in deserts/ and saw not the world/ and lived in the said deserts in straightness of penance. ¶ the fourth order was of them that for the honour of god submitted them to their faders spiritual/ and were in all things to them obedient. but among the four ordres/ they that had be obedient were adorned and arrayed with fair colours of precious stones/ and crowned with crowns of gold/ and had more joy than the other three ordres. ¶ yet the same holy man said furthermore/ that he had asked and demanded of him that had showed to him these orders/ how it might be that the said order of obedience had most glory/ seen that it was among the other lass. for it seemeth the virtue of obedience to be a little virtue. ¶ to whom it was answered. that not without cause they that were obedient had the most greatest glory. for they that receive the pilgrims do that charity after their own will. and the hermits that goon in to their hermitage/ and renounce the world/ do it of their free will. but they that be obedient/ have no proper will. for for the honour of god they have submised all their will to the will of their sovereigns/ wherefore they have in heaven greatest glory. and therefore it is openly known that the virtue of obedience is for to be recommended among all other virtues. and therefore every person ought tenforce him to his power to follow it. ¶ it is found that for five reasons obedience aught more to be chosen/ than the other vertuers. ¶ the first for it is cause of the health of the very true christian men/ & keepeth the virtues. ¶ the second for it is that teacheth to the royame's of heaven. ¶ the third for it openeth the gate of heaven. it also enhanceth the men fro the earth/ that is to say't from things earthly & worldly unto heavenly things. ¶ the fourth reason for it abideth in heaven with the blessed angels/ which alway be obedient to god. ¶ the fifth reason/ for it is all the desire of the saints of heaven. for by very obedience many comen unto the heavenly glory. ¶ here followeth an other little treatise encyting the people unto the right necessary virtue of humility and meekness. and beginneth in latin. abbas antonius. after that in the chapter precedent hath be made mention of the virtue of obedience/ followeth now covenably of the virtue of humility. in the which consisteth the perfection of every virtue/ upon which it ought first to be noted/ that in this little treatise be comprised some profitable dyctes and proverbs of holy faders. by the consideration of which every person of what somever estate or condition that he be may learn lightly the very way of humility ¶ and first here is contained one of the causes/ by the which saint anthonye kept him from overmuch inquiring of the secret jugemens of god/ in humbling himself as indign and unworthy to know the lest of the divine secrets celestial. for he being in a profound meditation/ as meruaylling himself of the divine jugemens made such a request unto god. that is to wite/ that he would show to him if it pleased him/ wherefore it was so that some lived so ly●● a while/ and some other above naturel age. from whence proceedeth and/ that some for any labour that he taketh/ may no thing have ne get. and other without labour and to have pain/ have all the goods of the world. and principally they that be injust have all the earth in possession and the good and virtuous have no thing but malediction/ mendycyte/ and poverty. ¶ thenne the said antony heard a voys that said to him. anthonye think on thyself/ & sight not for the deeds of an other/ for the pleasure of god is that/ of which thou wa● ●●●tolyest thyself to be so done/ know the that his jugemens be as a great & a deep abysm. the secrets of god which he will hide/ a man ought not tenquyre. ¶ the said holy father anthonye said to th'abbot pastor. it is a great work in a man/ that without to justify himself/ he accuse him to fore god of his sins. and with that he be strong and constant to withstand all temptation/ as steadfastly concluded never to defoil the law of god/ & that unto the last end of his death. ¶ also yet said the holy father anthonye/ that he had seen all the grins of the devil stratched and laid over all the earth. and in seeing began to wept in great tears saying. ha ha my god who shall be he/ the which shall eschew to be taken in one of these grins. ¶ then he heard a voys that said to him antony that shall be he that shall be garnished with one fight humility/ the which is the/ without the which no virtue is pa●● 〈◊〉 ¶ some ancient faders among 〈◊〉 which was the abbot named joseph vysy●●den the said saint anthonye. and they being comen to him he asked them/ and first the youngest in making unto them some propositions of holy scripture. the same young brethren/ weening to have done well/ answered to him in exponing his question. to whom together he answered saying to them/ yet have ye not found that which ye ought to know. after he turned him toward the abbot joseph/ & in like wise he demanded him a question of the holy scripture/ the which abbot answered to him saying him self unworthy to expone the 〈◊〉 proposition of the holy scripture/ & that he knew not what it was to say/ that which the said saint anthonye had demanded him. ¶ then saint anthonye said to him/ that he ●on●y had found the gate of humility/ for in speaking of the holy scripture ought noman to glorify him/ but rather to meek & humble him. ¶ thabbot gluttony being alone in his cell/ the devils camen sometime for to let him of his contemplations on a time among the other they came at the hour/ when the brethren brought him his refection corporal. and they tarrying at the door heard the said abbot crying with an high voys & saying my god leave me not without thy mercy. and because i never died deed meryth●ryous. i pray the give me grace that now i may enterprise the beginning of healthful life. and this said 〈…〉 humility/ ●ow he it he had so 〈…〉 led a right parfyght ly●●. ¶ of the same holy abbot gluttony recounten his brethren/ that when he was in the palace of th'emperor/ there was none clad with more precious robes than he. and countrarye when he was religious for to more to meek & humble himself/ he clad him with the most vile clothing & more course than all the other. he asked on a time of an old father of egypte what thoughts and meditations he ought to have for to live holily. the which old father answered to him saying. gluttony i marvel me how thou that art a clerk/ & knowing the greekish letters & latin/ demandest such a question of me that am a rude man/ & that can not discern between sin & virtue. then the holy father arsenye considering his humility said to him these words. i have known the laws & traditions latin & greek but yet knew i never the. a.b.c. of such a rude man that is no clerk/ when he spacke/ his speech was sorrowful/ & when he was still & spacke not/ it was to him gladness. ¶ when th'abbot pastor heard tidings of his death/ he said of him these words. thou art well happy father gluttony/ for thou hast wept & bewailed thyself in this world. as who should say/ he that bewaileth & been epeth not his sins in this world mortal/ in doing penitence/ he shall bewept him incessauntly in torment everlasting. ¶ an holy father named danyell witnesseth of the said holy father gluttony many fair rules of his holy conversation. ¶ first the said abbot gluttony presumed never to speak any question doubtouse touching holy scripture. ¶ secondly be wrote not gladly any letters myschyef to his religious brethren. and when he had be long out of his covent/ & was come again to the church/ he showed not himself/ but put himself behind a pillar by cause he would not be seen/ & also that he should see none other. notwithstanding that his face was angelic & pleasant as the face of jacob. ¶ th'ancient faders rehercen that some religious brethren presented them self to fore th'abbot ammon/ to th'end that he should judge some question moved among them. but the good father ammon dissimuled & would judge no person. that seeing a woman she said to an other that was by her. my neighbour take heed & see this fair father which is all a fool. thus as she said these words/ the said ammon understood it/ and said to her. my friend how long weenest thou that i have had pains & labours in desert for to get this fatuyte & folly. and for th'occasion of thee/ that is to wyce for thy iniuryouses i should have this day lost it. as who said/ that if i had not endured patiently that which she had said/ he had fall in impatience/ & by that he had lost the merit of his penances/ if by new penance he had not returned to god. ¶ the holy faders recounten that in the city of exyrynque was a bishop named assus/ the which being a monk to fore he was elect bishop/ lad a right hard & straight life. and also well when he was bishop/ he would have led such a life/ as that he had led in his hermitage. then as desolate/ & weening to be out of the grace of the holy ghost made oft his prayer unto god in saying. o my lord & my god/ the dignity epyscopall in which i am constytued maketh me to be separate from thy love. in so much that i may not do such penances as i was wont to do in desert. to whom was showed that nay/ and that our lord succoured him more when he was in desert & in solitude/ because that men might not then help him. but he being a bishop he might have aid and help of men/ wherefore god gaaf not so great consolation ne such strength in his penances & straight living. ¶ the abbot danyell witnesseth that in babylon the daughter of a provost was vexed of a devil the which she had within her body. the said provost had great familiarity with a religious man/ of whom he asked oft counsel for to know by what moyen his daughter might been preserved from this vexation dyabolyke. ¶ the said monk answered that he knew no remedy/ but the prayers of the holy hermits living in the deserts. but by cause that the said monk knew their humility/ he counseled the said provost that he should await when any of them came to the market for to sell their hottes or paners/ and that he should buy thaym and not pay/ but constrain him to come to his house for his money. and when he were come/ he should make his daughter demoniac to come to fore him/ & then he should pray him to pray to god for his said daughter/ hoping by this moyen that she should be heeled and restored to her health. and finably it happened than that an old hermit came to the market for to sell his paners. and anon after the counsel of the religious man the said provost brought him to his house/ for to pay to him there his money for the merchandise that he had bought of him. and after that the holy father was entered in to the house/ the daughter being grievously tormented of the devil was presented tofore him. the which in her great woodness gave to the said hermit incontinent a buffet upon his cheek. the which considering the commandment of our lord ihesu christ in his gospel/ presented and proffered to her that other cheek/ to th'end that she should give to him yet an other buffette. the devil which was with in the body of the said daughter/ when he perceived the great humility of the holy hermit/ by his great pride he could ne might no longer keep ne hold him within her in the presence of the holy man. but with an high voys cried by the mouth of the said daughter saying. o violent & wonderful observation of the commandments of god/ by the which i am constrained to depart out of the body of the which i have been so long time possessor. anon forthwith the devil departed and vanished away/ and the said daughter was guarished and made hole. the other religious brethren when they knew that this miracle had been such done/ in gloryfyeng all the name of our lord god saying/ that by the humble observation of the commandments of ihesu christ and by very humility/ the pride of the devil was put done. for certainly all they that be very meek and humble/ the devil of hell shall never have power for to possess them. and therefore said the abbot euagrius that the commandment of health is meekness to reprove in himself/ in correcting his vices & wickednesses. ¶ the abbot serapyon in praising the virtue of humility in the person of one his disciple named zacharye said. i have made many abstinences bodily/ & more without comparison than my son zacharye. and yet might i never come to his humility/ neither to his observation of silence. by the which words he gave to understand and to know/ that he esteemed the virtue of humility to be more greater than all the other virtues. ¶ thabbot moses demanded and asked counsel of this brother zacharye/ how he might live for to get the royame's of heaven. ¶ the said zacharye hearing this demand/ anon by great humility fill down to the feet of the said abbot moses in saying alas my father askest thou counsel of me/ as who should say/ that he was more virtuous and more prudent than he without comparison. ¶ the said moses' then answered to him my brother i know that the grace of the holy ghost aboundeth in the. and therefore i am constrained for to demand and ask of the counsel for mine health. ¶ thenne the good brother zacharye took of his frock from his heed/ and lied down at his feet saying. my father if a man be not in this manner humbled he is not worthy to be a monk. ¶ and to this purpose said the abbot pastor/ that the holy abbot moses being in the article of the death demanded and asked of the brother zacharye what thing was to a religious man most necessary. ¶ and he answered/ that it was to be still/ and keep silence. ¶ to whom the said moses answered. my son it is true. the man that is still and speaketh not is to few people noyous/ and when it came to the point that he should give up his ghost/ th'abbot ysydore which thenne was present beholding the heaven said rejoice thyself my son zacharye/ for the yates of the kingdom of heaven be opened to the. ¶ theophyle bishop of alexandria a man of great renomee/ in passing by the mount of nytry recountered an holy father which died there his penance. to whom he made such a question. fair father i demand of thee/ what operation is most fructuous to get salvation in living such a life as thou leadest in desert. ¶ the which answered to him/ that it was to blame himself incessantly. and by humility to repute himself unwordy ever to have done any work meritory. ¶ and the said theophyle answered/ that there was none way more healthful than that which he had said/ for he that humbleth and meeketh himself/ he shall be of god enhanceth. and he that enhanceth him self/ shall be made meek and humble. ¶ to this purpose the abbot in eating with his brethren in great silence and reverence took the veseels to drink/ but after the custom he said not to one ne to an other in taking them brother displease you not. that considering the said abbot theodore/ said to them. my brethren have lost their noblesse/ for they have not great reverence one to an other in drinking and in eting. ¶ the ancient aeged faders witnessen of the abbot theodore/ that after that he was made deken in th'hermitage named sychye/ he would not receive the order of priesthood. and fled now in one place/ and now in to another. but that notwithstanding the brethren brought him again alway saying to him. ¶ abbot theodore leave not the dignity that thou haste begun to receive. then he prayed them to give to him space to pray to god/ to th'end that his pleasure were to show to him/ if he were worthy to come to such an office. and thus as he was in such prayers/ there came a pillar of fire touching the earth & the heaven by his greatness. after he heard a voys saying. theodore if thou mightest be as this pillar/ go without varying and receive the office/ that thy brethren will give the. ¶ by the pillar inflamed might be understand charity/ that is to say very love and dilection/ that one ought to have to god/ and to his neighbour. ¶ by that that it toucheth the earth/ is signified very humility. and by that/ that the said pillar touched heaven/ we may note the heart brenning lift up to god by contemplation unto heaven/ when he had seen this vision/ he protested never to receive the said dignity/ which they would have made him to take. ¶ after he returned to the church with the religiouses/ the which as tofore had prayed him atte lest to accept the office and charge to administer to them the holy sacraments/ and that it would please him to hold the chalice. the which thing he refused to do/ as reputing himself unworthy of that dignity/ in protesting/ if they departed not fro him to make such requests/ that he would never after abide ne dwell with them. ¶ when they had heard his answer/ they spacke no more to him/ by cause he should not depart from them against his will. ¶ to this purpose of humility said the abbot johan the little/ that the gate by the which entereth in to us our bodies/ is humility. and by many shames and blames that the ancient faders have meekly and joyously suffered/ the royame's of heaven is to them given. ¶ yet again he said that humility which is the rote of all goods/ and dread of god is the beginning of all good science/ exceeding all other virtues. and therefore said the abbot johan thebeyen/ that religious person to fore all other things ought to have humility. for it is the first commandment of our saviour ihesu christ/ which saith in speaking to all christian men. my children learn of me/ for i am meek/ and humble in heart. ¶ and he himself saith in an other place. blessed be the meek in spirit/ for the kingdom of heaven is to them. ¶ all the holy faders of the desert of sychye on a time being together in a chapter or congregation general/ treated a question of melchysedech priest/ whereof is made mention in holy scripture/ & in treating of this matter/ they remembered of an holy abbot named coppres much renowned among them/ the which had not by them be called and then they sent for him. and incontinent as he was comen/ they asked him his opinion of the question proposed. the which by him heard/ he smote his mouth & said/ ha coppres that which god biddeth the to be done thou hast left. and that which he commandeth not/ thou seekest it by argumentation. when the brethren had herd these words/ all confused they returned in to their cells. for by that he gaaf them to understand/ that none without great necessity ought not presume to inquire over far of that works of god/ very science is to know himself/ and to do that aught to do/ without entremeting with the fayte of other. ¶ it is found of the holy abbot macharye that he dwelling in the deserts of sychye. on a time as he came from a marys/ and bringing palms on his neck/ a devil appeared to him in likeness of a man bearing a sith to shear oats/ & would have smoten him with that same such/ but he might not because that god our maker would not suffer it. ¶ thenne the devil said to him. a macharye i have great passions of that i may not overcome thee/ for all that thou dost/ i do also/ if thou fastest in eting ones on the day/ i eat never/ thou wakest/ and i sleep never/ but nevertheless thou surmountest me with one thing. ¶ then th'abbot macharye demanded him what thing it was. and be answered that it was his humility/ the which kept him from having any power/ authority/ or domination on him. ¶ some holy faders rehersen of th'abbot moses'/ that after that he was made priest/ they clad him with the tunyke sacerdotal then accustomed to priests. ¶ thenne the archbishop said to him/ behold moses/ by the order of priesthood thou art made white. and that said he peradventure by cause that then he was clad with white. ¶ the said abbot humbly answered to him. a my lord this whiteness or cleanness is it without forth or within forth. ¶ the said archbishop for to prove his humility commanded to his servants/ when he offered himself to the altar for to do sacrifice/ that then incontinent they should cast him out of the church/ the which thing they died saying to him the said servants. go out of the temple ethyopyen/ as who should say. old villain full of wickedness. to which words and injuries be answered not one word/ but as speaking to himself he said. they have well done myschaunt fool. for thou that art not a man oughtest not to repute thyself worthy to domyne on men under the shadow to exercise such an office. ¶ the holy abbot pastor being in a congregation of religious men/ heard say of an holy father called nestoryn. and for as much as the said nestoryn was of great name and fame. the said pastor sent unto his abbot/ praying him that it would please him to send to him the said nestoryn. his abbot differed it by cause he would not send him alone. hit happened on a time that the dispenser of his covent had in like wise will for to go visit the abbot pastor for to take away some scrupules of his conscience. then that said nestoryn asked licence of the said abbot for to go see and to visit the said abbot pastor. and so gaaf him leave to go thither. and gave express commandment to the said dispenser to bring again with him the said nestoryn. they twain to gydre departed for to accomplish the commandment that was made to them/ and camen to the cell of the said pastor. to whom the dispenser declared first the secrets of his conscience/ whereof he was much comforted and rejoiced by the good exhortations and admonitions that the said pastor made to him for his health. after these words said/ he turned his words to the said nestoryn/ and asked and demanded of him/ how he had gotten so great prudence that he had. for his custom was such in his monastery/ if any among them were in dissension or in hate/ he entremeted not/ and let them do/ as them good seemed/ if any said to him any heinous words/ he answered no thing again. his humility was so great/ that he took all thing in good/ and reputed all his brethren more wise & discrete than himself. ¶ the said nestoryn answered to the said pastor in this manner. ¶ my father pardon me if it please the. i am no thing virtuous as thou saist. but i shall tell thee/ when i entered in to thastate of religion. i said to myself that i would be semblable and like to a beast/ which called is an ass/ the which when he is beaten saith not a word. if any do to him wrong or reproof/ he holdeth him still and sayeth not a word. ¶ and this rule approeved david in his psalm when he saith in speaking to our lord god. my redeemer i have be as a jument toward thee/ that is to say patient in all adversity. ¶ for to get good and very humility th'abbot pastor said/ like as he that is or will be very humble/ and have the parfyght dread of god our blessed maker/ aught alway without ceasing to sigh. that is to say to lift his heart on high on heavenly things/ like as the air that the nose breatheth in & respyreth out again incessauntly. and to that purpose he said to them that demanded him/ as a man ought to hold himself in the place wherein he dwelleth or babyteth/ that in all places he that will have peace/ aught to repute him as done the strangers that be far/ the which entremete them not soon to gainsay to that which they seen done or said. ¶ like wise also none ought desire to have audience in his words above other/ for he that will that one herkene alway without ceasing/ is oft reputed for a fool among the other. ¶ yet he said that he that will have strong armours for his soul against his adversary the devil/ he ought never to be proud/ ne presume himself or esteem to be of any valour. and with that he ought to set and put all his affection and his thought behind his back/ that is to say to be very obeissant to all the operations and commandments of his prelate's and soveraynes. ¶ furthermore he said that none ought to believe firmly his proper opinion/ but aught to use the counsel and teaching of them that be of holy conversation and good manners. and therefore a brother asked th'abbot alonius and demanded him what it was of contennement. ¶ then he said that it was to be among beasts unreasonable/ as they that been in desert/ & that have renounced all worldly honour. and to that purpose he called the virtue of humility. earth. in the which god our saviour will that sacrifice be made and accomplished. ¶ also after his doctrine and teaching he that exceedeth not his estate shall not be reputed proud/ but he shall be praised and honoured of everich/ he himself by moche great humility served the brethren being at the table/ when they took their refection together. and oftentimes the brethren said oft great praisings of him among them. but nevertheless he answered to they not one word. and when he was asked and demanded wherefore he answered to them not in saying some thing/ he said for this reason. if i had answered/ it should seem that i were glorious of their praisings. ¶ the abbot joseph was on a time with the abbot pastor and in speaking together of one named agathon the said pastor named him abba/ which is as much to say as father. and by cause it was a name of honour and of ancient. the said joseph asked for what reason he had called him father/ seen that he was yet much young. to whom he answered his tongue/ that is to say tacyturnyte/ and prudence in language made him to deserve to be named father/ for the age made him not so to be called/ but the virtue. therefore the said pastor never gaynsayde by words with an holy father/ but all their words he enhanced & praised. ¶ in the time that theophyle bishop of alexandria came from thou said place of alexandria/ in to the deserts of sychye/ the religiouses for to come speak to him were assembled/ & prayed to an abbot named pambo/ that he would make a predication at the coming of the said theophyle for to comfort him in esperyte. the which answered if he be not well edified with my silence/ he shallbe lass by my words. ¶ a brother that was named pystus/ and seven other brethren hermits his fellows vysyteden th'abbot sysoy dwelling in that isle which is called clysmatos'/ to whom they prayed/ that he would give to them some admonitions/ by the which they might be the better & get their health. to whom he answered my brethren pardon me if it please you/ for i am not but a best & a idyote & without intendment. but i shall recount to you that which i have seen in two holy faders. that one was named th'abbot or/ that other abbot atrem that which i have visited long time for to know their conversation/ & thenne when i was arrived with theym. i prayed them in like wise as ye have prayed me/ that they should give to me some doctrine for my health whereto the said abbot answered/ brother do here in all that which thou shalt see done by us here/ other thing can i not say repreche. thou shalt know here my father atrem/ which doth by the moyen of the grace of god more than he may in all violence. and in like wise doth god to all other that enterprise this rule and manner of living. they were not both of one province. but in them was all plenitude of grace. and principally atrem was of great obedience/ and or of parfyght humility/ as it appeareth fayttes which shall after be said. ¶ on a time a certain man brought a fish for to eat/ the which th'abbot atrem would make ready for their dinner. and as he put the knyef in the fish for to divide and cut it/ the abbot or began to cry atrem atrem/ and incontinent the said atrem left his knife within the fish without to draw it out and devyding of the fish. and the said atrem ran to the said abbot or/ without to say that he should tarry till he had appointed the fish. ¶ then demanded the holy father sysoy of the said atrem how he had gotten so great obedience/ he answered that it was by the merits of his abbot or/ and then he knew his obedience. for the said fish was not roasted ne appointed like as it appertained. notwithstanding the said atrem would have done it gladly to th'end/ that the said sysoy should know his obedience/ when they came to dyner/ the said atrem delivered first a part of the said fish but half sudden/ the which the said holy father or eat in praising it as right good and well appointed. after he presented of the said fish to him an other part/ which was not but/ but half sudden saying. father forgive me for this piece hath been by me evil sudden and appointed. ¶ the holy father or answered. my brother i believe that thou hast done the best that thou couldst do arter thy power/ and therefore it is to me agreeable. ¶ when this was do the said atrem spacke to the said sysoy saying these words. ¶ my brother and friend thou seest well that thobedience that is in me proceedeth of this good abbot or/ which is so humble and obedient that i am constrained to ensue and follow his manners and conditions. ¶ after this the said sysoy departed much joyous and comforted and ruled himself upon that which he had seen in the said two holy faders. therefore answered the said sysoy to one of the brethren which was with the said pystus when he asked him/ brother show to us sign and example of charity toward us/ and give to us some doctrine. my friend who hath plenitude of virtues/ and principal humility above all other he compriseth all the holy scripture. ¶ an other brother asked and demanded of him what was of very pilgrimage. to whom he answered/ that it was to keep himself still. and in what somever place that he were/ to blame nothing/ but all to praise/ with out to have any desire of any worldly thing that it were. ¶ an hermit on a time visited the abbot sysoy in a place named the mountain of saint anthony/ to whom the said brother said these words. fair father it is a long time that thou hast he here. i suppose and bylere certainly that thou hast not yet the noble virtues that had the holy father anthonye/ the which answered to him. alas my brother and my friend what sayest thou/ if i had one sparkle of his charity which was in him i should be all in a fire. notwithstanding i wot not ne know man so parfyght that may bear the penances/ which made and suffered the good and holy abbot saint anthonye. after he asked if in time passed the devils tempted the religious people as they died then that aforesaid lived. to whom answered the said sysoy/ that more strongly the devil tempted in the said time/ than he had done in time passed. for as much as the end of the world approacheth/ of moche enforceth he the more to make the poor souls to fall in to the horrible pains of hell. ¶ other brethren went toward the said sysoy for to receive his doctrine but he said nothing to them/ but my brethren pardon me/ like as he would say. i am not worthy ne suffisant to proffer fro my mouth holy words. and for as much as they saw in his cell many hosties/ they asked of his disciple abraham what he died with them. the disciple answered that he sent some this day to one house/ & to morrow to an other. the holy father hearing that/ said to them thus/ my brethren. sysoy eateth here & there not that he be a beggar here & there in diverse houses/ for he maketh hottes & paners for to serve them of that they have to do. of this humility were the brethren comforted & joyously returned to the place from when● they were comen. ¶ to the said holy father a brother said these words. i know tayr father that my mind is directly set all to god. to whom he answered/ that is no great thing if thy soul be addressed to god by contemplation. but it is a greater thing if thou see well thyself/ in reputing the by very humility the lest of all creatures/ & for to come to that/ thou must make lean thy body/ and in that doing thou shalt get lightly humility/ by the which thou shalt know thyself. ¶ and to this purpose said the devout religious saint syncletyce/ like as it is impossible to make a shypp with out diverse point of nails and other matters. in like wise it is impossible to be saved without humility. ¶ in like wise the holy abbot ypericius said. the tree of life is in heaven above which mounteth the humility of a monk/ yet furthermore he said that we ought all ten●yewe the publican/ the which in the temple reputed himself unworthy to be named and called the servant of god our saviour ihesu christ in crying & asking mercy and on the contrary we ought teshewe & flee the pharyseen which glorified him in his virtues/ we aught also to ensue the clemens & meekness of moses'/ to th'end that the proud enhaunsynges we might convert in to the see that is to say in to tears of very contrition & penance. ¶ for to give counsel to eschew & resist to our evil temptations/ th'abbot orysyus made such a comparison/ like as cyle or break put in to ashes/ if it be not well baken/ it shall never make good fundament in a wall/ set in a watery place/ or other. ¶ in like wise a man living in this world shall never be well edified/ but if he be well ●aken by the fire of diverse temptations/ & proved by the same/ for in temptation is proved our virtue. ¶ hereof we have example of joseph sold by his brethren/ the which being in the house of pharaoh slaughter/ suffered & endured many great adversities & torments/ & notwithstanding he served god in keeping diligently his commandments & his law/ how be it that he was in the country of idolatry/ in which thidols were adored & worshipped. ¶ and to this purpose saiden the holy faders that every person ought to know his strength & possibility. for none ought to enterprise more strongly than he can accomplish/ as some that will take the burden & charge of religion. and anon as they be entered/ & that the devil hath given to them assault they recu●e & go back/ and renounce that/ which they have enterprised. of whom it is said/ that they shall not be crowned/ for they resist not unto the end. ¶ an hermit esteeming himself to be parfyght & victorious in his temptations replenished with all virtues made a request to god/ that it would please him to show what perfection other than he had had that might be to him necessary. thenne he heard by revelation that by his hermitage was an herdsmen/ that which should counsel him which he had to do/ that done the angel went to the said herdsman & said to him how the said hermit should come to him for to have counsel of his health. and when he should be come that he should deliver to him a fovet & his hogs to keep. all this died the goodness of god for to humble the said hermit. it happened that the said hermit went to the said herdsman/ like as it was showed to him/ to whom the herdsman anon asked him first/ if he would do all that he should command him/ & he answered/ ye/ thenne he delivered to him a fovet & his hogs to keep. the said hermit following his promise/ died all that the herdsman commanded him/ & kept his hogs a long tyme. many said of him that he was become a fool/ or that he had the devil in his body. god considering his humility called him again in spirit. and he returned in to his hermitage. ¶ an other monk solitary & much humble was smeten in the jaw by a demonyake/ that is to say that he was vexed with a devil. the same monk in keeping the counsel of ihesu christ proffered to him that other jaw to th'end that he should smite again. then the devil which might not abide in the place of humility/ because that he is prince of pride/ left the man/ and sprang out of his body. ¶ an old father said that they that be humble which desire to observe their humility/ when they be tempted with elations & ambitious pride/ principally they that ween to be devout & parfyght in virtues/ oughten incontinent to think on their conscience/ & consider if they have well kept the commandments of god/ if they have loved or hated their enemies/ if they be angry of their weal & promocons/ and if they rejoice them of their tribulations/ & in thinking on such things/ a very meek person shall repute him an unprofitable servant/ and worst of all sinners. ¶ in like wise said an other holy father that a man should never repute himself more sober/ more continent/ ne more wise than an other/ but alway to judge himself subject and simple servant of god having need of his grace/ & all this by very humility without fiction or hypocrisy. and by this one shall keep from losing of the fruit of the labour that he should have gotten by penance/ for as much as one should eschew arrogance/ or estimation of his merits/ in remytting all to god. and this rule is the principal among people of devotion. ¶ to this purpose said an other holy father that of so moche that the virtue of a man is more praised/ of so much more he ought to humble himself. moo persons been saved that have not be honoured in this world/ than of other that have been constituted in honour & worldly favour. ¶ a brother demanded of an holy father if it were necessary to be in continual contrition & penance. to whom he answered/ ye/ and thereof he gaaf him an example of jesus' son of nave/ the which being in contemplation & deovoute orison lay upon th'earth/ god appeared to him/ and not when he was out of his contemplations. ¶ an other demanded of an holy father fro whence it proceeded that he was so oft travailed of devils. to whom he answered that it was because that he had lost his armours spiritual/ that is to wite humility/ patience/ poverty/ and suffering of injuries. for the send taketh his adversary more soon when he findeth him without weepen than when he keepeth him armed. ¶ an other brother asked in like wise of an holy father/ if a man came to him for to have comfort or consolation in his temptations/ or ask counsel to resist his sins/ if he ought to refuse it to him/ saying that he should go without to recount to him his vices & sins/ or if he ought to say to him/ that in time to come he should keep him from such operations. ¶ the holy father first answered that he ought not to refuse to here his propositions. ¶ secondly he ought not say in rebuking him that he should eschew his sins by such manner & such/ to the end that if in time coming himself fill in such temptations/ he were worthy of more great reprobation because he died not the which he counseled. but it should be good to be still & say nought. for by silence he should show good ensample enough to correct himself of the sins by him commised. ¶ an holy man for to give an answer to an other which asked him what was humility/ he said the humility is to forgive & pardon our enemies the wrongs & injuries which they had done to us/ to fore ere they ask forgiveness. ¶ an other holy father said that he had never willed to change his ●●dre ne desired to be of more straight ne lass/ but he had be all his life all founded in prayer and orison/ unto that it pleased god to call him in to his royalme in departing by death the soul out of his body. ¶ an other said that none ought to blame him that doth to him wrong or reproof/ but only aught to say that for his sins god sendeth him this tribulation. and therefore said an holy father/ that very humility is to do well to them that do to us evil. and when one demanded him by what moyen he might come to such virtue. he answered that in keeping his tongue/ and in leaving the world. ¶ an other good ensample for to show the form of humility. a pilgrim walking found on a time in a monastery a great number of religious men the which after the service was done & his orison accomplished/ followed the brethren of the said monastery/ & set himself at table weening to dine with them/ as he had be of the house a religious man. the brethren much abashed of the hardiness of this pilgrim. and because it was not their custom to receive religious strangers/ they hunted or chased him out of their covent. the same pilgrim meekly went his way without to anger himself ne gainsaying. after the said brethren had remorse of conscience/ & were sorry & displeasant of that they had put him out of their company/ without to have given to him his refection/ wherefore incontinent they called him again. and when he was comen again they asked him what thought he had had in his courage/ then when they had driven him out of their covent/ & after had called him again. to whom he answered/ that he had none other thought/ but that he had been reputed semblable to an hand/ the which when he is menaced & threatened he fleeth away/ & when he is called again/ anon he cometh again. giving them to understand by his words/ that in like wise ought to do all they that will have very humility & all to suffer without murmur. ¶ some brethren of thebaid lad a demonyake to an holy father/ to the end that by his prayers/ he might be delivered of the possession of the devil. the which holy father as constrained by their requests said to the devil that he should depart out of the body of the same man. the devil answered. i go but first say to me/ what men been they that in scripture been reputed ghotes/ and which been they that be semblable to lambs. the holy father knowing that by the ghotes been signified the lecherous people/ & also by the lambs the holy devout persons fulfilled with humility. answered to him that the ghotes were such people as he was himself/ but the lambs that is to say the good/ god only knoweth them. the devil by his answer founded in humility/ by the which the holy father reputed himself to be a great sinner/ was constrained to go out of the body of the said demonyake/ saying that he might no longer endure the presence of a man full of so great humility. ¶ the holy faders saiden that we be tempted with pride or vain glory/ wherefore we ought to humble us. for god knowing our frailty succoureth us incontinent by grace/ but when we take glory/ weening to resist it of ourself/ he suffereth us to fall in diverse manners of wickedness & tribulations in spirit ¶ the devil for to deceive an hermit appeared to him in form of an angel. and when thermit saw him/ anon he closed his eyen to th'end that in no wise he would see him. then the devil asked wherefore he opened not his eyen/ seen that he was sent from god for to comfort him. the said hermit answered meekly these words. thou that sayest the to be an angel/ take heed to whom thou speakest. i believe that if thou be an angel of god/ thou oughtest not to address the to me but to an other. the devil seeing his humility and constance incontinent departed thence. it behoveth first to prove the spirits/ that is to wite if they been of god or not/ to fore that thou give faith to their words. and for so moche saiden the holy faders that in all apparitions/ yet when they shall be of god/ every person ought to humble himself in saying. alas my god i that am a poor sinner am not worthy to be visiteth of thine angel in this corruptible world. ¶ to this purpose is founden of an aged father/ when the devil appeared to him making to him diverse assaults/ the which he suffered patiently in despising their temptations. one of the said devils seeing himself over comen/ appeared to him in form of our saviour saying. fair father open thine eyen for i am ihesu christ. to whom he answered humbly. as touching to me i will not see ihesu cryst in this world/ for i am not worthy/ if it pleaseth him of his grace. i shall see him in that other world. and with his answer the devil vanished away ¶ a like answer gaaf to the devils an other holy father to whom they demanded if he would see ihesu christ in saying to them. go ye cursed devils where as it is given you to be. have i not my god which counseylleth me saying/ thou man sinner if any come to the and say/ here or there is ihesu christ/ give there to no consent ne answer to their words/ for they be all illusions & deceptions. ¶ a brother hermit for to have revelation of a doubt that he had of the holy scripture fasted lxx weeks/ and eat not but ones in the week. after the said time seeing the god had made to him no revelation he departed fro his chambre/ and purposed to go demand his brother the solution of his question. god knowing his humility/ incontinent sent to him an angel which said to him. brother i notefye to the that the fasting that thou hast made/ hath not rendered the so much agreeable to god. for to know the difficulty that thou pretendest to know/ for by thy merits/ thou wendest to constrain god to show it to the. but for as much as thou hast humbled thyself/ to will ask of thy fellow. i am sent fro god to notefye to the the same. then he declared it to him/ and after the angel departed fro him/ by the which example it appyreth that with out humility we may not obtain of god any grace what somever penance we do. ¶ an other doctrine for of folk estate constituted in dignity. the same holy faders witnessen that every man having domination and pre-eminence upon other/ if he command a thing to his subgettes/ so that it be by humility/ and for th'honour of god/ in all things she shall be obeyed. but if he command them by arrogance/ as to repute himself worthy to be obeyed/ with out to have regard that it be for the honour of god and without humility & dread of god/ he shall not suffer that such lords be obeyed of their subgettes. and by this is known when any operations been to be done if they be founded in charity & of good persons or evil. ¶ and therefore said an holy father. i had liefer be overcomen in meking myself/ than to vanquish by my pride. ¶ and an other said that never ought one despise his servant with whom he is/ for none knoweth if he have the spirit of god/ either that we have it that despise him. ¶ an hermit demanded of an holy father/ if he saw any of his brethren do evil & sin deadly/ if he ought to reprove him. the holy father answered to him/ that if in the company were more older than he/ he aught to be still. and by that moyen he should have peace. for in as much as he holdeth himself lass than other/ there is lass envy/ & also he is more sure in his conscience. the brother replyked again saying/ that he might not bear the detriment of his brother seeing him sin as who should say nature constrained him to reprove him. ¶ the holy father answered to him/ that he might well ones reprove him & correct him brotherly without more. and if by adventure his spirit might not be appeased he should return to god by devout orison which should comfort him. ¶ furthermore he said that the very servant of god ought alway to leave his will/ & to remit himself to god in observing continually silence/ which is very humility. ¶ and to this purpose demanded an hermit of an holy father/ what was the fruit of a man mortal/ in which he ought to get merit & meed. ¶ to whom he answered that it was humility. for of so moche is he the more enhanced in perfection. ¶ and therefore an holy father said/ that when a man asked pardon/ & forgiveness of an other of the evil that he hath done to him/ if he do it by humility/ the devils which have tempted him to do the evil/ incontinent departen from him. ¶ an holy father for to teach men to eschew vain glory said such a parable as followeth. that is to wite/ that he that maketh oil/ cover not the eyen of the horse that turned the mylle/ he would not go/ but should tarry to do his work. ¶ in like wise also/ a man that is penitent/ aught not to see his operations virtuous/ to th'end that in considering them he praise himself and be proud. for finably he should lose thereby his labour and merit. and for that cause in certain days the holy faders reduseden together to remembrance all their foul cogitations/ to th'end that by them they made a veil to cover the virtuous works that they made. therefore every man that accuseth himself in very humility shall never be dampened if he get the mercy of our redeemer. ¶ and thus for to do an holy father desired more to be taught without comparison/ than to teach/ to th'end of himself he should esteem ignorance and simpleness. and the same holy father said/ that no man ought to teach ne preach/ but if he have age/ manners/ and science. otherwise he shall be reputed all his life a fool & unworthy to be among them that be wise. ¶ a brother demanded of an holy father/ what thing was humility. to whom he answered that it was a yefte of god/ the which is had in doing penance bodily/ in reputing himself a sinner/ & to yield himself subject to all them with whom he converseth ¶ then he demandeth and asked him what it was to say to be subject to men. and he answered/ that it was to take heed to his sins/ and not to know the sins of his neighbour/ & to pray continually that god give mercy to sinners. ¶ an other required an holy father that he would say to him one word how he might be saved. he answered to him that if he might endure all wrongs that were done to him it is a virtue above all other/ by the which he might get his health. and for this cause an holy father defended his disciple that he should not frequent people constituted in dignities/ for oft in following them one desireth to be a lord as they be. ¶ a brother being in a covent/ the which in all vices and sins he said him self to be a sinner. and that also that he made not so many mats ne hand works as made his brethren/ wherefore they began to murmur against him the which thing knowing the abbot/ and also the virtues of the brother/ he said to all the religiouses. children know ye that i love better one only mat with the humility of your brother upon whom ye murmur/ than all yours made in pride which overcometh you ¶ a brother asked of an holy father/ how that it was possible that a man durst presume in himself to have so much deserved toward god to say that he had seen angels face to face. the holy father answered to him/ that he is well happy that seeth well his sins. as who would say/ that for to see the angels of god is not possible. ¶ a religious brother knowing that one his brother was angry against him desiring to appease him/ went to him and knocking at his cellle door/ but he would not open it. ¶ then he that would have appeased him/ went to an holy father/ and told to him the caas in charging his brother of that he would not open his door/ the which answered to him. brother keep the that thou justifye not thyself in blaming thy brother/ for that is nothing the way of humility. and by cause thou hast not proceeded by that way god hath not suffered that thy fellow hath not opened his door. nevertheless thou must consider if he have sinned against the by wrath/ that in like wise other time thou haste sinned. and therefore justifye thy brother/ and accuse thyself/ if thou so do/ god shall give courage to accord himself with the. and for to better to comfort him the holy father recounted to him this ensample following. ¶ two secular men of honest life conversing to gydre by common assent entreden in to religion and weening to do a work of great merit ghelded themself/ and made them quite of their genitors. this considering the archbishop cursed them. when they knew it being moved of great courage/ murmured against the said archbishop/ in saying that for the more lyghtelyer to abstain them from sin/ they had done it. and so by that moyen to come to the kingdom of heaven. as men being out of reason they went to complain to the archbishop of iherusalem. and to him they recounted all their caas like as it was happened/ the which in like wise cursed them. wherefore more angry than to fore/ they went in like wise to the archbishop of anthyochye supposing to have obtained some succour. but as the other he cast the sentence upon them. finably they concluded to go to rome. and after that they were arrived/ they recounted to the pope all the sentences that had be cast upon them/ and for that cause they were come to him as sovereign and heed of all holy church for to have their absolution. the pope heard their request cursed them and prived them by his sentence of all the prayers of the holy church/ whereof they were more melancholious than to fore/ and murmured against him and all the other prelate's/ with whom they had be saying that they were acceptours of persons/ and not without cause they made congregations for to conclude after their appetite the matters that might come before them. thus they wist not what to do/ but to go to an holy man bishop of cypre named epyphanius/ which had the yefte of prophecy. and as they aoproched toward the city where as the said bishop was/ he knew by revelation of their coming and the cause wherefore they came. and he sent to them charging that they should not be so hardy to enter within his city. when they heard these tidings/ they thought in themself/ that their coming had be showed to the said holy bishop/ and that they had great wrong weening to justify them self in blaming the bysshyp that first had excomyned and cursed them then they reputed themself worthy of great punishment saying that marvelously they had offended their maker/ god knowing their contrition and humility made revelation to the said epyphanius that they were disposed to do penance. then he sent to seche them/ & received them goodly in to his house. and after that he had assoiled them by the pope/ and were restored to the holy sacraments of the church. he wrote to the bishop of alexandria for them in this manner. ¶ father receive these two children/ for in troth they have done penance for the sin that they have commised as much against god and his law as against the. ¶ the holy father/ after that he had recounted this history said to the foresaid religious brother my son thus it behoveth the to do if thou wilt get thy health. for god will that a man after that he hath sinned/ incontinent return to him by penance. ¶ when the said brother had herd all this that the holy father had told to him/ he returned and concluded to do in like wise as he had said and knocked at door of his fellow/ the which anon opened it to him/ and embraced each other by amiable peace and concord which they had together. ¶ two monks brethren germayne liveden together in charity and unyon a long time/ the which the devil enemy of peace supposed to have departed them to th'end that they should no more dwell together. so it happened on an eventide/ that the younger lighted a candle/ and set it upon the candelstycke/ and after he began to do his work. the devil anon overthrew the said candle. that seeing that other/ the which was older/ & weening that it had be default of his brother/ bete him strongly in great anger and moving of courage. the young brother cried softly. alas my brother i pray you forgive it me/ & i shall go light it again. the devil saw that the younger brother was not angry/ but pacyente and in great humility had endured the correction of his brother/ as wood & tormented by the power of god went and recounted this to the prince of devils/ how a young monk by his humility had put him out of the hermitage. ¶ the priest of the idol's hearing that/ forsook incontinent his idolatry/ and yielded himself to be religious. and after his conversation was so happy to keep humility/ saying that humility chaseth the power of the devils/ in like wise as they had heard witness in speaking that one to that other. ¶ furthermore said the same priest that to fore his conversion/ he had heard the devils complaining them to gydre saying/ that when a monk was fall in deadly sin/ anon some of them died penance for him/ wherefore all their power was nought/ in such wise that they might not grieve ne annoy the said religious persons. ¶ here beginneth the virtue of patience. for to learn and know how we might have the virtue of patience. every person that will read this present treatise/ note in his heart/ and also retain th'examples and dyctes of holy faders here after declared. the which been of moche value and profit. for they moven to devotion/ & also to have strength and patience against adversity. ¶ on a time for certain cause was made a congregation of many religiouses/ among whom was an holy father called euagrius/ the which proposed among the brethren his opinion of the matter whereof was the question. to whom the sovereign abbot of the said congregation said. father abbot we know well/ that if thou were in thy country thou shouldest be a bishop or chief of many religiouses. and now as a pilgrim & stranger thou sittest with us. the good devout man euagrius without to move himself/ but in spirit/ answered not one word/ but wrote in the earth. brethren it is so as ye say. ¶ the abbot johan the little being on a time set to fore the gate of his church/ many brethren sat with him and of diverse thought & scrupulous cogitations they asked him/ to whom by the help of god he gaaf so good answer/ that they all were comforted. that seeing an old father moved of enuyee said these words. father johan thy viol is full of venom. to whom he answered/ my father thou saist truth/ but if thou sawest that which is in my heart. i wot never what thou shouldest say/ when thou seest not but that which appeareth without forth. and thus to the injury that was said to him/ he answered patiently. ¶ of the great patience of the abbot ysydore dwelling in sychye witnessen the holy faders/ that when an old father had a disciple frail or injurious & he would put him away. the same ysydore prayed that he would give him to him/ for all them he should make virtuous by his patience. ¶ of alas patience was not the holy father macharye/ the which when he found a thief in his cell/ which charged or laded upon his horse or other best all his goods/ he would help the thief to lad his horse/ as if he had be his fellow. and in so doing he said such words as follow. when we came in to this world we had no thing. god giveth all. and as he will so be it done/ and praised be he in all things/ been they contrary or profitable. ¶ in like wise the abbot moses with many other was in a congregation made in sychye/ in the which some brethren for to prove his patience/ said to him these words. come hither thou ethyopyen as black as thou art who hath made the so hardy to presume to come with us. to the which words he answered not. after they asked him/ they that had so injuried him/ if he was any thing wroth. to whom he said that he had be troubled in his heart/ but that not withstanding he abstained him to speak/ for patiently he had endured. ¶ paysius brother of the holy father pastor/ had familiarity with some brethren/ whereof the said pastor was evil content. and for to correct him he went to make of him complain to th'abbot ammonas in saying to him/ that he might no more endure such things. ¶ thabbot ammonas answered to him to give him matter of patience/ ha pastor thou hast yet good live & strong. go go in thy cell/ & consider that thou hast an hot heed & an high courage/ how well that thou art nigh the point for to be laid in thy grave or tomb. and by that concluded the said pastor/ that all labour & adversity which cometh to us is light to bear/ so that we have silence and peace in our heart without grudging. ¶ there was an hermit a brother which was hurt of an other/ & for to be avenged he complained to the abbot sysoy/ saying that if he would not do right to him & reason/ that he himself would avenge it. the holy man sysoy prayed him affectuously/ that he should do nothing to him that had hurt him ne to do to him any dysplesyr/ but to leave to god the vengeance. the brother full of malygnyte abode in his evil will protesting alway to avenge him. thabbot seeing his obstination/ prayed him that first he should make his orison & prayer to god/ & after accomplish his will/ of that which request the said brother was content/ & so put them both to pray unto our lord together. this done the abbot sysoy said god is not much necessary to evil people/ for he will venge him of their wrongs done by them. the hermit hearing that changed his will & fill down to the abbot sysoy in promising that he would do no dyspleasyr to him that had hurt him. ¶ an other brother seeing his fellow bearing a deed man to the earth/ prayed him that he would here with him the living/ that is to say/ that he should endure that/ which the living men shlode say to him or do/ and in so doing he should bear them. ¶ and to this purpose is founden of a brother/ the which oft frequented and honoured all them that died to him reproof and wrongs/ and by that he refrained their ire. ¶ in like wise it happeth oft-times that they/ the which correct them by wrongs/ getten good manners/ by the moyen of such wrongs. for it is written/ they that bless and praise you/ beguile your souls. ¶ certain thieves on a time entered in to the cell of an holy aeged father/ and said to him. father we will have all that is here within. ¶ to whom he answered/ that they should bear away all that which seemed to them good. ¶ and so they bore away all that was in his cell/ safe a little sack/ which lay in a corner. and when the holy father found it he ran after them and bare to them the said sack saying. my children ye have forgotten this sack/ take it with you to th'end that ye have all. the thieves marveled them of his great patience/ & rendered all to him again/ and were after all their life penitent saying each to other/ verily this holy father is the servant of god full of the virtue of patience. ¶ the holy faders witnessen that an hermit had with him a young disciple replenished with all evil will. on a time among other the holy man reproved him of his sin in saying to him. my son do not that. that not withstanding the same disciple amended not himself/ wherefore thermit seeing that he was pertynax & obstinate he corrected him no more/ but concluded in himself/ to suffer him to do what him good seemed. after that yet he died worse/ for he shit & closed the cell of the said hermit. in the which was no more but three loves only/ & suffered him fast three days/ during the which time/ the said hermit said no thing ne died to him. ¶ this knowing an other hermit his next neighbour made pottage for him & delivered it to him by an hole of the wall of his cell/ & asked him wherefore his disciple was so long or he came/ he answered without any anger/ that when it pleased him he should come again. ¶ many philosophers being together in a place/ passed by them a religious well and honestly clothed after his estate. the philosophers desiring to prove the patience of the religious man called him in saying to him. ha monk come and speak to us/ and so he died. ¶ after this passed an other great monk and of low condition/ to whom the philosophers saiden. ha monk foolish and evil come and speak with us/ incontinent he went to them and anon as he was comen/ one gave a buffet to him on the cheek. after which buffet by him received which was armed with patience/ presented to them that other cheek after the counsel of ihesu christ/ when they knew his patience/ they praised him/ and made him to sit in the mids of them/ saying/ verily this is a very monk. ¶ after they demanded how moche more penance do ye in desert than they that be in the world. for they said/ if ye fast/ so do we/ if ye chastise your body/ so do we/ then what do ye more than we. the monk answered/ we live in hope/ and we keep silence and our thought fro thinking evil. the phylophres hearing this last answer/ praised them saying that it was an hard thing that to do to them that been in the world/ for they themself could not do it. ¶ an holy father had a dycyple of great patience/ the which on a time/ by cause that he was angry put him anon out of his house. ¶ the good disciple was not proud/ but yielded him humbly and patient went not from the door of his fair father/ to fore the which when the father opened his door/ the disciple anon fill down on his knees/ in asking him forgiveness ¶ the holy father greatly amarveled of his patience said to him. ha my son from hens forth thou shalt be my father/ for by thine humility and patience/ thou hast overcome my pusyllanymyte. enter and go in my son/ thou shalt be holden and reputed my father. and i that am old shall be thy young disciple/ that is to say/ that i am younger than thou in virtues. for by thy great patience constantly suffered/ thou hast put down my feeble age. ¶ and to this purpose recounten some holy faders/ that many young religious men nowrysshed them that been old because of their evil governance. and principally we find of an old hermit which made not in a day & night but one mat/ the which he sold anon and drank the money which he had received. so it happened that a young brother with him lodged/ which also every day made a mat/ the which in like wise the same old man sold with the his/ & employed in win all the money that he had received for them & after drank it without to bring any thereof to his disciple safe only a little breed which he brought to him at even. this life lad the old father by the space of three year/ without any grudging of the young man or any evil word. after considering that he was naked & he eat not but breed not half enough/ purposed him to depart and to go in to an other hermitage/ but on that other side he considered that he ought to endure it for the love of god. and that he was not hermit for any other thing but for to do penance/ wherefore he concluded that he would not depart out of his hermitage. ¶ and anon an angel appeared to him saying. brother depart not/ for to morn we shall come to the. of this apparition was much joyous the young disciple. and after he prayed his old father thermit that on the morn he would not go out of his cell in to the town as he was accustomed to go every day/ and that his friends should come seek him. the hour comen that the said hermit was accustomed to go for to sell his mats/ he said to his disciple. my son i will go to sell our mats. for they for whom thou abidest seen that it is now late/ will not come this day. ¶ the disciple answered. my father know for truth that they shall come. and in saying those words he rendered and yielded up his spirit. then the old father began to cry/ alas alas/ a long time it is that i have lived in this desert in great negligence of my health/ and thou virtuous child by the patience that thou hast had of me in a little time hast taken by assault the royame's of heaven. and fro thenne forthon the old hermit became much sober/ & lived more holily than he had be accustomed. ¶ great patience and marvelous suffered a common woman & was named thays/ the which was of so great beauty garnished/ that for her pleasant maintain and swear regard many young fresh and lecherous persons sold their rents and revenues for to entreteyne and accompany the said thays. and in th'end they came to shameful poverty and mendycyte. and that worse/ detestable & more dangerous thing was/ by cause that many pretended to enjoy her everich at his own will. oftentimes her door was bloody with the blood of the young men that in great number fought for her an holy father abbot named paphunce advertised of her poor & miserable life/ & desiring to withdraw the said thays from her evil life/ clad him self in secular habit/ & took money for to go to the house of the said thays dwelling then in a city of egypte the holy saint fond her in her house and after that he had salued her/ he presented & offered to her a sheling for her reward of the sin which he feigned to commise with her. thays which took of all hands received the shilling/ & made the good man to enter in to her chambre/ where as was a bed richly arrayed/ & covered with a precious covering upon which she lay/ bidding him to come & to do his lechery. but he that desired other thing than to commise that dishonest sin/ by a manner of dread/ prayed her that if there were a place more secret within there that she would lead him thither/ to th'end that none should see them. to the which she answered in this wise that her chambre was secret enough/ & that theridamas should no person see them there. but she said that theridamas is no place so secret in the world that any thing can be hid from god/ which knoweth and seeth all things. the holy father hearing this answer said to her/ my friend knowest thou well that there is a god/ ye said she. and i believe the resurrection general/ and after the same we shall have the royalme of heaven/ if we do the works required for to come thither. and ferther more i believe that there is hell/ in which shall be tormented the miserable dampened persons for the perpetual vengeance of their sins. the holy father paphunce hearing these words said to her. now my friend i ask the sith thou knowest these things/ how thou art so hardy to live so meschauntly/ & to be cause of the perdition and loss of so many miserable soul's/ which been by th'occasion of the so yrremyssybly lost and dampened/ and of whom thou must relde account to fore god. thays hearing the holy father/ and his marvelous remonstraunces was at the hour touched to the heart/ that she fill down on her knees to fore him saying. father i hope that by great penance and mean of thy holy prayers i shall mow obtain remission of my great and foul stinking sins. and therefore i require the that it please the to give me the space of three hours. and them passed i shall accomplish all that which thou wilt command me/ the which request the holy paphunce accorded to her. and assigned to her a place to the which she promised to come & yield her to him. and incontinent the done/ she took all the goods that she had gotten by her lechery/ & bare them in to the mids of the city/ and there she threw them in to a great fire/ which she had kindled for to bren. and in so doing she said. come hither ye dishonest lecherous people which so much shamefully have sinned with me/ & see how i dispose that which ye have given to me. and saying the said words she brent all generally that she had of any value/ which well amounted after that the history containeth to forty pound of gold. that done she went to the place to her assigned by the said father/ which tarried there for her. and fro thence he led her in to a monastery of virgins where as she was by him closed in a cell little & straight/ of the which he closed the door/ as he should never have opened it/ & made a little window a low by the ground by which she might receive a little breed and water/ without any other thing to eat or drink. and with that she had none withdraught/ where as she might do her aysement/ but under her. when she was shut and closed in/ she required humbly the holy father paphunce/ that he would instruct and teach her the manner after that which she should pray unto god. to the which he answered that she was not worthy to adore him ne to left up her visage ne her hands toward heaven/ which had be cause of commysing so many filths and corruptions. ¶ and yet said the holy father. thays thy prayer shall be made in this manner/ thou being laid on the earth toward the east shalt say many times. my god which haste formed me have pity on me. ¶ this good woman thays died this penance three year during/ the which three year passed/ the holy father paphunce had mercy and pity of her/ but yet nevertheless he would not let her out/ without to have counsel of the abbot anthonye/ the which after that the said paphunce had recounted the great penance that she had done/ made to be assembled and put to prayer all his disciples for to know if her sin were forgive and pardonned/ hoping that god should show or do be showed some thing. they being in devout and fervent prayers/ one of them named paulus which was of the principal disciples of saint anthonye was suddenly ravished/ and him thought that he saw in heaven a bed ●orned right preciously/ and kept with four virgins marvelously fair. then he said to himself/ that this fair bed was prepared for his master saint anthonye and for none other. ¶ and he being in this imagination/ heard a voys saying to him that it was for thays which in her time had be a common woman. ¶ on the morn early the said paulus recounted to his brethren the said vision/ the which heard by the said father paphunce/ he knew that the said thays had obtained pardon and remission of her sins. and thenne departed from thence and went unto the monastery/ where in she was enclosed. and when the good thays saw that her door was opened/ she began to cry that they should let her abide there unto her last day. but paphunce would not agree unto her petition. and said to her that she should come forth/ and that her sins were pardonned and forgiven. after that she was out/ for to declare how she had done her penance. she said to the said abbot/ that all the time that she had be closed and shut in/ there was not one minute/ but that she had considered all her sins which she had commised in weeping and wailing habondauntly. ¶ then th'abbot said to her. for the dread that thou hast had of thy sins/ god hath forgiven thee/ and not for thy penance. fifteen days after/ that she issued out of her cell/ she rendered and gave up her soul to almighty god as the history containeth. ¶ here beginneth an other history of contemplation. for as much as it is notoyre and known/ that among other virtuous works. contemplation is right excellent as that which incontinent adresseth to god. therefore in this present treatise by the grace of the holy ghost we shall determine of contemplation/ in proceeding forthon by examples/ like as we have done tofore. then in the first party of this first chapter/ is showed the great excellence of contemplation by one example as it followeth. ¶ an holy man came in sychye to the abbot gluttony being in his cell/ and when he was come he found his door shut/ and he began to behold by the window/ & saw the holy abbot which was all in a flame withoutforth. & after he knocked at the door. and anon the holy father sprang up/ demanding him if he had be long there at his door/ & if he had seen any thing. the brother answered that nay and so they spacke to gydre/ and after departed. ¶ thexposyconnexposition of this ensample will say/ that they that be contemplative been all brenning of charity which maketh them to burn spiritually. ¶ thabbot arsenye said/ that one of the holy faders of sychye/ because that he was simple fill in error/ how well that he had lived & justly after his power. and the said poor man said that in the sacrament of the altar was not contained the very body of ihesu christ but only the likeness & representation of him. and this error came to the knoweleche of two other old men/ the which knowing that he lived right holily. and that he said this folly by simpleness/ camen to him and saiden in this manner. father we have herd say of an infydele and untrue christian man/ that the very body of ihesu christ is not contained in the sacrament of the altar/ but only there is his likeness & semblance. to whom the said father answered/ it is i that have so said. ¶ then one of them replied to him saying/ alas father believe not so. but believe that which the holy church believeth and as we believe. for in the sacrament of the altar is the very body and blood of our saviour ihesu christ/ and not only his semblance or likeness. then answered the father. i believe not that but i see it by experience. thenne they said to him. now then father sith that thou wilt believe thus/ it behoveth the to pray to god. and also we shall pray/ that he will take fro the this error. and i believe that he shall show some thing. these words so said this foresaid father went much joyously in to his cell/ & began to pray to god in this manner/ lord god almighty which knowest that mine opinion is not malicious i pray the that it may please thee/ to show to me she troth. and in like wise the two other aeged men prayed in saying. lord god thou knowest that this holy man liveth justly and straightly/ wherefore we beseech thee/ that thou wilt declare to him/ that which he knoweth not/ touching the sacrament of the altar/ to the end that he lose not the reward of his labour which is so great. and the week following they came to the church all three. and in singing the mass/ theridamas appeared to them a little child in the stead of the host ye upon the altar/ which the priest held. and when the priest would divide the hosty/ came an angel that held a knife/ and sacrefyed the same child to god the father/ and received the blood within the chalice. and when the priest had broken the hosty in to small pieces. after that the holy man came for to receive the body of our lord/ & as the priest should deliver to him the hostye/ it seemed to him that it was a piece of flesh full of blood. then he began to cry. i believe firmly as this hour that thy very body is in this sacrament/ and thy very blood. and anon the hosty came again in his first figure & then he received it devoutly. and after the holy faders said to him. fair father our lord knowing that nature human hath horror to eat man's flesh/ hath not willed that his body should appear to men in such likeness but that it should be hid under the likeness of the whiteness of breed & the redness of wine. these things thus said they gave laud & thankings to god/ of that it pleased him to bring this man out of his error. and so they went in to their cells joyously. ¶ here ought to be noted that it is peril to simple folk to speak or dispute of such matters/ which appertaineth not but to wise men and lettred. therefore when wit faileth/ only faith sufficeth. then it behoveth to believe/ as the church believeth/ without to inquire any ferther. ¶ thabbot danyell said that an holy man much rightful that dwelled in egypt fill in an error/ in saying that melchysedech was the son of god the which thing hearing cyryllus archbishop of alexandria sent to him. father i have conceived in my thought that melchysedech was the son of god but after i have believed contrary. i pray the then that thou wilt pray to god for me/ & send to me that i may know the truth. then the holy man prayed god/ & at th'end of three days he send word to the bishop/ that melchysedech was a man mortal/ & not the son of god/ saying that he hath had very knowledge/ by that which god had showed him by an other all the patriarchs that have been sith adam unto the said melchysedech and that the same angel among the other had showed the said melchysedech in naming him by his name/ wherefore he was certain that he had been a man mortal/ & also that he was not the son of god. and by this moyen he was out of the error/ in which he had been in to fore. ¶ a young child named effrem saw in his sleep a vine with so great abundance charge & replenished with fruit that all the birds of heaven eaten thereof/ weening to minish the fruit/ but the more they eat/ the more came again. that is to say that in time to come he shall teach all the earth in good and virtuous operations by preaching & wholesome doctrine. ¶ an other good holy man saw in his sleep a legion of angels/ descending from heaven which brought a book written within & without/ the which might not be opened as they said/ but by the child effrem. and him seemed that they delivered to him the book afore said/ & he opened it. on the morn effrem began to teach all the world by predication. and by this vision the holy man knew that it was by the virtue of the holy ghost. ¶ an holy father named johan saw three monks upon the rivage of the see/ to whom was said. take wings & flee in to that party. and anon the two flewhe without pain/ but the third unneath might flee/ but he wet himself oft. ¶ right so is it in this world. for some flee without pain & lightly. and there been rich men and mighty which flee by vain glory among the worldly people having therein all their desires & pleasances. other flewh in tribulations & pains & they were weet oft by the water of holiness. alway in th'end they passed the see of the world & tam to port sa●lewe/ that is in heaven. ¶ thabbot macharye of the region of sychye said/ when ye shall see the cell of a religious set in a place full of ghotes/ know ye then that sychye shall be nigh his end. and when ye shall see it nigh unto the trees/ it shall be at beginning. but if ye see the children to fore the cell/ flee ye thence/ & take your vestiments. ¶ the abbot moses said to his brethren/ if we keep the commandments of god. i promise you that our enemies shall not assaylle us/ but if we despise his commandments/ know ye for certain that god shall suffer that our enemies shall destroy our habitation and dwelling. and this is consonant to the common saying/ if god be with us/ who is he that may grieve us/ as who saith they that keep the commandments of god/ been by him kept & preserved fro evil. ¶ thabbot moses being in his cell said to his brethren/ my friends this day our enemies the barbaryns shall come hither for to put us to death/ and therefore flee we for to eschew the death then the brethren saiden to him. and thou holy father shall thou not flee. to whom he answered nay saying that he had long time abiden that day/ to th'end that the word of god were accomplished. that is to wite/ that all they that smite with sword/ with the sword shall die. then the brethren saiden to him/ sith that thou wilt abide we will abide/ and die with the. to whom the holy man replied in this wise. i have no cause ne occasion to go away/ but each of you see how constant he is for to endure the death. and thus as he spacke the enemies came & slew them all/ except only one/ which was not constant ne steadfast in the faith. but for fere that he had he hid him under a mat of junks. and he being there saw the angel of god bringing seven crowns/ of which he crowned th'abbot first/ & after each of the six brethren/ & thus were they very martyrs. ¶ mark the disciple of sylvanus said to his master willing to go in to syrye. father if it please thee/ abide three days to th'end that i conucye the and so carried the holy man unto the third day/ and that day comen/ his clerk died. ¶ thabbot johan which had be bamnysshed of one named marcyen/ came on a time to th'abbot pastor for to ask of the hardness of a man's heart/ whom seeing pastor began to speak & said to him/ the nature of the water is to be fit & sweet/ and the nature of the stone is to be hard & of great resistance/ yet alway is it seen that the drops of water that falleth upon the stone/ finably at last it pierceth it/ not of the violence caused of the water/ but by the continual dropping of the said water upon the same stone. and so it is said he of the word of god. for it is sweet & loft. and our heart is hard & obstinate. not for as much/ if one heareth it oft in fervent devotion/ it maketh in our heart which is hard as a stone an hole of the dread of god. it is written by the psalmist. that like as the heart desireth to the fountain of clear water & clean when he is much weary/ all in like wise our soul coveteth and desireth to come to god/ which is the water of life by grace. ¶ a brother demanded of th'abbot pastor/ what the scripture signifieth saying that a man should not do evil for evil to whom the holy man answereth/ that may be do in four manners. first in thought. secondly in beholding. thirdly in word. fourthly in operation ontward & in deed. thus thenne if thou think not evil to an other/ behold him not dyspytously/ & if thou behold him not by ire ne by despite/ thou shalt not speak evil of him. and if the speak not evil of him/ thou shalt do no outward work ne thing that not grieve ne annoy him. thus it is said at beginning/ that one ought to resist & put remedy to the principles or beginning. and this is consonant to the word of god where he saith/ love ye your enemies/ and do ye good to them that hate you/ & also do ye none evil for evil/ but good fyr evil. ¶ an holy man named basil said that in a monastery of women/ was a vugyne that feigned herself demoniac & out of her mind/ in so much that all the other fled/ & would not eat ne felashyp with her. and this woman would so live because she would be in the kechyne/ & do all that there was necessary for the other systres/ & all that which was to do in the monastery concerning the household. and she died all this for to have the more pain & labour considering that which out lord saith in holy scripture/ if any of you saith he/ repute himself wise in this world. it behoveth him first to correct himself/ & repute himself a fool tofore that he be wise. ¶ and in an other place is said that the wisdom of this world/ is but folly toward god and this virgin was all bare heed serving all the other systres in their affairs/ & with great pain might any see her eat/ she sat never at table/ and drank of the washing of pots where in the wine had be/ & she died never wrong ne dyspleasyr to any other for any thing/ she never grudged ne spacke to person/ and oft-times because she spacke not/ she was beaten & injuried of the other systres/ but she endured & suffered all for the love & honour of god and because she would not suffer the good to be oppressed of the evil. god showed to a good holy man whose name was pyterius the life of this holy woman/ so heard this holy man a voys saying to him. pyterius which reputest thyself a moche holy man/ if thou wilt see a woman more just than thou/ go in to the monastery of tabenesyens where as be many holy religious women/ & her whom thou shalt see crowned on the heed/ know thou that she is better than yu. for in fighting every day against a great people/ her heart departeth not fro my love/ but thou that dwellest all alone/ sometime thou hast not the virtue for to resist the temptations. the holy father herd this revelation/ departed incontinent/ & came in to that monastery/ & prayed his brethren/ which had the charge of the religious women/ that they would suffer him to enter in to the monastery with them. the brethren seeing the said father holy & good life & also strongly aged made him to enter in without any suspicion. and in beholding the religious women/ saw none that had a crown on her heed. then he said to them me seemeth that there lacketh here one sister of you. they said to him that there was yet one all foolish & kept the kechyne/ saying furthermore/ that she sometime was tormented with the fiend which grieved her sore. this words so said/ the holy father prayed that he might see her. then anon they went to fet her/ but she would not come/ unto the time that it was said to her that the holy man pyterius was there within which had great desire to see her. and incontinent as she heard him named she went to him/ for he was greatly renowned in that region she being comen to fore the holy abbot pyterius/ he fill flat down to her feet saying. my friend i pray the give to me thy blessing/ she in like wise fill down to the feet of the holy abbot asking also his blessing. the other systres seeing this thing were greatly amarveled/ & saiden to him. alas holy father desire not to ask the blessing of this woman/ for she is foolish & out of her wit. then answered the holy father/ ye been all fools/ & this virgin is wise & she is my nun & yours & he named her so/ because they named in like wise the devout virgins in the region. and i pray to god said the holy father/ that at the day of judgement that i may be also worthy & capable of the felicity everlasting as she/ the which thing heard/ all the other systres fill down to her feet/ & confessed that they had sinned in diverse manners unto her. some for they had thrown the washing of the dishes upon her/ other oft-times and without cause had beaten her/ & other in mocking her had filled her nose with mustard. and generally all the other confessed that they had done to her marvelous injuries whereof they all demanded of her surgeon & forgiveness. and thenne the holy man departed. and from then forthon the systres had in great reverence the said holy virgin marvelously. but a little time after/ because that she might not endure the loving & praising of the world/ she went secretly out of the monastery/ & never after heard they any thing of her. ¶ here after followed the second chapter of contemplation. a young brother named zacharye went to his abbot named sylvanus for to speak to hyym/ but he found him in contemplation having his hands lift up to heaven. and he seeing that he shut the door/ & went his way. after he came again at the hour of sext/ and at the hour of none. and finably he came at ten of the clock at night/ & knocked at door & entered in/ & he found him that he rested. nevertheless he asked of him saying. helas father what haste thou had this day/ when i was comen hither to the the which answered that he was seek. then the brother fill down ate his feet & said to him. father if thou say not to me what thou hast had. i shall not leave the to go. then said the holy man. i have be ravished to heaven & have seen the glory of god/ & have be detained there unto this hour. ¶ some of the old faders saiden that as they spoke of the holy scriptures & words edyfycatyf/ they saw th'angels enjoy & praise god. and after that they began to speak of worldly things & unprofitable/ they saw foul hogs & swine stinking come in the mids among them which made them all foul. after when they began to speak again of god/ they saw again the angels semblably as they died tofore. that is to say that god is with them that speak of god/ & the devil with them that speaken of dishonest things. ¶ an holy man said the one may sin in four manners. first in evil thought secondly in consenting to the same thought. thirdly in speaking evil of an other. fourthly in doing by work outward that which he had in his evil thought. and in all these things is not the wrath taken away/ but as he saith at the beginning. i shall not punish sometime for the three sins/ which been thought/ speaking/ & consenting/ but the fourth/ that is to say/ when with them the work shall be done i shall punish them. ¶ an holy man of sychye in making his cell/ he was on a time merry & joyous. and when the fundament was made/ he cess not till the residue was achieved. it happened on a time that in repairing he began to weep. the brethren asked him why he wept. and he answered them/ that he had a great cause of heaviness/ for it had be showed to him/ that that place should be desolate & destroyed. and said also. i have seen the fire once in sychye/ the which hath be quenched/ & i saw it also the second time/ & it was also quenched/ but the third time i have seen a marvelous & so great a fire that hath brent all sychye & might not be quenched/ & therefore i have cause to be sorowfulll. ¶ an holy man said it is written in the psalmyst. the just shall flourish/ as the palm of the forest of lybane. and by this it is showed that the good works shall have for their salayre sweet fruit/ rightful/ & noble/ for in the palm is a part sweet & white/ & like wise is in the heart of the rightful man for he is sweet by mercy & pity/ & white by illumination of faith. and he is strong to resist against the temptation of the fiend of hell. ¶ the good sunamyte received helyzee the prophet in to her house/ not that she had any carnel affection toward him/ for she was holy & just/ but she received him as a guest. ¶ morally by this sunamyte is signified the soul/ & by helyzee the holy ghost. thus then as oft-times as our soul is withdrawn and separate from worldly things & secular in adressyng it to god/ so oft the holy ghost cometh anon for to lodge him in the soul/ & thenne the soul which tofore was barren of good works may bring forth good & holy works. ¶ an other holy man said that in like wise as we see a swine which is all foul & may not lift his eyen toward heaven but alway looked downward/ so in like wise is the soul of a lecherous man/ that which detained by his right foul desire & covetise may not think but on earthly things/ ne lift up the eye of contemplation for to know in what estate he is/ but he hath his taste so infect that he may not savour any thing that is divine or godly. ¶ a man of moche holy life said that he that rendered himself religious by good devotion/ in taking thabyte of ꝓfessyon received as much grace as doth he that is baptized/ & how be it the at bapteme is given plenitude of grace/ in likewise he saith that in profession of holy religion is given plenitude of grace. ¶ god gaaf on a time to an holy old man the power to see all that the other died & made/ & so he saw on a time a brother which was in meditation & thought on god/ & the devil being without/ which might not enter during the meditation/ but anon as he cess to think on god/ the devil entered in to his cell/ that is to wite/ if we think on god/ the devil shall not enter in to the cell of our soul/ but if we think on worldly things/ anon he shall enter & slay us by sins. ¶ an holy man prayed to god that he might see the fiends. to whom was answered/ thou hast none need to see thine adversaries/ but he prayed alway to god that he would show them to him. and anon by revelation divine he saw a great legion of fiends assembled on a mountain like as bees which flee about men on all sides/ but the angels of god were by that chased away the fiends & put them aback. ¶ an holy old man had two neyghbour●/ of whom the one was a stranger & the other of the royame's. the stranger was slothful/ & the other was much diligent. it happened that the stranger died/ & anon the holy man that was his neighbour saw by revelation the angels leading his soul in to joy. and as he supposed to have entered in to heaven was made question of him/ that is to wite if he ought to enter. then he heard a voys from on high which said it is certain that this stranger hath be a little negligent/ but for as much that he is a strauger & that he hath do penance open the gate to him. some after came to the article of death the diligent which was of the cō●re/ & anon his friends came to see him/ but he died. and also the holy man knowing that he was deed/ looked if he might see changellies come/ like as he saw them come to the soul of the stranger/ but he saw none appear. then all heavy & admerualled be done flat to the earth & said/ alas the stranger that was moche sloth is in heaven/ & this man that was much diligent may have none enter. thenne was said to him that he that was diligent had at hour of his death sorrowed for his temporal goods & for his friends which wept for him/ but that straunhad none friends at his death/ & by this appeareth the none aught to present to him that dieth his children or his wife/ to the end that his health should not be let. ¶ an other holy man said that theridamas was an hermit in the hermitage of the city of nile/ to whom a good secular man ministered to him all his necessities/ & in this city was a man much rich & right evil which died/ & was born with great honour by the bishop & principals of the town/ with great number of torches unto his sepulture. this good secular man that had seen this great solemnity/ went soon after to thermit/ for to deliver to him that was necessary/ but when he came to th'hermitage/ he found that this holy man had be eaten of wild beasts/ thenne he fill his face to the ground flat/ concluding that he would not arise till he knew fro whence this thing preceded/ that is to wite/ that the rich man which was so perverse had had so great honour in his death. and the holy hermit that served day & night god was alone deed piteously/ & because he was herfore in devout orison/ there came an angel to him the said/ that the rich man had had these goods & worldly honours/ for to reward him for some small good deeds which he had done in his life/ but not withstanding he was in way of damnation for his sins that he had commised. but the solitary hermit/ because he had be somewhat defoiled of sin where of he had contrition/ he had suffered this evil/ because he was clean tofore god/ & finably have rest perdurable/ & so he was comforted & returned praising god. ¶ an holy man said that he had seen a moche aged woman a virgin/ of whom he asked wherefore she had choose the estate of virginity. to whom she answered syghynly/ alas holy father when i was young. i had my father well attempered & soft. just & virtuous in conversation/ the which was feeble & oft seek & was so secret in his deeds/ that sometime his neighbours in long time saw him not/ & occupied his time to labour his land. and if by adventure he found himself well disposed/ then bore he the fruit of his labour in to his house but the most great part of the time he was seek in his bed/ & spack so little that they that had not known him/ would have said that he had be dumb. ¶ but all contrary i had my mother/ she was fair without attemperance & more dishonest in conversation than all the women of this region/ she was replenished with all vices/ as of evil words/ engendering noises & dissensions between friends/ she was dronklew & lecherous/ & wasted all our goods/ for she had the charge of all the house because that my father was seek. and how be it that she was cause of the sin of infinity number of people by her evil manners. nevertheless she was never seek/ but was hole of her body unto the death. among these things it happened that my father by the violence of his great sicknesses became fro life to death. and incontinent the air began to move/ to rain & thunder so much that his body might not be buried unto the third day/ because of the great abundance of rain. that seeing the neighbours marveled saying that it was to doubt that this man was deed in deadly sin/ & that he had so evil lived/ that the air in sign of repreef might not suffer that he should be buried nevertheless to th'end that the body should not infect the house/ during the rain & tempest we bore him to th'earth. after my mode which used evil her body & made an open bordello of our house dispended all that we had. and finably she came at her last day & died. in the death of whom it seemed to everich that the air & the other elements died to her honour in her obsequys. for the air was clear & clean without wind without thunder/ & without any tempest. then i deported in my young age/ & by fastings & afflictions i began to refrain the motions of lechery in my body/ & on an even i began to think/ whether it were better for to follow that life of my father/ or of my mother. and also i considered that my father during his life had never wealth/ but in all misery he finished his days. and yet in th'end with great pain he was buried. and also i doubted if his life had be good/ because he had so many evils/ & so i concluded to live as my mother had done/ & purposed in myself to follow her. but it happened that during this thought i fill a sleep. and anon after there appeared to me a man with a dreadful sight which asked me what i thought. and how well i refused to say to him my thought. alway in th'end in asking him forgiveness i confessed to him my thoughts/ & that done he said to me/ come with me/ and i shall show to the thy father & thy mother & after thou shalt these which life of them thou wilt. then he took me by the hand/ & brought me in to a field sweet & pleasant/ where as was great abundance of fruits. and anon came my father which enbrached me & kissed me calling me his daughter/ & i enbrached him again/ praying him that i might dwell with him/ the which said to me/ my daughter thou mayst not now dwell here/ but if thou wilt thou shalt come hither shortly. and anon he that lad me withdrew me & said. i shall show the thy mother that brenneth in the pit of hell/ & so he lad me in to a dark place where as were all misery/ weepings and wailings. there was a for●ays full of pitch boylling with infenyte number of fiends of so honyble figure that may not be said/ & thus when i beheld sow a down. i beheld my mother brenning in the formays unto the neck/ which grynted her teeth by force of great pain. and when she saw me she began to cry/ alas my daughter i suffer this pain for my demerits/ for i have despised the rule of soberness. alas i supposed not that the works of fornication should be thus punished/ ne for gluttony i should have run in to this damnation. now thou seest that for my delights & pleasaunces & for the breaking of the commandments of god i endure these pains which be so great that no tongue may express/ ne heart think/ & therefore my daughter i pray the that thou have pity & mercy on me that burn in this fire without consuming. behold piteously my pain/ & leanly me thy hand for to draw me out from this pain. thenne i said alas my mother. i dare not for the multitude of fiends which be here assystent/ thenne she began more strongly to cry in saying/ alas my daughter/ art thou so cruel that thou despisest the tears of thy wretched mother/ remember that when i childed & bore thee/ & of the grievous pains that i had for the and anon i began to weep so greatly & so loud that they of the house camen & saw me in my bed how marvelously i had wept/ to whom i recounted all the caas & vision. and therefore i have determined to follow the life of my father/ & not the life of my mother/ to the end that finably i may come to the glory of heaven. ¶ an holy man said that the religious people ought to have in honour & reverence specially three things the first the communication of the holy sacrament of the altar. the second is the table where they eat & drink. the third is the bacyn wherein they wash their feet. ¶ the same holy man recounteth an example of an holy man/ which eat once with a great multitude of religious men/ & so doing him seemed that some of them eat honey/ other eat breed the other foul ordure/ whereof he marveled/ & prayed to god that he would show to him what signified this sight of one manner meet which had be set to them all. thenne came a voys saying to him/ that they that eat honey been they that come to the table of the holy sacrament/ with dread & reverence to god/ & pray god without ceasing/ and their prayer mounteth up to heaven with incense. but they that eat breed/ been they that eat in giving thankings to god/ because they know the benefayt● of god & the goods that they receive of him. and the other which eat of th'ordure and filth/ been they that grudge against god/ & praise him not/ but we ought not to do so. for we ought alway to praise & thank him/ to th'end that we may accomplish that which he commandeth us saying/ if ye eat or if ye drink or if ye do any other thing/ do ye it all in the name of god. ¶ of signs and miracles. ¶ here followeth an other treatise where in been recited and rehearsed the signs and miracles which were done by the holy faders. the abbot bysaryon walking on a time upon a river. and after that he had goon over dry feet. thabbot dulas demanded him if he felt his feet wet upon the water. and he answered that he was in the water unto the heel's/ but the which was under his feet was farm & steadfast & dry ground. the said bysaryon going to visit one his friend/ the night came upon him/ but he prayed to god that it should not come unto that he had visited the holy man/ & so it was. ¶ a man possessed with a fiend came oft in to the church of sychye/ for to do pray for him/ to th'end that the devil should leave him & go out of his body/ & how well that theridamas had be made many prayers for him in the church alway he might not be helped ne guarished/ then said the priests of the church/ which had prayed for him/ but if th'abbot bysaryon prayed for him/ he should not be hole ne guarished/ & then they made him to sit in the place where as the said abbot was accustomed to sit/ & put them to prayer. and on the morn came th'abbot bysaryon for to sit in his place/ & seeing that it was occupied said to the patient. arise thou/ & go out from hens/ and incontinent the fiend which the man possessed went his way and the man was all hole which tofore was demoniac. ¶ some aged faders said to th'abbot elye/ that th'abbot agathon was an holy man/ he answered to them/ that he so was after his generation. thenne they asked him if he was not holy as other aged & old men. to whom he answered i have seen in sychye a man that might tarry the son as died jesus the son of nave/ by the which answer they knew that he was of more great virtue. ¶ the abbot sysoy said that he being with th'abbot macharye/ he saw in a field where they died reap in harvest/ & a woman gadring & glening the straws of wheat/ & cess not for to weep. thenne asked they of macharye wherefore she wept. and the master of the field said to him that her husband had taken & received to keep of a man a certain some of money which he had hid in a place unknown/ for the more surelyer to keep it. and after he was prevented & taken away by death without declaring to any person the place where the said money was. for the restitution whereof/ they that had delivered it to keep/ pursyewed rigorously the said woma● & her children in menacing & threatening them to put them in servitude if they restored not the said money. thabbot macharye moved with pity died do call this woman to him/ & made her to bring him upon the sepulture of her husband/ & after sent her to her house. then began he & his brethren to pray god for this widow/ & when the prayer was done macharye called the said husband of the widow that was there buried & asked of him where he had saide the money/ which had be delivered to him to keep the which anon began to speak & said. it is hid in my chambre under the foot of my bed. thenne said to him the holy man macharye. go & rest the unto the day of judgement/ of which thing his brethren were greatly amarveled & adradde/ & fill down all to the feet of the holy man/ which said to them. helas' my brethren this hath not ●e done for the love of me/ for i am as nothing/ but it hath be done for to succour this poor woman & her poor orphans which be fatherless. and know ye verily/ that if ye live holily & rightwisely/ all that ye shall ask of god/ god shall grant it to you lightly. thus then went they forth in to the house of the poor widow/ & showed to her the place where this money was. and she humbly thanking him took it/ & rendered & delivered it to him that asked it. and all they that herd & knew of this miracle/ praised & gave laud to god. ¶ emylius an holy man as he passed by the way saw a monk which was holden of certain men/ which would make him believe that he was a murderer. thenne demanded the holy man wherefore they held him in such wise and they went & said that he was a murderer. and the holy man asked where is he that hath be murdered & slain. and anon they showed him to him/ and he approached to the deed body/ and said to the assistants/ pray ye for him/ and went & began to pray in lifting up his hands. and incontinent the deed man aroos/ and after the holy man demanded him saying who hath slain thee/ he answered. i was entered within a temple/ and i had given to a priest my silver to keep/ the which for mine haviour hath slain me/ and hath thrown me in to the house and habitation of this religious man here. and therefore i pray you that he yield again the money/ & that it may be delivered to my children/ and anon at the commandment of the holy man the soul departed fro the body. ¶ a company of holy people & old camen to th'abbot pastor. and as they were with him/ came a man which was cousin to th'abbot pastor/ the which had a child/ that had his face turned backward by thoperation of the devil/ & when he was comen he durst not speak to his cousin/ but weeping he held him without/ wherefore come one of the holy faders & asked him wherefore he wept. the man said. my child hath the visage turned backward/ for which cause i have brought him to th'abbot pastor my cousin for to he'll him/ but i dare not enter in to him. for i wot well he loveth me but a little/ but if it please thee/ lead my child to him that he hele him. thenne the holy man took the child. and by the prayers of the brethren and of th'abbot pastor/ how well that he refused it was this child guarished & made all hole & rendered to his father. ¶ an holy man named paulus dwelling in egypt nigh unto thebayde took of these address & serpent's/ & divided them in to pieces/ without that he was in any wise hurt/ the which thing seeing the brethren asked him. father mayst thou thus break these serpents without to hurt● the. to whom he said. my brethren if a man have his conscience pure & clean/ all things be to him subject. all in like wise as to adam tofore that he sinned/ all things create were submised to him. ¶ julyan thappostata sent on a time a devil in to pierce for to do a message/ to th'end that he might sooner have done/ but in going the devil came in to an hermitage/ in the which he was constrained by the prays & continual orisons of an holy man/ to tarry there/ as unmovable by the space of ten days/ & might go no ferther. for the religiouses prayden day & night without ceasing/ which thing considered/ the devil came again without doing any thing/ & said to julyan apostata. i might not go in to pierce for a monk named publius the which by his prayers hath kept me/ thenne purposed julyan thapostate at his returning to do slay this monk/ but he died on the way/ & anon his provost went & sold all his goods/ & came & rendered himself to be a monk with publius/ & was a moche holy man in th'end. ¶ a secular man coming to the abbot sysoy in to the mountain of the holy father anthonye had a son which died on the way/ & then the father without troubling of himself/ but in steadfast faith & hope took him & bore him to this holy man/ praying him that he would raise him from death to life/ & laid him down at the feet of the holy man/ & went out of his cell. sysoy weening that the child was not deed said to him. arise up & go thy way. and incontinent he aroos & leep going forth. that seeing the father entered in to his cell/ & worshipped the holy man/ the which thing he would not that he should do/ & therefore the disciple of the said holy man commanded to the secular man/ that he should say nothing thereof till the holy man were deed. ¶ the disciple of th'abbot sysoy named abraham was on a time tempted of the fiend. that seeing then the holy man began to lift up his hands to heaven & said. my god i shall not cease to pray thee/ unto that this temptation leave my disciple/ & incontinent by the prayer of the holy man/ he was delivered of this temptation. ¶ a holy man entered on a time in to a cave where he found a lion/ which began to grynte with his teeth & to cry/ to whom the holy man said/ wherefore art thou wroth/ is not here place enough for the & me/ and if it please not the to be with me/ then go thy way/ and anon the lion also peaceably as a lamb went his way & departed. ¶ an holy man went from sythys in to termutye. and when the people of the country saw him much travailed/ they gave to him a little wine for to make him strong again & comfort him. and other of them led him to a man that was vexed with a wicked spirit in his body. and when he was comen thither the fiend began to curse the holy man saying/ wherefore have ye brought to me this drunkard here. and the holy man would not by great humility that he had/ conjure this fiend/ but because he called him drunkard he said. i believe in god my maker/ that ere i have drunken this/ thou shalt spring and go out of this man. and the while that he drank/ the devil cried/ thou brennest me. and tofore that the holy man had achieved to drink the said little wine/ the devil went his way and departed from the man. ¶ one of the holy faders sent his disciple to fetch water in a pit which was much far from his cell/ but he forgot to bear with him a cord to draw up the water and when he was comen thither/ knowing that he had left his cord at home/ began to pray and said. mine abbot hath commanded me that i should fill this vessel with water/ & incontinent the water arose and mounted unto the brink of the pit. and then he filled his vessel without cord/ & anon after the water descended in his proper naturel place. ¶ here followeth the book of the good conversation of diverse holy faders. two holy men prayden to god that he would show to them what joy they had won in their hermitage. to the which was showed/ that there was a man married in egypte/ the which was named eucharystius/ & his wife named mary/ the which had gotten more glory in heaven/ than had the said two holy brethren. then they went incontinent unto the house of the the said eucharystius. and when they were comen thither/ they found his wife at home/ which said to them that her husband was goon in to the field to keep sheep/ and that he should come home at even. then they concluded to abide and tarry for him. the even comen/ the shepherd bringing his sheep came home to his house. and seeing these two holy men/ made ready their souper and wash their feet. that done they said to him/ that they would neither eat ne drink in that hons/ till that he had told to them what life he and his wife leaden together. then eucharystius in great humility and reverence said to them. i am an herdsman and keep sheep/ and so see here my wife. and furthermore the holy men inquired of their estate/ but he durst not say the troth/ for t'eschew vain glory/ till that they said to him. our lord hath sent us hither to the. that hearing eucharystius was a feared/ and said to them/ loo here we have sheep of our parents and friends/ and that which cometh to us of them/ we depart it in to three parties/ the first part to give to the poor and needy/ the second for to lodge the pylgryms/ and the third for our living and sustentation. and sith that we have be married/ we have not deffoyled ourself by lechery/ but my wife is a clean virgin and we sleep each of us all alone/ well far that one from that other. and when the night cometh we cloth us with sacks/ but on the day we take again our clothes accustomed/ & this thing was never showed ne came to knowledge of any person till this hour this thing heard of the holy men they were sore abashed that he was better than they departed thence/ praising god. ¶ thabbot macharius of egypt came fro sychye unto the mountain of nytry/ to the monastery of the abbot pambo. and when the brethren saw him/ they began to say to him. father say to us some word edyfycatyf. to whom he answered. i am not yet a very monk/ but only i have seen the monks/ nevertheless at your request i shall say some little word. on a time being in my cell/ my thoughts chydden me/ and said to me go in to desert/ and consider all that thou shalt see/ but i fearing that these thoughts camen by the moyen of the devil. i resisted it by the space of five year/ the which accomplished i went in to desert in an hermitage/ & there i saw a pond to the which came for to drink diverse beasts/ among whom i saw two men all naked which drank/ & anon weening that this had be illusion of an evil spirit/ began to dread & tremble/ the saying the two men/ they said to me. be nothing afeard/ for we be men/ & anon i asked them from whence they were/ & they answered/ we been of this hermitage/ & this xl year we never issued out/ but as this hour by our both consent we been comen hither. that one of them was an egypcyen/ & that other of thebes they asked me/ if the water of the world came in his time/ as that of th'hermitage. and if the world had suffisance in his abundance/ to whom i said ye. and i demanded them how that i might be very religious/ to which they answered me/ if a man renounce not the world/ and all the goods of the same/ he may not be a very religious man. then i said to them well but i am feeble and frail/ and may not do as ye say. then they said to me/ if thou mayst not/ go and by wail thy sins in thy cell. and furthermore i asked them/ wherefore they were naked/ and if they felt any cold in winter/ or any heat in summer. and they answered me/ god hath done to us this privilege/ that in winter we feel no cold/ ne in summer none heat. and then i said to them. my friends i pray you pardon me/ for i say to you surely. i am not yet a very monk. ¶ thabbot sysoy was on a time in the mountain of the holy father anthonye/ and because that his servant came not/ he was there by the space of ten months without seeing of any person. after the ten months he walked in the desert & saw there an hunter/ to whom he demanded fro whence he came and how long he had be there to whom he answered/ verily fair father i have been here xi months/ & i never saw person but the. then he returned in to his cell knocking his breast & saying. alas sysoy/ thou wendest to have done great penance/ for to be resident ten months without to issue or to go out of thy cell/ but thou hast not do so much as that secular/ which for to hunt hath been xi months in this desert. ¶ the same self sysoy when he was in his cell/ he shit alway his door/ and when the day of his death was comen/ the holy faders that were about him saw his visage shining as the son he said/ so see here th'abbot anthonye that cometh. and soon after he said/ loo see the prophets which comen in a great multitude. and then they saw his visage more shining than to fore. and then he began to say/ loo here is the legion of thappostles which comen to comfort me. then after his visage became more clearer the half than it was. and anon he seemed to them that were assistant that be spoke to some other than hem self/ but they saw not to whom he spoke. they thenne demanded to whom he spoke. and he answered/ loo here been the angels which be comen for to fetch me. and i proye them that they will suffer me a while to do my penance for my sins. then saiden the holy faders alas thou hast not whereof to do penance. and he answered. my friends i know not/ if ever i died penance to god agreeable and then they knew that he was parfyght. and yet again his usage became more clearer than the sonn●/ & then be said to them. behold my brethren/ loo here is god which cometh accompanied with his angelly●. then herd they a voys which said. bear ye to heaven the vessel of dilection of this hermitage/ that is named sysoy and incontinent he rendered up his soul. and there came a marvelous clearness in his cell/ and an odour so sweet/ that everich of them marveled. the holy faders saiden that th'abbot named or never lied/ ne swore/ ne cursed any body/ and that he never said word that might engender any slander in his neighbour. the same said to his disciple/ beware that thou speak not in this cell any evil word/ that might induce the to do evil. ¶ two holy men walked on a time through the deserts of sychye. and in walking they heard a voys of a person which was in a fosse or cave/ wherefore they began to search and seek/ where they might enter in to it/ there as they heard the voys. and when they had founden it/ they entered in and found there an holy virgin moche ancient & old/ which was strongly seek. then they said to her/ good woman how art thou comen hither/ and who is he that here administered to the thy necessities. then she answered to them. my friends/ it is xxxviij year passed sith i came in to this cave and have served god and lived with roots. sith which time i never saw other men than you that been here by the will of god/ and to th'end that ye bury me and that said/ she died incontinent then these two holy faders gave praising to god/ and buried her body & after they departed thence. ¶ it is recounted of an hermit which was clothed with a sack and walked three days long by th'hermitage. atte th'end whereof he came to a stone and mounted upon it/ but by nethe he saw green grass/ and a man which eat and fed him as a brute best/ he then went down secretly and took him. but anon as this man saw him self taken/ he began to move & strogle in such wise that he escaped and fled from him. that seeing the brother began to cry & ran after him saying. abide me & tarry fair father/ for i follow the for the honour of god then the brother took of his rob and threw it from him/ and ran after this holy man. that seeing the holy father/ abode him surely in saying these words. sith that thou haste renounced the goods of the world here where we be in casting away thy vestiment. i shall abide. thus the brother came & asked counsel of the holy man/ and he said to him. eschew the men & be peaceable without overmuch speaking/ and thou shalt be saved. like a religious aught to flee worldly things/ so ought he to keep silence and be still when it is tyme. ¶ an holy hermit dwelled some time with some brethren that were in the hermitage named raython/ where as there were lxx trees of palm/ which is the place where as moses' arrived when he fled out of egypte/ with the people of israel. to which brethren one time among the other/ the same hermit rehearsed this that followeth/ in saying. on a time i went by thermitages/ desiring to find some good servant to god/ and in walking four days & four nights/ the which days passed i found an hole/ & in looking therein i saw a man within/ whom i called to the end that he should come out/ that i might sale we him/ but he reneved not/ whereby i know that he was deed. and thenne no thing dreading i entered in/ and took his scapulary/ & anon he fill to powder. then somewhat doubting. i went through the desert and came to an other fosse/ in the which dwelled an holy man/ as i well knew afterward/ whereof i was glad. and weening that there had be therein some man. i asked if there were any man within/ but there was no person. and then i went out in saying to myself/ that some man dwelled there/ wherefore he hoping that soon he should come/ and i concluded to abide & tarry. and the night coming on. i saw coming against me wild oxen/ after whom came the holy man that dwelled there/ the which was so naked/ that he had no party of his body that was covered/ but only his privy membres/ which were covered with his here. i thenne approaching to him he fill down in prayer/ weening that i had be a spirit/ but i seeing his ignorance said to him. o servant of god come hardly & be not afeard/ for i am a man as thou art/ behold and touch me to th'end that thou be certain/ his prayer achieved he beheld me/ & somewhat comforted brought me in/ in to his hole/ & demanded me wherefore i was come thither. to whom i answered. i am come hither for to know if there were here any servant of god/ & i am not defrauded of my desire/ sith that i have found the. and anon i demanded him how looge time it was passed/ that he was comen to dwell there/ & what he eat/ and how he lived being all naked/ to the which he answered me. i was first in ●habbaye of thebaid/ where i made mats/ & other handewerkes. thenne i though by myself/ that it were ●etter for me to go all alone in to some place/ to the end that i might have the ●etter rest in my conscience/ & that i might receive the pylgryms at mine ease/ & to win more of mine work/ & therefore i departed/ and made a ●elle where i dwell/ & there came to me moche people for to deliver to me work. and anon as i had assembled & gathered any good/ anon i went & d●strybuted it to the poor people/ but th● fiend which is envious upon good men/ weening to have made me to le●e the glory of heaven/ admonested a virgin/ that she should bring to me some work to make/ the which i wrought. and after she came again & brought more/ so long that bytweyne her ● me we had some famylyaryte/ & sometime she touched & held me by the h●nde/ & also otherwhile i went to et● & drink in her house. and finably ●e consented both two to the sin of the flesh/ & continued in the same sycite the space of vi months. ¶ afte●●● bethought me saying in myself. ● as i must once die & i wot not ●an/ & i know well that if i die in his sin. i shall be perpetuelly dampened. for if a man have corrupt the wife of a man/ he aught to be punished right rigorously. thenne by moche more stronger reason/ he that corrupted the spouse of god he ought to be moche more grievously punished/ wherefore i being sorrowful of my great sin/ left all my goods with the same woman/ & came by 〈◊〉 to this hermitage/ where as 〈◊〉 cave/ this pit/ & this pal●● 〈◊〉 he hath brought me fruit ●● 〈◊〉 yearly/ whereby i live. thus passion of time mine hairs been 〈◊〉/ & my clothing is rotten. and 〈…〉 with my hairs the secret & sha●● 〈◊〉 parties of my body. further●●● i demanded him if he had had ●●●●●ete temptations at beginning 〈◊〉 he came thither first/ & he answerless beginning when i came hy●●● i was strongly persecuted of the 〈◊〉 in so much that i could not p●●ye to god/ but lay down on the ground ●●yed him mercy and thus as i 〈◊〉 this sorrow/ there came a man & as●●●●e what thing i had/ to whom i sa●● that i was strongly vexed of the guy●●●●. then he put his hand in me & ●●●e out my guysyer & took away ●●●●aladye/ & put it in a cloth and 〈◊〉 he put it again in his place & said to me/ serve god now/ for thou art all ho●. and after that i had neither gryef ●●payne. and the said hermit said/ that he had required him that he might dwell there with him/ but he said to him that he should not con well surmount the temptations of the fiend. and thenne the said hermit prayed him that he would pray for him to god/ & anon after departed. this have i recounted said thermit for to edify you in our saviour ihesu christ. ¶ an holy old man that had be made bishop of the city of exyrynque said thus/ me seemed on a time the i entered in to an hermitage in to the deppest thereof for to see if i should find any of the servants of ihesu christ. and for to make my journey i took four loves & a little water/ & went four days long/ the which passed i wist not what i should do/ for i was weary/ & also had no more meet/ but in good trust & hope i began again to walk other four days without to drink or to eat. thus thenne what for fasting & for pain of walking i fill down as i had been deed. then came a man that with his finger touched me in my lips/ & anon i came in to my first strength/ & supposed not to have walked/ ne had had any hungres or thirst/ so i aroos & walked yet four days/ of which i was travailed as tofore is said/ but anon came he that first had comforted me/ & touched me again with his finger/ & anon i was guarished/ yet after all this yet i walked & continued by the space of xvij days/ the which passed i found a little house/ & a palm tree to fore the door/ within the said house there dwelled an holy hermit/ the which was clad with his hairs all white for age/ whereof he was horrible to look upon. and when he saw me/ he fill down & put himself to prayer/ weening that i had be some illusion/ but after seeing that i was a man/ he took me by the hand & demanded me/ how durst thou come hither/ and also how do they that been in the world/ been there yet persecutions as there was wont to be. then i answered to him. i am come hither for to see thee/ but the persecutions cessen by the will of god. then i demanded him/ & thou now tell to me how thou art come hither/ and incontinent with great wepyngiss and wailings he said. i was sometime a bishop/ but to eschew the pains and martyrdoms that tynfydeles would do to me. i sacrefyed to their god's/ in leaving the very god of gods/ how be it afterward i thought in myself/ that my sin was much great/ & that i had offended god right greatly/ thus for to do penance i am comen hither/ it is now xlviij year for to know/ if god have forgiven me my sin/ & i live by the fruit of this palm tree/ & have no consolation ne comfort sith the said time of xlviij year unto this hour/ for in this year i have had comfort of god and in this saying he fill down & made his prayers to god/ his prayers finished he came again to me. and when i looked on his visage i was abashed for it was all inflamed as fire. and anon he said to me/ have thou no fere/ for god hath sent the hither for to bury me/ & in this saying he died/ thenne i took the one half of my rob/ & wrapped the holy body therein & put it in to th'earth. and incontinent when he was buried/ the palm tree became all dry/ and his house fill down to the ground then in weeping i began to pray god that he would give to me this palm & fountain/ to th'end that i might accomplish there the remnant of my life. but i knowing that it was not his will i returned in to the world. and in coming again i found him which had touched my lips first/ the which comforted me/ & so i came again to my brethren/ & recounted to them that which i had seen/ in warning them that they should have good affiance & trust in the mercy of god. ¶ a brother asked of an holy father what thing in the prayer saveth the person either the words the been contained in the same/ or thintention 〈◊〉 the which it is said. to whom he answered/ that it is thintention. then ●ayd the brother. i know a man that prayed/ & in praying came in his thought to know what difference it was between ●●e soul of a ryghtwysman/ & the soul of a sinner as touching & going out. and for so moche god seeing his intention to th'end that he should not be deceived/ he sent to him a wolf in to his cell/ the which took his clothes in his mouth/ & drew the brother unto an other monastery/ where as dwelled a solitary man greatly renowned/ which approached & drew nigh his death. and anon the brother saw that there were made ready lamps & tapres for the death of this solitary man/ all in like wise as god had done so much good to them of the city by his moyen. and the people said/ if this holy man die/ we been all lost. and when it came to the hour of his death/ this brother saw a devil which had a great staff all brenning which came upon this solitary man/ & threw the fire to his heart/ & drew out the soul in saying/ all in likewise as this man hath not given to me any rest ne to himself/ all in likewise i shall have no pity on him. and in thus saying he bore away his soul to hell after the same brother entered in to the city & found a seek man unto whom no man died any service. and with him he abode a day for to comfort him/ & when the hour came that he should die he saw saint mychall and th'angel gabryell/ that one or the right side & that other on the life ●yde of this man ●o● to 〈◊〉 soul/ & prayed to the soul that it would come out/ but it would not/ & therefore said gabryell to saint mychaell. take this soul/ to th'end that we go hens. saint mychaell answered god hath commanded us/ that with violence we shall not take it away/ & therefore we shall suffer it to come out & also saint mychaell cried/ lord god what shall we do with this soul/ for it will not come for our prayers. thenne came a voys saying. lo i send to him david & all the other prophets/ to th'end that he hearing the sweetness of their haps the soul may come out. and anon david with his harp/ & the other prophets descended/ which made so sweet an harmony/ that the soul anon sprang out/ & was received in to the hands of saint mychaell/ and with great joy he bore it in to heaven. ¶ the same brother said that an holy man after that he had sold in a city nigh by his hermitage some small works/ as paners & hottes/ he sat at gate of a rich man which lay on dying. and anon he saw black horses/ & men riding on them moche horrible & black/ which everich of them had in their hands staves full of fire. and when they were at this gate they descended & set their horses at door/ & after they entered in hastily & came to the head of the rich seek man. incontinent as he saw them/ he began to cry saying. my god have mercy on me then they answered to him. remember'st the now of thy god when thou seest nothing/ & when the son of justice is failed that/ it is now no time/ wherefore hast thou not cried mercy to god to fore this hour whiles thou mightest do some what/ there is now no more hope/ for thou art ours. and in this saying they took the soul & bare it to hell. ¶ the holy faders saiden that an holy man walking by the desert saw two angels one on the right & the other on the lift side which accompanied him/ & in going they found a karayne/ thenne the good man stopped his nose for the stench & th'angels also. then said the good man to th'angels. feel ye this stench/ they answered nay/ but for as much as thou stoppest thy nose/ right so do we/ for we have horror on the souls that be stinking by sin. ¶ here begin seven chapytres/ the which the abbot moses sent to the abbot permenius. and who that keepeth them well/ shall be delivered from pain eternal. the abbot moses said that a man ought to be as a deed man to his fellow/ & verily to his friend/ to th'end/ that he judge not ne condemn him in his operations. ¶ item the same said/ that a man ought to mortify himself/ to fore his soul spring out of his body/ to th'end that he offend none. ¶ he said also if a man repute not himself a sinner/ he shall not be enhanced tofore god. then a brother asked him/ what it was to repent himself a sinner. the holy man answered that it was to think on his sins/ and no thing on the sins of his neighbours. for who the thinketh on his own/ thinketh not on them of his neighbours. ¶ the same holy man said furthermore/ if the work accord not with the prayer/ it profiteth no thing. then asked the brother/ what is the work that accordeth with prayer. the holy man answered/ that he do not that which he prayeth contrary. as if a man pray to god to take away from him his sin/ & he daily doth sin/ but it behoveth the work be consonant to his prayer/ ne that in no wise he do sin/ ne after his own will. for a man hath more merit when he refraineth his proper will for the honour of god principally. ¶ a brother demanded of this holy man/ what is it that helpeth a man in all his labours and pains. he answered that it was god. for it is written in the psalmist. god is our refuge/ strength & virtue in tribulations which persecute us strongly. ¶ a brother asked him what profitten the fastings and wakynges that men make. the holy man answered/ that they make the soul humble and meek. for it is written. lord god behold my meekness & my labour/ and forgive me my sins/ if it pleaseth the. and therefore if we take on us pain/ god shall have pity & mercy on us. ¶ a brother demanded of an old father/ what ought a man to do again the temptations of the fiend. to whom he answered/ he ought first to weep to th'end that god help him. and if he pray devoutly/ god shall succour him. for it is written. if god help me. i fear no man. ¶ a brother asked if a bondman have trespassed/ what shall he say to his lord/ if he will punish him. to this he answered that he should say. my lord i have trespassed/ but if it please the. i pray the to pardon me/ & anon his master shall forgive him. thus we that be bound and servants to god/ when we have sinned/ and we return to him in confessing our sins/ he will pardon us incontinent the end of our operations is not to judge any person. for when god slew all the first begotten in egypte/ theridamas was not one house but there was one therein deed. then asked a brother what was that that so say. and he answered to him/ that if we beheld well our sins/ we should think no thing of the sins of our neighbours. it is great folly to a man to forsake his deed corpse in his house/ for to go & by weep one in his neighbours house he is deed toward his neighbour/ the which thinketh not on the works of other/ and doth no harm to any person/ ne thinketh none evil in his courage/ the which also despiseth no man because he is a sinner/ and the which is not unied to him that doth evil to his neighbour/ ne speaketh ill of any person/ but said to himself. god knoweth the thought of every man/ & i not. it behoveth then to flee the detractors. for it is said in the gospel judge no man/ to th'end that ye be not judged of god. one ought not also hate any person/ though he were his enemy. ne despise a man because he chideth with his neighbour. for otherwise thou shouldest have no rest ne peace in thy conscience. ¶ an other old father said/ thou man living think that thy god is born of the virgin mary for the love of thee/ he hath be made man and alway abideth god/ he hath be made a little child/ he was a redar and prechar when he took the book in the synagogue and said. the spirit of god is upon me/ by cause he that hath anointed me/ hath sent me to preach the gospel to the poor sinners/ he had be subdeacon/ when he chased out of the temple them that sold and them that bought/ he was deacon when he weeshe the feet of his apostles/ in commanding them to wash the feet of their brethren/ he was made priest when he abode in the middle of the temple teaching them/ he was made bishop in taking the breed and in delivering to his disciples/ he hath be beaten for the love of thee/ he hath be crucified/ he aroos the third day and after ascended in to heaven/ and all for us/ and all he hath done for to save us. and nevertheless we will nothing endure ne suffer for the love of him late us then be sober and wake we/ pray we devoutly and keep we his commandments to th'end that we may be saved/ was not joseph sold in to egypte in to a strange land. the three children were they not brought prisoners in to babylon. and how well they had no knowledge/ god was their help and were saved in th'end/ for as much as they dread/ who that giveth him all to god hath no free will/ but doth as god commandeth him without pain of conscience. and if thou wilt do after thine own will without help of god/ thou shalt have overmuch pain in thy conscience. ¶ a brother asked of th'abbot pastor. father what is that to say/ that one ought not to think on the next day following. the holy man answered/ that is to understand of a man that is in temptation/ that is to say/ that he ought to resist it the same day/ without to think to resist it on the morn. ¶ a brother demanded from whence it came/ that a man how well he be a great sinner/ nevertheless he is not a shamed to detract the renomee and fame of an other. to whom the holy man answered by such a parable/ there was a poor man which had a wife. the which saw an other woman that was moche fairer than his wife with out comparison/ and desired her and died so moche that he had her in marriage/ but she was as poor as that other. it happened then/ that though two wives/ went with her husband to a market. and by cause they were both naked/ they put themself in a ton but that one seeing that the people were departed/ sprang out of the ton/ and found old clothes and rags/ covered her in such wise/ that she might well go among the people/ without to have any shame. then that other woman having thereof envy said to her husband. this foolish woman is all naked/ and nevertheless she is not a shamed to go among the people. then answered to her the husband in great anger/ she hath some what covered and hid her poverty and confusion/ but as for thee/ thou art all naked/ and yet thou mockeste her as much as thou mayst. ¶ thus said the holy father/ is each man a detractor/ the which not considering his own sins/ cesseth not to say evil of an other which been better than he. ¶ the abbot johan said to some of his brethren/ that there were three philosophers the which were good friends together. of which one of them dying left his child to that other. and when he was great/ he defoylled the wife of his moneytour/ wherefore he was put out of the house. and how well that he died great penance/ nevertheless the philosopher would not suffer him to re-enter in to his house. but said to him that he should go among them that were judged to the death for to dig & gather with them metal within the river three year long. and when he had so done and fulfilled that penance/ he should return to the phylosophre and than he would receive him. the which thing he died/ and then he said to him go yet unto three years end/ and give thy goods to them that shall wrong and say to the injuries/ for the love of god/ the which he died. then the phylosophre said to him go thou to the city of athenes/ to th'end that thou learn science. and in coming thither he found at the gate of athenes a phylosophre which was deputeth there/ for to prove them that came for to study/ and to injury them for to see their patience. then this philosopher injuried marvelously this young man for to know if he had patience. and anon he began to lawhe. thenne the phylosophre demanded and asked him wherefore he laughed/ seen the injuries that he said to him. to whom the young man answered. i have this three year passed given of my goods for to be injuried/ and now i am injuried with out that it cost me any thing/ wherefore me seemeth for this cause i have matter to laugh. thenne said to him the phylosophre/ my child enter and go in to the city/ for thou art patient enough for to study philosophy and after that the abbot johan had rehearsed this that said is/ he said such words. my brethren the gate of athenes is the gate of heaven wherein we ought to enter/ for many tribulations and injuries as have done our predecessors. ¶ thabbot johan said/ a sinful soul that will do penance/ is as a fair whoman which hath been common to every man/ to whom came a great lord that said to her/ if thou wilt promise to me chastity/ and that thou will no more give the to sin. i shall take the to marriage. the which so promised him. and by that moyen she was married to him. they that were amorous and had loved her/ seeing that she was married to one so mighty a man saiden/ if we knock at gate for to speak to her/ and to accomplish our fleshly will and desire/ the lord shall punish us right grievously. but it is better for us to go behind the house and to syffle and whystle/ to th'end that she thereby understand and come to us. and so went anon to wystle weening to beguile her/ but to th'end that she would not here them/ she stopped her ears/ and hid her in the secretest places of the house. ¶ in like wise this common woman is our soul. the lovers that been the vices. the prince and the lord that espouseth our soul is almighty god. the house is the royalme of heaven. the whystlers been the fiends of hell. and for so moche as our soul which had be common to all vices/ is become chaste by good operations/ alway she hath recourse to her spouse which is god the sovereign lord/ and thus she is vaynquysshour of the enemies. ¶ thabbot pastor said that the gospel saith/ he that hath one rob should go sell it and by him a glaive or sword which ought thus to be understand/ he that hath the rob of rest of the flesh/ let him sell it/ that is to say/ that he leave it/ and buy the sword of parfyght resistance for to fight against the fiend. ¶ the said abbot pastor said that in egypte was an holy father/ to whom ministered a man and a virgin. so it happened on a day/ that both two came to gydre to administer the necessities to this holy man and by cause that in so doing they were surprised of the night/ both two were constrained to lie in the cell of the holy man/ the which lied between them both a mat to th'end that the one should not touch that other/ but during the night/ the man that served the holy man corrupted the said virgin. and the morning he went his way without to making any semblant. the holy man that knowing said no thing to them. but on an other time when they returned he followed them hearing their talking and words/ which saiden thus between them/ weenest thou that this holy man knoweth not our sin. and then in a compunction of heart/ they returned to him saying. alas fair father/ thou knowest how we have offended our maker. and therefore if it please thee/ give to us wholesome penance. and anon he gave to them a rule and a manner how they ought for to live/ to th'end that their sin were forgiven. and sith they went/ and were after much constant against the temptations. ¶ a philosopher demanded and asked of saint anthonye saying. father how mayst thou have consolation when thou haste no books to read on saint anthonye answered/ my book is nature human created of god/ in the which when i consider well i find therein things as marvelous/ a thou findest in thy books. ¶ a brother coming to th'abbot macharye at midday/ began to say/ alas i die for thirst/ give me to drink. then answered macharye/ be thou sufficed with this shadow/ for there be many pylgryms/ and mariners upon the see/ which have great need/ and nevertheless they may not have it. the same brother demanded him of the virtue of continence. to whom the holy man macharye said. by the space of twenty year. i have not drunken ne eaten my fill. for during that tyme. i have weighed my breed and measured my water drinking and eting by measure and i have never slept but against the walls standing right up/ and therefore i begin to wax sober & continent. ¶ a brother demanded & asked/ if i go with my brother/ or with my mother ought i to eat wit them. the holy man answered. thou oughtest not to eat with any woman. ¶ a brother asked of an holy man/ if the thought against the sin of the flesh is sin or no. the holy man answered/ how well said he that the evil thought cometh not alway to effect/ nevertheless it letteth the soul to be lift up in contemplation. and therefore a man chaste and continent ought to put and cast it away as soon as it cometh/ and by this moyen he shall not be let in his orisons prayers & contemplations. ¶ the same said if a man have no cogitations ne thoughts/ he is likened to a brute best/ as who should say it is not possible/ but that a man have alway some temptations/ but all in like wise as the fiend doth his office in tempting us. right so ought we to do in resisting him/ if we pray to god continually/ the fiend shall flee away/ think on god/ and thou shalt overcome him/ fight well/ and in th'end thou shalt be crowned. ¶ saint syncletyce said/ that the fiend is lightly overcomen of them that have no thing/ for they dread not to lose any thing. and they that be of the world offtime be sorry and angry for the loss of their money or other worldly goods. ¶ the same said that they that assemble the richesses of the world with great pain and travail of their bodies/ of so much more that they get so much more would they have. but we renounce such things that been to us necessary for to live for the honour of our saviour ihesu christ. ¶ an holy man said/ that he that is prompt to retain the evil sooner than the good/ is likeneth to the fire that is hid within the stub. for in such wise as the fire so hid brenneth it/ right in the same wise the malice that is hid in the mind wasteth and destroyeth the soul by evil operations that follow. ¶ an holy man said that he that warneth an other of his health/ aught sweetly to exhort him/ to th'end that he be not unprofitable/ and that his admonition be available. ¶ a brother demanded and asked of an ancient old father/ wherefore is it that my soul loveth oft-times th'ordure and filth of sin. the holy man answered. the soul oftentimes loveth the passions of the body/ but the spirit of god is he that refraineth it. and therefore we ought to bewail our sins/ to th'end that they be to us pardonned. haste thou not red that mary magdalene after that she had be at the sepulchre of ihesu christ in weeping and tears/ that god called her to him. all in like wise shall he do to the soul that shall purify himself in weeping. ¶ a brother demanded and asked an holy father/ when a man thinketh not on his defaults/ and reproveth other/ is it sin. he answered that god saith thereof in the gospel. ypocryte take away the beam that is in thine eye/ and after thou mayst well see the better the festu that is in the eye of thine neighbour. ¶ an other brother demanded and asked of an old ancient father/ how he might resist and withstand the temptations. the holy man answered. take ensample at joseph/ the which being in the age of youth/ among the infidels and idolaters never would worship their idols/ but he was strong and constant in his faith. and furthermore have mind of job/ the which in all his tribulations and adversities praised and gave lovings to god/ and forgot him not/ for all that/ that he was so much tormented. ¶ a knight that had done many evils and moche harm/ and would convert him to god/ demanded and asked an holy man if god received the sinners in to his grace. and the holy man answered to him/ ye/ and showed to him by many reasons and authorities of holy scripture. nevertheless the said knight yet doubted. and therefore the holy man showed to him this ensample. if thy mantel be rent or broken in any part/ wilt thou incontnent cast it away. the knight answered to him nay/ but i shall make it again & amend it/ and it shall serve me as it died before. then said the holy man/ right so my friend is it of god for how well that thy soul be broken by sin/ nevertheless our lord casteth it not away/ but by very penance & pure confession shall make it hole again by his grace. ¶ there was an holy man that was so sober and solitary/ that alway he was the last that went out of the church/ & feared not that any body should take any meet or drink out of his cell. ¶ a judge of a certain region came in to the province of th'abbot pastor/ thynhabytantes there/ hereof advertised required the said abbot to require the said judge to do to him so much grace to pardon a malefactor but the said holy man required them that he might have three days of respite/ and they agreed thereto/ during the which time by cause that the request that he should make seemed to him not to be lycyte ne leeffull/ he requyrod to god/ that he would suffer that he should obtain the same. so he came to fore the judge/ and prayed for the said malefactor/ but he said to him/ that he would not that which he required/ because he prayed for a thief of which answer he was glad. and thus th'abbot pastor returned in to his cell/ praising god of that/ that the judge had denied to him his request. ¶ the holy feders saiden that when moses entered in to the see he spacke with god. and when he came out/ he spacke to the people. ¶ in like wise ought every good religious man to do. for whiles that he is in his cell/ he aught to speak to god by devout prayer. and when he gooth out/ he aught to speak with the people in teaching them. ¶ certain brethren demanded and asked of the holy father the abbot pastor/ if they alway ought to reprove the sinners. to whom it was answered by the holy father. if i go and pass there where as they some time be i shall say no thing to them that i shall see sin. and never judge ye any person/ but if ye touch them first with your hands/ that is to say/ if ye be not certain of that ye say/ for oftentimes some ween things/ which is all otherwise. ¶ a brother was on a time deceived in his opinion seeing two sheves of wheat together/ and he supposed that he had seen a man and a woman/ and therefore without to know it/ he judged that they commised the sin of lechery. and after that he had well behold it/ he came and smote it with his foot saying. cease man to commise this sin/ and then he was all abashed when he found that it were two sheves of wheat. here ought we to note/ that none ought to judge any thing but if it be well known/ for it is a great peril for the soul of him that judgeth so lightly without to know manifestly a thing/ as he had touched it with his hand. ¶ an hermit being in his hermitage was strongly tempted with devils which appyred to him visibly/ and he supposed that they had been angels. his carnal and natural father had a custom for to come some time and visit him. so it happened that in visiting him that he brought an axe for to hew down the trees and wood and bear it to his house/ but the devil to th'end that he would deceive this brother appeared to him saying/ loo here the devil in semblance and lykening of thy father cometh to the for to tempt the with an axe/ but go to meet with him and slay him thus this believing the devil went and met with his father and slew him. it is possible that this brother lived ill/ and therefore god suffered that he was thus deceived of the fiend. every religious man and religious woman ought to note diligently this example/ to th'end that god suffer not them thus to be tempted. ¶ thus finished the second part of this present book. ¶ here followeth the third part. ¶ here followeth the third part ¶ here followeth the third party of the life of fathers/ in the which is made mention of the rule & conversation of the holy faders of egypte/ & of them that dwelled in mesopotamy & palestine. and first beginneth the prologue of th'author in this manner. oft times my brethren & friends ye have prayed me sith that i came again from the parties of beyond the see/ that for your instruction & edification i should recount to you the history of my pilgrimage. and how the faith of ihesu christ reigneth in the orient/ what prycyple/ what hermits/ & what religiouses dwell there/ & if god showeth there miracles also ye have asked how i came thither/ & what prosperity i have had there by see and by land. and because in satysfyeng your desires & prayers of which i hope ye shall be aided. i shall begin that which ye ask. but i pray you understand ye diligently & take good heed to that which i shall say you. ¶ of the rule & conversation of holy faders. ¶ of a solitary religious the dwelled in cyrene in a lylyll house/ beginning ante hoc triennium. caplm. primum. it is three year sith that my fellows & i departed fro narbonne/ & came the fifth day after our departing to the port of auffyke then we would see cartage & visit the places of saints and principally we came to the sepulture of saint cyrpian martyr. the xu day we departed from cartage/ & took the see for to go in to alexandria/ but there aroos a marvelous great tempest & so hideous that but if the mariners which were wise & expert had not cast out their anchors/ we had been all drowned. after this we arrived a land in a country unhabited. and we sent to know what region it was/ & what people dwelled there about. and i myself went a little way far fro the rivage/ & soon i saw a little house/ which seemed to be covered like the fashion & manner of a ship strongh enough & well edified to th'end that it might be the more farm & strong against the winds. for in that country it raineth never/ & when the wind bloweth it is more dangerous upon the see/ than in other regions. in the country was neither corn ne trees/ for the land over all removed with the wind as powder & dust/ except between some mountains was land farm enough/ where as growed a little grass/ of which were nourished sheep & other best the most part of the people that been there lyven by milk. and they that been most rich lyven by barle breed/ for there groweth no wheat but barle/ the which is soon ripe. for they say in that country that the xxx day after that it is sown it is ripe/ & there dwell no folk but by cause that it is free of all tributes/ and it is the last country of cyrene nigh & joining to the desert/ the which standeth between egypt & africa. by the which cathon fleeing. cezar lad his army. thus we came in to this little house which we saw fro far/ & found therein an old man clad with skins/ which with his hands turned a mylle/ the which received us right benignly. and anon we asked of him if there were there any crysten men. incontinent he began to weep for joy when he had knowledge that we were christian. after that he had desired us to prayer/ & that we had made our prayers/ he took of his rob/ & made us to sit upon it/ & after brought to us for to dine half a barle loof/ we were of us iiij & he was the fifth/ & above that he brought a few of herbs which to look upon seemed mente/ but they had the taste of sweetness like honey/ we were well refreshed with this herb in so moche that we abode there vij days with him. sith after the eight day because that many persons came to the house/ we knew that he was a priest/ & went with him to the church/ the which was between two mountains made with small staves & was not moche more sumptuous than the house of the holy man that had received us. in this church a man but if he had be right little might not stand up right it was so low. and furthermore we knew in the country the manners of the people which sold not ne bought not any thing/ ne knew no thing of deceiving ne of theft/ they had neither gold ne silver/ ne also none desired they to have. for i proffered money to this priest/ but he refused it & would none have. then we gave to him of our robes/ the which he took gladly/ for he had none that any thing was worth. this done we reendred unto the see/ & departed fro the country. ¶ of the signs of orygene which been against the faith/ beginning. prospere igitur. caplm. two the vij day after we came in to alexandrye/ there as the bishops & the religiouses had among them great debate & strife because of the works of orygene which had written against the holy scripture/ & they of his sect saiden that how well that he had in his books some faults/ yet nevertheless he had in them good doctrines/ the other saiden all contrary that it should be more available for the health of good christian people to burn the same books considered that theridamas were enough of other tenseygne & teach the christian people/ seeing that those books might do more hurt to the simple people & ignorant/ than to profit to thou wise men & clerks. i have red myself in his said books many good doctrines & ensignment/ but also i have founden many falsytees among which was this. that is to wite that he said that all in like wise as that god was deed for to redeem the sinners in the tree of the cross. all in like wise by the same death he ought to redeem the devils. and his reason was this. for it is well covenable he said/ that god that is so piteous and merciful seen that he had suffered for to redeem the man/ that he suffered also passion for to redeem the angel which was fall in sin. this opinion is directly against the troth/ & therefore it ought to be fled/ and of this opinion and other was engendered a great sedition among the priests & other men clerks & lettered. and because that the priests coude not appease this error by themself they ordained a provost cruel and terrible which corrected the said errors/ which he died in great cruelty/ that the religiouses were constrained to flee & had no place where they durst inhabit ne dwell. ¶ of the conversation of jerome iherosolymytayn beginning in latin. igitur inde. caplm. three then leaving that country i transported me in to bethleem which is not far fro iherusalem/ and arrived in the house of jerome that was a man prudent & wise marvelously instruct/ not only in letters greek & latin/ but also in the language hebrew/ whereof he had so great renomee/ that none was known the durst compare to him in science. and i abode there vi months with him/ the which continually & sharply stroof against them that were evil & obstinate. for i know that in his books is nothing but that it hath been overseen & corrected of him. and principally he blamed avarice & pride. he said also all a long the famylyaryte aught to be among the religiouses both men & women/ & by cause he said truth many hated him & specially theretics/ for he cess not to enpugne & repreef them/ & after the priests. for he declared & reproved their vices & sins/ but the just and good men loved him for his holy life & conversation. and therefore they that will say that he was an heretic been fools & overseen/ for his doctrine is good & holy. and he slept not day ne night so moche he gaaf himself to study in holy scripture. and if i had not be religious i would never have departed from him. nevertheless i left there my fellows that followed me/ & went my self to visit the brethren that dwelleden in the last part of egypte. for there been there marvelous hermitages & good religious folk. it should be over long to recount all those things/ but nevertheless i shall rehearse the principal part in substance. ¶ how the abbots were bound to give their living to the brethren which they receiveden in to their covents/ beginning. hand long. caplm. four in an hermitage by the river of nile/ there were many abbeys/ and the brethren of the same dwelleden together/ and been subgettes to one abbot/ and do nothing after their will/ but all after the will of the abbot. and for this cause if any of them would go in solitude or wilderness for to be more parfyght/ it behoveth him that he do that by the consenting of their said abbot. for it is the first and the principal virtue for to obey the commandment of his superior. and when they be received in to th'hermitage by the authority of the same abbot/ there is administered to them breed and other meet after their necessity. ¶ of a religious brother which in his hermitage was fed with heavenly breed/ beginning. casu super illos dies. caplm. v. a frere or brother solitary was a little far fro this monastery to whom for his living th'abbot sent to him breed by two children of which that one was xu year old & that other twelve one time among the other thus as these two young children went toward the said hermit came to them a serpent marvelous cruel for to devour them/ but by the bounty & innocence of them the serpent lay down at their feet. and anon the youngest of them both took him with his hand & put him in his rob and bore him to the freres in the cloister without any avaunting or vain glory. then saiden all the religiouses that these two children were saints. but the holy abbot of the monastery doubting that these two children should wax thereof proud punished them right well with rods saying that the came from god. this knowing the said solitary brother was much abashed aswell for the beating as for thinvastion of the serpent. and therefore he prayed the said abbot that he should send to him no more any thing. and he was by that space of eight days without any meet in so much that he was all dry/ but his thought was alway enhanced to god and there where the body failed for hunger the soul was ravished to heaven. the said abbot by thynspyraconninspiration of the holy ghost went to visit the said solitary religious for to know whereof he lived. the which seeing his abbot came to fore him & brought him in to his cell/ and as they entered in/ th'abbot felt a savour of breed all hoot. and there they found a loof which had be sent from heaven to the said brother/ the which was nigh deed for hunger. and said to the abbot that by his merits and virtues that weal and good was comen to them. thabbot saying the contrary/ that it was by him that was solitary. and after in praising & thanking god they broke the loof & eat thereof/ and this done the abbot returned & showed it to his brethren/ which for this cause they desireden to be hermits & to lead a solitary life. ¶ in that monastery had been two holy men which had not gone out by the space of xl year/ they were never angry ne never went out of their cloister. but by cause ye have herd the life of one hermit. i will that ye here the life of an other. ¶ how a lioness eat out of the hand of an holy man/ like as she had be tame/ beginning in latin. ego ubi. caplm. vi incontinent after that we were come in to the first party of desert with a man that knew the places we went at foot of a mountain there where we found an holy man which had a pit/ which thing was not much found in that country. also he had an ox which with a wheel drew the water out of the pit which was right deep. also he had a garden full of cools which was against the nature of desert/ where for the ardeur and heat of the son might nothing grow ne fructify/ but by the labour of this holy man/ which aroused oft & watered the ground/ that it became fertile in such wise that cowls & other herbs fructefyed. and of these cowls lived this hermit & his ox/ the which hermit gaaf to us plente right joyously. then after supper he brought us under a palm of the which he lived otherwhile. and there be none other herbs in thermitages but such palms whereof been nourished the holy hermits and they that been solitary when we came to the place of the said palm we found a lion/ the which made us sore aghast/ but the said solitary man without dread approached to the said be'st/ & made him to recuyelle & go a back a little far. after he gathered with his hands of the fruit of this palm & gaaf to the same lion/ which took it of his hand moche sweetly as it had been a be'st domestyke & tame/ & when he had eaten/ he went his way. by which we may well know that the virtue & power of god habounded in the said hermit being solitary. ¶ how an holy man nourished a wolf the which demanded of him pardon beginning in latin. alium eque. capitulum vij after we saw an holy man which dwelled in a little house in which might but one man come in/ with which man was a wolf accustomed to come whiles that he souped/ and failed never atte hour of souper/ & abode alway at door unto the time that the holy man gaaf him some breed which was at soupor/ and when he had taken breed of the hand of the holy man/ he bowed to him first and then went his way. it happened on a time that this holy man went with an other/ & came not again till it was night. this wolf came as he had be accustomed at hour of souper & found him not/ & therefore he entered within the house of the holy man/ & took the breed that was in his paner & eat it. after thinking that he had done evil/ & went his way incontinent. thermit came home & found his paner broken & one of his loves lost/ and wist not who had taken it away/ but for as much as the day following this wolf came not like as he had be accustomed/ he doubted some what that he had done this theft. nevertheless by cause he was sorry for his absence/ he prayed to god that he would send to him this wolf for to comfort him/ which was accordeth to him. and the vij day after the wolf came again at hour of souper/ but for shame & dread he durst not approach/ & fro far he fill down to the ground & by signs he demanded pardon of his trespass. the which thing seeing the holy hermit made him come ner & pardonned him giving to him double pittance of breed/ & thus he took away his heaviness & came alway as he had be customed. here may we see the power of god which maketh the cruel best to be meek & tame as lombes/ wherefore the people ought well to dread our lord ihesu cryst when they see that the bes● dread him. and to th'end that noman doubt of this that said is. i shall say to you things more marvelous with out any thing to fain/ but only i shall say that i have seen. ¶ how five little lions being blind were enlumyned by an holy man beginning in latin. habitabant. capitulum eight many holy men dwelleden in desert without any houses/ & to th'end that none should visit them they abode never in one place because they loved above all thing to live solitarily. on a time it happened that two monks of nytrye camen for to visit an holy father that lived solitarily/ the which had be of their convent. and when they had sought him by long space of tyme. finably in the month of juyn they came to th'end of the desert named memphis. and he had dwelled there by the space of twelve year/ the which how well that he fled the company & communication of all other men/ alway when he knew that they were of the religion of which he had be a religious man/ he abode them & was with them by the space of three days/ the fourth day he brought them within the same desert/ to the which we followed. and anon came a lioness marvelously great/ the which fill down at the feet of this holy solitary men. and as she had chosen him among the other made sign to him that he should follow her which thing this holy man died till that the said lioness came to her cave/ & after she entered in & brought to him five little lions that which were blind of nature/ & she leyed them at the feet of this holy man solytarye/ the which knew well what she desired. and he made his prayer to god/ & after touched the eyen of those five little lions/ & incontinent they saw. and this done/ the two religious monks which were come thither for to see this holy man/ returned in to their monastery praising & magnefyeng god & his saints. ¶ how a brother by a stork knew what herbs he should eat/ & which not/ beginning in latin. fuit et alius. capitulum ix in that desert was an hermit new comen because that he knew not the herbs was strongly tormented. for oft he eat of the herbs that were venomous when he supposed to have eaten good. and thus for this cause he was vij days without to eat/ but god seeing his affliction sent to him a stork the which brought to him a great farthel of herbs/ & them that were good & wholesome to eat/ the same stork chase them out & laid them a part/ to th'end that he should after know them. and that so done/ he flewhe away/ & thus this brother knew what he should eat/ & which he should leave. ¶ of a brother dwelling in the mountain of syna the which spacke to no person by the space of thirty year/ beginning. sed longum. caplm. ten know ye my friends that it should be to me a moche hard thing to recount to you all the fayttes & deeds of holy men dwelling in desert with the which i have conversed a year and vij months. and among all other i have frequented with him that had the ox/ of whom i have spoken tofore in the vi chapter of this third part. i have also frequented two other monasteries of saint anthonye in which yet at this present time dwell some of his disciples. in like wise i have been in the place where the first hermit saint paul dwelled. i have seen the mountain of synay. the height whereof approucheth so nigh heaven/ that it seemeth that it toucheth it/ it is so high that from beneath may not be seen the highest thereof/ & noman living may go up to the highest of it. between the sides of this mountain was said that theridamas dwelled an holy hermit which i might not see/ how well that moche diligently i had sought him/ the which had seen no person in thirty year/ & he had no garment/ but used his here in stead of a rob/ & when he might espy the any man sought him he fled in to the desert because he would not be seen. it was said that sith the space of five year in the time that i was in that place/ he had spoken only with an holy man/ which had asked of him why he fled so the presence of men. then the solitary man said to him/ that he that frequenteth men/ may not be accompanied ne frequented of angels/ & for this cause it is said that he was visited oft of angels. then i departed from the mountain of synay and came to the flood or river of nile where as were diverse monasteries as i have said tofore/ in which the religious men been holy & just/ & not lass than they that been solitary. for among the other virtues that they have they be much obeissant. and there is none received/ but if he have be proved afore in such manner/ as he may endure all pains and labours/ that shall be laid to him. ¶ here follow the great miracles of obeisance/ and beginneth in latin. referam etc. caplm. xi i will recount to you two great miracles of the virtue of obeisance/ of which that one is this. a secular man came on a time to a monastery for to be religious/ and prayed th'abbot that he would receive him. thabbot for to prove him proposed & showed to him the pains & torments of religion/ as the dyscyplynes' moche sharp/ & the dyffycyle commandments of the same abbot/ to the which everich religious aught to obey/ giving him to understand that he might not keep ne accomplish them/ & for this cause he persuaded him to go to an other religion that was not so rigorous/ saying to him that it were better for him that he went/ than to enterprise so poysaunt & weighty charges that he might not here ne endure. but the same secular man strongly affected to be received began to promise that he should obey to all thing that he would command him/ in such wise that if he commanded that he should enter in to the fire/ he should do it joyously with out to make any refuse/ & so anon he was received. a little while after his abbot for to prove him/ commanded him that be should enter in to the oven all hoot. and without any dilation he entered in to the middle of the flame. but by the virtue of his obeisance/ the oven which was hoot/ was made to him such/ like as the fornays was made to the three children of thebrewes. ananias. azarias. & mysaell. and the flame went incontinent out of the oven/ & the brother the was entered in found himself as he had be in a place full of dew/ whereof th'abbot was much abashed. by the which ensample we ought to know/ how the virtue of obedience is agreeable to our lord god. ¶ here followeth the second miracle of obedience/ beginning in latin. quidam frater etc. caplm. twelve an other brother which was in the same monastery/ th'abbot charged him for to see his patience that he should water a rod all dry unto the time that it waxed green/ the which thing was against nature. the same brother took this charge in patience/ & every day upon his shoulders went to the river of nile which was much far & dystaunt from th'abbey brought the water for to water or arouse this rod. and not only during one year but unto the third year/ in such wise that finably it flourysshed. and i myself have seen the little tree which is yet all green in the said monastery giving witness how moche availeth the virtue of obedience. ¶ of him that chased the devils out of the bodies of men/ whereof he was after overcomen & finably purged beginning. quidam autem. caplm. xiij an holy man had power to cast out devils of the bodies of seek men doing infinity miracles. for he healed not only when he was present/ but also when he was absent. and if the seek man touched the hem of his rob/ he was made all hole/ or when he sent a letter to a patient he was in like wise heeled. for which cause many of diverse contrees camen to him for to receive health and garrison in so great multitude that many oft-times abode tofore the door abiding him. this holy man drank never win ne water/ & eat nothing safe seven. figs on a day. by succession of time he began to exalt himself for these miracles which he died. but how well that he enforced him to withstand this vanity/ nevertheless he could not. the devils of hell over all enhanced & exalted his name/ he might not withstand the people that came to him in so great abundance/ & was sorry and angry of that he guarysshed & healed other/ and he might not guarish his evil thought of vain glory/ the which thus tormented him/ wherefore he prayed and made request to our lord god that he might be as well possessed of the fiend of hell/ as they that he guarysshed. the which thing happened to him/ and was bound by the feet and by the hands/ as men do a demonyake/ enduring in himself by the space of five months all the torments and evils that the other suffered and endured which been seek of the same malady. and after when he was purged and made clean of the said torment in which he was/ and of the vanity/ for the which he had prayed god and made request for to be possessed of a wicked spirit as afore is said. ¶ of an hermit desiring to return to the world was punished/ beginning in latin. adolescens. caplm. xiiij in egypte was a young man much rich which had a wife & a little child. and he received of saint johan thermit a moche good doctrine/ by the which he exhorted him that he should renounce the world. the which fixing in his heart this doctrine/ despised the world & his richesses & entered in to an hermitage/ & was in a little time right parfyght in all virtues/ in fastings/ in humility sovereign/ in faith & believe farm & constant/ in such wise that he was thus as parfyght in the virtues as the other monks. this seeing the fiend he put in his courage that it were better for him to return in to his country & visit his son and his wife/ than to dwell out of the world in that pain & solicitude. and thus by this temptation after that he had be religious by the space of four year/ he left his cell and his good purpose/ & went for to ask counsel of the brethren of a monastery nigh by him. the which counseled him that he should abide. nevertheless this purpose could not be taken from him/ & thus being obstinate in his purpose departed fro the said hermitage & concluded to return again to the world. but as soon as he was out of the said monastery the devil entered in to his body. and incontinent he began to scum as a mad man & enraged & demonyake/ biting his membres with his own teeth and throwing them on the ground. the which thing seeing the brethren and knowing brought him again to their monastery/ but they bound him both hands & feet/ for otherwise could they not chevysshe with him. and he had this pain & this travail by the space of two year hole/ for as much as he had willed to renounce his hermitage but after two year passed by the good prayers and devout orisons of holy men he was all hole and guarished/ and sith returned in to his said hermitage/ & corrected himself/ in giving to other example of good life. ¶ here followeth the manner of thabyte and vestment of the religious egyptians/ beginning in lathn sunt preterea etc. caplm. xu there be some vestymentis among the gypcyens the which been more for to observe the form of the rule than for to keep the body. first they were cowls day & night/ to th'end that by the same they show their humility and simplesse. ¶ furthermore the religiouses of the same place/ have cut sherties of linen cloth unto the bottokes and no ferther/ to th'end that thereby they show that they have cut of and left all the operations of this world. after they have a little mantel that covereth only their neck and their shoulders/ which is called maforte in our language/ and to theirs also. that other abyllement is skin of a ghoot that is called mellote/ the which habit signifieth that all vices ought to be mortified in them/ & that they ought to be sovereignly virtuous they never have shoes/ but if it be a little in winter when it is cold vehemently/ or when they be seek/ or when it is over hoot/ as at none/ in which hour the ground is so chafed that it brenneth the toucheth it. and how well that their rule holdeth not in/ yet nevertheless when they come to do the divine service/ they take of always their shoes thinking on that which was said to moses'/ do of thy shoes/ for the place which thou standest on/ is holy earth and sacred to god. ¶ of the manner regular to pray god among the same brethren. and how they have renounced the world beginning in latin. itaque. caplm. xvi thorough all egypte & thorough all thebayda where as there be monasteries of religious brethren they have a manner & fashion regular for to pray god as well on evening as on morning. and it behooveth that they have partyghtly renounced the world. for a brother shall never be received/ if he have not first renounced all the goods of the world. and they the render them in to the religion/ what somever age they be of/ been constrained to obey in such wise that they become meek & humble as little children/ and they ought not to think on their age the which they have lost as to the world in evil living/ but they must be subgettes to the lest. thus in all egypt as well in the service of the day as of the night/ the religiouses singen twelve psalms/ & after the twelve psalms two lessons/ one of the new testament/ & that other of the old/ the which usage they keep all indifferently. for as much as it hath not be ordained of men as the other usages/ but it hath be instituted & established by the angels/ which have appeared unto the old faders. ¶ here followeth the place in which the holy faders saw an angel sing xij. psalms/ beginning in latin. jam cum etc. caplm. xvij in the beginning of the faith were but few christian men how well that they that were christian were well just and good/ the which had had & taken their rule & manner of living of the successors of thappostles of our saviour ihesu christ/ & separated them fro the world & went in to the desert in places solytaryes/ & to th'end that they should show to their successors the manner of their service/ they came on a time all together for to ordain & dispose their said service to th'end that none should be deceived. for to fore this institution every man served god after his devotion/ & had none usage determined. then they came all together for to make this institution. and some of them ordained that there should be said thirty psalms. other instituted lx psalms/ & some other said that it was not enough/ and thus they might not accord together. and they abode there long/ till a certain day at hour of evensong there was an angel in the form of a religious man/ the which aroos and began a psalm & sang twelve psalms and at end of each psalm he said hallelujah. and when he had done he departed incontinent fro their presence. and by that was determined the said question. for the holy faders knew that it was an angel. and therefore they ordained through all their religions the number of twelve psalms/ to be kept perpetuelly in their service/ as well by day as by night. and they keep yet now the manner and form of these orisons. and when their psalm is achieved & ended/ they begin not hastily that other/ but they incline them down to the ground in praying to god. and after they arise in contemplation but they say that when they be said on their couch/ the devil tempteth them to sleep/ as it hath be seen by experience/ that some for to rest them more than for to pray lie down on the ground/ & long abide there. ¶ what discretion & nature ought to be kept in orison & prayer/ beginning in latin. cum igitur. caplm xviij. the brethren aforesaid when they come to service they be as peaceable/ that there shall be herd nothing/ but the voys of him that psalmodyeth/ to th'end to keep the better & lightlier silence. and they sleep not/ but intend diligently to their prayers and orisons. and they be short enough in their prayers/ to the end that they be not let by spytting reching or coughing. and their common saying is/ that a short prayer pierceth the heavens/ and there should we as all achaffed put out & tear with our teeth the fiend the which ennoyeth us alway/ principally when he seeth us making prayers to god against him. for the which cause these brethren say that it behooveth to be short and bryef in their prayers. and more avail ten verses of a psalm well said or sungen with good affection/ than to say as many psalms without any devotion and it is truth. ¶ of their handy work/ and wherefore prime/ tierce/ sext/ none/ & the other hours been sungen in the church beginning. ita namque. caplm. xix these brethren been so diligent to their bodily work after their service done/ that they leave not to think on god. how well that they work with their hands. and at tyrce/ sext/ and none they say but three psalms only in following danyell the prophet/ the which was three times in the cenacle and prayed god devoutly. furthermore these psalms they say not without cause atte this hour there. for the promesses made to th'ancient and old faders have be sent in some of these hours. first the holy ghost was sent on withsondaye upon the apostles at the hour of tierce/ and gave to them to speak all manner of languages. at the hour of serte our saviour and redeemer jesus' for the redemption of mankind would be nailed and crucified on the cross in the same hour was sent a vessel to saint pyeter/ in which was contained the purification of all them that live/ and was sent by four beginnings of heaven. and by this vessel we understand the gospel. at the hour of none god rendered his spirit on the cross/ and in the same hour he descended to hell for to take out the souls that were therein/ and enlumyned with his clearness the darkness of the said hell/ and restored to his ancient royalme that is paradise. in this same hour cornelius knew that his prayer was accepted to god. then it appeareth that the apostles have not instituted without cause these hours here in the church/ and that we ought well to ensue & follow them to the end that in the same hours we may praise and honour god/ & to serve him devoutly. ¶ how in a monastery ought to be received a secular that will enter in to religion/ beginning in lytyn. cum igitur. caplm. twenty if a man will be received in to one of the said monasteries tofore that he shall be received he shall lie ten days hole tofore the gate of the monastery/ to th'end that by that moyen may be proved his perseverance/ his humility/ and obeisance. and he must kneel down on his knees to fore the feet of the brethren that passeth forth by the same gate. but for the better to prove him/ each aught to refuse him and reject in saying/ that it is by necessity that he cometh for to be a religious/ and nothing for devotion. furthermore ought to be done to him all injuries and repreves that may be do/ to th'end that it may be known what patience he shall have when he shall be monk. after that it is seen that he be patient/ he shall be received in defending him that he bring with him neither gold ne silver. and thus he is made naked of all that he possedeth in such wise that his rob which he had shall not abide with him/ but openly to fore all his brethren by the hands he shall be despoiled/ & shall be new clad with the robes of religion/ to th'end that he remember that he hath renounced the world & his temporal goods/ and that he hath chosen the very poverty of ihesu christ. and they keep his first clothes unto the time of his profession/ the which done they be given to the poor and indigent/ but if so be that he will not abide/ his first clothing is rendered to him again/ and put out with the other. furthermore when a religious is thus received and clad/ he is not incontinent put among the other brethren/ but he is delivered to be taught to some holy father/ which hath the charge to receive the pylgryms and the poor people to whom shall serve this same new brother. for it is the beginning of humility to serve the poor people and pylgryms. after when his humility is seen/ he shall be suffered to go with the other brethren. in this faytte he is learned to be master of his will/ and to surmount and overcome it. and to that end he is oft commanded to do things which been against his said will. for the holy faders say that if a monk mortefye not his affection/ he ne may eschew/ heaviness/ ire/ ne fornication/ ne also have peace with his brethren/ ne may not be parfyghtly humble. and therefore each religious man ought to mortify his will. ¶ how a monk to th'end that he do not his own will/ aught not to do any thing without the commandment of his spiritual father/ beginning in latin. post hec. caplm. xxi in the foresaid monasteries the religiouses been moche obedient/ in such wise that they do nothing without the commandment of theeyr abbot. and they hem self go not to the places which been naturally required without demanding licence. and all that is commanded to them they accomplish like as if god had commanded them/ in so much that by their obedience they do things/ as it were impossible to do. and when they be laid on their couch/ if they here that they be called/ they arise and ne and run lightly for to wite what they should do/ in such wise as by adventure/ they wrote/ and had begun a letter/ they would not achieve it for dread that they should abide over long after that they were called. ¶ of a monk the son of an earl/ the which by the commandment of his abbot bare for to sell openly panyers and hotties/ beginning in latin. nownus. caplm. xxij i knew a brother which was of great parentis the son of an earl right rich and puissant the which brother left father and mother and went and rendered himself to be a monk. thabbot then of the said monastery for to ser his patience commanded him that he should go for to sell in the market ten panyers or hotties great/ which were of no necessity for to be sold/ & he delivered him by this condition/ that he should not sell them all to one man/ to the end that he should be the longer there/ but that he should sell one to one person/ & an other to an other. this brother then which was the son of an earl took the said hotties for to bear through the market/ in such wise that he sold them according to his charge/ and brought the money to his abbot. ¶ of th'abbot pinuphus'/ beginning vidunus. caplm. xxiij we have seen furthermore one named pinuphus/ which was of a great monastery in egypte/ and the which was of every man honoured and praised. but dreading that he should be proud. in an eventide he fleddde and left the habit of a monk/ and took thabyte of a secular/ & went to the monastery of tabenesyens/ that which was more straiter than other monasteries. and thus hoping never to be known for the great distance of the place/ came & was long at gate attending & kneeling tofore at feet of the brethren/ requiring that he might be received in to their monastery/ thenne after he had be proved in his patience he was received/ but for as much as them seemed he was not profitable/ they delivered to him that charge to labour in the gardyns/ in which he wrought under an other brother younger than he was/ & all that the other refused he died diligently. on the night in like wise he aroos & laboured secretly/ in such wise on the morn noman knew who hath sped so their work. so it happened that the third year thus as his brethren sought him in diverse places & countries/ that he was founden of one of them the which one of them uneath knew him/ withstonding the mutation & changing of his habit/ & that he laboured in works to him not covenable. for he grubbed in th'earth & planted herbs and cools/ and after fet dung/ and laid it about the roots. this seeing the brother that sought him doubting yet whether it were he or not/ approached him more ner & spoke to him. and then he knew him by the visage & by his speech that he was his abbot which he sought/ and anon fill down to his feet. this seeing the brethren of that abbey demanded of that other why he kneeled down to the feet of that religious/ which was but as new comen. then the brother answered that it was his abbot. and incontinent everich of the brethren asked him pardon of thinjuries & great evils that they had down to him. but this holy abbot began to weep & plain of thenvy of the devil that had bewrayed him/ & had not suffered that he had endured long that pain/ to th'end that he should not have so great reward in heaven. then the brethren brought him again in to his abbey/ and kept him that fro thence forthon he should not flee away. but after he had been there a little time/ by great humility he departed by night and went in to a far regions. and put himself in to a ship/ by the help of which/ he went in to the region of palestine/ weening that never he should be founden/ for there was never heard speak of him. as soon as he was arrived he went straight to a monastery/ which is nigh to the place in which our saviour ihesu christ was born of the blessed virgin mary/ and there he was a while. but like as the city which was upon a mountain might not be hid/ right so this holy man was not long there/ but was known by some of the monks that came on pilgrimage unto the holy land/ and brought him again with great prayers and requests in to his first monastery. ¶ a right good admonition for annovyce beginning in latin. habent igitur. caplm. xxiiij on a time thus as we were with this holy man by cause of the familiarity that was between us/ came a brother that demanded to be received in to the said monastery/ to whom this holy man gave a terrible admonition/ the which i will here declare/ first he said to him. my friend i trow thou knowest well how many days thou hast abiden at the gate for to be here received/ & yet with great pain hast thou be received now thou oughtest to know the life of religion in to the which thou wilt enter. for if thou live well/ thou shalt win heaven. also if thou livest evil thou shalt win hell. so oughtest thou to know that to them that serve well and truly to god in their vocation is promised heaven/ but to them that be negligent to serve him/ been promised torments infinity in time to come. and after his vocation every man ought to do and work. for better it were to make none avow ne promise/ than to make it and keep it not and furthermore he is cursed and unhappy that doth the operation of god negligently. and therefore said the said holy abbot to the same brother. thou hast be long refused of us/ not but that we desire the health of every catholic or christian person/ but doubting that we receive them solyly. and by this wise we ought be reproved of folly/ and thou strongly punished and grievously/ if thou hadst be received incontinent without to have given to the knowledge of the burden and charge of religion/ & shouldest have be in danger that th'end should not have be good/ know thou lieth thou art this day deed to the world and to his goods. and with that as saith th'apostle thou art crucified to the world and the world in the. but thou mayst demand/ how may he that is yet living be deed and crucified to world. now herkene a little. i say first that the cross of which i speak/ is the dread of god. for like as a man crucified/ may not move his membres at his will all in like wise we ought to do nothing to our pleasance/ but after that is commanded us. and all in like wise as he that is crucified or hanged thinketh no more on worldly things ne to his affections and pleasances/ and hath no covetise to possede ne have any things. and when he is nigh the point of death/ he reputeth himself as deed. all in like wise behooveth us to be crucified by the dread of god/ without to think on the world/ but we ought to set continually our thought there/ where we hope once to go to/ that is in to heaven/ if we deserve it. and therefore it behooveth to eschew that we look not bacwarde ne behind us/ that is to say/ when one hath renounced the world & have left it behind him/ he may no more think thereon in any manner. for only he shall be saved that shall have persevered in good and virtuous operations unto th'end. furthermore our enemy the fiend awaiteth alway/ & desireth nothing but to beguile and deceive us by his cautels and malices. and therefore it shall but little profit to have well begun/ that persevereth not to th'end. and in this wise said the holy abbot to the said broter. i exhort the sith that thou wilt serve god/ that thou have continually the dread to fore the eyen of thy thought/ and that the apparaylle thy soul/ nothing to the rest ne to the worldly delyces and fleshly/ but to resist the temptations of the devil/ and tendure the anguishes of the world patiently. for it behooveth by many tribulations to enter in to the royalme of heaven/ whereof the gate & way been so straight/ that few people walk therein/ whereof is great pity. thus thenne the beginning of our health is the dread of god. for by divine dread/ good conversation/ and keeping of virtues it is gotten. the which dread if it be parfyghtly in the heart of a man/ it engendereth in him virtues/ and maketh to despise all vain things and unprofitable to his health/ and maketh him despise & abhor the world. and by mesprysing of temporal goods/ very humility is gotten. the which humility is approved by this manners. the first if a brother religious have all his will/ mortefyed and adnychylate. the second if he show to his sovereign all his evil thoughts. the third if he do nothing but at the will of his abbot. the fourth if he keep in all things very obedience. the fifth that he do no wrong to any person/ and if any be done to him/ that he endure it patiently. the vi that he do nothing against his rule. the vij that he repute himself in utile and unworthy to do that he is commanded/ how well that he do it gladly. the eight that he repute himself lass in virtue than all other the ix if he be peaceable/ and that he speak none evil of his neighbour. the ten whereby is known very humility in a man/ that is if he be not abundant in lawhynges disordinate and by all these manners above said very humility is knowon. ¶ and furthermore after th'apostle. it is necessary to the that is with the other brethren/ that thou be as a deef man when evil is spoken of the or of thy neighbour without hearing it/ & as a dumb man in keeping the from speaking evil of other. ¶ also it behooveth the that thou do indifferently all that shall be charged to thee/ and thus shall thy patience be more great and more meritorious than it should be if thou shouldest be persecuted of other/ & if thou hadst not but the temptations of the fiend simply/ the which thou sufferedest patiently. then the beginning of our health is the dread of god/ for of the dread of god cometh compunction of heart. and of compunction cometh and precedeth despising of all worldly things. of this despising cometh humility. of humility proceedeth mortifification/ and anullement of his proper will. of the mortefyeng of his will. been eschewed all vices. the vices taken away/ then ensyewen the virtues which grown and fructify. of chaugmentacyon of virtues followeth cleanness and purity of heart and of conscience. of purity of heart followeth possession of very and parfyght charity. and of pure charity followeth the royalme of heaven. ¶ of a monk that made the pilgrims to eat to fore the hour accustomed when men fast/ beginning in latin. cum desire partibus. caplm. xxv then thus as we went fro syrye in to egypte/ a holy man received us right sweetly the which made ready for us to eat and drink to fore the hour determined to them that fast. then we demanded him wherefore he made us to dine to fore the hour accustomed. and he answered to us. my friends ye be not alway with me/ but fasting abideth alway here/ & so i may always recover to fast/ but not you/ & therefore whiles that ye be here. i will well that ye eat with me. for i shall well mow after recover my fasting. ¶ of a monk which never eat alone/ beginning in latin. vidimus et alium in solitudine. caplm. xxvi semblably we have seen an other brother/ which never would eat alone/ but alway would be accponanyed. and if by adventure none came not to visit him/ he differed to eat till that they came/ & if they came not he would abide till the sunday/ & came to the church/ & the first pilgrim that he found/ he led him unto his cell/ and eat with him. ¶ of a devout religious named machetes/ beginning in latin. vidimus et alium senem. caplm. xxvij after this we have known an other holy man named machetes/ to whom god had given this grace that if he had one day & one night to here the service of god he would never have slept. his father scent to him oft of his tidings/ so died his mother and his other kinsmen/ wherefore on a time/ be took all his letters in his twain hands/ and began to say. the lecture of thus many letters shall give to me vain joy or heaviness/ which shall serve me of no thing/ as touching to the merit and health of my soul. i know well that i shall be let in doing contemplation/ for to take heed and think on them that have sent them to to me. and therefore i shall conclude that these letters shall never be opened ne red/ and so he threw them in the fire in saying. go ye with the thoughts of my contrees/ and bren with these letters/ to th'end that ye bring me not to that which i have once renounced. ¶ of th'abbot theodore/ beginning vidimus et alium abbaten. caplm. xxviij after this we saw an holy father named theodore/ the which was a great clerk and moche prudent/ as well in manner of his living as in holy scripture/ the which he knew more by the grace of god than by estudye neither by experience. one on a time for to know the solution of a question much hard and difficile/ he was vij days in orisons and prayers unto the time that by revelation divine the same question was to him determined. ¶ of an holy hermit in a marvelous desert/ beginning in latin. itaque etc. caplm. xxix in coming then fro palestine to a castle of egypt called diulcus/ we found an other order of religiouses & more excellent than the other/ of which order the brethren be called anachorytes more holy and just than the other. for first every day they have battle against the fiend/ but for the better to surmount him/ they go in to the deppest of the desert. we found then some of these religiouses in a place between the flood of nile & the see/ the which place was secret & separate from all people/ because that the land was inhabitable for the sterylyte & baraynes thereof/ as well because of the see/ which is salt & bitter/ as for the land which might bear no fruit/ we being comen to them were greatly amarveled/ of the great pains & labours that they endured in this hermitage. for first they have so great lack of water for to drink/ that they be constrained for to depart it among them/ like as men should depart right good win. for they must go fetch the said well water at the said river of nile/ which is three mile far fro the hermitage. and yet between the river & their dwelling been there great mountains full of roches/ by which the ways been the more painful. after that we had seen these things. an holy hermit among them led us in to his cell/ saying if that we would abide there/ that he would give to us the said cell for he would depart/ & to th'end that we should believe him the better/ he said he would have left it though we had not comen thither/ wherefore we took it/ & he went and made an other with great labour & difficulty. and after by great charity he gaaf it to other pylgryms with all the utensylles that were therein. and after he made an other in which he dwelled. ¶ of two young children the which berynng figs to a seek religious died by the way/ & beginneth in latin. quidam etc. caplm. xxx abbot johan being in sychye came to him a brother/ which brought to him figs/ the which afterward sent them by two young children to an holy man moche seek/ the which dwelled in desert in an hermitage distant fro the church of the said abbot johan xviij mile or there abouts. the which children bearing these figs went toward the said brother that was seek. and thus as they went they were surprised with a cloud so thick that they lost their way/ and so going night and day could not find the cell of the said hermit/ but were constrained to abide in the way/ because they were much weary and travailed/ as well for cause of the great hungers/ as for the great and terrible thirst that they had suffered. and so they kneeled on their knees in praying to our lord. and in so doing they rendered and yielded both their souls up to god. ¶ after two or three days/ the abbot johan seeing that these two young children that they came not again/ he sent for to seche them through the desert/ and they were followed by the trace of their paas and feet/ the which were imprinted in the sonde in such a wise that they both were founden deed kneeling on their knees/ and the figs all hole by them/ of which they would not eat/ but they had be more content to suffer the death corporell/ than without the permission of their abbot to eat that which they were commanded to bear to the said seek religious brother. ¶ of the monks of egypte and of their diligence/ beginning in latin. per totum. caplm. xxxi through all the region of egypte/ the religiouses been never idle/ but win diligently their living with labour & travail of their bodies/ and given for the love of god that which they win above their living/ not only to pylgryms but also to them of lybye that been needy & indigent/ & also to prisoners/ & seek malades of towns & cities to them neighbours/ esteeming that by such works they make a pleasant sacrifice & acceptable to god. for they say that a religious person/ how well that he do or make some thing/ yet is he alway tempted of some devil. but he that nothing doth is vexed and tempted of innumerable quantity of devils. thabbot paulus moche holy & approved religious dwelled in a desert so barren that there ne grew any thing but palms of which he lived. for he was so far fro men/ that when he had made any thing/ he could never sell it/ because of the great distance of the place. and to th'end that he should not be idle/ he gathered every day of the palms & weighed them oftentimes/ to the end that he should not eat more at one time than at an other/ and made of the levys of the palms little mats or maundes so many that he filled with all a fosse or dyke. and atte the end of the year/ seeing that there came no man for to buy & have his work/ he put fire on them and brent them. and after the next year following he made as many for to eschew idleness. for he said that it is not possible that a religious person may live justly/ if he be idle. ¶ of a brother which was a blasphemer of god/ the which by punition divine was embraced with lechery. capitulum xxxij i have known an other brother the which was in such wise tempted in the sin of lechery/ that uneath he might withstand it/ wherefore he came to an holy man to whom he said. alas father what ought i to do. i am all brent with the fire of lechery. the holy father answered to him in sighing. i believe my child that god hath not sent to the this passion so strong and so vehement/ if thou hadst not blasphemed in some wise him or his saints. the poor religious hearing the holy father/ fill down to his feet & confessed him that he had blasphemed the name of god/ & that he mought not have perfection of virtue in his soul. ¶ of discretion the which is mother of all virtues/ beginning in latin. quodam caplm. xxxiij on a time camen some holy faders to the abbot anthonye/ demanding of him counsel & instruction for to live salutaryly/ thenne he made to them a collation that which endured from even till on the morn in the morning/ & after that he made a question the which endured to midnight following. and this was the question/ which virtue among all the other preserveth most the religious persons fro the grins & laas of the devil/ & bringeth one in to felicity eteternall. to this question everich of them answered after his capacity & understanding. and some saiden/ that the religious person was delivered fro the devil by fastings/ by wakings/ & other virtues. the other saiden that never the devil shall be surmounted of a brother/ but by very poverty of spirit. the other saiden that only they that were in the deepness of desert might surmount the devil of hell/ so that they have parfyght love & charity to god. the other affermeden that they that receiveden the pylgryms/ & done to them due service might lightly overcome the fiend. thus were these brethren in contraversye upon this matter/ & therefore the said abbot said to them. my brethren this that ye have said is well necessary to them that will follow god by very religion/ but this is over little for to be delivered fro the puissance of the fiend. for we have seen some of our brethren living justly in the thickest of desert which in th'end have fallen/ & hath be cause of their ruin fault of discretion/ the which they had not in their operations. and alway it is right necessary to a religious person/ because that it showeth alway the rial way to paradise/ and it keepeth that one be not over moche/ ne over little continent in his works/ and it is manifest that without discretion may be had no virtue. and these words said/ the said brethren were all of that opinion/ that discretion is she that may deliver the religious persons fro the grin of the devil/ and to conduit and lead to the glory of heaven/ as she which is mother and conseruatryce of other virtues. ¶ of heron an ancient father capitulum xxxiiij and to th'end that i show to you how discretion is requisite & necessary. i shall recount to you an example of an ancient father named heron/ the which because he was not discrete in his operations lost the reward & merit of them/ & died myschauntly/ it is truth that this said heron was by the space of thirty year in deserts living in so great discretion as ever any man lived. but the devil envious of his good life tempted him in such wise that he slandered all the other brethren of th'hermitage/ for he himself enterprised to fast continually/ & went not out of his hermitage/ in such wise that the holy day of paske or ester he came not to the church with the other brethren/ wherefore they were evil content/ & weening that he had been seek brought to him a little pittance/ to the end that for the solemnity of the day he should eat a little/ but he would nothing so do/ and proceeded to him this folly by thynstygaconninstigation of the devil/ which by the sufferance nf god was appeared to him in likeness of an angel of heaven/ because he had rendered himself subject to him/ & persuaded this brother that he should cast himself in to a pit for to prove his great virtue & constance/ wherefore the said old brother trusting in his own virtue leap & cast himself in to the same pit the other brethren seching after him heard him cry within the pit/ & they drew him as he had be deed. and the third day after obstinate in his error/ for none might make him to believe that this thing was illusion dyabolyke. ¶ of twain religiouses which would not eat/ but if god sent to them their refection/ beginning. quid dicam. caplm. xxxv two brethren dwelled beyond th'hermitage/ in which was woned to dwell saint anthonye the which would not eat but if god sent to them their refection. and when they had long walked they were nigh deed for hunger/ & they came to a people that were named the mazytes/ the which people been much cruel & murderers. nevertheless when they saw these brethren/ they came to them all sweetly & brought to them breed/ for they saw that they were enfamysshed. the one of them took the breed also agreeably as god had sent it to him/ & supposed so/ for he said in himself that god had so done/ to th'end that the said mazytes that were accustomed to slay the people should save his life & his fellows/ the which were nigh deed/ and thus that brother eat it. nevertheless that other would not eat thereof/ thinking that a man had give to them that refection/ & not god. now how well that they had foolishly begun/ nevertheless that one achieved wisely/ for in th'end he knew his fault/ & eat/ by which he eschewed the death. but the other began evil/ & achieved worse/ & therefore he died corporally/ and might happen eternally. ¶ of a religious which would sacrify his son to the devil beginning in latin. quid dicam etc. caplm. xxxvi what shall i say of a religious the which i shall not name/ for as much as he liveth yet/ the which was deceived by the devil for offtime he appeared to him in form of an angel of heaven. and every night the fiend enlumyned his cell as well as he had had light. on a day thenne among the other/ the devil admonested him that he should sacrefyce to god a child that he had/ the which dwelled in the monastery with him/ doing him to understand that in so doing he should be equal to the patriarch abraham. the which thing he would have done/ if his child by the will of god had not escaped out of his cell whereby it appyereth that he was not well discrete. ¶ of a religious to whom the devil showed the army of christian men and of the sarazens/ beginning. fuit etc. caplm. xxxvij there was an other religious/ the which in all his life lived in over great rigour of abstinence/ & never issued out of his cell. and when he came to the end of his life/ he was in such wise tempted of the fiend/ that he which had surmounted tofore all other religiouses/ became the most meschant. for the devil for to pervert him show to him oft-times a great company of christian men/ as well religiouses as seculars black/ foul & infect/ & on thopposite he showed to him a company of infydeles' shining as the son. and said to him furthermore that if he would be partycypaunt of the glory of those infydeles'/ he should do cyrcuncyse him/ the which for this cause/ he put him in this folly to will be circumcised/ by which every man knew that he was deceived/ & thereby it appeareth that it is danger/ when there is no discretion. ¶ how for to be confessed of his sins it chasseth away the devil more than other thing beginning in latin. abbess etc. caplm. xxxviij thabbot serapyon when he would inform & teach his young monks/ he recounted to them of his life/ when he was young as they were/ & said/ when i was young as ye now be i dwelled with th'abbot named thebona/ & i had this custom with me/ that every day when i had dined i hid in my bosom a little loof of breed/ which i eat & deceived my master and how well that i died thus every day alway when i had eaten it. i repented me & had much great heaviness of the theft that i had done/ that i had no pleasure when i had eaten the breed/ for my conscience said to me well that i ought not so to do. and so i was constrained by contrition to show it to the holy man with whom i dwelled. it happened that some brethren came to this holy man/ & when they had dined/ he gave to they many good doctrines & enseygnement. among which he said to they that theridamas was nothing that rejoiced the devil so moche/ as when a religious man showed not his evil thoughts to his ghostly father. i thenne hearing these words found myself heavy & sore displeasant/ weening that the holy man knew my thoughts. and incontinent i began to lament secretly/ & after to sigh & weep so openly that each of them apperceived it/ & incontinent i took the loof that was in my bosom & brought it to him/ & came myself & fill down to the feet of the holy man & of the other/ in saying to them how every day i stolen a loof/ asking of them pardon & mercy. and anon the holy man said/ have thou affiance in god my child/ for thy confession shall make that this day surmount thine enemy/ which is the devil of hell/ upon whom thou shalt have power by thy confession/ which hath impeached that by his temptation/ & therefore if thou wilt/ the devil shall no more be master over thee/ sith that thou confessest thy sin/ for he is cast out of thy conscience by this true confession. and uneath had the holy man achieved his words/ when a lamp enlumyned sprang out of my bosom/ the which filled the cell with stench in such wise that no person might endure. and then again said the holy man/ loo see here how god approveth my words/ to the end that thou know visibly th'ordure and stench/ the which was in thy heart/ to be thrown & cast out by true & hold confession/ & that the devil shall never dwell in thy heart. and by this moyen was taken away fro me the stench of the devil of hell/ in such wise that never after he tempted me. ¶ of religious people slain by the infidels beginning in latin. in palestine etc. caplm. xxxix in the parts of palestine nigh to a village/ where as was borne the prophet amos/ theridamas was a great hermitage/ the which touched the flood of jordane/ & nigh to the city of sodom. the holy hermits that dwelled there in serving god were slain of saracens that came upon them by adventure. the bodies of the said holy faders were in such wise received by them of araby that each of them fought with other for to have them/ to th'end the after their sepulture their bones should abide with them for relics in the places where they should be buried. ¶ of th'abbot danyell beginning in latin. inter etc. caplm. xl thabbot danyell among all other hath been always equal in all virtues/ but principally hath flowered in humility/ because of the which & of his softness he was instituted abbot of the said place in th'office of a deacon. and this holy abbot enjoyed to moche of his humility/ that all they that he knew to him semblable/ he enhanced them to th'office sacerdotal. and furthermore the said abbot desiring to have a successor the were worthy to govern his monastery instituted the said danyell to be a priest. the which nevertheless for what somever dignity that he had/ he left nothing of his former humility/ but alway how well that he was priest he excercised the office of a deacon only/ reputing himself unworthy to exercise the office sacerdotal. but paphunce which supposed to make him his successor was deceived/ for god took him tofore & died tofore him. ¶ of th'abbot serenus beginning/ sum etc. caplm. xli i have seen sith th'abbot serenus a man right virtuous & singularly renowned for the great & excellent virtues that died shine in him/ not only in operation in ward/ but also in appearance outward/ & the which also among the other virtues he had one in especial which was the virtue of chastity. and because that it is a thing above nature for to be chaste/ therefore i will show how he had this virtue. the same holy man day & night intended to prayers & orisons/ fastings & wakings. and for to abide undefouled of the sin of the flesh/ he prayed our lord so affectuously & so devoutly that his prayers were herd. for in one night an angel appeared to him in sleeping/ which took out of his body as a botch all swollen/ & after put it in to his entrails again like as tofore/ & said to him. o serenus see here all the lechery of thy flesh which is taken fro the. and know thou that this day thou haste won the purity & cleanness perpetuelly of thy body the which thou hast demanded of god. this sufficeth as touching the life of this said holy man/ the which when we came to him we demanded diverse questions/ principally of the temptations of the fiend but he answered to us all joyously like as he was accustomed/ that the devil of hell had no power upon a person/ but as god giveth to him licence/ as we have example of job whom the devil might not tempt/ but as god permitted him. ¶ how the devils have not so much power now against the monks as they had in old time beginning in latin. satis tamen caplm. xlij we know as much by experience as by other relation of old faders/ that the devils of hell have not so much power against the monks now in these days present/ as they had against them in time passed for thenne there dwelled but few monks in hermitages. and the devils were so terrible for to tempt/ & the people of so little resistance/ that right few abode in thermitages & other places solitary. and also in the hermitages where as there were ten or twelve religiouses/ the devil was there so continual/ that they durst never sleep together but whiles the some slept/ the other prayed to god. and after when they that had prayed would sleep/ they awoke the other the which prayed in like wise/ & all for t'eschew the ferocyte & cruelty of the devil. and therefore now the devils been more let to tempt us for two causes. the first for the sign of the cross/ that other for we be of lass resistance than the holy faders were/ & therefore the devils retch not to tempt us/ for they know well that they shall win & have us lightly. so they deign not to fight against us that be latchous & ready to fall/ as they do against the very champions of our saviour ihesu christ we also have seen & red/ & yet see & read all day that they that be holy & just/ have oft-times been possessed & tempted of the devil of hell/ not only for their sins/ for they had none/ but god suffered it to th'end that they should be proved as gold in the fornays/ & that at the day of judgement/ they should go straight in the glory of heaven/ after that/ which is said/ that the rightful & just is proved in the furnaces of very humility. and in an other place it is said. i chastise them that i love/ and this is enough showed in our time of th'abbot paulus/ & of th'abbot moses'/ the which how well that they were rihgt just & holy/ alway were they persecuted. ¶ of th'abbot paul beginning in latin. hic igitur abbess etc. caplm. xliij thabbot named paul had the thought so pure and so chaste/ that he had never the will to see not only the visage of a woman/ but also the abyllementes. for on a day as he went to visit an holy father he was recountered of a woman/ but all incontinent as he saw her he returned in to his cell more impetuously than if he had be chased of a lion or another best. and for as much as he had the women in over great abomination nothing by presumption/ but by fervent chastity/ yet god suffered his body to be smitten with the palsy/ in such wise/ that he had no member of which he might help himself/ & not only the feet/ but the tongue & the eeres died not in him their office/ for he might not speak nor here/ but was as a statue or image unmovable. and for this cause he found noman that might suffice to him to suffer the maladies/ wherefore he was constrained to suffer to be born in to a monastery of women/ there where as the holy religious women administered to him by the space of four year all his necessities/ & after died with them. and how well that he was thus enfeblysshed in his membres/ alway he had this virtue/ that what oil the touched his body/ guarished & healed the seek men/ lo that they were therewith anointed. and therefore it is notory that this malady was come to him by the will of god/ the which would manifest the inestimable virtues of the said holy father. ¶ of thabbot moses' beginning secundus. caplm. xliiij following the abbot moses the second how well that he was just & an holy man/ nevertheless because that he had reproved th'abbot machary of some things/ he was possessed of the devil/ in such wise that he took the filth & ordure that came of men/ & put it in his mouth. the which punition was sent to him to th'end that he should not fall in to a more grievous sin. for incontinent as the abbot machary fill on his knees and prayed humbly to god for the said moses. the devil of hell leapt out of his body/ & therefore we ought not to despise them that been strongly tempted or demoniac. for we ought believe two things. first the none is tempted of the devil without the sufferance of god. secondly that all the which god sendeth to us/ is for our profit & health. for he knoweth well that which is necessary to us & profitable. ¶ of a religious which saw by night a multitude of devils beginning in latin. quidam anthem frater etc. caplm. xlv oo religious brother walking through desert was constrained by cause he was surprised of the night to enter in to a fosse or cave where he began to say his service after his custom till after midnight. and after he would have rested & slept a little. but incontinent as he so would have done he saw twain caterues & companies of devils accompanying their prince/ that one company tofore/ & that other behind. the which prince was more great & terrible than the other. after he set him on a chair/ & asked all what they had done and they that had not vanquished the men which they had tempted/ he put them out as meschant & fools/ but them that had beguiled & deceived some/ he praised them/ & set them about the other/ to th'end that everich of them should do so. among the which there came one that said that the same night/ he had made a monk to fall in to fornication/ the which he had tempted by five year tofore/ and at this relation each of them enjoyed/ & he was greatly praised of the prince & of the other. and thenne they went their way/ & after the spring of the day began to come/ in the which this brother which doubted whether it had be true or none that which he had dreamed. and thenne this holy man came in to a place named pelusium in which place dwelled the same religious of whom the devil had avaunted him to have deceived by the said sin of fornication and there dwelled an other devout religious which knew well the brother that had heard the said relation/ to whom he asked how that the other religious fared/ & found that he had be deceived as said is. for he had forsake his monastery/ but afterward when he heard say these things/ he came again in to his said monastery/ & with great abundance of tears made & died wholesome penance. ¶ of two philosophers which went to saint anthonye beginning in latin quodan vero tempe etc. caplm. xlvi on a time two philosophers hearing the good renomee of saint anthonye went to him. and when they were with him because that he answered not to them to their pleasure of the questions which they proposed to him/ returned saying that he was a fool & ignorant. the which philosophers of envy that they had that many came to saint anthonye as servant of god/ they sent to him by their art magic two devils for to tempt him/ but the holy man by his prayer & by the sign of the cross/ kept them so well that they approached him not. then they returned to the two philosophers without doing to him any thing. but nevertheless they sent two stronger devils which died to him no more dyspleasyr than the first. thirdly they enraged and wood sent to him more cruel fiends by the half/ but they died nothing to him but came again all confused. for they found saint anthonye constant & steadfast. and for so much they knew well what virtues the good christian men have for these devils which were so terrible might not grieve ne noye saint antony ne his house. then these two philosophers much marveled came to saint anthonye/ & confessing their sin died do baptize theym. after saint anthonye asked of them what day they had sent those devils to him. and by their answer he knew that in those days he had be sore travailed in temptations/ nevertheless he had resisted them by the moyen of his prayers/ in which he was right busy & continual. for on a time thus as he prayed fro the even till on the morn seeing the son arise & appear/ he began to cry & say. o thou son wherefore lettest thou me/ what enforcest the now for to show thyself/ for to prove & take away fro me the clearness of this very light/ which now presently i see. ¶ here finished the third party of this present book. ¶ here followeth the fourth part ¶ here beginneth the prologue of saint paschayse upon the fourth part of the life of holy faders as well of egypte as of grece. o venerable lord & father martin priest and abbot. paschayse. salute right holy & devout father. if it had be leeful to refuse thy commandment. i had gladly forborn for to translate the lives of faders out of greek in to latin/ principally for two causes. that one is/ that the works & deeds of old faders been much great & unknown/ wherefore i can not well describe them ne write. that other is for i have none intendment ne cunning to do it. and certainly my rudesse & imbecyllyte dare not enterprise such a work ne operation/ but this notwithstanding i trusting in thy benignity & obeissant to thy commandment without to demand any glory ne exaltation. i shall begin the work by the commandment. and how well that there be infinity quantity of books right elegantly written in latin. notwithstanding i have right few seen as thou well knowest. for there is no person that knoweth so well my science as thou/ & therefore if by adventure thou findest in my translation any thing lass than sufficiently recited or expressed/ blame not me therefore. for in so doing i have followed as well as i may/ how well that i have not the faculty for to speak ne to deliver ornately. therefore please it to the to polysshe the language by thy sweetness the which is more sweet than honey/ & i shall not be disposed/ if it please to thy magnificence to amend that which shall not be we'll and improperly touched. ¶ here beginneth the book of admonitions/ and first against gluttony. a monk asked on a time of th'abbot sysoy how he ought to live in his cell. to whom th'abbot answered. eat thy breed and thy salt/ & be not curious in arraying thy meet soumptuously for thy body/ but soberly govern that in thy cell/ with out going in to diverse places to ask alms. the same abbot said to another which asked him also how he should live. for the prophet danyell said that he had never be required to ask alms out of his residence. yet alway he lived justly. ¶ an holy man said to an other/ that he was much chartable/ & that the lantern lighteth to many/ but not for that oft-times he burneth itself above ¶ an holy father asked an other such a question/ that is to wit/ if a man should be praised alway for to eat little/ & which of them that abstained them from eting have most merit or meed. to whom it was answered as to the first party nay. for there is some people that may not eat but right little after their complexion. and it is notory that such ought not to be praised ne blamed for as the philosopher saith in his ethykes/ none aught to praise ne blame us for the things which we have of nature. as thenne it be so that such folk have this inclination of nature/ they ought neither be blamed ne praised/ but they that abstain them & eat lass than their complexion requireth they have great merit/ so that their intention be rightful & well ruled after the judgement of reason. as touching the second party of the question/ which is to wite among them that abstain them for the honour of god/ they been they that have most merit of god. answer. they that have most of nourishing/ & abstain them equally have more meed than the other/ in as moche as they withdraw them for the honour of god principally. and consequently for the maceration of their bodies the nourishing which is to them necesserye/ & for as much as in such case aught to be seen the complexion/ & not the quantity or scarcete of the meet. for to eat in equal portion is sometime outrage to one/ & over little to an other. and all men ought to understand these words/ as touching thintention of fasting/ is well right to be ruled after thappetite of dame reason. ¶ a brother came on a time to the holy abbot paul in saying. father please it to the of thy charity to say to me/ what thing i ought to gather in my youth that may succour me in mine age. to whom the holy father answered. thou shall these whether thou wilt have god of the money to th'end that thou be not poor/ as who saith thou mayst not love god with all thy heart/ & the worldly richesses together. for as it is saith in the gospel. we may not serve god & the prince of avarice. thus thenne these thou god/ & despise thou richesses of the world/ or else cheese worldly richesses & despise god. ¶ thabbot agathon oft informed his disciple saying to him. if thy neighbour have need of any thing that thou hast/ thou oughtest not to deny him/ but thou oughtest to succour him. if thou wilt keep the commandments of god/ considering that thou art subject to necessities corporell as he is. for the scripture saith in such measure as thou shalt have measured to other. in the same shall be measured to the. ¶ how for thendure poverty causeth to come to the rest of heaven. an holy father said that we find in holy scripture that lazar that was at that gate of the evil rich man had in him none other virtue/ but that he endured his poverty right patiently/ & never grudged ne murmured against the rich man/ but praised & thanked god of all/ wherefore he was brought in to paradise. this holy man saith also/ that it never behoveth to think but of the dread of god and if by adventure we be constrained to think of our bodies/ we ought not to think but when it is time/ as who would say that we ought to be alway diligent & busy in the dread of god/ but to think on our body we ought to be busy in time and in place only. ¶ of parfyght patience. thabbot anthonye prophesied of th'abbot ammonicius in saying to him/ thou o west one time to be much patient & parfyght in the dread of god. after he lad him out of his cell in showing to him a stone & said to him. abbot ammonius go & do wrong to this stone/ & smite & beat it as much as thou mayst. and so he died. after saint anthonye asked him what hath this stone answered to the. thabbot ammonius said that it had answered to him nothing. saint anthonye said thou owest to be thus patient ones in time coming/ for thou shalt have such & so great patience that what somever shall be done to thee/ thou shalt ween & suppose that it is none injury ¶ how & when one ought to do the will of his neighbour. a monk demanded of th'abbot permenius what is faith. and he answered/ that to live alway in charity/ & to do well to his neighbour after his power is very faith. for it is said that faith without works is deed. and thus they that live evil have none good ne firm faith. and of his definition it is said that faith is to believe that which he seeth not. ¶ thabbot theodore speaking on a time of th'operations of the soul/ and of th'operations of the hands/ his brethren saiden to him. father say ye to us what difference is there between the works of the soul/ and of them of the hands. and he said to them/ all that which we do for the love of god in keeping his commandments is called the operations of the soul/ but the which we do for singular profit is said the work of the hands. ¶ the abbot apollo when one demaunaed him of his labour/ he went forth joyously with everich & said. i walk with my king ihesu christ & go labour for my soul. and that to do is a good reward. and by this may one conclude/ that there/ where one may edify his neighbour without offending god/ he aught to fulfil his will alway seen in time & place. ¶ how one ought to forsake his will. and specially the religiouses. ¶ a brother coming in to sychye for to see th'abbot arsenius would not tarry for any prayer that was made to him/ saying that he would not eat till that he had spoken to him. so that one of the brethren brought him to th'abbot arsenius which then was in his cell. anon they began to pray to god & after they sat down/ but he that brought that other seeing that arsenius said nothing/ said that he would go his way. then said he that was comen and i also will go/ & so went they both two. then began the stranger to pray that other that they should go see th'abbot moses'/ to the which that other accorded. the said moses received them right benignly. and after they went both twain. and in walking said to the stranger he that had brought him thither. now here my brother/ thou hast seen these two old faders which thou desyredest so much to see say now/ which of them seemeth to thee/ the better. the religious answered that he which had received them so benignly seemed to him to be the better the which answer hearing an holy father/ he prayed to god in this manner/ lord god please it to the to show to me which of them hath most merit/ either he that for the love of god fled all the sight of men & their company or he that for thy name receiveth all pilgrims. then were there showed to him two ships/ in that one of them he saw the holy ghost peaceable/ & the abbot arsensius with him/ & in that other he saw a legion of angels/ & with them th'abbot moses'/ which putted honey in to his mouth/ by which he knew well that both two of them hadden good salary & reward. ¶ how one ought to serve the seek men. moche people of diverse regions camen to saint anthonye for to receive health/ among whom there came a monk of alexandria named eulogius/ which had be a scholar that which desiring to ensue our lord had renounced all his goods in reserving some portion & little quantity/ of which he hoped to live in time coming/ but he found himself by diverse temptations in such wise troubled in his courage that he might not abide in any monastery wherefore leaving his hermitage/ he found in his way a man which was seek of a malady called elephantyke/ by the which he had not in all his members any health but in his tongue/ by that which he showed to him his malady. this seeing eulogius made his prayer saying lord god in thy name & for the honour of that i receive this man which is persecuted by gryevoꝰ malady/ to th'end that in receiving him i may get the glory of heaven and therefore my god give to me favour/ to th'end that i may achieve this work. after he said to the seek man. my brother if the wilt. i shall receive that in to my house/ & after my power i shall serve thee/ thenne answered the seek man. alas sire if it so please that i would well thenne said eulogius. i go in to my house for to fetch an ass for to bring the thither/ & so he died & served him in all his nechssytees by the space of xu year/ & after by thadmonition of the devil/ the seek man would have goon away/ & began to grudge & murmur against eulogius in saying to him. thou art a man fugytyfe/ which hast left thy house/ & weenest by th'occasion that thou servest me to recover the health of thy soul. this not withstanding eulogius prayed him that he would leave to say to him such injuries in saying. my friend/ if i have offended that in any thing tell it to me/ & i shall amend it. the seek man answered/ go thy way. i set not by thy flatteries/ set me in the common way out of this desert. thenne said to him eulogius. i pray the appease thyself. the seek man answered. i may no more endure thy derisions & mocks/ & also i may no longer live in this manner/ for i will eat flesh. and to that eulogius was content/ he went & fet to him some/ & as soon as the seek man saw but he began to cry. thou abbuseste/ thou mayst not satisfy my will. for i will go see the world. then eulogius brought to him a multitude of monks which were fast by/ to th'end that he might appease him/ but after that he had seen them he was more cruel than he was tofore/ & began to say i may not see thee/ & thou enforcest thyself for to bring to me a multitude of people that do no thing but devour thy sabstaunce. and in so tormenting himself/ and yet said. i will go in to the world/ bear me again thither where as thou tookest me. and he was so troubled in his intendment/ that if he had might he would have hanged himself. then eulogius demanded of the religious counsel what he should do with this seek man saying that he was in a marvelous perplexite for his terrible words/ and said. i woto not whether i ought to put him forth/ or to keep him with me to whom the brethren said. thou shall put this seek man in a ship/ & shalt lead him to th'abbot anthonye in his monastery/ and thou shalt abide there till he come out of the cave wherein he dwelleth. and when thou shalt see him/ thou shalt recount thy pain to him which thou endurest/ in demanding of him counsell upon this matter/ and how that thou shalt therein proceed/ and do all that which he shall say to thee/ for he shall say no thing but that it proceedeth of god. the said eulogius obeyed to the holy religiouses. and by night he bore this seek man unto the rivage/ and after laid him in a ship/ and led him to saint anthonye. now had saint anthonye a custom/ when his disciple came to him for to signify the coming of any people/ whether they were of egypte/ or of iherusalem. and above this he had or deigned/ when him seemed that they were devout people/ he should answer that they were of iherusalem. but and if they were simple and ydeottiss/ he should say that they were of egypte. then saint anthonye demanded his dyscypl● what people were come. the disciple answered/ father some of them be of egypte/ and the other be of iherusalem. then saint anthonye made to them good cheer/ and after all the night he was with them in prayers & orisons in admonesting them for their health. in the which night after that he had called some that he knew/ he called three times eulogius/ but he answered not/ weening that he had called some other so named. then saint anthonye said to him answer/ for i speak to the that art come fro alexandria. and thenne after said eulogius/ what wilt thou that i say. saint anthonye said/ wherefore art thou come hither. then eulogius answered & said/ he that hath showed to the my name/ shall also well show to thee/ the cause of my coming. saint anthonye said. i know well wherefore thou art comen/ but i will that thou say it tofore all thy brethren. thenne began eulogius to say. i found this seek man in the common way despised of every man/ & i have taken him in promising to god to succour him in all his necessities after my power/ to the end that finably we both two might be saved/ & have been xu year together like as it hath been showed to you/ but for as much sith certain time/ he hath grieved and molested me by great injuries. i come unto you to th'end that ye counsel me what i shall do therein i have some time thought to put him away from me/ as well by reason of the said injuries/ as for as much as i can not content him. thenne answered to him saint anthonye much rudely how hast thou dare think to put him fro the. i assure thee/ that if thou puttest him out from thee/ he shall find an other that shall better think than thou. by this answer was eulogius so abashed that he wist not what to say. that seeing saint anthonye began to speak to the seek man/ come hither thou man unworthy of heaven & of the earth/ foul and infect/ shalt thou not cease to grudge and murmur against the servant of god/ which for the honour of him hath so benignly the received. after he went to his brethren and exhorted each of them after that he had necessity. anon after he returned to the seek man and to eulogius and said to them. my brethren depart you not a sondre sith ye have so long lived in peace. and god shall visit you by his mercy & grace/ which hath suffered these adversities to come to you for to prove you. for he knoweth that your end is nigh/ and ye shall be finably crowned in beatitude everlasting. and these words said they went to their cells/ and forty days after eulogius died/ & three days after the seek man died/ & went to our lord. ¶ an holy father named cronius said that saint anthony prayed an hole year to god that he would show him the place of good people & the place of the evil. then appeared to him a giant so great that he touched the clouds/ & had under his feet a flood like unto the see and furthermore he saw souls flee like birds/ & all they that flewhe above the hands of the giant were saved but they that flewhe low were plunged in the water. and after this vision he heard a voys saying to him/ that the souls that flewh above the hands of the giant were the souls of just & good people which went straight in to heveuen/ but the other were they that went to damnation & perdition for their voluptees and fleshly pleasaunces. ¶ of the dread of god. the psalmist said that the dread of god is the beginning of sapience. and therefore in this chapter is made mention of the same by such an example. ¶ a monk demanded of th'abbot pyemon how the soul that dreadeth not god/ may resist the temptations. then answered the holy father. the soul sometime dreadeth god/ but not when it is time/ and thus parfyghtly it may not withstand the enemy if it dreadeth not actuelly. for the dread of god is the cause of the great perfection of the soul. ¶ a brother demanded on a time of an old father/ how the dread of god may come in the soul. then answered the holy man saying/ if a man be humble/ & that he condemn no person. and also if he be large to do alms after his faculty he shall dread god. ¶ an ancient old father said to a religious brother/ that he ought to have three things in him. that is to wite/ the dread of god/ parfyght humility/ and poverty of spirit. ¶ a monk came and complained to an aged father saying to him. i have an heart so enbarded that i can not dread my god/ to whom the holy man said. i believe that if a man take good heed in himself judging him a sinner/ that he should fere & dread god. after the brother asked what it was to say to take heed of himself. tehnne the holy man answered/ he that taketh heed of himself & thinketh that he is a great sinner/ & have remembrance of the great judgement of god/ at the which every man shall be/ to render & give acomptes of his works good & evil. and for so moche if a man think on this he shall fere & dread god. here been to be noted two things that engendren the dread of god/ that one is very humility/ & that other is to think of the great day of the judgement of god. ¶ here followeth of the temptations of th'enemy. a brother demanded of th'abbot achyles how the devils had power over us. to whom the holy man answered by our wills. for if our will consented not to do evil/ it should be no sin. in like wise then/ if we submised not our will to the devil/ he should have no power over us. for by similitude. the trees be cut & hewn with an axe/ which is helued with the self tree/ & if it were not helued/ it might not be hewn. all in like wise is it of us. for the tree signifieth our soul's/ and the helues our will/ and the axe the devil which may not hew without an helve/ that is our will/ by the which he beateth our tree/ that is to say our soul. then if we refuse to him the helve/ he may not hew down with his axe the tree of our soul. ¶ how a man may mortify the vices oo brother demanded of th'abbot moses'/ how a man might mortify himself. to whom the holy man said. if a man repute not himself to have be three year in his sepulture/ he may not be verily mortified in this world which hath two things/ that one is that he hate the rest of his body/ the second that he love no vain glory. ¶ an holy man said that a religious man that is occupied in good operation may not be surmounted of the fiend. for when the devil cometh & findeth him busy in good works/ he departeth incontinent/ but if he exercise any evil work/ he is persecuted oft of the fiend/ & maketh him to do worse yet if he may. ¶ here followeth of perseverance. thabbot anthonye said that if a monk labour/ & soon after resteth without to continue & thenne again laboureth/ & then again leaveth his labour/ he is not very perseverant. for perseverance must be continued unto the end. also the scripture saith he that shall persevere unto the end/ he shall be saved. ¶ here followeth of the pain & labour of the old holy faders. an holy man said that a man ought alway to labour until that he hath won ihesu christ by grace. for he that shall have gotten him ones shall never retch of the danger of the fiends of hell/ always a man ought continually labour to th'end that in thinking on the pain he kept himself & that he dread to lose his reward/ for god for this cause would that the children of israel were in captivity in desert by the space of xl year in suffering there great pain to th'end that in having remembrance of their pain they should not forget god by sin. here followeth exhortation of doctrine. a man on a time demanded of th'abbot permenyon/ how an obstinate man might learn the word of god. to whom he answered that the nature of the water is to be soft the nature of the stone is to be herd/ & yet alway by continuation & not by force if the water fall upon the stone it maketh there a concavity. and all in like wise it is of the word of god/ for it is sweet & soft/ & our heart is hard/ but if one here it oft/ & think on it affectuously/ the dread of god shall come to the soul/ which was first enharded/ & shall make it to relynte in to an hole or concavyte which shall be replenished & filled of grace. ¶ how curiosity ought to be eschewed an holy man said that a good religious person ought not to demand how that one liveth/ ne how liveth that other/ to the end that by the answers that he should here/ he be not withdrawn fro holy prayer. and therefore to be more sure/ he aught to be still & say nothing. ¶ a brother demanded of his abbot/ if any come in to my cell/ that to me recounteth vain words & unprofitable/ aught i to say to him/ that he be still. the holy man answered. ne say to him nothing/ for thou mayst not keep him fro speaking/ ne thyself some tyme. and therefore we ought not to reprove our neighbour of a vice/ in which we fall after. then said the brother/ what ought thenne to be done. the holy man answered/ if we will do well/ we aught to give good example to our neighbour/ for the good example is of more great effect/ than been the words. ¶ how one ought t'eschew noise. an holy man said/ if any speak with thee/ either of scripture or of any other matter/ thou oughtest never to strive with him/ but and if he say well/ accord ye to him/ and if he say evil/ say to him ye know and can better than ye say in following the apostle which saith strive not with words. and if thou thus do thou shalt eschew hate/ & shalt get parfyght humility. and if thou abide in thine opinion in defending thy words/ thou shalt mow engender slander. some time also by overmuch praising an other followeth noise/ of the which moving thou oughtest sovereignly to keep the. for there might to the come so great inconuenyente/ that thou shouldest never be in peace nor in rest. wherefore it avylleth more to be still in resisting his evil thought. & to raise himself diligently in the dread of god for to pray as well on evening as on morning/ & if thou so do thou shall not fere ne dread the temptation of the fiend. ¶ how one ought to keep silence. saint anthony said to his disciple/ if thou desire to have silence/ thou owest not for that/ to esteem that thou be for that cause the more virtuous/ but in keeping it/ thou oughtest to repute thyself unworthy to speak. ¶ a brother said to th'abbot sysoy that he desired to save his soul/ but he would know the manner how he might do it. then th'abbot answered to him/ how may we save our soul's/ when our tongue alway speaketh. as who saith/ he that is not still & keepeth not silence may not be saved ¶ another brother asked if it needed alway to be still/ to whom was answered/ that ye/ at lest unto that he were asked. for if a man be still/ he shall be in peace over all whersomever he be in keeping alway silence/ the which to keep is none other thing but to make a defycyle pilgrimage. ¶ an holy father said that the pilgrimage that is made for the honour of god is good/ so that he keep silence. ¶ here is made mention of the meditations of twelve devout hermits. twelve holy faders hermits devout and solitary were together as brethren touchynh the principal thoughts and cogitations spiritual that they had herd in their cells & habitations for to live virtuously & to resist the temptations of the devil. then said the first which was most oldest. i have enforced myself with all my power to resist the operaconns' exterior or outward/ contrary to my health/ having remembrance of the psalmyste saying. let us break the bonds of our enemies/ and cast we aback behind us all their temptations. and i have edified in my thought/ as a wall between my soul & the bodily operaconns'/ to th'end that i see them not. for all in like wise as he that is within the wall seeth not him that is without. all in like wise ought not a man to see ne to behold his outward works/ to th'end that he glorify not himself/ and aught to flee them as the venom of a serpent or of a scorpion/ & to cast them lightly behind fro his heart. the second said/ sith that i have renounced and forsaken the world. i have said every day in myself. on this day thou art born by grace/ this day thou begynnest to serve god/ this day thou beginest to dwell here/ be thou always as a pylgyme with out to have other estimation of thy self/ and thou shalt be shortly delivered. the third said. in the morning i mount up to my god by prayer in stratching myself upon the earth/ & praying him that he forgive me my sins. after i pray to th'angels and other creatures reasonable that they supply & pray to god for me/ & this done i go to iherusalem to see that the jews done. the fourth said. it seemeth me that i am with god & his disciples in the mount of olyuete/ & me seemeth that god saith to me/ be thou always with my disciples enhanced in contemplation. and entremete that with no worldly things they abuse thy soul/ in taking example of mary magdalene/ that which set her at feet of the saviour of the world in hearing his words which been such be ye all holy and parfyght/ so saith your father of heaven. and learn of him which is humble of heart & sweet. the fifth said. i see every day th'angels mounting & descending for to call the holy souls & to bring them in to paradise/ & do nothing but abide mine end in saying. lord god my heart & my conscience is ready and appareled when thou shalt will to take it. the vi said. it seemeth to me every day that after my prays god saith to me. labour in the love of me/ & i shall make the rest. fight yet a little against the enemy/ after thou shalt see my health & my glory/ if thou love me/ & if thou art my son return the hardly to me which am thy father/ if thou be my brother/ have thou shame for me/ & endure the opbrobryes of the people for the honour of me. for i have endured evils infinity for the love of thee/ if thou be my sheep & my subject follow my passion. the vij said. i think always on the faith of god on hope/ & on charity & dilection. i have hope for to enjoy myself/ charity for dread the i not hate any man/ & faith for to fortify me against mine enemies the eight said. i abide in great constance the devil/ whatsoever part he go. and i pray to god devoutly/ that he do no grief to any person/ principally to them that dread god. the ix said. i consider by contemplation divine the virtues angelic/ & in the mids of them the son of god shining as the son over & above all creatures and in considering the sweet harmony of angels cometh in to my remembrance that which is written. lord god the heavens recount thy glory/ & the firmament thy works marvelous. and in this contemplation all that is upon th'earth me seemeth dust & powder. the ten said i see mine angel which is alway beside me & keepeth me/ & then i remember of that which is written by the psalmist. i have alway god tofore my thought. for he is alway at my right side to th'end that i be not moved by evil temptations. and for as much as i dread mine angel which mounteth alway to heaven fearing that he ne show my works to god. the xi said. i have given myself to all virtues/ that is to wite to abstinence/ chastity/ humility/ charity/ & dilection/ of which what somever part i find myself i am environed of them/ & enforce myself to keep them/ to th'end that after my death/ they may witness that they have rested & dwelled in me. the xij. said/ among you faders which have the heavenly conversation/ ye have also the sapience divine. and for as much as i see you enhanced in virtuous works ye have all renounced the world & the goods thereof. then may i say without sin that ye been earthly angels/ & heavenly men/ touching your conversation the which is in heaven/ of which things i me repute indygne & unworthy for my sins which accompany me overall where i go/ on the right side and lift side. and therefore i me repute worthy to be dampened. thou shalt be put hastily with them that for their demerits be in weepings and in perpetual wailings. and in this i consider some of them that strain their teeth for the great pain that they endure in all the parties of the body. and in sign of humility i cast myself on the earth taking ashes/ and praying god that it may please him to preserve me from these torments. furthermore i saw in that hell a see all boiling/ in the which been moche people of diverse astates which cryen so strongly that it is impossible to express/ and the which been prived fro the mercy of god by cause of the enormity of their sins. and for as much considering these pains i weep by compassion the fall of worldly people which live in so great danger. and in this doing i remember of that which is written in the psalm. my tears have been to me also profitable as breed of the day and night. for by the moyen of them i have nourished my soul spiritually. all in like wise as the body is nourished by breed materyalle. ¶ the which contemplations afore said/ of the which sayings and dyctes of the said holy ancient and old faders we ought with all our power to follow/ to the end that in so doing we may come in to the royame's of heaven. the which grant us he that reigned perpetuelly. amen ¶ here finisheth the fourth part of the life of holy faders of egypte and of grece. ¶ here followeth the fifth part and some small treatises of the praising of virtues etc. ¶ here followeth the fifth part. ¶ here followed some small treatties of the praising of virtues/ as well moral as theologycall/ upon which saint macharye made his prologue/ which was author & compylatour of them speaking in this manner. for as much my right dear & beloved brother that sometime thou haste affectuously required me to make some little book or treatise of the praising of virtues. i desiring to fulfil thy request have compiled this present book to the praising of god and to the salvation of thy soul/ knowing the great desire that thou haste to see the holy scriptures. and for that cause i am glad to have accomplished that which hath pleased the to require me/ to th'end that thou mayst alway profit in the love of god/ and also that i be partner of thy good deeds. i wot well and know that he is well happy that may only save his owen soul/ but also i believe that he is yet more happy the which in doing his health is cause of the health of other. and by cause i pray the that thou read busily this little compilation/ and that thou do that which therein is contained/ to the end that by thy good ensample thou save thyself and thy neighbour/ and for thy labour thou shalt receive in heaven double reward. ¶ of the praising of charity/ beginning in latin. cum igitur etc. caplm primum. in praising thenne the virtues/ i shall begin at the pryncypal/ which is charity/ the which i admonest the to keep above all things. for all in like wise as the breed is most necessary among all other meats. in like wise charity is most necessary among all other virtues. and also as the table is evil served in which is no breed. all in like wise/ right so thet other virtues without charity may no thing profit. for without charity/ for to lament/ to weep/ to be naked & chaste/ to do alms/ & to endure martyrdom been of no profit ne utility. this virtue hath specially our lord and redeemer recommended to us when he said. i give to you a new commandment/ that is that ye love each other as i have loved you. and yet he saith. each of you shall be known in this/ if ye be my disciple or nay. for if ye love each other by good charity and dilection ye be mine saint johay th'apostle praiseth it in saying/ he that abideth in charity abideth in god/ & god in him. this virtue also was praised above all other of the great preacher the chosen vessel of god my lord saint poull when he said if i give all that i have to the poor and if i burn my body in a fire in doing penance. and if i spoke all the languages of men & of angels/ & i have not charity. i am but as a clock that soundeth/ and all the things tofore said profit me nothing. and after he said/ charity is benign & sweet/ patient to endure all torments & adversities/ & ready to give of his goods to the needy. and none other virtue but charity maketh the martyrs to endure so many pains and torments as they have suffered & endured patiently and in humility. ¶ of the binding together & connexion of charity & of humility/ beginning in latin. certissime. caplm. two thou oughtest to believe & know certainly the charity is not parfyghtly in a man without humility and obedience. for if thou hast very charity/ thou shalt be incontinent humble and obeissant. humility is a great virtue/ for it maketh men mortal to be heavenly. by humility the devil is surmounted and overcome/ by it the grins of him be eschewed in like wise as saith saint anthonye to th'abbot pastor the which had seen over all the world the grins & nets of the devil set up/ for to take the poor soul's/ and it was said to him that humility only might put away all those grins without to fall therein. and he said it not only for himself/ but for us which be sinners and moche lass than he in perfection of manners & virtues/ to the end that by this moyen we may eschew the grins of the devil. and furthermore the life of an holy and devout hermit named martin showeth to us what virtue is humility/ the which from his youth was much humble & human/ & in such wise loved of god/ that when he came to the holy sacrament of the altar. an angel ministered to him the same holy sacrament/ we ought thenne to see & consider what virtue & yefte is of humility/ by the which a man mortal is thus agreeable to god. of the virtue of continence caplm three to th'end that thou know/ to whom availeth the virtue of continence. thou oughtest to wite that it consisteth not only in eting and drinking/ but in speaking/ in sleeping/ in clothing and in other many things. and for so moche to th'end that thou be continent & sober/ seek no meats over delicious ne delycatyf/ & take none hour to eat/ & also take none heed to gourmen & gluttons which eat more than is to them necessary. and know for certain that everich person/ of so much more as he shall have laboured in this life/ of so much more shall he have more great reward in heaven. and to th'end that it seem not to the that this virtue be over gryevoꝰ. i shall say to the an example. a man named dorotheus of thebes lived in this manner/ that he went & fet stones at the see side/ & every year made an house & gave it to them that had none/ & in the night to the end that they should have to eat he made hottes & paners to sell them/ & he eat but a little breed & coal wortes/ & drank water/ & lived in such wise sith his young age. never man saw him sleep on bed/ but when he might no more wake/ & the force of overmuch watch & business caused him to close his eyen in such manner that sometime in eting he slept & let fall the meet out of his mouth. and on a time among the other in passing by a way all miry/ in which he fill down all sleeping/ & lay there till on the morn that he awoke/ & he thenne finding himself in that ordure & filth/ began to say. o my god if thou makest the angels to sleep. i am not abashed though thou make me to sleep/ & this he said in dreaming/ or for to in pugne the devil which would have tempted him. on a time he was strongly seek/ & he lived then as straightly as he had be accustomed. thenne an other old father asked of him wherefore he slew so his body. to whom he answered. i slay him because he sleeth me i have written to thee/ the continence of this holy man/ to th'end that thou know/ that continence is free to observe to them that have good will to do it. and for to give to the knowledge the great difference of the life that we lead/ & of the life of some holy faders. the same dorotheus made every year a cell/ & gave it for the love of god to the indygent & needy. and he lay upon no bed/ & eat not but breed & herbs/ & drank water. i say not this example to th'end that thou do in like wise/ but to th'end that thou humble & meek thyself/ & to see how our old faders were continent/ & ask no meats over delicious ne delycatyfe. for we read of the abbot moses that during all his life or there about he eat but breed/ & yet he laboured & wrought fast. the space of vi year he prayed every night devoutly without leyeng down of his body/ & without to close his eyen/ but if it were by great constraint which made him a little to close them. and he went about to the cells of the religiouses/ & bare to them water how well that it was far fro the cloister. ¶ of the continence of the sight. caplm. four the virtue of continence consisteth not only in abstaining from meet/ but also in abstaining himself to see & behold worldly things & concupyscyble. to this purpose we read of th'abbot pyor which departed fro the house of his father & went in to an hermitage ꝓmysing that he would never see person of his friends. but his sister marvelously desiring to see him/ prayed to the bishop of the diocese wherein he dwelled/ that he would write to the holy faders of th'hermitage that they would send to her the said pyor to th'end that she might see him the which thing done the holy faders commanded pyor that he should go see his sister/ & to th'end that he would be obeissant he departed & went with an other man/ when he was come in to the house of his sister/ she made to him great cheer/ & saw him all at her ease/ & after he returned in to his hermitage/ & when he was comen again because he had thirst he made an hole in the earth by his hermitage where he found water much bitter/ of the which he drank/ & used it unto th'end of his days/ how be it that it was much bitter/ & after there might noman dwell in the place there. ¶ an other time th'abbot moses and his monks made a pit where they found no water. so appeared to them about the hour of midday th'abbot pyor the which descended in to the pit smiting three times in th'earth/ & incontinent the water sprang up/ & after he vanished away. and therefore my brother thou hast seen & heard that the continence of the sight is necessary. thou haste also heard how this abbot pyor was never dyssobeyssaunt to his kin/ but for t'obey to his superyors he went to his sister/ & yet he saw her not/ for he closed his eyen for to keep his first promise. and therefore i pray the to follow this holy man/ & be not curious to go see thy parents or friends/ to th'end that in seeing behind thee/ that is to the world/ the which thou hast forsaken & renounced/ thou be not by leaving thy tears and prayers turned in to a roche of salt/ that is to say in to a deed image or statue/ as was the wife of loath/ the which because she looked behind her/ she was in like wise turned and to this end remember of the gospel saying/ that he that putteth his hand to the plough of penance. and looketh behind him/ that is to say to worldly things/ is nothing covenable to the kingdom of god. ¶ of continence of speech caplm .v. i admonest the also that in thy word and speech thou be sober/ to the end that thou mayst say with the psalmist. i have said that i have kept my ways/ to the end that i sin not in my tongue. i have set ward in my mouth doubting that i should speak evil have remembrance of the sister of moses'/ the which for as much as she spoke evil of her brother/ she became lazare/ and was seven days out of her house/ the which passed she was guarished by the merits of her said brother/ of the whom she had spoken evil. we ought not to apply our tongue to speak evil of our neighbour. for we should not abuse it over foolily/ seen that it was given to us principally to praise god and his saints. and we ought to have remembrance that all detractors shall be prived fro the royame's of heaven and the company of rightful men. and for as much to the end that we be not prived fro thence/ eschew we detraction/ and keep we us that we bachyte not our neighbours/ the which we ought to love as ourself/ & fro speaking words unprofitable. for the gospel saith that men shall render accounts at the day of doom of all idle words that we shall have said. we say a word to be idle/ when it profiteth not to him that sayeth it/ ne also to him that heareth it/ keep the then to say words exciting to laughing dysordynat/ but enforce the to say to the people such thing as shall excite them to the profit & health of their souls. and let alway thy word be reasonable & profitable. it is recounteth of two wise men that one named theo/ & the other ammon/ the which theo was the most great clerk of thegypcyens/ & he held him still & spoke not to any person in thirty. year. that other was never angry/ ne swore/ ne said any vain word which caused any heaviness to any man and in the time of these two holy men/ there was an other named helyas which dwelled in an hermitage by the space of an hundred & ten year in fasting alway without to speak moche to any person. therefore take heed what cautel and what prudence thou oughtest to have in thy words/ by the example of the holy men aforesaid. and to the end that this virtue please thee/ herkene what saith zacharye/ which hereupon asked of th'abbot moses which said to him/ that there was nothing better than to say nothing & be still in time & place/ and in th'end he was saved because he kept silence diligently. then to th'end that thou may be saved love and keep silence. i have red also of a devout man/ the which to th'end that he might keep silence bore continually in his mouth a stone. then i pray the affectuously that thou keep silence/ for infinity goods been lost for the sin of the tongue. ¶ how vile clothing ought to be desired. caplm. vi my friend wite that continence in clothing is much necessary. there be moche people that ween that desirous ambition to have precious robes be no sin/ but they deceive themself/ for if it were not sin/ god had never praised saint johan baptist for his clothing which was vile. for he said to the people that went for to see him what is that ye have seen/ have ye seen a man clad with precious robes. as who saith/ nay/ for they that use and be clad with precious robes/ been in the palaces and houses of kings and princes temporal/ and not in deserts. saint johan then was not clad with precious clothing. for such people so clothed serve not god/ but to temporal lords/ he was clad with skins of camellys only. and therefore if he that was saynctefyed of god in the womb of his mother/ and was so much loved of god and was a very prophet & more than a prophet hath be clad with the skin of a camele/ we that be miserable sinners ought to be content with vile vestments without to desire other/ everich after his estate. yet furthermore saint peter in his epistle defendeth precious clothing/ but if it be to please the world. thenne we ought not to seche them/ but rather we ought to seche virtuous clothing for our soul/ and not for our body/ the which clothing is charity/ faith/ humility/ bounty/ and benygnyte/ for of these virtues our soul ought to be garnished for to live perpetuelly with god. and how well that our body be adorned with gold and silver or with precious vesture. always it ne is but dust and filth/ and therefore we ought not to demand the eases of our body. for if we nourish it after his appetite/ we nourish our enemy with us/ by cause that a man hath no greater enemy than his body/ the which draweth his soul to sin if he may. therefore each person ought to hold it subject and to chastise it by th'example of saint paul which saith. i chastise my body/ and render it to servitude. ¶ how all things ought to be done by reason & measure. caplm. vij over body ought to be chastised by wakynges & by diverse other manners/ to the end that it draw not our soul to sin/ but nevertheless it must be done in such manner/ that in chastising it/ he leave not to do good works/ for he that would make lean & put his body to affliction in such wise that he may not continue in virtuous works he should not be wise ne discrete. and thou oughtest to understand that the virtues of silence/ nakedness/ abstinence/ & chastising of his body ought to be done with discretion/ the which is a sovereign virtue/ & without the which none operation is vayllable/ & where she shall be/ it shall be meritory/ by default of discretion the operation is not profitable/ wherefore we may say that discretion is mother of the other virtues. and therefore i admonest the that thou take discretion in all thy works/ to the end that thou fall not on that one side ne on that other. of this virtue of discretion thou hast in the life of faders called in latin vitas pat●um. for th'abbot anthonye saith/ that there be some that make lean their bodies/ but for that they do it not discreetly they been well far fro the royame's of god. ¶ of the weal of compunction which principally cometh for a man to mortify himself. caplm. eight but for as much as in all operation is required compunction. it behooveth first to know the definition of it. then i trow that very mortification may not be gotten by any person without compunction. and therefore i pray the that in all thy works/ be it in keeping abstinence/ or that thou lovest to be evil clothed/ or that thou wyl● wake/ or do any other healthful work/ that thou do it all to the honour of god/ if thou weep for thy sins/ there shall ensue thereof compunction and displeasance/ but thou oweste to do it in such wise that no person be sklaundred/ but rather edified in to good/ have then compunction and heaviness in thine operaconns'/ to th'end that thou mayst say with the psalmist. lord god i offer to the my sacrifice all full of the marghe of compunction. then oughtest thou to know that he offereth sacrifice to god the which giveth himself all over to god/ the which thing appertaineth properly to religious people/ & to them of their vocation. by the marghe of which sacrifice/ we understand the compunction/ displeasance & contrition at the heart of him that sacrefyceth to god. then sacrifice without marghe is operation without con●●ycōn the psalmist speaketh of this marghe in a place saying thus. thy sacrifice be made fat of the fatness of contrition/ which we call marghe. the virtue of compunction is much great. for in the life of faders is written of an holy man the which said/ that to us it were right necessary to weep incessantly. the which came again after that he was deed & said to his brethren in weeping bitterly because they would not weep. malediction be to you malediction be to you. and by cause we may see here what is to us necessary during this life alway to weep/ to the end that after our death in this world we descend not in to the torments of hell/ the which thing we ought gladly do/ considering that this life mortal is miserable and transitory/ but that other shall never have end/ in the which the just persons shall have joy perpetuelly with the angels. and the miserable sinners shall be tormented by the devils with the dampened in hell perpetuelly without remission. for it is written that in hell is no redemption that is to them that by their demerits and deservings be dampened. and therefore if we may not weep as oft as we would/ let us persist and continue in devout prayer. for it is in the puissance of our lord to give to us abundance of tears. and to this purpose is contained in the life of faders an example of a religious man which complained to an holy man saying. my soul desireth to have tears and to weep/ like as the other old faders have wept/ but it can not have it to whom the holy man answered. thou oughtest to persist in prayer/ for thou mayst not obtain so soon that which thou demaundeste/ knowest thou not well that the children of israel were by the space of forty year in desert tofore they might come in to the land of promission. the tears thenne been the land of promission/ to the which if thou mayst come/ thou shalt no more dread th'assaults & temptations of the enemy of hell. it is rehearsed of th'abbot arsenius/ that had alway tofore his eyen a cloth to wipe away the tears that issued out continually. so then ought we by example dispose us to weepings & wailings/ if he and the other holy faders which were so just/ mortefyed themself in this manner/ by moche more greater reason we sinners ought to weep in thinking on the death and on the terrible day of judgement of god. and for this cause saith amon to one of his brethren/ we aught to be as the thief in the prison/ the which awaiteth none other thing/ but that he be led to hanging/ and demandeth oft/ where is the judge in wailing and weeping his last day. so then ought we in this manner to weep and wail our great sins in awaiting the right great and sovereign judge our saviour ihesu christ. and if we do thus/ we shall mow be saved/ and we shall have very and farm contrition and repentance. and thus for to do/ it is to us needful & necessary to think on the pains & torments of hell where as the worm of the remorse of conscience shall never die/ the fire shall not be quenched/ the weeping shall never cease/ ne the pain shall never have end. of the quality of compunction caplm ix it behooveth not after weeping and wailing to return to sin for which hath be wept & wailed. for every man that after his penance returneth to his sin/ resembleth to an hound that returneth to his vomit. there been many that oft-times weep for their sins. and nevertheless they cease not any thing for to sin & offend god their maker the prophet isaiah exhorteth us saying wash you and be clean in heart. and upon this/ is to be noted that he that weepeth his sin/ is not clean/ when he beginneth again to sin/ but he is washen and abideth clean/ which by weepeth his offences/ and returneth not again thereto. ¶ of the manner to pray to god our maker. caplm. ten sith that i have given to the to know & understand what conpunc●yon is/ there resteth now only that thou know the manner to pray god/ and to make supplication to our lord ihesu christ/ the which he showed to his disciples when he said to them in this manner/ be not prolix ne long in your prayers and supplications/ but pray ye in saying thus. our father that art in heaven etc. as it is contained in the pater noster. in the which appyereth that the orison aught to be short/ but if it be prolonged of an ardent affection & desire toward our maker and redeemer. it is said that arsenius abode from the son going down unto the son up again in prayer. i will not say that thou so oughtest to do/ but at the lest have the desire also ardent in devotion when thou prayest god a little time/ as be had in praying to god all the night. one of th'ancient faders said that orison continual correcteth the thought. ¶ an other said that like as it is impossible to see his visage in thick & troubled water. all in like wise the soul if it be not purged of his evil thoughts & cogitations may not have contemplation toward god our maker. ¶ pambo the holy religious man having under his charge thirty religious persons died nothing but the which was to him necessary to the spiritual life/ & took none heed but to prayers/ every day he made three hundred prayers to god/ & to th'end that he would not leave one/ he took three hundred stones/ & at every prayer/ he took out one stone only/ & after when he found no moo stones/ he knew well that he had all said. therefore we ought us greatly to meek ourself/ which been far different fro the life of holy faders. and we be not prompt and ready to make prayer like as they died. ¶ orison joined with contrition & compunction is a great virtue. and therefore i will that thou understand/ that our saviour willing to pray/ went up in to the mountain/ to signify to us when we pray we ought to go up in to the mountain of heaven by good & devout contemplation/ but all they that pray/ go not up. for he that demandeth in his prayer the death of his enemy/ or coveteth temporal goods/ to th'end that he praised among worldly people/ gooth not up in to the mountain. and in the contrary he that in humility prayeth for the health of his soul/ & for his neighbour/ gooth up in to the same mountain. now think then to read his admonitions to th'end that thou mayst come fro mortification to compunction/ & fro compunction to the manner of prayer & to require god thy maker. ¶ of the battle of vices against the virtues. caplm. xi for as much as thou art sufficiently instruct to know the excellence of the virtues/ there resteth now for to know the controversies against the said virtues. so shalt thou then mow surmount all vices in alleding the virtues against them. the which opposition/ or alleding against them oft-times profiteth. for a man by the same is lift up to devotion. and the vices been retrayned in doing the virtue contrary to every vice. for against lechery/ it behooveth to be chaste. against wrath and ire/ it behooveth to have patience. against dread confidence. against heaviness spiritual joy. against ferdfulnes of courage/ strength and constance. against avarice largesse. against pride humility. against hate charity. saint poull speaking of this battle saith. the flesh coveteth against the spirit/ and the spirit against the flesh. these twain here been in such wise contrary/ that sometime is not done that/ which would be well done. and therefore my right dear friend be allway diligent to read/ and to do the things tofore said/ if thou be tempted to sleep overmuch/ enforce the to overcome the temptation by waking/ if thou art tempted to take the eases of thy body have remembrance of saint james cousin of our saviour/ the which never eat no flesh/ ne never ware linen/ ne never ennoynted his heed/ how well that in his country the custom was to do so. if thou be tempted with worldly delyces/ remember the of saint johan baptist/ the which was saynctefyed in his moders belly/ of whom god saith/ that among the children of adam that were born of women/ there was none found that was so great. it is found in scripture/ that he ne eat but wild honey/ & herbs/ if thou canst not forgive to him that hath offended thee/ remember our redeemer/ the which pardonned them that crucified him/ & suffered diverse pains for the. for for the love of thee/ he was made man passable & mortal/ which was immortal & impassable/ he took for us in the womb of the holy virgin mary flesh human to th'end that he should die for to redeem thee/ he was beaten & smeten with buffetes & suffletes/ & all byspette in his precious visage/ crowned with thorns. and at the last crucified in the cross/ & all for to save thee/ and when he was in the cross he said. my father pardon them that crucefyen me/ for they know not what they do. thus he that was crucified without cause/ prayed for his enemies. and thou wilt not pardon them that offend the. i believe if that thou thoughtest well on this that is here tofore contained that thou shouldest lightly forgive them that offend to the. and in so doing thou shalt mow appease thine ire or wrath. and in accomplishing the commandments of god to love everich as it is written. love ye your enemies/ and do good to them that persecute you. and pray for them that challenge and do you wrong. if thou be tempted to go see diverse regions and contrees/ repute thenne thyself as deed and crucified to the world/ & then thou shall overcome that temptation. for thou shalt think on nothing but on thy death/ if thou wilt take heed that the world to whom thou art deed raise the not again/ or that it be not in the raised again/ hark what the apostle saith of the battle of vices against the virtues/ if ye mortefye saith he the deeds of the flesh by spiritual deeds/ ye shall live spiritually/ & therefore if thou wilt live/ it behooveth the to mortify the vices by the virtues/ as hate by charity/ worldly heaviness by spiritual joy/ dissension by peace/ malice by bounty/ cruelness by sweetness glotonnye by soberness & abstinence/ & lechery by chastity. and if thus thou destroy & mortify the operations of the flesh/ certainly thou shalt come to the royame's of heaven with god our maker & our redeemer & his angels. ¶ of the affection for to study well. caplm. twelve it behooveth not long to occupy the time in things tofore said. for i will that thou read in scriptures to th'end/ that that which to the is necessary thou mayst find in the same/ for i believe that the commandments of god may not parfyghtly he known but in reading. and ●oo much more that a man is continual in reading/ so much more ●e understandeth it. for the land of so much more as it diligently ered and laboured/ so moche more bringeth it forth great abundance of fruit/ how be it that a man hath the understanding little and dull/ nevertheless he may learn the scriptures. for to him that shall have faculty and will to read shall be given understanding for to understand that which he readeth. and he that naturally hath no understanding/ or that be rude/ nevertheless by his labour he knoweth some thing right so he that despiseth to augment to divine that to him is commised shall be dampened at judgement. and therefore i pray the to read and study gladly/ for moche profit co●●●● of the study of scriptures. and thou shalt learn in them that which we know not. ysydore saith that by prayer we be purged spiritually. and by oft reading/ we be ensigned and taught. that one and that other is good/ but when it behooveth to pray/ it is evil done to estudye or to read for it is said commonly/ that to estudye is ●●rsed which letteth the divine service. also he that will be with god by grace he ought to pray oft/ & oft to study. for in praying we speak to god/ & in studying god speaketh us. and therefore my brother & friend/ it behooveth that thou read and pray oft. for the lecture giveth to us knowledge of god. and prayer taketh away the darkness of the soul. by the lecture we have knowledge of god and of his commandments/ by that we may know what glory and felicity they that be saved have in heaven by that also we understand what misery and what pain have they in hell that be dampened. and by that we know the sentence that shall be proffered at day of judgement upon the good and upon the evil. for to the evil shall be said/ go ye in to the fire of hell. and to the good. come ye well blessed in to the kingdom of my father/ the which is appareled to you sith the beginning of the world. and furthermore by estudye we learn how we ought to bear patiently the adversities of this world/ & how we should contain us in prosperity. and by this in the chapter following i shall determine of the adversities of the holy faders/ how they have suffered them patiently/ to the end that thou be the more prompt to endure them. and that by the same thou mightest have the royame's of heaven which is appareled for them that be good. ¶ how one ought patiently to endure the adversities & maladies caplm. xiij if by adventure hap to come to the any malady or adversity. i pray the read the scripture. for thou shalt find therein what god saith. them that i love. i chastise/ & it is a sign that god loveth a person when he chastiseth him & sendeth to him some adversity/ which adversities thou oughtest to suffer patiently. and to this purpose i shall recount to the an example. there was a man named benyamyn which healed & guarysshed seek people/ by his touching only them/ the which benyamyn fill in to a dropesye/ & became so greatly swollen that he might not go out of his cell/ without to break up the door. and never theles he had such patience/ the he visited the other seek people/ & in that he might/ he comforted them saying/ pray ye for my soul/ & retch not for my body. for when i was hole i retch not to serve god/ & therefore take example of him. ¶ furthermore herkene of a monk named steven/ which comforted the seek men after his power/ & lived unto the age of lx year/ but this not withstonden he was smeten with a malady incurable/ in such wise the him behoved to cut of his legs/ the which because of the malady were rotten/ & nevertheless he ceased not to make baskets in admonesting the other that they should not be angry of his malady/ & that they should not think but on the end. for he said/ all the god doth is utile and profitable. and i know well that these pains here been given to me for my sins/ so had i liefer endure here a little pain transitory/ than hereafter to suffer the pains of hell eternally. and therefore by his example/ when any adversity shall come to thee/ dispose the to bear & suffer it patiently. and consider if the holy men have given thankings to god in their adversities/ then should we sinners endure patiently the evils that come to us. for it is written that by diverse tribulations/ aught men to come to heaven. thenne ought we strongly to love tribulations to th'end that we be heretrers of that sovereign glory. for the sinner that shall not be punished here/ shall be punished in hell. also whiles that we live we ought to desire to bear & endure sicknesses & tribulations for the honour of god. furthermore thou oughtest to know/ that a man is persecuted in this world for many causes. first for to approve his patience/ in the manner that job & thobye were tormented/ the which have be proved farm & constant to the end that we ensyewe their patience. secondly a man is persecuted to th'end that he be not proud/ & this properly appertaineth to saints. for th'apostle saith of himself. to th'end that i not enhaunse myself for the great revelations that i have had. god hath given to me the pricking of my flesh/ that is to say the spirit of satan which me tempteth continually. and after the th'apostle knew the profit that he had by the same pricking/ he said. i enjoyed me right gladly in my temptations & tribulations to th'end that i had the grace of god. thirdly a man is tormented in his body for his sins/ when god will not that the sinner be dampened for his sins/ but he will punish temporally/ as of the paralytyke to whom 〈◊〉. thy sins been forgiven that take ●hy bed & go thy way. thus by the he pardonned to him his sins tofore or he gave to him bodily health/ it appyereth that this malady came for his wickedness. fourthly a man is persecuted to th'end that the virtue & power of god or of his saints/ be by that persecution showed to the people/ as it is written in the gospel of him that was born blind. for god said that he ne his parents had not sinned/ but he was so born for to show the glory of god. fyfthely some man is tormented in this world to th'end that he begin then his hell/ the which after his death shall never end and this is understand only of evil & cursed people/ as anthyothus. herode/ & king pharaoh/ the which began their hell in this world. and of them it is written. our lord god punished them with punition/ that is to wite temporal & eternalle. and for as much as we know not wherefore god sendeth to us the adversities. therefore we ought agreeably to suffer them/ in weeping & wailing our sins/ to th'end that all turn to our profit. for we ought to believe certainly/ that none evil shall abide unpunished/ but if it effaced & put away by very penance/ or by the mercy of god/ or purged in purgatory/ or in hell perpetuelly. then behooveth to have hope/ though so be that one have sinned. for what soever sin that one hath commised/ the mercy of god is much more great than is the sin. and for as much as we speak of pardon of sins i shall recount here a fair history. ¶ theodosius the emperor the which how be it that in a great fury/ he had put to death vij thousand men/ nevertheless in weeping & crying god mercy/ he received grace & pardon of the sin. and therefore ought no man to despair/ but with good affection to demand mercy of god. and to th'end that the know the cause wherefore he died do slay them. i shall recount hereafter the history all along to th'end that thou take thereby example. for first thou mayst have hope to obtain pardon & forgiveness of thy sins/ for as much as theodosius that had slain so moche people had in little time remission of his sins. secondly thou shalt mow get humility. for how well that he was emperor/ alway by thercomynycaconn & admonition of saint ambrose/ he converted & meked him in such wise/ that he reputed him self the most miserable of all other sinners. thirdly thou mayst be excited to great effusion & abundance of tears/ considering that he entering in to the church he arouse & wet with his tears the pament of the same. and therefore know that there is noman which hath not any imperfection in himself be it in will or in deed. for we see that if a man eschew lechery/ anon he is in danger to fall in the sin of avarice/ & if he eschew avarice/ he falleth in envy/ & if he eschew envy/ anon the fiend presenteth tofore him many other evils by which he may take him. and therefore it is hard to a man to keep himself from all the temptations of the fiend. but when our thought is aided & helped with the might & grace of god/ he may lyghtlt resist all the temptations and machinations of him. ¶ here followeth th'history of theodosius of whom is spoken tofore capitulum xiiij in the city of thessalonye which was greatly & strongly peopled/ there moved a great & marvelous division because whereof/ by the citizens of the same were some of the judges stoned to death/ & some other dismembered/ whereof theodosius th'emperor was in such wise moved in ire/ which commanded expressly that all the citizens good and evil generally should be put to death. and thus for that cause were there cruelly slain more than vij thousand men without keeping of any order or attemperance. of the which so great/ horrible/ & cruel occysyon was saint ambrose advertised which thenne was bishop of milan which declared & made denounce the said theodosius accursed & excomynyed. notwithstanding that he was emperor in showing himself a man constant/ & all given to punish & correct the wicked & obstinate sinners of ennorme & gryevoꝰ offences which they commised against our lord & his church. the which theodosius after that by certain time he had obstinately sustained the said sentence of excommunication. in a solemn day as he was in the said city of milan/ he concluded notwithstanding the said sentence to go to the church/ as other christian men died/ but the seeing saint ambrose came hastily against him/ & began courageously to cry in saying. o theodosius i am abashed how the devil hath thou so horribly blinded in making that to fall in this damnable obstination/ that thou ne canst ne will know the enormity of thy great sin/ which thou hast commised in shedding cruelly the human blood of christian men/ children & servants of god/ how darest thou presume to will enter now in to the temple of our lord/ if by adventure thine empire & thy lordship temporal let the to know thy sin so hyhoveth well the reason surmount the same domination & signory/ thou oughtest to know & understand that thou art mortal/ & shalt become powder & ashes like as other men. and suppose not for thy pourpre & other precious vestiments to be more worth than thy subgettes/ if thou be prynct or lord/ nevertheless thou art a servant for god is the lord of lords & the king of kings/ how then darest thou with thine eyen infect by ire in any wise see or behold the temple sacred & hallowed or to march & come nigh the pavement of the same with thy feet which been so much foul & pollute. how darest thou lift up thy hands to god out of which yet the blood of the innocentes drop out/ how also darest thou receive the precious body and blood of ihesu christ/ in thy mouth by the which hath be pronounced the sentence furious damnable & wicked/ by which been deed so many innocentes servants of god. seen then the grievous enormity of thy caas. i defend that his church/ & enjoin that to depart from hens/ to th'end that to thy first evil thou put not thereto the second. and furthermore i exhort the that thou bear patiently the sentence of excommunication against the pronounced/ the which is the medicine of thy soul. themperor saying the constance & laudable hardiness of saint ambrose/ & by his remonstraunces touched with the holy ghost concluded in himself to obey him/ & so returned to his palace/ where he abode and was by the space of eight months/ with out to go or issue out/ weeping there by great contrition & marvelous abundance of tears/ the detestable sin by him commised. and approaching the feast of the nativity of our saviour ihesu christ. one his knight & steward of household named ruffian which was moche familiar with him seeing his weepings & wailings/ the which he had so long continued prayed him that he would declare to him the cause of the same. to whom he answered in this manner. alas my friend thou knowest not the grievous evils & ennoyes that i suffer. i weep for my great misery/ the which i know exceedeth all other/ considering that the yates & doors of the church be open to the poor servants of god the which go when them seem good/ but they been shit & closed to me & by right full cause/ which is to me overmuch grievous. and god knoweth what great sighings & wailings made his heavy & desolate heart. for they were so sorrowful & so oft renewed the oft-times they broke his words/ in such wise that uneath he might achieve that he would say. then the said knight which was much displeasant & grieved of the desolation of his lord & master the emperor said to him that he would go to saint ambrose/ & should enforce him self to do so much toward him that he should assoil him of the said sentence & that he should be permysed to enter in to the church. the which thing the said emperor believed to be right hard to obtain of the said saint ambrose/ considering the rigorous affection that he had so sharply to punish & to correct thou defaults commised in the unreverence of god. this notwithstanding the said ruffian transported him to saint ambrose. and th'emperor desiring to know the answer/ went all a far after him/ but incontinent when saint ambrose saw the said ruffian approach to him seeing tofore what he would say & require of him/ began to say to him such words or semblable in substance. i marvel me of the ruffian how thou hast no shame to come hither for to bay like an hound in the face of god and of his saints. ruffian suffering patiently the words of saint ambrose/ and taking in him courage/ notwithstanding the great rigour of them kneeled down on his knees tofore him in showing by all humility the hard and marvelous displeasance of the emperor/ which desired none other thing but to render & yield him obeissant child of the church/ delivered and concluded in himself to receive and bear such penance as should please to saint ambrose to charge him. saint ambrose considering that theodosius had be long time without to come to him/ & doubting yet of his obstinacy and pertynacyte said to ruffian/ that it was dyffycle and hard to him to believe that which he said. and with that he said to him that the said theodosius was not yet worthy to enter in to the church/ but nevertheless when he shall be advertised of his conversion he shall be content that he come to him. these things thus said. ruffian taking leave of saint ambrose/ returned to the emperor his master/ to whom he reported that he was not yet well appeased/ wherefore he counseled that he should defer yet a little his going to him. but nevertheless the emperor beholding that he was nigh to the yates of the church where as saint ambrose was/ delivered and concluded in himself to go thither to endure patiently all injuries and obprobryes that he would say to him in saying that he had well deserved them/ he then coming to the gate of the said church presum●●●● to enter within/ but sent to saint ambrose humbly praying him that it might please him for to assoil him of the said sentence of excommunication. then came to him saint ambrose saying. o theodosius i have horror to see thy presence which is much cruel. for thou hast over moche inhumaynely showed thy great woodness against god in breaking his holy laws and commandments. theodosius answered. a holy man. i protest that i intend not to do any thing against the holy catholic institutions. and i will not enforce me to enter by violence in to the church/ but i pray the that it please the to do to me that grace to assoil me & to unbind me of the sentence of excommunication in which i am bounden/ in praying god of forgiveness of my sins/ and to me opening the yates of his church/ the which he would should be opened unto all very penytauntes. then saint ambrose said to him. i would well know theodosius/ sith the horrible occysyon which thou haste commised what medicine haste thou given to thy soul for to hele it of her mortal wounds. to whom the emperor answered. it appertaineth to the reverend father to give to me the penance/ and to me to receive it humbly. saint ambrose seeing his great humility said to him. for as much as thou haste given judgement in horrible furor and no thing after reason. i enjoin the that within xxx days next following thou do write and ordain a law that may be cause to avoid thine ire. and by the same law thou shalt know if thine opinion shall be rightful and just/ or unrightful/ the which penance the emperor received much humbly. and composed the same law which he wrote with his owen hand/ whereof the tenor is this/ if an emperor from hens forth condemn to death one or many men/ he shall be holden to do withdraw thexcecution unto the xxx day after the pronunciation of the sentence/ to the end that he may know if the same sentence be justly or wickedly given. this law thus made/ saint ambrose gaaf to the said emperor his absolution. and that done he suffered him to enter in to the church. in which he entered not upright but proste●ned and flat to the ground upon the pament. and began to say with the psalmyste lord god my tongue clive to my chekys/ please if the to quyckene me after thy word. and in taking his heed with his two hands rending his hairs and witting the pament of the church with great abundance of tears/ demanded humbly pardon and mercy of our saviour ihesu christ. and the hour comen for to go to the offering made his oblation in great weepings and wail lynge. and after that he set him down in the choir or ●hore like as he tofore had be accustomed the which thing seeing saint ambrose asked him what thing he made there. to whom humbly he answered/ that he intended to receive the holy sacrament of the altar. and anon after saint ambrose died do say to him by an archdeacon that the chore or the choir of the church was only ordained for the priests. and that it was not leeffull to other to enter in to it/ commanding him that he should go out abiding the perception of the precious body of ihesu christ with the other. theodosius hearing these words/ meekly answered thus. i am not set here by presumption/ but for as ●oche as in constantynople the custom is such that the emperor/ when the service of god is in doing sitteth in the chore or choir with the priests. and in his excusation thus made/ he issued in thanking humbly saint ambrose of his good exhortation. by which example may be known the great justice of that one and of that other. how be it/ that i have great marvel of the great hardiness of saint ambrose toward the said emperor. and also of the obeisance of him. in which thou hast matter to take good example of the ends tofore alleged. and therefore i pray the that oft thou read this history/ and if thou so do putting it in effect/ thou shalt eschew all vices and sins/ the which thing nevertheless thou mayst not do without the specyalle aid and help of our saviour and redeemer ihesu christ/ as saith saint johan in his first gospel/ speaking in the person of our lord ihesu christ saying thus. without me ye may do no good thing that is meritory. then ought not the strong man to glorify himself in his strength ne the wise man in his wisdom/ ne in like wise the rich man in his richesse/ but they ought to glorify them in the knowledge of god/ as he himself saith in speaking by the mouth of the prophet iheremyas. and to this purpose saith saint poull in one of his epistles speaking to the corinthians. my brethren/ he that will glorify late him glorify in god and nothing in himself/ the which words been well to be noted principally by them that maintain that a man may conduit and govern his proper will without help of god/ which we ought not to believe. for if we may not without him think any thing/ by more greater reason we may do no thing without him. and therefore if thou do any good work/ presume not that it proceedeth of thee/ but of god which hath given to the his grace to do & accomplish it. ¶ how one ought gladly read the scriptures/ beginning in latin. sanctarum etc. caplm. xu to read the scriptures/ is in party to know the felicity eternal. for in them a man may see what he ought to do in conversation. also that lightly he may see his face in a mirror. oft to read purgeth the soul from sin/ it engendereth dread of god/ and it keepeth the soul from eternal damnation. and all in like wise as we be nourished with bodily meet as touching the body. in like wise as touching the soul we been nourished by the lecture and reading of scripture. to this purpose s●●●● psalmyste. my god that thy words been sweet to mine eeres to here and to understand. but yet is he more happy which readeth the scriptures/ and doth that which he findeth therein. for they be made to the end/ that in knowing them we may live in this world well and justly. and as it is said that the blind behooveth oft more on his way/ than he that seeth much clear. in like wise well oft he that knoweth not the law of god sinneth/ there as he that knoweth it sinneth not. and a man without a teacher/ is as a blind man without a leader. and therefore be diligent and busy to read the scriptures. for in reading them the naturel wit and understanding been augmented in so much that men find that which ought to be left/ and take that whereof may ensyewe profit infinity. and also he shall find in them what he ought to do. ¶ of the yefte of peace/ beginning in latin. salvator etc. capittulum xvi the yefte of peace the which among all other is sovereign/ left our lord ihesu christ to his apostles/ when he ascended in to heaven the day of his ascension to the right side of god the father in saying to them. i give to you my peace. i have left to you peace/ and so shall i find you again. and this that he gaaf to them/ that is to say peace/ he desireth to find again at the day of doom in every christian man. and he himself showeth to us in an other place of the gospel the goods of peace where he saith blessed be the peaceable/ for he that is very peaceable in his conscience is the son of god/ but he that hath no peace in his heart is the son of the devil. and this we ought to understand of very peace/ which is only in the conscience of rightful men. for the evil persons have peace with their fellows but in their conscience they have it not. the first peace bringeth & leadeth to salvation/ the second to damnation. peace is with the good & virtuous/ & war is with the evil & vicious/ peace is cause of the receiving of the holy ghost. peace is mother of love & dilection/ peace is sign of holiness/ of the which saith the prophet. love ye peace and verity. peace is the health of the people/ the great honour of the prince/ the joy of the country/ and the dread of enemies. then it ought alway to be kept/ for who is with it is with god. thoffice of a priest is to admonest the people of the which they ought to do. and the people ought to here humbly. for the herdsman ought to defend his sheep from all things unjust. and the people ought to be to him obeissant. ¶ here followeth the pistle of saint macharye to monks/ which beginneth in latin. in primis etc. caplm xvij if a man know well what he is/ & what is his maker/ & he will repent him of his sins in making devout penance/ as fastings/ abstynences/ almesses or other good deeds/ & that he have in hate all voluptuousyte & bodily pleasance/ god shall give to him very contrition & parfyght knowledge of his offences/ in so moche that he shall see the trunk or beam in his owen eye/ & shall not see the festue in the eye of his neighbour/ that is to wite that he shall know his great sins/ & not the small of his neighbour. thenne may he well say with the psalmist. lord god i know the enormity of my sin/ which is continually in thy presence. i shall also have remembrance of the judgement of haven & of hell/ & if he see that his heart be firm & constant in the dread of god/ without to dread his adversary the fede of hell/ he is a very religious/ but all in like wise as the ship is drowned by great abundance of water/ in like wise a religious man that possesseth any goods temporal is drowned by sin/ for he goth directly against the vow● of religion/ by the which he avouwed wilful poverty. and on the contrary a religious person that is not possessed of any thing he fleeth in to the royalme of have by contemplation for the eygle that fleeth on high above all other birds cometh sooner to the term of his course & there receiveth his salary. and furthermore it is expedient to good religious to read pray & be as brethren together/ for in so doing the difficulties been the sooner determined & better disputed/ than for testudye each by himself four things been much necessary to a man of the church/ knowledge of the law of god/ th'history in the which is contained the life to come/ the service of the church/ & the science of gramayre/ by that which is known the significations of the terms of latin he that hath not renounced the world knoweth not what is of the 〈…〉 is said in a common proverb/ that also well by hoveth to thavarycyoꝰavaricious man that he hath as that which he hath not. to him that trusteth in god the richesses fayllen not. for he will not have them/ but to an evil person/ all behooveth to his appetite/ how well that he hath many goods temporal/ let us live thenne as having nothing/ & all possessing by suffisance. for the life & the vesture is the richesse of living men/ if thou hast thy goods & thy power & domination/ sell them & give them for the love of god/ or if not take them from thy heart & thought/ if one take away thy rob or thy vesture/ let him go that hath taken it away & rob the. for it behooveth to give & sell his goods for to nourish & sustain the poor people/ he that hath given himself to god hath given all that he hath we read that the holy saints apostles for to follow our saviour & redeemer ihesu christ leften generally all that they hadden. and the good widow that gave two ferthynges to th'offering was preferred tofore the great and excellent yefts of croesus. for she had more merit for as much as she gaaf all that she had/ he lightly despiseth all thing/ that reputeth himself ready for to die. we ought to think on the things that follow/ that is to wite on the passion of our saviour ihesu christ to th'end that we have therein comfort. on the hour of death/ to the end that we make us ready. on the day of judgement to th'end that we may yield good accounts. on hell to th'end that we dread & eschew it. and on heaven to th'end that we desire it. the fiend of hell bringeth vain surety to the courage of man in three manners. first he admonesteth him that he confess him not in any wise of his trespasses & sins/ in saying to him that he is yet young & that he may line alway & not die. secondly he admonesteth & giveth him to understand that other men hath more sinned & commised moo evils than he/ & nevertheless they have longer lived than he. thirdly he giveth to him boldynes & hardiness to sin & persevere in his evils saying to him/ what somever that a man doth sin god that is soveraynely piteous & merciful shall forgive him all/ & thus he bringeth a man to damnation perpetual & to the torments of hell. god our saviour hath given diverse remedies to the soul for to make him clean & guarish him of his sin. for some may purge them by alms/ other by orisons & prays/ other for to receive pylgryms/ the other by fasting & waking/ other for to be chaste/ other by humility/ the other by very obeisance/ some by very patience/ some have science/ the other sapience/ other have that gift of the tongue/ other have that gift to he'll seek men/ & all these things maketh the holy ghost/ which divideth his graces as him seemeth good. and if thou behold well in thy psalms/ thou shalt find thyncarnacyon/ the passion/ the resurrexion/ thassension of our saviour & redeemer ihesu christ/ and the other mysteries of our faith. thou shalt find therein orison & prayer more devout than thou mayst in thyself think with right ample confession of thy sins/ & also for to call for the mercy of god. thou shalt find there furthermore all virtues if thou wilt that god show them to the. if thou wilt say a psalm well devoutly. say that same that beginneth. beati inmaculati etc. and when thou shalt have estudyed all thy life to understand that same psalm. i believe certainly that thou shouldest not understand it. for in it is not a verse/ but it containeth of the law of god/ or some commandment of the same/ or words incyting to fervent devotion. and therefore it is not necessary to demand ne inquire so many books for thou haste enough of the psalter all thy life. in which thou shalt find for one party the gospels & prophecies/ & other books diverse. and generally thou shalt find if thou behold well all the operations worthy to be remembered of our saviour & redeemer ihesu christ/ as it hath be said here tofore. the place & habitation of our saviour & redeemer is an heart just & rightful. the fundament of the house is the faith/ the height is hope/ the breed & largeness is charity/ the length is perseverance/ the sides of the house & habitation been peace & concord/ the yates been justice and truth/ the beauty is good example/ the windows been the sayings of saints/ the pament is humility of heart/ the chambers been the good prelate's/ the door is the place of peace/ the coverture is loyalty/ the table of ihesu christ in this chambre is good conversation/ his service in the same is good remembrance/ his rest is good will his chair is clearness of thought/ his spouse is the soul holy & sacred/ his chambrelayns been the virtues/ his thyef chambrelayne is charity/ & that governeth the chambre of our lord/ humility is treasurer/ holy sapience ensumyneth the said chambre/ cleanness maketh clean the chambre/ bounty bringeth the sweet incense therein/ diligence arrayeth the chambre/ abstinence layeth the table/ attemperance keepeth cleanness in the conscience/ watch keepeth the chambre/ penance giveth the discipline & chastiseth them that have offended/ good conscience and will is the portyer/ the which good will hath engendered all the virtues afore said. and good perseverance nourisheth them. god then give us his grace to find in us such an house that it may please him to lodge therein/ to th'end that in this world he keep us fro adversity spiritual. and in th'end of our days/ he bring us with him in to his royame's of heaven for to be partners of the glory eternal/ the which grant to us the holy trinity amen. ¶ explicit. ¶ thus endeth the most virtuous history of the devout & right renowned lives of holy faders living in desert/ worthy of remembrance to all well disposed persons/ which hath be translated out of french in to english by william caxton of westmynstre late deed/ and finished it at the last day of his life. imprinted in the said town of westmynstre by my wynkyn de word the year of our lord. m. cccc.lxxxxv. and the tenth year of our sovereign lord king henry the seventh. vitas patrum